Don Quixote [Trans. by Edith Grossman] (54 page)

You wanted me to be yours, and you wanted it in such a manner that even though you no longer do, it will not be possible for you to stop being mine. Consider, Señor, that the incomparable love I have for you may be recompense for the beauty and nobility for whose sake you have abandoned me. You cannot belong to the beautiful Luscinda because you are mine, and she cannot be yours because she belongs to Cardenio; if you consider it for a moment, it would be easier for you to turn your will to lov-
ing one who adores you, rather than trying to force love from one who despises you. You solicited my shame; you pleaded for my integrity; you were not ignorant of my status; you know very well how I surrendered completely to your desire; you have no justification or reason to claim you were deceived. If this is true, and it is, and if you are as much a Christian as you are a gentleman, then why do you go to so much trouble to avoid making me as contented at the end as you did at the beginning? And if you do not love me for what I am, your true and legitimate wife, then at least want me and take me as your slave; if I am possessed by you, I shall think of myself as happy and fortunate. Do not, by leaving and abandoning me, permit my dishonor to become the subject of gossip and rumors; do not ruin the old age of my parents: their loyal service, as good vassals to your family, deserves better. And if it seems to you that you will debase your blood by mixing it with mine, consider that there are few, if any, noble lines in the world that have not taken this path, and that the bloodline on the woman’s side is not relevant to an illustrious lineage;
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furthermore, true nobility consists of virtue, and if you lose yours by denying me what you rightly owe me, then I shall have more noble characteristics than you.

In short, Señor, I say to you for the last time that whether you wish it or not, I am your wife; your words bear witness to that, and they cannot and must not be false, unless you no longer value in yourself what you scorn me for not having; your signature bears witness, as does the heaven you called on to witness what you promised me. And if all this is to no avail, your own conscience cannot help but call to you silently in the midst of all your joys, reminding you of the truth I have told you, and clouding your greatest pleasure and happiness.”

The unfortunate Dorotea said these and other words with so much emotion and so many tears that all those present, even the men who accompanied Don Fernando, were moved. Don Fernando listened, not saying a word until she concluded speaking and then began to sob and heave so many sighs that one would have needed a heart of bronze not to be affected by these signs of deep sorrow. Luscinda watched her, as moved by her grief as she was astounded at her great intelligence and beauty, and although she wished to approach her and say some words of comfort, Don Fernando held her tightly in his arms and would not release her. Don Fernando, filled with consternation and confusion, stared at Dorotea for a long time and then lowered his arms, releasing Luscinda, and said:

“You have conquered, O beautiful Dorotea, you have conquered, because I do not have the heart to deny so many truths spoken together.”

When Don Fernando released her, Luscinda felt so faint she almost fell, but since Cardenio was close to her, standing behind Don Fernando so he would not be recognized,
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he set aside all fear and defied all danger and hurried to support Luscinda, and taking her in his arms, he said:

“If merciful heaven wishes and desires you to have repose, O loyal, steadfast, and beautiful wife of mine, you will find none more secure than what you have now in these arms that welcome you, and welcomed you in the past, when it was Fortune’s will that I call you mine.”

At these words Luscinda rested her eyes on Cardenio, and having recognized him, first by hearing his voice and then by seeing him, she was almost mad with joy, and unconcerned about the appearance of modesty, she threw her arms around his neck, and putting her face close to his, she said:

“You indeed, Señor, are the true master of your captive, no matter how Fortune may oppose us or threaten this life of mine, which depends on yours.”

This was a strange sight for Don Fernando and for all the others, who marveled at so unusual a turn of events. It appeared to Dorotea that Don Fernando turned pale and seemed ready to take his revenge on Cardenio, because she saw him move his hand toward his sword, and as soon as this thought occurred to her, she hastened to throw her arms around his knees, kissing them and holding them so close that he could not move, and with her tears still flowing, she said:

“What do you, my sole refuge, intend to do in this unforeseen situation? At your feet you have your wife, and the woman you want instead is in the arms of her husband. Consider if it will be right, or possible, for you to undo what heaven has done, or whether it will be better for you to elevate to your own height one who has been constant in her truth and steadfastness despite all obstacles, and whom you see here before you, bathing the face and bosom of her true husband in amorous tears. I beseech you for the sake of God, I implore you for your own sake: do not allow this manifest disappointment to increase your anger but diminish it instead, so that, calmly and serenely, you permit these two lovers to enjoy all the time that heaven wishes to grant them, with no hindrance from you; in this you will reveal the generosity of your illustrious and
noble heart, and the world will see that in you, reason is more powerful than appetite.”

As Dorotea was saying this, Cardenio held Luscinda in his arms but did not move his eyes away from Don Fernando, determined that if he should see him make any move against him, he would defend himself and attack all those who wished to harm him, even if it cost him his life. But then Don Fernando’s friends, and the priest and the barber, who had heard everything, not to mention our good Sancho Panza, approached Don Fernando and surrounded him, imploring him to consider Dorotea’s tears, and if what she had said was true, as they believed it undoubtedly was, then he should not allow her to be deprived of her legitimate hopes; he should accept that it was not by chance but the will of divine providence that they all had met in so unlikely a place, and he should be advised—said the priest—that only death could take Luscinda from Cardenio, and even if they were put asunder by a sharp-edged sword, they would consider their death joyous; in the face of bonds as indissoluble as these, it was the height of reason to show his generous heart, overcoming and conquering himself and, by his own free will, permitting the couple to enjoy the happiness already granted them by heaven; he should turn his eyes to the beauty of Dorotea, and he would see that few, if any, women were her equal, let alone her superior, and in addition to her beauty he should consider her humility and her great love for him, and, above all, he should realize that if he valued himself as a gentleman and as a Christian, he could do nothing but keep the promise he had made; by keeping it, he would keep his faith with God and satisfy all discerning people, who know and realize that even in a woman of humble birth, it is a prerogative of beauty, when accompanied by virtue, to rise to any height and be the equal of any highborn man, without in any way lowering the one who raises her and makes her equal to himself, for when the powerful laws of desire hold sway, as long as no sin intervenes, the man who follows them cannot be faulted.

In the end, everyone added their words to these, and they were of such a nature that the valiant heart of Don Fernando—it was, after all, fed by illustrious blood—softened and let itself be vanquished by the truth he could not deny even if he had wished to; the indication that he had surrendered and ceded to the good advice offered to him was that he bent down and embraced Dorotea, saying to her:

“Arise, Señora; it is not right for the woman I have in my heart to kneel at my feet; if, until now, I have not demonstrated what I say, per-
haps it was ordained by heaven so that I, seeing the fidelity of your love for me, would esteem you as you deserve to be esteemed. What I ask is that you not reprimand my poor behavior and great negligence, for the same powerful reason that moved me to take you as my own also impelled me to avoid being yours. And to prove to you that this is true, turn and look into the eyes of Luscinda, who is now content, and in them you will find forgiveness for all my errors; since she has found and obtained what she desired, and I have found in you what pleases me, may she live safe and content for many long and happy years with her Cardenio, and I shall pray that heaven allows me to do the same with my Dorotea.”

And having said this, Don Fernando embraced Dorotea again and pressed his face to hers with such tender feeling that he had to choke back the tears that were undeniable signs of his love and repentance. But the tears of Luscinda and Cardenio were not held back, nor were those of almost everyone else present, and so many were shed, for one’s own joy and for the joy of others, that it seemed as if some calamity had befallen them all. Even Sancho Panza cried, although he later said the reason he cried was his discovery that Dorotea was not, as he had thought, Queen Micomicona, from whom he had hoped to receive innumerable favors. Everyone’s bewilderment lasted for some time, at least as long as their weeping, and then Cardenio and Luscinda went to kneel before Don Fernando, thanking him with so much courtesy for the kindness he had shown them that Don Fernando did not know how to respond, and so he raised them up and embraced them, displaying great love and courtesy.

Then he asked Dorotea to tell him how she had come to this place so far from her home. Briefly and discreetly, she recounted everything she had told Cardenio earlier, which pleased Don Fernando and his traveling companions so much that they wanted the story to last longer: such was the charm with which Dorotea recounted her misfortunes. When she had finished, Don Fernando related what had happened to him in the city after the letter was discovered in Luscinda’s bodice, the letter in which she declared that she was Cardenio’s wife and could not be his. He said he had wanted to kill her and would have done so if her parents had not stopped him; then he, resentful and humiliated, had left the house, determined to have his revenge at a more convenient time; the next day he learned that Luscinda had fled her parents’ house, and no one could say where she had gone; after a few months he discovered that she was in a convent, where she desired to remain for the rest of her life if she could not spend it with Cardenio; as soon as he learned this, he chose these three gentlemen to accompany him, and he went to the convent but did
not attempt to speak to her, fearful that as soon as it was known that he was there, the convent would be made even more secure. And so he waited for a day when the porter’s lodge would be open and left two of his companions to guard the door while he, with the third, entered the convent, looking for Luscinda, whom they found in the cloister talking to a nun; they seized her, not giving her a chance to resist, and brought her to a place where they had prepared everything they would need to abduct her. They had been able to do all of this with impunity because the convent was in the countryside, a good distance from town. He said that as soon as Luscinda found herself in his power, she had fallen into a deep swoon, and when she regained consciousness she had done nothing but weep and sigh and had not spoken a single word; and so, accompanied by silence and tears, they had come to the inn, which for him had been the same as coming to heaven, where all the misfortunes on earth reach their conclusion and end.

CHAPTER XXXVII

Sancho listened to all of this with a very sorrowful spirit, for he saw that his hopes for a noble title were disappearing and going up in smoke, and that the lovely Princess Micomicona had turned into Dorotea, and the giant into Don Fernando, and that his master was in a deep, sound sleep, unaware of everything that had happened. Dorotea could not be certain she had not dreamed her great joy, Cardenio was in the same frame of mind, and Luscinda had the same thought. Don Fernando thanked heaven for its mercy in extricating him from the intricate labyrinth in which he had been on the verge of losing both his good name and his soul; in short, all the people in the inn were pleased, rejoicing at the happy outcome of such complex and desperate affairs.

The priest, a judicious man, put the final touch on everything by congratulating them all on the happiness each had achieved; but the one who was happiest and most joyful was the innkeeper’s wife, because Cardenio and the priest had promised to pay her for all the damage and
all the costs she had incurred on Don Quixote’s account. Only Sancho, as we have said, was sorrowful, dejected, and sad, and so, with a melancholy expression, he went in to see his master, who had just awakened, and said:

“Your grace, Señor Sorrowful Face, can sleep all you want to now and not worry about killing any giant or returning the princess to her kingdom; it’s all over and done with.”

“I certainly believe that,” responded Don Quixote, “because with that giant I have had the most uncommon and furious battle I think I shall ever have in all my days, and with a single downstroke—smash!—I knocked his head to the ground, and so much blood poured out of him that it ran in streams along the floor as if it were water.”

“As if it were red wine, is what your grace should say,” responded Sancho, “because I want your grace to know, in case you don’t already, that the dead giant is a slashed wineskin, his blood, the six
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of red wine contained in its belly, and the head you cut off is the whore who bore me, damn it all to hell!”

“Madman, what are you saying?” replied Don Quixote. “Have you lost your mind?”

“Get up, your grace,” said Sancho, “and you’ll see what you’ve won and what we have to pay, and you’ll see the queen transformed into an ordinary lady named Dorotea, and other changes that will amaze you, if you can see them for what they are.”