How the priest and barber carried out their scheme, together with other things worthy of being revealed in this great history.
T HE BARBER didn’t think that the priest’s idea was bad—indeed, he thought it was so good that they resolved to put it into effect immediately. They asked the innkeeper’s wife for a skirt and some veils, leaving a new cassock belonging to the priest for security. The barber made a long beard from a greying red ox-tail in which the innkeeper kept his comb. The innkeeper’s wife asked them why they needed those things. The priest told her in a few words about the madness of don Quixote and how that disguise was necessary to take him out of the mountains where he was at that time. The innkeeper and his wife immediately recognized that the crazy man had been their guest—the fellow with the balm, and the master of the blanketed squire. They then told the priest everything that had happened to don Quixote, and didn’t keep quiet about what Sancho so earnestly didn’t want to reveal.
So the innkeeper’s wife dressed the priest in a way that left nothing to be desired: she put a woven skirt on him, decorated with borders of black velvet a palm wide, slit at intervals to reveal the color underneath, and a bodice of green velvet decorated with trimmings of white satin, and both of them looked like they had been made during the reign of King Wamba. The priest wouldn’t let them fix his hair like a woman’s. Instead, he put a quilted night cap over his hair, and bound his forehead with a black silk strip. He used the other strip to secure a veil over his beard and face. He put on a hat that was so large that it could have served as a parasol and, putting his cloak around him, got onto a mule, sitting side-saddle and the barber got onto his, with his greying red beard flowing around his waist, since it was, as has been said, made from the tail of a reddish ox. They bade farewell to everyone and to the good Maritornes, who, although she was a sinner, promised to say a rosary so that God would grant success for their arduous and Christian enterprise.
But hardly had the priest left the inn when it struck him that it wouldn’t become him as a priest to be seen in such garb, even though much might depend on it, so he asked the barber to exchange outfits, since it was better for the barber to play the part of the damsel in distress and that he—the priest—would be the squire, and any dishonor to his dignity would thus be greatly reduced. If the barber didn’t want to do it, he was determined not to proceed, even though the devil himself carried off don Quixote.
Sancho arrived at that moment, and seeing the two of them dressed that way he couldn’t contain his laughter. Meanwhile, the barber agreed to everything the priest wanted, and once their disguise was changed, the priest informed him about how to act, and the proper words to use with don Quixote in order to move, and even force him to accompany the barber, and leave the haunts he’d chosen for his useless penance. The barber responded that without any further instruction, he would do just fine. He didn’t want to get dressed up right then, but rather wanted to wait until they were near where don Quixote was, and so he folded up the garments, the priest put away the beard, and they continued their journey, with Sancho Panza leading, and as they went along, he told them about the crazy man they found in the sierra, but concealed how he’d found the suitcase, and what was inside it—for, although he was a simple fellow, he was a bit greedy.
The next day they arrived at the place where Sancho had placed the last of the broom branches to find his way back to this master, and when he saw it, he told them that was the way in and suggested that they get into costume if it was really necessary for his master’s deliverance—they had told him earlier the reason for their plan to dress up that way was enormously important to take his master away from that wretched way of life he’d chosen, and that they charged him not to tell his master who they were, or that he knew them. And if he asked—as they expected he would—if he’d given the letter to Dulcinea, he should say that he had, and that she, since she didn’t know how to write, had responded orally, telling him that she’d commanded him to go to see her immediately because it was very important to her, and if he failed to appear before her he would incur the consequences of her wrath. With this, and with other things they planned to tell him, they were certain they could restore him to a better life, and would start him on the road to becoming an emperor or monarch right away (and that there was no reason to fear his becoming an archbishop).
Sancho heard all of this and committed it all to memory, and thanked them for their plan to urge his master to become an emperor and not an archbishop, because he was convinced that emperors could do more favors for their squires than archbishops errant. Also, he told them that it would be good if he went first to give him the response from his mistress, since that would be sufficient to draw him away from that place without their going to so much trouble. The others thought what Sancho said was good and agreed to wait until he returned with the news of his having found his master. Sancho proceeded into the mountain gorge, leaving the two in a ravine through which a small, gentle stream flowed. Nearby boulders and trees offered a pleasant and cool shade. The intense heat when they arrived in the mid-afternoon was typical of August days, so the shade made it all the more pleasant, and invited them to wait there for Sancho’s return, which is what they did.
The two were resting in the shade when a sound came to their ears. It was a singing voice without accompaniment, and sounded most sweet and pleasant, which caused them to marvel not a little, since it seemed to them a most unlikely place to come across someone who sang so well. Although it’s said that in forests and fields one finds shepherds with wonderful singing voices, that’s more an exaggeration of poets than the truth. They were even more surprised when they realized that what they were hearing was verses, not of rustic cattle herders, but of refined courtiers. And this was confirmed when they heard these verses:
The time of day, the heat, the solitude, and the skill of the person singing caused wonder and delight to the listeners, who remained still, waiting to see if there was more to hear. When they thought the silence would continue, they resolved to look for the musician who sang so well—and just when they were ready to do so, the same voice stopped them, because at that moment it took up again to sing this sonnet:
The song ended with a deep sigh, and the two hoped that he would sing more, but seeing the music had turned into sobs and heart-rending moans, they decided to find out who that unfortunate person was whose voice was as unique as his sobs were piteous, and they had not walked very far when they went around a boulder and saw a man who bore the same looks Sancho Panza had described when he told the story of Cardenio. When he saw them he was not startled, but remained still with his head bowed down onto his chest, like one deep in thought, without raising his eyes to look at them after his first glance, when they had arrived so unexpectedly.
The priest, who was an eloquent man, as one who had heard of his misfortune—since by Sancho’s description he’d recognized him—approached him and with a few well-chosen words, begged and tried to persuade him to leave that wretched life, so that he wouldn’t lose it, which was the worst misfortune. Cardenio was completely sane at that moment, free from that raving lunacy which so often carried him away. Seeing them in such unaccustomed dress for that wild area, he couldn’t help being a bit amazed, and especially when he heard them talk about his affairs, as if they were something well known, because that’s what the priest’s words communicated, so he answered them in this way:
“Whoever you may be, señores, I see clearly that heaven, which is careful to rescue the good and sometimes even the wicked, without my deserving it, has sent people to me in this remote and out of the way place who are proving to me with vivid and lively arguments how irrational the life I’m leading is, and seek to take me away from it and put me on the road to a better one. But since you don’t realize that I know that if I leave this bad situation, I’ll fall into an even worse one, perhaps you’ll take me for a man of diminished capacity or—what’s worse—devoid of reason. And it wouldn’t be odd for you to think that, since it seems to me that the effect of remembering my misfortune is so great and so powerful for my ruination that, without my being able to help it, I become like a stone at times, without feeling or consciousness. And I realize this truth when I’m told, and shown proof of things I’ve done when this terrible fit overcomes me. So all I can do is to bewail and uselessly curse my fate and excuse my madness by revealing its cause to anyone willing to listen, for when people with all their faculties hear the cause, they won’t wonder at its effects, and if they can’t help me, at least they won’t blame me, and the anger they feel for my brazen acts might turn into pity for my misfortunes. And if you, señores, have come for the same reason that has led others, before you start in with your wise counsel, I beg you to listen to the unending story of my misfortunes, because perhaps once you’ve heard it, you’ll spare yourselves the trouble of trying to offer solace for an anguish that cannot be consoled.”
Since neither of them wanted anything else but to find out from his own lips the cause of his sorrow, they begged him to tell it to them, promising that they would do nothing for his relief or comfort that he didn’t desire, and so the sad young man began his touching story, using almost the same words and in the same way he’d related it to don Quixote and the goatherd a few days earlier, when, owing to the affair of master Elisabad and don Quixote’s upholding of the precepts of chivalry, the story remained unfinished, as the history has related. But good fortune prevented a second mad fit and allowed him to finish the story and tell it to its end. So, when he got to the point about the incident where don Fernando had found the love letter stuck between the pages of Amadís de Gaula, Cardenio said that he’d memorized it, and it went like this:
“Through this letter, I was moved to ask for Luscinda to be my wife, as I’ve already told you, and it also caused don Fernando to consider Luscinda one of the most discreet and clear-sighted women of her time. And this letter was what kindled in him the desire to destroy me before I could put my wishes into effect. I told Fernando that all Luscinda’s father was waiting for was for my father to ask him for her on my behalf, which I was afraid to do, fearing that he wouldn’t go along—not because he wasn’t familiar with Luscinda’s quality, goodness, virtue, and beauty, and that she had qualities that would do honor to any family in Spain—but rather because I was aware that he didn’t want me to contract marriage until he found out what Duke Ricardo ultimately was going to do with me. So, I told him that I didn’t dare speak to my father about it, not only because of that obstacle, and there were others that terrified me—and I didn’t even know what they were—but it seemed to me that what I wanted would never be fulfilled.
“Fernando said that he would talk to my father for me and arrange for him to talk to Luscinda’s. Oh, covetous Marius! Oh, cruel Catiline! Oh, wicked Sulla! Oh, deceiving Ganelón! Oh, treacherous Vellido! Oh, vengeful Julián! Oh, greedy Judas! Traitor, cruel, vindictive, and trickster! What disloyalty has this poor wretch done you, he who revealed the secrets and joys of his heart? What offense did I do you? What words did I say, or what advice did I give you that was not all aimed at the advancement of your honor and interest? But woe is me! Why do I complain? It’s certain that when bad luck falls from the stars, since it comes from on high, flinging itself down with such fury and violence, there is no force on earth that can alter its course, nor human ingenuity that can prevent its coming. Who could imagine that don Fernando, an illustrious gentleman, sharp-witted, bound to me by gratitude for my services, able to win the object of his affections wherever he might want, should take so treacherously from me a single lamb that wasn’t even mine yet? But, let’s leave these considerations aside, considering them to be useless, and let’s continue the broken thread of my unfortunate story.
“So, since it seemed to don Fernando that my presence was an obstacle to the design of his treacherous and wicked plan, he resolved to send me to his brother under the pretext of asking him for some money to pay for six horses that he’d bought—only so that he could achieve his wicked intention—on the very day he’d volunteered to speak with my father. Could I predict this treason? Could I, by chance, have suspected it? No, certainly not. And with greatest pleasure I offered to go immediately, glad for the fine purchase he’d made. That evening I spoke with Luscinda and told her what I’d arranged with don Fernando, and that she should have firm hope that our good and proper desires would be fulfilled. She told me, as unsuspecting as I was about the treason of don Fernando, to come back soon because she believed that our desires would be culminated as soon as my father spoke to hers. I don’t know why it was, when she finished telling me this, her eyes welled up with tears and a lump in her throat prevented her from uttering another word of the many that I thought she was trying to tell me.
“I was surprised at this new emotion I’d never seen in her until then, because we always talked, when good luck and my cleverness allowed, with great joy and happiness, without mixing tears, sighs, jealousy, or fear, in our conversations. I was always extolling my happiness that heaven had made her my lady. I extolled her beauty and praised her worth and intelligence. She reciprocated, praising in me what, in her loving way, seemed worthy of praise. We also talked about a thousand trifles dealing with our neighbors and acquaintances, and my boldness extended to take, almost by force, one of her beautiful white hands and bring it to my lips, as well as the narrow grating that separated us allowed. But the night that preceded the sad day of my departure, she cried, moaned, and sighed, and left me confused and terrified, frightened at having seen such strange and sad signs of grief and tenderness in Luscinda. But so as not to dash my hopes, I attributed it all to the power of the love she had for me and to the pain that absence usually causes in people in love.
“In short, I left, sad and pensive, my heart filled with illusions and suspicions, without knowing what I suspected or what the illusions were—clear omens predicting the sad event that was awaiting me. I arrived where I was sent, and gave the letter to don Fernando’s brother. I was well received, but not quickly sent back because he told me to wait a week—much to my distress—in a place where the duke, his father, wouldn’t see me, because his brother wrote him to send him a certain amount of money without the duke’s knowledge. All this was a scheme of the treacherous don Fernando, since his brother didn’t lack the money to send back with me immediately. I risked not obeying this order since it seemed impossible to me to endure so many days of my life absent from Luscinda, especially since I’d left her so sad, as I told you. But, as a dutiful servant I obeyed, although I thought it would be at the expense of my health.
“Four days after my arrival, a man came looking for me with a letter that he gave me. I recognized Luscinda’s handwriting on the outside, and I opened it, frightened and distressed, believing that it had to be something very important for her to write me while I was away, since when I was there, she wrote only infrequently. I asked the man, before I read it, who had given it to him, and how long he’d been on the road. He told me that he happened to be in the street one day at noon, and a very beautiful lady called him from a window, her eyes filled with tears, and told him in great haste: ‘Brother, if you’re a Christian, as you seem to be, for the love of God, I beg you to take this letter with no delay to the village and to the person on the envelope—they’re both well known—and you’ll be doing a great service to Our Lord. And so that you’ll have the means to be able to do it, take what is in this handkerchief.’ And after she said that, she threw out of the window a handkerchief that contained a hundred reales and this gold ring I have right here, along with the letter that I’ve brought you. And then, without waiting for my answer, she left the window, but first she saw that I had the letter and the handkerchief, and I communicated to her by signs that I would do what she wanted. And so, seeing myself so well paid for the labor it would take to bring it to you, and recognizing that it was you to whom it was being sent—because I know very well who you are, señor—and unable to resist the tears of that beautiful lady, I decided to trust no one else, and to come myself to give it to you. And in the sixteen hours since she gave it to me I’ve made the journey, which, as you know, is eighteen leagues.’
“These, in substance, were the words that the letter contained and made me get on the road right away, without waiting for another reply or any money, for I realized then that it was not the purchase of horses, but rather his own pleasure that had moved don Fernando to send me to his brother. The anger that I felt toward don Fernando, coupled with the fear of losing the prize I’d won by so many years of love and devotion, gave me wings, since almost as though I’d flown, I arrived in my village the next day just at the right time to see Luscinda. I got there without being seen and left the mule on which I’d come at the house of the good man who had brought me the letter, and my good fortune was such that I found Luscinda sitting behind the grating, the witness to our love. She recognized me right away, and I her, but not as we should have recognized each other. (But who is there in the world who can boast that he’s fathomed or come to know the confused mind and unstable nature of a woman? No one, for sure.) So, as I was saying, as soon as Luscinda saw me she said: ‘Cardenio, I’m in my wedding dress. The traitorous Don Fernando and my greedy father, and a few witnesses are waiting for me in the hall, but they’ll witness my death before they witness my marriage. Don’t be troubled, my dear, but try to be present at this sacrifice, and if I can’t prevent it by my words, I have a hidden dagger that can stop that wicked intention by causing an end to my life and a beginning of your knowledge of the love that I’ve borne and still bear you.’
“I was troubled and responded hastily, fearful that I wouldn’t have time to answer her: ‘May your words, señora, be validated by your deeds. If you have a dagger to affirm your honor, I have a sword either to defend you, or to kill myself with, if Fortune should be against us.’ I don’t think she heard all these words because I could tell she was being called away in haste—the groom was waiting. With this, the night my sorrow arrived and the sun of my happiness set. I was suddenly without the light of my eyes, unable to speak, and didn’t know what was going on. I couldn’t go into the house, nor could I move at all. But when I considered how important my presence was for what might happen in that house, I aroused myself as much as I could, and finally went into the house. Since I knew all the ways of getting into and out of it, and owing to the chaos caused by that secret ceremony going on inside, no one noticed me; so, without being seen, I slipped into a recess covered by the edges of two tapestries, and between them I could see everything that was happening.
“How can I describe the palpitations of my heart while I was there, the thoughts that assailed me, or the reflections that passed through my mind? They neither can nor should be told. It’s enough for you to know that the groom came into the hall without any adornment other than what he usually wore. His best man was one of Luscinda’s first cousins, and in the whole hall no one other than family was present except for servants from the household.
“After a little while Luscinda came out, accompanied by her mother and two of her maids, as richly dressed and adorned as her rank and beauty deserved, like one who was the pinnacle of fashion and courtly splendor. My anxiety and distraction didn’t allow me to see and take note of the details of her dress. I could only see that it was scarlet and white, and gems and jewels on her headdress and all over her dress glittered. All this was surpassed by the rare beauty of her blond hair, which competed with the gems she was wearing, and the light of the four torches that burned in the hall made her beauty shine brilliantly before my eyes. Oh, memory, mortal enemy of my peace! What good does it do now to picture the incomparable beauty of my adored enemy? Wouldn’t it be better, cruel memory, to remind me and present me with what she did next, so that I may strive—moved by a such a great wrong—if not for vengeance, at least to rid myself of life?
“Please don’t tire of hearing these digressions that I make, señores, for my grief is not of the kind that can, nor should be told in few words and briefly, since each incident seems worthy of a long discourse.”
To this, the priest responded that not only were they not tired of listening to him; on the contrary, the details that he recounted pleased them greatly, and they were such that they deserved not to be passed over in silence, and warranted the same attention as the main part of the story.
“So, then,” Cardenio went on, “the ceremony was to be in the hall. The parish priest came in, and took both of them by the hand to do what the ceremony requires, and said: ‘Do you, señora Luscinda, take señor don Fernando, here present, as your legitimate husband, as the Holy Mother Church prescribes?’ I thrust my head and neck out from between the tapestries, and with very attentive ears and with a tormented soul I listened for what Luscinda would say, expecting from her answer either my death sentence or renewed life. Oh, if I’d only leapt out at that moment and shouted: ‘Luscinda, Luscinda, watch what you’re doing! Consider what you owe me, remember that you’re mine and you cannot belong to another! Bear in mind that your saying I DO and my death will be simultaneous. Ah, you traitor, don Fernando! Robber of my glory, death of my life! What do you want? What do you seek? Consider that you can’t, as a Christian, achieve your goal since Luscinda is already my wife and I her husband.’ Ah, fool that I am—now that I’m away and far from any danger—I’m saying what I should have done and didn’t. Now that I’ve allowed my precious treasure to be stolen from me, I curse the robber on whom I might have wrought vengeance if only I’d have had the same heart for it that I’m using now to complain. In short, I was a coward and a fool, and no wonder I’m dying of shame now, filled with remorse, and crazy.
“The priest was waiting for Luscinda’s answer—and she waited a while before giving it—and just when I was thinking she was going to take out her dagger to preserve her honor, or to say some truth, or confess something on my behalf, I heard her say in a faint and feeble voice ‘I do,’ and don Fernando said the same, and when he gave her a ring, they were bound by a knot that cannot be untied. As the husband went to embrace his wife, she placed her hand on her heart and fell fainting into her mother’s arms. All that remains is to say how I felt, since in that I DO I saw all my hopes mocked, the words and promises of Luscinda proven lies, and myself without means of ever recovering the good that I’d lost at that instant. I stood stupefied, completely abandoned by heaven, it seemed to me, and made an enemy of the earth that sustained me, denying me air to breathe, and tears for my eyes. Only a fire grew within me, so that I was consumed by rage and jealousy.
“Everyone was thrown into confusion by Luscinda’s fainting spell, and when her mother unfastened her bodice to give her air, a sealed letter was discovered that don Fernando took and began to read by the light of one of the torches, and when he finished reading it, he sat in a chair, and put his hand to his cheek, appearing to be a very pensive man, without taking part in the efforts to help his wife out of her swoon. When I saw the household in such confusion, I ventured to come out, whether I was seen or not; and if I was seen, I was determined to do some crazed deed, such that everyone would come to realize the righteous indignation of my heart in the punishment of don Fernando, and even on that of the fainted traitress. But my fate, which had greater misfortunes in store for me, if it’s possible that there be greater ones, ordered that my reason—which has since failed me—would prevail. And so, without wreaking vengeance on my greatest enemies, which would have been easy to do since they were not expecting me to be there, I resolved to take it on myself, and to inflict on myself the pain they deserved, and perhaps with greater severity than I would have used on them if I’d killed them right then, since sudden death causes little pain. But the death that’s drawn out with torture always kills without ending one’s life.
“In short, I left that house and went to the home of the man with whom I’d left the mule, had him saddle it for me, and without saying good-bye, I got on and rode out of the city, without daring, like another Lot, to look back. When I found myself alone, out in the open country, and the dark of night had enveloped me, and its stillness invited me to lament my misfortune without fear of being heard or recognized, I raised my voice and untied my tongue in so much cursing of Luscinda and don Fernando, as if that could avenge the wrong they had done me. I called her cruel, ungrateful, false, and thankless, but above all, greedy, since the wealth of my enemy had closed the eyes of her affection, transfering it from her to the one with whom Fortune had been more liberal. And yet in the midst of this torrent of maledictions and reproaches, I made excuses for her, saying that it wasn’t surprising that a maiden, secluded in her parents’ home, trained and accustomed to obey them always, would have submitted to their wishes, since they were giving her a husband—a gentleman of such distinction, so rich, and of such noble birth—that if she’d refused him, one could think either she’d lost her mind, or her affections lay elsewhere, something that would besmirch her honor and good name.
“Then again, I mused even if she’d said I was her husband, they would have seen that when she chose me, she hadn’t made such a bad choice that they wouldn’t have freed her, because before don Fernando offered himself to them, they themselves—if their desires were well reasoned—couldn’t have wanted a better choice for their daughter’s husband than me. And she could very well, before that critical moment of giving her hand, have said that I’d already given her mine, and I would have come forth to confirm what she said.
“In a word, I concluded that a bit of love, little judgment, a lot of ambition, and a yearning for rank, had made her forget the words with which she’d deceived, encouraged and supported me in my firm hopes and chaste desires.
“After all that shouting and in this troubled state I traveled the rest of the night, and at daybreak I wound up at one of the passes of this sierra, through which I roamed for three days, without a path or any road, until I came to a meadow on I don’t know what side of the mountain, and I asked some herdsmen where the most rugged part of this sierra lay. They told me that it was in this area, and I came in this direction right away, intending to end my life here. When I got to this harsh territory my mule fell dead of weariness and hunger, or, it may have been—and this is what I believe—to rid itself of such a useless burden. I found myself on foot, worn out, overcome by hunger, and having no one to help me.
“I was in that state for I don’t know how long, stretched out on the ground, after which I got up and was no longer hungry. I found near me some goatherds who doubtless were those who relieved my need, because they told me how they had found me, how I was saying so many foolish things that plainly showed I’d lost my sanity. And since then I’ve felt that I don’t always have my complete sanity, and I’m impaired and weak, and I do a thousand absurdities, tearing my clothes, crying aloud in these solitary places, cursing my fate, and repeating in vain the beloved name of my enemy, and only seeking to end my life in lamentation. And when I recover my senses I’m so exhausted and drained that I can hardly move.
“My usual dwelling is the hollow area of this cork tree, which is big enough to shelter my wretched body. The cowherds and goatherds who work in these mountains, moved by charity, give me things to eat by putting provisions in the roads or on rocks where I’m likely to pass by and find them. So, even when my sanity fails me, the needs of nature make me understand what I require, and awaken my cravings and give me the will to satisfy them. Other times, they tell me after I’ve recovered my wits I go into the road and take food from the shepherds by force when they’re coming from the village on their way to the herds, even though they would willingly give me some of the food they have with them.
“This is the way I’m spending my wretched life until heaven is pleased to take it to its ultimate end, or to cause my mind to forget the beauty and the treachery of Luscinda, and the wrong done me by don Fernando. If heaven does this without depriving me of life, I’ll turn my thoughts to some better course of action, and if not, I can only beg it to have mercy on my soul, for I feel neither strength nor courage in myself to release my body from this plight in which I’ve chosen to place it of my own free will.
“This, señores, is the bitter story of my misfortune. Tell me if it can be told with less emotion than you’ve seen in me. And don’t bother to persuade or counsel me about whatever Reason might tell you will be good for my relief, for it will do me as much good as medicine prescribed by an esteemed physician will do a sick man who will not take it. Health is meaningless without Luscinda, and since she chose to belong to someone else, being, or when she should have been mine, let me savor misery when I might have had happiness. She wanted, through her fickleness, to ruin me. I will, by seeking my own destruction, attempt to gratify her. And my case will be an example to all those in the future that I alone lacked what other unfortunate people have in abundance, which is the impossibility of being consoled. This is a cause for even greater emotions and sufferings, for I believe that even after death they will not come to an end.”