About the intelligent polemic that don Quixote and the canon had, together with other events.
“T HAT’S A good one,” responded don Quixote. “Books that are printed with the license of kings, and approved by those to whom they’re submitted, and are read with general pleasure, and praised by adults and young people alike, by poor and rich, by the learned and the ignorant, by plebeians and knights, and finally, by all kinds of people of any rank or condition—these are supposed to be lies even though they appear so much to be the truth? They say who the knight’s father and mother were, and who all his relatives were; his age, where he’s from, and the deeds he did, point by point, and day by day. Hush, your worship. Don’t say any more blasphemies, and believe me—and I give you this advice about what you should do since you’re a man of sense—read them, and you’ll see what pleasure you get.
“Tell me, can there be a greater pleasure than to see, as it were, right now in front of us a giant lake of pitch, boiling furiously, with a host of serpents, snakes, and lizards swimming here and there, as well as many other kinds of ferocious creatures? And from the middle of the lake a plaintive voice issues forth saying: ‘You, knight, whoever you are, looking at this fear-inspiring lake—if you want to find the treasure that lies hidden beneath these black waters—show the bravery in your heart by throwing yourself into the middle of its black fiery liquid, because if you don’t, you won’t be worthy of seeing the noble wonders that are in the seven castles of the seven fairies that lie beneath this blackness.’ And as soon as the knight has heard this mournful voice, without further thought, and without considering the danger into which he’s placed himself, and even without removing the weight of his heavy armor, commending himself to God and to his lady, he plunges into the middle of the boiling lake.
“And when least he expects it, not knowing where he’ll wind up, he finds himself in the middle of flowering fields, with which the Elysian ones cannot be compared. There, the sky is more transparent, and the sun shines with new brilliance. In front of him he sees a quiet forest, with such green trees that provide enormous shade, and whose verdure delights his eyes, and the sweet natural singing of an infinite number of little painted birds, flitting about their branches, entertains his ears. Here he discovers a little brook whose fresh waters that seem like liquid crystal run over fine sand and little white stones, which look like sifted gold and fine pearls. Over there he sees a fountain made of variegated jasper and smooth marble. Here he sees another one, grotesquely decorated with small clamshells and swirling white and yellow snail shells, arranged in disordered order, with pieces of shining crystal and false emeralds, making a varied work of art that imitates nature, yet seems to surpass it.
“Over yonder, suddenly, there rises before him an impregnable castle or beautiful palace, whose walls are of solid gold, battlements made of diamonds, gates of jacinth. Finally, even though it’s built of diamonds, rubies, pearls, gold, and emeralds, its workmanship is even more exquisite. And, after having seen all this, what more could you want to see? Well, here comes a large number of maidens from the gate of the castle, whose elegant and beautiful dresses... if I started to describe them as the histories do, I’d never finish. The principal maiden takes the hand of the daring knight who had plunged into the lake, and leads him, without saying a word, inside that rich palace or castle, and has him strip as naked as when his mother bore him, and bathes him with warm water, then anoints him all over with sweet-smelling ointments, and dresses him in a shirt of fine silk, fragrant and perfumed, then another maiden comes and puts a shawl on his shoulders worth at least a city, and maybe more.
“Then, how great is it when they tell us that after this, they lead him to another room, where he finds a table set so extravagantly that he’s amazed? Look how they wash his hands with perfumed water distilled from sweet-smelling flowers! See how they have him sit in a chair made of ivory! Look how maidens, keeping absolutely silent, serve him! Watch how they take him all kinds of different foods, so deliciously prepared his appetite doesn’t know which one to reach out for first? And now comes some music while he eats, and he doesn’t know who is singing or where it’s coming from. And after dinner is over and the tables cleared, here is our knight, relaxing on his chair, perhaps picking his teeth—as is the custom—and suddenly a maiden more beautiful than the others comes in and sits next to the knight to tell him what castle he’s in and how she’s enchanted in it, with other details that amaze the knight, and keep the readers of the history in wonder.
“I don’t want to make it too long, but you can gather that any part of any history of a knight errant will please and cause astonishment to anyone who reads it. And believe me, your grace, as I said earlier, if you read these books you’ll see that they banish any melancholy you might have, and they’ll cheer you up if you’re depressed. About myself, I can tell you that since I’ve become a knight errant, I’m brave, polite, liberal, gracious, generous, courteous, daring, gentle, patient, and able to endure travails, imprisonment, and enchantments. Although it has been only a short time since I’ve been locked in a cage like a crazy man, in a few days, I plan—through the strength of my arm, and if heaven favors me and Fortune isn’t contrary to me—to see myself king of some realm, where I can show the gratitude and generosity of my heart. Upon my faith, a poor man can’t show himself generous to anyone, even though he may be a very generous person. And gratefulness, through desire alone, is a dead thing, as faith is dead without works. Because of this, I’d like for Fortune to give me the opportunity to be an emperor, to show the goodness of my heart by doing nice things for my friends, particularly this poor Sancho Panza, my squire, who is the best man in the world. I’d like to bestow a county on him that I promised him many days ago, but I fear he won’t be able to govern his estate.”
Sancho heard these words his master said, and said back to him: “Your grace, try to give me that county—which is as promised by you as it is expected by me—and I swear to you that I won’t lack the ability to govern; and if I can’t, I’ve heard that there are men in the world who lease estates from their masters and pay them something every year, and take charge of the government while his master leans back and puts his feet up and enjoys the income that they give him, without worrying about anything. That’s what I’ll do, and I won’t worry about the details, and will hand over the government and enjoy the income like a duke, and who cares about the rest?”
“That, brother Sancho,” said the canon, “applies to enjoying the income; but the administration of justice has to be done by the master of the estate, and here is where ability and good judgment come in, and above all, an honest intention to do what is right; and if this is lacking in the beginning, the middle and the end will go astray. And God usually helps the good intentions of plain people, as He foils the bad intentions of conniving persons.”
“I know nothing about those philosophies,” responded Sancho Panza, “but I only know that as soon as I have a county, I’ll know how to govern it, for I have as much heart as the next person, and as much body as the best of them. I’ll be such a king on my estate as anyone else is on his, and being that, I’d do what I wanted, and doing what I wanted would please me, and doing what pleased me, I’d be happy, and when someone is happy, he’s satisfied, and being satisfied, that’s all there is to it. Let the estate come, and God be with you, and «‘Let’s see,’ as one blind man said to the other».”
“Those are not bad philosophies, as you say, Sancho, but even so there’s a lot to be said about the business of counties.”
To which don Quixote replied: “I don’t know if there’s more to say. I’m guided only by the example that the great Amadís de Gaula has given me, in that he made his squire the count of Ínsula Firme. So I can make a count out of Sancho Panza—one of the best squires that a knight errant ever had—with a clear conscience.”
The canon was astonished at the well-conceived nonsense that don Quixote said—the way he described the adventure of the Knight of the Lake, the impression made on him by the unconscionable lies of the books he’d read, and finally, he was amazed by the simplicity of Sancho, who so wanted the county his master had promised him.
The canon’s servants had now come back with the provision-laden mule, and making a table of a carpet and the green grass of the meadow, in the shade of some trees, they sat down and ate right there, so that the carter could take advantage of that place, as has been said. And while they were eating, suddenly they heard a loud noise and the ringing of a cowbell that came from some nearby brambles and thick bushes, and at that same instant they saw a nice-looking she-goat emerging from them, her fur speckled with black, white, and brown. Behind her came a goatherd shouting, using words they typically use to make their goats stop, or go back to the flock. The fugitive goat, fearful and terrified, ran to the people, as if for their protection, and stopped there. The goatherd arrived and, taking her by the horns, as if she could speak and understand, said: “Ah, you vagabond—Spotty, Spotty! Look how you’ve been limping these days! What wolves have frightened you, daughter? Can’t you tell me what’s the matter, my pretty one? But what can it be except you’re a female and you can’t stay still? A curse on your temperament and on all those you imitate! Come back, come back, my little friend. And if you aren’t happy, at least you’ll be safer in your fold, or with your companions, for if you—who should watch over and lead them—wander about like this, what’ll become of them?”
The words of the goatherd pleased those who were listening to him, and especially the canon, who said: “On your life, brother, rest a bit here, and if you’re in not such a great hurry to return this goat to its flock, because, being a female as you say, she’ll follow her natural instinct no matter what you do to prevent it. Take this morsel, and drink something—you can have a bit to eat while the goat rests.”
And as he said this, he gave him the loins of a cold rabbit on the point of a knife. The goatherd took it and thanked him, he drank a bit, then relaxed and said: “I don’t want your graces to take me for a simpleton because I’ve been talking in such a serious way to this creature; but in truth the words I said to her are far from puzzling. I’m a rustic, but not so much a one that I don’t know how to deal with men as well as beasts.”
“I can well believe that,” said the priest, “because I know from experience that the forests breed men of letters, and the huts of shepherds nurture philosophers.”
“At least, señor,” replied the goatherd, “they shelter men who have learned from experience, and so that you’ll believe this truth and touch it with your hands, though it may seem that without being asked I’m inviting myself, if it wouldn’t annoy you too much, and if you want, señores, to lend me your ears for a short time, I’ll tell you a truth that will confirm what this man,” pointing to the priest, “as well as I have said.”
To which don Quixote responded: “Seeing that this seems to smack of a knightly adventure, as far as I’m concerned I’ll hear you out very gladly, and these other men will do the same because they’re intelligent and are eager to hear stories that surprise, charm, and entertain the senses, as I think your story certainly will. Begin, then, friend, for we’re all listening.”
“I’m going to fold,” said Sancho. “I’m going over to that brook with this meat pie, where I plan to stuff myself for three days. I’ve heard my master don Quixote say that a squire of a knight errant has to eat whenever food is offered until he can’t eat any more because it often happens that they’re drawn to enter a forest so dense that they can’t find their way out in six days, and if a man doesn’t go in well-filled or his saddlebags well-stocked, he can turn into a mummy, which frequently happens.”
“You’re right about that, Sancho,” said don Quixote. “Go wherever you want and eat all you can—I’ve had enough, and now only my soul needs some nourishment, which I’ll get by listening to the story of this good fellow.”
“We’ll all do that,” said the canon, and he begged the goatherd to begin his story as he’d promised. The goatherd, who was holding the goat by its horns, slapped her on the back twice, and said: “Lie down here, next to me, Spotty. We have plenty of time to return to the flock.”
It seemed like the goat understood, because when her master sat down, she nestled herself quietly beside him, and looked up at his face to show him that she was ready to hear what he would say; and the goatherd began his story in this way: