第 77 页

"Well," said Don Quixote, "if that be thy determination, goodSancho, sensible Sancho, Christian Sancho, honest Sancho, let us leavethese phantoms alone and turn to the pursuit of better and worthieradventures; for, from what I see of this country, we cannot fail tofind plenty of marvellous ones in it."

He at once wheeled about, Sancho ran to take possession of hisDapple, Death and his flying squadron returned to their cart andpursued their journey, and thus the dread adventure of the cart ofDeath ended happily, thanks to the advice Sancho gave his master;who had, the following day, a fresh adventure, of no less thrillinginterest than the last, with an enamoured knight-errant.CHAPTER XII

OF THE STRANGE ADVENTURE WHICH BEFELL THE VALIANT DON QUIXOTE WITHTHE BOLD KNIGHT OF THE MIRRORS

THE night succeeding the day of the encounter with Death, DonQuixote and his squire passed under some tall shady trees, and DonQuixote at Sancho's persuasion ate a little from the store carriedby Dapple, and over their supper Sancho said to his master, "Senor,what a fool I should have looked if I had chosen for my reward thespoils of the first adventure your worship achieved, instead of thefoals of the three mares. After all, 'a sparrow in the hand isbetter than a vulture on the wing.'"

"At the same time, Sancho," replied Don Quixote, "if thou hadstlet me attack them as I wanted, at the very least the emperor's goldcrown and Cupid's painted wings would have fallen to thee as spoils,for I should have taken them by force and given them into thy hands."

"The sceptres and crowns of those play-actor emperors," said Sancho,"were never yet pure gold, but only brass foil or tin."

"That is true," said Don Quixote, "for it would not be right thatthe accessories of the drama should be real, instead of being merefictions and semblances, like the drama itself; towards which, Sancho-and, as a necessary consequence, towards those who represent andproduce it- I would that thou wert favourably disposed, for they areall instruments of great good to the State, placing before us at everystep a mirror in which we may see vividly displayed what goes on inhuman life; nor is there any similitude that shows us morefaithfully what we are and ought to be than the play and theplayers. Come, tell me, hast thou not seen a play acted in whichkings, emperors, pontiffs, knights, ladies, and divers otherpersonages were introduced? One plays the villain, another theknave, this one the merchant, that the soldier, one the sharp-wittedfool, another the foolish lover; and when the play is over, and theyhave put off the dresses they wore in it, all the actors becomeequal."

"Yes, I have seen that," said Sancho.

"Well then," said Don Quixote, "the same thing happens in the comedyand life of this world, where some play emperors, others popes, and,in short, all the characters that can be brought into a play; but whenit is over, that is to say when life ends, death strips them all ofthe garments that distinguish one from the other, and all are equal inthe grave."

"A fine comparison!" said Sancho; "though not so new but that I haveheard it many and many a time, as well as that other one of the gameof chess; how, so long as the game lasts, each piece has its ownparticular office, and when the game is finished they are all mixed,jumbled up and shaken together, and stowed away in the bag, which ismuch like ending life in the grave."

"Thou art growing less doltish and more shrewd every day, Sancho,"said Don Quixote.

"Ay," said Sancho; "it must be that some of your worship'sshrewdness sticks to me; land that, of itself, is barren and dry, willcome to yield good fruit if you dung it and till it; what I mean isthat your worship's conversation has been the dung that has fallenon the barren soil of my dry wit, and the time I have been in yourservice and society has been the tillage; and with the help of thisI hope to yield fruit in abundance that will not fall away or slidefrom those paths of good breeding that your worship has made in myparched understanding."

Don Quixote laughed at Sancho's affected phraseology, andperceived that what he said about his improvement was true, for nowand then he spoke in a way that surprised him; though always, ormostly, when Sancho tried to talk fine and attempted politelanguage, he wound up by toppling over from the summit of hissimplicity into the abyss of his ignorance; and where he showed hisculture and his memory to the greatest advantage was in dragging inproverbs, no matter whether they had any bearing or not upon thesubject in hand, as may have been seen already and will be noticedin the course of this history.

In conversation of this kind they passed a good part of the night,but Sancho felt a desire to let down the curtains of his eyes, as heused to say when he wanted to go to sleep; and stripping Dapple heleft him at liberty to graze his fill. He did not remove Rocinante'ssaddle, as his master's express orders were, that so long as they werein the field or not sleeping under a roof Rocinante was not to bestripped- the ancient usage established and observed by knights-errantbeing to take off the bridle and hang it on the saddle-bow, but toremove the saddle from the horse- never! Sancho acted accordingly, andgave him the same liberty he had given Dapple, between whom andRocinante there was a friendship so unequalled and so strong, thatit is handed down by tradition from father to son, that the authorof this veracious history devoted some special chapters to it,which, in order to preserve the propriety and decorum due to a historyso heroic, he did not insert therein; although at times he forgetsthis resolution of his and describes how eagerly the two beastswould scratch one another when they were together and how, when theywere tired or full, Rocinante would lay his neck across Dapple's,stretching half a yard or more on the other side, and the pair wouldstand thus, gazing thoughtfully on the ground, for three days, or atleast so long as they were left alone, or hunger did not drive them togo and look for food. I may add that they say the author left it onrecord that he likened their friendship to that of Nisus and Euryalus,and Pylades and Orestes; and if that be so, it may be perceived, tothe admiration of mankind, how firm the friendship must have beenbetween these two peaceful animals, shaming men, who preservefriendships with one another so badly. This was why it was said-

For friend no longer is there friend;

The reeds turn lances now.And some one else has sung-

Friend to friend the bug, &c.And let no one fancy that the author was at all astray when hecompared the friendship of these animals to that of men; for menhave received many lessons from beasts, and learned many importantthings, as, for example, the clyster from the stork, vomit andgratitude from the dog, watchfulness from the crane, foresight fromthe ant, modesty from the elephant, and loyalty from the horse.

Sancho at last fell asleep at the foot of a cork tree, while DonQuixote dozed at that of a sturdy oak; but a short time only hadelapsed when a noise he heard behind him awoke him, and rising upstartled, he listened and looked in the direction the noise came from,and perceived two men on horseback, one of whom, letting himselfdrop from the saddle, said to the other, "Dismount, my friend, andtake the bridles off the horses, for, so far as I can see, thisplace will furnish grass for them, and the solitude and silence mylove-sick thoughts need of." As he said this he stretched himself uponthe ground, and as he flung himself down, the armour in which he wasclad rattled, whereby Don Quixote perceived that he must be aknight-errant; and going over to Sancho, who was asleep, he shookhim by the arm and with no small difficulty brought him back to hissenses, and said in a low voice to him, "Brother Sancho, we have gotan adventure."

"God send us a good one," said Sancho; "and where may her ladyshipthe adventure be?"

"Where, Sancho?" replied Don Quixote; "turn thine eyes and look, andthou wilt see stretched there a knight-errant, who, it strikes me,is not over and above happy, for I saw him fling himself off his horseand throw himself on the ground with a certain air of dejection, andhis armour rattled as he fell."

"Well," said Sancho, "how does your worship make out that to be anadventure?"

"I do not mean to say," returned Don Quixote, "that it is a completeadventure, but that it is the beginning of one, for it is in thisway adventures begin. But listen, for it seems he is tuning a luteor guitar, and from the way he is spitting and clearing his chest hemust be getting ready to sing something."

"Faith, you are right," said Sancho, "and no doubt he is someenamoured knight."

"There is no knight-errant that is not," said Don Quixote; "butlet us listen to him, for, if he sings, by that thread we shallextract the ball of his thoughts; because out of the abundance ofthe heart the mouth speaketh."

Sancho was about to reply to his master, but the Knight of theGrove's voice, which was neither very bad nor very good, stoppedhim, and listening attentively the pair heard him sing this

SONNET

Your pleasure, prithee, lady mine, unfold;

Declare the terms that I am to obey;

My will to yours submissively I mould,

And from your law my feet shall never stray.

Would you I die, to silent grief a prey?

Then count me even now as dead and cold;

Would you I tell my woes in some new way?

Then shall my tale by Love itself be told.

The unison of opposites to prove,

Of the soft wax and diamond hard am I;

But still, obedient to the laws of love,

Here, hard or soft, I offer you my breast,

Whate'er you grave or stamp thereon shall rest

Indelible for all eternity.With an "Ah me!" that seemed to be drawn from the inmost recesses ofhis heart, the Knight of the Grove brought his lay to an end, andshortly afterwards exclaimed in a melancholy and piteous voice, "Ofairest and most ungrateful woman on earth! What! can it be, mostserene Casildea de Vandalia, that thou wilt suffer this thy captiveknight to waste away and perish in ceaseless wanderings and rude andarduous toils? It is not enough that I have compelled all theknights of Navarre, all the Leonese, all the Tartesians, all theCastilians, and finally all the knights of La Mancha, to confessthee the most beautiful in the world?"

"Not so," said Don Quixote at this, "for I am of La Mancha, and Ihave never confessed anything of the sort, nor could I nor should Iconfess a thing so much to the prejudice of my lady's beauty; thouseest how this knight is raving, Sancho. But let us listen, perhaps hewill tell us more about himself."

"That he will," returned Sancho, "for he seems in a mood to bewailhimself for a month at a stretch."

But this was not the case, for the Knight of the Grove, hearingvoices near him, instead of continuing his lamentation, stood up andexclaimed in a distinct but courteous tone, "Who goes there? Whatare you? Do you belong to the number of the happy or of themiserable?"

"Of the miserable," answered Don Quixote.

"Then come to me," said he of the Grove, "and rest assured that itis to woe itself and affliction itself you come."

Don Quixote, finding himself answered in such a soft and courteousmanner, went over to him, and so did Sancho.

The doleful knight took Don Quixote by the arm, saying, "Sit downhere, sir knight; for, that you are one, and of those that professknight-errantry, it is to me a sufficient proof to have found you inthis place, where solitude and night, the natural couch and properretreat of knights-errant, keep you company." To which Don madeanswer, "A knight I am of the profession you mention, and thoughsorrows, misfortunes, and calamities have made my heart their abode,the compassion I feel for the misfortunes of others has not beenthereby banished from it. From what you have just now sung I gatherthat yours spring from love, I mean from the love you bear that fairingrate you named in your lament."

In the meantime, they had seated themselves together on the hardground peaceably and sociably, just as if, as soon as day broke,they were not going to break one another's heads.

"Are you, sir knight, in love perchance?" asked he of the Grove ofDon Quixote.

"By mischance I am," replied Don Quixote; "though the ills arisingfrom well-bestowed affections should be esteemed favours rather thanmisfortunes."

"That is true," returned he of the Grove, "if scorn did not unsettleour reason and understanding, for if it be excessive it looks likerevenge."

"I was never scorned by my lady," said Don Quixote.

"Certainly not," said Sancho, who stood close by, "for my lady is asa lamb, and softer than a roll of butter."

"Is this your squire?" asked he of the Grove.

"He is," said Don Quixote.

"I never yet saw a squire," said he of the Grove, "who ventured tospeak when his master was speaking; at least, there is mine, who is asbig as his father, and it cannot be proved that he has ever opened hislips when I am speaking."

"By my faith then," said Sancho, "I have spoken, and am fit tospeak, in the presence of one as much, or even- but never mind- itonly makes it worse to stir it."

The squire of the Grove took Sancho by the arm, saying to him,"Let us two go where we can talk in squire style as much as we please,and leave these gentlemen our masters to fight it out over the storyof their loves; and, depend upon it, daybreak will find them at itwithout having made an end of it."

"So be it by all means," said Sancho; "and I will tell yourworship who I am, that you may see whether I am to be reckoned amongthe number of the most talkative squires."

With this the two squires withdrew to one side, and between themthere passed a conversation as droll as that which passed betweentheir masters was serious.

CHAPTER XIII

IN WHICH IS CONTINUED THE ADVENTURE OF THE KNIGHT OF THE GROVE,TOGETHER WITH THE SENSIBLE, ORIGINAL, AND TRANQUIL COLLOQUY THATPASSED BETWEEN THE TWO SQUIRES

THE knights and the squires made two parties, these telling thestory of their lives, the others the story of their loves; but thehistory relates first of all the conversation of the servants, andafterwards takes up that of the masters; and it says that, withdrawinga little from the others, he of the Grove said to Sancho, "A hard lifeit is we lead and live, senor, we that are squires toknights-errant; verily, we eat our bread in the sweat of our faces,which is one of the curses God laid on our first parents."