CHAPTER XXX

No sooner had the priest finished speaking than Sancho said:

“Well, by my faith, Señor Licentiate, the man who did that deed was my master, and don’t think I didn’t tell him beforehand, and warn him to be careful about what he was doing, and say it was a sin to free them since all of them were there because they were great villains.”

“Imbecile,” said Don Quixote, “it is not the responsibility or concern of a knight errant to determine if the afflicted, the fettered, and the oppressed whom he meets along the road are in that condition and suffering that anguish because of misdeeds or kind acts. His only obligation is to help them because they are in need, turning his eyes to their suffering and not their wickedness. And I encountered a rosary, a string of disheartened, unfortunate people, and I did for them what my religion¹⁹⁰ asks of me; the rest does not concern me, and I say that whoever thinks this is wrong, excepting the holy dignity of the licentiate and his honored person, knows little of the matter of chivalry, and lies like a lowborn whoreson, and will be taught this by my sword at greater length.”

And as he said this, he thrust his feet firmly into the stirrups and set his simple morion helmet firmly on his head, because the barber’s basin, which to his mind was the helmet of Mambrino, hung from the forebow of his saddle, waiting for the damage it had received at the hands of the galley slaves to be repaired.

Dorotea, who was quick-witted and very spirited, knew that Don Quixote’s reason was impaired and that everyone mocked and deceived him except Sancho Panza; she did not wish to do any less, and seeing him so angry, she said:

“Señor Knight, your grace should remember the boon you have promised me, according to which you cannot become involved in any other adventure no matter how urgent; your grace should calm your spirits, for if the licentiate had known that the galley slaves had been freed by that unvanquished arm, he would have put three stitches across his mouth and even bitten his tongue three times before saying a single word that in any way would redound to your grace’s discredit.”

“I certainly swear to that,” said the priest, “and even would have removed half of my mustache.”

“I shall be silent, Señora,” said Don Quixote, “and repress the righteous anger that hath welled up in my bosom, and go quietly and peacefully until such time as I have fulfilled the boon I have promised thee; but, as recompense for this virtuous desire, I implore thee to tell me, if it doth not cause thee too much pain, what it is that distresseth thee, and who, what, and how many are the persons on whom I must wreak proper, complete, and entire vengeance.”

“I shall be happy to do that,” responded Dorotea, “if it doth not trouble thee to hear sorrows and misfortunes.”

“It troubleth me not, Señora,” responded Don Quixote.

To which Dorotea responded:

“If that be so, then your graces should give me your attention.”

As soon as she said this, Cardenio and the barber came up beside her, wishing to see how the clever Dorotea would invent her history, and Sancho did the same, for she had misled him as much as she had his master. And she, after making herself comfortable on the saddle and coughing and doing a few other things in preparation, began, with a good deal of vivacity, to speak in the following manner:

“First of all, Señores, I want your graces to know that I am called…”

And she paused here for a moment because she had forgotten the name the priest had given her, but he came to the rescue, for he understood why she hesitated, and said:

“It is no surprise, Señora, that your highness becomes confused and distraught when recounting your misfortunes, for they are of the sort that often deprive the afflicted of their memories so that they cannot even remember their own names, and that is what they have done to your most noble person, causing you to forget that your name is Princess Micomicona, legitimate heir to the great kingdom of Micomicón; with this reminder your highness can now easily restore to your aggrieved memory everything you wish to recount.”

“That is true,” responded the maiden, “and from now on I believe that it will not be necessary to remind me of anything, and that I shall come safely into port with my true history. Which is that the king my father, whose name is Tinacrio the Mage, was very learned in what are called the magical arts, and by means of his knowledge he discovered that my mother, whose name was Queen Jaramilla, would die before him, and that a short while later he too would pass from this life and I would be left an orphan, without father or mother. But he said he was not troubled by this as much as he was confounded by the certain knowledge that a monstrous giant, lord of a large island that almost touches our kingdom, whose name is Pandafilando of the Gloomy Glance (because it is an undisputed fact that although his eyes are in the correct and proper place, he always looks the wrong way round, as if he were cross-eyed, and does this out of malice and to put fear and terror into those he sees); as I say, he knew that this giant, when he heard of my orphaned state, would invade my kingdom with a mighty army and take everything from me and not leave me even a small village where I might take refuge, although I could avoid all this calamity and misfortune if I would agree to marry him; but it was my father’s belief that I would not ever wish to make such an unequal marriage, and in this he told the absolute truth, because it has never entered my mind to marry either that giant or any other no matter how huge and monstrous he might be. My father also said that after he was dead, when I saw that Pandafilando was beginning to invade my kingdom, I should not take the time to set up defenses because that would mean my destruction, but that I ought to freely leave my unprotected kingdom if I wished to avoid the death and total destruction of my good and loyal vassals, because it would not be possible to defend myself against the devilish power of the giant; instead, with some of my people, I had to set out immediately for the kingdoms of Spain, where I would find the remedy for my ills when I found a knight errant whose fame extended throughout those lands, and whose name, if I remember correctly, was Don Azote or Don Gigote.”¹⁹¹

“He must have said Don Quixote,” said Sancho Panza, “also known as the Knight of the Sorrowful Face.”

“That is correct,” said Dorotea. “He also said that his body would be tall, his face dry, and that on the right, beneath his left shoulder, or somewhere near there, he would have a dark mole with certain hairs growing out of it like bristles.”

On hearing this, Don Quixote said to his squire:

“Here, Sancho my son, help me to undress, for I wish to see if I am the knight foretold by the sage king.”

“But why does your grace wish to undress?” said Dorotea.

“To see if I have the mole mentioned by your father,” responded Don Quixote.

“There’s no need to undress,” said Sancho, “for I know your grace has a mole like that in the middle of your spine, and it’s the sign of a strong man.”

“That is sufficient,” said Dorotea, “because among friends one must not worry over details, and whether it is on the shoulder or the spine is of little importance: it is enough that there is a mole, and no matter where it may be, it is all the same flesh; no doubt my good father was correct in everything, and I was correct in commending myself to Don Quixote, for he is the one of whom my father spoke: his features match those indicated in the excellent reputation of this knight not only in Spain but in all of La Mancha, for no sooner had I disembarked in Osuna¹⁹² than I heard of so many of his great deeds that my heart immediately told me he was the one I had come to seek.”

“But how could your grace disembark in Osuna, my lady,” asked Don Quixote, “if it is not a sea port?”

Before Dorotea could respond, the priest began to speak, saying:

“My lady the princess must mean that after she disembarked in Málaga, the first place she heard of your grace was in Osuna.”

“That is just what I meant,” said Dorotea.

“And now that is settled,” said the priest, “and Your Majesty can continue.”

“There is no need to continue,” responded Dorotea, “except to say in conclusion that my good fortune has been so great in finding Don Quixote that I already consider and think of myself as queen and mistress of my entire kingdom, for he, in his courtesy and nobility, has promised me the boon of going with me wherever I may lead, and that is nowhere else but to Pandafilando of the Gloomy Glance so that he may kill him and restore to me what the giant has so unjustly usurped; all this will happen exactly as I have said, because this is what Tinacrio the Mage, my good father, prophesied; he also said, and left it written in Chaldean or Greek, neither of which I can read, that if the knight of his prophecy, after cutting off the head of the giant, wished to marry me, I should, immediately and without argument, give myself to him to be his legitimate wife and grant him possession of both my kingdom and my person.”

“What do you think, friend Sancho?” said Don Quixote at this point. “Do you hear what is taking place? Did I not tell you? Now see if we have a kingdom to rule and a queen to marry.”

“I’ll swear we do,” said Sancho, “and damn the man who doesn’t marry after he slits open the gullet of Señor Pandahilado! Tell me the queen’s not a good catch! All the fleas in my bed should be so nice!”

And saying this, he kicked his heels in the air twice, displaying enormous joy, and then he went to grasp the reins of Dorotea’s mule, brought it to a halt, and kneeled before her, asking that she give him her hands to kiss as a sign that he had received her as his queen and mistress. Which of those present did not laugh at seeing the madness of the master and the simplemindedness of the servant? Dorotea, in effect, held out her hands for him to kiss and promised to make him a great lord in her kingdom when heaven in its mercy would allow her to recover and enjoy it. Sancho thanked her with words that renewed every-one’s laughter.

“This, Señores,” continued Dorotea, “is my history; all that remains for me to say is that of the entire entourage I took with me from my kingdom, the only one left is this good bearded squire; the others drowned in a great storm that broke over us when we were in sight of port, and he and I escaped on two planks and reached land as if by miracle; and so the story of my life, as you may have noticed, is one of miracle and mystery. And if I have gone too far in anything, or have not been as accurate as I should have been, blame what the Señor Licentiate said at the beginning of my tale: continual and extraordinary difficulties take away the memory of the one who suffers them.”

“Mine will not be taken away, O noble and valiant lady,” said Don Quixote, “no matter how great and unprecedented the difficulties I may suffer in serving thee! Therefore I again confirm the boon I have promised, and I vow to go with thee to the ends of the earth until I encounter thy savage enemy whose arrogant head I intend, with the help of God and my strong arm, to cut off with the sharp edge of this…I cannot say good sword, thanks to Ginés of Pasamonte, who stole mine from me.”¹⁹³

He muttered this last remark between clenched teeth and then continued, saying:

“And after I have cut off his head and placed thee in peaceful possession of thy kingdom, it will be left to thine own will to do with thy person as thou desirest; so long as my memory is filled with, and my will held captive by, and my reason lost because of a certain lady…I shall say no more, for it is not possible for me to consider or even think of marrying, although it were with one as unique as the phoenix.”

Sancho was so displeased by what his master had said about not wanting to marry that he became very angry, and raising his voice, he said:

“I vow and I swear, Señor Don Quixote, that your grace is not in your right mind. How can your grace have any doubts about marrying a princess as noble as this one? Does your grace think fate will offer you good fortune like this around every corner? Is my lady Dulcinea, by some chance, more beautiful? No, certainly not, not even by half, and I’d go so far as to say she can’t even touch the shoes of the lady we have before us. So woe is me, I’ll never get the rank I’m hoping for if your grace goes around asking for the moon. Marry, marry right now, Satan take you, and take the kingdom that has dropped into your hands without you lifting a finger, and when you’re king make me a marquis or a governor, and then the devil can make off with all the rest.”

Don Quixote could not endure hearing such blasphemies said against his lady Dulcinea; he raised his lance, and without saying a word to Sancho, in absolute silence, he struck him twice with blows so hard he knocked him to the ground, and if Dorotea had not called to him and told him to stop, he no doubt would have killed him then and there.

“Do you think,”¹⁹⁴ he said after a while, “base wretch, that you will always be able to treat me with disrespect, that it will always be a matter of your erring and my forgiving you? You are mistaken, depraved villain, something you undoubtedly are since you dare speak ill of the incomparable Dulcinea. Do you not realize, you coarse, contemptible ruffian, that if it were not for the valor she inspires in my arm, I should not have the strength to kill a flea? Tell me, insidious viper’s tongue, who do you think has won this kingdom and cut off the head of this giant and made you a marquis, all of which I consider already accomplished, concluded, and finished, if not the valor of Dulcinea, wielding my arm as the instrument of her great deeds? In me she does combat, and in me she conquers, and I live and breathe in her, and have life and being. Oh, foul whoreson! What an ingrate you are, for you see yourself raised from the dust of the earth to be a titled lord, and you respond to this great benefit by speaking ill of the one who performed it for you!”

Sancho was not so badly beaten that he did not hear everything his master said to him, and after getting to his feet in some haste, he went to stand behind Dorotea’s palfrey, and from there he said to his master:

“Tell me, Señor: if your grace is determined not to marry this great princess, it’s clear the kingdom won’t be yours; and if it isn’t, what favors can you do for me? That’s what I’m complaining about; your grace should marry this queen for now, when we have her here like a gift from heaven, and afterwards you can go back to my lady Dulcinea; there must have been kings in the world who lived with their mistresses. As for beauty, I won’t get involved in that; if truth be told, they both seem fine to me, though I’ve never seen the lady Dulcinea.”

“What do you mean, you have not seen her, you blasphemous traitor?” said Don Quixote. “Have you not just brought me a message from her?”

“I mean I didn’t look at her so carefully,” said Sancho, “that I could notice her beauty in particular and her good features point by point, but on the whole, she seemed fine to me.”

“Now I forgive you,” said Don Quixote, “and you must pardon the anger I have shown you; for first impulses are not in the hands of men.”

“I can see that,” responded Sancho, “just like in me a desire to talk is always my first impulse, and I can never help saying, not even once, what’s on my tongue.”

“Even so,” said Don Quixote, “think about what you say, Sancho, because you can carry the jug to the fountain only so many times…and I shall say no more.”

“Well,” responded Sancho, “God’s in His heaven, and He sees all the snares, and He’ll be the judge of who does worse: me in not saying the right thing or your grace in not doing it.”

“Enough,” said Dorotea. “Make haste, Sancho, and kiss your master’s hand and beg his pardon, and from now be more careful in your praise and blame, and do not speak ill of that Señora Tobosa, whom I do not know except to serve her, and trust in God that you will not lack an estate where you will live like a prince.”

Sancho, with his eyes on the ground, went to ask for his master’s hand, and his master gave it to him with a serene bearing, and after Sancho had kissed his hand, Don Quixote gave him his blessing and told him to walk ahead a little, because he had to speak to him and ask him things that were very important. Sancho did so, and the two of them moved ahead of the others, and Don Quixote said:

“Since your return I have not had the occasion or opportunity to ask you many details about the message you carried and the reply you brought back; and now, since fortune has granted us both the time and the place, do not deny me the happiness you can afford me with this good news.”

“Your grace can ask whatever you want,” responded Sancho, “and I’ll finish off each question as easily as it was begun. But, Señor, I beg your grace not to be so vengeful from now on.”

“Why do you say that, Sancho?” said Don Quixote.

“I say it,” he responded, “because the blows you gave me just now were more because of the dispute the devil started between us the other night than because of what I said against my lady Dulcinea; I love and worship her like a relic, even if she isn’t one, just because she belongs to your grace.”

“As you value your life, Sancho, do not speak of this again,” said Don Quixote, “for it brings me grief; I forgave you then, and you know what they say: a new sin demands a new penance.”^{195 [1][2][3]}

While Don Quixote and Sancho were engaged in this conversation, the priest told Dorotea that she had shown great cleverness not only in the story, but in making it so brief and so similar to the tales in books of chivalry. She said she had often spent time reading them but did not know where the provinces or the sea ports were, and that is why she had made the mistake of saying she had disembarked at Osuna.

“I realized that,” said the priest, “which is why I hastened to say what I did, and that settled everything. But isn’t it strange to see how easily this unfortunate gentleman believes all those inventions and lies simply because they are in the same style and manner as his foolish books?”

“It is,” said Cardenio, “and so unusual and out of the ordinary that I don’t know if anyone wanting to invent and fabricate such a story would have the wit to succeed.”

“Well, there’s something else in this,” said the priest. “Aside from the foolish things this good gentleman says with reference to his madness, if you speak to him of other matters, he talks rationally and shows a clear, calm understanding in everything; in other words, except if the subject is chivalry, no one would think he does not have a very good mind.”

While they were having this conversation, Don Quixote continued his and said to Sancho:

“Panza my friend, let us make peace and forget about our quarrels, and tell me now, without anger or rancor: where, how, and when did you find Dulcinea? What was she doing? What did you say to her? What did she reply? What was her expression when she read my letter? Who transcribed it for you? Tell me everything you saw that is worth knowing, asking, and answering, not exaggerating or falsifying in order to give me pleasure, and not omitting anything, for that will take my pleasure away.”

“Señor,” responded Sancho, “if truth be told, nobody transcribed the letter for me because I didn’t take any letter.”

“What you say is true,” said Don Quixote. “I found the notebook where I wrote the letter in my possession two days after you left, which caused me great sorrow; I did not know what you would do when you discovered that you did not have the letter, and I believed you would return when you realized you did not have it.”

“That’s what I would have done,” responded Sancho, “if I hadn’t memorized it when your grace read it to me, and so I told it to a sacristan, and he transcribed it point for point from my memory, and he said that though he’d read many letters of excommunication, in all his days he’d never seen or read a letter as nice as that one.”

“And do you still have it in your memory, Sancho?” said Don Quixote.

“No, Señor,” responded Sancho, “because after I told it to him, and had no more use for it, I set about forgetting it; if I do remember anything, it’s that part about sullied, I mean sovereign lady, and the last part: Thine until death, the Knight of the Sorrowful Face. And between these two things, I put in more than three hundred souls, and lives, and eyes of mine.”