When the author of this great history comes to relate what is set down in this chapter he says he would have preferred to pass it over in silence, fearing it would not he believed, because here Don Quixote’s madness reaches the confines of the greatest that can be conceived, and even goes a couple of bowshots beyond the greatest. But after all, though still under the same fear and apprehension2, he has recorded it without adding to the story or leaving out a particle of the truth, and entirely3 disregarding the charges of falsehood that might be brought against him; and he was right, for the truth may run fine but will not break, and always rises above falsehood as oil above water; and so, going on with his story, he says that as soon as Don Quixote had ensconced himself in the forest, oak grove4, or wood near El Toboso, he bade Sancho return to the city, and not come into his presence again without having first spoken on his behalf to his lady, and begged of her that it might be her good pleasure to permit herself to be seen by her enslaved knight5, and deign6 to bestow7 her blessing8 upon him, so that he might thereby9 hope for a happy issue in all his encounters and difficult enterprises. Sancho undertook to execute the task according to the instructions, and to bring back an answer as good as the one he brought back before.
“Go, my son,” said Don Quixote, “and be not dazed when thou findest thyself exposed to the light of that sun of beauty thou art going to seek. Happy thou, above all the squires10 in the world! Bear in mind, and let it not escape thy memory, how she receives thee; if she changes colour while thou art giving her my message; if she is agitated12 and disturbed at hearing my name; if she cannot rest upon her cushion, shouldst thou haply find her seated in the sumptuous13 state chamber14 proper to her rank; and should she be standing16, observe if she poises17 herself now on one foot, now on the other; if she repeats two or three times the reply she gives thee; if she passes from gentleness to austerity, from asperity19 to tenderness; if she raises her hand to smooth her hair though it be not disarranged. In short, my son, observe all her actions and motions, for if thou wilt20 report them to me as they were, I will gather what she hides in the recesses21 of her heart as regards my love; for I would have thee know, Sancho, if thou knowest it not, that with lovers the outward actions and motions they give way to when their loves are in question are the faithful messengers that carry the news of what is going on in the depths of their hearts. Go, my friend, may better fortune than mine attend thee, and bring thee a happier issue than that which I await in dread23 in this dreary24 solitude25.”
“I will go and return quickly,” said Sancho; “cheer up that little heart of yours, master mine, for at the present moment you seem to have got one no bigger than a hazel nut; remember what they say, that a stout26 heart breaks bad luck, and that where there are no fletches there are no pegs28; and moreover they say, the hare jumps up where it’s not looked for. I say this because, if we could not find my lady’s palaces or castles to-night, now that it is daylight I count upon finding them when I least expect it, and once found, leave it to me to manage her.”
“Verily, Sancho,” said Don Quixote, “thou dost always bring in thy proverbs happily, whatever we deal with; may God give me better luck in what I am anxious about.”
With this, Sancho wheeled about and gave Dapple the stick, and Don Quixote remained behind, seated on his horse, resting in his stirrups and leaning on the end of his lance, filled with sad and troubled forebodings; and there we will leave him, and accompany Sancho, who went off no less serious and troubled than he left his master; so much so, that as soon as he had got out of the thicket30, and looking round saw that Don Quixote was not within sight, he dismounted from his ass1, and seating himself at the foot of a tree began to commune with himself, saying, “Now, brother Sancho, let us know where your worship is going. Are you going to look for some ass that has been lost? Not at all. Then what are you going to look for? I am going to look for a princess, that’s all; and in her for the sun of beauty and the whole heaven at once. And where do you expect to find all this, Sancho? Where? Why, in the great city of El Toboso. Well, and for whom are you going to look for her? For the famous knight Don Quixote of La Mancha, who rights wrongs, gives food to those who thirst and drink to the hungry. That’s all very well, but do you know her house, Sancho? My master says it will be some royal palace or grand castle. And have you ever seen her by any chance? Neither I nor my master ever saw her. And does it strike you that it would be just and right if the El Toboso people, finding out that you were here with the intention of going to tamper31 with their princesses and trouble their ladies, were to come and cudgel your ribs32, and not leave a whole bone in you? They would, indeed, have very good reason, if they did not see that I am under orders, and that ‘you are a messenger, my friend, no blame belongs to you.’ Don’t you trust to that, Sancho, for the Manchegan folk are as hot-tempered as they are honest, and won’t put up with liberties from anybody. By the Lord, if they get scent33 of you, it will be worse for you, I promise you. Be off, you scoundrel! Let the bolt fall. Why should I go looking for three feet on a cat, to please another man; and what is more, when looking for Dulcinea will be looking for Marica in Ravena, or the bachelor in Salamanca? The devil, the devil and nobody else, has mixed me up in this business!”
