Don Quixote

OF THE STRANGE ADVENTURE WHICH THE VALIANT DON QUIXOTE HAD WITH THE CAR
OR CART OF “THE CORTES OF DEATH”
Dejected beyond measure did Don Quixote pursue his journey, turning
over in his mind the cruel trick the enchanters had played him in
changing his lady Dulcinea into the vile shape of the village lass, nor
could he think of any way of restoring her to her original form; and
these reflections so absorbed him, that without being aware of it he
let go Rocinante’s bridle, and he, perceiving the liberty that was
granted him, stopped at every step to crop the fresh grass with which
the plain abounded.

Sancho recalled him from his reverie. “Melancholy, señor,” said he,
“was made, not for beasts, but for men; but if men give way to it
overmuch they turn to beasts; control yourself, your worship; be
yourself again; gather up Rocinante’s reins; cheer up, rouse yourself
and show that gallant spirit that knights-errant ought to have. What
the devil is this? What weakness is this? Are we here or in France? The
devil fly away with all the Dulcineas in the world; for the well-being
of a single knight-errant is of more consequence than all the
enchantments and transformations on earth.”

“Hush, Sancho,” said Don Quixote in a weak and faint voice, “hush and
utter no blasphemies against that enchanted lady; for I alone am to
blame for her misfortune and hard fate; her calamity has come of the
hatred the wicked bear me.”

“So say I,” returned Sancho; “his heart rend in twain, I trow, who saw
her once, to see her now.”

“Thou mayest well say that, Sancho,” replied Don Quixote, “as thou
sawest her in the full perfection of her beauty; for the enchantment
does not go so far as to pervert thy vision or hide her loveliness from
thee; against me alone and against my eyes is the strength of its venom
directed. Nevertheless, there is one thing which has occurred to me,
and that is that thou didst ill describe her beauty to me, for, as well
as I recollect, thou saidst that her eyes were pearls; but eyes that
are like pearls are rather the eyes of a sea-bream than of a lady, and
I am persuaded that Dulcinea’s must be green emeralds, full and soft,
with two rainbows for eyebrows; take away those pearls from her eyes
and transfer them to her teeth; for beyond a doubt, Sancho, thou hast
taken the one for the other, the eyes for the teeth.”

“Very likely,” said Sancho; “for her beauty bewildered me as much as
her ugliness did your worship; but let us leave it all to God, who
alone knows what is to happen in this vale of tears, in this evil world
of ours, where there is hardly a thing to be found without some mixture
of wickedness, roguery, and rascality. But one thing, señor, troubles
me more than all the rest, and that is thinking what is to be done when
your worship conquers some giant, or some other knight, and orders him
to go and present himself before the beauty of the lady Dulcinea. Where
is this poor giant, or this poor wretch of a vanquished knight, to find
her? I think I can see them wandering all over El Toboso, looking like
noddies, and asking for my lady Dulcinea; and even if they meet her in
the middle of the street they won’t know her any more than they would
my father.”

“Perhaps, Sancho,” returned Don Quixote, “the enchantment does not go
so far as to deprive conquered and presented giants and knights of the
power of recognising Dulcinea; we will try by experiment with one or
two of the first I vanquish and send to her, whether they see her or
not, by commanding them to return and give me an account of what
happened to them in this respect.”

“I declare, I think what your worship has proposed is excellent,” said
Sancho; “and that by this plan we shall find out what we want to know;
and if it be that it is only from your worship she is hidden, the
misfortune will be more yours than hers; but so long as the lady
Dulcinea is well and happy, we on our part will make the best of it,
and get on as well as we can, seeking our adventures, and leaving Time
to take his own course; for he is the best physician for these and
greater ailments.”

Don Quixote was about to reply to Sancho Panza, but he was prevented by
a cart crossing the road full of the most diverse and strange
personages and figures that could be imagined. He who led the mules and
acted as carter was a hideous demon; the cart was open to the sky,
without a tilt or cane roof, and the first figure that presented itself
to Don Quixote’s eyes was that of Death itself with a human face; next
to it was an angel with large painted wings, and at one side an
emperor, with a crown, to all appearance of gold, on his head. At the
feet of Death was the god called Cupid, without his bandage, but with
his bow, quiver, and arrows; there was also a knight in full armour,
except that he had no morion or helmet, but only a hat decked with
plumes of divers colours; and along with these there were others with a
variety of costumes and faces. All this, unexpectedly encountered, took
Don Quixote somewhat aback, and struck terror into the heart of Sancho;
but the next instant Don Quixote was glad of it, believing that some
new perilous adventure was presenting itself to him, and under this
impression, and with a spirit prepared to face any danger, he planted
himself in front of the cart, and in a loud and menacing tone,
exclaimed, “Carter, or coachman, or devil, or whatever thou art, tell
me at once who thou art, whither thou art going, and who these folk are
thou carriest in thy wagon, which looks more like Charon’s boat than an
ordinary cart.”

To which the devil, stopping the cart, answered quietly, “Señor, we are
players of Angulo el Malo’s company; we have been acting the play of
‘The Cortés of Death’ this morning, which is the octave of Corpus
Christi, in a village behind that hill, and we have to act it this
afternoon in that village which you can see from this; and as it is so
near, and to save the trouble of undressing and dressing again, we go
in the costumes in which we perform. That lad there appears as Death,
that other as an angel, that woman, the manager’s wife, plays the
queen, this one the soldier, that the emperor, and I the devil; and I
am one of the principal characters of the play, for in this company I
take the leading parts. If you want to know anything more about us, ask
me and I will answer with the utmost exactitude, for as I am a devil I
am up to everything.”

“By the faith of a knight-errant,” replied Don Quixote, “when I saw
this cart I fancied some great adventure was presenting itself to me;
but I declare one must touch with the hand what appears to the eye, if
illusions are to be avoided. God speed you, good people; keep your
festival, and remember, if you demand of me ought wherein I can render
you a service, I will do it gladly and willingly, for from a child I
was fond of the play, and in my youth a keen lover of the actor’s art.”

While they were talking, fate so willed it that one of the company in a
mummers’ dress with a great number of bells, and armed with three blown
ox-bladders at the end of a stick, joined them, and this merry-andrew
approaching Don Quixote, began flourishing his stick and banging the
ground with the bladders and cutting capers with great jingling of the
bells, which untoward apparition so startled Rocinante that, in spite
of Don Quixote’s efforts to hold him in, taking the bit between his
teeth he set off across the plain with greater speed than the bones of
his anatomy ever gave any promise of.
Sancho, who thought his master was in danger of being thrown, jumped
off Dapple, and ran in all haste to help him; but by the time he
reached him he was already on the ground, and beside him was Rocinante,
who had come down with his master, the usual end and upshot of
Rocinante’s vivacity and high spirits. But the moment Sancho quitted
his beast to go and help Don Quixote, the dancing devil with the
bladders jumped up on Dapple, and beating him with them, more by the
fright and the noise than by the pain of the blows, made him fly across
the fields towards the village where they were going to hold their
festival. Sancho witnessed Dapple’s career and his master’s fall, and
did not know which of the two cases of need he should attend to first;
but in the end, like a good squire and good servant, he let his love
for his master prevail over his affection for his ass; though every
time he saw the bladders rise in the air and come down on the hind
quarters of his Dapple he felt the pains and terrors of death, and he
would have rather had the blows fall on the apples of his own eyes than
on the least hair of his ass’s tail. In this trouble and perplexity he
came to where Don Quixote lay in a far sorrier plight than he liked,
and having helped him to mount Rocinante, he said to him, “Señor, the
devil has carried off my Dapple.”

“What devil?” asked Don Quixote.

“The one with the bladders,” said Sancho.

“Then I will recover him,” said Don Quixote, “even if he be shut up
with him in the deepest and darkest dungeons of hell. Follow me,
Sancho, for the cart goes slowly, and with the mules of it I will make
good the loss of Dapple.”

“You need not take the trouble, señor,” said Sancho; “keep cool, for as
I now see, the devil has let Dapple go and he is coming back to his old
quarters;” and so it turned out, for, having come down with Dapple, in
imitation of Don Quixote and Rocinante, the devil made off on foot to
the town, and the ass came back to his master.

“For all that,” said Don Quixote, “it will be well to visit the
discourtesy of that devil upon some of those in the cart, even if it
were the emperor himself.”

“Don’t think of it, your worship,” returned Sancho; “take my advice and
never meddle with actors, for they are a favoured class; I myself have
known an actor taken up for two murders, and yet come off scot-free;
remember that, as they are merry folk who give pleasure, everyone
favours and protects them, and helps and makes much of them, above all
when they are those of the royal companies and under patent, all or
most of whom in dress and appearance look like princes.”

“Still, for all that,” said Don Quixote, “the player devil must not go
off boasting, even if the whole human race favours him.”

So saying, he made for the cart, which was now very near the town,
shouting out as he went, “Stay! halt! ye merry, jovial crew! I want to
teach you how to treat asses and animals that serve the squires of
knights-errant for steeds.”

So loud were the shouts of Don Quixote, that those in the cart heard
and understood them, and, guessing by the words what the speaker’s
intention was, Death in an instant jumped out of the cart, and the
emperor, the devil carter and the angel after him, nor did the queen or
the god Cupid stay behind; and all armed themselves with stones and
formed in line, prepared to receive Don Quixote on the points of their
pebbles. Don Quixote, when he saw them drawn up in such a gallant array
with uplifted arms ready for a mighty discharge of stones, checked
Rocinante and began to consider in what way he could attack them with
the least danger to himself. As he halted Sancho came up, and seeing
him disposed to attack this well-ordered squadron, said to him, “It
would be the height of madness to attempt such an enterprise; remember,
señor, that against sops from the brook, and plenty of them, there is
no defensive armour in the world, except to stow oneself away under a
brass bell; and besides, one should remember that it is rashness, and
not valour, for a single man to attack an army that has Death in it,
and where emperors fight in person, with angels, good and bad, to help
them; and if this reflection will not make you keep quiet, perhaps it
will to know for certain that among all these, though they look like
kings, princes, and emperors, there is not a single knight-errant.”

“Now indeed thou hast hit the point, Sancho,” said Don Quixote, “which
may and should turn me from the resolution I had already formed. I
cannot and must not draw sword, as I have many a time before told thee,
against anyone who is not a dubbed knight; it is for thee, Sancho, if
thou wilt, to take vengeance for the wrong done to thy Dapple; and I
will help thee from here by shouts and salutary counsels.”

“There is no occasion to take vengeance on anyone, señor,” replied
Sancho; “for it is not the part of good Christians to revenge wrongs;
and besides, I will arrange it with my ass to leave his grievance to my
good-will and pleasure, and that is to live in peace as long as heaven
grants me life.”

“Well,” said Don Quixote, “if that be thy determination, good Sancho,
sensible Sancho, Christian Sancho, honest Sancho, let us leave these
phantoms alone and turn to the pursuit of better and worthier
adventures; for, from what I see of this country, we cannot fail to
find plenty of marvellous ones in it.”

He at once wheeled about, Sancho ran to take possession of his Dapple,
Death and his flying squadron returned to their cart and pursued their
journey, and thus the dread adventure of the cart of Death ended
happily, thanks to the advice Sancho gave his master; who had, the
following day, a fresh adventure, of no less thrilling interest than
the last, with an enamoured knight-errant.

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