_Wherein is contained the information given to Don Quixote how to
disenchant Dulcinea; with other wonderful passages._
When the pleasant music drew near, there appeared a stately triumphal
chariot, drawn by six dun mules, covered with white, upon each of
which sat a penitent, clad also in white, and holding a great lighted
torch in his hand. The carriage was twice or thrice longer than any of
the former, twelve other penitents being placed at the top and sides,
all in white, and bearing likewise each a lighted torch, which made a
dazzling and surprising appearance. There was a high throne erected at
the farther end, on which sat a nymph arrayed in cloth of silver, with
many golden spangles glittering all about her, which made her dress,
though not rich, appear very glorious. Her face was covered with
transparent gauze, through the flowing folds of which might be
descried a most beautiful face; and, by the great light which the
torches gave, it was easy to discern that, as she was not less than
seventeen years of age, neither could she be thought above twenty.
Close by her was a figure, clad in a long gown, like that of a
magistrate, reaching down to its feet, and its head covered with a
black veil. When they came directly opposite to the company, the
hautboys that played before ceased, and the Spanish harps and lutes
that were in the chariot did the like; then the figure in the gown
stood up; and, opening its garments and throwing away its mourning
veil, discovered a bare and frightful skeleton, that represented the
deformed figure of Death; which startled Don Quixote, made Sancho's
bones rattle in his skin for fear, and caused the duke and the duchess
to seem more than commonly disturbed. This living Death being thus got
up, in a dull, heavy, sleepy tone, as if its tongue had not been well
awake, began in this manner:
"O glory thou of all that e'er could grace
A coat of steel, and fence of adamant!
Light, lantern, path, and polar star and guide
To all who dare dismiss ignoble sleep
And downy ease for exercise of arms,
For toils continual, perils, wounds, and blood!
Knight of unfathomed worth, abyss of praise,
Who blend'st in one the prudent and the brave:
To thee, great Quixote, I this truth declare;
That, to restore to her true state and form
Toboso's pride, the peerless Dulcinea,
'Tis Fate's decree, that Sancho do bestow
Three thousand lashes, and eke three hundred more,
Each to afflict and sting and gall him sore;
So shall relent the authors of her woes,
Whose awful will I for her ease disclose."
"What!" quoth Sancho, "three thousand lashes! I will not give myself
three; I will as soon give myself three stabs. Mr. Merlin, if you have
no better way for disenchanting the Lady Dulcinea, she may even lie
bewitched to her dying day for me."
"How now, opprobrious rascal!" cried Don Quixote; "sirrah, I will take
you and tie your dogship to a tree, and there I will not only give you
three thousand three hundred lashes, but six thousand six hundred, you
varlet!" "Hold!" cried Merlin, hearing this; "this must not be; the
stripes inflicted on honest Sancho must be voluntary, without
compulsion, and only laid on when he thinks most convenient. No set
time is for the task fixed; and if he has a mind to have abated one
half of this atonement, it is allowed, provided the remaining stripes
be struck by a strange hand, and heavily laid on."
"Neither a strange hand nor my own," quoth Sancho, "neither heavy nor
light, shall touch my flesh. Is the Lady Dulcinea mine, that my body
must pay for the transgressions of her eyes? My master, indeed, who is
part of her, he it is who ought to lash himself for her, and do all
that is needful for her delivery; but for me to whip myself--no!"
No sooner had Sancho thus declared himself than the nymph who sat by
the shade of Merlin arose, and throwing aside her veil, discovered a
face of extraordinary beauty; and with a masculine air addressed
herself to Sancho: "O wretched squire, with thy soul of flint! Hadst
thou been required to throw thyself headlong from some high tower;
hadst thou been desired to kill thy wife and children with some bloody
and sharp scimitar, no wonder if thou hadst betrayed some
squeamishness; but to hesitate about three thousand three hundred
lashes, which there is not a wretched schoolboy but receives every
month, it amazes, stupifies, and affrights all who hear it, and even
all who shall hereafter be told it. Relent, malicious and evil-minded
man! be moved by my blooming youth, which is pining and withering
beneath the vile bark of a peasant-wench; and if at this moment I
appear otherwise, it is by the special favour of Signor Merlin here
present, hoping that these charms may soften that iron heart; for the
tears of afflicted beauty turn rocks into cotton, and tigers into
lambs."
"What say you to that, Sancho?" quoth the duchess. "I say, madam,"
answered Sancho, "that, as to the lashes, I pronounce them."
"Renounce, you should say, Sancho," quoth the duke, "and not
'pronounce.'" "Please your grandeur to let me alone," replied Sancho,
"for I cannot stand now to a letter more or less; the thought of these
lashes so torments me that I know not what I say or do. But I would
fain know one thing from the Lady Dulcinea del Toboso, and that is,
where she learnt her manner of asking a favour? She comes to desire me
to tear my flesh with stripes, and at the same time lays upon me such
a bead-roll of ill names that the devil may bear them for me. What!
does she think my flesh is made of brass? Or that I care a rush
whether she is enchanted or not? Where are the presents she has
brought to soften me? All times are not alike, nor are men always in a
humour for all things. At this moment my heart is ready to burst with
grief to see this rent in my jacket, and people come to desire that I
would also tear my flesh, and that too of my own good-will; I having
just as much mind to the thing as to turn Turk." "In truth, friend
Sancho," said the duke, "if you do not relent and become softer than a
ripe fig, you finger no government of mine. It would be a fine thing,
indeed, were I to send my good islanders a cruel, flinty-hearted
tyrant, whom neither the tears of afflicted damsels nor the
admonitions of wise, reverend, and ancient enchanters can move to
compassion! Really, Sancho, I am compelled to say--no stripes no
government." "May I not be allowed two days, my lord," replied Sancho,
"to consider what is best for me to do?" "In no wise can that be,"
cried Merlin; "on this spot and at this instant you must determine;
for Dulcinea must either return to Montesinos' cave and to her rustic
shape, or in her present form be carried to the Elysian fields, there
to wait until the penance be completed." "Come, friend Sancho," said
the duchess, "be of good cheer, and shew yourself grateful to your
master, whose bread you have eaten, and to whose generous nature and
noble feats of chivalry we are all so much beholden. Come, my son,
give your consent, leave fear to the cowardly; a good heart breaks bad
fortune, as you well know."
"Well," said Sancho, "since every body tells me so, though the thing
is out of all reason, I promise to give myself the three thousand
three hundred lashes, upon condition that I may lay them on whenever
I please, without being tied to days or times; and I will endeavour to
get out of debt as soon as I possibly can, that the beauty of my Lady
Dulcinea del Toboso may shine forth to all the world; as it seems she
is really beautiful, which I much doubted."
No sooner had Sancho pronounced his consent than the innumerable
instruments poured forth their music, and volleys of musketry were
discharged, while Don Quixote clung about Sancho's neck, giving him a
thousand kisses; the duke and duchess, and all who were present,
likewise testified their satisfaction. The car now moved on; and in
departing, the fair Dulcinea bowed her head to the duke and duchess,
and made a low curtsy to Sancho.
By this time the cheerful and joyous dawn began to appear, the
flowrets of the field expanded their fragrant beauties to the light,
and brooks and streams, in gentle murmurs, ran to pay expecting rivers
their crystal tribute. The earth rejoiced, the sky was clear, and the
air serene and calm; all combined and separately giving manifest
tokens that the day, which followed fast upon Aurora's heels, would be
bright and fair. The duke and duchess, having happily executed their
ingenious project, returned highly gratified to their castle, and
determined on the continuation of fictions, which afforded more
pleasures than realities.