REALLY AND truly all those who take pleasure in histories such as this one should be grateful to Cide Hamete, its first author, because of the care he took in telling us the least details of it without omitting anything–no matter how small—that he didn’t bring to the light of day. He imparts thoughts, reveals intentions, answers unasked questions, clarifies doubts, and resolves arguments. Finally, he satisfies and explains the tiniest details that the most curious mind might desire to know. Oh, most celebrated author! Oh, fortunate don Quixote! Oh, famous Dulcinea! Oh, amusing Sancho Panza! May they all together and each one individually live infinite centuries for the pleasure and universal pastime of all those alive.
So, the history says that as soon as Sancho saw the Distressed One in a faint, he said: “I swear on the faith of a good man and by the life of all of my Panza ancestors that I’ve never heard of nor seen, nor has my master told me anything about, nor even in his mind has he ever considered an adventure such as this one. Malambruno, may a thousand devils haul you away—not just curse you, since you’re both an enchanter and a giant! Couldn’t you have found another way of punishing these sinners other than putting beards on them? Wouldn’t it have been better for them, and more appropriate, if you had just cut off half their noses, even if they started speaking with a twang, rather than giving them beards? I’ll wager they don’t have enough income to pay someone to shave them off.”
“That’s the truth, señor,” said one of the twelve, “we don’t have the income to have ourselves shaved, and so some of us have been saving money by using sticky patches or plasters and applying them to our faces and yanking them off, and then we’re as smooth as the bottom of a mortar made of stone. Although there are in Candaya women who go from house to house to remove hair and pluck eyebrows and provide cosmetics for women, we duennas of my lady always refused to let them in because most of them smack of go-betweens, no longer being prime prostitutes. And if señor don Quixote doesn’t help us, they’ll take us bearded to our graves.”
“I would shave off my own,” said don Quixote, “in Moorish lands, if I couldn’t relieve you of yours.”
At this point, Trifaldi came out of her faint and said: “The resonance of this promise, brave knight, in the middle of my fainting spell, came to my ears and has brought me back to my senses, and so once again I ask, illustrious knight and unconquerable señor, if you’ll turn your promise into action.”
“There will be no delay because of me,” responded don Quixote. “Tell me, señoras, what I should do. My courage is ready to serve you.”
“The thing is,” responded the Distressed One, “from here to the Kingdom of Candaya, if you go on foot, is five thousand leagues, but if you go by air in a direct line, it’s three thousand two hundred twenty-seven. You should know that Malambruno told me that when fate should locate the knight, our liberator, he would send a mount that is a lot better and with less defects than those you rent, because it’s a horse made of wood, the same one on which Pierres carried off the abducted Magalona. This horse is guided by a peg in its forehead, which serves as a bridle, and it flies through the air so swiftly that it seems like the devils themselves are carrying it. This horse, according to ancient tradition, was made by the wizard Merlin. He lent it to Pierres, who was his friend, and with it he took great voyages and kidnaped, as has been said, the pretty Magalona, carrying her on the horse’s crupper through the air, leaving all those on the ground who saw them dumbfounded. And he never lent it to anyone except those he liked or who paid him well. Since the great Pierres until now, we know that no one else has ridden him. But by magic, Malambruno has gotten possession of him and uses him for his voyages he makes once in a while to different parts of the world—today he’s here, and tomorrow he’s in France, and the next day in Potosí; and the good part is that the animal neither eats nor sleeps nor uses horseshoes, and without wings zips through the air, and he who rides him can have a cup of water in his hand and not a drop will spill over, such is the smoothness of his gait, and that’s why Magalona liked to ride him so much.”
To this Sancho said: “For a smooth ride, there’s my donkey, although he doesn’t fly. But on the ground, I’ll match him against any beasts of burden in the world.”
Everyone laughed, and the Distressed One continued: “And this horse, if Malambruno wants to bring our misfortune to an end, before the night is half an hour old, will be in front of us. Because he told me that the signal that he would give me, by which I would be able to tell that I had found the knight, would be that he’d send me the horse wherever I might be, opportunely, and with dispatch.”
“And how many people fit on this horse?” asked Sancho.
The Distressed One responded: “Two people—one in the saddle, and one on the crupper—and these people are mostly a knight and his squire, when there’s no kidnaped maiden.”
“I would like to know,” said Sancho, “señora Distressed, what the name of this horse is.”
“His name,” responded the Distressed One, “is not like Bellerophon’s, called Pegasus; nor like Alexander the Great’s Bucephalus; nor like Brilladoro belonging to Roland; nor Bayarte that belonged to Reinaldos de Montalbán; nor Frontino like the one of Ruggiero; nor Boötes, nor Peritoa, that they say belonged to the Sun, nor is he called Orelia, on which the unfortunate Rodrigo, the last Gothic king, entered into battle and lost his life.”
