About the rarest and most unusual event that happened to don Quixote in the course of this great history.
THE MEN on horseback dismounted, and together with those on foot they took don Quixote and Sancho hurriedly from their mounts and led them into the courtyard, around which burned almost a hundred torches, placed in their sconces, and in the galleries surrounding the courtyard there were more than five-hundred lanterns, so that even though it was night, you couldn’t tell it wasn’t daylight. In the middle of the courtyard there was a catafalque about six feet above the ground, covered by a canopy made of black velvet, and on the steps leading to the catafalque, more than a hundred white candles burned in silver candlesticks. On top of it there lay a dead body of a maiden who was so exquisite, that she made death itself beautiful. Her head was on a brocaded cushion, crowned with a garland of several sweet-smelling flowers woven together, her hands crossed on her chest, and in them was a branch of yellowed conquering palm.
Along one side of the courtyard was a stage with two chairs, on which were seated two persons who, since they were wearing crowns on their heads and had scepters in their hands, it indicated they were kings, either real or feigned. Next to this stage were two more chairs, reached by some stairs, on which those who brought the prisoners seated don Quixote and Sancho, all this done in silence, and their captors made signs to the two of them that they should also be silent. But they said nothing even without those signs, because the astonishment at what they were seeing had them tongue-tied.
At that point, two notable persons, followed by a large retinue, walked up upon the stage, and don Quixote recognized them immediately as the duke and duchess, his hosts. They sat on two richly-decorated chairs, next to those who appeared to be kings. Who wouldn’t be moved to wonder at all this, especially when don Quixote recognized that the dead body lying on the tomb was that of the beautiful Altisidora?
When the duke and duchess went over to their seats, don Quixote and Sancho stood up and bowed deeply, and the duke and duchess nodded their heads slightly in return. Next, an officer went over to Sancho and placed a robe of black buckram over him. It was painted with flames. The man removed Sancho’s cap and put a penitent’s hat on his head of the kind that those condemned by the Holy Office wear, and whispered into his ear that he must not open his mouth or they’d gag or kill him. Sancho looked at himself from top to bottom and saw the flames licking up, but since they didn’t burn him, he couldn’t have cared less.
He took his hat off and saw that it was painted with devils, then put it back on and said to himself: “It’s all right, because the flames don’t burn me and the devils aren’t carrying me off.”
Don Quixote also looked at him, and although fear had numbed his senses, he couldn’t help but laugh at the figure of Sancho. And now from under the tomb, there began to be heard a soft and pleasant sound of flutes, unaccompanied by any human voice, for silence itself kept silent there. Then there suddenly arose next to the cushion under the apparent cadaver, a handsome lad dressed in a toga, who, accompanied by a harp, which he himself played, sang with a smooth and articulate voice these two stanzas:
“No more,” said one of those men who appeared to be kings, “no more, divine singer. You would never finish if you were to recount the death and graces of the peerless Altisidora—not dead in the way the ignorant world believes, but alive in the tongues of fame, and by means of the penance that Sancho Panza, here present, must undergo to return her to her lost light. And so, oh, Rhadamanthus! you who judge with me in the dark caverns of Lys! Since you know everything the inscrutable fates have prescribed for how to make this maiden revive, say and declare what it is right now so that the happiness that will come with her return will not be delayed.”
Hardly had Minos, a judge and companion of Rhadamanthus, said this when Rhadamanthus stood up and said: “Ho, officers of this house, high and low ones, big and little ones, draw near and smack Sancho twenty-four times on his face, give him twelve pinches, and six pinpricks on his arms and back. By means of this ceremony, Altisidora will be resuscitated.”
When Sancho Panza, heard this, be broke his silence and said: “I swear, I’ll as much let my face be slapped or even touched as I would become a Moor! On my soul, what does slapping my face have to do with the resurrection of this girl? «The old lady took a fancy to beets…» They enchant Dulcinea and then they whip me so she can be disenchanted. Altisidora dies of an illness it pleased God to send her, and twenty-four slaps on my face, riddling my body with pinpricks, and bruising my arms with the pinches will bring her back! You can do these pranks on some other dunce. I’m an old dog, so don’t try any of that ‘Come here, doggie’ stuff with me.”
