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The Third BookChapter XII.
Chapter XII.
Wherein Are Prosecuted the Pranks Played by Don Quixote in His Amorous Humours
in the Mountains of Sierra Morena
And, turning to recount what the knight of the ill - favoured face did
when he was all alone, the history says that, after Don Quixote had ended his
frisks and leaps, naked from girdle downward, and from that upward apparelled,
seeing that his squire Sancho was gone, and would behold no more of his mad
pranks, he ascended to the top of a high rock, and began there to think on
that whereon he had thought oftentimes before, without ever making a full
resolution therein, to wit, whether were it better to imitate Orlando in his
unmeasurable furies, than Amadis in his melancholy moods: and, speaking to
himself, would say, `If Orlando was so valorous and good a knight as men say
what wonder, seeing in fine he was enchanted, and could not be slain, if it
were not by clapping a pin to the sole of his foot, and therefore did wear
shoes still that had seven folds of iron in the soles? although these his
draughts stood him in no stead at Roncesvalles against Bernardo del Carpio,
which, understanding them, pressed him to death between his arms. But, leaving
his valour apart, let us come to the losing of his wits, which it is certain
he lost through the signs he found in the forest, and by the news that the
shepherd gave unto him, that Angelica had slept more than two noontides with
the little Moor, Medoro of the curled locks, him that was page to King
Argamante. And if he understood this, and knew his lady had played beside the
cushion, what wonder was it that he should run mad. But how can I imitate him
in his furies, if I cannot imitate him in their occasion? for I dare swear for
my Dulcinea of Toboso, that all the days of her life she hath not seen one
Moor, even in his own attire as he is, and she is now right as her mother bore
her; and I should do her a manifest wrong, if, upon any false suspicion, I
should turn mad of that kind of folly that did distract furious Orlando. On
the other side, I see that Amadis de Gaul, without losing his wits, or using
any other raving trick, gained as great fame of being amorous as any one else
whatsoever. For that which his history recites was none other than that,
seeing himself disdained by his lady Oriana, who had commanded him to withdraw
himself from her presence, and not appear again in it until she pleased, he
retired himself, in the company of a certain hermit, to the Poor Rock, and
there crammed himself with weeping, until that Heaven assisted him in the
midst of his greatest cares and necessity. And this being true, as it is, why
should I take now the pains to strip myself all naked, and offend these trees,
which never yet did me any harm? Nor have I any reason to trouble the clear
waters of these brooks, which must give me drink when I am thirsty. Let the
remembrance of Amadis live, and be imitated in everything as much as may be,
by Don Quixote of the Mancha; of whom may be said what was said of the other,
that though he achieved not great things, yet did he die in their pursuit. And
though I am not contemned or disdained by my Dulcinea, yet it is sufficient,
as I have said already, that I be absent from her; therefore, hands to your
task; and, ye famous actions of Amadis, occur to my remembrance, and instruct
me where I may best begin to imitate you. Yet I know already, that the
greatest thing he did use was prayer, and so will I. And, saying so, he made
him a pair of beads of great galls, and was very much vexed in mind for want
of an Eremite, who might hear his confession and comfort him in his
afflictions; and therefore did entertain himself walking up and down the
little green field, writing and graving in the rinds of trees, and on the
smooth sands, many verses, all accommodated to his sadness, and some of them
in the praise of Dulcinea; but those that were found thoroughly finished, and
were legible after his own finding again in that place, were only these
ensuing:
`O ye plants, ye herbs, and ye trees,
That flourish in this pleasant site,
In lofty and verdant degrees,
If my harms do you not delight,
Hear my holy plaints, which are these,
And let not my grief you molest,
Though it ever so feelingly went,
Since here for to pay your rest,
Don Quixote his tears hath addrest,
Dulcinea`s want to lament
Of Toboso.
`In this very place was first spied
The loyallest lover and true,
Whom himself from his lady did hide;
But yet felt his sorrows anew,
Not knowing whence they might proceed.
Love doth him cruelly wrest
With a passion of evil descent
Which robb`d Don Quixote of rest,
Till a pipe with tears was full prest,
Dulcinea`s want to lament
Of Toboso.
`He, searching adventures, blind,
Among these dearn woods and rocks.
Still curseth on pitiless mind;
For a wretch amidst bushy locks
And crags may misfortunes find.
Love with his whip, wounded his breast,
And not with soft hands him pent,
And when he his noddle had prest,
Don Quixote his tears did forth wrest,
Dulcinea`s want to lament
Of Toboso.`
The addition of Toboso to the name of Dulcinea did not cause small
laughter in those which found the verses recited; because they imagined that
Don Quixote conceived that if, in the naming of Dulcinea, he did not also add
that of Toboso, the rime could not be understood; and in truth it was so, as
he himself did afterward confess. He composed many others; but as, we have
related, none could be well copied or found entire, but these three stanzas.
