I’m forced to go to the war
because I’m so poor;
if I had money, believe
me I wouldn’t leave.
The first to speak to him was Don Quixote, who said:
“Your grace travels very lightly, gallant Señor. Where are you going? Let us know, if you care to tell us.”
To which the boy responded:
“My traveling so lightly is because of the heat and poverty; and I am going to war.”
“Why poverty?” asked Don Quixote. “The heat is enough of a reason.”
“Señor,” replied the lad, “in this bundle I’m carrying some velvet pantaloons, companions to this doublet; if I wear them out on the road, I won’t be able to honor myself with them in the city, and I don’t have the money to buy others; for this reason, and to cool myself, I’ll travel this way until I reach the infantry companies that are no more than twelve leagues away, and there I’ll enlist, and there will be plenty of wagons that I can ride until we reach the port of embarcation, which they say will be in Cartagena. And I’d rather have the king as my lord and master, and serve him in war, than some fool at court.”
“And does your grace have a bonus, by any chance?” asked the cousin.
“If I had served some grandee of Spain, or some distinguished nobleman,” the boy responded, “I’d certainly have one, which is what you get when you serve good masters; you leave the servants’ table and become an ensign or a captain, or get a good allowance, but I, sad to say, always served office-seekers and upstarts, whose income and revenue were so miserable and sparse that they spent half of it when they paid for the starch in a collar; it would be considered a miracle if a venturesome page were to have any kind of good fortune.”
“And tell me, friend, on your life,” asked Don Quixote, “is it possible that during the years you served you haven’t been able to obtain some livery?”
“I was given two liveries,” responded the page, “but like somebody who leaves the church before he takes his vows, and they take away his habit and give him back his clothes, my masters gave me back my own clothes when their business at court was finished, and they went home and took back the liveries they had given just for show.”
“That is a noteworthy spilorceria,3 as they say in Italian,” said Don Quixote, “but even so, you should consider it good fortune to have left the court with such good intentions, because there is nothing on earth more honorable or beneficial than serving God, first of all, and then your king and natural lord, especially in the practice of arms, by means of which one achieves, if not more wealth, at least more honor than through letters, as I have said so often; although letters have founded more estates than arms, those who pursue arms have I do not know precisely what kind of advantage over those who pursue letters, but I do know what kind of splendor places them above all others. And what I wish to tell you now you should keep in your memory, for it will be of great benefit and consolation to you in your hardships: you must put out of your mind the adversities that may befall you, for the worst of them is death, and if it is a good death, then dying is the best thing that can happen to you. Julius Caesar, that valiant Roman emperor, was asked what was the best death, and he responded the one that was unexpected, sudden, and unforeseen; and although he responded as a heathen who did not have knowledge of the true God, yet he was correct in view of human feeling, for what does it matter if you are killed in the first battle or skirmish, or are shot by artillery, or blown up by a mine? It is all dying, and the end of the story, and according to Terence, the soldier killed in battle looks better than the one who is safe and sound in flight; and the good soldier achieves as much fame as his obedience to his captains and to those who can command him. And remember, son, that the soldier prefers the smell of gunpowder to the scent of musk, and if old age overtakes you in this honorable profession, even if you are full of wounds, and maimed or crippled, at least when it overtakes you, you will not be without honor, an honor that not even poverty can diminish; furthermore, laws are now being enacted that will protect and assist old and crippled soldiers, because it is not right that they be treated the way blacks are treated who are emancipated and freed when they are old and can no longer serve, and are thrown out of the house and called free men, making them slaves to hunger from which only death can liberate them. And for now I do not wish to say more, except that you should ride behind me on my horse until we reach the inn, and there you will have supper with me, and in the morning you will continue on your way, and may God make it as smooth for you as your desires deserve.”
The page did not accept the invitation to ride behind, though he did say yes to eating supper with him in the inn, and at this moment it is said that Sancho said to himself:
“Lord save my master! Is it possible that a man who knows how to say all the many good things that he’s said here can say he’s seen the impossible foolishness that he says he saw in the Cave of Montesinos? Well now, time will tell.”
At this point they reached the inn just as night was falling, and much to Sancho’s delight, he saw that his master judged it to be a real inn and not a castle, as he usually did. As soon as they had entered, Don Quixote asked the innkeeper about the man with the lances and halberds, and he responded that the man was in the stable tending to his mule. The cousin and Sancho did the same for their donkeys, giving Rocinante the best manger and stall in the stable.
CHAPTER XXV
In which note is made of the braying adventure and the diverting adventure of the puppet master, along with the memorable divinations of the soothsaying monkey
Don Quixote was on pins and needles, as the saying goes, until he could hear and learn about the marvels promised by the man carrying the weapons. He went to look for him in the place where the innkeeper had said he was, and found him, and said that the man had to tell him now what he would, in any case, tell him later regarding what Don Quixote had asked on the road. To which the man responded:
“The recounting of my marvels has to take place more slowly, and not while we’re standing; Señor, your grace must allow me to tend to my animal, and then I shall tell you things that will astound you.”