“You will die!” roared Rhadamanthus. “Relent, you tiger! Humble yourself, arrogant Nimrod, endure and be silent; we’re not asking impossible things of you. Don’t argue about the difficulties of this affair. You will be slapped, you will see yourself pricked, you will moan with pinches. Ho, officers, I say that you should do what I tell you. If not, you’ll find out, on the faith of an honest man, for what reason you were born.”
Right then there appeared in the courtyard as many as six duennas in a procession, one after the other, four of them wearing glasses, and all of them with their right hands raised high, with four inches of their forearms showing, to make their hands look longer, as is the custom nowadays.
As soon as Sancho saw them he began to bellow like a bull and said: “I might let anyone paw my face, but to consent for duennas to touch my face, never! Scratch my face like they did with my master in this same castle, stick pointed daggers through my body, tear at my arms with fiery pincers, and I’ll bear it all patiently in deference to the duke and duchess. But I won’t let duennas touch me, even if the devil hauls me off.”
Don Quixote, also broke his silence and said to Sancho: “Be patient, my son, and humor these people, and give thanks to heaven for having given you the power to—through martyrdom—disenchant the enchanted and raise the dead.”
The duennas were now near Sancho, when he, in a better temper and more persuaded, sat down in the chair, offered his face and beard to the first one, who gave him a well-placed slap, then bowed.
“Less courtesy and not so many cosmetics, señora duenna,” said Sancho, “because by God your hands smell of vinagrillo.”
So all the duennas smacked him, and others from the household pinched him. But he couldn’t stand the idea of pin pricks. He stood up from the chair, seemingly angry, and seizing a lighted torch next to him, and he began to pursue the duennas and all those who were tormenting him, saying: “Away with you, you infernal ministers—I’m not made of bronze so I won’t feel such extraordinary torture.”
At this point, Altisidora, who must have been tired of being on her back for so long, turned onto her side. When the onlookers saw this, they said almost in unison: “Altisidora is alive! Altisidora lives!”
Rhadamanthus told Sancho to lay aside his wrath because his task had been completed.
As soon as don Quixote saw Altisidora come to life, he got on his knees before Sancho and said: “Now is the time, child of my bowels—and not my squire—for you to give yourself some of the lashes you must give yourself to disenchant Dulcinea. Now, I say, is the time when your power is at its height, and you can do what is expected of you efficiently.”
To which Sancho responded: “That seems to me to be one bad move on top of another and not honey on top of a cake. A nice thing it is, after pinches, slaps, and pinpricks, to come back with lashes! All you have to do is take a big stone and tie it around my neck and throw me in the well if I have to be the wedding-heifer to cure other people’s problems. Leave me alone, because if you don’t, by God, I’ll spoil everything, come what may!
At this point, Altisidora sat up on the tomb, and at the same instant, chirimías began to play accompanied by flutes, and everyone shouted: “Long live Altisidora, long live Altisidora!”
The duke and duchess stood up, and the Kings Minos and Rhadamanthus, and all those together with don Quixote and Sancho, went to receive Altisidora and take her down from the tomb, and she, pretending to be faint, bowed in the direction of the duke and duchess, and she, looking over at don Quixote, said to him: “May God pardon you, unloved knight, since by your cruelty I was in the other world—it seemed to me—for more than a thousand years. And you, oh, most compassionate squire in the world! I thank you for the life I possess. As of today, you may take six shirts of mine that I offer you so you can have them remade for yourself, and if they’re not all in good shape, at least they’re clean.”
Sancho kissed her hands with his pointed hat in his hands and his knees on the ground. The duke asked that the hat and flaming robe be taken back, and for them to return Sancho’s jacket. Sancho begged the duke to let him keep the robe and hat, saying he wanted to take them back home in memory of that unheard of event. The duchess said they would let him, because Sancho knew what a great friend of his she was. The duke had the courtyard cleared and told everyone to go to their rooms, and that don Quixote and Sancho should be taken to the rooms they had used before.