his master had not found him out. Don Quixote dried himself, and
taking off the helmet to see what it should be that felt so cold on
his head, perceiving some white morsels, and putting it to his nose,
soon found what it was. "Now, by the life of my lady Dulcinea del
Toboso," cried he, "thou hast put curds in my helmet, vile traitor and
unmannerly squire!"--replied Sancho cunningly, and keeping his
countenance, "if they be curds, good your worship, give them me
hither, and I will eat them. But hold, now I think on it, the devil
eat them for me; for he himself must have put them there. What! I dare
offer to defile your helmet! you must know who dared to do it! As sure
as I am alive, sir, I have got my enchanters too, that owe me a
grudge, and plague me as a limb of your worship; and I warrant have
put that nasty stuff there on purpose to set you against me, and make
you fall foul on my bones. But I hope they have missed their aim this
time, i' troth! My master is a wise man, and must needs know that I
had neither curds nor milk, nor anything of that kind; and if I had
met with curds, I should sooner have put them in my belly than in the
helmet."--"Well," said Don Quixote, "there may be something in that."
The gentleman had observed these passages, and stood amazed, but
especially when Don Quixote, having put on the helmet again, fixed
himself well in the stirrups, tried whether his sword were loose
enough in his scabbard, and rested his lance. "Now," cried he, "come
what will come; here am I, who dare encounter the devil himself in
person." By this time the wagon with the flags was come up with them,
attended only by the carter, mounted on one of the mules, and another
man that sat on the forepart. Don Quixote making up to them, "Whither
go ye, friends?" said he. "What wagon is this? What do you convey in
it? And what is the meaning of these flags?"--"The wagon is mine,"
answered the wagoner; "I have there fast two brave lions, which the
general of Oran is sending to his majesty, and these colors of our
lord the king are to let the people understand that what goes here
belongs to him."--"And are the lions large?" inquired Don
Quixote.--"Very large," answered the man at the door of the wagon;
"there never came bigger from Afric into Spain. I am their keeper,"
added he, "and have had charge of several others, but I never saw the
like of these before. In the foremost cage is a he-lion and in the
other, behind, a lioness. By this time they are hungry, for they have
not eaten to-day; therefore, pray, good sir, ride out of the way, for
we must make haste to get to the place where we intend to feed
them."--"What!" said Don Quixote, with a smile, "lion whelps against
me! Against me those puny beasts! And at this time of day? Well, I
will make those gentlemen that sent their lions this way know whether
I am a man to be scared with lions. Get off, honest fellow; and since
you are the keeper, open their cages, and let them both out; for,
maugre and in despite of those enchanters that have sent them to try
me, I will make the creatures know, in the midst of this very field,
who Don Quixote de la Mancha is."--"So," thought the gentleman to
himself, "now has our poor knight discovered who he is; the curds, I
find, have softened his skull, and mellowed his brains."
On this, Sancho came up to him. "O good dear sir!" cried he, "for
pity's sake, hinder my master from falling upon those lions by all
means, or we shall all be torn a-pieces."--"Why," said the gentleman,
"is your master so arrant a madman, then, that you should fear he
would set upon such furious beasts?"--"Ah, sir!" said Sancho, "he is
not mad, but venturesome."--"Well," replied the gentleman, "I will
take care of that;" and with that advancing up to Don Quixote, who was
urging the lion-keeper to open the cage, "Sir," said he,
"knights-errant ought to engage in adventures from which there may be
some hopes of coming off with safety, but not in such as are
altogether desperate; for that courage which borders on temerity is
more like madness than fortitude. Besides, these lions come not
against you, nor dream of it, but are sent as a present to the king,
and therefore, it is well not to detain them, or stop the
wagon."--"Pray, sweet sir," replied Don Quixote, "go and amuse
yourself with your tame partridge and your bold ferret, and leave
every one to his own business. This is mine, and I know best whether
these lion gentry are sent against me or no." Then turning about to
the keeper, "Sirrah! you rascal you," said he, "either open your cages
on the spot, or I vow to God, I will pin thee to the wagon with this
lance."--"Good sir," cried the wagoner, seeing this strange apparition
in armor so resolute, "for mercy's sake, do but let me take out our
mules first, and get out of harm's way with them as fast as I can,
before the lions get out; for if they should kill them, I should be
undone forever, for that cart and they are all I have in the world to
get a living with."--"Thou man of little faith," said Don Quixote,
"take them out quickly, then, and go with them where thou wilt; though
thou shalt presently see that thy precaution was needless, and thou
mightest have spared thy pains."
The wagoner on this made haste to take out his mules, while the keeper
cried out loud, "Bear witness, all ye that are here present, that it
is against my will I am forced to open the cages and let loose the
lions; and that I protest to this gentleman here, that he shall be
answerable for all the mischief and damage they may do; together with
the loss of my salary and fees. And now, sirs, shift for yourselves,
for, as for myself, I know the lions will do me no harm." Once more
the gentleman tried to dissuade Don Quixote from doing so mad a thing,
telling him that he tempted Heaven in exposing himself to so great a
danger. To this Don Quixote made no other answer, but that he knew
what he had to do. "Consider, however, what you do," replied the
gentleman, "for it is most certain that you are very much
mistaken."--"Well, sir," said Don Quixote, "if you care not to be
spectator of an action which you think is like to be tragical, e'en
put spurs to your mare, and provide for your safety." Sancho, hearing
this, came up to his master with tears in his eyes and begged him not
to go about this undertaking, to which the adventure of the windmills,
and the fulling mills, and all the brunts he had ever borne in his
life, were but cakes and gingerbread. "Good your worship," cried he,
"here is no enchantment in the case, nor anything like it. I peeped
even now through the grates of the cage, and I am sure I saw the claw
of a true lion, and such a claw as makes me think the lion that owns
it must be bigger than a mountain."--"At any rate," said Don Quixote,
"thy fear will make him bigger than half the world. Retire, Sancho,
and leave me, and if I chance to fall here thou knowest our old
agreement; repair to Dulcinea--I say no more." To this he added some
expressions which cut off all hopes of his giving over his mad design.
The gentleman in green would have opposed him; but, considering the
other much better armed, and that it was not prudence to encounter a
madman, as Don Quixote seemed to be, he even took the opportunity,
while he was hastening the keeper and repeating his threats, to march
off with his mare, as Sancho did with Dapple, and the carter with his
mules, every one making the best of their way to get as far as they
could from the wagon before the lions were let loose. Sancho at the
same time made lamentations for his master's death; for he gave him up
for lost, not questioning but the lions had already got him into their
clutches. He cursed his ill fortune, and the hour he came again to his
service; but for all his wailing and lamenting, he punched on poor
Dapple, to get as far as he could from the lions. The keeper,
perceiving the persons who fled to be at a good distance, fell to
arguing and entreating Don Quixote as he had done before. But he told
him again that all his reasons and entreaties were but in vain, and
bid him say no more, but immediately dispatch.
Now while the keeper took time to open the foremost cage, Don Quixote
stood debating with himself, whether he had best make his attack on
foot or on horseback; and upon mature deliberation, he resolved to do
it on foot, lest Rozinante, at sight of the lions, should be put into
disorder. Accordingly he quitted his horse, threw aside his lance,
grasped his shield, and drew his sword; then advancing step by step,
with wondrous courage and an undaunted heart, he posted himself just
before the door of the cage, commending himself to Heaven, and
afterwards to his lady Dulcinea.
At this point it must be known, the author of this faithful history
makes the following exclamation. "O thou most brave and unutterably
bold Don Quixote de la Mancha! Thou mirror and grand exemplar of
valor! Thou second and new Don Emanuel de Leon, the late glory and
honor of all Spanish cavaliers! What words shall I use to express this
astonishing deed of thine! What language shall I employ to convince
posterity of its truth! What praises can be coined, and eulogies
invented, that will not be outvied by thy superior merit, though
hyperboles were piled on hyperboles! Thou alone, on foot, intrepid and
magnanimous, with nothing but a sword, and that none of the sharpest,
with thy single shield, and that none of the brightest, stoodst ready
to receive and encounter the two fiercest lions that ever roared
within the Libyan deserts. Then let thine own deeds speak thy praise,
brave champion of La Mancha, while I am obliged to leave off, for want
of words to maintain the flight." Here ended the author's exclamation,
and the history goes on.
The keeper, observing the posture Don Quixote had put himself in, and
that it was not possible for him to prevent letting out the lions,
without incurring the resentment of the desperate knight, set the door
of the foremost cage wide open; where, as I have said, was the male
lion, who appeared of a monstrous bigness and of a hideous, frightful
aspect. The first thing he did was to turn himself round in his cage,
stretch out one of his paws, and rouse himself. After that he gaped
and yawned for a good while, and then thrust out almost two spans of
tongue, and with it licked the dust out of his eyes and face. Having
done this, he thrust his head out of the cage, and stared about with
his eyes that looked like two live coals; a sight and motion enough to
have struck terror into temerity itself. But Don Quixote only regarded
it with attention, wishing he would leap out of the wagon, and come
within his reach, that he might cut the monster piecemeal. To this
height had his incredible folly transported him; but the generous
lion, more gentle than arrogant, taking no notice of his vaporing and
bravados, after he had looked about him awhile, turned his tail, and
having showed Don Quixote his hinder parts, very contentedly lay down
again in his apartment.
Don Quixote, seeing this, commanded the keeper to rouse him with
blows, and force him out. "Not I, indeed, sir," answered the keeper;
"I dare not do it for my life; for if I provoke him, I am sure to be
the first he will tear to pieces. Let me advise you, sir, to be
satisfied with your day's work. 'Tis as much as the bravest can
pretend to do. Then pray go no further, I beseech you: the door stands
open, the lion is at his choice, whether he will come out or no, and
since he did not come out at the first, I dare engage he will not stir
out this day. You have shown enough the greatness of your courage. No
brave combatant is obliged to do more than challenge his enemy, and
wait for him in the field. If he comes not, that is his fault, and the
scandal is his, and the crown of victory is the challenger's."
"'Tis true," replied Don Quixote. "Come, shut the door, honest friend,
and give me a certificate under thy hand, in the amplest form thou
canst, of what thou hast seen me perform; how thou didst open the cage
for the lion; how I expected his coming, and he did not come out; how
I stayed his own time, and instead of meeting me, he turned tail and
lay down, I am obliged to do no more. So, enchantments avaunt! and
Heaven prosper truth, justice, and true knight-errantry! Shut the
door, as I bid thee, while I make signs to those that ran away from
us, and get them to come back, that they may have an account of this
exploit from my own mouth." The keeper obeyed, and Don Quixote,
clapping on the point of his lance the handkerchief with which he had
wiped off the deluge of curds from his face, began to call to the
fugitives, who fled nevertheless, looking behind them all the way, and
trooped on in a body with the gentleman at the head of them.
At last, Sancho observed the signal of the white flag, and calling out
to the rest, "Hold," cried he, "my master calls to us; I will he
hanged if he has not got the better of the lions." At this they all
faced about, and perceived Don Quixote flourishing his ensign;
whereupon recovering a little from their fright, they little by little
came back, till they could plainly distinguish Don Quixote's voice;
and then they came up to the wagon. As soon as they were got near it,
"Come on, friend," said he to the carter; "put to thy mules again, and
pursue thy journey; and, Sancho, do you give him two gold crowns for
the lion-keeper and himself, to make them amends for the time I have
detained them."--"Ay, that I will with all my heart," quoth Sancho;
"but what is become of the lions? Are they dead or alive?" Then the
keeper very formally related the whole action, not failing to
exaggerate, to the best of his skill, Don Quixote's courage; how at
his sight alone the lion was so terrified, that he neither would nor
durst quit his stronghold, though for that end his cage door was kept
open for a considerable time; and how upon his remonstrating to the
knight, who would have had the lion forced out, that it was presuming
too much upon Heaven, he had permitted, though with great reluctancy,
that the lion should be shut up again. "Well, Sancho," said Don
Quixote to his squire, "what dost thou think of this? Can enchantment
prevail over true fortitude? No, these magicians may perhaps rob me of
success, but of fortitude and courage it would be impossible."
Sancho gave the wagoner and the keeper the two pieces. The first
harnessed his mules, and the last thanked Don Quixote for his bounty,
and promised to acquaint the king himself with his heroic action when
he came to court. "Well," said Don Quixote, "if his majesty should
chance to inquire who did this thing, tell him it was the Knight of
the Lions; a name I intend henceforth to take up, in lieu of that
which I hitherto assumed, of the Knight of the Doleful Countenance; in
which proceeding I do but conform to the ancient custom of
knights-errant, who changed their names as often as they pleased, or
as it suited with their advantage."
THE RIDE ON THE WOODEN HORSE
_By Miguel de Cervantes Saavedra_
[An enchanter has revenged himself upon some ladies by putting heavy
beards upon their faces. Don Quixote has been persuaded that the
beards will vanish if he will take a journey of three thousand leagues
on a wooden horse.]
