Of don Quixote’s resolve to become a shepherd and live in the country during the year of his vow, with other events that are truly pleasurable and good.
IF MANY thoughts troubled don Quixote before he was knocked down, many more vexed him after his fall. He was in the shade of the tree, as has been said, and there, «like flies to honey», thoughts were attacking and stinging him. Some of these were about Dulcinea’s enchantment, and others about his forced retirement. Sancho arrived, and praised the liberal nature of the groom Tosilos.
“Is it possible,” don Quixote said to him, “that you still believe, Sancho, that he’s the real groom? It seems that you must have forgotten that you saw Dulcinea converted and transformed into a peasant, and the Knight of the Mirrors into the bachelor Carrasco, all of it the work of enchanters who pursue me. But tell me, did you ask this Tosilos, as you call him, what happened to Altisidora—if she wept because of my absence, or if she put the thoughts of love that so troubled her in my presence into the hands of oblivion?”
“My thoughts,” responded Sancho, “were not of the kind that would let me ask dumb things. On my soul, señor, are you in a position to look into other people’s thoughts, especially those dealing with love?”
“Look, Sancho,” said don Quixote, “there’s a great difference between deeds one does for love from those done out of gratitude. It may well be that a knight is unloved, but it can’t be—speaking in all strictness—that he’ll be ungrateful. Altisidora loved me, seemingly. She gave me the three kerchiefs that you know about, she wept at my departure, she cursed me, she called me names, and she shamelessly abused me in public—sure signs, all of them, that she adored me. A lover’s rage typically ends in curses. I had no hope or treasure to give her because I’ve surrendered my hopes to Dulcinea, and the reward of knights’ errant are like those of elves—illusory and fanciful. I can only give her the memories I have of her, without prejudice; to those I keep of Dulcinea, whom you wrong by postponing the flaying of your flesh (and may I see it devoured by wolves), which you would prefer to keep for the worms than for the relief of that poor señora.”
“Señor,” responded Sancho, “to tell the truth, I can’t persuade myself that the lashes on my rear end have anything to do with the disenchantment of enchanted people—it’s just like saying: ‘if you have a headache, put ointment on your knees.’ At least I’ll bet that in all the histories that your grace read that deal with knight errantry, you’ve never run across a disenchantment done by means of lashes. But whether yes or no, I’ll lash myself when I feel like it and when time is right for it.”
“God grant it,” responded don Quixote, “and may heaven make you realize the debt you owe my lady—and she’s your lady too, since you belong to me.”
In conversations like this one they kept traveling when they got to the place where they were trampled by the bulls. Don Quixote recognized the spot and said to Sancho: “This is the place where we came across the elegant shepherdesses who wanted to resuscitate and imitate the pastoral Arcadia, an idea that was as novel as it was imaginative. If you think it’s a good idea, I’d like for us, Sancho, to imitate them and become shepherds, just for the period of our seclusion. I’ll buy some sheep and all the other things needed to be a shepherd, and I’ll call myself THE SHEPHERD QUIXOTIZ, and you will be THE SHEPHERD PANCINO, and we’ll wander about the hills, woods, and meadows, singing here, lamenting there, drinking the liquid crystal sometimes from springs sometimes from clear creeks, and sometimes from raging rivers. Oak trees will give us their sweet fruit with their generous hand; cork trees will provide a place to sit down with their hard trunks; willows will furnish shade; roses, a sweet aroma; the broad fields, carpets of a thousand harmonizing colors; the stars and moon, light, in spite of the darkness of night; song will give us pleasure; weeping, happiness; Apollo, poetry; love, conceits, with which we can become immortal and famous, not only in present times, but also in future ages.”
“By God,” said Sancho, “this type of life squares with me, and even corners me. And what’s more, as soon as bachelor Sansón Carrasco and maese Nicolas the barber see us, they’ll want to follow in our footsteps and join us as shepherds themselves, and may it please God for the priest to enter the fold as well, for he’s very merry and likes to have a good time.”
“You’ve spoken very well,” said don Quixote, “and the bachelor Sansón Carrasco, if he enters the fraternity of shepherds, as he’ll doubtless do, can be called THE SHEPHERD SANSONINO, or maybe THE SHEPHERD CARRASCÓN; the barber Nicolás can be named MICULOSO, as Boscán of old called himself Nemoroso; I don’t know what to call the priest, unless it’s some derivative of his name, such as THE SHEPHERD CURIAMBRO. It will be as easy as picking pears to choose names for shepherdesses we’re supposed to be in love with. My lady’s own name fits as well for a shepherdess as for a princess so there’s no need for me to trouble myself in looking for a better one. You, Sancho, can give yours whatever you want.”
