CHAPTER 58
WHICH TELLS HOW ADVENTURES CAME CROWDING ON DON QUIXOTE IN SUCH NUM-
BERS THAT THEY GAVE ONE ANOTHER NO BREATHING-TIME
When Don Quixote saw himself in open country, free, and relieved from
the attentions of Altisidora, he felt at his ease, and in fresh spirits to take up
the pursuit of chivalry once more; and turning to Sancho he said, “Freedom,
Sancho, is one of the most precious gifts that heaven has bestowed upon
men; no treasures that the earth holds buried or the sea conceals can com-
pare with it; for freedom, as for honour, life may and should be ventured;
and on the other hand, captivity is the greatest evil that can fall to the lot of
man. I say this, Sancho, because thou hast seen the good cheer, the abun-
dance we have enjoyed in this castle we are leaving; well then, amid those
dainty banquets and snow-cooled beverages I felt as though I were undergo-
ing the straits of hunger, because I did not enjoy them with the same free-
dom as if they had been mine own; for the sense of being under an obliga-
tion to return benefits and favours received is a restraint that checks the in-
dependence of the spirit. Happy he, to whom heaven has given a piece of
bread for which he is not bound to give thanks to any but heaven itself!”
“For all your worship says,” said Sancho, “it is not becoming that there
should be no thanks on our part for two hundred gold crowns that the duke’s
majordomo has given me in a little purse which I carry next my heart, like a
warming plaster or comforter, to meet any chance calls; for we shan’t al-
ways find castles where they’ll entertain us; now and then we may light
upon roadside inns where they’ll cudgel us.”
In conversation of this sort the knight and squire errant were pursuing
their journey, when, after they had gone a little more than half a league,
they perceived some dozen men dressed like labourers stretched upon their
cloaks on the grass of a green meadow eating their dinner. They had beside
them what seemed to be white sheets concealing some objects under them,
standing upright or lying flat, and arranged at intervals. Don Quixote ap-
proached the diners, and, saluting them courteously first, he asked them
what it was those cloths covered. “Senor,” answered one of the party, “under
these cloths are some images carved in relief intended for a retablo we are
putting up in our village; we carry them covered up that they may not be
soiled, and on our shoulders that they may not be broken.”
“With your good leave,” said Don Quixote, “I should like to see them; for
images that are carried so carefully no doubt must be fine ones.”
“I should think they were!” said the other; “let the money they cost speak
for that; for as a matter of fact there is not one of them that does not stand
us in more than fifty ducats; and that your worship may judge; wait a mo-
ment, and you shall see with your own eyes;” and getting up from his din-
ner he went and uncovered the first image, which proved to be one of Saint
George on horseback with a serpent writhing at his feet and the lance thrust
down its throat with all that fierceness that is usually depicted. The whole
group was one blaze of gold, as the saying is. On seeing it Don Quixote
said, “That knight was one of the best knights-errant the army of heaven
ever owned; he was called Don Saint George, and he was moreover a de-
fender of maidens. Let us see this next one.”
The man uncovered it, and it was seen to be that of Saint Martin on his
horse, dividing his cloak with the beggar. The instant Don Quixote saw it he
said, “This knight too was one of the Christian adventurers, but I believe he
was generous rather than valiant, as thou mayest perceive, Sancho, by his
dividing his cloak with the beggar and giving him half of it; no doubt it was
winter at the time, for otherwise he would have given him the whole of it,
so charitable was he.”
“It was not that, most likely,” said Sancho, “but that he held with the
proverb that says, ‘For giving and keeping there’s need of brains.'”
Don Quixote laughed, and asked them to take off the next cloth, under-
neath which was seen the image of the patron saint of the Spains seated on
horseback, his sword stained with blood, trampling on Moors and treading
heads underfoot; and on seeing it Don Quixote exclaimed, “Ay, this is a
knight, and of the squadrons of Christ! This one is called Don Saint James
the Moorslayer, one of the bravest saints and knights the world ever had or
heaven has now.”
