Don Quixote [Trans. by Edith Grossman] (151 page)

His friends called the physician, who took his pulse and did not give them good news, and said there was no doubt that he should attend to the health of his soul because the health of his body was in peril. Don Quixote heard him with a tranquil spirit, but not his housekeeper, his
niece, and his squire, who began to weep piteously, as if he were already lying dead before them. It was the physician’s opinion that melancholy and low spirits were bringing his life to an end. Don Quixote asked to be left alone because he wanted to sleep for a while. They did as he asked, and he slept more than six hours at a stretch, as they say, so long that his housekeeper and his niece thought he would never open his eyes again. He awoke after the length of time that has been mentioned, and giving a great shout, he said:

“Blessed be Almighty God who has done such great good for me! His mercies have no limit, and the sins of men do not curtail or hinder them.”

His niece listened carefully to her uncle’s words, and they seemed more sensible than the ones he usually said, at least during his illness, and she asked him:

“What is your grace saying, Señor? Is there news? Which mercies are these, and which sins of men?”

“The mercies, Niece,” responded Don Quixote, “are those that God has shown to me at this very instant, and as I said, my sins do not hinder them. My judgment is restored, free and clear of the dark shadows of ignorance imposed on it by my grievous and constant reading of detestable books of chivalry. I now recognize their absurdities and deceptions, and my sole regret is that this realization has come so late it does not leave me time to compensate by reading other books that can be a light to the soul. I feel, Niece, that I am about to die; I should like to do so in a manner that would make it clear that my life was not so wicked that I left behind a reputation for being a madman, for although I have been one, I should not like to confirm this truth in my death. Dear girl, call my good friends for me: the priest, the bachelor Sansón Carrasco, and the barber Master Nicolás, for I wish to confess and make my will.”

But the niece was excused from this task by the entrance of the three men. As soon as Don Quixote saw them, he said:

“Good news, Señores! I am no longer Don Quixote of La Mancha but Alonso Quixano, once called
the Good
because of my virtuous life. Now I am the enemy of Amadís of Gaul and all the infinite horde of his lineage; now all the profane histories of knight errantry are hateful to me; now I recognize my foolishness and the danger I was in because I read them; now, by God’s mercy, I have learned from my experience and I despise them.”

When the three men heard him say this, they undoubtedly believed that some new madness had taken hold of him, and Sansón said:

“Now, Señor Don Quixote, you say this now, when we have news of the disenchantment of Señora Dulcinea? And now that we are on the point of becoming shepherds and spending our lives in song, like princes, now your grace wishes to be a hermit? For God’s sake, be quiet, come to your senses, and tell us no more tales.”

“Those that until now,” replied Don Quixote, “have been real, to my detriment, will, with the help of heaven, be turned to my benefit by my death. Señores, I feel that I am dying very rapidly; let us put all jokes aside, and bring me a confessor to hear my confession, and a scribe to write my will, for at critical moments like these a man cannot play games with his soul; and so, while the priest hears my confession, I beg you to bring the scribe.”

They exchanged glances, astonished by Don Quixote’s words, and although they had their doubts, they tended to believe him; one of the signs that led them to think he really was dying was how easily he had moved from madness to sanity, because to the words already cited he added many others that were so well-spoken, so Christian, and so reasonable that their doubts were completely dispelled and they believed he was sane.

The priest had everyone leave, and was alone with him, and heard his confession.

The bachelor went for the scribe and returned a short time later with him and with Sancho Panza, and Sancho—who had already been told by the bachelor about his master’s condition—found the housekeeper and the niece weeping, and he began to sob and shed tears. When the confession had ended the priest came out and said:

“Alonso Quixano the Good is truly dying, and he has truly recovered his reason; we ought to go in so that he can make his will.”

This news put terrible pressure on the already full eyes of his housekeeper, his niece, and his good squire, Sancho Panza, forcing tears from their eyes and a thousand deep sighs from their bosoms, because the truth is, as has already been said, that whether Don Quixote was simply Alonso Quixano the Good, or whether he was Don Quixote of La Mancha, he always had a gentle disposition and was kind in his treatment of others, and for this reason he was dearly loved not only by those in his household, but by everyone who knew him.

The scribe came in with the others, and after Don Quixote had completed the preface to the will and tended to his soul with all the Christian particulars that are required, he came to the bequests and said:

“Item: it is my will that with regard to certain monies held by Sancho Panza, whom, in my madness, I made my squire, because between him and me there were certain accounts and debts and payments, and I do not want him held responsible for them, nor should any accounting be demanded of him, but if anything is left over after he has taken what I owe him, the remainder, which will not amount to much, should be his, and may it do him good; and if, when I was mad, I was party to giving him the governorship of the ínsula, now, when I am sane, if I could give him the governorship of a kingdom, I would, because the simplicity of his nature and the fidelity of his actions deserve it.”

And turning to Sancho, he said:

“Forgive me, my friend, for the opportunity I gave you to seem as mad as I, making you fall into the error into which I fell, thinking that there were and are knights errant in the world.”

“Oh!” responded Sancho, weeping. “Don’t die, Señor; your grace should take my advice and live for many years, because the greatest madness a man can commit in this life is to let himself die, just like that, without anybody killing him or any other hands ending his life except those of melancholy. Look, don’t be lazy, but get up from that bed and let’s go to the countryside dressed as shepherds, just like we arranged: maybe behind some bush we’ll find Señora Doña Dulcinea disenchanted, as pretty as you please. If you’re dying of sorrow over being defeated, blame me for that and say you were toppled because I didn’t tighten Rocinante’s cinches; besides, your grace must have seen in your books of chivalry that it’s a very common thing for one knight to topple another, and for the one who’s vanquished today to be the victor tomorrow.”

“That’s right,” said Sansón, “and our good Sancho Panza knows the truth of these cases.”

“Señores,” said Don Quixote, “let us go slowly, for there are no birds today in yesterday’s nests. I was mad, and now I am sane; I was Don Quixote of La Mancha, and now I am, as I have said, Alonso Quixano the Good. May my repentance and sincerity return me to the esteem your graces once had for me, and let the scribe continue.

Item: I bequeath my entire estate to Antonia Quixana, my niece, who is present, having first taken out, in the most convenient way, what is necessary to fulfill the other bequests I have made; and the first that I want to make is to pay the salary owed to my housekeeper for the time she has served me, plus another twenty
ducados
for a dress. As executors I appoint the priest and Bachelor Sansón Carrasco, who are both present.

Item: it is my will that if Antonia Quixana, my niece, wishes to marry, she marry a man regarding whom it has first been determined that he does not know anything about books of chivalry; and in the event it is discovered that he does know about them, and despite this my niece still wishes to marry him, she must lose all that I have left her, which can then be distributed by my executors in pious works, as they see fit.

Item: I implore the aforementioned executors that if they are fortunate enough to meet the author who, they say, composed a history entitled
The Second Part of the Exploits of Don Quixote of La Mancha,
that they ask him for me, as courteously as possible, to forgive the occasion I unwittingly gave him for writing so many and such great absurdities as he wrote therein, because I depart this life with qualms that I have been the reason he wrote them.”

With this he brought his will to a close, and falling into a swoon, he collapsed on his bed. Everyone was alarmed and hurried to assist him, and in the three days he lived after making his will, he fainted very often. The house was in an uproar, but even so the niece ate, the housekeeper drank, and Sancho Panza was content, for the fact of inheriting something wipes away or tempers in the heir the memory of the grief that is reasonably felt for the deceased.

In brief, Don Quixote’s end came after he had received all the sacraments and had execrated books of chivalry with many effective words. The scribe happened to be present, and he said he had never read in any book of chivalry of a knight errant dying in his bed in so tranquil and Christian a manner as Don Quixote, who, surrounded by the sympathy and tears of those present, gave up the ghost, I mean to say, he died.

When he saw this, the priest asked the scribe to draw up a document to the effect that Alonso Quixano the Good, commonly called Don Quixote of La Mancha, had passed from this life and had died a natural death; he said he was requesting this document in order to remove the possibility that any author other than Cide Hamete Benengeli would falsely resurrect him and write endless histories of his deeds.

This was the end of the Ingenious Gentleman of La Mancha, whose village Cide Hamete did not wish to name precisely, so that all the towns and villages of La Mancha might contend among themselves to claim him as their own, as the seven cities in Greece contended to claim Homer.

The tears of Sancho and of Don Quixote’s niece and housekeeper, new epitaphs for his grave, are not recorded here, although Sansón Carrasco did write this one for him:

And a most prudent Cide Hamete said to his pen:

“Here you will remain, hanging from this rack on a copper wire, and I do not know if you, my quill pen, are well or badly cut, but there you will live, down through the ages, unless presumptuous and unscrupulous historians take you down to profane you. But before they reach you, you can warn them and tell them as well as you are able:

For me alone was Don Quixote born, and I for him; he knew how to act, and I to write; the two of us alone are one, despite and regardless of the false Tordesillan writer who dared, or will dare, to write with a coarse and badly designed ostrich feather about the exploits of my valorous knight, for it is not a burden for his shoulders or a subject for his cold creativity; and you will warn him, if you ever happen to meet him, to let the weary and crumbling bones of Don Quixote rest in the grave, and not attempt, contrary to all the statutes of death, to carry them off to Castilla la Vieja,
²
removing him from the tomb where he really and truly lies, incapable of undertaking a third journey or a new sally; for to mock the many undertaken by so many knights errant, the two he made were enough, and they have brought delight and pleasure to everyone who knows of them, in these kingdoms as well as those abroad. And with this you will fulfill your Christian duty, by giving good counsel to those who do not wish you well, and I shall be pleased and proud to have been the
first who completely enjoyed the fruits of his writing, just as he wished, for my only desire has been to have people reject and despise the false and nonsensical histories of the books of chivalry, which are already stumbling over the history of my true Don Quixote, and will undoubtedly fall to the ground.
Vale.
”

“Cervantes is the founder of the Modern Era…. The novelist need answer to no one but Cervantes. Don Quixote is practically unthinkable as a living being, and yet, in our memory, what character is more alive?”