Which deals with the strange and delightful adventure that the priest and barber had in the same sierra.
H OW VERY happy and fortunate were the times when that most daring knight don Quixote de La Mancha went out into the world, since because of his desire to resuscitate and restore the now lost and almost defunct order of knight errantry to the world, we now enjoy in this, our own age, which is so lacking in light entertainment, not only the pleasure of his true history, but also that of the stories and episodes that are added to it and are scarcely less agreeable, ingenious, and filled with truth than the main story itself, which, resuming its carded, twisted, and reeled thread, related that, as soon as the priest began to get ready to console Cardenio, he was prevented from doing so by a voice that came to his ears with pitiful tones, saying these words: “Oh, God! Can it be possible that I’ve found a place that can serve as a secret grave for the weary burden of this body that I carry against my will? Yes, it is, if the solitude of these mountains doesn’t deceive me. Ah, woe is me! How much better companions will these cliffs and bushes be, since they give me the opportunity to complain of my misfortune to heaven—than the company of any man, for there is no one on earth from whom I can expect counsel in doubt, comfort in sorrow, or relief in distress!”
The priest, and those with him, heard and understood, and seeming to them—as it was—that all these words came from very nearby, they got up to see who had said them. They hadn’t gone twenty paces when they saw from behind a large rock, seated at the foot of an ash tree, a lad dressed as a peasant. Since his head was leaning forward, washing his feet in the stream that flowed past, they couldn’t see his face. And they approached so silently he didn’t hear them, nor was he aware of anything else other than washing his feet, which were so fair that they looked like two pieces of white crystal born of the stones of the brook. The whiteness and beauty of those feet filled them with awe, for they didn’t seem made to crush clods of earth, nor drive a plow and oxen, as the lad’s costume suggested.
Seeing that they had not been heard, the priest, who led the group, gave signs to the other two to crouch down or hide behind a nearby boulder. They all did this, looking closely at what the lad was doing. He was wearing a short, loose grey jacket, tightly bound to his body with a white cloth. He also was wearing pants and leggings made of a grey cloth, and on his head he wore a grey cap. His leggings were pulled half-way up his legs, which looked just like white alabaster. When he finished washing his beautiful feet, he wiped them off with a white kerchief that he took from beneath his cap. But when he took out the kerchief, he raised his face, and those who were looking at him could see in it an incomparable beauty, so much so that Cardenio said to the priest under his breath: “This person, since he’s not Luscinda, cannot be a human being, but rather someone divine.”
The young man took off his cap, and as he shook his head, his hair—that the rays of the sun might envy—started to cascade and spread out. By this, the observers came to realize that the person who seemed to be a peasant man was really an exquisite woman, and the most beautiful one that the eyes of the priest and barber had ever seen, and even those of Cardenio, if they hadn’t seen and known Luscinda—for he declared afterwards that only the beauty of Luscinda could compete with hers. Her long blond hair not only covered her shoulders, but it was so long and blond that it also hid the rest of her, because except for her feet, no other part of her body was visible. Just then she drew her hands through her hair, and if her feet looked like they were made of crystal when they were in the water, her hands seemed to be made of driven snow among her locks, all of which caused even more wonder, and made the three who were observing her even more curious to know who she was.
With this in mind, they resolved to make themselves known, and as they went to stand up, the beautiful lass raised her head, and, parting her hair from in front of her eyes with both hands, she saw the people who had made that rustling noise, and hardly had she seen them when she got up, grabbed a bundle of clothing next to her, and without stopping to put her shoes on or gather her hair, tried to flee, filled with confusion and alarm. But she hadn’t gone six paces before her delicate feet could no longer withstand the sharpness of the stones, and she fell to the ground. The three went to see if they could help her. The priest was the first to speak: “Stop, señora, whoever you are, because our intention is only to serve you. There is no reason for you to take to this fretful flight that your feet cannot withstand, nor can we allow it.”
She didn’t respond a word to all this, bewildered and confused. They approached her, and taking her by the hand, the priest continued: “What your garb would hide, señora, your hair reveals: clear proof that a cause not of little consequence has disguised your beauty in such unworthy clothing and has brought you to a solitary place such as this, where we’ve had the good fortune to find you; and if we can’t relieve your anguish, at least we can offer you comfort, since, as long as life lasts, no anguish can be oppressive or so far beyond the reach of human compassion as to make the sufferer refuse to listen to words of comfort offered with good intentions. So, señora mía, or señor mío—whichever you please—forget the fear that the sight of us has caused you, and reveal to us your good or bad fortune, and you’ll find sympathy in your misfortunes from all of us together or from each of us individually.”
While the priest was telling her this, it was as if the disguised young woman were spellbound, looking at each one, without moving her lips or saying a single word, just like a village rustic to whom is shown something that he’s never seen before. But the priest said more words to the same effect, and, heaving a great sigh, she broke her silence and said: “Since the solitude of these sierras has not been sufficient to conceal me, and the letting down of my disordered tresses has not allowed my tongue to lie, it would be in vain to pretend once again to be what I am not, and if you were to believe me, it would be only out of courtesy and nothing else. This being so, I thank you, señores, for the offer you’ve made me, and it has made me feel I should comply with your request, although I fear the story of my misfortunes is liable to cause you as much grief as compassion, because you’ll not find a way to remedy it, nor advice to alleviate it. But even so, in order for my honor not be left a matter of doubt in your minds, since you’ve recognized that I’m a woman, and seeing me young, alone, and in this clothing—any of these things taken together or separately would be enough to tear down my good reputation—I’ll tell you what I wanted to keep to myself if I could have.”
All of this was said by the beautiful woman without hesitation and with such a sweet voice that her circumspection captivated them as much as her beauty. And they again repeated their offers and made fresh entreaties to her to tell them her story. Without further coaxing, she first put on her shoes to cover her feet, and gathered in her hair, then she sat upon a stone with the three of them surrounding her. She forced herself to withhold tears that were coming to her eyes, and with a calm and clear voice she began her story in this way:
“In this Andalusia there is a village from which a duke takes his title, which makes him one of the Grandees of Spain. This man has two sons: the older one is heir to his rank and seemingly of his good qualities as well; and as for the younger one, I don’t know what he’s the heir of unless it’s the treachery of Vellido and the falsehood of Ganelón. My parents are vassals of this man, humble in their lineage, but so wealthy that if birth had conferred on them as much as Fortune did, they would have nothing more to desire, nor should I fear seeing myself in the trouble I’m now in, for it may well be that my bad luck stems from their not having been born noble. It’s true they’re not so low that they should be ashamed of their status, nor so high as to remove from my mind that my misfortune derives from their humble birth. In short, they’re farmers, plain people, without any mixture of impure blood, and, as the saying goes, Old Christians, but so rich that their wealth and magnificent way of life is gradually causing them to be considered hidalgos and even nobles; but what they prized as their greatest fortune and distinction was having me as their daughter. So, since they had no other heir, and being very affectionate parents, I was one of the most indulged daughters that parents ever pampered. I was the mirror in which they saw themselves, the support of their old age, the object toward which all their hopes, in accordance with heaven’s rules, were directed, and my own hopes didn’t differ from theirs, since theirs were so worthy. And just as I was the mistress of their hearts, so was I also of their estate. I hired and fired servants. I kept track of what was sown and harvested, olive oil mills, wine presses, head of cattle (both cows and sheep), and beehives. In sum, I had in my care everything that a wealthy farmer such as my father could and did possess, and being superintendent and mistress, with such diligence on my part and satisfaction on theirs, it would be difficult for me to exaggerate.
“In the leisure time that was left to me after having directed the overseers, foremen, and laborers, I spent in activities that are proper and necessary for maidens, such as embroidery, lace making, and spinning; and to better my mind I might read a devotional book or play the harp, because experience has shown me that music soothes the troubled mind and relieves weariness of the spirit.
“This was the life I led in my parents’ house, and if I’ve told you about it in such detail, it was not out of vanity or to let you know that I’m rich, but only so that you can see how blameless I was when I fell from this happy state to my present misery. The truth is that while I was leading this busy, cloistered life—you could compare it to life in a convent—and never being seen by anyone other than the servants of our household, because when I went to mass, it was so early in the morning, and I was so closely attended by my mother and the other women of the household, so heavily veiled and modest, that my eyes could hardly see even the ground where my feet fell. In spite of this the eyes of love—or rather those of idleness—keener than those of a lynx, saw me, and those eyes belonged to the persistent don Fernando, for that’s the name of the younger son of the duke I mentioned.”
The instant the storyteller mentioned don Fernando, Cardenio’s face changed color and he broke into a sweat with such agitation that the priest and barber who were observing it, feared that one of his fits of madness was coming on. But Cardenio only sweated and remained still, staring at the peasant girl, conjecturing who she was. Without noticing the change in Cardenio, she continued her story, saying: “And hardly had they—his eyes—seen me when (as he later confirmed) he was quite smitten by me, as his behavior soon showed. So, to come to the end of this relation of my misfortunes, which have no end, I would like to pass over in silence the clever things don Fernando used for making his love for me known. He bribed everyone in my household, he gave gifts and offered favors to my relatives. Every day was like a fiesta and a celebration on our street, and at night no one could sleep because of the music. An infinite number of love letters—I don’t know how—came to me, filled with loving words and pledges of love, containing more promises and vows than there were letters in the words. Nothing of this softened me, but rather hardened my heart, as if he were my mortal enemy. Everything he did to sway me to his will had the opposite effect, not because the gallantry of don Fernando was disagreeable, because it did give me a certain pleasure to find myself so loved and prized by such an important nobleman. And it didn’t displease me to see my praises in his letters, for it pleases us women, it seems to me, however ugly we may be, to hear ourselves called beautiful.
“But all this was very contrary to my chastity and the continual advice of my parents, who clearly knew of don Fernando’s purpose, because he didn’t care if the whole world knew. My parents told me that they trusted and confided their honor and good name to my virtue and goodness, and urged me to consider the difference that there was between me and don Fernando, from which I could infer that his intentions—whatever he said to the contrary—were directed more toward his pleasure than to my advantage, and if I wanted to discourage his advances, they would arrange a marriage with anyone I preferred, either from the upper class of our town or of any of the neighboring towns, because with their wealth and my good name, they would be able to make a fine match. With their firm promises, in light of the truth they told me, my integrity was fortified, and I refused to give don Fernando a single word that might offer any hope that he might attain his desire—far from it. All of my precautions, which he should have considered to be a rejection, only served to fuel his lascivious appetite—for that’s what I call his passion for me. Had it been what it should have been, you would never have heard of it, since there would be no reason to tell you about it.
“Finally, don Fernando found out that my parents were thinking of marrying me off to end his hopes of possessing me, or at least so that I would have more protectors to shield me. This news, or suspicion, caused him to do what you’ll now hear. It happened that one night when I was in my room in the company of a maid who serves me, with the doors locked—fearing that my honor might be compromised through negligence—in the midst of these precautions, in stillness and seclusion, I found him standing before me, a vision that so disturbed me that it robbed my eyes of sight and my tongue of speech, so I couldn’t cry out, nor would he, I think, have let me, because he drew close to me, and taking me in his arms—since I didn’t have the strength to resist, so overwhelmed was I, as I said—he began to say such words that I cannot imagine how it’s possible for so many lies to come out sounding like the truth. The traitor made it look like his tears confirmed his words, and his sighs his sincerity. I was a poor young maiden, all alone in a house filled with family members, inexperienced in these matters, and I began to think—I don’t know how—that all these falsehoods were true, but not to the point that his sighs and tears would move me to compassion.
“So, after that first shock subsided, I regained my lost senses a bit, and with more courage than I thought I could muster up, I said: ‘If I were not in your arms, señor, but in the claws of a fierce lion; if I had to do or say something to tarnish my virtue to be released from them, it would be no more in my power to do or say it than it would be to change the past. So, though you’re clutching me in your arms, my soul is bound up by my firm resolve, which is quite different from yours, as you’ll see if you try to force your desires on me. I’m your vassal but not your slave. Your nobility doesn’t have the right to dishonor and degrade my humble blood, nor should it. I respect myself as a peasant and farmer, as you do as a lord and gentleman. Your strength will do you no good, nor will your wealth have any worth, your words will not deceive me, nor will your sighs and tears soften me. If I were to see any of these things I’ve mentioned in the person my parents chose to be my husband, my will would adjust to his, and I’d have no will other than his. And if my honor would be preserved, even though I had no pleasure, I would willingly yield to him what you, señor, are trying to take by force. I tell you all this because it’s unthinkable that anyone would get anything from me except as my legitimate husband.’ “ ‘If that’s your only worry, beautiful Dorotea’ (for that’s the name of this unfortunate woman), said the treacherous man, ‘look, I’m giving you my hand to be yours, and let heaven, from which nothing is hidden, and the image of Our Lady you have here, be witness of this pledge.’ ”
When Cardenio heard her say that her name was Dorotea, his agitation began again, so he could confirm his initial suspicion, but he didn’t want to interrupt her story so he could find out how it would come out, because he knew only bits and pieces of it, so he only said: “So, Dorotea is your name, señora? I’ve heard about another woman with this same name who can perhaps match you in her misfortunes. Please continue, for there is plenty of time for me to tell you things that will amaze you as well as cause you pity.”
Dorotea noted Cardenio’s words and his strange and tattered attire, and begged him to tell her right then if he knew something about her situation, because if Fortune had left her anything, it was the courage to endure any dis-aster that might befall her, and she was sure that nothing could happen that would increase what she’d borne already.
“I wouldn’t miss the chance, señora,” responded Cardenio, “to tell you what I think if what I suspect is the truth, but up to now there is no apparent connection, nor is it important for you to learn what it is.”
“Be that as it may,” responded Dorotea, “what happened next in my story is that don Fernando took a holy image that was in my room, used it as a witness to our betrothal, and with the most powerful words and vows, promised to be my husband, although, before he finished, I told him to be careful in what he said, and to consider his father’s anger when he saw him married to a peasant vassal of his. I told him not to be blinded by my beauty, such as it was, for that was an insufficient excuse for his mistake, and that if through his love for me he wanted to do me a kindness, he should rather let my fortune run its course within my own rank, because unequal marriages are never happy, nor do they maintain the same pleasure with which they begin.
“All these words that I said just now I told him, and many others that I don’t remember, but it had no effect in causing him to forego his purpose—«he who has no intention of paying does not haggle over the price». At that moment I argued the matter with myself and said: ‘I won’t be the first person who has risen from a humble to a lofty social position through marriage, nor will don Fernando be the first one whom beauty, or blind desire—and this is what is most likely—has led to marry beneath his rank. Since I’m not changing established practices or trying to make a new custom, it might be good to embrace this honor that Fate has offered me, for even though his love may not last longer than the fulfillment of his desire, I will, after all, be his wife in the eyes of God. If, on the other hand, I seek to repulse him with scorn, I can see that he may easily use force, and I’ll be disgraced and without an excuse for the guilt that will be laid against me by those who cannot know how guiltless I’ve been. What arguments will suffice to persuade my parents and others that this man came into my room without my permission?’
“All these questions and answers passed through my mind in an instant. And I was especially moved and persuaded—to what proved to be my ruin without my suspecting it—by don Fernando’s vows, the witnesses he invoked, the tears he shed, and finally, his gentle disposition that, accompanied by so many signs of real love, might easily conquer a heart as free and as innocent as mine. I called my maid in so there would be a witness on earth as well as those in heaven. Don Fernando reiterated and confirmed his vows and invoked other saints as witnesses. He wished a thousand future curses on himself if he failed to keep his promise. Tears welled in his eyes again, his sighs grew more frequent, and he pressed me closer in his arms, from which he’d never let me go. And with this, my maiden left the room, and I ceased to be one, and he became a betrayer and a liar.
“The day that followed the night of my disgrace came, although I think not as quickly as don Fernando wanted, because, once his appetite was satisfied, his greatest urge was to leave the scene of where this pleasure took place. I say this because don Fernando was in a hurry to leave. Through the wiles of my maid—and she was the one who had let him in—he was out of the house by daybreak. And when he bade me farewell, he told me, although without the fervor and conviction of the night before, that I could rest assured of his good faith and the sanctity and sincerity of his oaths. And to confirm his words, he removed a splendid ring from his finger and placed it on mine. So he left, and I stayed behind, and I don’t know if I was sad or happy, but I can tell you that I was troubled and pensive, and almost beside myself with this new situation. Either I didn’t have the will to, or I forgot to scold my maid for the treason committed when she let don Fernando into my room, for as yet I couldn’t make up my mind if what had befallen me was good or bad. I told don Fernando when he left that, since I was now his, he could come back on other nights that same way, until it was his pleasure to make the marriage known. But he came back no other night except the following one, nor did I see him in the street or in church for more than a month. In vain I wearied myself watching for him, although I knew that he was in town and most days he went hunting, one thing he was very fond of.
“I remember how sad and dreary those days and hours were for me. And I well remember how I began to doubt, as those days went by, and even lose confidence in the faith of don Fernando. And I remember that my maid finally heard those words of reproof that she hadn’t heard before, for her daring acts; and how it was necessary for me to restrain my tears and compose my face so that my parents wouldn’t ask me why I was so unhappy and force me to make up lies in reply. But all this came to a sudden end when something happened that trampled all considerations of honor and caution, and where patience was lost and my secret thoughts were made known. And this was because in a few days it was said in the village that in a nearby city don Fernando had gotten married to a very beautiful maiden of noble parents, although not so rich that through her dowry could she aspire to such a noble marriage. They said her name was Luscinda, and that at her wedding startling things happened.”
Cardenio heard the name of Luscinda, and only shrugged his shoulders, bit his lips, raised his eyebrows, and in a little while let two streams of tears fall from his eyes. Dorotea, however, didn’t stop her story, but went on: “This sad news came to my ears, but instead of causing my heart to grow cold when I heard it, such a wrath and fury burned in it that I almost raced out into the city shouting about the treachery done to me. But what I planned to do, and did, that very night, tended to moderate this fury. I dressed up in the clothing of one of the farmhands, a servant of my father’s. I confided in him the story of all of my misfortune and I begged him to go with me to that city where I heard the lady, my enemy, was. After he’d scolded me for my daring and condemned my decision—once he saw my resolve, he offered to go with me, he said, to the ends of the earth. At once I packed a dress, some jewels, and money for emergencies inside a pillowcase, and in the silence of that night, without telling my traitorous maid, left my house, accompanied by my servant and my many troubled thoughts, and I got onto the road to that city, on foot, borne on the wings of my desire to get there, if not to frustrate what I knew had been done, at least to ask don Fernando to tell me with what conscience he’d done it.
“I got there in two and a half days, and when I went into the city, I asked where the house of Luscinda was, and the first person I asked told me more than I wanted to hear. He showed me where the house was and told everything that had happened during the daughter’s wedding, something so well-known that people gather in groups to gossip about it. He said that the evening don Fernando married Luscinda, after she said her I DO, she fainted, and when the groom unlaced her dress to give her air, he found a letter in Luscinda’s own handwriting in which she said and declared that she couldn’t be don Fernando’s wife because she was already married to Cardenio, who, the fellow told me, was a man of note in that city. And if she’d said I DO to don Fernando it was only because she didn’t want to disobey her parents. In short, the explanations in the letter said that she’d intended to kill herself after the ceremony, giving her reasons, all of which was confirmed by a dagger they found I don’t know where in her clothing. When don Fernando saw this, thinking that Luscinda had made a mockery of him, and held him in little esteem, he tried to stab her with her own dagger, and he would have, too, if those present hadn’t prevented it. And there was more: don Fernando left right away, and Luscinda didn’t come out of her swoon until the next day, and told her parents that she was the true wife of that Cardenio I mentioned.
“And I found out even more: Cardenio, they said, had been at the wedding, and when he saw her married—something he thought would never happen—he left he city in despair, leaving behind a letter in which he told of the wrong Luscinda had done him, and how he was going away never to be seen again. All this was well known in the city and everyone talked about it, especially when it was known that Luscinda went missing from her parents’ house and from the city, where she was nowhere to be found, and that her parents were going mad trying to figure out how to find her. When I learned this, I was encouraged, and I was more pleased not to have found him than to have found him married, for it seemed to me that the door was not yet completely closed to a happy solution for my situation. It occurred to me that it might be that heaven had put this impediment in the way of the second marriage so that don Fernando could see what his obligations to the first were, and to make him reflect that he was a Christian, and that he was bound to consider his soul above all things human.
“All these thoughts whirled around in my fancy, and I tried unsuccessfully to console myself, indulging in faint and distant hopes of cherishing the life I now hate. So, while I was in the city, not knowing what to do because I couldn’t find don Fernando, I heard a public crier offering a large reward to whoever should find me, saying how old I was, and telling my age and even describing the clothing I was wearing. It was said that the lad who was with me had taken me from my parents’ house, and this cut me to the quick, seeing how low my reputation had fallen—it was not enough that I would lose it for having fled, but it was necessary to add with whom, being such a low fellow and unworthy of my chaste thoughts. The instant I heard the crier, I left the city with my servant, who was already showing signs of wavering in his fidelity to me, and that same night, fearing that we’d be found, we entered the densest parts of this mountain.
“But as is said, «one bad thing invites another,» and «the end of one misfortune is liable to be the beginning of a still greater one». That’s what happened to me, because my good servant who had been faithful and trustworthy until then, as soon as he saw me in that lonely spot, incited more by his villainy than by my beauty, tried to take advantage of the opportunity that these solitudes presented to him. And with little shame and less fear of God and respect for me, he began to make advances to me, and seeing that I answered his impudent proposal with severe and just reproaches, he set aside the entreaties he had used at first, and began to use force. But heaven in its justice, which seldom if ever fails to watch over and assist good intentions, favored mine so that, with a little strength on my part, I was able to push him over a precipice, where I left him, I don’t know if dead or alive. And so, more swiftly than my fright and weakened state seemed to permit, I came into these mountains, without any other thought or purpose save that of hiding myself and fleeing from my father and those who were looking for me on his behalf.
“I don’t know how many months went by since I came here with this in mind, when I found a herdsman who hired me on as his servant in a remote village in these mountains, and I served him all this time, always trying to be in the fields to conceal my hair, which has now so unexpectedly betrayed me. But all my care and trouble were to no avail since my master came to realize that I wasn’t a man, and harbored the same base desire as my servant. Since Fortune doesn’t always find solutions to one’s troubles, I didn’t find a precipice or ravine where I could fling my master down and kill him, as I did with my servant, so it was much easier for me just to leave him and hide again in these rugged parts, than to put my strength or reasoning to the test once again. So, I went into the forest to look for a place where I could, without any hindrance, beg heaven with my tears and sighs to give me the grace and strength to escape from my misfortune or to end my life in this lonely place, without leaving a trace of this unhappy being, who, while being utterly guiltless, has given occasion for others to speak badly of me at home and elsewhere.”