Don Quixote [Trans. by Edith Grossman] (106 page)

“I don’t understand
logiquos,”
said Sancho, “and I don’t think I’ve heard a word like that in all my days.”

“Longinquous,”
responded Don Quixote, “means
remote,
and it is no wonder you do not understand it, for you are not obliged to know Latin, as are those who boast of knowing it but do not.”

“The animals are tied,” replied Sancho. “What do we do now?”

“What?” responded Don Quixote. “Cross ourselves and raise anchor; I mean to say, embark and cut the mooring line that holds this boat.”

And after leaping in, with Sancho following him, he cut the rope, and the boat started to move slowly away from shore; when Sancho found himself some two
varas
onto the river he began to tremble, fearing that he was lost; but nothing caused him more grief than the sound of the donkey braying and the sight of Rocinante struggling to break free, and he said to his master:

“The donkey is braying because he is sorry about our absence, and Rocinante is trying to get free so that he can jump in after us. O dearest friends, stay in peace, and let the madness that takes us away from you turn into disappointment and bring us back to you!”

And saying this, he began to cry so bitterly that Don Quixote, displeased and irascible, said:

“What do you fear, coward? Why do you weep, spineless creature?
Who is pursuing you, who is hounding you, heart of a mouse, and what do you lack, beggar in the midst of plenty? Are you perhaps walking barefoot through the mountains of the Rif, or are you sitting on a bench like an archduke and sailing the tranquil current of this pleasant river, from which we shall shortly emerge onto a calm sea? But we must have emerged already, and traveled at least seven hundred or eight hundred leagues; if I had an astrolabe here and could calculate the height of the pole, I could tell you how far we have traveled, although either I know very little, or we have already passed, or will soon pass, the equinoctial line that divides and separates the opposite poles at an equal distance from each.”

“And when we reach that lion your grace has mentioned,” asked Sancho, “how far will we have traveled?”

“A good distance,” replied Don Quixote, “because of the three hundred and sixty degrees of water and earth that the globe contains, according to the computations of Ptolemy, the greatest cosmographer known to man, we shall have traveled half that distance when we reach the line I have mentioned.”

“By God,” said Sancho, “your grace has brought in a fine witness to testify to what you say, some kind of coast and a raft, and a toll with a meow or something like that.”

Don Quixote laughed at the interpretation Sancho had given to the name and computations and calculations of the cosmographer Ptolemy, and he said:

“You should know, Sancho, that the Spaniards and others who embark at Cádiz for the East Indies have a sign to let them know they have passed the equinoctial line, which is that every louse on the ship dies,
¹
and not one is left alive, and you could not find a single one on the vessel even if you were paid its weight in gold; and so, Sancho, you can run your hand along your thigh, and if you run across a living thing, our doubts will be resolved, and if you do not, then we have passed the line.”

“I don’t believe any of that,” responded Sancho, “but even so, I’ll do what your grace tells me to, though I don’t know why we need to make these tests, since I can see with my own eyes that we haven’t gone five
varas
from shore, and we haven’t moved two
varas
away from the animals because there’s Rocinante and the donkey exactly where we left them,
and looking carefully, which is what I’m doing now, I swear that we’re not even moving or traveling as fast as an ant.”

“Sancho, perform the investigation I have told you to, and do not concern yourself with any other, for you know nothing about the colures, lines, parallels, zodiacs, ellipticals, poles, solstices, equinoxes, planets, signs, points, and measurements that compose the celestial and terrestrial spheres; if you knew all these things, or even some of them, you would see clearly which parallels we have cut, how many zodiacal signs we have seen, and how many we have already left behind and are leaving behind now. And I tell you again to probe and go hunting, for in my opinion you are cleaner than a sheet of smooth white paper.”

Sancho began to probe, and after extending his hand carefully and cautiously behind his left knee, he raised his head, looked at his master, and said:

“Either the test is false, or we haven’t gone as far as your grace says, not by many leagues.”

“What is it?” asked Don Quixote. “Have you come across something?”

“More like somethings,” responded Sancho.

And shaking his fingers, he washed his entire hand in the river as the boat glided gently along in midstream, moved not by any secret intelligence or hidden enchanter, but by the current of the water itself, which was calm and tranquil then.

At this point they saw two large watermills in the middle of the river, and as soon as Don Quixote saw them, he said in a loud voice to Sancho:

“Do you see? There, my friend, you can see the city, castle, or fortress where some knight is being held captive, or some queen, princess, or noblewoman ill-treated, and I have been brought here to deliver them.”

“What the devil kind of city, fortress, or castle is your grace talking about, Señor?” said Sancho. “Can’t you see that those are watermills in the river, where they grind wheat?”

“Be quiet, Sancho,” said Don Quixote, “for although they seem to be watermills, they are not; I have already told you that enchantments change and alter all things from their natural state. I do not mean to say that they are really altered from one state to another, but that they seem to be, as experience has shown in the transformation of Dulcinea, sole refuge of my hopes.”

And then the boat, having entered the middle of the current, began to travel not quite so slowly as it had so far. Many of the millers in the
watermills, who saw that the boat was coming down the river and would be swallowed up by the rushing torrent of the wheels, hurried out with long poles to stop it; and since they came out well-floured, their faces and clothes covered in dust from the flour, they were not a pretty sight. They were shouting, saying:

“You devils! Where are you going? Are you crazy? Do you want to drown and be smashed to pieces by those wheels?”

“Did I not tell you, Sancho,” said Don Quixote, “that we had come to a place where I would show the valor of my arm? Look at the miscreants and scoundrels who have come out to meet me; look at the number of monsters who oppose me; look at their hideous faces grimacing at us…. Well, now you will see, you villains!”

And standing up in the boat, with great shouts he began to threaten the millers, saying:

“Wicked and ill-advised rabble, set free and release the person, high-born or low-, no matter his estate or quality, whom you hold captive in your fortress or prison, for I am Don Quixote of La Mancha, also known as the Knight of the Lions, for whom, by order of the heavens on high, the successful conclusion of this adventure has been reserved.”

And saying this, he put his hand on his sword and began to flourish it in the air against the millers, who, hearing but not understanding this nonsense, began to use their poles to stop the boat, which by now was entering the millrace rapids.

Sancho was on his knees, devoutly praying to heaven to save him from so clear a danger, which it did through the efforts and speed of the millers, who pushed against the boat with their poles and stopped it but could not keep it from capsizing and throwing Don Quixote and Sancho into the water; it was fortunate for Don Quixote that he knew how to swim like a goose, although the weight of his armor made him sink twice, and if it had not been for the millers, who jumped into the water and pulled them out, it would have been the end of them both.

When they had been pulled to land, more soaked than dying of thirst, Sancho, on his knees, hands clasped, eyes turned up to heaven, asked God in a long and devout prayer to save him from any future rash desires and acts of his master.

Then the fishermen arrived who owned the boat, which had been shattered by the wheels of the watermills, and seeing that it had been smashed to pieces, they began to strip Sancho and to demand that Don Quixote pay them, and he, very calmly, as if nothing had happened, told
the millers and fishermen he would gladly pay for the boat on the condition that they willingly and without reservation turn over to him the person or persons whom they were holding captive in their castle.

“Are you out of your mind? What persons and what castle are you talking about?” responded one of the millers. “Do you want to take the people who come to grind wheat at these mills?”

“Enough!” Don Quixote said to himself. “It will be preaching in the desert to try to convince this rabble to take any virtuous action. In this adventure two valiant enchanters must have had an encounter, and one hinders what the other attempts: one provided me with the boat, and the other threw me out of it. God help us, for the entire world is nothing but tricks and deceptions opposing one another. I can do no more.”

And raising his voice and looking at the watermills, he said:

“Friends, whoever you may be, who are captive in this prison, forgive me; to my misfortune, and yours, I cannot free you from your travail. This adventure must be reserved and destined for another knight.”

Having said this, he came to an agreement with the fishermen and paid fifty
reales
for the boat, which Sancho gave to them very unwillingly, saying:

“Two more boat trips like this one and everything we own will be at the bottom of the river.”

The fishermen and the millers were astonished as they looked at those two figures, apparently so different from other men, and they could not understand the meaning of Don Quixote’s words and questions to them; and considering them mad, they left them, the millers returning to their mills and the fishermen to their huts. Don Quixote and Sancho went back to their animals, and to being as foolish as jackasses,
²
and so ended the adventure of the enchanted boat.

CHAPTER XXX

Knight and squire returned to their animals feeling rather melancholy and out of sorts, especially Sancho, for whom touching their store of money touched his very soul, since it seemed to him that taking anything away from it meant taking away the apple of his eye. Finally, without saying a word, they mounted and rode away from the famous river, Don Quixote sunk deep in thoughts of love, and Sancho in those of his increased revenues, which at the moment he seemed very far from obtaining; although he was a fool, he understood very well that all or most of his master’s actions were mad, and he was looking for an opportunity to tear himself away and go home without engaging his master in explanations or leavetakings, but Fortune ordained that matters should take a turn contrary to his fears.

It so happened, then, that the next day, as the sun was setting and they were riding out of a wood, Don Quixote cast his eye upon a green meadow, and at the far end he saw people, and as he drew near he realized that they were falconers.
¹
He came closer, and among them he saw a graceful lady on a snow white palfrey or pony adorned with a green harness and a silver sidesaddle. The lady was also dressed in green, so elegantly and richly that she seemed the very embodiment of elegance. On her left hand she carried a goshawk, which indicated to Don Quixote that she was a great lady and probably the mistress of all the other hunters, which was true, and so he said to Sancho:

“Run, Sancho my friend, and tell the lady with the goshawk, who is on the palfrey, that I, the Knight of the Lions, kiss the hands of her great
beauty, and if her highness gives me permission to do so, I shall kiss her hands myself and serve her to the best of my ability and to the extent her highness commands. And be careful, Sancho, how you speak, and be careful not to inject any of your proverbs into the message.”

“You take me for an injecter!” responded Sancho. “You say that to me! This isn’t the first time in my life, you know, that I’ve carried messages to high and mighty ladies!”

“Except for the one you carried to the lady Dulcinea,” replied Don Quixote, “I do not know that you have ever carried another, at least not in my service.”

“That is true,” responded Sancho, “but if you pay your debts, you don’t worry about guaranties, and in a prosperous house supper’s soon on the stove; I mean that nobody has to tell me things or give me any advice: I’m prepared for anything, and I know something about everything.”

“I believe you, Sancho,” said Don Quixote. “Go, then, and may God go with you.”

Sancho left at a trot, urging his donkey on to a faster pace than usual, and when he reached the beautiful huntress he dismounted, kneeled before her, and said:

“Beautiful lady, that knight over there, called
The Knight of the Lions
, is my master, and I’m his squire, called Sancho Panza at home. This
Knight of the Lions,
who not long ago was called
The Knight of the Sorrowful Face,
has sent me to ask your highness to have the goodness to give permission for him, with your agreement, approval, and consent, to put his desire into effect, which is, as he says and I believe, none other than to serve your lofty highness and beauty, and by giving it, your ladyship will do something that redounds to your benefit, and from it he’ll receive a most notable favor and happiness.”

“Indeed, good squire,” responded the lady, “you have delivered your message with all the pomp and circumstance that such messages demand. Rise up from the ground; it is not right for the squire of so great a knight as the Knight of the Sorrowful Face, about whom we have heard so much, to remain on his knees: arise, friend, and tell your master that he is very welcome to serve me and my husband, the duke, on a country estate we have nearby.”