The history of the valorous and vvitty-knight-errant, Don-Quixote, of the Mancha tr. out of the Spanish.

CHAP. XLIV.

How Sancho Pança was carried to his Government, and of the strange Adventure that befell Don-Quixote in the Castle.

TIs said, that in the originall of this History, it is read, that when Cid Hamete came to write this Chapter, the Interpreter translated it not as hee had written it, which was a kinde of complaint of him∣selfe, that hee undertook so dry and barren a story, as this of Don-Quixote, because it seemed that Don-Quixote and Sancho were the sole-speakers, and that hee durst not enlarge himselfe with o∣ther digressions, or graver accidents and more delightfull: and hee said, That to have his invention, his hand and his quill, tyed to one sole subject, and to speake by the mouthes of few, was a most insupportable labor, and of no benefit to the Author: so that to avoyd this inconvenience, in the first part hee used the Art of Novels, as one, of The Curious Impertinent, another of The captiv'd Captaine, which are (as it were) separated from the History, though the rest that are there recounted, are matters happened to Don-Quixote, which could not but bee set downe: hee was of opinion likewise, as hee said, that many being carried away with attention to Don-Quixotes exployts, would not heed his Novels, and skip them, either for hast or irke∣somenesse, without noting the cunning worke-manship, and framing of them, which would bee plainely shewn, if they might come to light by themselves alone with∣out Don-Quixotes madnesse, or Sancho's simplicities; therefore in this second part, hee would not engraffe loose Novels, or adjoyning to the Story, but certaine accidents that might bee like unto them, sprung from the passages that the truth it selfe offers, and these too sparingly, and with words only proper to declare them: and since, hee is shut up and contained in the limits of this narration, having understanding, suffici∣ency and ability to treat of all, his request is, that his labour bee not contemned, but ra∣ther that hee bee commended, not for what hee writes, but for what hee hath omitted to write: so hee goes on with his History, saying;

That when Don-Quixote had dined, the same day that hee gave Sancho his instru∣ctions, in the after-noone hee let him have them in writing, that hee might seeke some body to read them to him: but as soone as ever hee had given him them, hee lost them, and they came to the Dukes hands, who shewed them to the Duchesse; and both of them afresh admired at Don-Quixotes madnesse, and his understanding together: and so going forward with their jests, that afternoone they sent Sancho well accompanied to the place, that to him seemed an Island.

It fell out then that the charge of this businesse was laid upon a Steward of the Dukes, a good wise fellow, and very conceited; for there can bee no wit that is not governed with discretion; hee it was that playd the Countesse Trifaldi's part, with the cunning that hath beene related, with this and with his Masters instructions how hee should behave himselfe towards Sancho, hee performed his taske marvellously. I say then, that it hapned, that as Sancho saw the Steward, the very face of Trifaldi came into his minde, and turning to his Master, hee said: Sir, the Devill beare mee from hence just as I beleeve, if you doe not confesse, that this Steward of the Dukes here present, hath the very countenance of the Afflicted.

Don-Quixote earnestly beheld the Steward, and having thorowly seene him, said to Sancho: There is no need of the Devils taking thee just as thou beleevest (for I know not what thou meanest) for the Afflicteds face is just the same that the Stewards is•• but for all that, the Steward is not the afflicted: for to bee so, were a minifest contra∣diction, and now 'tis no time to sift out these things, which were to enter into an in∣tricate

Labyrinth: beleeve mee, Friend; 'twere fit to pray to God very earnestly, to deliver us from these damned Witches and Enchanters. 'Tis no jesting matter, quoth Sancho, for I heard him speake before, and mee thought the very voice of Trifaldi soun∣ded in my eares.

Well, I will bee silent: but yet I will see henceforward, if I can discover any signe to confirme or forgoe my jealousie. You may doe so, Sancho, quoth Don-Quixote; and you shall give mee notice of all that in this businesse you can discover, and of all that shall befall you in your Government.

Sancho in conclusion departed with a great troope, clad like a Lawyer, and upon his backe hee had a goodly tawny riding Coat of watred Chamlet, and a Hunters Cap of the same, hee rode upon a Hee Moyle after the Ginet fashion, [The Stirrops short, and his legges tru••••ed up,] and behinde him, by the Dukes order, his Dapple was ledde, with trappings and Also-like ornaments all of silk: Sancho turned his head now and then to looke upon his Asse, with whose company hee was so well pleased, that hee would not have changed to have beene Emperour of Germany. At parting hee kissed the Dukes hands, and received his Masters benediction, who gave it him with teares, and Sancho received it with blubberings.

Now Reader let honest Sancho part in peace and in good time, and expect two bushels of laughter, which his demeanor in his Government will minister to thee: and in the mean time, mark what befell his Master that very night: for if it make thee not laugh outright, yet it will cause thee shew thy teeth, and grin like an Ape: for Don-Qui∣xotes affairs must either bee solemnized with admiration or laughter.

'Tis said then, that Sancho was scarce departed, when Don-Quixote resented his so∣litarinesse, and if it had been possible for him to have revoked his Commission or taken away his Government, hee would have done it.

The Duchesse knew his Melancholy, and asked him why hee was so sad: for if it were for Sancho's absence, shee had Squires, and Waiting-women, and Damzells in hee house that would doe him all service.

True it is Madam (quoth Don-Quixote) that I resent Sancho's absence: but that is not the principall cause that makes me appear sad: And of those many kindenesses that your Excellency offers me, I only accept and make choyse of the good will with which they are offered; and for the rest, I humbly beseech your Excellency that you give me leave in my Chamber to serve my self.

Truly Signior Don-Quixote (quoth the Duchesse) it must not bee so; for four of my Damzells shall wait upon you, as fair as flowres. They shall bee no flowres to mee (quoth hee) but very thrones that prick my soul. They shall fly as soon as enter into my Chamber, or come neer mee. If your Greatnesse will continue in your favours to∣wards me, let this bee one; That I may serve my self within mine own doors, that I may put a wall in midst of my desires and honesty; and I will not forgoe this custome for all the liberality that your Highnesse will shew unto me. To conclude, I will rather sleep in my clothes, then yeeld that any body shall help to undresse me.

Enough, enough, Signior Don-Quixote (quoth the Duchesse) for my part, He give order that not so much as a Flye shall come within your distance, much lesse a Damzel: I am none of those that would make Signior Don-Quixote transcend his decency; for as I have a kinde of glimmerring, one of Signior Don-Quixotes most eminent virtues is his honestie. Undresse your self, and goe to bed alone, after your own fashion how you will, and no body shall hinder you, and in your Chamber you shall have all things necessary, and lock your door to you; your vessels shall bee ready, that no naturall cause make you rise to open it.

Long live the Grand Dulcinea del Toboso, and her name farre extended upon the Globe of the Earth, since she deserved to be beloved of so honest and valiant a Knight; and the gracious Heavens infuse into Sancho Panca o••r Governour his heart, a desire to finish the disciplining of himself quickly, that the world may re-enjoy the beauty of so great a Lady.

To which (quoth Don-Quixote) your Highnesse hath spoken like your self; for no ill

thing can proceed from the mouth of so good a Lady, and Dulcinea shall bee the more happie, and more esteemed in the world, in that your Greatnesse hath praised her, then if shee had had the praises of the best Rhetoricians in the world.

Well: goe too, Signior Don-Quixote (quoth the Duchesse) 'tis now sup∣per time, and the Duke expects us; come Sir, let us sup and to bed betimes: For your voyage yesterday from Candaya, was not so short, but it hath left some weari∣nesse in you.

None at all, Lady quoth he, for I may sweare to your Excellency, that in my life time I never rode upou a gentler nor better-paced Beast then Clavileno; and I know no rea∣son why Malambruno should lose so swift and so gentle a horse, and so burne him with∣out more adoe.

You may imagine quoth she, that he repenting him of the hurt he had done Trifaldi and her company, and many others; and of the wickednesse, that as a Witch and En∣chanter he had committed, would destroy the instruments of his Office, and so burnt Clavileno as the chiefest of them; and that which did most disquiet him, roving up and down; and so with his burnt ashes, and the trophy of the scrole, Don-Quixotes valour is eternized.

Don-Quixote againe gave fresh thanks to the Duchesse: and when he had supt, hee retyred to his Chamber alone, without permitting any body to serve him, hee was so a∣fraid to meet with occasions that might induce him to forget the honest decorum due to his Lady Dulcinea, Amadis his goodness being alwaies in his imagination, the flowre and Looking-glasse of Knights Errant.

The dore he shut after him, and undressed himselfe by the light of two waxe-Can∣dles, as hee pulled off his stockins (Oh ill luck unworthy such a Personage) there broke from him, not sighs or any such thing that might discredit his cleanly neatnesse, but some foure and twenty stitches and a halfe, that made his stockins looke like a Lat∣tice-window: The good Knight was extremely afflicted, and would have given for a dram of greene silke, an ounce of silver: greene-silke, I say, for his stockins were greene: and here Benengeli exclamed saying; Oh povertie, povertie, I know not what moved that famous Cordovan Poet, to call thee holy thankless gift. For I that am a Moore, know very well by the communication I have had with Christians, that holinesse consists in Charitie, Humilitie, Faith, Obedience and Povertie: But yet a man had neede have a speciall grace from God, that can bee contented, being poore, except it bee with such a kinde of povertie as one of the greatest Saints speaks o••: E∣steem of all things as if you had them not, and this is called poornesse of Spirit. But thou, second povertie (of that kinde that I mean) why do'st thou mixe thy self with Gentlemen, and those that bee well borne? Why doest thou make them cobble their shooes; and that the buttons of their Jerkins bee some silk, others haire, others Glasse? Why must their Ruffs for the most part bee unset Lettice wayes, and not set with the stick? (and by this you may perceive how ancient the use of Starch is, and of setting Ruffs.) Hee proceed••: Unhappie hee, that being well born, puts his credit to shifts, as by ill faring, with his door locked to him, making his Tooth-picker an Hypocrite, with which hee comes to the street door picking his Teeth, though hee have eat nothing that should require such cleanlinesse: [Hee describes the right custome of his hungry Country-men in generall.] Unhappy hee, I say, whose credit is skarred, and thinks that a patch upon his shooe is spyed a League off, or the thorow sweating of his Hat, or the threed-barenesse of his Cloke, or the hunger of his Maw. All this was renewed in Don••Quixote by the breach of his Stocking: but his comfort was that Sancho had left him a pair of Boots which hee thought to put on the next day. Finally, to Bed he went heavy and pensative, as well for want of Sancho's company, as for the irreparable mis∣fortune of his Stocking, whose stitches hee would have taken up, though it had been with silk of another colour, which is one of the greatest signes of misery that may befall a Gentleman in the progres of his prolixe necessitie. He put out the lights; 'twas hot, and he could not sleep; so he rose from his Bed, and opened a little the lid of an Iron win∣dow that looked toward a faire Garden; and opening it, hee perceived and heard peo∣ple

stirring and talking in the Garden; they below raised their voyces, insomuch that these speeches might bee heard.

Bee not so earnest with me, O Emerencia, to have mee sing; for thou knowest that ever since this stranger hath been in the Castle, and that mine eyes beheld him, I cannot sing but weep; besides my Ladies sleep is rather short then sound; and I would not that she should know we were here for all the goods in the world; & though she should sleep, and not wake, my singing yet were in vain, if this new Aeneas sleep, and wake not to give eare to it, this that is come into my kingdome to leave me scorned & forsaken.

Think not of that, friend Altisidora (said they) for doubtlesse the Duchesse and every body else in the house is asleep, except the Master of thy heart, and thy souls alarum; for now I heard him open his window, and hee is certainly awake: sing poor grieved Wretch, in a low and sweet tune, to the sound of thy Harp; and if the Duchesse should perceive it: our excuse shall bee, that wee are here by reason 'tis so hot within doors.

'Tis not for our being here, O Emerencia, quoth Altisidora! but that I am not willing my Song should discover my heart; and that I should bee held by those that have no notice of the powerfull force of love, for a longing and light huswife: but come what will on it, better shame in the face then a spot in the heart: and with this shee heard a Harp most sweetly plaid on. Which when Don-Quixote heard, it amazed him; and in the instant an infinite number of Adventures came into his minde, of Windows, Grates, Gardens, Musick, Courting, and Fopperies, that hee had read in his sottish Books of Knighthood; and straight hee imagined that some Damzell of the Duchesses was enamored on him, and that her honesty enforced her to conceal her affection, hee was afraid lest hee should yeeld, but firmly purposed not to bee van∣quished; so recommending himself, heart and soul, to his Lady Dulcinea del Toboso, hee determined to hearken to the Musick: and that they might know hee was there, hee feigned a sneeze, which not a little pleased the Damzels, that desired nothing else: so Altisidora running on, and tuning her Harpe, began this Song.

Thou that in thy Bed do'st lye, In mid'st of Holland sheets; Sleeping with thy leggs out-stretcht, All night long, untill the morn.

Oh thou Knight the valiantest That all Mancha hath produc't, More honest, and more blest withall; Then the fin'st Arabia gold:

Heare a Damzell sorrowfull, Tall of growth; but ill sh'hath thriv'd; That, with light of thy two Suns, Feels her soul enflam'd and scorcht.

Thou thy Adventures followest, Others mis-adventures find'st; Thou giv'st wounds, and yet deny'st To give healing remedy.

Tell mee, O thou valiant Knight; (God increase thy miseries) Wert thou bred in Africa, Or in Jaca Mountanous?

Serpents nourish thee with Milk; Or perhaps thy Nurses were

Th'uncouth thinknesse of the Woods, Or the Mountains horrible.

Well may Dulcinea, shee, That same Damzell plump and sound, Bragg that shee hath conquerd a Tyger and a salvage Beast.

For which shee shall famous be, From Henares to Xarama, Tagus, Mansanares, and Pisverga, and Arlanza too.

Oh that I might change with her, I would give my Coat to boot, And the gaudy'st that I have, All bedawb'd with golden fringe,

Oh that I were in thy armes, If not so, but neer thy bed, That I might but scratch thy head, And the Dand-roff rid from thee

Much I ask, but not deserve Favours so remarkable: Let mee then but touch thy foot, Fit for my humility.

Oh what night-Caps I would give, And what silver Socks to thee, What Damaska Breeches eke, And what cloaks of Holland too.

Likewise of the finest Pearls, Each as bigg as any Gall, Which, if that there were but one, Might bee call'd, The one alone.

Doe not from thy Tarpey view This same fire that doth me s••orch Manchegan Nero of the world, Nor kindle't with thy cruelty.

Young I am, a tender chick, Not yet my age is past fifteen, Fourteen am I, three moneths more, I sweare to thee in conscience.

I doe not limp, I am not lame, Nothing about mee maim'd; And my locks like Lillies are That doe drag upon the ground.

And although my mouth bee wide, Yet my nose is something flat,

And my Teeth are Topaces: Beauty lift•• mee to the clouds.

My voice you see, if that you hark, To the sweetest, equall is, And my disposition too, Lesse then reasonable is.

These and other Graces more, Of thy Quiver are the spoils; Of this house I Damzell am, And Altisidora call'd.

Here the sore wounded Altisidora ended her Song, and the fright of the required Don-Quixote began, who fetching a deep sigh, said within himself, That I must bee so unhappie an Errant, that no Damzell that sees me, but is enamoured on me: That Dulcinea del Toboso should bee so unfortunate, that they will not let her alone enjoy my incomparable firmnesse: Queens, what mean you toward her •• Empresses, why doe you persecute her! Damzells of fourteen or fifteen yeers, why doe you bait her! Leave, leave the poor Creature; Let her tryumph, joy, and rejoyce with the lot that Love gave her, in yeelding her my Heart, and delivering her my Soul. Look yee, enamoured troop, for Dulcinea only am I of Passe and Sugar-pellets, and for all else of Flint: for her I am Honey; for you bitter Aloes: Dulcinea only is to me fair, discreet, honest, gallant, well-born: and others foul, foolish, light, and wor••-borne. Nature threw mee into the world to bee only hers, and no bodies else: let Altisidora weep or sing: let the Lady dispair for whom I was banged in the Castle of the Enchanted Moor [His Adventure in the first part with the Carrier and Maritornes in the Vent:] for sod or roasted, I am Dulcinea's, clean, well nurtured, and honest, in spight of all the powerfull Witch-crafts of the earth: and with this hee clapt to the window sodainly, and all angry and despiteous, as if some disgrace had befaln him, hee got him to bed, where for the present wee will leave him, for the Grand Sancho Panca calls upon us, who means to begin his famous Government.