A SUDDEN silence fell on them all, I mean, all those who were watching the show were hanging on the words of the narrator about its wonders, when they heard the sound of drums and trumpets and the noise of artillery emerge from the theater, the thunder of which soon faded away, and then the boy raised his voice and said: “This true history being performed for your graces is taken word for word from French chronicles and from Spanish ballads. It depicts the rescue by señor don Gaiferos of his wife Melisendra, who was being held captive in Spain, in the city of Sansueña, which it was called in those days and we call Zaragoza today. And look your graces how don Gaiferos is playing backgammon, as is sung:
and that character just coming out now with the crown on his head and the scepter in his hands, is the emperor Charlemagne, the supposed father of Melisendra, who, annoyed with the idleness and neglect of his son-in-law, comes over to scold him. And look with what vehemence and insistence he reprimands him, and it even looks like he would like to knock him on the head a half-dozen times with his scepter, and some authorities say that he did, and well-deserved they were, too. And after having said many things about the risk to his honor for not trying to rescue his wife, they say that he said:
“Look your graces also how the emperor turns his back and leaves don Gaiferos despairing, whom you can now see, impatient with anger, casting the board and the pieces away from him, and quickly asks for his weapons, and how he asks don Roland, his cousin, if he can borrow his sword Durendal, and how don Roland refuses to lend it to him, offering him his own services for this difficult undertaking before him. But the brave angered man refuses to accept, and says that he alone will suffice to bring back his wife, even if she were hidden in the center of the earth. And with this, he goes in for his armor so he can get on the road.
“Now your graces turn your attention to that tower over there, which we suppose is one of the towers of the castle of Zaragoza that is known today as the Aljafería, and that lady on that balcony, dressed in the Moorish fashion, is the peerless Melisendra, who goes there frequently looking toward the road to France, and by thinking about Paris and her husband, she’s able to console herself during her confinement. Look at something else that’s happening now, perhaps never before seen. Don’t you see that Moor who, keeping very quiet, on tiptoe, with a finger to his lips, comes behind Melisendra? Well, look how he gives her a kiss right on her lips, and how she makes haste to spit and clean her mouth off with the white sleeve of her smock, and how she begins to lament, and pulls out her hair in grief, as if it were to blame for the insult. Look also at that stately Moor in the corridor, who is King Marsilio of Sansueña, who—having seen the insolence of the other Moor, even though he was a relative of his and a favorite—has him arrested right away and they sentence him to two-hundred lashes, and to be taken through the streets of the city,
and see here, where they’re about to give him his punishment, though the crime has just been committed, because there are no indictments or remands as there are with us.”
“Child, child,” shouted don Quixote at this moment, “follow your story in a straight line and don’t lead us down curves or side streets. To establish a truth clearly, many proofs are necessary.”
Also maese Pedro said from within: “Boy, stay on track, do what that man says, and that’ll be the best thing. Keep to your plain song and don’t use any counterpoint since it tends to break down from being too subtle.”
“I’ll do it,” responded the boy, and he went on saying: “This figure coming out on horseback, wearing a hooded cape, is don Gaiferos himself. Here his wife, now avenged for the daring of the enamored Moor, and more at her ease, is now among the battlements of the castle, and she begins to speak with her husband, thinking he’s just some traveler, and she uses the words from that ballad that begins this way:
and I won’t repeat any more of it since verbosity begets boredom. It’s enough to see how don Gaiferos makes himself known, and by the joyous gestures of Melisendra, we see that she has recognized him, and now we see her climbing over the balcony so she can jump onto the haunches of her husband’s horse.
“But, alas! the poor thing gets her skirt caught on one of the points on the railing, and she’s left hanging in the air, without being able to get down. But now look how pious heaven aids us in the greatest need, for don Gaiferos, without caring if he tears her rich skirt, grabs onto her, and by force brings her to the ground, and in one heave, he puts her astride, like a man, on the haunches of his horse and he tells her to hold onto him tight by putting her arms around him so she won’t fall since señora Melisendra is not used to such horseback riding. Look also how the neighs of the horse show how happy he is to be carrying his brave and beautiful master and mistress. Look how they turn their backs and are off, and happily and joyfully they take the road toward Paris.
“May you leave in peace, peerless pair of true lovers! May you arrive safely in your beloved fatherland, unimpeded by bad luck along your happy journey! May the eyes of your friends and relatives see you enjoy the days that remain of your lives—and may they be as long as Nestor’s.”
Here maese Pedro’s voice rose again and said: “Be plain, boy, and don’t be bombastic, because all affectation is bad!”
The narrator didn’t respond to this, but continued, saying: “There was no lack of idle eyes—those that notice everything. They saw Melisendra slide down and get on the horse, and they ran to tell King Marsilio, who then ordered the alarm to sound, and see with what speed! Now the city is deluged with the sound of bells that ring in all the towers of the mosques.”
“That can’t be,” said don Quixote. “In the business of bells maese Pedro is not correct because among the Moors bells aren’t used, but rather drums and dulzainas, like our chirimías. To have bells in Sansueña is a great absurdity.”
When maese Pedro heard this, the playing stopped, and he said: “Don’t bother about trifles, señor don Quixote, nor look for perfection where none is possible. Don’t they put on a thousand plays every day with a thousand inaccuracies and idiocies, and still those plays have a complete run, and the people who attend them not only applaud but also admire them? So, go on, boy, and let them say whatever they want. As long as I fill my purse, let there be as many improprieties are there rays of the sun.”
“You’re right,” said don Quixote.
And the boy went on: “Look at how many magnificent horsemen race from town pursuing the two Catholic lovers; how many trumpets sound, how many dulzainas are being played and drums resound. I’m greatly afraid that they will catch them and take them back tied to the tail of their own horses, and what a horrendous spectacle that would be.”
When don Quixote saw such a multitude of Moors and heard all that noise, it seemed to him that he should render assistance to the fleeing couple, and, standing up, with a loud voice he said: “I’ll not allow, while I’m alive and present, for such soperchieria to be done to such a famous knight and daring lover as is don Gaiferos. Stop, you ill-bred rabble. Stay and pursue no more! If you do, you’re in battle with me!”
As soonas he said that he went into action, and taking out his sword, in one leap he was in front of the puppet theater and with incredible speed and fury he began raining slashes onto the Moorish horsemen knocking some over, demolishing others, decapitating still others, mutilating this one, smashing that one, and gave such a downward thrust amidst many of them that, if maese Pedro hadn’t lowered himself, hunched up, and ducked, don Quixote would have chopped off his head more easily than if he were made of almond paste.
Maese Pedro shouted from inside, saying: “Stop, your grace don Quixote—these things you’re knocking over, smashing, and killing, aren’t real Moors, but rather little figurines made of pasteboard. Look, sinner that I am, you’re wrecking my entire livelihood!”
But don Quixote didn’t stop raining his thrusts, back-hands, slashes, and lunges on this account. Finally, in less than the time then it takes to say the credo twice, he destroyed the whole puppet theater, cutting to bits all the equipment and figures, leaving King Marsilio badly wounded, and the Emperor Charlemagne with his crown and head split in two. The whole audience was in an uproar, the ape fled over the roof of the inn, the cousin was afraid, the page cowered down, and even Sancho Panza himself was very fearful, because, as he swore after the storm was over, that he’d never seen his master so recklessly angry.
With the general destruction of the theater, now that don Quixote was settled down a bit, he said: “I’d like to have before me right now all those who don’t, and even refuse to believe how useful it is to have knights errant in the world. Consider what would have happened to the good don Gaiferos and the beautiful Melisendra if I hadn’t been here. I’ll bet that those dogs would have caught them by now and would have done something dreadful to them. So, long live knight errantry over all other things on the earth!”
“Long may it live and good luck to it!” said maese Pedro with a very debilitated voice, “and may I die since I’m so unfortunate that I can say what don Rodrigo said:
“It hasn’t yet been a half hour, nor even half a moment, when I was the master of kings and emperors, my stables and chests and sacks filled with an infinite number of horses, and liveries without number. Now I’m devastated and disheartened, poor, and a beggar, and especially without my ape, because I swear that before he comes back to me my teeth will have to sweat, and all of it because of the ill-considered fury of this señor knight, of whom it’s said that he rescues orphans and rights wrongs, and does other charitable things; in my case alone his generous intention failed—may heaven be blessed and praised, where the highest thrones are found. I guess it had to be the Woebegone Knight who put my puppets in a woeful situation.”
Sancho Panza was moved to compassion with maese Pedro’s lament, and said to him: “Don’t cry, maese Pedro, and don’t grieve anymore because you’re breaking my heart. I’ll have you know that my master don Quixote is so Catholic, and such a staunch Christian, that if he realizes that he has done you ill, he’ll insist on paying for it and making it up to you.”
“If señor don Quixote would pay me back for some part of the figures that he has broken, I’d be content, and his grace would have a clear conscience, because «he cannot be saved who has things belonging to someone else against the will of the owner and refuses to give it back».”
“That’s right,” said don Quixote, “but as of now I have no idea that I have anything of yours, maese Pedro.”
“What do mean you ‘have NO IDEA’?” responded maese Pedro. “And these remains on the hard and sterile floor? Who scattered and annihilated them if not the invincible power of that mighty arm? And whose bodies were they except mine? And how will I earn a living without them?”
“Now I’m convinced,” said don Quixote, “what I’ve believed on many other occasions—that these enchanters who pursue me do it only to place people as they really are in front of my eyes, and then change them and turn them into whatever they want. Really and truly I tell all who are listening to me that it appeared to me that everything that happened here was really going on exactly as it seemed—that Melisendra was Melisendra; don Gaiferos, don Gaiferos; Marsilio, Marsilio; Charlemagne, Charlemagne. For this reason, I became angry, and to comply with my profession of knight errantry, I had to give aid to those who were fleeing, and with this upright goal in mind I did what you saw me do. If it has turned out differently, I’m not to blame—the evil people who pursue me are. Nevertheless, for this mistake, although there was absence of malice, I want to sentence myself to pay. Let maese Pedro tell me what he wants for the broken figures, and I’ll pay for them immediately, in good and valid Castilian currency.”
Maese Pedro bowed acknowledgment, and said: “I expected no less from the unheard-of Christianity of the valorous don Quixote de La Mancha, the true helper and protector of all those in need and of needy vagabonds. The innkeeper and the great Sancho Panza will be mediators and assessors between your grace and myself concerning what each of the broken figures is or may be worth.”
The innkeeper and Sancho said that they would do it, and then maese Pedro picked King Marsilio of Zaragoza up from the floor, with the head missing, and said: “You can see how impossible it will be to restore this king to his original state, so it seems to me, barring better judgment, that I’m owed four reales and a half for his death, end, and destruction.”
“Well, for this one, which is split down the middle,” said maese Pedro, taking in his hands the cleft Emperor Charlemagne, “it wouldn’t be unreasonable to ask five reales and a quarter,”
“That’s not little,” said Sancho,
“Nor much,” said the innkeeper. “Let’s split the difference and say five reales.”
“Let him be given the full five and a quarter,” said don Quixote, “this notable misfortune is not worth quibbling over a quarter more or less, and let’s finish quickly, maese Pedro—dinnertime is approaching and I’m getting hungry.”
“For this figure,” said maese Pedro, “whose nose has been chopped off and who has an eye poked out, which is the beautiful Melisendra, and I think this figure is appropriate, two reales and twelve maravedís.”
“How can that be?” said don Quixote, “because Melisendra must already be with her husband, at least as far as the French border, since her horse, it seemed to me, was flying more than running, and so don’t try to pull the wool over my eyes by trying to make me think this is Melisendra without a nose, when the real one is relaxing in France with her husband. May God help everyone, señor maese Pedro, and let’s play fair and square and move on.”
Maese Pedro could see that don Quixote was beginning to talk nonsense and was going back to his old ways, which he didn’t want to happen, so he said to him: “Right, this can’t be Melisendra—it has to be one of the maidens who served her—with sixty maravedís I’ll be content and well paid.”
In this same way he went along pricing many other destroyed figures, which the arbitrating judges adjusted, to the satisfaction of both sides, to forty reales and three quarters, and in addition to this—which Sancho paid him immediately—maese Pedro asked for an additional two reales for catching the ape.
“Give them to him,” said don Quixote, “not for the ape, but rather for the she-ape, and I’d reward two hundred more to the person who could tell me with certainty the good news that señora doña Melisendra and señor Gaiferos were back in France with their families.”
“No one can tell you that better than my ape,” said maese Pedro, “but now there’s no devil that can catch him. Although I imagine that his affection for me and hunger will force him to look for me tonight, and «tomorrow is another day, and we’ll see.»”
So, the storm of the puppet theater blew over, and everyone ate dinner in peace and good fellowship at don Quixote’s expense, because he was generous in the extreme. Before sunup the fellow with the lances and halberds left, and just after dawn the cousin and page came to say good-bye to don Quixote, one to return home, and the other to continue his journey, and don Quixote helped him on his trip by giving him a dozen reales. Maese Pedro didn’t want to have any more disputes with don Quixote, whom he knew very well, and so he got up early before the sun came up, and, taking the remnants of his puppets and his ape, also went away in search of adventures. The innkeeper, who didn’t know don Quixote, was as much in wonder at his crazy acts as he was at his generosity. Sancho paid him well on orders of his master, and bidding him farewell, at about eight o’clock in the morning they left the inn, where we will let them go on by themselves so that we can have the time to relate things dealing with the telling of this famous history.