Part 1 The Author’s Preface
Idle reader: thou mayest believe me without any oath that I would this book, as it is the child of my brain, were the fairest, gayest, and cleverest that could be imagined. But I could not counteract Nature’s law that everything shall beget its like; and what, then, could this sterile, illtilled wit of mine beget but the story of a dry, shrivelled, whimsical offspring, full of thoughts of all sorts and such as never came into any other imagination — just what might be begotten in a prison, where every misery is lodged and every doleful sound makes its dwelling? Tranquillity, a cheerful retreat, pleasant fields, bright skies, murmuring brooks, peace of mind, these are the things that go far to make even the most barren muses fertile, and bring into the world births that fill it with wonder and delight. Sometimes when a father has an ugly, loutish son, the love he bears him so blindfolds his eyes that he does not see his defects, or, rather, takes them for gifts and charms of mind and body, and talks of them to his friends as wit and grace. I, however — for though I pass for the father, I am but the stepfather to “Don Quixote” — have no desire to go with the current of custom, or to implore thee, dearest reader, almost with tears in my eyes, as others do, to pardon or excuse the defects thou wilt perceive in this child of mine. Thou art neither its kinsman nor its friend, thy soul is thine own and thy will as free as any man’s , whate’er he be, thou art in thine own house and master of it as much as the king of his taxes and thou knowest the common saying, “Under my cloak I kill the king;” all which exempts and frees thee from every consideration and obligation, and thou canst say what thou wilt of the story without fear of being abused for any ill or rewarded for any good thou mayest say of it.
My wish would be simply to present it to thee plain and unadorned, without any embellishment of preface or uncountable muster of customary sonnets, epigrams, and eulogies, such as are commonly put at the beginning of books. For I can tell thee, though composing it cost me some labour, I found none greater than the making of this Preface thou art now reading. Many times did I take up my pen to write it, and many did I lay it down again, not knowing what to write. One of these times, as I was pondering with the paper before me, a pen in my ear, my elbow on the desk, and my cheek in my hand, thinking of what I should say, there came in unexpectedly a certain lively, clever friend of mine, who, seeing me so deep in thought, asked the reason; to which I, making no mystery of it, answered that I was thinking of the Preface I had to make for the story of “Don Quixote,” which so troubled me that I had a mind not to make any at all, nor even publish the achievements of so noble a knight.
“For, how could you expect me not to feel uneasy about what that ancient lawgiver they call the Public will say when it sees me, after slumbering so many years in the silence of oblivion, coming out now with all my years upon my back, and with a book as dry as a rush, devoid of invention, meagre in style, poor in thoughts, wholly wanting in learning and wisdom, without quotations in the margin or annotations at the end, after the fashion of other books I see, which, though all fables and profanity, are so full of maxims from Aristotle, and Plato, and the whole herd of philosophers, that they fill the readers with amazement and convince them that the authors are men of learning, erudition, and eloquence. And then, when they quote the Holy Scriptures! — anyone would say they are St. Thomases or other doctors of the Church, observing as they do a decorum so ingenious that in one sentence they describe a distracted lover and in the next deliver a devout little sermon that it is a pleasure and a treat to hear and read. Of all this there will be nothing in my book, for I have nothing to quote in the margin or to note at the end, and still less do I know what authors I follow in it, to place them at the beginning, as all do, under the letters A, B, C, beginning with Aristotle and ending with Xenophon, or Zoilus, or Zeuxis, though one was a slanderer and the other a painter. Also my book must do without sonnets at the beginning, at least sonnets whose authors are dukes, marquises, counts, bishops, ladies, or famous poets. Though if I were to ask two or three obliging friends, I know they would give me them, and such as the productions of those that have the highest reputation in our Spain could not equal.
“In short, my friend,” I continued, “I am determined that Senor Don Quixote shall remain buried in the archives of his own La Mancha until Heaven provide some one to garnish him with all those things he stands in need of; because I find myself, through my shallowness and want of learning, unequal to supplying them, and because I am by nature shy and careless about hunting for authors to say what I myself can say without them. Hence the cogitation and abstraction you found me in, and reason enough, what you have heard from me.”
Hearing this, my friend, giving himself a slap on the forehead and breaking into a hearty laugh, exclaimed, “Before God, Brother, now am I disabused of an error in which I have been living all this long time I have known you, all through which I have taken you to be shrewd and sensible in all you do; but now I see you are as far from that as the heaven is from the earth. It is possible that things of so little moment and so easy to set right can occupy and perplex a ripe wit like yours, fit to break through and crush far greater obstacles? By my faith, this comes, not of any want of ability, but of too much indolence and too little knowledge of life. Do you want to know if I am telling the truth? Well, then, attend to me, and you will see how, in the opening and shutting of an eye, I sweep away all your difficulties, and supply all those deficiencies which you say check and discourage you from bringing before the world the story of your famous Don Quixote, the light and mirror of all knight-errantry.”
“Say on,” said I, listening to his talk; “how do you propose to make up for my diffidence, and reduce to order this chaos of perplexity I am in?”
To which he made answer, “Your first difficulty about the sonnets, epigrams, or complimentary verses which you want for the beginning, and which ought to be by persons of importance and rank, can be removed if you yourself take a little trouble to make them; you can afterwards baptise them, and put any name you like to them, fathering them on Prester John of the Indies or the Emperor of Trebizond, who, to my knowledge, were said to have been famous poets: and even if they were not, and any pedants or bachelors should attack you and question the fact, never care two maravedis for that, for even if they prove a lie against you they cannot cut off the hand you wrote it with.
“As to references in the margin to the books and authors from whom you take the aphorisms and sayings you put into your story, it is only contriving to fit in nicely any sentences or scraps of Latin you may happen to have by heart, or at any rate that will not give you much trouble to look up; so as, when you speak of freedom and captivity, to insert
Non bene pro toto libertas venditur auro;
and then refer in the margin to Horace, or whoever said it; or, if you allude to the power of death, to come in with —
Pallida mors Aequo pulsat pede pauperum tabernas,
Regumque turres.
If it be friendship and the love God bids us bear to our enemy, go at once to the Holy Scriptures, which you can do with a very small amount of research, and quote no less than the words of God himself: Ego autem dico vobis: diligite inimicos vestros. If you speak of evil thoughts, turn to the Gospel: De corde exeunt cogitationes malae. If of the fickleness of friends, there is Cato, who will give you his distich:
Donec eris felix multos numerabis amicos,
Tempora si fuerint nubila, solus eris.
With these and such like bits of Latin they will take you for a grammarian at all events, and that now-a-days is no small honour and profit.
“With regard to adding annotations at the end of the book, you may safely do it in this way. If you mention any giant in your book contrive that it shall be the giant Goliath, and with this alone, which will cost you almost nothing, you have a grand note, for you can put — The giant Golias or Goliath was a Philistine whom the shepherd David slew by a mighty stone-cast in the Terebinth valley, as is related in the Book of Kings — in the chapter where you find it written.
“Next, to prove yourself a man of erudition in polite literature and cosmography, manage that the river Tagus shall be named in your story, and there you are at once with another famous annotation, setting forth — The river Tagus was so called after a King of Spain: it has its source in such and such a place and falls into the ocean, kissing the walls of the famous city of Lisbon, and it is a common belief that it has golden sands, etc. If you should have anything to do with robbers, I will give you the story of Cacus, for I have it by heart; if with loose women, there is the Bishop of Mondonedo, who will give you the loan of Lamia, Laida, and Flora, any reference to whom will bring you great credit; if with hard-hearted ones, Ovid will furnish you with Medea; if with witches or enchantresses, Homer has Calypso, and Virgil Circe; if with valiant captains, Julius Caesar himself will lend you himself in his own ‘Commentaries,’ and Plutarch will give you a thousand Alexanders. If you should deal with love, with two ounces you may know of Tuscan you can go to Leon the Hebrew, who will supply you to your heart’s content; or if you should not care to go to foreign countries you have at home Fonseca’s ‘Of the Love of God,’ in which is condensed all that you or the most imaginative mind can want on the subject. In short, all you have to do is to manage to quote these names, or refer to these stories I have mentioned, and leave it to me to insert the annotations and quotations, and I swear by all that’s good to fill your margins and use up four sheets at the end of the book.
“Now let us come to those references to authors which other books have, and you want for yours. The remedy for this is very simple: You have only to look out for some book that quotes them all, from A to Z as you say yourself, and then insert the very same alphabet in your book, and though the imposition may be plain to see, because you have so little need to borrow from them, that is no matter; there will probably be some simple enough to believe that you have made use of them all in this plain, artless story of yours. At any rate, if it answers no other purpose, this long catalogue of authors will serve to give a surprising look of authority to your book. Besides, no one will trouble himself to verify whether you have followed them or whether you have not, being no way concerned in it; especially as, if I mistake not, this book of yours has no need of any one of those things you say it wants, for it is, from beginning to end, an attack upon the books of chivalry, of which Aristotle never dreamt, nor St. Basil said a word, nor Cicero had any knowledge; nor do the niceties of truth nor the observations of astrology come within the range of its fanciful vagaries; nor have geometrical measurements or refutations of the arguments used in rhetoric anything to do with it; nor does it mean to preach to anybody, mixing up things human and divine, a sort of motley in which no Christian understanding should dress itself. It has only to avail itself of truth to nature in its composition, and the more perfect the imitation the better the work will be. And as this piece of yours aims at nothing more than to destroy the authority and influence which books of chivalry have in the world and with the public, there is no need for you to go a-begging for aphorisms from philosophers, precepts from Holy Scripture, fables from poets, speeches from orators, or miracles from saints; but merely to take care that your style and diction run musically, pleasantly, and plainly, with clear, proper, and well-placed words, setting forth your purpose to the best of your power, and putting your ideas intelligibly, without confusion or obscurity. Strive, too, that in reading your story the melancholy may be moved to laughter, and the merry made merrier still; that the simple shall not be wearied, that the judicious shall admire the invention, that the grave shall not despise it, nor the wise fail to praise it. Finally, keep your aim fixed on the destruction of that ill-founded edifice of the books of chivalry, hated by some and praised by many more; for if you succeed in this you will have achieved no small success.”
In profound silence I listened to what my friend said, and his observations made such an impression on me that, without attempting to question them, I admitted their soundness, and out of them I determined to make this Preface; wherein, gentle reader, thou wilt perceive my friend’s good sense, my good fortune in finding such an adviser in such a time of need, and what thou hast gained in receiving, without addition or alteration, the story of the famous Don Quixote of La Mancha, who is held by all the inhabitants of the district of the Campo de Montiel to have been the chastest lover and the bravest knight that has for many years been seen in that neighbourhood. I have no desire to magnify the service I render thee in making thee acquainted with so renowned and honoured a knight, but I do desire thy thanks for the acquaintance thou wilt make with the famous Sancho Panza, his squire, in whom, to my thinking, I have given thee condensed all the squirely drolleries that are scattered through the swarm of the vain books of chivalry. And so — may God give thee health, and not forget me. Vale.
 
闲逸的读者，你一定会以为我希望我杜撰的这本书尽善尽美，优美绝伦。可我却悖逆不了自然界物造其类的规律。像我这样思维贫乏、胸无点墨的人，就像一个出生在纷扰尽生、哀声四起牢房里的人①，除了编造一个枯瘦任性、满脑怪谲的孩子的故事，还能编什么呢？如果生活安逸，环境清幽，田园秀丽，天空晴朗，泉水低吟，心绪平静，再贫乏的创作思维也会变得丰富，从而为社会提供各种作品，让社会洋溢着美好和欢乐。有的父亲得了面目丑陋、毫不可爱的孩子，可是父爱蒙住了父亲的眼睛，对孩子的短处视而不见，反而认为是聪明漂亮，向朋友们说孩子机灵标致。我呢，就像唐吉诃德的父亲，虽然只不过是继父，却不愿意随波逐流，像别人那样，几乎是眼噙泪水，求尊贵的读者宽恕或掩饰你所看到的我儿子的短处。既然你不是孩子的亲戚，也不是他的朋友，你有自己的灵魂和意志，又聪明绝顶，而且还是在自己的家里，是一家之主，那么完全可以为所欲为。你知道，俗话说，“进我披风，国君可弑”。因此，你可以不受任何约束，不承担任何义务，对这个故事任意评论。请不必担心，说它不好，没有人指责你，说它好，也没有人奖励你。
①塞万提斯曾两度身陷囹圄，也有资料认为，《唐吉诃德》始作于狱中。
我只想给你原原本本地讲个故事，而不用前言和卷首惯有的许多十四行诗、讥讽诗和颂词来点缀。我可以告诉你，虽然我编这个故事小费气力，却绝没有写这篇序言那么困难。多少次，我提笔欲写，却又因无从写起而搁笔。有一次，我面前铺着纸，耳朵上夹着笔，胳膊肘撑在桌上，手托脸颊，正冥思苦索，忽然来了一位朋友。他活泼可爱，熟谙世事，看见我若有所思，就问我在想什么。我直言不讳，说我正想为唐吉诃德的故事写个序言，还说我简直不想写了，也不想把这位贵族骑士的业绩公之于众了。“一想到那位被称之为大众的严厉的法官，我怎能不惶惶然呢？他看到我默默无闻多年①，已是一大把年纪，现又复出，编个故事竟干如针茅，毫无创新，风格平淡，文思枯窘，学识泛泛，会怎么说呢？而且这本书边白没有批注，书末没有集释，不像其他书，即使粗制滥造，也满篇亚里士多德、柏拉图和一堆哲学家的格言，令读者肃然起敬，认为作者是博学多闻、文才横溢的人。他们引用《圣经》，不过是为了表示他们是圣托斯•托马斯②或其他神学家嘛！他们这行字刻画一个放荡的恋人，另一行字却是基督教说教，令人赏心悦目，又巧妙地保持了自己的持重。所有这些，我的书里都没有。我在边白没有什么可批注的，书尾也没有什么可集释的，更不知道有哪些我所参考的作者的名字可以列在卷首，不像其他人，按照字母A、B、C的顺序，从亚里士多德到色诺芬③、索伊洛④或宙克西斯⑤，逐一列注，虽然索伊洛只不过是批评家，而后一位是画家。我的书卷首没有十四行诗，起码连公爵、侯爵、伯爵、主教、贵夫人或著名诗人的十四行诗都没有，尽管我如果向我的两三个做官的朋友求诗的话，他们会给我写的，而且写得绝不亚于我们西班牙最有名气的那些人。
①塞万提斯在1585年出版了第一部小说《加拉特亚》第一部，然后一直到1605年，才出版了《唐吉诃德》上卷。
②圣托斯•托马斯是基督教神学家。
③色诺芬是古希腊历史学家、作家。
④索伊洛是古希腊批评家。
⑤宙克西斯是古希腊的画家。
“总之，我的朋友，”我又接着说，“我决定还是让唐吉诃德先生埋没于他留在曼查的故纸堆里，直到有一天，苍天造就了能够装点其门面的人。反正我回天无力，才疏学浅，而且生性怠惰，懒得到处求人说那些我自己也能说的东西。因此我才发愣。你刚才听我说的这些事就足以让我发愣了。”
听到这儿，我的朋友拍了一下额头，大笑着对我说：
“看在上帝份上，兄弟，认识你这么长时间了，我才刚刚醒悟过来。我一直以为你是个聪明谨慎的人，可现在看来，你远非如此，而且跟我料想的简直有天壤之别。本来在短时间内很容易做到的事情，却居然把像你这样饱经世故的人吓懵了，想罢手不干了。其实，你不是能力不足，而是太懈怠了，懒于思索。你想想看我说的对不对？那么，请听我说，著名的唐吉诃德是所有游侠骑士的光辉楷模，你却怯于出版他的故事。你会看到，我如何在转瞬之间就克服你说的那些困难，把那些装门面的东西都填补上。”
“你说吧，”我听了他的话说道，“你打算怎样除掉我的疑虑，解开我的谜团呢？”
他说：“你首先考虑的是卷首没有十四行诗、讥讽诗和颂词，而且还得要风雅文士和贵族之作，其实，这些你只须用些微之力自己作就行了。你把它任意加上几个名字，加上教士国王①或特拉彼松达②皇帝的名字，据说他们都是著名诗人。即使他们不是诗人，而且有腐儒和多嘴家伙在背后嘀咕并诋毁你，你也毫无损失。他们就算查清了那是虚构，也不能把你写字的手砍掉。
①教士国王是中世纪传说里的人物，指阿比西尼亚王或鞑靼王。
②特拉彼松达是古希腊时代的一个帝国。
“至于书页边白上，你可以引用经典以及那些经典的作者，只须凭记忆写些相应的格言或拉丁文就行了。或者你费点力气查一查，例如，谈到自由和禁锢，你就写上：
为黄金，失自由，并非幸福。
然后，你就可以写上贺拉斯①或其他什么人的名字。如果谈到死亡的力量，你就引用：
死神踏平贫民屋，
同样扫荡君王殿。
如果说到上帝让我们对敌人也要友爱，你就引用《圣经》。你随便一翻就能找到上帝的原话：‘只是我告诉你们，要爱你们的仇敌！’讲到邪念，你不妨援用《福音》：‘从心里发出来的有恶念。’如果朋友不可靠，那么有卡顿②呢，他会告诉你：
顺利之时朋友多，
危难之时门冷落。
有了这类拉丁文的东西，人们至少把你看成是语言学家，这在当今可以名利双收呢。要说书尾的集释，你也完全可以照此办理。如果你想在书里加上一位巨人的名字，你就写巨人歌利亚。这本来不费你什么事，还可以大做注释。你找到有关章节就可以注上：‘据《列王记》，巨人歌利亚或者歌利亚特，是腓力士人，在特雷宾托山谷③被牧人大卫用一块石头猛击而死。’
①贺拉斯是古罗马的杰出诗人。
②卡顿是古罗马的政治家。
③据《旧约•撒母耳记》第十七章，应为以拉山谷。
“然后，如果你要炫示你对人文学和宇宙学有研究，就要尽量在你的故事里提到塔霍河，接着你就可以再作一段精彩的注解，写道：‘塔霍河得名于一位西班牙国王。它发源于某地，又沿着著名的里斯本城墙，流入海洋，据说它含有金沙等等。’若是涉及小偷，我可以告诉你卡科①的故事，这我还记得。谈到风尘女，蒙多涅多主教会向你提供拉米亚、列伊达和弗洛拉，这个注释会让你信誉倍增。说到狠毒的人，奥维德②会举荐美狄亚③。要说女魔法师和女巫师，荷马有卡吕普索④，维吉尔⑤有喀尔刻⑥。论骁将，尤利乌斯•凯撒会挺身而出，献上他的《高卢战记》和《内战记》；普鲁塔克⑦会告诉你上千个亚历山大。提及爱情，你只需知道托斯卡纳语⑧之皮毛，就可以找到莱昂•埃夫雷奥，满足你的需要。倘若你不愿意到国外去找，家里就有丰塞卡的《上帝之爱》，你和旷世智者需要的材料在那里应有尽有。总之，你要做的事情就是开列出这些名字，或者把我刚才说的这些故事塞进你的故事，由我负责写批注和集释。我保证把边白都填满，书尾再补上四页。
①卡科是古罗马神话中火神的儿子，因窃牛被杀。
②奥维德是古罗马诗人。
③美狄亚是希腊神话中科尔喀斯国王的公主，会巫术，后为伊阿宋之妻。年迈时伊阿宋另娶。美狄亚送新娘一件婚服，新娘披上即被焚死。美狄亚还杀死了两个儿子和她的弟弟。
④卡吕普索是古希腊神话中俄古癸亚岛的女神。
⑤维吉尔是古罗马诗人。
⑥喀尔刻是古希腊神话中太阳神和佩耳塞之女，精通魔法。
⑦普鲁塔克是古希腊传记作家、散文家。
⑧托斯卡纳语是意大利一个地区的语言。
“现在，咱们再来说说参考作家的名单吧。别人的书里都有，而你的书却没有。解决的方法很简单，你只须找一个作者名单，就像你说的那样，按照字母顺序从A到Z列到你的书上。尽管一看就是假的，因为你大可不必参阅那么多作者，那也没关系，说不定真有人头脑单纯，相信你为写这个简单普通的故事参阅了那么多作者呢。这个长长的名单即使没什么用，也至少可以给你的书额外地增加权威性。而且，也不会有人去调查你是否参阅了那些作者，这跟他没关系。尤其是我忽然想到，你说你这本书缺少那些装门面的东西，我觉得其实大可不必。这本书是讽刺骑士小说的，而骑士小说亚里士多德从未提及，圣巴西利奥也不置可否，西塞罗①又看不懂。这个故事的真实程度以及它是否有占星学的观测力，都不必听他们信口雌黄。至于是否有几何学的精确尺度，有修辞学的标准论据，都对你这本书无关紧要。你也无须将人的东西和神的东西混为一体，告诉某人说这本书是个综合体。任何一种基督教意识都不会认为应该有这种装饰。你只能依靠在写作的过程中摹仿得益。摹仿得越贴切，写得就越好。你这本书的宗旨是为了消除骑士小说在社会上和百姓中的影响和地位，因此不必到处乞求哲学家的警句、《圣经》的箴言、诗人编造的神话、修辞学家的词句和圣人的奇迹，而是要直截了当，言之有物，用词得体，写出的句子动人诙谐，尽可能地表现出你的意图，有条不紊、文从字顺地陈述你的观点。你还应该争取做到让人读了你的故事以后，忧郁的人转忧为笑，愉快的人夸其创意，苛求的人不睥睨视之，矜持的人也赞不绝口。实际上，你的目的就是要推翻骑士小说胡编滥造的那套虚幻的东西。很多人厌恶骑士小说，但更多的人喜欢它。你要是能达到你的目的，收获不小呢。”
①西塞罗是古罗马政治家、演说家、哲学家。
我洗耳恭听朋友的忠告，条条在理，打动我心。我深信不疑，欣然采纳，按照他的意见写了这个序言。在这个序言里，温和的读者，你可以看到，我的朋友是多么聪明，我又是多么走运，在最需要帮助的时候遇到了这位顾问，而你也松了一口气，看到了曼查著名的唐吉诃德的真实故事。据蒙铁尔地区的所有居民说，多年来，唐吉诃德在那一带一直称得上是最忠实的情人，最勇敢的骑士。我不想强调是我向你介绍了这位尊贵正直的骑士，但希望你感谢我让你即将认识他的侍从，那位著名的桑乔•潘萨。我认为，我已把那些空洞的骑士小说里侍从的所有滑稽之处都集于他一身了。现在，愿上帝保佑你健康，毋忘我。
请多多保重。
Part 1 Chapter 1
In a village of La Mancha, the name of which I have no desire to call to mind, there lived not long since one of those gentlemen that keep a lance in the lance-rack, an old buckler, a lean hack, and a greyhound for coursing. An olla of rather more beef than mutton, a salad on most nights, scraps on Saturdays, lentils on Fridays, and a pigeon or so extra on Sundays, made away with three-quarters of his income. The rest of it went in a doublet of fine cloth and velvet breeches and shoes to match for holidays, while on week-days he made a brave figure in his best homespun. He had in his house a housekeeper past forty, a niece under twenty, and a lad for the field and market-place, who used to saddle the hack as well as handle the bill-hook. The age of this gentleman of ours was bordering on fifty; he was of a hardy habit, spare, gaunt-featured, a very early riser and a great sportsman. They will have it his surname was Quixada or Quesada (for here there is some difference of opinion among the authors who write on the subject), although from reasonable conjectures it seems plain that he was called Quexana. This, however, is of but little importance to our tale; it will be enough not to stray a hair’s breadth from the truth in the telling of it.
You must know, then, that the above-named gentleman whenever he was at leisure (which was mostly all the year round) gave himself up to reading books of chivalry with such ardour and avidity that he almost entirely neglected the pursuit of his field-sports, and even the management of his property; and to such a pitch did his eagerness and infatuation go that he sold many an acre of tillageland to buy books of chivalry to read, and brought home as many of them as he could get. But of all there were none he liked so well as those of the famous Feliciano de Silva’s composition, for their lucidity of style and complicated conceits were as pearls in his sight, particularly when in his reading he came upon courtships and cartels, where he often found passages like “the reason of the unreason with which my reason is afflicted so weakens my reason that with reason I murmur at your beauty;” or again, “the high heavens, that of your divinity divinely fortify you with the stars, render you deserving of the desert your greatness deserves.” Over conceits of this sort the poor gentleman lost his wits, and used to lie awake striving to understand them and worm the meaning out of them; what Aristotle himself could not have made out or extracted had he come to life again for that special purpose. He was not at all easy about the wounds which Don Belianis gave and took, because it seemed to him that, great as were the surgeons who had cured him, he must have had his face and body covered all over with seams and scars. He commended, however, the author’s way of ending his book with the promise of that interminable adventure, and many a time was he tempted to take up his pen and finish it properly as is there proposed, which no doubt he would have done, and made a successful piece of work of it too, had not greater and more absorbing thoughts prevented him.
Many an argument did he have with the curate of his village (a learned man, and a graduate of Siguenza) as to which had been the better knight, Palmerin of England or Amadis of Gaul. Master Nicholas, the village barber, however, used to say that neither of them came up to the Knight of Phoebus, and that if there was any that could compare with him it was Don Galaor, the brother of Amadis of Gaul, because he had a spirit that was equal to every occasion, and was no finikin knight, nor lachrymose like his brother, while in the matter of valour he was not a whit behind him. In short, he became so absorbed in his books that he spent his nights from sunset to sunrise, and his days from dawn to dark, poring over them; and what with little sleep and much reading his brains got so dry that he lost his wits. His fancy grew full of what he used to read about in his books, enchantments, quarrels, battles, challenges, wounds, wooings, loves, agonies, and all sorts of impossible nonsense; and it so possessed his mind that the whole fabric of invention and fancy he read of was true, that to him no history in the world had more reality in it. He used to say the Cid Ruy Diaz was a very good knight, but that he was not to be compared with the Knight of the Burning Sword who with one back-stroke cut in half two fierce and monstrous giants. He thought more of Bernardo del Carpio because at Roncesvalles he slew Roland in spite of enchantments, availing himself of the artifice of Hercules when he strangled Antaeus the son of Terra in his arms. He approved highly of the giant Morgante, because, although of the giant breed which is always arrogant and ill-conditioned, he alone was affable and well-bred. But above all he admired Reinaldos of Montalban, especially when he saw him sallying forth from his castle and robbing everyone he met, and when beyond the seas he stole that image of Mahomet which, as his history says, was entirely of gold. To have a bout of kicking at that traitor of a Ganelon he would have given his housekeeper, and his niece into the bargain.
In short, his wits being quite gone, he hit upon the strangest notion that ever madman in this world hit upon, and that was that he fancied it was right and requisite, as well for the support of his own honour as for the service of his country, that he should make a knight-errant of himself, roaming the world over in full armour and on horseback in quest of adventures, and putting in practice himself all that he had read of as being the usual practices of knights-errant; righting every kind of wrong, and exposing himself to peril and danger from which, in the issue, he was to reap eternal renown and fame. Already the poor man saw himself crowned by the might of his arm Emperor of Trebizond at least; and so, led away by the intense enjoyment he found in these pleasant fancies, he set himself forthwith to put his scheme into execution.
The first thing he did was to clean up some armour that had belonged to his great-grandfather, and had been for ages lying forgotten in a corner eaten with rust and covered with mildew. He scoured and polished it as best he could, but he perceived one great defect in it, that it had no closed helmet, nothing but a simple morion. This deficiency, however, his ingenuity supplied, for he contrived a kind of half-helmet of pasteboard which, fitted on to the morion, looked like a whole one. It is true that, in order to see if it was strong and fit to stand a cut, he drew his sword and gave it a couple of slashes, the first of which undid in an instant what had taken him a week to do. The ease with which he had knocked it to pieces disconcerted him somewhat, and to guard against that danger he set to work again, fixing bars of iron on the inside until he was satisfied with its strength; and then, not caring to try any more experiments with it, he passed it and adopted it as a helmet of the most perfect construction.
He next proceeded to inspect his hack, which, with more quartos than a real and more blemishes than the steed of Gonela, that “tantum pellis et ossa fuit,” surpassed in his eyes the Bucephalus of Alexander or the Babieca of the Cid. Four days were spent in thinking what name to give him, because (as he said to himself) it was not right that a horse belonging to a knight so famous, and one with such merits of his own, should be without some distinctive name, and he strove to adapt it so as to indicate what he had been before belonging to a knight-errant, and what he then was; for it was only reasonable that, his master taking a new character, he should take a new name, and that it should be a distinguished and full-sounding one, befitting the new order and calling he was about to follow. And so, after having composed, struck out, rejected, added to, unmade, and remade a multitude of names out of his memory and fancy, he decided upon calling him Rocinante, a name, to his thinking, lofty, sonorous, and significant of his condition as a hack before he became what he now was, the first and foremost of all the hacks in the world.
Having got a name for his horse so much to his taste, he was anxious to get one for himself, and he was eight days more pondering over this point, till at last he made up his mind to call himself “Don Quixote,” whence, as has been already said, the authors of this veracious history have inferred that his name must have been beyond a doubt Quixada, and not Quesada as others would have it. Recollecting, however, that the valiant Amadis was not content to call himself curtly Amadis and nothing more, but added the name of his kingdom and country to make it famous, and called himself Amadis of Gaul, he, like a good knight, resolved to add on the name of his, and to style himself Don Quixote of La Mancha, whereby, he considered, he described accurately his origin and country, and did honour to it in taking his surname from it.
So then, his armour being furbished, his morion turned into a helmet, his hack christened, and he himself confirmed, he came to the conclusion that nothing more was needed now but to look out for a lady to be in love with; for a knight-errant without love was like a tree without leaves or fruit, or a body without a soul. As he said to himself, “If, for my sins, or by my good fortune, I come across some giant hereabouts, a common occurrence with knights-errant, and overthrow him in one onslaught, or cleave him asunder to the waist, or, in short, vanquish and subdue him, will it not be well to have some one I may send him to as a present, that he may come in and fall on his knees before my sweet lady, and in a humble, submissive voice say, ‘I am the giant Caraculiambro, lord of the island of Malindrania, vanquished in single combat by the never sufficiently extolled knight Don Quixote of La Mancha, who has commanded me to present myself before your Grace, that your Highness dispose of me at your pleasure’?” Oh, how our good gentleman enjoyed the delivery of this speech, especially when he had thought of some one to call his Lady! There was, so the story goes, in a village near his own a very good-looking farm-girl with whom he had been at one time in love, though, so far as is known, she never knew it nor gave a thought to the matter. Her name was Aldonza Lorenzo, and upon her he thought fit to confer the title of Lady of his Thoughts; and after some search for a name which should not be out of harmony with her own, and should suggest and indicate that of a princess and great lady, he decided upon calling her Dulcinea del Toboso — she being of El Toboso — a name, to his mind, musical, uncommon, and significant, like all those he had already bestowed upon himself and the things belonging to him.
 
曼查有个地方，地名就不用提了，不久前住着一位贵族。他那类贵族，矛架上有一支长矛，还有一面皮盾、一匹瘦马和一只猎兔狗。锅里牛肉比羊肉多①，晚餐常吃凉拌肉丁，星期六吃脂油煎鸡蛋，星期五吃扁豆，星期日加一只野雏鸽，这就用去了他四分之三的收入，其余的钱买了节日穿的黑呢外套、长毛绒袜子和平底鞋，而平时，他总是得意洋洋地穿着上好的棕色粗呢衣。家里有一个四十多岁的女管家，一个不到二十岁的外甥女，还有一个能种地、能采购的小伙子，为他备马、修剪树枝。
①当时羊肉比牛肉贵。
我们的这位贵族年近五旬，体格健壮，肌肉干瘪，脸庞清瘦，每天起得很早，喜欢打猎。据说他还有一个别名，叫基哈达或克萨达（各种记载略有不同）。推论起来，应该叫吉哈纳。不过，这对我们的故事并不重要，只要我们谈起他来不失真实就行。
人家说这位贵族一年到头闲的时候居多，闲时常读骑士小说，而且读得爱不释手，津津有味，几乎忘记了习武和理财。他痴心不已，简直走火入魔，居然卖掉了许多田地去买骑士小说。他把所有能弄到的骑士小说都搬回家。不过，所有这些小说，他都觉得不如闻名遐迩的费利西亚诺•德席尔瓦写得好，此人的平铺直叙和繁冗陈述被他视为明珠，特别在读到那些殷勤话和挑逗信时更是如此。许多地方这样写道：“以你无理对我有理之道理，使我自觉理亏，因此我埋怨你漂亮也有道理。”还有：“高空以星星使你的神圣更加神圣，使你受之无愧地接受你受之无愧的伟大称号而受之无愧。”
这些话使得这位可怜的贵族惶惑不已。他夜不能寐，要理解这些即使亚里士多德再生也理解不了的句子，琢磨其意。他对唐贝利亚尼斯打伤了别人而自己也受伤略感不快，可以想象，即使高明的外科医生治好了病，也不免会在脸上和全身留下伤疤累累。然而，他很欣赏书的末尾说故事还没有完结，很多次，他甚至提笔续写。如果不是其它更重要的想法不断打扰他，他肯定会续写，而且会写完的。
他常常和当地的神父（一位知识渊博的人，毕业于锡古恩萨）争论，谁是最优秀的骑士，是英格兰的帕尔梅林呢，还是高卢的阿马迪斯？可是同村的理发师尼古拉斯师傅却说，谁都比不上太阳神骑士。如果有人能够与之相比，那么，只能是高卢的阿马迪斯的兄弟加劳尔。他具有各方面的条件，不是矫揉造作的骑士，而且不像他兄弟那样爱哭，论勇敢也不比他兄弟差。
总之，他沉湎于书，每天晚上通宵达旦，白天也读得天昏地转。这样，睡得少，读得多，终于思维枯竭，神经失常，满脑袋都是书上虚构的那些东西，都是想入非非的魔术、打斗、战争、挑战、负伤、献殷勤、爱情、暴风雨、胡言乱语等。他确信他在书上读到的所有那些虚构杜撰都是真的。对他来说，世界上只有那些故事才是实事。他说熙德•鲁伊•迪亚斯是一位杰出的骑士，可是与火剑骑士无法相比。火剑骑士反手一击，就把两个巨大的恶魔劈成了两半。他最推崇卡皮奥的贝尔纳多。在龙塞斯瓦列斯，贝尔纳多借助赫拉克勒斯①把地神之子安泰②举起扼死的方法，杀死了会魔法的罗尔丹。他十分称赞巨人摩根达。其他巨人都傲慢无礼，唯有他文质彬彬。不过，他最赞赏的是蒙塔尔万的雷纳尔多斯，特别是看到故事中说，他走出城堡，逢物便偷，而且还到海外偷了全身金铸的穆罕默德像的时候，更是赞叹不止。为了狠狠地踢一顿叛徒加拉隆，他情愿献出他的女管家，甚至可以再赔上他的外甥女。
①赫拉克勒斯是古罗马神话中的大力神。
②安泰一旦离开地面就失去了力量。
实际上，他理性已尽失。他产生了一个世界上所有疯子都不曾有过的怪诞想法，自己倒认为既合适又有必要，既可以提高自己的声望，还可以报效他的国家。他要做个游侠骑士，带着他的甲胄和马走遍世界，八方征险，实施他在小说里看到的游侠骑士所做的一切，赴汤蹈火，报尽天下仇，而后留芳千古。可怜的他已经在想象靠自己双臂的力量，起码得统治特拉彼松达帝国。想到这些，他心中陶然，而且从中体验到了一种奇特的快感，于是他立即将愿望付诸行动。他首先做的就是清洗他的曾祖父留下的甲胄。甲胄长年不用，被遗忘在一个角落里，已经生锈发霉。他把甲胄洗干净，尽可能地拾掇好，可是他发现了一个大毛病，就是没有完整的头盔，只有一个简单的顶盔。不过，他可以设法补救。他用纸壳做了半个头盔接在顶盔上，看起来像个完整的头盔。为了试试头盔是否结实，是否能够抵御刀击，他拔剑扎了两下。结果，刚在一个地方扎了一下，他一星期的成果就毁坏了。看到这么容易就把它弄碎了，他颇感不快。他又做了一个头盔。为了保证头蓝不会再次被毁坏，他在里面装了几根铁棍。他对自己的头盔感到满意，不愿意再做试验，就当它是个完美的头盔。
然后，他去看马。虽然那马的蹄裂好比一个雷阿尔①，毛病比戈内拉②那匹皮包骨头的马毛病还多，他还是觉得，无论亚历山大的骏马布塞法洛还是熙德的骏马巴别卡，都不能与之相比。
①此句为双关语。“蹄裂”的原文又是一种辅币夸尔托。一个雷阿尔等于八个夸尔托。
②戈内拉是意大利的滑稽家，有一匹瘦马。
他用了四天时间给马起名。因为（据他自言自语），像他这样有名望、心地善良的骑士的马没有个赫赫大名就太不像话了。他要给马起个名字，让人知道，在他成为游侠之前它的声名，后来又怎么样。主人地位变，马名随之改，这也是合情合理的。得起个鼎鼎煊赫、如雷贯耳的名字，才能与他的新品第、新行当相匹配。他造了很多名字，都不行，再补充，又去掉。最后，凭记忆加想象，才选定叫罗西南多。他觉得这个名字高雅、响亮，表示在此之前，它是一匹瘦马，而今却在世界上首屈一指①。
①按照原文发音，罗西南多为“瘦马”和“第一”的合音。
给马起了个称心如意的名字之后，他又想给自己起个名字。这又想了八天，最后才想起叫唐吉诃德。前面谈到，这个真实故事的作者认为他肯定叫基哈达，而不是像别人说的那样叫克萨达。不过，想到勇敢的阿马迪斯不满足于叫阿马迪斯，还要把王国和家乡的名字加上，为故里增光，叫高卢的阿马迪斯，这位优秀的骑士也想把老家的名字加在自己的名字上，就叫曼查的唐吉诃德。他觉得这样既可以表明自己的籍贯，还可以为故乡带来荣耀。
洗净了甲胄，把顶盔做成了头盔，又为马和自己起了名字，他想，就差一个恋人了。没有爱情的游侠骑士就好像一棵树无叶无果，一个躯体没有灵魂。他自语道：“假如我倒霉或走运，在什么地方碰到某个巨人，这对游侠骑士是常有的事，我就一下子把他打翻在地或拦腰斩断，或者最终把他战胜，降伏了他。我让他去见一个人难道不好吗？我让他进门跪倒在我漂亮的夫人面前，低声下气地说：‘夫人，我是巨人卡拉库利安布罗，是马林德拉尼亚岛的领主。绝代骑士曼查的唐吉诃德以非凡的技艺将我打败了，并且命令我到您这儿来，听候您的吩咐。’”哦，一想到这段话，我们的优秀骑士多得意呀，尤其是当他找到了他可以赋予恋人芳名的对象时，他更得意了。原来，据说他爱上了附近一位漂亮的农村姑娘。他一直爱着那位姑娘，虽然他明白，那位姑娘从不知道也从未意识到这件事。她叫阿尔东萨•洛伦索。他认为，把这位姑娘作为想象中的恋人是合适的。他要为她起个名字，既不次于自己的名字，又接近公主和贵夫人的名字。她出生在托博索，那就叫“托博索的杜尔西内亚”吧。他觉得这个名字同他给自己和其他东西起的名字一样悦耳、美妙、有意义。
Part 1 Chapter 2
These preliminaries settled, he did not care to put off any longer the execution of his design, urged on to it by the thought of all the world was losing by his delay, seeing what wrongs he intended to right, grievances to redress, injustices to repair, abuses to remove, and duties to discharge. So, without giving notice of his intention to anyone, and without anybody seeing him, one morning before the dawning of the day (which was one of the hottest of the month of July) he donned his suit of armour, mounted Rocinante with his patched-up helmet on, braced his buckler, took his lance, and by the back door of the yard sallied forth upon the plain in the highest contentment and satisfaction at seeing with what ease he had made a beginning with his grand purpose. But scarcely did he find himself upon the open plain, when a terrible thought struck him, one all but enough to make him abandon the enterprise at the very outset. It occurred to him that he had not been dubbed a knight, and that according to the law of chivalry he neither could nor ought to bear arms against any knight; and that even if he had been, still he ought, as a novice knight, to wear white armour, without a device upon the shield until by his prowess he had earned one. These reflections made him waver in his purpose, but his craze being stronger than any reasoning, he made up his mind to have himself dubbed a knight by the first one he came across, following the example of others in the same case, as he had read in the books that brought him to this pass. As for white armour, he resolved, on the first opportunity, to scour his until it was whiter than an ermine; and so comforting himself he pursued his way, taking that which his horse chose, for in this he believed lay the essence of adventures.
Thus setting out, our new-fledged adventurer paced along, talking to himself and saying, “Who knows but that in time to come, when the veracious history of my famous deeds is made known, the sage who writes it, when he has to set forth my first sally in the early morning, will do it after this fashion? ‘Scarce had the rubicund Apollo spread o’er the face of the broad spacious earth the golden threads of his bright hair, scarce had the little birds of painted plumage attuned their notes to hail with dulcet and mellifluous harmony the coming of the rosy Dawn, that, deserting the soft couch of her jealous spouse, was appearing to mortals at the gates and balconies of the Manchegan horizon, when the renowned knight Don Quixote of La Mancha, quitting the lazy down, mounted his celebrated steed Rocinante and began to traverse the ancient and famous Campo de Montiel;’” which in fact he was actually traversing. “Happy the age, happy the time,” he continued, “in which shall be made known my deeds of fame, worthy to be moulded in brass, carved in marble, limned in pictures, for a memorial for ever. And thou, O sage magician, whoever thou art, to whom it shall fall to be the chronicler of this wondrous history, forget not, I entreat thee, my good Rocinante, the constant companion of my ways and wanderings.” Presently he broke out again, as if he were love-stricken in earnest, “O Princess Dulcinea, lady of this captive heart, a grievous wrong hast thou done me to drive me forth with scorn, and with inexorable obduracy banish me from the presence of thy beauty. O lady, deign to hold in remembrance this heart, thy vassal, that thus in anguish pines for love of thee.”
So he went on stringing together these and other absurdities, all in the style of those his books had taught him, imitating their language as well as he could; and all the while he rode so slowly and the sun mounted so rapidly and with such fervour that it was enough to melt his brains if he had any. Nearly all day he travelled without anything remarkable happening to him, at which he was in despair, for he was anxious to encounter some one at once upon whom to try the might of his strong arm.
 
Writers there are who say the first adventure he met with was that of Puerto Lapice; others say it was that of the windmills; but what I have ascertained on this point, and what I have found written in the annals of La Mancha, is that he was on the road all day, and towards nightfall his hack and he found themselves dead tired and hungry, when, looking all around to see if he could discover any castle or shepherd’s shanty where he might refresh himself and relieve his sore wants, he perceived not far out of his road an inn, which was as welcome as a star guiding him to the portals, if not the palaces, of his redemption; and quickening his pace he reached it just as night was setting in. At the door were standing two young women, girls of the district as they call them, on their way to Seville with some carriers who had chanced to halt that night at the inn; and as, happen what might to our adventurer, everything he saw or imaged seemed to him to be and to happen after the fashion of what he read of, the moment he saw the inn he pictured it to himself as a castle with its four turrets and pinnacles of shining silver, not forgetting the drawbridge and moat and all the belongings usually ascribed to castles of the sort. To this inn, which to him seemed a castle, he advanced, and at a short distance from it he checked Rocinante, hoping that some dwarf would show himself upon the battlements, and by sound of trumpet give notice that a knight was approaching the castle. But seeing that they were slow about it, and that Rocinante was in a hurry to reach the stable, he made for the inn door, and perceived the two gay damsels who were standing there, and who seemed to him to be two fair maidens or lovely ladies taking their ease at the castle gate.
At this moment it so happened that a swineherd who was going through the stubbles collecting a drove of pigs (for, without any apology, that is what they are called) gave a blast of his horn to bring them together, and forthwith it seemed to Don Quixote to be what he was expecting, the signal of some dwarf announcing his arrival; and so with prodigious satisfaction he rode up to the inn and to the ladies, who, seeing a man of this sort approaching in full armour and with lance and buckler, were turning in dismay into the inn, when Don Quixote, guessing their fear by their flight, raising his pasteboard visor, disclosed his dry dusty visage, and with courteous bearing and gentle voice addressed them, “Your ladyships need not fly or fear any rudeness, for that it belongs not to the order of knighthood which I profess to offer to anyone, much less to highborn maidens as your appearance proclaims you to be.” The girls were looking at him and straining their eyes to make out the features which the clumsy visor obscured, but when they heard themselves called maidens, a thing so much out of their line, they could not restrain their laughter, which made Don Quixote wax indignant, and say, “Modesty becomes the fair, and moreover laughter that has little cause is great silliness; this, however, I say not to pain or anger you, for my desire is none other than to serve you.”
The incomprehensible language and the unpromising looks of our cavalier only increased the ladies’ laughter, and that increased his irritation, and matters might have gone farther if at that moment the landlord had not come out, who, being a very fat man, was a very peaceful one. He, seeing this grotesque figure clad in armour that did not match any more than his saddle, bridle, lance, buckler, or corselet, was not at all indisposed to join the damsels in their manifestations of amusement; but, in truth, standing in awe of such a complicated armament, he thought it best to speak him fairly, so he said, “Senor Caballero, if your worship wants lodging, bating the bed (for there is not one in the inn) there is plenty of everything else here.” Don Quixote, observing the respectful bearing of the Alcaide of the fortress (for so innkeeper and inn seemed in his eyes), made answer, “Sir Castellan, for me anything will suffice, for
‘My armour is my only wear,
My only rest the fray.’”
The host fancied he called him Castellan because he took him for a “worthy of Castile,” though he was in fact an Andalusian, and one from the strand of San Lucar, as crafty a thief as Cacus and as full of tricks as a student or a page. “In that case,” said he,
“‘Your bed is on the flinty rock,
Your sleep to watch alway;’
and if so, you may dismount and safely reckon upon any quantity of sleeplessness under this roof for a twelvemonth, not to say for a single night.” So saying, he advanced to hold the stirrup for Don Quixote, who got down with great difficulty and exertion (for he had not broken his fast all day), and then charged the host to take great care of his horse, as he was the best bit of flesh that ever ate bread in this world. The landlord eyed him over but did not find him as good as Don Quixote said, nor even half as good; and putting him up in the stable, he returned to see what might be wanted by his guest, whom the damsels, who had by this time made their peace with him, were now relieving of his armour. They had taken off his breastplate and backpiece, but they neither knew nor saw how to open his gorget or remove his make-shift helmet, for he had fastened it with green ribbons, which, as there was no untying the knots, required to be cut. This, however, he would not by any means consent to, so he remained all the evening with his helmet on, the drollest and oddest figure that can be imagined; and while they were removing his armour, taking the baggages who were about it for ladies of high degree belonging to the castle, he said to them with great sprightliness:
Oh, never, surely, was there knight
So served by hand of dame,
As served was he, Don Quixote hight,
When from his town he came;
With maidens waiting on himself,
Princesses on his hack —
— or Rocinante, for that, ladies mine, is my horse’s name, and Don Quixote of La Mancha is my own; for though I had no intention of declaring myself until my achievements in your service and honour had made me known, the necessity of adapting that old ballad of Lancelot to the present occasion has given you the knowledge of my name altogether prematurely. A time, however, will come for your ladyships to command and me to obey, and then the might of my arm will show my desire to serve you.”
The girls, who were not used to hearing rhetoric of this sort, had nothing to say in reply; they only asked him if he wanted anything to eat. “I would gladly eat a bit of something,” said Don Quixote, “for I feel it would come very seasonably.” The day happened to be a Friday, and in the whole inn there was nothing but some pieces of the fish they call in Castile “abadejo,” in Andalusia “bacallao,” and in some places “curadillo,” and in others “troutlet;” so they asked him if he thought he could eat troutlet, for there was no other fish to give him. “If there be troutlets enough,” said Don Quixote, “they will be the same thing as a trout; for it is all one to me whether I am given eight reals in small change or a piece of eight; moreover, it may be that these troutlets are like veal, which is better than beef, or kid, which is better than goat. But whatever it be let it come quickly, for the burden and pressure of arms cannot be borne without support to the inside.” They laid a table for him at the door of the inn for the sake of the air, and the host brought him a portion of ill-soaked and worse cooked stockfish, and a piece of bread as black and mouldy as his own armour; but a laughable sight it was to see him eating, for having his helmet on and the beaver up, he could not with his own hands put anything into his mouth unless some one else placed it there, and this service one of the ladies rendered him. But to give him anything to drink was impossible, or would have been so had not the landlord bored a reed, and putting one end in his mouth poured the wine into him through the other; all which he bore with patience rather than sever the ribbons of his helmet.
While this was going on there came up to the inn a sowgelder, who, as he approached, sounded his reed pipe four or five times, and thereby completely convinced Don Quixote that he was in some famous castle, and that they were regaling him with music, and that the stockfish was trout, the bread the whitest, the wenches ladies, and the landlord the castellan of the castle; and consequently he held that his enterprise and sally had been to some purpose. But still it distressed him to think he had not been dubbed a knight, for it was plain to him he could not lawfully engage in any adventure without receiving the order of knighthood.
 
事已就绪，他迫不及待地要把自己的想法付诸实施。他要铲除暴戾，拨乱反正，制止无理，改进陋习，清理债务，如果现在不做，为时晚矣。在炎热的七月的一天，天还未亮，他没有通知任何人，也没有让任何人看见，全副武装，骑上罗西南多，戴上破头盔，挽着皮盾，手持长矛，从院落的旁门来到了田野上。看到鸿图初展竟如此顺利，他不禁心花怒放。可是刚到田野上他就想起了一件可怕的事情。这件事情非同小可，差点儿让他放弃了刚刚开始的事业。原来他想到了，自己还未被封为骑士。按照骑士道，他不能也不应该用武器同其他任何一个骑士战斗。即使他已被封为骑士，也只能是个新封的骑士，只能穿白色的甲胄，而且盾牌上不能有标志，标志要靠自己努力去争得才会有。这样一想，他有点犹豫不决了。不过，疯狂战胜了他的其他意识，他决定像小说里看到的许多人所做的那样，请他碰到的第一个人封自己为新封的骑士。至于白色甲胄，他打算有时间的时候把自己的甲胄擦得比白鼬皮还白。这么一想，他放心了，继续赶路，信马而行。他觉得是一种冒险的力量在催马前行。
这位冒险新秀边走边自语道：“有谁会怀疑呢？将来有关我的举世闻名的壮举的真实故事出版时，著书人谈到我如此早又如此这般初征时肯定是这样写：‘金红色的阿波罗刚刚把它的金色秀发披撒在广袤的地面上，五颜六色的小鸟啼声宛转，甜甜蜜蜜地迎接玫瑰色曙光女神的到来。女神刚刚离开多情丈夫的软床，透过门户和阳台，从曼查的地平线来到世人面前。此时，曼查的著名骑士唐吉诃德放弃了多年不用的羽毛笔，跨上名马罗西南多，开始行走在古老而又熟悉的蒙铁尔原野①上。’”他的确是走在那块田野上。接着，他又自语道：“幸运的时代，幸运的世纪，我的功绩将载在这里。它应该被铭刻在青铜器上，雕琢在大理石上，画在木板上，留芳千古。哦，还有你，杰出的智者，这部游侠的故事由你来写。我请求你不要忘记始终处处伴随我的良马罗西南多。”然后，他好像真的在恋爱，又说，“哦，杜尔西内亚公主，你拥有我这颗被俘虏了的心！你撵我，斥责我，残酷地令我不得再造访你这位国色天香，已经严重伤害了我。美人儿，请你为想起这颗已经属于你的心而高兴吧，它为了得到你的爱情已饱经了苦楚。”
①蒙铁尔原野是著名的古战场。
他又说了一串胡话，而且词句上也尽力模仿书上教他的那套。他自言自语，走得很慢，可是太阳升得很快，而且赤日炎炎。如果他还有点头脑，这点头脑也被烈日照化了。他几乎全天都在走，可是并没有碰到什么值得记述的事情。他感到沮丧。他想马上碰到一个人，以便比试一下自己健臂的力量。有人说，他的第一次历险是在拉皮塞隘口，另一些人说是风车之战。可我的考证结果和曼查编年史的文字记载却是他全天都在游荡。傍晚，他的马和他疲惫不堪，饥饿至极，举目四望，看是否能发现一个城堡或牧人的茅屋，暂避一时，以便充饥、方便。他看到离路不远处有个客店，便仿佛看到了一颗星星，一颗不是引他去客店，而是引他去救生之地的福星。他加紧赶路，到达时已是日暮黄昏了。
恰巧门口有两个青年女子，人们称之为风尘女。她们随同几个脚夫去塞维利亚，今晚就投宿在这个客店里。我们这位冒险家所思所见所想象的，似乎都变成了现实，一切都和他在书上看到的一样。客店在他眼里变成了城堡，和书上描写的一样，周围还有四座望楼，望楼尖顶银光闪闪，吊桥、壕沟一应俱全。接近那家在他眼里是城堡的客店时，他勒住罗西南多的缰绳，等待某个侏儒在城堞间吹起号角，通报有骑士来到了城堡。可是迟迟不见动静，罗西南多又急于去马厩，他只好来到客店门口。看到门口两个女子，他宛如看到了两个漂亮的少女或两位可爱的贵夫人在城堡门口消磨时光。
就在这时，一个猪倌从收割后的地里赶回一群猪来。猪倌吹起号角，猪循声围拢过来。这回唐吉诃德希望的机会到来了，他认为这是侏儒在通报他的光临。他怀着一种奇怪的快乐，来到客店和那两个女人面前。两个女人看到他这副打扮，还手持长矛、皮盾，都惊恐不已，意欲躲进客店。唐吉诃德估计她们是因为害怕而企图逃避，便掀起纸壳做的护眼罩，态度优雅、声音平缓地对她们说：
“你们不必躲避，也无须害怕任何不轨。有骑士勋章作证，勇士不会对任何人图谋不轨，更何况对两位风范高雅的娇女呢。”
两个女子望着他，用眼睛搜寻他那张被破眼罩遮护着的脸，听到称她们为“娇女”，与她们的身份相距甚远，不禁大笑起来，笑得唐吉诃德直不好意思，对她们说：
“美女应该举止端庄，为一点小事就大笑更是愚蠢。我这样说不是为了惹你们生气，而是为你们好。”
两个女子听了更是迷惑不解，再看我们这位骑士的模样，愈发笑得厉害，唐吉诃德却生气了。如果不是这个时候店主走出来，事情就闹大了。店主很胖，所以很和气。看到这个人的反常样子，配备的胫甲、长镫、长矛、皮盾和胸甲也都各式不一，店主并不像两个女子那么开心。可是他害怕那堆家伙，决定还是跟唐吉诃德客客气气地说话。他说：
“骑士大人，您若是找住处，这里什么都富余，就是缺少一张床。”
唐吉诃德把客店看成城堡，把店主看成谦恭的城堡长官，回答说：
“卡斯蒂利亚诺①大人，我随便用什么东西都行，因为‘甲胄是我服饰，战斗乃我休憩②’……”
①“卡斯蒂利亚诺”有多种含义，可以理解为城堡长官，也可以是卡斯蒂利亚人。此处唐吉诃德是指城堡长官。
②此处唐吉诃德和下面店主均引用了一首古谣：“甲胄是我服饰，／战斗乃我休憩，／坚石为我床铺，／不寐系我睡眠。”
店主听到称他为卡斯蒂利亚诺，以为自己的样子像卡斯蒂利亚人。其实他是安达卢西亚人，是圣卢卡尔海滩那一带的人，论贼性不比那个卡科差，论调皮也不比学生或侍童次。
他答道：
“既然如此，‘坚石为您床铺，不寐系您睡眠’。看来您可以下马了，您完全可以在寒舍一年不睡觉，何止一个晚上呢。”
说有，店主来扶唐吉诃德下马。唐吉诃德很困难、很吃力地下了马。他已经一整天未进食了。
他吩咐店主悉心照料他的马，因为世界上所有吃草料的动物中数它最好。店主看了看马，觉得它完全不像唐吉诃德说的那么好，连一半都不及。把马安顿在马厩之后，店主又回来看唐吉诃德还有什么吩咐。这时两个女子正在帮唐吉诃德脱甲胄，他们已经言归于好。虽然她们脱掉了唐吉诃德的护胸、护背，却脱不掉也不知道如何才能脱掉护喉和破头盔，这些都用绿带子系住了，结子解不开，只能剪断带子。可是他无论如何也不同意。于是整个晚上，他一直带着头盔，那副滑稽怪诞的样子就可想而知了。他想，那两个帮他脱甲胄的女子一定是城堡的贵小姐或贵夫人，便也谈吐文雅起来，说：
自古从无骑士，
幸如唐吉诃德。
纵然来自乡村，
却得佳丽侍奉。
夫人侍候勇士，
公主照料骏骑。
“哦，罗西南多，这是我的马的名字，我的美女们。曼查的唐吉诃德是我的名字。我本来不想暴露我的名字，直到有一天，我为诸位效劳的事迹会告诉你们我是谁。就因为借助兰萨罗特岛①古老民谣来应景，我才让诸位提前知道了我的名字。不过，以后定会有机会听候阁下的吩咐。我的臂膀的力量将证明我为诸位效劳的愿望。”
①北大西洋加那利群岛最东端的岛，属西班牙的拉斯帕尔马斯省。上面引的诗模仿了兰萨罗特岛的民谣。
两位女子不习惯听这种辞令，所以无言以对，只是问他是否想吃点什么。
“随便什么吧，”唐吉诃德说，“因为我觉得我该吃点东西了。”
恰巧那天是星期五，整个客店里只有几份鱼，那种鱼在卡斯蒂利亚叫腌鳕鱼，在安达卢西亚叫咸鳕鱼，有的地方叫鳕鱼干，有的地方叫小鳕鱼。她们问阁下能不能吃点小鳕鱼，没有别的鱼可吃。
“既然有很多小鳕鱼，”唐吉诃德说，“你们不如给我来份大鳕鱼，就好比八个雷阿尔的零币和一枚八雷阿尔的钱币，对我来说都一样。更何况小鳕鱼还好呢，就像牛犊比牛好，羊羔比羊好一样。可是，不管怎样，得赶紧拿来，这副甲胄又沉又累人，空肚子已经受不了啦。”
客店门口放了张桌子，那儿凉快。店主给他端来一份腌得不好、烹得极差的咸鱼，还有一块像他的盔甲那样又黑又脏的面包。他吃饭的样子真能当作大笑料。他吃饭时仍戴着头盔，只是把护眼罩掀了起来，因此，如果别人不把食物放到他嘴里，光靠自己的手，他什么东西也吃不到嘴里。于是一位女子给他喂食。但喂水还是不行。多亏店主捅通了一节芦竹，一头放进他嘴里，从另一头把酒灌进去。他耐心地吃喝，只求不要把头盔的带子弄断。这时，一位劁猪人恰巧来到客店。他一到就吹了四五声芦笛，这一下唐吉诃德更确定他是在一个著名城堡里了，音乐是为他而奏的，还认定小鳕鱼就是大鳕鱼，面包是精白面的，风尘女是贵夫人，店主是城堡长官，由此断定他决心出征完全正确。不过，今他沮丧的是他还没有被封为骑士。他觉得没有骑士称号就不能合法从事任何征险活动。
Part 1 Chapter 3
Harassed by this reflection, he made haste with his scanty pothouse supper, and having finished it called the landlord, and shutting himself into the stable with him, fell on his knees before him, saying, “From this spot I rise not, valiant knight, until your courtesy grants me the boon I seek, one that will redound to your praise and the benefit of the human race.” The landlord, seeing his guest at his feet and hearing a speech of this kind, stood staring at him in bewilderment, not knowing what to do or say, and entreating him to rise, but all to no purpose until he had agreed to grant the boon demanded of him. “I looked for no less, my lord, from your High Magnificence,” replied Don Quixote, “and I have to tell you that the boon I have asked and your liberality has granted is that you shall dub me knight to-morrow morning, and that to-night I shall watch my arms in the chapel of this your castle; thus tomorrow, as I have said, will be accomplished what I so much desire, enabling me lawfully to roam through all the four quarters of the world seeking adventures on behalf of those in distress, as is the duty of chivalry and of knights-errant like myself, whose ambition is directed to such deeds.”
The landlord, who, as has been mentioned, was something of a wag, and had already some suspicion of his guest’s want of wits, was quite convinced of it on hearing talk of this kind from him, and to make sport for the night he determined to fall in with his humour. So he told him he was quite right in pursuing the object he had in view, and that such a motive was natural and becoming in cavaliers as distinguished as he seemed and his gallant bearing showed him to be; and that he himself in his younger days had followed the same honourable calling, roaming in quest of adventures in various parts of the world, among others the Curing-grounds of Malaga, the Isles of Riaran, the Precinct of Seville, the Little Market of Segovia, the Olivera of Valencia, the Rondilla of Granada, the Strand of San Lucar, the Colt of Cordova, the Taverns of Toledo, and divers other quarters, where he had proved the nimbleness of his feet and the lightness of his fingers, doing many wrongs, cheating many widows, ruining maids and swindling minors, and, in short, bringing himself under the notice of almost every tribunal and court of justice in Spain; until at last he had retired to this castle of his, where he was living upon his property and upon that of others; and where he received all knights-errant of whatever rank or condition they might be, all for the great love he bore them and that they might share their substance with him in return for his benevolence. He told him, moreover, that in this castle of his there was no chapel in which he could watch his armour, as it had been pulled down in order to be rebuilt, but that in a case of necessity it might, he knew, be watched anywhere, and he might watch it that night in a courtyard of the castle, and in the morning, God willing, the requisite ceremonies might be performed so as to have him dubbed a knight, and so thoroughly dubbed that nobody could be more so. He asked if he had any money with him, to which Don Quixote replied that he had not a farthing, as in the histories of knights-errant he had never read of any of them carrying any. On this point the landlord told him he was mistaken; for, though not recorded in the histories, because in the author’s opinion there was no need to mention anything so obvious and necessary as money and clean shirts, it was not to be supposed therefore that they did not carry them, and he might regard it as certain and established that all knights-errant (about whom there were so many full and unimpeachable books) carried well-furnished purses in case of emergency, and likewise carried shirts and a little box of ointment to cure the wounds they received. For in those plains and deserts where they engaged in combat and came out wounded, it was not always that there was some one to cure them, unless indeed they had for a friend some sage magician to succour them at once by fetching through the air upon a cloud some damsel or dwarf with a vial of water of such virtue that by tasting one drop of it they were cured of their hurts and wounds in an instant and left as sound as if they had not received any damage whatever. But in case this should not occur, the knights of old took care to see that their squires were provided with money and other requisites, such as lint and ointments for healing purposes; and when it happened that knights had no squires (which was rarely and seldom the case) they themselves carried everything in cunning saddle-bags that were hardly seen on the horse’s croup, as if it were something else of more importance, because, unless for some such reason, carrying saddle-bags was not very favourably regarded among knights-errant. He therefore advised him (and, as his godson so soon to be, he might even command him) never from that time forth to travel without money and the usual requirements, and he would find the advantage of them when he least expected it.
Don Quixote promised to follow his advice scrupulously, and it was arranged forthwith that he should watch his armour in a large yard at one side of the inn; so, collecting it all together, Don Quixote placed it on a trough that stood by the side of a well, and bracing his buckler on his arm he grasped his lance and began with a stately air to march up and down in front of the trough, and as he began his march night began to fall.
The landlord told all the people who were in the inn about the craze of his guest, the watching of the armour, and the dubbing ceremony he contemplated. Full of wonder at so strange a form of madness, they flocked to see it from a distance, and observed with what composure he sometimes paced up and down, or sometimes, leaning on his lance, gazed on his armour without taking his eyes off it for ever so long; and as the night closed in with a light from the moon so brilliant that it might vie with his that lent it, everything the novice knight did was plainly seen by all.
Meanwhile one of the carriers who were in the inn thought fit to water his team, and it was necessary to remove Don Quixote’s armour as it lay on the trough; but he seeing the other approach hailed him in a loud voice, “O thou, whoever thou art, rash knight that comest to lay hands on the armour of the most valorous errant that ever girt on sword, have a care what thou dost; touch it not unless thou wouldst lay down thy life as the penalty of thy rashness.” The carrier gave no heed to these words (and he would have done better to heed them if he had been heedful of his health), but seizing it by the straps flung the armour some distance from him. Seeing this, Don Quixote raised his eyes to heaven, and fixing his thoughts, apparently, upon his lady Dulcinea, exclaimed, “Aid me, lady mine, in this the first encounter that presents itself to this breast which thou holdest in subjection; let not thy favour and protection fail me in this first jeopardy;” and, with these words and others to the same purpose, dropping his buckler he lifted his lance with both hands and with it smote such a blow on the carrier’s head that he stretched him on the ground, so stunned that had he followed it up with a second there would have been no need of a surgeon to cure him. This done, he picked up his armour and returned to his beat with the same serenity as before.
 
Shortly after this, another, not knowing what had happened (for the carrier still lay senseless), came with the same object of giving water to his mules, and was proceeding to remove the armour in order to clear the trough, when Don Quixote, without uttering a word or imploring aid from anyone, once more dropped his buckler and once more lifted his lance, and without actually breaking the second carrier’s head into pieces, made more than three of it, for he laid it open in four. At the noise all the people of the inn ran to the spot, and among them the landlord. Seeing this, Don Quixote braced his buckler on his arm, and with his hand on his sword exclaimed, “O Lady of Beauty, strength and support of my faint heart, it is time for thee to turn the eyes of thy greatness on this thy captive knight on the brink of so mighty an adventure.” By this he felt himself so inspired that he would not have flinched if all the carriers in the world had assailed him. The comrades of the wounded perceiving the plight they were in began from a distance to shower stones on Don Quixote, who screened himself as best he could with his buckler, not daring to quit the trough and leave his armour unprotected. The landlord shouted to them to leave him alone, for he had already told them that he was mad, and as a madman he would not be accountable even if he killed them all. Still louder shouted Don Quixote, calling them knaves and traitors, and the lord of the castle, who allowed knights-errant to be treated in this fashion, a villain and a low-born knight whom, had he received the order of knighthood, he would call to account for his treachery. “But of you,” he cried, “base and vile rabble, I make no account; fling, strike, come on, do all ye can against me, ye shall see what the reward of your folly and insolence will be.” This he uttered with so much spirit and boldness that he filled his assailants with a terrible fear, and as much for this reason as at the persuasion of the landlord they left off stoning him, and he allowed them to carry off the wounded, and with the same calmness and composure as before resumed the watch over his armour.
But these freaks of his guest were not much to the liking of the landlord, so he determined to cut matters short and confer upon him at once the unlucky order of knighthood before any further misadventure could occur; so, going up to him, he apologised for the rudeness which, without his knowledge, had been offered to him by these low people, who, however, had been well punished for their audacity. As he had already told him, he said, there was no chapel in the castle, nor was it needed for what remained to be done, for, as he understood the ceremonial of the order, the whole point of being dubbed a knight lay in the accolade and in the slap on the shoulder, and that could be administered in the middle of a field; and that he had now done all that was needful as to watching the armour, for all requirements were satisfied by a watch of two hours only, while he had been more than four about it. Don Quixote believed it all, and told him he stood there ready to obey him, and to make an end of it with as much despatch as possible; for, if he were again attacked, and felt himself to be dubbed knight, he would not, he thought, leave a soul alive in the castle, except such as out of respect he might spare at his bidding.
Thus warned and menaced, the castellan forthwith brought out a book in which he used to enter the straw and barley he served out to the carriers, and, with a lad carrying a candle-end, and the two damsels already mentioned, he returned to where Don Quixote stood, and bade him kneel down. Then, reading from his account-book as if he were repeating some devout prayer, in the middle of his delivery he raised his hand and gave him a sturdy blow on the neck, and then, with his own sword, a smart slap on the shoulder, all the while muttering between his teeth as if he was saying his prayers. Having done this, he directed one of the ladies to gird on his sword, which she did with great self-possession and gravity, and not a little was required to prevent a burst of laughter at each stage of the ceremony; but what they had already seen of the novice knight’s prowess kept their laughter within bounds. On girding him with the sword the worthy lady said to him, “May God make your worship a very fortunate knight, and grant you success in battle.” Don Quixote asked her name in order that he might from that time forward know to whom he was beholden for the favour he had received, as he meant to confer upon her some portion of the honour he acquired by the might of his arm. She answered with great humility that she was called La Tolosa, and that she was the daughter of a cobbler of Toledo who lived in the stalls of Sanchobienaya, and that wherever she might be she would serve and esteem him as her lord. Don Quixote said in reply that she would do him a favour if thenceforward she assumed the “Don” and called herself Dona Tolosa. She promised she would, and then the other buckled on his spur, and with her followed almost the same conversation as with the lady of the sword. He asked her name, and she said it was La Molinera, and that she was the daughter of a respectable miller of Antequera; and of her likewise Don Quixote requested that she would adopt the “Don” and call herself Dona Molinera, making offers to her further services and favours.
Having thus, with hot haste and speed, brought to a conclusion these never-till-now-seen ceremonies, Don Quixote was on thorns until he saw himself on horseback sallying forth in quest of adventures; and saddling Rocinante at once he mounted, and embracing his host, as he returned thanks for his kindness in knighting him, he addressed him in language so extraordinary that it is impossible to convey an idea of it or report it. The landlord, to get him out of the inn, replied with no less rhetoric though with shorter words, and without calling upon him to pay the reckoning let him go with a Godspeed.
 
他心中不快，迅速吃完了那可怜的晚餐，叫来店主，两人来到马厩里。他跪在店主面前，对他说：
“勇敢的骑士，我得劳您大驾。有件事有利于您，也造福于人类。您若不答应，我就不起来。”
店主看到客人跪倒在脚下，又说了这番话，瞪着眼迷惑不解。店主请他起来，他坚持不起来，店主只好说同意帮忙。
“我知道您宽宏大量，我的大人。”唐吉诃德说，“是这样，我要劳您大驾而您又慷慨应允的事，就是要您明天封我为骑士。我今晚就在城堡的小教堂守夜①，明天，我说过，就可以完成我的夙愿，就可以周游四方，到处征险，为穷人解难了，这是骑士和像我这样的游侠的责任。我生来就渴望这样的业绩。”
店主是个比较狡诈的人，对客人的失常已有所察觉。听完这番话，他对此已确信无疑，为了给当晚增添点笑料，决定顺水推舟，于是对他说，他的愿望和要求很正确，这是像他这样仪表堂堂的杰出骑士的特性。他自己年轻的时候也曾投身于这项光荣事业，周游各地，到处征险，连马拉加的佩切莱斯、里亚兰岛、塞维利亚的孔帕斯、塞哥维亚的阿索格拉、巴伦西亚的奥利韦拉、格拉纳达的龙迪利亚、圣卢卡尔海滩、科尔多瓦的波特罗、托莱多的小客店和其他一些地方②都去过，凭着手脚利索，勾引过许多寡妇，糟蹋过几个少女，还欺骗了几个孤儿，干了不少伤天害理的事，几乎在西班牙所有法院都挂了号。最后，他引退在这座城堡里，靠自己和别人的钱过日子，还接待各种各样的游侠骑士。这纯粹是出于对骑士的热爱，同时也希望骑士们分些财产给他，作为对其好心的报酬。
①骑士受封前应在教堂守夜，看护甲胄。
②塞万提斯在这里列数了西班牙地痞、流浪汉的集中地。
他还说，城堡里没有用以守夜看护甲胄的小教堂。原来的小教堂已经拆了，准备盖新的。不过，如果需要的话，他知道，随便在什么地方都可以守夜。那天晚上，他可以在城堡的院子里守夜，待第二天早晨，有上帝为证，举行适当仪式，他就被封为骑士了，而且是世界上最标准的骑士。
店主问他是否带了钱。唐吉诃德说身无分文，因为他从未在骑士小说里看到某位游侠骑士还带钱。
店主说，他搞错了。骑士小说里没写带钱是因为作者认为，像带钱和干净的衬衣这类再明白不过的事情就不必写了，可不能因此就认为他们没带钱和衬衣。他肯定，所有游侠骑士（把那么多书都塞得满满当当的）都是腰缠万贯，以防万一。此外，他们还带着衬衣和一个装满创伤药膏的小盒子，因为并不是每次在野外或沙漠发生格斗时受了伤都有人医治的，也没有英明的魔法师朋友乘云托来一位少女或侏儒，送来神水，那水功力之大，骑士只要喝一滴，伤口立刻痊愈，恢复如初。所以，过去的骑士都让侍从带着钱和其他必需品，如纱布、药膏。有的骑士没有侍从（这种情况不多，很少见），他就自己把所有东西都装在几个精巧的褡裢里，挂在马屁股上。褡裢很小，几乎看不见，似乎里面装有其他更重要的东西。如果不是上述情况，带褡裢的方式一般不大为骑士们所接受。所以，店主劝导他（现在他可以像对待教子一般对他讲话，因为他一会儿就要做教父了），以后出门不要忘了带钱和其他备用品，他将会看到带着这些东西是多么有用，至少得这么想。
唐吉诃德答应按照店主的劝导一一照办。店主又让他到客店一侧的大院子里去看护甲胄。唐吉诃德收拾好全副甲胄，放在一个水井旁的水槽上，然后手持皮盾，拿着长矛，煞有介事地在水槽前巡视。此刻已是垂暮之时。
店主把他如何发疯，要看护甲胄，等待受封为骑士的事都告诉客店里所有的人。大家对他这种奇特的发神经方式感到惊诧，纷纷从远处张望。大家看到他举止安祥，忽而来回巡视，忽而靠在长矛上，长时间盯着甲胄。暮色已完全降临，然而皓月当空，犹如白昼，这位新骑士的一举一动大家都看得清清楚楚。这时，一位住宿的脚夫忽然想起要去打水饮马，这就得把唐吉诃德放在水槽上的甲胄拿下来。唐吉诃德看到脚夫走来，便高声说道：
“喂，你，大胆的骑士，无论你是谁，要是想来动这位最勇敢可是从未动武的勇士的甲胄，就小心点儿！你要是不想为你的莽撞丢命的话，就别去碰它！”
脚夫并没有从他这番话里觉悟过来（要是觉悟过来就好了，那就可以安全无事），却抓起甲胄的皮带，把甲胄扔得老远。这被唐吉诃德看见了。他仰望天空，心念（他觉得心里在念）他的情人杜尔西内亚，说：
“我的心上人，当第一次凌辱降临到这个已经归附你的胸膛的时候，请助我矣！请你在我的第一次战斗中不吝恩泽与保佑！”
说完这些和其它诸如此类的话，他放下皮盾，双手举起长矛，这次对着脚夫的脑袋奋力一击，把脚夫打翻在地。脚夫头破血流，如果再挨第二下，就不用请外科医生了。唐吉诃德打完后，收拾好甲胄，又像开始那样安祥地巡视起来。
过了一会儿，又来了一个脚夫。他并不知道已经发生的事情（那个脚夫还未苏醒），准备打水饮骡子。他刚要挪开甲胄，腾出水槽，唐吉诃德二话不说，也不请谁保佑，就又拿起皮盾，举起长矛，这次倒是没把第二个脚夫的脑袋打碎，只是打成了三瓣还多——一共四瓣。听到声音，客店里所有的人都赶来了，包括店主在内。看到这种情况，唐吉诃德又拿起皮盾，扶剑说道：
“哦，美丽的心上人，我这颗脆弱的心灵的勇气和力量！被你征服的骑士正面临巨大的险恶，现在是你回首垂眸的时刻了！”
他似乎由此获得了非凡的力量，即使全世界的脚夫向他进攻，他也不会后退。脚夫的伙伴们从远处用乱石袭击唐吉诃德，他只能用皮盾尽力抵挡，却不敢离开水槽，怕他的甲胄失去保护。店主大声呼喊那些扔石头的人赶紧住手，因为已经告诉过他们，唐吉诃德是个疯子，所以，即使他把那些人都杀了，也不会受到制裁的。唐吉诃德喊的声音更大。他把那些人叫作叛逆，还说城堡长官是个坏骑士，竟然纵容他们这样对待游侠骑士。要是他已经接受了店主授予的骑士称号，决不会轻饶这个背信弃义的臭店主。“至于你们这些卑鄙下流的家伙，我并不理会你们。你们扔吧，来吧，使出你们的全部本事攻击我吧。你们如此愚妄，看着吧，一定会得到报应！”
他的威严震慑了那些攻击他的人，再加上店主的劝阻，那些人不扔石头了。于是，唐吉诃德也允许他们把受伤的人抬走，然后继续安然地看护甲胄。
店主觉得这位客人的胡闹太不像话，决走趁着还没有再出乱子，尽快授予他那个晦气的骑士称号。店主找到唐吉诃德，为那些蠢人对他的无礼行为表示歉意，说他自己事先对此事一无所知，而且那些人也由于他们的愚蠢行为受到了惩罚。店主说原来已讲过，城堡里没有小教堂，所以其它的形式也就不必要了。根据自己对授衔仪式所知，最重要的就是击颈击背，而这在田野里也可以进行，更何况他早已达到了看护甲胄的要求。本来，看护两个小时就足够了，而他已经看护了四个小时。
唐吉诃德信以为真，说他悉心遵命，以便尽快完成仪式。受封以后如果再受到攻击，他不会让城堡里留下活人，除非是长官关照的那些人。出于对长官的尊敬，他将饶那些人一命。这位城堡长官听了这话后不寒而栗。他让人马上找来一本记着他给脚夫多少麦稭和大麦的帐博，让一个男孩拿来一截蜡烛头，再带上那两位女子，来到唐吉诃德面前，命他跪下，然后念手中那本帐簿（就好像在虔诚地祷告）。念到一半时，店主抬起手，在唐吉诃德的颈部一记猛击，然后又用唐吉诃德的剑在他背上轻轻一拍，嘴里始终念念有词。然后，店主命令一个女子向唐吉诃德授剑。那个女子做得既利索又谨慎，因为她们必须注意，在举行仪式的整个过程中不至于大笑起来。她们曾目睹新骑士的英勇行为，终于没敢笑出来。授剑后，一位贵女子说：
“上帝保佑你成为幸运大骑士，在战斗中为你赐福。”
唐吉诃德问她叫什么，为的是永远记住应该向谁报恩。他想把将来靠自己臂膀的力量获得的荣誉分给她一份。女子非常谦恭地回答说，她叫托洛萨，是托莱多一位修鞋匠的女儿，住在桑乔•别纳亚的那些小铺附近。还说无论在什么地方，她都愿意侍候他，把他奉为主人。唐吉诃德说，出于爱，他赐予她“唐”称①，从那以后她就叫唐娜托洛萨。她答应了。另一名女子为他套上马刺，唐吉诃德又把同授剑女子说的那套话对她说了一遍。问她姓名，她说叫莫利内拉，父亲是安特奎拉一位有威望的磨坊主。她也请求唐吉诃德赐予她“唐”称，叫唐娜莫利内拉，以后会为他效劳尽力。仪式以前所未有的快速结束之后，唐吉诃德迫不及待地要飞马出去征险。备好罗西南多后，他骑上马，拥抱店主，感谢店主恩赐他骑士称号，说了些莫名其妙的话，无法转述。店主看到他已出客店门，便用同样华丽却又简单得多的话语回答他，也没向他索要住宿费，就让他欢天喜地地走了。
①西班牙的尊称。对男称“唐”，对女称“唐娜”。
Part 1 Chapter 4
Day was dawning when Don Quixote quitted the inn, so happy, so gay, so exhilarated at finding himself now dubbed a knight, that his joy was like to burst his horse-girths. However, recalling the advice of his host as to the requisites he ought to carry with him, especially that referring to money and shirts, he determined to go home and provide himself with all, and also with a squire, for he reckoned upon securing a farm-labourer, a neighbour of his, a poor man with a family, but very well qualified for the office of squire to a knight. With this object he turned his horse’s head towards his village, and Rocinante, thus reminded of his old quarters, stepped out so briskly that he hardly seemed to tread the earth.
He had not gone far, when out of a thicket on his right there seemed to come feeble cries as of some one in distress, and the instant he heard them he exclaimed, “Thanks be to heaven for the favour it accords me, that it so soon offers me an opportunity of fulfilling the obligation I have undertaken, and gathering the fruit of my ambition. These cries, no doubt, come from some man or woman in want of help, and needing my aid and protection;” and wheeling, he turned Rocinante in the direction whence the cries seemed to proceed. He had gone but a few paces into the wood, when he saw a mare tied to an oak, and tied to another, and stripped from the waist upwards, a youth of about fifteen years of age, from whom the cries came. Nor were they without cause, for a lusty farmer was flogging him with a belt and following up every blow with scoldings and commands, repeating, “Your mouth shut and your eyes open!” while the youth made answer, “I won’t do it again, master mine; by God’s passion I won’t do it again, and I’ll take more care of the flock another time.”
Seeing what was going on, Don Quixote said in an angry voice, “Discourteous knight, it ill becomes you to assail one who cannot defend himself; mount your steed and take your lance” (for there was a lance leaning against the oak to which the mare was tied), “and I will make you know that you are behaving as a coward.” The farmer, seeing before him this figure in full armour brandishing a lance over his head, gave himself up for dead, and made answer meekly, “Sir Knight, this youth that I am chastising is my servant, employed by me to watch a flock of sheep that I have hard by, and he is so careless that I lose one every day, and when I punish him for his carelessness and knavery he says I do it out of niggardliness, to escape paying him the wages I owe him, and before God, and on my soul, he lies.”
“Lies before me, base clown!” said Don Quixote. “By the sun that shines on us I have a mind to run you through with this lance. Pay him at once without another word; if not, by the God that rules us I will make an end of you, and annihilate you on the spot; release him instantly.”
 
The farmer hung his head, and without a word untied his servant, of whom Don Quixote asked how much his master owed him.
He replied, nine months at seven reals a month. Don Quixote added it up, found that it came to sixty-three reals, and told the farmer to pay it down immediately, if he did not want to die for it.
The trembling clown replied that as he lived and by the oath he had sworn (though he had not sworn any) it was not so much; for there were to be taken into account and deducted three pairs of shoes he had given him, and a real for two blood-lettings when he was sick.
“All that is very well,” said Don Quixote; “but let the shoes and the blood-lettings stand as a setoff against the blows you have given him without any cause; for if he spoiled the leather of the shoes you paid for, you have damaged that of his body, and if the barber took blood from him when he was sick, you have drawn it when he was sound; so on that score he owes you nothing.”
“The difficulty is, Sir Knight, that I have no money here; let Andres come home with me, and I will pay him all, real by real.”
“I go with him!” said the youth. “Nay, God forbid! No, senor, not for the world; for once alone with me, he would ray me like a Saint Bartholomew.”
“He will do nothing of the kind,” said Don Quixote; “I have only to command, and he will obey me; and as he has sworn to me by the order of knighthood which he has received, I leave him free, and I guarantee the payment.”
“Consider what you are saying, senor,” said the youth; “this master of mine is not a knight, nor has he received any order of knighthood; for he is Juan Haldudo the Rich, of Quintanar.”
“That matters little,” replied Don Quixote; “there may be Haldudos knights; moreover, everyone is the son of his works.”
“That is true,” said Andres; “but this master of mine — of what works is he the son, when he refuses me the wages of my sweat and labour?”
“I do not refuse, brother Andres,” said the farmer, “be good enough to come along with me, and I swear by all the orders of knighthood there are in the world to pay you as I have agreed, real by real, and perfumed.”
“For the perfumery I excuse you,” said Don Quixote; “give it to him in reals, and I shall be satisfied; and see that you do as you have sworn; if not, by the same oath I swear to come back and hunt you out and punish you; and I shall find you though you should lie closer than a lizard. And if you desire to know who it is lays this command upon you, that you be more firmly bound to obey it, know that I am the valorous Don Quixote of La Mancha, the undoer of wrongs and injustices; and so, God be with you, and keep in mind what you have promised and sworn under those penalties that have been already declared to you.”
So saying, he gave Rocinante the spur and was soon out of reach. The farmer followed him with his eyes, and when he saw that he had cleared the wood and was no longer in sight, he turned to his boy Andres, and said, “Come here, my son, I want to pay you what I owe you, as that undoer of wrongs has commanded me.”
“My oath on it,” said Andres, “your worship will be well advised to obey the command of that good knight — may he live a thousand years — for, as he is a valiant and just judge, by Roque, if you do not pay me, he will come back and do as he said.”
“My oath on it, too,” said the farmer; “but as I have a strong affection for you, I want to add to the debt in order to add to the payment;” and seizing him by the arm, he tied him up again, and gave him such a flogging that he left him for dead.
“Now, Master Andres,” said the farmer, “call on the undoer of wrongs; you will find he won’t undo that, though I am not sure that I have quite done with you, for I have a good mind to flay you alive.” But at last he untied him, and gave him leave to go look for his judge in order to put the sentence pronounced into execution.
Andres went off rather down in the mouth, swearing he would go to look for the valiant Don Quixote of La Mancha and tell him exactly what had happened, and that all would have to be repaid him sevenfold; but for all that, he went off weeping, while his master stood laughing.
Thus did the valiant Don Quixote right that wrong, and, thoroughly satisfied with what had taken place, as he considered he had made a very happy and noble beginning with his knighthood, he took the road towards his village in perfect self-content, saying in a low voice, “Well mayest thou this day call thyself fortunate above all on earth, O Dulcinea del Toboso, fairest of the fair! since it has fallen to thy lot to hold subject and submissive to thy full will and pleasure a knight so renowned as is and will be Don Quixote of La Mancha, who, as all the world knows, yesterday received the order of knighthood, and hath to-day righted the greatest wrong and grievance that ever injustice conceived and cruelty perpetrated: who hath to-day plucked the rod from the hand of yonder ruthless oppressor so wantonly lashing that tender child.”
He now came to a road branching in four directions, and immediately he was reminded of those cross-roads where knights-errant used to stop to consider which road they should take. In imitation of them he halted for a while, and after having deeply considered it, he gave Rocinante his head, submitting his own will to that of his hack, who followed out his first intention, which was to make straight for his own stable. After he had gone about two miles Don Quixote perceived a large party of people, who, as afterwards appeared, were some Toledo traders, on their way to buy silk at Murcia. There were six of them coming along under their sunshades, with four servants mounted, and three muleteers on foot. Scarcely had Don Quixote descried them when the fancy possessed him that this must be some new adventure; and to help him to imitate as far as he could those passages he had read of in his books, here seemed to come one made on purpose, which he resolved to attempt. So with a lofty bearing and determination he fixed himself firmly in his stirrups, got his lance ready, brought his buckler before his breast, and planting himself in the middle of the road, stood waiting the approach of these knights-errant, for such he now considered and held them to be; and when they had come near enough to see and hear, he exclaimed with a haughty gesture, “All the world stand, unless all the world confess that in all the world there is no maiden fairer than the Empress of La Mancha, the peerless Dulcinea del Toboso.”
The traders halted at the sound of this language and the sight of the strange figure that uttered it, and from both figure and language at once guessed the craze of their owner; they wished, however, to learn quietly what was the object of this confession that was demanded of them, and one of them, who was rather fond of a joke and was very sharp-witted, said to him, “Sir Knight, we do not know who this good lady is that you speak of; show her to us, for, if she be of such beauty as you suggest, with all our hearts and without any pressure we will confess the truth that is on your part required of us.”
“If I were to show her to you,” replied Don Quixote, “what merit would you have in confessing a truth so manifest? The essential point is that without seeing her you must believe, confess, affirm, swear, and defend it; else ye have to do with me in battle, ill-conditioned, arrogant rabble that ye are; and come ye on, one by one as the order of knighthood requires, or all together as is the custom and vile usage of your breed, here do I bide and await you relying on the justice of the cause I maintain.”
“Sir Knight,” replied the trader, “I entreat your worship in the name of this present company of princes, that, to save us from charging our consciences with the confession of a thing we have never seen or heard of, and one moreover so much to the prejudice of the Empresses and Queens of the Alcarria and Estremadura, your worship will be pleased to show us some portrait of this lady, though it be no bigger than a grain of wheat; for by the thread one gets at the ball, and in this way we shall be satisfied and easy, and you will be content and pleased; nay, I believe we are already so far agreed with you that even though her portrait should show her blind of one eye, and distilling vermilion and sulphur from the other, we would nevertheless, to gratify your worship, say all in her favour that you desire.”
“She distils nothing of the kind, vile rabble,” said Don Quixote, burning with rage, “nothing of the kind, I say, only ambergris and civet in cotton; nor is she one-eyed or humpbacked, but straighter than a Guadarrama spindle: but ye must pay for the blasphemy ye have uttered against beauty like that of my lady.”
And so saying, he charged with levelled lance against the one who had spoken, with such fury and fierceness that, if luck had not contrived that Rocinante should stumble midway and come down, it would have gone hard with the rash trader. Down went Rocinante, and over went his master, rolling along the ground for some distance; and when he tried to rise he was unable, so encumbered was he with lance, buckler, spurs, helmet, and the weight of his old armour; and all the while he was struggling to get up he kept saying, “Fly not, cowards and caitiffs! stay, for not by my fault, but my horse’s , am I stretched here.”
 
One of the muleteers in attendance, who could not have had much good nature in him, hearing the poor prostrate man blustering in this style, was unable to refrain from giving him an answer on his ribs; and coming up to him he seized his lance, and having broken it in pieces, with one of them he began so to belabour our Don Quixote that, notwithstanding and in spite of his armour, he milled him like a measure of wheat. His masters called out not to lay on so hard and to leave him alone, but the muleteers blood was up, and he did not care to drop the game until he had vented the rest of his wrath, and gathering up the remaining fragments of the lance he finished with a discharge upon the unhappy victim, who all through the storm of sticks that rained on him never ceased threatening heaven, and earth, and the brigands, for such they seemed to him. At last the muleteer was tired, and the traders continued their journey, taking with them matter for talk about the poor fellow who had been cudgelled. He when he found himself alone made another effort to rise; but if he was unable when whole and sound, how was he to rise after having been thrashed and well-nigh knocked to pieces? And yet he esteemed himself fortunate, as it seemed to him that this was a regular knight-errant’s mishap, and entirely, he considered, the fault of his horse. However, battered in body as he was, to rise was beyond his power.
 
唐吉诃德离开客店时，天已渐亮。他有了骑士称号，满心欢喜，得意洋洋，兴高采烈，差点把马的肚皮给乐破了。他忽然想到店主曾劝导他要带好必要的物品，特别是钱和衬衣，就决定回家把这些东西置办齐，再找一个侍从。他打算找邻居的一个农民。那农民虽穷，还有孩子，可是作骑士的侍从特别合适。这么一想，他就掉转了罗西南多的头。马似乎也知恋家，立刻蹄下生风一般地跑起来。
没走多远，他就似乎听到右侧的密林中传来微弱的声音，像是有人在呻吟。于是他说：
“感谢苍天如此迅速赐给我机会，让我尽自己的职责，实现夙愿，旗开得胜。这声音一定是某个贫穷男人或女人在寻求我的照顾和帮助呢。”
他掉转缰绳，催马循声而去，刚进森林，就看见一棵圣栎树上拴着一匹母马，另一棵树上捆着一个大约十五岁的孩子，上身裸露，声音就是从他嘴里发出来的。原来是一个健壮的农夫正在用腰带抽打这个孩子，每打一下还训斥一声，说：
“少说话，多长眼。”
那孩子再三说：
“我再也不敢了，主人。我向上帝起誓，我再也不敢了。
我保证以后多加小心，照看好羊群。”
看到这情景，唐吉诃德不禁怒吼道：
“无理的骑士，你真不像话，竟与一个不能自卫的人战斗。骑上你的马，拿起你的矛（拴母马的那棵树上正靠着一支长矛），我要让你知道，你这样做不过是个胆小鬼。”
农夫猛然看见这个全身披挂的人在他面前挥舞长矛，顿时吓得魂不附体，只好客客气气地回答：
“骑士大人，我正在惩罚的这个孩子是我的佣人，负责照看我在这一带的羊群。可是他太粗心了，每天丢一只羊。我要惩罚这个冒失鬼、无赖。他说我这么做是因为我是个吝啬鬼，想借此赖掉我欠他的工钱。我向上帝，向我的灵魂发誓，他撒谎！”
“卑鄙的乡巴佬，竟敢在我面前说谎！”唐吉诃德说，“上有太阳作证，我要把你用长矛一下刺穿。你马上付他工钱，否则，有主宰我们的上帝作证，我现在就把你结果掉。你马上把他放开。”
农夫低下了头，一言不发地为孩子解开了绳子。唐吉诃德问那个孩子，主人欠他多少钱。孩子说一共欠了九个月的工钱，每个月七个雷阿尔。唐吉诃德算了一下，一共六十三个雷阿尔。他告诉农夫，如果不想丢命的话，就立刻掏钱。惊恐的农夫说，生死关头绝无假话，凭他发的誓（他其实没有发过誓），并没有那么多钱，因为还得扣除他给佣人三双鞋的钱和佣人生病时两次输血花的一个雷阿尔。
“即便如此，”唐吉诃德说，“鞋钱和输血的钱也被你无缘无故地抽打他抵消了。就算他把你给他买的鞋穿破了，可是你也把他的皮打破了；就算他生病时理发师为他输了血，他没病时你却把他打出了血。这样说来，他就不欠你钱了。”
“骑士大人，问题是我没带钱。让安德烈斯跟我到家去，我如数照付。”
“跟他去？”孩子说，“没门儿！不，大人，我不去。等到剩下我一个人的时候，他准会像对圣巴多罗美①那样扒了我的皮。”
①圣巴多罗美是耶稣十二门徒之一，被剥皮而死。
“不会的，”唐吉诃德说，“只要我命令他听我的，他就得以骑士规则的名义向我发誓，我才放他走。他保证会付给你工钱。”
“大人，”孩子说，“您是这么说，可我的主人不是骑士，也没有接受过任何骑士称号。他是老财胡安•阿尔杜多，是金塔纳尔的邻居。”
“这无关紧要，”唐吉诃德说，“阿尔杜多家族里也有骑士，更何况要以事观人嘛。”
“是的，”安德烈斯说，“可是我这位主人赖了我的血汗钱，该如何以其事观其人呢？”
“我不会赖帐，安德烈斯兄弟。”农夫说，“请跟我来，我以世界上所有骑士的称号发誓，按照我刚才说的付给你全部工钱，而且还会多些。”
“多些就不必了，”唐吉诃德说，“你只要如数照付，我就满意了。你发誓就得做到，否则，我也同样发誓会再去找你，惩罚你。即使你比蜥蜴藏得还好，我也一定要找到你。如果你想知道是谁在命令你，好让你更加切实地履行诺言，那么我告诉你，我是曼查的英勇骑士唐吉诃德，专爱打抱不平。再见吧，不要忘记你答应过和发过誓的事情，否则，你就要受到应有的惩罚。”
说完，唐吉诃德双腿夹了一下罗西南多，很快就跑远了。农夫看着他跑出森林，已经无影无踪了，便转向佣人安德烈斯，对他说：
“过来，孩子，我想把欠你的钱全部还清，就像那位专爱打抱不平的骑士命令的那样。”
“这我敢肯定，”安德烈斯说，“你得执行那位优秀骑士的命令。他是位勇敢而又善良的判官，应该活千岁。如果你不付我工钱，他就会回来，按照他说的那样惩罚你。”
“我也敢肯定。”农夫说，“不过，我太爱你了，所以我想多欠你一点儿，好多多还你钱。”说着农夫抓住孩子的胳膊，又把孩子捆在圣栎树上，狠狠鞭打孩子，差点把他打死。“现在，安德烈斯大人，你去叫那位专爱打抱不平的人吧，看他怎样打这个不平吧，尽管我觉得，要打抱不平，他年纪还不算老。我真想剥了你的皮，你最怕我剥你的皮。”
不过，农夫最后还是放开了孩子，让孩子去找那位判官来执行他的判决。安德烈斯有些沮丧，临走发誓要去找曼查的英勇骑士唐吉诃德，把刚才的事情一五一十地告诉他，让农夫受到加倍的惩罚。虽然嘴上这么说，孩子还是哭着走的，而农夫却在那里笑。英勇的唐吉诃德就是如此打抱不平的，而且他自己还得意至极，觉得自己在骑士生涯中已经有了一个极其顺利和高尚的开端，对自己非常满意，一面往村里走一面轻声说道：
“你真是世界上最幸运的人，托博索美丽绝伦的杜尔西内亚！你有幸拥有英勇著名的骑士唐吉诃德在你面前俯首听命。众所周知，他昨天得到了骑士称号，今天又讨伐了最无耻、最残忍的罪恶行径。今天，那个残忍的敌人无缘无故地鞭打那个瘦弱的孩子，他从那个敌人手里夺下了鞭子。”
这时他来到了一个十字路口，忽然想起游侠骑士常在交叉路口考虑该走哪条路。于是他也装模作样地站了一会儿，最后才考虑成熟了。他放开了罗西南多的缰绳，任它选择。马凭着它的第一感觉，朝着有马群的方向走。走了大约两英里，唐吉诃德看到一大群人，后来才知道，是托莱多的商人去穆尔西亚买丝织品。有六个人打着阳伞，四个佣人骑着马，还有三个骡夫步行。刚从远处发现他们，唐吉诃德就想到又遇上了新的冒险行动。他尽力模仿书上的情节，只要有可能，他就模仿。他觉得又有了一次机会。于是他风度翩翩，威风凛凛地在马上坐定，握紧长矛，把皮盾放在胸前，停在路当中，等待那些游侠骑士到来。他觉得那些人就是游侠骑士。待那些人走到跟他可以互相看得见、听得着的距离时，他傲慢地打了个手势，提高声音，说道：
“如果你们这些人不承认世界上没有谁比曼查的女皇、托博索的杜尔西内亚更漂亮，就休想过去。”
听到这番话，商人们都停了下来。看到说话人的奇怪样子，再听他那番话，商人们立刻意识到这是个疯子。不过他们不慌不忙，还想看看他这番话的下文。其中一个人爱开玩笑却又很谨慎，对他说：
“骑士大人，我们不知道谁是您说的那位美丽夫人，让我们见见她吧。如果她真像您说的那么漂亮，我们诚心诚意地自愿接受您的要求。”
“你们见到了她，才能承认这样一个明显的事实吗？”唐吉诃德说，“不管你们是否见过她，重要的是你们得相信、承认、肯定、发誓并坚持说她是最漂亮的。否则，你们这些高傲自大的人就得同我兵戎相见。现在，你们或者按照骑士规则一个个来，或者按照你们的习惯和陋习一起上，我都在这里等着你们。我相信正义在我一边。”
“骑士大人，”那个商人说，“我以在场所有王子的名义请求您，让我们承认我们前所未见、前所未闻的事情，实在于心不安，而且，这会严重伤害阿尔卡利亚和埃斯特雷马杜拉①的那些女皇和王后们。烦请您让我们看看那位夫人的画像吧，哪怕它只像麦粒一般微小。这样一了百了，我们满意了，放心了，您也高兴了，满足了。我们渴望瞻仰她的芳容。即使她在画像上是个独眼，另一只眼流朱砂和硫磺石，为了让您高兴，我们也会按照您的意愿夸奖她。”
①阿尔卡利亚和埃斯特雷马杜拉是当时西班牙最落后的地区，并非两个国家。
“无耻的恶棍，”唐吉诃德怒气冲天地说，“她眼里流出的不是你说的那些东西，而是珍贵的琥珀和麝香。她也不是独眼或驼背，而且身子比瓜达拉马的纱锭还直。你们亵渎我如此美丽的夫人，该受到惩罚。”
说罢，他抓起长矛向刚才说那些话的人刺去。他愤怒至极，要不是幸好罗西南多失蹄跌倒在路上，那位大胆的商人就遭殃了。罗西南多一倒地，它的主人也摔得滚了很远。他想站起来，可是长矛、皮盾、马刺、头盔和沉重的盔甲碍手碍脚，就是站不起来。他挣扎了一番还是站不起来，嘴里仍在说：
“别跑，胆小鬼，卑贱的人，你们等着。我站不起来，这不怨我，是马的错。”
其中一个骡夫，也许人不太好，见他倒在地上还如此狂妄，忍不住要把他痛打一顿。那骡夫走过去，抓住长矛，撅成几截，拿起一截抽打唐吉诃德。虽然唐吉诃德身着甲胄，可还是被打得遍体鳞伤，商人们直喊骡夫别打得那么厉害，赶快放了他。可骡夫已经怒不可遏，直打到怒气全消才住手。然后，骡夫捡起其余几截断矛，扔在唐吉诃德身上。唐吉诃德虽然见到乱棍如雨般打在他身上，却仍然不住嘴地吓天吓地，吓唬那些他认为是坏蛋的人。
骡夫打累了，商人一行又继续赶路，一路上一直谈论这个被打的可怜虫。唐吉诃德看到只剩自己一人了，又试图站起来。可是他身体无恙时都站不起来，现在被打得遍体鳞伤，又怎能站起来呢？他暗自解脱，认为这是游侠骑士必遭之祸，而且全是马的错。他浑身灼痛，自己根本站不起来。
Part 1 Chapter 5
Finding, then, that, in fact he could not move, he thought himself of having recourse to his usual remedy, which was to think of some passage in his books, and his craze brought to his mind that about Baldwin and the Marquis of Mantua, when Carloto left him wounded on the mountain side, a story known by heart by the children, not forgotten by the young men, and lauded and even believed by the old folk; and for all that not a whit truer than the miracles of Mahomet. This seemed to him to fit exactly the case in which he found himself, so, making a show of severe suffering, he began to roll on the ground and with feeble breath repeat the very words which the wounded knight of the wood is said to have uttered:
Where art thou, lady mine, that thou
My sorrow dost not rue?
Thou canst not know it, lady mine,
Or else thou art untrue.
And so he went on with the ballad as far as the lines:
O noble Marquis of Mantua,
My Uncle and liege lord!
 
As chance would have it, when he had got to this line there happened to come by a peasant from his own village, a neighbour of his, who had been with a load of wheat to the mill, and he, seeing the man stretched there, came up to him and asked him who he was and what was the matter with him that he complained so dolefully.
Don Quixote was firmly persuaded that this was the Marquis of Mantua, his uncle, so the only answer he made was to go on with his ballad, in which he told the tale of his misfortune, and of the loves of the Emperor’s son and his wife all exactly as the ballad sings it.
The peasant stood amazed at hearing such nonsense, and relieving him of the visor, already battered to pieces by blows, he wiped his face, which was covered with dust, and as soon as he had done so he recognised him and said, “Senor Quixada” (for so he appears to have been called when he was in his senses and had not yet changed from a quiet country gentleman into a knight-errant), “who has brought your worship to this pass?” But to all questions the other only went on with his ballad.
Seeing this, the good man removed as well as he could his breastplate and backpiece to see if he had any wound, but he could perceive no blood nor any mark whatever. He then contrived to raise him from the ground, and with no little difficulty hoisted him upon his ass, which seemed to him to be the easiest mount for him; and collecting the arms, even to the splinters of the lance, he tied them on Rocinante, and leading him by the bridle and the ass by the halter he took the road for the village, very sad to hear what absurd stuff Don Quixote was talking.
 
Nor was Don Quixote less so, for what with blows and bruises he could not sit upright on the ass, and from time to time he sent up sighs to heaven, so that once more he drove the peasant to ask what ailed him. And it could have been only the devil himself that put into his head tales to match his own adventures, for now, forgetting Baldwin, he bethought himself of the Moor Abindarraez, when the Alcaide of Antequera, Rodrigo de Narvaez, took him prisoner and carried him away to his castle; so that when the peasant again asked him how he was and what ailed him, he gave him for reply the same words and phrases that the captive Abindarraez gave to Rodrigo de Narvaez, just as he had read the story in the “Diana” of Jorge de Montemayor where it is written, applying it to his own case so aptly that the peasant went along cursing his fate that he had to listen to such a lot of nonsense; from which, however, he came to the conclusion that his neighbour was mad, and so made all haste to reach the village to escape the wearisomeness of this harangue of Don Quixote’s ; who, at the end of it, said, “Senor Don Rodrigo de Narvaez, your worship must know that this fair Xarifa I have mentioned is now the lovely Dulcinea del Toboso, for whom I have done, am doing, and will do the most famous deeds of chivalry that in this world have been seen, are to be seen, or ever shall be seen.”
To this the peasant answered, “Senor — sinner that I am! — cannot your worship see that I am not Don Rodrigo de Narvaez nor the Marquis of Mantua, but Pedro Alonso your neighbour, and that your worship is neither Baldwin nor Abindarraez, but the worthy gentleman Senor Quixada?”
“I know who I am,” replied Don Quixote, “and I know that I may be not only those I have named, but all the Twelve Peers of France and even all the Nine Worthies, since my achievements surpass all that they have done all together and each of them on his own account.”
With this talk and more of the same kind they reached the village just as night was beginning to fall, but the peasant waited until it was a little later that the belaboured gentleman might not be seen riding in such a miserable trim. When it was what seemed to him the proper time he entered the village and went to Don Quixote’s house, which he found all in confusion, and there were the curate and the village barber, who were great friends of Don Quixote, and his housekeeper was saying to them in a loud voice, “What does your worship think can have befallen my master, Senor Licentiate Pero Perez?” for so the curate was called; “it is three days now since anything has been seen of him, or the hack, or the buckler, lance, or armour. Miserable me! I am certain of it, and it is as true as that I was born to die, that these accursed books of chivalry he has, and has got into the way of reading so constantly, have upset his reason; for now I remember having often heard him saying to himself that he would turn knight-errant and go all over the world in quest of adventures. To the devil and Barabbas with such books, that have brought to ruin in this way the finest understanding there was in all La Mancha!”
The niece said the same, and, more: “You must know, Master Nicholas” — for that was the name of the barber — “it was often my uncle’s way to stay two days and nights together poring over these unholy books of misventures, after which he would fling the book away and snatch up his sword and fall to slashing the walls; and when he was tired out he would say he had killed four giants like four towers; and the sweat that flowed from him when he was weary he said was the blood of the wounds he had received in battle; and then he would drink a great jug of cold water and become calm and quiet, saying that this water was a most precious potion which the sage Esquife, a great magician and friend of his, had brought him. But I take all the blame upon myself for never having told your worships of my uncle’s vagaries, that you might put a stop to them before things had come to this pass, and burn all these accursed books — for he has a great number — that richly deserve to be burned like heretics.”
“So say I too,” said the curate, “and by my faith to-morrow shall not pass without public judgment upon them, and may they be condemned to the flames lest they lead those that read to behave as my good friend seems to have behaved.”
All this the peasant heard, and from it he understood at last what was the matter with his neighbour, so he began calling aloud, “Open, your worships, to Senor Baldwin and to Senor the Marquis of Mantua, who comes badly wounded, and to Senor Abindarraez, the Moor, whom the valiant Rodrigo de Narvaez, the Alcaide of Antequera, brings captive.”
At these words they all hurried out, and when they recognised their friend, master, and uncle, who had not yet dismounted from the ass because he could not, they ran to embrace him.
“Hold!” said he, “for I am badly wounded through my horse’s fault; carry me to bed, and if possible send for the wise Urganda to cure and see to my wounds.”
“See there! plague on it!” cried the housekeeper at this: “did not my heart tell the truth as to which foot my master went lame of? To bed with your worship at once, and we will contrive to cure you here without fetching that Hurgada. A curse I say once more, and a hundred times more, on those books of chivalry that have brought your worship to such a pass.”
They carried him to bed at once, and after searching for his wounds could find none, but he said they were all bruises from having had a severe fall with his horse Rocinante when in combat with ten giants, the biggest and the boldest to be found on earth.
“So, so!” said the curate, “are there giants in the dance? By the sign of the Cross I will burn them to-morrow before the day over.”
They put a host of questions to Don Quixote, but his only answer to all was — give him something to eat, and leave him to sleep, for that was what he needed most. They did so, and the curate questioned the peasant at great length as to how he had found Don Quixote. He told him, and the nonsense he had talked when found and on the way home, all which made the licentiate the more eager to do what he did the next day, which was to summon his friend the barber, Master Nicholas, and go with him to Don Quixote’s house.
 
看到自己动弹不得，唐吉诃德想起了自己的老办法——回想小说中的某一情节。他又疯疯癫癫地想起巴尔迪维诺在山上被卡尔•洛托打伤后遇到曼图亚侯爵的故事。这个故事孩子们知道，青年人知道，老年人更是大加赞赏，深信不疑，就像笃信穆罕默德的故事一样。唐吉诃德觉得这个情节与自己的处境极其相似，便作悲痛欲绝状，在地上打滚，嘴里还气息奄奄地说着据说是那位受伤的绿林好汉当时说的话：
你在哪里，我的夫人？
难道对我毫不怜悯？
夫人也许真的不知，
还是
虚情假意，早已变心？
然后，他又继续念小说里的歌谣，一直念到那句韵文：
哦，显贵的曼图亚侯爵，
我的舅父，长辈大人！
刚念到这句，当地的一位农夫，他的邻居，正巧送麦子到磨坊经过此地。农夫看到地上躺着一个人，就过去问他是谁，哪儿不舒服，何以如此伤心地呻吟。唐吉诃德认定这人就是他的舅父曼图亚侯爵，所以什么也不回答，只是继续念叨歌谣，诉说自己的不幸，还有什么皇子和他夫人偷情等等，全是按照歌谣的内容说的。
听了这番疯话，农夫惊讶不已。农夫掀开唐吉诃德的护眼罩，护眼罩已经被打碎了，拂去他脸上的灰尘，认出了他，说：
“吉哈纳大人（在他尚未失去理性，由安分的贵族变成游侠骑士之前，大概是这样称呼他的），谁把您弄成这个样子？”
可是不管农夫问什么，唐吉诃德只是继续说他的歌谣。这位好心人只好脱掉唐吉诃德的护胸护背，看看是否有伤，结果并没有发现血迹和伤痕。农夫把他从地上使劲扶了起来，又觉得还是自己的驴稳当，就把他扶到自己的驴上，费力可真不少，然后又收拾好甲胄，连同断矛一起捆在罗西南多的背上，牵着马和驴的缰绳回村，路上仍一直琢磨唐吉诃德那些胡言乱语的意思。唐吉诃德也不好受，遍体鳞伤的身躯在驴上摇摇晃晃，不时仰天长叹，于是农夫又问他哪儿难受。看来魔鬼又适时给他的记忆带来了故事，否则他怎么会在这个时候忘了巴尔多维诺斯，却想起了摩尔人阿温达赖斯被安特奎拉的要塞司令罗德里戈•德纳瓦埃斯捉住，送往要塞辖区的事呢。因此，农夫再问他感觉怎样时，他就用阿温达赖斯回答罗德里戈•德纳瓦埃斯的话回答农夫。这些话是他从豪尔赫•德蒙特马约尔的故事《迪亚娜》里读到的。农夫听他这么胡说八道，简直跟见了鬼似的，便明白了自己的邻居神经已经不正常，于是加紧往回赶，以免让唐吉诃德的滔滔不绝搅得心烦意乱。最后，唐吉诃德说：
“您应该知道，唐罗德里戈•德纳瓦埃斯大人，我刚才说的美人哈丽法就是当今托博索的美人杜尔西内亚。我已经为她、正在为她并且将继续为她创造世界上绝无仅有的最辉煌的骑士业绩。”
农夫回答说：
“大人您看看，请恕罪，我不是唐罗德里戈•德纳瓦埃斯，也不是曼图亚侯爵。我是您的邻居佩德罗•阿隆索。您既不是巴尔多维诺斯，也不是阿温达赖斯，而是光荣的贵族吉哈纳大人。”
“我知道我是谁，”唐吉诃德说，“我知道我不仅可以是我刚才说过的那些人，而且还可以当法兰西十二廷臣，甚至当世界九大俊杰。他们的业绩无论从总体看还是以个别论，都比不上我。”
他们边说边走，回到村庄时天已渐黑。不过，农夫还得等天色完全黑下来，以免人们看到这位遍体鳞伤的贵族骑着这匹劣马。农夫觉得到时候了才进村，来到唐吉诃德家。唐吉诃德的家里熙熙攘攘，其中有村里的神甫和理发师，他们都是唐吉诃德的好朋友。女管家正高声对他们说：
“佩罗•佩雷斯神甫（这是神甫的名字），您估计我的主人遇到了什么麻烦？他已经两天没露面了，马也没了，皮盾、长矛和甲胄都不见了。真倒霉！现在我才明白，事情本该如此，就像有生必有死的道理一样。那些可恨的骑士小说他读起来没完，结果把人读傻了。现在我想起来了，以前我经常听他自言自语地说，要去做游侠骑士，到各地去冒险。这些小说是教人学撒旦和巴巴拉①的，这不，全曼查最精明的人也完了。”
①巴巴拉是耶稣在耶路撒冷被捕时的监内一囚犯。
他的外甥女也这么说，而且还说：
“您知道吗，尼古拉斯师傅（这是理发师的名字），有很多次，我舅舅连续两天两夜读那些晦气的勾魂小说，看完后，把书一扔，拿着剑对墙乱刺，刺累了，就说自己已经杀死了四个高塔般的巨人，累出的汗是搏斗中受伤流的血。然后，他喝一大罐凉水，才安静下来，还说那水是他的朋友大魔法师埃斯费贤人送给他的圣水。不过，都怪我，没有告诉您我舅舅这些疯疯癫癫的事，趁他还没变成现在这个样子之前管管他，把那些邪书都烧了。他的很多书都应该像对异教邪说那样一把火烧掉。”
“我也这样认为，”神甫说，“明天一定要公审那些书，并且处以火刑，以免让那些读了这种书的人像我的善良的朋友一样做出那些事。”
这些话全被农夫和唐吉诃德听到了。农夫这才明白唐吉诃德得的是什么病。于是他大声说：
“请你们给巴尔多维诺斯大人和曼图亚侯爵大人开门，他伤得很重；还有摩尔人阿温达赖斯大人，他把安特奎拉的要塞司令，那位勇敢的罗德里戈•德纳瓦埃斯给抓来了。”
农夫这么一喊，大家都跑了出来，有些人认出这是他们的朋友，两个女人也认出了她们的主人和舅舅。唐吉诃德还骑在驴上，下不来，大家只好跑过去抱住他。他说：
“你们听着，我受了重伤，这全怪我的马。你们把我送到床上去。如果可能的话，叫乌甘达女巫来治治我的伤吧。”
“您看，真不幸，”女管家说，“我的心灵告诉我，我主人的条腿跛了。您正好上床去，不用找什么乌疙瘩了，我们知道怎么给你治。那些该上百次诅咒的骑士小说把您害成了这个样子。”
人们把他抬到床上检查伤口，可是一个伤口也没找到。他说，他的伤全是在他的坐骑罗西南多跌倒时摔的。当时他正同十名世界罕见的胆大妄为的巨人搏斗。
“好啊，好啊，”神甫说，“这回还有巨人！我向十字架发誓，明天天黑之前我要把他们都烧死。”
大家向唐吉诃德提了很多问题，可是他一个问题也不愿回答，只是要求给他吃的，让他睡觉，现在这最重要。于是，神甫详细地询问农夫是如何找到唐吉诃德的。农夫把碰到唐吉诃德时他的丑态，以及带他来时半路上说的那些疯话都介绍了一遍。这回神甫听了愈发想找一天做他想做的那件事了。第二天，神甫叫上他的朋友尼古拉斯理发师，一同来到唐吉诃德家。
Part 1 Chapter 6
He was still sleeping; so the curate asked the niece for the keys of the room where the books, the authors of all the mischief, were, and right willingly she gave them. They all went in, the housekeeper with them, and found more than a hundred volumes of big books very well bound, and some other small ones. The moment the housekeeper saw them she turned about and ran out of the room, and came back immediately with a saucer of holy water and a sprinkler, saying, “Here, your worship, senor licentiate, sprinkle this room; don’t leave any magician of the many there are in these books to bewitch us in revenge for our design of banishing them from the world.”
The simplicity of the housekeeper made the licentiate laugh, and he directed the barber to give him the books one by one to see what they were about, as there might be some to be found among them that did not deserve the penalty of fire.
“No,” said the niece, “there is no reason for showing mercy to any of them; they have every one of them done mischief; better fling them out of the window into the court and make a pile of them and set fire to them; or else carry them into the yard, and there a bonfire can be made without the smoke giving any annoyance.” The housekeeper said the same, so eager were they both for the slaughter of those innocents, but the curate would not agree to it without first reading at any rate the titles.
The first that Master Nicholas put into his hand was “The four books of Amadis of Gaul.” “This seems a mysterious thing,” said the curate, “for, as I have heard say, this was the first book of chivalry printed in Spain, and from this all the others derive their birth and origin; so it seems to me that we ought inexorably to condemn it to the flames as the founder of so vile a sect.”
“Nay, sir,” said the barber, “I too, have heard say that this is the best of all the books of this kind that have been written, and so, as something singular in its line, it ought to be pardoned.”
“True,” said the curate; “and for that reason let its life be spared for the present. Let us see that other which is next to it.”
“It is,” said the barber, “the ‘Sergas de Esplandian,’ the lawful son of Amadis of Gaul.”
“Then verily,” said the curate, “the merit of the father must not be put down to the account of the son. Take it, mistress housekeeper; open the window and fling it into the yard and lay the foundation of the pile for the bonfire we are to make.”
The housekeeper obeyed with great satisfaction, and the worthy “Esplandian” went flying into the yard to await with all patience the fire that was in store for him.
“Proceed,” said the curate.
“This that comes next,” said the barber, “is ‘Amadis of Greece,’ and, indeed, I believe all those on this side are of the same Amadis lineage.”
“Then to the yard with the whole of them,” said the curate; “for to have the burning of Queen Pintiquiniestra, and the shepherd Darinel and his eclogues, and the bedevilled and involved discourses of his author, I would burn with them the father who begot me if he were going about in the guise of a knight-errant.”
“I am of the same mind,” said the barber.
“And so am I,” added the niece.
“In that case,” said the housekeeper, “here, into the yard with them!”
They were handed to her, and as there were many of them, she spared herself the staircase, and flung them down out of the window.
“Who is that tub there?” said the curate.
“This,” said the barber, “is ‘Don Olivante de Laura.’”
“The author of that book,” said the curate, “was the same that wrote ‘The Garden of Flowers,’ and truly there is no deciding which of the two books is the more truthful, or, to put it better, the less lying; all I can say is, send this one into the yard for a swaggering fool.”
“This that follows is ‘Florismarte of Hircania,’” said the barber.
“Senor Florismarte here?” said the curate; “then by my faith he must take up his quarters in the yard, in spite of his marvellous birth and visionary adventures, for the stiffness and dryness of his style deserve nothing else; into the yard with him and the other, mistress housekeeper.”
“With all my heart, senor,” said she, and executed the order with great delight.
“This,” said the barber, “is The Knight Platir.’”
“An old book that,” said the curate, “but I find no reason for clemency in it; send it after the others without appeal;” which was done.
Another book was opened, and they saw it was entitled, “The Knight of the Cross.”
“For the sake of the holy name this book has,” said the curate, “its ignorance might be excused; but then, they say, ‘behind the cross there’s the devil; to the fire with it.”
Taking down another book, the barber said, “This is ‘The Mirror of Chivalry.’”
“I know his worship,” said the curate; “that is where Senor Reinaldos of Montalvan figures with his friends and comrades, greater thieves than Cacus, and the Twelve Peers of France with the veracious historian Turpin; however, I am not for condemning them to more than perpetual banishment, because, at any rate, they have some share in the invention of the famous Matteo Boiardo, whence too the Christian poet Ludovico Ariosto wove his web, to whom, if I find him here, and speaking any language but his own, I shall show no respect whatever; but if he speaks his own tongue I will put him upon my head.”
“Well, I have him in Italian,” said the barber, “but I do not understand him.”
“Nor would it be well that you should understand him,” said the curate, “and on that score we might have excused the Captain if he had not brought him into Spain and turned him into Castilian. He robbed him of a great deal of his natural force, and so do all those who try to turn books written in verse into another language, for, with all the pains they take and all the cleverness they show, they never can reach the level of the originals as they were first produced. In short, I say that this book, and all that may be found treating of those French affairs, should be thrown into or deposited in some dry well, until after more consideration it is settled what is to be done with them; excepting always one ‘Bernardo del Carpio’ that is going about, and another called ‘Roncesvalles;’ for these, if they come into my hands, shall pass at once into those of the housekeeper, and from hers into the fire without any reprieve.”
To all this the barber gave his assent, and looked upon it as right and proper, being persuaded that the curate was so staunch to the Faith and loyal to the Truth that he would not for the world say anything opposed to them. Opening another book he saw it was “Palmerin de Oliva,” and beside it was another called “Palmerin of England,” seeing which the licentiate said, “Let the Olive be made firewood of at once and burned until no ashes even are left; and let that Palm of England be kept and preserved as a thing that stands alone, and let such another case be made for it as that which Alexander found among the spoils of Darius and set aside for the safe keeping of the works of the poet Homer. This book, gossip, is of authority for two reasons, first because it is very good, and secondly because it is said to have been written by a wise and witty king of Portugal. All the adventures at the Castle of Miraguarda are excellent and of admirable contrivance, and the language is polished and clear, studying and observing the style befitting the speaker with propriety and judgment. So then, provided it seems good to you, Master Nicholas, I say let this and ‘Amadis of Gaul’ be remitted the penalty of fire, and as for all the rest, let them perish without further question or query.”
“Nay, gossip,” said the barber, “for this that I have here is the famous ‘Don Belianis.’”
“Well,” said the curate, “that and the second, third, and fourth parts all stand in need of a little rhubarb to purge their excess of bile, and they must be cleared of all that stuff about the Castle of Fame and other greater affectations, to which end let them be allowed the over-seas term, and, according as they mend, so shall mercy or justice be meted out to them; and in the mean time, gossip, do you keep them in your house and let no one read them.”
“With all my heart,” said the barber; and not caring to tire himself with reading more books of chivalry, he told the housekeeper to take all the big ones and throw them into the yard. It was not said to one dull or deaf, but to one who enjoyed burning them more than weaving the broadest and finest web that could be; and seizing about eight at a time, she flung them out of the window.
In carrying so many together she let one fall at the feet of the barber, who took it up, curious to know whose it was, and found it said, “History of the Famous Knight, Tirante el Blanco.”
“God bless me!” said the curate with a shout, “‘Tirante el Blanco’ here! Hand it over, gossip, for in it I reckon I have found a treasury of enjoyment and a mine of recreation. Here is Don Kyrieleison of Montalvan, a valiant knight, and his brother Thomas of Montalvan, and the knight Fonseca, with the battle the bold Tirante fought with the mastiff, and the witticisms of the damsel Placerdemivida, and the loves and wiles of the widow Reposada, and the empress in love with the squire Hipolito — in truth, gossip, by right of its style it is the best book in the world. Here knights eat and sleep, and die in their beds, and make their wills before dying, and a great deal more of which there is nothing in all the other books. Nevertheless, I say he who wrote it, for deliberately composing such fooleries, deserves to be sent to the galleys for life. Take it home with you and read it, and you will see that what I have said is true.”
“As you will,” said the barber; “but what are we to do with these little books that are left?”
“These must be, not chivalry, but poetry,” said the curate; and opening one he saw it was the “Diana” of Jorge de Montemayor, and, supposing all the others to be of the same sort, “these,” he said, “do not deserve to be burned like the others, for they neither do nor can do the mischief the books of chivalry have done, being books of entertainment that can hurt no one.”
“Ah, senor!” said the niece, “your worship had better order these to be burned as well as the others; for it would be no wonder if, after being cured of his chivalry disorder, my uncle, by reading these, took a fancy to turn shepherd and range the woods and fields singing and piping; or, what would be still worse, to turn poet, which they say is an incurable and infectious malady.”
“The damsel is right,” said the curate, “and it will be well to put this stumbling-block and temptation out of our friend’s way. To begin, then, with the ‘Diana’ of Montemayor. I am of opinion it should not be burned, but that it should be cleared of all that about the sage Felicia and the magic water, and of almost all the longer pieces of verse: let it keep, and welcome, its prose and the honour of being the first of books of the kind.”
“This that comes next,” said the barber, “is the ‘Diana,’ entitled the ‘Second Part, by the Salamancan,’ and this other has the same title, and its author is Gil Polo.”
“As for that of the Salamancan,” replied the curate, “let it go to swell the number of the condemned in the yard, and let Gil Polo’s be preserved as if it came from Apollo himself: but get on, gossip, and make haste, for it is growing late.”
“This book,” said the barber, opening another, “is the ten books of the ‘Fortune of Love,’ written by Antonio de Lofraso, a Sardinian poet.”
“By the orders I have received,” said the curate, “since Apollo has been Apollo, and the Muses have been Muses, and poets have been poets, so droll and absurd a book as this has never been written, and in its way it is the best and the most singular of all of this species that have as yet appeared, and he who has not read it may be sure he has never read what is delightful. Give it here, gossip, for I make more account of having found it than if they had given me a cassock of Florence stuff.”
He put it aside with extreme satisfaction, and the barber went on, “These that come next are ‘The Shepherd of Iberia,’ ‘Nymphs of Henares,’ and ‘The Enlightenment of Jealousy.’”
“Then all we have to do,” said the curate, “is to hand them over to the secular arm of the housekeeper, and ask me not why, or we shall never have done.”
“This next is the ‘Pastor de Filida.’”
“No Pastor that,” said the curate, “but a highly polished courtier; let it be preserved as a precious jewel.”
“This large one here,” said the barber, “is called ‘The Treasury of various Poems.’”
“If there were not so many of them,” said the curate, “they would be more relished: this book must be weeded and cleansed of certain vulgarities which it has with its excellences; let it be preserved because the author is a friend of mine, and out of respect for other more heroic and loftier works that he has written.”
“This,” continued the barber, “is the ‘Cancionero’ of Lopez de Maldonado.”
“The author of that book, too,” said the curate, “is a great friend of mine, and his verses from his own mouth are the admiration of all who hear them, for such is the sweetness of his voice that he enchants when he chants them: it gives rather too much of its eclogues, but what is good was never yet plentiful: let it be kept with those that have been set apart. But what book is that next it?”
“The ‘Galatea’ of Miguel de Cervantes,” said the barber.
“That Cervantes has been for many years a great friend of mine, and to my knowledge he has had more experience in reverses than in verses. His book has some good invention in it, it presents us with something but brings nothing to a conclusion: we must wait for the Second Part it promises: perhaps with amendment it may succeed in winning the full measure of grace that is now denied it; and in the mean time do you, senor gossip, keep it shut up in your own quarters.”
“Very good,” said the barber; “and here come three together, the ‘Araucana’ of Don Alonso de Ercilla, the ‘Austriada’ of Juan Rufo, Justice of Cordova, and the ‘Montserrate’ of Christobal de Virues, the Valencian poet.”
“These three books,” said the curate, “are the best that have been written in Castilian in heroic verse, and they may compare with the most famous of Italy; let them be preserved as the richest treasures of poetry that Spain possesses.”
The curate was tired and would not look into any more books, and so he decided that, “contents uncertified,” all the rest should be burned; but just then the barber held open one, called “The Tears of Angelica.”
“I should have shed tears myself,” said the curate when he heard the title, “had I ordered that book to be burned, for its author was one of the famous poets of the world, not to say of Spain, and was very happy in the translation of some of Ovid’s fables.”

Of the Diverting and Important Scrutiny which the Curate and The Barber made in the Library of our Ingenious GENTLEMAN
 
书房里进行了别有风趣的大检查
唐吉诃德还在睡觉。神甫向唐吉诃德的外甥女要那个存放着罪孽书籍的房间的钥匙，他的外甥女欣然拿出了钥匙。大家进了房间，女管家也跟着进去了。他们看到有一百多册装帧精美的大书和一些小书。看到这些书，女管家赶紧跑出房间，然后拿回一碗圣水和一把刷子，说：
“拿着，神甫大人，请你把圣水洒在这个房间里，别留下这些书中的任何一个魔鬼，它会让我们中邪的。我们对它们的惩罚就是把它们清除出人世。”
女管家考虑得如此简单，神甫不禁笑了，他让理发师把那些书一本一本地递给他，看看都是什么书，也许有些书不必处以火刑。
“不，”外甥女说，“一本都不要宽恕，都是害人的书。”最好把它们都从窗户扔到院子里，做一堆烧掉。要不然就把它们弄到畜栏去，在那儿烧，免得烟呛人。”
女管家也这么说，兴许，让那些无辜者去死是她们的共同愿望。不过神甫不同意，他起码要先看看那些书的名字。理发师递到他手里的第一本书是《高卢的阿马迪斯四卷集》。神甫说：
“简直不可思议，据我所知，这本书是在西班牙印刷的第一部骑士小说，其他小说都是步它的后尘。我觉得，对这样一部传播如此恶毒的宗派教义的书，我们应该火烧无赦。”
“不，大人，”理发师说，“据我所知，此类书中，数这本写得最好。它在艺术上无与伦比，应该赦免。”
“说得对，”神甫说，“所以现在先放它一条生路。咱们再来看旁边的那一本吧。”
理发师说：“这本是《埃斯普兰迪安的功绩》，此人是高卢的阿马迪斯的嫡亲儿子。”
“实际上，”神甫说，“父亲的功绩无助于儿子。拿着，管家夫人，打开窗户，把它扔到畜栏去。咱们要烧一堆书呢，就用它垫底吧。”
女管家非常高兴地把书扔了，《埃斯普兰迪安的功绩》被扔进了畜栏，耐心地等候烈火焚身。
“下一部。”神甫说。
“这本是《希腊的阿马迪斯》。”理发师说，“我觉得这边的书都是阿马迪斯家族的。”
“那就都扔到畜栏去。”神甫说，“什么平蒂基内斯特拉女王、达里内尔牧人以及他的牧歌，还有作者的种种丑恶悖谬，统统烧掉。即便是养育了我的父亲打扮成游侠骑士的模样，也要连同这些东西一起烧掉。”
“我也这样认为。”理发师说。
“我也是。”外甥女说。
“是这样，”女管家说，“来吧，让它们都到畜栏去。”
大家都往外搬书，书很多，女管家干脆不用楼梯了，直接把书从窗口扔下去。
“那本大家伙是什么？”神甫问。
理发师回答说：“是《劳拉的唐奥利万》。”
“这本书的作者就是写《芳菲园》的那个人。我也不知道这两本书里究竟哪一本真话多，或者最好说，哪一本书说假话少。我只知道这本胡言乱语、目空一切的书也应该扔到畜栏去。”
“下一本是《伊尔卡尼亚的弗洛里斯马尔特》。”理发师说。
“怎么，还有弗洛里斯马尔特大人？”神甫说，“虽然他身世诡怪，经历奇特，可是文笔生硬枯涩。把它和另外那本书都扔到畜栏去，管家夫人。”
“很荣幸，我的大人。”女管家高高兴兴地去执行委派给她的事情。
“这本是《普拉蒂尔骑士》。”理发师说。
“那是本古书，”神甫说，“我没发现它有什么可以获得宽恕的内容。别费话，也一起扔出去。”
然后，神甫又打开一本书，书名叫《十字架骑士》。
“此书名字神圣，可以宽恕它的无知。不过常言道：‘十字架后有魔鬼。’烧了它！”
理发师又拿起另一本书，说：
“这是《骑士宝鉴》。”
“我知道这部大作，”神甫说，“写的是雷纳尔多斯•德蒙塔尔万和他的伙伴，个个比卡科还能偷。还有十二廷臣和真正的历史学家图尔平。说实话，我准备判它个终身流放，因为他们一部分是著名的马泰奥•博亚尔多的杜撰，接着又由基督教诗人卢多维科•阿里奥斯托来添枝加叶。如果我在这儿碰到他，他竟对我讲他母语之外的其他语言，我就对他不客气；他要是讲自己的语言，我就把他奉若上宾。”
“我倒有本意大利文的，”理发师，“不过我看不懂。”
“你不懂更好，”神甫说，“这回咱们就宽恕卡皮坦先生吧，他并没有把这本书带到西班牙来，翻成西班牙文。那会失掉作品很多原意，所有想翻译诗的人都如此。尽管他们小心备至，技巧娴熟，也绝不可能达到原文的水平。依我说，实际上，把这本书和你们找到的其他谈论法兰西这类事情的书，都扔到枯井里存着，待商量好怎样处理再说。不过，那本《贝纳尔多•德尔卡皮奥》和另一本叫《龙塞斯巴列斯》的例外。只要这两本书到了我手里，就得交给女管家，再扔到火里，绝不放过。”
理发师觉得这样做很对，完全正确，觉得神甫是一位善良的基督教徒，热爱真理，对世上之事绝不乱说，所以他完全赞同。再翻开一本书，是《奥利瓦的帕尔梅林》，旁边还有一本《英格兰的帕尔梅林》。神甫看到书便说：
“把那本《奥利瓦》撕碎烧掉，连灰烬也别剩。那本《英格兰》留下，当作稀世珍宝保存起来，再给它做个盒子，就像亚历山大从大流士①那儿缴获的战利品盒子一样。亚历山大用那个盒子装诗人荷马的著作。这部书，老兄，以两点见长。其一是本身写得非常好，其二是作者身为葡萄牙的一位思维敏捷的国王，所以颇有影响。米拉瓜尔达城堡里的种种惊险，精彩至极，引人入胜。这部书的语言文雅明快，贴切易懂，非常得体。所以我说，尼古拉斯师傅，这部书和《高卢的阿马迪斯》应该免遭火焚，其他书就不必再审看了，统统烧掉，您看怎样？”
①大流士是波斯帝国阿契美尼德王朝的国王。
“不行，老兄，”理发师说，“我这本是名著《唐贝利亚尼斯》。”
神甫持异议：“对第二、三、四部需要加点大黄，去去它的旺肝火。所有关于法马城堡的内容和其他严重的不实之处也得去掉，再补以外来语。修改之后，再视情况决定是宽恕还是审判它。现在，老兄，你先把它放在你家，不过别让任何人阅读它。”
“我愿意。”理发师说。他不想再劳神看那些骑士小说了，就吩咐女管家把所有大本书都敛起来，扔到畜栏去。
女管家不傻也不聋，而且她烧书之心胜于织布之心，不管那是多宽多薄的布。听了理发师的话，她一下子抓起八本书，从窗口扔出去。因为拿得太多，有一本掉在理发师脚旁。理发师想看看是谁写的书，一看原来是《著名白人骑士蒂兰特传》。
“上帝保佑！”神甫大喊一声，说道，“白人骑士蒂兰特竟在这里！递给我，老兄，我似乎在这本书里找到了欢乐的宝库，娱乐的源泉。这里有勇敢的骑士基列莱松•德蒙塔尔万和他的兄弟托马斯•德蒙塔尔万以及丰塞卡骑士，有同疯狗战斗的英雄蒂兰特，有刻薄的少女普拉塞尔•德米比达，谈情说爱、招摇撞骗的寡妇雷波萨达，还有爱上了侍从伊波利托的女皇。说句实话，老兄，论文笔，它堪称世界最佳。书里的骑士也吃饭，睡在床上，死在床上，临死前也立遗嘱，还有其他事情。这些都是其他此类书所缺少的。尽管如此，作者故意编造这些乱七八糟的故事，还是应该罚他终生做划船苦役。你把它拿回家去看看，就知道我对你说的这些都是千真万确的了。”
“是这样，”理发师说，“不过，剩下的这些小书怎么办呢？”
神甫说：“这些书不会是骑士小说，大概是诗集。”说着他打开一本，是豪尔赫•德蒙特马约尔的《迪亚娜》，就说恐怕其他的也都是这类书。
“这些书不必像其他书那样都烧掉，它不像骑士小说那样害人或者将要害人，都是些供消遣的书，不会坑害其他人。”
外甥女说：“哦，大人，您完全可以下令像对其他书一样把这些书都烧掉。否则过不了多久，我舅舅洽好骑士病后，读这些书，又会心血来潮地想当牧人，游历森林和草原，边唱边伴奏，或者更糟糕，想当诗人，那病就没法治了，而且还传染呢。”
“小姐说得对，”神甫说，“最好提前解除这种不幸和危险。咱们就先从蒙特马约尔的《迪亚娜》下手吧。我觉得书可以不烧，不过，所有关于仙姑费丽西亚和魔水的内容以及大部分长诗都得删掉，适当保留散文，这样它仍然不失为此类小说中的一流作品。”
“接着这本又是《迪丽娜》，题为《萨拉曼卡人续集》，”理发师说，“另一本也叫《迪亚娜》，作者是吉尔•波罗。”
“萨拉曼卡人的那本，让它跟着那些该扔到畜栏去的书一起去充数吧。”神甫说，“吉尔•波罗的那本要当作阿波罗的作品保存起来。咱们得快点，老兄，时间不早了。”
“这本书，”理发师说着打开了另一本书，“是撒丁岛人安东尼奥•德洛弗拉索写的《爱运女神十书》。”
“我凭我的教职发誓，”神甫说，“自从有了阿波罗、缪斯和诗人以来，从没有任何著作像这部书这样既有趣又荒诞。由此说来，它也是所有这类书中最优秀绝世之作。没读过这部书，就等于没有读过任何有趣的东西。给我吧，老兄，这比给我一件佛罗伦萨呢绒教士服还珍贵呢。”
神甫极其高兴地把书放在一旁。理发师又继续说道：“后面这几本是《伊比利亚牧人》、《草地仙女》和《情嫉醒悟》。”
神甫说：“没别的，把它们都交给女管家。别问我为什么，否则就说个没完了。”
“下面这本是《菲利达牧人》。”
“那不是收人，”神甫说，“而是个谨小慎微的大臣。把它当成珍品收藏起来。”
“这部大书名为《诗库举要》。”理发师说。
神甫说：“诗不多，所以很珍贵，不过要从这部书的精华里剔除糟粕。这个作者是我的朋友。看在他还写过一些如史诗一般高尚的著作份上，就把这本书留下吧。”
“这本是《洛佩斯•马尔多纳多诗歌集》。”理发师接着说。
“这本书的作者也是我的好朋友。他的诗一经他口，就倾倒听者。他朗诵的声调十分和婉，很迷人。就是田园诗长了些，不过好东西不怕长。把它和挑出来的那儿本放在一起。旁边那本是什么？”
“是米格尔•德•塞万提斯的《加拉特亚》。”理发师说。
“这个塞万提斯是我多年的至交。我知道他最有体会的不是诗，而是不幸。他的书有所创新，有所启示，却不做结论。不过，得等等第二部，他说过要续写的。也许修改以后，现在反对他的那些人能够谅解他。现在，你先把这本书锁在你家。”
“我很高兴，老兄。”理发师说，“这儿有三本放在一起了。它们是唐阿隆索•德阿尔西利亚的《阿拉乌加人》、科尔多瓦的陪审员胡安•鲁福的《澳大科亚人》和巴伦西亚诗人克里斯托瓦尔•德比鲁埃斯的《蒙塞拉特》。”
“这三本书，”神甫说，“是西班牙语里最优秀的史诗，可以同意大利最著名的史诗媲美，把它作为西班牙诗歌最珍贵的诗歌遗产保存起来。”
神甫已没心思再看其它书，想把剩下的所有书都烧掉。可这时理发师又打开了一本，是《天使的眼泪》。
“如果把这本书烧了，我倒要流眼泪呢。”神甫说，“这个作者是西班牙乃至全世界最著名的诗人之一。他曾翻译过奥维德的几个神话故事，译得非常通顺。”
Part 1 Chapter 7
At this instant Don Quixote began shouting out, “Here, here, valiant knights! here is need for you to put forth the might of your strong arms, for they of the Court are gaining the mastery in the tourney!” Called away by this noise and outcry, they proceeded no farther with the scrutiny of the remaining books, and so it is thought that “The Carolea,” “The Lion of Spain,” and “The Deeds of the Emperor,” written by Don Luis de Avila, went to the fire unseen and unheard; for no doubt they were among those that remained, and perhaps if the curate had seen them they would not have undergone so severe a sentence.
When they reached Don Quixote he was already out of bed, and was still shouting and raving, and slashing and cutting all round, as wide awake as if he had never slept.
They closed with him and by force got him back to bed, and when he had become a little calm, addressing the curate, he said to him, “Of a truth, Senor Archbishop Turpin, it is a great disgrace for us who call ourselves the Twelve Peers, so carelessly to allow the knights of the Court to gain the victory in this tourney, we the adventurers having carried off the honour on the three former days.”
“Hush, gossip,” said the curate; “please God, the luck may turn, and what is lost to-day may be won to-morrow; for the present let your worship have a care of your health, for it seems to me that you are over-fatigued, if not badly wounded.”
“Wounded no,” said Don Quixote, “but bruised and battered no doubt, for that bastard Don Roland has cudgelled me with the trunk of an oak tree, and all for envy, because he sees that I alone rival him in his achievements. But I should not call myself Reinaldos of Montalvan did he not pay me for it in spite of all his enchantments as soon as I rise from this bed. For the present let them bring me something to eat, for that, I feel, is what will be more to my purpose, and leave it to me to avenge myself.”
They did as he wished; they gave him something to eat, and once more he fell asleep, leaving them marvelling at his madness.
That night the housekeeper burned to ashes all the books that were in the yard and in the whole house; and some must have been consumed that deserved preservation in everlasting archives, but their fate and the laziness of the examiner did not permit it, and so in them was verified the proverb that the innocent suffer for the guilty.
One of the remedies which the curate and the barber immediately applied to their friend’s disorder was to wall up and plaster the room where the books were, so that when he got up he should not find them (possibly the cause being removed the effect might cease), and they might say that a magician had carried them off, room and all; and this was done with all despatch. Two days later Don Quixote got up, and the first thing he did was to go and look at his books, and not finding the room where he had left it, he wandered from side to side looking for it. He came to the place where the door used to be, and tried it with his hands, and turned and twisted his eyes in every direction without saying a word; but after a good while he asked his housekeeper whereabouts was the room that held his books.
The housekeeper, who had been already well instructed in what she was to answer, said, “What room or what nothing is it that your worship is looking for? There are neither room nor books in this house now, for the devil himself has carried all away.”
“It was not the devil,” said the niece, “but a magician who came on a cloud one night after the day your worship left this, and dismounting from a serpent that he rode he entered the room, and what he did there I know not, but after a little while he made off, flying through the roof, and left the house full of smoke; and when we went to see what he had done we saw neither book nor room: but we remember very well, the housekeeper and I, that on leaving, the old villain said in a loud voice that, for a private grudge he owed the owner of the books and the room, he had done mischief in that house that would be discovered by-and-by: he said too that his name was the Sage Munaton.”
“He must have said Friston,” said Don Quixote.
“I don’t know whether he called himself Friston or Friton,” said the housekeeper, “I only know that his name ended with ‘ton.’”
“So it does,” said Don Quixote, “and he is a sage magician, a great enemy of mine, who has a spite against me because he knows by his arts and lore that in process of time I am to engage in single combat with a knight whom he befriends and that I am to conquer, and he will be unable to prevent it; and for this reason he endeavours to do me all the ill turns that he can; but I promise him it will be hard for him to oppose or avoid what is decreed by Heaven.”
“Who doubts that?” said the niece; “but, uncle, who mixes you up in these quarrels? Would it not be better to remain at peace in your own house instead of roaming the world looking for better bread than ever came of wheat, never reflecting that many go for wool and come back shorn?”
“Oh, niece of mine,” replied Don Quixote, “how much astray art thou in thy reckoning: ere they shear me I shall have plucked away and stripped off the beards of all who dare to touch only the tip of a hair of mine.”
The two were unwilling to make any further answer, as they saw that his anger was kindling.
In short, then, he remained at home fifteen days very quietly without showing any signs of a desire to take up with his former delusions, and during this time he held lively discussions with his two gossips, the curate and the barber, on the point he maintained, that knights-errant were what the world stood most in need of, and that in him was to be accomplished the revival of knight-errantry. The curate sometimes contradicted him, sometimes agreed with him, for if he had not observed this precaution he would have been unable to bring him to reason.
Meanwhile Don Quixote worked upon a farm labourer, a neighbour of his, an honest man (if indeed that title can be given to him who is poor), but with very little wit in his pate. In a word, he so talked him over, and with such persuasions and promises, that the poor clown made up his mind to sally forth with him and serve him as esquire. Don Quixote, among other things, told him he ought to be ready to go with him gladly, because any moment an adventure might occur that might win an island in the twinkling of an eye and leave him governor of it. On these and the like promises Sancho Panza (for so the labourer was called) left wife and children, and engaged himself as esquire to his neighbour.
 
Don Quixote next set about getting some money; and selling one thing and pawning another, and making a bad bargain in every case, he got together a fair sum. He provided himself with a buckler, which he begged as a loan from a friend, and, restoring his battered helmet as best he could, he warned his squire Sancho of the day and hour he meant to set out, that he might provide himself with what he thought most needful. Above all, he charged him to take alforjas with him. The other said he would, and that he meant to take also a very good ass he had, as he was not much given to going on foot. About the ass, Don Quixote hesitated a little, trying whether he could call to mind any knight-errant taking with him an esquire mounted on ass-back, but no instance occurred to his memory. For all that, however, he determined to take him, intending to furnish him with a more honourable mount when a chance of it presented itself, by appropriating the horse of the first discourteous knight he encountered. Himself he provided with shirts and such other things as he could, according to the advice the host had given him; all which being done, without taking leave, Sancho Panza of his wife and children, or Don Quixote of his housekeeper and niece, they sallied forth unseen by anybody from the village one night, and made such good way in the course of it that by daylight they held themselves safe from discovery, even should search be made for them.
Sancho rode on his ass like a patriarch, with his alforjas and bota, and longing to see himself soon governor of the island his master had promised him. Don Quixote decided upon taking the same route and road he had taken on his first journey, that over the Campo de Montiel, which he travelled with less discomfort than on the last occasion, for, as it was early morning and the rays of the sun fell on them obliquely, the heat did not distress them.
 
And now said Sancho Panza to his master, “Your worship will take care, Senor Knight-errant, not to forget about the island you have promised me, for be it ever so big I’ll be equal to governing it.”
To which Don Quixote replied, “Thou must know, friend Sancho Panza, that it was a practice very much in vogue with the knights-errant of old to make their squires governors of the islands or kingdoms they won, and I am determined that there shall be no failure on my part in so liberal a custom; on the contrary, I mean to improve upon it, for they sometimes, and perhaps most frequently, waited until their squires were old, and then when they had had enough of service and hard days and worse nights, they gave them some title or other, of count, or at the most marquis, of some valley or province more or less; but if thou livest and I live, it may well be that before six days are over, I may have won some kingdom that has others dependent upon it, which will be just the thing to enable thee to be crowned king of one of them. Nor needst thou count this wonderful, for things and chances fall to the lot of such knights in ways so unexampled and unexpected that I might easily give thee even more than I promise thee.”
“In that case,” said Sancho Panza, “if I should become a king by one of those miracles your worship speaks of, even Juana Gutierrez, my old woman, would come to be queen and my children infantes.”
“Well, who doubts it?” said Don Quixote.
“I doubt it,” replied Sancho Panza, “because for my part I am persuaded that though God should shower down kingdoms upon earth, not one of them would fit the head of Mari Gutierrez. Let me tell you, senor, she is not worth two maravedis for a queen; countess will fit her better, and that only with God’s help.”
“Leave it to God, Sancho,” returned Don Quixote, “for he will give her what suits her best; but do not undervalue thyself so much as to come to be content with anything less than being governor of a province.”
“I will not, senor,” answered Sancho, “specially as I have a man of such quality for a master in your worship, who will know how to give me all that will be suitable for me and that I can bear.”
 
这时，忽听唐吉诃德咆哮起来：
“来吧，来吧，勇敢的骑士们，是显示你们勇敢臂膀的力量的时候了，现在是宫廷骑士得势。”
人们都循吵闹声赶去，其他书就没有再继续检查，估计《卡罗莱亚》、《西班牙的狮子》和路易斯•德阿维拉的《皇帝旧事》顷刻之间已化为灰烬。这几本大概都藏在剩下的那堆书里，神甫倘若看到这几本书，也许不会让它们遭受这样严厉的处罚。
大家赶到时，唐吉诃德已经起床了，正继续大喊大叫，到处乱扎乱刺，那个精神劲儿，一点儿也不像刚睡醒的样子。大家抱住他，硬把他按在床上。他安静了一会儿，又开始对神甫说：
“特平大主教大人，我们这些号称十二廷臣的人竟让这些宫廷骑士在这场战斗中大获全胜，真是奇耻大辱。前三天，我们这些征险骑士还连战连捷呢。”
“您安静点儿，老兄。”神甫说，“上帝会保佑我们时来运转的。‘失之今日，得于明天’，您现在需要注意身体。我觉得您大概太累了，要不就是受了重伤。”
唐吉诃德说：“没有受伤，不过浑身仿佛散了架，这倒是真的。那个婊子养的罗尔丹用圣栎木棍差点把我打散架。他完全是出于嫉妒，就因为我是他斗勇的敌手。待我能从床上起来时，不管他有多少魔法，我都要报仇，否则我就不叫雷纳尔多斯•德蒙塔尔万。现在，先给我弄点吃的，我知道这对我最合适。报仇的事就留给我吧。”
吃的拿来了，他又睡着了。他疯成这样，使大家目瞪口呆。
那天晚上，女管家把畜栏里和家里所有的书都烧了。那些本应留作永久资料的书，命运和懒惰的检查官并没有放过它们，也烧掉了。这就应验了那句俗语：“刚正常为罪恶受过”。
神甫和理发师拯救朋友的一个办法，就是把唐吉诃德那间书房砌上砖堵死，让他伤好后找不到那些书（说不定会病除根断），说魔法师把书房和里面所有的东西都带走了。他们说做就做。两天后，唐吉诃德起床了。他做的第一件事就是去看他的书。可是他找不到原来放书的房间，就逐间搜寻，走到原来是门的地方，用手摸了摸，四处张望，默默无语。过了好一阵，他问女管家书房在什么地方。女管家很清楚该怎样回答，对他说：
“您找什么房，什么东西？这里没有书也没有房，都让魔鬼带走了。”
“不是魔鬼，”外甥女说，“是位魔法师。您走后的一个晚上，魔法师腾云而来。他从蛇背上下来，走进房间。我也不知道他在里面干什么。不一会儿，他从房顶飞出，房间里全是烟。待我们想起过去看看他究竟干了什么，已经是书、房皆空了。我和管家记得十分清楚，那个老东西临走时大声说，他和那些书籍以及房间的主人有私仇，对那间房子的处置随后就可见分晓。他还说他是圣贤穆尼亚通。”
“大概说的是弗雷斯通。”唐吉诃德说。
女管家说：“我也不知道是说弗雷斯通还是弗里通，只知道最后一个字是‘通’。”
“是啊，”唐吉诃德说，“那是一个狡猾的魔法师，我的大敌，对我嫉恨如仇。他先天有灵，预知过一段时间后，会有他手下的一个骑士来同我展开恶战。我定会取胜，他却无可奈何，所以他要对我竭尽破坏之能事。我断定，苍天安排好的事，他很难违拗和逃脱。”
“这还用问吗？”外甥女说，“可是舅舅，谁让您去管那些事？在家里老老实实呆着，别到处去管闲事难道不好吗？况且弄不好的话，‘毛未剪成反被剪’呢。”
“你搞错了，外甥女，”唐吉诃德说，“谁想剪我的毛，不等他碰到我一根头发梢，我早已把他的毛全都剃光拔掉了。”
两个女人怕再勾起唐吉诃德的火气，不再言语。这样，唐吉诃德在家安安静静地住了十五天，没有再想出外疯跑的迹象。在这期间，他成天向两个老朋友神甫和理发师作有趣的讲述。他说世界上最需要的就是游侠骑士，而且他对游侠骑士的崛起责无旁贷。神甫有时表示反对，有时不得不让步。如果不采取这种方法，就无法和唐吉诃德谈下去。
这时候，唐吉诃德又去游说相邻的一位农夫。那农夫是个好人（如果这个称号可以送给穷人的话），就是缺少头脑。唐吉诃德对农夫又说又劝又许愿，总之，那个可怜的农夫决定跟他出走，去做他的侍从。唐吉诃德为了让农夫心甘情愿地跟他走，说也许会在某次历险之后，转眼之间得到一个岛屿，那就让农夫做岛屿的总督。如此这番许愿之后，桑乔•潘萨，也就是那个农夫，决定离开自己的老婆和孩子，充当邻居的侍从。
唐吉诃德然后下令筹款。有的东西卖了，有的东西典当了，反正都廉价出手，终于筹集了一笔钱。他戴上从朋友那儿借的护胸，勉强扣上破头盔，把他打算上路的日期和时辰通知了侍从桑乔，让桑乔收拾好必需品，特别嘱咐别忘了带个褡裢。桑乔说，定会带上，同时，他还有头驴很不错，也想带上，因为他还不习惯走远路。关于驴的问题，唐吉诃德考虑了一下，回想是否有某位游侠骑士带着骑驴的侍从，结论是前所未有。尽管如此，他还是同意了桑乔带上驴，并打算等到以后有机会，碰上一个无礼骑士，就夺其马，给桑乔换个体面的坐骑。唐吉诃德按照那店主对他说的，带上了衬衣和其他可能带的东西。一切就绪之后，一个夜晚，桑乔没有向老婆和孩子告别，唐吉诃德也没有向女管家和外甥女辞行，就离开了村庄，没有被任何人发现。他们连夜赶路，待到天亮时断定，即使人们找他们也找不到了。
桑乔带着褡裢和酒囊，骑在驴上神态威严，渴望现在就成为主人承诺的岛屿总督。唐吉诃德碰巧又到了蒙铁尔原野上，也就是他初征失利的地方。这次不像上次那么难受了，正值清晨，太阳斜射在他身上，并没有让他感到疲惫。
这时，桑乔对他的主人说：
“游侠骑士大人，您别忘了您许诺的那个岛屿。无论岛有多大，我都能管理。”
唐吉诃德回答说：
“你应该知道，桑乔朋友，古时候游侠骑士征服岛屿或王国之后，就封他的侍从做那儿的总督。这是很流行的做法，我决不会破坏这个好习惯，而且我要做得比他们还好。有些时候，也许更多的时候，他们都要等到侍从老了，不愿意再白天受累、晚上吃苦地侍奉他们了，才给侍从封个不大不小的村镇或县区的伯爵，最多是个侯爵。只要你我都活着，我完全可以在六天之内征服一个王国，再加上几个附庸国，你正好可以做一个附庸国的国王。对此你别太当回事。有些前所未闻、连想也不敢想的事情往往会在骑士身上发生。我给你的会比我承诺给你的还多，这很容易做到。”
桑乔说：“那么，我就可以在您说的某次奇迹中当上国王，我老婆安娜•古铁雷斯至少是王后，我的儿子也成王子了。”
“难道还有谁对此怀疑吗？”唐吉诃德说。
“我就怀疑，”桑乔说，“对于我来说，即使上帝让王国似雨点一般从天而降，也不会有一个正好落在玛丽•古铁雷斯①头上。您知道，大人，王后也算不上什么，当女伯爵最好。这得靠上帝相助。”
①桑乔说他妻子叫胡安娜，此处又称玛丽。在下文中，他妻子则自称特雷莎•卡斯卡霍。
“那你就向上帝乞求吧，”唐吉诃德说，“他会给你一个最合适的位置。不过你别太自卑。你至少得做个总督才行。”
“我不做总督，大人。”桑乔说，“我愿意跟随尊贵的主人。所有的职位，只要对我合适，我又承担得起，您都会给我的。”
Part 1 Chapter 8
At this point they came in sight of thirty forty windmills that there are on plain, and as soon as Don Quixote saw them he said to his squire, “Fortune is arranging matters for us better than we could have shaped our desires ourselves, for look there, friend Sancho Panza, where thirty or more monstrous giants present themselves, all of whom I mean to engage in battle and slay, and with whose spoils we shall begin to make our fortunes; for this is righteous warfare, and it is God’s good service to sweep so evil a breed from off the face of the earth.”
“What giants?” said Sancho Panza.
“Those thou seest there,” answered his master, “with the long arms, and some have them nearly two leagues long.”
“Look, your worship,” said Sancho; “what we see there are not giants but windmills, and what seem to be their arms are the sails that turned by the wind make the millstone go.”
“It is easy to see,” replied Don Quixote, “that thou art not used to this business of adventures; those are giants; and if thou art afraid, away with thee out of this and betake thyself to prayer while I engage them in fierce and unequal combat.”
So saying, he gave the spur to his steed Rocinante, heedless of the cries his squire Sancho sent after him, warning him that most certainly they were windmills and not giants he was going to attack. He, however, was so positive they were giants that he neither heard the cries of Sancho, nor perceived, near as he was, what they were, but made at them shouting, “Fly not, cowards and vile beings, for a single knight attacks you.”
A slight breeze at this moment sprang up, and the great sails began to move, seeing which Don Quixote exclaimed, “Though ye flourish more arms than the giant Briareus, ye have to reckon with me.”
So saying, and commending himself with all his heart to his lady Dulcinea, imploring her to support him in such a peril, with lance in rest and covered by his buckler, he charged at Rocinante’s fullest gallop and fell upon the first mill that stood in front of him; but as he drove his lance-point into the sail the wind whirled it round with such force that it shivered the lance to pieces, sweeping with it horse and rider, who went rolling over on the plain, in a sorry condition. Sancho hastened to his assistance as fast as his ass could go, and when he came up found him unable to move, with such a shock had Rocinante fallen with him.
 
“God bless me!” said Sancho, “did I not tell your worship to mind what you were about, for they were only windmills? and no one could have made any mistake about it but one who had something of the same kind in his head.”
“Hush, friend Sancho,” replied Don Quixote, “the fortunes of war more than any other are liable to frequent fluctuations; and moreover I think, and it is the truth, that that same sage Friston who carried off my study and books, has turned these giants into mills in order to rob me of the glory of vanquishing them, such is the enmity he bears me; but in the end his wicked arts will avail but little against my good sword.”
 
“God order it as he may,” said Sancho Panza, and helping him to rise got him up again on Rocinante, whose shoulder was half out; and then, discussing the late adventure, they followed the road to Puerto Lapice, for there, said Don Quixote, they could not fail to find adventures in abundance and variety, as it was a great thoroughfare. For all that, he was much grieved at the loss of his lance, and saying so to his squire, he added, “I remember having read how a Spanish knight, Diego Perez de Vargas by name, having broken his sword in battle, tore from an oak a ponderous bough or branch, and with it did such things that day, and pounded so many Moors, that he got the surname of Machuca, and he and his descendants from that day forth were called Vargas y Machuca. I mention this because from the first oak I see I mean to rend such another branch, large and stout like that, with which I am determined and resolved to do such deeds that thou mayest deem thyself very fortunate in being found worthy to come and see them, and be an eyewitness of things that will with difficulty be believed.”
“Be that as God will,” said Sancho, “I believe it all as your worship says it; but straighten yourself a little, for you seem all on one side, may be from the shaking of the fall.”
“That is the truth,” said Don Quixote, “and if I make no complaint of the pain it is because knights-errant are not permitted to complain of any wound, even though their bowels be coming out through it.”
“If so,” said Sancho, “I have nothing to say; but God knows I would rather your worship complained when anything ailed you. For my part, I confess I must complain however small the ache may be; unless this rule about not complaining extends to the squires of knights-errant also.”
Don Quixote could not help laughing at his squire’s simplicity, and he assured him he might complain whenever and however he chose, just as he liked, for, so far, he had never read of anything to the contrary in the order of knighthood.
Sancho bade him remember it was dinner-time, to which his master answered that he wanted nothing himself just then, but that he might eat when he had a mind. With this permission Sancho settled himself as comfortably as he could on his beast, and taking out of the alforjas what he had stowed away in them, he jogged along behind his master munching deliberately, and from time to time taking a pull at the bota with a relish that the thirstiest tapster in Malaga might have envied; and while he went on in this way, gulping down draught after draught, he never gave a thought to any of the promises his master had made him, nor did he rate it as hardship but rather as recreation going in quest of adventures, however dangerous they might be. Finally they passed the night among some trees, from one of which Don Quixote plucked a dry branch to serve him after a fashion as a lance, and fixed on it the head he had removed from the broken one. All that night Don Quixote lay awake thinking of his lady Dulcinea, in order to conform to what he had read in his books, how many a night in the forests and deserts knights used to lie sleepless supported by the memory of their mistresses. Not so did Sancho Panza spend it, for having his stomach full of something stronger than chicory water he made but one sleep of it, and, if his master had not called him, neither the rays of the sun beating on his face nor all the cheery notes of the birds welcoming the approach of day would have had power to waken him. On getting up he tried the bota and found it somewhat less full than the night before, which grieved his heart because they did not seem to be on the way to remedy the deficiency readily. Don Quixote did not care to break his fast, for, as has been already said, he confined himself to savoury recollections for nourishment.
They returned to the road they had set out with, leading to Puerto Lapice, and at three in the afternoon they came in sight of it. “Here, brother Sancho Panza,” said Don Quixote when he saw it, “we may plunge our hands up to the elbows in what they call adventures; but observe, even shouldst thou see me in the greatest danger in the world, thou must not put a hand to thy sword in my defence, unless indeed thou perceivest that those who assail me are rabble or base folk; for in that case thou mayest very properly aid me; but if they be knights it is on no account permitted or allowed thee by the laws of knighthood to help me until thou hast been dubbed a knight.”
“Most certainly, senor,” replied Sancho, “your worship shall be fully obeyed in this matter; all the more as of myself I am peaceful and no friend to mixing in strife and quarrels: it is true that as regards the defence of my own person I shall not give much heed to those laws, for laws human and divine allow each one to defend himself against any assailant whatever.”
“That I grant,” said Don Quixote, “but in this matter of aiding me against knights thou must put a restraint upon thy natural impetuosity.”
“I will do so, I promise you,” answered Sancho, “and will keep this precept as carefully as Sunday.”
While they were thus talking there appeared on the road two friars of the order of St. Benedict, mounted on two dromedaries, for not less tall were the two mules they rode on. They wore travelling spectacles and carried sunshades; and behind them came a coach attended by four or five persons on horseback and two muleteers on foot. In the coach there was, as afterwards appeared, a Biscay lady on her way to Seville, where her husband was about to take passage for the Indies with an appointment of high honour. The friars, though going the same road, were not in her company; but the moment Don Quixote perceived them he said to his squire, “Either I am mistaken, or this is going to be the most famous adventure that has ever been seen, for those black bodies we see there must be, and doubtless are, magicians who are carrying off some stolen princess in that coach, and with all my might I must undo this wrong.”
“This will be worse than the windmills,” said Sancho. “Look, senor; those are friars of St. Benedict, and the coach plainly belongs to some travellers: I tell you to mind well what you are about and don’t let the devil mislead you.”
“I have told thee already, Sancho,” replied Don Quixote, “that on the subject of adventures thou knowest little. What I say is the truth, as thou shalt see presently.”
So saying, he advanced and posted himself in the middle of the road along which the friars were coming, and as soon as he thought they had come near enough to hear what he said, he cried aloud, “Devilish and unnatural beings, release instantly the highborn princesses whom you are carrying off by force in this coach, else prepare to meet a speedy death as the just punishment of your evil deeds.”
The friars drew rein and stood wondering at the appearance of Don Quixote as well as at his words, to which they replied, “Senor Caballero, we are not devilish or unnatural, but two brothers of St. Benedict following our road, nor do we know whether or not there are any captive princesses coming in this coach.”
“No soft words with me, for I know you, lying rabble,” said Don Quixote, and without waiting for a reply he spurred Rocinante and with levelled lance charged the first friar with such fury and determination, that, if the friar had not flung himself off the mule, he would have brought him to the ground against his will, and sore wounded, if not killed outright. The second brother, seeing how his comrade was treated, drove his heels into his castle of a mule and made off across the country faster than the wind.
Sancho Panza, when he saw the friar on the ground, dismounting briskly from his ass, rushed towards him and began to strip off his gown. At that instant the friars muleteers came up and asked what he was stripping him for. Sancho answered them that this fell to him lawfully as spoil of the battle which his lord Don Quixote had won. The muleteers, who had no idea of a joke and did not understand all this about battles and spoils, seeing that Don Quixote was some distance off talking to the travellers in the coach, fell upon Sancho, knocked him down, and leaving hardly a hair in his beard, belaboured him with kicks and left him stretched breathless and senseless on the ground; and without any more delay helped the friar to mount, who, trembling, terrified, and pale, as soon as he found himself in the saddle, spurred after his companion, who was standing at a distance looking on, watching the result of the onslaught; then, not caring to wait for the end of the affair just begun, they pursued their journey making more crosses than if they had the devil after them.
Don Quixote was, as has been said, speaking to the lady in the coach: “Your beauty, lady mine,” said he, “may now dispose of your person as may be most in accordance with your pleasure, for the pride of your ravishers lies prostrate on the ground through this strong arm of mine; and lest you should be pining to know the name of your deliverer, know that I am called Don Quixote of La Mancha, knight-errant and adventurer, and captive to the peerless and beautiful lady Dulcinea del Toboso: and in return for the service you have received of me I ask no more than that you should return to El Toboso, and on my behalf present yourself before that lady and tell her what I have done to set you free.”
One of the squires in attendance upon the coach, a Biscayan, was listening to all Don Quixote was saying, and, perceiving that he would not allow the coach to go on, but was saying it must return at once to El Toboso, he made at him, and seizing his lance addressed him in bad Castilian and worse Biscayan after his fashion, “Begone, caballero, and ill go with thee; by the God that made me, unless thou quittest coach, slayest thee as art here a Biscayan.”
Don Quixote understood him quite well, and answered him very quietly, “If thou wert a knight, as thou art none, I should have already chastised thy folly and rashness, miserable creature.” To which the Biscayan returned, “I no gentleman! — I swear to God thou liest as I am Christian: if thou droppest lance and drawest sword, soon shalt thou see thou art carrying water to the cat: Biscayan on land, hidalgo at sea, hidalgo at the devil, and look, if thou sayest otherwise thou liest.”
“’“You will see presently,” said Agrajes,’” replied Don Quixote; and throwing his lance on the ground he drew his sword, braced his buckler on his arm, and attacked the Biscayan, bent upon taking his life.
The Biscayan, when he saw him coming on, though he wished to dismount from his mule, in which, being one of those sorry ones let out for hire, he had no confidence, had no choice but to draw his sword; it was lucky for him, however, that he was near the coach, from which he was able to snatch a cushion that served him for a shield; and they went at one another as if they had been two mortal enemies. The others strove to make peace between them, but could not, for the Biscayan declared in his disjointed phrase that if they did not let him finish his battle he would kill his mistress and everyone that strove to prevent him. The lady in the coach, amazed and terrified at what she saw, ordered the coachman to draw aside a little, and set herself to watch this severe struggle, in the course of which the Biscayan smote Don Quixote a mighty stroke on the shoulder over the top of his buckler, which, given to one without armour, would have cleft him to the waist. Don Quixote, feeling the weight of this prodigious blow, cried aloud, saying, “O lady of my soul, Dulcinea, flower of beauty, come to the aid of this your knight, who, in fulfilling his obligations to your beauty, finds himself in this extreme peril.” To say this, to lift his sword, to shelter himself well behind his buckler, and to assail the Biscayan was the work of an instant, determined as he was to venture all upon a single blow. The Biscayan, seeing him come on in this way, was convinced of his courage by his spirited bearing, and resolved to follow his example, so he waited for him keeping well under cover of his cushion, being unable to execute any sort of manoeuvre with his mule, which, dead tired and never meant for this kind of game, could not stir a step.
On, then, as aforesaid, came Don Quixote against the wary Biscayan, with uplifted sword and a firm intention of splitting him in half, while on his side the Biscayan waited for him sword in hand, and under the protection of his cushion; and all present stood trembling, waiting in suspense the result of blows such as threatened to fall, and the lady in the coach and the rest of her following were making a thousand vows and offerings to all the images and shrines of Spain, that God might deliver her squire and all of them from this great peril in which they found themselves. But it spoils all, that at this point and crisis the author of the history leaves this battle impending, giving as excuse that he could find nothing more written about these achievements of Don Quixote than what has been already set forth. It is true the second author of this work was unwilling to believe that a history so curious could have been allowed to fall under the sentence of oblivion, or that the wits of La Mancha could have been so undiscerning as not to preserve in their archives or registries some documents referring to this famous knight; and this being his persuasion, he did not despair of finding the conclusion of this pleasant history, which, heaven favouring him, he did find in a way that shall be related in the Second Part.
 
这时他们发现了田野里的三十四架风车。
唐吉诃德一看见风车就对侍从说：
“命运的安排比我们希望的还好。你看那儿，桑乔•潘萨朋友，就有三十多个放肆的巨人。我想同他们战斗，要他们所有人的性命。有了战利品，我们就可以发财了。这是正义的战斗。从地球表面清除这些坏种是对上帝的一大贡献。”
“什么巨人？”桑乔•潘萨问。
“就是你看见的那些长臂家伙，有的臂长足有两西里①呢。”唐吉诃德说。
①此处为西班牙里程单位，简称为西里，一西里为5572．7米。
“您看，”桑乔说，“那些不是巨人，是风车。那些像长臂的东西是风车翼，靠风转动，能够推动石磨。”
唐吉诃德说：“在征险方面你还是外行。他们是巨人。如果你害怕了，就靠边站，我去同他们展开殊死的搏斗。”
说完他便催马向前。侍从桑乔大声喊着告诉他，他进攻的肯定是风车，不是巨人。可他全然不理会，已经听不见侍从桑乔的喊叫，认定那就是巨人，到了风车跟前也没看清那是什么东西，只是高声喊道：
“不要逃跑，你们这些胆小的恶棍！向你们进攻的只是骑士孤身一人。”这时起了点风，大风车翼开始转动，唐吉诃德见状便说：
“即使你们的手比布里亚柔斯①的手还多，也逃脱不了我的惩罚。”
①布里亚柔斯是希腊神话人物，又称埃盖翁，据说有五十个头、一百只手。
他又虔诚地请他的杜尔西内亚夫人保佑他，请她在这个关键时刻帮助他。说完他戴好护胸，攥紧长矛，飞马上前，冲向前面的第一个风车。长矛刺中了风车翼，可疾风吹动风车翼，把长矛折断成几截，把马和骑士重重地摔倒在田野上。桑乔催驴飞奔而来救护他，只见唐吉诃德已动弹不得。是马把他摔成了这个样子。
“上帝保佑！”桑乔说，“我不是告诉您了吗，看看您在干什么？那是风车，除非谁脑袋里也有了风车，否则怎么能不承认那是风车呢？”
“住嘴，桑乔朋友！”唐吉诃德说，“战斗这种事情，比其它东西更为变化无常。我愈想愈认为，是那个偷了我的书房和书的贤人弗雷斯通把这些巨人变成了风车，以剥夺我战胜他而赢得的荣誉。他对我敌意颇深。不过到最后，他的恶毒手腕终究敌不过我的正义之剑。”
“让上帝尽力而为吧。”桑乔•潘萨说。
桑乔扶唐吉诃德站起来，重新上马。那匹马已经东倒西歪了。他们谈论着刚才的险遇，继续向拉皮塞隘口方向赶路。唐吉诃德说那儿旅客多，可能会遇到各种各样的凶险。他最难过的是长矛没有了。他对侍从说：
“我记得在小说里看到过，一位叫迭戈•佩雷斯•德巴尔加斯的西班牙骑士，在一次战斗中折断了剑。他从圣栎树上砍下了一根大树枝。那天他用这根树枝做了很多事情，打倒了许多摩尔人，落了个绰号马丘卡。从那天起，他以及他的后代就叫巴尔加斯和马丘卡。我说这些是因为假如碰到一棵圣栎树或栎树，我就想折一根大树枝，要和我想象的那根一样好。我要用它做一番事业。你真幸运，能看到并证明这些几乎令人难以相信的事情。”
“靠上帝恩赐吧，”桑乔说，“我相信您说的话。不过请您坐直点，现在身子都歪到一边去了，大概是摔痛了。”
“是的，”唐吉诃德说，“我没哼哼，是因为游侠骑士不能因为受伤而呻吟，即使肠子流出来也不能叫唤。”
“既然这样，我就没什么说的了。”桑乔说，“不过只有上帝知道，我倒是希望您既然痛就别忍着。反正我有点儿痛就得哼哼，除非规定游侠骑士的侍从也不能叫唤。”
看到侍从如此单纯，唐吉诃德忍不住笑了。唐吉诃德对他说，不论他愿意不愿意，他可以随时任意哼哼，反正直到此时，他还没读到过认为这违反骑士规则的说法。桑乔说该是吃饭的时候了。他的主人却说还没必要，而桑乔想吃也可以吃。既然得到了准许，桑乔就在驴背上坐好，从褡裢里拿出吃的，远远地跟在主人后面边走边吃，还不时拿起酒囊津津有味地呷一口，那个样子，就是马拉加①最有福气的酒店老板见了也会嫉妒。桑乔呷着酒，早把主人对他许的诺言忘得一干二净了，觉得这样到处征险并不怎么累，挺轻松的。
①马拉加是西班牙的著名酒产地。
最后，他们在几棵树之间的空地上度过了那个夜晚。唐吉诃德还折了一根干树枝，把断矛上的铁矛头安上去，权当长矛。唐吉诃德彻夜未眠。他要模拟书中描写的样子，想念杜尔西内亚。书里的那些骑士常常在荒林中几夜不睡觉，以想念夫人作为排遣。桑乔可不是这样。他酒足饭饱，一觉睡到天亮。阳光照耀在他脸上，小鸟欢欣鸣啭，新的一天到来了。要不是主人叫醒他，他还不起来呢。起来后，他摸了一下酒囊，发现比前一天晚上瘪了些，不禁一阵心痛，他知道没有办法马上补充这个酒囊。唐吉诃德还是不想吃东西，就像前面说的，他要靠美好的回忆为生。他们又踏上了通往拉皮塞隘口的路程。大约三点钟，他们看见了隘口。
唐吉诃德一看见隘口就说：“桑乔•潘萨兄弟，我们会在这里深深卷入被称为冒险的事业。不过你要注意，即使你看见我遇到了世界上最严重的险情，只要冒犯我的人不是恶棍和下等人，你就不要用你的剑来保护我。如果是恶棍和下等人，你可以帮助我。但如果是骑士，你就不能来帮助我。这是骑士规则所不允许的，除非你已经被封为骑士。”
“是的，大人，”桑乔说，“我完全听从您的吩咐，尤其是我本人生性平和，不愿招惹是非。可是说真的，要是该我自卫了，我可不管那些规则，因为不管是神的规则还是世俗的规则，都允许对企图侵犯自己的人实行自卫。”
“我也没说不是这样，”唐吉诃德说，“不过，在帮助我进攻骑士这点上，你还是得约束自己的冲动天性。”
桑乔说：“我会像记着礼拜日一样记着这点，照此行事。”
他们正说着话，路上出现了两个圣贝尼托教会的教士，骑着两匹骆驼一般大的骡子，戴着风镜，打着阳伞。后面跟着一辆车，车旁边有四五个骑马的人和两个步行的骡夫相随。后来才知道，车上是位比斯开贵夫人，要去塞维利亚，她的丈夫正在那儿，准备赴西印度群岛荣任官职。教士虽然同那一行人走的是同一条路，但并不是那位夫人的随行人员。唐吉诃德一发现他们，便对桑乔说：
“如果我没有弄错的话，这大概就是前所未有的奇遇了。那些黑乎乎的东西可能是——不，肯定是几个魔法师，他们劫持了车上的公主。我必须全力铲除这种罪恶行为。”
“这比风车的事还糟糕，”桑乔说，“您小心，大人，那是圣贝尼托教会的教士，那辆车肯定是某位过路客人的。您小心，我跟您说，您看看您在干什么吧，千万别让魔鬼搞昏了头。”
唐吉诃德说：“我对你说过，桑乔，关于征险的事情你知道得不多。我说的是真的，你马上就会看到。”说完，他冲上去，迎着两个教士站到路中间。待估计他们能听到自己的声音时，唐吉诃德高声喊道：
“你们这些罪恶的魔鬼，把你们劫持的公主立刻放掉，否则，你们马上就会为你们的罪恶行径而受到正义的惩罚。”
两个教士勒住缰绳，被唐吉诃德的装束和话弄得莫名其妙，说：
“骑士大人，我们不是罪恶的魔鬼，而是圣贝尼托教会的两个教士。我们赶自己的路，不知道这辆车上是不是有被劫持的公主。”
“花言巧语对我不起作用。我认识你们这些卑鄙的家伙。”
唐吉诃德说。
不等两人回答，唐吉诃德便催马提矛冲向走在前面的教士。他怒气冲冲，凶猛至极，要不是那个教士自己滚落下马，唐吉诃德准会把他刺下马，那就严重了，即使不死，也得重伤。第二个教士看到自己的同伴这个样子，便夹紧那匹快骡的肚子，朝田野疾风般遁去。
桑乔•潘萨看到教士落地，便立刻下驴，跑到他身边，开始剥他的衣服。这时，教士的两个伙计赶来，问他为什么要扒教士的衣服。桑乔说，作为主人唐吉诃德打胜这一仗的战利品、这衣服理所当然属于他。两个伙计不懂得竟有这等荒唐事，也不明白什么战利品、打仗之类的事情，看到唐吉诃德正在同车上的人说话，便冲上去，把桑乔打倒在地，把他的头发和胡子都拔光了，还猛踢一顿，打得他躺在地上，不见气息，晕了过去。
那教士又惊又怕，面无血色，不敢滞留片刻，赶紧翻身上骡，催骡向逃跑的教士方向跑去。那个教士正远远地观望，看这场意外的遭遇如何收场。两个教士不愿等到最后结局，便继续赶路，一路上还划着十字，仿佛身后有什么魔鬼跟着似的。
上面说过，唐吉诃德正在和车上的夫人说话。他说：
“尊贵的夫人，您可以任意行动了。现在，劫持您的匪徒已经被我有力的臂膀打得威风扫地。您不必打听解救您的人的名字，您知道，我是曼查的唐吉诃德，一位游侠骑士和冒险家，托博索美丽无比的杜尔西内亚的追随者。作为您从我这里所得好处的报答，我只希望您能够到托博索去，替我拜见那位夫人，告诉她我为解救您所做的一切。”
唐吉诃德的这番话被一个跟车的侍从听到了。他也是比斯开人，看到唐吉诃德无意放车前行，而是说让他们回到托博索去，就走到唐吉诃德面前，抓住唐吉诃德的长矛，用蹩脚的西班牙语和更蹩脚的比斯开语说道：
“滚开，骑士，真讨厌。我向创造我的上帝发誓，如果你还不让车走，你就是自取灭亡！”
唐吉诃德听得十分清楚。他十分平静地回答：
“但愿你是骑士，正因为你不是骑士，我才没有对你如此放肆无礼予以惩罚，臭东西！”
比斯开人说：
“我不是骑士？我向上帝发誓，就像你这个基督教徒向上帝撒谎一样！如果你投矛拔剑，你就会看到‘水把猫冲走有多快’！陆地上的比斯开人，在海上是英雄，面对魔鬼也是英雄！而你呢，只会胡说八道，还会干什么？”
“阿格拉赫①说，看剑！”唐吉诃德说。
①阿格拉赫是《高卢的阿马迪斯》里的一个人物。他常持剑说：“看剑！”
唐吉诃德把长矛扔在地上，拔出剑，端着护胸盾，向比斯开人冲去，一心要把他置于死地。
比斯开人一看唐吉诃德这架势，想下骡应战。真要打，那租来的破骡子靠不住。可是已经晚了，他只好抽剑迎战，又顺手从车内抽出一个坐垫当盾牌。两人对打起来，仿佛是两个不共戴天的仇敌。其余的人让他们别打了，可是他们不听。那个比斯开人还结结巴巴地说，如果不让他们交战，他就要把女主人和所有干扰他的人都杀掉。车上的夫人被眼前的景象吓得惊魂失魄，目瞪口呆。她让车夫把车赶远些，遥遥观看这场激战。比斯开人从护胸盾牌上侧向唐吉诃德的胳膊砍了一剑。要不是唐吉诃德有所防备，早就被齐腰劈成两半了。
唐吉诃德觉得肩上受到了重重的一击，便大叫一声：
“哦，我的宝贝夫人，绝世佳丽杜尔西内亚，请您来帮助您的骑士吧！为了报答您的恩宠，他现在正挺身迎战。”
说完，他握紧剑，拿好护胸盾，马上向比斯开人进攻，决意一剑见高低。
比斯开人看到唐吉诃德这么凶猛地冲来，决定以勇对勇。可那骡子已疲惫不堪，并且也不习惯这类事情，依然寸步不移。比斯开人无可奈何，只好用坐垫挡住自己的身体。
前面说过，唐吉诃德举剑向那狡猾的比斯开人冲去，决意把他劈成两半。比斯开人也同样举着剑，用坐垫挡护着自己，迎战唐吉诃德。观战的人都心惊胆战，提心吊胆，唯恐这番激战惹出什么事来，威胁到自己。车上的夫人和其他女仆不停地向西班牙所有神像和寺院祈祷，乞求上帝把比斯开人和她们从巨大的危险中解救出来。
可最糟糕的是，这个故事的作者讲到此时戛然而止，推诿说，除了谈过的内容之外，没有找到更多有关唐吉诃德事迹的材料。而这部著作的第二位作者实在不愿意相信这部奇书会被人遗忘，不愿意相信曼查的文人会如此冷漠，没有在他们的资料或写字台里保留一些有关这位著名骑士的文献。这样一想，他就对找到有关这个平淡故事的最后结局有信心了。天助也，他居然找到了。至于如何找到的，请看故事的第二部分①。
①塞万提斯最初把本书的上卷分为四部分，但后来又改变了这种做法。
Part 1 Chapter 9
In the First Part of this history we left the valiant Biscayan and the renowned Don Quixote with drawn swords uplifted, ready to deliver two such furious slashing blows that if they had fallen full and fair they would at least have split and cleft them asunder from top to toe and laid them open like a pomegranate; and at this so critical point the delightful history came to a stop and stood cut short without any intimation from the author where what was missing was to be found.
This distressed me greatly, because the pleasure derived from having read such a small portion turned to vexation at the thought of the poor chance that presented itself of finding the large part that, so it seemed to me, was missing of such an interesting tale. It appeared to me to be a thing impossible and contrary to all precedent that so good a knight should have been without some sage to undertake the task of writing his marvellous achievements; a thing that was never wanting to any of those knights-errant who, they say, went after adventures; for every one of them had one or two sages as if made on purpose, who not only recorded their deeds but described their most trifling thoughts and follies, however secret they might be; and such a good knight could not have been so unfortunate as not to have what Platir and others like him had in abundance. And so I could not bring myself to believe that such a gallant tale had been left maimed and mutilated, and I laid the blame on Time, the devourer and destroyer of all things, that had either concealed or consumed it.
On the other hand, it struck me that, inasmuch as among his books there had been found such modern ones as “The Enlightenment of Jealousy” and the “Nymphs and Shepherds of Henares,” his story must likewise be modern, and that though it might not be written, it might exist in the memory of the people of his village and of those in the neighbourhood. This reflection kept me perplexed and longing to know really and truly the whole life and wondrous deeds of our famous Spaniard, Don Quixote of La Mancha, light and mirror of Manchegan chivalry, and the first that in our age and in these so evil days devoted himself to the labour and exercise of the arms of knight-errantry, righting wrongs, succouring widows, and protecting damsels of that sort that used to ride about, whip in hand, on their palfreys, with all their virginity about them, from mountain to mountain and valley to valley — for, if it were not for some ruffian, or boor with a hood and hatchet, or monstrous giant, that forced them, there were in days of yore damsels that at the end of eighty years, in all which time they had never slept a day under a roof, went to their graves as much maids as the mothers that bore them. I say, then, that in these and other respects our gallant Don Quixote is worthy of everlasting and notable praise, nor should it be withheld even from me for the labour and pains spent in searching for the conclusion of this delightful history; though I know well that if Heaven, chance and good fortune had not helped me, the world would have remained deprived of an entertainment and pleasure that for a couple of hours or so may well occupy him who shall read it attentively. The discovery of it occurred in this way.
One day, as I was in the Alcana of Toledo, a boy came up to sell some pamphlets and old papers to a silk mercer, and, as I am fond of reading even the very scraps of paper in the streets, led by this natural bent of mine I took up one of the pamphlets the boy had for sale, and saw that it was in characters which I recognised as Arabic, and as I was unable to read them though I could recognise them, I looked about to see if there were any Spanish-speaking Morisco at hand to read them for me; nor was there any great difficulty in finding such an interpreter, for even had I sought one for an older and better language I should have found him. In short, chance provided me with one, who when I told him what I wanted and put the book into his hands, opened it in the middle and after reading a little in it began to laugh. I asked him what he was laughing at, and he replied that it was at something the book had written in the margin by way of a note. I bade him tell it to me; and he still laughing said, “In the margin, as I told you, this is written: ‘This Dulcinea del Toboso so often mentioned in this history, had, they say, the best hand of any woman in all La Mancha for salting pigs.’”
When I heard Dulcinea del Toboso named, I was struck with surprise and amazement, for it occurred to me at once that these pamphlets contained the history of Don Quixote. With this idea I pressed him to read the beginning, and doing so, turning the Arabic offhand into Castilian, he told me it meant, “History of Don Quixote of La Mancha, written by Cide Hamete Benengeli, an Arab historian.” It required great caution to hide the joy I felt when the title of the book reached my ears, and snatching it from the silk mercer, I bought all the papers and pamphlets from the boy for half a real; and if he had had his wits about him and had known how eager I was for them, he might have safely calculated on making more than six reals by the bargain. I withdrew at once with the Morisco into the cloister of the cathedral, and begged him to turn all these pamphlets that related to Don Quixote into the Castilian tongue, without omitting or adding anything to them, offering him whatever payment he pleased. He was satisfied with two arrobas of raisins and two bushels of wheat, and promised to translate them faithfully and with all despatch; but to make the matter easier, and not to let such a precious find out of my hands, I took him to my house, where in little more than a month and a half he translated the whole just as it is set down here.
In the first pamphlet the battle between Don Quixote and the Biscayan was drawn to the very life, they planted in the same attitude as the history describes, their swords raised, and the one protected by his buckler, the other by his cushion, and the Biscayan’s mule so true to nature that it could be seen to be a hired one a bowshot off. The Biscayan had an inscription under his feet which said, “Don Sancho de Azpeitia,” which no doubt must have been his name; and at the feet of Rocinante was another that said, “Don Quixote.” Rocinante was marvellously portrayed, so long and thin, so lank and lean, with so much backbone and so far gone in consumption, that he showed plainly with what judgment and propriety the name of Rocinante had been bestowed upon him. Near him was Sancho Panza holding the halter of his ass, at whose feet was another label that said, “Sancho Zancas,” and according to the picture, he must have had a big belly, a short body, and long shanks, for which reason, no doubt, the names of Panza and Zancas were given him, for by these two surnames the history several times calls him. Some other trifling particulars might be mentioned, but they are all of slight importance and have nothing to do with the true relation of the history; and no history can be bad so long as it is true.
If against the present one any objection be raised on the score of its truth, it can only be that its author was an Arab, as lying is a very common propensity with those of that nation; though, as they are such enemies of ours, it is conceivable that there were omissions rather than additions made in the course of it. And this is my own opinion; for, where he could and should give freedom to his pen in praise of so worthy a knight, he seems to me deliberately to pass it over in silence; which is ill done and worse contrived, for it is the business and duty of historians to be exact, truthful, and wholly free from passion, and neither interest nor fear, hatred nor love, should make them swerve from the path of truth, whose mother is history, rival of time, storehouse of deeds, witness for the past, example and counsel for the present, and warning for the future. In this I know will be found all that can be desired in the pleasantest, and if it be wanting in any good quality, I maintain it is the fault of its hound of an author and not the fault of the subject. To be brief, its Second Part, according to the translation, began in this way:
With trenchant swords upraised and poised on high, it seemed as though the two valiant and wrathful combatants stood threatening heaven, and earth, and hell, with such resolution and determination did they bear themselves. The fiery Biscayan was the first to strike a blow, which was delivered with such force and fury that had not the sword turned in its course, that single stroke would have sufficed to put an end to the bitter struggle and to all the adventures of our knight; but that good fortune which reserved him for greater things, turned aside the sword of his adversary, so that although it smote him upon the left shoulder, it did him no more harm than to strip all that side of its armour, carrying away a great part of his helmet with half of his ear, all which with fearful ruin fell to the ground, leaving him in a sorry plight.
Good God! Who is there that could properly describe the rage that filled the heart of our Manchegan when he saw himself dealt with in this fashion? All that can be said is, it was such that he again raised himself in his stirrups, and, grasping his sword more firmly with both hands, he came down on the Biscayan with such fury, smiting him full over the cushion and over the head, that — even so good a shield proving useless — as if a mountain had fallen on him, he began to bleed from nose, mouth, and ears, reeling as if about to fall backwards from his mule, as no doubt he would have done had he not flung his arms about its neck; at the same time, however, he slipped his feet out of the stirrups and then unclasped his arms, and the mule, taking fright at the terrible blow, made off across the plain, and with a few plunges flung its master to the ground. Don Quixote stood looking on very calmly, and, when he saw him fall, leaped from his horse and with great briskness ran to him, and, presenting the point of his sword to his eyes, bade him surrender, or he would cut his head off. The Biscayan was so bewildered that he was unable to answer a word, and it would have gone hard with him, so blind was Don Quixote, had not the ladies in the coach, who had hitherto been watching the combat in great terror, hastened to where he stood and implored him with earnest entreaties to grant them the great grace and favour of sparing their squire’s life; to which Don Quixote replied with much gravity and dignity, “In truth, fair ladies, I am well content to do what ye ask of me; but it must be on one condition and understanding, which is that this knight promise me to go to the village of El Toboso, and on my behalf present himself before the peerless lady Dulcinea, that she deal with him as shall be most pleasing to her.”
The terrified and disconsolate ladies, without discussing Don Quixote’s demand or asking who Dulcinea might be, promised that their squire should do all that had been commanded.
“Then, on the faith of that promise,” said Don Quixote, “I shall do him no further harm, though he well deserves it of me.”
 
前面我们谈到，英勇的比斯开人和著名的曼查人都高举利剑奋力向对方劈去。要是真劈着了，两人都会从头到脚被劈成两半，变成两个裂开的石榴。可是这个有趣的故事在关键时刻却戛然而止，作者也没有交代下文。
我十分沮丧。阅读伊始吊起的胃口现在变成了难觅其余的惆怅。我意识到其余部分对这个有趣的故事十分重要。我觉得不可能也不应该，竟没有某位贤人负责把这位优秀骑士前所未闻的业绩记录下来。人们说，所有游侠骑士的历险经历他们都了解，因为每个游侠骑士都理所当然地有一两个贤人负责记录他的行动，而且还描绘他的每一个微小的思想变化和细节琐事，不管它们有多么隐秘。所以，如此优秀的骑士不应该如此不幸，更何况连普拉蒂尔和其他诸如此类的骑士都不乏贤人为他们写传呢。我不相信如此动人的故事会支离破碎，残缺不全。这只能归咎于可恶的时间，它吞噬了所有的一切，也隐匿或湮没了这个故事。
可是又一想，我觉得既然他的藏书里有《情嫉醒悟》与《草地仙女和牧人》之类的现代书，那么，有关他的故事也应该是现代的。即使没有写成文字，也应该留在他的村庄及其周围居民的记忆里。这样一想，我更加坐立不安，更想了解我们西班牙这位著名的唐吉诃德的真正生活和奇迹了。他是曼查骑士的精英。在当今灾难深重的年代里，他率先投身于游侠事业，除暴安良，帮助寡妇，保护少女。那些黄花女子跃马扬鞭，翻山越岭，若不是遭到强盗、手持利斧和头戴头盔的村夫或某个巨人强暴，即使活到八十岁也不会在外面宿夜，进入坟墓时仍守身如玉。由于种种原因，我们英勇的唐吉诃德应当不断被传诵，我为寻求这个动人故事的结尾所付出的努力也应该得到承认。这个故事要是认真读，得用两个小时。我完全清楚，如果苍天、机遇和命运不助我一臂之力，世界上就不会有这部消遣之作。故事的其余部分是这样被发现的：
有一天，我在托莱多的阿尔卡纳碰到一个小孩，他正在向个丝绸商兜售几个笔记本和一些旧纸。我爱看书，连街上扔的碎纸也要看看。被这种嗜好驱使，我拿过一个笔记本翻看，认出上面的字是阿拉伯文。我虽然能认出来，可是看不懂，于是就四处寻找，想找个懂阿尔哈米亚文①的摩尔人，结果没费什么力就找到了。倘若找其他更复杂、更古老语言的翻译，也能找到。总之，我凑巧找到了一个翻译。我告诉他我的想法。他把书本拿在手里，从中间翻开，读了一点儿就笑开了。我问他笑什么。他说笑书的边白上加的一个注释。我让他告诉我那上面说了什么，他边笑边说：
“我说了，边白上这样写着：故事里常常提到的托博索的杜尔西内亚，据说是曼查所有妇女中腌猪肉的最佳能手。”
我一听说托搏索的杜尔西内亚，先是一惊，然后才想起来，那几个笔记本里一定有唐吉诃德的故事。于是，我就催他把笔记本的开头部分念给我听。他当即把阿拉伯文翻译成西班牙文，说是“曼查人唐吉诃德的故事，阿拉伯历史学家锡德•哈迈德•贝嫩赫利著”。
我付出了极大的努力来掩饰我听到这个书名时的喜悦。我只花了半个雷阿尔，就把那孩子的所有纸张和笔记本从丝绸商那儿截了过来。如果那孩子再仔细点儿，发现我需要这些东西，完全可以再讨价还价，卖到六个雷阿尔以上。我随即和那个摩尔人来到一个大教堂的回廊里，让他把笔记本里所有关于唐吉诃德的内容原原本本地翻译成西班牙文，要多少钱都可以给他。他只要两阿罗瓦②葡萄干和两法内加③小麦，并答应尽快又好又准地翻译过来。我为了我们合作得更顺利，而且也不愿意让这样珍贵的发现离开我，就把他带到我家。他用了一个半月多一点儿的时间，就把整个故事都翻译过来了，其内容如下。
①用阿拉伯字母拼写的西班牙文。
②重量单位，一阿罗瓦相当于11．5公斤。
③容量单位，一法内加在不同地区分别相当于22．5或55．5公升。
第一个笔记本里有一幅唐吉诃德同比斯开人战斗的插图，画得非常逼真，完全就是故事里讲述的那个架势。两个人都举着剑，一个戴着头盔，另一个抱着坐垫。比斯开人的骡子也画得栩栩如生，一看就知道是头租来的骡子。比斯开人脚下还注着“唐桑乔•德阿斯佩蒂亚”，这无疑是他的名字。罗西南多脚下注着“唐吉诃德”。罗西南多画得简直绝了，又长又细，弱不禁风，弯腰拱背，病入膏肓，使罗西南多这个名字的特性一览无遗。旁边是桑乔•潘萨，牵着驴，脚下注明的是桑乔•桑卡斯。按照图上的画法，他是个大肚子，矮身材，长腿，大概因此才叫他潘萨和桑卡斯①吧。故事里有时候也是用这两个名字称呼他的。还有一些琐闻，不过都无关紧要，并不影响故事的真实性。所有琐闻都是真实的。
①在西班牙文中“潘萨”为大肚子，“桑卡斯”为长腿。
如果有人对它的真实性持异议，那无非因为作者是阿拉伯人。说谎是那个民族的特性之一。既然他们跟我们嫌隙颇深，故事里面真话只少不多也是可以理解的。我就是这样认为的。本来可以对这位优秀骑士浓笔酣墨地大加赞扬的地方，作者却故意闭口不谈。这种做法很可恶，想法也可恶。历史学家应当力求准确真实，不能掺杂自己的感情，更不能凭自己的情趣、恐惧、仇恨和喜好去歪曲事实。历史造就了真理，它要经受时间的考验。它记述了各种行为，是往昔的见证，是当今的圭臬，是未来的预示。我知道在这部传讯里可以找到一切需要的情节。如果它有所缺憾的话，我觉得那全是作者的毛病，而不是题材本身的过失。总之，按照译文，以下是第二部分的开头。
两位愤怒的勇士高举利剑，只是利剑仿佛直指天空，直指深渊，这就是他们的勇气和风采。首先出击者是悻然的比斯开人。这一剑有力凶猛，要不是劈偏了，完全可以把比斯开人桀骜的对手干掉，我们的骑士及其征险生涯也就结束了。然而幸运的是，还有更重要的事情有待这位骑士去完成，所以利剑劈偏，只是把他左半边的甲胄、大半个头盔和半只耳朵由左肩劈下，七零八落地散在地上，使骑士十分难堪。
上帝助我！现在谁能恰当地描述这位曼查人看到自己这副样子时怒火攻心的样子呢？闲话免谈，只说他重新翻身上马，双手持剑，气势汹汹地刺向比斯开人，正中坐垫和比斯开人的脑袋。比斯开人的脑袋可没戴头盔，结果如山压顶，鼻、嘴和耳朵开始流血，要不是他抱着骡子的脖子，早就栽下来了。不过，比斯开人的脚已经脱离了马镫，手后来也松开了。骡子被突如其来的攻击吓坏了，沿着田野狂奔起来，几个跳跃就把主人摔到了地上。
唐吉诃德极其沉着地看着，看到比斯开人落马，便纵马悠然走到比斯开人面前，用剑尖指着他的眼睛，令他投降，否则，就要把他的脑袋割下来。比斯开人已经惊魂失魄，竟然一句话也说不出来。唐吉诃德正在气头上，幸亏车上那几位一直在惊恐地观战的夫人来到唐吉诃德面前，衰求他大发慈悲，饶恕她们的侍从。唐吉诃德极其骄矜地说：
“是的，美丽的夫人们，我十分愿意遵命，不过有个条件，就是这位骑士得答应去托博索，以我的名义去拜见至尊的唐娜杜尔西内亚，由她打发这位骑士去做她愿意做的任何事情。”
惊恐万状的夫人们其实并没有弄清唐吉诃德要求的是什么，也没问谁是杜尔西内亚，就答应让她们的侍人按照他的吩咐去办。
“我相信你们的话，就不再惩罚他了。他本来是不该轻饶的。”
Part 1 Chapter 10
Now by this time Sancho had risen, rather the worse for the handling of the friars’ muleteers, and stood watching the battle of his master, Don Quixote, and praying to God in his heart that it might be his will to grant him the victory, and that he might thereby win some island to make him governor of, as he had promised. Seeing, therefore, that the struggle was now over, and that his master was returning to mount Rocinante, he approached to hold the stirrup for him, and, before he could mount, he went on his knees before him, and taking his hand, kissed it saying, “May it please your worship, Senor Don Quixote, to give me the government of that island which has been won in this hard fight, for be it ever so big I feel myself in sufficient force to be able to govern it as much and as well as anyone in the world who has ever governed islands.”
To which Don Quixote replied, “Thou must take notice, brother Sancho, that this adventure and those like it are not adventures of islands, but of cross-roads, in which nothing is got except a broken head or an ear the less: have patience, for adventures will present themselves from which I may make you, not only a governor, but something more.”
Sancho gave him many thanks, and again kissing his hand and the skirt of his hauberk, helped him to mount Rocinante, and mounting his ass himself, proceeded to follow his master, who at a brisk pace, without taking leave, or saying anything further to the ladies belonging to the coach, turned into a wood that was hard by. Sancho followed him at his ass’s best trot, but Rocinante stepped out so that, seeing himself left behind, he was forced to call to his master to wait for him. Don Quixote did so, reining in Rocinante until his weary squire came up, who on reaching him said, “It seems to me, senor, it would be prudent in us to go and take refuge in some church, for, seeing how mauled he with whom you fought has been left, it will be no wonder if they give information of the affair to the Holy Brotherhood and arrest us, and, faith, if they do, before we come out of gaol we shall have to sweat for it.”
“Peace,” said Don Quixote; “where hast thou ever seen or heard that a knight-errant has been arraigned before a court of justice, however many homicides he may have committed?”
“I know nothing about omecils,” answered Sancho, “nor in my life have had anything to do with one; I only know that the Holy Brotherhood looks after those who fight in the fields, and in that other matter I do not meddle.”
“Then thou needst have no uneasiness, my friend,” said Don Quixote, “for I will deliver thee out of the hands of the Chaldeans, much more out of those of the Brotherhood. But tell me, as thou livest, hast thou seen a more valiant knight than I in all the known world; hast thou read in history of any who has or had higher mettle in attack, more spirit in maintaining it, more dexterity in wounding or skill in overthrowing?”
“The truth is,” answered Sancho, “that I have never read any history, for I can neither read nor write, but what I will venture to bet is that a more daring master than your worship I have never served in all the days of my life, and God grant that this daring be not paid for where I have said; what I beg of your worship is to dress your wound, for a great deal of blood flows from that ear, and I have here some lint and a little white ointment in the alforjas.”
“All that might be well dispensed with,” said Don Quixote, “if I had remembered to make a vial of the balsam of Fierabras, for time and medicine are saved by one single drop.”
“What vial and what balsam is that?” said Sancho Panza.
“It is a balsam,” answered Don Quixote, “the receipt of which I have in my memory, with which one need have no fear of death, or dread dying of any wound; and so when I make it and give it to thee thou hast nothing to do when in some battle thou seest they have cut me in half through the middle of the body — as is wont to happen frequently, — but neatly and with great nicety, ere the blood congeal, to place that portion of the body which shall have fallen to the ground upon the other half which remains in the saddle, taking care to fit it on evenly and exactly. Then thou shalt give me to drink but two drops of the balsam I have mentioned, and thou shalt see me become sounder than an apple.”
“If that be so,” said Panza, “I renounce henceforth the government of the promised island, and desire nothing more in payment of my many and faithful services than that your worship give me the receipt of this supreme liquor, for I am persuaded it will be worth more than two reals an ounce anywhere, and I want no more to pass the rest of my life in ease and honour; but it remains to be told if it costs much to make it.”
“With less than three reals, six quarts of it may be made,” said Don Quixote.
“Sinner that I am!” said Sancho, “then why does your worship put off making it and teaching it to me?”
“Peace, friend,” answered Don Quixote; “greater secrets I mean to teach thee and greater favours to bestow upon thee; and for the present let us see to the dressing, for my ear pains me more than I could wish.”
Sancho took out some lint and ointment from the alforjas; but when Don Quixote came to see his helmet shattered, he was like to lose his senses, and clapping his hand upon his sword and raising his eyes to heaven, be said, “I swear by the Creator of all things and the four Gospels in their fullest extent, to do as the great Marquis of Mantua did when he swore to avenge the death of his nephew Baldwin (and that was not to eat bread from a table-cloth, nor embrace his wife, and other points which, though I cannot now call them to mind, I here grant as expressed) until I take complete vengeance upon him who has committed such an offence against me.”
Hearing this, Sancho said to him, “Your worship should bear in mind, Senor Don Quixote, that if the knight has done what was commanded him in going to present himself before my lady Dulcinea del Toboso, he will have done all that he was bound to do, and does not deserve further punishment unless he commits some new offence.”
“Thou hast said well and hit the point,” answered Don Quixote; and so I recall the oath in so far as relates to taking fresh vengeance on him, but I make and confirm it anew to lead the life I have said until such time as I take by force from some knight another helmet such as this and as good; and think not, Sancho, that I am raising smoke with straw in doing so, for I have one to imitate in the matter, since the very same thing to a hair happened in the case of Mambrino’s helmet, which cost Sacripante so dear.”
“Senor,” replied Sancho, “let your worship send all such oaths to the devil, for they are very pernicious to salvation and prejudicial to the conscience; just tell me now, if for several days to come we fall in with no man armed with a helmet, what are we to do? Is the oath to be observed in spite of all the inconvenience and discomfort it will be to sleep in your clothes, and not to sleep in a house, and a thousand other mortifications contained in the oath of that old fool the Marquis of Mantua, which your worship is now wanting to revive? Let your worship observe that there are no men in armour travelling on any of these roads, nothing but carriers and carters, who not only do not wear helmets, but perhaps never heard tell of them all their lives.”
“Thou art wrong there,” said Don Quixote, “for we shall not have been above two hours among these cross-roads before we see more men in armour than came to Albraca to win the fair Angelica.”
“Enough,” said Sancho; “so be it then, and God grant us success, and that the time for winning that island which is costing me so dear may soon come, and then let me die.”
“I have already told thee, Sancho,” said Don Quixote, “not to give thyself any uneasiness on that score; for if an island should fail, there is the kingdom of Denmark, or of Sobradisa, which will fit thee as a ring fits the finger, and all the more that, being on terra firma, thou wilt all the better enjoy thyself. But let us leave that to its own time; see if thou hast anything for us to eat in those alforjas, because we must presently go in quest of some castle where we may lodge to-night and make the balsam I told thee of, for I swear to thee by God, this ear is giving me great pain.”
“I have here an onion and a little cheese and a few scraps of bread,” said Sancho, “but they are not victuals fit for a valiant knight like your worship.”
“How little thou knowest about it,” answered Don Quixote; “I would have thee to know, Sancho, that it is the glory of knights-errant to go without eating for a month, and even when they do eat, that it should be of what comes first to hand; and this would have been clear to thee hadst thou read as many histories as I have, for, though they are very many, among them all I have found no mention made of knights-errant eating, unless by accident or at some sumptuous banquets prepared for them, and the rest of the time they passed in dalliance. And though it is plain they could not do without eating and performing all the other natural functions, because, in fact, they were men like ourselves, it is plain too that, wandering as they did the most part of their lives through woods and wilds and without a cook, their most usual fare would be rustic viands such as those thou now offer me; so that, friend Sancho, let not that distress thee which pleases me, and do not seek to make a new world or pervert knight-errantry.”
“Pardon me, your worship,” said Sancho, “for, as I cannot read or write, as I said just now, I neither know nor comprehend the rules of the profession of chivalry: henceforward I will stock the alforjas with every kind of dry fruit for your worship, as you are a knight; and for myself, as I am not one, I will furnish them with poultry and other things more substantial.”
“I do not say, Sancho,” replied Don Quixote, “that it is imperative on knights-errant not to eat anything else but the fruits thou speakest of; only that their more usual diet must be those, and certain herbs they found in the fields which they knew and I know too.”
“A good thing it is,” answered Sancho, “to know those herbs, for to my thinking it will be needful some day to put that knowledge into practice.”
And here taking out what he said he had brought, the pair made their repast peaceably and sociably. But anxious to find quarters for the night, they with all despatch made an end of their poor dry fare, mounted at once, and made haste to reach some habitation before night set in; but daylight and the hope of succeeding in their object failed them close by the huts of some goatherds, so they determined to pass the night there, and it was as much to Sancho’s discontent not to have reached a house, as it was to his master’s satisfaction to sleep under the open heaven, for he fancied that each time this happened to him he performed an act of ownership that helped to prove his chivalry.
 
桑乔•潘萨被教士的伙计打了一顿，这时也站了起来。他一直关注着主人唐吉诃德的战斗，心里祈求上帝保佑主人胜利，能够夺取某个小岛，让他如约当个总督。因此，他看到战斗结束，主人准备翻身上马时，便抓住马蹬，不等主人上马便跑在主人面前，抓住主人的手吻了一下，说：
“我的唐吉诃德大人，请您把在这场激战中赢得的小岛赐予我吧。不管它有多大，我自认为有能力像世界上其他管理小岛的人一样，管理好这个岛。”
唐吉诃德答道：
“听着，桑乔兄弟，这次征险以及其它此类征险并不是争岛之险，只是路遇之战。这种战斗只能落个头破或耳缺。别着急，以后还会遇到征险，那时候你不仅可以当总督，而且可以做更大的官。”
桑乔感激万分，他再次吻唐吉诃德的手和护马甲，扶唐吉诃德上罗西南多，自己也骑上驴，没同车上的夫人告辞或再说点什么，就快步跟在主人后面，走进旁边的一片树林。桑乔紧催他的驴追赶，可是罗西南多走得很快，眼看他已落在后面，只好拉开嗓门，让主人等等他。唐吉诃德勒住罗西南多的缰绳，等这位疲惫不堪的侍从赶上来。桑乔刚一赶上，就说：
“大人，我觉得咱们最好先到某个教堂去暂避一时。刚才同您战斗的那个人受了伤，很快就会向圣友团①报告，追捕咱们。若是把咱们抓住了，要逃出来就不那么简单了。”
①圣友团是西班牙于1476年建立的民团，旨在保护居民不受盗匪侵犯。
唐吉诃德说：“住嘴！游侠骑士可以杀人累累，哪儿有被抓起来的！你见到过或读到过吗？”
“我对杀人罪一无所知，”桑乔说，“也从来没对任何人做过这种事。别的我不管，我只知道圣友团专管野外争斗的事。”
“别担心，朋友，”唐吉诃德说，“即使你落在迦勒底人手里，我也会把你救出来，更别说圣友团了。不过你说实话，你看世界上是否还有比我英勇的骑士？在你读过的传记里，是否有人比我更能攻善守、巧制强敌？”
桑乔答道：“实际上，我既不会念，也不会写，从没读过任何传记。不过我敢打赌，比您更神勇的主人，我这一辈子从没服侍过。愿上帝保佑，您这种神勇别在我刚才说的那个地方受挫。我要请求您的是给自己治伤。您那只耳朵流了很多血。我的褡裢里有纱布，还有些白药膏。”
“这些都不需要，”唐吉诃德说，“要是我早想到做一瓶菲耶拉布拉斯①圣水，只需一滴，便可以即刻痊愈。”
“那是什么圣瓶、什么圣水呀？”桑乔问。
唐吉诃德说：“那种圣水的配方我还记得。有了那种圣水就舍身无所惧，受伤不致亡了。我把圣水做好了就交给你。你要是看到我在战斗中被拦腰斩断（这种事常有），就在血还未凝固之前，把我轻巧落地的上半身非常仔细地安放在鞍子上另外那半截身子上，要注意安放得完好如初。然后，你再喂我两口我刚才说的那种圣水，你就会看到，我依然完好无恙。”
“如果有那种圣水，”桑乔说，“我从现在起就放弃原来当海岛总督的要求。作为对我诸多周到服侍的回报，我不要别的，只求您把那种圣水的配方告诉我。我估计无论在什么地方，一盎司圣水都可以卖两个雷阿尔以上。有了它，我就可以过一辈子体面舒服的日子了。不过我想知道，要做那种圣水是不是得花很多钱？”
“用不了三个雷阿尔就可以做三阿孙勃雷②的圣水。”唐吉诃德说。
①菲耶拉布拉斯是查理大帝的武士，据说他得到了耶稣就难时的荆冠与圣水。
②容量单位，一阿孙勃雷相当于2．016公升。
“都怨我，”桑乔说，“那么您还等什么，为什么不现在就做圣水，并且教我做呢？”
“住嘴，朋友，”唐吉诃德说，“我想教给你更大的秘诀，让你得到更多的利益。现在咱们先治伤。我这只耳朵疼得很厉害。”
桑乔从褡裢里拿出了纱布和药膏。可是，唐吉诃德一看到自己的头盔破了，又走火入魔了。他一手按剑，仰望天空，说道：
“我要向万物的创造者和四大《福音》巨著发誓，在向那个对我无礼的家伙报仇之前，我要过曼图亚侯爵那样的生活。他为了给他的侄子巴尔多维诺斯报仇，食不近桌，眠不近妻，还有其它一些情况，我想不起来了，不过我都发誓要一一照做。”
桑乔闻言说道：
“您看，唐吉诃德大人，如果那个骑士按照您的吩咐去拜见了托博索的杜尔西尼亚夫人，他的事也就算完了。只要他不再做别的坏事，就不该再受惩罚。”
“你说得千真万确，”唐吉诃德说，“我取消要向他报仇的盟誓。不过我还要发誓，在从某个骑士那里抢到一个与此头盔一模一样的头盔之前，我还要过我刚才说的那种生活。桑乔，你不要以为我只是心血来潮，我是在效仿先人。我的头盔和曼布里诺的头盔完全一样，萨克里潘特为此可付出了臣大的代价。”
“这种誓言您还是让魔鬼去说吧，我的大人，”桑乔说，“这样既伤身体又伤神。不信，您现在就告诉我，假如我们很多天都碰不到一个身披甲胄、头戴头盔的人怎么办？您难道真的为了实现自己的誓言而给自己找种种麻烦，例如和衣睡觉，露宿风餐，还有那位曼图亚老侯爵发誓要做的那些乱七八糟的事情？您看看，这路上根本没有披甲胄的人，全是些脚夫车夫。他们不仅不戴头盔，也许一辈子都没听说过头盔呢。”
“你错了，”唐吉诃德说，“用不了两个小时，咱们在这个路口就可以看到，披挂甲胄的人比去阿尔布拉卡追求安吉丽嘉①的人还多。”
①安吉丽嘉是契丹公主，阿尔布拉卡是她所居住的城堡。
“好吧，但愿如此，”桑乔说，“求上帝让我们走运。现在应该出大代价赢得这个岛屿，然后我就是死也闭眼了。”
“我对你说过，桑乔，你别担心。要是没有岛屿，一定会有丹麦王国或索夫拉迪萨王国在恭候你，而且还是在陆地上，你应该高兴。咱们先不谈这个，你先看看褡裢里是否有什么食物，吃完好去找个城堡过夜，做我说的那种圣水。说实话，我的耳朵疼得很厉害。”
“我这儿有一个葱头、一点儿干酪和几块硬面包，”桑乔说，“不过这不是您这种勇敢骑士吃的东西。”
“你怎么这样想！”唐吉诃德说，“你要知道，桑乔，一个月不吃东西是游侠骑士的骄傲。即使吃，也是有什么吃什么。你若是像我一样读很多书，就知道这确有其事。不过，虽然这种书很多，却并不意味着游侠骑士除了偶尔吃一些奢侈的宴会之外，整日节食。我们可以想象，他们不能不吃东西，不能没有其他一些本能的需要，因为他们也是和我们一样的人。而且你也该知道，他们一生中大部分时间周游于野林荒郊，又没有厨师，所以他们的日常食物就是粗茶淡饭，就像你给我的那些食物一样。所以，桑乔朋友，你别担心，我愿意要这种东西。你也不要别出心裁，惹游侠骑士生气。”
“对不起，”桑乔说，“我刚才说过，我既不会读，也不会写，根本不懂骑士的规矩。从现在起，我负责为您这位骑士提供各种干果作食品。我不是骑士，所以就给自己准备些飞禽或其它更有营养的东西。”
唐吉诃德说：“桑乔，我不是说骑士只能吃你说的那些果子，而是说他们最通常的食物是那些东西和一些野草。他们能辨别那些野草，我也能。”
桑乔说：“能够辨别那些野草可有用呢。我想，说不定哪天就用得上。”
桑乔把带的东西拿了出来，两人和和气气地吃起来。不过，他们又急于找到一个过夜的地方，便草草吃完了那些冷干粮，骑上马连忙赶路，要在天黑之前赶到村落。可是他们只看到几间牧羊人的茅屋，于是决定在那儿过夜。桑乔为没能赶到村落而沮丧，可唐吉诃德却很愿意露宿。每当遇到这种情况时，他都认为这是锻炼其骑士精神的好机会。
Part 1 Chapter 11
He was cordially welcomed by the goatherds, and Sancho, having as best he could put up Rocinante and the ass, drew towards the fragrance that came from some pieces of salted goat simmering in a pot on the fire; and though he would have liked at once to try if they were ready to be transferred from the pot to the stomach, he refrained from doing so as the goatherds removed them from the fire, and laying sheepskins on the ground, quickly spread their rude table, and with signs of hearty good-will invited them both to share what they had. Round the skins six of the men belonging to the fold seated themselves, having first with rough politeness pressed Don Quixote to take a seat upon a trough which they placed for him upside down. Don Quixote seated himself, and Sancho remained standing to serve the cup, which was made of horn. Seeing him standing, his master said to him:
“That thou mayest see, Sancho, the good that knight-errantry contains in itself, and how those who fill any office in it are on the high road to be speedily honoured and esteemed by the world, I desire that thou seat thyself here at my side and in the company of these worthy people, and that thou be one with me who am thy master and natural lord, and that thou eat from my plate and drink from whatever I drink from; for the same may be said of knight-errantry as of love, that it levels all.”
“Great thanks,” said Sancho, “but I may tell your worship that provided I have enough to eat, I can eat it as well, or better, standing, and by myself, than seated alongside of an emperor. And indeed, if the truth is to be told, what I eat in my corner without form or fuss has much more relish for me, even though it be bread and onions, than the turkeys of those other tables where I am forced to chew slowly, drink little, wipe my mouth every minute, and cannot sneeze or cough if I want or do other things that are the privileges of liberty and solitude. So, senor, as for these honours which your worship would put upon me as a servant and follower of knight-errantry, exchange them for other things which may be of more use and advantage to me; for these, though I fully acknowledge them as received, I renounce from this moment to the end of the world.”
“For all that,” said Don Quixote, “thou must seat thyself, because him who humbleth himself God exalteth;” and seizing him by the arm he forced him to sit down beside himself.
The goatherds did not understand this jargon about squires and knights-errant, and all they did was to eat in silence and stare at their guests, who with great elegance and appetite were stowing away pieces as big as one’s fist. The course of meat finished, they spread upon the sheepskins a great heap of parched acorns, and with them they put down a half cheese harder than if it had been made of mortar. All this while the horn was not idle, for it went round so constantly, now full, now empty, like the bucket of a water-wheel, that it soon drained one of the two wine-skins that were in sight. When Don Quixote had quite appeased his appetite he took up a handful of the acorns, and contemplating them attentively delivered himself somewhat in this fashion:
“Happy the age, happy the time, to which the ancients gave the name of golden, not because in that fortunate age the gold so coveted in this our iron one was gained without toil, but because they that lived in it knew not the two words “mine” and “thine”! In that blessed age all things were in common; to win the daily food no labour was required of any save to stretch forth his hand and gather it from the sturdy oaks that stood generously inviting him with their sweet ripe fruit. The clear streams and running brooks yielded their savoury limpid waters in noble abundance. The busy and sagacious bees fixed their republic in the clefts of the rocks and hollows of the trees, offering without usance the plenteous produce of their fragrant toil to every hand. The mighty cork trees, unenforced save of their own courtesy, shed the broad light bark that served at first to roof the houses supported by rude stakes, a protection against the inclemency of heaven alone. Then all was peace, all friendship, all concord; as yet the dull share of the crooked plough had not dared to rend and pierce the tender bowels of our first mother that without compulsion yielded from every portion of her broad fertile bosom all that could satisfy, sustain, and delight the children that then possessed her. Then was it that the innocent and fair young shepherdess roamed from vale to vale and hill to hill, with flowing locks, and no more garments than were needful modestly to cover what modesty seeks and ever sought to hide. Nor were their ornaments like those in use to-day, set off by Tyrian purple, and silk tortured in endless fashions, but the wreathed leaves of the green dock and ivy, wherewith they went as bravely and becomingly decked as our Court dames with all the rare and far-fetched artifices that idle curiosity has taught them. Then the love-thoughts of the heart clothed themselves simply and naturally as the heart conceived them, nor sought to commend themselves by forced and rambling verbiage. Fraud, deceit, or malice had then not yet mingled with truth and sincerity. Justice held her ground, undisturbed and unassailed by the efforts of favour and of interest, that now so much impair, pervert, and beset her. Arbitrary law had not yet established itself in the mind of the judge, for then there was no cause to judge and no one to be judged. Maidens and modesty, as I have said, wandered at will alone and unattended, without fear of insult from lawlessness or libertine assault, and if they were undone it was of their own will and pleasure. But now in this hateful age of ours not one is safe, not though some new labyrinth like that of Crete conceal and surround her; even there the pestilence of gallantry will make its way to them through chinks or on the air by the zeal of its accursed importunity, and, despite of all seclusion, lead them to ruin. In defence of these, as time advanced and wickedness increased, the order of knights-errant was instituted, to defend maidens, to protect widows and to succour the orphans and the needy. To this order I belong, brother goatherds, to whom I return thanks for the hospitality and kindly welcome ye offer me and my squire; for though by natural law all living are bound to show favour to knights-errant, yet, seeing that without knowing this obligation ye have welcomed and feasted me, it is right that with all the good-will in my power I should thank you for yours.”
 
All this long harangue (which might very well have been spared) our knight delivered because the acorns they gave him reminded him of the golden age; and the whim seized him to address all this unnecessary argument to the goatherds, who listened to him gaping in amazement without saying a word in reply. Sancho likewise held his peace and ate acorns, and paid repeated visits to the second wine-skin, which they had hung up on a cork tree to keep the wine cool.
Don Quixote was longer in talking than the supper in finishing, at the end of which one of the goatherds said, “That your worship, senor knight-errant, may say with more truth that we show you hospitality with ready good-will, we will give you amusement and pleasure by making one of our comrades sing: he will be here before long, and he is a very intelligent youth and deep in love, and what is more he can read and write and play on the rebeck to perfection.”
The goatherd had hardly done speaking, when the notes of the rebeck reached their ears; and shortly after, the player came up, a very good-looking young man of about two-and-twenty. His comrades asked him if he had supped, and on his replying that he had, he who had already made the offer said to him:
“In that case, Antonio, thou mayest as well do us the pleasure of singing a little, that the gentleman, our guest, may see that even in the mountains and woods there are musicians: we have told him of thy accomplishments, and we want thee to show them and prove that we say true; so, as thou livest, pray sit down and sing that ballad about thy love that thy uncle the prebendary made thee, and that was so much liked in the town.”
“With all my heart,” said the young man, and without waiting for more pressing he seated himself on the trunk of a felled oak, and tuning his rebeck, presently began to sing to these words.
Antonio’s Ballad
Thou dost love me well, Olalla;
Well I know it, even though
Love’s mute tongues, thine eyes, have never
By their glances told me so.
For I know my love thou knowest,
Therefore thine to claim I dare:
Once it ceases to be secret,
Love need never feel despair.
True it is, Olalla, sometimes
Thou hast all too plainly shown
That thy heart is brass in hardness,
And thy snowy bosom stone.
Yet for all that, in thy coyness,
And thy fickle fits between,
Hope is there — at least the border
Of her garment may be seen.
Lures to faith are they, those glimpses,
And to faith in thee I hold;
Kindness cannot make it stronger,
Coldness cannot make it cold.
If it be that love is gentle,
In thy gentleness I see
Something holding out assurance
To the hope of winning thee.
If it be that in devotion
Lies a power hearts to move,
That which every day I show thee,
Helpful to my suit should prove.
Many a time thou must have noticed —
If to notice thou dost care —
How I go about on Monday
Dressed in all my Sunday wear.
Love’s eyes love to look on brightness;
Love loves what is gaily drest;
Sunday, Monday, all I care is
Thou shouldst see me in my best.
No account I make of dances,
Or of strains that pleased thee so,
Keeping thee awake from midnight
Till the cocks began to crow;
Or of how I roundly swore it
That there’s none so fair as thou;
True it is, but as I said it,
By the girls I’m hated now.
For Teresa of the hillside
At my praise of thee was sore;
Said, “You think you love an angel;
It’s a monkey you adore;
“Caught by all her glittering trinkets,
And her borrowed braids of hair,
And a host of made-up beauties
That would Love himself ensnare.”
‘T was a lie, and so I told her,
And her cousin at the word
Gave me his defiance for it;
And what followed thou hast heard.
Mine is no high-flown affection,
Mine no passion par amours —
As they call it — what I offer
Is an honest love, and pure.
Cunning cords the holy Church has,
Cords of softest silk they be;
Put thy neck beneath the yoke, dear;
Mine will follow, thou wilt see.
Else — and once for all I swear it
By the saint of most renown —
If I ever quit the mountains,
‘T will be in a friar’s gown.
Here the goatherd brought his song to an end, and though Don Quixote entreated him to sing more, Sancho had no mind that way, being more inclined for sleep than for listening to songs; so said he to his master, “Your worship will do well to settle at once where you mean to pass the night, for the labour these good men are at all day does not allow them to spend the night in singing.”
“I understand thee, Sancho,” replied Don Quixote; “I perceive clearly that those visits to the wine-skin demand compensation in sleep rather than in music.”
“It’s sweet to us all, blessed be God,” said Sancho.
“I do not deny it,” replied Don Quixote; “but settle thyself where thou wilt; those of my calling are more becomingly employed in watching than in sleeping; still it would be as well if thou wert to dress this ear for me again, for it is giving me more pain than it need.”
Sancho did as he bade him, but one of the goatherds, seeing the wound, told him not to be uneasy, as he would apply a remedy with which it would be soon healed; and gathering some leaves of rosemary, of which there was a great quantity there, he chewed them and mixed them with a little salt, and applying them to the ear he secured them firmly with a bandage, assuring him that no other treatment would be required, and so it proved.
 
唐吉诃德受到几个牧羊人的热情接待。桑乔将就着安顿好罗西南多和他的驴，闻到锅里炖羊肉散发出的香味就折了回来。他想看看羊肉熟了没有，巴不得马上就端下锅来吃肉。这时，牧羊人把锅从火上端了下来，在地上铺了几张羊皮，迅速摆上一张旧桌子，非常客气地请两人共同进餐。茅屋里的六个牧羊人围坐在羊皮四周。他们首先以粗俗的礼仪请唐吉诃德坐在一个倒置的木桶上。唐吉诃德坐下后，桑乔站在旁边用角杯斟酒。唐吉诃德看到桑乔站着，就对他说：
“桑乔，为了让你看到游侠骑士的殊荣，看到任何人只要与骑士稍有联系，马上就会得到世人的赞扬和尊重，我要你坐在我身边，陪伴我这位好人，与我同餐共饮，不分你我，尽管我是你的主人，也是你的大人。所谓游侠骑士，可以用一句谈论爱情的话来说，就是‘万事皆同’。”
“不胜荣幸！”桑乔说，“不过我可以告诉您，只要有得吃，我自己一人站着吃和陪着皇帝吃一样好，甚至比陪着皇帝吃更好。而且说实话，您应该知道，我自己在角落里可以不必装模作样，拘于礼仪，即使吃面包葱头，也比在餐桌上吃吐绶鸡强，在餐桌上我得强装斯文，细嚼慢咽，还得不时揩嘴，想打喷嚏、咳嗽或做其他事都不行。因此，我的大人，您想把游侠骑士亲随的荣誉授予我，可我是您的侍从，已经是您的亲随了，所以我请您把这荣誉换成其他更实用的东西。这些荣誉，即使我领情接受下来，也永远用不上啊。”
“尽管如此，你还是得坐下，‘卑微之人，上帝举荐’。”
唐吉诃德拉着桑乔的胳膊，让他坐在自己身旁。几位牧羊人对侍从和游侠骑士之间的调侃不知所云，只是边吃边默默地注视着客人彬彬有礼而又津津有味地把拳头大小的羊肉块吞进肚里。羊肉吃完后，主人又在羊皮上摆了很多褐色橡子和半块奶酪，那奶酪硬得像泥灰块。斟酒频频，觥筹交错（角杯忽满忽空，就像水车上的戽斗），很快就把面前摆着的两只酒囊喝空了一个。唐吉诃德饭饱酒足，抓起一把橡子，端详一番，开始高谈阔论：
“古人云，幸福的世纪和年代为黄金年代，这并不是因为在我们这个铁器时代非常珍贵的黄金到那个时候便唾手可得。人们称之为黄金年代，是因为生活在那个时代的人没有你我之概念。在那个神圣的年代，一切皆共有。任何人要得到基本食物，只需举手之劳，便可以从茂盛的圣栎树上得到香甜的果实。源源不断的清泉与河流提供了甘美澄澈的饮水。勤劳机智的蜜蜂在石缝树洞里建立了它们的国家，把丰收的甜蜜果实无私地奉献给大家。茁壮的栓皮槠树落落大方地褪去它宽展轻巧的树皮，在朴质的木桩上盖成了房屋，为人们抵御酷暑严寒。
“那时候，人们安身立命，情同手足，和睦融洽，笨重的弯头犁还没敢打开我们仁慈的大地母亲的脏腑，而她却心甘情愿地用富庶辽阔的胸膛所拥有的一切来喂养和愉悦那些拥有她的儿女们。真的，那时候，纯真的靓女松散着头发，越山谷，过山丘，除了把该遮羞的部位遮住之外，并没有什么其他服饰。那点遮饰同现在的服饰不一样。现在多用蒂罗紫和五彩纷呈的丝绸，而那个时候只是将牛蒡的几片绿叶和常春藤编在一起而已，但却同现在的嫔妃们穿着新颖艳丽的服装一样显得庄重奢华。那时表达爱情的方式也很简朴，只是直抒心怀，从不绞尽脑汁去胡吹乱捧。欺诈和邪恶还未同真实和正义混杂在一起。正义自有它的天地，任何私欲贪心都不敢干扰冒犯它。而现在，这些东西竟敢蔑视、干扰和诋毁正义。那时候在法官的意识里，还没有枉法断案的观念，因为没有什么事什么人需要被宣判。我刚才说过，童女们可以只身到处行走，无需害怕恶棍歹徒伤害她们。如果她们失身，那也是心甘情愿的。
“而现在呢，在我们这可恶的时代里，就是再建一座克里特迷宫①，也不会让任何一个女孩子感到安全。可恶的欲火使情爱的瘟疫通过缝隙和空气渗透进去，任何幽居处所对她们都无济于事。时间流逝，邪恶渐增。游侠骑士的出现可以使少女得到保护，使寡妇受到帮助，孤儿和穷人也能得到救济。
“牧羊兄弟们，我就是这类游侠骑士。对于你们给予我和我的侍从的热情款待，我表示感谢。人人都理所当然地有义务帮助游侠骑士，可我知道你们并不了解这种义务，却能如此款待我，因此我才对你们诚挚地表示感谢。”
①希腊神话中传说的四座迷宫之一，是代达洛斯为囚禁怪物弥诺陶罗斯所建。
唐吉诃德的这番议论完全可以谅解，因为牧羊人的橡子使他想起了黄金时代，他忽然心血来潮，便对牧羊人慷慨陈辞。牧羊人一言不发，怔怔地听着。桑乔则默默地吃着橡子，还不时到第二个酒囊那儿去一下。那个酒囊挂在一棵栓皮槠树上，这样酒可以更凉些。
唐吉诃德说话的时间比吃饭用的时间还多。晚饭结束后，一个牧羊人说：
“游侠骑士大人，为了进一步证实您所说的我们招待您的真情，我们想请我们的一个伙伴唱唱歌，让您放松一下，高兴高兴。我们这个伙伴一会儿就来。他是个十分聪明而又多情的小伙子，并且能认字写字。他是三弦牧琴演奏手，演奏得妙极了。”
牧羊人刚说到这儿，耳边就传来了三弦牧琴的乐曲声。那个小伙子也随之出现。他最多二十二岁，面目清秀。牧羊人们问他是否吃了饭，他说吃过了。刚才推荐他的那个人对他说：
“安东尼奥，你赏脸唱一点儿，就可以为我们带来欢乐，也让我们这位贵客看看，在这深山老林里也有懂音乐的人。我们已经对他介绍了你的才干，希望你露一手，证明我们说的是真话。你请坐，唱唱你那教士叔叔为你作的爱情歌谣吧，这歌谣在村镇上挺受欢迎的。”
“不胜荣幸。”小伙子说。
小伙子没有再推辞，坐在一截圣栎树干上，弹着三弦牧琴，很动情地唱起来：
安东尼奥之歌
纵使你嘴上不说，
娇眸顾盼情默默。
我心明白，奥拉利亚，
你在倾慕我。
我知你痴心相印，
笃信你钟情于我。
仰慕春思尽表露，
幸福美满无失落。
奥拉利亚，你确曾若明若暗表露过，
你心宛如青铜坚，
白皙胸脯似石砣。
你曾对我多呵叱，
孤高自赏显冷漠。
希望容或此中生，
石榴裙展舞婆娑。
义无反顾，
信念执著，
一厢情思不沮丧，
倘得青睐亦自若。
爱情若需常趋附，
殷殷关切总投合。
我曾时时暗传情，
意乱情迷似入魔。
你若有心人，
秀眼会见我，
周日披盛装，
周一仍穿着。
爱情与盛装，
交相辉映同衬托。
我愿你眼中，
风骚我独获。
可为你起舞，
可为你唱和，
夜半余音绕，
报晓鸡同歌。
盛赞无需有，
我叹你天姿国色。
句句意真切，
引来恶语饶长舌。
我把你颂扬，
贝罗卡尔的特雷莎却说：
“你以为钟情于天使，
其实是中了邪魔。
你赞赏不止孰不知，
伊人青丝系假发，
伊人娇媚是矫饰，
骗取爱情心险恶。”
我斥特雷莎，
她嗔怒唤兄来挑衅。
他之于我我于他，
你尽可揣测。
我爱你不沉湎，
追求你不曲合。
愿望诚高尚，
为享天伦乐。
教堂可结缡，
连理夫妻相伴。
向前莫犹豫，
我甘结丝萝。
你若弃我情，
我指天为誓，
从此做修士，
今生隐遁深山过。
牧羊人唱完了，唐吉诃德请求牧羊人再唱点什么。可桑乔想去睡觉，不愿意再听歌了。他对主人说：
“您该去过夜的地方休息了。这几位好人劳累了一天，晚上不能再唱了。”
“我明白了，桑乔，”唐吉诃德说，“你刚才去拿酒囊喝了酒，现在需要的是睡觉而不是音乐。”
“感谢上帝，大家都唱得不错。”桑乔说。
“这我不否认，”唐吉诃德说，“你找地方休息吧。干我这种差事，似乎最好是守夜，而不是睡觉。不过，不管怎样，桑乔，你最好先看看我的耳朵，它疼得太厉害了。”
桑乔照办了。一个牧羊人看到唐吉诃德的伤，对他说不必着急，自己有个办法，可以使他很快康复。牧羊人拿来几片迷迭香叶子，这种东西当地很多。牧羊人把叶子嚼碎，加上一点儿盐，敷在唐吉诃德的耳朵上，包扎好，说用不着别的药了。唐吉诃德的耳朵果然好了。
Part 1 Chapter 12
Just then another young man, one of those who fetched their provisions from the village, came up and said, “Do you know what is going on in the village, comrades?”
“How could we know it?” replied one of them.
“Well, then, you must know,” continued the young man, “this morning that famous student-shepherd called Chrysostom died, and it is rumoured that he died of love for that devil of a village girl the daughter of Guillermo the Rich, she that wanders about the wolds here in the dress of a shepherdess.”
“You mean Marcela?” said one.
“Her I mean,” answered the goatherd; “and the best of it is, he has directed in his will that he is to be buried in the fields like a Moor, and at the foot of the rock where the Cork-tree spring is, because, as the story goes (and they say he himself said so), that was the place where he first saw her. And he has also left other directions which the clergy of the village say should not and must not be obeyed because they savour of paganism. To all which his great friend Ambrosio the student, he who, like him, also went dressed as a shepherd, replies that everything must be done without any omission according to the directions left by Chrysostom, and about this the village is all in commotion; however, report says that, after all, what Ambrosio and all the shepherds his friends desire will be done, and to-morrow they are coming to bury him with great ceremony where I said. I am sure it will be something worth seeing; at least I will not fail to go and see it even if I knew I should not return to the village tomorrow.”
“We will do the same,” answered the goatherds, “and cast lots to see who must stay to mind the goats of all.”
“Thou sayest well, Pedro,” said one, “though there will be no need of taking that trouble, for I will stay behind for all; and don’t suppose it is virtue or want of curiosity in me; it is that the splinter that ran into my foot the other day will not let me walk.”
“For all that, we thank thee,” answered Pedro.
Don Quixote asked Pedro to tell him who the dead man was and who the shepherdess, to which Pedro replied that all he knew was that the dead man was a wealthy gentleman belonging to a village in those mountains, who had been a student at Salamanca for many years, at the end of which he returned to his village with the reputation of being very learned and deeply read. “Above all, they said, he was learned in the science of the stars and of what went on yonder in the heavens and the sun and the moon, for he told us of the cris of the sun and moon to exact time.”
“Eclipse it is called, friend, not cris, the darkening of those two luminaries,” said Don Quixote; but Pedro, not troubling himself with trifles, went on with his story, saying, “Also he foretold when the year was going to be one of abundance or estility.”
“Sterility, you mean,” said Don Quixote.
“Sterility or estility,” answered Pedro, “it is all the same in the end. And I can tell you that by this his father and friends who believed him grew very rich because they did as he advised them, bidding them ‘sow barley this year, not wheat; this year you may sow pulse and not barley; the next there will be a full oil crop, and the three following not a drop will be got.’”
“That science is called astrology,” said Don Quixote.
“I do not know what it is called,” replied Pedro, “but I know that he knew all this and more besides. But, to make an end, not many months had passed after he returned from Salamanca, when one day he appeared dressed as a shepherd with his crook and sheepskin, having put off the long gown he wore as a scholar; and at the same time his great friend, Ambrosio by name, who had been his companion in his studies, took to the shepherd’s dress with him. I forgot to say that Chrysostom, who is dead, was a great man for writing verses, so much so that he made carols for Christmas Eve, and plays for Corpus Christi, which the young men of our village acted, and all said they were excellent. When the villagers saw the two scholars so unexpectedly appearing in shepherd’s dress, they were lost in wonder, and could not guess what had led them to make so extraordinary a change. About this time the father of our Chrysostom died, and he was left heir to a large amount of property in chattels as well as in land, no small number of cattle and sheep, and a large sum of money, of all of which the young man was left dissolute owner, and indeed he was deserving of it all, for he was a very good comrade, and kind-hearted, and a friend of worthy folk, and had a countenance like a benediction. Presently it came to be known that he had changed his dress with no other object than to wander about these wastes after that shepherdess Marcela our lad mentioned a while ago, with whom the deceased Chrysostom had fallen in love. And I must tell you now, for it is well you should know it, who this girl is; perhaps, and even without any perhaps, you will not have heard anything like it all the days of your life, though you should live more years than sarna.”
“Say Sarra,” said Don Quixote, unable to endure the goatherd’s confusion of words.
“The sarna lives long enough,” answered Pedro; “and if, senor, you must go finding fault with words at every step, we shall not make an end of it this twelvemonth.”
“Pardon me, friend,” said Don Quixote; “but, as there is such a difference between sarna and Sarra, I told you of it; however, you have answered very rightly, for sarna lives longer than Sarra: so continue your story, and I will not object any more to anything.”
“I say then, my dear sir,” said the goatherd, “that in our village there was a farmer even richer than the father of Chrysostom, who was named Guillermo, and upon whom God bestowed, over and above great wealth, a daughter at whose birth her mother died, the most respected woman there was in this neighbourhood; I fancy I can see her now with that countenance which had the sun on one side and the moon on the other; and moreover active, and kind to the poor, for which I trust that at the present moment her soul is in bliss with God in the other world. Her husband Guillermo died of grief at the death of so good a wife, leaving his daughter Marcela, a child and rich, to the care of an uncle of hers, a priest and prebendary in our village. The girl grew up with such beauty that it reminded us of her mother’s , which was very great, and yet it was thought that the daughter’s would exceed it; and so when she reached the age of fourteen to fifteen years nobody beheld her but blessed God that had made her so beautiful, and the greater number were in love with her past redemption. Her uncle kept her in great seclusion and retirement, but for all that the fame of her great beauty spread so that, as well for it as for her great wealth, her uncle was asked, solicited, and importuned, to give her in marriage not only by those of our town but of those many leagues round, and by the persons of highest quality in them. But he, being a good Christian man, though he desired to give her in marriage at once, seeing her to be old enough, was unwilling to do so without her consent, not that he had any eye to the gain and profit which the custody of the girl’s property brought him while he put off her marriage; and, faith, this was said in praise of the good priest in more than one set in the town. For I would have you know, Sir Errant, that in these little villages everything is talked about and everything is carped at, and rest assured, as I am, that the priest must be over and above good who forces his parishioners to speak well of him, especially in villages.”
“That is the truth,” said Don Quixote; “but go on, for the story is very good, and you, good Pedro, tell it with very good grace.”
“May that of the Lord not be wanting to me,” said Pedro; “that is the one to have. To proceed; you must know that though the uncle put before his niece and described to her the qualities of each one in particular of the many who had asked her in marriage, begging her to marry and make a choice according to her own taste, she never gave any other answer than that she had no desire to marry just yet, and that being so young she did not think herself fit to bear the burden of matrimony. At these, to all appearance, reasonable excuses that she made, her uncle ceased to urge her, and waited till she was somewhat more advanced in age and could mate herself to her own liking. For, said he — and he said quite right — parents are not to settle children in life against their will. But when one least looked for it, lo and behold! one day the demure Marcela makes her appearance turned shepherdess; and, in spite of her uncle and all those of the town that strove to dissuade her, took to going a-field with the other shepherd-lasses of the village, and tending her own flock. And so, since she appeared in public, and her beauty came to be seen openly, I could not well tell you how many rich youths, gentlemen and peasants, have adopted the costume of Chrysostom, and go about these fields making love to her. One of these, as has been already said, was our deceased friend, of whom they say that he did not love but adore her. But you must not suppose, because Marcela chose a life of such liberty and independence, and of so little or rather no retirement, that she has given any occasion, or even the semblance of one, for disparagement of her purity and modesty; on the contrary, such and so great is the vigilance with which she watches over her honour, that of all those that court and woo her not one has boasted, or can with truth boast, that she has given him any hope however small of obtaining his desire. For although she does not avoid or shun the society and conversation of the shepherds, and treats them courteously and kindly, should any one of them come to declare his intention to her, though it be one as proper and holy as that of matrimony, she flings him from her like a catapult. And with this kind of disposition she does more harm in this country than if the plague had got into it, for her affability and her beauty draw on the hearts of those that associate with her to love her and to court her, but her scorn and her frankness bring them to the brink of despair; and so they know not what to say save to proclaim her aloud cruel and hard-hearted, and other names of the same sort which well describe the nature of her character; and if you should remain here any time, senor, you would hear these hills and valleys resounding with the laments of the rejected ones who pursue her. Not far from this there is a spot where there are a couple of dozen of tall beeches, and there is not one of them but has carved and written on its smooth bark the name of Marcela, and above some a crown carved on the same tree as though her lover would say more plainly that Marcela wore and deserved that of all human beauty. Here one shepherd is sighing, there another is lamenting; there love songs are heard, here despairing elegies. One will pass all the hours of the night seated at the foot of some oak or rock, and there, without having closed his weeping eyes, the sun finds him in the morning bemused and bereft of sense; and another without relief or respite to his sighs, stretched on the burning sand in the full heat of the sultry summer noontide, makes his appeal to the compassionate heavens, and over one and the other, over these and all, the beautiful Marcela triumphs free and careless. And all of us that know her are waiting to see what her pride will come to, and who is to be the happy man that will succeed in taming a nature so formidable and gaining possession of a beauty so supreme. All that I have told you being such well-established truth, I am persuaded that what they say of the cause of Chrysostom’s death, as our lad told us, is the same. And so I advise you, senor, fail not to be present to-morrow at his burial, which will be well worth seeing, for Chrysostom had many friends, and it is not half a league from this place to where he directed he should be buried.”
“I will make a point of it,” said Don Quixote, “and I thank you for the pleasure you have given me by relating so interesting a tale.”
“Oh,” said the goatherd, “I do not know even the half of what has happened to the lovers of Marcela, but perhaps to-morrow we may fall in with some shepherd on the road who can tell us; and now it will be well for you to go and sleep under cover, for the night air may hurt your wound, though with the remedy I have applied to you there is no fear of an untoward result.”
Sancho Panza, who was wishing the goatherd’s loquacity at the devil, on his part begged his master to go into Pedro’s hut to sleep. He did so, and passed all the rest of the night in thinking of his lady Dulcinea, in imitation of the lovers of Marcela. Sancho Panza settled himself between Rocinante and his ass, and slept, not like a lover who had been discarded, but like a man who had been soundly kicked.
 
这时，又来了一个从村里送粮食来的小伙子。他说：
“伙计们，你们知道村里的事吗？”
“我们怎么会知道。”一个牧羊人说。
“你们知道吗？”小伙子说，“那个有名的学究牧人克里索斯托莫今天早晨死了。人们私下说，他是因为爱上了财主吉列尔莫的女儿马塞拉而死的。那个小妖精常扮成牧羊姑娘在旷野里走动。”
“你是说为了马塞拉？”有人问。
“就是她，”小伙子说，“好在他已立下遗嘱，要把他像摩尔人那样埋在野外，还得是在栓皮槠树旁边的石头脚下。据传，他说过那是他第一次看到马塞拉的地方。他还要求了其它事情，镇上的牧师们说不能照办，也不应该照办，估计是些邪恶的事情。可他的老朋友安布罗西奥跟他一样是个学究，也是牧人，却要全都按照他的吩咐办，村上对此议论纷纷。据说，最后还是得按照克里索斯托莫和他那几个牧人朋友的意志办。明天，他们要到我刚才说的那个地方大张旗鼓地安葬。
这事我可得看看，即使明天赶不回去，我也得去。”
“我们也去，”那群牧羊人说，“现在咱们抓阄吧，看明天谁留下来看羊。”
“说得对，佩德罗，”一个牧羊人说，“不过别抓阄了，我留下来看羊。倒不是我心眼好或者不想去看，我这只脚那天被树杈扎了一下，走不得路。”
“那我们得谢谢你。”佩德罗说。
唐吉诃德请求佩德罗告诉他，死者是什么人，那个牧羊姑娘又是什么人。佩德罗回答说，据他所知，死者是山那边一个地方的富豪子弟，在萨拉曼卡读了很多年书，据说学成回乡时已是博学多才，满腹经纶。听说他最了解的是星星的学问，还有太阳和月亮在天上的事。他能准确地告诉我们什么时候太阳失、月亮失。”
“那叫日蚀、月蚀，朋友，是那两个发光天体被遮住了。”
唐吉诃德说。
佩德罗不在意这些，接着说：
“他还能算出哪年是丰年，哪年是‘黄年’。”
“你大概是说荒年吧，朋友。”唐吉诃德说。
“荒年或黄年，”佩德罗说，“就是那意思。据说他父亲和那些听他话的朋友们都发了财。那些人都听他的。他常告诉那些人：‘今年该种大麦，不要种小麦；或今年种鹰嘴豆，不能种大麦；来年油料大丰收，以后三年油料无收。’”
“那叫占星学。”唐吉诃德说。
“我不知道叫什么，”佩德罗说，“不过我知道，这些东西他都懂，而且懂得比这还多。简单地说，他从萨拉曼卡回来没几个月，有一天，突然脱下了他上学时穿的长服，换上牧人的衣服，还拿着牧杖，披上了羊皮袄。他那个叫安布罗西奥的好朋友，原来和他是同学，也同他一起打扮成牧人的样子。我还忘了说，那个死去的克里索斯托莫还是个编民谣的能手哩。他编的关于耶稣诞生的村夫谣①和圣诞节的剧目，由我们村里的小伙子们演出后，大家都说好极了。所以，村里人看到两个学生忽然穿上了牧人的衣服，都很惊讶，猜不透他们为什么要莫名其妙地换上这身打扮。那个时候，克里索斯托莫的父亲已经死了。他继承了大量财产，有动产和不动产，有数量不少的大大小小牲畜，有大量的钱，他全继承了，这确实是他应得的。他与人相处得很好，很随和，好人都喜欢他，他还有一副慈善的面孔。后来人们才明白，他扮成牧人就是为了在野外追求那个牧羊姑娘马塞拉。可怜的克里索斯托莫早已爱上了她。现在我想告诉你，你也该知道这个姑娘是谁了。也许，或者根本不用也许，你这辈子也不会听说这样的事情，即使你活得比萨尔纳还长。”
“应该说萨拉②。”唐吉诃德说。他简直忍受不了牧羊人说话如此颠三倒四。
①西班牙的一种民谣，一般以耶稣降生为题材，在圣诞节期间演唱。
②《圣经•旧约》中亚伯拉罕的妻子，终年127岁。但前一句小伙子说的萨尔纳并非指她，而是巴斯克语“老家伙”的意思。
“萨尔纳活得就够长了。”佩德罗说，“大人，要是我一边说您一边给我挑错，咱们恐怕一年也讲不完。”
“请原谅，朋友，”唐吉诃德说，“因为萨尔纳和萨拉的区别太大了，所以我才说。不过你说得很对，萨尔纳比萨拉活得长。你接着讲，我再也不给你挑错了。”
“我说，亲爱的大人，”牧羊人说，“在我们村里有个农夫，比克里索斯托莫的父亲还阔气，他叫吉列尔莫。上帝不仅赐予他大量财产，还赐给他一个女儿。孩子的母亲在生产时死了。她是我们这一带最好的女人。我现在似乎还能看到她那张脸，一边有个太阳，一边有个月亮。她善于理财，而且还是穷人的朋友。所以，我觉得她正在另一个世界里与上帝同在。她的丈夫吉列尔莫为失去这样的好妻子而悲痛得死了，把女儿马塞拉，那个有钱的姑娘，留给了她的一个当神甫的叔叔。她叔叔就在我们村任职。
“小女孩越长越漂亮，让我们想起她的母亲。她的母亲也很美，可是人们觉得她比母亲更美。她长到十四五岁的时候，凡是见到她的人无不称赞上帝把她培育得如此漂亮。还有更多的人爱上了她，整天魂不守舍。她的叔叔对她看管得很严。尽管如此，她的美貌，还有巨富，不仅名扬我们村，而且传到了方圆数十里之外很多富人家那儿。他们请求、乞求并纠缠她叔叔，要娶她为妻。她叔叔呢，确实是个好基督徒，后来看她到了结婚的年龄，也愿意让她嫁人，可是一定要事先征得她的同意，倒不是因为他照看着马塞拉的财产，想图点便宜，故意拖延她的婚期。村里不少人也的确是这么说的，都称赞他是位好神甫。我应该告诉你，游侠大人，在这种小地方，人们什么都说，什么都议论。你想想，我也这么想，一个神甫能够让他的教民们都说他好，特别是在村里，那么他一定是个特别好的神甫。”
“是这样，”唐吉诃德说，“你再接着讲。这事很有意思，而你呢，有意思的佩德罗，讲得也很有趣。”
“大人觉得有趣就行了，这对我很重要。你知道，后来她叔叔向她介绍了一个个求婚小伙子的情况，让她任意挑选一个。可她只是回答说还不想结婚，说觉得自己还小，还不能够承担起家庭的担子。这些话听起来很对，她叔叔也就不再坚持了，想等她年龄再大些，能够自己选择伴侣再说。她叔叔常说，他说得很对，做父母的不应该让儿女们违心地结婚。
“可是谁也没想到，有一天，娇贵的马塞拉成了牧羊姑娘。她叔叔和村里所有人都劝她别这样，可是她不听，和村里其他牧羊女一起去了野外。这回她亮了相，她的美貌让人看见了。我也说不清有多少小伙子、贵族和农夫都换上了克里索斯托莫那样的衣服，到野外追求她。其中一个，我刚才说过，就是我们那位死者。人们说，他对马塞拉不是爱，而是崇拜。你不要以为马塞拉在那种自由自在的、很少约束或根本没有约束的日子里，可能放松对自己品行的要求，相反，她对保持自己的名誉十分注意，不给所有讨好她、追求她的人一点儿如愿的希望，所以那些人也无法向别人夸口。她并不回避和牧羊人作伴、谈话，对他们既有礼貌又友好。可一旦发现其中任何一个人有企图，哪怕是最正经、最神圣的求婚，她就立刻把那人甩掉。她这种脾气给人的伤害太大了，就好比她给人们带来了瘟疫。她漂亮可爱，吸引了那些想向她献殷勤并得到她青睐的人的心，可是她的蔑视和指责却又让那些人绝望。他们不知道该如何对马塞拉讲，只能说她狠心、忘恩负义及其它诸如此类的话。这些话完全反映了马塞拉的性格。
“如果你在这里呆一天，大人，你就会看到，在田野里，回荡着那些绝望者的叹息。离这儿不太远有个地方，长着几十棵山毛榉树，光滑的树皮上无不刻写着马塞拉的名字。在某个名字上端，还刻着一个王冠，似乎她的追求者在说，马塞拉正戴着它，世上所有美女中只有她当之无愧。
“这儿有个牧人在叹息，那儿有个牧人在抱怨；那边是情歌，这边是哀歌。有的人在圣栎树或大石头脚下彻夜不眠，任思绪遨游，直到第二天早晨太阳升起；有的人在夏天炽热的中午躺在灼人的沙土上，不停地叹息，向仁慈的老天诉说心中的哀怨。这个、那个、那边、这边，马塞拉轻轻松松地得胜了。我们所有认识她的人都在等待她的高傲何时休止，看谁有福气能驯服她这种可怕的脾气，享受到她的极度美丽。我讲的这些都是确凿的事实，我也可以理解那个小伙子说的克里索斯托莫为何而死了。所以，我劝你，大人，明天去参加他的葬礼，应该去看看，克里索斯托莫有很多朋友，而且埋葬他的地方离这儿只有半西里远。”
“我会考虑的，”唐吉诃德说，“感谢你给我讲了这样一个有趣的故事。”
“噢，”牧羊人说，“有关马塞拉那些情人的事，我知道的还不足一半呢。不过，明天也许咱们能在野外碰到个把牧人给我们讲讲。现在，你还是到屋里睡觉吧，夜露对你的伤口不好。你的伤口上了药，不用怕，不会有什么事的。”
桑乔•潘萨已经在诅咒这个滔滔不绝的牧羊人了，现在他也请求主人到佩德罗的茅屋里去睡觉。
唐吉诃德进了茅屋，不过整夜都在模仿马塞拉情人的样子思念杜尔西内亚。桑乔•潘萨在罗西南多和他的驴之间睡觉。他睡觉不像个失意的情人，倒像个被踢得浑身是伤的人。
Part 1 Chapter 13
Bit hardly had day begun to show itself through the balconies of the east, when five of the six goatherds came to rouse Don Quixote and tell him that if he was still of a mind to go and see the famous burial of Chrysostom they would bear him company. Don Quixote, who desired nothing better, rose and ordered Sancho to saddle and pannel at once, which he did with all despatch, and with the same they all set out forthwith. They had not gone a quarter of a league when at the meeting of two paths they saw coming towards them some six shepherds dressed in black sheepskins and with their heads crowned with garlands of cypress and bitter oleander. Each of them carried a stout holly staff in his hand, and along with them there came two men of quality on horseback in handsome travelling dress, with three servants on foot accompanying them. Courteous salutations were exchanged on meeting, and inquiring one of the other which way each party was going, they learned that all were bound for the scene of the burial, so they went on all together.
One of those on horseback addressing his companion said to him, “It seems to me, Senor Vivaldo, that we may reckon as well spent the delay we shall incur in seeing this remarkable funeral, for remarkable it cannot but be judging by the strange things these shepherds have told us, of both the dead shepherd and homicide shepherdess.”
“So I think too,” replied Vivaldo, “and I would delay not to say a day, but four, for the sake of seeing it.”
Don Quixote asked them what it was they had heard of Marcela and Chrysostom. The traveller answered that the same morning they had met these shepherds, and seeing them dressed in this mournful fashion they had asked them the reason of their appearing in such a guise; which one of them gave, describing the strange behaviour and beauty of a shepherdess called Marcela, and the loves of many who courted her, together with the death of that Chrysostom to whose burial they were going. In short, he repeated all that Pedro had related to Don Quixote.
This conversation dropped, and another was commenced by him who was called Vivaldo asking Don Quixote what was the reason that led him to go armed in that fashion in a country so peaceful. To which Don Quixote replied, “The pursuit of my calling does not allow or permit me to go in any other fashion; easy life, enjoyment, and repose were invented for soft courtiers, but toil, unrest, and arms were invented and made for those alone whom the world calls knights-errant, of whom I, though unworthy, am the least of all.”
The instant they heard this all set him down as mad, and the better to settle the point and discover what kind of madness his was, Vivaldo proceeded to ask him what knights-errant meant.
“Have not your worships,” replied Don Quixote, “read the annals and histories of England, in which are recorded the famous deeds of King Arthur, whom we in our popular Castilian invariably call King Artus, with regard to whom it is an ancient tradition, and commonly received all over that kingdom of Great Britain, that this king did not die, but was changed by magic art into a raven, and that in process of time he is to return to reign and recover his kingdom and sceptre; for which reason it cannot be proved that from that time to this any Englishman ever killed a raven? Well, then, in the time of this good king that famous order of chivalry of the Knights of the Round Table was instituted, and the amour of Don Lancelot of the Lake with the Queen Guinevere occurred, precisely as is there related, the go-between and confidante therein being the highly honourable dame Quintanona, whence came that ballad so well known and widely spread in our Spain —
O never surely was there knight
So served by hand of dame,
As served was he Sir Lancelot hight
When he from Britain came —
with all the sweet and delectable course of his achievements in love and war. Handed down from that time, then, this order of chivalry went on extending and spreading itself over many and various parts of the world; and in it, famous and renowned for their deeds, were the mighty Amadis of Gaul with all his sons and descendants to the fifth generation, and the valiant Felixmarte of Hircania, and the never sufficiently praised Tirante el Blanco, and in our own days almost we have seen and heard and talked with the invincible knight Don Belianis of Greece. This, then, sirs, is to be a knight-errant, and what I have spoken of is the order of his chivalry, of which, as I have already said, I, though a sinner, have made profession, and what the aforesaid knights professed that same do I profess, and so I go through these solitudes and wilds seeking adventures, resolved in soul to oppose my arm and person to the most perilous that fortune may offer me in aid of the weak and needy.”
By these words of his the travellers were able to satisfy themselves of Don Quixote’s being out of his senses and of the form of madness that overmastered him, at which they felt the same astonishment that all felt on first becoming acquainted with it; and Vivaldo, who was a person of great shrewdness and of a lively temperament, in order to beguile the short journey which they said was required to reach the mountain, the scene of the burial, sought to give him an opportunity of going on with his absurdities. So he said to him, “It seems to me, Senor Knight-errant, that your worship has made choice of one of the most austere professions in the world, and I imagine even that of the Carthusian monks is not so austere.”
“As austere it may perhaps be,” replied our Don Quixote, “but so necessary for the world I am very much inclined to doubt. For, if the truth is to be told, the soldier who executes what his captain orders does no less than the captain himself who gives the order. My meaning, is, that churchmen in peace and quiet pray to Heaven for the welfare of the world, but we soldiers and knights carry into effect what they pray for, defending it with the might of our arms and the edge of our swords, not under shelter but in the open air, a target for the intolerable rays of the sun in summer and the piercing frosts of winter. Thus are we God’s ministers on earth and the arms by which his justice is done therein. And as the business of war and all that relates and belongs to it cannot be conducted without exceeding great sweat, toil, and exertion, it follows that those who make it their profession have undoubtedly more labour than those who in tranquil peace and quiet are engaged in praying to God to help the weak. I do not mean to say, nor does it enter into my thoughts, that the knight-errant’s calling is as good as that of the monk in his cell; I would merely infer from what I endure myself that it is beyond a doubt a more laborious and a more belaboured one, a hungrier and thirstier, a wretcheder, raggeder, and lousier; for there is no reason to doubt that the knights-errant of yore endured much hardship in the course of their lives. And if some of them by the might of their arms did rise to be emperors, in faith it cost them dear in the matter of blood and sweat; and if those who attained to that rank had not had magicians and sages to help them they would have been completely baulked in their ambition and disappointed in their hopes.”
“That is my own opinion,” replied the traveller; “but one thing among many others seems to me very wrong in knights-errant, and that is that when they find themselves about to engage in some mighty and perilous adventure in which there is manifest danger of losing their lives, they never at the moment of engaging in it think of commending themselves to God, as is the duty of every good Christian in like peril; instead of which they commend themselves to their ladies with as much devotion as if these were their gods, a thing which seems to me to savour somewhat of heathenism.”
“Sir,” answered Don Quixote, “that cannot be on any account omitted, and the knight-errant would be disgraced who acted otherwise: for it is usual and customary in knight-errantry that the knight-errant, who on engaging in any great feat of arms has his lady before him, should turn his eyes towards her softly and lovingly, as though with them entreating her to favour and protect him in the hazardous venture he is about to undertake, and even though no one hear him, he is bound to say certain words between his teeth, commending himself to her with all his heart, and of this we have innumerable instances in the histories. Nor is it to be supposed from this that they are to omit commending themselves to God, for there will be time and opportunity for doing so while they are engaged in their task.”
“For all that,” answered the traveller, “I feel some doubt still, because often I have read how words will arise between two knights-errant, and from one thing to another it comes about that their anger kindles and they wheel their horses round and take a good stretch of field, and then without any more ado at the top of their speed they come to the charge, and in mid-career they are wont to commend themselves to their ladies; and what commonly comes of the encounter is that one falls over the haunches of his horse pierced through and through by his antagonist’s lance, and as for the other, it is only by holding on to the mane of his horse that he can help falling to the ground; but I know not how the dead man had time to commend himself to God in the course of such rapid work as this; it would have been better if those words which he spent in commending himself to his lady in the midst of his career had been devoted to his duty and obligation as a Christian. Moreover, it is my belief that all knights-errant have not ladies to commend themselves to, for they are not all in love.”
“That is impossible,” said Don Quixote: “I say it is impossible that there could be a knight-errant without a lady, because to such it is as natural and proper to be in love as to the heavens to have stars: most certainly no history has been seen in which there is to be found a knight-errant without an amour, and for the simple reason that without one he would be held no legitimate knight but a bastard, and one who had gained entrance into the stronghold of the said knighthood, not by the door, but over the wall like a thief and a robber.”
“Nevertheless,” said the traveller, “if I remember rightly, I think I have read that Don Galaor, the brother of the valiant Amadis of Gaul, never had any special lady to whom he might commend himself, and yet he was not the less esteemed, and was a very stout and famous knight.”
To which our Don Quixote made answer, “Sir, one solitary swallow does not make summer; moreover, I know that knight was in secret very deeply in love; besides which, that way of falling in love with all that took his fancy was a natural propensity which he could not control. But, in short, it is very manifest that he had one alone whom he made mistress of his will, to whom he commended himself very frequently and very secretly, for he prided himself on being a reticent knight.”
“Then if it be essential that every knight-errant should be in love,” said the traveller, “it may be fairly supposed that your worship is so, as you are of the order; and if you do not pride yourself on being as reticent as Don Galaor, I entreat you as earnestly as I can, in the name of all this company and in my own, to inform us of the name, country, rank, and beauty of your lady, for she will esteem herself fortunate if all the world knows that she is loved and served by such a knight as your worship seems to be.”
At this Don Quixote heaved a deep sigh and said, “I cannot say positively whether my sweet enemy is pleased or not that the world should know I serve her; I can only say in answer to what has been so courteously asked of me, that her name is Dulcinea, her country El Toboso, a village of La Mancha, her rank must be at least that of a princess, since she is my queen and lady, and her beauty superhuman, since all the impossible and fanciful attributes of beauty which the poets apply to their ladies are verified in her; for her hairs are gold, her forehead Elysian fields, her eyebrows rainbows, her eyes suns, her cheeks roses, her lips coral, her teeth pearls, her neck alabaster, her bosom marble, her hands ivory, her fairness snow, and what modesty conceals from sight such, I think and imagine, as rational reflection can only extol, not compare.”
“We should like to know her lineage, race, and ancestry,” said Vivaldo.
To which Don Quixote replied, “She is not of the ancient Roman Curtii, Caii, or Scipios, nor of the modern Colonnas or Orsini, nor of the Moncadas or Requesenes of Catalonia, nor yet of the Rebellas or Villanovas of Valencia; Palafoxes, Nuzas, Rocabertis, Corellas, Lunas, Alagones, Urreas, Foces, or Gurreas of Aragon; Cerdas, Manriques, Mendozas, or Guzmans of Castile; Alencastros, Pallas, or Meneses of Portugal; but she is of those of El Toboso of La Mancha, a lineage that though modern, may furnish a source of gentle blood for the most illustrious families of the ages that are to come, and this let none dispute with me save on the condition that Zerbino placed at the foot of the trophy of Orlando’s arms, saying,
‘These let none move Who dareth not his might with Roland prove.’”
“Although mine is of the Cachopins of Laredo,” said the traveller, “I will not venture to compare it with that of El Toboso of La Mancha, though, to tell the truth, no such surname has until now ever reached my ears.”
“What!” said Don Quixote, “has that never reached them?”
The rest of the party went along listening with great attention to the conversation of the pair, and even the very goatherds and shepherds perceived how exceedingly out of his wits our Don Quixote was. Sancho Panza alone thought that what his master said was the truth, knowing who he was and having known him from his birth; and all that he felt any difficulty in believing was that about the fair Dulcinea del Toboso, because neither any such name nor any such princess had ever come to his knowledge though he lived so close to El Toboso. They were going along conversing in this way, when they saw descending a gap between two high mountains some twenty shepherds, all clad in sheepskins of black wool, and crowned with garlands which, as afterwards appeared, were, some of them of yew, some of cypress. Six of the number were carrying a bier covered with a great variety of flowers and branches, on seeing which one of the goatherds said, “Those who come there are the bearers of Chrysostom’s body, and the foot of that mountain is the place where he ordered them to bury him.” They therefore made haste to reach the spot, and did so by the time those who came had laid the bier upon the ground, and four of them with sharp pickaxes were digging a grave by the side of a hard rock. They greeted each other courteously, and then Don Quixote and those who accompanied him turned to examine the bier, and on it, covered with flowers, they saw a dead body in the dress of a shepherd, to all appearance of one thirty years of age, and showing even in death that in life he had been of comely features and gallant bearing. Around him on the bier itself were laid some books, and several papers open and folded; and those who were looking on as well as those who were opening the grave and all the others who were there preserved a strange silence, until one of those who had borne the body said to another, “Observe carefully, Ambrosia if this is the place Chrysostom spoke of, since you are anxious that what he directed in his will should be so strictly complied with.”
“This is the place,” answered Ambrosia “for in it many a time did my poor friend tell me the story of his hard fortune. Here it was, he told me, that he saw for the first time that mortal enemy of the human race, and here, too, for the first time he declared to her his passion, as honourable as it was devoted, and here it was that at last Marcela ended by scorning and rejecting him so as to bring the tragedy of his wretched life to a close; here, in memory of misfortunes so great, he desired to be laid in the bowels of eternal oblivion.” Then turning to Don Quixote and the travellers he went on to say, “That body, sirs, on which you are looking with compassionate eyes, was the abode of a soul on which Heaven bestowed a vast share of its riches. That is the body of Chrysostom, who was unrivalled in wit, unequalled in courtesy, unapproached in gentle bearing, a phoenix in friendship, generous without limit, grave without arrogance, gay without vulgarity, and, in short, first in all that constitutes goodness and second to none in all that makes up misfortune. He loved deeply, he was hated; he adored, he was scorned; he wooed a wild beast, he pleaded with marble, he pursued the wind, he cried to the wilderness, he served ingratitude, and for reward was made the prey of death in the mid-course of life, cut short by a shepherdess whom he sought to immortalise in the memory of man, as these papers which you see could fully prove, had he not commanded me to consign them to the fire after having consigned his body to the earth.”
“You would deal with them more harshly and cruelly than their owner himself,” said Vivaldo, “for it is neither right nor proper to do the will of one who enjoins what is wholly unreasonable; it would not have been reasonable in Augustus Caesar had he permitted the directions left by the divine Mantuan in his will to be carried into effect. So that, Senor Ambrosia while you consign your friend’s body to the earth, you should not consign his writings to oblivion, for if he gave the order in bitterness of heart, it is not right that you should irrationally obey it. On the contrary, by granting life to those papers, let the cruelty of Marcela live for ever, to serve as a warning in ages to come to all men to shun and avoid falling into like danger; or I and all of us who have come here know already the story of this your love-stricken and heart-broken friend, and we know, too, your friendship, and the cause of his death, and the directions he gave at the close of his life; from which sad story may be gathered how great was the cruelty of Marcela, the love of Chrysostom, and the loyalty of your friendship, together with the end awaiting those who pursue rashly the path that insane passion opens to their eyes. Last night we learned the death of Chrysostom and that he was to be buried here, and out of curiosity and pity we left our direct road and resolved to come and see with our eyes that which when heard of had so moved our compassion, and in consideration of that compassion and our desire to prove it if we might by condolence, we beg of you, excellent Ambrosia, or at least I on my own account entreat you, that instead of burning those papers you allow me to carry away some of them.”
And without waiting for the shepherd’s answer, he stretched out his hand and took up some of those that were nearest to him; seeing which Ambrosio said, “Out of courtesy, senor, I will grant your request as to those you have taken, but it is idle to expect me to abstain from burning the remainder.”
Vivaldo, who was eager to see what the papers contained, opened one of them at once, and saw that its title was “Lay of Despair.”
Ambrosio hearing it said, “That is the last paper the unhappy man wrote; and that you may see, senor, to what an end his misfortunes brought him, read it so that you may be heard, for you will have time enough for that while we are waiting for the grave to be dug.”
“I will do so very willingly,” said Vivaldo; and as all the bystanders were equally eager they gathered round him, and he, reading in a loud voice, found that it ran as follows.
 
曙光刚刚从东方露头，五六个牧羊人便起了床。他们又叫醒了唐吉诃德，问他是否准备去看克里索斯托莫的隆重葬礼，如果去，他们陪他一起去。唐吉诃德也没有别的事，便起来叫桑乔马上套马备鞍。桑乔麻利地备好马，大家一起上了路。走了不远，穿过一条小路时，他们看到迎面来了六个牧羊人，都穿着黑皮袄，头上戴着用柏枝和苦夹竹桃枝扎成的冠，手里还拿着一根冬青木棍。同他们一起还有两个骑马的英俊男子，行装齐备，旁边是三个徒步的仆人。碰到一起时，大家都彬彬有礼地相互问候，一打听才知道都是去参加葬礼的。于是大家一起赶路。这时，一个骑马的人对他的伙伴说：
“比瓦尔多大人，咱们宁可晚点走，也要去看看这场隆重的葬礼，我觉得这样做得很对。按照这些牧人的讲法，无论那个死去的牧人还是那个害死人的牧羊姑娘，都是新鲜事。这番葬礼一定很引人注目。”
“我也这样认为，”比瓦尔多说，“我觉得别说是晚走一天，就是晚走四天，也应该去看看。”
唐吉诃德问他们听说了什么有关马塞拉和克里索斯托莫的情况。一个人说，那天早晨，他们遇到了这几个牧人，看到牧人们穿着丧服，就问其缘由。有个牧人告诉他们，一个叫马塞拉的牧羊姑娘如何漂亮，很多人对她爱慕倾倒，还有克里索斯托莫之死，几个牧人就是去参加他的葬礼等等。总之，把佩德罗对唐吉德讲的事情又叙述了一遍。
此事谈完又转了话题。那个叫比瓦尔多的人问唐吉诃德，在这块如此和平的土地上行走为何这般装束。唐吉诃德答道：
“我从事的职业不允许我有其他装束。安逸、享受和休养是为那些怯懦的朝臣们准备的，而辛劳、忧虑和武器则是为世界上那些被称为游侠骑士的人创造的。我就是个游侠骑士，虽然很惭愧，我只是个微不足道的游侠骑士。”
一听这话，大家就知道他精神不正常。为了看看他到底不正常到什么程度，比瓦尔多又问他，游侠骑士是什么意思。
“诸位没有读过英国的编年史和历史吗？”唐吉诃德说，“里面谈到了亚瑟王，我们罗马语系西班牙语称之为亚图斯国王的著名业绩。人们广泛传说，英国那个国王并没有死，而是被魔法变成了一只乌鸦。随着时间的推移，他还会恢复他的王国和王位，重新统治他的王国。从那时起到现在，没有一个英国人打死过一只乌鸦，这难道还不能证明这一点吗？在这位优秀国王当政时期，建立了著名的圆桌骑士党，而且也确实发生了兰萨罗特•德尔拉戈同西内夫拉女王的恋情。那是由很正派的女管家金塔尼奥娜牵线联系的，由此产生了那桩世人皆知的罗曼史，而且在我们西班牙广为传唱：
自古从无骑士，
幸如兰萨罗特。
只身来自英国，
却得佳丽眷顾。
歌谣把他们的坚定爱情叙述得娓娓动听。就从那时开始，骑士道开始逐步发展起来，一直扩展到世界各地。其中有以其英勇行为著称的高卢的阿马迪斯以及他的子子孙孙，直到第五代；有伊卡尔尼亚的猛将费利克斯马尔特；应该得到最高赞誉的白骑士蒂兰特，还有希腊的骑士、天下无敌的贝利亚尼斯，似乎现在我们还可以看到他，听到他说话，与他沟通。诸位大人，这就是游侠骑士，而我说的就是侠游骑士道。就像我说过的那样，我虽然也是罪人，可我从事的就是我刚才说的那些骑士所从事的职业。因此，我才来到这人烟稀少的偏远地区征险，以高昂的热情将我的臂膀和我本人投入到命运交给我的这个危险事业中，扶弱济贫。”
听了这番话，那几个旅客终于明白了，唐吉诃德已经精神失常，是个疯子，不由得感到一阵惊讶，就像其他人每次遇到疯子时一样。那个比瓦尔多生性机敏，又很活跃，听说离山上的安葬地点还有一段路，为了解闷，便想让唐吉诃德继续胡言乱语，于是他说：
“游侠骑士大人，我觉得您从事了世界上最孤寂的职业。
依我看，即使卡尔特苦修会的僧侣也不会这么孤寂。”
“很可能一样孤寂，”唐吉诃德说，“不过，它却是世界上不可缺少的职业，我对此深信不疑。说实话，士兵执行的不过是长官发布给他的命令。我是说，僧侣们与世无争，只求老天保佑人世太平。可我们战士和骑士是在实现他们向老天祈求的事情，用我们的臂膀的力量和刀剑的锋刃去保护它，不过不是在室内，而是在野外，迎着夏天难以忍受的烈日和冬天的冰霜。我们是上帝在人间的使者，是他在人间主持正义的助手。
“凡是战斗和与战斗有关的事情，都必须付出汗水、苦力和劳动才能实现。所以从事这个职业的人必然要比那些平平安安祈求上帝扶弱济贫的人要付出更多的气力。我并不是说，也从未想过，要求游侠骑士的生活条件同那些隐居的宗教信徒们一样好。我只是想说，根据我遭受的经历，游侠骑士必然更勤劳、更辛苦，常常忍饥受渴，衣衫褴褛，蓬头垢面。毫无疑问，游侠骑士一生要经历许多艰难险阻。如果有的人靠自己臂膀的力量当上了皇帝，那么他也一定付出了不少血汗。不过，即使他们爬到了那么高的地位，如果没有魔法师和贤人帮助，他们也会壮志难酬，希望落空。”
“我也这么认为，”那旅客说，“不过我认为游侠骑士有一点很不好，那就是每当从事一项巨大的冒险行动，很有可能失去性命的时候，他们从不想起祈求上帝保佑，而是祈求他们的夫人保佑，而且十分虔诚，仿佛她们就是上帝。我觉得这有点像异教的做法。”
“大人，”唐吉诃德说，“这也是不得已的事情，否则游侠骑士的情况就更糟了。这在游侠骑士道已经成了惯例，就是每当游侠骑士准备进行大的战斗时，都要有夫人在前，让她眼睛朝后，目光柔情似水，仿佛恳求她在可能的关键时刻保佑自己。即使没有人听见，嘴里也必须嘟哝几句话，请求她真心实意地保护自己。这种例子在历史上举不胜举。不要因此就以为他们不祈求上帝保佑了。在战斗中只要有时间，有地方，他们也会祈求上帝保佑的。”
“即使这样，”那旅客说，“我还是有一点不明白，那就是有很多次我从书上读到，两个游侠骑士没说几句话就动了火，各自掉转马头，奔跑一阵，然后什么也不说，掉过头来往回冲，边跑边祈求他们的夫人保佑，结果碰到一起后，一个被对方扎了个穿心透，掉下马去；另一个要不是抓住了马鬃，也得掉下马来。我不知道，那个死去的骑士在这么短暂的战斗里怎么可能有时间祈求上帝保佑。倒不如把在奔跑中祈求夫人保佑的那些话用于基督徒应尽的本分呢。而且我觉得，也不见得所有游侠骑士都有夫人呀，并不是所有人都谈恋爱嘛。”
“这不可能，”唐吉诃德说，“我说骑士不可能没有夫人，因为他们恋爱是很自然的事情，就像天上有星星一样。历史上还从来没有出现过没有爱情生活的骑士呢。如果骑士没有爱情生活，那么他一定是个杂牌货。他进入游侠骑士的城堡时，就不是从大门进去，而是从墙头进去，像个盗贼似的。”
“尽管如此，”旅客说，“我觉得，如果我没有记错的话，我曾经在书里读到过，高卢的英勇的阿马迪斯的兄弟加劳尔从来都不向某个夫人祈求保佑，而且也并没有因此受到歧视。
他是位有名的勇武骑士。”
唐吉诃德答道：
“大人，‘一只燕子不算夏’。而且据我所知，这位骑士私下是很多情的，并且喜爱所有他觉得漂亮的女人。这也是人之常情，谁都管不了。不过一句话，很清楚，他的意中人只有一个，而且他经常极其秘密地祈求她保佑，因为他自诩是个秘密骑士。”
“如果所有游侠骑士真的都得恋爱，”旅客说，“那么，您既然干这行，也肯定是如此了。如果您不像加劳尔那样自诩是秘密骑士，我以我们这一行人以及我个人的名义恳求您，把您夫人的名字、祖籍、身份及美貌告诉我们吧。她一定会为大家都知道她受到一位像您这样的骑士尊宠而感到荣幸。”
唐吉诃德深深叹了口气，说：
“我还不能肯定我那位可爱的冤家是否愿意让别人知道我尊宠她。既然你如此谦恭地问我，我只能说她的名字叫杜尔西内亚，祖籍托博索，那是曼查的一个地方。她的身份至少是一位公主，她是我的女王、女主人。她美貌超群，所有诗人赞美他们的意中人的种种难以想象的美貌特征，都在她身上体现出来：头发是金色的，前额如极乐净土，眉如彩虹，眼似太阳，玫瑰色的面颊，珊瑚色的嘴唇，珍珠般的牙齿，雪白的脖颈，大理石色的胸脯，象牙色的双手，白皙若雪，至于那隐秘部分，依我看，只能赞叹，不可比喻。”
“我们还想知道她的门第、血统和家世。”比瓦尔多说。唐吉诃德答道：“她既不属于古代罗马的库尔西奥、加约、埃西皮翁家族，也不属于现代罗马的科洛纳、乌西诺家族，更别提巴伦西亚的雷韦利亚、比利亚诺瓦家族了；她不是阿拉贡的乌雷亚、福塞斯、古雷亚家族，也不是葡萄牙的阿伦卡斯特罗、帕拉斯、梅内塞斯家族；她属于曼查的托博索家族，虽然门第有点新，但说不定会在未来几个世纪里发家，成为豪门望族。如果不具备塞维诺从前为奥兰多兵器战利品写的那个条件，就不要对此持异议吧。他写的那个条件就是：
不敌奥兰多，
莫动此处兵戈。”
“虽然我出自拉雷多的卡乔平家族，”旅客说，“不敢同曼查的托博索家族相提并论，可是说老实话，这个姓氏我至今还从未听说过呢。”
“怎么会没有听说过呢！”唐吉诃德说。
其他人边走边仔细听这两个人的对话，就连牧羊人也听得出来，唐吉诃德已经深中疯魔。只有桑乔•潘萨认为唐吉诃德说的都是实情，因为他知道唐吉诃德是谁，而且生来就认识唐吉诃德。他有点怀疑的是那位美丽的杜尔西内亚。虽然他就住在托博索附近，却从未听说过这个名字和这位公主。
他们正说着话，就看到两座高山之间的山谷里下来了大约二十个牧人，个个穿着黑羊皮袄，头上戴着花环，后来才看清有的是用紫杉枝做的，有的是用柏树枝做的。其中六个人抬着一个棺材，上面盖满了花环和树枝。一个牧羊人看到了，说：
“来的那几个人抬的是克里索斯托莫的遗体，那个山脚就是克里索斯托莫吩咐埋葬他的地方。”
他们立刻跑过去，正好看到那几个人把棺材放到地上，其中四个人拿着尖嘴镐，正在一块坚石旁挖坑。
彼此问候之后，唐吉诃德以及和他一起来的几个人就去看那个棺材。棺材里一具尸体身着牧人服，上面盖满了鲜花。死者约三十岁。人虽然死了，却仍能看出，他活着的时候，面孔很漂亮，身体也很匀称。在棺材里，尸体周围摆着几本书，有的打开，有的合着，还有很多手稿。旁观的人、挖坟的人以及所有其他人都沉默不语。后来，才有一个抬棺材来的人对另一个人说：
“安布罗西奥，你既然要完全按照克里索斯托莫的遗嘱办，那么你看看，这是不是他指定的那个地方？”
“是的，”安布罗西奥回答，“我那不幸的朋友曾几次在这儿向我讲述他的伤心史。他说就是在这儿第一次向她倾诉衷肠，最后一次也是在这儿，马塞拉拒绝了他，并且蔑视他。因此，他才悲惨地结束了自己可怜的生命。在这里，为了纪念如此多的不幸，他希望人们把他安置在永久的忘却中。”
他又转向唐吉诃德和几位旅客说：
“各位大人，在你们用怜悯的目光注视的这个身体里，寄寓过一个上苍曾赋予无限天赋的灵魂。这是克里索斯托莫的身体。他聪颖过人，温文尔雅，慷慨大度，友遍四方，尊贵无上；他深沉而不狂妄，随和而不卑贱，总之，他的优秀品德堪称世界第一，而他的不幸也举世无双。他想爱，却受到厌弃；他崇拜，却遭到睥睨；他向母兽恳求，他与顽石缠绵，他逐风奔跑，他在孤独中咆哮，他向负心人传情，换来的却是生命中途的一具尸体。一个牧羊姑娘结束了他的生命，而他曾想让那牧羊姑娘在人们的记忆中永存。你们看到的这些手稿完全可以证明这一切。他曾嘱咐我，埋葬了他的尸体之后，就把这些手稿付之一炬。”
“你若是如此对待这些手稿，”比瓦尔多说，“那就比手稿的主人对待它们的做法还冷酷。如果死者对你的吩咐超出了人之常情，就不应该按照他的吩咐办。奥古斯都大帝如果同意执行曼图亚诗圣①的遗嘱，那就不对了。所以，安布罗西奥大人，他是伤心至极才如此吩咐的。你既然把你的朋友安葬在此，不愿意让他的手稿被人遗忘，那就最好不要草率地照办。你还是把这些手稿保留起来，让人们永远记得马塞拉的冷酷吧，把它作为例证，避免活着的人们今后重蹈覆辙。我和在场的诸位已经了解了你这位痴情而又绝望的朋友的故事，了解了你们的友谊、他的死因以及他结束自己生命时留下的遗嘱。从这个可悲的故事里，可以了解到马塞拉的残酷、克里索斯托莫的痴心、你们之间友谊的真诚以及在爱情的迷途上执迷不悟的人的结局。昨天晚上，我们听说了克里索斯托莫之死，还有要在这个地方安葬他的消息。出于好奇和怜悯，我们商定绕路到此观看这件让我们惋惜的事情。
①曼图亚诗圣指维吉尔，因为他是曼图亚人。他曾遗命把史诗《埃涅阿斯纪》烧毁，古罗马皇帝奥古斯都没有照办。
“出于我们要对这一悲剧尽力作出补偿的愿望，我们请求你，至少我以个人的名义恳求你，精明的安布罗西奥，不要烧掉这些手稿，让我带走一部分吧。”
不等安布罗西奥同意，他就顺手拿起了一些手稿。安布罗西奥见此说道：
“出于礼貌，我同意您留下您拿到的那些手稿，可是剩下的那些，您别想不让我烧掉。”
比瓦尔多急于看手稿里说了什么，就翻开一页，看到上面的标题是《绝望的歌》。
安布罗西奥听到这个标题后说：
“这是那个不幸者写下的最后一份手稿，大人，你从上面可以看到，他的悲伤达到了什么程度。请你念一下吧，让大家都听听。坟墓还没有挖好，你有充分的时间。”
“我很愿意念。”比瓦尔多说。
其他在场的人也想听，就围成了一圈。比瓦尔多字句清楚地朗读起来。
Part 1 Chapter 14
The Lay of Chrysostom
Since thou dost in thy cruelty desire
The ruthless rigour of thy tyranny
From tongue to tongue, from land to land proclaimed,
The very Hell will I constrain to lend
This stricken breast of mine deep notes of woe
To serve my need of fitting utterance.
And as I strive to body forth the tale
Of all I suffer, all that thou hast done,
Forth shall the dread voice roll, and bear along
Shreds from my vitals torn for greater pain.
Then listen, not to dulcet harmony,
But to a discord wrung by mad despair
Out of this bosom’s depths of bitterness,
To ease my heart and plant a sting in thine.
The lion’s roar, the fierce wolf’s savage howl,
The horrid hissing of the scaly snake,
The awesome cries of monsters yet unnamed,
The crow’s ill-boding croak, the hollow moan
Of wild winds wrestling with the restless sea,
The wrathful bellow of the vanquished bull,
The plaintive sobbing of the widowed dove,
The envied owl’s sad note, the wail of woe
That rises from the dreary choir of Hell,
Commingled in one sound, confusing sense,
Let all these come to aid my soul’s complaint,
For pain like mine demands new modes of song.
No echoes of that discord shall be heard
Where Father Tagus rolls, or on the banks
Of olive-bordered Betis; to the rocks
Or in deep caverns shall my plaint be told,
And by a lifeless tongue in living words;
Or in dark valleys or on lonely shores,
Where neither foot of man nor sunbeam falls;
Or in among the poison-breathing swarms
Of monsters nourished by the sluggish Nile.
For, though it be to solitudes remote
The hoarse vague echoes of my sorrows sound
Thy matchless cruelty, my dismal fate
Shall carry them to all the spacious world.
Disdain hath power to kill, and patience dies
Slain by suspicion, be it false or true;
And deadly is the force of jealousy;
Long absence makes of life a dreary void;
No hope of happiness can give repose
To him that ever fears to be forgot;
And death, inevitable, waits in hall.
But I, by some strange miracle, live on
A prey to absence, jealousy, disdain;
Racked by suspicion as by certainty;
Forgotten, left to feed my flame alone.
And while I suffer thus, there comes no ray
Of hope to gladden me athwart the gloom;
Nor do I look for it in my despair;
But rather clinging to a cureless woe,
All hope do I abjure for evermore.
Can there be hope where fear is? Were it well,
When far more certain are the grounds of fear?
Ought I to shut mine eyes to jealousy,
If through a thousand heart-wounds it appears?
Who would not give free access to distrust,
Seeing disdain unveiled, and — bitter change! —
All his suspicions turned to certainties,
And the fair truth transformed into a lie?
Oh, thou fierce tyrant of the realms of love,
Oh, Jealousy! put chains upon these hands,
And bind me with thy strongest cord, Disdain.
But, woe is me! triumphant over all,
My sufferings drown the memory of you.
And now I die, and since there is no hope
Of happiness for me in life or death,
Still to my fantasy I’ll fondly cling.
I’ll say that he is wise who loveth well,
And that the soul most free is that most bound
In thraldom to the ancient tyrant Love.
I’ll say that she who is mine enemy
In that fair body hath as fair a mind,
And that her coldness is but my desert,
And that by virtue of the pain be sends
Love rules his kingdom with a gentle sway.
Thus, self-deluding, and in bondage sore,
And wearing out the wretched shred of life
To which I am reduced by her disdain,
I’ll give this soul and body to the winds,
All hopeless of a crown of bliss in store.
Thou whose injustice hath supplied the cause
That makes me quit the weary life I loathe,
As by this wounded bosom thou canst see
How willingly thy victim I become,
Let not my death, if haply worth a tear,
Cloud the clear heaven that dwells in thy bright eyes;
I would not have thee expiate in aught
The crime of having made my heart thy prey;
But rather let thy laughter gaily ring
And prove my death to be thy festival.
Fool that I am to bid thee! well I know
Thy glory gains by my untimely end.
And now it is the time; from Hell’s abyss
Come thirsting Tantalus, come Sisyphus
Heaving the cruel stone, come Tityus
With vulture, and with wheel Ixion come,
And come the sisters of the ceaseless toil;
And all into this breast transfer their pains,
And (if such tribute to despair be due)
Chant in their deepest tones a doleful dirge
Over a corse unworthy of a shroud.
Let the three-headed guardian of the gate,
And all the monstrous progeny of hell,
The doleful concert join: a lover dead
Methinks can have no fitter obsequies.
Lay of despair, grieve not when thou art gone
Forth from this sorrowing heart: my misery
Brings fortune to the cause that gave thee birth;
Then banish sadness even in the tomb.
The “Lay of Chrysostom” met with the approbation of the listeners, though the reader said it did not seem to him to agree with what he had heard of Marcela’s reserve and propriety, for Chrysostom complained in it of jealousy, suspicion, and absence, all to the prejudice of the good name and fame of Marcela; to which Ambrosio replied as one who knew well his friend’s most secret thoughts, “Senor, to remove that doubt I should tell you that when the unhappy man wrote this lay he was away from Marcela, from whom be had voluntarily separated himself, to try if absence would act with him as it is wont; and as everything distresses and every fear haunts the banished lover, so imaginary jealousies and suspicions, dreaded as if they were true, tormented Chrysostom; and thus the truth of what report declares of the virtue of Marcela remains unshaken, and with her envy itself should not and cannot find any fault save that of being cruel, somewhat haughty, and very scornful.”
“That is true,” said Vivaldo; and as he was about to read another paper of those he had preserved from the fire, he was stopped by a marvellous vision (for such it seemed) that unexpectedly presented itself to their eyes; for on the summit of the rock where they were digging the grave there appeared the shepherdess Marcela, so beautiful that her beauty exceeded its reputation. Those who had never till then beheld her gazed upon her in wonder and silence, and those who were accustomed to see her were not less amazed than those who had never seen her before. But the instant Ambrosio saw her he addressed her, with manifest indignation:
“Art thou come, by chance, cruel basilisk of these mountains, to see if in thy presence blood will flow from the wounds of this wretched being thy cruelty has robbed of life; or is it to exult over the cruel work of thy humours that thou art come; or like another pitiless Nero to look down from that height upon the ruin of his Rome in embers; or in thy arrogance to trample on this ill-fated corpse, as the ungrateful daughter trampled on her father Tarquin’s ? Tell us quickly for what thou art come, or what it is thou wouldst have, for, as I know the thoughts of Chrysostom never failed to obey thee in life, I will make all these who call themselves his friends obey thee, though he be dead.”
“I come not, Ambrosia for any of the purposes thou hast named,” replied Marcela, “but to defend myself and to prove how unreasonable are all those who blame me for their sorrow and for Chrysostom’s death; and therefore I ask all of you that are here to give me your attention, for will not take much time or many words to bring the truth home to persons of sense. Heaven has made me, so you say, beautiful, and so much so that in spite of yourselves my beauty leads you to love me; and for the love you show me you say, and even urge, that I am bound to love you. By that natural understanding which God has given me I know that everything beautiful attracts love, but I cannot see how, by reason of being loved, that which is loved for its beauty is bound to love that which loves it; besides, it may happen that the lover of that which is beautiful may be ugly, and ugliness being detestable, it is very absurd to say, “I love thee because thou art beautiful, thou must love me though I be ugly.” But supposing the beauty equal on both sides, it does not follow that the inclinations must be therefore alike, for it is not every beauty that excites love, some but pleasing the eye without winning the affection; and if every sort of beauty excited love and won the heart, the will would wander vaguely to and fro unable to make choice of any; for as there is an infinity of beautiful objects there must be an infinity of inclinations, and true love, I have heard it said, is indivisible, and must be voluntary and not compelled. If this be so, as I believe it to be, why do you desire me to bend my will by force, for no other reason but that you say you love me? Nay — tell me — had Heaven made me ugly, as it has made me beautiful, could I with justice complain of you for not loving me? Moreover, you must remember that the beauty I possess was no choice of mine, for, be it what it may, Heaven of its bounty gave it me without my asking or choosing it; and as the viper, though it kills with it, does not deserve to be blamed for the poison it carries, as it is a gift of nature, neither do I deserve reproach for being beautiful; for beauty in a modest woman is like fire at a distance or a sharp sword; the one does not burn, the other does not cut, those who do not come too near. Honour and virtue are the ornaments of the mind, without which the body, though it be so, has no right to pass for beautiful; but if modesty is one of the virtues that specially lend a grace and charm to mind and body, why should she who is loved for her beauty part with it to gratify one who for his pleasure alone strives with all his might and energy to rob her of it? I was born free, and that I might live in freedom I chose the solitude of the fields; in the trees of the mountains I find society, the clear waters of the brooks are my mirrors, and to the trees and waters I make known my thoughts and charms. I am a fire afar off, a sword laid aside. Those whom I have inspired with love by letting them see me, I have by words undeceived, and if their longings live on hope — and I have given none to Chrysostom or to any other — it cannot justly be said that the death of any is my doing, for it was rather his own obstinacy than my cruelty that killed him; and if it be made a charge against me that his wishes were honourable, and that therefore I was bound to yield to them, I answer that when on this very spot where now his grave is made he declared to me his purity of purpose, I told him that mine was to live in perpetual solitude, and that the earth alone should enjoy the fruits of my retirement and the spoils of my beauty; and if, after this open avowal, he chose to persist against hope and steer against the wind, what wonder is it that he should sink in the depths of his infatuation? If I had encouraged him, I should be false; if I had gratified him, I should have acted against my own better resolution and purpose. He was persistent in spite of warning, he despaired without being hated. Bethink you now if it be reasonable that his suffering should be laid to my charge. Let him who has been deceived complain, let him give way to despair whose encouraged hopes have proved vain, let him flatter himself whom I shall entice, let him boast whom I shall receive; but let not him call me cruel or homicide to whom I make no promise, upon whom I practise no deception, whom I neither entice nor receive. It has not been so far the will of Heaven that I should love by fate, and to expect me to love by choice is idle. Let this general declaration serve for each of my suitors on his own account, and let it be understood from this time forth that if anyone dies for me it is not of jealousy or misery he dies, for she who loves no one can give no cause for jealousy to any, and candour is not to be confounded with scorn. Let him who calls me wild beast and basilisk, leave me alone as something noxious and evil; let him who calls me ungrateful, withhold his service; who calls me wayward, seek not my acquaintance; who calls me cruel, pursue me not; for this wild beast, this basilisk, this ungrateful, cruel, wayward being has no kind of desire to seek, serve, know, or follow them. If Chrysostom’s impatience and violent passion killed him, why should my modest behaviour and circumspection be blamed? If I preserve my purity in the society of the trees, why should he who would have me preserve it among men, seek to rob me of it? I have, as you know, wealth of my own, and I covet not that of others; my taste is for freedom, and I have no relish for constraint; I neither love nor hate anyone; I do not deceive this one or court that, or trifle with one or play with another. The modest converse of the shepherd girls of these hamlets and the care of my goats are my recreations; my desires are bounded by these mountains, and if they ever wander hence it is to contemplate the beauty of the heavens, steps by which the soul travels to its primeval abode.”
With these words, and not waiting to hear a reply, she turned and passed into the thickest part of a wood that was hard by, leaving all who were there lost in admiration as much of her good sense as of her beauty. Some — those wounded by the irresistible shafts launched by her bright eyes — made as though they would follow her, heedless of the frank declaration they had heard; seeing which, and deeming this a fitting occasion for the exercise of his chivalry in aid of distressed damsels, Don Quixote, laying his hand on the hilt of his sword, exclaimed in a loud and distinct voice:
“Let no one, whatever his rank or condition, dare to follow the beautiful Marcela, under pain of incurring my fierce indignation. She has shown by clear and satisfactory arguments that little or no fault is to be found with her for the death of Chrysostom, and also how far she is from yielding to the wishes of any of her lovers, for which reason, instead of being followed and persecuted, she should in justice be honoured and esteemed by all the good people of the world, for she shows that she is the only woman in it that holds to such a virtuous resolution.”
Whether it was because of the threats of Don Quixote, or because Ambrosio told them to fulfil their duty to their good friend, none of the shepherds moved or stirred from the spot until, having finished the grave and burned Chrysostom’s papers, they laid his body in it, not without many tears from those who stood by. They closed the grave with a heavy stone until a slab was ready which Ambrosio said he meant to have prepared, with an epitaph which was to be to this effect:
Beneath the stone before your eyes
The body of a lover lies;
In life he was a shepherd swain,
In death a victim to disdain.
Ungrateful, cruel, coy, and fair,
Was she that drove him to despair,
And Love hath made her his ally
For spreading wide his tyranny.
They then strewed upon the grave a profusion of flowers and branches, and all expressing their condolence with his friend ambrosio, took their Vivaldo and his companion did the same; and Don Quixote bade farewell to his hosts and to the travellers, who pressed him to come with them to Seville, as being such a convenient place for finding adventures, for they presented themselves in every street and round every corner oftener than anywhere else. Don Quixote thanked them for their advice and for the disposition they showed to do him a favour, and said that for the present he would not, and must not go to Seville until he had cleared all these mountains of highwaymen and robbers, of whom report said they were full. Seeing his good intention, the travellers were unwilling to press him further, and once more bidding him farewell, they left him and pursued their journey, in the course of which they did not fail to discuss the story of Marcela and Chrysostom as well as the madness of Don Quixote. He, on his part, resolved to go in quest of the shepherdess Marcela, and make offer to her of all the service he could render her; but things did not fall out with him as he expected, according to what is related in the course of this veracious history, of which the Second Part ends here.
克里索斯托莫之歌
狠毒的你，既然愿意，
把你的冷酷
公诸于众，任人街谈巷议，
我只好让这地狱
传达我
抑郁心胸的悲歌，
它的声音已经扭曲。
我要全力诉说
我的苦痛和你的劣迹。
那声调一定骇人，
交织着
我饱受折磨的辛酸凄厉。
听吧，你仔细听，
不是和谐的旋律，
而是我
苦闷肺腑的声音，
是我的爱慕、你的负心
带来的谵语。
狮子咆哮豺狼嗥，
让人心悸，
披鳞毒蛇咝咝鸣，
何处怪物悚人啼，
乌鸦呱呱兆不吉，
海狂风更急。
斗败的公牛震天吼，
失伴的斑鸠凄惨兮，
遭妒的鸱鸮声声哀，
黑暗的地狱尽哭泣，
伴随痛苦之幽灵
汇成新曲调，
唱诉出
我的极度的悲戚。
塔霍之父竞技场，
著名的贝蒂斯橄榄园，
却听不到
这哭泣的回声。
我的极度悲伤
以僵硬的语言，
逼真的词句，
传播在
危岩深洞，
暗无天日的僻野，
渺无人烟的荒滩，
阳光从不光顾的地域，
或者那
利比亚平原的野兽群里。
我嘶哑的不幸声音
与你的冷酷绝情，
飘荡在
偏僻的荒野，
缅怀着我短促的生命，
飞向无垠的寰宇。
藐视荼毒生灵，
猜忌攘除平静，
欲火强烈害非浅，
长久分离扰生息。
恐惧被遗忘，
却遏制了
美好命运的希冀。
四方皆死亡，
而我，真是罕见的奇迹，
猜忌欲置我于死地，
我却依然活着，
热情、孤单、遭嫌弃而诚心意。
我的热情在忘恩负义中燃烧，
在这煎熬里
看不到希望的踪迹。
我不再无谓地追求，
宁愿极度沮丧，
永无叹息。
恐惧犹存希望？
希望造成恐惧？
纵使春情在前，
却看到
裸露的灵魂百孔千疮，
我是否应该
合上我的眼皮？
当人们面对蔑视，
猜疑痛苦变事实，
纯洁真言化谎语，
谁不开门迎狐疑？
在可怕的爱情王国里，
不可遏制的情欲呀，
请为我套上手铐，
让鄙夷给我套上
不公的绳索吧，
而你，
虽然冷酷得胜利，
却被我的痛苦
抹去了
对你的回忆。
我终将逝去，
无论生与死，我都
执著地憧憬，
从未企盼过运气。
我再说，
爱当真心爱，
投入真情，
灵魂才飘逸。
我要说，我的冤家啊，
你的灵魂一如形体美，
你负我心，
造成我不幸，
是我咎由自取。
你的桀骜
要让爱安谧。
你的鄙视导致我
带着如此痴迷，如此桎梏，
缩短我的生存期。
我让身心随风去，
安然遁迹悄无息。
你对我的无礼
使我厌弃生命。
你清楚地看到，
这颗倍受创伤的心灵，
心甘情愿地
忍受你的严厉。
如果你认为，
我为你而死引得
你美丽的明眸黯然，
我要说，
完全不必。
我把亡灵奉献给你，
你无须负疚。
你会在葬礼上
愉快地看到，
我的终结
是你的喜庆大吉。
你会得知，
我生命仓促结束之日，
正是你得意之期。
来吧，此其时矣，
焦渴难忍的坦塔洛斯①，
身负重石的西叙福斯②，
兀鹫在身的提梯俄斯③，
旋转不停的艾西翁④，
徒劳无息的同胞姐妹⑤，
皆从地狱走来，
向我致哀；
向这未装裹的遗体
低吟起伤感的挽歌。
三脸狱吏和成千的魑魅魍魉
参加了沉痛的殡殓。
这是对已故情人
最高的奠祭。
当你离我而去时，
绝望的歌啊，
不必再叹息。
既然
我的不幸
增加了你的欢娱，
在这坟茔，
你也不必凄迷。
①坦塔洛斯是希腊神话中宙斯的儿子，被罚入冥界后，关在一个湖中央。他低头想喝水时，水便退去，抬头想吃树上的果子时，树枝便抬高。西方语言中常用“坦塔洛斯的痛苦”来形容可望不可及而引起的痛苦。坦塔洛斯被打入地狱的原因据说是他向人间泄露了宙斯的决定。
②根据荷马的描写，西叙福斯是个自私、狡猾、罪恶多端的人，死后受到惩罚，要永不停息地向山上推石头。石头刚推上去便滚下来，他又得重新开始。
③提梯俄斯是希腊神话中盖亚之子（又说是宙斯和尼拉拉之子）。因为欲对阿波罗之母勒托非礼，被宙斯打入地狱。在地狱中，有两只鹰不停地啄食他的肝脏。
④艾西翁因亵渎宙斯之妻，被罚入地狱，缚在旋转不息的火轮上。
⑤在希腊神话中，达那俄斯被迫将自己的五十个女儿嫁给埃古普托斯的五十个儿子。他秘嘱女儿们在新婚之夜把新郎全部杀死，结果有四十九个女儿照办。传说她们后来在冥界受罚，永不停息地向无底桶内倒水。
大家听了克里索斯托莫之歌，都觉得不错，尽管念诗的人说，他觉得这与他听说的有关马塞拉的情况不符。他听说马塞拉正派善良，可克里索斯托莫却在诗里说什么情欲、猜疑、分离，这有损于马塞拉的良好声誉。安布罗西奥最了解朋友内心的思想，说：
“大人，我一讲你就会明白，这位不幸的人写这首诗的时候已经与马塞拉分手了。他是故意离开马塞拉的，想看看自己能不能忘掉她。这位失恋的人对所有事情都烦躁，都恐惧，所以杜撰出那些情欲、猜疑等等，而且都当真了。马塞拉的善良名声依然如故。她冷酷，有点傲慢，看不起人，不过这些都不会对她造成什么不良影响。”
“这倒是真的。”比瓦尔多说。
比瓦尔多正要从那些准备烧掉的手稿里再抽出一份来朗读，他眼前忽然出现了一个令他眼花缭乱的仙女，原来是牧羊姑娘马塞拉出现在墓旁那块石头的上方。她真漂亮，比传说的还漂亮。原来没见过她的人看得张口结舌，原来经常见到她的人也目瞪口呆。可是安布罗西奥一看到她，就显得大为不快，说：
“恶毒的山妖，你是来看被你凶残地害死的人伤口流血，还是来为你的罪恶行径洋洋自得？你是要像暴戾的尼禄①那样俯瞰你的罗马在焚烧，还是来高傲地践踏这位不幸者的尸体，就像塔奎尼乌斯②的忤逆女儿对他的父亲那样？你快说，你究竟想干什么？我最了解克里索斯托莫，他生前对你百依百顺。因此，即使他死了，我也要叫所有自称是他朋友的人都按照你的意志办。”
①尼禄是古罗马暴君。公元64年罗马城遭大火，民间盛传是尼禄唆使纵火焚烧的。
②塔奎尼乌斯是传说中罗马的第五代国王。他篡夺王位后，又被女儿杀死。
“噢，安布罗西奥，我并不是为你说的那些事情而来。”马塞拉说，“我是来说明，大家把克里索斯托莫的痛苦及死亡归咎于我是多么不合理。我请所有在场的人都听我说。这不需要很多时间，也不用很多话，就可以说清楚。你们说，我天生很漂亮，你们都喜欢我，既然你们喜欢我，我就得喜欢你们。上帝给我的智慧告诉我，所有美丽的东西都可爱，可是没有告诉我，如果一个人因为漂亮而被别人喜欢，他也就得喜欢别人。常常是喜欢漂亮的人自己很丑，而丑是讨厌的。所以，说‘我爱你美丽，你也应爱我，即使我很丑’，就不对了。
“而且，就算两个人都很漂亮，也不一定就两厢情愿。并不是所有漂亮的人都招人喜欢。有的美丽只悦目，却并不赏心。如果看见漂亮的人就喜欢，就动心，就会意乱情迷，无所适从。因为漂亮的人比比皆是，那么他的倾慕也就无止境了。我听说，真正的爱不是单方面的，而且应该是自觉自愿的。既然如此，我也这样认为，你们怎么能要求我，因为你们说爱我，我就得违心地爱你们呢？如果不是这样，你们说，假如我生来很丑，却抱怨你们不爱我，这合理吗？你们再想想，我的美貌并不是我挑选的，而是上帝赐予我的，我并没有要求或选择这种美貌。这就好比毒蛇有毒不能怪它一样，这是它的天性，因此能毒死人。我也不该因为漂亮就受到谴责。一个正派女人的美貌好比一束独立的火焰或者一把利剑，如果不靠近它，它既不会烧人，也不会伤人。名誉和品行是灵魂的装饰品，没有它们，再漂亮的身体也不算美。贞洁既然是美化人身体和灵魂的一种道德，那么，为什么因为漂亮而被爱的人就得迎合某些人去失掉贞洁呢？而那些人仅仅因为自己愿意就要千方百计地企图占有她？
“我生来是自由人。为了生活得自在些，我选择了僻静的乡村。山上的大树是我的伙伴，清澈的泉水是我的镜子，我向大树倾诉我的思想，在泉水里观看我的美貌。我是孤火单剑。对于以貌取我的人，我直言相劝。至于说幻想造成了希望，无论是克里索斯托莫还是其他人，我都没有让他们存一点幻想。完全可以说，不是我的冷酷，而是他们的痴心害死了他们。如果有人说他们的要求是善良的，我就得答应，那么我告诉你们，当他在你们现在挖坟的这个地方向我表露他的善良愿望时，我就已经对他讲明了，我的愿望是一辈子单身，让大地享受我的美貌躯体。既然我讲得这样明白了，他还执迷不悟，逆风行舟，怎么能不迷途翻船呢？
“我若是敷衍他，就算我虚伪；我若是迎合他，就违背了我的初衷。他明知不行却迷途不返；没人厌弃他，他却心灰意冷。你们说，现在把他的悲剧归罪于我，这像话吗？如果是我骗了他，他还有理由可怨；如果我答应了他又不履行诺言，他也有理由绝望；如果我勾引他，他信以为真，那还说得过去；如果我迎合了他，他也可以高兴；可是，我并没有欺骗他、答应他、勾引他、迎合他，这就不能说我冷酷，不能说我害死了他。直至现在，老天也没有让我爱上谁，要想让我任人挑选更是徒劳。
“但愿我这番表白使每个向我求爱的人都有所鉴戒，知道从今天起如果有人为我而死，那他并不是殉情而死。因为我对谁也不爱，对任何人也不会给予热情。此外，回绝他也不应该算作蔑视。说我是妖魔鬼怪的人，就当我是妖魔鬼怪吧，别理我；说我无情义的人，不必向我献殷勤；说我翻脸不认人就别理我；说我冷酷就别追求我。我这个妖魔鬼怪，我这个负义、冷酷而翻脸不认人的女子，无论如何也不会去找你们，向你们献股勤，套近乎，追你们的。是克里索斯托莫的焦虑和奢望害死了他，为什么你们一定要把罪责推卸到我这个品行端庄的人身上呢？我洁身自好，与树为伍，可那些让我在男人们面前保持清白的人，为什么又一定要让我失节呢？你们都知道，我有自己的财产，不觊觎别人的东西；我生性开朗，不喜欢这个人，也不会去追求其他人；我不嘲弄这个人或拿那个人开心。同村里的牧羊姑娘们聊聊天，看护好羊群，已经使我心满意足了。我的愿望只限于这山上。如果超出了这些山，那就是为了欣赏美丽的天空，灵魂也随之走向冥府。”
讲完这番话，她不想再听别人说什么，就转身走进附近山上的密林深处去了。所有在场的人都被她的机敏和美貌惊呆了。有的人仿佛被她秀丽的目光撩拨得还想去追她，丝毫没有领会马塞拉刚才那番表白的意思。唐吉诃德见此情景，觉得是他发扬骑士精神帮助弱女的时候了。他手握剑柄高声说道：
“任何人，无论他是什么身份和等级，如果敢去追赶美丽的马塞拉，就别怪我发脾气了。她已经以明确充分的理由说明，她对克里索斯托莫之死只负很少责任或根本就没有责任。她没有理会任何人的请求。她应该受到的不是追求，而是世界上所有善良人的尊敬和爱戴，证明她是世界上唯一有高尚愿望的人。”
也许是大家被唐吉诃德吓住了，也许是因为安布罗西奥要求大家把该对死者做的事情都做完，反正没有一个牧羊人去追赶马塞拉。坟坑挖好了，克里索斯托莫的手稿也烧完了，大家把他的遗体放进坑里，还流了不少眼泪。大家用一块大石头把坟封好。墓碑还没有刻好。安布罗西奥说，他打算刻上这样的墓志铭：
这里躺着一位情人，
他的身体已经僵硬。
他本是一个牧羊人，
因为失恋而殉情。
他死于一位
负心美人的冷酷之手，
她的孤傲
更加剧了他爱情的痛苦。
然后，大家在坟上撒了些花束，向死者的朋友安布罗西奥表示了自己的哀痛，便纷纷告辞了。比瓦尔多和伙伴们告辞后，唐吉诃德也向牧羊人和旅客们道别。几位旅客邀请唐吉诃德随他们去塞维利亚，说那地方征险最合适，每条街、每个角落都会险象环生。唐吉诃德对他们的邀请和热情表示感谢，说他一时还不想去，也不应该去塞维利亚，他还要把山里的恶贼扫除干净，这山上恶贼遍野，臭名昭著。旅客们见唐吉诃德决心已定，便不再坚持。他们再次同唐吉诃德道别，继续赶路。路上不乏话题，有马塞拉和克里索斯托莫的故事，也有疯子唐吉诃德的故事。唐吉诃德想去寻找牧羊姑娘马塞拉，尽力为她效劳。可是按照信史的记载，以后的事出人意料。故事的第二部分到此结束。
Part 1 Chapter 15
The sage Cide Hamete Benengeli relates that as soon as Don Quixote took leave of his hosts and all who had been present at the burial of Chrysostom, he and his squire passed into the same wood which they had seen the shepherdess Marcela enter, and after having wandered for more than two hours in all directions in search of her without finding her, they came to a halt in a glade covered with tender grass, beside which ran a pleasant cool stream that invited and compelled them to pass there the hours of the noontide heat, which by this time was beginning to come on oppressively. Don Quixote and Sancho dismounted, and turning Rocinante and the ass loose to feed on the grass that was there in abundance, they ransacked the alforjas, and without any ceremony very peacefully and sociably master and man made their repast on what they found in them.
 
Sancho had not thought it worth while to hobble Rocinante, feeling sure, from what he knew of his staidness and freedom from incontinence, that all the mares in the Cordova pastures would not lead him into an impropriety. Chance, however, and the devil, who is not always asleep, so ordained it that feeding in this valley there was a drove of Galician ponies belonging to certain Yanguesan carriers, whose way it is to take their midday rest with their teams in places and spots where grass and water abound; and that where Don Quixote chanced to be suited the Yanguesans’ purpose very well. It so happened, then, that Rocinante took a fancy to disport himself with their ladyships the ponies, and abandoning his usual gait and demeanour as he scented them, he, without asking leave of his master, got up a briskish little trot and hastened to make known his wishes to them; they, however, it seemed, preferred their pasture to him, and received him with their heels and teeth to such effect that they soon broke his girths and left him naked without a saddle to cover him; but what must have been worse to him was that the carriers, seeing the violence he was offering to their mares, came running up armed with stakes, and so belaboured him that they brought him sorely battered to the ground.
By this time Don Quixote and Sancho, who had witnessed the drubbing of Rocinante, came up panting, and said Don Quixote to Sancho:
“So far as I can see, friend Sancho, these are not knights but base folk of low birth: I mention it because thou canst lawfully aid me in taking due vengeance for the insult offered to Rocinante before our eyes.”
“What the devil vengeance can we take,” answered Sancho, “if they are more than twenty, and we no more than two, or, indeed, perhaps not more than one and a half?”
“I count for a hundred,” replied Don Quixote, and without more words he drew his sword and attacked the Yanguesans and excited and impelled by the example of his master, Sancho did the same; and to begin with, Don Quixote delivered a slash at one of them that laid open the leather jerkin he wore, together with a great portion of his shoulder. The Yanguesans, seeing themselves assaulted by only two men while they were so many, betook themselves to their stakes, and driving the two into the middle they began to lay on with great zeal and energy; in fact, at the second blow they brought Sancho to the ground, and Don Quixote fared the same way, all his skill and high mettle availing him nothing, and fate willed it that he should fall at the feet of Rocinante, who had not yet risen; whereby it may be seen how furiously stakes can pound in angry boorish hands.
 
Then, seeing the mischief they had done, the Yanguesans with all the haste they could loaded their team and pursued their journey, leaving the two adventurers a sorry sight and in sorrier mood.
Sancho was the first to come to, and finding himself close to his master he called to him in a weak and doleful voice, “Senor Don Quixote, ah, Senor Don Quixote!”
“What wouldst thou, brother Sancho?” answered Don Quixote in the same feeble suffering tone as Sancho.
“I would like, if it were possible,” answered Sancho Panza, “your worship to give me a couple of sups of that potion of the fiery Blas, if it be that you have any to hand there; perhaps it will serve for broken bones as well as for wounds.”
“If I only had it here, wretch that I am, what more should we want?” said Don Quixote; “but I swear to thee, Sancho Panza, on the faith of a knight-errant, ere two days are over, unless fortune orders otherwise, I mean to have it in my possession, or my hand will have lost its cunning.”
“But in how many does your worship think we shall have the use of our feet?” answered Sancho Panza.
“For myself I must say I cannot guess how many,” said the battered knight Don Quixote; “but I take all the blame upon myself, for I had no business to put hand to sword against men who where not dubbed knights like myself, and so I believe that in punishment for having transgressed the laws of chivalry the God of battles has permitted this chastisement to be administered to me; for which reason, brother Sancho, it is well thou shouldst receive a hint on the matter which I am now about to mention to thee, for it is of much importance to the welfare of both of us. It is at when thou shalt see rabble of this sort offering us insult thou art not to wait till I draw sword against them, for I shall not do so at all; but do thou draw sword and chastise them to thy heart’s content, and if any knights come to their aid and defence I will take care to defend thee and assail them with all my might; and thou hast already seen by a thousand signs and proofs what the might of this strong arm of mine is equal to” — so uplifted had the poor gentleman become through the victory over the stout Biscayan.
But Sancho did not so fully approve of his master’s admonition as to let it pass without saying in reply, “Senor, I am a man of peace, meek and quiet, and I can put up with any affront because I have a wife and children to support and bring up; so let it be likewise a hint to your worship, as it cannot be a mandate, that on no account will I draw sword either against clown or against knight, and that here before God I forgive the insults that have been offered me, whether they have been, are, or shall be offered me by high or low, rich or poor, noble or commoner, not excepting any rank or condition whatsoever.”
To all which his master said in reply, “I wish I had breath enough to speak somewhat easily, and that the pain I feel on this side would abate so as to let me explain to thee, Panza, the mistake thou makest. Come now, sinner, suppose the wind of fortune, hitherto so adverse, should turn in our favour, filling the sails of our desires so that safely and without impediment we put into port in some one of those islands I have promised thee, how would it be with thee if on winning it I made thee lord of it? Why, thou wilt make it well-nigh impossible through not being a knight nor having any desire to be one, nor possessing the courage nor the will to avenge insults or defend thy lordship; for thou must know that in newly conquered kingdoms and provinces the minds of the inhabitants are never so quiet nor so well disposed to the new lord that there is no fear of their making some move to change matters once more, and try, as they say, what chance may do for them; so it is essential that the new possessor should have good sense to enable him to govern, and valour to attack and defend himself, whatever may befall him.”
“In what has now befallen us,” answered Sancho, “I’d have been well pleased to have that good sense and that valour your worship speaks of, but I swear on the faith of a poor man I am more fit for plasters than for arguments. See if your worship can get up, and let us help Rocinante, though he does not deserve it, for he was the main cause of all this thrashing. I never thought it of Rocinante, for I took him to be a virtuous person and as quiet as myself. After all, they say right that it takes a long time to come to know people, and that there is nothing sure in this life. Who would have said that, after such mighty slashes as your worship gave that unlucky knight-errant, there was coming, travelling post and at the very heels of them, such a great storm of sticks as has fallen upon our shoulders?”
“And yet thine, Sancho,” replied Don Quixote, “ought to be used to such squalls; but mine, reared in soft cloth and fine linen, it is plain they must feel more keenly the pain of this mishap, and if it were not that I imagine — why do I say imagine? — know of a certainty that all these annoyances are very necessary accompaniments of the calling of arms, I would lay me down here to die of pure vexation.”
To this the squire replied, “Senor, as these mishaps are what one reaps of chivalry, tell me if they happen very often, or if they have their own fixed times for coming to pass; because it seems to me that after two harvests we shall be no good for the third, unless God in his infinite mercy helps us.”
“Know, friend Sancho,” answered Don Quixote, “that the life of knights-errant is subject to a thousand dangers and reverses, and neither more nor less is it within immediate possibility for knights-errant to become kings and emperors, as experience has shown in the case of many different knights with whose histories I am thoroughly acquainted; and I could tell thee now, if the pain would let me, of some who simply by might of arm have risen to the high stations I have mentioned; and those same, both before and after, experienced divers misfortunes and miseries; for the valiant Amadis of Gaul found himself in the power of his mortal enemy Arcalaus the magician, who, it is positively asserted, holding him captive, gave him more than two hundred lashes with the reins of his horse while tied to one of the pillars of a court; and moreover there is a certain recondite author of no small authority who says that the Knight of Phoebus, being caught in a certain pitfall, which opened under his feet in a certain castle, on falling found himself bound hand and foot in a deep pit underground, where they administered to him one of those things they call clysters, of sand and snow-water, that well-nigh finished him; and if he had not been succoured in that sore extremity by a sage, a great friend of his, it would have gone very hard with the poor knight; so I may well suffer in company with such worthy folk, for greater were the indignities which they had to suffer than those which we suffer. For I would have thee know, Sancho, that wounds caused by any instruments which happen by chance to be in hand inflict no indignity, and this is laid down in the law of the duel in express words: if, for instance, the cobbler strikes another with the last which he has in his hand, though it be in fact a piece of wood, it cannot be said for that reason that he whom he struck with it has been cudgelled. I say this lest thou shouldst imagine that because we have been drubbed in this affray we have therefore suffered any indignity; for the arms those men carried, with which they pounded us, were nothing more than their stakes, and not one of them, so far as I remember, carried rapier, sword, or dagger.”
“They gave me no time to see that much,” answered Sancho, “for hardly had I laid hand on my tizona when they signed the cross on my shoulders with their sticks in such style that they took the sight out of my eyes and the strength out of my feet, stretching me where I now lie, and where thinking of whether all those stake-strokes were an indignity or not gives me no uneasiness, which the pain of the blows does, for they will remain as deeply impressed on my memory as on my shoulders.”
“For all that let me tell thee, brother Panza,” said Don Quixote, “that there is no recollection which time does not put an end to, and no pain which death does not remove.”
“And what greater misfortune can there be,” replied Panza, “than the one that waits for time to put an end to it and death to remove it? If our mishap were one of those that are cured with a couple of plasters, it would not be so bad; but I am beginning to think that all the plasters in a hospital almost won’t be enough to put us right.”
“No more of that: pluck strength out of weakness, Sancho, as I mean to do,” returned Don Quixote, “and let us see how Rocinante is, for it seems to me that not the least share of this mishap has fallen to the lot of the poor beast.”
“There is nothing wonderful in that,” replied Sancho, “since he is a knight-errant too; what I wonder at is that my beast should have come off scot-free where we come out scotched.”
“Fortune always leaves a door open in adversity in order to bring relief to it,” said Don Quixote; “I say so because this little beast may now supply the want of Rocinante, carrying me hence to some castle where I may be cured of my wounds. And moreover I shall not hold it any dishonour to be so mounted, for I remember having read how the good old Silenus, the tutor and instructor of the gay god of laughter, when he entered the city of the hundred gates, went very contentedly mounted on a handsome ass.”
“It may be true that he went mounted as your worship says,” answered Sancho, “but there is a great difference between going mounted and going slung like a sack of manure.”
To which Don Quixote replied, “Wounds received in battle confer honour instead of taking it away; and so, friend Panza, say no more, but, as I told thee before, get up as well as thou canst and put me on top of thy beast in whatever fashion pleases thee best, and let us go hence ere night come on and surprise us in these wilds.”
“And yet I have heard your worship say,” observed Panza, “that it is very meet for knights-errant to sleep in wastes and deserts, and that they esteem it very good fortune.”
“That is,” said Don Quixote, “when they cannot help it, or when they are in love; and so true is this that there have been knights who have remained two years on rocks, in sunshine and shade and all the inclemencies of heaven, without their ladies knowing anything of it; and one of these was Amadis, when, under the name of Beltenebros, he took up his abode on the Pena Pobre for — I know not if it was eight years or eight months, for I am not very sure of the reckoning; at any rate he stayed there doing penance for I know not what pique the Princess Oriana had against him; but no more of this now, Sancho, and make haste before a mishap like Rocinante’s befalls the ass.”
“The very devil would be in it in that case,” said Sancho; and letting off thirty “ohs,” and sixty sighs, and a hundred and twenty maledictions and execrations on whomsoever it was that had brought him there, he raised himself, stopping half-way bent like a Turkish bow without power to bring himself upright, but with all his pains he saddled his ass, who too had gone astray somewhat, yielding to the excessive licence of the day; he next raised up Rocinante, and as for him, had he possessed a tongue to complain with, most assuredly neither Sancho nor his master would have been behind him.
 
To be brief, Sancho fixed Don Quixote on the ass and secured Rocinante with a leading rein, and taking the ass by the halter, he proceeded more or less in the direction in which it seemed to him the high road might be; and, as chance was conducting their affairs for them from good to better, he had not gone a short league when the road came in sight, and on it he perceived an inn, which to his annoyance and to the delight of Don Quixote must needs be a castle. Sancho insisted that it was an inn, and his master that it was not one, but a castle, and the dispute lasted so long that before the point was settled they had time to reach it, and into it Sancho entered with all his team without any further controversy.
 
①杨瓜斯是西班牙的一个地方。
根据圣贤锡德•哈迈德•贝嫩赫利的记载，唐吉诃德告别了牧羊人以及在克里索斯托莫葬礼上见到的所有人，与他的侍从一起钻进了牧羊姑娘马塞拉走进的那片树林。他们在树林里走了近两个小时，四处寻找马塞拉，最后来到一片绿草如茵的平地上，旁边有一条清澈的小溪缓缓流淌。此时正当夏日炎炎，他们不由自主地要在此午休。唐吉诃德和桑乔翻身下马，让罗西南多和驴子尽情吃草，自己也把褡裢来了个底朝上。主仆二人无拘无束，把袋子里的东西美美地吃了个一干二净。
桑乔没有给罗西南多套上绊索。他知道罗西南多很温驯，很少发情，科尔多瓦牧场的所有母马都不会令它动邪念。可是命运和魔鬼并不总是睡觉，那个地方正巧有杨瓜斯人喂养的一群加利西亚小母马在吃草。杨瓜斯人常常在这个地方午休，正好让他们的小马吃草饮水。这个地方很合他们的心意，而唐吉诃德停留之处也正是这个地方。结果，这回罗西南多忽然心血来潮地要同母马们开开心。它未经主人的许可，嗅着母马们的气味溜达着走过去，后来竟碎步跑起来，要去同母马合欢。可是，母马们当时觉得最需要的是吃草，而不是合欢，于是报之以蹄子踢和嘴巴啃。不一会儿，罗西南多就弄得肚带断，鞍子脱落，浑身光溜溜了。不过，最令它难忘的还是那些脚夫们看到罗西南多要对母马施暴，便手持木棒赶来，一顿痛打，打得它浑身是伤，躺在地上起不来。
唐吉诃德和桑乔看到罗西南多被打，气喘吁吁地跑来。唐吉诃德对桑乔说：
“依我看，桑乔朋友，这些人不是骑士，只是一群下人。我是说，你可以帮助我。现在罗西南多受到了伤害，我们得为它报仇。”
“报什么鬼仇呀，”桑乔说，“他们有二十多人，咱们只不过两个人，也许还只能说是一个半人。”
“我以一当百。”唐吉诃德说。
唐吉诃德不再说什么，持剑向杨瓜斯人冲去。桑乔受主人鼓舞，也跟着冲了上去。唐吉诃德首先刺中了对方一个人，把他的皮衣划开了一个大口子，背上的皮也撕掉了一块。
那几个杨瓜斯人看到他们只有两个人，仗着自己人多，手持木棒拥上来，把两人围在中间，痛打起来，没两下便把桑乔打倒在地。唐吉诃德虽然技术高超，勇气过人，也同样被打倒了。他希望幸运能够降临到罗西南多脚下，可罗西南多终究还是未能站起来，可见那些粗人的怒棒打得多么沉重。杨瓜斯人看到闯了大祸，赶紧把货物放到马背上启程赶路，只剩下两个垂头丧气的征险者。
桑乔首先醒来。他来到主人身边，声音凄惨地叫道：
“唐吉诃德大人！哎，唐吉诃德大人！”
“干什么，桑乔兄弟？”唐吉诃德说，声调和桑乔一样软弱凄惨。
“如果您手里有那个什么布拉斯的圣水，”桑乔说，“能不能给我喝两口？兴许它能治断骨，也能治伤口呢。”
“真倒霉！要是我手头有这种圣水，那还怕什么呢？”唐吉诃德说，“不过，桑乔•潘萨，我以游侠骑士的名义发誓，如果不是命运另有安排，用不了两天，我就会有这种圣水。”
“您看我们过多少天才能走路呢？”桑乔问。
“我只能说，我也不知道得过多少天。”唐吉诃德说，“这都怨我，我不应该举剑向那些人进攻。他们同我不一样，不是受封骑士。我违反了骑士规则。我觉得是战神让杨瓜斯人惩罚我。所以，桑乔•潘萨，你最好记住我下面说的话，这对咱们俩都很重要：如果你再看到这样的无赖跟我们捣乱，可别等我举剑向他们进攻，我不会再那样做了。你应该举剑进攻，任意处置他们。如果有骑士来帮助保护他们，我也会来保护你，全力惩治他们。你大概已经无数次地体察到我这雄健臂膀的力量了吧。”
这位曾经战胜过勇猛的比斯开人的可怜大人显得不可一世。
可是，桑乔•潘萨却对主人说的不以为然。他说道：“大人，我是个和气、安稳、本分的人。我还有老婆孩子，所以我可以容忍所有的挑衅。我也可以告诉您，我不会听从您的指使。不管是无赖还是骑士，我都不会持剑进攻他们。而且从现在开始，直到见上帝的时候，不管什么人欺辱我，不管是高的、矮的、贫的、富的、贵人或是老百姓，我都宽恕他们，毫无例外。”
唐吉诃德听后说道：
“现在我这肋骨疼得厉害，我应该再有点精神，这样就可以说得轻松些，使你明白你的错误所左，桑乔。过来，罪人，咱们一直走背运。如果现在时来运转，鼓起咱们愿望的风帆，咱们肯定会驶进我许诺过的某个岛屿的港口。如果我征服了这个岛，把他封给你，你行吗？你肯定不行，因为你不是骑士，也不想是骑士，而且连为你所遭受的侮辱报仇，以维护自己尊严的勇气和企图都没有。你应该知道，在那些刚刚征服的王国和省份里，当地人的情绪不会平静，也并不那么服从新主人。新主人不必害怕他们兴风作浪、重蹈覆辙，或者像他们说的那样，碰碰运气。这就需要新的统治者有治理的才智和应付各种事件、保护自己的勇气。”
“这种事情现在就发生了。”桑乔说，“我也希望具有您所说的那些才智和勇气。可是我以一个穷人的名义发誓，我最需要的是膏药，而不是训诫。您看看自己是否能站起来，或者咱们去帮帮罗西南多吧，尽管它并不配我们去帮助，因为它是造成咱们被痛打的主要原因。我从未想到罗西南多竟会是这样，我一直把它看成贞洁的，像我一样老实。反正俗话说得对，‘日久见人心’，‘世事莫测’。您向那个倒霉的游侠骑士猛刺之后，谁能料到还会有乱棍打在咱们的背上呢？”
“桑乔，”唐吉诃德说，“你的背想必已习惯于风雨，可是我的背却弱不禁风，这回挨打，自然会疼得很厉害。可是我想，不，不是什么我想！我肯定，要习武就肯定会有这类痛苦，不然的话，我早就气死了。”
桑乔说：
“如果这些倒霉的事情是骑士的必然结果，那么请您告诉我，它是频频发生呢，还是在特定的时候才降临？我觉得像这种事情，如果上帝不以他的无限怜悯帮助咱们，咱们有两次也就完蛋了，用不着第三次。”
“你知道，桑乔朋友，”唐吉诃德说，“游侠骑士的生活就是与成千的危险和不幸联系在一起的，不过，他们同样也有可能成为国王或皇帝，很多游侠骑士的经历就证明了这一点，我对此十分清楚。如果我身上不疼的话，现在就可以给你讲几个游侠骑士的故事。他们仅仅凭着自己臂膀的力量爬到了我刚才说的那种高位，而在此前后他们经历过各种苦难磨砺。高卢的英勇的阿马迪斯就曾落到他的死敌阿尔卡劳斯魔法师手里。阿尔卡劳斯抓住他以后，把他捆在院子里的一根桩子上，用马缰绳打了他两百下，这是确凿无疑的。还有一位不大出名的作家，也是很可信的，说太阳神骑士有一回在某个城堡里掉进了陷阱。他手脚被捆着，一下子就落进了地下的深渊，还被喂了用水、雪、沙混合而成的所谓药品，差点儿丢了性命。要不是一位聪明的老朋友在这个倒霉的时候救了他，这位可怜的骑士可就惨了。
“我也可以列入这类优秀人物。他们遭受的磨难比咱们现在遭受的要大得多。我可以告诉你，桑乔，被对方用随手拿起来的东西打出伤来并不算耻辱，这是决斗法规上明确写明的。假如修鞋匠随手用楦子打伤别人，不能说那个人被用棍子打了一顿，尽管楦子也是棍子。我这样说是让你别以为咱们在这次战斗里被打痛了，就是蒙受了耻辱。那些人用来打咱们的家伙不是别的，只是他们手里的木棒。我记得他们当中没有任何人使用了剑或者匕首。”
“我倒没看那么仔细，”桑乔说，“当时我的手刚要拿剑，肩膀就被他们用松木棒狠揍了一通，什么也看不见了，脚也站不住了，倒在我现在躺的这个地方。我伤心的倒不是这顿棒打算不算羞辱，而是肩上背上被打的疼痛劲儿，那真是刻骨铭心啊。”
“桑乔兄弟，我得告诉你，”唐吉诃德说，“时间长了，记忆就消失了；人一死，痛苦也就没有了。”
“那么，还有什么东西比时间才能抹掉的记忆，比死亡才能结束的痛苦更为不幸呢？”桑乔说，“如果咱们的不幸是几块膏药就能够治好的，事情还不算很糟糕。可是我却看到，即使一座医院的所有膏药也不足以治好咱们的伤。”
“别这么说，桑乔，你得从咱们的短处见出力量来，”唐吉诃德说，“我也会这样做。咱们去看看罗西南多吧，我觉得可怜的它对这场不幸倒一点不在乎。”
“这倒没什么可夸耀的，”桑乔说，“它也是个游侠骑士呀。我可以夸耀的倒是我的驴没事，没有任何损失。咱们反正没少遭罪。”
“幸运总是在不幸中网开一面，也让人有所安慰。”唐吉诃德说，“我这样讲是因为这头驴现在可以弥补罗西南多的空缺。它可以驮我到某个城堡去，治治我的伤。我骑这样的牲畜也不算不体面。我记得那个好老头西勒尼①，快乐笑神的家庭教师和导师，进入千门城时就骑着一头很漂亮的驴，而且非常得意。”
①西勒尼是希腊神话中的一个神，终日饮酒作乐，睡眼惺忪，总要别人扶着或骑在驴上。
“也许他真的像您说的那样，是骑着驴去的，”桑乔说，“不过，要是像个驴粪袋似的横搭在驴背上，那可跟骑着驴去大不一样。”
“在战斗中受了伤是光荣，而不是耻辱；所以，潘萨朋友，别说什么了，而是像我刚才说的那样，尽力站起来，用你愿意的任何方式把我扶到你的驴上吧。咱们得在天黑之前离开这里，以免在这荒无人烟的地方遭受袭击。”
“不过我听您说过，”桑乔说，“游侠骑士每年都有很多时间是在荒山野岭度过的，他们觉得这很幸福。”
“那只是在迫不得已或者恋爱的时候才如此。”唐吉诃德说，“不过，确实有的骑士苦行了足足两年时间，迎着烈日睡在岩石上；无论严寒酷暑都在野外露宿，连他的意中人都不知道他到哪儿去了。这其中就有阿马迪斯，当时他叫贝尔特内夫罗斯，就在‘卑岩’上住了不知是八年还是八个月，我记得不很清楚了。反正他是在那里受苦，也不知道他夫人奥里亚娜怎么惹他了。不过，咱们别说这个了，桑乔，趁着你的驴和罗西南多没再遭别的难，你再使把劲儿。”
“简直是活见鬼。”桑乔说。
他们喊了三十声“哎哟”，叹了六十口气，咒骂了一百二十遍引他们到这里来的人，才筋疲力尽地爬起来，站在路中央，就像两只弯弓，总是站不直，费了半天劲，总算给驴备上了鞍。那只驴那天也太逍遥自在了，走起路来有些心不在焉。后来桑乔把罗西南多也扶了起来。如果它能说话，它发的牢骚肯定不比桑乔和唐吉诃德少。桑乔总算把唐吉诃德扶上了驴，又套上罗西南多，拉着驴的缰绳，向他们估计是大路的方向走去。幸亏情况慢慢好转了。他们走了不到一西里路，一条道路就出现在他们面前，路旁还有个客店，唐吉诃德认为那是城堡。桑乔坚持说是客店，主人则说不是客店，是城堡，他们争论不休，一直争到门前，桑乔领着一行人走进去，也不再争辩了。
Part 1 Chapter 16
The innkeeper, seeing Don Quixote slung across the ass, asked Sancho what was amiss with him. Sancho answered that it was nothing, only that he had fallen down from a rock and had his ribs a little bruised. The innkeeper had a wife whose disposition was not such as those of her calling commonly have, for she was by nature kind-hearted and felt for the sufferings of her neighbours, so she at once set about tending Don Quixote, and made her young daughter, a very comely girl, help her in taking care of her guest. There was besides in the inn, as servant, an Asturian lass with a broad face, flat poll, and snub nose, blind of one eye and not very sound in the other. The elegance of her shape, to be sure, made up for all her defects; she did not measure seven palms from head to foot, and her shoulders, which overweighted her somewhat, made her contemplate the ground more than she liked. This graceful lass, then, helped the young girl, and the two made up a very bad bed for Don Quixote in a garret that showed evident signs of having formerly served for many years as a straw-loft, in which there was also quartered a carrier whose bed was placed a little beyond our Don Quixote’s , and, though only made of the pack-saddles and cloths of his mules, had much the advantage of it, as Don Quixote’s consisted simply of four rough boards on two not very even trestles, a mattress, that for thinness might have passed for a quilt, full of pellets which, were they not seen through the rents to be wool, would to the touch have seemed pebbles in hardness, two sheets made of buckler leather, and a coverlet the threads of which anyone that chose might have counted without missing one in the reckoning.
On this accursed bed Don Quixote stretched himself, and the hostess and her daughter soon covered him with plasters from top to toe, while Maritornes — for that was the name of the Asturian — held the light for them, and while plastering him, the hostess, observing how full of wheals Don Quixote was in some places, remarked that this had more the look of blows than of a fall.
It was not blows, Sancho said, but that the rock had many points and projections, and that each of them had left its mark. “Pray, senora,” he added, “manage to save some tow, as there will be no want of some one to use it, for my loins too are rather sore.”
“Then you must have fallen too,” said the hostess.
“I did not fall,” said Sancho Panza, “but from the shock I got at seeing my master fall, my body aches so that I feel as if I had had a thousand thwacks.”
“That may well be,” said the young girl, “for it has many a time happened to me to dream that I was falling down from a tower and never coming to the ground, and when I awoke from the dream to find myself as weak and shaken as if I had really fallen.”
“There is the point, senora,” replied Sancho Panza, “that I without dreaming at all, but being more awake than I am now, find myself with scarcely less wheals than my master, Don Quixote.”
“How is the gentleman called?” asked Maritornes the Asturian.
“Don Quixote of La Mancha,” answered Sancho Panza, “and he is a knight-adventurer, and one of the best and stoutest that have been seen in the world this long time past.”
“What is a knight-adventurer?” said the lass.
“Are you so new in the world as not to know?” answered Sancho Panza. “Well, then, you must know, sister, that a knight-adventurer is a thing that in two words is seen drubbed and emperor, that is to-day the most miserable and needy being in the world, and to-morrow will have two or three crowns of kingdoms to give his squire.”
“Then how is it,” said the hostess, “that belonging to so good a master as this, you have not, to judge by appearances, even so much as a county?”
“It is too soon yet,” answered Sancho, “for we have only been a month going in quest of adventures, and so far we have met with nothing that can be called one, for it will happen that when one thing is looked for another thing is found; however, if my master Don Quixote gets well of this wound, or fall, and I am left none the worse of it, I would not change my hopes for the best title in Spain.”
To all this conversation Don Quixote was listening very attentively, and sitting up in bed as well as he could, and taking the hostess by the hand he said to her, “Believe me, fair lady, you may call yourself fortunate in having in this castle of yours sheltered my person, which is such that if I do not myself praise it, it is because of what is commonly said, that self-praise debaseth; but my squire will inform you who I am. I only tell you that I shall preserve for ever inscribed on my memory the service you have rendered me in order to tender you my gratitude while life shall last me; and would to Heaven love held me not so enthralled and subject to its laws and to the eyes of that fair ingrate whom I name between my teeth, but that those of this lovely damsel might be the masters of my liberty.”
The hostess, her daughter, and the worthy Maritornes listened in bewilderment to the words of the knight-errant; for they understood about as much of them as if he had been talking Greek, though they could perceive they were all meant for expressions of good-will and blandishments; and not being accustomed to this kind of language, they stared at him and wondered to themselves, for he seemed to them a man of a different sort from those they were used to, and thanking him in pothouse phrase for his civility they left him, while the Asturian gave her attention to Sancho, who needed it no less than his master.
The carrier had made an arrangement with her for recreation that night, and she had given him her word that when the guests were quiet and the family asleep she would come in search of him and meet his wishes unreservedly. And it is said of this good lass that she never made promises of the kind without fulfilling them, even though she made them in a forest and without any witness present, for she plumed herself greatly on being a lady and held it no disgrace to be in such an employment as servant in an inn, because, she said, misfortunes and ill-luck had brought her to that position. The hard, narrow, wretched, rickety bed of Don Quixote stood first in the middle of this star-lit stable, and close beside it Sancho made his, which merely consisted of a rush mat and a blanket that looked as if it was of threadbare canvas rather than of wool. Next to these two beds was that of the carrier, made up, as has been said, of the pack-saddles and all the trappings of the two best mules he had, though there were twelve of them, sleek, plump, and in prime condition, for he was one of the rich carriers of Arevalo, according to the author of this history, who particularly mentions this carrier because he knew him very well, and they even say was in some degree a relation of his; besides which Cide Hamete Benengeli was a historian of great research and accuracy in all things, as is very evident since he would not pass over in silence those that have been already mentioned, however trifling and insignificant they might be, an example that might be followed by those grave historians who relate transactions so curtly and briefly that we hardly get a taste of them, all the substance of the work being left in the inkstand from carelessness, perverseness, or ignorance. A thousand blessings on the author of “Tablante de Ricamonte” and that of the other book in which the deeds of the Conde Tomillas are recounted; with what minuteness they describe everything!
To proceed, then: after having paid a visit to his team and given them their second feed, the carrier stretched himself on his pack-saddles and lay waiting for his conscientious Maritornes. Sancho was by this time plastered and had lain down, and though he strove to sleep the pain of his ribs would not let him, while Don Quixote with the pain of his had his eyes as wide open as a hare’s .
 
The inn was all in silence, and in the whole of it there was no light except that given by a lantern that hung burning in the middle of the gateway. This strange stillness, and the thoughts, always present to our knight’s mind, of the incidents described at every turn in the books that were the cause of his misfortune, conjured up to his imagination as extraordinary a delusion as can well be conceived, which was that he fancied himself to have reached a famous castle (for, as has been said, all the inns he lodged in were castles to his eyes), and that the daughter of the innkeeper was daughter of the lord of the castle, and that she, won by his high-bred bearing, had fallen in love with him, and had promised to come to his bed for a while that night without the knowledge of her parents; and holding all this fantasy that he had constructed as solid fact, he began to feel uneasy and to consider the perilous risk which his virtue was about to encounter, and he resolved in his heart to commit no treason to his lady Dulcinea del Toboso, even though the queen Guinevere herself and the dame Quintanona should present themselves before him.
While he was taken up with these vagaries, then, the time and the hour — an unlucky one for him — arrived for the Asturian to come, who in her smock, with bare feet and her hair gathered into a fustian coif, with noiseless and cautious steps entered the chamber where the three were quartered, in quest of the carrier; but scarcely had she gained the door when Don Quixote perceived her, and sitting up in his bed in spite of his plasters and the pain of his ribs, he stretched out his arms to receive his beauteous damsel. The Asturian, who went all doubled up and in silence with her hands before her feeling for her lover, encountered the arms of Don Quixote, who grasped her tightly by the wrist, and drawing her towards him, while she dared not utter a word, made her sit down on the bed. He then felt her smock, and although it was of sackcloth it appeared to him to be of the finest and softest silk: on her wrists she wore some glass beads, but to him they had the sheen of precious Orient pearls: her hair, which in some measure resembled a horse’s mane, he rated as threads of the brightest gold of Araby, whose refulgence dimmed the sun himself: her breath, which no doubt smelt of yesterday’s stale salad, seemed to him to diffuse a sweet aromatic fragrance from her mouth; and, in short, he drew her portrait in his imagination with the same features and in the same style as that which he had seen in his books of the other princesses who, smitten by love, came with all the adornments that are here set down, to see the sorely wounded knight; and so great was the poor gentleman’s blindness that neither touch, nor smell, nor anything else about the good lass that would have made any but a carrier vomit, were enough to undeceive him; on the contrary, he was persuaded he had the goddess of beauty in his arms, and holding her firmly in his grasp he went on to say in low, tender voice:
“Would that found myself, lovely and exalted lady, in a position to repay such a favour as that which you, by the sight of your great beauty, have granted me; but fortune, which is never weary of persecuting the good, has chosen to place me upon this bed, where I lie so bruised and broken that though my inclination would gladly comply with yours it is impossible; besides, to this impossibility another yet greater is to be added, which is the faith that I have pledged to the peerless Dulcinea del Toboso, sole lady of my most secret thoughts; and were it not that this stood in the way I should not be so insensible a knight as to miss the happy opportunity which your great goodness has offered me.”
Maritornes was fretting and sweating at finding herself held so fast by Don Quixote, and not understanding or heeding the words he addressed to her, she strove without speaking to free herself. The worthy carrier, whose unholy thoughts kept him awake, was aware of his doxy the moment she entered the door, and was listening attentively to all Don Quixote said; and jealous that the Asturian should have broken her word with him for another, drew nearer to Don Quixote’s bed and stood still to see what would come of this talk which he could not understand; but when he perceived the wench struggling to get free and Don Quixote striving to hold her, not relishing the joke he raised his arm and delivered such a terrible cuff on the lank jaws of the amorous knight that be bathed all his mouth in blood, and not content with this he mounted on his ribs and with his feet tramped all over them at a pace rather smarter than a trot. The bed which was somewhat crazy and not very firm on its feet, unable to support the additional weight of the carrier, came to the ground, and at the mighty crash of this the innkeeper awoke and at once concluded that it must be some brawl of Maritornes’, because after calling loudly to her he got no answer. With this suspicion he got up, and lighting a lamp hastened to the quarter where he had heard the disturbance. The wench, seeing that her master was coming and knowing that his temper was terrible, frightened and panic-stricken made for the bed of Sancho Panza, who still slept, and crouching upon it made a ball of herself.
The innkeeper came in exclaiming, “Where art thou, strumpet? Of course this is some of thy work.” At this Sancho awoke, and feeling this mass almost on top of him fancied he had the nightmare and began to distribute fisticuffs all round, of which a certain share fell upon Maritornes, who, irritated by the pain and flinging modesty aside, paid back so many in return to Sancho that she woke him up in spite of himself. He then, finding himself so handled, by whom he knew not, raising himself up as well as he could, grappled with Maritornes, and he and she between them began the bitterest and drollest scrimmage in the world. The carrier, however, perceiving by the light of the innkeeper candle how it fared with his ladylove, quitting Don Quixote, ran to bring her the help she needed; and the innkeeper did the same but with a different intention, for his was to chastise the lass, as he believed that beyond a doubt she alone was the cause of all the harmony. And so, as the saying is, cat to rat, rat to rope, rope to stick, the carrier pounded Sancho, Sancho the lass, she him, and the innkeeper her, and all worked away so briskly that they did not give themselves a moment’s rest; and the best of it was that the innkeeper’s lamp went out, and as they were left in the dark they all laid on one upon the other in a mass so unmercifully that there was not a sound spot left where a hand could light.
It so happened that there was lodging that night in the inn a caudrillero of what they call the Old Holy Brotherhood of Toledo, who, also hearing the extraordinary noise of the conflict, seized his staff and the tin case with his warrants, and made his way in the dark into the room crying: “Hold! in the name of the Jurisdiction! Hold! in the name of the Holy Brotherhood!”
The first that he came upon was the pummelled Don Quixote, who lay stretched senseless on his back upon his broken-down bed, and, his hand falling on the beard as he felt about, he continued to cry, “Help for the Jurisdiction!” but perceiving that he whom he had laid hold of did not move or stir, he concluded that he was dead and that those in the room were his murderers, and with this suspicion he raised his voice still higher, calling out, “Shut the inn gate; see that no one goes out; they have killed a man here!” This cry startled them all, and each dropped the contest at the point at which the voice reached him. The innkeeper retreated to his room, the carrier to his pack-saddles, the lass to her crib; the unlucky Don Quixote and Sancho alone were unable to move from where they were. The cuadrillero on this let go Don Quixote’s beard, and went out to look for a light to search for and apprehend the culprits; but not finding one, as the innkeeper had purposely extinguished the lantern on retreating to his room, he was compelled to have recourse to the hearth, where after much time and trouble he lit another lamp.
 
店主看到唐吉诃德横趴在驴上，就问桑乔是哪儿不舒服。桑乔说他没什么，只是从一块石头上掉了下来，脊背难受。店主有个老婆，同其他客店的主妇不一样，心地善良，总是为别人的遭遇难过。她赶来为唐吉诃德治伤，并且让她的一个漂亮闺女帮助自己照顾客人。客店里还有个女仆，是阿斯图里亚斯人，宽宽的脸宠，粗粗的后颈，扁鼻子，一只眼瞎，另一眼也不好。这女仆还有其他毛病，那就是她从头到脚不足七拃，背上总是如承重负，压得她总是不大情愿地盯着地。不过，这几个缺陷都被她那优美的体态弥补了。这位优雅的女仆又帮着店主的女儿在一间库房里为唐吉诃德准备了一张破床。那库房显然多年来一直是堆草料用的。库房里还住着一位脚夫，他的床虽然也只是用驮鞍和马披拼凑成的，却比唐吉诃德的床强得多。唐吉诃德的床只是架在两个高低不平的凳子上的四块木板，一条褥子薄得像床罩，还净是硬疙瘩。若不是从破洞那儿看得见羊毛，还以为里面装的是鹅卵石呢。床单是用皮盾的破皮子做的，还有一条秃秃的毯子。要是有人愿意的话，那上面一共有多少根线都能数出来。
唐吉诃德在这张破床上躺下来。客店的主妇和她的女儿把唐吉诃德从上到下都抹上了膏药，那个阿斯图里亚斯丑女仆在旁边照着亮。女主人看到唐吉诃德身上尽是瘀斑，就说这伤是打的，不是摔的。
“不是打的，”桑乔说，“只是那块石头上有很多棱角，每个棱角都撞出一块瘀伤。”
他还说：
“夫人，请您把那块麻布省着点用，还会有人需要的。我的腰就有点疼。”
“要是这么讲，”主妇说，“你大概也摔着了。”
“我没摔着，”桑乔说，“只不过突然看到我的主人摔倒了，我的身上就也疼，好像挨了许多棍子似的。”
“这完全可能，”那位姑娘说，“我有好多次梦见自己从一个塔上掉下来，可是从未真正摔到地上。一觉醒来，浑身疼得散了架，真好像摔着了。”
“关键就在这儿，夫人，”桑乔说，“我什么梦也没做，而且比现在还清醒，可是身上的瘀伤比我的主人唐吉诃德少不了多少。”
“这位骑士叫什么名字？”阿斯图里亚斯的丑女仆问。
“曼查的唐吉诃德。”桑乔说，“他是征险骑士，可算是自古以来最优秀、最厉害的征险骑士。”
“什么是征险骑士？”女仆问。
“你连这都不知道？世界上竟有这种新鲜事！”桑乔说，“告诉你吧，妹妹，征险骑士就是刚才还被人打，转眼间又成了皇帝。今天他还是世界上最不幸、最贫穷的家伙，明天就可以有两三个王国赐给他的侍从。”
“既然你的主人这么出色，”女仆问，“你怎么好像连个伯爵都没混上呢？”
“为时尚早，”桑乔说，“我们到处寻险，已经一个月了，直到现在，还没有遇到一次险情。不过，说不定什么时候就歪打正着碰上了呢。要是我的主人唐吉诃德这次真能治好伤，或者没摔坏，我也没事。即使把西班牙最高级的称号授予我，我也不会放弃我的希望。”
唐吉诃德一直认真地听他们说话，这时也挣扎着坐起来，拉着主妇的手，对她说：
“相信我，美丽的夫人，你完全可以因为在这座城堡里留宿了我这个人而自称为幸运之人。我并不是自吹，人们常说，自褒即自贬。不过，我的侍从会告诉你我是什么人。我只对你说，你对我的照顾我会铭刻在心。只要我一息尚存，我就会感谢你。我向天发誓，我从未像现在这样被爱情所俘虏，嘴里念叨着那个狠心的美人，还仿佛能看到她的眼睛。不然的话，你这位美丽千金的眼睛就是我的灵魂的主人。”
客店主妇、她的女儿和那位女仆听着游侠骑士的话仿佛在听天书，莫名其妙，虽然她们能够猜测到那无非是些愿意效劳之类的殷勤话。她们还不习惯于这种语言，面面相觑，觉得这是个与其他人不同的人。她们用客店里的套话表示感谢，然后便离开了。丑女仆去看桑乔的伤。他同唐吉诃德一样需要治疗。
脚夫已经同丑女仆商量好那天晚上要共度良宵。丑女仆对脚夫说，待客人们都休息了，主人也睡觉了，她就去找脚夫，让他随心所欲。据说这位善良的女仆只要说了这类的话，即使是在山里许的愿，并没有人做证，她也会如期赴约。她觉得自己很大方，对自己在客店里做这种事并不感到低人一头。她曾多次说，她生来就倒霉，总是有不幸和苦难。唐吉诃德那张拼凑起来的又硬又窄的破床摆在库房中间，后面摆的是桑乔的床，上面只有一张草席和一条毯子。那毯子不像是毛的，倒像是破麻布的。再往后是脚夫的床，像前面说的，那床是用驮鞍和两匹最好的骡子的装备拼凑成的。他总共有十二匹骡子，个个都膘肥体亮，远近闻名。据这个故事的作者说，他是阿雷瓦洛的脚夫大户。作者特意提到他，也很了解他，据说还和他有点亲戚关系。锡德•哈迈德•贝嫩赫利是个对所有事情都喜欢刨根问底，而且记事准确的作者，这点很容易看出来，因为他对所记录的情况事无巨细，都一一提及。那些讨厌的历史学家可以向他学习。那些历史学家凡事都叙述得简短扼要，大概是出于粗心、恶意或者无知，把最关键的东西刚送到嘴边，却又略去了。《塔布兰特•德里卡蒙特》和另一本叙述托米利亚斯伯爵事迹的著作的作者是多么准确地描述了一切呀！
且说那位脚夫照看完他的牲口，喂了第二遍草料，就躺在驮鞍上静等那极其守时的丑女仆。桑乔敷好了药膏也躺了下来。他想睡觉，可是背上疼得厉害，睡不着。唐吉诃德的背也疼，一直像兔子似的睁着眼睛。整个客店一片寂静，只有大门中央的一盏灯还发出光亮。这种宁静，以及这位骑士对那些导致他疯癫的书中种种情节的回忆，使他产生了一种荒唐至极的想法。他想象自己来到了一座著名的城堡（前面说过，他把自己投宿的所有客店都看作城堡），店主的女儿是城堡长官的小姐。她被自己的风度折服了，已经爱上了自己，答应那天晚上瞒着父母来陪他好好睡一觉。这些杜撰的幻景使他仿佛觉得确有其事，于是开始不安，觉得考验他是否忠诚的时候到了。他在心里告诫自己，一定不能背叛托博索的杜尔西内亚，即使希内夫拉女王和她的侍女金塔尼奥斯来了也不能动心。
唐吉诃德正在胡思乱想，恰巧那个阿斯图里亚斯女仆赴约的时间到了。她穿着衬衣，光着脚，头发盘在一个用绒布做的发套里，蹑手蹑脚地摸索着溜进他们三人的房间里，准备同脚夫幽会。她刚走到门边，唐吉诃德就察觉了。虽然身上涂着药膏，背很疼，唐吉诃德还是坐在床上，伸出双臂来迎接自己的美丽夫人。阿斯图里亚斯女仆全神贯注地悄悄伸着手找她的情郎，手碰到了唐吉诃德的胳膊。唐吉诃德用力抓住女仆的一只手腕，把她拉过来，让她坐在床上。女仆吓得不敢言语。唐吉诃德又触摸到女仆的衬衣。那衬衣虽然是用粗布做的，可唐吉诃德还是觉得它薄如细纱。女仆的手腕上戴着玻璃珠串，于是唐吉诃德仿佛看到了东方的明珠。女仆的头发在某种程度上像马鬃，可唐吉诃德却把它当作阿拉伯光彩夺目的金丝，照得太阳黯然失色。她的呼吸无疑散发出一股隔夜色拉的味道，可唐吉诃德觉得它是那么芬芳馥郁。最后，唐吉诃德在头脑里把她想得跟书里的一位公主一模一样。那位公主就像刚才描写的那么迷人。她被爱情驱使，来看望受伤的骑士。唐吉诃德已经鬼迷心窍，无论是对女仆的触摸还是她的气息或者其它东西，都不能让他清醒过来。除了脚夫以外，所有人都会对女仆的身体和气息作呕，可是唐吉诃德却觉得他搂着一位天姿国色。他搂紧女仆，情意绵绵地喃喃道：
“美丽尊贵的夫人，承蒙大驾光临，不胜报答。可是命运偏偏不断地捉弄好人，让我躺在床上，浑身疼痛，虽然我十分愿意满足您，却又不可能。而且，更重要的是我已经对托博索举世无双的杜尔西内亚表示了忠心。我在灵魂最深处认为她是我唯一的意中人。不然的话，我不会像个愚蠢的骑士那样放弃您赐予我的这次幸遇。”
女仆被唐吉诃德紧搂着，已经烦恼万分，身上直冒虚汗。她并没有听懂，也根本没有听唐吉诃德说些什么，只想能默不作声地摆脱出来。脚夫被邪欲搅得不能入睡，他的姘头刚到门口他就知道了。他一直仔细听着唐吉诃德说的话，而且由于阿斯图里亚斯女仆失约投入别人的怀抱而醋意大发。他悄悄走近唐吉诃德的床，看唐吉诃德到底还能说些什么。可是，他看到女仆正竭力想挣脱出来，而唐吉诃德却缠着她不放，他觉得这太过分了。脚夫高举手臂，一记猛击打在这位多情骑士的尖嘴巴上，立刻打得他满嘴是血。脚夫觉得这还不够，又踩到唐吉诃德的背上，从头到脚把唐吉诃德踢了个够。这张床本来就不结实，床架也不牢，脚夫再一上来就更禁不住了，结果连人带床塌了下来。响声惊醒了店主。店主估计是女仆在闹腾。刚才店主喊过她，却没听到她应声。这么一猜，店主便起身点燃一盏油灯，向他估计正在打架的地方走来。
女仆看到主人走过来了。她知道店主生性暴躁，吓得惊恐万状，赶紧藏到桑乔的床下，缩成一团。桑乔还睡着。店主走进来说道：
“臭婊子，你藏在哪儿？我就知道准是你在闹事。”
这时候桑乔醒了。他感觉到有个人影几乎压在他身上，以为是做恶梦，就挥拳乱打，有不少下打在了女仆身上。女仆被打疼了，也顾不得什么体面，反手打了桑乔很多下。这回桑乔可醒了。他看到有人打他，但不知那人是谁，就赶紧坐起来，抱住女仆，于是两人展开了一场世界上最激烈也最滑稽的争斗。
脚夫借着店主的灯光看到女仆这种状况，便放开唐吉诃德过去帮忙。店主也想过去，不过他另有目的，店主认为是女仆造成了这场混战，所以他是过去惩罚女仆的。这真可谓“猫追老鼠鼠咬绳，绳缚棍子忙不停”，脚夫揍桑乔，桑乔打女仆，女仆又打桑乔，店主追女仆，大家都忙个不停，连喘息的时间也没有。妙就妙在店主手里的灯灭了，四周一片黑暗。大家摸黑乱打，无所顾忌，手到之处，一片狼藉。
那天晚上，恰巧有个所谓托莱多老圣友团的团丁住在客店里。他听到这种奇怪的激烈打斗声，便抓起他的短杖和铁皮头盔，摸黑走进房间，说道：
“别动，是正义！别动，是圣友团！”
团丁首先抓到的是已经饱尝恶拳的唐吉诃德。唐吉诃德倒在他那已经倒塌的破床上，失去了知觉。团丁摸到他的胡子，不停地喊着：“服从正义！”可是看到被抓的人既不喊叫也不动，才意识到这人大概已经死了，那么其他在场的人就是凶手。这么一想，他就扯足嗓门喊道：
“关上客店的门！不要让任何人跑掉，这里有个人被杀死了。”
他这一叫可把在场的人吓坏了。大家有都停止了打斗，店主回到自己的房间里，脚夫回到驮鞍上，女仆也回到自己的茅屋里。只有倒霉的唐吉诃德和桑乔倒在原地动弹不得。这时团丁松开了唐吉诃德的胡子，出门找灯，准备寻找抓捕罪犯。可是灯没找到。原来店主回自己房间的时候，已经把油灯弄坏了。团丁好不容易才找到壁炉，费了不少周折和时间才点燃了另外一盏灯。
Part 1 Chapter 17
By this time Don Quixote had recovered from his swoon; and in the same tone of voice in which he had called to his squire the day before when he lay stretched “in the vale of the stakes,” he began calling to him now, “Sancho, my friend, art thou asleep? sleepest thou, friend Sancho?”
“How can I sleep, curses on it!” returned Sancho discontentedly and bitterly, “when it is plain that all the devils have been at me this night?”
“Thou mayest well believe that,” answered Don Quixote, “because, either I know little, or this castle is enchanted, for thou must know — but this that I am now about to tell thee thou must swear to keep secret until after my death.”
“I swear it,” answered Sancho.
“I say so,” continued Don Quixote, “because I hate taking away anyone’s good name.”
“I say,” replied Sancho, “that I swear to hold my tongue about it till the end of your worship’s days, and God grant I may be able to let it out tomorrow.”
“Do I do thee such injuries, Sancho,” said Don Quixote, “that thou wouldst see me dead so soon?”
“It is not for that,” replied Sancho, “but because I hate keeping things long, and I don’t want them to grow rotten with me from over-keeping.”
“At any rate,” said Don Quixote, “I have more confidence in thy affection and good nature; and so I would have thee know that this night there befell me one of the strangest adventures that I could describe, and to relate it to thee briefly thou must know that a little while ago the daughter of the lord of this castle came to me, and that she is the most elegant and beautiful damsel that could be found in the wide world. What I could tell thee of the charms of her person! of her lively wit! of other secret matters which, to preserve the fealty I owe to my lady Dulcinea del Toboso, I shall pass over unnoticed and in silence! I will only tell thee that, either fate being envious of so great a boon placed in my hands by good fortune, or perhaps (and this is more probable) this castle being, as I have already said, enchanted, at the time when I was engaged in the sweetest and most amorous discourse with her, there came, without my seeing or knowing whence it came, a hand attached to some arm of some huge giant, that planted such a cuff on my jaws that I have them all bathed in blood, and then pummelled me in such a way that I am in a worse plight than yesterday when the carriers, on account of Rocinante’s misbehaviour, inflicted on us the injury thou knowest of; whence conjecture that there must be some enchanted Moor guarding the treasure of this damsel’s beauty, and that it is not for me.”
“Not for me either,” said Sancho, “for more than four hundred Moors have so thrashed me that the drubbing of the stakes was cakes and fancy-bread to it. But tell me, senor, what do you call this excellent and rare adventure that has left us as we are left now? Though your worship was not so badly off, having in your arms that incomparable beauty you spoke of; but I, what did I have, except the heaviest whacks I think I had in all my life? Unlucky me and the mother that bore me! for I am not a knight-errant and never expect to be one, and of all the mishaps, the greater part falls to my share.”
“Then thou hast been thrashed too?” said Don Quixote.
“Didn’t I say so? worse luck to my line!” said Sancho.
“Be not distressed, friend,” said Don Quixote, “for I will now make the precious balsam with which we shall cure ourselves in the twinkling of an eye.”
By this time the cuadrillero had succeeded in lighting the lamp, and came in to see the man that he thought had been killed; and as Sancho caught sight of him at the door, seeing him coming in his shirt, with a cloth on his head, and a lamp in his hand, and a very forbidding countenance, he said to his master, “Senor, can it be that this is the enchanted Moor coming back to give us more castigation if there be anything still left in the ink-bottle?”
“It cannot be the Moor,” answered Don Quixote, “for those under enchantment do not let themselves be seen by anyone.”
“If they don’t let themselves be seen, they let themselves be felt,” said Sancho; “if not, let my shoulders speak to the point.”
“Mine could speak too,” said Don Quixote, “but that is not a sufficient reason for believing that what we see is the enchanted Moor.”
The officer came up, and finding them engaged in such a peaceful conversation, stood amazed; though Don Quixote, to be sure, still lay on his back unable to move from pure pummelling and plasters. The officer turned to him and said, “Well, how goes it, good man?”
“I would speak more politely if I were you,” replied Don Quixote; “is it the way of this country to address knights-errant in that style, you booby?”
The cuadrillero finding himself so disrespectfully treated by such a sorry-looking individual, lost his temper, and raising the lamp full of oil, smote Don Quixote such a blow with it on the head that he gave him a badly broken pate; then, all being in darkness, he went out, and Sancho Panza said, “That is certainly the enchanted Moor, Senor, and he keeps the treasure for others, and for us only the cuffs and lamp-whacks.”
“That is the truth,” answered Don Quixote, “and there is no use in troubling oneself about these matters of enchantment or being angry or vexed at them, for as they are invisible and visionary we shall find no one on whom to avenge ourselves, do what we may; rise, Sancho, if thou canst, and call the alcaide of this fortress, and get him to give me a little oil, wine, salt, and rosemary to make the salutiferous balsam, for indeed I believe I have great need of it now, because I am losing much blood from the wound that phantom gave me.”
Sancho got up with pain enough in his bones, and went after the innkeeper in the dark, and meeting the officer, who was looking to see what had become of his enemy, he said to him, “Senor, whoever you are, do us the favour and kindness to give us a little rosemary, oil, salt, and wine, for it is wanted to cure one of the best knights-errant on earth, who lies on yonder bed wounded by the hands of the enchanted Moor that is in this inn.”
When the officer heard him talk in this way, he took him for a man out of his senses, and as day was now beginning to break, he opened the inn gate, and calling the host, he told him what this good man wanted. The host furnished him with what he required, and Sancho brought it to Don Quixote, who, with his hand to his head, was bewailing the pain of the blow of the lamp, which had done him no more harm than raising a couple of rather large lumps, and what he fancied blood was only the sweat that flowed from him in his sufferings during the late storm. To be brief, he took the materials, of which he made a compound, mixing them all and boiling them a good while until it seemed to him they had come to perfection. He then asked for some vial to pour it into, and as there was not one in the inn, he decided on putting it into a tin oil-bottle or flask of which the host made him a free gift; and over the flask he repeated more than eighty paternosters and as many more ave-marias, salves, and credos, accompanying each word with a cross by way of benediction, at all which there were present Sancho, the innkeeper, and the cuadrillero; for the carrier was now peacefully engaged in attending to the comfort of his mules.
This being accomplished, he felt anxious to make trial himself, on the spot, of the virtue of this precious balsam, as he considered it, and so he drank near a quart of what could not be put into the flask and remained in the pigskin in which it had been boiled; but scarcely had he done drinking when he began to vomit in such a way that nothing was left in his stomach, and with the pangs and spasms of vomiting he broke into a profuse sweat, on account of which he bade them cover him up and leave him alone. They did so, and he lay sleeping more than three hours, at the end of which he awoke and felt very great bodily relief and so much ease from his bruises that he thought himself quite cured, and verily believed he had hit upon the balsam of Fierabras; and that with this remedy he might thenceforward, without any fear, face any kind of destruction, battle, or combat, however perilous it might be.
Sancho Panza, who also regarded the amendment of his master as miraculous, begged him to give him what was left in the pigskin, which was no small quantity. Don Quixote consented, and he, taking it with both hands, in good faith and with a better will, gulped down and drained off very little less than his master. But the fact is, that the stomach of poor Sancho was of necessity not so delicate as that of his master, and so, before vomiting, he was seized with such gripings and retchings, and such sweats and faintness, that verily and truly be believed his last hour had come, and finding himself so racked and tormented he cursed the balsam and the thief that had given it to him.
Don Quixote seeing him in this state said, “It is my belief, Sancho, that this mischief comes of thy not being dubbed a knight, for I am persuaded this liquor cannot be good for those who are not so.”
“If your worship knew that,” returned Sancho — “woe betide me and all my kindred! — why did you let me taste it?”
At this moment the draught took effect, and the poor squire began to discharge both ways at such a rate that the rush mat on which he had thrown himself and the canvas blanket he had covering him were fit for nothing afterwards. He sweated and perspired with such paroxysms and convulsions that not only he himself but all present thought his end had come. This tempest and tribulation lasted about two hours, at the end of which he was left, not like his master, but so weak and exhausted that he could not stand. Don Quixote, however, who, as has been said, felt himself relieved and well, was eager to take his departure at once in quest of adventures, as it seemed to him that all the time he loitered there was a fraud upon the world and those in it who stood in need of his help and protection, all the more when he had the security and confidence his balsam afforded him; and so, urged by this impulse, he saddled Rocinante himself and put the pack-saddle on his squire’s beast, whom likewise he helped to dress and mount the ass; after which he mounted his horse and turning to a corner of the inn he laid hold of a pike that stood there, to serve him by way of a lance. All that were in the inn, who were more than twenty persons, stood watching him; the innkeeper’s daughter was likewise observing him, and he too never took his eyes off her, and from time to time fetched a sigh that he seemed to pluck up from the depths of his bowels; but they all thought it must be from the pain he felt in his ribs; at any rate they who had seen him plastered the night before thought so.
As soon as they were both mounted, at the gate of the inn, he called to the host and said in a very grave and measured voice, “Many and great are the favours, Senor Alcaide, that I have received in this castle of yours, and I remain under the deepest obligation to be grateful to you for them all the days of my life; if I can repay them in avenging you of any arrogant foe who may have wronged you, know that my calling is no other than to aid the weak, to avenge those who suffer wrong, and to chastise perfidy. Search your memory, and if you find anything of this kind you need only tell me of it, and I promise you by the order of knighthood which I have received to procure you satisfaction and reparation to the utmost of your desire.”
The innkeeper replied to him with equal calmness, “Sir Knight, I do not want your worship to avenge me of any wrong, because when any is done me I can take what vengeance seems good to me; the only thing I want is that you pay me the score that you have run up in the inn last night, as well for the straw and barley for your two beasts, as for supper and beds.”
 
“Then this is an inn?” said Don Quixote.
“And a very respectable one,” said the innkeeper.
“I have been under a mistake all this time,” answered Don Quixote, “for in truth I thought it was a castle, and not a bad one; but since it appears that it is not a castle but an inn, all that can be done now is that you should excuse the payment, for I cannot contravene the rule of knights-errant, of whom I know as a fact (and up to the present I have read nothing to the contrary) that they never paid for lodging or anything else in the inn where they might be; for any hospitality that might be offered them is their due by law and right in return for the insufferable toil they endure in seeking adventures by night and by day, in summer and in winter, on foot and on horseback, in hunger and thirst, cold and heat, exposed to all the inclemencies of heaven and all the hardships of earth.”
“I have little to do with that,” replied the innkeeper; “pay me what you owe me, and let us have no more talk of chivalry, for all I care about is to get my money.”
“You are a stupid, scurvy innkeeper,” said Don Quixote, and putting spurs to Rocinante and bringing his pike to the slope he rode out of the inn before anyone could stop him, and pushed on some distance without looking to see if his squire was following him.
The innkeeper when he saw him go without paying him ran to get payment of Sancho, who said that as his master would not pay neither would he, because, being as he was squire to a knight-errant, the same rule and reason held good for him as for his master with regard to not paying anything in inns and hostelries. At this the innkeeper waxed very wroth, and threatened if he did not pay to compel him in a way that he would not like. To which Sancho made answer that by the law of chivalry his master had received he would not pay a rap, though it cost him his life; for the excellent and ancient usage of knights-errant was not going to be violated by him, nor should the squires of such as were yet to come into the world ever complain of him or reproach him with breaking so just a privilege.
The ill-luck of the unfortunate Sancho so ordered it that among the company in the inn there were four woolcarders from Segovia, three needle-makers from the Colt of Cordova, and two lodgers from the Fair of Seville, lively fellows, tender-hearted, fond of a joke, and playful, who, almost as if instigated and moved by a common impulse, made up to Sancho and dismounted him from his ass, while one of them went in for the blanket of the host’s bed; but on flinging him into it they looked up, and seeing that the ceiling was somewhat lower what they required for their work, they decided upon going out into the yard, which was bounded by the sky, and there, putting Sancho in the middle of the blanket, they began to raise him high, making sport with him as they would with a dog at Shrovetide.
 
The cries of the poor blanketed wretch were so loud that they reached the ears of his master, who, halting to listen attentively, was persuaded that some new adventure was coming, until he clearly perceived that it was his squire who uttered them. Wheeling about he came up to the inn with a laborious gallop, and finding it shut went round it to see if he could find some way of getting in; but as soon as he came to the wall of the yard, which was not very high, he discovered the game that was being played with his squire. He saw him rising and falling in the air with such grace and nimbleness that, had his rage allowed him, it is my belief he would have laughed. He tried to climb from his horse on to the top of the wall, but he was so bruised and battered that he could not even dismount; and so from the back of his horse he began to utter such maledictions and objurgations against those who were blanketing Sancho as it would be impossible to write down accurately: they, however, did not stay their laughter or their work for this, nor did the flying Sancho cease his lamentations, mingled now with threats, now with entreaties but all to little purpose, or none at all, until from pure weariness they left off. They then brought him his ass, and mounting him on top of it they put his jacket round him; and the compassionate Maritornes, seeing him so exhausted, thought fit to refresh him with a jug of water, and that it might be all the cooler she fetched it from the well. Sancho took it, and as he was raising it to his mouth he was stopped by the cries of his master exclaiming, “Sancho, my son, drink not water; drink it not, my son, for it will kill thee; see, here I have the blessed balsam (and he held up the flask of liquor), and with drinking two drops of it thou wilt certainly be restored.”
At these words Sancho turned his eyes asquint, and in a still louder voice said, “Can it be your worship has forgotten that I am not a knight, or do you want me to end by vomiting up what bowels I have left after last night? Keep your liquor in the name of all the devils, and leave me to myself!” and at one and the same instant he left off talking and began drinking; but as at the first sup he perceived it was water he did not care to go on with it, and begged Maritornes to fetch him some wine, which she did with right good will, and paid for it with her own money; for indeed they say of her that, though she was in that line of life, there was some faint and distant resemblance to a Christian about her. When Sancho had done drinking he dug his heels into his ass, and the gate of the inn being thrown open he passed out very well pleased at having paid nothing and carried his point, though it had been at the expense of his usual sureties, his shoulders. It is true that the innkeeper detained his alforjas in payment of what was owing to him, but Sancho took his departure in such a flurry that he never missed them. The innkeeper, as soon as he saw him off, wanted to bar the gate close, but the blanketers would not agree to it, for they were fellows who would not have cared two farthings for Don Quixote, even had he been really one of the knights-errant of the Round Table.
 
唐吉诃德这个时候已经苏醒过来。他用前一天被人乱棍打倒在谷地时叫桑乔的那种声音叫道：
“桑乔朋友，你睡着了？你睡着了吗，桑乔朋友？”
“就我这样，还睡什么觉啊！”桑乔又怕又恼地说，“好像今天晚上所有的魔鬼都跟我过不去呢。”
“你可以这么想，没问题。”唐吉诃德说，“或者是我见识太少，或者是这座城堡中了邪气，你应该知道……不过你得发誓，对我现在要告诉你的事情绝对保密，直到我死后才能说。”
“我发誓。”桑乔说。
唐吉诃德说：“我这样讲是因为我不想败坏任何人的名声。”
“我发誓，”桑乔又说，“我一定保密，直到有一天您老过世。不过，但愿上帝能让我明天就可以说出去了。”
“我怎么惹你了，”唐吉诃德说，“你竟然希望我这么快就死？”
“那倒不是，”桑乔说，“只是我最讨厌把什么都藏着掖着，把东西都放烂了。”
“不管怎么说，”唐吉诃德说，“你对我敬爱和尊崇，这点我是信得过的。所以，我想让你知道我今晚一次特别的神奇经历。简单地说，就是这个城堡长官的小姐刚才跑来找我，她是世界上最高雅最漂亮的姑娘。我应该怎样形容她的相貌呢？怎样描述她机敏的头脑呢？怎样介绍她那些隐秘之处呢？为了保持对托博索我美丽夫人的忠诚，还是暂且不说吧。我只想对你说，老天看到我这送上门来的艳福都眼红了，或者也许（绝对是也许），是这座城堡中了邪气。我正同她亲密地交谈，不知从何处飞来一个超级巨人的一只手，一拳打在我的下巴上，打得我满嘴是血。昨天由于罗西南多放荡不羁，几个脚夫把咱们揍得够呛，这你知道。可今天我的状况比昨天还糟糕。因此我想，这个漂亮的宝贝姑娘大概是留给某个会魔法的摩尔人的，而不是属于我的。”
“也不属于我。”桑乔说，“曾有四百多个摩尔人追打我，与之相比，这顿棍棒简直不算什么。不过，请您告诉我，大人，现在咱们弄到这种地步，您怎么还说是少有的妙事呢？您好歹还有过一个您说是美丽无比的姑娘；而我呢，除了挨一顿估计是我平生最厉害的毒打外，还得着什么了？我和养育了我的母亲真倒霉呀！我不是游侠骑士，也从未想过要当游侠骑士，可是那么多的厄运却都让我摊上了。”
“你后来也挨打了？”唐吉诃德问。
“我不是对您说过我也挨打了嘛，尽管我不是游侠骑士。”
桑乔说。
“别伤心，朋友，”唐吉诃德说，“我现在就做那种珍贵的圣水，咱们的伤立刻就会好。”
这时，团丁刚刚点燃了油灯，进来看他以为已经死了的人。桑乔见他穿着衬衣，头上裹着布，手里拿着油灯，面目极为丑恶，便问他的主人：
“大人，难道那个再次惩罚我们的摩尔人魔法师就是他吗？”
“不会是摩尔人，”唐吉诃德说，魔法师从来不会让人看见。”
“不让人看见，却让人感觉得到，”桑乔说，“不信，我的背就可以证明这一点。”
“我的肩膀也能证明，”唐吉诃德说，“不过，这还是不能让人相信，能让人看到的这个人就是会魔法的摩尔人。”
团丁走进来，看到唐吉诃德和桑乔正不慌不忙地说话，不禁愕然。唐吉诃德依然躺在那里，动弹不得，浑身是伤，而且涂满了药膏。团丁走过来问他：
“怎么样，大好人？”
“如果我是你，”唐吉诃德说，“说话就会更文明些。蠢货，你常常在这个地方同游侠骑士如此讲话吗？”
团丁看到一个其貌不扬的人竟敢如此对待自己，哪里受得了。他举起装满了油的油灯，向唐吉诃德的脑袋砸去，打得他头晕眼花。四周一片黑暗，团丁走了。
桑乔说：
“毫无疑问，大人，他就是会魔法的摩尔人。好东西都是留给别人的，留给我们的只是遭拳打，遭油灯砸。”
“是的，”唐吉诃德说，“不过，对于魔法这类的事情不必介意，也没什么可生气的，这种东西肉眼看不到，又很离奇，咱们就是再费气力，也不知道该向谁报仇。你要是能站起来，桑乔，就起来去叫这座城堡的要塞司令，想办法弄些油、酒、盐和迷迭香来，做点治伤的圣水。真的，我现在需要它。我被那个魔鬼弄伤的地方流了很多血。”
桑乔忍着筋骨的剧痛站起来，摸黑向店主的方向走去，结果碰上了正打算探听敌情的团丁，便对他说：
“大人，不管您是谁，请您开恩给我们一点儿迷迭香、油、盐和酒吧，好医治世界上一位最优秀的游侠骑士。他被这座客店里的摩尔人魔法师打得很严重，正躺在床上。”
团丁听到这番话，断定这个人精神不正常。既然天已经开始亮了，他就打开客店的们，告诉店主桑乔所需要的东西，店主如数给了桑乔，桑乔把这些东西带给了唐吉诃德。唐吉诃德正捂着被油灯砸伤的脑袋呻吟。其实，他头上不过是被砸起了两个鼓包，他以为头上流了血，其实那只是由于厄运临头流的汗。
最后，唐吉诃德把这些东西混在一起，煮了很长时间，一直煮到他以为到了火候的时候。他又要瓶子盛药，可是客店里没有瓶子，就用铁皮水筒装。店主送给他一个水筒。唐吉诃德对着水筒念了八十遍天主经，又说了八十遍万福玛利亚、圣母颂和信经。每念一遍，他都划个十字，表示祝福。桑乔、店主和团丁一直都在场，而脚夫却已悄悄去照料他的骡子了。
唐吉诃德想试试熬出的圣水是否有他想象的那种效力，就把剩在锅里的近半升的水喝了下去。刚喝完，他就开始呕吐，把胃里的东西吐得一干二净，直吐得浑身大汗淋漓，只好让大家给他盖好被，一个人躺在床上。被子盖好后，他睡了三个多小时。醒来后他觉得身体轻松极了，身上也不疼了，以为自己已经好了，并且深信自己制成了菲耶拉布拉斯圣水，从此不用再惧怕任何战斗了，无论它们有多么危险。
桑乔也觉得主人身体好转是个奇迹。他请求唐吉诃德把锅里剩下的那些水都给他。锅里还剩了不少，唐吉诃德同意都给他。桑乔双手捧着水，满怀信心、乐不可支地喝进肚里，喝得决不比唐吉诃德少。大概他的胃不像唐吉诃德的胃那么娇气，所以恶心了半天才吐出一口，弄得他浑身是汗，差点晕过去，甚至想到了他会寿终正寝。桑乔难受得厉害，一边咒骂可恶的圣水，一边诅咒给他圣水的混蛋。唐吉诃德看到他这个样子，就对他说：
“桑乔，我觉得你这么难受，完全是由于你还没有被封为骑士。依我看，没有被封为骑士的人不该喝这种水。”
“既然您知道这些，”桑乔说，“为什么还让我喝呢？真是倒了八辈子霉！”
这时圣水开始起作用了。可怜的桑乔马上开始上吐下泻。他刚才已经躺到了草席上，结果弄得床上和他盖的麻布被单上都有秽物。他的汗越出越多，越出越厉害，不仅他自己，连在场的人都认为他的生命这次到头了。这样足足折腾了两个小时，结果却不像主人那样，只觉得浑身疼痛难忍，骨头像散了架。前面说到唐吉诃德感觉身上轻松了，已经康复了，就想马上离开，再去征险，觉得他在这里耽搁，整个世界和世界上所有需要他帮助和保护的穷人就失掉了他。而且，他对自己带的圣水信心十足，他受这种愿望驱使，自己为罗西南多和桑乔的驴上了驮鞍，又帮助桑乔穿好衣服，扶他上驴。唐吉诃德骑上马，来到客店的一个墙角，拿起一支短剑权当长枪。
当时客店里足有二十多人，大家都看着唐吉诃德，店主的女儿也看着他，唐吉诃德同样地盯着店主的女儿，不时还深深地叹口气。大家想，大概是他的背还在痛，至少那天晚上看见他浑身涂满了药膏的人都是这么想的。
两人在客店门前骑上了马。唐吉诃德又叫店主，声音极其平缓和沉重，对店主说：
“在此城堡里承蒙您盛情款待，要塞司令大人，我终生感激不尽。作为报答，假如有某个巨人对您有所冒犯，我定会为您报仇。您知道，我的职业就是扶弱济贫，惩治恶人，请您记住，如果您遇到了我说的这类事情，一定要告诉我。
“我以骑士的名义保证，替您报仇，而且让您满意。”
店主也心平气和地说：
“骑士大人，我没有受到什么侵犯需要您为我报仇。如果有必要的话，我自己会去报仇的。我只需要您为今晚您的两匹牲口在客店里所用的草料，以及您二位的晚餐和床位付款。”
“难道这是个客店？”唐吉诃德问。
“是啊，而且是个很正规的客店。”店主说。
“我被欺骗了，”唐吉诃德悦，“以前我真的以为这是座城堡，而且是座不错的城堡。既然这不是城堡，而是客店，现在能做的只是请您把这笔帐目勾销。我不能违反游侠骑士的规则。我知道，游侠骑士无论在什么地方住旅馆或客店都从来不付钱，我从来没有在哪本书上看到他们付钱的事。作为回报，他们有权享受周到的款待。他们受苦受累，无论冬夏都步行或骑马，忍饥挨俄，顶严寒，冒酷暑，遭受着各种恶劣天气和世间各种挫折的袭扰，日夜到处征险。”
“我与此没什么关系。”店主说，“把欠我的钱付给我，别讲什么骑士的事了。我只知道收我的帐。”
“你真是个愚蠢卑鄙的店主。”唐吉诃德说。
唐吉诃德双腿一夹罗西南多，提着他那支短剑出了客店，没有人拦他。他也没有看桑乔是否跟上了他，便走出好远。店主看唐吉诃德走了，没有结帐，就向桑乔要钱。桑乔说，既然他的主人不愿意付钱，他也不打算付。他是游侠骑士的侍从，所以住客店不付钱的规则对他和他的主人都是一样的。店主愤怒极了，威胁说如果他不付帐，就不会有好果子吃。桑乔对此的回答是，按照他主人承认的骑士规则，他即使丢了性命，也不会付一分钱的。他不能为了自己而丧失游侠骑士多年的优良传统，也不能让后世的游侠骑士侍从埋怨他，指责他破坏了他们的正当权利。
真该桑乔倒霉。客店的人群里有四个塞哥维亚的拉绒匠、三个科尔多瓦波特罗的针贩子和两个塞维利亚博览会附近的居民。这些人生性活泼，并无恶意，却喜欢恶作剧、开玩笑。他们不约而同地来到桑乔面前，把他从驴上拉下来。其中一个人到房间里拿出了被单，大家把桑乔扔到被单上，可抬头一看，屋顶不够高，便商定把桑乔抬到院子里，往上抛。他们把桑乔放在被单中，开始向上抛，就像狂欢节时耍狗那样拿桑乔开心。
可怜桑乔的叫喊声传得很远，一直传到了唐吉诃德的耳朵里。他停下来仔细听了一下，以为又是什么新的险情，最后才听清楚是桑乔的叫喊声。他掉转缰绳，催马回到客店门前，只见门锁着。他转了一圈，看看有什么地方可以进去。院墙并不高，还没到院墙边，他就看见了里边的人对桑乔的恶作剧。他看到桑乔在空中一上一下地飞舞，既滑稽又好笑。要不是因为当时他正怒气冲冲，准会笑出声来。唐吉诃德试着从马背往墙头上爬，可浑身疼得要散了架，连下马都不行。他开始在马背上诅咒那些扔桑乔的人，用词十分难听，很难准确地在此表述。不过，院里的笑声和恶作剧并没有因为唐吉诃德的诅咒而停止。桑乔仍叫唤不停，同进还能听见他的恫吓声和求饶声。可是求饶也没有用，那些人一直闹到累了才住手。他们牵来驴，把桑乔扶上去，给他披上外衣。富于同情心的女仆看到桑乔已精疲力竭，觉得应该给他一罐水帮帮他。井里的水最凉，她就从井里打来一罐水。桑乔接过罐子，刚送到嘴边，就听见唐吉诃德对他喊：
“桑乔，别喝那水。孩子，别喝那水，会要了你的命的。你没看到我这儿有圣水吗？”唐吉诃德说着晃了一下铁筒，“你只须喝两口就会好的。”
桑乔循场转过头去，因为是斜视，桑乔的声音竟比唐吉诃德的声音还要大，喊道：
“您大概忘了我不是骑士，要不就是想让我把昨天晚上肚子里剩下的那点东西全吐掉？把您那见鬼的圣水收起来，饶了我吧。”
桑乔说完就赶紧喝起来，但一喝是井水，他又不想再喝了。他请求女仆给他拿点酒来。女仆很高兴地给他拿来了酒，这酒是她自己掏钱买的。据说她虽然是干那种事的人，可毕竟还有点基督徒的味道。桑乔喝完酒，脚后跟夹了一下驴。客店的门已经打开，桑乔出了门。他到底没有付房钱，最后还是得听他的，所以心里很高兴，尽管替他还帐的是他的后背。
实际上，店主把桑乔的褡裢扣下抵帐了。桑乔慌慌张张地出了门，并没有发现褡裢丢了。店主看到桑乔出了门，想赶紧把门闩上。可是，刚才扔桑乔的那些人却不以为然。他们觉得唐吉诃德即使真是圆桌骑士，也一文不值。
Part 1 Chapter 18
Sancho reached his master so limp and faint that he could not urge on his beast. When Don Quixote saw the state he was in he said, “I have now come to the conclusion, good Sancho, that this castle or inn is beyond a doubt enchanted, because those who have so atrociously diverted themselves with thee, what can they be but phantoms or beings of another world? and I hold this confirmed by having noticed that when I was by the wall of the yard witnessing the acts of thy sad tragedy, it was out of my power to mount upon it, nor could I even dismount from Rocinante, because they no doubt had me enchanted; for I swear to thee by the faith of what I am that if I had been able to climb up or dismount, I would have avenged thee in such a way that those braggart thieves would have remembered their freak for ever, even though in so doing I knew that I contravened the laws of chivalry, which, as I have often told thee, do not permit a knight to lay hands on him who is not one, save in case of urgent and great necessity in defence of his own life and person.”
“I would have avenged myself too if I could,” said Sancho, “whether I had been dubbed knight or not, but I could not; though for my part I am persuaded those who amused themselves with me were not phantoms or enchanted men, as your worship says, but men of flesh and bone like ourselves; and they all had their names, for I heard them name them when they were tossing me, and one was called Pedro Martinez, and another Tenorio Hernandez, and the innkeeper, I heard, was called Juan Palomeque the Left-handed; so that, senor, your not being able to leap over the wall of the yard or dismount from your horse came of something else besides enchantments; and what I make out clearly from all this is, that these adventures we go seeking will in the end lead us into such misadventures that we shall not know which is our right foot; and that the best and wisest thing, according to my small wits, would be for us to return home, now that it is harvest-time, and attend to our business, and give over wandering from Zeca to Mecca and from pail to bucket, as the saying is.”
“How little thou knowest about chivalry, Sancho,” replied Don Quixote; “hold thy peace and have patience; the day will come when thou shalt see with thine own eyes what an honourable thing it is to wander in the pursuit of this calling; nay, tell me, what greater pleasure can there be in the world, or what delight can equal that of winning a battle, and triumphing over one’s enemy? None, beyond all doubt.”
“Very likely,” answered Sancho, “though I do not know it; all I know is that since we have been knights-errant, or since your worship has been one (for I have no right to reckon myself one of so honourable a number) we have never won any battle except the one with the Biscayan, and even out of that your worship car-ne with half an ear and half a helmet the less; and from that till now it has been all cudgellings and more cudgellings, cuffs and more cuffs, I getting the blanketing over and above, and falling in with enchanted persons on whom I cannot avenge myself so as to know what the delight, as your worship calls it, of conquering an enemy is like.”
“That is what vexes me, and what ought to vex thee, Sancho,” replied Don Quixote; “but henceforward I will endeavour to have at hand some sword made by such craft that no kind of enchantments can take effect upon him who carries it, and it is even possible that fortune may procure for me that which belonged to Amadis when he was called ‘The Knight of the Burning Sword,’ which was one of the best swords that ever knight in the world possessed, for, besides having the said virtue, it cut like a razor, and there was no armour, however strong and enchanted it might be, that could resist it.”
“Such is my luck,” said Sancho, “that even if that happened and your worship found some such sword, it would, like the balsam, turn out serviceable and good for dubbed knights only, and as for the squires, they might sup sorrow.”
“Fear not that, Sancho,” said Don Quixote: “Heaven will deal better by thee.”
Thus talking, Don Quixote and his squire were going along, when, on the road they were following, Don Quixote perceived approaching them a large and thick cloud of dust, on seeing which he turned to Sancho and said:
“This is the day, Sancho, on which will be seen the boon my fortune is reserving for me; this, I say, is the day on which as much as on any other shall be displayed the might of my arm, and on which I shall do deeds that shall remain written in the book of fame for all ages to come. Seest thou that cloud of dust which rises yonder? Well, then, all that is churned up by a vast army composed of various and countless nations that comes marching there.”
“According to that there must be two,” said Sancho, “for on this opposite side also there rises just such another cloud of dust.”
Don Quixote turned to look and found that it was true, and rejoicing exceedingly, he concluded that they were two armies about to engage and encounter in the midst of that broad plain; for at all times and seasons his fancy was full of the battles, enchantments, adventures, crazy feats, loves, and defiances that are recorded in the books of chivalry, and everything he said, thought, or did had reference to such things. Now the cloud of dust he had seen was raised by two great droves of sheep coming along the same road in opposite directions, which, because of the dust, did not become visible until they drew near, but Don Quixote asserted so positively that they were armies that Sancho was led to believe it and say, “Well, and what are we to do, senor?”
 
“What?” said Don Quixote: “give aid and assistance to the weak and those who need it; and thou must know, Sancho, that this which comes opposite to us is conducted and led by the mighty emperor Alifanfaron, lord of the great isle of Trapobana; this other that marches behind me is that of his enemy the king of the Garamantas, Pentapolin of the Bare Arm, for he always goes into battle with his right arm bare.”
“But why are these two lords such enemies?”
“They are at enmity,” replied Don Quixote, “because this Alifanfaron is a furious pagan and is in love with the daughter of Pentapolin, who is a very beautiful and moreover gracious lady, and a Christian, and her father is unwilling to bestow her upon the pagan king unless he first abandons the religion of his false prophet Mahomet, and adopts his own.”
“By my beard,” said Sancho, “but Pentapolin does quite right, and I will help him as much as I can.”
“In that thou wilt do what is thy duty, Sancho,” said Don Quixote; “for to engage in battles of this sort it is not requisite to be a dubbed knight.”
“That I can well understand,” answered Sancho; “but where shall we put this ass where we may be sure to find him after the fray is over? for I believe it has not been the custom so far to go into battle on a beast of this kind.”
“That is true,” said Don Quixote, “and what you had best do with him is to leave him to take his chance whether he be lost or not, for the horses we shall have when we come out victors will be so many that even Rocinante will run a risk of being changed for another. But attend to me and observe, for I wish to give thee some account of the chief knights who accompany these two armies; and that thou mayest the better see and mark, let us withdraw to that hillock which rises yonder, whence both armies may be seen.”
They did so, and placed themselves on a rising ground from which the two droves that Don Quixote made armies of might have been plainly seen if the clouds of dust they raised had not obscured them and blinded the sight; nevertheless, seeing in his imagination what he did not see and what did not exist, he began thus in a loud voice:
“That knight whom thou seest yonder in yellow armour, who bears upon his shield a lion crowned crouching at the feet of a damsel, is the valiant Laurcalco, lord of the Silver Bridge; that one in armour with flowers of gold, who bears on his shield three crowns argent on an azure field, is the dreaded Micocolembo, grand duke of Quirocia; that other of gigantic frame, on his right hand, is the ever dauntless Brandabarbaran de Boliche, lord of the three Arabias, who for armour wears that serpent skin, and has for shield a gate which, according to tradition, is one of those of the temple that Samson brought to the ground when by his death he revenged himself upon his enemies. But turn thine eyes to the other side, and thou shalt see in front and in the van of this other army the ever victorious and never vanquished Timonel of Carcajona, prince of New Biscay, who comes in armour with arms quartered azure, vert, white, and yellow, and bears on his shield a cat or on a field tawny with a motto which says Miau, which is the beginning of the name of his lady, who according to report is the peerless Miaulina, daughter of the duke Alfeniquen of the Algarve; the other, who burdens and presses the loins of that powerful charger and bears arms white as snow and a shield blank and without any device, is a novice knight, a Frenchman by birth, Pierres Papin by name, lord of the baronies of Utrique; that other, who with iron-shod heels strikes the flanks of that nimble parti-coloured zebra, and for arms bears azure vair, is the mighty duke of Nerbia, Espartafilardo del Bosque, who bears for device on his shield an asparagus plant with a motto in Castilian that says, Rastrea mi suerte.” And so he went on naming a number of knights of one squadron or the other out of his imagination, and to all he assigned off-hand their arms, colours, devices, and mottoes, carried away by the illusions of his unheard-of craze; and without a pause, he continued, “People of divers nations compose this squadron in front; here are those that drink of the sweet waters of the famous Xanthus, those that scour the woody Massilian plains, those that sift the pure fine gold of Arabia Felix, those that enjoy the famed cool banks of the crystal Thermodon, those that in many and various ways divert the streams of the golden Pactolus, the Numidians, faithless in their promises, the Persians renowned in archery, the Parthians and the Medes that fight as they fly, the Arabs that ever shift their dwellings, the Scythians as cruel as they are fair, the Ethiopians with pierced lips, and an infinity of other nations whose features I recognise and descry, though I cannot recall their names. In this other squadron there come those that drink of the crystal streams of the olive-bearing Betis, those that make smooth their countenances with the water of the ever rich and golden Tagus, those that rejoice in the fertilising flow of the divine Genil, those that roam the Tartesian plains abounding in pasture, those that take their pleasure in the Elysian meadows of Jerez, the rich Manchegans crowned with ruddy ears of corn, the wearers of iron, old relics of the Gothic race, those that bathe in the Pisuerga renowned for its gentle current, those that feed their herds along the spreading pastures of the winding Guadiana famed for its hidden course, those that tremble with the cold of the pineclad Pyrenees or the dazzling snows of the lofty Apennine; in a word, as many as all Europe includes and contains.”
Good God! what a number of countries and nations he named! giving to each its proper attributes with marvellous readiness; brimful and saturated with what he had read in his lying books! Sancho Panza hung upon his words without speaking, and from time to time turned to try if he could see the knights and giants his master was describing, and as he could not make out one of them he said to him:
“Senor, devil take it if there’s a sign of any man you talk of, knight or giant, in the whole thing; maybe it’s all enchantment, like the phantoms last night.”
“How canst thou say that!” answered Don Quixote; “dost thou not hear the neighing of the steeds, the braying of the trumpets, the roll of the drums?”
“I hear nothing but a great bleating of ewes and sheep,” said Sancho; which was true, for by this time the two flocks had come close.
“The fear thou art in, Sancho,” said Don Quixote, “prevents thee from seeing or hearing correctly, for one of the effects of fear is to derange the senses and make things appear different from what they are; if thou art in such fear, withdraw to one side and leave me to myself, for alone I suffice to bring victory to that side to which I shall give my aid;” and so saying he gave Rocinante the spur, and putting the lance in rest, shot down the slope like a thunderbolt. Sancho shouted after him, crying, “Come back, Senor Don Quixote; I vow to God they are sheep and ewes you are charging! Come back! Unlucky the father that begot me! what madness is this! Look, there is no giant, nor knight, nor cats, nor arms, nor shields quartered or whole, nor vair azure or bedevilled. What are you about? Sinner that I am before God!” But not for all these entreaties did Don Quixote turn back; on the contrary he went on shouting out, “Ho, knights, ye who follow and fight under the banners of the valiant emperor Pentapolin of the Bare Arm, follow me all; ye shall see how easily I shall give him his revenge over his enemy Alifanfaron of the Trapobana.”
So saying, he dashed into the midst of the squadron of ewes, and began spearing them with as much spirit and intrepidity as if he were transfixing mortal enemies in earnest. The shepherds and drovers accompanying the flock shouted to him to desist; seeing it was no use, they ungirt their slings and began to salute his ears with stones as big as one’s fist. Don Quixote gave no heed to the stones, but, letting drive right and left kept saying:
“Where art thou, proud Alifanfaron? Come before me; I am a single knight who would fain prove thy prowess hand to hand, and make thee yield thy life a penalty for the wrong thou dost to the valiant Pentapolin Garamanta.” Here came a sugar-plum from the brook that struck him on the side and buried a couple of ribs in his body. Feeling himself so smitten, he imagined himself slain or badly wounded for certain, and recollecting his liquor he drew out his flask, and putting it to his mouth began to pour the contents into his stomach; but ere he had succeeded in swallowing what seemed to him enough, there came another almond which struck him on the hand and on the flask so fairly that it smashed it to pieces, knocking three or four teeth and grinders out of his mouth in its course, and sorely crushing two fingers of his hand. Such was the force of the first blow and of the second, that the poor knight in spite of himself came down backwards off his horse. The shepherds came up, and felt sure they had killed him; so in all haste they collected their flock together, took up the dead beasts, of which there were more than seven, and made off without waiting to ascertain anything further.
All this time Sancho stood on the hill watching the crazy feats his master was performing, and tearing his beard and cursing the hour and the occasion when fortune had made him acquainted with him. Seeing him, then, brought to the ground, and that the shepherds had taken themselves off, he ran to him and found him in very bad case, though not unconscious; and said he:
“Did I not tell you to come back, Senor Don Quixote; and that what you were going to attack were not armies but droves of sheep?”
“That’s how that thief of a sage, my enemy, can alter and falsify things,” answered Don Quixote; “thou must know, Sancho, that it is a very easy matter for those of his sort to make us believe what they choose; and this malignant being who persecutes me, envious of the glory he knew I was to win in this battle, has turned the squadrons of the enemy into droves of sheep. At any rate, do this much, I beg of thee, Sancho, to undeceive thyself, and see that what I say is true; mount thy ass and follow them quietly, and thou shalt see that when they have gone some little distance from this they will return to their original shape and, ceasing to be sheep, become men in all respects as I described them to thee at first. But go not just yet, for I want thy help and assistance; come hither, and see how many of my teeth and grinders are missing, for I feel as if there was not one left in my mouth.”
Sancho came so close that he almost put his eyes into his mouth; now just at that moment the balsam had acted on the stomach of Don Quixote, so, at the very instant when Sancho came to examine his mouth, he discharged all its contents with more force than a musket, and full into the beard of the compassionate squire.
“Holy Mary!” cried Sancho, “what is this that has happened me? Clearly this sinner is mortally wounded, as he vomits blood from the mouth;” but considering the matter a little more closely he perceived by the colour, taste, and smell, that it was not blood but the balsam from the flask which he had seen him drink; and he was taken with such a loathing that his stomach turned, and he vomited up his inside over his very master, and both were left in a precious state. Sancho ran to his ass to get something wherewith to clean himself, and relieve his master, out of his alforjas; but not finding them, he well-nigh took leave of his senses, and cursed himself anew, and in his heart resolved to quit his master and return home, even though he forfeited the wages of his service and all hopes of the promised island.
Don Quixote now rose, and putting his left hand to his mouth to keep his teeth from falling out altogether, with the other he laid hold of the bridle of Rocinante, who had never stirred from his master’s side — so loyal and well-behaved was he==and betook himself to where the squire stood leaning over his ass with his hand to his cheek, like one in deep dejection. Seeing him in this mood, looking so sad, Don Quixote said to him:
“Bear in mind, Sancho, that one man is no more than another, unless he does more than another; all these tempests that fall upon us are signs that fair weather is coming shortly, and that things will go well with us, for it is impossible for good or evil to last for ever; and hence it follows that the evil having lasted long, the good must be now nigh at hand; so thou must not distress thyself at the misfortunes which happen to me, since thou hast no share in them.”
“How have I not?” replied Sancho; “was he whom they blanketed yesterday perchance any other than my father’s son? and the alforjas that are missing to-day with all my treasures, did they belong to any other but myself?”
“What! are the alforjas missing, Sancho?” said Don Quixote.
“Yes, they are missing,” answered Sancho.
“In that case we have nothing to eat to-day,” replied Don Quixote.
“It would be so,” answered Sancho, “if there were none of the herbs your worship says you know in these meadows, those with which knights-errant as unlucky as your worship are wont to supply such-like shortcomings.”
“For all that,” answered Don Quixote, “I would rather have just now a quarter of bread, or a loaf and a couple of pilchards’ heads, than all the herbs described by Dioscorides, even with Doctor Laguna’s notes. Nevertheless, Sancho the Good, mount thy beast and come along with me, for God, who provides for all things, will not fail us (more especially when we are so active in his service as we are), since he fails not the midges of the air, nor the grubs of the earth, nor the tadpoles of the water, and is so merciful that he maketh his sun to rise on the good and on the evil, and sendeth rain on the unjust and on the just.”
“Your worship would make a better preacher than knight-errant,” said Sancho.
“Knights-errant knew and ought to know everything, Sancho,” said Don Quixote; “for there were knights-errant in former times as well qualified to deliver a sermon or discourse in the middle of an encampment, as if they had graduated in the University of Paris; whereby we may see that the lance has never blunted the pen, nor the pen the lance.”
“Well, be it as your worship says,” replied Sancho; “let us be off now and find some place of shelter for the night, and God grant it may be somewhere where there are no blankets, nor blanketeers, nor phantoms, nor enchanted Moors; for if there are, may the devil take the whole concern.”
“Ask that of God, my son,” said Don Quixote; and do thou lead on where thou wilt, for this time I leave our lodging to thy choice; but reach me here thy hand, and feel with thy finger, and find out how many of my teeth and grinders are missing from this right side of the upper jaw, for it is there I feel the pain.”
Sancho put in his fingers, and feeling about asked him, “How many grinders used your worship have on this side?”
“Four,” replied Don Quixote, “besides the back-tooth, all whole and quite sound.”
“Mind what you are saying, senor.”
“I say four, if not five,” answered Don Quixote, “for never in my life have I had tooth or grinder drawn, nor has any fallen out or been destroyed by any decay or rheum.”
“Well, then,” said Sancho, “in this lower side your worship has no more than two grinders and a half, and in the upper neither a half nor any at all, for it is all as smooth as the palm of my hand.”
“Luckless that I am!” said Don Quixote, hearing the sad news his squire gave him; “I had rather they despoiled me of an arm, so it were not the sword-arm; for I tell thee, Sancho, a mouth without teeth is like a mill without a millstone, and a tooth is much more to be prized than a diamond; but we who profess the austere order of chivalry are liable to all this. Mount, friend, and lead the way, and I will follow thee at whatever pace thou wilt.”
Sancho did as he bade him, and proceeded in the direction in which he thought he might find refuge without quitting the high road, which was there very much frequented. As they went along, then, at a slow pace — for the pain in Don Quixote’s jaws kept him uneasy and ill-disposed for speed — Sancho thought it well to amuse and divert him by talk of some kind, and among the things he said to him was that which will be told in the following chapter.
 
桑乔追上唐吉诃德时已经疲惫不堪，连催驴快跑的力气都没了。唐吉诃德看见他这个样子，就对他说：
“现在我才相信，好桑乔，那个城堡或客店肯定是中了邪气。那些人如此恶毒地拿你开心，不是鬼怪或另一个世界的人又是什么呢？我敢肯定这一点，因为刚才我从墙头上看他们对你恶作剧的时候，想上墙头上不去，想下罗西南多又下不来，肯定是他们对我施了魔法。我以自己的身份发誓，如果我当时能够爬上墙头或者下马，肯定会为你报仇，让那些歹徒永远记住他们开的这个玩笑，尽管这样会违反骑士规则。
“我跟你说过多次，骑士规则不允许骑士对不是骑士的人动手，除非是在迫不得已的紧急情况下为了自卫。”
“如果可能的话，我自己也会报仇，不管我是否已经被封为骑士，可是我办不到啊。不过，我觉得拿我开心的那些人并非像您所说的那样是什么鬼怪或魔法师，而是和我们一样有血有肉的人。他们扔我的时候，我听到他们每个人都有自己的名字。有个人叫佩德罗•马丁内斯，另外一个人叫特诺里奥•埃尔南德斯。我听见店主叫左撇子胡安•帕洛梅克。所以，大人，您上不了墙又下不了马并不是魔法造成的。我把这些都挑明了，是想说，咱们到处征险，结果给自己带来许多不幸，弄得自己简直无所适从。我觉得最好咱们掉头回老家去。现在正是收获季节，咱们去忙自己的活计，别像俗话说的‘东奔西跑，越跑越糟’啦。”
“你对骑士的事所知甚少，”唐吉诃德说，“你什么也别说，别着急，总会有一天，你会亲眼看到干这行是多么光荣的事情。否则，你告诉我，世界上还有什么比这更令人高兴呢？还有什么可以与赢得一场战斗、打败敌人的喜悦相比呢？没有，肯定没有。”
“也许是这样，”桑乔说，“尽管我并不懂。我只知道自从咱们当了游侠骑士以后，或者说您成了游侠骑士以后（我没有理由把自己也算在这个光荣的行列里），要是不算同比斯开人那一仗，咱们可以说从未打胜过一场战斗，而且就是在同比斯开人的那场战斗里，您还丢了半只耳朵，半个头盔。后来，除了棍子还是棍子，除了拳头还是拳头。我还额外被人扔了一顿。那些人都会魔法，我无法向他们报仇，到哪儿去体会您说的那种战胜敌人的喜悦呢？”
“这正是我的伤心之处，你大概也为此难过，桑乔。”唐吉诃德说，“不过，以后我要设法弄到一把剑。那把剑的特别之处就在于谁佩上它，任何魔法都不会对他起作用。而且，我也许还会有幸得到阿马迪斯的那把剑呢，当时他叫火剑骑士，而那把剑是世界上的骑士所拥有的最佳宝剑之一。除了我刚才说的那种作用外，它还像把利刀，无论多么坚硬的盔甲都不在话下。”
“我真是挺走运的，”桑乔说，“不过就算事实如此，您也能找到那样的剑，它恐怕也只能为受封的骑士所用，就像那种圣水。而侍从呢，只能干认倒霉。”
“别害怕，桑乔，”唐吉诃德说，“老天会照顾你的。”
两人正边走边说，唐吉诃德忽然看见前面的路上一片尘土铺天盖地般飞扬，便转过身来对桑乔说：
“噢，桑乔，命运给我安排的好日子到了。我是说，我要在这一天像以往一样显示我的力量，而且还要做出一番将要青史留名的事业来。你看见那卷起的滚滚尘土了吗，桑乔？那是一支由无数人组成的密集的军队正向这里挺进。”
“如此说来，应该是两支军队呢，”桑乔说，“这些人对面也同样是尘土飞扬。”
唐吉诃德再一看，果然如此，不禁喜出望外。他想，这一定是两支交战的军队来到这空矿的平原上交锋。他的头脑每时每刻想的都是骑士小说里讲的那些战斗，魔法、奇事、谵语、爱情、决斗之类的怪念头，他说的、想的或做的也都是这类事情。其实，他看到的那两股飞扬的尘土是两大群迎面而至的羊。由于尘土弥漫，只有羊群到了眼前才能看清楚。唐吉诃德一口咬定那是两支军队，桑乔也就相信了，对他说：
“大人，咱们该怎么办呢？”
“怎么办？”唐吉诃德说，“扶弱济贫啊！你应该知道，桑乔，迎面而来的是由特拉波瓦纳①大岛的阿利凡法龙大帝统率的队伍，而在我背后的是他的对手，加拉曼塔人的捋袖国王彭塔波林，他作战时总是露着右臂。”
①特拉波瓦纳是锡兰的旧名，即现在的斯里兰卡。
“那么，这两位大人为什么结下如此深仇呢？”桑乔问。
“他们结仇是因为这个阿利凡法龙是性情暴躁的异教徒，他爱上了彭塔波林的女儿，一位绰约多姿的夫人，而她是基督徒。她的父亲不愿意把女儿嫁给一位异教的国王，除非国王能放弃他的虚妄先知穆罕默德，皈依基督教。”
“我以我的胡子发誓，”桑乔说，“彭塔波林做得很对！我应该尽力帮助他。”
“你本该如此，”唐吉诃德说，“参加这类战斗不一定都是受封的骑士。”
“我明白，”桑乔说，“不过，咱们把这头驴寄放在哪儿呢？打完仗后还得找到它。总不能骑驴去打仗呀，我觉得至少到目前为止还没有这样做的。”
“是这样，”唐吉诃德说，“你能做的就是让它听天由命，别管它是否会丢了。咱们打胜这场仗后，不知可以得到多少马匹哩，说不定还要把罗西南多换掉呢。不过你听好，也看好，我要向你介绍这两支大军的主要骑士了。咱们撤到那个小山包上去，两支大军在那儿会暴露无遗，你可以看得更清楚。”
他们来到小山包上。要是飞尘没有挡住他们的视线，他们完全可以看清，唐吉诃德说的两支军队其实是两群羊。可是唐吉诃德却想象着看到了他其实并没有看到、也并不存在的东西。他高声说道：
“那个披挂着深黄色甲胄，盾牌上有一只跪伏在少女脚下的戴王冠狮子的骑士，就是普恩特•德普拉塔的领主，英勇的劳拉卡尔科。另一位身着金花甲胄，蓝色盾牌上有三只银环的骑士，是基罗西亚伟大的公爵，威武的米科科莱博。他右侧的一位巨人是博利切从不怯阵的布兰达巴尔瓦兰，三个阿拉伯属地的领主。你看他身裹蛇皮，以一扇大门当盾牌。据说那是参孙①以死相拼时推倒的那座大殿的门呢。
①参孙是《圣经》故事中古代犹太人的领袖之一，后被喻为大力士。他被非利士人牵至大殿加以戏弄时，奋力摇动柱子，致使大殿倒塌，和非利士人一同被压死。
“你再掉过头来向这边看，你会看到统率这支军队的是常胜将军蒂莫内尔•德卡卡霍纳，新比斯开的王子。他的甲胄上蓝、绿、白、黄四色相间，棕黄色的盾牌上有只金猫，还写着一个‘缪’字，据说是他美丽绝伦的情人、阿尔加维的公爵阿尔费尼肯的女儿缪利纳名字的第一个字。另外一位骑着膘马，甲胄雪白，持没有任何标记的白盾的人是位骑士新秀，法国人，名叫皮尔•帕潘，是乌特里克的男爵。还有一位正用他的包铁脚后跟踢那匹斑色快马的肚子，他的甲胄上是对置的蓝银钟图案，那就是内比亚强悍的公爵、博斯克的埃斯帕塔菲拉尔多。他的盾牌上的图案是石刁柏，上面用卡斯蒂利亚语写着：‘为我天行道’。”
唐吉诃德就这样列数了在他的想象中两支军队的许多骑士的名字，并且给每个人都即兴配上了甲胄、颜色、图案以及称号。他无中生有地想象着，接着说：
“前面这支军队是由不同民族的人组成的，这里有的人曾喝过著名的汉托河的甜水；有的是蒙托萨岛人，去过马西洛岛；有的人曾在阿拉伯乐土淘金沙；有的人到过清澈的特莫东特河边享受那著名而又凉爽的河滩；有的人曾通过不同的路线为帕克托勒斯的金色浅滩引流；此外，还有言而无信的努米底亚人，以擅长弓箭而闻名的波斯人，边打边跑的帕提亚人和米堤亚人，游牧的阿拉伯人，像白人一样残忍的西徐亚人，嘴上穿物的埃塞俄比亚人，以及许多其他民族的人，他们的名字我叫不出来，可他们的面孔我很熟悉。在另一方的军队里，有的人曾饮用养育了无数橄榄树的贝蒂斯河的晶莹河水；有的人曾用塔霍河甘美的金色琼浆刮脸；有的人享用过神圣的赫尼尔河的丰美汁液；有的人涉足过塔尔特苏斯田野肥沃的牧场；也有的人在赫雷斯天堂般的平原上得意过；有头戴金黄麦穗编的冠儿、生活富裕的曼查人；有身着铁甲、风俗古老的哥特遗民；有的人曾在以徐缓闻名的皮苏埃卡河里洗过澡；有的人曾在以暗流著称的瓜迪亚纳河边辽阔的牧场上喂过牲口；还有的人曾被皮里内奥森林地区的寒冷和亚平宁高山的白雪冻得瑟瑟发抖。一句话，欧洲所有的民族在那里都有。”
上帝保佑，他竟列数了那么多的地名和民族，而且如此顺溜地一一道出了每个地方和民族的特性，说得神乎其神，其实全是从那些满纸荒唐的书里学来的！桑乔怔怔地听着，一句话也不说，不时还回头看看有没有主人说的那些骑士和巨人，结果一个也没有发现，便说：
“大人，简直活见鬼，您说的那些巨人和骑士怎么这里都没有呢？至少我还没有看见。也许这些人都像昨晚的鬼怪一样，全是魔幻吧。”
“你怎么能这么讲！”唐吉诃德说，“难道你没有听到战马嘶鸣，号角震天，战鼓齐鸣吗？”
“我只听到了羊群的咩咩叫声。”桑乔说。
果然如此，那两群羊这时已经走近了。
“恐惧使你听而不闻，视而不见，桑乔。”唐吉诃德说，“恐惧产生的效果之一就是扰乱人的感官，混淆真相。既然你如此胆小，就站到一边吧，让我一个人去。我一个人就足以让我帮助的那方取胜。”
唐吉诃德说完用马刺踢了一下罗西南多，托着长矛像闪电一般地冲下山去。桑乔见状高声喊道：
“回来吧，唐吉诃德大人！我向上帝发誓，您要进攻的只是一些羊！回来吧，我倒霉的父亲怎么养了我！您发什么疯啊！您看，这里没有巨人和骑士，没有任何人和甲胄，没有杂色或一色的盾牌，没有蓝帷，没有魔鬼。您在做什么？我简直是造孽呀！”
唐吉诃德并没有因此回头，反而不断地高声喊道：
“喂，骑士们，投靠在英勇的捋袖帝王彭塔波林大旗下的人，都跟我来！你们会看到，我向你们的敌人特拉波瓦纳的阿利凡法龙报仇是多么容易。”
唐吉诃德说完便冲进羊群，开始刺杀羊。他杀得很英勇，似乎真是在诛戮他的不共戴天的敌人。跟随羊群的牧羊人和牧主高声叫喊，让他别杀羊了，看到他们的话没起作用，就解下弹弓，向唐吉诃德弹射石头。拳头大的石头从唐吉诃德的耳边飞过，他全然不理会，反而东奔西跑，不停地说道：“你在哪里，不可一世的阿利凡法龙？过来！我是个骑士，想同你一对一较量，试试你的力量，要你的命，惩罚你对英勇的彭塔波林•加拉曼塔所犯下的罪恶。”
这时飞来一块卵石，正打在他的胸肋处，把两条肋骨打得凹了进去。唐吉诃德看到自己被打成这样，估计自己不死也得重伤。他想起了他的圣水，就掏出瓶子，放在嘴边开始喝。可是不等他喝到他认为够量的时候，又一块石头飞来，不偏不倚正打在他的手和瓶子上。瓶子被打碎了，还把他嘴里的牙也打下三四颗来，两个手指也被击伤了。这两块石头打得都很重，唐吉诃德不由自主地从马上掉了下来。牧羊人来到他跟前，以为他已经死了，赶紧收拢好羊群，把至少七只死羊扛在肩上，匆匆离去了。
桑乔一直站在山坡上，看着他的主人抽疯。他一边揪着自己的胡子，一边诅咒命运让他认识了这位唐吉诃德。看到主人摔到地上，而且牧羊人已经走了，他才从山坡上下来，来到唐吉诃德身边，看到唐吉诃德虽然还有知觉，却已惨不忍睹，就对他说：
“我说过，您进攻的不是军队，是羊群。难道我没有说过吗，唐吉诃德大人？”
“那个会魔法的坏蛋可以把我的敌人变来变去。你知道，桑乔，那些家伙要把咱们面前的东西变成他们需要的样子很容易。刚才害我的那个恶棍估计我会打胜，很嫉妒，就把敌军变成了羊群。否则，桑乔，我以我的生命担保，你去做一件事，就会恍然大悟，看到我说的都是真的。你骑上你的驴，悄悄跟着他们，会看到他们走出不远就变回原来的样子，不再是羊，而是地地道道的人，就像我刚才说的。不过你现在别走，我需要你的帮助。你过来看看，我缺了多少牙，我觉得嘴里好像连一颗牙也没有了。”
桑乔凑过来，眼睛都快瞪到唐吉诃德的嘴里去了。就在这时，唐吉诃德刚才喝的圣水发作了。桑乔正向他嘴里张望，所有的圣水脱口而出，比枪弹还猛，全部喷到了这个热心肠侍从的脸上。
“圣母玛利亚！”桑乔说，“这是怎么回事呀？肯定是这个罪人受了致命的伤，所以才吐了血。”
桑乔顿了一下，看看呕吐物的颜色、味道和气味，原来不是血，而是刚才唐吉诃德喝的圣水，不禁一阵恶心，胃里的东西全翻出来，又吐到了主人身上，弄得两个人都湿漉漉的。
桑乔走到驴旁边，想从褡裢里找出点东西擦擦自己，再把主人的伤包扎一下，可是没找到褡裢。他简直要气疯了，又开始诅咒起来，有心离开主人回老家去，哪怕他因此得不到工钱，也失去了当小岛总督的希望。
唐吉诃德这时站了起来。他用左手捂着嘴，以免嘴里的牙全掉出来，又用右手抓着罗西南多的缰绳。罗西南多既忠实又性情好，始终伴随着主人。唐吉诃德走到桑乔身边，看见他正趴在驴背上，两手托腮，一副沉思的样子。见他这般模样，唐吉诃德也满面愁容地对他说：
“你知道，桑乔，‘不做超人事，难做人上人’。咱们遭受了这些横祸，说明咱们很快就会平安无事，时来运转啦。不论好事还是坏事都不可能持久。咱们已经倒霉很长时间了，好运也该近在眼前了。所以，你不要为我遭受的这些不幸而沮丧，反正也没牵连你。”
“怎么没牵连？”桑乔说，“难道那些人昨天扔的不是我父亲的儿子吗？丢失的那个褡裢和里面的宝贝东西难道是别人的吗？”
“你的褡裢丢了，桑乔？”唐吉诃德问。
“丢了。”桑乔答道。
“那么，咱们今天就没吃的了。”唐吉诃德说。
“您说过，像您这样背运的游侠骑士常以草充饥，”桑乔说，“如果这片草地上没有您认识的那些野草，那么咱们的确得挨饿了。”
“不过，”唐吉诃德说，“我现在宁愿吃一片白面包，或一块黑面包，再加上两个大西洋鲱鱼的鱼头，而不愿吃迪奥斯科里斯①描述过的所有草，即使配上拉古纳②医生的图解也不行。这样吧，好桑乔，你骑上驴，跟我走。上帝供养万物，决不会亏待咱们，更何况你跟随我多时呢。蚊子不会没有空气，昆虫不会没有泥土，蝌蚪也不会没有水。上帝很仁慈，他让太阳普照好人和坏人，让雨水同沐正义者和非正义者。”
①迪奥斯科里斯是古希腊名医、药理学家。他的著作《药物论》为现代植物学提供了最经典的原始材料。
②拉古纳是16世纪的西班牙名医，曾将《药物论》译成西班牙文，并配上图解。
“要说您是游侠骑士，倒不如说您更像个说教的道士。”桑乔说。
“游侠骑士都无所不知，而且也应该无所不知，桑乔。”唐吉诃德说，“在前几个世纪里，还有游侠骑士能在田野里布道或讲学，仿佛他是从巴黎大学毕业的，真可谓‘矛不秃笔，笔不钝矛’。”
“那么好吧，但愿您说得对，”桑乔说，“咱们现在就走，找个过夜的地方，但愿上帝让那个地方没有被单，没有用被单扔人的家伙，没有鬼怪，没有摩尔人魔法师。如果有，我再也不干这一行了。”
“你去向上帝说吧，孩子。”唐吉诃德说，“你带路，随便到哪儿去，这回住什么地方任你挑。你先把手伸过来，用手指摸摸我的上腭右侧缺了几颗牙。我觉得那儿挺疼的。”
桑乔把手指伸了进去，边摸边问：
“您这个地方原来有多少牙？”
“四颗，”唐吉诃德说，“除了智齿，都是完好的。”
“您再想想。”桑乔说。
“四颗，要不就是五颗。”唐吉诃德说，“反正我这辈子既没有拔过牙，也没有因为龋齿或风湿病掉过牙。”
“可是您这下腭最多只有两颗半牙，”桑乔说，“而上腭呢，连半颗牙都没有，平得像手掌。”
“我真不幸，”唐吉诃德听了桑乔对他说的这个伤心的消息后说道，“我倒宁愿被砍掉一只胳膊，只要不是拿剑的那只胳膊就行。我告诉你，桑乔，没有牙齿的嘴就好比没有石磙的磨，因此一只牙有时比一颗钻石还贵重。不过，既然咱们从事了骑士这一行，什么痛苦就都得忍受。上驴吧，朋友，你带路，随便走，我跟着你。”
桑乔骑上驴，朝着他认为可能找到落脚处的方向走去，但始终没有离开大路。他们走得很慢，唐吉诃德嘴里的疼痛弄得他烦躁不安，总是走不快。桑乔为了让唐吉诃德分散精力，放松一下，就同他讲了一件事。详情请见下章。
Part 1 Chapter 19
“It seems to me, senor, that all these mishaps that have befallen us of late have been without any doubt a punishment for the offence committed by your worship against the order of chivalry in not keeping the oath you made not to eat bread off a tablecloth or embrace the queen, and all the rest of it that your worship swore to observe until you had taken that helmet of Malandrino’s , or whatever the Moor is called, for I do not very well remember.”
“Thou art very right, Sancho,” said Don Quixote, “but to tell the truth, it had escaped my memory; and likewise thou mayest rely upon it that the affair of the blanket happened to thee because of thy fault in not reminding me of it in time; but I will make amends, for there are ways of compounding for everything in the order of chivalry.”
“Why! have I taken an oath of some sort, then?” said Sancho.
“It makes no matter that thou hast not taken an oath,” said Don Quixote; “suffice it that I see thou art not quite clear of complicity; and whether or no, it will not be ill done to provide ourselves with a remedy.”
“In that case,” said Sancho, “mind that your worship does not forget this as you did the oath; perhaps the phantoms may take it into their heads to amuse themselves once more with me; or even with your worship if they see you so obstinate.”
While engaged in this and other talk, night overtook them on the road before they had reached or discovered any place of shelter; and what made it still worse was that they were dying of hunger, for with the loss of the alforjas they had lost their entire larder and commissariat; and to complete the misfortune they met with an adventure which without any invention had really the appearance of one. It so happened that the night closed in somewhat darkly, but for all that they pushed on, Sancho feeling sure that as the road was the king’s highway they might reasonably expect to find some inn within a league or two. Going along, then, in this way, the night dark, the squire hungry, the master sharp-set, they saw coming towards them on the road they were travelling a great number of lights which looked exactly like stars in motion. Sancho was taken aback at the sight of them, nor did Don Quixote altogether relish them: the one pulled up his ass by the halter, the other his hack by the bridle, and they stood still, watching anxiously to see what all this would turn out to be, and found that the lights were approaching them, and the nearer they came the greater they seemed, at which spectacle Sancho began to shake like a man dosed with mercury, and Don Quixote’s hair stood on end; he, however, plucking up spirit a little, said:
“This, no doubt, Sancho, will be a most mighty and perilous adventure, in which it will be needful for me to put forth all my valour and resolution.”
“Unlucky me!” answered Sancho; “if this adventure happens to be one of phantoms, as I am beginning to think it is, where shall I find the ribs to bear it?”
“Be they phantoms ever so much,” said Don Quixote, “I will not permit them to touch a thread of thy garments; for if they played tricks with thee the time before, it was because I was unable to leap the walls of the yard; but now we are on a wide plain, where I shall be able to wield my sword as I please.”
“And if they enchant and cripple you as they did the last time,” said Sancho, “what difference will it make being on the open plain or not?”
“For all that,” replied Don Quixote, “I entreat thee, Sancho, to keep a good heart, for experience will tell thee what mine is.”
“I will, please God,” answered Sancho, and the two retiring to one side of the road set themselves to observe closely what all these moving lights might be; and very soon afterwards they made out some twenty encamisados, all on horseback, with lighted torches in their hands, the awe-inspiring aspect of whom completely extinguished the courage of Sancho, who began to chatter with his teeth like one in the cold fit of an ague; and his heart sank and his teeth chattered still more when they perceived distinctly that behind them there came a litter covered over with black and followed by six more mounted figures in mourning down to the very feet of their mules — for they could perceive plainly they were not horses by the easy pace at which they went. And as the encamisados came along they muttered to themselves in a low plaintive tone. This strange spectacle at such an hour and in such a solitary place was quite enough to strike terror into Sancho’s heart, and even into his master’s ; and (save in Don Quixote’s case) did so, for all Sancho’s resolution had now broken down. It was just the opposite with his master, whose imagination immediately conjured up all this to him vividly as one of the adventures of his books.
He took it into his head that the litter was a bier on which was borne some sorely wounded or slain knight, to avenge whom was a task reserved for him alone; and without any further reasoning he laid his lance in rest, fixed himself firmly in his saddle, and with gallant spirit and bearing took up his position in the middle of the road where the encamisados must of necessity pass; and as soon as he saw them near at hand he raised his voice and said:
“Halt, knights, or whosoever ye may be, and render me account of who ye are, whence ye come, where ye go, what it is ye carry upon that bier, for, to judge by appearances, either ye have done some wrong or some wrong has been done to you, and it is fitting and necessary that I should know, either that I may chastise you for the evil ye have done, or else that I may avenge you for the injury that has been inflicted upon you.”
“We are in haste,” answered one of the encamisados, “and the inn is far off, and we cannot stop to render you such an account as you demand;” and spurring his mule he moved on.
Don Quixote was mightily provoked by this answer, and seizing the mule by the bridle he said, “Halt, and be more mannerly, and render an account of what I have asked of you; else, take my defiance to combat, all of you.”
The mule was shy, and was so frightened at her bridle being seized that rearing up she flung her rider to the ground over her haunches. An attendant who was on foot, seeing the encamisado fall, began to abuse Don Quixote, who now moved to anger, without any more ado, laying his lance in rest charged one of the men in mourning and brought him badly wounded to the ground, and as he wheeled round upon the others the agility with which he attacked and routed them was a sight to see, for it seemed just as if wings had that instant grown upon Rocinante, so lightly and proudly did he bear himself. The encamisados were all timid folk and unarmed, so they speedily made their escape from the fray and set off at a run across the plain with their lighted torches, looking exactly like maskers running on some gala or festival night. The mourners, too, enveloped and swathed in their skirts and gowns, were unable to bestir themselves, and so with entire safety to himself Don Quixote belaboured them all and drove them off against their will, for they all thought it was no man but a devil from hell come to carry away the dead body they had in the litter.
Sancho beheld all this in astonishment at the intrepidity of his lord, and said to himself, “Clearly this master of mine is as bold and valiant as he says he is.”
A burning torch lay on the ground near the first man whom the mule had thrown, by the light of which Don Quixote perceived him, and coming up to him he presented the point of the lance to his face, calling on him to yield himself prisoner, or else he would kill him; to which the prostrate man replied, “I am prisoner enough as it is; I cannot stir, for one of my legs is broken: I entreat you, if you be a Christian gentleman, not to kill me, which will be committing grave sacrilege, for I am a licentiate and I hold first orders.”
“Then what the devil brought you here, being a churchman?” said Don Quixote.
“What, senor?” said the other. “My bad luck.”
“Then still worse awaits you,” said Don Quixote, “if you do not satisfy me as to all I asked you at first.”
“You shall be soon satisfied,” said the licentiate; “you must know, then, that though just now I said I was a licentiate, I am only a bachelor, and my name is Alonzo Lopez; I am a native of Alcobendas, I come from the city of Baeza with eleven others, priests, the same who fled with the torches, and we are going to the city of Segovia accompanying a dead body which is in that litter, and is that of a gentleman who died in Baeza, where he was interred; and now, as I said, we are taking his bones to their burial-place, which is in Segovia, where he was born.”
“And who killed him?” asked Don Quixote.
“God, by means of a malignant fever that took him,” answered the bachelor.
“In that case,” said Don Quixote, “the Lord has relieved me of the task of avenging his death had any other slain him; but, he who slew him having slain him, there is nothing for it but to be silent, and shrug one’s shoulders; I should do the same were he to slay myself; and I would have your reverence know that I am a knight of La Mancha, Don Quixote by name, and it is my business and calling to roam the world righting wrongs and redressing injuries.”
“I do not know how that about righting wrongs can be,” said the bachelor, “for from straight you have made me crooked, leaving me with a broken leg that will never see itself straight again all the days of its life; and the injury you have redressed in my case has been to leave me injured in such a way that I shall remain injured for ever; and the height of misadventure it was to fall in with you who go in search of adventures.”
“Things do not all happen in the same way,” answered Don Quixote; “it all came, Sir Bachelor Alonzo Lopez, of your going, as you did, by night, dressed in those surplices, with lighted torches, praying, covered with mourning, so that naturally you looked like something evil and of the other world; and so I could not avoid doing my duty in attacking you, and I should have attacked you even had I known positively that you were the very devils of hell, for such I certainly believed and took you to be.”
“As my fate has so willed it,” said the bachelor, “I entreat you, sir knight-errant, whose errand has been such an evil one for me, to help me to get from under this mule that holds one of my legs caught between the stirrup and the saddle.”
“I would have talked on till to-morrow,” said Don Quixote; “how long were you going to wait before telling me of your distress?”
He at once called to Sancho, who, however, had no mind to come, as he was just then engaged in unloading a sumpter mule, well laden with provender, which these worthy gentlemen had brought with them. Sancho made a bag of his coat, and, getting together as much as he could, and as the bag would hold, he loaded his beast, and then hastened to obey his master’s call, and helped him to remove the bachelor from under the mule; then putting him on her back he gave him the torch, and Don Quixote bade him follow the track of his companions, and beg pardon of them on his part for the wrong which he could not help doing them.
And said Sancho, “If by chance these gentlemen should want to know who was the hero that served them so, your worship may tell them that he is the famous Don Quixote of La Mancha, otherwise called the Knight of the Rueful Countenance.”
The bachelor then took his departure.
I forgot to mention that before he did so he said to Don Quixote, “Remember that you stand excommunicated for having laid violent hands on a holy thing, juxta illud, si quis, suadente diabolo.”
“I do not understand that Latin,” answered Don Quixote, “but I know well I did not lay hands, only this pike; besides, I did not think I was committing an assault upon priests or things of the Church, which, like a Catholic and faithful Christian as I am, I respect and revere, but upon phantoms and spectres of the other world; but even so, I remember how it fared with Cid Ruy Diaz when he broke the chair of the ambassador of that king before his Holiness the Pope, who excommunicated him for the same; and yet the good Roderick of Vivar bore himself that day like a very noble and valiant knight.”
On hearing this the bachelor took his departure, as has been said, without making any reply; and Don Quixote asked Sancho what had induced him to call him the “Knight of the Rueful Countenance” more then than at any other time.
“I will tell you,” answered Sancho; “it was because I have been looking at you for some time by the light of the torch held by that unfortunate, and verily your worship has got of late the most ill-favoured countenance I ever saw: it must be either owing to the fatigue of this combat, or else to the want of teeth and grinders.”
“It is not that,” replied Don Quixote, “but because the sage whose duty it will be to write the history of my achievements must have thought it proper that I should take some distinctive name as all knights of yore did; one being ‘He of the Burning Sword,’ another ‘He of the Unicorn,’ this one ‘He of the Damsels,’ that ‘He of the Phoenix,’ another ‘The Knight of the Griffin,’ and another ‘He of the Death,’ and by these names and designations they were known all the world round; and so I say that the sage aforesaid must have put it into your mouth and mind just now to call me ‘The Knight of the Rueful Countenance,’ as I intend to call myself from this day forward; and that the said name may fit me better, I mean, when the opportunity offers, to have a very rueful countenance painted on my shield.”
“There is no occasion, senor, for wasting time or money on making that countenance,” said Sancho; “for all that need be done is for your worship to show your own, face to face, to those who look at you, and without anything more, either image or shield, they will call you ‘Him of the Rueful Countenance’ and believe me I am telling you the truth, for I assure you, senor (and in good part be it said), hunger and the loss of your grinders have given you such an ill-favoured face that, as I say, the rueful picture may be very well spared.”
Don Quixote laughed at Sancho’s pleasantry; nevertheless he resolved to call himself by that name, and have his shield or buckler painted as he had devised.
Don Quixote would have looked to see whether the body in the litter were bones or not, but Sancho would not have it, saying:
“Senor, you have ended this perilous adventure more safely for yourself than any of those I have seen: perhaps these people, though beaten and routed, may bethink themselves that it is a single man that has beaten them, and feeling sore and ashamed of it may take heart and come in search of us and give us trouble enough. The ass is in proper trim, the mountains are near at hand, hunger presses, we have nothing more to do but make good our retreat, and, as the saying is, the dead to the grave and the living to the loaf.”
And driving his ass before him he begged his master to follow, who, feeling that Sancho was right, did so without replying; and after proceeding some little distance between two hills they found themselves in a wide and retired valley, where they alighted, and Sancho unloaded his beast, and stretched upon the green grass, with hunger for sauce, they breakfasted, dined, lunched, and supped all at once, satisfying their appetites with more than one store of cold meat which the dead man’s clerical gentlemen (who seldom put themselves on short allowance) had brought with them on their sumpter mule. But another piece of ill-luck befell them, which Sancho held the worst of all, and that was that they had no wine to drink, nor even water to moisten their lips; and as thirst tormented them, Sancho, observing that the meadow where they were was full of green and tender grass, said what will be told in the following chapter.
 
“这几天咱们碰到了不少晦气，大人，我敢肯定，这是您违反了骑士规则而受到的惩罚。您没有履行您在夺取马兰德里诺（或者叫摩尔人，我记不清了）的头盔之前不上桌吃饭、不和女王睡觉以及其他的种种誓言。”
“你说得对，桑乔，”唐吉诃德说，“说实话，那些誓言我早就忘了。不过你也该明白，由于你没有及时提醒我，才发生了你被人用被单扔的事情。然而，我会设法弥补的，骑士界里有各种挽救损失的办法。”
“难道我发过什么誓吗？”桑乔问。
“是否发过誓倒无关紧要，”唐吉诃德说，“我只是大概知道你没参与，这就够了，不管怎样，采取补救措施总不会错。”
“既然这样，”桑乔说，“这事您可别忘了，就好比别忘了誓言一样。也许那些鬼怪又会想起来拿我开心呢。要是它们看到您还是这么固执，说不定还会找您的麻烦呢。”
两人边走边说，已经傍晚了，也没有发现一个可以过夜的地方。糟糕的是他们饿得厉害，可褡裢丢了，所有的干粮也没有了。真是祸不单行。他们果真遇到了麻烦事。当时已近黄昏，可两人还在赶路。桑乔觉得既然他们走的是正路，再走一两西里，肯定会有客店。走着走着，夜幕降临。桑乔饥肠辘辘，唐吉诃德也食欲难捺。这时，他们看见路上有一片亮光向他们移动过来，像是群星向他们靠拢。桑乔见状惊恐万分，唐吉诃德也不无畏怯。桑乔抓住驴的缰绳，唐吉诃德也拽紧了罗西南多，两人愣在那里，仔细看那是什么东西。那些亮光越来越近，越来越大，桑乔怕得直发抖，唐吉诃德的头发也直竖起来。他壮了壮胆，说：
“桑乔，这肯定是咱们遇到的最严重、最危险的遭遇。现在该显示我的全部勇气和力量了。”
“我真倒霉，”桑乔说，“如果这又是那伙妖魔做怪，我就是这么认为的，那么我的背怎么受得了啊？”
“即使是再大的妖怪，”唐吉诃德说，“我也不会允许它们碰你的一根毫毛。那次是因为我上不了墙头，才让它们得以拿你开心的。可这次咱们是在平原上，我完全可以任意挥舞我的剑。”
“如果它们又像那次那样，对您施了魔法，让您手脚麻木，”桑乔说，“在不在平原上又有什么用呢？”
“无论如何，”唐吉诃德说，“我求求你，桑乔，打起精神来，到时候你就会知道我的本事了。”
“上帝保佑，我会知道的。”桑乔说。
两人来到路旁，仔细观察那堆走近的亮光到底是什么东西。他们很快就发现原来是许多穿白色法衣的人，这一看可把桑乔的锐气一下子打了下去。他开始牙齿打颤，就像患了疟疾时发冷一样。待两人完全看清楚了，桑乔的牙齿颤得更厉害了。原来那近二十名白衣人都骑着马，手里举着火把，后面还有人抬着一个盖着黑布的棺材，接着是六个从人头到骡蹄子都遮着黑布的骑骡子的人。那牲口走路慢腾腾的，显然不是马。
那些身穿白色法衣的人低声交谈着。这个时候在旷野里看到这种人，也难怪桑乔从心里感到恐惧，连唐吉诃德都害怕了。唐吉诃德一害怕，桑乔就更没了勇气。不过，这时唐吉诃德忽然一转念，想象这就是小说里一次历险的再现。他想象那棺材里躺着一位受了重伤或者已经死去的骑士，只有自己才能为那位骑士报仇。他二话不说，托定长矛，气宇轩昂地站在路中央那些人的必经之处，看他们走近了，便提高嗓门说道：
“站住，骑士们，或者随便你们是什么人。快告诉我，你们是什么人，从哪儿来，到哪儿去，棺材里装的是什么。看样子，你们是干了什么坏事，或者是有人坑了你们，最好还是让我知道，好让我或者对你们做的坏事进行惩罚，或者为你们受的欺负报仇。”
“我们还有急事，”一个白衣人说，“离客店还很远，我们不能在此跟你费这么多口舌。”
说着他催马向前。唐吉诃德闻言勃然大怒，抓住那匹马的缰绳，说：
“站住，规矩点儿，快回答我的问话，否则，我就要对你们动手了。”
那是一匹极易受惊的骡子。唐吉诃德一抓它的缰绳，立刻把它吓得扬起前蹄，将主人从它的屁股后面摔到地上。一个步行的伙计见状便对唐吉诃德骂起来。唐吉诃德立刻怒上心头，持矛向一个穿丧服的人刺去。那人伤得很厉害，摔倒在地。唐吉诃德又转身冲向其他人，看他冲刺的那个利索勇猛劲儿，仿佛给罗西南多安上了一对翅膀，使得它轻松矫捷。那些白衣人都胆小，又没带武器，无意恋战，马上在原野上狂奔起来，手里还举着火把，样子很像节日夜晚奔跑的化装骑手。那些穿黑衣的人被衣服裹着动弹不得，使唐吉诃德得以很从容地痛打他们。他们以为这家伙不是人，而是一个地狱里的魔鬼，跑出来抢夺棺材里的那具尸体，也只好败阵而逃。
桑乔把这一切都看在眼里，很佩服主人的勇猛，心里想：“我这位主人还真像他自己说的那样勇敢无畏。”刚才被骡子扔下来的那个人身旁有支火把还在燃烧。唐吉诃德借着火光发现了他，于是走到他身旁，用矛头指着他的脸，让他投降，否则就杀了他。那人答道：
“我有一条腿断了，动弹不得，早已投降了，如果您是位基督教勇士，我请求您不要杀我，否则您就亵渎了神明。我是教士，而且是高级教士。”
“你既然是教士，是什么鬼把你带到这儿来了？”唐吉诃德问。
“大人，您问是什么鬼？是我的晦气。”那人答道。
“你要是不回答我刚才的问题，”唐吉诃德说，“还有更大的晦气等着你呢。”
“您马上会得到回答，”教士说，“是这样，您知道，刚才我说我是个教士，其实我只不过是个传道员。我叫阿隆索•洛佩斯，是阿尔科本达斯人。我从塞哥维亚城来。同来的还有十一个教士，也就是刚才举着火把逃跑的那几个人。我们正在护送棺材里的尸体。那个人死在巴埃萨，尸体原来也停放在那里。他是塞哥维亚人，现在我们要把他的尸体送回去安葬。”
“是谁害了他？”唐吉诃德问。
“是上帝借一次瘟疫发高烧送走了他。”
“既然这样，”唐吉诃德说，“上帝也把我解脱了。要是别人害死了他，我还得替他报仇。既然是上帝送他走，我就没什么可说了，只能耸耸肩。即使上帝送我走，我也只能如此。我想让你知道，我是曼查的骑士，名叫唐吉诃德。我的职责就是游历四方，除暴安良，报仇雪恨。”
“我不知道你这叫什么除暴，”传道员说，“你不由分说就弄断了我的一条腿，我这条腿恐怕一辈子也站不直了。你为我雪的恨就是让我遗恨终生。你还寻险呢，碰见你就让我够险的了。”
“世事不尽相同，”唐吉诃德说，“问题在于你，阿隆索•洛佩斯传道员，像个夜游神，穿着白色法衣，手里举着火把，嘴里祈祷着，身上还戴着孝，完全像另一个世界里的妖怪。这样我不得不履行我的职责，向你出击。哪怕知道你真是地狱里的魔鬼，我也得向你进攻。我一直把你们当成了地狱的魔鬼。”
“看来我是命该如此了，”传道员说，“求求您，游侠骑士，请您帮忙把我从骡子底下弄出来，我的脚别在马鞍和脚蹬中间了。”
“我怎么忘了这件事呢，”唐吉诃德说，“你还想等到什么时候再提醒我呀。”
然后，唐吉诃德喊桑乔过来。桑乔并没有理会，他正忙着从教士们的一匹备用马上卸货，全是些吃的东西。桑乔用外衣卷成个口袋，使劲往里面装，然后把东西放到他的驴上，才应着唐吉诃德的喊声走过来，帮着唐吉诃德把传道员从骡子身下拉出来，扶他上马，又将火把递给他。唐吉诃德让他去追赶他的同伴们，并且向他道歉，说刚才的冒犯是身不由己。桑乔也对传道员说：
“如果那些大人想知道打败他们的这位勇士是谁，您可以告诉他们，是曼查的唐吉诃德，他另外还有个名字叫‘猥獕骑士’。”
传道员走后，唐吉诃德问桑乔怎么想起叫自己“猥獕骑士”。
“我这么说是因为我借着那个倒霉旅客的火把光亮看了您一会儿，”桑乔说，“您的样子确实是我见过的最猥獕的样子。这大概是因为您打累了，或者因为您缺了很多牙。”
“并非如此，”唐吉诃德说，“大概是负责撰写我的业绩的那位贤人找过你，说我最好还是取个绰号，就像以前所有的骑士一样。他们有的叫火剑骑士，有的叫独角兽骑士，这个叫少女骑士，那个叫凤凰骑士，另外一个叫鬈发骑士，还有的叫死亡骑士，这些名称或绰号尽人皆知。所以我说，准是那位贤人把让我叫‘猥獕骑士’的想法加进了你的语言和思想。这个名字很适合我，我想从现在起就叫这个名字。以后如果盾牌上有地方，我还要在我的盾牌上画一个猥獕的人呢。”
“没必要浪费钱和时间做这种事情，”桑乔说，“现在您只须把您的面孔和您本人暴露在众目睽睽之下，用不着其他什么形象或盾牌，人们就会称您是猥獕骑士。请您相信我说的是真话，我敢肯定，大人，说句笑话，挨饿和掉牙齿已经让您的脸够难看的了，我刚才说过，完全不必要再画那幅猥獕相了。”
唐吉诃德被桑乔这么风趣逗笑了，不过，他还是想叫这个名字，而且仍要把这幅样子画在盾牌上，就像原来设想的那样。唐吉诃德对桑乔说：
“我明白，桑乔，我现在已经被逐出教会了，因为我对圣物粗鲁地动了手。‘受魔鬼诱惑者，与魔鬼同罪’，尽管我知道我动的不是手，而是短矛，而且当时我并不是想去袭击教士和教会的东西。对于教士和教会的东西，我像天主教徒和虔诚的基督教徒一样尊重和崇拜。我只是想消灭另一个世界的妖魔鬼怪。如果把我逐出教会，我就会记起锡德•鲁伊•迪亚斯由于当着教皇陛下的面砸了那个国王使节的椅子而被逐出了教会的事。那天罗德里戈•德比瓦尔表现得也很好，像个勇敢正直的骑士。”
听到这些，传道员什么话也没说便离去了①。唐吉诃德想看看棺材里的尸体是不是已经变成尸骨，桑乔不同意，说：
“大人，您刚刚又冒了一次险，这是我见过的您受伤最少的一次。这些人虽然被打败了，但他们很可能想起来，他们是被一个人打败的，会恼羞成怒，再来找咱们的麻烦。驴已经安排好了，附近有山，咱们的肚子也饿了，最好现在就悠悠地启程吧。俗话说，‘死人找坟墓，活人奔面包’。”
①前一页说传道员已走，此处又说传道员离去，显系作者的疏忽。
桑乔牵着驴，求唐吉诃德跟他走。唐吉诃德觉得桑乔说的有理，不再说什么就跟着桑乔走了。两人走了不远，来到两山之间一个人迹罕见的空旷山谷里，下了马。桑乔把驴背上的东西拿下来，两人躺在绿草地上，饥不择食地把早饭、午饭、点心和晚饭合成一顿，把送尸体的教士骡子上带的饭盒（他们一直过得很不错）吃了好几个，填饱了肚子。可是，还有一件不顺心的事，桑乔觉得这事最糟糕，那就是教士们没有带酒，连喝的水也没有，两人渴得厉害。桑乔看着绿草如茵的平原，讲了一番话，内容详见下章。
Part 1 Chapter 20
“It cannot be, senor, but that this grass is a proof that there must be hard by some spring or brook to give it moisture, so it would be well to move a little farther on, that we may find some place where we may quench this terrible thirst that plagues us, which beyond a doubt is more distressing than hunger.”
The advice seemed good to Don Quixote, and, he leading Rocinante by the bridle and Sancho the ass by the halter, after he had packed away upon him the remains of the supper, they advanced the meadow feeling their way, for the darkness of the night made it impossible to see anything; but they had not gone two hundred paces when a loud noise of water, as if falling from great rocks, struck their ears. The sound cheered them greatly; but halting to make out by listening from what quarter it came they heard unseasonably another noise which spoiled the satisfaction the sound of the water gave them, especially for Sancho, who was by nature timid and faint-hearted. They heard, I say, strokes falling with a measured beat, and a certain rattling of iron and chains that, together with the furious din of the water, would have struck terror into any heart but Don Quixote’s . The night was, as has been said, dark, and they had happened to reach a spot in among some tall trees, whose leaves stirred by a gentle breeze made a low ominous sound; so that, what with the solitude, the place, the darkness, the noise of the water, and the rustling of the leaves, everything inspired awe and dread; more especially as they perceived that the strokes did not cease, nor the wind lull, nor morning approach; to all which might be added their ignorance as to where they were.
 
But Don Quixote, supported by his intrepid heart, leaped on Rocinante, and bracing his buckler on his arm, brought his pike to the slope, and said, “Friend Sancho, know that I by Heaven’s will have been born in this our iron age to revive in it the age of gold, or the golden as it is called; I am he for whom perils, mighty achievements, and valiant deeds are reserved; I am, I say again, he who is to revive the Knights of the Round Table, the Twelve of France and the Nine Worthies; and he who is to consign to oblivion the Platirs, the Tablantes, the Olivantes and Tirantes, the Phoebuses and Belianises, with the whole herd of famous knights-errant of days gone by, performing in these in which I live such exploits, marvels, and feats of arms as shall obscure their brightest deeds. Thou dost mark well, faithful and trusty squire, the gloom of this night, its strange silence, the dull confused murmur of those trees, the awful sound of that water in quest of which we came, that seems as though it were precipitating and dashing itself down from the lofty mountains of the Moon, and that incessant hammering that wounds and pains our ears; which things all together and each of itself are enough to instil fear, dread, and dismay into the breast of Mars himself, much more into one not used to hazards and adventures of the kind. Well, then, all this that I put before thee is but an incentive and stimulant to my spirit, making my heart burst in my bosom through eagerness to engage in this adventure, arduous as it promises to be; therefore tighten Rocinante’s girths a little, and God be with thee; wait for me here three days and no more, and if in that time I come not back, thou canst return to our village, and thence, to do me a favour and a service, thou wilt go to El Toboso, where thou shalt say to my incomparable lady Dulcinea that her captive knight hath died in attempting things that might make him worthy of being called hers.”
When Sancho heard his master’s words he began to weep in the most pathetic way, saying:
“Senor, I know not why your worship wants to attempt this so dreadful adventure; it is night now, no one sees us here, we can easily turn about and take ourselves out of danger, even if we don’t drink for three days to come; and as there is no one to see us, all the less will there be anyone to set us down as cowards; besides, I have many a time heard the curate of our village, whom your worship knows well, preach that he who seeks danger perishes in it; so it is not right to tempt God by trying so tremendous a feat from which there can be no escape save by a miracle, and Heaven has performed enough of them for your worship in delivering you from being blanketed as I was, and bringing you out victorious and safe and sound from among all those enemies that were with the dead man; and if all this does not move or soften that hard heart, let this thought and reflection move it, that you will have hardly quitted this spot when from pure fear I shall yield my soul up to anyone that will take it. I left home and wife and children to come and serve your worship, trusting to do better and not worse; but as covetousness bursts the bag, it has rent my hopes asunder, for just as I had them highest about getting that wretched unlucky island your worship has so often promised me, I see that instead and in lieu of it you mean to desert me now in a place so far from human reach: for God’s sake, master mine, deal not so unjustly by me, and if your worship will not entirely give up attempting this feat, at least put it off till morning, for by what the lore I learned when I was a shepherd tells me it cannot want three hours of dawn now, because the mouth of the Horn is overhead and makes midnight in the line of the left arm.”
“How canst thou see, Sancho,” said Don Quixote, “where it makes that line, or where this mouth or this occiput is that thou talkest of, when the night is so dark that there is not a star to be seen in the whole heaven?”
“That’s true,” said Sancho, “but fear has sharp eyes, and sees things underground, much more above in heavens; besides, there is good reason to show that it now wants but little of day.”
“Let it want what it may,” replied Don Quixote, “it shall not be said of me now or at any time that tears or entreaties turned me aside from doing what was in accordance with knightly usage; and so I beg of thee, Sancho, to hold thy peace, for God, who has put it into my heart to undertake now this so unexampled and terrible adventure, will take care to watch over my safety and console thy sorrow; what thou hast to do is to tighten Rocinante’s girths well, and wait here, for I shall come back shortly, alive or dead.”
Sancho perceiving it his master’s final resolve, and how little his tears, counsels, and entreaties prevailed with him, determined to have recourse to his own ingenuity and compel him, if he could, to wait till daylight; and so, while tightening the girths of the horse, he quietly and without being felt, with his ass’ halter tied both Rocinante’s legs, so that when Don Quixote strove to go he was unable as the horse could only move by jumps. Seeing the success of his trick, Sancho Panza said:
“See there, senor! Heaven, moved by my tears and prayers, has so ordered it that Rocinante cannot stir; and if you will be obstinate, and spur and strike him, you will only provoke fortune, and kick, as they say, against the pricks.”
Don Quixote at this grew desperate, but the more he drove his heels into the horse, the less he stirred him; and not having any suspicion of the tying, he was fain to resign himself and wait till daybreak or until Rocinante could move, firmly persuaded that all this came of something other than Sancho’s ingenuity. So he said to him, “As it is so, Sancho, and as Rocinante cannot move, I am content to wait till dawn smiles upon us, even though I weep while it delays its coming.”
“There is no need to weep,” answered Sancho, “for I will amuse your worship by telling stories from this till daylight, unless indeed you like to dismount and lie down to sleep a little on the green grass after the fashion of knights-errant, so as to be fresher when day comes and the moment arrives for attempting this extraordinary adventure you are looking forward to.”
“What art thou talking about dismounting or sleeping for?” said Don Quixote. “Am I, thinkest thou, one of those knights that take their rest in the presence of danger? Sleep thou who art born to sleep, or do as thou wilt, for I will act as I think most consistent with my character.”
“Be not angry, master mine,” replied Sancho, “I did not mean to say that;” and coming close to him he laid one hand on the pommel of the saddle and the other on the cantle so that he held his master’s left thigh in his embrace, not daring to separate a finger’s width from him; so much afraid was he of the strokes which still resounded with a regular beat. Don Quixote bade him tell some story to amuse him as he had proposed, to which Sancho replied that he would if his dread of what he heard would let him; “Still,” said he, “I will strive to tell a story which, if I can manage to relate it, and nobody interferes with the telling, is the best of stories, and let your worship give me your attention, for here I begin. What was, was; and may the good that is to come be for all, and the evil for him who goes to look for it — your worship must know that the beginning the old folk used to put to their tales was not just as each one pleased; it was a maxim of Cato Zonzorino the Roman, that says ‘the evil for him that goes to look for it,’ and it comes as pat to the purpose now as ring to finger, to show that your worship should keep quiet and not go looking for evil in any quarter, and that we should go back by some other road, since nobody forces us to follow this in which so many terrors affright us.”
“Go on with thy story, Sancho,” said Don Quixote, “and leave the choice of our road to my care.”
“I say then,” continued Sancho, “that in a village of Estremadura there was a goat-shepherd — that is to say, one who tended goats==which shepherd or goatherd, as my story goes, was called Lope Ruiz, and this Lope Ruiz was in love with a shepherdess called Torralva, which shepherdess called Torralva was the daughter of a rich grazier, and this rich grazier — ”
“If that is the way thou tellest thy tale, Sancho,” said Don Quixote, “repeating twice all thou hast to say, thou wilt not have done these two days; go straight on with it, and tell it like a reasonable man, or else say nothing.”
“Tales are always told in my country in the very way I am telling this,” answered Sancho, “and I cannot tell it in any other, nor is it right of your worship to ask me to make new customs.”
“Tell it as thou wilt,” replied Don Quixote; “and as fate will have it that I cannot help listening to thee, go on.”
“And so, lord of my soul,” continued Sancho, as I have said, this shepherd was in love with Torralva the shepherdess, who was a wild buxom lass with something of the look of a man about her, for she had little moustaches; I fancy I see her now.”
“Then you knew her?” said Don Quixote.
“I did not know her,” said Sancho, “but he who told me the story said it was so true and certain that when I told it to another I might safely declare and swear I had seen it all myself. And so in course of time, the devil, who never sleeps and puts everything in confusion, contrived that the love the shepherd bore the shepherdess turned into hatred and ill-will, and the reason, according to evil tongues, was some little jealousy she caused him that crossed the line and trespassed on forbidden ground; and so much did the shepherd hate her from that time forward that, in order to escape from her, he determined to quit the country and go where he should never set eyes on her again. Torralva, when she found herself spurned by Lope, was immediately smitten with love for him, though she had never loved him before.”
“That is the natural way of women,” said Don Quixote, “to scorn the one that loves them, and love the one that hates them: go on, Sancho.”
“It came to pass,” said Sancho, “that the shepherd carried out his intention, and driving his goats before him took his way across the plains of Estremadura to pass over into the Kingdom of Portugal. Torralva, who knew of it, went after him, and on foot and barefoot followed him at a distance, with a pilgrim’s staff in her hand and a scrip round her neck, in which she carried, it is said, a bit of looking-glass and a piece of a comb and some little pot or other of paint for her face; but let her carry what she did, I am not going to trouble myself to prove it; all I say is, that the shepherd, they say, came with his flock to cross over the river Guadiana, which was at that time swollen and almost overflowing its banks, and at the spot he came to there was neither ferry nor boat nor anyone to carry him or his flock to the other side, at which he was much vexed, for he perceived that Torralva was approaching and would give him great annoyance with her tears and entreaties; however, he went looking about so closely that he discovered a fisherman who had alongside of him a boat so small that it could only hold one person and one goat; but for all that he spoke to him and agreed with him to carry himself and his three hundred goats across. The fisherman got into the boat and carried one goat over; he came back and carried another over; he came back again, and again brought over another — let your worship keep count of the goats the fisherman is taking across, for if one escapes the memory there will be an end of the story, and it will be impossible to tell another word of it. To proceed, I must tell you the landing place on the other side was miry and slippery, and the fisherman lost a great deal of time in going and coming; still he returned for another goat, and another, and another.”
“Take it for granted he brought them all across,” said Don Quixote, “and don’t keep going and coming in this way, or thou wilt not make an end of bringing them over this twelvemonth.”
“How many have gone across so far?” said Sancho.
“How the devil do I know?” replied Don Quixote.
“There it is,” said Sancho, “what I told you, that you must keep a good count; well then, by God, there is an end of the story, for there is no going any farther.”
“How can that be?” said Don Quixote; “is it so essential to the story to know to a nicety the goats that have crossed over, that if there be a mistake of one in the reckoning, thou canst not go on with it?”
“No, senor, not a bit,” replied Sancho; “for when I asked your worship to tell me how many goats had crossed, and you answered you did not know, at that very instant all I had to say passed away out of my memory, and, faith, there was much virtue in it, and entertainment.”
“So, then,” said Don Quixote, “the story has come to an end?”
“As much as my mother has,” said Sancho.
“In truth,” said Don Quixote, “thou hast told one of the rarest stories, tales, or histories, that anyone in the world could have imagined, and such a way of telling it and ending it was never seen nor will be in a lifetime; though I expected nothing else from thy excellent understanding. But I do not wonder, for perhaps those ceaseless strokes may have confused thy wits.”
“All that may be,” replied Sancho, “but I know that as to my story, all that can be said is that it ends there where the mistake in the count of the passage of the goats begins.”
“Let it end where it will, well and good,” said Don Quixote, “and let us see if Rocinante can go;” and again he spurred him, and again Rocinante made jumps and remained where he was, so well tied was he.
Just then, whether it was the cold of the morning that was now approaching, or that he had eaten something laxative at supper, or that it was only natural (as is most likely), Sancho felt a desire to do what no one could do for him; but so great was the fear that had penetrated his heart, he dared not separate himself from his master by as much as the black of his nail; to escape doing what he wanted was, however, also impossible; so what he did for peace’s sake was to remove his right hand, which held the back of the saddle, and with it to untie gently and silently the running string which alone held up his breeches, so that on loosening it they at once fell down round his feet like fetters; he then raised his shirt as well as he could and bared his hind quarters, no slim ones. But, this accomplished, which he fancied was all he had to do to get out of this terrible strait and embarrassment, another still greater difficulty presented itself, for it seemed to him impossible to relieve himself without making some noise, and he ground his teeth and squeezed his shoulders together, holding his breath as much as he could; but in spite of his precautions he was unlucky enough after all to make a little noise, very different from that which was causing him so much fear.
 
Don Quixote, hearing it, said, “What noise is that, Sancho?”
“I don’t know, senor,” said he; “it must be something new, for adventures and misadventures never begin with a trifle.” Once more he tried his luck, and succeeded so well, that without any further noise or disturbance he found himself relieved of the burden that had given him so much discomfort. But as Don Quixote’s sense of smell was as acute as his hearing, and as Sancho was so closely linked with him that the fumes rose almost in a straight line, it could not be but that some should reach his nose, and as soon as they did he came to its relief by compressing it between his fingers, saying in a rather snuffing tone, “Sancho, it strikes me thou art in great fear.”
“I am,” answered Sancho; “but how does your worship perceive it now more than ever?”
“Because just now thou smellest stronger than ever, and not of ambergris,” answered Don Quixote.
“Very likely,” said Sancho, “but that’s not my fault, but your worship’s, for leading me about at unseasonable hours and at such unwonted paces.”
“Then go back three or four, my friend,” said Don Quixote, all the time with his fingers to his nose; “and for the future pay more attention to thy person and to what thou owest to mine; for it is my great familiarity with thee that has bred this contempt.”
“I’ll bet,” replied Sancho, “that your worship thinks I have done something I ought not with my person.”
“It makes it worse to stir it, friend Sancho,” returned Don Quixote.
With this and other talk of the same sort master and man passed the night, till Sancho, perceiving that daybreak was coming on apace, very cautiously untied Rocinante and tied up his breeches. As soon as Rocinante found himself free, though by nature he was not at all mettlesome, he seemed to feel lively and began pawing — for as to capering, begging his pardon, he knew not what it meant. Don Quixote, then, observing that Rocinante could move, took it as a good sign and a signal that he should attempt the dread adventure. By this time day had fully broken and everything showed distinctly, and Don Quixote saw that he was among some tall trees, chestnuts, which cast a very deep shade; he perceived likewise that the sound of the strokes did not cease, but could not discover what caused it, and so without any further delay he let Rocinante feel the spur, and once more taking leave of Sancho, he told him to wait for him there three days at most, as he had said before, and if he should not have returned by that time, he might feel sure it had been God’s will that he should end his days in that perilous adventure. He again repeated the message and commission with which he was to go on his behalf to his lady Dulcinea, and said he was not to be uneasy as to the payment of his services, for before leaving home he had made his will, in which he would find himself fully recompensed in the matter of wages in due proportion to the time he had served; but if God delivered him safe, sound, and unhurt out of that danger, he might look upon the promised island as much more than certain. Sancho began to weep afresh on again hearing the affecting words of his good master, and resolved to stay with him until the final issue and end of the business. From these tears and this honourable resolve of Sancho Panza’s the author of this history infers that he must have been of good birth and at least an old Christian; and the feeling he displayed touched his but not so much as to make him show any weakness; on the contrary, hiding what he felt as well as he could, he began to move towards that quarter whence the sound of the water and of the strokes seemed to come.
Sancho followed him on foot, leading by the halter, as his custom was, his ass, his constant comrade in prosperity or adversity; and advancing some distance through the shady chestnut trees they came upon a little meadow at the foot of some high rocks, down which a mighty rush of water flung itself. At the foot of the rocks were some rudely constructed houses looking more like ruins than houses, from among which came, they perceived, the din and clatter of blows, which still continued without intermission. Rocinante took fright at the noise of the water and of the blows, but quieting him Don Quixote advanced step by step towards the houses, commending himself with all his heart to his lady, imploring her support in that dread pass and enterprise, and on the way commending himself to God, too, not to forget him. Sancho who never quitted his side, stretched his neck as far as he could and peered between the legs of Rocinante to see if he could now discover what it was that caused him such fear and apprehension. They went it might be a hundred paces farther, when on turning a corner the true cause, beyond the possibility of any mistake, of that dread-sounding and to them awe-inspiring noise that had kept them all the night in such fear and perplexity, appeared plain and obvious; and it was (if, reader, thou art not disgusted and disappointed) six fulling hammers which by their alternate strokes made all the din.
When Don Quixote perceived what it was, he was struck dumb and rigid from head to foot. Sancho glanced at him and saw him with his head bent down upon his breast in manifest mortification; and Don Quixote glanced at Sancho and saw him with his cheeks puffed out and his mouth full of laughter, and evidently ready to explode with it, and in spite of his vexation he could not help laughing at the sight of him; and when Sancho saw his master begin he let go so heartily that he had to hold his sides with both hands to keep himself from bursting with laughter. Four times he stopped, and as many times did his laughter break out afresh with the same violence as at first, whereat Don Quixote grew furious, above all when he heard him say mockingly, “Thou must know, friend Sancho, that of Heaven’s will I was born in this our iron age to revive in it the golden or age of gold; I am he for whom are reserved perils, mighty achievements, valiant deeds;” and here he went on repeating the words that Don Quixote uttered the first time they heard the awful strokes.
Don Quixote, then, seeing that Sancho was turning him into ridicule, was so mortified and vexed that he lifted up his pike and smote him two such blows that if, instead of catching them on his shoulders, he had caught them on his head there would have been no wages to pay, unless indeed to his heirs. Sancho seeing that he was getting an awkward return in earnest for his jest, and fearing his master might carry it still further, said to him very humbly, “Calm yourself, sir, for by God I am only joking.”
“Well, then, if you are joking I am not,” replied Don Quixote. “Look here, my lively gentleman, if these, instead of being fulling hammers, had been some perilous adventure, have I not, think you, shown the courage required for the attempt and achievement? Am I, perchance, being, as I am, a gentleman, bound to know and distinguish sounds and tell whether they come from fulling mills or not; and that, when perhaps, as is the case, I have never in my life seen any as you have, low boor as you are, that have been born and bred among them? But turn me these six hammers into six giants, and bring them to beard me, one by one or all together, and if I do not knock them head over heels, then make what mockery you like of me.”
“No more of that, senor,” returned Sancho; “I own I went a little too far with the joke. But tell me, your worship, now that peace is made between us (and may God bring you out of all the adventures that may befall you as safe and sound as he has brought you out of this one), was it not a thing to laugh at, and is it not a good story, the great fear we were in? — at least that I was in; for as to your worship I see now that you neither know nor understand what either fear or dismay is.”
“I do not deny,” said Don Quixote, “that what happened to us may be worth laughing at, but it is not worth making a story about, for it is not everyone that is shrewd enough to hit the right point of a thing.”
“At any rate,” said Sancho, “your worship knew how to hit the right point with your pike, aiming at my head and hitting me on the shoulders, thanks be to God and my own smartness in dodging it. But let that pass; all will come out in the scouring; for I have heard say ‘he loves thee well that makes thee weep;’ and moreover that it is the way with great lords after any hard words they give a servant to give him a pair of breeches; though I do not know what they give after blows, unless it be that knights-errant after blows give islands, or kingdoms on the mainland.”
“It may be on the dice,” said Don Quixote, “that all thou sayest will come true; overlook the past, for thou art shrewd enough to know that our first movements are not in our own control; and one thing for the future bear in mind, that thou curb and restrain thy loquacity in my company; for in all the books of chivalry that I have read, and they are innumerable, I never met with a squire who talked so much to his lord as thou dost to thine; and in fact I feel it to be a great fault of thine and of mine: of thine, that thou hast so little respect for me; of mine, that I do not make myself more respected. There was Gandalin, the squire of Amadis of Gaul, that was Count of the Insula Firme, and we read of him that he always addressed his lord with his cap in his hand, his head bowed down and his body bent double, more turquesco. And then, what shall we say of Gasabal, the squire of Galaor, who was so silent that in order to indicate to us the greatness of his marvellous taciturnity his name is only once mentioned in the whole of that history, as long as it is truthful? From all I have said thou wilt gather, Sancho, that there must be a difference between master and man, between lord and lackey, between knight and squire: so that from this day forward in our intercourse we must observe more respect and take less liberties, for in whatever way I may be provoked with you it will be bad for the pitcher. The favours and benefits that I have promised you will come in due time, and if they do not your wages at least will not be lost, as I have already told you.”
“All that your worship says is very well,” said Sancho, “but I should like to know (in case the time of favours should not come, and it might be necessary to fall back upon wages) how much did the squire of a knight-errant get in those days, and did they agree by the month, or by the day like bricklayers?”
“I do not believe,” replied Don Quixote, “that such squires were ever on wages, but were dependent on favour; and if I have now mentioned thine in the sealed will I have left at home, it was with a view to what may happen; for as yet I know not how chivalry will turn out in these wretched times of ours, and I do not wish my soul to suffer for trifles in the other world; for I would have thee know, Sancho, that in this there is no condition more hazardous than that of adventurers.”
“That is true,” said Sancho, “since the mere noise of the hammers of a fulling mill can disturb and disquiet the heart of such a valiant errant adventurer as your worship; but you may be sure I will not open my lips henceforward to make light of anything of your worship’s , but only to honour you as my master and natural lord.”
“By so doing,” replied Don Quixote, “shalt thou live long on the face of the earth; for next to parents, masters are to be respected as though they were parents.”
 
次前所未闻却又毫无危险的冒险
“我的大人，这些草足以证明附近有清泉或小溪滋润着它们。所以，咱们最好往前再走一点儿，看看是否能找个解渴的地方。咱们渴得这么厉害，比饿还难受。”
唐吉诃德觉得桑乔说得对，便拿起了罗西南多的缰绳。桑乔把吃剩下的东西放到驴背上，拉着驴，开始在平原上摸索着往前走。漆黑的夜，什么都看不见。走了不到两百步，就听到一股巨大的声音，仿佛是激流从高山上汹涌而下。两人为之振奋，停住脚步想听听水声的方向。可是，他们骤然又听到另一声巨响，把水声带来的喜悦一扫而光，特别是桑乔，本来就胆小。他们听到的是一种铁锁链有节奏的撞击声，还伴随着水的咆哮声，除了唐吉诃德，任何人听到这种声音都会毛骨悚然。刚才说过，这是个漆黑的夜晚。他们恰巧又走进一片高高的树林，微风吹动着树叶，产生出一种可怕的响声。这种孤独、荒僻、黑夜和水声，再加上树叶的窸窣声，令人产生一种恐惧。尤其是他们发现撞击声不止，风吹不停，长夜漫漫。更有甚者，他们不知道自己到底是在什么地方，因而惊恐万状。可是，唐吉诃德勇敢无畏。他跳上罗西南多，手持盾牌，举起长矛说：
“桑乔朋友，你该知道，承蒙老天厚爱，我出生在这个铁器时代，就是为了重新恢复黄金时代，或者如人们常说的那个金黄时代。各种危险、奇遇和丰功伟绩都是专为我预备的。我再说一遍，我是来恢复圆桌骑士、法兰西十二廷臣和九大俊杰的。我将使人们忘却普拉蒂尔、塔布兰特、奥利万特和蒂兰特、费博和贝利亚尼斯，以及过去所有的著名游侠骑士，用我当今的伟迹、奇迹和战迹使他们最辉煌的时期都黯然失色。
“你记住，忠实的合法侍从，今晚的黑暗、奇怪的寂静，这些树难以分辨的沙沙声，咱们正寻找的可怕水声，那水似乎是从月亮的高山上倾泻下来的，以及那些刺激着我们耳朵的无休止的撞击声，无论合在一起或者单独发出，都足以让玛斯①胆寒，更别提那些还不习惯于这类事情的人了。所以，你把罗西南多的肚带紧一紧，咱们就分手吧。你在这儿等我三天。如果三天后我还不回来，你就回到咱们村去，求求你，做件好事，到托博索去告诉我美丽无双的夫人杜尔西内亚，就说忠实于她的骑士为了做一些自认为是事业的事情阵亡了。”
桑乔闻言伤心极了，对唐吉诃德说：
①玛斯是希腊神话中的战神。
“大人，我不明白您为什么要从事这件可怕的事情。现在是夜晚，谁也看不见咱们。咱们完全可以绕道，避开危险，哪怕再有三天没水喝也行。谁也没有看见咱们，更不会有人说咱们是胆小鬼。还有一层，咱们那儿的神甫您是很熟悉的，我听他多次说过，‘寻险者死于险’。所以，您别去招惹上帝，做这种太过分的事情。否则，除非产生奇迹，您是逃不掉的。老天保佑您，没让您像我那样被人扔，而且安然无恙地战胜了那么多护送尸体的人，这就足够了。如果这些还不能打动您的铁石心肠，请您想想吧，您一离开这里，要是有人来要我的命，我就会吓得魂归西天！
“我远离故土，撇下老婆孩子，跟着您，原以为能够得到好处，可是偷鸡不成反蚀米，我也不抱什么希望了。本来只要您活着，我还可以指望得到您多次许诺的某个倒霉的破岛，可是现在换来的却是您要把我撇在这么一个远离人烟的地方。只求您看在上帝的份上，我的大人，别做这种缺德事吧。假如您非要这么做不可，至少也要等到天亮。根据我当牧羊人时学到的知识，从现在起到天亮最多不过三小时，因为小熊星座的嘴正在头上方，如果嘴对着左臂线就是午夜。”
“桑乔，”唐吉诃德问，“天这么黑，一颗星星都不见，你怎么能看清你说的那条线、那个嘴和后脑勺在哪儿呢？”
“是这样，”桑乔说，“恐惧拥有很多眼睛，能够看到地下的东西，天上的就更不用说了。所以，仔细推论一下，完全可以肯定从现在到天亮没多少时间了。”
“不管差多少时间，”唐吉诃德说，“反正不能由于别人哭了、哀求了，无论是现在还是任何时候，我就该放弃骑士应该做的事情。桑乔，我求求你，别再说了，既然上帝要我去征服这一罕见的可怕险恶，你只需照顾好我的身体就行了，自己也要注意节哀。你现在要做的就是勒紧罗西南多的肚带，留在这里。我马上就会回来，不管是死还是活。”
桑乔看到主人决心已下，而自己的眼泪、劝告和哀求都不起作用，就想略施小计，如果可能的话，争取拖到天明。于是他在给罗西南多紧肚带时，不动声色地用缰绳把罗西南多的两只蹄子利索地拴在了一起。因此，唐吉诃德想走却走不了，那马不能走，只能跳。桑乔见他的小计谋得逞了，就说：
“哎，大人，老天被我的眼泪和乞求感动了，命令罗西南多不要动。如果您还这么踢它，就会惹怒老天，就像人们说的，物极必反。”
唐吉诃德无可奈何。他越是夹马肚子，马越不走。他没想到马蹄会被拴着，只好安静下来，等待天亮，或者等罗西南多能够走动。他没想到这是桑乔在捣鬼，而以为另有原因，就对桑乔说：
“既然罗西南多不能走动，桑乔，我愿意等到天明。我就是哭，也得等到天亮啊。”
“不用哭，”桑乔说，“如果您不愿意下马，按照游侠骑士的习惯，在这绿草地上睡一会儿，养精蓄锐，待天亮后再去从事正期待着您的非凡事业，那么我可以讲故事，从现在讲到天明，给您解闷。”
“你为什么叫我下马睡觉呢？”唐吉诃德说，“我难道是那种在危险时刻睡觉的骑士吗？你去睡吧，你生来就是睡觉的，或者你愿意干什么就干什么吧。我反正要我行我素。”
“您别生气，我的大人，”桑乔说，我可不是那个意思。”
桑乔走近唐吉诃德，一手扶着马鞍前，另一只手放在马鞍后，拥着主人的左腿，不敢离开一点儿。他是被那不断发生的撞击声吓的。
唐吉诃德让桑乔照刚才说的，讲个故事解闷。桑乔说，要不是听到那声音害怕，他就讲了。
“尽管如此，我还是凑合一个吧。只要我认真讲，不打断我，那肯定是个最好的故事。您注意听，我开始讲了。以前那个时候，好处均摊，倒霉自找……您注意，我的大人，以前故事的开头并不是随便讲的，而是要用罗马人•卡顿•松索里诺的一个警句，也就是‘倒霉自找’。这句话对您最合适，您应该待在这儿，别到任何地方去找麻烦，或者最好再去找一条别的路。反正也没人强迫咱们非走这条路。这条路上吓人的事太多。”
“你接着讲吧，桑乔，”唐吉诃德说，“该走哪条路还是让我考虑吧。”
“好吧，我讲，”桑乔说，“在埃斯特雷马杜拉的一个地方有个牧羊人，也就是说，是放羊的。我的故事里的这个牧人或牧羊人叫洛佩•鲁伊斯。这个洛佩•鲁伊斯爱上了一个叫托拉尔瓦的牧羊姑娘。那个叫托拉尔瓦的牧羊姑娘是一位富裕牧主的女儿。而这个富裕牧主……”
“你要是这么讲下去，桑乔，”唐吉诃德说，“每句话都讲两遍，两天也讲不完。你接着说吧，讲话时别犯傻，否则，就什么也别说。”
“我们那儿的人都像我这么讲，”桑乔说，“我也不会用别的方式讲，而且，您也不应该要求我编出什么新花样。”
“随你的便吧，”唐吉诃德说，“我命里注定该听你讲。你就接着说吧。”
“于是，我亲爱的大人，”桑乔说，“我刚才说，这位牧人爱上了牧羊姑娘托拉尔瓦。她是位又胖又野的姑娘，有点儿男人气，嘴上还有点儿胡子，那模样仿佛就浮现在我眼前。”
“那么，你认识她？”唐吉诃德问。
“不认识，”桑乔说，“不过，给我讲这个故事的人告诉我，故事情节千真万确，如果再给别人讲，可以一口咬定是亲眼所见。后来日子长了，魔鬼是不睡觉的，到处捣乱，让牧人对牧羊姑娘的爱情变成了厌恨。原因就是有些饶舌的人说她对牧羊人的某些行为越轨犯了禁，所以牧羊人从此开始厌恶她。由于不愿意再见到她，牧羊人想离开故乡，到永远看不到她的地方去。托拉尔瓦觉得洛佩小看她，反而爱上他了，虽然在此之前她并不爱他。”
“这是女人的天性，”唐吉诃德说，“蔑视爱她的人，喜爱蔑视她的人。你接着讲，桑乔。”
“结果牧羊人打定主意出走。”桑乔说，“他赶着羊，沿着埃斯特雷马杜拉的原野走向葡萄牙王国。托拉尔瓦知道后，光着脚远远地跟在他后面，手里还拿着一支拐杖，脖子上挎着几个褡裢，里面装着一块镜子和一截梳子，还有一个不知装什么脂粉的瓶子。至于她到底带了什么，我现在也不想去研究了。我只讲，据说牧人带着他的羊去渡瓜迪亚纳河。当时河水已涨，几乎漫出了河道。他来到河边，既看不到大船，也看不到小船，没有人可以送他和他的羊到对岸。牧人很难过，因为他看到托拉尔瓦已经很近了，而且一定会又是哀求又是哭地纠缠他。不过，他四下里再找，竟看到一个渔夫，旁边还有一只小船，小得只能装下一个人和一只羊。尽管如此，牧人还是同渔夫商量好，把他和三百只羊送过去。渔夫上了船，送过去一只羊，再回来，又送过去一只羊，再回来，再送过去一只羊。您记着渔夫已经送过去多少只羊了。如果少记一只，故事就没法讲下去了，也不能再讲牧人的事了。我接着讲吧。对岸码头上都是烂泥，很滑，渔夫来来去去很费时间。
尽管如此，他又回来运了一只羊，又一只，又一只。”
“你就算把羊全都运过去了吧，”唐吉诃德说，“别这么来来去去地运，这样一年也运不完。”
“到现在已经运过去多少只羊了？”桑乔问。
“我怎么会知道，活见鬼！”唐吉诃德说。
“我刚才跟您说的就是这事。您得好好数着。真是天晓得，现在这个故事断了，讲不下去了。”
“这怎么可能？”唐吉诃德说，“有多少只羊过去了，对这个故事就那么重要吗？数字没记住，故事就讲不下去了？”
“讲不下去了，大人，肯定讲不下去了。”桑乔说，“我问您一共有多少只羊过去了，您却说不知道，这下子我脑子里的故事情节全飞了，而那情节很有意义，很有趣。”
“故事就这么完了？”唐吉诃德问。
“就像我母亲一样，完了。”桑乔说。
“说实话，”唐吉诃德说，“你讲了个很新颖的故事或传说，世界上任何人都想不出来。还有你这种既讲又不讲的讲法，我这辈子从来没见到过，当然，我也没指望从你的故事里得到什么东西。不过，我并不奇怪，大概是这些无休止的撞击声扰乱了你的思路。”
“有可能，”桑乔说，“不过我知道，有多少只羊被送过去的数字一错，故事就断了。”
“你见好就收吧，”唐吉诃德说，“咱们去看看罗西南多是不是能走路了。”
唐吉诃德又夹了夹马。马跳了几下又不动了。那绳子拴得很结实。
这时候天快亮了。桑乔大概是受了早晨的寒气，或者晚上吃了些滑肠的东西，要不就是由于自然属性（这点最可信），忽然想办一件事，而这件事别人又代替不了他。不过，他心里怕得太厉害了，甚至不敢离开主人，哪怕是离开指甲缝宽的距离也不敢。可是，不做他想做的这件事又不可能。于是他采取了折衷的办法，松开那只本来扶在鞍后的右手，又无声无息地用右手利索地解开了裤子的活扣。扣子一解开，裤子就掉了下来，像脚镣似的套在桑乔的脚上。然后，桑乔又尽可能地撩起上衣，露出了一对屁股，还真不小。做完这件事之后（他本以为这就是他解脱窘境时最难办的事），没想到更大的麻烦又来了。原来他以为要腾肚子，不出声是不行的，所以咬紧牙关，抬起肩膀，并且尽可能地屏住呼吸。尽管他想了这么多办法，还是不合时宜地出了点声。这声音同那个让他心惊肉跳的声音完全不同。唐吉诃德听见了，问道：
“是什么声音，桑乔？”
“我也不知道，”桑乔说，“大概是什么新东西。倒霉不幸，总是风起云涌。”
桑乔又试了一次。这次挺好，没像刚才那样发出声音，他终于从那种难受的负担里解脱出来了。可是，唐吉诃德的味觉和他的听觉一样灵敏，桑乔又几乎同他紧贴在一起，那气味差不多是直线上升，难免有一些要跑到他鼻子里。唐吉诃德赶紧用手捏住鼻子，连说话都有些齉：
“看来你很害怕，桑乔。”
“是害怕，”桑乔说，“不过，您怎么忽然发现了呢？”
“是你忽然发出了气味，而且不好闻。”唐吉诃德回答。
“完全可能，”桑乔说，“可这不怨我。是您深更半夜把我带到这个不寻常的地方来。”
“你往后退三四步，朋友。”唐吉诃德说这话的时候，手并没有放开鼻子，“以后你得注意点，对我的态度也得注意。
过去我同你说话太多，所以你才不尊重我。”
“我打赌，”桑乔说，“您准以为我做了什么不该做的事。”
“还是少提为好，桑乔朋友。”唐吉诃德说。
主仆二人说着话度过了夜晚。桑乔看到拂晓将至，就悄悄为罗西南多解开了绳子，自己也系上了裤子。罗西南多天性并不暴烈，可一松开它，它就仿佛感到了疼痛，开始跺蹄子，而扬蹄直立它似乎不会。唐吉诃德看到罗西南多可以走了，觉得是个好兆头，就准备开始征险了。
此时东方破晓，万物可见。唐吉诃德发现四周高高的栗树遮住了阳光。他能感觉到撞击声前没有停止，可是看不见是谁发出的。他不再耽搁，用马刺踢了一下罗西南多，再次向桑乔告别，吩咐桑乔就像上次说的，最多等自己三天，如果三天后还不回来，那肯定是天意让他在这次征险中送命了。他又提醒桑乔替他向杜尔西内亚夫人传送口信。至于桑乔跟随他应得的报酬，他叫桑乔不要担心，他在离开家乡之前已经立下了遗嘱，桑乔完全可以按照服侍他的时间得到全部工钱。如果上帝保佑，他安然无恙，桑乔也肯定会得到他许诺的小岛。桑乔听到善良的主人这番催人泪下的话，不禁又哭起来，打定主意等着主人，直到事情有了最终结果。
本文作者根据桑乔的眼泪和决心，断定他生性善良，至少是个老基督徒。桑乔的伤感也触动了唐吉诃德，但是唐吉诃德不愿表现出一丝软弱。相反，他尽力装得若无其事，开始向他认为传来水声和撞击声的方向走去。桑乔仍习惯地拉着他的驴，这是和他荣辱与共的伙伴，紧跟在唐吉诃德后面。他们在那些遮云蔽日的栗树和其它树中间走了很长一段路，发现在高高的岩石脚下有一块草地，一股激流从岩石上飞泻而下。
岩石脚下有几间破旧的房屋，破得像建筑物的废墟。两人发现撞击声就是从那儿发出来的，而且仍在继续。罗西南多被隆隆的水声和撞击声吓得不轻，唐吉诃德一边安抚它，一边接近那些破屋，心里还虔诚地请求他的夫人在这场可怕的征战中保佑自己。同时，他还请求上帝不要忘了自己。桑乔跟在旁边，伸长脖子从罗西南多的两条腿中间观看，寻找那个让他心惊胆颤的东西。他们又走了大概一百步远，拐过一个角，发现那个令他们失魂落魄、彻夜不安的声音的出处已经赫然在目。原来是（读者请勿见怪）砑布机的六个大槌交替打击发出的巨大声响。
唐吉诃德见状惊愕得一句话也说不出来，桑乔也满面羞愧地把头垂在胸前。唐吉诃德又看了看桑乔，见他鼓着腮，满嘴含笑，显然有些憋不住了。唐吉诃德对他恼不得，自己也忍不住笑了。桑乔见主人已经开了头，自己也开怀大笑起来，笑得双手捧腹，以免笑破了肚皮。桑乔停了四次，又笑了四次，而且始终笑得那么开心。这回唐吉诃德怒不可遏了。这时，只听桑乔以嘲笑的口吻说：“你该知道，桑乔朋友，承蒙老天厚爱，我出生在这个铁器时代是为了重振金黄时代或黄金时代。各种危险、伟迹和壮举都是为我准备的……”原来是他在模仿唐吉诃德第一次听到撞击时的那番慷慨陈词。
唐吉诃德见桑乔竟敢取笑自己，恼羞成怒，举起长矛打了桑乔两下。这两下若不是打在桑乔背上，而是打在脑袋上，他就从此不用再付桑乔工钱了，除非是付给桑乔的继承人。桑乔见主人真动了气，怕他还不罢休，便赶紧赔不是，说：
“您别生气。我向上帝发誓，我只是开个玩笑。”
“你开玩笑，我可没开玩笑。”唐吉诃德说，“你过来，快乐大人，假如这些东西不是砑布机的大槌，而是险恶的力量，我难道不会一鼓作气，去进攻它，消灭它吗？作为骑士，难道我就该区分出那是不是砑布机的声音吗？而且，我这辈子还没见过这种东西哩。不像你这个乡巴佬，就是在砑布机中间长大的。要不然你把那六十大槌变成六个巨人，让他们一个一个或一起过来，我要是不能把他们打得脚朝天，就随便你怎么取笑我！”
“别说了，大人，”桑乔说，“我承认我刚才笑得有点过分了。不过，您说，大人，咱们现在没事了，如果上帝保佑您，以后每次都像这回一样逢凶化吉，这难道不该笑吗？还有，咱们当时害怕的样子不可笑吗？至少我那样子可笑。至于您的样子，我现在明白了，您不知道什么是害怕，也不知道什么是恐惧和惊慌。”
“我不否认咱们刚才遇到的事情可笑，”唐吉诃德说，“不过它不值一提。聪明人看事情也并不总是准确的。”
“不过您的长矛还是瞄得挺准的，”桑乔说，“指着我的脑袋，多亏上帝保佑，我躲闪得快，才打在我背上。得了，现在事情都清楚了。我听人说过，‘打是疼，骂是爱’。而且我还听说，主人在骂了仆人一句话之后，常常赏给仆人一双袜子。我不知道主人打了仆人几棍子之后会给仆人什么，反正不会像游侠骑士那样，打了侍从几棍子后，就赏给侍从一个小岛或陆地上的王国吧。”
“这有可能，”唐吉诃德说，“你说的这些有可能成为现实。刚才的事情请你原谅。你是个明白人，知道那几下并非我意。你应该记住，从今以后有件事你得注意，就是跟我说话不能太过分。我读的骑士小说数不胜数，却还没有在任何一本小说里看到有侍从像你这样同主人讲话的。说实在的，我觉得你我都有错。你的错在于对我不够尊重。我的错就是没让你对我很尊重。你看，高卢的阿马迪斯的侍从甘达林是菲尔梅岛的伯爵。书上说，他见主人的时候总是把帽子放在手上，低着头，弯着腰，比土耳其人弯得还要低。还有，唐加劳尔的侍从加萨瓦尔一直默默无闻，以至于我们为了表现他默默无闻的优秀品质，在那个长长的伟大故事里只提到他一次。对他这样的人我们还有什么可说的呢？从我说的这些话里你应该意识到，桑乔，主人与伙计之间，主人与仆人之间，骑士与侍从之间，需要有区别。所以，从今以后，咱们得更庄重，不要嘻嘻哈哈的。而且，无论我怎样跟你生气，你都得忍着。我许诺给你的恩赐，到时候就会给你。要是还没到时候，就像我说过的，工钱至少不会少。”
“您说的都对，”桑乔说，“可我想知道，那时候，假如恩赐的时候还没到，只好求助于工钱了，一个游侠骑士侍从的工钱是按月计呢，还是像泥瓦匠一样按天算？”
“我不认为那时的侍从能拿到工钱，”唐吉诃德说，“他们只能得到恩赐。我家里那份秘密遗嘱里提到你，只是为了以防万一。我还不知道在我们这个灾难性时刻应该如何表现骑士的风采。我不愿意让我的灵魂为一点点小事在另一个世界里受苦。我想你该知道，桑乔，世界上没有什么比征险更危险的事了。”
“的确如此，”桑乔说，“仅一个砑布机大槌的声音就把像您这样勇敢的游侠骑士吓坏了。不过您可以放心，我的嘴决不会再拿您的事开玩笑了，只会把您当作我的再生主人来赞颂。”
“这样，你就可以在地球上生存了。”唐吉诃德说，“除了父母之外，还应该对主人像对待父母一样尊敬。”
Part 1 Chapter 21
It now began to rain a little, and Sancho was for going into the fulling mills, but Don Quixote had taken such an abhorrence to them on account of the late joke that he would not enter them on any account; so turning aside to right they came upon another road, different from that which they had taken the night before. Shortly afterwards Don Quixote perceived a man on horseback who wore on his head something that shone like gold, and the moment he saw him he turned to Sancho and said:
“I think, Sancho, there is no proverb that is not true, all being maxims drawn from experience itself, the mother of all the sciences, especially that one that says, ‘Where one door shuts, another opens.’ I say so because if last night fortune shut the door of the adventure we were looking for against us, cheating us with the fulling mills, it now opens wide another one for another better and more certain adventure, and if I do not contrive to enter it, it will be my own fault, and I cannot lay it to my ignorance of fulling mills, or the darkness of the night. I say this because, if I mistake not, there comes towards us one who wears on his head the helmet of Mambrino, concerning which I took the oath thou rememberest.”
“Mind what you say, your worship, and still more what you do,” said Sancho, “for I don’t want any more fulling mills to finish off fulling and knocking our senses out.”
“The devil take thee, man,” said Don Quixote; “what has a helmet to do with fulling mills?”
“I don’t know,” replied Sancho, “but, faith, if I might speak as I used, perhaps I could give such reasons that your worship would see you were mistaken in what you say.”
“How can I be mistaken in what I say, unbelieving traitor?” returned Don Quixote; “tell me, seest thou not yonder knight coming towards us on a dappled grey steed, who has upon his head a helmet of gold?”
“What I see and make out,” answered Sancho, “is only a man on a grey ass like my own, who has something that shines on his head.”
“Well, that is the helmet of Mambrino,” said Don Quixote; “stand to one side and leave me alone with him; thou shalt see how, without saying a word, to save time, I shall bring this adventure to an issue and possess myself of the helmet I have so longed for.”
“I will take care to stand aside,” said Sancho; “but God grant, I say once more, that it may be marjoram and not fulling mills.”
“I have told thee, brother, on no account to mention those fulling mills to me again,” said Don Quixote, “or I vow — and I say no more — I’ll full the soul out of you.”
Sancho held his peace in dread lest his master should carry out the vow he had hurled like a bowl at him.
The fact of the matter as regards the helmet, steed, and knight that Don Quixote saw, was this. In that neighbourhood there were two villages, one of them so small that it had neither apothecary’s shop nor barber, which the other that was close to it had, so the barber of the larger served the smaller, and in it there was a sick man who required to be bled and another man who wanted to be shaved, and on this errand the barber was going, carrying with him a brass basin; but as luck would have it, as he was on the way it began to rain, and not to spoil his hat, which probably was a new one, he put the basin on his head, and being clean it glittered at half a league’s distance. He rode upon a grey ass, as Sancho said, and this was what made it seem to Don Quixote to be a dapple-grey steed and a knight and a golden helmet; for everything he saw he made to fall in with his crazy chivalry and ill-errant notions; and when he saw the poor knight draw near, without entering into any parley with him, at Rocinante’s top speed he bore down upon him with the pike pointed low, fully determined to run him through and through, and as he reached him, without checking the fury of his charge, he cried to him:
“Defend thyself, miserable being, or yield me of thine own accord that which is so reasonably my due.”
The barber, who without any expectation or apprehension of it saw this apparition coming down upon him, had no other way of saving himself from the stroke of the lance but to let himself fall off his ass; and no sooner had he touched the ground than he sprang up more nimbly than a deer and sped away across the plain faster than the wind.
He left the basin on the ground, with which Don Quixote contented himself, saying that the pagan had shown his discretion and imitated the beaver, which finding itself pressed by the hunters bites and cuts off with its teeth that for which, by its natural instinct, it knows it is pursued.
He told Sancho to pick up the helmet, and he taking it in his hands said:
“By God the basin is a good one, and worth a real of eight if it is worth a maravedis,” and handed it to his master, who immediately put it on his head, turning it round, now this way, now that, in search of fitment, and not finding it he said, “Clearly the pagan to whose measure this famous head-piece was first forged must have had a very large head; but the worst of it is half of it is wanting.”
When Sancho heard him call the basin a headpiece he was unable to restrain his laughter, but remembering his master’s wrath he checked himself in the midst of it.
“What art thou laughing at, Sancho?” said Don Quixote.
“I am laughing,” said he, “to think of the great head the pagan must have had who owned this helmet, for it looks exactly like a regular barber’s basin.”
“Dost thou know what I suspect, Sancho?” said Don Quixote; “that this wonderful piece of this enchanted helmet must by some strange accident have come into the hands of some one who was unable to recognise or realise its value, and who, not knowing what he did, and seeing it to be of the purest gold, must have melted down one half for the sake of what it might be worth, and of the other made this which is like a barber’s basin as thou sayest; but be it as it may, to me who recognise it, its transformation makes no difference, for I will set it to rights at the first village where there is a blacksmith, and in such style that that helmet the god of smithies forged for the god of battles shall not surpass it or even come up to it; and in the meantime I will wear it as well as I can, for something is better than nothing; all the more as it will be quite enough to protect me from any chance blow of a stone.”
“That is,” said Sancho, “if it is not shot with a sling as they were in the battle of the two armies, when they signed the cross on your worship’s grinders and smashed the flask with that blessed draught that made me vomit my bowels up.”
“It does not grieve me much to have lost it,” said Don Quixote, “for thou knowest, Sancho, that I have the receipt in my memory.”
“So have I,” answered Sancho, “but if ever I make it, or try it again as long as I live, may this be my last hour; moreover, I have no intention of putting myself in the way of wanting it, for I mean, with all my five senses, to keep myself from being wounded or from wounding anyone: as to being blanketed again I say nothing, for it is hard to prevent mishaps of that sort, and if they come there is nothing for it but to squeeze our shoulders together, hold our breath, shut our eyes, and let ourselves go where luck and the blanket may send us.”
“Thou art a bad Christian, Sancho,” said Don Quixote on hearing this, “for once an injury has been done thee thou never forgettest it: but know that it is the part of noble and generous hearts not to attach importance to trifles. What lame leg hast thou got by it, what broken rib, what cracked head, that thou canst not forget that jest? For jest and sport it was, properly regarded, and had I not seen it in that light I would have returned and done more mischief in revenging thee than the Greeks did for the rape of Helen, who, if she were alive now, or if my Dulcinea had lived then, might depend upon it she would not be so famous for her beauty as she is;” and here he heaved a sigh and sent it aloft; and said Sancho, “Let it pass for a jest as it cannot be revenged in earnest, but I know what sort of jest and earnest it was, and I know it will never be rubbed out of my memory any more than off my shoulders. But putting that aside, will your worship tell me what are we to do with this dapple-grey steed that looks like a grey ass, which that Martino that your worship overthrew has left deserted here? for, from the way he took to his heels and bolted, he is not likely ever to come back for it; and by my beard but the grey is a good one.”
“I have never been in the habit,” said Don Quixote, “of taking spoil of those whom I vanquish, nor is it the practice of chivalry to take away their horses and leave them to go on foot, unless indeed it be that the victor have lost his own in the combat, in which case it is lawful to take that of the vanquished as a thing won in lawful war; therefore, Sancho, leave this horse, or ass, or whatever thou wilt have it to be; for when its owner sees us gone hence he will come back for it.”
“God knows I should like to take it,” returned Sancho, “or at least to change it for my own, which does not seem to me as good a one: verily the laws of chivalry are strict, since they cannot be stretched to let one ass be changed for another; I should like to know if I might at least change trappings.”
“On that head I am not quite certain,” answered Don Quixote, “and the matter being doubtful, pending better information, I say thou mayest change them, if so be thou hast urgent need of them.”
“So urgent is it,” answered Sancho, “that if they were for my own person I could not want them more;” and forthwith, fortified by this licence, he effected the mutatio capparum, rigging out his beast to the ninety-nines and making quite another thing of it. This done, they broke their fast on the remains of the spoils of war plundered from the sumpter mule, and drank of the brook that flowed from the fulling mills, without casting a look in that direction, in such loathing did they hold them for the alarm they had caused them; and, all anger and gloom removed, they mounted and, without taking any fixed road (not to fix upon any being the proper thing for true knights-errant), they set out, guided by Rocinante’s will, which carried along with it that of his master, not to say that of the ass, which always followed him wherever he led, lovingly and sociably; nevertheless they returned to the high road, and pursued it at a venture without any other aim.
As they went along, then, in this way Sancho said to his master, “Senor, would your worship give me leave to speak a little to you? For since you laid that hard injunction of silence on me several things have gone to rot in my stomach, and I have now just one on the tip of my tongue that I don’t want to be spoiled.”
“Say, on, Sancho,” said Don Quixote, “and be brief in thy discourse, for there is no pleasure in one that is long.”
“Well then, senor,” returned Sancho, “I say that for some days past I have been considering how little is got or gained by going in search of these adventures that your worship seeks in these wilds and cross-roads, where, even if the most perilous are victoriously achieved, there is no one to see or know of them, and so they must be left untold for ever, to the loss of your worship’s object and the credit they deserve; therefore it seems to me it would be better (saving your worship’s better judgment) if we were to go and serve some emperor or other great prince who may have some war on hand, in whose service your worship may prove the worth of your person, your great might, and greater understanding, on perceiving which the lord in whose service we may be will perforce have to reward us, each according to his merits; and there you will not be at a loss for some one to set down your achievements in writing so as to preserve their memory for ever. Of my own I say nothing, as they will not go beyond squirely limits, though I make bold to say that, if it be the practice in chivalry to write the achievements of squires, I think mine must not be left out.”
“Thou speakest not amiss, Sancho,” answered Don Quixote, “but before that point is reached it is requisite to roam the world, as it were on probation, seeking adventures, in order that, by achieving some, name and fame may be acquired, such that when he betakes himself to the court of some great monarch the knight may be already known by his deeds, and that the boys, the instant they see him enter the gate of the city, may all follow him and surround him, crying, ‘This is the Knight of the Sun’-or the Serpent, or any other title under which he may have achieved great deeds. ‘This,’ they will say, ‘is he who vanquished in single combat the gigantic Brocabruno of mighty strength; he who delivered the great Mameluke of Persia out of the long enchantment under which he had been for almost nine hundred years.’ So from one to another they will go proclaiming his achievements; and presently at the tumult of the boys and the others the king of that kingdom will appear at the windows of his royal palace, and as soon as he beholds the knight, recognising him by his arms and the device on his shield, he will as a matter of course say, ‘What ho! Forth all ye, the knights of my court, to receive the flower of chivalry who cometh hither!’ At which command all will issue forth, and he himself, advancing half-way down the stairs, will embrace him closely, and salute him, kissing him on the cheek, and will then lead him to the queen’s chamber, where the knight will find her with the princess her daughter, who will be one of the most beautiful and accomplished damsels that could with the utmost pains be discovered anywhere in the known world. Straightway it will come to pass that she will fix her eyes upon the knight and he his upon her, and each will seem to the other something more divine than human, and, without knowing how or why they will be taken and entangled in the inextricable toils of love, and sorely distressed in their hearts not to see any way of making their pains and sufferings known by speech. Thence they will lead him, no doubt, to some richly adorned chamber of the palace, where, having removed his armour, they will bring him a rich mantle of scarlet wherewith to robe himself, and if he looked noble in his armour he will look still more so in a doublet. When night comes he will sup with the king, queen, and princess; and all the time he will never take his eyes off her, stealing stealthy glances, unnoticed by those present, and she will do the same, and with equal cautiousness, being, as I have said, a damsel of great discretion. The tables being removed, suddenly through the door of the hall there will enter a hideous and diminutive dwarf followed by a fair dame, between two giants, who comes with a certain adventure, the work of an ancient sage; and he who shall achieve it shall be deemed the best knight in the world.
“The king will then command all those present to essay it, and none will bring it to an end and conclusion save the stranger knight, to the great enhancement of his fame, whereat the princess will be overjoyed and will esteem herself happy and fortunate in having fixed and placed her thoughts so high. And the best of it is that this king, or prince, or whatever he is, is engaged in a very bitter war with another as powerful as himself, and the stranger knight, after having been some days at his court, requests leave from him to go and serve him in the said war. The king will grant it very readily, and the knight will courteously kiss his hands for the favour done to him; and that night he will take leave of his lady the princess at the grating of the chamber where she sleeps, which looks upon a garden, and at which he has already many times conversed with her, the go-between and confidante in the matter being a damsel much trusted by the princess. He will sigh, she will swoon, the damsel will fetch water, much distressed because morning approaches, and for the honour of her lady he would not that they were discovered; at last the princess will come to herself and will present her white hands through the grating to the knight, who will kiss them a thousand and a thousand times, bathing them with his tears. It will be arranged between them how they are to inform each other of their good or evil fortunes, and the princess will entreat him to make his absence as short as possible, which he will promise to do with many oaths; once more he kisses her hands, and takes his leave in such grief that he is well-nigh ready to die. He betakes him thence to his chamber, flings himself on his bed, cannot sleep for sorrow at parting, rises early in the morning, goes to take leave of the king, queen, and princess, and, as he takes his leave of the pair, it is told him that the princess is indisposed and cannot receive a visit; the knight thinks it is from grief at his departure, his heart is pierced, and he is hardly able to keep from showing his pain. The confidante is present, observes all, goes to tell her mistress, who listens with tears and says that one of her greatest distresses is not knowing who this knight is, and whether he is of kingly lineage or not; the damsel assures her that so much courtesy, gentleness, and gallantry of bearing as her knight possesses could not exist in any save one who was royal and illustrious; her anxiety is thus relieved, and she strives to be of good cheer lest she should excite suspicion in her parents, and at the end of two days she appears in public. Meanwhile the knight has taken his departure; he fights in the war, conquers the king’s enemy, wins many cities, triumphs in many battles, returns to the court, sees his lady where he was wont to see her, and it is agreed that he shall demand her in marriage of her parents as the reward of his services; the king is unwilling to give her, as he knows not who he is, but nevertheless, whether carried off or in whatever other way it may be, the princess comes to be his bride, and her father comes to regard it as very good fortune; for it so happens that this knight is proved to be the son of a valiant king of some kingdom, I know not what, for I fancy it is not likely to be on the map. The father dies, the princess inherits, and in two words the knight becomes king. And here comes in at once the bestowal of rewards upon his squire and all who have aided him in rising to so exalted a rank. He marries his squire to a damsel of the princess’s , who will be, no doubt, the one who was confidante in their amour, and is daughter of a very great duke.”
“That’s what I want, and no mistake about it!” said Sancho. “That’s what I’m waiting for; for all this, word for word, is in store for your worship under the title of the Knight of the Rueful Countenance.”
“Thou needst not doubt it, Sancho,” replied Don Quixote, “for in the same manner, and by the same steps as I have described here, knights-errant rise and have risen to be kings and emperors; all we want now is to find out what king, Christian or pagan, is at war and has a beautiful daughter; but there will be time enough to think of that, for, as I have told thee, fame must be won in other quarters before repairing to the court. There is another thing, too, that is wanting; for supposing we find a king who is at war and has a beautiful daughter, and that I have won incredible fame throughout the universe, I know not how it can be made out that I am of royal lineage, or even second cousin to an emperor; for the king will not be willing to give me his daughter in marriage unless he is first thoroughly satisfied on this point, however much my famous deeds may deserve it; so that by this deficiency I fear I shall lose what my arm has fairly earned. True it is I am a gentleman of known house, of estate and property, and entitled to the five hundred sueldos mulct; and it may be that the sage who shall write my history will so clear up my ancestry and pedigree that I may find myself fifth or sixth in descent from a king; for I would have thee know, Sancho, that there are two kinds of lineages in the world; some there be tracing and deriving their descent from kings and princes, whom time has reduced little by little until they end in a point like a pyramid upside down; and others who spring from the common herd and go on rising step by step until they come to be great lords; so that the difference is that the one were what they no longer are, and the others are what they formerly were not. And I may be of such that after investigation my origin may prove great and famous, with which the king, my father-in-law that is to be, ought to be satisfied; and should he not be, the princess will so love me that even though she well knew me to be the son of a water-carrier, she will take me for her lord and husband in spite of her father; if not, then it comes to seizing her and carrying her off where I please; for time or death will put an end to the wrath of her parents.”
“It comes to this, too,” said Sancho, “what some naughty people say, ‘Never ask as a favour what thou canst take by force;’ though it would fit better to say, ‘A clear escape is better than good men’s prayers.’ I say so because if my lord the king, your worship’s father-in-law, will not condescend to give you my lady the princess, there is nothing for it but, as your worship says, to seize her and transport her. But the mischief is that until peace is made and you come into the peaceful enjoyment of your kingdom, the poor squire is famishing as far as rewards go, unless it be that the confidante damsel that is to be his wife comes with the princess, and that with her he tides over his bad luck until Heaven otherwise orders things; for his master, I suppose, may as well give her to him at once for a lawful wife.”
“Nobody can object to that,” said Don Quixote.
“Then since that may be,” said Sancho, “there is nothing for it but to commend ourselves to God, and let fortune take what course it will.”
“God guide it according to my wishes and thy wants,” said Don Quixote, “and mean be he who thinks himself mean.”
“In God’s name let him be so,” said Sancho: “I am an old Christian, and to fit me for a count that’s enough.”
“And more than enough for thee,” said Don Quixote; “and even wert thou not, it would make no difference, because I being the king can easily give thee nobility without purchase or service rendered by thee, for when I make thee a count, then thou art at once a gentleman; and they may say what they will, but by my faith they will have to call thee ‘your lordship,’ whether they like it or not.”
“Not a doubt of it; and I’ll know how to support the tittle,” said Sancho.
“Title thou shouldst say, not tittle,” said his master.
“So be it,” answered Sancho. “I say I will know how to behave, for once in my life I was beadle of a brotherhood, and the beadle’s gown sat so well on me that all said I looked as if I was to be steward of the same brotherhood. What will it be, then, when I put a duke’s robe on my back, or dress myself in gold and pearls like a count? I believe they’ll come a hundred leagues to see me.”
“Thou wilt look well,” said Don Quixote, “but thou must shave thy beard often, for thou hast it so thick and rough and unkempt, that if thou dost not shave it every second day at least, they will see what thou art at the distance of a musket shot.”
“What more will it be,” said Sancho, “than having a barber, and keeping him at wages in the house? and even if it be necessary, I will make him go behind me like a nobleman’s equerry.”
“Why, how dost thou know that noblemen have equerries behind them?” asked Don Quixote.
“I will tell you,” answered Sancho. “Years ago I was for a month at the capital and there I saw taking the air a very small gentleman who they said was a very great man, and a man following him on horseback in every turn he took, just as if he was his tail. I asked why this man did not join the other man, instead of always going behind him; they answered me that he was his equerry, and that it was the custom with nobles to have such persons behind them, and ever since then I know it, for I have never forgotten it.”
“Thou art right,” said Don Quixote, “and in the same way thou mayest carry thy barber with thee, for customs did not come into use all together, nor were they all invented at once, and thou mayest be the first count to have a barber to follow him; and, indeed, shaving one’s beard is a greater trust than saddling one’s horse.”
“Let the barber business be my look-out,” said Sancho; “and your worship’s be it to strive to become a king, and make me a count.”
“So it shall be,” answered Don Quixote, and raising his eyes he saw what will be told in the following chapter.
 
赢得了曼布里诺头盔及其他事
这时下起了小雨。桑乔想两人一起到砑布机作坊里去避雨。刚刚闹了个大笑话，所以，唐吉诃德对这个砑布机感到厌恶，不想进去。于是两人拐上右边的一条路，同他们前几天走的那条路一样。没走多远，唐吉诃德就发现一个骑马的人，头上戴个闪闪发光的东西，好像是金的。唐吉诃德立刻转过身来对桑乔说：
“依我看，桑乔，俗话句句真，因为它是经验的总结。而经验是各种知识之母。特别是那句：‘此门不开那门开’。我是说，昨天晚上，命运用砑布机欺骗咱们，把咱们要找的门堵死了。可现在，另一扇门却大开，为咱们准备了更大更艰巨的凶险。这回如果我不进去，那就是我的错，也不用怨什么砑布机或者黑天了。假如我没弄错的话，迎面来了一个人，头上戴着曼布里诺的头盔。我曾发誓要得到它，这你知道。”
“那个东西您可得看清楚，”桑乔说，“但愿别又是一些刺激咱们感官的砑布机。”
“你这家伙，”唐吉诃德说，“头盔跟砑布机有什么关系！”
“我什么也不懂，”桑乔说，“可我要是能像过去一样多嘴的话，我肯定能讲出许多道理来，证明您说错了。”
“我怎么会说错呢，放肆的叛徒！”唐吉诃德说，“你说，你没看见那个向我们走来的骑士骑着一匹花斑灰马，头上还戴着金头盔吗？”
“我看见的似乎是一个骑着棕驴的人，那驴同我的驴一样，他头上戴着个闪闪发光的东西。”
“那就是曼布里诺的头盔。”唐吉诃德说，“你站到一边去，让我一个人对付他。你会看到，为了节省时间，我一言不发就能结束这场战斗，得到我盼望已久的头盔。”
“我会小心退到一旁，”桑乔说，“上帝保佑，我再说一遍，但愿那是牛至①，而不是砑布机。”
①牛至是一种植物。西班牙谚语：“牛至不会遍山岗，世上不会皆坦途。”
“我说过了，兄弟，你别再提，我也不再想什么砑布机了。”唐吉诃德说，“我发誓……我不说什么了，让你的灵魂去捶你吧。”
桑乔怕主人不履行对他发过的誓言，便缩成一团，不再作声了。
唐吉诃德看到的头盔、马和骑士原来是下面这么回事：那一带有两个地方。一个地方很小，连药铺和理发店也没有。而旁边另一个地方就有。于是大地方的理发师①也到小地方来干活。小地方有个病人要抽血，还有个人要理发。理发师就是为此而来的，还带了个铜盆。他来的时候不巧下雨了。理发师的帽子大概是新的。他不想把帽子弄脏，就把铜盆扣在头上。那盆还挺干净，离着半里远就能看见它发亮。理发师就像桑乔说的，骑着一头棕驴。这就是唐吉诃德说的花斑灰马、骑士和金盔。唐吉诃德看到那些东西，很容易按照他的疯狂的骑士意识和怪念头加以想象。看到那个骑马人走近了，他二话不说，提矛催马向前冲去，想把那人扎个透心凉。冲到那人跟前时，他并没有减速，只是对那人喊道：
“看矛，卑鄙的家伙，要不就心甘情愿地把本应该属于我的东西献出来！”
①当时的风俗，理发师往往以医疗为副业。
理发师万万没有想到，也没有提防会有这么个怪人向他冲过来。为了躲过长矛，他只好翻身从驴背上滚下来。刚一落地，他又像鹿一样敏捷地跳起身，在原野上跑起来，速度快得风犹不及。理发师把铜盆丢在了地上，唐吉诃德见了很高兴，说这个家伙还算聪明，他学了海狸的做法。海狸在被猎人追赶的时候会用牙齿咬断它那个东西。它凭本能知道，人们追的是它那个东西。唐吉诃德让桑乔把头盔捡起来交给他。
桑乔捧着铜盆说：
“我向上帝保证，这个铜盆质量不错，值一枚八雷阿尔的银币。”
桑乔把铜盆交给主人。唐吉诃德把它扣在自己脑袋上，转来转去找盔顶，结果找不到，便说：
“这个著名的头盔当初一定是按照那个倒霉鬼的脑袋尺寸造的。那家伙的脑袋一定很大。糟糕的是这个头盔只有一半。”
桑乔听到唐吉诃德把铜盆叫作头盔，忍不住笑了。可他忽然想起了主人的脾气，笑到一半就止住了。
“你笑什么，桑乔？”唐吉诃德问。
“我笑这个头盔的倒霉主人的脑袋竟有这么大。”桑乔说，“这倒像个理发师的铜盆。”
“你猜我怎么想，桑乔？这个著名的头盔大概曾意外地落到过一个不识货、也不懂得它的价值的人手里。那人不知道这是干什么用的，看到铜很纯，就把那一半熔化了，卖点钱。剩下的这一半就像你说的，像个理发师用的铜盆。不管怎么样，我识货，不在乎它是否走了样。回头找到有铜匠的地方，我就把它收拾一下，哪怕收拾得并不比铁神为战神造的那个头盔好，甚至还不如它。我凑合着戴，有总比没有强，而且，对付石头击打还是挺管用。”
“那石头只要不是用弹弓打来的就行，”桑乔说，“可别像上次两军交战时那样崩掉了您的牙，还把那个装圣水的瓶子打碎了，那圣水让我差点儿把五脏六腑都吐出来。”
“那圣水没了，我一点也不可惜。你知道，桑乔，它的配方我都记在脑子里了。”唐吉诃德说。
“我也记得，”桑乔说，“可是如果我这辈子再做一回并再喝一回那种圣水，我马上就完蛋了。而且，我不想弄到需要喝那种水的地步。我要全力以赴，防止受伤，也不伤害别人。我不想再被人用被单扔，这种倒霉的事情可以避免。可是如果真的再被扔，我也只好抱紧肩膀，屏住呼吸，听天由命，让被单随便折腾吧。”
“你不是个好基督徒，桑乔，”唐吉诃德闻言说道，“一次受辱竟终生不忘。你该知道，宽广的胸怀不在乎这些枝节小事。你是少了条腿，断了根肋骨，还是脑袋开花了，以至于对那个玩笑念念不忘？事后看，那完全是逗着玩呢。我如果不这样认为，早就去替你报仇了，准比对那些劫持了海伦的希腊人还要狠。海伦要是处在现在这个时代，或者我的杜尔西内亚处在海伦那个时代，海伦的美貌肯定不会有现在这么大名气。”
唐吉诃德说到此长叹一声。桑乔说：
“就当是逗着玩吧，反正又不能真去报仇。不过，我知道什么是动真格的，什么是逗着玩。我还知道它永远不会从我的记忆里抹去，就像不能从我的背上抹去一样。还是别说这个了。您告诉我，那个马蒂诺①被您打败了，他丢下的这匹似棕驴的花斑灰马怎么办？看那人逃之夭夭的样子，估计他不会再回来找了。我凭我的胡子发誓，这真是匹好灰马呀。”
①桑乔把曼布里诺说错成马蒂诺了。
“我从不习惯占有被我打败的那些人的东西，”唐吉诃德说，“而且夺取他们的马，让他们步行，这也不符合骑士的习惯，除非是战胜者在战斗中失去了自己的马。只有在这种情况下，作为正当的战利品，夺取战败者的马才算合法。所以，桑乔，你放了那匹马或那头驴，随便你愿意把它当成什么吧。
它的主人看见咱们离开这儿，就会回来找它。”
“上帝知道，我想带走它，”桑乔说，“至少跟我这头驴换一换。我觉得我这头驴并不怎么好。骑士规则还真严，连换头驴都不让。我想知道是否连马具都不让换。”
“这点我不很清楚，”唐吉诃德说，“既然遇到了疑问，又没有答案，如果你特别需要，我看就先换吧。”
“太需要了，”桑乔说，“对于我来说，这是再需要不过的了。”
既然得到了允许，桑乔马上来了个交换仪式，然后把他的驴打扮一番，比原来漂亮了好几倍。从教士那儿夺来的骡子背上还有些干粮，他们吃了，又背向砑布机，喝了点旁边小溪里的水。砑布机曾经把他们吓得够呛。他们已经讨厌砑布机，不想再看见它了。
喝了点凉水，也就没什么可忧虑的了。两人上了马，漫无方向地（游侠骑士之根本就是漫无目的）上了路，任凭罗西南多随意走。主人随它意，那头驴也听它的，亲亲热热地在后面跟着。罗西南多走到哪儿，那头驴就跟到哪儿。最后他们还是回到了大路，毫无目标地沿着大路溜达。
正走着，桑乔问主人：
“大人，您准许我同您说几句话吗？自从您下了那道苛刻的命令，不让我多说话后，我有很多东西都烂在肚子里了。现在有件事就在我嘴边上，我不想让它荒废了。”
“说吧，”唐吉诃德答道，“不过简单些。话一长就没意思了。”
“我说，大人，”桑乔说，“这几天我一直在想，您在荒野岔口寻险征险，得到的太少了。虽然您克敌制胜，勇排凶险，可是没人看见，也没人知道，恐怕会一辈子无声无息。这就辜负了您的苦心，您也没有得到相应的报答。所以，除非您有更好的主意，我建议咱们去为某个正在交战的皇帝或君主效劳，您可以在那儿显示您的勇气、您的力量和您超人的智力。咱们去投奔的那位大人发现这些之后，就会论功行赏，您的业绩也就会被永远铭记。至于我就不用说了，反正超不出侍从的范围。我敢说，如果骑士小说里少不了写上侍从的功劳，写我的部分也不会超过三行。”
“你讲得不错，桑乔。”唐吉诃德说，“可是在达到那个地步之前，骑士还是应该四方征险，经受锻炼，待获得几次成功之后，就能声名显赫。那个时候再去觐见朝廷，也算是知名骑士了。小伙子们在城门口一看见他，就会围上来喊‘他就是太阳骑士’，或者‘蛇骑士’，或者功成名就的其它称号的骑士。他们会说：‘就是他战胜了力大无比的巨人布罗卡布鲁诺，解除了横行将近九百年的波斯国马木路克王朝的魔法。’于是他的事迹就传开了。听到小伙子和其他人的喧嚷声，那个王国的国王来到王宫窗前。国王看到了骑士，一眼就从甲胄和盾牌的徽记认出了他。于是国王大声喊道：‘喂，朝廷所有的勇士，都去迎接远道而来的骑士精英呀。’国王一喊，大家都出来了。国王走到台阶上迎接他，紧紧拥抱他，同他行接吻礼，然后拉着他的手，来到后宫。骑士会在后宫碰到公主，她是世界上难得的一位最完美的公主。
“下面的情况就是，公主看着骑士，骑士也盯着公主的眼睛，两人都认为对方是世界上最神圣的。他们不知道怎么会又怎么不会坠入情网，无以自拔，还为不知怎样说才能表达自己的热望和情感而从内心感到痛苦。骑士肯定会被带到王宫一间布置豪华的房间里，为他脱去甲胄，拿来一件红色的披风。骑士穿戴甲胄时就显得很精神，现在脱去甲胄更显得英俊了。
“骑士同国王、王后和公主共进晚餐。骑士的眼睛始终没有离开公主，偷偷地看她。公主也同样看着骑士，也是偷偷地瞧，我说过，这是一位很规矩的公主。晚餐快结束的时候，不料，有一个又丑又矮的侏儒从客厅的门口进来，身后还有一个漂亮的女人，由两名巨人左右相伴。那个女人说遇到了一点有关骑士的麻烦事，谁要是能解决，就会被认为是世界上最优秀的骑士。国王吩咐所有在场的人都试试看，结果只有这位骑士客人能够解决，于是他名声更噪。公主对此非常高兴，而且为自己钟情于一位如此高尚的人感到了极大的满足。
“正巧这位国王或王子或随便他是谁吧，同另一个与他势均力敌的人交战。这位骑士客人在朝廷住了几天之后，就请求允许他在这场战斗中为国王效劳。国王很痛快地答应了，骑士彬彬有礼地吻了国王的手谢恩。当天晚上，骑士隔着花园的栅栏同公主告别，公主的卧室在那个花园里。骑士已经隔着栅栏同公主幽会过多次，都是由公主信任的一个女仆牵线联系的。骑士唉声叹气，公主则晕了过去，女仆端来了水。女仆很着急，因为天快亮了，女仆不愿意事情败露，这会影响公主的声誉。公主醒过来，把两只白皙的手伸给栅栏外的骑士。骑士无数次地吻她的手，以泪洗她的手。两人商定，不管事情是好是坏，都要告诉对方。公主求骑士尽可能早些回来，骑士发誓说一定早回来。骑士又吻她的手，告别时更是难分难舍，差点没死过去。
“骑士回到自己的房间，躺在床上，离别的痛苦使他难以成眠。他很早就起来向国王、王后和公主告别。同国王和王后告别后，听说公主身体不舒服，不能见他，骑士心如刀割，差点让痛苦在脸上表现出来。那个牵线的女仆当时在场，有所察觉，就把这些情况告诉了公主。公主听后流泪了，对女仆说，她最伤心的一件事就是不知道骑士是否是国王后裔。女仆肯定地说，骑士如果不是国王的后代，就不会那样彬彬有礼，风度翩翩，雄姿英发。公主听到这话放心了。她尽力安慰自己，以免父母看出什么。两天之后，公主又开始露面了。
“骑士走了。他参加了战斗，打败了国王的敌人，赢得了许多城市，打了很多胜仗。后来他回到朝廷，到与公主常常幽会的地方去找公主，商定要向公主的父亲提亲，以此作为国王对自己的酬报。国王不愿意，因为他不知道骑士的身世。可骑士和公主还是想出了对策，或者靠私奔，或者靠其它什么办法，反正公主成了骑士的夫人。国王也开始觉得这是件好事了，因为他弄清了这个骑士是某个我也不知道叫什么的王国的勇敢国王的儿子，我觉得地图上好像没有那个王国。国王死了，公主承袭王位，骑士转眼间成了国王。于是他开始赏赐他的侍从和所有曾帮助他爬上如此高位的人。他把公主的一个女仆，也就是当初给他们牵线的那个女仆，许配给了他的侍从。那个女仆是一位赫赫有名的公爵的女儿。”
“我就是要这样的，”桑乔说，“我有话直说，我就是要这样的。而刚才说的这些，您这位猥獕骑士也会遇到。”
“对此你不必怀疑，桑乔，”唐吉诃德说，“那些游侠骑士就是按照我刚才说的方式爬上国王或皇帝宝座的。现在要做的就是看看哪个基督教徒或异教徒的国王遇到了战争，而且有个漂亮的女儿。可是，这事还得过一段时间再想。我刚才说过，咱们得先到别处闯出名声，才能有资格到朝廷去。还有一件事：就算是某个国王遇到了战争，他也有个漂亮的女儿，而且我也获得了威振天下的名气，但我不知道怎样才能证明我是国王的后裔，哪怕是国王表兄的后裔呢。如果国王不首先知道这点，我就是战功再卓著，国王也不会让他的女儿嫁给我。我怕因为这个失掉本应该属于我的东西。我的确是名门之后，家里有财产土地，能得到五百苏埃尔多①，说不定撰写我的传记的贤人会查清我的身世，证明我是国王的第五代或第六代重孙。
①苏埃尔多是西班牙古币名。按照西班牙中世纪法律，对侮辱贵族者可处以五百苏埃尔多的罚款，并将此款交给受辱贵族作为赔偿。
“我该让你知道，桑乔，世界上有两种身世。一种是帝王君主的后裔，他们慢慢衰落，最后只剩下一个尖了，就像个倒置的金字塔。还有一种是出身卑微，一步一步一直爬到了上等人的地位。这两类人的区别在于一些人过去是，现在不是了，而另一些人现在是，过去不是。我大概属于前一种。查清我属于豪门贵族，国王就高兴了，就会成为我的岳父了。如果不是这样，公主也会对我一往情深。即使她父亲不同意，她也明知我是布衣，她仍然会同意我做她的主人或丈夫。否则我就会把她劫走，带到我愿意去的地方。等过些时候，或者她的父母死了，他们也就不生气了。”
“在这儿就用上了有些没良心人的话：‘能豪夺者不巧取’。”桑乔说，“不过还有句更合适的话：‘苦苦哀求，莫如溜走’。我这么说是因为万一国王大人，您的岳父，不乖乖地把公主交给您，也只好像您说的那样，把公主劫走或转移掉。不过还有个问题，那就是若在王国里过安分日子，可怜的侍从应该得到恩赐，要不然就让给他们牵线的女仆跟公主一起走。她本来就应该成为侍从的妻子。侍从与女仆患难与共，直到老天开眼。我相信主人最后一定会把女仆赏给侍从做正式妻子。”
“没人能阻止这事。”唐吉诃德说。
“倘若如此，”桑乔说，“咱们就求上帝保佑，听天由命吧。”
“上帝会保佑咱们，”唐吉诃德说，“按照我的愿望和你的情况分别安排的。平民就是平民。”
“听凭上帝安排吧，”桑乔说，“我是个老基督徒，能当个伯爵就知足了。”
“这要求已经有些过高了，”唐吉诃德说，“你即使没有成为伯爵，也不要在意。只要我当上国王，完全可以赐给你贵族身份，根本用不着花钱去买或者向我进贡。我让你当伯爵，你就成了贵族，别管人家说什么。他们就是不高兴，也得称你为‘阁下’。”
“那好哇，我要受封‘嚼位’啦。”桑乔说。
“应该是‘爵位’而不是‘嚼位’。”唐吉诃德说。
“就算是吧。”桑乔说，“这我可会安排。我这辈子曾经当过教友会的差役。我穿差役的外衣特别合适，大家都说我完全可以当教友会的总管。我若是像外国的伯爵那样，披着公爵的披风，浑身黄金珠宝该多好哇。我得让大家都看清楚。”
“那样子一定不错，”唐吉诃德说，“不过你得经常刮胡子。像你这样又浓又密、乱七八糟的胡子，至少每两天就得剪一次。否则离着很远就看到你的胡子了。”
“家里雇个理发师不就行了吗？”桑乔说，“必要的话，还可以让他跟在我后面，就像个贵族的马夫。”
“你怎么知道贵族后面总跟着个马夫呢？”唐吉诃德问。
“我告诉你吧，”桑乔说，“以前我曾在朝廷干过一个月。我在那儿看到一位个子很矮的大人，听说他爵位很高。总有个人骑马跟着他转，像个尾巴。我问为什么那个人不与贵族同行，而是跟在后面。有人告诉我，说那人是贵族的马夫。贵族们身后总是带着个马夫。从那时候起，我就知道了，而且从来没忘过。”
“说得对，”唐吉诃德说，“你也可以带着你的理发师。习惯不一样，做法也可以不一样。你完全可以成为第一个带理发师的伯爵，况且刮胡子是比备马还贴身的事哩。”
“理发师的事我来办，”桑乔说，“您就争取做国王，让我当伯爵吧。”
“会这样的。”唐吉诃德说。
这时唐吉诃德抬起头，看见了一样东西，究竟是什么，详情见下章。
Part 1 Chapter 22
Cide Hamete Benengeli, the Arab and Manchegan author, relates in this most grave, high-sounding, minute, delightful, and original history that after the discussion between the famous Don Quixote of La Mancha and his squire Sancho Panza which is set down at the end of chapter twenty-one, Don Quixote raised his eyes and saw coming along the road he was following some dozen men on foot strung together by the neck, like beads, on a great iron chain, and all with manacles on their hands. With them there came also two men on horseback and two on foot; those on horseback with wheel-lock muskets, those on foot with javelins and swords, and as soon as Sancho saw them he said:
“That is a chain of galley slaves, on the way to the galleys by force of the king’s orders.”
“How by force?” asked Don Quixote; “is it possible that the king uses force against anyone?”
“I do not say that,” answered Sancho, “but that these are people condemned for their crimes to serve by force in the king’s galleys.”
“In fact,” replied Don Quixote, “however it may be, these people are going where they are taking them by force, and not of their own will.”
“Just so,” said Sancho.
“Then if so,” said Don Quixote, “here is a case for the exercise of my office, to put down force and to succour and help the wretched.”
“Recollect, your worship,” said Sancho, “Justice, which is the king himself, is not using force or doing wrong to such persons, but punishing them for their crimes.”
The chain of galley slaves had by this time come up, and Don Quixote in very courteous language asked those who were in custody of it to be good enough to tell him the reason or reasons for which they were conducting these people in this manner. One of the guards on horseback answered that they were galley slaves belonging to his majesty, that they were going to the galleys, and that was all that was to be said and all he had any business to know.
 
“Nevertheless,” replied Don Quixote, “I should like to know from each of them separately the reason of his misfortune;” to this he added more to the same effect to induce them to tell him what he wanted so civilly that the other mounted guard said to him:
“Though we have here the register and certificate of the sentence of every one of these wretches, this is no time to take them out or read them; come and ask themselves; they can tell if they choose, and they will, for these fellows take a pleasure in doing and talking about rascalities.”
With this permission, which Don Quixote would have taken even had they not granted it, he approached the chain and asked the first for what offences he was now in such a sorry case.
He made answer that it was for being a lover.
“For that only?” replied Don Quixote; “why, if for being lovers they send people to the galleys I might have been rowing in them long ago.”
“The love is not the sort your worship is thinking of,” said the galley slave; “mine was that I loved a washerwoman’s basket of clean linen so well, and held it so close in my embrace, that if the arm of the law had not forced it from me, I should never have let it go of my own will to this moment; I was caught in the act, there was no occasion for torture, the case was settled, they treated me to a hundred lashes on the back, and three years of gurapas besides, and that was the end of it.”
“What are gurapas?” asked Don Quixote.
“Gurapas are galleys,” answered the galley slave, who was a young man of about four-and-twenty, and said he was a native of Piedrahita.
Don Quixote asked the same question of the second, who made no reply, so downcast and melancholy was he; but the first answered for him, and said, “He, sir, goes as a canary, I mean as a musician and a singer.”
“What!” said Don Quixote, “for being musicians and singers are people sent to the galleys too?”
“Yes, sir,” answered the galley slave, “for there is nothing worse than singing under suffering.”
“On the contrary, I have heard say,” said Don Quixote, “that he who sings scares away his woes.”
“Here it is the reverse,” said the galley slave; “for he who sings once weeps all his life.”
“I do not understand it,” said Don Quixote; but one of the guards said to him, “Sir, to sing under suffering means with the non sancta fraternity to confess under torture; they put this sinner to the torture and he confessed his crime, which was being a cuatrero, that is a cattle-stealer, and on his confession they sentenced him to six years in the galleys, besides two bundred lashes that he has already had on the back; and he is always dejected and downcast because the other thieves that were left behind and that march here ill-treat, and snub, and jeer, and despise him for confessing and not having spirit enough to say nay; for, say they, ‘nay’ has no more letters in it than ‘yea,’ and a culprit is well off when life or death with him depends on his own tongue and not on that of witnesses or evidence; and to my thinking they are not very far out.”
“And I think so too,” answered Don Quixote; then passing on to the third he asked him what he had asked the others, and the man answered very readily and unconcernedly, “I am going for five years to their ladyships the gurapas for the want of ten ducats.”
“I will give twenty with pleasure to get you out of that trouble,” said Don Quixote.
“That,” said the galley slave, “is like a man having money at sea when he is dying of hunger and has no way of buying what he wants; I say so because if at the right time I had had those twenty ducats that your worship now offers me, I would have greased the notary’s pen and freshened up the attorney’s wit with them, so that to-day I should be in the middle of the plaza of the Zocodover at Toledo, and not on this road coupled like a greyhound. But God is great; patience — there, that’s enough of it.”
Don Quixote passed on to the fourth, a man of venerable aspect with a white beard falling below his breast, who on hearing himself asked the reason of his being there began to weep without answering a word, but the fifth acted as his tongue and said, “This worthy man is going to the galleys for four years, after having gone the rounds in ceremony and on horseback.”
“That means,” said Sancho Panza, “as I take it, to have been exposed to shame in public.”
“Just so,” replied the galley slave, “and the offence for which they gave him that punishment was having been an ear-broker, nay body-broker; I mean, in short, that this gentleman goes as a pimp, and for having besides a certain touch of the sorcerer about him.”
“If that touch had not been thrown in,” said Don Quixote, “be would not deserve, for mere pimping, to row in the galleys, but rather to command and be admiral of them; for the office of pimp is no ordinary one, being the office of persons of discretion, one very necessary in a well-ordered state, and only to be exercised by persons of good birth; nay, there ought to be an inspector and overseer of them, as in other offices, and recognised number, as with the brokers on change; in this way many of the evils would be avoided which are caused by this office and calling being in the hands of stupid and ignorant people, such as women more or less silly, and pages and jesters of little standing and experience, who on the most urgent occasions, and when ingenuity of contrivance is needed, let the crumbs freeze on the way to their mouths, and know not which is their right hand. I should like to go farther, and give reasons to show that it is advisable to choose those who are to hold so necessary an office in the state, but this is not the fit place for it; some day I will expound the matter to some one able to see to and rectify it; all I say now is, that the additional fact of his being a sorcerer has removed the sorrow it gave me to see these white hairs and this venerable countenance in so painful a position on account of his being a pimp; though I know well there are no sorceries in the world that can move or compel the will as some simple folk fancy, for our will is free, nor is there herb or charm that can force it. All that certain silly women and quacks do is to turn men mad with potions and poisons, pretending that they have power to cause love, for, as I say, it is an impossibility to compel the will.”
“It is true,” said the good old man, “and indeed, sir, as far as the charge of sorcery goes I was not guilty; as to that of being a pimp I cannot deny it; but I never thought I was doing any harm by it, for my only object was that all the world should enjoy itself and live in peace and quiet, without quarrels or troubles; but my good intentions were unavailing to save me from going where I never expect to come back from, with this weight of years upon me and a urinary ailment that never gives me a moment’s ease;” and again he fell to weeping as before, and such compassion did Sancho feel for him that he took out a real of four from his bosom and gave it to him in alms.
Don Quixote went on and asked another what his crime was, and the man answered with no less but rather much more sprightliness than the last one.
“I am here because I carried the joke too far with a couple of cousins of mine, and with a couple of other cousins who were none of mine; in short, I carried the joke so far with them all that it ended in such a complicated increase of kindred that no accountant could make it clear: it was all proved against me, I got no favour, I had no money, I was near having my neck stretched, they sentenced me to the galleys for six years, I accepted my fate, it is the punishment of my fault; I am a young man; let life only last, and with that all will come right. If you, sir, have anything wherewith to help the poor, God will repay it to you in heaven, and we on earth will take care in our petitions to him to pray for the life and health of your worship, that they may be as long and as good as your amiable appearance deserves.”
This one was in the dress of a student, and one of the guards said he was a great talker and a very elegant Latin scholar.
Behind all these there came a man of thirty, a very personable fellow, except that when he looked, his eyes turned in a little one towards the other. He was bound differently from the rest, for he had to his leg a chain so long that it was wound all round his body, and two rings on his neck, one attached to the chain, the other to what they call a “keep-friend” or “friend’s foot,” from which hung two irons reaching to his waist with two manacles fixed to them in which his hands were secured by a big padlock, so that he could neither raise his hands to his mouth nor lower his head to his hands. Don Quixote asked why this man carried so many more chains than the others. The guard replied that it was because he alone had committed more crimes than all the rest put together, and was so daring and such a villain, that though they marched him in that fashion they did not feel sure of him, but were in dread of his making his escape.
“What crimes can he have committed,” said Don Quixote, “if they have not deserved a heavier punishment than being sent to the galleys?”
“He goes for ten years,” replied the guard, “which is the same thing as civil death, and all that need be said is that this good fellow is the famous Gines de Pasamonte, otherwise called Ginesillo de Parapilla.”
“Gently, senor commissary,” said the galley slave at this, “let us have no fixing of names or surnames; my name is Gines, not Ginesillo, and my family name is Pasamonte, not Parapilla as you say; let each one mind his own business, and he will be doing enough.”
“Speak with less impertinence, master thief of extra measure,” replied the commissary, “if you don’t want me to make you hold your tongue in spite of your teeth.”
“It is easy to see,” returned the galley slave, “that man goes as God pleases, but some one shall know some day whether I am called Ginesillo de Parapilla or not.”
“Don’t they call you so, you liar?” said the guard.
“They do,” returned Gines, “but I will make them give over calling me so, or I will be shaved, where, I only say behind my teeth. If you, sir, have anything to give us, give it to us at once, and God speed you, for you are becoming tiresome with all this inquisitiveness about the lives of others; if you want to know about mine, let me tell you I am Gines de Pasamonte, whose life is written by these fingers.”
“He says true,” said the commissary, “for he has himself written his story as grand as you please, and has left the book in the prison in pawn for two hundred reals.”
“And I mean to take it out of pawn,” said Gines, “though it were in for two hundred ducats.”
“Is it so good?” said Don Quixote.
“So good is it,” replied Gines, “that a fig for ‘Lazarillo de Tormes,’ and all of that kind that have been written, or shall be written compared with it: all I will say about it is that it deals with facts, and facts so neat and diverting that no lies could match them.”
“And how is the book entitled?” asked Don Quixote.
“The ‘Life of Gines de Pasamonte,’” replied the subject of it.
“And is it finished?” asked Don Quixote.
“How can it be finished,” said the other, “when my life is not yet finished? All that is written is from my birth down to the point when they sent me to the galleys this last time.”
“Then you have been there before?” said Don Quixote.
“In the service of God and the king I have been there for four years before now, and I know by this time what the biscuit and courbash are like,” replied Gines; “and it is no great grievance to me to go back to them, for there I shall have time to finish my book; I have still many things left to say, and in the galleys of Spain there is more than enough leisure; though I do not want much for what I have to write, for I have it by heart.”
“You seem a clever fellow,” said Don Quixote.
“And an unfortunate one,” replied Gines, “for misfortune always persecutes good wit.”
“It persecutes rogues,” said the commissary.
“I told you already to go gently, master commissary,” said Pasamonte; “their lordships yonder never gave you that staff to ill-treat us wretches here, but to conduct and take us where his majesty orders you; if not, by the life of — never mind — ; it may be that some day the stains made in the inn will come out in the scouring; let everyone hold his tongue and behave well and speak better; and now let us march on, for we have had quite enough of this entertainment.”
The commissary lifted his staff to strike Pasamonte in return for his threats, but Don Quixote came between them, and begged him not to ill-use him, as it was not too much to allow one who had his hands tied to have his tongue a trifle free; and turning to the whole chain of them he said:
“From all you have told me, dear brethren, make out clearly that though they have punished you for your faults, the punishments you are about to endure do not give you much pleasure, and that you go to them very much against the grain and against your will, and that perhaps this one’s want of courage under torture, that one’s want of money, the other’s want of advocacy, and lastly the perverted judgment of the judge may have been the cause of your ruin and of your failure to obtain the justice you had on your side. All which presents itself now to my mind, urging, persuading, and even compelling me to demonstrate in your case the purpose for which Heaven sent me into the world and caused me to make profession of the order of chivalry to which I belong, and the vow I took therein to give aid to those in need and under the oppression of the strong. But as I know that it is a mark of prudence not to do by foul means what may be done by fair, I will ask these gentlemen, the guards and commissary, to be so good as to release you and let you go in peace, as there will be no lack of others to serve the king under more favourable circumstances; for it seems to me a hard case to make slaves of those whom God and nature have made free. Moreover, sirs of the guard,” added Don Quixote, “these poor fellows have done nothing to you; let each answer for his own sins yonder; there is a God in Heaven who will not forget to punish the wicked or reward the good; and it is not fitting that honest men should be the instruments of punishment to others, they being therein no way concerned. This request I make thus gently and quietly, that, if you comply with it, I may have reason for thanking you; and, if you will not voluntarily, this lance and sword together with the might of my arm shall compel you to comply with it by force.”
“Nice nonsense!” said the commissary; “a fine piece of pleasantry he has come out with at last! He wants us to let the king’s prisoners go, as if we had any authority to release them, or he to order us to do so! Go your way, sir, and good luck to you; put that basin straight that you’ve got on your head, and don’t go looking for three feet on a cat.”
’Tis you that are the cat, rat, and rascal,” replied Don Quixote, and acting on the word he fell upon him so suddenly that without giving him time to defend himself he brought him to the ground sorely wounded with a lance-thrust; and lucky it was for him that it was the one that had the musket. The other guards stood thunderstruck and amazed at this unexpected event, but recovering presence of mind, those on horseback seized their swords, and those on foot their javelins, and attacked Don Quixote, who was waiting for them with great calmness; and no doubt it would have gone badly with him if the galley slaves, seeing the chance before them of liberating themselves, had not effected it by contriving to break the chain on which they were strung. Such was the confusion, that the guards, now rushing at the galley slaves who were breaking loose, now to attack Don Quixote who was waiting for them, did nothing at all that was of any use. Sancho, on his part, gave a helping hand to release Gines de Pasamonte, who was the first to leap forth upon the plain free and unfettered, and who, attacking the prostrate commissary, took from him his sword and the musket, with which, aiming at one and levelling at another, he, without ever discharging it, drove every one of the guards off the field, for they took to flight, as well to escape Pasamonte’s musket, as the showers of stones the now released galley slaves were raining upon them. Sancho was greatly grieved at the affair, because he anticipated that those who had fled would report the matter to the Holy Brotherhood, who at the summons of the alarm-bell would at once sally forth in quest of the offenders; and he said so to his master, and entreated him to leave the place at once, and go into hiding in the sierra that was close by.
“That is all very well,” said Don Quixote, “but I know what must be done now;” and calling together all the galley slaves, who were now running riot, and had stripped the commissary to the skin, he collected them round him to hear what he had to say, and addressed them as follows: “To be grateful for benefits received is the part of persons of good birth, and one of the sins most offensive to God is ingratitude; I say so because, sirs, ye have already seen by manifest proof the benefit ye have received of me; in return for which I desire, and it is my good pleasure that, laden with that chain which I have taken off your necks, ye at once set out and proceed to the city of El Toboso, and there present yourselves before the lady Dulcinea del Toboso, and say to her that her knight, he of the Rueful Countenance, sends to commend himself to her; and that ye recount to her in full detail all the particulars of this notable adventure, up to the recovery of your longed-for liberty; and this done ye may go where ye will, and good fortune attend you.”
Gines de Pasamonte made answer for all, saying, “That which you, sir, our deliverer, demand of us, is of all impossibilities the most impossible to comply with, because we cannot go together along the roads, but only singly and separate, and each one his own way, endeavouring to hide ourselves in the bowels of the earth to escape the Holy Brotherhood, which, no doubt, will come out in search of us. What your worship may do, and fairly do, is to change this service and tribute as regards the lady Dulcinea del Toboso for a certain quantity of ave-marias and credos which we will say for your worship’s intention, and this is a condition that can be complied with by night as by day, running or resting, in peace or in war; but to imagine that we are going now to return to the flesh-pots of Egypt, I mean to take up our chain and set out for El Toboso, is to imagine that it is now night, though it is not yet ten in the morning, and to ask this of us is like asking pears of the elm tree.”
“Then by all that’s good,” said Don Quixote (now stirred to wrath), “Don son of a bitch, Don Ginesillo de Paropillo, or whatever your name is, you will have to go yourself alone, with your tail between your legs and the whole chain on your back.”
Pasamonte, who was anything but meek (being by this time thoroughly convinced that Don Quixote was not quite right in his head as he had committed such a vagary as to set them free), finding himself abused in this fashion, gave the wink to his companions, and falling back they began to shower stones on Don Quixote at such a rate that he was quite unable to protect himself with his buckler, and poor Rocinante no more heeded the spur than if he had been made of brass. Sancho planted himself behind his ass, and with him sheltered himself from the hailstorm that poured on both of them. Don Quixote was unable to shield himself so well but that more pebbles than I could count struck him full on the body with such force that they brought him to the ground; and the instant he fell the student pounced upon him, snatched the basin from his head, and with it struck three or four blows on his shoulders, and as many more on the ground, knocking it almost to pieces. They then stripped him of a jacket that he wore over his armour, and they would have stripped off his stockings if his greaves had not prevented them. From Sancho they took his coat, leaving him in his shirt-sleeves; and dividing among themselves the remaining spoils of the battle, they went each one his own way, more solicitous about keeping clear of the Holy Brotherhood they dreaded, than about burdening themselves with the chain, or going to present themselves before the lady Dulcinea del Toboso. The ass and Rocinante, Sancho and Don Quixote, were all that were left upon the spot; the ass with drooping head, serious, shaking his ears from time to time as if he thought the storm of stones that assailed them was not yet over; Rocinante stretched beside his master, for he too had been brought to the ground by a stone; Sancho stripped, and trembling with fear of the Holy Brotherhood; and Don Quixote fuming to find himself so served by the very persons for whom he had done so much.
 
他们不愿去的地方的不幸者
曼查的阿拉伯作家锡德•哈迈德•贝嫩赫利在这个极其严肃、夸张、细致、优美的虚构故事里讲到，曼查著名的唐吉诃德和他的侍从桑乔•潘萨如第二十一章所述，讲完那番话后，唐吉诃德抬头看到路上迎面走来大约十二个人，一条大铁链拴着他们的脖子，把他们连成一串，而且那些人都戴着手铐。此外，还有两个人骑马，一个人步行。骑马的人带着转轮手枪，步行的人拿着长矛和剑。桑乔一看见他们，就对唐吉诃德说：
“这是国王强制送去划船的苦役犯。”
“什么强制苦役犯？”唐吉诃德问，“国王难道会强制某个人吗？”
“不是这个意思，”桑乔说，“是这些人犯了罪，被判去为国王划船服苦役。”
“一句话，不管他们愿意不愿意，”唐吉诃德说，“这些人是被强迫带去，而不是自愿的。”
“是这样。”桑乔说。
“既然这样，”唐吉诃德说，“那就该行使我的除暴安良的职责了。”
“您注意点儿，”桑乔说，“法律，也就是国王本人，并没有迫害这类人，而是对他们的罪恶进行惩罚。”
这时，那些苦役犯已经走近了。唐吉诃德极其礼貌地请那几个押解的人告诉他，究竟为了什么原因押解那些人。一个骑马的捕役回答说，他们是国王陛下的苦役犯，是去划船的，此外就没什么可说的了，连他也只知道这些。
“即便如此，”唐吉诃德说，“我也想知道每个人被罚做苦役的原因。”
唐吉诃德又如此这般地补充了一些道理，想动员他们告知他想知道的事情。另一个骑马的捕役说：
“虽然我们身上带着这帮坏蛋的卷宗和判决书，可是现在不便停下拿出来看。您可以去问他们本人。他们如果愿意，就会告诉您。他们肯定愿意讲。这些人不仅喜欢干他们的卑鄙行径，而且喜欢讲。”
既然得到允许，唐吉诃德就去问了。其实即使不允许，他也会我行我素。他来到队伍前，问第一个人究竟犯了什么罪，竟落得如此下场。那个人说是因为谈情说爱。
“仅仅为这个？”唐吉诃德说，“如果因为谈情说爱就被罚做划船苦役，我早被罚到船上去了。”
“并不是像您想的那种谈情说爱，”苦役犯说，“我喜欢的是一大桶漂白的衣服。我使劲抱着它，若不是司法的力量把我强行拉开，我到现在也不会自己松手。我是被当场抓住的，用不着严刑拷问，审理完毕，我背上挨了一百下，再加上三年整的‘古拉巴’就完事了。”
“什么是‘古拉巴’？”唐吉诃德问。
“‘古拉巴’就是罚做划船苦役。”苦役犯回答。这个小伙子至多二十四岁，他说自己是皮德拉伊塔人。
唐吉诃德又去问第二个人。那人忧心忡忡，一言不发。第一个人替他回答说：
“大人，他是金丝雀。我是说，他是乐师和歌手。”
“怎么回事？”唐吉诃德问，“乐师和歌手也要做苦役？”
“是的，大人，”苦役犯说，“再没有比‘苦唱’更糟糕的事了。”
“我以前听说，‘一唱解百愁’。”唐吉诃德说。
“在这儿相反，”苦役犯说，“一唱哭百年。”
“我不明白。”唐吉诃德说。
这时一个捕役对唐吉诃德说：
“骑士大人，在这帮无赖里，‘苦唱’的意思就是在刑讯之下招供。对这个犯人动了刑，他才认了罪。他是盗马贼，也就是偷牲口的。他招认后，判在他背上鞭笞两百下，这个已经执行了，另外再加六年苦役。他总是沉默不语，愁眉不展，因为留在那边的罪犯和在这儿的苦役犯都虐待他，还排挤他，嘲弄他，蔑视他，就因为他招了，不敢说‘不’。他们说‘是’或‘否’都是那么长的音，而且罪犯见识多了，就知道他们的生死不由证人和证据决定，全在自己一张嘴。我觉得他们说得也有道理。”
“这我就明白了。”唐吉诃德说。
唐吉诃德又走到第三个人跟前，把刚才问别人的那几句话又问了一遍。那人立刻满不在乎地说：
“我因为欠人家十个杜卡多①，要去享受五年美妙的古拉巴。”
①杜卡多是曾用于西班牙和奥匈帝国的金币，也是一种假想的币名。
“我很愿意给你二十杜卡多，让你从这一苦难中解脱出来。”唐吉诃德说。
“我觉得这就好比一个身在海上的人有很多钱，”苦役犯说，“他眼看就要饿死了，可就是买不到他所需要的东西。我是说，如果我当时能够得到您现在才给我的这二十杜卡多，我至少可以拿它疏通一下书记员，活动一下检察官，现在则完全可以留在托莱多的索科多韦尔广场上，而不是在这儿像条猎兔狗似的被拴着。不过，上帝是伟大的。耐心等待吧，什么也别说了。”
唐吉诃德又去问第四个人。第四个人长着尊贵的面容，一副白胡子垂到胸前。听到唐吉诃德问他怎么到这儿来了，他竟哭了起来，一言不发。第五个苦役犯解释说；
“这位贵人被判了四年苦役，而且临走还被拉着骑在马上，穿着华丽的衣服，在净是熟人的街上招摇过市。”
“我觉得，”桑乔说，“那是当众羞辱他。”
“是的，”苦役犯说，“给他判刑的罪名就是给人家的耳朵甚至整个身子牵牵线。其实我是说，这位是拉皮条的。此外，他还会点巫术。”
“若不是因为他会点巫术，”唐吉诃德说，“单因为他拉皮条，就不该判他做划船苦役，而应该让他去指挥海船，做船队的头头。因为拉皮条这行当并不是随便可以干的。这是机灵人的职业，在治理有方的国家里特别需要，而且必须是出身高贵的人才行。此外，还得像其他行业一样，就像市场上的经纪人那样，有廉洁的知名人士来监督他们。这样可以避免一些蠢货从事这个行业所产生的弊病。像那些平淡无奇的娘儿们，乳臭未干、涉世不深的毛孩子和无赖，关键时刻需要他们拿主意的时候，他们却举棋不定，手足无措。我本来想再说下去，讲讲为什么要对这个国家从事这项必不可少的职业的人进行挑选，可是在这儿讲不合适。等到某一天，我再对能够解决这个问题的人讲吧。
“我只想说，看到这位两鬓斑白、面容尊贵的老人因为拉皮条被累成这个样子，我感到难过，可是再一想到他会巫术，我又不难过了，虽然我知道世界上并不是像某些头脑简单的人想的那样，有能够动摇和左右人的意志的巫术。我们的意志是自由的，没有任何迷魂药和魔法能够迫使它改变。一些粗俗的女人和居心叵测的骗子常常做些混合剂和春药，让人疯狂，让人们相信它们能催人纵欲，可是我要说，意志是改变不了的。”
“是的，”那位慈祥的老人说，“说真的，大人，关于巫术的事，我没有罪；拉皮条的事我无法否认，可我从未想到这是做坏事。我只是想让大家都痛痛快快，生活安定，无忧无虑。然而，我的良好愿望并没有给我带来任何好处，我还是得去那个回头无望的地方。我已经这么大年纪了，又有尿道病，这闹得我一刻也不得安宁。”
说到这儿，他又像刚才一样哭了起来。桑乔看他十分可怜，便从怀里掏出一枚值四雷阿尔的钱币周济他。
唐吉诃德走过去问另外一个人犯了什么罪。这个人回答得比前面那个人爽快得多。他说：
“我到了这儿，是因为我同我的两个堂妹和另外两个不是我堂妹的姐妹开玩笑开得太过分了。结果我们的血缘队伍乱了套，连鬼都说不清了。事实确凿，没人帮忙，我又没钱，差点儿丢了脑袋。判我六年苦役，我认了，咎由自取嘛。我还年轻，只要活着，一切都会有希望。假如您，骑士大人，有什么东西能帮帮我们这些可怜人，上帝在天会报答你，我们在地上祈祷时也不会忘记求上帝保佑您长命百岁，身体健康，祝您这样慈祥的人万寿无疆。”
这时，来了一个学生装束的人。一个捕役说，这个人能言善辩，而且精通拉丁文。
最后过来的是个相貌端庄的人，年龄约三十岁，只是看东西的时候，一只眼睛总是对向另一只。他的桎梏与其他人不同，脚上拖着一条大铁链，铁链盘在身上，脖子上套着两个铁环，一个连着铁链，另一个拴在一种叫做枷的械具上，下面还有两条锁链一直搭拉到腰间的两只手铐上，手铐上拴着一个大锁，这样他的手够不着嘴，头也不能低下来够着手。
唐吉诃德问那人为什么他戴的械具比别人多。捕役回答说，因为他一个人犯的罪比其他人所有的罪还多。他是个胆大妄为的家伙，即使这样锁着也还不放心呢，怕他跑了。
“他犯了什么罪，又判了多少年苦役呢？”唐吉诃德问。
“判了十年，”捕役说，“相当于剥夺公民权。不过，只要你知道这家伙是大名鼎鼎的希内斯•帕萨蒙特就行了。他还有个名字叫希内西略•帕拉皮利亚。”
“差官大人，”苦役犯说，“你注意点，别给人胡编名字和绰号。我叫希内斯，而不是希内西略。我的父名叫帕萨蒙特，而不是你说的帕拉皮利亚。各人管好自己的事就行了。”
“江洋大盗先生，不管你愿意不愿意，你若是不想让我帮你住嘴，说话就小声点儿。”
“人完全应当像上帝一样受到尊敬，”苦役犯说，“总有一天，我会叫你知道我到底是不是叫希内西略•帕拉皮利亚。”
“难道别人不是这样叫你吗，骗子？”捕役说。
“是这么叫，”苦役犯说，“可我会让他们不这么叫的。否则，我就把自己身上几个地方的毛全拔掉。骑士大人，如果你能给我们点什么，就给我们个到此为止，抬腿走人吧。你总打听别人的事情，已经让大家烦了。如果你想知道我的事情，我告诉你，我是希内斯•帕萨蒙特，我正在亲自记录我的生活。”
“他说的是真的，”捕役说，“他正在写他自己的故事，写得真不错。他在监狱里把书典押了二百雷阿尔。”
“即使是二百杜卡多，我也要把它赎回来。”希内斯说。
“书就这么好？”唐吉诃德问。
“简直可以说太好了，”希内斯说，“与之相比，《托尔梅斯河的领路人》以及其他所有那类书都相形见绌。我可以告诉你，那里面写的全是真事，若是杜撰的，不可能写得那么优美风趣。”
“书名是什么？”唐吉诃德问。
“《希内斯•帕萨蒙特传》。”希内斯说。
“写完了吗？”唐吉诃德问。
“我的生活还没有完，书怎么能写完了呢？”希内斯说，“写好的是从我出生到上次做划船苦役。”
“你原来做过划船苦役？”唐吉诃德问。
“愿为上帝和国王效劳。我那次做了四年苦役，知道了干面包和鞭子的滋味。”希内斯说，“做划船苦役我并不很害怕，我可以在船上写我的书。我有很多话要说，而在西班牙的船上空闲时间很多。其实，我用于书写的时间并不要很多。我主要靠打腹稿。”
“看来你很聪明。”唐吉诃德说。
“也很不幸，”希内斯说，“不幸总是伴随着聪明人。”
“也伴随坏蛋。”捕役说。
“我已经说过，差官大人，”希内斯说，“你讲话客气点儿。那些大人只是让你把我们带到陛下指定的地方去，并没有给你侮慢我们这些可怜人的权力。你若是再不客气点儿，我发誓……行了，‘说不定哪天客店的事情就会水落石出呢’。谁也别说了，你好好待着，说话客气点儿。已经费半天口舌了，咱们赶路吧。”
闻此狂言，捕役举棍要打帕萨蒙特。唐吉诃德立刻起身挡住，求他别打帕萨蒙特，说帕萨蒙特手被锁得那么紧，说话有点儿出圈也该谅解。然后，唐吉诃德转身对所有苦役犯说：
“极其尊贵的弟兄们，听了你们讲的这些话，我弄清楚了，虽然你们是犯了罪才受惩罚，你们却不大愿意受这个苦，很不情愿。看来你们有的人因为受到刑讯时缺乏勇气，有的人因为没钱，有的人因为没有得到帮助，反正都是法官断案不公，你们才落到这种地步，没有得到公正的待遇。所有这些现在都要求我、劝说我甚至迫使我对你们起到老天让我来世上作骑士的作用，实现我扶弱济贫的誓言。
“不过，我知道聪明一点儿的办法就是能商量的不强求。所以，我想请求这几位捕役和差官大人行行好，放了你们。若是愿意为国王效劳，比这更好的机会还多着呢。我觉得把上帝和大自然的自由人变成奴隶是件残忍的事情。况且，捕役大人，”唐吉诃德说，“这些可怜人丝毫也没有冒犯你们。咎由自取，上帝在天不会忘记惩恶扬善，正直的人也不该去充当别人的刽子手，他们本来就不该干这个。我心平气和地请求你们。如果能做到呢，我会对你们有所答谢，否则，我的长矛和剑，还有我臂膀的力量，就会强迫你们这样做。”
“可笑的蠢话！”差官说，“说了半天，竟是这等蠢话！你想让我们把国王的犯人放了，就好像我们有权力或者你有权力命令我们把犯人放了似的！走吧，大人，戴好你脑袋上的那个盆儿，趁早赶你的路吧，别在这儿找三爪猫①了。”
①西班牙成语，意即“自找苦吃”。
“你就是猫，是老鼠，是混蛋。”唐吉诃德说。
说完唐吉诃德便冲了上去。差官猝不及防，被长矛刺伤翻倒在地。还算唐吉诃德刺对了，那人身上带着火枪呢。其他人被这突如其来的事情惊呆了。不过他们立刻明白过来，于是骑马的人举起剑，步行的人拿起了标枪，向唐吉诃德冲来。唐吉诃德镇静自若地迎战。要不是那队苦役犯看到他们获得自由的机会已到，纷纷挣脱锁链，企图逃跑，这回唐吉诃德说不定就糟殃了。
大乱中，捕役们得追赶逃散的苦役犯，又得同与他们激战的唐吉诃德周旋，顾此失彼。桑乔帮着放开了希内斯•帕萨蒙特。希内斯第一个摆脱锁链，投入战斗。他向已经倒在地上的差官冲去，夺下了他的剑和枪，然后用剑指指这个人，又用枪瞄瞄那个人，不过他一直没有开枪。面对希内斯的枪和苦役犯们不断扔来的石头，捕役们全部落荒而逃，整个原野上已看不到他们的踪影。桑乔对此很担心。他想到这些逃跑的人一定会去报告圣友团，那么圣友团马上就会出来追捕苦役犯。桑乔把自己的担心对唐吉诃德讲了，请求他赶快离开那里，躲到附近的山上去。
“那好，”唐吉诃德说，“不过我知道现在最应该做什么。”
唐吉诃德叫苦役犯都过来。那些苦役犯吵吵嚷嚷地已经把差官的衣服都剥光了。大家围在一起，听唐吉诃德吩咐什么。唐吉诃德对他们说：
“出身高贵的人知恩图报，而最惹上帝生气的就是忘恩负义。各位大人，你们已经亲眼看到了你们从我这儿得到的恩典。作为对我的报答，我希望你们带着我从你们脖子上取下的锁链，去托博索拜见杜尔西内亚夫人，告诉她，她的骑士，猥獕骑士，向她致意，并且把这次著名的历险经过，一直到你们获得了渴望已久的自由，都原原本本地向她讲述一遍。然后，你们就各奔前程。”
希内斯•帕萨蒙特代表大家说：
“大人，我们的救星，您吩咐的事情万万做不得。我们不可能一起在大路上走，只能各走各的路，争取进到大山深处，才不会被圣友团找到。圣友团肯定已经出动寻找我们了。您能够做的，也应该做的，就是把您对托博索的杜尔西内亚夫人的进见礼，换成让我们按照您的意志念几遍万福玛利亚和《信经》。这件事我们无论白天还是黑夜，无论逃遁还是休息，无论和平时期还是战争年代，都做得到。但是，如果以为我们现已回到了太平盛世，可以拿着锁链去托博索了，那简直是白日说梦，让我们缘木求鱼。”
“我发誓，”唐吉诃德勃然大怒说，“我要让你这个婊子养的希内西略•帕罗皮略，或者就像他们叫你的那样，我一定要让你一个人老老实实地带着整条锁链去！”
帕萨蒙特本来就是火暴脾气。他听到唐吉诃德这番胡言乱语，什么要解放他们，却又让他们做蠢事，知道唐吉诃德精神不太正常。他向伙伴们使了个眼色，大家退到一旁，向唐吉诃德投起石头来。石头似雨点般打来，唐吉诃德拿护胸盾遮挡都来不及。而罗西南多也像铜铸一般，任凭唐吉诃德怎么踢都一步不移。桑乔藏在驴后边，躲避向两人铺天盖地打来的石头。唐吉诃德躲避不得，身上不知道挨了多少石头。石头来势凶猛，竟把他打倒在地。他刚倒下，那个学生就扑上来，夺过他头上的铜盆，在他背上砸了三四下，然后又在地上摔了三四下，差点把铜盆摔碎了。他们扒掉唐吉诃德套在甲胄上的短外套，又去脱他的袜子。要不是护胫甲挡着，连袜子也没了。那些人把桑乔的外衣也抢走了。桑乔被剥得只剩下了内衣。那些人把其他战利品也分了，然后就各自逃走了。他们着急的是逃脱圣友团的追捕，而不是带着锁链去拜见托博索的杜尔西内亚。
现在，只剩下驴和罗西南多，还有桑乔和唐吉诃德。驴低头沉思，不时还晃动一下耳朵，以为那场石雨还没有停止，正从耳边飞过。罗西南多躺在主人身旁，它也是被一阵石头打倒的。只穿着内衣的桑乔仍在为圣友团害怕。唐吉诃德看到自己本来对那些人那么好，却被他们弄成这副样子，气急败坏。
Part 1 Chapter 23
Seeing himself served in this way, Don Quixote said to his squire, “I have always heard it said, Sancho, that to do good to boors is to throw water into the sea. If I had believed thy words, I should have avoided this trouble; but it is done now, it is only to have patience and take warning for the future.”
 
“Your worship will take warning as much as I am a Turk,” returned Sancho; “but, as you say this mischief might have been avoided if you had believed me, believe me now, and a still greater one will be avoided; for I tell you chivalry is of no account with the Holy Brotherhood, and they don’t care two maravedis for all the knights-errant in the world; and I can tell you I fancy I hear their arrows whistling past my ears this minute.”
“Thou art a coward by nature, Sancho,” said Don Quixote, “but lest thou shouldst say I am obstinate, and that I never do as thou dost advise, this once I will take thy advice, and withdraw out of reach of that fury thou so dreadest; but it must be on one condition, that never, in life or in death, thou art to say to anyone that I retired or withdrew from this danger out of fear, but only in compliance with thy entreaties; for if thou sayest otherwise thou wilt lie therein, and from this time to that, and from that to this, I give thee lie, and say thou liest and wilt lie every time thou thinkest or sayest it; and answer me not again; for at the mere thought that I am withdrawing or retiring from any danger, above all from this, which does seem to carry some little shadow of fear with it, I am ready to take my stand here and await alone, not only that Holy Brotherhood you talk of and dread, but the brothers of the twelve tribes of Israel, and the Seven Maccabees, and Castor and Pollux, and all the brothers and brotherhoods in the world.”
“Senor,” replied Sancho, “to retire is not to flee, and there is no wisdom in waiting when danger outweighs hope, and it is the part of wise men to preserve themselves to-day for to-morrow, and not risk all in one day; and let me tell you, though I am a clown and a boor, I have got some notion of what they call safe conduct; so repent not of having taken my advice, but mount Rocinante if you can, and if not I will help you; and follow me, for my mother-wit tells me we have more need of legs than hands just now.”
Don Quixote mounted without replying, and, Sancho leading the way on his ass, they entered the side of the Sierra Morena, which was close by, as it was Sancho’s design to cross it entirely and come out again at El Viso or Almodovar del Campo, and hide for some days among its crags so as to escape the search of the Brotherhood should they come to look for them. He was encouraged in this by perceiving that the stock of provisions carried by the ass had come safe out of the fray with the galley slaves, a circumstance that he regarded as a miracle, seeing how they pillaged and ransacked.
 
That night they reached the very heart of the Sierra Morena, where it seemed prudent to Sancho to pass the night and even some days, at least as many as the stores he carried might last, and so they encamped between two rocks and among some cork trees; but fatal destiny, which, according to the opinion of those who have not the light of the true faith, directs, arranges, and settles everything in its own way, so ordered it that Gines de Pasamonte, the famous knave and thief who by the virtue and madness of Don Quixote had been released from the chain, driven by fear of the Holy Brotherhood, which he had good reason to dread, resolved to take hiding in the mountains; and his fate and fear led him to the same spot to which Don Quixote and Sancho Panza had been led by theirs, just in time to recognise them and leave them to fall asleep: and as the wicked are always ungrateful, and necessity leads to evildoing, and immediate advantage overcomes all considerations of the future, Gines, who was neither grateful nor well-principled, made up his mind to steal Sancho Panza’s ass, not troubling himself about Rocinante, as being a prize that was no good either to pledge or sell. While Sancho slept he stole his ass, and before day dawned he was far out of reach.
 
Aurora made her appearance bringing gladness to the earth but sadness to Sancho Panza, for he found that his Dapple was missing, and seeing himself bereft of him he began the saddest and most doleful lament in the world, so loud that Don Quixote awoke at his exclamations and heard him saying, “O son of my bowels, born in my very house, my children’s plaything, my wife’s joy, the envy of my neighbours, relief of my burdens, and lastly, half supporter of myself, for with the six-and-twenty maravedis thou didst earn me daily I met half my charges.”
Don Quixote, when he heard the lament and learned the cause, consoled Sancho with the best arguments he could, entreating him to be patient, and promising to give him a letter of exchange ordering three out of five ass-colts that he had at home to be given to him. Sancho took comfort at this, dried his tears, suppressed his sobs, and returned thanks for the kindness shown him by Don Quixote. He on his part was rejoiced to the heart on entering the mountains, as they seemed to him to be just the place for the adventures he was in quest of. They brought back to his memory the marvellous adventures that had befallen knights-errant in like solitudes and wilds, and he went along reflecting on these things, so absorbed and carried away by them that he had no thought for anything else.
 
Nor had Sancho any other care (now that he fancied he was travelling in a safe quarter) than to satisfy his appetite with such remains as were left of the clerical spoils, and so he marched behind his master laden with what Dapple used to carry, emptying the sack and packing his paunch, and so long as he could go that way, he would not have given a farthing to meet with another adventure.
While so engaged he raised his eyes and saw that his master had halted, and was trying with the point of his pike to lift some bulky object that lay upon the ground, on which he hastened to join him and help him if it were needful, and reached him just as with the point of the pike he was raising a saddle-pad with a valise attached to it, half or rather wholly rotten and torn; but so heavy were they that Sancho had to help to take them up, and his master directed him to see what the valise contained. Sancho did so with great alacrity, and though the valise was secured by a chain and padlock, from its torn and rotten condition he was able to see its contents, which were four shirts of fine holland, and other articles of linen no less curious than clean; and in a handkerchief he found a good lot of gold crowns, and as soon as he saw them he exclaimed:
“Blessed be all Heaven for sending us an adventure that is good for something!”
Searching further he found a little memorandum book richly bound; this Don Quixote asked of him, telling him to take the money and keep it for himself. Sancho kissed his hands for the favour, and cleared the valise of its linen, which he stowed away in the provision sack. Considering the whole matter, Don Quixote observed:
“It seems to me, Sancho — and it is impossible it can be otherwise — that some strayed traveller must have crossed this sierra and been attacked and slain by footpads, who brought him to this remote spot to bury him.”
“That cannot be,” answered Sancho, “because if they had been robbers they would not have left this money.”
“Thou art right,” said Don Quixote, “and I cannot guess or explain what this may mean; but stay; let us see if in this memorandum book there is anything written by which we may be able to trace out or discover what we want to know.”
He opened it, and the first thing he found in it, written roughly but in a very good hand, was a sonnet, and reading it aloud that Sancho might hear it, he found that it ran as follows:
Sonnet
Or Love is lacking in intelligence,
Or to the height of cruelty attains,
Or else it is my doom to suffer pains
Beyond the measure due to my offence.
But if Love be a God, it follows thence
That he knows all, and certain it remains
No God loves cruelty; then who ordains
This penance that enthrals while it torments?
It were a falsehood, Chloe, thee to name;
Such evil with such goodness cannot live;
And against Heaven I dare not charge the blame,
I only know it is my fate to die.
To him who knows not whence his malady
A miracle alone a cure can give.
 
“There is nothing to be learned from that rhyme,” said Sancho, “unless by that clue there’s in it, one may draw out the ball of the whole matter.”
“What clue is there?” said Don Quixote.
“I thought your worship spoke of a clue in it,” said Sancho.
“I only said Chloe,” replied Don Quixote; “and that no doubt, is the name of the lady of whom the author of the sonnet complains; and, faith, he must be a tolerable poet, or I know little of the craft.”
“Then your worship understands rhyming too?”
“And better than thou thinkest,” replied Don Quixote, “as thou shalt see when thou carriest a letter written in verse from beginning to end to my lady Dulcinea del Toboso, for I would have thee know, Sancho, that all or most of the knights-errant in days of yore were great troubadours and great musicians, for both of these accomplishments, or more properly speaking gifts, are the peculiar property of lovers-errant: true it is that the verses of the knights of old have more spirit than neatness in them.”
“Read more, your worship,” said Sancho, “and you will find something that will enlighten us.”
Don Quixote turned the page and said, “This is prose and seems to be a letter.”
“A correspondence letter, senor?”
“From the beginning it seems to be a love letter,” replied Don Quixote.
“Then let your worship read it aloud,” said Sancho, “for I am very fond of love matters.”
“With all my heart,” said Don Quixote, and reading it aloud as Sancho had requested him, he found it ran thus:
Thy false promise and my sure misforutne carry me to a place whence the news of my death will reach thy ears before the words of my complaint. Ungrateful one, thou hast rejected me for one more wealthy, but not more worthy; but if virtue were esteemed wealth I should neither envy the fortunes of others nor weep for misfortunes of my own. What thy beauty raised up thy deeds have laid low; by it I believed thee to be an angel, by them I know thou art a woman. Peace be with thee who hast sent war to me, and Heaven grant that the deceit of thy husband be ever hidden from thee, so that thou repent not of what thou hast done, and I reap not a revenge I would not have.
When he had finished the letter, Don Quixote said, “There is less to be gathered from this than from the verses, except that he who wrote it is some rejected lover;” and turning over nearly all the pages of the book he found more verses and letters, some of which he could read, while others he could not; but they were all made up of complaints, laments, misgivings, desires and aversions, favours and rejections, some rapturous, some doleful. While Don Quixote examined the book, Sancho examined the valise, not leaving a corner in the whole of it or in the pad that he did not search, peer into, and explore, or seam that he did not rip, or tuft of wool that he did not pick to pieces, lest anything should escape for want of care and pains; so keen was the covetousness excited in him by the discovery of the crowns, which amounted to near a hundred; and though he found no more booty, he held the blanket flights, balsam vomits, stake benedictions, carriers’ fisticuffs, missing alforjas, stolen coat, and all the hunger, thirst, and weariness he had endured in the service of his good master, cheap at the price; as he considered himself more than fully indemnified for all by the payment he received in the gift of the treasure-trove.
The Knight of the Rueful Countenance was still very anxious to find out who the owner of the valise could be, conjecturing from the sonnet and letter, from the money in gold, and from the fineness of the shirts, that he must be some lover of distinction whom the scorn and cruelty of his lady had driven to some desperate course; but as in that uninhabited and rugged spot there was no one to be seen of whom he could inquire, he saw nothing else for it but to push on, taking whatever road Rocinante chose — which was where he could make his way — firmly persuaded that among these wilds he could not fail to meet some rare adventure. As he went along, then, occupied with these thoughts, he perceived on the summit of a height that rose before their eyes a man who went springing from rock to rock and from tussock to tussock with marvellous agility. As well as he could make out he was unclad, with a thick black beard, long tangled hair, and bare legs and feet, his thighs were covered by breeches apparently of tawny velvet but so ragged that they showed his skin in several places.
 
He was bareheaded, and notwithstanding the swiftness with which he passed as has been described, the Knight of the Rueful Countenance observed and noted all these trifles, and though he made the attempt, he was unable to follow him, for it was not granted to the feebleness of Rocinante to make way over such rough ground, he being, moreover, slow-paced and sluggish by nature. Don Quixote at once came to the conclusion that this was the owner of the saddle-pad and of the valise, and made up his mind to go in search of him, even though he should have to wander a year in those mountains before he found him, and so he directed Sancho to take a short cut over one side of the mountain, while he himself went by the other, and perhaps by this means they might light upon this man who had passed so quickly out of their sight.
“I could not do that,” said Sancho, “for when I separate from your worship fear at once lays hold of me, and assails me with all sorts of panics and fancies; and let what I now say be a notice that from this time forth I am not going to stir a finger’s width from your presence.”
“It shall be so,” said he of the Rueful Countenance, “and I am very glad that thou art willing to rely on my courage, which will never fail thee, even though the soul in thy body fail thee; so come on now behind me slowly as well as thou canst, and make lanterns of thine eyes; let us make the circuit of this ridge; perhaps we shall light upon this man that we saw, who no doubt is no other than the owner of what we found.”
To which Sancho made answer, “Far better would it be not to look for him, for, if we find him, and he happens to be the owner of the money, it is plain I must restore it; it would be better, therefore, that without taking this needless trouble, I should keep possession of it until in some other less meddlesome and officious way the real owner may be discovered; and perhaps that will be when I shall have spent it, and then the king will hold me harmless.”
“Thou art wrong there, Sancho,” said Don Quixote, “for now that we have a suspicion who the owner is, and have him almost before us, we are bound to seek him and make restitution; and if we do not see him, the strong suspicion we have as to his being the owner makes us as guilty as if he were so; and so, friend Sancho, let not our search for him give thee any uneasiness, for if we find him it will relieve mine.”
And so saying he gave Rocinante the spur, and Sancho followed him on foot and loaded, and after having partly made the circuit of the mountain they found lying in a ravine, dead and half devoured by dogs and pecked by jackdaws, a mule saddled and bridled, all which still further strengthened their suspicion that he who had fled was the owner of the mule and the saddle-pad.
 
As they stood looking at it they heard a whistle like that of a shepherd watching his flock, and suddenly on their left there appeared a great number of goats and behind them on the summit of the mountain the goatherd in charge of them, a man advanced in years. Don Quixote called aloud to him and begged him to come down to where they stood. He shouted in return, asking what had brought them to that spot, seldom or never trodden except by the feet of goats, or of the wolves and other wild beasts that roamed around. Sancho in return bade him come down, and they would explain all to him.
The goatherd descended, and reaching the place where Don Quixote stood, he said, “I will wager you are looking at that hack mule that lies dead in the hollow there, and, faith, it has been lying there now these six months; tell me, have you come upon its master about here?”
“We have come upon nobody,” answered Don Quixote, “nor on anything except a saddle-pad and a little valise that we found not far from this.”
“I found it too,” said the goatherd, “but I would not lift it nor go near it for fear of some ill-luck or being charged with theft, for the devil is crafty, and things rise up under one’s feet to make one fall without knowing why or wherefore.”
“That’s exactly what I say,” said Sancho; “I found it too, and I would not go within a stone’s throw of it; there I left it, and there it lies just as it was, for I don’t want a dog with a bell.”
“Tell me, good man,” said Don Quixote, “do you know who is the owner of this property?”
“All I can tell you,” said the goatherd, “is that about six months ago, more or less, there arrived at a shepherd’s hut three leagues, perhaps, away from this, a youth of well-bred appearance and manners, mounted on that same mule which lies dead here, and with the same saddle-pad and valise which you say you found and did not touch. He asked us what part of this sierra was the most rugged and retired; we told him that it was where we now are; and so in truth it is, for if you push on half a league farther, perhaps you will not be able to find your way out; and I am wondering how you have managed to come here, for there is no road or path that leads to this spot. I say, then, that on hearing our answer the youth turned about and made for the place we pointed out to him, leaving us all charmed with his good looks, and wondering at his question and the haste with which we saw him depart in the direction of the sierra; and after that we saw him no more, until some days afterwards he crossed the path of one of our shepherds, and without saying a word to him, came up to him and gave him several cuffs and kicks, and then turned to the ass with our provisions and took all the bread and cheese it carried, and having done this made off back again into the sierra with extraordinary swiftness. When some of us goatherds learned this we went in search of him for about two days through the most remote portion of this sierra, at the end of which we found him lodged in the hollow of a large thick cork tree. He came out to meet us with great gentleness, with his dress now torn and his face so disfigured and burned by the sun, that we hardly recognised him but that his clothes, though torn, convinced us, from the recollection we had of them, that he was the person we were looking for. He saluted us courteously, and in a few well-spoken words he told us not to wonder at seeing him going about in this guise, as it was binding upon him in order that he might work out a penance which for his many sins had been imposed upon him. We asked him to tell us who he was, but we were never able to find out from him: we begged of him too, when he was in want of food, which he could not do without, to tell us where we should find him, as we would bring it to him with all good-will and readiness; or if this were not to his taste, at least to come and ask it of us and not take it by force from the shepherds. He thanked us for the offer, begged pardon for the late assault, and promised for the future to ask it in God’s name without offering violence to anybody. As for fixed abode, he said he had no other than that which chance offered wherever night might overtake him; and his words ended in an outburst of weeping so bitter that we who listened to him must have been very stones had we not joined him in it, comparing what we saw of him the first time with what we saw now; for, as I said, he was a graceful and gracious youth, and in his courteous and polished language showed himself to be of good birth and courtly breeding, and rustics as we were that listened to him, even to our rusticity his gentle bearing sufficed to make it plain.
“But in the midst of his conversation he stopped and became silent, keeping his eyes fixed upon the ground for some time, during which we stood still waiting anxiously to see what would come of this abstraction; and with no little pity, for from his behaviour, now staring at the ground with fixed gaze and eyes wide open without moving an eyelid, again closing them, compressing his lips and raising his eyebrows, we could perceive plainly that a fit of madness of some kind had come upon him; and before long he showed that what we imagined was the truth, for he arose in a fury from the ground where he had thrown himself, and attacked the first he found near him with such rage and fierceness that if we had not dragged him off him, he would have beaten or bitten him to death, all the while exclaiming, ‘Oh faithless Fernando, here, here shalt thou pay the penalty of the wrong thou hast done me; these hands shall tear out that heart of thine, abode and dwelling of all iniquity, but of deceit and fraud above all; and to these he added other words all in effect upbraiding this Fernando and charging him with treachery and faithlessness.
“We forced him to release his hold with no little difficulty, and without another word he left us, and rushing off plunged in among these brakes and brambles, so as to make it impossible for us to follow him; from this we suppose that madness comes upon him from time to time, and that some one called Fernando must have done him a wrong of a grievous nature such as the condition to which it had brought him seemed to show. All this has been since then confirmed on those occasions, and they have been many, on which he has crossed our path, at one time to beg the shepherds to give him some of the food they carry, at another to take it from them by force; for when there is a fit of madness upon him, even though the shepherds offer it freely, he will not accept it but snatches it from them by dint of blows; but when he is in his senses he begs it for the love of God, courteously and civilly, and receives it with many thanks and not a few tears. And to tell you the truth, sirs,” continued the goatherd, “it was yesterday that we resolved, I and four of the lads, two of them our servants, and the other two friends of mine, to go in search of him until we find him, and when we do to take him, whether by force or of his own consent, to the town of Almodovar, which is eight leagues from this, and there strive to cure him (if indeed his malady admits of a cure), or learn when he is in his senses who he is, and if he has relatives to whom we may give notice of his misfortune. This, sirs, is all I can say in answer to what you have asked me; and be sure that the owner of the articles you found is he whom you saw pass by with such nimbleness and so naked.”
For Don Quixote had already described how he had seen the man go bounding along the mountain side, and he was now filled with amazement at what he heard from the goatherd, and more eager than ever to discover who the unhappy madman was; and in his heart he resolved, as he had done before, to search for him all over the mountain, not leaving a corner or cave unexamined until he had found him. But chance arranged matters better than he expected or hoped, for at that very moment, in a gorge on the mountain that opened where they stood, the youth he wished to find made his appearance, coming along talking to himself in a way that would have been unintelligible near at hand, much more at a distance. His garb was what has been described, save that as he drew near, Don Quixote perceived that a tattered doublet which he wore was amber-tanned, from which he concluded that one who wore such garments could not be of very low rank.
Approaching them, the youth greeted them in a harsh and hoarse voice but with great courtesy. Don Quixote returned his salutation with equal politeness, and dismounting from Rocinante advanced with well-bred bearing and grace to embrace him, and held him for some time close in his arms as if he had known him for a long time. The other, whom we may call the Ragged One of the Sorry Countenance, as Don Quixote was of the Rueful, after submitting to the embrace pushed him back a little and, placing his hands on Don Quixote’s shoulders, stood gazing at him as if seeking to see whether he knew him, not less amazed, perhaps, at the sight of the face, figure, and armour of Don Quixote than Don Quixote was at the sight of him. To be brief, the first to speak after embracing was the Ragged One, and he said what will be told farther on.
 
看到自己的狼狈样，唐吉诃德对桑乔说：
“桑乔，我一直听说，‘善待无赖等于向海里泼水’。如果我早听你的，就不会有这场乱子了。不过事情已经做了，别着急，从现在起，引以为戒。”
“您若真能引以为戒，我也就能变成突厥人了。”桑乔说，“不过既然您说了，如果当初听我的话，就不会吃这个亏，那么现在请您相信我的话吧，以免吃更大的亏。我告诉您，用骑士那套做法对付圣友团可行不通。在他们眼里，游侠骑士一钱不值。您知道吗，我觉得现在仿佛就能听到他们的箭在我耳边嗡嗡作响呢①。”
“你天生是个胆小鬼，桑乔。”唐吉诃德说，“为了不让你说我这个人顽固不化，从来不听你的劝告，我想这次就听你这一回，躲开这帮让你如此恐惧的复仇分子。不过得有个条件，那就是不管我生前还是死后，都不许对任何人说我这次害怕了，只能说我是应你的请求，才在危险面前退却的。假如你说了别的，就是说谎。从现在到那时，从那时回到现在，我都会否认。每当你想说出来或者已经说出来的时候，我都会说你在说谎，而且还会再说谎。你别再说什么了。只要你想到我是由于恐惧作祟，才在某个危险、特别是这个危险面前退却，我就不准备走了，要一个人留在这里，不仅等着你说你害怕的那个圣友团，还要等着以色列十二部落兄弟，等着七个马加比②，等着卡斯托尔和波卢克斯③，以及世界上所有的兄弟姐妹们。”
①圣友团通常将罪犯用箭射死，然后陈尸荒野。
②公元前2世纪统治巴勒斯坦的犹太祭司哈斯蒙尼家族的马塔蒂亚及其儿子，因骁勇善战，得绰号“马加比”，意为“锤子”。
③希腊神话里宙斯的孪生子，又合称狄奥斯库里，意为“宙斯的儿子们”。
“大人，”桑乔说，“退却不等于逃跑，等着也不算聪明。如果危险超过了希望，明智的办法就是养精蓄锐，而不是孤注一掷。您应该知道，我虽然是个粗人，可是还能做到人们所说的克制。您如果听我的劝告，就不会后悔，那就是如果身体还行，您就骑上罗西南多，如果不行，让我来扶您上，然后跟我走。我的头脑告诉我，现在咱们最需要的不是动手，而是动腿。”
唐吉诃德不再多说，桑乔牵着他的驴，两人从旁边的一个山口走进莫雷纳山脉。桑乔想越过山脉，到维索或坎普的阿尔莫多瓦尔去，在穷山僻壤待几天，圣友团就是找他们也找不到。他再一看，同苦役犯们厮打时被抢走了不少东西，可是驮在驴背上的食物居然保存了下来，桑乔更振奋了，觉得这是个奇迹。
那天晚上，两人来到莫雷纳山脉深处。桑乔想在那儿过夜，然后再待几天，至少他们带的食物能维持多久就待多久。于是，两人在栓皮槠树林里的两块石头之间安歇下来。可是，就像某些从来没有真正信仰的人认为的那样，厄运总是如期而至。由于唐吉诃德的好心和糊涂而挣脱了锁链的著名骗子、盗贼希内斯•帕萨蒙特，出于对圣友团的恐惧，他当然有理由感到恐惧，也想在莫雷纳山脉藏身，而且居然鬼使神差地跑到了唐吉诃德和桑乔安歇的那个地方。希内斯立刻就认出了这两个人，不过没有惊动他们。两人依然睡着。坏人总是忘恩负义，不免干些不该干的事，而且为了眼前的利益放弃将来的利益。希内斯不知恩图报，反而居心不良，竟决定偷走桑乔的驴。不过，他没有动罗西南多，因为知道无论是典当还是出卖它，都得不到好价钱。桑乔睡觉的时候，希内斯偷走了他的驴，在天亮之前就逃之夭夭，无论如何也追赶不上了。
曙光初照，给大地带来了欢乐，却给桑乔带来了悲伤。他看到自己的驴不见了，十分伤心地哭了起来。唐吉诃德被他的哭声惊醒了，听见他在说：
“我的心肝宝贝呀，你生在我家，是孩子们的宠物，是我老婆的欢欣，连邻居们都嫉妒我。你减轻了我的负担，供养了我的一半生活，你每天挣的二十六个马拉维迪，完全可以支付我的一半伙食！”
唐吉诃德见桑乔大哭不止，问清缘由后，极力好言相劝，叫他别着急，还答应给他立下一张凭据，把自己家里的五头驴送给桑乔三头。
桑乔这才放下心来。他揩干眼泪，哭腔也没那么厉害了，感谢唐吉诃德给他的恩赐。唐吉诃德自从进了山，心情愉快，觉得这正是他寻险的理想之地。他又想起了游侠骑士在荒山野岭的种种奇遇，完全沉醉了，脑子里根本没有其他东西。桑乔到了自以为安全的地方后，也心中释然，用教士们剩下的那些残羹剩饭大饱口福。他背着那些本来是驴驮的东西，跟在主人后面，不时从口袋里掏出食物，狼吞虎咽地塞进肚子。
他宁愿这样，不想再寻求什么冒险了。
桑乔抬起头，看到唐吉诃德止住了脚步，试图用长矛把路上的一包东西挑起来。他赶紧过去帮忙。赶到跟前时，唐吉诃德正好用长矛挑起一个坐垫，上面系着一个手提箱。手提箱已经烂得差不多了，或者说全烂了，不过还挺沉，桑乔只好用手去拿。唐吉诃德让他看看手提箱里装的是什么东西。桑乔赶紧看了看。虽然手提箱上有条锁链，还有一把锁，可是从箱子破漏的地方能看到里面。原来是四件荷兰细麻布衬衣，还有其它一些麻布织品，都挺干净。一块手绢里有不少金盾。桑乔一看见金盾就说：
“老天有眼，给我们带来了外快！”
桑乔继续翻看，发现有个装帧精美的备忘记事本。唐吉诃德要了笔记本，让桑乔自己把钱留下。桑乔见主人如此慷慨大方，吻了唐吉诃德的手，然后把箱子里的东西掏出来，放进干粮袋里。唐吉诃德见状说：
“桑乔，我觉得可能是某个迷路的人途经此地，遭到了歹徒袭击。大概歹徒已经把他杀了，然后转移到如此闭塞的地方埋了。”
“不可能，”桑乔说，“如果是强盗，这钱就不会剩下了。”
“你说得对。”唐吉诃德说，“既然这样，我就猜不出到底是怎么回事了。等一等，咱们看看笔记本上记着什么，看能不能找出咱们需要的东西。”
唐吉诃德打开笔记本，看见上面写着一首诗，虽然是草稿，可字体写得很漂亮。他高声念起来，让桑乔也听听。诗是这样写的：
或许爱情无知，
或许爱情残酷，
想来我不该
屈受此痛苦。
爱情若是神，
学当五车富，
残酷不应有，
是谁使我受此苦？
若说是你，菲丽，
那是我的谬误。
罪恶善良不相容，
横祸绝非天上出。
唯有我将逝，
有目皆共睹。
苦因尚不明，
回天亦无术。
“仅凭这首诗，什么也看不出，”桑乔说，“除非先理出个头绪来。”
“这里有什么头绪？”唐吉诃德问。
“大概，”桑乔说，“就是您刚才说的那个头绪吧。”
“我刚才只说了‘菲丽’，”唐吉诃德说，“这肯定是诗作者抱怨的那位贵妇人的名字。看来她是一位理智的诗人，或许我对诗懂得不多。”
“您也懂得诗？”桑乔问。
“懂得比你想象的多，”唐吉诃德说，“以后你给托博索的杜尔西内亚夫人带信的时候就会看到，通篇都是用诗写的。我该让你知道了，桑乔，上个世纪所有或者大部分游侠骑士都是伟大的诗人和伟大的音乐家。更确切地说，这两种才能或天赋是多情的游侠骑士的必备条件。不过，以前骑士的诗更注重情感，而不是辞藻。”
“您再念点儿，”桑乔说，“也许能找到些有用的东西。”
唐吉诃德又翻了一页，说道：
“这是散文，像是一封信。”
“是信函吗，大人？”桑乔问。
“开头倒像是情书。”唐吉诃德说。
“那么您大点声念，”桑乔说，“我对这些谈情说爱的事情挺感兴趣。”
“好吧。”唐吉诃德说。
既然桑乔求他，他就高声念起来。信是这样写的：
你虚假的诺言和我切实的不幸让我来到了这个地
方。你首先听到的将是我的死讯，然后才是我的抱怨。负心人，你为了比我富有但是并不比我更有价值的人而抛弃了我。可是，品德比财富更重要。我不会对别人的幸运嫉妒，也不会为自己的不幸哭泣。你的美貌造就的东西又被你的行为摧毁了。凭你的美貌，我把你看成天使；
凭你的行为，你不过是个女人。是你造成了悲剧。放心吧，但愿老天让你丈夫对你的欺骗永远不被揭露，你不必为你的行为后悔，我也不会为我并不喜欢的东西而去报复。
念完信，唐吉诃德说：
“那首诗比这封信上说的东西还要多。看得出，这是个被抛弃的情人。”
唐吉诃德差不多翻遍了整个本子，又看到一些诗和信件。有的能看清，有的看不懂，里面无非都是些抱怨和怀疑，有奉承和鄙夷，有信誓旦旦，也有哭哭啼啼。有的有趣，有的乏味。唐吉诃德翻看笔记本，桑乔则忙着翻手提箱，连箱角和坐垫也不放过，又查又找，每一道缝都扒开看，每一根线都捋一捋，无一疏漏，结果找到的金盾竟达一百多个，桑乔兴奋得不得了。虽然没有再找到其他东西，他还是觉得以前被人用被单扔，被圣水灌得直呕吐，以及棍棒的教训，脚夫的拳头，褡裢和外套的丢失，跟随主人忍饥挨渴受累，都不冤枉了。他认为所有这些都已由金盾作了极好的补偿。
猥獕骑士特别想知道谁是手提箱的主人。从那些诗和信、金盾和高级衬衣来看，唐吉诃德估计一定是位有身份的恋人，由于受到他那位贵妇人的抛弃和冷遇而寻了短见。可是，在那个渺无人烟、道路崎岖的地方，没有人能够证实这一点，唐吉诃德也只好任凭罗西南多随意择路而行，脑子里仍一直想着，在这荆棘丛生之地一定会遇到险情。
唐吉诃德边想边走，忽然看见前面一个山头上有个人在岩石杂草中极其轻盈地跳跃而行。那人似乎赤身裸体，胡子又黑又密，头发也乱蓬蓬，脚上没穿鞋，小腿也光着，大腿部穿条短裤，好像是棕黄色丝绒，可是也已经破破烂烂，很多地方都露出肉来，头上什么也没戴。虽然那人跳跃得很轻盈，可这些细节都被猥獕骑士看在眼里。他想追赶却追不上，因为罗西南多不习惯走这种崎岖山路，而且步子小，行动迟缓。唐吉诃德估计坐垫和手提箱就是那个人的，想去追他，即使追一年，也一定要追上他。唐吉诃德让桑乔在山的一侧堵截那人，自己从山的另一侧过去，也许这样能找到那个在他们眼前转瞬消失的人。
“我不能去，”桑乔说，“我只要离开您就害怕，觉得危机四伏。我告诉您，从现在起，我要一直守在您身边，寸步不离。”
“那也好，”唐吉诃德说，“我很高兴你愿意得到我的勇气的保护。哪怕你身体的灵魂没有了，这种勇气也会保护你。你现在跟着我慢慢走，尽可能把你的眼睛睁大些。咱们绕过这座小山，也许就会碰到刚才看见的那个人。咱们捡到的那些东西肯定是他的。”
桑乔答道：
“最好还是别找了。假如咱们找到了他，而且钱也是他的，当然就得把钱还给他。所以，最好别瞎费那个劲。让我把钱好好保存着，等以后钱的真正主人以其它不那么神秘的方式出现。或许那时候钱也花完了，国王就会宽恕我。”
“你这是自欺欺人，桑乔，”唐吉诃德说，“咱们已经猜出钱的主人是谁，而且几乎近在眼前，就有义务找到他，把钱还给他。如果咱们不找到他，咱们的这种猜测就足以让咱们内疚了，仿佛咱们真办了错事似的。所以，桑乔朋友，你别为找他而难过。如果找到他，我就不难过了。”
于是，唐吉诃德用脚夹了一下罗西南多，桑乔背着东西步行跟在后面，这全是希内斯•帕萨蒙特办的好事。他们绕着山跑了一阵，在一条小溪里发现了一匹鞍辔俱全、已倒地而死的骡子。骡子已经被野狗和乌鸦吃了一半。这些都证实了他们的怀疑：刚才跑的那个人就是骡子和坐垫的主人。
他们正看着，忽然听见一声像是牧羊人放羊的口哨声，接着左侧出现了一大片羊群。羊群后面，在一座山的山顶上，出现了一位牧羊老人。唐吉诃德高声喊叫，请老人下到他们待的地方来。老人则高声问，是谁把他们带到这个地方来的。除了羊、狼和附近的其它野兽外，很少或者根本没有人来到这个地方。桑乔让他下来，再跟他细说。老人下了山，来到唐吉诃德身边，说：
“我打赌，你们正在看地上那匹死骡子。它倒在那儿已经六个月了。告诉我，你们碰到它的主人了吗？”
“我们谁也没碰到，”唐吉诃德说，“只是在离这儿不远的地方发现了一只坐垫和一个手提箱。”
“我也发现了，”羊倌说，“不过我没有去拿它，也没有到它跟前去，怕那是什么祸害，或者让别人以为我做贼，再来跟我算帐。魔鬼很狡猾，人走过去，脚下的东西就会飞起来，稀里糊涂地就把人掀倒了。”
“我也这样说。”桑乔说，“我看见了它，可是连块石头都懒得扔过去。东西仍然原封不动地放在那儿，我并不想招惹是非。”
“请告诉我，善良的人，”唐吉诃德说，“你知道这些东西是谁的吗？”
“我可以告诉你的就是，大约六个月以前，”牧羊人说，“有个英俊潇洒的小伙子来到牧羊人住的棚子里，那个棚子离这儿有三西里远。他骑的就是那匹现在已经死了的骡子，带的就是你们见过却没有动过的坐垫和手提箱。他问我们，这山上什么地方最险峻、最隐秘。我们告诉他，就是咱们现在待的这个地方。这是真的。假如你再往前走半西里路，恐怕就没路走了。我感到惊奇，不知你们怎么能够来到这个地方。没有一条路通向这里。总之，那个小伙子听到我们的回答后，掉转骡子，向我们给他指的地方走去。我们喜欢他那样子，可是对他的要求感到奇怪，对他来去匆匆也感到奇怪。此后就一直没见到他。过了几天，他在路上碰到我们当中的一位牧羊人，二话不说，上前就对牧人又打又踢，接着又向驮干粮的驴奔去，把所有的面包和奶酪都抢走了。然后，他又极其敏捷地藏进山里。我们几个牧羊人听说后，找了两天，连山上最荒僻的地方都找了，最后才在一棵又粗又挺拔的栓皮槠的树洞里找到他。
“他出来迎接我们时，态度很和气。他的衣服已经破了，脸被太阳晒得已经扭曲，我们几乎认不出他了。不过凭他身上的衣服，虽然破了，我们还是认出他就是我们要找的那个人。他彬彬有礼地问候我们，然后有条有理简单地告诉我们，不要为看到他这个样子而感到奇怪。只有这样，才能对过去的许多错误进行忏悔。我们请他告诉我们他的名字，可他最终也没有说。我们还要求他，需要食品的时候，可以告诉我们在哪儿能找到他，我们会非常友好、非常认真地给他送去，人没有食品没法活。如果他不愿意给他送，他也可以出来要，而不用向牧羊人抢。
“他对我们的帮助表示感谢，并且请求原谅他前几次的行抢。看在上帝份上，需要食品的时候，他会出来要，不会再对任何人非礼了。至于他的住所，他说只有那个睡觉的地方。说到最后，他竟轻声哭了起来，哭得那么动情，除非我们是石头做的，否则一想到我们初次看到他时的样子，以及现在这个样子，我们也为之落泪。我刚才说过，他本是个英俊潇洒的小伙子，从他的礼貌和得体的言谈中，可以断定他是个出身高贵的有教养的人。我们虽然是些粗人，可就是再粗的人，听他这么讲话，也知道他是位贵人。大家正说到兴头上，他忽然顿住了，沉默不语，两眼盯着地，一直盯了很长时间。我们都愣住了，不无怜悯地等着，想知道他为什么发呆。他睁着眼睛，一直盯着地，连眼皮也不眨一下，过一会儿闭上了眼睛，可是又咬紧牙关，眉头紧蹙。我们很容易就知道他一定受过什么刺激。
“他很快就证实了我们的猜测。他本来躺在地上，突然怒气冲天地从地上跳起来，疯狂地向他身边的一个人冲去。要不是我们把他拉开，他会把那人连打带咬地弄死。他一边发疯一边喊：‘哎，你这狼心狗肺的费尔南多，我要跟你算帐！我这双手要掏出你的心，你的心集万恶之大成，尤其是对我背信弃义！’
“他还说了些其他的话，都是骂费尔南多的，说他狡诈欺骗。我们把他拉开了，心里都很难过。他不再说什么，离开我们，跑进乱草丛中藏了起来，我们根本找不到他。我们猜想他犯病是有规律的，可能有个叫费尔南多的人做了什么对不起他的事，而且把他坑害得不轻，才把他弄成这个样子。后来我们又多次发现，他出来时，有时向牧人们要他们随身带的食物，有时就硬抢。他犯病的时候，即使牧人们诚心诚意地给他吃的，他也不好好拿着，非得打人家几拳才行。可是他神态正常时，就会谦恭有礼地说‘看在上帝份上’之类的话，并且千谢万谢，还常常感激涕零。
“说实话，大人，”牧人接着说，“我和四个人，其中两个人是伙计，两个是朋友，决定一起去找他，等找到他，不管他愿意不愿意，定要把他送到八西里之外的阿尔莫达瓦尔镇去。如果病能治，就给他治病，或者趁他明白的时候，问他叫什么，是否有什么亲戚，去报个信。两位大人，你们问的事情，我知道的就这些。还有，你们捡到的那些东西就是他的，他就是你们看见的那个赤身裸体、健步如飞的人（因为唐吉诃德刚才向牧人讲述了那个在山上跳着走的人）。”
唐吉诃德听了牧人的话后很惊奇，并且更急于知道这位不幸的疯子到底是谁了。他心中暗想，一定要找遍整座山，所有隐蔽之处和山洞都不放过，直到找到他为止。真可谓天助人也，就在这个时候，他们要找的那个小伙子从一个山口向他们走过来，嘴里还嘟囔着什么，即使在近处都听不清，就更别提从远处了。他的衣服仿佛是花色的。可是等他走近了，唐吉诃德才看清，他穿的破烂皮坎肩是用龙涎香鞣制的。可以断定，穿着这种衣服的人身份不会低。
小伙子走近他们，向他们问好，声音虽然嘶哑，却很有礼貌。唐吉诃德同样很客气地向他问好，并且下了马，文雅潇洒地同他拥抱，而且拥抱了好一会儿，仿佛见到了一位久违的朋友。我们称唐吉诃德为猥獕骑士，那个小伙子，我们就暂且称他“褴褛汉”吧，他也同唐吉诃德拥抱，随后把唐吉诃德向后推开一点儿，双手放在他肩上，端详着他，仿佛看是否认识他。看到唐吉诃德这副样子和打扮，他感到惊奇，就像唐吉诃德初见他时也惊奇一样。拥抱过后，褴褛汉首先开口，说了下面一席话。
Part 1 Chapter 24
The history relates that it was with the greatest attention Don Quixote listened to the ragged knight of the Sierra, who began by saying:
“Of a surety, senor, whoever you are, for I know you not, I thank you for the proofs of kindness and courtesy you have shown me, and would I were in a condition to requite with something more than good-will that which you have displayed towards me in the cordial reception you have given me; but my fate does not afford me any other means of returning kindnesses done me save the hearty desire to repay them.”
“Mine,” replied Don Quixote, “is to be of service to you, so much so that I had resolved not to quit these mountains until I had found you, and learned of you whether there is any kind of relief to be found for that sorrow under which from the strangeness of your life you seem to labour; and to search for you with all possible diligence, if search had been necessary. And if your misfortune should prove to be one of those that refuse admission to any sort of consolation, it was my purpose to join you in lamenting and mourning over it, so far as I could; for it is still some comfort in misfortune to find one who can feel for it. And if my good intentions deserve to be acknowledged with any kind of courtesy, I entreat you, senor, by that which I perceive you possess in so high a degree, and likewise conjure you by whatever you love or have loved best in life, to tell me who you are and the cause that has brought you to live or die in these solitudes like a brute beast, dwelling among them in a manner so foreign to your condition as your garb and appearance show. And I swear,” added Don Quixote, “by the order of knighthood which I have received, and by my vocation of knight-errant, if you gratify me in this, to serve you with all the zeal my calling demands of me, either in relieving your misfortune if it admits of relief, or in joining you in lamenting it as I promised to do.”
The Knight of the Thicket, hearing him of the Rueful Countenance talk in this strain, did nothing but stare at him, and stare at him again, and again survey him from head to foot; and when he had thoroughly examined him, he said to him:
“If you have anything to give me to eat, for God’s sake give it me, and after I have eaten I will do all you ask in acknowledgment of the goodwill you have displayed towards me.”
Sancho from his sack, and the goatherd from his pouch, furnished the Ragged One with the means of appeasing his hunger, and what they gave him he ate like a half-witted being, so hastily that he took no time between mouthfuls, gorging rather than swallowing; and while he ate neither he nor they who observed him uttered a word. As soon as he had done he made signs to them to follow him, which they did, and he led them to a green plot which lay a little farther off round the corner of a rock. On reaching it he stretched himself upon the grass, and the others did the same, all keeping silence, until the Ragged One, settling himself in his place, said:
“If it is your wish, sirs, that I should disclose in a few words the surpassing extent of my misfortunes, you must promise not to break the thread of my sad story with any question or other interruption, for the instant you do so the tale I tell will come to an end.”
These words of the Ragged One reminded Don Quixote of the tale his squire had told him, when he failed to keep count of the goats that had crossed the river and the story remained unfinished; but to return to the Ragged One, he went on to say:
“I give you this warning because I wish to pass briefly over the story of my misfortunes, for recalling them to memory only serves to add fresh ones, and the less you question me the sooner shall I make an end of the recital, though I shall not omit to relate anything of importance in order fully to satisfy your curiosity.”
Don Quixote gave the promise for himself and the others, and with this assurance he began as follows:
“My name is Cardenio, my birthplace one of the best cities of this Andalusia, my family noble, my parents rich, my misfortune so great that my parents must have wept and my family grieved over it without being able by their wealth to lighten it; for the gifts of fortune can do little to relieve reverses sent by Heaven. In that same country there was a heaven in which love had placed all the glory I could desire; such was the beauty of Luscinda, a damsel as noble and as rich as I, but of happier fortunes, and of less firmness than was due to so worthy a passion as mine. This Luscinda I loved, worshipped, and adored from my earliest and tenderest years, and she loved me in all the innocence and sincerity of childhood. Our parents were aware of our feelings, and were not sorry to perceive them, for they saw clearly that as they ripened they must lead at last to a marriage between us, a thing that seemed almost prearranged by the equality of our families and wealth. We grew up, and with our growth grew the love between us, so that the father of Luscinda felt bound for propriety’s sake to refuse me admission to his house, in this perhaps imitating the parents of that Thisbe so celebrated by the poets, and this refusal but added love to love and flame to flame; for though they enforced silence upon our tongues they could not impose it upon our pens, which can make known the heart’s secrets to a loved one more freely than tongues; for many a time the presence of the object of love shakes the firmest will and strikes dumb the boldest tongue. Ah heavens! how many letters did I write her, and how many dainty modest replies did I receive! how many ditties and love-songs did I compose in which my heart declared and made known its feelings, described its ardent longings, revelled in its recollections and dallied with its desires! At length growing impatient and feeling my heart languishing with longing to see her, I resolved to put into execution and carry out what seemed to me the best mode of winning my desired and merited reward, to ask her of her father for my lawful wife, which I did. To this his answer was that he thanked me for the disposition I showed to do honour to him and to regard myself as honoured by the bestowal of his treasure; but that as my father was alive it was his by right to make this demand, for if it were not in accordance with his full will and pleasure, Luscinda was not to be taken or given by stealth. I thanked him for his kindness, reflecting that there was reason in what he said, and that my father would assent to it as soon as I should tell him, and with that view I went the very same instant to let him know what my desires were. When I entered the room where he was I found him with an open letter in his hand, which, before I could utter a word, he gave me, saying, ‘By this letter thou wilt see, Cardenio, the disposition the Duke Ricardo has to serve thee.’ This Duke Ricardo, as you, sirs, probably know already, is a grandee of Spain who has his seat in the best part of this Andalusia. I took and read the letter, which was couched in terms so flattering that even I myself felt it would be wrong in my father not to comply with the request the duke made in it, which was that he would send me immediately to him, as he wished me to become the companion, not servant, of his eldest son, and would take upon himself the charge of placing me in a position corresponding to the esteem in which he held me. On reading the letter my voice failed me, and still more when I heard my father say, ‘Two days hence thou wilt depart, Cardenio, in accordance with the duke’s wish, and give thanks to God who is opening a road to thee by which thou mayest attain what I know thou dost deserve; and to these words he added others of fatherly counsel. The time for my departure arrived; I spoke one night to Luscinda, I told her all that had occurred, as I did also to her father, entreating him to allow some delay, and to defer the disposal of her hand until I should see what the Duke Ricardo sought of me: he gave me the promise, and she confirmed it with vows and swoonings unnumbered. Finally, I presented myself to the duke, and was received and treated by him so kindly that very soon envy began to do its work, the old servants growing envious of me, and regarding the duke’s inclination to show me favour as an injury to themselves. But the one to whom my arrival gave the greatest pleasure was the duke’s second son, Fernando by name, a gallant youth, of noble, generous, and amorous disposition, who very soon made so intimate a friend of me that it was remarked by everybody; for though the elder was attached to me, and showed me kindness, he did not carry his affectionate treatment to the same length as Don Fernando. It so happened, then, that as between friends no secret remains unshared, and as the favour I enjoyed with Don Fernando had grown into friendship, he made all his thoughts known to me, and in particular a love affair which troubled his mind a little. He was deeply in love with a peasant girl, a vassal of his father’s , the daughter of wealthy parents, and herself so beautiful, modest, discreet, and virtuous, that no one who knew her was able to decide in which of these respects she was most highly gifted or most excelled. The attractions of the fair peasant raised the passion of Don Fernando to such a point that, in order to gain his object and overcome her virtuous resolutions, he determined to pledge his word to her to become her husband, for to attempt it in any other way was to attempt an impossibility. Bound to him as I was by friendship, I strove by the best arguments and the most forcible examples I could think of to restrain and dissuade him from such a course; but perceiving I produced no effect I resolved to make the Duke Ricardo, his father, acquainted with the matter; but Don Fernando, being sharp-witted and shrewd, foresaw and apprehended this, perceiving that by my duty as a good servant I was bound not to keep concealed a thing so much opposed to the honour of my lord the duke; and so, to mislead and deceive me, he told me he could find no better way of effacing from his mind the beauty that so enslaved him than by absenting himself for some months, and that he wished the absence to be effected by our going, both of us, to my father’s house under the pretence, which he would make to the duke, of going to see and buy some fine horses that there were in my city, which produces the best in the world. When I heard him say so, even if his resolution had not been so good a one I should have hailed it as one of the happiest that could be imagined, prompted by my affection, seeing what a favourable chance and opportunity it offered me of returning to see my Luscinda. With this thought and wish I commended his idea and encouraged his design, advising him to put it into execution as quickly as possible, as, in truth, absence produced its effect in spite of the most deeply rooted feelings. But, as afterwards appeared, when he said this to me he had already enjoyed the peasant girl under the title of husband, and was waiting for an opportunity of making it known with safety to himself, being in dread of what his father the duke would do when he came to know of his folly. It happened, then, that as with young men love is for the most part nothing more than appetite, which, as its final object is enjoyment, comes to an end on obtaining it, and that which seemed to be love takes to flight, as it cannot pass the limit fixed by nature, which fixes no limit to true love — what I mean is that after Don Fernando had enjoyed this peasant girl his passion subsided and his eagerness cooled, and if at first he feigned a wish to absent himself in order to cure his love, he was now in reality anxious to go to avoid keeping his promise.
“The duke gave him permission, and ordered me to accompany him; we arrived at my city, and my father gave him the reception due to his rank; I saw Luscinda without delay, and, though it had not been dead or deadened, my love gathered fresh life. To my sorrow I told the story of it to Don Fernando, for I thought that in virtue of the great friendship he bore me I was bound to conceal nothing from him. I extolled her beauty, her gaiety, her wit, so warmly, that my praises excited in him a desire to see a damsel adorned by such attractions. To my misfortune I yielded to it, showing her to him one night by the light of a taper at a window where we used to talk to one another. As she appeared to him in her dressing-gown, she drove all the beauties he had seen until then out of his recollection; speech failed him, his head turned, he was spell-bound, and in the end love-smitten, as you will see in the course of the story of my misfortune; and to inflame still further his passion, which he hid from me and revealed to Heaven alone, it so happened that one day he found a note of hers entreating me to demand her of her father in marriage, so delicate, so modest, and so tender, that on reading it he told me that in Luscinda alone were combined all the charms of beauty and understanding that were distributed among all the other women in the world. It is true, and I own it now, that though I knew what good cause Don Fernando had to praise Luscinda, it gave me uneasiness to hear these praises from his mouth, and I began to fear, and with reason to feel distrust of him, for there was no moment when he was not ready to talk of Luscinda, and he would start the subject himself even though he dragged it in unseasonably, a circumstance that aroused in me a certain amount of jealousy; not that I feared any change in the constancy or faith of Luscinda; but still my fate led me to forebode what she assured me against. Don Fernando contrived always to read the letters I sent to Luscinda and her answers to me, under the pretence that he enjoyed the wit and sense of both. It so happened, then, that Luscinda having begged of me a book of chivalry to read, one that she was very fond of, Amadis of Gaul — ”
Don Quixote no sooner heard a book of chivalry mentioned, than he said:
“Had your worship told me at the beginning of your story that the Lady Luscinda was fond of books of chivalry, no other laudation would have been requisite to impress upon me the superiority of her understanding, for it could not have been of the excellence you describe had a taste for such delightful reading been wanting; so, as far as I am concerned, you need waste no more words in describing her beauty, worth, and intelligence; for, on merely hearing what her taste was, I declare her to be the most beautiful and the most intelligent woman in the world; and I wish your worship had, along with Amadis of Gaul, sent her the worthy Don Rugel of Greece, for I know the Lady Luscinda would greatly relish Daraida and Garaya, and the shrewd sayings of the shepherd Darinel, and the admirable verses of his bucolics, sung and delivered by him with such sprightliness, wit, and ease; but a time may come when this omission can be remedied, and to rectify it nothing more is needed than for your worship to be so good as to come with me to my village, for there I can give you more than three hundred books which are the delight of my soul and the entertainment of my life; — though it occurs to me that I have not got one of them now, thanks to the spite of wicked and envious enchanters; — but pardon me for having broken the promise we made not to interrupt your discourse; for when I hear chivalry or knights-errant mentioned, I can no more help talking about them than the rays of the sun can help giving heat, or those of the moon moisture; pardon me, therefore, and proceed, for that is more to the purpose now.”
While Don Quixote was saying this, Cardenio allowed his head to fall upon his breast, and seemed plunged in deep thought; and though twice Don Quixote bade him go on with his story, he neither looked up nor uttered a word in reply; but after some time he raised his head and said, “I cannot get rid of the idea, nor will anyone in the world remove it, or make me think otherwise — and he would be a blockhead who would hold or believe anything else than that that arrant knave Master Elisabad made free with Queen Madasima.”
“That is not true, by all that’s good,” said Don Quixote in high wrath, turning upon him angrily, as his way was; “and it is a very great slander, or rather villainy. Queen Madasima was a very illustrious lady, and it is not to be supposed that so exalted a princess would have made free with a quack; and whoever maintains the contrary lies like a great scoundrel, and I will give him to know it, on foot or on horseback, armed or unarmed, by night or by day, or as he likes best.”
Cardenio was looking at him steadily, and his mad fit having now come upon him, he had no disposition to go on with his story, nor would Don Quixote have listened to it, so much had what he had heard about Madasima disgusted him. Strange to say, he stood up for her as if she were in earnest his veritable born lady; to such a pass had his unholy books brought him. Cardenio, then, being, as I said, now mad, when he heard himself given the lie, and called a scoundrel and other insulting names, not relishing the jest, snatched up a stone that he found near him, and with it delivered such a blow on Don Quixote’s breast that he laid him on his back. Sancho Panza, seeing his master treated in this fashion, attacked the madman with his closed fist; but the Ragged One received him in such a way that with a blow of his fist he stretched him at his feet, and then mounting upon him crushed his ribs to his own satisfaction; the goatherd, who came to the rescue, shared the same fate; and having beaten and pummelled them all he left them and quietly withdrew to his hiding-place on the mountain. Sancho rose, and with the rage he felt at finding himself so belaboured without deserving it, ran to take vengeance on the goatherd, accusing him of not giving them warning that this man was at times taken with a mad fit, for if they had known it they would have been on their guard to protect themselves. The goatherd replied that he had said so, and that if he had not heard him, that was no fault of his. Sancho retorted, and the goatherd rejoined, and the altercation ended in their seizing each other by the beard, and exchanging such fisticuffs that if Don Quixote had not made peace between them, they would have knocked one another to pieces.
“Leave me alone, Sir Knight of the Rueful Countenance,” said Sancho, grappling with the goatherd, “for of this fellow, who is a clown like myself, and no dubbed knight, I can safely take satisfaction for the affront he has offered me, fighting with him hand to hand like an honest man.”
“That is true,” said Don Quixote, “but I know that he is not to blame for what has happened.”
With this he pacified them, and again asked the goatherd if it would be possible to find Cardenio, as he felt the greatest anxiety to know the end of his story. The goatherd told him, as he had told him before, that there was no knowing of a certainty where his lair was; but that if he wandered about much in that neighbourhood he could not fail to fall in with him either in or out of his senses.
 
据记载，唐吉诃德全神贯注地听那位衣衫褴褛的“山林勇士”讲话。他说：
“大人，虽然咱们不曾相识，但不论你是谁，我都要感谢你对我以礼相待。承蒙你热情接待，礼当回报，然而时运不佳，唯有以美好心愿酬谢厚遇之恩。”
“我愿效劳，”唐吉诃德说，“此心甚诚。我甚至已下决心，如果找不到你，不了解清楚你内心深处的痛苦是否已找到了排遣的办法，我决不出山。必要的话，我还要想尽各种办法帮你排遣痛苦。如果你的不幸还没有得到任何安慰，我想过，要陪你为你的不幸而尽情哭泣。能有人为自己的遭遇难过，总算是一种安慰。如果我的好意值得得到某种礼遇，那么我请求你，我看你特别内向，那么我再恳求你，大人，看在你一生中热爱过或最热爱的东西份上，告诉我，你是什么人，究竟为什么要到这荒山野岭中像野兽一般地了此一生。你住在这种地方与你的穿戴和你本人太不相称了。”唐吉诃德接着又说，“虽然我是个不称职的有罪骑士，我以骑士的名义发誓，为了行使游侠骑士的职责，如果你能在这个问题上满足我的要求，大人，我一定以我应有的真诚为你效劳。假如你的不幸有办法补救，我就设法补救；否则就像我刚才答应你的那样，陪你哭泣。”
“山林勇士”听猥獕骑士这么说，只是对他看了又看，又把他从上到下打量了一番，看够了之后才说：
“如果你们有什么吃的东西，请看在上帝份上给我吧。吃完之后，我会悉听吩咐，以报答你们对我的一片好心。”
桑乔和牧羊人从各自的袋子里拿出了食物给褴褛汉充饥。他接过食物，像个傻子似的一口紧接一口，迅速地吃着，与其说是吃还不如说是狼吞虎咽。他吃的时候，他和看他的人都一言不发。吃完后，他示意大家跟他走。大家跟他走了。他带着大家绕过一块略微突起的岩石，来到一块绿草地上。一到那儿，他就躺到绿草地上。其他人也躺下来，一句话都不说。直到后来，褴褛汉才端坐好，说：
“各位大人，如果你们想让我简短地谈谈我的巨大不幸，就得答应我什么都别问，也不要打断我讲悲惨故事的思路。如果你们问了或打断了，故事就会悬在那儿。”
褴褛汉的这几句话让唐吉诃德想起来，桑乔给他讲故事的时候，也是因为自己没有记住过河的羊数，把故事悬在那儿了。褴褛汉又接着说：
“我有话在先，是想把我的不幸故事尽快讲完。回忆往事只能让我的旧伤口上又加新伤。你们问得越少，我就可以越快地讲完。不过，重要的事情我一件也不会漏掉，足以满足你们的要求。”
唐吉诃德以所有人的名义答应了，他才放心地讲了起来：
“我叫卡德尼奥，故乡也算是安达卢西亚一座最好的城市了。我出身高贵，父母阔绰。可是我的不幸太深重了，父母为我哭泣，亲属为我惋惜。意外的不幸常常是财富不能弥补的。就在这块土地上，生活着一位宝贝，爱情赋予她整个光环，我也爱上了她。她就是美丽的卢辛达，一位尊贵的姑娘，和我一样富有。她比我幸运，却对我的真诚追求不够坚贞。对于这个卢辛达，我从年幼时就爱她，喜欢她，崇拜她。她也以她那个年龄的天真烂漫喜欢我。我们的父母知道我们的意思。他们并不担心，知道发展下去，最后无非是让我们结婚。
这简直是门当户对的安排。
“随着年龄的增长，我们之间的爱情也加深了。卢辛达的父亲觉得该尊重社会常规，所以反对我再进他家门。在这方面，他几乎完全模仿了那位被诗人讴歌的提斯柏①的父亲的做法。可这种反对只能是火上浇油，情上加亲。虽然他不让我们见面说话，却不能让我们的笔沉默。笔比舌头更容易表达人的内心灵魂。当着情人的面，最坚定的意志往往动摇，最灵巧的舌头也常常显得笨拙。哎，天啊，我写了多少页的情书呀！我收到了她多少优美动人的回信呀！我曾写过多少情歌情诗来表达我的情感，描述我炽热的追求，回忆美好的往事，陶醉我的身心呀！
①提斯柏是希腊神话中的河神，后有奥维德的《变形记》中被述为巴比伦一少女，与皮拉摩斯相爱至深，两家又是近邻，但爱情受到了父母阻挠，只能隔着墙缝互诉衷曲，最后两人自杀。
“后来，我急不可耐，我的灵魂被想见到她的愿望折磨着。我决定马上行动，认为只有这样才能得到我最喜爱、最受之无愧的心上人。这个行动就是请求她的父亲允许她做我的正式妻子。我去求婚了。她的父亲回答说，他对我的请求深感荣幸，不胜感谢，而且他也愿意以相宜之礼让我感到荣幸。不过，既然我的父亲仍然健在，只有我父亲才有权向他提亲，如果没有我父亲诚心诚意的请求，卢辛达可不是随便就能娶走的。我感谢他的一番好意，觉得他说得也有道理，而且我一旦同父亲讲了，他也一定会来提亲。我即刻带着这种想法去见我父亲，告诉他我的要求。一走进父亲的房间，就看见他手里拿着一封打开的信。还没等我开口，他就把信递给我，对我说：‘卡德尼奥，你看看这封信吧，里卡多公爵有心要提拔你。’
“这个里卡多公爵，各位大人，你们大概知道，他是西班牙的一位大人物，他的领地在安达卢西亚是最好的。我接过信看起来。信上言真意切，我觉得父亲如果不答应他的请求就太不合适了。信上希望我马上到他那儿去，做他的长子的伙伴，不是当佣人，他负责为我安排与我身份相符的职位。我默默地看完信，听见父亲说道：‘再过两天你就出发，卡德尼奥，听从公爵的安排吧。感谢上帝为你开辟了一条路，你可以得到你应得的东西了。’接着父亲又说了些嘱咐的话。临走前的一个晚上，我把事情全部告诉了卢辛达，也告诉了她父亲，请求他再宽限几天，把婚期推迟，先看看里卡多怎样安排我。她父亲答应了，她也对我山盟海誓不知多少遍，还晕过去不知多少次。
“后来我到了里卡多公爵那儿。我受到很好的招待，自然也开始引起其他人的嫉妒。那些老佣人觉得公爵待我这么好，会损害他们的利益。不过，最欢迎我到来的是公爵的二儿子。他叫费尔南多，是个很精神的小伙子，雍容大度，风流倜傥。很快他就成了我的朋友，这也引得大家议论纷纷。公爵的长子对我也很好，很照顾我，可是不如费尔南多那样喜欢我，对待我。朋友之间，自然无所不谈，费尔南多对我的另眼看待也变成了友情。他把所有想法都告诉我，甚至他在情场上的一件心事。这件心事让他感到一些躁动。他很喜欢他父亲领地里的一位农家姑娘。她的父母很有钱。姑娘漂亮、端庄，守规矩，人又好，凡是认识她的人都说不清在这几方面中，她哪一方面最好、最突出。
“这样好的农家姑娘让费尔南多风情难捺。为了得到她这个人，夺到她的身子，费尔南多答应做她的丈夫，否则就根本没有指望。我出于关心，尽我所能说明道理，尽我所知列举生动的事例，想劝阻他，让他打消他的念头。看到这些都不起作用，我决定把这件事告诉他的父亲里卡多。可是费尔南多诡计多端，他既怀疑又害怕我这样做。他觉得我作为一个忠实的仆人，肯定不会隐瞒这件有损我的公爵主人名誉的事。为了转移我的注意力，他骗我说，为了从头脑里摆脱难以忘怀的漂亮姑娘，他必须离开几个月。这期间我们两人到我父亲家去，这样就可以托辞向他父亲说，要到我家所在的城市去看看，买几匹好马，说世界上最好的马都是那个地方产的。我听他一说就动了心。虽然他居心不良，我还是同意了，觉得这是个再好不过的难得机会，可以回去看看我的卢辛达。
“出于这种想法和愿望，我同意他的主意，鼓励他这么做，让他尽快成行，因为离开一段时间后，即使再顽固的念头也会发生动摇。当他跟我说这事的时候，据说他已经谎称要做姑娘的丈夫而占有了她。他怕他的父亲知道后因为他的胡作非为而惩罚他，想找个合适的机会再说。其实，大部分年轻人在一起并不是为了爱情，只是为了情欲。情欲只是以享乐为最终目的，一旦满足了情欲，也就完了，那个像是爱情的东西也就向后倒退了，因为它不可能超越本能的界限，那种界限并没有被当作真正的爱情。我是说，费尔南多就是这样的人。他占有了农家姑娘后，欲望锐减，热情全消。表面上他装着躲出去是为了忘掉他的念头，实际上他是企图躲出去逃避履约。
“公爵同意了他的请求，让我陪他去。我们来到了我家所在的那个城市，我父亲不失礼仪地接待了他。然后，我去看望卢辛达，我本来就没有泯灭和减弱的追求又重新燃烧起来，而且很不幸地把这些都告诉了费尔南多。我本来觉得凭我们之间的友谊，不该向他隐瞒什么。我向他夸耀卢辛达漂亮、娴静、机灵。我的夸耀勾起了他想看看这位完美姑娘的愿望。算我倒霉，我答应了他。一天晚上借着烛光，通过我正和卢辛达说话的窗口，我把卢辛达指给他看。费尔南多一见她，把以前见过的所有美女都忘了。他看得目瞪口呆，魂不守舍。你们听我接着讲我的不幸故事，就知道他坠入情网到什么程度了。
“费尔南多的欲念有增无减，而我对这些却还蒙在鼓里，只有老天知道。命运让我有一天看到了他的一封信，请求我向卢辛达的父亲去提亲。他措辞谨慎，一本正经，情真意切，在信上对我说，卢辛达把世界上其他女人的所有美貌和才智都集于一身了。现在我承认，说实话，尽管费尔南多对卢辛达的赞美合情合理，可那些赞美出自他之口，却让我很不舒服。我开始害怕，开始怀疑他，因为他无时无刻不想谈论卢辛达，总是拿她当话题，尽管常常是风马牛不相及，结果往往引起我一种说不出的嫉妒，这倒并不是害怕卢辛达的好感和忠诚会产生什么变化。尽管她再三向我保证，可是命运让我担心。费尔南多总是想看我写给卢辛达的信和卢辛达给我的回信，说是很喜欢我们两人的文笔。卢辛达很喜欢骑士小说，有一次，她向我借一本骑士小说，书名是《高卢的阿马迪斯》……”
唐吉诃德一听他提到骑士小说，急忙说：
“假如你一开始就提到尊贵的卢辛达夫人喜欢读骑士小说，不用你再夸，我就可以想象到她的高贵才智。如果她没有如此雅兴，我也不会相信她有你描述得那么好。所以，在我面前，你不必使用很多语言就可以向我表明她的美貌、品质和才智。只要知道了她的这种爱好，我就完全可以相信她是世界上最漂亮最聪明的女性。但愿你，大人，把《希腊的唐鲁赫尔》那本好书连同《高卢的阿马迪斯》一起借给了她。我知道卢辛达夫人一定很喜欢达雷达和加拉亚，喜欢机智的达里内尔牧师以及他朗诵的风雅、严谨而又轻松的田园诗。不过，这个缺憾以后可以得到弥补。如果你愿意同我一起回到我的家乡去，这一缺憾马上就可以补偿。我家里有三百多本书可以给你，那些书是我的精神享受，是我的生活消遣，尽管我得承认，由于嫉贤妒能的恶毒魔法师的破坏，现在已经一本不剩了。请原谅，我违反了刚才我答应的事情，打断了你的讲话。只要一说到骑士精神和游侠骑士的事，要想让我不开口，就像不让阳光发热，不让月光发潮一样。对不起，请继续讲下去，现在这才是最重要的。”
唐吉诃德讲话的时候，卡德尼奥已经把头垂到了胸前，好像陷入了深深的沉思。唐吉诃德又说了两遍，请他继续讲下去，可是他既不抬头，也不答话。过了好一会儿，他才抬起头说：
“我脑子里有个意念无法驱除，世界上任何人也无法为我驱除，不能让我不这样想，谁不相信这点就是个笨蛋。现在，那个下流的埃利萨瓦特医生已经同马达西马女王姘居了。”
“不，这不可能！”唐吉诃德暴跳如雷，“这是极其恶毒的中伤，或者最好说是卑鄙的行为！马达西马女王是位非常尊贵的夫人，这样高贵的夫人同一个破大夫姘居，这根本不可想象。谁这么想，就是十足的大坏蛋在撒谎，无论他是步行还是骑马，无论他有没有武器，无论白昼还是夜晚，随他的便，我都会叫他明白过来。”
卡德尼奥十分认真地看着唐吉诃德。现在他又犯病了，不能把故事讲下去了。唐吉诃德对有关马达西马的议论极为不满，也听不下去了。简直不可思议，他竟为马达西马大动肝火，仿佛她是唐吉诃德的正式合法夫人！这全是那些异教邪书造成的。且说卡德尼奥已经精神失常，听见说他撒谎、是坏蛋以及其他诸如此类的咒骂，觉得玩笑开得过分了。他捡起身边的一块石头，打到唐吉诃德的胸上，把他打得仰面摔倒。桑乔看到主人这副样子，便攥紧拳头向卡德尼奥打去。褴褛汉一拳把桑乔打倒，然后骑在他身上，朝着他的肋部狠打了一通。牧羊人想去解救桑乔，也被打倒了。等把所有人都打得筋疲力尽，浑身是伤，褴褛汉才不慌不忙地躲进山里。
桑乔站起来，看到自己平白无故地被打成这样，就去找牧羊人算帐，怨牧羊人不事先通知那人会发疯。如果知道他犯病了，就可以有所防备。牧羊人说他已经说过，假如桑乔没听见，那不是他的错。桑乔反驳，牧羊人再反驳，最后反驳成了互相揪胡子，拳脚相加。要不是唐吉诃德劝他们息怒，两人非得打得皮开肉绽不可。
桑乔抓着牧羊人对唐吉诃德说：
“您别管我，猥獕骑士大人，在这儿他和我一样，都是乡巴佬，没有被封为骑士。我完全可以堂堂正正地同他徒手对打，以解我心头之恨。”
“话虽然可以这么说，”唐吉诃德说，“但是刚才的事，他一点儿责任也没有。”
两人这才平静下来。唐吉诃德又问牧羊人是否还能找到卡德尼奥，因为他急于知道故事的结局。牧羊人仍像他原来说的那样，说不知道卡德尼奥确切的栖身处。不过，只要努力在周围找，不管他犯病没犯病，都能找到他。
Part 1 Chapter 25
Which Treats of the Strange Things that Happened to the Stout Knight of La Mancha in the Sierra Morena, and of His Imitation of The Penance of Beltenebros
Don Quixote took leave of the goatherd, and once more mounting Rocinante bade Sancho follow him, which he having no ass, did very discontentedly. They proceeded slowly, making their way into the most rugged part of the mountain, Sancho all the while dying to have a talk with his master, and longing for him to begin, so that there should be no breach of the injunction laid upon him; but unable to keep silence so long he said to him:
“Senor Don Quixote, give me your worship’s blessing and dismissal, for I’d like to go home at once to my wife and children with whom I can at any rate talk and converse as much as I like; for to want me to go through these solitudes day and night and not speak to you when I have a mind is burying me alive. If luck would have it that animals spoke as they did in the days of Guisopete, it would not be so bad, because I could talk to Rocinante about whatever came into my head, and so put up with my ill-fortune; but it is a hard case, and not to be borne with patience, to go seeking adventures all one’s life and get nothing but kicks and blanketings, brickbats and punches, and with all this to have to sew up one’s mouth without daring to say what is in one’s heart, just as if one were dumb.”
“I understand thee, Sancho,” replied Don Quixote; “thou art dying to have the interdict I placed upon thy tongue removed; consider it removed, and say what thou wilt while we are wandering in these mountains.”
“So be it,” said Sancho; “let me speak now, for God knows what will happen by-and-by; and to take advantage of the permit at once, I ask, what made your worship stand up so for that Queen Majimasa, or whatever her name is, or what did it matter whether that abbot was a friend of hers or not? for if your worship had let that pass — and you were not a judge in the matter — it is my belief the madman would have gone on with his story, and the blow of the stone, and the kicks, and more than half a dozen cuffs would have been escaped.”
“In faith, Sancho,” answered Don Quixote, “if thou knewest as I do what an honourable and illustrious lady Queen Madasima was, I know thou wouldst say I had great patience that I did not break in pieces the mouth that uttered such blasphemies, for a very great blasphemy it is to say or imagine that a queen has made free with a surgeon. The truth of the story is that that Master Elisabad whom the madman mentioned was a man of great prudence and sound judgment, and served as governor and physician to the queen, but to suppose that she was his mistress is nonsense deserving very severe punishment; and as a proof that Cardenio did not know what he was saying, remember when he said it he was out of his wits.”
“That is what I say,” said Sancho; “there was no occasion for minding the words of a madman; for if good luck had not helped your worship, and he had sent that stone at your head instead of at your breast, a fine way we should have been in for standing up for my lady yonder, God confound her! And then, would not Cardenio have gone free as a madman?”
“Against men in their senses or against madmen,” said Don Quixote, “every knight-errant is bound to stand up for the honour of women, whoever they may be, much more for queens of such high degree and dignity as Queen Madasima, for whom I have a particular regard on account of her amiable qualities; for, besides being extremely beautiful, she was very wise, and very patient under her misfortunes, of which she had many; and the counsel and society of the Master Elisabad were a great help and support to her in enduring her afflictions with wisdom and resignation; hence the ignorant and ill-disposed vulgar took occasion to say and think that she was his mistress; and they lie, I say it once more, and will lie two hundred times more, all who think and say so.”
“I neither say nor think so,” said Sancho; “let them look to it; with their bread let them eat it; they have rendered account to God whether they misbehaved or not; I come from my vineyard, I know nothing; I am not fond of prying into other men’s lives; he who buys and lies feels it in his purse; moreover, naked was I born, naked I find myself, I neither lose nor gain; but if they did, what is that to me? many think there are flitches where there are no hooks; but who can put gates to the open plain? moreover they said of God — ”
“God bless me,” said Don Quixote, “what a set of absurdities thou art stringing together! What has what we are talking about got to do with the proverbs thou art threading one after the other? for God’s sake hold thy tongue, Sancho, and henceforward keep to prodding thy ass and don’t meddle in what does not concern thee; and understand with all thy five senses that everything I have done, am doing, or shall do, is well founded on reason and in conformity with the rules of chivalry, for I understand them better than all the world that profess them.”
“Senor,” replied Sancho, “is it a good rule of chivalry that we should go astray through these mountains without path or road, looking for a madman who when he is found will perhaps take a fancy to finish what he began, not his story, but your worship’s head and my ribs, and end by breaking them altogether for us?”
 
“Peace, I say again, Sancho,” said Don Quixote, “for let me tell thee it is not so much the desire of finding that madman that leads me into these regions as that which I have of performing among them an achievement wherewith I shall win eternal name and fame throughout the known world; and it shall be such that I shall thereby set the seal on all that can make a knight-errant perfect and famous.”
“And is it very perilous, this achievement?”
“No,” replied he of the Rueful Countenance; “though it may be in the dice that we may throw deuce-ace instead of sixes; but all will depend on thy diligence.”
“On my diligence!” said Sancho.
“Yes,” said Don Quixote, “for if thou dost return soon from the place where I mean to send thee, my penance will be soon over, and my glory will soon begin. But as it is not right to keep thee any longer in suspense, waiting to see what comes of my words, I would have thee know, Sancho, that the famous Amadis of Gaul was one of the most perfect knights-errant — I am wrong to say he was one; he stood alone, the first, the only one, the lord of all that were in the world in his time. A fig for Don Belianis, and for all who say he equalled him in any respect, for, my oath upon it, they are deceiving themselves! I say, too, that when a painter desires to become famous in his art he endeavours to copy the originals of the rarest painters that he knows; and the same rule holds good for all the most important crafts and callings that serve to adorn a state; thus must he who would be esteemed prudent and patient imitate Ulysses, in whose person and labours Homer presents to us a lively picture of prudence and patience; as Virgil, too, shows us in the person of AEneas the virtue of a pious son and the sagacity of a brave and skilful captain; not representing or describing them as they were, but as they ought to be, so as to leave the example of their virtues to posterity. In the same way Amadis was the polestar, day-star, sun of valiant and devoted knights, whom all we who fight under the banner of love and chivalry are bound to imitate. This, then, being so, I consider, friend Sancho, that the knight-errant who shall imitate him most closely will come nearest to reaching the perfection of chivalry. Now one of the instances in which this knight most conspicuously showed his prudence, worth, valour, endurance, fortitude, and love, was when he withdrew, rejected by the Lady Oriana, to do penance upon the Pena Pobre, changing his name into that of Beltenebros, a name assuredly significant and appropriate to the life which he had voluntarily adopted. So, as it is easier for me to imitate him in this than in cleaving giants asunder, cutting off serpents’ heads, slaying dragons, routing armies, destroying fleets, and breaking enchantments, and as this place is so well suited for a similar purpose, I must not allow the opportunity to escape which now so conveniently offers me its forelock.”
“What is it in reality,” said Sancho, “that your worship means to do in such an out-of-the-way place as this?”
“Have I not told thee,” answered Don Quixote, “that I mean to imitate Amadis here, playing the victim of despair, the madman, the maniac, so as at the same time to imitate the valiant Don Roland, when at the fountain he had evidence of the fair Angelica having disgraced herself with Medoro and through grief thereat went mad, and plucked up trees, troubled the waters of the clear springs, slew destroyed flocks, burned down huts, levelled houses, dragged mares after him, and perpetrated a hundred thousand other outrages worthy of everlasting renown and record? And though I have no intention of imitating Roland, or Orlando, or Rotolando (for he went by all these names), step by step in all the mad things he did, said, and thought, I will make a rough copy to the best of my power of all that seems to me most essential; but perhaps I shall content myself with the simple imitation of Amadis, who without giving way to any mischievous madness but merely to tears and sorrow, gained as much fame as the most famous.”
“It seems to me,” said Sancho, “that the knights who behaved in this way had provocation and cause for those follies and penances; but what cause has your worship for going mad? What lady has rejected you, or what evidence have you found to prove that the lady Dulcinea del Toboso has been trifling with Moor or Christian?”
“There is the point,” replied Don Quixote, “and that is the beauty of this business of mine; no thanks to a knight-errant for going mad when he has cause; the thing is to turn crazy without any provocation, and let my lady know, if I do this in the dry, what I would do in the moist; moreover I have abundant cause in the long separation I have endured from my lady till death, Dulcinea del Toboso; for as thou didst hear that shepherd Ambrosio say the other day, in absence all ills are felt and feared; and so, friend Sancho, waste no time in advising me against so rare, so happy, and so unheard-of an imitation; mad I am, and mad I must be until thou returnest with the answer to a letter that I mean to send by thee to my lady Dulcinea; and if it be such as my constancy deserves, my insanity and penance will come to an end; and if it be to the opposite effect, I shall become mad in earnest, and, being so, I shall suffer no more; thus in whatever way she may answer I shall escape from the struggle and affliction in which thou wilt leave me, enjoying in my senses the boon thou bearest me, or as a madman not feeling the evil thou bringest me. But tell me, Sancho, hast thou got Mambrino’s helmet safe? for I saw thee take it up from the ground when that ungrateful wretch tried to break it in pieces but could not, by which the fineness of its temper may be seen.”
To which Sancho made answer, “By the living God, Sir Knight of the Rueful Countenance, I cannot endure or bear with patience some of the things that your worship says; and from them I begin to suspect that all you tell me about chivalry, and winning kingdoms and empires, and giving islands, and bestowing other rewards and dignities after the custom of knights-errant, must be all made up of wind and lies, and all pigments or figments, or whatever we may call them; for what would anyone think that heard your worship calling a barber’s basin Mambrino’s helmet without ever seeing the mistake all this time, but that one who says and maintains such things must have his brains addled? I have the basin in my sack all dinted, and I am taking it home to have it mended, to trim my beard in it, if, by God’s grace, I am allowed to see my wife and children some day or other.”
“Look here, Sancho,” said Don Quixote, “by him thou didst swear by just now I swear thou hast the most limited understanding that any squire in the world has or ever had. Is it possible that all this time thou hast been going about with me thou hast never found out that all things belonging to knights-errant seem to be illusions and nonsense and ravings, and to go always by contraries? And not because it really is so, but because there is always a swarm of enchanters in attendance upon us that change and alter everything with us, and turn things as they please, and according as they are disposed to aid or destroy us; thus what seems to thee a barber’s basin seems to me Mambrino’s helmet, and to another it will seem something else; and rare foresight it was in the sage who is on my side to make what is really and truly Mambrine’s helmet seem a basin to everybody, for, being held in such estimation as it is, all the world would pursue me to rob me of it; but when they see it is only a barber’s basin they do not take the trouble to obtain it; as was plainly shown by him who tried to break it, and left it on the ground without taking it, for, by my faith, had he known it he would never have left it behind. Keep it safe, my friend, for just now I have no need of it; indeed, I shall have to take off all this armour and remain as naked as I was born, if I have a mind to follow Roland rather than Amadis in my penance.”
Thus talking they reached the foot of a high mountain which stood like an isolated peak among the others that surrounded it. Past its base there flowed a gentle brook, all around it spread a meadow so green and luxuriant that it was a delight to the eyes to look upon it, and forest trees in abundance, and shrubs and flowers, added to the charms of the spot. Upon this place the Knight of the Rueful Countenance fixed his choice for the performance of his penance, and as he beheld it exclaimed in a loud voice as though he were out of his senses:
“This is the place, oh, ye heavens, that I select and choose for bewailing the misfortune in which ye yourselves have plunged me: this is the spot where the overflowings of mine eyes shall swell the waters of yon little brook, and my deep and endless sighs shall stir unceasingly the leaves of these mountain trees, in testimony and token of the pain my persecuted heart is suffering. Oh, ye rural deities, whoever ye be that haunt this lone spot, give ear to the complaint of a wretched lover whom long absence and brooding jealousy have driven to bewail his fate among these wilds and complain of the hard heart of that fair and ungrateful one, the end and limit of all human beauty! Oh, ye wood nymphs and dryads, that dwell in the thickets of the forest, so may the nimble wanton satyrs by whom ye are vainly wooed never disturb your sweet repose, help me to lament my hard fate or at least weary not at listening to it! Oh, Dulcinea del Toboso, day of my night, glory of my pain, guide of my path, star of my fortune, so may Heaven grant thee in full all thou seekest of it, bethink thee of the place and condition to which absence from thee has brought me, and make that return in kindness that is due to my fidelity! Oh, lonely trees, that from this day forward shall bear me company in my solitude, give me some sign by the gentle movement of your boughs that my presence is not distasteful to you! Oh, thou, my squire, pleasant companion in my prosperous and adverse fortunes, fix well in thy memory what thou shalt see me do here, so that thou mayest relate and report it to the sole cause of all,” and so saying he dismounted from Rocinante, and in an instant relieved him of saddle and bridle, and giving him a slap on the croup, said, “He gives thee freedom who is bereft of it himself, oh steed as excellent in deed as thou art unfortunate in thy lot; begone where thou wilt, for thou bearest written on thy forehead that neither Astolfo’s hippogriff, nor the famed Frontino that cost Bradamante so dear, could equal thee in speed.”
Seeing this Sancho said, “Good luck to him who has saved us the trouble of stripping the pack-saddle off Dapple! By my faith he would not have gone without a slap on the croup and something said in his praise; though if he were here I would not let anyone strip him, for there would be no occasion, as he had nothing of the lover or victim of despair about him, inasmuch as his master, which I was while it was God’s pleasure, was nothing of the sort; and indeed, Sir Knight of the Rueful Countenance, if my departure and your worship’s madness are to come off in earnest, it will be as well to saddle Rocinante again in order that he may supply the want of Dapple, because it will save me time in going and returning: for if I go on foot I don’t know when I shall get there or when I shall get back, as I am, in truth, a bad walker.”
“I declare, Sancho,” returned Don Quixote, “it shall be as thou wilt, for thy plan does not seem to me a bad one, and three days hence thou wilt depart, for I wish thee to observe in the meantime what I do and say for her sake, that thou mayest be able to tell it.”
“But what more have I to see besides what I have seen?” said Sancho.
“Much thou knowest about it!” said Don Quixote. “I have now got to tear up my garments, to scatter about my armour, knock my head against these rocks, and more of the same sort of thing, which thou must witness.”
“For the love of God,” said Sancho, “be careful, your worship, how you give yourself those knocks on the head, for you may come across such a rock, and in such a way, that the very first may put an end to the whole contrivance of this penance; and I should think, if indeed knocks on the head seem necessary to you, and this business cannot be done without them, you might be content — as the whole thing is feigned, and counterfeit, and in joke — you might be content, I say, with giving them to yourself in the water, or against something soft, like cotton; and leave it all to me; for I’ll tell my lady that your worship knocked your head against a point of rock harder than a diamond.”
“I thank thee for thy good intentions, friend Sancho,” answered Don Quixote, “but I would have thee know that all these things I am doing are not in joke, but very much in earnest, for anything else would be a transgression of the ordinances of chivalry, which forbid us to tell any lie whatever under the penalties due to apostasy; and to do one thing instead of another is just the same as lying; so my knocks on the head must be real, solid, and valid, without anything sophisticated or fanciful about them, and it will be needful to leave me some lint to dress my wounds, since fortune has compelled us to do without the balsam we lost.”
“It was worse losing the ass,” replied Sancho, “for with him lint and all were lost; but I beg of your worship not to remind me again of that accursed liquor, for my soul, not to say my stomach, turns at hearing the very name of it; and I beg of you, too, to reckon as past the three days you allowed me for seeing the mad things you do, for I take them as seen already and pronounced upon, and I will tell wonderful stories to my lady; so write the letter and send me off at once, for I long to return and take your worship out of this purgatory where I am leaving you.”
“Purgatory dost thou call it, Sancho?” said Don Quixote, “rather call it hell, or even worse if there be anything worse.”
“For one who is in hell,” said Sancho, “nulla est retentio, as I have heard say.”
“I do not understand what retentio means,” said Don Quixote.
“Retentio,” answered Sancho, “means that whoever is in hell never comes nor can come out of it, which will be the opposite case with your worship or my legs will be idle, that is if I have spurs to enliven Rocinante: let me once get to El Toboso and into the presence of my lady Dulcinea, and I will tell her such things of the follies and madnesses (for it is all one) that your worship has done and is still doing, that I will manage to make her softer than a glove though I find her harder than a cork tree; and with her sweet and honeyed answer I will come back through the air like a witch, and take your worship out of this purgatory that seems to be hell but is not, as there is hope of getting out of it; which, as I have said, those in hell have not, and I believe your worship will not say anything to the contrary.”
“That is true,” said he of the Rueful Countenance, “but how shall we manage to write the letter?”
“And the ass-colt order too,” added Sancho.
“All shall be included,” said Don Quixote; “and as there is no paper, it would be well done to write it on the leaves of trees, as the ancients did, or on tablets of wax; though that would be as hard to find just now as paper. But it has just occurred to me how it may be conveniently and even more than conveniently written, and that is in the note-book that belonged to Cardenio, and thou wilt take care to have it copied on paper, in a good hand, at the first village thou comest to where there is a schoolmaster, or if not, any sacristan will copy it; but see thou give it not to any notary to copy, for they write a law hand that Satan could not make out.”
“But what is to be done about the signature?” said Sancho.
“The letters of Amadis were never signed,” said Don Quixote.
“That is all very well,” said Sancho, “but the order must needs be signed, and if it is copied they will say the signature is false, and I shall be left without ass-colts.”
“The order shall go signed in the same book,” said Don Quixote, “and on seeing it my niece will make no difficulty about obeying it; as to the loveletter thou canst put by way of signature, ‘Yours till death, the Knight of the Rueful Countenance.’ And it will be no great matter if it is in some other person’s hand, for as well as I recollect Dulcinea can neither read nor write, nor in the whole course of her life has she seen handwriting or letter of mine, for my love and hers have been always platonic, not going beyond a modest look, and even that so seldom that I can safely swear I have not seen her four times in all these twelve years I have been loving her more than the light of these eyes that the earth will one day devour; and perhaps even of those four times she has not once perceived that I was looking at her: such is the retirement and seclusion in which her father Lorenzo Corchuelo and her mother Aldonza Nogales have brought her up.”
“So, so!” said Sancho; “Lorenzo Corchuelo’s daughter is the lady Dulcinea del Toboso, otherwise called Aldonza Lorenzo?”
“She it is,” said Don Quixote, “and she it is that is worthy to be lady of the whole universe.”
“I know her well,” said Sancho, “and let me tell you she can fling a crowbar as well as the lustiest lad in all the town. Giver of all good! but she is a brave lass, and a right and stout one, and fit to be helpmate to any knight-errant that is or is to be, who may make her his lady: the whoreson wench, what sting she has and what a voice! I can tell you one day she posted herself on the top of the belfry of the village to call some labourers of theirs that were in a ploughed field of her father’s , and though they were better than half a league off they heard her as well as if they were at the foot of the tower; and the best of her is that she is not a bit prudish, for she has plenty of affability, and jokes with everybody, and has a grin and a jest for everything. So, Sir Knight of the Rueful Countenance, I say you not only may and ought to do mad freaks for her sake, but you have a good right to give way to despair and hang yourself; and no one who knows of it but will say you did well, though the devil should take you; and I wish I were on my road already, simply to see her, for it is many a day since I saw her, and she must be altered by this time, for going about the fields always, and the sun and the air spoil women’s looks greatly. But I must own the truth to your worship, Senor Don Quixote; until now I have been under a great mistake, for I believed truly and honestly that the lady Dulcinea must be some princess your worship was in love with, or some person great enough to deserve the rich presents you have sent her, such as the Biscayan and the galley slaves, and many more no doubt, for your worship must have won many victories in the time when I was not yet your squire. But all things considered, what good can it do the lady Aldonza Lorenzo, I mean the lady Dulcinea del Toboso, to have the vanquished your worship sends or will send coming to her and going down on their knees before her? Because may be when they came she’d be hackling flax or threshing on the threshing floor, and they’d be ashamed to see her, and she’d laugh, or resent the present.”
“I have before now told thee many times, Sancho,” said Don Quixote, “that thou art a mighty great chatterer, and that with a blunt wit thou art always striving at sharpness; but to show thee what a fool thou art and how rational I am, I would have thee listen to a short story. Thou must know that a certain widow, fair, young, independent, and rich, and above all free and easy, fell in love with a sturdy strapping young lay-brother; his superior came to know of it, and one day said to the worthy widow by way of brotherly remonstrance, ‘I am surprised, senora, and not without good reason, that a woman of such high standing, so fair, and so rich as you are, should have fallen in love with such a mean, low, stupid fellow as So-and-so, when in this house there are so many masters, graduates, and divinity students from among whom you might choose as if they were a lot of pears, saying this one I’ll take, that I won’t take;’ but she replied to him with great sprightliness and candour, ‘My dear sir, you are very much mistaken, and your ideas are very old-fashioned, if you think that I have made a bad choice in So-and-so, fool as he seems; because for all I want with him he knows as much and more philosophy than Aristotle.’ In the same way, Sancho, for all I want with Dulcinea del Toboso she is just as good as the most exalted princess on earth. It is not to be supposed that all those poets who sang the praises of ladies under the fancy names they give them, had any such mistresses. Thinkest thou that the Amarillises, the Phillises, the Sylvias, the Dianas, the Galateas, the Filidas, and all the rest of them, that the books, the ballads, the barber’s shops, the theatres are full of, were really and truly ladies of flesh and blood, and mistresses of those that glorify and have glorified them? Nothing of the kind; they only invent them for the most part to furnish a subject for their verses, and that they may pass for lovers, or for men valiant enough to be so; and so it suffices me to think and believe that the good Aldonza Lorenzo is fair and virtuous; and as to her pedigree it is very little matter, for no one will examine into it for the purpose of conferring any order upon her, and I, for my part, reckon her the most exalted princess in the world. For thou shouldst know, Sancho, if thou dost not know, that two things alone beyond all others are incentives to love, and these are great beauty and a good name, and these two things are to be found in Dulcinea in the highest degree, for in beauty no one equals her and in good name few approach her; and to put the whole thing in a nutshell, I persuade myself that all I say is as I say, neither more nor less, and I picture her in my imagination as I would have her to be, as well in beauty as in condition; Helen approaches her not nor does Lucretia come up to her, nor any other of the famous women of times past, Greek, Barbarian, or Latin; and let each say what he will, for if in this I am taken to task by the ignorant, I shall not be censured by the critical.”
“I say that your worship is entirely right,” said Sancho, “and that I am an ass. But I know not how the name of ass came into my mouth, for a rope is not to be mentioned in the house of him who has been hanged; but now for the letter, and then, God be with you, I am off.”
Don Quixote took out the note-book, and, retiring to one side, very deliberately began to write the letter, and when he had finished it he called to Sancho, saying he wished to read it to him, so that he might commit it to memory, in case of losing it on the road; for with evil fortune like his anything might be apprehended. To which Sancho replied, “Write it two or three times there in the book and give it to me, and I will carry it very carefully, because to expect me to keep it in my memory is all nonsense, for I have such a bad one that I often forget my own name; but for all that repeat it to me, as I shall like to hear it, for surely it will run as if it was in print.”
“Listen,” said Don Quixote, “this is what it says:
“DON Quixote’S LETTER TO DULCINEA DEL TOBOSO
“Sovereign and exalted Lady, — The pierced by the point of absence, the wounded to the heart’s core, sends thee, sweetest Dulcinea del Toboso, the health that he himself enjoys not. If thy beauty despises me, if thy worth is not for me, if thy scorn is my affliction, though I be sufficiently long-suffering, hardly shall I endure this anxiety, which, besides being oppressive, is protracted. My good squire Sancho will relate to thee in full, fair ingrate, dear enemy, the condition to which I am reduced on thy account: if it be thy pleasure to give me relief, I am thine; if not, do as may be pleasing to thee; for by ending my life I shall satisfy thy cruelty and my desire.
“Thine till death,
“The Knight of the Rueful Countenance.”
“By the life of my father,” said Sancho, when he heard the letter, “it is the loftiest thing I ever heard. Body of me! how your worship says everything as you like in it! And how well you fit in ‘The Knight of the Rueful Countenance’ into the signature. I declare your worship is indeed the very devil, and there is nothing you don’t know.”
“Everything is needed for the calling I follow,” said Don Quixote.
“Now then,” said Sancho, “let your worship put the order for the three ass-colts on the other side, and sign it very plainly, that they may recognise it at first sight.”
“With all my heart,” said Don Quixote, and as he had written it he read it to this effect:
“Mistress Niece, — By this first of ass-colts please pay to Sancho Panza, my squire, three of the five I left at home in your charge: said three ass-colts to be paid and delivered for the same number received here in hand, which upon this and upon his receipt shall be duly paid. Done in the heart of the Sierra Morena, the twenty-seventh of August of this present year.”
“That will do,” said Sancho; “now let your worship sign it.”
“There is no need to sign it,” said Don Quixote, “but merely to put my flourish, which is the same as a signature, and enough for three asses, or even three hundred.”
“I can trust your worship,” returned Sancho; “let me go and saddle Rocinante, and be ready to give me your blessing, for I mean to go at once without seeing the fooleries your worship is going to do; I’ll say I saw you do so many that she will not want any more.”
“At any rate, Sancho,” said Don Quixote, “I should like — and there is reason for it — I should like thee, I say, to see me stripped to the skin and performing a dozen or two of insanities, which I can get done in less than half an hour; for having seen them with thine own eyes, thou canst then safely swear to the rest that thou wouldst add; and I promise thee thou wilt not tell of as many as I mean to perform.”
“For the love of God, master mine,” said Sancho, “let me not see your worship stripped, for it will sorely grieve me, and I shall not be able to keep from tears, and my head aches so with all I shed last night for Dapple, that I am not fit to begin any fresh weeping; but if it is your worship’s pleasure that I should see some insanities, do them in your clothes, short ones, and such as come readiest to hand; for I myself want nothing of the sort, and, as I have said, it will be a saving of time for my return, which will be with the news your worship desires and deserves. If not, let the lady Dulcinea look to it; if she does not answer reasonably, I swear as solemnly as I can that I will fetch a fair answer out of her stomach with kicks and cuffs; for why should it be borne that a knight-errant as famous as your worship should go mad without rhyme or reason for a — ? Her ladyship had best not drive me to say it, for by God I will speak out and let off everything cheap, even if it doesn’t sell: I am pretty good at that! she little knows me; faith, if she knew me she’d be in awe of me.”
“In faith, Sancho,” said Don Quixote, “to all appearance thou art no sounder in thy wits than I.”
“I am not so mad,” answered Sancho, “but I am more peppery; but apart from all this, what has your worship to eat until I come back? Will you sally out on the road like Cardenio to force it from the shepherds?”
“Let not that anxiety trouble thee,” replied Don Quixote, “for even if I had it I should not eat anything but the herbs and the fruits which this meadow and these trees may yield me; the beauty of this business of mine lies in not eating, and in performing other mortifications.”
“Do you know what I am afraid of?” said Sancho upon this; “that I shall not be able to find my way back to this spot where I am leaving you, it is such an out-of-the-way place.”
“Observe the landmarks well,” said Don Quixote, “for I will try not to go far from this neighbourhood, and I will even take care to mount the highest of these rocks to see if I can discover thee returning; however, not to miss me and lose thyself, the best plan will be to cut some branches of the broom that is so abundant about here, and as thou goest to lay them at intervals until thou hast come out upon the plain; these will serve thee, after the fashion of the clue in the labyrinth of Theseus, as marks and signs for finding me on thy return.”
“So I will,” said Sancho Panza, and having cut some, he asked his master’s blessing, and not without many tears on both sides, took his leave of him, and mounting Rocinante, of whom Don Quixote charged him earnestly to have as much care as of his own person, he set out for the plain, strewing at intervals the branches of broom as his master had recommended him; and so he went his way, though Don Quixote still entreated him to see him do were it only a couple of mad acts. He had not gone a hundred paces, however, when he returned and said:
“I must say, senor, your worship said quite right, that in order to be able to swear without a weight on my conscience that I had seen you do mad things, it would be well for me to see if it were only one; though in your worship’s remaining here I have seen a very great one.”
 
“Did I not tell thee so?” said Don Quixote. “Wait, Sancho, and I will do them in the saying of a credo,” and pulling off his breeches in all haste he stripped himself to his skin and his shirt, and then, without more ado, he cut a couple of gambados in the air, and a couple of somersaults, heels over head, making such a display that, not to see it a second time, Sancho wheeled Rocinante round, and felt easy, and satisfied in his mind that he could swear he had left his master mad; and so we will leave him to follow his road until his return, which was a quick one.
 
怪事，以及他仿效贝尔特内夫
罗斯的苦修行
唐吉诃德告别牧羊人，又骑上罗西南多，让桑乔跟着他。桑乔很不情愿地跟着他走了。两人渐渐来到了山上的最崎岖之处。桑乔很想同主人聊聊天，但又想让主人先开口，这样就不会违反唐吉诃德的命令了。最后他实在忍不住了，说：“唐吉诃德大人，请您行行好，开开恩。现在我想回家去，找我的老婆孩子。我同他们至少还可以随心所欲地说说话。您让我跟您日夜兼程，在荒郊野岭奔走，想跟您说话的时候还不能说，这简直是活埋我。如果命运让动物能说话，就像吉索①那时候一样，那还好点儿，至少我想说话的时候还可以同我的驴说说话，遇到不顺心的事情时，心里也好受些。可是整天到处征险，得到的却是挨脚踢，让人用被单扔，还有石头砸，拳头打，除此之外还得闭上嘴，心里有话不敢说，像个哑巴似的，这真让人受不了。”
①桑乔此处想说的是著名寓言家伊索。
“我明白了，桑乔，”唐吉诃德说，“你受不了啦，想让我解除对你嘴巴的禁令。现在禁令解除了，你想说什么就说吧。不过有个条件，这次解除禁令只限于我们在这座山上行走的时候。”
“既然这样，”桑乔说，“我现在就开始说话了，以后的事谁知道会怎么样呢。一开始享受这项特许，我就要说，您何必那么偏袒那个马吉马萨①或者随便叫什么名字的女王呢？还有，您管那个阿瓦特是不是她的情人呢。您又不是法官。如果您不理他，我相信这个疯子会把他的故事讲下去，咱们也不会挨石头打，挨脚踢，再饶上那至少六巴掌。”
①桑乔在这里把马达西马错说成马吉马萨，在下一句把埃利萨瓦特错说成阿瓦特了。
“桑乔，”唐吉诃德说，“你要是像我一样知道马达西马女王是位多么高贵的夫人，你就会说我多有耐心了，因为我没把他那张胡说八道的嘴打烂。别说用嘴讲，仅仅想到一位女王竟会同一个医生姘居，就是一种极大的亵渎。事实上，疯子说的那个埃利萨瓦特大夫很规矩，是个好谋士。他是女王的教师和大夫。可要是把女王当成他的情人，那纯粹是捕风捉影，理当受到严惩。你应该注意到，连卡德尼奥都不知道自己说了什么。他说这话的时候，神经并不正常。”
“我也这么说，”桑乔说，“所以，没有必要去理会一个疯子的话。还算您走运，要是石头没打在您胸上，而是打在您脑袋上，咱们可就为维护女王的名誉受罪了，那真是老天瞎了眼。至于那个疯子，还是让他疯吧！”
“不论是在正常人还是在疯子面前，游侠骑士都有义务维护女人的声誉，不管是谁，更何况是像马达西马这样尊贵的女王呢。我对马达西马女王的高尚品质有着特别的好感，不仅因为她漂亮，还因为她品行端正，饱经磨难，她受过很多苦。埃利萨瓦特医生的教诲和陪伴对她很有益处，减轻了她的痛苦，她才得以耐心谨慎地度过难关。那个无知的乡巴佬别有用心地利用这点，不仅猜疑而且传说她是大夫的情妇，真是无稽之谈。我再说一遍，即使他们再重复两百遍，他们想的和说的也还是无稽之谈。”
“我不这么说，也不这么想。”桑乔说，“他们做他们的事，大家‘各扫自家门前雪，莫管他人瓦上霜’。他们是不是情人，只有上帝明白，‘我走我路全不知’。我不喜欢打听别人的生活。‘拿了东西不认帐，钱包里面最有数’。‘我来世至今赤条条，不亏也不赚’，天塌地陷与我何干？‘以为有便宜占，结果扑个空’。‘别人的嘴谁能管，上帝还被瞎扯谈’呢！”
“上帝保佑，”唐吉诃德说，“你哪儿来的这堆胡话，桑乔！你讲这堆俏皮话跟咱们说的事情有什么关系？我的天哪！桑乔，你住嘴吧。从现在起，你管好你自己的事，与咱们无关的事你不要做。你听清楚，我过去、现在和将来做的事都自有它的道理，完全符合骑士规则。在这方面，我比世界上所有游侠骑士了解得还清楚。”
“大人，”桑乔说，“咱们在这既没有道也没有路的山上漫无目的地走，寻找一个疯子，也是骑士规则的规定吗？咱们就是找到了疯子，说不定他还要结束他没有完成的事情呢，那倒不是讲故事，而是把您的脑袋和我的肋骨全部打烂！”
“住嘴，我再跟你说一遍，桑乔。”唐吉诃德说，“我告诉你，我到这儿来不仅是要找到那个疯子，而且还要在这儿做番事业，以求在整个大地上留名千古，留芳百世。我要以此完成使游侠骑士一举成名的全部事情。”
“那番事业很危险吗？”桑乔问。
“不，”唐吉诃德一副猥獕的样子回答，“我们掷骰子时如果没有彩头，掷了坏点，倒有可能走运。不过，这全都看你机灵不机灵了。”
“看我机灵不机灵？”桑乔问。
“对，”唐吉诃德说，“如果你马上回到我派你去的那个地方，我的苦难马上就会结束，我的荣耀马上也就开始了。别这么傻等着听我说，这不合适。我想告诉你，桑乔，著名的高卢的阿马迪斯是世界上一位最优秀的游侠骑士。我说他是‘一位’不准确，他在那个时代是世界上仅有的、空前绝后的真正骑士。唐贝利亚尼斯和其他所有那些自称可以在某方面与他相提并论的人都纯粹是胡说八道，而且自欺欺人，我发誓是这样。我还要说，一个画家如果想在艺术上出名，就得尽力临摹他所知道的几位独到画家的原作。这个规律适用于所有可以为国争光的重要职业。谁要想得到谨言慎行、忍辱负重的名声，就应该和必须这样做，就得学习尤利西斯①。荷马通过介绍他的人和事，已经为我们勾画出了一个活生生的谨言慎行、忍辱负重的形象。维吉尔也通过埃涅阿斯②的形象描述了一个可怜孩子的坚毅和一位勇敢机智的领袖的精明。他们并没有按照这些人的本来面貌描述这些人，而是把这些人写成他们应该成为的那种样子，以供后人学习。
①尤利西斯是罗马神话中的称呼，在希腊神话中称为奥德修斯，以勇敢、机智和狡猾闻名。
②维吉尔著名史诗《埃涅阿斯纪》中的王子，曾与迦太基女王狄多有过爱情。
“阿马迪斯同时也是勇敢多情的骑士们的北斗星、启明星或太阳。我们所有集合在爱情和骑士大旗之下的人都应该学习他。既然如此，桑乔朋友，我作为游侠骑士，当然越是仿效他，就越接近于一个完美的骑士。有一件事特别表现了这位骑士的谨慎、刚毅、勇气、忍耐、坚定和爱情，那就是他受到奥里亚娜夫人冷淡后，到‘卑岩’去苦苦修行，把自己的名字改成贝尔特内夫罗斯。这个名字意味深长，很适合他自己选择的这种生活。对于我来说，在这方面仿效他，就比仿效劈杀巨人、斩断蛇头、杀戮怪物、打败军队、破除魔法要容易得多了。在这个地方做这些事情可是再也合适不过了。
天赐良机，我没有必要放弃这个机会。”
“可是，”桑乔说，“您到底要在偏僻的地方干什么？”
“我不是对你说过了嘛，”唐吉诃德说，“我要仿效阿马迪斯，在这里扮成一个绝望、愚蠢、疯狂的人。同时，我还要模仿英勇的罗尔丹。罗尔丹在泉边发现了美女安杰丽嘉和梅多罗干丑事的迹象，难过得气疯了。他拔出大树，搅浑了清泉，杀死牧人，毁坏畜群，焚烧茅草房，推倒房屋，拖走母马，还做了其他不计其数的狂暴之事，值得大书特书，载入史册。罗尔丹或奥兰多或罗托兰多，这三个名字都是他一个人，我并不想对他所做、所说、所想的全部疯狂之举逐一仿效，只想大体把我认为是最关键的东西模仿下来。其实，只要模仿阿马迪斯就足以让我满意了。他不进行疯狂的破坏，只是伤感地哭泣，也像其他做了很多破坏之事的人一样获得了名望。”
桑乔说：“我觉得这类骑士都是受了刺激，另有原因才去办傻事、苦修行的。可您为什么要变疯呢？哪位夫人鄙夷您了？您又发现了什么迹象，让您觉得托博索的杜尔西内亚夫人同摩尔人或基督教徒做了什么对不起您的事？”
“这就是关键所在，”唐吉诃德说，“也是我这么做的绝妙之处。一个游侠骑士确有缘故地变疯就没意思了，关键就在于要无缘无故地发疯。我的贵夫人要是知道我为疯而疯，会怎么样呢？况且，我离开托博索的杜尔西内亚夫人已经很长时间了，这就是充足的理由。就像你以前听到的那个牧羊人安布罗西奥，没有同情人在一起，他就疾病缠身，忧心忡忡。所以，桑乔朋友，你不必费时间劝阻我进行这次罕见的幸福的仿效了。我是疯子，一直疯到托你送封信给我的杜尔西内亚夫人，并且等你带来她的回信时为止。如果她对我依然忠诚，我的疯癫和修行就会结束。否则，我就真疯了。即使疯了，我也毫无怨言。你拿来回信时，我如果没疯，就会结束这场折磨，为你给我带来的佳音而高兴。我如果疯了，也不会为你带来的坏消息而痛苦。不过，你告诉我，桑乔，你还保留着曼布里诺的那个头盔吧？我看见你把它捡起来了。那个忘恩负义的家伙想把它摔碎，可是没能摔碎。从这件事可以看出你的细心。”
桑乔回答说：
“我的上帝哟！猥獕骑士大人，您说的一些东西我实在受不了。一提到这些，我就想起您说的所有关于骑士的事情，什么得到王国或帝国，什么按照游侠骑士的习惯给予岛屿或其它恩赐，全都是空话谎话，都是胡咒，或是咱们说的胡诌。如果有人听见您把理发师的铜盆说成是曼布里诺的头盔，而且很多天不认错，会怎么想呢？准得说讲这话的人脑子有毛病。铜盆就放在口袋里，全瘪了。要是上帝保佑，能让我见到老婆孩子，我就把它带回家去修理一下，刮胡子用。”
“你看，桑乔，”唐吉诃德说，“就像你以前发誓一样，我也发誓，无论过去还是现在，你都是世界上最没有头脑的侍从！怎么，你跟我在一起这么长时间，难道就没有发现，游侠骑士的所有事情都像是幻境、蠢事、抽疯，都是不顺当的吗？其实不是这样，只是有一帮魔法师在咱们周围，把咱们所有的东西都变了，然后再根据他们是帮助咱们还是给咱们捣乱的意图任意变回。所以，你认为是理发师铜盆的那个东西，在我看来就是曼布里诺的头盔。在别人眼里，它是别的东西。那是魔法师特别照顾我，让大家都认为那是铜盆，其实是地地道道的曼布里诺头盔。原因就在于：如果大家都知道那是非常珍贵的东西，一定会追着我想夺走它；可如果看到它只不过是个理发师的铜盆，就不会去抢它了。那个人想把它摔碎，又把它丢在地上，这就是明证。如果那个人认出它来，绝对不会放过它。你留着它吧，朋友，我现在还不需要它。而且我还得脱去这身甲胃，像出生时那样赤条条的，假如我想模仿罗尔丹，而不是学阿马迪斯的样子修行的话。”
说着话，他们来到一座高山脚下，那座山陡得简直像一块巨石的断面，四面环山，唯它孤峰独立。山坡上，一条小溪蜿蜒流淌，萦绕着一块绿色草地。草地上野树成林，又有花草点衬，十分幽静。猥獕骑士选择了这个地方修行。他一见此景就像真疯了似的高声喊道：
“天啊，我就选择这块地方为你给我带来的不幸哭泣。在这里，我的泪滴将涨满这小溪里的流水，我的不断的深沉叹息将时时摇曳这些野树的树叶，以显示我心灵饱受煎熬的痛苦。哦，在这杳无人烟的地方栖身的山神呀，你们听听这位不幸情人的哀叹吧。他与情人别离多时，猜忌使他来到这陡峻之地，为那背信弃义的绝世佳丽仰天唏嘘。噢，森林女神们，轻浮淫荡的森林男神对你们的徒劳追求，从来没能扰乱你们的和谐宁静，可现在，请你们为我的不幸而哀叹吧，至少烦劳你们听听我的不幸吧。噢，托博索的杜尔西内亚，你是我黑夜中的白昼，你是我苦难中的欢欣，你是我引路的北斗星，你是我命运的主宰。求老天保佑你称心如意。你看看吧，没有你，我就落到了这种地步，但愿你不要辜负我对你的一片忠诚。形影相吊的大树啊，请你从现在起陪伴着孤独的我吧。请你轻轻地摆动树枝，表示你不厌弃我在此地吧。噢，还有你，我可爱的侍从，休戚与共的伙伴，请你记住你在这里看到的一切，告诉她吧，这一切都是为了她！”
说完唐吉诃德翻身下马，给马摘下嚼子，卸下马鞍，在马的臀部拍了一巴掌，说：
“失去了自由的人现在给你自由，我的战绩卓著却又命运不济的马！你随意去吧，你的脑门上已经刻写着：无论是阿斯托尔福的伊波格里福，还是布拉达曼特付出巨大代价才得到的弗龙蒂诺，都不如你迅捷。”
桑乔见状说：
“多谢有人把咱们从为灰驴卸鞍的活计里解脱出来，也用不着再拍它几下，给它点吃的来表扬它了。不过，假如灰驴还在这儿，我不会允许任何人为它卸鞍，不为什么。它就像我这个主人一样，没有热恋和失望。上帝喜欢它。说实话，猥獕骑士大人，如果当真我要走，您真要疯，最好还是给罗西南多再备好鞍，让它代替我那头驴，这样我往返可以节省不少时间。如果我走着去，走着回，不知道什么时候才能到，什么时候才能回。反正一句话，我走得慢。”
“我说桑乔，”唐吉诃德说，“随便你，我觉得你的主意不错。不过，你过三天再走吧。我想让你看看我为她所做所说的，以便你告诉她。”
“还有什么好看的，”桑乔说，“我不是都看见了吗？”
“你说得倒好！”唐吉诃德说，“现在还差把衣服撕碎，把盔甲乱扔，把脑袋往石头上撞，以及其他一些事情，让你开开眼呢。”
“上帝保佑，”桑乔说，“您看，这样的石头怎么能用脑袋去撞呢？石头这么硬，只要撞一下，整个修行计划就算完了。依我看，您要是觉得有必要撞，在这儿修行不撞不行，那就假装撞几下，开开心，就行了。往水里，或者什么软东西，例如棉花上撞撞就行了。这事您就交给我吧。我去跟您的夫人说，您撞的是块比金刚石还硬的尖石头。”
“我感谢你的好意，桑乔朋友，”唐吉诃德说，“不过我想你该知道，我做的这些事情不是开玩笑，是真的，否则就违反了骑士规则。骑士规则让我们不要撒谎，撒谎就得受到严惩，而以一件事代替另一件事就等于撒谎。所以，我用头撞石头必须是真的，实实在在的，不折不扣的，不能耍一点滑头，装模作样。你倒是有必要给我留下点儿纱布包伤口，因为咱们倒了霉把圣水丢了。”
“最糟糕的就是丢了驴，”桑乔说，“旧纱布和所有东西也跟着丢了。我求您别再提那该诅咒的圣水了。我一听说它就浑身都难受，胃尤其不舒服。我还求求您，您原来让我等三天，看您抽疯。现在您就当三天已经过去了，那些事情我都看到了，该做的也都做了。我会在夫人面前夸奖您的。您赶紧写好信给我吧，我想早点儿回来，让您从这个受罪的地方解脱出来。”
“你说是受罪地方，桑乔？”唐吉诃德说，“你还不如说这儿是地狱呢。若是有不如地狱的地方，你还会说这儿不如地狱呢。”
“我听说，‘进了地狱，赎罪晚矣’。”桑乔说。
“我不明白什么是赎罪。”唐吉诃德说。
“赎罪就是说，进了地狱的人永远不出来了，也出不来了。您的情况就不一样了。我腿脚不好，如果骑着罗西南多快马加鞭，很快就会赶到托博索的杜尔西内亚夫人那儿，把您在这儿已经做和正在做的疯事傻事糊涂事，反正都是一回事，告诉她。她就是硬得像棵树，我也得叫她心肠软下来。拿到温情甜蜜的回信，我马上就回来，让您从这个像是地狱又不是地狱的受苦地方解脱出来。现在您还有希望出来。我说过，地狱里的人是没希望出来了。我觉得您对此也不会不同意吧。”
“那倒是，”唐吉诃德说，“可现在咱们拿什么写信呢？”
“还要写取驴的条子。”桑乔补充道。
“都得写。”唐吉诃德说，“既然没有纸，咱们完全可以像古人一样，写在树叶或蜡板上。然而，这些东西现在也像纸一样难找。不过我倒想起来，最好，而且是再好不过的，就是写在卡德尼奥的笔记本上。你记着无论到什么地方，只要一碰到学校的老师，就请他帮忙抄到纸上。如果碰不到教师，随便哪一位教堂司事都可以帮忙。不过，不要让书记员抄，他们总连写，连鬼都认不出来。”
“那签名怎么办呢？”桑乔问。
“阿马迪斯的信从来不签名。”唐吉诃德说。
“好吧，”桑乔说，“不过，取驴的条子一定得签。如果那是抄写的，别人就会说签名是假的，我就得不到驴了。”
“条子也写在笔记本上，我签名。我的外甥女看到它，肯定会照办，不会为难你。至于情书，你就替我签上‘至死忠贞的猥獕骑士’吧。这个让别人写没关系，因为我记得，杜尔西内亚不会写字，也不识字，而且她从来没见过我的字体，也没见过我的信。我们的爱情一直是柏拉图式的，最多只是规规矩矩地看一眼。即使这样，我敢发誓，实际上，十二年来，尽管我对她望眼欲穿，见她也只不过四次，而且很可能就是这四次，她也没有一次发现我在看她。是她父亲洛伦索•科丘埃洛和母亲阿尔东萨•诺加莱斯把她教育得这么安分拘谨。”
“啊哈，”桑乔说，“原来托博索的杜尔西内亚夫人就是洛伦索•科丘埃洛的女儿呀。她是不是还叫阿尔东萨•洛伦索？”
“就是她。”唐吉诃德说，“她可以说是世界第一夫人。”
“我很了解她，”桑乔说，“听说她掷铁棒①抵得上全村最棒的小伙子。我的天哪，她真是个地地道道的壮妇！哪个游侠骑士要是娶了她，即使掉进淤泥里，也能让她薅着胡子揪出来！我的妈呀，她的嗓门可真大！听说有一次，她在村里的钟楼上喊几个正在她父亲的地里干活的雇工。虽然干活的地方离钟楼有半西里远，可雇工们就好像在钟楼脚下听她喊似的。她最大的优点就是丝毫不矫揉造作，很随和，到哪儿都开玩笑，做鬼脸，说俏皮话。现在我得说，猥獕骑士大人，您为了她不仅可以而且应该发疯，甚至光明正大地绝望上吊！凡是听说您上吊的人都会说，即使被魔鬼带走，您自缢也是太对了。我现在得专程去看看她。已经很长时间没看见她了，大概她也变样了。在地里干活，风吹日晒，女人的脸是很容易变老的。
①西班牙的一种运动和游戏。
“我承认，唐吉诃德大人，我原来对此一直一无所知，真的以为您热恋的杜尔西内亚夫人是位公主或什么贵人呢，所以您才给她送去像比斯开人、苦役犯那样的贵重礼物。在我还没给您当侍从的时候，您大概还打过许多胜仗，估计也送了不少礼物吧。不过我想，您派去或者您将派去的那些战败者跪倒在阿尔东萨•洛伦索，我是说杜尔西内亚夫人面前的时候，情况会怎么样呢？因为很可能在那些人赶到那儿时，她正在梳麻或者在打谷场上脱粒，那些人会茫然失措，她也一定会觉得这种礼物又可气又好笑。”
“我对你说过不知多少次了，桑乔，”唐吉诃德说，“你的话真多。尽管你头脑发木，却常常自作聪明。我给你讲个小故事，你就知道你有多死心眼，我有多聪明了。有个年轻漂亮的寡妇，人开化，又有钱，还特别放荡。她爱上了一个又高又壮的杂役僧。杂役僧的上司知道后，有一天善意地规劝这位善良的寡妇，说：‘夫人，我感到非常意外，而且也有理由感到意外，就是像您这样高贵、漂亮而又富有的夫人，怎么会爱上这么一个蠢笨、低下而又无知的人呢？这儿有那么多讲经师、神学教师和神学家，您完全可以尽情挑选，说‘喜欢这个，不要那个’。可是寡妇却很风趣而又厚颜无耻地回答：‘您错了，我的大人。如果您以为他很笨，我选择他选择错了，您就太守旧了。至于我为什么喜欢他，他比谁都清楚。’我也一样，桑乔，我爱杜尔西内亚如同爱世界上最高贵的公主。并不是所有按照自己的意志给夫人冠以名字，并加以称颂的诗人都确有夫人。你想想，书籍、歌谣、理发店、剧院里充斥的什么阿玛里莉、菲丽、西尔维娅、迪亚娜、加拉特娅、菲丽达和其它名字，都确有其人，都是那些歌颂者的夫人吗？并不是真有，只是把她们当作讴歌的对象，让人们以为自己恋爱了，而且他们有资格热恋。所以，我只要当真认为善良的阿尔东萨•洛伦索是位漂亮尊贵的夫人就行了。她的门第无关紧要，不用去了解她的家世，给她什么身份。我在心目中把她想象成世界上最高贵的公主。
“如果你还不明白的话，你应该知道，桑乔，热恋中最动人的两样东西就是美貌和美名。杜尔西内亚这两样东西俱佳。论美貌，无人能与之相比；论美名，多数人远不能及。总之，我觉得我说得恰如其分，并且是按照我的意愿对她的相貌和品德进行想象。海伦①逊她一筹，卢克雷蒂娅②为之失色，无论是古代、希腊时代、野蛮时代还是拉丁时代，没有一个著名女人能够超过她。随便别人怎样说，无知的人会由此而非议我，严肃的人却不会因此而指责我。”
①海伦是希腊神话中的美人。
②卢克雷蒂娅传说中的古罗马烈女，被罗马暴君之子塞克斯图斯奸污后，要求父亲和丈夫为她复仇，随即自杀。
“您说得有道理，”桑乔说，“我笨得简直像头驴。我怎么又提起驴来了？真是哪壶不开提哪壶。您把信拿来，我该走了。”
唐吉诃德拿出笔记本，退到一旁，十分平静地写起信来。写完后，唐吉诃德就叫桑乔，说想把信念给他听，让他背下来，以防路上万一丢了信，要知道命途多舛，万事堪忧呢。桑乔回答道：
“您在笔记本上写两三遍再给我，我会仔细保管的。想让我背下来，简直是异想天开。我的记性太差了，常常连我自己叫什么都忘了。不过尽管如此，您还是给我念念吧，我很愿意听。信大概写得很好。”
唐吉诃德说：“你听着，信是这样写的：
唐吉诃德致托博索的杜尔西内亚的信
尊贵的夫人：
最亲爱的托博索的杜尔西内亚，诚致问候。离别的刺痛，心灵的隐伤，已使我心力交瘁。如果你凭美貌对我睥睨，居高傲对我厌弃，以轻蔑对我热忱，对我打击厉害而又长久，纵使我饱经磨难，亦难以承受。噢，美丽的负心人，我爱慕的仇人，我的忠实侍从桑乔会向你如实讲述。我为你而生存。你若愿意拯救我，我属于你。否则，你尽情享乐吧。对于你的冷酷和我的追求，唯有以死相报。
至死忠贞的
猥獕骑士
“我的天啊，”桑乔说，“我还从未听过如此高雅的东西呢。看您把您想的东西都写出来了。再签上‘猥獕骑士’，多棒呀！说实话，您简直就是神，真是无所不能。”
“我的职业需要无所不能。”唐吉诃德说。
“那么，”桑乔说，“您就把取驴的条子写在背面吧。您把名字签得清楚些，要让人一目了然。”
“好啊。”唐吉诃德说。
写完后，唐吉诃德把条子念给桑乔听。条子上这样写着：
外甥女小姐：
凭此单据，请将我托付你的家里五头驴中的三头交给我的侍从桑乔•潘萨。兹签发此据，以此三头驴支付在此刚收到的另外三头驴。凭此单据及侍从的收条完成交割。立据于莫雷纳山深处。本年八月二日二十时立据。
“好了，”桑乔说，“你就在这儿签字吧。”
“不用签字了，”唐吉诃德说，“有花押就够了，跟签字的作用一样。凭这个花押，别说三头驴，就是三百头驴也能取走。”
“我相信您。”桑乔说，“现在让我去给罗西南多备鞍吧。您为我祝福吧。然后我就走了，不打算再看您要做的那些蠢事了。我会把我所看到的一切都告诉她，一点儿都不会漏下。”
“至少我想让你看看我光着身子完成一两个疯狂之举，桑乔，这很有必要。我半个小时之内就会做完。你如果自己亲眼看见，以后就可以信誓旦旦地随意添油加醋了。我想做
Part 1 Chapter 26
Returning to the proceedings of him of the Rueful Countenance when he found himself alone, the history says that when Don Quixote had completed the performance of the somersaults or capers, naked from the waist down and clothed from the waist up, and saw that Sancho had gone off without waiting to see any more crazy feats, he climbed up to the top of a high rock, and there set himself to consider what he had several times before considered without ever coming to any conclusion on the point, namely whether it would be better and more to his purpose to imitate the outrageous madness of Roland, or the melancholy madness of Amadis; and communing with himself he said:
“What wonder is it if Roland was so good a knight and so valiant as everyone says he was, when, after all, he was enchanted, and nobody could kill him save by thrusting a corking pin into the sole of his foot, and he always wore shoes with seven iron soles? Though cunning devices did not avail him against Bernardo del Carpio, who knew all about them, and strangled him in his arms at Roncesvalles. But putting the question of his valour aside, let us come to his losing his wits, for certain it is that he did lose them in consequence of the proofs he discovered at the fountain, and the intelligence the shepherd gave him of Angelica having slept more than two siestas with Medoro, a little curly-headed Moor, and page to Agramante. If he was persuaded that this was true, and that his lady had wronged him, it is no wonder that he should have gone mad; but I, how am I to imitate him in his madness, unless I can imitate him in the cause of it? For my Dulcinea, I will venture to swear, never saw a Moor in her life, as he is, in his proper costume, and she is this day as the mother that bore her, and I should plainly be doing her a wrong if, fancying anything else, I were to go mad with the same kind of madness as Roland the Furious. On the other hand, I see that Amadis of Gaul, without losing his senses and without doing anything mad, acquired as a lover as much fame as the most famous; for, according to his history, on finding himself rejected by his lady Oriana, who had ordered him not to appear in her presence until it should be her pleasure, all he did was to retire to the Pena Pobre in company with a hermit, and there he took his fill of weeping until Heaven sent him relief in the midst of his great grief and need. And if this be true, as it is, why should I now take the trouble to strip stark naked, or do mischief to these trees which have done me no harm, or why am I to disturb the clear waters of these brooks which will give me to drink whenever I have a mind? Long live the memory of Amadis and let him be imitated so far as is possible by Don Quixote of La Mancha, of whom it will be said, as was said of the other, that if he did not achieve great things, he died in attempting them; and if I am not repulsed or rejected by my Dulcinea, it is enough for me, as I have said, to be absent from her. And so, now to business; come to my memory ye deeds of Amadis, and show me how I am to begin to imitate you. I know already that what he chiefly did was to pray and commend himself to God; but what am I to do for a rosary, for I have not got one?”
And then it occurred to him how he might make one, and that was by tearing a great strip off the tail of his shirt which hung down, and making eleven knots on it, one bigger than the rest, and this served him for a rosary all the time he was there, during which he repeated countless ave-marias. But what distressed him greatly was not having another hermit there to confess him and receive consolation from; and so he solaced himself with pacing up and down the little meadow, and writing and carving on the bark of the trees and on the fine sand a multitude of verses all in harmony with his sadness, and some in praise of Dulcinea; but, when he was found there afterwards, the only ones completely legible that could be discovered were those that follow here:
Ye on the mountain side that grow,
Ye green things all, trees, shrubs, and bushes,
Are ye aweary of the woe
That this poor aching bosom crushes?
If it disturb you, and I owe
Some reparation, it may be a
Defence for me to let you know
Don Quixote’s tears are on the flow,
And all for distant Dulcinea
Del Toboso.
The lealest lover time can show,
Doomed for a lady-love to languish,
Among these solitudes doth go,
A prey to every kind of anguish.
Why Love should like a spiteful foe
Thus use him, he hath no idea,
But hogsheads full — this doth he know —
Don Quixote’s tears are on the flow,
And all for distant Dulcinea
Del Toboso.
Adventure-seeking doth he go
Up rugged heights, down rocky valleys,
But hill or dale, or high or low,
Mishap attendeth all his sallies:
Love still pursues him to and fro,
And plies his cruel scourge — ah me! a
Relentless fate, an endless woe;
Don Quixote’s tears are on the flow,
And all for distant Dulcinea
Del Toboso.
The addition of “Del Toboso” to Dulcinea’s name gave rise to no little laughter among those who found the above lines, for they suspected Don Quixote must have fancied that unless he added “del Toboso” when he introduced the name of Dulcinea the verse would be unintelligible; which was indeed the fact, as he himself afterwards admitted. He wrote many more, but, as has been said, these three verses were all that could be plainly and perfectly deciphered. In this way, and in sighing and calling on the fauns and satyrs of the woods and the nymphs of the streams, and Echo, moist and mournful, to answer, console, and hear him, as well as in looking for herbs to sustain him, he passed his time until Sancho’s return; and had that been delayed three weeks, as it was three days, the Knight of the Rueful Countenance would have worn such an altered countenance that the mother that bore him would not have known him: and here it will be well to leave him, wrapped up in sighs and verses, to relate how Sancho Panza fared on his mission.
As for him, coming out upon the high road, he made for El Toboso, and the next day reached the inn where the mishap of the blanket had befallen him. As soon as he recognised it he felt as if he were once more living through the air, and he could not bring himself to enter it though it was an hour when he might well have done so, for it was dinner-time, and he longed to taste something hot as it had been all cold fare with him for many days past. This craving drove him to draw near to the inn, still undecided whether to go in or not, and as he was hesitating there came out two persons who at once recognised him, and said one to the other:
“Senor licentiate, is not he on the horse there Sancho Panza who, our adventurer’s housekeeper told us, went off with her master as esquire?”
“So it is,” said the licentiate, “and that is our friend Don Quixote’s horse;” and if they knew him so well it was because they were the curate and the barber of his own village, the same who had carried out the scrutiny and sentence upon the books; and as soon as they recognised Sancho Panza and Rocinante, being anxious to hear of Don Quixote, they approached, and calling him by his name the curate said, “Friend Sancho Panza, where is your master?”
Sancho recognised them at once, and determined to keep secret the place and circumstances where and under which he had left his master, so he replied that his master was engaged in a certain quarter on a certain matter of great importance to him which he could not disclose for the eyes in his head.
“Nay, nay,” said the barber, “if you don’t tell us where he is, Sancho Panza, we will suspect as we suspect already, that you have murdered and robbed him, for here you are mounted on his horse; in fact, you must produce the master of the hack, or else take the consequences.”
“There is no need of threats with me,” said Sancho, “for I am not a man to rob or murder anybody; let his own fate, or God who made him, kill each one; my master is engaged very much to his taste doing penance in the midst of these mountains; and then, offhand and without stopping, he told them how he had left him, what adventures had befallen him, and how he was carrying a letter to the lady Dulcinea del Toboso, the daughter of Lorenzo Corchuelo, with whom he was over head and ears in love. They were both amazed at what Sancho Panza told them; for though they were aware of Don Quixote’s madness and the nature of it, each time they heard of it they were filled with fresh wonder. They then asked Sancho Panza to show them the letter he was carrying to the lady Dulcinea del Toboso. He said it was written in a note-book, and that his master’s directions were that he should have it copied on paper at the first village he came to. On this the curate said if he showed it to him, he himself would make a fair copy of it. Sancho put his hand into his bosom in search of the note-book but could not find it, nor, if he had been searching until now, could he have found it, for Don Quixote had kept it, and had never given it to him, nor had he himself thought of asking for it. When Sancho discovered he could not find the book his face grew deadly pale, and in great haste he again felt his body all over, and seeing plainly it was not to be found, without more ado he seized his beard with both hands and plucked away half of it, and then, as quick as he could and without stopping, gave himself half a dozen cuffs on the face and nose till they were bathed in blood.
Seeing this, the curate and the barber asked him what had happened him that he gave himself such rough treatment.
“What should happen me?” replied Sancho, “but to have lost from one hand to the other, in a moment, three ass-colts, each of them like a castle?”
“How is that?” said the barber.
“I have lost the note-book,” said Sancho, “that contained the letter to Dulcinea, and an order signed by my master in which he directed his niece to give me three ass-colts out of four or five he had at home;” and he then told them about the loss of Dapple.
The curate consoled him, telling him that when his master was found he would get him to renew the order, and make a fresh draft on paper, as was usual and customary; for those made in notebooks were never accepted or honoured.
Sancho comforted himself with this, and said if that were so the loss of Dulcinea’s letter did not trouble him much, for he had it almost by heart, and it could be taken down from him wherever and whenever they liked.
“Repeat it then, Sancho,” said the barber, “and we will write it down afterwards.”
Sancho Panza stopped to scratch his head to bring back the letter to his memory, and balanced himself now on one foot, now the other, one moment staring at the ground, the next at the sky, and after having half gnawed off the end of a finger and kept them in suspense waiting for him to begin, he said, after a long pause, “By God, senor licentiate, devil a thing can I recollect of the letter; but it said at the beginning, ‘Exalted and scrubbing Lady.’”
“It cannot have said ‘scrubbing,’” said the barber, “but ‘superhuman’ or ‘sovereign.’”
“That is it,” said Sancho; “then, as well as I remember, it went on, ‘The wounded, and wanting of sleep, and the pierced, kisses your worship’s hands, ungrateful and very unrecognised fair one; and it said something or other about health and sickness that he was sending her; and from that it went tailing off until it ended with ‘Yours till death, the Knight of the Rueful Countenance.”
It gave them no little amusement, both of them, to see what a good memory Sancho had, and they complimented him greatly upon it, and begged him to repeat the letter a couple of times more, so that they too might get it by heart to write it out by-and-by. Sancho repeated it three times, and as he did, uttered three thousand more absurdities; then he told them more about his master but he never said a word about the blanketing that had befallen himself in that inn, into which he refused to enter. He told them, moreover, how his lord, if he brought him a favourable answer from the lady Dulcinea del Toboso, was to put himself in the way of endeavouring to become an emperor, or at least a monarch; for it had been so settled between them, and with his personal worth and the might of his arm it was an easy matter to come to be one: and how on becoming one his lord was to make a marriage for him (for he would be a widower by that time, as a matter of course) and was to give him as a wife one of the damsels of the empress, the heiress of some rich and grand state on the mainland, having nothing to do with islands of any sort, for he did not care for them now. All this Sancho delivered with so much composure — wiping his nose from time to time — and with so little common-sense that his two hearers were again filled with wonder at the force of Don Quixote’s madness that could run away with this poor man’s reason. They did not care to take the trouble of disabusing him of his error, as they considered that since it did not in any way hurt his conscience it would be better to leave him in it, and they would have all the more amusement in listening to his simplicities; and so they bade him pray to God for his lord’s health, as it was a very likely and a very feasible thing for him in course of time to come to be an emperor, as he said, or at least an archbishop or some other dignitary of equal rank.
To which Sancho made answer, “If fortune, sirs, should bring things about in such a way that my master should have a mind, instead of being an emperor, to be an archbishop, I should like to know what archbishops-errant commonly give their squires?”
“They commonly give them,” said the curate, some simple benefice or cure, or some place as sacristan which brings them a good fixed income, not counting the altar fees, which may be reckoned at as much more.”
“But for that,” said Sancho, “the squire must be unmarried, and must know, at any rate, how to help at mass, and if that be so, woe is me, for I am married already and I don’t know the first letter of the A B C. What will become of me if my master takes a fancy to be an archbishop and not an emperor, as is usual and customary with knights-errant?”
“Be not uneasy, friend Sancho,” said the barber, “for we will entreat your master, and advise him, even urging it upon him as a case of conscience, to become an emperor and not an archbishop, because it will be easier for him as he is more valiant than lettered.”
“So I have thought,” said Sancho; “though I can tell you he is fit for anything: what I mean to do for my part is to pray to our Lord to place him where it may be best for him, and where he may be able to bestow most favours upon me.”
“You speak like a man of sense,” said the curate, “and you will be acting like a good Christian; but what must now be done is to take steps to coax your master out of that useless penance you say he is performing; and we had best turn into this inn to consider what plan to adopt, and also to dine, for it is now time.”
Sancho said they might go in, but that he would wait there outside, and that he would tell them afterwards the reason why he was unwilling, and why it did not suit him to enter it; but be begged them to bring him out something to eat, and to let it be hot, and also to bring barley for Rocinante. They left him and went in, and presently the barber brought him out something to eat. By-and-by, after they had between them carefully thought over what they should do to carry out their object, the curate hit upon an idea very well adapted to humour Don Quixote, and effect their purpose; and his notion, which he explained to the barber, was that he himself should assume the disguise of a wandering damsel, while the other should try as best he could to pass for a squire, and that they should thus proceed to where Don Quixote was, and he, pretending to be an aggrieved and distressed damsel, should ask a favour of him, which as a valiant knight-errant he could not refuse to grant; and the favour he meant to ask him was that he should accompany her whither she would conduct him, in order to redress a wrong which a wicked knight had done her, while at the same time she should entreat him not to require her to remove her mask, nor ask her any question touching her circumstances until he had righted her with the wicked knight. And he had no doubt that Don Quixote would comply with any request made in these terms, and that in this way they might remove him and take him to his own village, where they would endeavour to find out if his extraordinary madness admitted of any kind of remedy.
 
再说那位上身穿衣下身光、翻了几个筋斗后倒立的猥獕骑士，见桑乔不愿再看他抽疯，已经离去，只好独自爬到一块高岩石顶上，继续思考一个他百思而不得要领的问题，那就是应该学习罗尔丹暴戾的癫狂呢，还是仿效阿马迪斯的凄恻痴迷？哪个对他最好最合适呢？他自言自语道：
“即使罗尔丹像传说的那样，是位英勇善战的骑士，也没什么了不起。他已经掌握了魔法，谁也杀不死他，除非从他脚尖插进一根大针，而他又总是穿着七层铁底鞋。尽管他对付罗纳尔多•德尔卡皮奥的计策被对方识破，没有起到作用，但最后他还是在龙塞斯瓦列斯山把罗纳尔多•德尔卡皮奥扼死了。
“且不说罗尔丹的勇敢，先说他的精神不正常吧。他的确精神不正常。他在泉水边发现了一些迹象，并且听一个牧羊人说，安杰丽嘉同那个摩尔小子，即阿格拉曼王的侍童梅多罗，至少睡了两次午觉。他认为这是真的，他的夫人做了对不起他的事，他当然马上就疯了。可是我并没遇上这样的事，怎么能去学着他的样子发疯呢？我敢发誓，托博索的杜尔西内亚这辈子从未见过一个穿着摩尔人衣服的摩尔人。她至今仍守身如玉。如果我对她有什么怀疑，自己变成狂暴的罗尔丹那样的疯子，那显然是对她的侮辱。此外，我还看到高卢的阿马迪斯精神正常，并没有变疯，同样获得了多情的美名。按照故事上说的，他的意中人奥里亚娜鄙视他，让他未经许可不要在她面前露面，于是阿马迪斯隐退到‘卑岩’，与一位隐士为伍。他在那儿哭天号地，求上帝保佑。后来老天有眼，在他最痛苦的时候帮助了他。事实如此，我为什么要费力劳神地赤身裸体？为什么要去伤害大树呢？它们又没有做任何对不起我的事。为什么要搅浑这清清的泉水呢？我渴的时候还得喝呢。
“没齿不忘的阿马迪斯啊，值得曼查的唐吉诃德竭力学习。过去有句话，现在可以用于此，那就是事业未竟人欲动。我并没有受到托博索的杜尔西内亚的睥睨，我说过，只是与她天各一方。来吧，干起来吧。想想阿马迪斯做过的事情，我该从何学起呢？不过，我知道他做得最多的就是念经，祈求上帝保佑。可是我没有念珠，该怎么办呢？”
这时候，唐吉诃德想起来该怎么办了。他从衬衣的下摆扯下一大条，系成十一个扣，其中一个特别大，他就拿这个扣当念珠，念了无数次“万福玛利亚”。他又苦于找不到一个隐士，以便向他忏悔，并且从那儿得到安抚。于是他就在这块草地上遛来遛去，在树皮和细沙上写写画画，尽是描述他伤感的诗句，有些还赞颂了杜尔西内亚。可是后来能够完整保存下来，并且能够看得清的只有下面这几句：
高树参天青草绿，
灌木丛生遍山地，
倘若你们不笑我，
请听我圣洁的怨泣。
我的痛苦纵有天大，
但愿不会扰你心，
为我分忧也悲凄，
远离托博索的杜尔西内亚呀，
唐吉诃德在此哭泣。
最忠实不二的情人
隐匿在此受淬砺，
竟不知何为缘起。
沉湎于悲哀的爱情，
泪水横流，
远离托博索的杜尔西内亚呀，
唐吉诃德在此哭泣。
四方征险，
奔走于高崖绝壁，
诅咒她心肠如岩石，
壁立千尺路崎岖，
叫我忍受不幸倍感悲戚。
爱情并非如柔带，
却似皮鞭向我抽击，
远离托博索的杜尔西内亚呀，
唐吉诃德在此哭泣。
看到诗中杜尔西内亚的名字前面还加上了“托博索”，人们不禁哑然失笑。他们猜测，唐吉诃德以为提到杜尔西内亚的时候若不加上“托博索”，人们就看不懂他的诗。唐吉诃德承认确实如此。他还写了很多诗，刚才说过，除了这三首外，其他的都字迹不清或残缺不全了。唐吉诃德在此写诗，在此叹息，在此呼唤农牧女神和森林女神，呼唤河流里的女神，呼唤以泪洗面的回声女神，请求她们回答他，安慰他，倾听他的诉说，以此消磨时间。在桑乔赶回来之前，他一直以草充饥。如果桑乔不是三天，而是三个星期才回来，唐吉诃德肯定会饿得判若两人，连他的生母都认不出他了。
咱们暂且把他这些唉声叹气的诗放在一边，说说正肩负使命的桑乔吧。他走上大道以后，就循着托博索的方向赶路。第二天，他来到了他曾经不幸被扔的那个客店。一看到客店，桑乔就觉得自己仿佛又在空中飞腾，不想进去了。其实这个时候他能够也应该进去，要知道现在正是开饭的时候，而且桑乔也想吃点热东西。这几天他全是吃冷食。在这个愿望驱使下，他走近客店，可是对是否进去仍然犹豫不决。这时从客店里走出两个人，认出了他，其中一个对另外一个说：
“你看，教士大人，那个骑马的人是不是桑乔•潘萨？咱们那位冒险家的女管家说，他跟主人出去当侍从了。”
“是的，”教士说，“那匹马就是咱们那位唐吉诃德的马。”
原来这两个人就是桑乔家乡那次查书焚书的神甫和理发师，因此他们一眼就认出了桑乔。认出桑乔和罗西南多后，他们又急于知道唐吉诃德的下落，于是走了过去。神甫叫着桑乔的名字说：
“桑乔•潘萨朋友，你的主人在哪儿？”
桑乔也认出了他们。桑乔决定不向他们泄露唐吉诃德所在的地方和所做的事情，就说他的主人正在某个地方做一件对主人来说十分重要的事情。他发誓，就是挖掉脸上的眼睛也不能把实情说出来。
“不，不，”理发师说，“桑乔•潘萨，你如果不告诉我们你的主人在哪儿，我们就会想象，其实我们已经想象到了，你把他杀了，或者偷了他的东西，否则你为什么骑着他的马？现在你必须交出马的主人，要不就没完！”
“你不用吓唬我，我既不杀人，也不偷人东西。谁都是生死有命，或者说听天由命。我的主人正在这山里专心致志地修行呢。”
然后，桑乔一口气讲了主人现在的状况和所遇到的各种事情，以及捎给托博索的杜尔西内亚的一封信。他还说杜尔西内亚就是科丘埃洛的女儿，唐吉诃德爱她一往情深。神甫和理发师听了桑乔的话十分惊愕。虽然他们听说过唐吉诃德抽疯的事，而且知道他抽的是什么疯，但每次听说他又抽疯时，还是不免感到意外。他们让桑乔把唐吉诃德写给托博索的杜尔西内亚的信拿给他们看看。桑乔说信写在一个笔记本上，主人吩咐有机会就把它抄到纸上去。神甫让把信拿给他，他可以很工整地誊写一遍。桑乔把手伸进怀里去找笔记本，可是没找到。即使他一直找到现在恐怕也不会找到。原来唐吉诃德还拿着那个本子呢，没给桑乔，桑乔也忘了向他要了。
桑乔没有找到笔记本，脸色骤然大变。他赶紧翻遍了全身，还是没找到。于是他两手去抓自己的胡子，把胡子揪掉了一半，然后又向自己的面颊和鼻子一连打了五六拳，打得自己满脸是血。神甫和理发师见状问桑乔到底是怎么回事，为什么要这个样子。
“怎么回事？”桑乔说，“转眼之间我就丢了三头驴。每头驴都价值连城。”
“这是什么意思？”理发师问。
“笔记本丢了，”桑乔说，“那上面有给杜尔西内亚的信和我主人签字的凭据。主人让他的外甥女从他们家那四五头驴里给我三头。”
于是桑乔又说了丢驴的事。神甫安慰他，说只要找到他主人，神甫就让唐吉诃德重新立个字据，并且按照惯例写在一张纸上，因为笔记本上的东西不能承认，不管用。桑乔这才放下心来，说既然这样，丢了给杜尔西内亚的信也不要紧，因为他差不多可以把信背下来了，随时随地都可以让人记录到纸上。
“你说吧，桑乔，”理发师说，“待会儿我们把它写到纸上去。”
桑乔搔着头皮，开始回忆信的内容。他一会儿右脚着地，一会儿左脚着地，低头看看地，又抬头望望天，最后叼上了手指头。神甫和理发师一直等着他。过了好一会儿他才说：
“上帝保佑，神甫大人，魔鬼把我记住的信的内容都带走了。不过，开头是这样写的：‘尊鬼的夫人’。”
“不会是‘尊鬼’，”理发师说，“只能是尊敬或尊贵的夫人。”
“是这样。”桑乔说，“然后是，如果我没记错的话：‘心受创伤、睡不着觉的人吻您的手，忘恩负义的美人。’关于他的健康和疾病，我忘了是怎么说的。反正就这样一直写下去，到最后是‘至死忠贞的猥獕骑士’。”
神甫和理发师对桑乔的好记性比较满意，对他赞扬了一番，又让他把信再背两遍，好让他们也背下来，找时间写到纸上去。桑乔又说了三遍，还乱七八糟地胡诌一气。最后他又讲了主人的情况，可是没说自己在客店被人用被单扔的事情，而那个客店他现在也不想进去了。
桑乔还说，只要他能带回托博索的杜尔西内亚的好消息，唐吉诃德就会着手争取做国王，至少得做个君主，这是两人商量好的。就凭唐吉诃德的才智和他的臂膀的力量，这很容易做到。到了那个时候，就要为他桑乔完婚。到那时候他得是鳏夫，这才有可能把王后的一个侍女嫁给他。侍女是大户人家的后代，有大片的土地。那时候他就不要什么岛屿了，他已经不稀罕了。桑乔说这番话的时候十分自然，还不时地擦擦鼻子。看到他的精神也快不正常了，神甫和理发师又感到惊奇不已。连唐吉诃德带的这个可怜人都成了这样，唐吉诃德疯到什么程度就可想而知了。
不过，神甫和理发师不想费力让他明白过来。他们觉得桑乔这么想也不会碍什么事，索性就由他去。他们还想听听桑乔做的蠢事，就让桑乔祈求上帝保佑他主人的健康，而且很可能随着时间的推移，他的主人就像他说的那样当上国王，至少当个红衣主教或其他相当的高官呢。桑乔说：
“大人们，如果命运让我的主人不做国王，而是做红衣主教，我现在想知道，巡回的红衣主教通常常给侍从什么东西。”
“通常是教士或神甫的职务，”神甫说，“或者是某个圣器室，收入不少，另外还有礼仪酬金，数目跟收入差不多。”
“那么这个侍从就不能是已婚的，”桑乔说，“至少得帮着做弥撒吧。如果是这样，我就完了。我已经结婚了，而且连字母都不认识几个。万一我的主人心血来潮不愿意做皇帝，却要做红衣主教，就像游侠骑士常常做的那样，我该怎么办呢？”
“别着急，桑乔朋友，”理发师说，“我们会去请求你的主人，劝他，甚至以良心打动他，让他做国王，而不做红衣主教。他的勇多于谋，所以做国王更合适。”
“我也这样认为，”桑乔说，“虽然我知道，他做什么都能胜任。我只是想祈求上帝，把他安排在最适合他的地方，也把我安排在最有利可图的地方。”
“你讲得很有道理，”神甫说，“你会成为一个很好的基督徒。不过现在应该做的，就是让你的主人从他正在做的无谓的苦修中解脱出来。现在已是吃饭的时候，咱们还是先进客店去，一边吃饭一边想办法吧。”
桑乔让他们两人先进去，自己在外面等着，以后再告诉他们为什么自己不进去，以及最好不进去的原因，可是，请他们给他带出点热食来，再给罗西南多弄些大麦。神甫和理发师进了客店，理发师很快就给他拿出来了一点吃的。然后，神甫和理发师又仔细考虑如何实现他们的计划。神甫想起一个既适合唐吉诃德的口味，又能实现他们意图的做法。神甫对理发师说，他的想法就是自己扮成一个流浪少女，理发师则尽力装成侍从，然后去找唐吉诃德。假扮的贫穷弱女去向唐吉诃德求助。唐吉诃德是位勇敢的游侠骑士，肯定会帮助她。这种帮助就是请他随少女去某个地方，向一个对她作恶的卑鄙骑士报仇。同时，她还请求唐吉诃德，在向那个卑鄙骑士伸张正义之前，不要让她摘掉面罩，也不要让她做什么事情。唐吉诃德肯定会一口答应。这样，就可以把他从那儿弄出来，带回家去，设法医治他的疯病。
Part 1 Chapter 27
The curate’s plan did not seem a bad one to the barber, but on the contrary so good that they immediately set about putting it in execution. They begged a petticoat and hood of the landlady, leaving her in pledge a new cassock of the curate’s ; and the barber made a beard out of a grey-brown or red ox-tail in which the landlord used to stick his comb. The landlady asked them what they wanted these things for, and the curate told her in a few words about the madness of Don Quixote, and how this disguise was intended to get him away from the mountain where he then was. The landlord and landlady immediately came to the conclusion that the madman was their guest, the balsam man and master of the blanketed squire, and they told the curate all that had passed between him and them, not omitting what Sancho had been so silent about. Finally the landlady dressed up the curate in a style that left nothing to be desired; she put on him a cloth petticoat with black velvet stripes a palm broad, all slashed, and a bodice of green velvet set off by a binding of white satin, which as well as the petticoat must have been made in the time of king Wamba. The curate would not let them hood him, but put on his head a little quilted linen cap which he used for a night-cap, and bound his forehead with a strip of black silk, while with another he made a mask with which he concealed his beard and face very well. He then put on his hat, which was broad enough to serve him for an umbrella, and enveloping himself in his cloak seated himself woman-fashion on his mule, while the barber mounted his with a beard down to the waist of mingled red and white, for it was, as has been said, the tail of a clay-red ox.
They took leave of all, and of the good Maritornes, who, sinner as she was, promised to pray a rosary of prayers that God might grant them success in such an arduous and Christian undertaking as that they had in hand. But hardly had he sallied forth from the inn when it struck the curate that he was doing wrong in rigging himself out in that fashion, as it was an indecorous thing for a priest to dress himself that way even though much might depend upon it; and saying so to the barber he begged him to change dresses, as it was fitter he should be the distressed damsel, while he himself would play the squire’s part, which would be less derogatory to his dignity; otherwise he was resolved to have nothing more to do with the matter, and let the devil take Don Quixote. Just at this moment Sancho came up, and on seeing the pair in such a costume he was unable to restrain his laughter; the barber, however, agreed to do as the curate wished, and, altering their plan, the curate went on to instruct him how to play his part and what to say to Don Quixote to induce and compel him to come with them and give up his fancy for the place he had chosen for his idle penance. The barber told him he could manage it properly without any instruction, and as he did not care to dress himself up until they were near where Don Quixote was, he folded up the garments, and the curate adjusted his beard, and they set out under the guidance of Sancho Panza, who went along telling them of the encounter with the madman they met in the Sierra, saying nothing, however, about the finding of the valise and its contents; for with all his simplicity the lad was a trifle covetous.
The next day they reached the place where Sancho had laid the broom-branches as marks to direct him to where he had left his master, and recognising it he told them that here was the entrance, and that they would do well to dress themselves, if that was required to deliver his master; for they had already told him that going in this guise and dressing in this way were of the highest importance in order to rescue his master from the pernicious life he had adopted; and they charged him strictly not to tell his master who they were, or that he knew them, and should he ask, as ask he would, if he had given the letter to Dulcinea, to say that he had, and that, as she did not know how to read, she had given an answer by word of mouth, saying that she commanded him, on pain of her displeasure, to come and see her at once; and it was a very important matter for himself, because in this way and with what they meant to say to him they felt sure of bringing him back to a better mode of life and inducing him to take immediate steps to become an emperor or monarch, for there was no fear of his becoming an archbishop. All this Sancho listened to and fixed it well in his memory, and thanked them heartily for intending to recommend his master to be an emperor instead of an archbishop, for he felt sure that in the way of bestowing rewards on their squires emperors could do more than archbishops-errant. He said, too, that it would be as well for him to go on before them to find him, and give him his lady’s answer; for that perhaps might be enough to bring him away from the place without putting them to all this trouble. They approved of what Sancho proposed, and resolved to wait for him until he brought back word of having found his master.
Sancho pushed on into the glens of the Sierra, leaving them in one through which there flowed a little gentle rivulet, and where the rocks and trees afforded a cool and grateful shade. It was an August day with all the heat of one, and the heat in those parts is intense, and the hour was three in the afternoon, all which made the spot the more inviting and tempted them to wait there for Sancho’s return, which they did. They were reposing, then, in the shade, when a voice unaccompanied by the notes of any instrument, but sweet and pleasing in its tone, reached their ears, at which they were not a little astonished, as the place did not seem to them likely quarters for one who sang so well; for though it is often said that shepherds of rare voice are to be found in the woods and fields, this is rather a flight of the poet’s fancy than the truth. And still more surprised were they when they perceived that what they heard sung were the verses not of rustic shepherds, but of the polished wits of the city; and so it proved, for the verses they heard were these:
What makes my quest of happiness seem vain?
Disdain.
What bids me to abandon hope of ease?
Jealousies.
What holds my heart in anguish of suspense?
Absence.
If that be so, then for my grief
Where shall I turn to seek relief,
When hope on every side lies slain
By Absence, Jealousies, Disdain?
What the prime cause of all my woe doth prove?
Love.
What at my glory ever looks askance?
Chance.
Whence is permission to afflict me given?
Heaven.
If that be so, I but await
The stroke of a resistless fate,
Since, working for my woe, these three,
Love, Chance and Heaven, in league I see.
What must I do to find a remedy?
Die.
What is the lure for love when coy and strange?
Change.
What, if all fail, will cure the heart of sadness?
Madness.
If that be so, it is but folly
To seek a cure for melancholy:
Ask where it lies; the answer saith
In Change, in Madness, or in Death.
The hour, the summer season, the solitary place, the voice and skill of the singer, all contributed to the wonder and delight of the two listeners, who remained still waiting to hear something more; finding, however, that the silence continued some little time, they resolved to go in search of the musician who sang with so fine a voice; but just as they were about to do so they were checked by the same voice, which once more fell upon their ears, singing this
Sonnet
When heavenward, holy Friendship, thou didst go
Soaring to seek thy home beyond the sky,
And take thy seat among the saints on high,
It was thy will to leave on earth below
Thy semblance, and upon it to bestow
Thy veil, wherewith at times hypocrisy,
Parading in thy shape, deceives the eye,
And makes its vileness bright as virtue show.
Friendship, return to us, or force the cheat
That wears it now, thy livery to restore,
By aid whereof sincerity is slain.
If thou wilt not unmask thy counterfeit,
This earth will be the prey of strife once more,
As when primaeval discord held its reign.
The song ended with a deep sigh, and again the listeners remained waiting attentively for the singer to resume; but perceiving that the music had now turned to sobs and heart-rending moans they determined to find out who the unhappy being could be whose voice was as rare as his sighs were piteous, and they had not proceeded far when on turning the corner of a rock they discovered a man of the same aspect and appearance as Sancho had described to them when he told them the story of Cardenio. He, showing no astonishment when he saw them, stood still with his head bent down upon his breast like one in deep thought, without raising his eyes to look at them after the first glance when they suddenly came upon him. The curate, who was aware of his misfortune and recognised him by the description, being a man of good address, approached him and in a few sensible words entreated and urged him to quit a life of such misery, lest he should end it there, which would be the greatest of all misfortunes. Cardenio was then in his right mind, free from any attack of that madness which so frequently carried him away, and seeing them dressed in a fashion so unusual among the frequenters of those wilds, could not help showing some surprise, especially when he heard them speak of his case as if it were a well-known matter (for the curate’s words gave him to understand as much) so he replied to them thus:
“I see plainly, sirs, whoever you may be, that Heaven, whose care it is to succour the good, and even the wicked very often, here, in this remote spot, cut off from human intercourse, sends me, though I deserve it not, those who seek to draw me away from this to some better retreat, showing me by many and forcible arguments how unreasonably I act in leading the life I do; but as they know, that if I escape from this evil I shall fall into another still greater, perhaps they will set me down as a weak-minded man, or, what is worse, one devoid of reason; nor would it be any wonder, for I myself can perceive that the effect of the recollection of my misfortunes is so great and works so powerfully to my ruin, that in spite of myself I become at times like a stone, without feeling or consciousness; and I come to feel the truth of it when they tell me and show me proofs of the things I have done when the terrible fit overmasters me; and all I can do is bewail my lot in vain, and idly curse my destiny, and plead for my madness by telling how it was caused, to any that care to hear it; for no reasonable beings on learning the cause will wonder at the effects; and if they cannot help me at least they will not blame me, and the repugnance they feel at my wild ways will turn into pity for my woes. If it be, sirs, that you are here with the same design as others have come wah, before you proceed with your wise arguments, I entreat you to hear the story of my countless misfortunes, for perhaps when you have heard it you will spare yourselves the trouble you would take in offering consolation to grief that is beyond the reach of it.”
As they, both of them, desired nothing more than to hear from his own lips the cause of his suffering, they entreated him to tell it, promising not to do anything for his relief or comfort that he did not wish; and thereupon the unhappy gentleman began his sad story in nearly the same words and manner in which he had related it to Don Quixote and the goatherd a few days before, when, through Master Elisabad, and Don Quixote’s scrupulous observance of what was due to chivalry, the tale was left unfinished, as this history has already recorded; but now fortunately the mad fit kept off, allowed him to tell it to the end; and so, coming to the incident of the note which Don Fernando had found in the volume of “Amadis of Gaul,” Cardenio said that he remembered it perfectly and that it was in these words:
“Luscinda to Cardenio.
“Every day I discover merits in you that oblige and compel me to hold you in higher estimation; so if you desire to relieve me of this obligation without cost to my honour, you may easily do so. I have a father who knows you and loves me dearly, who without putting any constraint on my inclination will grant what will be reasonable for you to have, if it be that you value me as you say and as I believe you do.”
“By this letter I was induced, as I told you, to demand Luscinda for my wife, and it was through it that Luscinda came to be regarded by Don Fernando as one of the most discreet and prudent women of the day, and this letter it was that suggested his design of ruining me before mine could be carried into effect. I told Don Fernando that all Luscinda’s father was waiting for was that mine should ask her of him, which I did not dare to suggest to him, fearing that he would not consent to do so; not because he did not know perfectly well the rank, goodness, virtue, and beauty of Luscinda, and that she had qualities that would do honour to any family in Spain, but because I was aware that he did not wish me to marry so soon, before seeing what the Duke Ricardo would do for me. In short, I told him I did not venture to mention it to my father, as well on account of that difficulty, as of many others that discouraged me though I knew not well what they were, only that it seemed to me that what I desired was never to come to pass. To all this Don Fernando answered that he would take it upon himself to speak to my father, and persuade him to speak to Luscinda’s father. O, ambitious Marius! O, cruel Catiline! O, wicked Sylla! O, perfidious Ganelon! O, treacherous Vellido! O, vindictive Julian! O, covetous Judas! Traitor, cruel, vindictive, and perfidious, wherein had this poor wretch failed in his fidelity, who with such frankness showed thee the secrets and the joys of his heart? What offence did I commit? What words did I utter, or what counsels did I give that had not the furtherance of thy honour and welfare for their aim? But, woe is me, wherefore do I complain? for sure it is that when misfortunes spring from the stars, descending from on high they fall upon us with such fury and violence that no power on earth can check their course nor human device stay their coming. Who could have thought that Don Fernando, a highborn gentleman, intelligent, bound to me by gratitude for my services, one that could win the object of his love wherever he might set his affections, could have become so obdurate, as they say, as to rob me of my one ewe lamb that was not even yet in my possession? But laying aside these useless and unavailing reflections, let us take up the broken thread of my unhappy story.
“To proceed, then: Don Fernando finding my presence an obstacle to the execution of his treacherous and wicked design, resolved to send me to his elder brother under the pretext of asking money from him to pay for six horses which, purposely, and with the sole object of sending me away that he might the better carry out his infernal scheme, he had purchased the very day he offered to speak to my father, and the price of which he now desired me to fetch. Could I have anticipated this treachery? Could I by any chance have suspected it? Nay; so far from that, I offered with the greatest pleasure to go at once, in my satisfaction at the good bargain that had been made. That night I spoke with Luscinda, and told her what had been agreed upon with Don Fernando, and how I had strong hopes of our fair and reasonable wishes being realised. She, as unsuspicious as I was of the treachery of Don Fernando, bade me try to return speedily, as she believed the fulfilment of our desires would be delayed only so long as my father put off speaking to hers. I know not why it was that on saying this to me her eyes filled with tears, and there came a lump in her throat that prevented her from uttering a word of many more that it seemed to me she was striving to say to me. I was astonished at this unusual turn, which I never before observed in her. for we always conversed, whenever good fortune and my ingenuity gave us the chance, with the greatest gaiety and cheerfulness, mingling tears, sighs, jealousies, doubts, or fears with our words; it was all on my part a eulogy of my good fortune that Heaven should have given her to me for my mistress; I glorified her beauty, I extolled her worth and her understanding; and she paid me back by praising in me what in her love for me she thought worthy of praise; and besides we had a hundred thousand trifles and doings of our neighbours and acquaintances to talk about, and the utmost extent of my boldness was to take, almost by force, one of her fair white hands and carry it to my lips, as well as the closeness of the low grating that separated us allowed me. But the night before the unhappy day of my departure she wept, she moaned, she sighed, and she withdrew leaving me filled with perplexity and amazement, overwhelmed at the sight of such strange and affecting signs of grief and sorrow in Luscinda; but not to dash my hopes I ascribed it all to the depth of her love for me and the pain that separation gives those who love tenderly. At last I took my departure, sad and dejected, my heart filled with fancies and suspicions, but not knowing well what it was I suspected or fancied; plain omens pointing to the sad event and misfortune that was awaiting me.
“I reached the place whither I had been sent, gave the letter to Don Fernando’s brother, and was kindly received but not promptly dismissed, for he desired me to wait, very much against my will, eight days in some place where the duke his father was not likely to see me, as his brother wrote that the money was to be sent without his knowledge; all of which was a scheme of the treacherous Don Fernando, for his brother had no want of money to enable him to despatch me at once.
“The command was one that exposed me to the temptation of disobeying it, as it seemed to me impossible to endure life for so many days separated from Luscinda, especially after leaving her in the sorrowful mood I have described to you; nevertheless as a dutiful servant I obeyed, though I felt it would be at the cost of my well-being. But four days later there came a man in quest of me with a letter which he gave me, and which by the address I perceived to be from Luscinda, as the writing was hers. I opened it with fear and trepidation, persuaded that it must be something serious that had impelled her to write to me when at a distance, as she seldom did so when I was near. Before reading it I asked the man who it was that had given it to him, and how long he had been upon the road; he told me that as he happened to be passing through one of the streets of the city at the hour of noon, a very beautiful lady called to him from a window, and with tears in her eyes said to him hurriedly, ‘Brother, if you are, as you seem to be, a Christian, for the love of God I entreat you to have this letter despatched without a moment’s delay to the place and person named in the address, all which is well known, and by this you will render a great service to our Lord; and that you may be at no inconvenience in doing so take what is in this handkerchief;’ and said he, ‘with this she threw me a handkerchief out of the window in which were tied up a hundred reals and this gold ring which I bring here together with the letter I have given you. And then without waiting for any answer she left the window, though not before she saw me take the letter and the handkerchief, and I had by signs let her know that I would do as she bade me; and so, seeing myself so well paid for the trouble I would have in bringing it to you, and knowing by the address that it was to you it was sent (for, senor, I know you very well), and also unable to resist that beautiful lady’s tears, I resolved to trust no one else, but to come myself and give it to you, and in sixteen hours from the time when it was given me I have made the journey, which, as you know, is eighteen leagues.’
“All the while the good-natured improvised courier was telling me this, I hung upon his words, my legs trembling under me so that I could scarcely stand. However, I opened the letter and read these words:
“‘The promise Don Fernando gave you to urge your father to speak to mine, he has fulfilled much more to his own satisfaction than to your advantage. I have to tell you, senor, that be has demanded me for a wife, and my father, led away by what he considers Don Fernando’s superiority over you, has favoured his suit so cordially, that in two days hence the betrothal is to take place with such secrecy and so privately that the only witnesses are to be the Heavens above and a few of the household. Picture to yourself the state I am in; judge if it be urgent for you to come; the issue of the affair will show you whether I love you or not. God grant this may come to your hand before mine shall be forced to link itself with his who keeps so ill the faith that he has pledged.’
“Such, in brief, were the words of the letter, words that made me set out at once without waiting any longer for reply or money; for I now saw clearly that it was not the purchase of horses but of his own pleasure that had made Don Fernando send me to his brother. The exasperation I felt against Don Fernando, joined with the fear of losing the prize I had won by so many years of love and devotion, lent me wings; so that almost flying I reached home the same day, by the hour which served for speaking with Luscinda. I arrived unobserved, and left the mule on which I had come at the house of the worthy man who had brought me the letter, and fortune was pleased to be for once so kind that I found Luscinda at the grating that was the witness of our loves. She recognised me at once, and I her, but not as she ought to have recognised me, or I her. But who is there in the world that can boast of having fathomed or understood the wavering mind and unstable nature of a woman? Of a truth no one. To proceed: as soon as Luscinda saw me she said, ‘Cardenio, I am in my bridal dress, and the treacherous Don Fernando and my covetous father are waiting for me in the hall with the other witnesses, who shall be the witnesses of my death before they witness my betrothal. Be not distressed, my friend, but contrive to be present at this sacrifice, and if that cannot be prevented by my words, I have a dagger concealed which will prevent more deliberate violence, putting an end to my life and giving thee a first proof of the love I have borne and bear thee.’ I replied to her distractedly and hastily, in fear lest I should not have time to reply, ‘May thy words be verified by thy deeds, lady; and if thou hast a dagger to save thy honour, I have a sword to defend thee or kill myself if fortune be against us.’
“I think she could not have heard all these words, for I perceived that they called her away in haste, as the bridegroom was waiting. Now the night of my sorrow set in, the sun of my happiness went down, I felt my eyes bereft of sight, my mind of reason. I could not enter the house, nor was I capable of any movement; but reflecting how important it was that I should be present at what might take place on the occasion, I nerved myself as best I could and went in, for I well knew all the entrances and outlets; and besides, with the confusion that in secret pervaded the house no one took notice of me, so, without being seen, I found an opportunity of placing myself in the recess formed by a window of the hall itself, and concealed by the ends and borders of two tapestries, from between which I could, without being seen, see all that took place in the room. Who could describe the agitation of heart I suffered as I stood there — the thoughts that came to me — the reflections that passed through my mind? They were such as cannot be, nor were it well they should be, told. Suffice it to say that the bridegroom entered the hall in his usual dress, without ornament of any kind; as groomsman he had with him a cousin of Luscinda’s and except the servants of the house there was no one else in the chamber. Soon afterwards Luscinda came out from an antechamber, attended by her mother and two of her damsels, arrayed and adorned as became her rank and beauty, and in full festival and ceremonial attire. My anxiety and distraction did not allow me to observe or notice particularly what she wore; I could only perceive the colours, which were crimson and white, and the glitter of the gems and jewels on her head dress and apparel, surpassed by the rare beauty of her lovely auburn hair that vying with the precious stones and the light of the four torches that stood in the hall shone with a brighter gleam than all. Oh memory, mortal foe of my peace! why bring before me now the incomparable beauty of that adored enemy of mine? Were it not better, cruel memory, to remind me and recall what she then did, that stirred by a wrong so glaring I may seek, if not vengeance now, at least to rid myself of life? Be not weary, sirs, of listening to these digressions; my sorrow is not one of those that can or should be told tersely and briefly, for to me each incident seems to call for many words.”
To this the curate replied that not only were they not weary of listening to him, but that the details he mentioned interested them greatly, being of a kind by no means to be omitted and deserving of the same attention as the main story.
“To proceed, then,” continued Cardenio: “all being assembled in the hall, the priest of the parish came in and as he took the pair by the hand to perform the requisite ceremony, at the words, ‘Will you, Senora Luscinda, take Senor Don Fernando, here present, for your lawful husband, as the holy Mother Church ordains?’ I thrust my head and neck out from between the tapestries, and with eager ears and throbbing heart set myself to listen to Luscinda’s answer, awaiting in her reply the sentence of death or the grant of life. Oh, that I had but dared at that moment to rush forward crying aloud, ‘Luscinda, Luscinda! have a care what thou dost; remember what thou owest me; bethink thee thou art mine and canst not be another’s ; reflect that thy utterance of “Yes” and the end of my life will come at the same instant. O, treacherous Don Fernando! robber of my glory, death of my life! What seekest thou? Remember that thou canst not as a Christian attain the object of thy wishes, for Luscinda is my bride, and I am her husband!’ Fool that I am! now that I am far away, and out of danger, I say I should have done what I did not do: now that I have allowed my precious treasure to be robbed from me, I curse the robber, on whom I might have taken vengeance had I as much heart for it as I have for bewailing my fate; in short, as I was then a coward and a fool, little wonder is it if I am now dying shame-stricken, remorseful, and mad.
“The priest stood waiting for the answer of Luscinda, who for a long time withheld it; and just as I thought she was taking out the dagger to save her honour, or struggling for words to make some declaration of the truth on my behalf, I heard her say in a faint and feeble voice, ‘I will:’ Don Fernando said the same, and giving her the ring they stood linked by a knot that could never be loosed. The bridegroom then approached to embrace his bride; and she, pressing her hand upon her heart, fell fainting in her mother’s arms. It only remains now for me to tell you the state I was in when in that consent that I heard I saw all my hopes mocked, the words and promises of Luscinda proved falsehoods, and the recovery of the prize I had that instant lost rendered impossible for ever. I stood stupefied, wholly abandoned, it seemed, by Heaven, declared the enemy of the earth that bore me, the air refusing me breath for my sighs, the water moisture for my tears; it was only the fire that gathered strength so that my whole frame glowed with rage and jealousy. They were all thrown into confusion by Luscinda’s fainting, and as her mother was unlacing her to give her air a sealed paper was discovered in her bosom which Don Fernando seized at once and began to read by the light of one of the torches. As soon as he had read it he seated himself in a chair, leaning his cheek on his hand in the attitude of one deep in thought, without taking any part in the efforts that were being made to recover his bride from her fainting fit.
“Seeing all the household in confusion, I ventured to come out regardless whether I were seen or not, and determined, if I were, to do some frenzied deed that would prove to all the world the righteous indignation of my breast in the punishment of the treacherous Don Fernando, and even in that of the fickle fainting traitress. But my fate, doubtless reserving me for greater sorrows, if such there be, so ordered it that just then I had enough and to spare of that reason which has since been wanting to me; and so, without seeking to take vengeance on my greatest enemies (which might have been easily taken, as all thought of me was so far from their minds), I resolved to take it upon myself, and on myself to inflict the pain they deserved, perhaps with even greater severity than I should have dealt out to them had I then slain them; for sudden pain is soon over, but that which is protracted by tortures is ever slaying without ending life. In a word, I quitted the house and reached that of the man with whom I had left my mule; I made him saddle it for me, mounted without bidding him farewell, and rode out of the city, like another Lot, not daring to turn my head to look back upon it; and when I found myself alone in the open country, screened by the darkness of the night, and tempted by the stillness to give vent to my grief without apprehension or fear of being heard or seen, then I broke silence and lifted up my voice in maledictions upon Luscinda and Don Fernando, as if I could thus avenge the wrong they had done me. I called her cruel, ungrateful, false, thankless, but above all covetous, since the wealth of my enemy had blinded the eyes of her affection, and turned it from me to transfer it to one to whom fortune had been more generous and liberal. And yet, in the midst of this outburst of execration and upbraiding, I found excuses for her, saying it was no wonder that a young girl in the seclusion of her parents’ house, trained and schooled to obey them always, should have been ready to yield to their wishes when they offered her for a husband a gentleman of such distinction, wealth, and noble birth, that if she had refused to accept him she would have been thought out of her senses, or to have set her affection elsewhere, a suspicion injurious to her fair name and fame. But then again, I said, had she declared I was her husband, they would have seen that in choosing me she had not chosen so ill but that they might excuse her, for before Don Fernando had made his offer, they themselves could not have desired, if their desires had been ruled by reason, a more eligible husband for their daughter than I was; and she, before taking the last fatal step of giving her hand, might easily have said that I had already given her mine, for I should have come forward to support any assertion of hers to that effect. In short, I came to the conclusion that feeble love, little reflection, great ambition, and a craving for rank, had made her forget the words with which she had deceived me, encouraged and supported by my firm hopes and honourable passion.
“Thus soliloquising and agitated, I journeyed onward for the remainder of the night, and by daybreak I reached one of the passes of these mountains, among which I wandered for three days more without taking any path or road, until I came to some meadows lying on I know not which side of the mountains, and there I inquired of some herdsmen in what direction the most rugged part of the range lay. They told me that it was in this quarter, and I at once directed my course hither, intending to end my life here; but as I was making my way among these crags, my mule dropped dead through fatigue and hunger, or, as I think more likely, in order to have done with such a worthless burden as it bore in me. I was left on foot, worn out, famishing, without anyone to help me or any thought of seeking help: and so thus I lay stretched on the ground, how long I know not, after which I rose up free from hunger, and found beside me some goatherds, who no doubt were the persons who had relieved me in my need, for they told me how they had found me, and how I had been uttering ravings that showed plainly I had lost my reason; and since then I am conscious that I am not always in full possession of it, but at times so deranged and crazed that I do a thousand mad things, tearing my clothes, crying aloud in these solitudes, cursing my fate, and idly calling on the dear name of her who is my enemy, and only seeking to end my life in lamentation; and when I recover my senses I find myself so exhausted and weary that I can scarcely move. Most commonly my dwelling is the hollow of a cork tree large enough to shelter this miserable body; the herdsmen and goatherds who frequent these mountains, moved by compassion, furnish me with food, leaving it by the wayside or on the rocks, where they think I may perhaps pass and find it; and so, even though I may be then out of my senses, the wants of nature teach me what is required to sustain me, and make me crave it and eager to take it. At other times, so they tell me when they find me in a rational mood, I sally out upon the road, and though they would gladly give it me, I snatch food by force from the shepherds bringing it from the village to their huts. Thus do pass the wretched life that remains to me, until it be Heaven’s will to bring it to a close, or so to order my memory that I no longer recollect the beauty and treachery of Luscinda, or the wrong done me by Don Fernando; for if it will do this without depriving me of life, I will turn my thoughts into some better channel; if not, I can only implore it to have full mercy on my soul, for in myself I feel no power or strength to release my body from this strait in which I have of my own accord chosen to place it.
“Such, sirs, is the dismal story of my misfortune: say if it be one that can be told with less emotion than you have seen in me; and do not trouble yourselves with urging or pressing upon me what reason suggests as likely to serve for my relief, for it will avail me as much as the medicine prescribed by a wise physician avails the sick man who will not take it. I have no wish for health without Luscinda; and since it is her pleasure to be another’s , when she is or should be mine, let it be mine to be a prey to misery when I might have enjoyed happiness. She by her fickleness strove to make my ruin irretrievable; I will strive to gratify her wishes by seeking destruction; and it will show generations to come that I alone was deprived of that of which all others in misfortune have a superabundance, for to them the impossibility of being consoled is itself a consolation, while to me it is the cause of greater sorrows and sufferings, for I think that even in death there will not be an end of them.”
Here Cardenio brought to a close his long discourse and story, as full of misfortune as it was of love; but just as the curate was going to address some words of comfort to him, he was stopped by a voice that reached his ear, saying in melancholy tones what will be told in the Fourth Part of this narrative; for at this point the sage and sagacious historian, Cide Hamete Benengeli, brought the Third to a conclusion.
 
以及其他值得记述的事情
理发师觉得神甫的主意不错，于是两人就行动起来。他们向客店的主妇借了一条裙子和几块头巾，把神甫的新教士袍留下作抵押。理发师用店主挂在墙上当装饰品的一条浅红色牛尾巴做了个大胡子。客店主妇问他们借这些东西干什么用，神甫就把唐吉诃德如何发疯，现正在山上修行，所以最好乔装打扮把他弄下山来等等简单讲了一下。店主夫妇后来也想起，那个疯子曾经在这个客店住过。他做了圣水，还带着个侍从，侍从被人用被单扔了一通等等。他们把这些全都告诉了神甫，把桑乔极不愿意让别人知道的事情全说了。
后来，女主人把神甫打扮得维妙维肖。她让神甫穿上呢料裙，裙子上嵌着一拃宽的黑丝绒带，青丝绒紧身上衣镶着白缎边，大概万巴王①时代的装束就是这样的。神甫不让碰他的头，只允许在他头上戴一顶粗布棉睡帽，脑门上缠着一条黑塔夫绸带，再用另一条同样的带子做成面罩，把整个面孔和胡须全遮上了。他戴上自己的帽子，那帽子大得能当遮阳伞，又披上他的黑色短斗篷，侧身坐到骡背上。理发师也上了他的骡子，让浅红色的胡子垂到腰间。刚才说过，那胡子是用一条浅红色的牛尾巴做成的。
①万巴王是西班牙古代的国王。这里指很古老的时候。
两人向大家告别，也向丑女仆告别。丑女仆虽然并不清白，却答应念《玫瑰经》，求上帝保佑他们完成这项艰巨而又仁慈的使命。两人刚走出客店门，神甫忽然想起来，虽然这事很重要，但自己这样做毕竟不妥，一个神职人员打扮成这个样子成何体统。他请求理发师同他互换衣服，觉得让理发师扮成苦难少女更合适，自己应该扮成侍从，这样可以减少对他的尊严的损害，如果理发师不答应，哪怕唐吉诃德死掉，他也不再去了。
这时桑乔走过来。看到两人这般装束，不禁笑起来。最后，理发师只好依从神甫，互相交换衣服。神甫告诉理发师，应当对唐吉诃德如何做，如何说，才能动员、强迫他放弃在那个地方进行无谓苦修的打算。理发师说不用他指导，自己知道该怎么做。理发师不愿意立刻就换上那身打扮，要等快到唐吉诃德所在的地方再穿。他把那身衣服叠了起来。神甫也把胡子收了起来。桑乔在前面引路，两人启程。桑乔给他们讲了在山上碰到一个疯子的事情，但是没提那只手提箱和里面的东西。这家伙虽然不算机灵，却还有点贪心。
第二天，他们来到了有金雀花枝的地方，那是桑乔离开唐吉诃德时做的路标。桑乔确认了路标后，告诉他们从那儿就可以上山，他们现在可以换衣服了，如果这样更有利于解救他的主人的话。原来两人已在路上对桑乔讲了，他们这副打扮、这种方式，对于把他的主人从他选择的恶劣生活中解脱出来是至关重要的。神甫和理发师千叮咛，万嘱咐，让桑乔不要告诉主人他们是谁，也不要说认识他们。如果唐吉诃德问是否把信交给杜尔西内亚了，他肯定会问的，那就说已经转交了。可是杜尔西内亚不识字，因此只捎回口信，叫桑乔告诉他，让他即刻回去见杜尔西内亚，否则她会生气的。这对她很重要。这样一说，再加上神甫和理发师编好的其他话，肯定能让唐吉诃德回心转意，争取当国王或君主。至于当红衣主教，桑乔完全不必担心。
桑乔听后都一一牢记在脑子里。他很感谢神甫和理发师愿意劝说主人做国王或君主，而不去做红衣主教。他心想，要论赏赐侍从，国王肯定要比巡回的红衣主教慷慨得多。桑乔还对他们说，最好先让他去找唐吉诃德，把他的意中人的回信告诉他。或许仅凭杜尔西内亚就足以把唐吉诃德从那个地方弄出来，而不必再让神甫和理发师去费那个劲了。神甫和理发师觉得桑乔说得也对，决定就地等候桑乔带回唐吉诃德的消息。
桑乔沿着山口上了山，神甫和理发师则留在一条小溪旁。小溪从山口缓缓流出，周围又有岩石和树木遮荫，十分凉爽。此时正值八月，当地的气候十分炎热，并且正是下午三点。这个地方显得格外宜人，于是两人身不由己地停下来，等候桑乔。
两人正在树荫下悠然自得，耳边忽然传来一阵歌声。虽然没有任何乐器伴奏，那歌声却也显得十分甜蜜轻柔。两人都为能在这种地方听到如此美妙的歌声而惊讶不已。人们常说，在森林原野能听到牧人的优美歌声，不过，那与其说是真事，还不如说是诗人们的夸张。况且，他们听到的歌词竟是诗，而且不是粗野牧民的诗，是正经的宫廷诗，他们更是深以为异。他们听到的确实是诗。诗是这样写的：
谁藐视了我的幸福？
嫌厌。
谁增加了我的痛苦？
妒忌。
谁能证明我的耐心？
分离。
我的痛苦
无法摆脱，
嫌厌、妒忌和分离
扼杀了我的希冀。
谁造成了我的悲伤？
爱欲。
谁夺走了我的乐趣？
天意。
谁傲视我的凄楚？
苍天。
在巨痛中
我渴望死去。
爱欲、天意和苍天
一起把我毁灭。
谁能改变我的命运？
死亡。
谁能得到爱情的福祉？
逃避。
谁来医治这悲伤？
疯狂。
医治伤者
并非理智。
死亡、逃避和疯狂
是我得以解脱之计。
在那个时间、那种偏僻之地，能听到那样的嗓音、那样流丽的诗句，两人不禁为之赞叹。他们静候着，听听还唱些什么。等了一会儿，不见动静，神甫和理发师决定去找这位具有如此美妙歌喉的歌唱家。他们刚要走，歌声又响起来，两人又不动了。这回传到他们耳朵里的是一首十四行诗：《十　四　行　诗》
圣洁的友谊，展开轻盈的翅膀
奔向天宫，逍遥直上。
天上神灵共相济，
只把影子留地上。
你从天上指点，
粉饰的太平在望。
让人隐约可求，
到头来，美好却是欺诳。
情谊呵，别高居天上，
别让欺骗披上你的外衣，
它会毁坏真诚善良。
倘若不剥去你的外表，
世界即刻陷入纷争，
回复到昔日动荡。
歌声随着一声深深的叹息结束了。两人仍认真地等，看看是否还要唱什么。可是歌声却变成了抽泣和哀叹。两人决定弄清究竟是什么人唱得这么好，却又如此难过地叹息。没走多远，绕过一块石头，他们看见一个人，其身材就像桑乔给他们讲的卡德尼奥一样。那个人看见他们过来了，并没有动，仍然待在那儿，头垂到胸前，若有所思，除了两人刚出现时看了他们一眼外，再也没有抬起头来看他们。神甫本来就听说过他的不幸，又从外表上猜出了他是谁，于是走向前去。神甫很善言辞，简单而又有分寸地讲了几句话，劝说并请求那个人放弃这种可悲的生活，不要在那儿沉沦，那样可就是不幸中的大不幸了。
卡德尼奥当时神志完全清醒，已经摆脱了那件时时令他暴怒的事情。他看到这两个人穿戴并不像这一带偏僻地方的人，不由得感到奇怪，听神甫同他讲话时，又觉得神甫对他的事似乎了如指掌，更是意外，便说道：
“二位大人，无论你们是什么人，我都能想到，老天总是注意拯救好人，也常常帮助坏人。虽然我离群索居，可是仍有烦老天派二位到我面前，用种种生动的话语告诉我，我现在的生活是多么没有道理，并且想把我从这儿弄到一个更好的地方去。不过你们并不知道，我即使能从这种痛苦里解脱出来，也仍然会陷入新的痛苦中。因此，你们可能会认为我精神有些不正常，更有甚者，认为我精神完全不正常。如果你们这样认为，也不足怪，我自己也觉得，每当我想起我的不幸时，便痛苦万分，难以自拔，但又无力阻止它，只觉得自己呆若石头，神志不正常。事后许多人告诉我，并且向我证明了我犯病时的所作所为。尽管我意识到这是真的，却也只能徒劳地后悔，无谓地自责，向所有愿意听我解释原因的人表示歉意。那些明白人听我解释后，对发生的事情就不感到奇怪了。尽管他们也无法帮助我，但至少没有怪罪我，原来对我的行为感到的愤怒也转化为对我的不幸表示同情了。如果诸大人也是抱着同样的目的而来，在你们谆谆教诲我之前，还是请你们先听听我的诉说不尽的辛酸史吧。也许听完之后，你们就不会再费力试图安抚这种无法安抚的痛苦了。”
神甫和理发师正想听他本人讲述得病的原因，就请他讲讲自己的事，并保证一定按照他的意愿帮助他或者安抚他。于是，这位可怜的年轻人开始讲他的辛酸故事，其语言和情节都同前几天给唐吉诃德和牧羊人讲述的差不多。只是前几天讲到埃利萨瓦特医生时，唐吉诃德为了维护骑士的尊严，打断了故事。好在这次卡德尼奥没有犯病，完全可以把故事讲完。他讲到费尔南多在《高卢的阿马迪斯》一书里找到了一封信。卡德尼奥说，他还清楚地记得，信是这样写的：
卢辛达致卡德尼奥的信
我每天都从你身上发现新的优秀品质，我不由自主地更加敬重你。如果你愿意，完全可以把我从目前这种状况里解救出来，并且不损害我的名誉。你完全可以很好地做到这点。我父亲认识你，你又爱我。如果你尊重我，我也相信你说的是真的，那么你完全可以实现你的意志。而且，这也不违背我的意志。
“看了这封信，我就去向卢辛达的父亲求婚。我说过，在费尔南多看来，卢辛达是当代最聪明机智的女人。费尔南多就是想用这封信在我还没沉沦之前毁了我。我告诉费尔南多，卢辛达的父亲坚持要我父亲出面提亲，可我怕父亲不来，没敢跟他说。这并不是因为我不了解卢辛达的道德品质和她的美貌、善良。她品貌双全，完全可以让西班牙任何世家生辉。我只是以为卢辛达的父亲不想让我们仓促结婚，要先看看里卡多公爵怎样安排我。
“总之，我对他说，就因为这点，还有其它原因，我忘记了究竟是哪些原因，使得我没敢跟父亲说。不知为什么，我总觉得我希望的事不会成为现实。费尔南多回答说，他去同我父亲讲，让我父亲去向卢辛达的父亲提亲。噢，这个野心勃勃的马里奥！这个残忍的喀提林！这个狠毒的西拉！这个奸诈的加拉隆！这个背信弃义的贝利多！这个耿耿于怀的胡利安！这个贪婪的犹大！你这个背信弃义、阴险狡诈、耿耿于怀的家伙，我这个可怜人把我内心的秘密和快乐都毫无保留地告诉了你，还有什么对不起你的事？我怎么惹你了？我哪句话、哪个劝告不是为了维护你的名誉和利益？可是，我还有什么可说的呢？我真是倒霉到家了。灾星带来的不幸仿佛激流飞泻而下，世上没有任何力量可以阻止它，人间没有任何办法可以防备它。谁能想到，像费尔南多这样的名门贵族，举止庄重，受着我的服侍，无论到哪儿都是情场得意，竟会丧尽天良地夺走我仅有的一只羊①，而且这只羊当时还不属于我呢！
①参见《圣经》故事。大卫害死乌利亚并娶其妻。拿单指责大卫就像富户一样，舍不得用自己的羊招待客人，却夺走穷人仅有的一只羊。
“先不说这些，反正也没有用，咱们还是把我的悲惨故事接着讲下去吧。费尔南多觉得我在那儿对他实施其虚伪恶毒的企图不利，就想把我打发到他哥哥那儿去，借口是让我去要钱买六匹马。这是一计，实际上就是想支开我，以实现他的罪恶企图。他故意在自告奋勇说要去同我父亲谈话的那天买了六匹马，让我去拿钱。我怎么会想到他竟做出这种背信弃义的事呢？我怎么可能去往这方面想呢？我一点儿都没有想到。相反，对这笔大买卖我很满意，十分高兴地出发了。那天晚上我又去找卢辛达，告诉她我已经同费尔南多商量好，我完全相信我们两人的良好愿望会实现。她同我一样，对费尔南多的恶意毫无察觉，只是让我早点回来。她相信，只要我父亲向她父亲一提亲，我们的愿望就会有结果。不知为什么，她一说完这句话，眼睛里就噙满了泪水，喉咙也哽咽了，似乎有许多话要说，却一句也没说出口。
“我对她这种反常的状况感到很惊奇，这种情况过去从来没有过。以前我们见面时，只要时间合适，安排得当，总是说得兴高采烈，从来没有什么眼泪、叹息、嫉妒、怀疑或恐惧。这使我更觉得，娶卢辛达做我的夫人真是天赐良缘。我对她的美貌更加崇拜，对她的才智更加赞赏。她也对我以德相报，说我是她的值得称赞的恋人。我们爱意绸缪，邻里周知，不过即使这样，我最放肆的行为也只是隔着栅栏的狭窄缝隙，把她的一只纤细白皙的手放到我嘴边。可是在我出发的前一天晚上，她却哭泣、呻吟、叹气，然后离去，我在那里满腹狐疑，茫然不知所措，对卢辛达的反常悲戚感到恐惧。可我并不想让我的希望破灭，只把这种现象当成是爱我所致，是感情至深的人一旦分离常常出现的痛苦。反正我走的时候既伤心又凄惶，满肚子猜疑，也不知道自己到底猜什么疑什么。不过，这明显预示着有什么悲惨不幸的事情在等着我。
“到达了目的地，我把信交给费尔南多的兄弟。他们对我照顾得很周到，可就是不办事情。虽然我很不乐意，但他们还是叫我在一个公爵看不到我的地方等候八天，因为费尔南多在信上说，要钱的事不能让公爵知道。这全是费尔南多编的瞎话，因为他兄弟有钱，完全可以马上把钱给我。这种吩咐我实在难以从命，让我同卢辛达分别这么多天简直难以想象，况且我离开的时候她是那么伤心。尽管如此，作为一个好仆人，我还是服从了，虽然我也清楚，这样做对我的身体不利。可是到了第四天，就有人拿着一封信找我，我认出信封上的字是卢辛达写的。我惶惑地打开信，心想一定有什么大事，她才这么远道给我写信，以前她很少写信的。看信之前，我先问那个人，是谁把信交给他的，他在路上用了多少时间。他说，中午路过那座城市的一条街时，有一位非常漂亮的小姐从窗口叫他。小姐的眼睛饱含泪水，急促地对他说：‘兄弟，看来你是基督徒，看在上帝的面上，我求你把这封信交给信封上写的那个地方的那个人，很好找的，这样你就为上帝做了件好事。你把这个手绢里的东西拿着。这样办事会方便些。’那人又接着说：‘她从窗口扔出一个手绢包来，里面有一百个雷阿尔，有我手上的这枚金戒指，还有我交给您的这封信。然后，她不等我回答就离开了窗户，不过在此之前，她已经看到我拾起了信和手绢包，并且向她打手势说，我一定把信送到。既然有这么高的报酬，而且从信封上看到信是写给您的，大人，我很了解您，再加上那位漂亮小姐的眼泪，我决定不委托任何人，亲自把信给您送来。路上我一共用了十六个小时，您知道，那个地方离这儿有十八西里地呢。’
“我听这位值得我感激的临时信使说话时，心一直悬着，两腿不住地打哆嗦，几乎要站不住了。后来我打开信，看到信是这样写的：
费尔南多对你说，要去见你的父亲，让你父亲向我
父亲提亲，可他做的事并没有维护你的利益，而是损坏了你的利益。你知道吗？他已经向我求婚了。我父亲认为费尔南多的条件比你的条件好，就答应了，再过两天就举行婚礼。婚礼将秘密地单独举行，只有老天见证，还有一些家人在场。我现在的情况怎么样，你可想而知。如果你能来，就赶紧来。我究竟爱不爱你，以后发生的事情会让你明白。但愿上帝保佑，让这封信在我同那个背信弃义的家伙结成连理之前交到你手上。
“简单说，这就是信上的内容。看完信后，我不再等什么回信或钱，立刻启程往回赶。这时我完全明白了，费尔南多让我到他兄弟这儿来并不是为了买马，而是为了实现他的目的。对费尔南多的愤怒，还有唯恐失去我多年追求的心上人的惧怕，仿佛给我安上了翅膀。我飞一般往回赶，第二天就赶到了家，而且正好是在我通常同卢辛达约会的时间。我把骡子放到那个好心送信的人家里，悄悄溜进去，恰巧碰到卢辛达正站在栅栏前，那栅栏就是我们爱情的见证。卢辛达看见了我，我也看到了她，可是彼此都不像往常见面时那样了。世界上有谁敢说自己深知女人的复杂思想和易变性格呢？真的，没有任何人敢这么说。
“卢辛达一看见我就说：‘卡德尼奥，我已换上了婚礼的服装，那个背信弃义的费尔南多，还有我那贪得无厌的父亲和证婚人，正在客厅等着我。不过，他们等到的不会是我的婚礼，而是我的死亡。你别慌，朋友，你应该设法看到这场悲剧。如果我不能用语言避免这场悲剧，我身上还带着一把匕首，任何强暴都可以用它抵挡。我要用它结束我的生命，并且证明我对你的一往深情。’
“我相信了。我怕时间紧，赶紧对她说：‘小姐，但愿你说到做到。你身上带着匕首，可以表白自己，我身上带着剑，也可以卫护你，万一事情不成，我就用它自杀。’
“我觉得她并没有听完我的话，好像有人在叫喊催促她，正等着她举行婚礼呢。这时，我那悲惨之夜降临了，我那欢乐的太阳也落山了。我眼前漆黑一片，思想也静止了。我不能进她家的门，可是又不愿离开。一想到万一发生什么事，我在场有多么重要，我就鼓足勇气，进了她家。我对她家出入的地方都熟悉，而且大家都在里面忙活，没人看见我。我神不知鬼不觉地藏到客厅扇弧形窗凹处的窗帘后面。我可以看到客厅里的全部活动，别人看不到我。我当时心跳得厉害，而且心烦意乱。那种情况简直没法形容，也最好别去形容。你们知道新郎进了客厅就行了。他穿着同往常一样的衣服。还有卢辛达的一个表兄做伴郎。客厅里除了几个佣人之外，没有别人。
“过了一会儿，卢辛达从内室出来了，她的母亲和两个女佣陪着她。她梳理打扮得雍容华贵，与她的玉洁美貌相得益彰。我没有心思仔细欣赏她的服饰，只注意到她的服装是肉色和白色的。头饰和全身的珠宝交相辉映，而她那无与伦比的金色秀发更显得格外突出，似乎在与客厅里的宝石和四支四芯大蜡烛争奇斗艳。她的出现可以说使得满堂生辉。哎，一想起这些，我就不得安宁！我现在回忆我那可爱冤家的绝伦美貌又有什么用呢？可怕的回忆，你叙述一下她的所作所为难道不好吗？对于这种公然的欺辱，即使我不能报仇，还不能舍命吗？各位大人，烦请你们再听我几句话。我的痛苦并不是三言两语就可以一带而过的，我觉得每件事都应该仔细讲述一番。”
神甫回答说，他们不仅不感到厌烦，而且还对这些细节十分感兴趣。这些细节不应该被遗忘，而且应该像故事的主要内容一样受到重视。
“大家到齐之后，”卡德尼奥继续讲道，“教区的神甫走进了客厅。他按照婚礼的程序，拉着两个人的手说：‘卢辛达小姐，你愿意按照神圣教会的规定，让你身旁的费尔南多大人做你的合法丈夫吗？’我躲在窗帘后面伸长了脑袋，惶惶不安地仔细听卢辛达回答，等着她对我的生死进行宣判。嗐，那时候我竟没敢站出来大声说，‘喂，卢辛达，卢辛达！你看你在干什么！你想想你该对我做的事情吧。你是我的，不能属于别人！你听着，你只要说声‘愿意’，我的生命即刻就会结束。还有你，你这背信弃义的费尔南多，你夺走了我的幸福，夺走了我的生命！你想干什么？你别想利用教会达到你的目的。卢辛达是我的妻子，我是她的丈夫。’哎，我真是个疯子。现在我远离她，远离了危险。当时我应该这样做，可是我没有这样做，结果让人夺走了我珍贵的宝贝。我要诅咒这个夺走我心上人的强盗。当时我如果有心报复他，完全可以报仇雪恨，可是现在我只能在这里后悔。总之，我当时胆小怯懦，因此现在羞愧难当，后悔莫及，变得疯疯癫癫。
“神甫在等待卢辛达的回答。卢辛达过了好一会儿才说话。当时我以为她要拔匕首自尽，或者说明真相，揭露骗局，这都有利于我。可是我却听到她有气无力地说：‘是的，我愿意。’费尔南多也说了这样的话，还给卢辛达戴上了戒指，于是他们就结成了解不开的婚姻。新郎过去拥抱新娘，她却把手放在自己的胸上，昏倒在她母亲的怀里。现在不必再说我听到这声‘愿意’时是如何感到我的愿望受到了愚弄，卢辛达的诺言是多么虚伪，我在这一时刻失去的东西是永远也不可能再得到了。我顿时不知所措，觉得偌大的天下竟无依无靠，脚下的大地也成了我的仇敌，拒绝给我以叹息的空气，拒绝给我的眼睛以泪水。只有怒火在燃烧，所有的愤怒和嫉妒都燃烧了起来。卢辛达昏过去后，在场的人都慌了手脚，卢辛达的母亲把卢辛达胸前的衣服解开，让她能够透过气来，却发现她胸前有一张叠起来的纸条。费尔南多把纸条拿过来，借着一支大蜡烛的光亮看起来。看完后，他坐在椅子上，两手托着脸，不去帮别人抢救自己的妻子，看样子是陷入了沉思。
“看到客厅里的人乱成一团，我也不管别人是否会发现我，贸然跑了出来，心想若是有人看见我，我就对他们不客气了，让大家都知道我已经义愤填膺，要惩罚虚伪的费尔南多，还有那个晕倒的变心女人。可是命运似乎要让我倍受折磨，假如还有更痛苦的折磨的话。命运让我那个时候格外清醒，事后却变得痴呆了。结果我没有想到向我的冤家报仇，要报仇当时很容易，他们根本没想到我在场。我把痛苦留给了我自己，把本应该让他们忍受的痛苦转移到我身上，而且这种痛苦也许比他们应该遭受的痛苦还要严重。如果我当时杀了他们，他们突然死亡，其痛苦也随即消失。可是像我这样，虽然性命犹存，却要遭受无穷无尽的折磨，才是最痛苦的。最后，我跑出了那个家，来到为我照看骡子的那个人的家，让他为我备骡，没向他道别就骑上骡子出了城，像罗得①一样，连头也不敢回。我只身来到野外，夜幕笼罩了我，我在寂静的夜色中呻吟，不怕别人听见我的呻吟声或者认出我来。我放开喉咙，大声地诅咒卢辛达和费尔南多，仿佛这样就能解除他们侮辱我的心头之恨。
①《旧约》人名。他在所多玛被东方五王掠掳，上帝降天火毁灭所多玛城时得到天使的救援而幸免。出逃之际，上帝吩咐他不可回头观看。
“我骂他们残忍、虚伪、忘恩负义，而且最贪婪，因为是我的情敌的财富蒙住了爱情的双眼，把卢辛达从我这儿夺走，交给了那个命运对他格外慷慨的人。我一边咒骂，一边又为卢辛达开脱，说像她这样总是被父母关在家里的女孩子，对父母言听计从也不为过，因而她宁愿迁就父母。父母给她找了这样一位显贵富有、文质彬彬的丈夫，她如果不签应，别人就会以为她精神不正常，或是另有新欢，那就会影响她的良好声誉。可是话又说回来，假如卢辛达说愿意让我做她的丈夫，她的父母也会觉得她这个选择不错，不会不原谅她。而且，费尔南多去求亲时，如果他们合理地考虑一下卢辛达的愿望，就不应该决定或者希望其他比我条件好的人做卢辛达的丈夫。卢辛达在迫不得已要结婚的最后关头，不妨说我已经和她私订了终身。在这种时候，无论她编造出什么理由，我都会照说不误。总之，我觉得是追求富贵的贪心战胜了爱情和理智，使她忘记了那些话。她曾用那些话蒙蔽了我，让我沉醉，让我怀有坚定的希望和纯真的爱情。
“我就这样连喊带闹地走了一夜，天亮时来到这座山的一个山口。我又在山上漫无目的地走了三天，最后来到这块草地上。我也不知这块草地在山的哪一面。我问几个牧羊人，这山上什么地方最隐秘，他们告诉我就是这个地方。我来到这儿，想在这儿了此一生。刚走到这儿，我的骡子饥劳交加，竟倒地而死。可我更觉得，它是要自行解除它对我的无谓负担。我站在这儿筋疲力尽，饥肠辘辘，没找到人，也没想向什么人求救。后来，我不知在地上躺了多少时间，等我醒来时已经不饿了，只见身旁站着几个牧羊人，想必是他们给了我吃的喝的。他们告诉我，他们如何发现了我，我当时又是如何胡言乱语，很明显，我已经精神失常了。从那以后，我自己也感觉到，我并不总是正常的，常常胡言乱语，疯疯癫癫，撕破自己的衣服，在这偏僻的地方大喊大叫，诅咒我的命运，不断空喊着我的负心人那可爱的名字，一心只想呼号着结束自己的生命。可是当我恢复正常的时候，我又心力交瘁，几乎动弹不得。
“我经常住的地方是一个能够遮蔽我这可怜身体的栓皮槠树洞。山上的牧羊人怜悯我，他们把食物放在路边和石头上，预料我会从那儿路过，看到那些食物。他们就这样养活了我。尽管我常常神志不清，可本能还是让我能够认出食物，引起食欲，想得到它。还有几次，在我清醒的时候，他们告诉我，有时牧人带着食物去放牧，我就跑到路上去抢他们的食物，尽管他们十分愿意把食物送给我。我就这样过着可怜至极的生活，要等老天开眼，让我的生命终止，或者让我的记忆终止，不再记起背叛了我的卢辛达的美貌以及费尔南多对我的伤害。如果老天让我活着，并且忘掉他们，我会让我的思维尽可能恢复正常，否则，我只求老天怜悯我的灵魂，我觉得自己没有勇气和力量把我从自己选择的这种境况里解脱出来。
“噢，两位大人，这就是我遭遇不幸的悲惨经历。你们看，我成了这个样子。可你们说说，遇到这样
Part 1 Chapter 28
Happy and fortunate were the times when that most daring knight Don Quixote of La Mancha was sent into the world; for by reason of his having formed a resolution so honourable as that of seeking to revive and restore to the world the long-lost and almost defunct order of knight-errantry, we now enjoy in this age of ours, so poor in light entertainment, not only the charm of his veracious history, but also of the tales and episodes contained in it which are, in a measure, no less pleasing, ingenious, and truthful, than the history itself; which, resuming its thread, carded, spun, and wound, relates that just as the curate was going to offer consolation to Cardenio, he was interrupted by a voice that fell upon his ear saying in plaintive tones:
“O God! is it possible I have found a place that may serve as a secret grave for the weary load of this body that I support so unwillingly? If the solitude these mountains promise deceives me not, it is so; ah! woe is me! how much more grateful to my mind will be the society of these rocks and brakes that permit me to complain of my misfortune to Heaven, than that of any human being, for there is none on earth to look to for counsel in doubt, comfort in sorrow, or relief in distress!”
All this was heard distinctly by the curate and those with him, and as it seemed to them to be uttered close by, as indeed it was, they got up to look for the speaker, and before they had gone twenty paces they discovered behind a rock, seated at the foot of an ash tree, a youth in the dress of a peasant, whose face they were unable at the moment to see as he was leaning forward, bathing his feet in the brook that flowed past. They approached so silently that he did not perceive them, being fully occupied in bathing his feet, which were so fair that they looked like two pieces of shining crystal brought forth among the other stones of the brook. The whiteness and beauty of these feet struck them with surprise, for they did not seem to have been made to crush clods or to follow the plough and the oxen as their owner’s dress suggested; and so, finding they had not been noticed, the curate, who was in front, made a sign to the other two to conceal themselves behind some fragments of rock that lay there; which they did, observing closely what the youth was about. He had on a loose double-skirted dark brown jacket bound tight to his body with a white cloth; he wore besides breeches and gaiters of brown cloth, and on his head a brown montera; and he had the gaiters turned up as far as the middle of the leg, which verily seemed to be of pure alabaster.
 
As soon as he had done bathing his beautiful feet, he wiped them with a towel he took from under the montera, on taking off which he raised his face, and those who were watching him had an opportunity of seeing a beauty so exquisite that Cardenio said to the curate in a whisper:
“As this is not Luscinda, it is no human creature but a divine being.”
The youth then took off the montera, and shaking his head from side to side there broke loose and spread out a mass of hair that the beams of the sun might have envied; by this they knew that what had seemed a peasant was a lovely woman, nay the most beautiful the eyes of two of them had ever beheld, or even Cardenio’s if they had not seen and known Luscinda, for he afterwards declared that only the beauty of Luscinda could compare with this. The long auburn tresses not only covered her shoulders, but such was their length and abundance, concealed her all round beneath their masses, so that except the feet nothing of her form was visible. She now used her hands as a comb, and if her feet had seemed like bits of crystal in the water, her hands looked like pieces of driven snow among her locks; all which increased not only the admiration of the three beholders, but their anxiety to learn who she was. With this object they resolved to show themselves, and at the stir they made in getting upon their feet the fair damsel raised her head, and parting her hair from before her eyes with both hands, she looked to see who had made the noise, and the instant she perceived them she started to her feet, and without waiting to put on her shoes or gather up her hair, hastily snatched up a bundle as though of clothes that she had beside her, and, scared and alarmed, endeavoured to take flight; but before she had gone six paces she fell to the ground, her delicate feet being unable to bear the roughness of the stones; seeing which, the three hastened towards her, and the curate addressing her first said:
“Stay, senora, whoever you may be, for those whom you see here only desire to be of service to you; you have no need to attempt a flight so heedless, for neither can your feet bear it, nor we allow it.”
Taken by surprise and bewildered, she made no reply to these words. They, however, came towards her, and the curate taking her hand went on to say:
“What your dress would hide, senora, is made known to us by your hair; a clear proof that it can be no trifling cause that has disguised your beauty in a garb so unworthy of it, and sent it into solitudes like these where we have had the good fortune to find you, if not to relieve your distress, at least to offer you comfort; for no distress, so long as life lasts, can be so oppressive or reach such a height as to make the sufferer refuse to listen to comfort offered with good intention. And so, senora, or senor, or whatever you prefer to be, dismiss the fears that our appearance has caused you and make us acquainted with your good or evil fortunes, for from all of us together, or from each one of us, you will receive sympathy in your trouble.”
While the curate was speaking, the disguised damsel stood as if spell-bound, looking at them without opening her lips or uttering a word, just like a village rustic to whom something strange that he has never seen before has been suddenly shown; but on the curate addressing some further words to the same effect to her, sighing deeply she broke silence and said:
“Since the solitude of these mountains has been unable to conceal me, and the escape of my dishevelled tresses will not allow my tongue to deal in falsehoods, it would be idle for me now to make any further pretence of what, if you were to believe me, you would believe more out of courtesy than for any other reason. This being so, I say I thank you, sirs, for the offer you have made me, which places me under the obligation of complying with the request you have made of me; though I fear the account I shall give you of my misfortunes will excite in you as much concern as compassion, for you will be unable to suggest anything to remedy them or any consolation to alleviate them. However, that my honour may not be left a matter of doubt in your minds, now that you have discovered me to be a woman, and see that I am young, alone, and in this dress, things that taken together or separately would be enough to destroy any good name, I feel bound to tell what I would willingly keep secret if I could.”
All this she who was now seen to be a lovely woman delivered without any hesitation, with so much ease and in so sweet a voice that they were not less charmed by her intelligence than by her beauty, and as they again repeated their offers and entreaties to her to fulfil her promise, she without further pressing, first modestly covering her feet and gathering up her hair, seated herself on a stone with the three placed around her, and, after an effort to restrain some tears that came to her eyes, in a clear and steady voice began her story thus:
“In this Andalusia there is a town from which a duke takes a title which makes him one of those that are called Grandees of Spain. This nobleman has two sons, the elder heir to his dignity and apparently to his good qualities; the younger heir to I know not what, unless it be the treachery of Vellido and the falsehood of Ganelon. My parents are this lord’s vassals, lowly in origin, but so wealthy that if birth had conferred as much on them as fortune, they would have had nothing left to desire, nor should I have had reason to fear trouble like that in which I find myself now; for it may be that my ill fortune came of theirs in not having been nobly born. It is true they are not so low that they have any reason to be ashamed of their condition, but neither are they so high as to remove from my mind the impression that my mishap comes of their humble birth. They are, in short, peasants, plain homely people, without any taint of disreputable blood, and, as the saying is, old rusty Christians, but so rich that by their wealth and free-handed way of life they are coming by degrees to be considered gentlefolk by birth, and even by position; though the wealth and nobility they thought most of was having me for their daughter; and as they have no other child to make their heir, and are affectionate parents, I was one of the most indulged daughters that ever parents indulged.
“I was the mirror in which they beheld themselves, the staff of their old age, and the object in which, with submission to Heaven, all their wishes centred, and mine were in accordance with theirs, for I knew their worth; and as I was mistress of their hearts, so was I also of their possessions. Through me they engaged or dismissed their servants; through my hands passed the accounts and returns of what was sown and reaped; the oil-mills, the wine-presses, the count of the flocks and herds, the beehives, all in short that a rich farmer like my father has or can have, I had under my care, and I acted as steward and mistress with an assiduity on my part and satisfaction on theirs that I cannot well describe to you. The leisure hours left to me after I had given the requisite orders to the head-shepherds, overseers, and other labourers, I passed in such employments as are not only allowable but necessary for young girls, those that the needle, embroidery cushion, and spinning wheel usually afford, and if to refresh my mind I quitted them for a while, I found recreation in reading some devotional book or playing the harp, for experience taught me that music soothes the troubled mind and relieves weariness of spirit. Such was the life I led in my parents’ house and if I have depicted it thus minutely, it is not out of ostentation, or to let you know that I am rich, but that you may see how, without any fault of mine, I have fallen from the happy condition I have described, to the misery I am in at present. The truth is, that while I was leading this busy life, in a retirement that might compare with that of a monastery, and unseen as I thought by any except the servants of the house (for when I went to Mass it was so early in the morning, and I was so closely attended by my mother and the women of the household, and so thickly veiled and so shy, that my eyes scarcely saw more ground than I trod on), in spite of all this, the eyes of love, or idleness, more properly speaking, that the lynx’s cannot rival, discovered me, with the help of the assiduity of Don Fernando; for that is the name of the younger son of the duke I told of.”
The moment the speaker mentioned the name of Don Fernando, Cardenio changed colour and broke into a sweat, with such signs of emotion that the curate and the barber, who observed it, feared that one of the mad fits which they heard attacked him sometimes was coming upon him; but Cardenio showed no further agitation and remained quiet, regarding the peasant girl with fixed attention, for he began to suspect who she was. She, however, without noticing the excitement of Cardenio, continuing her story, went on to say:
“And they had hardly discovered me, when, as he owned afterwards, he was smitten with a violent love for me, as the manner in which it displayed itself plainly showed. But to shorten the long recital of my woes, I will pass over in silence all the artifices employed by Don Fernando for declaring his passion for me. He bribed all the household, he gave and offered gifts and presents to my parents; every day was like a holiday or a merry-making in our street; by night no one could sleep for the music; the love letters that used to come to my hand, no one knew how, were innumerable, full of tender pleadings and pledges, containing more promises and oaths than there were letters in them; all which not only did not soften me, but hardened my heart against him, as if he had been my mortal enemy, and as if everything he did to make me yield were done with the opposite intention. Not that the high-bred bearing of Don Fernando was disagreeable to me, or that I found his importunities wearisome; for it gave me a certain sort of satisfaction to find myself so sought and prized by a gentleman of such distinction, and I was not displeased at seeing my praises in his letters (for however ugly we women may be, it seems to me it always pleases us to hear ourselves called beautiful) but that my own sense of right was opposed to all this, as well as the repeated advice of my parents, who now very plainly perceived Don Fernando’s purpose, for he cared very little if all the world knew it. They told me they trusted and confided their honour and good name to my virtue and rectitude alone, and bade me consider the disparity between Don Fernando and myself, from which I might conclude that his intentions, whatever he might say to the contrary, had for their aim his own pleasure rather than my advantage; and if I were at all desirous of opposing an obstacle to his unreasonable suit, they were ready, they said, to marry me at once to anyone I preferred, either among the leading people of our own town, or of any of those in the neighbourhood; for with their wealth and my good name, a match might be looked for in any quarter. This offer, and their sound advice strengthened my resolution, and I never gave Don Fernando a word in reply that could hold out to him any hope of success, however remote.
 
“All this caution of mine, which he must have taken for coyness, had apparently the effect of increasing his wanton appetite — for that is the name I give to his passion for me; had it been what he declared it to be, you would not know of it now, because there would have been no occasion to tell you of it. At length he learned that my parents were contemplating marriage for me in order to put an end to his hopes of obtaining possession of me, or at least to secure additional protectors to watch over me, and this intelligence or suspicion made him act as you shall hear. One night, as I was in my chamber with no other companion than a damsel who waited on me, with the doors carefully locked lest my honour should be imperilled through any carelessness, I know not nor can conceive how it happened, but, with all this seclusion and these precautions, and in the solitude and silence of my retirement, I found him standing before me, a vision that so astounded me that it deprived my eyes of sight, and my tongue of speech. I had no power to utter a cry, nor, I think, did he give me time to utter one, as he immediately approached me, and taking me in his arms (for, overwhelmed as I was, I was powerless, I say, to help myself), he began to make such professions to me that I know not how falsehood could have had the power of dressing them up to seem so like truth; and the traitor contrived that his tears should vouch for his words, and his sighs for his sincerity.
“I, a poor young creature alone, ill versed among my people in cases such as this, began, I know not how, to think all these lying protestations true, though without being moved by his sighs and tears to anything more than pure compassion; and so, as the first feeling of bewilderment passed away, and I began in some degree to recover myself, I said to him with more courage than I thought I could have possessed, ‘If, as I am now in your arms, senor, I were in the claws of a fierce lion, and my deliverance could be procured by doing or saying anything to the prejudice of my honour, it would no more be in my power to do it or say it, than it would be possible that what was should not have been; so then, if you hold my body clasped in your arms, I hold my soul secured by virtuous intentions, very different from yours, as you will see if you attempt to carry them into effect by force. I am your vassal, but I am not your slave; your nobility neither has nor should have any right to dishonour or degrade my humble birth; and low-born peasant as I am, I have my self-respect as much as you, a lord and gentleman: with me your violence will be to no purpose, your wealth will have no weight, your words will have no power to deceive me, nor your sighs or tears to soften me: were I to see any of the things I speak of in him whom my parents gave me as a husband, his will should be mine, and mine should be bounded by his; and my honour being preserved even though my inclinations were not would willingly yield him what you, senor, would now obtain by force; and this I say lest you should suppose that any but my lawful husband shall ever win anything of me.’ ‘If that,’ said this disloyal gentleman, ‘be the only scruple you feel, fairest Dorothea’ (for that is the name of this unhappy being), ‘see here I give you my hand to be yours, and let Heaven, from which nothing is hid, and this image of Our Lady you have here, be witnesses of this pledge.’”
 
When Cardenio heard her say she was called Dorothea, he showed fresh agitation and felt convinced of the truth of his former suspicion, but he was unwilling to interrupt the story, and wished to hear the end of what he already all but knew, so he merely said:
“What! is Dorothea your name, senora? I have heard of another of the same name who can perhaps match your misfortunes. But proceed; by-and-by I may tell you something that will astonish you as much as it will excite your compassion.”
Dorothea was struck by Cardenio’s words as well as by his strange and miserable attire, and begged him if he knew anything concerning her to tell it to her at once, for if fortune had left her any blessing it was courage to bear whatever calamity might fall upon her, as she felt sure that none could reach her capable of increasing in any degree what she endured already.
“I would not let the occasion pass, senora,” replied Cardenio, “of telling you what I think, if what I suspect were the truth, but so far there has been no opportunity, nor is it of any importance to you to know it.”
“Be it as it may,” replied Dorothea, “what happened in my story was that Don Fernando, taking an image that stood in the chamber, placed it as a witness of our betrothal, and with the most binding words and extravagant oaths gave me his promise to become my husband; though before he had made an end of pledging himself I bade him consider well what he was doing, and think of the anger his father would feel at seeing him married to a peasant girl and one of his vassals; I told him not to let my beauty, such as it was, blind him, for that was not enough to furnish an excuse for his transgression; and if in the love he bore me he wished to do me any kindness, it would be to leave my lot to follow its course at the level my condition required; for marriages so unequal never brought happiness, nor did they continue long to afford the enjoyment they began with.
“All this that I have now repeated I said to him, and much more which I cannot recollect; but it had no effect in inducing him to forego his purpose; he who has no intention of paying does not trouble himself about difficulties when he is striking the bargain. At the same time I argued the matter briefly in my own mind, saying to myself, ‘I shall not be the first who has risen through marriage from a lowly to a lofty station, nor will Don Fernando be the first whom beauty or, as is more likely, a blind attachment, has led to mate himself below his rank. Then, since I am introducing no new usage or practice, I may as well avail myself of the honour that chance offers me, for even though his inclination for me should not outlast the attainment of his wishes, I shall be, after all, his wife before God. And if I strive to repel him by scorn, I can see that, fair means failing, he is in a mood to use force, and I shall be left dishonoured and without any means of proving my innocence to those who cannot know how innocently I have come to be in this position; for what arguments would persuade my parents that this gentleman entered my chamber without my consent?’
“All these questions and answers passed through my mind in a moment; but the oaths of Don Fernando, the witnesses he appealed to, the tears he shed, and lastly the charms of his person and his high-bred grace, which, accompanied by such signs of genuine love, might well have conquered a heart even more free and coy than mine — these were the things that more than all began to influence me and lead me unawares to my ruin. I called my waiting-maid to me, that there might be a witness on earth besides those in Heaven, and again Don Fernando renewed and repeated his oaths, invoked as witnesses fresh saints in addition to the former ones, called down upon himself a thousand curses hereafter should he fail to keep his promise, shed more tears, redoubled his sighs and pressed me closer in his arms, from which he had never allowed me to escape; and so I was left by my maid, and ceased to be one, and he became a traitor and a perjured man.
“The day which followed the night of my misfortune did not come so quickly, I imagine, as Don Fernando wished, for when desire has attained its object, the greatest pleasure is to fly from the scene of pleasure. I say so because Don Fernando made all haste to leave me, and by the adroitness of my maid, who was indeed the one who had admitted him, gained the street before daybreak; but on taking leave of me he told me, though not with as much earnestness and fervour as when he came, that I might rest assured of his faith and of the sanctity and sincerity of his oaths; and to confirm his words he drew a rich ring off his finger and placed it upon mine. He then took his departure and I was left, I know not whether sorrowful or happy; all I can say is, I was left agitated and troubled in mind and almost bewildered by what had taken place, and I had not the spirit, or else it did not occur to me, to chide my maid for the treachery she had been guilty of in concealing Don Fernando in my chamber; for as yet I was unable to make up my mind whether what had befallen me was for good or evil. I told Don Fernando at parting, that as I was now his, he might see me on other nights in the same way, until it should be his pleasure to let the matter become known; but, except the following night, he came no more, nor for more than a month could I catch a glimpse of him in the street or in church, while I wearied myself with watching for one; although I knew he was in the town, and almost every day went out hunting, a pastime he was very fond of. I remember well how sad and dreary those days and hours were to me; I remember well how I began to doubt as they went by, and even to lose confidence in the faith of Don Fernando; and I remember, too, how my maid heard those words in reproof of her audacity that she had not heard before, and how I was forced to put a constraint on my tears and on the expression of my countenance, not to give my parents cause to ask me why I was so melancholy, and drive me to invent falsehoods in reply. But all this was suddenly brought to an end, for the time came when all such considerations were disregarded, and there was no further question of honour, when my patience gave way and the secret of my heart became known abroad. The reason was, that a few days later it was reported in the town that Don Fernando had been married in a neighbouring city to a maiden of rare beauty, the daughter of parents of distinguished position, though not so rich that her portion would entitle her to look for so brilliant a match; it was said, too, that her name was Luscinda, and that at the betrothal some strange things had happened.”
Cardenio heard the name of Luscinda, but he only shrugged his shoulders, bit his lips, bent his brows, and before long two streams of tears escaped from his eyes. Dorothea, however, did not interrupt her story, but went on in these words:
“This sad intelligence reached my ears, and, instead of being struck with a chill, with such wrath and fury did my heart burn that I scarcely restrained myself from rushing out into the streets, crying aloud and proclaiming openly the perfidy and treachery of which I was the victim; but this transport of rage was for the time checked by a resolution I formed, to be carried out the same night, and that was to assume this dress, which I got from a servant of my father’s , one of the zagals, as they are called in farmhouses, to whom I confided the whole of my misfortune, and whom I entreated to accompany me to the city where I heard my enemy was. He, though he remonstrated with me for my boldness, and condemned my resolution, when he saw me bent upon my purpose, offered to bear me company, as he said, to the end of the world. I at once packed up in a linen pillow-case a woman’s dress, and some jewels and money to provide for emergencies, and in the silence of the night, without letting my treacherous maid know, I sallied forth from the house, accompanied by my servant and abundant anxieties, and on foot set out for the city, but borne as it were on wings by my eagerness to reach it, if not to prevent what I presumed to be already done, at least to call upon Don Fernando to tell me with what conscience he had done it. I reached my destination in two days and a half, and on entering the city inquired for the house of Luscinda’s parents. The first person I asked gave me more in reply than I sought to know; he showed me the house, and told me all that had occurred at the betrothal of the daughter of the family, an affair of such notoriety in the city that it was the talk of every knot of idlers in the street. He said that on the night of Don Fernando’s betrothal with Luscinda, as soon as she had consented to be his bride by saying ‘Yes,’ she was taken with a sudden fainting fit, and that on the bridegroom approaching to unlace the bosom of her dress to give her air, he found a paper in her own handwriting, in which she said and declared that she could not be Don Fernando’s bride, because she was already Cardenio’s , who, according to the man’s account, was a gentleman of distinction of the same city; and that if she had accepted Don Fernando, it was only in obedience to her parents. In short, he said, the words of the paper made it clear she meant to kill herself on the completion of the betrothal, and gave her reasons for putting an end to herself all which was confirmed, it was said, by a dagger they found somewhere in her clothes. On seeing this, Don Fernando, persuaded that Luscinda had befooled, slighted, and trifled with him, assailed her before she had recovered from her swoon, and tried to stab her with the dagger that had been found, and would have succeeded had not her parents and those who were present prevented him. It was said, moreover, that Don Fernando went away at once, and that Luscinda did not recover from her prostration until the next day, when she told her parents how she was really the bride of that Cardenio I have mentioned. I learned besides that Cardenio, according to report, had been present at the betrothal; and that upon seeing her betrothed contrary to his expectation, he had quitted the city in despair, leaving behind him a letter declaring the wrong Luscinda had done him, and his intention of going where no one should ever see him again. All this was a matter of notoriety in the city, and everyone spoke of it; especially when it became known that Luscinda was missing from her father’s house and from the city, for she was not to be found anywhere, to the distraction of her parents, who knew not what steps to take to recover her. What I learned revived my hopes, and I was better pleased not to have found Don Fernando than to find him married, for it seemed to me that the door was not yet entirely shut upon relief in my case, and I thought that perhaps Heaven had put this impediment in the way of the second marriage, to lead him to recognise his obligations under the former one, and reflect that as a Christian he was bound to consider his soul above all human objects. All this passed through my mind, and I strove to comfort myself without comfort, indulging in faint and distant hopes of cherishing that life that I now abhor.
“But while I was in the city, uncertain what to do, as I could not find Don Fernando, I heard notice given by the public crier offering a great reward to anyone who should find me, and giving the particulars of my age and of the very dress I wore; and I heard it said that the lad who came with me had taken me away from my father’s house; a thing that cut me to the heart, showing how low my good name had fallen, since it was not enough that I should lose it by my flight, but they must add with whom I had fled, and that one so much beneath me and so unworthy of my consideration. The instant I heard the notice I quitted the city with my servant, who now began to show signs of wavering in his fidelity to me, and the same night, for fear of discovery, we entered the most thickly wooded part of these mountains. But, as is commonly said, one evil calls up another and the end of one misfortune is apt to be the beginning of one still greater, and so it proved in my case; for my worthy servant, until then so faithful and trusty when he found me in this lonely spot, moved more by his own villainy than by my beauty, sought to take advantage of the opportunity which these solitudes seemed to present him, and with little shame and less fear of God and respect for me, began to make overtures to me; and finding that I replied to the effrontery of his proposals with justly severe language, he laid aside the entreaties which he had employed at first, and began to use violence.
 
But just Heaven, that seldom fails to watch over and aid good intentions, so aided mine that with my slight strength and with little exertion I pushed him over a precipice, where I left him, whether dead or alive I know not; and then, with greater speed than seemed possible in my terror and fatigue, I made my way into the mountains, without any other thought or purpose save that of hiding myself among them, and escaping my father and those despatched in search of me by his orders. It is now I know not how many months since with this object I came here, where I met a herdsman who engaged me as his servant at a place in the heart of this Sierra, and all this time I have been serving him as herd, striving to keep always afield to hide these locks which have now unexpectedly betrayed me. But all my care and pains were unavailing, for my master made the discovery that I was not a man, and harboured the same base designs as my servant; and as fortune does not always supply a remedy in cases of difficulty, and I had no precipice or ravine at hand down which to fling the master and cure his passion, as I had in the servant’s case, I thought it a lesser evil to leave him and again conceal myself among these crags, than make trial of my strength and argument with him. So, as I say, once more I went into hiding to seek for some place where I might with sighs and tears implore Heaven to have pity on my misery, and grant me help and strength to escape from it, or let me die among the solitudes, leaving no trace of an unhappy being who, by no fault of hers, has furnished matter for talk and scandal at home and abroad.”
 
曼查英勇无比的骑士唐吉诃德降生的年代真乃幸运之至，他竟堂而皇之地要重建几乎已在世界上销声匿迹的游侠骑士，以至于我们在这个需要笑料的时代里，不仅可以了解他的真实历史，而且还可以欣赏到他的一些奇闻轶事。有些部分真真假假，其有趣的程度并不亚于他那条理清晰、情节错综曲折的历史本身。上面说到神甫正想安慰卡德尼奥几句，耳边却传来一个声音。神甫止住话，只听那声音语调凄切地说道：
“啊，上帝！我大概已经找到了可以秘密埋葬我这违心支撑的沉重身体的墓地！这孤寂的山脉肯定没有欺骗我。不幸之人啊，唯有这岩石草丛与我相随，给我一席之地，让我能够把我的不幸向天倾诉。当今之世，已经没有任何人可以与我为伴，遇迷津给我指点，遇忧怨给我安慰，遇困难给我帮助！”
这些话神甫和另外两个人都听得清清楚楚，觉得声音就是从附近发出的。事实正是如此。于是他们起身寻找那个说话人，走了不到二十步远，就在一块岩石后面发现，一个农夫打扮的小伙子正坐在一棵白蜡树下。他正低头在一条小溪里洗脚，因此看不见他的脸。他们悄悄走过去，那人竟一点也没有察觉，只顾自己专心致志地洗脚。与小溪中的石头相比，他那两只脚简直像两块白玉。
大家对着那两只又白又漂亮的脚发怔，觉得那可不是两只可以在泥土里耕种的脚，不是像他那种打扮的人的脚。既然没有被发现，走在前面的神甫就向另外两个人做了手势，示意他们在石头后面藏起来。藏好后，三人仔细看那人在干什么。小伙子上身穿一件棕褐色双兜短斗篷，一条白毛巾把斗篷紧紧束在身上；下身着棕褐色呢裤和裹腿，头戴一顶棕褐色帽子。裹腿裹住了半条肯定也是白石膏一般的腿。小伙子洗完他的纤秀的脚，从帽子下面抽出头巾，把脚擦干了。他抽头巾时抬了一下头，大家才看见他无比美貌。卡德尼奥对神甫低声说：
“这个人若不是卢辛达，那就不是凡人，是仙人。”
小伙子把帽子摘下来，向两侧甩了甩，头发开始散落下来，那潇洒的样子，连太阳见了都会嫉妒。这时大家才看清那个貌似小伙子的人竟是个娇嫩女子。神甫和理发师从未见过如此漂亮的女人。卡德尼奥若不是早就认识了卢辛达，也大开眼界了。卡德尼奥断定，只有卢辛达才能与之媲美。那女人长长的金色秀发不仅遮盖住了她的背部，而且遮盖了她全身；若不是下面还露出两只脚来，简直可以说她的身体的所有部分都看不见了。这时，她用手拢了拢头发。如果说她的两只脚像两块白玉，那么她的两只手就像两块密实的雪块。
三人见了都赞叹不已，而且更想知道她是谁了。
三人觉得该露面了。他们刚站起来，那漂亮的女子就抬起了头。她用双手拨开眼前的头发，看是什么东西发出了动静。她一看见三个人，就赶紧抓起身旁一包像是衣服的东西，慌慌张张地想要逃走。可是没跑出几步，她的细嫩双脚就再也受不了地上的乱石，跌倒在地。三个人见状来到她面前。神甫首先开口：
“站住，姑娘，不管你是谁，我们都愿意为你效劳。你没有必要逃跑。你的脚受不了，我们也不会让你跑掉。”
姑娘惊慌失措，一言不发。三个人走过去。神甫拉着她的手，说道：
“姑娘，你想用服装掩饰的东西，你的头发却把它暴露了。很明显，你如此漂亮，却打扮得如此不相称，来到如此偏僻的地方，原因一定非同小可。幸喜我们现在找到你了，即使不能帮你解决什么困难，至少可以给你一些忠告。人只要还活着，就不应该拒绝别人的善意劝告，任何困难也不会大到让人拒绝劝告的地步。因此，我的小姐或少爷，或者随便你愿意当什么吧，不要因为我们发现了你而吓得惊慌失措。给我们讲讲你的情况吧，不管它是好是坏，看看我们这几个人或者其中某个人是否能为你分担不幸。”
神甫说这番话的时候，那个乔装打扮的姑娘只是痴迷地看着他们，嘴唇不动，一句话也不说，仿佛一个乡下人突然见到一个从未见过的稀世之物一样。后来，神甫又讲了些同样内容的话，她才长长地吁了一口气，开口说道：
“看来这荒山野岭并非我的藏身之地，这披散的头发也不再允许我说假话了。我现在再继续装下去已经毫无意义。如果你们相信我，我可以告诉你们，我这样做主要是出于礼貌，倒不是为了其它什么原因。诸位大人，我感谢你们愿意帮助我，也正因为如此，我应该满足你们的各种要求。不过我担心，我的不幸不仅会让你们对我产生同情，而且还会让你们感到难过，因为你们找不出什么办法可以帮助我，安慰我。尽管如此，为了不让你们对我的品行产生怀疑，我就把我本来想尽可能隐瞒的事情告诉你们吧。否则，你们已经认出我是女人，而且年纪轻轻，只身一人，又是这身打扮，无论是加起来还是仅只其中一项，都足以使我的名声扫地了。”
这个女人很美，说起话来滔滔不绝，而且语调轻柔，使三个人不仅欣赏她的美貌，而且对她的机敏赞叹不已。三个人再次表示愿意帮助她，并且再次请求她讲讲自己的事。那女人也不再推辞，大大方方地穿上鞋，把头发拢好，坐到一块石头上。等三个人在她周围坐好，她强忍住眼泪，声音平缓清晰地讲起了自己的不幸身世：
“在安达卢西亚，有一块领地是一位公爵的，他在西班牙也称得上是个大人物了。公爵有两个儿子。大儿子继承了公爵的领地，似乎也继承了公爵的良好品行。小儿子继承了什么我不知道，反正贝利多的背信弃义和加拉隆的奸诈他都学会了。我的父母是公爵的臣民。父母虽然门第卑微，却很富裕。如果他们的门第能与他们的财产匹配，他们也就心满意足，我也不用害怕自己落到这种境地了。大概，我命运不佳就是因为我没有出生于豪门贵族吧。父母的门第既没有低贱到自惭卑微的地步，也没有高贵到让我否认我的不幸就是因为家世孤寒的程度。总之，他们是农夫，是平民，与那些臭名昭著的血统没有任何联系，就像人们常说的，是老基督徒了。他们生财有道，理财有方，逐渐获得了绅士的名声。不过，他们最大的财富就是有我这么个女儿。父母很喜欢我，而且只有我这么一个继承人，可以说我是个倍受父母宠爱的孩子。他们对我奉若神明，把我当成他们老年的依靠，凡事都同我商量，从我的需要出发，我总是能随心所欲。
“同时，我还是他们的的精神支柱，是他们的财富的管家。雇用和辞退佣人，播种和收割多少，都得经过我手。还有油磨、酒窖、大大小小的牲口和蜂箱都由我管。一句话，凡是一个像我父亲这样富有的农夫可能拥有和已经拥有的一切，都由我管。我成了女管家，女主人。我很愿意管，他们也很高兴让我管，愿意得没法再愿意了。我每天给领班、工头和佣人们派完活，就做些姑娘该做的事情，例如针线活、刺绣、纺织等等。有时候为了活跃一下精神生活，我还读点我喜欢的书，弹弹竖琴。根据我的体会，音乐可以调节紧张的精神生活，减轻人的精神负担。这就是我在我父母家里的生活。我特别提到这些并不是为了炫耀自己，或者让你们知道我是富人家的女儿，我只是想让你们知道，我从那样好的生活环境落到现在这种不幸的状况，责任全不在我。
“我就这样每天忙忙碌碌，而且深居简出，简直像个道士，我觉得除了家里的佣人，没有人能看见我。因为我去做弥撒的时候总是去得很早，而且有母亲和几个女佣陪伴，捂得严严实实，走路也规规矩矩，眼睛几乎只看脚下的那点地方。尽管如此，费尔南多爱情的眼睛，最好说是淫荡的眼睛，简直像猞猁一样敏锐，还是发现了我。这人就是我刚才说的那位公爵的小儿子。”
一听说费尔南多这个名字，卡德尼奥的脸骤然变色，并且开始冒汗。神甫和理发师都注意到了卡德尼奥脸上的变化，生怕他这时又犯起他们听说他常犯的疯病来。不过，卡德尼奥仅仅是脸上冒汗、目光呆滞而已。他紧紧盯着那个农家女，思索她究竟是谁。可那个姑娘并没有注意到卡德尼奥的这些变化，继续讲道：
“他后来对我说，他还没认清我的模样就已坠入了情网，他后来的所作所为也证明了这点。不过为了尽快讲完我的故事，不过多地回溯我的不幸，我就别再讲费尔南多如何费尽心机，向我表示了他的心愿，他又如何买通了我家里所有的人，向我所有的亲戚送礼了吧。我家那时每天白天都热热闹闹，夜晚音乐搅得谁也睡不了觉。还有那些情书，简直不知是如何到我手里的，尽是没完没了的山盟海誓。他的这些做法不仅没有打动我，反而叫我心肠更硬了，仿佛他是我不共戴天的敌人。他搞这些动作，是为了实现他的目的，但结果恰恰相反。倒不是我觉得费尔南多风度不够，也不是觉得他殷勤过分了。被这样一位高贵的小伙子倾慕，我心里别提多高兴了。看到他那些情书上的满纸恭维，我并不觉得有什么不合适。在这方面，我觉得我们女人即使再丑，也愿意听别人说我们漂亮。只是我的品德和我父母对我的劝告让我对他的这些做法很反感。父母完全了解费尔南多的意图，因为他满不在乎地到处张扬。
“父母常常对我说，我的品行牵涉到他们的声誉，他们要我注意到我同费尔南多之间的差距。从这儿可以看出他们考虑的是他们的好恶，而不是我的利益。当然，这是另外一回事了。他们说，如果我愿意设法让他放弃其非分追求，他们愿意以后把我嫁给我喜欢的任何人，不管是我们那儿还是附近的大户人家。凭我家的财产和我的好名声，这是完全可以做到的。既然父母这样允诺我，又讲了这些道理，我自然坚守童贞，从没给费尔南多回过任何话，不让他以为有实现企图的希望，更何况这是根本不可能的。
“他大概把我的这种自重看成对他的蔑视了，也大概正因为如此，他的淫欲才更旺。我用这个词来形容他对我的追求。如果这是一种正当的追求，你们现在就不会知道这件事了，我也就没有机会给你们讲这件事了。总之，费尔南多知道了我父母正准备让我嫁人，让他死了这条心，至少知道我父母让我防着他。这个消息或猜疑使他做出一件事来。那是一个晚上，我正在自己的房间里，同我的一个侍女在一起。我把门锁好，以防万一有什么疏忽，我的名声会受到威胁。可不知是怎么回事，也想象不出到底是怎么回事，即使我这么小心防范，在那寂静的夜晚，他竟忽然出现在我眼前。他的目光使得我心慌意乱，眼前一片漆黑，舌头也不会动了。我没有力量喊叫，我觉得他也不会让我喊出来。他走到我面前，把我搂在怀里。我当时心慌意乱，已经无力保护自己。他开始跟我说话。我也不知道是怎么回事，他把谎话编得跟真话似的。
“那个背信弃义的家伙想用眼泪证实他的话，用叹息证明他的诚意。可怜的我孤陋寡闻，不善于应付这种情况，不知是怎么回事，竟开始以假当真了。不过，他并没有能通过怜悯、眼泪和叹息打动我。稍稍镇定之后，连我自己也没有想到，我会有那样的勇气对他说：‘大人，我现在就在你怀里，可我即使被一头野狮搂抱着，如果要我做出或说出损害我贞洁的事才肯放开我，无论是怎样做或怎样说，我都是不会答应的。所以，尽管你已经把我的身子搂在你怀里，我仍然坐怀不乱。如果你想强迫我再走下去，你就会看到你我的想法有多么不同。我是你的臣民，可不是你的奴隶。你的高贵的血统不能也不该让你有权力蔑视我的出身。你是主人，是贵族，应该受到尊重。我是农妇，是劳动者，也应该受到尊重。你的力气不会对我产生任何作用，你的财产在我眼里毫无价值，你的话骗不了我，你的眼泪和叹息也不会打动我的心。如果我刚才说的这些东西有一样出现在我父母同意他做我丈夫的那个人身上，而且他合我意，我顺他心，因为那是光明正大的，我即使没兴趣，也会心甘情愿地把你现在想强求的东西交给他。我的这些话就是想说明，除了我的合法丈夫，任何人也别想从我身上得到任何东西。’那个负心的贵族说：‘如果你考虑的仅仅是这个，美丽无比的多罗特亚（这是我这个不幸者的名字），我现在就和你拉手盟誓，让洞察一切的老天和这座圣母像作证。’”
卡德尼奥一听说她叫多罗特亚，又开始不安起来，他的猜测终于得到了证实。不过他并没有打断她的话，想看看事情的最后结局，其实，他对此几乎了如指掌。卡德尼奥说：
“你叫多罗特亚，小姐？我也听说过一个同样的名字，而且她的遭遇也许和你差不多。请你继续讲下去，回头我再给你讲，肯定会让你既害怕又伤心。”
多罗特亚听到卡德尼奥的话，又见他破衣怪样，就说，如果他知道有关这个姑娘的事就请告诉她。假如命运还给她留下了一点好东西的话，那就是她有能够承受任何突如其来的灾难的勇气。她觉得自己经历过的痛苦已经到了无以复加的程度。
“如果事实真如我想象的那样，小姐，”卡德尼奥说，“我会把我想的这件事告诉你，不过下面还有机会，现在就说出来对你我都没必要。”
“那就请便吧。”多罗特亚说，“我接着讲的就是费尔南多捧着我房间里的一座圣像，把它当作证婚物，信誓旦旦地说要做我的丈夫。不过他还没说完，我就告诉他，让他再好好考虑一下。还有，他父亲看到他娶了个自己管辖下的农家姑娘，一定会生气的，叫他不要为了我的容貌而冲动一时。因为这点并不足以让他为自己开脱。如果他出于对我的爱，真对我好，就应该尊重我的意志，尊重我的人格。不般配的婚姻并不幸福，而且很快就不会美好如初了。刚才说的这些话我都对他讲了，另外还说了许多话，我都忘记了。可是这些都未能让他放弃自己的企图，就好比一个人本来就不想付款，所以他签约时并无担心一样。
“这时候，我自言自语了几句：‘我肯定不会是第一个通过联姻爬到贵族地位的女人，费尔南多也不会是第一个被美貌或盲目的热情所驱使，结成了与自己贵族身份极不相称的姻缘的男人。如果命运给我提供了机会，我完全可以获得这个荣誉。即使他在实现了自己的目的之后，没有对我继续表现出他的热情，在上帝面前我还是他的妻子。假如我轻蔑地拒绝了他，最后他也会使用不应使用的手段，使用暴力，那样我还会丢人现眼，还得为我根本没有责任的罪孽替自己辩解。我怎么能让我的父母和其他人相信，这个男人是未经允许就进了我的房间呢？
“这些要求和后果我顷刻之间全都考虑过了，而且它们开始对我产生了作用，并最终导致了我的失身，连我自己也没想到会这样。费尔南多信誓旦旦，以圣母像为证，泪流满面，还有他的气质相貌，再加上各种真情的表示，完全可以俘虏一颗像我这样自由纯真的心灵。我叫来我的侍女，上有天，下有她为证，费尔南多再次重复了他的誓言。除了他刚刚说过的誓言，又补充了新的神圣誓言为证。他说如果不履行自己的诺言，将来会受到各种诅咒。他的眼睛里又噙满了泪水，叹息也更深重了。虽然我并不同意，可是他把我搂得更紧了。我的侍女后来又退出去了。最终我失去了童贞，然而他还是背叛了我。
“我没想到费尔南多让我遭到不幸的那个夜晚会那么快来临，而他在心满意足之后，最大的愿望却是避免让人们在那儿见到他。费尔南多急于离开我。原来是我的侍女设法把他带进来的，这时又是她在天亮之前把他带到了街上。他离开我的时候，虽然不再像来时那样急切了，但还是让我放心，说他一定会履行诺言。为了证实自己的话，他还掏出一个大戒指，套在我手上。
“他走了以后，我也不知道自己到底是喜还是忧。不过我可以说，我已心慌意乱，思绪万千，被这突如其来的事情弄得精神恍惚，没有勇气或者说没想起来同我的侍女争吵，责骂她竟敢背着我悄悄把费尔南多放进我的房间，因为已发生的事情究竟是好事还是坏事，我还没有拿准。临走时，我告诉费尔南多，他可以按照他那天晚上来的路线，以后晚上再来找我，因为我已经是他的人了，直到某一天他愿意把这件事公诸于众。但他只是第二天来了一次，以后一个多月，无论在街上还是在教堂，我都再也没有见过他。我苦苦寻找，因为我知道他就在镇上，而且常常去打猎。他很喜欢打猎。
“那些日子，我心里极度苦闷和害怕。我知道自己已经开始怀疑费尔南多了。我对侍女的胆大妄为也开始责怪，而在此之前，我并没有责骂过她。我知道自己是在强忍眼泪，强作欢颜，以免父母亲问我为什么不高兴，我还得编一番话应付他们。
“不过这些很快就结束了。如果一个人的尊严受到了损害，不再顾及面子，他就会失去耐心，让自己的内心思想昭然于天下。原来过了不久之后，我听说费尔南多在附近一个城市同一个品貌俱佳的姑娘结了婚。姑娘的父母有地位，但不很富裕，仅凭嫁妆是攀不上这门高亲的。听说她叫卢辛达，在他们的婚礼上还出了一些怪事。”
卡德尼奥一听到卢辛达的名字，就不由得耸起肩膀，咬紧嘴唇，蹙紧眉头，眼睛里差点流出眼泪来。不过，他还是听着多罗特亚继续讲下去：
“我听到这个悲伤的消息后，并没有心寒，而是怒火中烧，差点儿跑到大街上去大叫大嚷，把他对我的背叛公之于众。后来我的愤怒又转化为一种新的想法，而且我当晚就付诸实施了。我穿上这身衣服，这是一个雇工给我的衣服，他是我父亲的佣人。我把我的不幸告诉了他，请他陪我到我的仇人所在的城市去。他先是对我的大胆设想大加指责，可是看到我主意已定，就同意陪我去，还说哪怕是陪我到天涯海角。后来，我在一个棉布枕套里藏了一身女装和一些珠宝与钱，以防万一，然后就在那个寂静的夜晚，背着那个背叛了我的侍女，同那个雇工一起出门上了路，脑子里乱哄哄的，心里想，事实既成已经无法改变了，不过我得让费尔南多跟我讲清楚他到底安的是什么心。
“我们走了两天半，到了我们要去的地方。一进城，我就打听卢辛达父母的家在哪儿。我刚问了一个人，他就告诉了我，而且比我想知道的还要多。他告诉了我卢辛达父母家的地址以及在卢辛达婚礼上发生的事情。这件事在城里已经众所周知，而且闹得沸沸扬扬。那人告诉我，费尔南多同卢辛达结婚的那天晚上，卢辛达说‘愿意’做费尔南多的妻子之后，就立刻晕了过去。她的丈夫解开她的胸衣，想让她透透气，结果发现了卢辛达亲手写的一张纸条，说她不能做费尔南多的妻子，因为她已经是卡德尼奥的人了。那人告诉我，说卡德尼奥是同一城市里的一位很有地位的青年。她说‘愿意’做费尔南多的妻子，只是不想违背父命。“反正纸条上的话让人觉得她准备一举行完结婚仪式就自杀，而且还讲了她为什么要结束自己的生命。后来，人们从她的衣服的不知什么地方找到了一把匕首，证明了纸条上说的那些话。费尔南多看到这些，觉得卢辛达嘲弄蔑视了他。卢辛达还没醒来，他就拿起从卢辛达身上发现的那把匕首向卢辛达刺去。若不是卢辛达的父母和其他在场的人拦住他，他就真的刺中卢辛达了。听说后来费尔南多就不见了，卢辛达第二天才醒过来，并且告诉父母，自己实际上是我刚才说的那个卡德尼奥的妻子。我还知道，举行婚礼仪式时卡德尼奥也在场。他看到卢辛达结了亲，这是他万万没有想到的。绝望之余，他离开了那座城市，临走前还留下一封信，信上说卢辛达伤害了他，还有他要到一个人们见不到他的地方去。
“这件事在城里已经家喻户晓，人们对此议论纷纷。后来听说卢辛达从父母家里出走了，满城都找不到她，人们议论得更厉害了。卢辛达的父母都快急疯了，不知道怎样才能找到她。我听到的这些话又重新给我带来了希望，觉得虽然没有找到费尔南多，也比找到一个结了婚的费尔南多好。我觉得事情还有挽回的余地，觉得大概是老天阻止他第二次成亲吧，让他认识到他应该对第一次成亲负责，让他知道他是个基督教徒，应该对社会习俗承担义务，更要对自己的灵魂承担义务。我还想入非非，用不存在的安慰来安慰自己，用一些渺茫黯淡的希望给自己已经厌倦了的生活增添乐趣。
“我虽然到了城里，却不知道该怎么办。还没找到费尔南多，我却听说有个公告，说谁若是能找到我，将得到重赏，并且公布了我的年龄和这身衣服的特征。人们以为我是被那个雇工从父母家拐走的，我从心底觉得这回丢尽了脸。我出走本来就够丢人的，现在又加上是私奔，本来很好的想法竟变成了这么卑贱的事情。我一听说公告的事，就带着那个雇工出了城。这时候，那个原来表示忠实于我的雇工也开始表现出犹豫了。那天晚上我们怕被人找到，就躲进了山上隐秘处。人们常说祸不单行，逃出狼窝又进了虎口，我就遇到了这种情况。那个雇工本来人挺好，忠实可靠，可现在他见我处于这种境地，竟趁机向我求欢。他不顾廉耻，无视上帝，不尊重我，并不是我的美貌刺激了他，而是他自己邪念横生。他见我严辞拒绝，便不再像原来打算的那样，靠软的得逞，而是开始对我来硬的。
“然而正义的老天很少或从来没有放弃主持正义。老天助我，尽管我力气小，却没费多少劲就把他推下了悬崖，也不知他最后是死还是活。然后，我又怕又累，赶紧跑到这山上，心里只想躲进山里，避免父亲和那些帮助他的人找到我。就这样我不知在山里过了几个月，后来碰到一个牧羊人，他把我带到这座山深处的一个地方给他帮忙。这段时间我一直给他放牧，为的是常待在野外，藏住我这长头发。没想到，这回暴露了。
“不过，我的用意和打算并没能起到什么作用。后来那个牧羊人发现我不是男人，就同我那个雇工一样产生了邪念。命运不会总是来帮助我，我也不是总能碰到悬崖，就像对我的雇工那样，把我的雇主推下去。最后我还是离开了他，再次藏进大山深处，免得同牧人较劲或求饶。我是说，我又重新隐藏起来，寻找一个可以毫无顾忌地叹息流泪，乞求老天同情我的不幸，指引我摆脱苦难的地方，不然就让我生活在这荒山野岭，让人们忘记这个被当地和外乡人无辜议论的可怜人吧。”
Part 1 Chapter 29
“Such, sirs, is the true story of my sad adventures; judge for yourselves now whether the sighs and lamentations you heard, and the tears that flowed from my eyes, had not sufficient cause even if I had indulged in them more freely; and if you consider the nature of my misfortune you will see that consolation is idle, as there is no possible remedy for it. All I ask of you is, what you may easily and reasonably do, to show me where I may pass my life unharassed by the fear and dread of discovery by those who are in search of me; for though the great love my parents bear me makes me feel sure of being kindly received by them, so great is my feeling of shame at the mere thought that I cannot present myself before them as they expect, that I had rather banish myself from their sight for ever than look them in the face with the reflection that they beheld mine stripped of that purity they had a right to expect in me.”
With these words she became silent, and the colour that overspread her face showed plainly the pain and shame she was suffering at heart. In theirs the listeners felt as much pity as wonder at her misfortunes; but as the curate was just about to offer her some consolation and advice Cardenio forestalled him, saying, “So then, senora, you are the fair Dorothea, the only daughter of the rich Clenardo?” Dorothea was astonished at hearing her father’s name, and at the miserable appearance of him who mentioned it, for it has been already said how wretchedly clad Cardenio was; so she said to him:
“And who may you be, brother, who seem to know my father’s name so well? For so far, if I remember rightly, I have not mentioned it in the whole story of my misfortunes.”
“I am that unhappy being, senora,” replied Cardenio, “whom, as you have said, Luscinda declared to be her husband; I am the unfortunate Cardenio, whom the wrong-doing of him who has brought you to your present condition has reduced to the state you see me in, bare, ragged, bereft of all human comfort, and what is worse, of reason, for I only possess it when Heaven is pleased for some short space to restore it to me. I, Dorothea, am he who witnessed the wrong done by Don Fernando, and waited to hear the ‘Yes’ uttered by which Luscinda owned herself his betrothed: I am he who had not courage enough to see how her fainting fit ended, or what came of the paper that was found in her bosom, because my heart had not the fortitude to endure so many strokes of ill-fortune at once; and so losing patience I quitted the house, and leaving a letter with my host, which I entreated him to place in Luscinda’s hands, I betook myself to these solitudes, resolved to end here the life I hated as if it were my mortal enemy. But fate would not rid me of it, contenting itself with robbing me of my reason, perhaps to preserve me for the good fortune I have had in meeting you; for if that which you have just told us be true, as I believe it to be, it may be that Heaven has yet in store for both of us a happier termination to our misfortunes than we look for; because seeing that Luscinda cannot marry Don Fernando, being mine, as she has herself so openly declared, and that Don Fernando cannot marry her as he is yours, we may reasonably hope that Heaven will restore to us what is ours, as it is still in existence and not yet alienated or destroyed. And as we have this consolation springing from no very visionary hope or wild fancy, I entreat you, senora, to form new resolutions in your better mind, as I mean to do in mine, preparing yourself to look forward to happier fortunes; for I swear to you by the faith of a gentleman and a Christian not to desert you until I see you in possession of Don Fernando, and if I cannot by words induce him to recognise his obligation to you, in that case to avail myself of the right which my rank as a gentleman gives me, and with just cause challenge him on account of the injury he has done you, not regarding my own wrongs, which I shall leave to Heaven to avenge, while I on earth devote myself to yours.”
Cardenio’s words completed the astonishment of Dorothea, and not knowing how to return thanks for such an offer, she attempted to kiss his feet; but Cardenio would not permit it, and the licentiate replied for both, commended the sound reasoning of Cardenio, and lastly, begged, advised, and urged them to come with him to his village, where they might furnish themselves with what they needed, and take measures to discover Don Fernando, or restore Dorothea to her parents, or do what seemed to them most advisable. Cardenio and Dorothea thanked him, and accepted the kind offer he made them; and the barber, who had been listening to all attentively and in silence, on his part some kindly words also, and with no less good-will than the curate offered his services in any way that might be of use to them. He also explained to them in a few words the object that had brought them there, and the strange nature of Don Quixote’s madness, and how they were waiting for his squire, who had gone in search of him. Like the recollection of a dream, the quarrel he had had with Don Quixote came back to Cardenio’s memory, and he described it to the others; but he was unable to say what the dispute was about.
 
At this moment they heard a shout, and recognised it as coming from Sancho Panza, who, not finding them where he had left them, was calling aloud to them. They went to meet him, and in answer to their inquiries about Don Quixote, be told them how he had found him stripped to his shirt, lank, yellow, half dead with hunger, and sighing for his lady Dulcinea; and although he had told him that she commanded him to quit that place and come to El Toboso, where she was expecting him, he had answered that he was determined not to appear in the presence of her beauty until he had done deeds to make him worthy of her favour; and if this went on, Sancho said, he ran the risk of not becoming an emperor as in duty bound, or even an archbishop, which was the least he could be; for which reason they ought to consider what was to be done to get him away from there. The licentiate in reply told him not to be uneasy, for they would fetch him away in spite of himself. He then told Cardenio and Dorothea what they had proposed to do to cure Don Quixote, or at any rate take him home; upon which Dorothea said that she could play the distressed damsel better than the barber; especially as she had there the dress in which to do it to the life, and that they might trust to her acting the part in every particular requisite for carrying out their scheme, for she had read a great many books of chivalry, and knew exactly the style in which afflicted damsels begged boons of knights-errant.
“In that case,” said the curate, “there is nothing more required than to set about it at once, for beyond a doubt fortune is declaring itself in our favour, since it has so unexpectedly begun to open a door for your relief, and smoothed the way for us to our object.”
Dorothea then took out of her pillow-case a complete petticoat of some rich stuff, and a green mantle of some other fine material, and a necklace and other ornaments out of a little box, and with these in an instant she so arrayed herself that she looked like a great and rich lady. All this, and more, she said, she had taken from home in case of need, but that until then she had had no occasion to make use of it. They were all highly delighted with her grace, air, and beauty, and declared Don Fernando to be a man of very little taste when he rejected such charms. But the one who admired her most was Sancho Panza, for it seemed to him (what indeed was true) that in all the days of his life he had never seen such a lovely creature; and he asked the curate with great eagerness who this beautiful lady was, and what she wanted in these out-of-the-way quarters.
“This fair lady, brother Sancho,” replied the curate, “is no less a personage than the heiress in the direct male line of the great kingdom of Micomicon, who has come in search of your master to beg a boon of him, which is that he redress a wrong or injury that a wicked giant has done her; and from the fame as a good knight which your master has acquired far and wide, this princess has come from Guinea to seek him.”
“A lucky seeking and a lucky finding!” said Sancho Panza at this; “especially if my master has the good fortune to redress that injury, and right that wrong, and kill that son of a bitch of a giant your worship speaks of; as kill him he will if he meets him, unless, indeed, he happens to be a phantom; for my master has no power at all against phantoms. But one thing among others I would beg of you, senor licentiate, which is, that, to prevent my master taking a fancy to be an archbishop, for that is what I’m afraid of, your worship would recommend him to marry this princess at once; for in this way he will be disabled from taking archbishop’s orders, and will easily come into his empire, and I to the end of my desires; I have been thinking over the matter carefully, and by what I can make out I find it will not do for me that my master should become an archbishop, because I am no good for the Church, as I am married; and for me now, having as I have a wife and children, to set about obtaining dispensations to enable me to hold a place of profit under the Church, would be endless work; so that, senor, it all turns on my master marrying this lady at once — for as yet I do not know her grace, and so I cannot call her by her name.”
“She is called the Princess Micomicona,” said the curate; “for as her kingdom is Micomicon, it is clear that must be her name.”
“There’s no doubt of that,” replied Sancho, “for I have known many to take their name and title from the place where they were born and call themselves Pedro of Alcala, Juan of Ubeda, and Diego of Valladolid; and it may be that over there in Guinea queens have the same way of taking the names of their kingdoms.”
“So it may,” said the curate; “and as for your master’s marrying, I will do all in my power towards it:” with which Sancho was as much pleased as the curate was amazed at his simplicity and at seeing what a hold the absurdities of his master had taken of his fancy, for he had evidently persuaded himself that he was going to be an emperor.
By this time Dorothea had seated herself upon the curate’s mule, and the barber had fitted the ox-tail beard to his face, and they now told Sancho to conduct them to where Don Quixote was, warning him not to say that he knew either the licentiate or the barber, as his master’s becoming an emperor entirely depended on his not recognising them; neither the curate nor Cardenio, however, thought fit to go with them; Cardenio lest he should remind Don Quixote of the quarrel he had with him, and the curate as there was no necessity for his presence just yet, so they allowed the others to go on before them, while they themselves followed slowly on foot. The curate did not forget to instruct Dorothea how to act, but she said they might make their minds easy, as everything would be done exactly as the books of chivalry required and described.
 
They had gone about three-quarters of a league when they discovered Don Quixote in a wilderness of rocks, by this time clothed, but without his armour; and as soon as Dorothea saw him and was told by Sancho that that was Don Quixote, she whipped her palfrey, the well-bearded barber following her, and on coming up to him her squire sprang from his mule and came forward to receive her in his arms, and she dismounting with great ease of manner advanced to kneel before the feet of Don Quixote; and though he strove to raise her up, she without rising addressed him in this fashion:
“From this spot I will not rise, valiant and doughty knight, until your goodness and courtesy grant me a boon, which will redound to the honour and renown of your person and render a service to the most disconsolate and afflicted damsel the sun has seen; and if the might of your strong arm corresponds to the repute of your immortal fame, you are bound to aid the helpless being who, led by the savour of your renowned name, hath come from far distant lands to seek your aid in her misfortunes.”
“I will not answer a word, beauteous lady,” replied Don Quixote, “nor will I listen to anything further concerning you, until you rise from the earth.”
“I will not rise, senor,” answered the afflicted damsel, “unless of your courtesy the boon I ask is first granted me.”
“I grant and accord it,” said Don Quixote, “provided without detriment or prejudice to my king, my country, or her who holds the key of my heart and freedom, it may be complied with.”
“It will not be to the detriment or prejudice of any of them, my worthy lord,” said the afflicted damsel; and here Sancho Panza drew close to his master’s ear and said to him very softly, “Your worship may very safely grant the boon she asks; it’s nothing at all; only to kill a big giant; and she who asks it is the exalted Princess Micomicona, queen of the great kingdom of Micomicon of Ethiopia.”
“Let her be who she may,” replied Don Quixote, “I will do what is my bounden duty, and what my conscience bids me, in conformity with what I have professed;” and turning to the damsel he said, “Let your great beauty rise, for I grant the boon which you would ask of me.”
“Then what I ask,” said the damsel, “is that your magnanimous person accompany me at once whither I will conduct you, and that you promise not to engage in any other adventure or quest until you have avenged me of a traitor who against all human and divine law, has usurped my kingdom.”
“I repeat that I grant it,” replied Don Quixote; “and so, lady, you may from this day forth lay aside the melancholy that distresses you, and let your failing hopes gather new life and strength, for with the help of God and of my arm you will soon see yourself restored to your kingdom, and seated upon the throne of your ancient and mighty realm, notwithstanding and despite of the felons who would gainsay it; and now hands to the work, for in delay there is apt to be danger.”
The distressed damsel strove with much pertinacity to kiss his hands; but Don Quixote, who was in all things a polished and courteous knight, would by no means allow it, but made her rise and embraced her with great courtesy and politeness, and ordered Sancho to look to Rocinante’s girths, and to arm him without a moment’s delay. Sancho took down the armour, which was hung up on a tree like a trophy, and having seen to the girths armed his master in a trice, who as soon as he found himself in his armour exclaimed:
“Let us be gone in the name of God to bring aid to this great lady.”
The barber was all this time on his knees at great pains to hide his laughter and not let his beard fall, for had it fallen maybe their fine scheme would have come to nothing; but now seeing the boon granted, and the promptitude with which Don Quixote prepared to set out in compliance with it, he rose and took his lady’s hand, and between them they placed her upon the mule. Don Quixote then mounted Rocinante, and the barber settled himself on his beast, Sancho being left to go on foot, which made him feel anew the loss of his Dapple, finding the want of him now. But he bore all with cheerfulness, being persuaded that his master had now fairly started and was just on the point of becoming an emperor; for he felt no doubt at all that he would marry this princess, and be king of Micomicon at least. The only thing that troubled him was the reflection that this kingdom was in the land of the blacks, and that the people they would give him for vassals would be all black; but for this he soon found a remedy in his fancy, and said he to himself, “What is it to me if my vassals are blacks? What more have I to do than make a cargo of them and carry them to Spain, where I can sell them and get ready money for them, and with it buy some title or some office in which to live at ease all the days of my life? Not unless you go to sleep and haven’t the wit or skill to turn things to account and sell three, six, or ten thousand vassals while you would he talking about it! By God I will stir them up, big and little, or as best I can, and let them be ever so black I’ll turn them into white or yellow. Come, come, what a fool I am!” And so he jogged on, so occupied with his thoughts and easy in his mind that he forgot all about the hardship of travelling on foot.
Cardenio and the curate were watching all this from among some bushes, not knowing how to join company with the others; but the curate, who was very fertile in devices, soon hit upon a way of effecting their purpose, and with a pair of scissors he had in a case he quickly cut off Cardenio’s beard, and putting on him a grey jerkin of his own he gave him a black cloak, leaving himself in his breeches and doublet, while Cardenio’s appearance was so different from what it had been that he would not have known himself had he seen himself in a mirror. Having effected this, although the others had gone on ahead while they were disguising themselves, they easily came out on the high road before them, for the brambles and awkward places they encountered did not allow those on horseback to go as fast as those on foot. They then posted themselves on the level ground at the outlet of the Sierra, and as soon as Don Quixote and his companions emerged from it the curate began to examine him very deliberately, as though he were striving to recognise him, and after having stared at him for some time he hastened towards him with open arms exclaiming, “A happy meeting with the mirror of chivalry, my worthy compatriot Don Quixote of La Mancha, the flower and cream of high breeding, the protection and relief of the distressed, the quintessence of knights-errant!” And so saying he clasped in his arms the knee of Don Quixote’s left leg. He, astonished at the stranger’s words and behaviour, looked at him attentively, and at length recognised him, very much surprised to see him there, and made great efforts to dismount. This, however, the curate would not allow, on which Don Quixote said, “Permit me, senor licentiate, for it is not fitting that I should be on horseback and so reverend a person as your worship on foot.”
“On no account will I allow it,” said the curate; “your mightiness must remain on horseback, for it is on horseback you achieve the greatest deeds and adventures that have been beheld in our age; as for me, an unworthy priest, it will serve me well enough to mount on the haunches of one of the mules of these gentlefolk who accompany your worship, if they have no objection, and I will fancy I am mounted on the steed Pegasus, or on the zebra or charger that bore the famous Moor, Muzaraque, who to this day lies enchanted in the great hill of Zulema, a little distance from the great Complutum.”
“Nor even that will I consent to, senor licentiate,” answered Don Quixote, “and I know it will be the good pleasure of my lady the princess, out of love for me, to order her squire to give up the saddle of his mule to your worship, and he can sit behind if the beast will bear it.”
“It will, I am sure,” said the princess, “and I am sure, too, that I need not order my squire, for he is too courteous and considerate to allow a Churchman to go on foot when he might be mounted.”
“That he is,” said the barber, and at once alighting, he offered his saddle to the curate, who accepted it without much entreaty; but unfortunately as the barber was mounting behind, the mule, being as it happened a hired one, which is the same thing as saying ill-conditioned, lifted its hind hoofs and let fly a couple of kicks in the air, which would have made Master Nicholas wish his expedition in quest of Don Quixote at the devil had they caught him on the breast or head. As it was, they so took him by surprise that he came to the ground, giving so little heed to his beard that it fell off, and all he could do when he found himself without it was to cover his face hastily with both his hands and moan that his teeth were knocked out. Don Quixote when he saw all that bundle of beard detached, without jaws or blood, from the face of the fallen squire, exclaimed:
“By the living God, but this is a great miracle! it has knocked off and plucked away the beard from his face as if it had been shaved off designedly.”
The curate, seeing the danger of discovery that threatened his scheme, at once pounced upon the beard and hastened with it to where Master Nicholas lay, still uttering moans, and drawing his head to his breast had it on in an instant, muttering over him some words which he said were a certain special charm for sticking on beards, as they would see; and as soon as he had it fixed he left him, and the squire appeared well bearded and whole as before, whereat Don Quixote was beyond measure astonished, and begged the curate to teach him that charm when he had an opportunity, as he was persuaded its virtue must extend beyond the sticking on of beards, for it was clear that where the beard had been stripped off the flesh must have remained torn and lacerated, and when it could heal all that it must be good for more than beards.
“And so it is,” said the curate, and he promised to teach it to him on the first opportunity. They then agreed that for the present the curate should mount, and that the three should ride by turns until they reached the inn, which might be about six leagues from where they were.
Three then being mounted, that is to say, Don Quixote, the princess, and the curate, and three on foot, Cardenio, the barber, and Sancho Panza, Don Quixote said to the damsel:
“Let your highness, lady, lead on whithersoever is most pleasing to you;” but before she could answer the licentiate said:
 
“Towards what kingdom would your ladyship direct our course? Is it perchance towards that of Micomicon? It must be, or else I know little about kingdoms.”
She, being ready on all points, understood that she was to answer “Yes,” so she said “Yes, senor, my way lies towards that kingdom.”
“In that case,” said the curate, “we must pass right through my village, and there your worship will take the road to Cartagena, where you will be able to embark, fortune favouring; and if the wind be fair and the sea smooth and tranquil, in somewhat less than nine years you may come in sight of the great lake Meona, I mean Meotides, which is little more than a hundred days’ journey this side of your highness’s kingdom.”
 
“Your worship is mistaken, senor,” said she; “for it is not two years since I set out from it, and though I never had good weather, nevertheless I am here to behold what I so longed for, and that is my lord Don Quixote of La Mancha, whose fame came to my ears as soon as I set foot in Spain and impelled me to go in search of him, to commend myself to his courtesy, and entrust the justice of my cause to the might of his invincible arm.”
“Enough; no more praise,” said Don Quixote at this, “for I hate all flattery; and though this may not be so, still language of the kind is offensive to my chaste ears. I will only say, senora, that whether it has might or not, that which it may or may not have shall be devoted to your service even to death; and now, leaving this to its proper season, I would ask the senor licentiate to tell me what it is that has brought him into these parts, alone, unattended, and so lightly clad that I am filled with amazement.”
“I will answer that briefly,” replied the curate; “you must know then, Senor Don Quixote, that Master Nicholas, our friend and barber, and I were going to Seville to receive some money that a relative of mine who went to the Indies many years ago had sent me, and not such a small sum but that it was over sixty thousand pieces of eight, full weight, which is something; and passing by this place yesterday we were attacked by four footpads, who stripped us even to our beards, and them they stripped off so that the barber found it necessary to put on a false one, and even this young man here” — pointing to Cardenio — “they completely transformed. But the best of it is, the story goes in the neighbourhood that those who attacked us belong to a number of galley slaves who, they say, were set free almost on the very same spot by a man of such valour that, in spite of the commissary and of the guards, he released the whole of them; and beyond all doubt he must have been out of his senses, or he must be as great a scoundrel as they, or some man without heart or conscience to let the wolf loose among the sheep, the fox among the hens, the fly among the honey. He has defrauded justice, and opposed his king and lawful master, for he opposed his just commands; he has, I say, robbed the galleys of their feet, stirred up the Holy Brotherhood which for many years past has been quiet, and, lastly, has done a deed by which his soul may be lost without any gain to his body.” Sancho had told the curate and the barber of the adventure of the galley slaves, which, so much to his glory, his master had achieved, and hence the curate in alluding to it made the most of it to see what would be said or done by Don Quixote; who changed colour at every word, not daring to say that it was he who had been the liberator of those worthy people. “These, then,” said the curate, “were they who robbed us; and God in his mercy pardon him who would not let them go to the punishment they deserved.”
 
“各位大人，这就是我的真实的悲惨故事。现在你们看到了，也该认识到了，我有足够的理由唉声叹气，终日以泪洗面，尽情宣泄我的悲痛。你们想想我不幸的程度，就会知道，任何安慰都无济于事，因为这件事已经无可挽回。我只请求你们做一件事，这件事对于你们来说轻而易举，而且义不容辞，那就是告诉我，我应该躲到什么地方去了此一生，而且不必害怕被那些寻找我的人发现。尽管我知道父母很爱我，肯定会热情地欢迎我，但只要一想到面对他们，我就羞愧难当。我已经不是他们所希望的那样贞洁了，所以我宁愿远离他乡，永远不让他们再见到我，我也不愿意再看到他们。”
说到这儿，她止住了话，脸上蒙罩了一种从内心感到痛苦和惭愧的神色。几个人听她讲述了自己的不幸之后，深感同情和惊讶。神甫想安慰开导她几句，可是卡德尼奥却抢先说道：
“姑娘，你就是富人克莱纳尔多的独生女儿，美丽的多罗特亚？”
多罗特亚听到有人提起她父亲的名字，颇感意外，尤其奇怪提到他父亲名字的这个人竟是个落魄的平民，卡德尼奥的破衣烂衫清楚地表明了这点。多罗特亚问他：
“你是什么人，兄弟？你怎么知道我父亲的名字呢？如果我没记错的话，刚才我讲述自己不幸的时候，始终没有提到父亲的名字。”
“我就是你刚才讲到的被卢辛达称为未婚夫的那个失意人。”卡德尼奥说，“我就是倒霉的卡德尼奥。把你害成这个样子的那个坏蛋，也把我坑到了这种地步。你看我衣衫褴褛，衣不蔽体，得不到真情安慰。更有甚者，我的神志已经失常，只有在老天开眼的时候，才让我清醒一段时间。多罗特亚，就是我曾目睹费尔南多的阴谋得逞，就是我听见了卢辛达说她‘愿意’做唐费尔南多的妻子，就是我在卢辛达晕倒时，连去看看她的勇气都没有，也没有看她身上的那张纸条到底是怎么回事。这些不幸同时出现，我的灵魂简直承受不了。我迫不及待地离开了她家，只给一位客人留了一封信，请他把信交到卢辛达手里。我来到这荒山野岭，打算在这儿了结一生。从那时开始，我开始厌恶生活，仿佛它是我的不共戴天之敌。
“不过命运并不想剥夺我的生命，它只是剥夺我的正常神志，这大概是为了让我有幸在此遇到你。我觉得，假如你刚才讲的都是真话，也许老天还为咱们俩安排了不幸中的万幸。既然卢辛达是我的，她不能同费尔南多结婚，而费尔南多又是你的，不能同卢辛达结婚，这点卢辛达已经明确讲过，咱们完全可以指望老天安排物归原主。这本是命中注定，无可变更的。我们可以从这并不遥远的希望里得到安慰，这并不是胡思乱想。我请求你，小姐，振奋精神，重新选择。现在我已另有安排，让你得到好运。我以勇士和基督徒的名义发誓，一定要照顾你，一直到你回到费尔南多身边。如果讲道理仍不能让费尔南多认识到他对你的责任，我就要行使我作为男士的权利，为他对你的无礼，名正言顺地向他挑战，而丝毫不考虑他与我的个人恩怨。我的仇留给老天去报，我在人间只为你雪恨。”
听了卡德尼奥的话，多罗特亚不胜惊喜。她不知道应该如何感谢卡德尼奥，就想去吻他的脚，可卡德尼奥不允许。神父这时出来解围说，他同意卡德尼奥的说法。另外，他还特别请求并劝说他们，同他一起回乡，这样可以补充一些必需的物品，还可以计议一下如何找到费尔南多，或把多罗特亚送到她父母那儿，或者还有什么其它更合适的办法。
卡德尼奥和多罗特亚对此表示感谢，并接受了神甫的建议，理发师本来一直在旁边默不作声，现在也像神甫一样十分友好地表示，只要是对他们有利的事情，都愿意效劳。理发师还扼要地介绍了一下他和神甫来此的原因，以及唐吉诃德如何莫名其妙地抽疯，他们如何在此等待唐吉诃德的侍从，而他已经去找唐吉诃德了。卡德尼奥忽然想起来，他似乎在梦中同唐吉诃德争吵过一回，于是就把这件事同大家说了，不过他自己也不知道到底是为什么争吵。
这时忽听有人叫喊，他们听出是桑乔的声音。原来是桑乔找不到原来的地方了，所以喊起来。大家走出来，迎面碰到了桑乔。桑乔说已经找到了唐吉诃德，他身着单衣，面黄肌瘦，饿得半死不活，嘴里还唉声叹气地念叨着杜尔西内亚。桑乔已经告诉唐吉诃德，杜尔西内亚让他离开那个地方，到托博索去，杜尔西内亚在那儿等着他。可是唐吉诃德回答说，如果不干出些像样的事业来，他绝不去见杜尔西内亚。假如这样下去，唐吉诃德就当不成国王了，而这本来是他份内之事。而且，他连大主教也当不成了，他至少应该当个大主教。因此，桑乔请大家看看怎样才能把唐吉诃德引出来。神甫说不要着急，不管唐吉诃德愿意不愿意，都得把他从那儿弄出来。
然后，神甫向卡德尼奥和多罗特亚讲述了他和理发师原来商量的解救唐吉诃德的办法，说至少得把他弄回家去。多罗特亚说，要扮成落难女子，她肯定比理发师合适，而且她这儿还有衣服，会扮得更自然。她让大家把这事儿交给她，她知道该怎样做，原来她也读过许多骑士小说，知道落难女子向游侠骑士求助时应该是什么样子。
“不过，现在最需要的是行动起来。”神甫说，“我肯定是遇上好运了，真是没想到，这样你们的事情还有挽回的希望，我们的事情也方便多了。”
多罗特亚随即从她的枕套里拿出一件高级面料的连衣裙和一条艳丽的绿丝披巾，又从一个首饰盒里拿出一串项链和其它几样首饰，并且马上就戴到身上，变得像一位雍容华贵的小姐了。她说这些东西都是从家里带出来的，以防万一有用，但直到现在才有机会用上它们。大家都觉得她气度非凡、仪态万方和绰约多姿，更认为费尔南多愚蠢至极，竟抛弃这样漂亮的女子。不过，最为感叹的是桑乔，他觉得自己从未见过如此漂亮的女孩子，事实也的确是如此。桑乔急切地问神甫，这位美丽的姑娘是谁，到这偏僻之地干什么来了。
“这位漂亮的姑娘，桑乔朋友，是伟大的米科米孔王国直系男性的女继承人。”神甫说，“她来寻求你主人的帮助。有个恶毒的巨人欺负了她。你主人是优秀骑士的名声已经四海皆知，因此她特意慕名从几内亚赶来找他。”
“找得好，找得妙！”桑乔说，“假如我的主人有幸能为你报仇雪恨，把刚才说的那个巨人杀了，那就更好了。只要那个巨人不是鬼怪，我的主人找到他就能把他杀了。对于鬼怪，我的主人就束手无策了。我想求您一件事，神甫大人，就是劝我的主人不要做大主教，这是我最担心的。请您劝他同这位公主结婚，那么他就当不成大主教了，就得乖乖地到他的王国去，这是我的最终目的。我已经仔细考虑过了，按照我的打算，他当主教对我不利。我已经结婚了，在教会也无事可做。我有老婆孩子，要领薪俸还得经过特别准许，总是没完没了的。所以，大人，这一切全看我的主人是否同这位公主结婚了。到现在我还没问小姐的芳名，不知应该怎样称呼她呢。”
“你就叫她米科米科娜公主吧，”神甫说，“她的那个王国叫米科米孔，她自然就得这么叫了。”
“这是肯定的，”桑乔说，“我听说很多人都以他们的出生地和家族为姓名，叫什么阿尔卡拉的佩德罗呀，乌韦达的胡安呀，以及巴利阿多里德的迭戈呀。几内亚也应该这样，公主就用她那个王国的名字吧。”
“应该这样，”神甫说，“至于劝你主人结婚的事，我尽力而为。”
桑乔对此非常高兴，神甫对他头脑如此简单，而且同他的主人一样想入非非感到震惊，他居然真心以为他的主人能当上国王呢。
这时，多罗特亚已骑上了神甫的骡子，理发师也把那个用牛尾巴做的假胡子戴好了。他们让桑乔带路去找唐吉诃德，并且叮嘱他，不要说认识神甫和理发师，因为说不认识他们对让他的主人去做国王起着决定性作用。神甫和卡德尼奥没有一同去。他们不想让唐吉诃德想起他以前同卡德尼奥的争论，神甫也没有必要出面，因此他们让其他人先走，自己在后面慢慢步行跟随。神甫不断地告诉多罗特亚应该怎样做。多罗特亚让大家放心，她一定会像骑士小说里要求和描述的那样，做得一模一样。
他们走了不到一西里远，就发现了乱石中间的唐吉诃德。他现在已经穿上了衣服，不过没有戴盔甲。多罗特亚刚发现唐吉诃德，桑乔就告诉她，那就是他的主人。多罗特亚催马向前，跟上了走在前面的大胡子理发师。他们来到唐吉诃德面前，理发师从骡子上跳下来，伸手去抱多罗特亚，多罗特亚敏捷地跳下马，跪倒在唐吉诃德面前。唐吉诃德让她起来，可是她坚持不起来，嘴里说道：
“英勇强悍的勇士啊，您若不答应慷慨施恩，我就不起来。这件事有利于提高您的声望，也有助于我这个忧心忡忡、受苦受难的女孩子。太阳若有眼，也不会视而不见。如果您的臂膀真像您的鼎鼎大名所传的那样雄健有力，您就会责无旁贷地帮助这位慕名远道而来、寻求您帮助的少女。”
“美丽的姑娘，”唐吉诃德说，“你要是不站起来，我就不回答你的话，也不会听您说有关你的事。”
“如果您不先答应帮助我，大人，我就不起来。”姑娘痛苦万分地说。
“只要这件事不会有损于我的国王、我的祖国和我那个掌握了我的心灵与自由的心上人，我就答应你。”唐吉诃德说。
“决不会有损于您说的那些，我的好大人。”姑娘悲痛欲绝地说。
这时桑乔走到唐吉诃德身边，对着他的耳朵悄悄说道：
“您完全可以帮助她，大人，没有什么了不起的大事，只是去杀死一个大个子。这个恳求您的人是高贵的米科米科娜公主，是埃塞俄比亚的米科米孔王国的女王。”
“不管她是谁，”唐吉诃德说，“我都要奉行我的原则，按照我的义务和良心行事。”唐吉诃德又转向少女说，“尊贵的美人，你请起，我愿意按照你的要求帮助你。”
“我的要求就是，”姑娘说，“劳您大驾，随同我到我带您去的一个地方，并且答应我，在为我向那个违背了人类所有神圣权利、夺走了我的王国的叛徒报仇之前，不要再穿插任何冒险活动，不要再答应别人的任何要求。”
“就这么办，”唐吉诃德说，“姑娘，从今天开始，你完全可以抛弃你的忧伤烦恼，让你已经泯灭的希望得以恢复。有上帝和我的臂膀的帮助，你很快就可以重建你的王国，重登你的古老伟大国家的宝座，尽管有些无赖想反其道而行之。”
可怜巴巴的姑娘坚持要吻唐吉诃德的手，可唐吉诃德毕竟是谦恭有礼的骑士，他怎么也不允许吻他的手。他把姑娘扶了起来，非常谦恭有礼地拥抱了一下姑娘，然后吩咐桑乔查看一下罗西南多的肚带，再给他披戴上甲胄。桑乔先把那像战利品一般挂在树上的甲胄摘下来，又查看了罗西南多的肚带，并且迅速为唐吉诃德披戴好了甲胄。唐吉诃德全身披挂好，说：
“咱们以上帝的名义出发吧，去帮助这位尊贵的小姐。”
理发师还跪在地上呢。他强忍着笑，还得注意别让胡子掉下来。胡子若是掉下来，他们的良苦用心就会落空。看到唐吉诃德已经同意帮忙，并且即刻准备启程，他也站起来，扶着他的女主人的另一只手，同唐吉诃德一起把姑娘扶上了骡子。唐吉诃德骑上罗西南多，理发师也上了自己的马，只剩下桑乔还得步行。桑乔于是又想起了丢驴的事，本来这时候他正用得着那头驴。不过，这时桑乔走得挺带劲，他觉得主人已经上了路，很快就可以成为国王了，因为他估计主人肯定会同那位公主结婚，至少也能当上米科米孔的国王。可是，一想到那个王国是在黑人居住的土地上，他又犯愁了，那里的臣民大概也都是黑人吧。但他马上就想出了解决办法，自语道：“那些臣民都是黑人又与我有什么关系呢？我可以把他们装运到西班牙去卖掉，人们会付我现金，我用这些钱可以买个官职或爵位，舒舒服服地过我的日子。不过别犯糊涂，你还没能力掌握这些东西呢，把三万或一万废物都卖出去可不容易。上帝保佑，我得不分质量好坏，尽可能把他们一下子都卖出去，把黑的换成白的或黄的①。看我，净犯傻了。”他越想越高兴，已经忘了步行给他带来的劳累。
①指换成金银。
躲在乱石荆棘中的卡德尼奥和神甫把这一切都已看在眼里，但他们不知道怎样同他们会合才合适。还是神甫足智多谋，马上想出了一个应付的办法。神甫从一个盒子里拿出剪刀，把卡德尼奥的胡子迅速剪掉，又把自己的棕色外套给他穿上，再递给他一件黑色短斗篷，自己只穿裤子和坎肩。这回卡德尼奥已判若两人，连他自己对着镜子也认不出自己了。他们这么收拾的时候，前面的人已经走出很远，他们很快就来到了大路上。那个地方的乱草杂石很多，骑马还不如走得快。他们来到山口的平路上时，唐吉诃德那一行人也出现了。神甫仔细端详着，装成似曾相识的样子。看了好一会儿，神甫才伸出双臂，大声喊道：
“骑士的楷模，我的老乡，曼查的唐吉诃德，耿介之士的精英，受苦人的保护神和救星，游侠骑士的典范，我终于找到你了。”
神甫说完就跪着抱住唐吉诃德左腿的膝盖。唐吉诃德耳闻目睹那个人如此言谈举止，不禁一惊。他仔细看了看，终于认出了神甫，于是，他慌慌张张地使劲要下马，可是神甫不让他下马。于是，唐吉诃德说：
“请您让我下来，教士大人，我骑在马上，而像您这样尊贵的人却站在地上，实在不合适。”
“这我无论如何也不会允许，”神甫说，“请您仍然骑在您的马上吧。因为您骑在马上，可以完成当今时代最显赫的业绩和最大的冒险。而我呢，只是个不称职的教士，与您同行的几位都骑着马，只要你们不嫌，随便让我骑在某一位所骑的马的臀部就行了。我会觉得我仿佛骑着一匹飞马，或者是那个著名摩尔人穆萨拉克骑过的斑马或骠马。穆萨拉克至今还被魔法定在扎普鲁托附近的苏莱玛山上哩。”
“这样我也不能同意。”唐吉诃德说，“不过我知道，我的这位公主会给我面子，让她的侍从把骡子让给您。他坐在骡臀上还是可以的，只要他的骡子受得了。”
“我觉得能够受得了，”公主说，“而且我还知道，不必吩咐，我的侍从就会把骡子让给您。他非常有礼貌，决不会让一位神甫走路而自己却骑在骡子上。”
“是这样。”理发师回答。
理发师马上从骡子背上跳下来，请神甫骑到鞍子上。神甫也不多推辞。而理发师则骑在骡子的臀部上。这下可糟了，因为那是一匹租来的骡子。只要说是租来的，就知道好不了。骡子抬起两只后蹄，向空中踢了两下，这两下要是踢在理发师的胸部或者头上，他准会诅咒魔鬼让他来找唐吉诃德。尽管如此，他还是被吓得跌落到地上，稍不留意，竟把胡子掉到了地上。理发师见胡子没有了，便赶紧用两手捂着脸，抱怨说摔掉了两颗牙齿。
唐吉诃德见侍从的胡子掉了下来，离脸那么远，却连一点血也没有，就说：
“上帝呀，这简直是奇迹！胡子竟能从脸上脱落下来，就像是故意弄的一样！”
神甫见事情有可能败露，便赶紧拾起胡子，走到那个仍在大声呻吟的尼古拉斯师傅身旁，把他的脑袋往胸前一按，重新把胡子安上，还对着他念念有词，说是大家就会看到，那是某种专门粘胡子用的咒语。安上胡子后，神甫走开了，只见理发师的胡子完好如初。唐吉诃德见了惊诧不已。他请求神甫有空时也教教他这种咒语。他觉得这种咒语的作用远不止是粘胡子用，它的用途应该更广泛。很明显，如果胡子掉了，肯定会露出满面创伤的肉来。因此，它不仅能粘胡子，而且什么病都可以治。
“是这样。”神甫说，并且答应唐吉诃德，一有机会就教给他制作的方法。
于是大家商定，先让神甫骑上骡子，走一段路之后，三个人再轮换，直到找到客店。三个骑马人是唐吉诃德、公主和神甫。三个步行的人是卡德尼奥、理发师和桑乔。唐吉诃德对公主说：
“我的小姐，无论您把我们带到什么地方去，我都愿意相随。”
还没等她回答，神甫就抢先说道：
“您想把我们带到什么王国去呀？是不是去米科米孔？估计是那儿吧，我不知道是否还有其它什么王国。”
姑娘立刻明白了应该这样回答，于是她说：
“是的，大人，就是要去那个王国。”
“如果是这样，”神甫说，“那就得经过我们那个镇，然后您转向卡塔赫纳，在那儿乘船。如果运气好，风平浪静，没有暴风雨，用不了九个年头，就可以看到宽广的梅奥纳湖，或者叫梅奥蒂德斯湖了，接着再走一百多天，就到您的王国了。”
“您记错了，我的大人，”姑娘说，“我从那儿出来还不到两年，而且从来没有遇到过好天气。尽管如此，我还是见到了我仰慕已久的曼查的唐吉诃德。我一踏上西班牙的土地，就听说了他的事迹。这些事迹促使我来拜见这位大人，请求他以他战无不胜的臂膀为我主持公道。”
“不要再说这些恭维话了，”唐吉诃德说，“我反对听各种各样的吹捧。尽管刚才这些并不是吹捧，它还是会玷污我纯洁的耳朵。我现在要说的是，我的公主，我的勇气时有时无。无论我是否有勇气，我都会为您尽心效力，直到献出自己的生命。这个问题以后再说，我现在只请求神甫大人告诉我，是什么原因使您冒冒失失地只身到此，也没带佣人，简直把我吓了一跳。”
“我简短地讲一下。”神甫说，“您知道，唐吉诃德大人，我和咱们的理发师朋友尼古拉斯师傅去塞维利亚收一笔钱。那笔钱是我的一位亲戚很多年以前从天府之国给我寄来的。数目不算小，大概有六万比索，不得了啊。昨天，我们在这个地方忽然碰上了四个强盗。他们把我们洗劫一空，连胡子都抢走了。胡子被抢走了，我就劝理发师安个假胡子。还有这个小伙子，他的胡子跟新的一样。好就好在这一带人们都说，袭击我们的强盗是些苦役犯。听说他们几乎就是在这个地方被一个人释放的。那个人相当勇敢，尽管差役和捕快们反对，他还是把所有苦役犯都放了。这个人精神肯定不正常，要不就是和那些人一样是个大坏蛋，或者是个没心没肺的人，因为他要把狼放进羊群，把狐狸放进鸡窝，把苍蝇放进蜜里。他辜负了正义的期望，违背了国王和上帝的意志，违反了他们的神圣命令。因此我说呀，他放了那些苦役犯就是放虎归山，给圣友团带来了麻烦，本来圣友团已经好多年没有事干了。反正一句话，他做这件事在肉体上并没有好处，同时却丢失了灵魂。”
桑乔已经把苦役犯的事情告诉了神甫和理发师，说主人对此洋洋自得。因此，神甫特意提到这件事，看唐吉诃德怎么做或怎么说。神甫每说一句，唐吉诃德的脸就变一下颜色，没敢承认就是他把那些人放了。
“就是那些强盗抢走了我们的钱。”神甫说，“慈祥的上帝，饶恕这个人，免了他该受的惩罚吧。”
Part 1 Chapter 30
The curate had hardly ceased speaking, when Sancho said, “In faith, then, senor licentiate, he who did that deed was my master; and it was not for want of my telling him beforehand and warning him to mind what he was about, and that it was a sin to set them at liberty, as they were all on the march there because they were special scoundrels.”
“Blockhead!” said Don Quixote at this, “it is no business or concern of knights-errant to inquire whether any persons in affliction, in chains, or oppressed that they may meet on the high roads go that way and suffer as they do because of their faults or because of their misfortunes. It only concerns them to aid them as persons in need of help, having regard to their sufferings and not to their rascalities. I encountered a chaplet or string of miserable and unfortunate people, and did for them what my sense of duty demands of me, and as for the rest be that as it may; and whoever takes objection to it, saving the sacred dignity of the senor licentiate and his honoured person, I say he knows little about chivalry and lies like a whoreson villain, and this I will give him to know to the fullest extent with my sword;” and so saying he settled himself in his stirrups and pressed down his morion; for the barber’s basin, which according to him was Mambrino’s helmet, he carried hanging at the saddle-bow until he could repair the damage done to it by the galley slaves.
Dorothea, who was shrewd and sprightly, and by this time thoroughly understood Don Quixote’s crazy turn, and that all except Sancho Panza were making game of him, not to be behind the rest said to him, on observing his irritation, “Sir Knight, remember the boon you have promised me, and that in accordance with it you must not engage in any other adventure, be it ever so pressing; calm yourself, for if the licentiate had known that the galley slaves had been set free by that unconquered arm he would have stopped his mouth thrice over, or even bitten his tongue three times before he would have said a word that tended towards disrespect of your worship.”
“That I swear heartily,” said the curate, “and I would have even plucked off a moustache.”
“I will hold my peace, senora,” said Don Quixote, “and I will curb the natural anger that had arisen in my breast, and will proceed in peace and quietness until I have fulfilled my promise; but in return for this consideration I entreat you to tell me, if you have no objection to do so, what is the nature of your trouble, and how many, who, and what are the persons of whom I am to require due satisfaction, and on whom I am to take vengeance on your behalf?”
“That I will do with all my heart,” replied Dorothea, “if it will not be wearisome to you to hear of miseries and misfortunes.”
“It will not be wearisome, senora,” said Don Quixote; to which Dorothea replied, “Well, if that be so, give me your attention.” As soon as she said this, Cardenio and the barber drew close to her side, eager to hear what sort of story the quick-witted Dorothea would invent for herself; and Sancho did the same, for he was as much taken in by her as his master; and she having settled herself comfortably in the saddle, and with the help of coughing and other preliminaries taken time to think, began with great sprightliness of manner in this fashion.
“First of all, I would have you know, sirs, that my name is — ” and here she stopped for a moment, for she forgot the name the curate had given her; but he came to her relief, seeing what her difficulty was, and said, “It is no wonder, senora, that your highness should be confused and embarrassed in telling the tale of your misfortunes; for such afflictions often have the effect of depriving the sufferers of memory, so that they do not even remember their own names, as is the case now with your ladyship, who has forgotten that she is called the Princess Micomicona, lawful heiress of the great kingdom of Micomicon; and with this cue your highness may now recall to your sorrowful recollection all you may wish to tell us.”
“That is the truth,” said the damsel; “but I think from this on I shall have no need of any prompting, and I shall bring my true story safe into port, and here it is. The king my father, who was called Tinacrio the Sapient, was very learned in what they call magic arts, and became aware by his craft that my mother, who was called Queen Jaramilla, was to die before he did, and that soon after he too was to depart this life, and I was to be left an orphan without father or mother. But all this, he declared, did not so much grieve or distress him as his certain knowledge that a prodigious giant, the lord of a great island close to our kingdom, Pandafilando of the Scowl by name — for it is averred that, though his eyes are properly placed and straight, he always looks askew as if he squinted, and this he does out of malignity, to strike fear and terror into those he looks at — that he knew, I say, that this giant on becoming aware of my orphan condition would overrun my kingdom with a mighty force and strip me of all, not leaving me even a small village to shelter me; but that I could avoid all this ruin and misfortune if I were willing to marry him; however, as far as he could see, he never expected that I would consent to a marriage so unequal; and he said no more than the truth in this, for it has never entered my mind to marry that giant, or any other, let him be ever so great or enormous. My father said, too, that when he was dead, and I saw Pandafilando about to invade my kingdom, I was not to wait and attempt to defend myself, for that would be destructive to me, but that I should leave the kingdom entirely open to him if I wished to avoid the death and total destruction of my good and loyal vassals, for there would be no possibility of defending myself against the giant’s devilish power; and that I should at once with some of my followers set out for Spain, where I should obtain relief in my distress on finding a certain knight-errant whose fame by that time would extend over the whole kingdom, and who would be called, if I remember rightly, Don Azote or Don Gigote.”
“‘Don Quixote,’ he must have said, senora,” observed Sancho at this, “otherwise called the Knight of the Rueful Countenance.”
“That is it,” said Dorothea; “he said, moreover, that he would be tall of stature and lank featured; and that on his right side under the left shoulder, or thereabouts, he would have a grey mole with hairs like bristles.”
On hearing this, Don Quixote said to his squire, “Here, Sancho my son, bear a hand and help me to strip, for I want to see if I am the knight that sage king foretold.”
“What does your worship want to strip for?” said Dorothea.
“To see if I have that mole your father spoke of,” answered Don Quixote.
“There is no occasion to strip,” said Sancho; “for I know your worship has just such a mole on the middle of your backbone, which is the mark of a strong man.”
“That is enough,” said Dorothea, “for with friends we must not look too closely into trifles; and whether it be on the shoulder or on the backbone matters little; it is enough if there is a mole, be it where it may, for it is all the same flesh; no doubt my good father hit the truth in every particular, and I have made a lucky hit in commending myself to Don Quixote; for he is the one my father spoke of, as the features of his countenance correspond with those assigned to this knight by that wide fame he has acquired not only in Spain but in all La Mancha; for I had scarcely landed at Osuna when I heard such accounts of his achievements, that at once my heart told me he was the very one I had come in search of.”
“But how did you land at Osuna, senora,” asked Don Quixote, “when it is not a seaport?”
But before Dorothea could reply the curate anticipated her, saying, “The princess meant to say that after she had landed at Malaga the first place where she heard of your worship was Osuna.”
“That is what I meant to say,” said Dorothea.
“And that would be only natural,” said the curate. “Will your majesty please proceed?”
“There is no more to add,” said Dorothea, “save that in finding Don Quixote I have had such good fortune, that I already reckon and regard myself queen and mistress of my entire dominions, since of his courtesy and magnanimity he has granted me the boon of accompanying me whithersoever I may conduct him, which will be only to bring him face to face with Pandafilando of the Scowl, that he may slay him and restore to me what has been unjustly usurped by him: for all this must come to pass satisfactorily since my good father Tinacrio the Sapient foretold it, who likewise left it declared in writing in Chaldee or Greek characters (for I cannot read them), that if this predicted knight, after having cut the giant’s throat, should be disposed to marry me I was to offer myself at once without demur as his lawful wife, and yield him possession of my kingdom together with my person.”
“What thinkest thou now, friend Sancho?” said Don Quixote at this. “Hearest thou that? Did I not tell thee so? See how we have already got a kingdom to govern and a queen to marry!”
“On my oath it is so,” said Sancho; “and foul fortune to him who won’t marry after slitting Senor Pandahilado’s windpipe! And then, how illfavoured the queen is! I wish the fleas in my bed were that sort!”
And so saying he cut a couple of capers in the air with every sign of extreme satisfaction, and then ran to seize the bridle of Dorothea’s mule, and checking it fell on his knees before her, begging her to give him her hand to kiss in token of his acknowledgment of her as his queen and mistress. Which of the bystanders could have helped laughing to see the madness of the master and the simplicity of the servant? Dorothea therefore gave her hand, and promised to make him a great lord in her kingdom, when Heaven should be so good as to permit her to recover and enjoy it, for which Sancho returned thanks in words that set them all laughing again.
“This, sirs,” continued Dorothea, “is my story; it only remains to tell you that of all the attendants I took with me from my kingdom I have none left except this well-bearded squire, for all were drowned in a great tempest we encountered when in sight of port; and he and I came to land on a couple of planks as if by a miracle; and indeed the whole course of my life is a miracle and a mystery as you may have observed; and if I have been over minute in any respect or not as precise as I ought, let it be accounted for by what the licentiate said at the beginning of my tale, that constant and excessive troubles deprive the sufferers of their memory.”
“They shall not deprive me of mine, exalted and worthy princess,” said Don Quixote, “however great and unexampled those which I shall endure in your service may be; and here I confirm anew the boon I have promised you, and I swear to go with you to the end of the world until I find myself in the presence of your fierce enemy, whose haughty head I trust by the aid of my arm to cut off with the edge of this — I will not say good sword, thanks to Gines de Pasamonte who carried away mine” — (this he said between his teeth, and then continued), “and when it has been cut off and you have been put in peaceful possession of your realm it shall be left to your own decision to dispose of your person as may be most pleasing to you; for so long as my memory is occupied, my will enslaved, and my understanding enthralled by her — I say no more — it is impossible for me for a moment to contemplate marriage, even with a Phoenix.”
The last words of his master about not wanting to marry were so disagreeable to Sancho that raising his voice he exclaimed with great irritation:
“By my oath, Senor Don Quixote, you are not in your right senses; for how can your worship possibly object to marrying such an exalted princess as this? Do you think Fortune will offer you behind every stone such a piece of luck as is offered you now? Is my lady Dulcinea fairer, perchance? Not she; nor half as fair; and I will even go so far as to say she does not come up to the shoe of this one here. A poor chance I have of getting that county I am waiting for if your worship goes looking for dainties in the bottom of the sea. In the devil’s name, marry, marry, and take this kingdom that comes to hand without any trouble, and when you are king make me a marquis or governor of a province, and for the rest let the devil take it all.”
Don Quixote, when he heard such blasphemies uttered against his lady Dulcinea, could not endure it, and lifting his pike, without saying anything to Sancho or uttering a word, he gave him two such thwacks that he brought him to the ground; and had it not been that Dorothea cried out to him to spare him he would have no doubt taken his life on the spot.
“Do you think,” he said to him after a pause, “you scurvy clown, that you are to be always interfering with me, and that you are to be always offending and I always pardoning? Don’t fancy it, impious scoundrel, for that beyond a doubt thou art, since thou hast set thy tongue going against the peerless Dulcinea. Know you not, lout, vagabond, beggar, that were it not for the might that she infuses into my arm I should not have strength enough to kill a flea? Say, scoffer with a viper’s tongue, what think you has won this kingdom and cut off this giant’s head and made you a marquis (for all this I count as already accomplished and decided), but the might of Dulcinea, employing my arm as the instrument of her achievements? She fights in me and conquers in me, and I live and breathe in her, and owe my life and being to her. O whoreson scoundrel, how ungrateful you are, you see yourself raised from the dust of the earth to be a titled lord, and the return you make for so great a benefit is to speak evil of her who has conferred it upon you!”
Sancho was not so stunned but that he heard all his master said, and rising with some degree of nimbleness he ran to place himself behind Dorothea’s palfrey, and from that position he said to his master:
“Tell me, senor; if your worship is resolved not to marry this great princess, it is plain the kingdom will not be yours; and not being so, how can you bestow favours upon me? That is what I complain of. Let your worship at any rate marry this queen, now that we have got her here as if showered down from heaven, and afterwards you may go back to my lady Dulcinea; for there must have been kings in the world who kept mistresses. As to beauty, I have nothing to do with it; and if the truth is to be told, I like them both; though I have never seen the lady Dulcinea.”
“How! never seen her, blasphemous traitor!” exclaimed Don Quixote; “hast thou not just now brought me a message from her?”
“I mean,” said Sancho, “that I did not see her so much at my leisure that I could take particular notice of her beauty, or of her charms piecemeal; but taken in the lump I like her.”
“Now I forgive thee,” said Don Quixote; “and do thou forgive me the injury I have done thee; for our first impulses are not in our control.”
“That I see,” replied Sancho, “and with me the wish to speak is always the first impulse, and I cannot help saying, once at any rate, what I have on the tip of my tongue.”
“For all that, Sancho,” said Don Quixote, “take heed of what thou sayest, for the pitcher goes so often to the well — I need say no more to thee.”
“Well, well,” said Sancho, “God is in heaven, and sees all tricks, and will judge who does most harm, I in not speaking right, or your worship in not doing it.”
“That is enough,” said Dorothea; “run, Sancho, and kiss your lord’s hand and beg his pardon, and henceforward be more circumspect with your praise and abuse; and say nothing in disparagement of that lady Toboso, of whom I know nothing save that I am her servant; and put your trust in God, for you will not fail to obtain some dignity so as to live like a prince.”
Sancho advanced hanging his head and begged his master’s hand, which Don Quixote with dignity presented to him, giving him his blessing as soon as he had kissed it; he then bade him go on ahead a little, as he had questions to ask him and matters of great importance to discuss with him. Sancho obeyed, and when the two had gone some distance in advance Don Quixote said to him, “Since thy return I have had no opportunity or time to ask thee many particulars touching thy mission and the answer thou hast brought back, and now that chance has granted us the time and opportunity, deny me not the happiness thou canst give me by such good news.”
“Let your worship ask what you will,” answered Sancho, “for I shall find a way out of all as I found a way in; but I implore you, senor, not not to be so revengeful in future.”
“Why dost thou say that, Sancho?” said Don Quixote.
“I say it,” he returned, “because those blows just now were more because of the quarrel the devil stirred up between us both the other night, than for what I said against my lady Dulcinea, whom I love and reverence as I would a relic — though there is nothing of that about her — merely as something belonging to your worship.”
“Say no more on that subject for thy life, Sancho,” said Don Quixote, “for it is displeasing to me; I have already pardoned thee for that, and thou knowest the common saying, ‘for a fresh sin a fresh penance.’”
While this was going on they saw coming along the road they were following a man mounted on an ass, who when he came close seemed to be a gipsy; but Sancho Panza, whose eyes and heart were there wherever he saw asses, no sooner beheld the man than he knew him to be Gines de Pasamonte; and by the thread of the gipsy he got at the ball, his ass, for it was, in fact, Dapple that carried Pasamonte, who to escape recognition and to sell the ass had disguised himself as a gipsy, being able to speak the gipsy language, and many more, as well as if they were his own. Sancho saw him and recognised him, and the instant he did so he shouted to him, “Ginesillo, you thief, give up my treasure, release my life, embarrass thyself not with my repose, quit my ass, leave my delight, be off, rip, get thee gone, thief, and give up what is not thine.”
There was no necessity for so many words or objurgations, for at the first one Gines jumped down, and at a like racing speed made off and got clear of them all. Sancho hastened to his Dapple, and embracing him he said, “How hast thou fared, my blessing, Dapple of my eyes, my comrade?” all the while kissing him and caressing him as if he were a human being. The ass held his peace, and let himself be kissed and caressed by Sancho without answering a single word. They all came up and congratulated him on having found Dapple, Don Quixote especially, who told him that notwithstanding this he would not cancel the order for the three ass-colts, for which Sancho thanked him.
While the two had been going along conversing in this fashion, the curate observed to Dorothea that she had shown great cleverness, as well in the story itself as in its conciseness, and the resemblance it bore to those of the books of chivalry. She said that she had many times amused herself reading them; but that she did not know the situation of the provinces or seaports, and so she had said at haphazard that she had landed at Osuna.
“So I saw,” said the curate, “and for that reason I made haste to say what I did, by which it was all set right. But is it not a strange thing to see how readily this unhappy gentleman believes all these figments and lies, simply because they are in the style and manner of the absurdities of his books?”
“So it is,” said Cardenio; “and so uncommon and unexampled, that were one to attempt to invent and concoct it in fiction, I doubt if there be any wit keen enough to imagine it.”
“But another strange thing about it,” said the curate, “is that, apart from the silly things which this worthy gentleman says in connection with his craze, when other subjects are dealt with, he can discuss them in a perfectly rational manner, showing that his mind is quite clear and composed; so that, provided his chivalry is not touched upon, no one would take him to be anything but a man of thoroughly sound understanding.”
While they were holding this conversation Don Quixote continued his with Sancho, saying:
“Friend Panza, let us forgive and forget as to our quarrels, and tell me now, dismissing anger and irritation, where, how, and when didst thou find Dulcinea? What was she doing? What didst thou say to her? What did she answer? How did she look when she was reading my letter? Who copied it out for thee? and everything in the matter that seems to thee worth knowing, asking, and learning; neither adding nor falsifying to give me pleasure, nor yet curtailing lest you should deprive me of it.”
“Senor,” replied Sancho, “if the truth is to be told, nobody copied out the letter for me, for I carried no letter at all.”
“It is as thou sayest,” said Don Quixote, “for the note-book in which I wrote it I found in my own possession two days after thy departure, which gave me very great vexation, as I knew not what thou wouldst do on finding thyself without any letter; and I made sure thou wouldst return from the place where thou didst first miss it.”
“So I should have done,” said Sancho, “if I had not got it by heart when your worship read it to me, so that I repeated it to a sacristan, who copied it out for me from hearing it, so exactly that he said in all the days of his life, though he had read many a letter of excommunication, he had never seen or read so pretty a letter as that.”
“And hast thou got it still in thy memory, Sancho?” said Don Quixote.
“No, senor,” replied Sancho, “for as soon as I had repeated it, seeing there was no further use for it, I set about forgetting it; and if I recollect any of it, it is that about ‘Scrubbing,‘I mean to say ‘Sovereign Lady,’ and the end ‘Yours till death, the Knight of the Rueful Countenance;’ and between these two I put into it more than three hundred ‘my souls’ and ‘my life’s ‘ and ‘my eyes.”
 
神甫还没讲完，桑乔就说：“依我看，教士大人，做这事的就是我主人。我事先并不是没有提醒他，而且让他当心自己在干什么，那些人都是江洋大盗，给他们自由就是造孽。”
“你这个蠢货，”唐吉诃德这时说话了，“游侠骑士在路上遇到受苦受罪、身带锁链、失去了自由的人，无须去了解他们原来做的事是对还是错。游侠骑士注意的是他们正在受苦，而不是他们犯过什么罪。他们要做的就是帮助受苦人。我碰到的是一队垂头丧气、痛苦不堪的人。是我的信仰要求我这样做的，否则我才不管呢。那些说我做得不对的人，除了神圣威严、品行端方的神甫大人外，我只能说，他们对骑士的事所知甚少，就像卑贱的小人一样信口雌黄。我会用我的剑让他明白这点，以儆效尤。”
唐吉诃德在马上坐定，又把头盔戴上。那个头盔本是理发师的铜盆，可他非认定那是曼布里诺的头盔不可，虽然被苦役犯砸扁了，却仍一直挂在鞍头上，等待机会修理呢。
机灵而又风趣的多罗特亚对唐吉诃德的愚蠢可笑行为早有耳闻，而且知道除了桑乔之外，大家都是在拿唐吉诃德取笑。于是她也不甘落后，见唐吉诃德已怒气冲冲，便说道：
“骑士大人，您可别忘了，您答应在给我帮忙之前，即使再紧急的事情也不参与。请您消消气，假如神甫大人知道是您放了那些苦役犯，他就是再忍不住，也会守口如瓶，不至于说出那些有损您尊严的话来的。”
“我发誓是这样，”神甫说，“我甚至可以扯掉一绺胡子来证明这点。”
“那我就不说什么了，我的公主。”唐吉诃德说，“我会强压我胸中已经燃起的怒火，在完成我答应要帮您做的事情之前一直心平气和。不过，作为对我这种友好表示的回报，我请求您，如果没有什么不便的话，请您告诉我，是什么事让您如此悲愤。我要向他们理所当然地、痛痛快快地、毫不留情地报仇。那些人一共有多少，都是些什么人？”
“要是这些可怜和不幸的事情不会惹您生气，我很愿意讲。”多罗特亚说。
“我不会生气，我的小姐。”唐吉诃德说。
于是，多罗特亚说：
“既然如此，那你们都仔细听着。”
她这么一说，卡德尼奥和理发师都赶紧凑到她身边，想听听这位机灵的多罗特亚如何编造她的故事。桑乔也很想听，不过他同唐吉诃德一样，仍被蒙在鼓里。多罗特亚在马鞍上坐稳后，咳嗽了一声，又装模作样一番，才十分潇洒地讲起来：
“首先，我要告诉诸位大人，我叫……”
说到这儿，她顿了一下，因为她忘记了神甫给她起的是什么名字。不过，神甫已经意识到是怎么回事了，赶紧过来解围，说：
“我的公主，您一谈起自己的不幸就不知所措，羞愧难当，这并不奇怪。深重的痛苦常常会损害人的记忆力，甚至让人忘记了自己的名字，就像您刚才那样，忘记了自己是米科米科娜公主，是米科米孔伟大王国的合法继承人。这么一提醒，您自然会十分容易地回想您的悲伤往事，就可以讲下去了。”
“是的，”姑娘说，“我觉得从现在起，我不再需要任何提醒，完全可以顺利地讲完我的故事了。我的父亲蒂纳克里奥国王是位先知，很精通魔法，算出来我的母亲哈拉米利亚王后将先于他去世，而且他不久也会故世，那么我就成了孤儿。不过，他说最让他担心的还不是这些，而是他断定有个超级巨人管辖着一个几乎与我们王国毗邻的大岛，他名叫横眉怒目的潘达菲兰多。听说他的眼睛虽然长得很正，可是看东西的时候，眼珠总是朝两边看，像个斜眼人。他就用这对眼睛作恶，凡是看见他的人无不感到恐惧。父亲说，这个巨人知道我成了孤儿，就会大兵压境，夺走一切，甚至不留一个小村庄让我安身。不过，只要我同他结婚，这一灭顶之灾就可以避免。然而父亲也知道，这样不般配的姻缘，我肯定不愿意。父亲说得完全对，我从来没想过和那样的巨人结婚，而且也不会同其他巨人结婚，无论巨人是多么高大，多么凶狠。
“父亲还说，他死后，潘达菲兰多就会进犯我们的王国，我不要被动防御，那是坐以待毙。如果我想让善良忠实的臣民不被彻底消灭，就得把王国拱手让给他，我们根本无法抵御那巨人的可怕力量。我可以带着几个手下人奔赴西班牙，去向一位游侠骑士求救。那位游侠骑士的大名在我们整个王国众所周知，如果我没记错的话，他的名字大概叫唐阿索德或唐希戈德。”
“您大概是说唐吉诃德，公主，”桑乔这时插嘴道，“他还有个名字，叫猥獕骑士。”
“是这样，”多罗特亚说，“父亲还说，那位骑士大概是高高的身材，干瘪脸，他的左肩下面或者旁边有一颗黑痣，上面还有几根像鬃一样的汗毛。”
唐吉诃德闻言对桑乔说：
“过来，桑乔，亲爱的，你帮我把衣服脱下来，我要看看我是不是先知国王说的那个骑士。”
“可您为什么要脱衣服呢？”多罗特亚问。
“我想看看我是否有你父亲说的那颗黑痣。”唐吉诃德说。
“那也没有必要脱衣服，”桑乔说，“我知道在您脊梁中间的部位有一颗那样的痣，那是身体强壮的表现。”
“这就行了，”多罗特亚说，“朋友之间何必认真，究竟是在肩膀还是在脊柱上并不重要，只要知道有颗痣就行了，在哪儿都一样，反正是在一个人身上。我的好父亲说得完全对，我向唐吉诃德大人求救也找对了，您就是我父亲说的那个人。您脸上的特征证明您就是那位大名鼎鼎的骑士。您的大名不仅在西班牙，而且在曼查也是尽人皆知。我在奥苏纳一下船①，就听说了您的事迹，我马上预感到这就是我要找的人了。”
①这里多罗特亚不熟悉地理，以为曼查比西班牙更大，还以为奥苏纳是海港。
“可您为什么会在奥苏纳下船呢？”唐吉诃德问，“那里并不是海港呀。”
不等多罗特亚回答，神甫就抢过来说：
“公主大概是想说，她从马拉加下船后，第一次听说您的事迹是在奥苏纳。”
“我正是这个意思。”多罗特亚说。
“这就对了，”神甫说，“您接着讲下去。”
“没什么好讲的了。”多罗特亚说，“我真走运，找到了唐吉诃德。我觉得我已经是我的王国的女王或主人了，因为谦恭豪爽的他已经答应随我到任何地方去。我会把他带到横眉怒目的潘达菲兰多那儿，把那巨人杀了，重新恢复我那被无理夺取的王国。这件事只要我一开口请求，就可以做到，对这点我的好父亲蒂纳克里奥先知早就预见到了。父亲还用我看不懂的迦勒底文或是希腊文留下了字据，说杀死那个巨人后，骑士若有意同我结婚，我应当毫无异议地同意做他的合法妻子，把我的王国连同我本人一同交给他。”
“怎么样，桑乔朋友，”唐吉诃德这时说，“你没听到她刚才说的吗？我难道没对你说过吗？你看，咱们是不是已经有了可以掌管的王国，有了可以娶为妻子的女王？”
“我发誓，”桑乔说，“如果扭断潘达菲兰多的脖子后不同女王结婚，他就是婊子养的！同样，女王如果不结婚也不是好女王！
女王真漂亮！”
说完桑乔跳跃了两下，显出欣喜若狂的样子，然后拉住多罗特亚那头骡子的缰绳，跪倒在多罗特亚面前，请求她把手伸出来让自己吻一下，表示自己承认她为自己的女王和女主人，接着又千恩万谢地说了一番，把在场的人都逗笑了。
“各位大人，”多罗特亚说，“这就是我的故事。现在我要说的就是所有随同我从王国逃出来的人，除了这位大胡子侍从外，已经一个都不剩了，他们都在港口那儿遇到的一场暴风雨中淹死了，只有这位侍从和我靠着两块木板奇迹般地上了岸。你们大概注意到了，我的生活始终充满了奇迹和神秘。如果有些事说得过分或者不准确的话，那就像我刚开始讲时神甫大人说的那样，持续不断的巨大痛苦会损害人的记忆力。”
“但是损害不了我的记忆力，勇敢高贵的公主！”唐吉诃德说，“无论碰到什么样的事情，无论有多么严重，多么罕见，我都一定为您效劳。我再次重申我对您的承诺，发誓即使走到天涯海角，我也始终追随您，一直到找到您那凶猛的敌人。我想靠上帝和我的臂膀，把他那高傲的脑袋割下来，就用这把利剑……现在我不能再说这是一把利剑了，我的利剑被希内斯•帕萨蒙特拿走了。”
唐吉诃德嘀咕了这么一句，又接着说下去：
“把巨人的头割掉之后，您又可以过太平日子了，那时候您就可以任意做您想做的任何事情。而我呢，记忆犹存，心向意中人，无意再恋……我不说了，反正我不可能结婚，甚至也不去想结婚的事，哪怕是同天仙美女。”
桑乔觉得主人最后说不想结婚太可恶了。他很生气，提高了嗓门，说：
“我发誓，唐吉诃德大人，您真是头脑不正常。同这样一位高贵的公主结婚，您还有什么可犹豫的？您以为每次都能碰到像今天这样的好事吗？难道杜尔西内亚小姐比她还漂亮？不比她漂亮，一半都不如。我甚至敢说，比起现在您面前的这位公主来，她简直望尘莫及。如果您还心存疑虑，我想当个伯爵也就没什么指望了。您结婚吧，马上结婚吧，我会请求魔鬼让您结婚。您得了这个送上门的王国，当上国王，也该让我当个侯爵或总督，然后您就随便怎么样吧。”
唐吉诃德听到桑乔竟如此侮辱他的杜尔西内亚，实在忍无可忍，他二话不说，举起长矛打了桑乔两下，把他打倒在地。若不是多罗特亚高喊不要打，桑乔就没命了。
“可恶的乡巴佬，”唐吉诃德过了一会儿又说，“你以为我总让你这么放肆吗？总让你办了错事再饶你吗？休想！你这个无耻的异己分子，你肯定已经被逐出教会了，否则你怎么敢说天下绝伦的杜尔西内亚的坏话！你这个笨蛋、下人、无赖，如果不是她给我力量，我能打死一只跳蚤吗？你说，你这个爱说闲话的狡诈之徒，如果不是大智大勇的杜尔西内亚通过我的手建立她的功绩，你能想象我们会夺取这个王国，割掉那个巨人的头，让你当伯爵吗？事实确凿，不容置疑。她通过我去拚搏，去取胜，我仰仗她休养生息。你这个流氓、恶棍，怎么能如此忘恩负义，一旦平步青去，受封晋爵，就以诽谤来回报一直扶植你的人呢！”
桑乔被打得晕头转向，并没有完全听清主人对他说的话。不过他还算机灵，从地上爬起来，躲到多罗特亚的坐骑后面，对唐吉诃德说：
“您说吧，大人，要是您决意不同这位高贵的公主结婚，那么王国肯定就不是您的了。如果是这样，您有什么能赏赐给我呢？我就是抱怨这个。这位女王简直就像从天而降，您赶紧同她结婚吧，然后，您还可以去找我们的杜尔西内亚，在这个世界上，姘居的国王大概是有的。至于她们的相貌，我就不妄言了，不过，要是让我说的话，我觉得两个人都不错，虽然我并没有见过杜尔西内亚夫人。”
“你怎么会没见过呢，无耻的叛徒。”唐吉诃德说，“你不是刚刚从她那儿给我带信来吗？”
“我是说，我并没有仔细看她的美貌，”桑乔说，“没能认真看她那些漂亮的部位，只是大体上看了，我觉得还不错。”
“现在我向你道歉，”唐吉诃德说，“请原谅我对你发脾气。
刚才我一时冲动，按捺不住。”
“我也是，”桑乔说，“一时心血来潮，就想说点什么。而且只要我想说，就非得说出来不可。”
“可也是，”唐吉诃德说，“你看你总是说，桑乔，喋喋不休，难免……行了，我不说了。”
“那好，”桑乔说，“上帝在天上看得清楚，就让上帝来裁判吧，究竟是谁最坏，是我说的最坏，还是您做的最坏。”
“别再没完了，”多罗特亚说，“桑乔，过去吻你主人的手吧，请他原谅，从今以后，你无论是赞扬还是诅咒什么，都注意点儿，别再说那位托博索夫人的坏话了。我虽然并不认识她，却愿意为她效劳。你相信上帝，肯定会封给你一块领地，你可以在那儿生活得极其优裕。”
桑乔低着头走过去，请求主人把手伸给他。唐吉诃德很矜持地把手伸出来，待桑乔吻完并为他祝福后，又让桑乔和他往前走一点儿，因为有很重要的事要同他谈。桑乔往前赶了几步，唐吉诃德随后过去，对桑乔说：
“自从你回来后，我一直没有机会问你有关我让你带的信和你带来的回信之事。现在天赐良机，你别错过这个告诉我好消息的良机。”
“您随便问，”桑乔说，“我都会应答自如。不过我请求您，我的大人，以后别再那么记仇了。”
“你为什么这么说，桑乔？”唐吉诃德问。
“我这么说，”桑乔说，“是因为您刚才打我那几下，主要还是由于那天晚上我说了杜尔西内亚的坏话。其实我像对圣物那样热爱她，尊重她，虽然她并不是圣物，这全都因为她是属于您的。”
“你小心点儿，别转话题，桑乔，”唐吉诃德说，“这会让我不痛快。我原谅你，你要知道人们常说的，‘重新犯罪，重新忏悔’。”
正说着，路上有个人骑着驴迎面走过来了，走近才看出是个吉卜赛人。桑乔无论到什么地方，只要有驴，他都要仔细看个究竟。他一下子就认出那人是希内斯•帕萨蒙特，于是由吉卜赛人认出了他的驴。果然如此，帕萨蒙特骑的就是他的驴。帕萨蒙特为了不被人认出来，也为了卖驴方便，已经换上了吉卜赛人的装束。他会讲吉卜赛语和其它许多语言，讲得跟自己的母语一样。可是桑乔一看见他就认出来了，立刻喊起来：
“喂，臭贼希内西略！你放开它，那是我的东西，是我的宝贝，你别恬不知耻拿我的东西！你放开我的驴，我的心肝！躲开，你这婊子养的！躲远点儿，你这个贼！不是你的东西你别要！”
其实桑乔完全不必这么叫骂。他刚喊第一声，希内斯就放开驴，狂奔起来，一下子就无影无踪了。桑乔过去抱住他的驴，对它说道：
“你怎么样啊，我的命根子，我的宝贝，我的伙伴？”
桑乔对驴又是亲吻又是抚摸，仿佛它是个活人。驴一声不吭，也不回答桑乔的话，任凭他亲吻抚摸。大家都过来祝贺桑乔找到了驴，特别是唐吉诃德，他还说他给桑乔的那张交付三头驴的票据仍然有效。桑乔对此表示感谢。
这边唐吉诃德和桑乔说着话，那边神甫称赞多罗特亚刚才的故事讲得很不错，既简短又符合骑士小说里的情节。多罗特亚说她常读骑士小说消遣，只不过不知道一些省份和海港在什么地方，因此才说是在奥苏纳下船的。
“我知道就是由于这个原因，”神甫说，“所以赶紧过去说了刚才说的那些话，这样就没问题了。不过，这位落魄贵族因为这些胡编乱造的东西同骑士小说里描写的一样就轻易相信了，难道不奇怪吗？”
“是很奇怪，”卡德尼奥说，“而且也少见。我简直想象不出，要编造这么多稀奇古怪的事情，得需要什么样的脑子才行。”
“另外还有一件事，”神甫说，“这位善良的贵族除了他的荒谬疯话之外，说到其他事情时侃侃而谈，看样子头脑很清楚。所以，只要不提起骑士的事情，所有人都会认为他是个足智多谋的人。”
与此同时，唐吉诃德继续与桑乔说着他的事：
“桑乔朋友，咱们消释前嫌吧，别再争吵了。你现在不要再计较什么恩怨，告诉我，你是何时何地以及如何找到杜尔西内亚的？她当时在干什么？你对她说了什么？她又是怎样回答的？她看信时脸色如何？谁帮你誊写了我的信？你当时看到的情况我都要知道，都该问，你也不必添枝加叶，为了哄我高兴就胡编，或者怕我不高兴就不说了。”
“大人，”桑乔说，“如果说实话，那就是没有任何人帮我誊写信，因为我什么信也没带。”
“这就对了，”唐吉诃德说，“因为你走了两天之后，我才发现记着我那封信的笔记簿还在我手里。我很伤心，不知道你发现没带信时怎么办。我觉得你发现没带信时肯定会回来。”
“要是我没有把它记在脑子里，”桑乔说，“我就回来了。您把信念给我听以后，我把信的内容告诉了一个教堂司事，他帮我一字不漏地写了下来。那个司事还说，他见过许多封把人开除出教会的函件，可是像这封信写得一样好的函件却从没见过。”
“那么，你现在还能记起来吗？”唐吉诃德问。
“不，大人，”桑乔说，“我把信的内容告诉司事之后，觉得已经没什么用了，就把它忘了。如果我还能记得一点的话，那就是‘尊鬼的夫人’，噢，应该是‘尊贵的夫人’，最后就是‘至死忠贞的猥獕骑士’，中间加了三百多个‘我的灵魂、宝贝、心肝’等等。”
Part 1 Chapter 31
“All that is not unsatisfactory to me,” said Don Quixote. “Go on; thou didst reach her; and what was that queen of beauty doing? Surely thou didst find her stringing pearls, or embroidering some device in gold thread for this her enslaved knight.”
“I did not,” said Sancho, “but I found her winnowing two bushels of wheat in the yard of her house.”
“Then depend upon it,” said Don Quixote, “the grains of that wheat were pearls when touched by her hands; and didst thou look, friend? was it white wheat or brown?”
“It was neither, but red,” said Sancho.
“Then I promise thee,” said Don Quixote, “that, winnowed by her hands, beyond a doubt the bread it made was of the whitest; but go on; when thou gavest her my letter, did she kiss it? Did she place it on her head? Did she perform any ceremony befitting it, or what did she do?”
“When I went to give it to her,” replied Sancho, “she was hard at it swaying from side to side with a lot of wheat she had in the sieve, and she said to me, ‘Lay the letter, friend, on the top of that sack, for I cannot read it until I have done sifting all this.”
“Discreet lady!” said Don Quixote; “that was in order to read it at her leisure and enjoy it; proceed, Sancho; while she was engaged in her occupation what converse did she hold with thee? What did she ask about me, and what answer didst thou give? Make haste; tell me all, and let not an atom be left behind in the ink-bottle.”
“She asked me nothing,” said Sancho; “but I told her how your worship was left doing penance in her service, naked from the waist up, in among these mountains like a savage, sleeping on the ground, not eating bread off a tablecloth nor combing your beard, weeping and cursing your fortune.”
“In saying I cursed my fortune thou saidst wrong,” said Don Quixote; “for rather do I bless it and shall bless it all the days of my life for having made me worthy of aspiring to love so lofty a lady as Dulcinea del Toboso.”
“And so lofty she is,” said Sancho, “that she overtops me by more than a hand’s -breadth.”
“What! Sancho,” said Don Quixote, “didst thou measure with her?”
“I measured in this way,” said Sancho; “going to help her to put a sack of wheat on the back of an ass, we came so close together that I could see she stood more than a good palm over me.”
“Well!” said Don Quixote, “and doth she not of a truth accompany and adorn this greatness with a thousand million charms of mind! But one thing thou wilt not deny, Sancho; when thou camest close to her didst thou not perceive a Sabaean odour, an aromatic fragrance, a, I know not what, delicious, that I cannot find a name for; I mean a redolence, an exhalation, as if thou wert in the shop of some dainty glover?”
“All I can say is,” said Sancho, “that I did perceive a little odour, something goaty; it must have been that she was all in a sweat with hard work.”
“It could not be that,” said Don Quixote, “but thou must have been suffering from cold in the head, or must have smelt thyself; for I know well what would be the scent of that rose among thorns, that lily of the field, that dissolved amber.”
“Maybe so,” replied Sancho; “there often comes from myself that same odour which then seemed to me to come from her grace the lady Dulcinea; but that’s no wonder, for one devil is like another.”
“Well then,” continued Don Quixote, “now she has done sifting the corn and sent it to the mill; what did she do when she read the letter?”
“As for the letter,” said Sancho, “she did not read it, for she said she could neither read nor write; instead of that she tore it up into small pieces, saying that she did not want to let anyone read it lest her secrets should become known in the village, and that what I had told her by word of mouth about the love your worship bore her, and the extraordinary penance you were doing for her sake, was enough; and, to make an end of it, she told me to tell your worship that she kissed your hands, and that she had a greater desire to see you than to write to you; and that therefore she entreated and commanded you, on sight of this present, to come out of these thickets, and to have done with carrying on absurdities, and to set out at once for El Toboso, unless something else of greater importance should happen, for she had a great desire to see your worship. She laughed greatly when I told her how your worship was called The Knight of the Rueful Countenance; I asked her if that Biscayan the other day had been there; and she told me he had, and that he was an honest fellow; I asked her too about the galley slaves, but she said she had not seen any as yet.”
“So far all goes well,” said Don Quixote; “but tell me what jewel was it that she gave thee on taking thy leave, in return for thy tidings of me? For it is a usual and ancient custom with knights and ladies errant to give the squires, damsels, or dwarfs who bring tidings of their ladies to the knights, or of their knights to the ladies, some rich jewel as a guerdon for good news,’ and acknowledgment of the message.”
“That is very likely,” said Sancho, “and a good custom it was, to my mind; but that must have been in days gone by, for now it would seem to be the custom only to give a piece of bread and cheese; because that was what my lady Dulcinea gave me over the top of the yard-wall when I took leave of her; and more by token it was sheep’s -milk cheese.”
“She is generous in the extreme,” said Don Quixote, “and if she did not give thee a jewel of gold, no doubt it must have been because she had not one to hand there to give thee; but sleeves are good after Easter; I shall see her and all shall be made right. But knowest thou what amazes me, Sancho? It seems to me thou must have gone and come through the air, for thou hast taken but little more than three days to go to El Toboso and return, though it is more than thirty leagues from here to there. From which I am inclined to think that the sage magician who is my friend, and watches over my interests (for of necessity there is and must be one, or else I should not be a right knight-errant), that this same, I say, must have helped thee to travel without thy knowledge; for some of these sages will catch up a knight-errant sleeping in his bed, and without his knowing how or in what way it happened, he wakes up the next day more than a thousand leagues away from the place where he went to sleep. And if it were not for this, knights-errant would not be able to give aid to one another in peril, as they do at every turn. For a knight, maybe, is fighting in the mountains of Armenia with some dragon, or fierce serpent, or another knight, and gets the worst of the battle, and is at the point of death; but when he least looks for it, there appears over against him on a cloud, or chariot of fire, another knight, a friend of his, who just before had been in England, and who takes his part, and delivers him from death; and at night he finds himself in his own quarters supping very much to his satisfaction; and yet from one place to the other will have been two or three thousand leagues. And all this is done by the craft and skill of the sage enchanters who take care of those valiant knights; so that, friend Sancho, I find no difficulty in believing that thou mayest have gone from this place to El Toboso and returned in such a short time, since, as I have said, some friendly sage must have carried thee through the air without thee perceiving it.”
“That must have been it,” said Sancho, “for indeed Rocinante went like a gipsy’s ass with quicksilver in his ears.”
“Quicksilver!” said Don Quixote, “aye and what is more, a legion of devils, folk that can travel and make others travel without being weary, exactly as the whim seizes them. But putting this aside, what thinkest thou I ought to do about my lady’s command to go and see her? For though I feel that I am bound to obey her mandate, I feel too that I am debarred by the boon I have accorded to the princess that accompanies us, and the law of chivalry compels me to have regard for my word in preference to my inclination; on the one hand the desire to see my lady pursues and harasses me, on the other my solemn promise and the glory I shall win in this enterprise urge and call me; but what I think I shall do is to travel with all speed and reach quickly the place where this giant is, and on my arrival I shall cut off his head, and establish the princess peacefully in her realm, and forthwith I shall return to behold the light that lightens my senses, to whom I shall make such excuses that she will be led to approve of my delay, for she will see that it entirely tends to increase her glory and fame; for all that I have won, am winning, or shall win by arms in this life, comes to me of the favour she extends to me, and because I am hers.”
“Ah! what a sad state your worship’s brains are in!” said Sancho. “Tell me, senor, do you mean to travel all that way for nothing, and to let slip and lose so rich and great a match as this where they give as a portion a kingdom that in sober truth I have heard say is more than twenty thousand leagues round about, and abounds with all things necessary to support human life, and is bigger than Portugal and Castile put together? Peace, for the love of God! Blush for what you have said, and take my advice, and forgive me, and marry at once in the first village where there is a curate; if not, here is our licentiate who will do the business beautifully; remember, I am old enough to give advice, and this I am giving comes pat to the purpose; for a sparrow in the hand is better than a vulture on the wing, and he who has the good to his hand and chooses the bad, that the good he complains of may not come to him.”
“Look here, Sancho,” said Don Quixote. “If thou art advising me to marry, in order that immediately on slaying the giant I may become king, and be able to confer favours on thee, and give thee what I have promised, let me tell thee I shall be able very easily to satisfy thy desires without marrying; for before going into battle I will make it a stipulation that, if I come out of it victorious, even I do not marry, they shall give me a portion portion of the kingdom, that I may bestow it upon whomsoever I choose, and when they give it to me upon whom wouldst thou have me bestow it but upon thee?”
“That is plain speaking,” said Sancho; “but let your worship take care to choose it on the seacoast, so that if I don’t like the life, I may be able to ship off my black vassals and deal with them as I have said; don’t mind going to see my lady Dulcinea now, but go and kill this giant and let us finish off this business; for by God it strikes me it will be one of great honour and great profit.”
“I hold thou art in the right of it, Sancho,” said Don Quixote, “and I will take thy advice as to accompanying the princess before going to see Dulcinea; but I counsel thee not to say anything to any one, or to those who are with us, about what we have considered and discussed, for as Dulcinea is so decorous that she does not wish her thoughts to be known it is not right that I or anyone for me should disclose them.”
“Well then, if that be so,” said Sancho, “how is it that your worship makes all those you overcome by your arm go to present themselves before my lady Dulcinea, this being the same thing as signing your name to it that you love her and are her lover? And as those who go must perforce kneel before her and say they come from your worship to submit themselves to her, how can the thoughts of both of you be hid?”
“O, how silly and simple thou art!” said Don Quixote; “seest thou not, Sancho, that this tends to her greater exaltation? For thou must know that according to our way of thinking in chivalry, it is a high honour to a lady to have many knights-errant in her service, whose thoughts never go beyond serving her for her own sake, and who look for no other reward for their great and true devotion than that she should be willing to accept them as her knights.”
“It is with that kind of love,” said Sancho, “I have heard preachers say we ought to love our Lord, for himself alone, without being moved by the hope of glory or the fear of punishment; though for my part, I would rather love and serve him for what he could do.”
“The devil take thee for a clown!” said Don Quixote, “and what shrewd things thou sayest at times! One would think thou hadst studied.”
“In faith, then, I cannot even read.”
Master Nicholas here called out to them to wait a while, as they wanted to halt and drink at a little spring there was there. Don Quixote drew up, not a little to the satisfaction of Sancho, for he was by this time weary of telling so many lies, and in dread of his master catching him tripping, for though he knew that Dulcinea was a peasant girl of El Toboso, he had never seen her in all his life. Cardenio had now put on the clothes which Dorothea was wearing when they found her, and though they were not very good, they were far better than those he put off. They dismounted together by the side of the spring, and with what the curate had provided himself with at the inn they appeased, though not very well, the keen appetite they all of them brought with them.
While they were so employed there happened to come by a youth passing on his way, who stopping to examine the party at the spring, the next moment ran to Don Quixote and clasping him round the legs, began to weep freely, saying, “O, senor, do you not know me? Look at me well; I am that lad Andres that your worship released from the oak-tree where I was tied.”
Don Quixote recognised him, and taking his hand he turned to those present and said: “That your worships may see how important it is to have knights-errant to redress the wrongs and injuries done by tyrannical and wicked men in this world, I may tell you that some days ago passing through a wood, I heard cries and piteous complaints as of a person in pain and distress; I immediately hastened, impelled by my bounden duty, to the quarter whence the plaintive accents seemed to me to proceed, and I found tied to an oak this lad who now stands before you, which in my heart I rejoice at, for his testimony will not permit me to depart from the truth in any particular. He was, I say, tied to an oak, naked from the waist up, and a clown, whom I afterwards found to be his master, was scarifying him by lashes with the reins of his mare. As soon as I saw him I asked the reason of so cruel a flagellation. The boor replied that he was flogging him because he was his servant and because of carelessness that proceeded rather from dishonesty than stupidity; on which this boy said, ‘Senor, he flogs me only because I ask for my wages.’ The master made I know not what speeches and explanations, which, though I listened to them, I did not accept. In short, I compelled the clown to unbind him, and to swear he would take him with him, and pay him real by real, and perfumed into the bargain. Is not all this true, Andres my son? Didst thou not mark with what authority I commanded him, and with what humility he promised to do all I enjoined, specified, and required of him? Answer without hesitation; tell these gentlemen what took place, that they may see that it is as great an advantage as I say to have knights-errant abroad.”
“All that your worship has said is quite true,” answered the lad; “but the end of the business turned out just the opposite of what your worship supposes.”
“How! the opposite?” said Don Quixote; “did not the clown pay thee then?”
“Not only did he not pay me,” replied the lad, “but as soon as your worship had passed out of the wood and we were alone, he tied me up again to the same oak and gave me a fresh flogging, that left me like a flayed Saint Bartholomew; and every stroke he gave me he followed up with some jest or gibe about having made a fool of your worship, and but for the pain I was suffering I should have laughed at the things he said. In short he left me in such a condition that I have been until now in a hospital getting cured of the injuries which that rascally clown inflicted on me then; for all which your worship is to blame; for if you had gone your own way and not come where there was no call for you, nor meddled in other people’s affairs, my master would have been content with giving me one or two dozen lashes, and would have then loosed me and paid me what he owed me; but when your worship abused him so out of measure, and gave him so many hard words, his anger was kindled; and as he could not revenge himself on you, as soon as he saw you had left him the storm burst upon me in such a way, that I feel as if I should never be a man again.”
“The mischief,” said Don Quixote, “lay in my going away; for I should not have gone until I had seen thee paid; because I ought to have known well by long experience that there is no clown who will keep his word if he finds it will not suit him to keep it; but thou rememberest, Andres, that I swore if he did not pay thee I would go and seek him, and find him though he were to hide himself in the whale’s belly.”
“That is true,” said Andres; “but it was of no use.”
“Thou shalt see now whether it is of use or not,” said Don Quixote; and so saying, he got up hastily and bade Sancho bridle Rocinante, who was browsing while they were eating. Dorothea asked him what he meant to do. He replied that he meant to go in search of this clown and chastise him for such iniquitous conduct, and see Andres paid to the last maravedi, despite and in the teeth of all the clowns in the world. To which she replied that he must remember that in accordance with his promise he could not engage in any enterprise until he had concluded hers; and that as he knew this better than anyone, he should restrain his ardour until his return from her kingdom.
“That is true,” said Don Quixote, “and Andres must have patience until my return as you say, senora; but I once more swear and promise not to stop until I have seen him avenged and paid.”
“I have no faith in those oaths,” said Andres; “I would rather have now something to help me to get to Seville than all the revenges in the world; if you have here anything to eat that I can take with me, give it me, and God be with your worship and all knights-errant; and may their errands turn out as well for themselves as they have for me.”
Sancho took out from his store a piece of bread and another of cheese, and giving them to the lad he said, “Here, take this, brother Andres, for we have all of us a share in your misfortune.”
“Why, what share have you got?”
“This share of bread and cheese I am giving you,” answered Sancho; “and God knows whether I shall feel the want of it myself or not; for I would have you know, friend, that we squires to knights-errant have to bear a great deal of hunger and hard fortune, and even other things more easily felt than told.”
Andres seized his bread and cheese, and seeing that nobody gave him anything more, bent his head, and took hold of the road, as the saying is. However, before leaving he said, “For the love of God, sir knight-errant, if you ever meet me again, though you may see them cutting me to pieces, give me no aid or succour, but leave me to my misfortune, which will not be so great but that a greater will come to me by being helped by your worship, on whom and all the knights-errant that have ever been born God send his curse.”
Don Quixote was getting up to chastise him, but he took to his heels at such a pace that no one attempted to follow him; and mightily chapfallen was Don Quixote at Andres’ story, and the others had to take great care to restrain their laughter so as not to put him entirely out of countenance.
 
“我对此还算满意。你接着讲下去。”唐吉诃德说，“你到的时候，那个绝世美人正在干什么？肯定是在用金丝银线为我这个钟情于她的骑士穿珠子或绣标记吧。”
“不是，”桑乔说，“我到的时候，她正在她家的院子里筛两个法内加的麦子。”
“那么你一定注意到了，”唐吉诃德说，“那些麦粒一经她手，立刻变得粒粒如珍珠。你是否看清楚了，朋友，那是精白麦还是春麦？”
“是荞麦。”
“我敢肯定，”唐吉诃德说，“经她手筛出的麦子可以做出精白的面包。不过你接着说，你把我的信交给她时，她吻了信吗？把信放到头上了吗？有什么相应的礼仪吗？或者，她是怎么做的？”
“我把信交给她的时候，”桑乔说，“她正用力摇动筛子里的一大堆麦子。她对我说，朋友，把信放在那个口袋里吧，她得把麦子全部筛完之后才能看信。”
“多聪明的夫人啊！”唐吉诃德说，“她大概是为了慢慢品味这封信。你往下说，桑乔，她在忙她的活计时，跟你说话了吗？向你打听我的情况了吗？你是怎么回答的？你一下子都告诉我，一点儿也别遗漏。”
“她什么也没问，”桑乔说，“不过我倒是对她讲了，您如何为了表示对她的忠心，正在山里苦心修行，光着上身，像个野人似的，眠不上床，食不近桌，不修边幅，边哭边诅咒自己的命运。”
“你说我诅咒自己的命运就错了，”唐吉诃德说，“恰恰相反，我每天都在庆幸自己能够爱上高贵的托博索的杜尔西内亚夫人。”
“她确实够高的，”桑乔说，“至少比我高一拃多。”
“怎么，桑乔，”唐吉诃德问，“你同她比过身高？”
“我是这样同她比的，”桑乔说，“我帮她把一袋麦子放到驴背上，凑巧站在一起，我发现她比我高一拃多。”
“她其实没有那么高，”唐吉诃德说，“可是她数不尽的美德却使她楚楚动人！有件事你别瞒着我，桑乔，你站在她身边的时候，是不是闻到了一种萨巴人的味道，一种芳香或是其他什么高级东西的味道，我叫不出它的名称来。我是说，你是不是有一种置身于某个手套精品店的感觉？”
“我只能说我感觉到的是一股男人的气味，”桑乔说，“大概是她干活太多、出汗也太多造成的气味，不太好闻。”
“不会的，”唐吉诃德说，“大概是你感冒了，或者是你自己身上的气味。我知道她发出的是带刺灌木中的玫瑰、田野里的百合或者熔化了的琥珀发出的那种味道。”
“这也可能，”桑乔说，“因为我身上常有那股味道，就把它当成您的杜尔西内亚夫人的味儿了。那种味儿并不一定就是从她身上发出的，这没什么可奇怪的。”
“好吧，”唐吉诃德说，“她已经筛完了麦子，把麦子送到磨房去了。她看信的时候是什么样子？”
“她没看信，”桑乔说，“她说她不识字，也不会写字。她把信撕成了碎片，说不愿意让别人看到信，不愿意让当地人知道这些秘密。她已经知道了我告诉她的您爱她，并且为她苦心修行就行了。最后她让我告诉您，说她吻您的手，她不想给您写信了，只想见到您。她让我请求您，命令您，如果没有其它更重要的事情，就离开那些杂草荆棘，别再折腾了，即刻上路回托博索吧，她非常想见到您。我告诉她您叫猥獕骑士时，她笑得可厉害了。我问她以前是否有比斯开人去过她那儿，她说去过，那是个挺善良的人。我还问她是否有苦役犯去过，她说至今没见过一个。”
“一切都很顺利，”唐吉诃德说、“不过，你告诉我，既然你替我送了信，你离开她时，她给你什么首饰了？游侠骑士和夫人之间自古就有个习惯，无论是替骑士给夫人送信，还是替夫人给骑士送信，总要给那些送信的侍从、侍女或侏儒一件贵重的首饰做赏钱，感谢他们送信来。”
“这完全可能，我觉得这是个好习惯。不过，这大概是过去的事情，现在恐怕只给一快面包或奶酪了。我们的杜尔西内亚夫人就是这样，我走的时候，她隔着院子的墙头给了我一块，说得具体点，是一块羊奶酪。”
“她这个人非常随便，”唐吉诃德说，“如果她没给你金首饰，那肯定是因为她当时手边没有。不过，‘如愿虽晚却更好’。等我去跟她商量，一切问题都会得到解决。你知道什么事最让我惊奇吗，桑乔？我觉得你是飞去飞回的。因为你去托博索跑了一个来回，只用了三天多时间，可是从这儿到那儿有三十多里路呢。我估计准是有个很关心我、又对我很友好的魔法师帮助了你。肯定有这样的魔法师，也应该有，否则我就算不上优秀的游侠骑士了。我说呀，大概是这种人帮着你赶路，可是你自己却根本感觉不到。有的魔法师把正在床上睡觉的游侠骑士弄走了，连游侠骑士自己也不知道是怎么回事，第二天早晨醒来的时候，已经到了千里之外。
“如果不是这样，游侠骑士们就不能在危难时帮助别人。他们常常互相帮助。有时候，一个骑士在亚美尼亚的山里同一个怪物或野妖打斗，或者同别的骑士搏斗，情况紧急，眼看就要没命了，忽然，他的一位骑士朋友腾云驾雾或者驾着火焰战车出现了。他刚才还在英格兰，现在却突然来到，来帮助你，救你的命，晚上就在你的住处津津有味地吃晚饭了。两地之间常常相隔两三千里，这些全靠时刻关照勇敢骑士的魔法大师们的高超本领。所以，桑乔朋友，你在这么短的时间里就到托博索跑了一个来回，我没什么信不过的，就像我刚才说的，一定有某个魔法师朋友带着你腾飞，而你自己却一点儿也没有感觉到。”
“大概是这样，”桑乔说，“罗西南多跑得矫健如飞，简直像吉卜赛人的驴。”
“它矫健如飞，”唐吉诃德说，“因为有很多鬼怪簇拥着它呢。它们可以随心所欲地不间歇地跑路或者带着人跑路。不过，咱们暂且不说这些吧。我的夫人命令我去看她，你看我现在该怎么办呢？我虽然知道必须听从她的命令，可是又不能不履行我对那位与咱们同行的公主许下的诺言啊。骑士法则规定我必须履行诺言，不能由着自己的性子来。一方面，我对我的夫人望眼欲穿；另一方面，我答应的事情和我为此将得到的荣誉又使我欲罢不能。不过，我想，抓紧时间赶到那个巨人那儿，砍掉他的头，为公主重建太平，然后就立刻去看望那位给了我光明的宝贝。我会向她请求原谅。她会觉得我姗姗来迟是对的，因为她发现这增加了她的声誉。而我这一辈子，无论过去、现在和将来，凡是靠武力取得的声誉，全都是她保佑我、我忠于她的结果。”
“唉，”桑乔说，“您的脑子真是有毛病了。请您告诉我，大人，您真想白跑一趟，放弃一门如此富贵的亲事吗？她有一个王国作嫁妆，而且我确实听说过，那个王国方圆两万里，里面人类生活所需的各种物品应有尽有，比葡萄牙和卡斯蒂利亚加起来的面积还要大。看在上帝份上，别再说什么了。您应该为您刚才说的话感到羞耻。听我的劝告，只要到了有神甫的地方，就赶紧结婚吧。或者，咱们这儿就有神甫，他能为您主持婚礼是再好不过了。您知道，我这个年龄，也有资格劝劝人了，而且我这个劝告对您很中肯。‘百鸟在天，不如一鸟在手’；‘弃善从严，咎由自取’。”
“桑乔，”唐吉诃德说，“假如你劝我结婚是为了等我杀死巨人后你可以得到赏赐，那么我可以告诉你，我即使不结婚，要让你如愿也很容易。我可以在进行战斗之前就讲明，如果打胜了，即使不结婚，也得把她的王国分一部分给我，让我随意赏人。一旦得到了那部分王国，你说，除了给你，我还能给谁呢？”
“那当然。”桑乔说，“不过您得注意挑选离海近的地方。万一我对那儿的生活不满意，还可以把我管辖的黑人装上船，按照我以前说过的那样处理他们。您现在不必去看咱们的杜尔西内亚夫人，只须一心去杀那巨人，先把这件事了结。上帝保佑，我敢保证，这是件名利双收的事情。”
“我说，桑乔，”唐吉诃德说，“你说得对，我会听从你的劝告，先跟公主走，而不是先去看杜尔西内亚。我得告诉你，桑乔，咱们刚才谈的事情，你对别人丝毫也不能透露，即使对与咱们同行的人也一样。杜尔西内亚是个谨慎的人，她不愿意让别人知道她的事情，所以，我或者其他人若是把她的事情说出去就不好了。”
“如果这样，”桑乔说，“那么，您如何让所有被您打败的人去拜见咱们的杜尔西内亚夫人呢？那不就证明了您爱她，是她的情人吗？那些被迫前去的人必然得跪倒在她面前，说是受您差遣，前去听从她的吩咐，那么，你们俩的事怎么隐瞒得了呢？”
“哎，你真是既愚蠢，又单纯！”唐吉诃德说，“你就不明白，桑乔，这是在抬高她的身价吗？你应该知道，在我们骑士看来，一位夫人有很多游侠骑士追求是很光荣的事情。骑士们追求她仅仅是为了追求而已。他们百般殷勤并无它求，只望她为自己有这么多骑士追求而高兴。”
“我在听布道时听说过，我们对上帝就应该是这么个爱法。”桑乔说，“我们只求爱他，并不指望得到荣誉或者害怕受到惩罚。我倒是很愿意爱上帝，尽可能地为他效劳。”
“你这个乡巴佬，”唐吉诃德说，“有时候说起话来倒挺聪明，好像还有点儿学问。”
“可我确实不识字。”桑乔说。
这时，尼古拉斯师傅叫他们等一等，大家想在一股清泉那儿喝点水。唐吉诃德停了下来，桑乔也挺高兴。他对如此说谎话已经厌倦了，怕主人会抓住他什么话柄。他虽然知道杜尔西内亚是托博索的一个农家女，却从来没见过她的模样。
卡德尼奥这时已经换上了多罗特亚最初穿的那身衣服。衣服虽然不算很好，还是比他自己原来那身强多了。此时大家都已饥肠辘辘，便下马来到清泉边，以神甫在客店弄到的一点儿食物来充饥。
这时候，有个男孩子路过。他停住脚，仔细地看着清泉旁边这些人。忽然，男孩子奔向唐吉诃德，抱住他的腿，放声大哭，说道：
“我的大人啊！您不认识我了吗？您仔细看看，我就是那个被捆在圣栎树上的孩子安德烈斯，是您解救了我呀。”
唐吉诃德也认出了他，于是拉着他的手，转身对大家说：
“诸位请看，在这个世界上，游侠骑士是多么重要，是他们制止了世界上无耻恶棍为非作歹。我告诉你们，前几天，我从森林边路过，听见喊声和凄惨的叫声，好像有人在遭受痛苦。我出于责任感，向传来喊叫声的方向走去，发现有个孩子被捆在一棵圣栎树上。这个孩子现在就站在你们面前。我很高兴他在这里，因为他可以证明我所说的没有半句假话。他被捆在圣栎树上，上身裸露，一个农夫正在用马缰绳抽打他。后来我知道那是他的主人。我马上就问为什么抽打他。那个粗野的家伙说，这孩子是他的牧童，不仅笨，而且手脚不老实，办了错事。这孩子说：‘大人，他打我仅仅是因为我向他要工钱。’孩子的主人又说了一些话为自己辩解。我虽然都听到了，可没有相信。
“反正，最后我让农夫放了孩子，责令他必须一文不少地照付全部工资，而且要再加点钱。这都是真的吧，安德烈斯？你当时注意到了吗，我责令他的时候多么威风，他答应一切照办时多么唯唯诺诺！你说吧，没什么可顾虑的，把发生的事情告诉这几位大人，让他们知道有游侠骑士巡游是不是好事。”
“您刚才讲的都很真实，”男孩子说，“不过事情的结局与您想象的大不一样。”
“怎么回事？”唐吉诃德问，“难道那个农夫没付你工钱？”
“不仅没付我工钱，”小伙子说，“而且，您刚刚离开树林，只剩下我们两人时，他就重新把我捆在那棵树上，又打起我来，把我打得遍体鳞伤。他每打一下，还说一句俏皮话嘲笑您。我要不是疼得厉害，恐怕也会笑起来。结果我被打得住进了医院，现在刚刚从医院出来。这都怨您。如果您赶自己的路，别顺着喊声过来，也别管别人的事情，我的主人打我几十下也就够了，然后他就会放开我，付给我应得的工钱。可您这一来，让他丢了脸，而且您还说了那么多难听的话，把他惹火了。可是他无法向您发作，于是就等剩下我们两人时拿我出气，我觉得这么一折腾，让我一辈子也抬不起头来了。”
“问题就出在我没等他向你付工钱就离开了那儿。”唐吉诃德说，“而且，根据我多年的经验，我完全应该知道，这类乡下佬见到没人督促，就会自食其言。不过你还记得吧，安德烈斯，我说过，如果他不付你工钱，我还会找他。我肯定要找他。他就是躲进鲸鱼肚子里，我也要找到他。”
“您确实这么说过，”安德烈斯说，“可是那也没什么用。”
“你马上就会看到有没有用了。”唐吉诃德说。
唐吉诃德说完马上就站了起来。他让桑乔备好马。大家吃饭的时候，马也在吃草。
多罗特亚问唐吉诃德想怎么办。唐吉诃德回答说，他要去找那个无赖。不管世界上有多少个无赖，也一定要把那个无赖找出来，狠狠地惩罚他，让他把欠安德烈斯的钱全部付清。多罗特亚让唐吉诃德注意点儿，别这样做。按照他们的约定，在完成她的事之前，他不能插手其他事。这一点他应该比任何人都清楚，所以她请唐吉诃德先消消气，等从她的王国回来再说。
“可也是，”唐吉诃德说，“这样安德烈斯就只好耐心等待了，就像公主您说的，等我回来再说。我再一次发誓，为安德烈斯报仇，让他得到工钱，否则誓不罢休。”
“我对这些誓言已经无所谓了，”安德烈斯说，“我现在最需要的就是弄点盘缠到塞维利亚去，而不在乎世界上有多少该报的仇。如果你们有什么吃的或带的东西，就给我一点吧。上帝与你们同在，诸位大人以及所有的游侠骑士。但愿游侠骑士们巡游时善待自己，就像他们善待我那样。”
桑乔从他的口粮里拿出一块面包和一块奶酪，递给小伙子，对他说：
“拿着吧，安德烈斯兄弟，你的部分不幸已经影响了我们大家。”
“哪一部分影响你了？”安德烈斯问。
“就是我给你的这块面包和奶酪，”桑乔回答说，“只有上帝才知道我是否也需要这些东西。我可以告诉你，朋友，游侠骑士的侍从常常忍饥受难，还有其他一些事情，只有亲身体验才会知道。”
安德烈斯拿着面包和奶酪，看见别人不会再给他什么东西了，就低头准备上路。临行前，他对唐吉诃德说：
“看在上帝份上，游侠骑士大人，如果您再次碰到我，即使看到我被撕成碎片，也不要来帮我，还是让我自己倒霉吧。我就是再倒霉，也不会比您帮我之后倒霉得那么厉害。上帝会诅咒您，诅咒世界上的所有游侠骑士。”
唐吉诃德要站起来打安德烈斯，可是他拔腿飞跑，没人能赶上他。唐吉诃德被安德烈斯的话弄得羞愧难当。大家只好极力忍住不让自己笑出声来，免得唐吉诃德无地自容。
Part 1 Chapter 32
Their dainty repast being finished, they saddled at once, and without any adventure worth mentioning they reached next day the inn, the object of Sancho Panza’s fear and dread; but though he would have rather not entered it, there was no help for it. The landlady, the landlord, their daughter, and Maritornes, when they saw Don Quixote and Sancho coming, went out to welcome them with signs of hearty satisfaction, which Don Quixote received with dignity and gravity, and bade them make up a better bed for him than the last time: to which the landlady replied that if he paid better than he did the last time she would give him one fit for a prince. Don Quixote said he would, so they made up a tolerable one for him in the same garret as before; and he lay down at once, being sorely shaken and in want of sleep.
No sooner was the door shut upon him than the landlady made at the barber, and seizing him by the beard, said:
“By my faith you are not going to make a beard of my tail any longer; you must give me back tail, for it is a shame the way that thing of my husband’s goes tossing about on the floor; I mean the comb that I used to stick in my good tail.”
But for all she tugged at it the barber would not give it up until the licentiate told him to let her have it, as there was now no further occasion for that stratagem, because he might declare himself and appear in his own character, and tell Don Quixote that he had fled to this inn when those thieves the galley slaves robbed him; and should he ask for the princess’s squire, they could tell him that she had sent him on before her to give notice to the people of her kingdom that she was coming, and bringing with her the deliverer of them all. On this the barber cheerfully restored the tail to the landlady, and at the same time they returned all the accessories they had borrowed to effect Don Quixote’s deliverance. All the people of the inn were struck with astonishment at the beauty of Dorothea, and even at the comely figure of the shepherd Cardenio. The curate made them get ready such fare as there was in the inn, and the landlord, in hope of better payment, served them up a tolerably good dinner. All this time Don Quixote was asleep, and they thought it best not to waken him, as sleeping would now do him more good than eating.
While at dinner, the company consisting of the landlord, his wife, their daughter, Maritornes, and all the travellers, they discussed the strange craze of Don Quixote and the manner in which he had been found; and the landlady told them what had taken place between him and the carrier; and then, looking round to see if Sancho was there, when she saw he was not, she gave them the whole story of his blanketing, which they received with no little amusement. But on the curate observing that it was the books of chivalry which Don Quixote had read that had turned his brain, the landlord said:
“I cannot understand how that can be, for in truth to my mind there is no better reading in the world, and I have here two or three of them, with other writings that are the very life, not only of myself but of plenty more; for when it is harvest-time, the reapers flock here on holidays, and there is always one among them who can read and who takes up one of these books, and we gather round him, thirty or more of us, and stay listening to him with a delight that makes our grey hairs grow young again. At least I can say for myself that when I hear of what furious and terrible blows the knights deliver, I am seized with the longing to do the same, and I would like to be hearing about them night and day.”
“And I just as much,” said the landlady, “because I never have a quiet moment in my house except when you are listening to some one reading; for then you are so taken up that for the time being you forget to scold.”
“That is true,” said Maritornes; “and, faith, I relish hearing these things greatly too, for they are very pretty; especially when they describe some lady or another in the arms of her knight under the orange trees, and the duenna who is keeping watch for them half dead with envy and fright; all this I say is as good as honey.”
“And you, what do you think, young lady?” said the curate turning to the landlord’s daughter.
“I don’t know indeed, senor,” said she; “I listen too, and to tell the truth, though I do not understand it, I like hearing it; but it is not the blows that my father likes that I like, but the laments the knights utter when they are separated from their ladies; and indeed they sometimes make me weep with the pity I feel for them.”
“Then you would console them if it was for you they wept, young lady?” said Dorothea.
“I don’t know what I should do,” said the girl; “I only know that there are some of those ladies so cruel that they call their knights tigers and lions and a thousand other foul names: and Jesus! I don’t know what sort of folk they can be, so unfeeling and heartless, that rather than bestow a glance upon a worthy man they leave him to die or go mad. I don’t know what is the good of such prudery; if it is for honour’s sake, why not marry them? That’s all they want.”
“Hush, child,” said the landlady; “it seems to me thou knowest a great deal about these things, and it is not fit for girls to know or talk so much.”
“As the gentleman asked me, I could not help answering him,” said the girl.
“Well then,” said the curate, “bring me these books, senor landlord, for I should like to see them.”
“With all my heart,” said he, and going into his own room he brought out an old valise secured with a little chain, on opening which the curate found in it three large books and some manuscripts written in a very good hand. The first that he opened he found to be “Don Cirongilio of Thrace,” and the second “Don Felixmarte of Hircania,” and the other the “History of the Great Captain Gonzalo Hernandez de Cordova, with the Life of Diego Garcia de Paredes.”
When the curate read the two first titles he looked over at the barber and said, “We want my friend’s housekeeper and niece here now.”
“Nay,” said the barber, “I can do just as well to carry them to the yard or to the hearth, and there is a very good fire there.”
“What! your worship would burn my books!” said the landlord.
“Only these two,” said the curate, “Don Cirongilio, and Felixmarte.”
“Are my books, then, heretics or phlegmaties that you want to burn them?” said the landlord.
“Schismatics you mean, friend,” said the barber, “not phlegmatics.”
“That’s it,” said the landlord; “but if you want to burn any, let it be that about the Great Captain and that Diego Garcia; for I would rather have a child of mine burnt than either of the others.”
“Brother,” said the curate, “those two books are made up of lies, and are full of folly and nonsense; but this of the Great Captain is a true history, and contains the deeds of Gonzalo Hernandez of Cordova, who by his many and great achievements earned the title all over the world of the Great Captain, a famous and illustrious name, and deserved by him alone; and this Diego Garcia de Paredes was a distinguished knight of the city of Trujillo in Estremadura, a most gallant soldier, and of such bodily strength that with one finger he stopped a mill-wheel in full motion; and posted with a two-handed sword at the foot of a bridge he kept the whole of an immense army from passing over it, and achieved such other exploits that if, instead of his relating them himself with the modesty of a knight and of one writing his own history, some free and unbiassed writer had recorded them, they would have thrown into the shade all the deeds of the Hectors, Achilleses, and Rolands.”
 
“Tell that to my father,” said the landlord. “There’s a thing to be astonished at! Stopping a mill-wheel! By God your worship should read what I have read of Felixmarte of Hircania, how with one single backstroke he cleft five giants asunder through the middle as if they had been made of bean-pods like the little friars the children make; and another time he attacked a very great and powerful army, in which there were more than a million six hundred thousand soldiers, all armed from head to foot, and he routed them all as if they had been flocks of sheep.
 
And then, what do you say to the good Cirongilio of Thrace, that was so stout and bold; as may be seen in the book, where it is related that as he was sailing along a river there came up out of the midst of the water against him a fiery serpent, and he, as soon as he saw it, flung himself upon it and got astride of its scaly shoulders, and squeezed its throat with both hands with such force that the serpent, finding he was throttling it, had nothing for it but to let itself sink to the bottom of the river, carrying with it the knight who would not let go his hold; and when they got down there he found himself among palaces and gardens so pretty that it was a wonder to see; and then the serpent changed itself into an old ancient man, who told him such things as were never heard. Hold your peace, senor; for if you were to hear this you would go mad with delight. A couple of figs for your Great Captain and your Diego Garcia!”
Hearing this Dorothea said in a whisper to Cardenio, “Our landlord is almost fit to play a second part to Don Quixote.”
“I think so,” said Cardenio, “for, as he shows, he accepts it as a certainty that everything those books relate took place exactly as it is written down; and the barefooted friars themselves would not persuade him to the contrary.”
“But consider, brother, said the curate once more, “there never was any Felixmarte of Hircania in the world, nor any Cirongilio of Thrace, or any of the other knights of the same sort, that the books of chivalry talk of; the whole thing is the fabrication and invention of idle wits, devised by them for the purpose you describe of beguiling the time, as your reapers do when they read; for I swear to you in all seriousness there never were any such knights in the world, and no such exploits or nonsense ever happened anywhere.”
“Try that bone on another dog,” said the landlord; “as if I did not know how many make five, and where my shoe pinches me; don’t think to feed me with pap, for by God I am no fool. It is a good joke for your worship to try and persuade me that everything these good books say is nonsense and lies, and they printed by the license of the Lords of the Royal Council, as if they were people who would allow such a lot of lies to be printed all together, and so many battles and enchantments that they take away one’s senses.”
“I have told you, friend,” said the curate, “that this is done to divert our idle thoughts; and as in well-ordered states games of chess, fives, and billiards are allowed for the diversion of those who do not care, or are not obliged, or are unable to work, so books of this kind are allowed to be printed, on the supposition that, what indeed is the truth, there can be nobody so ignorant as to take any of them for true stories; and if it were permitted me now, and the present company desired it, I could say something about the qualities books of chivalry should possess to be good ones, that would be to the advantage and even to the taste of some; but I hope the time will come when I can communicate my ideas to some one who may be able to mend matters; and in the meantime, senor landlord, believe what I have said, and take your books, and make up your mind about their truth or falsehood, and much good may they do you; and God grant you may not fall lame of the same foot your guest Don Quixote halts on.”
“No fear of that,” returned the landlord; “I shall not be so mad as to make a knight-errant of myself; for I see well enough that things are not now as they used to be in those days, when they say those famous knights roamed about the world.”
Sancho had made his appearance in the middle of this conversation, and he was very much troubled and cast down by what he heard said about knights-errant being now no longer in vogue, and all books of chivalry being folly and lies; and he resolved in his heart to wait and see what came of this journey of his master’s , and if it did not turn out as happily as his master expected, he determined to leave him and go back to his wife and children and his ordinary labour.
The landlord was carrying away the valise and the books, but the curate said to him, “Wait; I want to see what those papers are that are written in such a good hand.” The landlord taking them out handed them to him to read, and he perceived they were a work of about eight sheets of manuscript, with, in large letters at the beginning, the title of “Novel of the Ill-advised Curiosity.” The curate read three or four lines to himself, and said, “I must say the title of this novel does not seem to me a bad one, and I feel an inclination to read it all.” To which the landlord replied, “Then your reverence will do well to read it, for I can tell you that some guests who have read it here have been much pleased with it, and have begged it of me very earnestly; but I would not give it, meaning to return it to the person who forgot the valise, books, and papers here, for maybe he will return here some time or other; and though I know I shall miss the books, faith I mean to return them; for though I am an innkeeper, still I am a Christian.”
“You are very right, friend,” said the curate; “but for all that, if the novel pleases me you must let me copy it.”
“With all my heart,” replied the host.
While they were talking Cardenio had taken up the novel and begun to read it, and forming the same opinion of it as the curate, he begged him to read it so that they might all hear it.
“I would read it,” said the curate, “if the time would not be better spent in sleeping.”
“It will be rest enough for me,” said Dorothea, “to while away the time by listening to some tale, for my spirits are not yet tranquil enough to let me sleep when it would be seasonable.”
“Well then, in that case,” said the curate, “I will read it, if it were only out of curiosity; perhaps it may contain something pleasant.”
Master Nicholas added his entreaties to the same effect, and Sancho too; seeing which, and considering that he would give pleasure to all, and receive it himself, the curate said, “Well then, attend to me everyone, for the novel begins thus.”
 
吃完那顿美餐，大家又上了马，一路上没有什么可叙述的事情，第二天便到了那家让桑乔心惊肉跳的客店。桑乔不想进去，可是又走不脱。客店的主妇、主人、他们的女儿和丑女仆看到唐吉诃德和桑乔来了，都显出高兴的样子出来迎接。唐吉诃德摆出漫不经心的架势，让他们准备一张床，要比上次的那张床更高级。店主妇说，只要他愿意出比上次更高的价钱，可以为他准备一张极其舒适的床。唐吉诃德说他会出个好价钱，于是他们就在唐吉诃德上次住的那间库房里安排了一张还算说得过去的床。唐吉诃德觉得浑身像散了架，便昏沉沉地躺到了床上。
刚关上店门，店主妇就揪住理发师的胡子对他说：
“我凭我的信仰发誓，你不能再用我的尾巴当胡子用了。你得把尾巴还给我。我丈夫的那件东西老放在地上太难看，我是说，他那把插在这条高级尾巴上的梳子。”
尽管店主妇揪着理发师的胡子不放，理发师还是不愿意把胡子还给他。后来，神甫让理发师把东西还给她，说现在已经不必再化装成那模样了，可以除掉这个伪装，还其真相了。可以对唐吉诃德说，理发师因遭到苦役犯们的抢劫，逃到了这个客店。如果唐吉诃德问起公主的侍从，就说公主已派他回她的王国，告诉人们她给大家带来了救星。
理发师这才痛痛快快地把尾巴和所有为解救唐吉诃德而借用的东西还给了客店主妇。大家都惊叹多罗特亚的美貌和卡德尼奥的身材。神甫吩咐用客店里现有的东西给他们做些吃的。店主想多赚些钱，赶紧准备了一顿像样的饭菜。唐吉诃德始终在睡觉，大家觉得不必叫醒他，他目前最需要的不是吃而是睡。饭桌上，大家和店主、他的妻子、女儿、丑女仆以及其他旅客谈起了唐吉诃德莫名其妙的疯癫以及找他的经过。店主妇向他们讲起唐吉诃德和脚夫的事情，见桑乔不在场，又讲了桑乔被扔的事情，大家听得津津有味。神甫说，唐吉诃德是因为读了那些骑士小说才变得不正常的。店主这时说道：
“不知是怎么回事，我也觉得世界上再没有比这更好的书了。我这儿就有两三本，还有一些这方面的手稿。我觉得它不仅给我，也给其他很多人带来了快乐。每到收获季节，这里都会聚集很多来收割的人，其中总有个把识字的。他手里拿着一本这样的书，有三十多人围着他。我们都认真地听他念，仿佛觉得自己也年轻了。至少，当我听到骑士们激烈地拼杀时，我也想来那么几下。哪怕让我不分昼夜地听，我都愿意。”
“这我无所谓。”店主妇说，“反正只有在你去听骑士小说时，我才得安宁。你听得如痴如醉，就忘记吵架了。”
“这倒是真的，”丑女仆说，“我觉得我也很喜欢听这类东西。它特别精彩，尤其是讲到一位姑娘在桔子树下和骑士拥抱时，还有女仆为他们望风，我真是既羡慕又紧张。我觉得这种事挺美滋滋的。”
“你呢，你觉得怎么样，小姐？”神甫问店主的女儿。
“我真的不知道，大人。”姑娘回答，“我也喜欢听。说实话，我虽然听不懂，可是挺爱听。不过，我不喜欢我爸爸爱听的打打杀杀，只喜欢听骑士们离别意中人时那种凄凄切切，真的，有时候我都哭了，他们都很可怜。”
“那么，如果他们为你而哭泣，”神甫问，“你会好好安慰他们吗？”
“我不知道该怎么办，”姑娘说，“我只知道有的姑娘非常残忍，骑士们称她们是老虎、狮子，还有其它许多难听的称呼。天哪，我不知道那是些什么人，没心没肺，为了毁灭一个人，宁愿看着他死或者变疯。我不知道这种人为什么如此装蒜，如果她们为了显示自己正经，同人家结婚就行了，他们图的不就是这个嘛。”
“住嘴，丫头，”店主妇说，“这种事你知道得太多了。姑娘家不该知道，也不该说这种事情。”
“这位大人问我，”姑娘说，“我总得回答人家的问话呀。”
“那好，”神甫说，“店主大人，请您把那些书拿来，我想看看。”
“十分荣幸。”店主说。
说着他走进自己的房间，从屋里拿出一个用锁链锁着的箱子，把箱子打开，从里面拿出几本大部头的书和一些写得很整齐的手稿。他拿出的第一本书是《特拉夏的西龙希利奥》，另一本是《费利克斯马尔特•德伊尔卡尼亚》，还有一本是大将军贡萨洛•费尔南德斯•德科尔多瓦的传记，还附有迭戈•加西亚•德帕雷德斯的生平。神甫看了前面两本书的题目，就回过头来对理发师说：
“现在要是有我那位朋友的女管家和外甥女在这儿就好了。”
“用不着，”理发师说，“我也可以把它们送到畜栏或者壁炉里去，现在火正旺。”
“你想烧我的书？”店主问。
“只是这两本，”神甫说，“《西龙希利奥》和《费利克斯马尔特》。”
“难道我的书是异端邪说或者异教分治，”店主说，“因此您想烧掉它们？”
“应该是异教分支，朋友，”理发师说，“不是异教分治。”
“是这样，”店主说，“不过您要是想烧的话，还是烧那本关于大将军与迭戈•加西亚的书吧。至于这两本书，我宁愿让您烧死我的孩子，也不愿意它们被烧掉。”
“我的兄弟，”神甫说，“这两部书通篇谎话，一派胡言。这本关于大将军的书记载的倒是真人真事，里面还有贡萨洛•费尔南德斯•德利尔多瓦的事迹。他功绩卓著，堪称大将军，这样显赫的称号只有他受之无愧。而迭戈•加西亚•德帕雷德斯则是一位有名的骑士，出生在埃斯特雷马杜拉的特鲁希略市，是一位极其勇猛的战士。他生来力大无比，用一根手指头就顶住了一个正在旋转的磨盘。他手持长剑伫立桥头，大军就难以通过。他还做了其它一些事情。这些都是他自己讲、自己写的，所以有一种骑士和传记家的谦逊。如果由别人来写，那就可以不受什么约束，写得更符合实际，让人把赫克托、阿基莱斯和罗尔丹的事迹都忘了。
“那有什么了不起的，”店主说，“挡住一个磨盘有什么了不起！上帝保佑，您应该读一读我看的有关费利克斯马尔特•德伊尔卡尼亚的书。他反手一剑，就把五个巨人像斩豆角似的拦腰斩断了，就像小孩子们切凤头麦鸡一样。还有一次，他与一支极其强大的军队相遇。那支军队足有一百六十万人，从头到脚全副武装。可是他竟把那支军队打败了，就像打散一群羊一样。至于特拉夏的西龙希利奥，就更没的说了，就像书里说的那样勇猛顽强。有一次他正渡河，忽然从水里窜出一条火蛇。他立刻扑上去。骑到了那条蛇的背上，双手用力掐住蛇的脖子。蛇眼看就要没气了，只好沉入水底。可骑士始终不撒手，于是把骑士也带到了水底。水底有宫殿，有花园，美丽无比，令人叹为观止。后来蛇变成了一位老人，对他讲了许多事情，这些就不用多说了。大人，您如果听到这些，非得乐疯了不可。您说的大将军和那个迭戈•加西亚算老几呀！”
多罗特亚听到这些，悄悄对卡德尼奥说：
“咱们这位店主也快要步唐吉诃德的后尘了。”
“我也这样认为，”卡德尼奥说，“看样子，他把书上写的那些事情都当真了。就连赤脚僧侣也拿他没办法。”
“兄弟，你看，”神甫又说，“世界上没有费利克斯马尔特•德伊尔卡尼亚，没有特拉夏的西龙希利奥，也没有骑士小说里说的其他什么骑士。这些全都是那些无所事事的文人杜撰的，供你们消遣，譬如在收割休息时用来解闷。我发誓，世界上从来没有那样的骑士，那些业绩或者蛮干也都不存在。”
“你别来这套，”店主说，“就好像我们什么都不懂，连自己能吃几碗干饭都不知道似的！上帝保佑，您别哄我们了，以为我们就那么笨。您想让我们相信，经过卡斯蒂利亚议会批准印刷的这些好书都是胡说八道，这未免太天真了。就好像他们同意把这些胡言乱语、打斗和魔法印出来，是为了让人们抽疯似的。”
“我已经对你讲过了，朋友，”神甫说，“那只是我们百无聊赖的时候用来消遣的。这就好比在那些国泰民安的国家里，不愿意、不必要或不能够劳动的人可以下棋、打球、玩台球一样。在我们国家里可以印刷出版这种书，想来不会有人如此无知，竟把这种书当成真实的故事看待。事实也是如此。如果我觉得有必要，诸位又愿意听的话，现在我可以讲讲一部好骑士小说应具有的内容，这也许会对某些人有好处，而且他们也会对此感兴趣。不过，我更愿意将来同某个能够解决这一问题的人共同探讨。至于现在，店主大人，请你听我的，把你的书拿走，不管书上说的是真是假，对你有没有好处，上帝保佑，可别让你变得跟唐吉诃德一样。”
“这不会，”店主说，“我不会疯到去当游侠骑士的地步。我很清楚，现在不像过去了。据说那个时候，著名骑士都到处周游。”
他们正说着话，桑乔出现了。他听人们说现在不时兴游侠骑士那一套了，说所有骑士小说都是一派胡言，不禁感到困惑，有些担心，心里盘算着在主人结束周游之后，看看结果如何。如果没有得到预期的好处，他就离开主人，回去和老婆孩子干自己的活儿去。
店主拿起手提箱和书正要走，神甫对他说：
“等一等，我想看看这是什么手稿，字写得倒很漂亮。”
店主把手稿拿了出来，递给神甫。手稿足有八大张，上方有个大标题，上面写着《无谓的猜疑》。神甫看了三四行便说：
“我觉得这本小说的题目确实不错，想把它全部读完。”
店主说：
“您真应该看看。我可以告诉您，有的客人看过这本书，很喜欢它，非要跟我借不可。但我不想借给他们，只想把它还给它的主人。这一手提箱书和手稿是人家忘在这儿的，说不定什么时候他就会回来取。我虽然也需要这几本书，但还是想物归原主。尽管我是个开店的，可我毕竟还是个基督徒呀。”
“你说得很对，朋友，”神甫说，“但尽管如此，要是我喜欢这本书，你还是得让我抄一下。”
“我很愿意。”店主说。
两人说话的时候，卡德尼奥已经拿着书看起来了。他的看法同神甫一致。他请神甫把书给大家念念。
“念念也好，”神甫说，“至少是出于好奇，我也想念念它。
兴许还有点意思。”
尼古拉斯师傅和桑乔也请求神甫朗读。神甫见大家都喜欢听，就同意了。他说：
“那就请大家注意听，故事开场了。”
Part 1 Chapter 33
In Florence, a rich and famous city of Italy in the province called Tuscany, there lived two gentlemen of wealth and quality, Anselmo and Lothario, such great friends that by way of distinction they were called by all that knew them “The Two Friends.” They were unmarried, young, of the same age and of the same tastes, which was enough to account for the reciprocal friendship between them. Anselmo, it is true, was somewhat more inclined to seek pleasure in love than Lothario, for whom the pleasures of the chase had more attraction; but on occasion Anselmo would forego his own tastes to yield to those of Lothario, and Lothario would surrender his to fall in with those of Anselmo, and in this way their inclinations kept pace one with the other with a concord so perfect that the best regulated clock could not surpass it.
Anselmo was deep in love with a high-born and beautiful maiden of the same city, the daughter of parents so estimable, and so estimable herself, that he resolved, with the approval of his friend Lothario, without whom he did nothing, to ask her of them in marriage, and did so, Lothario being the bearer of the demand, and conducting the negotiation so much to the satisfaction of his friend that in a short time he was in possession of the object of his desires, and Camilla so happy in having won Anselmo for her husband, that she gave thanks unceasingly to heaven and to Lothario, by whose means such good fortune had fallen to her. The first few days, those of a wedding being usually days of merry-making, Lothario frequented his friend Anselmo’s house as he had been wont, striving to do honour to him and to the occasion, and to gratify him in every way he could; but when the wedding days were over and the succession of visits and congratulations had slackened, he began purposely to leave off going to the house of Anselmo, for it seemed to him, as it naturally would to all men of sense, that friends’ houses ought not to be visited after marriage with the same frequency as in their masters’ bachelor days: because, though true and genuine friendship cannot and should not be in any way suspicious, still a married man’s honour is a thing of such delicacy that it is held liable to injury from brothers, much more from friends. Anselmo remarked the cessation of Lothario’s visits, and complained of it to him, saying that if he had known that marriage was to keep him from enjoying his society as he used, he would have never married; and that, if by the thorough harmony that subsisted between them while he was a bachelor they had earned such a sweet name as that of “The Two Friends,” he should not allow a title so rare and so delightful to be lost through a needless anxiety to act circumspectly; and so he entreated him, if such a phrase was allowable between them, to be once more master of his house and to come in and go out as formerly, assuring him that his wife Camilla had no other desire or inclination than that which he would wish her to have, and that knowing how sincerely they loved one another she was grieved to see such coldness in him.
To all this and much more that Anselmo said to Lothario to persuade him to come to his house as he had been in the habit of doing, Lothario replied with so much prudence, sense, and judgment, that Anselmo was satisfied of his friend’s good intentions, and it was agreed that on two days in the week, and on holidays, Lothario should come to dine with him; but though this arrangement was made between them Lothario resolved to observe it no further than he considered to be in accordance with the honour of his friend, whose good name was more to him than his own. He said, and justly, that a married man upon whom heaven had bestowed a beautiful wife should consider as carefully what friends he brought to his house as what female friends his wife associated with, for what cannot be done or arranged in the market-place, in church, at public festivals or at stations (opportunities that husbands cannot always deny their wives), may be easily managed in the house of the female friend or relative in whom most confidence is reposed. Lothario said, too, that every married man should have some friend who would point out to him any negligence he might be guilty of in his conduct, for it will sometimes happen that owing to the deep affection the husband bears his wife either he does not caution her, or, not to vex her, refrains from telling her to do or not to do certain things, doing or avoiding which may be a matter of honour or reproach to him; and errors of this kind he could easily correct if warned by a friend. But where is such a friend to be found as Lothario would have, so judicious, so loyal, and so true?
Of a truth I know not; Lothario alone was such a one, for with the utmost care and vigilance he watched over the honour of his friend, and strove to diminish, cut down, and reduce the number of days for going to his house according to their agreement, lest the visits of a young man, wealthy, high-born, and with the attractions he was conscious of possessing, at the house of a woman so beautiful as Camilla, should be regarded with suspicion by the inquisitive and malicious eyes of the idle public. For though his integrity and reputation might bridle slanderous tongues, still he was unwilling to hazard either his own good name or that of his friend; and for this reason most of the days agreed upon he devoted to some other business which he pretended was unavoidable; so that a great portion of the day was taken up with complaints on one side and excuses on the other. It happened, however, that on one occasion when the two were strolling together outside the city, Anselmo addressed the following words to Lothario.
“Thou mayest suppose, Lothario my friend, that I am unable to give sufficient thanks for the favours God has rendered me in making me the son of such parents as mine were, and bestowing upon me with no niggard hand what are called the gifts of nature as well as those of fortune, and above all for what he has done in giving me thee for a friend and Camilla for a wife — two treasures that I value, if not as highly as I ought, at least as highly as I am able. And yet, with all these good things, which are commonly all that men need to enable them to live happily, I am the most discontented and dissatisfied man in the whole world; for, I know not how long since, I have been harassed and oppressed by a desire so strange and so unusual, that I wonder at myself and blame and chide myself when I am alone, and strive to stifle it and hide it from my own thoughts, and with no better success than if I were endeavouring deliberately to publish it to all the world; and as, in short, it must come out, I would confide it to thy safe keeping, feeling sure that by this means, and by thy readiness as a true friend to afford me relief, I shall soon find myself freed from the distress it causes me, and that thy care will give me happiness in the same degree as my own folly has caused me misery.”
The words of Anselmo struck Lothario with astonishment, unable as he was to conjecture the purport of such a lengthy preamble; and though be strove to imagine what desire it could be that so troubled his friend, his conjectures were all far from the truth, and to relieve the anxiety which this perplexity was causing him, he told him he was doing a flagrant injustice to their great friendship in seeking circuitous methods of confiding to him his most hidden thoughts, for be well knew he might reckon upon his counsel in diverting them, or his help in carrying them into effect.
“That is the truth,” replied Anselmo, “and relying upon that I will tell thee, friend Lothario, that the desire which harasses me is that of knowing whether my wife Camilla is as good and as perfect as I think her to be; and I cannot satisfy myself of the truth on this point except by testing her in such a way that the trial may prove the purity of her virtue as the fire proves that of gold; because I am persuaded, my friend, that a woman is virtuous only in proportion as she is or is not tempted; and that she alone is strong who does not yield to the promises, gifts, tears, and importunities of earnest lovers; for what thanks does a woman deserve for being good if no one urges her to be bad, and what wonder is it that she is reserved and circumspect to whom no opportunity is given of going wrong and who knows she has a husband that will take her life the first time he detects her in an impropriety? I do not therefore hold her who is virtuous through fear or want of opportunity in the same estimation as her who comes out of temptation and trial with a crown of victory; and so, for these reasons and many others that I could give thee to justify and support the opinion I hold, I am desirous that my wife Camilla should pass this crisis, and be refined and tested by the fire of finding herself wooed and by one worthy to set his affections upon her; and if she comes out, as I know she will, victorious from this struggle, I shall look upon my good fortune as unequalled, I shall be able to say that the cup of my desire is full, and that the virtuous woman of whom the sage says ‘Who shall find her?’ has fallen to my lot. And if the result be the contrary of what I expect, in the satisfaction of knowing that I have been right in my opinion, I shall bear without complaint the pain which my so dearly bought experience will naturally cause me. And, as nothing of all thou wilt urge in opposition to my wish will avail to keep me from carrying it into effect, it is my desire, friend Lothario, that thou shouldst consent to become the instrument for effecting this purpose that I am bent upon, for I will afford thee opportunities to that end, and nothing shall be wanting that I may think necessary for the pursuit of a virtuous, honourable, modest and high-minded woman. And among other reasons, I am induced to entrust this arduous task to thee by the consideration that if Camilla be conquered by thee the conquest will not be pushed to extremes, but only far enough to account that accomplished which from a sense of honour will be left undone; thus I shall not be wronged in anything more than intention, and my wrong will remain buried in the integrity of thy silence, which I know well will be as lasting as that of death in what concerns me. If, therefore, thou wouldst have me enjoy what can be called life, thou wilt at once engage in this love struggle, not lukewarmly nor slothfully, but with the energy and zeal that my desire demands, and with the loyalty our friendship assures me of.”
Such were the words Anselmo addressed to Lothario, who listened to them with such attention that, except to say what has been already mentioned, he did not open his lips until the other had finished. Then perceiving that he had no more to say, after regarding him for awhile, as one would regard something never before seen that excited wonder and amazement, he said to him, “I cannot persuade myself, Anselmo my friend, that what thou hast said to me is not in jest; if I thought that thou wert speaking seriously I would not have allowed thee to go so far; so as to put a stop to thy long harangue by not listening to thee I verily suspect that either thou dost not know me, or I do not know thee; but no, I know well thou art Anselmo, and thou knowest that I am Lothario; the misfortune is, it seems to me, that thou art not the Anselmo thou wert, and must have thought that I am not the Lothario I should be; for the things that thou hast said to me are not those of that Anselmo who was my friend, nor are those that thou demandest of me what should be asked of the Lothario thou knowest. True friends will prove their friends and make use of them, as a poet has said, usque ad aras; whereby he meant that they will not make use of their friendship in things that are contrary to God’s will. If this, then, was a heathen’s feeling about friendship, how much more should it be a Christian’s , who knows that the divine must not be forfeited for the sake of any human friendship? And if a friend should go so far as to put aside his duty to Heaven to fulfil his duty to his friend, it should not be in matters that are trifling or of little moment, but in such as affect the friend’s life and honour. Now tell me, Anselmo, in which of these two art thou imperilled, that I should hazard myself to gratify thee, and do a thing so detestable as that thou seekest of me? Neither forsooth; on the contrary, thou dost ask of me, so far as I understand, to strive and labour to rob thee of honour and life, and to rob myself of them at the same time; for if I take away thy honour it is plain I take away thy life, as a man without honour is worse than dead; and being the instrument, as thou wilt have it so, of so much wrong to thee, shall not I, too, be left without honour, and consequently without life? Listen to me, Anselmo my friend, and be not impatient to answer me until I have said what occurs to me touching the object of thy desire, for there will be time enough left for thee to reply and for me to hear.”
“Be it so,” said Anselmo, “say what thou wilt.”
Lothario then went on to say, “It seems to me, Anselmo, that thine is just now the temper of mind which is always that of the Moors, who can never be brought to see the error of their creed by quotations from the Holy Scriptures, or by reasons which depend upon the examination of the understanding or are founded upon the articles of faith, but must have examples that are palpable, easy, intelligible, capable of proof, not admitting of doubt, with mathematical demonstrations that cannot be denied, like, ‘If equals be taken from equals, the remainders are equal:’ and if they do not understand this in words, and indeed they do not, it has to be shown to them with the hands, and put before their eyes, and even with all this no one succeeds in convincing them of the truth of our holy religion. This same mode of proceeding I shall have to adopt with thee, for the desire which has sprung up in thee is so absurd and remote from everything that has a semblance of reason, that I feel it would be a waste of time to employ it in reasoning with thy simplicity, for at present I will call it by no other name; and I am even tempted to leave thee in thy folly as a punishment for thy pernicious desire; but the friendship I bear thee, which will not allow me to desert thee in such manifest danger of destruction, keeps me from dealing so harshly by thee. And that thou mayest clearly see this, say, Anselmo, hast thou not told me that I must force my suit upon a modest woman, decoy one that is virtuous, make overtures to one that is pure-minded, pay court to one that is prudent? Yes, thou hast told me so. Then, if thou knowest that thou hast a wife, modest, virtuous, pure-minded and prudent, what is it that thou seekest? And if thou believest that she will come forth victorious from all my attacks — as doubtless she would — what higher titles than those she possesses now dost thou think thou canst upon her then, or in what will she be better then than she is now? Either thou dost not hold her to be what thou sayest, or thou knowest not what thou dost demand. If thou dost not hold her to be what thou why dost thou seek to prove her instead of treating her as guilty in the way that may seem best to thee? but if she be as virtuous as thou believest, it is an uncalled-for proceeding to make trial of truth itself, for, after trial, it will but be in the same estimation as before. Thus, then, it is conclusive that to attempt things from which harm rather than advantage may come to us is the part of unreasoning and reckless minds, more especially when they are things which we are not forced or compelled to attempt, and which show from afar that it is plainly madness to attempt them.
“Difficulties are attempted either for the sake of God or for the sake of the world, or for both; those undertaken for God’s sake are those which the saints undertake when they attempt to live the lives of angels in human bodies; those undertaken for the sake of the world are those of the men who traverse such a vast expanse of water, such a variety of climates, so many strange countries, to acquire what are called the blessings of fortune; and those undertaken for the sake of God and the world together are those of brave soldiers, who no sooner do they see in the enemy’s wall a breach as wide as a cannon ball could make, than, casting aside all fear, without hesitating, or heeding the manifest peril that threatens them, borne onward by the desire of defending their faith, their country, and their king, they fling themselves dauntlessly into the midst of the thousand opposing deaths that await them. Such are the things that men are wont to attempt, and there is honour, glory, gain, in attempting them, however full of difficulty and peril they may be; but that which thou sayest it is thy wish to attempt and carry out will not win thee the glory of God nor the blessings of fortune nor fame among men; for even if the issue he as thou wouldst have it, thou wilt be no happier, richer, or more honoured than thou art this moment; and if it be otherwise thou wilt be reduced to misery greater than can be imagined, for then it will avail thee nothing to reflect that no one is aware of the misfortune that has befallen thee; it will suffice to torture and crush thee that thou knowest it thyself. And in confirmation of the truth of what I say, let me repeat to thee a stanza made by the famous poet Luigi Tansillo at the end of the first part of his ‘Tears of Saint Peter,’ which says thus:
The anguish and the shame but greater grew In Peter’s heart as morning slowly came; No eye was there to see him, well he knew, Yet he himself was to himself a shame; Exposed to all men’s gaze, or screened from view, A noble heart will feel the pang the same; A prey to shame the sinning soul will be, Though none but heaven and earth its shame can see.
Thus by keeping it secret thou wilt not escape thy sorrow, but rather thou wilt shed tears unceasingly, if not tears of the eyes, tears of blood from the heart, like those shed by that simple doctor our poet tells us of, that tried the test of the cup, which the wise Rinaldo, better advised, refused to do; for though this may be a poetic fiction it contains a moral lesson worthy of attention and study and imitation. Moreover by what I am about to say to thee thou wilt be led to see the great error thou wouldst commit.
“Tell me, Anselmo, if Heaven or good fortune had made thee master and lawful owner of a diamond of the finest quality, with the excellence and purity of which all the lapidaries that had seen it had been satisfied, saying with one voice and common consent that in purity, quality, and fineness, it was all that a stone of the kind could possibly be, thou thyself too being of the same belief, as knowing nothing to the contrary, would it be reasonable in thee to desire to take that diamond and place it between an anvil and a hammer, and by mere force of blows and strength of arm try if it were as hard and as fine as they said? And if thou didst, and if the stone should resist so silly a test, that would add nothing to its value or reputation; and if it were broken, as it might be, would not all be lost? Undoubtedly it would, leaving its owner to be rated as a fool in the opinion of all. Consider, then, Anselmo my friend, that Camilla is a diamond of the finest quality as well in thy estimation as in that of others, and that it is contrary to reason to expose her to the risk of being broken; for if she remains intact she cannot rise to a higher value than she now possesses; and if she give way and be unable to resist, bethink thee now how thou wilt be deprived of her, and with what good reason thou wilt complain of thyself for having been the cause of her ruin and thine own. Remember there is no jewel in the world so precious as a chaste and virtuous woman, and that the whole honour of women consists in reputation; and since thy wife’s is of that high excellence that thou knowest, wherefore shouldst thou seek to call that truth in question? Remember, my friend, that woman is an imperfect animal, and that impediments are not to be placed in her way to make her trip and fall, but that they should be removed, and her path left clear of all obstacles, so that without hindrance she may run her course freely to attain the desired perfection, which consists in being virtuous. Naturalists tell us that the ermine is a little animal which has a fur of purest white, and that when the hunters wish to take it, they make use of this artifice. Having ascertained the places which it frequents and passes, they stop the way to them with mud, and then rousing it, drive it towards the spot, and as soon as the ermine comes to the mud it halts, and allows itself to be taken captive rather than pass through the mire, and spoil and sully its whiteness, which it values more than life and liberty. The virtuous and chaste woman is an ermine, and whiter and purer than snow is the virtue of modesty; and he who wishes her not to lose it, but to keep and preserve it, must adopt a course different from that employed with the ermine; he must not put before her the mire of the gifts and attentions of persevering lovers, because perhaps — and even without a perhaps — she may not have sufficient virtue and natural strength in herself to pass through and tread under foot these impediments; they must be removed, and the brightness of virtue and the beauty of a fair fame must be put before her. A virtuous woman, too, is like a mirror, of clear shining crystal, liable to be tarnished and dimmed by every breath that touches it. She must be treated as relics are; adored, not touched. She must be protected and prized as one protects and prizes a fair garden full of roses and flowers, the owner of which allows no one to trespass or pluck a blossom; enough for others that from afar and through the iron grating they may enjoy its fragrance and its beauty. Finally let me repeat to thee some verses that come to my mind; I heard them in a modern comedy, and it seems to me they bear upon the point we are discussing. A prudent old man was giving advice to another, the father of a young girl, to lock her up, watch over her and keep her in seclusion, and among other arguments he used these:
Woman is a thing of glass; But her brittleness ’tis best Not too curiously to test: Who knows what may come to pass?
Breaking is an easy matter, And it’s folly to expose What you cannot mend to blows; What you can’t make whole to shatter.
This, then, all may hold as true, And the reason’s plain to see; For if Danaes there be, There are golden showers too.
“All that I have said to thee so far, Anselmo, has had reference to what concerns thee; now it is right that I should say something of what regards myself; and if I be prolix, pardon me, for the labyrinth into which thou hast entered and from which thou wouldst have me extricate thee makes it necessary.
“Thou dost reckon me thy friend, and thou wouldst rob me of honour, a thing wholly inconsistent with friendship; and not only dost thou aim at this, but thou wouldst have me rob thee of it also. That thou wouldst rob me of it is clear, for when Camilla sees that I pay court to her as thou requirest, she will certainly regard me as a man without honour or right feeling, since I attempt and do a thing so much opposed to what I owe to my own position and thy friendship. That thou wouldst have me rob thee of it is beyond a doubt, for Camilla, seeing that I press my suit upon her, will suppose that I have perceived in her something light that has encouraged me to make known to her my base desire; and if she holds herself dishonoured, her dishonour touches thee as belonging to her; and hence arises what so commonly takes place, that the husband of the adulterous woman, though he may not be aware of or have given any cause for his wife’s failure in her duty, or (being careless or negligent) have had it in his power to prevent his dishonour, nevertheless is stigmatised by a vile and reproachful name, and in a manner regarded with eyes of contempt instead of pity by all who know of his wife’s guilt, though they see that he is unfortunate not by his own fault, but by the lust of a vicious consort. But I will tell thee why with good reason dishonour attaches to the husband of the unchaste wife, though he know not that she is so, nor be to blame, nor have done anything, or given any provocation to make her so; and be not weary with listening to me, for it will be for thy good.
“When God created our first parent in the earthly paradise, the Holy Scripture says that he infused sleep into Adam and while he slept took a rib from his left side of which he formed our mother Eve, and when Adam awoke and beheld her he said, ‘This is flesh of my flesh, and bone of my bone.’ And God said ‘For this shall a man leave his father and his mother, and they shall be two in one flesh; and then was instituted the divine sacrament of marriage, with such ties that death alone can loose them. And such is the force and virtue of this miraculous sacrament that it makes two different persons one and the same flesh; and even more than this when the virtuous are married; for though they have two souls they have but one will. And hence it follows that as the flesh of the wife is one and the same with that of her husband the stains that may come upon it, or the injuries it incurs fall upon the husband’s flesh, though he, as has been said, may have given no cause for them; for as the pain of the foot or any member of the body is felt by the whole body, because all is one flesh, as the head feels the hurt to the ankle without having caused it, so the husband, being one with her, shares the dishonour of the wife; and as all worldly honour or dishonour comes of flesh and blood, and the erring wife’s is of that kind, the husband must needs bear his part of it and be held dishonoured without knowing it. See, then, Anselmo, the peril thou art encountering in seeking to disturb the peace of thy virtuous consort; see for what an empty and ill-advised curiosity thou wouldst rouse up passions that now repose in quiet in the breast of thy chaste wife; reflect that what thou art staking all to win is little, and what thou wilt lose so much that I leave it undescribed, not having the words to express it. But if all I have said be not enough to turn thee from thy vile purpose, thou must seek some other instrument for thy dishonour and misfortune; for such I will not consent to be, though I lose thy friendship, the greatest loss that I can conceive.”
Having said this, the wise and virtuous Lothario was silent, and Anselmo, troubled in mind and deep in thought, was unable for a while to utter a word in reply; but at length he said, “I have listened, Lothario my friend, attentively, as thou hast seen, to what thou hast chosen to say to me, and in thy arguments, examples, and comparisons I have seen that high intelligence thou dost possess, and the perfection of true friendship thou hast reached; and likewise I see and confess that if I am not guided by thy opinion, but follow my own, I am flying from the good and pursuing the evil. This being so, thou must remember that I am now labouring under that infirmity which women sometimes suffer from, when the craving seizes them to eat clay, plaster, charcoal, and things even worse, disgusting to look at, much more to eat; so that it will be necessary to have recourse to some artifice to cure me; and this can be easily effected if only thou wilt make a beginning, even though it be in a lukewarm and make-believe fashion, to pay court to Camilla, who will not be so yielding that her virtue will give way at the first attack: with this mere attempt I shall rest satisfied, and thou wilt have done what our friendship binds thee to do, not only in giving me life, but in persuading me not to discard my honour. And this thou art bound to do for one reason alone, that, being, as I am, resolved to apply this test, it is not for thee to permit me to reveal my weakness to another, and so imperil that honour thou art striving to keep me from losing; and if thine may not stand as high as it ought in the estimation of Camilla while thou art paying court to her, that is of little or no importance, because ere long, on finding in her that constancy which we expect, thou canst tell her the plain truth as regards our stratagem, and so regain thy place in her esteem; and as thou art venturing so little, and by the venture canst afford me so much satisfaction, refuse not to undertake it, even if further difficulties present themselves to thee; for, as I have said, if thou wilt only make a beginning I will acknowledge the issue decided.”
Lothario seeing the fixed determination of Anselmo, and not knowing what further examples to offer or arguments to urge in order to dissuade him from it, and perceiving that he threatened to confide his pernicious scheme to some one else, to avoid a greater evil resolved to gratify him and do what he asked, intending to manage the business so as to satisfy Anselmo without corrupting the mind of Camilla; so in reply he told him not to communicate his purpose to any other, for he would undertake the task himself, and would begin it as soon as he pleased. Anselmo embraced him warmly and affectionately, and thanked him for his offer as if he had bestowed some great favour upon him; and it was agreed between them to set about it the next day, Anselmo affording opportunity and time to Lothario to converse alone with Camilla, and furnishing him with money and jewels to offer and present to her. He suggested, too, that he should treat her to music, and write verses in her praise, and if he was unwilling to take the trouble of composing them, he offered to do it himself. Lothario agreed to all with an intention very different from what Anselmo supposed, and with this understanding they returned to Anselmo’s house, where they found Camilla awaiting her husband anxiously and uneasily, for he was later than usual in returning that day. Lothario repaired to his own house, and Anselmo remained in his, as well satisfied as Lothario was troubled in mind; for he could see no satisfactory way out of this ill-advised business. That night, however, he thought of a plan by which he might deceive Anselmo without any injury to Camilla. The next day he went to dine with his friend, and was welcomed by Camilla, who received and treated him with great cordiality, knowing the affection her husband felt for him. When dinner was over and the cloth removed, Anselmo told Lothario to stay there with Camilla while he attended to some pressing business, as he would return in an hour and a half. Camilla begged him not to go, and Lothario offered to accompany him, but nothing could persuade Anselmo, who on the contrary pressed Lothario to remain waiting for him as he had a matter of great importance to discuss with him. At the same time he bade Camilla not to leave Lothario alone until he came back. In short he contrived to put so good a face on the reason, or the folly, of his absence that no one could have suspected it was a pretence.
Anselmo took his departure, and Camilla and Lothario were left alone at the table, for the rest of the household had gone to dinner. Lothario saw himself in the lists according to his friend’s wish, and facing an enemy that could by her beauty alone vanquish a squadron of armed knights; judge whether he had good reason to fear; but what he did was to lean his elbow on the arm of the chair, and his cheek upon his hand, and, asking Camilla’s pardon for his ill manners, he said he wished to take a little sleep until Anselmo returned. Camilla in reply said he could repose more at his ease in the reception-room than in his chair, and begged of him to go in and sleep there; but Lothario declined, and there he remained asleep until the return of Anselmo, who finding Camilla in her own room, and Lothario asleep, imagined that he had stayed away so long as to have afforded them time enough for conversation and even for sleep, and was all impatience until Lothario should wake up, that he might go out with him and question him as to his success. Everything fell out as he wished; Lothario awoke, and the two at once left the house, and Anselmo asked what he was anxious to know, and Lothario in answer told him that he had not thought it advisable to declare himself entirely the first time, and therefore had only extolled the charms of Camilla, telling her that all the city spoke of nothing else but her beauty and wit, for this seemed to him an excellent way of beginning to gain her good-will and render her disposed to listen to him with pleasure the next time, thus availing himself of the device the devil has recourse to when he would deceive one who is on the watch; for he being the angel of darkness transforms himself into an angel of light, and, under cover of a fair seeming, discloses himself at length, and effects his purpose if at the beginning his wiles are not discovered. All this gave great satisfaction to Anselmo, and he said he would afford the same opportunity every day, but without leaving the house, for he would find things to do at home so that Camilla should not detect the plot.
Thus, then, several days went by, and Lothario, without uttering a word to Camilla, reported to Anselmo that he had talked with her and that he had never been able to draw from her the slightest indication of consent to anything dishonourable, nor even a sign or shadow of hope; on the contrary, he said she would inform her husband of it.
“So far well,” said Anselmo; “Camilla has thus far resisted words; we must now see how she will resist deeds. I will give you to-morrow two thousand crowns in gold for you to offer or even present, and as many more to buy jewels to lure her, for women are fond of being becomingly attired and going gaily dressed, and all the more so if they are beautiful, however chaste they may be; and if she resists this temptation, I will rest satisfied and will give you no more trouble.”
Lothario replied that now he had begun he would carry on the undertaking to the end, though he perceived he was to come out of it wearied and vanquished. The next day he received the four thousand crowns, and with them four thousand perplexities, for he knew not what to say by way of a new falsehood; but in the end he made up his mind to tell him that Camilla stood as firm against gifts and promises as against words, and that there was no use in taking any further trouble, for the time was all spent to no purpose.
But chance, directing things in a different manner, so ordered it that Anselmo, having left Lothario and Camilla alone as on other occasions, shut himself into a chamber and posted himself to watch and listen through the keyhole to what passed between them, and perceived that for more than half an hour Lothario did not utter a word to Camilla, nor would utter a word though he were to be there for an age; and he came to the conclusion that what his friend had told him about the replies of Camilla was all invention and falsehood, and to ascertain if it were so, he came out, and calling Lothario aside asked him what news he had and in what humour Camilla was. Lothario replied that he was not disposed to go on with the business, for she had answered him so angrily and harshly that he had no heart to say anything more to her.
“Ah, Lothario, Lothario,” said Anselmo, “how ill dost thou meet thy obligations to me, and the great confidence I repose in thee! I have been just now watching through this keyhole, and I have seen that thou has not said a word to Camilla, whence I conclude that on the former occasions thou hast not spoken to her either, and if this be so, as no doubt it is, why dost thou deceive me, or wherefore seekest thou by craft to deprive me of the means I might find of attaining my desire?”
Anselmo said no more, but he had said enough to cover Lothario with shame and confusion, and he, feeling as it were his honour touched by having been detected in a lie, swore to Anselmo that he would from that moment devote himself to satisfying him without any deception, as he would see if he had the curiosity to watch; though he need not take the trouble, for the pains he would take to satisfy him would remove all suspicions from his mind. Anselmo believed him, and to afford him an opportunity more free and less liable to surprise, he resolved to absent himself from his house for eight days, betaking himself to that of a friend of his who lived in a village not far from the city; and, the better to account for his departure to Camilla, he so arranged it that the friend should send him a very pressing invitation.
Unhappy, shortsighted Anselmo, what art thou doing, what art thou plotting, what art thou devising? Bethink thee thou art working against thyself, plotting thine own dishonour, devising thine own ruin. Thy wife Camilla is virtuous, thou dost possess her in peace and quietness, no one assails thy happiness, her thoughts wander not beyond the walls of thy house, thou art her heaven on earth, the object of her wishes, the fulfilment of her desires, the measure wherewith she measures her will, making it conform in all things to thine and Heaven’s . If, then, the mine of her honour, beauty, virtue, and modesty yields thee without labour all the wealth it contains and thou canst wish for, why wilt thou dig the earth in search of fresh veins, of new unknown treasure, risking the collapse of all, since it but rests on the feeble props of her weak nature? Bethink thee that from him who seeks impossibilities that which is possible may with justice be withheld, as was better expressed by a poet who said:
’Tis mine to seek for life in death,
Health in disease seek I,
I seek in prison freedom’s breath,
In traitors loyalty.
So Fate that ever scorns to grant
Or grace or boon to me,
Since what can never be I want,
Denies me what might be.
The next day Anselmo took his departure for the village, leaving instructions with Camilla that during his absence Lothario would come to look after his house and to dine with her, and that she was to treat him as she would himself. Camilla was distressed, as a discreet and right-minded woman would be, at the orders her husband left her, and bade him remember that it was not becoming that anyone should occupy his seat at the table during his absence, and if he acted thus from not feeling confidence that she would be able to manage his house, let him try her this time, and he would find by experience that she was equal to greater responsibilities. Anselmo replied that it was his pleasure to have it so, and that she had only to submit and obey. Camilla said she would do so, though against her will.
Anselmo went, and the next day Lothario came to his house, where he was received by Camilla with a friendly and modest welcome; but she never suffered Lothario to see her alone, for she was always attended by her men and women servants, especially by a handmaid of hers, Leonela by name, to whom she was much attached (for they had been brought up together from childhood in her father’s house), and whom she had kept with her after her marriage with Anselmo. The first three days Lothario did not speak to her, though he might have done so when they removed the cloth and the servants retired to dine hastily; for such were Camilla’s orders; nay more, Leonela had directions to dine earlier than Camilla and never to leave her side. She, however, having her thoughts fixed upon other things more to her taste, and wanting that time and opportunity for her own pleasures, did not always obey her mistress’s commands, but on the contrary left them alone, as if they had ordered her to do so; but the modest bearing of Camilla, the calmness of her countenance, the composure of her aspect were enough to bridle the tongue of Lothario. But the influence which the many virtues of Camilla exerted in imposing silence on Lothario’s tongue proved mischievous for both of them, for if his tongue was silent his thoughts were busy, and could dwell at leisure upon the perfections of Camilla’s goodness and beauty one by one, charms enough to warm with love a marble statue, not to say a heart of flesh. Lothario gazed upon her when he might have been speaking to her, and thought how worthy of being loved she was; and thus reflection began little by little to assail his allegiance to Anselmo, and a thousand times he thought of withdrawing from the city and going where Anselmo should never see him nor he see Camilla. But already the delight he found in gazing on her interposed and held him fast. He put a constraint upon himself, and struggled to repel and repress the pleasure he found in contemplating Camilla; when alone he blamed himself for his weakness, called himself a bad friend, nay a bad Christian; then he argued the matter and compared himself with Anselmo; always coming to the conclusion that the folly and rashness of Anselmo had been worse than his faithlessness, and that if he could excuse his intentions as easily before God as with man, he had no reason to fear any punishment for his offence.
In short the beauty and goodness of Camilla, joined with the opportunity which the blind husband had placed in his hands, overthrew the loyalty of Lothario; and giving heed to nothing save the object towards which his inclinations led him, after Anselmo had been three days absent, during which he had been carrying on a continual struggle with his passion, he began to make love to Camilla with so much vehemence and warmth of language that she was overwhelmed with amazement, and could only rise from her place and retire to her room without answering him a word. But the hope which always springs up with love was not weakened in Lothario by this repelling demeanour; on the contrary his passion for Camilla increased, and she discovering in him what she had never expected, knew not what to do; and considering it neither safe nor right to give him the chance or opportunity of speaking to her again, she resolved to send, as she did that very night, one of her servants with a letter to Anselmo, in which she addressed the following words to him.
 
在意大利托斯卡纳省著名的繁华城市佛罗伦萨，有两位有钱有势的年青人安塞尔莫和洛塔里奥。两人亲密无间，所有认识他们的人都称他们为“朋友俩”。他们都是单身，年龄相仿，情趣相同、所以你来我往，友谊与日俱增。安塞尔莫比洛塔里奥喜欢谈情说爱，洛塔里奥则更愿意打猎。不过，安塞尔莫常常撇下自己的志趣去服从洛塔里奥的爱好，洛塔里奥也常常让自己的爱好顺应安塞尔莫的志趣。两人总是心心相印，形同一人。
安塞尔莫后来迷上了该城一位门第高贵、美丽漂亮的姑娘。姑娘的父母和姑娘本人都很不错。安塞尔莫同洛塔里奥商量，他凡事都同洛塔里奥商量，然后决定向姑娘的父母提亲，而且他也确实去提亲了。出主意想办法的是洛塔里奥，结果使安塞尔莫很称心，他很快就如愿以偿了。卡米拉也很高兴安塞尔莫做她的丈夫，而且一直感谢老天和洛塔里奥给她带来了如此好运。婚礼很热闹。最初几天，洛塔里奥还像以往一样，常常到安塞尔莫家去，尽自己所能为安塞尔莫增加些热闹气氛。可是婚礼结束后，来祝贺的人逐渐少了，洛塔里奥也就不太常去安塞尔莫家了。他觉得，所有谨慎的人都会这样认为，不应该再像朋友单身时那样常去已婚朋友的家了。他觉得虽然他们之间的友谊很真诚，但还是不应该让人引起任何怀疑。结了婚的人名声很重要。即使在兄弟之间也会发生误会，更何况是在朋友之间呢。
安塞尔莫发现洛塔里奥在疏远他，便对洛塔里奥大发牢骚，说如果自己早知道结婚会妨碍他们两人之间的交往，他就不结婚了。他还说自己单身时，两人来往甚密，以至于获得了“朋友俩”的美称，他不愿意仅仅因为出于谨慎就失去这个美称。如果他们之间可以使用“请求”这个词的话，他请求洛塔里奥像以前一样把这个家当作自己的家，随便出入。他还向洛塔里奥保证，他的妻子卡米拉同他的意见一致，她知道他们两人以前情谊甚笃，因此看到洛塔里奥躲避他们，颇为迷惑不解。
安塞尔莫对洛塔里奥苦口婆心，劝他同以前一样常到自己家去。洛塔里奥很有节制地答应了，安塞尔莫对朋友的好意表示感谢。两人商定，洛塔里奥每星期去两次，再加上节假日，都要到安塞尔莫家吃饭。虽然两人是这么商定的，洛塔里奥还是说，看在朋友的面子上，他仅此而已。他把朋友的声誉看得比自己的声誉还重要。他说得对，既然家有娇妻，就必须对到家里来的朋友加以选择，即使对妻子的女友也得注意，因为有些在广场、教堂、公共节日或去做私人祈祷时不便做的事情，在最信任的朋友或亲戚家里却可以做到。当然，丈夫也不应该一味地禁止妻子到那些公共场合去。
洛塔里奥还说，每个结了婚的人都需要有朋友指出自己行为上的疏忽。因为丈夫常常对妻子过分宠爱，或者他自己并没有意识到这点，怕妻子生气，就不去告诉她应该做什么，不应该做什么；而这却是牵涉到人的名誉或是否会遭人指责的事情。如果有朋友提醒，就可以及时预防。可是有谁能找到像洛塔里奥要求的那样明智而又忠实的知心朋友呢？我实在不知道。只有洛塔里奥才称得上是这样的人。他关注自己朋友的名誉，即使在约定的日期去朋友家时，也把在那儿停留的时间尽量缩短。他知道自己有些优越条件，因而在一些游手好闲、别有用心的小人看来，一位如此富有、英俊而又出身高贵的小伙子出入一位像卡米拉这样漂亮女人的家，一定是件很有意思的事。虽然他的人品可以让那些恶意的中伤不攻自破，可他还是不想让人们对他自己以及他朋友的信誉产生怀疑。因此，他常常在约定去安塞尔莫家的那天忙于其他一些似乎不可推托的事情。就这样，一个人埋怨不止，另一个人借口躲避，过了很长时间。有一天，他们在城外的草地上散步，安塞尔莫对洛塔里奥说了下面这番话：
“洛塔里奥朋友，你以为上帝赐福于我，让我有了这样的父母，手头阔绰，给了我财富，人们称我为天生富贵命，我就会感恩不尽吧。其实，我还有你做我的朋友，有卡米拉做我的妻子。这两样宝贝我也十分看重。要是别人有了这些，肯定会欢天喜地，可是我却苦恼极了，可以说是世界上最沮丧的人。也不知道是从什么时候开始，总有一个超乎常情的怪诞念头困扰着我，连我自己都感到奇怪。我暗暗自责，力图隐匿我的这种想法。现在我要把这个秘密说出来，似乎我必须把这个想法说出来，让大家都知道才行，而且这个想法确实也该说出来了。我想让它埋藏在你的内心深处，我相信只有这样，再加上你的聪明才智，作为我的真心朋友，你才有可能帮助我，使我从这种痛苦中迅速解脱出来。我的癫狂给我带来惆怅，你的关心一定会给我带来快乐。”
洛塔里奥被安塞尔莫的话弄得莫名其妙，不知道安塞尔莫这番长长的开场白究竟用意何在。他努力猜测究竟是什么念头让他这位朋友如此局促，可是都觉得不着边际。洛塔里奥不愿意再绞尽脑汁猜测了，对安塞尔莫说，这样转弯抹角地说自己的内心秘密是对他们之间深厚友谊的公然侮辱。他保证劝说安塞尔莫消除烦恼，或者帮助他实现自己的想法。
“确实如此，”安塞尔莫说，“正是出于信任，我才告诉你，洛塔里奥朋友，一直让我困惑的想法，就是我想知道我的妻子卡米拉是否像我想的那样善良完美。如果没有证据证明她的优良品德，就像烈火见真金那样，我就不能肯定这一点。噢，朋友，我觉得仅凭一个女人是否有人追求，还不能判断她是否是一个完美的女人。只有在追求者的许诺、馈赠、眼泪和不断骚扰下不屈服的女人，才算是坚强的女人。
“如果一个女人没有人引诱她学坏，她就是再好又有什么可庆幸的呢？”安塞尔莫说，“如果她没有机会放纵自己，而且她知道她的丈夫一旦发现她放荡，就会杀了她，那么她就是再深居简出、安分守己，又算得了什么呢？因此，我对由于惧怕或者没有机会才老实的女人看不上，我倒更看得上那种受到追求并战胜了这种追求的女人。出于这些原因以及其他原因，我可以告诉你，以便进一步说明我的想法，那就是我想让我的妻子卡米拉经受这种考验，在被追求的火焰中接受锻炼，而且得找一个有条件考验她的意志的人。如果她能像我认为的那样，经受得住考验，我就会觉得我幸运无比，我才可以说，我的猜测落空了，我有幸得到了一个坚强的女人，就像圣人说的，这样的人上哪儿去找呀。可是事情如果与我期望的相反，我也很高兴我的猜测得到了证实，我虽然为这次考验付出了沉重的代价，也决不后悔。无论你怎样说，都不能阻止我将我的这个想法付诸实施。我现在需要的是，洛塔里奥朋友，让你充当我实现这个想法的工具。我会给你创造机会，以及其它各种必要的条件，让你去追求一个正派、规矩、安分、无私的女人。
“还有，我把如此艰巨的事情委托给你，如果卡米拉败在你手里，你不要真的去征服她，还得尊重社会习俗，只当已经征服了她就行了。这样，我就不会再为我的想法所困扰。只要你不说，我的难堪永远不会被人知道，我的想法也就永远消失了。因此，你如果想让我堂堂正正地活着，就立刻开始这次情斗吧，别不慌不忙，慢吞吞的。你应该按照我的想法，心急如焚，快马加鞭，看在我们之间的友谊份上，我相信你会这样做。”
洛塔里奥全神贯注地听安塞尔莫讲完了这番话。除了刚才那几句插话，他一直缄口不言。安塞尔莫说完后，洛塔里奥又盯了他好一会儿，好像在看一件他从未见过而且令他感到惊恐的东西。他说：
“安塞尔莫朋友，我还是不能让我相信，你刚才说的那些话不是开玩笑。假如刚才我想到你说的是真的，就不会让你说下去了。我不听，你也就不会如此滔滔不绝了。我已经想象到了，或者是你还不了解我，或者是我还不了解你。我当然知道你是安塞尔莫，你也知道我是洛塔里奥。问题在于我觉得你已不是原来的安塞尔莫，你大概也觉得我不是原来的洛塔里奥了。你刚才说的那些话并不像我的朋友安塞尔莫说的，而且你要求我做的那些事也是你不该向你所了解的洛塔里奥要求的。好朋友之间应该彼此信任，就像一位诗人说的，光明磊落，不应该利用友谊做违反上帝意志的事情。
“如果连一个异教徒都能注意到友谊的这个方面，那么，深知应对所有人都保持圣洁友谊的基督教徒难道不应该做得更好吗？如果一个人竭尽所能，置天理于不顾，去满足朋友的要求，那么他肯定不是为了微小和暂时的事情，而只能是那些涉及朋友的名誉和生命的事情。现在请你告诉我，安塞尔莫，在这两方面，你哪一方面受到了威胁，以至于我得冒险做你让我做的那件缺德事，来满足你的要求？实际上，你没有一样东西受到威胁。而且我认为，你这是在让我毁掉你的名誉和生命，同时也毁掉我的名誉和生命。因为我如果毁掉了你的名誉，自然也就毁掉了你的生命。一个丧失了名誉的人就如同行尸走肉。我如果像你希望的那样，充当你作恶的工具，我同时不也就名誉扫地，虽生犹死了吗？你听着，安塞尔莫朋友，就你所要求我做的事情，我想谈谈我的想法，请你耐心听我说完，然后还有时间我再听你说吧。”
“我很高兴，”安塞尔莫说，“你随便说吧。”
洛塔里奥接着说：
“安塞尔莫，我觉得你的头脑现在就像摩尔人的头脑一样。如果想让摩尔人认识到他们的错误，不能靠引用《圣经》上的句子，不能靠思考道理或讲信条的办法，只能用显而易见、不容置疑的数学表示方法来让他们理解。比如说：‘两方相等，再去掉数量相同的部分，余下的部分仍然相等。’如果这样说他们还不能理解，你就得做手势或者把实物放在他们眼前。即使这样，还是不能够说服他们相信我们的神圣信仰的真理。你的情况也如此，因为你的想法太离谱、太不像话了。想让你认识到你的愚蠢恐怕是浪费时间，现在我只能说你愚蠢。我现在甚至想随你误入歧途，让你自作自受。可我不会采用这种有损我与你的友谊的方法，友谊不允许我让你去冒这种灭顶之灾的危险。
“为了让你看得更清楚，安塞尔莫，请你告诉我，你不是让我去追求一个深居简出的女人，向一个正派的女人献媚，向一个无私的女人讨好，向一个守规矩的女人献殷勤吗？是的，你对我说过。可你既然知道你有个深居简出、正派、无私、守规矩的妻子，你还想干什么呢？你既然知道她不会对我的进攻动心，是的，她肯定不为所动，除了你对她现有的赞美外，你还想给她什么荣誉呢？也许是你现在还没有把她看成你说的那种人，或者是你自己也不清楚自己想要什么，你为什么要考验她呢？你如果觉得她不好，那么你愿意怎么办就怎么办。如果你觉得她像你想象的那么好，那么考察其真假则完全是件不必要的事情，因为至多也只能证明你原来的看法而已。所以，简言之，做这种事可能会适得其反。这是一种欠考虑的鲁莽想法。做这种并不是非做不可的事情，非但不会有什么结果，只能说是一种疯狂的表现。
“奋争无非是为了上帝或为了世俗之事，再不然就是两者兼而有之。为上帝者就是那些追求人类过上天使般生活的圣人们；为世俗者就是那些涉水过河，忍受严寒酷暑，远离人烟，为所谓财富而奋斗的人；而同时为上帝又为世俗之事者则是那些勇敢的战士。他们只要看到前面的城墙上有一颗炮弹能够打开的那么大空隙，就会无所畏惧，不顾危险，为保卫他的信仰、民族和国王的意志所驱使，勇猛地向他们面临的死敌发起进攻。
“这些就是人们通常追求的东西，而追求它本身就是一种声誉、荣耀和裨益，尽管这里面充满了烦恼和危险。不过你追求和实施的东西，既不会给你带来上帝的荣耀，也不会带来人间的财富和名誉。因为即使你达到了你的目的，你也不会比现在更得意、更富有、更荣光。如果你没有达到目的，你反倒会陷入极大的痛苦，即使你以为别人不知道你的不幸对你也无济于事，只要你自己知道就足以让你痛苦不堪了。为了证明这点，我想给你念一段著名诗人路易斯•坦西洛①的诗。他的《圣彼得的眼泪》第一段末尾是这样写的：
天色将明，
佩德罗却
痛苦与羞辱俱增。
纵然无人知晓，
他已愧汗淋漓，
心地虽宽，羞惭难容，
即便唯有天地知，
终归难免赧赧情。
①路易斯•坦西塔是16世纪的意大利诗人。
“保密并不能避免你的痛苦，你会不停地哭泣，如果不是眼睛流泪，那就是从心上流出血泪，就像我们的诗人所描述的那位用魔杯喝酒①的纯朴大夫那样流泪。经过好言劝说，机敏的利纳乌多斯终于避免了这次考验。虽然这只是诗人的杜撰，其中却包含着深刻的道德意义，值得人们借鉴、思考和学习。我现在还想对你说，你马上就会明白你犯了多么大的错误。你说，安塞尔莫，假如老天和命运让你拥有一颗无比珍贵的钻石，而这颗钻石的成色令所有见过它的钻石商人都感到满意，大家异口同声地说这颗钻石的重量、质量和雕琢水平都达到了无与伦比的程度，你自己也这样认为，可是又无缘无故地要把这颗钻石放到铁砧上用锤子砸，看看它是否像人们说的那样坚硬精细，你说这样做合理吗？即使你这样做了，那颗钻石经受住了这样的锤打，也并不能因此而增加它的价值和名气。如果它被砸碎了，而这是完全可能的，那不就全完了吗？结果只能是大家都认为，钻石的主人是个大傻瓜。
①据中世纪传说，用魔杯喝酒，若妻子不贞，酒会从杯中泼出来。
“你想想，安塞尔莫朋友，卡米拉就是一颗珍贵无比的钻石。让她面临破碎的可能性是不合理的。因为你即使能证明她洁身自好，她的名声也不会有所增加。如果她经受不住这样的考验，你现在就想想，失去了她，你会怎么样，你会如何因为毁了自己也毁了她而后悔。世界上没有任何珠宝比贞洁正派的女人更宝贵，而女人的清白都在于人们对她有个良好的看法。你既然知道你夫人的名声甚佳，为什么还要对这个事实产生怀疑呢？你看，朋友，女人并不是十全十美的动物，不应该为她们设置障碍，而应该为她们清除障碍，消除她们道路上的所有不利因素，使之完善，成为冰清玉洁的女人。
“自然学家们说，白鼬是一种皮毛极白的动物，猎人们想猎取它的时候就利用这点。他们知道白鼬从什么地方经过，就用淤泥把那个地方堵住，然后把白鼬驱赶到那个地方去。白鼬一到那个地方就不动了，宁可被捉住，也不愿意从淤泥那儿穿过去，弄脏自己的皮毛，它们把自己的皮毛看得比自由和生命还重要。清白的女人就像白鼬，她们的品行比白雪还要清白纯洁，不想失掉她的人就应该保护她，不应该使用对待白鼬的办法，不应该在她面前无中生有地设置情人的礼物与殷勤的淤泥。她自己也许或者肯定没有能力逾越这些障碍，因而有必要为她清除这些障碍，让她纯洁的美德为她带来良好的美名。
“一个善良的女人本身就是一面亮晶晶的镜子，只要对它呵一口气就可以使它变污。你应该像对待文物那样对待品行端正的女人，那就是只欣赏，不触摸。你应该像保护一个鲜花盛开的花园那样尊重一个清白的女人，花园的主人不会允许任何人进入花园摸他的花，只能从远处隔着铁栅栏享受花的芳香和美丽。我忽然想起几句诗来，现在想念给你听。这几句诗选自一部现代喜剧，我觉得很适合咱们说的这个题目。
“一个行为严谨的老人劝说另一个老人看管好自己的女儿，他的道理是：
女人仿佛玻璃，
不可考验其
是否易碎，因为
后果实难预计。
破碎容易，
修补难矣，
冒险从事，
明智者不可取。
众人如是说
我亦持此意。
世上若有达娜厄，
也会有金雨①。
①阿克里西俄斯从神谕中得知，女儿达娜厄日后所生之子会杀死他，就把她囚禁起来。但宙斯却化成一阵金雨，使达娜厄受孕，生下佩耳修斯。佩耳修斯后来在一次竞技会上掷铁饼，无意中将阿克里西俄斯打死。
“安塞尔莫啊，以上这些都是说你的。现在该说说我了。如果话说得长了些，请你原谅，这都是为了把你从你那迷宫里拉出来。你把我当作朋友，却要诋毁我，这是与友谊背道而驰的事情。你不仅想诋毁我，而且想让我诋毁你。你想诋毁我的名誉，这点很清楚，因为卡米拉一旦发现我像你要求我做的那样，向她献殷勤，肯定会把我当成一个厚颜无耻的人。因为我所追求的东西和我所做的事情，已经大大超出了我本人和你我之间的友谊所要求的范围。
“你想让我毁了你的名誉，这点已确切无疑。如果卡米拉发现我在追求她，肯定会以为我觉得她有些轻浮，才敢放肆地表达我的邪念。她把自己看成是轻浮的人，那也就是把你看成了轻浮的人，因为她是你的，这也是对你的侮辱。这就出现了常有的那种情况，虽然丈夫并不知道妻子偷情，并没有给妻子做出格事情的机会，也不是疏于防范造成了不幸，可人们还是叫他下贱人。有些人知道他妻子的行为，可是不仅不用怜悯的目光看待他，反而用鄙夷的目光看待他，虽然他们知道并不是由于丈夫的过错，而是由于妻子的不忠才造成了这场不幸。
“不过我想给你讲讲，为什么说妻子偷情，丈夫也耻辱，哪怕他并不知道，没有责任，没有参与，并没让妻子这样做。你别不爱听，这些话最终都会对你有利。《圣经》上说，上帝在伊甸园为我们创造了始祖亚当，并且让他睡觉，在他睡觉的时候，从他的左侧取下了一根肋骨，用它创造了我们的女始祖夏娃。亚当醒来后看到了她，说：‘这是我身上的肉，我身上的骨头。’上帝说：‘男人为了女人要离开自己的父母，两人结合成一个肉体。’为此，结成了神圣的婚姻，这种关系至死才能解除。
“这种神奇的姻缘功效极大，它使两个不同的人结为一体。两个美满的已婚者更是如此。他们有两个灵魂，却只有一个意志。所以说，妻子和丈夫已经结为一体，妻子身上的污点，或者她犯的错误，最终都会波及到丈夫身上，虽然并不是他造成了这种伤害。这就好比脚上或身体的任何一个部位上疼痛，全身都可以感觉到一样，因为它们都同属于一个肉体。头可以感觉到脚踝的疼痛，虽然头的疼痛并不是脚踝造成的。同样如此，丈夫也会为妻子的不忠蒙受耻辱，因为他们同属一体。世界上一切荣辱皆源于血肉之躯，风流荡妇的荣辱也属于这一类，而且必然会部分地影响到丈夫。妻子轻佻，做丈夫的即使不知道，也会被人看成无耻之徒。
“安塞尔莫，你想打破你善良妻子的平静生活，这是多么危险；你想扰乱你贤惠妻子的宁静心绪，又是多么无聊啊。你应该注意到，你如此冒险，得之甚少，失之甚多。我也只好随你去了，我已经没法再说了，不过，如果我说了这些还不足以打消你的可恶念头，你完全可以去另找一个让你出丑、让你冒险的工具，我不想充当这个工具，哪怕我会因此失掉同你的友谊，而失掉这种友谊自然是我莫大的损失。”
精明正直的洛塔里奥说到这儿不言语了；安塞尔莫也茫然地陷入了沉思。过了很长时间，他竟一句话也回答不出来。
最后，他说：
“洛
Part 1 Chapter 34
“It is commonly said that an army looks ill without its general and a castle without its castellan, and I say that a young married woman looks still worse without her husband unless there are very good reasons for it. I find myself so ill at ease without you, and so incapable of enduring this separation, that unless you return quickly I shall have to go for relief to my parents’ house, even if I leave yours without a protector; for the one you left me, if indeed he deserved that title, has, I think, more regard to his own pleasure than to what concerns you: as you are possessed of discernment I need say no more to you, nor indeed is it fitting I should say more.”
Anselmo received this letter, and from it he gathered that Lothario had already begun his task and that Camilla must have replied to him as he would have wished; and delighted beyond measure at such intelligence he sent word to her not to leave his house on any account, as he would very shortly return. Camilla was astonished at Anselmo’s reply, which placed her in greater perplexity than before, for she neither dared to remain in her own house, nor yet to go to her parents’; for in remaining her virtue was imperilled, and in going she was opposing her husband’s commands. Finally she decided upon what was the worse course for her, to remain, resolving not to fly from the presence of Lothario, that she might not give food for gossip to her servants; and she now began to regret having written as she had to her husband, fearing he might imagine that Lothario had perceived in her some lightness which had impelled him to lay aside the respect he owed her; but confident of her rectitude she put her trust in God and in her own virtuous intentions, with which she hoped to resist in silence all the solicitations of Lothario, without saying anything to her husband so as not to involve him in any quarrel or trouble; and she even began to consider how to excuse Lothario to Anselmo when he should ask her what it was that induced her to write that letter. With these resolutions, more honourable than judicious or effectual, she remained the next day listening to Lothario, who pressed his suit so strenuously that Camilla’s firmness began to waver, and her virtue had enough to do to come to the rescue of her eyes and keep them from showing signs of a certain tender compassion which the tears and appeals of Lothario had awakened in her bosom. Lothario observed all this, and it inflamed him all the more. In short he felt that while Anselmo’s absence afforded time and opportunity he must press the siege of the fortress, and so he assailed her self-esteem with praises of her beauty, for there is nothing that more quickly reduces and levels the castle towers of fair women’s vanity than vanity itself upon the tongue of flattery. In fact with the utmost assiduity he undermined the rock of her purity with such engines that had Camilla been of brass she must have fallen. He wept, he entreated, he promised, he flattered, he importuned, he pretended with so much feeling and apparent sincerity, that he overthrew the virtuous resolves of Camilla and won the triumph he least expected and most longed for. Camilla yielded, Camilla fell; but what wonder if the friendship of Lothario could not stand firm? A clear proof to us that the passion of love is to be conquered only by flying from it, and that no one should engage in a struggle with an enemy so mighty; for divine strength is needed to overcome his human power. Leonela alone knew of her mistress’s weakness, for the two false friends and new lovers were unable to conceal it. Lothario did not care to tell Camilla the object Anselmo had in view, nor that he had afforded him the opportunity of attaining such a result, lest she should undervalue his love and think that it was by chance and without intending it and not of his own accord that he had made love to her.
A few days later Anselmo returned to his house and did not perceive what it had lost, that which he so lightly treated and so highly prized. He went at once to see Lothario, and found him at home; they embraced each other, and Anselmo asked for the tidings of his life or his death.
“The tidings I have to give thee, Anselmo my friend,” said Lothario, “are that thou dost possess a wife that is worthy to be the pattern and crown of all good wives. The words that I have addressed to her were borne away on the wind, my promises have been despised, my presents have been refused, such feigned tears as I shed have been turned into open ridicule. In short, as Camilla is the essence of all beauty, so is she the treasure-house where purity dwells, and gentleness and modesty abide with all the virtues that can confer praise, honour, and happiness upon a woman. Take back thy money, my friend; here it is, and I have had no need to touch it, for the chastity of Camilla yields not to things so base as gifts or promises. Be content, Anselmo, and refrain from making further proof; and as thou hast passed dryshod through the sea of those doubts and suspicions that are and may be entertained of women, seek not to plunge again into the deep ocean of new embarrassments, or with another pilot make trial of the goodness and strength of the bark that Heaven has granted thee for thy passage across the sea of this world; but reckon thyself now safe in port, moor thyself with the anchor of sound reflection, and rest in peace until thou art called upon to pay that debt which no nobility on earth can escape paying.”
Anselmo was completely satisfied by the words of Lothario, and believed them as fully as if they had been spoken by an oracle; nevertheless he begged of him not to relinquish the undertaking, were it but for the sake of curiosity and amusement; though thenceforward he need not make use of the same earnest endeavours as before; all he wished him to do was to write some verses to her, praising her under the name of Chloris, for he himself would give her to understand that he was in love with a lady to whom he had given that name to enable him to sing her praises with the decorum due to her modesty; and if Lothario were unwilling to take the trouble of writing the verses he would compose them himself.
“That will not be necessary,” said Lothario, “for the muses are not such enemies of mine but that they visit me now and then in the course of the year. Do thou tell Camilla what thou hast proposed about a pretended amour of mine; as for the verses will make them, and if not as good as the subject deserves, they shall be at least the best I can produce.” An agreement to this effect was made between the friends, the ill-advised one and the treacherous, and Anselmo returning to his house asked Camilla the question she already wondered he had not asked before — what it was that had caused her to write the letter she had sent him. Camilla replied that it had seemed to her that Lothario looked at her somewhat more freely than when he had been at home; but that now she was undeceived and believed it to have been only her own imagination, for Lothario now avoided seeing her, or being alone with her. Anselmo told her she might be quite easy on the score of that suspicion, for he knew that Lothario was in love with a damsel of rank in the city whom he celebrated under the name of Chloris, and that even if he were not, his fidelity and their great friendship left no room for fear. Had not Camilla, however, been informed beforehand by Lothario that this love for Chloris was a pretence, and that he himself had told Anselmo of it in order to be able sometimes to give utterance to the praises of Camilla herself, no doubt she would have fallen into the despairing toils of jealousy; but being forewarned she received the startling news without uneasiness.
The next day as the three were at table Anselmo asked Lothario to recite something of what he had composed for his mistress Chloris; for as Camilla did not know her, he might safely say what he liked.
“Even did she know her,” returned Lothario, “I would hide nothing, for when a lover praises his lady’s beauty, and charges her with cruelty, he casts no imputation upon her fair name; at any rate, all I can say is that yesterday I made a sonnet on the ingratitude of this Chloris, which goes thus:
Sonnet
At midnight, in the silence, when the eyes
Of happier mortals balmy slumbers close,
The weary tale of my unnumbered woes
To Chloris and to Heaven is wont to rise.
And when the light of day returning dyes
The portals of the east with tints of rose,
With undiminished force my sorrow flows
In broken accents and in burning sighs.
And when the sun ascends his star-girt throne,
And on the earth pours down his midday beams,
Noon but renews my wailing and my tears;
And with the night again goes up my moan.
Yet ever in my agony it seems
To me that neither Heaven nor Chloris hears.”
The sonnet pleased Camilla, and still more Anselmo, for he praised it and said the lady was excessively cruel who made no return for sincerity so manifest. On which Camilla said, “Then all that love-smitten poets say is true?”
“As poets they do not tell the truth,” replied Lothario; “but as lovers they are not more defective in expression than they are truthful.”
“There is no doubt of that,” observed Anselmo, anxious to support and uphold Lothario’s ideas with Camilla, who was as regardless of his design as she was deep in love with Lothario; and so taking delight in anything that was his, and knowing that his thoughts and writings had her for their object, and that she herself was the real Chloris, she asked him to repeat some other sonnet or verses if he recollected any.
“I do,” replied Lothario, “but I do not think it as good as the first one, or, more correctly speaking, less bad; but you can easily judge, for it is this.
Sonnet
I know that I am doomed; death is to me
As certain as that thou, ungrateful fair,
Dead at thy feet shouldst see me lying, ere
My heart repented of its love for thee.
If buried in oblivion I should be,
Bereft of life, fame, favour, even there
It would be found that I thy image bear
Deep graven in my breast for all to see.
This like some holy relic do I prize
To save me from the fate my truth entails,
Truth that to thy hard heart its vigour owes.
Alas for him that under lowering skies,
In peril o’er a trackless ocean sails,
Where neither friendly port nor pole-star shows.”
Anselmo praised this second sonnet too, as he had praised the first; and so he went on adding link after link to the chain with which he was binding himself and making his dishonour secure; for when Lothario was doing most to dishonour him he told him he was most honoured; and thus each step that Camilla descended towards the depths of her abasement, she mounted, in his opinion, towards the summit of virtue and fair fame.
It so happened that finding herself on one occasion alone with her maid, Camilla said to her, “I am ashamed to think, my dear Leonela, how lightly I have valued myself that I did not compel Lothario to purchase by at least some expenditure of time that full possession of me that I so quickly yielded him of my own free will. I fear that he will think ill of my pliancy or lightness, not considering the irresistible influence he brought to bear upon me.”
“Let not that trouble you, my lady,” said Leonela, “for it does not take away the value of the thing given or make it the less precious to give it quickly if it be really valuable and worthy of being prized; nay, they are wont to say that he who gives quickly gives twice.”
“They say also,” said Camilla, “that what costs little is valued less.”
“That saying does not hold good in your case,” replied Leonela, “for love, as I have heard say, sometimes flies and sometimes walks; with this one it runs, with that it moves slowly; some it cools, others it burns; some it wounds, others it slays; it begins the course of its desires, and at the same moment completes and ends it; in the morning it will lay siege to a fortress and by night will have taken it, for there is no power that can resist it; so what are you in dread of, what do you fear, when the same must have befallen Lothario, love having chosen the absence of my lord as the instrument for subduing you? and it was absolutely necessary to complete then what love had resolved upon, without affording the time to let Anselmo return and by his presence compel the work to be left unfinished; for love has no better agent for carrying out his designs than opportunity; and of opportunity he avails himself in all his feats, especially at the outset. All this I know well myself, more by experience than by hearsay, and some day, senora, I will enlighten you on the subject, for I am of your flesh and blood too. Moreover, lady Camilla, you did not surrender yourself or yield so quickly but that first you saw Lothario’s whole soul in his eyes, in his sighs, in his words, his promises and his gifts, and by it and his good qualities perceived how worthy he was of your love. This, then, being the case, let not these scrupulous and prudish ideas trouble your imagination, but be assured that Lothario prizes you as you do him, and rest content and satisfied that as you are caught in the noose of love it is one of worth and merit that has taken you, and one that has not only the four S’s that they say true lovers ought to have, but a complete alphabet; only listen to me and you will see how I can repeat it by rote. He is to my eyes and thinking, Amiable, Brave, Courteous, Distinguished, Elegant, Fond, Gay, Honourable, Illustrious, Loyal, Manly, Noble, Open, Polite, Quickwitted, Rich, and the S’s according to the saying, and then Tender, Veracious: X does not suit him, for it is a rough letter; Y has been given already; and Z Zealous for your honour.”
Camilla laughed at her maid’s alphabet, and perceived her to be more experienced in love affairs than she said, which she admitted, confessing to Camilla that she had love passages with a young man of good birth of the same city. Camilla was uneasy at this, dreading lest it might prove the means of endangering her honour, and asked whether her intrigue had gone beyond words, and she with little shame and much effrontery said it had; for certain it is that ladies’ imprudences make servants shameless, who, when they see their mistresses make a false step, think nothing of going astray themselves, or of its being known. All that Camilla could do was to entreat Leonela to say nothing about her doings to him whom she called her lover, and to conduct her own affairs secretly lest they should come to the knowledge of Anselmo or of Lothario. Leonela said she would, but kept her word in such a way that she confirmed Camilla’s apprehension of losing her reputation through her means; for this abandoned and bold Leonela, as soon as she perceived that her mistress’s demeanour was not what it was wont to be, had the audacity to introduce her lover into the house, confident that even if her mistress saw him she would not dare to expose him; for the sins of mistresses entail this mischief among others; they make themselves the slaves of their own servants, and are obliged to hide their laxities and depravities; as was the case with Camilla, who though she perceived, not once but many times, that Leonela was with her lover in some room of the house, not only did not dare to chide her, but afforded her opportunities for concealing him and removed all difficulties, lest he should be seen by her husband. She was unable, however, to prevent him from being seen on one occasion, as he sallied forth at daybreak, by Lothario, who, not knowing who he was, at first took him for a spectre; but, as soon as he saw him hasten away, muffling his face with his cloak and concealing himself carefully and cautiously, he rejected this foolish idea, and adopted another, which would have been the ruin of all had not Camilla found a remedy. It did not occur to Lothario that this man he had seen issuing at such an untimely hour from Anselmo’s house could have entered it on Leonela’s account, nor did he even remember there was such a person as Leonela; all he thought was that as Camilla had been light and yielding with him, so she had been with another; for this further penalty the erring woman’s sin brings with it, that her honour is distrusted even by him to whose overtures and persuasions she has yielded; and he believes her to have surrendered more easily to others, and gives implicit credence to every suspicion that comes into his mind. All Lothario’s good sense seems to have failed him at this juncture; all his prudent maxims escaped his memory; for without once reflecting rationally, and without more ado, in his impatience and in the blindness of the jealous rage that gnawed his heart, and dying to revenge himself upon Camilla, who had done him no wrong, before Anselmo had risen he hastened to him and said to him, “Know, Anselmo, that for several days past I have been struggling with myself, striving to withhold from thee what it is no longer possible or right that I should conceal from thee. Know that Camilla’s fortress has surrendered and is ready to submit to my will; and if I have been slow to reveal this fact to thee, it was in order to see if it were some light caprice of hers, or if she sought to try me and ascertain if the love I began to make to her with thy permission was made with a serious intention. I thought, too, that she, if she were what she ought to be, and what we both believed her, would have ere this given thee information of my addresses; but seeing that she delays, I believe the truth of the promise she has given me that the next time thou art absent from the house she will grant me an interview in the closet where thy jewels are kept (and it was true that Camilla used to meet him there); but I do not wish thee to rush precipitately to take vengeance, for the sin is as yet only committed in intention, and Camilla’s may change perhaps between this and the appointed time, and repentance spring up in its place. As hitherto thou hast always followed my advice wholly or in part, follow and observe this that I will give thee now, so that, without mistake, and with mature deliberation, thou mayest satisfy thyself as to what may seem the best course; pretend to absent thyself for two or three days as thou hast been wont to do on other occasions, and contrive to hide thyself in the closet; for the tapestries and other things there afford great facilities for thy concealment, and then thou wilt see with thine own eyes and I with mine what Camilla’s purpose may be. And if it be a guilty one, which may be feared rather than expected, with silence, prudence, and discretion thou canst thyself become the instrument of punishment for the wrong done thee.”
Anselmo was amazed, overwhelmed, and astounded at the words of Lothario, which came upon him at a time when he least expected to hear them, for he now looked upon Camilla as having triumphed over the pretended attacks of Lothario, and was beginning to enjoy the glory of her victory. He remained silent for a considerable time, looking on the ground with fixed gaze, and at length said, “Thou hast behaved, Lothario, as I expected of thy friendship: I will follow thy advice in everything; do as thou wilt, and keep this secret as thou seest it should be kept in circumstances so unlooked for.”
Lothario gave him his word, but after leaving him he repented altogether of what he had said to him, perceiving how foolishly he had acted, as he might have revenged himself upon Camilla in some less cruel and degrading way. He cursed his want of sense, condemned his hasty resolution, and knew not what course to take to undo the mischief or find some ready escape from it. At last he decided upon revealing all to Camilla, and, as there was no want of opportunity for doing so, he found her alone the same day; but she, as soon as she had the chance of speaking to him, said, “Lothario my friend, I must tell thee I have a sorrow in my heart which fills it so that it seems ready to burst; and it will be a wonder if it does not; for the audacity of Leonela has now reached such a pitch that every night she conceals a gallant of hers in this house and remains with him till morning, at the expense of my reputation; inasmuch as it is open to anyone to question it who may see him quitting my house at such unseasonable hours; but what distresses me is that I cannot punish or chide her, for her privity to our intrigue bridles my mouth and keeps me silent about hers, while I am dreading that some catastrophe will come of it.”
As Camilla said this Lothario at first imagined it was some device to delude him into the idea that the man he had seen going out was Leonela’s lover and not hers; but when he saw how she wept and suffered, and begged him to help her, he became convinced of the truth, and the conviction completed his confusion and remorse; however, he told Camilla not to distress herself, as he would take measures to put a stop to the insolence of Leonela. At the same time he told her what, driven by the fierce rage of jealousy, he had said to Anselmo, and how he had arranged to hide himself in the closet that he might there see plainly how little she preserved her fidelity to him; and he entreated her pardon for this madness, and her advice as to how to repair it, and escape safely from the intricate labyrinth in which his imprudence had involved him. Camilla was struck with alarm at hearing what Lothario said, and with much anger, and great good sense, she reproved him and rebuked his base design and the foolish and mischievous resolution he had made; but as woman has by nature a nimbler wit than man for good and for evil, though it is apt to fail when she sets herself deliberately to reason, Camilla on the spur of the moment thought of a way to remedy what was to all appearance irremediable, and told Lothario to contrive that the next day Anselmo should conceal himself in the place he mentioned, for she hoped from his concealment to obtain the means of their enjoying themselves for the future without any apprehension; and without revealing her purpose to him entirely she charged him to be careful, as soon as Anselmo was concealed, to come to her when Leonela should call him, and to all she said to him to answer as he would have answered had he not known that Anselmo was listening. Lothario pressed her to explain her intention fully, so that he might with more certainty and precaution take care to do what he saw to be needful.
“I tell you,” said Camilla, “there is nothing to take care of except to answer me what I shall ask you;” for she did not wish to explain to him beforehand what she meant to do, fearing lest he should be unwilling to follow out an idea which seemed to her such a good one, and should try or devise some other less practicable plan.
Lothario then retired, and the next day Anselmo, under pretence of going to his friend’s country house, took his departure, and then returned to conceal himself, which he was able to do easily, as Camilla and Leonela took care to give him the opportunity; and so he placed himself in hiding in the state of agitation that it may be imagined he would feel who expected to see the vitals of his honour laid bare before his eyes, and found himself on the point of losing the supreme blessing he thought he possessed in his beloved Camilla. Having made sure of Anselmo’s being in his hiding-place, Camilla and Leonela entered the closet, and the instant she set foot within it Camilla said, with a deep sigh, “Ah! dear Leonela, would it not be better, before I do what I am unwilling you should know lest you should seek to prevent it, that you should take Anselmo’s dagger that I have asked of you and with it pierce this vile heart of mine? But no; there is no reason why I should suffer the punishment of another’s fault. I will first know what it is that the bold licentious eyes of Lothario have seen in me that could have encouraged him to reveal to me a design so base as that which he has disclosed regardless of his friend and of my honour. Go to the window, Leonela, and call him, for no doubt he is in the street waiting to carry out his vile project; but mine, cruel it may be, but honourable, shall be carried out first.”
“Ah, senora,” said the crafty Leonela, who knew her part, “what is it you want to do with this dagger? Can it be that you mean to take your own life, or Lothario’s ? for whichever you mean to do, it will lead to the loss of your reputation and good name. It is better to dissemble your wrong and not give this wicked man the chance of entering the house now and finding us alone; consider, senora, we are weak women and he is a man, and determined, and as he comes with such a base purpose, blind and urged by passion, perhaps before you can put yours into execution he may do what will be worse for you than taking your life. Ill betide my master, Anselmo, for giving such authority in his house to this shameless fellow! And supposing you kill him, senora, as I suspect you mean to do, what shall we do with him when he is dead?”
“What, my friend?” replied Camilla, “we shall leave him for Anselmo to bury him; for in reason it will be to him a light labour to hide his own infamy under ground. Summon him, make haste, for all the time I delay in taking vengeance for my wrong seems to me an offence against the loyalty I owe my husband.”
Anselmo was listening to all this, and every word that Camilla uttered made him change his mind; but when he heard that it was resolved to kill Lothario his first impulse was to come out and show himself to avert such a disaster; but in his anxiety to see the issue of a resolution so bold and virtuous he restrained himself, intending to come forth in time to prevent the deed. At this moment Camilla, throwing herself upon a bed that was close by, swooned away, and Leonela began to weep bitterly, exclaiming, “Woe is me! that I should be fated to have dying here in my arms the flower of virtue upon earth, the crown of true wives, the pattern of chastity!” with more to the same effect, so that anyone who heard her would have taken her for the most tender-hearted and faithful handmaid in the world, and her mistress for another persecuted Penelope.
Camilla was not long in recovering from her fainting fit and on coming to herself she said, “Why do you not go, Leonela, to call hither that friend, the falsest to his friend the sun ever shone upon or night concealed? Away, run, haste, speed! lest the fire of my wrath burn itself out with delay, and the righteous vengeance that I hope for melt away in menaces and maledictions.”
“I am just going to call him, senora,” said Leonela; “but you must first give me that dagger, lest while I am gone you should by means of it give cause to all who love you to weep all their lives.”
“Go in peace, dear Leonela, I will not do so,” said Camilla, “for rash and foolish as I may be, to your mind, in defending my honour, I am not going to be so much so as that Lucretia who they say killed herself without having done anything wrong, and without having first killed him on whom the guilt of her misfortune lay. I shall die, if I am to die; but it must be after full vengeance upon him who has brought me here to weep over audacity that no fault of mine gave birth to.”
Leonela required much pressing before she would go to summon Lothario, but at last she went, and while awaiting her return Camilla continued, as if speaking to herself, “Good God! would it not have been more prudent to have repulsed Lothario, as I have done many a time before, than to allow him, as I am now doing, to think me unchaste and vile, even for the short time I must wait until I undeceive him? No doubt it would have been better; but I should not be avenged, nor the honour of my husband vindicated, should he find so clear and easy an escape from the strait into which his depravity has led him. Let the traitor pay with his life for the temerity of his wanton wishes, and let the world know (if haply it shall ever come to know) that Camilla not only preserved her allegiance to her husband, but avenged him of the man who dared to wrong him. Still, I think it might be better to disclose this to Anselmo. But then I have called his attention to it in the letter I wrote to him in the country, and, if he did nothing to prevent the mischief I there pointed out to him, I suppose it was that from pure goodness of heart and trustfulness he would not and could not believe that any thought against his honour could harbour in the breast of so stanch a friend; nor indeed did I myself believe it for many days, nor should I have ever believed it if his insolence had not gone so far as to make it manifest by open presents, lavish promises, and ceaseless tears. But why do I argue thus? Does a bold determination stand in need of arguments? Surely not. Then traitors avaunt! Vengeance to my aid! Let the false one come, approach, advance, die, yield up his life, and then befall what may. Pure I came to him whom Heaven bestowed upon me, pure I shall leave him; and at the worst bathed in my own chaste blood and in the foul blood of the falsest friend that friendship ever saw in the world;” and as she uttered these words she paced the room holding the unsheathed dagger, with such irregular and disordered steps, and such gestures that one would have supposed her to have lost her senses, and taken her for some violent desperado instead of a delicate woman.
Anselmo, hidden behind some tapestries where he had concealed himself, beheld and was amazed at all, and already felt that what he had seen and heard was a sufficient answer to even greater suspicions; and he would have been now well pleased if the proof afforded by Lothario’s coming were dispensed with, as he feared some sudden mishap; but as he was on the point of showing himself and coming forth to embrace and undeceive his wife he paused as he saw Leonela returning, leading Lothario. Camilla when she saw him, drawing a long line in front of her on the floor with the dagger, said to him, “Lothario, pay attention to what I say to thee: if by any chance thou darest to cross this line thou seest, or even approach it, the instant I see thee attempt it that same instant will I pierce my bosom with this dagger that I hold in my hand; and before thou answerest me a word desire thee to listen to a few from me, and afterwards thou shalt reply as may please thee. First, I desire thee to tell me, Lothario, if thou knowest my husband Anselmo, and in what light thou regardest him; and secondly I desire to know if thou knowest me too. Answer me this, without embarrassment or reflecting deeply what thou wilt answer, for they are no riddles I put to thee.”
Lothario was not so dull but that from the first moment when Camilla directed him to make Anselmo hide himself he understood what she intended to do, and therefore he fell in with her idea so readily and promptly that between them they made the imposture look more true than truth; so he answered her thus: “I did not think, fair Camilla, that thou wert calling me to ask questions so remote from the object with which I come; but if it is to defer the promised reward thou art doing so, thou mightst have put it off still longer, for the longing for happiness gives the more distress the nearer comes the hope of gaining it; but lest thou shouldst say that I do not answer thy questions, I say that I know thy husband Anselmo, and that we have known each other from our earliest years; I will not speak of what thou too knowest, of our friendship, that I may not compel myself to testify against the wrong that love, the mighty excuse for greater errors, makes me inflict upon him. Thee I know and hold in the same estimation as he does, for were it not so I had not for a lesser prize acted in opposition to what I owe to my station and the holy laws of true friendship, now broken and violated by me through that powerful enemy, love.”
“If thou dost confess that,” returned Camilla, “mortal enemy of all that rightly deserves to be loved, with what face dost thou dare to come before one whom thou knowest to be the mirror wherein he is reflected on whom thou shouldst look to see how unworthily thou him? But, woe is me, I now comprehend what has made thee give so little heed to what thou owest to thyself; it must have been some freedom of mine, for I will not call it immodesty, as it did not proceed from any deliberate intention, but from some heedlessness such as women are guilty of through inadvertence when they think they have no occasion for reserve. But tell me, traitor, when did I by word or sign give a reply to thy prayers that could awaken in thee a shadow of hope of attaining thy base wishes? When were not thy professions of love sternly and scornfully rejected and rebuked? When were thy frequent pledges and still more frequent gifts believed or accepted? But as I am persuaded that no one can long persevere in the attempt to win love unsustained by some hope, I am willing to attribute to myself the blame of thy assurance, for no doubt some thoughtlessness of mine has all this time fostered thy hopes; and therefore will I punish myself and inflict upon myself the penalty thy guilt deserves. And that thou mayest see that being so relentless to myself I cannot possibly be otherwise to thee, I have summoned thee to be a witness of the sacrifice I mean to offer to the injured honour of my honoured husband, wronged by thee with all the assiduity thou wert capable of, and by me too through want of caution in avoiding every occasion, if I have given any, of encouraging and sanctioning thy base designs. Once more I say the suspicion in my mind that some imprudence of mine has engendered these lawless thoughts in thee, is what causes me most distress and what I desire most to punish with my own hands, for were any other instrument of punishment employed my error might become perhaps more widely known; but before I do so, in my death I mean to inflict death, and take with me one that will fully satisfy my longing for the revenge I hope for and have; for I shall see, wheresoever it may be that I go, the penalty awarded by inflexible, unswerving justice on him who has placed me in a position so desperate.”
As she uttered these words, with incredible energy and swiftness she flew upon Lothario with the naked dagger, so manifestly bent on burying it in his breast that he was almost uncertain whether these demonstrations were real or feigned, for he was obliged to have recourse to all his skill and strength to prevent her from striking him; and with such reality did she act this strange farce and mystification that, to give it a colour of truth, she determined to stain it with her own blood; for perceiving, or pretending, that she could not wound Lothario, she said, “Fate, it seems, will not grant my just desire complete satisfaction, but it will not be able to keep me from satisfying it partially at least;” and making an effort to free the hand with the dagger which Lothario held in his grasp, she released it, and directing the point to a place where it could not inflict a deep wound, she plunged it into her left side high up close to the shoulder, and then allowed herself to fall to the ground as if in a faint.
Leonela and Lothario stood amazed and astounded at the catastrophe, and seeing Camilla stretched on the ground and bathed in her blood they were still uncertain as to the true nature of the act. Lothario, terrified and breathless, ran in haste to pluck out the dagger; but when he saw how slight the wound was he was relieved of his fears and once more admired the subtlety, coolness, and ready wit of the fair Camilla; and the better to support the part he had to play he began to utter profuse and doleful lamentations over her body as if she were dead, invoking maledictions not only on himself but also on him who had been the means of placing him in such a position: and knowing that his friend Anselmo heard him he spoke in such a way as to make a listener feel much more pity for him than for Camilla, even though he supposed her dead. Leonela took her up in her arms and laid her on the bed, entreating Lothario to go in quest of some one to attend to her wound in secret, and at the same time asking his advice and opinion as to what they should say to Anselmo about his lady’s wound if he should chance to return before it was healed. He replied they might say what they liked, for he was not in a state to give advice that would be of any use; all he could tell her was to try and stanch the blood, as he was going where he should never more be seen; and with every appearance of deep grief and sorrow he left the house; but when he found himself alone, and where there was nobody to see him, he crossed himself unceasingly, lost in wonder at the adroitness of Camilla and the consistent acting of Leonela. He reflected how convinced Anselmo would be that he had a second Portia for a wife, and he looked forward anxiously to meeting him in order to rejoice together over falsehood and truth the most craftily veiled that could be imagined.
Leonela, as he told her, stanched her lady’s blood, which was no more than sufficed to support her deception; and washing the wound with a little wine she bound it up to the best of her skill, talking all the time she was tending her in a strain that, even if nothing else had been said before, would have been enough to assure Anselmo that he had in Camilla a model of purity. To Leonela’s words Camilla added her own, calling herself cowardly and wanting in spirit, since she had not enough at the time she had most need of it to rid herself of the life she so much loathed. She asked her attendant’s advice as to whether or not she ought to inform her beloved husband of all that had happened, but the other bade her say nothing about it, as she would lay upon him the obligation of taking vengeance on Lothario, which he could not do but at great risk to himself; and it was the duty of a true wife not to give her husband provocation to quarrel, but, on the contrary, to remove it as far as possible from him.
Camilla replied that she believed she was right and that she would follow her advice, but at any rate it would be well to consider how she was to explain the wound to Anselmo, for he could not help seeing it; to which Leonela answered that she did not know how to tell a lie even in jest.
“How then can I know, my dear?” said Camilla, “for I should not dare to forge or keep up a falsehood if my life depended on it. If we can think of no escape from this difficulty, it will be better to tell him the plain truth than that he should find us out in an untrue story.”
“Be not uneasy, senora,” said Leonela; “between this and to-morrow I will think of what we must say to him, and perhaps the wound being where it is it can be hidden from his sight, and Heaven will be pleased to aid us in a purpose so good and honourable. Compose yourself, senora, and endeavour to calm your excitement lest my lord find you agitated; and leave the rest to my care and God’s , who always supports good intentions.”
Anselmo had with the deepest attention listened to and seen played out the tragedy of the death of his honour, which the performers acted with such wonderfully effective truth that it seemed as if they had become the realities of the parts they played. He longed for night and an opportunity of escaping from the house to go and see his good friend Lothario, and with him give vent to his joy over the precious pearl he had gained in having established his wife’s purity. Both mistress and maid took care to give him time and opportunity to get away, and taking advantage of it he made his escape, and at once went in quest of Lothario, and it would be impossible to describe how he embraced him when he found him, and the things he said to him in the joy of his heart, and the praises he bestowed upon Camilla; all which Lothario listened to without being able to show any pleasure, for he could not forget how deceived his friend was, and how dishonourably he had wronged him; and though Anselmo could see that Lothario was not glad, still he imagined it was only because he had left Camilla wounded and had been himself the cause of it; and so among other things he told him not to be distressed about Camilla’s accident, for, as they had agreed to hide it from him, the wound was evidently trifling; and that being so, he had no cause for fear, but should henceforward be of good cheer and rejoice with him, seeing that by his means and adroitness he found himself raised to the greatest height of happiness that he could have ventured to hope for, and desired no better pastime than making verses in praise of Camilla that would preserve her name for all time to come. Lothario commended his purpose, and promised on his own part to aid him in raising a monument so glorious.
And so Anselmo was left the most charmingly hoodwinked man there could be in the world. He himself, persuaded he was conducting the instrument of his glory, led home by the hand him who had been the utter destruction of his good name; whom Camilla received with averted countenance, though with smiles in her heart. The deception was carried on for some time, until at the end of a few months Fortune turned her wheel and the guilt which had been until then so skilfully concealed was published abroad, and Anselmo paid with his life the penalty of his ill-advised curiosity.
 
常言道，军队不可无将军，城堡不可无长官。我觉得，一个年轻的已婚女子更不可身边无丈夫。特别需要的时候除外。没有你在身边，我的情况很不好，我简直忍受不了这种孤独。你如果不马上回来，我只好回我父母家去散心，不能为你照顾家了。我觉得你留给我的看护人，若是应当如此称呼他的话，他照顾更多的是他自己的利益，而不是你的利益。你是个聪明人，我不必再说，也不便再说什么了。
安塞尔莫收到了这封信。他根据信上说的，以为洛塔里奥已经开始行动，而且卡米拉也做出了他所希望的那种反应，感到很高兴。他给卡米拉带回口信，叫她无论如何不要离开家，他很快就会回来。卡米拉接到信后感到很意外，比以前更加迷惑不解了。她不敢离开自己家，也不敢到父母家去。留下来，她的名声可能会受到影响，可是，离开又违背了丈夫的命令。最后她作出了她认为是最坏的决定，也就是留下来，而且不躲避洛塔里奥，以免佣人们有什么议论。她后悔自己给丈夫写了那封信，生怕丈夫以为洛塔里奥发现她有些轻佻才敢放肆。不过她相信自己的情操，相信上帝，相信自己的良好愿望，所以，无论洛塔里奥再跟她说什么，她也不再告诉丈夫了，以免引起什么争执和麻烦。而且她还寻思，如果丈夫回来问她为何想起要写那封信，她应该如何为洛塔里奥开脱。
卡米拉的这些想法虽然用意良好，却并不正确，也是无益的。第二天，她一直听洛塔里奥说。洛塔里奥百般谄媚，渐渐动摇了卡米拉的意志。她竭力克制自己，不让洛塔里奥以眼泪和话语在她胸中激起的情感从她眼中有任何流露。洛塔里奥已经察觉到这些，于是欲火更旺。最后，他觉得应该利用安塞尔莫不在家的机会，加紧向这座堡垒进攻。他开始行动，对卡米拉的美貌大加赞扬。恐怕没有什么比虚荣更能攻破美女的高傲堡垒了。最后，洛塔里奥不择手段地用这种弹药攻破了她的洁身自好，卡米拉就是铁人也难以抵挡。洛塔里奥哭泣、乞求、许愿、吹捧、纠缠，装得情真意切。他装得很逼真，终于摧毁了卡米拉的防线，意想不到地得到了他求之不得的东西。
卡米拉投降了，卡米拉屈服了。可是这又怎么样呢？这是洛塔里奥的友谊控制不了的。这个例子明确告诉我们，只有逃避才能战胜情感。面对如此强大的对手，谁能无动于衷呢？要战胜人类这种本能，必须有一种神圣的力量。只有莱昂内拉知道卡米拉的脆弱。这两个丑恶朋友和新情人的事瞒不了她。洛塔里奥不想把安塞尔莫当初的意图告诉卡米拉，也没说是安塞尔莫提供条件让他们发展到了这一步。他不愿意让卡米拉小看他的爱情，认为他本意并不想来追求她。
几天后，安塞尔莫回到了自己家。他没有发现家里已缺少了一件东西，那件他最珍视却又忽略了的东西。随后，他去洛塔里奥家看望洛塔里奥。两人拥抱，安塞尔莫向洛塔里奥打听那件与自己性命攸关的事情。
“我可以告诉你的事情，安塞尔莫朋友，”洛塔里奥说，“就是你有一个堪称世界妇女楷模和典范的妻子。我对她说的那些话，她全都当成了耳旁风；我对她的许诺，她全都不放在眼里；我送给她的那些东西，她全都不接受；对我装出的几滴眼泪，她大加嘲笑。总之，卡米拉是美的精华，是个正直、稳重、端庄的人，集中了一个值得赞扬的幸福女人的所有美德。把你的钱拿回去吧，朋友，它在我手里已经毫无用处了。洁身自好的卡米拉不会向这种馈赠和诺言之类的玩艺儿屈服。你该高兴了，安塞尔莫，以后别再进行这类考验了。女人往往是造成困扰和猜疑的苦海，你既然蹒跚渡过了这个苦海，就不要再重新陷进去了。老天给了你这条船，让你用它渡过了尘世之海，你就不要再找其他船员去试验这艘船的品质和坚固性了。你应该意识到，你已经抵达了一个可爱的港湾，应该认真地停在那儿，等着上帝来召唤，没有任何贵人能逃避召唤的。”
安塞尔莫听了洛塔里奥这番话非常高兴，仿佛这是神谕似的，信以为真。尽管如此，他还是请求洛塔里奥把这件事继续做下去，不过现在只是出于好玩，当作消遣，而且也不用像以前那样用心计了。他只请求洛塔里奥写几首赞美诗，开头的名字用克洛莉，让卡米拉以为洛塔里奥爱上了一位叫克洛莉的小姐，这样就可以用这个名字来赞美卡米拉，而又不影响卡米拉安分守己的气节。如果洛塔里奥不愿意写，自己可以为他代劳。
“这没必要，”洛塔里奥说，“缪斯对我倒不那么陌生，每年都来看看我。你只管把你编的有关我的爱情故事告诉卡米拉吧，我来写诗。如果诗写得并不很扣主题，至少我也是尽我所能了。”
一个糊涂人和一个背叛了他的朋友就这样商定了。安塞尔莫回到家，问卡米拉为什么写信给他。而卡米拉正奇怪为什么安塞尔莫不问这件事呢。她说，原来觉得洛塔里奥比安塞尔莫在家时有些放肆，不过她已经看清了，是自己多心，因为洛塔里奥一直躲着她，避免同她单独在一起。安塞尔莫说，她完全可以放心了，因为他听说洛塔里奥已经爱上了城里一位尊贵的小姐，洛塔里奥还曾以克洛莉的名字为抬头，为她写诗呢。即使自己不在，也不必担心洛塔里奥的为人和他们两人之间的友谊。如果洛塔里奥事先没有告诉卡米拉，自己同克洛莉的爱情故事是虚构的，而且自己同安塞尔莫讲的那些诗实际上是赞美卡米拉的，卡米拉恐怕早就嫉妒了。由于事先已经知道了，卡米拉并没有感到意外或难过。
第二天，三个人坐在一起的时候，安塞尔莫请洛塔里奥说说他写给情人克洛莉的东西。卡米拉并不认识她，洛塔里奥想说什么都可以。
“即使卡米拉认识她，我也不隐瞒什么。”洛塔里奥说，“因为一个人赞美他的情人漂亮，并且说她冷酷，丝毫也不会影响她的名誉。不管怎么说，我告诉你们，我昨天为这个负心的克洛莉写了一首十四行诗。诗是这样写的：《十　四　行　诗》
夜色茫茫万籁静，
世人皆入甜蜜梦。
我对苍天和克洛莉
凄切诉说我不幸。
东方玫瑰红大门处，
朝阳初露冉冉升。
我又重新吐积怨，
唉声叹气诉不平。
太阳升起达金座，
光芒直射映大地，
哭泣愈频，呻吟更盛。
夜幕再降临，我又述
我的不幸，然而
老天装聋作哑，克洛莉也充耳不听。
卡米拉觉得这首诗不错，安塞尔莫更是赞不绝口，说那位小姐对这样的真情竟然不动声色，未免太残酷了。卡米拉接着说：
“那么，那些坠入情网的诗人说的都是真的？”
“诗人说的不一定是真的，”洛塔里奥说，“可那些坠入情网的人说得不多，却情真意切。”
“说得对。”安塞尔莫支持洛塔里奥的说法。卡米拉不在意这是安塞尔莫的计策，她已经爱上了洛塔里奥。
卡米拉对与洛塔里奥有关的一切东西都感兴趣，而且她知道洛塔里奥想的、写的都是她，她才是真正的克洛莉。所以，她对洛塔里奥说，如果他还有什么诗，就请拿出来念念。
“有倒是有，”洛塔里奥说，“不过我觉得它不像刚才那首那么好，或者说，比刚才那首差。你们不妨自己来判断一下。
就是下面这首诗：《十　四　行　诗》
我会死去，即使我不信，
也必死无疑。
我会死在你脚下，负心的美人，
却并不后悔爱上了你。
我不会再被人记起，
没有了生命、荣耀和福气，
可你会看到，你美丽的面孔
已镌刻在我敞开的心里。
那是我临终的至宝。
你对我越冷酷，
我的追求越凌厉。
夜色漆黑，小船漂移，
浩海迷茫，路途漫漫，
不见港湾，不见北极。
安塞尔莫对这首诗也像对前面那首一样赞赏。这等于又增加了绕在他身上的侮辱他的锁链。洛塔里奥越是羞辱他，他越觉得光荣；卡米拉越是藐视他，他越觉得卡米拉品行端正，声名俱佳。后来有一次，卡米拉同她的女仆在一起，她对女仆说：
“莱昂内拉朋友，我感到惭愧，自己竟那么不自重，让洛塔里奥没费多少时间就得到了我的真心。我怕他因为我这么轻易就把自己交给了他而鄙视我，却忘了他当初费了多少力，才使我不得不依从他。”
“不用伤心，我的主人，”莱昂内拉说，“是否轻易就把自己交给了他，这并不重要，而且谁也不会因为轻易许人就被人鄙视，只要许得对，同样会受到尊重。俗话说，‘给得干脆，价值双倍’。”
“不过俗话还说过，‘便宜没好货’。”
“您别信那个，”莱昂内拉说，“我听说，爱情有时飞跑，有时漫步，对某些人不冷不热，对某些人炽热难当；它可以伤害一些人，也可以杀死一些人；它在一个地方产生，又在同一个地方泯灭；往往早晨还在围攻一个堡垒，傍晚就把堡垒攻破了，没有任何力量可以阻止爱情。既然这样，您还有什么可怕的？洛塔里奥也是如此，他趁我主人不在的时候，用爱情征服了您。爱情决定的事情必须趁安塞尔莫不在时完成，不能犹豫不决。等到安塞尔莫回来，事情就没法办了。爱情要如愿，最重要的是机会，尤其是在最初的阶段。这些事情我都清楚，不仅是听说来的，还有自己的经历。以后我会告诉您的，夫人，因为我也是有血有肉的少女。
“而且，卡米拉夫人，您是首先从洛塔里奥的眼睛、叹息、话语、许诺和馈赠里看到了他的一片心，又由他的心和种种品德看出他是个值得爱的人，然后才以身相许的。如果是这样，您就不应该胡思乱想了，应该相信洛塔里奥敬重您，就像您敬重他一样，他为您坠入情网而高兴满足，他是靠勇气和尊重猎取了您。他不仅具有人们说的一个好情人应具有的四点①，而且还具有完全的ABC特性②。您如果不信，听我给您背背看。我觉得，他这个人一感恩，二善良，三威武，四慷慨，五多情，六坚定，七英俊，八正直，九高贵，十忠诚，十一年轻，十二优秀，十三老实，十四显赫，十五豁达，十六富有，还有刚才说的那四点，接着是内向和真心。X就别说了，这个字母不好听。Y已经说过了。Z就是注重您的名誉。”
①即聪明、有个性、体贴人、能保密。
②下面引述的形容词在原文中是按照字首字母的ABC顺序排列的。
卡米拉听到女仆的这番话不禁笑了，觉得她在谈情说爱方面也许做的比说的还内行。女仆向卡米拉承认，她正和本城一位出身高贵的青年谈情说爱。卡米拉有些慌了，怕发展下去会影响自己的声誉，赶紧追问她是否已经超越了谈与说。女仆也没什么不好意思，大大方方地说已经超越了。女仆看到上梁不正，也就不怕说下梁歪了。卡米拉只好求她别把自己同洛塔里奥的事告诉她的情人，而且对她自己的事也保密，千成别让安塞尔莫和洛塔里奥知道。
莱昂内拉说一定遵命，可她的行为确实让卡米拉担心，女仆的不检点会影响自己的名誉。大胆无耻的莱昂内拉自从发现女主人行为反常后，竟擅自让情人出入卡米拉的家。她相信女主人即使看见了，也不敢说出去。于是，就出现了女主人犯过失而带来的一种恶果，那就是她们自己反倒成了女仆的奴隶，不得不为女仆们掩饰其丑恶行径。卡米拉的情况就是如此。尽管她一再发现女仆同那个男青年在自己家的一个房间里，却不仅不敢说她，还得找地方让他们藏起来，为他们提供方便，以免让丈夫看到他们。可是有一天凌晨，洛塔里奥还是发现了那个青年。洛塔里奥不认识他，起初还以为是碰上了鬼影，但是见那人缩头缩脑地走路，马上就想到了另外一面。如果不是卡米拉及时补救，事情就全完了。洛塔里奥没有想到，那个人这种时候出入卡米拉家是为了莱昂内拉，他完全忘记了莱昂内拉在世界上的存在，只是想到卡米拉既然能轻易同他混到一起，也就很容易同别人混在一起。这就是罪恶女人得到的另一种恶果。她被殷勤和劝说引诱，投入了某个人的怀抱，丧失了自己的名誉，而那个人却以为她同样可以轻易地投入别人的怀抱，并且对自己的每一个猜疑都信以为真。洛塔里奥在这点上就考虑欠缺。他把自己以前的谨慎置于脑后，没有认真合理地考虑一下，就按捺不住胸中的嫉妒之火，一心要报复卡米拉。安塞尔莫还没起床，他就迫不及待地闯了进去，对安塞尔莫说：
“你知道吧，安塞尔莫，这些天来，我的内心一直在斗争，极力想让自己不对你说这件事。可是现在不说不行了，而且也太不像话了。你该知道，卡米拉这座堡垒已经被攻破，我完全可以在那里为所欲为了。我原来没有告诉你真相，是想看看她究竟是一时糊涂还是为了考验我，坚贞地对待我按照你的吩咐同她建立的爱情。我原来觉得，如果她是咱们想象的那种正派女人，就会把我追求她的事告诉你。可是过了这么长时间，我就明白了，她原来对我说，你再出门的时候，她就在你保存贵重物品的内室里等我是真的（卡米拉确实有几次在那个地方等他）。我不想让你现在慌慌张张地报复，因为现在她还只是在想这件事，并没有去做。也可能从现在到开始行动的时候，卡米拉会有所改变，会后悔。你过去一直听从我的劝告，现在我再告诉你一个办法，你照着去做，就可以明白无误地以你认为最合适的方式解决问题。你还像前几次一样，装着外出两三天，然后再设法藏到你的内室里去吧。内室里有壁毯和其它东西，你可以舒舒服服地藏在里面，你用你的眼睛，我用我的眼睛，看看卡米拉到底想干什么。如果是什么意外的坏事，你也可以悄悄地、稳稳当当地、迅速地为你受到的伤害报仇了。”
安塞尔莫听了洛塔里奥这番话惊呆了。他以为卡米拉已经战胜了洛塔里奥的假意引诱，正享受胜利的快乐，万万没有料到事情竟是这样。过了很长一段时间，他默默无语，眼睛眨也不眨地盯着地面。最后他说：
“洛塔里奥，你已经尽到了朋友的责任。现在我还得听你的。你随便怎么做，而且对这件意想不到的事情，你如果觉得有必要，就继续保密吧。”
洛塔里奥答应了。不过他刚一离开安塞尔莫，就后悔跟他说了这么多，觉得自己做得过分了。他自己完全可以报复卡米拉，没有必要采取这种残忍卑鄙的手段。他诅咒自己的这种想法，斥责自己这种轻率的决定，不知道如何才能挽回自己的这种做法或者找出某种合理的解决办法。最后他想起来，应该把这一切都告诉卡米拉。他们一直有很多机会见面。洛塔里奥当天就去找卡米拉。卡米拉正只身一人，一看到洛塔里奥就说：
“你知道吧，洛塔里奥朋友，我心里很难受，觉得胸口快要炸了，不炸才怪呢。莱昂内拉太无耻了，她每天都把一个小伙子带到这个家里来，一直到天亮。这会大大损害我的名誉，谁看见那个小伙子在那种时候从我家出来，都会以为是我做了什么见不得人的事。最麻烦的就是我既不能惩罚她，也不能说她。她知道咱们的事情，因而我总是欲言又止，我怕这样早晚会坏了事。”
卡米拉刚开始说这件事时，洛塔里奥还以为卡米拉撒谎，说他看见的那个人是来找莱昂内拉，而不是来找她的。可后来看卡米拉哭得很难过，还让他想办法，才相信这是真的，于是他现在更加不知所措，更加后悔了。尽管如此，他还是让卡米拉不要着急，他会想办法不让莱昂内拉太放肆。同时他还告诉卡米拉，自己被嫉妒之火烧昏了头，已经把这件事告诉安塞尔莫了，并且同安塞尔莫约定，让安塞尔莫藏在内室里，这样可以清楚地看到卡米拉如何对他不忠。他请求卡米拉原谅自己的疯癫之举，并且请卡米拉设法把他从胡乱猜疑造成的这场麻烦中解脱出来。
卡米拉听了洛塔里奥的话吓坏了。她非常气愤而又非常得体地数落了洛塔里奥，批评了他的胡乱猜疑和轻率决定。不过卡米拉天生有应急的智慧，这点比洛塔里奥强。每当特别需要洛塔里奥拿主意的时候，他就没主意了。对于这样已经几乎无法挽回的事情，卡米拉马上就想出了补救办法。她对洛塔里奥说，一定要让安塞尔莫藏到他们那天商定的内室里去，她想利用安塞尔莫藏身这个机会，把事情说清楚，以便两人从此不再担惊受怕。不过，她没有把自己的全部想法都告诉洛塔里奥，只让他注意，安塞尔莫藏在内室里的时候，莱昂内拉一叫他，他就赶紧来，卡米拉问什么他就答什么，就好像不知道安塞尔莫能听见似的。洛塔里奥一定要卡米拉把自己的意图告诉他，这样他可以充分做好各种必要的准备。
“我问什么，你就答什么，没什么可准备的。”。卡米拉说，她不想把自己的想法告诉洛塔里奥，怕他不同意自己的想法又去寻找其他办法。她觉得自己的想法再好不过了。
洛塔里奥走了。第二天，安塞尔莫推说要到朋友的那个村庄去，离开了家，然后又折回来藏了起来。一切都很顺利，其实卡米拉和莱昂内拉都已经安排好了。
安塞尔莫藏了起来，想到要亲眼目睹这件关乎自己名誉的事到底是什么样子，自己眼看就会失掉心爱的卡米拉，他忐忑不安的心情可想而知。卡米拉和莱昂内拉断定安塞尔莫已经藏好，就走进了内室。脚刚落地，卡米拉就长吁了一口气，说道：
“哎，莱昂内拉朋友！在我做那件事之前，我不想让你知道是什么事，免得你也来打扰我。我让你把安塞尔莫的那把短剑拿来，让它穿透我这卑鄙的胸膛，难道不好吗？不过你先不要这样做，我觉得替人受过是不合理的。首先我想知道，洛塔里奥那双肆无忌惮、恬不知耻的眼睛究竟在我这儿看到了什么，竟敢藐视他的朋友和我的名誉，在我面前大胆地表露他的丑恶想法。莱昂内拉，你到窗口去喊他。他肯定在街上等着实现他的罪恶企图呢。然而，他遇到的将是一个冷酷而又正直的我！”
“哎呀，我的主人，”聪明而又知情的莱昂内拉说，“你想用这把短剑干什么？你难道想用它要自己的命或者要洛塔里奥的命吗？无论你要谁的命，都只会让你失掉自己的声誉。你最好还是装作不知道你受到的侮辱吧，别让这个恶毒的男人现在进入这个家，看到只有咱们两人。你看，夫人，咱们都是纤弱女子，他是个男人，而且横了心。他抱着疯狂的情欲目的而来，也许你还没对他怎么样，他就已经对你下手了，这比要你的命还糟糕。我的主人安塞尔莫也够可恨的，竟把自己的家交给了这个无耻之徒！我看出你是想杀掉他，可你就是把他杀了，咱们又怎么办呢？”
“什么，朋友？”卡米拉说，“咱们把他扔在那儿，等安塞尔莫回来再埋。把自己的耻辱埋在地下应该是件惬意的事情。你去叫他来。拖延时间，不为我所受到的侮辱而报仇，就是对我忠实于丈夫的一种侮辱。”
这些话安塞尔莫全都听见了。卡米拉的每句话都对他有所触动。后来听到卡米拉想杀掉洛塔里奥，他就想出来，以免这种事情发生。不过，他又止住了，想等卡米拉这一正直的决心发展到一定程度，他再适时地出面阻止。
卡米拉这时突然感到一阵强烈的晕眩，扑倒在床上。莱昂内拉哭起来，说：
“哎呀，你多么不幸呀，你竟死在我的怀抱里！你就是世上贞洁的集中代表，是所有善良女人的光荣，是洁身自好的典范！”
莱昂内拉又说了其它诸如此类的话，谁听了都会把她当成世界上最令人同情、最忠实的女仆，而把她的主人当成又一个受到迫害的佩涅洛佩①。
①佩涅洛佩是《奥德赛》的主人公之一。丈夫奥德修斯外出二十年，她想出种种办法和借口摆脱求爱者的纠缠，是忠于丈夫的妻子之典范。
卡米拉一会儿醒过来了。她一醒来就说：

Part 1 Chapter 35
There remained but little more of the novel to be read, when Sancho Panza burst forth in wild excitement from the garret where Don Quixote was lying, shouting, “Run, sirs! quick; and help my master, who is in the thick of the toughest and stiffest battle I ever laid eyes on. By the living God he has given the giant, the enemy of my lady the Princess Micomicona, such a slash that he has sliced his head clean off as if it were a turnip.”
“What are you talking about, brother?” said the curate, pausing as he was about to read the remainder of the novel. “Are you in your senses, Sancho? How the devil can it be as you say, when the giant is two thousand leagues away?”
Here they heard a loud noise in the chamber, and Don Quixote shouting out, “Stand, thief, brigand, villain; now I have got thee, and thy scimitar shall not avail thee!” And then it seemed as though he were slashing vigorously at the wall.
“Don’t stop to listen,” said Sancho, “but go in and part them or help my master: though there is no need of that now, for no doubt the giant is dead by this time and giving account to God of his past wicked life; for I saw the blood flowing on the ground, and the head cut off and fallen on one side, and it is as big as a large wine-skin.”
“May I die,” said the landlord at this, “if Don Quixote or Don Devil has not been slashing some of the skins of red wine that stand full at his bed’s head, and the spilt wine must be what this good fellow takes for blood;” and so saying he went into the room and the rest after him, and there they found Don Quixote in the strangest costume in the world. He was in his shirt, which was not long enough in front to cover his thighs completely and was six fingers shorter behind; his legs were very long and lean, covered with hair, and anything but clean; on his head he had a little greasy red cap that belonged to the host, round his left arm he had rolled the blanket of the bed, to which Sancho, for reasons best known to himself, owed a grudge, and in his right hand he held his unsheathed sword, with which he was slashing about on all sides, uttering exclamations as if he were actually fighting some giant: and the best of it was his eyes were not open, for he was fast asleep, and dreaming that he was doing battle with the giant. For his imagination was so wrought upon by the adventure he was going to accomplish, that it made him dream he had already reached the kingdom of Micomicon, and was engaged in combat with his enemy; and believing he was laying on the giant, he had given so many sword cuts to the skins that the whole room was full of wine. On seeing this the landlord was so enraged that he fell on Don Quixote, and with his clenched fist began to pummel him in such a way, that if Cardenio and the curate had not dragged him off, he would have brought the war of the giant to an end. But in spite of all the poor gentleman never woke until the barber brought a great pot of cold water from the well and flung it with one dash all over his body, on which Don Quixote woke up, but not so completely as to understand what was the matter. Dorothea, seeing how short and slight his attire was, would not go in to witness the battle between her champion and her opponent. As for Sancho, he went searching all over the floor for the head of the giant, and not finding it he said, “I see now that it’s all enchantment in this house; for the last time, on this very spot where I am now, I got ever so many thumps without knowing who gave them to me, or being able to see anybody; and now this head is not to be seen anywhere about, though I saw it cut off with my own eyes and the blood running from the body as if from a fountain.”
“What blood and fountains are you talking about, enemy of God and his saints?” said the landlord. “Don’t you see, you thief, that the blood and the fountain are only these skins here that have been stabbed and the red wine swimming all over the room? — and I wish I saw the soul of him that stabbed them swimming in hell.”
“I know nothing about that,” said Sancho; “all I know is it will be my bad luck that through not finding this head my county will melt away like salt in water;" — for Sancho awake was worse than his master asleep, so much had his master’s promises addled his wits.
The landlord was beside himself at the coolness of the squire and the mischievous doings of the master, and swore it should not be like the last time when they went without paying; and that their privileges of chivalry should not hold good this time to let one or other of them off without paying, even to the cost of the plugs that would have to be put to the damaged wine-skins. The curate was holding Don Quixote’s hands, who, fancying he had now ended the adventure and was in the presence of the Princess Micomicona, knelt before the curate and said, “Exalted and beauteous lady, your highness may live from this day forth fearless of any harm this base being could do you; and I too from this day forth am released from the promise I gave you, since by the help of God on high and by the favour of her by whom I live and breathe, I have fulfilled it so successfully.”
“Did not I say so?” said Sancho on hearing this. “You see I wasn’t drunk; there you see my master has already salted the giant; there’s no doubt about the bulls; my county is all right!”
Who could have helped laughing at the absurdities of the pair, master and man? And laugh they did, all except the landlord, who cursed himself; but at length the barber, Cardenio, and the curate contrived with no small trouble to get Don Quixote on the bed, and he fell asleep with every appearance of excessive weariness. They left him to sleep, and came out to the gate of the inn to console Sancho Panza on not having found the head of the giant; but much more work had they to appease the landlord, who was furious at the sudden death of his wine-skins; and said the landlady half scolding, half crying, “At an evil moment and in an unlucky hour he came into my house, this knight-errant — would that I had never set eyes on him, for dear he has cost me; the last time he went off with the overnight score against him for supper, bed, straw, and barley, for himself and his squire and a hack and an ass, saying he was a knight adventurer — God send unlucky adventures to him and all the adventurers in the world — and therefore not bound to pay anything, for it was so settled by the knight-errantry tariff: and then, all because of him, came the other gentleman and carried off my tail, and gives it back more than two cuartillos the worse, all stripped of its hair, so that it is no use for my husband’s purpose; and then, for a finishing touch to all, to burst my wine-skins and spill my wine! I wish I saw his own blood spilt! But let him not deceive himself, for, by the bones of my father and the shade of my mother, they shall pay me down every quarts; or my name is not what it is, and I am not my father’s daughter.” All this and more to the same effect the landlady delivered with great irritation, and her good maid Maritornes backed her up, while the daughter held her peace and smiled from time to time. The curate smoothed matters by promising to make good all losses to the best of his power, not only as regarded the wine-skins but also the wine, and above all the depreciation of the tail which they set such store by. Dorothea comforted Sancho, telling him that she pledged herself, as soon as it should appear certain that his master had decapitated the giant, and she found herself peacefully established in her kingdom, to bestow upon him the best county there was in it. With this Sancho consoled himself, and assured the princess she might rely upon it that he had seen the head of the giant, and more by token it had a beard that reached to the girdle, and that if it was not to be seen now it was because everything that happened in that house went by enchantment, as he himself had proved the last time he had lodged there. Dorothea said she fully believed it, and that he need not be uneasy, for all would go well and turn out as he wished. All therefore being appeased, the curate was anxious to go on with the novel, as he saw there was but little more left to read. Dorothea and the others begged him to finish it, and he, as he was willing to please them, and enjoyed reading it himself, continued the tale in these words:
The result was, that from the confidence Anselmo felt in Camilla’s virtue, he lived happy and free from anxiety, and Camilla purposely looked coldly on Lothario, that Anselmo might suppose her feelings towards him to be the opposite of what they were; and the better to support the position, Lothario begged to be excused from coming to the house, as the displeasure with which Camilla regarded his presence was plain to be seen. But the befooled Anselmo said he would on no account allow such a thing, and so in a thousand ways he became the author of his own dishonour, while he believed he was insuring his happiness. Meanwhile the satisfaction with which Leonela saw herself empowered to carry on her amour reached such a height that, regardless of everything else, she followed her inclinations unrestrainedly, feeling confident that her mistress would screen her, and even show her how to manage it safely. At last one night Anselmo heard footsteps in Leonela’s room, and on trying to enter to see who it was, he found that the door was held against him, which made him all the more determined to open it; and exerting his strength he forced it open, and entered the room in time to see a man leaping through the window into the street. He ran quickly to seize him or discover who he was, but he was unable to effect either purpose, for Leonela flung her arms round him crying, “Be calm, senor; do not give way to passion or follow him who has escaped from this; he belongs to me, and in fact he is my husband.”
Anselmo would not believe it, but blind with rage drew a dagger and threatened to stab Leonela, bidding her tell the truth or he would kill her. She, in her fear, not knowing what she was saying, exclaimed, “Do not kill me, senor, for I can tell you things more important than any you can imagine.”
“Tell me then at once or thou diest,” said Anselmo.
“It would be impossible for me now,” said Leonela, “I am so agitated: leave me till to-morrow, and then you shall hear from me what will fill you with astonishment; but rest assured that he who leaped through the window is a young man of this city, who has given me his promise to become my husband.”
Anselmo was appeased with this, and was content to wait the time she asked of him, for he never expected to hear anything against Camilla, so satisfied and sure of her virtue was he; and so he quitted the room, and left Leonela locked in, telling her she should not come out until she had told him all she had to make known to him. He went at once to see Camilla, and tell her, as he did, all that had passed between him and her handmaid, and the promise she had given him to inform him matters of serious importance.
There is no need of saying whether Camilla was agitated or not, for so great was her fear and dismay, that, making sure, as she had good reason to do, that Leonela would tell Anselmo all she knew of her faithlessness, she had not the courage to wait and see if her suspicions were confirmed; and that same night, as soon as she thought that Anselmo was asleep, she packed up the most valuable jewels she had and some money, and without being observed by anybody escaped from the house and betook herself to Lothario’s , to whom she related what had occurred, imploring him to convey her to some place of safety or fly with her where they might be safe from Anselmo. The state of perplexity to which Camilla reduced Lothario was such that he was unable to utter a word in reply, still less to decide upon what he should do. At length he resolved to conduct her to a convent of which a sister of his was prioress; Camilla agreed to this, and with the speed which the circumstances demanded, Lothario took her to the convent and left her there, and then himself quitted the city without letting anyone know of his departure.
As soon as daylight came Anselmo, without missing Camilla from his side, rose cager to learn what Leonela had to tell him, and hastened to the room where he had locked her in. He opened the door, entered, but found no Leonela; all he found was some sheets knotted to the window, a plain proof that she had let herself down from it and escaped. He returned, uneasy, to tell Camilla, but not finding her in bed or anywhere in the house he was lost in amazement. He asked the servants of the house about her, but none of them could give him any explanation. As he was going in search of Camilla it happened by chance that he observed her boxes were lying open, and that the greater part of her jewels were gone; and now he became fully aware of his disgrace, and that Leonela was not the cause of his misfortune; and, just as he was, without delaying to dress himself completely, he repaired, sad at heart and dejected, to his friend Lothario to make known his sorrow to him; but when he failed to find him and the servants reported that he had been absent from his house all night and had taken with him all the money he had, he felt as though he were losing his senses; and to make all complete on returning to his own house he found it deserted and empty, not one of all his servants, male or female, remaining in it. He knew not what to think, or say, or do, and his reason seemed to be deserting him little by little. He reviewed his position, and saw himself in a moment left without wife, friend, or servants, abandoned, he felt, by the heaven above him, and more than all robbed of his honour, for in Camilla’s disappearance he saw his own ruin. After long reflection he resolved at last to go to his friend’s village, where he had been staying when he afforded opportunities for the contrivance of this complication of misfortune. He locked the doors of his house, mounted his horse, and with a broken spirit set out on his journey; but he had hardly gone half-way when, harassed by his reflections, he had to dismount and tie his horse to a tree, at the foot of which he threw himself, giving vent to piteous heartrending sighs; and there he remained till nearly nightfall, when he observed a man approaching on horseback from the city, of whom, after saluting him, he asked what was the news in Florence.
The citizen replied, “The strangest that have been heard for many a day; for it is reported abroad that Lothario, the great friend of the wealthy Anselmo, who lived at San Giovanni, carried off last night Camilla, the wife of Anselmo, who also has disappeared. All this has been told by a maid-servant of Camilla’s , whom the governor found last night lowering herself by a sheet from the windows of Anselmo’s house. I know not indeed, precisely, how the affair came to pass; all I know is that the whole city is wondering at the occurrence, for no one could have expected a thing of the kind, seeing the great and intimate friendship that existed between them, so great, they say, that they were called ‘The Two Friends.’”
“Is it known at all,” said Anselmo, “what road Lothario and Camilla took?”
“Not in the least,” said the citizen, “though the governor has been very active in searching for them.”
“God speed you, senor,” said Anselmo.
“God be with you,” said the citizen and went his way.
This disastrous intelligence almost robbed Anselmo not only of his senses but of his life. He got up as well as he was able and reached the house of his friend, who as yet knew nothing of his misfortune, but seeing him come pale, worn, and haggard, perceived that he was suffering some heavy affliction. Anselmo at once begged to be allowed to retire to rest, and to be given writing materials. His wish was complied with and he was left lying down and alone, for he desired this, and even that the door should be locked. Finding himself alone he so took to heart the thought of his misfortune that by the signs of death he felt within him he knew well his life was drawing to a close, and therefore he resolved to leave behind him a declaration of the cause of his strange end. He began to write, but before he had put down all he meant to say, his breath failed him and he yielded up his life, a victim to the suffering which his ill-advised curiosity had entailed upon him. The master of the house observing that it was now late and that Anselmo did not call, determined to go in and ascertain if his indisposition was increasing, and found him lying on his face, his body partly in the bed, partly on the writing-table, on which he lay with the written paper open and the pen still in his hand. Having first called to him without receiving any answer, his host approached him, and taking him by the hand, found that it was cold, and saw that he was dead. Greatly surprised and distressed he summoned the household to witness the sad fate which had befallen Anselmo; and then he read the paper, the handwriting of which he recognised as his, and which contained these words:
“A foolish and ill-advised desire has robbed me of life. If the news of my death should reach the ears of Camilla, let her know that I forgive her, for she was not bound to perform miracles, nor ought I to have required her to perform them; and since I have been the author of my own dishonour, there is no reason why — ”
So far Anselmo had written, and thus it was plain that at this point, before he could finish what he had to say, his life came to an end. The next day his friend sent intelligence of his death to his relatives, who had already ascertained his misfortune, as well as the convent where Camilla lay almost on the point of accompanying her husband on that inevitable journey, not on account of the tidings of his death, but because of those she received of her lover’s departure. Although she saw herself a widow, it is said she refused either to quit the convent or take the veil, until, not long afterwards, intelligence reached her that Lothario had been killed in a battle in which M. de Lautrec had been recently engaged with the Great Captain Gonzalo Fernandez de Cordova in the kingdom of Naples, whither her too late repentant lover had repaired. On learning this Camilla took the veil, and shortly afterwards died, worn out by grief and melancholy. This was the end of all three, an end that came of a thoughtless beginning.
“I like this novel,” said the curate; “but I cannot persuade myself of its truth; and if it has been invented, the author’s invention is faulty, for it is impossible to imagine any husband so foolish as to try such a costly experiment as Anselmo’s . If it had been represented as occurring between a gallant and his mistress it might pass; but between husband and wife there is something of an impossibility about it. As to the way in which the story is told, however, I have no fault to find.”
 
故事还差一点儿没有讲完，这时，桑乔忽然慌慌张张地从唐吉诃德住的那个顶楼上跑了下来，大声喊道：
“诸位，快来吧，来帮帮我的主人吧，他正在进行一场我从没见过的激烈战斗呢。感谢上帝，他一剑就把同米科米科娜公主作对的巨人的脑袋像砍萝卜似的整个砍下来了。”
“你说什么，兄弟？”神甫放下手中的书问道，“你发疯了吗，桑乔？那个巨人离这儿远着呢，你说的是什么魔鬼呀？”
这时只听顶楼上一声巨响，唐吉诃德大声喊道：
“站住！你这个盗贼、恶棍、歹徒！我已经抓住你了，你的破刀也没用了！”
听声音好像是唐吉诃德在奋力砍墙壁。桑乔说：
“你们别光站着听，倒是进去劝劝架呀，或者帮帮我的主人嘛。不过也许不需要了，那个巨人肯定已经死了，向上帝招认他以前的罪孽去了。我刚才看见地上流着血，巨人被砍掉的头颅落在一旁，体积有大皮酒囊那么大呢。”
“我敢打赌，”店主说，“肯定是唐吉诃德或唐魔鬼把他床边的红葡萄酒囊扎破了，流到地上的葡萄酒大概就是这个好心人说的血吧。”
店主说着走进顶楼，大家也都跟了进去，只见唐吉诃德穿着一身可以说是世界上最奇特的服装。他只穿着一件衬衣，前面只能盖到大腿，后面比前面还短六指。他的两条腿特别长，还长满了汗毛，没有一点不带汗毛的地方。头上戴着店主那顶脏兮兮的红帽子，左臂上绕着桑乔最反感的被单，至于桑乔为什么对它反感，他自己当然知道。唐吉诃德的右手拿着一把短剑，正挥舞着到处乱剌，嘴里还说着什么，似乎真是在同什么巨人搏斗。
好在唐吉诃德的眼睛并没有睁开。他仍然处于睡眠状态，做着梦同巨人作战。他急于完成自己的大业，所以梦见自己已经来到了米科米孔王国，正在同自己的敌人战斗。他对着酒囊剌了很多下，以为自己正在剌向巨人，结果弄得满屋子都是葡萄酒。店主见状勃然大怒。他向唐吉诃德冲去，攥紧拳头猛打。若不是卡德尼奥和神甫把他拉开，那么，结束这场同巨人战斗的人就是店主了。即使这么打，可怜的唐吉诃德还是没有醒。直到后来理发师从井里弄来一大罐凉水，朝着唐吉诃德从头到脚浇下去，唐吉诃德才醒过来。不过，他还是没想起自己为什么成了这个样子。多罗特亚见唐吉诃德穿得这么短又这么单薄，不好意思进来看这位游侠和她的对手作战。
桑乔正在满地找巨人的脑袋，结果没有找到，就说：
“现在我知道了，这间房子里所有的东西都中了魔法。上一次，我就是在我现在待的这个地方被人打了一顿老拳，却不知道是什么人打的，看不见任何人。这回，我刚才亲眼看到巨人的脑袋被砍掉了，血如喷泉从巨人的身体里涌出来，现在却找不到巨人那个脑袋了。”
“什么血呀泉的，你这个上帝和神明的敌人！”店主说，“你没看到吗？笨蛋，血和泉就是从这房间被戳破的酒囊里流出来的红葡萄酒！我要让戳破酒囊的人的灵魂到地狱里去游荡！”
“这些我都不知道，”桑乔说，“我只知道若是找不到这个脑袋，我就会倒霉透顶，我的伯爵称号就会化为乌有。”
桑乔没睡觉，却比唐吉诃德睡着觉还糊涂，这大概是他主人的诺言造成的。
店主看到侍从糊涂，主人疯癫，简直气得绝望之极。他发誓绝不能像上次那样，让他们不付钱就跑掉。这次他们别想靠什么骑士的特权赖任何帐，就连修补酒囊用的钱也得让他们掏。
神甫抓住唐吉诃德的双手。唐吉诃德以为自己已经大功告成，眼前站着的是米科米科娜公主。他在神甫面前跪了下来，说道：
“尊贵著名的公主，从今以后，您不用担心那个恶棍再对您作恶了。我已经在高贵的上帝和我视为命根子的公主帮助下履行了我的诺言，从今以后也不再受它约束了。”
“难道我没说过吗？”桑乔听了说道，“我并没有醉。你们看看，我的主人是不是已经把那个巨人打跑了！我的伯爵称号也妥了，果不其然！”
谁听了主仆二人的胡话都会忍俊不禁。大家都笑了，只有店主气得要发疯。最后，理发师、卡德尼奥和神甫费了不少力气，才把唐吉诃德弄到床上。唐吉诃德看样子疲惫已极，倒头沉沉睡去。大家又到客店门口安慰桑乔，他正为找不到巨人的头而着急呢。不过，最主要的是让店主消消气。店主为突然损失了这么多酒囊而气急败坏。客店主妇也大声喊道：
“这个游侠骑士到我们店里来，可算让我们倒霉透了，我这辈子也不想再见到他们了。他们让我们赔了多少钱！上次赔了一个晚上的晚饭、床铺、稻草和大麦，这是他和他的侍从以及骡子和一头驴用的。他们说自己是征险骑士，是上帝让他们和世界上的所有冒险者走厄运，所以什么钱也不用付，还说游侠骑士的章程上就是这么写的。现在，还是为了他，又来了一位大人，拿走了我的尾巴，等到还回来的时候，已经毁得差不多了，毛都秃了，我丈夫想用也没法用了。最可恶的就是弄破了我的酒囊，流了一地葡萄酒，我倒愿意这地上流的都是他的血呢。我以我已故父母的名义发誓，他们不能少给一文钱，休想！否则我就不叫我自己的名字，就不是我父母养的！”客店主妇说得怒气冲冲，丑女仆又在一旁帮腔。她的女儿一声不吭，只是不时地微笑一下。神甫一直在安慰她，说将尽可能地赔偿她的所有损失，包括酒囊和葡萄酒，特别是那只贵重的尾巴。多罗特亚安慰桑乔说，只要能证实他的主人砍掉巨人的头一事是真的，等她的王国太平了，她肯定会把王国里最好的伯爵领地赏给他。
桑乔听了这话才放心了。他向公主发誓说，他的确看到了巨人的脑袋。说得更具体些，他看到巨人有一副直拖到腰部的胡子。如果巨人不见了，那肯定是魔法弄的。那间房子里的所有事都受到了魔法操纵，上次他在这儿住的时候就遇到这种情况。多罗特亚说她相信是这样。她让桑乔别着急，一切都会如愿以偿。大家都安静下来了，神甫就想把书看完，那本书已经看得差不多了。卡德尼奥、多罗特亚和其他所有人都请求神甫把书读完。神甫为了让大家高兴，他自己也想看，就把故事讲了下去。故事是这样说的：
且说安塞尔莫对卡米拉的品德很满意，过着无忧无虑的快乐日子。卡米拉故意冷冷地对待洛塔里奥，为的是让安塞尔莫有一种错觉。为了更保险，卡米拉还让洛塔里奥请求以后不再来他家了，因为卡米拉见了他会明显不高兴。可是被蒙在鼓里的安塞尔莫坚决不同意他这么做。这样，无论从哪一方面讲，安塞尔莫都使自己丢尽了脸，而他却以为这是自己的福气。与此同时，莱昂内拉觉得自己的情爱也得到了认可，便更加肆无忌惮地放纵自己，相信女主人会帮她掩盖，而且还会告诉她如何避免引起怀疑。结果有一天晚上，安塞尔莫觉得莱昂内拉的房间里有脚步声，他想看看是谁在走动，可是似乎有人在顶着门。这样安塞尔莫就更想进去看看了。他用力推开门闯进去，看到一个男人正从窗口跳到街上。他想赶紧追出去看看到底是谁。可是莱昂内拉紧紧抓住他不放，使他脱身不得。莱昂内拉说：
“别着急，我的主人，您别再追那个跳出去的人了。这是我的事，他是我丈夫。”
安塞尔莫不相信。他简直气昏了头，拔出短剑就要剌莱昂内拉，还说如果她不说实话就杀死她。莱昂内拉吓坏了，不知是怎么回事，她竟说：
“别杀我，我的主人，我还有您想象不到的重要事情要告诉您呢。”
“快说，”安塞尔莫说，“要不然你就死定了。”
“现在我可没法说出来，”莱昂内拉说，“我这会儿心慌意乱。让我明天早晨再告诉您吧，那时候您就会知道一件让您意外的事情。我保证刚才从窗户跳出去的是本城的一个青年，他已经同意和我结婚了。”
安塞尔莫这才放下心来。他想等到莱昂内拉要求的第二天再说。他没想到这件事会与卡米拉有关，现在他对卡米拉的品行已经满意和放心了。他走出莱昂内拉的房间，把莱昂内拉锁在里面，对她说，如果她不把该说的事情告诉他，就别想出来。
然后，安塞尔莫就去看望卡米拉，对她讲了刚才在女仆那儿发生的事情，还说女仆要同他说一件至关重大的事情。卡米拉是否慌了手脚，且不必说，反正她怕得要死。她完全相信，也有理由相信，莱昂内拉会把她知道的有关自己不忠的事情告诉安塞尔莫。卡米拉没有勇气再等着瞧自己的猜测是否正确，当天晚上，她估计安塞尔莫已经睡着了，就把自己最贵重的首饰和一些钱收拾好，神不知鬼不觉地出了家门，去找洛塔里奥。她把发生的事情告诉了洛塔里奥，求他或者把自己藏起来，或者两人一同逃到安塞尔莫肯定找不着他们的地方去。
卡米拉这么一说，洛塔里奥也慌了神，不知如何回答是好，也拿不定主意该怎么办了。最后，他想到可以把卡米拉送到一个修道院去，他的一个姐妹在那儿当院长。卡米拉同意了。洛塔里奥把卡米拉火速送到了修道院，接着他自己也从城里悄悄地失踪了。
第二天早晨，安塞尔莫没有发现卡米拉已经不在他身边了。他只是急于知道莱昂内拉要告诉他的事情，起床后就到关莱昂内拉的房间去了。他打开门，走进房间，可是不见莱昂内拉，只见窗台上系着几条床单，看来莱昂内拉就是从那儿溜走的。他闷闷不乐地赶紧回来告诉卡米拉，可是无论在床上还是在家里，到处都找不到卡米拉，他感到很奇怪。他向家里的佣人打听卡米拉到哪儿去了，可是大家都不知道。结果在找卡米拉的过程中发现卡米拉的首饰盒都打开着，里面的大部分首饰都没有了，他才意识到出事了，而且问题不在莱昂内拉身上。于是他连衣服都来不及穿好，便忧心忡忡地去把自己的倒霉事告诉洛塔里奥。可是洛塔里奥也找不到了。佣人们告诉他，那天晚上，洛塔里奥就不见了，而且把所有的钱都带走了，大概是发疯了。更有甚者，安塞尔莫回到家，发现家里的男女佣人都不见了，家徒四壁，只剩下他孤零零的一个人。
他不知道该怎么想、怎么说、怎么做，慢慢才开始明白过来。瞬时，他惊奇地发现自己没有了妻子，没有了朋友，没有了佣人。他觉得天仿佛塌了，尤其是他已经名誉扫地了。卡米拉这一走，他可以断定，她已经堕落了。他考虑了一会儿，决定到自己在乡间的朋友那儿去。当初这个悲剧发生时，他就是住在那儿的。他锁好家门，骑上马，迷迷糊糊地上了路。刚走到一半，他心绪纷乱，只好下了马，把马拴在树上，并且在树旁躺下来，长吁短叹，一直呆到天快黑了。这时，他看见有人骑马从城里走来，便向他问好，然后问佛罗伦萨城里有什么消息。那人说道：
“城里出了可以说是这些天来最新鲜的事。大家都在说，住在圣胡安的富翁安塞尔莫昨晚被老朋友洛塔里奥拐走了妻子卡米拉，安塞尔莫本人也不见了。这些都是卡米拉的一个女佣说的。昨天晚上，总督发现她用床单从安塞尔莫家的窗口溜了下来，把她逮住了。我也不知道详情是怎么回事，只知道整个城市都因为这件事轰动了。这种事情发生在两个情同手足的朋友之间，简直令人难以想象。大家都说他们是‘朋友俩’。”
“那么，你知道洛塔里奥和卡米拉到哪儿去了吗？”安塞尔莫问。
“总督全力查找，都没能发现他们，我就更不知道了。”那个城里人说。
“再见吧，大人。”安塞尔莫说。
“上帝与你同在。”城里人说完就走了。
这不幸的消息对安塞尔莫打击太大了，他不仅快气疯了，而且快气死了。他挣扎着站起来，到了朋友家。那位朋友还不知道他的事情，但一看到他脸色蜡黄、心力憔悴的样子，就知道准是被某件严重的事情弄的。安塞尔莫请求让他躺下，并且要写字用的文具。朋友按照他的吩咐做了，留下他躺在房间里。安塞尔莫要求让他一个人留在房间里，而且把门关好。这特大的不幸涌上心头，他感到了死亡的先兆，知道自己将不久于人世。他要让人们知道自己突然死亡的原因。他开始留言，可是还没写完，就咽了气。
房子的主人见天色已晚，安塞尔莫却没叫他，就想进去看看他是否有什么不舒服，结果看到安塞尔莫脸朝下趴着，半个身子坐在床上，半个身子趴在写字台上。写字台上有一张打开的便条，安塞尔莫手上还拿着一支笔。主人叫他，见他不回答，才发现他身体冰凉，已经死了。他的朋友既惊讶又难过，赶紧把家里的人都叫来，让他们也看到了安塞尔莫遭遇的不幸。最后，他看了纸条，认出这是安塞尔莫亲笔写的。
纸条上这样写着：
一个固执无聊的念头断送了我的生命。如果我的死
讯能够传到卡米拉的耳朵里，就告诉她，我原谅她，因为她没有义务创造出奇迹来，我也不曾希望她创造出奇迹来。是我自己制造了我的耻辱，没有理由……
安塞尔莫就写到这儿。可以看得出，他还没有写完就终止了生命。第二天，安塞尔莫的朋友将他的死讯通知了他的亲属，他们已经知道了安塞尔莫的丢脸事。那位朋友还通知了卡米拉所在的修道院。卡米拉差点陪丈夫走上同一条路，这倒不是因为她得知了丈夫的噩耗，而是因为她听说洛塔里奥不见了。后来人们听说她虽然成了寡妇，可是既不愿意离开修道院，也不肯出家作修女，直到很多天后，有消息说，洛塔里奥后悔不迭，已经在洛特雷克大人同贡萨洛•费尔南德斯•德科尔多瓦大将军争夺那不勒斯王国的一场战斗中阵亡，她才出了家，并且几天之后在忧郁和悲伤中结束了自己的生命。这就是一场由荒谬引起的悲剧中几个人的结局。
“我觉得这本书还不错，”神甫说，“不过我不能相信这是真事。如果是编的，那么这位作者编得并不好，因为无法想象世界上有像安塞尔莫这样愚蠢的丈夫，竟付出如此大的代价去考验妻子。在一个美男子和一位贵夫人之间，有可能发生这种情况，然而在丈夫和妻子之间，这是根本不可能的。至于叙述的方式，我还算喜欢。”
Part 1 Chapter 36
Just at that instant the landlord, who was standing at the gate of the inn, exclaimed, “Here comes a fine troop of guests; if they stop here we may say gaudeamus.”
“What are they?” said Cardenio.
“Four men,” said the landlord, “riding a la jineta, with lances and bucklers, and all with black veils, and with them there is a woman in white on a side-saddle, whose face is also veiled, and two attendants on foot.”
“Are they very near?” said the curate.
“So near,” answered the landlord, “that here they come.”
Hearing this Dorothea covered her face, and Cardenio retreated into Don Quixote’s room, and they hardly had time to do so before the whole party the host had described entered the inn, and the four that were on horseback, who were of highbred appearance and bearing, dismounted, and came forward to take down the woman who rode on the side-saddle, and one of them taking her in his arms placed her in a chair that stood at the entrance of the room where Cardenio had hidden himself. All this time neither she nor they had removed their veils or spoken a word, only on sitting down on the chair the woman gave a deep sigh and let her arms fall like one that was ill and weak. The attendants on foot then led the horses away to the stable. Observing this the curate, curious to know who these people in such a dress and preserving such silence were, went to where the servants were standing and put the question to one of them, who answered him.
“Faith, sir, I cannot tell you who they are, I only know they seem to be people of distinction, particularly he who advanced to take the lady you saw in his arms; and I say so because all the rest show him respect, and nothing is done except what he directs and orders.”
“And the lady, who is she?” asked the curate.
“That I cannot tell you either,” said the servant, “for I have not seen her face all the way: I have indeed heard her sigh many times and utter such groans that she seems to be giving up the ghost every time; but it is no wonder if we do not know more than we have told you, as my comrade and I have only been in their company two days, for having met us on the road they begged and persuaded us to accompany them to Andalusia, promising to pay us well.”
“And have you heard any of them called by his name?” asked the curate.
“No, indeed,” replied the servant; “they all preserve a marvellous silence on the road, for not a sound is to be heard among them except the poor lady’s sighs and sobs, which make us pity her; and we feel sure that wherever it is she is going, it is against her will, and as far as one can judge from her dress she is a nun or, what is more likely, about to become one; and perhaps it is because taking the vows is not of her own free will, that she is so unhappy as she seems to be.”
“That may well be,” said the curate, and leaving them he returned to where Dorothea was, who, hearing the veiled lady sigh, moved by natural compassion drew near to her and said, “What are you suffering from, senora? If it be anything that women are accustomed and know how to relieve, I offer you my services with all my heart.”
To this the unhappy lady made no reply; and though Dorothea repeated her offers more earnestly she still kept silence, until the gentleman with the veil, who, the servant said, was obeyed by the rest, approached and said to Dorothea, “Do not give yourself the trouble, senora, of making any offers to that woman, for it is her way to give no thanks for anything that is done for her; and do not try to make her answer unless you want to hear some lie from her lips.”
“I have never told a lie,” was the immediate reply of her who had been silent until now; “on the contrary, it is because I am so truthful and so ignorant of lying devices that I am now in this miserable condition; and this I call you yourself to witness, for it is my unstained truth that has made you false and a liar.”
Cardenio heard these words clearly and distinctly, being quite close to the speaker, for there was only the door of Don Quixote’s room between them, and the instant he did so, uttering a loud exclamation he cried, “Good God! what is this I hear? What voice is this that has reached my ears?” Startled at the voice the lady turned her head; and not seeing the speaker she stood up and attempted to enter the room; observing which the gentleman held her back, preventing her from moving a step. In her agitation and sudden movement the silk with which she had covered her face fell off and disclosed a countenance of incomparable and marvellous beauty, but pale and terrified; for she kept turning her eyes, everywhere she could direct her gaze, with an eagerness that made her look as if she had lost her senses, and so marked that it excited the pity of Dorothea and all who beheld her, though they knew not what caused it. The gentleman grasped her firmly by the shoulders, and being so fully occupied with holding her back, he was unable to put a hand to his veil which was falling off, as it did at length entirely, and Dorothea, who was holding the lady in her arms, raising her eyes saw that he who likewise held her was her husband, Don Fernando. The instant she recognised him, with a prolonged plaintive cry drawn from the depths of her heart, she fell backwards fainting, and but for the barber being close by to catch her in his arms, she would have fallen completely to the ground. The curate at once hastened to uncover her face and throw water on it, and as he did so Don Fernando, for he it was who held the other in his arms, recognised her and stood as if death-stricken by the sight; not, however, relaxing his grasp of Luscinda, for it was she that was struggling to release herself from his hold, having recognised Cardenio by his voice, as he had recognised her. Cardenio also heard Dorothea’s cry as she fell fainting, and imagining that it came from his Luscinda burst forth in terror from the room, and the first thing he saw was Don Fernando with Luscinda in his arms. Don Fernando, too, knew Cardenio at once; and all three, Luscinda, Cardenio, and Dorothea, stood in silent amazement scarcely knowing what had happened to them.
They gazed at one another without speaking, Dorothea at Don Fernando, Don Fernando at Cardenio, Cardenio at Luscinda, and Luscinda at Cardenio. The first to break silence was Luscinda, who thus addressed Don Fernando: “Leave me, Senor Don Fernando, for the sake of what you owe to yourself; if no other reason will induce you, leave me to cling to the wall of which I am the ivy, to the support from which neither your importunities, nor your threats, nor your promises, nor your gifts have been able to detach me. See how Heaven, by ways strange and hidden from our sight, has brought me face to face with my true husband; and well you know by dear-bought experience that death alone will be able to efface him from my memory. May this plain declaration, then, lead you, as you can do nothing else, to turn your love into rage, your affection into resentment, and so to take my life; for if I yield it up in the presence of my beloved husband I count it well bestowed; it may be by my death he will be convinced that I kept my faith to him to the last moment of life.”
Meanwhile Dorothea had come to herself, and had heard Luscinda’s words, by means of which she divined who she was; but seeing that Don Fernando did not yet release her or reply to her, summoning up her resolution as well as she could she rose and knelt at his feet, and with a flood of bright and touching tears addressed him thus:
“If, my lord, the beams of that sun that thou holdest eclipsed in thine arms did not dazzle and rob thine eyes of sight thou wouldst have seen by this time that she who kneels at thy feet is, so long as thou wilt have it so, the unhappy and unfortunate Dorothea. I am that lowly peasant girl whom thou in thy goodness or for thy pleasure wouldst raise high enough to call herself thine; I am she who in the seclusion of innocence led a contented life until at the voice of thy importunity, and thy true and tender passion, as it seemed, she opened the gates of her modesty and surrendered to thee the keys of her liberty; a gift received by thee but thanklessly, as is clearly shown by my forced retreat to the place where thou dost find me, and by thy appearance under the circumstances in which I see thee. Nevertheless, I would not have thee suppose that I have come here driven by my shame; it is only grief and sorrow at seeing myself forgotten by thee that have led me. It was thy will to make me thine, and thou didst so follow thy will, that now, even though thou repentest, thou canst not help being mine. Bethink thee, my lord, the unsurpassable affection I bear thee may compensate for the beauty and noble birth for which thou wouldst desert me. Thou canst not be the fair Luscinda’s because thou art mine, nor can she be thine because she is Cardenio’s ; and it will be easier, remember, to bend thy will to love one who adores thee, than to lead one to love thee who abhors thee now. Thou didst address thyself to my simplicity, thou didst lay siege to my virtue, thou wert not ignorant of my station, well dost thou know how I yielded wholly to thy will; there is no ground or reason for thee to plead deception, and if it be so, as it is, and if thou art a Christian as thou art a gentleman, why dost thou by such subterfuges put off making me as happy at last as thou didst at first? And if thou wilt not have me for what I am, thy true and lawful wife, at least take and accept me as thy slave, for so long as I am thine I will count myself happy and fortunate. Do not by deserting me let my shame become the talk of the gossips in the streets; make not the old age of my parents miserable; for the loyal services they as faithful vassals have ever rendered thine are not deserving of such a return; and if thou thinkest it will debase thy blood to mingle it with mine, reflect that there is little or no nobility in the world that has not travelled the same road, and that in illustrious lineages it is not the woman’s blood that is of account; and, moreover, that true nobility consists in virtue, and if thou art wanting in that, refusing me what in justice thou owest me, then even I have higher claims to nobility than thine. To make an end, senor, these are my last words to thee: whether thou wilt, or wilt not, I am thy wife; witness thy words, which must not and ought not to be false, if thou dost pride thyself on that for want of which thou scornest me; witness the pledge which thou didst give me, and witness Heaven, which thou thyself didst call to witness the promise thou hadst made me; and if all this fail, thy own conscience will not fail to lift up its silent voice in the midst of all thy gaiety, and vindicate the truth of what I say and mar thy highest pleasure and enjoyment.”
All this and more the injured Dorothea delivered with such earnest feeling and such tears that all present, even those who came with Don Fernando, were constrained to join her in them. Don Fernando listened to her without replying, until, ceasing to speak, she gave way to such sobs and sighs that it must have been a heart of brass that was not softened by the sight of so great sorrow. Luscinda stood regarding her with no less compassion for her sufferings than admiration for her intelligence and beauty, and would have gone to her to say some words of comfort to her, but was prevented by Don Fernando’s grasp which held her fast. He, overwhelmed with confusion and astonishment, after regarding Dorothea for some moments with a fixed gaze, opened his arms, and, releasing Luscinda, exclaimed:
“Thou hast conquered, fair Dorothea, thou hast conquered, for it is impossible to have the heart to deny the united force of so many truths.”
Luscinda in her feebleness was on the point of falling to the ground when Don Fernando released her, but Cardenio, who stood near, having retreated behind Don Fernando to escape recognition, casting fear aside and regardless of what might happen, ran forward to support her, and said as he clasped her in his arms, “If Heaven in its compassion is willing to let thee rest at last, mistress of my heart, true, constant, and fair, nowhere canst thou rest more safely than in these arms that now receive thee, and received thee before when fortune permitted me to call thee mine.”
At these words Luscinda looked up at Cardenio, at first beginning to recognise him by his voice and then satisfying herself by her eyes that it was he, and hardly knowing what she did, and heedless of all considerations of decorum, she flung her arms around his neck and pressing her face close to his, said, “Yes, my dear lord, you are the true master of this your slave, even though adverse fate interpose again, and fresh dangers threaten this life that hangs on yours.”
A strange sight was this for Don Fernando and those that stood around, filled with surprise at an incident so unlooked for. Dorothea fancied that Don Fernando changed colour and looked as though he meant to take vengeance on Cardenio, for she observed him put his hand to his sword; and the instant the idea struck her, with wonderful quickness she clasped him round the knees, and kissing them and holding him so as to prevent his moving, she said, while her tears continued to flow, “What is it thou wouldst do, my only refuge, in this unforeseen event? Thou hast thy wife at thy feet, and she whom thou wouldst have for thy wife is in the arms of her husband: reflect whether it will be right for thee, whether it will be possible for thee to undo what Heaven has done, or whether it will be becoming in thee to seek to raise her to be thy mate who in spite of every obstacle, and strong in her truth and constancy, is before thine eyes, bathing with the tears of love the face and bosom of her lawful husband. For God’s sake I entreat of thee, for thine own I implore thee, let not this open manifestation rouse thy anger; but rather so calm it as to allow these two lovers to live in peace and quiet without any interference from thee so long as Heaven permits them; and in so doing thou wilt prove the generosity of thy lofty noble spirit, and the world shall see that with thee reason has more influence than passion.”
All the time Dorothea was speaking, Cardenio, though he held Luscinda in his arms, never took his eyes off Don Fernando, determined, if he saw him make any hostile movement, to try and defend himself and resist as best he could all who might assail him, though it should cost him his life. But now Don Fernando’s friends, as well as the curate and the barber, who had been present all the while, not forgetting the worthy Sancho Panza, ran forward and gathered round Don Fernando, entreating him to have regard for the tears of Dorothea, and not suffer her reasonable hopes to be disappointed, since, as they firmly believed, what she said was but the truth; and bidding him observe that it was not, as it might seem, by accident, but by a special disposition of Providence that they had all met in a place where no one could have expected a meeting. And the curate bade him remember that only death could part Luscinda from Cardenio; that even if some sword were to separate them they would think their death most happy; and that in a case that admitted of no remedy his wisest course was, by conquering and putting a constraint upon himself, to show a generous mind, and of his own accord suffer these two to enjoy the happiness Heaven had granted them. He bade him, too, turn his eyes upon the beauty of Dorothea and he would see that few if any could equal much less excel her; while to that beauty should be added her modesty and the surpassing love she bore him. But besides all this, he reminded him that if he prided himself on being a gentleman and a Christian, he could not do otherwise than keep his plighted word; and that in doing so he would obey God and meet the approval of all sensible people, who know and recognised it to be the privilege of beauty, even in one of humble birth, provided virtue accompany it, to be able to raise itself to the level of any rank, without any slur upon him who places it upon an equality with himself; and furthermore that when the potent sway of passion asserts itself, so long as there be no mixture of sin in it, he is not to be blamed who gives way to it.
To be brief, they added to these such other forcible arguments that Don Fernando’s manly heart, being after all nourished by noble blood, was touched, and yielded to the truth which, even had he wished it, he could not gainsay; and he showed his submission, and acceptance of the good advice that had been offered to him, by stooping down and embracing Dorothea, saying to her, “Rise, dear lady, it is not right that what I hold in my heart should be kneeling at my feet; and if until now I have shown no sign of what I own, it may have been by Heaven’s decree in order that, seeing the constancy with which you love me, I may learn to value you as you deserve. What I entreat of you is that you reproach me not with my transgression and grievous wrong-doing; for the same cause and force that drove me to make you mine impelled me to struggle against being yours; and to prove this, turn and look at the eyes of the now happy Luscinda, and you will see in them an excuse for all my errors: and as she has found and gained the object of her desires, and I have found in you what satisfies all my wishes, may she live in peace and contentment as many happy years with her Cardenio, as on my knees I pray Heaven to allow me to live with my Dorothea;” and with these words he once more embraced her and pressed his face to hers with so much tenderness that he had to take great heed to keep his tears from completing the proof of his love and repentance in the sight of all. Not so Luscinda, and Cardenio, and almost all the others, for they shed so many tears, some in their own happiness, some at that of the others, that one would have supposed a heavy calamity had fallen upon them all. Even Sancho Panza was weeping; though afterwards he said he only wept because he saw that Dorothea was not as he fancied the queen Micomicona, of whom he expected such great favours. Their wonder as well as their weeping lasted some time, and then Cardenio and Luscinda went and fell on their knees before Don Fernando, returning him thanks for the favour he had rendered them in language so grateful that he knew not how to answer them, and raising them up embraced them with every mark of affection and courtesy.
He then asked Dorothea how she had managed to reach a place so far removed from her own home, and she in a few fitting words told all that she had previously related to Cardenio, with which Don Fernando and his companions were so delighted that they wished the story had been longer; so charmingly did Dorothea describe her misadventures. When she had finished Don Fernando recounted what had befallen him in the city after he had found in Luscinda’s bosom the paper in which she declared that she was Cardenio’s wife, and never could be his. He said he meant to kill her, and would have done so had he not been prevented by her parents, and that he quitted the house full of rage and shame, and resolved to avenge himself when a more convenient opportunity should offer. The next day he learned that Luscinda had disappeared from her father’s house, and that no one could tell whither she had gone. Finally, at the end of some months he ascertained that she was in a convent and meant to remain there all the rest of her life, if she were not to share it with Cardenio; and as soon as he had learned this, taking these three gentlemen as his companions, he arrived at the place where she was, but avoided speaking to her, fearing that if it were known he was there stricter precautions would be taken in the convent; and watching a time when the porter’s lodge was open he left two to guard the gate, and he and the other entered the convent in quest of Luscinda, whom they found in the cloisters in conversation with one of the nuns, and carrying her off without giving her time to resist, they reached a place with her where they provided themselves with what they required for taking her away; all which they were able to do in complete safety, as the convent was in the country at a considerable distance from the city. He added that when Luscinda found herself in his power she lost all consciousness, and after returning to herself did nothing but weep and sigh without speaking a word; and thus in silence and tears they reached that inn, which for him was reaching heaven where all the mischances of earth are over and at an end.
 
这时，站在客店门口的店主说：
“来了一队贵客。如果他们在这儿歇脚，咱们可就热闹了。”
“是什么人？”卡德尼奥问。
“四个人骑着短镫马，”店主说，“手持长矛和皮盾，头上都蒙着黑罩。还有一个穿白衣服的女人坐在靠背马鞍上，与他们同行，脑袋上也戴着头罩。另外有两个步行的伙计。”
“他们已经走得很近了吗？”神甫问。
“太近了，马上就要到了。”店主回答。
听到这话，多罗特亚又把脸蒙上了，卡德尼奥也走进了唐吉诃德的那个房间。店主说的那些人进来后，客店里几乎没地方了。四个骑马的人下了马，看样子都是一表人才。他们又去帮那个女人下马，其中一人张开双臂，把那女人抱了下来，放在卡德尼奥躲着的那个房间门口的一把椅子上。那个女人和那几个人始终都没有把头罩摘掉，也不说一句话。只有那个女人在椅子上坐下后，发出了一声深深的叹息，把胳膊垂了下来，宛如一个萎靡不振的病人。两个伙计把马牵到马厩去了。
看到这种情况，神甫很想知道这些如此装束、一言不发的人到底是干什么的。于是他跟着两个伙计，向其中一人打听。那人回答说：
“天哪，大人，我无法告诉您他们到底是什么人。我只知道他们显得很有身份，特别是把女人从马上抱下来的那个人显得更有身份，其他人都对他很尊敬，完全按照他的吩咐行事。”
“那女人是谁？”神甫又问。
“这我也没法告诉你，”那个伙计说，“一路上我始终没有看到过她的面孔。不过，我确实听到她叹了很多次气，每叹一次气都仿佛要死过去似的。我们只知道我们看到的这些。这也没什么可奇怪的，我和我的伙伴是两天前才开始与他们同行的。我们在路上碰到了他们，他们连求带劝，要我们陪他们到安达卢西亚去，答应给我们很高的报酬。”
“你听说他们叫什么名字吗？”神甫问。
“一点儿也没听到。”那个伙计说，“因为大家走路都不说话。这倒有点儿奇怪，因为只能听到那个可怜女人唉声叹气，我们都觉得她挺可怜。我们猜她一定是被迫到某个地方去。从装束上可以看出她是个修女，或者要当修女了，这是肯定的。
很可能她当修女并不是出于本意，所以显得很伤心。”
“都有可能。”神甫说。
神甫离开伙计，回到多罗特亚那儿。多罗特亚听到那蒙面女人叹息，不禁动了恻隐之心。她来到那女人身边，对她说：
“您哪儿不舒服，夫人？如果是女人常得的病，而且我又有治这种病的经验，我很愿意为您效劳。”
可是可怜的女人仍然不开口。尽管多罗特亚一再表示愿意帮忙，那女人还是保持沉默。随后，来了一位蒙面男人，也就是伙计说的那个发号施令的人。他对多罗特亚说：
“您不必费心了，她没有对别人为她做的事表示感谢的习惯，除了从她嘴里听到谎言，您别想从她那儿得到什么报答。”
“我从来不说谎，”那女人直到这时才开了口，“相反，正因为我真心实意，不做假，才落到现在这倒霉地步。你自己明白，正因为我真诚，你才虚伪和狡诈。”
这些话卡德尼奥听得一清二楚。他就在唐吉诃德的房间里，与那女人只有一门之隔，仿佛这些话就是在他身边说的。
他大声说道：
“上帝保佑！我听见什么了？我听到的是谁的声音？”
那个女人听见声音回过头来，却没看到人。她吓坏了，站起来就往房间里跑。那个男人看见了，立刻抓住她，使她动弹不得。那女人在慌乱和不安中弄掉了盖在头上的绸子，露出了自己的脸，虽然显得苍白和不安，却是一张美丽无比的脸。她的眼睛迅速向一切可以看到的地方张望，神态似乎有些不正常。她那副表情让多罗特亚和所有见到她的人都觉得她很可怜。那个男人从背后紧紧抓着她，自己头上的头罩都要掉了，也顾不上去扶一下。多罗特亚正搂着那女人。她抬头一看，发现把她同那女人一齐抱住的人竟是自己的丈夫费尔南多。多罗特亚刚一认出他来，就从内心深处发出了一声长长的哀叹，脑袋一阵晕眩，仰面向后倒去。若不是旁边的理发师及时抓住了她的胳膊，她就会摔倒在地了。
神甫立刻站起来拿掉多罗特亚的头罩，往她脸上喷水。神甫刚一拿掉多罗特亚的头罩，费尔南多就认出了她，差点儿被吓死。他呆若木鸡，不过并没有因此而放开抓着那个女人的手。而在费尔南多怀里挣扎的女人正是卢辛达。她已经听见了卡德尼奥的叹息，卡德尼奥现在也认出了她。卡德尼奥刚才听到多罗特亚的那声哀叹，以为那是卢辛达在哀叹，便慌忙跑出了房间。他首先看到费尔南多正抱着卢辛达。费尔南多也马上认出了卡德尼奥。卢辛达、卡德尼奥和多罗特亚面面相觑，不知道这是怎么一回事。
大家都默不作声地互相看着。多罗特亚看着费尔南多，费尔南多看着卡德尼奥，卡德尼奥看着卢辛达，卢辛达又看着卡德尼奥。首先打破沉默的是卢辛达。她对费尔南多说：
“放开我，费尔南多大人，请你自重，不要忘了自己的身份。你让我接近那堵墙吧，我是那墙上的常春藤。我依附于它，无论你骚扰威胁还是山盟海誓、慷慨赠与，都不能把我们分开。你看到了，老天通过我们看不见的神奇途径，又把我真正的丈夫送到了我面前。你经过百般周折，也该知道了，只有死亡才足以把他从我的记忆里抹掉。这些明确无误的事实只能让你的爱心变成疯狂，让你的好感变成厌恶。结束我的生命吧。如果我能在我的好丈夫面前献出我的生命，我觉得死得其所。也许我的死能够证明我对丈夫的忠诚。”
多罗特亚一直在听卢辛达说话，现在她才明白眼前这个人到底是谁。她见费尔南多还抓着卢辛达不松手，对卢辛达的话也置之不理，就全力挣脱出来，然后跪在费尔南多脚下，流着泪说道：
“我的大人，如果你怀中那蔽日的昏光没弄花你的眼睛，你就该看见，跪在你面前的是不幸的多罗特亚。如果你不给她幸福，她就不会幸福。我就是那个卑微的农家女子。你曾大发慈悲，或者一时高兴，想抬举我做你的妻子。我过去深居闺阁，无忧无虑，直到后来，在你似乎正当的纠缠骚扰下，向你敞开了我贞洁的大门，把我的自由的钥匙交给了你，以身相许，结果得到的却是忘恩负义。我来到这个地方，落到这种地步，实在是迫不得已。尽管这样，我也不愿意让你错以为我是忍辱到此，是被你遗弃的痛苦和悲伤把我带到了这里。你当初想让我做你的人，现在你虽然不再想这样，但也不可能不属于我了。
“看一看吧，我的大人，我对你的真心实意足以抵消你所喜欢的卢辛达的美貌和雍容。你不能属于美丽的卢辛达，你是我的；她也不能属于你，她是卡德尼奥的。如果你注意到了，你就会发现，对于你来说，把你的爱转向对你尊崇的人，要比让讨厌你的女人真心爱你容易得多。你大献殷勤，使我放松了自己；你百般乞求，得到了我的童身；你并不是不知道我的地位；你十分清楚，我是如何委身于你的。你没有理由说自己是受了欺骗。你作为一个基督教徒和男人，为什么要百般寻找借口推托，没有像过去说的那样，让我最终成为幸福的人呢？即使你由于我现在这种样子不爱我了，我仍是你真正的合法妻子，你至少还得爱我，把我当女奴接纳。我只有成为你的妻子，才会觉得自己是幸运的人。
“你不要抛弃我，让我成为街头巷尾被人们羞辱的话题。你不要害得我父母无法安度晚年，他们一直忠心为你服务，是你的好臣民，不该受到这样的待遇。如果你觉得你我的血混在一起就搞乱了你的血缘，你不妨想想世上很少有或根本没有哪个贵族的血缘是没被搀杂的。女人的血质并不是影响血统高贵的因素，相反，真正的高贵在于它的道德。如果你拒绝履行你应该对我做的事情，缺乏应有的道德，我的血统就比你的血统高贵。总之一句话，大人，我最后要对你说的就是：不管你愿意与否，我都是你的妻子。这有你的话为证。如果你自以为高贵，并且因此而鄙视我，就不应该食言。这里有你写的字据为证，有天为证，你对我许诺时曾指天为誓。如果这些都不算数，你的良心也会在你的快乐之中发出无声的呼喊，维护我所说的这个真理，使你在尽情的欢乐中总是惴惴不安。”
可怜的多罗特亚声泪俱下的陈述使费尔南多的随行人员和所有在场的人都为之动容。费尔南多一言不发地听多罗特亚说话。多罗特亚说完后不禁哀声饮泣，心肠再硬的人也不会无动于衷。卢辛达也一直在看着多罗特亚，既对她的不幸深表同情，又为她的机敏和美貌而惊讶。卢辛达想过去安慰多罗特亚几句话，无奈费尔南多依然抓着她的胳膊，使她不能动弹。费尔南多内心也充满不安和恐惧。他一直盯着多罗特亚，过了很长时间，终于放开了卢辛达，说道：
“你赢了，美丽的多罗特亚，你赢了。你这种真情是无法拒绝的。”
费尔南多一放开手，本来就感到晕眩的卢辛达差点儿倒在地上。幸亏卡德尼奥就在旁边，他一直站在费尔南多身后，不愿意让他认出自己来。这时卡德尼奥忘记了恐惧，不顾一切地冲过来扶住了卢辛达，抓住她的胳膊，对她说：
“老天若有情，会让你得到安宁的，我坚贞美丽的夫人。你在任何地方都不会比在我的怀里感到安全。你曾投身于我的怀抱，是命运让你成为我的妻子。”
听到这话，卢辛达把目光投到卡德尼奥身上。她先是从声音上认出了卡德尼奥，又看清确实是他，便不顾往日的庄重，忘情地搂住了卡德尼奥的脖子，把自己的脸贴在卡德尼奥的脸上，对他说：
“是你，我的大人，即使命途多舛，这个依附于你的生命再受到威胁，你仍是这个女囚的真正主人。”
费尔南多和所有在场的人看到这奇怪的场景都怔住了。多罗特亚觉得费尔南多脸上已经失去了血色，她看见费尔南多伸手去抽短剑，看样子是要跟卡德尼奥拼命，便赶紧抱住费尔南多的双膝，让他的腿动弹不得，而且不停地流着泪说：
“我唯一的支柱呀，在这个意想不到的时刻，你究竟想干什么？你的妻子就在你的脚下，而你想强占的那个女人正在她丈夫的怀里。你想打破老天的安排，你觉得对不对，而且可能不可能呢？她置一切干扰于不顾，当着你的面，把爱情的烈酒洒在了她真正丈夫的脸庞和胸膛上，证实了她的坚贞爱情。你想与她结发为妻，你觉得合适吗？看在上帝份上，我哀求你；看在你自己的身份上，我乞求你；现在事情已经真相大白，你不仅不该怒从心头起，相反倒应该息事宁人，让这一对有情人在天赐的良辰顺利地结成眷属，这样才能显示出你高贵的宽广胸怀，让大家看到你的理智战胜了欲望。”
在多罗特亚说话的时候，卡德尼奥虽然双手搂着卢辛达，眼睛却一直没有离开费尔南多。如果费尔南多有什么可能会伤害他的动作，他一定会奋起自卫，竭尽全力反击可能会伤害他的行动，即使牺牲了生命也在所不惜。不过这时候，费尔南多的朋友们、神甫和理发师都赶来了，连老好人桑乔也来了。大家围着费尔南多，请求他顾惜多罗特亚的眼泪。他们相信多罗特亚刚才讲的都是真的，不要辜负了她如此合理的愿望，让他想想，大家在这个地方意外地相逢，看来不是偶然的，而是老天的刻意安排。神甫还提醒说，看来只有死亡才能把卢辛达和卡德尼奥分开，而且，即使短剑的锋刃可以把他们分开，他们也会把死亡视为最大的幸福。在事情已经无可挽回的情况下，克制自己，表现出宽广的胸怀，诚心诚意地让他们享受老天赐予他们的欢乐，才算是勇气。只要他把自己的眼光放在美丽的多罗特亚身上，就会发现，很少有人或者根本没有人可以与她媲美，况且多罗特亚爱他是如此谦恭，一片赤诚。更重要的是，如果他还自认为是个男子汉，是基督教徒，就必须履行自己的诺言。履行了自己的诺言，就是向上帝履行诺言，让所有规矩的人都满意。他们都知道，美貌是一个人的优越长处。即使她出身卑微，也可以上升到贵族的地位，并且不受抬举她的人歧视。爱情的不变规律里容不得任何罪恶，只要遵守这个规律，就摆脱了罪恶。
费尔南多毕竟是个贵族，有着宽广的胸怀，听了大家这番说，他的心软了下来，只得面对现实，这个现实是他无法否认的。他只好服从大家的好言相劝，蹲下身来抱住多罗特亚，对她说：
“站起来吧，我的夫人，让我的宝贝跪在我的脚下太不合理了。在此之前我没有对你作出明确表示，大概是老天见你忠实地热爱我，才有意让我知道应当如何珍视你。我请求你不要责备我的过错和我的粗心大意。当初我不愿意让我属于你，而现在我以同样的决心接受了你。如果你转过头去，看看卢辛达那双快乐的眼睛，从那双眼睛里看到她已经原谅了我的所有过错，你就会知道这些都是真的。她已经得到了她希望得到的东西，我也从你这儿得到了我的东西。她可以放心地同她的卡德尼奥天长地久，我也会乞求老天让我同我的多罗特亚生活在一起。”
说完，费尔南多又抱住了多罗特亚，把自己的脸深情地贴到她脸上，极力不让自己的眼泪泄露他无可置疑的爱怜与悔恨。卢辛达和卡德尼奥流的却不是这种眼泪，几乎所有在场的人也都是如此。大家热泪盈眶，有的人为自己高兴，有的人为别人高兴，可是样子就好像是遭了什么大难似的。桑乔也哭了，不过他哭是因为他这才知道，多罗特亚并不像他想的那样是什么米科米科娜公主，他本来指望从她那儿得到很多赏赐呢。大家感到一阵惊讶，而后，卡德尼奥和卢辛达又跪在费尔南多面前，感谢费尔南多成全了他们。他们言辞得体，费尔南多竟不知如何回答是好。他也显得非常友好，非常有礼貌地把他们扶了起来，又问多罗特亚如何到了这个如此遥远的地方。她简明扼要地把原来对卡德尼奥讲过的那些事又讲了一遍，费尔南多和他的随行人员对此都很感兴趣，多罗特亚把自己的不幸讲得太生动了，他们都希望她讲得再长些。
多罗特亚讲完后，费尔南多接着讲了他发现卢辛达怀里有张纸条，说她是卡德尼奥的妻子，因而不能再属于他等等事情。费尔南多说他想杀了卢辛达，若不是她父母阻止，他真会这样做。后来，他既沮丧又羞愧地离开了家，决心找个更合适的机会报复。第二天，他得知卢辛达已经离开了父母家，去向不明。几个月后，他听说卢辛达在一个修道院里，还说如果不能同卡德尼奥一起生活，她就永远待在修道院里。费尔南多了解到这些情况后，就找了那三个人陪同他来到了修道院。不过他并没有告诉卢辛达，怕她知道后会有所防备，只是在外面等待。有一天，修道院的门开着，他就让两个人守住大门，自己带着一个人进去找卢辛达，发现卢辛达正在回廊里同一个修女说话。他不容分说，就把卢辛达抢走了。他们带她到了一个地方，做了一些准备。那个修道院地处原野，离村镇很远，因而一切都进行得很顺利。卢辛达发现自己到了费尔南多手里，顿时晕死过去，醒来后，也只是边哭边哀叹，一句话也不说。就这样，他们由沉默和眼泪伴随着来到了这个客店。算是老天开眼，世间的所有不幸都在这里结束了。
Part 1 Chapter 37
To all this Sancho listened with no little sorrow at heart to see how his hopes of dignity were fading away and vanishing in smoke, and how the fair Princess Micomicona had turned into Dorothea, and the giant into Don Fernando, while his master was sleeping tranquilly, totally unconscious of all that had come to pass. Dorothea was unable to persuade herself that her present happiness was not all a dream; Cardenio was in a similar state of mind, and Luscinda’s thoughts ran in the same direction. Don Fernando gave thanks to Heaven for the favour shown to him and for having been rescued from the intricate labyrinth in which he had been brought so near the destruction of his good name and of his soul; and in short everybody in the inn was full of contentment and satisfaction at the happy issue of such a complicated and hopeless business. The curate as a sensible man made sound reflections upon the whole affair, and congratulated each upon his good fortune; but the one that was in the highest spirits and good humour was the landlady, because of the promise Cardenio and the curate had given her to pay for all the losses and damage she had sustained through Don Quixote’s means. Sancho, as has been already said, was the only one who was distressed, unhappy, and dejected; and so with a long face he went in to his master, who had just awoke, and said to him:
“Sir Rueful Countenance, your worship may as well sleep on as much as you like, without troubling yourself about killing any giant or restoring her kingdom to the princess; for that is all over and settled now.”
“I should think it was,” replied Don Quixote, “for I have had the most prodigious and stupendous battle with the giant that I ever remember having had all the days of my life; and with one back-stroke — swish! — I brought his head tumbling to the ground, and so much blood gushed forth from him that it ran in rivulets over the earth like water.”
“Like red wine, your worship had better say,” replied Sancho; “for I would have you know, if you don’t know it, that the dead giant is a hacked wine-skin, and the blood four-and-twenty gallons of red wine that it had in its belly, and the cut-off head is the bitch that bore me; and the devil take it all.”
“What art thou talking about, fool?” said Don Quixote; “art thou in thy senses?”
“Let your worship get up,” said Sancho, “and you will see the nice business you have made of it, and what we have to pay; and you will see the queen turned into a private lady called Dorothea, and other things that will astonish you, if you understand them.”
“I shall not be surprised at anything of the kind,” returned Don Quixote; “for if thou dost remember the last time we were here I told thee that everything that happened here was a matter of enchantment, and it would be no wonder if it were the same now.”
“I could believe all that,” replied Sancho, “if my blanketing was the same sort of thing also; only it wasn’t, but real and genuine; for I saw the landlord, Who is here to-day, holding one end of the blanket and jerking me up to the skies very neatly and smartly, and with as much laughter as strength; and when it comes to be a case of knowing people, I hold for my part, simple and sinner as I am, that there is no enchantment about it at all, but a great deal of bruising and bad luck.”
“Well, well, God will give a remedy,” said Don Quixote; “hand me my clothes and let me go out, for I want to see these transformations and things thou speakest of.”
Sancho fetched him his clothes; and while he was dressing, the curate gave Don Fernando and the others present an account of Don Quixote’s madness and of the stratagem they had made use of to withdraw him from that Pena Pobre where he fancied himself stationed because of his lady’s scorn. He described to them also nearly all the adventures that Sancho had mentioned, at which they marvelled and laughed not a little, thinking it, as all did, the strangest form of madness a crazy intellect could be capable of. But now, the curate said, that the lady Dorothea’s good fortune prevented her from proceeding with their purpose, it would be necessary to devise or discover some other way of getting him home.
Cardenio proposed to carry out the scheme they had begun, and suggested that Luscinda would act and support Dorothea’s part sufficiently well.
“No,” said Don Fernando, “that must not be, for I want Dorothea to follow out this idea of hers; and if the worthy gentleman’s village is not very far off, I shall be happy if I can do anything for his relief.”
“It is not more than two days’ journey from this,” said the curate.
“Even if it were more,” said Don Fernando, “I would gladly travel so far for the sake of doing so good a work.
“At this moment Don Quixote came out in full panoply, with Mambrino’s helmet, all dinted as it was, on his head, his buckler on his arm, and leaning on his staff or pike. The strange figure he presented filled Don Fernando and the rest with amazement as they contemplated his lean yellow face half a league long, his armour of all sorts, and the solemnity of his deportment. They stood silent waiting to see what he would say, and he, fixing his eyes on the air Dorothea, addressed her with great gravity and composure:
“I am informed, fair lady, by my squire here that your greatness has been annihilated and your being abolished, since, from a queen and lady of high degree as you used to be, you have been turned into a private maiden. If this has been done by the command of the magician king your father, through fear that I should not afford you the aid you need and are entitled to, I may tell you he did not know and does not know half the mass, and was little versed in the annals of chivalry; for, if he had read and gone through them as attentively and deliberately as I have, he would have found at every turn that knights of less renown than mine have accomplished things more difficult: it is no great matter to kill a whelp of a giant, however arrogant he may be; for it is not many hours since I myself was engaged with one, and — I will not speak of it, that they may not say I am lying; time, however, that reveals all, will tell the tale when we least expect it.”
“You were engaged with a couple of wine-skins, and not a giant,” said the landlord at this; but Don Fernando told him to hold his tongue and on no account interrupt Don Quixote, who continued, “I say in conclusion, high and disinherited lady, that if your father has brought about this metamorphosis in your person for the reason I have mentioned, you ought not to attach any importance to it; for there is no peril on earth through which my sword will not force a way, and with it, before many days are over, I will bring your enemy’s head to the ground and place on yours the crown of your kingdom.”
Don Quixote said no more, and waited for the reply of the princess, who aware of Don Fernando’s determination to carry on the deception until Don Quixote had been conveyed to his home, with great ease of manner and gravity made answer, “Whoever told you, valiant Knight of the Rueful Countenance, that I had undergone any change or transformation did not tell you the truth, for I am the same as I was yesterday. It is true that certain strokes of good fortune, that have given me more than I could have hoped for, have made some alteration in me; but I have not therefore ceased to be what I was before, or to entertain the same desire I have had all through of availing myself of the might of your valiant and invincible arm. And so, senor, let your goodness reinstate the father that begot me in your good opinion, and be assured that he was a wise and prudent man, since by his craft he found out such a sure and easy way of remedying my misfortune; for I believe, senor, that had it not been for you I should never have lit upon the good fortune I now possess; and in this I am saying what is perfectly true; as most of these gentlemen who are present can fully testify. All that remains is to set out on our journey to-morrow, for to-day we could not make much way; and for the rest of the happy result I am looking forward to, I trust to God and the valour of your heart.”
So said the sprightly Dorothea, and on hearing her Don Quixote turned to Sancho, and said to him, with an angry air, “I declare now, little Sancho, thou art the greatest little villain in Spain. Say, thief and vagabond, hast thou not just now told me that this princess had been turned into a maiden called Dorothea, and that the head which I am persuaded I cut off from a giant was the bitch that bore thee, and other nonsense that put me in the greatest perplexity I have ever been in all my life? I vow” (and here he looked to heaven and ground his teeth) “I have a mind to play the mischief with thee, in a way that will teach sense for the future to all lying squires of knights-errant in the world.”
“Let your worship be calm, senor,” returned Sancho, “for it may well be that I have been mistaken as to the change of the lady princess Micomicona; but as to the giant’s head, or at least as to the piercing of the wine-skins, and the blood being red wine, I make no mistake, as sure as there is a God; because the wounded skins are there at the head of your worship’s bed, and the wine has made a lake of the room; if not you will see when the eggs come to be fried; I mean when his worship the landlord calls for all the damages: for the rest, I am heartily glad that her ladyship the queen is as she was, for it concerns me as much as anyone.”
“I tell thee again, Sancho, thou art a fool,” said Don Quixote; “forgive me, and that will do.”
“That will do,” said Don Fernando; “let us say no more about it; and as her ladyship the princess proposes to set out to-morrow because it is too late to-day, so be it, and we will pass the night in pleasant conversation, and to-morrow we will all accompany Senor Don Quixote; for we wish to witness the valiant and unparalleled achievements he is about to perform in the course of this mighty enterprise which he has undertaken.”
“It is I who shall wait upon and accompany you,” said Don Quixote; “and I am much gratified by the favour that is bestowed upon me, and the good opinion entertained of me, which I shall strive to justify or it shall cost me my life, or even more, if it can possibly cost me more.”
Many were the compliments and expressions of politeness that passed between Don Quixote and Don Fernando; but they were brought to an end by a traveller who at this moment entered the inn, and who seemed from his attire to be a Christian lately come from the country of the Moors, for he was dressed in a short-skirted coat of blue cloth with half-sleeves and without a collar; his breeches were also of blue cloth, and his cap of the same colour, and he wore yellow buskins and had a Moorish cutlass slung from a baldric across his breast. Behind him, mounted upon an ass, there came a woman dressed in Moorish fashion, with her face veiled and a scarf on her head, and wearing a little brocaded cap, and a mantle that covered her from her shoulders to her feet. The man was of a robust and well-proportioned frame, in age a little over forty, rather swarthy in complexion, with long moustaches and a full beard, and, in short, his appearance was such that if he had been well dressed he would have been taken for a person of quality and good birth. On entering he asked for a room, and when they told him there was none in the inn he seemed distressed, and approaching her who by her dress seemed to be a Moor he her down from saddle in his arms. Luscinda, Dorothea, the landlady, her daughter and Maritornes, attracted by the strange, and to them entirely new costume, gathered round her; and Dorothea, who was always kindly, courteous, and quick-witted, perceiving that both she and the man who had brought her were annoyed at not finding a room, said to her, “Do not be put out, senora, by the discomfort and want of luxuries here, for it is the way of road-side inns to be without them; still, if you will be pleased to share our lodging with us (pointing to Luscinda) perhaps you will have found worse accommodation in the course of your journey.”
To this the veiled lady made no reply; all she did was to rise from her seat, crossing her hands upon her bosom, bowing her head and bending her body as a sign that she returned thanks. From her silence they concluded that she must be a Moor and unable to speak a Christian tongue.
At this moment the captive came up, having been until now otherwise engaged, and seeing that they all stood round his companion and that she made no reply to what they addressed to her, he said, “Ladies, this damsel hardly understands my language and can speak none but that of her own country, for which reason she does not and cannot answer what has been asked of her.”
“Nothing has been asked of her,” returned Luscinda; “she has only been offered our company for this evening and a share of the quarters we occupy, where she shall be made as comfortable as the circumstances allow, with the good-will we are bound to show all strangers that stand in need of it, especially if it be a woman to whom the service is rendered.”
“On her part and my own, senora,” replied the captive, “I kiss your hands, and I esteem highly, as I ought, the favour you have offered, which, on such an occasion and coming from persons of your appearance, is, it is plain to see, a very great one.”
“Tell me, senor,” said Dorothea, “is this lady a Christian or a Moor? for her dress and her silence lead us to imagine that she is what we could wish she was not.”
“In dress and outwardly,” said he, “she is a Moor, but at heart she is a thoroughly good Christian, for she has the greatest desire to become one.”
“Then she has not been baptised?” returned Luscinda.
“There has been no opportunity for that,” replied the captive, “since she left Algiers, her native country and home; and up to the present she has not found herself in any such imminent danger of death as to make it necessary to baptise her before she has been instructed in all the ceremonies our holy mother Church ordains; but, please God, ere long she shall be baptised with the solemnity befitting her which is higher than her dress or mine indicates.”
By these words he excited a desire in all who heard him, to know who the Moorish lady and the captive were, but no one liked to ask just then, seeing that it was a fitter moment for helping them to rest themselves than for questioning them about their lives. Dorothea took the Moorish lady by the hand and leading her to a seat beside herself, requested her to remove her veil. She looked at the captive as if to ask him what they meant and what she was to do. He said to her in Arabic that they asked her to take off her veil, and thereupon she removed it and disclosed a countenance so lovely, that to Dorothea she seemed more beautiful than Luscinda, and to Luscinda more beautiful than Dorothea, and all the bystanders felt that if any beauty could compare with theirs it was the Moorish lady’s , and there were even those who were inclined to give it somewhat the preference. And as it is the privilege and charm of beauty to win the heart and secure good-will, all forthwith became eager to show kindness and attention to the lovely Moor.
Don Fernando asked the captive what her name was, and he replied that it was Lela Zoraida; but the instant she heard him, she guessed what the Christian had asked, and said hastily, with some displeasure and energy, “No, not Zoraida; Maria, Maria!” giving them to understand that she was called “Maria” and not “Zoraida.” These words, and the touching earnestness with which she uttered them, drew more than one tear from some of the listeners, particularly the women, who are by nature tender-hearted and compassionate. Luscinda embraced her affectionately, saying, “Yes, yes, Maria, Maria,” to which the Moor replied, “Yes, yes, Maria; Zoraida macange,” which means “not Zoraida.”
Night was now approaching, and by the orders of those who accompanied Don Fernando the landlord had taken care and pains to prepare for them the best supper that was in his power. The hour therefore having arrived they all took their seats at a long table like a refectory one, for round or square table there was none in the inn, and the seat of honour at the head of it, though he was for refusing it, they assigned to Don Quixote, who desired the lady Micomicona to place herself by his side, as he was her protector. Luscinda and Zoraida took their places next her, opposite to them were Don Fernando and Cardenio, and next the captive and the other gentlemen, and by the side of the ladies, the curate and the barber. And so they supped in high enjoyment, which was increased when they observed Don Quixote leave off eating, and, moved by an impulse like that which made him deliver himself at such length when he supped with the goatherds, begin to address them:
“Verily, gentlemen, if we reflect upon it, great and marvellous are the things they see, who make profession of the order of knight-errantry. Say, what being is there in this world, who entering the gate of this castle at this moment, and seeing us as we are here, would suppose or imagine us to be what we are? Who would say that this lady who is beside me was the great queen that we all know her to be, or that I am that Knight of the Rueful Countenance, trumpeted far and wide by the mouth of Fame? Now, there can be no doubt that this art and calling surpasses all those that mankind has invented, and is the more deserving of being held in honour in proportion as it is the more exposed to peril. Away with those who assert that letters have the preeminence over arms; I will tell them, whosoever they may be, that they know not what they say. For the reason which such persons commonly assign, and upon which they chiefly rest, is, that the labours of the mind are greater than those of the body, and that arms give employment to the body alone; as if the calling were a porter’s trade, for which nothing more is required than sturdy strength; or as if, in what we who profess them call arms, there were not included acts of vigour for the execution of which high intelligence is requisite; or as if the soul of the warrior, when he has an army, or the defence of a city under his care, did not exert itself as much by mind as by body. Nay; see whether by bodily strength it be possible to learn or divine the intentions of the enemy, his plans, stratagems, or obstacles, or to ward off impending mischief; for all these are the work of the mind, and in them the body has no share whatever. Since, therefore, arms have need of the mind, as much as letters, let us see now which of the two minds, that of the man of letters or that of the warrior, has most to do; and this will be seen by the end and goal that each seeks to attain; for that purpose is the more estimable which has for its aim the nobler object. The end and goal of letters — I am not speaking now of divine letters, the aim of which is to raise and direct the soul to Heaven; for with an end so infinite no other can be compared — I speak of human letters, the end of which is to establish distributive justice, give to every man that which is his, and see and take care that good laws are observed: an end undoubtedly noble, lofty, and deserving of high praise, but not such as should be given to that sought by arms, which have for their end and object peace, the greatest boon that men can desire in this life. The first good news the world and mankind received was that which the angels announced on the night that was our day, when they sang in the air, ‘Glory to God in the highest, and peace on earth to men of good-will;’ and the salutation which the great Master of heaven and earth taught his disciples and chosen followers when they entered any house, was to say, ‘Peace be on this house;’ and many other times he said to them, ‘My peace I give unto you, my peace I leave you, peace be with you;’ a jewel and a precious gift given and left by such a hand: a jewel without which there can be no happiness either on earth or in heaven. This peace is the true end of war; and war is only another name for arms. This, then, being admitted, that the end of war is peace, and that so far it has the advantage of the end of letters, let us turn to the bodily labours of the man of letters, and those of him who follows the profession of arms, and see which are the greater.”
Don Quixote delivered his discourse in such a manner and in such correct language, that for the time being he made it impossible for any of his hearers to consider him a madman; on the contrary, as they were mostly gentlemen, to whom arms are an appurtenance by birth, they listened to him with great pleasure as he continued: “Here, then, I say is what the student has to undergo; first of all poverty: not that all are poor, but to put the case as strongly as possible: and when I have said that he endures poverty, I think nothing more need be said about his hard fortune, for he who is poor has no share of the good things of life. This poverty he suffers from in various ways, hunger, or cold, or nakedness, or all together; but for all that it is not so extreme but that he gets something to eat, though it may be at somewhat unseasonable hours and from the leavings of the rich; for the greatest misery of the student is what they themselves call ‘going out for soup,’ and there is always some neighbour’s brazier or hearth for them, which, if it does not warm, at least tempers the cold to them, and lastly, they sleep comfortably at night under a roof. I will not go into other particulars, as for example want of shirts, and no superabundance of shoes, thin and threadbare garments, and gorging themselves to surfeit in their voracity when good luck has treated them to a banquet of some sort. By this road that I have described, rough and hard, stumbling here, falling there, getting up again to fall again, they reach the rank they desire, and that once attained, we have seen many who have passed these Syrtes and Scyllas and Charybdises, as if borne flying on the wings of favouring fortune; we have seen them, I say, ruling and governing the world from a chair, their hunger turned into satiety, their cold into comfort, their nakedness into fine raiment, their sleep on a mat into repose in holland and damask, the justly earned reward of their virtue; but, contrasted and compared with what the warrior undergoes, all they have undergone falls far short of it, as I am now about to show.”
 
这些话桑乔全听到了。他见美丽的米科米科娜公主成了多罗特亚，巨人变成了费尔南多，他所希望的伯爵称号也成了泡影，心里不免隐隐作痛。可是他的主人却依然鼾声大作，对发生的事情全然不知。此时的多罗特亚仍在怀疑自己得到的幸福是一场梦，卡德尼奥也这么想，卢辛达同样如此。费尔南多则感谢功德无量的老天，把他从险些断送名誉和灵魂的迷途中解救了出来。总之，客店里的所有人都为这件本来无望解决的棘手事情有了如此美满的结局而高兴。办事有方的神甫把问题解决得恰到好处，他祝贺每个人都各有所得。不过，最高兴的是客店主妇，因为卡德尼奥和神甫已经答应赔偿应由唐吉诃德赔偿的所有损失和财物。
只有桑乔像刚才说的，显得很难过，很不幸，很伤心。他满面阴云地来到唐吉诃德的房间。唐吉诃德刚睡醒。桑乔对他说：
“猥獕大人，您完全可以任意睡下去，不用再操心去杀什么巨人，或者为公主光复王国了。一切都已经结束了。”
“我觉得这很好，”唐吉诃德说，“我刚才同那个巨人进行了一场估计是我这一生中最激烈的战斗。我一个反手就把他的头砍落在地，流了那么多血，就像水一样在地上流淌。”
“您最好说像红葡萄酒一样流淌，”桑乔说，“如果您不知道，我告诉您，那个死了的巨人是个酒囊，血是六个阿罗瓦的红葡萄酒，被砍掉的头呢……是养我的那个婊子，都他妈的见鬼去吧。”
“你说什么？你疯了？”唐吉诃德问，“你头脑清醒吗？”
“您起来吧，”桑乔说，“看看您做的好事吧，咱们还得赔偿呢。您还会看到，女王变成了普通少女，名叫多罗特亚。还有其它一些事情哩。您知道后准会惊奇。”
“我一点儿也不惊奇，”唐吉诃德说，“你想想，上次咱们在这儿的时候，我对你说过，这里发生的一切都是受魔法操纵的，所以，这次故伎重演也不足为奇。”
“假如我被人用被单扔也属于这种情况，我当然相信，”桑乔说，“可惜并不是这样，那是千真万确的事情。我看见今天在这儿的店主当时抓住被单的一角，既开心又用力地把我往天上扔，虽然我头脑简单，是个笨蛋，可我还认得这个人，肯定没有什么魔法，有的只是痛苦和倒霉。”
“那好，上帝会安抚你的，”唐吉诃德说，“你把衣服给我，我出去看看你所说的那些事情和变化。”
桑乔把衣服递给他。这边唐吉诃德穿衣服，那边神甫则向卡德尼奥和其他人讲唐吉诃德如何抽疯，他们又是如何设计把他从“卑岩”弄回来的，当时唐吉诃德正胡想自己受到了夫人的藐视。神甫把桑乔告诉他的那些事几乎全讲了，大家听后觉得惊奇而又可笑，一致认为这是胡思乱想造成的最奇怪的疯癫。神甫还说，多罗特亚的好事使得他这个计划不能再继续下去了，因此还得再想个办法，把唐吉诃德弄回老家去。卡德尼奥愿意把这件事继续下去，让卢辛达来扮演多罗特亚原来扮演的角色。
“不必这样，”费尔南多说，“我倒愿意让多罗特亚继续把她的角色扮演下去。如果这位骑士的家乡离这儿不远，我倒愿意想办法治好他的病。”
“离这儿不过两天的路程。”
“即使再远的路，我也愿意去，做点好事么。”
这时候，唐吉诃德全副武装地出来了。他头戴已经被砸瘪的曼布里诺的头盔，手持皮盾，胳膊还夹着那根当长矛用的棍子。唐吉诃德的样子让费尔南多和其他人感到吃惊。他的脸拉得很长，又黄又干，身上的披挂也是各式不一，神态矜持。大家都没有吱声，看他想说什么。唐吉诃德看着美丽的多罗特亚，极其严肃而又平静地说：
“美丽的公主，我已经从我的侍从那儿得知，您的尊贵地位已经没有了，您的身份也没有了，您已经从过去的女王和公主变成了普通少女。如果这是您的会巫术的父亲的旨意，怕我不能给您必要的帮助，那么我说，他过去和现在对于骑士小说都是一无所知，或知之甚少。如果他像我一样认真阅读骑士小说，随处都会发现，一些名气比我小得多的骑士，没费什么气力就杀死了某个巨人，不管那个巨人有多么高傲，从而完成了一些十分困难的事情。我没费什么时间就把那巨人……我不说了，免得你们说我吹牛。不过，时间会揭示一切，它会在我们意想不到的时候把这件事公之于众。”
“您看看，您攻击的是两个酒囊，而不是巨人。”店主这时说道。
费尔南多让店主住嘴，无论如何别打断唐吉诃德的话。唐吉诃德接着说道：
“总之，失去了继承权的尊贵公主，如果您的父亲是因为我说的那个原因而改变了您的身份，您不必往心里去。在任何危险面前都没有我的短剑打不开的道路。用不了几天，我就会用这把剑把您的敌人的头砍落在地，把王冠戴到您头上。”
唐吉诃德不再说话，等待公主的回答。多罗特亚心里明白，费尔南多已经决定把这场戏演下去，直到把唐吉诃德带回他的家乡，于是就风趣十足而又一本正经地回答道：
“勇敢的猥獕骑士，无论谁对您说我的情况变了，他说的都不是真的。我确实出乎意料地交了点好运，可我并没有因此就不是以前的我了，而且我要依靠您战无不胜的臂膀力量的想法依然没有变。所以，我的大人，请您相信我的父亲，承认他是个精明而又谨慎的人，他养育了我，以他的学识为我找到了一条弥补我的不幸的真正捷径。我认为，如果不是由于大人您，我决不会遇到今天这样的好事。我说的都是真话，在场的很多大人都可以证明这点。现在剩下的事情就是咱们明天继续赶路，今天的时间不多了。至于我期望的更多的好事，就全仰仗上帝和英勇的您了。”
机灵的多罗特亚刚说完，唐吉诃德就把头转向桑乔，满面怒容地说道：
“现在我告诉你，你这个臭桑乔，你是西班牙最大的坏蛋！江湖骗子，你说，你刚才不是对我说，这位公主已经变成了叫多罗特亚的少女吗？你不是说我砍下的那个巨人的脑袋是养你的婊子吗？你还说了其他一些混帐话，把我都弄糊涂了，我这辈子还从来没这么糊涂过呢。我发誓，”唐吉诃德咬牙切齿地仰天说道，“我要教训教训你，让天下游侠骑士的所有敢撒谎的侍从都长点记性！”
“您息怒，我的大人，”桑乔说，“就算我说米科米科娜公主的身份已改变是错了，可巨人脑袋的事，那些被扎破的酒囊，还有那些盘是葡萄酒，我都没讲错，上帝万岁，那些破酒囊就在您床边，屋里的红葡萄酒也流成河了。您若不信，到时候就知道了。我的意思是说，等店主让您赔的时候您就知道了。至于女王的身份没有变，我也和人家一样从心里感到高兴。”
“现在我告诉你，桑乔，”唐吉诃德说，“你是个笨蛋。对不起，完了。”
“行了，”费尔南多说，“别再说这些了。公主说明天再走。今天已经晚了，就这么办吧。今天晚上，咱们可以好好聊一夜，明天陪同唐吉诃德大人一起赶路，我们也想亲眼目睹他在这一伟大事业中前所未有的英勇事迹呢。”
“是我为大家效劳，陪同大家赶路。”唐吉诃德说，“感谢大家对我的关照和良好评价。我一定要做到名符其实，即使为此牺牲自己的生命或者其他可能比生命还宝贵的东西也在所不辞。”
唐吉诃德和费尔南多彼此客气谦让了一番。这时有个旅客走进客店，大家一下子都不说话了。从装束上看，那个人是刚从摩尔人那边来的。他上身穿着蓝呢半袖无领短上衣，下身是蓝麻布裤，头上戴着一顶蓝色帽子。脚上是枣色高统皮鞋，胸前的一条皮肩带上挂着一把摩尔刀。他身后跟着一个摩尔装束的女人。那女人骑在驴上，一块头巾包住了整个脑袋，把脸也遮住了。她头上还戴着一顶锦缎帽子，从肩膀到脚罩着一件摩尔式长袍。那男人有四十多岁的样子，脸色有些发黑，长长的胡子梳理得井井有条。总之，看他那副样子，如果穿戴得再好些，人们肯定会以为他是什么豪门巨子。他一进客店，就要一个房间。当他得知已经没有房间的时候，显得极为不快。他走到那个打扮像摩尔人的女人身旁，把她从驴背上抱了下来。多罗特亚、客店主妇和她的女儿，还有女仆，从没见过摩尔女人的装束，觉得很新鲜，就围了过来。多罗特亚总是那么和蔼、谦恭、机敏，她发现那个女人和同她一起来的人对没有房间感到很懊丧，就对那女人说：
“别着急，我的夫人，这里的条件不大好，但客店就是这个样子。也许您愿意同我们住在一起，”多罗特亚说着指了指卢辛达，“这条路上的其他客店恐怕还不如这儿呢。”
蒙面女人一言不发，只是从她原来坐的地方站了起来，两手交叉在胸前，低着头，深深一躬表示谢意。大家见她不说话，料想是摩尔人不会讲西班牙语。
这时，那个俘虏①过来了，他刚才一直在忙别的事情。他见她们围着与自己同行的那个女人，而她对别人跟她说的话都不作答，就说：
①上文只提到这个人是个旅客，并未说明他是俘虏。
“夫人们，这位小姐几乎不懂我们的语言，她只能讲她家乡的语言，所以问她话她也回答不了。”
“我们什么也没问，”卢辛达说，“我们只是请她今晚与我们做伴。我们在我们的房间里给她腾个地方，这样她可以更方便些。我们愿意为所有外国人，特别是外国女人，提供便利条件。”
“我以她和我个人的名义吻您的手，我的夫人。”那个俘虏说，“我很珍重您的关怀。从您在这种情况下的举动可以看出，您一定是个非常伟大的人。”
“请告诉我，大人，”多罗特亚说，“她是信基督教的人还是摩尔人？她这身打扮，还有她始终不说话，让我们以为她是我们并不希望的摩尔人。”
“装束和人是摩尔人，不过她的灵魂是个地地道道的信基督教的人。她特别想做基督教徒。”
“那么，她受洗礼了吗？”卢辛达问。
“自从她离开她的故乡阿尔及尔后，一直没有机会受洗礼。”俘虏说，“直到现在她还没有遇到什么死亡威胁，迫使她必须受洗礼。而且，她首先应该学习我们神圣信仰的各种礼仪。不过上帝保佑，她很快就要以与她身份相符的方式受洗礼了。她和我的衣服远远不能体现她的身份。”
大家听到这几句话，都很想知道摩尔女人和这个俘虏到底是什么人。不过谁也不想在这个时候问，大家知道这两个人现在最希望的是休息，而不是人们打听他们的生活。多罗特亚拉起那女人的手，让她坐在自己身边，并请她摘掉头上的面罩。那女人看着俘虏，好像在问她们说什么。俘虏用阿拉伯语告诉她，她们让她把面罩摘了。那女人把面罩摘了下来，露出一张俊秀的脸，多罗特亚觉得比卢辛达的脸还俏丽，卢辛达觉得比多罗特亚的脸还娇媚。在场的人都承认，如果说有谁的脸比多罗特亚和卢辛达的脸还漂亮，那么只有那个摩尔女人了，甚至有人觉得摩尔女人比她们俩更美。美貌历来都得宠，它能够令人动情，赢得好感，所以大家都愿意为摩尔女人尽心效力，殷勤备至。
费尔南多问俘虏，摩尔女人叫什么名字。俘虏说叫莱拉•索赖达。摩尔女人听见了，知道费尔南多问的是什么，急忙嗔怪地说：
“不，不是索赖达，是玛丽亚，玛丽亚。”她这么说显然是为了告诉人们，她叫玛丽亚而不是索赖达。
她说的这句话以及说话的感情让在场的几个人，特别是女人们，流下了眼泪。女人的性情就是心慈手软。
卢辛达非常亲热地抱住她，对她说：
“是的，是的，玛丽亚，玛丽亚。”
摩尔女人说：
“是的，是的，玛丽亚！索赖达马坎赫！”马坎赫的意思是“不是”。
这时夜幕降临。店主按照与费尔南多同行的那些人的吩咐，精心准备了一顿他最拿手的晚饭。客店里既没有圆桌，也没有方桌，到了吃晚饭的时间，大家就像仆人用餐一样，围坐在一条长桌前，把桌首的位置让给了唐吉诃德，尽管他尽力推辞。他觉得自己是米科米科娜的守护者，应该坐在她旁边。依次下去是卢辛达和索赖达。她们的对面是费尔南多和卡德尼奥，接着是俘虏和其他男人，神甫和理发师坐到了女人们的一侧。晚餐吃得兴致勃勃。后来看到唐吉诃德又像那次同牧羊人吃饭那样，一时说兴大发，饭都不吃就滔滔不绝地说起来，大家的兴致更浓了。唐吉诃德说：
“只要你们注意一下，诸位大人，就会看到游侠骑士所从事的事业的确是空前伟大的。否则，假如现在有人从这座城堡的大门进来，看见了我们，怎么会想象得到我们是什么人呢？他怎么会知道坐在我身旁的这位女子就是大名鼎鼎的女王，而我就是人们到处传颂的猥獕骑士呢？
“毫无疑问，这项事业胜过人们从事的所有行业。它遇到的危险越大，越是受到人们的尊重。如果有人说舞文弄墨比舞刀弄枪好，就让他从我面前滚开吧，那是信口胡言。他们依据的理由就是脑力劳动比体力劳动辛苦，舞刀弄枪使用的只是体力，就像臭苦力干活那样，只要有力气就行了；就好像我们从事的这个舞刀弄枪的行业不包括防御似的，而防御需要很好的智力；就好像一个率领军队或承担防守一座被围困的城市的斗士不需要动脑子一样，其实这既需要脑力又需要体力。
“你们想想，要揣测了解敌人的意图和计谋，要估计存在的困难，避免可能遇到的损失，光靠体力能做到吗？这全是动脑子的事情，与体力根本无关。而且，舞刀弄枪也同舞文弄墨一样，需要动用脑力。咱们不妨看看，文武相比，哪一项最辛苦。不过，这要看每个人追求的目的和结局。追求的目标越高尚，就越应该受到尊重。
“咱们不说神职人员，神职人员的目的就是把人的灵魂送上天。这是一个无与伦比的崇高目标。咱们就谈世俗文人的目的吧。他们的目的就是实现公平的分配，让每个人得其所应得，并且让公正的法律得到遵守。这的确是个宏伟、高尚、值得赞扬的目标。不过，它还无法与武士的目标相比，这些人把平安视为最终目标，平安才是人类生活可以企望的最高利益。所以，世界和人类最初听到的福音，就是我们在见到光明的那个晚上①听到的天使的声音。天使在空中唱道：‘在至高之处荣耀归于神，在地上平安归于他所喜悦的人。’无论在人间还是在天上，我们最高的导师都教导他们的信徒和受到他们帮助的人，到某人家去的时候，最好的问候就是‘愿这一家平安’，并且常常教导他们说：‘我留下平安给你们，我将我的平安赐给你们，愿你们平安。’这平安就好比一件珍宝。没有这件珍宝，无论人间还是天上，都不会有任何幸福。这个平安就是打仗的真正目的，而从戎就是要打仗。
①此处指耶稣诞生之夜。下面的几句引语均出自《新约全书》。
“如果是这样，打仗的最终目的是平安，而这个目的又比文人的目的要强得多。咱们现在看看文人和武将各自付出的辛劳吧，看看谁消耗的体力最多、最辛苦。”
唐吉诃德口若悬河，侃侃而谈，听他讲话的那些人谁也不能把他看成是疯子。相反，其他男人都与从武的行业无缘，因此听起来津津有味。唐吉诃德接着说：
“我认为文人的最大难处就是穷，当然并不是所有的文人都穷，我只是想在这种情况下把事情说绝对些。我觉得受穷就是一种不幸，因为穷人历来都不会有什么顺心的事。他们受贫穷之苦表现在几个方面，挨饿、受冻或缺衣少穿，或者是尽皆有之。不过尽管如此，他们并不是没有吃的，只是不能按时吃，或者吃些富人的残羹剩饭。他们最大的难处就是这个‘吃乞食’。他们也不是没有火炉或壁炉，即使火不热，至少可以驱驱寒，总之他们可以在房间里睡得很舒服。其它一些琐事，我就不提了。譬如说他们缺衣少鞋，衣服单薄，如果有幸吃顿好饭就狠吃猛塞。
“在我描述的这条艰辛道路上，他们在这里摔倒了，爬起来，再摔倒，一直到达他们所希望的地位。我们看到过很多这种情况，他们含辛茹苦，一旦达到了目标，就好像插上了时来运转的翅膀，开始坐在椅子上统治世界，饥肠辘辘变成了脑满肠肥，忍寒受冻变成了怡然自得，缺衣少穿变成了穿着阔绰，铺席而眠变成了铺绫盖缎。这些都是他们功德的合理所得。不过他们付出的代价如果与战士们相比，就差得太远了。下面我再继续讲。”
Part 1 Chapter 38
Continuing his discourse Don Quixote said: “As we began in the student’s case with poverty and its accompaniments, let us see now if the soldier is richer, and we shall find that in poverty itself there is no one poorer; for he is dependent on his miserable pay, which comes late or never, or else on what he can plunder, seriously imperilling his life and conscience; and sometimes his nakedness will be so great that a slashed doublet serves him for uniform and shirt, and in the depth of winter he has to defend himself against the inclemency of the weather in the open field with nothing better than the breath of his mouth, which I need not say, coming from an empty place, must come out cold, contrary to the laws of nature. To be sure he looks forward to the approach of night to make up for all these discomforts on the bed that awaits him, which, unless by some fault of his, never sins by being over narrow, for he can easily measure out on the ground as he likes, and roll himself about in it to his heart’s content without any fear of the sheets slipping away from him. Then, after all this, suppose the day and hour for taking his degree in his calling to have come; suppose the day of battle to have arrived, when they invest him with the doctor’s cap made of lint, to mend some bullet-hole, perhaps, that has gone through his temples, or left him with a crippled arm or leg. Or if this does not happen, and merciful Heaven watches over him and keeps him safe and sound, it may be he will be in the same poverty he was in before, and he must go through more engagements and more battles, and come victorious out of all before he betters himself; but miracles of that sort are seldom seen. For tell me, sirs, if you have ever reflected upon it, by how much do those who have gained by war fall short of the number of those who have perished in it? No doubt you will reply that there can be no comparison, that the dead cannot be numbered, while the living who have been rewarded may be summed up with three figures. All which is the reverse in the case of men of letters; for by skirts, to say nothing of sleeves, they all find means of support; so that though the soldier has more to endure, his reward is much less. But against all this it may be urged that it is easier to reward two thousand soldiers, for the former may be remunerated by giving them places, which must perforce be conferred upon men of their calling, while the latter can only be recompensed out of the very property of the master they serve; but this impossibility only strengthens my argument.
“Putting this, however, aside, for it is a puzzling question for which it is difficult to find a solution, let us return to the superiority of arms over letters, a matter still undecided, so many are the arguments put forward on each side; for besides those I have mentioned, letters say that without them arms cannot maintain themselves, for war, too, has its laws and is governed by them, and laws belong to the domain of letters and men of letters. To this arms make answer that without them laws cannot be maintained, for by arms states are defended, kingdoms preserved, cities protected, roads made safe, seas cleared of pirates; and, in short, if it were not for them, states, kingdoms, monarchies, cities, ways by sea and land would be exposed to the violence and confusion which war brings with it, so long as it lasts and is free to make use of its privileges and powers. And then it is plain that whatever costs most is valued and deserves to be valued most. To attain to eminence in letters costs a man time, watching, hunger, nakedness, headaches, indigestions, and other things of the sort, some of which I have already referred to. But for a man to come in the ordinary course of things to be a good soldier costs him all the student suffers, and in an incomparably higher degree, for at every step he runs the risk of losing his life. For what dread of want or poverty that can reach or harass the student can compare with what the soldier feels, who finds himself beleaguered in some stronghold mounting guard in some ravelin or cavalier, knows that the enemy is pushing a mine towards the post where he is stationed, and cannot under any circumstances retire or fly from the imminent danger that threatens him? All he can do is to inform his captain of what is going on so that he may try to remedy it by a counter-mine, and then stand his ground in fear and expectation of the moment when he will fly up to the clouds without wings and descend into the deep against his will. And if this seems a trifling risk, let us see whether it is equalled or surpassed by the encounter of two galleys stem to stem, in the midst of the open sea, locked and entangled one with the other, when the soldier has no more standing room than two feet of the plank of the spur; and yet, though he sees before him threatening him as many ministers of death as there are cannon of the foe pointed at him, not a lance length from his body, and sees too that with the first heedless step he will go down to visit the profundities of Neptune’s bosom, still with dauntless heart, urged on by honour that nerves him, he makes himself a target for all that musketry, and struggles to cross that narrow path to the enemy’s ship. And what is still more marvellous, no sooner has one gone down into the depths he will never rise from till the end of the world, than another takes his place; and if he too falls into the sea that waits for him like an enemy, another and another will succeed him without a moment’s pause between their deaths: courage and daring the greatest that all the chances of war can show. Happy the blest ages that knew not the dread fury of those devilish engines of artillery, whose inventor I am persuaded is in hell receiving the reward of his diabolical invention, by which he made it easy for a base and cowardly arm to take the life of a gallant gentleman; and that, when he knows not how or whence, in the height of the ardour and enthusiasm that fire and animate brave hearts, there should come some random bullet, discharged perhaps by one who fled in terror at the flash when he fired off his accursed machine, which in an instant puts an end to the projects and cuts off the life of one who deserved to live for ages to come. And thus when I reflect on this, I am almost tempted to say that in my heart I repent of having adopted this profession of knight-errant in so detestable an age as we live in now; for though no peril can make me fear, still it gives me some uneasiness to think that powder and lead may rob me of the opportunity of making myself famous and renowned throughout the known earth by the might of my arm and the edge of my sword. But Heaven’s will be done; if I succeed in my attempt I shall be all the more honoured, as I have faced greater dangers than the knights-errant of yore exposed themselves to.”
All this lengthy discourse Don Quixote delivered while the others supped, forgetting to raise a morsel to his lips, though Sancho more than once told him to eat his supper, as he would have time enough afterwards to say all he wanted. It excited fresh pity in those who had heard him to see a man of apparently sound sense, and with rational views on every subject he discussed, so hopelessly wanting in all, when his wretched unlucky chivalry was in question. The curate told him he was quite right in all he had said in favour of arms, and that he himself, though a man of letters and a graduate, was of the same opinion.
They finished their supper, the cloth was removed, and while the hostess, her daughter, and Maritornes were getting Don Quixote of La Mancha’s garret ready, in which it was arranged that the women were to be quartered by themselves for the night, Don Fernando begged the captive to tell them the story of his life, for it could not fail to be strange and interesting, to judge by the hints he had let fall on his arrival in company with Zoraida. To this the captive replied that he would very willingly yield to his request, only he feared his tale would not give them as much pleasure as he wished; nevertheless, not to be wanting in compliance, he would tell it. The curate and the others thanked him and added their entreaties, and he finding himself so pressed said there was no occasion ask, where a command had such weight, and added, “If your worships will give me your attention you will hear a true story which, perhaps, fictitious ones constructed with ingenious and studied art cannot come up to.” These words made them settle themselves in their places and preserve a deep silence, and he seeing them waiting on his words in mute expectation, began thus in a pleasant quiet voice.
 
唐吉诃德接着说：
“我们刚才谈到了文人学士的清苦和他们这方面的其它情况，我们再来看看他们是否比士兵有钱。我们可以看到，没有人比士兵更清苦了。他们靠的只是菲薄的军饷，而且这军饷还晚发或不发。有的就靠动手去抢，可这就得冒丧失性命和良心的极大危险。有时候简直衣不蔽体，一件破了洞的上衣既当礼服，又当衬衫。在严冬他们常常冒着酷寒在野外露宿，只能靠嘴里的哈气御寒。可是气出自空腹，据我了解，与常规相反，呼出的是凉气。他们等啊等，想等到天黑在床上暖和暖和。只要他们不是跟自己过意不去，床倒是肯定窄不了，只要他们的脚走得到，都可以算是床，可以在上面尽情翻滚，不用担心床单掉地。
“就这样，到了他们接受军阶的日子。有一天，战斗来临了。他们每个人头上戴着线做的帽缨，以便万一子弹打到太阳穴上或者打断胳膊和腿的时候治伤用。即使仁慈的老天让他们没有遇上这种情况，安然无恙，他们仍然同以往一样，一贫如洗，然后又得一次次地集合，一次次地战斗。即使他们每次都打了胜仗，也只能得到一点儿好处。而且这种奇迹极为罕见。
“诸位大人，你们是否发现，为打战而受奖的人要比战死的人少得多？你们肯定会说这无法相比，因为死者不计其数，而得奖的人不过三位数。但文人的情况相反，不管怎么样，他们至少表面上有维持生计的手段。虽然战士们付出的代价大，可是得到的奖励却很少。据说，奖励两千个文人要比奖励三万个士兵容易得多，因为奖励前者，只需给他们一个符合他们专业的职位就行了，而要奖励后者，只能靠他们为之效力的那个人的财力。这是难以做到的，可它又进一步证明了我说的道理。咱们暂且不谈这些，这是个难以解开的谜团，还是谈谈武装比文治的重要性吧。这个问题还有待考证，因为各方都坚持己见。文士们认为，没有文治，武装就不可能生存，因为战争也有自己的法则，而法则是由文士完成的，法则受到文化和文人的制约。
“可武官对此的回答是，如果没有武装力量的支持，法则是不可能存在的，因为保卫国家、维护王国、保护城市、保证道路交通、清除海盗，这一切都离不开武装力量。如果没有武装力量，民主国家、王国、帝国、城市、海路和陆路都会遭受战争所带来的灾难与混乱。谁付出的代价越多就越重要，就越应该受到重视，这是显而易见的道理。谁要想在文化方面表现得突出，就得花费时间，熬夜不眠，忍饥挨饿，缺衣少穿，头脑发胀，消化不良，还有其它一些与此相关的事情，有一些刚才我已经谈到了。可是按照另外一些人的说法，谁要想成为好战士，同样要付出上面所说的代价，而且程度还更严重，简直无法比拟，因为他们随时都有丧失生命的危险。
“文人面临的危险和清苦怎能和战士相比呢？战士们被围困在某个碉堡或工事里，站岗值班，知道敌人正在向他所在的地方挖坑道，可他无论如何不能离开，也不能逃避这近在咫尺的危险。他只能把发生的情况向班长报告，以便采取对策，可他自己只能留在那里，心惊胆战地等待着自己不知什么时候会突然身不由己地飞上天或者掉进地底下去。如果这个危险还不算大，我们不妨看看两只军舰在辽阔的大海上对撞是否能与之相比，或者比这更厉害吧。两只船碰撞在一起，战士们只能在船头的冲角上有两尺宽的立足之地。尽管他们看到敌方舰上的枪炮离自己的身体仅有一支长矛的距离，正像死神一样威胁着自己的生命，脚下一不小心还会掉到涅普图努斯①的肚子里去，但他们仍然被荣誉感激励着，勇猛向前，迎着枪弹，企图跃到敌舰上去。更令人钦佩的是，一个人刚刚倒下去，掉进无底深渊，另一个人立刻补充了他的位置。如果这个人也掉进海里，就好像大海在等待它的对手似的，后面一个又一个的人紧接着冲上去，英勇赴死。这是所有战争中最壮观的情景。
①涅普图努斯原为罗马水神，同希腊神波塞冬混同后成为海神。
“没有凶恶火器的年代该是多么幸福啊，对于这些火器的发明者，我看他们的罪恶的发明也正在地狱里等着要惩罚他们呢。这种发明使得一些无耻的胆小鬼可以夺取一个勇士的生命。一个意气风发、豪情满怀的战士，可能在转瞬间糊里糊涂地被一颗流弹夺走思想和生命。他本来应该生命长存，而那个射击的家伙却可能早已被这个可恶的东西发射时出现的火光吓跑了呢。由此想来，我不禁在心里为我在这个应该遭到唾弃的年代里当游侠骑士感到心情沉重。尽管任何危险也吓不倒我，可是一想到火药和铅弹可能会夺走我依靠臂膀的力量和短剑的锋刃在世界上扬名的机会，我就不禁火冒三丈。
“不过还是听天由命吧，即使我面临的危险比过去的所有游侠骑士面临的危险还要大，只要我能做到我要做的事情，我还是会受到比他们更多的尊重。”
唐吉诃德侃侃而谈，其他吃饭的人竟忘了把食物放进嘴里。桑乔几次催大家吃饭，说吃完饭，大家愿意怎么说就怎么说。在场的人忽然对唐吉诃德添了几分恻隐之心。看起来唐吉诃德的思路很清楚，可一说起骑士乌七八糟的事情就简直不可救药了。神甫说唐吉诃德为武士们的辩解很有道理。他自己虽然属于文职人员，也同意他的看法。
吃完晚饭，撤去了桌子，客店主妇、她的女儿和丑女仆就去收拾唐吉诃德的那间顶楼。他们决定那间房子当晚给所有女人住。费尔南多让俘虏讲讲他的生活经历。看他陪索赖达来时的那个样子，他的经历一定很有趣。俘虏说很愿意听从费尔南多的吩咐，只是怕自己讲得不像他们希望的那样有趣。尽管如此，他还是遵命，以后会讲的。神甫和其他人表示感谢，并再次请求他现在就讲。俘虏见大家请求他说，说不用求，只要吩咐就行。
“既然这样，你们诸位就注意听。这是真事，那些精心编造的故事也许还不如它好听呢。”
他让大家坐好，别再说话了。他见大家不再吱声，等着他讲，就开始以柔和平稳的语调讲起来。
Part 1 Chapter 39
My family had its origin in a village in the mountains of Leon, and nature had been kinder and more generous to it than fortune; though in the general poverty of those communities my father passed for being even a rich man; and he would have been so in reality had he been as clever in preserving his property as he was in spending it. This tendency of his to be liberal and profuse he had acquired from having been a soldier in his youth, for the soldier’s life is a school in which the niggard becomes free-handed and the free-handed prodigal; and if any soldiers are to be found who are misers, they are monsters of rare occurrence. My father went beyond liberality and bordered on prodigality, a disposition by no means advantageous to a married man who has children to succeed to his name and position. My father had three, all sons, and all of sufficient age to make choice of a profession. Finding, then, that he was unable to resist his propensity, he resolved to divest himself of the instrument and cause of his prodigality and lavishness, to divest himself of wealth, without which Alexander himself would have seemed parsimonious; and so calling us all three aside one day into a room, he addressed us in words somewhat to the following effect:
“My sons, to assure you that I love you, no more need be known or said than that you are my sons; and to encourage a suspicion that I do not love you, no more is needed than the knowledge that I have no self-control as far as preservation of your patrimony is concerned; therefore, that you may for the future feel sure that I love you like a father, and have no wish to ruin you like a stepfather, I propose to do with you what I have for some time back meditated, and after mature deliberation decided upon. You are now of an age to choose your line of life or at least make choice of a calling that will bring you honour and profit when you are older; and what I have resolved to do is to divide my property into four parts; three I will give to you, to each his portion without making any difference, and the other I will retain to live upon and support myself for whatever remainder of life Heaven may be pleased to grant me. But I wish each of you on taking possession of the share that falls to him to follow one of the paths I shall indicate. In this Spain of ours there is a proverb, to my mind very true — as they all are, being short aphorisms drawn from long practical experience — and the one I refer to says, ‘The church, or the sea, or the king’s house;’ as much as to say, in plainer language, whoever wants to flourish and become rich, let him follow the church, or go to sea, adopting commerce as his calling, or go into the king’s service in his household, for they say, ‘Better a king’s crumb than a lord’s favour.’ I say so because it is my will and pleasure that one of you should follow letters, another trade, and the third serve the king in the wars, for it is a difficult matter to gain admission to his service in his household, and if war does not bring much wealth it confers great distinction and fame. Eight days hence I will give you your full shares in money, without defrauding you of a farthing, as you will see in the end. Now tell me if you are willing to follow out my idea and advice as I have laid it before you.”
Having called upon me as the eldest to answer, I, after urging him not to strip himself of his property but to spend it all as he pleased, for we were young men able to gain our living, consented to comply with his wishes, and said that mine were to follow the profession of arms and thereby serve God and my king. My second brother having made the same proposal, decided upon going to the Indies, embarking the portion that fell to him in trade. The youngest, and in my opinion the wisest, said he would rather follow the church, or go to complete his studies at Salamanca. As soon as we had come to an understanding, and made choice of our professions, my father embraced us all, and in the short time he mentioned carried into effect all he had promised; and when he had given to each his share, which as well as I remember was three thousand ducats apiece in cash (for an uncle of ours bought the estate and paid for it down, not to let it go out of the family), we all three on the same day took leave of our good father; and at the same time, as it seemed to me inhuman to leave my father with such scanty means in his old age, I induced him to take two of my three thousand ducats, as the remainder would be enough to provide me with all a soldier needed. My two brothers, moved by my example, gave him each a thousand ducats, so that there was left for my father four thousand ducats in money, besides three thousand, the value of the portion that fell to him which he preferred to retain in land instead of selling it. Finally, as I said, we took leave of him, and of our uncle whom I have mentioned, not without sorrow and tears on both sides, they charging us to let them know whenever an opportunity offered how we fared, whether well or ill. We promised to do so, and when he had embraced us and given us his blessing, one set out for Salamanca, the other for Seville, and I for Alicante, where I had heard there was a Genoese vessel taking in a cargo of wool for Genoa.
It is now some twenty-two years since I left my father’s house, and all that time, though I have written several letters, I have had no news whatever of him or of my brothers; my own adventures during that period I will now relate briefly. I embarked at Alicante, reached Genoa after a prosperous voyage, and proceeded thence to Milan, where I provided myself with arms and a few soldier’s accoutrements; thence it was my intention to go and take service in Piedmont, but as I was already on the road to Alessandria della Paglia, I learned that the great Duke of Alva was on his way to Flanders. I changed my plans, joined him, served under him in the campaigns he made, was present at the deaths of the Counts Egmont and Horn, and was promoted to be ensign under a famous captain of Guadalajara, Diego de Urbina by name. Some time after my arrival in Flanders news came of the league that his Holiness Pope Pius V of happy memory, had made with Venice and Spain against the common enemy, the Turk, who had just then with his fleet taken the famous island of Cyprus, which belonged to the Venetians, a loss deplorable and disastrous. It was known as a fact that the Most Serene Don John of Austria, natural brother of our good king Don Philip, was coming as commander-in-chief of the allied forces, and rumours were abroad of the vast warlike preparations which were being made, all which stirred my heart and filled me with a longing to take part in the campaign which was expected; and though I had reason to believe, and almost certain promises, that on the first opportunity that presented itself I should be promoted to be captain, I preferred to leave all and betake myself, as I did, to Italy; and it was my good fortune that Don John had just arrived at Genoa, and was going on to Naples to join the Venetian fleet, as he afterwards did at Messina. I may say, in short, that I took part in that glorious expedition, promoted by this time to be a captain of infantry, to which honourable charge my good luck rather than my merits raised me; and that day — so fortunate for Christendom, because then all the nations of the earth were disabused of the error under which they lay in imagining the Turks to be invincible on sea-on that day, I say, on which the Ottoman pride and arrogance were broken, among all that were there made happy (for the Christians who died that day were happier than those who remained alive and victorious) I alone was miserable; for, instead of some naval crown that I might have expected had it been in Roman times, on the night that followed that famous day I found myself with fetters on my feet and manacles on my hands.
It happened in this way: El Uchali, the king of Algiers, a daring and successful corsair, having attacked and taken the leading Maltese galley (only three knights being left alive in it, and they badly wounded), the chief galley of John Andrea, on board of which I and my company were placed, came to its relief, and doing as was bound to do in such a case, I leaped on board the enemy’s galley, which, sheering off from that which had attacked it, prevented my men from following me, and so I found myself alone in the midst of my enemies, who were in such numbers that I was unable to resist; in short I was taken, covered with wounds; El Uchali, as you know, sirs, made his escape with his entire squadron, and I was left a prisoner in his power, the only sad being among so many filled with joy, and the only captive among so many free; for there were fifteen thousand Christians, all at the oar in the Turkish fleet, that regained their longed-for liberty that day.
They carried me to Constantinople, where the Grand Turk, Selim, made my master general at sea for having done his duty in the battle and carried off as evidence of his bravery the standard of the Order of Malta. The following year, which was the year seventy-two, I found myself at Navarino rowing in the leading galley with the three lanterns. There I saw and observed how the opportunity of capturing the whole Turkish fleet in harbour was lost; for all the marines and janizzaries that belonged to it made sure that they were about to be attacked inside the very harbour, and had their kits and pasamaques, or shoes, ready to flee at once on shore without waiting to be assailed, in so great fear did they stand of our fleet. But Heaven ordered it otherwise, not for any fault or neglect of the general who commanded on our side, but for the sins of Christendom, and because it was God’s will and pleasure that we should always have instruments of punishment to chastise us. As it was, El Uchali took refuge at Modon, which is an island near Navarino, and landing forces fortified the mouth of the harbour and waited quietly until Don John retired. On this expedition was taken the galley called the Prize, whose captain was a son of the famous corsair Barbarossa. It was taken by the chief Neapolitan galley called the She-wolf, commanded by that thunderbolt of war, that father of his men, that successful and unconquered captain Don Alvaro de Bazan, Marquis of Santa Cruz; and I cannot help telling you what took place at the capture of the Prize.
The son of Barbarossa was so cruel, and treated his slaves so badly, that, when those who were at the oars saw that the She-wolf galley was bearing down upon them and gaining upon them, they all at once dropped their oars and seized their captain who stood on the stage at the end of the gangway shouting to them to row lustily; and passing him on from bench to bench, from the poop to the prow, they so bit him that before he had got much past the mast his soul had already got to hell; so great, as I said, was the cruelty with which he treated them, and the hatred with which they hated him.
We returned to Constantinople, and the following year, seventy-three, it became known that Don John had seized Tunis and taken the kingdom from the Turks, and placed Muley Hamet in possession, putting an end to the hopes which Muley Hamida, the cruelest and bravest Moor in the world, entertained of returning to reign there. The Grand Turk took the loss greatly to heart, and with the cunning which all his race possess, he made peace with the Venetians (who were much more eager for it than he was), and the following year, seventy-four, he attacked the Goletta and the fort which Don John had left half built near Tunis. While all these events were occurring, I was labouring at the oar without any hope of freedom; at least I had no hope of obtaining it by ransom, for I was firmly resolved not to write to my father telling him of my misfortunes. At length the Goletta fell, and the fort fell, before which places there were seventy-five thousand regular Turkish soldiers, and more than four hundred thousand Moors and Arabs from all parts of Africa, and in the train of all this great host such munitions and engines of war, and so many pioneers that with their hands they might have covered the Goletta and the fort with handfuls of earth. The first to fall was the Goletta, until then reckoned impregnable, and it fell, not by any fault of its defenders, who did all that they could and should have done, but because experiment proved how easily entrenchments could be made in the desert sand there; for water used to be found at two palms depth, while the Turks found none at two yards; and so by means of a quantity of sandbags they raised their works so high that they commanded the walls of the fort, sweeping them as if from a cavalier, so that no one was able to make a stand or maintain the defence.
It was a common opinion that our men should not have shut themselves up in the Goletta, but should have waited in the open at the landing-place; but those who say so talk at random and with little knowledge of such matters; for if in the Goletta and in the fort there were barely seven thousand soldiers, how could such a small number, however resolute, sally out and hold their own against numbers like those of the enemy? And how is it possible to help losing a stronghold that is not relieved, above all when surrounded by a host of determined enemies in their own country? But many thought, and I thought so too, that it was special favour and mercy which Heaven showed to Spain in permitting the destruction of that source and hiding place of mischief, that devourer, sponge, and moth of countless money, fruitlessly wasted there to no other purpose save preserving the memory of its capture by the invincible Charles V; as if to make that eternal, as it is and will be, these stones were needed to support it. The fort also fell; but the Turks had to win it inch by inch, for the soldiers who defended it fought so gallantly and stoutly that the number of the enemy killed in twenty-two general assaults exceeded twenty-five thousand. Of three hundred that remained alive not one was taken unwounded, a clear and manifest proof of their gallantry and resolution, and how sturdily they had defended themselves and held their post. A small fort or tower which was in the middle of the lagoon under the command of Don Juan Zanoguera, a Valencian gentleman and a famous soldier, capitulated upon terms. They took prisoner Don Pedro Puertocarrero, commandant of the Goletta, who had done all in his power to defend his fortress, and took the loss of it so much to heart that he died of grief on the way to Constantinople, where they were carrying him a prisoner. They also took the commandant of the fort, Gabrio Cerbellon by name, a Milanese gentleman, a great engineer and a very brave soldier. In these two fortresses perished many persons of note, among whom was Pagano Doria, knight of the Order of St. John, a man of generous disposition, as was shown by his extreme liberality to his brother, the famous John Andrea Doria; and what made his death the more sad was that he was slain by some Arabs to whom, seeing that the fort was now lost, he entrusted himself, and who offered to conduct him in the disguise of a Moor to Tabarca, a small fort or station on the coast held by the Genoese employed in the coral fishery. These Arabs cut off his head and carried it to the commander of the Turkish fleet, who proved on them the truth of our Castilian proverb, that “though the treason may please, the traitor is hated;” for they say he ordered those who brought him the present to be hanged for not having brought him alive.
 
Among the Christians who were taken in the fort was one named Don Pedro de Aguilar, a native of some place, I know not what, in Andalusia, who had been ensign in the fort, a soldier of great repute and rare intelligence, who had in particular a special gift for what they call poetry. I say so because his fate brought him to my galley and to my bench, and made him a slave to the same master; and before we left the port this gentleman composed two sonnets by way of epitaphs, one on the Goletta and the other on the fort; indeed, I may as well repeat them, for I have them by heart, and I think they will be liked rather than disliked.
The instant the captive mentioned the name of Don Pedro de Aguilar, Don Fernando looked at his companions and they all three smiled; and when he came to speak of the sonnets one of them said, “Before your worship proceeds any further I entreat you to tell me what became of that Don Pedro de Aguilar you have spoken of.”
“All I know is,” replied the captive, “that after having been in Constantinople two years, he escaped in the disguise of an Arnaut, in company with a Greek spy; but whether he regained his liberty or not I cannot tell, though I fancy he did, because a year afterwards I saw the Greek at Constantinople, though I was unable to ask him what the result of the journey was.”
“Well then, you are right,” returned the gentleman, “for that Don Pedro is my brother, and he is now in our village in good health, rich, married, and with three children.”
“Thanks be to God for all the mercies he has shown him,” said the captive; “for to my mind there is no happiness on earth to compare with recovering lost liberty.”
“And what is more,” said the gentleman, “I know the sonnets my brother made.”
“Then let your worship repeat them,” said the captive, “for you will recite them better than I can.”
“With all my heart,” said the gentleman; “that on the Goletta runs thus.”
 
“我的祖籍在莱昂山区的一个地方。门第似乎比财运更为照顾我的家族。不过在那些小村镇里，我父亲也称得上是富人了。如果父亲能精心维持这个家庭，而不是把家里的财产都乱花掉，他真的会成为一个富人。他这个大手大脚的习惯是在他年轻时当兵的那几年里形成的。军队可以让人由小气变成大方，由大方变成挥霍无度。如果谁显得寒酸，就会被视为魔鬼。不过，这种情况并不多见。
“我的父亲由大手大脚变成了挥霍无度。这对一个已经结婚、有了后代的人来说，是极为不利的。父亲有三个孩子，都是男孩，而且后来都到了结婚的年龄。据他自己说，他见自己积习难改，就想剥夺自己挥霍无度的手段和病因，也就是剥夺自己的财产。没有了财产，即使是亚历山大大帝也会感到窘迫。于是有一天，他把三个孩子叫到自己的房间，说了一番话。他大概是这么说的：
“‘孩子们，我要说我爱你们，我只说你们是我的孩子就够了。我要说我不爱你们，我只须让你们知道，我并没有着意为你们保管财产就行了。为了让你们知道，我想从现在起做得像个亲爹的样子，而不是像个后爹似的毁了你们，我想做一件事情。这件事我已经考虑了很多天，现在已经考虑好了。你们已经到了能够自立的年龄，至少有能力选择将来对你们有利的事情。我要做的事情就是把我的财产分成四部分，你们每人一份，平均一样多。还有一份我留下维持生活用，直到老天保佑我能够活到的那一天。不过我给你们指出几条路，希望你们每个人拿到自己应得的那份财产后，能够选择其中的一条。在我们西班牙有句老话，我觉得说得很实在，这些老话是多年经验的精确总结，所以都很符合实际。这句话是这么说的：教会、海洋或王宫。若加以解释就是说：欲富欲贵者，或入教会，或海上经商，或进王宫服侍国王。俗话说，国王的残羹胜过领主的佳肴。我说这些是希望你们其中一人从文，另一个人经商，还有一个人为国王打仗，因为要进王宫服侍国王很困难。虽然战争不能给人带来很多财富，却可以给人带来很高的地位和名声。八天之内，我把你们每人分得的钱全部给你们，一分也不会少，你们到时候就知道了。你们现在告诉我，你们愿意听从我的劝告吗？’
“我是老大，父亲让我先说。我说家产不要分了，他愿意怎么花就怎么花。我们都是小伙子了，可以自己挣钱。最后，我说我会听从他的意志，我选择从军，为上帝和我的国王效忠。我的大弟弟也是同样的意见，他选择的是带着他那份财产到美洲去。小弟弟选择的是从事教会职业，或者到萨拉曼卡去完成他的学业。我觉得小弟弟最聪明。
“我们刚一说完各自的看法和选择，父亲就拥抱了我们，并且在他说的日子里，把他说的事情全做到了，给了我们每人一份钱。我记得是每份三千杜卡多。有个叔叔不愿意家产外流，已经用现金买下了我们三人的产业。我们在同一天告诉了我们善良的父亲。当时我觉得我父亲已经老了，只给他留下那么点儿财产，未免太不人道了，就让他从我的三千杜卡多里拿出两千，我留下一千，当兵已经足够用了。我的两个兄弟被我感动了，每人也拿出一千。这样父亲就有了四千杜卡多，还有一份大约值三千杜卡多的产业。他不想把那点家产卖了，想留作自己的不动产。下面，我把我在这期间的情况简单讲讲。
“最后，我们告别了父亲和我刚才提到的那个叔叔。大家都不无伤感和眼泪。父亲和叔叔叮嘱我们，只要有条件，不管情况好坏，都要把我们的情况告诉他们。我们答应了。父亲和叔叔拥抱了我们，为我们祝福。然后，我们一人去了萨拉曼卡，另一人去了塞维利亚，我去的是阿利坎特，在那儿我听说有条船要装运羊毛去热那亚。
“我这一离开父亲就是二十二年。我虽然在这期间给他写过几封信，却未得到有关他和我的两个兄弟的消息。我在阿利坎特上了船，顺利抵达热那亚，又从那儿去了米兰。我在米兰得到了武器和几件漂亮的军服，又打算到皮埃蒙特服役。在去亚历山大里亚•德拉帕利亚的路上，我听说伟大的阿尔瓦公爵正要去佛兰德，就又改变了主意，投奔了他，服侍他巡行，处死埃格蒙和奥尔诺斯伯爵的时候我也在场。后来，我终于在瓜达拉哈拉一位名叫迭戈•德乌尔维纳的著名军官手下当上了少尉。我到佛兰德不久又听说查理五世陛下，想起他就令人愉快，说他已经同威尼斯和西班牙结盟，反对共同的敌人土耳其。当时土耳其的军队已经攻占了原来由威尼斯人统治的著名的塞浦路斯岛，这是极其不幸的损失。
“后来得到确切消息，我们圣明的费利佩国王的兄弟胡安•德奥斯特里亚要来做这个联盟的统领，还传说庞大的战争机器已经运转起来。这些又燃起了我要在即将来临的关键时刻挺身而出的激情和愿望。虽然我预感到，或者已经得到了确切的承诺，说一有机会就要把我提升为上尉，我还是放弃了一切，来到了意大利。恰好胡安•德奥斯特里亚刚刚抵达热那亚，要经过那不勒斯同威尼斯的军队会合，不过后来他们是在墨西拿会合的。总之，我在那个极其幸运的关键时刻当上了步兵上尉，这主要是由于我的运气好，并不是由于我的贡献大。那是基督教的幸福日子，就在那天，世界各国认为土耳其在海上不可战胜的错误观念被打破了，奥斯曼帝国的傲慢和威风被一扫而光。对于很多人来说，那是幸运的一天，而且在那天，战死的基督教徒要比后来成为战胜者的生还者还要幸运。只有我最倒霉。与我期望的相反，那天晚上，我得到的是手上的手铐和脚上的锁链。本来按照罗马时代的习惯，我是完全可以得到一个冠状圈环①的。
①奖给第一个冲上敌舰或冲人敌阵的士兵的特别奖。
“事情是这样的：阿尔及尔的国王乌查利是一个凶狠而又幸运的海盗。他打败了马尔他的旗舰，并迫使它投降。那艘舰上只有三个人活了下来，而且遍体鳞伤。我和同伴们所在的胡安•安德雷亚旗舰前去营救马尔他的旗舰。我做了在这种情况下应该做的事情，跃上了敌舰。可敌舰突然转向，结果我的士兵们没有来得及跟上我。我孤身陷敌，无法抵御那么多人的敌人，浑身负了很多伤，最后被他们俘虏了。你们大概听说了，大人们，乌查利的整个舰队逃跑了，而我却成了他们的俘虏。在众人欢乐的时候，我独自悲伤；众人获得自由的时候，我却成了俘虏。那天有一万五千名基督徒，在土耳其的舰只中间划着小船获得了他们渴望的自由。
“我被带到君士坦丁堡。我的主人由于克尽职守，并且把马尔他的军旗带了回来以显示他的勇气，被土耳其素丹①谢里姆任命为海军统帅。第二年，也就是七二年，我在纳瓦里诺的一艘三灯船上做划船手的时候，发现我们失去了在那个港口将土耳其的舰队全部俘获的机会。因为那个地方的所有海陆士兵都断定我们会从那个港口向他们进攻，已经把衣服和鞋收拾好，准备在我们攻克港口的时候就从陆地上逃走。他们对我们的海军竟是如此惧怕！可是老天却偏不作美，这并不是我们侥幸的过错或疏忽，而是由于基督徒们的罪过，老天让我们总是受到惩罚。实际上，乌查利一直龟缩在莫东，那是纳瓦里诺附近的一个岛。乌查利把人都赶到陆地上，在海港口岸修筑工事，一直到唐胡安②回来。
①素丹即土耳其君主。
②西班牙人习惯如此称呼胡安•德奥斯特里亚。%%%“唐胡安返程途中俘获了一艘‘猎物号’军舰，那艘舰是由著名的海盗巴瓦罗哈的一个儿子指挥的。俘获它的是那不勒斯的一艘‘母狼号’军舰，由号称‘战地闪电’、‘士兵之父’的圣克鲁斯的侯爵、战无不胜的幸运舰长唐阿尔瓦罗指挥。我还想说说俘获‘猪物号’过程中的事情。巴瓦罗哈的那个儿子太残忍了，他虐待俘虏，所以那些划船的俘虏就在‘母狼号’向他们的船接近，要夺取他们的船的时候，同时放下了船桨，抓住坐在指挥台上高喊‘快划’的船长，从船尾逐排地①向船头传递，边传还边咬他，不等传过桅杆，船长就魂归西天了。我说过，待人残忍，触犯众怒。
①划桨的俘虏是分为前后许多排锁在座位上的。
“我们又回到了君士坦丁堡。第二年，也就是七三年，听说唐胡安大人攻占了突尼斯，征服了土耳其的王国，把它交由穆莱•哈米达统治。有世界上最残忍又最勇敢的摩尔人穆莱•哈米达在那儿，土耳其人要重新恢复统治的希望就破灭了。土耳其素丹对这个损失痛心不已，便动用了土耳其人的全部智慧，同威尼斯人讲和。而威尼斯人求和心更切。又过了一年，也就是七四年，土耳其素丹向戈利达要塞和突尼斯附近唐胡安只建了一半的要塞发动了进攻。这段时间，我一直在船上做划船手，根本没有获得自由的希望，至少没有被营救的希望，当时我已决意不把我的任何不幸消息告诉父亲。
“戈利达最后终于失守了，堡垒也失守了，总共有七万五千名土耳其雇佣军以及来自整个非洲的四十万摩尔人和阿拉伯人向它们进攻。如此庞大数量的军队，而且装备精良，再加上那么多的苦役犯，他们只须用手撮土，就足以把戈利达和那个堡垒盖上。戈利达首先失守。在此之前，一直以为它是坚不可摧的。不过，它并不是由于守卫者的失职才失守的，他们已经尽了自己的全部所能。就像后来事实证明的那样，在那块沙地上建立掩体太容易了。一般的沙地，挖两拃深就会遇到水，可土耳其人在那儿挖了两尺深也没碰到水，因此他们得以用很多沙袋建起了高层工事，可以居高临下地射击，任何人也抵御不了。
“人们普遍认为，我们的士兵不应该困守在戈利达，而应该主动出击，迎战登陆的敌人。说这种话的人对这类事很少经历过，因而说起话来相去甚远。我们在戈利达和那个堡垒只有不到七千名士兵。数量如此少，即使装备再好，也不可能跑到工事外去，对付数量如此之多的敌人。而且他们得不到及时的援助，特别是他们受到如此之多的顽固敌人的包围，怎么能不失守呢？不过很多人认为，我也这么认为，这是天助西班牙，让他们扫平这个罪恶的滋生地，这个贪得无厌、巧取豪夺、消耗了无尽钱财的要塞。他们毫无意义地把钱挥霍掉，把钱都用来为那个战无不胜的卡洛斯五世树碑立传，似乎真有必要让他英名永存，而且那些石头真能让他英名永存似的。那座堡垒也失守了，不过守卫堡垒的士兵进行了英勇顽强的战斗。土耳其人发动了二十二次总攻，死了二万五千多人，才一点一点地占领了堡垒。活着的守军不过三百人，而且都是负了伤才被俘的，这更证明了他们都已经竭尽全力，而且斗志旺盛，忠实地守卫了自己的阵地。在那个滨海湖中央有个由巴伦西亚英勇的著名战士唐胡安•萨诺格拉负责的小堡垒，它也被占领了。
“戈利达的指挥官唐佩德罗•普埃尔托•卡雷罗被俘虏了，他已经尽了全力来守卫戈利达。失守对他的打击太大了，在被押往君士坦丁堡的路上，他郁郁而死。堡垒的指挥官卡布里奥•塞韦略是米兰了不起的工程师、英勇的战士，也被俘了。在这两个地方还牺牲了不少重要人物，其中有一个是帕甘•德奥里亚，他是圣胡安骑士团的武士，生性豪爽。他和著名的胡安•安德烈亚•德奥里亚是亲兄弟。最惨的就是他死在他所信任的几个阿拉伯人手里。那几个人见堡垒已经失守，就提议他换上摩尔人的衣服，然后把他送到塔巴尔卡，那是采珊瑚的热那亚人在海边的一个住所。结果那几个阿拉伯人把他的头割了下来，交给了土耳其军队的指挥官。这里验证了我们西班牙的一句俗话：‘背叛乐了别人，毁了自己。’据说因为他们没有献上活的德奥里亚，土耳其军队的指挥官下令把那几个阿拉伯人也绞死了。
“在堡垒里的西班牙人当中，有一个叫唐佩德罗•德阿吉拉尔，我不知道他是安达卢西亚哪个地方的人。他是堡垒的旗手，是个很重要又很机灵的战士，而且特别擅长作诗。我提到他是因为他曾与我在同一条船上同一排座位，为同一个船老大划船。我们离开港口之前，他按照墓志铭的形式写了两首十四行诗。一首献给戈利达，另一首献给堡垒。我完全可以把这两首诗念出来，我已经把它们背下来了。我相信你们会喜欢这两首诗。”
当俘虏提到唐佩德罗•德阿吉拉尔这个名字时，费尔南多看了他的几个同伴一眼，三个人都会意地笑了一下。提到十四行诗时，其中一人说：
“您先别往下说了，我请求您告诉我，您提到的那位唐佩德罗•德阿吉拉尔后来怎么样了。”
“我所知道的是，”俘虏回答说，“他在君士坦丁堡待了两年，后来扮成阿尔巴尼亚人同一个希腊间谍逃走了。我不知道他是否获得了自由。不过我觉得他已经获得了自由。因为一年后我在君士坦丁堡见到了那个希腊人，可是没来得及问他们那次逃跑后的情况。”
“他的确获得了自由。”那个人说，“那个唐佩德罗是我兄弟，现在就在我们家乡，生活得既愉快又富裕，已经结了婚，有三个孩子。”
“这全靠上帝恩赐，”俘虏说，“依我看，世界上再没有比重新获得自由更令人高兴的事情了。”
“而且，”那个人说，“我还知道我兄弟做的那两首十四行诗。”
“那就请您念念吧，”俘虏说，“您肯定比我记得准确。”
“好，”那人说，“先来看他凭吊戈利达的那一首吧。”
Part 1 Chapter 40
Sonnet
“Blest souls, that, from this mortal husk set free,
In guerdon of brave deeds beatified,
Above this lowly orb of ours abide
Made heirs of heaven and immortality,
With noble rage and ardour glowing ye
Your strength, while strength was yours, in battle plied,
And with your own blood and the foeman’s dyed
The sandy soil and the encircling sea.
It was the ebbing life-blood first that failed
The weary arms; the stout hearts never quailed.
Though vanquished, yet ye earned the victor’s crown:
Though mourned, yet still triumphant was your fall
For there ye won, between the sword and wall,
In Heaven glory and on earth renown.”
“That is it exactly, according to my recollection,” said the captive.
“Well then, that on the fort,” said the gentleman, “if my memory serves me, goes thus:
Sonnet
“Up from this wasted soil, this shattered shell,
Whose walls and towers here in ruin lie,
Three thousand soldier souls took wing on high,
In the bright mansions of the blest to dwell.
The onslaught of the foeman to repel
By might of arm all vainly did they try,
And when at length ’twas left them but to die,
Wearied and few the last defenders fell.
And this same arid soil hath ever been
A haunt of countless mournful memories,
As well in our day as in days of yore.
But never yet to Heaven it sent, I ween,
From its hard bosom purer souls than these,
Or braver bodies on its surface bore.”
The sonnets were not disliked, and the captive was rejoiced at the tidings they gave him of his comrade, and continuing his tale, he went on to say:
The Goletta and the fort being thus in their hands, the Turks gave orders to dismantle the Goletta — for the fort was reduced to such a state that there was nothing left to level — and to do the work more quickly and easily they mined it in three places; but nowhere were they able to blow up the part which seemed to be the least strong, that is to say, the old walls, while all that remained standing of the new fortifications that the Fratin had made came to the ground with the greatest ease. Finally the fleet returned victorious and triumphant to Constantinople, and a few months later died my master, El Uchali, otherwise Uchali Fartax, which means in Turkish “the scabby renegade;” for that he was; it is the practice with the Turks to name people from some defect or virtue they may possess; the reason being that there are among them only four surnames belonging to families tracing their descent from the Ottoman house, and the others, as I have said, take their names and surnames either from bodily blemishes or moral qualities. This “scabby one” rowed at the oar as a slave of the Grand Signor’s for fourteen years, and when over thirty-four years of age, in resentment at having been struck by a Turk while at the oar, turned renegade and renounced his faith in order to be able to revenge himself; and such was his valour that, without owing his advancement to the base ways and means by which most favourites of the Grand Signor rise to power, he came to be king of Algiers, and afterwards general-on-sea, which is the third place of trust in the realm. He was a Calabrian by birth, and a worthy man morally, and he treated his slaves with great humanity. He had three thousand of them, and after his death they were divided, as he directed by his will, between the Grand Signor (who is heir of all who die and shares with the children of the deceased) and his renegades. I fell to the lot of a Venetian renegade who, when a cabin boy on board a ship, had been taken by Uchali and was so much beloved by him that he became one of his most favoured youths. He came to be the most cruel renegade I ever saw: his name was Hassan Aga, and he grew very rich and became king of Algiers. With him I went there from Constantinople, rather glad to be so near Spain, not that I intended to write to anyone about my unhappy lot, but to try if fortune would be kinder to me in Algiers than in Constantinople, where I had attempted in a thousand ways to escape without ever finding a favourable time or chance; but in Algiers I resolved to seek for other means of effecting the purpose I cherished so dearly; for the hope of obtaining my liberty never deserted me; and when in my plots and schemes and attempts the result did not answer my expectations, without giving way to despair I immediately began to look out for or conjure up some new hope to support me, however faint or feeble it might be.
In this way I lived on immured in a building or prison called by the Turks a bano in which they confine the Christian captives, as well those that are the king’s as those belonging to private individuals, and also what they call those of the Almacen, which is as much as to say the slaves of the municipality, who serve the city in the public works and other employments; but captives of this kind recover their liberty with great difficulty, for, as they are public property and have no particular master, there is no one with whom to treat for their ransom, even though they may have the means. To these banos, as I have said, some private individuals of the town are in the habit of bringing their captives, especially when they are to be ransomed; because there they can keep them in safety and comfort until their ransom arrives. The king’s captives also, that are on ransom, do not go out to work with the rest of the crew, unless when their ransom is delayed; for then, to make them write for it more pressingly, they compel them to work and go for wood, which is no light labour.
I, however, was one of those on ransom, for when it was discovered that I was a captain, although I declared my scanty means and want of fortune, nothing could dissuade them from including me among the gentlemen and those waiting to be ransomed. They put a chain on me, more as a mark of this than to keep me safe, and so I passed my life in that bano with several other gentlemen and persons of quality marked out as held to ransom; but though at times, or rather almost always, we suffered from hunger and scanty clothing, nothing distressed us so much as hearing and seeing at every turn the unexampled and unheard-of cruelties my master inflicted upon the Christians. Every day he hanged a man, impaled one, cut off the ears of another; and all with so little provocation, or so entirely without any, that the Turks acknowledged he did it merely for the sake of doing it, and because he was by nature murderously disposed towards the whole human race. The only one that fared at all well with him was a Spanish soldier, something de Saavedra by name, to whom he never gave a blow himself, or ordered a blow to be given, or addressed a hard word, although he had done things that will dwell in the memory of the people there for many a year, and all to recover his liberty; and for the least of the many things he did we all dreaded that he would be impaled, and he himself was in fear of it more than once; and only that time does not allow, I could tell you now something of what that soldier did, that would interest and astonish you much more than the narration of my own tale.
To go on with my story; the courtyard of our prison was overlooked by the windows of the house belonging to a wealthy Moor of high position; and these, as is usual in Moorish houses, were rather loopholes than windows, and besides were covered with thick and close lattice-work. It so happened, then, that as I was one day on the terrace of our prison with three other comrades, trying, to pass away the time, how far we could leap with our chains, we being alone, for all the other Christians had gone out to work, I chanced to raise my eyes, and from one of these little closed windows I saw a reed appear with a cloth attached to the end of it, and it kept waving to and fro, and moving as if making signs to us to come and take it. We watched it, and one of those who were with me went and stood under the reed to see whether they would let it drop, or what they would do, but as he did so the reed was raised and moved from side to side, as if they meant to say “no” by a shake of the head. The Christian came back, and it was again lowered, making the same movements as before. Another of my comrades went, and with him the same happened as with the first, and then the third went forward, but with the same result as the first and second. Seeing this I did not like not to try my luck, and as soon as I came under the reed it was dropped and fell inside the bano at my feet. I hastened to untie the cloth, in which I perceived a knot, and in this were ten cianis, which are coins of base gold, current among the Moors, and each worth ten reals of our money.
It is needless to say I rejoiced over this godsend, and my joy was not less than my wonder as I strove to imagine how this good fortune could have come to us, but to me specially; for the evident unwillingness to drop the reed for any but me showed that it was for me the favour was intended. I took my welcome money, broke the reed, and returned to the terrace, and looking up at the window, I saw a very white hand put out that opened and shut very quickly. From this we gathered or fancied that it must be some woman living in that house that had done us this kindness, and to show that we were grateful for it, we made salaams after the fashion of the Moors, bowing the head, bending the body, and crossing the arms on the breast. Shortly afterwards at the same window a small cross made of reeds was put out and immediately withdrawn. This sign led us to believe that some Christian woman was a captive in the house, and that it was she who had been so good to us; but the whiteness of the hand and the bracelets we had perceived made us dismiss that idea, though we thought it might be one of the Christian renegades whom their masters very often take as lawful wives, and gladly, for they prefer them to the women of their own nation. In all our conjectures we were wide of the truth; so from that time forward our sole occupation was watching and gazing at the window where the cross had appeared to us, as if it were our pole-star; but at least fifteen days passed without our seeing either it or the hand, or any other sign and though meanwhile we endeavoured with the utmost pains to ascertain who it was that lived in the house, and whether there were any Christian renegade in it, nobody could ever tell us anything more than that he who lived there was a rich Moor of high position, Hadji Morato by name, formerly alcaide of La Pata, an office of high dignity among them. But when we least thought it was going to rain any more cianis from that quarter, we saw the reed suddenly appear with another cloth tied in a larger knot attached to it, and this at a time when, as on the former occasion, the bano was deserted and unoccupied.
 
We made trial as before, each of the same three going forward before I did; but the reed was delivered to none but me, and on my approach it was let drop. I untied the knot and I found forty Spanish gold crowns with a paper written in Arabic, and at the end of the writing there was a large cross drawn. I kissed the cross, took the crowns and returned to the terrace, and we all made our salaams; again the hand appeared, I made signs that I would read the paper, and then the window was closed. We were all puzzled, though filled with joy at what had taken place; and as none of us understood Arabic, great was our curiosity to know what the paper contained, and still greater the difficulty of finding some one to read it. At last I resolved to confide in a renegade, a native of Murcia, who professed a very great friendship for me, and had given pledges that bound him to keep any secret I might entrust to him; for it is the custom with some renegades, when they intend to return to Christian territory, to carry about them certificates from captives of mark testifying, in whatever form they can, that such and such a renegade is a worthy man who has always shown kindness to Christians, and is anxious to escape on the first opportunity that may present itself. Some obtain these testimonials with good intentions, others put them to a cunning use; for when they go to pillage on Christian territory, if they chance to be cast away, or taken prisoners, they produce their certificates and say that from these papers may be seen the object they came for, which was to remain on Christian ground, and that it was to this end they joined the Turks in their foray. In this way they escape the consequences of the first outburst and make their peace with the Church before it does them any harm, and then when they have the chance they return to Barbary to become what they were before. Others, however, there are who procure these papers and make use of them honestly, and remain on Christian soil. This friend of mine, then, was one of these renegades that I have described; he had certificates from all our comrades, in which we testified in his favour as strongly as we could; and if the Moors had found the papers they would have burned him alive.
I knew that he understood Arabic very well, and could not only speak but also write it; but before I disclosed the whole matter to him, I asked him to read for me this paper which I had found by accident in a hole in my cell. He opened it and remained some time examining it and muttering to himself as he translated it. I asked him if he understood it, and he told me he did perfectly well, and that if I wished him to tell me its meaning word for word, I must give him pen and ink that he might do it more satisfactorily. We at once gave him what he required, and he set about translating it bit by bit, and when he had done he said:
“All that is here in Spanish is what the Moorish paper contains, and you must bear in mind that when it says ‘Lela Marien’ it means ‘Our Lady the Virgin Mary.’”
We read the paper and it ran thus:
“When I was a child my father had a slave who taught me to pray the Christian prayer in my own language, and told me many things about Lela Marien. The Christian died, and I know that she did not go to the fire, but to Allah, because since then I have seen her twice, and she told me to go to the land of the Christians to see Lela Marien, who had great love for me. I know not how to go. I have seen many Christians, but except thyself none has seemed to me to be a gentleman. I am young and beautiful, and have plenty of money to take with me. See if thou canst contrive how we may go, and if thou wilt thou shalt be my husband there, and if thou wilt not it will not distress me, for Lela Marien will find me some one to marry me. I myself have written this: have a care to whom thou givest it to read: trust no Moor, for they are all perfidious. I am greatly troubled on this account, for I would not have thee confide in anyone, because if my father knew it he would at once fling me down a well and cover me with stones. I will put a thread to the reed; tie the answer to it, and if thou hast no one to write for thee in Arabic, tell it to me by signs, for Lela Marien will make me understand thee. She and Allah and this cross, which I often kiss as the captive bade me, protect thee.”
Judge, sirs, whether we had reason for surprise and joy at the words of this paper; and both one and the other were so great, that the renegade perceived that the paper had not been found by chance, but had been in reality addressed to some one of us, and he begged us, if what he suspected were the truth, to trust him and tell him all, for he would risk his life for our freedom; and so saying he took out from his breast a metal crucifix, and with many tears swore by the God the image represented, in whom, sinful and wicked as he was, he truly and faithfully believed, to be loyal to us and keep secret whatever we chose to reveal to him; for he thought and almost foresaw that by means of her who had written that paper, he and all of us would obtain our liberty, and he himself obtain the object he so much desired, his restoration to the bosom of the Holy Mother Church, from which by his own sin and ignorance he was now severed like a corrupt limb. The renegade said this with so many tears and such signs of repentance, that with one consent we all agreed to tell him the whole truth of the matter, and so we gave him a full account of all, without hiding anything from him. We pointed out to him the window at which the reed appeared, and he by that means took note of the house, and resolved to ascertain with particular care who lived in it. We agreed also that it would be advisable to answer the Moorish lady’s letter, and the renegade without a moment’s delay took down the words I dictated to him, which were exactly what I shall tell you, for nothing of importance that took place in this affair has escaped my memory, or ever will while life lasts. This, then, was the answer returned to the Moorish lady:
“The true Allah protect thee, Lady, and that blessed Marien who is the true mother of God, and who has put it into thy heart to go to the land of the Christians, because she loves thee. Entreat her that she be pleased to show thee how thou canst execute the command she gives thee, for she will, such is her goodness. On my own part, and on that of all these Christians who are with me, I promise to do all that we can for thee, even to death. Fail not to write to me and inform me what thou dost mean to do, and I will always answer thee; for the great Allah has given us a Christian captive who can speak and write thy language well, as thou mayest see by this paper; without fear, therefore, thou canst inform us of all thou wouldst. As to what thou sayest, that if thou dost reach the land of the Christians thou wilt be my wife, I give thee my promise upon it as a good Christian; and know that the Christians keep their promises better than the Moors. Allah and Marien his mother watch over thee, my Lady.”
The paper being written and folded I waited two days until the bano was empty as before, and immediately repaired to the usual walk on the terrace to see if there were any sign of the reed, which was not long in making its appearance. As soon as I saw it, although I could not distinguish who put it out, I showed the paper as a sign to attach the thread, but it was already fixed to the reed, and to it I tied the paper; and shortly afterwards our star once more made its appearance with the white flag of peace, the little bundle. It was dropped, and I picked it up, and found in the cloth, in gold and silver coins of all sorts, more than fifty crowns, which fifty times more strengthened our joy and doubled our hope of gaining our liberty. That very night our renegade returned and said he had learned that the Moor we had been told of lived in that house, that his name was Hadji Morato, that he was enormously rich, that he had one only daughter the heiress of all his wealth, and that it was the general opinion throughout the city that she was the most beautiful woman in Barbary, and that several of the viceroys who came there had sought her for a wife, but that she had been always unwilling to marry; and he had learned, moreover, that she had a Christian slave who was now dead; all which agreed with the contents of the paper. We immediately took counsel with the renegade as to what means would have to be adopted in order to carry off the Moorish lady and bring us all to Christian territory; and in the end it was agreed that for the present we should wait for a second communication from Zoraida (for that was the name of her who now desires to be called Maria), because we saw clearly that she and no one else could find a way out of all these difficulties. When we had decided upon this the renegade told us not to be uneasy, for he would lose his life or restore us to liberty. For four days the bano was filled with people, for which reason the reed delayed its appearance for four days, but at the end of that time, when the bano was, as it generally was, empty, it appeared with the cloth so bulky that it promised a happy birth. Reed and cloth came down to me, and I found another paper and a hundred crowns in gold, without any other coin. The renegade was present, and in our cell we gave him the paper to read, which was to this effect:
“I cannot think of a plan, senor, for our going to Spain, nor has Lela Marien shown me one, though I have asked her. All that can be done is for me to give you plenty of money in gold from this window. With it ransom yourself and your friends, and let one of you go to the land of the Christians, and there buy a vessel and come back for the others; and he will find me in my father’s garden, which is at the Babazon gate near the seashore, where I shall be all this summer with my father and my servants. You can carry me away from there by night without any danger, and bring me to the vessel. And remember thou art to be my husband, else I will pray to Marien to punish thee. If thou canst not trust anyone to go for the vessel, ransom thyself and do thou go, for I know thou wilt return more surely than any other, as thou art a gentleman and a Christian. Endeavour to make thyself acquainted with the garden; and when I see thee walking yonder I shall know that the bano is empty and I will give thee abundance of money. Allah protect thee, senor.”
These were the words and contents of the second paper, and on hearing them, each declared himself willing to be the ransomed one, and promised to go and return with scrupulous good faith; and I too made the same offer; but to all this the renegade objected, saying that he would not on any account consent to one being set free before all went together, as experience had taught him how ill those who have been set free keep promises which they made in captivity; for captives of distinction frequently had recourse to this plan, paying the ransom of one who was to go to Valencia or Majorca with money to enable him to arm a bark and return for the others who had ransomed him, but who never came back; for recovered liberty and the dread of losing it again efface from the memory all the obligations in the world. And to prove the truth of what he said, he told us briefly what had happened to a certain Christian gentleman almost at that very time, the strangest case that had ever occurred even there, where astonishing and marvellous things are happening every instant. In short, he ended by saying that what could and ought to be done was to give the money intended for the ransom of one of us Christians to him, so that he might with it buy a vessel there in Algiers under the pretence of becoming a merchant and trader at Tetuan and along the coast; and when master of the vessel, it would be easy for him to hit on some way of getting us all out of the bano and putting us on board; especially if the Moorish lady gave, as she said, money enough to ransom all, because once free it would be the easiest thing in the world for us to embark even in open day; but the greatest difficulty was that the Moors do not allow any renegade to buy or own any craft, unless it be a large vessel for going on roving expeditions, because they are afraid that anyone who buys a small vessel, especially if he be a Spaniard, only wants it for the purpose of escaping to Christian territory. This however he could get over by arranging with a Tagarin Moor to go shares with him in the purchase of the vessel, and in the profit on the cargo; and under cover of this he could become master of the vessel, in which case he looked upon all the rest as accomplished. But though to me and my comrades it had seemed a better plan to send to Majorca for the vessel, as the Moorish lady suggested, we did not dare to oppose him, fearing that if we did not do as he said he would denounce us, and place us in danger of losing all our lives if he were to disclose our dealings with Zoraida, for whose life we would have all given our own. We therefore resolved to put ourselves in the hands of God and in the renegade’s ; and at the same time an answer was given to Zoraida, telling her that we would do all she recommended, for she had given as good advice as if Lela Marien had delivered it, and that it depended on her alone whether we were to defer the business or put it in execution at once. I renewed my promise to be her husband; and thus the next day that the bano chanced to be empty she at different times gave us by means of the reed and cloth two thousand gold crowns and a paper in which she said that the next Juma, that is to say Friday, she was going to her father’s garden, but that before she went she would give us more money; and if it were not enough we were to let her know, as she would give us as much as we asked, for her father had so much he would not miss it, and besides she kept all the keys.
We at once gave the renegade five hundred crowns to buy the vessel, and with eight hundred I ransomed myself, giving the money to a Valencian merchant who happened to be in Algiers at the time, and who had me released on his word, pledging it that on the arrival of the first ship from Valencia he would pay my ransom; for if he had given the money at once it would have made the king suspect that my ransom money had been for a long time in Algiers, and that the merchant had for his own advantage kept it secret. In fact my master was so difficult to deal with that I dared not on any account pay down the money at once. The Thursday before the Friday on which the fair Zoraida was to go to the garden she gave us a thousand crowns more, and warned us of her departure, begging me, if I were ransomed, to find out her father’s garden at once, and by all means to seek an opportunity of going there to see her. I answered in a few words that I would do so, and that she must remember to commend us to Lela Marien with all the prayers the captive had taught her. This having been done, steps were taken to ransom our three comrades, so as to enable them to quit the bano, and lest, seeing me ransomed and themselves not, though the money was forthcoming, they should make a disturbance about it and the devil should prompt them to do something that might injure Zoraida; for though their position might be sufficient to relieve me from this apprehension, nevertheless I was unwilling to run any risk in the matter; and so I had them ransomed in the same way as I was, handing over all the money to the merchant so that he might with safety and confidence give security; without, however, confiding our arrangement and secret to him, which might have been dangerous.
 
幸福的英灵，功德卓著，
已经脱离冥府，
从地下九泉
升腾到高天极乐处。
你们义愤填膺，热情满腹，
奋力拼搏，驰骋沙场，
以自己和他人的鲜血
染红了邻海疆土。
名节重于生命，
虽败犹如胜，
精疲力竭身先故。
墙垒前的炮火中，
勇士献英骨，赢得
英名今世，流芳千古。
“我记得这首诗正是这样的。”俘虏说。
“那首凭吊堡垒的诗，如果我没记错的话，”那人说，“是这样写的：
落寞的土地上，
铺洒着这样的土壤，
三千战士的英魂
扶摇直上天堂。
你们曾以坚强的臂膀，
在这里进行了失败的抵抗，
寡不敌众，力不可挡，
最终迎刃而亡。
就在这块土地上，
古往今来，
令人遗恨四方。
它坚实的胸膛
亦不能支撑勇士的身躯，
英魂升空天晴朗。”
大家觉得这两首诗都不错，而俘虏更为得到了伙伴的消息而高兴。然后，他接着讲道：
“戈利达和堡垒都被攻克了，土耳其人下令把戈利达炸毁。堡垒原来就是那个样子，已经没什么可拆的了。为了省点事，尽快地拆掉戈利达，土耳其人在三处似乎不太坚固的地方安放了炸药，可是竟没有一处被炸塌，那些都是老式的城墙。倒是费拉廷①修建的新工事塌了。最后，土耳其的军队大胜返回君士坦丁堡。没过几个月，我的主人乌查利就死了。人们都叫他乌查利•法尔塔克斯，土耳其语的意思就是‘癞疮叛徒’。他确实长了癞疮。土耳其人常常用一个人的生理或道德缺陷来称呼那个人。他们只有奥斯曼家族繁衍出来的四个家族姓氏，所以他们往往用一个人的体形或者品性作为一个人的姓名。
①费拉廷是西班牙的一位军事建筑工程师。
“这个癞子做了素丹的奴隶，为他划了十四年船。他三十四岁那年，由于划船的时候土耳其人打了他一个耳光，他又不能报仇，才背叛了他的信念。他没有像土耳其大公的心腹那样靠歪门邪道往上爬，而是靠自己的勇气终于成了阿尔及尔的国王，而后又成了海军统帅，成了那个统治阶层的第三号人物。他是卡拉布里亚人，是个正直的人，对待俘虏很人道。他手下共有三千俘虏。按照他的遗嘱，他死后，这些俘虏被分配给土耳其素丹（素丹参与继承所有死者的财产）和他手下的叛教者们。我被分配给了一个威尼斯叛教者，他是个见习水手，是被乌查利俘获的。乌查利非常宠爱他，后来他竟成了乌查利最宠幸的亲信之一，并且成了最残忍的叛教者。
“他叫阿桑•阿加，后来变得很富裕，而且成了国王。我跟他从君士坦丁堡来到阿尔及尔，心里很高兴，觉得这回离西班牙更近了。这倒不是我想把我的不幸告诉谁，而是想看看在这儿是否能得到比君士坦丁堡更好的运气。在君士坦丁堡我曾千方百计地逃跑，可是没有一次成功，因此我想在阿尔及尔想想办法，得到我渴望得到的东西。我从来没有放弃得到自由的希望。我设计并实施的办法并没有达到我的目的，可我并不自暴自弃，而是继续伪装下去，寻求新的希望，哪怕是很渺茫的希望。
“我被关在土耳其人称作‘囚牢’的牢房里打发时光。囚牢里关的是西班牙俘虏，有些是属于国王的，有些是属于私人的，还有属于公家的被称为‘市政’的囚犯，也就是专门从事公共设施以及其他工程建设的人。这类囚犯很难获得自由，因为他们属于公共事业，不属于某个人。所以，即使他们定了赎金，也没有人去赎他们。此外，当地一些人也常常把他们的俘虏送到这种囚牢来，特别是这些俘虏可能被赎走的时候，因为在这种囚牢里管理比较松，也比较让人放心，一直到他们被赎走。国王的那些等待赎身的俘虏一般不同其他囚犯一起出去劳动，只有他们的赎金迟迟不到位，为了让俘虏写信催赎金时，才让他们同其他犯人一起劳动打柴，这个活儿的劳动量可不小。
“我算是等钱赎身的俘虏。土耳其人知道我是上尉，所以，尽管我声明没什么财产，极少可能有人来赎我，他们却不理会，还是把我归入了可赎贵人之列。他们给我戴了副锁链，这主要是为了表示我是个等待赎身的俘虏，并不是为了看住我。我就这样与其他一些等钱赎身的贵人一起过着囚牢生活。虽然饥寒不时困扰着我们，但任何事都比不上耳闻目睹我们的主人极其残忍地对待犯人更令人心寒。他每天都要任意绞杀人，不是用扦子刺这个人，就是扎穿那个人的耳朵，而且常常是因为很微小的原因。或者根本就没有原因。他们纯粹是为了这样做而这样做，已经杀人成性了。只有一个叫萨阿韦德拉①的西班牙战士能够逃脱这样的厄运。他的所作所为很多年后都会留在那些人的记忆中，他所做的一切都是为了获得自由。不过主人从来没有打过他，也没有叫人打他，甚至没骂过他。他做的那些事情，哪怕是其中最小的事，我们都完全有理由担心他挨打。他也多次担心自己会挨打。如果不是时间不够，我现在就可以给你们讲讲这位战士的事迹，肯定会比我的经历更有意思。
①此处写的是塞万提斯自己，他曾几次为逃跑差点儿丧命。
“在我们牢房的院子上方，有一个摩尔权贵家的一排窗户。就像一般摩尔人家一样，那与其说是窗户，倒不如说是窟窿，即使是这么小的窗户，也捂得严严实实。有一天，我和另外三个伙伴一起在监狱房顶的平台上练习带链跳，借此消磨时间。当时只有我们这几个人，其他人都已经出去干活儿了。我抬起头，发现从那紧闭的窗户里伸出一根竹竿，竹竿上还拴着一块麻布。竹竿来回摆动，仿佛在召唤我们过去拿住它。我们看着那根竹竿。我们之中的一个人走到了竹竿下面，看拿竹竿的人是否会松手，或者想干什么。可是他一过去，竹竿就抬了起来，并且向两侧摆动，似乎是在摇头说‘不’。
“这个人回来了，竹竿又垂下来，像原来那样摇动。我的另一个伙伴也过去了，但也遇到了和第一个人同样的情况。后来我的第三个伙伴过去了，又遇到了同前两个人一样的情况。我也不想放弃这个碰运气的机会。我刚走到竹竿下面，竹竿就落到我脚旁。我随手解开了麻布。麻布上打了个结，里面有十个西亚尼，这是摩尔人使用的一种成色不高的金币，每个值我们的十个雷阿尔。我那高兴劲儿就不必说了。我又惊又喜，不知为什么会有这种好事，尤其是这件好事又落到了我头上。看来那根竹竿是有意落到我脚下的，这明确表明有人在特别关照我。我拿上这笔钱，折断了竹竿，又回到平台上，向窗户望去，只见从窗户伸出一只白皙的手，打开窗户又迅速把窗户关上了。
“我们明白了，肯定是住在这里的某位夫人照顾我们。为了表示感谢，我们低头弯腰，双臂抱在胸前，按照摩尔人的方式行深度鞠躬礼。不一会儿，那扇窗户里又伸出一个用竹棍做的小十字架，然后收了回去。这个情况更让我们相信，那间房子里大概住着基督教女俘虏，就是她在给我们钱。可是那只白皙的手以及手上的手镯却又否定了我们这个想法。我们又想，她大概是个背叛了我们的基督教女人。通常她们的主人正式娶她们为妻，并且待她们很好，觉得她们比摩尔女人强。
“在整个过程中，我们始终不知道到底是怎么回事。从那以后，我们一直往那个伸出过竹竿的窗户张望，把它当成我们的福星。可是我们看了十五天，也没有看到什么手或竹竿。这段时间里我们四处打听那间房子里住的是什么人，里面是否有个背叛了基督教的女人，可是人们告诉我们，里面只是住着一位摩尔人权贵，名叫阿希•莫拉托，是巴塔的典狱长，这是个很重要的职务。可是，当我们不再指望从那个窗口得到很多西亚尼的时候，有一天，忽然发现窗口又像上次那样伸出了竹竿，而且竹竿上的麻布结更大了。时间也和上次一样，是在没有其他人的时候。我们又做了个试验，还是让上次那三个人先去取，可是竹竿上的东西只有我才能拿到。只有当我来到竹竿前，竹竿上的东西才会落下来。我打开麻布结，发现里面有四十个西班牙金盾和一张阿拉伯文写的字条，字条的末尾画着一个大十字架。我吻了十字架，拿了金盾后又回到平台上，行深度鞠躬礼，那只手又伸了出来。我们表示我们将看那张纸条，于是窗户又关上了。
“我们对这件事既欣喜若狂又莫名其妙。我们几个人都不懂阿拉伯文，可是又急于知道纸条上写的是什么内容。现在最麻烦的就是要找人帮我们看看纸条。我决定去找一个已经背叛了基督教的木尔西亚人。他曾经是我的好朋友，他有把柄在我手里，所以不敢把这个秘密泄露出去。当时有的叛教者想回到基督教国家去，就随身带着某位有身份的俘虏的签名信，信上证明这个持信人是好人，而且没有对基督教徒做过坏事。这种人总想一有机会就逃跑。有的人要这种签名信并没有歹意，而有的人则别有用心，以防万一。例如，他们去基督教国家抢掠时被抓住了，就拿出签名信，说这信可以证明他来的目的，是要留在基督教国家里，而抢掠则是被土耳其人强迫所为。这样先避免吃眼前亏，然后再同教会讲好话，最后安然无恙。待蒙混过关后，又会回到贝韦里亚重操旧业。当然有的人持这种签名信并没有歹意，而且在基督教国家住了下来。我刚才说的那个叛教者是我的朋友，他的签名信在我手上，信上有我们所有人的签名，尽力证明他是好人。假如摩尔人发现了这封签名信，就会把他活活烧死。我知道他的阿拉伯文很好，不仅能说，而且能写。不过我没有把实情告诉他，只说让他给我念念这张纸条，这是我偶然在我房间的一个窟窿里发现的。
“他打开纸条，看了好一会儿，嘴里还嘟嘟囔囔地念着。我问他是否能看懂，他说完全能看懂，如果我认为有必要逐句翻译，就给他笔和墨水，这样可以翻译得更准确。我把笔墨给了他，他逐字逐句地翻译。翻译完以后他说：‘这就是从这张摩尔语纸条上翻译过来的地道的西班牙语。你注意一下，里面说的莱拉•马里安就是我们说的圣母玛利亚。’
“我看了纸条，纸条上写着：
我小时候，父亲给我找了个女奴，她用我们的语言教我做基督教式的祈祷，并且给我讲了很多有关莱拉•马里安的事情。那个女奴死了。我知道她没有死，而是同真主在一起，因为后来我见过她两次。她让我到基督教国家去看看莱拉•马里安，莱拉•马里安非常喜欢我。我不知道该怎么去。很多基督教徒都曾在这个窗户看见过我，可没有人像你这样称得上是个男子汉。我是个非常漂亮的姑娘，有很多钱。你看看咱们是否能一同去，到了那边，你如果愿意的话，可以做我的丈夫；如果不愿意也没关系，莱拉•马里安会给我找个能同我结婚的人。我要写的就是这些。你让别人帮你看纸条时要注意点，不要相信任何一个摩尔人，他们都是骗子。我对此很担心，请你不要把事情告诉任何人。如果我父亲知道了这件事，会把我扔进井里，用石头埋了。竹竿上有条线，你可以把你的答复挂在上面。如果没有人帮你写阿拉伯文，你就打手势，莱拉•马里安保佑，我会懂你的意思。莱拉•马里安和真主会保护你，这个十字架我已吻过多次，这是那个女奴告诉我的。
“你们可以想象，大人们，我们知道了纸条上的话真是又惊又喜。当然，那个叛教者一看就知道，这张纸条并不是偶然捡到的，而是专门写给我们当中某个人的。于是他请求我们，如果他的猜测是真的，就请我们相信他，把事情告诉他，他冒死也要帮助我们获得自由。说完他从怀里掏出一个金属的耶稣受难像，泪流满面地向那个神像发誓，说尽管他是个罪人，还是请相信他，他一定忠于我们，对我们告诉他的事情保密。他已经猜到了，靠那个写纸条的女人帮忙，他和我们都可以获得自由。他梦寐以求的就是重新皈依神圣的教会，这是他的支柱，虽然他愚昧无知，罪恶深重，已经被革除教籍，逐出了教会。
“这个叛徒痛哭流涕，悔恨不已，我们都同意把真相告诉他。于是我们毫不隐瞒地把实情全部告诉了他。我们还把伸出竹竿的那个窗户指给他看。他看清了是哪间房子，又准备特意去打听是谁住在那间房子里。我们商定，既然有人能帮我们写，就该对那个摩尔姑娘的纸条作出答复。那个叛教者按照我的口述写了封信。确切的原话我马上就会告诉你们。这些都是发生在我身上的事，所以我至死一点儿也不会忘记。给摩尔姑娘的回信是这样写的：
真主会保佑你，我的小姐；那个神圣的马里安也会保佑你，她是真正的上帝之母。她非常爱你，才促使你到基督教国家去。你去请求她，让她告诉你怎样把她对你的吩咐付诸实施吧。仁慈的她一定会帮助你。我以我和与我在一起的几个基督教徒的名义保证，我们会为你做出一切，即使付出生命也在所不惜。你一定要给我们写信，把你的想法告诉我们。我们一定给你回信。伟大的真主已经赐给我们一个基督教徒俘虏，他既会说又会写你们的那种语言，你看看信就知道了。你不用害怕，可以把你的想法都告诉我们。你说如果了到基督教国家，你愿意做我的夫人，那么我作为一个善良的基督徒答应你。你知道，基督徒在实现诺言方面要比摩尔人强。愿真主和你的圣母马里安保佑你，我的小姐。
“信写好后，我把信叠了起来，等到两天后，像以往一样，只有我一个人在囚牢的时候，我又到到我熟悉的平台上，看看窗户里是否有竹竿出现。果然不一会儿竹竿就出现了。虽然我看不见是谁在拿竹竿，可我一看见竹竿出现，就扬了扬手里的信，示意她把线拴上。其实线已经拴在竹竿上了。我把信捆在竹竿上，很快那个福星般的带结白旗又出现了。白旗落了地，我拾起来一看，发现布包里有各种各样的银币和金币，足有五十多个盾。这些钱使得我们快乐倍增，它又证实了我们获得自由的希望。当天晚上，那个叛教者又来了，告诉我们说，他已经弄清楚了，那间房子里住的就是我们说的那个摩尔人，他叫阿希•莫拉托，是当地的首富。他只有一个女儿，这个女儿是他全部财产的继承人。全城的人都公认她是贝韦里亚最漂亮的女人。很多总督都来向她求婚，可她从不想嫁人。此外，叛教者还听说她有一个女奴，那个女奴已经死了。他说的这些与纸条上写的情况吻合。
“然后我们又同那个叛教者商量，以什么方式把摩尔姑娘救出来，大家一起到基督教国家去。最后我们商定再等索赖达的通知。现在她愿意让人们叫她玛丽亚，可当时她叫索赖达。我们觉得只有她才能解决这些困难。我们商定后，那个叛教者又劝我们不要着急，他即使献出生命，也要让我们获得自由。随后的四天里，囚牢里总是有人，所以竹竿一直没出现。四天之后，囚牢又没有其他人的时候，一个鼓鼓的麻布包又出现了，那简直是福星高照。她把竹竿和麻布包又伸到我面前。我发现布包里有一张纸条和一百个清一色的金币。那个叛教者也在场。我们让他在我的房间里把纸条念念。纸条是这样写的：
我的大人，我也不知道咱们如何才能去西班牙。
我问过莱拉•马里安，她也不知道。现在可做的事
情只能是我通过这个窗户给你们很多钱，你和你的
朋友们用它赎了身，然后你们其中一人到基督教国
家，在那儿买条船，再回来接大家。你可以在海滨
的巴巴松门外我父亲的花园里找到我。整个夏天，我和我父亲以及佣人们都在那里。到了晚上，你可以
放心地把我从花园接走，带到船上去。别忘了，你
得做我的丈夫，否则我会请求马里安惩罚你。如果
别人去买船你不放心，你就先赎了身自己去。我知
道你回来的可能性比别人大，因为你是个男子汉，是基督徒。你设法认清花园的位置。每当你散步的时
候，我就知道只有你一个人在囚牢，我就会给你很
多钱。真主保佑你，我的大人。
“这就是第二张纸条的内容。大家看了纸条，都自告奋勇要去赎身，并且保证一定按时去，按时回。我也报了名。可叛教者对此反对，说他反对让任何一个人先获得自由，要走大家一起走。过去的经验证明，凡是获得了自由的人，都没有履行他身陷囹圄时的诺言。过去常常有一些有身份的俘虏借用这种方法，让一个人先赎身，带钱到巴伦西亚或马略尔卡去弄只船，再回来接那些为他赎身的人。可是没有一个人回来。人一旦获得了自由，就唯恐再失掉它，忘记了自己应当承担的责任。
“为了证明他说的是实情，他还列举了几个基督教徒的遭遇。在那个地方，令人心寒的意外事件层出不穷。这种事在那个地方是很典型的。最后他说，现在能做也应该做的事，就是把那些用来赎救基督教徒的钱交给他，他到阿尔及尔去买只船，借口在德上安及其沿海地区做些买卖，等他成了船主，就很容易把我们弄出囚牢，把大家送上船。况且，按照摩尔姑娘说的，她拿钱就是为了给大家赎身。待大家自由了，完全可以光明正大地上船。现在最大的困难就是除非出海劫掠，否则摩尔人不会允许任何一个叛教者特别是西班牙叛教者购买和拥有一艘船，他们怕这个人买了船到基督教国家去。不过他可以设法解决这个困难。他可以同一个塔加林人①一起买船赚钱，他可以打着这个幌子，待成为船主后，一切问题就迎刃而解了。虽然我和我的伙伴们觉得最好还是按摩尔姑娘说的，到马略尔卡去买只船，可是又不敢对叛教者的说法提出异议，怕如果我们不照他说的去做，他就会告发我们，我们就没命了。而且，一旦索赖达的计划暴露了，我们也会丢了性命。于是我们决定听从上帝和那个叛教者的安排。
①塔加林人是生活在基督徒中间的摩尔人。
“我们立刻给索赖达回信，说我们完全按照她说的去办，她说得很对，这就像是莱拉•马里安的旨意。至于是先等一等，还是立即着手进行，全由她决定。我又再度重申我将做她的丈夫。就这样，有一天，我一个人在囚牢的时候，她用竹竿和布包分几次给了我们两千金币，还有一张纸条，上面写着在下一个‘胡马’，也就是下一个星期五，她要到父亲的花园去。在离开花园之前，她还会给我们钱。如果钱不够，就告诉她，她可以如数给我们。她父亲有很多钱，不会发现家里的钱少了，更何况她还掌握着所有钥匙。
“后来我们给了叛教者五百金币，让他买船。我又用了八百金币让一个当时在阿尔及尔的商人为我赎身。那个商人向国王保证，一有船从阿尔及尔来，他就交付赎金。这样做是因为如果马上交付赎金。国王就会怀疑赎金早已到了阿尔及尔，只是商人为了自己牟利，知情不举。我就这样被赎了出来。美丽的索赖达星期四又给了我们一千金币。星期五，她来到花园，告诉我们她就要走了。她请求我，既然我已经赎了身，就去认认那个花园，无论如何也要找机会到那儿去看看她。我只说了几句话，告诉她我一定去，并请她不要忘了用女奴教给她的所有祷辞祈祷莱拉•马里安保佑我们。随后，她又让我为我的三个伙伴赎身，这样就能顺利地离开囚牢。否则那三个人看见只为我赎了身，没有赎他们，又不是没有钱，就会捣乱，居心险恶地做出伤害索赖达的事情来。我知道他们的为人，用不着为此担心。不过，我不想在这件事上冒任何风险，便还是通过那个商人，把钱全部交给他，让他为我们放心作保。但为了防止意外，我们没有把我们的计划和秘密告诉他。”
Part 1 Chapter 41
Before fifteen days were over our renegade had already purchased an excellent vessel with room for more than thirty persons; and to make the transaction safe and lend a colour to it, he thought it well to make, as he did, a voyage to a place called Shershel, twenty leagues from Algiers on the Oran side, where there is an extensive trade in dried figs. Two or three times he made this voyage in company with the Tagarin already mentioned. The Moors of Aragon are called Tagarins in Barbary, and those of Granada Mudejars; but in the Kingdom of Fez they call the Mudejars Elches, and they are the people the king chiefly employs in war. To proceed: every time he passed with his vessel he anchored in a cove that was not two crossbow shots from the garden where Zoraida was waiting; and there the renegade, together with the two Moorish lads that rowed, used purposely to station himself, either going through his prayers, or else practising as a part what he meant to perform in earnest. And thus he would go to Zoraida’s garden and ask for fruit, which her father gave him, not knowing him; but though, as he afterwards told me, he sought to speak to Zoraida, and tell her who he was, and that by my orders he was to take her to the land of the Christians, so that she might feel satisfied and easy, he had never been able to do so; for the Moorish women do not allow themselves to be seen by any Moor or Turk, unless their husband or father bid them: with Christian captives they permit freedom of intercourse and communication, even more than might be considered proper. But for my part I should have been sorry if he had spoken to her, for perhaps it might have alarmed her to find her affairs talked of by renegades. But God, who ordered it otherwise, afforded no opportunity for our renegade’s well-meant purpose; and he, seeing how safely he could go to Shershel and return, and anchor when and how and where he liked, and that the Tagarin his partner had no will but his, and that, now I was ransomed, all we wanted was to find some Christians to row, told me to look out for any I should he willing to take with me, over and above those who had been ransomed, and to engage them for the next Friday, which he fixed upon for our departure. On this I spoke to twelve Spaniards, all stout rowers, and such as could most easily leave the city; but it was no easy matter to find so many just then, because there were twenty ships out on a cruise and they had taken all the rowers with them; and these would not have been found were it not that their master remained at home that summer without going to sea in order to finish a galliot that he had upon the stocks. To these men I said nothing more than that the next Friday in the evening they were to come out stealthily one by one and hang about Hadji Morato’s garden, waiting for me there until I came. These directions I gave each one separately, with orders that if they saw any other Christians there they were not to say anything to them except that I had directed them to wait at that spot.
This preliminary having been settled, another still more necessary step had to be taken, which was to let Zoraida know how matters stood that she might be prepared and forewarned, so as not to be taken by surprise if we were suddenly to seize upon her before she thought the Christians’ vessel could have returned. I determined, therefore, to go to the garden and try if I could speak to her; and the day before my departure I went there under the pretence of gathering herbs. The first person I met was her father, who addressed me in the language that all over Barbary and even in Constantinople is the medium between captives and Moors, and is neither Morisco nor Castilian, nor of any other nation, but a mixture of all languages, by means of which we can all understand one another. In this sort of language, I say, he asked me what I wanted in his garden, and to whom I belonged. I replied that I was a slave of the Arnaut Mami (for I knew as a certainty that he was a very great friend of his), and that I wanted some herbs to make a salad. He asked me then whether I were on ransom or not, and what my master demanded for me. While these questions and answers were proceeding, the fair Zoraida, who had already perceived me some time before, came out of the house in the garden, and as Moorish women are by no means particular about letting themselves be seen by Christians, or, as I have said before, at all coy, she had no hesitation in coming to where her father stood with me; moreover her father, seeing her approaching slowly, called to her to come. It would be beyond my power now to describe to you the great beauty, the high-bred air, the brilliant attire of my beloved Zoraida as she presented herself before my eyes. I will content myself with saying that more pearls hung from her fair neck, her ears, and her hair than she had hairs on her head. On her ankles, which as is customary were bare, she had carcajes (for so bracelets or anklets are called in Morisco) of the purest gold, set with so many diamonds that she told me afterwards her father valued them at ten thousand doubloons, and those she had on her wrists were worth as much more. The pearls were in profusion and very fine, for the highest display and adornment of the Moorish women is decking themselves with rich pearls and seed-pearls; and of these there are therefore more among the Moors than among any other people. Zoraida’s father had to the reputation of possessing a great number, and the purest in all Algiers, and of possessing also more than two hundred thousand Spanish crowns; and she, who is now mistress of me only, was mistress of all this. Whether thus adorned she would have been beautiful or not, and what she must have been in her prosperity, may be imagined from the beauty remaining to her after so many hardships; for, as everyone knows, the beauty of some women has its times and its seasons, and is increased or diminished by chance causes; and naturally the emotions of the mind will heighten or impair it, though indeed more frequently they totally destroy it. In a word she presented herself before me that day attired with the utmost splendour, and supremely beautiful; at any rate, she seemed to me the most beautiful object I had ever seen; and when, besides, I thought of all I owed to her I felt as though I had before me some heavenly being come to earth to bring me relief and happiness.
As she approached her father told her in his own language that I was a captive belonging to his friend the Arnaut Mami, and that I had come for salad.
She took up the conversation, and in that mixture of tongues I have spoken of she asked me if I was a gentleman, and why I was not ransomed.
I answered that I was already ransomed, and that by the price it might be seen what value my master set on me, as I had given one thousand five hundred zoltanis for me; to which she replied, “Hadst thou been my father’s , I can tell thee, I would not have let him part with thee for twice as much, for you Christians always tell lies about yourselves and make yourselves out poor to cheat the Moors.”
“That may be, lady,” said I; “but indeed I dealt truthfully with my master, as I do and mean to do with everybody in the world.”
“And when dost thou go?” said Zoraida.
“To-morrow, I think,” said I, “for there is a vessel here from France which sails to-morrow, and I think I shall go in her.”
“Would it not be better,” said Zoraida, “to wait for the arrival of ships from Spain and go with them and not with the French who are not your friends?”
“No,” said I; “though if there were intelligence that a vessel were now coming from Spain it is true I might, perhaps, wait for it; however, it is more likely I shall depart to-morrow, for the longing I feel to return to my country and to those I love is so great that it will not allow me to wait for another opportunity, however more convenient, if it be delayed.”
“No doubt thou art married in thine own country,” said Zoraida, “and for that reason thou art anxious to go and see thy wife.”
“I am not married,” I replied, “but I have given my promise to marry on my arrival there.”
“And is the lady beautiful to whom thou hast given it?” said Zoraida.
“So beautiful,” said I, “that, to describe her worthily and tell thee the truth, she is very like thee.”
At this her father laughed very heartily and said, “By Allah, Christian, she must be very beautiful if she is like my daughter, who is the most beautiful woman in all this kingdom: only look at her well and thou wilt see I am telling the truth.”
Zoraida’s father as the better linguist helped to interpret most of these words and phrases, for though she spoke the bastard language, that, as I have said, is employed there, she expressed her meaning more by signs than by words.
While we were still engaged in this conversation, a Moor came running up, exclaiming that four Turks had leaped over the fence or wall of the garden, and were gathering the fruit though it was not yet ripe. The old man was alarmed and Zoraida too, for the Moors commonly, and, so to speak, instinctively have a dread of the Turks, but particularly of the soldiers, who are so insolent and domineering to the Moors who are under their power that they treat them worse than if they were their slaves. Her father said to Zoraida, “Daughter, retire into the house and shut thyself in while I go and speak to these dogs; and thou, Christian, pick thy herbs, and go in peace, and Allah bring thee safe to thy own country.”
I bowed, and he went away to look for the Turks, leaving me alone with Zoraida, who made as if she were about to retire as her father bade her; but the moment he was concealed by the trees of the garden, turning to me with her eyes full of tears she said, Tameji, cristiano, tameji?” that is to say, “Art thou going, Christian, art thou going?”
I made answer, “Yes, lady, but not without thee, come what may: be on the watch for me on the next Juma, and be not alarmed when thou seest us; for most surely we shall go to the land of the Christians.”
This I said in such a way that she understood perfectly all that passed between us, and throwing her arm round my neck she began with feeble steps to move towards the house; but as fate would have it (and it might have been very unfortunate if Heaven had not otherwise ordered it), just as we were moving on in the manner and position I have described, with her arm round my neck, her father, as he returned after having sent away the Turks, saw how we were walking and we perceived that he saw us; but Zoraida, ready and quickwitted, took care not to remove her arm from my neck, but on the contrary drew closer to me and laid her head on my breast, bending her knees a little and showing all the signs and tokens of ainting, while I at the same time made it seem as though I were supporting her against my will. Her father came running up to where we were, and seeing his daughter in this state asked what was the matter with her; she, however, giving no answer, he said, “No doubt she has fainted in alarm at the entrance of those dogs,” and taking her from mine he drew her to his own breast, while she sighing, her eyes still wet with tears, said again, “Ameji, cristiano, ameji” — “Go, Christian, go.” To this her father replied, “There is no need, daughter, for the Christian to go, for he has done thee no harm, and the Turks have now gone; feel no alarm, there is nothing to hurt thee, for as I say, the Turks at my request have gone back the way they came.”
 
“It was they who terrified her, as thou hast said, senor,” said I to her father; “but since she tells me to go, I have no wish to displease her: peace be with thee, and with thy leave I will come back to this garden for herbs if need be, for my master says there are nowhere better herbs for salad then here.”
“Come back for any thou hast need of,” replied Hadji Morato; “for my daughter does not speak thus because she is displeased with thee or any Christian: she only meant that the Turks should go, not thou; or that it was time for thee to look for thy herbs.”
With this I at once took my leave of both; and she, looking as though her heart were breaking, retired with her father. While pretending to look for herbs I made the round of the garden at my ease, and studied carefully all the approaches and outlets, and the fastenings of the house and everything that could be taken advantage of to make our task easy.
 
Having done so I went and gave an account of all that had taken place to the renegade and my comrades, and looked forward with impatience to the hour when, all fear at an end, I should find myself in possession of the prize which fortune held out to me in the fair and lovely Zoraida. The time passed at length, and the appointed day we so longed for arrived; and, all following out the arrangement and plan which, after careful consideration and many a long discussion, we had decided upon, we succeeded as fully as we could have wished; for on the Friday following the day upon which I spoke to Zoraida in the garden, the renegade anchored his vessel at nightfall almost opposite the spot where she was. The Christians who were to row were ready and in hiding in different places round about, all waiting for me, anxious and elated, and eager to attack the vessel they had before their eyes; for they did not know the renegade’s plan, but expected that they were to gain their liberty by force of arms and by killing the Moors who were on board the vessel. As soon, then, as I and my comrades made our appearance, all those that were in hiding seeing us came and joined us. It was now the time when the city gates are shut, and there was no one to be seen in all the space outside. When we were collected together we debated whether it would be better first to go for Zoraida, or to make prisoners of the Moorish rowers who rowed in the vessel; but while we were still uncertain our renegade came up asking us what kept us, as it was now the time, and all the Moors were off their guard and most of them asleep. We told him why we hesitated, but he said it was of more importance first to secure the vessel, which could be done with the greatest ease and without any danger, and then we could go for Zoraida. We all approved of what he said, and so without further delay, guided by him we made for the vessel, and he leaping on board first, drew his cutlass and said in Morisco, “Let no one stir from this if he does not want it to cost him his life.” By this almost all the Christians were on board, and the Moors, who were fainthearted, hearing their captain speak in this way, were cowed, and without any one of them taking to his arms (and indeed they had few or hardly any) they submitted without saying a word to be bound by the Christians, who quickly secured them, threatening them that if they raised any kind of outcry they would be all put to the sword. This having been accomplished, and half of our party being left to keep guard over them, the rest of us, again taking the renegade as our guide, hastened towards Hadji Morato’s garden, and as good luck would have it, on trying the gate it opened as easily as if it had not been locked; and so, quite quietly and in silence, we reached the house without being perceived by anybody. The lovely Zoraida was watching for us at a window, and as soon as she perceived that there were people there, she asked in a low voice if we were “Nizarani,” as much as to say or ask if we were Christians. I answered that we were, and begged her to come down. As soon as she recognised me she did not delay an instant, but without answering a word came down immediately, opened the door and presented herself before us all, so beautiful and so richly attired that I cannot attempt to describe her. The moment I saw her I took her hand and kissed it, and the renegade and my two comrades did the same; and the rest, who knew nothing of the circumstances, did as they saw us do, for it only seemed as if we were returning thanks to her, and recognising her as the giver of our liberty. The renegade asked her in the Morisco language if her father was in the house. She replied that he was and that he was asleep.
“Then it will be necessary to waken him and take him with us,” said the renegade, “and everything of value in this fair mansion.”
“Nay,” said she, “my father must not on any account be touched, and there is nothing in the house except what I shall take, and that will be quite enough to enrich and satisfy all of you; wait a little and you shall see,” and so saying she went in, telling us she would return immediately and bidding us keep quiet making any noise.
I asked the renegade what had passed between them, and when he told me, I declared that nothing should be done except in accordance with the wishes of Zoraida, who now came back with a little trunk so full of gold crowns that she could scarcely carry it. Unfortunately her father awoke while this was going on, and hearing a noise in the garden, came to the window, and at once perceiving that all those who were there were Christians, raising a prodigiously loud outcry, he began to call out in Arabic, “Christians, Christians! thieves, thieves!” by which cries we were all thrown into the greatest fear and embarrassment; but the renegade seeing the danger we were in and how important it was for him to effect his purpose before we were heard, mounted with the utmost quickness to where Hadji Morato was, and with him went some of our party; I, however, did not dare to leave Zoraida, who had fallen almost fainting in my arms. To be brief, those who had gone upstairs acted so promptly that in an instant they came down, carrying Hadji Morato with his hands bound and a napkin tied over his mouth, which prevented him from uttering a word, warning him at the same time that to attempt to speak would cost him his life. When his daughter caught sight of him she covered her eyes so as not to see him, and her father was horror-stricken, not knowing how willingly she had placed herself in our hands. But it was now most essential for us to be on the move, and carefully and quickly we regained the vessel, where those who had remained on board were waiting for us in apprehension of some mishap having befallen us. It was barely two hours after night set in when we were all on board the vessel, where the cords were removed from the hands of Zoraida’s father, and the napkin from his mouth; but the renegade once more told him not to utter a word, or they would take his life. He, when he saw his daughter there, began to sigh piteously, and still more when he perceived that I held her closely embraced and that she lay quiet without resisting or complaining, or showing any reluctance; nevertheless he remained silent lest they should carry into effect the repeated threats the renegade had addressed to him.
Finding herself now on board, and that we were about to give way with the oars, Zoraida, seeing her father there, and the other Moors bound, bade the renegade ask me to do her the favour of releasing the Moors and setting her father at liberty, for she would rather drown herself in the sea than suffer a father that had loved her so dearly to be carried away captive before her eyes and on her account. The renegade repeated this to me, and I replied that I was very willing to do so; but he replied that it was not advisable, because if they were left there they would at once raise the country and stir up the city, and lead to the despatch of swift cruisers in pursuit, and our being taken, by sea or land, without any possibility of escape; and that all that could be done was to set them free on the first Christian ground we reached. On this point we all agreed; and Zoraida, to whom it was explained, together with the reasons that prevented us from doing at once what she desired, was satisfied likewise; and then in glad silence and with cheerful alacrity each of our stout rowers took his oar, and commending ourselves to God with all our hearts, we began to shape our course for the island of Majorca, the nearest Christian land. Owing, however, to the Tramontana rising a little, and the sea growing somewhat rough, it was impossible for us to keep a straight course for Majorca, and we were compelled to coast in the direction of Oran, not without great uneasiness on our part lest we should be observed from the town of Shershel, which lies on that coast, not more than sixty miles from Algiers. Moreover we were afraid of meeting on that course one of the galliots that usually come with goods from Tetuan; although each of us for himself and all of us together felt confident that, if we were to meet a merchant galliot, so that it were not a cruiser, not only should we not be lost, but that we should take a vessel in which we could more safely accomplish our voyage. As we pursued our course Zoraida kept her head between my hands so as not to see her father, and I felt that she was praying to Lela Marien to help us.
 
We might have made about thirty miles when daybreak found us some three musket-shots off the land, which seemed to us deserted, and without anyone to see us. For all that, however, by hard rowing we put out a little to sea, for it was now somewhat calmer, and having gained about two leagues the word was given to row by batches, while we ate something, for the vessel was well provided; but the rowers said it was not a time to take any rest; let food be served out to those who were not rowing, but they would not leave their oars on any account. This was done, but now a stiff breeze began to blow, which obliged us to leave off rowing and make sail at once and steer for Oran, as it was impossible to make any other course. All this was done very promptly, and under sail we ran more than eight miles an hour without any fear, except that of coming across some vessel out on a roving expedition. We gave the Moorish rowers some food, and the renegade comforted them by telling them that they were not held as captives, as we should set them free on the first opportunity.
The same was said to Zoraida’s father, who replied, “Anything else, Christian, I might hope for or think likely from your generosity and good behaviour, but do not think me so simple as to imagine you will give me my liberty; for you would have never exposed yourselves to the danger of depriving me of it only to restore it to me so generously, especially as you know who I am and the sum you may expect to receive on restoring it; and if you will only name that, I here offer you all you require for myself and for my unhappy daughter there; or else for her alone, for she is the greatest and most precious part of my soul.”
As he said this he began to weep so bitterly that he filled us all with compassion and forced Zoraida to look at him, and when she saw him weeping she was so moved that she rose from my feet and ran to throw her arms round him, and pressing her face to his, they both gave way to such an outburst of tears that several of us were constrained to keep them company.
But when her father saw her in full dress and with all her jewels about her, he said to her in his own language, “What means this, my daughter? Last night, before this terrible misfortune in which we are plunged befell us, I saw thee in thy everyday and indoor garments; and now, without having had time to attire thyself, and without my bringing thee any joyful tidings to furnish an occasion for adorning and bedecking thyself, I see thee arrayed in the finest attire it would be in my power to give thee when fortune was most kind to us. Answer me this; for it causes me greater anxiety and surprise than even this misfortune itself.”
The renegade interpreted to us what the Moor said to his daughter; she, however, returned him no answer. But when he observed in one corner of the vessel the little trunk in which she used to keep her jewels, which he well knew he had left in Algiers and had not brought to the garden, he was still more amazed, and asked her how that trunk had come into our hands, and what there was in it. To which the renegade, without waiting for Zoraida to reply, made answer, “Do not trouble thyself by asking thy daughter Zoraida so many questions, senor, for the one answer I will give thee will serve for all; I would have thee know that she is a Christian, and that it is she who has been the file for our chains and our deliverer from captivity. She is here of her own free will, as glad, I imagine, to find herself in this position as he who escapes from darkness into the light, from death to life, and from suffering to glory.”
“Daughter, is this true, what he says?” cried the Moor.
“It is,” replied Zoraida.
“That thou art in truth a Christian,” said the old man, “and that thou hast given thy father into the power of his enemies?”
To which Zoraida made answer, “A Christian I am, but it is not I who have placed thee in this position, for it never was my wish to leave thee or do thee harm, but only to do good to myself.”
“And what good hast thou done thyself, daughter?” said he.
“Ask thou that,” said she, “of Lela Marien, for she can tell thee better than I.”
The Moor had hardly heard these words when with marvellous quickness he flung himself headforemost into the sea, where no doubt he would have been drowned had not the long and full dress he wore held him up for a little on the surface of the water. Zoraida cried aloud to us to save him, and we all hastened to help, and seizing him by his robe we drew him in half drowned and insensible, at which Zoraida was in such distress that she wept over him as piteously and bitterly as though he were already dead. We turned him upon his face and he voided a great quantity of water, and at the end of two hours came to himself. Meanwhile, the wind having changed we were compelled to head for the land, and ply our oars to avoid being driven on shore; but it was our good fortune to reach a creek that lies on one side of a small promontory or cape, called by the Moors that of the “Cava rumia,” which in our language means “the wicked Christian woman;” for it is a tradition among them that La Cava, through whom Spain was lost, lies buried at that spot; “cava” in their language meaning “wicked woman,” and “rumia” “Christian;” moreover, they count it unlucky to anchor there when necessity compels them, and they never do so otherwise. For us, however, it was not the resting-place of the wicked woman but a haven of safety for our relief, so much had the sea now got up. We posted a look-out on shore, and never let the oars out of our hands, and ate of the stores the renegade had laid in, imploring God and Our Lady with all our hearts to help and protect us, that we might give a happy ending to a beginning so prosperous. At the entreaty of Zoraida orders were given to set on shore her father and the other Moors who were still bound, for she could not endure, nor could her tender heart bear to see her father in bonds and her fellow-countrymen prisoners before her eyes. We promised her to do this at the moment of departure, for as it was uninhabited we ran no risk in releasing them at that place.
Our prayers were not so far in vain as to be unheard by Heaven, for after a while the wind changed in our favour, and made the sea calm, inviting us once more to resume our voyage with a good heart. Seeing this we unbound the Moors, and one by one put them on shore, at which they were filled with amazement; but when we came to land Zoraida’s father, who had now completely recovered his senses, he said:
“Why is it, think ye, Christians, that this wicked woman is rejoiced at your giving me my liberty? Think ye it is because of the affection she bears me? Nay verily, it is only because of the hindrance my presence offers to the execution of her base designs. And think not that it is her belief that yours is better than ours that has led her to change her religion; it is only because she knows that immodesty is more freely practised in your country than in ours.” Then turning to Zoraida, while I and another of the Christians held him fast by both arms, lest he should do some mad act, he said to her, “Infamous girl, misguided maiden, whither in thy blindness and madness art thou going in the hands of these dogs, our natural enemies? Cursed be the hour when I begot thee! Cursed the luxury and indulgence in which I reared thee!”
But seeing that he was not likely soon to cease I made haste to put him on shore, and thence he continued his maledictions and lamentations aloud; calling on Mohammed to pray to Allah to destroy us, to confound us, to make an end of us; and when, in consequence of having made sail, we could no longer hear what he said we could see what he did; how he plucked out his beard and tore his hair and lay writhing on the ground. But once he raised his voice to such a pitch that we were able to hear what he said. “Come back, dear daughter, come back to shore; I forgive thee all; let those men have the money, for it is theirs now, and come back to comfort thy sorrowing father, who will yield up his life on this barren strand if thou dost leave him.”
 
All this Zoraida heard, and heard with sorrow and tears, and all she could say in answer was, “Allah grant that Lela Marien, who has made me become a Christian, give thee comfort in thy sorrow, my father. Allah knows that I could not do otherwise than I have done, and that these Christians owe nothing to my will; for even had I wished not to accompany them, but remain at home, it would have been impossible for me, so eagerly did my soul urge me on to the accomplishment of this purpose, which I feel to be as righteous as to thee, dear father, it seems wicked.”
But neither could her father hear her nor we see him when she said this; and so, while I consoled Zoraida, we turned our attention to our voyage, in which a breeze from the right point so favoured us that we made sure of finding ourselves off the coast of Spain on the morrow by daybreak. But, as good seldom or never comes pure and unmixed, without being attended or followed by some disturbing evil that gives a shock to it, our fortune, or perhaps the curses which the Moor had hurled at his daughter (for whatever kind of father they may come from these are always to be dreaded), brought it about that when we were now in mid-sea, and the night about three hours spent, as we were running with all sail set and oars lashed, for the favouring breeze saved us the trouble of using them, we saw by the light of the moon, which shone brilliantly, a square-rigged vessel in full sail close to us, luffing up and standing across our course, and so close that we had to strike sail to avoid running foul of her, while they too put the helm hard up to let us pass. They came to the side of the ship to ask who we were, whither we were bound, and whence we came, but as they asked this in French our renegade said, “Let no one answer, for no doubt these are French corsairs who plunder all comers.”
 
Acting on this warning no one answered a word, but after we had gone a little ahead, and the vessel was now lying to leeward, suddenly they fired two guns, and apparently both loaded with chain-shot, for with one they cut our mast in half and brought down both it and the sail into the sea, and the other, discharged at the same moment, sent a ball into our vessel amidships, staving her in completely, but without doing any further damage. We, however, finding ourselves sinking began to shout for help and call upon those in the ship to pick us up as we were beginning to fill. They then lay to, and lowering a skiff or boat, as many as a dozen Frenchmen, well armed with match-locks, and their matches burning, got into it and came alongside; and seeing how few we were, and that our vessel was going down, they took us in, telling us that this had come to us through our incivility in not giving them an answer. Our renegade took the trunk containing Zoraida’s wealth and dropped it into the sea without anyone perceiving what he did. In short we went on board with the Frenchmen, who, after having ascertained all they wanted to know about us, rifled us of everything we had, as if they had been our bitterest enemies, and from Zoraida they took even the anklets she wore on her feet; but the distress they caused her did not distress me so much as the fear I was in that from robbing her of her rich and precious jewels they would proceed to rob her of the most precious jewel that she valued more than all. The desires, however, of those people do not go beyond money, but of that their covetousness is insatiable, and on this occasion it was carried to such a pitch that they would have taken even the clothes we wore as captives if they had been worth anything to them. It was the advice of some of them to throw us all into the sea wrapped up in a sail; for their purpose was to trade at some of the ports of Spain, giving themselves out as Bretons, and if they brought us alive they would be punished as soon as the robbery was discovered; but the captain (who was the one who had plundered my beloved Zoraida) said he was satisfied with the prize he had got, and that he would not touch at any Spanish port, but pass the Straits of Gibraltar by night, or as best he could, and make for La Rochelle, from which he had sailed. So they agreed by common consent to give us the skiff belonging to their ship and all we required for the short voyage that remained to us, and this they did the next day on coming in sight of the Spanish coast, with which, and the joy we felt, all our sufferings and miseries were as completely forgotten as if they had never been endured by us, such is the delight of recovering lost liberty.
It may have been about mid-day when they placed us in the boat, giving us two kegs of water and some biscuit; and the captain, moved by I know not what compassion, as the lovely Zoraida was about to embark, gave her some forty gold crowns, and would not permit his men to take from her those same garments which she has on now. We got into the boat, returning them thanks for their kindness to us, and showing ourselves grateful rather than indignant. They stood out to sea, steering for the straits; we, without looking to any compass save the land we had before us, set ourselves to row with such energy that by sunset we were so near that we might easily, we thought, land before the night was far advanced. But as the moon did not show that night, and the sky was clouded, and as we knew not whereabouts we were, it did not seem to us a prudent thing to make for the shore, as several of us advised, saying we ought to run ourselves ashore even if it were on rocks and far from any habitation, for in this way we should be relieved from the apprehensions we naturally felt of the prowling vessels of the Tetuan corsairs, who leave Barbary at nightfall and are on the Spanish coast by daybreak, where they commonly take some prize, and then go home to sleep in their own houses. But of the conflicting counsels the one which was adopted was that we should approach gradually, and land where we could if the sea were calm enough to permit us. This was done, and a little before midnight we drew near to the foot of a huge and lofty mountain, not so close to the sea but that it left a narrow space on which to land conveniently. We ran our boat up on the sand, and all sprang out and kissed the ground, and with tears of joyful satisfaction returned thanks to God our Lord for all his incomparable goodness to us on our voyage. We took out of the boat the provisions it contained, and drew it up on the shore, and then climbed a long way up the mountain, for even there we could not feel easy in our hearts, or persuade ourselves that it was Christian soil that was now under our feet.
The dawn came, more slowly, I think, than we could have wished; we completed the ascent in order to see if from the summit any habitation or any shepherds’ huts could be discovered, but strain our eyes as we might, neither dwelling, nor human being, nor path nor road could we perceive. However, we determined to push on farther, as it could not but be that ere long we must see some one who could tell us where we were. But what distressed me most was to see Zoraida going on foot over that rough ground; for though I once carried her on my shoulders, she was more wearied by my weariness than rested by the rest; and so she would never again allow me to undergo the exertion, and went on very patiently and cheerfully, while I led her by the hand. We had gone rather less than a quarter of a league when the sound of a little bell fell on our ears, a clear proof that there were flocks hard by, and looking about carefully to see if any were within view, we observed a young shepherd tranquilly and unsuspiciously trimming a stick with his knife at the foot of a cork tree. We called to him, and he, raising his head, sprang nimbly to his feet, for, as we afterwards learned, the first who presented themselves to his sight were the renegade and Zoraida, and seeing them in Moorish dress he imagined that all the Moors of Barbary were upon him; and plunging with marvellous swiftness into the thicket in front of him, he began to raise a prodigious outcry, exclaiming, “The Moors — the Moors have landed! To arms, to arms!” We were all thrown into perplexity by these cries, not knowing what to do; but reflecting that the shouts of the shepherd would raise the country and that the mounted coast-guard would come at once to see what was the matter, we agreed that the renegade must strip off his Turkish garments and put on a captive’s jacket or coat which one of our party gave him at once, though he himself was reduced to his shirt; and so commending ourselves to God, we followed the same road which we saw the shepherd take, expecting every moment that the coast-guard would be down upon us. Nor did our expectation deceive us, for two hours had not passed when, coming out of the brushwood into the open ground, we perceived some fifty mounted men swiftly approaching us at a hand-gallop. As soon as we saw them we stood still, waiting for them; but as they came close and, instead of the Moors they were in quest of, saw a set of poor Christians, they were taken aback, and one of them asked if it could be we who were the cause of the shepherd having raised the call to arms. I said “Yes,” and as I was about to explain to him what had occurred, and whence we came and who we were, one of the Christians of our party recognised the horseman who had put the question to us, and before I could say anything more he exclaimed:
“Thanks be to God, sirs, for bringing us to such good quarters; for, if I do not deceive myself, the ground we stand on is that of Velez Malaga unless, indeed, all my years of captivity have made me unable to recollect that you, senor, who ask who we are, are Pedro de Bustamante, my uncle.”
The Christian captive had hardly uttered these words, when the horseman threw himself off his horse, and ran to embrace the young man, crying:
“Nephew of my soul and life! I recognise thee now; and long have I mourned thee as dead, I, and my sister, thy mother, and all thy kin that are still alive, and whom God has been pleased to preserve that they may enjoy the happiness of seeing thee. We knew long since that thou wert in Algiers, and from the appearance of thy garments and those of all this company, I conclude that ye have had a miraculous restoration to liberty.”
“It is true,” replied the young man, “and by-and-by we will tell you all.”
As soon as the horsemen understood that we were Christian captives, they dismounted from their horses, and each offered his to carry us to the city of Velez Malaga, which was a league and a half distant. Some of them went to bring the boat to the city, we having told them where we had left it; others took us up behind them, and Zoraida was placed on the horse of the young man’s uncle. The whole town came out to meet us, for they had by this time heard of our arrival from one who had gone on in advance. They were not astonished to see liberated captives or captive Moors, for people on that coast are well used to see both one and the other; but they were astonished at the beauty of Zoraida, which was just then heightened, as well by the exertion of travelling as by joy at finding herself on Christian soil, and relieved of all fear of being lost; for this had brought such a glow upon her face, that unless my affection for her were deceiving me, I would venture to say that there was not a more beautiful creature in the world — at least, that I had ever seen. We went straight to the church to return thanks to God for the mercies we had received, and when Zoraida entered it she said there were faces there like Lela Marien’s . We told her they were her images; and as well as he could the renegade explained to her what they meant, that she might adore them as if each of them were the very same Lela Marien that had spoken to her; and she, having great intelligence and a quick and clear instinct, understood at once all he said to her about them. Thence they took us away and distributed us all in different houses in the town; but as for the renegade, Zoraida, and myself, the Christian who came with us brought us to the house of his parents, who had a fair share of the gifts of fortune, and treated us with as much kindness as they did their own son.
We remained six days in Velez, at the end of which the renegade, having informed himself of all that was requisite for him to do, set out for the city of Granada to restore himself to the sacred bosom of the Church through the medium of the Holy Inquisition. The other released captives took their departures, each the way that seemed best to him, and Zoraida and I were left alone, with nothing more than the crowns which the courtesy of the Frenchman had bestowed upon Zoraida, out of which I bought the beast on which she rides; and, I for the present attending her as her father and squire and not as her husband, we are now going to ascertain if my father is living, or if any of my brothers has had better fortune than mine has been; though, as Heaven has made me the companion of Zoraida, I think no other lot could be assigned to me, however happy, that I would rather have. The patience with which she endures the hardships that poverty brings with it, and the eagerness she shows to become a Christian, are such that they fill me with admiration, and bind me to serve her all my life; though the happiness I feel in seeing myself hers, and her mine, is disturbed and marred by not knowing whether I shall find any corner to shelter her in my own country, or whether time and death may not have made such changes in the fortunes and lives of my father and brothers, that I shall hardly find anyone who knows me, if they are not alive.
I have no more of my story to tell you, gentlemen; whether it be an interesting or a curious one let your better judgments decide; all I can say is I would gladly have told it to you more briefly; although my fear of wearying you has made me leave out more than one circumstance.
 
“没过十五天，那个叛教者就买好了一艘质量上乘的船，能装三十人。为了把事情办得稳妥，像那么回事，他又去了一趟一个叫萨赫尔的地方。那个地方在奥兰那个方向，离阿尔及尔有三十西里远，无花果的交易很发达。他同那个塔加林人去了两三次。在贝韦里亚，人们称阿拉贡的摩尔人为‘塔加林’，称格拉纳达的摩尔人为‘穆德哈尔’；而在非斯王国，人们称穆德哈尔为‘埃尔切’，国王打仗时大多用这种人。每次划船经过一个离索赖达等待我的那个花园不远的小海湾时，他都有意和几个划船的摩尔人一起把船停泊在那儿，或者做祈祷，或者为他真要干的事做些假戏。他还到索赖达的花园去要水果。索赖达的父亲不认识他，就给了他水果。后来他对我说，他本想找机会同索赖达说话，说明自己就是奉我之命，要把她带到基督教国家去的那个人。这样她就会高兴，并且放心。可是，摩尔女人除非有丈夫或父亲的吩咐，一般不能让任何摩尔男人或土耳其男人看到自己，但是却可以同基督徒俘虏自由接触。因此，他根本不可能见到索赖达。假如他真的同索赖达讲了，我倒很不放心，怕索赖达看到她的计划已经被叛教者知道了会感到不安。
“不过上帝自有安排。那个叛教者的愿望虽好，可是得不到实现的机会。他本来在萨赫尔来去都很安全，可以随时随地停船，而他的伙伴，那个塔加林人，也完全听他的吩咐。我当时已经赎了身。现在需要的就是找几个划船的基督徒。叛教者让我留意，除了几个已赎身的以外，我还想带走哪几个人，叫我下星期五就把计划告诉那几个人，他已经决定我们下星期五启程。于是我就找了十二个西班牙人，他们都是划船能手，人也勇敢，而且都能自由出城。能找到这些人已经不算少了。当时有二十条船外出掳掠，把划船手全带走了。若不是有一条双桅船的主人那年夏天修船，没有外出，连这些人也找不到了。对这些人，我只是让他们下个星期五一个个悄悄出城，到阿希•莫拉托花园的拐角处等我。我是分别对每个人讲的，而且告诉他们，如果他们在那儿看到其他基督徒，也只说是我吩咐他们在那儿等我的。
“安排好这些后，我还得做一件事，就是把这个计划告诉索赖达，让她事先知道，以免因为我们在她估计这条基督徒的船回来的时间之前去找她而把她吓着。于是我决定到花园去，看看是否有机会同她说话。启程的前一天，我借口去找点野菜，去了花园。我在花园首先碰到的就是索赖达的父亲。他对我讲的是一种在贝韦利亚以及君士坦丁堡，俘虏和摩尔人之间通用的语言，既不是摩尔语，也不是西班牙语，更不是其他某个民族的语言，而是一种各类语言的大杂烩，这样我们互相都能理解。他就是用这种语言问我在花园里找什么。我知道他有个很有势力的朋友叫阿尔瑙特•马米，于是就说我是阿尔瑙特•马米的奴隶，来找几种野菜做色拉。接着他又问我是否已经赎了身，我的主人要了多少钱。
“我们正在说话的时候，美丽的索赖达从花园的房间里走出来。她原来已经见过我多次，而且就像我刚才说的，摩尔女人并不避讳在基督教徒面前露面，所以她毫无顾忌地向她父亲同我说话的地方走来。她父亲看见她，也叫她到自己身边来。
“现在我不必侈谈在我眼里索赖达如何花容月貌、婷婷玉立以及她的服饰如何华丽了。我只需说，她清秀无比的脖子、耳朵和头发上戴的珠宝比头上的头发还多。在她的脚腕上按照她们的习俗裸露着一对‘卡尔卡哈’，摩尔语的意思就是戴在脚上的镯子。她那副脚镯是纯金的，上面还嵌满了钻石。她后来对我说，她父亲估计那副脚镯值一万罗乌拉①。她的手腕上戴着一副同样贵重的手镯。她身上还有很多贵重的珍珠，摩尔女人最大的奢侈就是用各种珍珠装饰自己，也正因为如此，摩尔人的珍珠要比世界上其他各国的珍珠总和还多。索赖达的父亲拥有许多阿尔及尔最宝贵的珍珠是众所周知的。此外，他还拥有二十多万西班牙盾。所有这些现在都属于我这位夫人。至于她当时戴这么多首饰是否漂亮，你们看，她经历了这么多周折之后依然楚楚动人，那么，她春风得意之时是什么样子就可想而知了。大家知道，有些女人的美貌有时期性，会随着某些事情变弱或变强。所以，有时候情绪可以影响一个人的容貌，而且更多的时候是破坏人的容貌。
①罗乌拉是西班牙古金币。
“总之，可以说当时她靓妆华丽，容姿无比，至少在我眼里是这样的。再一想到她曾给予我的照顾，我更觉得她是天女下凡到人间，给我带来了幸福，来拯救我。她刚走过来，她父亲就用他们的语言告诉她，我是他的朋友阿尔瑙特•马米的俘虏，到此来找野菜做色拉。索赖达用我刚才提到的那种大杂烩语言问我究竟是不是个男子汉，为什么没有给自己赎身。我说我已经为自己赎了身，从我付给我主人的赎金数量就可以看出我的主人对我多么重视，我付给了我的主人一千五百个索尔塔尼①。
①索尔塔尼是土耳其古金币。
“她却说：‘如果你是我父亲的俘虏，你就是再付两倍的价钱，我也不会让我父亲答应放你。你们基督教徒总是说谎，你们装穷就是为了骗摩尔人。’
“‘可能有这种事’我说，‘但是无论过去、现在或将来，我对我的主人都是诚实的，我对世界上所有人都诚实。’
“‘你什么时候走？’索赖达问。
“‘我想明天，’我说，‘因为这儿有一艘法国船，明天启航。我想乘那艘船走。’
“‘等西班牙的船来了，乘西班牙的船走不是更好吗？’索赖达说，‘不要乘法国的船，他们又不是你们的朋友。’“‘不，’我说，‘除非有确切消息说，这儿停泊着一艘西班牙的船，我才会在此等待，否则还是明天走最保险。我要回到我的国土，同我热爱的人团聚的愿望太强烈了，别的船来得晚，即使条件再好，我也不能等待了。’
“‘你大概已经在你们国家结婚了，’索赖达说，‘所以你急于回去见到你的妻子。’
“‘我并没有结婚，’我说，‘不过我已经答应，到了那儿就结婚。’
“‘你说的那位夫人漂亮吗？’索赖达问。
“‘很漂亮，’我说，‘说实话，我觉得她特别像你。’
“她父亲听了哈哈大笑，说：‘真主保佑，基督徒，如果她长得像我女儿，那确实很漂亮。我女儿在这个王国里最漂亮。不信你看看，就会知道我说的是真的。’
“索赖达的父亲懂得西班牙语比较多，所以我同索赖达的对话都是由他翻译的。索赖达只能讲我刚才说的那种杂拌语，这种语言在当地通用。她表达自己的意思主要靠手势而不是语言。
“我们正在说话的时候，一个摩尔人跑来大声说，有四个土耳其人从花园的墙跳进来，正在找水果，其实当时水果还没熟呢。老头子吓坏了，索赖达也吓得不轻。摩尔人似乎天生都害怕土耳其人，尤其是土耳其士兵。那些士兵对摩尔人非常粗鲁，对他们手下的摩尔人更是盛气凌人，像对待奴隶一样虐待他们。索赖达的父亲对她说：‘孩子，你赶紧回到房间去，关好门，我去同这些畜生说说。你，基督教徒，找你的野菜去吧。祝你走运，愿真主保佑你回国一路顺风。’
“我向他鞠了一躬，他赶紧去找土耳其人了，只剩下我和索赖达。索赖达装着按照父亲的吩咐往回走。可她父亲刚刚消失在花园的树丛中，她就向我转过身来，眼里噙满了泪水，对我说：‘塔姆西西，基督徒，塔姆西西？’意思是问我：‘你要走吗，基督徒，你要走吗？’
“我回答说：‘是的，小姐，不过无论如何我不会撇下你。下一个胡马你等着我。你看见我们时别害怕。咱们一定一起到基督教国家去。’
“我说完这些，她就完全明白了我们刚才那番对话的含义。她伸出一条胳膊，搂着我的脖子，慢慢向她的房间走去。如果不是老天帮忙，事情就糟了。我们两人正这样子走着，她的父亲把土耳其人赶走后又回来了，看见了我们这副样子，我们也看见他已经发现了我们。可是索赖达很机警，她不仅没有把放在我脖子上的手臂拿开，反而离我更近了，把头垂在我胸前，双腿弯曲，就像要昏过去的样子。我也装出迫不得已扶着她的样子。索赖达的父亲赶紧跑过来，见女儿这副样子，问她怎么了。可索赖达并不答话。
“她父亲说：‘肯定是让刚才进来的那几个畜生吓晕了。’
他把索赖达从我身边接过去，搂着她。
“索赖达叹了一口气，眼里的泪水还未干，就说‘阿梅西，基督徒，阿梅西。’
“她父亲对她说：‘别着急，孩子，让基督徒走，他没有伤害你。那几个土耳其人已经走了。你别害怕，什么事也不会有了。我已经请那几个土耳其人从原路回去了。’“‘的确像您说的，是那几个人把她吓着了，’我说，‘不过既然她让我走，我也不想惹她不高兴。您放心吧，只要您允许，有必要的话，我还会来采野菜。我的主人说，要做凉拌色拉，哪儿的野菜也不如这儿的好。’
“‘你喜欢什么野菜都可以采，’阿希•莫拉托说，‘我女儿那么说，并不是因为你或其他基督徒惹她生气了，她想说让土耳其人走，却说成让你走，或许是因为你该去采野菜了。’
“我马上告别了他们两人。索赖达也装出非常痛心的样子同父亲回去了。我则借口找野菜，把花园仔细转了一遍。我仔细观察了花园的进口和出口、花园的防卫设施以及各种有助于我们行动的便利条件。事后，我把这一切都告诉了叛教者和我的同伴们，然后急切地盼望着得到命运赐给我的索赖达。时间流逝，我们期待已久的日子终于来到了。我们按照我们多次精心策划的步骤，进展很顺利。我在花园里碰到索赖达后的那个星期五傍晚，我们的叛教者把船停泊在几乎面对绝代佳人索赖达所在花园的地方。
“那些基督教徒划船手已经事先埋伏在周围。大家都兴高采烈又忐忑不安地等着我，准备一看见有船过来就动手。他们不知道叛教者的安排，以为必须动手杀死船上的摩尔人才能获得自由。我和我的几个同伴刚一露面，那些隐藏在周围的人就围了过来。这时候城门已经关闭了，荒郊旷野上空无一人。人都凑齐了，我们就开始考虑究竟是先去接索赖达好，还是先去制服船上雇佣的摩尔划船手好。正在大家犹豫之时，我们的叛教者来了，说时候已到，现在正是摩尔人疏于防备的时候，而且大部分已经睡觉了，问我们还等什么。我们把自己的想法对他说了。他说现在最重要的是制服那条船，这很容易办到，而且也没有任何危险，然后我们再去救索赖达。我们觉得他说得对，就立刻跟着他来到船边。叛教者第一个跳上船去，抄起一把大刀，用摩尔语对他们说：‘你们要想不丢掉性命，就都不要动！’
“这时几乎所有基督徒都上船了。摩尔人本来就胆小，见他们的船主这么一说，全吓坏了，没有一个人去拿武器。他们的武器本来就少，几乎可以说是没有。摩尔人一言不发，任凭基督徒们捆住他们的手。基督徒麻利地捆住了他们的手，又威胁他们说，只要有人出声，就把他们都杀了，随后，我们一半人留下来看守摩尔人，其余的人都跟着叛教者来到阿希•莫拉托的花园。我们运气不错，刚去推门，门就开了，好像没锁一样。我们不慌不忙，神不知鬼不觉地来到索赖达的住处。
“绝代佳丽索赖达正在一个窗口等我们。她听到有人来了，就低声问我们是不是尼撒拉尼，也就是问我们是不是基督徒。我回答说是，让她下来。她一认出我，来不及回答我的话，就立刻下来打开门，展露出她那美丽的容貌和华贵的服装，漂亮得简直难以形容。我看见了她，就拉着她的一只手吻了她，叛教者和我的两个伙伴也吻了她。其他人不知缘由，看见我们这样，以为是她给了我们自由，所以我们才向她致谢。叛教者用摩尔语问她，她的父亲是否在花园里。她说在，正睡觉呢。
“‘那得叫起他来，’叛教者说，‘我们得把他和这座花园里所有值钱的东西都带走。’
“‘不，’索赖达说，‘无论如何不许你们碰我父亲。这座房子里值钱的东西我都带上了，够多的了，完全可以让咱们过得既富裕又快活。你们稍等一下就知道了。’说完她又转身进去，说马上就出来，让我们等着别出声。我问叛教者她怎么了，叛教者把情况告诉了我。我对叛教者说，要完全按照索赖达的意思办。索赖达出来时拿着满满一小箱金币，重得她几乎都拿不动了。
“真倒霉，这时候索赖达的父亲醒了。他听见花园里有动静，就从窗户探出身子张望。他看到花园里站了许多基督徒，就拼命声嘶力竭地用阿拉伯语喊：‘基督徒，基督徒！有贼，有贼！’他这么一喊，我们都吓坏了，不知所措。我们的行动必须悄悄进行，叛教者见出现了意外，就极其敏捷地跑上去，有几个人也跟了上去。我不敢把索赖达单独撇下，她好像晕了，躺在我的怀里。那几个人很灵巧地上去了，不一会儿就把阿希•莫拉托带了下来，把他的手捆上了，嘴里还塞了块手帕，不让他出声，否则就要他的命。索赖达一看见他，就捂住眼睛不敢再看了。她父亲也吓坏了，而且他不知道索赖达是心甘情愿同我们在一起的。不过，那时候最需要的是赶紧离开。我们赶紧上了船，船上的人一直在焦急地等待我们，唯恐我们遇到什么不测。
“我们没用两个小时就又回到了船上。我们在船上为索赖达的父亲解开了捆在手上的绳子，拿掉了堵在嘴里的手帕。不过叛教者又叮嘱他不许出声，否则就要他的命。他看到自己的女儿也在船上，心疼地长吁短叹。可是，他见我紧紧搂着索赖达，她却既不埋怨，也不躲避，还挺安心，也没敢说什么，以免叛教者威胁他的话变成现实。索赖达看到我们已经到了船上，就要划桨启程，而她的父亲和那些已经被捆住手的摩尔人还在船上，就让叛教者对我说，让我给那些摩尔人松绑，放她父亲走，否则她宁愿跳海，也不愿意看到她热爱的父亲由于她的原因成了俘虏。叛教者对我说了，我说我很愿意放开他们，可叛教者说这样不行，因为如果放了他们，他们就会到陆地上去求救，整个城市就要被惊动，人们就会出动轻型船只从陆地和海上追捕我们，那我们就跑不掉了。现在能做的就是我们抵达基督教国家后，马上就放了他们。
“我们都同意这样做，并且也对索赖达讲了我们暂时不放他们的原因，她也同意了。随后，每一个勇敢的划船手都拿起了船桨，怀着喜悦的心情，暗暗请求上帝保佑我们，默默地把船迅速划向离我们最近的基督教地区马略尔卡岛。可这时刮起了一点儿北风，海面开始翻腾，我们已经不可能沿着马略尔卡的航向前进了，只好迫不得已沿海岸向奥兰方向划去。我们对此担心，怕被萨赫尔的人发现，那个地方离阿尔及尔只有六十海里远。我们还怕在那个地方碰到定期从德土安驶来的商船，尽管我们大家都认为，假如我们碰到的是条商船，而不是海盗船，我们不仅不会出事，还可以搭乘那条船，安全地完成我们的航程。在海上行船的整个过程中，索赖达始终把头埋在我的双手里，以免看到她的父亲。我可以感觉到，她一直在呼唤莱拉•马里安帮助我们。
“我们划了大约三十海里的时候，天渐渐亮了。我们距陆地只有三个火枪射程之遥，可以看到陆地上荒无人烟，不会有人看见我们。尽管如此，我们还是尽力往海中间靠。这时候的大海已经开始平静一些了。又划了两海里远，我们让划船手轮班划船，这样大家可以吃点东西。船上的食物很充裕。可是划船手都说，在那种时刻，一刻也不能休息。他们让不划船的人喂他们吃，他们则始终没有放下手中的桨。
“此时风力渐强，我们别无选择，只好放下手中的桨，扬帆向奥兰驶去。我们迅速升起帆，以每小时八海里的速度前进。这时候我们最担心的就是碰上海盗船。我们也把食物分给摩尔人，叛教者还安慰他们说，他们并不是俘虏，只要有机会，就放了他们。对索赖达的父亲也是这么说的。可是他却说：‘如果是其他任何事，我都可以相信你们的慷慨大度。唯独放我这件事，你们别以为我会想得那么简单。你们绝不会冒险把我抢来，又随随便便地把我放了，何况你们知道我的情况，也知道可以从我身上榨到的油水。为了我和我不幸的女儿，或者仅仅为了她，她是我灵魂的根本，你们可以开个价，我一定如数照付。’
“说完这些，他开始恸哭，哭得我们大家都很难受。索赖达听到哭声也不由得抬起了头。看到父亲哭成这个样子，她的心也软了。她从我身旁站起来，走过去搂着他，把脸贴在父亲的脸上，两人伤心地哭起来。很多在场的人都陪着他们掉泪。可是索赖达的父亲看到她身着盛装，还戴了很多首饰，就用摩尔语问她：‘怎么回事，孩子？昨天晚上，这件可怕的事情还没发生的时候，我看见你穿着家常服装，可现在，你根本没有时间换衣服，也没有什么好消息值得你刻意打扮嘛。你现在穿戴的是咱们最得志的时候我给你买的最好的服装，告诉我这是怎么回事，我觉得这比我现在遭受的不幸还突如其来。’
“叛教者把索赖达的父亲对索赖达说的话都告诉了我们。索赖达一言不发。索赖达的父亲忽又发现了他平时保存珠宝的箱子放在船一侧。他清楚地记得他把箱子放在阿尔及尔了，并没有把它带到花园来。这回他更糊涂了，就问索赖达那个箱子怎么会落到我们手里，箱子里装的是什么东西。
“不等索赖达答话，叛教者就说：‘大人，你别费心问索赖达那么多了。我说一句话，你就全明白了。我只想让你知道，她是基督徒。是她解开了我们的锁链，给了我们自由。我想，她心甘情愿走到这一步，可以说是弃暗投明，起死回生，由辱变荣。’
“‘他说的是真的吗，孩子？’索赖达的父亲问。

Part 1 Chapter 42
With these words the captive held his peace, and Don Fernando said to him, “In truth, captain, the manner in which you have related this remarkable adventure has been such as befitted the novelty and strangeness of the matter. The whole story is curious and uncommon, and abounds with incidents that fill the hearers with wonder and astonishment; and so great is the pleasure we have found in listening to it that we should be glad if it were to begin again, even though to-morrow were to find us still occupied with the same tale.” And while he said this Cardenio and the rest of them offered to be of service to him in any way that lay in their power, and in words and language so kindly and sincere that the captain was much gratified by their good-will. In particular Don Fernando offered, if he would go back with him, to get his brother the marquis to become godfather at the baptism of Zoraida, and on his own part to provide him with the means of making his appearance in his own country with the credit and comfort he was entitled to. For all this the captive returned thanks very courteously, although he would not accept any of their generous offers.
By this time night closed in, and as it did, there came up to the inn a coach attended by some men on horseback, who demanded accommodation; to which the landlady replied that there was not a hand’s breadth of the whole inn unoccupied.
“Still, for all that,” said one of those who had entered on horseback, “room must be found for his lordship the Judge here.”
At this name the landlady was taken aback, and said, “Senor, the fact is I have no beds; but if his lordship the Judge carries one with him, as no doubt he does, let him come in and welcome; for my husband and I will give up our room to accommodate his worship.”
“Very good, so be it,” said the squire; but in the meantime a man had got out of the coach whose dress indicated at a glance the office and post he held, for the long robe with ruffled sleeves that he wore showed that he was, as his servant said, a Judge of appeal. He led by the hand a young girl in a travelling dress, apparently about sixteen years of age, and of such a high-bred air, so beautiful and so graceful, that all were filled with admiration when she made her appearance, and but for having seen Dorothea, Luscinda, and Zoraida, who were there in the inn, they would have fancied that a beauty like that of this maiden’s would have been hard to find. Don Quixote was present at the entrance of the Judge with the young lady, and as soon as he saw him he said, “Your worship may with confidence enter and take your ease in this castle; for though the accommodation be scanty and poor, there are no quarters so cramped or inconvenient that they cannot make room for arms and letters; above all if arms and letters have beauty for a guide and leader, as letters represented by your worship have in this fair maiden, to whom not only ought castles to throw themselves open and yield themselves up, but rocks should rend themselves asunder and mountains divide and bow themselves down to give her a reception. Enter, your worship, I say, into this paradise, for here you will find stars and suns to accompany the heaven your worship brings with you, here you will find arms in their supreme excellence, and beauty in its highest perfection.”
The Judge was struck with amazement at the language of Don Quixote, whom he scrutinized very carefully, no less astonished by his figure than by his talk; and before he could find words to answer him he had a fresh surprise, when he saw opposite to him Luscinda, Dorothea, and Zoraida, who, having heard of the new guests and of the beauty of the young lady, had come to see her and welcome her; Don Fernando, Cardenio, and the curate, however, greeted him in a more intelligible and polished style. In short, the Judge made his entrance in a state of bewilderment, as well with what he saw as what he heard, and the fair ladies of the inn gave the fair damsel a cordial welcome. On the whole he could perceive that all who were there were people of quality; but with the figure, countenance, and bearing of Don Quixote he was at his wits’ end; and all civilities having been exchanged, and the accommodation of the inn inquired into, it was settled, as it had been before settled, that all the women should retire to the garret that has been already mentioned, and that the men should remain outside as if to guard them; the Judge, therefore, was very well pleased to allow his daughter, for such the damsel was, to go with the ladies, which she did very willingly; and with part of the host’s narrow bed and half of what the Judge had brought with him, they made a more comfortable arrangement for the night than they had expected.
The captive, whose heart had leaped within him the instant he saw the Judge, telling him somehow that this was his brother, asked one of the servants who accompanied him what his name was, and whether he knew from what part of the country he came. The servant replied that he was called the Licentiate Juan Perez de Viedma, and that he had heard it said he came from a village in the mountains of Leon. From this statement, and what he himself had seen, he felt convinced that this was his brother who had adopted letters by his father’s advice; and excited and rejoiced, he called Don Fernando and Cardenio and the curate aside, and told them how the matter stood, assuring them that the judge was his brother. The servant had further informed him that he was now going to the Indies with the appointment of Judge of the Supreme Court of Mexico; and he had learned, likewise, that the young lady was his daughter, whose mother had died in giving birth to her, and that he was very rich in consequence of the dowry left to him with the daughter. He asked their advice as to what means he should adopt to make himself known, or to ascertain beforehand whether, when he had made himself known, his brother, seeing him so poor, would be ashamed of him, or would receive him with a warm heart.
“Leave it to me to find out that,” said the curate; “though there is no reason for supposing, senor captain, that you will not be kindly received, because the worth and wisdom that your brother’s bearing shows him to possess do not make it likely that he will prove haughty or insensible, or that he will not know how to estimate the accidents of fortune at their proper value.”
“Still,” said the captain, “I would not make myself known abruptly, but in some indirect way.”
“I have told you already,” said the curate, “that I will manage it in a way to satisfy us all.”
By this time supper was ready, and they all took their seats at the table, except the captive, and the ladies, who supped by themselves in their own room. In the middle of supper the curate said:
“I had a comrade of your worship’s name, Senor Judge, in Constantinople, where I was a captive for several years, and that same comrade was one of the stoutest soldiers and captains in the whole Spanish infantry; but he had as large a share of misfortune as he had of gallantry and courage.”
“And how was the captain called, senor?” asked the Judge.
“He was called Ruy Perez de Viedma,” replied the curate, “and he was born in a village in the mountains of Leon; and he mentioned a circumstance connected with his father and his brothers which, had it not been told me by so truthful a man as he was, I should have set down as one of those fables the old women tell over the fire in winter; for he said his father had divided his property among his three sons and had addressed words of advice to them sounder than any of Cato’s . But I can say this much, that the choice he made of going to the wars was attended with such success, that by his gallant conduct and courage, and without any help save his own merit, he rose in a few years to be captain of infantry, and to see himself on the high-road and in position to be given the command of a corps before long; but Fortune was against him, for where he might have expected her favour he lost it, and with it his liberty, on that glorious day when so many recovered theirs, at the battle of Lepanto. I lost mine at the Goletta, and after a variety of adventures we found ourselves comrades at Constantinople. Thence he went to Algiers, where he met with one of the most extraordinary adventures that ever befell anyone in the world.”
Here the curate went on to relate briefly his brother’s adventure with Zoraida; to all which the Judge gave such an attentive hearing that he never before had been so much of a hearer. The curate, however, only went so far as to describe how the Frenchmen plundered those who were in the boat, and the poverty and distress in which his comrade and the fair Moor were left, of whom he said he had not been able to learn what became of them, or whether they had reached Spain, or been carried to France by the Frenchmen.
The captain, standing a little to one side, was listening to all the curate said, and watching every movement of his brother, who, as soon as he perceived the curate had made an end of his story, gave a deep sigh and said with his eyes full of tears, “Oh, senor, if you only knew what news you have given me and how it comes home to me, making me show how I feel it with these tears that spring from my eyes in spite of all my worldly wisdom and self-restraint! That brave captain that you speak of is my eldest brother, who, being of a bolder and loftier mind than my other brother or myself, chose the honourable and worthy calling of arms, which was one of the three careers our father proposed to us, as your comrade mentioned in that fable you thought he was telling you. I followed that of letters, in which God and my own exertions have raised me to the position in which you see me. My second brother is in Peru, so wealthy that with what he has sent to my father and to me he has fully repaid the portion he took with him, and has even furnished my father’s hands with the means of gratifying his natural generosity, while I too have been enabled to pursue my studies in a more becoming and creditable fashion, and so to attain my present standing. My father is still alive, though dying with anxiety to hear of his eldest son, and he prays God unceasingly that death may not close his eyes until he has looked upon those of his son; but with regard to him what surprises me is, that having so much common sense as he had, he should have neglected to give any intelligence about himself, either in his troubles and sufferings, or in his prosperity, for if his father or any of us had known of his condition he need not have waited for that miracle of the reed to obtain his ransom; but what now disquiets me is the uncertainty whether those Frenchmen may have restored him to liberty, or murdered him to hide the robbery. All this will make me continue my journey, not with the satisfaction in which I began it, but in the deepest melancholy and sadness. Oh dear brother! that I only knew where thou art now, and I would hasten to seek thee out and deliver thee from thy sufferings, though it were to cost me suffering myself! Oh that I could bring news to our old father that thou art alive, even wert thou the deepest dungeon of Barbary; for his wealth and my brother’s and mine would rescue thee thence! Oh beautiful and generous Zoraida, that I could repay thy good goodness to a brother! That I could be present at the new birth of thy soul, and at thy bridal that would give us all such happiness!”
All this and more the Judge uttered with such deep emotion at the news he had received of his brother that all who heard him shared in it, showing their sympathy with his sorrow. The curate, seeing, then, how well he had succeeded in carrying out his purpose and the captain’s wishes, had no desire to keep them unhappy any longer, so he rose from the table and going into the room where Zoraida was he took her by the hand, Luscinda, Dorothea, and the Judge’s daughter following her. The captain was waiting to see what the curate would do, when the latter, taking him with the other hand, advanced with both of them to where the Judge and the other gentlemen were and said, “Let your tears cease to flow, Senor Judge, and the wish of your heart be gratified as fully as you could desire, for you have before you your worthy brother and your good sister-in-law. He whom you see here is the Captain Viedma, and this is the fair Moor who has been so good to him. The Frenchmen I told you of have reduced them to the state of poverty you see that you may show the generosity of your kind heart.”
The captain ran to embrace his brother, who placed both hands on his breast so as to have a good look at him, holding him a little way off but as soon as he had fully recognised him he clasped him in his arms so closely, shedding such tears of heartfelt joy, that most of those present could not but join in them. The words the brothers exchanged, the emotion they showed can scarcely be imagined, I fancy, much less put down in writing. They told each other in a few words the events of their lives; they showed the true affection of brothers in all its strength; then the judge embraced Zoraida, putting all he possessed at her disposal; then he made his daughter embrace her, and the fair Christian and the lovely Moor drew fresh tears from every eye. And there was Don Quixote observing all these strange proceedings attentively without uttering a word, and attributing the whole to chimeras of knight-errantry. Then they agreed that the captain and Zoraida should return with his brother to Seville, and send news to his father of his having been delivered and found, so as to enable him to come and be present at the marriage and baptism of Zoraida, for it was impossible for the Judge to put off his journey, as he was informed that in a month from that time the fleet was to sail from Seville for New Spain, and to miss the passage would have been a great inconvenience to him. In short, everybody was well pleased and glad at the captive’s good fortune; and as now almost two-thirds of the night were past, they resolved to retire to rest for the remainder of it. Don Quixote offered to mount guard over the castle lest they should be attacked by some giant or other malevolent scoundrel, covetous of the great treasure of beauty the castle contained. Those who understood him returned him thanks for this service, and they gave the Judge an account of his extraordinary humour, with which he was not a little amused. Sancho Panza alone was fuming at the lateness of the hour for retiring to rest; and he of all was the one that made himself most comfortable, as he stretched himself on the trappings of his ass, which, as will be told farther on, cost him so dear.
The ladies, then, having retired to their chamber, and the others having disposed themselves with as little discomfort as they could, Don Quixote sallied out of the inn to act as sentinel of the castle as he had promised. It happened, however, that a little before the approach of dawn a voice so musical and sweet reached the ears of the ladies that it forced them all to listen attentively, but especially Dorothea, who had been awake, and by whose side Dona Clara de Viedma, for so the Judge’s daughter was called, lay sleeping. No one could imagine who it was that sang so sweetly, and the voice was unaccompanied by any instrument. At one moment it seemed to them as if the singer were in the courtyard, at another in the stable; and as they were all attention, wondering, Cardenio came to the door and said, “Listen, whoever is not asleep, and you will hear a muleteer’s voice that enchants as it chants.”
“We are listening to it already, senor,” said Dorothea; on which Cardenio went away; and Dorothea, giving all her attention to it, made out the words of the song to be these:
 
俘虏讲到这儿不说话了。费尔南多对他说：
“的确，上尉大人，您把您的经历讲得太生动了，仿佛历历在目。整个经历惊险曲折，实为世上罕见，使听者甚感惊奇，完全被吸引住了。我们都非常喜欢听。即使讲到明天早晨也讲不完，我们也愿意再从头听起。”
说完，费尔南多以及其他人都言真意切地表示愿意尽可能帮助他。俘虏被大家的一番好意深深感动了。费尔南多还问她是否愿意同自己一起回去。费尔南多可以让他的兄弟侯爵大人做索赖达洗礼的见证人，而费尔南多自己则将尽可能地安排俘虏堂堂正正地回到自己的家乡。俘虏对所有这些都很客气地表示感谢，不过他不能接受大家如此慷慨的帮助。
这时天黑了。一驾马车来到了客店，旁边还有几个骑马的人相随。他们要求在客店住宿。客店主妇说客店里一点儿地方也没有了。
几个骑马的人已经进了客店。其中一人说：“不管怎么样，总不能没有法官的地方。”
一听说是法官，客店主妇慌了，说道：
“现在的问题是房间里没有被褥了。法官大人肯定带着铺盖吧，要是他随身带着，那就请进吧，我和我丈夫可以把我们的房间让给他。”
“那就快点儿。”一个侍从说。
这时，那个人已经从马车里出来了。从他的服装上就可以看出他的身份。他穿的长袍表明他的确像他的侍从说的，是个法官。他手里还拉着一个看起来足有十六岁的女孩。她穿着一身旅行便装，显得俊秀、娇美，风姿如玉。谁看见她都会感到惊奇。如果不是因为他们在客店里见过多罗特亚、卢辛达和索赖达，一定会以为像她这样美丽的少女真是世上难觅。法官和那少女进来时，唐吉诃德正站在客店里。他看见法官就说：
“您完全可以进入这座城堡休息，尽管它有些狭窄简陋。不过，世界上还没有什么地方狭窄简陋得容不下文官武士，若再有美女在前引路，就像您这位文官带着一位漂亮的少女，那就更是如此了。不仅城堡应该敞开大门，连岩石都应该让路，高山也要低头，以迎接他们。您快请进入这个乐园吧。如果您带的这位少女是天空，这里有与天空为伴的星月，这里有标准的武士和绝伦的美女。”
法官被唐吉诃德这番话弄得莫名其妙。他仔细看了看唐吉诃德，对唐吉诃德的装束深感诧异，不知说什么好。但更让他奇怪的是站在自己面前的卢辛达、多罗特亚和索赖达。她们听客店主妇说来了一位漂亮的少女，一起来看她迎接她。费尔南多、卡德尼奥和神甫对法官则是以礼相迎。法官对他看到和听到的这些深感不解，满心疑惑地进了客店。客店里的几个女人把那位少女迎了进去。不过，法官觉得这些旅客毕竟都是些有身份的人，惟独唐吉诃德的装束、表情和行为显得不正常。大家客气地相互问候，谈了一下客店的条件，然后仍然按照原来的安排，所有的女人都住在顶楼，男人们都住在外面，也算替她们看门。那个少女是法官的女儿，她高高兴兴地跟着几个女人进去了。法官也感到很满意。虽然只有店主那块窄小的床板，再加上法官自己的一点儿铺盖，但他还是觉得比自己预料的要好得多。
俘虏从看到法官的第一刻起，就开始心跳，总有一种预感，觉得那个法官就是他兄弟。他问法官的一个侍从，法官叫什么名字，是否知道法官是什么地方的人。侍从回答说，他是胡安•佩雷斯•德别德马硕士，听说他是莱昂山区某个地方的人。俘虏根据自己的观察，再这么一联系，断定那个法官就是自己的兄弟，当年他听从了父亲的吩咐，终于从文。俘虏既激动又高兴，把费尔南多、卡德尼奥和神甫叫到一旁，把他断定法官就是自己兄弟的事告诉了他们。他还说，侍从告诉他，法官已经被委派到美洲的墨西哥法庭任职。他还知道那个少女是法官的女儿，女孩的母亲生她时死了，把自己的嫁妆留给了法官和女儿，所以法官现在很有钱。俘虏还同他们商量如何与法官相认，是否应该先了解一下，如果他去相认，他的兄弟会不会因为他穷困潦倒，怕丢自己的面了而拒绝相认，或是欣喜若狂地与他团聚。
“让我去试探吧。”神甫说，“不过上尉大人，你不必想别的，你兄弟肯定会与你高高兴兴地相认。看他外表上那精明能干的样子，不会看不起你或不与你相认，他应该会处理人情世故。”
“即使这样，”上尉说，“我想还是不要太唐突，而是婉转一些，让他与我相认。”
“我告诉你们，我会安排得让我们大家都满意。”神甫说。
这时，晚饭准备好了，大家都坐到桌旁吃饭，只有俘虏和女人们除外，他们在各自的房间里吃饭。晚饭中，神甫说：
“法官大人，我在君士坦丁堡有个与您同名的伙伴。我在君士坦丁堡做了几年俘虏，而那位伙伴是西班牙步兵的一位勇敢的战士和上尉。他非常勇敢，不过他也非常不幸。”
“那位上尉全名叫什么，大人？”法官问。
“他叫鲁伊•佩雷斯•德别德马，”神甫说，“是莱昂山区某个地方的人。他对我讲过他父亲同他兄弟的事情。若不是像他这么诚实的人亲口对我说，我只会把它当成老人们冬天在炉火旁讲的那种故事。他对我说，他父亲把财产分给了自己的三个儿子，并且给他们以教诲，那教诲比卡顿的先见还英明。我只知道从军的那个儿子干得很出色，没过几年，就全凭自己的勇敢和努力，而不是靠任何人提挈，当上了陆军上尉，并且很可能提升为少校。不过他后来碰到了厄运，在莱潘多的那场战斗中，很多人获得了自由，他却失去了自由，失去了自己的佳运。我在戈利达被俘。几经周折，我们又在君士坦丁堡重逢了。后来他到了阿尔及尔，据我所知，在那儿遇到了一次可以算得上世界罕见的奇遇。”
接着，神甫又简单讲了一下索赖达同俘虏的事情，法官始终全神贯注地听着，他从未这样认真地听别人讲话。后来，神甫又讲到法国人抢掠了船上基督徒的东西，这位伙伴和美丽的摩尔女人陷入了贫困境地，以后就不知道他们的情况怎么样了，不知道他们究竟是到了西班牙还是被法国人带到法国去了。
上尉在一旁听神甫说话的时候，一直注意观察他兄弟的一举一动。法官见神甫已经讲完了，长长地叹了一口气，两眼噙着泪水说：
“哎，大人，你大概不知道，你讲的这些事情与我有多大关系。我丢开了往日的持重，不禁泪眼潜然。你刚才说的那位勇敢的上尉是我哥哥。他比我和我弟弟都坚强，更具有远见卓识，选择了一条既光荣又高尚的从军道路，这就是你那个伙伴讲的近乎故事的经历中，我父亲指出的三条道路之一。我选择的是文职，靠上帝保佑和我的勤奋，才达到了今天这个地步。
“我的弟弟现在在秘鲁，过得很富裕。他寄给我父亲和我的钱远远超过了他带走的那些钱。他供养我父亲过原来那种大手大脚的生活，我也能够专心致志地完成我的学业，得到了我现在这个职位。我父亲还健在，他急于知道我哥哥的消息，望眼欲穿。他不断地祈求上帝，在他看到自己的儿子之前，不要让他瞑目。我也很奇怪，无论我哥哥饱尝苦难还是生活丰裕，为什么就想不起把自己的消息告诉我父亲呢？如果我父亲或我们兄弟俩当中的一个知道了他的消息，他就不必靠那根神奇的竹竿赎身了。不过，现在最让我担心的就是那些法国人究竟是放了他，还是为了掩盖他们的罪恶杀了他。这么一想，我再赶路时就不会像启程时那样高高兴兴了，只能是忧心忡仲。我的好兄弟呀，如果有人知道你现在何方，我愿历尽千辛万苦，甚至可以抛弃我的一切，也要去寻找你，解救你。如果当时有人告诉我父亲，说你还活着，即使你被关在贝韦利亚地牢的最底层，他也会不惜他和我们兄弟的财产把你救出来。噢，美丽豁达的索赖达，我们如何才能报答你对我哥哥的恩情啊！当你灵魂再生的时候，我们真想参加你们的婚礼，我们大家该多么高兴啊！”
法官听说了哥哥的消息后，满怀深情地说了上面这番话。听见他说这话的人都不由自主地与他共同伤感。神甫见自己的意图以及上尉的期望都实现了，不想让大家都跟着伤心，就从桌旁站起来，来到索赖达待的房间，拉着她的手走了出来。卢辛达、多罗特亚和法官的女儿也都跟着出来了。上尉正等着看神甫干什么，神甫又过来拉起他的手，领着两人来到法官和其他客人面前，说：
“您停止流泪吧，法官大人，现在您完全如愿以偿了。现在，站在您面前的就是您的哥哥和您的嫂子。这位就是德别德马上尉，那一位就是对他施以恩德的摩尔美人。我说那些法国人把他们害苦了，而你正好可以对他们解囊相助。”
上尉过来拥抱他的弟弟。法官把双手放在上尉胸前，以便离得远一点儿端详他。法官终于认出了自己的哥哥，马上紧紧拥抱住他，眼里流出了幸福的泪水。其他在场的人也不禁为之欷歔。兄弟俩说的话、诉的情恐怕是人们难以想象的，就更不要说用文字写出来了。
兄弟俩互相简单介绍了自己的情况，看上去真是情同手足。法官又拥抱了索赖达，并表示要将自己的家产供她使用，还让自己的女儿拥抱了索赖达。基督美女和摩尔美女拥抱在一起，不禁又泪湿衣衫。唐吉诃德仔细看着这一切，一言不发，他觉得这是奇怪的事情，是游侠骑士的幻觉。大家商定上尉和索赖达与法官一起回到塞维利亚去，把碰到上尉和上尉已经获得自由的消息告诉上尉的父亲，还要让他尽可能出席他们的婚礼和索赖达的洗礼。法官恐怕赶不上了，他还得继续赶路。有消息说，一个月后塞维利亚有条船到新西班牙①去。总之，大家都为俘虏的好运高兴。此时，已经夜过三更，大家决定休息，唐吉诃德自告奋勇去看夺城堡，以免某个巨人或坏蛋觊觎城堡里的美人跑来捣乱。凡是认识唐吉诃德的人都向他表示感谢，并且把他的怪诞举动告诉了法官。法官也很高兴地同意了。只有桑乔对这么晚才睡觉感到很失望。他躺到驴的鞍具上，比别人睡得都舒服。不过，后来他可为这副鞍具吃了不少苦头，这在下面会谈到。女人们在她们的房间里睡着了，其他人也都将就着躺下了。唐吉诃德走出客店，按照自己答应的话，为他的城堡站岗放哨。
①此处指美洲的西班牙殖民地。
天快亮的时候，女人们的耳边传来一阵悠扬的歌声。大家都竖起耳朵听着，特别是多罗特亚，她早已醒了。多罗特亚旁边睡的是法官的女儿克拉拉•德别德马。没人猜得出究竟是谁唱得这么好。这是一个人在独唱，没有任何乐器伴奏。有时似乎是在院子里唱，有时又像在马厩里唱。大家正莫名其妙地听着，卡德尼奥来到房间门口，说：
“如果谁还没睡着，就听听，有个年轻的骡夫在唱歌，唱得非常动听。”
“我们已经听到了，大人。”多罗特亚说。
卡德尼奥听到这话就走了。多罗特业则全神贯注地听着。
她听出歌词是下面的话。
Part 1 Chapter 43
Ah me, Love’s mariner am I
On Love’s deep ocean sailing;
I know not where the haven lies,
I dare not hope to gain it.
One solitary distant star
Is all I have to guide me,
A brighter orb than those of old
That Palinurus lighted.
And vaguely drifting am I borne,
I know not where it leads me;
I fix my gaze on it alone,
Of all beside it heedless.
But over-cautious prudery,
And coyness cold and cruel,
When most I need it, these, like clouds,
Its longed-for light refuse me.
Bright star, goal of my yearning eyes
As thou above me beamest,
When thou shalt hide thee from my sight
I’ll know that death is near me.
The singer had got so far when it struck Dorothea that it was not fair to let Clara miss hearing such a sweet voice, so, shaking her from side to side, she woke her, saying:
“Forgive me, child, for waking thee, but I do so that thou mayest have the pleasure of hearing the best voice thou hast ever heard, perhaps, in all thy life.”
Clara awoke quite drowsy, and not understanding at the moment what Dorothea said, asked her what it was; she repeated what she had said, and Clara became attentive at once; but she had hardly heard two lines, as the singer continued, when a strange trembling seized her, as if she were suffering from a severe attack of quartan ague, and throwing her arms round Dorothea she said:
“Ah, dear lady of my soul and life! why did you wake me? The greatest kindness fortune could do me now would be to close my eyes and ears so as neither to see or hear that unhappy musician.”
“What art thou talking about, child?” said Dorothea. “Why, they say this singer is a muleteer!”
“Nay, he is the lord of many places,” replied Clara, “and that one in my heart which he holds so firmly shall never be taken from him, unless he be willing to surrender it.”
Dorothea was amazed at the ardent language of the girl, for it seemed to be far beyond such experience of life as her tender years gave any promise of, so she said to her:
“You speak in such a way that I cannot understand you, Senora Clara; explain yourself more clearly, and tell me what is this you are saying about hearts and places and this musician whose voice has so moved you? But do not tell me anything now; I do not want to lose the pleasure I get from listening to the singer by giving my attention to your transports, for I perceive he is beginning to sing a new strain and a new air.”
“Let him, in Heaven’s name,” returned Clara; and not to hear him she stopped both ears with her hands, at which Dorothea was again surprised; but turning her attention to the song she found that it ran in this fashion:
Sweet Hope, my stay,
That onward to the goal of thy intent
Dost make thy way,
Heedless of hindrance or impediment,
Have thou no fear
If at each step thou findest death is near.
No victory,
No joy of triumph doth the faint heart know;
Unblest is he
That a bold front to Fortune dares not show,
But soul and sense
In bondage yieldeth up to indolence.
If Love his wares
Do dearly sell, his right must be contest;
What gold compares
With that whereon his stamp he hath imprest?
And all men know
What costeth little that we rate but low.
Love resolute
Knows not the word “impossibility;”
And though my suit
Beset by endless obstacles I see,
Yet no despair
Shall hold me bound to earth while heaven is there.
Here the voice ceased and Clara’s sobs began afresh, all which excited Dorothea’s curiosity to know what could be the cause of singing so sweet and weeping so bitter, so she again asked her what it was she was going to say before. On this Clara, afraid that Luscinda might overhear her, winding her arms tightly round Dorothea put her mouth so close to her ear that she could speak without fear of being heard by anyone else, and said:
“This singer, dear senora, is the son of a gentleman of Aragon, lord of two villages, who lives opposite my father’s house at Madrid; and though my father had curtains to the windows of his house in winter, and lattice-work in summer, in some way — I know not how==this gentleman, who was pursuing his studies, saw me, whether in church or elsewhere, I cannot tell, and, in fact, fell in love with me, and gave me to know it from the windows of his house, with so many signs and tears that I was forced to believe him, and even to love him, without knowing what it was he wanted of me. One of the signs he used to make me was to link one hand in the other, to show me he wished to marry me; and though I should have been glad if that could be, being alone and motherless I knew not whom to open my mind to, and so I left it as it was, showing him no favour, except when my father, and his too, were from home, to raise the curtain or the lattice a little and let him see me plainly, at which he would show such delight that he seemed as if he were going mad. Meanwhile the time for my father’s departure arrived, which he became aware of, but not from me, for I had never been able to tell him of it. He fell sick, of grief I believe, and so the day we were going away I could not see him to take farewell of him, were it only with the eyes. But after we had been two days on the road, on entering the posada of a village a day’s journey from this, I saw him at the inn door in the dress of a muleteer, and so well disguised, that if I did not carry his image graven on my heart it would have been impossible for me to recognise him. But I knew him, and I was surprised, and glad; he watched me, unsuspected by my father, from whom he always hides himself when he crosses my path on the road, or in the posadas where we halt; and, as I know what he is, and reflect that for love of me he makes this journey on foot in all this hardship, I am ready to die of sorrow; and where he sets foot there I set my eyes. I know not with what object he has come; or how he could have got away from his father, who loves him beyond measure, having no other heir, and because he deserves it, as you will perceive when you see him. And moreover, I can tell you, all that he sings is out of his own head; for I have heard them say he is a great scholar and poet; and what is more, every time I see him or hear him sing I tremble all over, and am terrified lest my father should recognise him and come to know of our loves. I have never spoken a word to him in my life; and for all that I love him so that I could not live without him. This, dear senora, is all I have to tell you about the musician whose voice has delighted you so much; and from it alone you might easily perceive he is no muleteer, but a lord of hearts and towns, as I told you already.”
“Say no more, Dona Clara,” said Dorothea at this, at the same time kissing her a thousand times over, “say no more, I tell you, but wait till day comes; when I trust in God to arrange this affair of yours so that it may have the happy ending such an innocent beginning deserves.”
“Ah, senora,” said Dona Clara, “what end can be hoped for when his father is of such lofty position, and so wealthy, that he would think I was not fit to be even a servant to his son, much less wife? And as to marrying without the knowledge of my father, I would not do it for all the world. I would not ask anything more than that this youth should go back and leave me; perhaps with not seeing him, and the long distance we shall have to travel, the pain I suffer now may become easier; though I daresay the remedy I propose will do me very little good. I don’t know how the devil this has come about, or how this love I have for him got in; I such a young girl, and he such a mere boy; for I verily believe we are both of an age, and I am not sixteen yet; for I will be sixteen Michaelmas Day, next, my father says.”
Dorothea could not help laughing to hear how like a child Dona Clara spoke. “Let us go to sleep now, senora,” said she, “for the little of the night that I fancy is left to us: God will soon send us daylight, and we will set all to rights, or it will go hard with me.”
With this they fell asleep, and deep silence reigned all through the inn. The only persons not asleep were the landlady’s daughter and her servant Maritornes, who, knowing the weak point of Don Quixote’s humour, and that he was outside the inn mounting guard in armour and on horseback, resolved, the pair of them, to play some trick upon him, or at any rate to amuse themselves for a while by listening to his nonsense. As it so happened there was not a window in the whole inn that looked outwards except a hole in the wall of a straw-loft through which they used to throw out the straw. At this hole the two demi-damsels posted themselves, and observed Don Quixote on his horse, leaning on his pike and from time to time sending forth such deep and doleful sighs, that he seemed to pluck up his soul by the roots with each of them; and they could hear him, too, saying in a soft, tender, loving tone, “Oh my lady Dulcinea del Toboso, perfection of all beauty, summit and crown of discretion, treasure house of grace, depositary of virtue, and finally, ideal of all that is good, honourable, and delectable in this world! What is thy grace doing now? Art thou, perchance, mindful of thy enslaved knight who of his own free will hath exposed himself to so great perils, and all to serve thee? Give me tidings of her, oh luminary of the three faces! Perhaps at this moment, envious of hers, thou art regarding her, either as she paces to and fro some gallery of her sumptuous palaces, or leans over some balcony, meditating how, whilst preserving her purity and greatness, she may mitigate the tortures this wretched heart of mine endures for her sake, what glory should recompense my sufferings, what repose my toil, and lastly what death my life, and what reward my services? And thou, oh sun, that art now doubtless harnessing thy steeds in haste to rise betimes and come forth to see my lady; when thou seest her I entreat of thee to salute her on my behalf: but have a care, when thou shalt see her and salute her, that thou kiss not her face; for I shall be more jealous of thee than thou wert of that light-footed ingrate that made thee sweat and run so on the plains of Thessaly, or on the banks of the Peneus (for I do not exactly recollect where it was thou didst run on that occasion) in thy jealousy and love.”
Don Quixote had got so far in his pathetic speech when the landlady’s daughter began to signal to him, saying, “Senor, come over here, please.”
At these signals and voice Don Quixote turned his head and saw by the light of the moon, which then was in its full splendour, that some one was calling to him from the hole in the wall, which seemed to him to be a window, and what is more, with a gilt grating, as rich castles, such as he believed the inn to be, ought to have; and it immediately suggested itself to his imagination that, as on the former occasion, the fair damsel, the daughter of the lady of the castle, overcome by love for him, was once more endeavouring to win his affections; and with this idea, not to show himself discourteous, or ungrateful, he turned Rocinante’s head and approached the hole, and as he perceived the two wenches he said:
“I pity you, beauteous lady, that you should have directed your thoughts of love to a quarter from whence it is impossible that such a return can be made to you as is due to your great merit and gentle birth, for which you must not blame this unhappy knight-errant whom love renders incapable of submission to any other than her whom, the first moment his eyes beheld her, he made absolute mistress of his soul. Forgive me, noble lady, and retire to your apartment, and do not, by any further declaration of your passion, compel me to show myself more ungrateful; and if, of the love you bear me, you should find that there is anything else in my power wherein I can gratify you, provided it be not love itself, demand it of me; for I swear to you by that sweet absent enemy of mine to grant it this instant, though it be that you require of me a lock of Medusa’s hair, which was all snakes, or even the very beams of the sun shut up in a vial.”
“My mistress wants nothing of that sort, sir knight,” said Maritornes at this.
“What then, discreet dame, is it that your mistress wants?” replied Don Quixote.
“Only one of your fair hands,” said Maritornes, “to enable her to vent over it the great passion passion which has brought her to this loophole, so much to the risk of her honour; for if the lord her father had heard her, the least slice he would cut off her would be her ear.”
“I should like to see that tried,” said Don Quixote; “but he had better beware of that, if he does not want to meet the most disastrous end that ever father in the world met for having laid hands on the tender limbs of a love-stricken daughter.”
Maritornes felt sure that Don Quixote would present the hand she had asked, and making up her mind what to do, she got down from the hole and went into the stable, where she took the halter of Sancho Panza’s ass, and in all haste returned to the hole, just as Don Quixote had planted himself standing on Rocinante’s saddle in order to reach the grated window where he supposed the lovelorn damsel to be; and giving her his hand, he said, “Lady, take this hand, or rather this scourge of the evil-doers of the earth; take, I say, this hand which no other hand of woman has ever touched, not even hers who has complete possession of my entire body. I present it to you, not that you may kiss it, but that you may observe the contexture of the sinews, the close network of the muscles, the breadth and capacity of the veins, whence you may infer what must be the strength of the arm that has such a hand.”
“That we shall see presently,” said Maritornes, and making a running knot on the halter, she passed it over his wrist and coming down from the hole tied the other end very firmly to the bolt of the door of the straw-loft.
Don Quixote, feeling the roughness of the rope on his wrist, exclaimed, “Your grace seems to be grating rather than caressing my hand; treat it not so harshly, for it is not to blame for the offence my resolution has given you, nor is it just to wreak all your vengeance on so small a part; remember that one who loves so well should not revenge herself so cruelly.”
But there was nobody now to listen to these words of Don Quixote’s , for as soon as Maritornes had tied him she and the other made off, ready to die with laughing, leaving him fastened in such a way that it was impossible for him to release himself.
He was, as has been said, standing on Rocinante, with his arm passed through the hole and his wrist tied to the bolt of the door, and in mighty fear and dread of being left hanging by the arm if Rocinante were to stir one side or the other; so he did not dare to make the least movement, although from the patience and imperturbable disposition of Rocinante, he had good reason to expect that he would stand without budging for a whole century. Finding himself fast, then, and that the ladies had retired, he began to fancy that all this was done by enchantment, as on the former occasion when in that same castle that enchanted Moor of a carrier had belaboured him; and he cursed in his heart his own want of sense and judgment in venturing to enter the castle again, after having come off so badly the first time; it being a settled point with knights-errant that when they have tried an adventure, and have not succeeded in it, it is a sign that it is not reserved for them but for others, and that therefore they need not try it again. Nevertheless he pulled his arm to see if he could release himself, but it had been made so fast that all his efforts were in vain. It is true he pulled it gently lest Rocinante should move, but try as he might to seat himself in the saddle, he had nothing for it but to stand upright or pull his hand off. Then it was he wished for the sword of Amadis, against which no enchantment whatever had any power; then he cursed his ill fortune; then he magnified the loss the world would sustain by his absence while he remained there enchanted, for that he believed he was beyond all doubt; then he once more took to thinking of his beloved Dulcinea del Toboso; then he called to his worthy squire Sancho Panza, who, buried in sleep and stretched upon the pack-saddle of his ass, was oblivious, at that moment, of the mother that bore him; then he called upon the sages Lirgandeo and Alquife to come to his aid; then he invoked his good friend Urganda to succour him; and then, at last, morning found him in such a state of desperation and perplexity that he was bellowing like a bull, for he had no hope that day would bring any relief to his suffering, which he believed would last for ever, inasmuch as he was enchanted; and of this he was convinced by seeing that Rocinante never stirred, much or little, and he felt persuaded that he and his horse were to remain in this state, without eating or drinking or sleeping, until the malign influence of the stars was overpast, or until some other more sage enchanter should disenchant him.
But he was very much deceived in this conclusion, for daylight had hardly begun to appear when there came up to the inn four men on horseback, well equipped and accoutred, with firelocks across their saddle-bows. They called out and knocked loudly at the gate of the inn, which was still shut; on seeing which, Don Quixote, even there where he was, did not forget to act as sentinel, and said in a loud and imperious tone, “Knights, or squires, or whatever ye be, ye have no right to knock at the gates of this castle; for it is plain enough that they who are within are either asleep, or else are not in the habit of throwing open the fortress until the sun’s rays are spread over the whole surface of the earth. Withdraw to a distance, and wait till it is broad daylight, and then we shall see whether it will be proper or not to open to you.”
“What the devil fortress or castle is this,” said one, “to make us stand on such ceremony? If you are the innkeeper bid them open to us; we are travellers who only want to feed our horses and go on, for we are in haste.”
“Do you think, gentlemen, that I look like an innkeeper?” said Don Quixote.
“I don’t know what you look like,” replied the other; “but I know that you are talking nonsense when you call this inn a castle.”
“A castle it is,” returned Don Quixote, “nay, more, one of the best in this whole province, and it has within it people who have had the sceptre in the hand and the crown on the head.”
“It would be better if it were the other way,” said the traveller, “the sceptre on the head and the crown in the hand; but if so, may be there is within some company of players, with whom it is a common thing to have those crowns and sceptres you speak of; for in such a small inn as this, and where such silence is kept, I do not believe any people entitled to crowns and sceptres can have taken up their quarters.”
“You know but little of the world,” returned Don Quixote, “since you are ignorant of what commonly occurs in knight-errantry.”
But the comrades of the spokesman, growing weary of the dialogue with Don Quixote, renewed their knocks with great vehemence, so much so that the host, and not only he but everybody in the inn, awoke, and he got up to ask who knocked. It happened at this moment that one of the horses of the four who were seeking admittance went to smell Rocinante, who melancholy, dejected, and with drooping ears stood motionless, supporting his sorely stretched master; and as he was, after all, flesh, though he looked as if he were made of wood, he could not help giving way and in return smelling the one who had come to offer him attentions. But he had hardly moved at all when Don Quixote lost his footing; and slipping off the saddle, he would have come to the ground, but for being suspended by the arm, which caused him such agony that he believed either his wrist would be cut through or his arm torn off; and he hung so near the ground that he could just touch it with his feet, which was all the worse for him; for, finding how little was wanted to enable him to plant his feet firmly, he struggled and stretched himself as much as he could to gain a footing; just like those undergoing the torture of the strappado, when they are fixed at “touch and no touch,” who aggravate their own sufferings by their violent efforts to stretch themselves, deceived by the hope which makes them fancy that with a very little more they will reach the ground.
 
我是爱情的水手，
在深深的情海里
无望地漂游，
碧波漫漫不见港口。
我追寻一颗星，
它遥挂在夜空，
恐怕帕利努罗①
也不曾见过
如此美丽明亮的星斗！
不知它引我向何方，
我茫然随波逐流。
貌似漫不经心，
其实一心追求。
无谓的羞涩，
格外的矜持，
我试图看到它，
云幕却不让它露头。
美丽明亮的星斗，
我渴望它的垂眸。
阴云遮蔽终不见，
我的生命到尽头。
①古罗马诗人维吉尔的史诗《埃涅阿斯纪》中的水手。
骡夫唱到这儿，多罗特亚觉得如此优美的歌喉要是克拉拉没听到就太可惜了。她摇晃了克拉拉几下，把她弄醒了，对她说：
“对不起，孩子，我把你弄醒了，不过我想这么好听的歌喉，你肯定喜欢，也许你这辈子都不会再听到了。”
克拉拉还没有完全醒过来。起初她没听清多罗特亚对她说什么，又问了一次，于是多罗特亚再说了一遍。于是，克拉拉注意听起来。可是她刚听了两段，就奇怪地颤抖起来，仿佛突然得了四日疟。她紧紧地抱住多罗特亚，说：
“我可爱的夫人呀，你为什么要把我叫醒呢？目前命运能给我的最大恩泽就是把我的眼睛和耳朵捂上，不让我再看到这个倒霉歌手或听到他的歌声。”
“你说什么，孩子？人家说这个唱歌的人是个骡夫。”
“不，他是封邑的领主。”克拉拉说，“他已经牢牢地占据了我的灵魂。只要他不愿意放弃我的灵魂，我就永远也离不开他。”
克拉拉这番缠绵多情的话让多罗特亚感到很奇怪，觉得这些话已大大超出了她那个年龄的水平，就对克拉拉说：“你说什么呀，克拉拉，我根本不明白。你再说清楚点儿，告诉我，你说的灵魂和封邑是怎么回事。还有这个歌唱家，为什么会让你如此不安。不过你现在先别说，我不想因为你的激动情绪而失去听歌的乐趣。好像他现在唱的是新辞新调。”
“随你便吧。”克拉拉说。
克拉拉用手捂住了耳朵，不愿意听那个人唱歌。这也使多罗特亚颇感不解。多罗特亚仔细听着，只听那人继续唱道：
我甜蜜的希望，
不畏艰难，披荆斩棘，
沿着既定的道路，
坚忍前往，
不要泄气，即使步步
接近你的死亡。
懒惰匹夫，得不到
辉煌的胜利，胜利无望。
不与命运抗争，
甘于现状，
悠然自得，
幸福不会从天降。
为爱情付出高昂代价，
理所应当。
世上任何东西
都不如爱情芬芳。
得来全不费功夫，
莫如奋力争向上。
不懈的爱情追求
也许能实现我的梦想。
虽然困难重重，
我从不彷徨，
纵然难于上青天，
我从不怀疑我的理想。
歌声到这儿停止了，克拉拉哭起来。这一下多罗特亚更急于知道为什么歌声那么委婉，而克拉拉却这么伤心了。多罗特亚问克拉拉刚才究竟想说什么。克拉拉怕卢辛达听见，紧紧搂着多罗特亚，把嘴贴近多罗特亚耳边，断定别人听不到之后才说：
“夫人，这个唱歌的人是阿拉贡王国一位贵族的儿子，他家就在京城我父亲家对面。尽管我父亲冬天拉上窗帘，夏天放下百叶窗，可不知怎么回事，这个仍在上学的小伙子还是在教堂或是别的地方看见了我，后来竟爱上了我。他从他家的窗户那儿向我打手势，流眼泪，表示爱上了我。我相信了，虽然我并不知道他到底爱我什么。
“他用一只手抱住另一只手，向我打手势，表示他想和我结婚。如果这样，我当然很高兴，可我只身一人，没有母亲，我不知道该向谁说。所以，我所做的只是趁我父亲不在家而他在家的时候，把窗帘或百叶窗抬起一点儿，让他能看见我的全身。这就让他高兴得不得了，像疯了似的。
“我父亲启程的时间到了。他知道我们要走了。不是我告诉他的，我和他根本就没说过话。他情绪很不好，我知道，他准是很难过。我们出发那天，我没能去看他，向他告别，连用眼睛向他告别都没能做到。不过我们上路两天，走进一个离这儿有一天路程的客店时，我看见他站在客店门口。他打扮成骡夫的样子。他打扮得太像了，要不是他的相貌已经牢牢刻在我心里，我恐怕根本认不出他来。我认出了他，心里又惊讶又高兴。他避开我父亲偷偷地看我。他在路上从我们面前走过或者在我们住的客店里碰见我，总是躲着我父亲。可我知道他是谁，觉得他是因为爱我，才如此艰苦地步行跟着我，所以很难过。他走到哪儿，我的眼睛也跟到哪儿。我不知道他为什么要这样，也不知道他是如何瞒着他的父亲跑出来的。他父亲特别喜欢他，他是他父亲唯一的继承人，而且他也当之无愧，你如果见到他就知道了。我还可以告诉你，他唱的那些歌全是他自己编的。我听人说，他很有学问，又擅作诗。不过，我每次看到他或听到他唱歌的时候，就浑身发抖，怕得要死，唯恐我父亲认出他来，知道了我们的心思。我一直没和他说过话。尽管如此，我爱他爱得已经离不开他了。我的夫人，这就是我对你说他是个歌手的原因。你很喜欢他的歌喉，仅从这点你就可以看出他不是你说的什么骡夫，而是我对你说的灵魂和封邑的主人。”
“别再说了，克拉拉，”多罗特亚这时候说，还频频吻着她，“别再说了。你等着吧，那天一定会到来。我祈求上帝让你们的事情有个美好的开端，也有个圆满的结局。”
“哎，夫人呀，”克拉拉说，“还能指望什么结局呢？他的父亲有钱又有势，会觉得我给他家做佣人都不配，更别提做什么妻子了。而且，让我背着我父亲结婚，我无论如何也不会答应。我只希望这个小伙子回家去，不要再理我。也许看不到他，再加上我们走过的遥远的距离，可以减轻我现在这种痛苦。不过也可以告诉你，我觉得这种办法不会对我起很大作用。我不知道究竟是什么魔鬼在捣乱，我怎么会爱上了他。我们还这么年轻，我估计我们两人的年龄一样大。我现在还不满十六岁。父亲说，到圣米格尔日那天，我就满十六岁了。”
多罗特亚听到克拉拉这番孩子气十足的话，不由得笑了。
她对克拉拉说：
“咱们睡吧，孩子，时间不多了。等天亮了，咱们再想办法，也许事情还有希望。”
说完她们就躺下了。客店里一片岑寂，只有客店主妇的女儿和丑女仆还没睡着。她们知道唐吉诃德正在客店外面出洋相，全身披挂地骑着马放哨，就决定和他开个玩笑，至少去听听他说了什么胡话。
整个客店没有一扇可以看到外面的窗户，只有一个存放稻草的房子里有两个用来向外扔稻草的窟窿。两个人就趴在这两个窟窿那儿，向外看，只见唐吉诃德正骑在马上，手持长矛，不时深深地发出几声痛苦的叹息，仿佛痛苦得肠断魂消。一会儿，她们又听到唐吉诃德柔情似水地说道：
“噢，我的夫人呀，国色之天香，智慧之精华，娴雅之典范，贞洁之集成，总之一句话，世界上所有有益、有德、有趣事物之思想，托博索的杜尔西内亚哟，你现在正在做什么？你是否想起了这位已经被你俘虏的骑士？他涉危履险，只是为了向你效忠，博取你的欢心！噢，三张脸的明月①啊，请你告诉我她的情况吧！也许你现在正以嫉妒的目光注视着她。她大概正沿着她的豪华宫殿的长廊漫步，或者在平台上凭栏远眺，以她正直伟大的胸怀思考着如何安抚这颗为她而痛苦不堪的心灵，思考着如何给我的痛苦以欢乐，给我的不安以宽慰，给我的悲痛欲绝以欣喜若狂，给我的忠心耿耿以报答。而太阳啊，你大概已经骑上你的马，迎着早晨出来看望我的夫人了。你看到她时，请代我向她问好。不过你注意点儿，看望她并向她问好时千万不要吻她的脸，比起你从前在特萨利平原或者佩纽斯河边，我忘了你到底是在什么地方了，挥汗如雨，妒火焚心，追赶那个忘恩负义的狠心女人②时的心情，我只能是有过之而无不及。”
①唐吉诃德此处指月亮的三个月相，即望月、亏月和盈月。
①此处指希腊神话中的达佛涅。特萨利的河神佩纽斯之女达佛涅被阿波罗追求，后求助于神，变为月桂树。
唐吉诃德情意缠绵地刚说到这儿，店主妇的女儿就向他发出了几声“咝咝”，对他说：
“大人，劳驾请过来一下。”
唐吉诃德顺声转过头去。借着当晚皎洁的月光，他发现有人从那个窟窿里叫他。在唐吉诃德看来，那窟窿是一扇窗户，而且还有金窗栏。他把客店当成富丽堂皇的城堡，所以有金窗栏自然也是情理之中的事情。然后他又像以前一样，疯疯癫癫地想到，城堡长官的漂亮女儿已经坠入爱河，又来向他传情。不过，为了表示他并不是个没有礼貌、不识好歹的人，就掉转罗西南多的缰绳，来到窟窿前。他发现是两个姑娘，便对她们说：
“非常遗憾，美丽的姑娘，你们把你们的情思投注到了一个根本不可能与你们相爱的人身上，凭你们的身份和娴静，本来你们完全应该得到爱情。你们不要怪罪这位可怜的游侠骑士。他对一位夫人一见钟情，而且情深意笃，不可能再移情于别人了。请原谅，好姑娘，赶紧回房间去吧，不要再表示什么情意了，以免让我显得不识好歹。如果你们除了袒露爱情，还有其他事情有求于我，请尽管说。我向你们那位不在此地的温柔情敌发誓，我一定会毫无保留地满足你们，哪怕你们要的是墨杜萨①那一根根都是蛇的头发或者一瓶太阳光。”
①希腊神话的三女怪之一。女怪头上长的不是头发，而是毒蛇，生有翅膀、利爪和巨齿。
“这些我的女主人都不需要，骑士大人。”丑女仆这时说。
“那么你的女主人需要什么呢，聪明的女仆？”唐吉诃德问。
“只需要您一只美丽的手，”丑女仆说，“用它来安抚这个窟窿给她造成的激情。她的名誉已经因此受到了很大影响，如果她的父亲察觉了，至少要割下她的一只耳朵。”
“我倒要看看呢，”唐吉诃德说，“如果他不想做世界上下场最惨的父亲的话，就老实点儿，不要用他的手触动他的坠入情网的女儿的任何一个娇嫩的部位。”
丑女仆觉得唐吉诃德肯定会答应她的请求，把手伸过来。她又想了一下，就离开那个窟窿，来到马厩，拿起桑乔那头驴的缰绳，赶紧跑了回来。此时唐吉诃德已经站在罗西南多的鞍子上，把手伸进了窗栏。他想象那位伤心的姑娘就在窗户里，便对她说：
“姑娘，拉住这只手吧。应该说，这是一只消灭世间万恶的手。拉住这只手吧，还没有任何女人碰过这只手，包括那个已经占据了我的身心的女人。我把手伸给你不是为了让你吻它，而是让你看看那上面密布的青筋、结实的肌肉和粗壮的血管。你由此就可以看出，掌握着这只手的胳膊该有多大的力量。”
“我们现在就看看。”丑女仆说。她在缰绳上打了一个活结，套在唐吉诃德的手腕上，然后又离开那个窟窿，把缰绳紧紧拴到稻草房的门闩上。
唐吉诃德感到手腕上有股绳子勒的疼痛，说道：
“我觉得你不是在爱抚我的手，而是在折磨它。你不要这样对待它。我不爱你并不是它的错，而且你也不应该在这么小的地方发泄你的全部仇恨。痴情的人不该记仇。”
不过，唐吉诃德这些话已经没人听见了。丑女仆把绳子拴好后和客店主妇的女儿一起捧腹大笑，然后立刻离开了。唐吉诃德被拴在那里，自己根本无法解开。
唐吉诃德就这样站在马鞍上，胳膊伸在窟窿里，手腕被拴在门闩上，胆战心惊而又小心翼翼地怕罗西南多挪动，那样他就会悬空吊在一只胳膊上了。所以，他一动也不敢动。不过，罗西南多倒是很有耐心，很安静，它可以永远站在那儿，寸步不移。唐吉诃德看到自己被拴在那儿，两个姑娘已经走了，就想象这回又像上次在这座城堡里被会魔法的摩尔脚夫痛打了一顿那样，被魔法治住了。他暗暗责备自己欠考虑，第一次在这座城堡里遭遇不幸，就不该再冒冒失失地第二次进来。游侠骑士们有条规矩，如果第一次经历失败，就证明这不是他们的事，而是别人的事，不该再进行第二次尝试了。他拽了拽胳膊，看能不能把胳膊抽出来，可是胳膊被结结实实地拴在那儿，尝试了几次都没有成功。不过他也没敢使劲拽，怕罗西南多挪动。他想坐到鞍子上，可是又坐不下来，除非他把手砍了，于是只好在那儿站着。
此时此地，唐吉诃德很想得到阿马迪斯的宝剑，他的宝剑可以抵御各种魔法；他暗暗诅咒自己的厄运；他不无夸大地估计了自己被魔法制服会使世界遭受的损失，他真心相信自己有那么大的作用；他又想起了心爱的托博索的杜尔西内亚；他呼唤他的侍从桑乔，可桑乔此时正躺在驴的驮鞍上鼾声大作，连生养自己的母亲都忘了；他呼唤大智若愚的利甘德奥和阿尔基费来帮助他；他祈求他的好友乌甘达来支援他。他就这样惶惑绝望地像头公牛似的吼叫，一直待到天明，不过他并没有指望他的痛苦到天明就可以摆脱，他觉得他已经被魔法永远地定身在那儿了。他相信这点是因为他看到罗西南多只能在那儿微微地动一动。他相信他和他的马只能在那儿不吃不喝也不睡，星移斗转，直到另一个会魔法的圣人为他解除魔法。
不料他估计错了。天刚蒙蒙亮，就有四个骑马的人来到客店门前。四个人穿戴得体，仪容整洁，鞍架上还挂着猎枪。客店的门还关着，四个人用力打门。唐吉诃德看见了，此时他仍然没有忘记自己哨兵的职责，便声调高傲地说道：“骑士或侍从们，不管你们是什么人吧，都没有理由叫门。现在这个时辰，明摆着里面的人都在睡觉，而且不到阳光洒满大地的时候，城堡没有开门的习惯。你们靠边点儿，等到天亮再说到底该不该给你们开门。”
“什么鬼城堡，”其中一人说，“还有那么多规矩？你如果是店主，就叫他们开门。我们只是路过，只想在这儿给我们的牲口添些草料，然后继续赶路。我们还有急事。”
“骑士们，你们看我的样子像店主吗？”唐吉诃德问。
“我们不管你像什么，”另一个人说，“我只知道你把这个客店称作城堡完全是胡说八道。”
“当然是城堡，”唐吉诃德说，“而且在全省也算得上是高级城堡，里面还住过手持权杖、头顶王冠的人呢。”
“最好倒过来讲，”一个过客说道，“头顶权杖，手持王冠。就是里面有这样的人，也大概是个剧团吧，那种人常常拿着你说的那种王冠和权杖。这个客店这么小，又这么静悄悄的，我不相信有什么拿权杖、戴王冠的人在这儿住宿。”
“你对世界知道得太少，”唐吉诃德说，“而且对游侠骑士常遇到的事情更是一无所知。”
与那个问话者同行的几个人懒得再同唐吉诃德费口舌，又怒气冲冲地叫起门来。叫门声把店主吵醒了，而且客店里所有人都被吵醒了。店主起来问谁在叫门。这时候，那四个人骑的马中，有一匹走过来嗅罗西南多。罗西南多正搭拉着耳朵，怏怏不乐地站在那儿，一动不动地驮着它那位抻长了身子的主人。虽然它像块木头似的戳在那儿，可毕竟有血有肉，不可能总是无动于衷，于是它又去嗅那匹过来同它温存的马。尽管它并没有移动多少，可还是错开了唐吉诃德的双脚。唐吉诃德从马鞍上一下子滑了下来，若不是胳膊还吊在那儿，他就摔到地上去了。这一下可把他疼得够呛，以为手腕断了或是胳膊折了。他的脚距地面很近，用脚尖就可以触到地面，这可把他坑苦了。因为他觉得只差一点儿就可以把脚板放到地上了，所以就狠命地尽可能把身体拉长，想够着地面。他这样似够又够不着的样子，活像在受吊刑，而且，以为再伸长一点儿就可以够着地面的错觉使得他不断向下抻，结果就更加难受了。
Part 1 Chapter 44
So loud, in fact, were the shouts of Don Quixote, that the landlord opening the gate of the inn in all haste, came out in dismay, and ran to see who was uttering such cries, and those who were outside joined him. Maritornes, who had been by this time roused up by the same outcry, suspecting what it was, ran to the loft and, without anyone seeing her, untied the halter by which Don Quixote was suspended, and down he came to the ground in the sight of the landlord and the travellers, who approaching asked him what was the matter with him that he shouted so. He without replying a word took the rope off his wrist, and rising to his feet leaped upon Rocinante, braced his buckler on his arm, put his lance in rest, and making a considerable circuit of the plain came back at a half-gallop exclaiming:
“Whoever shall say that I have been enchanted with just cause, provided my lady the Princess Micomicona grants me permission to do so, I give him the lie, challenge him and defy him to single combat.”
The newly arrived travellers were amazed at the words of Don Quixote; but the landlord removed their surprise by telling them who he was, and not to mind him as he was out of his senses. They then asked the landlord if by any chance a youth of about fifteen years of age had come to that inn, one dressed like a muleteer, and of such and such an appearance, describing that of Dona Clara’s lover. The landlord replied that there were so many people in the inn he had not noticed the person they were inquiring for; but one of them observing the coach in which the Judge had come, said, “He is here no doubt, for this is the coach he is following: let one of us stay at the gate, and the rest go in to look for him; or indeed it would be as well if one of us went round the inn, lest he should escape over the wall of the yard.” “So be it,” said another; and while two of them went in, one remained at the gate and the other made the circuit of the inn; observing all which, the landlord was unable to conjecture for what reason they were taking all these precautions, though he understood they were looking for the youth whose description they had given him.
It was by this time broad daylight; and for that reason, as well as in consequence of the noise Don Quixote had made, everybody was awake and up, but particularly Dona Clara and Dorothea; for they had been able to sleep but badly that night, the one from agitation at having her lover so near her, the other from curiosity to see him. Don Quixote, when he saw that not one of the four travellers took any notice of him or replied to his challenge, was furious and ready to die with indignation and wrath; and if he could have found in the ordinances of chivalry that it was lawful for a knight-errant to undertake or engage in another enterprise, when he had plighted his word and faith not to involve himself in any until he had made an end of the one to which he was pledged, he would have attacked the whole of them, and would have made them return an answer in spite of themselves. But considering that it would not become him, nor be right, to begin any new emprise until he had established Micomicona in her kingdom, he was constrained to hold his peace and wait quietly to see what would be the upshot of the proceedings of those same travellers; one of whom found the youth they were seeking lying asleep by the side of a muleteer, without a thought of anyone coming in search of him, much less finding him.
The man laid hold of him by the arm, saying, “It becomes you well indeed, Senor Don Luis, to be in the dress you wear, and well the bed in which I find you agrees with the luxury in which your mother reared you.”
The youth rubbed his sleepy eyes and stared for a while at him who held him, but presently recognised him as one of his father’s servants, at which he was so taken aback that for some time he could not find or utter a word; while the servant went on to say, “There is nothing for it now, Senor Don Luis, but to submit quietly and return home, unless it is your wish that my lord, your father, should take his departure for the other world, for nothing else can be the consequence of the grief he is in at your absence.”
“But how did my father know that I had gone this road and in this dress?” said Don Luis.
“It was a student to whom you confided your intentions,” answered the servant, “that disclosed them, touched with pity at the distress he saw your father suffer on missing you; he therefore despatched four of his servants in quest of you, and here we all are at your service, better pleased than you can imagine that we shall return so soon and be able to restore you to those eyes that so yearn for you.”
“That shall be as I please, or as heaven orders,” returned Don Luis.
“What can you please or heaven order,” said the other, “except to agree to go back? Anything else is impossible.”
All this conversation between the two was overheard by the muleteer at whose side Don Luis lay, and rising, he went to report what had taken place to Don Fernando, Cardenio, and the others, who had by this time dressed themselves; and told them how the man had addressed the youth as “Don,” and what words had passed, and how he wanted him to return to his father, which the youth was unwilling to do. With this, and what they already knew of the rare voice that heaven had bestowed upon him, they all felt very anxious to know more particularly who he was, and even to help him if it was attempted to employ force against him; so they hastened to where he was still talking and arguing with his servant. Dorothea at this instant came out of her room, followed by Dona Clara all in a tremor; and calling Cardenio aside, she told him in a few words the story of the musician and Dona Clara, and he at the same time told her what had happened, how his father’s servants had come in search of him; but in telling her so, he did not speak low enough but that Dona Clara heard what he said, at which she was so much agitated that had not Dorothea hastened to support her she would have fallen to the ground. Cardenio then bade Dorothea return to her room, as he would endeavour to make the whole matter right, and they did as he desired. All the four who had come in quest of Don Luis had now come into the inn and surrounded him, urging him to return and console his father at once and without a moment’s delay. He replied that he could not do so on any account until he had concluded some business in which his life, honour, and heart were at stake. The servants pressed him, saying that most certainly they would not return without him, and that they would take him away whether he liked it or not.
“You shall not do that,” replied Don Luis, “unless you take me dead; though however you take me, it will be without life.”
By this time most of those in the inn had been attracted by the dispute, but particularly Cardenio, Don Fernando, his companions, the Judge, the curate, the barber, and Don Quixote; for he now considered there was no necessity for mounting guard over the castle any longer. Cardenio being already acquainted with the young man’s story, asked the men who wanted to take him away, what object they had in seeking to carry off this youth against his will.
“Our object,” said one of the four, “is to save the life of his father, who is in danger of losing it through this gentleman’s disappearance.”
Upon this Don Luis exclaimed, “There is no need to make my affairs public here; I am free, and I will return if I please; and if not, none of you shall compel me.”
“Reason will compel your worship,” said the man, “and if it has no power over you, it has power over us, to make us do what we came for, and what it is our duty to do.”
“Let us hear what the whole affair is about,” said the Judge at this; but the man, who knew him as a neighbour of theirs, replied, “Do you not know this gentleman, Senor Judge? He is the son of your neighbour, who has run away from his father’s house in a dress so unbecoming his rank, as your worship may perceive.”
The judge on this looked at him more carefully and recognised him, and embracing him said, “What folly is this, Senor Don Luis, or what can have been the cause that could have induced you to come here in this way, and in this dress, which so ill becomes your condition?”
Tears came into the eyes of the young man, and he was unable to utter a word in reply to the Judge, who told the four servants not to be uneasy, for all would be satisfactorily settled; and then taking Don Luis by the hand, he drew him aside and asked the reason of his having come there.
But while he was questioning him they heard a loud outcry at the gate of the inn, the cause of which was that two of the guests who had passed the night there, seeing everybody busy about finding out what it was the four men wanted, had conceived the idea of going off without paying what they owed; but the landlord, who minded his own affairs more than other people’s , caught them going out of the gate and demanded his reckoning, abusing them for their dishonesty with such language that he drove them to reply with their fists, and so they began to lay on him in such a style that the poor man was forced to cry out, and call for help. The landlady and her daughter could see no one more free to give aid than Don Quixote, and to him the daughter said, “Sir knight, by the virtue God has given you, help my poor father, for two wicked men are beating him to a mummy.”
To which Don Quixote very deliberately and phlegmatically replied, “Fair damsel, at the present moment your request is inopportune, for I am debarred from involving myself in any adventure until I have brought to a happy conclusion one to which my word has pledged me; but that which I can do for you is what I will now mention: run and tell your father to stand his ground as well as he can in this battle, and on no account to allow himself to be vanquished, while I go and request permission of the Princess Micomicona to enable me to succour him in his distress; and if she grants it, rest assured I will relieve him from it.”
“Sinner that I am,” exclaimed Maritornes, who stood by; “before you have got your permission my master will be in the other world.”
“Give me leave, senora, to obtain the permission I speak of,” returned Don Quixote; “and if I get it, it will matter very little if he is in the other world; for I will rescue him thence in spite of all the same world can do; or at any rate I will give you such a revenge over those who shall have sent him there that you will be more than moderately satisfied;” and without saying anything more he went and knelt before Dorothea, requesting her Highness in knightly and errant phrase to be pleased to grant him permission to aid and succour the castellan of that castle, who now stood in grievous jeopardy. The princess granted it graciously, and he at once, bracing his buckler on his arm and drawing his sword, hastened to the inn-gate, where the two guests were still handling the landlord roughly; but as soon as he reached the spot he stopped short and stood still, though Maritornes and the landlady asked him why he hesitated to help their master and husband.
“I hesitate,” said Don Quixote, “because it is not lawful for me to draw sword against persons of squirely condition; but call my squire Sancho to me; for this defence and vengeance are his affair and business.”
Thus matters stood at the inn-gate, where there was a very lively exchange of fisticuffs and punches, to the sore damage of the landlord and to the wrath of Maritornes, the landlady, and her daughter, who were furious when they saw the pusillanimity of Don Quixote, and the hard treatment their master, husband and father was undergoing. But let us leave him there; for he will surely find some one to help him, and if not, let him suffer and hold his tongue who attempts more than his strength allows him to do; and let us go back fifty paces to see what Don Luis said in reply to the Judge whom we left questioning him privately as to his reasons for coming on foot and so meanly dressed.
To which the youth, pressing his hand in a way that showed his heart was troubled by some great sorrow, and shedding a flood of tears, made answer:
“Senor, I have no more to tell you than that from the moment when, through heaven’s will and our being near neighbours, I first saw Dona Clara, your daughter and my lady, from that instant I made her the mistress of my will, and if yours, my true lord and father, offers no impediment, this very day she shall become my wife. For her I left my father’s house, and for her I assumed this disguise, to follow her whithersoever she may go, as the arrow seeks its mark or the sailor the pole-star. She knows nothing more of my passion than what she may have learned from having sometimes seen from a distance that my eyes were filled with tears. You know already, senor, the wealth and noble birth of my parents, and that I am their sole heir; if this be a sufficient inducement for you to venture to make me completely happy, accept me at once as your son; for if my father, influenced by other objects of his own, should disapprove of this happiness I have sought for myself, time has more power to alter and change things, than human will.”
With this the love-smitten youth was silent, while the Judge, after hearing him, was astonished, perplexed, and surprised, as well at the manner and intelligence with which Don Luis had confessed the secret of his heart, as at the position in which he found himself, not knowing what course to take in a matter so sudden and unexpected. All the answer, therefore, he gave him was to bid him to make his mind easy for the present, and arrange with his servants not to take him back that day, so that there might be time to consider what was best for all parties. Don Luis kissed his hands by force, nay, bathed them with his tears, in a way that would have touched a heart of marble, not to say that of the Judge, who, as a shrewd man, had already perceived how advantageous the marriage would be to his daughter; though, were it possible, he would have preferred that it should be brought about with the consent of the father of Don Luis, who he knew looked for a title for his son.
The guests had by this time made peace with the landlord, for, by persuasion and Don Quixote’s fair words more than by threats, they had paid him what he demanded, and the servants of Don Luis were waiting for the end of the conversation with the Judge and their master’s decision, when the devil, who never sleeps, contrived that the barber, from whom Don Quixote had taken Mambrino’s helmet, and Sancho Panza the trappings of his ass in exchange for those of his own, should at this instant enter the inn; which said barber, as he led his ass to the stable, observed Sancho Panza engaged in repairing something or other belonging to the pack-saddle; and the moment he saw it he knew it, and made bold to attack Sancho, exclaiming, “Ho, sir thief, I have caught you! hand over my basin and my pack-saddle, and all my trappings that you robbed me of.”
Sancho, finding himself so unexpectedly assailed, and hearing the abuse poured upon him, seized the pack-saddle with one hand, and with the other gave the barber a cuff that bathed his teeth in blood. The barber, however, was not so ready to relinquish the prize he had made in the pack-saddle; on the contrary, he raised such an outcry that everyone in the inn came running to know what the noise and quarrel meant. “Here, in the name of the king and justice!” he cried, “this thief and highwayman wants to kill me for trying to recover my property.”
“You lie,” said Sancho, “I am no highwayman; it was in fair war my master Don Quixote won these spoils.”
Don Quixote was standing by at the time, highly pleased to see his squire’s stoutness, both offensive and defensive, and from that time forth he reckoned him a man of mettle, and in his heart resolved to dub him a knight on the first opportunity that presented itself, feeling sure that the order of chivalry would be fittingly bestowed upon him.
In the course of the altercation, among other things the barber said, “Gentlemen, this pack-saddle is mine as surely as I owe God a death, and I know it as well as if I had given birth to it, and here is my ass in the stable who will not let me lie; only try it, and if it does not fit him like a glove, call me a rascal; and what is more, the same day I was robbed of this, they robbed me likewise of a new brass basin, never yet handselled, that would fetch a crown any day.”
At this Don Quixote could not keep himself from answering; and interposing between the two, and separating them, he placed the pack-saddle on the ground, to lie there in sight until the truth was established, and said, “Your worships may perceive clearly and plainly the error under which this worthy squire lies when he calls a basin which was, is, and shall be the helmet of Mambrino which I won from him in air war, and made myself master of by legitimate and lawful possession. With the pack-saddle I do not concern myself; but I may tell you on that head that my squire Sancho asked my permission to strip off the caparison of this vanquished poltroon’s steed, and with it adorn his own; I allowed him, and he took it; and as to its having been changed from a caparison into a pack-saddle, I can give no explanation except the usual one, that such transformations will take place in adventures of chivalry. To confirm all which, run, Sancho my son, and fetch hither the helmet which this good fellow calls a basin.”
“Egad, master,” said Sancho, “if we have no other proof of our case than what your worship puts forward, Mambrino’s helmet is just as much a basin as this good fellow’s caparison is a pack-saddle.”
“Do as I bid thee,” said Don Quixote; “it cannot be that everything in this castle goes by enchantment.”
Sancho hastened to where the basin was, and brought it back with him, and when Don Quixote saw it, he took hold of it and said:
“Your worships may see with what a face this squire can assert that this is a basin and not the helmet I told you of; and I swear by the order of chivalry I profess, that this helmet is the identical one I took from him, without anything added to or taken from it.”
“There is no doubt of that,” said Sancho, “for from the time my master won it until now he has only fought one battle in it, when he let loose those unlucky men in chains; and if had not been for this basin-helmet he would not have come off over well that time, for there was plenty of stone-throwing in that affair.”
 
唐吉诃德一阵喊叫，吓得店主赶紧打开了客店的门，慌慌张张地跑出来看究竟是谁这么喊叫。客店外面的几个人也跑了过来。丑女仆也被这阵喊声惊醒，马上就猜想到是怎么回事了。她立刻跑到堆稻草的房子里，神不知鬼不觉地把拴着唐吉诃德的缰绳解开了，结果唐吉诃德在众目睽睽之下摔到了地上。他刚落地，店主和几个旅客就问他是怎么回事，为什么这么拼命地喊叫。唐吉诃德一句话也不说，解开手腕上的活结，从地上站起来，骑上罗西南多，抓起皮盾，拿起长矛，在外面骑马跑了一阵，又不紧不慢地蹓回来，说道：
“谁敢说我被魔法定住是理所当然？只要我的女主人米科米科娜公主允许，我就要驳斥他，向他挑战，跟他展开一场殊死的战斗！”
几个旅客听了唐吉诃德的话很惊奇。店主告诉他们唐吉诃德是什么样的人，他现在神智不正常，不要理会他，大家才不感到奇怪了。
几个旅客又问店主，是否有个十五岁的男孩来过这个客店，那个孩子打扮成骡夫的样子，又如此这番形容了一阵，说的就是克拉拉的情人那样子。店主说客店里每天有很多人，他没注意到是否有他们打听的那个人。可是有个旅客看到了法官的马车，就说：
“他肯定在这儿，这就是据说他追踪的那辆马车。咱们一个人留在门口，其他人进去找，最好有个人在客店周围转一转，免得他从墙头上跳出去。”
“就这么办。”其中一人说。
两人进了客店，一个留在门口，还有一个在客店周围转悠。这一切店主都看在眼里。他虽然知道他们要找的是那个男孩，却不明白他们为什么行动要如此周密。
这时天已经亮了，再加上唐吉诃德刚才的吵闹，客店里的人全醒了，也都起床了。特别是克拉拉和多罗特亚，一个由于情人就在附近而受了惊吓，另一个由于急于看到这个孩子，两个人那天晚上都没有睡好。
唐吉诃德见四个旅客中没有一个把他放在眼里，也不向他应战，恼怒极了。如果他能在他的骑士规则里找到规定，说明游侠骑士在完成他承诺的事情之前去做另一件事也属合法，他早就向那几个人进攻了，不管他们愿意与否，都得应战。不过，他还是觉得在帮助米科米科娜公主重建她的王国之前又开始另一项新的事业不妥，因此只好默不作声，看这几个旅客紧锣密鼓到底干些什么。一个旅客果然找到了他们要找的那个男孩。那个男孩正睡在一个骡夫身旁。他没有想到有人会找他，更没想到居然会找到他。那个旅客抓住了男孩的胳膊，说：
“唐路易斯少爷，看来你这身打扮的确符合你的身份，而你现在睡的这张床也说明你的母亲如何娇惯了你。”
男孩揉了揉惺忪的睡眼，慢慢打量着抓住他胳膊的人，待他认出是他家的佣人后，吓了一大跳，竟半天说不出话来。佣人接着说：
“现在没别的办法，唐路易斯少爷，只有耐心点，转身回家去，假如你不愿意让你的父亲即我的主人到极乐世界去的话。你的出走给你父亲带来的痛苦已经让他悲痛欲绝了。”
“可是，”唐路易斯问，“我父亲怎么知道我走了这条路，穿了这身衣服呢？”
“是那个学生说的，”佣人说，“你把你的想法告诉了他，他见你父亲想念你的样子，实在于心不忍。于是，你父亲就派我们四个佣人来找你。我们都在这里听你吩咐，而且很高兴事情比我们想象的顺利。我们可以带你回去，让你见到那双如此疼爱你的眼睛。”
“这要看我愿意不愿意，以及老天如何安排了。”唐路易斯说。
“你除了同意回去之外，还想干什么？老天还能怎么安排呢？其他事情都是不可能的。”
两人这番对话被旁边那个骡夫全听到了。他站起身来，去找费尔南多和卡德尼奥，把这事对他们和其他人说了。此时大家都已起床。骡夫告诉他们，那个人如何称那个男孩为“少爷”，想把他带回他父亲家去，而那个男孩不愿意回去。大家听到这些，刚才又领教过他那副天生的好嗓子，就更想知道他到底是什么人了。此外，如果有人强迫他做什么事情，大家还可以帮他一把。于是大家来到孩子跟前。那个孩子还在那儿同佣人争辩。
多罗特亚这时走出房间，后面跟着失魂落魄的克拉拉。多罗特亚把卡德尼奥叫到一旁，向他简单叙述了歌唱家和克拉拉的事情。卡德尼奥也把那男孩父亲家的佣人来找他的事情告诉了多罗特亚。他说话的声音不算小，克拉拉全听到了。她急得不知如何是好，若不是多罗将亚赶紧过去扶住她，她就跌倒了。卡德尼奥让她们先回房间去，他来想办法。于是她们回房间去了。
四个来找孩子的佣人此时正围着男孩，劝他立刻回去安慰他的父亲。那个男孩说，如果不完成一件与他的性命、名誉和灵魂攸关的事情，他无论如何也不会回去。几个佣人也毫不让步，说他们绝不会让他留在这里，不管他愿意不愿意，都得把他带回去。
“你们除非带走我的尸体，”唐路易斯说，“否则你们不可能把我带走。随便你们用什么方式把我带走，可带走的只能是个死人。”
这时客店里的很多人都跑来看他们争吵，其中有卡德尼奥，费尔南多和他的伙伴，法官，神甫，理发师和唐吉诃德。唐吉诃德觉得没有必要再守卫城堡了。卡德尼德已经知道了这个男孩的事情，就问那几个想把男孩带走的人，为什么要强迫他回去。
“为了挽救他父亲的生命，”一个佣人说，“由于这个孩子出走，他父亲差点儿急死。”
唐路易斯说：
“没必要在这儿讲我的事情。我是自由人，我愿意回去就回去。如果我不想回去，谁也别想强迫我。”
“做事得讲道理，”佣人说，“如果你的道理不充分，而我们的道理充分，就得按照我们说的去做。我们有责任这样做。”
“让我们看看这到底是怎么回事。”法官这时说道。
佣人和法官是邻居，认识他。佣人说：
“您难道没认出他吗，法官大人？这个小伙子就是您的邻居的儿子。他从他父亲家跑出来，您看看，还穿着这身与他的身份根本不符的破衣服。”
法官仔细看了看那男孩，认出了他。法官抱住年轻人，说：
“你耍什么孩子气，唐路易斯少爷？有什么大不了的事，值得你跑到这儿来，还穿着这身破衣服，就像他说的，与你的身份太不相称了。”
男孩眼里涌出了泪水，对法官的问话一句也说不出来。法官叫四个佣人先冷静一下，一切都会好的。他拉着男孩的手，把他叫到一旁，问他到底来干什么。法官正在问男孩的时候，忽听得客店门口有人大声喊叫。原来有两个当晚留宿的客人见大家都在忙于弄清四个佣人的来意，就想趁乱不付帐溜走。可是店主更关心的是他的生意，而不是别人的闲事，所以在那两个人刚走出客店门时抓住了他们，让他们付钱，而且还对他们恶语相讥，惹得那两个人挥拳相报。他们开始殴打店主，店主只得大声呼救。
店主妇和她女儿见只有唐吉诃德有空去救店主，于是那女孩便对唐吉诃德说：
“骑士大人，请您看在上帝的份上行行善，去救我那可怜的父亲吧，那两个坏蛋正在狠命地折磨他呢。”
唐吉诃德却一字一句、无动于衷地说道：
“美丽的姑娘，现在我无法考虑你的请求，因为我在完成我承诺的一件事情之前，不能够参与其他事情。现在我可以为你效劳的只能是：你赶紧去告诉你父亲，让他在这场战斗中一定要顶住，无论如何也不能败下阵来。与此同时，我去求米科米科娜公主允许我解救危难。如果她允许，你放心，我一定会把他救出来。”
“我的天啊！”丑女仆在一旁说，“等您先取得了您说的这个允许，我的主人早就到极乐世界去了。”
“请让我先去求得这个允许，姑娘。”唐吉诃德说，“只要我得到了这个允许，他就是到了极乐世界也没关系，我还可以把他从那儿救出来，即使这边的世界反对也没用；或者，至少我还可以向把他送到极乐世界去的人报仇，你也会由此感到宽慰。”
唐吉诃德没有再说什么，跪倒在多罗特亚面前，以游侠骑士的语言请求她恩准自己去解救陷入严重危难的城堡长官。公主慨然应允。于是唐吉诃德手持皮盾，拿起剑，来到客店门口。两个客人正在那儿继续殴打店主。可是，唐吉诃德刚赶到门口就站住不动了。丑女仆问他为什么站住不动，怎么还不赶快去救她的主人，店主妇也问他为什么不去救她的丈夫。
“我站住是因为我持剑进攻侍从是非法的。”唐吉诃德说，“你们去叫我的侍从桑乔到这儿来，保护长官和为长官报仇都是他的事。”
这些事情就发生在客店门口，拳头正重重地打在店主的脸上和身上，把店主打得真不轻，把丑女仆、店主妇和她女儿也气得够呛。她们对唐吉诃德的怯懦，对她们各自的主人、丈夫和父亲的遭殃简直绝望了。
咱们暂且先不说店主吧，反正会有人救他。如果没人救他，那也只好让他忍耐着受罪吧，全怪他不自量力，粗暴无礼。咱们向后退五十步，看看唐路易斯如何回答法官的问话吧。刚才我们谈到法官问唐路易斯为什么走到这儿来了，而且穿的是这么破的衣服。小伙子紧紧拉住法官的手，似乎在忍受心灵的极大痛楚，泪如泉涌地说道：
“我只能对您说，大人，自从天意让我们成为邻居，我看到了您的女儿，我的意中人克拉拉的第一刻起，我的心就被她征服了。假如您，一位真正的大人，我的父辈，不反对的话，我今天就想同她结婚。我为她离开了我父亲的家，为她换上了这身打扮，为的是无论她走到哪儿，我都要跟随她，就好似箭追逐靶，海员望北斗。她并不知道我的心思，只是有几次远远地望见我眼含泪水才有所领悟。大人，您知道我父亲的财富和地位，还知道我是唯一的继承人。如果您觉得这足以让您成全我们的话，您现在就可以把我当您的儿子看待。如果我父亲另有打算，不满意我自己选择的幸福，时间可以超越人的意志改变事物。”
多情少年说到这儿止住了话语。法官听了这些话，颇感意外，不知所措。这不仅是由于唐路易斯这种大胆的表露，而且还由于他不知道该如何对待这件突如其来又意想不到的事情。他只是让唐路易斯先冷静一下，并且稳住那几个佣人，让他们不要当天就赶回去，现在还需要时间把事情考虑得周全一些。唐路易斯坚持吻了法官的手，泪水也洒到了他的手上。别说是法官，就是石头心肠的人见此也会心软。法官知道这桩婚事对自己的女儿很有好处。不过他办事慎重，如果可能的话，他想征得唐路易斯的父亲同意。他听说唐路易斯的父亲正在为自己的儿子谋取爵位。
此时客人和店主已经不打架了。经过唐吉诃德的好言相劝，而不是恶语威胁，客人已经如数把钱付给了店主。唐路易斯的几个佣人正在等待法官同唐路易斯的谈话结果，以及唐路易斯的最后决定。可是魔鬼偏偏不闲着，这时候让那个被唐吉诃德抢走了曼布里诺头盔的理发师进了客店。桑乔当时曾把理发师那头驴的鞍子抢了过来，换到自己那头驴身上。理发师把他的驴牵到马厩去，看到桑乔正为他的驴准备驮鞍。理发师认出了那驮鞍，立刻奋不顾身地向桑乔冲去，嘴里还说道：
“嘿，你这个盗贼，我终于抓住你了！还我铜盆、驮鞍和所有鞍具！”
桑乔突然受到攻击，还听到有人在咒骂。他一只手抓住驮鞍，另一只手挥拳向理发师的脸打去，立刻把他打得满嘴是血。可理发师并没有因此就放开抓住驮鞍的手，反而大声呼叫起来。客店里的所有人都循着这打斗的声音赶来了。理发师喊道：
“求国王和正义主持公道！这个拦路打劫的强盗抢了我的东西，还想要我的命！”
“你胡说！”桑乔说，“我才不是强盗呢。这是我的主人唐吉诃德在那场出色的战斗中缴获的战利品。”
唐吉诃德就在旁边，得意洋洋地看着他的侍从能攻善守，并且从此觉得他是个有用的人，心里打算着一有机会就要封他为骑士。唐吉诃德觉得桑乔肯定会很好地发扬骑士精神。理发师吵闹着说道：
“各位大人，这个驮鞍是属于我的，这就好像我肯定会魂归故里一样确凿无疑。我对它非常熟悉，就好像它是我生的一样。我的驴就在牲口棚里，我不会说谎，不信你们就去试试，看看它是不是正好配那头驴。如果不是，我就是混蛋。还有，他们抢走我的驮鞍那天，还抢走了我的一个新铜盆，没有用过的。那个铜盆能值一个埃斯库多。”
唐吉诃德这时忍不住要说话了。他来到两个人中间，把他们分开，又把驮鞍放在地上，待他们把事情辩出个究竟再做处置。他说道：
“诸位可以清楚地看到，这位忠实的侍从分明弄错了。他称之为铜盆的这个东西，过去、现在和将来都是曼布里诺的头盔。这是我在一次出色的战斗中从他那儿夺取的，并且合理合法地拥有了它。至于那个驮鞍，我就不说什么了，我只知道我的侍从桑乔曾请求我允许他夺取这个败阵的胆小鬼的马具，用它来装备他的马匹。我允许了，他就把马具夺了过来。至于马具为什么会变成驮鞍，我只能给一个很简单的解释：这是游侠骑士常遇到的那种蜕变。为了证明这一点，桑乔，你把这位老兄说成是铜盆的那个头盔拿到这儿来。”
“天哪，大人，”桑乔说，“除了说这个盆是什么马里诺①的头盔，这个人说的驮鞍是马具，您就没有别的证据说明我们的意思吗？”
①桑乔在这里又把曼布里诺说错成马里诺了。
“你照我的吩咐去做，”唐吉诃德说，“并不是这座城堡里的所有东西都受魔法的制约。”
桑乔把铜盆拿来了。唐吉诃德马上把它拿在手里，说道：
“诸位看看，这位侍从有什么脸说这是个铜盆，而不是我说的头盔呢？我以骑士界的名义发誓，这就是我从他那儿夺取的头盔，上面的东西一点儿不多，一点儿不少。”
“这肯定没错，”桑乔这时说，“自从我的主人打了那次胜仗以后，只打过一次仗，就是释放了那批带锁链的倒霉鬼那次。要不是这个盆儿盔，那次可就麻烦了，当时石头就像扑天盖地一般地打过来呢。”
Part 1 Chapter 45
What do you think now, gentlemen,” said the barber, “of what these gentles say, when they want to make out that this is a helmet?”
“And whoever says the contrary,” said Don Quixote, “I will let him know he lies if he is a knight, and if he is a squire that he lies again a thousand times.”
Our own barber, who was present at all this, and understood Don Quixote’s humour so thoroughly, took it into his head to back up his delusion and carry on the joke for the general amusement; so addressing the other barber he said:
“Senor barber, or whatever you are, you must know that I belong to your profession too, and have had a licence to practise for more than twenty years, and I know the implements of the barber craft, every one of them, perfectly well; and I was likewise a soldier for some time in the days of my youth, and I know also what a helmet is, and a morion, and a headpiece with a visor, and other things pertaining to soldiering, I meant to say to soldiers’ arms; and I say — saving better opinions and always with submission to sounder judgments — that this piece we have now before us, which this worthy gentleman has in his hands, not only is no barber’s basin, but is as far from being one as white is from black, and truth from falsehood; I say, moreover, that this, although it is a helmet, is not a complete helmet.”
“Certainly not,” said Don Quixote, “for half of it is wanting, that is to say the beaver.”
“It is quite true,” said the curate, who saw the object of his friend the barber; and Cardenio, Don Fernando and his companions agreed with him, and even the Judge, if his thoughts had not been so full of Don Luis’s affair, would have helped to carry on the joke; but he was so taken up with the serious matters he had on his mind that he paid little or no attention to these facetious proceedings.
“God bless me!” exclaimed their butt the barber at this; “is it possible that such an honourable company can say that this is not a basin but a helmet? Why, this is a thing that would astonish a whole university, however wise it might be! That will do; if this basin is a helmet, why, then the pack-saddle must be a horse’s caparison, as this gentleman has said.”
“To me it looks like a pack-saddle,” said Don Quixote; “but I have already said that with that question I do not concern myself.”
“As to whether it be pack-saddle or caparison,” said the curate, “it is only for Senor Don Quixote to say; for in these matters of chivalry all these gentlemen and I bow to his authority.”
“By God, gentlemen,” said Don Quixote, “so many strange things have happened to me in this castle on the two occasions on which I have sojourned in it, that I will not venture to assert anything positively in reply to any question touching anything it contains; for it is my belief that everything that goes on within it goes by enchantment. The first time, an enchanted Moor that there is in it gave me sore trouble, nor did Sancho fare well among certain followers of his; and last night I was kept hanging by this arm for nearly two hours, without knowing how or why I came by such a mishap. So that now, for me to come forward to give an opinion in such a puzzling matter, would be to risk a rash decision. As regards the assertion that this is a basin and not a helmet I have already given an answer; but as to the question whether this is a pack-saddle or a caparison I will not venture to give a positive opinion, but will leave it to your worships’ better judgment. Perhaps as you are not dubbed knights like myself, the enchantments of this place have nothing to do with you, and your faculties are unfettered, and you can see things in this castle as they really and truly are, and not as they appear to me.”
“There can be no question,” said Don Fernando on this, “but that Senor Don Quixote has spoken very wisely, and that with us rests the decision of this matter; and that we may have surer ground to go on, I will take the votes of the gentlemen in secret, and declare the result clearly and fully.”
To those who were in the secret of Don Quixote’s humour all this afforded great amusement; but to those who knew nothing about it, it seemed the greatest nonsense in the world, in particular to the four servants of Don Luis, as well as to Don Luis himself, and to three other travellers who had by chance come to the inn, and had the appearance of officers of the Holy Brotherhood, as indeed they were; but the one who above all was at his wits’ end, was the barber basin, there before his very eyes, had been turned into Mambrino’s helmet, and whose pack-saddle he had no doubt whatever was about to become a rich caparison for a horse. All laughed to see Don Fernando going from one to another collecting the votes, and whispering to them to give him their private opinion whether the treasure over which there had been so much fighting was a pack-saddle or a caparison; but after he had taken the votes of those who knew Don Quixote, he said aloud, “The fact is, my good fellow, that I am tired collecting such a number of opinions, for I find that there is not one of whom I ask what I desire to know, who does not tell me that it is absurd to say that this is the pack-saddle of an ass, and not the caparison of a horse, nay, of a thoroughbred horse; so you must submit, for, in spite of you and your ass, this is a caparison and no pack-saddle, and you have stated and proved your case very badly.”
“May I never share heaven,” said the poor barber, “if your worships are not all mistaken; and may my soul appear before God as that appears to me a pack-saddle and not a caparison; but, ‘laws go,’ — I say no more; and indeed I am not drunk, for I am fasting, except it be from sin.”
The simple talk of the barber did not afford less amusement than the absurdities of Don Quixote, who now observed:
“There is no more to be done now than for each to take what belongs to him, and to whom God has given it, may St. Peter add his blessing.”
But said one of the four servants, “Unless, indeed, this is a deliberate joke, I cannot bring myself to believe that men so intelligent as those present are, or seem to be, can venture to declare and assert that this is not a basin, and that not a pack-saddle; but as I perceive that they do assert and declare it, I can only come to the conclusion that there is some mystery in this persistence in what is so opposed to the evidence of experience and truth itself; for I swear by” — and here he rapped out a round oath — “all the people in the world will not make me believe that this is not a barber’s basin and that a jackass’s pack-saddle.”
“It might easily be a she-ass’s ,” observed the curate.
“It is all the same,” said the servant; “that is not the point; but whether it is or is not a pack-saddle, as your worships say.”
On hearing this one of the newly arrived officers of the Brotherhood, who had been listening to the dispute and controversy, unable to restrain his anger and impatience, exclaimed, “It is a pack-saddle as sure as my father is my father, and whoever has said or will say anything else must be drunk.”
“You lie like a rascally clown,” returned Don Quixote; and lifting his pike, which he had never let out of his hand, he delivered such a blow at his head that, had not the officer dodged it, it would have stretched him at full length. The pike was shivered in pieces against the ground, and the rest of the officers, seeing their comrade assaulted, raised a shout, calling for help for the Holy Brotherhood. The landlord, who was of the fraternity, ran at once to fetch his staff of office and his sword, and ranged himself on the side of his comrades; the servants of Don Luis clustered round him, lest he should escape from them in the confusion; the barber, seeing the house turned upside down, once more laid hold of his pack-saddle and Sancho did the same; Don Quixote drew his sword and charged the officers; Don Luis cried out to his servants to leave him alone and go and help Don Quixote, and Cardenio and Don Fernando, who were supporting him; the curate was shouting at the top of his voice, the landlady was screaming, her daughter was wailing, Maritornes was weeping, Dorothea was aghast, Luscinda terror-stricken, and Dona Clara in a faint. The barber cudgelled Sancho, and Sancho pommelled the barber; Don Luis gave one of his servants, who ventured to catch him by the arm to keep him from escaping, a cuff that bathed his teeth in blood; the Judge took his part; Don Fernando had got one of the officers down and was belabouring him heartily; the landlord raised his voice again calling for help for the Holy Brotherhood; so that the whole inn was nothing but cries, shouts, shrieks, confusion, terror, dismay, mishaps, sword-cuts, fisticuffs, cudgellings, kicks, and bloodshed; and in the midst of all this chaos, complication, and general entanglement, Don Quixote took it into his head that he had been plunged into the thick of the discord of Agramante’s camp; and, in a voice that shook the inn like thunder, he cried out:
“Hold all, let all sheathe their swords, let all be calm and attend to me as they value their lives!”
All paused at his mighty voice, and he went on to say, “Did I not tell you, sirs, that this castle was enchanted, and that a legion or so of devils dwelt in it? In proof whereof I call upon you to behold with your own eyes how the discord of Agramante’s camp has come hither, and been transferred into the midst of us. See how they fight, there for the sword, here for the horse, on that side for the eagle, on this for the helmet; we are all fighting, and all at cross purposes. Come then, you, Senor Judge, and you, senor curate; let the one represent King Agramante and the other King Sobrino, and make peace among us; for by God Almighty it is a sorry business that so many persons of quality as we are should slay one another for such trifling cause.” The officers, who did not understand Don Quixote’s mode of speaking, and found themselves roughly handled by Don Fernando, Cardenio, and their companions, were not to be appeased; the barber was, however, for both his beard and his pack-saddle were the worse for the struggle; Sancho like a good servant obeyed the slightest word of his master; while the four servants of Don Luis kept quiet when they saw how little they gained by not being so. The landlord alone insisted upon it that they must punish the insolence of this madman, who at every turn raised a disturbance in the inn; but at length the uproar was stilled for the present; the pack-saddle remained a caparison till the day of judgment, and the basin a helmet and the inn a castle in Don Quixote’s imagination.
All having been now pacified and made friends by the persuasion of the Judge and the curate, the servants of Don Luis began again to urge him to return with them at once; and while he was discussing the matter with them, the Judge took counsel with Don Fernando, Cardenio, and the curate as to what he ought to do in the case, telling them how it stood, and what Don Luis had said to him. It was agreed at length that Don Fernando should tell the servants of Don Luis who he was, and that it was his desire that Don Luis should accompany him to Andalusia, where he would receive from the marquis his brother the welcome his quality entitled him to; for, otherwise, it was easy to see from the determination of Don Luis that he would not return to his father at present, though they tore him to pieces. On learning the rank of Don Fernando and the resolution of Don Luis the four then settled it between themselves that three of them should return to tell his father how matters stood, and that the other should remain to wait upon Don Luis, and not leave him until they came back for him, or his father’s orders were known. Thus by the authority of Agramante and the wisdom of King Sobrino all this complication of disputes was arranged; but the enemy of concord and hater of peace, feeling himself slighted and made a fool of, and seeing how little he had gained after having involved them all in such an elaborate entanglement, resolved to try his hand once more by stirring up fresh quarrels and disturbances.
It came about in this wise: the officers were pacified on learning the rank of those with whom they had been engaged, and withdrew from the contest, considering that whatever the result might be they were likely to get the worst of the battle; but one of them, the one who had been thrashed and kicked by Don Fernando, recollected that among some warrants he carried for the arrest of certain delinquents, he had one against Don Quixote, whom the Holy Brotherhood had ordered to be arrested for setting the galley slaves free, as Sancho had, with very good reason, apprehended. Suspecting how it was, then, he wished to satisfy himself as to whether Don Quixote’s features corresponded; and taking a parchment out of his bosom he lit upon what he was in search of, and setting himself to read it deliberately, for he was not a quick reader, as he made out each word he fixed his eyes on Don Quixote, and went on comparing the description in the warrant with his face, and discovered that beyond all doubt he was the person described in it. As soon as he had satisfied himself, folding up the parchment, he took the warrant in his left hand and with his right seized Don Quixote by the collar so tightly that he did not allow him to breathe, and shouted aloud, “Help for the Holy Brotherhood! and that you may see I demand it in earnest, read this warrant which says this highwayman is to be arrested.”
The curate took the warrant and saw that what the officer said was true, and that it agreed with Don Quixote’s appearance, who, on his part, when he found himself roughly handled by this rascally clown, worked up to the highest pitch of wrath, and all his joints cracking with rage, with both hands seized the officer by the throat with all his might, so that had he not been helped by his comrades he would have yielded up his life ere Don Quixote released his hold. The landlord, who had perforce to support his brother officers, ran at once to aid them. The landlady, when she saw her husband engaged in a fresh quarrel, lifted up her voice afresh, and its note was immediately caught up by Maritornes and her daughter, calling upon heaven and all present for help; and Sancho, seeing what was going on, exclaimed, “By the Lord, it is quite true what my master says about the enchantments of this castle, for it is impossible to live an hour in peace in it!”
Don Fernando parted the officer and Don Quixote, and to their mutual contentment made them relax the grip by which they held, the one the coat collar, the other the throat of his adversary; for all this, however, the officers did not cease to demand their prisoner and call on them to help, and deliver him over bound into their power, as was required for the service of the King and of the Holy Brotherhood, on whose behalf they again demanded aid and assistance to effect the capture of this robber and footpad of the highways.
Don Quixote smiled when he heard these words, and said very calmly, “Come now, base, ill-born brood; call ye it highway robbery to give freedom to those in bondage, to release the captives, to succour the miserable, to raise up the fallen, to relieve the needy? Infamous beings, who by your vile grovelling intellects deserve that heaven should not make known to you the virtue that lies in knight-errantry, or show you the sin and ignorance in which ye lie when ye refuse to respect the shadow, not to say the presence, of any knight-errant! Come now; band, not of officers, but of thieves; footpads with the licence of the Holy Brotherhood; tell me who was the ignoramus who signed a warrant of arrest against such a knight as I am? Who was he that did not know that knights-errant are independent of all jurisdictions, that their law is their sword, their charter their prowess, and their edicts their will? Who, I say again, was the fool that knows not that there are no letters patent of nobility that confer such privileges or exemptions as a knight-errant acquires the day he is dubbed a knight, and devotes himself to the arduous calling of chivalry? What knight-errant ever paid poll-tax, duty, queen’s pin-money, king’s dues, toll or ferry? What tailor ever took payment of him for making his clothes? What castellan that received him in his castle ever made him pay his shot? What king did not seat him at his table? What damsel was not enamoured of him and did not yield herself up wholly to his will and pleasure? And, lastly, what knight-errant has there been, is there, or will there ever be in the world, not bold enough to give, single-handed, four hundred cudgellings to four hundred officers of the Holy Brotherhood if they come in his way?”
 
“诸位大人，”理发师说，“这两位绅士仍然坚持说这不是铜盆，而是头盔。你们看看到底是什么？”
“谁要是说它不是头盔，”唐吉诃德说，“我都会让他承认自己是在撒谎。不管他是骑士还是侍从，都是在说弥天大谎。”
我们熟悉的那位理发师也在场。他十分了解唐吉诃德的脾气，想让他把洋相出得再大点，好拿他开心，逗大家笑，于是他对这位理发师说：
“理发师大人，或者不管你是什么人吧，你该知道我和你是同行。我领取考试合格证已经二十多年了，对各种理发工具全都熟悉。我年轻时也当过一阵兵，知道什么是头盔，什么是顶盔，什么是套盔，以及各种军事用品，我是说战士用的各种物品。如果没有其他高见，那么我的看法就算高见了。我说这位杰出的大人在我们面前拿的这个东西，不仅不是理发师用的盆，而且远远不是，就好像黑的同白的、真理和谎言是截然不同的两回事一样。我说它是个头盔，不过是个不完整的头盔。”
“的确是个不完整的头盔，”唐吉诃德说，“还缺少护脸的那一半。”
“是这样。”神甫已经明白了他这位朋友的意图，也这么说。
卡德尼奥、费尔南多和他的伙伴们也都随声附和。法官若不是还在想同唐路易斯的事，也会帮腔的。不过他正在认真考虑自己的事，很少或根本没有顾及这些人如何胡闹。
“上帝保佑！”这位受到愚弄的理发师说，“怎么可能这么多有身份的人都说这不是盆而是头盔呢？这事太蹊跷了，无论谁听了都会感到惊奇。好吧，假如按照这位大人说的，这个盆就是头盔，那么这个驮鞍就是全套马具了。”
“我觉得它是马具，”唐吉诃德说，“不过我说过，这件事我不插嘴。”
“到底是驮鞍还是马具，全由唐吉诃德大人说了算。”神甫说，“凡是与骑士有关的事情，我们都听他的。”
“上帝保佑，大人们，”唐吉诃德说，“我在这座城堡里住了两次，竟遇到了这么多奇怪的事情，以至于我都不敢对这里的任何事情下定论了。我觉得这里所有的东西都中了邪。第一次在这儿留宿的时候，这儿一个会魔法的摩尔人把我折腾得够呛，桑乔也被他的随从们搞得不善。昨天晚上，我一只胳膊被吊了两个小时，竟不知为什么会倒这个霉。所以，现在让我对这个疑团下结论，未免太冒失。刚才有人说这是盆，不是头盔，我已经反驳过了。可要问那究竟是驮鞍还是马具，我还不敢妄下结论，还要请诸位各抒高见。你们同我不一样，不是受封的骑士，不会受这儿的魔法影响，思维也不受什么约束，可以按照事情的本来面目，而不是按照我的看法来判断这座城堡里的事情。”
“不错，”费尔南多这时说，“唐吉诃德大人说得很对，这件事应该由我们来评断。为了可靠起见，我将秘密征求大家的意见，然后把结果照实公布。”
对于那些拿唐吉诃德开心的人来说，这是个最大的笑料，可那些不知实情的人便觉得这真是天下最荒唐的事情了，特别是唐路易斯和他的佣人，以及另外三个偶然来到客店的客人。他们看样子像圣友团的团丁，而且确实也是。不过最感到绝望的还是理发师，他的铜盆竟眼睁睁地在那些人面前变成了曼布里诺的头盔，而且他想，那个驮鞍肯定也会变成贵重的马鞍。费尔南多分别跟几个人交头接耳，悄悄问他们，大家争执不休的那个宝贝究竟是驮鞍还是马具。大家乐不可支地看他到底能得出什么样的结论。费尔南多向那几个了解唐吉诃德底细的人征求过意见之后高声说道：
“好心人，现在的情况是，我不想再继续征求意见了，因为凡是我问过的人都认为，说这个东西是驮鞍太荒唐了。这不仅是马具，而且是纯种马的马具。现在你不要着急，尽管你和你的驴不愿意，这还是马具而不是驮鞍，你的看法是非常错误的。”
“我没有糊涂，”理发师说，“而是你们搞错了。我在上帝面前也这么认为。上帝也会认为这是驮鞍，不是马具。不过法律……我不说了。反正我没醉，我连早饭还没吃呢。反正我没说错。”
理发师的固执像唐吉诃德的荒唐一样逗得大家哄笑起来。唐吉诃德这时候说道：
“现在只好各执己见了。人各有志，不可强求。”
四个佣人中有一个说道：
“如果这不是有意开玩笑，我简直不能相信，这些很明白的人，或者看来很明白的人，怎么会硬说这不是盆，那不是驮鞍。不过我看他们都是一口咬定，坚持把它们说成是与事实相反的东西，这其中必有奥妙。我向天发誓，”他随即坚决地发誓，“即使世界上所有人都这么说，我也不会相信这不是理发师的盆，不是公驴的驮鞍。”
“很可能是母驴的驮鞍。”神甫说。
“那倒无所谓，”佣人说，“问题不在这儿，问题在于它到底是不是像他们说的那样是驮鞍。”
有个团丁刚才听到了他们的争论，一听佣人这话，走了进来，怒气冲冲地说道：
“驮鞍就是驮鞍，就像我父亲就是我父亲一样，谁要不这么说，就是喝多了。”
“你这个恶棍，竟敢胡说八道。”唐吉诃德说。
唐吉诃德说着举起了他那时刻不离手的长矛，向团丁头上打去。若不是团丁躲得快，他就被打倒了。长矛碰到地上断成了几截。几个团丁见自己的同伴被打，立刻高声向圣友团呼救。
店主也是圣友团成员。他立刻跑进屋里拿了棍子和剑，和自己的同伴们站到了一起；唐路易斯的四个佣人围住了唐路易斯，怕他趁乱跑掉；理发师见客店大乱，就抓起驮鞍，可是桑乔也抓住不放；唐吉诃德持剑向团丁进攻；唐路易斯大声呼喊他的佣人们放开自己，去帮助唐吉诃德，他还叫卡德尼奥和费尔南多都去为唐吉诃德助威；神甫大喊大叫；客店主妇连声呼喊；她的女儿痛心不已；丑女仆哭个不停；多罗特亚不知所措；卢辛达呆若木鸡；而唐娜克拉拉早晕过去了。理发师用棍子打桑乔，桑乔猛烈地还击理发师；唐路易斯的一个佣人怕唐路易斯跑了，就抓住他一只胳膊，结果唐路易斯一拳打去，打得那佣人满嘴是血；法官连忙去护着佣人；费尔南多把一个团丁打倒在地，把他痛痛快快地踢了一顿；店主又提高了嗓门向圣友团呼救，结果客店里有人连哭带喊，有人惊恐不安，有人无辜遭殃，有人挥拳拔剑，拳打脚踢，人们打得头破血流，到处都是一片狼藉。混乱之中，唐吉诃德的脑海里忽然绘声绘影地闪现出阿格拉曼特阵地①的混乱场面，于是他大喝一声，震动了客店：
“都住手，放下武器，安静点儿！要是想保命的话就听我说！”
①阿格拉曼特是意大利诗人阿里奥斯托的叙事诗《疯狂的奥兰多》中摩尔王特罗亚诺的儿子，进攻巴黎时，死于奥兰多之手。此后，以“阿格拉曼特阵地”来形容混乱的场面。
他这一喊，大家全停住了。他又接着说道：
“诸位，我不是对你们说过，这座城堡已经被魔法控制，恐怕已经魔鬼成群了吗？为了证明这点，我想让你们亲眼看看阿格拉曼特阵地的混乱已经转移到了这里。你们看看，有的争剑，有的夺马，有的抢老鹰，有的要头盔，真是互不相让。法官大人，请您过来，还有您，神甫大人，也请您过来。一个人当阿格拉曼特国王，一个当索布利诺国王，让我们握手言和吧。我向全能的上帝发誓，咱们这么有身份的人在这儿为了这些小事而互相残杀，真是太愚蠢了。”
几个团丁并不明白唐吉诃德说的到底是什么意思。他们只觉得自己在费尔南多、卡德尼奥和他的同伴那儿吃了亏，不肯罢休。理发师倒是不想闹了，在刚才的格斗中他的胡子被揪掉了，驮鞍也被弄坏了。桑乔是个好侍从，唐吉诃德稍一吩咐，他就服从了；唐路易斯的四个佣人知道再闹下去对他们没什么好处，也就不说什么了；只有店主因为唐吉诃德总是在客店里惹是生非，坚持要对他进行惩罚。最后，这场混乱总算平息下来了。然而，在唐吉诃德的印象里，他至死都认为驮鞍就是马具，铜盆就是头盔，而客店就是城堡。
在法官和神甫的劝说下，大家都平静下来，握手言和。唐路易斯的几个佣人又坚持让唐路易斯同他们一起回去。就在唐路易斯同他们商量的时候，法官也把唐路易斯对他说的那些话告诉了费尔南多、卡德尼奥和神甫，并且同他们商量如何处理这件事情。最后他们商定，由费尔南多向唐路易斯的佣人们说明自己的身份，以及他想让唐路易斯同自己一起到安达卢西亚去，他的兄弟侯爵大人肯定不会亏待唐路易斯。这次就是把唐路易斯撕成碎片，他也不会回去见他的父亲。四个佣人知道费尔南多的身份和唐路易斯的决心后，决定三个人回去向唐路易斯的父亲报告情况，一个人留下来侍候唐路易斯，同时别让他跑了，直到那几个人回来找他们，或者唐路易斯的父亲另有吩咐。
于是，这场纷争凭借阿格拉曼特的威望和索布利诺的忍让终于平息下来。可是和谐与平安的死敌见自己受到了蔑视和嘲弄，刚才把大家闹得乱成一团却没捞到什么好处，就想再挑起一次新的争端。
那几个团丁隐约听说了与他们打斗的那几个人的身份后，觉得再打下去，只能吃更多亏，也就不再吵闹了。可是那个被费尔南多痛打的团丁忽然想起自己身上还带着几份捉拿罪犯的通缉令，其中一张就是捉拿唐吉诃德的。看来桑乔的担心很对，圣友团因为唐吉诃德释放了划船苦役犯，正在缉拿他。想到此，那个团丁就要核对一下唐吉诃德的特征。他从怀里掏出几张羊皮纸通缉令，找到唐吉诃德那张，慢慢看起来。他的阅读能力不强，看一句通缉令，抬头看一眼唐吉诃德，核对通缉令上形容的特征是否符合唐吉诃德。最后，他确定这就是通缉令要找的那个人。一经核实，他马上把其他羊皮纸通缉令都收起来，左手拿着唐吉诃德的那张，右手紧紧抓住唐吉诃德的衣领，紧得让唐吉诃德快要喘不过气来了。
他大声说：
“快来帮助圣友团！大家看清楚，我可不是在开玩笑。你们看看这张通缉令，上面说要缉拿这个拦路抢劫的强盗。”
神甫拿过通缉令一看，团丁说的果然是真的，通缉令上描绘的特征与唐吉诃德完全相符。唐吉诃德见这个坏蛋竟敢如此对待自己，立刻气得七窍生烟！他用双手紧紧掐住了团丁的脖子。若不是其他几个团丁赶来，这个团丁不仅没抓住唐吉诃德，反而把自己的性命也搭上了。
店主当然要帮助圣友团自己人，便马上赶来了。客店主妇见丈夫又参与打斗，就又喊起来。喊声引来了丑女仆和店主的女儿，这两个人又赶紧祈求老天和在场的人援助。桑乔见状说道：
“永恒的上帝，看来我的主人说得完全对，这座城堡的确中了魔法，简直一刻也不得安宁！”
费尔南多怕唐吉诃德和团丁闹出事来，赶紧过来劝架。那两个人一人抓住对方的衣领，一个掐着对方的脖子，都抓得很紧。费尔南多掰开了两个人的手，可是团丁们并没有因此就不抓逃犯了。他们请求大家帮忙把唐吉诃德捆起来交给他们，这样才能算为国王尽忠，为圣友团效力。他们以圣友团的名义再次请求大家，把这个拦路强盗抓起来。唐吉诃德听到这话笑了。他不慌不忙地说道：
“过来，你们这些没有教养的贱民！给戴锁链者以自由，释放囚犯，扶弱济贫，帮助受难者，你们竟把这称作拦路抢劫？你们这些卑贱的东西，真是智能低下。老天竟没有告诉你们游侠骑士的高尚和你们的愚味无知，你们竟敢污辱游侠骑士的形象，而且还当着游侠骑士的面？
“过来，我看你们不像团丁，倒像匪帮，你们是打着圣友团旗号的拦路强盗！告诉我，谁这么无知，竟敢签发捉拿像我这样的骑士的通缉令？他竟无知到不懂得游侠骑士不受任何法律的管辖，他们的剑就是法律，他们的精神就是法典，他们的意志就是法规？我再说一遍，谁这么愚蠢，竟不知道游侠骑士自从受封后投身于这个艰苦职业之日起，所享受的特权和豁免权比贵族证书上规定的还要多？哪个游侠骑士付过贸易税、王后税①、王威税②、河流通行税等各种捐税？哪个裁缝为他们做衣服还要钱？哪个国王不邀请他们做客？哪个姑娘不倾慕他们，心甘情愿地投入他们的怀抱？一句话，过去、现在和将来，世界上什么时代的骑士不能冲他面前的四百个团丁打上四百大棍？”
①国王结婚时臣民缴纳的税。
②臣民每七年缴纳一次，以示服从国王的威严。
Part 1 Chapter 46
While Don Quixote was talking in this strain, the curate was endeavouring to persuade the officers that he was out of his senses, as they might perceive by his deeds and his words, and that they need not press the matter any further, for even if they arrested him and carried him off, they would have to release him by-and-by as a madman; to which the holder of the warrant replied that he had nothing to do with inquiring into Don Quixote’s madness, but only to execute his superior’s orders, and that once taken they might let him go three hundred times if they liked.
“For all that,” said the curate, “you must not take him away this time, nor will he, it is my opinion, let himself be taken away.”
In short, the curate used such arguments, and Don Quixote did such mad things, that the officers would have been more mad than he was if they had not perceived his want of wits, and so they thought it best to allow themselves to be pacified, and even to act as peacemakers between the barber and Sancho Panza, who still continued their altercation with much bitterness. In the end they, as officers of justice, settled the question by arbitration in such a manner that both sides were, if not perfectly contented, at least to some extent satisfied; for they changed the pack-saddles, but not the girths or head-stalls; and as to Mambrino’s helmet, the curate, under the rose and without Don Quixote’s knowing it, paid eight reals for the basin, and the barber executed a full receipt and engagement to make no further demand then or thenceforth for evermore, amen. These two disputes, which were the most important and gravest, being settled, it only remained for the servants of Don Luis to consent that three of them should return while one was left to accompany him whither Don Fernando desired to take him; and good luck and better fortune, having already begun to solve difficulties and remove obstructions in favour of the lovers and warriors of the inn, were pleased to persevere and bring everything to a happy issue; for the servants agreed to do as Don Luis wished; which gave Dona Clara such happiness that no one could have looked into her face just then without seeing the joy of her heart. Zoraida, though she did not fully comprehend all she saw, was grave or gay without knowing why, as she watched and studied the various countenances, but particularly her Spaniard’s , whom she followed with her eyes and clung to with her soul. The gift and compensation which the curate gave the barber had not escaped the landlord’s notice, and he demanded Don Quixote’s reckoning, together with the amount of the damage to his wine-skins, and the loss of his wine, swearing that neither Rocinante nor Sancho’s ass should leave the inn until he had been paid to the very last farthing. The curate settled all amicably, and Don Fernando paid; though the Judge had also very readily offered to pay the score; and all became so peaceful and quiet that the inn no longer reminded one of the discord of Agramante’s camp, as Don Quixote said, but of the peace and tranquillity of the days of Octavianus: for all which it was the universal opinion that their thanks were due to the great zeal and eloquence of the curate, and to the unexampled generosity of Don Fernando.
Finding himself now clear and quit of all quarrels, his squire’s as well as his own, Don Quixote considered that it would be advisable to continue the journey he had begun, and bring to a close that great adventure for which he had been called and chosen; and with this high resolve he went and knelt before Dorothea, who, however, would not allow him to utter a word until he had risen; so to obey her he rose, and said, “It is a common proverb, fair lady, that ‘diligence is the mother of good fortune,’ and experience has often shown in important affairs that the earnestness of the negotiator brings the doubtful case to a successful termination; but in nothing does this truth show itself more plainly than in war, where quickness and activity forestall the devices of the enemy, and win the victory before the foe has time to defend himself. All this I say, exalted and esteemed lady, because it seems to me that for us to remain any longer in this castle now is useless, and may be injurious to us in a way that we shall find out some day; for who knows but that your enemy the giant may have learned by means of secret and diligent spies that I am going to destroy him, and if the opportunity be given him he may seize it to fortify himself in some impregnable castle or stronghold, against which all my efforts and the might of my indefatigable arm may avail but little? Therefore, lady, let us, as I say, forestall his schemes by our activity, and let us depart at once in quest of fair fortune; for your highness is only kept from enjoying it as fully as you could desire by my delay in encountering your adversary.”
Don Quixote held his peace and said no more, calmly awaiting the reply of the beauteous princess, who, with commanding dignity and in a style adapted to Don Quixote’s own, replied to him in these words, “I give you thanks, sir knight, for the eagerness you, like a good knight to whom it is a natural obligation to succour the orphan and the needy, display to afford me aid in my sore trouble; and heaven grant that your wishes and mine may be realised, so that you may see that there are women in this world capable of gratitude; as to my departure, let it be forthwith, for I have no will but yours; dispose of me entirely in accordance with your good pleasure; for she who has once entrusted to you the defence of her person, and placed in your hands the recovery of her dominions, must not think of offering opposition to that which your wisdom may ordain.”
“On, then, in God’s name,” said Don Quixote; “for, when a lady humbles herself to me, I will not lose the opportunity of raising her up and placing her on the throne of her ancestors. Let us depart at once, for the common saying that in delay there is danger, lends spurs to my eagerness to take the road; and as neither heaven has created nor hell seen any that can daunt or intimidate me, saddle Rocinante, Sancho, and get ready thy ass and the queen’s palfrey, and let us take leave of the castellan and these gentlemen, and go hence this very instant.”
Sancho, who was standing by all the time, said, shaking his head, “Ah! master, master, there is more mischief in the village than one hears of, begging all good bodies’ pardon.”
“What mischief can there be in any village, or in all the cities of the world, you booby, that can hurt my reputation?” said Don Quixote.
“If your worship is angry,” replied Sancho, “I will hold my tongue and leave unsaid what as a good squire I am bound to say, and what a good servant should tell his master.”
“Say what thou wilt,” returned Don Quixote, “provided thy words be not meant to work upon my fears; for thou, if thou fearest, art behaving like thyself; but I like myself, in not fearing.”
“It is nothing of the sort, as I am a sinner before God,” said Sancho, “but that I take it to be sure and certain that this lady, who calls herself queen of the great kingdom of Micomicon, is no more so than my mother; for, if she was what she says, she would not go rubbing noses with one that is here every instant and behind every door.”
Dorothea turned red at Sancho’s words, for the truth was that her husband Don Fernando had now and then, when the others were not looking, gathered from her lips some of the reward his love had earned, and Sancho seeing this had considered that such freedom was more like a courtesan than a queen of a great kingdom; she, however, being unable or not caring to answer him, allowed him to proceed, and he continued, “This I say, senor, because, if after we have travelled roads and highways, and passed bad nights and worse days, one who is now enjoying himself in this inn is to reap the fruit of our labours, there is no need for me to be in a hurry to saddle Rocinante, put the pad on the ass, or get ready the palfrey; for it will be better for us to stay quiet, and let every jade mind her spinning, and let us go to dinner.”
Good God, what was the indignation of Don Quixote when he heard the audacious words of his squire! So great was it, that in a voice inarticulate with rage, with a stammering tongue, and eyes that flashed living fire, he exclaimed, “Rascally clown, boorish, insolent, and ignorant, ill-spoken, foul-mouthed, impudent backbiter and slanderer! Hast thou dared to utter such words in my presence and in that of these illustrious ladies? Hast thou dared to harbour such gross and shameless thoughts in thy muddled imagination? Begone from my presence, thou born monster, storehouse of lies, hoard of untruths, garner of knaveries, inventor of scandals, publisher of absurdities, enemy of the respect due to royal personages! Begone, show thyself no more before me under pain of my wrath;” and so saying he knitted his brows, puffed out his cheeks, gazed around him, and stamped on the ground violently with his right foot, showing in every way the rage that was pent up in his heart; and at his words and furious gestures Sancho was so scared and terrified that he would have been glad if the earth had opened that instant and swallowed him, and his only thought was to turn round and make his escape from the angry presence of his master.
But the ready-witted Dorothea, who by this time so well understood Don Quixote’s humour, said, to mollify his wrath, “Be not irritated at the absurdities your good squire has uttered, Sir Knight of the Rueful Countenance, for perhaps he did not utter them without cause, and from his good sense and Christian conscience it is not likely that he would bear false witness against anyone. We may therefore believe, without any hesitation, that since, as you say, sir knight, everything in this castle goes and is brought about by means of enchantment, Sancho, I say, may possibly have seen, through this diabolical medium, what he says he saw so much to the detriment of my modesty.”
“I swear by God Omnipotent,” exclaimed Don Quixote at this, “your highness has hit the point; and that some vile illusion must have come before this sinner of a Sancho, that made him see what it would have been impossible to see by any other means than enchantments; for I know well enough, from the poor fellow’s goodness and harmlessness, that he is incapable of bearing false witness against anybody.”
“True, no doubt,” said Don Fernando, “for which reason, Senor Don Quixote, you ought to forgive him and restore him to the bosom of your favour, sicut erat in principio, before illusions of this sort had taken away his senses.”
Don Quixote said he was ready to pardon him, and the curate went for Sancho, who came in very humbly, and falling on his knees begged for the hand of his master, who having presented it to him and allowed him to kiss it, gave him his blessing and said, “Now, Sancho my son, thou wilt be convinced of the truth of what I have many a time told thee, that everything in this castle is done by means of enchantment.”
“So it is, I believe,” said Sancho, “except the affair of the blanket, which came to pass in reality by ordinary means.”
“Believe it not,” said Don Quixote, “for had it been so, I would have avenged thee that instant, or even now; but neither then nor now could I, nor have I seen anyone upon whom to avenge thy wrong.”
They were all eager to know what the affair of the blanket was, and the landlord gave them a minute account of Sancho’s flights, at which they laughed not a little, and at which Sancho would have been no less out of countenance had not his master once more assured him it was all enchantment. For all that his simplicity never reached so high a pitch that he could persuade himself it was not the plain and simple truth, without any deception whatever about it, that he had been blanketed by beings of flesh and blood, and not by visionary and imaginary phantoms, as his master believed and protested.
The illustrious company had now been two days in the inn; and as it seemed to them time to depart, they devised a plan so that, without giving Dorothea and Don Fernando the trouble of going back with Don Quixote to his village under pretence of restoring Queen Micomicona, the curate and the barber might carry him away with them as they proposed, and the curate be able to take his madness in hand at home; and in pursuance of their plan they arranged with the owner of an oxcart who happened to be passing that way to carry him after this fashion. They constructed a kind of cage with wooden bars, large enough to hold Don Quixote comfortably; and then Don Fernando and his companions, the servants of Don Luis, and the officers of the Brotherhood, together with the landlord, by the directions and advice of the curate, covered their faces and disguised themselves, some in one way, some in another, so as to appear to Don Quixote quite different from the persons he had seen in the castle. This done, in profound silence they entered the room where he was asleep, taking his his rest after the past frays, and advancing to where he was sleeping tranquilly, not dreaming of anything of the kind happening, they seized him firmly and bound him fast hand and foot, so that, when he awoke startled, he was unable to move, and could only marvel and wonder at the strange figures he saw before him; upon which he at once gave way to the idea which his crazed fancy invariably conjured up before him, and took it into his head that all these shapes were phantoms of the enchanted castle, and that he himself was unquestionably enchanted as he could neither move nor help himself; precisely what the curate, the concoctor of the scheme, expected would happen. Of all that were there Sancho was the only one who was at once in his senses and in his own proper character, and he, though he was within very little of sharing his master’s infirmity, did not fail to perceive who all these disguised figures were; but he did not dare to open his lips until he saw what came of this assault and capture of his master; nor did the latter utter a word, waiting to the upshot of his mishap; which was that bringing in the cage, they shut him up in it and nailed the bars so firmly that they could not be easily burst open.
 
They then took him on their shoulders, and as they passed out of the room an awful voice — as much so as the barber, not he of the pack-saddle but the other, was able to make it — was heard to say, “O Knight of the Rueful Countenance, let not this captivity in which thou art placed afflict thee, for this must needs be, for the more speedy accomplishment of the adventure in which thy great heart has engaged thee; the which shall be accomplished when the raging Manchegan lion and the white Tobosan dove shall be linked together, having first humbled their haughty necks to the gentle yoke of matrimony. And from this marvellous union shall come forth to the light of the world brave whelps that shall rival the ravening claws of their valiant father; and this shall come to pass ere the pursuer of the flying nymph shall in his swift natural course have twice visited the starry signs. And thou, O most noble and obedient squire that ever bore sword at side, beard on face, or nose to smell with, be not dismayed or grieved to see the flower of knight-errantry carried away thus before thy very eyes; for soon, if it so please the Framer of the universe, thou shalt see thyself exalted to such a height that thou shalt not know thyself, and the promises which thy good master has made thee shall not prove false; and I assure thee, on the authority of the sage Mentironiana, that thy wages shall be paid thee, as thou shalt see in due season. Follow then the footsteps of the valiant enchanted knight, for it is expedient that thou shouldst go to the destination assigned to both of you; and as it is not permitted to me to say more, God be with thee; for I return to that place I wot of;” and as he brought the prophecy to a close he raised his voice to a high pitch, and then lowered it to such a soft tone, that even those who knew it was all a joke were almost inclined to take what they heard seriously.
Don Quixote was comforted by the prophecy he heard, for he at once comprehended its meaning perfectly, and perceived it was promised to him that he should see himself united in holy and lawful matrimony with his beloved Dulcinea del Toboso, from whose blessed womb should proceed the whelps, his sons, to the eternal glory of La Mancha; and being thoroughly and firmly persuaded of this, he lifted up his voice, and with a deep sigh exclaimed, “Oh thou, whoever thou art, who hast foretold me so much good, I implore of thee that on my part thou entreat that sage enchanter who takes charge of my interests, that he leave me not to perish in this captivity in which they are now carrying me away, ere I see fulfilled promises so joyful and incomparable as those which have been now made me; for, let this but come to pass, and I shall glory in the pains of my prison, find comfort in these chains wherewith they bind me, and regard this bed whereon they stretch me, not as a hard battle-field, but as a soft and happy nuptial couch; and touching the consolation of Sancho Panza, my squire, I rely upon his goodness and rectitude that he will not desert me in good or evil fortune; for if, by his ill luck or mine, it may not happen to be in my power to give him the island I have promised, or any equivalent for it, at least his wages shall not be lost; for in my will, which is already made, I have declared the sum that shall be paid to him, measured, not by his many faithful services, but by the means at my disposal.”
Sancho bowed his head very respectfully and kissed both his hands, for, being tied together, he could not kiss one; and then the apparitions lifted the cage upon their shoulders and fixed it upon the ox-cart.
 
在唐吉诃德慷慨陈词的时候，神甫正劝说团丁，告诉他们唐吉诃德如何神志不正常，他的所作所为大家都看到了，因此没有必要把事情再闹下去了。即使把他抓走了，以后看他是个疯子，还得放他。可那个拿通缉令的团丁说，他不管唐吉诃德是不是神志不正常，他只管执行上司的命令。只要抓了他就行，再放三百次都没关系。
“话是这么讲，”神甫说，“不过这次就不要把他带走了，而且，他也不会让人把他带走的，这点我很清楚。”
神甫一再劝说，唐吉诃德做的那些事团丁们也知道，如果他们不承认唐吉诃德是疯子，那么他们就比唐吉诃德还疯了。所以，他们倒也愿意落个清闲，甚至还愿意为理发师和桑乔斡旋，因为两人还在为那场争执而耿耿于怀呢。团丁们以执法者的身份从中调解裁决，最后双方虽然不能算是满心欢喜，也还可以说是比较满意。他们交换了驮鞍，肚带和笼头就算了。至于那个曼布里诺的头盔，神甫瞒着唐吉诃德，悄悄给了理发师八个雷阿尔，就算买了那个盆。理发师写了收条，表示永不翻悔，真是谢天谢地。
这两件最大的纷争解决了，唐路易斯的三个佣人也高高兴兴地走了，留下一个佣人随便到哪儿都陪着唐路易斯。福祉既开，喜气随来。无论是客店里的情人还是勇士，自己的事情都可望有个圆满的结局。唐路易斯满意，他的佣人们也高兴。唐娜克拉拉更是喜笑颜开。只要看看她的脸就可以知道，她的欣喜发自内心。
索赖达虽然对眼前的事情不能全部理解，只是人喜她喜，人忧她忧，不过她特别注意观察她那位西班牙人，眼睛始终不离开他，为他牵肠挂肚。店主对于神甫给理发师的赔偿和赠予不能熟视无睹，他也要求赔偿损坏的皮酒囊和红葡萄酒的损失，发誓说如果少给一分钱就休想让罗西南多或者桑乔的驴出客店的门。神甫安慰店主，法官表示愿意出钱赔偿，不过最后钱还是由费尔南多付了。这回客店里安静下来了，没有了唐吉诃德所说的阿格拉曼特阵地的混乱，倒是出现了奥古斯都大帝时期的和谐宁静。神甫在这个过程中的善意与口才，以及费尔南多的慷慨大度，有口皆碑。
唐吉诃德见已经从与他和桑乔有关的纠纷中解脱出来，觉得该继续赶路，去完成他肩负的那件重任了。决心已定，他跑去跪在多罗特亚面前。多罗特亚让他先起身再说话。唐吉诃德遵命站了起来，说道：
“美丽的公主，俗话说，神速出佳运。过去的很多事实都证明，正是由于当事人当机立断，才使本来后果难料的事情有了良好的结局，而且这点在军事上显得尤为突出。兵贵神速，使敌人措手不及，不等他们来得及抵抗就取得了胜利。
“尊贵的公主，我说这些是因为我觉得咱们再在这个城堡待下去已经没有什么意义了，而对我们到底有多少不利之处，也许我们以后某一天才能知道。谁知道与您为敌的那个巨人是否会通过潜伏在这里的奸细得知，我今天要去攻打他呢？如果他抓紧时间，加固工事，使他的城堡或堡垒坚不可摧，纵使我们出击迅速，我们不知疲倦的臂膀再有力量，也会无济于事。所以，我的女主人，咱们马上出发才会有好运。只要我和您的对手一交锋，您就肯定会如愿以偿。”
唐吉诃德讲到这儿不再说话了，静静地等候美丽公主的回答。公主一副威严的样子，很符合唐吉诃德当时的状态。她答道：
“骑士大人，非常感谢你表达了要帮我解除危难的愿望，这才像个扶弱济贫的骑士的样子。愿老天让你我的愿望得以实现，那时候你也会知道世界上还有知恩图报的女人。我的启程应该尽快安排，我的意见与你一致。你全权酌定吧，我已经把我的人身安全以及光复王国的重任托付给你，你随意安排吧，我不会有异议。”
“那就这么定了，”唐吉诃德说，“既然沦落的是位女王，我一定抓紧时机，把您扶上您的世袭宝座。咱们马上出发，我现在上路心切，否则就会像人们常说的那样坐失良机。能够让我胆怯恐惧的人，恐怕天上没有过，地上也没见过。桑乔，给罗西南多备鞍，还有你的驴和女王的坐骑，咱们告别城堡长官和那几位大人，马上出发。”
桑乔一直在场。这时他摇晃着脑袋说：
“哎呀，大人啊大人，村庄虽小议论多，评头品足又奈何！”
“不管在什么村庄和城市，我有什么不好的事可以让人议论的，乡巴佬？”
“您若是生气，我就不说了，”桑乔说，“本来我作为一个好待从应该向主人说的事，我也不说了。”
“你随便说，只要你不危言耸听。”唐吉诃德说，“你若是害怕，就随你的便；反正我不害怕，我行我素。”
“不是这个意思，真是的，都怪我！”桑乔说，“我现在已经弄清楚了，这个自称是米科米孔伟大王国女王的女人，跟我母亲比并没有什么特别之处。她要真是女王，就不会趁人不注意偷着同这个圈子里的某个人乱啃了。”
桑乔这么一说，多罗特亚立刻变得满脸绯红，因为她的丈夫费尔南多的确避着大家，用自己的嘴唇从她的嘴唇那儿给自己的情爱以一定的安慰。这些被桑乔看见了，他觉得这样轻佻只能是妓女，而不是一个如此伟大王国的女王应有的行为。多罗特亚无法回答，也不想回答桑乔的话，只好任他说下去。桑乔又说：
“我是说，大人，咱们走大路绕小道，白天黑夜都不得安生，可换来的却是让这些在客店里逍遥自在的人坐享其成。既然这样，我就没必要慌慌张张地为罗西南多备鞍，为我的驴上好驮鞍，为她准备坐骑了。让婊子干她的，咱们吃咱们的。”
上帝保佑！唐吉诃德听做自己的侍从竟说出这般无礼的话来，生了多大的气！他的眼睛都要冒出火来了，急急忙忙又结结巴巴地说道：
“你这个下贱货，这么没头脑，无礼又无知，竟敢背后说别人的坏话！你竟敢当着我的面，当着这么多尊贵的夫人说出这种话，而且还不知羞耻地胡思乱想！你这个万恶的魔鬼，竟敢造谣生事，盅惑人心，真是卑鄙至极，愚蠢透顶，污辱贵人的尊严。你赶快从我面前滚开，免得我对你不客气！”
说完他紧蹙眉头，鼓着两颊，环顾四方，右脚在地上狠狠地跺了一下，满肚子怒气溢于言表。桑乔听了唐吉诃德这些话，又见他一副怒不可遏的样子，吓得缩成一团，真恨不得脚下的地裂个缝，让他掉进去。他不知如何是好，只好转身走开。聪明的多罗特亚十分了解唐吉诃德的脾气，为了缓和一下他的怒气，多罗特亚对他说：
“你不要为你善良的侍从说的那些蠢话生气，猥獕骑士大人。他只是不应该无中生有地乱说。他是一番好意，而且具有基督徒的良心，没有人会相信他有意诬陷谁。由此可以相信，就像骑士大人你说的，在这座城堡里，各种事情都受到了魔法的控制，肯定是这样。所以我说，桑乔很可能受到了魔法的影响，看到了他其实没有看到的那些有损于我尊严的事情。”
“我向全能的上帝发誓，”唐吉诃德说，“您说得完全对。也许是某种魔法的幻觉使得这个有罪的桑乔看到了根本不可能的事情，而且我也十分了解这个倒霉鬼，他善良单纯，不会有意诬陷人。”
“是这样，肯定是这样，”费尔南多说，“所以您，唐吉诃德大人，应该原谅他，与他和好如初，别让那些幻觉使他丧失了理智。”
唐吉诃德说他原谅桑乔，于是神甫就去找桑乔。桑乔低三下四地回来了。他跪在唐吉诃德面前，请求吻唐吉诃德的手。唐吉诃德把手伸给他，让他吻了自己的手，然后又祝福了他。唐吉诃德说：
“桑乔，我多次对你说过，这座城堡的一切都受到了魔法的控制，现在你该明白了，这的确是真的。”
“这个我相信，”桑乔说，“不过那次被扔可是确有其事。”
“你不要这么想，”唐吉诃德说，“如果是这样，我早为你报仇了，即使那时没报仇，现在也会为你报。可是无论过去还是现在，我都不知道该向谁去报仇。”
大家都想知道被单的事，于是店主又把桑乔的那次遭遇一五一十地讲了一遍，大家听了不禁大笑。若不是唐吉诃德再次保证，那次是由于魔法，桑乔早就羞愧得无地自容了。不过，桑乔即使再愚蠢，也不会不知道自己是被一群有血有肉的人耍了，而不是像他的主人说的那样是什么幻觉。
两天过去了。住在客店的贵客一行人觉得该启程了。他们决定不再烦劳多罗特亚和费尔南多，像原来商定的那样，让神甫和理发师假借解救米科米科纳公主的名义，把唐吉诃德送回家乡去。神甫在当地设法为他治疗。他们决定用一辆恰巧从那儿路过的牛车把唐吉诃德送回去。他们在牛车上装了个像笼子样的东西，让唐吉诃德能够舒舒服服地待在里面，费尔南多和他的伙伴们、唐路易斯的佣人和团丁们按照神甫的主意和吩咐，都蒙着脸，装扮成身份不同的人，让唐吉诃德认不出这是他在客店里见过的那些人。准备得当之后，他们悄悄走进唐吉诃德的房间。唐吉诃德那天经过几番打斗，已经睡觉休息了。”
大家来到他身边，在他鼾声如雷、全然不知的情况下把他紧紧按住，把手脚都结结实实地捆了起来。待他被惊醒时，已经动弹不得，只能惊奇地看着眼前这些陌生的面孔。此时他的怪诞念头又闪现出来，相信这些模样奇怪的人就是这座城堡里的鬼怪，他自己也肯定是被魔法制服了，所以既动弹不得，也不能自卫。这一切都已在这次行动的策划者神甫的预料之中。
在场的人中，只有桑乔的思维和形象没有变化。虽然他差一点就要患上同主人一样的疯病了，但还是能认出那些化了装的人来。不过他一直没敢张嘴，想看看他们把他的主人突然抓起来要干什么。唐吉诃德也一言不发，只是关注着自己的下场。人们把笼子抬过来，把唐吉诃德关了进去，外面又钉了许多木条，无论谁也不能轻易打开这个笼子了。
大家又把笼子抬起来，走出房间时，忽然听见一个令人毛骨悚然的声音。那声音是理发师发出来的，不是那位要驮鞍的理发师，而是另一位。那声音说道：
“噢，猥獕骑士，不要为你被囚禁而感到苦恼。只有这样才能尽早完成你的征险大业。这种状况只有等到曼查的雄狮和托博索的白鸽双双垂颈接受婚姻枷锁①时才会结束。这个史无前例的结合会产生出凶猛的幼崽，它们会模仿它们的勇敢父亲的样子张牙舞爪。所有这些，在仙女的追求者②以他光辉的形象迅速而又自然地两度运行黄道之前就可以实现。你呢，高尚而又温顺的侍从，腰间佩剑，脸上有胡子，嗅觉又灵敏，不要因为人们当着你的面如此带走了游侠骑士的精英而一蹶不振。只要世界的塑造者愿意，你马上就会得到高官显爵，连你都会认不出自己。你的善良主人对你的承诺也一定会实现。我以谎言女神的名义向你发誓，你的工钱一定会付给你，到时候你就知道了。你跟着你那位被魔法制服了的主人一起走吧，无论到哪儿，你都应跟随他。我只能说这些了，上帝与你同在，我要回去了。至于我要回到哪里去，只有我自己才知道。”
①西方谑语，指结婚后必须承担很多义务。
②此处指太阳神阿波罗追求达佛涅的神话。
说到这儿，那个声音立刻提高了嗓门，然后慢慢转化为非常和蔼的语调，结果就连知道这是理发师在开玩笑的人都信以为真了。
唐吉诃德听到这番话也放心了，因为那些人允诺他和托博索他亲爱的杜尔西内亚结成神圣的姻缘，从杜尔西内亚肚子里可以产生出很多幼崽，那些都是他的孩子，这将是曼查世世代代的光荣。他坚信这点，长长地吁了一口气，高声说道：
“你预示了我的美好未来。不管你是谁，都请你代我向负责我的事情的智慧的魔法师请求，在我实现我刚才在这里听到的如此令人兴奋又无与伦比的诺言之前，不要让我死在这个囚笼里。如果这些诺言能够实现，我将视我的牢笼之苦为光荣，视这缠身的锁链为休闲，不把我现在躺的这张床当作战场，而视它为松软的婚床和幸福的洞房。现在该谈谈如何安慰我的侍从桑乔了。根据他的品德和善行，我肯定，不管我的命运如何，他都不会抛弃我。假如由于他或我的不幸，我不能够按照我的承诺，给他一个岛屿或其他类似的东西，至少他的工钱我不会不给，这在我的遗嘱里已经注明了。我不是根据他对我的无数辛勤服侍，而是根据我的能力所及，把该交代的事情都在遗嘱里交代了。”
桑乔毕恭毕敬地向唐吉诃德鞠了一躬，吻了他的双手。唐吉诃德的双手被捆在一起，要吻就得吻两只手。然后，那些妖魔鬼怪扛起笼子，放到了牛车上。
Part 1 Chapter 47
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?”
 
“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.”
“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.”
“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.
“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.”
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:
“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.”
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.
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.
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.”
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.
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.”
“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.”
“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.”
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.
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.
“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.”
“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.”
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.”
 
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.”
 
唐吉诃德见自己被关在笼子里，装上了牛车，说道：
“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。
你觉得是不是这么回事，桑乔？”
“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。”
“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。”
“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。”
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。
“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。”
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。
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：
“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。”
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。
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。
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。
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。
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：
“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。”
唐吉诃德听见了他们的对话，说道：
“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。”
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。
对于唐吉诃德的问话，牧师回答说：
“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。”
“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。”
“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。”
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：
“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。”
他又转过身来对神甫说道：
“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？”
“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！”
“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。”
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。
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：
“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。
①米利都是古代小亚细亚城市。
“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。
“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。”
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。
“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。”
①阿基琉斯是荷马史诗《伊利亚特》中的希腊英雄。
②赫克托尔是荷马史诗《伊利亚特》中的特浩伊主将。
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。
④欧律阿勒是希腊神话中的三女怪之一。
⑤图拉真是古罗马皇帝。
⑥索皮罗是古波斯的将领。
Part 1 Chapter 48
“It is as you say, senor canon,” said the curate; “and for that reason those who have hitherto written books of the sort deserve all the more censure for writing without paying any attention to good taste or the rules of art, by which they might guide themselves and become as famous in prose as the two princes of Greek and Latin poetry are in verse.”
“I myself, at any rate,” said the canon, “was once tempted to write a book of chivalry in which all the points I have mentioned were to be observed; and if I must own the truth I have more than a hundred sheets written; and to try if it came up to my own opinion of it, I showed them to persons who were fond of this kind of reading, to learned and intelligent men as well as to ignorant people who cared for nothing but the pleasure of listening to nonsense, and from all I obtained flattering approval; nevertheless I proceeded no farther with it, as well because it seemed to me an occupation inconsistent with my profession, as because I perceived that the fools are more numerous than the wise; and, though it is better to be praised by the wise few than applauded by the foolish many, I have no mind to submit myself to the stupid judgment of the silly public, to whom the reading of such books falls for the most part.
“But what most of all made me hold my hand and even abandon all idea of finishing it was an argument I put to myself taken from the plays that are acted now-a-days, which was in this wise: if those that are now in vogue, as well those that are pure invention as those founded on history, are, all or most of them, downright nonsense and things that have neither head nor tail, and yet the public listens to them with delight, and regards and cries them up as perfection when they are so far from it; and if the authors who write them, and the players who act them, say that this is what they must be, for the public wants this and will have nothing else; and that those that go by rule and work out a plot according to the laws of art will only find some half-dozen intelligent people to understand them, while all the rest remain blind to the merit of their composition; and that for themselves it is better to get bread from the many than praise from the few; then my book will fare the same way, after I have burnt off my eyebrows in trying to observe the principles I have spoken of, and I shall be ‘the tailor of the corner.’ And though I have sometimes endeavoured to convince actors that they are mistaken in this notion they have adopted, and that they would attract more people, and get more credit, by producing plays in accordance with the rules of art, than by absurd ones, they are so thoroughly wedded to their own opinion that no argument or evidence can wean them from it.
“I remember saying one day to one of these obstinate fellows, ‘Tell me, do you not recollect that a few years ago, there were three tragedies acted in Spain, written by a famous poet of these kingdoms, which were such that they filled all who heard them with admiration, delight, and interest, the ignorant as well as the wise, the masses as well as the higher orders, and brought in more money to the performers, these three alone, than thirty of the best that have been since produced?’
“‘No doubt,’ replied the actor in question, ‘you mean the “Isabella,” the “Phyllis,” and the “Alexandra."’
“‘Those are the ones I mean,’ said I; ‘and see if they did not observe the principles of art, and if, by observing them, they failed to show their superiority and please all the world; so that the fault does not lie with the public that insists upon nonsense, but with those who don’t know how to produce something else. “The Ingratitude Revenged” was not nonsense, nor was there any in “The Numantia,” nor any to be found in “The Merchant Lover,” nor yet in “The Friendly Fair Foe,” nor in some others that have been written by certain gifted poets, to their own fame and renown, and to the profit of those that brought them out;’ some further remarks I added to these, with which, I think, I left him rather dumbfoundered, but not so satisfied or convinced that I could disabuse him of his error.”
“You have touched upon a subject, senor canon,” observed the curate here, “that has awakened an old enmity I have against the plays in vogue at the present day, quite as strong as that which I bear to the books of chivalry; for while the drama, according to Tully, should be the mirror of human life, the model of manners, and the image of the truth, those which are presented now-a-days are mirrors of nonsense, models of folly, and images of lewdness. For what greater nonsense can there be in connection with what we are now discussing than for an infant to appear in swaddling clothes in the first scene of the first act, and in the second a grown-up bearded man? Or what greater absurdity can there be than putting before us an old man as a swashbuckler, a young man as a poltroon, a lackey using fine language, a page giving sage advice, a king plying as a porter, a princess who is a kitchen-maid? And then what shall I say of their attention to the time in which the action they represent may or can take place, save that I have seen a play where the first act began in Europe, the second in Asia, the third finished in Africa, and no doubt, had it been in four acts, the fourth would have ended in America, and so it would have been laid in all four quarters of the globe? And if truth to life is the main thing the drama should keep in view, how is it possible for any average understanding to be satisfied when the action is supposed to pass in the time of King Pepin or Charlemagne, and the principal personage in it they represent to be the Emperor Heraclius who entered Jerusalem with the cross and won the Holy Sepulchre, like Godfrey of Bouillon, there being years innumerable between the one and the other? or, if the play is based on fiction and historical facts are introduced, or bits of what occurred to different people and at different times mixed up with it, all, not only without any semblance of probability, but with obvious errors that from every point of view are inexcusable? And the worst of it is, there are ignorant people who say that this is perfection, and that anything beyond this is affected refinement. And then if we turn to sacred dramas — what miracles they invent in them! What apocryphal, ill-devised incidents, attributing to one saint the miracles of another! And even in secular plays they venture to introduce miracles without any reason or object except that they think some such miracle, or transformation as they call it, will come in well to astonish stupid people and draw them to the play. All this tends to the prejudice of the truth and the corruption of history, nay more, to the reproach of the wits of Spain; for foreigners who scrupulously observe the laws of the drama look upon us as barbarous and ignorant, when they see the absurdity and nonsense of the plays we produce. Nor will it be a sufficient excuse to say that the chief object well-ordered governments have in view when they permit plays to be performed in public is to entertain the people with some harmless amusement occasionally, and keep it from those evil humours which idleness is apt to engender; and that, as this may be attained by any sort of play, good or bad, there is no need to lay down laws, or bind those who write or act them to make them as they ought to be made, since, as I say, the object sought for may be secured by any sort. To this I would reply that the same end would be, beyond all comparison, better attained by means of good plays than by those that are not so; for after listening to an artistic and properly constructed play, the hearer will come away enlivened by the jests, instructed by the serious parts, full of admiration at the incidents, his wits sharpened by the arguments, warned by the tricks, all the wiser for the examples, inflamed against vice, and in love with virtue; for in all these ways a good play will stimulate the mind of the hearer be he ever so boorish or dull; and of all impossibilities the greatest is that a play endowed with all these qualities will not entertain, satisfy, and please much more than one wanting in them, like the greater number of those which are commonly acted now-a-days. Nor are the poets who write them to be blamed for this; for some there are among them who are perfectly well aware of their faults, and know what they ought to do; but as plays have become a salable commodity, they say, and with truth, that the actors will not buy them unless they are after this fashion; and so the poet tries to adapt himself to the requirements of the actor who is to pay him for his work. And that this is the truth may be seen by the countless plays that a most fertile wit of these kingdoms has written, with so much brilliancy, so much grace and gaiety, such polished versification, such choice language, such profound reflections, and in a word, so rich in eloquence and elevation of style, that he has filled the world with his fame; and yet, in consequence of his desire to suit the taste of the actors, they have not all, as some of them have, come as near perfection as they ought. Others write plays with such heedlessness that, after they have been acted, the actors have to fly and abscond, afraid of being punished, as they often have been, for having acted something offensive to some king or other, or insulting to some noble family. All which evils, and many more that I say nothing of, would be removed if there were some intelligent and sensible person at the capital to examine all plays before they were acted, not only those produced in the capital itself, but all that were intended to be acted in Spain; without whose approval, seal, and signature, no local magistracy should allow any play to be acted. In that case actors would take care to send their plays to the capital, and could act them in safety, and those who write them would be more careful and take more pains with their work, standing in awe of having to submit it to the strict examination of one who understood the matter; and so good plays would be produced and the objects they aim at happily attained; as well the amusement of the people, as the credit of the wits of Spain, the interest and safety of the actors, and the saving of trouble in inflicting punishment on them. And if the same or some other person were authorised to examine the newly written books of chivalry, no doubt some would appear with all the perfections you have described, enriching our language with the gracious and precious treasure of eloquence, and driving the old books into obscurity before the light of the new ones that would come out for the harmless entertainment, not merely of the idle but of the very busiest; for the bow cannot be always bent, nor can weak human nature exist without some lawful amusement.”
The canon and the curate had proceeded thus far with their conversation, when the barber, coming forward, joined them, and said to the curate, “This is the spot, senor licentiate, that I said was a good one for fresh and plentiful pasture for the oxen, while we take our noontide rest.”
“And so it seems,” returned the curate, and he told the canon what he proposed to do, on which he too made up his mind to halt with them, attracted by the aspect of the fair valley that lay before their eyes; and to enjoy it as well as the conversation of the curate, to whom he had begun to take a fancy, and also to learn more particulars about the doings of Don Quixote, he desired some of his servants to go on to the inn, which was not far distant, and fetch from it what eatables there might be for the whole party, as he meant to rest for the afternoon where he was; to which one of his servants replied that the sumpter mule, which by this time ought to have reached the inn, carried provisions enough to make it unnecessary to get anything from the inn except barley.
“In that case,” said the canon, “take all the beasts there, and bring the sumpter mule back.”
While this was going on, Sancho, perceiving that he could speak to his master without having the curate and the barber, of whom he had his suspicions, present all the time, approached the cage in which Don Quixote was placed, and said, “Senor, to ease my conscience I want to tell you the state of the case as to your enchantment, and that is that these two here, with their faces covered, are the curate of our village and the barber; and I suspect they have hit upon this plan of carrying you off in this fashion, out of pure envy because your worship surpasses them in doing famous deeds; and if this be the truth it follows that you are not enchanted, but hoodwinked and made a fool of. And to prove this I want to ask you one thing; and if you answer me as I believe you will answer, you will be able to lay your finger on the trick, and you will see that you are not enchanted but gone wrong in your wits.”
“Ask what thou wilt, Sancho my son,” returned Don Quixote, “for I will satisfy thee and answer all thou requirest. As to what thou sayest, that these who accompany us yonder are the curate and the barber, our neighbours and acquaintances, it is very possible that they may seem to he those same persons; but that they are so in reality and in fact, believe it not on any account; what thou art to believe and think is that, if they look like them, as thou sayest, it must be that those who have enchanted me have taken this shape and likeness; for it is easy for enchanters to take any form they please, and they may have taken those of our friends in order to make thee think as thou dost, and lead thee into a labyrinth of fancies from which thou wilt find no escape though thou hadst the cord of Theseus; and they may also have done it to make me uncertain in my mind, and unable to conjecture whence this evil comes to me; for if on the one hand thou dost tell me that the barber and curate of our village are here in company with us, and on the other I find myself shut up in a cage, and know in my heart that no power on earth that was not supernatural would have been able to shut me in, what wouldst thou have me say or think, but that my enchantment is of a sort that transcends all I have ever read of in all the histories that deal with knights-errant that have been enchanted? So thou mayest set thy mind at rest as to the idea that they are what thou sayest, for they are as much so as I am a Turk. But touching thy desire to ask me something, say on, and I will answer thee, though thou shouldst ask questions from this till to-morrow morning.”
“May Our Lady be good to me!” said Sancho, lifting up his voice; “and is it possible that your worship is so thick of skull and so short of brains that you cannot see that what I say is the simple truth, and that malice has more to do with your imprisonment and misfortune than enchantment? But as it is so, I will prove plainly to you that you are not enchanted. Now tell me, so may God deliver you from this affliction, and so may you find yourself when you least expect it in the arms of my lady Dulcinea — ”
“Leave off conjuring me,” said Don Quixote, “and ask what thou wouldst know; I have already told thee I will answer with all possible precision.”
“That is what I want,” said Sancho; “and what I would know, and have you tell me, without adding or leaving out anything, but telling the whole truth as one expects it to be told, and as it is told, by all who profess arms, as your worship professes them, under the title of knights-errant — ”
“I tell thee I will not lie in any particular,” said Don Quixote; “finish thy question; for in truth thou weariest me with all these asseverations, requirements, and precautions, Sancho.”
“Well, I rely on the goodness and truth of my master,” said Sancho; “and so, because it bears upon what we are talking about, I would ask, speaking with all reverence, whether since your worship has been shut up and, as you think, enchanted in this cage, you have felt any desire or inclination to go anywhere, as the saying is?”
“I do not understand ‘going anywhere,’” said Don Quixote; “explain thyself more clearly, Sancho, if thou wouldst have me give an answer to the point.”
“Is it possible,” said Sancho, “that your worship does not understand ‘going anywhere’? Why, the schoolboys know that from the time they were babes. Well then, you must know I mean have you had any desire to do what cannot be avoided?”
“Ah! now I understand thee, Sancho,” said Don Quixote; “yes, often, and even this minute; get me out of this strait, or all will not go right.”
 
“你说得对，牧师大人，”神甫说，“因此，现在已经出版的这类书都应该摒弃。它们没有任何教育意义可言，也没有遵循艺术规律，不可能产生出像希腊和罗马两位诗坛王子①的诗歌创作中那样优秀的作品来。”
①此处指荷马和维吉尔。
“不过，我曾试图按照我刚才说的那些观点创作一部骑士小说。”牧师说，“不瞒你说，我已经写了一百多页。为了检验我的这种尝试是否符合我的意图，我曾与一些喜爱这类传奇的学者和一味喜欢听荒唐故事的下等人接触过，他们都对我的做法予以肯定。尽管如此，我并没有继续把小说写下去。一方面我觉得这种事情与我的职业无关；另一方面是因为我发现平庸之辈毕竟多于文人墨客，受到少数雅士学者赞扬比受到多数头脑简单的人嘲笑要好。我不愿意曲意迎合妄自尊大的平民市侩，而这种人大部分都喜欢看这类小说。
“不过，让我辍笔不想继续写下去的最主要原因，就是我曾从现在上演的喜剧中得出一个结论：现在风靡于世的都是这种戏剧，它们无论出于虚构还是根据历史改编的，都是彻头彻尾的胡编乱造。尽管这些戏远非好戏，可老百性却看得津津有味，说这是好戏。创作戏剧的编剧和演戏的演员们都说就得这样，因为老百姓喜欢。另一方面，那些按照艺术要求编排的剧作却只有寥寥几个有学识的人欣赏，其他人对它的艺术技巧全然不知。所以，这些编剧和演员宁愿靠迎合多数人吃饭，而不愿只为少数人服务。我的书也会是这样。如果我想保持它的艺术性，即使我呕心沥血地写出来，也只能落个费力不讨好的结局。
“虽然有几次，我力图劝阻那些演员不要自欺欺人，上演具有艺术性而不是荒谬的戏剧同样可以吸引很多观众，赢得很高的声誉，但他们仍然固执己见，对你讲的道理和列举的例子根本不予理睬。
“记得有一天，我对一个顽固分子说：‘告诉我，你是不是还记得，几年前在西班牙上演了一位著名作家创作的三部悲剧，真是做到了雅俗共赏，而且演员们演这三部戏得到的钱比后来上演三十部上座率很高的戏赚的还多？’
“‘不错’那位艺术家说，‘您大概是指《伊萨贝拉》、《菲丽斯》和《亚历杭德拉》①吧。’
①这三部悲剧的作者均为卢佩西奥•莱昂纳多•德阿亨索拉。
“‘就是它们，’我说，‘这些剧目保持了自己的艺术特性，可并没有因此不受到人们的喜欢。因此，不能怪老百姓非要看那些胡编乱造的东西不可，而要怪演员们只会演那些东西。的确，《恩将仇报》就没有那些乌七八糟的东西，《努曼西亚》也没有，《多情商人》也是如此，《可爱的冤家》就更别提了。还有一些很有水平的作家编的一些剧目，作者出了名，演员得了利。’我觉得他听了有些动摇，却并没有因此被说服，自然不肯抛弃他的错误观念。”
“您一谈到这点，牧师大人，”神甫说，“就勾起了我对现在风行的喜剧早已形成的愤恨，就像我现在对骑士小说的愤恨一样。我觉得喜剧应该像图利奥说的，是人类生活的反映、世俗的典范和真理的再现。可现在上演的这些东西都是荒诞离奇的反映、愚昧的典范和淫荡的再现。戏的第一幕第一场里还是个幼雅无知的女孩，第二场就成了老态龙钟的男人，还有什么比这更离奇吗？剧目向我们表现的是老人勇敢，年轻人怯懦，佣人能言善辩，侍童足智多谋，国王粗俗鄙陋，公主为人浅薄，难道还不荒唐吗？他们是否注意到了剧目情节的时空呢？我曾看过一出喜剧，开始第一场演在欧洲的事，第二场就到了亚洲，第三场结束时已经跑到非洲去了。假如有第四场，那么肯定演到美洲去了，这样世界各地就都演到了。
既然如此，我还有什么好说的呢？
“忠实是喜剧的关键，可是有的人假设一个剧情发生在丕平国王①和卡洛曼国王②的时代，却又让希拉克略皇帝③做主角。他手持十字架进入耶路撒冷，又像布荣的哥德夫利④一样占领了圣陵⑤，而他们却相隔多年。把喜剧建立在杜撰的基础上，却又加上史实，中间再掺入一些不同时期的不同人物，让人看着觉得并不可信，而且还有许多无法解释的明显错误，这种戏剧，即使一个中等水平的观众看了，能够满意吗？最糟糕的就是那些孤陋寡闻的人竟说这种戏剧已经至善至美，如果再对它们提出什么要求，那就是鸡蛋里挑骨头。咱们再来看看神话剧又怎么样呢？这种戏剧里编造了多少奇迹，多少虚假晦涩的东西，把其他人的奇迹安到一个圣人身上！而在世俗剧里也编造奇迹，一味地觉得加进了这种奇迹或者他们称作表现手段的东西，那些愚昧无知的人就会来看戏，为戏叫好。这种做法不尊重事实，不尊重历史，而且也是对西班牙文人学者的污辱，因为其他国家的人仍然恪守喜剧的原则，见我们如此荒谬，会把我们看成野蛮无知的人。有人说，在一些治理有方的国家里允许演出喜剧，以供大众有正当的消遣，避免那些由无聊产生的低级趣味。所有喜剧不管是好戏还是坏戏，都能起到这个作用。所以，没有必要画出框框，规定编剧和演员应该如何去做。因为就像刚才说的，无论怎样，戏都可以起到这种作用。可是，他们这样说，并不能为自己开脱。
①丕平国王是8世纪的意大利国王。而丕平一世、二世则是法国加洛林王朝阿基坦的国王。
②卡洛曼是9世纪的西法兰克国王。
③希拉克略又译赫拉克利乌斯，是7世纪东罗马帝国即拜占庭帝国的皇帝。
④欧洲第一次十字军东侵的首领之一，1099年7月参加攻占耶路撒冷。
⑤指耶稣基督的陵墓，或建在耶稣受难与埋葬原址的教堂。
“我对此的回答是，即使出于这个目的，好戏要比不那么好的戏作用大得多，是坏戏远不能相比的。一部精心雕琢、编排合理的喜剧，观众可以开心于它的诙谐，受教于它的真谛，意外于它的情节，受启迪于它的情理，可以在狡诈中学会警觉，可以在典范中学到睿智，可以对丑恶忿忿不平，也可以为高尚品质赞叹不已。所有这些都是一部好喜剧应该在观众的精神上产生的效果，不管这些观众的文化素质有多么低下。如果一部喜剧具备了上述各种条件，就一定会使观众感到愉快、轻松、高兴和满意，而且会远远超过那些现在上演的普遍缺乏上述条件的喜剧。编写了这种缺乏上述条件的喜剧的作家们并没有过错，因为其中一些作家十分清楚自己的错误所在，他们完全知道自己应该怎样做，可是因为喜剧已经成为一种可出售的商品，他们也是这么说的，而且他们说得也对，若不是这类剧本，演员们就不会出钱买，因此，作家就得按照购买他的剧本的演员的要求去写作。从这儿就可以看出，为什么我们这个王国的一位极其幸运的才子①倜傥儒雅，谈吐风趣，诗句华丽，妙语横生，言近旨远，总之，风格高雅隽永，蜚声世界，可是他为了迎合演员的口味，除了少数几部作品之外，都没能达到应有的完美的水平。
①此处影射西班牙作家洛贝•德•维加。
“还有一些作家写作时欠考虑，编写了有损于某些国王或败坏了某些家族的名誉的戏剧，所以演员们演完戏后就得赶紧逃走，免得受到惩罚。他们常常为此受到惩罚。这些以及其它一些我还未说到的麻烦，只要宫廷里专设一个聪明而又谨慎的人，负责在所有喜剧上演之前审查剧本，就可以避免。这个人不仅要负责在宫廷里演的戏，而且要负责在西班牙上演的所有喜剧。没有他的批准、盖章、签字，各地机构都不允许任何喜剧上演。这样，喜剧家们在把他们的剧本送往宫廷之前就会小心多了，得估计他们的剧本能否被允许上演。而剧作家也会格外小心仔细，考虑到他们编的喜剧会受到某个行家的严格审查。如果能这样，就会出现优秀喜剧，就会顺利实现喜剧的宗旨，也就能使西班牙的群众得到了消遣，学者受到了尊重，演员们可以安心演戏赚钱，不必担心受到惩罚。
“如果由另外一个人，或者就是由这个行家本人负责审查新编写的骑士小说，那么肯定会出现一些您说的那样的优秀小说，可以丰富我们的语言宝库，使那些旧小说与新出版的文明消遣小说相比黯然失色。文明消遣不仅空闲的人需要，而且繁忙的人也需要，因为弓不能总是绷紧的，人类体质的孱弱性决定了没有正常的消遣，人的生命就不能维持。”
牧师和神甫正说着话，理发师赶到他们身边，对神甫说：
“神甫大人，这就是我说的那个适合我们午休，而且牛也可以得到丰盛水草的地方。”
“我也这样认为。”神甫说。
神甫把自己的想法告诉了牧师。牧师被眼前美丽的山谷吸引，也愿意停下来同他们一起休息，而且他觉得同神甫谈得很投机，还想从他那儿再听到一些唐吉诃德的事情。于是，牧师吩咐一个随从到前面不远的客店去给大家弄些吃的，他想就在那个地方午休。佣人说他们那头驮驴已经到了客店，它驮的食物足够大家用的，只需在客店弄些大麦就够了。
“既然这样，你就把所有牲口都赶到客店去，把那头驮驴牵回来。”
桑乔本来就怀疑这两个人是神甫和理发师，此时见他们不在唐吉诃德身边，就赶紧来到关唐吉诃德的笼子旁，对唐吉诃德说：
“关于您被魔法制服的事，我想对您说说我的心里话。我告诉您，这两个蒙面人就是咱们那儿的神甫和理发师。我猜他们设计这样送您走，纯粹是由于您做了一些声名显赫的业绩，超过了他们。假如我这个猜测是真的，就可以断定您并不是中了魔法，而是上当犯傻了。为了证明这点，我想问您一件事，如果您回答得与我估计的一样，这个骗局就昭然若揭了，由此您就会明白，您并不是中了魔法，而是精神错乱了。”
“你随便问，亲爱的桑乔，”唐吉诃德说，“我一定会诚心诚意地满足你的要求。你说，同咱们一起走的那两个人是咱们熟悉的神甫和理发师。很可能他们特别像神甫和理发师，但要说他们就是，那是万万不可相信的。你应该相信和清楚，如果他们真像你说的那样是神甫和理发师，那一定是对我施了魔法的妖怪让他们变得很像神甫和理发师。它们要想变出什么模样来都易如反掌。而妖怪要变出我们朋友的模样，就是为了让你的意识陷入迷魂阵，你就是有英雄忒修斯的本事也不会解脱出来。它们这样做还是为了让我对自己的意识产生怀疑，看不出我的遭遇从何而来。你可以认为与咱们同行的是咱们村上的神甫和理发师；可我被关在笼子里，仍然认为如果不是一种超自然的力量，人类的力量远不足以把我关进笼子里。除了说妖怪在我身上施的魔法已经大大超过了我在所有骑士小说里看到的对游侠骑士施的魔法之外，还能说明什么呢？你完全不必相信他们是你说的什么神甫和理发师，就像我不是土耳其人一样。至于你想问点什么，你就问吧，你就是从现在问到明天早晨，我也会一一回答你。”
“圣母保佑！”桑乔说，“您真的这么死脑筋，没脑子，看不出我对您说的全是真的吗？看不出您被关在这儿不是有什么魔法，而是有人陷害？但愿上帝能够把您从这场苦难中解救出来，让您意想不到地投入杜尔西内亚夫人的怀抱。”
“我刚刚发过誓，”唐吉诃德说，“你随便问，我一定如实回答。”
“我要求您，也希望您能够一五一十地回答，”桑乔说，“就像那些从武的战士说实话一样。您就是从武的，您得以游侠……骑士的名义……”
“我不会撒任何谎，”唐吉诃德说，“你该问了，别这么多‘除非如此’、‘向天发誓’、‘有言在先’什么的，桑乔。”
“我敢肯定我的主人是老实人，说实话。因为这同咱们说的事情有关，所以，我认真地问您，自从您被关进笼子后，或者如您说的被魔法制服在这个笼子里以后，您是不是想过人们常说的大小便？”
“我不懂什么便不便的，桑乔，你想问什么就直接问。”
“您不懂什么叫大小便，这可能吗？学校里骂男孩子就这么说。我是说您想不想做那个不能不做的事情？”
“噢，现在我明白了，桑乔！我想过很多次，现在就想。
快把我弄出去，别把这儿弄脏了！”
Part 1 Chapter 49
“Aha, I have caught you,” said Sancho; “this is what in my heart and soul I was longing to know. Come now, senor, can you deny what is commonly said around us, when a person is out of humour, ‘I don’t know what ails so-and-so, that he neither eats, nor drinks, nor sleeps, nor gives a proper answer to any question; one would think he was enchanted’? From which it is to be gathered that those who do not eat, or drink, or sleep, or do any of the natural acts I am speaking of — that such persons are enchanted; but not those that have the desire your worship has, and drink when drink is given them, and eat when there is anything to eat, and answer every question that is asked them.”
“What thou sayest is true, Sancho,” replied Don Quixote; “but I have already told thee there are many sorts of enchantments, and it may be that in the course of time they have been changed one for another, and that now it may be the way with enchanted people to do all that I do, though they did not do so before; so it is vain to argue or draw inferences against the usage of the time. I know and feel that I am enchanted, and that is enough to ease my conscience; for it would weigh heavily on it if I thought that I was not enchanted, and that in a aint-hearted and cowardly way I allowed myself to lie in this cage, defrauding multitudes of the succour I might afford to those in need and distress, who at this very moment may be in sore want of my aid and protection.”
“Still for all that,” replied Sancho, “I say that, for your greater and fuller satisfaction, it would be well if your worship were to try to get out of this prison (and I promise to do all in my power to help, and even to take you out of it), and see if you could once more mount your good Rocinante, who seems to be enchanted too, he is so melancholy and dejected; and then we might try our chance in looking for adventures again; and if we have no luck there will be time enough to go back to the cage; in which, on the faith of a good and loyal squire, I promise to shut myself up along with your worship, if so be you are so unfortunate, or I so stupid, as not to be able to carry out my plan.”
“I am content to do as thou sayest, brother Sancho,” said Don Quixote, “and when thou seest an opportunity for effecting my release I will obey thee absolutely; but thou wilt see, Sancho, how mistaken thou art in thy conception of my misfortune.”
The knight-errant and the ill-errant squire kept up their conversation till they reached the place where the curate, the canon, and the barber, who had already dismounted, were waiting for them. The carter at once unyoked the oxen and left them to roam at large about the pleasant green spot, the freshness of which seemed to invite, not enchanted people like Don Quixote, but wide-awake, sensible folk like his squire, who begged the curate to allow his master to leave the cage for a little; for if they did not let him out, the prison might not be as clean as the propriety of such a gentleman as his master required. The curate understood him, and said he would very gladly comply with his request, only that he feared his master, finding himself at liberty, would take to his old courses and make off where nobody could ever find him again.
“I will answer for his not running away,” said Sancho.
“And I also,” said the canon, “especially if he gives me his word as a knight not to leave us without our consent.”
Don Quixote, who was listening to all this, said, “I give it; — moreover one who is enchanted as I am cannot do as he likes with himself; for he who had enchanted him could prevent his moving from one place for three ages, and if he attempted to escape would bring him back flying." — And that being so, they might as well release him, particularly as it would be to the advantage of all; for, if they did not let him out, he protested he would be unable to avoid offending their nostrils unless they kept their distance.
The canon took his hand, tied together as they both were, and on his word and promise they unbound him, and rejoiced beyond measure he was to find himself out of the cage. The first thing he did was to stretch himself all over, and then he went to where Rocinante was standing and giving him a couple of slaps on the haunches said, “I still trust in God and in his blessed mother, O flower and mirror of steeds, that we shall soon see ourselves, both of us, as we wish to be, thou with thy master on thy back, and I mounted upon thee, following the calling for which God sent me into the world.” And so saying, accompanied by Sancho, he withdrew to a retired spot, from which he came back much relieved and more eager than ever to put his squire’s scheme into execution.
The canon gazed at him, wondering at the extraordinary nature of his madness, and that in all his remarks and replies he should show such excellent sense, and only lose his stirrups, as has been already said, when the subject of chivalry was broached. And so, moved by compassion, he said to him, as they all sat on the green grass awaiting the arrival of the provisions:
“Is it possible, gentle sir, that the nauseous and idle reading of books of chivalry can have had such an effect on your worship as to upset your reason so that you fancy yourself enchanted, and the like, all as far from the truth as falsehood itself is? How can there be any human understanding that can persuade itself there ever was all that infinity of Amadises in the world, or all that multitude of famous knights, all those emperors of Trebizond, all those Felixmartes of Hircania, all those palfreys, and damsels-errant, and serpents, and monsters, and giants, and marvellous adventures, and enchantments of every kind, and battles, and prodigious encounters, splendid costumes, love-sick princesses, squires made counts, droll dwarfs, love letters, billings and cooings, swashbuckler women, and, in a word, all that nonsense the books of chivalry contain? For myself, I can only say that when I read them, so long as I do not stop to think that they are all lies and frivolity, they give me a certain amount of pleasure; but when I come to consider what they are, I fling the very best of them at the wall, and would fling it into the fire if there were one at hand, as richly deserving such punishment as cheats and impostors out of the range of ordinary toleration, and as founders of new sects and modes of life, and teachers that lead the ignorant public to believe and accept as truth all the folly they contain. And such is their audacity, they even dare to unsettle the wits of gentlemen of birth and intelligence, as is shown plainly by the way they have served your worship, when they have brought you to such a pass that you have to be shut up in a cage and carried on an ox-cart as one would carry a lion or a tiger from place to place to make money by showing it. Come, Senor Don Quixote, have some compassion for yourself, return to the bosom of common sense, and make use of the liberal share of it that heaven has been pleased to bestow upon you, employing your abundant gifts of mind in some other reading that may serve to benefit your conscience and add to your honour. And if, still led away by your natural bent, you desire to read books of achievements and of chivalry, read the Book of Judges in the Holy Scriptures, for there you will find grand reality, and deeds as true as they are heroic. Lusitania had a Viriatus, Rome a Caesar, Carthage a Hannibal, Greece an Alexander, Castile a Count Fernan Gonzalez, Valencia a Cid, Andalusia a Gonzalo Fernandez, Estremadura a Diego Garcia de Paredes, Jerez a Garci Perez de Vargas, Toledo a Garcilaso, Seville a Don Manuel de Leon, to read of whose valiant deeds will entertain and instruct the loftiest minds and fill them with delight and wonder. Here, Senor Don Quixote, will be reading worthy of your sound understanding; from which you will rise learned in history, in love with virtue, strengthened in goodness, improved in manners, brave without rashness, prudent without cowardice; and all to the honour of God, your own advantage and the glory of La Mancha, whence, I am informed, your worship derives your birth.”
Don Quixote listened with the greatest attention to the canon’s words, and when he found he had finished, after regarding him for some time, he replied to him:
“It appears to me, gentle sir, that your worship’s discourse is intended to persuade me that there never were any knights-errant in the world, and that all the books of chivalry are false, lying, mischievous and useless to the State, and that I have done wrong in reading them, and worse in believing them, and still worse in imitating them, when I undertook to follow the arduous calling of knight-errantry which they set forth; for you deny that there ever were Amadises of Gaul or of Greece, or any other of the knights of whom the books are full.”
“It is all exactly as you state it,” said the canon; to which Don Quixote returned, “You also went on to say that books of this kind had done me much harm, inasmuch as they had upset my senses, and shut me up in a cage, and that it would be better for me to reform and change my studies, and read other truer books which would afford more pleasure and instruction.”
“Just so,” said the canon.
“Well then,” returned Don Quixote, “to my mind it is you who are the one that is out of his wits and enchanted, as you have ventured to utter such blasphemies against a thing so universally acknowledged and accepted as true that whoever denies it, as you do, deserves the same punishment which you say you inflict on the books that irritate you when you read them. For to try to persuade anybody that Amadis, and all the other knights-adventurers with whom the books are filled, never existed, would be like trying to persuade him that the sun does not yield light, or ice cold, or earth nourishment. What wit in the world can persuade another that the story of the Princess Floripes and Guy of Burgundy is not true, or that of Fierabras and the bridge of Mantible, which happened in the time of Charlemagne? For by all that is good it is as true as that it is daylight now; and if it be a lie, it must be a lie too that there was a Hector, or Achilles, or Trojan war, or Twelve Peers of France, or Arthur of England, who still lives changed into a raven, and is unceasingly looked for in his kingdom. One might just as well try to make out that the history of Guarino Mezquino, or of the quest of the Holy Grail, is false, or that the loves of Tristram and the Queen Yseult are apocryphal, as well as those of Guinevere and Lancelot, when there are persons who can almost remember having seen the Dame Quintanona, who was the best cupbearer in Great Britain. And so true is this, that I recollect a grandmother of mine on the father’s side, whenever she saw any dame in a venerable hood, used to say to me, ‘Grandson, that one is like Dame Quintanona,’ from which I conclude that she must have known her, or at least had managed to see some portrait of her. Then who can deny that the story of Pierres and the fair Magalona is true, when even to this day may be seen in the king’s armoury the pin with which the valiant Pierres guided the wooden horse he rode through the air, and it is a trifle bigger than the pole of a cart? And alongside of the pin is Babieca’s saddle, and at Roncesvalles there is Roland’s horn, as large as a large beam; whence we may infer that there were Twelve Peers, and a Pierres, and a Cid, and other knights like them, of the sort people commonly call adventurers. Or perhaps I shall be told, too, that there was no such knight-errant as the valiant Lusitanian Juan de Merlo, who went to Burgundy and in the city of Arras fought with the famous lord of Charny, Mosen Pierres by name, and afterwards in the city of Basle with Mosen Enrique de Remesten, coming out of both encounters covered with fame and honour; or adventures and challenges achieved and delivered, also in Burgundy, by the valiant Spaniards Pedro Barba and Gutierre Quixada (of whose family I come in the direct male line), when they vanquished the sons of the Count of San Polo. I shall be told, too, that Don Fernando de Guevara did not go in quest of adventures to Germany, where he engaged in combat with Micer George, a knight of the house of the Duke of Austria. I shall be told that the jousts of Suero de Quinones, him of the ‘Paso,’ and the emprise of Mosen Luis de Falces against the Castilian knight, Don Gonzalo de Guzman, were mere mockeries; as well as many other achievements of Christian knights of these and foreign realms, which are so authentic and true, that, I repeat, he who denies them must be totally wanting in reason and good sense.”
The canon was amazed to hear the medley of truth and fiction Don Quixote uttered, and to see how well acquainted he was with everything relating or belonging to the achievements of his knight-errantry; so he said in reply:
“I cannot deny, Senor Don Quixote, that there is some truth in what you say, especially as regards the Spanish knights-errant; and I am willing to grant too that the Twelve Peers of France existed, but I am not disposed to believe that they did all the things that the Archbishop Turpin relates of them. For the truth of the matter is they were knights chosen by the kings of France, and called ‘Peers’ because they were all equal in worth, rank and prowess (at least if they were not they ought to have been), and it was a kind of religious order like those of Santiago and Calatrava in the present day, in which it is assumed that those who take it are valiant knights of distinction and good birth; and just as we say now a Knight of St. John, or of Alcantara, they used to say then a Knight of the Twelve Peers, because twelve equals were chosen for that military order. That there was a Cid, as well as a Bernardo del Carpio, there can be no doubt; but that they did the deeds people say they did, I hold to be very doubtful. In that other matter of the pin of Count Pierres that you speak of, and say is near Babieca’s saddle in the Armoury, I confess my sin; for I am either so stupid or so short-sighted, that, though I have seen the saddle, I have never been able to see the pin, in spite of it being as big as your worship says it is.”
“For all that it is there, without any manner of doubt,” said Don Quixote; “and more by token they say it is inclosed in a sheath of cowhide to keep it from rusting.”
“All that may be,” replied the canon; “but, by the orders I have received, I do not remember seeing it. However, granting it is there, that is no reason why I am bound to believe the stories of all those Amadises and of all that multitude of knights they tell us about, nor is it reasonable that a man like your worship, so worthy, and with so many good qualities, and endowed with such a good understanding, should allow himself to be persuaded that such wild crazy things as are written in those absurd books of chivalry are really true.”
 
“对，”桑乔说，“这下才算说着了。这也就是我最想知道的事情。您说，大人，比如说有个人身体不舒服，大家常说：‘这个人怎么回事？不吃不喝不睡觉，问他什么话他也说得文不对题，像中了邪似的。’这点您不否认吧？由此可见，不吃不喝不睡觉，也不做我说的那种本能的事情，这样的人才算中了魔法。可像您这样，给喝就喝，有吃就吃，有问必答，就不算是中了魔法。”
“你说得对，桑乔，”唐吉诃德说，“不过我已经对你说过，魔法有多种，可能时过境迁，现在中了魔法的人都能像我现在这样，虽然以前中了魔法的人并不是这样。每个时期有每个时期的做法，不能一概而论。我自己清楚我已经中了魔法，这就足以让我心平气静了。如果我认为我并没有中魔法，却因为怯懦懒惰而甘愿被关在笼子里，辜负了那些正急需我帮助和保护的穷苦人，我的心情就会很沉重。”
“话虽然是这么说，”桑乔说，“为了验证一下，您最好试着从这个牢笼里出来，我也会尽全力帮助您。您出来后，再试着骑上罗西南多。看它垂头丧气那样子，大概它也中了魔。然后咱们再去试着寻险。假如不行，您还有时间回到笼子里去。我以一个忠厚侍从的名义向天发誓，万一由于您运气不佳或者由于我考虑得过于简单，事情没有成功，我一定陪您在笼子里待着。”
“我很愿意按你说的去做，桑乔兄弟。”唐吉诃德说，“你找到机会让我脱身的时候，我完全听你的。不过桑乔，到时候你就知道了，你对我的遭遇还没有弄清是怎么回事。”
游侠骑士和这位游而不侠的侍从边走边聊，来到神甫、牧师和理发师面前，他们早已下马在前面等候了。赶牛车的人把牛从轭上解下来，任它们在那个碧翠清幽的地方走动。秀色可餐对于中了魔法的唐吉诃德来说无所谓，却令包括桑乔在内的明白人流连忘返。桑乔请求神甫让他的主人出来一会儿，否则笼子就会弄脏了，这与他主人这样的身份不符。神甫表示理解，说自己非常愿意满足他的要求，可是怕他的主人一旦获得自由，就我行我素，跑得无影无踪。
“我保证他不会跑。”桑乔说。
“我也可以保证，”牧师说，“不过他得以骑士的名义保证，除非我们同意，决不离开我们。”
“我保证，”唐吉诃德说，刚才那些对话他全听到了，“特别是像我这样中了魔法的人，已经身不由己，因为如果对某人施了魔法，就可以让他几百年原地不动。即使他跑了，也可以让他从天上飞回来。”唐吉诃德说，因此完全可以把他放出来，而且这对大家都有好处，否则大家的鼻子就不会太好受了，除非他们走开。
牧师扶着唐吉诃德的一只手，当时唐吉诃德的两只手仍然被捆在一起，让他郑重发誓，然后才把他从笼子里放出来。唐吉诃德见自己已从笼子里出来，简直乐坏了。他做的第一件事就是伸了个大懒腰，接着就跑到罗西南多身边，在马屁股上拍了两下，说道：
“马匹之精华，我相信上帝和他慈祥的圣母很快就会让咱们如愿以偿，那就是你驮着你的主人，我骑在你的背上，去行使上帝派我到世上来承担的职责。”
唐吉诃德说完就同桑乔走到偏僻之处去了。回来后他感觉轻松多了，因此便更急于实施桑乔安排的计划。
牧师看着唐吉诃德，对他如此怪异感到惊奇，同他谈论什么，他的思维都显得很明智，唯独一谈到骑士道，像前几次一样，他就犯糊涂了。牧师不禁动了恻隐之心。当大家在草地上坐下，等待牧师安排的食物时，牧师对唐吉诃德说：“贵族大人，您读了那些低级无聊的骑士小说，是非不分，真假不辨，竟然相信您中了魔法以及其它诸如此类的事情。一个正常人的头脑怎么会相信世界上有那么多阿马迪斯，有不计其数的著名骑士，有特拉彼松达的皇帝，有费利克斯马尔特•德伊尔卡尼亚，有游侠少女的坐骑，有毒蛇、妖怪和巨人，有惊险奇遇和激烈的战斗，有各种各样的魔法，有华丽的服装、多情的公主、伯爵侍从、滑稽的侏儒，有缠绵的情书和话语，有烈女以及骑士小说里的各种稀奇古怪的事情？我看这些书的时候，如果不想到那全是胡编乱造，也许会有某种快感。可一想到它们竟是那类东西，就想把它们往墙上摔，如果附近或旁边有火，还要把它们扔到火里去。它们妖言惑众，不顾常情，使那些无知的百姓竟然对它们的胡言乱语信以为真，就像那些散布邪说的人一样，理应受到这种惩罚。而且，它们竟迷惑了许多精明的学者和豪门贵族，这一点从您身上就明显表现出来。这些小说导致您最终被人关进笼子，用牛车拉着，就像拉个狮子或老虎到处展览，以此赚钱。唐吉诃德大人呀，您应该为自己感到悲哀，改邪归正，利用老天赐给您的一切，利用您高度的聪明智慧，阅读其他有益于您身心的书籍，也可以提高自己的声誉。
“如果您天生喜欢读有关英雄业绩的书，您可以读《圣经》的《士师记》，那里有许多真正的勇士的伟大业绩。卢西塔尼亚有维里阿图，罗马有凯撒，迦太基有阿尼瓦尔，希腊有亚历山大，卡斯蒂利亚有费尔南•冈萨雷斯伯爵，瓦伦西亚有熙德，安达卢西亚有贡萨洛•费尔南德斯，埃斯特雷马杜拉有迭戈•加西亚•德帕雷德斯，赫雷斯有加尔西，托莱多有加尔西拉索，塞维利亚有唐曼努埃尔•德莱昂，阅读有关这些人的英雄事迹的书既可以让人得到消遣，又可以受到教育，即使很有学识的文人读起来也会饶有兴趣，叹为观止。
“这种书才是像您这样聪明的人读的，唐吉诃德大人。这种书可以让人增长历史知识，陶冶性情，学到优秀品德，改善人的举止，无所畏惧，大胆勇猛。这些可以给上帝带来荣誉，而且更重要的是，在我看来，也为您的故乡曼查赢得名声。”
唐吉诃德一直极其认真地听牧师陈述。他见牧师说完了，又看了牧师好一会儿，才说道：
“贵族大人，我觉得您这番话的目的是要让我相信世界上根本没有游侠骑士，而且所有骑士小说都是胡言乱语，对国家有害无益。我不应该读，更不应该相信它们，更糟糕的是我还模仿它们，按照它们的样子投身于游侠骑士这一极其艰苦的行业。同时您还反驳我说，无论是高卢还是希腊，从来就没有阿马迪斯，也没有骑士小说中通篇出现的其他骑士。”
“确实如此。”牧师说。
唐吉诃德说道：
“您还补充说这些骑士小说深深毒害了我，使我失去了理智，最后被关进笼子，因此我应该改弦易辙，阅读其它一些真正能够寓教于趣的书。”
“是这样。”牧师说。
“可我认为，”唐吉诃德说，“失去理智并且中了邪的正是您。您竟大放厥词，反对这项在世界上如此受欢迎、如此受重视的事物。您读骑士小说时感到气愤，认为应该对骑士小说施行惩罚。其实，正是像您这样反对这种事物的人，才应该受到您刚才说到的惩罚。您想让人们相信世界上从来没有阿马迪斯，也没有骑士小说里随处可见的其他征险骑士，就好比想让人相信太阳不发光，寒冰不冻人，大地不能养育万物一样。世界上哪位学者能够让别人相信佛罗里佩斯公主和吉•德波尔戈尼亚的事以及卡洛曼时期的菲耶拉布拉斯和曼蒂布莱大桥的事呢？而这是千真万确的，无可置疑。如果说这是谎言，就好比说世界上没有赫克托耳，没有阿基琉斯，没有特洛伊战争，没有法国十二廷臣，没有英格兰的亚瑟王一样，而亚瑟王现在已经变成了一只乌鸦，他的王国正翘首企盼着他的归来。还有人竟敢说瓜里诺•梅斯基诺和寻找圣杯①的事是编造的，说特里斯坦和艾斯厄王后的爱情，以及希夫内拉和兰萨罗特的爱情是杜撰的。现在还有人记得曾经见过女仆金塔尼奥纳，她是英国最高级的斟酒女。这里绝无虚假。我记得我祖母见到某个女仆戴着大头巾时总对我说：‘孩子，那个女仆就特别像金塔尼奥纳。’由此我可以认定祖母大概认识她，至少曾见过她的画像。谁能说皮埃尔斯和美丽的马加洛纳的事不是真的呢？皇家兵器博物馆里至今还陈列着勇敢的皮埃尔斯在空中调转他骑的那匹木马时使用的销钉，那个销钉的个儿比车辕还大点儿呢。销钉的旁边就是巴比加的鞍子。罗尔丹的号角足有房梁那么大，现在就陈列在龙塞斯瓦列斯。由此可见，十二廷臣确实存在，皮埃尔斯存在，熙德和其他此类的骑士也存在，他们都曾四处征险。勇敢的卢西塔尼亚游侠骑士胡安•德梅尔洛曾见到过波尔戈尼亚，并且在拉斯城同查尔尼大名鼎鼎的皮埃尔斯穆绅②交锋，后来又在巴西莱亚城同恩里克•德雷梅斯坦穆绅作战，结果两次他都获胜了，从此闻名遐迩。如果不是确有其事，人们就会告诉我，这些全是假的。西班牙的勇士佩德罗•巴尔瓦和古铁雷•基哈达，说起来我还是基哈达家族的直系后裔呢，他们也是在波尔戈尼亚征险挑战，战胜了圣波洛伯爵的后代们。
①圣杯是神话和骑士小说中耶稣最后一次晚餐时用的杯子。
②穆绅是古时西班牙的阿拉贡地区对二等贵族的称号，后来在某些地区改作尊称。
“还有人否认费尔南多•德格瓦拉曾到德国征险，并且同奥地利公爵家族的骑士豪尔赫先生搏斗，说苏埃罗在帕索的枪术对练比赛是胡闹，否认路易斯•德法尔塞斯穆绅同西班牙骑士唐贡萨洛•德古斯曼的比赛，以及西班牙和其他王国的骑士那些不可置疑的丰功伟绩。我再重复一遍，否认这些是毫无道理的。”
牧师对唐吉诃德如此混淆是非，以及他对所有与游侠骑士有关的事情了如指掌而深感惊讶。他说道：
“唐吉诃德大人，我不能说您讲的全不是事实，特别是那些有关西班牙骑士的情况。同时我也承认法国有十二廷臣，可是我不能相信蒂尔潘大主教写的有关他们的所有东西。实际上，他们是法国国王挑选出来的骑士，具有同样的意志、素质和勇气，至少他们应该是这样的。他们就像现在的圣地亚哥或卡拉特拉瓦的宗教团，能够参加这种组织的应该是出身高贵的勇敢骑士。就好像现在说‘圣胡安的骑士’或‘阿尔坎塔拉的骑士’一样，那时候称他们为‘十二廷臣骑士’，他们是为这个军事组织选择出来的十二个成员。
“说世界上有熙德，这没什么疑问，贝纳尔多•德尔卡皮奥就更不用说了。可您说到皇家兵器博物馆里巴比加的鞍子旁边有皮埃尔斯伯爵的那个销钉，恕我孤陋寡闻，眼光不锐利，我看见过那个鞍子，却从未看见什么销钉，而且竟像您说的那么大。”
“肯定就在那儿，”唐吉诃德说，“说得再具体一点，据说是放在一个牛皮袋里，以免生锈。”
“这都有可能，”牧师说，“可我凭我的教职发誓，我不记得我曾见过它。而且就算那儿有销钉，我也不能因此就相信那么多阿马迪斯的故事，也不相信真像人们说的有那么多骑士。像您这样品德高贵、思想敏锐的人，不应该相信骑士小说中胡诌的那些荒诞不经的事情都是真的。”
Part 1 Chapter 50
“A good joke, that!” returned Don Quixote. “Books that have been printed with the king’s licence, and with the approbation of those to whom they have been submitted, and read with universal delight, and extolled by great and small, rich and poor, learned and ignorant, gentle and simple, in a word by people of every sort, of whatever rank or condition they may be — that these should be lies! And above all when they carry such an appearance of truth with them; for they tell us the father, mother, country, kindred, age, place, and the achievements, step by step, and day by day, performed by such a knight or knights! Hush, sir; utter not such blasphemy; trust me I am advising you now to act as a sensible man should; only read them, and you will see the pleasure you will derive from them. For, come, tell me, can there be anything more delightful than to see, as it were, here now displayed before us a vast lake of bubbling pitch with a host of snakes and serpents and lizards, and ferocious and terrible creatures of all sorts swimming about in it, while from the middle of the lake there comes a plaintive voice saying: ‘Knight, whosoever thou art who beholdest this dread lake, if thou wouldst win the prize that lies hidden beneath these dusky waves, prove the valour of thy stout heart and cast thyself into the midst of its dark burning waters, else thou shalt not be worthy to see the mighty wonders contained in the seven castles of the seven Fays that lie beneath this black expanse;’ and then the knight, almost ere the awful voice has ceased, without stopping to consider, without pausing to reflect upon the danger to which he is exposing himself, without even relieving himself of the weight of his massive armour, commending himself to God and to his lady, plunges into the midst of the boiling lake, and when he little looks for it, or knows what his fate is to be, he finds himself among flowery meadows, with which the Elysian fields are not to be compared.
 
The sky seems more transparent there, and the sun shines with a strange brilliancy, and a delightful grove of green leafy trees presents itself to the eyes and charms the sight with its verdure, while the ear is soothed by the sweet untutored melody of the countless birds of gay plumage that flit to and fro among the interlacing branches. Here he sees a brook whose limpid waters, like liquid crystal, ripple over fine sands and white pebbles that look like sifted gold and purest pearls. There he perceives a cunningly wrought fountain of many-coloured jasper and polished marble; here another of rustic fashion where the little mussel-shells and the spiral white and yellow mansions of the snail disposed in studious disorder, mingled with fragments of glittering crystal and mock emeralds, make up a work of varied aspect, where art, imitating nature, seems to have outdone it.
 
Suddenly there is presented to his sight a strong castle or gorgeous palace with walls of massy gold, turrets of diamond and gates of jacinth; in short, so marvellous is its structure that though the materials of which it is built are nothing less than diamonds, carbuncles, rubies, pearls, gold, and emeralds, the workmanship is still more rare. And after having seen all this, what can be more charming than to see how a bevy of damsels comes forth from the gate of the castle in gay and gorgeous attire, such that, were I to set myself now to depict it as the histories describe it to us, I should never have done; and then how she who seems to be the first among them all takes the bold knight who plunged into the boiling lake by the hand, and without addressing a word to him leads him into the rich palace or castle, and strips him as naked as when his mother bore him, and bathes him in lukewarm water, and anoints him all over with sweet-smelling unguents, and clothes him in a shirt of the softest sendal, all scented and perfumed, while another damsel comes and throws over his shoulders a mantle which is said to be worth at the very least a city, and even more? How charming it is, then, when they tell us how, after all this, they lead him to another chamber where he finds the tables set out in such style that he is filled with amazement and wonder; to see how they pour out water for his hands distilled from amber and sweet-scented flowers; how they seat him on an ivory chair; to see how the damsels wait on him all in profound silence; how they bring him such a variety of dainties so temptingly prepared that the appetite is at a loss which to select; to hear the music that resounds while he is at table, by whom or whence produced he knows not. And then when the repast is over and the tables removed, for the knight to recline in the chair, picking his teeth perhaps as usual, and a damsel, much lovelier than any of the others, to enter unexpectedly by the chamber door, and herself by his side, and begin to tell him what the castle is, and how she is held enchanted there, and other things that amaze the knight and astonish the readers who are perusing his history.
 
But I will not expatiate any further upon this, as it may be gathered from it that whatever part of whatever history of a knight-errant one reads, it will fill the reader, whoever he be, with delight and wonder; and take my advice, sir, and, as I said before, read these books and you will see how they will banish any melancholy you may feel and raise your spirits should they be depressed. For myself I can say that since I have been a knight-errant I have become valiant, polite, generous, well-bred, magnanimous, courteous, dauntless, gentle, patient, and have learned to bear hardships, imprisonments, and enchantments; and though it be such a short time since I have seen myself shut up in a cage like a madman, I hope by the might of my arm, if heaven aid me and fortune thwart me not, to see myself king of some kingdom where I may be able to show the gratitude and generosity that dwell in my heart; for by my faith, senor, the poor man is incapacitated from showing the virtue of generosity to anyone, though he may possess it in the highest degree; and gratitude that consists of disposition only is a dead thing, just as faith without works is dead. For this reason I should be glad were fortune soon to offer me some opportunity of making myself an emperor, so as to show my heart in doing good to my friends, particularly to this poor Sancho Panza, my squire, who is the best fellow in the world; and I would gladly give him a county I have promised him this ever so long, only that I am afraid he has not the capacity to govern his realm.”
Sancho partly heard these last words of his master, and said to him, “Strive hard you, Senor Don Quixote, to give me that county so often promised by you and so long looked for by me, for I promise you there will be no want of capacity in me to govern it; and even if there is, I have heard say there are men in the world who farm seigniories, paying so much a year, and they themselves taking charge of the government, while the lord, with his legs stretched out, enjoys the revenue they pay him, without troubling himself about anything else. That’s what I’ll do, and not stand haggling over trifles, but wash my hands at once of the whole business, and enjoy my rents like a duke, and let things go their own way.”
“That, brother Sancho,” said the canon, “only holds good as far as the enjoyment of the revenue goes; but the lord of the seigniory must attend to the administration of justice, and here capacity and sound judgment come in, and above all a firm determination to find out the truth; for if this be wanting in the beginning, the middle and the end will always go wrong; and God as commonly aids the honest intentions of the simple as he frustrates the evil designs of the crafty.”
“I don’t understand those philosophies,” returned Sancho Panza; “all I know is I would I had the county as soon as I shall know how to govern it; for I have as much soul as another, and as much body as anyone, and I shall be as much king of my realm as any other of his; and being so I should do as I liked, and doing as I liked I should please myself, and pleasing myself I should be content, and when one is content he has nothing more to desire, and when one has nothing more to desire there is an end of it; so let the county come, and God he with you, and let us see one another, as one blind man said to the other.”
“That is not bad philosophy thou art talking, Sancho,” said the canon; “but for all that there is a good deal to be said on this matter of counties.”
To which Don Quixote returned, “I know not what more there is to be said; I only guide myself by the example set me by the great Amadis of Gaul, when he made his squire count of the Insula Firme; and so, without any scruples of conscience, I can make a count of Sancho Panza, for he is one of the best squires that ever knight-errant had.”
The canon was astonished at the methodical nonsense (if nonsense be capable of method) that Don Quixote uttered, at the way in which he had described the adventure of the knight of the lake, at the impression that the deliberate lies of the books he read had made upon him, and lastly he marvelled at the simplicity of Sancho, who desired so eagerly to obtain the county his master had promised him.
By this time the canon’s servants, who had gone to the inn to fetch the sumpter mule, had returned, and making a carpet and the green grass of the meadow serve as a table, they seated themselves in the shade of some trees and made their repast there, that the carter might not be deprived of the advantage of the spot, as has been already said. As they were eating they suddenly heard a loud noise and the sound of a bell that seemed to come from among some brambles and thick bushes that were close by, and the same instant they observed a beautiful goat, spotted all over black, white, and brown, spring out of the thicket with a goatherd after it, calling to it and uttering the usual cries to make it stop or turn back to the fold. The fugitive goat, scared and frightened, ran towards the company as if seeking their protection and then stood still, and the goatherd coming up seized it by the horns and began to talk to it as if it were possessed of reason and understanding: “Ah wanderer, wanderer, Spotty, Spotty; how have you gone limping all this time? What wolves have frightened you, my daughter? Won’t you tell me what is the matter, my beauty? But what else can it be except that you are a she, and cannot keep quiet? A plague on your humours and the humours of those you take after! Come back, come back, my darling; and if you will not be so happy, at any rate you will be safe in the fold or with your companions; for if you who ought to keep and lead them, go wandering astray, what will become of them?”
The goatherd’s talk amused all who heard it, but especially the canon, who said to him, “As you live, brother, take it easy, and be not in such a hurry to drive this goat back to the fold; for, being a female, as you say, she will follow her natural instinct in spite of all you can do to prevent it. Take this morsel and drink a sup, and that will soothe your irritation, and in the meantime the goat will rest herself,” and so saying, he handed him the loins of a cold rabbit on a fork.
The goatherd took it with thanks, and drank and calmed himself, and then said, “I should be sorry if your worships were to take me for a simpleton for having spoken so seriously as I did to this animal; but the truth is there is a certain mystery in the words I used. I am a clown, but not so much of one but that I know how to behave to men and to beasts.”
“That I can well believe,” said the curate, “for I know already by experience that the woods breed men of learning, and shepherds’ harbour philosophers.”
“At all events, senor,” returned the goatherd, “they shelter men of experience; and that you may see the truth of this and grasp it, though I may seem to put myself forward without being asked, I will, if it will not tire you, gentlemen, and you will give me your attention for a little, tell you a true story which will confirm this gentleman’s word (and he pointed to the curate) as well as my own.”
To this Don Quixote replied, “Seeing that this affair has a certain colour of chivalry about it, I for my part, brother, will hear you most gladly, and so will all these gentlemen, from the high intelligence they possess and their love of curious novelties that interest, charm, and entertain the mind, as I feel quite sure your story will do. So begin, friend, for we are all prepared to listen.”
“I draw my stakes,” said Sancho, “and will retreat with this pasty to the brook there, where I mean to victual myself for three days; for I have heard my lord, Don Quixote, say that a knight-errant’s squire should eat until he can hold no more, whenever he has the chance, because it often happens them to get by accident into a wood so thick that they cannot find a way out of it for six days; and if the man is not well filled or his alforjas well stored, there he may stay, as very often he does, turned into a dried mummy.”
“Thou art in the right of it, Sancho,” said Don Quixote; “go where thou wilt and eat all thou canst, for I have had enough, and only want to give my mind its refreshment, as I shall by listening to this good fellow’s story.”
“It is what we shall all do,” said the canon; and then begged the goatherd to begin the promised tale.
The goatherd gave the goat which he held by the horns a couple of slaps on the back, saying, “Lie down here beside me, Spotty, for we have time enough to return to our fold.” The goat seemed to understand him, for as her master seated himself, she stretched herself quietly beside him and looked up in his face to show him she was all attention to what he was going to say, and then in these words he began his story.
 
“真新鲜！”唐吉诃德说，“这些小说是经过国王允许、有关人员批准才出版的。无论大人还是小孩，穷人还是富翁，学者还是老粗，平民还是骑士，一句话，无论什么情况的人都喜欢读，都很欣赏它们。它们的真实性显而易见，把某个或某些骑士的父母、祖籍、亲属、年龄、所在地和事迹都详详细细、逐天逐日地告诉我们，难道是胡说八道吗？
“请您住嘴，不要再亵渎神明了。您还是听从我的劝告，做得明智些，去读读这些小说吧，那么您就会发现其乐无穷。不信您听我说，假设我们面前有个沸腾的淡水湖，湖里有很多怪蛇、蜥蜴和其它许多可怕的动物穿梭游弋。这时湖中心传出一个极其凄切的声音，说道：‘你，骑士，或者不管你是什么人，你如果想得到你面前这个可怕的湖泊黑水下面的宝贝，就要拿出你的勇气，跳进这滚滚的沸水里去。你如果不跳进去，就不配看到这下面七仙女城堡的良辰美景。’骑士听完这可怕的声音，丝毫不考虑对自己会有什么危险，甚至来不及脱掉身上沉重的甲胄，只请求上帝和自己的意中人保佑自己，便纵身跳进了沸腾的湖泊。他还没明白自己究竟到了什么地方，就已经来到了一个花团锦簇的原野上。它如此美丽，连厄吕西翁①都无法与之比拟。
①厄吕西翁是希腊神话中信徒和阴魂居住的乐土。
“他觉得那里的天空格外晴朗，太阳的光芒格外明亮，眼前一片绿草如茵，树木苍郁，青翠欲滴，秀色可餐。无数只各种花色的小鸟在枝叶丛中穿梭，啼声婉啭。一条清凉的小溪流淌在细沙和白卵石上，仿佛液体水晶流淌在金粉纯珠上。那边有一座用斑纹大理石和单色大理石精雕细琢的喷泉，这边另有一座喷泉却显得纯朴自然，精细的贝壳和白色、黄色的蜗牛壳错落有致地镶嵌在上面，与斑斑点点的发光晶体和祖母绿交织在一起，形成了一幅五彩缤纷的作品，真可谓巧夺天工。
“再往前，只见一座坚实的城堡或引人注目的要塞，黄金的围墙，钻石的城堞，紫晶石的门，总之，它的建筑材料里不乏钻石、红宝石、珍珠、金子和祖母绿，令人叹为观止。此时，从城门里出来一大群少女，衣着鲜艳华丽，如果我现在按照书上记述的那样给你们讲一遍，那且讲不完呢。其中一个大概是管事的少女，拉起了那位勇敢跳进沸腾湖水的英武骑士的手，不声不响地把他带进那座辉煌的要塞或城堡，把他的衣服脱得一干二净，用温水为他洗澡，然后又往他全身涂香脂，给他穿上一件香气扑鼻的极薄的纱衣。另外又过来一位少女，在他肩上披了一条大披巾，那披巾据说价值连城，甚至还不止如此呢。后来又怎么样？少女们又把他带进一个客厅，里面已经摆上宴席，其精美程度令人叹服。你再看往他手上洒的洗手水，都是滤过的香花水。少女们又扶他坐在一个象牙椅上，而且在服侍他的过程中始终一声不响。她们又为他端来各种佳肴，全都美味可口，骑士竟不知该从何下着。他吃饭的时候还可以听到音乐声，却不知是谁在演奏，在哪里演奏。餐毕撤掉了桌子，骑士躺到椅子上，习惯地剔起牙来。忽然，另一个美人走进客厅，坐在骑士身旁，向他讲述那是一座什么样的城堡，自己又是如何被魔法弄进城堡的等等，无论是骑士还是小说的读者都会为之惊奇。
“我不想再冗述下去了。不过由此可以看出，无论什么人，无论读到游侠骑士小说的哪一部分，都会感到愉快和惊奇。请您相信我，就像我刚才说的，读读这些小说，就会知道它如何能够驱除烦恼，陶冶性情。
“就我而言，可以说我是个勇敢大胆、谦恭有礼、豪爽大方、温文尔雅、颇有教养、吃苦耐劳、忍受魔法的游侠骑士。虽然我刚刚还像疯子似的被关在笼子里，我想，凭我臂膀的力量和老天保佑，我很快就会成为某个王国的国王，那时候我就可以显示出我知恩图报，胸襟宽广。大人，我相信穷人永远无法向任何人表示他的慷慨豪情，尽管他对此有强烈的愿望。只停留在愿望上的感激之心只能算是死物，就好比有信心而无行动只能算死物一样。因此我希望命运能够赐予我一个做皇帝的机会，这样就可以向我的朋友们行善，以此显示我的胸怀，特别是我这位可怜的侍从桑乔，我很早以前就曾许愿给他一个伯爵称号。我现在只担心他没有能力管理好他的封邑。”
桑乔听见了主人最后几句话，于是说道：
“您加把劲，唐吉诃德大人，赶紧把您许过愿的伯爵领地封给我吧，我早等着呢。我觉得我有能力管好它。就算是管不好，我听说有人愿承租领主的土地，每年交一定的租子，而领主们就撒手不管了，只管收租子，其他一概不管。我也这么做，什么都不操心，什么都不管，跟伯爵似的，只管收租子，其他的事随便他们怎么办。”
“可是，桑乔兄弟，”牧师说，“你可以只管收你的租子，但是政务总得有人管理呀。一个领主必须懂得治国，这也需要才智和判断力，特别是要有决断力。如果开头就出现了错误，那么中期和后期阶段也肯定会出现错误。上帝常常帮助好心的老实人，而不帮助狡猾的坏人。”
“我不懂得那些大道理，”桑乔说，“我只知道若是把伯爵的领地拿到手，我也同样能当好伯爵，管好领地。我的脑子与别人比也不差，身体还很强壮，完全可以像别人一样管理好我的领土。只要我当上领主，我就要为所欲为；为所欲为了，我就称心了；称心了，我就高兴；一个人如果高兴了，就会别无他求，也就行了，其他的都像两个瞎子说再见一样，全是胡扯。”
“你称之为大道理的那些东西并不坏，桑乔，而且关于伯爵领地的事，里面还有很多学问呢。”
唐吉诃德插嘴道：
“我不知道还有什么学问，我只知道学习高卢伟大的阿马迪斯的榜样。阿马迪斯曾把菲尔梅封给他的侍从，我也会这样。我会一百个放心地封桑乔做伯爵。桑乔是游侠骑士的最优秀的侍从中的一位。”
牧师对唐吉诃德成套的胡言乱语，对他描述骑士的湖中奇遇，对他把骑士小说上看到的那些乱七八糟的东西记得一清二楚，深感惊奇。此外，牧师没有料到桑乔竟会如此愚蠢，竟如此渴望他主人许愿给他的伯爵领地。这时，牧师那几个到客店去牵驮驴的佣人回来了，并且在绿草地上铺了块毯子摆上食物。大家在树荫下就地坐下来吃东西，因为赶牛车的人还想在这个地方喂喂他的牛呢。大家正吃着，忽听得他们身旁的草丛中传来一阵急促的跑动声和铃铛响，只见从那儿窜出一只漂亮的山羊，羊身上是黑色、白色和棕褐色的斑点。羊的身后有个羊倌在大声呼喊，用他那种惯用语叫羊站住或回到羊群里去。那只惊慌失措的小羊看到这些人仿佛看到了救星，跑到他们面前停了下来。羊倌过来，抓住了羊的两只角，仿佛它真能听懂人话似的对它说道：
“哎呀，小野羊啊小野羊，小花羊啊小花羊，你怎么到处乱跑！是狼把你吓着了吗，宝贝？你为什么不告诉我，这是怎么回事？不管怎么样，你是母羊，却总不能安分下来。你的脾气不好，还不学好样。回去吧，回去吧，朋友，至少你待在圈里或同你的伙伴们在一起，才会安全。你总是这样到处乱跑，其它羊会怎么样呢？”
大家听了羊倌这番话都觉得很有意思，特别是牧师。他对羊倌说：
“兄弟，你先静静气，先别急着把羊赶回去。就像你刚才说的，它是只母羊，母羊就该有它的天性，不管你愿意不愿意都没用。你喝点酒吃口肉，压压火，也让羊歇歇。”
牧师说着用刀尖扎着一块兔子里脊肉递给了羊倌。羊倌接过肉，道了谢，吃完又喝了口酒。平静下来之后，他说道：
“我不希望你们因为看见我如此认真地同羊说话，就把我看成傻子。我刚才那些话是话里有话的。我虽然是个粗人，可是还不至于连如何对待人和畜生都不懂。”
“这点我完全相信，”神甫说，“而且根据我的经验，大山里面有学士，牧人茅屋里出哲学家。”
“至少出吃过亏的人。”羊倌说，“我虽然是不请自来，但为了使你们相信这点，如果你们不讨厌，我希望你们花点功夫听我给你们讲一件事，你们就会知道我和这位大人，”羊倌指指神甫，“说的都是真的。”
这时唐吉诃德说：
“看来这件事还有点骑士征险的意思。所以，就我而言，兄弟，我非常愿意听。这几位大人也很愿意听那些既新鲜又开心的事，我想你讲的事情肯定就属于这类。讲吧，朋友，我们都听你讲。”
“我除外，”桑乔说，“我想拿着这些馅饼到小溪那边去吃，得吃够三天的。我听我的主人唐吉诃德大人说过，游侠骑士的侍从有吃的时候要拼命吃，否则万一走进深山老林，很可能许多天都出不来。如果不吃足了，或者备足了干粮，就会变成干尸，这是常有的事。”
“你做得对，桑乔，”唐吉诃德说，“你随便到哪儿去，能吃多少就吃多少。我已经吃饱了，现在只需要再给我的精神一些给养，所以我要听听这位好人讲的故事。”
“我们都需要这种给养。”牧师说。
牧师请羊倌开始讲。羊倌本来抓着羊角，现在却在羊背上拍了两下，对羊说道：
“在我身边趴下，小花羊，咱们先不着急回羊圈去。”
小羊似乎明白了主人的话。羊倌刚坐下，它就在羊倌身旁趴下来，脸朝向主人，似乎在认真听羊倌说话。于是，羊倌开始讲起来。
Part 1 Chapter 51
Three leagues from this valley there is a village which, though small, is one of the richest in all this neighbourhood, and in it there lived a farmer, a very worthy man, and so much respected that, although to be so is the natural consequence of being rich, he was even more respected for his virtue than for the wealth he had acquired. But what made him still more fortunate, as he said himself, was having a daughter of such exceeding beauty, rare intelligence, gracefulness, and virtue, that everyone who knew her and beheld her marvelled at the extraordinary gifts with which heaven and nature had endowed her. As a child she was beautiful, she continued to grow in beauty, and at the age of sixteen she was most lovely. The fame of her beauty began to spread abroad through all the villages around — but why do I say the villages around, merely, when it spread to distant cities, and even made its way into the halls of royalty and reached the ears of people of every class, who came from all sides to see her as if to see something rare and curious, or some wonder-working image?
Her father watched over her and she watched over herself; for there are no locks, or guards, or bolts that can protect a young girl better than her own modesty. The wealth of the father and the beauty of the daughter led many neighbours as well as strangers to seek her for a wife; but he, as one might well be who had the disposal of so rich a jewel, was perplexed and unable to make up his mind to which of her countless suitors he should entrust her. I was one among the many who felt a desire so natural, and, as her father knew who I was, and I was of the same town, of pure blood, in the bloom of life, and very rich in possessions, I had great hopes of success. There was another of the same place and qualifications who also sought her, and this made her father’s choice hang in the balance, for he felt that on either of us his daughter would be well bestowed; so to escape from this state of perplexity he resolved to refer the matter to Leandra (for that is the name of the rich damsel who has reduced me to misery), reflecting that as we were both equal it would be best to leave it to his dear daughter to choose according to her inclination — a course that is worthy of imitation by all fathers who wish to settle their children in life. I do not mean that they ought to leave them to make a choice of what is contemptible and bad, but that they should place before them what is good and then allow them to make a good choice as they please. I do not know which Leandra chose; I only know her father put us both off with the tender age of his daughter and vague words that neither bound him nor dismissed us. My rival is called Anselmo and I myself Eugenio — that you may know the names of the personages that figure in this tragedy, the end of which is still in suspense, though it is plain to see it must be disastrous.
About this time there arrived in our town one Vicente de la Roca, the son of a poor peasant of the same town, the said Vicente having returned from service as a soldier in Italy and divers other parts. A captain who chanced to pass that way with his company had carried him off from our village when he was a boy of about twelve years, and now twelve years later the young man came back in a soldier’s uniform, arrayed in a thousand colours, and all over glass trinkets and fine steel chains. To-day he would appear in one gay dress, to-morrow in another; but all flimsy and gaudy, of little substance and less worth. The peasant folk, who are naturally malicious, and when they have nothing to do can be malice itself, remarked all this, and took note of his finery and jewellery, piece by piece, and discovered that he had three suits of different colours, with garters and stockings to match; but he made so many arrangements and combinations out of them, that if they had not counted them, anyone would have sworn that he had made a display of more than ten suits of clothes and twenty plumes. Do not look upon all this that I am telling you about the clothes as uncalled for or spun out, for they have a great deal to do with the story. He used to seat himself on a bench under the great poplar in our plaza, and there he would keep us all hanging open-mouthed on the stories he told us of his exploits. There was no country on the face of the globe he had not seen, nor battle he had not been engaged in; he had killed more Moors than there are in Morocco and Tunis, and fought more single combats, according to his own account, than Garcilaso, Diego Garcia de Paredes and a thousand others he named, and out of all he had come victorious without losing a drop of blood. On the other hand he showed marks of wounds, which, though they could not be made out, he said were gunshot wounds received in divers encounters and actions. Lastly, with monstrous impudence he used to say “you” to his equals and even those who knew what he was, and declare that his arm was his father and his deeds his pedigree, and that being a soldier he was as good as the king himself. And to add to these swaggering ways he was a trifle of a musician, and played the guitar with such a flourish that some said he made it speak; nor did his accomplishments end here, for he was something of a poet too, and on every trifle that happened in the town he made a ballad a league long.
 
