Don Quixote 1.29

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, be 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 he 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."