_Of the strange and wonderful manner in which Don Quixote de la Mancha
was enchanted; with other remarkable occurrences._
"Many very grave historians of knights-errant have I read," said Don
Quixote, on finding himself thus cooped up and carted, "but I never
read, saw, or heard of enchanted knights being transported in this
manner, and so slowly as these lazy, heavy animals seem to proceed;
for they were usually conveyed through the air with wonderful speed,
enveloped in some thick and dark cloud, or on some chariot of fire, or
mounted upon a hippogriff, or some such animal. But to be carried upon
a team drawn by oxen, it overwhelms me with confusion!"
Don Fernando and Cardenio, fearing lest Sancho should see into the
whole of their plot, resolved to hasten their departure; and calling
the innkeeper aside, they ordered him to saddle Rozinante and pannel
the ass, which he did with great expedition. In the mean while the
priest engaged to pay the troopers to accompany Don Quixote home to
his village. Cardenio made signs to Sancho to mount his ass and lead
Rozinante by the bridle. But before the car moved forward, the
hostess, her daughter, and Maritornes, came out to take their leave of
Don Quixote, pretending to shed tears for grief at his misfortune.
"Weep not, my good ladies," said the knight, "for disasters of this
kind are incident to those of my profession. Pardon me, fair ladies,
if I have through inadvertence given you any offence; for
intentionally I never offended any person; and I beseech you to pray
Heaven for my deliverance from my present thraldom; and if ever I find
myself at liberty, I shall not forget the favours you have done me in
this castle, but shall acknowledge and requite them as they deserve."
While this passed, the priest and the barber took their leave of Don
Fernando and his companions, the captain, and of all the ladies, now
supremely happy. Don Fernando requested the priest to give him
intelligence of Don Quixote, assuring him that nothing would afford
him more satisfaction than to hear of his future proceedings; and he
promised, on his part, to inform him of whatever might amuse or please
him respecting his own marriage, and the return of Lucinda to her
parents, and also the issue of Don Louis's affair. The priest engaged
to perform all that was desired of him with the utmost punctuality;
after which they separated with many expressions of mutual cordiality
and good-will. Don Quixote sat in the cage with his hands tied and his
legs stretched out, leaning against the bars as silently and patiently
as if he had been, not a man of flesh and blood, but a statue of
stone. In this manner they travelled about two leagues, when they
came to a valley which the waggoner thought a convenient place for
resting and baiting his cattle; but, on his proposing it, the barber
recommended that they should travel a little farther, as beyond the
next rising ground there was a vale that afforded much better pasture;
and this advice was followed.
The priest, happening about this time to look back, perceived behind
them six or seven horsemen, well mounted and accoutred, who soon came
up with them. One of the travellers, who was a canon of Toledo, and
master to those who accompanied him, observing the orderly procession
of the waggon, the troopers, Sancho, Rozinante, the priest, and the
barber, and especially Don Quixote, caged up and imprisoned, could not
forbear making some inquiries; though, on observing the badges of the
holy brotherhood, he concluded that they were conveying some notorious
robber or other criminal, whose punishment belonged to that
fraternity. "Why the gentleman is carried in this manner," replied one
of the troopers who was questioned, "he must tell you himself, for we
know nothing about the matter." Upon which Don Quixote (having
overheard what passed) said, "If perchance, gentlemen, you are
conversant in the affairs of chivalry, I will acquaint you with my
misfortunes; but if not, I will spare myself that trouble." The priest
and the barber, perceiving that the travellers were speaking with Don
Quixote, rode up to them, lest any thing should pass that might
frustrate their plot. The canon, in answer to Don Quixote, said, "In
truth, brother, I am more conversant in books of chivalry than in
Villalpando's Summaries; you may, therefore, freely communicate to me
whatever you please." "With Heaven's permission, then," replied Don
Quixote, "be it known to you, signor cavalier, that I am enchanted in
this cage through the envy and fraud of wicked necromancers; for
virtue is more persecuted by the wicked than beloved by the good. A
knight-errant I am; not one of those whose names fame has forgotten,
but one who, in despite of envy itself, and of all the magicians of
Persia, the Brahmins of India, and the gymnosophists of Ethiopia,
shall enrol his name in the temple of immortality, to serve as a model
and mirror to future ages, whereby knights-errant may see the track
they are to follow, if they are ambitious of reaching the honourable
summit and pinnacle of true glory." "Signor Don Quixote de la Mancha
says the truth," said the priest; "for he is conveyed in that
enchanted state, not through his own fault or demerit, but the malice
of those to whom virtue is odious and courage obnoxious. This, sir, is
the Knight of the Sorrowful Figure, whose valorous exploits and heroic
deeds shall be recorded on solid brass and everlasting marble, in
despite of all the efforts of envy and malice to conceal and obscure
them." The canon, upon hearing not only the imprisoned but the free
man talk in such a style, crossed himself in amazement, nor were his
followers less surprised; and Sancho now coming up, to mend the
matter said, "Look ye, gentlemen, let it be well or ill taken, I will
out with it: the truth of the case is, my master, Don Quixote, is just
as much enchanted as my mother; he is in his perfect senses, he eats
and drinks like other men, and as he did yesterday before they cooped
him up. This being so, will you persuade me he is enchanted? The
enchanted, I have heard say, neither eat, nor sleep, nor speak; but my
master here, if nobody stops him, will talk ye more than thirty
barristers." Then turning to the priest, he went on saying, "Ah,
master priest, master priest, do I not know you? And think you I
cannot guess what these new enchantments drive at? Let me tell you I
know you, though you do hide your face, and understand you too, sly as
you be. But the good cannot abide where envy rules, nor is generosity
found in a beggarly breast. Evil befal the devil! Had it not been for
your reverence, before this time his worship had been married to the
Princess Micomicona, and I had been an earl at least; for I could
expect no less from my master's bounty and the greatness of my
services. But I find the proverb true, that 'the wheel of fortune
turns swifter than a mill-wheel,' and they who were yesterday at the
top are to-day at the bottom. I am grieved for my poor wife and
children; for, when they might reasonably expect to see their father
come home a governor or viceroy of some island or kingdom, they will
now see him return a pitiful groom. All this I say, master priest,
only to make your paternity feel some conscience in regard to what you
are doing with my master; take heed that God does not call you to an
account in the next life for this imprisonment of my lord, and require
at your hands all the good he might have done during this time of his
confinement." "Snuff me these candles," quoth the barber, interrupting
the squire; "what! art thou, Sancho, of thy master's fraternity? I
begin, indeed, to think thou art likely to keep him company in the
cage for thy share of his humour and his chivalry. In an evil hour
wert thou lured by his promises, and thy head filled with islands." "I
am not lured by any body," answered Sancho; "and though I am a poor
man, I am an old Christian, and owe no body any thing; and if I covet
islands, there are others who covet worse things; and every one is the
son of his own works; and being a man, I may come to be pope, and much
more easily governor of an island, especially since my master may win
so many that he may be at a loss where to bestow them."
The canon and his servants then rode on before with the priest, who
entertained him with a circumstantial account of Don Quixote, from the
first symptoms of his derangement to his present situation in the
cage. The canon was surprised at what he heard. "Truly," said he to
the curate, "those tales of chivalry are very prejudicial to the
common weal; and, though led away by an idle and false taste, I have
read in part almost all that are printed, I could never get through
the whole of any one of them, they are all so much alike. In my
opinion, this kind of writing and composition falls under the head of
what are called Milesian fables, which are extravagant stories,
calculated merely to amuse, and very unlike those moral tales which
are no less instructive than entertaining; and though the principal
object of such books is to please, I know not how they can attain that
end by such monstrous absurdities; for the mind receives pleasure from
the beauty and consistency of what is presented to the imagination,
not from that which is incongruous and unnatural. Where is the sense
or consistency of a tale in which a youth of sixteen hews down a giant
as tall as a steeple, and splits him in two as if he were made of
paste? Or how are we to be interested in the detail of a battle, when
we are told that a hero contends alone against a million of
adversaries, and obtains the victory by his single arm? I have never
yet found a regular well-connected fable in any of our books of
chivalry; they are all inconsistent and monstrous; the style is
generally bad; and they abound with incredible exploits, absurd
sentiments, and miraculous adventures; in short, they should be
banished every Christian country."
The priest listened attentively to these observations of the canon,
which he thought were perfectly just; and he told him that he also had
such an enmity to those tales of chivalry, that he had destroyed all
that Don Quixote had possessed, which were not a few in number; and he
amused the canon very much by his account of the formal trial and
condemnation through which they had passed.
The canon contemplated the Don with great surprise; for he displayed
in conversation a very good understanding, and seemed, as it hath been
before observed, only to lose his stirrups on the theme of chivalry;
and he was induced, out of compassion to his infirmity, to address him
on the subject:
"Is it possible, worthy sir," said the canon, "that the idle study of
books of chivalry should so powerfully have affected your brain as to
make you believe you are now enchanted, with other fancies of the same
kind as far from truth as falsehood itself? For my own part, I
confess, when I read them without reflecting on their falsehood and
folly, they give me some amusement; but when I consider what they are,
I dash them against the wall, and even commit them to the flames when
I am near a fire, as well deserving such a fate, for their want of
common sense, and their injurious tendency in misleading the
uninformed. Nay, they may even disturb the intellects of sensible and
well-born gentlemen, as is manifest by the effect they have had on
your worship, who is reduced by them to such a state that you are
forced to be shut up in a cage, and carried on a team from place to
place, like some lion or tiger exhibited for money. Ah, Signor Don
Quixote! have pity on yourself, shake off this folly, and employ the
talents with which Heaven has blessed you in the cultivation of
literature more subservient to your honour, as well as profitable to
your mind. If a strong natural impulse still leads you to books
containing the exploits of heroes, read in the Holy Scriptures the
book of Judges, where you will meet with wonderful truths and
achievements no less heroic than true."
Don Quixote listened with great attention to the canon till he had
ceased speaking, and then, looking stedfastly in his face, he replied,
"I conceive, sir, that you mean to insinuate that there never were
knights-errant in the world; that all books of chivalry are false,
mischievous, and unprofitable to the commonwealth; and that I have
done ill in reading, worse in believing, and still worse in imitating
them; and also that you deny that there ever existed the Amadises
either of Gaul or of Greece, or any of those celebrated knights?" "I
mean precisely what you say," replied the canon. "You also were
pleased to add, I believe," continued Don Quixote, "that those books
had done me much prejudice, having injured my brain, and occasioned my
imprisonment in a cage; and that it would be better for me to change
my course of study, and read other books, more true, more pleasant,
and more instructive." "Just so," quoth the canon. "Why then," said
Don Quixote, "in my opinion, sir, it is yourself who are deranged and
enchanted, since you have deigned to blaspheme an order so universally
acknowledged in the world, and its existence so authenticated, that he
who denies it merits that punishment you are pleased to say you
inflict on certain books. To assert that there never was an Amadis in
the world, nor any other of the knights-adventurers of whom so many
records remain, is to say that the sun does not enlighten, the frost
produce cold, nor the earth yield sustenance. What human ingenuity can
make us doubt the truth of that affair between the Infanta Floripes
and Guy of Burgundy? Then who can deny the truth of the history of
Peter of Provence and the fair Magalona? since even to this day you
may see in the king's armory the very peg wherewith the valiant Peter
steered the wooden horse that bore him through the air; which peg is
somewhat larger than the pole of a coach; and near it lies the saddle
of Babieca. In Roncesvalles, too, there may be seen Orlando's horn,
the size of a great beam; not to mention many other matters, all so
authentic and true, that I say again, whoever denies them must be
wholly destitute of sense and reason."
The canon was astonished at Don Quixote's medley of truth and fiction,
as well as at the extent of his knowledge on affairs of chivalry; and
he replied, "I cannot deny, Signor Don Quixote, but that there is some
truth in what you say. That there was a Cid no one will deny, and
likewise a Bernardo del Carpio; but that they performed all the
exploits ascribed to them I believe there is great reason to doubt. As
to Peter of Provence's peg, and its standing near Babieca's saddle in
the king's armory, I confess my sin in being so ignorant or
short-sighted that, though I have seen the saddle, I never could
discover the peg,--large as it is, according to your description."
"Yet unquestionably there it is," replied Don Quixote, "and they say,
moreover, that it is kept in a leathern case to prevent rust." "It may
be so," answered the canon; "but, in truth, I do not remember to have
seen it. Yet even granting it, I am not therefore bound to believe all
the stories of so many Amadises, and the whole tribe of
knights-errant; and it is extraordinary that a gentleman possessed of
your understanding and talents should give credit to such extravagance
and absurdity."