Chap. XV Of the Resolution Which Don Quixote Took to Become a Shepherd, and Lead a Pastoral Life — Until the Term of His Confinement Should Be Elapsed — With Other Incidents Truly Entertaining
If Don Quixote was perplexed with cogitation before his overthrow, much more was he fatigued by his own thoughts after his late misfortune. Under the shade of a tree, as we have already observed, did he remain, and there he was stung with reflections that swarmed like flies about honey; some dwelling upon the disinchantment of Dulcinea, and others revolving plans for the life he was to lead in his compulsive retirement. When Sancho joined him, and began to expatiate upon the liberal disposition of Tosilos, ‘Is it possible, O Sancho,’ said the knight, ‘that thou still believest that man to be the individual lacquey? One would think thou hadst forgot that thy own eyes have seen Dulcinea converted and transformed into a country wench, and the Knight of the Mirrours into the Bachelor Carrasco, by the wicked arts of those inchanters who persecute my virtue. But, tell me now didst thou ask Tosilos how Providence hath disposed of Altisidora? Hath she bewailed my absence, or already consigned to oblivion those amorous thoughts by which she was tormented during my residence at the castle?’—‘My thoughts,’ answered Sancho, ‘were not such as allowed me to ask these childish questions. Body O me! Signior, is your worship at present in a condition to enquire about other people’s thoughts, especially those you call amorous?’—‘Sancho,’ said the knight, ‘you must consider there is a wide difference between the suggestions of love, and those of gratitude: a gentleman may very well be insensible to love; but, strictly speaking, he can never be ungrateful. Altisidora, in all appearance, loved me to distraction: she, as thou very well knowest, made me a present of three night-caps; she bewailed my departure, loaded me with curses and reproach, and, in spite of maiden shame, complained of me in publick; undoubted proofs of my being the object of her adoration; for the indignation of lovers usually vents itself in maledictions. I had no hopes to give, nor treasures to offer; all my affections are yielded to Dulcinea; and the treasures of knights-errant are like those of the fairies, altogether phantom and illusion: all, therefore, that I can return, is a kind remembrance, without prejudice, however, to the memory of Dulcinea, who is greatly aggrieved by thy remissness in delaying to scourge and chastise that flesh which I hope will be a prey to the wolves; seeing thou seemed more inclined to reserve it for the worms, than to use it in behalf of that poor distressed lady.’—‘Signior,’ answered the squire, ‘if the truth must be told, I cannot persuade myself that the whipping of my posteriors can have any effect in disenchanting those who are inchanted, no more than if we should anoint the shins to cure the head-ache; at least, I will venture to swear that in all the histories your worship has read concerning knight-errantry, you have never found that any person was disinchanted by such a whipping: but be that as it may, I will lay it on when I have time, convenience, and inclination, to make free with my own flesh.’—‘God grant thou mayst,’ said Don Quixote; ’and Heaven give thee grace to understand and be sensible of the obligation thou liest under, to assist my mistress; who, as thou art mine, is thine also.’
With such conversation they amused themselves in travelling, until they arrived at the very spot where they had been overturned by the bulls; when Don Quixote recognizing the ground, ‘This is the meadow,’ said he, ‘where we met the gay shepherdesses and gallant swains, who sought to renew and re-act the pastoral Arcadia, a project equally original and ingenious; in imitation of which, shouldst thou approve of the scheme, we will assume the garb and employment of shepherds during the term of our retirement. I will purchase some sheep, together with all the necessary implements of a pastoral life, and taking the name of Quixotiz, while thou shalt bear that of the swain Pancino; we will stroll about through mountains, woods, and meadows, singing here, lamenting there, drinking liquid chrystal from the gelid springs, the limpid rills, and mighty rivers. The lofty oaks will shed upon us abundance of their delightful fruit; the trunks of hardest cork trees will yield us seats; the willows will afford us shade; the rose perfume; the extended meadow, carpets of a thousand dyes; the pure serenity of air will give us breath; the moon and stars will grant us light in spite of darkness; our singing will inspire delight; our lamentations, mirth; Apollo, verses; and Love himself, conceits to render us immortal and renowned, not only in the present age, but also to the latest posterity.’—‘Odds tens!’ cried Sancho, ‘such a life will square, aye, and be the very corner-stone of my wishes: the Batchelor Sampson Carrasco and Master Nicholas the barber, as soon as they have a glimpse of it, will wish to join us in the scheme, and turn shepherds for our company; and God grant that the curate himself may not take it in his head to enter the fold; for he is a merry companion, and a great friend to good fellowship.’—‘Thou hast a very good notion,’ said the knight; ’and if the batchelor shall be inclined to join our pastoral association, as he doubtless will, he may take the appellation of the shepherd Sansonino, or of the swain Carrascon: Nicholas the barber may be called Niculoso, as old Boscan called himself Nemoroso: and as for the curate, I know not what title we can confer upon him, except some derivative from his own name, such as the shepherd Curiambro. For the nymphs of whom we must be enamoured, there is plenty of names to chuse; but seeing that of my mistress will suit as well with a shepherdess as with a princess, I need not give myself the trouble to invent any other that might be more proper; as for thee, Sancho, thou mayest give thy mistress what appellation will please thy own fancy.’—‘I have no intention,’ replied the squire, ‘to give her any other than that of Teresona, which will fit her fatness to an hair, as well as be agreeable to her own name Teresa; especially as in celebrating her in verse, I shall disclose my chaste desires, without going in search of fine bread in a neighbour’s house: the curate would be in the wrong to chuse a shepherdess, because he ought to set a good example to his flock; and as for the batchelor, if he has any such inclination, Let him please his own soul, without lett or controul.’
‘Good Heaven! friend Sancho,’ said Don Quixote, ‘what a life shall we lead! how will our ears be regaled with pipes and bagpipes of Zamora, tambourines, timbrels, and rebecks! and if these different kinds of musick be reinforced with the sound of the albogues, we shall have a full concert of all the pastoral instruments.’—’And pray what are the albogues?’ said Sancho, ‘I never saw nor heard them named before, in the whole course of my life.’—‘Albogues,’ answered the knight, ‘are plates of brass resembling candlesticks, the hollow parts of which being clashed together produce a sound, if not ravishing or harmonious, at least not disagreeable nor unsuited to the rusticity of the bagpipe and tabor. The name of albogues is Moorish, as are all the words in our language beginning with al; for example, almoaca, almorcar, alhombra, alguazil, alucima, almacen, alcanzia, and a few others; and we have only three Moorish words ending in i, namely, borcegui, zaquicami, and maravedi; as for alheli and alsaqui, they are known to be Arabick, as well from their beginning with al, as for their ending in i: these observations I have made, by the bye, in consequence of having mentioned albogues, which recalled them to my remembrance. But, to return to our scheme, nothing will conduce so much to the perfection of it, as my having a talent for versification, as thou very well knowest, and the batchelor’s being an excellent poet. Of the curate I shall say nothing; though I would lay a good wager that his collars and points are truly poetical: and that Master Nicholas is in the same fashion I do not at all doubt; for people of his profession are famous for making ballads and playing on the guittar. For my own part, I will complain of absence; thou wilt extol the constancy of thy own love; the swain Carrascon will lament the disdain of his mistress; the curate Curiambro chuse his own subject; and every thing proceed in such a manner as to fulfil the warmest wishes.’
To this effusion Sancho replied, ‘Verily, Signior, I am such an unlucky wretch, that I am afraid the time will never come when I shall see myself in that blessed occupation. O what delicate wooden spoons shall I make when I am a shepherd! O what crumbs and cream shall I devour! O what garlands and pastoral nick-nacks shall I contrive! and though these may not, perhaps, add much to my reputation for wisdom, they will not fail to convince the world of my ingenuity. My daughter Sanchica shall bring our victuals to the fold; but ’ware mischief! the wench is buxom, and there are some shepherds more knavish than simple; I would not have her come out for wool and go home shorn. Those same amours, and unruly desires, are gratified in the open field as well as in the city chamber, in a shepherd’s cot as well as in a royal palace. The sin will cease when the temptation is removed; The heart will not grieve for what the eye does not perceive; and, What prayers ne’er can gain, a leap from a hedge will obtain.’ ‘No more of your proverbs, Sancho,’ said Don Quixote; ‘any one of those thou hast repeated is sufficient to explain thy meaning; and I have often exhorted thee to be less prodigal of old saws, and keep them more under command; but, I see, it is like preaching to the desart: and My mother whips me, and I scourge the top.’—‘Under correction,’ answered the squire, ‘your worship, methinks, is like the frying-pan which called to the pot, “Avaunt black-a-moor, avaunt!” Even in the very act of rebuking me for uttering proverbs, your worship strings them together in pairs.’—‘But, then, you must consider, Sancho,’ said Don Quixote, ‘that when I use them, they are seasonably brought in, and fit the purpose as the ring fits the finger: whereas, by thee, they are not brought in, but lugged in, as it were, by the head and shoulders. If my memory fails me not, I have formerly told thee, that proverbs are short sentences extracted from the experience and speculation of ancient sages; and a proverb unseasonably introduced, is rather an absurdity than a judicious apothegm. But let us quit the subject, and, as the day is already spent, retire from the highway to some place where we may pass the night; for God alone knows what will be to-morrow.’
They accordingly retired to a grove, where they made a late and very indifferent supper, to the no small mortification of Sancho, who ruefully reflected upon the meagre commons of chivalry, so uncomfortably discussed among woods and mountains; though his imagination was also regaled with the remembrance of that abundance which he had enjoyed at the castle, as well as at the wedding of the rich Camacho, and in the houses of Don Diego de Miranda, and Don Antonio de Moreno: but, finally, considering it could not be always day, or always night, he resolved, for the present, to sleep, while his master indulged his contemplations awake.