Don Quixote [Trans. by Edith Grossman] (142 page)

Don Quixote, who saw Sancho’s wingless flight, asked the admiral general if these were ceremonies used with those who boarded galleys for the first time, because if they were, he, who had no intention of adhering to them, did not wish to engage in the practice, and he made a vow to God that if anyone attempted to seize him and toss him, he
would tear the soul out of his body, and saying this, he stood and grasped his sword.

At that moment they raised the canopy, and with an extremely loud noise they dropped the lateen yard. Sancho thought the sky had come loose from its frame and was about to fall on his head, and filled with fear, he lowered his head and put it between his legs. Don Quixote was frightened as well, and he trembled and hunched his shoulders, and the color drained from his face. The crew hoisted the yard as quickly and noisily as they had lowered it, and they did it all without a word, as if they had neither voice nor breath. The boatswain signaled that they should weigh anchor, and jumping onto the middle of the gangway with his whip or scourge, he began to flog the backs of the oarsmen, and the ship slowly put out to sea. When Sancho saw the movement of so many red feet, for that is what he thought the oars were, he said to himself:

“These are the things that really are enchanted, not the ones my master says. What have these unfortunate men done to be whipped in this way, and how does one man, who walks around here whistling, dare to flog so many people? I say this must be hell, or purgatory at least.”

Don Quixote, who saw how attentively Sancho observed what was going on, said to him:

“Ah, Sancho, my friend, how quickly and at how little cost you could, if you wished, strip down to your waist, and sit among these gentlemen, and conclude the disenchantment of Dulcinea! For surrounded by the misery and suffering of so many, you would not feel your own so much; moreover, it might be that the wise Merlin would count each of these lashes, since they are administered by an able hand, as ten of those you must finally give yourself.”

The admiral general wanted to ask about the lashes and the disenchantment of Dulcinea, but just then a sailor called out:

“Montjuich
³
is signaling that there’s an oared vessel along the coast to the west.”

When he heard this, the admiral general jumped onto the gangway and said:

“Ho, my boys, don’t let it get away! The watchtower must be signaling us about a pirate brigantine out of Algiers!”

The other three galleys approached the flagship to learn their orders. The admiral general commanded that two of them head out to sea while
he and the other ship sailed close to shore, and in this way the brigantine would not escape. The oarsmen pulled on their oars, propelling the galleys with so much fury that they seemed to fly. When the galleys heading out to sea had gone about two miles, they caught sight of a brigantine that they judged to have about fourteen or fifteen rowers’ benches, which was true; when the brigantine sighted the galleys, it tried to escape, intending and hoping to get away on account of its speed, but things went badly for her because the flagship was one of the fastest vessels sailing the sea, and as it was overtaking the brigantine, it became clear to her captain that she could not escape, and he wanted the crew to lower their oars and surrender in order not to anger the captain in command of our galleys. But fate, having something else in store, ordained that when the flagship had come so close that those on the brigantine could hear the voices telling them to surrender, two drunken
Toraquis,
which is to say, two Turks out of the fourteen on board the brigantine, fired their muskets and killed two soldiers who were on our foredecks. Seeing this, the admiral general swore not to leave anyone on the other vessel alive, but as he began a furious assault, the brigantine slipped away under the flagship’s oars. The galley moved a good distance forward; those in the brigantine saw that they had escaped and set sail as the galley was turning, and again, with sails and oars, they attempted to flee, but their diligence did not help them as much as their audacity had hurt them, because the flagship overtook them in little more than half a mile, then lowered its oars onto the brigantine and captured everyone on board alive.

At this point the other two galleys approached, and all four of them, with their prize, returned to shore, where an infinite number of people were waiting, impatient to know what they were bringing in. The admiral general dropped anchor close to land and learned that the viceroy of the city was on shore. He sent the skiff for him and ordered the lateen yard lowered so that he could immediately hang the pirate captain and the rest of the Turks he had captured, who numbered some thirty-six persons, all of them valiant and most of them Turkish musketeers. The admiral general asked which of them was the captain of the brigantine, and the response came in the Castilian tongue from one of the captives, a Spanish renegade, as it turned out:

“Señor, this young man whom you see here is our captain.”

