Don Quixote

by Miguel de Cervantes

  A short while later, Luscinda emerged from an antechamber, accompanied by her mother and two of her lady’s maids, and she was dressed and adorned as handsomely as her rank and beauty deserved, the very perfection of courtly elegance and charm. My uncertainty and confusion did not permit me to observe and notice the particulars of what she was wearing; I could see only the colors, which were scarlet and white, and the brilliance of the gems and jewels on her headdress and all over her costume, all of it surpassed by the singular beauty of her lovely blond tresses, which, in comparison to the precious stones, and the light from the four flambeaux in the drawing room, offered greater brilliance to the eye. O memory, mortal enemy of my repose! What is the good of picturing for me now the incomparable beauty of my adored enemy? Would it not be better, cruel memory, if you recalled and pictured for me what she did then, so that I, moved by so manifest a wrong, can attempt, if not to avenge it, at least to lose my own life?

  Do not be vexed, Señores, at hearing these digressions of mine, for my grief is not the kind that can or should be recounted succinctly and in passing, for each of its circumstances seems to me worthy of a long discourse.”

  To which the priest responded that not only were they not vexed at listening to him, they were pleased by the details he recounted, for they were of the sort that should not be passed over in silence and deserved the same attention as the principal part of the story.

  “Well, then,” Cardenio continued, “when we were all in the drawing room, the parish priest came in and took both of them by the hand in order to do what the ceremony requires, and when he said: ‘Do you, Señora Luscinda, take Señor Don Fernando, here present, to be your lawful wedded husband, as decreed by Holy Mother Church?’ I extended my head and neck between the two tapestries, and with attentive ears and my soul in distress I listened for Luscinda’s response, expecting her reply to be either a sentence of death or the affirmation of my life. Oh, if only I had dared to come out then and shout: ‘Ah, Luscinda, Luscinda! Think what you are doing; consider what you owe me; remember that you are mine and cannot belong to another! Realize that your saying yes and the end of my life are all one! Ah, you traitor, Don Fernando, thief of my glory, death of my life! What do you want? What are you seeking? Consider that as a Christian you cannot attain the object of your desires because Luscinda is my wife and I am her husband.’

  Ah, madman that I am! Now that I am absent and far from danger, I say I should have done what I did not do! Now that I have allowed the theft of my most precious jewel, I curse the thief upon whom I could have wreaked my vengeance if I would have had as much courage for that as I do for my laments! In short, I was a coward and a fool then, and it is no surprise that I am dying now ashamed, repentant, and mad.

  The priest was waiting for Luscinda’s reply, and she took a long time to give it, and when I thought she would take out the dagger to prove her sincerity, or would loosen her tongue to utter a truth or reproach that would redound to my benefit, I heard her say in a weak, faint voice: ‘Yes, I do,’ and Don Fernando said the same, and gave her the ring, and they were joined in an indissoluble bond. The groom moved to embrace his bride, and she, placing her hand over her heart, fainted into her mother’s arms.

  All that remains now is to tell you the state I was in when I saw, in the sound of her yes, the mockery of my hopes, the falsity of Luscinda’s words and promises, and the impossibility of ever retrieving the treasure I had lost at that instant. I was left with nothing, abandoned, it seemed to me, by all of heaven, the enemy of the earth that sustained me; air denied me breath for my sighs, water denied its humor for my eyes; only fire grew stronger so that my entire being burned with rage and jealousy. Everyone became agitated at Luscinda’s swoon, and when her mother loosened her bodice to give her air, a sealed letter was discovered, which Don Fernando immediately took and began to read in the light of one of the flambeaux; when he finished reading it, he sat on a chair and rested his cheek in his hand, like a man lost in thought, and took no part in the remedies administered to his wife to help her recover.

  Seeing the agitation of everyone in the house, I dared come out, regardless of whether anyone saw me or not, resolved that if I were seen, I would do something so rash that everyone would understand the righteous determination in my heart to punish the false Don Fernando and even the fickle, swooning traitor; but my fate, which must be saving me for even greater ills, if there can possibly be any, decreed that I would have a surfeit at that moment of the reason I have been lacking ever since; and so, not wishing to take revenge on my greatest enemies, which, since I was so far from their minds, would have been an easy thing to do, I decided to turn my hand and inflict on myself the punishment they deserved, perhaps with even greater severity than if I had killed them then and there, for if death is sudden, the punishment is soon over, but death that is extended by torture goes on killing but does not end life.

  In short, I departed that house and went to the one where I had left my mule; I had it saddled, and without saying goodbye to anyone I mounted and left the city, not daring, like a second Lot, to look back; when I found myself alone in the countryside, and the darkness of the night covered me and its silence invited my lamentations, with no misgiving or fear that I would be heard or recognized, I freed my voice and liberated my tongue and hurled curses at Luscinda and Don Fernando as if that would avenge the wrong they had done me. I called her cruel, ungrateful, false, thankless, and above all, greedy, for my enemy’s wealth had closed the eyes of her love, taking it from me and giving it to one with whom fortune had been more generous and munificent; in the midst of this rush of curses and vituperations, I excused her, saying it was no surprise that a young girl, cloistered in the house of her parents, accustomed and trained to always obey them, would have wanted to ac-cede to their wishes, since they were giving her as a husband a nobleman who was so distinguished, so wealthy, and so gallant that if she refused, it might be thought that she had no judgment, or that her desire lay elsewhere, something that would do grave harm to her good name and reputation. Then I said the opposite: if she had said I was her husband, they would have seen that in choosing me she had not made so bad a choice that they could not forgive her; before Don Fernando presented himself to them, they could not, if they kept their desires within reason, have wished for a better man than I to be their daughter’s husband, and she, before placing herself in the critical position of being compelled to give her hand, could very well have said that I had already pledged her mine, and in that case I would have come forth and agreed to any tale she might have invented. In short, I decided that too little love, too little judgment, too much ambition, and too much desire for wealth had made her forget the words with which she had deceived, encouraged, and sustained me in my firm hopes and virtuous desires.

  With these arguments and this disquiet I traveled the rest of the night, and at dawn I came upon a way into these mountains, where I rode for another three days, with no direction or goal of any kind, until I reached some meadows, though I do not know on which side of the mountains they may be, and there I asked some drovers where I could find the harshest terrain in the sierra. They told me it lay in this direction. I traveled here, intending to end my life, and as I was entering these desolate places my mule collapsed, dead of exhaustion and hunger or, what I believe is more likely, to free itself of the useless burden it was carrying. I was left on foot, humbled by nature, broken by hunger, not having, and not planning to look for, anyone to help me. I do not know how long I lay there on the ground, but then I woke, and was not hungry, and there were goatherds with me who undoubtedly were the ones who helped me in my need, because they told me how they had found me, and how I was saying so many foolish things and raving so much that I clearly had lost my reason; from that time on I have felt that I am not always in my right mind, and my reason is so damaged and weak that I do a thousand mad acts, tearing my clothes, shouting in these desolate places, cursing my fate, and repeating in vain the beloved name of
my enemy, having no other purpose or intention than to shout my life to an end; when I come back to myself, I am so tired and bruised I can barely move. My most common abode is in the hollow of a cork tree, large enough to shelter this miserable body. The drovers and goatherds who wander these mountains, moved by charity, sustain me, placing food along the paths and around the rocky crags where they know I may pass by and find it; and so, although I may be out of my mind at the time, the demands of nature allow me to recognize sustenance and awaken in me the desire to want it and the will to take it. When I am rational, they tell me that at other times I go out onto the paths and take food by force, though they willingly give it to me, from the shepherds who carry it up from the village to the sheepfolds.

  In this manner I spend my miserable and intemperate life until it is heaven’s will that it come to an end, or my memory does, so that I cannot remember the beauty and betrayal of Luscinda and the wrong done to me by Don Fernando; if heaven does this without taking my life, I shall turn my thoughts to more reasonable discourse; if not, all I can do is pray that heaven has mercy on my soul, for I do not have the courage or strength to remove my body from this rigorous and difficult place where I have chosen to put it.

  This is, Señores, the bitter history of my misfortune: tell me if it is such that it can be heard with less grief than you have seen in me, and do not bother to persuade or counsel me with what reason tells you can be beneficial or helpful to me, for it will profit me as much as the medicine prescribed by a famous physician for a patient who refuses to take it. I do not want health without Luscinda, and since she has chosen to belong to another when she was, or should have been, mine, I choose affliction as my portion when it could have been good fortune. She wanted, with her fickleness, to make my destruction constant; I want, by trying to destroy myself, to satisfy her desire, and it will be an example to those who come after me that I lacked only what all unfortunate men have in abundance, for whom the impossibility of finding any comfort is a consolation, but for me it is reason for even greater griefs and ills, because I think they will not end even with death.”

  Here Cardenio ended the long recounting of his history, as unfortunate as it was amorous; as the priest was preparing to say some words of consolation to him, he was interrupted by a voice, and they heard it saying in pitiable accents what will be told in the fourth part of this narration, for here the third part was concluded by that wise and judicious historian Cide Hamete Benengeli.

  Part Four of the Ingenious Gentleman Don Quixote of La Mancha

  CHAPTER XXVIII

  Which recounts the novel and agreeable adventure that befell the priest and the barber in the Sierra Morena

  Most happy and fortunate were the days when the bold knight Don Quixote of La Mancha sallied forth into the world, since, because of his honorable resolve to resuscitate and return to the world the lost and dying order of knight errantry, we can now enjoy in our own time, which is so in need of joyful entertainment, not only the sweetness of his true history, but also the stories and episodes that appear in it and are, in some ways, no less agreeable and artful and true than the history itself, which, following its tortuous, winding, and meandering thread, recounts that as the priest was preparing to console Cardenio, he was prevented from doing so by a voice that reached his ears and, in melancholy accents, said:

  “Oh, God! Let it be true that I have found the place that can serve as the hidden tomb for the heavy burden of this body, which I so unwillingly bear! It is, if the solitude promised by these mountains is not a lie. Oh, woe is me, what agreeble companions these rocks and brambles will be for my purpose: they will allow me, with my laments, to communicate my affliction to heaven, for there is none on earth from whom one can expect counsel for one’s doubts, relief for one’s complaints, or remedy for one’s ills!”

  All of these words were heard and heeded by the priest and his companions, and because it seemed to them, as was the case, that they were being said nearby, they went to look for the one who spoke them, and they had not gone twenty paces when, behind a crag, they saw, sitting at the foot of an ash tree, a boy dressed as a peasant, and since his face was lowered as he bathed his feet in the stream that ran there, for the moment they could not see it; they approached so silently that he did not hear them, for he was attentive to nothing else but bathing his feet, which looked exactly like two pieces of white crystal that had been born there among the other stones in the stream. Stunned by the whiteness and beauty of those feet, which, it seemed to them, were not made to walk on clods or follow after a plow and oxen, as suggested by their owner’s clothing, and seeing that they had not been detected, the priest, who walked at their head, signaled to the others to crouch down and hide behind some nearby rocks, and all of them did so, looking carefully at what the boy was doing; he wore a short dun-colored jerkin wrapped tightly around his body with white fabric. He also wore breeches and leggings of coarse dun wool and on his head a dun cloth cap. The leggings were raised to the middle of his calves, which, beyond all doubt, seemed like white alabaster. He finished washing his beautiful feet, and then, with a scarf that he took from beneath his cap, he dried them, and as he removed the scarf, he lifted his face, and those who were watching had the opportunity to see an incomparable beauty, so great that Cardenio said to the priest in a low voice:

  “This, since it is not Luscinda, is no human being but a divine creature.”

  The boy removed his cap, shook his head from side to side, and tresses that the rays of the sun might have envied began to loosen and tumble down. With this, they realized that the person who seemed to be a peasant was an exquisite woman, the most beautiful ever seen by the eyes of the priest, the barber, and even Cardenio, if he had not already gazed upon Luscinda; he later affirmed that only Luscinda’s beauty could compare with hers. Her long blond hair covered not only her back, but was so abundant and thick that it concealed the rest of her body as well, except for her feet. For a comb she used her hands, and if her feet in the water had looked like pieces of crystal, her hands in her hair seemed like driven snow, all of which further astonished those who were looking at her and made them even more desirous of knowing who she was.

  For this reason they resolved to show themselves, and at the sound they made as they rose to their feet the beautiful girl lifted her head, and moving the hair away from her eyes with both hands, she looked at those who were making the sound; as soon as she saw them she leaped up, and, not taking the time to put on her shoes or pin up her hair, she quickly seized a bundle that was beside her and seemed to contain clothes, and attempted to flee, filled with confusion and alarm; but she had not taken six steps when, her delicate feet unable to withstand the jagged rocks, she fell to the ground. When the three men saw this they drew near, and the priest was the first to speak, saying:

  “Stop, Señora, whoever you may be; those you see here intend only to serve you: there is no need for so importunate a flight, because your feet will not endure it, and we shall not consent to it.”

  Frightened and bewildered, she did not say a word in reply. And so they approached her, and the priest, taking her by the hand, continued to speak:

  “What your clothes, Señora, deny, your hair reveals: a clear indication that the reasons cannot be inconsequential for disguising your beauty in clothing so unworthy and bringing it to so desolate a place, where it is fortunate we have found you, if not to provide a remedy for your ills, at least to give you counsel; for as long as one has life, no ill can be so worrisome or reach so great an extreme that the one afflicted refuses even to listen to well-intentioned advice. And so, my dear Señora, or Señor, or whatever it is you wish to be, set aside the perturbation that the sight of us has caused you, and recount to us your situation, good or bad; for in all of us together, or in each of us separately, you will find someone to help you lament your misfortunes.”

  As the priest spoke these words, the disguised girl seemed stupefied, looking at all of them, not moving her lips or saying
a word, like a village rustic who is suddenly shown rare and strange things he has never seen before. But the priest continued speaking to the same effect until she heaved a deep sigh, broke her silence, and said:

  “Since the solitude of these mountains has not sufficed to hide me, and the loosening of my disheveled hair does not permit my tongue to lie, it would be useless for me to pretend something that you would believe more for the sake of courtesy than for any other reason. Assuming this, I shall say, Señores, that I thank you for the offer you have made, which places me under the obligation to satisfy you in everything you have asked, although I fear that the recounting of my misfortunes will cause you to feel grief as well as compassion, for you will find no remedy to alleviate them or consolation to allay them. Nonetheless, so that you will have no doubts about my honor, and since you have already learned that I am a woman, and have seen that I am alone and dressed in these clothes, things which, together or separately, can overthrow any honest reputation, I shall tell you what I should prefer to keep quiet, if I could.”

  The one who seemed so beautiful a woman said this without hesitating, and with so fluent a tongue and so gentle a voice that they were astounded as much by her intelligence as her beauty. And repeating their offers, and their pleas that she keep her promise, she did not need to be asked again, but after putting on her shoes with all modesty and pinning up her hair, she settled down on a rock, with the three men gathered around her, and making an effort to hold back the tears that came to her eyes, in a calm, clear voice she began the history of her life in this manner: