_Don Quixote's success in his journey to visit the Lady Dulcinea del
Toboso._
Don Quixote and his squire were no sooner parted from the bachelor,
but Rozinante began to neigh, and Dapple to bray; which both the
knight and the squire interpreted as good omens, and most fortunate
presages of their success; though the truth of the story is, that as
Dapple's braying exceeded Rozinante's neighing, Sancho concluded that
his fortune should out-rival and eclipse his master's; which inference
I will not say he drew from some principles in judicial astrology, in
which he was undoubtedly well grounded, though the history is silent
in that particular; however, it is recorded of him that oftentimes
upon the falling or stumbling of his ass, he wished he had not gone
abroad that day, and from such accidents prognosticated nothing but
dislocation of joints and breaking of ribs; and notwithstanding his
foolish character, this was no bad observation. "Friend Sancho," said
Don Quixote to him, "I find the approaching night will overtake us ere
we can reach Toboso, where, before I enter upon any expedition, I am
resolved to pay my vows, receive my benediction, and take my leave of
the peerless Dulcinea; being assured after that of a happy issue in
the most dangerous adventures; for nothing in this world inspires a
knight-errant with so much valour as the smiles and favourable aspect
of his mistress." "I am of your mind," quoth Sancho; "but I am afraid,
sir, you will hardly come at her to speak with her, at least not to
meet her in a place where she may give you her blessing, unless she
throw it over the mud-wall of the yard, where I first saw her when I
carried her the news of your pranks in the midst of Sierra Morena."
"Mud-wall, dost thou say?" cried Don Quixote: "mistaken fool, that
wall could have no existence but in thy muddy understanding; it is a
mere creature of thy dirty fancy; for that never-duly-celebrated
paragon of beauty and gentility was then undoubtedly in some court, in
some stately gallery or walk; or, as it is properly called, in some
sumptuous and royal palace." "It may be so," said Sancho, "though, so
far as I can remember, it seemed to me neither better nor worse than
a mud-wall." "It is no matter," replied the knight, "let us go
thither; I will visit my dear Dulcinea; let me but see her, though it
be over a mud-wall, through a chink of a cottage, or the pales of a
garden, at a lattice, or anywhere; which way soever the least beam
from her bright eyes reaches mine, it will so enlighten my mind, so
fortify my heart, and invigorate every faculty of my being, that no
mortal will be able to rival me in prudence and valour." "Troth! sir,"
quoth Sancho, "when I beheld that same sun of a lady, methought it did
not shine so bright as to cast forth any beams at all; but mayhaps the
reason was, that the dust of the grain she was winnowing raised a
cloud about her face, and made her look somewhat dull." "I tell thee
again, fool," said Don Quixote, "thy imagination is dusty and foul;
will it never be beaten out of thy stupid brain, that my lady Dulcinea
was winnowing? Are such exercises used by persons of her quality,
whose recreations are always noble, and such as display an air of
greatness suitable to their birth and dignity? Can'st thou not
remember the verses of our poet, when he recounts the employments of
the four nymphs at their crystal mansions, when they advanced their
heads above the streams of the lovely Tagus, and sat upon the grass
working those rich embroideries, where silk and gold, and pearl
embossed, were so curiously interwoven, and which that ingenious bard
so artfully describes? So was my princess employed when she blessed
thee with her sight; but the envious malice of some base necromancer
fascinated thy sight, as it represents whatever is most grateful to me
in different and displeasing shapes. And this makes me fear that if
the history of my achievements, which they tell me is in print, has
been written by some magician who is no well-wisher to my glory, he
has undoubtedly delivered many things with partiality, misrepresented
my life, inserting a hundred falsehoods for one truth, and diverting
himself with the relation of idle stories, foreign to the purpose, and
unsuitable to the character of a true history. O envy! envy! thou
gnawing worm of virtue, and spring of infinite mischiefs! there is no
other vice, my Sancho, but pleads some pleasure in its excuse; but
envy is always attended by disgust, rancour, and distracting rage." "I
am much of your mind," said Sancho; "and I think, in the same book
which neighbour Carrasco told us he had read of our lives, the story
makes bold with my credit, and has handled it at a strange rate, and
has dragged it about the kennels, as a body may say. Well now, as I am
an honest man, I never spoke an ill word of a magician in my born
days; and I think they need not envy my condition so much. The truth
is, I am somewhat malicious; I have my roguish tricks now and then;
but I was ever counted more fool than knave for all that, and so
indeed I was bred and born; and if there were nothing else in me but
my religion--for I firmly believe whatever our holy Church believes,
and I hate the infidels mortally--these same historians should take
pity on me, and spare me a little in their books. But let them say on
to the end of the chapter; naked I came into the world, and naked must
go out. It is all a case to Sancho, I can neither win nor lose by the
bargain: and so my name be in print, and handed about, I care not a
fig for the worst they can say of me." "What thou sayest, Sancho,"
answered Don Quixote, "puts me in mind of a story. A celebrated poet
of our time wrote a very scurrilous and abusive lampoon upon all the
intriguing ladies of the court, forbearing to name one, as not being
sure whether she deserved to be put into the catalogue or not; but the
lady not finding herself there, was not a little affronted at the
omission, and made a great complaint to the poet, asking him what he
had seen in her, that he should leave her out of his list; desiring
him at the same time to enlarge his satire and put her in, or expect
to hear farther from her. The author obeyed her commands, and gave her
a character with a vengeance; and to her great satisfaction made her
as famous for infamy as any woman about the town. Such another story
is that of Diana's temple, one of the seven wonders of the world,
burnt by an obscure fellow merely to eternise his name; which, in
spite of an edict that enjoined all people never to mention it, either
by word of mouth or in writing, yet is still known to have been
Erostratus. The story of the great Emperor Charles the Fifth and a
Roman knight, upon a certain occasion, is much the same. The emperor
had a great desire to see the famous temple once called the Pantheon,
but now more happily the church of All Saints. It is the only entire
edifice remaining of heathen Rome, and that which best gives an idea
of the glory and magnificence of its great founders. It is built in
the shape of a half orange, of a vast extent, and very lightsome;
though it admits no light but at one window, or, to speak more
properly, at a round aperture on the top of the roof. The emperor
being got up thither, and looking down from the brink upon the fabric,
with a Roman knight by him, who shewed all the beauties of that vast
edifice: after they were gone from the place, says the knight,
addressing the emperor, 'It came into my head a thousand times, sacred
sir, to embrace your majesty, and cast myself with you from the top of
the church to the bottom, that I might thus purchase an immortal
name.' 'I thank you,' said the emperor, 'for not doing it; and for the
future I will give you no opportunity to put your loyalty to such a
test. Therefore I banish you my presence for ever.' Which done, he
bestowed some considerable favour on him. I tell thee, Sancho, this
desire of honour is a strange bewitching thing. What dost thou think
made Horatius, armed at all points, plunge headlong from the bridge
into the rapid Tiber? What prompted Curtius to leap into the profound
flaming gulf? What made Mutius burn his hand? What forced Caesar over
the Rubicon, spite of all the omens that dissuaded his passage? And to
instance a more modern example, what made the undaunted Spaniards sink
their ships when under the most courteous Cortez, but that scorning
the stale honour of this so often conquered world, they sought a
maiden glory in a new scene of victory? These, and a multiplicity of
other great actions, are owing to the immediate thirst and desire of
fame, which mortals expect as the proper price and immortal recompense
of their great actions. But we that are Christian catholic
knights-errant must fix our hopes upon a higher reward, placed in the
eternal and celestial regions, where we may expect a permanent honour
and complete happiness; not like the vanity of fame, which at best is
but the shadow of great actions, and must necessarily vanish, when
destructive time has eat away the substance which it followed. So, my
Sancho, since we expect a Christian reward, we must suit our actions
to the rules of Christianity. In giants we must kill pride and
arrogance; but our greatest foes, and whom we must chiefly combat, are
within. Envy we must overcome by generosity and nobleness of soul;
anger, by a reposed and easy mind; riot and drowsiness, by vigilance
and temperance; and sloth, by our indefatigable peregrinations through
the universe, to seek occasions of military as well as Christian
honours. This, Sancho, is the road to lasting fame, and a good and
honourable renown."
In such discourses as these the knight and squire passed the night and
the whole succeeding day, without encountering any occasion to
signalise themselves; at which Don Quixote was very much concerned. At
last, towards evening the next day, they discovered the goodly city of
Toboso, which revived the knight's spirits wonderfully, but had a
quite contrary effect on his squire, because he did not know the house
where Dulcinea lived any more than his master. So that the one was mad
till he saw her, and the other very melancholic and disturbed in mind
because he had never seen her; nor did he know what to do, should his
master send him to Toboso. However, as Don Quixote would not make his
entry in the daytime, they spent the evening among some oaks not far
distant from the place, till the prefixed moment came; then they
entered the city, where they met with adventures indeed.