



Produced by David Widger





                            DON QUIXOTE

                     by Miguel de Cervantes

                    Translated by John Ormsby


                            Volume I.

                             Part 11.



CHAPTER XXIX.

WHICH TREATS OF THE DROLL DEVICE AND METHOD ADOPTED TO EXTRICATE OUR
LOVE-STRICKEN KNIGHT FROM THE SEVERE PENANCE HE HAD IMPOSED UPON HIMSELF


"Such, sirs, is the true story of my sad adventures; judge for yourselves
now whether the sighs and lamentations you heard, and the tears that
flowed from my eyes, had not sufficient cause even if I had indulged in
them more freely; and if you consider the nature of my misfortune you
will see that consolation is idle, as there is no possible remedy for it.
All I ask of you is, what you may easily and reasonably do, to show me
where I may pass my life unharassed by the fear and dread of discovery by
those who are in search of me; for though the great love my parents bear
me makes me feel sure of being kindly received by them, so great is my
feeling of shame at the mere thought that I cannot present myself before
them as they expect, that I had rather banish myself from their sight for
ever than look them in the face with the reflection that they beheld mine
stripped of that purity they had a right to expect in me."

With these words she became silent, and the colour that overspread her
face showed plainly the pain and shame she was suffering at heart. In
theirs the listeners felt as much pity as wonder at her misfortunes; but
as the curate was just about to offer her some consolation and advice
Cardenio forestalled him, saying, "So then, senora, you are the fair
Dorothea, the only daughter of the rich Clenardo?" Dorothea was
astonished at hearing her father's name, and at the miserable appearance
of him who mentioned it, for it has been already said how wretchedly clad
Cardenio was; so she said to him:

"And who may you be, brother, who seem to know my father's name so well?
For so far, if I remember rightly, I have not mentioned it in the whole
story of my misfortunes."

"I am that unhappy being, senora," replied Cardenio, "whom, as you have
said, Luscinda declared to be her husband; I am the unfortunate Cardenio,
whom the wrong-doing of him who has brought you to your present condition
has reduced to the state you see me in, bare, ragged, bereft of all human
comfort, and what is worse, of reason, for I only possess it when Heaven
is pleased for some short space to restore it to me. I, Dorothea, am he
who witnessed the wrong done by Don Fernando, and waited to hear the
'Yes' uttered by which Luscinda owned herself his betrothed: I am he who
had not courage enough to see how her fainting fit ended, or what came of
the paper that was found in her bosom, because my heart had not the
fortitude to endure so many strokes of ill-fortune at once; and so losing
patience I quitted the house, and leaving a letter with my host, which I
entreated him to place in Luscinda's hands, I betook myself to these
solitudes, resolved to end here the life I hated as if it were my mortal
enemy. But fate would not rid me of it, contenting itself with robbing me
of my reason, perhaps to preserve me for the good fortune I have had in
meeting you; for if that which you have just told us be true, as I
believe it to be, it may be that Heaven has yet in store for both of us a
happier termination to our misfortunes than we look for; because seeing
that Luscinda cannot marry Don Fernando, being mine, as she has herself
so openly declared, and that Don Fernando cannot marry her as he is
yours, we may reasonably hope that Heaven will restore to us what is
ours, as it is still in existence and not yet alienated or destroyed. And
as we have this consolation springing from no very visionary hope or wild
fancy, I entreat you, senora, to form new resolutions in your better
mind, as I mean to do in mine, preparing yourself to look forward to
happier fortunes; for I swear to you by the faith of a gentleman and a
Christian not to desert you until I see you in possession of Don
Fernando, and if I cannot by words induce him to recognise his obligation
to you, in that case to avail myself of the right which my rank as a
gentleman gives me, and with just cause challenge him on account of the
injury he has done you, not regarding my own wrongs, which I shall leave
to Heaven to avenge, while I on earth devote myself to yours."

