_Of the quarrel between Don Quixote and the Goatherd, with the rare
adventure of the Disciplinants._
The goatherd's tale amused all his auditors, especially the canon, who
was struck by his manner of telling it, which was more like that of a
scholar and a gentleman than an unpolished goatherd; and he was
convinced that the priest was perfectly right when he affirmed that
men of letters were often produced among mountains. They all offered
their service to Eugenio; but the most liberal in his offers was Don
Quixote, who said to him, "In truth, brother goatherd, were I in a
situation to undertake any new adventure, I would immediately engage
myself in your service, and release your lady from the nunnery in
spite of the abbess and all opposers, then deliver her into your
hands, to be disposed of at your pleasure, so far as is consistent
with the laws of chivalry, which enjoin that no kind of outrage be
offered to damsels. I trust, however, that the power of one malicious
enchanter shall not be so prevalent over another but that a better
disposed one may triumph; and then I promise you my aid and protection
according to the duty of my profession, which is no other than to
favour the weak and necessitous." The goatherd stared at Don Quixote,
and observing his odd appearance, he whispered to the barber who sat
next to him, "Pray, sir, who is that man that looks and talks so
strangely?" "Who should it be," answered the barber, "but the famous
Don Quixote de la Mancha, the redresser of injuries, the righter of
wrongs, the protector of maidens, the dread of giants, and the
conqueror of armies?" "Why this is like what we hear in the stories of
knights-errant," said the goatherd; "but I take it either your worship
is in jest, or the apartments in this gentleman's skull are
unfurnished." "You are a very great blockhead," exclaimed the knight;
"it is yourself who are empty-skulled and shallow-brained;" and as he
spoke, he snatched up a loaf that was near him, and threw it at the
goatherd's face with so much fury that he laid his nose flat. The
goatherd did not much relish the jest, so, without any respect to the
tablecloth or to the company present, he leaped upon Don Quixote, and
seizing him by the throat with both hands, would doubtless have
strangled him, had not Sancho Panza, who came up at that moment, taken
him by the shoulders and thrown him back on the tablecloth,
demolishing dishes and platters, and spilling and overturning all that
was upon it. Don Quixote, finding himself free, turned again upon the
goatherd, who, being kicked and trampled upon by Sancho, was feeling
about upon all fours for some knife or weapon to take revenge withal;
but the canon and the priest prevented him. The barber, however,
maliciously contrived that the goatherd should get Don Quixote under
him, whom he buffeted so unmercifully that he had ample retaliation
for his own sufferings. This ludicrous encounter overcame the gravity
of both the churchmen; while the troopers of the holy brotherhood,
enjoying the conflict, stood urging on the combatants as if it had
been a dog-fight. Sancho struggled in vain to release himself from one
of the canon's servants, who prevented him from going to assist his
master. In the midst of this sport a trumpet was suddenly heard
sounding so dismally that every face was instantly turned in the
direction whence the sound proceeded. Don Quixote's attention was
particularly excited, though he still lay under the goatherd in a
bruised and battered condition. "Thou demon," he said to him, "for
such thou must be to have this power over me, I beg that thou wilt
grant a truce for one hour, as the solemn sound of that trumpet seems
to call me to some new adventure." The goatherd, whose revenge was by
this time sated, immediately let him go; and Don Quixote, having got
upon his legs again, presently saw several people descending from a
rising ground, arrayed in white, after the manner of Disciplinants.
That year the heavens having failed to refresh the earth with
seasonable showers, throughout all the villages of that district,
processions, disciplines, and public prayers were ordered, beseeching
God to shew his mercy by sending them rain. For this purpose the
people of a neighbouring village were coming in procession to a holy
hermitage built upon the side of a hill not far from that spot. The
strange attire of the disciplinants struck Don Quixote, who, not
recollecting what he must often have seen before, imagined it to be
some adventure which, as a knight-errant, was reserved for him alone;
and he was confirmed in his opinion on seeing an image clothed in
black that they carried with them, and which he doubted not was some
illustrious lady, forcibly borne away by ruffians and miscreants. With
all the expedition in his power, he therefore went up to Rozinante,
and, taking the bridle and buckler from the pommel of the saddle, he
bridled him in a trice; and calling to Sancho for his sword, he
mounted, braced his target, and, in a loud voice, said to all that
were present, "Now, my worthy companions, ye shall see how important
to the world is the profession of chivalry; now shall ye see, in the
restoration of that captive lady to liberty, whether knights-errant
are to be valued or not!" So saying, he clapped heels to Rozinante
(for spurs he had none); and, on a hand-gallop (for we nowhere read,
in all this faithful history, that Rozinante ever went full speed), he
advanced to encounter the disciplinants. The priest, the canon, and
the barber, in vain endeavoured to stop him; and in vain did Sancho
cry out, "Whither go you, Signor Don Quixote? what possesses you to
assault the catholic faith? Evil befal me! do but look--it is a
procession of disciplinants, and the lady carried upon the bier is the
blessed image of our Holy Virgin; take heed, for this once I am sure
you know not what you are about." Sancho wearied himself to no
purpose; for his master was so bent upon an encounter, that he heard
not a word; nor would he have turned back though the king himself had
commanded him.
Having reached the procession, he checked Rozinante, who already
wanted to rest a little, and in a hoarse and agitated voice cried out,
"Stop there, ye who cover your faces,--for an evil purpose I doubt
not,--stop and listen to me!" The bearers of the image stood still;
and one of the four ecclesiastics, who sung the litanies, observing
the strange figure of Don Quixote, the leanness of Rozinante, and
other ludicrous circumstances attending the knight, replied, "Friend,
if you have any thing to say to us, say it quickly; for these our
brethren are scourging their flesh, and we cannot stay to hear any
thing that may not be said in two words." "I will say it in one,"
replied Don Quixote; "you must immediately release that fair lady,
whose tears and sorrowful countenance clearly prove that she is
carried away against her will, and that you have done her some
atrocious injury. I, who was born to redress such wrongs, command you,
therefore, not to proceed one step further until you have given her
the liberty she desires and deserves." By these expressions they
concluded that Don Quixote must be some whimsical madman, and only
laughed at him; which enraged him to such a degree, that, without
saying another word, he drew his sword and attacked the bearers; one
of whom, leaving the burden to his comrades, stept forward brandishing
the pole on which the bier had been supported; but it was quickly
broken in two by a powerful stroke aimed by the knight, who, however,
received instantly such a blow on the shoulder of his sword-arm, that,
his buckler being of no avail against rustic strength, he was felled
to the ground. Sancho, who had followed him, now called out to the man
not to strike again, for he was a poor enchanted knight, who had never
done any body harm in all his life. The peasant forbore, it is true,
though not on account of Sancho's appeal, but because he saw his
opponent without motion; and thinking he had killed him, he hastily
tucked up his vest under his girdle, and fled like a deer over the
field.
By this time all Don Quixote's party had come up; and those in the
procession, seeing among them troopers of the holy brotherhood armed
with their cross-bows, began to be alarmed, and drew up in a circle
round the image; then lifting up their hoods, and grasping their
whips, and the ecclesiastics their tapers, they waited the assault,
determined to defend themselves, or, if possible, offend their
aggressors; while Sancho threw himself on the body of his master, and
believing him to be really dead, poured forth the most dolorous
lamentation. Sancho's cries roused Don Quixote, who faintly said, "He
who lives absent from thee, sweetest Dulcinea, endures far greater
miseries than this!--Help, friend Sancho, to place me upon the
enchanted car; I am no longer in a condition to press the saddle of
Rozinante, for this shoulder is broken to pieces." "That I will do
with all my heart, dear sir," answered Sancho; "and let us return to
our homes with these gentlemen, who wish you well; and there we can
prepare for another sally that may turn out more profitable." "Thou
sayest well, Sancho," answered Don Quixote; "and it will be highly
prudent in us to wait until the evil influence of the star which now
reigns is passed over." The canon, the priest, and the barber, told
him they approved his resolution; and the knight being now placed in
the waggon as before, they prepared to depart. The goatherd took his
leave; and the troopers, not being disposed to attend them farther,
were discharged. The canon also separated from them, having first
obtained a promise from the priest that he would acquaint him with the
future fate of Don Quixote. Thus the party now consisted only of the
priest, the barber, Don Quixote, and Sancho, with good Rozinante, who
bore all accidents as patiently as his master. The waggoner yoked his
oxen, and having accommodated Don Quixote with a truss of hay, they
jogged on in the way the priest directed, and at the end of six days
reached Don Quixote's village. It was about noon when they made their
entrance, and it being a holyday, all the people were standing about
the market-place through which the waggon passed. Everybody ran to see
who was in it, and were not a little surprised when they recognised
their townsman; and a boy ran off at full speed with tidings to the
housekeeper that he was coming home, lean and pale, stretched out at
length in a waggon drawn by oxen. On hearing this, the two good women
made the most pathetic lamentations, and renewed their curses against
books of chivalry; especially when they saw the poor knight entering
at the gate.
Upon the news of Don Quixote's arrival, Sancho Panza's wife repaired
thither; and on meeting him, her first inquiry was whether the ass had
come home well. Sancho told her that he was in a better condition than
his master. "Heaven be praised," replied she, "for so great a mercy
to me! But tell me, husband, what good have you got by your
squireship? Have you brought a petticoat home for me, and shoes for
your children?" "I have brought you nothing of that sort, dear wife,"
quoth Sancho; "but I have got other things of greater consequence." "I
am very glad of that," answered the wife; "pray shew me your things of
greater consequence, friend; for I would fain see them, to gladden my
heart, which has been so sad all the long time you have been away."
"You shall see them at home, wife," quoth Sancho, "so be satisfied at
present; for if it please God that we make another sally in quest of
adventures, you will soon see me an earl or governor of an island, and
no common one neither, but one of the best that is to be had." "Grant
Heaven it may be so, husband," quoth the wife; "for we have need
enough of it. But pray tell me what you mean by islands; for I do not
understand you." "Honey is not for the mouth of an ass," answered
Sancho; "in good time, wife, you shall see, yea and admire to hear
yourself styled ladyship by all your vassals." "What do you mean,
Sancho, by ladyship, islands, and vassals?" answered Teresa Panza; for
that was the name of Sancho's wife, though they were not of kin, but
because it was the custom of La Mancha for the wife to take the
husband's name. "Do not be in so much haste, Teresa," said Sancho; "it
is enough that I tell you what is true, so lock up your mouth;--only
take this by the way, that there is nothing in the world so pleasant
as to be an honourable esquire to a knight-errant and seeker of
adventures. To be sure, most of them are not so much to a man's mind
as he could wish; for, as I know by experience, ninety-nine out of a
hundred fall out cross and unlucky; especially when one happens to be
tossed in a blanket, or well cudgelled; yet, for all that, it is a
fine thing to go about in expectation of accidents, traversing
mountains, searching woods, marching over rocks, visiting castles,
lodging in inns, all at pleasure, and never a farthing to pay."
While this discourse was passing between Sancho Panza and his wife
Teresa, the housekeeper and the niece received Don Quixote, and they
laid him in his old bed, whence he looked at them with eyes askance,
not knowing perfectly where he was. Often did the women raise their
voices in abuse of all books of chivalry, overwhelming their authors
with the bitterest maledictions. His niece was charged by the priest
to take great care of him, and to keep a watchful eye that he did not
again make his escape, after taking so much pains to get him home. Yet
they were full of apprehensions lest they should lose him again as
soon as he found himself a little better; and, indeed, the event
proved that their fears were not groundless.