OF THE ARRIVAL OF CLAVILEÑO AND THE END OF THIS PROTRACTED ADVENTURE
And now night came, and with it the appointed time for the arrival of the
famous horse Clavileño, the non-appearance of which was already beginning
to make Don Quixote uneasy, for it struck him that, as Malambruno was so
long about sending it, either he himself was not the knight for whom the
adventure was reserved, or else Malambruno did not dare to meet him in
single combat. But lo! suddenly there came into the garden four wild-men
all clad in green ivy bearing on their shoulders a great wooden horse.
They placed it on its feet on the ground, and one of the wild-men said,
“Let the knight who has heart for it mount this machine.”
Here Sancho exclaimed, “I don’t mount, for neither have I the heart nor
am I a knight.”
“And let the squire, if he has one,” continued the wild-man, “take his
seat on the croup, and let him trust the valiant Malambruno; for by no
sword save his, nor by the malice of any other, shall he be assailed. It
is but to turn this peg the horse has in his neck, and he will bear them
through the air to where Malambruno awaits them; but lest the vast
elevation of their course should make them giddy, their eyes must be
covered until the horse neighs, which will be the sign of their having
completed their journey.”
With these words, leaving Clavileño behind them, they retired with easy
dignity the way they came. As soon as the Distressed One saw the horse,
almost in tears she exclaimed to Don Quixote, “Valiant knight, the
promise of Malambruno has proved trustworthy; the horse has come, our
beards are growing, and by every hair in them all of us implore thee to
shave and shear us, as it is only mounting him with thy squire and making
a happy beginning with your new journey.”
“That I will, Señora Countess Trifaldi,” said Don Quixote, “most gladly
and with right goodwill, without stopping to take a cushion or put on my
spurs, so as not to lose time, such is my desire to see you and all these
duennas shaved clean.”
“That I won’t,” said Sancho, “with good-will or bad-will, or any way at
all; and if this shaving can’t be done without my mounting on the croup,
my master had better look out for another squire to go with him, and
these ladies for some other way of making their faces smooth; I’m no
witch to have a taste for travelling through the air. What would my
islanders say when they heard their governor was going, strolling about
on the winds? And another thing, as it is three thousand and odd leagues
from this to Kandy, if the horse tires, or the giant takes huff, we’ll be
half a dozen years getting back, and there won’t be isle or island in the
world that will know me: and so, as it is a common saying ‘in delay
there’s danger,’ and ‘when they offer thee a heifer run with a halter,’
these ladies’ beards must excuse me; ‘Saint Peter is very well in Rome;’
I mean I am very well in this house where so much is made of me, and I
hope for such a good thing from the master as to see myself a governor.”
“Friend Sancho,” said the duke at this, “the island that I have promised
you is not a moving one, or one that will run away; it has roots so
deeply buried in the bowels of the earth that it will be no easy matter
to pluck it up or shift it from where it is; you know as well as I do
that there is no sort of office of any importance that is not obtained by
a bribe of some kind, great or small; well then, that which I look to
receive for this government is that you go with your master Don Quixote,
and bring this memorable adventure to a conclusion; and whether you
return on Clavileño as quickly as his speed seems to promise, or adverse
fortune brings you back on foot travelling as a pilgrim from hostel to
hostel and from inn to inn, you will always find your island on your
return where you left it, and your islanders with the same eagerness they
have always had to receive you as their governor, and my good-will will
remain the same; doubt not the truth of this, Señor Sancho, for that
would be grievously wronging my disposition to serve you.”
“Say no more, señor,” said Sancho; “I am a poor squire and not equal to
carrying so much courtesy; let my master mount; bandage my eyes and
commit me to God’s care, and tell me if I may commend myself to our Lord
or call upon the angels to protect me when we go towering up there.”
To this the Trifaldi made answer, “Sancho, you may freely commend
yourself to God or whom you will; for Malambruno though an enchanter is a
Christian, and works his enchantments with great circumspection, taking
very good care not to fall out with anyone.”
“Well then,” said Sancho, “God and the most holy Trinity of Gaeta give me
help!”
“Since the memorable adventure of the fulling mills,” said Don Quixote,
“I have never seen Sancho in such a fright as now; were I as
superstitious as others his abject fear would cause me some little
trepidation of spirit. But come here, Sancho, for with the leave of these
gentles I would say a word or two to thee in private;” and drawing Sancho
aside among the trees of the garden and seizing both his hands he said,
“Thou seest, brother Sancho, the long journey we have before us, and God
knows when we shall return, or what leisure or opportunities this
business will allow us; I wish thee therefore to retire now to thy
chamber, as though thou wert going to fetch something required for the
road, and in a trice give thyself if it be only five hundred lashes on
account of the three thousand three hundred to which thou art bound; it
will be all to the good, and to make a beginning with a thing is to have
it half finished.”
“By God,” said Sancho, “but your worship must be out of your senses! This
is like the common saying, ‘You see me with child, and you want me a
virgin.’ Just as I’m about to go sitting on a bare board, your worship
would have me score my backside! Indeed, your worship is not reasonable.
Let us be off to shave these duennas; and on our return I promise on my
word to make such haste to wipe off all that’s due as will satisfy your
worship; I can’t say more.”
“Well, I will comfort myself with that promise, my good Sancho,” replied
Don Quixote, “and I believe thou wilt keep it; for indeed though stupid
thou art veracious.”
“I’m not voracious,” said Sancho, “only peckish; but even if I was a
little, still I’d keep my word.”
With this they went back to mount Clavileño, and as they were about to do
so Don Quixote said, “Cover thine eyes, Sancho, and mount; for one who
sends for us from lands so far distant cannot mean to deceive us for the
sake of the paltry glory to be derived from deceiving persons who trust
in him; though all should turn out the contrary of what I hope, no malice
will be able to dim the glory of having undertaken this exploit.”
“Let us be off, señor,” said Sancho, “for I have taken the beards and
tears of these ladies deeply to heart, and I shan’t eat a bit to relish
it until I have seen them restored to their former smoothness. Mount,
your worship, and blindfold yourself, for if I am to go on the croup, it
is plain the rider in the saddle must mount first.”
“That is true,” said Don Quixote, and, taking a handkerchief out of his
pocket, he begged the Distressed One to bandage his eyes very carefully;
but after having them bandaged he uncovered them again, saying, “If my
memory does not deceive me, I have read in Virgil of the Palladium of
Troy, a wooden horse the Greeks offered to the goddess Pallas, which was
big with armed knights, who were afterwards the destruction of Troy; so
it would be as well to see, first of all, what Clavileño has in his
stomach.”
“There is no occasion,” said the Distressed One; “I will be bail for him,
and I know that Malambruno has nothing tricky or treacherous about him;
you may mount without any fear, Señor Don Quixote; on my head be it if
any harm befalls you.”
Don Quixote thought that to say anything further with regard to his
safety would be putting his courage in an unfavourable light; and so,
without more words, he mounted Clavileño, and tried the peg, which turned
easily; and as he had no stirrups and his legs hung down, he looked like
nothing so much as a figure in some Roman triumph painted or embroidered
on a Flemish tapestry.
Much against the grain, and very slowly, Sancho proceeded to mount, and,
after settling himself as well as he could on the croup, found it rather
hard, and not at all soft, and asked the duke if it would be possible to
oblige him with a pad of some kind, or a cushion; even if it were off the
couch of his lady the duchess, or the bed of one of the pages; as the
haunches of that horse were more like marble than wood. On this the
Trifaldi observed that Clavileño would not bear any kind of harness or
trappings, and that his best plan would be to sit sideways like a woman,
as in that way he would not feel the hardness so much.
Sancho did so, and, bidding them farewell, allowed his eyes to be
bandaged, but immediately afterwards uncovered them again, and looking
tenderly and tearfully on those in the garden, bade them help him in his
present strait with plenty of Paternosters and Ave Marias, that God might
provide some one to say as many for them, whenever they found themselves
in a similar emergency.
At this Don Quixote exclaimed, “Art thou on the gallows, thief, or at thy
last moment, to use pitiful entreaties of that sort? Cowardly, spiritless
creature, art thou not in the very place the fair Magalona occupied, and
from which she descended, not into the grave, but to become Queen of
France; unless the histories lie? And I who am here beside thee, may I
not put myself on a par with the valiant Pierres, who pressed this very
spot that I now press? Cover thine eyes, cover thine eyes, abject animal,
and let not thy fear escape thy lips, at least in my presence.”
“Blindfold me,” said Sancho; “as you won’t let me commend myself or be
commended to God, is it any wonder if I am afraid there is a region of
devils about here that will carry us off to Peralvillo?”
They were then blindfolded, and Don Quixote, finding himself settled to
his satisfaction, felt for the peg, and the instant he placed his fingers
on it, all the duennas and all who stood by lifted up their voices
exclaiming, “God guide thee, valiant knight! God be with thee, intrepid
squire! Now, now ye go cleaving the air more swiftly than an arrow! Now
ye begin to amaze and astonish all who are gazing at you from the earth!
Take care not to wobble about, valiant Sancho! Mind thou fall not, for
thy fall will be worse than that rash youth’s who tried to steer the
chariot of his father the Sun!”
As Sancho heard the voices, clinging tightly to his master and winding
his arms round him, he said, “Señor, how do they make out we are going up
so high, if their voices reach us here and they seem to be speaking quite
close to us?”
“Don’t mind that, Sancho,” said Don Quixote; “for as affairs of this
sort, and flights like this are out of the common course of things, you
can see and hear as much as you like a thousand leagues off; but don’t
squeeze me so tight or thou wilt upset me; and really I know not what
thou hast to be uneasy or frightened at, for I can safely swear I never
mounted a smoother-going steed all the days of my life; one would fancy
we never stirred from one place. Banish fear, my friend, for indeed
everything is going as it ought, and we have the wind astern.”
“That’s true,” said Sancho, “for such a strong wind comes against me on
this side, that it seems as if people were blowing on me with a thousand
pair of bellows;” which was the case; they were puffing at him with a
great pair of bellows; for the whole adventure was so well planned by the
duke, the duchess, and their majordomo, that nothing was omitted to make
it perfectly successful.
Don Quixote now, feeling the blast, said, “Beyond a doubt, Sancho, we
must have already reached the second region of the air, where the hail
and snow are generated; the thunder, the lightning, and the thunderbolts
are engendered in the third region, and if we go on ascending at this
rate, we shall shortly plunge into the region of fire, and I know not how
to regulate this peg, so as not to mount up where we shall be burned.”
And now they began to warm their faces, from a distance, with tow that
could be easily set on fire and extinguished again, fixed on the end of a
cane. On feeling the heat Sancho said, “May I die if we are not already
in that fire place, or very near it, for a good part of my beard has been
singed, and I have a mind, señor, to uncover and see whereabouts we are.”
“Do nothing of the kind,” said Don Quixote; “remember the true story of
the licentiate Torralva that the devils carried flying through the air
riding on a stick with his eyes shut; who in twelve hours reached Rome
and dismounted at Torre di Nona, which is a street of the city, and saw
the whole sack and storming and the death of Bourbon, and was back in
Madrid the next morning, where he gave an account of all he had seen; and
he said moreover that as he was going through the air, the devil bade him
open his eyes, and he did so, and saw himself so near the body of the
moon, so it seemed to him, that he could have laid hold of it with his
hand, and that he did not dare to look at the earth lest he should be
seized with giddiness. So that, Sancho, it will not do for us to uncover
ourselves, for he who has us in charge will be responsible for us; and
perhaps we are gaining an altitude and mounting up to enable us to
descend at one swoop on the kingdom of Kandy, as the saker or falcon does
on the heron, so as to seize it however high it may soar; and though it
seems to us not half an hour since we left the garden, believe me we must
have travelled a great distance.”
“I don’t know how that may be,” said Sancho; “all I know is that if the
Señora Magallanes or Magalona was satisfied with this croup, she could
not have been very tender of flesh.”
The duke, the duchess, and all in the garden were listening to the
conversation of the two heroes, and were beyond measure amused by it; and
now, desirous of putting a finishing touch to this rare and
well-contrived adventure, they applied a light to Clavileño’s tail with
some tow, and the horse, being full of squibs and crackers, immediately
blew up with a prodigious noise, and brought Don Quixote and Sancho Panza
to the ground half singed. By this time the bearded band of duennas, the
Trifaldi and all, had vanished from the garden, and those that remained
lay stretched on the ground as if in a swoon. Don Quixote and Sancho got
up rather shaken, and, looking about them, were filled with amazement at
finding themselves in the same garden from which they had started, and
seeing such a number of people stretched on the ground; and their
astonishment was increased when at one side of the garden they perceived
a tall lance planted in the ground, and hanging from it by two cords of
green silk a smooth white parchment on which there was the following
inscription in large gold letters: “The illustrious knight Don Quixote of
La Mancha has, by merely attempting it, finished and concluded the
adventure of the Countess Trifaldi, otherwise called the Distressed
Duenna; Malambruno is now satisfied on every point, the chins of the
duennas are now smooth and clean, and King Don Clavijo and Queen
Antonomasia in their original form; and when the squirely flagellation
shall have been completed, the white dove shall find herself delivered
from the pestiferous gerfalcons that persecute her, and in the arms of
her beloved mate; for such is the decree of the sage Merlin,
arch-enchanter of enchanters.”
As soon as Don Quixote had read the inscription on the parchment he
perceived clearly that it referred to the disenchantment of Dulcinea, and
returning hearty thanks to heaven that he had with so little danger
achieved so grand an exploit as to restore to their former complexion the
countenances of those venerable duennas, he advanced towards the duke and
duchess, who had not yet come to themselves, and taking the duke by the
hand he said, “Be of good cheer, worthy sir, be of good cheer; it’s
nothing at all; the adventure is now over and without any harm done, as
the inscription fixed on this post shows plainly.”
The duke came to himself slowly and like one recovering consciousness
after a heavy sleep, and the duchess and all who had fallen prostrate
about the garden did the same, with such demonstrations of wonder and
amazement that they would have almost persuaded one that what they
pretended so adroitly in jest had happened to them in reality. The duke
read the placard with half-shut eyes, and then ran to embrace Don Quixote
with open arms, declaring him to be the best knight that had ever been
seen in any age. Sancho kept looking about for the Distressed One, to see
what her face was like without the beard, and if she was as fair as her
elegant person promised; but they told him that, the instant Clavileño
descended flaming through the air and came to the ground, the whole band
of duennas with the Trifaldi vanished, and that they were already shaved
and without a stump left.
The duchess asked Sancho how he had fared on that long journey, to which
Sancho replied, “I felt, señora, that we were flying through the region
of fire, as my master told me, and I wanted to uncover my eyes for a bit;
but my master, when I asked leave to uncover myself, would not let me;
but as I have a little bit of curiosity about me, and a desire to know
what is forbidden and kept from me, quietly and without anyone seeing me
I drew aside the handkerchief covering my eyes ever so little, close to
my nose, and from underneath looked towards the earth, and it seemed to
me that it was altogether no bigger than a grain of mustard seed, and
that the men walking on it were little bigger than hazel nuts; so you may
see how high we must have got to then.”
To this the duchess said, “Sancho, my friend, mind what you are saying;
it seems you could not have seen the earth, but only the men walking on
it; for if the earth looked to you like a grain of mustard seed, and each
man like a hazel nut, one man alone would have covered the whole earth.”
“That is true,” said Sancho, “but for all that I got a glimpse of a bit
of one side of it, and saw it all.”
“Take care, Sancho,” said the duchess, “with a bit of one side one does
not see the whole of what one looks at.”
“I don’t understand that way of looking at things,” said Sancho; “I only
know that your ladyship will do well to bear in mind that as we were
flying by enchantment so I might have seen the whole earth and all the
men by enchantment whatever way I looked; and if you won’t believe this,
no more will you believe that, uncovering myself nearly to the eyebrows,
I saw myself so close to the sky that there was not a palm and a half
between me and it; and by everything that I can swear by, señora, it is
mighty great! And it so happened we came by where the seven goats are,
and by God and upon my soul, as in my youth I was a goatherd in my own
country, as soon as I saw them I felt a longing to be among them for a
little, and if I had not given way to it I think I’d have burst. So I
come and take, and what do I do? without saying anything to anybody, not
even to my master, softly and quietly I got down from Clavileño and
amused myself with the goats--which are like violets, like flowers--for
nigh three-quarters of an hour; and Clavileño never stirred or moved from
one spot.”
“And while the good Sancho was amusing himself with the goats,” said the
duke, “how did Señor Don Quixote amuse himself?”
To which Don Quixote replied, “As all these things and such like
occurrences are out of the ordinary course of nature, it is no wonder
that Sancho says what he does; for my own part I can only say that I did
not uncover my eyes either above or below, nor did I see sky or earth or
sea or shore. It is true I felt that I was passing through the region of
the air, and even that I touched that of fire; but that we passed farther
I cannot believe; for the region of fire being between the heaven of the
moon and the last region of the air, we could not have reached that
heaven where the seven goats Sancho speaks of are without being burned;
and as we were not burned, either Sancho is lying or Sancho is dreaming.”
“I am neither lying nor dreaming,” said Sancho; “only ask me the tokens
of those same goats, and you’ll see by that whether I’m telling the truth
or not.”
“Tell us them then, Sancho,” said the duchess.
“Two of them,” said Sancho, “are green, two blood-red, two blue, and one
a mixture of all colours.”
“An odd sort of goat, that,” said the duke; “in this earthly region of
ours we have no such colours; I mean goats of such colours.”
“That’s very plain,” said Sancho; “of course there must be a difference
between the goats of heaven and the goats of the earth.”
“Tell me, Sancho,” said the duke, “did you see any he-goat among those
goats?”
“No, señor,” said Sancho; “but I have heard say that none ever passed the
horns of the moon.”
They did not care to ask him anything more about his journey, for they
saw he was in the vein to go rambling all over the heavens giving an
account of everything that went on there, without having ever stirred
from the garden. Such, in short, was the end of the adventure of the
Distressed Duenna, which gave the duke and duchess laughing matter not
only for the time being, but for all their lives, and Sancho something to
talk about for ages, if he lived so long; but Don Quixote, coming close
to his ear, said to him, “Sancho, as you would have us believe what you
saw in heaven, I require you to believe me as to what I saw in the cave
of Montesinos; I say no more.”