Don Quixote
Page 12
“Be quiet,” said Don Quixote. “Where have you ever seen or read that a knight errant has been brought before the law no matter how many homicides he may have committed?”
“I don’t know anything about omecils,”3 replied Sancho, “and I never did bear one in my life; all I know is that the Holy Brotherhood takes care of people who fight in the countryside, and I don’t want anything to do with that.”
“Well, do not trouble yourself, my friend,” Don Quixote responded, “for I shall save you from the hands of the Chaldeans, not to mention those of the Brotherhood. But tell me as you value your life: have you ever seen a more valiant knight than I anywhere on the face of the earth? Have you read in histories of another who has, or ever had, more spirit in attacking, more courage in persevering, more dexterity in wounding, or more ingenuity in unhorsing?”
“The truth is,” replied Sancho, “that I never read any history because I don’t know how to read or write, but I’ll wager that in all my days I’ve never served a bolder master than your grace, and may it please God that all this boldness isn’t paid for in the place I said. What I beg of your grace is that we treat your wounds; a lot of blood is coming out of that ear; and I have some lint4 and a little white salve here in the saddlebags.”
“None of that would be needed,” replied Don Quixote, “if I had remembered to prepare a flask of the balm of Fierabrás,5 for just one drop saves both time and medicines.”
“What flask and what balm is that?” asked Sancho Panza.
“It is a balm,” replied Don Quixote, “the recipe for which I have memorized, and with it one need not fear death, nor think that one will die of any wound. When I prepare it and give it to you, all you need do, when you see in some battle that they have cut my body in two (as is wont to happen), is to pick up the part of my body that has fallen to the ground, and very artfully, and with great cunning, before the blood congeals, place it on top of the other half still in the saddle, being careful to fit them together precisely and exactly. Then you will give me only two mouthfuls to drink of the balm I have mentioned, and you will see me sounder than an apple.”
“If that is true,” said Panza, “I renounce here and now the governorship of the ínsula you have promised and want nothing else in payment for my many good services but that your grace give me the recipe for this marvelous potion, for I think an ounce of it will bring more than two reales anywhere, and I don’t need more than that to live an easy and honorable life. But what I’d like to know now is if it costs a lot to make.”
“With less than three reales you can make more than six azumbres,”6 replied Don Quixote.
“Poor sinner that I am!” said Sancho. “What is your grace waiting for, why don’t you make it and show me how it’s done?”
“Be quiet, my friend,” Don Quixote responded, “for I intend to show you greater secrets and do you greater good turns; for now, let us treat these wounds, for my ear hurts more than I should like.”
Sancho took lint and salve out of the saddlebags. But when Don Quixote saw that his helmet had been broken, he thought he would go mad, and placing his hand on his sword and lifting his eyes to heaven, he said:
“I make a vow to the Creator of all things, and to the four Holy Gospels in the fullness of all their writing, that I shall lead the life led by the great Marquis of Mantua when he swore to avenge the death of his nephew Valdovinos, which was to eat no bread at the table, nor to lie with his wife, and other things which I do not remember but I consider them stated here, until I take my entire revenge on the one who has done me so great a wrong.”
On hearing this, Sancho said:
“Look, your grace, Señor Don Quixote, if the gentleman did what you ordered him to and went to present himself to my lady Dulcinea of Toboso, then he has already done what he had to do and doesn’t deserve another punishment if he doesn’t commit another crime.”
“You have spoken very well and to the point,” Don Quixote responded, “and so I revoke the part of the vow that deals with wreaking new vengeance on him, but I make it and confirm it again with regard to leading the life I mentioned until such time that I take by force another helmet just as good as this one from some other knight. And do not think, Sancho, that I do this without reflection, for I have a good model to emulate; the same thing happened in exactly the same way with regard to the helmet of Mambrino, which cost Sacripante7 so dearly.”
“Your grace should send such vows to the devil, Señor,” replied Sancho, “for they are very dangerous to your health and very damaging to your conscience. If not, then tell me: if for many days we don’t happen to run into a man armed with a helmet, what will we do? Must we keep the vow in spite of so many inconveniences and discomforts, like sleeping in our clothes, and sleeping in the open, and a thousand other acts of penance contained in the vow of that crazy old man the Marquis of Mantua, which your grace wants to renew now? Look, your grace, no armed men travel along these roads, only muledrivers and wagondrivers, and they not only don’t have helmets, but maybe they haven’t even heard of them in all their days.”
“In this you are deceived,” said Don Quixote, “because in less than two hours’ time at these crossroads we shall see more armed men than those who besieged Albracca,8 when Angelica the Fair was defeated.”
“All right, then; so be it,” said Sancho, “and may it please God that all goes well with us and the time comes soon when we win this ínsula that is costing me so dear, and then I can die.”
“I have already told you, Sancho, that you should have no care in that regard; if an ínsula is lacking, there is always the kingdom of Denmark, or that of Soliadisa,9 which will fit you like the ring on your finger, and because they are on terra firma you ought to rejoice even more. But all of this in due course; look and see if you have anything to eat in those saddlebags, and then we shall go in search of a castle where we can stay the night and prepare the balm I told you of, because I swear before God that my ear is hurting a good deal.”
“I have here an onion, and a little cheese, and I don’t know how many crusts of bread,” said Sancho, “but these are not victuals suitable for a knight as valiant as your grace.”
“How little you understand!” Don Quixote responded. “I shall tell you, Sancho, that it is a question of honor for knights errant not to eat for a month, and when they do eat, it is whatever they find near at hand, and you would know the truth of this if you had read as many histories as I; although there are many of them, in none have I found it written that knights errant ever ate, unless perhaps at some sumptuous banquet offered in their honor; the rest of the time they all but fasted. Although it is understood that they could not live without eating or doing all the other necessities of nature because, in fact, they were men like ourselves, it must also be understood that because they spent most of their lives in the open, unpopulated countryside, without a cook, their most common food would be rustic viands, like those which you offer me now. And so, Sancho my friend, do not concern yourself with what may or may not be to my taste. You should not try to make the world over again or change the nature of errant chivalry.”
“Forgive me, your grace,” said Sancho. “Since I don’t know how to read or write, as I told you before, I don’t know and am not aware of the rules of the chivalric profession; from now on I’ll stock the saddlebags with all kinds of dried fruit for your grace, since you are a knight, and for me, since I’m not, I’ll fill them with other things that have wings and are more substantial.”
“I am not saying, Sancho,” replied Don Quixote, “that it is necessary for knights errant not to eat anything other than those fruits you mention, but simply that their most ordinary sustenance consisted of them and of certain plants found in the fields, which were known to them, and to me as well.”
“It’s a great virtue,” Sancho responded, “to know those plants, for I’m thinking that one day we’ll need to use that knowledge.”
He took out the things he said he was carrying, an
d they ate in peace and good companionship. But they wanted to find a place to sleep that night, and they quickly finished their dry and meager meal. Then they climbed back on their mounts and hurried to reach a village before dark, but the sun set, along with the hope of achieving their desire, when they were near the huts of some goatherds, and so they decided to spend the night there; as much as it grieved Sancho not to be in a town, it pleased his master to sleep outdoors, for it seemed to him that each time this occurred it was another act of certification that helped to prove his claim to knighthood.
CHAPTER XI
Regarding what befell Don Quixote with some goatherds
He was welcomed cheerfully by the goatherds, and Sancho, having done his best to tend to Rocinante and his donkey, followed the aroma coming from certain pieces of dried goat meat that were bubbling over the fire in a pot, and though he wished at that very moment to test if they were ready to be transferred from the pot to his stomach, he did not, because the goatherds removed them from the fire, spread some sheepskins on the ground, quickly prepared their rustic table, and with displays of goodwill invited them both to share what they had. The six of them, which was the number in their flock, sat down around the skins, having first with artless ceremony asked Don Quixote to sit on a small wooden trough that they turned upside down and set out for him. Don Quixote sat down, and Sancho remained standing to serve him and fill his cup, which was made of horn. His master saw him standing and said:
“So that you may see, Sancho, the virtue contained in knight errantry, and how those who practice any portion of it always tend to be honored and esteemed in the world, I want you to sit here at my side and in the company of these good people, and be the same as I, who am your natural lord and master; eat from my plate and drink where I drink, for one may say of knight errantry what is said of love: it makes all things equal.”
“You’re too kind!” said Sancho. “But I can tell your grace that as long as I have something good to eat, I’ll eat it just as well or better standing and all alone as sitting at the height of an emperor. Besides, if truth be told, what I eat, even if it’s bread and onion, tastes much better to me in my corner without fancy or respectful manners, than a turkey would at other tables where I have to chew slowly, not drink too much, wipe my mouth a lot, not sneeze or cough if I feel like it, or do other things that come with solitude and freedom. And so, Señor, these honors that your grace wants to grant me for being a servant and follower of knight errantry, which I am, being your grace’s squire, you should turn into other things that will be of greater comfort and benefit to me; these, though I am grateful for them, I renounce now and forever.”
“Despite all that, you will sit down, for God exalts the man who humbles himself.”
And seizing him by the arm, he obliged Sancho to sit next to him.
The goatherds did not understand their nonsensical talk about squires and knights errant, and they simply ate and were silent and looked at their guests, who, with a good deal of grace and eagerness, devoured pieces of goat meat as big as their fists. When the meat course was over, the goatherds spread out on the unshorn sheepskins a great quantity of dried acorns, along with half a cheese that was harder than mortar. In all this time the horn was not idle, for it made the rounds so often—sometimes full, sometimes empty, like the bucket at a well—that one of the two wineskins in evidence was emptied with no difficulty. After Don Quixote had satisfied his stomach, he picked up a handful of acorns, and, regarding them attentively, he began to speak these words:
“Fortunate the age and fortunate the times called golden by the ancients, and not because gold, which in this our age of iron is so highly esteemed, could be found then with no effort, but because those who lived in that time did not know the two words thine and mine. In that blessed age all things were owned in common; no one, for his daily sustenance, needed to do more than lift his hand and pluck it from the sturdy oaks that so liberally invited him to share their sweet and flavorsome fruit. The clear fountains and rushing rivers offered delicious, transparent waters in magnificent abundance. In the fissures of rocks and the hollows of trees diligent and clever bees established their colonies, freely offering to any hand the fertile harvest of their sweet labor.
Noble cork trees, moved only by their own courtesy, shed the wide, light bark with which houses, supported on rough posts, were covered as a protection, but only against the rain that fell from heaven. In that time all was peace, friendship, and harmony; the heavy curve of the plowshare had not yet dared to open or violate the merciful womb of our first mother, for she, without being forced, offered up, everywhere across her broad and fertile bosom, whatever would satisfy, sustain, and delight the children who then possessed her. In that time simple and beautiful shepherdesses could wander from valley to valley and hill to hill, their hair hanging loose or in braids, wearing only the clothes needed to modestly cover that which modesty demands, and has always demanded, be covered, and their adornments were not those used now, enveloping the one who wears them in the purple dyes of Tyre, and silk martyrized in countless ways, but a few green burdock leaves and ivy vines entwined, and in these they perhaps looked as grand and elegant as our ladies of the court do now in the rare and strange designs which idle curiosity has taught them. In that time amorous concepts were recited from the soul simply and directly, in the same way and manner that the soul conceived them, without looking for artificial and devious words to enclose them. There was no fraud, deceit, or malice mixed in with honesty and truth. Justice stood on her own ground, and favor or interest did not dare disturb or offend her as they so often do now, defaming, confusing, and persecuting her. Arbitrary opinions formed outside the law had not yet found a place in the mind of the judge, for there was nothing to judge, and no one to be judged. Maidens in their modesty wandered, as I have said, wherever they wished, alone and mistresses of themselves, without fear that another’s boldness or lascivious intent would dishonor them, and if they fell it was through their own desire and will.
But now, in these our detestable times, no maiden is safe, even if she is hidden and enclosed in another labyrinth like the one in Crete; because even there, through chinks in the wall, or carried by the air itself, with the zealousness of accursed solicitation the amorous pestilence finds its way in and, despite all their seclusion, maidens are brought to ruin. It was for their protection, as time passed and wickedness spread, that the order of knights errant was instituted: to defend maidens, protect widows, and come to the aid of orphans and those in need. This is the order to which I belong, my brother goatherds, and I thank you for the kindness and hospitality you have shown to me and my squire. For, although by natural law all men are obliged to favor knights errant, still, because I know that without knowing this obligation you welcomed me and treated me so generously, I wish, with all my goodwill, to thank you for yours.”1
This long harangue—which could very easily have been omitted—was declaimed by our knight because the acorns served to him brought to mind the Golden Age, and with it the desire to make that foolish speech to the goatherds, who, stupefied and perplexed, listened without saying a word. Sancho too was silent, and ate acorns, and made frequent trips to the second wineskin, which had been hung from a cork tree to cool the wine.
Don Quixote spent more time speaking than it took to finish supper, but when it was concluded, one of the goatherds said:
“So that your grace, Señor Knight, can say even more truly that we welcomed you with a ready goodwill, we want to give you joy and pleasure by having a friend of ours sing for you; he’ll be here very soon; he’s a smart lad, and very much in love, and above all, he knows how to read and write and is so good a musician on the rebec2 that you couldn’t ask for anything better.”
No sooner had the goatherd said this than the sound of the rebec reached their ears, and a short while later the one playing it appeared, a good-looking boy no more than twenty-two years of age. His friends asked if he had eaten, and when he answered
that he had, the one who had made the offer said:
“That means, Antonio, that you could do us the favor of singing a little, and this gentleman, our guest, can see that in the woods and forests we also have somebody who knows about music. We told him about your talents and we want you to show them and prove we told the truth, and so I ask you please to sit down and sing the ballad about your love that your uncle the vicar composed for you, the one the people in the village liked so much.”
“I’d be happy to,” the boy replied.
And without having to be asked a second time, he sat on the trunk of a fallen oak and, after tuning his rebec, with great charm he soon began to sing these words:
ANTONIO
I know, Olalla, that you adore me
though you haven’t told me so,
not even with your eyes,
in the silent language of love.
Since I know that you are clever,
that you love me I do claim;
for love was ne’er unrequited
if it has been proclaimed.
It is true that once or twice
Olalla, you’ve made it known
that your soul is made of bronze
and your white bosom of stone.
But hiding behind your reproaches
and your virtuous rebukes
hope may reveal a glimpse of
the hemmed edge of her cloak.
My faith is firm and steadfast,
its eager response ne’er wanes
because not called, ne’er waxes
because it has been chosen.
If love is courtesy, then
yours lets me conclude
that the outcome of my hopes
will be just as I assume.
And if service plays a part
in making a bosom kind,
then those that I have rendered
will help to sway your mind.
For if you think about it,