Thrice happy and fortunate was that age which produced the most audacious knight Don Quixote de la Mancha, in consequence of whose honourable resolution to restore and revive the lost, and, as it were, buried order of knight-errantry, we of these times, barren and unfruitful of sprightly amusements, enjoy the agreeable entertainment, not only of his own true and delightful adventures, but also the intervening episodes, which are no less real, artful, and delicious, than the main history itself, the twisted, reeled, and ravelled thread of which is continued thus!
Just as the curate was ready to offer some consolation to Cardenio, he was prevented by a voice that saluted his ears in these mournful accents, ‘Would to God I could find a place to serve as a private tomb for this wearisome burden of life, which I bear so much against my inclination! this very spot will yield me what I ask, if I can trust the solitary appearance of these mountains. Alas! how much more agreeable is the company of these rocks and thickets, which give me opportunities of complaining to Heaven, than that of faithless man! since nature hath not created one of whom I could reasonably expect advice in difficulty, comfort in affliction, or remedy in distress!’
This exclamation was distinctly overheard by the priest and his company, who, concluding that the person who spoke must be hard by, arose to make farther enquiry, and had not gone twenty paces, when behind the fragment of a rock they perceived a boy sitting under an ash-tree, in the habit of a peasant, whose face, as he stooped, in order to wash his feet in a brook that murmured by him, they could not then survey. Their approach they managed with softness and silence, while his whole attention was employed in bathing his legs, that seemed two crystal pillars, which had been produced among the pebbles in the rill. They were surprized at the whiteness and beauty of his feet, which they could not believe had been formed to tread the clods, and follow the cattle or plough, as his dress would have seemed to intimate; and the curate, who went foremost, finding himself still unperceived by the youth, made signs to the rest to crouch down, or hide themselves behind a neighbouring rock. This being done, all three stood gazing attentively at the apparition, which was clad in a double-skirted grey jacket, girt about the middle with a white napkin, and wore breeches and hose of the same cloth, with a grey hunting-cap upon his head; the hose being pulled up to the middle of his leg, which actually seemed of white alabaster. Having washed his delicate feet, he wiped them with a handkerchief which he took out of his cap, and in so doing, lifted up his head, shewing to the by-standers a face of such exquisite beauty, that Cardenio said in a whisper to the curate, ‘Since that is not Lucinda, it can be no earthly, but some celestial being!’ The youth taking off his cap, and shaking his head, a large quantity of hair, that Apollo himself might envy, flowed down upon his shoulders, and discovered to the spectators, that the supposed peasant was no other than a woman, the most delicate and handsome that the curate and barber had ever beheld; or even Cardenio, had he not seen and been acquainted with Lucinda, who alone, as he afterwards owned, could contend with her in beauty. Her golden locks fell down in such length and quantity, as not only covered her shoulders, but also concealed every other part of her body except her feet: and, instead of a comb, she made use of her hands, which, if her feet looked like crystal in the brook, appeared among her hair like moulds of drifted snow. All these circumstances increasing the desire of the by-standers to know who she was, they resolved to shew themselves, and at the stir they made in advancing, the beauteous phantom raised her head, and parting her locks with both hands, to see what occasioned the noise she heard, no sooner perceived them than the started up, and, without staying to put on her shoes, or tie up her hair, seized a bundle that lay by her, and betook herself to flight, full of consternation and surprize: but she had not run six yards, when her delicate feet, unable to bear the roughness of the stones, failed under her, and she fell to the ground. This accident being perceived by the other three, they ran to her assistance, and the curate approaching her first, ‘Stay, Madam,’ said he, ‘whosoever you are; those whom you see have no other design than that of doing you service: therefore there is no necessity for your attempting such a precipitate flight, which neither your own feet nor our inclination will allow.’ To this address she made no reply, being quite astonished and confused; but the priest taking her by the hand, proceeded in this manner: ‘Madam, though your dress concealed, your hair hath discovered manifest signs, that it must be no slight cause which hath shrouded your beauty in such unworthy disguise, and brought you to this solitude, where it is our fortune to find you; and to offer, if not a certain remedy for your misfortune, at least our best advice; for no grievance can harass or drive the afflicted to such extremity, while life remains, as to make them shut their ears against that counsel which is given with the most humane and benevolent intention. Wherefore, Madam, or Sir, or what you please to be, recollect yourself from the confusion in which the sight of us hath thrown you, and tell us the particulars of your good or evil fortune, in full assurance of finding us all together, or each by himself, disposed to sympathize with your affliction.’
While the curate pronounced these words, the disguised damsel stood wrapt in attention, gazing at them all round, without moving her lips, or uttering one syllable, like a country villager gaping at rarities which he had never seen before: but the priest enforcing what he had said, with other arguments to the same effect, she heaved a profound sigh, and broke silence, saying, ‘Since these solitary mountains have not been able to conceal me, and my loose dishevelled hair allows me not to disguise the truth, it would be in vain for me to feign such things as your reason could not believe, though your courtesy might excuse them. On that supposition, I thank you, gentlemen, for your humane offer, which lays me under the obligation of giving you all the satisfaction you desire; though I am afraid, that the relation I shall make of my misfortunes will, instead of compassion, excite your disgust, for you will find it impossible either to cure my woes, or teach me to bear them with fortitude; but, nevertheless, that my reputation may not suffer in your opinion, as you have discovered me to be a woman, and a young one, alone, and in this disguise; circumstances which, considered either together or apart, might prejudice my good name in this world; I will freely disclose to you those things, which, if possible, I would have willingly concealed.’
All this preamble was uttered in a breath by the beautiful apparition, with such volubility of tongue, and sweetness of voice, that they admired her good sense as much as her beauty; and repeating their proffers of service, as well as their intreaties that she would perform her promise; she, without farther importunity, put on her shoes with great modesty, adjusted her hair, and sat down in the midst of her three hearers, upon a seat in the rock, where, after having endeavoured to repress a few tears that started in her eyes, she, with a clear and deliberate voice, began the story of her life in this manner.
‘In this province of Andalusia, there is a place, from whence a certain duke, one of those who are called grandees of Spain, derives his title: he hath two sons, the eldest of whom is heir to his estate, and, in all appearance, to his good qualities; but the younger inherits nothing that I know, but the treachery of Vellido, and falshood of Galalon. To this nobleman my parents are vassals; and though low in pedigree, so considerable in wealth, that if their descent was equal to their fortune, they would have nothing more to desire, nor I the mortification of seeing myself in this distress; for, I believe, my misfortunes proceed from their defect in point of birth, which though not so mean as to make them ashamed of their origin, is not splendid enough to overthrow my conjecture about the source of my affliction: in short, they are farmers, of a plain honest family, without the least intermixture of Moorish blood; but, as the saying is, old, rusty Christians; aye, and so rusty, that by their riches and opulent way of living, they are gradually acquiring the title of gentlefolks, nay, of quality too; though what they prized above all riches and title, was their happiness in having me for their daughter; and therefore, as they had no other child to inherit their estate, and were naturally the most affectionate of parents, I was beloved and indulged by them with the utmost degree of parental fondness. I was the mirror in which they beheld themselves, the staff of their age, and shared with Heaven their whole attention and desires, with which, as they were pure and unblemished, my own perfectly corresponded; and therefore, I was mistress of their affection as well as their wealth. By my advice, they received and dismissed their servants; the tale and account of what was both sowed and reaped, passed through my hands; I managed the oil-mills, the vineyards, the herds and the flocks, the bee-hives, and every thing that such a rich farmer as my father may be supposed to possess: in short, I was steward and mistress; and acted with such care and œconomy, that I should not find it easy to exaggerate the pleasure and satisfaction which my parents enjoyed. Those parts of the day that remained, after I had given all due attention to the herdsmen, overseers, and other day-labourers, I employed in exercises equally decent and necessary for young women, such as lace-making, needle-work, and spinning; and if, at any time, I interrupted these employments, in order to recreate the mind, I entertained myself with some religious book, or diversified my amusement with the harp; being convinced by experience, that musick lulls the disordered thoughts, and elevates the dejected spirits. Such was the life I led in my father’s house; and if I have described it too minutely, it is not through ostentation, in order to display our riches, but with a view of manifesting how innocently I forfeited that happy situation, and incurred the misery of my present state. While I passed my time in these occupations, my retirement was such as almost equalled that of a nunnery, being seen by nobody, as I thought, but the servants of the family; for I went to mass early in the morning, accompanied by my mother and the maids, and veiled with such reserve, that my eyes scarce beheld the ground on which I trod; yet, nevertheless, I was perceived by those of love, or rather libertinism, which even exceeds the lynx in penetration, and then possessed the faculties of Don Fernando, younger son of the duke whom I have already mentioned.’
She no sooner mentioned the name of Don Fernando, than Cardenio changed colour, and began to sweat with such agitation, that the curate and barber, perceiving it, were afraid he would be seized with one of those fits of distraction which, as they had heard, assaulted him from time to time; but, after some drops of sweat had burst out upon his skin, he remained quiet, and looking earnestly at the farmer’s fair daughter, immediately guessed who she was; while she, without observing the emotions of Cardenio, went on with her story, in these words: ‘And he no sooner beheld me, than, as he afterwards protested, he deeply felt the power of love, which indeed his behaviour clearly evinced; but, to shorten the account of my misfortune, which is lengthened beyond all comfort, I will pass over in silence the industrious schemes that Don Fernando planned, for opportunities of declaring his passion. He bribed every servant in the family, and even made presents and proffers of service to my relations: there was nothing but gaiety and rejoicing all day long in our street; and all night, it was impossible to sleep for serenades. The letters which, through an unknown channel, came to my hand, were without number, filled with the most amorous flights and professions, and vows and promises in every line; but all these efforts, far from soothing, hardened me against him, as much as if he had been my mortal foe; and all the stratagems he practised, in order to subdue my coyness, had a quite contrary effect: not that I was disgusted at the gallantry of Don Fernando, or enraged at his importunities, for I felt a certain kind of pleasure in being courted and beloved by such a noble cavalier; neither did I take umbrage at seeing myself praised in his letters; for it is my opinion, that all women, let them be never so homely, are pleased to hear themselves celebrated for beauty; but, to all these artifices, I opposed my own virtue, together with the repeated advices of my parents, who plainly perceived the passion of Don Fernando, because he himself took no care to conceal it from the world. They assured me, that in my virtue and prudence alone they confided and deposited their own honour and reputation: they bade me consider the inequality between Don Fernando and me, which was a convincing proof that his love, though he himself asserted the contrary, tended more to his gratification than my advantage; and said, if I could throw any obstruction in his way, to make him quit his unjust pretensions, I should be married immediately, according to my own choice, either to one of the principal persons of our own town, or to some gentleman in the neighbourhood, as I had abundance of lovers, attracted by their wealth, and my reputation. With these assurances, the truth of which I could not doubt, I fortified my integrity, and would never send any reply to Don Fernando, that could in the most distant manner flatter him with the hope of accomplishing his wish: but all my reserve, which he ought to have looked upon as the effect of disdain, served only to whet his libidinous appetite, which is the true name of the passion he professed; for, had it been genuine love, you would not now be listening to my story, which I should have had no occasion to recount.
‘In fine, Don Fernando got notice that my parents intended to bestow me in marriage, that they might deprive him of all hope of possessing me, or, at least, provide me with more guards to protect my virtue; and this piece of news alarmed him so much, that he put in practice an expedient to retard the dreaded match. One night, while I sat in my apartment, attended by my maid only, the doors being all fast locked, that through negligence my virtue might not be in danger, without knowing or comprehending the means of his conveyance, he appeared before me, in the midst of this reserve, precaution, solitude, silence, and retreat! At sight of him, I was so much confounded, that the light forsook my eyes, and my tongue denied its office; so that being deprived of the power of utterance, I could not cry for help, neither, I believe, would he have suffered me to exclaim; for he instantly seized me in his arms, my confusion being such, that I had not strength to defend myself, and began to pour forth such protestations, that I cannot conceive how falshood is able to ape truth so exactly. The traitor’s tears gave credit to his words, and his sighs confirmed the honesty of his intention. I, being a poor young creature by myself, altogether unexperienced in those affairs, began, I know not how, to believe his false professions; but, not so as to be moved to weak compassion, either by his vows or artful sorrow; on the contrary, my first surprize being over, I recollected my dissipated spirits, and with more courage than I thought myself possessed of, said to him, “Signior, if, instead of being within your arms, as I now am, I was in the paws of a fierce lion, and my deliverance entirely depended upon my doing or saying any thing prejudicial to my virtue, it would be as impossible for me to comply with these terms, as it as impossible for that which is, to lose its existence; wherefore, though you keep my body confined within your arms, I am in full possession of my soul, with all her chaste desires, which are entirely opposite to yours, as you will plainly perceive, if you resolve to proceed in gratifying your wishes by force. I am your vassal, but not your slave; the nobility of your blood neither has, nor ought to have, the power of dishonouring or despising the lowliness of mine; and my character is as precious to me, though I am but a plebeian farmer’s daughter, as yours can be to you, who are a nobleman and cavalier. All your strength shall not effect your purpose, neither am I to be influenced by your riches, deceived by your words, or melted by your sighs and tears. Any of these expressions in a man, to whom my parents should give me in marriage, would gain my consent and reciprocal inclination; nay, if my honour were safe, I could sacrifice my satisfaction, and voluntarily yield what you, Signior, now attempt to obtain by force; this I observe, that you may rest assured, I will never grant any favour to him who is not my lawful spouse.”
‘“If that be your sole objection, charming Dorothea,” (for that is the name of this wretched creature) said the perfidious cavalier, “behold I here present my hand, in pledge, of being yours for ever; and may Heaven, from which nothing is concealed, together with that image of the blessed Virgin, bear witness to the sincerity and truth of this declaration!”’ Cardenio, when she called herself Dorothea, was surprized anew, and confirmed in his first conjecture; but, unwilling to interrupt the story in which he expected to hear the issue of what he already knew, he only said, ‘Is your name Dorothea, Madam? I have heard of one of that name, to whose misfortunes yours bear a great resemblance: but pray proceed; the time will come when I shall tell you such things as will equally excite your terror and affliction.’ Dorothea, surprized at the discourse of Cardenio, as well as at his strange and ragged attire, intreated him, if he knew any thing of her affairs, to communicate it immediately; saying, that if fortune had left her any thing of value, it was the courage to endure any disaster that might befal her; though she was almost certain, that what she had already suffered could admit of no addition. ‘Madam,’ replied Cardenio, ‘I would not be the means of impairing that fortitude, by telling you what I know, if my conjecture be right; neither is there any opportunity lost, nor is it of any consequence to you, whether you hear it or not.’—‘Be that as it will,’ answered Dorothea, ‘I will go on with the sequel of my story. Don Fernando, addressing himself to the image he found in my apartment, invoked the blessed Virgin to bear witness to our nuptials, and avowed himself my husband with the most binding and solemn oaths; though, before he proceeded so far, I desired him to reflect upon what he was going to do, and consider how much his father might be incensed at his conduct, when he should find him married to the daughter of his own farmer and vassal. I cautioned him against being blinded by my beauty, such as it was, telling him it would be far from being a sufficient excuse for his error; and begged, if he had any love and regard for me, he would manifest it, in leaving me to a fate more adequate to my rank and circumstances; observing, that such unequal matches were seldom blessed with a long duration of those raptures with which they begin.
‘All these reflections I repeated to him, with many more which I do not remember; but they had no effect in diverting him from the prosecution of his purpose; for he was like a man, who, in making a bargain, never boggles at the price of the commodity, because he never intends to pay it. At the same time, I held a short conference with my own breast, saying within myself, “Neither shall I be the first, who, by marriage, has risen from a low station to rank, and grandeur; nor will Don Fernando be the first nobleman whom beauty, or rather blind affection, hath induced to share his greatness with a partner of unequal birth. Since, therefore, I neither make a new world nor a new custom, it is but reasonable in me to embrace this honour that fortune throws in my way; and although the affection he professes should not survive the accomplishment of his wish, I shall nevertheless, in the sight of God, remain his true and lawful wife. Besides, should I treat him with disdain, I see he is determined to transgress the bounds of duty, and avail himself of force; in which case, I shall be dishonoured and inexcusable in the opinion of those who do not know how innocently I have incurred their censure; for where shall I find arguments to persuade my parents, that this cavalier entered my apartment without my knowledge and consent?”
‘All these reflections, which my imagination revolved in an instant, began to sway me towards that which (though I little thought so) proved my ruin; especially when aided and enforced by the oaths of Don Fernando, the powers he called to witness, the tears he shed, and, in short, by his genteel carriage and agreeable disposition accompanied by such marks of real passion, as might have melted any other heart as soft and unexperienced as mine. I called my maid to be a joint evidence with the powers of Heaven: Don Fernando repeated and confirmed his oaths; took other saints to witness his integrity; imprecated a thousand curses on his head, in case he should fail to fulfil his promise; had recourse to sighs and tears again, straining me still closer in his arms, from which he had never released me. By these means, and the departure of my maid, I forfeited that name, and he became a false and finished traitor.
‘The morning that succeeded this night of my misfortune, did not arrive so soon, I believe, as Don Fernando could have wished; for, when once a man hath satisfied his rage of appetite, his chief inclination is to quit the scene of his success. This I observe, because Don Fernando seemed impatient to be gone; and, by the industry of my maid, who had conducted him to my chamber, found himself in the street before day: when he took his leave, he told me, though not with such violence of rapture as he expressed on his first coming, that I might depend upon his honour, and the sincerity of the oaths he had sworn; as a farther confirmation of which, he took a ring of value from his finger, and put it upon mine. In short, he vanished, leaving me in a situation which I can neither call joyful nor sad. This I know, that I remained in a state of confusion and perplexity, and, as it were, beside myself, on account of what had happened; but I either wanted courage or memory to quarrel with my maid for the perfidy she had been guilty of, in conducting Don Fernando to my apartment; indeed, I could not as yet determine, whether the adventure would redound to my advantage or misfortune. I told him, at parting, that now I was his wife, he might see me any night, by the same means he had used to procure the first interview, until he should think proper to make our marriage publick: but, except the following night, I could never set eyes on him, either in the street or at church, during a whole month, which I spent in the utmost anxiety of expectation; although I knew he was in town, and almost every day employed in the chace, an exercise to which he was greatly addicted. Those were doleful and distracting hours and days to me; for then I began to doubt, and afterwards to disbelieve the faith of Don Fernando; then was my maid exposed to those rebukes for her presumption, which she had never heard before; then was I obliged to husband my tears, and wear composure on my countenance, that I might not give occasion to my parents to ask the cause of my discontent, and be put to the trouble of inventing falshoods to deceive them. But all this constraint was banished by an event, the knowledge of which trod down all other respects, put an end to all my prudent measures, and by destroying my patience, published my misfortune to the world. This was no other than a report that soon after prevailed in our town, by which I learned that Don Fernando was married, in a neighbouring city, to a young lady of exceeding beauty, and distinguished birth, though her parents could not give her a portion suitable to such a noble alliance. I understood her name was Lucinda, and that several surprizing accidents had happened at their nuptials.’
Cardenio hearing Lucinda’s name, though he said nothing, shrugged up his shoulders, bit his lips, contracted the skin of his forehead, and discharged from his eyes two fountains of tears; but, notwithstanding, Dorothea continued her story, saying, ‘This melancholy piece of news no sooner reached my ears, than, instead of freezing, it inflamed my heart with such rage and fury, that I had well-nigh run out into the streets, and published aloud the falshood and treachery he had practised upon me: but my rage was restrained for that time, by a plan which I conceived, and actually put in execution that very night. I dressed myself in this garb, which I received from one of the swains belonging to the house, to whom I disclosed my whole misfortune, intreating him to attend me to the city, where I understood my adversary was. After having disapproved of the attempt, and blamed my resolution, seeing me determined, he offered to keep me company, as he said, to the world’s end: that moment I packed up my woman’s dress in a pillow-case, together with some jewels and money, as a resource in time of need; and in the dead of that very night, without giving the least hint to my perfidious maid, left my father’s house, and accompanied by my servant, and a thousand strange imaginations, set out for that city on foot, winged with the desire of finding Don Fernando; and resolved, though I could not prevent what was already done, to demand with what confidence he had done it.
‘In two days and an half I arrived at the city, and enquiring for the house of Lucinda’s parents, the first person to whom I put the question, told me more than I desired to hear. He directed me to the house, and related every incident which had happened at his daughter’s wedding; a story so publick, that it was the common town-talk. He said, that on the night of their nuptials, after she had pronounced the “Yes,” by which he became her husband, Lucinda was seized with a violent fit; that Don Fernando opening her breast to give her fresh air, found in it a paper written with her own hand, importing that she could not lawfully espouse Fernando, being already the wife of Cardenio, who, as the man told me, was one of the principal cavaliers of that town; and that she had now pronounced the fatal “Yes,” merely because she would not swerve from the obedience she owed to her parents; in short, he said, the contents of the paper plainly gave them to understand, that she intended to make away with herself, immediately after the ceremony, induced by the reasons which were there contained; and this resolution was confirmed by a poignard which they found concealed in some part of her dress. Don Fernando perceiving, by what happened, that Lucinda had baffled, scorned, and undervalued his addresses, ran to her before she had recovered the use of her senses, and with the poignard they had found, would have stabbed her to the heart, had he not been prevented by her parents and the rest of the company. It was, moreover, reported that Don Fernando immediately retired; and that Lucinda continued in a fit till next day. When she recovered from her swoon, she declared to her father and mother, that she was the true and lawful wife of that same Cardenio, who, it seems, was present at the ceremony; and who, when he saw her actually married, contrary to his former belief and firm expectation, quitted the city in despair, having first left a writing that declared the wrong she had done him, and signified his intention to banish himself for ever from the society of mankind. All this transaction was so notorious and publick in the city, as to furnish discourse for every body; and the subject was not diminished, when it was known that Lucinda was not to be found either in her father’s house, or in any other part of the town, which were searched all over by her parents, who had almost run distracted, not knowing what other method they should take to retrieve her. This information revived my hopes a little; for I was better pleased to have missed Don Fernando, than to have found him married to another; thinking, that every gate of comfort was not yet shut against me; and that Heaven, perhaps, had thrown that impediment in the way of his second marriage, with a view of making him reflect upon what he owed to the first; and reminding him of his being a Christian, consequently more interested in the care of his soul than in any other human concern. All these things I revolved in my imagination; and, as I had no real comfort, consoled myself with the most feeble and distant hope, in order to support a life which I now abhor.
‘While I remained in this city, undetermined what course to take, as I could not find Don Fernando, I heard a publick crier describe my person and dress, and offer a considerable reward to any one that should discover where I was. Nay, it was said, that I had seduced from my father’s house, the young man who attended me; a circumstance that touched me to the very soul: finding my credit fallen so low, that they were not satisfied with publishing my escape, but must needs also mention my attendant, a creature so mean and unworthy of my attention and regard, as soon as I heard myself proclaimed, I quitted the town, accompanied by my servant, who already began to give marks of staggering in his promised faith and fidelity, and that night reached the most woody part of this mountain, urged by the fear of being discovered; but, as it is commonly observed, one mischance invites another, and the end of one misfortune is often the beginning of a worse, this was literally my case: my trusty servant, who had hitherto behaved with such zeal and fidelity, seeing me in this solitary place, and instigated by his own villainy rather than any beauty of mine, attempted to avail himself of the opportunity which he thought this desart offered; and with great impudence, contempt of Heaven, and disregard to me, began to talk of love; when, finding that I rejected his immodest proposals with just indignation and disdain, he laid aside intreaties for the use of those who might please to use them, and began to employ force for the accomplishment of his will; but, just Heaven, who seldom or never abandons the righteous intention, favoured and assisted mine so effectually, that with the little strength I have, and no great trouble, I pushed him over a precipice, unknowing whether or nor he survived the fall; then, as nimbly as my weariness and terror would allow, I penetrated farther into the mountain, without any other thought or intention, than that of keeping myself concealed from my father, and those whom he had employed to find me out.
‘I know not how many months I have lived in this place, where I met with a grazier, who took me into his service, and carried me to his house, which stands in the very heart of the mountain. Him I served all this time, in quality of a cowherd, endeavouring to be always in the field, that I might the more easily conceal that hair which now so unexpectedly discovered my sex: yet, all my care and industry were vain; for, my master having found me out to be a woman, was seized with the same desire that took possession of my own servant. But fortune, with the evil, does not always send the remedy; for, I could neither find rock nor bog, by which I might have disabled my master, as I had before punished my man; and therefore, as the least inconvenience, I have left his house, and chosen to hide myself again among these thickets, rather than try my strength against him, in defence of my innocence. I say, I returned to these woods in hopes of finding a place in which I might, without impediment, implore Heaven with sighs and tears, to have compassion upon my misery, and give me industry and grace to overcome it, or quit my being in this solitude, without leaving behind me the least trace or remembrance of this forlorn wretch, who, without any fault of her own, hath afforded so much matter for conversation and censure both at home and abroad.
‘This, gentlemen, is the genuine detail of my tragick story; consider, therefore, and judge whether or not I have sufficient cause to heave more sighs than I have vented, utter more complaints than you have heard, and shed more tears than have flowed from mine eyes; and when you shall have deliberated upon the quality of my misfortune, you will perceive how vain all consolation must be, as the disease admits of no remedy. I only ask what you easily can, and ought to grant, namely, that you would inform me where I can pass my life, without being harrassed by the surprize and fear of being found by those who are in search of me. For, though I am well assured, that my parents, out of their great love and affection, would receive me again into their favour, such is the shame and confusion I feel at the bare thought of their having altered their opinion to my prejudice, that I would rather conceal myself from their sight for ever, than appear in their presence under the suspicion of having acted contrary to the expectations they entertained from my virtue.’ So saying, she left off speaking, and her face was overspread with a blush that plainly denoted the sentiments and confusion of her soul. Those who had heard her story, were equally surprized and afflicted at her misfortune; to which the curate was going to offer some consolation and advice, when Cardenio took her by the hand, saying, ‘It seems, then, Madam, you are the beauteous Dorothea, only daughter of Cleonardo the rich!’ She was astonished to hear her father’s name pronounced by one of such a miserable appearance, (for we have already observed, how wretchedly Cardenio was cloathed) and said to him, ‘And who are you, brother, who know so well my father’s name; which, if I remember aright, I have not once mentioned in the whole course of my unfortunate story?’
‘I am,’ replied Cardenio, ‘that unfortunate man, to whom, as you have observed, Lucinda said she was married. I am that miserable Cardenio, whom the villainy of him who reduced you to your present situation, hath brought to this deplorable condition in which you now see me, ragged, half-naked, destitute of all human comfort, and, which is still worse, deprived of my understanding, except at certain short intervals, that I enjoy by the permission of Heaven. I, Dorothea, am the person who was present at the perfidy of Don Fernando, and heard Lucinda pronounce the fatal “Yes,” by which she accepted him for a husband. I am he who wanted resolution to wait the issue of her swoon, or stay and see the result of that paper which was found in her bosom; for, my soul could not sustain the shock of such accumulated misfortune; and therefore, I quitted the house, already abandoned by my patience, and leaving a letter with my host, whom I charged to deliver it into Lucinda’s own hand, betook myself to these desarts, with an intention here to finish the life which from that instant I have abhorred as my most inveterate foe. But fate hath not been pleased to grant my wish, contenting itself with having deprived me of my judgment, with a view, perhaps, of reserving me for better fortune; which I begin to hope may proceed from this lucky meeting with you, since, if that which you have recounted be true, as I believe it is, there is a possibility that Heaven may have in store for us both, a more favourable termination of our disasters than we imagine; for, supposing that Lucinda, who is already my wife, as she hath openly declared, cannot be married to Don Fernando, nor he lawfully wed her, being already espoused to you, I think we have reason to hope, that Heaven will one day restore what mutually belongs to us; as it is neither alienated, ruined, nor irretrievable. And since this consolation still remains, sprung from hopes that are not very remote, and founded on expectations which are not the effects of a disordered imagination, I entreat you, Madam, in the purity of your sentiments, to change your present resolution, as I intend to alter mine, and accommodate yourself to the hopes of better fortune; for, I swear upon the faith of a gentleman and a Christian, that I will never abandon you, until I see you in the arms of Don Fernando, whom, if I cannot by reasonable arguments, bring to a true sense of his duty towards you, I will then use that privilege to which every gentleman is intitled, and in single combat demand satisfaction for the injury he has done you, without minding my own wrongs, which I will leave to the vengeance of Heaven, that I may the sooner revenge yours upon earth.’
This speech of Cardenio put an end to the surprize of Dorothea, who being at a loss how to thank him for his kind and generous offer, stooped in order to kiss his feet, but this piece of condescension he would by no means allow. The priest answering for both, approved of Cardenio’s declaration; and, in a particular manner, intreated, advised, and persuaded them, to accompany him to the village where he lived, in order to provide themselves with what they wanted; and there consult some scheme either for finding Don Fernando, or for carrying Dorothea back to her parents, or, in short, for doing that which should seem most necessary and convenient. Cardenio and Dorothea thanked him for his courteous offer, which they immediately embraced; and the barber, who had been silent and attentive all this time, having joined the curate in his compliments and hearty proffers of service, briefly recounted the cause which had brought them thither; namely, the strange madness of Don Quixote; observing, that they were then waiting for the return of his squire, whom they had sent in quest of his master. Cardenio immediately, as if it had been the faint impression of a dream, recollected and related the quarrel which had happened between the knight and him, though he could not remember the cause of the dispute.
At that instant they heard and recognized the voice of Sancho; who, not finding them in the place where he had left them, hallooed aloud; upon which they went to meet him, and enquiring about Don Quixote, were told by the squire, that he found him naked to the shirt, wan, meagre, half famished, and sighing for his mistress Dulcinea; that when he (Sancho) told him she had commanded him to quit that place, and go immediately to Toboso, where she waited with impatience to see him, he had answered, that he was determined never to appear before her, until he should have performed such atchievements as would render him worthy of her favour; and Sancho observed, that if this resolution should hold, it was possible he might never attain to the rank of an emperor, as he was in duty bound, nor even to that of an archbishop, which was the least he could expect. He desired them, therefore, to consider some means of disengaging the knight from his solitude. The priest bade him be under no concern, for they would fall upon a method to remove his master, whether he would or no.
Then he explained to Cardenio and Dorothea, the plan they had laid to cure Don Quixote of his madness, or at least bring him back to his own house. This Dorothea no sooner understood, than she told him, that she was more proper than the barber for acting the part of the distressed damsel; especially, as she had cloaths along with her, that would answer the purpose; and bade them trust to her, for representing every part of the character which should be necessary towards the success of their design, for she had read a great many books of chivalry, and was perfectly well acquainted with the stile in which afflicted damsels were wont to beg boons of knights-errant. ‘If that be the case,’ said the curate, ‘let us not delay the execution of our scheme; for, without doubt, Heaven seems to favour my endeavours; not only in opening a door so unexpectedly, towards the cure of your misfortunes, but also in making you subservient in facilitating our success.’ Dorothea then pulled out of her pillow-case, a gown and petticoat of very rich stuff, with a beautiful green mantelet, and opening a little casket, took out a rich necklace and other jewels, with which she instantly dressed herself to such advantage that she appeared like a lady of the first rank and fortune. All these, and other ornaments, she said, she had carried off from her father’s house, in case of what might happen; though hitherto she had met with no opportunity of using them. Every one present was charmed with her graceful mien, easy deportment, and exceeding beauty; and passed sentence on Don Fernando, as a person of little taste and discernment, for having abandoned such excellence. But the admiration of Sancho was superior to that of all the rest; for he actually thought, and indeed it was true, that in all the days of his life, he had never seen such a beautiful creature; and, accordingly, asked the curate, with great eagerness, who that handsome lady was, and what she looked for in these bye places. ‘Friend Sancho,’ answered the curate, ‘that handsome lady, to say no more of her, is heiress, in the direct male line, of the kingdom of Micomicon[85], come hither to beg a boon of your master, that he would redress a wrong and grievance done to her by a discourteous giant; for such is the fame and reputation of that excellent knight, Don Quixote, through the whole extent of Guinea, as to induce this princess to come from thence in quest of him.’—‘Blessed quest!’ cried Sancho, ‘and happy finding, say I! especially if my master should be so fortunate as to right the wrong, and redress the grievance, by killing that son of a whore of a giant that your worship mentions; and kill him he certainly will, if they should once meet, provided he be not a phantom; for you must know, my master has no power over phantoms. But one thing, among many others, I must beg of you, Mr. Licentiate, and that is, to put my master out of conceit of an archbishoprick, for I am afraid his inclination leans that way, and advise him to marry this princess out of hand, a match which will make it impossible for him to receive holy orders; and therefore he will the more easily arrive at the seat of empire, and I at the end of my wish. For I have carefully considered the affair, and by my reckoning, I shall not find my account in his being an archbishop, as I am altogether unfit for the church, by reason of my being married; and for me, who have a wife and children, to be petitioning for dispensations to hold livings, would be an endless task. Wherefore, Signior, the point is this: let my master immediately take to wife the same lady, whose name I do not know; for, indeed, I never saw her grace before this blessed minute.’—‘She is called the princess Micomicona,’ replied the curate, ‘because her kingdom being Micomicon, it is plain her name must be Micomicona.’—‘Yes, to be sure,’ said Sancho, ‘I have known several people take a surname and addition from the place of their nativity, calling themselves, for example, Pedro d’Alcala, Juna de Ubeda, Diego de Valladolid; and I suppose they have the same custom in Guinea, where the queens take their names from the kingdoms they rule.’ The priest confirmed Sancho’s opinion, and promised to use his utmost influence to promote the marriage of the knight. With this assurance Sancho rested as much satisfied as the other was surprized at his simplicity, when he perceived how carefully he cherished, in his imagination, the same extravagant whims that possessed his master, who he firmly believed would one day become an emperor.
By this time, Dorothea being mounted on the curate’s mule, and the barber’s face accommodated with the ox’s tail by way of beard, they desired Sancho to guide them to the place where Don Quixote was, and cautioned him against pretending to know the licentiate and his companion, assuring him that his master’s becoming an emperor entirely depended upon his professing ignorance of their persons. Yet neither the curate nor Cardenio would accompany them; because the presence of this last might recal to the knight’s memory the quarrel which had happened between them; and it was not yet proper that the priest should appear; for which reasons, they let the rest proceed by themselves, and they followed at a small distance, after the curate had given her cue to Dorothea; who desired him to make himself perfectly easy on her account, for she would act the part assigned to her, without the least occasion for a prompter, in the true stile and spirit of knight-errantry.
Having travelled about three quarters of a league, they discovered Don Quixote already cloathed, though still unarmed, sitting in the midst of a labyrinth of rocks: and Dorothea no sooner understood it was he, in consequence of Sancho’s information, than she whipped up her palfrey, close attended by the well-bearded barber, who, when she approached the knight, threw himself from his mule, and ran to help his lady to alight. But she, dismounting with great agility, went and fell upon her knees before Don Quixote, whom, in spite of his repeated endeavours to raise her, she accosted in these words.
‘Never will I rise from this posture, most valiant and invincible knight, until your benevolence and courtesy grant me a boon, which will not only redound to the honour and applause of your own person, but also to the advantage of the most injured and disconsolate damsel that ever the sun beheld; and if the valour of your mighty arm corresponds with the voice of your immortal fame, you are obliged to favour the unfortunate, who, attracted by the odour of your celebrated name, come from far distant regions, in quest of your assistance.’—‘Beauteous lady,’ replied Don Quixote, ‘I will not answer one word, nor hear one circumstance of your affairs, until you rise from the ground.’—‘I will not rise, Signior,’ answered the afflicted damsel, ‘until I shall have obtained from your condescension, the boon I beg.’—‘I condescend and grant it,’ resumed the knight, ‘provided, in so doing, I act neither to the detriment nor derogation of my king, my country, and her who holds my heart and liberty[86].’—‘Your compliance, worthy Signior,’ replied the mourning lady, ‘shall in no ways affect the exceptions you have made.’
At that instant Sancho came up, and whispered softly in his master’s ear: ‘Your worship may safely grant the boon she asks, which is a mere trifle; no more than slaying a giantish sort of a fellow; and she who begs it, is the high and mighty princess Micomicona, queen of the great empire of Micomicon in Ethiopia.’—‘Whosoever she is,’ answered Don Quixote, ‘I will do what I am in duty bound to perform, and act according to the dictates of my own conscience, and conformable to the order I profess.’ Then turning to Dorothea, ‘Rise, most beautiful lady,’ said he, ‘the boon you ask is granted.’—‘Then, what I ask is this,’ resumed the damsel, ‘that your magnanimity would immediately accompany me to the place from whence I came, and promise to attempt no other adventure, nor grant any other request, until you shall have taken vengeance on a traitor who hath usurped my crown, contrary to all right, human and divine.’—‘I grant your request, Madam,’ answered Don Quixote; ‘henceforth you may dispel that melancholy with which you are depressed, and let your fainting hope resume new strength and vigour; for, with the assistance of God, and this my arm, you shall, in a short time, see yourself restored to your kingdom, and seated on the throne of your royal ancestors, in defiance and despite of all those evil-designing persons who mean to oppose you: let us set hands to the work then; for, according to the common observation, Delay breeds danger.’
The distressed damsel struggled with great perseverance, to kiss his hand;
but Don Quixote, who was in all respects a well-bred knight, would by no means allow such humiliation: on the contrary, raising her up, he embraced her with great politeness and cordiality, ordering Sancho to secure Rozinante’s girths, and help him to arm with all expedition. The squire taking down the armour, which hung on a tree, in the manner of a trophy, and adjusting the horse’s girths, in a twinkling, equipped his master, who finding himself armed, ‘Now,’ said he, ‘let us go, in the name of God, to the assistance of this high-born lady.’ The barber, who was all this time on his knees, at infinite pains to preserve his gravity and his beard, the fall of which, perhaps, would have utterly ruined their laudable design, when he found the boon was granted, and saw with what eagerness the knight undertook to fulfil it, rose up, and with the assistance of Don Quixote, helped his lady upon her mule again; then her protector bestrode Rozinante, and he himself mounted his own beast, while Sancho Panza being left on foot, felt the loss of Dapple anew: but this he contentedly bore, believing that his master was now in the right road, and almost at the very point of being an emperor; for he assured himself, that the knight would wed that princess, and so become King of Micomicon at least; the only uneasiness he felt, was, on account of that kingdom’s being in the land of negroes, so that all his servants and vassals must be black; but, his imagination supplied him with a remedy for this inconvenience, and he said within himself, ‘Suppose my vassals are negroes, what else have I to do, but transport them to Spain, where I can sell them for ready-money, with which I may purchase some title or post that will maintain me at my ease all the days of my life? No, to be sure! sleep on, void of all invention or ability to dispose of your ware, and sell thirty, or ten thousand slaves in the turning of a straw! Before God! I’ll make them fly, little and big, or just as I may; and, blacks as they are, turn them all into whites and yellows! Let me alone to suck my own fingers.’ With these conceits he was so much engrossed, and so well satisfied, that he actually forgot the pain of travelling on foot.
Cardenio and the curate saw every thing that passed, from behind some bushes where they were hid, and could fall upon no method of joining them conveniently, until the priest, who was an excellent schemer, thought of an expedient for the purpose; having a pair of scissars about him, he cut off the beard of Cardenio with infinite dispatch, and giving him a grey jacket, with his own black cloak, he himself remaining in his doublet and hose, the tattered cavalier was so much altered in point of appearance, that he would scarce have known himself had he looked in a glass. Although the others were jogging on, while they disguised themselves in this manner, they easily reached the highway, before the knight and his company, whose beasts were retarded by the bushes and rockiness of the ground; and taking their station just at the mouth of the entrance to the mountain, no sooner perceived the knight and his attendants come forth, than the curate looked earnestly at him a good while, as if he had been recollecting a person whom he knew, then ran to him with open arms, crying aloud, ‘Blessed be this meeting with the mirror of chivalry, my worthy compatriot Don Quixote de La Mancha, the flower and cream of gentility, the protector and physician of the distressed, and quintessence of knights-errant!’ So saying, he embraced the left-knee of Don Quixote; who being astonished at the words and action of the man, began to consider his features with great attention, and at length, recollecting him, was struck dumb with admiration, at seeing him in that place, and made many efforts to alight; which when the priest opposed, ‘Give me leave, Mr. Licentiate,’ said he, ‘it is not seemly that I should remain on horseback, when such a reverend person as you travels on foot.’—‘I will by no means,’ answered the curate, ‘consent to your alighting; since, on horseback, your mighty arm hath atchieved the greatest exploits and adventures that this age hath seen; it shall suffice for me, who am but an unworthy priest, to get up, with permission, behind this gentleman who travels in your worship’s company; and then I shall imagine myself mounted upon Pegasus, a zebra, or that fiery courser that carried the famous Moor Muzaraque, who still lies inchanted in the vast mountain Zulema, at a little distance from the great Compluto.’—‘I did not think of that expedient, Mr. Licentiate,’ resumed the knight; ‘but I know that my lady the princess will, out of regard to me, be pleased to order her squire to accommodate you with the saddle of his mule, and he himself may ride upon the crupper, if the beast will carry double.’—‘I believe she will,’ said the princess; ‘and I am sure, there will be no occasion to lay my commands upon my squire who is too courteous and polite, to suffer an ecclesiastick to travel on foot, when it is in his power to provide him with a beast.’—‘Your majesty is in the right,’ answered the barber; who instantly alighting, complimented the curate with the saddle, which was accepted without much intreaty.
But the misfortune was, when the squire attempted to get up behind, the mule, which was an hireling, consequently mischievous, lifted up her hind legs, and kicked with such fury, that had they lighted on the head or breast of Mr. Nicholas, he would have had reason to curse the hour on which he set out in quest of Don Quixote: such, however, was his confusion, that he came to the ground, and his beard being neglected, fell off; so that he could find no other method to prevent a discovery, than to clap both hands to his face, with great expedition, and roar out that his teeth were demolished. Don Quixote, seeing that huge mass of beard torn from the jaw, without blood, and lying at a good distance from the squire’s face, ‘Good Heavens!’ cried he, ‘what a wonderful phænomenon is this! The beard is taken off and shaved as clean by the heel of the mule, as if it had been done by the hand of a barber.’ The curate, seeing the risk he ran of being detected in his scheme, snatched up the tail, and running with it to Mr. Nicholas, who still lay bellowing for help, pulled his head to his breast with one jerk, and clapping it on again, muttered some words, which he said were an infallible charm for fixing on beards, as they should presently see; accordingly, when the affair was adjusted, he quitted the squire, who now seemed as well bearded and as sound as ever; a circumstance that, above measure, surprized the knight, who begged that the curate, at a proper opportunity, would impart to him the charm, which he imagined must contain more virtues than that of cementing beards, because it was plain, that where the hair was torn off, the skin and flesh must be lacerated and hurt, and if the application could heal those wounded parts, it was good for something more than mere mustachios. The curate confirmed his conjecture, and promised to disclose the secret to him, with the first proper opportunity; then it was agreed, that the priest should mount the mule by himself, and, with the other two, ride her by turns, until they should arrive at the inn, which was about two leagues off.
Don Quixote, the princess, and the curate, being thus mounted, and Cardenio, the barber, and Sancho Panza following on foot, the knight told the damsel, that her highness might conduct him whithersoever she pleased; but, before she could make any reply, the priest interposed, saying, ‘Towards what kingdom is your majesty journeying? I am much mistaken in my notions of kingdoms, if you are not bound for Micomicon?’ She, who had been well instructed in her cue, concluding that the must answer in the affirmative, said, ‘Yes, Signior, that is the place of my destination.’—‘Then you must pass through our village,’ answered the curate, ‘and take your route to Carthagena, where your highness may happily embark; and if you meet with no hurricane, but be favoured with a fair wind and smooth sea, in something less than nine years, you may get sight of that vast Lake Meona, I mean, Meotis, which is a little more than one hundred days journey from your majesty’s kingdom.’—‘Your worship must be mistaken,’ said the princess, ‘for two years are not yet elapsed since I set out from thence; and though the weather has always been bad, I have already obtained what I so much longed after, namely, the sight of Signior Don Quixote de La Mancha, whose fame reached my ears as soon as I landed in Spain, and induced me to come in quest of him, that I might solicit his courtesy, and trust my righteous cause to the valour of his invincible arm.’—‘Enough, Madam,’ said Don Quixote; ‘spare your encomiums; for I am an utter enemy to all sorts of adulation; and, although you are not to be suspected of flattery, my chaste ears are always offended at that kind of discourse. What I can safely affirm, is this; whether I have valour or not, here is he, valiant or pusillanimous, who will exert himself to the last drop of his blood in the service of your highness. But, this apart——Pray, Mr. Licentiate, what cause hath brought you hither alone, where I am really astonished to find you so ill attended, and so slightly cloathed?’
‘In that particular you shall soon be satisfied,’ answered the curate: ‘your worship must know that I and our friend Mr. Nicholas the barber, set out for Seville, to recover a sum of money, which was lent to me by a relation of mine that went to the Indies, a good many years ago; no less than sixty thousand pieces of eight in good silver, which make no inconsiderable sum: and yesterday, passing through this place, we were set upon by four highwaymen, who stripped us even to our very whiskers, and that in such a manner as obliged the barber to wear artificial ones; and you may see,’ pointing to Cardenio, ‘how they have despoiled the face of this young man who accompanied us; and the cream of the story is, that, according to the publick report, which prevails in this neighbourhood, those who robbed us were galley-slaves, that, almost in this very place, were set at liberty by a man so valiant, as to let them all loose, in spite of the commissary and his guards. Without all doubt he must have been deprived of his senses, or as great a villain as any of those he freed, or some person void of all conscience and feeling, who could thus turn loose the wolf among the lambs, the fox among the poultry, and the flies among the honey-pots; defrauding justice, and rebelling against his king and rightful sovereign, by acting contrary to his just commands, in depriving the gallies of their hands, and putting in confusion the holy brotherhood, which have continued so many years in undisturbed repose: in short, he hath done a deed that may tend to the perdition of his own soul as well as body.’
Sancho had before recounted to them the adventure of the galley-slaves, which he had atchieved with so much glory; and therefore the curate urged it home, in order to observe the behaviour of Don Quixote, who changed colour at every word, without daring to own himself the deliverer of that worthy crew. ‘Those,’ added the priest, ‘were the persons who rifled us; and God of his infinite mercy forgive the man who prevented the punishment they so richly deserved!’
Scarce had the curate pronounced this apostrophe, when Sancho blundered out—‘Then, in good faith, Mr. Licentiate, he who performed this exploit, was no other than my master; not that I neglected to tell and advise him beforehand, to consider what he was about, and think what a sin it would be to let loose those who were going to the gallies for the most grievous enormities.’—‘You blockhead,’ cried Don Quixote, incensed, ‘it neither concerns, nor belongs to knights-errant, to examine whether the afflicted, the enslaved, and oppressed, whom they meet on the highway, are reduced, to these wretched circumstances by their crimes, or their misfortunes; our business is only to assist them in their distress, having an eye to their sufferings, and not to their demerits. I chanced to light upon a string of miserable and discontented objects, in behalf of whom I acted according to the dictates of my religion, without minding the consequence; and he who takes umbrage at what I have done, saving the sacred character and honourable person of Mr. Licentiate, is, I insist upon it, utterly ignorant of chivalry, and lyes like the base-born son of a whore; and this assertion I will make good with my sword, in the most ample manner.’ So saying, he fixed himself in the stirrups, and cocked his beaver; the barber’s bason, which he mistook for Mambrino’s helmet, hanging useless at the saddle-bow, until the damage it received from the galley-slaves could be repaired.
Dorothea, who was equally prudent and witty, understanding that every body present, except Sancho, diverted themselves with the extravagant humour of Don Quixote, was willing to have her share of the entertainment; and accordingly, perceiving that his indignation was raised, ‘Sir knight,’ said she, ‘I hope your worship will remember your promise to me, by which you are restricted from engaging in any other adventure, howsoever pressing it may be. Subdue your resentment therefore, and be assured, that had Mr. Licentiate known the galley-slaves were set at liberty by that invincible arm, he would have taken three stitches in his mouth, and bit his tongue three times, rather than have uttered one word that should redound to the prejudice of your worship.’—‘That I swear I would have done,’ said the curate; ‘aye, and have plucked off one of my whiskers to boot.’—‘Madam,’ answered the knight, ‘I am silent. I will restrain the just indignation which begins to rise within me, and proceed in the utmost peace and quiet, until I shall have fulfilled the boon I promised to your highness; but, in recompence for this my kind intention, I beseech you, if it be not too much trouble, to make me acquainted with the nature of your misfortune; and tell me the number, quality, and condition of those persons on whom I am to take just satisfaction and full vengeance, in your behalf.’—‘With all my heart,’ answered Dorothea; ‘though I am afraid of tiring you with a recital of woes and misfortunes.’ The knight assured her that would be impossible; and she resumed, ‘Well then, be so good as to favour me with your attention.’
At these words, Cardenio and the barber went up close to her, in order to hear what story she, in her discretion, would invent; and Sancho Panza, who was as much deceived as his master, followed their example. After she had seated herself firmly in the saddle, cleared her pipes with a hem or two, and made other preliminary gestures, she with great sprightliness thus began:
‘In the first place, gentlemen, you must know that my name is ——’ Here she made a full stop, having forgot how the curate had christened her: but this defect was soon remedied; for, immediately conceiving the cause of her hesitation, he said, ‘It is no wonder, Madam, that your highness is disturbed and disordered at the recollection of your misfortunes, which are often so great, as to impair the memory to such a degree, that the afflicted cannot even remember their own names: this effect they have had upon you, Madam, who have forgot that you are the Princess Micomicona, legitimate heiress of the great kingdom of Micomicon. With the assistance of this hint, your highness will easily recal the whole thread of your story to your sorrowful remembrance.’—‘You are in the right,’ replied the damsel; ‘and I believe I shall be able to bring my true narrative to a happy conclusion without farther prompting.
‘The king, my father, whose name was Tinacrio the sage, foresaw, by his profound skill in magick, that my mother, who was called Queen Zaramilla, would die before him; and that, as he himself must quit this life soon after, I should be left an helpless orphan; but this consideration, he said, did not give him so much pain and confusion, as the certain foreknowledge that a monstrous giant, lord of a great island that bordered on our kingdom, called Pandafilando of the Gloomy Aspect: (for, it is affirmed, that although his eyes are, like any other person’s, placed in the middle of his face, he always looks askance, as if he squinted; and this obliquity the malicious tyrant practises, in order to surprize and intimidate those who behold him;) I say, my father foresaw by his art, that this giant, informed of my being an orphan, would invade me with a great army, and deprive me of my whole kingdom, without leaving so much as a village for my retreat; and that nothing could prevent this my ruin and misfortune, unless I would consent to marry him; though, so far as he could learn, it would never come into my thoughts to make such an unequal match; and truly his conjecture was well founded; for, it never entered into my head, to wed this giant, or any other person, howsoever tall and unmeasurable he might be. My father, therefore, advised me, that when, after his death, I should get notice that Pandafilando was beginning to invade my kingdom, I should not stay to put myself in a posture of defence, which would prove my destruction, but freely leave him the possession of my realms, if I was resolved to avoid my own death, and to prevent the total destruction of my good and faithful subjects; for it would be impossible to defend myself against the infernal force of the giant: but, that I should immediately set out for Spain, where I would find a remedy for all my misfortunes, in the person of a certain knight-errant, whose fame would be at that time spread over the whole kingdom, and whose name, if I right remember, would be Don Hackfot, or Kickfot.’—‘Don Quixote your ladyship would say,’ cried Sancho, interposing, ‘alias the Knight of the Rueful Countenance.’—‘The very same,’ replied Dorothea: ‘he told me, moreover, that this knight would be a tall man, with a long meagre visage, and have on his right-side, below his left-shoulder, or thereabouts, a grey mole garnished with hairs, which bear some resemblance to a hog’s bristles.’
Don Quixote hearing this circumstance, said to his squire, ‘Come hither, son Sancho, and help me to strip; for I want to see if I am actually the knight of whom that sage king foretold.’—‘Why should your worship strip?’ said Dorothea. ‘In order to satisfy myself about that mole which your royal father mentioned.’—‘You need not give yourself the trouble,’ said Sancho; ‘I know your worship hath just such a mole on the middle of your back-bone, which is a sign of strength.’—‘That assurance is sufficient,’ resumed Dorothea, ‘for, among friends, we ought not to stand upon trifles; and it is of very little consequence whether the mole be upon the shoulder or the back bone; provided there is really such a mark on any part of your body, which is all composed of the same flesh. Without doubt my worthy father was right in every thing he prognosticated; and I have exactly followed his directions, in recommending my cause to the protection of Signior Don Quixote, who is certainly the individual knight my father described; since his features correspond with his fame, which fills not only Spain, but likewise the whole province of La Mancha[87]; for scarce had I landed at Ossuna, than hearing of his vast exploits, my mind suggested that he must be the very person I came in quest of.’—‘How could your highness,’ said Don Quixote, ‘land at Ossuna, which is not a sea-port?’
Before she had time to make a reply, the curate took the task upon himself, saying, ‘The princess must mean, that after she landed at Malaga, Ossuna was the first place in which she heard of your worship.’—‘That was my meaning,’ said Dorothea. ‘There is nothing more plain,’ answered the priest; ‘and now your majesty may proceed.’—‘I have nothing more to say,’ resumed the princess, ‘but that, at length, destiny has been so favourable to me, in my finding Don Quixote, I reckon and look upon myself as queen again, and mistress of my whole realms, since out of his great courtesy and magnificence, he hath promised, in consequence of the boon I asked, to go with me whithersoever I shall conduct him; and my intention is no other than to bring him face to face with Pandafilando of the Gloomy Aspect, that he may, by putting him to death, restore me to the possession of that which he so unjustly usurps; and all this will literally happen, as it was prophesied by my worthy father Tinacrio the Sage, who hath also left it written in Chaldean or Greek characters, for I cannot read them, that if the knight mentioned in the prophecy should, after having cut off the giant’s head, demand me in marriage, I must instantly accept of him as my lawful husband, without the least hesitation, and give him immediate possession of my person and throne.’
Don Quixote hearing this circumstance, cried, ‘What do you think now, friend Sancho? do you hear what passes? and did not I tell thee as much? Observe now, whether or not we have not a queen to marry, and a kingdom to govern.’—‘Adzookers, it is even so!’ cried the squire; ‘and plague upon the son of a whore who refuses to marry her, as soon as Mr. Pandahiladoe’s weazond is cut; then, what a delicate morsel the queen is! odd, I wish all the fleas in my bed were such as she!’ So saying, he cut a brace of capers, with marks of infinite satisfaction; then running up, and taking hold of the bridle of Dorothea’s mule, made her halt, while he, falling down on his knees before her, besought the princess to let him kiss her hand, in token of his receiving her as his queen and mistress. Which of the company could behold the madness of the master, and the simplicity of the man, without laughing! Dorothea actually gave him her hand, and promised to make him a grandee, as soon as, by the favour of Heaven, she should be restored to the possession of her kingdom; and he thanked her in terms which redoubled the mirth of all present.
‘This, gentlemen,’ added the damsel, ‘is my story, and nothing now remains but to tell you, that of all the people who attended me when I left my own country, not one survives, except this well-bearded squire; all the rest having perished in a dreadful storm that overtook us after we were within sight of land: he and I miraculously floated to the shore on two planks; and indeed the whole course of my life, as you may have observed in my narration, hath been full of mystery and wonder. If I have in any thing exceeded the bounds of credibility, or been less accurate than I ought, I hope you will impute it to that cause assigned by the licentiate, in the beginning of my story; namely, the continual and extraordinary affliction, that often impairs the memory of the unfortunate.’—‘But, mine shall not be impaired, most high and virtuous lady!’ said Don Quixote, ‘by all the misfortunes I shall undergo in your service, let them be never so great and unprecedented: therefore I again confirm the boon I have promised, and swear to attend you even to the world’s end, until I get sight of that ferocious adversary of yours, whose proud head I hope to slice off, with the assistance of God, my own arm, and the edge of this (I will not say good) sword; thanks to Gines de Passamonte who run away with my own[88].’ This last apostrophe he muttered between his teeth, and then proceeded aloud, saying—‘and after I shall have deprived him of his head, and put you in peaceable possession of your throne, you shall be at free liberty to dispose of your person, according to your own will and pleasure; for, while my memory is engrossed, my will enslaved, and my understanding subjected to her who——I say no more; but, that it is impossible I should incline, or have the least thought towards marrying any other person, though she were a perfect phœnix.’
Sancho was so much disgusted at this last declaration of his master, refusing the marriage, that raising his voice, he cried with great indignation, ‘Signior Don Quixote, I vow and swear your worship is crazy, else you would never boggle at marrying such a high-born princess as this! Do you imagine that fortune will offer such good luck at every turn, as she now presents? or pray, do you think my Lady Dulcinea more handsome than the princess? I am sure she is not half so beautiful, and will even venture to say, that she is not worthy to tie her majesty’s shoe-strings. How the plague shall I ever obtain the earldom I expect, if your worship goes thus a-fishing for mushrooms at sea? Marry her, marry her, in the devil’s name, without much ado; lay hold on this kingdom that drops, as it were, into your hand; and, after your coronation, make me a marquis or lord-lieutenant, and then the devil, if he will, may run away with the rest.’
Don Quixote was enraged, when he heard such blasphemies uttered against his mistress Dulcinea, and lifting up his lance, without speaking a syllable, or giving the least notice of his intention, discharged two such hearty blows upon the squire, as brought him instantly to the ground; and had not Dorothea called aloud, and begged of him to forbear, would certainly have murdered poor Sancho on the spot. ‘Do you think,’ said he, after some pause, ‘you plebeian scoundrel, that I will always stand with my hands in my pockets; and that there is nothing to be done, but for you to misbehave, and for me to forgive you? I’ll teach you better manners, you excommunicated rascal; for such to be sure you are, else you would not wag your tongue against the peerless Dulcinea. Don’t you know, you grovelling beggarly villain, that were it not for the valour with which she inspires this arm, I should not have enough to kill a flea? Tell me, you viperish scoffer, what you think hath won this kingdom, cut off the giant’s head, and made you a marquis, for all this I look upon as already done and determined? Is it not the valour of Dulcinea that makes use of my arm as the instrument of her exploits? In me she fights and overcomes; in her I live, breathe, and have my being. O thou whoreson, ungrateful ruffian, who seest thyself raised from the dust of the earth to the rank of nobility, and repayest the obligation by slandering thy benefactress.’
Sancho was not so roughly handled but he heard every syllable that his master spoke; and, starting up as nimbly as he could, ran behind Dorothea’s palfrey, from whence he said to the knight, ‘Pray, Sir, if your worship is determined against marrying this great princess, is it not plain, that the kingdom cannot be yours; and if that be the case, what favours can you bestow upon me? This is what I complain of. I would your worship would, once for all, marry this queen, who is, as it were, rained down from Heaven upon us; and then you may converse with my Lady Dulcinea, according to the custom of some kings who keep concubines. As to the affair of beauty, I will not intermeddle; but, if the truth may be told, I like them both very well, though I never saw my Lady Dulcinea in my life.’—‘How! not seen her, blasphemous traitor!’ cried Don Quixote; ‘have you not just brought a message from her?’—‘I say,’ answered Sancho, ‘that when I saw her, I had not an opportunity of examining the particulars of her beauty and good qualities one by one; but all together she pleased me very much.’—‘Now, Sancho,’ said Don Quixote, ‘I exculpate thee, and thou must forgive what I did in my wrath; for no man can command the first emotions of his passion.’—‘That I can plainly perceive,’ answered the squire, ‘and therefore, the desire of speaking is always the first motion in me; and truly, when once my tongue begins to itch, I cannot for my blood keep it within my teeth.’—‘For all that, friend Sancho,’ said the knight, ‘I would have you consider before you speak; for, though the pitcher goes often to the well—I need not mention what follows.’—‘In good time,’ replied the squire, ‘there is a God above, who sees the snare, and will judge which of us is the more to blame; I in speaking, or your worship in doing evil.’—‘Let there be no more of this, Sancho,’ said Dorothea, ‘but run and kiss your master’s hand, and beg his pardon; and henceforth set a better guard upon your praise and disparagement; above all things, beware of saying any thing to the prejudice of that Lady Toboso, whom I know by nothing else than my inclination to serve her: and if you put your trust in God, you will not fail of acquiring some estate, by which you will live like a prince.’