"Blind thy eyes, Sancho," said Don Quixote, "and get up. Sure he that
sends so far for us can have no design to deceive us! since it would
never be to his credit to delude those that rely on his word; and,
though the success should be contrary to our desires, still, it is not
in the power of malice to eclipse the glory of so brave an
attempt."--"To horse, then, sir," cried Sancho. "The beards and tears
of these poor gentlewomen are sticking in my heart. And I shall not
eat a bit to do me good till I see them as smooth as before. Mount,
then, I say, and blindfold yourself first; for, if I must ride behind,
it is a plain case you must get up before me."--"That is right," said
Don Quixote; and, with that, pulling a handkerchief out of his pocket,
he gave it to the Disconsolate Lady to hoodwink him. She did so; but
presently after, uncovering himself, "If I remember right," said he,
"we read in Virgil of the Trojan Palladium, that wooden horse which
the Greeks offered the goddess Pallas, full of armed knights who
afterwards proved the total ruin of Troy. It were prudent, therefore,
before we get up, to see what Clavileño has within him."--"You need
not," said the Disconsolate Lady; "I dare engage that Malambruno would
not countenance any base or treacherous practice. Mount, Don Quixote,
without fear; whatever accident befalls you, I dare answer for." Upon
this, Don Quixote mounted, without any reply, imagining that anything
said concerning his security would be a reflection on his valor. He
then began to try the pin, which was easily turned; and as he sat,
with his long legs stretched at length without stirrups, he looked
like one of those antique figures in a Roman triumph, painted or woven
in Flemish arras.
Sancho, very leisurely and unwillingly, was made to climb up; and,
fixing himself as well as he could on the crupper, felt it somewhat
hard and uneasy. With that, looking on the duke, "Good my lord," quoth
he, "will you lend me something to clap under me; some pillow from the
page's bed, or the duchess's cushion of state, or anything; for this
horse's crupper seems rather marble than wood."--"It is needless,"
said Trifaldi; "for Clavileño will bear no kind of furniture upon him;
so that, for your greater ease, you had best sit sideways, like a
woman." Sancho did so; and after he had taken his leave they bound a
cloth over his eyes; but presently after, uncovering them, with a
pitiful look on the spectators, he prayed them with tears in his eyes
to help him in this peril with two Paternosters and two Ave Marias, as
they would expect the like charity themselves in such a
condition!--"What! you rascal," said Don Quixote, "do you think
yourself at the gallows, and at the point of death, that you hold
forth in such a piteous strain? Dastardly wretch without a soul, dost
thou not know that the fair Magalona once sat in thy place, and
alighted from thence, not into the grave, but into the throne of
France, if there is truth in history? And do not I sit by thee, that I
may vie with the valorous Peter, and press the seat that was once
pressed by him? Come, blindfold thyself, poor spiritless animal, and
let me not hear thee betray the least symptom of fear, at least not in
my presence."--"Well," quoth Sancho, "let them bind me; but, if you
will not let one say his prayers nor be prayed for, it is no marvel
one should fear that we may have a legion of imps about us to deal
with us, as at Peralvillo."
Now, both being hoodwinked, and Don Quixote perceiving everything
ready, be began to turn the pin; and no sooner had he set his hand to
it than the waitingwomen and all the company set up their throats,
calling out, "Speed you well, valorous knight; Heaven be your guide,
undaunted squire! Now, now, you fly aloft, cutting the air more
swiftly than an arrow, while the gazing world wonders at your course!
Sit fast, courageous Sancho! you do not sit steady; have a care of
falling; for your fall would be greater than the aspiring youth's that
sought to guide the chariot of the sun-god, his father." All this
Sancho heard, and, girting his arms fast about his master, "Sir,"
quoth he, "why do they say we are so high, since we can hear their
voices? Truly I hear them so plainly that one would think they were
talking close by us."--"Never mind that," answered Don Quixote; "for
in these extraordinary kinds of flight you can hear and see what you
wish a thousand leagues off. But do not hold me so hard, for you will
make me tumble off. I know not what makes thee tremble so, for I dare
swear I never rode easier in all my life; our horse goes as if he did
not move at all. Take courage, then; for the affair is in a good way,
and we have the wind astern."--"I think so, too," quoth Sancho; "for I
feel the wind puff as briskly here as if a thousand pairs of bellows
were blowing on me at my back." Sancho was not in the wrong; for two
or three pairs of bellows were indeed giving air; so well had the plot
of this adventure been laid by the duke, the duchess, and their
steward, that nothing was wanting to perfect it.
Don Quixote at last feeling the wind, "Sure," said he, "we must be
risen to the second region of the air, where are engendered the hail
and snow; thunder, lightning, and thunderbolts are produced in the
third region; so that, if we mount at this rate, we shall be in the
region of fire presently; and I do not know how to manage this pin, so
as to avoid being scorched." At the same time some flax, easy to light
and to quench at a distance, was clapped to the end of a long stick,
and made their faces hot; and the heat affecting Sancho, he cried,
"May I be hanged, if we be not come to this fire region or very near
it; for the half of my beard is singed already. I have a mind to peep
out and see whereabouts we are."--"By no means," answered Don Quixote,
"but remember the true story of Doctor Torralva, whom the devil
carried to Rome hoodwinked, and, bestriding a reed, in twelve hours'
time setting him down in the tower of Nona, in one of the streets of
that city. There he saw the dreadful tumult, assault, and death of
Bourdon; and, the next morning, he found himself back in Madrid, where
he related the story. Who said, as he went through the air, the devil
bade him open his eyes, which he did, and then found himself as it
seemed so near the moon that he could touch him with his finger; but
durst not look towards the earth, lest his brains should turn. So,
Sancho, we need not unveil our eyes, but trust to him that has charge
of us, and fear nothing, for perhaps we only mount high, to come
straight down upon the kingdom of Candaya, as a hawk or falcon falls
upon a heron, to seize it more strongly from a height; for, though it
appears to us not half an hour since we left the garden, we have,
nevertheless, traveled over a vast tract."--"I know nothing of the
matter," replied Sancho; "but of this I am very certain, that, if the
Lady Magallanes, or Magalona, could sit this wooden crupper, she
cannot have had very tender flesh."
This dialogue of the valiant pair was very pleasant all this while to
the duke and duchess, and the rest of the company; and now, at last,
resolving to put an end to this extraordinary and well-contrived
adventure, they set fire with some tow to Clavileño's tail; and, the
horse being stuffed full of fireworks, burst presently into pieces,
with a mighty noise, throwing Don Quixote and Sancho to the ground
half scorched. By this time the Disconsolate Lady and bearded regiment
vanished out of the garden, and all the rest, as if in a trance, lay
flat upon the ground. Don Quixote and Sancho, sorely bruised, got up,
amazed to find themselves in the same garden whence they took horse,
and to see such a number of people lie on the ground. But their wonder
was increased by the appearance of a large lance stuck in the ground,
and a scroll of white parchment fastened to it by two green silken
strings, with the following inscription upon it, in golden
characters:--
_"The renowned knight Don Quixote de la Mancha achieved the adventure
of the Countess Trifaldi, otherwise called the Disconsolate Lady, and
her companions, by solely attempting it. Malambruno is fully contented
and satisfied. The waiting gentlewomen have lost their beards. King
Clavijo and Queen Antonomasia have resumed their pristine shapes; and,
when the squire's scourging shall be finished, the white dove shall
escape the pernicious hawks that pursue her, and be lulled in the arms
of her beloved. This is ordained by the Sage Merlin, proto-enchanter
of enchanters."_
Don Quixote, having read this document, clearly understood it to refer
to Dulcinea's disenchantment, and rendered thanks to Heaven that he
had achieved so great a feat with so little danger, and brought back
to their former bloom the faces of the venerable waiting-women, who
had now disappeared; and approaching the duke and duchess, who had not
yet come to themselves, he took the duke by the hand: "Courage,
courage, noble sir," cried he, "there is no danger; the adventure is
finished without damage, as you may read it registered in that
record."
The duke, as if he had been waked out of a sound sleep, recovered
himself by degrees, as did the duchess and the rest of the company,
who were lying prostrate in the garden, all of them acting the
surprise and fear so naturally that the jest might have been believed
earnest. The duke with half-closed eyes read the scroll; then,
embracing Don Quixote, extolled him as the bravest knight the earth
had ever possessed. As for Sancho, he was looking up and down for the
Disconsolate Lady, to see what sort of a face she had got, without her
beard. But he was informed that as Clavileño came down flaming in the
air, the whole squadron of women with Trifaldi vanished immediately,
but all of them shaved and without a hair upon their faces.