Chap. III Of What Happened to Don Quixote While He Remained With the Goatherds
He received a very hearty welcome from the goatherds; and Sancho having, as well as he could, accommodated Rozinante and his ass, was attracted by the odour that issued from some pieces of goat’s flesh that were boiling in a kettle; but though he longed very much at that instant to see if it was time to transfer them from the kettle to the belly, he checked his curiosity, because the landlord took them from the fire, and spreading some sheep-skins upon the ground, let out their rustick table without loss of time; inviting their two guests to a share of their mess, with many expressions of good-will and hospitality. Then those who belonged to the cot, being six in number, seated themselves round the skins, having first, with their boorish ceremony, desired Don Quixote to sit down on a trough, which they had overturned for that purpose.
The knight accepted their offer, and Sancho remained standing, to administer the cup, which was made of horn; but his master perceiving him in this attitude, ‘That thou may’st see, Sancho,’ said he, ‘the benefit which is concentered in knight-errantry; and how near all those who exercise themselves in any sort of ministry belonging to it, are to preferment and esteem of the world, I desire thee to sit down here by my side, in company with these worthy people; and that thou may’st be on an equal footing with me, thy natural lord and master, eating in the same dish, and drinking out of the same cup that I use; for what is said of love may be observed of knight-errantry, that it puts all things upon a level.’
‘I give you a thousand thanks,’ said Sancho; ‘but I must tell your worship that, provided I have plenty, I can eat as much, nay more to my satisfaction, standing on my legs, and in my own company, than if I was to sit by the side of an emperor; and, if all the truth must be told, I had much rather dine by myself in a corner, though it should be upon a bit of bread and an onion, without all your niceties and ceremonies, than eat turkey-cocks at another man’s table, where I am obliged to chew softly, to drink sparingly, to wipe my mouth every minute, to abstain from sneezing or coughing, though I should be never so much inclined to either, and from a great many other things, which I can freely do when alone; therefore, Sir master of mine, I hope these honours which your worship would put upon me, as being the servant and abettor of knight errantry, which to be sure I am, while I remain in quality of your squire, may be converted into other things of more ease and advantage to me, than those which, though I hold them as received in full, I renounce from henceforth for ever, amen.’—‘Thou must nevertheless sit thee down,’ said his master; ‘for him that is humble, God will exalt;’ and, seizing him by the arm, he pulled him down to the seat on which he himself sat.
The goatherds, who understood not a word of all this jargon of squire and knights-errant, did nothing but eat in silence, and gaze upon their guests; who, with keen appetite, and infinite relish, solaced their stomachs, by swallowing pieces as large as their fists. This service of meat being finished, they spread upon their skins great quantities of acorns, and half a cheese, harder than plaister of Paris: all this time the horn was not idle, but went round so fast, sometimes full, sometimes empty, like the buckets of a well, that they soon voided one of the two skins of wine that hung in view.
Don Quixote having satisfied his appetite, took up an handful of the acorns, and after looking at them attentively, delivered himself to this purpose: ‘Happy age, and happy days were those, to which the ancients gave the name of golden; not that gold, which in these our iron times is so much esteemed, was to be acquired without trouble, in that fortunate period; but because people were then ignorant of those two words MINE and THINE: in that sacred age, all things were in common; no man was necessitated, in search of his daily food, to undergo any other trouble than that of reaching out his hand, and receiving it from the sturdy oak, that liberally invited him to pull his sweet and salutary fruit. The limpid fountains and murmuring rills afforded him their savoury and transparent waters in magnificent abundance. In clefts of rocks and hollow trees, the prudent and industrious bees formed their commonwealths, offering without interest to every hand the fruitful harvest of their delicious toil. The stately cork-trees voluntarily stripped themselves of their light extended bark, with which men began to cover their rural cottages, supported upon rustick poles, with a view only to defend themselves from the inclemencies of the weather. All was then peace, all was harmony, and all was friendship. As yet the ponderous coulter of the crooked plough had not presumed to open, or visit the pious entrails of our first mother, who, without compulsion, presented on every part of her wide and fertile bosom, every thing that could satisfy, sustain, and delight her sons, who then possessed her. Then did the simple and beautiful shepherdesses rove from hill to hill, and dale to dale, bare-headed, in their braided locks, without any other cloaths than what were necessary to cover modestly that which modesty commands, and always has commanded to be covered. Neither were their ornaments such as are used now-a-days, enhanced in value by the Tyrian purple, and the many-ways martyred silk, but composed of verdant dock-leaves, and ivy interwove together; with which they appeared, perhaps, with as great pomp and contrivance as the court ladies of our days, dressed in all the rare and foreign fashions which idle curiosity has invented. Then were the amorous dictates of the soul expressed in sensible simplicity, just as they were conceived, undisguised by the artificial cloak of specious words. There was no fraud, no deceit, no malice intermixed with plain dealing truth; justice then kept within her proper bounds, undisturbed and unbiased by interest and favour, which now impair, confound, and persecute, her so much; law was not then centered in the arbitrary bosom of the judge, for, at that time, there was neither cause nor contest. Damsels and decency, as I have already laid, went about single, and without fear of being injured by insolence or lust; and their ruin, when it happened, was the fruit of their own will and pleasure. But, now-a-days, in this detestable age, no maid is secure, though she was concealed and shut up in such another labyrinth as was that of Crete; for, even there, the amorous pestilence, with the zeal of mischievous importunity, would enter either by the help of wings, or by gliding through some chink or other, and all her barricadoed chastity would go to wreck. For the security of this virtue, in process of time, when mischief grew to a greater head, the order of knight-errantry was first instituted to defend damsels, protect widows, and succour the needy and the fatherless. This order, brother goatherds, I profess; and thank you for this kind entertainment and reception, which I and my squire have received at your hands; for though, by the law of nature, all mankind are obliged to favour and assist knights-errant, during the whole course of their lives; yet, as you have received and regaled me, before you knew yourselves to be under that obligation, I think it my duty to return my most sincere acknowledgment for your hospitality.’
The whole of this tedious harangue, which might very well have been spared, was pronounced by our knight, because the acorns they presented recalled to his memory the golden age: therefore he took it in his head to make these useless reflections to the goatherds; who, without answering one syllable, listened with suspence and astonishment. Sancho was also silent, but kept his teeth employed upon the acorns, and paid many a visit to the second wine-bag; which, that the contents might be the cooler, was hung upon a cork-tree. Don Quixote was less tedious in his discourse than at his meal, which being ended, one of the goatherds said, ‘That your worship, knight-errant, may be convinced of our readiness and good-will to give you all the entertainment in our power, you shall have the pleasure and satisfaction of hearing a song from one of our companions, who will soon be here. He is an understanding young fellow, very much in love, who, moreover, can read and write, and play upon the rebeck51, that it will delight you to hear him.’ Scarce had the goatherd pronounced these words, when their ears were saluted with a sound of this instrument; and presently after appeared the musician, who was a young fellow of about twenty, or twenty two years of age, and of a very graceful appearance. His companions asked him if he had supped, and he answering in the affirmative, one of them, who made the offer to the knight, said to him, ‘If that be the case, Antonio, you will do us the pleasure to sing a song, that this gentleman, our guest, may see there are some, even among these woods and mountains, who understand musick. We have already informed him of thy uncommon talents, and we desire thou wouldst shew them, in order to justify what we have said in thy praise; I therefore earnestly beseech thee to sit down and sing the ballad of thy love, composed by thy uncle the curate, which is so much commended in our village.’—‘With all my heart,’ replied the young man; who, without farther entreaty, sat down upon the trunk of an ancient oak, and tuning his instrument, began in a very graceful manner to sing and accompany the following song.
I.
You love, Olalla, nay, adore me;
In spite of all your art I know it,
Although you never smile before me,
And neither tongue nor eyes avow it.
II.
For, sure to slight a lover’s passion
So try’d as that which lives this heart in,
Were but small proof of penetration;
And that you are no fool is certain.
III.
Sometimes, indeed, and ’tis amazing,
Tho’ prov’d by evidence of twenty,
You’ve plainly shewn your soul was brazen,
And eke your snowy bosom flinty.
IV.
Yet in the midst of maiden shyness,
Affected scorn and decent scolding,
Kind Hope appear’d with proffer’d spy-glass,
The border of her robe unfolding.
V.
Then balance in the scales of reason,
My love unshaken and untainted,
Unapt to change from truth to treason,
By frowns impair’d, by smiles augmented.
VI.
If love be courtesy refin’d,
And you be civil to profusion,
That you will to my hopes prove kind,
Is but a natural conclusion.
VII.
If gratitude that breast can soften,
Which bids to other arts defiance,
The services I’ve render’d often,
Must melt your soul to kind compliance.
VIII.
For, more than once, had you attended,
You might have seen me wear on Monday,
My best apparel scower’d and mended,
With which I wont to honour Sunday.
IX.
As love delights in finery,
And women oft are won by tightness,
I’ve still endeavour’d in your eye,
To shine the mirror of politeness.
X.
That I have danc’d the swains among,
To please your pride, what need I mention;
Or with the cock begun my song,
To wake my sleeping fair’s attention!
XI.
Or that, enamour’d of your beauty,
I’ve loudly sounded forth its praises;
A talk which, tho’ a lover’s duty,
The spite of other women raises!
XII.
For, once, Teresa of the hill,
Beneath all notice would have sunk ye,
‘You think Olalla angel still,’
Said she, ‘but others scorn the monkey.’
XIII.
‘Thanks to her beads of glittering glass,
’And her false locks in ringlets curling,
’And the false colour of her face,
‘Which Love himself might take for sterling.’
XIV.
She ly’d, I told her in her throat;
And when her kinsman kept a racket,
You know I made him change his note,
And soundly thresh’d the booby’s jacket.
XV.
Your lovely person, not your wealth,
At first engag’d my inclination;
Nor would I now possess by stealth,
The guilty joys of fornication.
XVI.
The church has silken ties in store,
Then yield thy neck to Hymen’s fetters;
Behold, I put my own before,
And trust the noose that binds our betters.
XVII.
Else, by each blessed saint I swear,
And Heav’n forbid I prove a liar!
Never to quit this desart drear,
Except in form of hooded friar52.
Thus ended the goatherd’s ditty; and though Don Quixote desired him to sing another, yet Sancho Panza would by no means give his consent, being more inclined to take his natural rest than to hear ballads; and therefore, he said to his master, ‘Your worship had better consider where you are to lodge this night; for the labour that these honest men undergo in the day, will not suffer them to pass the night in singing.’—‘I understand thee, Sancho,’ replied the knight, ‘it plainly appears that the visits thou hast made to the wine-bag, demand the consolation of sleep, rather than that of musick.’—‘They agreed with us all very well, blessed be God!’ replied Sancho. ‘I do not deny it,’ said the knight; ’and thou mayest bestow thyself in the best manner thou canst; but it is more seemly for those of my profession to watch than to sleep: it would not be amiss, however, Sancho, to dress my ear again; for it gives me more pain than I could wish.’ Sancho did as he desired: when one of the goatherds perceiving the wound, bade him give himself no trouble about it, for he would apply a remedy that would heal it in a trice: so saying, he took some leaves of rosemary, which grew in great plenty round the hut, and having chewed and mixed them with a little salt, applied the poultice to his ear; and binding it up carefully, assured him, as it actually happened, that it would need no other plaister.