Chap. X Containing the Adventure of the Enchanted Head — With Other Trivial Incidents, Which, However, Must Not Be Omitted
Don Quixote’s landlord was called Don Antonio Moreno, a wealthy gentleman of good understanding, who loved a joke in a fair and good-humoured way; so that finding our knight safely housed under his roof, he began to contrive means for extracting diversion from the madness of his guests, without prejudice to his person; for those are no jests that give pain; nor is that pastime to be indulged which tends to the detriment of a fellow-creature. His first step was to unarm Don Quixote, and in that strait shamoy doublet, which we have already painted and described, expose him to publick view in a balcony that jetted out into one of the chief streets in the city, where he was surveyed by the people and the children, who gazed upon him as if he had been a monster or baboon. While he stood in this situation, the gentlemen with the rich liveries performed their courses before him, as if for his sake only, and not in order to celebrate the festival, they had provided all their finery; and Sancho was ravished with the thoughts of having so luckily found, without knowing how or wherefore, another wedding of Camacho, another house like that of Don Diego de Miranda, and another place equal to the duke’s castle, where he had been so hospitably entertained.
Don Antonio had that day invited some friends to dinner, and all of them paid particular respect to Don Quixote, whom they treated as a renowned knight-errant, a circumstance that elevated his vanity to such a pitch, that he could scarce contain his satisfaction; and Sancho’s conceits flowed so fast and humourous, that all the servants of the family, and all who heard his sallies, seemed to hang upon his lips. While he waited at table, Don Antonio accosting him, ‘Honest Sancho,’ said he, ‘we are informed you are such a lover of fowls and balls of forced meat, that, when you can eat no longer, you pocket what remains for next day.’—‘No, Signior,’ answered Sancho; ‘that is not the case, and your worship must have been misinformed; I am a cleanly squire, and no such filthy glutton; for my master, here present, knows very well, that we have often passed eight whole days, without any other sustenance than an handful of nuts or acorns. True it is, If ever the heifer is offered, the tether is at hand; my meaning is, I eat what I get, and ride the ford as I find it205. If, therefore, any person whatever hath said that I am an exceeding glutton and foul feeder, your worship may take it for granted that he is in a mistake; and I would tell him my mind in another manner, if it was not for the respect I bear to the honourable beards of this company.’—‘Assuredly,’ said Don Quixote, ‘Sancho’s cleanliness, and moderation in eating, might be inscribed and engraved on tables of brass, for an everlasting memorial and example to succeeding ages. True it is, when very hungry, he may seem to be a little voracious; for he eats with precipitation, chewing with both sides of his jaws; but cleanliness he punctually maintains; and, while a governor, learned to eat so delicately, that he took up grapes, and even the grains of a pomegranate, with a fork.’—‘How!’ cried Don Antonio, ‘hath Sancho been a governor?’—‘Yes, sure,’ replied the squire; ’and that of an island called Barataria, which I governed according to my own will and pleasure, for the space of ten days, during which I lost my natural rest, and learned to despise all the governments upon earth: I, therefore, fled from it as I would fly from the devil, and tumbled into a cavern, from whence, though I gave myself up as a dead man, I was brought up alive by a perfect miracle.’ Then Don Quixote gave them a circumstantial account of Sancho’s government, which afforded extraordinary entertainment to the whole audience.
Dinner being ended, and the table uncovered, Don Antonio took our hero by the hand, and conducted him into a private apartment, where there was no furniture but a table, that seemed to be of jasper, supported by one foot of the same substance; and upon this table was placed a bust of bronze, from the breast upwards, representing a head of one of the Roman emperors. Don Antonio, after having traversed the room with his guest, and more than once walked round the table, ‘Signior Don Quixote,’ said he, ‘now that I am assured no person overhears us, as nobody listens, and the door is bolted, I will impart to your worship one of the rarest adventures, or rather one of the greatest rarities, that ever was known; on condition, however, that you will deposit the secret in the most hidden recess of your heart.’—‘I swear to the condition,’ answered Don Quixote: ’and, for the greater security, will put a tomb-stone over whatever you shall communicate; for, know, Signior Don Antonio,’ (by this time he had learned his name) ‘your worship is talking to one, who, though he has ears to hear, has never a tongue to tattle; so that you may securely transfuse the contents of your own breast into mine, and take it for granted, you have ingulphed them in the abyss of silence.’—‘On the faith of that promise,’ replied Don Antonio, ‘I will excite your worship’s admiration with what you shall see and hear; and I, myself, will enjoy some alleviation of the pain I have felt from having no person to whom I could communicate the secret, which is not to be trusted to every body’s discretion.’ Don Quixote waited with impatience and surprize to see the result of this preamble; when his entertainer, taking him by the hand, made him feel all around the bust, the table, and the jasper foot upon which it was supported; then accosting him with great solemnity of aspect: ‘This bust, Signior Don Quixote,’ said he, ‘was made and contrived by one of the greatest inchanters and necromancers that ever the world produced. He was, I think, a native of Poland, and disciple of the famous Escotillo206, of whose knowledge such wonders are reported. As he chanced to be in this part of the world, I took him into my house, where, in consideration of a thousand crowns which I paid, he wrought this head, in which is centered the surprizing power and virtue of answering every question communicated to its ear. The master performed certain rites, erected schemes, consulted the stars, and carefully observed the lucky and unlucky minutes, until, at length, he brought it to that perfection which we shall perceive to-morrow; for on Fridays it is mute, and this being Friday, we must wait till another day: in the mean time, your worship may consider and prepare your questions, which I know by experience it will truly answer.’ Don Quixote was confounded and astonished at this property and virtue of the head, and indeed, almost tempted to disbelieve Don Antonio’s account; but, seeing how little time was required to make the experiment, he would not mention his incredulity; but, in very polite terms, thanked his entertainer for having entrusted him with such an important secret. They accordingly quitted the apartment, and Don Antonio having locked the door, returned to the rest of the company, who were highly entertained with Sancho’s recapitulation of many adventures and incidents to which his master had been exposed.
The same evening, they persuaded Don Quixote to make a progress along the streets with them, not in his armour, but in a loose coat of tawny-coloured cloth, which would have made ice itself sweat at that season; and, in the mean time, they directed their servants to amuse Sancho within doors, that he might not come forth and spoil their diversion. The knight was not mounted on Rozinante, but accommodated with an ambling mule, gaily caparisoned; and, upon the back of his coat or cloak, they, without his knowledge, pinned a parchment inscribed in large letters, ‘This is Don Quixote de La Mancha.’ The procession no sooner began, than this scroll attracted the eyes of the people; and, when they read it aloud, the knight was astonished to find himself known, and hear his name repeated by all the spectators. He, therefore, turning to Don Antonio, who rode by his side, ‘Great,’ said he, ‘is the prerogative that centers in knight-errantry, the professors of which are known and celebrated through all the corners of the earth: take notice, Signior Don Antonio, how my name is repeated by the very boys who never saw me before.’—‘It is even so, Signior Don Quixote,’ replied Antonio; ‘for, as light cannot be shut up and concealed, so neither can virtue remain unknown; and, that which is acquired by the profession of arms, shines with superior splendor over all other acquisitions.’