Such was the soliloquy Sancho held with himself, and all the conclusion he could come to was to say to himself again, “Well, there’s remedy for everything except death, under whose yoke34 we have all to pass, whether we like it or not, when life’s finished. I have seen by a thousand signs that this master of mine is a madman fit to be tied, and for that matter, I too, am not behind him; for I’m a greater fool than he is when I follow him and serve him, if there’s any truth in the proverb that says, ‘Tell me what company thou keepest, and I’ll tell thee what thou art,’ or in that other, ‘Not with whom thou art bred, but with whom thou art fed.’ Well then, if he be mad, as he is, and with a madness that mostly takes one thing for another, and white for black, and black for white, as was seen when he said the windmills were giants, and the monks’ mules35 dromedaries, flocks of sheep armies of enemies, and much more to the same tune22, it will not be very hard to make him believe that some country girl, the first I come across here, is the lady Dulcinea; and if he does not believe it, I’ll swear it; and if he should swear, I’ll swear again; and if he persists I’ll persist still more, so as, come what may, to have my quoit always over the peg27. Maybe, by holding out in this way, I may put a stop to his sending me on messages of this kind another time; or maybe he will think, as I suspect he will, that one of those wicked enchanters, who he says have a spite against him, has changed her form for the sake of doing him an ill turn and injuring him.”
With this reflection Sancho made his mind easy, counting the business as good as settled, and stayed there till the afternoon so as to make Don Quixote think he had time enough to go to El Toboso and return; and things turned out so luckily for him that as he got up to mount Dapple, he spied, coming from El Toboso towards the spot where he stood, three peasant girls on three colts, or fillies — for the author does not make the point clear, though it is more likely they were she-asses18, the usual mount with village girls; but as it is of no great consequence, we need not stop to prove it.
To be brief, the instant Sancho saw the peasant girls, he returned full speed to seek his master, and found him sighing and uttering a thousand passionate36 lamentations. When Don Quixote saw him he exclaimed, “What news, Sancho, my friend? Am I to mark this day with a white stone or a black?”
“Your worship,” replied Sancho, “had better mark it with ruddle, like the inscriptions37 on the walls of class rooms, that those who see it may see it plain.”
“Then thou bringest good news,” said Don Quixote.
“So good,” replied Sancho, “that your worship bas only to spur Rocinante and get out into the open field to see the lady Dulcinea del Toboso, who, with two others, damsels of hers, is coming to see your worship.”
“Holy God! what art thou saying, Sancho, my friend?” exclaimed Don Quixote. “Take care thou art not deceiving me, or seeking by false joy to cheer my real sadness.”
“What could I get by deceiving your worship,” returned Sancho, “especially when it will so soon be shown whether I tell the truth or not? Come, senor, push on, and you will see the princess our mistress coming, robed and adorned38 — in fact, like what she is. Her damsels and she are all one glow of gold, all bunches of pearls, all diamonds, all rubies39, all cloth of brocade of more than ten borders; with their hair loose on their shoulders like so many sunbeams playing with the wind; and moreover, they come mounted on three piebald cackneys, the finest sight ever you saw.”
“Hackneys, you mean, Sancho,” said Don Quixote.
“There is not much difference between cackneys and hackneys,” said Sancho; “but no matter what they come on, there they are, the finest ladies one could wish for, especially my lady the princess Dulcinea, who staggers one’s senses.”
“Let us go, Sancho, my son,” said Don Quixote, “and in guerdon of this news, as unexpected as it is good, I bestow upon thee the best spoil I shall win in the first adventure I may have; or if that does not satisfy thee, I promise thee the foals I shall have this year from my three mares that thou knowest are in foal on our village common.”
“I’ll take the foals,” said Sancho; “for it is not quite certain that the spoils of the first adventure will be good ones.”
By this time they had cleared the wood, and saw the three village lasses close at hand. Don Quixote looked all along the road to El Toboso, and as he could see nobody except the three peasant girls, he was completely puzzled, and asked Sancho if it was outside the city he had left them.
“How outside the city?” returned Sancho. “Are your worship’s eyes in the back of your head, that you can’t see that they are these who are coming here, shining like the very sun at noonday?”
“I see nothing, Sancho,” said Don Quixote, “but three country girls on three jackasses.”
“Now, may God deliver me from the devil!” said Sancho, “and can it be that your worship takes three hackneys — or whatever they’re called — as white as the driven snow, for jackasses? By the Lord, I could tear my beard if that was the case!”
“Well, I can only say, Sancho, my friend,” said Don Quixote, “that it is as plain they are jackasses — or jennyasses — as that I am Don Quixote, and thou Sancho Panza: at any rate, they seem to me to be so.”
“Hush, senor,” said Sancho, “don’t talk that way, but open your eyes, and come and pay your respects to the lady of your thoughts, who is close upon us now;” and with these words he advanced to receive the three village lasses, and dismounting from Dapple, caught hold of one of the asses of the three country girls by the halter, and dropping on both knees on the ground, he said, “Queen and princess and duchess of beauty, may it please your haughtiness40 and greatness to receive into your favour and good-will your captive knight who stands there turned into marble stone, and quite stupefied and benumbed at finding himself in your magnificent presence. I am Sancho Panza, his squire11, and he the vagabond knight Don Quixote of La Mancha, otherwise called ‘The Knight of the Rueful Countenance41."”
Don Quixote had by this time placed himself on his knees beside Sancho, and, with eyes starting out of his head and a puzzled gaze, was regarding her whom Sancho called queen and lady; and as he could see nothing in her except a village lass, and not a very well-favoured one, for she was platter-faced and snub-nosed, he was perplexed42 and bewildered, and did not venture to open his lips. The country girls, at the same time, were astonished to see these two men, so different in appearance, on their knees, preventing their companion from going on. She, however, who had been stopped, breaking silence, said angrily and testily43, “Get out of the way, bad luck to you, and let us pass, for we are in a hurry.”
To which Sancho returned, “Oh, princess and universal lady of El Toboso, is not your magnanimous heart softened44 by seeing the pillar and prop15 of knight-errantry on his knees before your sublimated45 presence?”
On hearing this, one of the others exclaimed, “Woa then! why, I’m rubbing thee down, she-ass of my father-in-law! See how the lordlings come to make game of the village girls now, as if we here could not chaff46 as well as themselves. Go your own way, and let us go ours, and it will be better for you.”
“Get up, Sancho,” said Don Quixote at this; “I see that fortune, ‘with evil done to me unsated still,’ has taken possession of all the roads by which any comfort may reach ‘this wretched soul’ that I carry in my flesh. And thou, highest perfection of excellence47 that can be desired, utmost limit of grace in human shape, sole relief of this afflicted48 heart that adores thee, though the malign49 enchanter that persecutes50 me has brought clouds and cataracts51 on my eyes, and to them, and them only, transformed thy unparagoned beauty and changed thy features into those of a poor peasant girl, if so be he has not at the same time changed mine into those of some monster to render them loathsome52 in thy sight, refuse not to look upon me with tenderness and love; seeing in this submission53 that I make on my knees to thy transformed beauty the humility54 with which my soul adores thee.”
“Hey-day! My grandfather!” cried the girl, “much I care for your love-making! Get out of the way and let us pass, and we’ll thank you.”
Sancho stood aside and let her go, very well pleased to have got so well out of the hobble he was in. The instant the village lass who had done duty for Dulcinea found herself free, prodding55 her “cackney” with a spike56 she had at the end of a stick, she set off at full speed across the field. The she-ass, however, feeling the point more acutely than usual, began cutting such capers57, that it flung the lady Dulcinea to the ground; seeing which, Don Quixote ran to raise her up, and Sancho to fix and girth the pack-saddle, which also had slipped under the ass’s belly58. The pack-saddle being secured, as Don Quixote was about to lift up his enchanted59 mistress in his arms and put her upon her beast, the lady, getting up from the ground, saved him the trouble, for, going back a little, she took a short run, and putting both hands on the croup of the ass she dropped into the saddle more lightly than a falcon60, and sat astride like a man, whereat Sancho said, “Rogue61!” but our lady is lighter62 than a lanner, and might teach the cleverest Cordovan or Mexican how to mount; she cleared the back of the saddle in one jump, and without spurs she is making the hackney go like a zebra; and her damsels are no way behind her, for they all fly like the wind;” which was the truth, for as soon as they saw Dulcinea mounted, they pushed on after her, and sped away without looking back, for more than half a league.
Don Quixote followed them with his eyes, and when they were no longer in sight, he turned to Sancho and said, “How now, Sancho? thou seest how I am hated by enchanters! And see to what a length the malice63 and spite they bear me go, when they seek to deprive me of the happiness it would give me to see my lady in her own proper form. The fact is I was born to be an example of misfortune, and the target and mark at which the arrows of adversity are aimed and directed. Observe too, Sancho, that these traitors64 were not content with changing and transforming my Dulcinea, but they transformed and changed her into a shape as mean and ill-favoured as that of the village girl yonder; and at the same time they robbed her of that which is such a peculiar65 property of ladies of distinction, that is to say, the sweet fragrance66 that comes of being always among perfumes and flowers. For I must tell thee, Sancho, that when I approached to put Dulcinea upon her hackney (as thou sayest it was, though to me it appeared a she-ass), she gave me a whiff of raw garlic that made my head reel, and poisoned my very heart.”
“O scum of the earth!” cried Sancho at this, “O miserable67, spiteful enchanters! O that I could see you all strung by the gills, like sardines68 on a twig69! Ye know a great deal, ye can do a great deal, and ye do a great deal more. It ought to have been enough for you, ye scoundrels, to have changed the pearls of my lady’s eyes into oak galls70, and her hair of purest gold into the bristles71 of a red ox’s tail, and in short, all her features from fair to foul72, without meddling73 with her smell; for by that we might somehow have found out what was hidden underneath74 that ugly rind; though, to tell the truth, I never perceived her ugliness, but only her beauty, which was raised to the highest pitch of perfection by a mole75 she had on her right lip, like a moustache, with seven or eight red hairs like threads of gold, and more than a palm long.”
“From the correspondence which exists between those of the face and those of the body,” said Don Quixote, “Dulcinea must have another mole resembling that on the thick of the thigh76 on that side on which she has the one on her ace29; but hairs of the length thou hast mentioned are very long for moles77.”
“Well, all I can say is there they were as plain as could be,” replied Sancho.
“I believe it, my friend,” returned Don Quixote; “for nature bestowed78 nothing on Dulcinea that was not perfect and well-finished; and so, if she had a hundred moles like the one thou hast described, in her they would not be moles, but moons and shining stars. But tell me, Sancho, that which seemed to me to be a pack-saddle as thou wert fixing it, was it a flat-saddle or a side-saddle?”
