Part 20 (2/2)
Don Quixote, on seeing him approach, braced his s.h.i.+eld, and drawing his sword, stepped before the rest to meet him. The Duke joined him with his boar-spear, and the d.u.c.h.ess would have been the foremost had not the Duke prevented her. Sancho alone stood aghast, and at the sight of the fierce animal, leaving even his Dapple, ran in terror towards a lofty oak, in which he hoped to be secure; but his hopes were in vain, for, as he was struggling to reach the top, and had got half-way up, unfortunately a branch to which he clung, gave way, and falling with it, he was caught by the stump of another, and here left suspended in the air, so that he could neither get up nor down.
Finding himself in this situation, with his new green coat tearing, and almost in reach of the terrible creature should it chance to come that way, he began to bawl so loud and to call for help so vehemently, that all who heard him and did not see him thought verily he was between the teeth of some wild beast. The tusked boar, however, was soon laid at length by the numerous spears that were levelled at him from all sides, at which time Sancho's cries and lamentations reached the ears of Don Quixote, who, turning round, beheld him hanging from the oak with his head downwards, and close by him stood Dapple, who never forsook him in adversity,--indeed, it was remarked by Cid Hamet, that he seldom saw Sancho Panza without Dapple, or Dapple without Sancho Panza, such was the amity and cordial love that subsisted between them!
Don Quixote hastened to the a.s.sistance of his squire, who was no sooner released than he began to examine the rent in his hunting suit, which grieved him to the soul, for he looked upon that suit as a rich inheritance.
The huge animal they had slain was laid across a sumpter-mule, and after covering it with branches of rosemary and myrtle, they carried it, as the spoils of victory, to a large field-tent, erected in the midst of the wood, where a sumptuous entertainment was prepared, worthy of the magnificence of the donor. Sancho, showing the wounds of the torn garments to the d.u.c.h.ess, said: ”Had hares or birds been our game, I should not have had this misfortune. For my part I cannot think what pleasure there can be in beating about for a monster that, if it reaches you with a tusk, may be the death of you. There is an old ballad which says,--
”'May fate of Fabila be thine, And make thee food for bears or swine.'”
”That Fabila,” said Don Quixote, ”was a king of the Goths, who, going to the chase, was devoured by a bear.”
”What I mean,” quoth Sancho, ”is, that I would not have kings and other great folks run into such dangers merely for pleasure; and, indeed, methinks it ought to be none to kill poor beasts that never meant any harm.”
”You are mistaken, Sancho,” said the duke, ”hunting wild beasts is the most proper exercise for knights and princes. The chase is an image of war: there you have stratagems, artifices, and ambuscades to be employed, in order to overcome your enemy with safety to yourself.
There, too, you are often exposed to the extremes of cold and heat; idleness and ease are despised; the body acquires health and vigorous activity: in short, it is an exercise which may be beneficial to many and injurious to none. Besides, it is not a vulgar amus.e.m.e.nt, but, like hawking, is the peculiar sport of the great. Therefore, Sancho, change your opinion before you become a governor, for then you will find your account in these diversions.”
”Not so, i' faith,” replied Sancho, ”the good governor and the broken leg should keep at home. It would be fine, indeed, for people to come after him about business and find him gadding in the mountains for his pleasure. At that rate what would become of his government? In good truth, sir, hunting and such like pastimes are rather for your idle companions than for governors. The way I mean to divert myself shall be with brag at Easter and at bowls on Sundays and holidays; as for your hunting, it befits neither my condition nor conscience.”
”Heaven grant you prove as good as you promise,” said the duke, ”but saying and doing are often wide apart.”
”Be that as it will,” replied Sancho, ”the good paymaster wants no p.a.w.n; and G.o.d's help is better than early rising, and the belly carries the legs, and not the legs the belly,--I mean that, with the help of Heaven and a good intention, I warrant I shall govern better than a gos-hawk.
Ay, ay, let them put their fingers in my mouth and try whether or not I can bite.”
”A curse upon thy proverbs,” said Don Quixote, ”when will the day come that I shall hear thee utter one coherent sentence without that base intermixture! Let this blockhead alone, I beseech your excellencies, He will grind your souls to death, not between two, but two thousand proverbs, all timed as well and as much to the purpose as I wish G.o.d may grant him health, or me, if I desire to hear them.”
”Sancho Panza's proverbs,” said the d.u.c.h.ess, ”though more numerous than those of the Greek commentator, are equally admirable for their sententious brevity.”
He who has been a good squire will never be a bad governor.
A bad cloak often covers a good drinker.
When a friend drinks one's health, who can be so hard-hearted as not to pledge him?
G.o.d's help is better than early rising.
Flame may give light and bonfires may illuminate, yet we may easily be burnt by them; but music is always a sign of feasting and merriment.
THE ACCOUNT OF THE METHOD PRESCRIBED TO DON QUIXOTE FOR DISENCHANTING DULCINEA; WITH OTHER WONDERFUL EVENTS.
As the agreeable music approached, they observed that it attended a stately triumphal car, drawn by six gray mules covered with white linen, and upon each of them rode a penitent of light, clothed also in white, and holding a lighted torch in his hand. The car was more than double the size of the others which had pa.s.sed, and twelve penitents were ranged in order within it, all carrying lighted torches,--a sight which at once caused surprise and terror. Upon an elevated throne sat a nymph, covered with a thousand veils of silver tissue, bespangled with innumerable flowers of gold, so that her dress, if not rich, was gay and glittering. Over her head was thrown a transparent gauze, so thin that through its folds might be seen a most beautiful face; and from the mult.i.tude of lights, it was easy to discern that she was young as well as beautiful, for she was evidently under twenty years of age, though not less than seventeen. Close by her sat a figure, clad in a magnificent robe reaching to the feet, having his head covered with a black veil.
The moment this vast machine arrived opposite to where the duke and d.u.c.h.ess and Don Quixote stood, the attending music ceased, as well as the harps and lutes within the car. The figure in the gown then stood up, and throwing open the robe and uncovering his face; displayed the ghastly countenance of death, looking so terrific that Don Quixote started, Sancho was struck with terror, and even the duke and d.u.c.h.ess seemed to betray some symptoms of fear. This living Death, standing erect, in a dull and drowsy tone and with a sleepy articulation, spoke as follows:--
THE ENCHANTER'S ERRAND.
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