Don Quixote [Trans. by Edith Grossman] (65 page)

“You disclosed your intentions to a student,” responded the servant, “and he was moved by pity at your father’s distress when he realized you were gone, and revealed everything, and so your father dispatched four of his servants to look for you, and all of us are here to serve you, happier than you can imagine that we can return quickly and bring you back to the one who loves you so.”

“That shall be as I choose or as heaven decrees,” responded Don Luis.

“What is there for you to choose or heaven to decree other than your agreeing to return? Nothing else is possible.”

The muledriver’s boy next to whom Don Luis was lying heard all of this conversation; he got up and went to tell Don Fernando and Cardenio and the others what had happened, for by this time everyone was dressed, and he told them how a man had called the boy
Don,
and about the words that had passed between them, and how they wanted him to return to his father’s house but the boy did not want to. And this, in addition to what they already knew about him, which was the beautiful voice that heaven had granted him, filled them all with a great desire to know in detail who he was and even to help him if anyone was forcing him to do something he did not wish to do, and so they went to the place where he was still talking and protesting to his servant.

At this moment Dorotea came out of her room, and behind her was a greatly perturbed Doña Clara; Dorotea called Cardenio aside and briefly told him the tale of the singer and Doña Clara, and Cardenio told her about the arrival of the servants who were looking for the boy, and he did not say this so quietly that Clara could not hear; this so agitated her that if Dorotea had not held her up, she would have fallen to the ground.
Cardenio told Dorotea that she and the girl should return to their room and that he would attempt to resolve everything, and they did as he asked.

The four men who had come looking for Don Luis were all inside the inn and standing around him, trying to persuade him that he should return immediately, and without any delay, to console his father. He responded that under no circumstances could he do so until he had concluded a matter upon which his life, his honor, and his heart depended. Then the servants urged him more insistently, saying that under no circumstances would they return without him and that they would bring him back whether he wished it or not.

“That you will not do,” replied Don Luis, “unless you bring me back dead; but no matter how you take me, I shall be without life.”

By this time everyone in the inn had come to listen to the dispute, especially Cardenio, Don Fernando, his companions, the judge, the priest, the barber, and Don Quixote, who thought it was no longer necessary to guard the castle. Cardenio, since he already knew the boy’s story, asked those who wanted to take him what reason they had to take him against his will.

“What moves us,” responded one of the four servants, “is the desire to return life to his father, who is in danger of losing it because of this gentleman’s absence.”

At this, Don Luis said:

“There is no reason to tell everyone here my business; I am a free man, and I shall return if I wish to, and if I do not, none of you can force me to.”

“Reason will force your grace,” the man responded, “and if that’s not enough, we’ll do what we came here to do, and what we are obliged to do.”

“Let us hear what is at the bottom of this,” said the judge.

But the servant, who recognized him as his master’s neighbor, responded:

“Señor Judge, doesn’t your grace know this gentleman? He’s your neighbor’s son, and as your grace can see, he has left his father’s house dressed in a manner inappropriate to his station.”

Then the judge looked at him more closely, and recognized him, and embraced him, saying:

“What foolishness is this, Señor Don Luis? What reason is so powerful that it has moved you to appear in this manner and in this dress, so unbefitting your rank and station?”

Tears filled the boy’s eyes, and he could not say a word in response. The judge told the four men that they could rest assured that everything would be settled, and taking Don Luis by the hand, he drew him aside and asked his reasons for coming to the inn.

As he was asking him this and other questions, there was an outburst of deafening shouts at the door of the inn, and the reason was that two guests who had spent the night there, seeing that everyone was concerned with finding out what the four men were seeking, had attempted to leave without paying what they owed, but the innkeeper, who tended more to his own business than to that of others, laid hands on them as they were leaving and demanded payment, and he cursed them so bitterly for their dishonesty that they were moved to respond with their fists, and they began to beat him so ferociously that the poor innkeeper had to cry out and plead for help. The innkeeper’s wife and daughter saw that the only one not too busy to help was Don Quixote, and the daughter said:

“Señor Knight, with the strength God gave your grace, help my poor father, for two wicked men are thrashing him like wheat.”

To which Don Quixote responded, very slowly and with great calm:

“O beauteous damsel, the time is not right for thy plea, for I cannot embark upon any adventure until I have brought to a felicitous conclusion one to which I am pledged. But what I can do to serve thee I shall tell thee now: runnest thou to tell thy father to prolong his combat for as long as he can and not allow himself to be defeated, and in the meantime I shall ask leave of the Princess Micomicona to succor him in his plight; if she giveth it to me, thou mayest be certain that I shall save him.”

“Poor sinner that I am!” said Maritornes, who was standing nearby. “By the time your grace gets that leave, my master will be in the next world.”

“Señora, allowest me only to obtain this leave,” responded Don Quixote, “and when I have it, it will not matter at all if he is in the next world, for I shall take him out of there even if that entire world oppose me; at the very least, for thy sake I shall take such revenge on those who sent him there that thou shalt be more than a little satisfied.”

And without saying another word, he went to kneel before Dorotea, imploring with knightly and errantly words that her highness be so kind as to give him leave to succor and minister to the castellan of that castle, who had come to a most grievous pass. The princess gave it willingly, and he immediately held up his shield and grasped his sword and hurried to
the door of the inn, where the guests were still beating the innkeeper, but as soon as he arrived he stopped and stood perfectly still, although Maritornes and the innkeeper’s wife asked why he was stopping and told him to help their master and husband.

“I have stopped,” said Don Quixote, “because it is not licit for me to raise my sword against squirely folk; summon my squire, Sancho, for this defense and revenge rightly belong to him.”

This took place at the door to the inn, where the punches and blows were reaching their high point, to the detriment of the innkeeper and the fury of Maritornes, the innkeeper’s wife, and her daughter, all of whom despaired when they saw not only Don Quixote’s cowardice but how badly things were going for their husband, master, and father.

But let us leave the innkeeper here, for someone will help him, and if no one does, let the man who dares more than his strength allows suffer in silence, and we shall go back fifty paces and see how Don Luis responded to the magistrate, whom we had left standing off to one side and asking Don Luis the reason he had arrived on foot, wearing such shabby clothes. And the boy, clasping the judge’s hands tightly as a sign that a great sorrow troubled his heart, and shedding an abundance of tears, said:

“Señor, all I can tell you is that from the moment heaven willed, which was facilitated by our being neighbors, that I see Señora Doña Clara, your daughter and my lady, from that very moment I made her mistress of all my desires and wishes; if in your wishes, you who are my true lord and father, there is no objection, on this very day she will be my wife. For her sake I left my father’s house, and for her sake I put on these clothes, in order to follow her wherever she might go, as the arrow follows its mark or the sailor his star. She knows nothing of my desires except for what she has been able to deduce when, on occasion and at a distance, she has seen the tears flow from my eyes. Señor, you already know of my parents’ wealth and nobility, and also that I am their only heir, and if these seem reason enough for you to venture to make me entirely happy, then accept me as your son, and if my father, moved by his own plans, is not pleased by the great prize I have obtained, time can do more to change and alter things than human desires.”

When he had said this, the enamored youth fell silent, and the magistrate was perplexed, confused, and bewildered both by the intelligence and discretion with which Don Luis had revealed his thoughts to him, and by suddenly finding himself in so unsettling and unexpected a situa
tion; he replied only that Don Luis should remain calm for the moment and persuade his servants not to take him back that day, so that there would be time to consider what was best for everyone. Don Luis grasped his hands and kissed them, and even bathed them with tears, which could have softened a heart of marble and not only the magistrate’s; he was an intelligent man and already knew how advantageous a marriage this would be for his daughter, although, if possible, he would have preferred it to take place with the approval of Don Luis’s father, who, he knew, wanted his son’s bride to have a title.

By this time the guests had made peace with the innkeeper, for the persuasion and good arguments of Don Quixote rather than his threats had convinced them to pay all that the innkeeper demanded, and the servants of Don Luis were waiting for the judge to conclude his conversation and for their master to make his decision; at that very moment the devil, who never sleeps, willed the arrival at the inn of the barber from whom Don Quixote had taken the helmet of Mambrino, and Sancho Panza the donkey’s gear that he had exchanged for his own; this barber, leading his donkey to the stables, saw Sancho Panza adjusting something on the packsaddle, and as soon as he saw him he recognized him, and he attacked him, saying:

“Ah, Don Thief, I have you now! Give me back my basin and my saddle and all the rest of the harness you stole from me!”

Seeing himself attacked so unexpectedly, and hearing himself insulted so bitterly, Sancho grasped the saddle with one hand and punched the barber with the other, bathing his teeth in blood, but despite this the barber continued to hold on to the saddle and gave so loud a shout that everyone in the inn rushed to the place where they were fighting, and the barber called out:

“Help, help, in the name of the king and of justice! He not only takes my goods, but this thief, this highway robber, is trying to kill me!”

“You lie!” responded Sancho. “I’m no highway robber; my master, Don Quixote, won these spoils in righteous combat!”

Don Quixote was present, very happy to see how well his squire could both defend himself and go on the offensive, and from that moment on he considered Sancho a brave and upright man, and he resolved in his heart to dub him a knight at the first opportunity, for it seemed to him that the order of chivalry would be put to good use in Sancho. One of the things the barber said in the course of their dispute was this:

“Señores, this saddle is as much mine as the death I owe to God, and
I know it as well as if I had given birth to it, and there’s my donkey in the stable, and he won’t let me lie; just try the saddle on him, and if it isn’t a perfect fit, then I’m a villain. And there’s more: on the very day they stole it from me, they also took a brand-new brass basin that had never been used and was worth at least an
escudo.”

At this point Don Quixote could not refrain from responding, and placing himself between the two men and separating them, and laying the saddle on the ground where everyone could see it until the truth had been determined, he said:

“Now your graces may clearly and plainly see the error of this good squire, for he calls a basin what was, is, and will be the helmet of Mambrino, which I took from him in righteous combat, thereby becoming its lawful and legitimate owner! I shall not intervene in the matter of the packsaddle, but I can say that my squire, Sancho, asked my permission to remove the trappings from the steed of this vanquished coward; I granted it, he took them, and with regard to those trappings being transformed into a packsaddle, I can give only the ordinary explanation: these are the kinds of transformations seen in matters of chivalry; to confirm this, Sancho my son, run and bring here the helmet that this good man claims is a basin.”

“By God, Señor,” said Sancho, “if this is the only proof we have of what your grace has said, then the helmet of Malino is as much a basin as this good man’s trappings are a packsaddle!”

“Do as I say,” replied Don Quixote, “for not everything in this castle must be ruled by enchantment.”

Sancho went for the basin and brought it back, and as soon as Don Quixote saw it, he took it in his hands and said:

“Just look, your graces; how does this squire presume to say that this is a basin and not the helmet I say it is? I swear by the order of chivalry which I profess that this helmet is the same one I took from him, and nothing has been added to it or taken away.”

“There’s no doubt about that,” said Sancho, “because from the time my master won it until now, he’s fought only one battle wearing it, and that was when he freed the luckless men in chains; if it wasn’t for this basihelm,
¹
things wouldn’t have gone too well for him because there was a lot of stone-throwing in that fight.”

CHAPTER XLV

“What do your graces think of what they’re saying, Señores?” said the barber. “These gentlefolk are still insisting that this isn’t a basin but a helmet.”