Chap. XXI Of the Omens That Occurred to Don Quixote When He Entered the Village — With Other Incidents Which Adorn and Authenticate This Sublime History
Cid Hamet relates, that Don Quixote, as he entered the village, perceived two boys quarrelling in a threshing-floor, and heard the one say to his antagonist, ‘Struggle thy fill, Periquillo, thou shalt never see it in all the days of thy life.’ These words no sooner reached the knight’s ears, than turning to his squire, ‘Friend Sancho,’ said he, ‘didst not thou mark what the boy said? “Thou shalt never see it in all the days of thy life.”’—’And what signifies what the boy says?’ answered the squire. ‘What!’ replied the knight, ‘dost thou not perceive that these words, applied to my concerns, signify, that I shall never behold Dulcinea?’ Sancho was just going to answer, when he was prevented by the sight of an hare, which being pursued by a number of greyhounds and hunters, came running through the field and squatted down in a fright under Dapple; the squire immediately saved it from the dogs, by seizing and presenting it to his master, who said, ‘Malum signum, malum signum! the hare flies, the hounds pursue, and Dulcinea does not appear.’—‘That is a strange fancy in your worship!’ replied the squire; ‘let us, for example, suppose it Dulcinea del Toboso, and these pursuing hounds the felonious inchanters who have transformed her into a country-wench; she flies, I catch and deliver her to your worship, who hold and fondle her in your arms; what bad sign is that? or what ill omen can be conjured from such a circumstance?’ At this juncture the two boys who had been quarrelling, came up to see the hare; and Sancho having asked the cause of their quarrel, was answered by him who said, ‘Thou shalt never see it in all the days of thy life,’ that he had taken a cage full of crickets from the other boy, which he did not intend to restore in the whole course of his life. In consequence of this information, the squire pulled out of his pocket four farthings, and gave them to the boy for the cage, which he put into the hands of Don Quixote, saying, ‘Behold, Signior, the wreck and destruction of those omens, which I (though a fool) imagine have no more to do with our affairs than last year’s clouds; and if I right remember, I have heard the curate of our parish observe, that no Christian of common sense ought to mind such childish trifles; nay, even your worship made the same remark some time ago, and told me those Christians were actually mad who put any faith in omens; and therefore we have no occasion to make a stumbling-block of this accident: but let us proceed, and enter the town a-God’s name.’
The hunters coming up, demanded the hare, which was delivered to them by our knight, who jogging on with his squire, perceived the curate and batchelor Carrasco busy at their devotion, in a little meadow that skirted the town. Now the reader must know, that Sancho Panza had, over the bundle of armour carried by Dapple, thrown, by way of sumpter-cloth, the buckram robe painted with flames of fire, which he had worn in the duke’s castle on the night of Altisidora’s resurrection; and he, at the same time, had fixed the mitre upon the head of the ass, which, thus adorned, exhibited the strangest transformation that any beast of burden in the world had ever undergone. Our adventurers were immediately recognized by the curate and batchelor, who ran to receive them with open arms; when Don Quixote alighting, embraced them with great cordiality; and the boys, who are quick-sighted as lynxes, descrying the mitre of the ass, came running in crowds to behold this new spectacle, crying to one another, ‘Come along, boys, and see Sancho Panza’s Dapple, as fine as a May-morning212, and Rozinante more lean than ever.’
In a word, they entered the town, surrounded with boys, and accompanied by the curate and batchelor, who attended them to the knight’s house, at the gate of which they found the niece and housekeeper, already apprized of his arrival. The same intimation, neither more nor less, had been given to Sancho’s spouse Teresa Panza, who came running to see her husband, half naked, with her hair hanging about her ears, and her daughter Sanchica in her hand; but, seeing he was not so gayly equipped as she thought a governor should be, ‘Hey-day, husband!’ cried she, ‘you come home a-foot, and seem to be quite foundered, and look more like a governor of hogs, than a ruler of men.’—‘Hold your tongue, Teresa,’ replied the squire; ‘you will often find hooks where there is no bacon; let us e’en trudge home, where I will tell thee wonders: I have money in my purse, (and that’s the one thing needful) earned by my own industry, without prejudice to any person whatsoever.’—‘Do you bring home the money, good husband,’ said Teresa, ’and let it be earned here or there, or got in what shape you please, I give myself no trouble about the matter; I am sure, in getting it, you have introduced no new fashion into the world.’ Sanchica embraced her father, and asked if he had brought any thing for her, who had expected him as impatiently as if he had been May-dew: then taking hold of his girdle with one hand, and leading Dapple with the other, while her mother held him by the fist, they repaired to their own house, leaving Don Quixote to the care of his niece and housekeeper, and in company with the curate and batchelor.
The knight, disregarding times and seasons, instantly retired into an apartment with his two friends, to whom he briefly related his overthrow, and the obligation under which he lay, to stay at home for the space of one year, which obligation he intended literally to observe, without failing in the least tittle, like a true knight-errant, bound by the punctuality of the order which he had the honour to profess. During this term of retirement, he proposed to turn shepherd, and enjoy the solitude of the field, where he would give full scope to his amorous sentiments, and exercise himself in all the virtues of a pastoral life: he, at the same time, besought them (provided they had any time to spare, and were not hindered by business of more consequence) to become his companions; assuring them he would purchase a flock of sheep sufficient for a number of swains, and that the principal part of the scheme was already effected, inasmuch as he had invented names that would suit them with the utmost propriety. The curate expressing a desire to know these appellations, the knight said, he would call himself the shepherd Quixotiz, the batchelor should be distinguished by the name of the swain Carrascon, the curate he denominated Curiambro, and the squire, Pancino. They were confounded at this new species of madness; but, lest he should once more forsake his habitation to follow his new chivalries, and in hope that he might possibly be cured during the year of his confinement, they seemingly assented to this new proposal, extolled his madness as the very essence of discretion, and promised to be his companions in the exercise he had planned. ‘All the world knows that I am a celebrated poet,’ said Sampson Carrasco, ‘and at every turn I shall compose verses, pastorals, or courtly sonnets, or such as will best answer the purpose of entertaining us in the fields through which we shall rove: but there is one circumstance, gentlemen, which we must by no means neglect; and that is, every man shall chuse a name for the shepherdess he intends to celebrate, and inscribe and engrave it on every tree, let it be never so hard, according to the constant practice of enamoured swains.’—‘A very seasonable suggestion,’ answered Don Quixote: ‘but, although I am at liberty to chuse a fictitious name, I shall not employ my invention for that purpose, while there is such a person as the peerless Dulcinea del Toboso, the glory of these banks! the ornament of these meadows! the support of beauty! the cream of all gentility! and, finally, the subject that suits all praise, how hyperbolical soever it may be.’—‘Very true,’ said the curate; ‘but we must put up with nymphs of an inferior rank; who, though they will not square, may corner with our desires.’—’And should we be at a loss,’ added Sampson Carrasco, ‘we will borrow names that abound in printed books; such as Phillis, Amaryllis, Diana, Florida, Galatea, and Belisarda; which, as they are publickly sold, we may purchase and appropriate to our own use. If, for example, my mistress, or rather shepherdess, be called Ann, I will celebrate her under the name of Anna; if her name is Frances, she shall be called Francenia; if Lucia, she shall be known by the appellation of Lucinda: in the same manner shall other names be metamorphosed; and if Sancho Panza is inclined to be one of our fraternity, he may celebrate his wife Teresa Panza, under the name of Teresayna.’ Don Quixote could not help smiling at this transformation; and the curate, in very high terms, applauded his honourable and virtuous resolution, promising anew to spend in his company all the time he could spare from his indispensible obligations. And now they took leave of the knight; after having advised and entreated him to have a reverend care of his health, and comfort his stomach with something good and substantial.
The niece and housekeeper having by accident overheard this conversation, entered the apartment as soon as the curate and batchelor were gone; and the former, addressing herself to Don Quixote, ‘Uncle,’ said she, ‘what is the meaning of all this! Now that we thought you was returned to stay at home, and lead a quiet and honourable life in your own house, you want to re-entangle yourself in new labyrinths, and turn a poor shepherd. Thou cam’st with a crook, and with a scrip thou wilt go, as the saying is; for, in good faith, the straw is too old to make pipes of.’—’And does your worship think,’ added the housekeeper, ‘that you can stay in the field, during the heats of summer, and the frosts of winter, to hear the howling of wolves! no, truly, that is the office and employment of robust clowns, tanned by the weather, and brought up to the business, even from their christening blankets and swaddling cloaths; and, weighing one evil against another, you had better still be a knight-errant than a shepherd. Consider, Signior, and take my advice, which I do not give from a full stomach, but fresh and fasting, with fifty good years over my head: stay at home in your own house, look after your estate, go frequently to confession, be good to the poor, and let my conscience answer for the rest.’—‘Hold your peace, my good children,’ answered Don Quixote; ‘I know my own duty, and what I have to do; meanwhile carry me to bed, for methinks I am not very well; and be assured, that whether I continue knight-errant or turn shepherd, you may depend upon my good offices and assistance, as you shall find by experience.’
Comforted by this declaration, the good souls (for so they were, without doubt) carried the knight to bed, where they presented him with victuals, and cherished him with all possible care.