Where the adventure of the braying is set down along with the amusing one about the puppeteer and the prophesies of the divining ape.
DON QUIXOTE’S bread wouldn’t bake, as the saying goes, until he heard about and learned of the marvels promised by the man carrying the weapons. He went to look for him where the innkeeper said he was, and when he found him, he told him to relate immediately what he’d planned to tell him later, about what he’d asked him along the road. The man responded: “The story of my wonders has to be told more at leisure and not standing up. Your grace, good señor, let me finish feeding my mule, and I’ll tell you things that will astound you.”
“Don’t let that stop you,” responded don Quixote, “because I’ll help you.”
And that’s what he did, giving him the barley and cleaning out the manger—humility that compelled the man to tell him amenably what was asked of him—and sitting down on a bench with don Quixote next to him, having for his audience the cousin, the page, Sancho Panza, and the innkeeper, he began his story as follows: “In a village four and a half leagues from this inn, it happened that an alderman from the town, through the deception and deceit of one of his servant girls—and this is too long to tell about—lost one of his donkeys, and although he did everything possible to find it, he couldn’t. About two weeks went by, it’s said, after the donkey went missing, and the alderman who had lost the donkey was in the plaza when another alderman of the same town told him: ‘Good news, compadre. Your donkey has turned up.’ ‘That is good news, compadre,’ responded the other, ‘but tell me where did he show up.’ ‘In the forest,’ responded the finder. ‘I saw him this morning without a packsaddle and without any other trappings, and so thin that it made me sad just to look at him. I wanted to catch him and take him to you, but he’s so wild and skittish that when I approached him, he ran away into the deepest part of the forest. If you want, we both can go back and look for him. Let me put this she-ass in the stable and I’ll be right back.’ ‘It will give me great pleasure,’ said the one with the lost donkey, ‘and I’ll try to pay you back in the same coin.’
“Everyone privy to the truth of this matter tells this story with these same particulars and in the same way that I’m telling it. So, the two aldermen, on foot and hand in hand, went to the forest, and when they got to where they thought they’d find the donkey, he wasn’t there, and they couldn’t find him in the area, no matter how much they looked. Seeing, then, that he wasn’t there, the alderman who had seen the donkey said to the other: ‘Look, compadre, I’ve just thought of a plan we can use to find this animal even though he’s buried in the bowels of the earth, not to mention the forest, and it’s this: I know how to bray wonderfully, and if you know how to bray a bit as well, we can consider the business concluded.’ ‘A bit, you say, compadre,’ said the other. ‘By God, no one can surpass me, not even the donkeys themselves.’ ‘We’ll see,’ responded the other, ‘because my plan is for you to go around one side of the forest, and I’ll go around the other, so that we’ll walk completely around it, and once in a while you’ll bray and I’ll bray, and it’ll be that the donkey is sure to hear us and will bray back, if he’s in the forest.’ To which the owner of the donkey responded: ‘I say, compadre, that the idea is excellent and worthy of your great intellect.’
“So they divided the way they agreed, and it happened that they brayed at almost the same time, and each one, deceived by the braying of the other, went looking, thinking that it was the donkey. And when they saw each other, the alderman-loser said: ‘Is it possible, compadre, that it wasn’t my donkey who brayed?’ ‘It was just me,’ responded the other. ‘I’ll say,’ said the owner, ‘that there’s no difference at all between you and a donkey where braying is concerned, because in my entire life I’ve never seen nor heard anything more natural.’ ‘This praise and exaltation’ responded the fellow who had devised the plan, ‘are better used for you than for me, compadre, because by the God who created me, you can give a handicap of two brays to the greatest and best brayer in the world—your tone is loud, your voice is sustained both in meter and rhythm, and your cadences are many and rapid. In short, I give up and I yield the palm, and give you the banner for this rare skill.’ ‘Now I can say,’ responded the owner, ‘that I’ll think better of myself from now on and will consider that I can do something worthwhile, since I have this talent. Although I always thought I brayed well, I never considered that I was as good as you say.’ ‘I’ll tell you now as well,’ responded the second man, ‘that there are rare gifts that are lost in the world and many are wasted on those who don’t know how to use them.’ ‘Ours,’ responded the owner, ‘is not likely to be of use except on occasions such as this, but still, may it please God, I hope it’ll be useful.’
“Having said this, they split up again and went back to their braying, and at every step they fooled each other and came together, until they decided to use a device—to bray twice in succession—so they would know it was the other one braying and not the donkey. With this double-braying, they went around the forest again but the lost donkey didn’t respond once, not even by signs. But how could the poor ill-fated animal respond since they found him in the deepest part of the forest, eaten by wolves? And when they saw him, the owner said: ‘It’s no wonder he didn’t respond, because if he hadn’t been dead, he would have responded if he’d heard us, or he wouldn’t have been a donkey. But by reason of having heard you bray with such grace, I consider the effort I used to find him well spent, even though I found him dead.’ ‘I toast you, my friend,’ responded the other, ‘«if the abbot sings well, the acolyte can’t be far behind».’
“So, disconsolate and hoarse, they returned to their village, where they told their friends, neighbors, and acquaintances what had happened to them while searching for the donkey, each one exaggerating the talent of the other. All of this was made known in neighboring villages, and the devil, who never sleeps, since he delights in sowing quarrels and discord wherever he can, swirling gossip in the wind and making great confusion out of nothing, arranged and fixed it so that people from other villages, when they saw people from ours, would bray, as if to slap their faces with the braying of our aldermen. Finally the boys started up with it, which was the same thing as putting it in the hands and mouths of all the demons of hell, and the braying spread from one village to another, so that natives of the braying village are known and differentiated as blacks are from whites, and the disgrace of this prank has reached the point where those mocked have gone out armed in squadrons against the jokesters to do battle. I think that tomorrow or the next day those of my village, which is the braying town, are going to battle with another town two leagues from ours, and is one of the ones that taunts us the most. In order to be well prepared, I’ve bought these lances and halberds that you’ve seen. These are the wonders I said I would tell you about, and if they didn’t seem that way to you, I don’t know any others.”
And with this, the good fellow ended his speech, and at the same moment a man came in through the gate of the inn dressed in chamois skin, stockings, breeches and doublet, and in a loud voice said: “Señor innkeeper, is there any room? The divining ape and the puppet show about the rescue of Melisendra are coming.”
“By my faith,” said the innkeeper, “here’s señor maese Pedro. We’ve got a fine night ahead of us!”
I forgot to say that this maese Pedro had his left eye and almost half his cheek covered with a patch of green taffeta, an indication that something was the matter with that side of his face. And the innkeeper went on saying: “Welcome your grace, señor maese Pedro. Where’s the ape and the puppet theater? I don’t see them.”
“They’re coming,” responded the fellow dressed in chamois.”I came ahead to find out if there was room.”
“I’d throw the Duque de Alba out to make room for señor maese Pedro,” responded the innkeeper. “Let the ape and the puppet theater come, for there are people here who will pay to see the show and the talents of the ape.”
“Good,” responded the man with the patch. “I’ll lower my price and if I get back my expenses I’ll consider myself well paid. I’ll go get the cart with the ape and the show.” And then he went out of the inn.
Don Quixote asked the innkeeper who maese Pedro was, and what ape and what puppet theater he was bringing.
To which the innkeeper responded: “This fellow is a famous puppeteer who has been wandering through this Mancha de Aragón putting on performances about the Rescue of Melisendra by the famous don Gaiferos, one of the best shows—and best performed, too—to be been seen in this area of the kingdom for many years. He also has an ape with him with the strangest talent ever seen among apes, or even among men for that matter, because, if you ask him something, he listens carefully, then he jumps on his master’s shoulder and whispers in his ear the answer to what has been asked, and maese Pedro then repeats it. He can say more about things that have already happened than about things yet to come. He doesn’t get it right every time, but most of the time he doesn’t make a mistake, and it makes us think that he has the devil inside him. Maese Pedro charges two reales for each question, if the ape answers—I mean, if his master answers for him after having heard the response in his ear. It’s believed that this maese Pedro is very rich, and he’s a uomo galante, as they say in Italy, and buon compagno, and he enjoys the best life in the world. He talks more than six men and drinks more than twelve—and all this is paid for by his tongue, his ape, and his puppet show.”
Just then, maese Pedro came back, and the puppet show followed in a cart, and the ape—a big tail-less one with a calloused rear end—but his face was pleasant enough. And as soon as don Quixote saw him, he asked: “Tell me your grace, señor diviner, che pesce pigliamo? What’s to become of us? and here are my two reales.”
And he told Sancho to give them to maese Pedro, who answered for the ape, saying: “Señor, this animal doesn’t foretell things that have yet to happen. Of the past he knows certain things, and of the present a bit.”
“I swear,” said Sancho, “I won’t give an ardite for anyone to tell me what happened to me because who can know it better than me? And paying to find out what I already know would be really foolish, but since he knows things that are going on, here are my two reales. Have the señor ape tell me what my wife Teresa is doing right now.”
Maese Pedro refused payment, saying: “I don’t want to take money in advance without first having rendered service.” And giving his left shoulder a couple of pats, the ape leapt up to it in one bound, and putting his mouth to his master’s ear, he chattered rapidly, for about the time it would take to say a credo, and then jumped back to the floor. And at that same instant, with great speed, maese Pedro raced over to kneel before don Quixote, clutched his legs and said: “I embrace these legs as if I were embracing the Pillars of Hercules, illustrious reviver of the forgotten profession of knight errantry, never-sufficiently-praised knight don Quixote de La Mancha, restorer of the faint, prop to those who are about to fall, helping hand for those who have fallen, support and counsel of all unfortunate people!”
Don Quixote was dumbfounded, Sancho amazed, the cousin astounded, the page stupefied, the person from the braying village spellbound, the innkeeper perplexed, and, finally, everyone flabbergasted at the words of the puppeteer, who went on to say: “And you, good Sancho Panza! the best squire of the best knight in the world! Be happy, for your wife Teresa is fine, and right now she’s combing a pound of flax, and it looks like there’s a cracked pitcher at her side that has a good bit of wine which she takes a nip from once in a while as she works.”
“I can believe that very well,” responded Sancho, “because she’s very fortunate, and if she weren’t jealous, I wouldn’t trade her for the giant Andandona, who, according to my master, was a very clever and worthy woman, and my Teresa is one of those who don’t let themselves be deprived of anything, even at the expense of her heirs.”
“Now I say,” said don Quixote, just then, “that the person who reads and travels a lot comes to see and know many things. I say this because what could have made me believe that there are apes in the world who can divine, as I’ve seen here with my own eyes? I’m the same don Quixote de La Mancha that this animal has named—although he has gone too far in my praise—but whatever kind of person I might be, I thank heaven, which endowed me with a gentle and compassionate nature, disposed to do good to all and ill to none.”
“If I had any money,” said the page, “I’d ask señor ape what will happen to me in the pilgrimage I’m on.”
To which maese Pedro, who was no longer kneeling at don Quixote’s feet, responded: “I’ve already said that this little creature doesn’t predict what will happen—if he did, having money wouldn’t matter—but to be of service to don Quixote, here present, I’ll forego all the earnings in the world, and now because I owe him something and want to please him, I’ll set up my puppet theater and entertain all those in the inn at no charge.”
When the innkeeper heard this, he was overjoyed and showed him where the theater could be set up, and this was done in an instant. Don Quixote wasn’t very happy with the foretellings of the ape, since it seemed to him that it wasn’t appropriate for an ape to divine either future things or past things, and so, while maese Pedro set up the puppet theater, don Quixote withdrew with Sancho to a corner of the stable where, without being heard by anyone, he told him: “Look Sancho, I’ve been thinking about the extraordinary ability of this ape, and I have to conclude that this maese Pedro without a doubt has made a pact, tacit or expressed, with the devil.”
“If the pack is sent express and by the devil, I’m not going to open it. But what good are these packs to maese Pedro?”
“You don’t understand me, Sancho. I only want to say that he must have made some deal with the devil, who has given the ape this ability so he can earn a living, and when he gets rich, he’ll give his soul to the devil, which is what humankind’s universal enemy wants. And what makes me believe this is that the ape can tell only past or present things, and the knowledge of the devil doesn’t go beyond that, since he doesn’t know the future except by conjecture, and doesn’t hit the mark every time. To know what is going on at every moment is reserved only for God, and for Him there’s no past or future—everything is in the present, and that being so, as it is, it’s evident that this ape speaks the way the devil might. I’m shocked he hasn’t been denounced yet to the Inquisition and scrutinized by them to find out through whose power the ape is able to divine. Because it’s certain that this ape is not an astrologer, nor can his master cast those figures that they call a horoscope, which is so common in Spain nowadays that there’s no serving girl, page, or cobbler who doesn’t pride himself on being able to make one up, as easily as picking up the jack of spades from the floor, bringing the wondrous truth of science to ruin through their lies and ignorance. I know of one woman who asked one of these astrologers if her little lapdog would get pregnant and give birth, and how many puppies and of what color they would be. To which the astrologer, after casting the horoscope, responded that the dog would get pregnant and would deliver three puppies—one green, one red, and one of mixed color, provided that the dog mated between eleven and twelve o’clock of the day or night, on Monday or Saturday. And what happened was that the dog died two days later of overeating, and the astrologer was confirmed as being very astute, as happens to all or most of them.”
“Even so, I’d like,” said Sancho, “your grace to tell maese Pedro to ask his ape if what happened to you in the Cave of Montesinos is true. As for me, begging your pardon, I think it was all deceit and lies, or at best something dreamed up.”
“Anything is possible,” responded don Quixote, “but I’ll do what you advise even though I have some qualms about it.”
As they were finishing this conversation, maese Pedro came over to get don Quixote and tell him that the theater was prepared, and that he should go over to see the show because it was worthwhile. Don Quixote communicated his thought and begged him to ask the ape right then if certain things that happened to him in the Cave of Montesinos were dreamed up or true, because it seemed to him they could go either way. To which maese Pedro, without saying a word, brought back the ape, and in front of don Quixote and Sancho said: “Look, señor ape, this knight wants to know if certain things that happened to him in a cave called «of Montesinos» were false or true.”
And giving the usual sign, the ape jumped on his left shoulder, and seemingly spoke into his ear, and then maese Pedro said: “The ape says that some of the things that happened to your grace in that cave were imagined, and some plausible, and that’s all he knows, and nothing else, insofar as that question goes. And if your grace wants to know more, next Friday he’ll answer anything asked him, because for the time being his powers have left him and they won’t return until Friday, as he has said.”
“Didn’t I say,” said Sancho, “that I couldn’t believe that everything your grace, señor mío, has said about the events of the cave were true, not even half of them?”
“Events will show, Sancho,” responded don Quixote, “for time, the revealer of all things, leaves nothing that’s not brought to the light of day, even if it hides in the bosom of the earth; and for the moment we’ll let it go at that, and let’s go see the puppet show of the good maese Pedro, because I believe it’ll reveal something novel.”
“How something?” responded maese Pedro. “This show of mine has sixty thousand new things in it. I tell you, my señor don Quixote, that it’s one of the best things to see in the world today, so operibus credite non verbis.7 And let’s get to it, for it’s getting late, and we have lots to do, say, and show.”
Don Quixote and Sancho obeyed, and went to where the show was going to be, and the theater was set up and ready, lighted on every side by little candles, which made it fine looking and bright. When maese Pedro got there, he went behind it since he was going to work the puppets, and outside the puppet theater there was a boy, maese Pedro’s servant, who was going to narrate the mysteries of the show. He had a little wand in his hand to point out the various characters as they came out. Everyone who was at the inn, some standing, some sitting, and all in front of the theater, with don Quixote, Sancho, the page, and the cousin settled in the best seats, the narrator began to say what will be heard and seen by whoever hears or reads the next chapter.