Chap. XIV Of the Dreadful Consternation, and Cattish Concert, to Which Don Quixote Was Exposed, in the Course of the Enamoured Altisidora’s Amour
We left the great Don Quixote wrapped up in those cogitations that were suggested by the musick of the enamoured damsel Altisidora. With these companions he crept into bed; but, as if they had been fleas and vermin, they would not suffer him to sleep, or indeed enjoy a moment’s repose, especially when reinforced with the reflection of his wounded stocking. But as time is so light and nimble, that no rub can retard his career, he galloped along upon the hours, and soon ushered in the morning, which was no sooner beheld by the knight, than he forsook the gentle down, and being the reverse of lazy, dressed himself in his chamoy suit. He put on his travelling boots to conceal the misfortune of his hose; threw his scarlet cloak over his shoulder, cased his head in a green velvet cap trimmed with silver, slung his trusty hanging sword in his buff-belt, took up his large rosary, which always depended from his wrist, and with great port and solemnity went forth into the hall, where the duke and duchess, already dressed, stayed for him. As he passed through a gallery, he perceived Altisidora, and the other maiden her friend, who stood waiting for his appearance; and he was no sooner beheld by the love-sick damsel, than she pretended to faint away; while her companion received her in her arms, and with all possible dispatch began to unclasp her bosom. The knight seeing her fall, approached the place where they were, saying, ‘I know whence these accidents proceed.’ And the companion replied, ‘I do not know whence; for Altisidora is the healthiest damsel of the whole family, and I never knew her so much as fetch a sigh from the first minute of our acquaintance. Ill betide all the knights-errant in the world, if they are all so shy and scornful. Signior Don Quixote, I wish your worship would leave the place; for this poor girl will not come to herself while you stand here.’ To this entreaty the knight replied, ‘Be so good, Madam, as to order a lute to be left in my apartment; and, at night, I will, to the best of my power, console this unfortunate damsel: for a speedy explanation in the beginning, is often an effectual cure for those who are indiscreetly in love.’ So saying, he went away, that he might not be observed in conference with the damsels; and scarce was he gone, when the swooning Altisidora coming to herself, said to her companion, ‘It will be requisite to leave the lute; for, doubtless, Don Quixote intends to entertain us with musick, which cannot be bad if he is the performer.’ Then they went and gave an account of what had passed, and in particular of the lute, to the duchess, who was rejoiced beyond measure, and concerted with her lord and her women, how to execute another joke which should be more merry than mischievous. This being accordingly contrived, they with great glee waited for night; and it came posting along in the same pace that brought in the day, which their graces spent in savoury discourse with Don Quixote. On this day the duchess really and truly dispatched one of her pages, who acted the part of the enchanted Dulcinea in the wood, to Tereza Panza, with her husband’s letter, and a bundle, which he had left on purpose to be sent home; and the messenger had particular orders to bring back a circumstantial detail of every thing that should pass between him and the governor’s lady.
This step being taken, and the hour of eleven at night arrived, Don Quixote found a lute in his apartment; this he tuned, and having opened the window, perceived people walking below in the garden: he immediately ran over the strings of his instrument, making as good a prelude as he could, then hemming and clearing his pipes, he with an hoarse, though not untuneful voice, sung the following sonnet, which he had that very day composed.
SONG.
‘Love, with idleness combin’d,
Will unhinge the tender mind:
But to sew, to work, and move,
Will exclude the force of love.
Blooming maids that would be married,
Must in virtue be unwearied:
Modesty a dow’r will raise,
And be trumpet of their praise.
A cavalier will sport and play
With a damsel frank and gay;
But, when wedlock is his aim,
Chuse a maid of sober fame.
Passion kindled in the breast,
By a stranger or a guest,
Enters with the rising sun,
And fleets before his race be run.
Love that come so suddenly,
Ever on the wing to fly,
Neither can or will impart
Strong impressions to the heart.
Pictures drawn on pictures, shew
Strange confusion to the view:
Second beauty find no base,
Where a first has taken place.
Then Dulcinea still shall reign
Without a rival or a stain;
Nor shall fate itself controul
Her sway, or blot her from my soul:
Constancy, the lover’s boast,
I’ll maintain, whate’er it cost.
This my virtue will refine;
This will stamp my joy divine.’
So far had Don Quixote proceeded with his song, which was overheard by the duke and duchess, Altisidora, and almost all the people in the castle, when all of a sudden, from the top of a corridore immediately above Don Quixote’s window, came down a cord to which above a hundred horse-bells were tied; and after these was discharged a whole sackful of cats with smaller bells fastened to their tails. Such was the noise occasioned by the tinkling of these bells, and the mewling of the cats, that even the duke and duchess, who invented the joke, were terrified and confounded, and Don Quixote astonished and dismayed; especially when two or three cats chanced to enter his window, and coursed up and down through his apartment, which seemed to be haunted by a whole legion of devils; for they extinguished the lights, and ran to and fro, endeavouring to escape, while the rope with the large bells was lowering down, and pulling up incessantly; so that the greatest part of the people in the family, who were ignorant of the scheme, listened with fear and admiration. Then Don Quixote starting up, and unsheathing his sword, began to fence with the window, exclaiming aloud, ‘Avaunt, malignant enchanters! avaunt, ye wizzard crew! for I am Don Quixote de La Mancha, against whom your whole power and malice shall not avail.’ So saying, he laid about him among the cats, which had entered his apartments; and they sprung towards the casement, from whence two of them made their escape; but the third, finding itself hard pressed by the valour and back-strokes of the knight, flew at his face, and laid fast hold on his nose with its teeth and claws. The pain of this assault affected Don Quixote in such a manner, that he began to roar with vast vociferation, which being heard by the duke and duchess, who guessed the cause of his cries, they ran instantly to his chamber, which they opened with a master-key; and lights being brought, they found the poor knight endeavouring with all his strength to disengage the cat from his visage. Seeing the unequal fray, they made haste to part the combatants; when Don Quixote called aloud, ‘Let no man part us; but leave me hand to hand with this dæmon, this wizard, this enchanter; and I will make him sensible of the difference between him and me, who am Don Quixote de La Mancha.’ The cat, however, without minding his threats, stuck fast to his nose; but, at length, the duke tore it away, and threw it out at the window; so that the knight remained with his face like a sieve, and his nose in no very sound condition; though he was very much dissatisfied, that they would not suffer him to finish the engagement he had so obstinately maintained with that felonious enchanter.
Oil of Aparicio was immediately fetched, and Altisidora herself, with her snowy hands, applied the balsam, saying in a low voice, as she bound up his wounds, ‘All these misadventures befal thee, hard-hearted knight, as a punishment for thy cruelty and disdain; and God grant thy squire Sancho may forget to scourge himself, that they so much beloved Dulcinea may never be disenchanted, nor thou enjoy her as a wedded wife; at least, during the life of me, by whom thou art adored.’ To all this apostrophe Don Quixote answered not a word; but, heaving a profound sigh, laid himself along in his bed, and thanked their graces for this instance of their concern; not that he was afraid of such a cattish-enchanting and bell-ringing crew, but on account of the kind intention they had manifested in coming to his relief. As for the duke and duchess, they left him to his repose, and went away extremely sorry for the unfortunate issue of his joke; for they did not think Don Quixote would have suffered so terribly by the adventure, which cost him five days confinement in his bed, where he was engaged in another still more diverting, which, however, the historian will not at present recount, that he may return to Sancho Panza, who proceeded in his administration with equal pleasantry and solicitude.