_How the Priest and the Barber proceeded in their project; with other
things worthy of being related._
The barber liked well the priest's contrivance, and they immediately
began to carry it into execution. They borrowed a petticoat and
head-dress of the landlady; and the barber made himself a huge beard
of the tail of a pied ox, in which the innkeeper used to hang his
comb. The hostess having asked them for what purpose they wanted those
things, the priest gave her a brief account of Don Quixote's insanity,
and the necessity of that disguise to draw him from his present
retreat. The host and hostess immediately conjectured that this was
the same person who had once been their guest, and the master of the
blanketed squire; and they related to the priest what had passed
between them, without omitting what Sancho had been so careful to
conceal. In the mean time the landlady equipped the priest to
admiration: she put him on a cloth petticoat all pinked and slashed,
and a corset of green velvet with a border of white satin. The priest
would not consent to wear a woman's head-dress, but put on a little
white quilted cap, which he used as a night-cap, and bound one of his
garters of black taffeta about his forehead, and with the other made a
kind of veil, which covered his face and beard very well. He then
pulled his hat over his face, which was so large that it served him
for an umbrella; and wrapping his cloak around him, he got upon his
mule sideways like a woman. The barber mounted also, with a beard that
reached to his girdle, of a colour between sorrel and white, being, as
before said, made of the tail of a pied ox.
But scarcely had they got out of the inn when the curate began to
think that it was indecent for a priest to be so accoutred, although
for so good a purpose; and, acquainting the barber with his scruples,
he begged him to exchange apparel, as it would better become him to
personate the distressed damsel, and he would himself act the squire,
as being a less profanation of his dignity.
They now set forward on their journey; but first they told Sancho that
their disguise was of the utmost importance towards disengaging his
master from the miserable life he had chosen; and that he must by no
means tell him who they were; and if he should inquire, as no doubt he
would, whether he had delivered the letter to Dulcinea, he should say
he had; and that she, not being able to read or write, had answered by
word of mouth, and commanded the knight, on pain of her displeasure,
to repair to her immediately upon an affair of much importance: for,
with this, and what they intended to say themselves, they should
certainly reconcile him to a better mode of life, and put him in the
way of soon becoming an emperor or a king; as to an archbishop, he had
nothing to fear on that subject. Sancho listened to all this, and
imprinted it well in his memory; and gave them many thanks for
promising to advise his lord to be an emperor, and not an archbishop;
for he was persuaded that, in rewarding their squires, emperors could
do more than archbishops-errant. He told them also it would be proper
he should go before, to find him, and deliver him his lady's answer;
for, perhaps, that alone would be sufficient to bring him out of that
place, without farther trouble. They agreed with Sancho, and
determined to wait for his return with intelligence of his master.
Sancho entered the mountain pass, and left them in a pleasant spot,
refreshed by a streamlet of clear water, and shaded by rocks and
overhanging foliage.
While they were reposing in the shade, a voice reached their ears,
which, although unaccompanied by any instrument, sounded sweet and
melodious. They were much surprised, since that was not a place where
they might expect to hear fine singing; for although it is common to
tell of shepherds with melodious voices warbling over hills and dales,
yet this is rather poetical fancy than plain truth. Besides, the
verses they heard were not those of a rustic muse, but of refined and
courtly invention, as will appear by the following stanzas:
I.
What makes me languish and complain?
O 'tis disdain!
What yet more fiercely tortures me?
'Tis jealousy.
How have I my patience lost?
By absence crossed.
Then, hope, farewell, there's no relief;
I sink beneath oppressing grief;
Nor can a wretch, without despair,
Scorn, jealousy, and absence bear.
II.
Where shall I find a speedy cure?
Death is sure.
No milder means to set me free?
Inconstancy.
Can nothing else my pains assuage?
Distracting rage.
What, die or change? Lucinda lose?
O rather let me madness choose!
But judge what we endure,
When death or madness are a cure!
The hour, the season, the solitude, the voice, and the skill of the
singer, all conspired to impress the auditors with wonder and delight,
and they remained for some time motionless, in expectation of hearing
more; but finding the silence continue, they resolved to see who it
was who had sung so agreeably; and were again detained by the same
voice regaling their ears with this other song:
A Sonnet.
O sacred Friendship, Heaven's delight,
Which, tired with man's unequal mind,
Took to thy native skies thy flight,
While scarce thy shadow's left behind!
Bless'd genius, now resume thy seat!
Destroy imposture and deceit;
Harmonious peace and truth renew,
Shew the false friendship from the true.
The song ended with a deep sigh; and they went in search of the
unhappy person whose voice was no less excellent than his complaints
were mournful. They had not gone far when, turning the point of a
rock, they perceived a man of the same appearance that Sancho had
described Cardenio to them. The man expressed no surprise, but stood
still in a pensive posture, without again raising his eyes from the
ground. The priest, who was a well-spoken man, went up to him, and, in
few but very impressive words, entreated him to forsake that miserable
kind of life, and not hazard so great a misfortune as to lose it in
that inhospitable place. Cardenio was at this time perfectly tranquil,
and he appeared surprised to hear them speak of his concerns, and
replied, "It is very evident to me, gentlemen, whoever you are, that
Heaven, which succours the good, and often even the wicked, unworthy
as I am, sends to me in this solitude persons who, being sensible how
irrational is my mode of life, would divert me from it; but by flying
from this misery I shall be plunged into worse; for so overwhelming is
the sense of my misery, I sometimes become like a stone, void of all
knowledge and sensation. But, gentlemen, if you come with the same
intention that others have done, I beseech you to hear my sad story,
and spare yourselves the trouble of endeavouring to find consolation
for an evil which has no remedy."
The two friends, being desirous of hearing his own account of himself,
entreated him to indulge them, assuring him they would do nothing but
what was agreeable to him, either in the way of remedy or advice. The
unhappy young man began his melancholy story thus, almost in the same
words in which he had related it to Don Quixote and the goatherd some
few days before, when, on account of Queen Madasima, and Don Quixote's
zeal in defending the honour of knight-errantry, the tale was abruptly
suspended; but Cardenio's sane interval now enabled him to conclude it
quietly. On coming to the circumstance of the love-letters, he
repeated one which Don Fernando found between the leaves of Amadis de
Gaul, which had been first lent to Lucinda, and afterwards to him. It
was as follows:
"'Each day I discover in you qualities which raise you in my esteem;
and therefore, if you would put it in my power to discharge my
obligations to you, without prejudice to my honour, you may easily do
it. I have a father who knows you, and has an affection for me; who
will never force my inclinations, and will comply with whatever you
can justly desire, if you really have that value for me which you
profess, and which I trust you have.'
"This letter had made me resolve to demand Lucinda in marriage; but it
was this letter, also, which made him determine upon my ruin before my
design could be effected. I told Don Fernando that Lucinda's father
expected that the proposal should come from mine, but that I durst not
mention it to him, lest he should refuse his consent; not that he was
ignorant of Lucinda's exalted merits, which might ennoble any family
of Spain; but because I had understood from him that he was desirous I
should not marry until it should be seen what Duke Ricardo would do
for me. In short, I told him that I had not courage to speak to my
father about it, being full of vague apprehensions and sad
forebodings. In reply to all this, Don Fernando engaged to induce my
father to propose me to the father of Lucinda----O ambitious Marius!
cruel Catiline! wicked Sylla! crafty Galalon! perfidious Vellido!
vindictive Julian! O covetous Judas! cruel, wicked, and crafty
traitor! what injury had been done thee by a poor wretch who so
frankly disclosed to thee the secrets of his heart? Wherein had I
offended thee? Have I not ever sought the advancement of thy interest
and honour? But why do I complain--miserable wretch that I am! For
when the stars are adverse, what is human power? Who could have
thought that Don Fernando, obliged by my services, and secure of
success wherever his inclinations led him, should take such cruel
pains to deprive me of my jewel?--But no more of these unavailing
reflections; I will now resume the broken thread of my sad story.
"Don Fernando, thinking my presence an obstacle to the execution of
his treacherous design, resolved to send me to pay for six horses
which he had bought, merely as a pretext to get me out of the way,
that he might the more conveniently execute his diabolical purpose.
Could I foresee such treachery? Could I even suspect it? Surely not:
and I cheerfully consented to depart immediately. That night I had an
interview with Lucinda, and told her what had been agreed upon between
Don Fernando and myself, assuring her of my hopes of a successful
result. She, equally unsuspicious of Don Fernando, desired me to
return speedily, since she believed the completion of our wishes was
only deferred until proposals should be made to her father by mine. I
know not whence it was, but as she spoke her eyes filled with tears,
and some sudden obstruction in her throat prevented her articulating
another word.
"I executed my commission to Don Fernando's brother, by whom I was
well received, but not soon dismissed. All this was a contrivance of
the false Fernando; and I felt disposed to resist the injunction, as
it seemed to me impossible to support life so many days absent from
Lucinda, especially having left her in such a state of dejection.
Judge of my horror on receiving from her the following letter, which
she contrived to send to me a distance of eighteen leagues by a
special messenger:
"'The promise Don Fernando gave you to intercede with your father he
has fulfilled, more for his own gratification than your interest.
Know, sir, that he has demanded me to wife; and my father, allured by
the advantage he thinks Don Fernando possesses over you, has accepted
this proposal so eagerly that the marriage is to be solemnised two
days hence! Conceive my situation! Heaven grant this may come to your
hand before mine be compelled to join his who breaks his promised
faith!'
"I set out immediately; my rage against Don Fernando, and the fear of
losing the rich reward of my long service and affection, gave wings to
my speed; and the next day I reached our town, at the moment
favourable for an interview with Lucinda. I went privately, having
left my mule with the honest man who brought me the letter, and
fortune was just then so propitious that I found Lucinda at the grate.
We saw each other--but how? Who is there in the world that can boast
of having fathomed and thoroughly penetrated the intricate and
ever-changing nature of woman? Certainly none. As soon as Lucinda saw
me she said, 'Cardenio, I am in my bridal habit; they are now waiting
for me in the hall--the treacherous Don Fernando and my covetous
father, with some others, who shall sooner be witnesses of my death
than of my nuptials. Be not afflicted, my friend; but endeavour to be
present at this sacrifice, which, if my arguments cannot avert, I
carry a dagger about me, which can oppose a more effectual resistance,
by putting an end to my life, and will give you a convincing proof of
the affection I have ever borne you.' I answered, with confusion and
precipitation, 'Let your actions, madam, prove the truth of your
words. If you carry a dagger to secure your honour, I carry a sword to
defend you, or kill myself if fortune proves adverse.' I do not
believe she heard all I said, being hastily called away; for the
bridegroom waited for her. Here the night of my sorrow closed in upon
me; here set the sun of my happiness! My eyes were clouded in
darkness, and my brain was disordered! I was irresolute whether to
enter her house, and seemed bereaved of the power to move; but
recollecting how important my presence might be on that occasion, I
exerted myself, and hastened thither. Being perfectly acquainted with
all the avenues, I escaped observation, and concealed myself in the
hall behind the hangings, whence I could see all that passed. Who can
describe the flutterings of my heart, and my various sensations, as I
stood there? The bridegroom entered the hall, in his usual dress,
accompanied by a cousin of Lucinda; and no other person was present,
except the servants of the house. Soon after, from a dressing-room,
came forth Lucinda, accompanied by her mother and two of her own
maids, adorned in the extreme of courtly splendour. The agony and
distraction I endured allowed me not to observe the particulars of her
dress; I remarked only the colours, which were carnation and white,
and the precious stones that glittered on every part of her attire;
surpassed, however, by the singular beauty of her fair and golden
tresses, in the splendour of which the brilliance of her jewels and
the blaze of the surrounding lights seemed to be lost. O memory, thou
mortal enemy of my repose! Were it not better, thou cruel faculty, to
represent to my imagination her conduct at that period, that, moved by
so flagrant an injury, I may strive, if not to avenge it, at least to
end this life of pain?
"I say, then," continued Cardenio, "that, being all assembled in the
hall, the priest entered, and having taken them both by the hand, in
order to perform what is necessary on such occasions, when he came to
these words, 'Will you, Signora Lucinda, take Signor Don Fernando, who
is here present, for your lawful husband, as our holy mother the
Church commands?' I thrust out my head and neck through the tapestry,
and with attentive ears and distracted soul awaited Lucinda's reply,
as the sentence of my death, or the confirmation of my life. Oh, that
I had then dared to venture forth, and to have cried aloud--'Ah,
Lucinda, Lucinda! Remember that you are mine, and cannot belong to
another.' Ah, fool that I am! Now I am absent, I can say what I ought
to have said, but did not! Now that I have suffered myself to be
robbed of my soul's treasure I am cursing the thief, on whom I might
have revenged myself, if I had been then as prompt to act as I am now
to complain! I was then a coward and a fool; no wonder therefore if I
now die ashamed, repentant, and mad.
"The priest stood expecting Lucinda's answer, who paused for a long
time; and when I thought she would draw forth the dagger in defence of
her honour, or make some declaration which might redound to my
advantage, I heard her say in a low and faint voice, 'I will.' Don
Fernando said the same, and the ring being put on, they remained tied
in an indissoluble band. The bridegroom approached to embrace his
bride; and she, laying her hand on her heart, fainted in the arms of
her mother. Imagine my condition after that fatal Yes, by which my
hopes were frustrated, Lucinda's vows and promises broken, and I for
ever deprived of all chance of happiness. On Lucinda's fainting, all
were in confusion; and her mother, unlacing her bosom to give her air,
discovered in it a folded paper, which Don Fernando instantly seized,
and read it by the light of one of the flambeaux; after which, he sat
himself down in a chair, apparently full of thought, and without
attending to the exertions made to recover his bride.
"During this general consternation I departed, indifferent whether I
was seen or not. I quitted the house, and returning to the place where
I had left the mule, I mounted and rode out of the town, not daring to
stop, or even to look behind me; and when I found myself alone on the
plain, concealed by the darkness of the night, the silence inviting my
lamentations, I gave vent to a thousand execrations on Lucinda and Don
Fernando, as if that, alas, could afford me satisfaction for the
wrongs I had sustained. I called her cruel, false, and ungrateful; and
above all, mercenary, since the wealth of my enemy had seduced her
affections from me. But amidst all these reproaches I sought to find
excuses for her submission to parents whom she had ever been
accustomed implicitly to obey; especially as they offered her a
husband with such powerful attractions. Then again I considered that
she need not have been ashamed of avowing her engagement to me, since,
had it not been for Don Fernando's proposals, her parents could not
have desired a more suitable connexion; and I thought how easily she
could have declared herself mine, when on the point of giving her hand
to my rival. In fine, I concluded that her love had been less than her
ambition, and she had thus forgotten those promises by which she had
beguiled my hopes and cherished my passion.
"In the utmost perturbation of mind, I journeyed on the rest of the
night, and at daybreak reached these mountains, over which I wandered
three days more, without road or path, until I came to a valley not
far hence; and inquiring of some shepherds for the most rude and
solitary part, they directed me to this place; where I instantly came,
determined to pass here the remainder of my life. Among these crags,
my mule fell down dead through weariness and hunger; and thus was I
left, extended on the ground, famished and exhausted, neither hoping
nor caring for relief. How long I continued in this state I know not;
but at length I got up, without the sensation of hunger, and found
near me some goatherds, who had undoubtedly relieved my wants: they
told me of the condition in which they found me, and of many wild and
extravagant things that I had uttered, clearly proving the derangement
of my intellects; and I am conscious that since then I have committed
a thousand extravagances, tearing my garments, cursing my fortune, and
repeating in vain the beloved name of my enemy. When my senses return,
I find myself so weary and bruised that I can scarcely move. My usual
abode is in the hollow of a cork-tree, large enough to enclose this
wretched body. Thus I pass my miserable life, waiting until it shall
please Heaven to bring it to a period, or erase from my memory the
beauty and treachery of Lucinda and the perfidy of Don Fernando;
otherwise, Heaven have mercy on me, for I feel no power to change my
mode of life."
Here Cardenio concluded his long tale of love and sorrow; and just as
the priest was preparing to say something consolatory, he was
prevented by the sound of a human voice, which, in a mournful tone,
was heard to say what will be related in the following chapter.