“I’ll bet,” said Sancho, “that since they haven’t given him any of the names of these famous horses of such well-known knights, they probably haven’t given him the name of my master’s horse, Rocinante, because it’s such a fitting one, and exceeds all the other names given so far.”
“That’s true,” said the bearded countess,”but his fits him well since he’s named Clavileño the Swift, whose name jibes with his being made of wood and from the peg—the clavija—on his forehead, and with the speed with which he travels. Thus, insofar as the name goes, he can compete with the famous Rocinante.”
“The name doesn’t displease me,” replied Sancho, “but by what kind of bridle or halter is he guided?”
“I already said,” responded Trifaldi. “With the peg that the rider moves from side to side to make him go high in the air or almost skim the ground, or between the two, which is the mean one seeks in all well ordered actions.”
“I would like to see it,” responded Sancho, “but to think that I’ll get up onto him, either on the saddle or on the crupper, is to try «to get blood from a turnip». Why, I can hardly hold myself straight on my own donkey, on a packsaddle softer than silk itself, and now they want me to stay on the crupper made of wood without a even a cushion or a pillow! By golly, I’m not going to let myself get battered in order to remove beards from anyone! Let them shave themselves as well as they can because I don’t plan to go with my master on such a long voyage, especially since I’m not as important for the shaving off of these beards as I am for the disenchantment of Dulcinea.”
”Yes, you are,” said the Distressed One, “and so much so that without your presence I’ve been led to believe that nothing will happen.”
“Help in the name of the king!” said Sancho. “What do squires have to do with the adventures of their masters? Are they supposed to get all the fame for the adventures they do while we do all the work? I swear, if historians would only say: ‘Such-and-such a knight did such-and-such an adventure, but only with the help of his squire, without whom it would have been impossible to complete it.’ But what they really write is just this: ‘Don Parlimpómenon of the Three Stars completed the adventure of the six monsters,’ without mentioning the person of his squire who witnessed it all, as if he didn’t exist in the world! Now, señores, I say again that if my master can go alone, good luck in whatever he does. I’ll stay here in the company of the duchess my lady, and it may be that when he comes back he’ll find Dulcinea’s cause greatly improved, because in slack times I plan to give myself a bunch of lashes so severe that my hair won’t grow back.”
“Even so, you must go with him if it’s necessary, good Sancho, because important people beg you to. It would be a terrible thing if the faces of these women remained populated because of your pathetic fear.”
“Help in the name of the king once again!” replied Sancho. “If this kindness were done for some modest maidens or for some orphans, a man could risk himself in any travail. But that I should do this to take the beards off of duennas, nothing doing—even though I should see all of them with beards, from the oldest to the youngest, and from the most priggish one to the most affected one.”
“You really have it in for the duennas, Sancho my friend,” said the duchess. “You seem to share the opinion of the Toldean apothecary, but I’m convinced you’re not right. There are duennas in this house who can serve as models for the rest. And here’s doña Rodríguez who won’t let me say otherwise.”
“Your excellency has spoken well,” said Rodríguez, “and God knows the truth about everything, and no matter how good or bad, bearded or smooth-skinned we duennas may be, our mothers bore us like all other women, and since God put us on the earth, He knows for what reason, and I cling to His grace, and not to the beards of anyone else.”
“All right, señora Rodríguez,” said don Quixote, “and señora Trifaldi and company, I hope that heaven will look with kind eyes on your afflictions. Sancho will do whatever I command, both when Clavileño comes and when I find myself before Malambruno. I know that no razor will shave your graces as easily as my sword will chop the head from Malambruno’s shoulders. God will permit evil ones to exist, but not forever.”
“Oh!” said the Distressed One right then, “may all the stars in all the regions of the sky look upon your greatness, brave knight, with favorable eyes, and may they infuse your spirit with all prosperity and courage so you can be the shield and protection for the downtrodden and disheartened race of duennas, maligned by apothecaries, gossiped about by squires, and tricked by pages. Woe to the wretched girl who, in the flower of her youth, doesn’t become a nun rather than a duenna! How unfortunate we duennas are, for although we may come in a direct male line from Hector the Trojan himself, our mistresses still speak to us as inferiors, and that makes them feel like they’re queens. Oh, Giant Malambruno, although you’re an enchanter, you’re upright in your promises! Send us right now the peerless Calvileño, so that our misfortune can come to an end. If it gets hot and we still have these beards, alas! we’ll be most unlucky.”
Trifaldi said this with such feeling that it caused all the onlookers to start to cry, and even Sancho’s eyes welled with tears, and he resolved in his heart to go with his master to the ends of the earth, if that would help remove the wool from those venerable faces.