Cardenio's words completed the astonishment of Dorothea, and not knowing
how to return thanks for such an offer, she attempted to kiss his feet;
but Cardenio would not permit it, and the licentiate replied for both,
commended the sound reasoning of Cardenio, and lastly, begged, advised,
and urged them to come with him to his village, where they might furnish
themselves with what they needed, and take measures to discover Don
Fernando, or restore Dorothea to her parents, or do what seemed to them
most advisable. Cardenio and Dorothea thanked him, and accepted the kind
offer he made them; and the barber, who had been listening to all
attentively and in silence, on his part some kindly words also, and with
no less good-will than the curate offered his services in any way that
might be of use to them. He also explained to them in a few words the
object that had brought them there, and the strange nature of Don
Quixote's madness, and how they were waiting for his squire, who had gone
in search of him. Like the recollection of a dream, the quarrel he had
had with Don Quixote came back to Cardenio's memory, and he described it
to the others; but he was unable to say what the dispute was about.

At this moment they heard a shout, and recognised it as coming from
Sancho Panza, who, not finding them where he had left them, was calling
aloud to them. They went to meet him, and in answer to their inquiries
about Don Quixote, he told them how he had found him stripped to his
shirt, lank, yellow, half dead with hunger, and sighing for his lady
Dulcinea; and although he had told him that she commanded him to quit
that place and come to El Toboso, where she was expecting him, he had
answered that he was determined not to appear in the presence of her
beauty until he had done deeds to make him worthy of her favour; and if
this went on, Sancho said, he ran the risk of not becoming an emperor as
in duty bound, or even an archbishop, which was the least he could be;
for which reason they ought to consider what was to be done to get him
away from there. The licentiate in reply told him not to be uneasy, for
they would fetch him away in spite of himself. He then told Cardenio and
Dorothea what they had proposed to do to cure Don Quixote, or at any rate
take him home; upon which Dorothea said that she could play the
distressed damsel better than the barber; especially as she had there the
dress in which to do it to the life, and that they might trust to her
acting the part in every particular requisite for carrying out their
scheme, for she had read a great many books of chivalry, and knew exactly
the style in which afflicted damsels begged boons of knights-errant.

"In that case," said the curate, "there is nothing more required than to
set about it at once, for beyond a doubt fortune is declaring itself in
our favour, since it has so unexpectedly begun to open a door for your
relief, and smoothed the way for us to our object."

Dorothea then took out of her pillow-case a complete petticoat of some
rich stuff, and a green mantle of some other fine material, and a
necklace and other ornaments out of a little box, and with these in an
instant she so arrayed herself that she looked like a great and rich
lady. All this, and more, she said, she had taken from home in case of
need, but that until then she had had no occasion to make use of it. They
were all highly delighted with her grace, air, and beauty, and declared
Don Fernando to be a man of very little taste when he rejected such
charms. But the one who admired her most was Sancho Panza, for it seemed
to him (what indeed was true) that in all the days of his life he had
never seen such a lovely creature; and he asked the curate with great
eagerness who this beautiful lady was, and what she wanted in these
out-of-the-way quarters.

"This fair lady, brother Sancho," replied the curate, "is no less a
personage than the heiress in the direct male line of the great kingdom
of Micomicon, who has come in search of your master to beg a boon of him,
which is that he redress a wrong or injury that a wicked giant has done
her; and from the fame as a good knight which your master has acquired
far and wide, this princess has come from Guinea to seek him."

"A lucky seeking and a lucky finding!" said Sancho Panza at this;
"especially if my master has the good fortune to redress that injury, and
right that wrong, and kill that son of a bitch of a giant your worship
speaks of; as kill him he will if he meets him, unless, indeed, he
happens to be a phantom; for my master has no power at all against
phantoms. But one thing among others I would beg of you, senor
licentiate, which is, that, to prevent my master taking a fancy to be an
archbishop, for that is what I'm afraid of, your worship would recommend
him to marry this princess at once; for in this way he will be disabled
from taking archbishop's orders, and will easily come into his empire,
and I to the end of my desires; I have been thinking over the matter
carefully, and by what I can make out I find it will not do for me that
my master should become an archbishop, because I am no good for the
Church, as I am married; and for me now, having as I have a wife and
children, to set about obtaining dispensations to enable me to hold a
place of profit under the Church, would be endless work; so that, senor,
it all turns on my master marrying this lady at once--for as yet I do not
know her grace, and so I cannot call her by her name."

"She is called the Princess Micomicona," said the curate; "for as her
kingdom is Micomicon, it is clear that must be her name."

"There's no doubt of that," replied Sancho, "for I have known many to
take their name and title from the place where they were born and call
themselves Pedro of Alcala, Juan of Ubeda, and Diego of Valladolid; and
it may be that over there in Guinea queens have the same way of taking
the names of their kingdoms."

"So it may," said the curate; "and as for your master's marrying, I will
do all in my power towards it:" with which Sancho was as much pleased as
the curate was amazed at his simplicity and at seeing what a hold the
absurdities of his master had taken of his fancy, for he had evidently
persuaded himself that he was going to be an emperor.

By this time Dorothea had seated herself upon the curate's mule, and the
barber had fitted the ox-tail beard to his face, and they now told Sancho
to conduct them to where Don Quixote was, warning him not to say that he
knew either the licentiate or the barber, as his master's becoming an
emperor entirely depended on his not recognising them; neither the curate
nor Cardenio, however, thought fit to go with them; Cardenio lest he
should remind Don Quixote of the quarrel he had with him, and the curate
as there was no necessity for his presence just yet, so they allowed the
others to go on before them, while they themselves followed slowly on
foot. The curate did not forget to instruct Dorothea how to act, but she
said they might make their minds easy, as everything would be done
exactly as the books of chivalry required and described.

They had gone about three-quarters of a league when they discovered Don
Quixote in a wilderness of rocks, by this time clothed, but without his
armour; and as soon as Dorothea saw him and was told by Sancho that that
was Don Quixote, she whipped her palfrey, the well-bearded barber
following her, and on coming up to him her squire sprang from his mule
and came forward to receive her in his arms, and she dismounting with
great ease of manner advanced to kneel before the feet of Don Quixote;
and though he strove to raise her up, she without rising addressed him in
this fashion:

"From this spot I will not rise, valiant and doughty knight, until your
goodness and courtesy grant me a boon, which will redound to the honour
and renown of your person and render a service to the most disconsolate
and afflicted damsel the sun has seen; and if the might of your strong
arm corresponds to the repute of your immortal fame, you are bound to aid
the helpless being who, led by the savour of your renowned name, hath
come from far distant lands to seek your aid in her misfortunes."

"I will not answer a word, beauteous lady," replied Don Quixote, "nor
will I listen to anything further concerning you, until you rise from the
earth."

"I will not rise, senor," answered the afflicted damsel, "unless of your
courtesy the boon I ask is first granted me."

"I grant and accord it," said Don Quixote, "provided without detriment or
prejudice to my king, my country, or her who holds the key of my heart
and freedom, it may be complied with."

"It will not be to the detriment or prejudice of any of them, my worthy
lord," said the afflicted damsel; and here Sancho Panza drew close to his
master's ear and said to him very softly, "Your worship may very safely
grant the boon she asks; it's nothing at all; only to kill a big giant;
and she who asks it is the exalted Princess Micomicona, queen of the
great kingdom of Micomicon of Ethiopia."

"Let her be who she may," replied Don Quixote, "I will do what is my
bounden duty, and what my conscience bids me, in conformity with what I
have professed;" and turning to the damsel he said, "Let your great
beauty rise, for I grant the boon which you would ask of me."

"Then what I ask," said the damsel, "is that your magnanimous person
accompany me at once whither I will conduct you, and that you promise not
to engage in any other adventure or quest until you have avenged me of a
traitor who against all human and divine law, has usurped my kingdom."

"I repeat that I grant it," replied Don Quixote; "and so, lady, you may
from this day forth lay aside the melancholy that distresses you, and let
your failing hopes gather new life and strength, for with the help of God
and of my arm you will soon see yourself restored to your kingdom, and
seated upon the throne of your ancient and mighty realm, notwithstanding
and despite of the felons who would gainsay it; and now hands to the
work, for in delay there is apt to be danger."

The distressed damsel strove with much pertinacity to kiss his hands; but
Don Quixote, who was in all things a polished and courteous knight, would
by no means allow it, but made her rise and embraced her with great
courtesy and politeness, and ordered Sancho to look to Rocinante's
girths, and to arm him without a moment's delay. Sancho took down the
armour, which was hung up on a tree like a trophy, and having seen to the
girths armed his master in a trice, who as soon as he found himself in
his armour exclaimed:

"Let us be gone in the name of God to bring aid to this great lady."