“It was neither,” replied Sancho, “but a jineta saddle, with a field covering worth half a kingdom, so rich is it.”
“And that I could not see all this, Sancho!” said Don Quixote; “once more I say, and will say a thousand times, I am the most unfortunate of men.”
Sancho, the rogue, had enough to do to hide his laughter, at hearing the simplicity79 of the master he had so nicely befooled. At length, after a good deal more conversation had passed between them, they remounted their beasts, and followed the road to Saragossa, which they expected to reach in time to take part in a certain grand festival which is held every year in that illustrious city; but before they got there things happened to them, so many, so important, and so strange, that they deserve to be recorded and read, as will be seen farther on.
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ass
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| n.驴；傻瓜，蠢笨的人 | |
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apprehension
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| n.理解，领悟；逮捕，拘捕；忧虑 | |
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entirely
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| ad.全部地，完整地；完全地，彻底地 | |
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grove
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| n.林子，小树林，园林 | |
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knight
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| n.骑士，武士；爵士 | |
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deign
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| v. 屈尊, 惠允 ( 做某事) | |
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bestow
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| v.把…赠与，把…授予；花费 | |
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blessing
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| n.祈神赐福；祷告；祝福，祝愿 | |
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thereby
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| adv.因此，从而 | |
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squires
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| n.地主，乡绅( squire的名词复数 ) | |
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squire
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| n.护卫, 侍从, 乡绅 | |
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agitated
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| adj.被鼓动的，不安的 | |
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sumptuous
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| adj.豪华的，奢侈的，华丽的 | |
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chamber
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| n.房间，寝室；会议厅；议院；会所 | |
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prop
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| vt.支撑；n.支柱，支撑物；支持者，靠山 | |
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standing
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| n.持续，地位；adj.永久的，不动的，直立的，不流动的 | |
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poises
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| 使平衡( poise的第三人称单数 )； 保持（某种姿势）； 抓紧； 使稳定 | |
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asses
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| n. 驴，愚蠢的人，臀部 adv. (常用作后置)用于贬损或骂人 | |
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asperity
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| n.粗鲁，艰苦 | |
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wilt
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| v.(使)植物凋谢或枯萎；(指人)疲倦，衰弱 | |
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recesses
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| n.壁凹( recess的名词复数 )；（工作或业务活动的）中止或暂停期间；学校的课间休息；某物内部的凹形空间v.把某物放在墙壁的凹处( recess的第三人称单数 )；将（墙）做成凹形，在（墙）上做壁龛；休息，休会，休庭 | |
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tune
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| n.调子；和谐，协调；v.调音，调节，调整 | |
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dread
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| vt.担忧，忧虑；惧怕，不敢；n.担忧，畏惧 | |
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dreary
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| adj.令人沮丧的，沉闷的，单调乏味的 | |
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solitude
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| n. 孤独; 独居,荒僻之地,幽静的地方 | |
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peg
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| n.木栓，木钉；vt.用木钉钉，用短桩固定 | |
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pegs
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| n.衣夹( peg的名词复数 )；挂钉；系帐篷的桩；弦钮v.用夹子或钉子固定( peg的第三人称单数 )；使固定在某水平 | |
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ace
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| n.A牌；发球得分；佼佼者；adj.杰出的 | |
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thicket
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| n.灌木丛，树林 | |
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tamper
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| v.干预，玩弄，贿赂，窜改，削弱，损害 | |
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ribs
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| n.肋骨( rib的名词复数 )；（船或屋顶等的）肋拱；肋骨状的东西；（织物的）凸条花纹 | |
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scent
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| n.气味，香味，香水，线索，嗅觉；v.嗅，发觉 | |
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yoke
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| n.轭；支配；v.给...上轭，连接，使成配偶 | |
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mules
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| 骡( mule的名词复数 )； 拖鞋； 顽固的人； 越境运毒者 | |
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passionate
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| adj.热情的，热烈的，激昂的，易动情的，易怒的，性情暴躁的 | |
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inscriptions
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| （作者）题词( inscription的名词复数 )； 献词； 碑文； 证劵持有人的登记 | |
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adorned
