Don Quixote [Trans. by Edith Grossman] (100 page)

Read Don Quixote [Trans. by Edith Grossman] Online

Authors: Miguel de Cervantes

Tags: #Fiction, #Classics, #Literary, #Knights and knighthood, #Spain, #Literary Criticism, #Spanish & Portuguese, #European, #Don Quixote (Fictitious character)

“Here,” said Sancho, “the proverb fits: birds of a feather flock together; your grace flocks with enchanted people who fast and stay awake, so it’s no surprise you don’t sleep while you’re with them. But, Señor, your grace will forgive me if I tell you that may God take me, and I was
going to say the devil, if I believe a single one of all the things you’ve said here.”

“What do you mean?” said the cousin. “Would Señor Don Quixote lie? And even if he wanted to, he hasn’t had time to invent and imagine so many millions of lies.”

“I don’t believe my master is lying,” responded Sancho.

“If you do not, then what do you believe?” asked Don Quixote.

“I believe,” responded Sancho, “that Merlin, or those enchanters who enchanted that whole crowd your grace says you saw and talked to down there, put into your mind or memory the whole story that you’ve told us, and the rest that you still have to tell.”

“That could be true, Sancho,” replied Don Quixote, “but it is not, because what I have recounted I saw with my own eyes and touched with my own hands. But what will you say when I tell you now that among the infinite things and wonders that Montesinos showed to me, which I shall tell you in the course of our journey, slowly and at the proper time so that they are not all recounted here, Montesinos showed me three peasant girls who were leaping and jumping in those pleasant fields like nanny goats, and as soon as I saw them I recognized one of them as the peerless Dulcinea of Toboso, and the other two as those same peasant girls who came with her, the ones we spoke to as we were leaving Toboso. I asked Montesinos if he knew them; he responded that he did not, but he imagined that they must be distinguished ladies who had been enchanted, for they had appeared in those meadows only a few days before, and this should not surprise me because many other ladies from past and present times were there who had been transformed into many strange figures, among whom he recognized Queen Guinevere and her lady-in-waiting, Quintañona, pouring wine for Lancelot,

When he from Brittany came.”
8

When Sancho Panza heard his master say this, he thought he would lose his mind or die laughing; since he knew the truth about the feigned enchantment of Dulcinea, for he had been the enchanter and had invented the story, he recognized beyond the shadow of a doubt that his master was out of his mind and completely mad, and so he said:

“It was an evil moment and a worse time and an ill-fated day when your grace went down to the next world, my dear master, and an unlucky meeting that you had with Señor Montesinos, for see how you’ve come back to us. Your grace was better off up here when you had all your wits, just as God had given them to you, always saying wise things and giving advice, not like now, when you’re saying the most foolish things that anybody could imagine.”

“Since I know you, Sancho,” responded Don Quixote, “I shall ignore your words.”

“And I won’t pay attention to your grace’s,” replied Sancho, “not even if you wound me, not even if you kill me on account of the ones I’ve said to you, or the ones I plan to say if you don’t change and correct yours. But tell me, your grace, now that we’re at peace: how, and by what signs, did you recognize our lady mistress? If you spoke to her, what did you say, and what did she reply?”

“I knew her,” responded Don Quixote, “because she was wearing the same clothing she wore when you showed her to me. I spoke to her, but she did not say a word to me; instead, she turned her back and ran away so quickly that a spear could not have overtaken her. I wanted to follow, and would have done so if Montesinos had not advised me not to bother for it would be in vain, especially since the hour was approaching when I ought to leave the abyss. He also told me that over the course of time he would inform me how the spell on him, and Belerma, and Durandarte, as well as all the others who were there, was to be broken; but of all the grievous things I saw and noted, the one that caused me most sorrow was that as Montesinos was saying these words to me, one of the companions of the unfortunate Dulcinea approached me from the side, without my seeing her, and with her eyes full of tears, and in a low, troubled voice, she said to me:

‘My lady Dulcinea of Toboso kisses the hands of your grace, and implores your grace to let her know how you are; and, because she is in great need, she also entreats your grace most earnestly to be so kind as to lend her, accepting as security this new cotton underskirt that I have here, half a dozen
reales
or whatever amount your grace may have, and she gives her word to return them to you very soon.’