In this, and in sighing, and invoking the fauns and sylvans of these woods,
and the nymphs of the adjoining streams, with the dolorous and hollow echo,
that it would answer and they comfort and listen unto him, and in the search
of some herbs to sustain his languishing forces, he entertained himself all
the time of Sancho his absence; who, had he stayed three weeks away, as he did
but three days, the Knight of the Ill - favoured Face should have remained so
disfigured as the very mother that bore him would not have known him.
But now it is congruent that, leaving him swallowed in the gulfs of
sorrow and versifying, we turn and recount what happened to Sancho Panza in
his embassage; which was that, issuing out to the highway, he presently took
that which led towards Toboso, and arrived the next day following to the inn
where the disgrace of the coverlet befel him; and scarce had he well espied
it, but presently he imagined that he was once again flying in the air; and
therefore would not enter into it, although his arrival was at such an hour as
he both might and ought to have stayed, being dinner - time, and he himself
likewise possessed with a marvellous longing to taste some warm meat - for
many days past he had fed altogether on cold viands. This desire enforced him
to approach to the inn, remaining still doubtful, notwithstanding, whether he
should enter into it or no. And as he stood thus suspended, there issued out
of the inn two persons which presently knew him, and the one said to the
other, `Tell me, master licentiate, is not that horseman that rides there
Sancho Panza, he whom our adventurer`s old woman said departed with her master
for his squire?` `It is,` quoth the licentiate, `and that is our Don Quixote
his horse.` And they knew him so well, as those that were the curate and
barber of his own village, and were those that made the search and formal
process against the books of chivalry; and therefore, as soon as they had
taken full notice of Sancho Panza and Rozinante, desirous to learn news of Don
Quixote, they drew near unto him; and the curate called him by his name,
saying, `Friend Sancho Panza, where is your master?` Sancho Panza knew them
instantly, and, desirous to conceal the place and manner wherein his lord
remained, did answer them, that his master was in a certain place, withheld by
affairs for a few days, that were of great consequence, and concerned him very
much, and that he durst not, for both his eyes, discover the place to them.
`No, no,` quoth the barber, `Sancho Panza, if thou dost not tell us where he
sojourneth, we must imagine (as we do already) that thou hast robbed and slain
him, specially seeing thou comest thus on his horse; and therefore thou must,
in good faith, get us the horse`s owner, or else stand to thine answer.` `Your
threats fear me nothing,` quoth Sancho; `for I am not a man that robs or
murders any one. Every man is slain by his destiny, or by God that made him.
My lord remains doing of penance in the midst of this mountain, with very
great pleasure.` And then he presently recounted unto them, from the beginning
to the end, the fashion wherein he had left him, the adventures which had
befallen, and how he carried a letter to the Lady Dulcinea of Toboso, who was
Lorenzo Corcuelo his daughter, of whom his lord was enamoured up to the
livers.
Both of them stood greatly admired at Sancho`s relation; and although
they knew Don Quixote`s madness already, and the kind thereof, yet as often as
they heard speak thereof, they rested newly amazed. They requested Sancho to
show them the letter that he carried to the Lady Dulcinea of Toboso. He told
them that it was written in tablets, and that he had express order from his
lord to have it fairly copied out in paper, at the first village whereunto he
should arrive. To which the curate answered, bidding show it unto him, and he
would write out the copy very fairly.
Then Sancho thrust his hand into his bosom, and searched the little book,
but could not find it, nor should not, though he had searched till Doomsday;
for it was in Don Quixote`s power, who gave it not to him, nor did he ever
remember to demand it. When Sancho perceived that the book was lost, he waxed
as wan and pale as a dead man, and, turning again very speedily to feel all
the parts of his body, he saw clearly that it could not be found; and
therefore, without making any more ado, he laid hold on his own beard with
both his fists, and drew almost the one half of the hair away, and afterward
bestowed on his face and nose, in a memento, half a dozen such cuffs as he
bathed them all in blood; which the curate and barber beholding, they asked
him what had befallen him, that he entreated himself so ill. `What should
befall me,` answered Sancho, `but that I have lost at one hand, and in an
instant, three colts, whereof the least was like a castle?` `How so,` quoth
the barber. `Marry,` said Sancho, `I have lost the tablets wherein were
written Dulcinea`s letter, and a schedule of my Lord`s, addressed to his
niece, wherein he commanded her to deliver unto me three colts, of four or
five that remained in his house.` And, saying so, he recounted the loss of his
grey ass. The curate comforted him, and said that, as soon as his lord were
found, he would deal with him to renew his grant, and write it in paper,
according to the common use and practice, forasmuch as those which were
written in tablets were of no value, and would never be accepted nor
accomplished.
With this Sancho took courage, and said, if that was so, he cared not
much for the loss of Dulcinea`s letter; for he knew it almost all by rote.
