Volume I (1605)

CHAPTER XXIII (click to read it in Spanish)

Regarding what befell the famous Don Quixote in the Sierra Morena, which was one of the strangest adventures recounted in this true history

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Seeing himself so injured, Don Quixote said to his squire:

“I have always heard, Sancho, that doing good to the lowborn is throwing water into the sea. If I had believed what you told me, I should have avoided this grief, but what is done is done, and so patience, and let it be a lesson for the future.”

“Your grace will learn the lesson,” responded Sancho, “the same way I’m a Turk; but since you say that if you had believed me this trouble could have been avoided, believe me now and avoid one even greater; I’m telling you that you can’t use chivalries with the Holy Brotherhood because they wouldn’t give two maravedís for all the knights errant in the world; you should also know that their arrows already seem to be buzzing past my ears.”

“You are naturally a coward, Sancho,” said Don Quixote, “but so that you will not say that I am stubborn and never do as you advise, on this occasion I want to take your advice and withdraw from the ferocity that frightens you so, but it must be on one condition: that never, in life or in death, are you to tell anyone that I withdrew and retreated from this danger out of fear, but only to satisfy your pleas, and if you say otherwise you will be lying, and from now until then, and then until now, I shall deny it and say that you lie, and will lie every time you think or say it. And do not reply, for merely thinking that I am withdrawing and retreating from any danger, especially this one, which seems to carry with it some small shadow of fear, is enough to make me want to remain and wait here alone, not only for the Holy Brotherhood which you have mentioned and fear so much, but for the brothers of the twelve tribes of Israel, and the seven Maccabees, and Castor and Pollux, and all the brothers and brotherhoods that there are in the world.”

“Señor,” responded Sancho, “withdrawing is not running away, and waiting is not sensible when danger outweighs hope, and wise men know to save something for tomorrow and not risk everything in a single day. And you should know that even though I’m rough and lowborn, I still know something about what people call proper behavior, and so don’t repent of taking my advice but mount Rocinante if you can, and if not I’ll help you, and follow me, because my brains tell me we need our feet now more than our hands.”

Don Quixote mounted, not saying another word, and with Sancho leading the way on his donkey, they entered a part of the Sierra Morena that was close by, it being Sancho’s intention to cross the entire range and come out at Viso, or Almodóvar del Campo, and hide for a few days in that rugged terrain and not be found if the Brotherhood came looking for them. He had been encouraged to do so when he saw that the provisions carried on his donkey had escaped the skirmish with the galley slaves, which he deemed a miracle considering everything else they had taken away.166 [1][2]

As soon as Don Quixote entered those mountains his heart filled with joy, for it was a landscape that seemed suited to the adventures he was seeking. What he recalled were the marvelous events that had befallen knights errant in similarly desolate and wild places. He rode along, thinking of these things, so enthralled and transported that he thought of nothing else. And Sancho’s only care—after deciding that the way was safe—was to satisfy his stomach with what remained of their clerical spoils; and so he rode behind his master, sitting sidesaddle on his donkey as he took things out of a sack and packed them away in his belly, and did not care at all about finding any greater fortune as long as he could go along in this fashion.

Then he looked up and saw that his master had stopped and with the tip of his lance was attempting to lift some kind of bundle lying on the ground, and therefore he hurried to offer his help, if necessary; he reached Don Quixote just as he lifted, with the tip of his lance, a saddle cushion with a traveling case attached to it, half rotting, or completely rotting and falling to pieces, but weighing so much that Sancho had to dismount and pick them up, and his master told him to see what was in the traveling case.

Sancho did so very quickly, and although the case was closed with a chain and padlock, it was so worn and rotten that he could see what was inside: four shirts of fine cambric and some other items of linen as curious as they were clean, and in a handkerchief he found a nice pile of gold escudos; and when he saw them, he said:

“Glory be to heaven for sending us a profitable adventure!”

And, searching further, he discovered a small diary that was richly decorated. Don Quixote asked for this but told him to keep the money for himself. Sancho kissed his hands in gratitude and emptied the case of its linen, which he packed away in the sack of provisions. All of this was observed by Don Quixote, who said:

“It seems to me, Sancho, and it cannot be otherwise, that some traveler lost his way in these mountains and was set upon by ruffians, who must have killed him and carried him to this remote spot to bury him.”

“That can’t be right,” responded Sancho, “because if they were thieves, they wouldn’t have left the money here.”

“That is true,” said Don Quixote, “and therefore I cannot guess or surmise what this may be; but wait: we shall see if there is something written in this diary that will allow us to investigate and learn what we wish to know.”

He opened the book, and the first thing he found there, in a kind of rough draft, though written in a very fine hand, was a sonnet, and reading aloud so that Sancho could hear the poem, he read:

Either Love has too little understanding,

or too much cruelty, or else my grief’s

not equal to its cause though it condemns me

to suffer this, the harshest kind of torment.

But if Love is a god, then logic tells us

that he is ignorant of nothing, teaches

that a god’s not cruel. Then, who has ordained

this terrible anguish that I adore?

If I say you, Phyllis, then I am wrong,

for evil has no place in so much good,

nor does my woe rain down on me from heav’n.

Soon I must die, of that I can be sure;

when the cause of the sickness is unknown

only a miracle can find the cure.

“From this poem,” said Sancho, “you can’t learn anything, unless that filly there’s the one that leads the way out of the tangle.”

“What filly?” said Don Quixote.

“It seems to me,” said Sancho, “that your grace mentioned some filly there.”

“I said Phyllis,” responded Don Quixote, “which is undoubtedly the name of the lady about whom the author of this sonnet is complaining; and, by my faith, he seems a reasonable poet, or I know little of the art.”

“Then,” said Sancho, “does your grace also know about poems?”

“More than you think,” responded Don Quixote, “as you will see when you carry a letter, written in verse from top to bottom, to my lady Dulcinea of Toboso. Because I want you to know, Sancho, that all or most of the knights errant of a bygone day were great troubadours and great musicians; for these two talents, or endowments, I should say, are attributes of enamored knights errant. Although the truth is that the strophes of the knights of long ago have more spirit in them than skill.”

“Your grace, read some more,” said Sancho, “and soon you’ll find something that will satisfy us.”

Don Quixote turned the page and said:

“This is prose and seems to be a letter.”

“The kind of letter that’s a message, Señor, or the legal kind?” asked Sancho.

“It seems at first glance to be a love letter,” responded Don Quixote.

“Read it aloud, your grace,” said Sancho. “I really like things that have to do with love.”

“I should be happy to,” said Don Quixote.

And, reading it aloud, as Sancho had requested, he saw that it said:

Your false promise and my certain misfortune have taken me to a place from which news of my death will reach your ears before the words of my lament. You rejected me, O ungrateful lady, for one who has more than I, but not one of greater worth; but if virtue were the wealth that is held in high esteem, I would not envy the fortunes of others or weep for my own misfortunes. What your beauty erected was demolished by your actions; from the former I understood that you were an angel, and from the latter I know that you are a woman. Go in peace, cause of my conflict, and may heaven grant that the deceptions of your husband remain forever hidden, so that you need not repent of what you did, nor I take my revenge for what I do not desire.

When he had finished reading the letter, Don Quixote said:

“Less from this than from the verses, one can assume that the man who wrote it is a scorned lover.”

And leafing through almost the entire notebook, he found other verses and letters, some of which he could read and others not; but what they all contained were complaints, laments, suspicions, joys and sorrows, kindnesses and slights, either celebrated or wept over.

While Don Quixote was looking through the book, Sancho looked through the traveling case, and every corner of it and the cushion was searched, scrutinized, and investigated, every seam pulled apart, every tuft of wool untangled, so that nothing would be left behind for want of effort or diligence, for the escudos he had discovered, which amounted to more than a hundred, had awakened an enormous appetite in him. And though he did not find more than he had already found, he considered as time well spent the tossing in the blanket, the vomiting of the potion, the blessings of the staffs, the fists of the muledriver, the loss of his saddlebags, the theft of his coat, and all the hunger, thirst, and weariness he had endured in the service of his worthy lord, for it seemed to him he had been more than well-rewarded when his master favored him and presented his find to him as a gift.

The Knight of the Sorrowful Face was left with a great desire to know who the owner of the traveling case might be, supposing, on the basis of the sonnet and letter, the gold coins and excellent shirts, that he must be a wellborn and noble lover driven to some desperate end by his lady’s scorn and harsh treatment. But since no person appeared in that desolate and rugged place whom he could question, his only concern was to move on, following no other path than the one chosen by Rocinante, which tended to be the one the horse could travel most easily, and always imagining that there was bound to be some extraordinary adventure waiting for him in the thickets.

Riding along, thinking these thoughts, at the top of a hill that lay ahead of him Don Quixote saw a man leaping from crag to crag and bush to bush with uncommon speed. The man appeared to be half-dressed, and he had a heavy black beard, long disheveled hair, no shoes on his feet, and nothing at all on his calves; his thighs were covered by breeches that seemed to be made of tawny velvet but were so tattered and torn that in many places his skin showed through. His head was bare, and though he moved with the speed we have mentioned, the Knight of the Sorrowful Face saw and noted all these details; he tried to follow him but could not because it was beyond the strength of Rocinante to travel that rugged ground, especially since he was by nature slow-paced and phlegmatic. Then Don Quixote imagined that the man was the owner of the saddle cushion and traveling case, and he resolved to look for him until he found him, even if he was obliged to spend a year in those mountains, and so he ordered Sancho to get off his donkey and go around one part of the mountain, and he would go around the other, and in this way they might encounter the man who had so quickly disappeared from view.

“I can’t do that,” responded Sancho, “because when I leave your grace I’m filled with fear that plagues me with a thousand different kinds of sudden frights and visions. And I just want to let you know this, so that from now on I won’t have to move a finger’s width from your presence.”

“So be it,” said the Knight of the Sorrowful Face. “I am very pleased that you wish to take advantage of my courage, which will not fail you even if your spirit fails your body. Come now, and follow after me slowly, or however you can, and let your eyes be like lanterns; we shall circle round this hillock, and perhaps we shall come across that man we saw who is, beyond any doubt, the owner of what we have found.”

To which Sancho responded:

“It would be much better not to look for him, because if we find him and he’s the owner of the money, of course I’ll have to return it to him, so it would be better not to undertake a useless task, and let me keep it in good faith until its rightful owner appears in a way that’s not so strange or troublesome, and maybe by that time I’ll have spent it, and then by the king’s law I won’t have to pay because I’ll be a pauper.”

“You are mistaken about that, Sancho,” responded Don Quixote, “for now that we have begun to suspect who the owner is, and have had him practically in front of us, we are obliged to search for him and return the money, and if we do not search for him, the strong suspicion we have that he is the owner makes us as culpable as if he really were. Therefore, Sancho my friend, do not let the search for him grieve you, for my grief will be taken away if I find him.”

And so he spurred Rocinante, and Sancho followed on his customary donkey,167 and when they had ridden around part of the mountain, they discovered in a stream, lying dead and half-eaten by dogs and pecked at by crows, a mule that was saddled and bridled, which was further confirmation of their suspicion that the fleeing man was the owner of both the mule and the saddle cushion.

As they were looking at the mule, they heard a whistle like that of a shepherd tending his flock, and suddenly, on their left, they saw a good number of goats and, behind the goats, at the top of the mountain, the goatherd, who was a very old man. Don Quixote called to him and asked him to come down. He shouted in response, asking what had brought them to this place that was rarely, if ever, visited except by goats or wolves or the other animals that lived there. Sancho responded that he should come down, and they would give him a good accounting of everything. The goatherd came down, and when he reached Don Quixote, he said:

“I’ll wager you’re looking at the mule that’s lying dead in that gully. By my faith, it’s been there for six months. Tell me: have you run across the owner?”

“We have not run across anyone,” responded Don Quixote, “but we found a saddle cushion and traveling case not far from here.”

“I found them, too,” responded the goatherd, “but I never wanted to pick them up or go near them because I was afraid there’d be trouble and they’d say I stole them; the devil’s sly, and he puts things under our feet that make us stumble and fall, and we don’t know how or why.”

“That’s just what I say,” responded Sancho. “I found them, too, and I didn’t want to get within a stone’s throw of them: I left them there, and there they remain, just as they were; I don’t want a dog with a bell around its neck.”168

“Tell me, my good man,” said Don Quixote, “do you know who the owner of these articles might be?”

“What I can tell you,” said the goatherd, “is that there’s a sheepfold about three leagues from here, and about six months ago, more or less, a young gentleman came there, very courteous in his manner and bearing, riding on that same mule that’s lying there dead, and with the same saddle cushion and traveling case you say you found and didn’t touch. He asked us which part of this country was the most rugged and remote; we told him it was here where we are now, and that’s the truth, because if you go in just half a league more, maybe you won’t be able to find your way out; I’m surprised you even got this far, because there’s no road or path that leads to this spot. Anyway, as I was saying, when the young man heard our answer, he turned and rode off to the place we told him about, leaving us all pleased by his good looks and surprised at his question and at how fast we saw him riding back toward the sierra; and then we didn’t see him again until a few days later, when he crossed paths with one of our shepherds, and without saying a word he went up to him and began to punch and kick him, and then he went to the donkey with the provisions and took all the bread and cheese it was carrying; and then, with that strange speed of his, he ran back and hid in the sierra.

When some of us goatherds heard about it, we went and looked for him for almost two days in the wildest part of the sierra, and then we found him in the hollow of a huge old cork tree. He came out as gentle as you please, and his clothes were torn and his face was so changed and burned by the sun that we hardly recognized him, but we had seen his clothes before, and even though they were torn, we knew he was the one we were looking for. He greeted us courteously, and in a few polite words he told us not to be surprised at seeing him in that state because he was performing a certain penance that had been imposed on him because of his many sins. We begged him to tell us who he was, but we could never persuade him to. We also asked that whenever he needed food, for he couldn’t get along without it, he should let us know where we could find him, and if he didn’t like that idea, at least he ought to come and ask the shepherds for food and not take it from them by force. He thanked us for our offer, asked our forgiveness for his earlier attacks, and said that from then on he’d beg food in God’s name and not bother anybody at all. As for his dwelling, he said he slept wherever he could find a place when night fell, and when he finished speaking he began to cry so pitifully that even if we’d been made of stone, those of us listening to him would have had to join him, considering how he looked the first time we saw him and how he looked now. Because, as I told you, he was a very handsome and pleasant young man, and his courteous and agreeable words showed that he was wellborn and a gentleman, and though we were country folk, his courtesy was so great that even country folk could recognize it when we heard it.

And then, when he was talking at his best, he stopped, and fell silent, and looked down at the ground for a good long time, while we were all puzzled and didn’t say anything, waiting to see how the fit would end, and feeling very sorry to see him like that, because from the way he opened his eyes wide and stared at the ground for so long, not even moving an eyelash, and then closed them, pressed his lips together, and lowered his eyebrows, we knew that some kind of craziness had come over him. He soon let us know that what we thought was true, because in a great fury he jumped up from the ground where he had been lying and attacked the man closest to him, with so much violence and so much anger that if we hadn’t pulled him off, he would have beaten and bitten him to death; and as he was doing this he kept saying: ‘Ah, false Fernando! Here, here is where you will pay for the wrong you did me: these hands will rip out your heart, where all the evils live and dwell together, especially fraud and deceit!’ To these he added other words, and all of them spoke badly of this Fernando and accused him of being a traitor and a liar. We pulled him off, with great difficulty, and without saying another word he left us and ran off into those briars and brambles so that it was impossible for us to follow him.

From this we guessed that his crazy fits came and went, and that somebody named Fernando must have done something bad to him, so bad that it brought him to this state. All of which turned out to be true, since there have been many times when he comes out onto the path, sometimes to ask the shepherds to give him something to eat, and other times to take it from them by force, because when the craziness is on him, even though the shepherds offer food to him willingly, he doesn’t accept it but punches them and steals it from them, and when he’s in his right mind he asks for the food in God’s name, courteously and reasonably, and offers up many thanks for it, and some few tears. And the truth is, Señores,” the goatherd continued, “that yesterday four other herders and I, two helpers and two friends of mine, decided that we would look for him until we found him, and after we found him, whether he went willingly or we had to force him, we’d take him to the town of Almodóvar, which is eight leagues from here, and there we’d have him cured, if his sickness has a cure, or find out who he is when he’s in his right mind, and if he has kinfolk we can tell about his misfortune. And this, Señores, is all I can tell you about what you asked me, and you should know that the owner of the articles you found is the same half-dressed man you saw running so fast.” For Don Quixote had already told him how he had seen the man leaping among the crags of the sierra.

Don Quixote was astonished at what he had heard from the goatherd and more desirous than ever to know who the unfortunate madman was, and he resolved to do what he had already thought about doing: to look for him all over the mountains, searching every corner and cave until he found him. But Fate did what he was planning and hoping to do, and did it better, because at that very instant, in a ravine that led to the place where they were standing, the young man he was seeking appeared, walking and talking to himself and saying things that could not be understood up close, let alone from a distance. His dress was as it has been described, except that as he approached, Don Quixote saw that a torn leather jerkin he was wearing had been tanned with ambergris, which led him to conclude that a person who wore such clothing could not be of low category.

When the young man reached them, he greeted them in a hoarse and rasping voice, but with great courtesy. Don Quixote returned the greetings with no less courtesy, and, after dismounting Rocinante, with a gallant air and presence he went forward to embrace him and held him close for a long while, as if he had known him for some time. The other man, whom we can call The Ragged One of the Gloomy Face—as Don Quixote is He of the Sorrowful One—allowed himself to be embraced, then stepped back, placed his hands on Don Quixote’s shoulders, and stood looking at him as if wanting to see if he knew him, no less astonished, perhaps, at the face, form, and arms of Don Quixote than Don Quixote was at the sight of him. Finally, the first to speak after their embrace was the Ragged One, and he said what will now be recounted.

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  1. After the publication of the first edition, Cervantes became aware of an issue: in chapter XXV, Sancho refers to the theft of his ass when he declares, 'Losing the donkey was more serious, responded Sancho, because when we lost him we lost the bandages and everything else.' As a result, four chapters further on Sancho is walking whereas his master is riding on Rocinante: `Then Don Quixote mounted Rocinante... and Sancho was left to go on foot, feeling again the loss of his gray, which he needed so much now'. But without any explanation, Sancho's donkey reappears in chapter XLII as if he had never been stolen: Sancho 'made himself more comfortable than all the rest by lying down on his donkey’s harness'. To solve it, Cervantes wrote for the second edition of his novel, printed in 1605 only some months after the publication of the first one, a brief story relating how Ginés de Pasamonte stole Sancho's donkey when he was asleep. And, for the coherence of the narrative, he composed another brief story telling how Sancho recognised the thief and recovered his ass. So, in the second edition, the first episode was inserted right here and the second one into chapter XXX. All seemed right but, alas, the first sentence of chapter XXV was not corrected and still read, 'Don Quixote took his leave of the goatherd, and mounting Rocinante once again, he told Sancho to follow him, which he did, on his donkey, very unwillingly. ' Once again, Sancho was perched on his stolen donkey... It was only in the edition printed by Roger Velpius in Brussels in 1607 that this textual inconsistency disappeared whereas the third edition printed in 1608 kept the misplaced allusion to Sancho's ass at the beginning of chapter XXV.
  2. The insertion in the second edition, from Ormsby's translation, was: That night they reached the very heart of the Sierra Morena, where it seemed prudent to Sancho to pass the night and even some days, at least as many as the stores he carried might last, and so they encamped between two rocks and among some cork trees; but fatal destiny, which, according to the opinion of those who have not the light of the true faith, directs, arranges, and settles everything in its own way, so ordered it that Gines de Pasamonte, the famous knave and thief who by the virtue and madness of Don Quixote had been released from the chain, driven by fear of the Holy Brotherhood, which he had good reason to dread, resolved to take hiding in the mountains; and his fate and fear led him to the same spot to which Don Quixote and Sancho Panza had been led by theirs, just in time to recognise them and leave them to fall asleep: and as the wicked are always ungrateful, and necessity leads to evildoing, and immediate advantage overcomes all considerations of the future, Gines, who was neither grateful nor well-principled, made up his mind to steal Sancho Panza's ass, not troubling himself about Rocinante, as being a prize that was no good either to pledge or sell. While Sancho slept he stole his ass, and before day dawned he was far out of reach.

    Aurora made her appearance bringing gladness to the earth but sadness to Sancho Panza, for he found that his Dapple was missing, and seeing himself bereft of him he began the saddest and most doleful lament in the world, so loud that Don Quixote awoke at his exclamations and heard him saying, "O son of my bowels, born in my very house, my children's plaything, my wife's joy, the envy of my neighbours, relief of my burdens, and lastly, half supporter of myself, for with the six-and-twenty maravedis thou didst earn me daily I met half my charges."

    Don Quixote, when he heard the lament and learned the cause, consoled Sancho with the best arguments he could, entreating him to be patient, and promising to give him a letter of exchange ordering three out of five ass-colts that he had at home to be given to him. Sancho took comfort at this, dried his tears, suppressed his sobs, and returned thanks for the kindness shown him by Don Quixote. He on his part was rejoiced to the heart on entering the mountains, as they seemed to him to be just the place for the adventures he was in quest of. They brought back to his memory the marvellous adventures that had befallen knights-errant in like solitudes and wilds, and he went along reflecting on these things, so absorbed and carried away by them that he had no thought for anything else. Nor had Sancho any other care (now that he fancied he was travelling in a safe quarter) than to satisfy his appetite with such remains as were left of the clerical spoils, and so he marched behind his master laden with what Dapple used to carry, emptying the sack and packing his paunch, and so long as he could go that way, he would not have given a farthing to meet with another adventure.

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