Chapter XLIII: Book III (2)

Then the duchess asking, how it had fared with Sancho in his long journey, the squire replied, ‘As for me, my lady, I perceived, as my master told me, that we flew threw the region of fire, and I felt a strong inclination to have a peep; but my master would not consent, when I begged his permission to uncover my eyes; nevertheless, I, who have a sort of a chip of curiosity, and an eager desire to know what I am forbid to enquire about fair and softly, without being perceived by any living soul, pulled down upon my nose the handkerchief that covered my eyes, and by these means had a glimpse of the earth, which seemed no bigger than a grain of mustard, and the men that walked upon it almost as little as hazle nuts; so you may guess how high we must have soared by that time.’

To this asseveration the duchess answered, ‘Have a care, friend Sancho; from what you say, it appears that it could not be the earth, but the men walking upon it, whom you saw: for if the earth appeared like a grain of mustard, and every man as big as a nut, it clearly follows, that one man must have covered the whole earth.’—‘Very true,’ said Sancho; ‘but, for all that, I had a side-view, by which I discovered the whole globe.’—‘Take notice, Sancho,’ resumed the duchess, ‘it is impossible to see the whole of any thing by a side-view.’—‘I know nothing of views,’ replied the squire; ‘this only I know, your ladyship ought to consider, that as we flew by inchantment, so might I, by inchantment, see the whole earth, and all the men upon it, in any sort of view whatsoever: and if your ladyship will not believe me in that, no more will you believe me when I tell you, that pushing up the handkerchief towards my eye-brows, I found myself within a hand’s breadth and a half of heaven, which I’ll assure your ladyship upon oath is very huge; and it came to pass, that our road lay close to the seven nanny-goats[182]: now, I having been a goatherd in my youth, before God and my conscience! I no sooner set eyes on them, than I was seized with the inclination to divert myself a little with the pretty creatures, and if I had not done it, I believe I should have burst for vexation. Come on then, what does me I? but, without saying a word to any living soul, not even to my master, fairly and softly slide down from Clavileno, and sport with the nannies, which are like violets and lilies, for the space of three quarters of an hour, and all that time the horse did not budge a step from the place.’

‘And while honest Sancho diverted himself with the goats,’ said the duke, ‘how was Signior Don Quixote entertained?’ To this interrogation the knight replied, ‘As all these adventures and incidents are out of the ordinary course of nature, we are not to wonder at what Sancho has told; for my own part, I can safely affirm, that I neither shoved up nor pulled down the bandage, nor did see either heaven, or earth, or sea, or land. True it is, I perceived we passed through the region of the air, and even bordered upon the region of fire, but that we travelled beyond it I cannot believe; for the fiery region being between the sphere of the moon and the utmost region of the air, we could not reach that firmament in which are placed the seven nannies, as Sancho calls them, without being scorched to death; and seeing we are not scorched, either Sancho lyes, or Sancho dreams.’—‘I neither lye nor dream,’ cried the squire; ‘let them ask the marks of the nanny-goats, and by my answers you will perceive whether or not I speak truth.’—‘Describe them, then, Sancho,’ said the duchess. ‘Two of them,’ replied Sancho, ‘are green, two carnation, two blue, and one motley.’—‘This is a new breed,’ said the duke; ‘in our region of earth there are no such colours; I mean, among the nanny-goats.’—‘That is very plain,’ replied the squire; ‘there must be some difference between the goats of heaven and those upon earth.’—‘Pray, tell me, Sancho,’ said his grace, ‘didst thou see never a he-goat among those females[183]?’—‘No, my lord,’ answered the squire; ‘I have been told none of those pass beyond the horns of the moon.’

They did not chuse to interrogate him farther about his journey; for they concluded that Sancho was in a fair way to travel through all the heavens above, and tell the news of each, though he had never stirred from the garden.

Finally, thus ended the adventure of the afflicted duenna, which afforded a fund for laughter to the duke and duchess, not only at that time, but during the whole course of their lives; as well as matter for Sancho to relate, had he lived whole centuries.

Don Quixote coming to the squire, whispered in his ear, ‘Hark ye, Sancho; since you would have us believe what you say, touching the things you saw in heaven, I desire the like credit from you with regard to those things I saw in the cave of Montesinos: that’s all.’

Footnote 181:

Equivalent to Abington law; in consequence of which, a criminal is
first executed, and then tried. Peralvillo is a village near Ciuidad
Real, in Castile, where the officers of the holy brotherhood execute
robbers taken _in flagrante_, who require no trial. Hence the phrase,
‘_La justicia de Peralvillo, que aborcado el hombre, le baze la
Pesquisa_.’ i. e. ‘Peralvillo law, which begins the process after the
man is hanged.’

Footnote 182:

In Spain, the Pleiades are vulgarly called _cabrillas_, i. e.
nanny-goats.

Footnote 183:

There is a kind of pleasantry in this question of the duke, which
cannot be translated; for the Spanish word, _cabron_, signifies a
cuckold, as well as an he-goat.

CHAP. X.
CONTAINING DON QUIXOTE’S INSTRUCTIONS TO SANCHO PANZA,
BEFORE HE SET OUT FOR HIS GOVERNMENT—
WITH OTHER WELL WEIGHED INCIDENTS.

The duke and duchess were so well pleased with the diverting and happy success of the adventure of the afflicted duenna, that they resolved to proceed with the jest, seeing what a proper subject they had to make it pass for earnest. Having, therefore, communicated their scheme and instructions to their servants and vassals, touching their behaviour to Sancho in his government of the promised island; on the day succeeding the flight of Clavileno, the duke desired him to prepare and make himself ready to set out for his government, as the islanders already longed for him as much as for May showers.

Sancho, having made his obeisance, ‘Since my descent from heaven,’ said he, ‘and since from its lofty summit I have viewed the earth, and found it of such small extent, my desire of being a governor is much moderated; for what grandeur can there be in reigning over a grain of mustard-seed? or what dignity and empire in governing half a dozen of mortals no bigger than filberts? for the whole earth seemed to contain nothing more. If your lordship would be pleased to bestow upon me a small trifling space in heaven, though it should not be above half a league, I would more gladly receive it than the best island in the world.’—‘You must consider, friend Sancho,’ replied the duke, ‘that I have it not in my power to give away any part of heaven; no, not a nail’s breadth, these favours and benefits are in the gift of God alone. What is in my power, I freely give you; namely, a good island, right and tight, round and well-proportioned, above measure fertile, and so abounding with all good things, that if you mind your hits, you may with the riches of earth purchase the opulence of heaven.’—‘Well, then,’ cried Sancho, ‘let this island be forthcoming, and I will struggle hard, but I shall be such a governor that in spite of knaves, I may go to heaven; and take notice, it is not from avarice that I desire to quit my cottage, and raise myself to a footing with my betters; but solely to taste and try what it is to be a governor.’—‘Nay, if once you taste it,’ said the duke, ‘you will be ready to eat your fingers after the government; for nothing is so delicious as to command and be obeyed; certain I am, that when your master shall come to be an emperor, as will doubtless be the case, considering the current of his affairs, it will not be in the power of any person upon earth to tear it from him, and he will sorely grieve, and heartily rue the time he has lost before his advancement to such an imperial station.’—‘Indeed, my lord,’ replied Sancho, ‘I imagine it must be a very pleasant thing to govern, even though it should be but a flock of sheep.’—‘May I be buried with you, Sancho, but you know every thing!’ answered the duke; ‘I hope you will turn out such a governor as your judgment and sagacity seem to promise: but here let that matter rest; and take notice, that tomorrow morning you must set out for the government of the island; and this evening you shall be accommodated with a convenient dress, and all other necessaries for your departure.’—‘They may dress me as they will,’ said the squire; ‘but, be that as it may, I shall still be Sancho Panza.’—‘True,’ replied the duke; ‘but the garb ought always to be suited to the dignity and function of the profession; for it would be a great impropriety in a lawyer to appear in the dress of a soldier, or in a soldier to wear canonicals; you, Sancho, must wear an habit that shall partly bespeak the gown, and partly the sword; for in the island which I have bestowed upon you, letters and arms are both necessary.’—‘As for letters,’ answered Sancho, ‘I am but indifferently stored, as I am even ignorant of the a, b, c; but, provided I remember my Christ-cross, I shall be sufficiently qualified for a good governor. With regard to arms, I shall use those that may be put into my hand, until I can stand no longer, and God be my shield!’—‘With such an excellent memory,’ said the duke, ‘Sancho can never fall into the least mistake.’

Here they were joined by Don Quixote, who understanding the subject of their conversation, and the short space allotted to Sancho to prepare for his departure, took the squire by the hand, with the duke’s permission, and led him to his apartment, in order to instruct him how to behave in his office. Having entered the chamber, he locked the door, and obliging Sancho to sit down by him, spoke to this effect, in a grave and solemn tone.

‘I return infinite thanks to Heaven, friend Sancho, for having ordained, that, before I myself have met with the least success, good fortune hath gone forth to bid thee welcome. I, who had balanced the remuneration of thy service in my own prosperity, find myself in the very rudiments of promotion; while thou, before thy time, and contrary to all the laws of reasonable progression, findest thy desire accomplished. Other people bribe, solicit, importune, attend levees, intreat, and persevere, without obtaining their suit; and another comes, who, without knowing why or wherefore, finds himself in possession of that office to which so many people laid claim; and here the old saying is aptly introduced, A pound of good luck is worth a ton of merit. Thou, who in comparison to me, art doubtless an ignorant dunce, without rising early, or sitting up late, or, indeed, exerting the least industry; without any pretension more or less, than that of being breathed upon by knight-errantry, seest thyself created governor of an island, as if it was a matter of moonshine. All this I observe, O Sancho, that thou mayest not attribute thy success to thy own deserts; but give thanks to Heaven for having disposed matters so beneficially in thy behalf, and then make thy acknowledgments to that grandeur which centers in the profession of knight-errantry. Thy heart being thus predisposed to believe what I have said, be attentive, O my son, to me, who am thy Cato, thy counsellor, thy north pole, and guide, to conduct thee into a secure harbour, from the tempestuous sea into which thou art going to be engulphed; for great posts, and offices of state, are no other than a profound gulph of confusion.

‘In the first place, O my son, you are to fear God: the fear of God is the beginning of wisdom; and if you are wise you cannot err.

‘Secondly, you must always remember who you are, and endeavour to know yourself; a study of all others the most difficult. This self knowledge will hinder you from blowing yourself up like a frog, in order to rival the size of an ox; if, therefore, you succeed in this learning, the consideration of thy having been a swineherd, will, like the peacock’s ugly feet, be a check upon thy folly and pride.’—‘I own, I once kept hogs, when I was a boy,’ said Sancho; ‘but after I grew up, I quitted that employment, and took care of geese; but I apprehend that matter is not of great consequence, for all governors are not descended from the kingly race.’—‘No, sure,’ answered the knight; ‘and, for that reason, those who are not of noble extraction, ought to sweeten the gravity of their function with mildness and affability; which, being prudently conducted, will screen them from those malicious murmurs that no station can escape. Rejoice, Sancho, in the lowness of your pedigree, and make no scruple of owning yourself descended from peasants; for nobody will endeavour to make you blush for that of which they see you are not ashamed; and value yourself more upon being a virtuous man of low degree, than upon being a proud sinner of noble birth. Innumerable are those, who, from an humble stock, have risen to the pontifical and imperatorial dignity; a truth which I could prove by so many examples, that you would not have patience to hear them.

‘Take notice, Sancho, if you chuse virtue for your medium, and pique yourself upon performing worthy actions, you will have no cause to envy noblemen and princes; for blood is hereditary, but virtue is acquired; consequently, this last has an intrinsick value, which the other does not possess.

‘This being the case, as undoubtedly it is, if peradventure any one of your relations should come to visit you in your island, you must not discountenance and affront him; but, on the contrary, let him be kindly received and entertained; and, in so doing, you will act conformably to the will of Heaven, which is displeased at seeing its own handy work despised; and perform your duty to the well-concerted rights of nature.

‘If you send for your wife, (and, indeed, those who are concerned in governing ought not to be long without their helpmates) take pains in teaching, improving, and civilizing her; for all that a sagacious governor can acquire, is very often lost and squandered by a foolish rustick wife.

‘If, perchance, you should become a widower, a circumstance that may possibly happen, and have it in your power to make a more advantageous match, you must not chuse such a yoke-fellow as will serve for an angling-hook, fishing-rod, or equivocating hood[184]; for verily I say unto thee, all that a judge’s wife receives must be accounted for at the general clearance, by the husband, who will repay fourfold after death what he made no reckoning of during life.

‘Never conduct yourself by the law of your own arbitrary opinion, which is generally the case with those ignorant people who presume upon their own self-sufficiency.

‘Let the tears of the poor find more compassion in thy breast, though not more justice, than the informations of the rich.

‘Endeavour to investigate the truth from among the promises and presents of the opulent, as well as from the sighs and importunities of the needy.

‘When equity can, and ought to take place, inflict not the whole rigour of the law upon the delinquent; for severity is not more respected than compassion, in the character of a judge.

‘If ever you suffer the rod of justice to be bent a little, let it not be warped by the weight of corruption, but the bowels of mercy.

‘If ever you should have an opportunity to judge the process of your enemy, recal the attention from the injury you have received, and fix it wholly upon the truth of the case.

‘In another man’s cause, be not blinded by private affection; for the errors thus committed are generally incurable; or, if they admit of remedy, it will be greatly at the expence of your fortune and credit.

‘If a beautiful woman should come to demand justice, withdraw your eyes from her tears, and your hearing from her sighs, and deliberate at a distance upon the substance of her demand, unless you have a mind that your reason should be overwhelmed by her complaint, and your virtue buried in her sighs.

‘Abuse not him in word whom you are resolved to chastise in deed; for to such a wretch, the pain of the punishment will be sufficient, without the addition of reproach.

‘In judging the delinquents who shall fall under your jurisdiction, consider the miserable object man, subject to the infirmities of our depraved nature; and, as much as lies in your power, without injury to the contrary party, display your clemency and compassion; for although all the attributes of God are equally excellent, that of mercy has a better effect in our eye, and strikes with greater lustre than justice.

‘If you observe and conduct yourself by these rules and precepts, Sancho, your days will be long upon the face of the earth; your fame will be eternal, your reward compleat, and your felicity unutterable; your children will be married according to your wish; they and their descendants will enjoy titles; you shall live in peace and friendship with all mankind: when your course of life is run, death will overtake you in an happy and mature old age, and your eyes will be shut by the tender and delicate hands of your posterity, in the third or fourth generation.

‘The remarks I have hitherto made, are documents touching the decoration of your soul; and now you will listen to those that regard the ornaments of the body.’

Footnote 184:

The phrase, _No quiero de tu capilla_, alludes to the practice of
friars, who, when charity is offered, hold out their hoods to receive
it, while they pronounce a refusal with their tongues.

CHAP. XI.
OF THE SECOND SERIES OF INSTRUCTIONS WHICH DON QUIXOTE GAVE
TO SANCHO PANZA.

Who that had heard this discourse of Don Quixote, would not have taken him for a person of sound judgment, and excellent disposition? but, as we have oftentimes observed, in the progress of this sublime history, his madness never appeared except when the string of chivalry was touched; and on all other subjects of conversation, he displayed a clear and ready understanding; so that every minute his works discredit his judgment, and his judgment his works. But, in this second set of instructions communicated to Sancho, he discovered great ingenuity, and raised his madness and discretion to a most elevated pitch.

Sancho listened with the utmost attention, and endeavoured to retain his advice, like a man who desired to preserve it, as the infallible means to promote the happy birth of that government with which he was so far gone. Don Quixote then proceeded in these terms.

‘With respect to the government of your person and family, Sancho: in the first place, I charge you to be cleanly, and pare your nails; and do not let them grow, like some people whose ignorance teaches them that long nails beautify the hand, as if that additional excrement which they neglect to cut, were really and truly the nail; whereas, it more nearly resembles the talons of a lizard-hunting wind-whiffer, and is a most beastly and extraordinary abuse.

‘You must never appear loose and unbuttoned; for a slovenly dress denotes a disorderly mind; unless that looseness and negligence be the effect of cunning, as we suppose to have been the case with Julius Cæsar.

‘Examine sagaciously the profits of your place, and if they will afford livery to your servants, let it be rather decent and substantial, than gay and tawdry; and be sure to divide it between your servants and the poor. For example, if you can clothe six pages, put three in livery, and clothe as many poor boys; and then you will have pages for Heaven as well as earth: now, this is a method of giving livery, which the vain-glorious could never conceive.

‘Abstain from eating garlick and onions, lest your breath should discover your rusticity.

‘Walk leisurely, speak distinctly, but not so as to seem delighted with your own discourse; for all affectation is disagreeable.

‘Dine sparingly, and eat very little at supper; for the health of the whole body depends upon the operation of the stomach.

‘Be temperate in drinking; and consider, that excess of wine will neither keep a secret nor perform a promise.

‘Beware, Sancho, of chewing on both sides of your mouth, as well as eructing before company.’—‘I do not understand what you mean by eructing,’ said the squire. ‘By eructing,’ answered the knight, ‘I mean belching; which though one of the most expressive, is at the same time one of the most vulgar terms of our language; therefore, people of taste have had recourse to the Latin tongue, saying “To eruct,” instead of “To belch,” and substituting eructations in the room of belchings; and though some people may not understand these terms, it is of small importance; for time and use will introduce and render them intelligible; and this is what we call enriching the language, over which the practice of the vulgar has great influence.’—‘Truly, Signior,’ said Sancho, ‘one of the advices and good counsels which I intend to remember, must be that of not belching; for it is a fault of which I am very often guilty.’—‘Eructing, Sancho, and not belching.’ replied Don Quixote. ‘Eructing it shall be henceforward,’ answered the squire; ‘and I will take care that it shall not be forgotten.’

‘Moreover, Sancho, you must not intermingle so many proverbs with your discourse; for, although proverbs are short sentences, you very often bring them in by the head and shoulders, so preposterously, that they look more like the ravings of distraction than well-chosen apothegms.’

‘That defect God himself must remedy,’ said Sancho; ‘for I have more proverbs by heart, than would be sufficient to fill a large book; and, when I speak, they croud together in such a manner, as to quarrel for utterance; so that my tongue discharges them just as they happen to be in the way, whether they are or are not to the purpose: but I will take care henceforward, to throw out those that may be suitable to the gravity of my office; for, Where there’s plenty of meat, the supper will soon be compleat. He that shuffles does not cut. A good hand makes a short game; and, It requires a good brain, to know when to give and retain.’—‘Courage, Sancho,’ cried Don Quixote, ‘squeeze, tack, and string your proverbs together, here are none to oppose you. My mother whips me, and I whip the top. Here am I exhorting thee to suppress thy proverbs, and in an instant thou hast spewed forth a whole litany of them, which are as foreign from the subject as an old ballad. Remember, Sancho, I do not say that a proverb, properly applied, is amiss; but to throw in, and string together, old saws, helter skelter, renders conversation altogether mean and despicable.

‘When you appear on horseback, do not lean backwards over the saddle, nor stretch out your legs stiffly from the horse’s belly, nor let them hang dangling in a slovenly manner, as if you was upon the back of Dapple; for some ride like jockies, and some like gentlemen.

‘Be very moderate in sleeping; for he who does not rise with the sun, cannot enjoy the day; and observe, O Sancho! Industry is the mother of prosperity; and Laziness, her opposite, never saw the accomplishment of a good wish.

‘The last advice which I shall now give thee, although it does not relate to the ornament of the body, I desire thou wilt carefully remember; for, in my opinion, it will be of as much service to thee, as any I have hitherto mentioned; and this it is: Never engage in a dispute upon pedigree, at least, never compare one with another; for in all comparisons, one must of consequence be preferred to the other; and he whom you have abased will abhor you; nor will you ever reap the least return from him whom you have extolled.

‘Your garb shall consist of breeches and stockings; a full waistcoat, with skirts and hanging sleeves, and a loose coat; but never think, of wearing trunk hose, which neither become gentlemen nor governors.

‘This is all that occurs to me at present, in the way of advice; but, in process of time, my instructions shall be proportioned to thy occasions, provided thou wilt take care to communicate, from time to time, the nature of thy situation.’

‘Signior,’ said Sancho, ‘I plainly perceive that all the advices you have given me, are sound and good, and profitable; but of what signification will they be, if I forget them all? Indeed, as for the matter of not letting my nails grow, or marrying another wife, in case I should have an opportunity, it will not easily slip out of my brain; but as to those other gallimawfries, quirks, and quiddities, I neither do retain them, nor shall I ever retain more of them than of last year’s rain; and therefore, it will be necessary to let me have them in writing; for, though I myself can neither read nor write, I will give them to my confessor, that he may repeat and beat them into my noddle, as there shall be occasion.’

‘Ah, sinner that I am!’ exclaimed Don Quixote, ‘what a scandal it is for governors to be so ignorant, that they can neither read nor write! Thou must know, Sancho, that for a man to be totally devoid of letters, or left-handed, argues either that he was descended from the very lowest and meanest of people, or that he was so wicked and stubborn, that good example and judicious precept have had no effect upon his mind or understanding. This is a great defect in thy character, and I wish thou wouldst learn, if possible, to write thy name.’—‘I can sign my name very well,’ answered Sancho; ‘for, during my stewardship of the brotherhood, I learned to make such letters as are ruddled into packs, and those they tell me stood for my name; besides, I can feign myself lame of my right-hand, and keep a secretary to sign in my room; so that there is a remedy for every thing but death. And I having the cudgel in my hand, will make them do as I command; for he whose father is mayor—you know—and I shall be a governor, which is still better——Let them come and see, but not throw their squibs or slanders at me: otherwise they may come for wool and go home shorn. The house itself will tell, if God loves its master well. A rich man’s folly is wisdom in the world’s eye: now, I being rich as being governor, and liberal withal, as I intend to be, nobody will spy my defects. Make yourself honey, and a clown will have flies. You are worth as much as you have, said my grannam; and, Might overcomes right.’

‘O! God’s curse light on thee,’ cried Don Quixote: ‘threescore thousand devils fly away with thee and thy proverbs! A full hour hast thou been stringing them together, and every one has been like a dagger to my soul. Take my word for it, these proverbs will bring thee one day to the gallows! for these, thy vassals will deprive thee of thy government, or at least enter into associations against thee. Tell me, numscull, where didst thou find this heap of old saws? or how didst thou learn to apply them, wiseacre? It makes me sweat like a day-labourer, to utter one proverb as it ought to be applied.’—‘’Fore God, Sir master of mine,’ replied Sancho, ‘your worship complains of mere trifles. Why the devil should you be in dudgeon with me for making use of my own? I have no other fortune or stock, but proverbs upon proverbs; and now there are no less than four at my tongue’s end, that come as pat to the purpose as pears in a basket; but, for all that, they shall not come forth; for, sagacious silence is Sancho.[185]’—‘That thou art not, Sancho,’ said the knight; ‘far from being sagaciously silent, thou art an obstinate and eternal babbler. Nevertheless, I would fain hear those four proverbs that are so pat to the purpose; for I have been rummaging my whole memory, which I take to be a good one, and not a proverb occurs to my recollection.’—‘What can be better than these?’ replied the squire: ‘Never thrust your thumb between another man’s grinders; and to, Get out of my house! what would you with my wife? there is no reply: Whether the stone goes to the pitcher, or the pitcher to the stone, ’ware pitcher. Now all these fit to a hair. Let no man meddle with a governor or his substitute; otherwise he will suffer, as if he had thrust his finger between two grinders; and even if they should not be grinders, if they are teeth, it makes little difference: then, to what a governor says, there is no reply to be made, no more than to, Get out of my house! what would you with my wife? and as to the stone and the pitcher, a blind man may see the meaning of it: Wherefore, let him who spies a mote in his neighbour’s eye, look first to the beam in his own, that people may not say of him, The dead mare was frighted at the flay’d mule; and your worship is very sensible that a fool knows more in his own house than a wise man in that of his neighbour.’—‘There, Sancho, you are mistaken.’ answered Don Quixote; ‘a fool knows nothing either in his own or his neighbour’s house; because no edifice of understanding can be raised upon the foundation of folly. But here let the subject rest: if thou shouldest misbehave in thy government, thine will be the fault and mine the shame; I console myself, however, in reflecting that I have done my duty in giving thee advice, with all the earnestness and discretion in my power; so that I have acquitted myself in point of promise and obligation. God conduct thee, Sancho, and govern thee in thy government, and deliver me from an apprehension I have, that thou wilt turn the island topsy turvy; a misfortune which I might prevent, by discovering to the duke what thou art, and telling him all that paunch and corpulency of thine is no other than a bag full of proverbs and impertinence.’

‘Signior,’ replied Sancho, ‘if your worship really thinks I am not qualified for that government, I renounce it from henceforward forever. Amen. I have a greater regard for a nail’s breadth of my soul, than my whole body; and I can subsist as bare Sancho, upon a crust of bread and an onion, as well as governor on capons and partridges; for, While we sleep, great and small, rich and poor, are equal all. If your worship will consider, your worship will find, that you yourself put this scheme of government into my head; as for my own part, I know no more of the matter than a bustard; and if you think the governorship will be the means of my going to the devil, I would much rather go as simple Sancho to Heaven, than as a governor to hell fire.’

‘Before God!’ cried the knight, ‘from these last reflections thou hast uttered, I pronounce thee worthy to govern a thousand islands. Thou hast an excellent natural disposition, without which all science is naught: recommend thyself to God, and endeavour to avoid errors in the first intention; I mean, let thy intention and unshaken purpose be, to deal righteously in all thy transactions; for Heaven always favours the upright design. And now let us go in to dinner; for I believe their graces wait for us.’

Footnote 185:

Instead of _saintly_.

CHAP. XII.
GIVING AN ACCOUNT OF THE MANNER IN WHICH
SANCHO WAS CONDUCTED TO THE GOVERNMENT,
AND A STRANGE ADVENTURE THAT HAPPENED TO DON QUIXOTE IN THE CASTLE.

The original of the history, it is said, relates that the interpreter did not translate this chapter as it had been written by Cid Hamet Benengeli, who bewails his fate in having undertaken such a dry and confined history as that of Don Quixote; which obliged him to treat of nothing but the knight and his squire, without daring to launch out into other more grave and entertaining episodes and digressions. He complained, that to be thus restricted in his hand, his pen, and his invention, to one subject only, so as to be obliged to speak through the mouths of a few persons, was an insupportable toil, that produced no fruit to the advantage of the author; and that in order to avoid this inconvenience, he had in the first part used the artifice of some novels, such as the Impertinent Curiosity, and the Captive, which were detached from the history, although many particulars there recounted are really incidents which happened to Don Quixote; and, therefore, could not be suppressed. It was likewise his opinion, as he observes, that many readers being wholly ingrossed with the exploits of Don Quixote, would not bestow attention upon novels, but pass them over either with negligence or disgust, without adverting to the spirit and artifice they contain: a truth which would plainly appear, were they to be published by themselves, independent of the madness of Don Quixote, and the simplicities of Sancho. He would not therefore insert in the second part any novels, whether detached or attached; but only a few episodes that seem to spring from those very incidents which truth represents; and even these, as brief and concise as they could possibly be related: and since he includes and confines himself within the narrow limits of narration, though his abilities and understanding are sufficient to treat the whole universe, he hopes that his work will not be depreciated; and begs he may receive due praise, not for what he has written, but for what he has left unwrit. Then the history proceeds in this manner.

In the evening that succeeded the afternoon on which the knight admonished his squire, he gave him his admonitions in writing, that he might find some person to read them occasionally; but, scarce had Sancho received, than he dropped them by accident, and they fell into the hands of the duke, who communicated the paper to the duchess, and both admired anew the madness and ingenuity of Don Quixote. Revolving to prosecute the jest, they, that very evening, dismissed Sancho with a large retinue to the place, which he supposed to be an island; the execution of the whole scheme being left to the sagacity of the duke’s steward, who was a person of great humour and discretion; for without discretion there can be no humour. He it was who acted the part of the Countess Trifaldi, with that pleasantry above related. Thus qualified, and in consequence of the instructions he received from their graces touching his behaviour to Sancho, he had performed his part to admiration. It happened, then, that Sancho no sooner beheld the said steward, than he traced in his countenance the very features of Trifaldi; and turning to his master, ‘Signior,’ said he, ‘the devil may fly away with me from this spot where I stand, as an honest man, and a believer, if your worship will not confess that the face of the duke’s steward here present, is the very same with that of the afflicted duenna!’ Don Quixote, having attentively considered the steward’s countenance, replied, ‘There is no occasion for the devil’s running away with thee, Sancho, either as an honest man or a believer; (indeed, I cannot guess thy meaning) for, sure enough, this steward’s face is the very same with that of the afflicted duenna; but, nevertheless, the steward and the duenna cannot possibly be the same person: that would imply a downright contradiction, and this is no time to set on foot such enquiries, which would entangle us in the maze of inextricable labyrinths. Believe me, friend, we ought to beseech the Lord very earnestly to deliver us from those two evils of wicked wizzards, and vile inchanters.’—‘But this is no joke,’ answered Sancho; ‘for I heard him speak a little while ago, and methought the very voice of Trifaldi sounded in mine ears. At present, however, I will hold my tongue; but, nevertheless, I will keep a strict eye over him from henceforward, in order to discover some other mark either to destroy or confirm my suspicion.’—‘Do so, Sancho,’ said Don Quixote; ‘and be sure to send me notice of the discoveries thou shalt make in this particular, as well as of every thing that shall happen to thee in the course of thine administration.’

At length Sancho departed with a numerous attendance; he was dressed like a gownman, with a long cloak of murrey-coloured camblet, and a cap of the same stuff: he rode upon a mule, with short stirrups; and was followed by Dapple, who, by the duke’s express order, was adorned with rich trappings of flaming silk; so that the governor from time to time turned about his head to contemplate the finery of his ass, with whose company he was so well content, that he would not have exchanged it for that of the German emperor.

At parting, he kissed the hands of the duke and duchess; and asked the benediction of his master, which was given with tears, and received with a whimper.

Courteous reader, suffer honest Sancho to depart in peace and happy time, and lay thy account with two bushels of laughter, which will proceed from thy knowing how he behaved himself in office; and in the mean time, attend to what befel his master this very night; an incident which, if it cannot excite thy laughter, will, at least, induce thee to grin like a monkey; for the adventures of Don Quixote must be celebrated, either with mirth or admiration.

It is related, then, that Sancho was no sooner gone than his master became solitary; and had it been possible, would have revoked the commission, and deprived him of his government; but the duchess being apprized of his melancholy, desired to know the cause, observing, that if it proceeded from Sancho’s absence, there was plenty of squires, duennas, and damsels, in the family, who should serve him to the satisfaction of his utmost wish. ‘True it is, my Lady Duchess,’ replied Don Quixote, ‘I feel the absence of Sancho; but that is not the principal cause of my seeming sadness; and of all the generous proffers of your excellency, I chuse to accept nothing but the good-will with which they are made; for the rest, I humbly beg your excellency will consent, and permit me to wait upon myself in my own apartment.’—‘Truly,’ said the duchess, ‘that must not be; Signior Don Quixote shall be served by four of my damsels, as beautiful as roses.’—‘With regard to me,’ answered the knight, ‘they will not be roses, but thorns to prick my very soul; and, therefore, I will as soon fly as permit them, or any thing like them, to enter my chamber. If your grace would continue to bestow your favours, which, I own, I do not deserve, suffer me to be private, and make use of my own doors, that I may raise a wall between my passions and my chastity; a custom which I would not forego for all the liberality which your highness is pleased to display in my behalf; and, in a word, I will rather sleep in my cloaths than consent to be undressed by any person whatsoever.’—‘Enough, enough, Signior Don Quixote,’ answered her grace; ‘you may depend upon it, I shall give such orders, that not even a fly, much less a damsel, shall enter your apartment; I am not a person to discompose the decency of Signior Don Quixote, among whose virtues, I perceive, that of decorum shines with superior lustre. Your worship may dress and undress yourself alone, after your own fashion, when and how you please, without lett or impediment; for in your chamber you will find every utensil suited to those who sleep under lock and key, without being obliged to open upon any necessary occasion. Long live the great Dulcinea del Toboso, and may her fame be extended around the whole circumference of the earth, seeing she is worthy to be beloved by a knight of such valour and chastity; and may propitious Heaven infuse into the heart of Sancho Panza, our governor, a promptitude to finish his flagellation, that the world may soon re-enjoy the beauty of such an excellent lady!’ To this compliment the knight replied; ‘Your highness hath spoken like yourself; for from the mouths of such benevolent ladies nothing evil can proceed; and Dulcinea will be more fortunate, and more renowned through the world, by your grace’s approbation, than by all the applause of the greatest orators upon earth.’

‘Well then, Signior Don Quixote,’ answered the duchess, ‘it is now supper time, and the duke probably stays for us; let us go and sup, therefore, that you may be a-bed betimes; for your journey to Candaya was not so short, but that it must have fatigued your worship in some measure.’—‘Madam,’ replied Don Quixote, ‘I feel no sort of weariness; and I swear to your excellency, that in my life I never crossed a better or easier going steed than Clavileno; nor can I conceive what should induce Malambruno to deprive himself of such a light and gentle carriage, by burning it without scruple or hesitation.’—‘As to that particular,’ said the duchess, ‘we may suppose, that repenting of the injury he had done to the countess and her company, as well as to other people, and being sorry for the mischief he must certainly have produced as a wizzard and inchanter, he resolved to destroy all the instruments of his art; as the principal of these, which gave him the greatest uneasiness, because it has transported him from place to place in his operations, he burned Clavileno, that by means of his ashes, and the trophy of the parchment, the valour of Don Quixote might be eternized.’

The knight made fresh acknowledgments of her grace’s politeness, and after supper retired to his apartment, without suffering any person to accompany or minister unto his occasions; so much was he afraid of meeting with trials, which might provoke or compel him to forego the chastity and decorum which he had hitherto preserved for his mistress Dulcinea, ever schooling his imagination with the exemplary virtue of Amadis, the flower and mirrour of knight-errantry.

Having locked the door behind him, he undressed himself by the light of two wax tapers; and in the course of this occupation (O misfortune, ill decreed to such a personage!) forth broke—not a volley of sighs, or any thing else to discredit the purity of his politeness, but about two dozen of stitches in one stocking; which, being thus torn, resembled a lattice: a mishap which was the source of extreme affliction to our worthy Signior; who, on this occasion, would have given an ounce of silver for a drachm of green silk, for his stockings were of that colour.

Here Benengeli exclaims, ‘O poverty, poverty! I know not what should induce the great Cordovan poet to call thee an holy unfrequented gift. I, though a Moor, am very sensible, from my correspondence with Christians, that holiness consists in charity, humility, faith, poverty, and obedience; yet, nevertheless, I will affirm, that he must be holy indeed, who can sit down content with poverty, unless we mean that kind of poverty to which one of the greatest saints alludes, when he says, “Possess all things as not possessing them,” and this is called spiritual poverty. But thou second poverty, which is the cause I spoke of, why wouldst thou assault gentlemen of birth rather than any other class of people? Why dost thou compel them to cobble their shoes, and wear upon their coats one button of silk, another of hair, and a third of glass? Why must their ruffs be generally yellow and ill starched?’ (By the bye, from this circumstance we learn the antiquity of ruffs and starch[186].) But, thus he proceeds: ‘O wretched man of noble pedigree! who is obliged to administer cordials to his honour, in the midst of hunger and solitude, by playing the hypocrite with a toothpick, which he affects to use in the street, though he has eat nothing to require that act of cleanliness; wretched he! I say, whose honour is ever apt to be startled, and thinks that every body, at a league’s distance, observes the patch upon his shoe, his greasy hat, and thread-bare cloak, and even the hunger that predominates in his belly!’

All these reflections occurred to Don Quixote when he tore his stockings; but he consoled himself for the misfortune, when he perceived that Sancho had left behind him a pair of travelling-boots, which he resolved to wear next day: finally, he crept into bed, where he lay pensive and melancholy, as well for the absence of Sancho, as for the irreparable misfortune of his stocking, which he would have gladly mended, even with silk of a different colour; one of the greatest marks of misery which a gentleman can exhibit in the course of his tedious poverty. After having extinguished the lights, he found the weather so hot that he could not sleep: he therefore arose again, and opened the casement of a great window that looked into a fine garden; then it was, that perceiving and hearing people walking and talking together, he began to listen attentively, while those below spoke so loud that he heard the following dialogue.

‘Do not, O Emerencia, press me to sing; for well thou knowest, that from the moment this stranger entered the castle, and mine eyes beheld his merit, instead of singing, I can do nothing but weep; besides, my lady’s sleep is rather slight than profound; and I would not for all the wealth in the world, that her grace should find us here. Moreover, suppose she should still sleep on, without waking, vain would be my song, unless it should awake, and attract the attention of this new Æneas, who is arrived in my territories, in order to leave me forlorn.’—‘Let not these suppositions have any weight with you, my dear Altisidora,’ replied another voice; ‘the duchess is doubtless asleep, and every body in the house, except the lord of your heart, and watchman of your soul, who must certainly be awake, for I just now heard him open the casement in his apartment; sing, therefore, my disastrous friend, in a low, sweet, and plaintive tone, to the sound of thy harp; and should the duchess overhear us, we will lay the blame upon the heat of the weather.’—‘That is not the cause of my hesitation, O Emerencia,’ replied Altisidora; ‘but, I am afraid that my song will disclose the situation of my heart, and I myself be censured by those who never felt the almighty power of Love, as a light and liquorish damsel; but, come what will, better have an hot face than an heavy heart.’ At that instant an harp was ravishingly touched, and Don Quixote hearing the sound, was struck with amazement; for his imagination was instantly filled with an infinity of similar adventures of rails and gardens, serenades, courtships and swoonings, which he had read in his vain books of chivalry; and he concluded that some damsel of the duchess was enamoured of him, but that modesty compelled her to keep her inclinations secret. Possessed of this notion, he began to be afraid of his virtue: but he resolved, in his own mind, to hold out to the last; and, recommending himself, with all his soul and spirit, to his mistress Dulcinea del Toboso, determined to listen to the song. With a view, therefore, to let them know he was there, he pretended to sneeze, a circumstance which not a little pleased the damsels, who desired nothing so much as that Don Quixote should hear them. Then the harp being tuned, Altisidora, after a flourish, began the following ditty.

SONG.

‘O Thou! who now a-bed,
In Holland sheets are laid,
And sleep’st from night till morn,
Untouch’d by care and scorn;
The knight of greatest worth
La Mancha e’er brought forth;
More chaste an hundred fold,
Than pure Arabian gold;
O hear an hapless maid
By cruel love betray’d!
The flame of thy two suns
Hath scorch’d her to the bones!
Thou seeking thy own foe,
Hast found another’s woe:
Thou gav’st the wound, and sure
Wilt not refuse the cure.
O tell me, valiant youth,
(So God shall prosper truth)
Wast thou in desarts bred,
Or among mountains fed?
Did serpents give thee suck,
On some bleak barren rock,
Deep in the wild recess
Of forest or morass?
Dulcinea fat and fair,
May boast her shape and air,
That in subjection hold
A tyger fierce and bold:
Her fame shall live in stanza,
From Ebro to Arlanza,
From Tagus to Henarez,
From Seine to Manganarez,
Would I her place could fill,
I’d give her for good will,
My gayest petticoat
With golden fringes wrought,
How happy then should I
In thine embraces lie!
Or on some cushion loll,
And scratch thy valiant poll.
Such joys are far above
The merits of my love;
Let me, then, bending low,
With rapture kiss thy toe.
What presents would be made,
Of sattin and brocade!
I’d give thee shoes and socks,
Silk hose with silver clocks;
Of cash uncounted sums,
And pearls as big as plums;
So precious, each would sell
As perfect nonpareil.
Manchegan Nero, say,
Dost thou, aloof, survey
The flames that rage and smart
Within my love-sick heart?
A maid I vow and swear,
Young, tender, and sincere;
As yet I have not seen
The borders of fifteen.
My sides are not awry,
Nor lame, nor blind, am I:
My locks with ribbands bound,
Like lilies, sweep the ground:
My nose is flat, ’tis true,
And eke my mouth askew;
But teeth as topaz fine,
Compleat my charms divine;
My voice, as you may hear,
Is tuneful, sweet, and clear;
My temper soft and good,
If rightly understood.
These beauties all so clever,
Are yielded to thy quiver,
And I who tell my story,
Am call’d Altisidory.’

Here ended the song of the hapless Altisidora; and here began the horror of the courted Don Quixote; who, fetching a heavy sigh, said within himself—‘What an unfortunate errant am I, whom no damsel can behold without being enamoured of my person! and how hapless is the peerless Dulcinea del Toboso, who cannot enjoy my incomparable constancy, without a rival! Queens, what would you have? Empresses, why do you persecute her beauty? Damsels of fifteen, why do you molest such virtue? Leave, leave, I say, that wretched lady, to taste, enjoy, and triumph, in the lot which love hath decreed her, by subduing my heart, and captivating my soul. Take notice, enamoured tribe, that to Dulcinea alone I am sugar paste, but flint to all the rest of her sex: to her I am honey; but gall and bitterness to such as you. In my eye, Dulcinea alone is beauteous, wise, gay, chaste, and well-born; but all others are homely, foolish, idle, and of humble birth. To be her slave, and her’s alone, nature has thrown me into the world; Altisidora may weep or sing; and that lady may despair, on whose account I was pummelled in the castle of the inchanted Moor; Dulcinea’s I am resolved to be, boiled or roasted, neat, chaste, and well-bred, in spite of all the witchcraft upon earth.’ So saying, he shut the casement with a flap, and retired to bed, in as much anxiety and concern as if some great misfortune had befallen him. There, then, we will leave him for the present, as we are summoned by the mighty Panza, who is impatient to begin his famous administration.

Footnote 186: