Where the adventure of the enamored shepherd is recounted, together with, in truth, other amusing events.
DON QUIXOTE had traveled just a short distance from don Diego’s village when he met with what seemed to be two priests or students along with two peasants, riding on four donkeys. One of the students was carrying something like a traveling bag made out of a piece of green buckram containing some white linen and two pairs of ribbed stockings. The other one had nothing but two new fencing foils with buttons on the tips. The peasants were carrying other things that indicated that they were coming from a large town where they had made their purchases and were taking them back to their village. Both the students and peasants were as astonished as everyone was who saw don Quixote for the first time, and they were all dying to find out who that man was who looked so different from other men.
Don Quixote greeted them courteously, and after finding out what road they were taking, which was the same as his, he offered to keep them company, and asked them to slow down a bit because their young donkeys were going faster than his horse. To convince them to do so, he told them in a few words who he was, and that his profession was that of a knight errant, and that he traveled the world looking for adventures. He said that his true name was don Quixote de La Mancha, but that he was known as the Knight of the Lions. To the peasants this all was as if he were talking Greek or gibberish, but not so for the students, who recognized the weakness in don Quixote’s brain right away. But even so they looked at him with wonder and respect, and one of them said to him: “If your grace, señor knight, is not taking any particular road, as is the custom with those who seek adventures, you should come with us and you’ll witness one of the best and richest weddings ever celebrated in La Mancha, or for many leagues around.”
Don Quixote asked him if it was the marriage of some prince that they were praising in that way. “No,” the student responded, “but of a peasant lad and a peasant girl—he’s the richest man in this whole area and she’s the most beautiful woman anyone has ever seen. The festivities that accompany the marriage will be extraordinary and un-heard of, because they’ll take place in a meadow near the town of the bride, whom they call, because of her traits, QUITERIA THE BEAUTIFUL, and him they call CAMACHO THE RICH. She’s eighteen years old and the bridegroom is twenty two, and they’re a well-matched couple, although some meddlesome people, who know everyone’s genealogy by heart, say that the beautiful Quiteria’s surpasses Camacho’s. But this isn’t important, since «wealth can solder many cracks». This Camacho is generous and he got the idea to screen the whole field with branches overhead in such a way that the sun will have a hard time of it if it wants to shine on the green grass covering the meadow. He has also arranged for dancers—both with swords and those who ring jingle bells as they dance—for in his village there are those who can ring them to perfection. Of the zapateadores, I won’t say anything, because he’ll have a multitude of them. But none of the things I’ve mentioned, nor many others that I haven’t, will make the wedding more memorable than what the despairing Basilio will do there.
“This Basilio is from the same village as Quiteria—he’s her next-door neighbor—and Cupid had a chance to renew in the world the now forgotten love of Pyramus and Thisbe, because Basilio fell in love with Quiteria when he was a tender child, and she corresponded with a thousand innocent signs of affection, so much so that the whole town, for pleasure, talked about the love of the two children, Basilio and Quiteria. As they grew older, Quiteria’s father decided to bar Basilio from his house—Basilio used to come and go as he pleased—so that he wouldn’t be fearful or suspicious. He ordered his daughter to marry the rich Camacho. It didn’t seem a good idea to marry her to Basilio, who is less endowed with material wealth than by nature, for if the truth be known, and without envy, he’s the most nimble fellow we know—a great hurler of the bar, an incomparably good wrestler, and a great ball player. He runs like a deer, jumps better than a goat, and is a magician at nine-pins. He sings like a lark and when he plays the guitar, it’s like he’s making it speak, and above all he wields the sword like the best of them.”
“On the basis of this skill alone,” said don Quixote, “this fellow deserves not only to marry the beautiful Quiteria, but Queen Guinevere herself if she were alive today, in spite of Lancelot and everyone else who might try to prevent it.”
,“Tell that to my wife,” said Sancho Panza, who until then hadn’t said anything, but was still listening. “She wants everyone to marry his equal, sticking to the saying «every ewe to its mate». What I’d like is for this Basilio—and I’m beginning to like him already—to marry this lady Quiteria, and may those who prevent those who love each other from getting married have a good life and good death (I really mean the opposite).”
“If all those who were in love should get married,” said don Quixote, “parents would lose their option to choose to whom and when their children marry, and if left to the will of the daughters to choose their husbands, one would choose to marry her father’s servant, another would pick someone she saw walking down the street who seemed elegant and haughty even though he might be a degenerate bully. Love and fondness easily blind the eyes of one’s understanding, which is so necessary to choose a mate, and it’s very easy to make a mistake in this area. One needs to exercise great prudence, and get help from heaven to do it right. When one wants to make a long voyage, if he’s prudent, before starting out, he’ll choose a faithful and pleasant companion. So, why shouldn’t the person who has to travel his whole life until the destination of death is reached, do the same thing, especially when the companion is with him in bed, at the table, and everywhere else, as a wife is with her husband? The company of one’s wife is not like merchandise that, after you buy something, you can return, because it’s an unbreakable bond that lasts one’s whole life. It’s a noose that, once it’s around your neck, is like the Gordian knot, which, unless it’s cut by the scythe of death, is not untieable. I could say many other things on this subject, but I won’t since I want to find out if there’s anything more the señor licenciado has to say about Basilio.”
To which the bachelor, or licenciado, as don Quixote called him replied: “The only thing that I have left to say is that since Basilio found out that the beautiful Quiteria was getting married to Camacho the Rich, he’s never been seen to laugh, nor said anything that made sense, and he always walks around pensive and sad, muttering to himself, which gives clear and unmistakable signs than he’s gone crazy. He eats and sleeps very little. What he does eat it’s only fruits, and when he sleeps, it’s in the countryside on the hard ground like a wild animal. Once in a while he looks at the sky, and at other times he stares at the ground in such a reverie that he seems to be a statue dressed in clothing that the wind flutters. So, he appears so heart-stricken that all of us who know him fear that when Quiteria says I DO tomorrow, that will be his death sentence.”
“God will do better than that,” said Sancho, “for «if God gives the wound he’ll provide the remedy». «No one knows what is to come», and «from now until tomorrow there are many hours», and «in one of them—or even in a moment—a house can tumble down». «I’ve seen it rain and be sunny at the same time». «A man goes to sleep sound as an apple and can’t get out of bed in the morning». And tell me, «is there anyone who can boast that he put a nail into the wheel of Fortune?» No, certainly not, and «between a woman’s YES or NO I wouldn’t try to put the point of a pin» because it wouldn’t fit. Tell me that Quiteria loves Basilio with all her heart and will, and I’ll give him a sackful of good luck. «Love—as I’ve heard tell—looks through glasses that make copper look like gold; poverty, wealth; and the sleep from one’s eye, pearls».”
“When are you going to stop, Sancho, damn you?” said don Quixote. “When you begin to string proverbs and anecdotes together, no one can put up with you but Judas, and may he haul you away. Tell me, creature, what do you know about nails, or wheels, or anything else?”
“Oh, well, if you don’t understand me,” responded Sancho, “it’s no wonder that you consider my maxims nonsense—but no matter, I understand myself and I know that I haven’t said much foolishness, but your grace, señor mío, is always the cricket of my sayings and also my deeds.”
“You mean critic,” said don Quixote, “and not cricket, you prevaricator of good language, and may God confound you!”
“Don’t get angry with me, your grace,” responded Sancho, “since you know I wasn’t raised at court, nor have I studied at Salamanca, so that I’d know if my words have an extra letter or not. God help me, there’s no way you can ask a Sayagués to talk like a someone from Toledo, and maybe there are some Toledans who aren’t so skilled in their language.”
“That’s right,” said the licenciado, “because those who were bred in the tanneries and in the Plaza de Zocodover can’t talk as well as those who spend almost all day long in the cloister of the cathedral, yet they’re all Toledans. Pure and proper, elegant and clear language belong to the enlightened courtiers, even if they’re born in Majalahonda. I said enlightened because many of them aren’t, and enlightenment is the grammar of good language that comes from practice, I, señores, for my sins, have studied Canon Law at Salamanca, and I pride myself a bit on having my say using clear, plain, and meaningful words.”
“If you didn’t pride yourself more in wielding the foils you have with you than your language,” said the other student, “you would have been first in your class instead of last.”
“Look, bachelor,” responded the licenciado, “you hold the most mistaken opinion in the world about skill with swords when you say that they’re of no use.”
“As far as I’m concerned, it’s not an opinion, but rather a well-established fact,” replied Corchuelo, “and if you want me to prove it to you, you’ve got the swords, we’ve got the opportunity, I’ve got steady hands and am strong, and fortified by my heart, which is not small, and I’ll make you confess that I’m not mistaken. Dismount, position your feet, calculate your circles and angles, and use your knowledge, and I’ll try to make you see stars at noon with my modern and coarse skills in which I put my trust. After God, the man has yet to be born who will make me turn my back, and there’s no one in the world whom I cannot make give ground.”
“In this matter of turning your back or not, I’m not concerned,” replied the swordsman, “although the spot where you begin this sword fight will be where they dig your grave. I mean that there you will be killed by the skill you hold in such low esteem.”
“We’ll see,” responded Corchuelo. And getting off his donkey, he furiously snatched one of the swords that the licenciado’s donkey was carrying.
“It must not be that way,” said don Quixote instantly. “I want to be the referee of this fencing bout and judge of this often disputed matter.”
And getting off Rocinante and taking his lance, he placed himself in the middle of the road just when the licenciado, with a graceful gait moved toward Corchuelo, who was coming at him shooting, as they say, flames from his eyes. The two peasants who were accompanying them didn’t dismount, but remained as spectators at this mortal tragedy. The sideways slashes, straight thrusts, downward thrusts, diagonal slashes from the left, and two-handed slashes that Corchuelo dealt were infinite, like falling hail. He attacked like a provoked lion, but he was met with a little hit on his mouth by the button of the licenciado’s foil, which checked his fury and made him kiss it as if it were a relic (but not with the same devotion that relics should be and are customarily kissed).
Finally, the licenciado wound up by cutting off all the buttons on the cassock he was wearing and systematically tore the bottom of it into strips, making it look like the tentacles of an octopus. He knocked his hat off twice and tired him so much that, in dismay, anger, and rage, Corchuelo took his sword by the hilt and threw it into the air with so much force that one of the peasants in attendance, who was a scribe, went to fetch it, and later made a deposition stating that he had thrown it almost three-quarters of a league, and this affidavit serves and served to prove that beyond a doubt force is conquered by skill.
The exhausted Corchuelo sat down and Sancho went over to him and said: “On my faith, señor bachelor, if you’d take my advice, from now on, you shouldn’t challenge anyone to a fencing duel, but rather to wrestle or hurl the bar since you’re both strong and old enough for that. Those people that are called fencing masters can put the point of their sword through the eye of a needle.”
“I’m satisfied,” responded Corchuelo, “to have seen the error of my ways and that experience has shown me the truth that was so elusive to me.”
And getting up he embraced the licenciado, and they became better friends than before. They didn’t want to wait for the scribe to return with the sword, figuring it would delay them too much, so they decided to continue on in order to arrive early at Quiteria’s village where they all were from.
For the remainder of the journey, the licenciado elaborated on the wonders of swordsmanship, together with so many conclusive arguments, and with so many figures and mathematical demonstrations, that everyone was convinced of the worth of the science, and Corchuelo was cured of his obstinacy.
It was now nightfall, but before they arrived, it seemed to everyone that on their side of the village the sky was filled with innumerable shining stars. They heard the soft sound of many instruments such as flutes, drums, psalteries, cymbals, tambourines, and small drums all mingled together, and when they went over they saw a bower of trees at the entrance to the village that was filled with lanterns that were not affected by the breeze that didn’t even stir the leaves of the trees. The musicians were the merrymakers of the wedding, and in different groups in that pleasant site were wandering, some dancing, some singing, and others playing the various instruments already mentioned. Indeed, it seemed that throughout the whole meadow mirth and revelry leapt in frolic and joy.
Many others were busy in erecting platforms from where people could see the performances and dances that were going to be put on in that place the following day to celebrate the wedding of the rich Camacho, and the funeral rites of Basilio. Don Quixote refused to go into the town even though both the peasant and the bachelor asked him to. He gave as an excuse one that seemed sufficient to him, and that was that it was the custom of knights errant to sleep in the fields and forests rather than in towns, even though it might be under golden roofs; and with this he turned off the road, much against Sancho’s will, remembering well the good lodging he had in the castle or house of don Diego.
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