



Produced by David Widger





                           DON QUIXOTE

                            Volume II.

                             Part 39.

                     by Miguel de Cervantes


                    Translated by John Ormsby



CHAPTER LXIII.

OF THE MISHAP THAT BEFELL SANCHO PANZA THROUGH THE VISIT TO THE GALLEYS,
AND THE STRANGE ADVENTURE OF THE FAIR MORISCO


Profound were Don Quixote's reflections on the reply of the enchanted
head, not one of them, however, hitting on the secret of the trick, but
all concentrated on the promise, which he regarded as a certainty, of
Dulcinea's disenchantment. This he turned over in his mind again and
again with great satisfaction, fully persuaded that he would shortly see
its fulfillment; and as for Sancho, though, as has been said, he hated
being a governor, still he had a longing to be giving orders and finding
himself obeyed once more; this is the misfortune that being in authority,
even in jest, brings with it.

To resume; that afternoon their host Don Antonio Moreno and his two
friends, with Don Quixote and Sancho, went to the galleys. The commandant
had been already made aware of his good fortune in seeing two such famous
persons as Don Quixote and Sancho, and the instant they came to the shore
all the galleys struck their awnings and the clarions rang out. A skiff
covered with rich carpets and cushions of crimson velvet was immediately
lowered into the water, and as Don Quixote stepped on board of it, the
leading galley fired her gangway gun, and the other galleys did the same;
and as he mounted the starboard ladder the whole crew saluted him (as is
the custom when a personage of distinction comes on board a galley) by
exclaiming "Hu, hu, hu," three times. The general, for so we shall call
him, a Valencian gentleman of rank, gave him his hand and embraced him,
saying, "I shall mark this day with a white stone as one of the happiest
I can expect to enjoy in my lifetime, since I have seen Senor Don Quixote
of La Mancha, pattern and image wherein we see contained and condensed
all that is worthy in knight-errantry."

Don Quixote delighted beyond measure with such a lordly reception,
replied to him in words no less courteous. All then proceeded to the
poop, which was very handsomely decorated, and seated themselves on the
bulwark benches; the boatswain passed along the gangway and piped all
hands to strip, which they did in an instant. Sancho, seeing such a
number of men stripped to the skin, was taken aback, and still more when
he saw them spread the awning so briskly that it seemed to him as if all
the devils were at work at it; but all this was cakes and fancy bread to
what I am going to tell now. Sancho was seated on the captain's stage,
close to the aftermost rower on the right-hand side. He, previously
instructed in what he was to do, laid hold of Sancho, hoisting him up in
his arms, and the whole crew, who were standing ready, beginning on the
right, proceeded to pass him on, whirling him along from hand to hand and
from bench to bench with such rapidity that it took the sight out of poor
Sancho's eyes, and he made quite sure that the devils themselves were
flying away with him; nor did they leave off with him until they had sent
him back along the left side and deposited him on the poop; and the poor
fellow was left bruised and breathless and all in a sweat, and unable to
comprehend what it was that had happened to him.

Don Quixote when he saw Sancho's flight without wings asked the general
if this was a usual ceremony with those who came on board the galleys for
the first time; for, if so, as he had no intention of adopting them as a
profession, he had no mind to perform such feats of agility, and if
anyone offered to lay hold of him to whirl him about, he vowed to God he
would kick his soul out; and as he said this he stood up and clapped his
hand upon his sword. At this instant they struck the awning and lowered
the yard with a prodigious rattle. Sancho thought heaven was coming off
its hinges and going to fall on his head, and full of terror he ducked it
and buried it between his knees; nor were Don Quixote's knees altogether
under control, for he too shook a little, squeezed his shoulders together
and lost colour. The crew then hoisted the yard with the same rapidity
and clatter as when they lowered it, all the while keeping silence as
though they had neither voice nor breath. The boatswain gave the signal
to weigh anchor, and leaping upon the middle of the gangway began to lay
on to the shoulders of the crew with his courbash or whip, and to haul
out gradually to sea.

When Sancho saw so many red feet (for such he took the oars to be) moving
all together, he said to himself, "It's these that are the real chanted
things, and not the ones my master talks of. What can those wretches have
done to be so whipped; and how does that one man who goes along there
whistling dare to whip so many? I declare this is hell, or at least
purgatory!"

Don Quixote, observing how attentively Sancho regarded what was going on,
said to him, "Ah, Sancho my friend, how quickly and cheaply might you
finish off the disenchantment of Dulcinea, if you would strip to the
waist and take your place among those gentlemen! Amid the pain and
sufferings of so many you would not feel your own much; and moreover
perhaps the sage Merlin would allow each of these lashes, being laid on
with a good hand, to count for ten of those which you must give yourself
at last."

The general was about to ask what these lashes were, and what was
Dulcinea's disenchantment, when a sailor exclaimed, "Monjui signals that
there is an oared vessel off the coast to the west."

On hearing this the general sprang upon the gangway crying, "Now then, my
sons, don't let her give us the slip! It must be some Algerine corsair
brigantine that the watchtower signals to us." The three others
immediately came alongside the chief galley to receive their orders. The
general ordered two to put out to sea while he with the other kept in
shore, so that in this way the vessel could not escape them. The crews
plied the oars driving the galleys so furiously that they seemed to fly.
The two that had put out to sea, after a couple of miles sighted a vessel
which, so far as they could make out, they judged to be one of fourteen
or fifteen banks, and so she proved. As soon as the vessel discovered the
galleys she went about with the object and in the hope of making her
escape by her speed; but the attempt failed, for the chief galley was one
of the fastest vessels afloat, and overhauled her so rapidly that they on
board the brigantine saw clearly there was no possibility of escaping,
and the rais therefore would have had them drop their oars and give
themselves up so as not to provoke the captain in command of our galleys
to anger. But chance, directing things otherwise, so ordered it that just
as the chief galley came close enough for those on board the vessel to
hear the shouts from her calling on them to surrender, two Toraquis, that
is to say two Turks, both drunken, that with a dozen more were on board
the brigantine, discharged their muskets, killing two of the soldiers
that lined the sides of our vessel. Seeing this the general swore he
would not leave one of those he found on board the vessel alive, but as
he bore down furiously upon her she slipped away from him underneath the
oars. The galley shot a good way ahead; those on board the vessel saw
their case was desperate, and while the galley was coming about they made
sail, and by sailing and rowing once more tried to sheer off; but their
activity did not do them as much good as their rashness did them harm,
for the galley coming up with them in a little more than half a mile
threw her oars over them and took the whole of them alive. The other two
galleys now joined company and all four returned with the prize to the
beach, where a vast multitude stood waiting for them, eager to see what
they brought back. The general anchored close in, and perceived that the
viceroy of the city was on the shore. He ordered the skiff to push off to
fetch him, and the yard to be lowered for the purpose of hanging
forthwith the rais and the rest of the men taken on board the vessel,
about six-and-thirty in number, all smart fellows and most of them
Turkish musketeers. He asked which was the rais of the brigantine, and
was answered in Spanish by one of the prisoners (who afterwards proved to
be a Spanish renegade), "This young man, senor that you see here is our
rais," and he pointed to one of the handsomest and most gallant-looking
youths that could be imagined. He did not seem to be twenty years of age.

"Tell me, dog," said the general, "what led thee to kill my soldiers,
when thou sawest it was impossible for thee to escape? Is that the way to
behave to chief galleys? Knowest thou not that rashness is not valour?
Faint prospects of success should make men bold, but not rash."

The rais was about to reply, but the general could not at that moment
listen to him, as he had to hasten to receive the viceroy, who was now
coming on board the galley, and with him certain of his attendants and
some of the people.

"You have had a good chase, senor general," said the viceroy.

"Your excellency shall soon see how good, by the game strung up to this
yard," replied the general.

"How so?" returned the viceroy.

"Because," said the general, "against all law, reason, and usages of war
they have killed on my hands two of the best soldiers on board these
galleys, and I have sworn to hang every man that I have taken, but above
all this youth who is the rais of the brigantine," and he pointed to him
as he stood with his hands already bound and the rope round his neck,
ready for death.

The viceroy looked at him, and seeing him so well-favoured, so graceful,
and so submissive, he felt a desire to spare his life, the comeliness of
the youth furnishing him at once with a letter of recommendation. He
therefore questioned him, saying, "Tell me, rais, art thou Turk, Moor, or
renegade?"

To which the youth replied, also in Spanish, "I am neither Turk, nor
Moor, nor renegade."

"What art thou, then?" said the viceroy.

"A Christian woman," replied the youth.

"A woman and a Christian, in such a dress and in such circumstances! It
is more marvellous than credible," said the viceroy.

"Suspend the execution of the sentence," said the youth; "your vengeance
will not lose much by waiting while I tell you the story of my life."

What heart could be so hard as not to be softened by these words, at any
rate so far as to listen to what the unhappy youth had to say? The
general bade him say what he pleased, but not to expect pardon for his
flagrant offence. With this permission the youth began in these words.