This soldier, then, that I have described, this Vicente de la Roca, this bravo, gallant, musician, poet, was often seen and watched by Leandra from a window of her house which looked out on the plaza. The glitter of his showy attire took her fancy, his ballads bewitched her (for he gave away twenty copies of every one he made), the tales of his exploits which he told about himself came to her ears; and in short, as the devil no doubt had arranged it, she fell in love with him before the presumption of making love to her had suggested itself to him; and as in love-affairs none are more easily brought to an issue than those which have the inclination of the lady for an ally, Leandra and Vicente came to an understanding without any difficulty; and before any of her numerous suitors had any suspicion of her design, she had already carried it into effect, having left the house of her dearly beloved father (for mother she had none), and disappeared from the village with the soldier, who came more triumphantly out of this enterprise than out of any of the large number he laid claim to. All the village and all who heard of it were amazed at the affair; I was aghast, Anselmo thunderstruck, her father full of grief, her relations indignant, the authorities all in a ferment, the officers of the Brotherhood in arms. They scoured the roads, they searched the woods and all quarters, and at the end of three days they found the flighty Leandra in a mountain cave, stript to her shift, and robbed of all the money and precious jewels she had carried away from home with her.
 
They brought her back to her unhappy father, and questioned her as to her misfortune, and she confessed without pressure that Vicente de la Roca had deceived her, and under promise of marrying her had induced her to leave her father’s house, as he meant to take her to the richest and most delightful city in the whole world, which was Naples; and that she, ill-advised and deluded, had believed him, and robbed her father, and handed over all to him the night she disappeared; and that he had carried her away to a rugged mountain and shut her up in the eave where they had found her. She said, moreover, that the soldier, without robbing her of her honour, had taken from her everything she had, and made off, leaving her in the cave, a thing that still further surprised everybody. It was not easy for us to credit the young man’s continence, but she asserted it with such earnestness that it helped to console her distressed father, who thought nothing of what had been taken since the jewel that once lost can never be recovered had been left to his daughter. The same day that Leandra made her appearance her father removed her from our sight and took her away to shut her up in a convent in a town near this, in the hope that time may wear away some of the disgrace she has incurred. Leandra’s youth furnished an excuse for her fault, at least with those to whom it was of no consequence whether she was good or bad; but those who knew her shrewdness and intelligence did not attribute her misdemeanour to ignorance but to wantonness and the natural disposition of women, which is for the most part flighty and ill-regulated.
Leandra withdrawn from sight, Anselmo’s eyes grew blind, or at any rate found nothing to look at that gave them any pleasure, and mine were in darkness without a ray of light to direct them to anything enjoyable while Leandra was away. Our melancholy grew greater, our patience grew less; we cursed the soldier’s finery and railed at the carelessness of Leandra’s father. At last Anselmo and I agreed to leave the village and come to this valley; and, he feeding a great flock of sheep of his own, and I a large herd of goats of mine, we pass our life among the trees, giving vent to our sorrows, together singing the fair Leandra’s praises, or upbraiding her, or else sighing alone, and to heaven pouring forth our complaints in solitude. Following our example, many more of Leandra’s lovers have come to these rude mountains and adopted our mode of life, and they are so numerous that one would fancy the place had been turned into the pastoral Arcadia, so full is it of shepherds and sheep-folds; nor is there a spot in it where the name of the fair Leandra is not heard. Here one curses her and calls her capricious, fickle, and immodest, there another condemns her as frail and frivolous; this pardons and absolves her, that spurns and reviles her; one extols her beauty, another assails her character, and in short all abuse her, and all adore her, and to such a pitch has this general infatuation gone that there are some who complain of her scorn without ever having exchanged a word with her, and even some that bewail and mourn the raging fever of jealousy, for which she never gave anyone cause, for, as I have already said, her misconduct was known before her passion. There is no nook among the rocks, no brookside, no shade beneath the trees that is not haunted by some shepherd telling his woes to the breezes; wherever there is an echo it repeats the name of Leandra; the mountains ring with “Leandra,” “Leandra” murmur the brooks, and Leandra keeps us all bewildered and bewitched, hoping without hope and fearing without knowing what we fear. Of all this silly set the one that shows the least and also the most sense is my rival Anselmo, for having so many other things to complain of, he only complains of separation, and to the accompaniment of a rebeck, which he plays admirably, he sings his complaints in verses that show his ingenuity. I follow another, easier, and to my mind wiser course, and that is to rail at the frivolity of women, at their inconstancy, their double dealing, their broken promises, their unkept pledges, and in short the want of reflection they show in fixing their affections and inclinations. This, sirs, was the reason of words and expressions I made use of to this goat when I came up just now; for as she is a female I have a contempt for her, though she is the best in all my fold. This is the story I promised to tell you, and if I have been tedious in telling it, I will not be slow to serve you; my hut is close by, and I have fresh milk and dainty cheese there, as well as a variety of toothsome fruit, no less pleasing to the eye than to the palate.
 
“离这个山谷不到三里地的地方有个村庄。村庄虽小，在这一带却是最富裕的。这个村里有个很受人尊敬的农夫。他虽然富裕，可人们尊敬他主要是由于他的品德，并不是因为他富裕。不过据他自己说，他最幸运的就是有个特别漂亮、极其聪明、文静而又规矩的女儿。凡是认识或见过这个女孩子的人都感叹老天让她天生这样漂亮的模样。她小时候就很漂亮，长大后简直成了美女。她长到十六岁的时候，简直是天下绝伦了。她的美貌开始名扬周围的所有村庄。岂止是四周的村庄呢，已经传到了很远的城里，甚至传进了国王的王宫以及各式各样人的耳朵里。大家都像看什么稀罕物或者新奇人物似的从四面八方跑来看她。她父亲把她看得很紧，她自己也洁身自好。女孩子如果不自重，任何铁锁或者看管都是无济于事的。
“父亲的财富和女儿的美貌打动了很多人。不论本村还是外乡的，都来向她求婚。不过就像一个拥有很多珠宝的人一样，父亲竟拿不定主意，不知在众多的求婚者里该选择谁好了。我也是这许多求婚者中的一个。大家都觉得我很有希望，因为我是本地人，她父亲认识我，而且我家世清白，风华正茂，家境富裕，智力也不差。不过，本村另一个求婚者和我条件差不多。她父亲觉得我们两个人都配得上自己的女儿，迟迟拿不定主意。于是他对莱安德拉说，那个姑娘叫莱安德拉，既然我们两个人条件相当，就由她本人来选择。这下我可麻烦了。不过，她父亲这种做法还是值得所有企图为自己子女安排婚事的父母学习的。我并不是主张允许子女们选择卑鄙的坏蛋，而是应该向子女们提出好的人选，让他们在这些好人选里进行选择。我不知道莱安德拉选择了谁，只知道她父亲借口她年龄小并用其他一些泛泛的话敷衍，既不答应也不拒绝我们。我的对手叫安塞尔莫，我叫欧亨尼奥，让你们先知道这个悲剧里的人物名字吧。事情虽然到现在还没有结局，不过可以料想到结局一定不幸。
“这时我们村子里来了个叫比森特•德拉罗沙的人，他是本地一个贫苦农夫的儿子。这个比森特当了兵，去过意大利和其它一些地方。他十二岁那年，一个上尉带着他的队伍从村里经过时，把他带走了。又过了十二年，他穿着一身花花绿绿、满是玻璃坠儿和金属细链的军服回来了。他今天穿这身衣服，明天换那套衣服，但都是又薄又花、质地一般的料子做的。农夫们本来就爱说长道短，但总得有了话柄，人们才好说长道短。那些人逐一数了他的服装和装饰品，发现他的衣服虽然颜色不同，可是连袜带和袜子一共只有三套。不过，他用这三套衣服换穿出了很多式样来。有人给他数过，说他一共换穿过十多套衣服，有二十多种羽饰。别以为我说这些衣服是无关紧要的事，正是这些衣服在很大程度上促成了这个故事。
“我们村空场上有一棵杨树，他坐在杨树下的石凳上向我们讲述他的英雄事迹，我们听得目瞪口呆。世界上没有什么地方他没去过，没有什么战斗他没参加过。他杀死的摩尔人比摩洛哥和突尼斯的摩尔人总数还要多。他曾经历过许多惊心动魄的格斗，据他说，其程度远远超过了甘特和卢纳，超过了迭戈•加西亚•德帕雷德斯和他列数的其他许多人。每次都是他取胜，而且没流过一滴血。与此同时，他又让我们看他过去受伤留下的伤疤，说是在多次交火中受的伤。其实他身上什么伤疤也没有。他还带着一种无形的傲慢跟与他同辈或认识他的人以‘你’相称。他常说他的靠山就是他父亲，他的事迹就是他的家世，他已当过兵，对国王也不欠什么了。除了傲慢之外，他还装作懂点音乐，能拨拉几下吉他，于是有人就说他是在用吉他说话。不过他的才能还不只这些，他还有作诗的天赋，每当村里发生一点芝麻大的小事，他就能编出很长很长的歌谣来。
“我描述的这位士兵，这位比森特•德拉罗沙，这位勇士、美男子、音乐家、诗人，被莱安德拉从她家一扇能够看到空场的窗户里看到了。他引人注目的服装的假相使莱安德拉产生了爱慕之情，他的歌谣迷住了莱安德拉。比森特每写一首歌谣都要抄出二十份送人。比森特自己说的那些事迹传到了莱安德拉的耳朵里，结果鬼使神差，莱安德拉竟在比森特还不敢妄自向她献殷勤时就先爱上了比森特。谈情说爱这种事要是女方主动，那就再容易不过了。这么多求婚者还没有一个人意识到莱安德拉这个心思时，莱安德拉就同比森特迅速敲定了，而且也完成了。她抛弃了她可爱的父亲，她母亲已经过世了，她同那个当兵的逃离了村庄。比森特这件事做得比他所有做过的事都成功。
“全村和所有听说这个消息的人都感到很意外。我深感震惊，安塞尔莫也目瞪口呆。她父亲伤心不已，她的亲戚们愤慨极了，司法机关积极寻找，圣友团整装待命。他们在路上设卡，在树林和各个地方搜索，过了三天，才在一个山洞里找到了任性的莱安德拉。当时她身上只剩下一件衬衣了，出来时从家里拿的钱和珍宝也所剩无几了。她被送回她那悲痛欲绝的父亲面前。大家打听她的遭遇，她坦然承认说比森特•德拉罗沙骗了她，说要娶她为妻，让她离开父亲的家，带她到世界上最富有、最奢华的城市那不勒斯去。她没有多考虑，鬼迷心窍，竟信以为真，于是偷了父亲的东西，在逃走的当天晚上就把这些东西全交给了比森特。比森特把她带到一座险峻的山上，把她关在那个山洞里。莱安德拉说那个当兵的并没有玷污她，只是拿了她所有的东西走了，把她一个人丢在那里。这又使大家感到很意外。
“实在让人难以相信那个当兵的会那么老实，可她非常肯定地坚持这一点，这倒让她本来十分伤心的父亲有所安慰，既然他的女儿保住了最宝贵的东西，而那个东西一旦丧失，就难以挽回，那么，损失些钱财也就算了。莱安德拉回来那天，她父亲就把她送到附近一个镇上的修道院，希望随着时间的推移，人们对他女儿的不好印象可以有所减轻。莱安德拉还年轻，所以情有可原，至少对莱安德拉品行无所谓的人这么想，可那些知道她机灵而又聪明的人却说，她做错了这件事并不是由于她无知，而是由于女人轻率的天性造成的，大多数女人都头脑欠缺，行为欠稳重。
“莱安德拉被送进修道院后，安塞尔莫就开始目光呆滞，至少从他的眼睛看不出有什么可以让他高兴的事了。我的目光也开始黯然，对任何值得高兴的事情都无动于衷。莱安德拉走后，我们的忧郁与日俱增，耐心逐渐丧失，诅咒那个当兵的军服鲜亮，憎恶莱安德拉的父亲对她不严加看管。最后，我和安塞尔莫商定离开村庄，来到这个山谷。他放了一大群羊，我放的羊也不少。我们在树林里过着我们的生活，或者一起唱歌，赞颂或咒骂美丽的莱安德拉，或者独自叹息，向天倾诉自己的痛苦，以此排遣自己的情感。
“很多莱安德拉的追求者也学着我们的样子，来到这险峻的山上放起羊来。来的人很多，这个地方简直成了阿卡迪亚田园①，到处都是牧人和羊圈，到处都能听到美丽的莱安德拉的名字。这个人咒骂她，说她任性易变，不老实；那个人说她太轻率；有人为她开脱，原谅她；也有人既为她辩解又咒骂她；有人称赞她的美貌；还有人斥责她的本性。总之，所有人都羞辱她，所有人又都崇拜她，简直都疯了，甚至有的人根本没同莱安德拉说过话，却说莱安德拉看不起他；也有人唉声叹气，嫉恨得像得了疯病。其实，莱安德拉不应该引起别人的嫉恨，我刚才说过，她还没有来得及表露就办了错事。岩石间，小溪旁，树荫下，处处都有牧羊人在向老天倾诉自己的厄运。在可能形成回音之处，都回响着莱安德拉的名字。山间回荡着‘莱安德拉’，小溪低吟着‘莱安德拉’，莱安德拉弄得我们这些人神魂颠倒，疯疯癫癫，本来无望，却又期望，无可恐惧，却又恐惧。我觉得在这群疯疯癫癫的人里，最明白又最不明白的就是我的对手安塞尔莫了。他本来有很多可怨莱安德拉的理由，可是他偏偏只怨莱安德拉不该离开他。他还弹三弦牧琴，弹得好极了；他吟诗，他的诗表现出他很有天赋；他歌唱，唱着自己的悲怨。我自有我的做法，我觉得这样做最合适，也就是诉说女人的轻浮多变，两面三刀，言而无信，一句话，她们不知道如何寄托自己的思想和感情。各位大人，这就是我刚才对这只小羊说那番话的缘由。虽然这只羊是那群羊里最漂亮的一只，可因为它是母羊，我却不希罕它。我要给你们讲的故事就是这些。可能我讲得长了些，不过我招待你们不会薄。我的羊栏离这儿不远，那儿有新鲜的羊奶和味道极美的奶酪，还有各种甘甜的水果，看着好看，吃起来也香。”
①指古希腊伯罗奔尼撒半岛中部地区。古代居民的牧歌式生活使它在古罗马田园诗和文艺复兴时期的文学作品中被描绘成希腊的世外桃源。
Part 1 Chapter 52
The goatherd’s tale gave great satisfaction to all the hearers, and the canon especially enjoyed it, for he had remarked with particular attention the manner in which it had been told, which was as unlike the manner of a clownish goatherd as it was like that of a polished city wit; and he observed that the curate had been quite right in saying that the woods bred men of learning. They all offered their services to Eugenio but he who showed himself most liberal in this way was Don Quixote, who said to him, “Most assuredly, brother goatherd, if I found myself in a position to attempt any adventure, I would, this very instant, set out on your behalf, and would rescue Leandra from that convent (where no doubt she is kept against her will), in spite of the abbess and all who might try to prevent me, and would place her in your hands to deal with her according to your will and pleasure, observing, however, the laws of chivalry which lay down that no violence of any kind is to be offered to any damsel. But I trust in God our Lord that the might of one malignant enchanter may not prove so great but that the power of another better disposed may prove superior to it, and then I promise you my support and assistance, as I am bound to do by my profession, which is none other than to give aid to the weak and needy.”
The goatherd eyed him, and noticing Don Quixote’s sorry appearance and looks, he was filled with wonder, and asked the barber, who was next him, “Senor, who is this man who makes such a figure and talks in such a strain?”
“Who should it be,” said the barber, “but the famous Don Quixote of La Mancha, the undoer of injustice, the righter of wrongs, the protector of damsels, the terror of giants, and the winner of battles?”
“That,” said the goatherd, “sounds like what one reads in the books of the knights-errant, who did all that you say this man does; though it is my belief that either you are joking, or else this gentleman has empty lodgings in his head.”
“You are a great scoundrel,” said Don Quixote, “and it is you who are empty and a fool. I am fuller than ever was the whoreson bitch that bore you;” and passing from words to deeds, he caught up a loaf that was near him and sent it full in the goatherd’s face, with such force that he flattened his nose; but the goatherd, who did not understand jokes, and found himself roughly handled in such good earnest, paying no respect to carpet, tablecloth, or diners, sprang upon Don Quixote, and seizing him by the throat with both hands would no doubt have throttled him, had not Sancho Panza that instant come to the rescue, and grasping him by the shoulders flung him down on the table, smashing plates, breaking glasses, and upsetting and scattering everything on it. Don Quixote, finding himself free, strove to get on top of the goatherd, who, with his face covered with blood, and soundly kicked by Sancho, was on all fours feeling about for one of the table-knives to take a bloody revenge with. The canon and the curate, however, prevented him, but the barber so contrived it that he got Don Quixote under him, and rained down upon him such a shower of fisticuffs that the poor knight’s face streamed with blood as freely as his own. The canon and the curate were bursting with laughter, the officers were capering with delight, and both the one and the other hissed them on as they do dogs that are worrying one another in a fight. Sancho alone was frantic, for he could not free himself from the grasp of one of the canon’s servants, who kept him from going to his master’s assistance.
 
At last, while they were all, with the exception of the two bruisers who were mauling each other, in high glee and enjoyment, they heard a trumpet sound a note so doleful that it made them all look in the direction whence the sound seemed to come. But the one that was most excited by hearing it was Don Quixote, who though sorely against his will he was under the goatherd, and something more than pretty well pummelled, said to him, “Brother devil (for it is impossible but that thou must be one since thou hast had might and strength enough to overcome mine), I ask thee to agree to a truce for but one hour for the solemn note of yonder trumpet that falls on our ears seems to me to summon me to some new adventure.” The goatherd, who was by this time tired of pummelling and being pummelled, released him at once, and Don Quixote rising to his feet and turning his eyes to the quarter where the sound had been heard, suddenly saw coming down the slope of a hill several men clad in white like penitents.
The fact was that the clouds had that year withheld their moisture from the earth, and in all the villages of the district they were organising processions, rogations, and penances, imploring God to open the hands of his mercy and send the rain; and to this end the people of a village that was hard by were going in procession to a holy hermitage there was on one side of that valley. Don Quixote when he saw the strange garb of the penitents, without reflecting how often he had seen it before, took it into his head that this was a case of adventure, and that it fell to him alone as a knight-errant to engage in it; and he was all the more confirmed in this notion, by the idea that an image draped in black they had with them was some illustrious lady that these villains and discourteous thieves were carrying off by force. As soon as this occurred to him he ran with all speed to Rocinante who was grazing at large, and taking the bridle and the buckler from the saddle-bow, he had him bridled in an instant, and calling to Sancho for his sword he mounted Rocinante, braced his buckler on his arm, and in a loud voice exclaimed to those who stood by, “Now, noble company, ye shall see how important it is that there should be knights in the world professing the of knight-errantry; now, I say, ye shall see, by the deliverance of that worthy lady who is borne captive there, whether knights-errant deserve to be held in estimation,” and so saying he brought his legs to bear on Rocinante — for he had no spurs — and at a full canter (for in all this veracious history we never read of Rocinante fairly galloping) set off to encounter the penitents, though the curate, the canon, and the barber ran to prevent him. But it was out of their power, nor did he even stop for the shouts of Sancho calling after him, “Where are you going, Senor Don Quixote? What devils have possessed you to set you on against our Catholic faith? Plague take me! mind, that is a procession of penitents, and the lady they are carrying on that stand there is the blessed image of the immaculate Virgin. Take care what you are doing, senor, for this time it may be safely said you don’t know what you are about.” Sancho laboured in vain, for his master was so bent on coming to quarters with these sheeted figures and releasing the lady in black that he did not hear a word; and even had he heard, he would not have turned back if the king had ordered him. He came up with the procession and reined in Rocinante, who was already anxious enough to slacken speed a little, and in a hoarse, excited voice he exclaimed, “You who hide your faces, perhaps because you are not good subjects, pay attention and listen to what I am about to say to you.” The first to halt were those who were carrying the image, and one of the four ecclesiastics who were chanting the Litany, struck by the strange figure of Don Quixote, the leanness of Rocinante, and the other ludicrous peculiarities he observed, said in reply to him, “Brother, if you have anything to say to us say it quickly, for these brethren are whipping themselves, and we cannot stop, nor is it reasonable we should stop to hear anything, unless indeed it is short enough to be said in two words.”
“I will say it in one,” replied Don Quixote, “and it is this; that at once, this very instant, ye release that fair lady whose tears and sad aspect show plainly that ye are carrying her off against her will, and that ye have committed some scandalous outrage against her; and I, who was born into the world to redress all such like wrongs, will not permit you to advance another step until you have restored to her the liberty she pines for and deserves.”
From these words all the hearers concluded that he must be a madman, and began to laugh heartily, and their laughter acted like gunpowder on Don Quixote’s fury, for drawing his sword without another word he made a rush at the stand. One of those who supported it, leaving the burden to his comrades, advanced to meet him, flourishing a forked stick that he had for propping up the stand when resting, and with this he caught a mighty cut Don Quixote made at him that severed it in two; but with the portion that remained in his hand he dealt such a thwack on the shoulder of Don Quixote’s sword arm (which the buckler could not protect against the clownish assault) that poor Don Quixote came to the ground in a sad plight.
Sancho Panza, who was coming on close behind puffing and blowing, seeing him fall, cried out to his assailant not to strike him again, for he was poor enchanted knight, who had never harmed anyone all the days of his life; but what checked the clown was, not Sancho’s shouting, but seeing that Don Quixote did not stir hand or foot; and so, fancying he had killed him, he hastily hitched up his tunic under his girdle and took to his heels across the country like a deer.
By this time all Don Quixote’s companions had come up to where he lay; but the processionists seeing them come running, and with them the officers of the Brotherhood with their crossbows, apprehended mischief, and clustering round the image, raised their hoods, and grasped their scourges, as the priests did their tapers, and awaited the attack, resolved to defend themselves and even to take the offensive against their assailants if they could. Fortune, however, arranged the matter better than they expected, for all Sancho did was to fling himself on his master’s body, raising over him the most doleful and laughable lamentation that ever was heard, for he believed he was dead. The curate was known to another curate who walked in the procession, and their recognition of one another set at rest the apprehensions of both parties; the first then told the other in two words who Don Quixote was, and he and the whole troop of penitents went to see if the poor gentleman was dead, and heard Sancho Panza saying, with tears in his eyes, “Oh flower of chivalry, that with one blow of a stick hast ended the course of thy well-spent life! Oh pride of thy race, honour and glory of all La Mancha, nay, of all the world, that for want of thee will be full of evil-doers, no longer in fear of punishment for their misdeeds! Oh thou, generous above all the Alexanders, since for only eight months of service thou hast given me the best island the sea girds or surrounds! Humble with the proud, haughty with the humble, encounterer of dangers, endurer of outrages, enamoured without reason, imitator of the good, scourge of the wicked, enemy of the mean, in short, knight-errant, which is all that can be said!”
 
At the cries and moans of Sancho, Don Quixote came to himself, and the first word he said was, “He who lives separated from you, sweetest Dulcinea, has greater miseries to endure than these. Aid me, friend Sancho, to mount the enchanted cart, for I am not in a condition to press the saddle of Rocinante, as this shoulder is all knocked to pieces.”
“That I will do with all my heart, senor,” said Sancho; “and let us return to our village with these gentlemen, who seek your good, and there we will prepare for making another sally, which may turn out more profitable and creditable to us.”
“Thou art right, Sancho,” returned Don Quixote; “It will be wise to let the malign influence of the stars which now prevails pass off.”
The canon, the curate, and the barber told him he would act very wisely in doing as he said; and so, highly amused at Sancho Panza’s simplicities, they placed Don Quixote in the cart as before. The procession once more formed itself in order and proceeded on its road; the goatherd took his leave of the party; the officers of the Brotherhood declined to go any farther, and the curate paid them what was due to them; the canon begged the curate to let him know how Don Quixote did, whether he was cured of his madness or still suffered from it, and then begged leave to continue his journey; in short, they all separated and went their ways, leaving to themselves the curate and the barber, Don Quixote, Sancho Panza, and the good Rocinante, who regarded everything with as great resignation as his master. The carter yoked his oxen and made Don Quixote comfortable on a truss of hay, and at his usual deliberate pace took the road the curate directed, and at the end of six days they reached Don Quixote’s village, and entered it about the middle of the day, which it so happened was a Sunday, and the people were all in the plaza, through which Don Quixote’s cart passed. They all flocked to see what was in the cart, and when they recognised their townsman they were filled with amazement, and a boy ran off to bring the news to his housekeeper and his niece that their master and uncle had come back all lean and yellow and stretched on a truss of hay on an ox-cart. It was piteous to hear the cries the two good ladies raised, how they beat their breasts and poured out fresh maledictions on those accursed books of chivalry; all which was renewed when they saw Don Quixote coming in at the gate.
At the news of Don Quixote’s arrival Sancho Panza’s wife came running, for she by this time knew that her husband had gone away with him as his squire, and on seeing Sancho, the first thing she asked him was if the ass was well. Sancho replied that he was, better than his master was.
“Thanks be to God,” said she, “for being so good to me; but now tell me, my friend, what have you made by your squirings? What gown have you brought me back? What shoes for your children?”
“I bring nothing of that sort, wife,” said Sancho; “though I bring other things of more consequence and value.”
“I am very glad of that,” returned his wife; “show me these things of more value and consequence, my friend; for I want to see them to cheer my heart that has been so sad and heavy all these ages that you have been away.”
“I will show them to you at home, wife,” said Sancho; “be content for the present; for if it please God that we should again go on our travels in search of adventures, you will soon see me a count, or governor of an island, and that not one of those everyday ones, but the best that is to be had.”
“Heaven grant it, husband,” said she, “for indeed we have need of it. But tell me, what’s this about islands, for I don’t understand it?”
“Honey is not for the mouth of the ass,” returned Sancho; “all in good time thou shalt see, wife — nay, thou wilt be surprised to hear thyself called ‘your ladyship’ by all thy vassals.”
“What are you talking about, Sancho, with your ladyships, islands, and vassals?” returned Teresa Panza — for so Sancho’s wife was called, though they were not relations, for in La Mancha it is customary for wives to take their husbands’ surnames.
“Don’t be in such a hurry to know all this, Teresa,” said Sancho; “it is enough that I am telling you the truth, so shut your mouth. But I may tell you this much by the way, that there is nothing in the world more delightful than to be a person of consideration, squire to a knight-errant, and a seeker of adventures. To be sure most of those one finds do not end as pleasantly as one could wish, for out of a hundred, ninety-nine will turn out cross and contrary. I know it by experience, for out of some I came blanketed, and out of others belaboured. Still, for all that, it is a fine thing to be on the look-out for what may happen, crossing mountains, searching woods, climbing rocks, visiting castles, putting up at inns, all at free quarters, and devil take the maravedi to pay.”
While this conversation passed between Sancho Panza and his wife, Don Quixote’s housekeeper and niece took him in and undressed him and laid him in his old bed. He eyed them askance, and could not make out where he was. The curate charged his niece to be very careful to make her uncle comfortable and to keep a watch over him lest he should make his escape from them again, telling her what they had been obliged to do to bring him home. On this the pair once more lifted up their voices and renewed their maledictions upon the books of chivalry, and implored heaven to plunge the authors of such lies and nonsense into the midst of the bottomless pit. They were, in short, kept in anxiety and dread lest their uncle and master should give them the slip the moment he found himself somewhat better, and as they feared so it fell out.
But the author of this history, though he has devoted research and industry to the discovery of the deeds achieved by Don Quixote in his third sally, has been unable to obtain any information respecting them, at any rate derived from authentic documents; tradition has merely preserved in the memory of La Mancha the fact that Don Quixote, the third time he sallied forth from his home, betook himself to Saragossa, where he was present at some famous jousts which came off in that city, and that he had adventures there worthy of his valour and high intelligence. Of his end and death he could learn no particulars, nor would he have ascertained it or known of it, if good fortune had not produced an old physician for him who had in his possession a leaden box, which, according to his account, had been discovered among the crumbling foundations of an ancient hermitage that was being rebuilt; in which box were found certain parchment manuscripts in Gothic character, but in Castilian verse, containing many of his achievements, and setting forth the beauty of Dulcinea, the form of Rocinante, the fidelity of Sancho Panza, and the burial of Don Quixote himself, together with sundry epitaphs and eulogies on his life and character; but all that could be read and deciphered were those which the trustworthy author of this new and unparalleled history here presents. And the said author asks of those that shall read it nothing in return for the vast toil which it has cost him in examining and searching the Manchegan archives in order to bring it to light, save that they give him the same credit that people of sense give to the books of chivalry that pervade the world and are so popular; for with this he will consider himself amply paid and fully satisfied, and will be encouraged to seek out and produce other histories, if not as truthful, at least equal in invention and not less entertaining. The first words written on the parchment found in the leaden box were these:
THE ACADEMICIANS OF
ARGAMASILLA, A VILLAGE OF
LA MANCHA,
ON THE LIFE AND DEATH
OF DON QUIXOTE OF LA MANCHA,
HOC SCRIPSERUNT
MONICONGO, ACADEMICIAN OF ARGAMASILLA,
On the Tomb of Don Quixote
EPITAPH
The scatterbrain that gave La Mancha more
Rich spoils than Jason’s ; who a point so keen
Had to his wit, and happier far had been
If his wit’s weathercock a blunter bore;
The arm renowned far as Gaeta’s shore,
Cathay, and all the lands that lie between;
The muse discreet and terrible in mien
As ever wrote on brass in days of yore;
He who surpassed the Amadises all,
And who as naught the Galaors accounted,
Supported by his love and gallantry:
Who made the Belianises sing small,
And sought renown on Rocinante mounted;
Here, underneath this cold stone, doth he lie.
PANIAGUADO,
ACADEMICIAN OF ARGAMASILLA,
IN LAUDEM DULCINEAE DEL TOBOSO
Sonnet
She, whose full features may be here descried,
High-bosomed, with a bearing of disdain,
Is Dulcinea, she for whom in vain
The great Don Quixote of La Mancha sighed.
For her, Toboso’s queen, from side to side
He traversed the grim sierra, the champaign
Of Aranjuez, and Montiel’s famous plain:
On Rocinante oft a weary ride.
Malignant planets, cruel destiny,
Pursued them both, the fair Manchegan dame,
And the unconquered star of chivalry.
Nor youth nor beauty saved her from the claim
Of death; he paid love’s bitter penalty,
And left the marble to preserve his name.
CAPRICHOSO, A MOST ACUTE ACADEMICIAN
OF ARGAMASILLA, IN PRAISE OF ROCINANTE,
STEED OF DON Quixote OF LA Mancha
Sonnet
On that proud throne of diamantine sheen,
Which the blood-reeking feet of Mars degrade,
The mad Manchegan’s banner now hath been
By him in all its bravery displayed.
There hath he hung his arms and trenchant blade
Wherewith, achieving deeds till now unseen,
He slays, lays low, cleaves, hews; but art hath made
A novel style for our new paladin.
If Amadis be the proud boast of Gaul,
If by his progeny the fame of Greece
Through all the regions of the earth be spread,
Great Quixote crowned in grim Bellona’s hall
To-day exalts La Mancha over these,
And above Greece or Gaul she holds her head.
Nor ends his glory here, for his good steed
Doth Brillador and Bayard far exceed;
As mettled steeds compared with Rocinante,
The reputation they have won is scanty.
BURLADOR, ACADEMICIAN OF ARGAMASILLA,
ON SANCHO PANZA
Sonnet
The worthy Sancho Panza here you see;
A great soul once was in that body small,
Nor was there squire upon this earthly ball
So plain and simple, or of guile so free.
Within an ace of being Count was he,
And would have been but for the spite and gall
Of this vile age, mean and illiberal,
That cannot even let a donkey be.
For mounted on an ass (excuse the word),
By Rocinante’s side this gentle squire
Was wont his wandering master to attend.
Delusive hopes that lure the common herd
With promises of ease, the heart’s desire,
In shadows, dreams, and smoke ye always end.
CACHIDIABLO,
ACADEMICIAN OF ARGAMASILLA,
On THE Tomb OF Don QUIXOTE
EPITAPH
The knight lies here below,
Ill-errant and bruised sore,
Whom Rocinante bore
In his wanderings to and fro.
By the side of the knight is laid
Stolid man Sancho too,
Than whom a squire more true
Was not in the esquire trade.
TIQUITOC,
ACADEMICIAN OF ARGAMASILLA,
ON The TOMB OF DULCINEA DEL TOBOSO
EPITAPH
Here Dulcinea lies.
Plump was she and robust:
Now she is ashes and dust:
The end of all flesh that dies.
A lady of high degree,
With the port of a lofty dame,
And the great Don Quixote’s flame,
And the pride of her village was she.
These were all the verses that could be deciphered; the rest, the writing being worm-eaten, were handed over to one of the Academicians to make out their meaning conjecturally. We have been informed that at the cost of many sleepless nights and much toil he has succeeded, and that he means to publish them in hopes of Don Quixote’s third sally.
“Forse altro cantera con miglior plectro.”
 
大家对羊倌的讲述都很感兴趣，特别是牧师，他感到惊奇。虽说羊倌穿得挺破烂，可讲起话来却像个有水平的官员。看来神甫说“山里出学士”，还是说得很对的。大家都愿意为欧亨尼奥做点什么。唐吉诃德更是一马当先，他对欧亨尼奥说：
“羊倌兄弟，如果我现在能开始一次新的征险，我肯定会立刻上路为你争取好运。不管修道院长和其他人如何阻拦，我都会把莱安德拉从修道院里救出来，因为谁也不愿意在那儿待着，然后再把她交给你，随你对她怎么样，不过你得遵守骑士规则。骑士规则规定不能对姑娘做任何她所不愿意的事情。我希望上帝别让一个恶毒魔法师的力量超过一个好心魔法师的法力。我发誓那个时候我一定会帮助你，这是我的职业要求，也就是帮助弱者和穷苦人。”
羊倌看了看唐吉诃德，见他蓬头垢面，十分不解。他于是问神甫：
“大人，这个人为什么这身打扮，又这样说话，他是谁？”
“还能是谁呢！”理发师说，“他就是曼查大名鼎鼎的唐吉诃德。他除暴安良，保护弱女，降伏巨人，而且从来都是战无不胜。”
“这倒有点像写游侠骑士小说上的那套，”羊倌说，“他们就做您说的那些事。不过我觉得，或者是您在开玩笑，或者是这位风度翩翩的人脑袋不正常。”
“你真是个大无赖，”唐吉诃德说，“你才脑袋不正常呢，我的脑袋比你那个婊子妈妈聪明得多。”
说着唐吉诃德从身边抓起一块面包，扔到羊倌的脸上。他用的劲太大了，把羊倌的鼻子都砸歪了。羊倌从来不开玩笑，见唐吉诃德竟真的动手开打，也就不顾什么地毯、台布和旁边那些正吃东西的人，向唐吉诃德扑过去，双手卡住了他的脖子。若不是桑乔这时赶来，唐吉诃德肯定被掐死。桑乔从背后抓住羊倌，把她推倒在餐布上，弄得餐布上的盘子和杯子一片狼藉。唐吉诃德脱了身，又过去骑在羊倌身上。羊倌脸上全是血，身上也被桑乔踢得很痛。他在餐布上想找把刀子报仇，可牧师和神甫制止了他。理发师乘机把羊倌从唐吉诃德身子下面拉了出来，羊倌挥拳向唐吉诃德的脸猛击，结果唐吉诃德也同羊倌一样血流满面。牧师和神甫看得笑破了肚子，几个团丁也看得兴高采烈，还在一边起哄，仿佛在看两只狗咬架。只有桑乔急得不得了，他被牧师的一个佣人抓住脱不开身，不能去帮助他的主人。
总之，打架的人打得热火朝天，看热闹的人看得心花怒放。这时传来一阵忧伤的喇叭声，大家不由得向传来喇叭声的方向转过脸去。最激动的还是唐吉诃德，但他现在正被羊倌压在身下，由不得自己，而且他身上也疼得够呛，于是对羊倌说：
“魔鬼兄弟，你能不能别这样？你的意志和力量制服我了。我请求你暂且休战一小时，那个痛苦的喇叭声似乎正呼唤我进行一次新的征险。”
羊倌也懒得再打下去了，便放开了唐吉诃德。唐吉诃德站起来，转头向传来喇叭声的方向望去，忽然看见从一个山坡上走来了很多穿白色衣服的人，看样子像是鞭打自己以赎罪的教徒。
原来那一年天上一直没下雨，于是那一带各个地方的人都结队游行，有的祈祷，有的苦行，请求上帝开恩下点儿雨。那些结队而行的人就是附近一个村庄的人，到山坡上一个圣庵去求雨的。唐吉诃德见那些人穿着稀奇古怪的笞刑衣服，竟忘了这是他司空见惯的事情，以为这是要由他这位游侠骑士来完成的征险之事。他再一想，那些人所抬的穿丧服的偶像就是被一些居心叵测的歹徒劫持的贵夫人，便更以为是这么回事了。想到此，他敏捷地冲向正在溜达着吃草的罗西南多，从鞍架上取下皮盾和马嚼子，迅速给马套上嚼子，又让桑乔把剑递给他，翻身上了罗西南多，手持皮盾，高声向所有在场的人说道：
“各位勇士们，现在你们马上就会看到世界是多么需要游侠骑士。你们一旦看到那位被囚禁的善良夫人获得了自由，就会知道游侠骑士的重要性了。”
说完唐吉诃德就催马向前，他脚上没有马刺，就用双腿夹紧马肚子，于是罗西南多以它在这个故事里从未有过的速度向前飞奔，直接冲向那些苦行赎罪的教徒。神甫、牧师和理发师想拉住唐吉诃德已经不可能了，桑乔大声喊叫更是无济于事。桑乔喊道：
“你往哪儿去呀，唐吉诃德大人？你见了什么鬼，竟反对起咱们天主教的事儿来了？真糟糕，那是结队行进的苦行教徒！他们抬的那位夫人是圣洁无比的圣母像！你看看，你在干什么呀，大人，这回你可是做了不应该做的事！”
桑乔完全是徒劳一场。唐吉诃德飞速冲向那些穿白衣服的人，要解救穿丧服的夫人，根本没听到别人说什么；即使听到了，他也不会回头，无论谁叫他，他都不会回头。他冲到队伍前，勒住了罗西南多，罗西南多也想歇歇了。唐吉诃德声音嘶哑地说道：
“你们这些人蒙着脸，想必不是好人。现在你们注意听我说。”
抬神像的几个人首先停住了。四个诵经的教士中有一个见唐吉诃德这副打扮，再看看瘦骨嶙峋的罗西南多，还有唐吉诃德的其他许多可笑之处，就说道：
“老兄啊，你如果想说什么，就赶紧说吧。你看我们这些兄弟已经皮开肉绽了，如果你不赶紧说，那么，我们既不能也没有道理在这儿听人讲什么事情的。”
“我说得非常简单，”唐吉诃德说，“那就是你们立刻把这位夫人放了。她的泪水愁容非常明确地表明，她是被你们强迫带走的，你们也一定冒犯了她。我来到这个世界上就是要铲除这种罪恶。你们如果不让她获得应有的自由，就休想向前一步。”
大家一听唐吉诃德这话就知道这人准是个疯子，不禁大笑起来。这一笑简直是给唐吉诃德火上浇油。他二话不说，举起剑向抬架冲去。一个抬架子的人放下架子，举着一个休息时用来支撑抬架的桠叉迎住了唐吉诃德。唐吉诃德一剑劈来，叉形架被劈成两半。抬架人举起手中剩下的那截，打中了唐吉诃德挥剑一侧的肩膀。唐吉诃德的皮盾抵挡不住抬架人的蛮劲，可怜的唐吉诃德被打翻落马。桑乔气喘吁吁地赶过来，见唐吉诃德已经躺倒在地，就大声地喊叫抬架人不要再打了，说他是个中了魔法的可怜骑士，从来没有伤害过任何人。抬架人倒是不打了，不过并不是由于桑乔的喊叫才住手的，而是因为他看见唐吉诃德已经手脚冰凉，以为他死了，于是把长袍往腰间一掖，逃之夭夭。
这时与唐吉诃德同行的那些人全赶来了。这些教徒见跑来这么多人，还有手持弓弩的团丁，唯恐发生什么不测，立刻围在神像周围。他们摘掉头上的尖纸帽，准备迎战。教士们也抄起了高烛台，准备自卫，如果可能的话，还可以向对方进攻。不过，事情并没有人们想象的那么糟糕。桑乔以为唐吉诃德已经死了，扑在他身上大哭起来，可别人却觉得挺好笑。
神甫同那行人中的另一位神甫是熟人，这一下双方的恐惧消除了。这位神甫向那位神甫简单介绍了唐吉诃德的情况，于是那位神甫和那些鞭笞教徒都过去察看可怜的骑士是否已经死了。只听桑乔痛哭流涕地喊道：
“哎呀，骑士的精英，你竟因为这一棍子英年早逝！你是你们家族的光荣，是整个曼查乃至整个世界的骄傲！没有了你，世上的歹徒就会肆无忌惮地到处作恶！你比所有的亚历山大还慷慨，我仅服侍你八个月，你就把海里最好的岛屿赠给了我！你谦恭对昂首，昂首对谦恭①，你迎战艰险，忍辱负重，一往情深，你仿善惩恶，扫除丑行，反正你尽了游侠骑士之所能！”
①桑乔在痛苦之中把后半句说颠倒了。
桑乔连哭带叫，把唐吉诃德终于喊醒了，他醒来以后的第一句话就是：
“最最温情的杜尔西内亚，与你分离的痛苦远远大于现在这些痛苦。桑乔朋友，帮帮忙，让我坐到那辆中了魔法的车上去。我这边的肩膀已经被打坏，不能骑罗西南多了。”
“我非常愿意，”桑乔说，“咱们现在回老家去，这几位大人也愿意与咱们相伴。回去以后，咱们再重振旗鼓，搞一次有利可图的、更能出名的出征。”
“你说得对，桑乔，”唐吉诃德说，“先等这股晦气过去再行动，才是明智之举。”
牧师、神甫和理发师对唐吉诃德说，就按照他自己说的去做，这样做很对。他们对桑乔竟如此头脑简单也感到庆幸。大家把唐吉诃德按照原来的样子放在牛车上，收拾妥当，继续赶路。羊倌同大家告别，团丁也不想再往前走，于是神甫按照约定给了他们一些钱。牧师请求神甫以后把唐吉诃德的情况告诉他，看唐吉诃德的疯病究竟是治好了还是依然如故。说完这些，牧师才吩咐他的佣人们启程。大家高高兴兴地各走各的路，只剩下神甫、理发师、唐吉诃德和桑乔，还有温顺的罗西南多，它同主人一样，一直极其耐心地看着眼前的一切。
牛车的主人套上牛，又往唐吉诃德身下加了一捆干草，然后才按照神甫的指点，慢吞吞地上了路。六天之后，他们回到了唐吉诃德的故乡。他们到达村庄时正是大白天，又赶上是星期日，人们都聚集在村里的空场上，送唐吉诃德的牛车就从空场中间通过。大家都过来看车上装的是什么东西，待他们认出车上装的竟是自己的同村老乡时，都非常惊讶。有个男孩子飞快地跑去把消息告诉了唐吉诃德的女管家和外甥女，说唐吉诃德面黄肌瘦地躺在一辆牛车的一堆干草上回来了。两个善良女人的喊声听起来真让人怜悯。她们打自己的嘴巴，又诅咒那些可恶的骑士小说，待唐吉诃德被送进家门时，她们的这些声音更加强烈了。
桑乔的妻子听到唐吉诃德回来的消息也赶来了。她已经听说桑乔给唐吉诃德做了侍从。一见到桑乔，她首先打听的就是那头驴的情况是否还好。桑乔说比自己的主人还好。
“感谢上帝，”桑乔的妻子说，“能如此照顾我。不过，你现在告诉我，朋友，你当侍从得到什么好处了？给我带前开口的女裙①了吗？给孩子们带鞋了吗？”
①16世纪时的一种贵重的裙子。
“这些都没有，”桑乔说，“我的老伴儿，不过我带回了更有用、更贵重的东西。”
“那我当然高兴，”妻子说，“让我看看那些更贵重、更有用的东西是什么，朋友。我想看看，也让我的心高兴高兴。你不在家这段时间里，我的心一直很难过。”
“等到家我再给你看，老伴儿，”桑乔说，“现在你就放心吧。若是上帝保佑，我们能再次出去征险，我很快就会成为伯爵或某个岛屿的总督，而且不是一般的岛屿，是世界上最好的岛屿。”
“但愿老天能够保佑我们，我的丈夫，咱们正需要这个呢。
不过你告诉我，什么叫岛屿？我不明白。”
“真是驴嘴不知蜜甜，”桑乔说，“到时候你就知道了，娘子，待你听到你的臣民称呼你为女领主时，你就更感到新鲜了。”
“你说的女领主、岛屿和臣民到底是什么东西，桑乔？”胡安娜•潘萨问。人们都叫她胡安娜•潘萨。虽然他们并不是一个家族的，但是在曼查，女人们都习惯使用丈夫的姓。
“你别急着一下子什么都知道，胡安娜。我告诉你实情，你闭着嘴听就行了。我只想告诉你，世界上再没有比为四处征险的游侠骑士当光荣的侍从更美的事情了。不过人不能处处遂愿，这也是事实，一百次征险里，往往有九十九次不能成功。我对此深有体会。我曾被人用被单扔过，被人打过。尽管如此，能够翻越高山，搜索树林，攀登岩石，访问城堡，随意留宿客店，分文都不用付，的确也是件很美的事情。”
桑乔和胡安娜说话的时候，唐吉诃德的女管家和外甥女把唐吉诃德迎进屋里，给他脱掉了衣服，让他在他原来那张旧床上躺下。唐吉诃德斜眼看着他们，到底还是没明白自己到了什么地方。神甫嘱咐唐吉诃德的外甥女好好照顾她的舅舅，让她们注意可别让唐吉诃德再跑了，又讲了这回费了多少事才把唐吉诃德弄回来。两个女人听了又喊声震天，诅咒骑士小说。她们还请求老天把那些胡编乱造的作者们都扔到深渊的最深处去。最后，她们又担心她们的主人和舅舅待身体稍微有所恢复就又会跑掉。不幸，她们言中了。
尽管这个故事的作者千方百计搜寻有关唐吉诃德第三次出征的材料，却一无所获，至少没有找到真正的文字材料。不过，据曼查的人们记忆，唐吉诃德第三次出征到的是萨拉戈萨，参加了当地几场很有影响的比武，充分显示了他的勇气和智慧。至于他最后的结局，幸亏有一位老医生的铅盒子，否则人们就无从了解了。据那位老医生说，那个铅盒子是他在一个被翻修的寺院墙基下发现的。铅盒里有一些用哥特体的字写的手稿，不过诗文都是用西班牙文写的，里面介绍了唐吉诃德的许多事迹，描绘了杜尔西内亚的美貌、罗西南多的形象、桑乔的忠诚和唐吉诃德本人的坟墓，还记载了一些墓志铭和歌颂唐吉诃德生活习惯的文字。这个新奇故事的作者已经将其中能够看得清的记录于此。作者并没有要求读者称赞他不辞辛苦，查找了曼查的所有档案，然后把这个故事公诸于众，只是希望读者能够像相信那些风靡于世的骑士小说一样相信他。如果能够这样，他就满足了，而且还会去寻找新的故事，即使不像这个故事一样真实，也会像这个故事一样使人开心消遣。
铅盒里的羊皮纸上记载的首先是下面这些内容：
曼查的阿加马西利亚城诸院士
在此撰文感怀唐吉诃德生平
阿加马西利亚城的狂人院士
为唐吉诃德题墓志铭
这位疯癫之人为曼查带来了
比克里特的伊阿宋①还要多的功利。
他的神志变化无常，
似风标望之莫及。
他的臂膀力及八方
从卡塔依到盖亚②之地。
可怕而又新颖的灵感
将他的诗刻到了青铜板上。
他沉湎于他的爱情和怪诞，
阿马迪斯为之逊色，
加劳尔无法与之比拟。
他曾骑着罗西南多游四方，
贝利亚尼斯为之哑然，
如今，他却在这冰冷的石碑下安息。
阿加马西利亚城的受宠院士
赞颂托博索的杜尔西内亚
十四行诗
①克里特是地中海中的一个岛屿，属于希腊。希腊神话中的伊阿宋曾率领阿尔戈英雄去那里觅取金羊毛。
②盖亚是希腊神话中的地神，大地的化身。
浓眉硕眼，脸庞宽大
隆起的胸脯，举止潇洒，
这就是唐吉诃德一往情深的
托博索王后杜尔西内亚。
翻越内格罗山，
跋涉著名的蒙铁尔原野，
以及阿兰胡埃斯的沃草平原，
步履维艰皆为她。
责任在罗西南多，命运不济，
曼查的姑娘，无往不胜的
游侠骑士啊，已痛失年华。
她已玉殒香消，
他的名字虽刻在大理石上，
却未能摆脱爱情、愤怒和欺诈。
阿加马西利亚城才气极佳的古怪院士
赞颂唐吉诃德的坐骑罗西南多
十七行诗
乘坐威武坚实的宝座，
铁蹄带着腥风血雨。
曼查狂人挥舞着他的旗帜，
征险何奇特！
披挂着甲胄和利剑，
挥砍刺杀，荡涤污浊。
业绩辉煌，一代新风，
勇士战功真显赫。
高卢为阿马迪斯自豪，
希腊勇敢的子孙
已超过千倍，名传山河。
柏洛娜①在王宫为唐吉诃德加冕，
曼查为之骄傲，
胜过希腊和高卢。
他的功名不可湮没，
他英俊的罗西南多
亦胜过布里亚多罗和巴亚尔多②。
阿加马西利亚城的嘲弄院士
吊桑乔•潘萨
十四行诗
五短身材，桑乔•潘萨，
勇气过人，众人惊讶。
我发誓担保，世界上
最纯朴诚实的侍从就是他。
他几乎得到伯爵位，
可惜时代太褊狭，
连一头驴都不放过，
恶毒攻击加咒骂。
顺从的侍从骑着驴（恕我用词不雅），
追随顺从的罗西南多，
追随骑士游侠。
人世的愿望皆落空，
许诺的是安逸，
得到的却是阴影、尘烟和梦花！
阿加马西利亚城的见鬼院士
为唐吉诃德题墓志铭
这里长眠的骑士
曾倍受痛楚，命运不佳。
他的罗西南多
驮着他浪迹天涯。
愚蠢的桑乔•潘萨
与他同眠于此，
侍从比比皆是，
唯他忠诚无华。
阿加马西利亚城的丧钟院士
为杜尔西内亚题墓志铭
这里安息着杜尔西内亚，
尽管她体态丰盈，
狰狞可怕的死亡
已使她肉销骨枯埋地下。
她血统纯正，
气度风雅
她燃烧着唐吉诃德的心，
使家乡誉满天下。
①柏洛娜是罗马战神马尔斯之妻。
②布里亚多罗和巴亚尔多是传说中出名的战马。
这些就是能够看得清的几首，其它的已经被虫蛀得模糊不清，全都委托给一位院士去猜测辨认了。据说他挑灯夜战，已经大功告成，准备连同唐吉诃德的第三次出征记一起出版。
也许别人会唱得更好，
《唐吉诃德》上卷至此结束。
Part 2 The Author’s Preface
God bless me, gentle (or it may be plebeian) reader, how eagerly must thou be looking forward to this preface, expecting to find there retaliation, scolding, and abuse against the author of the second Don Quixote — I mean him who was, they say, begotten at Tordesillas and born at Tarragona! Well then, the truth is, I am not going to give thee that satisfaction; for, though injuries stir up anger in humbler breasts, in mine the rule must admit of an exception. Thou wouldst have me call him ass, fool, and malapert, but I have no such intention; let his offence be his punishment, with his bread let him eat it, and there’s an end of it. What I cannot help taking amiss is that he charges me with being old and one-handed, as if it had been in my power to keep time from passing over me, or as if the loss of my hand had been brought about in some tavern, and not on the grandest occasion the past or present has seen, or the future can hope to see. If my wounds have no beauty to the beholder’s eye, they are, at least, honourable in the estimation of those who know where they were received; for the soldier shows to greater advantage dead in battle than alive in flight; and so strongly is this my feeling, that if now it were proposed to perform an impossibility for me, I would rather have had my share in that mighty action, than be free from my wounds this minute without having been present at it. Those the soldier shows on his face and breast are stars that direct others to the heaven of honour and ambition of merited praise; and moreover it is to be observed that it is not with grey hairs that one writes, but with the understanding, and that commonly improves with years. I take it amiss, too, that he calls me envious, and explains to me, as if I were ignorant, what envy is; for really and truly, of the two kinds there are, I only know that which is holy, noble, and high-minded; and if that be so, as it is, I am not likely to attack a priest, above all if, in addition, he holds the rank of familiar of the Holy Office. And if he said what he did on account of him on whose behalf it seems he spoke, he is entirely mistaken; for I worship the genius of that person, and admire his works and his unceasing and strenuous industry. After all, I am grateful to this gentleman, the author, for saying that my novels are more satirical than exemplary, but that they are good; for they could not be that unless there was a little of everything in them.
I suspect thou wilt say that I am taking a very humble line, and keeping myself too much within the bounds of my moderation, from a feeling that additional suffering should not be inflicted upon a sufferer, and that what this gentleman has to endure must doubtless be very great, as he does not dare to come out into the open field and broad daylight, but hides his name and disguises his country as if he had been guilty of some lese majesty. If perchance thou shouldst come to know him, tell him from me that I do not hold myself aggrieved; for I know well what the temptations of the devil are, and that one of the greatest is putting it into a man’s head that he can write and print a book by which he will get as much fame as money, and as much money as fame; and to prove it I will beg of you, in your own sprightly, pleasant way, to tell him this story.
There was a madman in Seville who took to one of the drollest absurdities and vagaries that ever madman in the world gave way to. It was this: he made a tube of reed sharp at one end, and catching a dog in the street, or wherever it might be, he with his foot held one of its legs fast, and with his hand lifted up the other, and as best he could fixed the tube where, by blowing, he made the dog as round as a ball; then holding it in this position, he gave it a couple of slaps on the belly, and let it go, saying to the bystanders (and there were always plenty of them): “Do your worships think, now, that it is an easy thing to blow up a dog?" — Does your worship think now, that it is an easy thing to write a book?
And if this story does not suit him, you may, dear reader, tell him this one, which is likewise of a madman and a dog.
In Cordova there was another madman, whose way it was to carry a piece of marble slab or a stone, not of the lightest, on his head, and when he came upon any unwary dog he used to draw close to him and let the weight fall right on top of him; on which the dog in a rage, barking and howling, would run three streets without stopping. It so happened, however, that one of the dogs he discharged his load upon was a cap-maker’s dog, of which his master was very fond. The stone came down hitting it on the head, the dog raised a yell at the blow, the master saw the affair and was wroth, and snatching up a measuring-yard rushed out at the madman and did not leave a sound bone in his body, and at every stroke he gave him he said, “You dog, you thief! my lurcher! Don’t you see, you brute, that my dog is a lurcher?” and so, repeating the word “lurcher” again and again, he sent the madman away beaten to a jelly. The madman took the lesson to heart, and vanished, and for more than a month never once showed himself in public; but after that he came out again with his old trick and a heavier load than ever. He came up to where there was a dog, and examining it very carefully without venturing to let the stone fall, he said: “This is a lurcher; ware!” In short, all the dogs he came across, be they mastiffs or terriers, he said were lurchers; and he discharged no more stones. Maybe it will be the same with this historian; that he will not venture another time to discharge the weight of his wit in books, which, being bad, are harder than stones. Tell him, too, that I do not care a farthing for the threat he holds out to me of depriving me of my profit by means of his book; for, to borrow from the famous interlude of “The Perendenga,” I say in answer to him, “Long life to my lord the Veintiquatro, and Christ be with us all.” Long life to the great Conde de Lemos, whose Christian charity and well-known generosity support me against all the strokes of my curst fortune; and long life to the supreme benevolence of His Eminence of Toledo, Don Bernardo de Sandoval y Rojas; and what matter if there be no printing-presses in the world, or if they print more books against me than there are letters in the verses of Mingo Revulgo! These two princes, unsought by any adulation or flattery of mine, of their own goodness alone, have taken it upon them to show me kindness and protect me, and in this I consider myself happier and richer than if Fortune had raised me to her greatest height in the ordinary way. The poor man may retain honour, but not the vicious; poverty may cast a cloud over nobility, but cannot hide it altogether; and as virtue of itself sheds a certain light, even though it be through the straits and chinks of penury, it wins the esteem of lofty and noble spirits, and in consequence their protection. Thou needst say no more to him, nor will I say anything more to thee, save to tell thee to bear in mind that this Second Part of “Don Quixote” which I offer thee is cut by the same craftsman and from the same cloth as the First, and that in it I present thee Don Quixote continued, and at length dead and buried, so that no one may dare to bring forward any further evidence against him, for that already produced is sufficient; and suffice it, too, that some reputable person should have given an account of all these shrewd lunacies of his without going into the matter again; for abundance, even of good things, prevents them from being valued; and scarcity, even in the case of what is bad, confers a certain value. I was forgetting to tell thee that thou mayest expect the “Persiles,” which I am now finishing, and also the Second Part of “Galatea.”
 
上帝保佑，尊贵或普通的读者，您现在大概正渴望看到这篇序言，以为可以从中看到对《唐吉诃德》另一部下卷的作者极尽诅咒辱骂之能事，回敬那本据说怀胎于托德西利亚，落生于塔拉戈纳的书吧。可是，我不能给您以这种快乐。虽然再谦恭的人受到污辱时也会勃然大怒，但我是个例外。您大概想让我骂他是驴，愚蠢妄为吧，而我却从未想过这么做。罪有应得，自食其果，由他自便吧。最令我痛心的就是他说我风烛残年，缺胳膊短臂，好像我有了胳膊就可以青春常驻，不失年华，好像我的胳膊是在酒馆里，而不是在那次过去、现在乃至将来都可以称得上最神圣的战斗中失掉的①。如果某些人对我的伤不以为然，那么，至少了解实情的人很看重它。作为战士，战死比逃生光荣。假如现在让我重新选择，我仍然会选择那场惊心动魄的战役，而不会选择逃避战斗以求得安然无恙。战士脸上和胸膛上的伤痕是引导人们追求至高荣誉和正义赞扬的明星。应该指出的是，写作不是靠年迈，而是靠人的思维完成的，而人的思维却可以随着年龄的增长而不断完善。还有，令我遗憾的是，他竟说我羡妒别人。恕我孤陋寡闻，请他告诉我羡妒究竟是什么意思。这个词包括了两种涵义，我只知道那种神圣、高尚和善意的意思，所以我决不会去诋毁任何一位教士，更何况他是宗教裁判所的使节呢。如果这位作者是要替某人②说话，那么他就大错特错了。那位天才才华横溢，我推崇他的著作和他那道德卫士的职务。尽管如此，我还是感谢这位作者说我的小说里更多的是讽世而不是示范，这还算不错。如果不是讽世与示范相结合，那就称不上好了。
①此处指莱潘托战役。塞万提斯在那场战役中胸部中了三弹，失掉了左手。
②此处指洛贝•德•维加。维加曾任宗教裁判所使节。
也许你会说我这个人对自己太约束，认为不该穷追猛打，对人太客气了。这位大人大概已经很不好受了，因为他竟不敢光明正大地站出来，而只能隐姓埋名，虚报祖籍，好像犯了什么欺君之罪。如果您有机会见到他，就请代我告诉他，我并没有感到自己受了伤害，我知道完全是魔鬼的意图在作祟，而其中——最大的意图就是想让某个人绞尽脑汁，靠编印一本书获得名和利，获得利和名。为了证明这点，我希望以开玩笑的口吻给他讲讲这个故事：
从前在塞维利亚有个疯子，可以说是疯得滑天下之大稽。他把一节竹管的一头削尖，然后只要在街上或什么地方碰到狗，就一只脚踩住狗的后爪，一只手抬起狗的前爪，把竹管插到狗身上拼命吹气，一直到把狗吹得像个圆球似的，才在狗肚子上拍两下，把狗放开。周围有很多人看。他就对围观的人说：
“你们以为吹狗是件容易事吗？”
您现在还以为写一部书是件容易事吗？
如果这个故事还不够，读者朋友，你可以再给他讲一个故事，也是疯子和狗的事情。
在科尔多瓦也有个疯子，他有个习惯，就是在脑袋上顶一片大理石或一块重量不轻的石头。哪条狗若是不小心碰到他，他就会过去把石头砸在狗身上。狗被砸得晕头转向，连跑过好几条街还狂吠不止。结果有一次他砸了一个制帽匠人的小狗。那个工匠特别喜欢他的小狗。石头砸到小狗的头上，小狗疼得狂吠起来。工匠看见了，非常心疼，抓起一把尺子，追上疯子，把疯子打得浑身青一块紫一块的。工匠边打边说：
“你这个狗贼，竟敢打我的小猎兔犬！你没看见我的狗是小猎兔犬吗？”
工匠一边重复着“小猎兔犬”，一边狠狠抽打疯子。这回疯子可长了记性，此后一个多月，他一直藏在家里没露面。可是，后来他又故伎重演，但现在总是站在狗身边，仔仔细细地看，不敢再贸然砸石头了，嘴里还说着：
“这是小猎兔犬，小心点。”
结果他只要碰到狗，不论是猛犬还是小狗，都说是小猎兔犬，不再用石头砸了。大概这位故事作者将来也会遇到这种情况，弄不好，可能比这还厉害呢，这样他就不会把他的才能用于编书了。
你还可以告诉他，至于他出这本书对我造成的经济损失，我一点儿也不在乎。我引用著名的幕间喜剧《拉佩伦登加》里的话，那就是我的市议员大人和所有人都万岁！伟大的莱穆斯伯爵大人万岁，他的仁慈与慷慨为人所共知，是他在我坎坷的命运中阻止了各种打击，扶植了我。大慈大悲的托莱多主教大人唐贝尔纳多•德桑多瓦尔及罗哈斯万岁，即使世界上没有印刷术，即使攻击我的书比《明戈•雷布尔戈诗集》①的字数还要多！这两位主教并未要求我对他们进行奉承或某种形式的恭维。他们仅仅是出于仁慈之心，给予我很多关照。假如命运能正常地把我推向幸运的顶峰，我会引以为幸福和光荣。穷人可以得到荣誉，而坏人却不能。贫穷可能会玷污人的高贵品质，但并不能完全埋没它。美德有时也会像透过一丝缝隙那样发出自己的光亮，并且因此受到贵人的器重和照顾。
①这是讽刺恩里克四世王朝的诗集。
无须赘言，我只需告诉你们，我献给你们的《唐吉诃德》下卷取材于同一个人的同一素材，我把唐吉诃德的事情扩展开来，直到他最后去世，这样就不会再有人编造出新的版本了，已有的版本已经足矣。
某位体面的人物将这些疯癫之举公之于众后，就希望别人别再搅进去了。好东西多了并不会显示其贵重性，东西少了反倒值点钱。我还应该告诉你们，《佩西莱斯》我就要写完了，你们就等着看吧。此外，还有《加拉特亚》的第二部。
Part 2 Chapter 1
Cide Hamete Benengeli, in the Second Part of this history, and third sally of Don Quixote, says that the curate and the barber remained nearly a month without seeing him, lest they should recall or bring back to his recollection what had taken place. They did not, however, omit to visit his niece and housekeeper, and charge them to be careful to treat him with attention, and give him comforting things to eat, and such as were good for the heart and the brain, whence, it was plain to see, all his misfortune proceeded. The niece and housekeeper replied that they did so, and meant to do so with all possible care and assiduity, for they could perceive that their master was now and then beginning to show signs of being in his right mind. This gave great satisfaction to the curate and the barber, for they concluded they had taken the right course in carrying him off enchanted on the ox-cart, as has been described in the First Part of this great as well as accurate history, in the last chapter thereof. So they resolved to pay him a visit and test the improvement in his condition, although they thought it almost impossible that there could be any; and they agreed not to touch upon any point connected with knight-errantry so as not to run the risk of reopening wounds which were still so tender.
They came to see him consequently, and found him sitting up in bed in a green baize waistcoat and a red Toledo cap, and so withered and dried up that he looked as if he had been turned into a mummy. They were very cordially received by him; they asked him after his health, and he talked to them about himself very naturally and in very well-chosen language. In the course of their conversation they fell to discussing what they call State-craft and systems of government, correcting this abuse and condemning that, reforming one practice and abolishing another, each of the three setting up for a new legislator, a modern Lycurgus, or a brand-new Solon; and so completely did they remodel the State, that they seemed to have thrust it into a furnace and taken out something quite different from what they had put in; and on all the subjects they dealt with, Don Quixote spoke with such good sense that the pair of examiners were fully convinced that he was quite recovered and in his full senses.
The niece and housekeeper were present at the conversation and could not find words enough to express their thanks to God at seeing their master so clear in his mind; the curate, however, changing his original plan, which was to avoid touching upon matters of chivalry, resolved to test Don Quixote’s recovery thoroughly, and see whether it were genuine or not; and so, from one subject to another, he came at last to talk of the news that had come from the capital, and, among other things, he said it was considered certain that the Turk was coming down with a powerful fleet, and that no one knew what his purpose was, or when the great storm would burst; and that all Christendom was in apprehension of this, which almost every year calls us to arms, and that his Majesty had made provision for the security of the coasts of Naples and Sicily and the island of Malta.
To this Don Quixote replied, “His Majesty has acted like a prudent warrior in providing for the safety of his realms in time, so that the enemy may not find him unprepared; but if my advice were taken I would recommend him to adopt a measure which at present, no doubt, his Majesty is very far from thinking of.”
The moment the curate heard this he said to himself, “God keep thee in his hand, poor Don Quixote, for it seems to me thou art precipitating thyself from the height of thy madness into the profound abyss of thy simplicity.”
But the barber, who had the same suspicion as the curate, asked Don Quixote what would be his advice as to the measures that he said ought to be adopted; for perhaps it might prove to be one that would have to be added to the list of the many impertinent suggestions that people were in the habit of offering to princes.
“Mine, master shaver,” said Don Quixote, “will not be impertinent, but, on the contrary, pertinent.”
“I don’t mean that,” said the barber, “but that experience has shown that all or most of the expedients which are proposed to his Majesty are either impossible, or absurd, or injurious to the King and to the kingdom.”
“Mine, however,” replied Don Quixote, “is neither impossible nor absurd, but the easiest, the most reasonable, the readiest and most expeditious that could suggest itself to any projector’s mind.”
“You take a long time to tell it, Senor Don Quixote,” said the curate.
“I don’t choose to tell it here, now,” said Don Quixote, “and have it reach the ears of the lords of the council to-morrow morning, and some other carry off the thanks and rewards of my trouble.”
“For my part,” said the barber, “I give my word here and before God that I will not repeat what your worship says, to King, Rook or earthly man — an oath I learned from the ballad of the curate, who, in the prelude, told the king of the thief who had robbed him of the hundred gold crowns and his pacing mule.”
“I am not versed in stories,” said Don Quixote; “but I know the oath is a good one, because I know the barber to be an honest fellow.”
“Even if he were not,” said the curate, “I will go bail and answer for him that in this matter he will be as silent as a dummy, under pain of paying any penalty that may be pronounced.”
“And who will be security for you, senor curate?” said Don Quixote.
“My profession,” replied the curate, “which is to keep secrets.”
“Ods body!” said Don Quixote at this, “what more has his Majesty to do but to command, by public proclamation, all the knights-errant that are scattered over Spain to assemble on a fixed day in the capital, for even if no more than half a dozen come, there may be one among them who alone will suffice to destroy the entire might of the Turk. Give me your attention and follow me. Is it, pray, any new thing for a single knight-errant to demolish an army of two hundred thousand men, as if they all had but one throat or were made of sugar paste? Nay, tell me, how many histories are there filled with these marvels? If only (in an evil hour for me: I don’t speak for anyone else) the famous Don Belianis were alive now, or any one of the innumerable progeny of Amadis of Gaul! If any these were alive today, and were to come face to face with the Turk, by my faith, I would not give much for the Turk’s chance. But God will have regard for his people, and will provide some one, who, if not so valiant as the knights-errant of yore, at least will not be inferior to them in spirit; but God knows what I mean, and I say no more.”
“Alas!” exclaimed the niece at this, “may I die if my master does not want to turn knight-errant again;” to which Don Quixote replied, “A knight-errant I shall die, and let the Turk come down or go up when he likes, and in as strong force as he can, once more I say, God knows what I mean.” But here the barber said, “I ask your worships to give me leave to tell a short story of something that happened in Seville, which comes so pat to the purpose just now that I should like greatly to tell it.” Don Quixote gave him leave, and the rest prepared to listen, and he began thus:
“In the madhouse at Seville there was a man whom his relations had placed there as being out of his mind. He was a graduate of Osuna in canon law; but even if he had been of Salamanca, it was the opinion of most people that he would have been mad all the same. This graduate, after some years of confinement, took it into his head that he was sane and in his full senses, and under this impression wrote to the Archbishop, entreating him earnestly, and in very correct language, to have him released from the misery in which he was living; for by God’s mercy he had now recovered his lost reason, though his relations, in order to enjoy his property, kept him there, and, in spite of the truth, would make him out to be mad until his dying day. The Archbishop, moved by repeated sensible, well-written letters, directed one of his chaplains to make inquiry of the madhouse as to the truth of the licentiate’s statements, and to have an interview with the madman himself, and, if it should appear that he was in his senses, to take him out and restore him to liberty. The chaplain did so, and the governor assured him that the man was still mad, and that though he often spoke like a highly intelligent person, he would in the end break out into nonsense that in quantity and quality counterbalanced all the sensible things he had said before, as might be easily tested by talking to him. The chaplain resolved to try the experiment, and obtaining access to the madman conversed with him for an hour or more, during the whole of which time he never uttered a word that was incoherent or absurd, but, on the contrary, spoke so rationally that the chaplain was compelled to believe him to be sane. Among other things, he said the governor was against him, not to lose the presents his relations made him for reporting him still mad but with lucid intervals; and that the worst foe he had in his misfortune was his large property; for in order to enjoy it his enemies disparaged and threw doubts upon the mercy our Lord had shown him in turning him from a brute beast into a man. In short, he spoke in such a way that he cast suspicion on the governor, and made his relations appear covetous and heartless, and himself so rational that the chaplain determined to take him away with him that the Archbishop might see him, and ascertain for himself the truth of the matter. Yielding to this conviction, the worthy chaplain begged the governor to have the clothes in which the licentiate had entered the house given to him. The governor again bade him beware of what he was doing, as the licentiate was beyond a doubt still mad; but all his cautions and warnings were unavailing to dissuade the chaplain from taking him away. The governor, seeing that it was the order of the Archbishop, obeyed, and they dressed the licentiate in his own clothes, which were new and decent. He, as soon as he saw himself clothed like one in his senses, and divested of the appearance of a madman, entreated the chaplain to permit him in charity to go and take leave of his comrades the madmen. The chaplain said he would go with him to see what madmen there were in the house; so they went upstairs, and with them some of those who were present. Approaching a cage in which there was a furious madman, though just at that moment calm and quiet, the licentiate said to him, ‘Brother, think if you have any commands for me, for I am going home, as God has been pleased, in his infinite goodness and mercy, without any merit of mine, to restore me my reason. I am now cured and in my senses, for with God’s power nothing is impossible. Have strong hope and trust in him, for as he has restored me to my original condition, so likewise he will restore you if you trust in him. I will take care to send you some good things to eat; and be sure you eat them; for I would have you know I am convinced, as one who has gone through it, that all this madness of ours comes of having the stomach empty and the brains full of wind. Take courage! take courage! for despondency in misfortune breaks down health and brings on death.’
“To all these words of the licentiate another madman in a cage opposite that of the furious one was listening; and raising himself up from an old mat on which he lay stark naked, he asked in a loud voice who it was that was going away cured and in his senses. The licentiate answered, ‘It is I, brother, who am going; I have now no need to remain here any longer, for which I return infinite thanks to Heaven that has had so great mercy upon me.’
“‘Mind what you are saying, licentiate; don’t let the devil deceive you,’ replied the madman. ‘Keep quiet, stay where you are, and you will save yourself the trouble of coming back.’
“‘I know I am cured,’ returned the licentiate, ‘and that I shall not have to go stations again.’
“‘You cured!’ said the madman; ‘well, we shall see; God be with you; but I swear to you by Jupiter, whose majesty I represent on earth, that for this crime alone, which Seville is committing to-day in releasing you from this house, and treating you as if you were in your senses, I shall have to inflict such a punishment on it as will be remembered for ages and ages, amen. Dost thou not know, thou miserable little licentiate, that I can do it, being, as I say, Jupiter the Thunderer, who hold in my hands the fiery bolts with which I am able and am wont to threaten and lay waste the world? But in one way only will I punish this ignorant town, and that is by not raining upon it, nor on any part of its district or territory, for three whole years, to be reckoned from the day and moment when this threat is pronounced. Thou free, thou cured, thou in thy senses! and I mad, I disordered, I bound! I will as soon think of sending rain as of hanging myself.
“Those present stood listening to the words and exclamations of the madman; but our licentiate, turning to the chaplain and seizing him by the hands, said to him, ‘Be not uneasy, senor; attach no importance to what this madman has said; for if he is Jupiter and will not send rain, I, who am Neptune, the father and god of the waters, will rain as often as it pleases me and may be needful.’
“The governor and the bystanders laughed, and at their laughter the chaplain was half ashamed, and he replied, ‘For all that, Senor Neptune, it will not do to vex Senor Jupiter; remain where you are, and some other day, when there is a better opportunity and more time, we will come back for you.’ So they stripped the licentiate, and he was left where he was; and that’s the end of the story.”
“So that’s the story, master barber,” said Don Quixote, “which came in so pat to the purpose that you could not help telling it? Master shaver, master shaver! how blind is he who cannot see through a sieve. Is it possible that you do not know that comparisons of wit with wit, valour with valour, beauty with beauty, birth with birth, are always odious and unwelcome? I, master barber, am not Neptune, the god of the waters, nor do I try to make anyone take me for an astute man, for I am not one. My only endeavour is to convince the world of the mistake it makes in not reviving in itself the happy time when the order of knight-errantry was in the field. But our depraved age does not deserve to enjoy such a blessing as those ages enjoyed when knights-errant took upon their shoulders the defence of kingdoms, the protection of damsels, the succour of orphans and minors, the chastisement of the proud, and the recompense of the humble. With the knights of these days, for the most part, it is the damask, brocade, and rich stuffs they wear, that rustle as they go, not the chain mail of their armour; no knight now-a-days sleeps in the open field exposed to the inclemency of heaven, and in full panoply from head to foot; no one now takes a nap, as they call it, without drawing his feet out of the stirrups, and leaning upon his lance, as the knights-errant used to do; no one now, issuing from the wood, penetrates yonder mountains, and then treads the barren, lonely shore of the sea — mostly a tempestuous and stormy one — and finding on the beach a little bark without oars, sail, mast, or tackling of any kind, in the intrepidity of his heart flings himself into it and commits himself to the wrathful billows of the deep sea, that one moment lift him up to heaven and the next plunge him into the depths; and opposing his breast to the irresistible gale, finds himself, when he least expects it, three thousand leagues and more away from the place where he embarked; and leaping ashore in a remote and unknown land has adventures that deserve to be written, not on parchment, but on brass. But now sloth triumphs over energy, indolence over exertion, vice over virtue, arrogance over courage, and theory over practice in arms, which flourished and shone only in the golden ages and in knights-errant. For tell me, who was more virtuous and more valiant than the famous Amadis of Gaul? Who more discreet than Palmerin of England? Who more gracious and easy than Tirante el Blanco? Who more courtly than Lisuarte of Greece? Who more slashed or slashing than Don Belianis? Who more intrepid than Perion of Gaul? Who more ready to face danger than Felixmarte of Hircania? Who more sincere than Esplandian? Who more impetuous than Don Cirongilio of Thrace? Who more bold than Rodamonte? Who more prudent than King Sobrino? Who more daring than Reinaldos? Who more invincible than Roland? and who more gallant and courteous than Ruggiero, from whom the dukes of Ferrara of the present day are descended, according to Turpin in his ‘Cosmography.’ All these knights, and many more that I could name, senor curate, were knights-errant, the light and glory of chivalry. These, or such as these, I would have to carry out my plan, and in that case his Majesty would find himself well served and would save great expense, and the Turk would be left tearing his beard. And so I will stay where I am, as the chaplain does not take me away; and if Jupiter, as the barber has told us, will not send rain, here am I, and I will rain when I please. I say this that Master Basin may know that I understand him.”
“Indeed, Senor Don Quixote,” said the barber, “I did not mean it in that way, and, so help me God, my intention was good, and your worship ought not to be vexed.”
“As to whether I ought to be vexed or not,” returned Don Quixote, “I myself am the best judge.”
Hereupon the curate observed, “I have hardly said a word as yet; and I would gladly be relieved of a doubt, arising from what Don Quixote has said, that worries and works my conscience.”
“The senor curate has leave for more than that,” returned Don Quixote, “so he may declare his doubt, for it is not pleasant to have a doubt on one’s conscience.”
“Well then, with that permission,” said the curate, “I say my doubt is that, all I can do, I cannot persuade myself that the whole pack of knights-errant you, Senor Don Quixote, have mentioned, were really and truly persons of flesh and blood, that ever lived in the world; on the contrary, I suspect it to be all fiction, fable, and falsehood, and dreams told by men awakened from sleep, or rather still half asleep.”
“That is another mistake,” replied Don Quixote, “into which many have fallen who do not believe that there ever were such knights in the world, and I have often, with divers people and on divers occasions, tried to expose this almost universal error to the light of truth. Sometimes I have not been successful in my purpose, sometimes I have, supporting it upon the shoulders of the truth; which truth is so clear that I can almost say I have with my own eyes seen Amadis of Gaul, who was a man of lofty stature, fair complexion, with a handsome though black beard, of a countenance between gentle and stern in expression, sparing of words, slow to anger, and quick to put it away from him; and as I have depicted Amadis, so I could, I think, portray and describe all the knights-errant that are in all the histories in the world; for by the perception I have that they were what their histories describe, and by the deeds they did and the dispositions they displayed, it is possible, with the aid of sound philosophy, to deduce their features, complexion, and stature.”
“How big, in your worship’s opinion, may the giant Morgante have been, Senor Don Quixote?” asked the barber.
“With regard to giants,” replied Don Quixote, “opinions differ as to whether there ever were any or not in the world; but the Holy Scripture, which cannot err by a jot from the truth, shows us that there were, when it gives us the history of that big Philistine, Goliath, who was seven cubits and a half in height, which is a huge size. Likewise, in the island of Sicily, there have been found leg-bones and arm-bones so large that their size makes it plain that their owners were giants, and as tall as great towers; geometry puts this fact beyond a doubt. But, for all that, I cannot speak with certainty as to the size of Morgante, though I suspect he cannot have been very tall; and I am inclined to be of this opinion because I find in the history in which his deeds are particularly mentioned, that he frequently slept under a roof and as he found houses to contain him, it is clear that his bulk could not have been anything excessive.”
“That is true,” said the curate, and yielding to the enjoyment of hearing such nonsense, he asked him what was his notion of the features of Reinaldos of Montalban, and Don Roland and the rest of the Twelve Peers of France, for they were all knights-errant.
“As for Reinaldos,” replied Don Quixote, “I venture to say that he was broad-faced, of ruddy complexion, with roguish and somewhat prominent eyes, excessively punctilious and touchy, and given to the society of thieves and scapegraces. With regard to Roland, or Rotolando, or Orlando (for the histories call him by all these names), I am of opinion, and hold, that he was of middle height, broad-shouldered, rather bow-legged, swarthy-complexioned, red-bearded, with a hairy body and a severe expression of countenance, a man of few words, but very polite and well-bred.”
“If Roland was not a more graceful person than your worship has described,” said the curate, “it is no wonder that the fair Lady Angelica rejected him and left him for the gaiety, liveliness, and grace of that budding-bearded little Moor to whom she surrendered herself; and she showed her sense in falling in love with the gentle softness of Medoro rather than the roughness of Roland.”
“That Angelica, senor curate,” returned Don Quixote, “was a giddy damsel, flighty and somewhat wanton, and she left the world as full of her vagaries as of the fame of her beauty. She treated with scorn a thousand gentlemen, men of valour and wisdom, and took up with a smooth-faced sprig of a page, without fortune or fame, except such reputation for gratitude as the affection he bore his friend got for him. The great poet who sang her beauty, the famous Ariosto, not caring to sing her adventures after her contemptible surrender (which probably were not over and above creditable), dropped her where he says:
How she received the sceptre of Cathay, Some bard of defter quill may sing some day;
and this was no doubt a kind of prophecy, for poets are also called vates, that is to say diviners; and its truth was made plain; for since then a famous Andalusian poet has lamented and sung her tears, and another famous and rare poet, a Castilian, has sung her beauty.”
“Tell me, Senor Don Quixote,” said the barber here, “among all those who praised her, has there been no poet to write a satire on this Lady Angelica?”
“I can well believe,” replied Don Quixote, “that if Sacripante or Roland had been poets they would have given the damsel a trimming; for it is naturally the way with poets who have been scorned and rejected by their ladies, whether fictitious or not, in short by those whom they select as the ladies of their thoughts, to avenge themselves in satires and libels — a vengeance, to be sure, unworthy of generous hearts; but up to the present I have not heard of any defamatory verse against the Lady Angelica, who turned the world upside down.”
“Strange,” said the curate; but at this moment they heard the housekeeper and the niece, who had previously withdrawn from the conversation, exclaiming aloud in the courtyard, and at the noise they all ran out.
 
锡德•哈迈德•贝嫩赫利在这个故事的第二部分讲到唐吉诃德的第三次出征时，谈到神甫和理发师几乎一个月都没去看望唐吉诃德，以免勾起他对往事的回忆。可他们却去拜访了唐吉诃德的外甥女和女管家，嘱咐她们好好照顾唐吉诃德，给他做些可口而又能补心补脑子的食物，因为据认真分析，唐吉诃德倒霉就倒霉在心和脑子上。外甥女和女管家说她们已经这样做了，而且将会尽可能认真仔细地这样做，看样子现在唐吉诃德已经逐步恢复正常了。神甫和理发师对此感到很高兴，觉得他们就像这个伟大而又真实的故事第一部最后一章里讲到的那样，施计用牛车把唐吉诃德送回来算是做对了。于是，他们又决定去拜访唐吉诃德，看看他到底恢复到什么程度了，尽管他们知道现在他还不可能完全恢复。神甫和理发师还商定绝不涉及游侠骑士的事，避免在他刚结好的伤口上又添新疤。
他们去看望了唐吉诃德。唐吉诃德正坐在床上，身上穿着一件绿呢紧身背心，头戴红色托莱多式帽子，干瘦得简直像个僵尸。唐吉诃德很热情地招待神甫和理发师。神甫和理发师问他的病情，唐吉诃德介绍了自己的状况，讲得头头是道。谈话又涉及到了治国治民，他们抨击时弊，褒善贬恶，俨如三个新时代的立法者，像现代的利库尔戈斯①或者具有新思想的梭伦②。他们觉得要使国家有个新面貌，就得对它进行改造，建成一个新型社会。唐吉诃德讲得条条在理，神甫和理发师都觉得他的身体和神志已完全恢复正常。
①利库尔戈斯是传说中古代斯巴达的立法者。
②梭伦是雅典政治家和诗人，曾为本国同胞制定了宪法和法典，其宪法和司法改革被称为梭伦法律。
他们说话的时候，唐吉诃德的外甥女和女管家也在场。她们见唐吉诃德神志恢复得这么好，都不停地感谢上帝。这时，神甫改变了原来不谈游侠骑士的主意，想仔细观察一下唐吉诃德是否真的恢复正常了，就一一列数了一些来自京城的消息，其中之一就是有确切的消息说，土耳其人的强大舰队已经逼近，其意图尚不清楚，也不知道如此强大的力量究竟目标是哪里。这种大军逼近的消息几乎年年有，所有基督教徒都对此感到紧张。国王陛下已经向那不勒斯和西西里沿岸以及马耳他岛等地区布署了兵力。唐吉诃德闻言说道：
“陛下决策英明，为他的国土赢得了时间，做好了迎战的准备。不过，如果陛下愿意听听我的建议，我就会向陛下提出一种他现在无论如何也不会想到的防御办法。”
神甫听到此话心中暗自说道：
“天啊，可怜的唐吉诃德，你真是疯狂至极，愚蠢透顶。”
理发师本来也同神甫一样，想看看唐吉诃德是否完全恢复健康了，就问唐吉诃德，他说的那个防御之策是什么，也许类似于有些人向国王提出的那类不着边际的建议呢。
“理发师大人，”唐吉诃德说，“我的建议决不会不着边际，肯定切实可行。”
“我不是这个意思。”理发师说，“但事实证明，以前向国王陛下提的各种建议常常不可能实现，或者纯粹是胡说八道，要不就是损害了国王或王国的利益。”
“我的建议既不是不可能实现的，也不是胡说八道，”唐吉诃德说，“而是最简易可行的，是任何人也想不到的巧妙办法。”
“可您始终没说您那建议到底是什么内容呢，唐吉诃德大人。”神甫说。
“我可不想今天在这儿说了之后，明天就传到陛下的谋士耳朵里去，”唐吉诃德说，“然后让别人拿着我的主意去请功。”
“我在这里向上帝发誓，”理发师说，“保证不把您对陛下的建议向任何人透露。我这是从一首神甫歌谣里学到的誓言。那个神甫在做弥撒的开场白里向国王告发了一个强盗，此人偷了他一百个罗乌拉和一匹善跑的骡子。”
“我不知道这类故事，”唐吉诃德说，“但这誓言还是不错的，而且我知道理发师大人是个好人。”
“即使他不是好人，”神甫说，“我也可以为他担保，保证他会绝口不提此事。如果他说出去了，我甘愿掏钱替他受罚。”
“那么，神甫大人，谁又能为您担保呢？”唐吉诃德问。
“我的职业，”神甫说，“我的职业规定我必须保密。”
“确实。”唐吉诃德这时才说，“国王陛下应当下旨，宣召西班牙境内的所有游侠骑士在指定的日期到王宫报到。即使只能来几个人，说不定其中就有人能只身打掉土耳其人的威风呢。难道还有什么比这更好的办法吗？你们注意听我说，一个游侠骑士就可以打败一支二十万人的军队，就好像那些人只有一个脖子，好像他们都是些弱不禁风的人，这种事情难道还算新鲜吗？否则，你们说，为什么会有那么多充满了这类奇迹的故事？我生不逢时，不用说别人，就说著名的唐贝利亚尼斯或者高卢的阿马迪斯家族的人吧，如果他们当中某个人还健在，同土耳其人交锋，土耳其人肯定占不着便宜！不过，上帝肯定会关照他的臣民，肯定会派一个即使不像以前的游侠骑士那样骁勇，至少也不会次于他们的人来。上帝会明白我的意思，我不必多说了。”
“哎呀，”唐吉诃德的外甥女这时说，“如果我舅舅不是又想去当游侠骑士了，我就去死！”
唐吉诃德说：
“不管土耳其人从天上来还是从地下来，不管他们有多强大，我都可以消灭他们。我再说一遍，上帝会明白我的意思。”
理发师这时说道：
“我请诸位允许我讲一件发生在塞维利亚的小事情，因为这件事与这里的情况极为相似，我很想讲一讲。”
唐吉诃德请他讲，神甫和其他人也都注意地听，于是理发师开始讲起来：
“从前在塞维利亚有座疯人院。一个人神志失常，被亲属送进了这座疯人院。这个人是在奥苏纳毕业的，专攻教会法规。不过，即使他是在萨拉曼卡毕业的，很多人也仍然认为他神志不正常。这位学士在疯人院被关了几年以后，自认为已经完全恢复正常了，就写信给大主教，言真意切地再三请求大主教把他从那个苦海里解救出来，因为仁慈的上帝已经恢复了他的神志；可是他的亲属们为了继续霸占他那份财产，不顾事实一直不去接他，想让他在疯人院里一直待到死。大主教被那些言真意切的信说动了心，派一个教士去向疯人院院长了解写信人的情况，并且让教士亲自同疯子谈一谈。如果教士觉得这个人的神志已经恢复正常，就可以把他放出来，让他恢复自由。教士按照大主教的吩咐去了疯人院。可是院长对教士说，那个人的神志还没恢复正常，虽然他有时说起话来显得非常有头脑，但是他又常常做出一些非常愚蠢的事情来，教士如果不信可以同他谈谈看。
“教士也愿意试试。教士到了疯子那儿，同他谈了一个多小时。在这段时间里，疯子没有说过一句不像样的话，相反却讲得头头是道。教士不得不相信他已经恢复正常了。疯子同教士谈了很多事情，其中谈到院长接受了他的亲属的贿赂，对他怀有歹意，因而说他神志仍然不正常，只是有时候清醒。他说他最大的不幸就在于他有很多财产，他的冤家们为了霸占他的财产想陷害他，因而怀疑仁慈的上帝已经使他从畜生变成了人。他这么一讲，显然让人觉得院长值得怀疑，他的亲属们不怀好意，而他已经成了正常人。为了慎重起见，教士决定把他带回去，让大主教见见他，以便明断是非。于是，教士请求院长把这个学士入院时穿的衣服还给他，可院长还是让教士再考虑考虑，因为学士的神志肯定还没恢复正常。可是，院长再三劝阻也无济于事，教士坚持要把他带走。院长因为教士是大主教派来的人，只好服从了，给学士换上了入院时穿的那套衣服。那衣服又新又高级。学士见自己换上衣服以后像个正常人，不像疯子了，就请求教士开恩让他去同自己的疯友们告别。
“教士也愿意陪他一同去看看院里的疯子。于是，院里的几个人陪着他们上了楼。学士来到一个笼子前，笼子里关着一个很狂暴的疯子，但当时他挺安静。学士对那个疯子说：‘我的兄弟，你是否有什么事要托付我？上帝对我仁慈而又富有怜悯之心，尽管我受之有愧，还是让我的神志恢复了正常，我现在要回家了。依靠上帝的力量真是无所不能，我现在已经完全恢复正常了。你也要寄希望于上帝，相信上帝。上帝既然能够让我恢复到我原来的状况，也会让所有相信他的人康复如初。我会留意给你送些好吃的东西来，你无论如何要吃掉。我是过来人，我告诉你，我觉得咱们所有的疯癫都是由于咱们胃里空空、脑袋里虚无造成的。你得鼓起劲来，情绪低落会危及健康，导致死亡。’
“学士这番话被这个笼子对面那个笼子里的疯子听到了。他本来赤身裸体地躺在一张旧席子上，现在站起来大声问是谁的神志恢复正常了。学士回答说：‘是我，兄弟，我要走了。我要感谢功德无量的老天对我如此关照，我已经没有必要继续留在这里了。’‘你别胡说了，学士，别上了魔鬼的当。’那个疯子说，‘你趁早留步，待在这个疯人院里吧，免得再回来。’‘我知道我已经好了，’学士说，‘所以没有理由再重蹈覆辙。’‘你好了？’疯子说，‘那好，咱们就瞧着吧。见你的鬼，我向朱庇特①发誓，我是他在人间的化身，塞维利亚今天放你出院，把你当作正常人，我要为它犯的这个罪孽惩罚它，让它世世代代都忘不了，阿门。愚蠢的学士，你难道不知道我手里掌管着能够摧毁一切的火焰，我说过我是掌管雷霆的朱庇特，要摧毁这个世界就能说到做到吗？不过，我只想用一种办法来惩罚这里的无知民众，那就是从我发出这个誓言起整整三年内，让这个地区和周围地带不下雨！你自由了，康复了，而我还是疯子还有病？我不知道该怎么说才好。想让我下雨，除非掐死我！’
①朱庇特是罗马神话中最高的神，相当于希腊神话中的宙斯，掌管雷电云雨，是诸神和人类的主宰。
“在场的人都静静地听那个疯子乱喊乱叫，可我们这位学士却转过身来，握住教士的手说道：‘您不用着急，我的大人，您别理会他的这些疯话。如果他是朱庇特，不愿意下雨，那么我就是涅普图努斯，是水的父亲和主宰。只要有必要，我想什么时候下雨就下雨。’教士说道：‘尽管如此，涅普图努斯大人，您最好还是不要惹朱庇特大人生气。您先留在疯人院里，等改天更方便的时候，我们再来接您吧。’院长和在场的人都笑了，教士满面愧容地跑了。于是，大家又把学士的衣服剥光了。学士仍然留在疯人院里，故事也就完了。”
“难道这就是您说的那个与现在这里的情况极为相似而您又非常愿意讲的故事吗，理发师大人？”唐吉诃德说，“哎呀，剃头的呀剃头的，您这不是睁着眼睛说瞎话嘛。难道您真的不知道，将天才与天才相比，将勇气与勇气相比，将美貌与美貌相比，将门第与门第相比，都是可恨的，是最令人讨厌的吗？理发师大人，我不是水神涅普图努斯，我并不足智多谋，也不想让别人把我看成足智多谋的人。我只是竭力想让大家明白，不恢复游侠骑士四处游弋的时代是个错误。在那个时代里，游侠骑士肩负着保卫王国的使命，保护少女，帮助孤儿，除暴安良。不过，咱们这个腐败的时代不配享受这种裨益。现在的骑士呀，从他们身上听到的是锦缎的窸窣声，而不是甲胄的铿锵声。现在的骑士已经不像以前那样露宿野外，忍受严寒酷暑，从头到脚，盔甲披挂，并且脚不离马镫，手不离长矛，只求打个盹就行了。现在也不会有哪个骑士从森林里出来又跑进深山，然后再踏上荒凉的海滩。大海上骇浪惊涛，岸边只有一条小船，船上没有桨和帆，没有桅杆，没有任何索具，可是骑士勇敢无畏，跳上小船，驶向巨浪滔天的大海深处。大浪一会儿把他掀到天上，一会儿把他抛向深渊，可是他毫无畏惧地昂首面对那难以抵御的狂风暴雨。待到情况稍微好转时，他已经离开他上船的地方三千多里了。他踏上那遥远陌生的土地，于是又出现了许多不该记录在羊皮纸上，而是应该铭刻在青铜器上的事迹。
“可是现在，懒惰胜过勤勉，安逸胜过操劳，丑陋胜过美德，傲慢胜过勇气，理论代替了战斗的实践，游侠骑士的黄金时代已经成为辉煌的过去。不信，你告诉我，现在谁能比高卢的著名的阿马迪斯更正直、更勇敢呢？谁能比英格兰的帕尔梅林更聪明呢？谁能比白衣骑士蒂兰特更随遇而安呢？谁能比希腊的利苏亚特更称得上是美男子呢？谁能比贝利亚尼斯受的伤更多而且杀伤的敌人也更多呢？谁能比高卢的佩里翁更无畏，比费利克斯马尔特•德伊尔卡尼亚更临危不惧，比埃斯普兰迪安更真诚呢？谁能比西龙希利奥更勇猛呢？谁能比罗达蒙特更桀骜不驯呢？谁能比索布利诺国王更谨慎呢？谁能比雷纳尔多斯更果敢呢？谁能比罗尔丹更无敌于天下呢？谁能比鲁赫罗更彬彬有礼呢？根据杜平的《宇宙志》，现在的费拉拉公爵还是他的后裔呢。
“所有这些骑士以及其他许多我可以列数出来的骑士都是游侠骑士，是骑士界的精英。这类人，或者相当于这类人的人，就是我要向国王陛下举荐的人。陛下如果能有他们效劳，就可以节约很多开支，土耳其人也只能气得七窍生烟了。如果能这样，我宁愿留在疯人院，因为教士不愿意把我从疯人院放出来。按照理发师讲的，假如朱庇特不愿意下雨，有我在这儿，同样可以想下雨就下雨。我说这些是想让那位剃头匠大人知道，我已经明白了他的意思。”
“实际上，唐吉诃德大人，”理发师说，“我并不是这个意思。上帝保佑，我是一片好意，请您不要生气。”
“我生气没生气，我自己知道。”唐吉诃德说。
神甫说：
“虽然刚才我几乎没说话，可是我听了唐吉诃德大人的话，心里产生了一个疑虑，我不想把它憋在心里，弄得挺难受的。”
“您还有什么话，神甫大人，”唐吉诃德说，“都可以讲出来，您可以谈谈您的疑虑。心存疑虑不是件快乐的事。”
“既然您允许，”神甫说，“我就把我的疑虑讲出来。那就是我无论如何也不能让自己相信，唐吉诃德大人刚才说的那一大堆游侠骑士都是有血有肉的真人，相反，我却觉得这是一种杜撰、传说或者编造，要不然就是一些已经醒了的人，或者确切地说，是一些仍然处于半睡眠状态的人的梦呓。”
“这又是很多人犯的另一个错误，”唐吉诃德说，“那就是不相信世界上真有这样的骑士。我曾试图在各种场合多次向各类人纠正这个普遍的错误观念，有时候，我的努力没有成功，还有一些时候，我以事实为依据，就成功了。事实是确凿无疑的，可以说高卢的阿马迪斯就是我亲眼所见。他高高的个子，白白的脸庞，黑黑的胡子梳理得很整齐，目光既温和又严厉。他不多说话，不易动怒，却很容易消气。我觉得我可以像描述阿马迪斯一样勾勒描绘出世界上所有故事中的游侠骑士。我可以根据故事里的讲述，再加上他们的事迹和性情，活灵活现地想象出他们的面孔、肤色和体型。”
“那么，唐吉诃德大人，”理发师问，“您估计巨人莫尔甘特到底有多大呢？”
“至于世界上究竟有没有巨人，”唐吉诃德说，“有各种不同的说法。不过，《圣经》总不会有半点虚假吧，里面说的非利士人歌利亚就有七腕尺①半高，这就算够高的了。此外，在西西里岛还发现过巨大的四肢和脊背的遗骨，估计遗骨的主人也会高如高塔，几何学可以证明这一点。不过尽管如此，我还是不能确切地说出莫尔甘特到底有多高，我估计他不会很高。我之所以这样认为是因为我在专门记录他的事迹的故事里发现，他常常睡在室内。既然室内能够容得下他，他就不会很高大。”
①腕尺是指由臂肘到中指尖的长度。
“是这样。”神甫说。
神甫对唐吉诃德这样的胡言乱语很感兴趣，就又叫他估计雷纳尔多斯•德蒙塔尔万、罗尔丹以及法国十二廷臣的面孔会是什么样的，这些人都是游侠骑士。
“关于雷纳尔多斯，”唐吉诃德说，“我斗胆说他脸庞宽宽，呈橙黄色，眼睛非常灵活，有些凸出。他敏感易怒，结交的朋友都是小偷或类似的无赖。罗尔丹或者罗托兰多，要不就是奥兰多，这些都是故事里主人公的名字，我认为或者说认定，他们都是中等身材，宽宽的肩膀，有点罗圈腿，褐色的脸庞，红胡子，身上多毛，目光咄咄逼人，不善言辞，却很谦恭，显得很有教养。”
“如果罗尔丹不比您形容的优雅，”神甫说，“那么，美人安杰丽嘉看不上他，而被那个乳臭刚干的摩尔小子的潇洒所吸引，投入了他的怀抱，也就不算稀奇了。她爱温柔的梅多罗雨而不爱懒惰的罗尔丹，做得很明智。”
“那个安杰丽嘉，”唐吉诃德说，“神甫大人，是个见异思迁、活泼好动、有些任性的女孩，她的风流韵事也像她的美名一样到处流传。上千个大人、勇士和学者她都看不上，却爱上了一个矮个子翩翩少年，没有财产，只有一个对朋友知恩图报的名声。著名的阿里奥斯托对她的美貌大加赞扬，却不敢或不愿记述她无耻献身之后的事情，那肯定都是些不光彩的事情，而写了这样一句话：
至于她如何做了女皇，
也许别人会唱得更好。
“这无疑也是一种先知。诗人们也自称是先知、预言家，而且事实也明确地证明了这一点。后来，安达卢西亚就有位诗人为她的眼泪而悲歌，而另一位杰出的卡斯蒂利亚著名诗人也赞颂她的美貌。”
“请您告诉我，唐吉诃德大人，”理发师这时说道，“有这么多诗人赞颂安杰丽嘉夫人，难道就没有诗人讥讽她吗？”
“假如萨格里潘特或罗尔丹是诗人，”唐吉诃德说，“我想他们肯定会把她骂一通的。如果诗人在自己的想象中把某位夫人当成了自己的意中人，但却遭到她们的鄙夷和拒绝，不管是真还是假，诗人都会以讥讽或讽刺文章来报复，这也是诗人的本性。但是胸怀宽广的诗人不会这样做。不过，至今我还没听说有轰动世界的攻击安杰丽嘉的诗。”
“真是奇迹！”神甫说。
这时，忽然听见早已离开的唐吉诃德的女管家和外甥女在院子里吵吵嚷嚷，大家立刻循声赶去。
Part 2 Chapter 2
The history relates that the outcry Don Quixote, the curate, and the barber heard came from the niece and the housekeeper exclaiming to Sancho, who was striving to force his way in to see Don Quixote while they held the door against him, “What does the vagabond want in this house? Be off to your own, brother, for it is you, and no one else, that delude my master, and lead him astray, and take him tramping about the country.”
To which Sancho replied, “Devil’s own housekeeper! it is I who am deluded, and led astray, and taken tramping about the country, and not thy master! He has carried me all over the world, and you are mightily mistaken. He enticed me away from home by a trick, promising me an island, which I am still waiting for.”
“May evil islands choke thee, thou detestable Sancho,” said the niece; “What are islands? Is it something to eat, glutton and gormandiser that thou art?”
“It is not something to eat,” replied Sancho, “but something to govern and rule, and better than four cities or four judgeships at court.”
“For all that,” said the housekeeper, “you don’t enter here, you bag of mischief and sack of knavery; go govern your house and dig your seed-patch, and give over looking for islands or shylands.”
The curate and the barber listened with great amusement to the words of the three; but Don Quixote, uneasy lest Sancho should blab and blurt out a whole heap of mischievous stupidities, and touch upon points that might not be altogether to his credit, called to him and made the other two hold their tongues and let him come in. Sancho entered, and the curate and the barber took their leave of Don Quixote, of whose recovery they despaired when they saw how wedded he was to his crazy ideas, and how saturated with the nonsense of his unlucky chivalry; and said the curate to the barber, “You will see, gossip, that when we are least thinking of it, our gentleman will be off once more for another flight.”
“I have no doubt of it,” returned the barber; “but I do not wonder so much at the madness of the knight as at the simplicity of the squire, who has such a firm belief in all that about the island, that I suppose all the exposures that could be imagined would not get it out of his head.”
“God help them,” said the curate; “and let us be on the look-out to see what comes of all these absurdities of the knight and squire, for it seems as if they had both been cast in the same mould, and the madness of the master without the simplicity of the man would not be worth a farthing.”
“That is true,” said the barber, “and I should like very much to know what the pair are talking about at this moment.”
“I promise you,” said the curate, “the niece or the housekeeper will tell us by-and-by, for they are not the ones to forget to listen.”
Meanwhile Don Quixote shut himself up in his room with Sancho, and when they were alone he said to him, “It grieves me greatly, Sancho, that thou shouldst have said, and sayest, that I took thee out of thy cottage, when thou knowest I did not remain in my house. We sallied forth together, we took the road together, we wandered abroad together; we have had the same fortune and the same luck; if they blanketed thee once, they belaboured me a hundred times, and that is the only advantage I have of thee.”
“That was only reasonable,” replied Sancho, “for, by what your worship says, misfortunes belong more properly to knights-errant than to their squires.”
“Thou art mistaken, Sancho,” said Don Quixote, “according to the maxim quando caput dolet, etc.”
“I don’t understand any language but my own,” said Sancho.
“I mean to say,” said Don Quixote, “that when the head suffers all the members suffer; and so, being thy lord and master, I am thy head, and thou a part of me as thou art my servant; and therefore any evil that affects or shall affect me should give thee pain, and what affects thee give pain to me.”
“It should be so,” said Sancho; “but when I was blanketed as a member, my head was on the other side of the wall, looking on while I was flying through the air, and did not feel any pain whatever; and if the members are obliged to feel the suffering of the head, it should be obliged to feel their sufferings.”
“Dost thou mean to say now, Sancho,” said Don Quixote, “that I did not feel when they were blanketing thee? If thou dost, thou must not say so or think so, for I felt more pain then in spirit than thou didst in body. But let us put that aside for the present, for we shall have opportunities enough for considering and settling the point; tell me, Sancho my friend, what do they say about me in the village here? What do the common people think of me? What do the hidalgos? What do the caballeros? What do they say of my valour; of my achievements; of my courtesy? How do they treat the task I have undertaken in reviving and restoring to the world the now forgotten order of chivalry? In short, Sancho, I would have thee tell me all that has come to thine ears on this subject; and thou art to tell me, without adding anything to the good or taking away anything from the bad; for it is the duty of loyal vassals to tell the truth to their lords just as it is and in its proper shape, not allowing flattery to add to it or any idle deference to lessen it. And I would have thee know, Sancho, that if the naked truth, undisguised by flattery, came to the ears of princes, times would be different, and other ages would be reckoned iron ages more than ours, which I hold to be the golden of these latter days. Profit by this advice, Sancho, and report to me clearly and faithfully the truth of what thou knowest touching what I have demanded of thee.”
“That I will do with all my heart, master,” replied Sancho, “provided your worship will not be vexed at what I say, as you wish me to say it out in all its nakedness, without putting any more clothes on it than it came to my knowledge in.”
“I will not be vexed at all,” returned Don Quixote; “thou mayest speak freely, Sancho, and without any beating about the bush.”
“Well then,” said he, “first of all, I have to tell you that the common people consider your worship a mighty great madman, and me no less a fool. The hidalgos say that, not keeping within the bounds of your quality of gentleman, you have assumed the ‘Don,’ and made a knight of yourself at a jump, with four vine-stocks and a couple of acres of land, and never a shirt to your back. The caballeros say they do not want to have hidalgos setting up in opposition to them, particularly squire hidalgos who polish their own shoes and darn their black stockings with green silk.”
“That,” said Don Quixote, “does not apply to me, for I always go well dressed and never patched; ragged I may be, but ragged more from the wear and tear of arms than of time.”
“As to your worship’s valour, courtesy, accomplishments, and task, there is a variety of opinions. Some say, ‘mad but droll;’ others, ‘valiant but unlucky;’ others, ‘courteous but meddling,’ and then they go into such a number of things that they don’t leave a whole bone either in your worship or in myself.”
“Recollect, Sancho,” said Don Quixote, “that wherever virtue exists in an eminent degree it is persecuted. Few or none of the famous men that have lived escaped being calumniated by malice. Julius Caesar, the boldest, wisest, and bravest of captains, was charged with being ambitious, and not particularly cleanly in his dress, or pure in his morals. Of Alexander, whose deeds won him the name of Great, they say that he was somewhat of a drunkard. Of Hercules, him of the many labours, it is said that he was lewd and luxurious. Of Don Galaor, the brother of Amadis of Gaul, it was whispered that he was over quarrelsome, and of his brother that he was lachrymose. So that, O Sancho, amongst all these calumnies against good men, mine may be let pass, since they are no more than thou hast said.”
“That’s just where it is, body of my father!”
“Is there more, then?” asked Don Quixote.
“There’s the tail to be skinned yet,” said Sancho; “all so far is cakes and fancy bread; but if your worship wants to know all about the calumnies they bring against you, I will fetch you one this instant who can tell you the whole of them without missing an atom; for last night the son of Bartholomew Carrasco, who has been studying at Salamanca, came home after having been made a bachelor, and when I went to welcome him, he told me that your worship’s history is already abroad in books, with the title of The Ingenious Gentleman Don Quixote of La Mancha; and he says they mention me in it by my own name of Sancho Panza, and the lady Dulcinea del Toboso too, and divers things that happened to us when we were alone; so that I crossed myself in my wonder how the historian who wrote them down could have known them.”
“I promise thee, Sancho,” said Don Quixote, “the author of our history will be some sage enchanter; for to such nothing that they choose to write about is hidden.”
“What!” said Sancho, “a sage and an enchanter! Why, the bachelor Samson Carrasco (that is the name of him I spoke of) says the author of the history is called Cide Hamete Berengena.”
“That is a Moorish name,” said Don Quixote.
“May be so,” replied Sancho; “for I have heard say that the Moors are mostly great lovers of berengenas.”
“Thou must have mistaken the surname of this ‘Cide’ — which means in Arabic ‘Lord’ — Sancho,” observed Don Quixote.
“Very likely,” replied Sancho, “but if your worship wishes me to fetch the bachelor I will go for him in a twinkling.”
“Thou wilt do me a great pleasure, my friend,” said Don Quixote, “for what thou hast told me has amazed me, and I shall not eat a morsel that will agree with me until I have heard all about it.”
“Then I am off for him,” said Sancho; and leaving his master he went in quest of the bachelor, with whom he returned in a short time, and, all three together, they had a very droll colloquy.
 
故事说到唐吉诃德、神甫和理发师听到喊声，那是唐吉诃德的外甥女和女管家冲桑乔喊的。桑乔非要进来看望唐吉诃德，她们把住门不让进，还说：
“你这个笨蛋进来干什么？回你自己家去，兄弟，不是别人，正是你骗了我们大人，还带着他到处乱跑。”
桑乔说道：
“真是魔鬼夫人！被骗被带着到处乱跑的是我，而不是你们主人。是他带着我去了那些地方，你们自己弄糊涂了。他许诺说给我一个岛屿，把我骗出了家，我到现在还等着那个岛屿呢。”
“让那些破岛屿噎死你！”外甥女说，“混蛋桑乔，岛屿是什么东西？是吃的吗？你这个馋货、饭桶！”
“不是吃的，”桑乔说，“是我可以管理得比四个市政长官还好的一种东西。”
“即使这样，”女管家说，“你也别进来，你这个一肚子坏水的家伙。你去管好你的家，种好你那点地，别想要什么岛不岛的了。”
神甫和理发师饶有兴趣地听着三个人的对话，可唐吉诃德怕桑乔把他们那堆傻事都和盘托出，有损自己的名誉，就叫桑乔和那两个女人别嚷嚷了，让桑乔进来。桑乔进来了，神甫和理发师起身告辞。他们见唐吉诃德头脑里那些胡思乱想根深蒂固，仍沉湎于骑士的愚蠢念头，不禁对唐吉诃德恢复健康感到绝望了。神甫对理发师说：
“你看着吧，伙计，说不定在咱们想不到的什么时候，咱们这位英雄就又会出去展翅高飞了。”
“我对此丝毫也不怀疑，”理发师说，“不过，侍从的头脑竟如此简单，甚至比骑士的疯癫更让我感到惊奇。他认准了那个岛屿，我估计咱们就是再费力也不会让他打消这个念头了。”
“上帝会解救他的。”神甫说，“咱们瞧着吧，这两个人全都走火入魔了，简直如出一辙。主人的疯癫若是没有侍从的愚蠢相配，那就不值得一提了。”
“是这样，”理发师说，“我很愿意听听他们俩现在谈什么。”
“我肯定，”神甫说，“唐吉诃德的外甥女或女管家事后肯定会告诉咱们。照她们俩的习惯，她们不会不偷听的。”
唐吉诃德让桑乔进了房间，关上门。房间里只有他们俩。
唐吉诃德对桑乔说：
“你刚才说是我把你从家里骗出来的，我听了很难受。你知道，我也并没有留在家里呀。咱们一起出去，一起赶路，一起巡视，咱们俩命运相同。你被扔了一回，可我也被打过上百次，比你还厉害呢。”
“这也是应该的，”桑乔说，“照您自己说的，游侠骑士遇到的不幸总是比侍从遇到的多。”
“你错了，桑乔，”唐吉诃德说，“有句话说：quando　caput　do－Let……”
“我只懂得咱们自己的语言。”桑乔说。
“我的意思是说，”唐吉诃德说，“头痛全身痛。我是你的主人，所以我是你的脑袋；你是我的身体一部分，因为你是我的侍从。从这个道理上讲，我遇到了不幸，或者说如果我遇到了不幸，你也会感到疼痛。你如果遇到了不幸，我也一样疼痛。”
“理应如此，”桑乔说，“可是我这个身体部分被人扔的时候，您作为我的脑袋却在墙头后面看着我被扔上去，并没有感到任何痛苦呀，它本来也应该感到疼痛嘛。”
“你是想说，桑乔，”唐吉诃德说，“他们扔你的时候，我没感到疼痛吗？如果你是这个意思的话，可别这么说，也别这么想。我的灵魂当时比你的身体疼得还厉害。不过，咱们现在先不谈这个，等以后有时间再来确定这件事吧。咱们现在说正题。你告诉我，桑乔，现在这儿的人是怎么议论我的？平民百姓都怎么说，贵族和骑士们又怎么说？他们对我的勇气、我的事迹、我的礼貌是怎么说的？他们对我要在这个世界上重振游侠骑士之道是怎么评论的？一句话，我想让你告诉我你所听到的一切。你原原本本地告诉我，不要加好听的，也不要去掉不好听的。忠实的仆人应该据实向主人报告，不要因为企图奉承而有所夸张，也不要因为盲目尊崇而有所隐瞒。你该知道，桑乔，如果当初君主们听到的都是不折不扣的事实，没有任何恭维的成分，那么世道就会不一样，就会是比我们现在更为‘铁实’的时代，也就是现在常说的黄金时代。桑乔，请你按照我的告诫，仔细认真地把你知道的有关我刚才问到的那些情况告诉我吧。”
“我很愿意这样做，我的大人，”桑乔说，“不过我有个条件，就是不管我说什么，你都不要生气，因为你想让我据实说，不加任何修饰。”
“我不会生气的，”唐吉诃德说，“你放开了讲，桑乔，不必绕弯子。”
“我首先要说的就是，”桑乔说，“老百姓把您看成最大的疯子，说我也愚蠢得够呛。贵族们说，您本来就不是贵族圈子里的人，就凭那点儿家世，那几亩地，还有身上那两片破布，竟给自己加了个‘唐’，当了什么骑士。而骑士们说，他们不愿意让贵族与他们作对，特别是那种用蒸汽擦皮鞋①、用绿布补黑袜子的只配当侍从的贵族。”
①当时没有鞋油，只好在皮鞋上抹些水、油和蛋清，再用蒸汽熏。
“这不是说我，”唐吉诃德说，“我从来都是穿得整整齐齐，没带补丁的。衣服破了，那倒有可能，不过那是甲胄磨破的，而不是穿破的。”
“至于说到您的勇气、礼貌、事迹等事情，”桑乔接着说，“大家就看法不一了。有的人说：‘疯疯癫癫的，不过挺滑稽。’另外一些人说：‘勇敢，却又不幸。’还有人说：‘有礼貌，可是不得体。’还说了许多话，连您带我都说得体无完肤。”
“你看，桑乔，”唐吉诃德说，“凡是出人头地的人，都会遭到谗害，历来很少或者根本没有名人不受恶毒攻击的。像尤利乌斯•凯撒，是个极其勇猛而又十分谨慎的统帅，却被说成野心勃勃，衣服和生活作风都不那么干净。亚历山大功盖天下，号称大帝，却有人说他爱酗酒；再说赫拉克勒斯，战果累累，却说他骄奢好色。高卢的阿马迪斯的兄弟加劳尔，有人议论他太好斗，又说阿马迪斯爱哭。所以桑乔，对这些好人都有那么多议论，我又何尝不是如此呢，你说的那些就属于这种情况。”
“问题就在这儿，而且还不止是这些呀！”桑乔说。
“那么，还有什么？”唐吉诃德问。
“还有没说的呢，”桑乔说，“这些都算是简单的。如果您想了解所有那些攻击您的话，我可以马上给您找个人来，把所有那些话都告诉您，一点儿也不会漏下。昨天晚上巴托洛梅•卡拉斯科的儿子来了。他从萨拉曼卡学成归来，现在是学士了。我去迎接他的时候，他对我说您的事情已经编成书了，书名就叫《唐吉诃德》，还说书里也涉及到我，而且就用了桑乔•潘萨这个名字。托博索的杜尔西内亚也有，还有一些完全是咱们之间的事情。我吓得直画十字，不懂这个故事的作者怎么会知道了那些事情。”
“我敢肯定，桑乔，”唐吉诃德说，“一定是某位会魔法的文人编了这个故事。他们要写什么，就不会有什么事能瞒住他们。”
“怎么会又是文人又是魔法师呢！刚才，参孙•卡拉斯科学士，我就是这样称呼他的，他对我说，故事的作者叫锡德•哈迈德•贝伦赫纳①。”
①桑乔把贝嫩赫利误说成贝伦赫纳，而贝伦赫纳是茄子的意思。
“这是个摩尔人的名字。”唐吉诃德说。
“是的，”桑乔说，“我听很多人说，摩尔人就喜欢贝伦赫纳。”
“你大概是把这个‘锡德’的意思弄错了，桑乔。”唐吉诃德说，“在阿拉伯语里，锡德是‘大人’的意思。”
“这完全可能，”桑乔说，“不过，您如果愿意让他到这儿来，我马上就去找。”
“你如果能去找，那太好了，朋友。”唐吉诃德说，“你刚才说的那些让我心里一直惦记着。不把情况完全搞清楚，我就什么也不吃。”
“那我就去找他。”桑乔说。
桑乔离开主人去找那位学士，不一会儿就同那个人一起回来了。于是，三个人又开始了一场极其滑稽的对话。
Part 2 Chapter 3
Don Quixote remained very deep in thought, waiting for the bachelor Carrasco, from whom he was to hear how he himself had been put into a book as Sancho said; and he could not persuade himself that any such history could be in existence, for the blood of the enemies he had slain was not yet dry on the blade of his sword, and now they wanted to make out that his mighty achievements were going about in print. For all that, he fancied some sage, either a friend or an enemy, might, by the aid of magic, have given them to the press; if a friend, in order to magnify and exalt them above the most famous ever achieved by any knight-errant; if an enemy, to bring them to naught and degrade them below the meanest ever recorded of any low squire, though as he said to himself, the achievements of squires never were recorded. If, however, it were the fact that such a history were in existence, it must necessarily, being the story of a knight-errant, be grandiloquent, lofty, imposing, grand and true. With this he comforted himself somewhat, though it made him uncomfortable to think that the author was a Moor, judging by the title of “Cide;” and that no truth was to be looked for from Moors, as they are all impostors, cheats, and schemers. He was afraid he might have dealt with his love affairs in some indecorous fashion, that might tend to the discredit and prejudice of the purity of his lady Dulcinea del Toboso; he would have had him set forth the fidelity and respect he had always observed towards her, spurning queens, empresses, and damsels of all sorts, and keeping in check the impetuosity of his natural impulses. Absorbed and wrapped up in these and divers other cogitations, he was found by Sancho and Carrasco, whom Don Quixote received with great courtesy.
The bachelor, though he was called Samson, was of no great bodily size, but he was a very great wag; he was of a sallow complexion, but very sharp-witted, somewhere about four-and-twenty years of age, with a round face, a flat nose, and a large mouth, all indications of a mischievous disposition and a love of fun and jokes; and of this he gave a sample as soon as he saw Don Quixote, by falling on his knees before him and saying, “Let me kiss your mightiness’s hand, Senor Don Quixote of La Mancha, for, by the habit of St. Peter that I wear, though I have no more than the first four orders, your worship is one of the most famous knights-errant that have ever been, or will be, all the world over. A blessing on Cide Hamete Benengeli, who has written the history of your great deeds, and a double blessing on that connoisseur who took the trouble of having it translated out of the Arabic into our Castilian vulgar tongue for the universal entertainment of the people!”
Don Quixote made him rise, and said, “So, then, it is true that there is a history of me, and that it was a Moor and a sage who wrote it?”
“So true is it, senor,” said Samson, “that my belief is there are more than twelve thousand volumes of the said history in print this very day. Only ask Portugal, Barcelona, and Valencia, where they have been printed, and moreover there is a report that it is being printed at Antwerp, and I am persuaded there will not be a country or language in which there will not be a translation of it.”
“One of the things,” here observed Don Quixote, “that ought to give most pleasure to a virtuous and eminent man is to find himself in his lifetime in print and in type, familiar in people’s mouths with a good name; I say with a good name, for if it be the opposite, then there is no death to be compared to it.”
“If it goes by good name and fame,” said the bachelor, “your worship alone bears away the palm from all the knights-errant; for the Moor in his own language, and the Christian in his, have taken care to set before us your gallantry, your high courage in encountering dangers, your fortitude in adversity, your patience under misfortunes as well as wounds, the purity and continence of the platonic loves of your worship and my lady Dona Dulcinea del Toboso — ”
“I never heard my lady Dulcinea called Dona,” observed Sancho here; “nothing more than the lady Dulcinea del Toboso; so here already the history is wrong.”
“That is not an objection of any importance,” replied Carrasco.
“Certainly not,” said Don Quixote; “but tell me, senor bachelor, what deeds of mine are they that are made most of in this history?”
“On that point,” replied the bachelor, “opinions differ, as tastes do; some swear by the adventure of the windmills that your worship took to be Briareuses and giants; others by that of the fulling mills; one cries up the description of the two armies that afterwards took the appearance of two droves of sheep; another that of the dead body on its way to be buried at Segovia; a third says the liberation of the galley slaves is the best of all, and a fourth that nothing comes up to the affair with the Benedictine giants, and the battle with the valiant Biscayan.”
“Tell me, senor bachelor,” said Sancho at this point, “does the adventure with the Yanguesans come in, when our good Rocinante went hankering after dainties?”
“The sage has left nothing in the ink-bottle,” replied Samson; “he tells all and sets down everything, even to the capers that worthy Sancho cut in the blanket.”
“I cut no capers in the blanket,” returned Sancho; “in the air I did, and more of them than I liked.”
“There is no human history in the world, I suppose,” said Don Quixote, “that has not its ups and downs, but more than others such as deal with chivalry, for they can never be entirely made up of prosperous adventures.”
“For all that,” replied the bachelor, “there are those who have read the history who say they would have been glad if the author had left out some of the countless cudgellings that were inflicted on Senor Don Quixote in various encounters.”
“That’s where the truth of the history comes in,” said Sancho.
“At the same time they might fairly have passed them over in silence,” observed Don Quixote; “for there is no need of recording events which do not change or affect the truth of a history, if they tend to bring the hero of it into contempt. AEneas was not in truth and earnest so pious as Virgil represents him, nor Ulysses so wise as Homer describes him.”
“That is true,” said Samson; “but it is one thing to write as a poet, another to write as a historian; the poet may describe or sing things, not as they were, but as they ought to have been; but the historian has to write them down, not as they ought to have been, but as they were, without adding anything to the truth or taking anything from it.”
“Well then,” said Sancho, “if this senor Moor goes in for telling the truth, no doubt among my master’s drubbings mine are to be found; for they never took the measure of his worship’s shoulders without doing the same for my whole body; but I have no right to wonder at that, for, as my master himself says, the members must share the pain of the head.”
“You are a sly dog, Sancho,” said Don Quixote; “i’ faith, you have no want of memory when you choose to remember.”
“If I were to try to forget the thwacks they gave me,” said Sancho, “my weals would not let me, for they are still fresh on my ribs.”
“Hush, Sancho,” said Don Quixote, “and don’t interrupt the bachelor, whom I entreat to go on and tell all that is said about me in this history.”
“And about me,” said Sancho, “for they say, too, that I am one of the principal presonages in it.”
“Personages, not presonages, friend Sancho,” said Samson.
“What! Another word-catcher!” said Sancho; “if that’s to be the way we shall not make an end in a lifetime.”
“May God shorten mine, Sancho,” returned the bachelor, “if you are not the second person in the history, and there are even some who would rather hear you talk than the cleverest in the whole book; though there are some, too, who say you showed yourself over-credulous in believing there was any possibility in the government of that island offered you by Senor Don Quixote.”
“There is still sunshine on the wall,” said Don Quixote; “and when Sancho is somewhat more advanced in life, with the experience that years bring, he will be fitter and better qualified for being a governor than he is at present.”
“By God, master,” said Sancho, “the island that I cannot govern with the years I have, I’ll not be able to govern with the years of Methuselah; the difficulty is that the said island keeps its distance somewhere, I know not where; and not that there is any want of head in me to govern it.”
“Leave it to God, Sancho,” said Don Quixote, “for all will be and perhaps better than you think; no leaf on the tree stirs but by God’s will.”
“That is true,” said Samson; “and if it be God’s will, there will not be any want of a thousand islands, much less one, for Sancho to govern.”
“I have seen governors in these parts,” said Sancho, “that are not to be compared to my shoe-sole; and for all that they are called ‘your lordship’ and served on silver.”
“Those are not governors of islands,” observed Samson, “but of other governments of an easier kind: those that govern islands must at least know grammar.”
“I could manage the gram well enough,” said Sancho; “but for the mar I have neither leaning nor liking, for I don’t know what it is; but leaving this matter of the government in God’s hands, to send me wherever it may be most to his service, I may tell you, senor bachelor Samson Carrasco, it has pleased me beyond measure that the author of this history should have spoken of me in such a way that what is said of me gives no offence; for, on the faith of a true squire, if he had said anything about me that was at all unbecoming an old Christian, such as I am, the deaf would have heard of it.”
“That would be working miracles,” said Samson.
“Miracles or no miracles,” said Sancho, “let everyone mind how he speaks or writes about people, and not set down at random the first thing that comes into his head.”
“One of the faults they find with this history,” said the bachelor, “is that its author inserted in it a novel called ‘The Ill-advised Curiosity;’ not that it is bad or ill-told, but that it is out of place and has nothing to do with the history of his worship Senor Don Quixote.”
“I will bet the son of a dog has mixed the cabbages and the baskets,” said Sancho.
“Then, I say,” said Don Quixote, “the author of my history was no sage, but some ignorant chatterer, who, in a haphazard and heedless way, set about writing it, let it turn out as it might, just as Orbaneja, the painter of Ubeda, used to do, who, when they asked him what he was painting, answered, ‘What it may turn out.’ Sometimes he would paint a cock in such a fashion, and so unlike, that he had to write alongside of it in Gothic letters, ‘This is a cock; and so it will be with my history, which will require a commentary to make it intelligible.”
“No fear of that,” returned Samson, “for it is so plain that there is nothing in it to puzzle over; the children turn its leaves, the young people read it, the grown men understand it, the old folk praise it; in a word, it is so thumbed, and read, and got by heart by people of all sorts, that the instant they see any lean hack, they say, ‘There goes Rocinante.’ And those that are most given to reading it are the pages, for there is not a lord’s ante-chamber where there is not a ‘Don Quixote’ to be found; one takes it up if another lays it down; this one pounces upon it, and that begs for it. In short, the said history is the most delightful and least injurious entertainment that has been hitherto seen, for there is not to be found in the whole of it even the semblance of an immodest word, or a thought that is other than Catholic.”
“To write in any other way,” said Don Quixote, “would not be to write truth, but falsehood, and historians who have recourse to falsehood ought to be burned, like those who coin false money; and I know not what could have led the author to have recourse to novels and irrelevant stories, when he had so much to write about in mine; no doubt he must have gone by the proverb ‘with straw or with hay, etc,’ for by merely setting forth my thoughts, my sighs, my tears, my lofty purposes, my enterprises, he might have made a volume as large, or larger than all the works of El Tostado would make up. In fact, the conclusion I arrive at, senor bachelor, is, that to write histories, or books of any kind, there is need of great judgment and a ripe understanding. To give expression to humour, and write in a strain of graceful pleasantry, is the gift of great geniuses. The cleverest character in comedy is the clown, for he who would make people take him for a fool, must not be one. History is in a measure a sacred thing, for it should be true, and where the truth is, there God is; but notwithstanding this, there are some who write and fling books broadcast on the world as if they were fritters.”
“There is no book so bad but it has something good in it,” said the bachelor.
“No doubt of that,” replied Don Quixote; “but it often happens that those who have acquired and attained a well-deserved reputation by their writings, lose it entirely, or damage it in some degree, when they give them to the press.”
“The reason of that,” said Samson, “is, that as printed works are examined leisurely, their faults are easily seen; and the greater the fame of the writer, the more closely are they scrutinised. Men famous for their genius, great poets, illustrious historians, are always, or most commonly, envied by those who take a particular delight and pleasure in criticising the writings of others, without having produced any of their own.”
“That is no wonder,” said Don Quixote; “for there are many divines who are no good for the pulpit, but excellent in detecting the defects or excesses of those who preach.”
“All that is true, Senor Don Quixote,” said Carrasco; “but I wish such fault-finders were more lenient and less exacting, and did not pay so much attention to the spots on the bright sun of the work they grumble at; for if aliquando bonus dormitat Homerus, they should remember how long he remained awake to shed the light of his work with as little shade as possible; and perhaps it may be that what they find fault with may be moles, that sometimes heighten the beauty of the face that bears them; and so I say very great is the risk to which he who prints a book exposes himself, for of all impossibilities the greatest is to write one that will satisfy and please all readers.”
“That which treats of me must have pleased few,” said Don Quixote.
“Quite the contrary,” said the bachelor; “for, as stultorum infinitum est numerus, innumerable are those who have relished the said history; but some have brought a charge against the author’s memory, inasmuch as he forgot to say who the thief was who stole Sancho’s Dapple; for it is not stated there, but only to be inferred from what is set down, that he was stolen, and a little farther on we see Sancho mounted on the same ass, without any reappearance of it. They say, too, that he forgot to state what Sancho did with those hundred crowns that he found in the valise in the Sierra Morena, as he never alludes to them again, and there are many who would be glad to know what he did with them, or what he spent them on, for it is one of the serious omissions of the work.”
“Senor Samson, I am not in a humour now for going into accounts or explanations,” said Sancho; “for there’s a sinking of the stomach come over me, and unless I doctor it with a couple of sups of the old stuff it will put me on the thorn of Santa Lucia. I have it at home, and my old woman is waiting for me; after dinner I’ll come back, and will answer you and all the world every question you may choose to ask, as well about the loss of the ass as about the spending of the hundred crowns;” and without another word or waiting for a reply he made off home.
Don Quixote begged and entreated the bachelor to stay and do penance with him. The bachelor accepted the invitation and remained, a couple of young pigeons were added to the ordinary fare, at dinner they talked chivalry, Carrasco fell in with his host’s humour, the banquet came to an end, they took their afternoon sleep, Sancho returned, and their conversation was resumed.
 
桑乔回到唐吉诃德家，又接着刚才的话题说起来：
“参孙大人说，人们想知道是谁、什么时候、在什么地方偷了我的驴，那么我告诉你，就是我们为了逃避圣友团的追捕，躲进莫雷纳山的那天晚上。我们在苦役犯和送往塞哥维亚的尸体那儿倒霉之后，我和我的主人躲进了树林。我的主人依偎着他的长矛，我骑在我的驴上。经过几次交战，我们已经浑身是伤，疲惫不堪，就像躺在四个羽绒垫上似的睡着了。特别是我，睡得尤其死，不知来了什么人，用四根棍子把我那头驴的驮鞍架起来，把驴从我身下偷走了，我竟然一点儿也没有察觉。”
“这事很简单，而且也不新鲜。萨克里潘特围攻阿尔布拉卡的时候，那个臭名昭著的盗贼布鲁内洛就是用这种办法把马从他两腿中间偷走的。”
“天亮了，”桑乔说，“我打了个寒噤，棍子就倒了，我重重地摔到地上。我找我的驴，却找不到了。我的眼里立刻流出了眼泪。我伤心极了。如果作者没把我这段情况写进去，那就是漏掉了一个很好的内容。不知过了多少天，我们同米科米科纳公主一起走的时候，我认出了我的驴，那个希内斯•帕萨蒙特打扮成吉卜赛人的样子骑在上面。那个大骗子、大坏蛋，正是我和我的主人把他从锁链里解救出来的！”
“问题不在这儿，”参孙说，“问题在于你那头驴还没出现之前，作者就说你已经骑上那头驴了。”
“这个我就不知道了，”桑乔说，“大概是作者弄错了，要不就是印刷工人的疏忽。”
“肯定是这样。”参孙说，“那么，那一百个盾又怎么样了？
都花了吗？”
桑乔答道：
“都花在我身上和我老婆、孩子身上了。我侍奉我的主人唐吉诃德在外奔波，他们在家耐心地等待我。如果等了那么长时间，结果到我回来时钱却没挣着，驴也丢了，那准没我好受的。还有就是，我当着国王也会这么说，什么衣服不衣服、钱不钱的，谁也管不着。如果我在外挨的打能够用钱来补偿，就算打一下赔四文钱吧，那么，就是再赔一百个盾也不够赔偿我一半的。每个人都拍拍自己的良心吧，不要颠倒是非，混淆黑白。人之初，性本善，可是心要坏就不知能坏多少倍呢。”
“如果这本书能够再版的话，”卡拉斯科说，“我一定记着告诉作者，把桑乔的这段话加上去，那么这本书就更精彩了。”
“这本书里还有其他需要修改的地方吗？”唐吉诃德问。
“是的，大概还有，”卡拉斯科说，“不过都不像刚才说的那么重要。”
“难怪作者说还要出下卷，”参孙又说，“不过，他没有找到、也不知道是谁掌握着下卷的材料，所以我们怀疑下卷还能不能出来。而且，有些人说：‘续集从来就没有写得好的。’还有些人说：‘有关唐吉诃德的事，已经写出来的这些就足够了。’但也有一些人不怎么悲观，而且说得很痛快：‘再来些唐吉诃德的故事吧，让唐吉诃德只管冲杀，桑乔只管多嘴吧，我们就爱看这个。”
“那么，作者打算怎么办呢？”
“他正在全力寻找材料，”参孙说，“只要找到材料，他马上就可以付梓印刷。他图的是利，倒不怎么在乎别人的赞扬。”
桑乔闻言道：
“作者贪图钱和利？那要能写好才怪呢。他肯定不会认真地写，就像裁缝在复活节前赶制衣服一样，匆忙赶制的东西肯定不像要求的那样细致。这位摩尔大人或是什么人，在干什么呢？他若是想找有关冒险或其他各种事情的材料，我和我的主人这儿有的是。别说下卷，就是再写一百卷也足够。这位大好人应该想到，我们并不是在这儿混日子呢。他只要向我们了解情况，就知道我们是怎么过来的了。我只能说，我的主人要是听了我的劝告，我们现在肯定像那些优秀的游侠骑士一样，正在外面拨乱反正呢。”
桑乔还没说完，罗西南多就在外面嘶鸣起来。唐吉诃德听见了，觉得这是个极好的兆头，就决定三四天后再度出征。他把自己的想法告诉了学士，并且同学士商量，自己的征程应该从哪儿开始好。学士说他觉得应该首先到阿拉贡王国，到萨拉戈萨城去。过几天，到圣豪尔赫节的时候，那儿要举行极其隆重的擂台赛，唐吉诃德可以利用那个机会击败阿拉贡的骑士，那就等于战胜了世界上的所有骑士，从此名扬天下。学士对唐吉诃德极其高尚勇敢的决定表示赞赏。学士还提醒唐吉诃德，遇到危险时要注意保护自己，因为他的生命不属于他自己，而属于那些在他征险途中需要他保护和帮助的人。
“这点我就不同意，参孙大人，”桑乔说，“想让我的主人见了上百个武士就像孩子见了一堆甜瓜似的往上冲，那怎么行？求求您了，学士大人！该进则进，该退就得退，不能总是‘圣主保佑，西班牙必胜’！而且，如果我没记错的话，我听说，大概是听我主人说的，在怯懦和鲁莽这两个极端之间选择中间才算勇敢。如果是这样，我不希望我的主人无缘无故地逃跑，也不希望他不管不顾地一味向前冲。不过更重要的是，我有句话得告诉我的主人，假如他这次还想带我去，就得答应我一个条件，那就是所有战斗都是他的事，我只负责他吃喝拉撒的事，而且一定尽心竭力，可是要让我拿剑去战斗，即使是对付那些舞刀弄枪的痞子也休想！
“参孙大人，我并不想得到勇者的美名，我只想做游侠骑士最优秀最忠实的侍从。如果我的主人唐吉诃德鉴于我忠心耿耿，想把据他说能夺取到的许多岛屿送给我一个，我会十分高兴地接受。如果他不给我岛屿，那么我还是我，我也不用靠别人活着，我只靠上帝活着，而且不做总督也许会比做总督活得还好。况且，谁知道魔鬼会不会在我当总督期间给我设个圈套，把我绊倒，连牙齿都磕掉了呢？我生来是桑乔，我打算死的时候还是桑乔。不过，若是老天赐给我一个岛屿或是其他类似的东西，只要不用费力气，也不用冒险，我才不会那么傻，推辞不要它呢。人们常说：‘给你牛犊，快拿绳牵’，‘好运来了，切莫错过’。”
“桑乔兄弟，”卡拉斯科说，“你讲话真够有水平的，但即使这样，你还得相信上帝，相信你的主人唐吉诃德，那么，他给你的就不是一个岛屿，而是一个王国了。”
“多和少都是一回事，”桑乔说，“不过，我可以告诉卡拉斯科大人，只要我的主人没有忘记给我一个王国，我会珍重自己的。我的身体很好，依然可以统治王国，管理岛屿。这话我已经同我的主人说过多次了。”
“你看，桑乔，”参孙说，“职业能够改变人。也许你当了总督以后，连亲妈都不认了。”
“只有那些出身低下的人才会那样。像我这样品行端正的老基督徒绝不会这样。你只要了解我的为人，就知道我对任何人都不会忘恩负义。”
“只要有做总督的机会，”唐吉诃德说，“上帝肯定会安排，而且，我也会替你留心。”
说完，唐吉诃德又请求学士，说如果他会写诗，就请代劳写几首诗，自己想在辞别托博索的杜尔西内亚夫人时用，而且，唐吉诃德还请他务必让每句诗的开头用上她的名字的一个字母，等把全诗写出来后，这些开头的字母就能组成“托博索杜尔西内亚”这字样。学士说自己虽然算不上西班牙的著名诗人，因为西班牙的著名诗人至多也只有三个半，但他还是能按照这种诗韵写出几首，虽然写起来会很困难。因为这个名字一共有十七个字母，如果作四首卡斯特亚纳①的话，还多一个字母；如果写成五行诗的话，就还欠三个字母。不过，尽管如此，他会全力以赴，争取在四首卡斯特亚纳里放下“托博索杜尔西内亚”这个名字。
①卡斯特亚纳是一种四行八音节的民歌。
“哪儿都是一样，”唐吉诃德说，“如果诗里没有明确写明某个女人的名字，她就不认为诗是写给她的。”
这件事就这样商定了。他们还商定唐吉诃德八天后启程。唐吉诃德嘱咐学士一定要保密，特别是对神甫、理发师、他的外甥女和女管家，免得这一光荣而又勇敢的行动受阻。卡拉斯科答应了，然后起身告辞，而且嘱咐唐吉诃德，只要有可能，一定要把消息告诉他，不管是好的还是坏的。他们就这样告别了，桑乔去做外出的各种准备工作。
Part 2 Chapter 4
Sancho came back to Don Quixote’s house, and returning to the late subject of conversation, he said, “As to what Senor Samson said, that he would like to know by whom, or how, or when my ass was stolen, I say in reply that the same night we went into the Sierra Morena, flying from the Holy Brotherhood after that unlucky adventure of the galley slaves, and the other of the corpse that was going to Segovia, my master and I ensconced ourselves in a thicket, and there, my master leaning on his lance, and I seated on my Dapple, battered and weary with the late frays we fell asleep as if it had been on four feather mattresses; and I in particular slept so sound, that, whoever he was, he was able to come and prop me up on four stakes, which he put under the four corners of the pack-saddle in such a way that he left me mounted on it, and took away Dapple from under me without my feeling it.”
 
“That is an easy matter,” said Don Quixote, “and it is no new occurrence, for the same thing happened to Sacripante at the siege of Albracca; the famous thief, Brunello, by the same contrivance, took his horse from between his legs.”
“Day came,” continued Sancho, “and the moment I stirred the stakes gave way and I fell to the ground with a mighty come down; I looked about for the ass, but could not see him; the tears rushed to my eyes and I raised such a lamentation that, if the author of our history has not put it in, he may depend upon it he has left out a good thing. Some days after, I know not how many, travelling with her ladyship the Princess Micomicona, I saw my ass, and mounted upon him, in the dress of a gipsy, was that Gines de Pasamonte, the great rogue and rascal that my master and I freed from the chain.”
“That is not where the mistake is,” replied Samson; “it is, that before the ass has turned up, the author speaks of Sancho as being mounted on it.”
“I don’t know what to say to that,” said Sancho, “unless that the historian made a mistake, or perhaps it might be a blunder of the printer’s .”
“No doubt that’s it,” said Samson; “but what became of the hundred crowns? Did they vanish?”
To which Sancho answered, “I spent them for my own good, and my wife’s , and my children’s, and it is they that have made my wife bear so patiently all my wanderings on highways and byways, in the service of my master, Don Quixote; for if after all this time I had come back to the house without a rap and without the ass, it would have been a poor look-out for me; and if anyone wants to know anything more about me, here I am, ready to answer the king himself in person; and it is no affair of anyone’s whether I took or did not take, whether I spent or did not spend; for the whacks that were given me in these journeys were to be paid for in money, even if they were valued at no more than four maravedis apiece, another hundred crowns would not pay me for half of them. Let each look to himself and not try to make out white black, and black white; for each of us is as God made him, aye, and often worse.”
“I will take care,” said Carrasco, “to impress upon the author of the history that, if he prints it again, he must not forget what worthy Sancho has said, for it will raise it a good span higher.”
“Is there anything else to correct in the history, senor bachelor?” asked Don Quixote.
“No doubt there is,” replied he; “but not anything that will be of the same importance as those I have mentioned.”
“Does the author promise a second part at all?” said Don Quixote.
“He does promise one,” replied Samson; “but he says he has not found it, nor does he know who has got it; and we cannot say whether it will appear or not; and so, on that head, as some say that no second part has ever been good, and others that enough has been already written about Don Quixote, it is thought there will be no second part; though some, who are jovial rather than saturnine, say, ‘Let us have more Quixotades, let Don Quixote charge and Sancho chatter, and no matter what it may turn out, we shall be satisfied with that.’”
“And what does the author mean to do?” said Don Quixote.
“What?” replied Samson; “why, as soon as he has found the history which he is now searching for with extraordinary diligence, he will at once give it to the press, moved more by the profit that may accrue to him from doing so than by any thought of praise.”
Whereat Sancho observed, “The author looks for money and profit, does he? It will he a wonder if he succeeds, for it will be only hurry, hurry, with him, like the tailor on Easter Eve; and works done in a hurry are never finished as perfectly as they ought to be. Let master Moor, or whatever he is, pay attention to what he is doing, and I and my master will give him as much grouting ready to his hand, in the way of adventures and accidents of all sorts, as would make up not only one second part, but a hundred. The good man fancies, no doubt, that we are fast asleep in the straw here, but let him hold up our feet to be shod and he will see which foot it is we go lame on. All I say is, that if my master would take my advice, we would be now afield, redressing outrages and righting wrongs, as is the use and custom of good knights-errant.”
Sancho had hardly uttered these words when the neighing of Rocinante fell upon their ears, which neighing Don Quixote accepted as a happy omen, and he resolved to make another sally in three or four days from that time. Announcing his intention to the bachelor, he asked his advice as to the quarter in which he ought to commence his expedition, and the bachelor replied that in his opinion he ought to go to the kingdom of Aragon, and the city of Saragossa, where there were to be certain solemn joustings at the festival of St. George, at which he might win renown above all the knights of Aragon, which would be winning it above all the knights of the world. He commended his very praiseworthy and gallant resolution, but admonished him to proceed with greater caution in encountering dangers, because his life did not belong to him, but to all those who had need of him to protect and aid them in their misfortunes.
“There’s where it is, what I abominate, Senor Samson,” said Sancho here; “my master will attack a hundred armed men as a greedy boy would half a dozen melons. Body of the world, senor bachelor! there is a time to attack and a time to retreat, and it is not to be always ‘Santiago, and close Spain!’ Moreover, I have heard it said (and I think by my master himself, if I remember rightly) that the mean of valour lies between the extremes of cowardice and rashness; and if that be so, I don’t want him to fly without having good reason, or to attack when the odds make it better not. But, above all things, I warn my master that if he is to take me with him it must be on the condition that he is to do all the fighting, and that I am not to be called upon to do anything except what concerns keeping him clean and comfortable; in this I will dance attendance on him readily; but to expect me to draw sword, even against rascally churls of the hatchet and hood, is idle. I don’t set up to be a fighting man, Senor Samson, but only the best and most loyal squire that ever served knight-errant; and if my master Don Quixote, in consideration of my many faithful services, is pleased to give me some island of the many his worship says one may stumble on in these parts, I will take it as a great favour; and if he does not give it to me, I was born like everyone else, and a man must not live in dependence on anyone except God; and what is more, my bread will taste as well, and perhaps even better, without a government than if I were a governor; and how do I know but that in these governments the devil may have prepared some trip for me, to make me lose my footing and fall and knock my grinders out? Sancho I was born and Sancho I mean to die. But for all that, if heaven were to make me a fair offer of an island or something else of the kind, without much trouble and without much risk, I am not such a fool as to refuse it; for they say, too, ‘when they offer thee a heifer, run with a halter; and ‘when good luck comes to thee, take it in.’”
“Brother Sancho,” said Carrasco, “you have spoken like a professor; but, for all that, put your trust in God and in Senor Don Quixote, for he will give you a kingdom, not to say an island.”
“It is all the same, be it more or be it less,” replied Sancho; “though I can tell Senor Carrasco that my master would not throw the kingdom he might give me into a sack all in holes; for I have felt my own pulse and I find myself sound enough to rule kingdoms and govern islands; and I have before now told my master as much.”
“Take care, Sancho,” said Samson; “honours change manners, and perhaps when you find yourself a governor you won’t know the mother that bore you.”
“That may hold good of those that are born in the ditches,” said Sancho, “not of those who have the fat of an old Christian four fingers deep on their souls, as I have. Nay, only look at my disposition, is that likely to show ingratitude to anyone?”
“God grant it,” said Don Quixote; “we shall see when the government comes; and I seem to see it already.”
He then begged the bachelor, if he were a poet, to do him the favour of composing some verses for him conveying the farewell he meant to take of his lady Dulcinea del Toboso, and to see that a letter of her name was placed at the beginning of each line, so that, at the end of the verses, “Dulcinea del Toboso” might be read by putting together the first letters. The bachelor replied that although he was not one of the famous poets of Spain, who were, they said, only three and a half, he would not fail to compose the required verses; though he saw a great difficulty in the task, as the letters which made up the name were seventeen; so, if he made four ballad stanzas of four lines each, there would be a letter over, and if he made them of five, what they called decimas or redondillas, there were three letters short; nevertheless he would try to drop a letter as well as he could, so that the name “Dulcinea del Toboso” might be got into four ballad stanzas.
“It must be, by some means or other,” said Don Quixote, “for unless the name stands there plain and manifest, no woman would believe the verses were made for her.”
They agreed upon this, and that the departure should take place in three days from that time. Don Quixote charged the bachelor to keep it a secret, especially from the curate and Master Nicholas, and from his niece and the housekeeper, lest they should prevent the execution of his praiseworthy and valiant purpose. Carrasco promised all, and then took his leave, charging Don Quixote to inform him of his good or evil fortunes whenever he had an opportunity; and thus they bade each other farewell, and Sancho went away to make the necessary preparations for their expedition.
 
桑乔回到唐吉诃德家，又接着刚才的话题说起来：
“参孙大人说，人们想知道是谁、什么时候、在什么地方偷了我的驴，那么我告诉你，就是我们为了逃避圣友团的追捕，躲进莫雷纳山的那天晚上。我们在苦役犯和送往塞哥维亚的尸体那儿倒霉之后，我和我的主人躲进了树林。我的主人依偎着他的长矛，我骑在我的驴上。经过几次交战，我们已经浑身是伤，疲惫不堪，就像躺在四个羽绒垫上似的睡着了。特别是我，睡得尤其死，不知来了什么人，用四根棍子把我那头驴的驮鞍架起来，把驴从我身下偷走了，我竟然一点儿也没有察觉。”
“这事很简单，而且也不新鲜。萨克里潘特围攻阿尔布拉卡的时候，那个臭名昭著的盗贼布鲁内洛就是用这种办法把马从他两腿中间偷走的。”
“天亮了，”桑乔说，“我打了个寒噤，棍子就倒了，我重重地摔到地上。我找我的驴，却找不到了。我的眼里立刻流出了眼泪。我伤心极了。如果作者没把我这段情况写进去，那就是漏掉了一个很好的内容。不知过了多少天，我们同米科米科纳公主一起走的时候，我认出了我的驴，那个希内斯•帕萨蒙特打扮成吉卜赛人的样子骑在上面。那个大骗子、大坏蛋，正是我和我的主人把他从锁链里解救出来的！”
“问题不在这儿，”参孙说，“问题在于你那头驴还没出现之前，作者就说你已经骑上那头驴了。”
“这个我就不知道了，”桑乔说，“大概是作者弄错了，要不就是印刷工人的疏忽。”
“肯定是这样。”参孙说，“那么，那一百个盾又怎么样了？
都花了吗？”
桑乔答道：
“都花在我身上和我老婆、孩子身上了。我侍奉我的主人唐吉诃德在外奔波，他们在家耐心地等待我。如果等了那么长时间，结果到我回来时钱却没挣着，驴也丢了，那准没我好受的。还有就是，我当着国王也会这么说，什么衣服不衣服、钱不钱的，谁也管不着。如果我在外挨的打能够用钱来补偿，就算打一下赔四文钱吧，那么，就是再赔一百个盾也不够赔偿我一半的。每个人都拍拍自己的良心吧，不要颠倒是非，混淆黑白。人之初，性本善，可是心要坏就不知能坏多少倍呢。”
“如果这本书能够再版的话，”卡拉斯科说，“我一定记着告诉作者，把桑乔的这段话加上去，那么这本书就更精彩了。”
“这本书里还有其他需要修改的地方吗？”唐吉诃德问。
“是的，大概还有，”卡拉斯科说，“不过都不像刚才说的那么重要。”
“难怪作者说还要出下卷，”参孙又说，“不过，他没有找到、也不知道是谁掌握着下卷的材料，所以我们怀疑下卷还能不能出来。而且，有些人说：‘续集从来就没有写得好的。’还有些人说：‘有关唐吉诃德的事，已经写出来的这些就足够了。’但也有一些人不怎么悲观，而且说得很痛快：‘再来些唐吉诃德的故事吧，让唐吉诃德只管冲杀，桑乔只管多嘴吧，我们就爱看这个。”
“那么，作者打算怎么办呢？”
“他正在全力寻找材料，”参孙说，“只要找到材料，他马上就可以付梓印刷。他图的是利，倒不怎么在乎别人的赞扬。”
桑乔闻言道：
“作者贪图钱和利？那要能写好才怪呢。他肯定不会认真地写，就像裁缝在复活节前赶制衣服一样，匆忙赶制的东西肯定不像要求的那样细致。这位摩尔大人或是什么人，在干什么呢？他若是想找有关冒险或其他各种事情的材料，我和我的主人这儿有的是。别说下卷，就是再写一百卷也足够。这位大好人应该想到，我们并不是在这儿混日子呢。他只要向我们了解情况，就知道我们是怎么过来的了。我只能说，我的主人要是听了我的劝告，我们现在肯定像那些优秀的游侠骑士一样，正在外面拨乱反正呢。”
桑乔还没说完，罗西南多就在外面嘶鸣起来。唐吉诃德听见了，觉得这是个极好的兆头，就决定三四天后再度出征。他把自己的想法告诉了学士，并且同学士商量，自己的征程应该从哪儿开始好。学士说他觉得应该首先到阿拉贡王国，到萨拉戈萨城去。过几天，到圣豪尔赫节的时候，那儿要举行极其隆重的擂台赛，唐吉诃德可以利用那个机会击败阿拉贡的骑士，那就等于战胜了世界上的所有骑士，从此名扬天下。学士对唐吉诃德极其高尚勇敢的决定表示赞赏。学士还提醒唐吉诃德，遇到危险时要注意保护自己，因为他的生命不属于他自己，而属于那些在他征险途中需要他保护和帮助的人。
“这点我就不同意，参孙大人，”桑乔说，“想让我的主人见了上百个武士就像孩子见了一堆甜瓜似的往上冲，那怎么行？求求您了，学士大人！该进则进，该退就得退，不能总是‘圣主保佑，西班牙必胜’！而且，如果我没记错的话，我听说，大概是听我主人说的，在怯懦和鲁莽这两个极端之间选择中间才算勇敢。如果是这样，我不希望我的主人无缘无故地逃跑，也不希望他不管不顾地一味向前冲。不过更重要的是，我有句话得告诉我的主人，假如他这次还想带我去，就得答应我一个条件，那就是所有战斗都是他的事，我只负责他吃喝拉撒的事，而且一定尽心竭力，可是要让我拿剑去战斗，即使是对付那些舞刀弄枪的痞子也休想！
“参孙大人，我并不想得到勇者的美名，我只想做游侠骑士最优秀最忠实的侍从。如果我的主人唐吉诃德鉴于我忠心耿耿，想把据他说能夺取到的许多岛屿送给我一个，我会十分高兴地接受。如果他不给我岛屿，那么我还是我，我也不用靠别人活着，我只靠上帝活着，而且不做总督也许会比做总督活得还好。况且，谁知道魔鬼会不会在我当总督期间给我设个圈套，把我绊倒，连牙齿都磕掉了呢？我生来是桑乔，我打算死的时候还是桑乔。不过，若是老天赐给我一个岛屿或是其他类似的东西，只要不用费力气，也不用冒险，我才不会那么傻，推辞不要它呢。人们常说：‘给你牛犊，快拿绳牵’，‘好运来了，切莫错过’。”
“桑乔兄弟，”卡拉斯科说，“你讲话真够有水平的，但即使这样，你还得相信上帝，相信你的主人唐吉诃德，那么，他给你的就不是一个岛屿，而是一个王国了。”
“多和少都是一回事，”桑乔说，“不过，我可以告诉卡拉斯科大人，只要我的主人没有忘记给我一个王国，我会珍重自己的。我的身体很好，依然可以统治王国，管理岛屿。这话我已经同我的主人说过多次了。”
“你看，桑乔，”参孙说，“职业能够改变人。也许你当了总督以后，连亲妈都不认了。”
“只有那些出身低下的人才会那样。像我这样品行端正的老基督徒绝不会这样。你只要了解我的为人，就知道我对任何人都不会忘恩负义。”
“只要有做总督的机会，”唐吉诃德说，“上帝肯定会安排，而且，我也会替你留心。”
说完，唐吉诃德又请求学士，说如果他会写诗，就请代劳写几首诗，自己想在辞别托博索的杜尔西内亚夫人时用，而且，唐吉诃德还请他务必让每句诗的开头用上她的名字的一个字母，等把全诗写出来后，这些开头的字母就能组成“托博索杜尔西内亚”这字样。学士说自己虽然算不上西班牙的著名诗人，因为西班牙的著名诗人至多也只有三个半，但他还是能按照这种诗韵写出几首，虽然写起来会很困难。因为这个名字一共有十七个字母，如果作四首卡斯特亚纳①的话，还多一个字母；如果写成五行诗的话，就还欠三个字母。不过，尽管如此，他会全力以赴，争取在四首卡斯特亚纳里放下“托博索杜尔西内亚”这个名字。
①卡斯特亚纳是一种四行八音节的民歌。
“哪儿都是一样，”唐吉诃德说，“如果诗里没有明确写明某个女人的名字，她就不认为诗是写给她的。”
这件事就这样商定了。他们还商定唐吉诃德八天后启程。唐吉诃德嘱咐学士一定要保密，特别是对神甫、理发师、他的外甥女和女管家，免得这一光荣而又勇敢的行动受阻。卡拉斯科答应了，然后起身告辞，而且嘱咐唐吉诃德，只要有可能，一定要把消息告诉他，不管是好的还是坏的。他们就这样告别了，桑乔去做外出的各种准备工作。
Part 2 Chapter 5
The translator of this history, when he comes to write this fifth chapter, says that he considers it apocryphal, because in it Sancho Panza speaks in a style unlike that which might have been expected from his limited intelligence, and says things so subtle that he does not think it possible he could have conceived them; however, desirous of doing what his task imposed upon him, he was unwilling to leave it untranslated, and therefore he went on to say:
Sancho came home in such glee and spirits that his wife noticed his happiness a bowshot off, so much so that it made her ask him, “What have you got, Sancho friend, that you are so glad?”
To which he replied, “Wife, if it were God’s will, I should be very glad not to be so well pleased as I show myself.”
“I don’t understand you, husband,” said she, “and I don’t know what you mean by saying you would be glad, if it were God’s will, not to be well pleased; for, fool as I am, I don’t know how one can find pleasure in not having it.”
“Hark ye, Teresa,” replied Sancho, “I am glad because I have made up my mind to go back to the service of my master Don Quixote, who means to go out a third time to seek for adventures; and I am going with him again, for my necessities will have it so, and also the hope that cheers me with the thought that I may find another hundred crowns like those we have spent; though it makes me sad to have to leave thee and the children; and if God would be pleased to let me have my daily bread, dry-shod and at home, without taking me out into the byways and cross-roads — and he could do it at small cost by merely willing it — it is clear my happiness would be more solid and lasting, for the happiness I have is mingled with sorrow at leaving thee; so that I was right in saying I would be glad, if it were God’s will, not to be well pleased.”
“Look here, Sancho,” said Teresa; “ever since you joined on to a knight-errant you talk in such a roundabout way that there is no understanding you.”
“It is enough that God understands me, wife,” replied Sancho; “for he is the understander of all things; that will do; but mind, sister, you must look to Dapple carefully for the next three days, so that he may be fit to take arms; double his feed, and see to the pack-saddle and other harness, for it is not to a wedding we are bound, but to go round the world, and play at give and take with giants and dragons and monsters, and hear hissings and roarings and bellowings and howlings; and even all this would be lavender, if we had not to reckon with Yanguesans and enchanted Moors.”
“I know well enough, husband,” said Teresa, “that squires-errant don’t eat their bread for nothing, and so I will be always praying to our Lord to deliver you speedily from all that hard fortune.”
“I can tell you, wife,” said Sancho, “if I did not expect to see myself governor of an island before long, I would drop down dead on the spot.”
“Nay, then, husband,” said Teresa; “let the hen live, though it be with her pip, live, and let the devil take all the governments in the world; you came out of your mother’s womb without a government, you have lived until now without a government, and when it is God’s will you will go, or be carried, to your grave without a government. How many there are in the world who live without a government, and continue to live all the same, and are reckoned in the number of the people. The best sauce in the world is hunger, and as the poor are never without that, they always eat with a relish. But mind, Sancho, if by good luck you should find yourself with some government, don’t forget me and your children. Remember that Sanchico is now full fifteen, and it is right he should go to school, if his uncle the abbot has a mind to have him trained for the Church. Consider, too, that your daughter Mari-Sancha will not die of grief if we marry her; for I have my suspicions that she is as eager to get a husband as you to get a government; and, after all, a daughter looks better ill married than well whored.”
“By my faith,” replied Sancho, “if God brings me to get any sort of a government, I intend, wife, to make such a high match for Mari-Sancha that there will be no approaching her without calling her ‘my lady.”
“Nay, Sancho,” returned Teresa; “marry her to her equal, that is the safest plan; for if you put her out of wooden clogs into high-heeled shoes, out of her grey flannel petticoat into hoops and silk gowns, out of the plain ‘Marica’ and ‘thou,’ into ‘Dona So-and-so’ and ‘my lady,’ the girl won’t know where she is, and at every turn she will fall into a thousand blunders that will show the thread of her coarse homespun stuff.”
“Tut, you fool,” said Sancho; “it will be only to practise it for two or three years; and then dignity and decorum will fit her as easily as a glove; and if not, what matter? Let her he ‘my lady,’ and never mind what happens.”
“Keep to your own station, Sancho,” replied Teresa; “don’t try to raise yourself higher, and bear in mind the proverb that says, ‘wipe the nose of your neigbbour’s son, and take him into your house.’ A fine thing it would be, indeed, to marry our Maria to some great count or grand gentleman, who, when the humour took him, would abuse her and call her clown-bred and clodhopper’s daughter and spinning wench. I have not been bringing up my daughter for that all this time, I can tell you, husband. Do you bring home money, Sancho, and leave marrying her to my care; there is Lope Tocho, Juan Tocho’s son, a stout, sturdy young fellow that we know, and I can see he does not look sour at the girl; and with him, one of our own sort, she will be well married, and we shall have her always under our eyes, and be all one family, parents and children, grandchildren and sons-in-law, and the peace and blessing of God will dwell among us; so don’t you go marrying her in those courts and grand palaces where they won’t know what to make of her, or she what to make of herself.”
“Why, you idiot and wife for Barabbas,” said Sancho, “what do you mean by trying, without why or wherefore, to keep me from marrying my daughter to one who will give me grandchildren that will be called ‘your lordship’? Look ye, Teresa, I have always heard my elders say that he who does not know how to take advantage of luck when it comes to him, has no right to complain if it gives him the go-by; and now that it is knocking at our door, it will not do to shut it out; let us go with the favouring breeze that blows upon us.”
It is this sort of talk, and what Sancho says lower down, that made the translator of the history say he considered this chapter apocryphal.
“Don’t you see, you animal,” continued Sancho, “that it will be well for me to drop into some profitable government that will lift us out of the mire, and marry Mari-Sancha to whom I like; and you yourself will find yourself called ‘Dona Teresa Panza,’ and sitting in church on a fine carpet and cushions and draperies, in spite and in defiance of all the born ladies of the town? No, stay as you are, growing neither greater nor less, like a tapestry figure — Let us say no more about it, for Sanchica shall be a countess, say what you will.”
“Are you sure of all you say, husband?” replied Teresa. “Well, for all that, I am afraid this rank of countess for my daughter will be her ruin. You do as you like, make a duchess or a princess of her, but I can tell you it will not be with my will and consent. I was always a lover of equality, brother, and I can’t bear to see people give themselves airs without any right. They called me Teresa at my baptism, a plain, simple name, without any additions or tags or fringes of Dons or Donas; Cascajo was my father’s name, and as I am your wife, I am called Teresa Panza, though by right I ought to he called Teresa Cascajo; but ‘kings go where laws like,’ and I am content with this name without having the ‘Don’ put on top of it to make it so heavy that I cannot carry it; and I don’t want to make people talk about me when they see me go dressed like a countess or governor’s wife; for they will say at once, ‘See what airs the slut gives herself! Only yesterday she was always spinning flax, and used to go to mass with the tail of her petticoat over her head instead of a mantle, and there she goes to-day in a hooped gown with her broaches and airs, as if we didn’t know her!’ If God keeps me in my seven senses, or five, or whatever number I have, I am not going to bring myself to such a pass; go you, brother, and be a government or an island man, and swagger as much as you like; for by the soul of my mother, neither my daughter nor I are going to stir a step from our village; a respectable woman should have a broken leg and keep at home; and to he busy at something is a virtuous damsel’s holiday; be off to your adventures along with your Don Quixote, and leave us to our misadventures, for God will mend them for us according as we deserve it. I don’t know, I’m sure, who fixed the ‘Don’ to him, what neither his father nor grandfather ever had.”
“I declare thou hast a devil of some sort in thy body!” said Sancho. “God help thee, what a lot of things thou hast strung together, one after the other, without head or tail! What have Cascajo, and the broaches and the proverbs and the airs, to do with what I say? Look here, fool and dolt (for so I may call you, when you don’t understand my words, and run away from good fortune), if I had said that my daughter was to throw herself down from a tower, or go roaming the world, as the Infanta Dona Urraca wanted to do, you would be right in not giving way to my will; but if in an instant, in less than the twinkling of an eye, I put the ‘Don’ and ‘my lady’ on her back, and take her out of the stubble, and place her under a canopy, on a dais, and on a couch, with more velvet cushions than all the Almohades of Morocco ever had in their family, why won’t you consent and fall in with my wishes?”
“Do you know why, husband?” replied Teresa; “because of the proverb that says ‘who covers thee, discovers thee.’ At the poor man people only throw a hasty glance; on the rich man they fix their eyes; and if the said rich man was once on a time poor, it is then there is the sneering and the tattle and spite of backbiters; and in the streets here they swarm as thick as bees.”
“Look here, Teresa,” said Sancho, “and listen to what I am now going to say to you; maybe you never heard it in all your life; and I do not give my own notions, for what I am about to say are the opinions of his reverence the preacher, who preached in this town last Lent, and who said, if I remember rightly, that all things present that our eyes behold, bring themselves before us, and remain and fix themselves on our memory much better and more forcibly than things past.”
These observations which Sancho makes here are the other ones on account of which the translator says he regards this chapter as apocryphal, inasmuch as they are beyond Sancho’s capacity.
“Whence it arises,” he continued, “that when we see any person well dressed and making a figure with rich garments and retinue of servants, it seems to lead and impel us perforce to respect him, though memory may at the same moment recall to us some lowly condition in which we have seen him, but which, whether it may have been poverty or low birth, being now a thing of the past, has no existence; while the only thing that has any existence is what we see before us; and if this person whom fortune has raised from his original lowly state (these were the very words the padre used) to his present height of prosperity, be well bred, generous, courteous to all, without seeking to vie with those whose nobility is of ancient date, depend upon it, Teresa, no one will remember what he was, and everyone will respect what he is, except indeed the envious, from whom no fair fortune is safe.”
“I do not understand you, husband,” replied Teresa; “do as you like, and don’t break my head with any more speechifying and rethoric; and if you have revolved to do what you say — ”
“Resolved, you should say, woman,” said Sancho, “not revolved.”
“Don’t set yourself to wrangle with me, husband,” said Teresa; “I speak as God pleases, and don’t deal in out-of-the-way phrases; and I say if you are bent upon having a government, take your son Sancho with you, and teach him from this time on how to hold a government; for sons ought to inherit and learn the trades of their fathers.”
“As soon as I have the government,” said Sancho, “I will send for him by post, and I will send thee money, of which I shall have no lack, for there is never any want of people to lend it to governors when they have not got it; and do thou dress him so as to hide what he is and make him look what he is to be.”
“You send the money,” said Teresa, “and I’ll dress him up for you as fine as you please.”
“Then we are agreed that our daughter is to be a countess,” said Sancho.
“The day that I see her a countess,” replied Teresa, “it will be the same to me as if I was burying her; but once more I say do as you please, for we women are born to this burden of being obedient to our husbands, though they be dogs;” and with this she began to weep in earnest, as if she already saw Sanchica dead and buried.
Sancho consoled her by saying that though he must make her a countess, he would put it off as long as possible. Here their conversation came to an end, and Sancho went back to see Don Quixote, and make arrangements for their departure.
 
这部小说的译者译到第五章时，怀疑这部分是伪造的，因为桑乔在此处的妙论不同于以往那样傻话连篇，而是言语精辟，这在桑乔是不可能的。不过，译者并没有因此而不履行自己的职责，还是照译如下：
桑乔兴高采烈地回家去了。他的妻子从远处就看到了他那高兴的样子，忍不住问他：
“你怎么了，桑乔，干吗乐成这个样子？”
桑乔回答说：
“我的老伴儿呀，但愿上帝能让我不像现在这样高兴，我才乐意呢。”
“我不明白，老伴儿，”她说道，“你说，但愿上帝能让你不像现在这样高兴你才乐意呢，这是什么意思？我虽然傻，却没听说过有谁不高兴才称心如意呢。”
“你看，特雷莎，”桑乔说，“我高兴是因为我已经决定再次去服侍我的主人唐吉诃德，他要第三次出去征险了。我又跟他出去是因为我需要这样，而且我还指望这次能再找到一百个盾呢。我正是为此而高兴的。那一百个盾咱们已经花掉了。不过，要离开你和孩子我又难过。如果上帝能够让我不必在外颠沛流离，而是在家里坐享清福，我当然更高兴了。现在，我是既高兴又掺着与你分别的痛苦，所以我刚才说，如果上帝不让我像现在这样高兴我才乐意呢。”
“你看你，桑乔，”特雷莎说，“自从你跟了游侠骑士以后，说话总是拐弯抹角的，谁也听不懂。”
“上帝能听懂就行了，老伴儿，”桑乔说，“上帝无所不懂。咱们就说到这儿吧，这三天你最好先照看好驴，让它能时刻整装待发。你要加倍喂料，仔细检查驮鞍和其他鞍具。我们不是去参加婚礼，而是去游历世界，遇到的是巨人和妖魔鬼怪，听到的是各种鬼哭狼嚎。如果不碰上杨瓜斯人和会魔法的摩尔人，这些都算小事哩。”
“我完全相信，老伴儿，”特雷莎说，“游侠侍从这碗饭也不是白吃的。我会祈求上帝让你尽早脱离这个倒霉的行当。”
“我告诉你，老伴儿呀，”桑乔说，“要不是想到我要当岛屿的总督，我早就死在这儿了。”
“别这样，我的丈夫，”特雷莎说，“‘鸡就是长了舌疮也得活呀’。你可得活着，让世界上所有的总督都见鬼去吧。你没当总督也从你娘肚子里出来了，没当总督也活到了现在；不当总督，若是上帝让你去坟墓，你就是自己不愿去，也会有人把你送去的。世界上那么多人没当总督，人家也没有因此就活不下去，也没有因此就不是人了。世界上最好的调味汁就是饥饿，而穷人从来不缺饿，所以吃东西总是那么香。不过你听着，桑乔，万一你当了什么总督，一定别忘了我和你的孩子们。你看，小桑乔已经满十五岁了，如果你那位当修道院院长的叔叔想让他以后当神甫，也该让他去学习了。你再看看你的女儿玛丽•桑查吧，如果不让她结婚，她非死了不可。现在越来越看得出来，她特别想有个丈夫，就像你想当总督似的。反正，当个不如意的老婆也比当高级姘头强。”
“我明白，”桑乔说，“如果上帝让我当个总督什么的，我一定要让玛丽•桑查嫁给一个地位高的人。谁不能让她当上贵夫人就休想娶她。”
“不，不，桑乔，”特雷莎说，“让她嫁给一个地位相当的人才合适。你要让她不穿木屐而换上软木厚底鞋，不穿粗呢裙而换上带裙撑的绸裙①，不叫玛丽，不以‘你’相称，而是称‘唐娜某某’或‘贵夫人’，那可不是她所能做到的，准得处处出洋相，露出她的粗陋本性来。”
①木屐和粗呢裙给穷人穿，厚底鞋和绸裙给富人穿。
“住嘴，你这个傻瓜，”桑乔说，“过两三年就都适应了，该有的派头和尊严也就有了。即使没有又怎么样呢？她还是贵夫人，想怎么办就怎么办。”
“你看看自己的身份吧，桑乔，”特雷莎说，“别净想高攀了。你记着，俗话说，‘邻居的儿子在眼前，擦干净鼻子领进门’。咱们的玛丽若是真能嫁给一个伯爵或骑士，那当然是好事，可就怕他随意欺负玛丽，说她是乡巴佬、庄稼妹、纺织女。只要有我在就休想，老伴儿！她可是我养大的！你只管拿钱来，桑乔，她的婚事由我来办。我看好了，有个洛佩•托乔，是胡安•托乔的儿子，一个健壮又结实的小伙子，咱们都认识他。我知道他对咱们的女儿印象不错。门当户对，这门亲事错不了。而且，这样玛丽总在咱们眼皮底下，大家都是一家人，父母、儿女、孙子和女婿，大家和睦相处，共享天伦之乐。你别着急把她嫁到宫廷和王府去，在那儿人家与她合不到一起，她也与人家合不到一起。”
“够了，你这个乱搅和的粗俗女人！”桑乔说，“你干吗平白无故地不让我把女儿嫁给那种能给我生‘高贵’孙子的人？你看，特雷莎，我总是听老人们说，‘福来不享，福走了就别怨’。现在福气已经来到咱家门口，咱们若是把门关上就不对了，咱们应该借此东风嘛。”
本书的译者认为，桑乔的这段话和下面的一段话都是杜撰的。
“你这个害人虫，”桑乔接着说，“如果我当上一个有油水的总督，咱们从此就翻了身，难道你觉得不好吗？我要把玛丽•桑查嫁给我选中的人，你看吧，到时候人们就会称你为‘唐娜特雷莎•潘萨’。不管那些贵夫人如何不愿意，你去教堂的时候都可以坐在细毯制的坐垫上，还有绸子。你不能一辈子总是这样，像个摆设似的。这件事不用再说了。不管你怎么讲，小桑查也得当个伯爵夫人。”
“我看你说得太多了，老伴儿，”特雷莎说，“不管怎么说，我还是怕她当这个伯爵夫人或者王妃。我可告诉你，这并不是我的意思，我也没同意。伙计，我一直主张门当户对，最看不上那种自己本来什么也不是却要攀龙附凤的人。我洗礼时起的名字是特雷莎，这个名字多痛快，没有什么这个那个，还罗哩罗嗦地‘唐’什么、‘唐娜’什么的。我的父亲叫卡斯卡霍。我是你的女人，所以人家又叫我特雷莎•潘萨，本来我应该叫特雷莎•卡斯卡霍，可法律就是国王①，我对特雷莎•潘萨这个名字挺满意，不用加什么‘唐’，那我担当不起。我也不愿意让人见我穿得像个伯爵夫人或总督夫人似的，背后却说：‘你们看，那个喂猪婆还挺傲慢的，昨天还披着麻袋片，去教堂时没头巾，用裙摆包脑袋，今天就穿着带裙撑的裙子，戴着装饰别针，神气十足了，好像咱们不知道她是谁似的。’上帝让我七官或五官俱全，别管有几官吧，我才不想让人家这么说呢。你呢，伙计，去当你的总督或是岛督吧，愿意威风就威风去吧。可我和女儿，我向我已故的母亲发誓，我们绝不离开村子一步。好女就好比没有腿，大门不出，二门不迈。正派的女孩子，干活才是幸福。你跟随你的唐吉诃德去找你们的好运，让我们母女在家倒霉吧。我们是好人，上帝自然会帮助我们，让我们时来运转。我就是不明白，他的父母和祖父母都没有‘唐’的称号，是谁给他封了‘唐’字。”
“我告诉你，”桑乔说，“你现在大概是中魔了。上帝保佑，老伴儿，你干吗要把这些没头没尾的事连在一起？我说的那些同碎石子②、首饰别针、俗话和神气有什么关系？听着，你这个笨蛋，我只得这么叫你，因为你总是听不明白我的话。我是说，假如让我的女儿从一个高塔上跳下来，或者沉沦堕落，就像乌拉卡公主③打算的那样，你或许有理由不按照我说的去做。可如果转眼之间，我就能给她安上一个‘唐娜’或贵夫人的头衔，让她脱离苦海，一步登天，让她的会客室里的阿尔摩哈达④比摩洛哥的阿尔摩哈达时期的摩尔人还多，你干吗不同意或不愿意让我这样做呢？”
①应为“国王就是法律”，特雷莎把话说反了。
②特雷莎的父亲名叫卡斯卡霍。卡斯卡霍有碎石子的意思。
③乌拉卡公主是西班牙国王费尔南多一世的女儿，见父亲把国土只分给她的三个兄弟，便威胁要去操皮肉生涯，迫使父亲给了她一个城。
④此处为垫子的意思。穆瓦希德人也译为阿尔摩哈达人。两者发音相同。
“你知道为什么吗，老伴儿？”特雷莎说，“因为俗话说，‘看得见看不见全是他’。对穷人大家都视而不见，可是对富人就盯住不放。如果某个富人以前曾经是穷人，大家就议论纷纷，说东道西，没完没了。这种人大街上有的是，就像蜜蜂似的一堆一堆的。”
“听着，特雷莎，”桑乔说，“你听我对你说句话，这句话也许你这辈子都没听说过，现在我来告诉你。我要说的这句话是一位神父上次四旬斋布道时讲的，如果我没记错的话，他说的是：‘眼前的东西明摆着，给人的印象比所有过去的东西都深刻。’”
桑乔的这些话又让译者怀疑本章部分是杜撰的，因为它已经超出了桑乔的能力。桑乔又接着说道：
“所以，当我们看到某个人梳理整齐、穿着华丽而且有佣人前呼后拥的时候，就仿佛有一种力量使我们对他油然而生敬意，因为那个时刻产生的印象使我们不由自主地感到在他面前矮了一截儿，这就使人们忘记了他的过去，不管他过去是贫穷还是有身份，反正那都是过去的事了，人们只注意到他的现在。命运使这个人由卑微转为高贵，如果他有教养，人大方，对大家都很客气，不同那些世袭贵族闹什么不和，你放心，特雷莎，不会有人记得他的过去，而只会注重他的现在，除非是那种总爱嫉妒别人、看见别人富了就不高兴的家伙。神父说的就是这个意思。”
“我听不懂你说的这些，老伴儿，”特雷莎说，“你想怎么办就怎么办吧，别在这儿长篇大论地让我头疼了。如果你决意要像你说的那样做……”
“你应该说‘决定’，老伴儿，”桑乔说，“不是‘决意’。”
“别跟我争，老伴儿。”特雷莎说，“上帝就是叫我这么说的，我不会说错的。我是说，你如果一定要当总督，就把你儿子小桑乔带走，让他从现在起就学着做总督吧。子继父业是完全正当的。”
“我一当上总督，”桑乔说，“就会派人来接他，还会给你寄钱来。我肯定会有钱。当总督的如果没有钱，肯定会有人借给他。你也得穿得像个样子，别跟现在似的。”
“你就寄你的钱来吧，”特雷莎说，“我肯定会穿得像个贵夫人。”
“那咱们就商定了，”桑乔说，“让咱们的女儿做个伯爵夫人。”
“等我看到她当了伯爵夫人，”特雷莎说，“我就当她已经死了埋了。不过，我再说一遍，你愿意怎么做就怎么做，反正我们女人生来就是这个命，嫁鸡随鸡，嫁狗随狗。”
说到这儿，特雷莎哭起来，仿佛她已经看见小桑查死了埋了似的。桑乔安慰她说，他们的女儿肯定会做伯爵夫人，不过他会安排得尽可能晚些。他们的谈话就这样结束了。桑乔又去看望唐吉诃德，准备收拾启程。
Part 2 Chapter 6
While Sancho Panza and his wife, Teresa Cascajo, held the above irrelevant conversation, Don Quixote’s niece and housekeeper were not idle, for by a thousand signs they began to perceive that their uncle and master meant to give them the slip the third time, and once more betake himself to his, for them, ill-errant chivalry. They strove by all the means in their power to divert him from such an unlucky scheme; but it was all preaching in the desert and hammering cold iron. Nevertheless, among many other representations made to him, the housekeeper said to him, “In truth, master, if you do not keep still and stay quiet at home, and give over roaming mountains and valleys like a troubled spirit, looking for what they say are called adventures, but what I call misfortunes, I shall have to make complaint to God and the king with loud supplication to send some remedy.”
To which Don Quixote replied, “What answer God will give to your complaints, housekeeper, I know not, nor what his Majesty will answer either; I only know that if I were king I should decline to answer the numberless silly petitions they present every day; for one of the greatest among the many troubles kings have is being obliged to listen to all and answer all, and therefore I should be sorry that any affairs of mine should worry him.”
Whereupon the housekeeper said, “Tell us, senor, at his Majesty’s court are there no knights?”
“There are,” replied Don Quixote, “and plenty of them; and it is right there should be, to set off the dignity of the prince, and for the greater glory of the king’s majesty.”
“Then might not your worship,” said she, “be one of those that, without stirring a step, serve their king and lord in his court?”
“Recollect, my friend,” said Don Quixote, “all knights cannot be courtiers, nor can all courtiers be knights-errant, nor need they be. There must be all sorts in the world; and though we may be all knights, there is a great difference between one and another; for the courtiers, without quitting their chambers, or the threshold of the court, range the world over by looking at a map, without its costing them a farthing, and without suffering heat or cold, hunger or thirst; but we, the true knights-errant, measure the whole earth with our own feet, exposed to the sun, to the cold, to the air, to the inclemencies of heaven, by day and night, on foot and on horseback; nor do we only know enemies in pictures, but in their own real shapes; and at all risks and on all occasions we attack them, without any regard to childish points or rules of single combat, whether one has or has not a shorter lance or sword, whether one carries relics or any secret contrivance about him, whether or not the sun is to be divided and portioned out, and other niceties of the sort that are observed in set combats of man to man, that you know nothing about, but I do. And you must know besides, that the true knight-errant, though he may see ten giants, that not only touch the clouds with their heads but pierce them, and that go, each of them, on two tall towers by way of legs, and whose arms are like the masts of mighty ships, and each eye like a great mill-wheel, and glowing brighter than a glass furnace, must not on any account be dismayed by them. On the contrary, he must attack and fall upon them with a gallant bearing and a fearless heart, and, if possible, vanquish and destroy them, even though they have for armour the shells of a certain fish, that they say are harder than diamonds, and in place of swords wield trenchant blades of Damascus steel, or clubs studded with spikes also of steel, such as I have more than once seen. All this I say, housekeeper, that you may see the difference there is between the one sort of knight and the other; and it would be well if there were no prince who did not set a higher value on this second, or more properly speaking first, kind of knights-errant; for, as we read in their histories, there have been some among them who have been the salvation, not merely of one kingdom, but of many.”
“Ah, senor,” here exclaimed the niece, “remember that all this you are saying about knights-errant is fable and fiction; and their histories, if indeed they were not burned, would deserve, each of them, to have a sambenito put on it, or some mark by which it might be known as infamous and a corrupter of good manners.”
“By the God that gives me life,” said Don Quixote, “if thou wert not my full niece, being daughter of my own sister, I would inflict a chastisement upon thee for the blasphemy thou hast uttered that all the world should ring with. What! can it be that a young hussy that hardly knows how to handle a dozen lace-bobbins dares to wag her tongue and criticise the histories of knights-errant? What would Senor Amadis say if he heard of such a thing? He, however, no doubt would forgive thee, for he was the most humble-minded and courteous knight of his time, and moreover a great protector of damsels; but some there are that might have heard thee, and it would not have been well for thee in that case; for they are not all courteous or mannerly; some are ill-conditioned scoundrels; nor is it everyone that calls himself a gentleman, that is so in all respects; some are gold, others pinchbeck, and all look like gentlemen, but not all can stand the touchstone of truth. There are men of low rank who strain themselves to bursting to pass for gentlemen, and high gentlemen who, one would fancy, were dying to pass for men of low rank; the former raise themselves by their ambition or by their virtues, the latter debase themselves by their lack of spirit or by their vices; and one has need of experience and discernment to distinguish these two kinds of gentlemen, so much alike in name and so different in conduct.”
“God bless me!” said the niece, “that you should know so much, uncle — enough, if need be, to get up into a pulpit and go preach in the streets — and yet that you should fall into a delusion so great and a folly so manifest as to try to make yourself out vigorous when you are old, strong when you are sickly, able to put straight what is crooked when you yourself are bent by age, and, above all, a caballero when you are not one; for though gentlefolk may he so, poor men are nothing of the kind!”
“There is a great deal of truth in what you say, niece,” returned Don Quixote, “and I could tell you somewhat about birth that would astonish you; but, not to mix up things human and divine, I refrain. Look you, my dears, all the lineages in the world (attend to what I am saying) can be reduced to four sorts, which are these: those that had humble beginnings, and went on spreading and extending themselves until they attained surpassing greatness; those that had great beginnings and maintained them, and still maintain and uphold the greatness of their origin; those, again, that from a great beginning have ended in a point like a pyramid, having reduced and lessened their original greatness till it has come to nought, like the point of a pyramid, which, relatively to its base or foundation, is nothing; and then there are those — and it is they that are the most numerous — that have had neither an illustrious beginning nor a remarkable mid-course, and so will have an end without a name, like an ordinary plebeian line. Of the first, those that had an humble origin and rose to the greatness they still preserve, the Ottoman house may serve as an example, which from an humble and lowly shepherd, its founder, has reached the height at which we now see it. For examples of the second sort of lineage, that began with greatness and maintains it still without adding to it, there are the many princes who have inherited the dignity, and maintain themselves in their inheritance, without increasing or diminishing it, keeping peacefully within the limits of their states. Of those that began great and ended in a point, there are thousands of examples, for all the Pharaohs and Ptolemies of Egypt, the Caesars of Rome, and the whole herd (if I may such a word to them) of countless princes, monarchs, lords, Medes, Assyrians, Persians, Greeks, and barbarians, all these lineages and lordships have ended in a point and come to nothing, they themselves as well as their founders, for it would be impossible now to find one of their descendants, and, even should we find one, it would be in some lowly and humble condition. Of plebeian lineages I have nothing to say, save that they merely serve to swell the number of those that live, without any eminence to entitle them to any fame or praise beyond this. From all I have said I would have you gather, my poor innocents, that great is the confusion among lineages, and that only those are seen to be great and illustrious that show themselves so by the virtue, wealth, and generosity of their possessors. I have said virtue, wealth, and generosity, because a great man who is vicious will be a great example of vice, and a rich man who is not generous will be merely a miserly beggar; for the possessor of wealth is not made happy by possessing it, but by spending it, and not by spending as he pleases, but by knowing how to spend it well. The poor gentleman has no way of showing that he is a gentleman but by virtue, by being affable, well-bred, courteous, gentle-mannered, and kindly, not haughty, arrogant, or censorious, but above all by being charitable; for by two maravedis given with a cheerful heart to the poor, he will show himself as generous as he who distributes alms with bell-ringing, and no one that perceives him to be endowed with the virtues I have named, even though he know him not, will fail to recognise and set him down as one of good blood; and it would be strange were it not so; praise has ever been the reward of virtue, and those who are virtuous cannot fail to receive commendation. There are two roads, my daughters, by which men may reach wealth and honours; one is that of letters, the other that of arms. I have more of arms than of letters in my composition, and, judging by my inclination to arms, was born under the influence of the planet Mars. I am, therefore, in a measure constrained to follow that road, and by it I must travel in spite of all the world, and it will be labour in vain for you to urge me to resist what heaven wills, fate ordains, reason requires, and, above all, my own inclination favours; for knowing as I do the countless toils that are the accompaniments of knight-errantry, I know, too, the infinite blessings that are attained by it; I know that the path of virtue is very narrow, and the road of vice broad and spacious; I know their ends and goals are different, for the broad and easy road of vice ends in death, and the narrow and toilsome one of virtue in life, and not transitory life, but in that which has no end; I know, as our great Castilian poet says, that —
It is by rugged paths like these they go
That scale the heights of immortality,
Unreached by those that falter here below.”
“Woe is me!” exclaimed the niece, “my lord is a poet, too! He knows everything, and he can do everything; I will bet, if he chose to turn mason, he could make a house as easily as a cage.”
“I can tell you, niece,” replied Don Quixote, “if these chivalrous thoughts did not engage all my faculties, there would be nothing that I could not do, nor any sort of knickknack that would not come from my hands, particularly cages and tooth-picks.”
At this moment there came a knocking at the door, and when they asked who was there, Sancho Panza made answer that it was he. The instant the housekeeper knew who it was, she ran to hide herself so as not to see him; in such abhorrence did she hold him. The niece let him in, and his master Don Quixote came forward to receive him with open arms, and the pair shut themselves up in his room, where they had another conversation not inferior to the previous one.
 
桑乔•潘萨和他的妻子特雷莎•卡斯卡霍聊天的时候，唐吉诃德的外甥女和女管家也没闲着。种种迹象表明，她们的舅舅或主人又要第三次出门，去从事游侠骑士的破行当。她们想尽各种办法，想让唐吉诃德打消这个可恶的念头，可一切都是对牛弹琴，徒劳一场。尽管如此，她们还是苦口婆心地劝他。女管家说：
“说实在的，我的主人，如果您不踏踏实实地在家待着，而是像个幽灵似的出去翻山越岭，寻什么险，依我说就是自找倒霉，那我只好大声地向上帝和国王抱怨，请他们来管管这事了。”
唐吉诃德对此回答道：
“管家，上帝将怎样回答你的抱怨，我不知道；陛下将怎样回答你，我也不知道。我只知道如果我是国王，就不去理会这些每天没完没了的瞎告状。国王有很多让人挠头的事，其中之一就是要听大家的禀报，还要答复大家。所以，我不想让我的事情再去麻烦他。”
女管家说：
“那么，您告诉我，大人，陛下的朝廷里有没有骑士？”
“当然有，”唐吉诃德说，“这不仅是帝王伟大的一种陪衬，而且是为了炫耀帝王的尊严。”
“那么，”女管家说，“您为什么不安安稳稳地留在宫廷里服侍国王呢？”
“你看，朋友，”唐吉诃德说，“并不是所有的骑士都能成为宫廷侍从，也不是宫廷侍从都能成为游侠骑士的，世界上各种各样的人都得有。虽然我们都是骑士，可骑士跟骑士又有很大差别。宫廷侍从可以连宫廷的门槛都不出，就在自己的房间里看地图游历世界，不用花一分钱，也不用遭风吹日晒，忍饥受渴。而我们这些真正的游侠骑士就得顶着严寒酷暑，风餐露宿，不分昼夜，步行或骑马，足迹踏遍各地。我们对付敌人并不是纸上谈兵，而是真刀真枪。危险时刻我们冲上前，从不多考虑什么骑士规则，我们的矛剑是否太短，是否带着护身符，是否把阳光分平均了①，还有其他一些诸如此类的决斗规则。这些你不懂，我却都知道。而且你应该知道，即使面对十个巨人，那些巨人高得刺破云天，腿似高塔，胳膊好像船上粗大的桅杆，眼睛大如磨盘，还冒出比炼玻璃炉更热的火焰，一个优秀的游侠骑士也不会感到畏惧；相反，他会潇洒勇猛地向巨人进攻，如果可能的话，就一下子把巨人打得落花流水，虽然那些巨人身披一种鱼鳞甲，据说比金刚石还结实，而且手持的不是短剑，是精致闪亮的钢刀，或是钢头铁锤，这种锤子我见过几次。我的管家，我说这些就是为了让你知道骑士与骑士并不完全相同。所以，各国君主特别器重这第二种骑士，或者说是第一等的游侠骑士，是理所当然的。在我读过的几本书里，有的游侠骑士拯救了不止一个王国，而是很多王国呢。”
①决斗双方选择位置时，应注意面向阳光的程度要相等，以示公正。
“可是我的大人，”外甥女这时候说，“您应该知道，这些说游侠骑士的书都是编造的。这些书如果还没被烧掉，也应该给它们穿上悔罪衣或者贴上什么标记，让人们知道它们全是些胡说八道、有伤风化的东西。”
“我向养育了我的上帝发誓，”唐吉诃德说，“假如你不是我的外甥女，不是我姐妹的女儿，就凭你这番侮慢不恭的话，我早就狠狠地惩罚你了，让大家都能听到你叫唤！你这个乳臭未干的毛孩子，怎么能对骑士小说评头品足呢？如果阿马迪斯大人听到了会怎么说呢？不过，我敢肯定他会原谅你，因为他是他那个时代最谦恭的骑士，而且特别愿意保护少女。可是，如果其他不像他那样客气的骑士听到了会怎么样呢？有的骑士就很粗鲁。并非所有自称骑士的人都是一样的。有的很优秀，有的就很一般，看上去都像骑士，可并不是所有人都经得起考验。有些出身卑微的人特别渴望能被人看作骑士，可也有出身高贵的骑士却甘愿成为下等人。前一种人凭野心或是凭良心变得有地位了，而后一种人却因为懒惰或行为不轨而堕落了，所以，我们一定要以我们自己的明断力来区分这两类骑士，他们名称相同，行为却不一样。”
“上帝保佑，”外甥女说，“您知道得可真够多的。如果必要的话，您真可以到大街上搭个布道台去进行说教了。可是您又睁着眼睛说瞎话，愚蠢得出奇。您本来已经上了年纪，却想让人以为您还很勇敢；您本来已经疾病缠身，却想让人以为您还年富力强；您本来已经风烛残年，却想让人以为您还能拨乱反正；尤其是您还自以为是骑士，其实您根本不是，破落贵族根本不能做骑士，穷人也不能做骑士！”
“你说得很对，外甥女，”唐吉诃德说，“关于家族问题，我可以给你讲出一大堆话来，你准会感到惊奇。不过，我不想讲那么多了，以免把神圣的事同世俗的事混淆起来。你们仔细听我说，世界上各种各样的家族归纳起来一共有四种。一种是最初卑微，后来逐渐发展到很高贵的层次。另一种是开始就兴旺，后来始终保持着最初的水平。再一种就是开始很兴旺，后来发展成了一个金字塔尖。它的家族逐渐缩小，变成了极小的一部分，就像一座金字塔，它的底座已经毫无意义。最后一种家族人数最多，他们起初还算不错，说得过去，后来也是这样，就像一般老百姓家一样。第一种由卑微发展为高贵，而且仍然保持着高贵，其例子就是奥斯曼家族。这个家族从地位低下的牧人发展到了我们现在见到的这种地位。第二种开始不错，而且也保持下来了，很多君主都可以算作这种例子。他们继承了过去的境况，又把它保持下来，没有发展，也没有衰败，踏踏实实地过着他们的日子。至于那种最初很兴旺，后来只剩下一个尖的例子就成千上万了，例如埃及法老、图特摩斯、罗马的凯撒，还有无数的国王、君主、领主、米堤亚人、亚述人、波斯人、希腊人和北非伊斯兰教各国人，与先人相比，这些人的家族和权势都只剩下一点儿，现在已经找不到他们的后代了，即使能找到，地位也都很低下。
“至于那些平民家族，我只能说他们的人数在不断扩充，可他们没有任何事迹可以留下美名，受到赞扬。你们这两个蠢货，我讲这些是为了让你们明白，现在对家族问题的模糊意识有多么严重。只有那些品德高尚、经济富有、慷慨好施的人才算得上伟大高贵。我说他们必须品德高尚、经济富有，而且慷慨好施，是因为一个人若只是伟大，如果他有毛病，那么他的毛病也大；如果一个人富有而不慷慨，那么她只能是个吝啬的乞丐，因为他只会拥有，不会正确使用他的财富，只会任意乱花或不花，而不会有效地利用它。贫穷的骑士则只能靠自己的品德，靠他和蔼可亲、举止高贵、谦恭有礼、勤奋备至、不高傲自大、不鼠肚鸡肠、尤其是仁慈敦厚来显示自己是个真正的骑士。他心甘情愿地给穷人两文钱，也和敲锣打鼓地施舍一样属于慷慨大方。如果他具有了上述品德，别人即使不认识他，也一定会以为他出身高贵，要不这样认为才怪呢。称赞历来就是对美德的奖励，有道德的人一定会受到称赞。
“宝贝们，一个人要想既发财又有名气，有两条路可以走，一条是文的，另一条是武的，而我更适合于武的。我受战神的影响，生来偏武，所以我必须走这条路，即使所有人反对也无济于事。你们费心劳神地想让我不从事天意所指、命运所定、情理所求、尤其是我的意志希望我去做的事情，那只能是枉费心机，因为我知道游侠骑士须付出的无数辛劳，也知道靠游侠骑士能得到的各种利益。我知道这条道德之路非常狭窄，而恶习之路却很宽广，但是它们的结局却不相同。恶习之路虽然宽广，却只能导致死亡，而道德之路尽管狭窄艰苦，导致的却是生机，而且不是有生而止，是永生而无穷尽，就像我们伟大的西班牙诗人①说的：
沿着这崎岖的道路，
通向不朽的境界，
怯者无指望。”
①此处指加尔西拉索•德拉•维加（1539—1616）。
“我真倒霉透了，”外甥女说，“瞧我的舅舅还是诗人呢。他无所不知，无所不能。他若是个泥瓦匠，盖一所房子准像搭个鸟笼子似的易如反掌。”
“我敢保证，外甥女，”唐吉诃德说，“若不是骑士思想占据了我的全部身心，我真可以无所不能呢。我什么都会做，特别是鸟笼子、牙签之类的东西，这并不新鲜。”
这时候有人叫门。几个人问是谁在叫门，桑乔说是他。女管家对桑乔简直讨厌透了，一听是他，立刻躲了起来，不愿见他。外甥女打开了门，唐吉诃德出来展开双臂迎接他。两个人又在房间里开始了另外一场谈话，同前面那次一样有趣。
Part 2 Chapter 7
The instant the housekeeper saw Sancho Panza shut himself in with her master, she guessed what they were about; and suspecting that the result of the consultation would be a resolve to undertake a third sally, she seized her mantle, and in deep anxiety and distress, ran to find the bachelor Samson Carrasco, as she thought that, being a well-spoken man, and a new friend of her master’s , he might be able to persuade him to give up any such crazy notion. She found him pacing the patio of his house, and, perspiring and flurried, she fell at his feet the moment she saw him.
Carrasco, seeing how distressed and overcome she was, said to her, “What is this, mistress housekeeper? What has happened to you? One would think you heart-broken.”
“Nothing, Senor Samson,” said she, “only that my master is breaking out, plainly breaking out.”
“Whereabouts is he breaking out, senora?” asked Samson; “has any part of his body burst?”
“He is only breaking out at the door of his madness,” she replied; “I mean, dear senor bachelor, that he is going to break out again (and this will be the third time) to hunt all over the world for what he calls ventures, though I can’t make out why he gives them that name. The first time he was brought back to us slung across the back of an ass, and belaboured all over; and the second time he came in an ox-cart, shut up in a cage, in which he persuaded himself he was enchanted, and the poor creature was in such a state that the mother that bore him would not have known him; lean, yellow, with his eyes sunk deep in the cells of his skull; so that to bring him round again, ever so little, cost me more than six hundred eggs, as God knows, and all the world, and my hens too, that won’t let me tell a lie.”
“That I can well believe,” replied the bachelor, “for they are so good and so fat, and so well-bred, that they would not say one thing for another, though they were to burst for it. In short then, mistress housekeeper, that is all, and there is nothing the matter, except what it is feared Don Quixote may do?”
“No, senor,” said she.
“Well then,” returned the bachelor, “don’t be uneasy, but go home in peace; get me ready something hot for breakfast, and while you are on the way say the prayer of Santa Apollonia, that is if you know it; for I will come presently and you will see miracles.”
“Woe is me,” cried the housekeeper, “is it the prayer of Santa Apollonia you would have me say? That would do if it was the toothache my master had; but it is in the brains, what he has got.”
“I know what I am saying, mistress housekeeper; go, and don’t set yourself to argue with me, for you know I am a bachelor of Salamanca, and one can’t be more of a bachelor than that,” replied Carrasco; and with this the housekeeper retired, and the bachelor went to look for the curate, and arrange with him what will be told in its proper place.
While Don Quixote and Sancho were shut up together, they had a discussion which the history records with great precision and scrupulous exactness. Sancho said to his master, “Senor, I have educed my wife to let me go with your worship wherever you choose to take me.”
“Induced, you should say, Sancho,” said Don Quixote; “not educed.”
“Once or twice, as well as I remember,” replied Sancho, “I have begged of your worship not to mend my words, if so be as you understand what I mean by them; and if you don’t understand them to say ‘Sancho,’ or ‘devil,’ ‘I don’t understand thee; and if I don’t make my meaning plain, then you may correct me, for I am so focile — ”
“I don’t understand thee, Sancho,” said Don Quixote at once; “for I know not what ‘I am so focile’ means.”
“‘So focile’ means I am so much that way,” replied Sancho.
“I understand thee still less now,” said Don Quixote.
“Well, if you can’t understand me,” said Sancho, “I don’t know how to put it; I know no more, God help me.”
“Oh, now I have hit it,” said Don Quixote; “thou wouldst say thou art so docile, tractable, and gentle that thou wilt take what I say to thee, and submit to what I teach thee.”
“I would bet,” said Sancho, “that from the very first you understood me, and knew what I meant, but you wanted to put me out that you might hear me make another couple of dozen blunders.”
“May be so,” replied Don Quixote; “but to come to the point, what does Teresa say?”
“Teresa says,” replied Sancho, “that I should make sure with your worship, and ‘let papers speak and beards be still,’ for ‘he who binds does not wrangle,’ since one ‘take’ is better than two ‘I’ll give thee’s ;’ and I say a woman’s advice is no great thing, and he who won’t take it is a fool.”
“And so say I,” said Don Quixote; “continue, Sancho my friend; go on; you talk pearls to-day.”
“The fact is,” continued Sancho, “that, as your worship knows better than I do, we are all of us liable to death, and to-day we are, and to-morrow we are not, and the lamb goes as soon as the sheep, and nobody can promise himself more hours of life in this world than God may be pleased to give him; for death is deaf, and when it comes to knock at our life’s door, it is always urgent, and neither prayers, nor struggles, nor sceptres, nor mitres, can keep it back, as common talk and report say, and as they tell us from the pulpits every day.”
“All that is very true,” said Don Quixote; “but I cannot make out what thou art driving at.”
“What I am driving at,” said Sancho, “is that your worship settle some fixed wages for me, to be paid monthly while I am in your service, and that the same he paid me out of your estate; for I don’t care to stand on rewards which either come late, or ill, or never at all; God help me with my own. In short, I would like to know what I am to get, be it much or little; for the hen will lay on one egg, and many littles make a much, and so long as one gains something there is nothing lost. To he sure, if it should happen (what I neither believe nor expect) that your worship were to give me that island you have promised me, I am not so ungrateful nor so grasping but that I would be willing to have the revenue of such island valued and stopped out of my wages in due promotion.”
“Sancho, my friend,” replied Don Quixote, “sometimes proportion may be as good as promotion.”
“I see,” said Sancho; “I’ll bet I ought to have said proportion, and not promotion; but it is no matter, as your worship has understood me.”
“And so well understood,” returned Don Quixote, “that I have seen into the depths of thy thoughts, and know the mark thou art shooting at with the countless shafts of thy proverbs. Look here, Sancho, I would readily fix thy wages if I had ever found any instance in the histories of the knights-errant to show or indicate, by the slightest hint, what their squires used to get monthly or yearly; but I have read all or the best part of their histories, and I cannot remember reading of any knight-errant having assigned fixed wages to his squire; I only know that they all served on reward, and that when they least expected it, if good luck attended their masters, they found themselves recompensed with an island or something equivalent to it, or at the least they were left with a title and lordship. If with these hopes and additional inducements you, Sancho, please to return to my service, well and good; but to suppose that I am going to disturb or unhinge the ancient usage of knight-errantry, is all nonsense. And so, my Sancho, get you back to your house and explain my intentions to your Teresa, and if she likes and you like to be on reward with me, bene quidem; if not, we remain friends; for if the pigeon-house does not lack food, it will not lack pigeons; and bear in mind, my son, that a good hope is better than a bad holding, and a good grievance better than a bad compensation. I speak in this way, Sancho, to show you that I can shower down proverbs just as well as yourself; and in short, I mean to say, and I do say, that if you don’t like to come on reward with me, and run the same chance that I run, God be with you and make a saint of you; for I shall find plenty of squires more obedient and painstaking, and not so thickheaded or talkative as you are.”
When Sancho heard his master’s firm, resolute language, a cloud came over the sky with him and the wings of his heart drooped, for he had made sure that his master would not go without him for all the wealth of the world; and as he stood there dumbfoundered and moody, Samson Carrasco came in with the housekeeper and niece, who were anxious to hear by what arguments he was about to dissuade their master from going to seek adventures. The arch wag Samson came forward, and embracing him as he had done before, said with a loud voice, “O flower of knight-errantry! O shining light of arms! O honour and mirror of the Spanish nation! may God Almighty in his infinite power grant that any person or persons, who would impede or hinder thy third sally, may find no way out of the labyrinth of their schemes, nor ever accomplish what they most desire!” And then, turning to the housekeeper, he said, “Mistress housekeeper may just as well give over saying the prayer of Santa Apollonia, for I know it is the positive determination of the spheres that Senor Don Quixote shall proceed to put into execution his new and lofty designs; and I should lay a heavy burden on my conscience did I not urge and persuade this knight not to keep the might of his strong arm and the virtue of his valiant spirit any longer curbed and checked, for by his inactivity he is defrauding the world of the redress of wrongs, of the protection of orphans, of the honour of virgins, of the aid of widows, and of the support of wives, and other matters of this kind appertaining, belonging, proper and peculiar to the order of knight-errantry. On, then, my lord Don Quixote, beautiful and brave, let your worship and highness set out to-day rather than to-morrow; and if anything be needed for the execution of your purpose, here am I ready in person and purse to supply the want; and were it requisite to attend your magnificence as squire, I should esteem it the happiest good fortune.”
At this, Don Quixote, turning to Sancho, said, “Did I not tell thee, Sancho, there would be squires enough and to spare for me? See now who offers to become one; no less than the illustrious bachelor Samson Carrasco, the perpetual joy and delight of the courts of the Salamancan schools, sound in body, discreet, patient under heat or cold, hunger or thirst, with all the qualifications requisite to make a knight-errant’s squire! But heaven forbid that, to gratify my own inclination, I should shake or shatter this pillar of letters and vessel of the sciences, and cut down this towering palm of the fair and liberal arts. Let this new Samson remain in his own country, and, bringing honour to it, bring honour at the same time on the grey heads of his venerable parents; for I will be content with any squire that comes to hand, as Sancho does not deign to accompany me.”
“I do deign,” said Sancho, deeply moved and with tears in his eyes; “it shall not be said of me, master mine,” he continued, “‘the bread eaten and the company dispersed.’ Nay, I come of no ungrateful stock, for all the world knows, but particularly my own town, who the Panzas from whom I am descended were; and, what is more, I know and have learned, by many good words and deeds, your worship’s desire to show me favour; and if I have been bargaining more or less about my wages, it was only to please my wife, who, when she sets herself to press a point, no hammer drives the hoops of a cask as she drives one to do what she wants; but, after all, a man must be a man, and a woman a woman; and as I am a man anyhow, which I can’t deny, I will be one in my own house too, let who will take it amiss; and so there’s nothing more to do but for your worship to make your will with its codicil in such a way that it can’t be provoked, and let us set out at once, to save Senor Samson’s soul from suffering, as he says his conscience obliges him to persuade your worship to sally out upon the world a third time; so I offer again to serve your worship faithfully and loyally, as well and better than all the squires that served knights-errant in times past or present.”
The bachelor was filled with amazement when he heard Sancho’s phraseology and style of talk, for though he had read the first part of his master’s history he never thought that he could be so droll as he was there described; but now, hearing him talk of a “will and codicil that could not be provoked,” instead of “will and codicil that could not be revoked,” he believed all he had read of him, and set him down as one of the greatest simpletons of modern times; and he said to himself that two such lunatics as master and man the world had never seen. In fine, Don Quixote and Sancho embraced one another and made friends, and by the advice and with the approval of the great Carrasco, who was now their oracle, it was arranged that their departure should take place three days thence, by which time they could have all that was requisite for the journey ready, and procure a closed helmet, which Don Quixote said he must by all means take. Samson offered him one, as he knew a friend of his who had it would not refuse it to him, though it was more dingy with rust and mildew than bright and clean like burnished steel.
The curses which both housekeeper and niece poured out on the bachelor were past counting; they tore their hair, they clawed their faces, and in the style of the hired mourners that were once in fashion, they raised a lamentation over the departure of their master and uncle, as if it had been his death. Samson’s intention in persuading him to sally forth once more was to do what the history relates farther on; all by the advice of the curate and barber, with whom he had previously discussed the subject. Finally, then, during those three days, Don Quixote and Sancho provided themselves with what they considered necessary, and Sancho having pacified his wife, and Don Quixote his niece and housekeeper, at nightfall, unseen by anyone except the bachelor, who thought fit to accompany them half a league out of the village, they set out for El Toboso, Don Quixote on his good Rocinante and Sancho on his old Dapple, his alforjas furnished with certain matters in the way of victuals, and his purse with money that Don Quixote gave him to meet emergencies. Samson embraced him, and entreated him to let him hear of his good or evil fortunes, so that he might rejoice over the former or condole with him over the latter, as the laws of friendship required. Don Quixote promised him he would do so, and Samson returned to the village, and the other two took the road for the great city of El Toboso.
 
女管家一见桑乔进了他主人的房间，就猜到了桑乔的意图，料想他们又会商量第三次外出的事情。她赶紧披上披风，去找参孙•卡拉斯科学士，觉得他能说会道，又是新结识的朋友，完全可以说服主人放弃那个荒谬的打算。她找到了参孙，参孙正在院子里散步。女管家一见到参孙，就跪到他面前，浑身汗水，满脸忧伤。参孙见她一副难过忧伤的样子，就问道：
“你怎么了，女管家？出了什么事，看你跟丢了魂似的。”
“没什么，参孙大人，只是我的主人憋不住了，他肯定憋不住了。”
“哪儿憋不住了，夫人？”参孙问，“他身上什么地方漏了？”
“不是哪儿漏了，”女管家说，“而是那疯劲又上来了。我是说，我的宝贝学士大人，他又想出门了，这是他第三次出去到处寻找他叫做运气的东西了①。我也不明白他为什么这样称呼。第一次，他被打得浑身是伤，被人横放在驴上送回来。第二次，他被人关在笼子里用牛车送回来，还自认为是中了魔法。瞧他那副惨相，就是他亲妈也认不出他了，面黄肌瘦，眼睛都快凹进脑子里去了。为了让他能恢复正常，我已经用了六百多个鸡蛋，这个上帝知道，大家也知道，还有我的母鸡，它们是不会让我撒谎的。”
①唐吉诃德说要出去征险，而在西班牙语中，“险遇”和女管家说的“运气”只相差一个字母。女管家在此处把唐吉诃德的征险错说成找运气了。
“这点我完全相信，”学士说，“您那些母鸡养得好，养得肥，即使胀破了肚子也不会乱说的。不过，管家大人，您难道真的只担心唐吉诃德大人要出门，而没有其他什么事情吗？”
“没有，大人。”女管家说。
“那您就不用担心了，”学士说，“您赶紧回家去，给我准备点热呼呼的午饭吧。您如果会念《亚波罗尼亚①经》的话，路上就念念《亚波罗尼亚经》吧。我马上就去，到时候您就知道事情有多妙了。”
①地名。按照《圣经》，使徒保罗和西拉到帖撒罗马迦传道时曾经过此地。而按照女管家的说法，念《亚波罗尼亚经》可以治牙痛。
“我的天啊，”女管家说，“您说还得念《亚波罗尼亚经》？
就好像我主人的病是在牙上，而不是在脑子里。”
“我说的没错儿，管家夫人。您赶紧去，别跟我争了。您知道我是在萨拉曼卡毕业的，别跟我斗嘴了。”卡拉斯科说。
学士这么一说，女管家才走了。学士去找神甫，同他说了一些话，这些话下面会提到。
唐吉诃德和桑乔谈了一番话，这本书都做了准确真实的记录。桑乔对唐吉诃德说：
“大人，我已经‘摔服’我老婆了，无论您到哪儿去，她都同意我跟随您。”
“应该是‘说服’，桑乔，”唐吉诃德说，“不是‘摔服’。”
“如果我没记错的话，”桑乔说，“我已经对您说过一两次了，只要您听懂了我要说的意思，就别总是纠正我的发音。如果您没听懂，那就说：‘桑乔，见鬼，我没听懂你的话。’那时候您再纠正我。我这个人本来就很‘拴从’……”
“我没听懂你的话，桑乔，”唐吉诃德马上说，“我不明白‘我很拴从’是什么意思。”
“就是很‘拴从’，”桑乔说，“我就是这样的人。”
“我现在更不懂了。”唐吉诃德说。
“如果你还不懂的话，”桑乔说，“我就不知道该怎么对你说了。我不会其他说法，上帝会明白的。”
“好，现在我明白了，”唐吉诃德说，“你是想说你非常顺从、温和、听话，也就是我说什么你都能听，我让你干什么你都能凑合干。”
“我敢打赌，”桑乔说，“您一开始就猜到了是什么意思，就听懂了。您是故意把我弄糊涂，让我多说几句胡话。”
“也可能是吧。”唐吉诃德说，“咱们现在谈正经的，特雷莎是怎么说的？”
桑乔说：“特雷莎让我小心侍候您，少说多做；‘到手一件，胜过许多诺言’；依我说，对女人的话不必在意，可是，不听女人的话又是疯子。”
“我也这么说。”唐吉诃德说，“说吧，桑乔朋友，你再接着说，你今天说话真可谓句句珠玑。”
“现在的情况，”桑乔说，“反正您知道得比我更清楚，那就是咱们所有人都不免一死，今天在，也许明天就不在了，无论小羊还是大羊，死亡都来得很突然。在这个世界上，谁也不能保证自己活得比上帝给他规定的寿命长。死亡总是无声无息的，当它来叩我们的生命之门时，总是很匆忙，不管你软求还是硬顶，也不管你有什么权势和高位。大家都这么说，在布道坛上也是这么讲的。”
“你说得有道理，”唐吉诃德说，“不过，我不明白你的用意何在。”
“我的用意就是要您明确告诉我，在我服侍您期间，您每月给我多少工钱，而且这工钱得从您的家产里支付，我不想靠赏赐过日子。总之，我想知道我到底挣多少钱，不管是多少，有一个算一个，积少成多，少挣一点儿总比不挣强。我对您许诺给我的岛屿不大相信，也不怎么指望了。不过，您如果真能给我的话，我也不会忘恩负义，把事情做得那么绝，我会把岛上的收入计算出来，再按‘百例’提取我的工钱。”
“桑乔朋友，”唐吉诃德说，“有时候按‘比例’同按‘百例’一样合适。”
“我知道了，”桑乔说，“我敢打赌应该说‘比例’而不是‘百例’。不过这没关系，反正您已经明白了。”
“我太明白了，”唐吉诃德说，“已经明白到你的心底去了。我知道你刚才那些俗话的用意所指了。你听着，桑乔，如果我能从某一本游侠骑士小说里找到例子，哪怕是很小的例子，表明他们每月或每年挣多少工钱，那么，我完全可以确定你的工钱。不过，我读了全部或大部分骑士小说，却不记得看到过哪个游侠骑士给他的侍从确定工钱数额，我只知道侍从们都是靠奖赏取酬的。如果他们的主人顺利，他们会意想不到地得到一个岛屿或其他类似的东西，至少可以得到爵位和称号。如果你是怀着这种愿望和条件愿意再次服侍我，那很好；但如果你想让我在你这儿打破游侠骑士的老规矩，那可没门儿。所以，我的桑乔，你先回家去，把我的意思告诉你的特雷莎吧。假如她愿意，你也愿意跟着我，靠奖赏取酬，自然妙哉；如果不是这样，咱们一如既往还是朋友，‘鸽楼有饲料，不怕没鸽来’。‘好愿望胜过赖收获’。‘埋怨也比掏不起钱强’。我这样说，桑乔，是为了让你明白我也会像你一样俏皮话出口成章。总之，我想告诉你，如果你不愿意跟随我，靠奖赏取酬，与我同舟共济，上帝也会与你同在，让你成为圣人。我不乏侍从，而且，他肯定会比你顺从，比你热心，不像你那么笨，那么爱多嘴。”
桑乔听了主人这番斩钉截铁的话，脸上笼罩了一片愁云，心里也凉了半截。他原以为主人没有他就不能周游世界哩。正在他陷入沉思的时候，参孙•卡拉斯科进来了。女管家和外甥女想听听学士如何劝阻唐吉诃德再次出门，也跟着进来了。这个爱开玩笑出了名的参孙一进来，就像上次一样抱住了唐吉诃德，高声说道：
“噢，游侠骑士的精英，武士的明灯，西班牙的骄傲与典范！你向万能的上帝祈祷吧！谁想阻挠你第三次出征，即使他挖空心思也毫无办法，绞尽脑汁也不会得逞！”
他又转过身来对女管家说：
“管家夫人，您完全可以不念《亚波罗尼亚经》了。我知道，唐吉诃德要去重新履行他的崇高设想是个正确的决定。如果我们再不鼓励这骑士去发挥他的臂膀的勇敢力量和他的高贵无比的慈悲精神，我就会感到于心不忍，也会延误他除暴安良、保护少女孤儿、帮助寡妇和已婚妇女以及其他诸如此类属于游侠骑士的事情。喂，我英俊勇猛的唐吉诃德大人呀，您今天，最迟明天，就该上路了。如果还有什么准备不足的方面，我本人和我的财产都可以予以弥补。假如有必要让我做您的侍从，我将引以为荣。”
唐吉诃德这时转过身去，对桑乔说：
“我不是对你说过吗，桑乔？愿做我的侍从的人多的是！你看，是谁自愿出来做我的侍从？是世上少见的参孙•卡拉斯科学士，萨拉曼卡校园的知足常乐者。他身体健康，手脚灵敏，少言寡语，能够忍受严寒酷暑，能够忍饥挨饿，具备了游侠骑士侍从的各种条件。不过，老天不会允许我仅仅为了自己的利益而糟蹋文坛的骨干、科学的主力，影响优秀自由艺术的发展。还是让这位新秀留在他的故乡吧，为故乡增光，而且可以耀祖光宗。我随便找一个侍从就行了，反正桑乔是不肯跟我去了。”
“我愿意去，”桑乔已经被说动了心，两眼含着泪水说，“我的大人，您可别说我是过河拆桥的人。我并不属于那种忘恩负义的人。大家都知道，特别是咱们村上的人，都知道桑乔家世世代代是什么样的人，而且我还知道您有意赏给我很多好处和更好的诺言。要说我过多地考虑了我的工钱，那完全是为了取悦我老婆。她谈什么事情，一定要敲得死死的，比木桶箍还紧。不过，男人毕竟是男人，女人还是女人。我无论在哪儿都是男子汉，在家里也要做个男子汉，不管别人愿意不愿意。现在不需要别的了，只要您立个遗嘱，再加个补充条款，这样就不会‘犯悔’了。咱们马上就可以上路，也免得参孙大人着急，他不是说他的良心让他鼓励您第三次游历世界嘛。现在，我再次请求当您忠实合法的侍从，而且要比过去和现在所有游侠骑士的侍从都服侍得好。”
学士听了桑乔的这番言论深感惊奇。他虽然读过《唐吉诃德》上卷，却从未想到桑乔真像书上描写的那样滑稽。现在，他听到桑乔把“立个遗嘱，再加个补充条款，这样就不会反悔了”说成“不会犯悔”，对书上的描写就完全相信了。他认定桑乔是当代最大的傻瓜，而这主仆二人是世界上罕见的疯子。
最后，唐吉诃德和桑乔互相拥抱言和。此时，参孙已经成了这两个人心目中的权威人物，在参孙的建议和允许下，他们决定三天以后出发。在这三天中，他们要准备行装，而且还要找个头盔，唐吉诃德说无论如何得找个头盔。参孙答应送给唐吉诃德一个头盔，因为他的朋友有头盔，如果去向他要，他不会不给，尽管头盔已经不很亮，锈得发黑了。女管家和外甥女对学士大骂一通自不待言，她们还揪自己的头发，抓自己的脸，像哭丧婆①一般哀嚎唐吉诃德的出行，好像他已经死了似的。至于学士力劝唐吉诃德再次出行的意图，下面将会谈到，这全是按照神甫和理发师的吩咐做的，他们已经事先同学士通了气。
①专门雇来哭丧的女人。
三天后，唐吉诃德和桑乔觉得已准备妥当了。桑乔安抚好了他的妻子，唐吉诃德也说服了外甥女和女管家。傍晚时分，两人登上了前往托博索的路程。除了学士之外没有人看见他们。学士陪伴他们走了一西里半路。唐吉诃德骑着他驯服的罗西南多，桑乔依然骑着他那头驴，褡裢里带着干粮，衣兜里装着唐吉诃德交给他以防万一用的钱。参孙拥抱了唐吉诃德，叮嘱他不论情况如何一定要设法捎信来，以便与他们同忧共喜，朋友之间本应如此。唐吉诃德答应了。参孙回去了，唐吉诃德和桑乔走向托博索大城。
Part 2 Chapter 8
“Blessed be Allah the all-powerful!” says Hamete Benengeli on beginning this eighth chapter; “blessed be Allah!” he repeats three times; and he says he utters these thanksgivings at seeing that he has now got Don Quixote and Sancho fairly afield, and that the readers of his delightful history may reckon that the achievements and humours of Don Quixote and his squire are now about to begin; and he urges them to forget the former chivalries of the ingenious gentleman and to fix their eyes on those that are to come, which now begin on the road to El Toboso, as the others began on the plains of Montiel; nor is it much that he asks in consideration of all he promises, and so he goes on to say:
Don Quixote and Sancho were left alone, and the moment Samson took his departure, Rocinante began to neigh, and Dapple to sigh, which, by both knight and squire, was accepted as a good sign and a very happy omen; though, if the truth is to be told, the sighs and brays of Dapple were louder than the neighings of the hack, from which Sancho inferred that his good fortune was to exceed and overtop that of his master, building, perhaps, upon some judicial astrology that he may have known, though the history says nothing about it; all that can be said is, that when he stumbled or fell, he was heard to say he wished he had not come out, for by stumbling or falling there was nothing to be got but a damaged shoe or a broken rib; and, fool as he was, he was not much astray in this.
Said Don Quixote, “Sancho, my friend, night is drawing on upon us as we go, and more darkly than will allow us to reach El Toboso by daylight; for there I am resolved to go before I engage in another adventure, and there I shall obtain the blessing and generous permission of the peerless Dulcinea, with which permission I expect and feel assured that I shall conclude and bring to a happy termination every perilous adventure; for nothing in life makes knights-errant more valorous than finding themselves favoured by their ladies.”
 
“So I believe,” replied Sancho; “but I think it will be difficult for your worship to speak with her or see her, at any rate where you will be able to receive her blessing; unless, indeed, she throws it over the wall of the yard where I saw her the time before, when I took her the letter that told of the follies and mad things your worship was doing in the heart of Sierra Morena.”
“Didst thou take that for a yard wall, Sancho,” said Don Quixote, “where or at which thou sawest that never sufficiently extolled grace and beauty? It must have been the gallery, corridor, or portico of some rich and royal palace.”
“It might have been all that,” returned Sancho, “but to me it looked like a wall, unless I am short of memory.”
“At all events, let us go there, Sancho,” said Don Quixote; “for, so that I see her, it is the same to me whether it be over a wall, or at a window, or through the chink of a door, or the grate of a garden; for any beam of the sun of her beauty that reaches my eyes will give light to my reason and strength to my heart, so that I shall be unmatched and unequalled in wisdom and valour.”
“Well, to tell the truth, senor,” said Sancho, “when I saw that sun of the lady Dulcinea del Toboso, it was not bright enough to throw out beams at all; it must have been, that as her grace was sifting that wheat I told you of, the thick dust she raised came before her face like a cloud and dimmed it.”
“What! dost thou still persist, Sancho,” said Don Quixote, “in saying, thinking, believing, and maintaining that my lady Dulcinea was sifting wheat, that being an occupation and task entirely at variance with what is and should be the employment of persons of distinction, who are constituted and reserved for other avocations and pursuits that show their rank a bowshot off? Thou hast forgotten, O Sancho, those lines of our poet wherein he paints for us how, in their crystal abodes, those four nymphs employed themselves who rose from their loved Tagus and seated themselves in a verdant meadow to embroider those tissues which the ingenious poet there describes to us, how they were worked and woven with gold and silk and pearls; and something of this sort must have been the employment of my lady when thou sawest her, only that the spite which some wicked enchanter seems to have against everything of mine changes all those things that give me pleasure, and turns them into shapes unlike their own; and so I fear that in that history of my achievements which they say is now in print, if haply its author was some sage who is an enemy of mine, he will have put one thing for another, mingling a thousand lies with one truth, and amusing himself by relating transactions which have nothing to do with the sequence of a true history. O envy, root of all countless evils, and cankerworm of the virtues! All the vices, Sancho, bring some kind of pleasure with them; but envy brings nothing but irritation, bitterness, and rage.”
“So I say too,” replied Sancho; “and I suspect in that legend or history of us that the bachelor Samson Carrasco told us he saw, my honour goes dragged in the dirt, knocked about, up and down, sweeping the streets, as they say. And yet, on the faith of an honest man, I never spoke ill of any enchanter, and I am not so well off that I am to be envied; to be sure, I am rather sly, and I have a certain spice of the rogue in me; but all is covered by the great cloak of my simplicity, always natural and never acted; and if I had no other merit save that I believe, as I always do, firmly and truly in God, and all the holy Roman Catholic Church holds and believes, and that I am a mortal enemy of the Jews, the historians ought to have mercy on me and treat me well in their writings. But let them say what they like; naked was I born, naked I find myself, I neither lose nor gain; nay, while I see myself put into a book and passed on from hand to hand over the world, I don’t care a fig, let them say what they like of me.”
“That, Sancho,” returned Don Quixote, “reminds me of what happened to a famous poet of our own day, who, having written a bitter satire against all the courtesan ladies, did not insert or name in it a certain lady of whom it was questionable whether she was one or not. She, seeing she was not in the list of the poet, asked him what he had seen in her that he did not include her in the number of the others, telling him he must add to his satire and put her in the new part, or else look out for the consequences. The poet did as she bade him, and left her without a shred of reputation, and she was satisfied by getting fame though it was infamy. In keeping with this is what they relate of that shepherd who set fire to the famous temple of Diana, by repute one of the seven wonders of the world, and burned it with the sole object of making his name live in after ages; and, though it was forbidden to name him, or mention his name by word of mouth or in writing, lest the object of his ambition should be attained, nevertheless it became known that he was called Erostratus. And something of the same sort is what happened in the case of the great emperor Charles V and a gentleman in Rome. The emperor was anxious to see that famous temple of the Rotunda, called in ancient times the temple ‘of all the gods,’ but now-a-days, by a better nomenclature, ‘of all the saints,’ which is the best preserved building of all those of pagan construction in Rome, and the one which best sustains the reputation of mighty works and magnificence of its founders. It is in the form of a half orange, of enormous dimensions, and well lighted, though no light penetrates it save that which is admitted by a window, or rather round skylight, at the top; and it was from this that the emperor examined the building. A Roman gentleman stood by his side and explained to him the skilful construction and ingenuity of the vast fabric and its wonderful architecture, and when they had left the skylight he said to the emperor, ‘A thousand times, your Sacred Majesty, the impulse came upon me to seize your Majesty in my arms and fling myself down from yonder skylight, so as to leave behind me in the world a name that would last for ever.’ ‘I am thankful to you for not carrying such an evil thought into effect,’ said the emperor, ‘and I shall give you no opportunity in future of again putting your loyalty to the test; and I therefore forbid you ever to speak to me or to be where I am; and he followed up these words by bestowing a liberal bounty upon him. My meaning is, Sancho, that the desire of acquiring fame is a very powerful motive. What, thinkest thou, was it that flung Horatius in full armour down from the bridge into the depths of the Tiber? What burned the hand and arm of Mutius? What impelled Curtius to plunge into the deep burning gulf that opened in the midst of Rome? What, in opposition to all the omens that declared against him, made Julius Caesar cross the Rubicon? And to come to more modern examples, what scuttled the ships, and left stranded and cut off the gallant Spaniards under the command of the most courteous Cortes in the New World? All these and a variety of other great exploits are, were and will be, the work of fame that mortals desire as a reward and a portion of the immortality their famous deeds deserve; though we Catholic Christians and knights-errant look more to that future glory that is everlasting in the ethereal regions of heaven than to the vanity of the fame that is to be acquired in this present transitory life; a fame that, however long it may last, must after all end with the world itself, which has its own appointed end. So that, O Sancho, in what we do we must not overpass the bounds which the Christian religion we profess has assigned to us. We have to slay pride in giants, envy by generosity and nobleness of heart, anger by calmness of demeanour and equanimity, gluttony and sloth by the spareness of our diet and the length of our vigils, lust and lewdness by the loyalty we preserve to those whom we have made the mistresses of our thoughts, indolence by traversing the world in all directions seeking opportunities of making ourselves, besides Christians, famous knights. Such, Sancho, are the means by which we reach those extremes of praise that fair fame carries with it.”
“All that your worship has said so far,” said Sancho, “I have understood quite well; but still I would be glad if your worship would dissolve a doubt for me, which has just this minute come into my mind.”
“Solve, thou meanest, Sancho,” said Don Quixote; “say on, in God’s name, and I will answer as well as I can.”
“Tell me, senor,” Sancho went on to say, “those Julys or Augusts, and all those venturous knights that you say are now dead — where are they now?”
“The heathens,” replied Don Quixote, “are, no doubt, in hell; the Christians, if they were good Christians, are either in purgatory or in heaven.”
“Very good,” said Sancho; “but now I want to know — the tombs where the bodies of those great lords are, have they silver lamps before them, or are the walls of their chapels ornamented with crutches, winding-sheets, tresses of hair, legs and eyes in wax? Or what are they ornamented with?”
To which Don Quixote made answer: “The tombs of the heathens were generally sumptuous temples; the ashes of Julius Caesar’s body were placed on the top of a stone pyramid of vast size, which they now call in Rome Saint Peter’s needle. The emperor Hadrian had for a tomb a castle as large as a good-sized village, which they called the Moles Adriani, and is now the castle of St. Angelo in Rome. The queen Artemisia buried her husband Mausolus in a tomb which was reckoned one of the seven wonders of the world; but none of these tombs, or of the many others of the heathens, were ornamented with winding-sheets or any of those other offerings and tokens that show that they who are buried there are saints.”
“That’s the point I’m coming to,” said Sancho; “and now tell me, which is the greater work, to bring a dead man to life or to kill a giant?”
“The answer is easy,” replied Don Quixote; “it is a greater work to bring to life a dead man.”
“Now I have got you,” said Sancho; “in that case the fame of them who bring the dead to life, who give sight to the blind, cure cripples, restore health to the sick, and before whose tombs there are lamps burning, and whose chapels are filled with devout folk on their knees adoring their relics be a better fame in this life and in the other than that which all the heathen emperors and knights-errant that have ever been in the world have left or may leave behind them?”
“That I grant, too,” said Don Quixote.
“Then this fame, these favours, these privileges, or whatever you call it,” said Sancho, “belong to the bodies and relics of the saints who, with the approbation and permission of our holy mother Church, have lamps, tapers, winding-sheets, crutches, pictures, eyes and legs, by means of which they increase devotion and add to their own Christian reputation. Kings carry the bodies or relics of saints on their shoulders, and kiss bits of their bones, and enrich and adorn their oratories and favourite altars with them.”
“What wouldst thou have me infer from all thou hast said, Sancho?” asked Don Quixote.
“My meaning is,” said Sancho, “let us set about becoming saints, and we shall obtain more quickly the fair fame we are striving after; for you know, senor, yesterday or the day before yesterday (for it is so lately one may say so) they canonised and beatified two little barefoot friars, and it is now reckoned the greatest good luck to kiss or touch the iron chains with which they girt and tortured their bodies, and they are held in greater veneration, so it is said, than the sword of Roland in the armoury of our lord the King, whom God preserve. So that, senor, it is better to be an humble little friar of no matter what order, than a valiant knight-errant; with God a couple of dozen of penance lashings are of more avail than two thousand lance-thrusts, be they given to giants, or monsters, or dragons.”
“All that is true,” returned Don Quixote, “but we cannot all be friars, and many are the ways by which God takes his own to heaven; chivalry is a religion, there are sainted knights in glory.”
“Yes,” said Sancho, “but I have heard say that there are more friars in heaven than knights-errant.”
“That,” said Don Quixote, “is because those in religious orders are more numerous than knights.”
“The errants are many,” said Sancho.
“Many,” replied Don Quixote, “but few they who deserve the name of knights.”
With these, and other discussions of the same sort, they passed that night and the following day, without anything worth mention happening to them, whereat Don Quixote was not a little dejected; but at length the next day, at daybreak, they descried the great city of El Toboso, at the sight of which Don Quixote’s spirits rose and Sancho’s fell, for he did not know Dulcinea’s house, nor in all his life had he ever seen her, any more than his master; so that they were both uneasy, the one to see her, the other at not having seen her, and Sancho was at a loss to know what he was to do when his master sent him to El Toboso. In the end, Don Quixote made up his mind to enter the city at nightfall, and they waited until the time came among some oak trees that were near El Toboso; and when the moment they had agreed upon arrived, they made their entrance into the city, where something happened them that may fairly be called something.
 
“万能的真主保佑！”哈迈德•贝嫩赫利在这第八章开头说道。“真主保佑！”他又说了三遍。据说，这是因为唐吉诃德和桑乔已经来到原野上，而这个妙趣横生的故事的读者从此又可以了解到唐吉诃德和桑乔的轶事了。作者要求读者暂且把这位贵族以往的骑士业绩放在一旁，而把眼光放在以后将要发生的事情上。以前的事迹从蒙铁尔原野开始，而这回是从前往托博索的路上发端。他的要求并不为过。作者接着讲他的故事。
路上只有唐吉诃德和桑乔两个人。参孙刚一离开，罗西南多就嘶叫起来，那头驴也发出咻咻的鼻息，主仆二人都觉得这是好兆头。说实话，驴的鼻息声和叫声要比那匹瘦马的嘶鸣声大，于是桑乔推断出他的运气一定会超过他的主人，其根据不知是不是他的占星术，反正故事没有交待。只听说他每次绊着或者摔倒的时候，就后悔不该离家出走，因为若是绊着了或者摔倒了，其结果不是鞋破就是骨头断。桑乔虽然笨，但在这方面还是心里有数的。唐吉诃德对桑乔说：
“桑乔朋友，天快黑下来了。咱们还得摸黑赶路，以便天亮时赶到托博索。我想在我再次开始征险之前，到托博索去一趟，去领受举世无双的杜尔西内亚的祝福和准许。有了她的准许，我想，我就可以顺利地对付一切可能遇到的危险，世界上没有任何东西能比得到夫人们的赞许更激励游侠骑士的勇敢。”
“我也这样认为，”桑乔说，“不过我觉得您想同她说话，想见到她，甚至想领受她的祝福，都很困难，除非是她隔着墙头向您祝福。我第一次去见她就是隔着墙头看到她的，当时您让我带信给她，说您在莫雷纳山抽疯。”
“你怎么会想起说，你是隔着墙头看到那位有口皆碑的美女佳人的呢，桑乔？”唐吉诃德说，“难道不该是在走廊、游廊、门廊或者华丽的皇宫里见到她的吗？”
“这些都有可能，”桑乔说，“但我还是觉得当时是隔着墙头，假如我没记错的话。”
“不管怎么样，咱们都得到那儿去，桑乔。”唐吉诃德说，“无论是从墙头上还是从窗户里，无论是透过门缝还是透过花园的栅栏，对我来说都一样，只要她的光芒能够照耀到我的眼睛，照亮我的思想，使我得到无与伦比的智慧和勇气。”
“可是说实话，大人，”桑乔说，“我看见托博索的杜尔西内亚夫人那个太阳时，她并不是亮得发出光来，倒像我对您说过的那样，正在簸麦子，她扬起的灰尘像一块云蒙住了她的脸，使得她黯然失色。”
“你怎么还是这么说，这么想，坚持认为我的杜尔西内亚夫人在簸麦子呢，桑乔！”唐吉诃德说，“这种事情贵人们不会做的，他们也不应该去做。贵人们生来只从事那些能够明确表现其贵族身份的活动和消遣。
“你的记性真不好，桑乔！竟忘记了咱们的诗人的那些诗①，他在诗里向我们描述那四位仙女从可爱的塔霍河里露出头来，坐在绿色的草地上编织美丽的布帛。根据聪慧的诗人的描述，那些布帛是由金线、丝线和珍珠编织而成的。所以，你看到我的夫人的时候，她也应该正从事这种活动。肯定是某个对我存心不良的恶毒魔法师把我喜爱的东西改变了模样，变成了与其本来面目不相同的东西。所以我担心，在那本据说已经在印刷的记述我的事迹的书里，万一作者是个与我作对的文人，颠倒是非，一句真话后面加上千百句假话，会把这本记载真实事情的小说弄得面目全非。嫉妒真是万恶之源，是道德的蛀虫！桑乔，所有丑恶的活动都带来某种莫名其妙的快感，可是嫉妒产生的却只有不满、仇恨和疯狂。”
“我也这样认为。”桑乔说，“在卡拉斯科学士说的那本写咱们的书里，肯定也把我的名誉弄得一塌糊涂。凭良心说，我没有说过任何一位魔法师的坏话，也没有那么多的财产足以引起别人的嫉妒。我这个人确实有点不好，有时候有点不讲道理，不过，这些完全可以被我朴实无华的憨态遮住。就算我没做什么好事，我至少还有我的信仰。我一直坚定地笃信上帝和神圣的天主教所具有和信仰的一切，而且与犹太人不共戴天。所以，书的作者们应该同情我，在他们的作品里别亏待了我。不过，他们愿意怎么说就怎么说吧，反正我来去赤条条，不亏也不赚。只要能把我写进书里，供人们传阅，随便他们怎么写我都没关系。”
①此处指加尔西拉索•德拉•维加的田园诗。
“这倒很像当代一位著名诗人遇到的情况，桑乔。”唐吉诃德说，“那位诗人写了一首非常刻薄的讽刺诗，讽刺所有的烟花女。其中一个女子因为他不能肯定是否烟花女，就没有写进诗里去。那个女子见自己没有被录入，就向诗人抱怨，凭什么没有把她列入诗里。她让诗人把讽刺诗再写长些，把她也写进去，否则就让诗人也当心自己的德行。诗人照办了，把她写得很坏。那女子见自己出了名非常满意，尽管是臭名远扬。还有一个故事，写的是一位牧人放火烧了著名的狄亚娜神庙，据说那座神庙被列为世界七大奇迹之一。牧人这样做仅仅是为了留名后世。虽然当时禁止任何人口头或书面提到他的名字，不让他如愿以偿，人们还是知道了那个牧人叫埃罗斯特拉托。卡洛斯五世大帝和罗马一位骑士的事情也属于这种情况。大帝想参观那座著名的圆穹殿。在古代，那座殿被称为诸神殿。现在的名称更好听了，叫诸圣殿，是世界上保留最完整的非基督教徒建造的建筑物，最能够表现出建筑者的宏伟气魄。殿呈半球状，非常高大，里面很明亮，光线全是从一扇窗户，确切地说，是从顶部的一个天窗射进去的。大帝从那个天窗俯视整个大殿。在大帝身旁，有一位罗马骑士介绍这座优美精湛的高大殿堂和值得纪念的建筑。离开天窗后，骑士对大帝说：‘神圣的陛下，刚才我无数次企望抱着陛下从天窗跳下去，那样我就可以留芳百世了。’‘多谢你，’大帝说，‘没有把这个罪恶念头付诸实施。以后，你再也不会有机会表现你的忠诚了。我命令你，今后再也不准同我讲话，或者到我所在的地方。’说完大帝给了骑士很大一笔赏酬。
“我的意思是说，桑乔，”唐吉诃德说，“在很大程度上，功名之心是个动力。你想想，除了功名，谁会让奥拉西奥全身披挂从桥上跳到台伯河里去呢？谁会烧穆西奥的手臂呢？谁会促使库尔西奥投身到罗马城中心一个燃烧着的深渊里去呢？在不利的情况下，是谁驱使凯撒渡过鲁比肯河呢？咱们再拿一些现代的例子来说吧，是谁破坏了跟随彬彬有礼的科尔特斯①登上了新大陆的英勇的西班牙人的船只，又把他们消灭了呢？这些以及其他各种各样的丰功伟绩，在过去、现在和将来都是功名之举。世人总是希望他们的非凡举动得到不朽美名，我们基督教徒、天主教徒和游侠骑士更应该注重身后的天福，天福才是天国永恒的东西。眼前的虚名至多只能有百年之久，最终都会随着这个世界消失，都属气数有限。所以，桑乔，我们的行为不应该超越我们信仰的基督教所规词又是“有礼貌”的意思。此处说“彬彬有礼”是取其谐音。定的范围。我们应该打掉巨人的傲慢；应该胸怀坦荡，清除嫉妒心；应该心平气和，避免怒火焚心；应该节食守夜，不要贪吃贪睡；应该一如既往地忠实于我们的意中人，戒除淫荡；应该游历四方，寻求适合于我们做的事情，避免懒惰。我们是基督徒，更是著名的骑士。桑乔，你可以看到，谁受到人们的极力赞扬，也就会随之得到美名。”
①科尔特斯是西班牙殖民军入侵美洲的军官，后毙命于秘鲁。
“您刚才说的这些我全明白，”桑乔说，“不过我现在有个疑问，希望您能给我‘戒决’一下。”
“应该是‘解决’，桑乔。”唐吉诃德说，“你说吧，我尽力回答。”
“请您告诉我，大人，”桑乔说，“什么胡利奥呀、阿戈斯特呀，还有您提到的所有那些已故的功绩卓著的骑士们，现在都在哪儿呢？”
“异教骑士们无疑是在地狱，”唐吉诃德说，“而基督教骑士，如果是善良的基督徒，那么，或者在炼狱里，或者在天堂。”
“那好，”桑乔说，“现在我想知道，在埋葬着那些贵人的墓地前是否也有银灯？或者在灵堂的墙壁上也装饰着拐杖、裹尸布、头发和蜡制的腿与眼睛？如果不是这样，在他们灵堂的墙壁上用什么装饰呢？”
唐吉诃德答道：
“异教骑士的坟墓大部分是巨大的陵宇，例如凯撒的遗骨就安放在一座巍峨的石头金字塔里，如今这座金字塔在罗马被称为‘圣佩德罗尖塔’。阿德里亚诺皇帝的墓地是一座足有一个村庄大的城堡，曾被称为‘阿德里亚诺陵’，现在是罗马的桑坦赫尔城堡。阿特米萨王后把她丈夫毛里西奥的遗体安放在一个被称为世界七大奇迹之一的陵墓里。不过，在这些异教徒的陵墓里，没有一座在墙上装饰裹尸布和其他供品，以表明陵墓里埋葬的是圣人。”
“我正要说呢，”桑乔说，“请您告诉我，让死人复生和杀死巨人，哪个最重要呢？”
“答案是现成的，”唐吉诃德说，“让死人复生最重要。”
“这我就不明白了。”桑乔说，“一个人若能使死者复生，使盲人恢复光明，使跛者不跛，使病人康复，他的墓前一定灯火通明，他的灵堂里一定跪着许多人虔诚地瞻仰他的遗物。无论是现在还是以后，这种人的名声一定超过了所有帝王、异教徒和游侠骑士留下的名声。”
“我承认这是事实。”唐吉诃德说。
“所以，只有圣人们的遗骨和遗物才具有这样的声誉，这样的尊崇，这样的殊礼。我们的圣母准许他们的灵前有灯火、蜡烛、裹尸布、拐杖、画像、头发、眼睛和腿，借此增强人们的信仰，扩大基督教的影响。帝王们把圣人的遗体或遗骨扛在肩上，亲吻遗骨的碎片，用它来装饰和丰富他们的礼拜堂以及最高级的祭坛。”
“你说这些究竟想说明什么，桑乔？”唐吉诃德问。
“我是说，”桑乔说，“咱们该去当圣人，这样咱们追求的美名很快就可以到手了。您注意到了吗，大人？在昨天或者昨天以前，反正是最近的事，据说就谥封了两个赤脚小修士为圣人。现在，谁若是能吻一吻、摸一摸曾用来捆绑和折磨他们的铁链，都会感到很荣幸，对这些铁链甚至比对陈设在国王兵器博物馆里实际上并不存在的罗尔丹的剑还崇敬。所以，我的大人，做个卑微的小修士，不管是什么级别的，也比当个勇敢的游侠骑士强。在上帝面前鞭笞自己几十下，远比向巨人或妖魔鬼怪刺两千下要强。”
“确实如此，”唐吉诃德说，“但并不是所有人都可以当修士。上帝把自己的信徒送往天堂的道路有多条，骑士道也可以算作一种信仰，天国里也有骑士圣人。”
“是的，”桑乔说，“不过我听说，天国里的修士比游侠骑士多。”
“是这样，”唐吉诃德说，“这是因为修士的总数比游侠骑士多。”
“那儿的游侠不是也很多嘛。”桑乔说。
“是很多，”唐吉诃德说，“但能够称得上骑士的并不多。”
两人说着话，已经过去了一夜一天，这中间并没有发生什么值得记述的事情，唐吉诃德因此感到悒悒不欢。第二天傍晚，他们已经看到了托博索大城。唐吉诃德精神振奋，桑乔却愁眉锁眼，因为他不知道杜尔西内亚的家在哪儿，而且，他同主人一样从没见过她。结果，一个为即将见到杜尔西内亚，另一个为从没见过她，两人都心绪不宁。桑乔寻思，如果主人叫他到托博索城里去，他该怎么办才好。后来，唐吉诃德吩咐到夜深时再进城。时辰未到，于是两人就在离托博索不远的几棵圣栎树旁待着，等到既定时间才进城去，结果后来又遇到了一连串的事情。
Part 2 Chapter 9
’Twas at the very midnight hour — more or less — when Don Quixote and Sancho quitted the wood and entered El Toboso. The town was in deep silence, for all the inhabitants were asleep, and stretched on the broad of their backs, as the saying is. The night was darkish, though Sancho would have been glad had it been quite dark, so as to find in the darkness an excuse for his blundering. All over the place nothing was to be heard except the barking of dogs, which deafened the ears of Don Quixote and troubled the heart of Sancho. Now and then an ass brayed, pigs grunted, cats mewed, and the various noises they made seemed louder in the silence of the night; all which the enamoured knight took to be of evil omen; nevertheless he said to Sancho, “Sancho, my son, lead on to the palace of Dulcinea, it may be that we shall find her awake.”
“Body of the sun! what palace am I to lead to,” said Sancho, “when what I saw her highness in was only a very little house?”
“Most likely she had then withdrawn into some small apartment of her palace,” said Don Quixote, “to amuse herself with damsels, as great ladies and princesses are accustomed to do.”
“Senor,” said Sancho, “if your worship will have it in spite of me that the house of my lady Dulcinea is a palace, is this an hour, think you, to find the door open; and will it be right for us to go knocking till they hear us and open the door; making a disturbance and confusion all through the household? Are we going, do you fancy, to the house of our wenches, like gallants who come and knock and go in at any hour, however late it may be?”
“Let us first of all find out the palace for certain,” replied Don Quixote, “and then I will tell thee, Sancho, what we had best do; but look, Sancho, for either I see badly, or that dark mass that one sees from here should be Dulcinea’s palace.”
“Then let your worship lead the way,” said Sancho, “perhaps it may be so; though I see it with my eyes and touch it with my hands, I’ll believe it as much as I believe it is daylight now.”
Don Quixote took the lead, and having gone a matter of two hundred paces he came upon the mass that produced the shade, and found it was a great tower, and then he perceived that the building in question was no palace, but the chief church of the town, and said he, “It’s the church we have lit upon, Sancho.”
“So I see,” said Sancho, “and God grant we may not light upon our graves; it is no good sign to find oneself wandering in a graveyard at this time of night; and that, after my telling your worship, if I don’t mistake, that the house of this lady will be in an alley without an outlet.”
“The curse of God on thee for a blockhead!” said Don Quixote; “where hast thou ever heard of castles and royal palaces being built in alleys without an outlet?”
“Senor,” replied Sancho, “every country has a way of its own; perhaps here in El Toboso it is the way to build palaces and grand buildings in alleys; so I entreat your worship to let me search about among these streets or alleys before me, and perhaps, in some corner or other, I may stumble on this palace — and I wish I saw the dogs eating it for leading us such a dance.”
“Speak respectfully of what belongs to my lady, Sancho,” said Don Quixote; “let us keep the feast in peace, and not throw the rope after the bucket.”
“I’ll hold my tongue,” said Sancho, “but how am I to take it patiently when your worship wants me, with only once seeing the house of our mistress, to know always, and find it in the middle of the night, when your worship can’t find it, who must have seen it thousands of times?”
“Thou wilt drive me to desperation, Sancho,” said Don Quixote. “Look here, heretic, have I not told thee a thousand times that I have never once in my life seen the peerless Dulcinea or crossed the threshold of her palace, and that I am enamoured solely by hearsay and by the great reputation she bears for beauty and discretion?”
“I hear it now,” returned Sancho; “and I may tell you that if you have not seen her, no more have I.”
“That cannot be,” said Don Quixote, “for, at any rate, thou saidst, on bringing back the answer to the letter I sent by thee, that thou sawest her sifting wheat.”
“Don’t mind that, senor,” said Sancho; “I must tell you that my seeing her and the answer I brought you back were by hearsay too, for I can no more tell who the lady Dulcinea is than I can hit the sky.”
“Sancho, Sancho,” said Don Quixote, “there are times for jests and times when jests are out of place; if I tell thee that I have neither seen nor spoken to the lady of my heart, it is no reason why thou shouldst say thou hast not spoken to her or seen her, when the contrary is the case, as thou well knowest.”
While the two were engaged in this conversation, they perceived some one with a pair of mules approaching the spot where they stood, and from the noise the plough made, as it dragged along the ground, they guessed him to be some labourer who had got up before daybreak to go to his work, and so it proved to be. He came along singing the ballad that says —
Ill did ye fare, ye men of France, In Roncesvalles chase —
“May I die, Sancho,” said Don Quixote, when he heard him, “if any good will come to us tonight! Dost thou not hear what that clown is singing?”
“I do,” said Sancho, “but what has Roncesvalles chase to do with what we have in hand? He might just as well be singing the ballad of Calainos, for any good or ill that can come to us in our business.”
By this time the labourer had come up, and Don Quixote asked him, “Can you tell me, worthy friend, and God speed you, whereabouts here is the palace of the peerless princess Dona Dulcinea del Toboso?”
“Senor,” replied the lad, “I am a stranger, and I have been only a few days in the town, doing farm work for a rich farmer. In that house opposite there live the curate of the village and the sacristan, and both or either of them will be able to give your worship some account of this lady princess, for they have a list of all the people of El Toboso; though it is my belief there is not a princess living in the whole of it; many ladies there are, of quality, and in her own house each of them may be a princess.”
“Well, then, she I am inquiring for will be one of these, my friend,” said Don Quixote.
“May be so,” replied the lad; “God be with you, for here comes the daylight;” and without waiting for any more of his questions, he whipped on his mules.
Sancho, seeing his master downcast and somewhat dissatisfied, said to him, “Senor, daylight will be here before long, and it will not do for us to let the sun find us in the street; it will be better for us to quit the city, and for your worship to hide in some forest in the neighbourhood, and I will come back in the daytime, and I won’t leave a nook or corner of the whole village that I won’t search for the house, castle, or palace, of my lady, and it will be hard luck for me if I don’t find it; and as soon as I have found it I will speak to her grace, and tell her where and how your worship is waiting for her to arrange some plan for you to see her without any damage to her honour and reputation.”
“Sancho,” said Don Quixote, “thou hast delivered a thousand sentences condensed in the compass of a few words; I thank thee for the advice thou hast given me, and take it most gladly. Come, my son, let us go look for some place where I may hide, while thou dost return, as thou sayest, to seek, and speak with my lady, from whose discretion and courtesy I look for favours more than miraculous.”
Sancho was in a fever to get his master out of the town, lest he should discover the falsehood of the reply he had brought to him in the Sierra Morena on behalf of Dulcinea; so he hastened their departure, which they took at once, and two miles out of the village they found a forest or thicket wherein Don Quixote ensconced himself, while Sancho returned to the city to speak to Dulcinea, in which embassy things befell him which demand fresh attention and a new chapter.
 
