Chap. X The Continuation of the Adventure in the Sierra Morena
The history relates, that Don Quixote listened with vast attention to the shabby knight of the mountain, who began the conversation thus: ‘Assuredly, Signior, though I have not the honour to know who you are, I thank you heartily for those expressions of kindness with which you treat me; and wish I were in such a situation as would enable me to repay this courteous reception with something more than mere good-will: but my hapless fortune affords me nothing to offer in return for the civilities that are shewn me, except a hearty inclination to make a more adequate satisfaction.’—‘My will and desire,’ answered Don Quixote, ‘to serve you is so strong, that I was determined not to quit these mountains until I had found you, and learned of yourself whether or not the grief you manifest in this strange course of life, could be alleviated by any kind of remedy, for which, had need required, I would have searched with all possible diligence; and had your misfortune been such as shut up all the avenues to advice and redress, I was resolved to join your lamentations, and bemoan your misery to the utmost of my power: for, in all misfortunes, the greatest consolation is a sympathizing friend; and if this my friendly intention deserves the least return of civility, I entreat you, Signior, by that courtesy which I see you so eminently possess, and moreover conjure you by that object, which of all others in this life you have most loved, or are most in love with, to tell me who you are, and inform me of the cause that brings you to live and die in this solitude, like the brute beasts among which you dwell, so different from that rank and situation to which your appearance and person declare you are entitled. And I swear by the order of chivalry which I have received, unworthy sinner that I am! and by the profession of a knight-errant, that if you comply with this my request, I will serve you with that earnestness which my duty obliges me to express; either in remedying your mishap, if it admits of remedy, or in condoling with you, as I have already promised.’ The knight of the wood, hearing him of the rueful countenance talk in this manner, could do nothing for some time but gaze, and stare, and survey him from head to foot; at length, having examined him thoroughly, he said, ‘If you have got any food, for God’s sake spare me a little; and after I shall have eaten it, I will do as you desire, in return for the civility you now shew me.’
Sancho immediately pulled from his bag, and the goatherd from his scrip, some victuals to appease the hunger of the tatterdemalion, who swallowed what they gave him like a frantick person, with such hurry, that he left not the interval of an instant between one mouthful and another, but seemed to devour rather than eat, without either speaking or being spoke to by the spectators. His repast being ended, he beckoned them to follow, and conducted them to a verdant spot of grass, at the turning of a rock, a little way from the place where they were; and sitting down on the green turf, they followed his example; not a word being spoke all the time, until the ragged knight, after having adjusted himself in his seat, began in this manner. ‘If you desire, gentlemen, that I should, in a few words, inform you of the immensity of my misfortunes, you must give me your promise that you will not by any question, or otherwise, interrupt the thread of my doleful story; for if you should, that instant I will break off the narration.’ This warning recalled to the knight’s memory the story recounted by his squire, which still remained unfinished, because he had not kept an exact account of the goats, as they passed the river. But, to return to the tattered knight: ‘I give you this precaution,’ added he, ‘because I would briefly pass over the detail of my misfortunes, the remembrance of which brings fresh addition to my woe; and the fewer questions you ask, the sooner shall I have finished the relation; although, in order to satisfy your curiosity to the full, I will not fail to mention every material circumstance.’ Don Quixote promised, in behalf of himself and the company, to avoid all manner of interruption; and the stranger, thus assured, began in these words:
‘My name is Cardenio, the place of my nativity one of the best cities in this province of Andalusia, my family noble, my parents rich, and my misfortunes so great, that no doubt they have been lamented by them, and even felt through my whole kindred, though all their wealth would not alleviate my woe; for the goods of fortune are but of little service against those ills inflicted by the hand of Heaven. In the same country lived, shall I call her, a paradise, which love had adorned with all the charms I could desire to possess; such was the beauty of Lucinda, a young lady as well-born and rich as I, though more fortunate and endowed with less constancy than what was due to my honourable intentions. This Lucinda did I admire, love, and adore, even from my most tender years; and she made me all the returns of love and inclination that I could expect from her infant age. Our parents were not ignorant of our mutual affection, which gave them no offence, because they foresaw that if it should increase with our years, it could have no other issue than marriage; an union which the equality of our age and fortune seemed to point out. Meanwhile, our passion growing up with our age, Lucinda’s father thought himself obliged to forbid me his house, imitating in that particular, the parents of Thisbe, whom the poets have celebrated so much. This prohibition added flame to flame, and wish to wish, for though our tongues were restrained, they could not silence our pens, which commonly express the sentiments of the heart with more liberty, because the presence of the beloved object often confounds the most determined intention, and puts to silence the most undaunted tongue.
‘Good Heaven! what letters did I write! what chaste endearing answers did I receive! what songs did I compose, inspired by love that displayed the soul unmasked, inflamed each soft desire, regaled the fancy, and indulged the wish! in fine, my patience being exhausted, and my heart almost consumed with the desire of seeing her, I resolved to execute the scheme which seemed most favourable for my love and pretensions; and this I put in practice, by demanding her in marriage of her father, who thanked me for the honour I intended him, by this proposal of marrying into his family; but said, as my own father was alive, it was properly his business to make the demand; for, unless his consent and inclination were obtained, Lucinda was not a person either to be given or taken in marriage by stealth. I thanked him in my turn, for his politeness; and thinking there was a great deal of reason in what he said, assured myself that my father would readily agree to the proposal whenever I should make it. I therefore flew instantly to disclose my sentiments to him on that subject; and entering the closet where he was, found him reading a letter, which, before I could speak a syllable, he put into my hands saying, “By this letter, Cardenio, you will see how much Duke Ricardo is inclined to do you service.” This Duke Ricardo, as you must know, gentlemen, is a grandee of Spain, whose estate lies in the best part of this province. I took and read this letter, which was so extremely kind, that I myself should have blamed my father, had he refused to comply with what he requested in it: this was to send me immediately to this house, he being desirous that I should live as the companion, not the servant, of the eldest son; and he would take care of my fortune in such a manner as should manifest the esteem he had for me. Having read the letter, I was struck dumb at knowing the contents; especially when I heard my father pronounce, “Two days hence, Cardenio, you shall set out, according to the pleasure of the duke; and you ought to thank God for having opened an avenue, through which you may arrive at that fortune I know you deserve.” To this declaration he added other services, as became a prudent father; and I, the night before I departed, finding means to speak with Lucinda, told her what had happened; nay, I even imparted it to her father, entreating him to wait a few days, without disposing of her to any other, until I should know in what manner Ricardo wanted to employ me. He gave me his promise accordingly, and she confirmed it by a thousand vows and anxious sighs.
‘I at length arrived at the seat of Duke Ricardo, by whom I was so well received and kindly entertained, that Envy presently began to do her office, possessing the old servants with the opinion, that every expression of favour I received from the duke was prejudicial to their interest. But he who was most rejoiced at my residing there, was the duke’s second son, Fernando, a gay, genteel, liberal, and amorous youth, who in a short time was pleased to honour me with such intimacy of friendship as became the subject of every body’s discourse; and though the eldest brother loved and favoured me also, he did not carry his favour and affection to such a pitch. Now, as all secrets are communicated between friends, and the confidence in which I lived with Fernando was soon changed into friendship, he imparted to me his most secret thoughts, and among other things, a love affair that gave him a good deal of disquiet. In short, he had an inclination for a country-maid, who was his father’s vassal; her parents were very rich, and she herself so beautiful, reserved, modest and discreet, that nobody who knew her could determine in which of these qualifications she most excelled. These accomplishments of this fair maiden inflamed the desires of Don Fernando to such a pitch, that he resolved, as the easiest conquest over her virtue, to promise he would marry her; for he found it impossible to gratify his wish in any other way. I, prompted and bound by my friendship, endeavoured to dissuade and divert him from his purpose, by the strongest arguments and most lively examples I could produce; but finding them all ineffectual, I resolved to communicate the whole affair to his father Duke Ricardo.
‘Don Fernando, having abundance of cunning and discernment, suspected my intention; and was afraid, that the obligation he saw I was under, as a faithful servant, would not allow me to conceal an affair so prejudicial to the honour of the duke my master; he therefore, in order to divert and deceive me, observed that he could find no better remedy to remove the beauty that enslaved him from his remembrance, than that of absence for a few months; and therefore desired that we should go to my father’s house, upon pretence, as he would tell the duke, of seeing and purchasing some fine horses in our town, which produces the best in the world. Scarce had he uttered this proposal, when prompted by my love, exclusive of his prudent intention, I approved of it, as one of the best concerted schemes that could be imagined; and was rejoiced at meeting with such a fair conjuncture and occasion of returning to my dear Lucinda. Induced by this motive and desire, I applauded his pretence, and enforced his proposal, advising him to execute his plan with all speed; for absence would certainly do its office, in spite of the most established inclination. At that very time, as I afterwards understood, he had enjoyed the country-maid, under the title of her husband, and waited for an opportunity of owning it with safety to himself, being afraid of the duke’s resentment, in case he should discover his folly. It happened afterwards, that as love in young people is, for the most part, nothing but appetite, whose only aim is pleasure, and this being enjoyed, what seemed love vanishes, because it cannot exceed the bounds of nature; whereas real love is bounded by no such limits: I say, as soon as Don Fernando enjoyed the country girl, his desires were appeased, and his raptures abated; and if at first he pretended to seek a cure for them in absence, he now earnestly desired to be absent, that he might avoid any farther gratification.
‘The duke having given him leave, and ordered me to attend him, we arrived at our habitation, where he was received by my father in a manner suitable to his rank and family. I went instantly to visit Lucinda, whose presence in a moment rekindled all my desires, which indeed were neither dead nor decayed within me: and, to my infinite misfortune, I made Don Fernando acquainted with my love, because I thought, by the laws of that intimate friendship with which he honoured me, I ought to conceal nothing from him. I therefore praised the beauty, grace, and discretion of Lucinda, in such a manner, as excited his curiosity to see such an accomplished young lady. Prompted by my evil genius, I gratified his desire, shewing her to him one night by the light of a taper at the window from which I used to converse with her. At sight of her he absolutely forgot all the beauties he had formerly seen; he was struck dumb with wonder; he seemed to lose all sense, became absent and pensive; and in short, enamoured of her to that degree, which you will perceive in the course of my unhappy story: and the more to inflame his desire, which he concealed from me, and disclosed to Heaven alone, he happened one day to find a letter which she had written, desiring me to ask her in marriage of her father, so prudent, modest, and tender, that upon perusing it, he said, “In Lucinda alone are concentered all the charms of beauty and understanding, which are divided among the rest of her sex.” True it is, and I will now confess it, and although I knew how justly Fernando applauded Lucinda, I was vexed at hearing these praises proceed from his mouth, and began to dread and suspect his inclination; for he was eternally talking of her, and always turned the discourse upon her, even when he was obliged to bring her in by the head and shoulders; a circumstance that waked a sort of jealousy within me; not that I imagined ought could alter the faith and affection of Lucinda; yet, notwithstanding, my destiny made me dread the very thing that confidence insured. Don Fernando always contrived means to read the letters I sent to Lucinda, together with her answers, on pretence of being highly pleased with the good sense they contained; and it once happened, that she having desired me to send her a book of knight-errantry, in which she took great delight, called Amadis de Gaul——’
Don Quixote no sooner heard him mention this book, than he said, ‘Had you told me in the beginning of your story, that your mistress Lucinda was an admirer of books of chivalry, you would have had no occasion to use any other argument to convince me of her sublime understanding; which I should not have deemed quite so extraordinary as you have represented it, had she wanted relish for that sort of reading: wherefore you need not spend any more words with me, in extolling her beauty, virtue, and good sense; for, upon the knowledge of her taste only, I pronounce her to be the most beautiful and discreet lady in the universe. I wish, however, that you had sent along with Amadis de Gaul, the worthy Don Rugel of Greece; for I know your mistress Lucinda would have been greatly pleased with Darayra and Garaya, together with the judicious sayings of the shepherd Darinel, and those admirable verses of his eclogues, sung and represented by him with such grace, spirit, and discretion; but the time will come when that omission may be rectified; indeed, the fault may be repaired as soon as you shall please to accompany me to the place of my habitation, where I can supply you with more than three hundred books, which are the feast of my soul, and entertainment of my life; though now I recollect, not one of them remains in my possession; thanks to the malice of wicked and envious inchanters. But I hope you will be so good as to forgive me for having contradicted my promise of not interrupting your story; for when the subject turns upon chivalry or knights-errant, I can no more forbear interposing, than the rays of the sun can cease to warm, or those of the moon to wet: but I ask pardon; pray proceed with your story; for that is most to the purpose at present.’
While Don Quixote was talking in this manner, Cardenio hung his head, and fell into a profound reverie; and though the knight repeated his request, would neither lift up his head, nor answer one word. At length, after a long pause, looking up, ‘You cannot,’ said he, ‘beat it out of my thoughts; nor is there any person upon earth, who can persuade me to the contrary; and he must be a blockhead, who imagines or believes otherwise, than that the villain Master Elisabat carried on a criminal correspondence with Queen Madasima.’—‘By Heaven, ’tis false,’ cried Don Quixote, with great indignation and impetuosity, as usual; ‘that report is the effect of malice, or rather mere wantonness. Queen Madasima was a most royal dame, and it is not to be presumed, that a princess of her rank would confer favours upon a mere quack doctor. Whosoever thinks otherwise, lyes like a very great scoundrel; and I will prove him such either on horseback or a foot, armed or disarmed, by night or by day, as will most suit his inclination.’ Cardenio stood all the while looking attentively at him, and being by this time seized with the paroxism of his madness, could not proceed with his story; neither, if he had proceeded, would Don Quixote have listened to it, for he was offended at what he had heard to the prejudice of Queen Madasima77, whose reputation interested him as much as if she had been actually his own mistress: such wonderful impression had those profane books made on his imagination!
I say, then, Cardenio being by this time under the influence of his distraction, and hearing himself called lyar and scoundrel, with other terms of reproach, could not relish the joke; but, snatching up a large pebble that lay near him, aimed it so successfully at Don Quixote’s breast, that he fell fairly on his back with the blow. Sancho Panza, seeing his master treated in this manner, attacked the madman with his clenched fist; but the lunatick received him with such a blow, as knocked him down to the ground at once, and then getting upon him, mauled his carcase to his heart’s content; while the goatherd, who attempted to defend him, met with the same fate. Having thus mastered and pummelled them all round, he left off, and with great composure retreated to the thickets from whence he came. Sancho then arose; and, enraged to find himself handled in this manner for nothing, ran to take vengeance on the goatherd, saying that he was to blame for the whole, because he had not informed him, that the man had intervals of madness; which had they known, they might have guarded against them. The goatherd affirmed, that he had apprized them of what might happen; and if they had not heard him, it was no fault of his. The squire replied; the goatherd retorted; and, in conclusion, they went by the ears together, and pulled each other’s beards with such fury, that there would not have been a single hair left on either chin, had not Don Quixote interposed. Sancho, grappling stoutly with his adversary, cried, ‘Give me leave, Sir Knight of the Rueful Countenance; this is no armed knight, but a plebeian like myself, of whom I can securely take satisfaction for the injury he has done me, by fighting with him hand to hand, like a man of honour.’—‘True,’ said Don Quixote; ‘but the cause of what hath happened, cannot be justly imputed to him.’ Peace accordingly ensued, and the knight asked the goatherd again, if there was a possibility of finding Cardenio; for he was extremely desirous of hearing the conclusion of his story. The goatherd repeated what he had said before, that he did not certainly know whereabouts he resided; but, if they should stay long in these parts, they could not fail of finding him either mad or sober.