They then raised another cloth which it appeared covered Saint Paul fall-
ing from his horse, with all the details that are usually given in representa-
tions of his conversion. When Don Quixote saw it, rendered in such lifelike
style that one would have said Christ was speaking and Paul answering,
“This,” he said, “was in his time the greatest enemy that the Church of God
our Lord had, and the greatest champion it will ever have; a knight-errant in
life, a steadfast saint in death, an untiring labourer in the Lord’s vineyard, a
teacher of the Gentiles, whose school was heaven, and whose instructor and
master was Jesus Christ himself.”
There were no more images, so Don Quixote bade them cover them up
again, and said to those who had brought them, “I take it as a happy omen,
brothers, to have seen what I have; for these saints and knights were of the
same profession as myself, which is the calling of arms; only there is this
difference between them and me, that they were saints, and fought with di-
vine weapons, and I am a sinner and fight with human ones. They won
heaven by force of arms, for heaven suffereth violence; and I, so far, know
not what I have won by dint of my sufferings; but if my Dulcinea del To-
boso were to be released from hers, perhaps with mended fortunes and a
mind restored to itself I might direct my steps in a better path than I am fol-
lowing at present.”
“May God hear and sin be deaf,” said Sancho to this.
The men were filled with wonder, as well at the figure as at the words of
Don Quixote, though they did not understand one half of what he meant by
them. They finished their dinner, took their images on their backs, and bid-
ding farewell to Don Quixote resumed their journey.
Sancho was amazed afresh at the extent of his master’s knowledge, as
much as if he had never known him, for it seemed to him that there was no
story or event in the world that he had not at his fingers’ ends and fixed in
his memory, and he said to him, “In truth, master mine, if this that has hap-
pened to us to-day is to be called an adventure, it has been one of the sweet-
est and pleasantest that have befallen us in the whole course of our travels;
we have come out of it unbelaboured and undismayed, neither have we
drawn sword nor have we smitten the earth with our bodies, nor have we
been left famishing; blessed be God that he has let me see such a thing with
my own eyes!”
“Thou sayest well, Sancho,” said Don Quixote, “but remember all times
are not alike nor do they always run the same way; and these things the vul-
gar commonly call omens, which are not based upon any natural reason,
will by him who is wise be esteemed and reckoned happy accidents merely.
One of these believers in omens will get up of a morning, leave his house,
and meet a friar of the order of the blessed Saint Francis, and, as if he had
met a griffin, he will turn about and go home. With another Mendoza the
salt is spilt on his table, and gloom is spilt over his heart, as if nature was
obliged to give warning of coming misfortunes by means of such trivial
things as these. The wise man and the Christian should not trifle with what
it may please heaven to do. Scipio on coming to Africa stumbled as he
leaped on shore; his soldiers took it as a bad omen; but he, clasping the soil
with his arms, exclaimed, ‘Thou canst not escape me, Africa, for I hold thee
tight between my arms.’ Thus, Sancho, meeting those images has been to
me a most happy occurrence.”
“I can well believe it,” said Sancho; “but I wish your worship would tell
me what is the reason that the Spaniards, when they are about to give battle,
in calling on that Saint James the Moorslayer, say ‘Santiago and close
Spain!’ Is Spain, then, open, so that it is needful to close it; or what is the
meaning of this form?”
“Thou art very simple, Sancho,” said Don Quixote; “God, look you, gave
that great knight of the Red Cross to Spain as her patron saint and protector,
especially in those hard struggles the Spaniards had with the Moors; and
therefore they invoke and call upon him as their defender in all their battles;
and in these he has been many a time seen beating down, trampling under
foot, destroying and slaughtering the Hagarene squadrons in the sight of all;
of which fact I could give thee many examples recorded in truthful Spanish
histories.”
Sancho changed the subject, and said to his master, “I marvel, senor, at
the boldness of Altisidora, the duchess’s handmaid; he whom they call Love
must have cruelly pierced and wounded her; they say he is a little blind
urchin who, though blear-eyed, or more properly speaking sightless, if he
aims at a heart, be it ever so small, hits it and pierces it through and through
with his arrows. I have heard it said too that the arrows of Love are blunted
and robbed of their points by maidenly modesty and reserve; but with this
Altisidora it seems they are sharpened rather than blunted.”
“Bear in mind, Sancho,” said Don Quixote, “that love is influenced by no
consideration, recognises no restraints of reason, and is of the same nature
as death, that assails alike the lofty palaces of kings and the humble cabins
of shepherds; and when it takes entire possession of a heart, the first thing it
does is to banish fear and shame from it; and so without shame Altisidora
declared her passion, which excited in my mind embarrassment rather than
commiseration.”
