Read Don Quixote [Trans. by Edith Grossman] Online
Authors: Miguel de Cervantes
Tags: #Fiction, #Classics, #Literary, #Knights and knighthood, #Spain, #Literary Criticism, #Spanish & Portuguese, #European, #Don Quixote (Fictitious character)
Don Quixote [Trans. by Edith Grossman] (112 page)
May you be eaten by bears,
like His Majesty Favila.”
“That was a Visigothic king,” said Don Quixote, “who went hunting for big game and was devoured by a bear.”
“That’s what I’m saying,” responded Sancho. “I wouldn’t want princes and kings to put themselves in that kind of danger in exchange for a pleasure that really shouldn’t be one, since it involves killing an animal that hasn’t done anything wrong.”
“But you’re mistaken, Sancho,” responded the duke, “because the practice of hunting big game is more appropriate and necessary for kings and princes than any other. Hunting is an image of war: in it there are stratagems, traps, and snares for conquering the enemy safely; one suffers bitter cold and intolerable heat; idleness and sleep are diminished, one’s strength is fortified, one’s limbs are made agile; in short, it is a practice that harms no one and gives pleasure to many; and the best thing about it is that it is not for everyone, as other forms of hunting are, except for hawking, which also is only for kings and great lords. And so, Sancho, change your opinion, and when you are a governor, devote yourself to hunting and see how it will benefit you a hundred times over.”
“No,” responded Sancho, “a good governor and a broken leg stay at home.
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How nice if weary merchants came to see him and he was in the woods enjoying himself! What a misfortune for the governorship! By my faith, Señor, hunting and those pastimes are more for idlers than for governors. What I plan to amuse myself with is playing
triunfo envidado
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on feast days and ninepins on Sundays and holidays; all this hunting and hollering
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doesn’t go well with my nature and doesn’t sit well with my conscience.”
“May it please God, Sancho, because there’s many a slip between the cup and the lip.”
“That may be so,” replied Sancho, “but if you pay your debts, you don’t worry about guaranties, and it’s better to have God’s help than to get up early, and your belly leads your feet, not the other way around; I mean, if God helps me, and I do what I ought to with good intentions, I’ll be sure to govern in grand style. Just put a finger in my mouth and see if I bite or not!”
“God and all his saints curse you, wretched Sancho,” said Don Quixote, “as I have said so often, will the day ever come when I see you speak an ordinary coherent sentence without any proverbs? Señores, your highnesses should leave this fool alone, for he will grind your souls not between two but two thousand proverbs brought in as opportunely and appropriately as the health God gives him, or me if I wanted to listen to them.”
“Sancho Panza’s proverbs,” said the duchess, “although more numer
ous than those of the Greek Commander,
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because of their brevity are no less estimable. As far as I am concerned, they give me more pleasure than others that may be more fitting and more opportune.”
Engaged in this and other amiable conversations, they walked out of the tent and into the forest, and in the collecting of some traps the day passed quickly and night fell, not as clear or as tranquil as it usually was at that time of year, which was the middle of summer, but it did bring a certain chiaroscuro that furthered the plans of the duke and duchess, for as dusk began to turn into night, it suddenly seemed that the entire forest on all four sides was ablaze, and then here and there, this way and that, an infinite number of cornets and other warlike instruments were heard, as if troops of cavalry were riding through the woods. The light of the fires and the sound of martial instruments almost blinded and deafened the eyes and ears of those nearby and even those who were elsewhere in the forest.
Then they heard the sound of infinite
lelelíes,
in the manner of a Moorish battle cry; trumpets and bugles blared, drums sounded, fifes played almost all at the same time, and so continually and so rapidly that one could lose one’s senses in the confused din of so many instruments. The duke was stunned, the duchess was astounded, Don Quixote was astonished, Sancho Panza trembled, and even those who knew the cause were frightened. In their fear they fell silent, and a postillion dressed as a demon passed in front of them, and instead of a cornet he was playing a huge, hollow animal horn that emitted a harsh and terrifying sound.
“Hello there, courier!” said the duke. “Who are you, where are you going, and what soldiers are these who seem to be crossing this forest?”
To which the courier, in a dreadful, brash voice, responded:
“I am the devil; I am looking for Don Quixote of La Mancha; the people coming through here are six troops of enchanters who bear the peerless Dulcinea of Toboso on a triumphal carriage. Enchanted, she comes with the gallant Frenchman Montesinos, to instruct Don Quixote as to how the lady is to be disenchanted.”
“If you were the devil, as you say and as your figure suggests, you would have known the knight Don Quixote of La Mancha, for you have him here before you.”
“By God and my conscience,” responded the devil, “I wasn’t really thinking; my thoughts are distracted by so many things that I forgot the principal reason for my being here.”
“There can be no doubt,” said Sancho, “that this demon is a decent man and a good Christian, because otherwise he wouldn’t swear
by God and my conscience.
Now I think there must be good people even down in hell.”
Then the demon, without dismounting, directed his gaze at Don Quixote and said:
“To you, Knight of the Lions (and may I see you in their claws), I am sent by the unfortunate but valiant knight Montesinos, who has ordered me to tell you on his behalf that you should wait for him in the place where I encountered you, because he brings with him the one they call Dulcinea of Toboso, and he will instruct you on what is needed to disenchant her. And since I came here with no other purpose, I need stay no longer: may demons like me be with you, and good angels with these nobles.”
And having said this, he blew on the enormous horn, turned his back, and left, not waiting for anyone’s reply.
This caused new amazement in everyone, especially in Sancho and Don Quixote: in Sancho, when he saw that despite the truth, people insisted that Dulcinea was enchanted; in Don Quixote, because he could not be certain if what had happened to him in the Cave of Montesinos was true or not. And as he was lost in these thoughts, the duke said to him:
“Does your grace intend to wait, Señor Don Quixote?”
“How could I not?” he responded. “I shall wait here, intrepid and strong, though all of hell were to attack me.”
“Well, if I see another devil and hear another horn like that one, I wouldn’t wait here any more than I’d wait in Flanders,” said Sancho.
By now the night had grown even darker, and a good number of lights began to move through the forest, just as the dry exhalations of the earth move across the sky and to our eyes seem like shooting stars. At the same time a terrifying noise was heard, something like the one made by the solid wheels usually found on oxcarts, from whose harsh and constant screeching, they say, wolves and bears flee if there are any nearby when they pass. To this was added more tumult, another clamor that heightened all the others, which was that it really seemed that in the four corners of the forest four encounters or battles were taking place at the same time, because here the hard thunder of terrifying artillery sounded; there infinite muskets were being fired; the voices of the combatants cried out close by; the Muslim
lelelíes
were repeated in the distance.
Finally, the cornets, the animal horns, the hunting horns, the bugles, the trumpets, the drums, the artillery, the harquebuses, and above all, the awful noise of the carts together formed a sound so confused and horrible that Don Quixote had to summon all his valor to endure it; but Sancho’s courage plummeted and sent him, swooning, to the skirts of the duchess, who received him there and quickly ordered that water be thrown in his face. It was, and he regained consciousness just as a cart with screeching wheels arrived at the place where they stood.
It was pulled by four slow oxen draped in black; a great blazing wax torch was tied to each of their horns, and on the cart was a high seat on which a venerable old man was sitting, his beard whiter than the snow, and so long it fell below his waist; he wore a long robe of black buckram, for since the cart was filled with infinite lights, one could clearly see and discern everything it carried. It was driven by two hideous demons dressed in the same buckram, with faces so ugly that Sancho, having seen them once, closed his eyes so as not to see them again. And so the cart reached them, and the venerable old man got up from his high seat, and as he stood there he gave a great shout, saying:
“I am the wise Lirgandeo.”
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And the cart drove on, and he did not say another word. Behind this one came another cart of the same kind, carrying another old man enthroned, and he, stopping the cart, in a voice no less grave than the other’s, said:
“I am the wise Alquife, the great friend of Urganda the Unknown.”
And the cart passed on.
Then, in the same manner, another cart arrived, but the one seated on the throne was not an ancient like the others, but a strong, robust, evil-looking man, and as he arrived he rose to his feet, just like the others, and said in a voice that was hoarser and more fiendish:
“I am the enchanter Arcalaus, the mortal enemy of Amadís of Gaul and all his kin.”
And he moved on. Not far away from there the three carts halted, and the maddening sound of their wheels stopped, and then something else was heard, not a noise, but the sound made by soft and harmonious music, which made Sancho very happy, and which he took as a good omen; and so, he said to the duchess, from whose side he had moved not one iota:
“Señora, where there is music, there can be nothing bad.”
“Nor where there are lights and brightness,” responded the duchess.
To which Sancho replied:
“A flame gives light, and bonfires give brightness, and if we go near them they can burn us, but music is always a sign of cheer and rejoicing.”
“We shall see,” said Don Quixote, who had heard everything.
And he was correct, as the following chapter shows.
In which the information that Don Quixote received regarding the disenchantment of Dulcinea continues, along with other remarkable events
To the rhythm of the pleasant music, they saw coming toward them the kind of cart that is called triumphal, pulled by six gray mules caparisoned in white linen; on each of them rode a penitent of light,
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also dressed in white and holding a large burning wax torch in his hand. The cart was two or even three times larger than the previous ones, and the sides and front were occupied by twelve other penitents as white as snow, all with their burning torches, a sight that caused both wonder and terror; on a raised throne sat a nymph draped in a thousand veils of silver cloth, and on all of them infinite numbers of gold sequins were sparkling, making her seem if not richly, then at least colorfully dressed. Her face was covered by transparent and delicate sendal,
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so that despite its folds the very beautiful face of a maiden was revealed, and the many lights made it possible to discern her beauty and her age, which appeared to be no more than twenty and no less than seventeen.
Next to her came a figure dressed in the kind of long robe that is called flowing, with a black veil covering the head; as soon as the cart came face-to-face with the duke and duchess and Don Quixote, the music of the flageolets stopped, followed by the music of the harps and lutes that were playing in the cart; the figure in the robe stood and,
pulling the robe open and removing the veil, revealed the fleshless, hideous figure of Death itself, causing grief in Don Quixote and dismay in Sancho Panza, while the duke and duchess adopted a semblance of fear. This living Death stood and, in a drowsy voice and with a tongue not fully awake, said:
“I am Merlin, who, the histories say,
was sired and fathered by the devil himself
(a lie made true by the mere passage of time),
I am the prince of Magic, king and fount
of Zoroastrian science and lore,
and enemy to those ages and times
that attempt to conceal the gallant deeds
of the brave and courageous errant knights
whom I so dearly loved, and still do love.
Although the disposition of enchanters,
of mages and magicians always is
flinthearted, harsh, and ruthless, mine alone is tender, soft, and loving, wanting no more
than always to do good to everyone.
Down in the dark mournful caverns of Dis,
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where my soul passed endless time in giving shape
to certain forms, and characters, and rhomboids,
the melancholy voice of the beauteous
and peerless Dulcinea of Toboso
reached my ears. I learned of her enchantment,
her misfortune, her transformation from
highborn lady into a peasant girl;
my heart was moved, and I encased my spirit
in the shell of this fierce and fearsome skeleton,
and pored over a hundred thousand books
of my diabolic and vicious lore,
and come now with the remedy to cure
so grievous a sorrow, so great an ill.
O you, glory and honor of all who don
tunics of adamant steel and diamond,
light and lantern, pilot, polestar and guide
of those who abandon the languor of sleep,
their idle beds, to take up and profess
the unbearable burden and exercise
of blood-drenched and weighty arms, I say to you,
O famous knight, never sufficiently praised,
to you, both valiant and wise, O Don Quixote, the splendor of La Mancha and star of Spain,
that for the peerless lady Dulcinea
to regain and recover her first state,
your squire, Sancho, needs to give himself
three thousand and three hundred blows upon
both of his broad buttocks, robust and large, bared to the whip, and struck in such a way
that they turn red, and smart, and give him pain.
This is the decision of all the authors
of her misfortune, woe, and alteration, and for this I have come, my lords and ladies.”