_An account of rich Camacho's wedding, and what befell poor Basil._
Scarce had the fair Aurora given place to the refulgent ruler of the
day, and given him time, with the heat of his prevailing rays, to dry
the liquid pearls on his golden locks, when Don Quixote, shaking off
sluggish sleep from his drowsy limbs, arose and called his squire:
but finding him still snoring, "O thou most happy mortal upon earth,"
said he, "how sweet is thy repose; envied by none, and envying no
man's greatness, secure thou sleepest, thy soul composed and calm; no
power of magic persecutes thee, nor are thy thoughts affrighted by
enchantments! Sleep on, sleep on, a hundred times sleep on. Those
jealous cares that break a lover's heart, do not extend to thee;
neither the dread of craving creditors, nor the dismal foresight of
inevitable want, or care of finding bread for a helpless family, keep
thee waking. Ambition does not make thee uneasy, the pomp and vanity
of this world do not perplex thy mind; for all thy care's extent
reaches but to thy ass. Thy person and thy welfare thou hast committed
to my charge, a burden imposed on masters by nature and custom, to
weigh and counterpoise the offices of servants. Which is the greatest
slave? The servant's business is performed by a few manual duties,
which only reconcile him more to rest, and make him sleep more sound;
while the anxious master has not leisure to close his eyes, but must
labour day and night to make provision for the subsistence of his
servant; not only in time of abundance, but even when the Heavens deny
those kindly showers that must supply this want."
To all this fine expostulation Sancho answered not a word; but slept
on, and was not to be waked by his master's calling or otherwise, till
he pricked him with the sharp end of his lance. At length opening his
eyelids half way, and rubbing them, after he had gaped and yawned and
stretched his drowsy limbs, he looked about him; and snuffing up his
nose, "I am much mistaken," quoth he, "if from this same arbour there
comes not a pure steam of a good rasher, that comforts my nostrils
more than all the herbs and rushes hereabouts. And truly, a wedding
that begins so savourily must be a dainty one." "Away, cormorant,"
said Don Quixote; "rouse and let us go see it, and learn how it fares
with the disdained Basil." "Fare!" quoth Sancho; "why, if he be poor,
he must e'en be so still, and not think to marry Quiteria. It is a
pretty fancy for a fellow who has not a cross, to run madding after
what is meat for his betters. I will lay my neck that Camacho covers
this same Basil from head to foot with white sixpences, and will spend
more at a breakfast than the other is worth, and be never the worse.
And do you think that Madame Quiteria will quit her fine rich gowns
and petticoats, her necklaces of pearl, her jewels, her finery and
bravery, and all that Camacho has given her, and may afford to give
her, to marry a fellow with whom she must knit or spin for her living?
What signifies his bar-pitching and fencing?" "Let me beseech you,
good Sancho," interrupted Don Quixote, "to bring thy harangue to a
conclusion. For my part, I believe, wert thou let alone when thy clack
is once set a going, thou wouldst scarce allow thyself time to eat or
sleep, but wouldst prate on to the end of the chapter." "Troth,
master," replied Sancho, "your memory must be very short not to
remember the articles of our agreement before I came this last journey
with you. I was to speak what I would, and when I would, provided I
said nothing against my neighbour, or your worship's authority; and I
don't see that I have broken my indentures yet." "I remember no such
article," said Don Quixote; "and though it were so, it is my pleasure
you should now be silent; for the instruments we heard last night
begin to cheer the valleys, and doubtless the marriage will be
solemnised this morning ere the heat of the day prevent the
diversion."
Thereupon Sancho said no more, but saddled Rozinante, and clapped his
pack-saddle on Dapple's back; then both mounting, away they rode fair
and softly into the arbour. The first thing that blessed Sancho's
sight there, was a whole steer spitted on a large elm before a mighty
fire made of a pile of wood, that seemed a flaming mountain. Round
this bonfire were placed six capacious pots, cast in no common mould,
or rather six ample coppers, every one containing a whole shamble of
meat, and entire sheep were sunk and lost in them, and soaked as
conveniently as pigeons. The branches of the trees round were all
garnished with an infinite number of cased hares, and plucked fowls of
several sorts; and then for drink, Sancho told above threescore skins
of wine, each of which contained above twenty-four quarts; and, as it
afterwards proved, sprightly liquor. A goodly pile of white loaves
made a large rampart on the one side, and a stately wall of cheeses
set up like bricks made a comely bulwark on the other. Two pans of
oil, each bigger than a dyer's vat, served to fry their pancakes,
which they lifted out with two strong peels when they were fried
enough; and then they dipped them in as large a bottle of honey
prepared for that purpose. To dress the provisions there were above
fifty cooks, men and women, all cleanly, diligent, and cheerful. In
the ample belly of the steer, they had stewed up twelve little sucking
pigs, to give it the more savoury taste. Spices of all sorts lay about
in such plenty, that they appeared to be bought by wholesale. In
short, the whole provision was indeed country like, but plentiful
enough to feast an army.
Sancho beheld all this with wonder and delight. The first temptation
that captivated his senses was the goodly pots; by and by he falls
desperately in love with the skins of wine; and lastly, his affections
were fixed on the frying-pans, if such honourable kettles may accept
of the name. The scent of the fried meat put him into such a commotion
of spirit, that he could hold out no longer, but accosting one of the
busy cooks with all the smooth and hungry reasons he was master of, he
begged his leave to sop a luncheon of bread in one of the pans.
"Friend," quoth the cook, "no hunger must be felt near us to-day
(thanks to the founder). Alight man, and if thou canst find ever a
ladle there, skim out a pullet or two, and much good may they do
you." "Alack-a-day," quoth Sancho, "I see no ladle, sir." "What a
silly helpless fellow thou art!" cried the cook. "Let me see." With
that he took a kettle, and sousing it into one of the pots, he fished
out three hens and a couple of geese at one heave. "Here, friend,"
said he to Sancho, "take this, and make shift to stay your stomach
with that scum till dinner be ready." "Heaven reward you," cried
Sancho; "but where shall I put it?" "Here," answered the cook, "take
ladle and all, and thank the founder once more I say; nobody will
grudge it thee."
[Illustration: DON QUIXOTE. P. 242.]
While Sancho was thus employed, Don Quixote saw twelve young farmers'
sons, all dressed very gay, enter upon stately mares, as richly and
gaudily equipped as the country could afford, with little bells
fastened to their furniture. These in a close body made several
careers up and down the meadow, merrily shouting and crying out "Long
live Camacho and Quiteria! he is rich and she is fair, and she the
fairest in the world!" Poor ignorants (thought Don Quixote,
overhearing them), you speak as you know; but had you ever seen my
Dulcinea del Toboso, you would not be so lavish of your praises.