“I don’t think I’ll give her any other name,” responded Sancho, “than TERESONA, which fits in well with her stoutness and her own name, since she’s called Teresa. And what’s more, when I celebrate her in my verses, I’ll reveal my chaste desires, since «I don’t go looking for impossible things in other people’s houses». The priest maybe shouldn’t have a lady, to set a good example. And if the bachelor wants to have a lady, let him do whatever he wants.”
“By God,” said don Quixote, “what a life we’ll have, Sancho, my friend! What music of churumbelas will reach our ears, what hurdy-gurdies, what tabors and flutes, what rebecs! And albogues will keep time to all this music! You’ll see almost every kind of pastoral instrument there.
“What are albogues?” asked Sancho. “I’ve never heard of them nor have I seen them in all the days of my life.”
“Albogues are” responded don Quixote, “little brass plates that look like candle-holders, and when you strike the hollow parts together it makes a noise which, if neither agreeable nor harmonic, isn’t displeasing, and fits in well with the rusticity of the hurdy-gurdy and the tabor and flute. The name albogue is Moorish, as are all those that begin in Spanish with al–, such as almohaza, almorzar, alhombra, alguacil, alhucema, almacén, alcancía, and other similar words—there ought to be a few more. And there are only three Moorish words in our language that end in –í, and they are: borceguí, zaquizamí, y maravedí. Alhelí y alfaquí, as much for the initial al– as for the final –í, are also clearly Arabic. I’ve told you this in passing because it came to me when I mentioned albogues. “And since I’m something of a poet, as you know, and the bachelor Sansón Carrasco is even better than I am, this seemingly will help us to perfect our new calling. About the priest I can’t say anything, but I’ll bet that he has smatterings of being a poet as well, and I don’t doubt that maese Nicolás does as well, because all or most barbers are also guitarists and ballad singers. I’ll complain of absence, you’ll praise yourself as being constant, the shepherd Carrascón of being scorned, and the priest Curiambro of whatever he pleases, and so that’s the way it’ll be, and it won’t leave anything to be desired.”
To which Sancho responded: “I am, señor, so unlucky that I fear that the day will never come when I’ll see myself in that calling. But if I do become a shepherd, what polished spoons I’ll make! What fried breadcrumbs I’ll cook; what whipped cream; what garlands; what pastoral trinkets I’ll put together; although they won’t earn me fame as a wise man, they will make me famous as clever fellow! Sanchica, my daughter, will bring food right to us. But watch out! She’s pretty good looking, and there are shepherds that are more mischievous than simple, and «I wouldn’t want her to go out for wool and come back shorn». Love and evil desires just as soon roam about the countryside as in the cities, and in pastoral huts as well as in royal palaces, and «if you take away the cause, you take away the sin», and «what the eyes don’t see doesn’t break the heart», and «a leap over the hedge is better than prayers of good men».”
“No more proverbs, Sancho,” said don Quixote, “since any one of them on its own is enough to make one see what your point is. I’ve advised you many times not to be excessive in your proverbs, show a little restraint in using them. But it seems to me that it’s like «preaching in the desert», and «my mother punishes me and I mock her».”
“It seems to me, señor, that your grace is like what they say: «The frying pan called the kettle black». You’re reprimanding me for using proverbs, and you go stringing them together two at a time.”
“Look, Sancho,” responded don Quixote, “I bring pertinent proverbs in, and when I say them, «they fit like a ring on your finger». But you drag them in by their hair, with no direction. And if I remember correctly, on another occasion I told you that proverbs are maxims taken from the experience and contemplation of the wise ancients, and a proverb that doesn’t fit is more nonsense than a maxim. But let’s leave all this, for night is coming, and let’s get off the highway a good distance, where we can spend the night, and God knows «tomorrow will be another day».”
They got off the road, ate late and poorly, much against the will of Sancho, who considered the poverty of knight errantry seen in the forests and hills, even though abundance was manifest in castles and homes, as in the case of don Diego de Miranda, and in Camacho’s wedding, and the house of don Antonio Moreno. But he realized that «it wasn’t possible for it to be always daytime, nor always nighttime», for that matter, and so he spent that night sleeping, and his master watching.