About the fearful feline bell fright that befell don Quixote in the course of the amours of the amorous Altisidora.
WE LEFT don Quixote wrapped up in thoughts caused by the music of the enamored maiden Altisidora. He went to bed thinking of them and, as if they were fleas, they, together with the stitches that had run in his stocking, didn’t let him sleep or even rest. But since time is swift, and there’s no obstacle that can stop it, it galloped along, and with great speed dawn came. When don Quixote saw the morning arrive, he left the soft feathers, and—not lazy in the least—dressed himself in his chamois-skin outfit and put on his boots to conceal the bitter misfortune to his stocking. He flung the scarlet cape about him and put his green velvet cap edged with silver on his head, he hung the strap with his trusty trenchant sword over his shoulder, he took a large rosary he always had with him, and with a pompous air and something of an affected gait, he went into the antechamber where the duke and duchess were already dressed and looked as if they were waiting for him. When he passed by a gallery, Altisidora and the other maiden, her friend, were waiting for him on purpose. As soon as Altisidora saw don Quixote she pretended to faint, and her friend caught her in her lap, and with great speed she began unlacing the bodice of her dress. Don Quixote saw it and approached them and said: “I know why she had this fainting spell.”
“I certainly don’t know what it’s due to,” responded the friend, “because Altisidora is the healthiest maiden in the whole house, and I’ve never heard her exclaim AY! since I’ve known her. Curses on all the knights errant in the world, if all of them are this ungrateful. Go away, your grace, señor don Quixote. This poor girl won’t come to while you’re here.”
To which he responded: “Your grace, señora, please have a lute placed in my room tonight. I’ll console this love-sick maiden as well as I can, because nipping amorous matters in the bud frequently works decisive and worthy remedies.”
And with this he went away, so that what had gone on wouldn’t be noticed by any who might see him. He hadn’t gone very far when the fainted Altisidora came to and said to her companion: “We’ll have to give him a lute. Doubtless if don Quixote wants to give us music, being his, it won’t be bad.”
They then went to tell the duke and duchess what was going on and about the lute that don Quixote had asked for, and she, excessively pleased, arranged with the duke and with her maidens to play a joke on him that would be more amusing than harmful, and with great joy they waited for the night, which came as quickly as the day had, and which they spent in delicious conversations with don Quixote. And the duchess that very day really and truly dispatched a page of hers—the one who had played the figure of the enchanted Dulcinea in the forest—to Teresa Panza. Along with the package of clothing that had been left to be sent to her, she charged him to bring back an accurate account of everything that happened with her.
Having done that, and when it was eleven o’clock at night, don Quixote found a vihuela in his room. He tuned it, opened the grate, and could hear that people were walking in the garden, and once he’d run his fingers over the frets, and having tuned it as well as he could, he spat and cleared his throat, and then with a bit of a hoarse voice, although in tune, he sang the following ballad he’d composed that very day:
Here don Quixote arrived at the end of his song, which the duke and duchess, Altisidora, and almost everyone from the castle were listening to, when all of a sudden from a gallery above don Quixote’s grating more than a hundred cowbells all tied together on a cord were lowered straight down, and then a large sack filled with cats—each one with a smaller bell tied to its tail—was also let down. So great was the noise of the cowbells and the meowing of the cats that, although the duke and duchess had been the inventors of the joke, it gave them quite a fright, and don Quixote was stunned and frightened as well. As luck would have it two or three cats entered the room through the grating, and running from one side to the other, it seemed like a legion of devils was loose in that room. They extinguished the candles burning in the room, and they went racing about looking for a way out. The shaking of the cowbells didn’t stop. Most people in the castle, who didn’t know the truth of the matter, and they were amazed.
Don Quixote stood up and, putting his hand on his sword, began to thrust it through the grating and shout: “Out, you wicked enchanters! Out, you bewitched rabble! I’m don Quixote de La Mancha, against whom your evil intentions have no power!”
And turning toward the cats who were racing around his room, he lunged here and there. They went to the window and jumped out, although one of them, seeing himself almost slashed by don Quixote’s thrusts, jumped onto his face and clamped down onto his nose with its claws and teeth. Because of the pain, don Quixote shouted as loud as he could. When the duke and duchess heard this, figuring out what must have happened, they ran to his room and opened the door with their master key and saw the poor knight struggling with all his might to pull the cat from his face. They raced in with torches and saw the unequal battle. The duke ran over to stop the fight, and don Quixote shouted: “Nobody remove him! Let me fight hand to hand with this demon, with this wizard, with this enchanter! I’ll make him see who don Quixote de La Mancha is!”
But the cat, paying no heed to these threats, snarled and held fast. Finally the duke removed it and threw it out the window.
Don Quixote was left with a face full of holes and a nose that wasn’t very whole, and despairing that they hadn’t let him finish the pitched battle he’d had with that brigand enchanter. They had some Oil of Aparicio brought and Altisidora herself, with her very white hands bandaged all the wounds, and after she applied the dressings she said in a low voice: “All these misfortunes happen to you, you heard-hearted knight, because of the sin of your harshness and stubbornness. May it please God that Sancho will forget to whip himself, so that your so beloved Dulcinea will never be disenchanted, nor will you ever enjoy her, nor will you get into the marriage bed with her, at least while I—who adore you so—am still alive.”
Don Quixote responded not a word to this, except to give a deep sigh, and then he lay back on his bed, thanking the duke and duchess, not because he feared the cattish, enchanted, and bellish rabble, but rather because he recognized the good intention with which they had come to help him. The duke and duchess let him calm down and went away, sorry about the bad outcome of the trick. They hadn’t believed that adventure would prove so painful and costly for don Quixote, who spent five bed-ridden days in his room, where another adventure, more pleasing than the previous one, befell him, which his historian didn’t want to relate for the moment in order to return to Sancho Panza, who was very diligent and amusing in his government.