CHAPTER L

“That is really good!” responded Don Quixote. “Books that are printed with a royal license and with the approval of those officials to whom they are submitted, and read to widespread delight, and celebrated by great and small, poor and rich, educated and ignorant, lowborn and gentry, in short, by all kinds of persons of every rank and station: can they possibly be a lie, especially when they bear so close a resemblance to the truth and tell us about the father, the mother, the nation, the family, the age, the birthplace, and the great deeds, point by point and day by day, of the knight, or knights, in question? Be quiet, your grace, and do not say such blasphemies, and believe me when I tell you what you, as an intelligent man, must do in this matter, which is to read these books, and then you will see the pleasure you derive from them.

If you do not agree, then tell me: is there any greater joy than seeing, before our very eyes, you might say, a great lake of boiling pitch, and in it, swimming and writhing about, there are many snakes, serpents, lizards, and many other kinds of fierce and fearsome creatures, and from the middle of the lake there comes an extremely sad voice, saying: ‘Thou, O knight, whosoever thou mayest be, who looketh upon this fearful lake, if thou wishest to grasp the treasure hidden beneath these ebon waters, display the valor of thy mighty heart and throw thyself into the midst of its black and burning liquid, for if thou wilt not, thou canst not be worthy of gazing upon the wondrous marvels contained and enclosed within the seven castles of the seven enchantresses which lieth beneath this blackness.’ And no sooner has the knight heard the fearsome voice than without hesitating or stopping to consider the danger he faces, and without even stripping off the weight of his heavy armor, he commends himself to God and his lady and throws himself into the middle of the boiling lake, and when he cannot see or imagine where he will land, he finds himself among flowering meadows even more beautiful than the Elysian Fields. There it seems to him that the sky is more translucent and the sun shines with a new clarity; before him lies a peaceful grove of trees so green and leafy, their verdure brings joy to his eyes, while his ears are charmed by the sweet, untutored song of the infinite number of small, brightly colored birds that fly among the intricate branches. Here he discovers a brook whose cool waters, like liquid crystal, run over fine sand and white pebbles that seem like sifted gold and perfect pearls; there he sees a fountain artfully composed of varicolored jasper and smooth marble; over there he sees another fountain fashioned as a grotto where tiny clamshells and the coiled white-and-yellow houses of the snail are arranged with conscious disorder and mixed with bits of shining glass and counterfeit emeralds, forming so varied a pattern that art, imitating nature, here seems to surpass it. Suddenly, there appears before him a fortified castle or elegant fortress whose walls are made of solid gold, its parapets of diamonds, its doors of sapphires; in short, it is so wonderfully built that although its materials are nothing less than diamonds, carbuncles, rubies, pearls, gold, and emeralds, its workmanship is even finer.

And after this, is there any more marvelous sight than seeing a good number of damsels come out through the gate of the castle, wearing dresses so splendid and sumptuous that if I began now to describe them, as the histories do, I should never finish; and then, the maiden who seems the leader among them takes by the hand the bold knight who threw himself into the boiling lake, and, without saying a word, guides him inside the rich fortress or castle and has him strip as naked as the day as he was born and bathes him in warm water and then smoothes his entire body with sweet-smelling ointments and dresses him in a shirt of finest silk, all fragrant and perfumed, and then another damsel comes and covers his shoulders with a cloak that, they say, is worth at least a city and even more? What better sight, after all this, than when we are told that he is taken to another chamber where he finds tables laid so lavishly, he is stunned and amazed? Observe him as he pours over his hands water that is distilled with ambergris and scented flowers, and see him sit on a chair of ivory, and watch him being served by all the damsels, who maintain a wondrous silence as they bring him so many different foods, so exquisitely prepared that appetite does not know where to place its hands. How marvelous is it to hear the music that plays as he eats, though he does not know who is singing, or where. And when the meal is over and the tables cleared, and the knight is reclining in his chair, perhaps cleaning his teeth with a toothpick, as is the custom,²⁹⁸ to have another damsel, much more beautiful than any of the others, come in through the chamber door and sit beside the knight and begin to explain to him what castle this is, and that she resides there and is enchanted and many other things that amaze the knight and astound the readers who are reading his history.

I do not wish to go any further with this, for one can gather from what I have said that anyone can read any part of any history of a knight errant and from it derive great pleasure and delight. And your grace should believe me when I tell you, as I already have, to read these books, and you will see how they drive away melancholy if you are so afflicted and improve your spirits if they happen to be low. For myself, I can say that since I became a knight errant I have been valiant, well-mannered, liberal, polite, generous, courteous, bold, gentle, patient, long-suffering in labors, imprisonments, and enchantments, and although only a short while ago I saw myself locked in a cage like a madman, I think that with the valor of my arm, and heaven favoring me, and fortune not opposing me, in a few days I shall find myself the king of some kingdom where I can display the gratitude and liberality of my heart. For by my faith, Señor, the poor man is incapable of displaying the virtue of liberality with anyone, even if he possesses it to the greatest degree, and gratitude that consists of nothing more than desire is a dead thing, as faith without works is dead. For this reason I should like Fortune to offer me without delay an opportunity to become an emperor, so that I can display my heartfelt desire to do good for my friends, especially this poor Sancho Panza, my squire, who is the best man in the world, and I should like to give him a countship, which I promised him many days ago, even though I fear he may not have the ability to govern his estate.”

