Don Quixote [Trans. by Edith Grossman] (31 page)

“From this poem,” said Sancho, “you can’t learn anything, unless that filly there’s the one that leads the way out of the tangle.”

“What filly?” said Don Quixote.

“It seems to me,” said Sancho, “that your grace mentioned some
filly
there.”

“I said
Phyllis,
” responded Don Quixote, “which is undoubtedly the name of the lady about whom the author of this sonnet is complaining; and, by my faith, he seems a reasonable poet, or I know little of the art.”

“Then,” said Sancho, “does your grace also know about poems?”

“More than you think,” responded Don Quixote, “as you will see when you carry a letter, written in verse from top to bottom, to my lady Dulcinea of Toboso. Because I want you to know, Sancho, that all or most of the knights errant of a bygone day were great troubadours and great musicians; for these two talents, or endowments, I should say, are attributes of enamored knights errant. Although the truth is that the strophes of the knights of long ago have more spirit in them than skill.”

“Your grace, read some more,” said Sancho, “and soon you’ll find something that will satisfy us.”

Don Quixote turned the page and said:

“This is prose and seems to be a letter.”

“The kind of letter that’s a message, Señor, or the legal kind?” asked Sancho.

“It seems at first glance to be a love letter,” responded Don Quixote.

“Read it aloud, your grace,” said Sancho. “I really like things that have to do with love.”

“I should be happy to,” said Don Quixote.

And, reading it aloud, as Sancho had requested, he saw that it said:

When he had finished reading the letter, Don Quixote said:

“Less from this than from the verses, one can assume that the man who wrote it is a scorned lover.”

And leafing through almost the entire notebook, he found other verses and letters, some of which he could read and others not; but what they all contained were complaints, laments, suspicions, joys and sorrows, kindnesses and slights, either celebrated or wept over.

While Don Quixote was looking through the book, Sancho looked through the traveling case, and every corner of it and the cushion was searched, scrutinized, and investigated, every seam pulled apart, every tuft of wool untangled, so that nothing would be left behind for want of effort or diligence, for the
escudos
he had discovered, which amounted to more than a hundred, had awakened an enormous appetite in him. And though he did not find more than he had already found, he considered as time well spent the tossing in the blanket, the vomiting of the potion, the blessings of the staffs, the fists of the muledriver, the loss of his saddlebags, the theft of his coat, and all the hunger, thirst, and weariness he had endured in the service of his worthy lord, for it seemed to him he had been more than well-rewarded when his master favored him and presented his find to him as a gift.

The Knight of the Sorrowful Face was left with a great desire to know who the owner of the traveling case might be, supposing, on the basis of the sonnet and letter, the gold coins and excellent shirts, that he must be a wellborn and noble lover driven to some desperate end by his lady’s scorn and harsh treatment. But since no person appeared in that desolate and rugged place whom he could question, his only concern was to move on, following no other path than the one chosen by Rocinante, which tended to be the one the horse could travel most easily, and always imagining that there was bound to be some extraordinary adventure waiting for him in the thickets.

Riding along, thinking these thoughts, at the top of a hill that lay ahead of him Don Quixote saw a man leaping from crag to crag and bush to bush with uncommon speed. The man appeared to be half-dressed, and he had a heavy black beard, long disheveled hair, no shoes on his
feet, and nothing at all on his calves; his thighs were covered by breeches that seemed to be made of tawny velvet but were so tattered and torn that in many places his skin showed through. His head was bare, and though he moved with the speed we have mentioned, the Knight of the Sorrowful Face saw and noted all these details; he tried to follow him but could not because it was beyond the strength of Rocinante to travel that rugged ground, especially since he was by nature slow-paced and phlegmatic. Then Don Quixote imagined that the man was the owner of the saddle cushion and traveling case, and he resolved to look for him until he found him, even if he was obliged to spend a year in those mountains, and so he ordered Sancho to get off his donkey and go around one part of the mountain, and he would go around the other, and in this way they might encounter the man who had so quickly disappeared from view.

“I can’t do that,” responded Sancho, “because when I leave your grace I’m filled with fear that plagues me with a thousand different kinds of sudden frights and visions. And I just want to let you know this, so that from now on I won’t have to move a finger’s width from your presence.”

“So be it,” said the Knight of the Sorrowful Face. “I am very pleased that you wish to take advantage of my courage, which will not fail you even if your spirit fails your body. Come now, and follow after me slowly, or however you can, and let your eyes be like lanterns; we shall circle round this hillock, and perhaps we shall come across that man we saw who is, beyond any doubt, the owner of what we have found.”

To which Sancho responded:

“It would be much better not to look for him, because if we find him and he’s the owner of the money, of course I’ll have to return it to him, so it would be better not to undertake a useless task, and let me keep it in good faith until its rightful owner appears in a way that’s not so strange or troublesome, and maybe by that time I’ll have spent it, and then by the king’s law I won’t have to pay because I’ll be a pauper.”

“You are mistaken about that, Sancho,” responded Don Quixote, “for now that we have begun to suspect who the owner is, and have had him practically in front of us, we are obliged to search for him and return the money, and if we do not search for him, the strong suspicion we have that he is the owner makes us as culpable as if he really were. Therefore, Sancho my friend, do not let the search for him grieve you, for my grief will be taken away if I find him.”

And so he spurred Rocinante, and Sancho followed on his customary
donkey,
²
and when they had ridden around part of the mountain, they discovered in a stream, lying dead and half-eaten by dogs and pecked at by crows, a mule that was saddled and bridled, which was further confirmation of their suspicion that the fleeing man was the owner of both the mule and the saddle cushion.

As they were looking at the mule, they heard a whistle like that of a shepherd tending his flock, and suddenly, on their left, they saw a good number of goats and, behind the goats, at the top of the mountain, the goatherd, who was a very old man. Don Quixote called to him and asked him to come down. He shouted in response, asking what had brought them to this place that was rarely, if ever, visited except by goats or wolves or the other animals that lived there. Sancho responded that he should come down, and they would give him a good accounting of everything. The goatherd came down, and when he reached Don Quixote, he said:

“I’ll wager you’re looking at the mule that’s lying dead in that gully. By my faith, it’s been there for six months. Tell me: have you run across the owner?”

“We have not run across anyone,” responded Don Quixote, “but we found a saddle cushion and traveling case not far from here.”

“I found them, too,” responded the goatherd, “but I never wanted to pick them up or go near them because I was afraid there’d be trouble and they’d say I stole them; the devil’s sly, and he puts things under our feet that make us stumble and fall, and we don’t know how or why.”

“That’s just what I say,” responded Sancho. “I found them, too, and I didn’t want to get within a stone’s throw of them: I left them there, and there they remain, just as they were; I don’t want a dog with a bell around its neck.”
³

“Tell me, my good man,” said Don Quixote, “do you know who the owner of these articles might be?”

“What I can tell you,” said the goatherd, “is that there’s a sheepfold about three leagues from here, and about six months ago, more or less, a young gentleman came there, very courteous in his manner and bearing, riding on that same mule that’s lying there dead, and with the same saddle cushion and traveling case you say you found and didn’t touch. He asked us which part of this country was the most rugged and remote; we
told him it was here where we are now, and that’s the truth, because if you go in just half a league more, maybe you won’t be able to find your way out; I’m surprised you even got this far, because there’s no road or path that leads to this spot. Anyway, as I was saying, when the young man heard our answer, he turned and rode off to the place we told him about, leaving us all pleased by his good looks and surprised at his question and at how fast we saw him riding back toward the sierra; and then we didn’t see him again until a few days later, when he crossed paths with one of our shepherds, and without saying a word he went up to him and began to punch and kick him, and then he went to the donkey with the provisions and took all the bread and cheese it was carrying; and then, with that strange speed of his, he ran back and hid in the sierra.

When some of us goatherds heard about it, we went and looked for him for almost two days in the wildest part of the sierra, and then we found him in the hollow of a huge old cork tree. He came out as gentle as you please, and his clothes were torn and his face was so changed and burned by the sun that we hardly recognized him, but we had seen his clothes before, and even though they were torn, we knew he was the one we were looking for. He greeted us courteously, and in a few polite words he told us not to be surprised at seeing him in that state because he was performing a certain penance that had been imposed on him because of his many sins. We begged him to tell us who he was, but we could never persuade him to. We also asked that whenever he needed food, for he couldn’t get along without it, he should let us know where we could find him, and if he didn’t like that idea, at least he ought to come and ask the shepherds for food and not take it from them by force. He thanked us for our offer, asked our forgiveness for his earlier attacks, and said that from then on he’d beg food in God’s name and not bother anybody at all. As for his dwelling, he said he slept wherever he could find a place when night fell, and when he finished speaking he began to cry so pitifully that even if we’d been made of stone, those of us listening to him would have had to join him, considering how he looked the first time we saw him and how he looked now. Because, as I told you, he was a very handsome and pleasant young man, and his courteous and agreeable words showed that he was wellborn and a gentleman, and though we were country folk, his courtesy was so great that even country folk could recognize it when we heard it.

And then, when he was talking at his best, he stopped, and fell silent, and looked down at the ground for a good long time, while we were all
puzzled and didn’t say anything, waiting to see how the fit would end, and feeling very sorry to see him like that, because from the way he opened his eyes wide and stared at the ground for so long, not even moving an eyelash, and then closed them, pressed his lips together, and lowered his eyebrows, we knew that some kind of craziness had come over him. He soon let us know that what we thought was true, because in a great fury he jumped up from the ground where he had been lying and attacked the man closest to him, with so much violence and so much anger that if we hadn’t pulled him off, he would have beaten and bitten him to death; and as he was doing this he kept saying: ‘Ah, false Fernando! Here, here is where you will pay for the wrong you did me: these hands will rip out your heart, where all the evils live and dwell together, especially fraud and deceit!’ To these he added other words, and all of them spoke badly of this Fernando and accused him of being a traitor and a liar. We pulled him off, with great difficulty, and without saying another word he left us and ran off into those briars and brambles so that it was impossible for us to follow him.

From this we guessed that his crazy fits came and went, and that somebody named Fernando must have done something bad to him, so bad that it brought him to this state. All of which turned out to be true, since there have been many times when he comes out onto the path, sometimes to ask the shepherds to give him something to eat, and other times to take it from them by force, because when the craziness is on him, even though the shepherds offer food to him willingly, he doesn’t accept it but punches them and steals it from them, and when he’s in his right mind he asks for the food in God’s name, courteously and reasonably, and offers up many thanks for it, and some few tears. And the truth is, Señores,” the goatherd continued, “that yesterday four other herders and I, two helpers and two friends of mine, decided that we would look for him until we found him, and after we found him, whether he went willingly or we had to force him, we’d take him to the town of Almodóvar, which is eight leagues from here, and there we’d have him cured, if his sickness has a cure, or find out who he is when he’s in his right mind, and if he has kinfolk we can tell about his misfortune. And this, Señores, is all I can tell you about what you asked me, and you should know that the owner of the articles you found is the same half-dressed man you saw running so fast.” For Don Quixote had already told him how he had seen the man leaping among the crags of the sierra.