Don Quixote

by Miguel de Cervantes Saavedra

  "Why hanged?" replied the viceroy.

  "Because," responded the admiral general, "contrary to the law and all the rights and customs of war, they have killed two of the best soldiers sailing on these galleys, and I have sworn to hang everyone I captured, and principally this boy, who is the captain of the brigantine."

  And he showed him the captain, with his hands tied and a noose around his neck, waiting for death.

  The viceroy looked at him and saw him so handsome and so gallant and so humble that the boy's good looks provided him with an immediate letter of recommendation, and the viceroy felt a desire to pardon his death, and so he asked:

  "Tell me, Captain, are you of Turkish nationality, or a Moor, or a renegade?"

  To which the boy responded, also in the Castilian tongue:

  "I am not of Turkish nationality, or a Moor, or a renegade."

  "Then what are you?" replied the viceroy.

  "A Christian woman," responded the young man.

  "A woman, and a Christian, in those clothes, in these circumstances? It is more to be wondered at than believed."

  "Oh, Senores!" said the boy. "Suspend my execution for a little while; not much will be lost if you delay your revenge while I recount to you my life."

  Whose heart was so hard that these words would not soften it, at least enough to hear those that the sad and sorrowful boy wished to say? The admiral general told him to say whatever he wished, but not to expect a pardon for his infamous crime. With this permission, the boy began to speak in this manner:

  "I was born to Morisco parents and am of that nation, more unhappy than wise, upon whom a sea of afflictions has lately poured down. In the current of their misfortunes, I was taken to Barbary by two of my uncles, and it did me no good to say that I was a Christian, as in fact I am, and not one of the false or apparent ones but a true Catholic Christian. In vain did I tell this truth to those responsible for our wretched banishment, and my uncles did not wish to believe it, either; instead, they considered it a lie and an invention that I had devised in order to remain in the land where I had been born, and so by force rather than by my will, they took me with them. I had a Christian mother and a wise, Christian father; I drank in the Catholic faith with my mother's milk; I was brought up with good morals; neither in my speech nor in my behavior did I ever give a sign of being Morisca. Along with these virtues, which is what I think they are, grew whatever beauty I have, and although I lived in great modesty and seclusion, it could not have been enough because a young gentleman had the opportunity to see me; his name was Don Gaspar Gregorio, the oldest son of a gentleman whose village is next to ours. How he saw me, how we spoke, how he lost his heart to me and I could not keep mine from him, would be a long story, especially now, when I fear that the merciless noose threatening me will tighten between my tongue and my throat; and so, I shall say only that Don Gaspar Gregorio wanted to accompany me into our exile. He mingled with the Moriscos who had come from other villages, for he knew the language very well, and on the journey he became friends with the two uncles who were taking me with them; as soon as my prudent and farsighted father heard the first proclamation of our banishment, he left our village to find a place in foreign kingdoms that would take us in. He left many pearls and precious stones, along with coins of gold and silver and gold doblones, buried and hidden in a place that I alone knew about. He told me that in the event we were banished before he returned, under no circumstances was I to touch the treasure he had left behind.

  I did as he told me, and with my uncles, as I have said, and other relatives and friends, we crossed to Barbary, and the place where we settled was Algiers, and it was as if we had settled in hell itself. The king heard of my beauty, and rumors of my wealth, and this was, in some ways, to my advantage. He summoned me, asked me what part of Spain I came from, and what money and jewels I had brought with me. I told him the name of our village and said that my jewels and money were buried there but could easily be recovered if I went back for them. I said this yet feared he would be blinded not by my beauty but by his own greed. While we were having this conversation, he was told that one of the most gallant and handsome young men imaginable had accompanied me. I realized immediately that they were speaking of Don Gaspar Gregorio, whose beauty far surpasses any other, no matter how praiseworthy. I was troubled when I considered the danger to him, because among those barbarous Turks a handsome boy or youth is more highly esteemed than a woman, no matter how beautiful she may be.

  The king immediately ordered the young man brought before him so that he could see him, and he asked me if what had been said about the boy was true. Then I, almost as if forewarned by heaven, said that it was, but I told him the boy wasn't a man but a woman like me, and I begged him to let me dress her in her rightful clothes so that her beauty could be fully displayed, and she might appear before him without awkwardness. He told me I could leave, and said we would talk the next day about how I could return to Spain and bring back the hidden treasure. I spoke to Don Gaspar, I told him of the danger he was in if he appeared as a man, I dressed him as a Moorish girl, and that same afternoon I brought him before the king, who, when he saw him, was stunned, and decided to keep her and make a present of her to his great lord; to avoid the danger she might face in his seraglio, and fearing what he himself might do, he ordered her placed in the home of some wellborn Moorish women who would protect and serve her. Don Gaspar was taken there at once.

  What the two of us felt, for I cannot deny that I love him, I leave to the consideration of those who love and must part. Then the king devised a plan in which I would return to Spain on this brigantine, accompanied by two Turks, who were the ones who killed your soldiers. This Spanish renegade also came with me"--and she pointed to the man who had spoken first--"and I know very well that he is a secret Christian and has more desire to remain in Spain than to return to Barbary; the rest of the crew on the brigantine are Moors and Turks who serve only as oarsmen. The two Turks, who are greedy and insolent, did not obey their orders, which were that as soon as we reached Spain they were to put me and this renegade ashore, in Christian clothes, which we have brought with us; instead, they wanted to sail along this coast and take a prize, if they could, for they feared that if they put us ashore first, through unforeseen circumstances we might reveal that the brigantine was at sea, and if there were galleys along this coast, their vessel would be captured. Last night we saw this coastline, and not knowing about the four galleys, we were discovered, and you have witnessed what has befallen us.

  In short, Don Gaspar Gregorio remains dressed as a woman among women, in clear danger of being lost, and I find myself with my hands tied, waiting, or I should say fearing, to lose my life, which already wearies me. This is, Senores, the end of my lamentable history, as true as it is unfortunate; what I beg of you is that you allow me to die as a Christian, for as I have said, in no way have I been guilty of the offense into which those of my nation have fallen."

  And then she fell silent, her eyes brimming with heartfelt tears that were accompanied by the many shed by those present. The viceroy, tenderhearted and compassionate, did not say a word but went up to her and with his own hands removed the rope that bound the beautiful hands of the Morisca.

  As the Christian Morisca was recounting her strange history, an ancient pilgrim who had boarded the galley with the viceroy had not taken his eyes off her, and as soon as she finished speaking, he threw himself at her feet and embraced them, and in words interrupted by a thousand sobs and sighs, he said:

  "O Ana Felix, my unfortunate daughter! I am your father, Ricote, who came back to find you because I cannot live without you, for you are my soul."

  At these words, Sancho opened his eyes and raised his head--he had lowered it, thinking about the evil that had befallen him--and, looking at the pilgrim, he recognized the same Ricote whom he had met on the day he left his governorship, and he confirmed that the girl was Ricote's daughter, for when she was untied she embraced her father,
mixing her tears with his, and Ricote said to the admiral general and the viceroy:

  "Senores, this is my daughter, more unfortunate in what has happened to her than in her name.4 She is called Ana Felix, and her surname is Ricote, and she is as famous for her beauty as she is for my wealth. I left my country to look in foreign lands for a place that would welcome and shelter us, and having found it in Germany, I came back dressed as a pilgrim, in the company of other Germans, to find my daughter and retrieve the great riches I left hidden here. I did not find my daughter but I did find my treasure, which I have with me, and now, through the strange twist of fate that you have witnessed, I have found the treasure that enriches me most, which is my beloved daughter. If in the integrity of your justice our small guilt, and her tears and mine, can open the doors to mercy, then show us mercy, for we never thought of offending you, nor did we ever agree in any way with the intentions of our people, who have so justly been expelled."

  Then Sancho said:

  "I know Ricote very well, and I know that what he says about Ana Felix being his daughter is true; as for this other business of coming and going and having good or bad intentions, I have nothing to say about that."

  Everyone present was astonished at this strange matter, and the admiral general said:

  "Drop by drop, your tears will not permit me to keep my vow; live, beautiful Ana Felix, the years of life that heaven has granted you, and let the insolent and rash men who committed the crime bear the penalty."

  And then he ordered the two Turks who had killed his two soldiers hung from the lateen yard, but the viceroy begged him very earnestly not to hang them, for theirs was more a crime of madness than of audacity. The admiral general did as the viceroy requested, for revenge in cold blood is not easily carried out. Then they attempted to devise a plan to free Don Gaspar Gregorio from danger; to that end, Ricote offered the more than two thousand ducados he had in pearls and precious stones. They thought of many schemes, but none was as good as the one proposed by the Spanish renegade we have mentioned, who offered to return to Algiers in a small vessel, with some six rowers' benches, manned by Christian oarsmen, because he knew where, how, and when he could and should disembark, and by the same token he knew the house where Don Gaspar was being kept. The admiral general and the viceroy doubted if they could trust the renegade or be certain about the safety of the Christians who would man the oars, but Ana Felix vouched for him, and her father Ricote said he would pay the ransom for the Christians if they happened to be captured.

  Having decided, then, on this plan, the viceroy disembarked, and Don Antonio Moreno took the Morisca and her father home with him, the viceroy having charged him to welcome and treat them as hospitably as possible, and he himself offering whatever was in his house for their entertainment, for Ana Felix's beauty had inspired great benevolence and charity in his heart.

  CHAPTER LXIV

  Which deals with the adventure that caused Don Quixote more sorrow than any others that had befallen him so far

  The history recounts that the wife of Don Antonio Moreno was very pleased to see Ana Felix in her house. She welcomed her with great amiability, as charmed by her beauty as by her intelligence, for the Morisca was exceptionally endowed with both, and all the people in the city, as if summoned by a pealing bell, came to see her.

  Don Quixote told Don Antonio that the plan they had devised to free Don Gaspar Gregorio was not a good one because it was more dangerous than feasible, and it would be better to put him ashore in Barbary with his arms and his horse, and he would set the young man free despite the entire host of Moors, just as Don Gaiferos had done for his wife, Melisendra.

  "Your grace should remember," said Sancho when he heard this, "that Senor Don Gaiferos rescued his wife on dry land and took her to France on dry land, but here, if we do release Don Gregorio, we have no way to bring him to Spain because there's an ocean in the middle."

  "There is a remedy for everything except death," responded Don Quixote, "for if we have a ship along the coast, we can embark on that even if the whole world attempts to prevent it."

  "Your grace paints a very nice picture and makes it seem very easy," said Sancho, "but there's many a slip 'tween cup and lip, and I'll depend on the renegade, who looks to me like an honest and good-hearted man."

  Don Antonio said that if the renegade failed in the enterprise, he would arrange for the great Don Quixote to go to Barbary.

  Two days later, the renegade sailed in a light vessel with six oars on each side, manned by a very valiant crew of oarsmen, and two days after that the galleys departed for the Levant, the admiral general first having asked the viceroy to please keep him informed regarding the rescue of Don Gaspar Gregorio, and the matter of Ana Felix, and the viceroy having agreed.

  One morning, when Don Quixote went out to ride along the shore armed and in his armor because, as he often said, they were his adornment and combat was his ease, and he was never without them, he saw a knight approaching in full armor, and on his shield was depicted a resplendent moon; and coming close enough to be heard, and addressing his words to Don Quixote, he cried out in a loud voice, saying:

  "Renowned knight and never sufficiently praised Don Quixote of La Mancha, I am the Knight of the White Moon, whose extraordinary deeds perhaps have come to your attention; I am here to do battle with you and to test the strength of your mighty arms, obliging you to recognize and confess that my lady, whoever she may be, is incomparably more beautiful than your Dulcinea of Toboso; and if you confess this truth clearly and plainly, you will save yourself from death, and save me the trouble of killing you; and if you do battle and I conquer you, I want no other satisfaction than that you abandon your arms, abstain from seeking adventures, and withdraw and retire to your home for a period of one year, where you must live without laying a hand on your sword, in peaceful tranquility and profitable serenity, for such is required for the increase of your fortune and the salvation of your soul; and if you should conquer me, my life will be at your mercy, and my arms and horse will be yours, as spoils, and the fame of my deeds will be added to yours. Consider what you should do, and respond immediately, for I have only this day to settle this matter."

  Don Quixote was amazed and astonished, not only by the arrogance of the Knight of the White Moon, but by the cause for which he was challenging him, and with great calm and a severe bearing, he responded:

  "Knight of the White Moon, whose deeds have not yet come to my attention, I should dare to swear that you have never seen the illustrious Dulcinea, for if you had, I know you would not attempt to undertake this enterprise, because the sight of her would cause you to accept this truth: there never has been nor can there ever be a beauty that compares to hers; and so, not saying that you lie, but only that you are not correct in what you propound, I accept your challenge with the conditions you have mentioned, and I do so immediately, so that the one day you have set aside does not slip away; but I do not accept the condition that your deeds be added to my fame, because I do not know what they are or what kind they may be; I am content with mine, such as they are. Take, then, whichever part of the field you wish, and I shall do the same, and whomever God favors may St. Peter bless."

  People in the city who had seen the Knight of the White Moon told the viceroy that he was speaking with Don Quixote of La Mancha. The viceroy, believing it was probably a new adventure devised by Don Antonio Moreno or by some other gentleman of the city, immediately rode out to the shore with Don Antonio, accompanied by many other gentlemen, and they arrived just as Don Quixote was turning the reins of Rocinante in order to take the distance needed for his charge.

  Seeing that the two knights were showing signs of engaging in combat, the viceroy placed himself between them, asking what reason moved them to so unexpected a battle. The Knight of the White Moon responded that it was a question of precedence in beauty, and briefly repeated the same words he had said to Don Quixote, and stated that the conditions of the challenge had been accepted by
both parties. The viceroy approached Don Antonio and asked him quietly if he knew the identity of the Knight of the White Moon or if this was a trick they wanted to play on Don Quixote. Don Antonio responded that he did not know who the knight was or if the challenge was in jest or in earnest. The viceroy was perplexed by this reply, for he did not know if he should allow them to continue with the battle; however, unable to persuade himself that it was anything but a joke, he moved aside, saying:

  "Senores, if the only remedy is to confess or die, and Senor Don Quixote is adamant, and the Knight of the White Moon is obdurate, then the matter is in the hands of God. Set to!"

  The Knight of the White Moon thanked the viceroy with appropriate and courteous words for the permission he had granted them, and Don Quixote did the same, and commending himself with all his heart to heaven and to his Dulcinea--which was his custom at the beginning of the battles that presented themselves to him--he took a little more ground, because he saw that his adversary was doing the same, and without the playing of a trumpet or any other martial instrument that would signal to them to charge, they both turned their horses at the same time; since the mount of the Knight of the White Moon was faster, he reached Don Quixote when he had gone two-thirds of the way, meeting his adversary with such power and force that without touching him with his lance--which he had raised, it seemed, intentionally--he toppled both Rocinante and Don Quixote in a dangerous fall. He rushed at him immediately, and putting his lance to Don Quixote's visor, he said:

  "You are vanquished, knight, and dead if you do not confess the conditions of our challenge."

  Don Quixote, battered and stunned, not raising his visor, and as if speaking from the tomb, said in a weak and feeble voice:

  "Dulcinea of Toboso is the most beautiful woman in the world, and I am the most unfortunate knight on earth, and it is not right that my weakness should give the lie to this truth. Wield your lance, knight, and take my life, for you have already taken my honor."