The Duke and Duchess were extremely diverted with the humors of their
two guests; and resolving to improve their sport by practising some
pleasantries that should have the appearance of a romantic adventure,
they contrived to dress up a very choice entertainment from Don
Quixote's account of the Cave of Montesinos, taking that subject
because the Duchess had observed with astonishment that Sancho now
believed his lady Dulcinea was really enchanted, although he himself had
been her sole enchanter! Accordingly, after the servants had been well
instructed as to their deportment towards Don Quixote, a boar-hunt was
proposed, and it was determined to set out in five or six days with a
princely train of huntsmen. The knight was presented with a hunting suit
proper for the occasion, which, however, he declined, saying that he
must soon return to the severe duties of his profession, when, having no
sumpters nor wardrobes, such things would be superfluous. But Sancho
readily accepted a suit of fine green cloth which was offered to him,
intending to sell it the first opportunity.
The appointed day being come, Don Quixote armed himself, and Sancho in
his new suit mounted Dapple (which he preferred to a horse that was
offered him) and joined the troop of hunters. The Duchess issued forth
magnificently attired, and Don Quixote, out of pure politeness, would
hold the reins of the palfrey, though the Duke was unwilling to allow
it. Having arrived at the proposed scene of their diversion, which was
in a wood between two lofty mountains, they posted themselves in places
where the toils were to be pitched; and all the party having taken their
different stations, the sport began with prodigious noise and clamor,
insomuch that between the shouts of the huntsmen, the cry of the hounds,
and the sound of the horns, they could not hear each other.
The Duchess alighted, and with a boar-spear in her hand, took her stand
in a place where she expected the boars would pass. The Duke and Don
Quixote dismounted also, and placed themselves by her side; while Sancho
took his station behind them all, with his Dapple, whom he would not
quit, lest some mischance should befall him. Scarcely had they ranged
themselves in order when a hideous boar of monstrous size rushed out of
cover, pursued by the dogs and hunters, and made directly towards them,
gnashing his teeth and tossing foam with his mouth.
Don Quixote, on seeing him approach, braced his shield, and drawing his
sword, stepped before the rest to meet him. The Duke joined him with his
boar-spear, and the Duchess would have been the foremost had not the
Duke prevented her. Sancho alone stood aghast, and at the sight of the
fierce animal, leaving even his Dapple, ran in terror towards a lofty
oak, in which he hoped to be secure; but his hopes were in vain, for, as
he was struggling to reach the top, and had got half-way up,
unfortunately a branch to which he clung, gave way, and falling with it,
he was caught by the stump of another, and here left suspended in the
air, so that he could neither get up nor down.
Finding himself in this situation, with his new green coat tearing, and
almost in reach of the terrible creature should it chance to come that
way, he began to bawl so loud and to call for help so vehemently, that
all who heard him and did not see him thought verily he was between the
teeth of some wild beast. The tusked boar, however, was soon laid at
length by the numerous spears that were levelled at him from all sides,
at which time Sancho's cries and lamentations reached the ears of Don
Quixote, who, turning round, beheld him hanging from the oak with his
head downwards, and close by him stood Dapple, who never forsook him in
adversity,--indeed, it was remarked by Cid Hamet, that he seldom saw
Sancho Panza without Dapple, or Dapple without Sancho Panza, such was
the amity and cordial love that subsisted between them!
Don Quixote hastened to the assistance of his squire, who was no sooner
released than he began to examine the rent in his hunting suit, which
grieved him to the soul, for he looked upon that suit as a rich
inheritance.
The huge animal they had slain was laid across a sumpter-mule, and after
covering it with branches of rosemary and myrtle, they carried it, as
the spoils of victory, to a large field-tent, erected in the midst of
the wood, where a sumptuous entertainment was prepared, worthy of the
magnificence of the donor. Sancho, showing the wounds of the torn
garments to the Duchess, said: "Had hares or birds been our game, I
should not have had this misfortune. For my part I cannot think what
pleasure there can be in beating about for a monster that, if it reaches
you with a tusk, may be the death of you. There is an old ballad which
says,--
"'May fate of Fabila be thine,
And make thee food for bears or swine.'"
