Sancho said this to himself on the day of their departure, and Don Quixote, having taken his leave of the duke and duchess the night before, came out in the morning and appeared in his armor on the castle square. All the people in the castle watched him from the passageways, and the duke and duchess also came out to see him. Sancho was on his gray, with his saddlebags, traveling case, and provisions, and he was very happy because the duke's steward, the one who had played Countess Trifaldi, had given him a purse with two hundred gold escudos for expenses on the road, and Don Quixote did not know about this yet.
While everyone was looking at Don Quixote, as has been said, suddenly, from among the duchess's duennas and maidens who were watching him, the bold and clever Altisidora raised her voice, and in woeful tones she said:
"Oh listen, most wicked knight;
pull up your reins for a while;
do not belabor the flanks
of your uncontrollable steed.
Consider, false one, no fearsome
serpent pursues you, you flee
nothing but a gentle lamb,
one far from being a ewe.
O monster, you have deceived
the fairest, most comely maid
Diana saw in her forests,
or Venus saw in her woods.
Vireno most cruel, O fugitive Aeneas, 1
may Barabbas go with you; you belong with him.
You take with you, oh cruel taking,
clutched in your bloodthirsty claws
the loving heart of a damsel enamored,
humble, and young.
You have taken her three nightcaps,
and garters both black and white
from legs that rival the purest
marble in their smooth whiteness.
You have taken two thousand sighs
that could, if they were of fire,
burn and destroy two thousand Troys
if there were two thousand Troys.
Vireno most cruel, oh fugitive Aeneas,
may Barabbas go with you; you belong with him.
As for your squire named Sancho,
may his heart be as hard as stone,
as cold as ice: then Dulcinea
will ne'er be freed of enchantment.
The fault is no one's but yours,
but let her pay for your crime;
perhaps in my land the just
must pay and suffer for sinners.
May your most noble adventures
be nothing but misadventures,
your pleasures, nothing but dreams,
your courage, gone and forgotten.
Cruel Vireno, fugitive Aeneas,
May Barabbas go with you; you belong with him.
May you be known as false-hearted
from Sevilla to Marchena,
from Granada to far Loja,
from fair London throughout England.
If you ever play reinado,
los cientos, or la primera, 2
may all the kings fly from you,
as well as aces and sevens.
If you ever trim your corns,
may the blood spurt from the wounds,
and if you have your molars pulled
may they break off at the roots.
Cruel Vireno, fugitive Aeneas,
May Barabbas go with you; you belong with him."
While the piteous Altisidora lamented her aforementioned fate, Don Quixote stared fixedly at her, not saying a word, and then he turned to Sancho and said:
"By all the years of your forebears, Sancho my friend, I implore you to tell me the truth. Tell me, have you, by any chance, taken the three nightcaps and the garters that this enamored maiden has mentioned?"
To which Sancho responded:
"I do have the three nightcaps, but the garters--that's really crazy."
The duchess was amazed at the boldness of Altisidora, for although she considered her audacious, lively, and bold, she did not think she would dare carry things so far, and since she had not been told about this joke, her amazement grew even more. The duke wanted to go on with the clever deception, and he said:
"It does not seem right to me, Senor Knight, that after receiving in this castle the warm welcome that was offered to you, you have dared take away at least three nightcaps, not to mention garters, that belong to my maiden; these are indications of an ungrateful heart, signs that do not correspond to your fame. Return the garters to her; if not, I challenge you to mortal combat, with no fear that your roguish enchanters will change or alter my face, as they did to Tosilos, my footman, who entered into battle with you."
"God forbid," responded Don Quixote, "that I unsheathe my sword against your most illustrious person, from whom I have received so many kindnesses; I shall return the nightcaps, because Sancho says he has them; as for the garters, that is impossible, because I do not have them and neither does he; if this maiden of yours would look through her hiding places, I am sure she would find them. I, Senor Duke, have never been a thief, nor do I intend to be one for the rest of my life, unless God abandons me. This maiden speaks, as she has said, as one enamored, and for that I am not to blame; and so, I have no reason to beg her pardon, or yours, although I implore Your Excellency to have a better opinion of me, and to once again give me your permission to continue on my way."
"May God so favor you there," said the duchess, "Senor Don Quixote, that we always hear good reports of your deeds. And go with God, for the longer you tarry, the more you fan the flames in the hearts of the maidens who look upon you; as for this maiden, I shall punish her so that from now on she will not be insolent in her glances or her words."
"I want you to hear only one more word of mine, O valiant Don Quixote!" said Altisidora. "I beg your pardon for saying you stole my garters, because by God and my soul, I am wearing them, and I have fallen into the careless error of the man who went looking for the donkey he was riding on."
"Didn't I say so?" said Sancho. "I'm the right one to go around hiding stolen things! If I wanted to do that, I could've done it to my heart's content in my governorship."
Don Quixote bowed his head in deference to the duke and duchess and all the onlookers, and turning Rocinante's reins, and with Sancho riding after him on the gray, he left the castle and followed the road to Zaragoza.
CHAPTER LVIII
Which recounts how so many adventures rained down on Don Quixote that there was hardly room for all of them
When Don Quixote saw himself in the open countryside, free and clear of Altisidora's wooing, it seemed to him that he had returned to his own element, that his spirits had revived and were ready to resume his chivalric pursuits, and turning to Sancho, he said:
"Freedom, Sancho, is one of the most precious gifts heaven gave to men; the treasures under the earth and beneath the sea cannot compare to it; for freedom, as well as for honor, one can and should risk one's life, while captivity, on the other hand, is the greatest evil that can befall men. I say this, Sancho, because you have clearly seen the luxury and abundance we have enjoyed in this castle that we are leaving, but in the midst of those flavorful banquets and those drinks as cool as snow, it seemed as if I were suffering the pangs of hunger because I could not enjoy them with the freedom I would have had if they had been mine; the obligations to repay the benefits and kindnesses we have received are bonds that hobble a free spirit. Fortunate is the man to whom heaven has given a piece of bread with no obligation to thank anyone but heaven itself!"
"In spite of everything," said Sancho, "that your grace has said, it's not right for us to be ungrateful for the two hundred gold escudos in a purse that the duke's steward gave to me and that I wear as a cure and a comfort over my heart, in case of emergencies, for we aren't always going to find castles where they welcome us; we might come across some inns where they beat us instead."
The two errants, knight and squire, were engaged in conversations like these when, having traveled a little more than a league, they saw a smal
l green meadow where approximately a dozen men dressed as farmers were sitting and eating on their cloaks, which were spread on the grass. Next to them were what seemed like white sheets covering several objects that were placed at intervals, either standing up straight or lying flat. Don Quixote approached the men who were eating, and after first greeting them courteously, he asked what they had under those cloths. One of them responded:
"Senor, under these cloths are wooden images carved in relief for an altarpiece that we're erecting in our village; we carry them covered so they won't be damaged, and on our shoulders so they won't break."
"If you would be so kind," responded Don Quixote, "I should like very much to see them, for images that are carried with so much care undoubtedly are good."
"Well, of course they are!" said another. "They cost enough: the truth is that every one of them costs more than fifty ducados; so that your grace can see the truth of this, just wait, and your grace will see with your own eyes."
And he stood up, stopped eating, and went to remove the covering of the first image, which turned out to be St. George mounted on a horse, a serpent lying coiled at his feet, its mouth run through by a lance, all of it depicted with the customary ferocity. The entire image seemed to glitter like gold, as they say. When he saw it, Don Quixote said:
"This was one of the best knights errant the divine militia ever had: his name was Don St. George,1and he was also a protector of damsels. Let us see this next one."
The man uncovered it, and it seemed to be St. Martin astride a horse as he divided his cape with the poor man; and as soon as he saw it, Don Quixote said:
"This knight was another Christian seeker of adventures, and I believe he was more generous than brave, as you can see, Sancho, for he is dividing his cape with the poor man and giving him half, and no doubt it must have been winter then; otherwise, he was so charitable he would have given him the entire cape."
"That couldn't have been the reason," said Sancho, "but he must have been paying attention to the proverb that says: 'For giving and keeping you need some brains.'"
Don Quixote laughed and asked them to remove another cloth, and beneath it was revealed the image of the patron saint of Spain on horseback, his sword stained with blood, riding down Moors and trampling on their heads; and when he saw it, Don Quixote said:
"This one certainly is a knight, a member of the squadrons of Christ; his name is St. James the Moorkiller, one of the most valiant saints and knights the world has ever had, and that heaven has now."
Then they removed another cloth, and it covered the fall of St. Paul from his horse, with all the details that are usually depicted in images of his conversion. It looked so lifelike that one would say that Christ was speaking and Paul responding.
"This," said Don Quixote, "was the greatest enemy the Church of God Our Lord had at the time, and the greatest defender it will ever have; a knight errant in life, and a steadfast saint in death, a tireless worker in the vineyard of the Lord, a teacher of peoples whose school was heaven and whose professor and master was Jesus Christ Himself."
There were no more images, and so Don Quixote said they should be covered again, and he told the men who were carrying them:
"Brothers, I take it as a good omen that I have seen what I have seen here, because these saints and knights professed what I profess, which is the practice of arms; the difference, however, between me and them is that they were saints and fought in the divine manner, and I am a sinner and fight in the human manner. They conquered heaven by force of arms, for 'the kingdom of heaven suffereth violence,'1 and so far I do not know what I am conquering by the force of my labors, but if my Dulcinea of Toboso were to be free of the ills she is suffering, thereby improving my fortune and strengthening my judgment, it might be that my feet would travel a better road than the one I follow now."
"May God hear and sin be deaf," said Sancho.
The men were as baffled by Don Quixote's appearance as they were by his words, for they did not understand half of what he said. They finished their meal, picked up their images, and, taking their leave of Don Quixote, continued on their way.
Sancho once again was so amazed at what his master knew, it was as if he had never known him, for it seemed there was no history or event in the world that Don Quixote did not have clearly in mind and fixed in his memory; and Sancho said:
"The truth is, Senor Master, that if what happened to us today can be called an adventure, it has been one of the gentlest and sweetest that has happened to us in the course of our wanderings: we've come out of it with no beatings and no fear, and we haven't laid a hand on our swords, or battered the ground with our bodies, or been left hungry. God be praised for allowing me to see such a thing with my own eyes."
"What you say is correct, Sancho," said Don Quixote, "but you must realize that not all times are the same, nor do they always follow the same course, and what common people generally call omens, which are not founded on any natural cause, the wise man must consider and judge to be happy events. One of these superstitious men gets up in the morning, leaves his house, happens to meet a friar of the Order of the Blessed St. Francis, and as if he had met a gryphon,3 he turns around and returns home. Another Mendoza4 spills salt on the table, and melancholy spills in his heart, as if nature were obliged to give signs of impending misfortunes with things as trivial as those we have mentioned. A wise Christian should not try to guess what heaven intends to do. When Scipio arrived in Africa, he stumbled as he leaped ashore, and his soldiers considered it an evil omen, but he embraced the ground and said: 'You cannot escape me, Africa, because I am holding you tight in my arms.' And so, Sancho, having come across these images has been a very happy event for me."
"I believe that, too," responded Sancho, "and I'd like your grace to tell me why it is that Spaniards, when they're about to go into battle, invoke that St. James the Moorkiller and say: 'St. James, and close Spain!' By some chance is Spain open so that it's necessary to close her, or what ceremony is that?"5
"You are very simple, Sancho," responded Don Quixote. "Remember that God gave this great Knight of the Scarlet Cross to Spain to be her patron and protector, especially in the harsh conflicts that the Spaniards have had with the Moors, and so they invoke and call on him as their defender in every battle they fight, and they often have seen him throwing down, trampling, destroying, and killing the squadrons of Hagar,6 and I could give you many examples of this truth that are recounted in truthful Spanish histories."
Sancho changed the subject and said to his master:
"I'm amazed, Senor, at the boldness of Altisidora, the duchess's maiden: she must have been badly wounded and run through by the one they call Amor; they say he's a little blind boy, and his vision is dim, or, I should say, he's sightless, but if he takes aim at a heart, no matter how small, he hits it with his arrows and runs it through. I've also heard that a maiden's modesty and reserve can make those amorous arrows blunt and dull, but in Altisidora they seem to grow sharper, not duller."
"You should know, Sancho," said Don Quixote, "that love shows no restraint, and does not keep within the bounds of reason as it proceeds, and has the same character as death: it attacks the noble palaces of kings as well as the poor huts of shepherds, and when it takes full possession of a heart, the first thing it does is to take away fear and shame; lacking them, Altisidora declared her desires, which gave rise in my bosom to more confusion than compassion."
"What notable cruelty!" said Sancho. "What glaring ingratitude! For me, I can say that at her smallest word of love I'd surrender and submit. Whoreson, what a heart of marble you have, and a will of bronze, and a soul of mortar! But I can't think what this maiden saw in your grace that made her surrender and submit like that: what grace, what elegance, what charm, what face, each thing by itself or all of them together, made her fall in love? Because to tell you the truth, I often stop to look at your grace from the tips of your toes to the last hair on your head, and I see more things to drive her a
way than to make her fall in love; I've also heard that beauty is the first and principal quality that makes people love, and since your grace doesn't have any, I don't know what the poor maiden fell in love with."
"You should know, Sancho," responded Don Quixote, "that there are two kinds of beauty: one of the soul and the other of the body; that of the soul is found and seen in one's understanding, chastity, virtuous behavior, liberality, and good breeding, and all of these qualities can exist and reside in an ugly man; and when a person looks at this beauty, and not at that of the body, an intense and advantageous love is engendered. I see very clearly, Sancho, that I am not handsome, but I also know that I am not deformed; it is enough for a virtuous man not to be a monster to be well-loved, if he has the endowments of the soul which I have mentioned to you."
As they were having this conversation, they entered a forest that was to the side of the road, and suddenly, before he was aware of it, Don Quixote found himself caught in some nets of green string that were stretched from tree to tree; unable to imagine what this might be, he said to Sancho:
"It seems to me, Sancho, that the reason for these nets must be one of the strangest adventures anyone could imagine. By my soul, the enchanters who pursue me must want to entangle me in them and stop my journey in order to avenge the severity I showed Altisidora. Well, I can assure them that even if these nets were made not of green string but of the hardest diamonds, or were stronger than the net with which the jealous god of blacksmiths7 trapped Venus and Mars, I would break them as if they were made of reeds or cotton threads."
And when he attempted to step forward and break the nets, suddenly there appeared before him, coming out from among the trees, two extremely beautiful shepherdesses: at least, they were dressed as shepherdesses, except that their jackets and skirts were made of fine brocade, I mean, their skirts were made of rich moire shot with gold. Their hair, so blond it rivaled the rays of the sun, hung loose down their backs and was crowned with garlands woven of green laurel and red amaranth. Their age, apparently, was no less than fifteen and no more than eighteen.
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