I was astounded and amazed at this message, and turning to Señor Montesinos, I asked:

‘Is it possible, Señor Montesinos, that distinguished persons who are enchanted suffer from need?’ To which he responded:

‘Your grace can believe me, Señor Don Quixote of La Mancha, that
what is called need is found everywhere, and extends to all places, and reaches everyone, and does not excuse even those who are enchanted; and since Señora Dulcinea of Toboso has sent someone to ask you for six
reales,
and the pledge is good, it seems, then you must give them to her, for she undoubtedly is in very great difficulty.’

‘Her security, I shall not take,’ I responded, ‘nor shall I give her what she asks, because I have no more than four
reales.

I gave these to her (they were the ones that you, Sancho, gave me the other day so that I could give alms to the poor whom I met along the road), and I said:

‘My friend, tell your mistress that her troubles grieve my heart, and that I should like to be a Fúcar
9
so that I could solve them, and that I want her to know that I cannot and should not enjoy good health as long as I lack the pleasing sight of her, and her discerning conversation, and I entreat her grace as earnestly as I can that she should be so kind as to allow herself to be seen and spoken to by this her captive servant and wandering knight. Tell her too that when she least expects it she will hear that I have made a vow and taken an oath, in the manner of the one taken by the Marquis of Mantua to avenge his nephew Baldovinos when he found him near death in the heart of the mountains,
10
which was not to eat bread at a cloth-covered table, along with the other trifles he mentioned there, until he had avenged him; and I shall do the same, and vow not to rest, and to wander the seven regions of the world more diligently than Don Pedro of Portugal,
11
until I break her enchantment.’

‘All this and more your grace owes to my lady,’ responded the maiden. And after taking the four
reales,
instead of curtsying she gave a leap and jumped two
varas
12
into the air.”

“Holy God!” shouted Sancho. “Is it possible that there are in the world enchanters and enchantments so strong that they have turned my master’s good sense into foolishness and madness? Oh, Señor, Señor, for God’s sake think about what you are doing, and take back your honor,
and don’t believe this nonsense that has reduced and lessened your good sense!”

“Since you love me, Sancho, you speak in this fashion,” said Don Quixote, “and since you have little experience in the things of this world, all things that are in any way difficult seem impossible to you; but in the course of time, as I have already said, I shall recount to you some of what I have seen down there, which will make you believe what I have recounted here, whose truth admits neither argument nor dispute.”

CHAPTER XXIV

In which a thousand trifles are recounted, as irrelevant as they are necessary to a true understanding of this great history

The man who translated this great history from the original composed by its first author, Cide Hamete Benengeli, says that when he reached the chapter concerning the adventure of the Cave of Montesinos, he found in the margin, written in Hamete’s own hand, these precise words:

‘I cannot believe, nor can I persuade myself, that everything written in the preceding chapter actually happened in its entirety to the valiant Don Quixote: the reason is that all the adventures up to this point have been possible and plausible, but with regard to this one in the cave, I can find no way to consider it true since it goes so far beyond the limits of reason. But it is not possible for me to think that Don Quixote, the truest and most noble knight of his day, would lie, for he would not tell a lie even if he were shot with arrows. Moreover, he recounted and told it in all its circumstances and details, and in so short a time he could not fabricate so enormous a quantity of nonsense; if this adventure seems apocryphal, the fault is not mine, and so, without affirming either its falsity or its truth, I write it down. You, reader, since you are a discerning person, must judge it according to your own lights, for I must not and cannot do more; yet it is considered true that at the time of Don Quixote’s passing and death, he is said to have retracted it, saying he had invented it because he thought it was consonant and compatible with the adventures he had read in his histories.’

And then he continues, saying:

The cousin was astounded both by Sancho Panza’s boldness and his master’s patience, and he assumed that his joy at seeing his lady Dulcinea of Toboso, even though she was enchanted, gave rise to the mildness of disposition he displayed then, for otherwise Sancho’s words and phrases would have merited a beating; the cousin, who really thought Sancho had been insolent to his master, said:

“Señor Don Quixote of La Mancha, I consider the journey I have made with your grace very worthwhile, because I have derived four things from it. The first, having met your grace, which I consider a great joy. The second, having learned what is inside the Cave of Montesinos, along with the mutations of Guadiana and the Lakes of Ruidera, which will be of great use to me in the
Spanish Ovid
that I have in hand. The third, having realized the antiquity of cards, which were in use during the time of the Emperor Charlemagne, as one can deduce from the words your grace says Durandarte said when, after that long period of time when Montesinos was talking to him, he awoke and said: ‘Have patience and shuffle the deck.’ And these words and manner of speaking he could not have learned while he was enchanted but when he was not, in France and at the time of the aforementioned Emperor Charlemagne. And this discovery is just right for another book that I am writing, which is
A Supplement to Virgilio Polidoro, on the Inventions of Antiquity:
I believe that in his book he did not remember to put in the invention of cards, which I shall now include, and it will be of great importance, particularly quoting an authority as serious and reliable as Señor Durandarte. The fourth is having learned the truth regarding the origins of the Guadiana River, unknown to anyone until now.”

“Your grace is correct,” said Don Quixote, “but I should like to know, if God grants that you receive a license to print your books, which I doubt, to whom you intend to dedicate them.”

“There are nobles and grandees in Spain to whom they can be dedicated,” said the cousin.

“Not many,” responded Don Quixote, “and not because they are not worthy of dedications, but because they do not wish to accept them in order not to be obliged to provide the rewards that the work and courtesy of the authors seem to deserve. I know a prince
1
who can make up for all the others, and with so many advantages that if I dared mention
them, I might perhaps awaken envy in more than one generous bosom; but let us put this aside until a more suitable time and find a place where we can spend the night.”

“Not far from here,” responded the cousin, “is a hermitage where a hermit lives, and people say he once was a soldier, and he is reputed to be a good Christian, and very intelligent, and charitable as well. Beside the hermitage is a small house that he built at his own expense, and although it is little, it can receive guests.”

“Does this hermit have chickens, by any chance?” asked Sancho.

“There are few hermits who do not,” responded Don Quixote, “because the ones today are not like those in the deserts of Egypt, who dressed in palm leaves and ate roots. And you should not think that because I speak well of earlier hermits, I speak ill of modern ones; I mean to say only that the penances of modern hermits are not as harsh and rigorous as the older ones, but all of them are still good; at least, I judge them to be good; in the worst of circumstances, the hypocrite who pretends to be good does less harm than the public sinner.”

While they were conversing, they saw a man coming toward them, walking quickly and using a stick to prod a mule that was loaded down with lances and halberds. When he reached them, he greeted them and passed by. Don Quixote said:

“Stop, my good man, for it seems you are traveling faster than that mule would like.”

“I can’t stop, Señor,” the man responded, “because the weapons you see me carrying must be used tomorrow, and I can’t possibly stop, and so go with God. But if you want to know why I’m carrying them, I plan to spend the night at the inn that’s past the hermitage, and if you’re traveling the same way, you’ll find me there, and then I’ll tell you some wonderful things. And so again, go with God.”

And he prodded his mule so much that Don Quixote did not have the opportunity to ask him what wonderful things he planned to tell them; and since he was rather curious and was always filled with the desire to learn new things, he said that they should leave immediately and go to spend the night at the inn, not stopping at the hermitage where the cousin wanted them to stay.

And so they mounted their animals and all three followed the road that led directly to the inn, where they arrived shortly before nightfall. On the way, the cousin said to Don Quixote that they should stop at the hermitage for something to drink. As soon as Sancho Panza heard this
he turned his donkey toward the hermitage, and Don Quixote and the cousin did the same, but as Sancho’s bad luck would have it, the hermit was not at home, which is what they were told by an assistant hermit whom they found in the hermitage. They asked for some good wine, and he responded that his master did not have any, but if they wanted some cheap water, he would gladly give it to them.

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