CHAPTER XLVI

We left the great Don Quixote wrapped in the thoughts that had been caused by the music of the enamored maiden Altisidora. He lay down with them, and, as if they were fleas, they would not let him sleep or rest for a moment, and they joined the ones that plagued him with regard to his stockings; but since time is swift and there is no obstacle that can stop it, the hours raced by and morning soon arrived. Seeing which Don Quixote left the soft featherbed, and, by no means slothful, dressed in his chamois outfit and put on the traveling boots in order to hide the misfortune of his stockings; he threw on his scarlet cloak, and on his head he placed a cap of green velvet adorned with silver trimmings; over his shoulders he hung his swordbelt with his good, sharp blade, picked up a large rosary that he always carried with him, and with great solemnity strode into the antechamber, where the duke and the duchess were already dressed and apparently waiting for him. And as he passed along a gallery, standing there waiting for him were Altisidora and another maiden, and as soon as Altisidora saw Don Quixote she pretended to faint, and her friend held her in her lap and very quickly began to unfasten her bodice. Don Quixote saw this, and going up to them he said:

“I know the reason for these mishaps.”

“I don’t know what that could be,” responded the friend, “because Altisidora is the healthiest maiden in the entire house, and I’ve never heard even a sigh from her for as long as I’ve known her; bad luck to all the knights errant in the world if they’re all so ungrateful. Your grace should leave, Señor Don Quixote, for this poor girl won’t regain consciousness as long as your grace is here.”

To which Don Quixote responded:

“Señora, your grace should have a lute placed in my room tonight, and I shall do my best to console this suffering maiden, for at the very beginnings of love, rapid disillusionments are usually considered remedies.”

And with this he left, so that he would not attract the attention of anyone who might see him. No sooner had he gone away than the swooning Altisidora came to her senses and said to her companion:

“A lute will have to be placed in his room; no doubt Don Quixote wants to give us some music, and if it’s his, it won’t be bad.”

They went immediately to the duchess to recount what had happened and to tell her about the lute that Don Quixote had requested, and she, with extraordinary pleasure, arranged with the duke and her maidens to play a trick more amusing than harmful; and very happily they waited for the night, which came as quickly as the day, which the duke and duchess spent in delightful conversation with Don Quixote. And that same day, the duchess really and truly dispatched a page—the one who had played the enchanted figure of Dulcinea in the forest—to Teresa Panza, with the letter from her husband, Sancho Panza, and the bundle of clothing he had left behind so that it could be sent to her, and she charged him to bring back a good accounting of everything that passed between them.

Later, when it was eleven o’clock, Don Quixote found a vihuela in his room. He tested it, opened the jalousied window, and heard people walking in the garden; turning the pegs of the vihuela and tuning it the best he knew how, he spat and cleared his throat, and then, in a voice that was husky but in tune, he sang the following ballad, which he had composed that day:

Don Quixote had reached this point in his song, to which the duke and the duchess, Altisidora, and almost all the people in the castle were listening, when suddenly, from a gallery that was directly above Don Quixote’s jalousied window, a cord was lowered with more than a hundred cowbells attached to it, and immediately after that a huge sack full of cats, with smaller bells tied to their tails, was emptied out. The clanging of the bells and the yowling of the cats was so loud that even though the duke and duchess had contrived the joke, it still startled them, and Don Quixote was struck dumb with fear. As luck would have it, two or three of the cats came in the window of his room, and as they raced from one side to the other, it seemed as if a legion of devils had been set loose in the chamber. They made the candles that were burning in the room go out as they looked for a means of escape. The raising and lowering of the cord with the large cowbells on it did not stop; most of the people in the castle, who did not know the truth of what had happened, were amazed and astonished.

Don Quixote rose to his feet, took his sword in hand, and began to thrust it through the jalousy, shouting:

“Away, evil enchanters! Away, base wizards! For I am Don Quixote of La Mancha, against whom your wicked intentions are powerless and of little use!”

And turning to the cats that were racing around the room, he directed many thrusts against them; they ran to the window and went out, although one of them, finding himself so hounded by Don Quixote’s sword thrusts, leaped at his face and sank his claws and teeth into his nose, and the pain was so great that Don Quixote began to shout as loudly as he could. The duke and duchess heard this, and considering what it might be, they quickly hurried to his room, and opening the door with a master key, they saw the poor knight struggling with all his might to remove the cat from his face. They came in with lights and saw the unequal battle; the duke attempted to separate them, and Don Quixote shouted:

“No one is to pull him away! Let me fight hand to hand with this demon, this wizard, this enchanter, for I shall teach him, one to one, who Don Quixote of La Mancha is!”

But the cat, caring nothing for these threats, snarled and dug in even deeper; at last the duke uprooted him and tossed him out the window.

Don Quixote’s face was covered with scratches and his nose was not very healthy, and he was very indignant because he had not been allowed to finish the battle he had begun with that wicked enchanter. Oil of Aparicio⁵²¹ was sent for, and Altisidora herself, with her snow white hands, put bandages over all his wounds, and as she did, in a low voice she said:

“All these misfortunes have occurred, O hardhearted knight, because of the sin of your harshness and obstinacy; may it please God that Sancho your squire forgets to flog himself so that your dearly beloved Dulcinea never is released from her enchantment, and you never enjoy her, or come to your nuptial bed with her, at least as long as I live, for I adore you.”

To all of this Don Quixote did not respond except to heave a deep sigh, and then he lay down on his bed, thanking the duke and duchess for their kindness, not because he had been afraid of that enchanted feline and belline horde, but because he had realized the good intentions with which they had come to his assistance. The duke and duchess allowed him to rest and left, saddened by the unfortunate outcome of their joke, but they did not believe that the adventure would turn out to be so painful and costly for Don Quixote, who had to spend five days confined to his bed, where another adventure befell him that was more pleasant than the last one, which his historian does not wish to recount now in order to return to Sancho Panza, who was proceeding very diligently and very comically in his governorship.