Chap. X Gives an Account of the Stratagem Which Sancho Practised, in Order to Inchant the Lady Dulcinea — With Other Circumstances Equally Ludicrous and True
The author of this stupendous history, when he comes to relate what is contained in this chapter, says, he would have willingly passed it over in silence, because he was afraid that it would not be believed; for here the madness of Don Quixote soars to the highest pitch of extravagance that can be imagined, and even by two bow shots, at least, exceeds all credit and conception: yet, notwithstanding this jealousy and apprehension, he has recounted it in the same manner as it happened, without adding to the history, or detracting one tittle from the truth, undervaluing the risk he runs of being deemed apocryphal: and surely he was in the right; for truth may bend, but will never break, and always surmounts falshood, as oil floats above water. Wherefore he proceeds in the narrative, saying—
Don Quixote having taken his station in the forest, grove, or wood, near to the great city of Toboso, ordered Sancho to go back to town, and not return to his presence before he should have spoken to his mistress, and begged, in his name, that she would be pleased to grant an interview to her captive knight, and deign to bestow upon him her blessing, through which he might expect the most happy issue to all his attempts and enterprizes.
The squire, having undertaken to execute this command, and to bring back as favourable an answer as he had brought the first time; ‘Go, my son,’ said the knight, ‘and be not confounded when you find yourself beamed upon by that resplendent sun of beauty, which is the object of your enquiry: happy thou, above all the squires that ever lived! Be sure to retain in thy memory every circumstance of thy reception; observe if she changes colour, while thou art delivering my message; if she is discomposed, and under confusion at the mention of my name; whether she sinks upon her cushion, or happens at the time to be seated under the rich canopy of her authority; if she be standing, take notice whether or not she sometimes supports herself on one foot, sometimes on the other; and if she repeats her answer more than once, changing it from kind to harsh, from sour to amorous; and if she lifts up her hand to adjust her hair, although it be not disorderd; finally, son, mark all her gestures and emotions; and if thou bringest me an exact detail of them, I shall be able to divine her most abstruse sentiments, touching the concerns of my passion: for know, Sancho, if thou art still to learn, among lovers, the least gesticulation in their external behaviour, while the conversation turns upon their amours, is, as it were, a messenger that brings a most certain account of what passes within the soul. Go, friend, and enjoy thy fate, so much more favourable than thy master’s; and return with much more success than that which I dread and expect in this cruel solitude, where I now remain.’—‘I go,’ replied Sancho, ‘and will return in a twinkling; therefore, good your worship, do encourage that little heart of yours, which, at present, must be no bigger than a hazle-nut; and consider, as the saying is, A stout heart flings misfortune; Where you meet with no hooks, you need expect no bacon; and again, The hare often starts, where the hunter leasts expects her. This I observe, because, though we did not find the palace and castle of my lady in the night; now that it is day, I hope to stumble upon it, when I least expect to see it; and if so be I once catch it, let me alone with her.’—‘Sancho,’ said the knight, ‘God grant me better fortune in my desires than you have in the application of the proverbs you utter.’
This was no sooner said, than Sancho switching Dapple, quitted the knight, who remained on horseback, resting his legs upon his stirrups, and leaning upon his lance, his imagination being engrossed by the most melancholy suggestions. Here let us leave him, and proceed with Sancho Panza; who, parting from his master, in equal perplexity and confusion, no sooner found himself clear of the wood, than looking back, and perceiving that Don Quixote was not in sight, he alighted from his ass, and sitting down at the root of a tree, began to catechise himself in these words: ‘Brother Sancho, be so good as to let us know, where your worship is going? Are you in search of some stray beast?—No, truly!—What then is your errand?—Why, really, I am going in search of a thing of nought, a princess, God wot! and in her, the sun and the whole heaven of beauty. And, pray, where may you expect to meet with this that you mention, Sancho?—Where, but in the great city of Toboso.—Well, and by whose order are you going upon this enquiry?—By order of the renowned knight Don Quixote de La Mancha, the righter of wrongs, who gives thirst to the hungry, and food to those that are dry.—All this is mighty well; but do you know the house, Sancho?—My master says, it must be some royal palace, or stately castle.—But have you never once seen this same princess?—Neither I nor he ever set eyes on her.—And do you think it will be well bestowed, if the inhabitants of Toboso, getting notice that you are come with an intention to wheedle away their princesses, and disturb their dames, should break every bone of your skin, and grind your ribs to a paste, with pure cudgelling?—Verily they would not be much to blame, unless they considered, that I do nothing but execute my master’s command, and being only a messenger, am not in fault.—Never trust to that, Sancho; for the Manchegans are as cholerick as honourable, and will not suffer themselves to be tickled by any person whatever. Ecod! if you are once smoked, you will come but scurvily off.—Bodikins! since that be the case, why should I plague myself, seeking a cat with three legs, for another man’s pleasure?—Besides, you may as well seek for a magpye in Rabena, or a batchelor in Salamanca, as for Dulcinea in Toboso.—The devil, and none but the devil, has sent me on this fool’s errand!’
The result of this soliloquy was another, that broke out in these words: ‘There is a remedy for every thing but death, under whose yoke we must all pass, will we nill we, when this life is at an end. This master of mine, as I have perceived by a thousand instances, is mad enough to be shackled among straw; and truly I am not much behind him in folly; nay, indeed, I am more mad than he, seeing I serve and follow him, if there be any truth in the proverb that says, Tell me your company, and I will tell you your manners: and the other, Not he with whom you was bred, but he by whom you are fed. Now he being, as he certainly is, a madman; aye, and so mad as for the most part to mistake one thing for another, affirming white to be black, and black to be white; as plainly appeared when he took the windmills for giants, the mules of the friars for dromedaries, the flocks of sheep for opposite armies; and a great many other things in the same stile: I say, it will be no difficult matter to make him believe the first country-wench I shall meet with to be his mistress Dulcinea; and if he boggles at swallowing the cheat, I will swear lustily to the truth of what I affirm; and if he swears also, I will swear again; and if he is positive, I will be more positive; so that come what will, my obstinacy shall always exceed his. Perhaps, by this stubborn behaviour, I shall get rid of all such troublesome messages for the future; when he finds what disagreeable answers I bring; or perhaps, which I rather believe, he will think that one of those inchanters, who, he says, bear him a grudge, hath transmographied her shape, in order to vex and disquiet him.’
Sancho having found out this expedient, was quite calm and satisfied in his mind, and thinking he had brought the business to a good bearing, remained where he was till the evening, that Don Quixote might think he had sufficient time to execute his orders, and return. Everything succeeded so well to his wish, that when he got up to mount Dapple, he descried three country wenches riding from Toboso, towards the place where he stood, upon three young he or she asses, for the author does not declare their sex; though in all likelihood they were of the female gender, as your village maidens commonly ride upon she-asses; but this being a circumstance of small importance, we shall not give ourselves any trouble to ascertain it.
In short, Sancho no sooner perceived the wenches, than he rode back at a round trot to his master, whom he found sighing bitterly, and pouring forth a thousand amorous complaints; the knight seeing him arrive, ‘Well, friend Sancho,’ said he, ‘is this day to be marked with a white or black stone?’—‘Your worship,’ answered the squire, ‘had better mark it with red ochre, like the titles on a professor’s chair, that it may be seen the better by those who look at it.’—‘At that rate,’ replied Don Quixote, ‘thou bringest me good news.’—‘So good,’ answered Sancho, ‘that your worship has nothing to do but to mount Rozinante, and gallop into the plain, where you will see my Lady Dulcinea del Toboso and two of her damsels coming this way to pay you a visit.’—‘Gracious God!’ cried the knight, ‘what is that you say, friend Sancho? Take care how you deceive me! endeavouring, by feigned joy, to enliven my real sadness.’—‘What should I get by deceiving your worship?’ said the squire. ‘Besides, you can easily be satisfied of the truth of what I say. Make haste, Signior, come and see our mistress the princess, arrayed and adorned; in short, as she ought to be; her damsels and she are all one flame of gold; all covered with pearls, diamonds, rubies, and brocade, more than ten hands deep; their hair flowing loose about their shoulders, like so many sun-beams waving with the wind; and moreover they are mounted on three pied belfreys, that it would do one’s heart good to see them.’—‘Palfreys, you mean, Sancho,’ said the knight. ‘There is no great difference,’ answered the squire, ‘between palfreys and belfreys; but, be that as it will, they are the finest creatures one would desire to see, especially my Lady Dulcinea, who is enough to stupify the five senses.’—‘Come, then, my son,’ replied Don Quixote; ’and as a gratuity for bringing this piece of news, equally welcome and unexpected, I bestow upon thee the spoils of the first adventure I shall atchieve; and if thou art not satisfied with that recompence, I will give unto thee the foals that shall this year be brought forth by my three mares, which thou knowest we left with young upon our town common.’—‘I stick to the foals,’ cried the squire, ‘for as to the spoils of our first adventure, I question whether or not they will be worth accepting.’
By this time, they were clear of the wood, and in sight of the three country-maidens; when the knight lifting up his eyes, and surveying the whole road to Toboso, without seeing any thing but them, began to be troubled in mind, and asked Sancho if the ladies had got out of town when he left them. ‘Out of town?’ said Sancho. ‘What! are your worship’s eyes in the nape of your neck, that you don’t see them coming towards us, glittering and shining like the sun at noon?’—‘I see nobody,’ replied the knight, ‘but three country-wenches riding upon asses.’—‘God deliver me from the devil!’ cried the squire, ’is it possible that three belfreys, or how-d’ye-call-ums, white as the driven snow, should appear no better than asses in your worship’s eyes? By the Lord! I’ll give you leave to pluck off every hair of my beard if that be the case.’—‘Then I tell thee, Sancho,’ said his master, ‘they are as certainly he or she-asses as I am Don Quixote, and thou Sancho Panza; at least, so they seem to me.’—‘Hold your tongue, Signior,’ replied Sancho, ’and never talk in that manner, but snuff your eyes, and go and make your reverence to the mistress of your heart, who is just at hand.’
So saying, he advanced towards the damsels, and alighting from Dapple, seized one of their beasts by the halter; then fell upon his knees before the rider, to whom he addressed himself in this manner: ‘Queen, princess, and duchess of beauty, will your highness and greatness be pleased to receive into grace and favour your captive knight, who sits there stupified to stone, utterly confounded and deprived of pulse, at seeing himself in presence of your magnificence; I am Sancho Panza his squire, and he is the perplexed and down trodden knight Don Quixote de La Mancha, alias the Knight of the Rueful Countenance.’
By this time Don Quixote having placed himself on his knees, by Sancho, gazed with staring eyes and troubled vision, upon the object which the squire called queen and princess; and perceiving nothing but a country-wench’s visage, and that none of the most agreeable, for it was round and flat-nosed, he remained in the utmost confusion and surprize, without daring to open his lips. The other two damsels were equally astonished at seeing a couple of such different figures kneeling before their companion, whom they had detained; but she, breaking silence, pronounced in a most ungracious and resentful manner, ‘Get out of the way, and let us pass, for we are in a hurry.’ To this apostrophe Sancho replied, ‘O princess and universal Lady of Toboso! do not your magnificent bowels yearn, to see upon his marrow-bones before your sublimated presence, the very pillar and prop of knight-errantry?’ One of the other two hearing this pathetick remonstrance, bauled aloud, ‘Would I had the currying that ass’s hide of thine: mind, forsooth, how your small gentry come and pass their gibes upon us country-folks; as if we could not give them as good as they bring. Go about your business, friend, and leave us to mind our’n, and so God b’w’ye.’
Here the knight interposing, said, ‘Rise, Sancho, I can plainly perceive that fortune, not yet tired of persecuting me, hath barred every avenue by which any comfort could arrive at the miserable soul that this carcase contains: and thou! the essence of every thing that is desirable in nature, thou sum of human perfection, and sole remedy of this afflicted heart, by which thou art adored! although that malicious inchanter, my inveterate enemy, hath spread clouds and cataracts before mine eyes, to them and them only changing and transforming thy unequalled beauty into the appearance of a poor country-wench; if he hath not also altered my figure into that of some frightful spectre horrid to thy view, deign to look upon me with complacency and love; because thou mayest perceive by this submissive posture I have assumed, even before thy person thus disguised, the humility with which my soul adores thy charms.’—‘You may go kiss my grannam,’ cried the damsel; ‘I’m a fine Madam, truly, to hear such gibberish; we should be more obliged to you if you would get out of our way, and let us go about our own affairs.’
Sancho accordingly quitted his hold, leaving her free to go whither she would, and highly pleased with the issue of his stratagem. The supposititious Dulcinea no sooner found herself at liberty, than pricking her palfrey with a goad which was in the end of a stick she had in her hand, the creature galloped, across the field with great speed, and feeling the application more severe than usual, began to plunge and kick in such a manner, that my lady fell to the ground. Don Quixote perceiving this accident, ran with great eagerness to raise her up, and Sancho made haste to adjust and gird on the pannel, which had got under the ass’s belly. This affair being set to rights, the knight went to lift his inchanted mistress in his arms, and placed her on her seat again; but she, starting up from the ground, saved him that trouble; for, retreating a few paces backwards, she made a small run, and clapping both hands upon the crupper, leaped upon the pannel as nimble as a falcon, seating herself astride like a man.
‘By St. Roque!’ cried Sancho, ‘my lady mistress is as light as a hawk, and can teach the most dextrous horseman to ride; at one jump she has sprung into the saddle, and, without spurs, made her palfrey fly like any zebra: and truly, her damsels are not a whit behind; for they go scouring along as swift as the wind.’ This was actually true; for Dulcinea was no sooner remounted than the other two trotted after her, and at last disappeared, after having gone more than half a league, at full speed, without once looking behind them.
Don Quixote followed them with his eyes, until they vanished; then turning to his squire, ‘Sancho,’ said he, ‘thou seest how I am persecuted by inchanters, and mayest perceive how far the malice and grudge they bear me extends; seeing they have deprived me of the pleasure I should have enjoyed at the sight of my mistress in her own beauteous form. Surely, I was born to be an example of misery; the very mark and butt for all the arrows of misfortune; nay, thou art also to observe, Sancho, that those traitors were not contented with a simple metamorphosis of my Dulcinea, but have transformed and changed her into the base and homely figure of that country-wench; robbing her, at the same time, of that which is so peculiar to ladies of fashion, I mean, that sweet scent which is the result of their living among flowers and perfume; for know, my friend, when I went to lift Dulcinea upon her palfrey, as thou sayest it was, though to me it seemed neither more nor less than a she-ass, I was almost suffocated and poisoned with a whiff of undigested garlick!’
‘O ye miscreants!’ cried Sancho, ‘O ye malicious and mischievous inchanters! would to God, I could see you all strung by the gills, like so many haddocks! much you know, much you can, and much more will you still be doing. Was it not enough, ye knaves, to change the pearls of my lady’s eyes into a couple of cork-tree galls, and her hair of shining gold into the bristles of a red cow’s tail; and, in short, so transmography every feature of her countenance; without your meddling with the sweetness of her breath, by which they might have discovered what was concealed beneath that bark of homeliness: though, to tell the truth, I saw not her homeliness but beauty, which was exceedingly increased by a mole upon her upper lip, something like a whisker, consisting of seven or eight red hairs, like threads of gold, as long as my hand.’—‘According to the correspondence which the moles of the face have with those of the body,’ said Don Quixote, ‘Dulcinea must have just such another on the brawny part of her thigh, of the same side; but hairs of such a length are, methinks, rather too long for moles.’—‘I do assure your worship,’ answered Sancho, ‘they seemed as if they had come into the world with her.’—‘I very well believe what you say, my friend,’ replied the knight; ‘for nature hath bestowed nothing on Dulcinea but what is perfectly finished; wherefore, if thou hadst seen an hundred such moles, in her would they be so many moons and resplendent stars: but tell me, Sancho, that which you adjusted, and which to me seemed a pannel, was it a plain pad or a side-saddle?’—‘It was a great side-saddle,’ answered the squire, ‘so rich that half the kingdom would not buy it.’—’And why could not I see all this!’ said the knight. ‘I say again, Sancho, and will repeat it a thousand times, that I am the most unfortunate of men.’
The rogue Sancho, finding his master so dextrously gulled, and hearing him talk in this mad strain, could scarce refrain from laughing in his face: in fine, a good deal more of this sort of conversation having passed between them, they remounted their beasts, and took the road to Saragosa, where they expected to arrive time enough to be present at the solemn festival yearly celebrated in that famous city; but before they accomplished their journey, they met with adventures, which, for their variety, novelty, and greatness, deserve to be read and recorded, as in the sequel.