The barber was all this time on his knees at great pains to hide his
laughter and not let his beard fall, for had it fallen maybe their fine
scheme would have come to nothing; but now seeing the boon granted, and
the promptitude with which Don Quixote prepared to set out in compliance
with it, he rose and took his lady's hand, and between them they placed
her upon the mule. Don Quixote then mounted Rocinante, and the barber
settled himself on his beast, Sancho being left to go on foot, which made
him feel anew the loss of his Dapple, finding the want of him now. But he
bore all with cheerfulness, being persuaded that his master had now
fairly started and was just on the point of becoming an emperor; for he
felt no doubt at all that he would marry this princess, and be king of
Micomicon at least. The only thing that troubled him was the reflection
that this kingdom was in the land of the blacks, and that the people they
would give him for vassals would be all black; but for this he soon found
a remedy in his fancy, and said he to himself, "What is it to me if my
vassals are blacks? What more have I to do than make a cargo of them and
carry them to Spain, where I can sell them and get ready money for them,
and with it buy some title or some office in which to live at ease all
the days of my life? Not unless you go to sleep and haven't the wit or
skill to turn things to account and sell three, six, or ten thousand
vassals while you would be talking about it! By God I will stir them up,
big and little, or as best I can, and let them be ever so black I'll turn
them into white or yellow. Come, come, what a fool I am!" And so he
jogged on, so occupied with his thoughts and easy in his mind that he
forgot all about the hardship of travelling on foot.

Cardenio and the curate were watching all this from among some bushes,
not knowing how to join company with the others; but the curate, who was
very fertile in devices, soon hit upon a way of effecting their purpose,
and with a pair of scissors he had in a case he quickly cut off
Cardenio's beard, and putting on him a grey jerkin of his own he gave him
a black cloak, leaving himself in his breeches and doublet, while
Cardenio's appearance was so different from what it had been that he
would not have known himself had he seen himself in a mirror. Having
effected this, although the others had gone on ahead while they were
disguising themselves, they easily came out on the high road before them,
for the brambles and awkward places they encountered did not allow those
on horseback to go as fast as those on foot. They then posted themselves
on the level ground at the outlet of the Sierra, and as soon as Don
Quixote and his companions emerged from it the curate began to examine
him very deliberately, as though he were striving to recognise him, and
after having stared at him for some time he hastened towards him with
open arms exclaiming, "A happy meeting with the mirror of chivalry, my
worthy compatriot Don Quixote of La Mancha, the flower and cream of high
breeding, the protection and relief of the distressed, the quintessence
of knights-errant!" And so saying he clasped in his arms the knee of Don
Quixote's left leg. He, astonished at the stranger's words and behaviour,
looked at him attentively, and at length recognised him, very much
surprised to see him there, and made great efforts to dismount. This,
however, the curate would not allow, on which Don Quixote said, "Permit
me, senor licentiate, for it is not fitting that I should be on horseback
and so reverend a person as your worship on foot."

"On no account will I allow it," said the curate; "your mightiness must
remain on horseback, for it is on horseback you achieve the greatest
deeds and adventures that have been beheld in our age; as for me, an
unworthy priest, it will serve me well enough to mount on the haunches of
one of the mules of these gentlefolk who accompany your worship, if they
have no objection, and I will fancy I am mounted on the steed Pegasus, or
on the zebra or charger that bore the famous Moor, Muzaraque, who to this
day lies enchanted in the great hill of Zulema, a little distance from
the great Complutum."

"Nor even that will I consent to, senor licentiate," answered Don
Quixote, "and I know it will be the good pleasure of my lady the
princess, out of love for me, to order her squire to give up the saddle
of his mule to your worship, and he can sit behind if the beast will bear
it."

"It will, I am sure," said the princess, "and I am sure, too, that I need
not order my squire, for he is too courteous and considerate to allow a
Churchman to go on foot when he might be mounted."

"That he is," said the barber, and at once alighting, he offered his
saddle to the curate, who accepted it without much entreaty; but
unfortunately as the barber was mounting behind, the mule, being as it
happened a hired one, which is the same thing as saying ill-conditioned,
lifted its hind hoofs and let fly a couple of kicks in the air, which
would have made Master Nicholas wish his expedition in quest of Don
Quixote at the devil had they caught him on the breast or head. As it
was, they so took him by surprise that he came to the ground, giving so
little heed to his beard that it fell off, and all he could do when he
found himself without it was to cover his face hastily with both his
hands and moan that his teeth were knocked out. Don Quixote when he saw
all that bundle of beard detached, without jaws or blood, from the face
of the fallen squire, exclaimed:

"By the living God, but this is a great miracle! it has knocked off and
plucked away the beard from his face as if it had been shaved off
designedly."