While our knight thus proceeded amidst the acclamation of the crowd, a certain Castilian happened to pass, and reading the scroll, exclaimed aloud, ‘Now, the devil take thee, Don Quixote de La Mancha! how hast thou made shift to come so far without expiring under some of those infinite drubbings which thy ribs have received? A madman thou surely art: and if the defect of thine understanding affected thyself only, and was confined within the gates of thy own madness, the misfortune would be the smaller; but thy frenzy is of such a peculiar nature as to turn the brains of all those with whom thou hast any commerce or communication; witness these gentlemen by whom thou art now accompanied. Return to your own house, Mr. Goose-cap, mind your family-concerns; look after your wife and children; and discard these vain maggots, which have eaten and burrowed into your brain, and skimmed off the very cream of your understanding.’—‘Hark ye, brother,’ said Don Antonio, ‘go about your business; and do not pretend to offer your advice to those who want none of your counsel: Signior Don Quixote de La Mancha is renowned for wisdom, and we who accompany him are not so mad as you may imagine. Virtue ought to be honoured wheresoever it is found: therefore be gone with a vengeance; and seek not to meddle in those affairs with which you have no concern.’—‘’Fore God! your worship is in the right,’ replied the Castilian: ‘advising that honest man is kicking against the pricks. Nevertheless, I am extremely sorry that the good sense, which, they say, this madman displays in some things, should be unprofitably wasted through the canal of his knight-errantry: and may that vengeance which your worship imprecated, overtake me and all my posterity, if, from this day forwards, I give advice to any person whatever, asked, or unasked, even though I should live to the age of Methusalem!’ So saying, this counsellor went away, and the procession went on; but the throng was so great, occasioned by the boys and other idle people who pressed in to read the scroll, that Don Antonio was fain to take it off, on pretence of freeing the knight from some other annoyance.
In the twilight they returned to the house of Don Antonio, where they found a ball prepared by his lady, who was a woman of birth, beauty, good humour, and discretion; and had invited a number of friends to come and honour her guest, and enjoy the strange peculiarities of his madness: they accordingly came, and after supper, at which they were entertained in a very splendid manner, the ball began about ten o’clock. Among the company were two ladies who had a turn for satire, accompanied with a great deal of humour; and who, though persons of unblemished honour, indulged themselves with uncommon freedom of behaviour, in order to keep up the spirit of the diversion, that it might not flag. This pair of female wags persisted with incredible eagerness, in dancing with Don Quixote, until not only his body, but even his very soul, seemed fainting with fatigue; and nothing could be more ludicrous than the figure of the knight, so long, so lank, so lean, so yellow, capering about in a straight shamoy doublet, with an air unspeakably aukward, and legs that were never designed for such exercise. The young ladies affected to court his good graces by stealth; and he privately treated their advances with disdain, until, finding them become more and more pressing, he pronounced aloud, ‘Fugite partes adversæ! disturb not my repose, ye unwelcome thoughts! avaunt, ladies, with your unruly desires; for she who is queen of mine, the peerless Dulcinea del Toboso, will not consent that I should surrender or be subject to any other than her own!’
So saying, he sat down upon the floor in the middle of the hall, quite exhausted and demolished with the violent exercise he had undergone; so that Don Antonio gave orders for his being carried forthwith to bed; and the first person who touched him in obedience to this order, was his own squire Sancho Panza; who, as he endeavoured to raise him upon his legs, could not help reprehending him in these words: ‘What a plague tempted your worship to fall a capering? Did you suppose every valiant man was as nimble as an harlequin, or that all knights-errant must needs be masterly dancers? If that was your opinion, I say you were much deceived: for there be men who would rather undertake to slay a giant, than to cut a caper. Had it been the shoe-slapping horn-pipe, I could have supplied your place; for I slap like a jerfaulcon; but as for your figured dances, I know not a stitch of the matter.’ With this address Sancho raised a laugh from the assembly, and his master from the floor, and carrying the knight to bed, covered him up very warm, that he might sweat out the cold caught in dancing.
Next day Don Antonio thought proper to try the experiment of the inchanted head, and for this purpose entered the apartment, accompanied by Don Quixote, Sancho, a couple of friends, with our hero’s two waggish partners, who had staid all night with Antonio’s lady. The door being fast bolted, he explained the property of the bust, after having laid injunctions on the company to keep the secret, and declared this was the day on which he intended to make the first trial of the virtue contained in the inchanted head207. Indeed, except his two friends, no other person knew the mystery; and if they had not been previously informed by Don Antonio, they would certainly have shared in the same admiration which necessarily seized the rest who were present at the execution of a scheme so artfully contrived.
The first who approached the ear of this inchanted head was Don Antonio himself, who said in a low voice, but so as to be overheard by all present, ‘Tell me, O head, by thy inherent virtue, what are my present thoughts?’ To this interrogation the head, without moving its lips, replied in a clear and distinct voice, which was heard by the whole company, ‘I do not pretend to investigate the thoughts.’ Those who knew not the plot were confounded at hearing this answer, as they plainly perceived there was not a living soul under the table or in the whole apartment to utter this reply. Don Antonio addressing himself again to it, asked, ‘How many persons are here in company?’ and was answered in the same key, ‘You and your wife208, two friends of yours, and two of her companions, with a famous knight called Don Quixote de La Mancha, and his squire Sancho Panza by name.’ Here was fresh amazement! here was their hair standing on end with affright; while Don Antonio, stepping aside from the table, said, ‘This is enough to convince me that I have not been deceived by the person of whom I purchased thee; thou sage, speaking, oracular, and admirable head! Let some other person go and question it at will.’
As women are usually very curious and impatient, the next who approached was one of the two ladies, and her question was this: ‘Tell me, O head, what I shall do to be extremely beautiful?’ She received for answer, ‘Be extremely virtuous;’ and replied, ‘I ask no more.’ Then her companion advanced, saying, ‘I want to know, sagacious head, whether or not I am fondly beloved by my husband?’ and she was answered, ‘That you will learn by observing his behaviour.’ The married lady retired, observing that it required no magick to solve that question; for, in effect, an husband’s behaviour to his wife will always declare the state of his affection. The third person that approached the table was one of Don Antonio’s friends, who asked, ‘What am I?’ and when the voice answered, ‘Thou knowest best,’ he replied, ‘That is not the purport of my question; I desire thou wilt tell me if thou knowest my name?’—‘Yes,’ said the oracle; ‘I know thou art Don Pedro Noriez.’—‘Then I am satisfied,’ answered Don Pedro; ‘for that answer is sufficient to convince me, O head, that thou knowest every thing.’ Then he withdrew, and was succeeded by the other gentleman; who, advancing to the table, ‘Tell me, O head,’ said he, ‘the wish of my eldest son?’—‘I have already owned that I cannot dive into the thoughts of men,’ said the voice; ‘nevertheless, I will tell thee, that the wish of thy son is to bury his father.’—‘That is indeed his wish,’ replied the cavalier; ‘I see it with my eye, I touch it with my finger, and do not chuse to ask another question.’ Don Antonio’s lady approached, saying, ‘I know not how to interrogate thee, O head; but I should be glad to know if I shall long enjoy my good husband?’—‘Yes, you will,’ replied the voice; ‘his healthy constitution, and moderate way of life, promise a long succession of years and a good old age, of which many men deprive themselves by their own intemperance.’
Don Quixote now took his turn, and addressing himself to the bust, ‘Tell me then, whatsoever thou art,’ said he, ‘is my account of what befel me in the cave of Montesinos really fact, or only the illusion of a dream? Will the flagellation of my squire Sancho be certainly accomplished? and will the disinchantment of Dulcinea take effect?’—‘With respect to the cave,’ replied the oracle, ‘much may be said; the adventure partakes both of truth and illusion. The flagellation of Sancho will proceed slowly; but Dulcinea will be disinchanted in process of time.’—’And that is all I desire to know,’ cried the knight; ‘for, in the disinchantment of Dulcinea, I shall reckon all my wishes at once happily fulfilled.’
The last interrogator was Sancho; who, approaching the table, ‘Pray, good Mr. Head,’ said he, ‘shall I peradventure obtain another government? shall I ever rise above the humble station of a squire? and lastly, shall I ever see again my wife and children?’ To these questions he received these answers: ‘If it be thy fate to return to thy own house, thou wilt govern thy family, and see thy wife and children; and in ceasing to serve, thou wilt cease to be a squire.’—‘’Fore God! an excellent response!’ cried Sancho; ‘that I could have foretold myself, and the prophet Perogrullo could have said no more.’—‘What answer would you have, you beast?’ said Don Quixote; ’is it not sufficient that the responses delivered by the head, correspond with the questions you have asked?’—‘It shall suffice,’ replied the squire; ‘but I wish it had explained itself a little more fully, and told me some more of my fortune.’
Thus ended the questions and answers, but not the admiration of the whole company; except Antonio’s two friends, who had been let into the secret; which Cid Hamet Benengeli will now explain, that the world may not be kept longer in suspense, or imagine that any necromantick talisman or extraordinary mystery was contained in this wonderful bust. He gives us, therefore, to understand, that Don Antonio Moreno, in imitation of such another head which he had seen at Madrid, contrived by a statuary, ordered this to be made in his own house for his private amusement, and with a view to surprize the vulgar; and in this manner was the whole fabricated. The table was of wood painted and varnished like jasper, and the foot that supported it of the same materials, carved into the resemblance of four eagles talons, which kept it firm and steady in its position. The head formed from the medal of one of the Roman emperors, and covered with a copper colour, was hollow, as well as the table, in which it was so nicely fixed, that no eye could perceive the joining; the foot was likewise hollow, and answered to the neck and breast of the bust; and the whole corresponed with another chamber below, by means of a concealed tin pipe which passed through the bust, the table, and the foot. In this lower apartment, communicating with that of the inchanted head, did the person who uttered the responses fix his mouth to the pipe, so as that the voice ascended and descended in distinct and articulate sounds, and it was impossible for any person to discover the deception. The respondent was Antonio’s nephew, a student of acute parts, and a well-cultivated understanding, who, being previously informed by his uncle of the number and names of the persons whom he intended to introduce into the chamber of the inchanted head, was enabled to answer the first question with great facility and precision; and to the rest he replied by conjectures which were equally ingenious and discreet.
Cid Hamet moreover relates, that for ten or twelve days the virtue of this wonderful machine continued in full force; but a report diffusing itself through the city, that Don Antonio had in his house an inchanted head, which could answer all manner of questions, he began to be afraid that these tidings might reach the ears of the vigilant centinels of our faith; for which reason he explained the whole affair to the fathers of the inquisition, who forbade him to proceed with the deception, and gave orders that the head should be broke in pieces, lest it should give umbrage to the superstitious vulgar: but, in the opinion of Don Quixote and Sancho Panza, it passed for a head that was really inchanted and oracular; though it had given more satisfaction to the knight than the squire.
The gentlemen of the city, in complaisance to Don Antonio, and for the entertainment of Don Quixote, whom they wanted to furnish with an opportunity of discovering his diverting follies, appointed a running at the ring to be performed in six days; but this was prevented by an incident which will be explained in the sequel. Meanwhile, the knight was desirous of going out and viewing the city at leisure, and afoot; fearing that, should he appear on horseback, he would again be persecuted by the boys and vulgar. He accordingly went forth, attended by Sancho, and two of Antonio’s servants, whom their master had chosen for that purpose; and chancing to lift up his eyes in passing through one of the streets, he saw inscribed over a gate, in capital letters, ‘This is a printing-house;’ a circumstance which gave him uncommon satisfaction, as hitherto he had never seen a printing-press, and longed much to know something of that art: he therefore entered the house with all his train, and saw people casting off in one part, correcting in another, composing in a third, revising in a fourth, and, in short, the whole œconomy of a large printing-house. Going up to one box, he asked what was doing; and being informed by the workmen, expressed his admiration, and proceeded to a second. Among others, he went up to one, and putting the same question, the workman replied, ‘Signior, that there gentleman,’ pointing to a grave person of a very prepossessing appearance, ‘has translated a book from the Tuscan into the Castilian language, and I am now composing it for the press.’—‘What is the name of the book?’ said Don Quixote. ‘Signior,’ answered the author, ‘the book in the original is called, Le Bagatelle.’—’And what is the signification of Le Bagatelle in our language?’ resumed the knight. ‘Le Bagatelle,’ replied the author, ’is, as if we should say, in Castilian, Juquetes209: and, although the title of the book be so humble, it includes and contains a great deal of excellent and substantial writing.’—‘I am not altogether ignorant of the Tuscan language,’ said Don Quixote, ‘for I value myself upon singing some stanzas of Ariosto; but, pray tell me, Signior, (and what I am going to ask is not with any intention to sound your genius, but merely to satisfy my own curiosity) have you ever, in composing your books, met with the word pignatta?’—‘Yes, frequently,’ replied the author. ’And how do you translate it into Castilian?’ resumed the knight. ‘How should I translate it,’ said the other, ‘but by the word olla?’—‘Body o’me!’ cried Don Quixote, ‘what progress you have made in the knowledge of the Tuscan idiom! I will lay a good wager that you translate piace into plaze, piu into mas, su into arriba, and giu into abaxo.’—‘Certainly,’ said the author, ‘because these words of the two languages correspond with one another.’—‘Notwithstanding all your learning,’ replied the knight, ‘I could almost swear you are hitherto unknown to the world, which is ever averse to remunerate a flourishing genius, and works of merit. What talents are lost, what abilities obscured, and what virtues are undervalued, in this degenerate age! yet, nevertheless, a translation from one language to another, excepting always those sovereign tongues the Greek and Latin, is, in my opinion, like the wrong side of Flemish tapestry, in which, though we distinguish the figures, they are confused and obscured by ends and threads, without that smoothness and expression which the other side exhibits: and to translate from easy languages, argues neither genius nor elocution, nor any merit superior to that of transcribing from one paper to another; but from hence I would not infer that translation is not a laudable exercise, for a man may employ his time in a much worse and more unprofitable occupation. At any rate, my observation cannot affect our two famous translators, Doctor Christoval de Figueroa, in Pastor Fido, and Don Juan de Xaurigui in Aminta, two pieces they have so happily executed, as to render it doubtful which is the original and which the translation: but pray, Signior, is this book printed on your own account, or have you sold the copy to a bookseller?’—‘I publish it on my own account,’ replied the author, ’and expect to gain a thousand ducats at least upon the first impression, of which there will be two thousand copies, that will fetch six rials a piece in the turning of a straw.’—‘That is a very clear and comfortable reckoning,’ answered Don Quixote; ‘but you seem to be very little acquainted with the outgoings and the incomings, the schemes, conspiracies, and cabals of booksellers: when you find your back burdened with two thousand copies, I give you my word both your mind and body will be terribly fatigued; especially if the books should be harsh, or a little deficient in point of spirit.’—‘What!’ said the author, ‘your worship thinks, then, I ought to offer my performance to a bookseller, who would give me three maravedis for the copy, and insist upon it that he had done me a favour into the bargain? I do not publish with a view to acquire reputation in the world, where, thank Heaven, I am already well known by my works; I print for profit, without which, reputation is not worth a doit.’—‘God send you good luck, Signior,’ answered the knight; who, advancing to another box, where he saw the corrector employed on the sheet of a book, intitled, ‘The Light of the Soul;’—‘Aye,’ said he, ‘these are the books that ought to be printed; for, although there is already a pretty large number of this kind in print, numerous are the sinners for whose use they are intended; and for such multitudes who are in darkness, an infinite number of lights is required.’ He proceeded in his enquiry, and when he asked another corrector the name of a book on which he saw him at work, he understood it was the second part of The Sage Hidalgo Don Quixote de La Mancha, written by a certain person a native of Tordesillas. ‘I have heard of this performance,’ said the knight; ’and really, in my conscience, thought it was long before this time burned into ashes, or pounded into dust, for the impertinence it contains; but, as we say of hogs, “Martinmas will come in due season210.” Works of imagination are the more useful and entertaining the nearer they approach to truth, and the more probability they contain; and even history is valued according to its truth and authenticity.’
So saying, he quitted the printing-house with some marks of displeasure; and that same day, Don Antonio proposed that he should go on board, and see the gallies in the road; a proposal which was extremely agreeable to Sancho, who had never seen the inside of a galley in the whole course of his life; and he sent a message to inform the commodore of his intention to visit him in the evening, with his guest the renowned Don Quixote de La Mancha, whose name and person were already well known to this commander and all the citizens of Barcelona. What passed during this visit, will be related in the following chapter.