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堂吉诃德|Don Quixote

Part 1 第47章|Part 1 Chapter 47

属类： 双语小说 【分类】世界名著 -[作者: 塞万提斯] 阅读：[44500]
《堂吉诃德》是一部幽默诙谐、滑稽可笑、充满了奇思妙想的长篇文学巨著。此书主要描写了一个有趣、可敬、可悲、喜欢自欺欺人的没落贵族堂吉诃德，他痴狂地迷恋古代骑士小说，以至于放弃家业，用破甲驽马装扮成古代骑士的样子，再雇佣农民桑乔作侍从，三次出征周游全国，去创建所谓的扶弱锄强的骑士业绩。他们在征险的生涯中闹出了许多笑话，到处碰壁受辱，堂吉诃德多次被打成重伤，有一次还被当成疯子关在笼子里遣送回乡。最后，他因征战不利郁郁寡欢而与世长辞，临终前他那一番貌似悔悟的话语让人匪夷所思又哭笑不得。
《 字+字- 行+行- 页+页- 字+字- 行+行- 页+页- 》
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唐吉诃德见自己被关在笼子里，装上了牛车，说道：

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“我读过很多有关游侠骑士的巨著，不过我从未读过、见过或听说过以这种方法，用这种又懒又慢的牲畜，来运送被魔法制服了的骑士。他们常常用一块乌云托住骑士，凌空飘过，或者用火轮车、半鹰半马怪或其他类似的怪物，却从没有像我这样用牛车的。上帝保佑，真把我弄糊涂了。不过，也可能是我们这个时代的骑士和魔法都不同以往了。也可能因为我是当今的新骑士，是我首先要重振已被遗忘的征险骑士道，所以就出现了一些新的魔法和运送被魔法制服者的方式。

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你觉得是不是这么回事，桑乔？”

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“我也不知道，”桑乔说，“我不像您那样读过很多游侠骑士的小说。尽管这样，我仍斗胆地认为他们并不完全是妖魔鬼怪。”

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“还不完全是？我的天啊！”唐吉诃德说，“他们那幽灵似的打扮，做出这种事，把我弄成这个样子，要是还不算，那么怎样才算是完全的妖魔鬼怪呢？你如果想看看他们是否真是魔鬼，就摸摸他们吧，你就会发现他们没有身体，只有一股气，外观只是个空样子。”

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“感谢上帝，大人，我已经摸过了，”桑乔说，“这个挺热情的魔鬼身体还挺壮，跟我听说的那些魔鬼很不同。据说魔鬼发出的是硫磺石和其它怪味，可他身上的琥珀香味远在半里之外就可以闻到。”

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桑乔说的是费尔南多。他是个有身份的人，所以身上有桑乔说的那种香味。

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“你不必惊奇，桑乔，”唐吉诃德说，“我告诉你，魔鬼都很精明，他们本身有味，却从不散发出什么味道，因为他们只是精灵。即使散发出味道，也不会是什么好味，只能是恶臭。原因就是他们无论到哪儿，都离不开地狱，他们的痛苦也得不到任何解脱。而香味是令人身心愉快的物质，他们身上不可能发出香味。如果你觉得你从那个魔鬼身上闻到了你说的那股琥珀香味，肯定是你上当了。他就是想迷惑你，让你以为他不是魔鬼。”

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主仆两人就这么说着话。费尔南多和卡德尼奥怕桑乔识破他们的计谋，因为现在桑乔已经有所察觉了，就决定赶紧启程。他们把店主叫到一旁，让他为罗西南多备好鞍，为桑乔的驴套上驮鞍。店主立刻照办了。这时神甫也已经同团丁们商量好，每天给他们一点儿钱，请他们一路护送到目的地。

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卡德尼奥把唐吉诃德的皮盾和铜盆挂在罗西南多鞍架的两侧，又示意桑乔骑上他的驴，牵着罗西南多的缰绳，让团丁拿着火枪走在牛车的两边。他们即将动身，客店主妇、她的女儿和丑女仆出来与唐吉诃德告别。她们装着为唐吉诃德的不幸而痛哭流泪。唐吉诃德对她们说：