`Say it, then, Sancho,` quoth the barber, `and we will after write it.` Then
Sancho stood still and began to scratch his head, to call the letter to
memory; and now would he stand upon one leg, and now upon another. Sometimes
he looked on the earth, other whiles upon heaven; and after he had gnawed off
almost the half of one of his nails, and held them all the while suspended,
expecting his recital thereof, he said, after a long pause: `On my soul,
master licentiate, I give to the devil anything that I can remember of that
letter, although the beginning was this: "High and unsavoury lady."` `I
warrant you,` quoth the barber, `he said not but "superhuman" or "sovereign
lady."`
`It is so,` quoth Sancho, `and presently followed, if I well remember:
"He that is wounded and wants sleep, and the hurt man doth kiss your worship`s
hands, ingrate and very scornful fair"; and thus he went roving until he ended
in, "Yours until death, the Knight of the Ill - favoured Face."` Both of them
took great delight to see Sancho`s good memory, and praised it to him very
much, and requested him to repeat the letter once or twice more to them, that
they might also bear it in memory, to write it at the due season. Sancho
turned to recite it again and again, and at every repetition said other three
thousand errors. And after this he told other things of his lord, but spoke
not a word of his own tossing in a coverlet, which had befallen him in that
inn into which he refused to enter. He added besides, how his lord, in
bringing him a good despatch from his Lady Dulcinea of Toboso, would forthwith
set out to endeavour how he might become an emperor, or at the least a
monarch; for they had so agreed between themselves both, and it was a very
easy matter for him to become one, such was the valour of his person and
strength of his arm; and that when he were one, he would procure him a good
marriage; for by that time he should be a widower at the least; and he would
wive him one of the emperor`s ladies to wife, that were an inheritrix of some
great and rich state on the firm land, for now he would have no more islands.
And all this was related so seriously by Sancho, and so in his perfect sense,
he scratching his nose ever and anon as he spoke, so as the two were stricken
into a new amazement, pondering the vehemence of Don Quixote`s frenzy, which
carried quite away with it in that sort the judgment of that poor man, but
would not labour to dispossess him of that error, because it seemed to them
that, since it did not hurt his conscience it was better to leave him in it,
that the recital of his follies might turn to their greater recreation: and
therefore exhorted him to pray for the health of his lord; for it was a very
possible and contingent thing to arrive in the process of time to the dignity
of an emperor, as he said, or at least to that of an archbishop, or other
calling equivalent to it.
Then Sancho demanded of them, `Sirs, if fortune should turn our affairs
to another course, in such sort as my lord, abandoning the purpose to purchase
an empire, would take in his head that of becoming a cardinal, I would fain
learn of you here, what cardinals - errant are wont to give to their squires?`
`They are wont to give them,` quoth the curate, `some simple benefice, or some
parsonage, or to make them clerks or sextons, or vergers of some church, whose
living amounts to a good penny - rent, beside the profit of the altar, which
is ofttimes as much more.` `For that it is requisite,` quoth Sancho, `that the
squire be not married, and that he know how to help mass at least; and if that
be so, unfortunate I! that both am married, and knows not besides the first
letter of the A B C, what will then become of me, if my master take the humour
to be an archbishop, and not an emperor, as is the custom and use of knights -
errant?` `Do not afflict thy mind for that, friend Sancho,` quoth the barber;
`for we will deal with thy lord here, and we will counsel him, yea, we will
urge it to him as a matter of conscience, that he become an emperor, and not
an archbishop; for it will be more easy for him to be such a one, by reason
that he is more valorous than learned.`
`So methinks,` quoth Sancho, `although I know he hath ability enough for
all. That which I mean to do for my part is, I will pray unto our Lord to
conduct him to that place wherein he may serve Him best, and give me greatest
rewards.` `Thou speakest like a discreet man,` quoth the curate, `and thou
shalt do therein the duty of a good Christian. But that which we must
endeavour now is, to devise how we may win thy lord from prosecuting that
unprofitable penance he hath in hand, as thou sayst; and to the end we may
think on the manner how, and eat our dinner withal, seeing it is time, let us
all enter into the inn.` Sancho bade them to go in, and he would stay for them
at the door, and that he would after tell them the reason why he had no mind
to enter, neither was it in any sort convenient that he should; but he
entreated them to bring him somewhat forth to eat that were warm, and some
provand for Rozinante. With that they departed into the lodging, and within a
while after the barber brought forth unto him some meat. And the curate and
the barber, after having pondered well with themselves what course they were
to take to attain their design, the curate fell on a device very fit both for
Don Quixote`s humour, and also to bring their purpose to pass; and was, as he
told the barber, that he had bethought him to apparel himself like a lady
adventuress, and that he therefore should do the best that he could to fit
himself like a squire, and that they would go in that habit to the place where
Don Quixote sojourned, feigning that he was an afflicted and distressed
damsel, and would demand a boon of him, which he, as a valorous knight -
errant, would in no wise deny her, and that the gift which he meant to desire,
was to entreat him to follow her where she would carry him, to right a wrong
which a naughty knight had done unto her; and that she would besides pray him
not to command her to unmask herself, or inquire anything of her estate, until
he had done her right against that bad knight. And by this means he certainly
hoped that Don Quixote would grant all that he requested in this manner. And
in this sort they would fetch him from thence and bring him to his village,
where they would labour with all their power to see whether his extravagant
frenzy could be recovered by any remedy.
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