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The Fourth BookChapter X.
Chapter X.
Wherein Is Prosecuted the History of the Famous Princess Micomicona, with
Other Delightful Adventures
Sancho gave ear to all this with no small grief of mind, seeing that all
the hopes of his lordship vanished away like smoke, and that the fair Princess
Micomicona was turned into Dorothea, and the giant into Don Fernando, and that
his master slept so soundly, and careless of all that had happened. Dorothea
could not yet assure herself whether the happiness that she possessed was a
dream or no. Cardenio was in the very same taking, and also Lucinda`s thoughts
ran the same race.
Don Fernando yielded many thanks to Heaven for having dealt with him so
propitiously, and unwinding him out of the intricate labyrinth, wherein
straying, he was at the point to have at once lost his soul and credit. And
finally, as many as were in the inn were very glad and joyful of the success
of so thwart, intricate, and desperate affairs. The curate compounded and
ordered all things through his discretion, and congratulated every one of the
good he obtained. But she that kept greatest jubilee and joy was the hostess,
for the promise that Cardenio and the curate had made, to pay her the damages
and harms committed by Don Quixote; only Sancho, as we have said, was
afflicted, unfortunate, and sorrowful. And thus he entered with melancholy
semblance to his lord, who did but then awake, and said unto him, -
`Well and securely may you sleep, sir knight of the heavy countenance, as
long as it shall please yourself, without troubling yourself with any care of
killing any giant, or of restoring the queen to her kingdom; for all is
concluded and done already.` `I believe thee very easily,` replied Don
Quixote; `for I have had the monstrousest and most terrible battle with that
giant that ever I think to have all the days of my life with any; and yet with
one thwart blow, thwack I overthrew his head to the ground, and there issued
so much blood as the streams thereof ran along the earth as if they were of
water.` `As if they were of red wine, you might better have said,` replied
Sancho Panza; `for I would let you to understand, if you know it not already,
that the dead giant is a bored wine - bag, and the blood six - and - thirty
gallons of red wine, which it contained in its belly. The head that was
slashed off so neatly is the whore my mother; and let the devil take all away
for me!` `And what is this thou sayst, madman?` quoth Don Quixote. `Art thou
in thy right wits?` `Get up, sir,` quoth Sancho, `and you yourself shall see
the fair stuff you have made, and what we have to pay; and you shall behold
the queen transformed into a particular lady, called Dorothea, with other
successes, which if you may once conceive them aright will strike you into
admiration.` `I would marvel at nothing,` quoth Don Quixote; `for if thou
beest well remembered, I told thee the other time that we were here, how all
that succeeded in this place was done by enchantment. And what wonder, then,
if now the like should eftsoons befall?` `I could easily be induced to believe
all,` replied Sancho, `if my canvassing in the coverlet were of that nature.
But indeed it was not, but most real and certain. And I saw well how the
innkeeper that is here yet this very day alive, held one end of the coverlet,
and did toss me up towards heaven with very good grace and strength, no less
merrily than lightly. And where the notice of parties intercurs, I do believe,
although I am a simple man and a sinner, that there is no kind of enchantment,
but rather much trouble, bruising, and misfortune.` `Well, God will remedy
all,` said Don Quixote. `And give me mine apparel; for I will get up and go
forth, and see those successes and transformations which thou speakest of.`
Sancho gave him his clothes; and whilst he was a - making of him ready, the
curate recounted to Don Fernando and to the rest Don Quixote`s mad pranks, and
the guile he had used to bring him away out of the Poor Rock, wherein he
imagined that he lived exiled through the disdain of his lady. He told them,
moreover, all the other adventures which Sancho had discovered, whereat they
did laugh not a little, and wonder withal, because it seemed to them all to be
one of the extravagantest kinds of madness that ever befell a distracted
brain. The curate also added, that seeing the good success of the Lady
Dorothea did impeach the further prosecuting of their design, that it was
requisite to invent and find some other way how to carry him home to his own
village. Cardenio offered himself to prosecute the adventure, and Lucinda
should represent Dorothea`s person. `No,` quoth Don Fernando, `it shall not be
so; for I will have Dorothea to prosecute her own invention: for so that the
village of this good gentleman be not very far off from hence, I will be very
glad to procure his remedy.` `It is no more than two days` journey from
hence,` said the curate. `Well, though it were more,` replied Don Fernando, `I
would be pleased to travel them, in exchange of doing so good a work.` Don
Quixote sallied out at this time completely armed with Mambrino`s helmet
(although with a great hole in it) on his head, his target on his arm, and
leaned on his trunk or javelin. His strange countenance and gait amazed Don
Fernando and his companions very much, seeing his ill - favoured visage so
withered and yellow, the inequality and unsuitability of his arms, and his
grave manner of proceeding; and stood all silent to see what he would; who,
casting his eyes on the beautiful Dorothea, with very great gravity and
staidness, said, -
`I am informed, beautiful lady, by this my squire, that your greatness is
annihilated, and your being destroyed; for of a queen and mighty princess
which you were wont to be, you are now become a particular damsel; which if it
hath been done by particular order of the magical king your father, dreading
that I would not be able to give you the necessary and requisite help for your
restitution, I say that he neither knew nor doth know the one half of the
enterprise, and that he was very little acquainted with histories of chivalry;
for if he had read them, or passed them over with so great attention and
leisure as I have done, and read them, he should have found at every other
step, how other knights of a great deal less fame than myself have ended more
desperate adventures, seeing it is not so great a matter to kill a giant, be
he ever so arrogant; for it is not many hours since I myself fought with one,
and what ensued I will not say, lest they should tell me that I do lie; but
time, the detector of all things, will disclose it, when we do least think
thereof.`
`Thou foughtest with two wine - bags, and not with a giant,` quoth the
host at this season. But Don Fernando commanded him to be silent and not
interrupt Don Quixote in any wise, who prosecuted his speech, saying, `In
fine, I say, high and disinherited lady, that if your father hath made this
metamorphosis in your person for the causes related, give him no credit; for
there is no peril so great on earth but my sword shall open a way through it,
wherewithal I, overthrowing your enemy`s head to the ground, will set your
crown on your own head within a few days.` Here Don Quixote held his peace,
and awaited the princess her answer, who, knowing Don Fernando`s determination
and will that she should continue the commenced guile until Don Quixote were
carried home again, answered, with a very good grace and countenance, in this
manner: `Whosoever informed you, valorous Knight of the Ill - favoured Face,
that I have altered and changed my being, hath not told you the truth, for I
am the very same to - day that I was yesterday; true it is, that some
unexpected yet fortunate successes have wrought some alteration in me, by
bestowing on me better hap than I hoped for, or could wish myself; but yet for
all that I have not left off to be that which [I was] before, or to have the
very same thoughts which I ever had, to help myself by the valour of your most
valorous and invincible arm. And therefore I request you, good my lord, of
your accustomed bounty, to return my father his honour again, and account of
him as of a very discreet and prudent man, seeing that he found by this skill
so easy and so infallible a way to redress my disgraces; for I do certainly
believe, that if it had not been by your means, I should never have happened
to attain to the good fortune which now I posses, as all those noblemen
present may witness; what therefore rests is, that to - morrow morning we do
set forward, for to - day is now already so overgone as we should not be able
to travel very far from hence. As for the conclusion of the good success that
I do hourly expect, I refer that to God and the valour of your invincible
arm.`
Thus much the discreet Dorothea said; and Don Quixote having heard her,
he turned him to Sancho, with very manifest tokens of indignation, and said,
`Now I say unto thee, little Sancho, that thou art the veriest rascal that is
in all Spain. Tell me, thief and vagabond, didst not thou but even very now
say unto me that this princess was turned into a damsel, and that called
Dorothea? and that the head which I thought I had slashed from a giant`s
shoulders was the whore that bore thee? with a thousand other follies, which
did plunge me into the greatest confusion that ever I was in my life? I vow`
(and then he looked upon heaven, and did crash his teeth together) `that I am
about to make such a wreck on thee, as shall beat wit into the pates of all
the lying squires that shall ever hereafter serve knights - errant in this
world.` `I pray you have patience, good my lord,` answered Sancho, `for it may
very well befall me to be deceived in that which toucheth the transmutation of
the lady and Princess Micomicona; but in that which concerneth the giant`s
head, or at least the boring of the wine - bags, and that the blood was but
red wine I am not deceived, I swear; for the bags lie yet wounded there within
at your own bed`s head, and the red wine hath made a lake in the chamber; and
if it be not so, it shall be perceived at the frying of the eggs, I mean that
you shall see it when master innkeeper`s worship, who is here present, shall
demand the loss and damage.` `I say thee, Sancho,` quoth Don Quixote, `that
thou art a madcap; pardon me, and so it is enough.` `It is enough indeed,`
quoth Don Fernando, `and therefore let me entreat you to say no more of this,
and seeing my lady the princess says she will go away to - morrow, seeing it
is now too late to depart to - day, let it be so agreed on, and we will spend
this night in pleasant discourses, until the approach of the ensuing day,
wherein we will all accompany and attend on the worthy knight Sir Don Quixote,
because we would be eye - witnesses of the valorous and unmatchable feats of
arms which he shall do in the pursuit of this weighty enterprise which he hath
taken upon him.` `I am he that will serve and accompany you, good my lord,`
replied Don Quixote; `and I do highly gratify the honour that is done me, and
the good opinion that is held of me, the which I will endeavour to verify and
approve, or it shall cost me my life, or more, if more it might cost me.`
Many other words of compliment and gratification passed between Don
Quixote and Don Fernando, but a certain passenger imposed silence to them all,
by his arrival to the inn in that very season, who by his attire showed that
he was a Christian newly returned from among the Moors, for he was apparelled
with a short - skirted cassock of blue cloth, sleeves reaching down half the
arm, and without a collar; his breeches were likewise of blue linen, and he
wore a bonnet of the same colour, a pair of date - coloured buskins, and a
Turkish scimitar hanging at his neck in a scarf, which went athwart his
breast. There entered after him, riding on an ass, a woman clad like a Moor,
and her face covered with a piece of the veil of her head; she wore on her
head a little cap of cloth of gold, and was covered with a little Turkish
mantle from the shoulders down to the feet. The man was of strong and comely
making, of the age of forty years or thereabouts; his face was somewhat
tanned, he had long mustachios and a very handsome beard; to conclude, his
making was such as, if he were well attired, men would take him to be a person
of quality and good birth. He demanded a chamber as soon as he had entered,
and being answered that there was no one vacant in the inn, he seemed to be
grieved, and coming to her which in her attire denoted herself to be a Moor,
he took her down from her ass. Lucinda, Dorothea, the hostess, her daughter
and Maritornes, allured to behold the new and strange attire of the Moor,
compassed her about; and Dorothea, who was always most gracious, courteous,
and discreet, deeming that both she and he that had brought her were
discontented for the want of a lodging, she said, `Lady, be not grieved for
the trouble you are here like to endure for want of means to refresh yourself,
seeing it is an universal vice of all inns to be defective herein; yet
notwithstanding, if it shall please you to pass away the time among us`
(pointing to Lucinda), `perhaps you have met in the discourse of your travels
other worse places of entertainment than this shall prove.` The disguised lady
made none answer, nor other thing than arising from the place wherein she sat,
and setting both her arms across on her bosom, she inclined her head and bowed
her body, in sign that she rendered them thanks; by her silence they
doubtlessly conjectured her to be a Moor, and that she could not speak the
Castilian tongue. On this the Captive arrived, who was otherwise employed
until then, and, seeing that they all had environed her that came with him,
and that she made no answer to their speech, he said, `Ladies, this maiden
scarce understands my tongue yet, nor doth she know any other than that of her
own country, and therefore she hath not, nor can make any answer to your
demands.` `We demand nothing of her,` quoth Lucinda, `but only do make her an
offer of our companies for this night, and part of the room where we ourselves
are to be accommodated, where she shall be cherished up as much as the
commodity of this place, and the obligation wherein we be tied to show
courtesies to strangers that may want it, do bind us; especially she being a
woman to whom we may do this service.` `Sweet lady, I kiss your hands both for
her and myself,` replied the Captive; `and I do highly prize, as it deserveth,
the favour you have proffered, which in such an occasion, and offered by such
persons as you seem to be, doth very plainly show how great it is,` `Tell me,
good sir,` quoth Dorothea, `whether is this lady a Christian or a Moor? for by
her attire and silence she makes us suspect that she is that we would not wish
she were.` `A Moor she is in attire and body,` answered the Captive; `but in
mind she is a very fervent Christian, for she hath very expressly desired to
become one.` `Then she is not yet baptised?` said Lucinda. `There hath been no
opportunity offered to us,` quoth the Captive, `to christen her, since she
departed from Algiers, which is her town and country; and since that time she
was not in any so eminent a danger of death as might oblige her to be baptised
before she were first instructed in all the ceremonies which our holy mother,
the Church, commandeth; but I hope shortly (if it shall please God) to see her
baptised with that decency which her quality and calling deserves, which is
greater than her attire or mine makes show of.`
These words inflamed all the hearers with a great desire to know who the
Moor and her captive were, yet none of them would at that time entreat him to
satisfy their longing, because the season rather invited them to take some
order how they might rest after their travels, than to demand of them the
discourse of their lives. Dorothea, then, taking her by the hand, caused her
to sit down by herself, and prayed her to take off the veil from her face. She
instantly beheld the Captive, as if she demanded of him what they said, and he
in the Arabical language told her how they desired her to discover her face,
and bade her to do it; which presently she did, and discovered so beautiful a
visage as Dorothea esteemed her to be fairer than Lucinda, and Lucinda prized
her to excel Dorothea; and all the beholders perceived that if any one could
surpass them both in beauty, it was the Moor; and there were some that thought
she excelled them both in some respects. And as beauty hath evermore the
prerogative and grace to reconcile men`s minds and attract their wills to it,
so all of them forthwith dedicated their desires to serve, and make much of
the lovely Moor. Don Fernando demanded of the Captive how she was called, and
he answered that her name was Lela Zoraida; and as soon as she heard him, and
understood what they had demanded, she suddenly answered with anguish, but yet
with a very good grace, `No, not Zoraida, but Maria,` giving them to
understand that she was called Maria, and not Zoraida.
These words, and the great effect and vehemency wherewithal the Moor
delivered them, extorted more than one tear from the hearers, especially from
the women, who are naturally tender - hearted and compassive. Lucinda embraced
her then with great love, and said, `Ay, ay, Maria, Maria.` To which she
answered, `Ay, ay, Maria, Zoraida mancange;` that is, `and not Zoraida.` By
this it was grown some four of the clock in the afternoon; and by order of
those which were Don Fernando`s companions, the innkeeper had provided for
them as good a beaver as the inn could in any wise afford unto them.
Therefore, it being the hour, they sat down altogether at a long table (for
there was never a square or round one in all the house), and they gave the
first and principal end (although he refused it as much as he could) to Don
Quixote, who commanded that the Lady Micomicona should sit at his elbow,
seeing he was her champion. Presently were placed Lucinda and Zoraida, and Don
Fernando and Cardenio right over against them, and after the Captive and other
gentlemen, and on the other side the curate and barber. And thus they made
their drinking with very great recreation, which was the more augmented to see
Don Quixote leaving of his meat, and, moved by the like spirit of that which
had made him once before talk so much to the goatherds, begin to offer them an
occasion of speech in this manner:
`Truly, good sirs, if it be well considered, those which profess the
order of knighthood do see many great and unexpected things. If it be not so,
say what mortal man alive is there that, entering in at this castle gate, and
seeing of us all in the manner we be now present here, can judge or believe
that we are those which we be? Who is it that can say that this lady which
sits here at my sleeve is the great queen that we all know her to be, and that
I am that Knight of the Heavy Countenance that am so much blabbed of abroad by
the mouth of fame? therefore it cannot be now doubted, but that this art and
exercise excelleth all the others which ever human wit, the underminer of
nature, invented; and it is the more to be prized, by how much it exposeth
itself, more than other trades, to dangers and inconveniences. Away with those
that shall affirm learning to surpass arms; for I will say unto them, be they
what they list, that they know not what they say; for the reason which such
men do most urge, and to which they do most rely, is, that the travails of the
spirit do far exceed those of the body; and that the use of arms are only
exercised by the body, as if it were an office fit for porters, for which
nothing were requisite but bodily forces; or as if in that which we that
profess it do call arms, were not included the acts of fortitude which require
deep understanding to execute them; or as if the warrior`s mind did not labour
as well as his body, who had a great army to lead and command, or the defence
of a besieged city. If not, see if he can arrive by his corporal strength to
know or sound the intent of his enemy, the designs, stratagems, and
difficulties, how to prevent imminent dangers, all these being operations of
the understanding wherein the body hath no meddling at all. It being therefore
so, that the exercise of arms requires spirit as well as those of learning,
let us now examine which of the two spirits, that of the scholar or soldier,
do take most pains; and this may be best understood by the end to which both
of them are addressed; for that intention is most to be esteemed which hath
for object the most noble end. The end and conclusion of learning is - I speak
not now of divinity, whose scope is to lead and address souls to heaven; for
to an end so much without end as this, no other may be compared - I mean of
human sciences or arts, to maintain distributive justice in his perfection,
and give to every one that which is his own; to endeavour and cause good laws
to be religiously observed - an end most certainly generous, high, and worthy
of great praise, but not of so much as that to which the exercise of arms is
annexed, which hath for his object and end peace, which is the greatest good
men can desire in this life. And therefore the first good news that ever the
world had or men received, were those which the angels brought on that night
which was our day, when they sang in the skies, "Glory be in the heights, and
peace on earth to men of good minds." And the salutation which the best Master
that ever was on earth or in heaven taught to His disciples and favourites
was, that when they entered into any house they should say, "Peace be to this
house"; and many other times He said, "I give unto you My peace; I leave My
peace unto you; peace be amongst you." It is a good, as precious as a jewel,
and a gift given, and left by such a hand; a jewel, without which neither on
earth nor in heaven can there be any perfect good. This peace is the true end
of war; for arms and war are one and the selfsame things. This truth being
therefore presupposed, that the end of war is peace, and that herein it doth
excel the end of learning, let us descend to the corporal labours of the
scholar, and to those of him which professeth arms, and consider which of them
are more toilsome.`
Don Quixote did prosecute his discourse in such sort, and with so
pleasing terms, as he had almost induced his audience to esteem him to be, at
that time at least, exempt from his frenzy; and therefore, by reason that the
greater number of them were gentlemen, to whom the use of arms is in a manner
essential and proper, they did willingly listen to him; and therefore he
continued on with his discourse in this manner:
`I say, then, that the pains of the student are commonly these:
principally poverty (not that I would maintain that all students are poor, but
that I may put the case in greatest extremity it can have), and by saying that
he may be poor, methinks there may be no greater aggravation of his misery;
for he that is poor is destitute of every good thing; and this poverty is
suffered by him sundry ways, sometimes by hunger, other times by cold or
nakedness, and many times by all of them together; yet it is never so extreme
but that he doth eat, although it be somewhat later than the custom, or of the
scraps and reversion of the rich man; and the greatest misery of the student
is that which they term to live by sops and pottage: and though they want fire
of their own, yet may they have recourse to their neighbour`s chimney, which
if it do not warm, yet will it weaken the cold: and finally, they sleep at
eight under a roof. I will not descend to other trifles - to wit, the want of
shirts and shoes, the bareness of their clothes, or the overloading of their
stomachs with meat when good fortune lends them as good a meal - for by this
day, which I have deciphered so rough and difficult, stumbling here, falling
there; getting up again on the other side, and refalling on this, they attain
the degree which they have desired so much; which many having compassed, as we
have seen, which having passed through these difficulties, and sailed by
Scylla and Charybdis (borne away flying, in a manner, by favourable fortune),
they command and govern all the world from a chair, turning their hunger into
satiety, their nakedness into pomp, and their sleeping on a mat into a sweet
repose among hollands and damask - a reward justly merited by their virtue.
But their labours, confronted and compared to those of the militant soldier,
remain very far behind, as I will presently declare.`
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