“Do not let that delay you,” responded Don Quixote, “for I shall help you with everything.”
And he did, sifting the barley for him and cleaning the manger, humble labors that obliged the man to tell him willingly what he had asked, and sitting down on a stone bench, with Don Quixote beside him, and the cousin, the page, Sancho Panza, and the innkeeper as senate and audience, he began to speak in this manner:
“Your graces should know that in a town four and a half leagues from this inn, a councilman lost a donkey through the deceitful efforts of one of his servant girls, but that’s a long story, and though the councilman made every effort to find the animal, he could not. According to what everyone says, the donkey had been missing for some two weeks when the councilman who had sustained the loss found himself in the square, and another councilman from the same town said to him:
‘You owe me a reward, compadre; your donkey has turned up.’
‘I promise you’ll get it, compadre,’ he responded, ‘but where did he turn up?’
‘In the woods,’ responded the finder. ‘I saw him this morning, without a packsaddle or any trappings, and so skinny it made me feel bad just to look at him. I tried to catch him and bring him back to you, but he’s so wild and untamed now that when I went up to him, he ran off into the deepest part of the woods. If you want both of us to look for him, just let me take my little jenny home, and I’ll be right back.’
‘I appreciate that,” said the one who had lost his donkey, ‘and I’ll try to return the favor.’
Everybody who knows the truth of the matter tells the story with the same details, and in the same manner that I’m telling it now. In short, the two councilmen together went on foot into the woods, and they reached the place and the site where they thought they would find the donkey but did not find him there or any
where nearby no matter how much they searched. Seeing that he was nowhere to be found, the one who had seen the donkey said to the other councilman:
‘Look, compadre: I’ve just had an idea, and there’s no doubt that with it we’ll be able to find this animal even if he’s hiding in the bowels of the earth, let alone the woods; the fact is that I know how to bray wonderfully well, and if you know how even a little, then the matter’s settled.’
‘Did you say even a little, compadre?’ said the other councilman. ‘By God, nobody’s better than me, not even donkeys.’
‘We’ll see,’ responded the second councilman, ‘because I’ve decided that you should go to one part of the woods and I’ll go to the other, so that we’ll walk all around it, and every few steps you’ll bray and I’ll bray, and the donkey will have to hear us and respond if he’s in the woods at all.’
To which the owner of the donkey responded:
‘Compadre, I say it’s an excellent plan and worthy of your great intelligence.’
And separating as they had agreed, it so happened that they both brayed almost at the same time, and each was deceived by the braying of the other and came running, thinking the donkey had returned; and when they saw each other, the one who had lost the donkey said:
‘Is it possible, compadre, that it wasn’t my donkey who brayed?’
‘No, it was me,’ responded the other man.
‘Then I say, compadre,’ said the owner, ‘that between you and a jackass there’s no difference at all as far as braying is concerned, because never in my life have I seen or heard anything more lifelike.’
‘The compliments and flattery,’ responded the planner, ‘belong and apply to you more than to me, compadre; by the God who made me, you can give a two-bray advantage to the greatest and most expert brayer in the world, because your sound is loud, your voice sustained, with the correct time and rhythm, your inflections numerous and rapid: in short, I admit defeat, and surrender the palm, and hand you the banner for this rare ability.’
‘Now I say,’ responded the owner, ‘that from now on I’ll esteem myself more and think better of myself and believe that I know something valuable since I’m graced with this talent; though I thought I could bray well, I never realized I had reached the heights that you say I have.’
‘I’ll also say now,’ responded the second man, ‘that there are rare abilities in the world that are lost, and ill-used by those who don’t know how to take advantage of them.’
‘Except in cases such as the one we’re dealing with now,’ responded the owner, ‘ours are of little use to us, and even here, may it please God that they do us some good.’
Having said this, they separated and returned to their braying, and were constantly being deceived, and came back together again, until they decided on a signal to let them know that they were the ones braying and not the donkey, and it was that they would bray twice, one bray right after the other. In this way, constantly giving two brays in a row, they circled the entire woods, but the lost donkey did not respond, not even with a sign. Yet how could the poor unfortunate respond? For they found him in the deepest part of the woods, devoured by wolves. And when they saw him, his owner said:
‘I was surprised at his not responding, because if he hadn’t been dead, he would have brayed when he heard us, or wouldn’t be a donkey; but as long as I was able to hear you bray so beautifully, compadre, I consider the effort of looking for him well worth the trouble, even though I found him dead.’
‘We’re a talented pair, compadre,’ responded the other, ‘because if the abbot sings well, the altar boy’s not far behind.’