As soon as Sancho heard these last words of his master, he said:

“Your grace, Señor Don Quixote, should work to give me the countship that has been promised by your grace and hoped for by me, and I promise you I’ll have no lack of ability to govern it, and if I do, I’ve heard it said that there are men in the world who farm the estates of gentlemen, who pay them so much each year to manage everything, and the gentleman sits with his feet up, enjoying the rent they pay him and not worrying about anything else, and that’s what I’ll do; I won’t haggle over trifles, but I’ll turn my back on everything, and enjoy my rent like a duke, and let the others do the work.”

“Brother Sancho,” said the canon, “that’s fine as far as enjoying the rent is concerned, but the administration of justice has to be tended to by the owner of the estate, and this is where ability and good judgment come in, and in particular a real intention to do what is right, for if this is lacking at the beginning, the middle and the end will always be wrong; in this way, God tends to favor the virtuous desires of the simple man and confound the wicked intentions of the intelligent.”

“I don’t know about these philosophies,” responded Sancho Panza, “all I know is that as soon as I have the countship I’ll know how to govern it; I have as much soul as any other man, and as much body as the biggest of them, and I’ll be as much a king of my estate as any other is of his; and this being true, I’ll do what I want, and doing what I want, I’ll do what I like, and doing what I like, I’ll be happy, and when a man is happy he doesn’t wish for anything else, and not wishing for anything else, that’ll be the end of it, so bring on my estate, and God willing we’ll see, as one blind man said to the other.”

“Those aren’t bad philosophies, as you call them, Sancho, but even so, there is a good deal to say regarding this matter of countships.”

To which Don Quixote replied:

“I do not know if there is more to say; I am guided only by the example of the great Amadís of Gaul, who made his squire count of Ínsula Firme; therefore I can, without scruple or question of conscience, make a count of Sancho Panza, who is one of the best squires a knight errant ever had.”

The canon was astounded by the reasoned nonsense spoken by Don Quixote, by the manner in which he had described the adventure of the Knight of the Lake, by the impression that had been made on him by the intentional lies of the books he had read, and, finally, by the simplemindedness of Sancho, who so fervently desired to obtain the countship his master had promised him.

By now the canon’s servants had returned from the inn, where they had gone for the pack mule, and making a table of a rug and the meadow’s green grass, they sat in the shade of some trees and ate their meal there so that the ox driver could take advantage of the grazing for his animals, as we have already said. While they were eating they suddenly heard a loud noise and the tinkling of a small bell from some nearby brambles and heavy underbrush, and at the same time they saw a beautiful black-, white-, and gray-spotted nanny goat emerge from the thicket. Behind her came a goatherd, calling to her, saying the words that goatherds say to make their animals stop or return to the flock. The fugitive goat, frightened and apprehensive, came up to the company as if asking for their help, and there she stopped. The goatherd ran up, seized her by the horns, and as if she were capable of rational thought and speech, said to her:

“Ah, Spot, my Spot, you’re so wild these days, dashing all around! What wolves are scaring you, my girl? Won’t you tell me what’s wrong, my pretty? What else can it be but that you’re a female and can’t be quiet, and the devil take your condition and all those females you’re imitating! Come back, come back, my friend, and if you’re not happy, at least you’ll be safer in the fold, or with your companions, and if you, who are supposed to lead and guide them, go astray without a guide, what will happen to them?”

The goatherd’s words amused those who were listening, especially the canon, who said to him:

“By your life, brother, calm down a little and do not hurry to return that goat so quickly to her flock, for since she is a female, as you say, she must follow her natural instinct no matter how you may try to prevent it. Eat something, and have a drink to cool your anger, and in the meantime the nanny goat can rest.”

And saying this, and handing him a hindquarter of cold rabbit on the tip of a knife, were all one. The goathered accepted it with thanks, he drank and grew calm, and then he said:

“I would not want your graces to think I’m simple just because I talked to this animal sensibly, as if she could understand, for the truth is the words I said are not mysterious. A rustic I may be, but not so rustic that I don’t understand how to talk to men and to beasts.”

“I certainly believe that,” said the priest, “for I already know from experience that mountains breed learned men and shepherds’ huts house philosophers.”

“At least, Señor,” replied the goatherd, “they shelter men who have suffered greatly, and so that you may believe this truth and touch it with your hand, even though I seem to be inviting myself without being asked, if it does not trouble you to do so and if it is your wish, Señores, lend me your ears for a while and I shall tell you a truth that confirms what this gentleman”—and he pointed to the priest—“and I have said.”

To which Don Quixote responded:

“Because this matter seems to have some shadow of a knightly adventure, I, for my part, shall hear you very willingly, brother, and all of these gentlemen will do the same, for they are very intelligent and are fond of curious and extraordinary things that amaze, delight, and entertain the senses, as I think your story undoubtedly will. Begin, then, my friend, and all of us shall listen.”

“I pass,” said Sancho. “I’m going over to that brook with this meat pie, where I plan to eat enough for three days, because I’ve heard my master, Don Quixote, say that the squire of a knight errant has to eat whenever he can, and as much as he can, because they might go into woods so deep they can’t find their way out again for six days, and if the man isn’t full, or his saddlebags aren’t well-provisioned, he might stay there, as often happens, until his flesh wrinkles and dries like a mummy’s.”

“You are correct, Sancho,” said Don Quixote. “Go where you wish and eat what you can; I am satisfied, and all I need is to nourish my spirit, which I shall do by listening to this good man’s story.”

“And so shall we all,” said the canon.

Then he asked the goatherd to begin the tale he had promised. The goatherd gave the goat, which he was holding by the horns, two slaps on the haunches and said:

“Lie down next to me, Spot, there’s time before we have to return to the fold.”

The nanny goat seemed to understand him, because when her master sat down, she lay down next to him very calmly and looked into his face, as if letting him know that she was listening to what he was saying, and the goatherd began his history in this fashion: