CHAPTER XXXV — WHEREIN IS CONTINUED THE INSTRUCTION GIVEN TO DON QUIXOTE TOUCHING THE — DISENCHANTMENT OF DULCINEA, TOGETHER WITH OTHER MARVELLOUS INCIDENTS

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They saw advancing towards them, to the sound of this pleasing music,
what they call a triumphal car, drawn by six grey mules with white
linen housings, on each of which was mounted a penitent, robed also in
white, with a large lighted wax taper in his hand. The car was twice
or, perhaps, three times as large as the former ones, and in front and
on the sides stood twelve more penitents, all as white as snow and all
with lighted tapers, a spectacle to excite fear as well as wonder; and
on a raised throne was seated a nymph draped in a multitude of
silver-tissue veils with an embroidery of countless gold spangles
glittering all over them, that made her appear, if not richly, at least
brilliantly, apparelled. She had her face covered with thin transparent
sendal, the texture of which did not prevent the fair features of a
maiden from being distinguished, while the numerous lights made it
possible to judge of her beauty and of her years, which seemed to be
not less than seventeen but not to have yet reached twenty. Beside her
was a figure in a robe of state, as they call it, reaching to the feet,
while the head was covered with a black veil. But the instant the car
was opposite the duke and duchess and Don Quixote the music of the
clarions ceased, and then that of the lutes and harps on the car, and
the figure in the robe rose up, and flinging it apart and removing the
veil from its face, disclosed to their eyes the shape of Death itself,
fleshless and hideous, at which sight Don Quixote felt uneasy, Sancho
frightened, and the duke and duchess displayed a certain trepidation.
Having risen to its feet, this living death, in a sleepy voice and with
a tongue hardly awake, held forth as follows:

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I am that Merlin who the legends say
The devil had for father, and the lie
Hath gathered credence with the lapse of time.
Of magic prince, of Zoroastric lore
Monarch and treasurer, with jealous eye
I view the efforts of the age to hide
The gallant deeds of doughty errant knights,
Who are, and ever have been, dear to me.
Enchanters and magicians and their kind
Are mostly hard of heart; not so am I;
For mine is tender, soft, compassionate,
And its delight is doing good to all.
In the dim caverns of the gloomy Dis,
Where, tracing mystic lines and characters,
My soul abideth now, there came to me
The sorrow-laden plaint of her, the fair,
The peerless Dulcinea del Toboso.
I knew of her enchantment and her fate,
From high-born dame to peasant wench transformed
And touched with pity, first I turned the leaves
Of countless volumes of my devilish craft,
And then, in this grim grisly skeleton
Myself encasing, hither have I come
To show where lies the fitting remedy
To give relief in such a piteous case.
O thou, the pride and pink of all that I wear
The adamantine steel! O shining light,
O beacon, polestar, path and guide of all
Who, scorning slumber and the lazy down,
Adopt the toilsome life of bloodstained arms!
To thee, great hero who all praise transcends,
La Mancha’s lustre and Iberia’s star,
Don Quixote, wise as brave, to thee I say—
For peerless Dulcinea del Toboso
Her pristine form and beauty to regain,
’Tis needful that thy esquire Sancho shall,
On his own sturdy buttocks bared to heaven,
Three thousand and three hundred lashes lay,
And that they smart and sting and hurt him well.
Thus have the authors of her woe resolved.
And this is, gentles, wherefore I have come.

“By all that’s good,” exclaimed Sancho at this, “I’ll just as soon give
myself three stabs with a dagger as three, not to say three thousand,
lashes. The devil take such a way of disenchanting! I don’t see what my
backside has got to do with enchantments. By God, if Señor Merlin has
not found out some other way of disenchanting the lady Dulcinea del
Toboso, she may go to her grave enchanted.”

“But I’ll take you, Don Clown stuffed with garlic,” said Don Quixote,
“and tie you to a tree as naked as when your mother brought you forth,
and give you, not to say three thousand three hundred, but six thousand
six hundred lashes, and so well laid on that they won’t be got rid of
if you try three thousand three hundred times; don’t answer me a word
or I’ll tear your soul out.”

On hearing this Merlin said, “That will not do, for the lashes worthy
Sancho has to receive must be given of his own free will and not by
force, and at whatever time he pleases, for there is no fixed limit
assigned to him; but it is permitted him, if he likes to commute by
half the pain of this whipping, to let them be given by the hand of
another, though it may be somewhat weighty.”

“Not a hand, my own or anybody else’s, weighty or weighable, shall
touch me,” said Sancho. “Was it I that gave birth to the lady Dulcinea
del Toboso, that my backside is to pay for the sins of her eyes? My
master, indeed, that’s a part of her—for, he’s always calling her ‘my
life’ and ‘my soul,’ and his stay and prop—may and ought to whip
himself for her and take all the trouble required for her
disenchantment. But for me to whip myself! Abernuncio!”

As soon as Sancho had done speaking the nymph in silver that was at the
side of Merlin’s ghost stood up, and removing the thin veil from her
face disclosed one that seemed to all something more than exceedingly
beautiful; and with a masculine freedom from embarrassment and in a
voice not very like a lady’s, addressing Sancho directly, said, “Thou
wretched squire, soul of a pitcher, heart of a cork tree, with bowels
of flint and pebbles; if, thou impudent thief, they bade thee throw
thyself down from some lofty tower; if, enemy of mankind, they asked
thee to swallow a dozen of toads, two of lizards, and three of adders;
if they wanted thee to slay thy wife and children with a sharp
murderous scimitar, it would be no wonder for thee to show thyself
stubborn and squeamish. But to make a piece of work about three
thousand three hundred lashes, what every poor little charity-boy gets
every month—it is enough to amaze, astonish, astound the compassionate
bowels of all who hear it, nay, all who come to hear it in the course
of time. Turn, O miserable, hard-hearted animal, turn, I say, those
timorous owl’s eyes upon these of mine that are compared to radiant
stars, and thou wilt see them weeping trickling streams and rills, and
tracing furrows, tracks, and paths over the fair fields of my cheeks.
Let it move thee, crafty, ill-conditioned monster, to see my blooming
youth—still in its teens, for I am not yet twenty—wasting and withering
away beneath the husk of a rude peasant wench; and if I do not appear
in that shape now, it is a special favour Señor Merlin here has granted
me, to the sole end that my beauty may soften thee; for the tears of
beauty in distress turn rocks into cotton and tigers into ewes. Lay on
to that hide of thine, thou great untamed brute, rouse up thy lusty
vigour that only urges thee to eat and eat, and set free the softness
of my flesh, the gentleness of my nature, and the fairness of my face.
And if thou wilt not relent or come to reason for me, do so for the
sake of that poor knight thou hast beside thee; thy master I mean,
whose soul I can this moment see, how he has it stuck in his throat not
ten fingers from his lips, and only waiting for thy inflexible or
yielding reply to make its escape by his mouth or go back again into
his stomach.”

Don Quixote on hearing this felt his throat, and turning to the duke he
said, “By God, señor, Dulcinea says true, I have my soul stuck here in
my throat like the nut of a crossbow.”

“What say you to this, Sancho?” said the duchess.

“I say, señora,” returned Sancho, “what I said before; as for the
lashes, abernuncio!”

“Abrenuncio, you should say, Sancho, and not as you do,” said the duke.

“Let me alone, your highness,” said Sancho. “I’m not in a humour now to
look into niceties or a letter more or less, for these lashes that are
to be given me, or I’m to give myself, have so upset me, that I don’t
know what I’m saying or doing. But I’d like to know of this lady, my
lady Dulcinea del Toboso, where she learned this way she has of asking
favours. She comes to ask me to score my flesh with lashes, and she
calls me soul of a pitcher, and great untamed brute, and a string of
foul names that the devil is welcome to. Is my flesh brass? or is it
anything to me whether she is enchanted or not? Does she bring with her
a basket of fair linen, shirts, kerchiefs, socks—not that I wear any—to
coax me? No, nothing but one piece of abuse after another, though she
knows the proverb they have here that ‘an ass loaded with gold goes
lightly up a mountain,’ and that ‘gifts break rocks,’ and ‘praying to
God and plying the hammer,’ and that ‘one “take” is better than two
“I’ll give thee’s.”’ Then there’s my master, who ought to stroke me
down and pet me to make me turn wool and carded cotton; he says if he
gets hold of me he’ll tie me naked to a tree and double the tale of
lashes on me. These tender-hearted gentry should consider that it’s not
merely a squire, but a governor they are asking to whip himself; just
as if it was ‘drink with cherries.’ Let them learn, plague take them,
the right way to ask, and beg, and behave themselves; for all times are
not alike, nor are people always in good humour. I’m now ready to burst
with grief at seeing my green coat torn, and they come to ask me to
whip myself of my own free will, I having as little fancy for it as for
turning cacique.”

“Well then, the fact is, friend Sancho,” said the duke, “that unless
you become softer than a ripe fig, you shall not get hold of the
government. It would be a nice thing for me to send my islanders a
cruel governor with flinty bowels, who won’t yield to the tears of
afflicted damsels or to the prayers of wise, magisterial, ancient
enchanters and sages. In short, Sancho, either you must be whipped by
yourself, or they must whip you, or you shan’t be governor.”

“Señor,” said Sancho, “won’t two days’ grace be given me in which to
consider what is best for me?”

“No, certainly not,” said Merlin; “here, this minute, and on the spot,
the matter must be settled; either Dulcinea will return to the cave of
Montesinos and to her former condition of peasant wench, or else in her
present form shall be carried to the Elysian fields, where she will
remain waiting until the number of stripes is completed.”

“Now then, Sancho!” said the duchess, “show courage, and gratitude for
your master Don Quixote’s bread that you have eaten; we are all bound
to oblige and please him for his benevolent disposition and lofty
chivalry. Consent to this whipping, my son; to the devil with the
devil, and leave fear to milksops, for ‘a stout heart breaks bad luck,’
as you very well know.”

To this Sancho replied with an irrelevant remark, which, addressing
Merlin, he made to him, “Will your worship tell me, Señor Merlin—when
that courier devil came up he gave my master a message from Señor
Montesinos, charging him to wait for him here, as he was coming to
arrange how the lady Doña Dulcinea del Toboso was to be disenchanted;
but up to the present we have not seen Montesinos, nor anything like
him.”

To which Merlin made answer, “The devil, Sancho, is a blockhead and a
great scoundrel; I sent him to look for your master, but not with a
message from Montesinos but from myself; for Montesinos is in his cave
expecting, or more properly speaking, waiting for his disenchantment;
for there’s the tail to be skinned yet for him; if he owes you
anything, or you have any business to transact with him, I’ll bring him
to you and put him where you choose; but for the present make up your
mind to consent to this penance, and believe me it will be very good
for you, for soul as well for body—for your soul because of the charity
with which you perform it, for your body because I know that you are of
a sanguine habit and it will do you no harm to draw a little blood.”

“There are a great many doctors in the world; even the enchanters are
doctors,” said Sancho; “however, as everybody tells me the same
thing—though I can’t see it myself—I say I am willing to give myself
the three thousand three hundred lashes, provided I am to lay them on
whenever I like, without any fixing of days or times; and I’ll try and
get out of debt as quickly as I can, that the world may enjoy the
beauty of the lady Dulcinea del Toboso; as it seems, contrary to what I
thought, that she is beautiful after all. It must be a condition, too,
that I am not to be bound to draw blood with the scourge, and that if
any of the lashes happen to be fly-flappers they are to count. Item,
that, in case I should make any mistake in the reckoning, Señor Merlin,
as he knows everything, is to keep count, and let me know how many are
still wanting or over the number.”

“There will be no need to let you know of any over,” said Merlin,
“because, when you reach the full number, the lady Dulcinea will at
once, and that very instant, be disenchanted, and will come in her
gratitude to seek out the worthy Sancho, and thank him, and even reward
him for the good work. So you have no cause to be uneasy about stripes
too many or too few; heaven forbid I should cheat anyone of even a hair
of his head.”

“Well then, in God’s hands be it,” said Sancho; “in the hard case I’m
in I give in; I say I accept the penance on the conditions laid down.”

The instant Sancho uttered these last words the music of the clarions
struck up once more, and again a host of muskets were discharged, and
Don Quixote hung on Sancho’s neck kissing him again and again on the
forehead and cheeks. The duchess and the duke expressed the greatest
satisfaction, the car began to move on, and as it passed the fair
Dulcinea bowed to the duke and duchess and made a low curtsey to
Sancho.

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And now bright smiling dawn came on apace; the flowers of the field,
revived, raised up their heads, and the crystal waters of the brooks,
murmuring over the grey and white pebbles, hastened to pay their
tribute to the expectant rivers; the glad earth, the unclouded sky, the
fresh breeze, the clear light, each and all showed that the day that
came treading on the skirts of morning would be calm and bright. The
duke and duchess, pleased with their hunt and at having carried out
their plans so cleverly and successfully, returned to their castle
resolved to follow up their joke; for to them there was no reality that
could afford them more amusement.

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CHAPTER XXXVI.
WHEREIN IS RELATED THE STRANGE AND UNDREAMT-OF ADVENTURE OF THE
DISTRESSED DUENNA, ALIAS THE COUNTESS TRIFALDI, TOGETHER WITH A LETTER
WHICH SANCHO PANZA WROTE TO HIS WIFE, TERESA PANZA

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The duke had a majordomo of a very facetious and sportive turn, and he
it was that played the part of Merlin, made all the arrangements for
the late adventure, composed the verses, and got a page to represent
Dulcinea; and now, with the assistance of his master and mistress, he
got up another of the drollest and strangest contrivances that can be
imagined.

The duchess asked Sancho the next day if he had made a beginning with
his penance task which he had to perform for the disenchantment of
Dulcinea. He said he had, and had given himself five lashes overnight.

The duchess asked him what he had given them with.

He said with his hand.

“That,” said the duchess, “is more like giving oneself slaps than
lashes; I am sure the sage Merlin will not be satisfied with such
tenderness; worthy Sancho must make a scourge with claws, or a
cat-o’-nine tails, that will make itself felt; for it’s with blood that
letters enter, and the release of so great a lady as Dulcinea will not
be granted so cheaply, or at such a paltry price; and remember, Sancho,
that works of charity done in a lukewarm and half-hearted way are
without merit and of no avail.”

To which Sancho replied, “If your ladyship will give me a proper
scourge or cord, I’ll lay on with it, provided it does not hurt too
much; for you must know, boor as I am, my flesh is more cotton than
hemp, and it won’t do for me to destroy myself for the good of anybody
else.”

“So be it by all means,” said the duchess; “to-morrow I’ll give you a
scourge that will be just the thing for you, and will accommodate
itself to the tenderness of your flesh, as if it was its own sister.”

Then said Sancho, “Your highness must know, dear lady of my soul, that
I have a letter written to my wife, Teresa Panza, giving her an account
of all that has happened me since I left her; I have it here in my
bosom, and there’s nothing wanting but to put the address to it; I’d be
glad if your discretion would read it, for I think it runs in the
governor style; I mean the way governors ought to write.”

“And who dictated it?” asked the duchess.

“Who should have dictated but myself, sinner as I am?” said Sancho.

“And did you write it yourself?” said the duchess.

“That I didn’t,” said Sancho; “for I can neither read nor write, though
I can sign my name.”

“Let us see it,” said the duchess, “for never fear but you display in
it the quality and quantity of your wit.”

Sancho drew out an open letter from his bosom, and the duchess, taking
it, found it ran in this fashion:

SANCHO PANZA’S LETTER TO HIS WIFE, TERESA PANZA

If I was well whipped I went mounted like a gentleman; if I have got a
good government it is at the cost of a good whipping. Thou wilt not
understand this just now, my Teresa; by-and-by thou wilt know what it
means. I may tell thee, Teresa, I mean thee to go in a coach, for that
is a matter of importance, because every other way of going is going on
all-fours. Thou art a governor’s wife; take care that nobody speaks
evil of thee behind thy back. I send thee here a green hunting suit
that my lady the duchess gave me; alter it so as to make a petticoat
and bodice for our daughter. Don Quixote, my master, if I am to believe
what I hear in these parts, is a madman of some sense, and a droll
blockhead, and I am in no way behind him. We have been in the cave of
Montesinos, and the sage Merlin has laid hold of me for the
disenchantment of Dulcinea del Toboso, her that is called Aldonza
Lorenzo over there. With three thousand three hundred lashes, less
five, that I’m to give myself, she will be left as entirely
disenchanted as the mother that bore her. Say nothing of this to
anyone; for, make thy affairs public, and some will say they are white
and others will say they are black. I shall leave this in a few days
for my government, to which I am going with a mighty great desire to
make money, for they tell me all new governors set out with the same
desire; I will feel the pulse of it and will let thee know if thou art
to come and live with me or not. Dapple is well and sends many
remembrances to thee; I am not going to leave him behind though they
took me away to be Grand Turk. My lady the duchess kisses thy hands a
thousand times; do thou make a return with two thousand, for as my
master says, nothing costs less or is cheaper than civility. God has
not been pleased to provide another valise for me with another hundred
crowns, like the one the other day; but never mind, my Teresa, the
bell-ringer is in safe quarters, and all will come out in the scouring
of the government; only it troubles me greatly what they tell me—that
once I have tasted it I will eat my hands off after it; and if that is
so it will not come very cheap to me; though to be sure the maimed have
a benefice of their own in the alms they beg for; so that one way or
another thou wilt be rich and in luck. God give it to thee as he can,
and keep me to serve thee. From this castle, the 20th of July, 1614.

Thy husband, the governor,
SANCHO PANZA

When she had done reading the letter the duchess said to Sancho, “On
two points the worthy governor goes rather astray; one is in saying or
hinting that this government has been bestowed upon him for the lashes
that he is to give himself, when he knows (and he cannot deny it) that
when my lord the duke promised it to him nobody ever dreamt of such a
thing as lashes; the other is that he shows himself here to be very
covetous; and I would not have him a money-seeker, for ‘covetousness
bursts the bag,’ and the covetous governor does ungoverned justice.”

“I don’t mean it that way, señora,” said Sancho; “and if you think the
letter doesn’t run as it ought to do, it’s only to tear it up and make
another; and maybe it will be a worse one if it is left to my
gumption.”

“No, no,” said the duchess, “this one will do, and I wish the duke to
see it.”

With this they betook themselves to a garden where they were to dine,
and the duchess showed Sancho’s letter to the duke, who was highly
delighted with it. They dined, and after the cloth had been removed and
they had amused themselves for a while with Sancho’s rich conversation,
the melancholy sound of a fife and harsh discordant drum made itself
heard. All seemed somewhat put out by this dull, confused, martial
harmony, especially Don Quixote, who could not keep his seat from pure
disquietude; as to Sancho, it is needless to say that fear drove him to
his usual refuge, the side or the skirts of the duchess; and indeed and
in truth the sound they heard was a most doleful and melancholy one.
While they were still in uncertainty they saw advancing towards them
through the garden two men clad in mourning robes so long and flowing
that they trailed upon the ground. As they marched they beat two great
drums which were likewise draped in black, and beside them came the
fife player, black and sombre like the others. Following these came a
personage of gigantic stature enveloped rather than clad in a gown of
the deepest black, the skirt of which was of prodigious dimensions.
Over the gown, girdling or crossing his figure, he had a broad baldric
which was also black, and from which hung a huge scimitar with a black
scabbard and furniture. He had his face covered with a transparent
black veil, through which might be descried a very long beard as white
as snow. He came on keeping step to the sound of the drums with great
gravity and dignity; and, in short, his stature, his gait, the
sombreness of his appearance and his following might well have struck
with astonishment, as they did, all who beheld him without knowing who
he was. With this measured pace and in this guise he advanced to kneel
before the duke, who, with the others, awaited him standing. The duke,
however, would not on any account allow him to speak until he had
risen. The prodigious scarecrow obeyed, and standing up, removed the
veil from his face and disclosed the most enormous, the longest, the
whitest and the thickest beard that human eyes had ever beheld until
that moment, and then fetching up a grave, sonorous voice from the
depths of his broad, capacious chest, and fixing his eyes on the duke,
he said:

“Most high and mighty señor, my name is Trifaldin of the White Beard; I
am squire to the Countess Trifaldi, otherwise called the Distressed
Duenna, on whose behalf I bear a message to your highness, which is
that your magnificence will be pleased to grant her leave and
permission to come and tell you her trouble, which is one of the
strangest and most wonderful that the mind most familiar with trouble
in the world could have imagined; but first she desires to know if the
valiant and never vanquished knight, Don Quixote of La Mancha, is in
this your castle, for she has come in quest of him on foot and without
breaking her fast from the kingdom of Kandy to your realms here; a
thing which may and ought to be regarded as a miracle or set down to
enchantment; she is even now at the gate of this fortress or plaisance,
and only waits for your permission to enter. I have spoken.” And with
that he coughed, and stroked down his beard with both his hands, and
stood very tranquilly waiting for the response of the duke, which was
to this effect: “Many days ago, worthy squire Trifaldin of the White
Beard, we heard of the misfortune of my lady the Countess Trifaldi,
whom the enchanters have caused to be called the Distressed Duenna. Bid
her enter, O stupendous squire, and tell her that the valiant knight
Don Quixote of La Mancha is here, and from his generous disposition she
may safely promise herself every protection and assistance; and you may
tell her, too, that if my aid be necessary it will not be withheld, for
I am bound to give it to her by my quality of knight, which involves
the protection of women of all sorts, especially widowed, wronged, and
distressed dames, such as her ladyship seems to be.”

On hearing this Trifaldin bent the knee to the ground, and making a
sign to the fifer and drummers to strike up, he turned and marched out
of the garden to the same notes and at the same pace as when he
entered, leaving them all amazed at his bearing and solemnity. Turning
to Don Quixote, the duke said, “After all, renowned knight, the mists
of malice and ignorance are unable to hide or obscure the light of
valour and virtue. I say so, because your excellence has been barely
six days in this castle, and already the unhappy and the afflicted come
in quest of you from lands far distant and remote, and not in coaches
or on dromedaries, but on foot and fasting, confident that in that
mighty arm they will find a cure for their sorrows and troubles; thanks
to your great achievements, which are circulated all over the known
earth.”

“I wish, señor duke,” replied Don Quixote, “that blessed ecclesiastic,
who at table the other day showed such ill-will and bitter spite
against knights-errant, were here now to see with his own eyes whether
knights of the sort are needed in the world; he would at any rate learn
by experience that those suffering any extraordinary affliction or
sorrow, in extreme cases and unusual misfortunes do not go to look for
a remedy to the houses of jurists or village sacristans, or to the
knight who has never attempted to pass the bounds of his own town, or
to the indolent courtier who only seeks for news to repeat and talk of,
instead of striving to do deeds and exploits for others to relate and
record. Relief in distress, help in need, protection for damsels,
consolation for widows, are to be found in no sort of persons better
than in knights-errant; and I give unceasing thanks to heaven that I am
one, and regard any misfortune or suffering that may befall me in the
pursuit of so honourable a calling as endured to good purpose. Let this
duenna come and ask what she will, for I will effect her relief by the
might of my arm and the dauntless resolution of my bold heart.”

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