OF THE BRISTLY ADVENTURE THAT BEFELL DON QUIXOTE
Don Quixote could not bear to see his squire sleep so restfully while
he was being weighted down by all the cares of the world. So he woke
Sancho, whose stolid unconcern about Dulcinea again was brought home
to him, and almost went on his knees in order to induce him to scourge
himself. He nearly wept in his efforts to have Sancho inflict the
meager amount of three or four hundred lashes upon himself; but as
ever the cruel squire remained unmoved. Don Quixote did everything in
his power to entice him to do this beautiful deed of sacrifice. He
held forth to him what a blessed night it would be for them, if he
would only comply with his master's request, for then, Don Quixote
suggested, they could spend the remainder of it singing, thus making
this the beginning of the pastoral life to which they were about to
devote themselves. But Sancho said he was no monk; and the idea of
getting up in the middle of the night to perform such rituals did not
appeal to him, he frankly avowed. The bewailings of his master, both
in Castilian and in Latin, made no impression upon the hard-hearted
Sancho, who remained as firm as the rock of Gibraltar, as far as the
disenchantment was concerned.
Don Quixote had just made up his mind that it was a useless task to
try to prevail upon Sancho at that hour to do his duty, when suddenly
there was heard a tremendous and terrifying noise, which increased as
it seemed to come closer. Sancho was so frightened that he at once
took refuge behind Dapple, entrenching himself between the pack-saddle
and his master's discarded armor; and Don Quixote got palpitation of
the heart, and began to shiver. As Sancho peeped from behind his
entrenchments and Don Quixote took courage to look, the grunting drove
of six hundred pigs--for that is what it was--was so close upon them
that in the next moment they found themselves knocked to the ground;
but it was some time before all of the snorting, disrespectful animals
had passed their dirty feet over the prostrate bodies of the knight,
his squire and their beasts and provisions.
Sancho rose first, smeared with dirt, and having been stirred to
unusual depths by the condition in which he found himself, he begged
his master to let him take his sword, saying he felt he had to kill
some of the pigs in order to be soothed. The exceedingly bad manners
they had displayed and especially the fact that they had crushed all
the provisions into nothingness, had produced an ire in Sancho that
seemed wellnigh irrepressible.
But Don Quixote calmed his squire with these words, spoken with a
melancholy air: "Let them be, my friend. This insult is the penalty of
my sin, and it is the righteous chastisement of Heaven that jackals
should devour a vanquished knight, and wasps sting him and pigs
trample him under foot."
To this Sancho Panza retorted pensively: "I suppose it is the
chastisement of Heaven, too, that flies should prick the squires of
vanquished knights, and lice eat them, and hunger assail them. If we
squires were the sons of the knights we serve, or their very near
relations, it would be no wonder if the penalty of their misdeeds
descended upon us, even to the fourth generation. But what have the
Panzas to do with the Quixotes? Well, let us lie down again and sleep
out what little of the night there is left, and God will send us dawn
and we shall be all right."
Sancho lay down and slept, but his master sat up and commenced his
emulation of the life of a shepherd by singing the song he had
composed to his great love, accompanying it with his own sighs, and
many wet tears. At last daylight came, and the sun awakened them both.
Sancho began to rub his eyes, and they both got up and made ready to
journey further. But before leaving Sancho again cursed the pigs for
having ruined his stores.
He and his master had traveled the whole day, when they encountered a
number of men on horseback, and four or five men on foot, all heavily
armed. Don Quixote's heart ached, for he could not forget his promise
to the Knight of the White Moon. The men who were mounted approached
our hero and Sancho, and surrounded them without speaking a word. Don
Quixote attempted to ask a question, but one of them warned him to be
silent by putting a finger to his lips, while another one pointed his
lance against the knight's breast. Still another one took Rocinante by
the bridle; while Sancho was being treated in the same manner by some
of the others. Both Don Quixote and Sancho began to be worried as to
the outcome of this adventure, for the whole proceeding seemed to them
utterly mysterious.
They rode all that day, unable to make out where they were being
taken, or who their mysterious captors were, and at last night came.
All the while the men were calling them all kinds of names, such as
"bloodthirsty lions," "cannibals," "murderous Polyphemes" etc.; and
Sancho was scared out of his wits, while Don Quixote was at his wits
ends. Both were convinced that some terrible misfortune was in store
for them, and they could only pray that they would get out of it as
easily as possible.
Before they knew it, it was midnight, and soon after that Don Quixote
recognized a castle, which he saw in the distance, as that of the
Duke. He was amazed when he found that the men were taking him there,
and he said to himself: "God bless me! What does this mean? It is all
courtesy and politeness in this house; but with the vanquished, good
turns into evil, and evil into worse." They entered the court, and
found it arrayed in such a manner that they could not help being
amazed and speechless, and they felt fear creeping into their hearts.