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| [计]被修饰的 | |
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rubies
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| 红宝石( ruby的名词复数 )； 红宝石色，深红色 | |
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haughtiness
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| n.傲慢；傲气 | |
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countenance
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| n.脸色，面容；面部表情；vt.支持，赞同 | |
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perplexed
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| adj.不知所措的 | |
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testily
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| adv. 易怒地, 暴躁地 | |
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softened
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| （使）变软( soften的过去式和过去分词 )； 缓解打击； 缓和； 安慰 | |
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sublimated
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| v.（使某物质）升华( sublimate的过去式和过去分词 )；使净化；纯化 | |
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chaff
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| v.取笑，嘲笑；n.谷壳 | |
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excellence
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| n.优秀，杰出，(pl.)优点，美德 | |
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afflicted
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| 使受痛苦，折磨( afflict的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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malign
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| adj.有害的；恶性的；恶意的；v.诽谤，诬蔑 | |
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persecutes
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| （尤指宗教或政治信仰的）迫害(~sb. for sth.)( persecute的第三人称单数 )； 烦扰，困扰或骚扰某人 | |
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cataracts
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| n.大瀑布( cataract的名词复数 )；白内障 | |
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loathsome
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| adj.讨厌的，令人厌恶的 | |
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submission
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| n.服从，投降；温顺，谦虚；提出 | |
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humility
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| n.谦逊，谦恭 | |
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prodding
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| v.刺，戳( prod的现在分词 )；刺激；促使；（用手指或尖物）戳 | |
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spike
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| n.长钉，钉鞋；v.以大钉钉牢，使...失效 | |
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capers
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| n.开玩笑( caper的名词复数 )；刺山柑v.跳跃，雀跃( caper的第三人称单数 ) | |
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belly
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| n.肚子，腹部；(像肚子一样)鼓起的部分，膛 | |
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enchanted
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| adj. 被施魔法的，陶醉的，入迷的 动词enchant的过去式和过去分词 | |
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falcon
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| n.隼，猎鹰 | |
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rogue
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| n.流氓；v.游手好闲 | |
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lighter
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| n.打火机，点火器；驳船；v.用驳船运送；light的比较级 | |
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malice
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| n.恶意，怨恨，蓄意；[律]预谋 | |
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traitors
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| 卖国贼( traitor的名词复数 )； 叛徒； 背叛者； 背信弃义的人 | |
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peculiar
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| adj.古怪的，异常的；特殊的，特有的 | |
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fragrance
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| n.芬芳，香味，香气 | |
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miserable
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| adj.悲惨的，痛苦的；可怜的，糟糕的 | |
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sardines
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| n. 沙丁鱼 | |
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twig
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| n.小树枝，嫩枝；v.理解 | |
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galls
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| v.使…擦痛( gall的第三人称单数 )；擦伤；烦扰；侮辱 | |
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bristles
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| 短而硬的毛发，刷子毛( bristle的名词复数 ) | |
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foul
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| adj.污秽的；邪恶的；v.弄脏；妨害；犯规；n.犯规 | |
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meddling
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| v.干涉，干预（他人事务）( meddle的现在分词 ) | |
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underneath
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| adj.在...下面，在...底下；adv.在下面 | |
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mole
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| n.胎块；痣；克分子 | |
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thigh
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| n.大腿；股骨 | |
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moles
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| 防波堤( mole的名词复数 )； 鼹鼠； 痣； 间谍 | |
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bestowed
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| 赠给，授予( bestow的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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simplicity
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| n.简单，简易；朴素；直率，单纯 | |
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