"That Fabila," said Don Quixote, "was a king of the Goths, who, going to
the chase, was devoured by a bear."
"What I mean," quoth Sancho, "is, that I would not have kings and other
great folks run into such dangers merely for pleasure; and, indeed,
methinks it ought to be none to kill poor beasts that never meant any
harm."
"You are mistaken, Sancho," said the duke, "hunting wild beasts is the
most proper exercise for knights and princes. The chase is an image of
war: there you have stratagems, artifices, and ambuscades to be
employed, in order to overcome your enemy with safety to yourself.
There, too, you are often exposed to the extremes of cold and heat;
idleness and ease are despised; the body acquires health and vigorous
activity: in short, it is an exercise which may be beneficial to many
and injurious to none. Besides, it is not a vulgar amusement, but, like
hawking, is the peculiar sport of the great. Therefore, Sancho, change
your opinion before you become a governor, for then you will find your
account in these diversions."
"Not so, i' faith," replied Sancho, "the good governor and the broken
leg should keep at home. It would be fine, indeed, for people to come
after him about business and find him gadding in the mountains for his
pleasure. At that rate what would become of his government? In good
truth, sir, hunting and such like pastimes are rather for your idle
companions than for governors. The way I mean to divert myself shall be
with brag at Easter and at bowls on Sundays and holidays; as for your
hunting, it befits neither my condition nor conscience."
"Heaven grant you prove as good as you promise," said the duke, "but
saying and doing are often wide apart."
"Be that as it will," replied Sancho, "the good paymaster wants no pawn;
and God's help is better than early rising, and the belly carries the
legs, and not the legs the belly,--I mean that, with the help of Heaven
and a good intention, I warrant I shall govern better than a gos-hawk.
Ay, ay, let them put their fingers in my mouth and try whether or not I
can bite."
"A curse upon thy proverbs," said Don Quixote, "when will the day come
that I shall hear thee utter one coherent sentence without that base
intermixture! Let this blockhead alone, I beseech your excellencies, He
will grind your souls to death, not between two, but two thousand
proverbs, all timed as well and as much to the purpose as I wish God may
grant him health, or me, if I desire to hear them."
"Sancho Panza's proverbs," said the duchess, "though more numerous than
those of the Greek commentator, are equally admirable for their
sententious brevity."
He who has been a good squire will never be a bad governor.
A bad cloak often covers a good drinker.
When a friend drinks one's health, who can be so
hard-hearted as not to pledge him?
God's help is better than early rising.
Flame may give light and bonfires may illuminate, yet we may
easily be burnt by them; but music is always a sign of
feasting and merriment.
THE ACCOUNT OF THE METHOD PRESCRIBED TO DON QUIXOTE FOR DISENCHANTING
DULCINEA; WITH OTHER WONDERFUL EVENTS.
As the agreeable music approached, they observed that it attended a
stately triumphal car, drawn by six gray mules covered with white linen,
and upon each of them rode a penitent of light, clothed also in white,
and holding a lighted torch in his hand. The car was more than double
the size of the others which had passed, and twelve penitents were
ranged in order within it, all carrying lighted torches,--a sight which
at once caused surprise and terror. Upon an elevated throne sat a nymph,
covered with a thousand veils of silver tissue, bespangled with
innumerable flowers of gold, so that her dress, if not rich, was gay and
glittering. Over her head was thrown a transparent gauze, so thin that
through its folds might be seen a most beautiful face; and from the
multitude of lights, it was easy to discern that she was young as well
as beautiful, for she was evidently under twenty years of age, though
not less than seventeen. Close by her sat a figure, clad in a
magnificent robe reaching to the feet, having his head covered with a
black veil.
The moment this vast machine arrived opposite to where the duke and
duchess and Don Quixote stood, the attending music ceased, as well as
the harps and lutes within the car. The figure in the gown then stood
up, and throwing open the robe and uncovering his face; displayed the
ghastly countenance of death, looking so terrific that Don Quixote
started, Sancho was struck with terror, and even the duke and duchess
seemed to betray some symptoms of fear. This living Death, standing
erect, in a dull and drowsy tone and with a sleepy articulation, spoke
as follows:--