And so, disconsolate and hoarse, they returned to their village and told their friends, neighbors, and acquaintances what had happened to them in their search for the donkey, each exaggerating the other’s talent for braying, all of which was learned and circulated in nearby towns. And the devil, who never sleeps, and loves to sow and plant quarrels and discord wherever he goes, spreading mischief on the wind and creating disputes out of nothing, ordered and arranged matters so that the people from other towns, when they saw someone from our village, would bray, as if throwing the braying of our councilmen back into our faces. The boys joined in, which was like giving it into the hands and mouths of all the demons in hell, and the braying spread from one town to another, so that the natives of a town are known by their braying, just as blacks are known and differentiated from whites; and this unfortunate mockery has gone so far that often the mocked, holding weapons in their hands and marching in formation, have come out to do battle with the mockers, and no one and nothing, neither fear nor shame, can stop it. I believe that tomorrow or the next day the people from my village, who are the people who bray, will go to fight another town that’s two leagues away, which is one of those that persecute us the most, and so that they can be well-prepared, I’ve bought the lances and halberds that you saw. And these are the marvels I said I would tell you, and if they don’t seem so to you, I don’t know any others.”
And saying this, the good man concluded what he had to say, and at that moment a man dressed all in chamois—hose, breeches, and doublet—came through the door of the inn, and in a loud voice he said:
“Señor Innkeeper, is there room at the inn? For the soothsaying monkey is coming here, and a puppet show about the freeing of Melisendra.”
“Good Lord!” said the innkeeper. “It’s Master Pedro! There’s a good night ahead of us.”
I forgot to say that this Master Pedro had his left eye and almost half his cheek covered with a patch of green taffeta, a sign that all of that side was probably diseased; the innkeeper continued, saying:
“Your grace is welcome, Señor Master Pedro. Where are the monkey and the puppet stage? I don’t see them.”
“They’re nearby,” responded the man in chamois, “but I came on ahead to find out if there’s room.”
“I’d move out the Duke of Alba himself to make room for Master Pedro,” responded the innkeeper. “Bring the monkey and the puppet stage in, because tonight there are people in the inn who will pay to see the show and the monkey’s talents.”
“That’s a stroke of luck,” responded the man with the patch. “I’ll lower the price, and consider myself well-paid if I cover my costs; now I’ll go and bring in the cart that’s carrying the monkey and the stage.”
And then he left the inn again.
Don Quixote asked the innkeeper about Master Pedro and the pup-pet show and monkey he was bringing with him. To which the innkeeper responded:
“He’s a famous puppet master who’s been traveling the Aragonese side of La Mancha for some time, showing a puppet play about Melisendra being freed by the famous Don Gaiferos, which is one of the best and best-acted histories seen in this part of the kingdom for many years. He also has with him a monkey with the rarest talent ever seen among monkeys or imagined among men, because if he’s asked something, he pays attention to what he’s asked, then jumps onto his master’s shoulders and goes up to his ear and tells him the answer to the question, and then Master Pedro says what it is; he has much more to say about past things than about future ones, and even though he isn’t right all the time, he’s not wrong most of the time, so he makes us think he has the devil in his body. He charges two reales for each question if the monkey responds, I mean, if the master responds for him after he’s spoken into his ear; people believe that Master Pedro is very rich, a uomo galante and a bon compagno, as they say in Italy, who leads the best life in the world; he talks more than six men and drinks more than twelve, all paid for by his tongue and his monkey and his puppet show.”
At this point Master Pedro returned, and in a cart came the puppet stage and a large tailless monkey with a rump like felt but a face that was nice-looking, and as soon as Don Quixote saw him, he asked:
“Señor Soothsayer, can your grace tell me che pesce pigliamo?1 What will become of us? And here you can see my two reales.”
And he told Sancho to h
and them to Master Pedro, who responded for the monkey, saying:
“Señor, this animal does not respond or give information about things to come; about past things he knows a little, and about present ones, a little more.”
“By God,” said Sancho, “I wouldn’t pay anything to have somebody tell me what’s already happened to me! Who knows that better than me? And it would be foolish to pay anybody to tell me what I already know; but since he knows about present things, here’s my two reales so His Monkeyness can tell me what my wife, Teresa Panza, is doing now, and how she’s spending her time.”
Master Pedro refused to take the money, saying:
“I don’t wish to receive payment ahead of time, before the service has been provided.”
And he hit his left shoulder twice with his right hand, and the monkey leaped onto it, put his mouth up to his ear, clicked his teeth together very quickly, and after doing this for the length of time it takes to say a Credo, gave another leap down to the floor; and when he did this, Master Pedro rushed to kneel in front of Don Quixote, and throwing his arms around his legs, he said:
“I embrace these legs as I would embrace the two Pillars of Hercules, O illustrious revivifier of a now forgotten knight errantry! O never sufficiently praised knight, Don Quixote of La Mancha, courage of the fainthearted, support of those about to fall, strong arm of those who have fallen, comfort and consolation of all who are unfortunate.”
Don Quixote was dumbfounded, Sancho astounded, the cousin baffled, the page stunned, the man who told about the braying stupefied, the innkeeper perplexed, and, in short, all who heard the words of the puppet master were amazed, but he continued, saying:
“And you, O worthy Sancho Panza, the best squire of the best knight in the world, be of good cheer! Your good wife, Teresa, is well, and at this very moment she is carding a pound of flax; to be more specific, on her left is a broken-mouthed jug that holds a good measure of wine, and with it she keeps her spirits up as she works.”
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