"Born of Morisco parents, I am of that nation, more unhappy than wise,
upon which of late a sea of woes has poured down. In the course of our
misfortune I was carried to Barbary by two uncles of mine, for it was in
vain that I declared I was a Christian, as in fact I am, and not a mere
pretended one, or outwardly, but a true Catholic Christian. It availed me
nothing with those charged with our sad expatriation to protest this, nor
would my uncles believe it; on the contrary, they treated it as an
untruth and a subterfuge set up to enable me to remain behind in the land
of my birth; and so, more by force than of my own will, they took me with
them. I had a Christian mother, and a father who was a man of sound sense
and a Christian too; I imbibed the Catholic faith with my mother's milk,
I was well brought up, and neither in word nor in deed did I, I think,
show any sign of being a Morisco. To accompany these virtues, for such I
hold them, my beauty, if I possess any, grew with my growth; and great as
was the seclusion in which I lived it was not so great but that a young
gentleman, Don Gaspar Gregorio by name, eldest son of a gentleman who is
lord of a village near ours, contrived to find opportunities of seeing
me. How he saw me, how we met, how his heart was lost to me, and mine not
kept from him, would take too long to tell, especially at a moment when I
am in dread of the cruel cord that threatens me interposing between
tongue and throat; I will only say, therefore, that Don Gregorio chose to
accompany me in our banishment. He joined company with the Moriscoes who
were going forth from other villages, for he knew their language very
well, and on the voyage he struck up a friendship with my two uncles who
were carrying me with them; for my father, like a wise and far-sighted
man, as soon as he heard the first edict for our expulsion, quitted the
village and departed in quest of some refuge for us abroad. He left
hidden and buried, at a spot of which I alone have knowledge, a large
quantity of pearls and precious stones of great value, together with a
sum of money in gold cruzadoes and doubloons. He charged me on no account
to touch the treasure, if by any chance they expelled us before his
return. I obeyed him, and with my uncles, as I have said, and others of
our kindred and neighbours, passed over to Barbary, and the place where
we took up our abode was Algiers, much the same as if we had taken it up
in hell itself. The king heard of my beauty, and report told him of my
wealth, which was in some degree fortunate for me. He summoned me before
him, and asked me what part of Spain I came from, and what money and
jewels I had. I mentioned the place, and told him the jewels and money
were buried there; but that they might easily be recovered if I myself
went back for them. All this I told him, in dread lest my beauty and not
his own covetousness should influence him. While he was engaged in
conversation with me, they brought him word that in company with me was
one of the handsomest and most graceful youths that could be imagined. I
knew at once that they were speaking of Don Gaspar Gregorio, whose
comeliness surpasses the most highly vaunted beauty. I was troubled when
I thought of the danger he was in, for among those barbarous Turks a fair
youth is more esteemed than a woman, be she ever so beautiful. The king
immediately ordered him to be brought before him that he might see him,
and asked me if what they said about the youth was true. I then, almost
as if inspired by heaven, told him it was, but that I would have him to
know it was not a man, but a woman like myself, and I entreated him to
allow me to go and dress her in the attire proper to her, so that her
beauty might be seen to perfection, and that she might present herself
before him with less embarrassment. He bade me go by all means, and said
that the next day we should discuss the plan to be adopted for my return
to Spain to carry away the hidden treasure. I saw Don Gaspar, I told him
the danger he was in if he let it be seen he was a man, I dressed him as
a Moorish woman, and that same afternoon I brought him before the king,
who was charmed when he saw him, and resolved to keep the damsel and make
a present of her to the Grand Signor; and to avoid the risk she might run
among the women of his seraglio, and distrustful of himself, he commanded
her to be placed in the house of some Moorish ladies of rank who would
protect and attend to her; and thither he was taken at once. What we both
suffered (for I cannot deny that I love him) may be left to the
imagination of those who are separated if they love one another dearly.
The king then arranged that I should return to Spain in this brigantine,
and that two Turks, those who killed your soldiers, should accompany me.
There also came with me this Spanish renegade"--and here she pointed to
him who had first spoken--"whom I know to be secretly a Christian, and to
be more desirous of being left in Spain than of returning to Barbary. The
rest of the crew of the brigantine are Moors and Turks, who merely serve
as rowers. The two Turks, greedy and insolent, instead of obeying the
orders we had to land me and this renegade in Christian dress (with which
we came provided) on the first Spanish ground we came to, chose to run
along the coast and make some prize if they could, fearing that if they
put us ashore first, we might, in case of some accident befalling us,
make it known that the brigantine was at sea, and thus, if there happened
to be any galleys on the coast, they might be taken. We sighted this
shore last night, and knowing nothing of these galleys, we were
discovered, and the result was what you have seen. To sum up, there is
Don Gregorio in woman's dress, among women, in imminent danger of his
life; and here am I, with hands bound, in expectation, or rather in
dread, of losing my life, of which I am already weary. Here, sirs, ends
my sad story, as true as it is unhappy; all I ask of you is to allow me
to die like a Christian, for, as I have already said, I am not to be
charged with the offence of which those of my nation are guilty;" and she
stood silent, her eyes filled with moving tears, accompanied by plenty
from the bystanders. The viceroy, touched with compassion, went up to her
without speaking and untied the cord that bound the hands of the Moorish
girl.

But all the while the Morisco Christian was telling her strange story, an
elderly pilgrim, who had come on board of the galley at the same time as
the viceroy, kept his eyes fixed upon her; and the instant she ceased
speaking he threw himself at her feet, and embracing them said in a voice
broken by sobs and sighs, "O Ana Felix, my unhappy daughter, I am thy
father Ricote, come back to look for thee, unable to live without thee,
my soul that thou art!"

At these words of his, Sancho opened his eyes and raised his head, which
he had been holding down, brooding over his unlucky excursion; and
looking at the pilgrim he recognised in him that same Ricote he met the
day he quitted his government, and felt satisfied that this was his
daughter. She being now unbound embraced her father, mingling her tears
with his, while he addressing the general and the viceroy said, "This,
sirs, is my daughter, more unhappy in her adventures than in her name.
She is Ana Felix, surnamed Ricote, celebrated as much for her own beauty
as for my wealth. I quitted my native land in search of some shelter or
refuge for us abroad, and having found one in Germany I returned in this
pilgrim's dress, in the company of some other German pilgrims, to seek my
daughter and take up a large quantity of treasure I had left buried. My
daughter I did not find, the treasure I found and have with me; and now,
in this strange roundabout way you have seen, I find the treasure that
more than all makes me rich, my beloved daughter. If our innocence and
her tears and mine can with strict justice open the door to clemency,
extend it to us, for we never had any intention of injuring you, nor do
we sympathise with the aims of our people, who have been justly
banished."

"I know Ricote well," said Sancho at this, "and I know too that what he
says about Ana Felix being his daughter is true; but as to those other
particulars about going and coming, and having good or bad intentions, I
say nothing."

While all present stood amazed at this strange occurrence the general
said, "At any rate your tears will not allow me to keep my oath; live,
fair Ana Felix, all the years that heaven has allotted you; but these
rash insolent fellows must pay the penalty of the crime they have
committed;" and with that he gave orders to have the two Turks who had
killed his two soldiers hanged at once at the yard-arm. The viceroy,
however, begged him earnestly not to hang them, as their behaviour
savoured rather of madness than of bravado. The general yielded to the
viceroy's request, for revenge is not easily taken in cold blood. They
then tried to devise some scheme for rescuing Don Gaspar Gregorio from
the danger in which he had been left. Ricote offered for that object more
than two thousand ducats that he had in pearls and gems; they proposed
several plans, but none so good as that suggested by the renegade already
mentioned, who offered to return to Algiers in a small vessel of about
six banks, manned by Christian rowers, as he knew where, how, and when he
could and should land, nor was he ignorant of the house in which Don
Gaspar was staying. The general and the viceroy had some hesitation about
placing confidence in the renegade and entrusting him with the Christians
who were to row, but Ana Felix said she could answer for him, and her
father offered to go and pay the ransom of the Christians if by any
chance they should not be forthcoming. This, then, being agreed upon, the
viceroy landed, and Don Antonio Moreno took the fair Morisco and her
father home with him, the viceroy charging him to give them the best
reception and welcome in his power, while on his own part he offered all
that house contained for their entertainment; so great was the good-will
and kindliness the beauty of Ana Felix had infused into his heart.




CHAPTER LXIV.

TREATING OF THE ADVENTURE WHICH GAVE DON QUIXOTE MORE UNHAPPINESS THAN
ALL THAT HAD HITHERTO BEFALLEN HIM


The wife of Don Antonio Moreno, so the history says, was extremely happy
to see Ana Felix in her house. She welcomed her with great kindness,
charmed as well by her beauty as by her intelligence; for in both
respects the fair Morisco was richly endowed, and all the people of the
city flocked to see her as though they had been summoned by the ringing
of the bells.

Don Quixote told Don Antonio that the plan adopted for releasing Don
Gregorio was not a good one, for its risks were greater than its
advantages, and that it would be better to land himself with his arms and
horse in Barbary; for he would carry him off in spite of the whole
Moorish host, as Don Gaiferos carried off his wife Melisendra.

"Remember, your worship," observed Sancho on hearing him say so, "Senor
Don Gaiferos carried off his wife from the mainland, and took her to
France by land; but in this case, if by chance we carry off Don Gregorio,
we have no way of bringing him to Spain, for there's the sea between."

"There's a remedy for everything except death," said Don Quixote; "if
they bring the vessel close to the shore we shall be able to get on board
though all the world strive to prevent us."

"Your worship hits it off mighty well and mighty easy," said Sancho; "but
'it's a long step from saying to doing;' and I hold to the renegade, for
he seems to me an honest good-hearted fellow."

Don Antonio then said that if the renegade did not prove successful, the
expedient of the great Don Quixote's expedition to Barbary should be
adopted. Two days afterwards the renegade put to sea in a light vessel of
six oars a-side manned by a stout crew, and two days later the galleys
made sail eastward, the general having begged the viceroy to let him know
all about the release of Don Gregorio and about Ana Felix, and the
viceroy promised to do as he requested.

One morning as Don Quixote went out for a stroll along the beach, arrayed
in full armour (for, as he often said, that was "his only gear, his only
rest the fray," and he never was without it for a moment), he saw coming
towards him a knight, also in full armour, with a shining moon painted on
his shield, who, on approaching sufficiently near to be heard, said in a
loud voice, addressing himself to Don Quixote, "Illustrious knight, and
never sufficiently extolled Don Quixote of La Mancha, I am the Knight of
the White Moon, whose unheard-of achievements will perhaps have recalled
him to thy memory. I come to do battle with thee and prove the might of
thy arm, to the end that I make thee acknowledge and confess that my
lady, let her be who she may, is incomparably fairer than thy Dulcinea
del Toboso. If thou dost acknowledge this fairly and openly, thou shalt
escape death and save me the trouble of inflicting it upon thee; if thou
fightest and I vanquish thee, I demand no other satisfaction than that,
laying aside arms and abstaining from going in quest of adventures, thou
withdraw and betake thyself to thine own village for the space of a year,
and live there without putting hand to sword, in peace and quiet and
beneficial repose, the same being needful for the increase of thy
substance and the salvation of thy soul; and if thou dost vanquish me, my
head shall be at thy disposal, my arms and horse thy spoils, and the
renown of my deeds transferred and added to thine. Consider which will be
thy best course, and give me thy answer speedily, for this day is all the
time I have for the despatch of this business."

Don Quixote was amazed and astonished, as well at the Knight of the White
Moon's arrogance, as at his reason for delivering the defiance, and with
calm dignity he answered him, "Knight of the White Moon, of whose
achievements I have never heard until now, I will venture to swear you
have never seen the illustrious Dulcinea; for had you seen her I know you
would have taken care not to venture yourself upon this issue, because
the sight would have removed all doubt from your mind that there ever has
been or can be a beauty to be compared with hers; and so, not saying you
lie, but merely that you are not correct in what you state, I accept your
challenge, with the conditions you have proposed, and at once, that the
day you have fixed may not expire; and from your conditions I except only
that of the renown of your achievements being transferred to me, for I
know not of what sort they are nor what they may amount to; I am
satisfied with my own, such as they be. Take, therefore, the side of the
field you choose, and I will do the same; and to whom God shall give it
may Saint Peter add his blessing."

The Knight of the White Moon had been seen from the city, and it was told
the viceroy how he was in conversation with Don Quixote. The viceroy,
fancying it must be some fresh adventure got up by Don Antonio Moreno or
some other gentleman of the city, hurried out at once to the beach
accompanied by Don Antonio and several other gentlemen, just as Don
Quixote was wheeling Rocinante round in order to take up the necessary
distance. The viceroy upon this, seeing that the pair of them were
evidently preparing to come to the charge, put himself between them,
asking them what it was that led them to engage in combat all of a sudden
in this way. The Knight of the White Moon replied that it was a question
of precedence of beauty; and briefly told him what he had said to Don
Quixote, and how the conditions of the defiance agreed upon on both sides
had been accepted. The viceroy went over to Don Antonio, and asked in a
low voice did he know who the Knight of the White Moon was, or was it
some joke they were playing on Don Quixote. Don Antonio replied that he
neither knew who he was nor whether the defiance was in joke or in
earnest. This answer left the viceroy in a state of perplexity, not
knowing whether he ought to let the combat go on or not; but unable to
persuade himself that it was anything but a joke he fell back, saying,
"If there be no other way out of it, gallant knights, except to confess
or die, and Don Quixote is inflexible, and your worship of the White Moon
still more so, in God's hand be it, and fall on."

He of the White Moon thanked the viceroy in courteous and well-chosen
words for the permission he gave them, and so did Don Quixote, who then,
commending himself with all his heart to heaven and to his Dulcinea, as
was his custom on the eve of any combat that awaited him, proceeded to
take a little more distance, as he saw his antagonist was doing the same;
then, without blast of trumpet or other warlike instrument to give them
the signal to charge, both at the same instant wheeled their horses; and
he of the White Moon, being the swifter, met Don Quixote after having
traversed two-thirds of the course, and there encountered him with such
violence that, without touching him with his lance (for he held it high,
to all appearance purposely), he hurled Don Quixote and Rocinante to the
earth, a perilous fall. He sprang upon him at once, and placing the lance
over his visor said to him, "You are vanquished, sir knight, nay dead
unless you admit the conditions of our defiance."

Don Quixote, bruised and stupefied, without raising his visor said in a
weak feeble voice as if he were speaking out of a tomb, "Dulcinea del
Toboso is the fairest woman in the world, and I the most unfortunate
knight on earth; it is not fitting that this truth should suffer by my
feebleness; drive your lance home, sir knight, and take my life, since
you have taken away my honour."

"That will I not, in sooth," said he of the White Moon; "live the fame of
the lady Dulcinea's beauty undimmed as ever; all I require is that the
great Don Quixote retire to his own home for a year, or for so long a
time as shall by me be enjoined upon him, as we agreed before engaging in
this combat."

The viceroy, Don Antonio, and several others who were present heard all
this, and heard too how Don Quixote replied that so long as nothing in
prejudice of Dulcinea was demanded of him, he would observe all the rest
like a true and loyal knight. The engagement given, he of the White Moon
wheeled about, and making obeisance to the viceroy with a movement of the
head, rode away into the city at a half gallop. The viceroy bade Don
Antonio hasten after him, and by some means or other find out who he was.
They raised Don Quixote up and uncovered his face, and found him pale and
bathed with sweat.

Rocinante from the mere hard measure he had received lay unable to stir
for the present. Sancho, wholly dejected and woebegone, knew not what to
say or do. He fancied that all was a dream, that the whole business was a
piece of enchantment. Here was his master defeated, and bound not to take
up arms for a year. He saw the light of the glory of his achievements
obscured; the hopes of the promises lately made him swept away like smoke
before the wind; Rocinante, he feared, was crippled for life, and his
master's bones out of joint; for if he were only shaken out of his
madness it would be no small luck. In the end they carried him into the
city in a hand-chair which the viceroy sent for, and thither the viceroy
himself returned, cager to ascertain who this Knight of the White Moon
was who had left Don Quixote in such a sad plight.




CHAPTER LXV.

WHEREIN IS MADE KNOWN WHO THE KNIGHT OF THE WHITE MOON WAS; LIKEWISE DON
GREGORIO'S RELEASE, AND OTHER EVENTS


Don Antonia Moreno followed the Knight of the White Moon, and a number of
boys followed him too, nay pursued him, until they had him fairly housed
in a hostel in the heart of the city. Don Antonio, eager to make his
acquaintance, entered also; a squire came out to meet him and remove his
armour, and he shut himself into a lower room, still attended by Don
Antonio, whose bread would not bake until he had found out who he was. He
of the White Moon, seeing then that the gentleman would not leave him,
said, "I know very well, senor, what you have come for; it is to find out
who I am; and as there is no reason why I should conceal it from you,
while my servant here is taking off my armour I will tell you the true
state of the case, without leaving out anything. You must know, senor,
that I am called the bachelor Samson Carrasco. I am of the same village
as Don Quixote of La Mancha, whose craze and folly make all of us who
know him feel pity for him, and I am one of those who have felt it most;
and persuaded that his chance of recovery lay in quiet and keeping at
home and in his own house, I hit upon a device for keeping him there.
Three months ago, therefore, I went out to meet him as a knight-errant,
under the assumed name of the Knight of the Mirrors, intending to engage
him in combat and overcome him without hurting him, making it the
condition of our combat that the vanquished should be at the disposal of
the victor. What I meant to demand of him (for I regarded him as
vanquished already) was that he should return to his own village, and not
leave it for a whole year, by which time he might be cured. But fate
ordered it otherwise, for he vanquished me and unhorsed me, and so my
plan failed. He went his way, and I came back conquered, covered with
shame, and sorely bruised by my fall, which was a particularly dangerous
one. But this did not quench my desire to meet him again and overcome
him, as you have seen to-day. And as he is so scrupulous in his
observance of the laws of knight-errantry, he will, no doubt, in order to
keep his word, obey the injunction I have laid upon him. This, senor, is
how the matter stands, and I have nothing more to tell you. I implore of
you not to betray me, or tell Don Quixote who I am; so that my honest
endeavours may be successful, and that a man of excellent wits--were he
only rid of the fooleries of chivalry--may get them back again."

"O senor," said Don Antonio, "may God forgive you the wrong you have done
the whole world in trying to bring the most amusing madman in it back to
his senses. Do you not see, senor, that the gain by Don Quixote's sanity
can never equal the enjoyment his crazes give? But my belief is that all
the senor bachelor's pains will be of no avail to bring a man so
hopelessly cracked to his senses again; and if it were not uncharitable,
I would say may Don Quixote never be cured, for by his recovery we lose
not only his own drolleries, but his squire Sancho Panza's too, any one
of which is enough to turn melancholy itself into merriment. However,
I'll hold my peace and say nothing to him, and we'll see whether I am
right in my suspicion that Senor Carrasco's efforts will be fruitless."

The bachelor replied that at all events the affair promised well, and he
hoped for a happy result from it; and putting his services at Don
Antonio's commands he took his leave of him; and having had his armour
packed at once upon a mule, he rode away from the city the same day on
the horse he rode to battle, and returned to his own country without
meeting any adventure calling for record in this veracious history.

Don Antonio reported to the viceroy what Carrasco told him, and the
viceroy was not very well pleased to hear it, for with Don Quixote's
retirement there was an end to the amusement of all who knew anything of
his mad doings.

Six days did Don Quixote keep his bed, dejected, melancholy, moody and
out of sorts, brooding over the unhappy event of his defeat. Sancho
strove to comfort him, and among other things he said to him, "Hold up
your head, senor, and be of good cheer if you can, and give thanks to
heaven that if you have had a tumble to the ground you have not come off
with a broken rib; and, as you know that 'where they give they take,' and
that 'there are not always fletches where there are pegs,' a fig for the
doctor, for there's no need of him to cure this ailment. Let us go home,
and give over going about in search of adventures in strange lands and
places; rightly looked at, it is I that am the greater loser, though it
is your worship that has had the worse usage. With the government I gave
up all wish to be a governor again, but I did not give up all longing to
be a count; and that will never come to pass if your worship gives up
becoming a king by renouncing the calling of chivalry; and so my hopes
are going to turn into smoke."

"Peace, Sancho," said Don Quixote; "thou seest my suspension and
retirement is not to exceed a year; I shall soon return to my honoured
calling, and I shall not be at a loss for a kingdom to win and a county
to bestow on thee."

"May God hear it and sin be deaf," said Sancho; "I have always heard say
that 'a good hope is better than a bad holding."

As they were talking Don Antonio came in looking extremely pleased and
exclaiming, "Reward me for my good news, Senor Don Quixote! Don Gregorio
and the renegade who went for him have come ashore--ashore do I say? They
are by this time in the viceroy's house, and will be here immediately."

Don Quixote cheered up a little and said, "Of a truth I am almost ready
to say I should have been glad had it turned out just the other way, for
it would have obliged me to cross over to Barbary, where by the might of
my arm I should have restored to liberty, not only Don Gregorio, but all
the Christian captives there are in Barbary. But what am I saying,
miserable being that I am? Am I not he that has been conquered? Am I not
he that has been overthrown? Am I not he who must not take up arms for a
year? Then what am I making professions for; what am I bragging about;
when it is fitter for me to handle the distaff than the sword?"

"No more of that, senor," said Sancho; "'let the hen live, even though it
be with her pip; 'today for thee and to-morrow for me;' in these affairs
of encounters and whacks one must not mind them, for he that falls to-day
may get up to-morrow; unless indeed he chooses to lie in bed, I mean
gives way to weakness and does not pluck up fresh spirit for fresh
battles; let your worship get up now to receive Don Gregorio; for the
household seems to be in a bustle, and no doubt he has come by this
time;" and so it proved, for as soon as Don Gregorio and the renegade had
given the viceroy an account of the voyage out and home, Don Gregorio,
eager to see Ana Felix, came with the renegade to Don Antonio's house.
When they carried him away from Algiers he was in woman's dress; on board
the vessel, however, he exchanged it for that of a captive who escaped
with him; but in whatever dress he might be he looked like one to be
loved and served and esteemed, for he was surpassingly well-favoured, and
to judge by appearances some seventeen or eighteen years of age. Ricote
and his daughter came out to welcome him, the father with tears, the
daughter with bashfulness. They did not embrace each other, for where
there is deep love there will never be overmuch boldness. Seen side by
side, the comeliness of Don Gregorio and the beauty of Ana Felix were the
admiration of all who were present. It was silence that spoke for the
lovers at that moment, and their eyes were the tongues that declared
their pure and happy feelings. The renegade explained the measures and
means he had adopted to rescue Don Gregorio, and Don Gregorio at no great
length, but in a few words, in which he showed that his intelligence was
in advance of his years, described the peril and embarrassment he found
himself in among the women with whom he had sojourned. To conclude,
Ricote liberally recompensed and rewarded as well the renegade as the men
who had rowed; and the renegade effected his readmission into the body of
the Church and was reconciled with it, and from a rotten limb became by
penance and repentance a clean and sound one.

Two days later the viceroy discussed with Don Antonio the steps they
should take to enable Ana Felix and her father to stay in Spain, for it
seemed to them there could be no objection to a daughter who was so good
a Christian and a father to all appearance so well disposed remaining
there. Don Antonio offered to arrange the matter at the capital, whither
he was compelled to go on some other business, hinting that many a
difficult affair was settled there with the help of favour and bribes.

"Nay," said Ricote, who was present during the conversation, "it will not
do to rely upon favour or bribes, because with the great Don Bernardino
de Velasco, Conde de Salazar, to whom his Majesty has entrusted our
expulsion, neither entreaties nor promises, bribes nor appeals to
compassion, are of any use; for though it is true he mingles mercy with
justice, still, seeing that the whole body of our nation is tainted and
corrupt, he applies to it the cautery that burns rather than the salve
that soothes; and thus, by prudence, sagacity, care and the fear he
inspires, he has borne on his mighty shoulders the weight of this great
policy and carried it into effect, all our schemes and plots,
importunities and wiles, being ineffectual to blind his Argus eyes, ever
on the watch lest one of us should remain behind in concealment, and like
a hidden root come in course of time to sprout and bear poisonous fruit
in Spain, now cleansed, and relieved of the fear in which our vast
numbers kept it. Heroic resolve of the great Philip the Third, and
unparalleled wisdom to have entrusted it to the said Don Bernardino de
Velasco!"

"At any rate," said Don Antonio, "when I am there I will make all
possible efforts, and let heaven do as pleases it best; Don Gregorio will
come with me to relieve the anxiety which his parents must be suffering
on account of his absence; Ana Felix will remain in my house with my
wife, or in a monastery; and I know the viceroy will be glad that the
worthy Ricote should stay with him until we see what terms I can make."

The viceroy agreed to all that was proposed; but Don Gregorio on learning
what had passed declared he could not and would not on any account leave
Ana Felix; however, as it was his purpose to go and see his parents and
devise some way of returning for her, he fell in with the proposed
arrangement. Ana Felix remained with Don Antonio's wife, and Ricote in
the viceroy's house.

The day for Don Antonio's departure came; and two days later that for Don
Quixote's and Sancho's, for Don Quixote's fall did not suffer him to take
the road sooner. There were tears and sighs, swoonings and sobs, at the
parting between Don Gregorio and Ana Felix. Ricote offered Don Gregorio a
thousand crowns if he would have them, but he would not take any save
five which Don Antonio lent him and he promised to repay at the capital.
So the two of them took their departure, and Don Quixote and Sancho
afterwards, as has been already said, Don Quixote without his armour and
in travelling gear, and Sancho on foot, Dapple being loaded with the
armour.




CHAPTER LXVI.

WHICH TREATS OF WHAT HE WHO READS WILL SEE, OR WHAT HE WHO HAS IT READ TO
HIM WILL HEAR


As he left Barcelona, Don Quixote turned gaze upon the spot where he had
fallen. "Here Troy was," said he; "here my ill-luck, not my cowardice,
robbed me of all the glory I had won; here Fortune made me the victim of
her caprices; here the lustre of my achievements was dimmed; here, in a
word, fell my happiness never to rise again."

"Senor," said Sancho on hearing this, "it is the part of brave hearts to
be patient in adversity just as much as to be glad in prosperity; I judge
by myself, for, if when I was a governor I was glad, now that I am a
squire and on foot I am not sad; and I have heard say that she whom
commonly they call Fortune is a drunken whimsical jade, and, what is
more, blind, and therefore neither sees what she does, nor knows whom she
casts down or whom she sets up."

"Thou art a great philosopher, Sancho," said Don Quixote; "thou speakest
very sensibly; I know not who taught thee. But I can tell thee there is
no such thing as Fortune in the world, nor does anything which takes
place there, be it good or bad, come about by chance, but by the special
preordination of heaven; and hence the common saying that 'each of us is
the maker of his own Fortune.' I have been that of mine; but not with the
proper amount of prudence, and my self-confidence has therefore made me
pay dearly; for I ought to have reflected that Rocinante's feeble
strength could not resist the mighty bulk of the Knight of the White
Moon's horse. In a word, I ventured it, I did my best, I was overthrown,
but though I lost my honour I did not lose nor can I lose the virtue of
keeping my word. When I was a knight-errant, daring and valiant, I
supported my achievements by hand and deed, and now that I am a humble
squire I will support my words by keeping the promise I have given.
Forward then, Sancho my friend, let us go to keep the year of the
novitiate in our own country, and in that seclusion we shall pick up
fresh strength to return to the by me never-forgotten calling of arms."

"Senor," returned Sancho, "travelling on foot is not such a pleasant
thing that it makes me feel disposed or tempted to make long marches. Let
us leave this armour hung up on some tree, instead of some one that has
been hanged; and then with me on Dapple's back and my feet off the ground
we will arrange the stages as your worship pleases to measure them out;
but to suppose that I am going to travel on foot, and make long ones, is
to suppose nonsense."

"Thou sayest well, Sancho," said Don Quixote; "let my armour be hung up
for a trophy, and under it or round it we will carve on the trees what
was inscribed on the trophy of Roland's armour--

These let none move
Who dareth not his might with Roland prove."

"That's the very thing," said Sancho; "and if it was not that we should
feel the want of Rocinante on the road, it would be as well to leave him
hung up too."

"And yet, I had rather not have either him or the armour hung up," said
Don Quixote, "that it may not be said, 'for good service a bad return.'"

"Your worship is right," said Sancho; "for, as sensible people hold, 'the
fault of the ass must not be laid on the pack-saddle;' and, as in this
affair the fault is your worship's, punish yourself and don't let your
anger break out against the already battered and bloody armour, or the
meekness of Rocinante, or the tenderness of my feet, trying to make them
travel more than is reasonable."

In converse of this sort the whole of that day went by, as did the four
succeeding ones, without anything occurring to interrupt their journey,
but on the fifth as they entered a village they found a great number of
people at the door of an inn enjoying themselves, as it was a holiday.
Upon Don Quixote's approach a peasant called out, "One of these two
gentlemen who come here, and who don't know the parties, will tell us
what we ought to do about our wager."

"That I will, certainly," said Don Quixote, "and according to the rights
of the case, if I can manage to understand it."

"Well, here it is, worthy sir," said the peasant; "a man of this village
who is so fat that he weighs twenty stone challenged another, a neighbour
of his, who does not weigh more than nine, to run a race. The agreement
was that they were to run a distance of a hundred paces with equal
weights; and when the challenger was asked how the weights were to be
equalised he said that the other, as he weighed nine stone, should put
eleven in iron on his back, and that in this way the twenty stone of the
thin man would equal the twenty stone of the fat one."

"Not at all," exclaimed Sancho at once, before Don Quixote could answer;
"it's for me, that only a few days ago left off being a governor and a
judge, as all the world knows, to settle these doubtful questions and
give an opinion in disputes of all sorts."

"Answer in God's name, Sancho my friend," said Don Quixote, "for I am not
fit to give crumbs to a cat, my wits are so confused and upset."

With this permission Sancho said to the peasants who stood clustered
round him, waiting with open mouths for the decision to come from his,
"Brothers, what the fat man requires is not in reason, nor has it a
shadow of justice in it; because, if it be true, as they say, that the
challenged may choose the weapons, the other has no right to choose such
as will prevent and keep him from winning. My decision, therefore, is
that the fat challenger prune, peel, thin, trim and correct himself, and
take eleven stone of his flesh off his body, here or there, as he
pleases, and as suits him best; and being in this way reduced to nine
stone weight, he will make himself equal and even with nine stone of his
opponent, and they will be able to run on equal terms."

"By all that's good," said one of the peasants as he heard Sancho's
decision, "but the gentleman has spoken like a saint, and given judgment
like a canon! But I'll be bound the fat man won't part with an ounce of
his flesh, not to say eleven stone."

"The best plan will be for them not to run," said another, "so that
neither the thin man break down under the weight, nor the fat one strip
himself of his flesh; let half the wager be spent in wine, and let's take
these gentlemen to the tavern where there's the best, and 'over me be the
cloak when it rains."

"I thank you, sirs," said Don Quixote; "but I cannot stop for an instant,
for sad thoughts and unhappy circumstances force me to seem discourteous
and to travel apace;" and spurring Rocinante he pushed on, leaving them
wondering at what they had seen and heard, at his own strange figure and
at the shrewdness of his servant, for such they took Sancho to be; and
another of them observed, "If the servant is so clever, what must the
master be? I'll bet, if they are going to Salamanca to study, they'll
come to be alcaldes of the Court in a trice; for it's a mere joke--only
to read and read, and have interest and good luck; and before a man knows
where he is he finds himself with a staff in his hand or a mitre on his
head."

That night master and man passed out in the fields in the open air, and
the next day as they were pursuing their journey they saw coming towards
them a man on foot with alforjas at the neck and a javelin or spiked
staff in his hand, the very cut of a foot courier; who, as soon as he
came close to Don Quixote, increased his pace and half running came up to
him, and embracing his right thigh, for he could reach no higher,
exclaimed with evident pleasure, "O Senor Don Quixote of La Mancha, what
happiness it will be to the heart of my lord the duke when he knows your
worship is coming back to his castle, for he is still there with my lady
the duchess!"

"I do not recognise you, friend," said Don Quixote, "nor do I know who
you are, unless you tell me."

"I am Tosilos, my lord the duke's lacquey, Senor Don Quixote," replied
the courier; "he who refused to fight your worship about marrying the
daughter of Dona Rodriguez."

"God bless me!" exclaimed Don Quixote; "is it possible that you are the
one whom mine enemies the enchanters changed into the lacquey you speak
of in order to rob me of the honour of that battle?"

"Nonsense, good sir!" said the messenger; "there was no enchantment or
transformation at all; I entered the lists just as much lacquey Tosilos
as I came out of them lacquey Tosilos. I thought to marry without
fighting, for the girl had taken my fancy; but my scheme had a very
different result, for as soon as your worship had left the castle my lord
the duke had a hundred strokes of the stick given me for having acted
contrary to the orders he gave me before engaging in the combat; and the
end of the whole affair is that the girl has become a nun, and Dona
Rodriguez has gone back to Castile, and I am now on my way to Barcelona
with a packet of letters for the viceroy which my master is sending him.
If your worship would like a drop, sound though warm, I have a gourd here
full of the best, and some scraps of Tronchon cheese that will serve as a
provocative and wakener of your thirst if so be it is asleep."

"I take the offer," said Sancho; "no more compliments about it; pour out,
good Tosilos, in spite of all the enchanters in the Indies."

"Thou art indeed the greatest glutton in the world, Sancho," said Don
Quixote, "and the greatest booby on earth, not to be able to see that
this courier is enchanted and this Tosilos a sham one; stop with him and
take thy fill; I will go on slowly and wait for thee to come up with me."

The lacquey laughed, unsheathed his gourd, unwalletted his scraps, and
taking out a small loaf of bread he and Sancho seated themselves on the
green grass, and in peace and good fellowship finished off the contents
of the alforjas down to the bottom, so resolutely that they licked the
wrapper of the letters, merely because it smelt of cheese.

Said Tosilos to Sancho, "Beyond a doubt, Sancho my friend, this master of
thine ought to be a madman."

"Ought!" said Sancho; "he owes no man anything; he pays for everything,
particularly when the coin is madness. I see it plain enough, and I tell
him so plain enough; but what's the use? especially now that it is all
over with him, for here he is beaten by the Knight of the White Moon."

Tosilos begged him to explain what had happened him, but Sancho replied
that it would not be good manners to leave his master waiting for him;
and that some other day if they met there would be time enough for that;
and then getting up, after shaking his doublet and brushing the crumbs
out of his beard, he drove Dapple on before him, and bidding adieu to
Tosilos left him and rejoined his master, who was waiting for him under
the shade of a tree.





End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The History of Don Quixote, Vol. II.,
Part 39, by Miguel de Cervantes

*** 