“Notable cruelty!” exclaimed Sancho; “unheard-of ingratitude! I can only
say for myself that the very smallest loving word of hers would have sub-
dued me and made a slave of me. The devil! What a heart of marble, what
bowels of brass, what a soul of mortar! But I can’t imagine what it is that
this damsel saw in your worship that could have conquered and captivated
her so. What gallant figure was it, what bold bearing, what sprightly grace,
what comeliness of feature, which of these things by itself, or what all to-
gether, could have made her fall in love with you? For indeed and in truth
many a time I stop to look at your worship from the sole of your foot to the
topmost hair of your head, and I see more to frighten one than to make one
fall in love; moreover I have heard say that beauty is the first and main
thing that excites love, and as your worship has none at all, I don’t know
what the poor creature fell in love with.”
“Recollect, Sancho,” replied Don Quixote, “there are two sorts of beauty,
one of the mind, the other of the body; that of the mind displays and ex-
hibits itself in intelligence, in modesty, in honourable conduct, in generosi-
ty, in good breeding; and all these qualities are possible and may exist in an
ugly man; and when it is this sort of beauty and not that of the body that is
the attraction, love is apt to spring up suddenly and violently. I, Sancho,
perceive clearly enough that I am not beautiful, but at the same time I know
I am not hideous; and it is enough for an honest man not to be a monster to
be an object of love, if only he possesses the endowments of mind I have
mentioned.”
While engaged in this discourse they were making their way through a
wood that lay beyond the road, when suddenly, without expecting anything
of the kind, Don Quixote found himself caught in some nets of green cord
stretched from one tree to another; and unable to conceive what it could be,
he said to Sancho, “Sancho, it strikes me this affair of these nets will prove
one of the strangest adventures imaginable. May I die if the enchanters that
persecute me are not trying to entangle me in them and delay my journey,
by way of revenge for my obduracy towards Altisidora. Well then let me
tell them that if these nets, instead of being green cord, were made of the
hardest diamonds, or stronger than that wherewith the jealous god of black-
smiths enmeshed Venus and Mars, I would break them as easily as if they
were made of rushes or cotton threads.” But just as he was about to press
forward and break through all, suddenly from among some trees two shep-
herdesses of surpassing beauty presented themselves to his sight—or at
least damsels dressed like shepherdesses, save that their jerkins and sayas
were of fine brocade; that is to say, the sayas were rich farthingales of gold
embroidered tabby. Their hair, that in its golden brightness vied with the
beams of the sun itself, fell loose upon their shoulders and was crowned
with garlands twined with green laurel and red everlasting; and their years
to all appearance were not under fifteen nor above eighteen.
Such was the spectacle that filled Sancho with amazement, fascinated
Don Quixote, made the sun halt in his course to behold them, and held all
four in a strange silence. One of the shepherdesses, at length, was the first to
speak and said to Don Quixote, “Hold, sir knight, and do not break these
nets; for they are not spread here to do you any harm, but only for our
amusement; and as I know you will ask why they have been put up, and
who we are, I will tell you in a few words. In a village some two leagues
from this, where there are many people of quality and rich gentlefolk, it was
agreed upon by a number of friends and relations to come with their wives,
sons and daughters, neighbours, friends and kinsmen, and make holiday in
this spot, which is one of the pleasantest in the whole neighbourhood, set-
ting up a new pastoral Arcadia among ourselves, we maidens dressing our-
selves as shepherdesses and the youths as shepherds. We have prepared two
eclogues, one by the famous poet Garcilasso, the other by the most excel-
lent Camoens, in its own Portuguese tongue, but we have not as yet acted
them. Yesterday was the first day of our coming here; we have a few of
what they say are called field-tents pitched among the trees on the bank of
an ample brook that fertilises all these meadows; last night we spread these
nets in the trees here to snare the silly little birds that startled by the noise
we make may fly into them. If you please to be our guest, senor, you will be
welcomed heartily and courteously, for here just now neither care nor sor-
row shall enter.”
She held her peace and said no more, and Don Quixote made answer, “Of
a truth, fairest lady, Actaeon when he unexpectedly beheld Diana bathing in
the stream could not have been more fascinated and wonderstruck than I at
the sight of your beauty. I commend your mode of entertainment, and thank
you for the kindness of your invitation; and if I can serve you, you may
command me with full confidence of being obeyed, for my profession is
none other than to show myself grateful, and ready to serve persons of all
conditions, but especially persons of quality such as your appearance indi-
cates; and if, instead of taking up, as they probably do, but a small space,
these nets took up the whole surface of the globe, I would seek out new
worlds through which to pass, so as not to break them; and that ye may give
some degree of credence to this exaggerated language of mine, know that it
is no less than Don Quixote of La Mancha that makes this declaration to
you, if indeed it be that such a name has reached your ears.”
“Ah! friend of my soul,” instantly exclaimed the other shepherdess,
“what great good fortune has befallen us! Seest thou this gentleman we
have before us? Well then let me tell thee he is the most valiant and the
most devoted and the most courteous gentleman in all the world, unless a
history of his achievements that has been printed and I have read is telling
lies and deceiving us. I will lay a wager that this good fellow who is with
him is one Sancho Panza his squire, whose drolleries none can equal.”
“That’s true,” said Sancho; “I am that same droll and squire you speak of,
and this gentleman is my master Don Quixote of La Mancha, the same
that’s in the history and that they talk about.”
“Oh, my friend,” said the other, “let us entreat him to stay; for it will give
our fathers and brothers infinite pleasure; I too have heard just what thou
hast told me of the valour of the one and the drolleries of the other; and
what is more, of him they say that he is the most constant and loyal lover
that was ever heard of, and that his lady is one Dulcinea del Toboso, to
whom all over Spain the palm of beauty is awarded.”
“And justly awarded,” said Don Quixote, “unless, indeed, your un-
equalled beauty makes it a matter of doubt. But spare yourselves the trou-
ble, ladies, of pressing me to stay, for the urgent calls of my profession do
not allow me to take rest under any circumstances.”
At this instant there came up to the spot where the four stood a brother of
one of the two shepherdesses, like them in shepherd costume, and as richly
and gaily dressed as they were. They told him that their companion was the
valiant Don Quixote of La Mancha, and the other Sancho his squire, of
whom he knew already from having read their history. The gay shepherd
offered him his services and begged that he would accompany him to their
tents, and Don Quixote had to give way and comply. And now the gave was
started, and the nets were filled with a variety of birds that deceived by the
colour fell into the danger they were flying from. Upwards of thirty persons,
all gaily attired as shepherds and shepherdesses, assembled on the spot, and
were at once informed who Don Quixote and his squire were, whereat they
were not a little delighted, as they knew of him already through his history.
They repaired to the tents, where they found tables laid out, and choicely,
plentifully, and neatly furnished. They treated Don Quixote as a person of
distinction, giving him the place of honour, and all observed him, and were
full of astonishment at the spectacle. At last the cloth being removed, Don
Quixote with great composure lifted up his voice and said:
“One of the greatest sins that men are guilty of is—some will say pride—
but I say ingratitude, going by the common saying that hell is full of in-
grates. This sin, so far as it has lain in my power, I have endeavoured to
avoid ever since I have enjoyed the faculty of reason; and if I am unable to
requite good deeds that have been done me by other deeds, I substitute the
desire to do so; and if that be not enough I make them known publicly; for
he who declares and makes known the good deeds done to him would repay
them by others if it were in his power, and for the most part those who re-
ceive are the inferiors of those who give. Thus, God is superior to all be-
cause he is the supreme giver, and the offerings of man fall short by an infi-
nite distance of being a full return for the gifts of God; but gratitude in some
degree makes up for this deficiency and shortcoming. I therefore, grateful
for the favour that has been extended to me here, and unable to make a re-
turn in the same measure, restricted as I am by the narrow limits of my
power, offer what I can and what I have to offer in my own way; and so I
declare that for two full days I will maintain in the middle of this highway
leading to Saragossa, that these ladies disguised as shepherdesses, who are
here present, are the fairest and most courteous maidens in the world, ex-
cepting only the peerless Dulcinea del Toboso, sole mistress of my
thoughts, be it said without offence to those who hear me, ladies and
gentlemen.”
On hearing this Sancho, who had been listening with great attention,
cried out in a loud voice, “Is it possible there is anyone in the world who
will dare to say and swear that this master of mine is a madman? Say, gen-
tlemen shepherds, is there a village priest, be he ever so wise or learned,
who could say what my master has said; or is there knight-errant, whatever
renown he may have as a man of valour, that could offer what my master
has offered now?”
Don Quixote turned upon Sancho, and with a countenance glowing with
anger said to him, “Is it possible, Sancho, there is anyone in the whole
world who will say thou art not a fool, with a lining to match, and I know
not what trimmings of impertinence and roguery? Who asked thee to med-
dle in my affairs, or to inquire whether I am a wise man or a blockhead?
Hold thy peace; answer me not a word; saddle Rocinante if he be unsad-
dled; and let us go to put my offer into execution; for with the right that I
have on my side thou mayest reckon as vanquished all who shall venture to
question it;” and in a great rage, and showing his anger plainly, he rose from
his seat, leaving the company lost in wonder, and making them feel doubt-
ful whether they ought to regard him as a madman or a rational being. In
the end, though they sought to dissuade him from involving himself in such
a challenge, assuring him they admitted his gratitude as fully established,
and needed no fresh proofs to be convinced of his valiant spirit, as those re-
lated in the history of his exploits were sufficient, still Don Quixote persist-
ed in his resolve; and mounted on Rocinante, bracing his buckler on his arm
and grasping his lance, he posted himself in the middle of a high road that
was not far from the green meadow. Sancho followed on Dapple, together
with all the members of the pastoral gathering, eager to see what would be
the upshot of his vainglorious and extraordinary proposal.
Don Quixote, then, having, as has been said, planted himself in the mid-
dle of the road, made the welkin ring with words to this effect: “Ho ye trav-
ellers and wayfarers, knights, squires, folk on foot or on horseback, who
pass this way or shall pass in the course of the next two days! Know that
Don Quixote of La Mancha, knight-errant, is posted here to maintain by
arms that the beauty and courtesy enshrined in the nymphs that dwell in
these meadows and groves surpass all upon earth, putting aside the lady of
my heart, Dulcinea del Toboso. Wherefore, let him who is of the opposite
opinion come on, for here I await him.”
Twice he repeated the same words, and twice they fell unheard by any
adventurer; but fate, that was guiding affairs for him from better to better,
so ordered it that shortly afterwards there appeared on the road a crowd of
men on horseback, many of them with lances in their hands, all riding in a
compact body and in great haste. No sooner had those who were with Don
Quixote seen them than they turned about and withdrew to some distance
from the road, for they knew that if they stayed some harm might come to
them; but Don Quixote with intrepid heart stood his ground, and Sancho
Panza shielded himself with Rocinante’s hind-quarters. The troop of lancers
came up, and one of them who was in advance began shouting to Don
Quixote, “Get out of the way, you son of the devil, or these bulls will knock
you to pieces!”
“Rabble!” returned Don Quixote, “I care nothing for bulls, be they the
fiercest Jarama breeds on its banks. Confess at once, scoundrels, that what I
have declared is true; else ye have to deal with me in combat.”
The herdsman had no time to reply, nor Don Quixote to get out of the
way even if he wished; and so the drove of fierce bulls and tame bullocks,
together with the crowd of herdsmen and others who were taking them to be
penned up in a village where they were to be run the next day, passed over
Don Quixote and over Sancho, Rocinante and Dapple, hurling them all to
the earth and rolling them over on the ground. Sancho was left crushed,
Don Quixote scared, Dapple belaboured and Rocinante in no very sound
condition.
They all got up, however, at length, and Don Quixote in great haste,
stumbling here and falling there, started off running after the drove, shout-
ing out, “Hold! stay! ye rascally rabble, a single knight awaits you, and he
is not of the temper or opinion of those who say, ‘For a flying enemy make a
bridge of silver.'” The retreating party in their haste, however, did not stop
for that, or heed his menaces any more than last year’s clouds. Weariness
brought Don Quixote to a halt, and more enraged than avenged he sat down
on the road to wait until Sancho, Rocinante and Dapple came up. When
they reached him master and man mounted once more, and without going
back to bid farewell to the mock or imitation Arcadia, and more in humilia-
tion than contentment, they continued their journey.