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“我的夫人们，不要哭，干我们这行的免不了要遭受一些不幸。如果连这种灾难都没遇到过，我也算不上著名的游侠骑士了。名气小的骑士不会遇到这种情况，因为世界上没有人记得他们的存在。可那些英勇的骑士就不同了，很多君主和骑士对他们的品德和勇气总是耿耿于怀，总是企图利用一些卑鄙的手段迫害好人。尽管如此，品德的力量又是强大的，仅凭它自己的力量，就足以战胜琐罗亚斯德①始创的各种妖术，克敌制胜，就像太阳出现在天空一样屹立于世界。美丽的夫人们，如果我曾对你们有什么失礼的地方，请你们原谅，那肯定是我无意中造成的，我不会故意伤害任何人。请你们祈求上帝把我从这个牢笼里解脱出来吧，是某个恶意的魔法师把我关进了牢笼。如果我能从牢笼里解脱出来，我一定不会忘记你们在这座城堡里施给我的恩德，一定会感谢你们，报答你们，为你们效劳。”

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①琐罗亚斯德是古波斯宗教改革家、先知，是琐罗亚斯德教的创始人，据说是魔法的祖师。

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城堡的几位女人同唐吉诃德说话的时候，神甫和理发师也正在同费尔南多和他的伙伴，上尉和他的兄弟，以及那些兴高采烈的女子们，特别是多罗特亚和卢辛达告别。大家互相拥抱，商定以后要常联系。费尔南多还把自己的地址告诉了神甫，让神甫一定要把唐吉诃德的情况告诉他，说他最关心唐吉诃德的情况。他自己也会把神甫可能感兴趣的所有事情告诉他，例如他结婚、索赖达受洗礼、唐路易斯的情况、卢辛达回家等等。神甫说，如果费尔南多以后有求于自己，他一定会帮忙。两人再次拥抱，再次相约。店主跑到神甫身边，对神甫说，自己在曾经找到《无谓的猜疑》那篇故事的手提箱的衬层里又找到了一些手稿。既然手提箱的主人不会再到那儿去了，他自己又不喜欢看书，留着也没用，所以还是请神甫把手稿都带走吧。神甫对他表示感谢，然后翻开手稿，只见手稿的首页写着《林科内塔和科尔塔迪略的故事》，知道这是小说，而且估计到，既然《无谓的猜疑》写得不错，这部小说写得也不会差，因为都出自同一作者。神甫把手稿小心翼翼地收好，准备有空时再读。

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神甫和理发师都上了马，他们脸上都带着面罩，以防唐吉诃德认出他们来，然后跟在牛车后面走着。牛车的主人赶着牛车走在最前面，团丁就像刚才说的，手持火枪走在牛车两侧，接着是桑乔骑着驴，手里还牵着罗西南多，再往后就是神甫和理发师。他们表情严肃，牛车走得很慢，他们也只能不慌不忙地跟在后面。

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唐吉诃德伸直了腿坐在笼子里面，双手被捆着，倚着栅栏默不做声，态度安逸，看上去不像活人，倒像一尊石像。大家就这样静静地走了两西里地，来到一个山谷旁。牛车的主人想停下来休息一下，顺带给牛喂些饲料，就去同神甫商量。理发师认为应该再往前一段，他知道过了附近的山坡，那边山谷的草比这边还要多，还要好。牛车主人同意了，他们又继续向前走。

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神甫这时回头发现后面来了六七个骑马的人，他们穿戴都很整齐。那些人不像他们那样慢吞吞地走，倒像是骑着几匹骡子的牧师，急急忙忙往不到一西里之遥的客店去午休的样子，所以很快就赶上了他们。那几个人客客气气地向他们问好。其中一人是托莱多的牧师，是那一行人的头领。他看见牛车、团丁、桑乔、罗西南多、神甫和理发师井然有序地行进着，而且还有个被囚禁在笼子里的唐吉诃德，不由得打听为什么要如此对待那个人，虽然他从戴着标记的团丁可以猜测出，那人准是个抢劫惯犯或其他什么罪犯，因为这种人都是由圣友团来处置的。被问的那个团丁说：

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“大人，至于为什么要这样对待这个人，还是让他自己来说吧，我们不知道。”

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唐吉诃德听见了他们的对话，说道：

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“诸位骑士大人对游侠骑士的事精通吗？如果精通，我可以给你们讲讲我的不幸，否则我就没必要再费口舌了。”

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神甫和理发师见那几个人同唐吉诃德说话，就赶紧过来，怕唐吉诃德说露了嘴。

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对于唐吉诃德的问话，牧师回答说：

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“说实话，兄弟，有关骑士的书，我只读过比利亚尔潘多的《逻辑学基础》。要是这就够了，那就对我说吧。”

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“说就说吧，”唐吉诃德说，“骑士大人，我想告诉你，我遭到几个恶毒的魔法师嫉妒和欺骗，被他们用魔法关进了这个笼子。好人受到坏蛋迫害的程度要比受到好人热爱的程度严重得多。我是个游侠骑士，可不是那种默默无闻的游侠骑士，而属于那种虽然遭到各种嫉妒以及波斯的巫师、印度的婆罗门、埃塞俄比亚的诡辩家的各种诋毁，他们的英名依然会长存于庙宇，供后人仿效的那种骑士。在以后的几个世纪里，所有企图获得最高荣誉的游侠骑士都应该步他们的后尘。”

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“曼查的唐吉诃德大人说得对，”神甫这时说，“他被魔法制服在这辆车上并不是由于他犯了什么罪孽，而是由于那些对他的品德和勇气深感恼怒的家伙对他恶意陷害。大人，他就是猥獾骑士，也许您以前听说过这个名字。无论嫉妒他的人如何企图使他黯然失色，用心险恶地企图湮没他的英名，他的英雄事迹都将被铭刻在坚硬的青铜器和永存的大理石上。”

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牧师听到这些人都如此说话，不知到底发生了什么事情，惊奇得直要划十字。其他随行的人也颇感诧异。桑乔听见他们说话，又跑过来节外生枝地说：

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“不管我说的你们愿意不愿意听，大人们，要是说我的主人唐吉诃德中了魔法，那么我母亲也中了魔法。我的主人现在思维很清楚，他能吃能喝，也像别人一样解手，跟昨天把他关起来之前一样。既然这样，你们怎么能让我相信他中了魔法呢？我听很多人说过，中了魔法的人不吃不喝，也不说话。可我的主人，若是没人看着他，他能说起来没完。”

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他又转过身来对神甫说道：

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“喂，神甫大人，神甫大人，您以为我没认出您吗？您以为我没有看穿你们用这套新魔法想干什么吗？告诉您，您就是把脸遮得再严实，我也能认出您来。您就是再耍您的把戏，我也知道您想干什么。一句话，有嫉妒就没有美德，有吝啬就没有慷慨。该死的魔鬼！如果不是因为您，我的主人现在早就同米科米科娜公主结婚了。不说别的，就凭我的猥獕大人的乐善好施或者我的劳苦功高，我至少也是个伯爵了。不过，看来还是俗话说得对，‘命运之轮比磨碾子转得快’，‘昨天座上宾，今日阶下囚’。我为我的孩子和老婆难过，他们本来完全可以指望我作为某个岛屿或王国的总督荣归故里，现在却只能见我当了个马夫就回来了。神甫大人，我说这些只是为了奉劝您拍拍自己的良心，您这样虐待我的主人，对得起他吗？您把我的主人关起来，在此期间他不能济贫行善，您不怕为此而承担责任，上帝将来要找您算帐吗？”

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“给我住嘴！”理发师说，“桑乔，你是不是变得和你的主人一样了？上帝啊，我看你也该进笼子和他做伴去了。活该你倒霉，让人灌得满脑子都是什么许愿，成天想什么岛屿！”

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“我没让人往我脑子里灌什么东西，”桑乔说，“我也不会让人往我脑子里灌东西，就是国王也不行。我虽然穷，可毕竟是老基督徒了，从不欠别人什么。要说我贪图岛屿，那别人还贪图更大的东西呢。‘境遇好坏，全看自己’。‘今日人下人，明日人上人’，更何况只是个岛屿的总督呢。我的主人可以征服许多岛屿，甚至会多得没人可给呢。您说话注意点儿，理发师大人，别以为什么都跟刮胡子似的，人跟人还不一样呢。咱们都认识，别拿我当傻子蒙。至于我主人是不是中了魔法，上帝才知道，咱们还是就此打住吧，少谈为妙。”

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理发师不想搭理桑乔了，免得他和神甫精心策划的行动被这个头脑简单的桑乔说漏了。神甫也怕桑乔说漏了，就叫牧师向前走一步，自己可以解答这个被关在笼子里的人的秘密，以及其它使他感兴趣的东西。

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牧师向前走了一步，他的随从也跟着向前走了一步。牧师认真地听神甫介绍唐吉诃德的性情、生活习惯和疯癫的情况。神甫还向牧师简单介绍了唐吉诃德疯癫病的起因，以及后来发生的种种事情，一直讲到他们把他放进笼子，想把他带回故乡去，看看是否有办法治好他的疯病。牧师和他的随从们听了唐吉诃德的怪事再度感到惊异。牧师听完说：

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“神甫大人，我的确认为所谓骑士小说对国家是有害的。虽然过去我闲着无聊的时候，几乎看过所有出版的骑士小说的开头，可是从没有踏踏实实地把任何一本小说从头看到尾，因为我觉得这些小说写的差不多都是一回事，有很多雷同之处。我估计这类小说源于所谓米利都①神话，荒诞不经，只能供人消遣，而没有教育意义。它们与那些寓教于趣的寓言故事不同，其主要意图在于消遣，可是，我不知道满篇胡言怎么能达到消遣的目的。人只有从他见到或想象到的东西中看到或欣赏到美与和谐，才会享受到愉悦，而那些丑陋的东西绝不会给我们产生任何快感。

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①米利都是古代小亚细亚城市。

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“如果一部小说或一个神话里说，一个十六岁的孩子一剑将一个高塔般的巨人像切糖果条似的一劈两半，或者为了渲染战斗的气氛，先是说小说的主人公面前有一百万敌兵，然后尽管我们不愿意，也得让我们相信这个骑士仅凭他的健臂的力量就取得了胜利，这种小说无论从主题到内容有什么美可言呢？如果一个女王或皇后轻率地投入了一个并不知名的游侠骑士的怀抱，那我们说什么好呢？说一座挤满了骑士的塔像船一样在海上乘风前行，今晚还在伦巴第，明早就到了教士国王的领土或者其他连托勒密都不曾描述，马可·波罗都没见过的什么地方，这种东西，除了粗野无知的人以外，哪个有文化的人会喜欢读呢？如果有人说，这种书编的就是虚构的事情，因而没有必要去追究它的细节和真实性，那么我要说，编得越接近真实才越好，编得越减少读者的怀疑，越具有可能性才越好。虚构的神话应当与读者的意识吻合，变不可能为可能，克服艰险，振奋精神，让人感到惊奇、兴奋和轻松，惊喜交加。不过，所有这些都不能脱离真实性和客观性，这样写出来的东西才算完美。

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“我没见过哪本骑士小说能够称得上一个完整的神话故事，做到中间部分与开头呼应，结尾与中间部分呼应，都是七拼八凑，让人觉得它不是要创造出一个合理的形象，却存心要制造一个妖怪。除此之外，它的文笔晦涩，情节荒谬，爱情庸俗，礼仪不拘，还有冗长的战争描写，偏激的谈话，光怪陆离的行程，一句话，全无适当的写作技巧，实在应该从基督教国家清除出去，就像对待那些无用的人一样。”

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神甫一直认真地听牧师讲述，觉得他是个很有见解的人，说得完全对。于是神甫对牧师说，他自己也是这种看法，而且对骑士小说很反感，已经烧掉了唐吉诃德的许多骑士小说。神甫又告诉牧师，他们曾检查过唐吉诃德的藏书，有的判处火刑，有的予以豁免。牧师听了不禁大笑，说自己虽然列举了骑士小说的许多坏处，可它还有一个好处，那就是可以在内容上让有想象力的人充分表现自己。它提供了广阔的创作天地，让人无拘无束地任意编写，可以写海上遇难、暴风骤雨或大战小冲突，也可以让人任意描写一位勇敢的上尉的各个方面：英勇机智，对狡猾的敌人神机妙算；巧舌如簧，可以做战士的思想工作；深思熟虑又当机立断，无论战前还是战时都很勇敢。它时而描写悲惨的事件，时而记述意外的惊喜；那儿写一个美貌绝伦的夫人正直、机警而又庄重，这儿写一个基督教骑士勇敢而又谦恭；此处写一个凶残蛮横的无赖，彼处写一个彬彬有礼、知勇双全的王子；还可以表现臣民的善良与忠诚，君主的伟大与高贵。

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“作者可以自诩为星相家或者杰出的宇宙学家，可以是音乐家，也可以精通国家政务，如果他愿意的话，还可以当巫师。他可以表现尤利西斯的机智、埃涅阿斯的同情心、阿基琉斯①的勇敢、赫克托尔②的不幸、西农③的叛逆、欧律阿勒④的亲密、亚历山大的大度、凯撒的胆略、图拉真⑤的宽厚和真诚、索皮罗⑥的忠实和卡顿的审慎，总之，既可以将这些优秀品质集于一身，也可以分散在许多人身上，只要笔意超逸，构思巧妙，而且尽可能地接近于现实，就一定会做到主题新颖，达到完美的境地，实现作品的最佳目的，就像我刚才说的，就是寓教于趣。这种不受约束的写作可以使作者以诗与议论的各种美妙手法写出史诗、抒情诗、悲剧、喜剧来。史诗也可以用散文和诗写出来。”

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①阿基琉斯是荷马史诗《伊利亚特》中的希腊英雄。

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②赫克托尔是荷马史诗《伊利亚特》中的特浩伊主将。

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③西农是希腊士兵，故意让特洛伊人俘虏，并劝他们把木马拖进城。

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④欧律阿勒是希腊神话中的三女怪之一。

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⑤图拉真是古罗马皇帝。

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⑥索皮罗是古波斯的将领。

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When Don Quixote saw himself caged and hoisted on the cart in this way, he said, “Many grave histories of knights-errant have I read; but never yet have I read, seen, or heard of their carrying off enchanted knights-errant in this fashion, or at the slow pace that these lazy, sluggish animals promise; for they always take them away through the air with marvellous swiftness, enveloped in a dark thick cloud, or on a chariot of fire, or it may be on some hippogriff or other beast of the kind; but to carry me off like this on an ox-cart! By God, it puzzles me! But perhaps the chivalry and enchantments of our day take a different course from that of those in days gone by; and it may be, too, that as I am a new knight in the world, and the first to revive the already forgotten calling of knight-adventurers, they may have newly invented other kinds of enchantments and other modes of carrying off the enchanted. What thinkest thou of the matter, Sancho my son?”

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“I don’t know what to think,” answered Sancho, “not being as well read as your worship in errant writings; but for all that I venture to say and swear that these apparitions that are about us are not quite catholic.”

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“Catholic!” said Don Quixote. “Father of me! how can they be Catholic when they are all devils that have taken fantastic shapes to come and do this, and bring me to this condition? And if thou wouldst prove it, touch them, and feel them, and thou wilt find they have only bodies of air, and no consistency except in appearance.”

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“By God, master,” returned Sancho, “I have touched them already; and that devil, that goes about there so busily, has firm flesh, and another property very different from what I have heard say devils have, for by all accounts they all smell of brimstone and other bad smells; but this one smells of amber half a league off.” Sancho was here speaking of Don Fernando, who, like a gentleman of his rank, was very likely perfumed as Sancho said.

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“Marvel not at that, Sancho my friend,” said Don Quixote; “for let me tell thee devils are crafty; and even if they do carry odours about with them, they themselves have no smell, because they are spirits; or, if they have any smell, they cannot smell of anything sweet, but of something foul and fetid; and the reason is that as they carry hell with them wherever they go, and can get no ease whatever from their torments, and as a sweet smell is a thing that gives pleasure and enjoyment, it is impossible that they can smell sweet; if, then, this devil thou speakest of seems to thee to smell of amber, either thou art deceiving thyself, or he wants to deceive thee by making thee fancy he is not a devil.”

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Such was the conversation that passed between master and man; and Don Fernando and Cardenio, apprehensive of Sancho’s making a complete discovery of their scheme, towards which he had already gone some way, resolved to hasten their departure, and calling the landlord aside, they directed him to saddle Rocinante and put the pack-saddle on Sancho’s ass, which he did with great alacrity. In the meantime the curate had made an arrangement with the officers that they should bear them company as far as his village, he paying them so much a day. Cardenio hung the buckler on one side of the bow of Rocinante’s saddle and the basin on the other, and by signs commanded Sancho to mount his ass and take Rocinante’s bridle, and at each side of the cart he placed two officers with their muskets; but before the cart was put in motion, out came the landlady and her daughter and Maritornes to bid Don Quixote farewell, pretending to weep with grief at his misfortune; and to them Don Quixote said:

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“Weep not, good ladies, for all these mishaps are the lot of those who follow the profession I profess; and if these reverses did not befall me I should not esteem myself a famous knight-errant; for such things never happen to knights of little renown and fame, because nobody in the world thinks about them; to valiant knights they do, for these are envied for their virtue and valour by many princes and other knights who compass the destruction of the worthy by base means. Nevertheless, virtue is of herself so mighty, that, in spite of all the magic that Zoroaster its first inventor knew, she will come victorious out of every trial, and shed her light upon the earth as the sun does upon the heavens. Forgive me, fair ladies, if, through inadvertence, I have in aught offended you; for intentionally and wittingly I have never done so to any; and pray to God that he deliver me from this captivity to which some malevolent enchanter has consigned me; and should I find myself released therefrom, the favours that ye have bestowed upon me in this castle shall be held in memory by me, that I may acknowledge, recognise, and requite them as they deserve.”

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While this was passing between the ladies of the castle and Don Quixote, the curate and the barber bade farewell to Don Fernando and his companions, to the captain, his brother, and the ladies, now all made happy, and in particular to Dorothea and Luscinda. They all embraced one another, and promised to let each other know how things went with them, and Don Fernando directed the curate where to write to him, to tell him what became of Don Quixote, assuring him that there was nothing that could give him more pleasure than to hear of it, and that he too, on his part, would send him word of everything he thought he would like to know, about his marriage, Zoraida’s baptism, Don Luis’s affair, and Luscinda’s return to her home. The curate promised to comply with his request carefully, and they embraced once more, and renewed their promises.

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The landlord approached the curate and handed him some papers, saying he had discovered them in the lining of the valise in which the novel of “The Ill-advised Curiosity” had been found, and that he might take them all away with him as their owner had not since returned; for, as he could not read, he did not want them himself. The curate thanked him, and opening them he saw at the beginning of the manuscript the words, “Novel of Rinconete and Cortadillo,” by which he perceived that it was a novel, and as that of “The Ill-advised Curiosity” had been good he concluded this would be so too, as they were both probably by the same author; so he kept it, intending to read it when he had an opportunity. He then mounted and his friend the barber did the same, both masked, so as not to be recognised by Don Quixote, and set out following in the rear of the cart. The order of march was this: first went the cart with the owner leading it; at each side of it marched the officers of the Brotherhood, as has been said, with their muskets; then followed Sancho Panza on his ass, leading Rocinante by the bridle; and behind all came the curate and the barber on their mighty mules, with faces covered, as aforesaid, and a grave and serious air, measuring their pace to suit the slow steps of the oxen. Don Quixote was seated in the cage, with his hands tied and his feet stretched out, leaning against the bars as silent and as patient as if he were a stone statue and not a man of flesh. Thus slowly and silently they made, it might be, two leagues, until they reached a valley which the carter thought a convenient place for resting and feeding his oxen, and he said so to the curate, but the barber was of opinion that they ought to push on a little farther, as at the other side of a hill which appeared close by he knew there was a valley that had more grass and much better than the one where they proposed to halt; and his advice was taken and they continued their journey.

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Just at that moment the curate, looking back, saw coming on behind them six or seven mounted men, well found and equipped, who soon overtook them, for they were travelling, not at the sluggish, deliberate pace of oxen, but like men who rode canons’ mules, and in haste to take their noontide rest as soon as possible at the inn which was in sight not a league off. The quick travellers came up with the slow, and courteous salutations were exchanged; and one of the new comers, who was, in fact, a canon of Toledo and master of the others who accompanied him, observing the regular order of the procession, the cart, the officers, Sancho, Rocinante, the curate and the barber, and above all Don Quixote caged and confined, could not help asking what was the meaning of carrying the man in that fashion; though, from the badges of the officers, he already concluded that he must be some desperate highwayman or other malefactor whose punishment fell within the jurisdiction of the Holy Brotherhood. One of the officers to whom he had put the question, replied, “Let the gentleman himself tell you the meaning of his going this way, senor, for we do not know.”

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Don Quixote overheard the conversation and said, “Haply, gentlemen, you are versed and learned in matters of errant chivalry? Because if you are I will tell you my misfortunes; if not, there is no good in my giving myself the trouble of relating them;” but here the curate and the barber, seeing that the travellers were engaged in conversation with Don Quixote, came forward, in order to answer in such a way as to save their stratagem from being discovered.

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The canon, replying to Don Quixote, said, “In truth, brother, I know more about books of chivalry than I do about Villalpando’s elements of logic; so if that be all, you may safely tell me what you please.”

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“In God’s name, then, senor,” replied Don Quixote; “if that be so, I would have you know that I am held enchanted in this cage by the envy and fraud of wicked enchanters; for virtue is more persecuted by the wicked than loved by the good. I am a knight-errant, and not one of those whose names Fame has never thought of immortalising in her record, but of those who, in defiance and in spite of envy itself, and all the magicians that Persia, or Brahmans that India, or Gymnosophists that Ethiopia ever produced, will place their names in the temple of immortality, to serve as examples and patterns for ages to come, whereby knights-errant may see the footsteps in which they must tread if they would attain the summit and crowning point of honour in arms.”

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“What senor Don Quixote of La Mancha says,” observed the curate, “is the truth; for he goes enchanted in this cart, not from any fault or sins of his, but because of the malevolence of those to whom virtue is odious and valour hateful. This, senor, is the Knight of the Rueful Countenance, if you have ever heard him named, whose valiant achievements and mighty deeds shall be written on lasting brass and imperishable marble, notwithstanding all the efforts of envy to obscure them and malice to hide them.”

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When the canon heard both the prisoner and the man who was at liberty talk in such a strain he was ready to cross himself in his astonishment, and could not make out what had befallen him; and all his attendants were in the same state of amazement.

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At this point Sancho Panza, who had drawn near to hear the conversation, said, in order to make everything plain, “Well, sirs, you may like or dislike what I am going to say, but the fact of the matter is, my master, Don Quixote, is just as much enchanted as my mother. He is in his full senses, he eats and he drinks, and he has his calls like other men and as he had yesterday, before they caged him. And if that’s the case, what do they mean by wanting me to believe that he is enchanted? For I have heard many a one say that enchanted people neither eat, nor sleep, nor talk; and my master, if you don’t stop him, will talk more than thirty lawyers.” Then turning to the curate he exclaimed, “Ah, senor curate, senor curate! do you think I don’t know you? Do you think I don’t guess and see the drift of these new enchantments? Well then, I can tell you I know you, for all your face is covered, and I can tell you I am up to you, however you may hide your tricks. After all, where envy reigns virtue cannot live, and where there is niggardliness there can be no liberality. Ill betide the devil! if it had not been for your worship my master would be married to the Princess Micomicona this minute, and I should be a count at least; for no less was to be expected, as well from the goodness of my master, him of the Rueful Countenance, as from the greatness of my services. But I see now how true it is what they say in these parts, that the wheel of fortune turns faster than a mill-wheel, and that those who were up yesterday are down to-day. I am sorry for my wife and children, for when they might fairly and reasonably expect to see their father return to them a governor or viceroy of some island or kingdom, they will see him come back a horse-boy. I have said all this, senor curate, only to urge your paternity to lay to your conscience your ill-treatment of my master; and have a care that God does not call you to account in another life for making a prisoner of him in this way, and charge against you all the succours and good deeds that my lord Don Quixote leaves undone while he is shut up.

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“Trim those lamps there!” exclaimed the barber at this; “so you are of the same fraternity as your master, too, Sancho? By God, I begin to see that you will have to keep him company in the cage, and be enchanted like him for having caught some of his humour and chivalry. It was an evil hour when you let yourself be got with child by his promises, and that island you long so much for found its way into your head.”

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“I am not with child by anyone,” returned Sancho, “nor am I a man to let myself be got with child, if it was by the King himself. Though I am poor I am an old Christian, and I owe nothing to nobody, and if I long for an island, other people long for worse. Each of us is the son of his own works; and being a man I may come to be pope, not to say governor of an island, especially as my master may win so many that he will not know whom to give them to. Mind how you talk, master barber; for shaving is not everything, and there is some difference between Peter and Peter. I say this because we all know one another, and it will not do to throw false dice with me; and as to the enchantment of my master, God knows the truth; leave it as it is; it only makes it worse to stir it.”

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The barber did not care to answer Sancho lest by his plain speaking he should disclose what the curate and he himself were trying so hard to conceal; and under the same apprehension the curate had asked the canon to ride on a little in advance, so that he might tell him the mystery of this man in the cage, and other things that would amuse him. The canon agreed, and going on ahead with his servants, listened with attention to the account of the character, life, madness, and ways of Don Quixote, given him by the curate, who described to him briefly the beginning and origin of his craze, and told him the whole story of his adventures up to his being confined in the cage, together with the plan they had of taking him home to try if by any means they could discover a cure for his madness. The canon and his servants were surprised anew when they heard Don Quixote’s strange story, and when it was finished he said, “To tell the truth, senor curate, I for my part consider what they call books of chivalry to be mischievous to the State; and though, led by idle and false taste, I have read the beginnings of almost all that have been printed, I never could manage to read any one of them from beginning to end; for it seems to me they are all more or less the same thing; and one has nothing more in it than another; this no more than that. And in my opinion this sort of writing and composition is of the same species as the fables they call the Milesian, nonsensical tales that aim solely at giving amusement and not instruction, exactly the opposite of the apologue fables which amuse and instruct at the same time. And though it may be the chief object of such books to amuse, I do not know how they can succeed, when they are so full of such monstrous nonsense. For the enjoyment the mind feels must come from the beauty and harmony which it perceives or contemplates in the things that the eye or the imagination brings before it; and nothing that has any ugliness or disproportion about it can give any pleasure. What beauty, then, or what proportion of the parts to the whole, or of the whole to the parts, can there be in a book or fable where a lad of sixteen cuts down a giant as tall as a tower and makes two halves of him as if he was an almond cake? And when they want to give us a picture of a battle, after having told us that there are a million of combatants on the side of the enemy, let the hero of the book be opposed to them, and we have perforce to believe, whether we like it or not, that the said knight wins the victory by the single might of his strong arm. And then, what shall we say of the facility with which a born queen or empress will give herself over into the arms of some unknown wandering knight? What mind, that is not wholly barbarous and uncultured, can find pleasure in reading of how a great tower full of knights sails away across the sea like a ship with a fair wind, and will be to-night in Lombardy and to-morrow morning in the land of Prester John of the Indies, or some other that Ptolemy never described nor Marco Polo saw? And if, in answer to this, I am told that the authors of books of the kind write them as fiction, and therefore are not bound to regard niceties of truth, I would reply that fiction is all the better the more it looks like truth, and gives the more pleasure the more probability and possibility there is about it. Plots in fiction should be wedded to the understanding of the reader, and be constructed in such a way that, reconciling impossibilities, smoothing over difficulties, keeping the mind on the alert, they may surprise, interest, divert, and entertain, so that wonder and delight joined may keep pace one with the other; all which he will fail to effect who shuns verisimilitude and truth to nature, wherein lies the perfection of writing. I have never yet seen any book of chivalry that puts together a connected plot complete in all its numbers, so that the middle agrees with the beginning, and the end with the beginning and middle; on the contrary, they construct them with such a multitude of members that it seems as though they meant to produce a chimera or monster rather than a well-proportioned figure. And besides all this they are harsh in their style, incredible in their achievements, licentious in their amours, uncouth in their courtly speeches, prolix in their battles, silly in their arguments, absurd in their travels, and, in short, wanting in everything like intelligent art; for which reason they deserve to be banished from the Christian commonwealth as a worthless breed.”

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The curate listened to him attentively and felt that he was a man of sound understanding, and that there was good reason in what he said; so he told him that, being of the same opinion himself, and bearing a grudge to books of chivalry, he had burned all Don Quixote’s , which were many; and gave him an account of the scrutiny he had made of them, and of those he had condemned to the flames and those he had spared, with which the canon was not a little amused, adding that though he had said so much in condemnation of these books, still he found one good thing in them, and that was the opportunity they afforded to a gifted intellect for displaying itself; for they presented a wide and spacious field over which the pen might range freely, describing shipwrecks, tempests, combats, battles, portraying a valiant captain with all the qualifications requisite to make one, showing him sagacious in foreseeing the wiles of the enemy, eloquent in speech to encourage or restrain his soldiers, ripe in counsel, rapid in resolve, as bold in biding his time as in pressing the attack; now picturing some sad tragic incident, now some joyful and unexpected event; here a beauteous lady, virtuous, wise, and modest; there a Christian knight, brave and gentle; here a lawless, barbarous braggart; there a courteous prince, gallant and gracious; setting forth the devotion and loyalty of vassals, the greatness and generosity of nobles. “Or again,” said he, “the author may show himself to be an astronomer, or a skilled cosmographer, or musician, or one versed in affairs of state, and sometimes he will have a chance of coming forward as a magician if he likes. He can set forth the craftiness of Ulysses, the piety of AEneas, the valour of Achilles, the misfortunes of Hector, the treachery of Sinon, the friendship of Euryalus, the generosity of Alexander, the boldness of Caesar, the clemency and truth of Trajan, the fidelity of Zopyrus, the wisdom of Cato, and in short all the faculties that serve to make an illustrious man perfect, now uniting them in one individual, again distributing them among many; and if this be done with charm of style and ingenious invention, aiming at the truth as much as possible, he will assuredly weave a web of bright and varied threads that, when finished, will display such perfection and beauty that it will attain the worthiest object any writing can seek, which, as I said before, is to give instruction and pleasure combined; for the unrestricted range of these books enables the author to show his powers, epic, lyric, tragic, or comic, and all the moods the sweet and winning arts of poesy and oratory are capable of; for the epic may be written in prose just as well as in verse.”

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