And he pointed to one of the handsomest and most gallant boys the human mind could imagine. His age seemed less than twenty. The admiral general asked him:

“Tell me, ill-advised dog, who urged you to kill my soldiers when you saw it was impossible to escape? Is that the respect you show to flagships? Don’t you know that temerity is not valor? Doubtful outcomes should make men bold, not rash.”

The captain wanted to respond, but for the moment the admiral general could not hear his response because he went to receive the viceroy who was boarding the galley, along with some of his servants and several people from the city.

“It was a fine chase, Señor Admiral General,” said the viceroy.

“Your Excellency will soon see how fine, when they are hanged from this lateen yard.”

“Why hanged?” replied the viceroy.

“Because,” responded the admiral general, “contrary to the law and all the rights and customs of war, they have killed two of the best soldiers sailing on these galleys, and I have sworn to hang everyone I captured, and principally this boy, who is the captain of the brigantine.”

And he showed him the captain, with his hands tied and a noose around his neck, waiting for death.

The viceroy looked at him and saw him so handsome and so gallant and so humble that the boy’s good looks provided him with an immediate letter of recommendation, and the viceroy felt a desire to pardon his death, and so he asked:

“Tell me, Captain, are you of Turkish nationality, or a Moor, or a renegade?”

To which the boy responded, also in the Castilian tongue:

“I am not of Turkish nationality, or a Moor, or a renegade.”

“Then what are you?” replied the viceroy.

“A Christian woman,” responded the young man.

“A woman, and a Christian, in those clothes, in these circumstances? It is more to be wondered at than believed.”

“Oh, Señores!” said the boy. “Suspend my execution for a little while; not much will be lost if you delay your revenge while I recount to you my life.”

Whose heart was so hard that these words would not soften it, at least enough to hear those that the sad and sorrowful boy wished to say? The admiral general told him to say whatever he wished, but not to expect a pardon for his infamous crime. With this permission, the boy began to speak in this manner:

“I was born to Morisco parents and am of that nation, more unhappy than wise, upon whom a sea of afflictions has lately poured down. In the
current of their misfortunes, I was taken to Barbary by two of my uncles, and it did me no good to say that I was a Christian, as in fact I am, and not one of the false or apparent ones but a true Catholic Christian. In vain did I tell this truth to those responsible for our wretched banishment, and my uncles did not wish to believe it, either; instead, they considered it a lie and an invention that I had devised in order to remain in the land where I had been born, and so by force rather than by my will, they took me with them. I had a Christian mother and a wise, Christian father; I drank in the Catholic faith with my mother’s milk; I was brought up with good morals; neither in my speech nor in my behavior did I ever give a sign of being Morisca. Along with these virtues, which is what I think they are, grew whatever beauty I have, and although I lived in great modesty and seclusion, it could not have been enough because a young gentleman had the opportunity to see me; his name was Don Gaspar Gregorio, the oldest son of a gentleman whose village is next to ours. How he saw me, how we spoke, how he lost his heart to me and I could not keep mine from him, would be a long story, especially now, when I fear that the merciless noose threatening me will tighten between my tongue and my throat; and so, I shall say only that Don Gaspar Gregorio wanted to accompany me into our exile. He mingled with the Moriscos who had come from other villages, for he knew the language very well, and on the journey he became friends with the two uncles who were taking me with them; as soon as my prudent and farsighted father heard the first proclamation of our banishment, he left our village to find a place in foreign kingdoms that would take us in. He left many pearls and precious stones, along with coins of gold and silver and gold
doblones,
buried and hidden in a place that I alone knew about. He told me that in the event we were banished before he returned, under no circumstances was I to touch the treasure he had left behind.

I did as he told me, and with my uncles, as I have said, and other relatives and friends, we crossed to Barbary, and the place where we settled was Algiers, and it was as if we had settled in hell itself. The king heard of my beauty, and rumors of my wealth, and this was, in some ways, to my advantage. He summoned me, asked me what part of Spain I came from, and what money and jewels I had brought with me. I told him the name of our village and said that my jewels and money were buried there but could easily be recovered if I went back for them. I said this yet feared he would be blinded not by my beauty but by his own greed. While we were having this conversation, he was told that one of the most gallant and
handsome young men imaginable had accompanied me. I realized immediately that they were speaking of Don Gaspar Gregorio, whose beauty far surpasses any other, no matter how praiseworthy. I was troubled when I considered the danger to him, because among those barbarous Turks a handsome boy or youth is more highly esteemed than a woman, no matter how beautiful she may be.

The king immediately ordered the young man brought before him so that he could see him, and he asked me if what had been said about the boy was true. Then I, almost as if forewarned by heaven, said that it was, but I told him the boy wasn’t a man but a woman like me, and I begged him to let me dress her in her rightful clothes so that her beauty could be fully displayed, and she might appear before him without awkwardness. He told me I could leave, and said we would talk the next day about how I could return to Spain and bring back the hidden treasure. I spoke to Don Gaspar, I told him of the danger he was in if he appeared as a man, I dressed him as a Moorish girl, and that same afternoon I brought him before the king, who, when he saw him, was stunned, and decided to keep her and make a present of her to his great lord; to avoid the danger she might face in his seraglio, and fearing what he himself might do, he ordered her placed in the home of some wellborn Moorish women who would protect and serve her. Don Gaspar was taken there at once.

What the two of us felt, for I cannot deny that I love him, I leave to the consideration of those who love and must part. Then the king devised a plan in which I would return to Spain on this brigantine, accompanied by two Turks, who were the ones who killed your soldiers. This Spanish renegade also came with me”—and she pointed to the man who had spoken first—“and I know very well that he is a secret Christian and has more desire to remain in Spain than to return to Barbary; the rest of the crew on the brigantine are Moors and Turks who serve only as oarsmen. The two Turks, who are greedy and insolent, did not obey their orders, which were that as soon as we reached Spain they were to put me and this renegade ashore, in Christian clothes, which we have brought with us; instead, they wanted to sail along this coast and take a prize, if they could, for they feared that if they put us ashore first, through unforeseen circumstances we might reveal that the brigantine was at sea, and if there were galleys along this coast, their vessel would be captured. Last night we saw this coastline, and not knowing about the four galleys, we were discovered, and you have witnessed what has befallen us.

In short, Don Gaspar Gregorio remains dressed as a woman among
women, in clear danger of being lost, and I find myself with my hands tied, waiting, or I should say fearing, to lose my life, which already wearies me. This is, Señores, the end of my lamentable history, as true as it is unfortunate; what I beg of you is that you allow me to die as a Christian, for as I have said, in no way have I been guilty of the offense into which those of my nation have fallen.”

And then she fell silent, her eyes brimming with heartfelt tears that were accompanied by the many shed by those present. The viceroy, tenderhearted and compassionate, did not say a word but went up to her and with his own hands removed the rope that bound the beautiful hands of the Morisca.

As the Christian Morisca was recounting her strange history, an ancient pilgrim who had boarded the galley with the viceroy had not taken his eyes off her, and as soon as she finished speaking, he threw himself at her feet and embraced them, and in words interrupted by a thousand sobs and sighs, he said:

“O Ana Félix, my unfortunate daughter! I am your father, Ricote, who came back to find you because I cannot live without you, for you are my soul.”

At these words, Sancho opened his eyes and raised his head—he had lowered it, thinking about the evil that had befallen him—and, looking at the pilgrim, he recognized the same Ricote whom he had met on the day he left his governorship, and he confirmed that the girl was Ricote’s daughter, for when she was untied she embraced her father, mixing her tears with his, and Ricote said to the admiral general and the viceroy: