About the notable adventure of the officers and the great ferocity of our great knight don Quixote.
W HILE DON Quixote was saying this, the priest was trying to persuade the officers that since don Quixote was out of his mind, as they could see by his deeds and words, they shouldn’t proceed with the matter since even if they arrested him and took him away, they would have to release him right away since he was crazy; to which the one with the warrant said that it was not up to him to judge the sanity of don Quixote, but rather execute his superior’s command, and once he was arrested, they could let him go three hundred times if they wanted.
“Even so,” said the priest, “this time you must not carry him off, nor will he allow himself to be taken away, the way I look at it.”
In short, the priest told them so much, and don Quixote did so many crazy things, that the officers would be crazier than don Quixote if they didn’t recognize his affliction, and so they thought it best to leave him alone, and even act as negotiators of peace between the barber and Sancho Panza, who were still going at their fight with great animosity. Finally, they, as officers of justice, mediated the matter and were arbitrators of it in such a way that both parties were, if not completely happy, at least somewhat satisfied, because they exchanged packsaddles, but not the girths or headstalls. And insofar as Mambrino’s helmet went, the priest surreptitiously, and without don Quixote finding out, gave the barber eight reales for the basin, and the barber made out a receipt and had to promise he would not claim that he was defrauded thenceforth and forever, amen.
These two disputes—which were the most important ones—having been settled, it only remained for don Luis’ servants to consent that three of them should go back and that one would stay to accompany him where don Fernando wanted to take him. And as good luck and better fortune had begun to solve problems and remove obstacles in favor of the lovers and brave men of the inn, and wanted to give a happy ending to everything, since the servants were pleased to do what don Luis wanted, this made doña Clara very happy—and anyone who saw her face right then couldn’t help but notice the joy in her heart.
Zoraida, who didn’t understand everything she saw very well, was sad or happy depending on what she saw and noted on the faces of each one, especially her Spaniard, whom she followed with her eyes and clung to with her soul. The innkeeper, who didn’t fail to notice the gift and recompense that the priest had given the barber, asked for don Quixote’s portion of the bill, with the damage to the wineskins and the loss of the wine, swearing that neither Rocinante nor Sancho’s donkey would leave the inn unless he was paid down to the last ardite. The priest made peace and don Fernando paid, although the judge had volunteered to pay with much good will. In this way they were all peaceful and calmed down, so that the inn no longer looked like Agramante’s Camp, as don Quixote had said, but rather the very peace and tranquillity of Octavian’s time. For all of this, it was the general opinion they should thank the good will and fine eloquence of the priest, and the incomparable generosity of don Fernando.
When don Quixote saw himself free and unencumbered of all those disputes, both his squire’s and his own, it seemed to him that it would be good to continue the journey he’d begun, and bring an end to the great adventure for which he’d been called and chosen. So with resolute determination he knelt in front of Dorotea, who wouldn’t let him say a word until he stood up; and, to obey her, he got up and said: “It’s a common proverb, beautiful señora, that «diligence is the mother of good fortune», and in many grave matters experience has shown that the persistence of the negotiator brings a successful conclusion to a shaky lawsuit. But in nothing is this truth more manifest than in war, where speed and haste prevent the advancement of the enemy and win the victory before the opponent can prepare his defense. I say all this, exalted and precious lady, because it seems to me that our stay in this castle serves no further purpose, and it could cause terrible damage, as we may see one day, because who knows if by hidden and diligent spies, your enemy, the giant, might have learned that I’m going to destroy him, and the delay gives him the opportunity to strengthen his position in some impregnable castle or fortress against which my preparations, and the strength of my untiring arm will be of little use. So, señora, let’s prevent his designs, as I’ve said, with our diligence, and depart quickly, with Fortune on our side, which your highness is only kept from enjoying to its fullest by my delay in attacking your enemy.”
Don Quixote stopped talking and said no more, and waited with great calm for the answer of the beautiful princess, who, with commanding dignity, simulating don Quixote’s style of speech, responded in this way: “I thank you, señor knight, for the desire you’re showing in order to relieve my affliction, so like a knight, whose duty it is to protect the orphaned and the distressed. Heaven grant that your desire and mine may be fulfilled, so that you’ll see that there are grateful women in the world. Insofar as my departure goes, let it be immediate, for I have no will other than yours. Order me as you will, for she who has given over the defense of her person to you and placed in your hands the recovery of her kingdom, will not go against what your wisdom orders.”
“It’s in God’s hands,” said don Quixote, “since a lady humbles herself to me thus, I don’t want to miss the opportunity to raise her and place her on her ancestral throne. Let’s depart at once, because my desire spurs me on, and encourages me to get on the road, and you know what they say, «in delay lurks danger», and since heaven has never created, nor has hell ever seen any danger that frightens or intimidates me; so, saddle Rocinante up, Sancho, and prepare your donkey, and the palfrey of the queen, and let’s bid farewell to the warden of the castle and to these people, and let’s depart immediately.”
Sancho, who witnessed all of this, said, shaking his head from one side to the other: “Ay, señor, «there’s more mischief in the village than you hear of», begging the pardon of the honorable women.”
“What mischief can there be in any village, or in all the cities in the world, that can redound to my discredit, you rustic?”
“If you’re going to get angry,” responded Sancho, “I’ll keep quiet and won’t say what I’m obliged to say as a good squire, and what as a good servant, I should say to you.”
“Say whatever you want,” replied don Quixote, “as long as you don’t try to frighten me, for if you’re afraid, you’re behaving like yourself, and if I’m not, I’m behaving like myself.”
“It’s not that, as I’m a sinner in God’s eyes,” responded Sancho, “only I hold as sure and proven that this lady who says she’s queen of the great kingdom of Micomicón is no more queen than my mother is, because if she were what she says, she wouldn’t be smooching with someone of the present company when heads are turned, and behind every door.”
Dorotea turned red with Sancho’s words, because it was true that her husband had now and then, when no one was looking, harvested with his lips some of the reward his love had earned, and this was seen by Sancho; and it seemed to him that this brazenness smacked more of a courtesan than a queen of such a large kingdom. She wouldn’t and couldn’t say a word in response to Sancho, but let him continue his discourse, and he went on, saying: “I say this, señor, because if after we’ve traveled those highways and byways, spent bad nights and worse days, the fellow now enjoying himself in this inn will come to enjoy the fruit of our labor, so there is no reason for me to run to saddle Rocinante, put the packsaddle on the donkey, or get the palfrey ready. It’d be better just to stay put, and «let every prostitute spin, and we’ll eat».”
Good God, can you imagine how great was the rage that came to don Quixote when he heard his squire’s insolent words? I say that it was so great that with a trembling, stuttering voice, with living flames shooting from his eyes, he exclaimed: “Oh, villainous rogue, boorish, brazen, ignorant, incoherent, foul-mouthed, audacious gossip, and slanderer! You would use such words in front of these illustrious ladies? You would dare to put in your confused mind such gross and shameless thoughts? Get out of my presence, monster of nature, storehouse of lies, closet filled with deceits, silo filled with wickedness, inventor of evil, publisher of follies, enemy of the respect due to royalty! Go away—don’t appear before me again, under the pain of my ire.”
And saying this he arched his eyebrows, puffed out his cheeks, looked in all directions, and stamped his right foot on the ground, all of them sure signs of the wrath that he had in his heart. At these raging words and gestures, Sancho cowered, and was so frightened that he wished the earth would open up at his feet right then and swallow him up. And he didn’t know what to do except turn away and leave the angered presence of his master. But the discreet Dorotea, who understood don Quixote’s frame of mind, said to him to placate his fury: “Don’t get angry, señor Woebegone Knight, over the foolish things that your good squire said. Perhaps he had good cause to say them, and we couldn’t expect that his Christian conscience would bring false witness against anyone, so we must doubtless believe that, since everything in this castle happens by enchantment, as you say, it might be, I say, that Sancho must have seen, through this diabolical medium, what he says he saw, so much to the detriment of my chastity.”
“By the Omnipotent God I swear,” said don Quixote at that moment, “that your greatness has hit the mark, and some loathsome vision was placed in front of this sinner, Sancho, that made him see what would be impossible by any other means, for I know of the goodness and innocence of this unfortunate fellow, who doesn’t know how to bring false witness against anybody.”
“That’s what it is and what it must be,” said don Fernando, “and that’s why your grace should pardon him and restore him to the bosom of your favor, sicut erat in principio, before those visions drove him to see things.”
Don Quixote responded that he did forgive him, and the priest went to fetch Sancho, who came in very humbly, and kneeling down, asked for don Quixote’s hand, which he gave him, and after he’d kissed it, don Quixote blessed him saying: “Now you’ll realize, Sancho my son, that it’s true what I’ve told you on many other occasions, that everything in this castle happens by way of enchantment.”
“I believe it,” said Sancho, “except that business of the blanket, which really happened the regular way.”
“Don’t believe it,” responded don Quixote, “because if it had been that way, I’d have avenged you right then, and would even now. But neither then nor now could I, nor did I, see whom I should wreak vengeance on for that offense.”
They all wanted to know what that business of the blanket was, and the innkeeper told them, point by point, about the flight of Sancho Panza, at which they all laughed not a little, and at which Sancho would have been ashamed, if once again his master hadn’t assured him that it had happened by enchantment, although his credulousness never got to the point where he could convince himself that it wasn’t the plain and simple truth, without a reasonable doubt, that he’d been blanketed by men of flesh and blood, and not by phantoms dreamed up or imagined, as his master believed and affirmed.
That illustrious company had spent two days at the inn, and it seemed to them that it was now time to leave, so they thought of a way to allow the priest and barber to take don Quixote home to find a cure for him there without forcing Dorotea and don Fernando to trouble themselves to accompany them to their village, keeping the pretext of restoring Queen Micomicona to her throne. And what they did was to arrange for a man with an oxcart who happened by, to take him in this way: they made a cage with wooden bars, large enough to hold don Quixote comfortably, and then the priest had don Fernando and his companions, with all the servants of don Luis and the officers, together with the innkeeper, cover their faces, and disguise themselves in different ways, so that don Quixote would think they were not the people he’d seen in the inn.
Once this was done, in great silence they went in to where he lay sleeping and resting from his previous frays. They went over to where he was slumbering and completely unaware, and seized him forcibly and bound his hands and feet very tightly, so that when he woke up with a start, he couldn’t move or do anything but be thunderstruck on seeing so many strange faces in front of him. He then he came to realize what his never-ending and extravagant imagination represented to him, and he believed that those figures were phantoms from that enchanted castle, and that he was doubtless enchanted as well, since he couldn’t budge or defend himself. Everything happened exactly as the priest—the inventor of this scheme—had planned. Only Sancho, of all those present, was totally sane and undisguised. Although he was not far behind having his master’s affliction, he didn’t fail to recognize those disguised figures. But he didn’t dare open his mouth until he saw where this assault and seizure of his master were leading. Don Quixote also didn’t say a word, waiting to see where his misfortune was taking him. They brought in the cage and put him inside, nailing down the bars so firmly that they couldn’t be easily removed.
They lifted the cage onto their shoulders, and as they left the room, an eerie voice was heard, made by the barber (not the one with the packsaddle, but the other one) who said: “Oh, Woebegone Knight, don’t let the prison where you’re confined give you grief, because it is necessary in order to conclude the adventure more quickly in which your great bravery has placed you. This adventure will be finished when the raging spotted lion shall lie as one with the Tobosine dove, having first bowed their proud necks to the soft matrimonial yoke, from whose unheard-of union will come to light of the world the fierce cubs who will imitate the rampant claws of their brave father. And this will take place before the pursuer of the fleeing nymph makes two visits around the bright images with his speedy and natural course. Oh, you, the noblest and most obedient squire that ever girded a sword at his side, had a beard on his face, or a sense of smell in his nose! Be not dismayed or concerned at seeing the flower of knight errantry being borne away thus before your eyes, because soon, if the Framer of the World is pleased, you’ll be so exalted that you won’t recognize yourself, and the promises your good master made you will not prove false. And I assure you, on behalf of the wise Mentironiana, that your salary will be paid, as you’ll see in due course. Follow the steps of the brave and enchanted knight, for you both must go to where you both will go, and because I’m not allowed to say more, go with God, for I’m going where only I know.”
When this prophecy was over, he raised his voice to a very high pitch, then lowered it afterwards, and with such a soft sound that even the people who were party to the trick almost believed that what was said was true. Don Quixote was consoled with the prophecy that he heard, because he understood completely right away what it meant and he saw that they promised him that he would be joined in holy matrimony with his beloved Dulcinea del Toboso, from whose happy womb would come forth the cubs—who were his children—for perpetual glory of La Mancha. And believing this firmly, he raised his voice, and giving a great sigh, said: “Oh, you, whoever you are, and who have foretold such happiness for me, I beg you to ask the wise enchanter in charge of my affairs not to let me perish in this prison in which they’re now taking me until I see those so happy and incomparable promises made to me realized; for if this happens, I’ll consider this cell my glory and these chains that bind me my comfort, and this cot on which they have lain me not as a hard battlefield, but rather a soft and happy nuptial bed. And insofar as the consolation of Sancho Panza, my squire, goes, I trust in his good nature and conduct not to leave me either in good or bad fortune, because if it should happen—either because of his or my bad luck—that I cannot give him the ínsula I promised him, or something just as good, at least his salary won’t be lost, because in my will, which is already made, I’ve declared what is to be given to him, not in proportion to his many and good services, but in accordance with my means.”
Sancho Panza bowed with respect and kissed both his master’s hands, because he couldn’t kiss just one since they were tied together. Then they took the cage on their shoulders and placed it on the oxcart.