Chap. XI Of the Strange Adventure Which Befel the Valiant Don Quixote, With the Cart or Waggon Containing the Parliament of Death
Don Quixote jogged along exceedingly pensive, his thoughts being engrossed by the scurvy trick which the inchanters had played him, in transforming his mistress Dulcinea into the disagreeable figure of a country-wench; and he could not conceive what remedy he should find for restoring her to her former shape. So much was he absorbed in this reflection, that he insensibly dropped the reins upon the neck of Rozinante, who being sensible of the liberty he enjoyed, at every two steps turned aside to take a pluck at the inviting pasture with which those fields abounded. At length Sancho Panza rouzed him from this fit of musing, saying, ‘Signior, melancholy was not made for beasts, but for men; and yet if men encourage melancholy too much, they become no better than beasts; good your worship, be contented, mind what you’re about, take hold of Rozinante’s reins, rouze up, awake, and shew that gaiety which all knights-errant ought to have. What the devil is the meaning of all this faint-heartedness? Sure you don’t know whether we are here or in France! let Satan rather run away with all the Dulcineas upon earth; for the health of one single knight is of more value than all the inchanted persons or transformations that ever were known.’—‘Peace, Sancho,’ cried Don Quixote, with a voice that was none of the faintest, ‘Peace, I say; and utter not such blasphemies against that inchanted lady, of whose disgrace and misfortune I am the sole cause: for, from the envy of my wicked foes, her mischance hath sprung.’—‘So I say,’ answered Sancho; ‘for, He that hath seen her before, let him look at her now, and her fortune deplore.’—‘Well mayest thou make that observation, Sancho,’ said the knight, ‘seeing thou sawest her in the full perfection of her beauty; as the inchantment did not extend so far as to disturb thy vision, or conceal her charms from thy view. No! against me alone, and my longing eyes, was the force of its poison directed! Yet, nevertheless, Sancho, I cannot help observing, that you made but an indifferent picture of her beauty; for if I rightly remember, you likened her eyes to pearls; now, eyes resembling pearls, are more peculiar to dead whitings than to living beauties; and, in my conjecture, Dulcinea’s must be rather like green emeralds, arched over with two celestial rainbows: those pearls, therefore, must be compared to her teeth, which, without doubt, you have mistaken for her eyes.’—‘Nothing more likely,’ answered the squire, ‘for I was as much confounded by her beauty as your worship by her ugliness; but let us recommend this whole business to God, who fore-ordains every thing that is to happen in this vale of tears; in this evil world of ours, where scarce any thing is to be had, without a mixture of falshood, knavery, and sin. One thing, dear Sir, of all others, gives me the greatest pain; and that is, to think what method is to be fallen upon, when your worship, after having vanquished some giant or knight, shall command him to go and present himself before the beauty of the Lady Dulcinea, where will this poor giant, or this poor miserable object of a vanquished knight, find out the person to whom he is sent? Methinks I see them strolling up and down, and gaping about thro’ the streets of Toboso, in quest of my Lady Dulcinea; and if they should stumble upon her in their way, they would no more know her than they would know my father.’—‘Sancho,’ resumed Don Quixote, ‘perhaps the inchantment will not extend so far as to disguise Dulcinea to the eyes of those vanquished giants and knights who shall present themselves before her; and in one or two of the first whom I shall conquer and send thither, we will make the experiment, commanding them to return and give me an account of what shall happen to them, with regard to that affair.’—‘Truly, Signior,’ said Sancho, ‘I heartily approve of your worship’s scheme; because, by this artifice, we will soon learn what we want to know; and if so be that she is only concealed from your worship, you are the most unfortunate person of the two; for as my Lady Dulcinea enjoys good health and satisfaction, we will comfort ourselves, and make the best of a bad bargain, going about in quest of adventures, and leaving the rest to time, who is the best physician for these and other greater calamities.’
Don Quixote would have replied, but was prevented by the appearance of a sort of waggon that crossed the road, full of the strangest figures that can be imagined, and conducted by a frightful dæmon that drove the mules. The cart being altogether open, without tilt or cover, the first figure that struck the eyes of Don Quixote, was Death itself in human shape; next to which appeared an angel with broad painted wings; on one side, stood an emperor with a crown (seemingly) of gold, upon his head; and hard by Death, was the god Cupid, with his bow, quiver, and arrows, but without the bandage on his eyes; there was likewise a knight armed cap-a-pee, except that he wore neither helmet nor head-piece, but a hat adorned with a plume of variegated feathers. Besides these, there were other personages of different countenance and dress; so that the whole groupe appearing of a sudden, discomposed our hero a little, and filled the heart of Sancho with fear; but Don Quixote soon recollected himself, and rejoiced, because he looked upon it as some new and perilous adventure. On this supposition, and with an effort of courage capable of encountering the greatest danger, he placed himself before the wain, and with a loud and threatening voice, pronounced, ‘Driver, coachman, devil, or whatsoever thou art, tell me straight, whither thou art going, and who those people are whom thou drivest in that carriage, which looks more like Charon’s bark than any modern vehicle.’ The devil stopping his waggon very courteously, replied, ‘Signior, we are players belonging to the company of Angulo el Malo, and have, this morning, which is the octave of Corpus Christi, been representing, in a village on the other side of yon hill, the piece called the Parliament of Death, which we are going to act over again, this very evening, in that other village now in sight; we therefore travel in our habits, to save ourselves the trouble of undressing and dressing anew; this young man plays the part of Death, that other represents an angel; the woman, who is the author’s wife, acts the queen; he with the plume of feathers is our hero; the emperor you may distinguish by his gilded crown; and I am the devil, which is one of the best characters in the performance, for I myself am the chief actor of this company. If your worship is desirous of knowing any thing else concerning our affairs, question me freely, and I will answer with the utmost punctuality, for being a devil I understand every thing.’
‘By the faith of a knight-errant!’ said Don Quixote, ‘when I first descried the waggon, I thought myself on the eve of some great adventure; and now I affirm, that a man ought to examine things with more senses than one, before he can be assured of the truth; proceed, my honest friends, a God’s name, in order to exhibit your entertainment, and if I can serve you in any respect, you may command my endeavours, which shall be heartily and freely exerted for your advantage; for, from my childhood, I have been a great lover of masques and theatrical representations.’
While this conversation passed between them, they chanced to be overtaken by one of the company, dressed in motley, hung round with a number of morrice-bells, with a pole in his hand, to the end of which were tied three blown ox-bladders. This merry-andrew advancing to Don Quixote, began to fence with his pole, beating the ground with his bladders, and skipping about, so that his bells rung continually: till at length Rozinante, being disturbed at the uncommon apparition, took the bridle between his teeth; and the knight being unable to restrain him, began to gallop across the plain with more nimbleness than could have been expected from the bones of his anatomy. Sancho seeing his master in danger of falling, leaped from Dapple, and ran with all dispatch to give him all possible assistance; but before he came up, the knight was overthrown close by Rozinante, who had come to the ground with his lord; and this was the usual end and consequence of all his frolicksome adventures. Scarce had Sancho quitted his beast, to run to the assistance of his master, when the bladder shaking devil jumped upon Dapple, and began to belabour him with his rattle; so that being frightened at the noise, rather than with the smart of the application, he took to his heels, and flew towards the village where they intended to perform. Sancho seeing, at the same time, the career of Dapple, and his master’s fall, scarce knew which of these misfortunes he ought first to remedy; but at length, as became a loyal servant and trusty squire, his love for his master prevailed over his tenderness for the beast; though every time he saw the bladders railed aloft, and discharged upon Dapple’s buttocks, he felt the pangs and tortures of death, and would rather have received every thwack upon the apple of his own eye than have seen it fall upon the least hair of his ass’s tail.
In this state of perplexity and tribulation, he arrived at the place where Don Quixote lay in a very indifferent plight, and helping him to mount Rozinante, ‘Signior,’ said he, ‘the devil has run away with Dapple.’—‘Which devil?’ cried the knight. ‘He with the bladders,’ answered the squire. ‘I will retrieve him,’ replied Don Quixote, ‘even if he should conceal him in the darkest and deepest dungeon in hell; follow me, Sancho, the waggon moves slowly, and the mules shall atone for the loss of Dapple.’
‘There is no occasion for putting ourselves to that trouble,’ said the squire: ‘good your worship, be pacified! for I see the devil has quitted my ass, and returned to the rest of his crew.’
This observation was actually true; Dapple and his new rider had come to the ground, in imitation of the knight and Rozinante: upon which the devil trudged on foot to the village, and the ass returned to his right owner. ‘For all that,’ said Don Quixote, ‘it will not be amiss to punish the troop for that devil’s incivility, though it should be in the person of the emperor himself.’—‘I hope your worship’s imagination will harbour no such thoughts,’ answered Sancho; ‘take my advice, and never meddle with players, who are a set of people in such high favour with the publick, that I have known an actor taken up for two murders, and yet ’scape scot-free: your worship must know, that being the ministers of mirth and pleasure, they are favoured, protected, assisted, and esteemed by every body; especially if they belong to the king’s company, or to some grandee; in which case all, or most of them, look like princes in their manners and dress.’—‘Nevertheless,’ replied the knight, ‘that farcical devil shall not escape unpunished, or applaud himself for what he has done, though all mankind should appear in his favour.’
So saying, he rode towards the waggon, which was by this time pretty near the village, and called aloud, ‘Stay, my merry men; halt a little, and I will teach you how to treat the asses and cattle belonging to the squires of knights-errant.’ Don Quixote hallooed so loud as to be heard and understood by the people in the waggon, who judging, by his words, the intention of the speaker, Death instantly jumped out of the cart, and was followed by the Emperor, the Devil-driver, and the Angel, with the Queen and Cupid in their train; in short, the whole company armed themselves with stones, and, drawing up in order of battle, stood without flinching, to receive the assailant at point of pebble.
The knight perceiving them arranged in such a formidable squadron, their arms lifted up in a posture that threatened a powerful discharge of stones, checked Rozinante, and began to consider in what manner he should attack them, with least hazard to his person. During this pause, Sancho came up, and seeing him bent upon a assaulting such a well-compacted brigade, ‘It will be the height of madness,’ said he, ‘to attempt any such adventure; consider, dear Sir, that there is no kicking against the pricks; and that there is no armour upon earth sufficient to defend your body from such a shower, unless your worship could creep into a bell of brass; you ought also to remember, that it favours more of rashness than of true valour, for one man to attack a whole army, in which Death and emperors fight in person, being aided and assisted both by good and evil angels; and if that consideration will not prevail upon you to be quiet, you ought to be diverted from your purpose, by knowing certainly, that among all those enemies in the appearances of kings, princes, and emperors, there is not so much as one single knight-errant.’—‘Now, indeed,’ cried Don Quixote, ‘thou hast hit upon the sole reason that can and ought to dissuade me from my determined design; I neither can nor ought to draw my sword (as I have told thee, on many other occasions) against any person who hath not received the honour of knighthood; to thee, Sancho, it belongs, if so thou art inclined, to take vengeance for the injury done to Dapple, while I from hence will assist and encourage thee with salutary advice.’—‘Signior,’ answered the squire, ‘there is no occasion to take vengeance of any person whatever; for it is not the part of a good Christian to revenge the wrongs he hath suffered: besides, I will prevail upon my ass to leave the affair to my inclination, which is to live peaceably all the days that Heaven shall grant me in this life.’—‘Since that is thy determination,’ replied the knight, ‘honest Sancho, discreet Sancho, christian and sincere Sancho, let us leave these phantoms, and go in quest of adventures more dignified and substantial; for this country seems to promise a great many, and those very extraordinary too.’
He accordingly turned his horse, Sancho went to catch Dapple, while Death, with his whole flying squadron, returned to their waggon, and proceeded on their journey. Thus was the dismal adventure of the waggon of Death happily terminated by the wholesome advice which Sancho Panza gave to his master; who next day met with another equally surprizing, in the person of an enamoured knight-errant.