The curate, seeing the danger of discovery that threatened his scheme, at
once pounced upon the beard and hastened with it to where Master Nicholas
lay, still uttering moans, and drawing his head to his breast had it on
in an instant, muttering over him some words which he said were a certain
special charm for sticking on beards, as they would see; and as soon as
he had it fixed he left him, and the squire appeared well bearded and
whole as before, whereat Don Quixote was beyond measure astonished, and
begged the curate to teach him that charm when he had an opportunity, as
he was persuaded its virtue must extend beyond the sticking on of beards,
for it was clear that where the beard had been stripped off the flesh
must have remained torn and lacerated, and when it could heal all that it
must be good for more than beards.

"And so it is," said the curate, and he promised to teach it to him on
the first opportunity. They then agreed that for the present the curate
should mount, and that the three should ride by turns until they reached
the inn, which might be about six leagues from where they were.

Three then being mounted, that is to say, Don Quixote, the princess, and
the curate, and three on foot, Cardenio, the barber, and Sancho Panza,
Don Quixote said to the damsel:

"Let your highness, lady, lead on whithersoever is most pleasing to you;"
but before she could answer the licentiate said:

"Towards what kingdom would your ladyship direct our course? Is it
perchance towards that of Micomicon? It must be, or else I know little
about kingdoms."

She, being ready on all points, understood that she was to answer "Yes,"
so she said "Yes, senor, my way lies towards that kingdom."

"In that case," said the curate, "we must pass right through my village,
and there your worship will take the road to Cartagena, where you will be
able to embark, fortune favouring; and if the wind be fair and the sea
smooth and tranquil, in somewhat less than nine years you may come in
sight of the great lake Meona, I mean Meotides, which is little more than
a hundred days' journey this side of your highness's kingdom."

"Your worship is mistaken, senor," said she; "for it is not two years
since I set out from it, and though I never had good weather,
nevertheless I am here to behold what I so longed for, and that is my
lord Don Quixote of La Mancha, whose fame came to my ears as soon as I
set foot in Spain and impelled me to go in search of him, to commend
myself to his courtesy, and entrust the justice of my cause to the might
of his invincible arm."

"Enough; no more praise," said Don Quixote at this, "for I hate all
flattery; and though this may not be so, still language of the kind is
offensive to my chaste ears. I will only say, senora, that whether it has
might or not, that which it may or may not have shall be devoted to your
service even to death; and now, leaving this to its proper season, I
would ask the senor licentiate to tell me what it is that has brought him
into these parts, alone, unattended, and so lightly clad that I am filled
with amazement."

"I will answer that briefly," replied the curate; "you must know then,
Senor Don Quixote, that Master Nicholas, our friend and barber, and I
were going to Seville to receive some money that a relative of mine who
went to the Indies many years ago had sent me, and not such a small sum
but that it was over sixty thousand pieces of eight, full weight, which
is something; and passing by this place yesterday we were attacked by
four footpads, who stripped us even to our beards, and them they stripped
off so that the barber found it necessary to put on a false one, and even
this young man here"-pointing to Cardenio--"they completely transformed.
But the best of it is, the story goes in the neighbourhood that those who
attacked us belong to a number of galley slaves who, they say, were set
free almost on the very same spot by a man of such valour that, in spite
of the commissary and of the guards, he released the whole of them; and
beyond all doubt he must have been out of his senses, or he must be as
great a scoundrel as they, or some man without heart or conscience to let
the wolf loose among the sheep, the fox among the hens, the fly among the
honey. He has defrauded justice, and opposed his king and lawful master,
for he opposed his just commands; he has, I say, robbed the galleys of
their feet, stirred up the Holy Brotherhood which for many years past has
been quiet, and, lastly, has done a deed by which his soul may be lost
without any gain to his body." Sancho had told the curate and the barber
of the adventure of the galley slaves, which, so much to his glory, his
master had achieved, and hence the curate in alluding to it made the most
of it to see what would be said or done by Don Quixote; who changed
colour at every word, not daring to say that it was he who had been the
liberator of those worthy people. "These, then," said the curate, "were
they who robbed us; and God in his mercy pardon him who would not let
them go to the punishment they deserved."





End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The History of Don Quixote, Vol. I.,
Part 11., by Miguel de Cervantes

*** 