大约夜半三更时分，唐吉诃德和桑乔离开那几棵圣栎树，进了托博索城。万籁俱寂，居民们都已经入睡了，而且像人们常说的，睡得高枕无忧。夜色若明若暗，而桑乔希望夜色漆黑，那样他就可以为自己找不到地方开脱了。四周只能听到狗吠声，这吠声让唐吉诃德感到刺耳，让桑乔感到心烦。不时也传来驴嚎、猪哼和猫叫的声音。这些叫声在寂静的夜晚显得格外响亮，使得多情的唐吉诃德感到了一种不祥之兆。尽管如此，他还是对桑乔说：
“可爱的桑乔，你快领我去杜尔西内亚的宫殿吧，大概她现在还没睡哩。”
“领您去什么宫殿哟，我的老天！”桑乔说，“上次我去看她的时候，她住的不只是一间小房子吗？”
“她当时一定是带着几个侍女在宫殿的某个小房间里休息，这是尊贵的夫人和公主的通常习惯。”
“大人，”桑乔说，“您硬要把杜尔西内亚夫人的家说成是宫殿，我也没办法。可就算是那样，现在它难道还没锁门吗？咱们现在使劲叫门，把大家都叫醒了，合适吗？咱们能像到某个相好家去似的，不管什么时候，不管多晚，到了那儿就叫门，然后进去，那样行吗？”
“咱们先到宫殿去，”唐吉诃德说，“到时我再告诉你咱们该怎么做。你看，桑乔，如果不是我看错了，前面那一大团黑影大概就是杜尔西内亚的宫殿映出来的。”
“那就请您带路吧，”桑乔说，“也许真是这样。不过，即使我能用眼看到，用手摸到，要我相信那就是宫殿，简直是白日做梦！”
唐吉诃德在前面引路，走了大约两百步，来到那团阴影前，才看清那是一座塔状建筑物，后来弄清了那并不是什么宫殿，而是当地的一个大教堂。唐吉诃德说：
“这是一座教堂，桑乔。”
“我已经看见了，”桑乔说，“上帝保佑，别让咱们走到墓地去。这时候闯进墓地可不是件好事。如果我没记错的话，您说过这位夫人的家是在一条死胡同里。”
“真见鬼了，你这个笨蛋！”唐吉诃德说，“你什么时候见过建在死胡同里的宫殿？”
“大人，”桑乔说，“每个时期都有各自不同的习惯。也许在托博索，就是把宫殿和高大建筑物建在死胡同里。现在，我请求您让我在这大街小巷到处找一找，也许在哪个旮旯里能找到那个宫殿呢。这个该死的宫殿，害得咱们到处乱找！”
“谈到我的夫人时，你说话得有点礼貌，桑乔。”唐吉诃德说，“咱们就此打住吧，免得伤了和气又办不成事。”
“我会克制自己的，”桑乔说，“不过我只来过一次女主人的家，您就要我务必认出来，而且是在半夜三更找到它，而您大概来过几千次了，居然也找不到，您还要让我怎样耐心呢？”
“我真拿你没办法。”唐吉诃德说，“过来，你这个混蛋！我不是跟你说过上千次，我这辈子从没见过举世无双的杜尔西内亚，也从没跨进她的宫殿的门槛，只是听说她既美丽又聪明才恋上了她吗？”
“那我告诉您，”桑乔说，“既然您没见过她，我也没见过。”
“这不可能，”唐吉诃德说，“至少你对我说过，你替我捎信又为我带来回信，曾见过她正在簸麦子。”
“您别太认真了，大人。”桑乔说，“我可以告诉您，那次说我看见她以及我给您带了回信，也都是听说的。要说我知道谁是杜尔西内亚夫人，那简直是让太阳从西边出来。”
“桑乔啊桑乔，”唐吉诃德说，“玩笑有时候可以开，但有些时候就不该再开玩笑了。不要因为我说我从没和我的心上人见过面，说过话，你也就不顾事实，说你没见过她，没有同她说过话嘛。”
两人正说着话，迎面走来了一个人，还赶着两匹骡子，并且有犁拖在地上的响声。估计是个农夫，一大早起来到地里去干活。实际情况也的确如此。农夫边走边唱着歌谣：
在龙塞斯瓦列斯山，
法兰西人遇到了不幸。
“真要命，桑乔，”唐吉诃德听到这句歌谣说道，“咱们今天晚上不会碰到什么好事。你没听到那个乡巴佬唱什么吗？”
“听是听到了，”桑乔说，“可是，龙塞斯瓦列斯山的事情与咱们有什么相干？他还可以唱卡莱诺的歌谣呢，这对咱们的事好坏并没有什么影响。”
此时农夫已经来到他们面前。唐吉诃德向农夫问道：
“好朋友，上帝会给你带来好运。你是否知道，天下无与伦比的托博索的杜尔西内亚公主的宫殿在哪儿？”
“大人，”那个农夫说，“我是外地人，几天前才来到这个地方为一个富农干农活。他家对面住着当地的神甫和教堂管事。他们或他们当中的某个人或许清楚那位公主的事情，因为他们掌管着托博索所有居民的花名册呢。不过据我所知，在整个托博索并没有什么公主，贵小姐倒是有不少，每一个在家里都可以称得上是公主。”
“朋友，在那些人里大概就有我要找的那位公主。”唐吉诃德说。
“很可能，”农夫说，“那就再见吧，天快亮了。”
不等唐吉诃德再问什么，农夫就赶着骡子走了。桑乔见主人还呆在那里，一脸不高兴的样子，就对他说：
“大人，天快亮了。白天让人在街上看到咱们多不好。最好是咱们先出城去，您先藏在附近的某个小树林里，天亮以后我再回来找咱们这位夫人的房子或宫殿。如果找不到，算我倒霉；如果找到了，我就告诉您。我还会告诉她，您待在什么地方，正等待她的吩咐，好安排您去见她。这对她的名声并没有什么影响。”
“你这几句话可以说是言简意切，桑乔。”唐吉诃德说，“你的话正中我下怀，我非常愿意听。过来，伙计，咱们去找个地方，我先藏起来。你就像你说的那样，再回来寻找，看望和问候我的夫人。她聪明文雅肯定超出了我的意料。”
桑乔急于让唐吉诃德走开，以免他发现自己胡诌杜尔西内亚曾带信到莫雷纳山的谎话。因此他们赶紧离开，来到离城两西里远的一片树林里。唐吉诃德藏起来，桑乔又返回城里去找杜尔西内亚。此后，又发生了一些值得注意的事。
Part 2 Chapter 10
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 apprehension, he has recorded it without adding to the story or leaving out a particle of the truth, and entirely 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 grove, 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 knight, and deign to bestow her blessing upon him, so that he might thereby 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 squires 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 agitated and disturbed at hearing my name; if she cannot rest upon her cushion, shouldst thou haply find her seated in the sumptuous state chamber proper to her rank; and should she be standing, observe if she poises 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 asperity 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 wilt report them to me as they were, I will gather what she hides in the recesses 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 dread in this dreary solitude.”
“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 stout heart breaks bad luck, and that where there are no fletches there are no pegs; 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 thicket, and looking round saw that Don Quixote was not within sight, he dismounted from his ass, 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 tamper with their princesses and trouble their ladies, were to come and cudgel your ribs, 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 scent 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 yoke 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’ mules dromedaries, flocks of sheep armies of enemies, and much more to the same tune, 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 peg. 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-asses, 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 passionate 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 inscriptions 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 adorned — in fact, like what she is. Her damsels and she are all one glow of gold, all bunches of pearls, all diamonds, all rubies, 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 haughtiness 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 squire, and he the vagabond knight Don Quixote of La Mancha, otherwise called ‘The Knight of the Rueful Countenance."”
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 perplexed 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 testily, “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 softened by seeing the pillar and prop of knight-errantry on his knees before your sublimated 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 chaff 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 excellence that can be desired, utmost limit of grace in human shape, sole relief of this afflicted heart that adores thee, though the malign enchanter that persecutes me has brought clouds and cataracts 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 loathsome in thy sight, refuse not to look upon me with tenderness and love; seeing in this submission that I make on my knees to thy transformed beauty the humility 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, prodding her “cackney” with a spike 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 capers, 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 belly. The pack-saddle being secured, as Don Quixote was about to lift up his enchanted 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 falcon, and sat astride like a man, whereat Sancho said, “Rogue!” but our lady is lighter 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 malice 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 traitors 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 peculiar property of ladies of distinction, that is to say, the sweet fragrance 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 miserable, spiteful enchanters! O that I could see you all strung by the gills, like sardines on a twig! 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 galls, and her hair of purest gold into the bristles of a red ox’s tail, and in short, all her features from fair to foul, without meddling with her smell; for by that we might somehow have found out what was hidden underneath 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 mole 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 thigh on that side on which she has the one on her ace; but hairs of the length thou hast mentioned are very long for moles.”
“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 bestowed 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 simplicity 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.
Part 2 Chapter 11
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, senor,” 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, senor, 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, “Senor, we are players of Angulo el Malo’s company; we have been acting the play of ‘The Cortes 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, “Senor, 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, senor,” 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, senor, 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, senor,” 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.
 
唐吉诃德一边赶路，一边还在想魔法师竟把他的杜尔西内亚夫人变成丑陋农妇的恶作剧，可是他又想不出什么办法来恢复杜尔西内亚原来的模样。想着想着出了神，他不知不觉松开了罗西南多的缰绳。罗西南多感觉到自由了，便走走停停，不时地停下来啃点路边茂盛的青草。桑乔叫唐吉诃德，唐吉诃德才醒过神来。桑乔对他说：
“大人，牲口从不烦恼，只有人烦恼。不过，人如果烦恼过度，也就成牲口了。您忍着点儿，打起精神，拿起罗西南多的缰绳，振奋起来，表现出游侠骑士的抖擞精神来吧。这算什么？这有什么了不起的？咱们是生活在现实中，还是生活在幻想中？让魔鬼把世界上所有的杜尔西内亚都带走吧，一个游侠骑士的健康比世界上所有的魔法和变化都重要。”
“住嘴，桑乔。”唐吉诃德有气无力地说道，“我让你住嘴，不许你污蔑那位着了魔法的夫人。她遭受不幸全都是由于我。
是那些坏蛋对我的嫉妒造成了她的不幸。”
“要我说，”桑乔说，“想想她的过去，看看她的现在，有谁能不伤心落泪呢？”
“你完全可以这样说，桑乔。”唐吉诃德说，“你已经看到了她完美的外貌。魔法并不能迷惑你的视线，掩盖她的美貌。它只能迷惑我，迷惑我的视线，然后它就失去了它的魔力。即使是这样，桑乔，只有一件事让我惦记着，那就是你形容她的美貌时形容得不恰当。例如，假使我没记错的话，你说她的两只眼睛像明珠。只有鱼眼睛像明珠，而不是夫人的眼睛。我觉得杜尔西内亚的眼睛应该像两只祖母绿宝石，另有两只天边弧线般的眉毛。你应该把明珠这个词从她眼睛那儿拿出来，放到她的牙齿那儿去。肯定是你搞错了，桑乔，错把牙齿当成了眼睛。”
“这完全可能，”桑乔说，“正如她的丑陋面目迷惑了您的眼睛一样，她的美貌也照花了我的眼睛。不过，咱们还是祈求上帝保佑吧，上帝对这苦难尘世上应该发生的事情无所不知。在这个罪恶的世界上，几乎无处不混杂着丑恶、欺骗和卑鄙行径。有一件事最让我担心，我的大人，那就是您打败了某个巨人或骑士后，命令他们去拜见美丽的杜尔西内亚。而这个可怜的巨人，或这个可怜又可悲的骑士，该到哪儿去找到她呢？我仿佛能看到他们在托博索到处寻找杜尔西内亚，可即使在大街上碰到她，他们也认不出来！”
“桑乔，”唐吉诃德说，“也许魔法不会剥夺那些战败后前去拜见杜尔西内亚的巨人和骑士认出她的能力。我要打败一两个巨人，把他们派去，看看他们是否能认出杜尔西内亚来，然后，命令他们向我报告他们所遇到的情况。”
“我觉得您说得对，大人，”桑乔说，“用这个方法，咱们就可以弄清楚真相了，也就是说，如果只有您认不出她的本来面目，那么您就比她更为不幸。不过，只要杜尔西内亚夫人身体健康，精神愉快，那么咱们尽可以放心，继续征咱们的险，过些时候就会好的。时间是这些病以及其他比这更严重的病的最好医生。”
唐吉诃德正要说话，忽然从路上横出一架木板大车，车上有一些形状极其奇怪的人，而且赶着骡子的车夫竟是个丑恶的魔鬼。这辆敞篷车没有围栏。首先映入唐吉诃德眼帘的是一个面如死神的怪物，旁边是一个戴着两只巨型彩色翅膀的天使。她的一侧是一位头顶金制皇冠的皇帝。死神脚边是人们称为丘比特的神。他的眼睛并未蒙着，还带着弓、箭和箭囊。还有一个除了没戴面盔和顶盔以外，真可以说是全副武装的骑士，他的头上只有一顶插满五颜六色羽毛的帽子。这些服装不同而且形态各异的怪物的突然出现使唐吉诃德不免感到有些惊慌，桑乔也从心里感到害怕。不过，后来唐吉诃德又高兴了，他觉得这又是一次新的征险机会。这样一想，他立刻摆出不惧任何危险的架势，挡在车前，大声喝问：
“车夫，魔鬼，或者不管你是谁，趁早告诉我，你是什么人，到哪儿去，还有车上拉的是什么人！”
车夫不慌不忙地停下车，说道：
“大人，我们是安古洛•埃尔马洛剧团的演员。今天是圣体节的第八天，上午我们在那个小山丘后面的一个地方演了一部劝世短剧①《死亡会议》，下午还得到前面那个地方去演出。因为比较近，我们想免去脱衣穿衣之劳，所以就干脆穿着演出服。那个小伙子演死神；那个女人是剧团领班的夫人，演女王；另外一个人演士兵；那边那个演皇帝；我演魔鬼。我是剧团的重要人物之一，因为我在剧团里经常扮演主要角色。如果您还想了解其他什么情况，就问我好了，我都可以准确地告诉您。我是魔鬼，什么都瞒不住我。”
“我以骑士的名义发誓，”唐吉诃德说，“刚才我看到这辆车是如此样子，还以为是遇到了什么巨险呢。现在我要说，凡事不能只看外观，要亲手摸一摸才知虚实。愿上帝保佑好人，去演你们的戏吧，如果有什么需要我效劳的尽管吩咐，我十分愿意帮忙。我从小就喜欢戏剧，年轻时总是追着剧团到处跑。”
①一种根据《圣经》故事编的剧目。
他们正说着话，剧团的一个小丑打扮的人恰巧走过来。他身上带着许多铃铛，手里的一根棍子上还拴着三个吹鼓了的牛膀胱。他来到唐吉诃德面前，挥舞着手里的棍子，把牛膀胱使劲往地上摔，一边还跳着，使身上的铃铛叮当乱响。这下可把罗西南多吓坏了，立刻沿着原野拼命奔跑起来，唐吉诃德使劲勒着它嘴上的缰绳，也不能让它停下来。桑乔怕主人从马上摔下来，连忙从驴背上跳下，跑过去救主人。可是等他赶到时，唐吉诃德已经被摔到地上了。罗西南多也同主人一起摔倒了。每次罗西南多一发狂都是落得这种下场。
桑乔刚刚离开驴去救唐吉诃德，那个拿着牛膀胱的小丑就跳到驴背上，而且用牛膀胱拍打驴。用牛膀胱拍打并不痛，可那声音和恐惧却使得驴沿着原野向剧团下午演戏的地方飞奔而去。桑乔见驴跑了，主人又摔到地上，不知先顾哪一头好。不过他毕竟是个好侍从，对主人的忠诚战胜了对驴的感情，尽管他每一次看到牛膀胱在空中举起又落到驴屁股上的时候，都难过得要命。他宁愿那牛膀胱打在自己的眼珠上，也不愿让驴尾巴上哪怕是最细小的毛受到损伤。他又气又急地来到唐吉诃德身旁，见主人摔得够呛，忙扶他骑上罗西南多，然后说道：
“大人，魔鬼带走了我的驴。”
“什么魔鬼？”唐吉诃德问。
“就是那个拿牛膀胱的魔鬼。”桑乔说。
“他即使把驴藏到地狱最深处，我也要把驴找回来。”唐吉诃德说，“跟我来，桑乔，那大车走不快，我要用他们的骡子抵偿你损失的驴。”
“已经没有必要了，大人。”桑乔说，“您先消消气，我看见那个人好像已经把驴放了，驴又按原路回来了。”
果然如此。原来那个魔鬼同唐吉诃德和罗西南多是一样的下场，跟他骑的驴一起摔倒了。于是，魔鬼步行到前面的村庄去了，驴也回到了主人身边。
“即使这样，”唐吉诃德说，“我也得从那车上找个人，让他替那魔鬼接受我的惩罚，就是皇帝来也饶不了他。”
“您可别这么想，”桑乔说，“听我的劝告吧，千万别去碰那些滑稽演员，他们都很受宠。我曾看见一个滑稽演员因为杀死两个人被抓起来，可是后来又放了，什么钱也没花。您该知道，他们是给大家带来欢乐的人，所以大家都偏向他们，保护他们，帮助他们，尊敬他们。特别是那些皇家剧团和得到正式批准的剧团①，所有人，或者大部分人，都生活得很富裕。”
①17世纪时，为限制喜剧剧团的发展，仅批准少数几家剧团演戏。但后来这项规定并没有认真执行。
“虽然如此，”唐吉诃德说，“即使你再夸他，即使大家都护着他，我也饶不了那个魔鬼演员。”
说完，唐吉诃德向大车走去，大声说道：
“站住，等一等，你们这些逗乐的人，我要让你们知道该怎样对待游侠骑士侍从的坐骑。”
唐吉诃德的声音很高，车上的人都听到了，也都听明白了。他们明白了唐吉诃德的用意，死神就立刻从车上跳下来，皇帝、魔鬼车夫和天使也跟着跳下来，连女王和丘比特也没有留在车上。大家拿起石头，排成一排，准备用碎石迎接唐吉诃德的进攻。唐吉诃德见他们已经摆出如此壮观的阵势，并且高举着手臂准备将石子狠狠地掷过来，便勒住了罗西南多的缰绳，思索该如何在向他们进攻时减少自己受到的威胁。正在这时，桑乔来了。他见唐吉诃德想对那排列有序的阵势发起攻击，便对唐吉诃德说道：
“您若是这么做，那就真是疯了。您想想，我的大人，对于如此猛烈的雨点般的石子，世界上还没有任何可以用来防御的手段，除非是躲进铜钟里。而且您还应该考虑到，一个人进攻一支包括死神在内，有皇帝参加战斗，而且善恶天使都为之助威的军队，并不能算是勇敢，那只能算作鲁莽。如果这样还不能让您罢休，那么您应该注意到，那些人当中虽然有国王、君主、皇帝，却没有一个是游侠骑士。”
“到现在，桑乔，”唐吉诃德说，“你才让我改变了我本来已不可动摇的决心。我已多次说过，我不能够也不应该向非受封骑士进攻。桑乔，你如果想为你的驴报仇，现在正是时候。我可以在这儿为你呐喊助威。”
“没必要向任何人报仇，大人。”桑乔说，“报仇并不是善良的基督徒做的事，而且我还要和我的驴讲好，报仇不报仇得听我的，而我主张在老天赐予我们的日子里过得太平无事。”
“既然你这样决定，”唐吉诃德说，“善良的桑乔，聪明的桑乔，基督徒桑乔，真诚的桑乔，咱们就不理这帮妖魔鬼怪，去寻求更大更有价值的惊险吧。我认为在这个世界上还会有很多神奇的惊险。”
说完，唐吉诃德掉转辔头，桑乔也骑上了他的驴。死神和那些人也回到了自己的车上，继续赶路。死神之车的可怕遭遇由于桑乔对主人的善意劝阻而得到了顺利解决。第二天，唐吉诃德又碰到了一个痴情的游侠骑士，其情节同这次一样令人惊奇。
Part 2 Chapter 12
The night succeeding the day of the encounter with Death, Don Quixote and his squire passed under some tall shady trees, and Don Quixote at Sancho’s persuasion ate a little from the store carried by Dapple, and over their supper Sancho said to his master, “Senor, what a fool I should have looked if I had chosen for my reward the spoils of the first adventure your worship achieved, instead of the foals of the three mares. After all, ‘a sparrow in the hand is better than a vulture on the wing.’”
“At the same time, Sancho,” replied Don Quixote, “if thou hadst let me attack them as I wanted, at the very least the emperor’s gold crown and Cupid’s painted wings would have fallen to thee as spoils, for I should have taken them by force and given them into thy hands.”
“The sceptres and crowns of those play-actor emperors,” said Sancho, “were never yet pure gold, but only brass foil or tin.”
“That is true,” said Don Quixote, “for it would not be right that the accessories of the drama should be real, instead of being mere fictions and semblances, like the drama itself; towards which, Sancho — and, as a necessary consequence, towards those who represent and produce it — I would that thou wert favourably disposed, for they are all instruments of great good to the State, placing before us at every step a mirror in which we may see vividly displayed what goes on in human life; nor is there any similitude that shows us more faithfully what we are and ought to be than the play and the players. Come, tell me, hast thou not seen a play acted in which kings, emperors, pontiffs, knights, ladies, and divers other personages were introduced? One plays the villain, another the knave, this one the merchant, that the soldier, one the sharp-witted fool, another the foolish lover; and when the play is over, and they have put off the dresses they wore in it, all the actors become equal.”
“Yes, I have seen that,” said Sancho.
“Well then,” said Don Quixote, “the same thing happens in the comedy and life of this world, where some play emperors, others popes, and, in short, all the characters that can be brought into a play; but when it is over, that is to say when life ends, death strips them all of the garments that distinguish one from the other, and all are equal in the grave.”
“A fine comparison!” said Sancho; “though not so new but that I have heard it many and many a time, as well as that other one of the game of chess; how, so long as the game lasts, each piece has its own particular office, and when the game is finished they are all mixed, jumbled up and shaken together, and stowed away in the bag, which is much like ending life in the grave.”
“Thou art growing less doltish and more shrewd every day, Sancho,” said Don Quixote.
“Ay,” said Sancho; “it must be that some of your worship’s shrewdness sticks to me; land that, of itself, is barren and dry, will come to yield good fruit if you dung it and till it; what I mean is that your worship’s conversation has been the dung that has fallen on the barren soil of my dry wit, and the time I have been in your service and society has been the tillage; and with the help of this I hope to yield fruit in abundance that will not fall away or slide from those paths of good breeding that your worship has made in my parched understanding.”
Don Quixote laughed at Sancho’s affected phraseology, and perceived that what he said about his improvement was true, for now and then he spoke in a way that surprised him; though always, or mostly, when Sancho tried to talk fine and attempted polite language, he wound up by toppling over from the summit of his simplicity into the abyss of his ignorance; and where he showed his culture and his memory to the greatest advantage was in dragging in proverbs, no matter whether they had any bearing or not upon the subject in hand, as may have been seen already and will be noticed in the course of this history.
 
In conversation of this kind they passed a good part of the night, but Sancho felt a desire to let down the curtains of his eyes, as he used to say when he wanted to go to sleep; and stripping Dapple he left him at liberty to graze his fill. He did not remove Rocinante’s saddle, as his master’s express orders were, that so long as they were in the field or not sleeping under a roof Rocinante was not to be stripped — the ancient usage established and observed by knights-errant being to take off the bridle and hang it on the saddle-bow, but to remove the saddle from the horse — never! Sancho acted accordingly, and gave him the same liberty he had given Dapple, between whom and Rocinante there was a friendship so unequalled and so strong, that it is handed down by tradition from father to son, that the author of this veracious history devoted some special chapters to it, which, in order to preserve the propriety and decorum due to a history so heroic, he did not insert therein; although at times he forgets this resolution of his and describes how eagerly the two beasts would scratch one another when they were together and how, when they were tired or full, Rocinante would lay his neck across Dapple’s , stretching half a yard or more on the other side, and the pair would stand thus, gazing thoughtfully on the ground, for three days, or at least so long as they were left alone, or hunger did not drive them to go and look for food. I may add that they say the author left it on record that he likened their friendship to that of Nisus and Euryalus, and Pylades and Orestes; and if that be so, it may be perceived, to the admiration of mankind, how firm the friendship must have been between these two peaceful animals, shaming men, who preserve friendships with one another so badly. This was why it was said —
For friend no longer is there friend; The reeds turn lances now.
And some one else has sung —
Friend to friend the bug, etc.
And let no one fancy that the author was at all astray when he compared the friendship of these animals to that of men; for men have received many lessons from beasts, and learned many important things, as, for example, the clyster from the stork, vomit and gratitude from the dog, watchfulness from the crane, foresight from the ant, modesty from the elephant, and loyalty from the horse.
Sancho at last fell asleep at the foot of a cork tree, while Don Quixote dozed at that of a sturdy oak; but a short time only had elapsed when a noise he heard behind him awoke him, and rising up startled, he listened and looked in the direction the noise came from, and perceived two men on horseback, one of whom, letting himself drop from the saddle, said to the other, “Dismount, my friend, and take the bridles off the horses, for, so far as I can see, this place will furnish grass for them, and the solitude and silence my love-sick thoughts need of.” As he said this he stretched himself upon the ground, and as he flung himself down, the armour in which he was clad rattled, whereby Don Quixote perceived that he must be a knight-errant; and going over to Sancho, who was asleep, he shook him by the arm and with no small difficulty brought him back to his senses, and said in a low voice to him, “Brother Sancho, we have got an adventure.”
“God send us a good one,” said Sancho; “and where may her ladyship the adventure be?”
“Where, Sancho?” replied Don Quixote; “turn thine eyes and look, and thou wilt see stretched there a knight-errant, who, it strikes me, is not over and above happy, for I saw him fling himself off his horse and throw himself on the ground with a certain air of dejection, and his armour rattled as he fell.”
“Well,” said Sancho, “how does your worship make out that to be an adventure?”
“I do not mean to say,” returned Don Quixote, “that it is a complete adventure, but that it is the beginning of one, for it is in this way adventures begin. But listen, for it seems he is tuning a lute or guitar, and from the way he is spitting and clearing his chest he must be getting ready to sing something.”
“Faith, you are right,” said Sancho, “and no doubt he is some enamoured knight.”
“There is no knight-errant that is not,” said Don Quixote; “but let us listen to him, for, if he sings, by that thread we shall extract the ball of his thoughts; because out of the abundance of the heart the mouth speaketh.”
Sancho was about to reply to his master, but the Knight of the Grove’s voice, which was neither very bad nor very good, stopped him, and listening attentively the pair heard him sing this
Sonnet
Your pleasure, prithee, lady mine, unfold;
Declare the terms that I am to obey;
My will to yours submissively I mould,
And from your law my feet shall never stray.
Would you I die, to silent grief a prey?
Then count me even now as dead and cold;
Would you I tell my woes in some new way?
Then shall my tale by Love itself be told.
The unison of opposites to prove,
Of the soft wax and diamond hard am I;
But still, obedient to the laws of love,
Here, hard or soft, I offer you my breast,
Whate’er you grave or stamp thereon shall rest
Indelible for all eternity.
With an “Ah me!” that seemed to be drawn from the inmost recesses of his heart, the Knight of the Grove brought his lay to an end, and shortly afterwards exclaimed in a melancholy and piteous voice, “O fairest and most ungrateful woman on earth! What! can it be, most serene Casildea de Vandalia, that thou wilt suffer this thy captive knight to waste away and perish in ceaseless wanderings and rude and arduous toils? It is not enough that I have compelled all the knights of Navarre, all the Leonese, all the Tartesians, all the Castilians, and finally all the knights of La Mancha, to confess thee the most beautiful in the world?”
“Not so,” said Don Quixote at this, “for I am of La Mancha, and I have never confessed anything of the sort, nor could I nor should I confess a thing so much to the prejudice of my lady’s beauty; thou seest how this knight is raving, Sancho. But let us listen, perhaps he will tell us more about himself.”
“That he will,” returned Sancho, “for he seems in a mood to bewail himself for a month at a stretch.”
But this was not the case, for the Knight of the Grove, hearing voices near him, instead of continuing his lamentation, stood up and exclaimed in a distinct but courteous tone, “Who goes there? What are you? Do you belong to the number of the happy or of the miserable?”
“Of the miserable,” answered Don Quixote.
“Then come to me,” said he of the Grove, “and rest assured that it is to woe itself and affliction itself you come.”
Don Quixote, finding himself answered in such a soft and courteous manner, went over to him, and so did Sancho.
The doleful knight took Don Quixote by the arm, saying, “Sit down here, sir knight; for, that you are one, and of those that profess knight-errantry, it is to me a sufficient proof to have found you in this place, where solitude and night, the natural couch and proper retreat of knights-errant, keep you company.” To which Don made answer, “A knight I am of the profession you mention, and though sorrows, misfortunes, and calamities have made my heart their abode, the compassion I feel for the misfortunes of others has not been thereby banished from it. From what you have just now sung I gather that yours spring from love, I mean from the love you bear that fair ingrate you named in your lament.”
In the meantime, they had seated themselves together on the hard ground peaceably and sociably, just as if, as soon as day broke, they were not going to break one another’s heads.
“Are you, sir knight, in love perchance?” asked he of the Grove of Don Quixote.
“By mischance I am,” replied Don Quixote; “though the ills arising from well-bestowed affections should be esteemed favours rather than misfortunes.”
“That is true,” returned he of the Grove, “if scorn did not unsettle our reason and understanding, for if it be excessive it looks like revenge.”
“I was never scorned by my lady,” said Don Quixote.
“Certainly not,” said Sancho, who stood close by, “for my lady is as a lamb, and softer than a roll of butter.”
“Is this your squire?” asked he of the Grove.
“He is,” said Don Quixote.
“I never yet saw a squire,” said he of the Grove, “who ventured to speak when his master was speaking; at least, there is mine, who is as big as his father, and it cannot be proved that he has ever opened his lips when I am speaking.”
“By my faith then,” said Sancho, “I have spoken, and am fit to speak, in the presence of one as much, or even — but never mind — it only makes it worse to stir it.”
The squire of the Grove took Sancho by the arm, saying to him, “Let us two go where we can talk in squire style as much as we please, and leave these gentlemen our masters to fight it out over the story of their loves; and, depend upon it, daybreak will find them at it without having made an end of it.”
“So be it by all means,” said Sancho; “and I will tell your worship who I am, that you may see whether I am to be reckoned among the number of the most talkative squires.”
With this the two squires withdrew to one side, and between them there passed a conversation as droll as that which passed between their masters was serious.
 
唐吉诃德和桑乔在碰到死神的那天夜晚是在几棵高大茂密的树下度过的。唐吉诃德听从了桑乔的劝告，吃了些驴驮的干粮。吃饭时，桑乔对主人说：
“大人，假如我选择您第一次征险得到的战利品作为对我的奖赏，而不是选择您那三匹母马下的小马驹，我也就太傻了。真的，真的，‘手中麻雀胜似天上雄鹰嘛’。”
“你若是能让我任意进攻，桑乔，”唐吉诃德说，“我给你的战利品里至少包括皇帝的金冠和丘比特的彩色翅膀。我完全可以把这些东西夺来放到你手上。”
“戏里皇帝的权杖和皇冠从来都不是用纯金做的，而是用铜箔或铁片做的。”桑乔说。
“这倒是事实，”唐吉诃德说，“戏剧演员的衣着服饰若是做成真的就不合适了，只能做假的。这就同戏剧本身一样。我想让你明白，桑乔，你可以喜欢戏剧，并且因此喜欢演戏和编戏的那些人，因为他们都是大有益于国家的工具，为人生提供了一面镜子，人们可以从中生动地看到自己的各种活动，没有任何东西能像戏剧那样，表现我们自己现在的样子以及我们应该成为的样子，就像演员们在戏剧里表现的那样。不信，你告诉我，你是否看过一部戏里有国王、皇帝、主教、骑士、夫人和各种各样的人物？这个人演妓院老板，那个人演骗子，一个人演商人，另一个人演士兵，有人演聪明的笨蛋，有人演愚蠢的情人。可是戏演完后，一换下戏装，大家都成了一样的演员。”
“这我见过。”桑乔说。
“戏剧同这个世界上的情况一样。”唐吉诃德说，“在这个世界上，有人当皇帝，有人当主教，一句话，各种各样的人物充斥着这部戏。不过，戏演完之时也就是人生结束之日。死亡将剥掉把人们分为不同等级的外表，大家到了坟墓里就都一样了。”
“真是绝妙的比喻，”桑乔开说，“不过并不新鲜，这类比喻我已经听过多次了，譬如说人生就像一盘棋。下棋的时候，每个棋子都有不同的角色。可是下完棋后，所有的棋子都混在一起，装进一个口袋，就好像人死了都进坟墓一样。”
“桑乔，”唐吉诃德说，“你现在是日趋聪明，不那么愚蠢了。”
“是的，这大概也是受您的才智影响。”桑乔说，“如果您的土地贫瘠干涸，只要施肥耕种，就会结出果实。我是想说，同您谈话就好比在我的智慧的干涸土地上施肥，而我服侍您，同您沟通，就属于耕种，我希望由此可以得到对我有益的果实，不脱离您对我的枯竭头脑的栽培之路。”
唐吉诃德听到桑乔这番不伦不类的话不禁哑然失笑，不过他觉得桑乔这番补充道的是实情，况且桑乔也确实能不时说出些令人惊奇的话来，尽管有更多的时候，桑乔常常故作聪明，假充文雅，结果说出的话常常愚蠢透顶，无知绝伦。桑乔表现出记忆力强的最佳时刻就是他说俗语时，不管说得合适不合适，这点大致可以从这个故事的过程中看到。
两人说着话，已经过了大半夜。桑乔想把他的眼帘放下来了，他想睡觉时常常这么说。桑乔先给他的驴卸了鞍，让它在肥沃的草地上随便吃草。不过，桑乔并没有给罗西南多卸鞍，因为主人已经明确吩咐过，他们在野外周游或者露宿时，不能给罗西南多卸鞍，这是游侠骑士自古沿袭下来的习惯，只能把马嚼子拿下来，挂在鞍架上。要想拿掉马鞍，休想。桑乔执行了主人的吩咐，但他给了罗西南多同他的驴一样的自由。他的驴同罗西南多的友谊牢固而又特殊，如同父子，以至于本书的作者专门为此写了好几章。但为了保持这部英雄史的严肃性，他又没有把这几章放进书里。尽管如此，作者偶尔还是有疏忽的时候，违背了初衷，写到两个牲口凑在一起，耳鬓厮磨累了，满足了，罗西南多就把脖子搭在驴的脖子上。罗西南多的脖子比驴的脖子长半尺多，两头牲口认真地看着地面，而且往往一看就是三天，除非有人打搅或是它们饿了需要找吃的。据说作者常把这种友谊同尼索和欧里亚诺①以及皮拉德斯和俄瑞斯忒斯②的友谊相比。由此可以看出，这两头和平共处的牲口之间的友谊是多么牢固，值得世人钦佩。与此同时，人与人之间的友谊倒让人困惑。有句话说道：
朋友之间没朋友，
玉帛变干戈结冤仇。
还有句话说：
朋友朋友，并非朋友。
①维吉尔的史诗《埃涅阿斯纪》中的一对好友。
②在古希腊神话中，这两人既是表兄弟，又是好友。%%%没有人认为作者把牲口之间的友谊与人之间的友谊相比是做得出格了。人从动物身上学到了很多警示和重要的东西，例如从鹳身上学到了灌肠法，从狗身上学到了厌恶和感恩，从鹤身上学到了警觉，从蚂蚁身上学到了知天意，从大象身上学到了诚实，从马身上学到了忠实。后来，桑乔在一棵栓皮槠树下睡着了，唐吉诃德也在一棵粗壮的圣栎树下打盹。不过，唐吉诃德很快就醒了，他感到背后有声音。他猛然站起来，边看边听声音到底是从哪儿传来的。他看见两个骑马的人，其中一个从马背上滑下来，对另一个说：
“下来吧，朋友，把马嚼子拿下来。我看这个地方的草挺肥，可以喂牲口，而且这儿挺僻静，正适合我的情思。”
那人说完就躺下了，而且躺下时发出了一种盔甲的撞击声。唐吉诃德由此认定那人也是游侠骑士。他赶紧来到桑乔身旁。桑乔正睡觉，他好不容易才把桑乔弄醒。唐吉诃德悄声对桑乔说：
“桑乔兄弟，咱们又遇险了。”
“愿上帝给咱们一个大有油水的险情吧，”桑乔说，“大人，那个险情在哪儿？”
“在哪儿？”唐吉诃德说，“桑乔，你转过头来看，那儿就躺着一个游侠骑士。据我观察，他现在不太高兴。我看见他从马上下来，躺在地上，有点垂头丧气的样子。还有，他躺下时有盔甲的撞击声。”
“那您凭什么说这是险情呢？”桑乔问。
“我并没有说这就是险情，”唐吉诃德说，“我只是说这是险情的开端，险情由此开始。你听，他正在给诗琴或比维尔琴调音。他又清嗓子又吐痰，大概是想唱点什么吧。”
“很可能，”桑乔说，“看来是个坠入情网的骑士。”
“游侠骑士莫不如此。”唐吉诃德说，“只要他唱，我们就可以从他的只言片语里得知他在想什么。心里有事，嘴上就会说出来。”
桑乔正要说话，传来了森林骑士的歌声，桑乔打住了。骑士的嗓音不好也不坏。两人注意听着，只听歌中唱到：《十　四　行　诗》
请你按照你的意愿，夫人，
给我一个追求的目标，
我将铭记于肺腑，
始终如一不动摇。
你若讨厌我的相扰，
让我去死，请直言相告。
你若愿我婉转诉情，
为爱情我肝胆相照。
我准备接受两种考验，不论是
蜡般柔软，钻石般坚硬，
爱情的规律我仿效。
任你软硬考验，
我都将挺胸面对，
铭刻在心永记牢。
一声大概是发自肺腑的“哎”声结束了森林骑士的歌声。
过了一会儿，只听骑士痛苦又凄凉地说道：
“哎，世界上最美丽又最负心的人啊！最文静的班达利亚的卡西尔德亚呀，你怎么能让这位已经被你俘虏的骑士无休止地游历四方，受苦受罪呢？我已经让纳瓦拉的所有骑士，让莱昂的所有骑士，让塔尔特苏斯的所有骑士，让卡斯蒂利亚的所有骑士，还有曼查的所有骑士，都承认你是世界上最美丽的人，难道这还不够吗？”
“不，”唐吉诃德说，“我是曼查的，我从没有承认也不可能承认，而且更不应该承认这件如此有损于我美丽的夫人的事情。你看见了，桑乔，这个骑士胡说八道。不过咱们听着吧，也许他还会说点什么呢。”
“肯定还会说，”桑乔说，“他可以念叨一个月呢。”
可事实并非如此。原来森林骑士已经隐约听到了有人在议论他。他没有继续哀叹下去，而是站起身，声音洪亮却又很客气地问道：
“谁在那儿？是什么人？是快活高兴的人，还是痛苦不堪的人。”
“是痛苦不堪的人。”唐吉诃德回答说。
“那就过来吧，”森林骑士说，“你过来就知道咱们是同病相怜了。”
唐吉诃德见那人说话客客气气，就走了过去。桑乔也跟了过去。
那位刚才还唉声叹气的骑士抓着唐吉诃德的手说：
“请坐在这儿，骑士大人。因为我在这儿碰到了你，我就知道你是干什么的了，我知道你是游侠骑士。这里只有孤独和寂静陪伴你，是游侠骑士特有的休息地方。”
唐吉诃德说道：
“我是骑士，是你说的那种骑士。我的内心深处虽然也有悲伤、不幸和痛苦，可我并未因此而失去怜悯别人不幸之心。听你唱了几句，我就知道你在为爱情而苦恼，也就是说，你因为爱上了你抱怨时提到的那位美人而苦恼。”
结果两人一同坐到了坚硬的地上，客客气气，显出一副即使天破了，他们也不会把对方打破的样子。
“骑士大人，”森林骑士问道，“难道您也坠入情网了？”
“很不幸，我确实如此，”唐吉诃德说，“不过，由于处理得当而产生的痛苦应该被看作是幸福，而不是苦恼。”
“如果不是被人鄙夷的意识扰乱我的心，你说的倒是事实。”森林骑士说，“不过，瞧不起咱们的人很多，简直要把咱们吃了似的。”
“我可从来没受过我夫人的蔑视。”唐吉诃德说。
“从来没有，”桑乔也在一旁说，“我们的夫人像只羔羊似的特别温顺。”
“这是您的侍从？”森林骑士问。
“是的。”唐吉诃德回答说。
“我从没见过哪个侍从敢在主人说话的时候插嘴，”森林骑士说，“至少我的侍从不这样。他已经长得同他父亲一样高了，可是我说话时他从来不开口。”
“我刚才的确插话了，”桑乔说，“而且，我还可以当着其他人……算了吧，还是少说为佳。”
森林骑士的侍从拉着桑乔的胳膊说：
“咱们找个地方，随便说说咱们侍从的事吧。让咱们的主人痛痛快快地说他们的恋爱史吧，他们肯定讲到天亮也讲不完。”
“那正好，”桑乔说，“我也可以给你讲讲我是什么样的人，看我是否算得上那种为数不多的爱插嘴的人。”
两个侍从说着便离开了。他们同他们的主人一样，进行了一场有趣的谈话。
Part 2 Chapter 13
The knights and the squires made two parties, these telling the story of their lives, the others the story of their loves; but the history relates first of all the conversation of the servants, and afterwards takes up that of the masters; and it says that, withdrawing a little from the others, he of the Grove said to Sancho, “A hard life it is we lead and live, senor, we that are squires to knights-errant; verily, we eat our bread in the sweat of our faces, which is one of the curses God laid on our first parents.”
“It may be said, too,” added Sancho, “that we eat it in the chill of our bodies; for who gets more heat and cold than the miserable squires of knight-errantry? Even so it would not be so bad if we had something to eat, for woes are lighter if there’s bread; but sometimes we go a day or two without breaking our fast, except with the wind that blows.”
“All that,” said he of the Grove, “may be endured and put up with when we have hopes of reward; for, unless the knight-errant he serves is excessively unlucky, after a few turns the squire will at least find himself rewarded with a fine government of some island or some fair county.”
“I,” said Sancho, “have already told my master that I shall be content with the government of some island, and he is so noble and generous that he has promised it to me ever so many times.”
“I,” said he of the Grove, “shall be satisfied with a canonry for my services, and my master has already assigned me one.”
“Your master,” said Sancho, “no doubt is a knight in the Church line, and can bestow rewards of that sort on his good squire; but mine is only a layman; though I remember some clever, but, to my mind, designing people, strove to persuade him to try and become an archbishop. He, however, would not be anything but an emperor; but I was trembling all the time lest he should take a fancy to go into the Church, not finding myself fit to hold office in it; for I may tell you, though I seem a man, I am no better than a beast for the Church.”
“Well, then, you are wrong there,” said he of the Grove; “for those island governments are not all satisfactory; some are awkward, some are poor, some are dull, and, in short, the highest and choicest brings with it a heavy burden of cares and troubles which the unhappy wight to whose lot it has fallen bears upon his shoulders. Far better would it be for us who have adopted this accursed service to go back to our own houses, and there employ ourselves in pleasanter occupations — in hunting or fishing, for instance; for what squire in the world is there so poor as not to have a hack and a couple of greyhounds and a fishingrod to amuse himself with in his own village?”
“I am not in want of any of those things,” said Sancho; “to be sure I have no hack, but I have an ass that is worth my master’s horse twice over; God send me a bad Easter, and that the next one I am to see, if I would swap, even if I got four bushels of barley to boot. You will laugh at the value I put on my Dapple — for dapple is the colour of my beast. As to greyhounds, I can’t want for them, for there are enough and to spare in my town; and, moreover, there is more pleasure in sport when it is at other people’s expense.”
“In truth and earnest, sir squire,” said he of the Grove, “I have made up my mind and determined to have done with these drunken vagaries of these knights, and go back to my village, and bring up my children; for I have three, like three Oriental pearls.”
“I have two,” said Sancho, “that might be presented before the Pope himself, especially a girl whom I am breeding up for a countess, please God, though in spite of her mother.”
“And how old is this lady that is being bred up for a countess?” asked he of the Grove.
“Fifteen, a couple of years more or less,” answered Sancho; “but she is as tall as a lance, and as fresh as an April morning, and as strong as a porter.”
“Those are gifts to fit her to be not only a countess but a nymph of the greenwood,” said he of the Grove; “whoreson strumpet! what pith the rogue must have!”
To which Sancho made answer, somewhat sulkily, “She’s no strumpet, nor was her mother, nor will either of them be, please God, while I live; speak more civilly; for one bred up among knights-errant, who are courtesy itself, your words don’t seem to me to be very becoming.”
“O how little you know about compliments, sir squire,” returned he of the Grove. “What! don’t you know that when a horseman delivers a good lance thrust at the bull in the plaza, or when anyone does anything very well, the people are wont to say, ‘Ha, whoreson rip! how well he has done it!’ and that what seems to be abuse in the expression is high praise? Disown sons and daughters, senor, who don’t do what deserves that compliments of this sort should be paid to their parents.”
“I do disown them,” replied Sancho, “and in this way, and by the same reasoning, you might call me and my children and my wife all the strumpets in the world, for all they do and say is of a kind that in the highest degree deserves the same praise; and to see them again I pray God to deliver me from mortal sin, or, what comes to the same thing, to deliver me from this perilous calling of squire into which I have fallen a second time, decayed and beguiled by a purse with a hundred ducats that I found one day in the heart of the Sierra Morena; and the devil is always putting a bag full of doubloons before my eyes, here, there, everywhere, until I fancy at every stop I am putting my hand on it, and hugging it, and carrying it home with me, and making investments, and getting interest, and living like a prince; and so long as I think of this I make light of all the hardships I endure with this simpleton of a master of mine, who, I well know, is more of a madman than a knight.”
“There’s why they say that ‘covetousness bursts the bag,’” said he of the Grove; “but if you come to talk of that sort, there is not a greater one in the world than my master, for he is one of those of whom they say, ‘the cares of others kill the ass;’ for, in order that another knight may recover the senses he has lost, he makes a madman of himself and goes looking for what, when found, may, for all I know, fly in his own face.” “And is he in love perchance?” asked Sancho.
“He is,” said of the Grove, “with one Casildea de Vandalia, the rawest and best roasted lady the whole world could produce; but that rawness is not the only foot he limps on, for he has greater schemes rumbling in his bowels, as will be seen before many hours are over.”
“There’s no road so smooth but it has some hole or hindrance in it,” said Sancho; “in other houses they cook beans, but in mine it’s by the potful; madness will have more followers and hangers-on than sound sense; but if there be any truth in the common saying, that to have companions in trouble gives some relief, I may take consolation from you, inasmuch as you serve a master as crazy as my own.”
“Crazy but valiant,” replied he of the Grove, “and more roguish than crazy or valiant.”
“Mine is not that,” said Sancho; “I mean he has nothing of the rogue in him; on the contrary, he has the soul of a pitcher; he has no thought of doing harm to anyone, only good to all, nor has he any malice whatever in him; a child might persuade him that it is night at noonday; and for this simplicity I love him as the core of my heart, and I can’t bring myself to leave him, let him do ever such foolish things.”
“For all that, brother and senor,” said he of the Grove, “if the blind lead the blind, both are in danger of falling into the pit. It is better for us to beat a quiet retreat and get back to our own quarters; for those who seek adventures don’t always find good ones.”
Sancho kept spitting from time to time, and his spittle seemed somewhat ropy and dry, observing which the compassionate squire of the Grove said, “It seems to me that with all this talk of ours our tongues are sticking to the roofs of our mouths; but I have a pretty good loosener hanging from the saddle-bow of my horse,” and getting up he came back the next minute with a large bota of wine and a pasty half a yard across; and this is no exaggeration, for it was made of a house rabbit so big that Sancho, as he handled it, took it to be made of a goat, not to say a kid, and looking at it he said, “And do you carry this with you, senor?”
“Why, what are you thinking about?” said the other; “do you take me for some paltry squire? I carry a better larder on my horse’s croup than a general takes with him when he goes on a march.”
Sancho ate without requiring to be pressed, and in the dark bolted mouthfuls like the knots on a tether, and said he, “You are a proper trusty squire, one of the right sort, sumptuous and grand, as this banquet shows, which, if it has not come here by magic art, at any rate has the look of it; not like me, unlucky beggar, that have nothing more in my alforjas than a scrap of cheese, so hard that one might brain a giant with it, and, to keep it company, a few dozen carobs and as many more filberts and walnuts; thanks to the austerity of my master, and the idea he has and the rule he follows, that knights-errant must not live or sustain themselves on anything except dried fruits and the herbs of the field.”
“By my faith, brother,” said he of the Grove, “my stomach is not made for thistles, or wild pears, or roots of the woods; let our masters do as they like, with their chivalry notions and laws, and eat what those enjoin; I carry my prog-basket and this bota hanging to the saddle-bow, whatever they may say; and it is such an object of worship with me, and I love it so, that there is hardly a moment but I am kissing and embracing it over and over again;” and so saying he thrust it into Sancho’s hands, who raising it aloft pointed to his mouth, gazed at the stars for a quarter of an hour; and when he had done drinking let his head fall on one side, and giving a deep sigh, exclaimed, “Ah, whoreson rogue, how catholic it is!”
“There, you see,” said he of the Grove, hearing Sancho’s exclamation, “how you have called this wine whoreson by way of praise.”
“Well,” said Sancho, “I own it, and I grant it is no dishonour to call anyone whoreson when it is to be understood as praise. But tell me, senor, by what you love best, is this Ciudad Real wine?”
“O rare wine-taster!” said he of the Grove; “nowhere else indeed does it come from, and it has some years’ age too.”
“Leave me alone for that,” said Sancho; “never fear but I’ll hit upon the place it came from somehow. What would you say, sir squire, to my having such a great natural instinct in judging wines that you have only to let me smell one and I can tell positively its country, its kind, its flavour and soundness, the changes it will undergo, and everything that appertains to a wine? But it is no wonder, for I have had in my family, on my father’s side, the two best wine-tasters that have been known in La Mancha for many a long year, and to prove it I’ll tell you now a thing that happened them. They gave the two of them some wine out of a cask, to try, asking their opinion as to the condition, quality, goodness or badness of the wine. One of them tried it with the tip of his tongue, the other did no more than bring it to his nose. The first said the wine had a flavour of iron, the second said it had a stronger flavour of cordovan. The owner said the cask was clean, and that nothing had been added to the wine from which it could have got a flavour of either iron or leather. Nevertheless, these two great wine-tasters held to what they had said. Time went by, the wine was sold, and when they came to clean out the cask, they found in it a small key hanging to a thong of cordovan; see now if one who comes of the same stock has not a right to give his opinion in such like cases.”
“Therefore, I say,” said he of the Grove, “let us give up going in quest of adventures, and as we have loaves let us not go looking for cakes, but return to our cribs, for God will find us there if it be his will.”
“Until my master reaches Saragossa,” said Sancho, “I’ll remain in his service; after that we’ll see.”
The end of it was that the two squires talked so much and drank so much that sleep had to tie their tongues and moderate their thirst, for to quench it was impossible; and so the pair of them fell asleep clinging to the now nearly empty bota and with half-chewed morsels in their mouths; and there we will leave them for the present, to relate what passed between the Knight of the Grove and him of the Rueful Countenance.
 
骑士和侍从分成两对，侍从谈自己的生活，骑士谈自己的爱情。故事首先介绍侍从的谈话，然后才是主人的议论。据说，两个侍从离开主人一段距离后，森林骑士的侍从对桑乔说：
“我的大人，咱们这些当游侠骑士侍从的，日子过得真辛苦。上帝诅咒咱们的祖先时说过，让他们就着脸上的汗水吃面包。咱们现在就是这样。”
“还可以说咱们是腹中冰冷吃面包。”桑乔说，“谁能像咱们游侠骑士的侍从这样经受严寒酷暑呢？如果有吃的还算好，肚里有食就不那么难受，可咱们常常是一两天没有吃的，只能喝风。”
“不过与此同时，咱们也可望得到奖励。”森林骑士的侍从说，“如果被服侍的游侠骑士不是特别倒霉，侍从至少可以得到某个岛屿总督的美差，或者当个满不错的伯爵。”
“我已经同我的主人讲过，”桑乔说，“我当个岛屿总督就满足了。我的主人已经慷慨地允诺过好几次了。”
“我服侍主人一场，能随便有个美差就满足了。”森林骑士的侍从说，“我的主人已经答应给我一个美差，真不错！”
“您的主人一定是个教团骑士，”桑乔说，“所以如果服侍得好，他就会奖励他的侍从。可我的主人绝对不是教团骑士。我记得有些聪明人曾劝他做红衣大主教，可我看那些人是别有用心，而我的主人一心只想当皇帝。我当时怕得要命，怕他忽然心血来潮，当了主教，因为教会里的事我做不了。我还可以告诉您，虽然我看起来像个人似的，可要是做起教会里的事来，那就连牲口都不如了。”
“这您就错了，”森林骑士的侍从说，“岛屿总督也不是那么好干的。有的总督很不幸，有的很可怜，也有的悒悒不欢。混得好的也是心事重重，不得安宁，命运在他肩上放了一副沉重的担子。从事咱们这苦差的人最好都回家去，做些轻松的事情散散心，比如打猎钓鱼。世界上恐怕还没有哪位侍从穷得家里连一匹马、几只猎兔狗和一根钓鱼竿都没有。”
“这些我都有，”桑乔说，“不过我没有马，这是真的。可是我有头驴，比我主人的马贵重两倍多。他要想换我这头驴，就是再加四担小麦，而且就在下个复活节换，我也不会换。算我复活节倒霉！我的小灰儿，我那头驴是灰色的，在我眼里是如此值钱，大概让您见笑了。至于猎兔狗，我有不少，我们村里也有的是。要是能借别人的光打猎就更有意思了。”
“真的，”森林骑士的侍从说，“侍从大人，我已经打算并且决定离开这些疯疯癫癫的游侠骑士了。我要回到我的家乡去，哺养我的孩子们。我有三个东方明珠一般的孩子。”
“我有两个孩子，”桑乔说，“漂亮得简直可以面见教皇。特别是我那女儿，上帝保佑，我准备培养她当伯爵夫人，不管她妈愿意不愿意。”
“您那个准备做伯爵夫人的女儿芳龄多少啦？”森林骑士的侍从问。
“十五岁上下，上下不相差两岁吧，”桑乔说，“已经长得像长矛一样高了，而且楚楚动人，力气大过脚夫。”
“那她不仅可以做伯爵夫人，”森林骑士的侍从说，“而且可以做绿色森林的仙女。噢，这个婊子养的，多棒啊！”
桑乔听了有些不高兴地说道：
“她不是婊子，她妈也不是婊子。上帝保佑，只要我活着，她们谁也当不了婊子。您说话得有点礼貌，亏得您还受过游侠骑士的栽培呢，应该同游侠骑士一样有礼貌。我觉得您那些话说得不合适。”
“哎呀，您怎么把这样高级的赞扬理解错了，侍从大人？”森林骑士的侍从说，“您怎么会不知道，如果一位骑士在斗牛场上往牛背扎了很漂亮的一枪，或者某个人某件事干得非常出色时，人家往往说：‘嘿，这个婊子养的，干得真棒！’这句话貌似粗野，实际上是很高的赞扬。大人，如果您的儿子或女儿没有做出令他们的父母受到如此称赞的事业来，您就别认他们。”
“是的，那我就不认他们。”桑乔说，“既然这样，您完全可以把我和我的孩子、老婆都称作婊子。我的老婆孩子的所作所为对这种赞扬绝对受之无愧。为了能够回去见到他们，我祈求上帝免除我的死罪，也就是免除我当侍从的危险行当。我鬼迷心窍，再一次从事了侍从的行当。有一天，我曾在莫雷纳山深处捡到一个装着一百杜卡多的口袋，魔鬼把钱袋一会儿放这儿，一会儿放那儿，让我觉得似乎唾手可得，可以把它抱回家，用来放印子，收利息，过无忧无虑的日子。也就是这种打算让我跟着我这位愚蠢的主人含垢忍辱，我知道，与其说他是骑士，还不如说他是个疯子！”
“所以人们常说，贪得无厌。”森林骑士的侍从说，“要提到疯子，我的主人可谓天下第一。你应该明白，‘驴子劳累死，全为别人忙’。他为了让别的骑士恢复神志，自己反而变疯了；他要寻找的东西，要是真找到了，我不知道他会不会又后悔。”
“他大概正在恋爱吧？”桑乔问。
“是的，”森林骑士的侍从说，“他爱上了班达利亚的卡西尔德亚。世界上恐怕再没有比她更冷冰冰的女人了。不过，她最坏的地方还不在于冷冰冰，而在于她有一肚子坏水，并且很快就能显露出来。”
“世上无坦途，”桑乔说，“总不免有些磕磕碰碰；‘家家有本难念的经，而我家的经最难念’；‘疯子的伙伴倒比正常人的多’。不过，有句俗话说得很对，‘债多不愁，人多不忧’，有您在我就感到宽慰了，因为您服侍的主人同我的主人一样愚蠢。”
“蠢是蠢，但是很勇敢，”森林骑士的侍从说，“而且论起卑鄙来，比愚蠢和勇敢的程度还要厉害得多。”
“我的主人不这样。”桑乔说，“我认为他一点儿也不卑鄙，相反，人很实在，不对任何人使坏，而且对所有人都好，绝无害人之心。如果一个孩子告诉他白天是黑夜，他也会相信。就冲他这种单纯劲儿，我就从心眼里喜欢他，他就是做出再愚蠢的事，我也不忍心离开他。”
“即使如此，兄弟呀，”森林骑士的侍从说，“瞎子领瞎子，就有双双掉进坑里的危险。咱们最好趁早止步，干咱们自己的事情去。要征险并不等于就能征到真正的艰险。”
桑乔不时地吐点儿什么，看样子是很粘的唾液。森林骑士那位好心肠的侍从看到了，说道：
“我觉得咱们说得太多了，舌头和上腭都快粘上了。我那匹马的鞍架上带着点儿生津的东西，效果挺不错的。”
说着他站了起来，不一会儿就拿回一大皮囊葡萄酒和一个大馅饼。我一点儿不夸张，那馅饼足有一尺见方。馅是用一只大白兔的肉做的。桑乔摸了摸，以为是一只羊的肉做的，而且不是小羊羔，是大山羊。桑乔说：
“难道您把这个也随身带着，大人？”
“怎么，想不到吧？”那个侍从说，“我不过是个微不足道的侍从，但是我在马屁股上带的食物比一个将军出门时带的食物还要好。”
不等人家让，桑乔就狼吞虎咽地吃起来了，还说：
“您真是个忠实合格的侍从，既普通又优秀，而且伟大，这顿饭就可以证明这一点，除非这顿饭是魔法变出来的。看样子它倒是有点像变出来的。我就不行了，既卑微又倒霉。我的褡裢里只有一点奶酪，还挺硬，硬得能把巨人的脑袋打破。此外，还有几十个野豌豆，几十个榛子和胡桃。这全怨我的主人墨守成规，坚持认为游侠骑士只能用干果和田野里的野草充饥。”
“兄弟，”森林骑士的侍从说，“我相信我的胃受不了什么洋蓟、野梨和山里的野根。让咱们的主人去说他们的骑士规矩吧，让他们去吃他们说应该吃的东西吧，反正我带着凉菜盒，鞍架上还带着酒囊，算作备用。我特别喜欢酒，不时要抱着酒囊亲亲。”
说完，他把酒囊递给桑乔。桑乔把酒囊举到嘴边，头朝上足有一刻钟。喝完后，他把头垂到一旁，长吁了一口气，说：
“嘿，婊子养的，好家伙，真不错！”
“您称赞酒好怎么能说是‘婊子养的’呢？”森林骑士的侍从听到桑乔说“婊子养的”，就对桑乔说道。
“如果是赞美，”桑乔说，“称某人‘婊子养的’并不是贬义。凭您最喜爱的年代发誓，大人，请您告诉我，这酒是皇城里出的吗？”
“好一个品酒鬼！”森林骑士的侍从说，“这酒正是皇城里出的，而且是陈年老酒。”
“瞒得了我吗？”桑乔说，“可别小看了我这套本领。侍从大人，我天生就有高超的品酒本领难道不好吗？只要让我闻一闻某种酒，我就可以准确地说出它的产地、品种、味道、贮存时间、是否还会变化以及其他种种有关情况。不过，这也没什么可惊奇的，我家祖上就有两位是曼查多年从未有过的优秀品酒师。为了证明这点，我给您讲一件他们的事。有一次，人们拉来一桶葡萄酒让他们品尝，请他们两人说说酒的质量好坏。他们一个用舌头尖舔了舔酒，另一个只是把鼻子凑到酒前闻了闻。第一个人说有股铁器味，第二个人说还有熟羊皮味。可酒的主人说酒桶是干净的，酒里没有放任何鞣料，不会产生出什么铁器味和熟羊皮味。尽管如此，两位著名的品酒师仍然坚持自己的说法。过了一段时间之后，酒卖完了，人们刷酒桶的时候发现，里面有一串用熟羊皮圈拴着的小钥匙。这回您就该知道了，出身世家，自有所长。”
“所以我说，”森林骑士的侍从说，“咱们也别去征什么险了。家里有面包，就不必去找蛋糕，还是回家好。要是上帝想找咱们，就到咱们家里去找吧。”
“等我服侍主人到了萨拉戈萨以后，咱们再商量。”
后来，两位友好的侍从又是说又是喝，直到困倦了才闭上嘴，缓解一下口渴。要想让他们不渴是不可能的。两个人抓着已经快空了的酒囊，嘴里含着还没嚼烂的食物睡着了。咱们现在别再说他们了，来谈谈森林骑士和猥獕骑士那儿的事吧。
Part 2 Chapter 14
Among the things that passed between Don Quixote and the Knight of the Wood, the history tells us he of the Grove said to Don Quixote, “In fine, sir knight, I would have you know that my destiny, or, more properly speaking, my choice led me to fall in love with the peerless Casildea de Vandalia. I call her peerless because she has no peer, whether it be in bodily stature or in the supremacy of rank and beauty. This same Casildea, then, that I speak of, requited my honourable passion and gentle aspirations by compelling me, as his stepmother did Hercules, to engage in many perils of various sorts, at the end of each promising me that, with the end of the next, the object of my hopes should be attained; but my labours have gone on increasing link by link until they are past counting, nor do I know what will be the last one that is to be the beginning of the accomplishment of my chaste desires. On one occasion she bade me go and challenge the famous giantess of Seville, La Giralda by name, who is as mighty and strong as if made of brass, and though never stirring from one spot, is the most restless and changeable woman in the world. I came, I saw, I conquered, and I made her stay quiet and behave herself, for nothing but north winds blew for more than a week. Another time I was ordered to lift those ancient stones, the mighty bulls of Guisando, an enterprise that might more fitly be entrusted to porters than to knights. Again, she bade me fling myself into the cavern of Cabra — an unparalleled and awful peril — and bring her a minute account of all that is concealed in those gloomy depths. I stopped the motion of the Giralda, I lifted the bulls of Guisando, I flung myself into the cavern and brought to light the secrets of its abyss; and my hopes are as dead as dead can be, and her scorn and her commands as lively as ever. To be brief, last of all she has commanded me to go through all the provinces of Spain and compel all the knights-errant wandering therein to confess that she surpasses all women alive to-day in beauty, and that I am the most valiant and the most deeply enamoured knight on earth; in support of which claim I have already travelled over the greater part of Spain, and have there vanquished several knights who have dared to contradict me; but what I most plume and pride myself upon is having vanquished in single combat that so famous knight Don Quixote of La Mancha, and made him confess that my Casildea is more beautiful than his Dulcinea; and in this one victory I hold myself to have conquered all the knights in the world; for this Don Quixote that I speak of has vanquished them all, and I having vanquished him, his glory, his fame, and his honour have passed and are transferred to my person; for
The more the vanquished hath of fair renown, The greater glory gilds the victor’s crown.
Thus the innumerable achievements of the said Don Quixote are now set down to my account and have become mine.”
Don Quixote was amazed when he heard the Knight of the Grove, and was a thousand times on the point of telling him he lied, and had the lie direct already on the tip of his tongue; but he restrained himself as well as he could, in order to force him to confess the lie with his own lips; so he said to him quietly, “As to what you say, sir knight, about having vanquished most of the knights of Spain, or even of the whole world, I say nothing; but that you have vanquished Don Quixote of La Mancha I consider doubtful; it may have been some other that resembled him, although there are few like him.”
“How! not vanquished?” said he of the Grove; “by the heaven that is above us I fought Don Quixote and overcame him and made him yield; and he is a man of tall stature, gaunt features, long, lank limbs, with hair turning grey, an aquiline nose rather hooked, and large black drooping moustaches; he does battle under the name of ‘The Countenance,’ and he has for squire a peasant called Sancho Panza; he presses the loins and rules the reins of a famous steed called Rocinante; and lastly, he has for the mistress of his will a certain Dulcinea del Toboso, once upon a time called Aldonza Lorenzo, just as I call mine Casildea de Vandalia because her name is Casilda and she is of Andalusia. If all these tokens are not enough to vindicate the truth of what I say, here is my sword, that will compel incredulity itself to give credence to it.”
“Calm yourself, sir knight,” said Don Quixote, “and give ear to what I am about to say to you. you.I would have you know that this Don Quixote you speak of is the greatest friend I have in the world; so much so that I may say I regard him in the same light as my own person; and from the precise and clear indications you have given I cannot but think that he must be the very one you have vanquished. On the other hand, I see with my eyes and feel with my hands that it is impossible it can have been the same; unless indeed it be that, as he has many enemies who are enchanters, and one in particular who is always persecuting him, some one of these may have taken his shape in order to allow himself to be vanquished, so as to defraud him of the fame that his exalted achievements as a knight have earned and acquired for him throughout the known world. And in confirmation of this, I must tell you, too, that it is but ten hours since these said enchanters his enemies transformed the shape and person of the fair Dulcinea del Toboso into a foul and mean village lass, and in the same way they must have transformed Don Quixote; and if all this does not suffice to convince you of the truth of what I say, here is Don Quixote himself, who will maintain it by arms, on foot or on horseback or in any way you please.”
And so saying he stood up and laid his hand on his sword, waiting to see what the Knight of the Grove would do, who in an equally calm voice said in reply, “Pledges don’t distress a good payer; he who has succeeded in vanquishing you once when transformed, Sir Don Quixote, may fairly hope to subdue you in your own proper shape; but as it is not becoming for knights to perform their feats of arms in the dark, like highwaymen and bullies, let us wait till daylight, that the sun may behold our deeds; and the conditions of our combat shall be that the vanquished shall be at the victor’s disposal, to do all that he may enjoin, provided the injunction be such as shall be becoming a knight.”
“I am more than satisfied with these conditions and terms,” replied Don Quixote; and so saying, they betook themselves to where their squires lay, and found them snoring, and in the same posture they were in when sleep fell upon them. They roused them up, and bade them get the horses ready, as at sunrise they were to engage in a bloody and arduous single combat; at which intelligence Sancho was aghast and thunderstruck, trembling for the safety of his master because of the mighty deeds he had heard the squire of the Grove ascribe to his; but without a word the two squires went in quest of their cattle; for by this time the three horses and the ass had smelt one another out, and were all together.
On the way, he of the Grove said to Sancho, “You must know, brother, that it is the custom with the fighting men of Andalusia, when they are godfathers in any quarrel, not to stand idle with folded arms while their godsons fight; I say so to remind you that while our masters are fighting, we, too, have to fight, and knock one another to shivers.”
“That custom, sir squire,” replied Sancho, “may hold good among those bullies and fighting men you talk of, but certainly not among the squires of knights-errant; at least, I have never heard my master speak of any custom of the sort, and he knows all the laws of knight-errantry by heart; but granting it true that there is an express law that squires are to fight while their masters are fighting, I don’t mean to obey it, but to pay the penalty that may be laid on peacefully minded squires like myself; for I am sure it cannot be more than two pounds of wax, and I would rather pay that, for I know it will cost me less than the lint I shall be at the expense of to mend my head, which I look upon as broken and split already; there’s another thing that makes it impossible for me to fight, that I have no sword, for I never carried one in my life.”
“I know a good remedy for that,” said he of the Grove; “I have here two linen bags of the same size; you shall take one, and I the other, and we will fight at bag blows with equal arms.”
“If that’s the way, so be it with all my heart,” said Sancho, “for that sort of battle will serve to knock the dust out of us instead of hurting us.”
“That will not do,” said the other, “for we must put into the bags, to keep the wind from blowing them away, half a dozen nice smooth pebbles, all of the same weight; and in this way we shall be able to baste one another without doing ourselves any harm or mischief.”
“Body of my father!” said Sancho, “see what marten and sable, and pads of carded cotton he is putting into the bags, that our heads may not be broken and our bones beaten to jelly! But even if they are filled with toss silk, I can tell you, senor, I am not going to fight; let our masters fight, that’s their lookout, and let us drink and live; for time will take care to ease us of our lives, without our going to look for fillips so that they may be finished off before their proper time comes and they drop from ripeness.”
“Still,” returned he of the Grove, “we must fight, if it be only for half an hour.”
“By no means,” said Sancho; “I am not going to be so discourteous or so ungrateful as to have any quarrel, be it ever so small, with one I have eaten and drunk with; besides, who the devil could bring himself to fight in cold blood, without anger or provocation?”
“I can remedy that entirely,” said he of the Grove, “and in this way: before we begin the battle, I will come up to your worship fair and softly, and give you three or four buffets, with which I shall stretch you at my feet and rouse your anger, though it were sleeping sounder than a dormouse.”
“To match that plan,” said Sancho, “I have another that is not a whit behind it; I will take a cudgel, and before your worship comes near enough to waken my anger I will send yours so sound to sleep with whacks, that it won’t waken unless it be in the other world, where it is known that I am not a man to let my face be handled by anyone; let each look out for the arrow — though the surer way would be to let everyone’s anger sleep, for nobody knows the heart of anyone, and a man may come for wool and go back shorn; God gave his blessing to peace and his curse to quarrels; if a hunted cat, surrounded and hard pressed, turns into a lion, God knows what I, who am a man, may turn into; and so from this time forth I warn you, sir squire, that all the harm and mischief that may come of our quarrel will be put down to your account.”
“Very good,” said he of the Grove; “God will send the dawn and we shall be all right.”
And now gay-plumaged birds of all sorts began to warble in the trees, and with their varied and gladsome notes seemed to welcome and salute the fresh morn that was beginning to show the beauty of her countenance at the gates and balconies of the east, shaking from her locks a profusion of liquid pearls; in which dulcet moisture bathed, the plants, too, seemed to shed and shower down a pearly spray, the willows distilled sweet manna, the fountains laughed, the brooks babbled, the woods rejoiced, and the meadows arrayed themselves in all their glory at her coming. But hardly had the light of day made it possible to see and distinguish things, when the first object that presented itself to the eyes of Sancho Panza was the squire of the Grove’s nose, which was so big that it almost overshadowed his whole body. It is, in fact, stated, that it was of enormous size, hooked in the middle, covered with warts, and of a mulberry colour like an egg-plant; it hung down two fingers’ length below his mouth, and the size, the colour, the warts, and the bend of it, made his face so hideous, that Sancho, as he looked at him, began to tremble hand and foot like a child in convulsions, and he vowed in his heart to let himself be given two hundred buffets, sooner than be provoked to fight that monster. Don Quixote examined his adversary, and found that he already had his helmet on and visor lowered, so that he could not see his face; he observed, however, that he was a sturdily built man, but not very tall in stature. Over his armour he wore a surcoat or cassock of what seemed to be the finest cloth of gold, all bespangled with glittering mirrors like little moons, which gave him an extremely gallant and splendid appearance; above his helmet fluttered a great quantity of plumes, green, yellow, and white, and his lance, which was leaning against a tree, was very long and stout, and had a steel point more than a palm in length.
Don Quixote observed all, and took note of all, and from what he saw and observed he concluded that the said knight must be a man of great strength, but he did not for all that give way to fear, like Sancho Panza; on the contrary, with a composed and dauntless air, he said to the Knight of the Mirrors, “If, sir knight, your great eagerness to fight has not banished your courtesy, by it I would entreat you to raise your visor a little, in order that I may see if the comeliness of your countenance corresponds with that of your equipment.”
“Whether you come victorious or vanquished out of this emprise, sir knight,” replied he of the Mirrors, “you will have more than enough time and leisure to see me; and if now I do not comply with your request, it is because it seems to me I should do a serious wrong to the fair Casildea de Vandalia in wasting time while I stopped to raise my visor before compelling you to confess what you are already aware I maintain.”
“Well then,” said Don Quixote, “while we are mounting you can at least tell me if I am that Don Quixote whom you said you vanquished.”
“To that we answer you,” said he of the Mirrors, “that you are as like the very knight I vanquished as one egg is like another, but as you say enchanters persecute you, I will not venture to say positively whether you are the said person or not.”
“That,” said Don Quixote, “is enough to convince me that you are under a deception; however, entirely to relieve you of it, let our horses be brought, and in less time than it would take you to raise your visor, if God, my lady, and my arm stand me in good stead, I shall see your face, and you shall see that I am not the vanquished Don Quixote you take me to be.”
With this, cutting short the colloquy, they mounted, and Don Quixote wheeled Rocinante round in order to take a proper distance to charge back upon his adversary, and he of the Mirrors did the same; but Don Quixote had not moved away twenty paces when he heard himself called by the other, and, each returning half-way, he of the Mirrors said to him, “Remember, sir knight, that the terms of our combat are, that the vanquished, as I said before, shall be at the victor’s disposal.”
“I am aware of it already,” said Don Quixote; “provided what is commanded and imposed upon the vanquished be things that do not transgress the limits of chivalry.”
“That is understood,” replied he of the Mirrors.
At this moment the extraordinary nose of the squire presented itself to Don Quixote’s view, and he was no less amazed than Sancho at the sight; insomuch that he set him down as a monster of some kind, or a human being of some new species or unearthly breed. Sancho, seeing his master retiring to run his course, did not like to be left alone with the nosy man, fearing that with one flap of that nose on his own the battle would be all over for him and he would be left stretched on the ground, either by the blow or with fright; so he ran after his master, holding on to Rocinante’s stirrup-leather, and when it seemed to him time to turn about, he said, “I implore of your worship, senor, before you turn to charge, to help me up into this cork tree, from which I will be able to witness the gallant encounter your worship is going to have with this knight, more to my taste and better than from the ground.”
“It seems to me rather, Sancho,” said Don Quixote, “that thou wouldst mount a scaffold in order to see the bulls without danger.”
“To tell the truth,” returned Sancho, “the monstrous nose of that squire has filled me with fear and terror, and I dare not stay near him.”
“It is,” said Don Quixote, “such a one that were I not what I am it would terrify me too; so, come, I will help thee up where thou wilt.”
While Don Quixote waited for Sancho to mount into the cork tree he of the Mirrors took as much ground as he considered requisite, and, supposing Don Quixote to have done the same, without waiting for any sound of trumpet or other signal to direct them, he wheeled his horse, which was not more agile or better-looking than Rocinante, and at his top speed, which was an easy trot, he proceeded to charge his enemy; seeing him, however, engaged in putting Sancho up, he drew rein, and halted in mid career, for which his horse was very grateful, as he was already unable to go. Don Quixote, fancying that his foe was coming down upon him flying, drove his spurs vigorously into Rocinante’s lean flanks and made him scud along in such style that the history tells us that on this occasion only was he known to make something like running, for on all others it was a simple trot with him; and with this unparalleled fury he bore down where he of the Mirrors stood digging his spurs into his horse up to buttons, without being able to make him stir a finger’s length from the spot where he had come to a standstill in his course. At this lucky moment and crisis, Don Quixote came upon his adversary, in trouble with his horse, and embarrassed with his lance, which he either could not manage, or had no time to lay in rest. Don Quixote, however, paid no attention to these difficulties, and in perfect safety to himself and without any risk encountered him of the Mirrors with such force that he brought him to the ground in spite of himself over the haunches of his horse, and with so heavy a fall that he lay to all appearance dead, not stirring hand or foot. The instant Sancho saw him fall he slid down from the cork tree, and made all haste to where his master was, who, dismounting from Rocinante, went and stood over him of the Mirrors, and unlacing his helmet to see if he was dead, and to give him air if he should happen to be alive, he saw — who can say what he saw, without filling all who hear it with astonishment, wonder, and awe? He saw, the history says, the very countenance, the very face, the very look, the very physiognomy, the very effigy, the very image of the bachelor Samson Carrasco! As soon as he saw it he called out in a loud voice, “Make haste here, Sancho, and behold what thou art to see but not to believe; quick, my son, and learn what magic can do, and wizards and enchanters are capable of.”
Sancho came up, and when he saw the countenance of the bachelor Carrasco, he fell to crossing himself a thousand times, and blessing himself as many more. All this time the prostrate knight showed no signs of life, and Sancho said to Don Quixote, “It is my opinion, senor, that in any case your worship should take and thrust your sword into the mouth of this one here that looks like the bachelor Samson Carrasco; perhaps in him you will kill one of your enemies, the enchanters.”
“Thy advice is not bad,” said Don Quixote, “for of enemies the fewer the better;” and he was drawing his sword to carry into effect Sancho’s counsel and suggestion, when the squire of the Mirrors came up, now without the nose which had made him so hideous, and cried out in a loud voice, “Mind what you are about, Senor Don Quixote; that is your friend, the bachelor Samson Carrasco, you have at your feet, and I am his squire.”
“And the nose?” said Sancho, seeing him without the hideous feature he had before; to which he replied, “I have it here in my pocket,” and putting his hand into his right pocket, he pulled out a masquerade nose of varnished pasteboard of the make already described; and Sancho, examining him more and more closely, exclaimed aloud in a voice of amazement, “Holy Mary be good to me! Isn’t it Tom Cecial, my neighbour and gossip?”
“Why, to be sure I am!” returned the now unnosed squire; “Tom Cecial I am, gossip and friend Sancho Panza; and I’ll tell you presently the means and tricks and falsehoods by which I have been brought here; but in the meantime, beg and entreat of your master not to touch, maltreat, wound, or slay the Knight of the Mirrors whom he has at his feet; because, beyond all dispute, it is the rash and ill-advised bachelor Samson Carrasco, our fellow townsman.”
At this moment he of the Mirrors came to himself, and Don Quixote perceiving it, held the naked point of his sword over his face, and said to him, “You are a dead man, knight, unless you confess that the peerless Dulcinea del Toboso excels your Casildea de Vandalia in beauty; and in addition to this you must promise, if you should survive this encounter and fall, to go to the city of El Toboso and present yourself before her on my behalf, that she deal with you according to her good pleasure; and if she leaves you free to do yours, you are in like manner to return and seek me out (for the trail of my mighty deeds will serve you as a guide to lead you to where I may be), and tell me what may have passed between you and her — conditions which, in accordance with what we stipulated before our combat, do not transgress the just limits of knight-errantry.”
“I confess,” said the fallen knight, “that the dirty tattered shoe of the lady Dulcinea del Toboso is better than the ill-combed though clean beard of Casildea; and I promise to go and to return from her presence to yours, and to give you a full and particular account of all you demand of me.”
“You must also confess and believe,” added Don Quixote, “that the knight you vanquished was not and could not be Don Quixote of La Mancha, but some one else in his likeness, just as I confess and believe that you, though you seem to be the bachelor Samson Carrasco, are not so, but some other resembling him, whom my enemies have here put before me in his shape, in order that I may restrain and moderate the vehemence of my wrath, and make a gentle use of the glory of my victory.”
“I confess, hold, and think everything to be as you believe, hold, and think it,” the crippled knight; “let me rise, I entreat you; if, indeed, the shock of my fall will allow me, for it has left me in a sorry plight enough.”
Don Quixote helped him to rise, with the assistance of his squire Tom Cecial; from whom Sancho never took his eyes, and to whom he put questions, the replies to which furnished clear proof that he was really and truly the Tom Cecial he said; but the impression made on Sancho’s mind by what his master said about the enchanters having changed the face of the Knight of the Mirrors into that of the bachelor Samson Carrasco, would not permit him to believe what he saw with his eyes. In fine, both master and man remained under the delusion; and, down in the mouth, and out of luck, he of the Mirrors and his squire parted from Don Quixote and Sancho, he meaning to go look for some village where he could plaster and strap his ribs. Don Quixote and Sancho resumed their journey to Saragossa, and on it the history leaves them in order that it may tell who the Knight of the Mirrors and his long-nosed squire were.
 
唐吉诃德和森林骑士谈了很多。据故事记述，森林骑士对唐吉诃德讲道：
“总之，骑士大人，我想让您知道，我受命运驱使，或者说由我自己选择，我爱上了举世无双的班达利亚的卡西尔德亚。说她举世无双，是因为无论比身高、比地位或是比相貌，都没有人能够与她相比。这个卡西尔德亚对我善意的想法和适度的愿望答以各种各样的危险差使，就像赫拉克勒斯的教母对赫拉克勒斯那样，每次都答应我，只要做完这件事后再做一件就可以满足我的愿望。可是事情做了一件又一件，我也不知道究竟做了多少件，究竟做完哪一件才能实现我的美好愿望。有一次，她派我去向塞维利亚那个有名的女巨人希拉尔达①挑战。希拉尔达非常勇敢，她仿佛是青铜铸的，屹立在原地寸步不移，但她却又是世界上最轻浮、最易变的女人。我赶到那儿，看见了她，打败了她，让她老老实实地站在那儿，不敢乱动，要知道当时刮了一个多星期的北风呢。后来，她又让我去称两只巨大的吉桑多公牛石像的重量。这种活更适合脚夫干，而不适合骑士干。
①此处提到的希拉尔达是著名的塞维利亚大教堂塔楼上的一尊青铜女神像。塔楼因此被称为希拉尔达塔楼。
“还有一次，她让我跳进卡夫拉深渊，那可是空前可怕的事情哟。她要我把那黑洞深处的东西都给她拿上来。我制服了希拉尔达，我称了吉桑多公牛的重量，我又跳进深渊，把埋藏在深渊底部的东西都拿了上来，可是我的愿望仍然不能实现，而她的命令和嘲弄却没完没了。后来，她又命令我游历西班牙的所有省份，让各地所有的游侠骑士都承认只有她是最漂亮的，而我则是世界上最勇敢最多情的骑士。我按照她的要求游历了西班牙大部分省份，打败了所有胆敢对我持异议的人。不过，最令我自豪的是我在一次激烈的战斗中打败了曼查的著名骑士唐吉诃德，让他承认了我的卡西尔德亚比他的杜尔西内亚还漂亮。只此一举，我就可以说已打败了世界上的所有骑士，因为我说的那个唐吉诃德已经打败了所有骑士，而我又打败了他，那么他的光荣、名声和赞誉也就都转到了我的头上。
败者越有名，
胜者越光荣。
就这样，原来记在唐吉诃德身上的无数丰功伟绩都算到我身上了。”
唐吉诃德听了森林骑士这番话深感震惊。他多次想说森林骑士撒谎，话已经到了嘴边，可他还是强忍住了。他想让森林骑士自己承认是在撒谎。于是，唐吉诃德平静地对森林骑士说：
“要说骑士大人您打败了西班牙的所有骑士，甚至是世界上的所有骑士，我都不想说什么；可要说您打败了曼查的唐吉诃德，我表示怀疑。很可能那是一个与唐吉诃德极其相似的人，尽管与他相似的人并不多。”
“怎么会不可能呢？”森林骑士说，“我向高高在上的老天发誓，我是同唐吉诃德战斗，并且打败了他，俘虏了他。他高高的个子，干瘪脸，细长的四肢，花白头发，鹰鼻子还有点钩，黑黑的大胡子向下搭拉着。他还有个名字叫猥獕骑士，带着一个名叫桑乔的农夫当侍从。他骑的是一匹叫罗西南多的马，把托博索的杜尔西内亚当作自己的意中人。那女人原来叫阿尔东萨•洛伦索，就好比我的意中人叫卡西尔德亚，是安达卢西亚人，我就叫她班达利亚的卡西尔德亚那样。如果这些特征还不能证明我说的是真的，那么还有我的剑在此，它可以证明我说的确凿无疑。”
“静一静，骑士大人，”唐吉诃德说，“您听我说。您该知道，您说的那个唐吉诃德是我在这个世界上的最好的朋友，可以说好得就像我就是他一样。您刚才说的那些特征说得很准确，但我并不能因此就认为您打败的那个人就是他本人。而且，就我本身的体验来说，也不可能是他本人，除非是他那许多魔法师冤家，而且其中有一个总是跟他过不去，变出了一个和他一样的人，把他打败，借此来诋毁他靠高尚的骑士行为在世界上赢得的声誉。为了证明这点，我还可以告诉您，就在两天前，他的魔法师冤家还把托博索的杜尔西内亚这个美人变成了粗野低下的农妇模样。这些魔法师同样也可以变出一个唐吉诃德来。如果这些还不足以让您相信我说的是真话，那么，唐吉诃德本人就在你眼前，无论是徒步还是骑马，他将以他的武器或者其他任何您认为合适的方式来证明这一点。”
说着唐吉诃德站了起来，手按剑柄，等着森林骑士的决定。可是，森林骑士不慌不忙地说道：
“您真是站着说话不腰疼。唐吉诃德大人，既然我能够打败变成您这个模样的人，也完全可能打败您本人。不过，骑士战斗最好不在暗处，就像那些强盗无赖一样。咱们最好等太阳出来了再比试，而且咱们比试还应该有个条件，那就是输者以后得听赢者的，让他干什么就得干什么，只要不辱没他的骑士身份。”
“我赞成这个条件和约定。”唐吉诃德说。
两人说完就去找自己的侍从。两个侍从自入睡以后一直鼾声不停。两人把侍从叫醒，让他们分头去备马，等太阳一出来，就要进行一场殊死非凡的战斗。桑乔一听这话吓坏了，他为主人的安全担忧，因为他已从森林骑士的侍从那里耳闻了森林骑士的勇猛。不过，两个侍从什么也没说，就去寻找自己的马。那三匹马和一头驴早已凑在一起互相嗅呢。
森林骑士的侍从在路上对桑乔说：
“知道吗，兄弟？在安达卢西亚，决斗有个规矩，那就是如果教父们发生决斗，教子们也不能闲着，也得打。我这是想提醒您，咱们的主人决斗时，咱们俩也得打得皮开肉绽。”
“侍从大人，”桑乔说，“这个规矩在您说的那些强盗恶棍当中或许还行得通，可对于游侠骑士的侍从就休想。至少我没听我的主人讲过这个规矩，而游侠骑士界的所有规定他都能背下来。就算这是真的，明确规定了在侍从的主人决斗时侍从也必须互相打，我也不执行，我宁可接受对不愿打斗的侍从的处罚。我估计也就不过是罚两磅蜡烛罢了。我倒更愿意出那两磅蜡烛。我知道买蜡烛的钱要比买纱布包头的钱少得多，如果打起来准得把脑袋打破了。还有，就是我没有剑，不能打。我这辈子从来没拿过剑。”
“我倒有个好办法。”森林骑士的侍从说，“我这儿有两个大小一样的麻袋，您拿一个，我拿一个，咱们以同样的武器对打。”
“这样也好，”桑乔说，“这样来回掸土要比受伤强。”
“不能这样。”另一个侍从说，“麻袋里还得装五六个光溜溜的漂亮的卵石，否则扔不起来。两个麻袋一样重，这样咱们扔来扔去也下会伤着谁。”
“我的天啊！”桑乔说，“那咱们还得在麻袋里装上紫貂皮或者棉花团之类的东西，以免伤筋动骨。不过我告诉您，我的大人，你就是在麻袋里装满了蚕茧，我也不会打。咱们的主人愿意打就打吧，他们打他们的，咱们喝咱们的，过咱们的。到时候咱们都得死，所以没必要不等到时候就自己赶着去找死。”
“即使这样，”森林骑士的侍从说，“咱们也得打半个钟头。”
“不，”桑乔说，“我不会那么无礼，也不会那么忘恩负义，同人家一起吃喝过后又为一点儿小事找麻烦。更何况咱们现在既没动怒，也没发火，干吗像中了魔似的为打而打呢？”
“对此我倒有个好办法。”森林骑士的侍从说，“在还没开始打之前，我先麻利地来到您身边，打您三四个嘴巴，把您打倒在我脚下，这样一来，就是再好的脾气也会发火的。”
“这种办法我也会，”桑乔说，“而且决不次于您。我可以拿根棍子，不等您勾起我的火来，我就用棍子先把您的火打闷了，让它这辈子都发不起来。这样我就可以让别人知道我可不是好欺负的。谁做事都得小心点儿，不过最好还是别动怒；别人的心思谁也搞不清，别偷鸡不成反蚀一把米。上帝祝福和平，诅咒战斗。兔子急了还会咬人呢，何况我是个人，谁知道我会变成什么样。所以，现在我就告诉您，侍从大人，咱们究竟打出什么恶果，您得好好考虑一下。”
“好吧，”森林骑士的侍从说，“咱们还是天亮了再说吧。”
此时，无数种花色的小鸟已经开始在树林中啼鸣，它们欢快的叫声仿佛在向清秀的曙光女神祝福和问候。女神已经透过门窗和阳台，从东方露出了她美丽的脸庞，从她的头发上洒下无数的液体珍珠。小草沐浴着她的露水，仿佛又从自身产生出无数白色的细珠来。柳树分泌出甘露，泉水欢笑，小溪低吟，树林喜悦，草原也由于小溪的到来而变得肥沃。天色刚刚透亮，周围的一切依稀可见，但首先映入桑乔眼帘的却是森林骑士侍从的鼻子，那鼻子大得几乎把他的全身都遮盖住了。说实话，那鼻子真够大的，中部隆起，上面长满了肉赘，而且青紫得像茄子，鼻尖比嘴还低两指。这个鼻子的体积、颜色、肉赘和隆形使那个侍从的脸变得奇丑无比，桑乔见了就开始发抖，像小孩抽羊角风似的。他心里暗暗打算，宁愿让人打自己两百个嘴巴，也不愿动怒同这个妖怪作战。
唐吉诃德正在观察自己的对手。森林骑士已经戴好了头盔，所以看不到他的脸。但唐吉诃德可以从外观看出，他个子不高，身体却很结实。他在甲胄外面还披了一件战袍或外套，看样子是金丝的，上面缀满了闪闪发光的小镜片，显得威武而又华丽。他的头盔顶上还摆动着很多绿、黄、白色的羽毛，长矛靠在树上，锋利的铁头比巴掌还大。
唐吉诃德仔细观察之后，断定这个骑士的力气一定大得很。不过，他并没有像桑乔那样感到害怕，而是大大方方地对这位镜子骑士说：
“假如您的战斗愿望并没有影响您的礼节，我请您把您的护眼罩掀起一点儿来，让我看看您的脸是否与您的打扮一样威武。”
“无论您此次战胜还是战败，骑士大人，”镜子骑士说，“您都会有时间看我。我现在不能满足您的要求，因为我觉得在您没有承认我要求您承认的东西之前，掀起眼罩，耽误时间，便是对班达利亚美丽的卡西尔德亚的明显不恭。”
“在咱们上马前，”唐吉诃德说，“您还可以告诉我，我到底是不是您说的那个被您打败的唐吉诃德。”
“我对此的回答是，”镜子骑士说，“您同我打败的那个骑士如出一辙。不过，既然您说有魔法师跟你捣乱，我也就不能肯定您到底是不是那个骑士了。”
“这足以让我相信您仍然执迷不悟了，”唐吉诃德说，“为了让您清醒清醒，还是叫咱们的马过来吧。如果上帝、我的夫人和我的臂膀保佑我，我马上就会让您掀起您的眼罩，让我看到您的面孔，您也就会知道，我并不是您想的那个唐吉诃德。”
于是两人不再争论，翻身上了马。唐吉诃德掉转罗西南多的辔头向相反的方向跑去，准备跑出一段路后再折回来冲杀。镜子骑士也同样向相反的方向跑去。不过，唐吉诃德还没跑出二十步，就听见镜子骑士在叫他。两人都转过身来，镜子骑士对唐吉诃德说：
“骑士大人，请您记着，咱们搏斗有个条件，也就是我原来说过的，败者必须听从胜者的吩咐。”
“这我知道，”唐吉诃德说，“只要胜者吩咐的事情不违反骑士界的规定。”
“是这个意思。”镜子骑士说。
此时，唐吉诃德眼前出现了那个侍从少见的鼻子，把唐吉诃德吓了一跳，他被惊吓的程度并不次于桑乔。唐吉诃德以为那是个怪物，或者是世界上新发现的某个稀有人种。桑乔见主人已经开始助跑，不愿单独同大鼻子在一起，怕自己同那个侍从搏斗时，他用大鼻子一扒拉，就会把自己打倒或吓倒。于是，他抓着罗西南多鞍镫上的皮带，跟着主人，等到他认为主人该转身往回冲的时候对主人说：
“求求您，我的主人，在您准备返身冲杀之前，帮助我爬到那棵栓皮槠树上去，在那儿我可以比在地上更津津有味地观看您同这位骑士的精彩搏斗。”
“我倒是认为，桑乔，”唐吉诃德说，“你是想爬到高处去隔岸观火。”
“您说得对，”桑乔说，“那个侍从的大鼻子可把我吓坏了，我不敢和他在一起。”
“那鼻子是够吓人的，”唐吉诃德说，“要不是我胆大，也会被它吓坏了。既然这样，你过来，我帮你爬上去。”
就在唐吉诃德帮助桑乔往树上爬的时候，镜子骑士已经跑了他认为足够的距离。他以为唐吉诃德也同他一样跑够了距离。于是，他不等喇叭响或者其他信号，就掉转他那匹比罗西南多强不到哪儿去的马的辔头，飞奔起来。他刚跑了一半儿路，就遇到了自己的对手。他见唐吉诃德正帮着桑乔上树，便勒住缰绳，停了下来。他的马对此感激不已，因为它本来就跑不动了。唐吉诃德意识到对手正飞奔而来，立刻把马刺扎向罗西南多的瘦肋骨，催它跑起来。据故事说，只有这次它才算跑，其他时候都应该说是快步。它跑到镜子骑士跟前时，镜子骑士已经把马刺的整个尖头都刺进了马身里，可那匹马就是待在原地不动。马不动，长矛也没准备好，因为他的长矛仍放在矛托上。在这紧急关头，唐吉诃德已经冲了上来。唐吉诃德并没有发现对手所处的窘境，稳稳当当地用力向对手刺去，只见对手身不由己地从马背上摔到了地上，摔得手脚动弹不得，像死了一样。
桑乔见镜子骑士落地了，立刻从树上滑下来，跑到自己主人身边。这时唐吉诃德已跳下马，来到镜子骑士身旁，解开他头盔上的绳结，看他是否死了，想给他透透气，看他是否能活过来。可唐吉诃德看到的是……谁听说了会不惊奇呢？故事说，唐吉诃德看到的脸庞、脸型、脸面、脸色不是别人，正是参孙•卡拉斯科学士！唐吉诃德一见是他，便高声叫道：
“快来，桑乔！你快过来看看，你肯定不会相信！你快点儿，伙计，你来看看魔法的本事，看看巫师和魔法师的本事吧。”
桑乔过来了。他一见是卡拉斯科的脸，连忙一个劲儿画十字。看样子那位落地的骑士已经死了。桑乔对唐吉诃德说：
“依我看，我的主人，不管对不对，您先往这个貌似参孙•卡拉斯科学士的家伙嘴里插一剑，也许这一下就能杀死您的一个魔法师对手呢。”
“此话不错，”唐吉诃德说，“对手越少越好。”
说完唐吉诃德就要动手，而镜子骑士的侍从跑了过来，此时他那难看的大鼻子也不见了。他大声喊道：
“您要干什么，唐吉诃德大人，您脚下的那个人是您的朋友参孙•卡拉斯科学士，我就是他的侍从呀。”
桑乔见这张脸已经不那么可怕了，便问道：
“你的鼻子呢？”
那个侍从答道：
“放在我的衣袋里了。”
说着他把手伸向右边衣袋，拿出了一个用纸板做的用漆涂过的面具，其相貌前面已经描述过了。桑乔仔细地看了看那个人，惊奇地高声说道：
“圣母保佑！这不是邻居老弟托梅•塞西亚尔吗？”
“正是我，”那位已疲惫不堪的侍从说，“我就是托梅•塞西亚尔，桑乔的老友。待一会儿我再告诉你，我是如何上当受骗，迫不得已来到这儿的。现在我请求您，恳求您，不要碰、不要虐待、不要伤害、不要杀死镜子骑士，他确实是咱们的同乡，是勇敢却又处世不慎的参孙•卡拉斯科学士。”
此时镜子骑士已经苏醒过来。唐吉诃德看见了，把剑尖放在他脸上，对他说：
“骑士，如果你不承认托博索举世无双的杜尔西内亚比你那位班达利亚的卡西尔德亚强，我就杀死你。此外，如果经过这场战斗你能活下来，你还得答应我到托博索城去，代表我去拜见她，听候她的吩咐。如果她让你自己决定，你还得回来找我，把遇见她的情况告诉我。我所做出的丰功伟绩到处都会留下踪迹，你沿着这些踪迹就可以找到我。这些条件都是根据咱们在战前的约定提出的，而且没有违犯游侠骑士的规定。”
“我承认，托博索的杜尔西内亚夫人的开了绽的破鞋子也比卡西尔德亚干净，比她那梳理杂乱的毛发贵重。我答应去拜见您那位夫人，回来后按照您的要求，把情况向您如实汇报。”
“你还得承认和相信，”唐吉诃德说，“你战胜的那个骑士，不是也不可能是曼查的唐吉诃德，而是另一个与他相像的人，就像我承认并且相信你不是参孙•卡拉斯科学士一样。虽然你很像他，但你只是个与他很相像的人。是我的敌人把你变成了这个样子，以便遏制和缓解我的斗志，盗用我战无不胜的美名。”
“您怎么认为、怎么认定、怎么感觉，我就怎么承认、怎么认定、怎么感觉，”在地上动弹不得的骑士说，“只要我还能站起来。求求您，先让我站起来吧。您把我打翻在地，把我伤得真不轻。”
唐吉诃德把他扶了起来，而桑乔却一直盯着托梅•塞西亚尔，问了他一些事情，而他的回答证明他确实就是托梅•塞西亚尔。不过，唐吉诃德坚持认为是魔法师把镜子骑士变成了参孙•卡拉斯科学士的模样，对桑乔产生了影响，使桑乔对自己亲眼见到的事实也不敢相信了。最后，唐吉诃德和桑乔仍然坚持己见，垂头丧气的镜子骑士和侍从只得离开了唐吉诃德和桑乔，想到附近某个地方去上点儿药膏，把断骨接好。唐吉诃德和桑乔继续向萨拉戈萨赶路，故事对此暂且按下不表，先来谈镜子骑士和他的大鼻子侍从究竟是什么人。
Part 2 Chapter 15
Don Quixote went off satisfied, elated, and vain-glorious in the highest degree at having won a victory over such a valiant knight as he fancied him of the Mirrors to be, and one from whose knightly word he expected to learn whether the enchantment of his lady still continued; inasmuch as the said vanquished knight was bound, under the penalty of ceasing to be one, to return and render him an account of what took place between him and her. But Don Quixote was of one mind, he of the Mirrors of another, for he just then had no thought of anything but finding some village where he could plaster himself, as has been said already. The history goes on to say, then, that when the bachelor Samson Carrasco recommended Don Quixote to resume his knight-errantry which he had laid aside, it was in consequence of having been previously in conclave with the curate and the barber on the means to be adopted to induce Don Quixote to stay at home in peace and quiet without worrying himself with his ill-starred adventures; at which consultation it was decided by the unanimous vote of all, and on the special advice of Carrasco, that Don Quixote should be allowed to go, as it seemed impossible to restrain him, and that Samson should sally forth to meet him as a knight-errant, and do battle with him, for there would be no difficulty about a cause, and vanquish him, that being looked upon as an easy matter; and that it should be agreed and settled that the vanquished was to be at the mercy of the victor. Then, Don Quixote being vanquished, the bachelor knight was to command him to return to his village and his house, and not quit it for two years, or until he received further orders from him; all which it was clear Don Quixote would unhesitatingly obey, rather than contravene or fail to observe the laws of chivalry; and during the period of his seclusion he might perhaps forget his folly, or there might be an opportunity of discovering some ready remedy for his madness. Carrasco undertook the task, and Tom Cecial, a gossip and neighbour of Sancho Panza’s , a lively, feather-headed fellow, offered himself as his squire. Carrasco armed himself in the fashion described, and Tom Cecial, that he might not be known by his gossip when they met, fitted on over his own natural nose the false masquerade one that has been mentioned; and so they followed the same route Don Quixote took, and almost came up with him in time to be present at the adventure of the cart of Death and finally encountered them in the grove, where all that the sagacious reader has been reading about took place; and had it not been for the extraordinary fancies of Don Quixote, and his conviction that the bachelor was not the bachelor, senor bachelor would have been incapacitated for ever from taking his degree of licentiate, all through not finding nests where he thought to find birds.
Tom Cecial, seeing how ill they had succeeded, and what a sorry end their expedition had come to, said to the bachelor, “Sure enough, Senor Samson Carrasco, we are served right; it is easy enough to plan and set about an enterprise, but it is often a difficult matter to come well out of it. Don Quixote a madman, and we sane; he goes off laughing, safe, and sound, and you are left sore and sorry! I’d like to know now which is the madder, he who is so because he cannot help it, or he who is so of his own choice?”
To which Samson replied, “The difference between the two sorts of madmen is, that he who is so will he nil he, will be one always, while he who is so of his own accord can leave off being one whenever he likes.”
“In that case,” said Tom Cecial, “I was a madman of my own accord when I volunteered to become your squire, and, of my own accord, I’ll leave off being one and go home.”
“That’s your affair,” returned Samson, “but to suppose that I am going home until I have given Don Quixote a thrashing is absurd; and it is not any wish that he may recover his senses that will make me hunt him out now, but a wish for the sore pain I am in with my ribs won’t let me entertain more charitable thoughts.”
Thus discoursing, the pair proceeded until they reached a town where it was their good luck to find a bone-setter, with whose help the unfortunate Samson was cured. Tom Cecial left him and went home, while he stayed behind meditating vengeance; and the history will return to him again at the proper time, so as not to omit making merry with Don Quixote now.
 
唐吉诃德由于战胜了如此勇敢的镜子骑士而傲慢自负，得意极了。他现在只等着从那个骑士嘴里得知他的夫人是否仍然受到魔法的控制。如果那个战败的骑士还算是骑士，就得回来告诉他有关杜尔西内亚的情况。不过，唐吉诃德的想法是这样，而镜子骑士的想法却如刚才说的那样，想先找个地方上点药膏。
故事说参孙•卡拉斯科学士曾劝唐吉诃德继续进行其未竟的骑士事业，其实，他事先已同神甫和理发师商量了既能让唐吉诃德安安静静地待在家里，又不影响他那倒霉的征险想法。卡拉斯科提出一个建议，大家一致赞同，那就是干脆先把唐吉诃德放出去，因为让唐吉诃德留在家里几乎是不可能的；然后，参孙扮成游侠骑士的模样，在半路上与唐吉诃德交战。参孙肯定会打败唐吉诃德，这样事情就好办多了。在唐吉诃德战败后，学士骑士可以命令他返回自己的家乡，在家里待两年，不许再出来，除非是学士骑士另有吩咐。唐吉诃德战败后肯定会履行诺言，从而不违犯骑士界的规定。在家里的这段时间里，也许唐吉诃德会忘记自己的狂妄之念，或者找到治疗他的疯病的合适办法。
卡拉斯科愿意充当骑士，而桑乔的一位老弟和邻居托梅•塞西亚尔，一位生性快活、头脑正常的人，则自告奋勇扮成侍从。参孙就像前面谈到的那样披挂了盔甲，而托梅•塞西亚尔则在自己的鼻子上安了个假鼻子，以免与他的老朋友碰面时被认出来。他们沿着唐吉诃德走过的路线行进。唐吉诃德路遇死神之车的时候，他们已几乎赶上唐吉诃德了。最后，他们在森林里追上了唐吉诃德，才发生了细心的读者前面已经看到的事情。要不是唐吉诃德突发奇想，认为学士并不是那个学士，这位打错了算盘的学士恐怕就永远也当不上教士了。托梅•塞西亚尔见他们的如意计划半路搁浅，对学士说道：
“参孙•卡拉斯科大人，咱们真是罪有应得。人们常常想得容易，匆忙动手，结果却很难实现。唐吉诃德疯疯癫癫，咱们神志正常，结果他倒安然无恙地笑着走了，您却浑身是伤，满心忧愁。咱们现在得搞清楚，到底谁更算是疯子，是身不由己疯了的人，还是自愿充当疯子的人？”
参孙回答说：
“两种疯子之间的区别在于，身不由己疯了的人永远是疯子，而自愿充当疯子的人想不疯时就可以不疯。”
“既然这样，”托梅•塞西亚尔说，“我自己想当您的侍从，属于自愿充当疯子的人。现在我不想再当疯子了，我要回家去。”
“随你的便，”参孙说，“但不把唐吉诃德痛打一顿，就休想让我回家。我现在找他不是想让他恢复神志了，而是要找他报仇。我的肋骨还疼着呢，我不会饶了他。”
两人说着话，来到一个正巧有正骨医生的村镇上。参孙在医生那儿治了自己的伤。托梅•塞西亚尔离开他回家了。参孙仍在考虑报仇的事。此时故事及时转向，让读者先拿唐吉诃德开开心再说吧。
Part 2 Chapter 16
Don Quixote pursued his journey in the high spirits, satisfaction, and self-complacency already described, fancying himself the most valorous knight-errant of the age in the world because of his late victory. All the adventures that could befall him from that time forth he regarded as already done and brought to a happy issue; he made light of enchantments and enchanters; he thought no more of the countless drubbings that had been administered to him in the course of his knight-errantry, nor of the volley of stones that had levelled half his teeth, nor of the ingratitude of the galley slaves, nor of the audacity of the Yanguesans and the shower of stakes that fell upon him; in short, he said to himself that could he discover any means, mode, or way of disenchanting his lady Dulcinea, he would not envy the highest fortune that the most fortunate knight-errant of yore ever reached or could reach.
He was going along entirely absorbed in these fancies, when Sancho said to him, “Isn’t it odd, senor, that I have still before my eyes that monstrous enormous nose of my gossip, Tom Cecial?”
“And dost thou, then, believe, Sancho,” said Don Quixote, “that the Knight of the Mirrors was the bachelor Carrasco, and his squire Tom Cecial thy gossip?”
“I don’t know what to say to that,” replied Sancho; “all I know is that the tokens he gave me about my own house, wife and children, nobody else but himself could have given me; and the face, once the nose was off, was the very face of Tom Cecial, as I have seen it many a time in my town and next door to my own house; and the sound of the voice was just the same.”
“Let us reason the matter, Sancho,” said Don Quixote. “Come now, by what process of thinking can it be supposed that the bachelor Samson Carrasco would come as a knight-errant, in arms offensive and defensive, to fight with me? Have I ever been by any chance his enemy? Have I ever given him any occasion to owe me a grudge? Am I his rival, or does he profess arms, that he should envy the fame I have acquired in them?”
“Well, but what are we to say, senor,” returned Sancho, “about that knight, whoever he is, being so like the bachelor Carrasco, and his squire so like my gossip, Tom Cecial? And if that be enchantment, as your worship says, was there no other pair in the world for them to take the likeness of?”
“It is all,” said Don Quixote, “a scheme and plot of the malignant magicians that persecute me, who, foreseeing that I was to be victorious in the conflict, arranged that the vanquished knight should display the countenance of my friend the bachelor, in order that the friendship I bear him should interpose to stay the edge of my sword and might of my arm, and temper the just wrath of my heart; so that he who sought to take my life by fraud and falsehood should save his own. And to prove it, thou knowest already, Sancho, by experience which cannot lie or deceive, how easy it is for enchanters to change one countenance into another, turning fair into foul, and foul into fair; for it is not two days since thou sawest with thine own eyes the beauty and elegance of the peerless Dulcinea in all its perfection and natural harmony, while I saw her in the repulsive and mean form of a coarse country wench, with cataracts in her eyes and a foul smell in her mouth; and when the perverse enchanter ventured to effect so wicked a transformation, it is no wonder if he effected that of Samson Carrasco and thy gossip in order to snatch the glory of victory out of my grasp. For all that, however, I console myself, because, after all, in whatever shape he may have been, I have victorious over my enemy.”
“God knows what’s the truth of it all,” said Sancho; and knowing as he did that the transformation of Dulcinea had been a device and imposition of his own, his master’s illusions were not satisfactory to him; but he did not like to reply lest he should say something that might disclose his trickery.
As they were engaged in this conversation they were overtaken by a man who was following the same road behind them, mounted on a very handsome flea-bitten mare, and dressed in a gaban of fine green cloth, with tawny velvet facings, and a montera of the same velvet. The trappings of the mare were of the field and jineta fashion, and of mulberry colour and green. He carried a Moorish cutlass hanging from a broad green and gold baldric; the buskins were of the same make as the baldric; the spurs were not gilt, but lacquered green, and so brightly polished that, matching as they did the rest of his apparel, they looked better than if they had been of pure gold.
When the traveller came up with them he saluted them courteously, and spurring his mare was passing them without stopping, but Don Quixote called out to him, “Gallant sir, if so be your worship is going our road, and has no occasion for speed, it would be a pleasure to me if we were to join company.”
“In truth,” replied he on the mare, “I would not pass you so hastily but for fear that horse might turn restive in the company of my mare.”
“You may safely hold in your mare, senor,” said Sancho in reply to this, “for our horse is the most virtuous and well-behaved horse in the world; he never does anything wrong on such occasions, and the only time he misbehaved, my master and I suffered for it sevenfold; I say again your worship may pull up if you like; for if she was offered to him between two plates the horse would not hanker after her.”
The traveller drew rein, amazed at the trim and features of Don Quixote, who rode without his helmet, which Sancho carried like a valise in front of Dapple’s pack-saddle; and if the man in green examined Don Quixote closely, still more closely did Don Quixote examine the man in green, who struck him as being a man of intelligence. In appearance he was about fifty years of age, with but few grey hairs, an aquiline cast of features, and an expression between grave and gay; and his dress and accoutrements showed him to be a man of good condition. What he in green thought of Don Quixote of La Mancha was that a man of that sort and shape he had never yet seen; he marvelled at the length of his hair, his lofty stature, the lankness and sallowness of his countenance, his armour, his bearing and his gravity — a figure and picture such as had not been seen in those regions for many a long day.
Don Quixote saw very plainly the attention with which the traveller was regarding him, and read his curiosity in his astonishment; and courteous as he was and ready to please everybody, before the other could ask him any question he anticipated him by saying, “The appearance I present to your worship being so strange and so out of the common, I should not be surprised if it filled you with wonder; but you will cease to wonder when I tell you, as I do, that I am one of those knights who, as people say, go seeking adventures. I have left my home, I have mortgaged my estate, I have given up my comforts, and committed myself to the arms of Fortune, to bear me whithersoever she may please. My desire was to bring to life again knight-errantry, now dead, and for some time past, stumbling here, falling there, now coming down headlong, now raising myself up again, I have carried out a great portion of my design, succouring widows, protecting maidens, and giving aid to wives, orphans, and minors, the proper and natural duty of knights-errant; and, therefore, because of my many valiant and Christian achievements, I have been already found worthy to make my way in print to well-nigh all, or most, of the nations of the earth. Thirty thousand volumes of my history have been printed, and it is on the high-road to be printed thirty thousand thousands of times, if heaven does not put a stop to it. In short, to sum up all in a few words, or in a single one, I may tell you I am Don Quixote of La Mancha, otherwise called ‘The Knight of the Rueful Countenance;’ for though self-praise is degrading, I must perforce sound my own sometimes, that is to say, when there is no one at hand to do it for me. So that, gentle sir, neither this horse, nor this lance, nor this shield, nor this squire, nor all these arms put together, nor the sallowness of my countenance, nor my gaunt leanness, will henceforth astonish you, now that you know who I am and what profession I follow.”
With these words Don Quixote held his peace, and, from the time he took to answer, the man in green seemed to be at a loss for a reply; after a long pause, however, he said to him, “You were right when you saw curiosity in my amazement, sir knight; but you have not succeeded in removing the astonishment I feel at seeing you; for although you say, senor, that knowing who you are ought to remove it, it has not done so; on the contrary, now that I know, I am left more amazed and astonished than before. What! is it possible that there are knights-errant in the world in these days, and histories of real chivalry printed? I cannot realise the fact that there can be anyone on earth now-a-days who aids widows, or protects maidens, or defends wives, or succours orphans; nor should I believe it had I not seen it in your worship with my own eyes. Blessed be heaven! for by means of this history of your noble and genuine chivalrous deeds, which you say has been printed, the countless stories of fictitious knights-errant with which the world is filled, so much to the injury of morality and the prejudice and discredit of good histories, will have been driven into oblivion.”
“There is a good deal to be said on that point,” said Don Quixote, “as to whether the histories of the knights-errant are fiction or not.”
“Why, is there anyone who doubts that those histories are false?” said the man in green.
“I doubt it,” said Don Quixote, “but never mind that just now; if our journey lasts long enough, I trust in God I shall show your worship that you do wrong in going with the stream of those who regard it as a matter of certainty that they are not true.”
From this last observation of Don Quixote’s , the traveller began to have a suspicion that he was some crazy being, and was waiting him to confirm it by something further; but before they could turn to any new subject Don Quixote begged him to tell him who he was, since he himself had rendered account of his station and life. To this, he in the green gaban replied “I, Sir Knight of the Rueful Countenance, am a gentleman by birth, native of the village where, please God, we are going to dine today; I am more than fairly well off, and my name is Don Diego de Miranda. I pass my life with my wife, children, and friends; my pursuits are hunting and fishing, but I keep neither hawks nor greyhounds, nothing but a tame partridge or a bold ferret or two; I have six dozen or so of books, some in our mother tongue, some Latin, some of them history, others devotional; those of chivalry have not as yet crossed the threshold of my door; I am more given to turning over the profane than the devotional, so long as they are books of honest entertainment that charm by their style and attract and interest by the invention they display, though of these there are very few in Spain. Sometimes I dine with my neighbours and friends, and often invite them; my entertainments are neat and well served without stint of anything. I have no taste for tattle, nor do I allow tattling in my presence; I pry not into my neighbours’ lives, nor have I lynx-eyes for what others do. I hear mass every day; I share my substance with the poor, making no display of good works, lest I let hypocrisy and vainglory, those enemies that subtly take possession of the most watchful heart, find an entrance into mine. I strive to make peace between those whom I know to be at variance; I am the devoted servant of Our Lady, and my trust is ever in the infinite mercy of God our Lord.”
Sancho listened with the greatest attention to the account of the gentleman’s life and occupation; and thinking it a good and a holy life, and that he who led it ought to work miracles, he threw himself off Dapple, and running in haste seized his right stirrup and kissed his foot again and again with a devout heart and almost with tears.
Seeing this the gentleman asked him, “What are you about, brother? What are these kisses for?”
“Let me kiss,” said Sancho, “for I think your worship is the first saint in the saddle I ever saw all the days of my life.”
“I am no saint,” replied the gentleman, “but a great sinner; but you are, brother, for you must be a good fellow, as your simplicity shows.”
Sancho went back and regained his pack-saddle, having extracted a laugh from his master’s profound melancholy, and excited fresh amazement in Don Diego. Don Quixote then asked him how many children he had, and observed that one of the things wherein the ancient philosophers, who were without the true knowledge of God, placed the summum bonum was in the gifts of nature, in those of fortune, in having many friends, and many and good children.
“I, Senor Don Quixote,” answered the gentleman, “have one son, without whom, perhaps, I should count myself happier than I am, not because he is a bad son, but because he is not so good as I could wish. He is eighteen years of age; he has been for six at Salamanca studying Latin and Greek, and when I wished him to turn to the study of other sciences I found him so wrapped up in that of poetry (if that can be called a science) that there is no getting him to take kindly to the law, which I wished him to study, or to theology, the queen of them all. I would like him to be an honour to his family, as we live in days when our kings liberally reward learning that is virtuous and worthy; for learning without virtue is a pearl on a dunghill. He spends the whole day in settling whether Homer expressed himself correctly or not in such and such a line of the Iliad, whether Martial was indecent or not in such and such an epigram, whether such and such lines of Virgil are to be understood in this way or in that; in short, all his talk is of the works of these poets, and those of Horace, Perseus, Juvenal, and Tibullus; for of the moderns in our own language he makes no great account; but with all his seeming indifference to Spanish poetry, just now his thoughts are absorbed in making a gloss on four lines that have been sent him from Salamanca, which I suspect are for some poetical tournament.”
To all this Don Quixote said in reply, “Children, senor, are portions of their parents’ bowels, and therefore, be they good or bad, are to be loved as we love the souls that give us life; it is for the parents to guide them from infancy in the ways of virtue, propriety, and worthy Christian conduct, so that when grown up they may be the staff of their parents’ old age, and the glory of their posterity; and to force them to study this or that science I do not think wise, though it may be no harm to persuade them; and when there is no need to study for the sake of pane lucrando, and it is the student’s good fortune that heaven has given him parents who provide him with it, it would be my advice to them to let him pursue whatever science they may see him most inclined to; and though that of poetry is less useful than pleasurable, it is not one of those that bring discredit upon the possessor. Poetry, gentle sir, is, as I take it, like a tender young maiden of supreme beauty, to array, bedeck, and adorn whom is the task of several other maidens, who are all the rest of the sciences; and she must avail herself of the help of all, and all derive their lustre from her. But this maiden will not bear to be handled, nor dragged through the streets, nor exposed either at the corners of the market-places, or in the closets of palaces. She is the product of an Alchemy of such virtue that he who is able to practise it, will turn her into pure gold of inestimable worth. He that possesses her must keep her within bounds, not permitting her to break out in ribald satires or soulless sonnets. She must on no account be offered for sale, unless, indeed, it be in heroic poems, moving tragedies, or sprightly and ingenious comedies. She must not be touched by the buffoons, nor by the ignorant vulgar, incapable of comprehending or appreciating her hidden treasures. And do not suppose, senor, that I apply the term vulgar here merely to plebeians and the lower orders; for everyone who is ignorant, be he lord or prince, may and should be included among the vulgar. He, then, who shall embrace and cultivate poetry under the conditions I have named, shall become famous, and his name honoured throughout all the civilised nations of the earth. And with regard to what you say, senor, of your son having no great opinion of Spanish poetry, I am inclined to think that he is not quite right there, and for this reason: the great poet Homer did not write in Latin, because he was a Greek, nor did Virgil write in Greek, because he was a Latin; in short, all the ancient poets wrote in the language they imbibed with their mother’s milk, and never went in quest of foreign ones to express their sublime conceptions; and that being so, the usage should in justice extend to all nations, and the German poet should not be undervalued because he writes in his own language, nor the Castilian, nor even the Biscayan, for writing in his. But your son, senor, I suspect, is not prejudiced against Spanish poetry, but against those poets who are mere Spanish verse writers, without any knowledge of other languages or sciences to adorn and give life and vigour to their natural inspiration; and yet even in this he may be wrong; for, according to a true belief, a poet is born one; that is to say, the poet by nature comes forth a poet from his mother’s womb; and following the bent that heaven has bestowed upon him, without the aid of study or art, he produces things that show how truly he spoke who said, ‘Est Deus in nobis,’ etc. At the same time, I say that the poet by nature who calls in art to his aid will be a far better poet, and will surpass him who tries to be one relying upon his knowledge of art alone. The reason is, that art does not surpass nature, but only brings it to perfection; and thus, nature combined with art, and art with nature, will produce a perfect poet. To bring my argument to a close, I would say then, gentle sir, let your son go on as his star leads him, for being so studious as he seems to be, and having already successfully surmounted the first step of the sciences, which is that of the languages, with their help he will by his own exertions reach the summit of polite literature, which so well becomes an independent gentleman, and adorns, honours, and distinguishes him, as much as the mitre does the bishop, or the gown the learned counsellor. If your son write satires reflecting on the honour of others, chide and correct him, and tear them up; but if he compose discourses in which he rebukes vice in general, in the style of Horace, and with elegance like his, commend him; for it is legitimate for a poet to write against envy and lash the envious in his verse, and the other vices too, provided he does not single out individuals; there are, however, poets who, for the sake of saying something spiteful, would run the risk of being banished to the coast of Pontus. If the poet be pure in his morals, he will be pure in his verses too; the pen is the tongue of the mind, and as the thought engendered there, so will be the things that it writes down. And when kings and princes observe this marvellous science of poetry in wise, virtuous, and thoughtful subjects, they honour, value, exalt them, and even crown them with the leaves of that tree which the thunderbolt strikes not, as if to show that they whose brows are honoured and adorned with such a crown are not to be assailed by anyone.”
He of the green gaban was filled with astonishment at Don Quixote’s argument, so much so that he began to abandon the notion he had taken up about his being crazy. But in the middle of the discourse, it being not very much to his taste, Sancho had turned aside out of the road to beg a little milk from some shepherds, who were milking their ewes hard by; and just as the gentleman, highly pleased, was about to renew the conversation, Don Quixote, raising his head, perceived a cart covered with royal flags coming along the road they were travelling; and persuaded that this must be some new adventure, he called aloud to Sancho to come and bring him his helmet. Sancho, hearing himself called, quitted the shepherds, and, prodding Dapple vigorously, came up to his master, to whom there fell a terrific and desperate adventure.
 
唐吉诃德得意洋洋、高傲自负地继续赶路。他打了胜仗，就把自己看成是世界上最英勇的骑士了。他觉得以后无论再遇到什么危险，他都可以征服，那些魔法和魔法师都不在话下了。他忘记了自己在骑士生涯中遭受的无数棍棒，也忘记了石头曾打掉了他半口牙齿，划船苦役犯曾对他忘恩负义，杨瓜斯人曾对他棒如雨下。现在他暗自想，只要能找到解除附在他的杜尔西内亚夫人身上的魔法，他对过去几个世纪中最幸运的游侠骑士已经取得或者能够取得的最大成就都不再羡慕了。他正想着，只听桑乔对他说道：
“大人，我眼前现在还晃动着我那位托梅•塞西亚尔老弟的大鼻子，您说这是不是怪事？”
“桑乔，难道你真的以为镜子骑士就是卡拉斯科学士，他的侍从就是你那位托梅•塞西亚尔老弟？”
“我也说不清。”桑乔回答，“我只知道他说的那些有关我家、我老婆和我孩子的事，除了托梅•塞西亚尔，别人都不会知道；去掉那个鼻子之后，他那张脸就是托梅•塞西亚尔的脸，我在家里经常看到那张脸；而且，他说话的声调也一样。”
“咱们想想，桑乔。”唐吉诃德说，“你听我说，参孙•卡拉斯科学士是怎么想的，他为什么要扮成游侠骑士的模样，全副武装地同我决斗呢？我难道是他的仇敌吗？难道我做过什么对不起他的事，值得他这么恨我？难道我是他的竞争对手，或者他同我一样从武，我武艺高强，他就嫉妒我的名声？”
“不管他究竟是不是卡拉斯科学士，大人，”桑乔说，“那骑士毕竟很像他，他那位侍从也很像我那位托梅•塞西亚尔老弟，对此我们该怎么说呢？如果像您说的那样，这是一种魔法，为什么偏偏像他们俩，难道世界上就没有其他人可变了吗？”
“这全是迫害我的那些恶毒的魔法师设的诡计，”唐吉诃德说，“他们预知我会在战斗中取胜，就先让那个战败的骑士扮成我的学士朋友的模样，这样，我同学士的友谊就会阻止我锋利的剑和严厉的臂膀，减弱我心中的正义怒火，就会给那个企图谋害我的家伙留一条生路。这样的例子你也知道，桑乔，对于魔法师来说，把一些人的脸变成另外一些人的脸是多么轻而易举的事情。他们可以把漂亮的脸庞变成丑恶的脸庞，把丑恶的脸庞变成漂亮的脸庞。两天前，你不是亲眼看到，美丽娴雅的杜尔西内亚在我眼里面目全非，变成了丑恶粗野的农妇，两眼呆滞，满嘴臭味嘛！而且，既然魔法师胆敢恶毒地把人变成那个样子，他们把我的对手变成参孙•卡拉斯科和你的老弟的样子也就不足为怪了，他们想以此从我手里夺走我取胜的荣誉。尽管如此，让我感到宽慰的是，无论他们把我的对手变成什么样子，最终我都取胜了。”
“事实到底怎么样，只有上帝清楚。”桑乔说。
桑乔知道所谓杜尔西内亚变了模样的事完全是他捣的鬼，所以他对主人的诡辩很不以为然。不过，他也不愿意争论，以免哪句话说漏了嘴。
唐吉诃德和桑乔正说着话，后面一个与他们同走一条路的人已经赶上了他们。那人骑着一匹非常漂亮的黑白花母马，穿着一件绿色细呢大衣，上面镶着棕黄色的丝绒条饰，头戴一顶棕黄色的丝绒帽子。母马的马具是棕黄色和绿色的短镫装备。金绿色的宽背带上挂着一把摩尔刀，高统皮靴的颜色也同宽背带一样。唯有马刺并非金色，只涂了一层绿漆，光泽耀眼，与整身衣服的颜色映在一起，倒显得如纯金色一般。那人赶上唐吉诃德和桑乔时客客气气地向他们问好，然后一夹马肚子，超过了他们。唐吉诃德对那人说道：
“尊敬的大人，既然咱们同路，就不必匆忙，您大概也愿意与我们同行吧。”
“说实话，”骑母马的那个人说道，“若不是怕有我的母马同行，您的马会不老实，我也就不会急忙超过去了。”
“您完全可以勒住您的母马，”桑乔说，“我们的马是世界上最老实、最有规矩的马，它从不做那种坏事。只有一次它不太听话，我和我的主人加倍惩罚了它。我再说一遍，您完全可以勒住您的母马，而且如果它愿意讲排场走在中间的话，我们的马连看都不会看它一眼。”
那人勒住母马，看到了唐吉诃德的装束和脸庞深感惊诧。唐吉诃德当时并没有戴头盔，头盔让桑乔像挂手提箱似的挂在驴驮鞍的前鞍架上。绿衣人打量着唐吉诃德，唐吉诃德更是仔细地打量着绿衣人，觉得他不是个普通人。那人年龄看上去有五十岁，头上缕缕白发，瘦长脸，目光既欢欣又严肃。总之，从装束和举止看，这是个非凡的人。绿衣人觉得像唐吉诃德这样举止和打扮的人似乎从没见过。令绿衣人惊奇的是，脖子那么长，身体那么高，脸庞又瘦又黄，还全副武装，再加上他的举止神态，像这种样子的人已经多年不见了。唐吉诃德非常清楚地察觉到过路人正在打量自己，而且也从他那怔怔的神态中猜到了他在想什么。不过，唐吉诃德对所有人都是彬彬有礼、与人为善的，因而不等人家问，他就对那人说道：
“您看我这身装束既新鲜又与众不同，所以感到惊奇，这并不奇怪。不过，如果我现在告诉您，我是什么人，您就不会感到惊奇了，我是——
众人议论
探险寻奇
的骑士。我离开了我的故乡，抵押了我的家产，放弃了享乐，投身于命运的怀抱，听凭命运的摆布。我想重振已经消亡的骑士道。虽然许多天以来，我东磕西碰，在这儿摔倒，又在那儿爬起来，我仍然帮助和保护寡妇和少女，照顾已婚女子和孤儿，尽到了游侠骑士的职责，实现了我的大部分心愿。我的诸多既勇敢又机智的行为被印刷成书，在世界上的几乎所有国家发行。有关我的事迹的那本书已经印刷了三万册，如果老天不制止的话，很可能要印三千万册。总之，如果简单地说，或者干脆一句话，我就是曼查的唐吉诃德，别号‘猥獕骑士’，虽然自卖自夸显得有些大言不惭，但如果别人不说，我就只好自己说了，我的情况确实如此。所以，英俊的大人，只要您知道了我是谁，知道了我所从事的职业，无论是这匹马、这支长矛，还是这个盾牌、这个侍从，无论是这副盔甲还是这蜡黄的脸庞、细长的身材，从此以后都不会让您感到惊奇了。”
唐吉诃德说完便不再吱声了，而绿衣人也迟迟没有说话，看样子他还没有想好自己到底该不该说。过了好一会儿，他才对唐吉诃德说道：
“骑士大人，您刚才肯定是从我发愣的样子猜到了我在想什么，不过，您并没有解除我看见您时产生的惊奇。照您说，只要知道了您是谁，我这种惊奇就可以消除，可情况并非如此。相反，我现在更胡涂、更惊奇了，当今的世界上怎么还会有游侠骑士，而且还会出版货真价实的骑士小说呢？我简直不能让自己相信，现在还会有人去照顾寡妇，保护少女；您说什么保护已婚女子的名誉，帮助孤儿，如果不是亲眼看见您做这些事，我是不会相信的。老天保佑！您说有关您的高贵的、真正的骑士生涯的书已经出版了，但愿这本书能使人们忘却那些数不胜数的有关游侠骑士的伪作。这种书已经充斥于世，败坏了社会风气，影响了优秀小说的名声。”
“那些有关游侠骑士的小说是否都是伪作，”唐吉诃德说，“还值得商榷。”
“难道还有人怀疑那些小说不是伪作吗？”绿衣人说道。
“我就怀疑。”唐吉诃德说，“不过这事先说到这儿吧。如果咱们还能同路，我希望上帝能够让您明白，您盲目追随那些认为这些书是伪作的人是不对的。”
唐吉诃德这最后一句话让那位旅客意识到唐吉诃德的头脑大概有问题，想再找机会证实一下。不过，在他找到机会之前，唐吉诃德就已经要求旅客讲讲自己是干什么的，介绍一下自己的秉性和生活了。绿衣人说道：
“猥獕骑士大人，我是前面一个地方的绅士。如果上帝保佑咱们，咱们今天就得在那个地方吃饭。我是中等偏上的富人，我的名字叫迭戈•德米兰达。我同我的夫人和孩子以及我的朋友们一起生活。我做的事情就是打猎钓鱼。不过我既没养鹰，也没养猎兔狗，只养了一只温顺的石鸡和一只凶猛的白鼬。我家里有七十多本书，有的是西班牙文的，有的是拉丁文的，有些是小说，有些是宗教方面的书，而骑士小说根本没进过我家的门。我看一般的书籍要比看宗教的书籍多，只是作为正常的消遣。这些书笔意超逸，情节曲折，不过这种书在西班牙并不多。有时候我到我的邻居和朋友家吃饭，但更多的时候是我请他们。我请他们时饭菜既干净又卫生，而且量从来都不少。我不喜欢嘀嘀咕咕，不允许别人在我面前议论其他人，也不打听别人的事情，对别人的事情从不关心。我每天都去望弥撒，用我的财产周济穷人，却从不夸耀我做的善事，以免产生虚伪和自负之心。这种东西很容易不知不觉地占据某颗本来是最谦逊的心。遇有不和，我总是从中调解。我虔诚地相信我们的圣母，相信我们无限仁慈的上帝。”
桑乔一直仔细地听着这位绅士讲述自己的生活和日常习惯，觉得他一定是个善良的圣人，能够创造出奇迹。于是，他赶紧从驴背上跳下来，迅速跑过去，抓住绅士的右脚镫，十分虔诚又几乎眼含热泪地一再吻他的右脚。绅士见状问道：
“你在干什么，兄弟？你这是什么意思？”
“让我吻吧，”桑乔说，“我觉得您是我平生遇到的第一位骑在马上的圣人。”
“我不是圣人，”绅士说道，“是个大罪人。兄弟，看你这纯朴的样子，一定是个好人。”
桑乔又骑到了他的驴背上。桑乔的举动引得本来忧心忡忡的唐吉诃德发出了笑声，这笑声又让迭戈感到惊奇。唐吉诃德问迭戈有几个孩子，又说古代哲学家由于并不真正了解上帝，认为人的最高利益就是有善良的天性，有亨通的福运，有很多的朋友，有很多很好的孩子。
“唐吉诃德大人，”绅士说，“我有一个孩子。假如我没有这个孩子，我倒觉得我更幸运些。并不是他坏，而是他不像我希望得那么好。他大概有十八岁了，其中六年是在萨拉曼卡学习拉丁语和希腊语。我本来想让他改学其他学科，却发现他已经被诗弄昏了脑袋。难道诗也可以称作学问吗？想让他学习法律已经是不可能的事了，其实我更愿意让他学习神学，那才是万般学问之上品呢。我希望他能为我们家族争光。在这个世纪里，我们的国王一直大力勉励德才兼备的人，因为有才而无德就好比珍珠放在了垃圾堆上。他每天都在探讨荷马的诗《伊利亚特》写得好不好，马西亚尔的箴言警句是否写得不正派，维吉尔的哪首诗应该这样理解还是那样理解，反正他的所有话题都是以上几个诗人以及贺拉斯、佩修斯、尤维那尔和蒂武洛的诗集。至于西班牙现代作家的作品，他倒不在意。尽管他对西班牙诗歌很反感，却不自量力地想根据萨拉曼卡赛诗会给他寄来的四行诗写一首敷衍诗①。”
①一种将一首短诗中的每一句发展成为一节，并将该句用于节末的诗体。
唐吉诃德回答说：
“大人，孩子是父母身上的肉，不管孩子是好是坏，做父母的都应该像爱护灵魂一样爱护他们。做父母的有责任引导孩子从小就走正路，有礼貌，养成良好的生活习惯，等长大以后，他们才能成为父母的拐杖，后辈的榜样。强迫他们学这门或那门学问，我觉得并不合适，虽然劝劝他们学什么也没什么坏处。如果这个孩子很幸运，老天赐给他好父母，他不是为了求生，而仅仅是上学，我倒觉得可以随他选择他最喜欢的学科。虽然诗用处并不大，主要是娱乐性的，但也不是什么有伤大雅的事。绅士大人，我觉得诗就像一位温柔而年轻的少女，美丽非凡，其他侍女都要服侍她，装点修饰她。这些侍女就是其他所有学科。这位少女应该受到所有侍女的侍奉，而其他侍女都应该服从她。不过，这位少女不愿意被拉到大街上去让大家随意抚摸，也不愿意在广场的一角或者宫殿的一隅被展示于众。她的品德如此纯正，如果使用得当，她就会变成一块无价的纯金。拥有她的人，对她也必须有所限制，绝不能让蹩脚的讽刺诗或颓废的十四行诗流行。除了英雄史诗、可歌可泣的悲剧和刻意编写的喜剧之外，绝不能编写待价而沽的作品。不能让无赖和凡夫俗子做什么诗，这种人不可能理解诗的宝贵价值。
“大人，您不要以为我这里说的凡夫俗子只是指那些平庸之辈。凡是不懂得诗的人，不管他是什么达官显贵，都可以纳入凡夫俗子之列。反之，凡是能够按照我刚才说的那些条件对待诗的人，他的名字就将在世界所有的文明国家里得到传颂和赞扬。大人，您说您的儿子不太喜欢西班牙文的诗，我认为他或许在这个问题上错了，理由就是，伟大的荷马不用拉丁文写作，那是因为他是希腊人；维吉尔不用拉丁文写作，那是因为他是罗马人。总之，所有古代诗人都是用他们自幼学会的语言写诗，并没有用其他国家的语言来表达自己高贵的思想。既然情况是这样，所有国家也都理应如此。德国诗人不应该由于使用自己的语言写作而受到轻视；西班牙人，甚至比斯开人，也不应该由于使用自己的语言写作而受到鄙夷。我猜想，大人，您的儿子大概不是对西班牙文诗歌不感兴趣，而是厌恶那些只是单纯使用西班牙文的诗人。那些人不懂得其他语言以及其他有助于补充和启发其灵感的学科。不过，在这点上他也许又错了。实际上，诗人是天生的，也就是说，诗人从娘胎里出来的时候就是诗人，有了这个天赋，他不用学习或培育，就可以写出诗来，表明‘上帝在我心中’，成为真正的诗人。我还认为，天赋的诗人借助艺术修养会表现得更为出色，会大大超过那些为艺术而艺术的诗人。其原因就在于艺术修养不可能超越天赋，而只能补充天赋，只有将天赋和艺术修养、艺术修养和天赋结合在一起的时候，才能培育出极其完美的诗人来。
“我这番话的最终意思，绅士大人，就是让您的儿子听从命运的安排，走自己的路。既然您的儿子是一位如此优秀的学生，想必他已经顺利地登上了做学问的第一个台阶，那就是语言，通过它就可以登上文学的高峰，这就好比一位威风凛凛的骑士一样令人羡慕，人们对他将会像对待主教的冠冕、法官的长袍一样赞美、崇敬和颂扬。如果您的儿子写了损害别人荣誉的讽刺诗，您就得同他斗争，惩罚他，把他的诗撕掉；不过，如果他能像贺拉斯一样进行说教，抨击时弊，您就应该赞扬他，他这样做才称得上高尚。诗人写抨击嫉妒的作品，在他的作品中揭露嫉妒的害处，只要他不确指某人，完全是理所当然的事情。当然，有的诗人宁愿冒着被放逐到庞托岛①的危险，也要批评某种不良现象。诗人的品行如果纯洁，他的诗也会是纯洁的。笔言心声，内心是什么思想，笔端就会流露出来。当国王或王子从这些严谨、有道德、严肃的诗人身上看到了诗的神妙之处时，就会非常尊重他们，给他们荣誉，使他们富有，甚至还会给他们加上桂冠，使他们免遭雷击②。头顶这种月桂树叶，太阳穴上贴着这种树叶，这样的人不该受到任何人的侵犯。”
①古罗马诗人奥维德晚年曾被放逐到庞托岛。
②当时传说，头顶冠以月桂树叶的人不会遭到雷击。
绿衣人听了唐吉诃德的慷慨陈词不胜惊诧，不再认为他头脑有毛病了。刚才两人的谈话进行到一半的时候，桑乔就已经不愿意听下去了。他离开大路，向附近几个正在挤羊奶的牧人要了点羊奶。绿衣人对唐吉诃德头脑机敏、能言善辩深感满意，于是想继续谈下去。可是唐吉诃德此时一抬头，发现路上来了一辆车，车上插满了旌旗，以为又碰到了新的险情，就喊桑乔赶紧给他拿头盔来。桑乔听见主人喊他，急忙撇下牧人，牵上驴，来到主人身边。这次，唐吉诃德又遇到了一番可怕离奇的险情。
Part 2 Chapter 17
The history tells that when Don Quixote called out to Sancho to bring him his helmet, Sancho was buying some curds the shepherds agreed to sell him, and flurried by the great haste his master was in did not know what to do with them or what to carry them in; so, not to lose them, for he had already paid for them, he thought it best to throw them into his master’s helmet, and acting on this bright idea he went to see what his master wanted with him. He, as he approached, exclaimed to him:
“Give me that helmet, my friend, for either I know little of adventures, or what I observe yonder is one that will, and does, call upon me to arm myself.”
He of the green gaban, on hearing this, looked in all directions, but could perceive nothing, except a cart coming towards them with two or three small flags, which led him to conclude it must be carrying treasure of the King’s , and he said so to Don Quixote. He, however, would not believe him, being always persuaded and convinced that all that happened to him must be adventures and still more adventures; so he replied to the gentleman, “He who is prepared has his battle half fought; nothing is lost by my preparing myself, for I know by experience that I have enemies, visible and invisible, and I know not when, or where, or at what moment, or in what shapes they will attack me;” and turning to Sancho he called for his helmet; and Sancho, as he had no time to take out the curds, had to give it just as it was. Don Quixote took it, and without perceiving what was in it thrust it down in hot haste upon his head; but as the curds were pressed and squeezed the whey began to run all over his face and beard, whereat he was so startled that he cried out to Sancho:
“Sancho, what’s this? I think my head is softening, or my brains are melting, or I am sweating from head to foot! If I am sweating it is not indeed from fear. I am convinced beyond a doubt that the adventure which is about to befall me is a terrible one. Give me something to wipe myself with, if thou hast it, for this profuse sweat is blinding me.”
Sancho held his tongue, and gave him a cloth, and gave thanks to God at the same time that his master had not found out what was the matter. Don Quixote then wiped himself, and took off his helmet to see what it was that made his head feel so cool, and seeing all that white mash inside his helmet he put it to his nose, and as soon as he had smelt it he exclaimed:
“By the life of my lady Dulcinea del Toboso, but it is curds thou hast put here, thou treacherous, impudent, ill-mannered squire!”
To which, with great composure and pretended innocence, Sancho replied, “If they are curds let me have them, your worship, and I’ll eat them; but let the devil eat them, for it must have been he who put them there. I dare to dirty your helmet! You have guessed the offender finely! Faith, sir, by the light God gives me, it seems I must have enchanters too, that persecute me as a creature and limb of your worship, and they must have put that nastiness there in order to provoke your patience to anger, and make you baste my ribs as you are wont to do. Well, this time, indeed, they have missed their aim, for I trust to my master’s good sense to see that I have got no curds or milk, or anything of the sort; and that if I had it is in my stomach I would put it and not in the helmet.”
“May he so,” said Don Quixote. All this the gentleman was observing, and with astonishment, more especially when, after having wiped himself clean, his head, face, beard, and helmet, Don Quixote put it on, and settling himself firmly in his stirrups, easing his sword in the scabbard, and grasping his lance, he cried, “Now, come who will, here am I, ready to try conclusions with Satan himself in person!”
By this time the cart with the flags had come up, unattended by anyone except the carter on a mule, and a man sitting in front. Don Quixote planted himself before it and said, “Whither are you going, brothers? What cart is this? What have you got in it? What flags are those?”
To this the carter replied, “The cart is mine; what is in it is a pair of wild caged lions, which the governor of Oran is sending to court as a present to his Majesty; and the flags are our lord the King’s , to show that what is here is his property.”
“And are the lions large?” asked Don Quixote.
“So large,” replied the man who sat at the door of the cart, “that larger, or as large, have never crossed from Africa to Spain; I am the keeper, and I have brought over others, but never any like these. They are male and female; the male is in that first cage and the female in the one behind, and they are hungry now, for they have eaten nothing to-day, so let your worship stand aside, for we must make haste to the place where we are to feed them.”
Hereupon, smiling slightly, Don Quixote exclaimed, “Lion-whelps to me! to me whelps of lions, and at such a time! Then, by God! those gentlemen who send them here shall see if I am a man to be frightened by lions. Get down, my good fellow, and as you are the keeper open the cages, and turn me out those beasts, and in the midst of this plain I will let them know who Don Quixote of La Mancha is, in spite and in the teeth of the enchanters who send them to me.”
“So, so,” said the gentleman to himself at this; “our worthy knight has shown of what sort he is; the curds, no doubt, have softened his skull and brought his brains to a head.”
At this instant Sancho came up to him, saying, “Senor, for God’s sake do something to keep my master, Don Quixote, from tackling these lions; for if he does they’ll tear us all to pieces here.”
“Is your master then so mad,” asked the gentleman, “that you believe and are afraid he will engage such fierce animals?”
“He is not mad,” said Sancho, “but he is venturesome.”
“I will prevent it,” said the gentleman; and going over to Don Quixote, who was insisting upon the keeper’s opening the cages, he said to him, “Sir knight, knights-errant should attempt adventures which encourage the hope of a successful issue, not those which entirely withhold it; for valour that trenches upon temerity savours rather of madness than of courage; moreover, these lions do not come to oppose you, nor do they dream of such a thing; they are going as presents to his Majesty, and it will not be right to stop them or delay their journey.”
“Gentle sir,” replied Don Quixote, “you go and mind your tame partridge and your bold ferret, and leave everyone to manage his own business; this is mine, and I know whether these gentlemen the lions come to me or not;” and then turning to the keeper he exclaimed, “By all that’s good, sir scoundrel, if you don’t open the cages this very instant, I’ll pin you to the cart with this lance.”
The carter, seeing the determination of this apparition in armour, said to him, “Please your worship, for charity’s sake, senor, let me unyoke the mules and place myself in safety along with them before the lions are turned out; for if they kill them on me I am ruined for life, for all I possess is this cart and mules.”
“O man of little faith,” replied Don Quixote, “get down and unyoke; you will soon see that you are exerting yourself for nothing, and that you might have spared yourself the trouble.”
The carter got down and with all speed unyoked the mules, and the keeper called out at the top of his voice, “I call all here to witness that against my will and under compulsion I open the cages and let the lions loose, and that I warn this gentleman that he will be accountable for all the harm and mischief which these beasts may do, and for my salary and dues as well. You, gentlemen, place yourselves in safety before I open, for I know they will do me no harm.”
Once more the gentleman strove to persuade Don Quixote not to do such a mad thing, as it was tempting God to engage in such a piece of folly. To this, Don Quixote replied that he knew what he was about. The gentleman in return entreated him to reflect, for he knew he was under a delusion.
“Well, senor,” answered Don Quixote, “if you do not like to be a spectator of this tragedy, as in your opinion it will be, spur your flea-bitten mare, and place yourself in safety.”
Hearing this, Sancho with tears in his eyes entreated him to give up an enterprise compared with which the one of the windmills, and the awful one of the fulling mills, and, in fact, all the feats he had attempted in the whole course of his life, were cakes and fancy bread. “Look ye, senor,” said Sancho, “there’s no enchantment here, nor anything of the sort, for between the bars and chinks of the cage I have seen the paw of a real lion, and judging by that I reckon the lion such a paw could belong to must be bigger than a mountain.”
“Fear at any rate,” replied Don Quixote, “will make him look bigger to thee than half the world. Retire, Sancho, and leave me; and if I die here thou knowest our old compact; thou wilt repair to Dulcinea — I say no more.” To these he added some further words that banished all hope of his giving up his insane project. He of the green gaban would have offered resistance, but he found himself ill-matched as to arms, and did not think it prudent to come to blows with a madman, for such Don Quixote now showed himself to be in every respect; and the latter, renewing his commands to the keeper and repeating his threats, gave warning to the gentleman to spur his mare, Sancho his Dapple, and the carter his mules, all striving to get away from the cart as far as they could before the lions broke loose. Sancho was weeping over his master’s death, for this time he firmly believed it was in store for him from the claws of the lions; and he cursed his fate and called it an unlucky hour when he thought of taking service with him again; but with all his tears and lamentations he did not forget to thrash Dapple so as to put a good space between himself and the cart. The keeper, seeing that the fugitives were now some distance off, once more entreated and warned him as before; but he replied that he heard him, and that he need not trouble himself with any further warnings or entreaties, as they would be fruitless, and bade him make haste.
During the delay that occurred while the keeper was opening the first cage, Don Quixote was considering whether it would not be well to do battle on foot, instead of on horseback, and finally resolved to fight on foot, fearing that Rocinante might take fright at the sight of the lions; he therefore sprang off his horse, flung his lance aside, braced his buckler on his arm, and drawing his sword, advanced slowly with marvellous intrepidity and resolute courage, to plant himself in front of the cart, commending himself with all his heart to God and to his lady Dulcinea.
It is to be observed, that on coming to this passage, the author of this veracious history breaks out into exclamations. “O doughty Don Quixote! high-mettled past extolling! Mirror, wherein all the heroes of the world may see themselves! Second modern Don Manuel de Leon, once the glory and honour of Spanish knighthood! In what words shall I describe this dread exploit, by what language shall I make it credible to ages to come, what eulogies are there unmeet for thee, though they be hyperboles piled on hyperboles! On foot, alone, undaunted, high-souled, with but a simple sword, and that no trenchant blade of the Perrillo brand, a shield, but no bright polished steel one, there stoodst thou, biding and awaiting the two fiercest lions that Africa’s forests ever bred! Thy own deeds be thy praise, valiant Manchegan, and here I leave them as they stand, wanting the words wherewith to glorify them!”
 
Here the author’s outburst came to an end, and he proceeded to take up the thread of his story, saying that the keeper, seeing that Don Quixote had taken up his position, and that it was impossible for him to avoid letting out the male without incurring the enmity of the fiery and daring knight, flung open the doors of the first cage, containing, as has been said, the lion, which was now seen to be of enormous size, and grim and hideous mien. The first thing he did was to turn round in the cage in which he lay, and protrude his claws, and stretch himself thoroughly; he next opened his mouth, and yawned very leisurely, and with near two palms’ length of tongue that he had thrust forth, he licked the dust out of his eyes and washed his face; having done this, he put his head out of the cage and looked all round with eyes like glowing coals, a spectacle and demeanour to strike terror into temerity itself. Don Quixote merely observed him steadily, longing for him to leap from the cart and come to close quarters with him, when he hoped to hew him in pieces.
So far did his unparalleled madness go; but the noble lion, more courteous than arrogant, not troubling himself about silly bravado, after having looked all round, as has been said, turned about and presented his hind-quarters to Don Quixote, and very coolly and tranquilly lay down again in the cage. Seeing this, Don Quixote ordered the keeper to take a stick to him and provoke him to make him come out.
“That I won’t,” said the keeper; “for if I anger him, the first he’ll tear in pieces will be myself. Be satisfied, sir knight, with what you have done, which leaves nothing more to be said on the score of courage, and do not seek to tempt fortune a second time. The lion has the door open; he is free to come out or not to come out; but as he has not come out so far, he will not come out to-day. Your worship’s great courage has been fully manifested already; no brave champion, so it strikes me, is bound to do more than challenge his enemy and wait for him on the field; if his adversary does not come, on him lies the disgrace, and he who waits for him carries off the crown of victory.”
“That is true,” said Don Quixote; “close the door, my friend, and let me have, in the best form thou canst, what thou hast seen me do, by way of certificate; to wit, that thou didst open for the lion, that I waited for him, that he did not come out, that I still waited for him, and that still he did not come out, and lay down again. I am not bound to do more; enchantments avaunt, and God uphold the right, the truth, and true chivalry! Close the door as I bade thee, while I make signals to the fugitives that have left us, that they may learn this exploit from thy lips.”
The keeper obeyed, and Don Quixote, fixing on the point of his lance the cloth he had wiped his face with after the deluge of curds, proceeded to recall the others, who still continued to fly, looking back at every step, all in a body, the gentleman bringing up the rear. Sancho, however, happening to observe the signal of the white cloth, exclaimed, “May I die, if my master has not overcome the wild beasts, for he is calling to us.”
They all stopped, and perceived that it was Don Quixote who was making signals, and shaking off their fears to some extent, they approached slowly until they were near enough to hear distinctly Don Quixote’s voice calling to them. They returned at length to the cart, and as they came up, Don Quixote said to the carter, “Put your mules to once more, brother, and continue your journey; and do thou, Sancho, give him two gold crowns for himself and the keeper, to compensate for the delay they have incurred through me.”
“That will I give with all my heart,” said Sancho; “but what has become of the lions? Are they dead or alive?”
The keeper, then, in full detail, and bit by bit, described the end of the contest, exalting to the best of his power and ability the valour of Don Quixote, at the sight of whom the lion quailed, and would not and dared not come out of the cage, although he had held the door open ever so long; and showing how, in consequence of his having represented to the knight that it was tempting God to provoke the lion in order to force him out, which he wished to have done, he very reluctantly, and altogether against his will, had allowed the door to be closed.
“What dost thou think of this, Sancho?” said Don Quixote. “Are there any enchantments that can prevail against true valour? The enchanters may be able to rob me of good fortune, but of fortitude and courage they cannot.”
Sancho paid the crowns, the carter put to, the keeper kissed Don Quixote’s hands for the bounty bestowed upon him, and promised to give an account of the valiant exploit to the King himself, as soon as he saw him at court.
“Then,” said Don Quixote, “if his Majesty should happen to ask who performed it, you must say The KNIGHT OF THE LIONS; for it is my desire that into this the name I have hitherto borne of Knight of the Rueful Countenance be from this time forward changed, altered, transformed, and turned; and in this I follow the ancient usage of knights-errant, who changed their names when they pleased, or when it suited their purpose.”
The cart went its way, and Don Quixote, Sancho, and he of the green gaban went theirs. All this time, Don Diego de Miranda had not spoken a word, being entirely taken up with observing and noting all that Don Quixote did and said, and the opinion he formed was that he was a man of brains gone mad, and a madman on the verge of rationality. The first part of his history had not yet reached him, for, had he read it, the amazement with which his words and deeds filled him would have vanished, as he would then have understood the nature of his madness; but knowing nothing of it, he took him to be rational one moment, and crazy the next, for what he said was sensible, elegant, and well expressed, and what he did, absurd, rash, and foolish; and said he to himself, “What could be madder than putting on a helmet full of curds, and then persuading oneself that enchanters are softening one’s skull; or what could be greater rashness and folly than wanting to fight lions tooth and nail?”
Don Quixote roused him from these reflections and this soliloquy by saying, “No doubt, Senor Don Diego de Miranda, you set me down in your mind as a fool and a madman, and it would be no wonder if you did, for my deeds do not argue anything else. But for all that, I would have you take notice that I am neither so mad nor so foolish as I must have seemed to you. A gallant knight shows to advantage bringing his lance to bear adroitly upon a fierce bull under the eyes of his sovereign, in the midst of a spacious plaza; a knight shows to advantage arrayed in glittering armour, pacing the lists before the ladies in some joyous tournament, and all those knights show to advantage that entertain, divert, and, if we may say so, honour the courts of their princes by warlike exercises, or what resemble them; but to greater advantage than all these does a knight-errant show when he traverses deserts, solitudes, cross-roads, forests, and mountains, in quest of perilous adventures, bent on bringing them to a happy and successful issue, all to win a glorious and lasting renown. To greater advantage, I maintain, does the knight-errant show bringing aid to some widow in some lonely waste, than the court knight dallying with some city damsel. All knights have their own special parts to play; let the courtier devote himself to the ladies, let him add lustre to his sovereign’s court by his liveries, let him entertain poor gentlemen with the sumptuous fare of his table, let him arrange joustings, marshal tournaments, and prove himself noble, generous, and magnificent, and above all a good Christian, and so doing he will fulfil the duties that are especially his; but let the knight-errant explore the corners of the earth and penetrate the most intricate labyrinths, at each step let him attempt impossibilities, on desolate heaths let him endure the burning rays of the midsummer sun, and the bitter inclemency of the winter winds and frosts; let no lions daunt him, no monsters terrify him, no dragons make him quail; for to seek these, to attack those, and to vanquish all, are in truth his main duties. I, then, as it has fallen to my lot to be a member of knight-errantry, cannot avoid attempting all that to me seems to come within the sphere of my duties; thus it was my bounden duty to attack those lions that I just now attacked, although I knew it to be the height of rashness; for I know well what valour is, that it is a virtue that occupies a place between two vicious extremes, cowardice and temerity; but it will be a lesser evil for him who is valiant to rise till he reaches the point of rashness, than to sink until he reaches the point of cowardice; for, as it is easier for the prodigal than for the miser to become generous, so it is easier for a rash man to prove truly valiant than for a coward to rise to true valour; and believe me, Senor Don Diego, in attempting adventures it is better to lose by a card too many than by a card too few; for to hear it said, ‘such a knight is rash and daring,’ sounds better than ‘such a knight is timid and cowardly.’”
“I protest, Senor Don Quixote,” said Don Diego, “everything you have said and done is proved correct by the test of reason itself; and I believe, if the laws and ordinances of knight-errantry should be lost, they might be found in your worship’s breast as in their own proper depository and muniment-house; but let us make haste, and reach my village, where you shall take rest after your late exertions; for if they have not been of the body they have been of the spirit, and these sometimes tend to produce bodily fatigue.”
“I take the invitation as a great favour and honour, Senor Don Diego,” replied Don Quixote; and pressing forward at a better pace than before, at about two in the afternoon they reached the village and house of Don Diego, or, as Don Quixote called him, “The Knight of the Green Gaban.”
 
故事说到，唐吉诃德大声喊桑乔给他拿头盔来。桑乔正在牧人那儿买奶酪。他听主人喊得急，慌了手脚，不知拿什么装奶酪好。既然已经付了钱，他舍不得丢掉，匆忙之中想到可以用主人的头盔装奶酪。他抱着这堆东西跑回来，看主人到底要干什么。他刚赶到，唐吉诃德就对他说：
“赶紧把头盔给我，朋友，我看要有事了。或许前面的事非我不能解决呢。快去拿我的甲胄来。”
绿衣人听到此话，举目向四周望去，只见前方有一辆大车迎面向他们走来，车上插着两三面小旗，估计是给皇家送钱的车。他把这意思对唐吉诃德说了，可唐吉诃德不相信，仍以为凡是他遇到的事情都是险情。
“严阵以待，稳操胜券。我已做好准备，不会有任何失误。根据我的经验，我的敌人有的是看得见的，有的是隐身的，不知什么时候、什么地方，他们就会以某种方式向我进攻。”
唐吉诃德转过身去向桑乔要头盔。桑乔来不及把头盔里的奶酪拿出来，只好把头盔连同奶酪一起交给了唐吉诃德。唐吉诃德接过头盔，看也没看，就匆忙扣到了脑袋上。奶酪一经挤压，流出了浆汁，弄得唐吉诃德脸上胡子上都是汁液。唐吉诃德吓了一跳，问桑乔：
“怎么回事，桑乔？是我的脑袋变软了，还是我的脑浆流出来了，或者是我从脚冒到头上来的汗？如果是我的汗，那肯定不是吓出来的汗水。我相信我现在面临的是非常可怕的艰险。你有什么给我擦脸的东西，赶紧递给我。这么多汗水，我都快看不见了。”
桑乔一声不响地递给唐吉诃德一块布，暗自感谢上帝，没有让唐吉诃德把事情看破。唐吉诃德用布擦了擦脸，然后把头盔拿下来，看里面到底是什么东西把他的脑袋弄得凉飕飕的。他一看头盔里是白糊状的东西，就拿到鼻子前闻了闻，说：
“我以托搏索的杜尔西内亚夫人的生命发誓，你在头盔里放了奶酪，你这个叛徒！不要脸的东西！没有教养的侍从！”
桑乔不慌不忙、不露声色地说道：
“如果是奶酪，您就给我，我把它吃了吧……不过，还是让魔鬼吃吧，准是魔鬼放在里面的。我怎么敢弄脏您的头盔呢？您真是找对人了！我敢打赌，大人，上帝告诉我，肯定也有魔法师在跟我捣乱，因为我是您一手栽培起来的。他们故意把那脏东西放在头盔里面，想激起您的怒火，又像过去一样打我一顿。不过，这次他们是枉费心机了。我相信我的主人办事通情达理，已经注意到我这儿既没有奶酪，也没有牛奶和其他类似的东西。即使有的话，我也会吃到肚子里了，而不是放在头盔里。”
“这倒有可能。”唐吉诃德说。
绅士把这一切看在眼里，心里惊讶，特别是看见唐吉诃德把脑袋、脸、胡子和头盔擦干净后，又把头盔扣到了脑袋上，更是愕然。唐吉诃德在马上坐定，让人拿过剑来，又抓起长矛，说道：
“不管是谁，让他现在就来吧！即使魔鬼来了，我也做好了准备！”
这时，那辆插着旗子的车已经来到跟前，只见车夫骑在骡子上，还有一个人坐在车的前部。唐吉诃德拦在车前，问道：
“你们到哪儿去，兄弟们？这是谁的车，车上装的是什么东西，那些旗子又是什么旗？”
车夫答道：
“这是我的车，车上是两只关在笼子里的凶猛的狮子。这是奥兰的总督送给国王陛下的礼物。旗子是我们国王的旗，表示这车上是他的东西。”
“狮子很大吗？”唐吉诃德问。
“太大了，”坐在车前的那个人说，“从非洲运到西班牙的狮子里，没有比它们更大的，连像它们一样大的也没有。我是管狮人。我运送过许多狮子，但是像这两只这样的，还从来没有运送过。这是一雄一雌。雄狮关在前面的笼子里，雌狮关在后面的笼子里。它们今天还没吃东西，饿得很。您让一下路，我们得赶紧走，以便找个能够喂它们的地方。”
唐吉诃德笑了笑，说道：
“想拿小狮子吓唬我？用狮子吓唬我！已经晚了！我向上帝发誓，我要让这两位运送狮子的大人看看，我到底是不是那种怕狮子的人！喂，你下来！你既然是管狮人，就把笼子打开，把狮子放出来。我要让你看看，曼查的唐吉诃德到底是什么人，即使魔法师弄来狮子我也不怕！”
“这下可好了，”绅士心中暗想，“这下我们的骑士可露馅了，肯定是那些奶酪泡软了他的脑袋，让他的脑子化脓了。”
这时桑乔来到绅士身旁，对他说：
“大人，看在上帝份上，想个办法别让我的主人动那些狮子吧。否则，咱们都得被撕成碎片。”
“难道你的主人是疯子吗？”绅士问道，“你竟然如此害怕，相信他会去碰那些凶猛的野兽？”
“他不是疯子，”桑乔说，“他只是太鲁莽了。”
“我能让他不鲁莽。”绅士说。
唐吉诃德正催着管狮人打开笼子。绅士来到唐吉诃德身旁，对他说道：
“骑士大人，游侠骑士应该从事那些有望成功的冒险，而不要从事那些根本不可能成功的事情。勇敢如果到了让人害怕的地步，那就算不上勇敢，而应该说是发疯了。更何况这些狮子并不是冲着您来的，它们根本就没这个意思。它们是被当作礼物送给陛下的，拦着狮子，不让送狮人赶路就不合适了。”
“绅士大人，”唐吉诃德说，“您还是跟您温顺的石鸡和凶猛的白鼬去讲道理吧。每个人管好自己的事就行了。这是我的事，我知道这些狮子是不是冲着我来的。”
唐吉诃德又转过身去对管狮人说：
“我发誓，你这个混蛋，如果你不赶紧打开笼子，我就要用这支长矛把你插在这辆车上。”
赶车人见唐吉诃德这身古怪的盔甲，又见他决心已下，就对他说：
“我的大人，求您行个好，在放出狮子之前先让我把骡子卸下来吧。如果狮子把骡子咬死，我这辈子就完了。除了这几匹骡子和这辆车，我就没什么财产了。”
“你这个人真是胆小！”唐吉诃德说，“那你就下来，把骡子解开吧，随你便。不过，你马上就可以知道，你是白忙活一场，根本不用费这个劲。”
赶车人从骡子背上下来，赶紧把骡子从车上解下来。管狮人高声说道：
“在场的诸位可以作证，我是被迫违心地打开笼子，放出狮子的。而且，我还要向这位大人声明，这两只畜生造成的各种损失都由他负责，而且还得赔偿我的工钱和损失。在我打开笼子之前，请各位先藏好。反正我心里有数，狮子不会咬我。”
绅士再次劝唐吉诃德不要做这种发疯的事，这简直是在冒犯上帝。唐吉诃德说，他知道自己在做什么。绅士让他再好好考虑一下，就会知道他是在自欺欺人。
“大人，”唐吉诃德说，“假如您现在不想做这个您认为是悲剧的观众，就赶快骑上您的母马，躲到安全的地方去吧。”
桑乔听到此话，眼含热泪地劝唐吉诃德放弃这个打算。若与此事相比，风车之战呀，砑布机那儿的可怕遭遇呀，以及他以前的所有惊险奇遇，都是小巫见大巫了。
“您看，大人，”桑乔说，“这里并没有什么魔法之类的东西。我看见笼子的栅栏里伸出了一只真正的狮爪。由此我猜，既然狮子的爪子就有那么大，那只狮子肯定是个庞然大物。”
“你因为害怕，”唐吉诃德说，“所以觉得那只狮子至少有半边天那么大。你靠边儿，桑乔，让我来。如果我死在这儿，你知道咱们以前的约定，你就去杜尔西内亚那儿。别的我就不说了。”
唐吉诃德又说了其他一些话，看来让他放弃这个怪谲的念头是没指望了。绿衣人想阻止他，可又觉得自己实在难以和唐吉诃德的武器匹敌，而且跟一个像唐吉诃德这样十足的疯子交锋，也算不上什么英雄。唐吉诃德又催促送狮人打开笼门，而且还不断地威胁他。绿衣人利用这段时间赶紧催马离开了。桑乔也骑着他的驴，车夫骑着自己的骡子，都想在狮子出笼之前尽可能地离车远一些。桑乔为唐吉诃德这次肯定会丧生于狮子爪下而哭泣。他还咒骂自己运气不佳，说自己真愚蠢，怎么会想到再次为唐吉诃德当侍从呢。不过哭归哭，怨归怨，他并没有因此就停止催驴跑开。管狮人见该离开的人都已经离开了，就把原来已经软硬兼施过的那一套又软硬兼施了一遍。唐吉诃德告诉管狮人，他即使再软硬兼施，也不会有什么效果，还是趁早离开为好。
在管狮人打开笼门的这段时间里，唐吉诃德首先盘算的是与狮子作战时，徒步是否比骑马好。最后他决定步战，怕罗西南多一看见狮子就吓坏了。于是他跳下马，把长矛扔在一旁，拿起盾牌，拔出剑，以非凡的胆量和超常的勇气一步步走到车前，心中诚心诚意地祈求上帝保佑自己，然后又请求他的夫人杜尔西内亚保佑自己。应该说明的是，这个真实故事的作者写到此处，不禁感慨地说道：“啊，曼查的孤胆英雄唐吉诃德，你是世界上所有勇士的楷模，你是新的莱昂•唐曼努埃尔①二世，是西班牙所有骑士的骄傲！我用什么语言来形容你这骇人的事迹呢？我如何才能让以后几个世纪的人相信这是真的呢？我即使极尽赞颂之词，对你来说又有什么过分呢？你孤身一人，浑身是胆，豪情满怀，手持单剑，而且不是那种镌刻着小狗的利剑②，拿的也不是锃亮的钢盾，却准备与来自非洲大森林的两只最凶猛的狮子较量！你的行为将会给你带来荣耀，勇敢的曼查人，我已经找不到合适的词语来赞颂你了。”
①据传，一次观看几只从非洲为国王运来的狮子，一位夫人不慎将手套掉进了狮笼。唐曼努埃尔走进狮笼，拾回了手套。
②托莱多著名的剑匠胡利安•德尔•雷伊所铸的剑上镌刻有一只小狗作为标志。
作者的感叹到此为止。现在言归正传：管狮人见唐吉诃德已摆好了架势，看来再不把狮子放出来是不行了，否则那位已经暴跳如雷的骑士真要不客气了。他只好把第一个笼子的门完全打开。前面说过，这个笼子里关的是一头雄狮，体积庞大，面目狰狞。它本来躺在笼子里，现在它转过身来，抬起爪子，伸个懒腰，张开大嘴，又不慌不忙地打了个呵欠，用它那足有两拃长的舌头舔了舔眼圈。做完这些之后，它把头伸到笼子外面，用它似乎冒着火的眼睛环顾四周。它那副眼神和气势，即使再冒失的人见了也会胆寒。只有这位唐吉诃德认真地盯着狮子，准备等狮子走下车后同它展开一场搏斗，把它撕成碎片。
唐吉诃德的癫狂此时已达到了空前的顶峰。可是宽宏大量的狮子却并不那么不可一世，无论小打小闹或者暴跳如雷，它仿佛都满不在乎。就像前面讲到的那样，它环视四周后又转过身去，把屁股朝向唐吉诃德，慢吞吞、懒洋洋地重新在笼子里躺下了。唐吉诃德见状让管狮人打狮子几棍，激它出来。
“这我可不干，”管狮人说，“如果我去激它，它首先会把我撕成碎片。骑士大人，您该知足了，这就足以表明您的勇气了。您不必再找倒霉了。狮笼的门敞开着，它出来不出来都由它了。不过，它现在还不出来，恐怕今天就不会出来了。您的英雄孤胆已经得到了充分证明。据我了解，任何一位骁勇的斗士都只是向对手挑战，然后在野外等着他。如果对手没有到场，对手就会名誉扫地，而等待交手的那个人就取得了胜利的桂冠。”
“这倒是真的，”唐吉诃德说，“朋友，把笼门关上吧。不过，你得尽可能为你亲眼看到的我的所作所为做证，那就是你如何打开了笼子，我在此等待，可它不出来；我一再等待，可它还是不出来，而且又重新躺下了。我只能如此了。让魔法见鬼去吧，让上帝帮助理性和真理，帮助真正的骑士精神吧。照我说的，把笼门关上吧。我去叫那些逃跑的人回来，让他们从你的嘴里得知我这番壮举吧。”
管狮人把笼门关上了。唐吉诃德把刚才用来擦脸上奶酪的白布系在长矛的铁头上，开始呼唤。那些人在绅士的带领下正马不停蹄地继续逃跑，同时还频频地回过头来看。桑乔看见了白布，说道：
“我的主人正叫咱们呢。他肯定把狮子打败了。如果不是这样，就叫我天诛地灭！”
大家都停住了，认出那个晃动白布的人的确是唐吉诃德，这才稍稍定了神，一点一点地往回走，一直走到能够清楚地听到唐吉诃德喊话的地方，最后才来到大车旁边。他们刚到，唐吉诃德就对车夫说：
“重新套上你的骡子，兄弟，继续赶你的路吧。桑乔，你拿两个金盾给他和管狮人，就算我耽误了他们的时间而给他们的补偿吧。”
“我会很高兴地把金盾付给他们，”桑乔说，“不过，狮子现在怎么样了？是死了还是活着呢？”
于是管狮人就断断续续而又十分详细地介绍了那次战斗的结局。他尽可能地夸大唐吉诃德的勇气，说狮子一看见唐吉诃德就害怕了。尽管笼门有很长一段时间都是敞开的，可是狮子却不愿意也没胆量从笼子里走出来。骑士本想把狮子赶出来，但由于他对骑士说，那样就是对上帝的冒犯，骑士才很不情愿地让他把笼门关上了。
“怎么样，桑乔？”唐吉诃德问，“难道还有什么魔法可以斗得过真正的勇气吗？魔法师可以夺走我的运气，但要想夺走我的力量和勇气是不可能的。”
桑乔把金盾交给了车夫和管狮人。车夫套上了骡子。管狮人吻了唐吉诃德的手，感谢他的赏赐，并且答应到王宫见到国王时，一定把这件英勇的事迹禀报给国王。
“假如陛下问这是谁的英雄事迹，你就告诉他是狮子骑士的。从今以后，我要把我以前那个猥獕骑士的称号改成这个称号。我这是沿袭游侠骑士的老规矩，也就是随时根据需要来改变称号。”唐吉诃德说道。
大车继续前行，唐吉诃德、桑乔和绿衣人也继续赶自己的路。
这时，迭戈•德米兰达默不作声地观察唐吉诃德的言谈举止，觉得这个人说他明白吧却又犯病，说他疯傻吧却又挺明白。迭戈•德米兰达还没听说过有关唐吉诃德的第一部小说。如果他读过那部小说，就会对唐吉诃德的疯癫有所了解，不至于对其言谈举止感到惊奇了。正因为他不知道那本小说，所以他觉得唐吉诃德一会儿像疯子，一会儿又像明白人；听其言，侃侃而谈，头头是道；观其行，则荒谬透顶，冒失莽撞。迭戈•德米兰达自言自语道：“他把装着奶酪的头盔扣在脑袋上，竟以为是魔法师把自己的脑袋弄软了，还有什么比这类事更荒唐的吗？还有什么比要同狮子较量更冒失的吗？”迭戈•德米兰达正在独自思索，暗自嘀咕，唐吉诃德对他说道：
“迭戈•德米兰达大人，您一定是把我看成言谈举止都十分荒唐的疯子了吧？这也算不了什么，我的所作所为也的确像个疯子。但即使如此，我还是希望您注意到，我并不是像您想象的那样又疯又笨。一位骑士当着国王的面，在一个巨大的广场中央一枪刺中一头咆哮的公牛，自然体面；骑士披一身闪光的盔甲，在夫人们面前得意洋洋地进入比武竞技场，诚然风光；骑士的所有武术演练都是很露脸的事情，既可以供王宫贵族开心消遣，又可以为他们增光。不过，这些都还是不如游侠骑士体面。游侠骑士游历沙漠荒野，穿过大路小道，翻山岭，越森林，四处征险，就是想完成自己的光荣使命，得以万世留芳。我认为，游侠骑士在某个人烟稀少的地方帮助一位寡妇，比一位宫廷骑士在城市里向某位公主献殷勤要光荣得多。所有的骑士都各负其责。宫廷骑士服侍贵夫人们，身着侍从制服为国王点缀门面，用自己家丰盛的食物供养贫困的骑士，组织比武，参加比赛，表现出伟大豪爽的气魄，尤其要表现出一个虔诚的基督徒的品德，这样才算完成了自己的职责。可是，游侠骑士要到世界最偏远的地方去，闯入最困难的迷津，争取做到常人难以做到的事情，在草木稀少的地方顶着酷夏的炎炎烈日，在冰天雪地的严冬冒着凛冽的寒冷；狮子吓不住他们，在魑魅魍魉面前他们也无所畏惧，而是寻找它们，向它们进攻，战胜它们，这才是游侠骑士真正重要的职责。
“命运使我有幸成为游侠骑士的一员，我不能放弃我认为属于我的职责范围内的任何一个进攻机会。因此，向狮子发动进攻完全是我应该做的事情，虽然我也知道这显得过分鲁莽了。我知道何谓勇敢，它是介于两种缺陷之间的一种美德，不过，宁可勇敢过头，近于鲁莽，也不要害怕到成为胆小鬼的地步；这就好像挥霍比吝啬更接近慷慨一样，鲁莽也比怯懦更接近真正的勇敢。在这类征服艰险的事情中，迭戈大人，请您相信，即使输牌，也要能争取一张牌就多争取一张，因为听人家说‘这个骑士大胆莽撞’，总要比听人家说‘这个骑士胆小怕事’好得多。”
“唐吉诃德大人，”迭戈说，“您的所有言行合情合理。我估计，即使游侠骑士的规则完全失传了，也可以在您的心中找到。这些规则已经储存在您的心中。天已经晚了，咱们得加紧赶到我家那个村子去。您也该休息了，辛劳半天，即使身体上不感觉累，精神上也该觉到累了。精神上的疲劳同样可以导致身体上的劳累。”
“我十分荣幸地接受您的盛情邀请，迭戈大人。”唐吉诃德说。
两人加速催马向前。大约下午两点时，他们赶到了迭戈家所在的那个村庄。唐吉诃德称迭戈为绿衣骑士。
Part 2 Chapter 18
Don Quixote found Don Diego de Miranda’s house built in village style, with his arms in rough stone over the street door; in the patio was the store-room, and at the entrance the cellar, with plenty of wine-jars standing round, which, coming from El Toboso, brought back to his memory his enchanted and transformed Dulcinea; and with a sigh, and not thinking of what he was saying, or in whose presence he was, he exclaimed —
“O ye sweet treasures, to my sorrow found!
Once sweet and welcome when ’twas heaven’s good-will.
O ye Tobosan jars, how ye bring back to my memory the
sweet object of my bitter regrets!”
 
The student poet, Don Diego’s son, who had come out with his mother to receive him, heard this exclamation, and both mother and son were filled with amazement at the extraordinary figure he presented; he, however, dismounting from Rocinante, advanced with great politeness to ask permission to kiss the lady’s hand, while Don Diego said, “Senora, pray receive with your wonted kindness Senor Don Quixote of La Mancha, whom you see before you, a knight-errant, and the bravest and wisest in the world.”
The lady, whose name was Dona Christina, received him with every sign of good-will and great courtesy, and Don Quixote placed himself at her service with an abundance of well-chosen and polished phrases. Almost the same civilities were exchanged between him and the student, who listening to Don Quixote, took him to be a sensible, clear-headed person.
Here the author describes minutely everything belonging to Don Diego’s mansion, putting before us in his picture the whole contents of a rich gentleman-farmer’s house; but the translator of the history thought it best to pass over these and other details of the same sort in silence, as they are not in harmony with the main purpose of the story, the strong point of which is truth rather than dull digressions.
They led Don Quixote into a room, and Sancho removed his armour, leaving him in loose Walloon breeches and chamois-leather doublet, all stained with the rust of his armour; his collar was a falling one of scholastic cut, without starch or lace, his buskins buff-coloured, and his shoes polished. He wore his good sword, which hung in a baldric of sea-wolf’s skin, for he had suffered for many years, they say, from an ailment of the kidneys; and over all he threw a long cloak of good grey cloth. But first of all, with five or six buckets of water (for as regard the number of buckets there is some dispute), he washed his head and face, and still the water remained whey-coloured, thanks to Sancho’s greediness and purchase of those unlucky curds that turned his master so white. Thus arrayed, and with an easy, sprightly, and gallant air, Don Quixote passed out into another room, where the student was waiting to entertain him while the table was being laid; for on the arrival of so distinguished a guest, Dona Christina was anxious to show that she knew how and was able to give a becoming reception to those who came to her house.
While Don Quixote was taking off his armour, Don Lorenzo (for so Don Diego’s son was called) took the opportunity to say to his father, “What are we to make of this gentleman you have brought home to us, sir? For his name, his appearance, and your describing him as a knight-errant have completely puzzled my mother and me.”
“I don’t know what to say, my son,” replied. Don Diego; “all I can tell thee is that I have seen him act the acts of the greatest madman in the world, and heard him make observations so sensible that they efface and undo all he does; do thou talk to him and feel the pulse of his wits, and as thou art shrewd, form the most reasonable conclusion thou canst as to his wisdom or folly; though, to tell the truth, I am more inclined to take him to be mad than sane.”
With this Don Lorenzo went away to entertain Don Quixote as has been said, and in the course of the conversation that passed between them Don Quixote said to Don Lorenzo, “Your father, Senor Don Diego de Miranda, has told me of the rare abilities and subtle intellect you possess, and, above all, that you are a great poet.”
“A poet, it may be,” replied Don Lorenzo, “but a great one, by no means. It is true that I am somewhat given to poetry and to reading good poets, but not so much so as to justify the title of ‘great’ which my father gives me.”
“I do not dislike that modesty,” said Don Quixote; “for there is no poet who is not conceited and does not think he is the best poet in the world.”
“There is no rule without an exception,” said Don Lorenzo; “there may be some who are poets and yet do not think they are.”
“Very few,” said Don Quixote; “but tell me, what verses are those which you have now in hand, and which your father tells me keep you somewhat restless and absorbed? If it be some gloss, I know something about glosses, and I should like to hear them; and if they are for a poetical tournament, contrive to carry off the second prize; for the first always goes by favour or personal standing, the second by simple justice; and so the third comes to be the second, and the first, reckoning in this way, will be third, in the same way as licentiate degrees are conferred at the universities; but, for all that, the title of first is a great distinction.”
“So far,” said Don Lorenzo to himself, “I should not take you to be a madman; but let us go on.” So he said to him, “Your worship has apparently attended the schools; what sciences have you studied?”
“That of knight-errantry,” said Don Quixote, “which is as good as that of poetry, and even a finger or two above it.”
“I do not know what science that is,” said Don Lorenzo, “and until now I have never heard of it.”
“It is a science,” said Don Quixote, “that comprehends in itself all or most of the sciences in the world, for he who professes it must be a jurist, and must know the rules of justice, distributive and equitable, so as to give to each one what belongs to him and is due to him. He must be a theologian, so as to be able to give a clear and distinctive reason for the Christian faith he professes, wherever it may be asked of him. He must be a physician, and above all a herbalist, so as in wastes and solitudes to know the herbs that have the property of healing wounds, for a knight-errant must not go looking for some one to cure him at every step. He must be an astronomer, so as to know by the stars how many hours of the night have passed, and what clime and quarter of the world he is in. He must know mathematics, for at every turn some occasion for them will present itself to him; and, putting it aside that he must be adorned with all the virtues, cardinal and theological, to come down to minor particulars, he must, I say, be able to swim as well as Nicholas or Nicolao the Fish could, as the story goes; he must know how to shoe a horse, and repair his saddle and bridle; and, to return to higher matters, he must be faithful to God and to his lady; he must be pure in thought, decorous in words, generous in works, valiant in deeds, patient in suffering, compassionate towards the needy, and, lastly, an upholder of the truth though its defence should cost him his life. Of all these qualities, great and small, is a true knight-errant made up; judge then, Senor Don Lorenzo, whether it be a contemptible science which the knight who studies and professes it has to learn, and whether it may not compare with the very loftiest that are taught in the schools.”
“If that be so,” replied Don Lorenzo, “this science, I protest, surpasses all.”
“How, if that be so?” said Don Quixote.
“What I mean to say,” said Don Lorenzo, “is, that I doubt whether there are now, or ever were, any knights-errant, and adorned with such virtues.”
“Many a time,” replied Don Quixote, “have I said what I now say once more, that the majority of the world are of opinion that there never were any knights-errant in it; and as it is my opinion that, unless heaven by some miracle brings home to them the truth that there were and are, all the pains one takes will be in vain (as experience has often proved to me), I will not now stop to disabuse you of the error you share with the multitude. All I shall do is to pray to heaven to deliver you from it, and show you how beneficial and necessary knights-errant were in days of yore, and how useful they would be in these days were they but in vogue; but now, for the sins of the people, sloth and indolence, gluttony and luxury are triumphant.”
“Our guest has broken out on our hands,” said Don Lorenzo to himself at this point; “but, for all that, he is a glorious madman, and I should be a dull blockhead to doubt it.”
Here, being summoned to dinner, they brought their colloquy to a close. Don Diego asked his son what he had been able to make out as to the wits of their guest. To which he replied, “All the doctors and clever scribes in the world will not make sense of the scrawl of his madness; he is a madman full of streaks, full of lucid intervals.”
They went in to dinner, and the repast was such as Don Diego said on the road he was in the habit of giving to his guests, neat, plentiful, and tasty; but what pleased Don Quixote most was the marvellous silence that reigned throughout the house, for it was like a Carthusian monastery.
When the cloth had been removed, grace said and their hands washed, Don Quixote earnestly pressed Don Lorenzo to repeat to him his verses for the poetical tournament, to which he replied, “Not to be like those poets who, when they are asked to recite their verses, refuse, and when they are not asked for them vomit them up, I will repeat my gloss, for which I do not expect any prize, having composed it merely as an exercise of ingenuity.”
“A discerning friend of mine,” said Don Quixote, “was of opinion that no one ought to waste labour in glossing verses; and the reason he gave was that the gloss can never come up to the text, and that often or most frequently it wanders away from the meaning and purpose aimed at in the glossed lines; and besides, that the laws of the gloss were too strict, as they did not allow interrogations, nor ‘said he,’ nor ‘I say,’ nor turning verbs into nouns, or altering the construction, not to speak of other restrictions and limitations that fetter gloss-writers, as you no doubt know.”
“Verily, Senor Don Quixote,” said Don Lorenzo, “I wish I could catch your worship tripping at a stretch, but I cannot, for you slip through my fingers like an eel.”
“I don’t understand what you say, or mean by slipping,” said Don Quixote.
“I will explain myself another time,” said Don Lorenzo; “for the present pray attend to the glossed verses and the gloss, which run thus:
Could ‘was’ become an ‘is’ for me,
Then would I ask no more than this;
Or could, for me, the time that is
Become the time that is to be! —
GLOSS
Dame Fortune once upon a day
To me was bountiful and kind;
But all things change; she changed her mind,
And what she gave she took away.
O Fortune, long I’ve sued to thee;
The gifts thou gavest me restore,
For, trust me, I would ask no more,
Could ‘was’ become an ‘is’ for me.
No other prize I seek to gain,
No triumph, glory, or success,
Only the long-lost happiness,
The memory whereof is pain.
One taste, methinks, of bygone bliss
The heart-consuming fire might stay;
And, so it come without delay,
Then would I ask no more than this.
I ask what cannot be, alas!
That time should ever be, and then
Come back to us, and be again,
No power on earth can bring to pass;
For fleet of foot is he, I wis,
And idly, therefore, do we pray
That what for aye hath left us may
Become for us the time that is.
Perplexed, uncertain, to remain
‘Twixt hope and fear, is death, not life;
’Twere better, sure, to end the strife,
And dying, seek release from pain.
And yet, thought were the best for me.
Anon the thought aside I fling,
And to the present fondly cling,
And dread the time that is to be.”
When Don Lorenzo had finished reciting his gloss, Don Quixote stood up, and in a loud voice, almost a shout, exclaimed as he grasped Don Lorenzo’s right hand in his, “By the highest heavens, noble youth, but you are the best poet on earth, and deserve to be crowned with laurel, not by Cyprus or by Gaeta — as a certain poet, God forgive him, said — but by the Academies of Athens, if they still flourished, and by those that flourish now, Paris, Bologna, Salamanca. Heaven grant that the judges who rob you of the first prize — that Phoebus may pierce them with his arrows, and the Muses never cross the thresholds of their doors. Repeat me some of your long-measure verses, senor, if you will be so good, for I want thoroughly to feel the pulse of your rare genius.”
Is there any need to say that Don Lorenzo enjoyed hearing himself praised by Don Quixote, albeit he looked upon him as a madman? power of flattery, how far-reaching art thou, and how wide are the bounds of thy pleasant jurisdiction! Don Lorenzo gave a proof of it, for he complied with Don Quixote’s request and entreaty, and repeated to him this sonnet on the fable or story of Pyramus and Thisbe.
Sonnet
The lovely maid, she pierces now the wall;
Heart-pierced by her young Pyramus doth lie;
And Love spreads wing from Cyprus isle to fly,
A chink to view so wondrous great and small.
There silence speaketh, for no voice at all
Can pass so strait a strait; but love will ply
Where to all other power ’twere vain to try;
For love will find a way whate’er befall.
Impatient of delay, with reckless pace
The rash maid wins the fatal spot where she
Sinks not in lover’s arms but death’s embrace.
So runs the strange tale, how the lovers twain
One sword, one sepulchre, one memory,
Slays, and entombs, and brings to life again.
“Blessed be God,” said Don Quixote when he had heard Don Lorenzo’s sonnet, “that among the hosts there are of irritable poets I have found one consummate one, which, senor, the art of this sonnet proves to me that you are!”
For four days was Don Quixote most sumptuously entertained in Don Diego’s house, at the end of which time he asked his permission to depart, telling him he thanked him for the kindness and hospitality he had received in his house, but that, as it did not become knights-errant to give themselves up for long to idleness and luxury, he was anxious to fulfill the duties of his calling in seeking adventures, of which he was informed there was an abundance in that neighbourhood, where he hoped to employ his time until the day came round for the jousts at Saragossa, for that was his proper destination; and that, first of all, he meant to enter the cave of Montesinos, of which so many marvellous things were reported all through the country, and at the same time to investigate and explore the origin and true source of the seven lakes commonly called the lakes of Ruidera.
Don Diego and his son commended his laudable resolution, and bade him furnish himself with all he wanted from their house and belongings, as they would most gladly be of service to him; which, indeed, his personal worth and his honourable profession made incumbent upon them.
The day of his departure came at length, as welcome to Don Quixote as it was sad and sorrowful to Sancho Panza, who was very well satisfied with the abundance of Don Diego’s house, and objected to return to the starvation of the woods and wilds and the short-commons of his ill-stocked alforjas; these, however, he filled and packed with what he considered needful. On taking leave, Don Quixote said to Don Lorenzo, “I know not whether I have told you already, but if I have I tell you once more, that if you wish to spare yourself fatigue and toil in reaching the inaccessible summit of the temple of fame, you have nothing to do but to turn aside out of the somewhat narrow path of poetry and take the still narrower one of knight-errantry, wide enough, however, to make you an emperor in the twinkling of an eye.”
In this speech Don Quixote wound up the evidence of his madness, but still better in what he added when he said, “God knows, I would gladly take Don Lorenzo with me to teach him how to spare the humble, and trample the proud under foot, virtues that are part and parcel of the profession I belong to; but since his tender age does not allow of it, nor his praiseworthy pursuits permit it, I will simply content myself with impressing it upon your worship that you will become famous as a poet if you are guided by the opinion of others rather than by your own; because no fathers or mothers ever think their own children ill-favoured, and this sort of deception prevails still more strongly in the case of the children of the brain.”
Both father and son were amazed afresh at the strange medley Don Quixote talked, at one moment sense, at another nonsense, and at the pertinacity and persistence he displayed in going through thick and thin in quest of his unlucky adventures, which he made the end and aim of his desires. There was a renewal of offers of service and civilities, and then, with the gracious permission of the lady of the castle, they took their departure, Don Quixote on Rocinante, and Sancho on Dapple.
 
唐吉诃德发现迭戈的家大得简直就像一座村庄。临街的大门上方有标牌，尽管那是用粗石做的。院子里有酒窖，门廊处有地窖。许许多多的产于托博索的酒坛子又使唐吉诃德怀念起已被魔法改变了模样的杜尔西内亚来。他长叹一声，也不看旁边有什么人，就情不自禁地说道：
“为我受苦的心上人呀，
上帝会让你如意称心。
托博索的酒坛啊，你勾起了我对那位使我万分痛苦的心上人的甜蜜回忆！”
迭戈的那位大学生兼诗人的儿子闻声同母亲一起出来迎接唐吉诃德。他们一看到唐吉诃德的奇怪装束都愣住了。唐吉诃德下了马，十分有礼貌地请求吻女主人的手。迭戈对他夫人说：
“夫人，请你以非常的热情接待你面前这位曼查的唐吉诃德大人吧，他是世界上最勇敢最聪明的游侠骑士。”
迭戈的夫人唐娜克里斯蒂娜非常热情又非常有礼貌地接待唐吉诃德，唐吉诃德也非常客气地答之以礼。对那个大学生，唐吉诃德也同样寒暄了一番。那个学生根据唐吉诃德的言谈判断，觉得他是一个很机敏的人。
原作者介绍了迭戈家的各种情况，把乡间富裕农户的东西叙述了一遍。可是译者却认为，这些琐屑小事与这部小说的主题无关，就把这些描写全都删去了。他觉得事实比那些干巴巴的细节更有说服力。
唐吉诃德走进客厅，桑乔帮他脱掉甲胄。唐吉诃德只穿着短裤子、羊皮坎肩，衬衣是学生式的大翻领，既没上浆，也没镶花边；脚上穿的是浅黄色的软靴，外面是打了蜡的硬皮鞋，浑身上下都蹭满了盔甲的铁锈。他把剑挂在一条海豹皮宽背带上，据说这是因为他的肾有病已经多年，身上披着一件上等呢料的棕褐色短外套。他首先要了五六桶水冲洗脸和头。各桶的水量不一，可是全都洗完，水还是乳白色的。这都是馋嘴的桑乔造成的。他买的破奶酪把主人弄白了。经过一番打扮，唐吉诃德风度翩翩地走出来，来到另一个房间。那位大学生正在那儿等着他，准备趁着备饭的时候同他随便聊聊。唐娜克里斯蒂娜夫人因有贵客光临，想利用这个机会表现一下，证明自己能够而且善于款待来到她家的客人。
迭戈的儿子叫洛伦索。唐吉诃德刚才脱盔甲的时候，他就问父亲：
“父亲，您带到咱们家来的这个人是干什么的？他的名字，他的打扮，还有他说自己是游侠骑士，使我和母亲都感到很奇怪。”
“我也不知道该怎么对你说才好，孩子。”迭戈说，“我只能对你说，我看见他做了一些世界上最荒谬的事情，可又说了一些聪明绝伦的话，把他的荒谬举动抵消了。你去同他聊聊吧，根据他的谈吐猜测一下他到底是什么样的人。你是个聪明人，他到底是机智过头还是愚蠢透顶，你按照情理自己判断吧。不过说实话，我倒宁愿把他看成是疯子，而不是正常人。”
就这样，洛伦索去找唐吉诃德了。谈话中，唐吉诃德对洛伦索说道：
“您的父亲迭戈•德米兰达对我谈过您的超群的智慧，而且特别提到您是个伟大的诗人。”
“诗人，我也许算得上，”洛伦索说，“可要说是伟大的诗人，那我就不敢当了。我的确是个诗歌爱好者，并且喜欢读一些优秀诗人的作品，但绝对够不上我父亲所说的伟大的诗人。”
“我觉得你如此谦虚很不错，”唐吉诃德说，“因为现在的诗人都很狂妄，都自以为是世界上最伟大的诗人。”
“凡事都有例外，”洛伦索说，“也许有的人就不是这样，就不这么想。”
“这种人很少，”唐吉诃德说，“不过请您告诉我，您现在正写什么诗，竟使得您的父亲有些忧虑不安？如果是敷衍体诗，我略知一二，很希望拜读您的作品。如果这诗是为诗歌比赛准备的，我劝您争取二等奖，因为一等奖往往要照顾人情或是为贵人准备的。二等奖才货真价实。三等奖等于二等奖，以此类推，一等奖就等于三等奖，这就同大学里授学位一样。不过尽管如此，号称‘第一名’的人毕竟是最露脸的。”
“直到现在，我还不能说他是疯子，”洛伦索心里说，“让我再接着同他聊。”
于是，他对唐吉诃德说：
“我觉得您在学校里上过学。您学的是什么专业？”
“游侠骑士专业。”唐吉诃德说，“我觉得它像诗歌一样优美。若说它超过了诗歌，也只是超出了那么一点儿。”
“我不知道那是什么专业，”洛伦索说，“我还从来没听说过。”
“这是一门包括了世界上所有专业或大部分专业的专业。”唐吉诃德说，“因为从事这项专业的人得是法学家，懂得奖惩分明，使每个人都可以得到他应该得到的东西；他应该是神学家，若有人来向他请教，他可以明确地讲解他所信奉的基督教教义；他应该是医生，尤其应该是草药专家，能够识别荒山野岭中可以治伤的药草，免得游侠骑士到处去寻找治伤的药；他应该是天文学家，能够通过观察星星知道已经是深夜几时，知道自己所处的方位和气候带；他应该懂得数学，这门学问每时每刻都会用得上；除此之外，他还应该具有宗教道德和其他各种基本道德。接下来，他还得会其他一些小事情，例如，他应该像尼古拉斯或尼科劳人鱼①那样善于游泳，能够钉马掌，或修理马鞍和马嚼子。再回到刚才的话题上，他应该忠实于上帝和他的意中人，应该思想纯洁，谈吐文明，举止大方，行动果敢，吃苦耐劳，同情弱者，最多于生活在陆地的时间，并且频频在西西里和陆地之间往返穿梭。主要的就是坚持真理，为了保卫真理，即使牺牲自己的生命也在所不惜。这许多大大小小方面的才能构成了一个优秀的游侠骑士。这回您该知道了，洛伦索大人，骑士的学问难道是一门粗浅的学问吗？难道不能同学校和课堂里最高深的学问相比吗？”
①15世纪意大利的卡塔尼亚人，善于游泳。
“如果真是这样，”洛伦索说，“我承认它是一门超越了其他所有学科的学问。”
“什么叫‘如果真是这样’？”唐吉诃德说。
“我是说，”洛伦索说，“我怀疑世界上过去和现在真有具备了如此才能的游侠骑士。”
“这个问题我已经说过多次了，现在我又得重复。”唐吉诃德说，“那就是大部分人认为世界上不曾有过游侠骑士。依我看，只有老天创造出奇迹，他们才会相信无论过去还是现在都确实存在着游侠骑士，否则我再费力气解释也是徒劳。在这方面我已有多次的经验了。现在，我并不想让您摆脱多数人曾经重复的错误，只是想恳求老天让您醒悟，让您明白，在过去的世纪里，游侠骑士对于世界来说是多么有益必要，而当今之世如果风行游侠骑士又有多少好处。可是现在，由于人本身的罪恶，却是贪图安逸和追求享乐占了上风。”
“这回我们这位客人可露馅了。”洛伦索心中暗想，“不过，他毕竟是个非常特殊的疯子。如果我没有认识到这点，那么我就太笨了。”
因为叫他们去吃饭了，他们的谈话到此为止。迭戈问儿子对这位客人印象如何，儿子答道：
“要想治好他的疯病，恐怕世界上所有的医生都无能为力，看来只有靠那些摇笔杆子的人了。”
大家去吃饭了。招待客人的饭食果然像迭戈在路上说的那样：干净、丰盛、鲜美。不过，最令唐吉诃德感到满意的是整个家庭像苦修会的修道院一般幽静。饭罢，大家撤掉台布，向上帝致谢，又用水洗洗手。唐吉诃德恳求洛伦索把他准备参加诗歌比赛的诗拿来给自己看。洛伦索说：
“有的诗人在人家请他念自己的诗时，他拒绝；可人家没请他念的时候，他却又自作多情。为了不让你们以为我也是那种人，我就念念我的敷衍诗吧。不过，我并没有指望它得什么奖，只是为了锻炼一下我的智力。”
“我的一位朋友，一位非常明智的人，”唐吉诃德说，“认为不应该给人家念敷衍诗，让人家厌烦。他说理由就是敷衍诗从来都不能表现原文的含义，往往超越了原诗的范围，而且敷衍诗本身的范围也特别窄，不准用问句，不能用‘他曾说’、‘他将说’，不能用动名词，不能改变含义，还有其他一些清规戒律，都束缚了敷衍诗。对于这些，大概您也有所了解。”
“唐吉诃德大人，”洛伦索说，“我存心想找出您的破绽，可是没找到，您像泥鳅一样从我手里溜掉了。”
“我不明白您说的‘溜掉了’是什么意思。”唐吉诃德说。
“以后我会让您明白的。”洛伦索说，“不过，现在您先听听原诗，再听听根据它写的敷衍诗吧。”原诗是这样写的：
假如今能比昔，
明日等待何须。
让时光倒流，
或让未来现在达抵。
敷　衍　诗
如同一切都会发生，
我的幸福已成陈迹。
那曾经不浅的幸运
一去不复返，
无影无息。
命运之神，
你已见到我
在你脚下拜倒了几个世纪。
让我重新成为幸运者吧，
我又会春风得意，
“假如今能比昔”。
我并不贪求其他乐趣与荣耀，
其他的掌声和欢呼，
其他的成功和胜利。
只求得到往日的欢乐，
它现在却是痛苦的回忆。
如果你能让我回到往昔，
命运之神，
我所忍受的煎熬将会更替。
如果这一幸运能立刻实现，
“明日等待何须”。
我的追求绝非可能。
事过境迁，
却要时光倒转，
世上从未有过如此回天之力。
时间飞逝，
永不回头。
光阴一去不还，
追求者必失败，
除非“让时光倒流”。
生活在彷徨中，
希冀又恐惧，
虽生犹死，
不如为超脱痛苦
毅然决然地死去。
我愿一死了之，
可事情未如我意。
斗转星移，
生活还会让我恐惧，
“或让未来现在达抵”。
洛伦索刚念完，唐吉诃德就站起来，拉住洛伦索的右手，声音高得几乎像喊叫，说道：
“老天万岁！出类拔萃的小伙子，你是世界上最伟大的诗人，你应该得到桂冠，但不是在塞浦路斯或加埃塔，就像一位诗人说的那样，而是在雅典科学院，上帝饶恕我吧，假如这些学院现在还存在的话；或者，是在现存的巴黎、波洛尼亚和萨拉曼卡科学院！上帝保佑，评审委员们若是不给你一等奖，就让福玻斯①用箭射死他们，就让缪斯永远不进他们家的门槛！大人，如果您能赏光的话，就请再给我念几首更高级的诗吧，我想全面领教一下您的惊人的才华。”
尽管洛伦索把唐吉诃德看成是疯子，这时听到唐吉诃德的赞扬，还是很高兴，这难道不是好事吗？恭维的力量，你真是无处不及，力大无边啊！洛伦索就证明了这个事实。他满足了唐吉诃德的要求和愿望，念了一首根据皮拉摩斯和提斯柏的传说写的十四行诗：
十　四　行　诗
美丽的少女凿开了墙壁，
也打开了英俊的皮拉摩斯的胸臆，
阿摩尔②从塞浦路斯赶来，
观看这窄小神奇的孔隙。
相对无言，默默无语，
唯恐声音穿过这狭小的罅缝；
但两相情愿，两心相通，
爱情面前无阻力。
事出预料，情非人意，
少女误走一步，导致香消玉陨。
噢，如此奇妙的悲剧。
同一把剑，他们被掩杀又复生，
留下了一个墓穴，一场回忆。
①太阳神阿波罗的别名之一。
②阿摩尔又称厄罗斯，是希腊传说中的小爱神。
“感谢上帝，”唐吉诃德听洛伦索念完诗后说，“在当今无数蹩脚的诗人中，我终于发现了像您这样完美的诗人。这首十四行诗的高超技巧就向我证明了这一点。”
唐吉诃德在洛伦索家住了四天，受到了极其盛情的款待。四天后，唐吉诃德向主人告别，对在主人家受到很好的照顾表示感谢。但是作为游侠骑士，过多地贪图安逸就不合适了。他还要去履行他的职责，征服险恶，他听说这种险恶在当地还有很多。他打算就近转悠几天，等到了萨拉戈萨大比武的日子再到萨拉戈萨去。反正他是要去那儿的。不过，他首先得到蒙特西诺斯山洞去。据说那里有很多奇怪的事情，他想去看看。另外，他还想去看看人称“鲁伊德拉七湖”的发源地和它真正的水流走向。迭戈和他的儿子对唐吉诃德的光荣决定大加赞赏，告诉他，家里有什么他认为可能用得着的东西，尽可拿走，对于从事这种高尚职业的好人理应如此。
出发的日子终于到了。唐吉诃德兴高采烈，桑乔却垂头丧气。他对在迭戈家酒足饭饱的日子非常满意，不愿意再到荒郊野林去吃褡裢里那点干粮了。尽管如此，他还是用褡裢装上了足够的食物。唐吉诃德临行前对洛伦索说：
“我不知道是否已经对您说过，如果我已经说过了，那我就再说一遍：如果您想走捷径，少费力气，达到那难以抵达的法玛①的顶峰，您不用做别的，只需部分地放弃那略显狭窄的诗歌创作之路，而选择更为狭窄的游侠骑士之路。游侠骑士不费吹灰之力就可以成为皇帝。”
①罗马人对希腊神话中的女神俄萨的称呼。法玛本身是“名望”的意思。
唐吉诃德又说了一些疯话，才结束了他的疯癫过程。他说道：
“上帝知道，我本想带洛伦索大人同我一起走，以便教教他该怎样宽恕普通人，打掉狂妄人的威风，这是从事我们这行的人必不可少的品德。不过您年纪轻轻，而且还从事了这个值得赞颂的行当，所以我不能把您带走。我只想告诫您，作为诗人，您应该更多地采纳别人的意见，而不要只是按照自己的意见行事，那才能一举成名。世界上没有哪个父母认为自己的孩子丑；而在意识方面，这种自欺欺人的情况就更为严重。”
迭戈父子俩对唐吉诃德一会儿明白、一会儿糊涂的言语甚感惊讶。唐吉诃德翻来覆去地说，无非就是要去寻求他那倒霉的艰险，这才是他的最终目的。父子二人又客气了一番，女主人也依依惜别，唐吉诃德和桑乔分别骑着罗西南多和驴出发了。
Part 2 Chapter 19
Don Quixote had gone but a short distance beyond Don Diego’s village, when he fell in with a couple of either priests or students, and a couple of peasants, mounted on four beasts of the ass kind. One of the students carried, wrapped up in a piece of green buckram by way of a portmanteau, what seemed to be a little linen and a couple of pairs of-ribbed stockings; the other carried nothing but a pair of new fencing-foils with buttons. The peasants carried divers articles that showed they were on their way from some large town where they had bought them, and were taking them home to their village; and both students and peasants were struck with the same amazement that everybody felt who saw Don Quixote for the first time, and were dying to know who this man, so different from ordinary men, could be. Don Quixote saluted them, and after ascertaining that their road was the same as his, made them an offer of his company, and begged them to slacken their pace, as their young asses travelled faster than his horse; and then, to gratify them, he told them in a few words who he was and the calling and profession he followed, which was that of a knight-errant seeking adventures in all parts of the world. He informed them that his own name was Don Quixote of La Mancha, and that he was called, by way of surname, the Knight of the Lions.
All this was Greek or gibberish to the peasants, but not so to the students, who very soon perceived the crack in Don Quixote’s pate; for all that, however, they regarded him with admiration and respect, and one of them said to him, “If you, sir knight, have no fixed road, as it is the way with those who seek adventures not to have any, let your worship come with us; you will see one of the finest and richest weddings that up to this day have ever been celebrated in La Mancha, or for many a league round.”
Don Quixote asked him if it was some prince’s , that he spoke of it in this way. “Not at all,” said the student; “it is the wedding of a farmer and a farmer’s daughter, he the richest in all this country, and she the fairest mortal ever set eyes on. The display with which it is to be attended will be something rare and out of the common, for it will be celebrated in a meadow adjoining the town of the bride, who is called, par excellence, Quiteria the fair, as the bridegroom is called Camacho the rich. She is eighteen, and he twenty-two, and they are fairly matched, though some knowing ones, who have all the pedigrees in the world by heart, will have it that the family of the fair Quiteria is better than Camacho’s ; but no one minds that now-a-days, for wealth can solder a great many flaws. At any rate, Camacho is free-handed, and it is his fancy to screen the whole meadow with boughs and cover it in overhead, so that the sun will have hard work if he tries to get in to reach the grass that covers the soil. He has provided dancers too, not only sword but also bell-dancers, for in his own town there are those who ring the changes and jingle the bells to perfection; of shoe-dancers I say nothing, for of them he has engaged a host. But none of these things, nor of the many others I have omitted to mention, will do more to make this a memorable wedding than the part which I suspect the despairing Basilio will play in it. This Basilio is a youth of the same village as Quiteria, and he lived in the house next door to that of her parents, of which circumstance Love took advantage to reproduce to the word the long-forgotten loves of Pyramus and Thisbe; for Basilio loved Quiteria from his earliest years, and she responded to his passion with countless modest proofs of affection, so that the loves of the two children, Basilio and Quiteria, were the talk and the amusement of the town. As they grew up, the father of Quiteria made up his mind to refuse Basilio his wonted freedom of access to the house, and to relieve himself of constant doubts and suspicions, he arranged a match for his daughter with the rich Camacho, as he did not approve of marrying her to Basilio, who had not so large a share of the gifts of fortune as of nature; for if the truth be told ungrudgingly, he is the most agile youth we know, a mighty thrower of the bar, a first-rate wrestler, and a great ball-player; he runs like a deer, and leaps better than a goat, bowls over the nine-pins as if by magic, sings like a lark, plays the guitar so as to make it speak, and, above all, handles a sword as well as the best.”
“For that excellence alone,” said Don Quixote at this, “the youth deserves to marry, not merely the fair Quiteria, but Queen Guinevere herself, were she alive now, in spite of Launcelot and all who would try to prevent it.”
“Say that to my wife,” said Sancho, who had until now listened in silence, “for she won’t hear of anything but each one marrying his equal, holding with the proverb ‘each ewe to her like.’ What I would like is that this good Basilio (for I am beginning to take a fancy to him already) should marry this lady Quiteria; and a blessing and good luck — I meant to say the opposite — on people who would prevent those who love one another from marrying.”
“If all those who love one another were to marry,” said Don Quixote, “it would deprive parents of the right to choose, and marry their children to the proper person and at the proper time; and if it was left to daughters to choose husbands as they pleased, one would be for choosing her father’s servant, and another, some one she has seen passing in the street and fancies gallant and dashing, though he may be a drunken bully; for love and fancy easily blind the eyes of the judgment, so much wanted in choosing one’s way of life; and the matrimonial choice is very liable to error, and it needs great caution and the special favour of heaven to make it a good one. He who has to make a long journey, will, if he is wise, look out for some trusty and pleasant companion to accompany him before he sets out. Why, then, should not he do the same who has to make the whole journey of life down to the final halting-place of death, more especially when the companion has to be his companion in bed, at board, and everywhere, as the wife is to her husband? The companionship of one’s wife is no article of merchandise, that, after it has been bought, may be returned, or bartered, or changed; for it is an inseparable accident that lasts as long as life lasts; it is a noose that, once you put it round your neck, turns into a Gordian knot, which, if the scythe of Death does not cut it, there is no untying. I could say a great deal more on this subject, were I not prevented by the anxiety I feel to know if the senor licentiate has anything more to tell about the story of Basilio.”
To this the student, bachelor, or, as Don Quixote called him, licentiate, replied, “I have nothing whatever to say further, but that from the moment Basilio learned that the fair Quiteria was to be married to Camacho the rich, he has never been seen to smile, or heard to utter rational word, and he always goes about moody and dejected, talking to himself in a way that shows plainly he is out of his senses. He eats little and sleeps little, and all he eats is fruit, and when he sleeps, if he sleeps at all, it is in the field on the hard earth like a brute beast. Sometimes he gazes at the sky, at other times he fixes his eyes on the earth in such an abstracted way that he might be taken for a clothed statue, with its drapery stirred by the wind. In short, he shows such signs of a heart crushed by suffering, that all we who know him believe that when to-morrow the fair Quiteria says ‘yes,’ it will be his sentence of death.”
“God will guide it better,” said Sancho, “for God who gives the wound gives the salve; nobody knows what will happen; there are a good many hours between this and to-morrow, and any one of them, or any moment, the house may fall; I have seen the rain coming down and the sun shining all at one time; many a one goes to bed in good health who can’t stir the next day. And tell me, is there anyone who can boast of having driven a nail into the wheel of fortune? No, faith; and between a woman’s ‘yes’ and ‘no’ I wouldn’t venture to put the point of a pin, for there would not be room for it; if you tell me Quiteria loves Basilio heart and soul, then I’ll give him a bag of good luck; for love, I have heard say, looks through spectacles that make copper seem gold, poverty wealth, and blear eyes pearls.”
“What art thou driving at, Sancho? curses on thee!” said Don Quixote; “for when thou takest to stringing proverbs and sayings together, no one can understand thee but Judas himself, and I wish he had thee. Tell me, thou animal, what dost thou know about nails or wheels, or anything else?”
“Oh, if you don’t understand me,” replied Sancho, “it is no wonder my words are taken for nonsense; but no matter; I understand myself, and I know I have not said anything very foolish in what I have said; only your worship, senor, is always gravelling at everything I say, nay, everything I do.”
“Cavilling, not gravelling,” said Don Quixote, “thou prevaricator of honest language, God confound thee!”
“Don’t find fault with me, your worship,” returned Sancho, “for you know I have not been bred up at court or trained at Salamanca, to know whether I am adding or dropping a letter or so in my words. Why! God bless me, it’s not fair to force a Sayago-man to speak like a Toledan; maybe there are Toledans who do not hit it off when it comes to polished talk.”
“That is true,” said the licentiate, “for those who have been bred up in the Tanneries and the Zocodover cannot talk like those who are almost all day pacing the cathedral cloisters, and yet they are all Toledans. Pure, correct, elegant and lucid language will be met with in men of courtly breeding and discrimination, though they may have been born in Majalahonda; I say of discrimination, because there are many who are not so, and discrimination is the grammar of good language, if it be accompanied by practice. I, sirs, for my sins have studied canon law at Salamanca, and I rather pique myself on expressing my meaning in clear, plain, and intelligible language.”
“If you did not pique yourself more on your dexterity with those foils you carry than on dexterity of tongue,” said the other student, “you would have been head of the degrees, where you are now tail.”
“Look here, bachelor Corchuelo,” returned the licentiate, “you have the most mistaken idea in the world about skill with the sword, if you think it useless.”
“It is no idea on my part, but an established truth,” replied Corchuelo; “and if you wish me to prove it to you by experiment, you have swords there, and it is a good opportunity; I have a steady hand and a strong arm, and these joined with my resolution, which is not small, will make you confess that I am not mistaken. Dismount and put in practice your positions and circles and angles and science, for I hope to make you see stars at noonday with my rude raw swordsmanship, in which, next to God, I place my trust that the man is yet to be born who will make me turn my back, and that there is not one in the world I will not compel to give ground.”
“As to whether you turn your back or not, I do not concern myself,” replied the master of fence; “though it might be that your grave would be dug on the spot where you planted your foot the first time; I mean that you would be stretched dead there for despising skill with the sword.”
“We shall soon see,” replied Corchuelo, and getting off his ass briskly, he drew out furiously one of the swords the licentiate carried on his beast.
“It must not be that way,” said Don Quixote at this point; “I will be the director of this fencing match, and judge of this often disputed question;” and dismounting from Rocinante and grasping his lance, he planted himself in the middle of the road, just as the licentiate, with an easy, graceful bearing and step, advanced towards Corchuelo, who came on against him, darting fire from his eyes, as the saying is. The other two of the company, the peasants, without dismounting from their asses, served as spectators of the mortal tragedy. The cuts, thrusts, down strokes, back strokes and doubles, that Corchuelo delivered were past counting, and came thicker than hops or hail. He attacked like an angry lion, but he was met by a tap on the mouth from the button of the licentiate’s sword that checked him in the midst of his furious onset, and made him kiss it as if it were a relic, though not as devoutly as relics are and ought to he kissed. The end of it was that the licentiate reckoned up for him by thrusts every one of the buttons of the short cassock he wore, tore the skirts into strips, like the tails of a cuttlefish, knocked off his hat twice, and so completely tired him out, that in vexation, anger, and rage, he took the sword by the hilt and flung it away with such force, that one of the peasants that were there, who was a notary, and who went for it, made an affidavit afterwards that he sent it nearly three-quarters of a league, which testimony will serve, and has served, to show and establish with all certainty that strength is overcome by skill.
Corchuelo sat down wearied, and Sancho approaching him said, “By my faith, senor bachelor, if your worship takes my advice, you will never challenge anyone to fence again, only to wrestle and throw the bar, for you have the youth and strength for that; but as for these fencers as they call them, I have heard say they can put the point of a sword through the eye of a needle.”
“I am satisfied with having tumbled off my donkey,” said Corchuelo, “and with having had the truth I was so ignorant of proved to me by experience;” and getting up he embraced the licentiate, and they were better friends than ever; and not caring to wait for the notary who had gone for the sword, as they saw he would be a long time about it, they resolved to push on so as to reach the village of Quiteria, to which they all belonged, in good time.
During the remainder of the journey the licentiate held forth to them on the excellences of the sword, with such conclusive arguments, and such figures and mathematical proofs, that all were convinced of the value of the science, and Corchuelo cured of his dogmatism.
It grew dark; but before they reached the town it seemed to them all as if there was a heaven full of countless glittering stars in front of it. They heard, too, the pleasant mingled notes of a variety of instruments, flutes, drums, psalteries, pipes, tabors, and timbrels, and as they drew near they perceived that the trees of a leafy arcade that had been constructed at the entrance of the town were filled with lights unaffected by the wind, for the breeze at the time was so gentle that it had not power to stir the leaves on the trees. The musicians were the life of the wedding, wandering through the pleasant grounds in separate bands, some dancing, others singing, others playing the various instruments already mentioned. In short, it seemed as though mirth and gaiety were frisking and gambolling all over the meadow. Several other persons were engaged in erecting raised benches from which people might conveniently see the plays and dances that were to be performed the next day on the spot dedicated to the celebration of the marriage of Camacho the rich and the obsequies of Basilio. Don Quixote would not enter the village, although the peasant as well as the bachelor pressed him; he excused himself, however, on the grounds, amply sufficient in his opinion, that it was the custom of knights-errant to sleep in the fields and woods in preference to towns, even were it under gilded ceilings; and so turned aside a little out of the road, very much against Sancho’s will, as the good quarters he had enjoyed in the castle or house of Don Diego came back to his mind.
 
唐吉诃德离开迭戈家后走了不远，就碰到两个教士模样或者学生模样的人，还有两个农夫，四个人都骑着驴。一个学生带着一个绿色粗布包，当旅行包用，里面隐约露出一点白色细呢料和两双粗线袜。另一个学生只带着两把击剑用的新剑，剑上套着剑套。农夫带着其他一些东西。看样子他们是刚从某个大镇采购回来，要把东西送回村里去。学生和农夫同其他初见唐吉诃德的人一样感到惊奇，很想知道这个与众不同的怪人到底是谁。唐吉诃德向他们问好，得知他们与自己同路，便表示愿与他们为伴，请他们放慢一点，因为他们的驴比自己的马走得快。唐吉诃德还简单地向他们介绍了自己是什么人以及自己从事的行当，说自己是个游历四方、寻奇征险的游侠骑士，并且告诉他们，自己叫曼查的唐吉诃德，别名狮子骑士。唐吉诃德这番话对于农夫来说简直是天书，可两个学生却能听懂，他们马上意识到唐吉诃德的头脑有毛病，深感意外，但是出于礼貌，其中一人对唐吉诃德说道：
“骑士大人，假如您的行程路线不是一成不变的，因为寻奇征险的人常常如此，那么您就同我们一起走吧，这样您就会看到曼查乃至周围很多里之内迄今为止最盛大、最豪华的一次婚礼。”
唐吉诃德问他是哪位王子的婚礼，竟如此了不起。
“是一个农夫和一个农妇的婚礼。”学生说道，“农夫是当地的首富，农妇则是男人们见过的最漂亮的女子。婚礼的场面极其新颖别致，因为婚礼将在新娘家所在村庄旁边的一块草地上举行。新娘美貌超群，被称为美女基特里亚，新郎则叫富豪卡马乔。新娘芳龄十八，新郎年方二十二，可谓天生一对，地配一双，虽然有些人好管闲事，总念叨两家的门第不合，因为美女基特里亚家的门第比卡马乔家高。不过，现在已经不太注重这个了，财富完全可以弥补这个裂痕。这个卡马乔很潇洒，忽然心血来潮地要给整片草地搭上树枝，让阳光照不到那覆盖着地面的绿草。他还准备了舞蹈表演，有剑舞和小铃铛舞，村里有的人简直把这两种舞跳绝了；还有踢踏舞，那就更不用说了，请了很多人来跳呢。不过，我刚才说到的这些事，以及其他我没有说到的事，也许都不是这场婚礼上令人最难忘的。我估计最难忘的大概是那个绝望的巴西利奥将在婚礼上的所作所为。巴西利奥是基特里亚邻居家的一个小伙子，他家与基特里亚父母家住隔壁。爱神要利用这个机会向世人重演那个已经被遗忘的皮拉摩斯和提斯柏的爱情故事。巴西利奥从很小的年龄就爱上了基特里亚，基特里亚对他则以礼回报。村里的人在闲谈时就说这两个孩子谈情说爱了。随着两人年龄的增长，基特里亚的父亲不让巴西利奥像以前一样随便到他家去了。为了免得总是放心不下，他让女儿同富豪卡马乔结婚。他觉得把女儿嫁给巴西利奥不合适，巴西利奥的经济条件和家庭境况都不那么好。不过说实话，他是我们所知道的最聪明的小伙子。他掷棒是能手，角斗水平很高，玩球也玩得很好；他跑如雄鹿，跳似山羊，玩滚球游戏简直玩神了；他有百灵鸟一样的歌喉，弹起吉他来如歌如诉，特别是斗起剑来最灵敏。”
“单凭这点，”唐吉诃德这时说，“别说和美女基特里亚结婚，就是同希内夫拉女王结婚，他也完全配得上，假设女王今天还活着的话！兰萨罗特和其他任何人企图阻止都无济于事。”
“你们听听我老婆是怎么说的吧，”桑乔刚才一直在旁边默默地听，这时候突然说道，“她历来主张门当户对，就像俗话说的，‘物以类聚，人以群分’。我觉得巴西利奥这个小伙子不错，应该同那个美女基特里亚结婚。谁要想阻止有情人成为眷属，就让他今世长乐，来世长安①！”
①桑乔在此处把意思说反了。
“如果有情人就可以结婚，”唐吉诃德说，“那么儿女和谁结婚，以及什么时候结婚，就由不得父母选择和做主了。如果做女儿的可以自主选择丈夫，她很可能会选中父亲的佣人，也可能在大街上见到某个人英俊潇洒，就看上那个人了，尽管那个人其实是好斗的无赖。恋爱很容易蒙住理智的双眼，而理智对于选择配偶是必不可少的。选择配偶很容易失误，必须小心翼翼，还要有老天的特别关照才行。一个人要出远门，如果他是个谨慎的人，就会在上路之前寻找一个可靠的伙伴同行。既然如此，为什么一个人在选择将与自己共同走完生命路程的伴侣时不能这样呢？况且，妻子和丈夫要同床共枕，同桌共餐，做什么事情都在一起呢。妻子不是商品，买了以后还可以退换。这是一件不能分割的事情，生命延续多长，它就有多长。这种联系一旦套到了脖子上，就成了死结，除了死神的斩刀，任何东西都不可能把它解开。关于这个题目，还有很多可以谈的。不过我现在很想知道，关于巴西利奥的事，学士大人是否还有什么可以告诉我的？”
那个被唐吉诃德称为学士的学生答道：
“也没有太多可说的了，只知道巴西利奥自从听说美女基特里亚要同卡马乔结婚，就再也没笑过，也没说过一句像样的话，总是若有所思，闷闷不乐地自言自语，神志很明显已经不正常了。他吃得少，睡得也少，而且吃的时候只吃水果，睡的时候就像个野兽似的睡在野外的硬土地上。他不时仰望天空，又不时呆痴地盯着地面，除了空气吹动他的衣服之外，他简直就是一尊雕像。他显然已经伤透了心。我们所有认识他的人都认为，明天美女基特里亚的一声‘愿意’就等于宣判了他的死亡。”
“上帝会有更好的安排，”桑乔说，“上帝给他造成了创伤，也会给他治伤；从现在到明天还有很多小时呢，谁知道会发生什么事情？说不定什么时候房子就塌了呢。我就见过一边下雨一边出太阳的情况，说不定谁晚上躺下时还好好的，第二天早晨就起不来了呢。你们说，有谁敢夸口自己总能平步青云呢？没有，肯定没有。女人的‘愿意’和‘不愿意’几乎没什么区别。我觉得基特里亚真心实意地爱着巴西利奥，我祝巴西利奥洪福齐天。我听说，爱情会给人戴上有色眼镜，让人把铜看成是金子，把穷看成富，把眼屎看成珍珠。”
“你还有完没完了，可恶的桑乔？”唐吉诃德说，“你只要说起话来就怪话连篇，非得让魔鬼把你带走才成。你说，你这个畜生，什么‘平步青云’，还有其他那些话，你都懂吗？”
“如果没有人明白我说的是什么意思，”桑乔说，“那么把我的话都看成胡说八道，也没什么奇怪。不过这也没关系，反正我自己知道，我刚才说的绝非胡说八道，倒是您，我的大人，总是对我所说所做百般地‘挑赐’。”
“应该说‘挑剔’，”唐吉诃德说，“不是‘挑赐’，挺好的话让你一说就走了样，真不知是谁把你搞得这么糊里糊涂的。”
“您别跟我生气，”桑乔说，“您知道我不是在京城长大的，也没有在萨拉曼卡上过学，所以不知什么时候，我说话就会多个字或少个字。真得靠上帝保佑了。其实，没有必要让一个萨亚戈人说话同托莱多人一样标准，而且，也不见得所有托莱多人说话都那么利索。”
“的确如此，”学士说，“同在托莱多，在制革厂和菜市等地区长大的人，就同整天在教堂回廊里闲荡的人说话不一样。纯正、地道、优雅和明确的语言应该由言语严谨的朝臣来说，即使他们出生在马哈拉翁达。我说‘言语严谨’是因为他们当中很多人言语并非严谨，而严谨的言语应当是了解一种优秀语言的语法，再伴之以正确的运用。各位大人，恕我冒昧，我是在萨拉曼卡学习宗教法规的，自认为可以明白、通顺而且言之有意地表达我的思想。”
另一个学生说：“你不是认为你耍黑剑①的本事比耍嘴皮子的本事还大吗？不然的话，你在学习上就应该排第一，而不是排末尾了。”
①黑剑指铁剑，白剑指钢剑。
“喂，你这个多嘴的家伙，”学士说道，“你对击剑的技巧一无所知，所以对它的认识也就大错而特错了。”
“对于我来说，这并不是什么认识问题，而是切切实实的事实。”那个名叫科丘埃洛的学生说，“如果你想找我领教一下的话，就拿剑来，正好我现在来劲儿呢，而且精神头儿也不小，肯定会让你明白我并没说错。你下来，使出你的步伐、弧圈、角度和理论来吧，我就用我的外行蛮技术，准能把你打得眼冒金星。除了上帝，恐怕还没有谁能让我败阵呢，相反倒是一个个都被我打跑了。”
“你败阵没败阵我管不着，”另一个也不示弱，“反正你上场立脚之处很可能就是为你掘墓的地方。我是说，你会死在你的技术上。”
“那就看分晓吧。”科丘埃洛说。
说着他立刻从驴背上跳下来，怒气冲冲地从学士的驴背上抄起了一把剑。
“别这么简单，”唐吉诃德这时说，“我愿意做你们的击剑教练和裁判，否则就可能说不清了。”
唐吉诃德说着跳下马来，抓起他的长矛，站在路中央。此时，学士已经英姿勃勃、步伐有序地冲向科丘埃洛。科丘埃洛也向他刺来，而且眼睛里就像人们常说的那样，冒着火。两个与他们同行的农民则在驴背上观赏这场恶战。科丘埃洛又挥又刺又劈，反手抡，双手砍，重有重力，轻有轻功，频频出击。他像一头暴怒的狮子不断进攻着，可是，学士的剑套忽然迎面飞来，糊到他嘴上，把他的锐气戛然斩断，让他像吻圣物一般吻了那只剑套，虽然并不像吻圣物那样虔诚。最后，学士一剑一剑地把科丘埃洛衣服上的扣子全剥了下来，把他的衣服划成一条一条的，像是章鱼的尾巴，还把他的帽子打掉了两次，弄得他狼狈不堪，气得他抓住剑柄，用尽全身力气扔了出去。在场的一位农夫曾经当过公证员。据他事后证明，那剑扔出了差不多一里地。由此说明，人们完全可以用智巧战胜蛮力。
科丘埃洛筋疲力尽地坐了下来。桑乔走到他身旁，对他说道：
“依我看，大学生，您就听听我的劝告，从此以后再也不要向任何人挑战比剑了，最多只能比比摔跤或掷棒，因为您既年轻，又有力气。至于那些击剑高手，我听说他们能准确地把剑尖刺进针鼻儿里去呢。”
“我很高兴我能认识到我错了，”科丘埃洛说，“经过亲身经历我才明白，我与事实相距甚远。”
科丘埃洛说着站了起来，拥抱了学士，两人和好如初。这时公证员去捡剑。他们估计他还要一段时间才能回来，就决定不等他了，争取尽早赶到基特里亚那个村庄去，他们都是那个村庄的人。
在后面这段路程里，学士向大家介绍了一些剑术的技巧，讲得既生动又有条理，大家都意识到了技巧的重要性，科丘埃洛也消除了自己的偏见。
已是傍晚了。他们还没到达村子，就觉得前面的村子里仿佛有无数星光在闪烁，同时还听到了笛子、小鼓、古琴、双管笛、手鼓、铃鼓等各种乐器混合在一起的轻柔乐曲。走近村子，他们才发现村子入口处已经用树枝搭起了一个棚子，上面装满了彩灯。当时的风非常微弱，连树叶都不摆动，所以彩灯也都静止不动。
那些吹奏乐曲的人都是来庆贺婚礼的。他们三三两两地来回走动，有的唱，有的跳，还有一部分人演奏着上面说的各种乐器。草地上到处洋溢着欢乐的气氛。更多的人则在忙着搭看台，准备第二天进行歌舞表演，正式举行富豪卡马乔的婚礼和巴西利奥的葬礼。尽管农夫和学生盛情邀请，唐吉诃德却不肯进村。他请求农夫和学生原谅，说他始终认为游侠骑士应当住在野外树林里，而不是留宿在村镇里，哪怕是金屋玉宇也不行。说完唐吉诃德就离开了大路。桑乔对此极为不满，此时他又想起了迭戈家的舒适的住宿条件。
Part 2 Chapter 20
Scarce had the fair Aurora given bright Phoebus time to dry the liquid pearls upon her golden locks with the heat of his fervent rays, when Don Quixote, shaking off sloth from his limbs, sprang to his feet and called to his squire Sancho, who was still snoring; seeing which Don Quixote ere he roused him thus addressed him: “Happy thou, above all the dwellers on the face of the earth, that, without envying or being envied, sleepest with tranquil mind, and that neither enchanters persecute nor enchantments affright. Sleep, I say, and will say a hundred times, without any jealous thoughts of thy mistress to make thee keep ceaseless vigils, or any cares as to how thou art to pay the debts thou owest, or find to-morrow’s food for thyself and thy needy little family, to interfere with thy repose. Ambition breaks not thy rest, nor doth this world’s empty pomp disturb thee, for the utmost reach of thy anxiety is to provide for thy ass, since upon my shoulders thou hast laid the support of thyself, the counterpoise and burden that nature and custom have imposed upon masters. The servant sleeps and the master lies awake thinking how he is to feed him, advance him, and reward him. The distress of seeing the sky turn brazen, and withhold its needful moisture from the earth, is not felt by the servant but by the master, who in time of scarcity and famine must support him who has served him in times of plenty and abundance.”
 
To all this Sancho made no reply because he was asleep, nor would he have wakened up so soon as he did had not Don Quixote brought him to his senses with the butt of his lance. He awoke at last, drowsy and lazy, and casting his eyes about in every direction, observed, “There comes, if I don’t mistake, from the quarter of that arcade a steam and a smell a great deal more like fried rashers than galingale or thyme; a wedding that begins with smells like that, by my faith, ought to be plentiful and unstinting.”
“Have done, thou glutton,” said Don Quixote; “come, let us go and witness this bridal, and see what the rejected Basilio does.”
“Let him do what he likes,” returned Sancho; “be he not poor, he would marry Quiteria. To make a grand match for himself, and he without a farthing; is there nothing else? Faith, senor, it’s my opinion the poor man should be content with what he can get, and not go looking for dainties in the bottom of the sea. I will bet my arm that Camacho could bury Basilio in reals; and if that be so, as no doubt it is, what a fool Quiteria would be to refuse the fine dresses and jewels Camacho must have given her and will give her, and take Basilio’s bar-throwing and sword-play. They won’t give a pint of wine at the tavern for a good cast of the bar or a neat thrust of the sword. Talents and accomplishments that can’t be turned into money, let Count Dirlos have them; but when such gifts fall to one that has hard cash, I wish my condition of life was as becoming as they are. On a good foundation you can raise a good building, and the best foundation in the world is money.”
“For God’s sake, Sancho,” said Don Quixote here, “stop that harangue; it is my belief, if thou wert allowed to continue all thou beginnest every instant, thou wouldst have no time left for eating or sleeping; for thou wouldst spend it all in talking.”
“If your worship had a good memory,” replied Sancho, “you would remember the articles of our agreement before we started from home this last time; one of them was that I was to be let say all I liked, so long as it was not against my neighbour or your worship’s authority; and so far, it seems to me, I have not broken the said article.”
“I remember no such article, Sancho,” said Don Quixote; “and even if it were so, I desire you to hold your tongue and come along; for the instruments we heard last night are already beginning to enliven the valleys again, and no doubt the marriage will take place in the cool of the morning, and not in the heat of the afternoon.”
Sancho did as his master bade him, and putting the saddle on Rocinante and the pack-saddle on Dapple, they both mounted and at a leisurely pace entered the arcade. The first thing that presented itself to Sancho’s eyes was a whole ox spitted on a whole elm tree, and in the fire at which it was to be roasted there was burning a middling-sized mountain of faggots, and six stewpots that stood round the blaze had not been made in the ordinary mould of common pots, for they were six half wine-jars, each fit to hold the contents of a slaughter-house; they swallowed up whole sheep and hid them away in their insides without showing any more sign of them than if they were pigeons. Countless were the hares ready skinned and the plucked fowls that hung on the trees for burial in the pots, numberless the wildfowl and game of various sorts suspended from the branches that the air might keep them cool. Sancho counted more than sixty wine skins of over six gallons each, and all filled, as it proved afterwards, with generous wines. There were, besides, piles of the whitest bread, like the heaps of corn one sees on the threshing-floors. There was a wall made of cheeses arranged like open brick-work, and two cauldrons full of oil, bigger than those of a dyer’s shop, served for cooking fritters, which when fried were taken out with two mighty shovels, and plunged into another cauldron of prepared honey that stood close by. Of cooks and cook-maids there were over fifty, all clean, brisk, and blithe. In the capacious belly of the ox were a dozen soft little sucking-pigs, which, sewn up there, served to give it tenderness and flavour. The spices of different kinds did not seem to have been bought by the pound but by the quarter, and all lay open to view in a great chest. In short, all the preparations made for the wedding were in rustic style, but abundant enough to feed an army.
 
Sancho observed all, contemplated all, and everything won his heart. The first to captivate and take his fancy were the pots, out of which he would have very gladly helped himself to a moderate pipkinful; then the wine skins secured his affections; and lastly, the produce of the frying-pans, if, indeed, such imposing cauldrons may be called frying-pans; and unable to control himself or bear it any longer, he approached one of the busy cooks and civilly but hungrily begged permission to soak a scrap of bread in one of the pots; to which the cook made answer, “Brother, this is not a day on which hunger is to have any sway, thanks to the rich Camacho; get down and look about for a ladle and skim off a hen or two, and much good may they do you.”
“I don’t see one,” said Sancho.
“Wait a bit,” said the cook; “sinner that I am! how particular and bashful you are!” and so saying, he seized a bucket and plunging it into one of the half jars took up three hens and a couple of geese, and said to Sancho, “Fall to, friend, and take the edge off your appetite with these skimmings until dinner-time comes.”
 
“I have nothing to put them in,” said Sancho.
“Well then,” said the cook, “take spoon and all; for Camacho’s wealth and happiness furnish everything.”
While Sancho fared thus, Don Quixote was watching the entrance, at one end of the arcade, of some twelve peasants, all in holiday and gala dress, mounted on twelve beautiful mares with rich handsome field trappings and a number of little bells attached to their petrals, who, marshalled in regular order, ran not one but several courses over the meadow, with jubilant shouts and cries of “Long live Camacho and Quiteria! he as rich as she is fair; and she the fairest on earth!”
Hearing this, Don Quixote said to himself, “It is easy to see these folk have never seen my Dulcinea del Toboso; for if they had they would be more moderate in their praises of this Quiteria of theirs.”
Shortly after this, several bands of dancers of various sorts began to enter the arcade at different points, and among them one of sword-dancers composed of some four-and-twenty lads of gallant and high-spirited mien, clad in the finest and whitest of linen, and with handkerchiefs embroidered in various colours with fine silk; and one of those on the mares asked an active youth who led them if any of the dancers had been wounded. “As yet, thank God, no one has been wounded,” said he, “we are all safe and sound;” and he at once began to execute complicated figures with the rest of his comrades, with so many turns and so great dexterity, that although Don Quixote was well used to see dances of the same kind, he thought he had never seen any so good as this. He also admired another that came in composed of fair young maidens, none of whom seemed to be under fourteen or over eighteen years of age, all clad in green stuff, with their locks partly braided, partly flowing loose, but all of such bright gold as to vie with the sunbeams, and over them they wore garlands of jessamine, roses, amaranth, and honeysuckle. At their head were a venerable old man and an ancient dame, more brisk and active, however, than might have been expected from their years. The notes of a Zamora bagpipe accompanied them, and with modesty in their countenances and in their eyes, and lightness in their feet, they looked the best dancers in the world.
 
Following these there came an artistic dance of the sort they call “speaking dances.” It was composed of eight nymphs in two files, with the god Cupid leading one and Interest the other, the former furnished with wings, bow, quiver and arrows, the latter in a rich dress of gold and silk of divers colours. The nymphs that followed Love bore their names written on white parchment in large letters on their backs. “Poetry” was the name of the first, “Wit” of the second, “Birth” of the third, and “Valour” of the fourth. Those that followed Interest were distinguished in the same way; the badge of the first announced “Liberality,” that of the second “Largess,” the third “Treasure,” and the fourth “Peaceful Possession.” In front of them all came a wooden castle drawn by four wild men, all clad in ivy and hemp stained green, and looking so natural that they nearly terrified Sancho. On the front of the castle and on each of the four sides of its frame it bore the inscription “Castle of Caution.” Four skillful tabor and flute players accompanied them, and the dance having been opened, Cupid, after executing two figures, raised his eyes and bent his bow against a damsel who stood between the turrets of the castle, and thus addressed her:
I am the mighty God whose sway
Is potent over land and sea.
The heavens above us own me; nay,
The shades below acknowledge me.
I know not fear, I have my will,
Whate’er my whim or fancy be;
For me there’s no impossible,
I order, bind, forbid, set free.
Having concluded the stanza he discharged an arrow at the top of the castle, and went back to his place. Interest then came forward and went through two more figures, and as soon as the tabors ceased, he said:
But mightier than Love am I,
Though Love it be that leads me on,
Than mine no lineage is more high,
Or older, underneath the sun.
To use me rightly few know how,
To act without me fewer still,
For I am Interest, and I vow
For evermore to do thy will.
Interest retired, and Poetry came forward, and when she had gone through her figures like the others, fixing her eyes on the damsel of the castle, she said:
With many a fanciful conceit,
Fair Lady, winsome Poesy
Her soul, an offering at thy feet,
Presents in sonnets unto thee.
If thou my homage wilt not scorn,
Thy fortune, watched by envious eyes,
On wings of poesy upborne
Shall be exalted to the skies.
Poetry withdrew, and on the side of Interest Liberality advanced, and after having gone through her figures, said:
To give, while shunning each extreme,
The sparing hand, the over-free,
Therein consists, so wise men deem,
The virtue Liberality.
But thee, fair lady, to enrich,
Myself a prodigal I’ll prove,
A vice not wholly shameful, which
May find its fair excuse in love.
In the same manner all the characters of the two bands advanced and retired, and each executed its figures, and delivered its verses, some of them graceful, some burlesque, but Don Quixote’s memory (though he had an excellent one) only carried away those that have been just quoted. All then mingled together, forming chains and breaking off again with graceful, unconstrained gaiety; and whenever Love passed in front of the castle he shot his arrows up at it, while Interest broke gilded pellets against it. At length, after they had danced a good while, Interest drew out a great purse, made of the skin of a large brindled cat and to all appearance full of money, and flung it at the castle, and with the force of the blow the boards fell asunder and tumbled down, leaving the damsel exposed and unprotected. Interest and the characters of his band advanced, and throwing a great chain of gold over her neck pretended to take her and lead her away captive, on seeing which, Love and his supporters made as though they would release her, the whole action being to the accompaniment of the tabors and in the form of a regular dance. The wild men made peace between them, and with great dexterity readjusted and fixed the boards of the castle, and the damsel once more ensconced herself within; and with this the dance wound up, to the great enjoyment of the beholders.
Don Quixote asked one of the nymphs who it was that had composed and arranged it. She replied that it was a beneficiary of the town who had a nice taste in devising things of the sort. “I will lay a wager,” said Don Quixote, “that the same bachelor or beneficiary is a greater friend of Camacho’s than of Basilio’s, and that he is better at satire than at vespers; he has introduced the accomplishments of Basilio and the riches of Camacho very neatly into the dance.” Sancho Panza, who was listening to all this, exclaimed, “The king is my cock; I stick to Camacho.” “It is easy to see thou art a clown, Sancho,” said Don Quixote, “and one of that sort that cry ‘Long life to the conqueror.’”
“I don’t know of what sort I am,” returned Sancho, “but I know very well I’ll never get such elegant skimmings off Basilio’s pots as these I have got off Camacho’s;” and he showed him the bucketful of geese and hens, and seizing one began to eat with great gaiety and appetite, saying, “A fig for the accomplishments of Basilio! As much as thou hast so much art thou worth, and as much as thou art worth so much hast thou. As a grandmother of mine used to say, there are only two families in the world, the Haves and the Haven’ts; and she stuck to the Haves; and to this day, Senor Don Quixote, people would sooner feel the pulse of ‘Have,’ than of ‘Know;’ an ass covered with gold looks better than a horse with a pack-saddle. So once more I say I stick to Camacho, the bountiful skimmings of whose pots are geese and hens, hares and rabbits; but of Basilio’s , if any ever come to hand, or even to foot, they’ll be only rinsings.”
“Hast thou finished thy harangue, Sancho?” said Don Quixote. “Of course I have finished it,” replied Sancho, “because I see your worship takes offence at it; but if it was not for that, there was work enough cut out for three days.”
“God grant I may see thee dumb before I die, Sancho,” said Don Quixote.
“At the rate we are going,” said Sancho, “I’ll be chewing clay before your worship dies; and then, maybe, I’ll be so dumb that I’ll not say a word until the end of the world, or, at least, till the day of judgment.”
“Even should that happen, O Sancho,” said Don Quixote, “thy silence will never come up to all thou hast talked, art talking, and wilt talk all thy life; moreover, it naturally stands to reason, that my death will come before thine; so I never expect to see thee dumb, not even when thou art drinking or sleeping, and that is the utmost I can say.”
“In good faith, senor,” replied Sancho, “there’s no trusting that fleshless one, I mean Death, who devours the lamb as soon as the sheep, and, as I have heard our curate say, treads with equal foot upon the lofty towers of kings and the lowly huts of the poor. That lady is more mighty than dainty, she is no way squeamish, she devours all and is ready for all, and fills her alforjas with people of all sorts, ages, and ranks. She is no reaper that sleeps out the noontide; at all times she is reaping and cutting down, as well the dry grass as the green; she never seems to chew, but bolts and swallows all that is put before her, for she has a canine appetite that is never satisfied; and though she has no belly, she shows she has a dropsy and is athirst to drink the lives of all that live, as one would drink a jug of cold water.”
“Say no more, Sancho,” said Don Quixote at this; “don’t try to better it, and risk a fall; for in truth what thou hast said about death in thy rustic phrase is what a good preacher might have said. I tell thee, Sancho, if thou hadst discretion equal to thy mother wit, thou mightst take a pulpit in hand, and go about the world preaching fine sermons.” “He preaches well who lives well,” said Sancho, “and I know no more theology than that.”
“Nor needst thou,” said Don Quixote, “but I cannot conceive or make out how it is that, the fear of God being the beginning of wisdom, thou, who art more afraid of a lizard than of him, knowest so much.”
“Pass judgment on your chivalries, senor,” returned Sancho, “and don’t set yourself up to judge of other men’s fears or braveries, for I am as good a fearer of God as my neighbours; but leave me to despatch these skimmings, for all the rest is only idle talk that we shall be called to account for in the other world;” and so saying, he began a fresh attack on the bucket, with such a hearty appetite that he aroused Don Quixote’s , who no doubt would have helped him had he not been prevented by what must be told farther on.
 
曙光初照，太阳神还没来得及以炽热的光芒揩干它金发上的露珠，唐吉诃德就活动着懒洋洋的四肢，站了起来，去叫桑乔。桑乔此时仍鼾声不止。唐吉诃德见状没有马上叫醒他，只是对他说：
“你呀，真是世界上最有福气的人。你心绪平静，不用嫉妒别人，也没有别人嫉妒你；魔法师不跟你捣乱，魔法也不找你的麻烦！睡吧，我再说一遍，我可以再说一百遍。你不必担心自己的老婆，不必操心如何还债，不必为第二天干什么来养活你和你那小小的苦难家庭而彻夜不眠。你不必由于野心勃勃而蠢蠢欲动，也没有什么虚幻可以让你烦躁不安；你的愿望从来没有超出喂养你的驴的范围，而供养你的担子则落到了我的肩上，这种负担从来都是自然而然地落到主人身上的。仆人睡了，主人却在熬夜，得考虑如何养活仆人，如何改善他的条件，如何奖赏他。老天冰冷着脸不下雨，仆人不愁，主人却心忧。丰年仆人服侍主人，荒年主人得养活仆人。”
唐吉诃德说了半天，桑乔并不理会，他还睡着呢。若不是唐吉诃德用矛头把他弄醒，他肯定不会马上起来。桑乔好不容易才起来了。他睡眼惺忪地、懒洋洋地环顾四周，说道：
“如果我没搞错的话，从那个树枝棚方向传来了一股用灯心草和百里香烤肉条的气味。我在心里担保，开始就是这么好的味道，那婚宴一定很丰盛。”
“够了，馋嘴！”唐吉诃德说，“过来，咱们去看看婚礼，看看那个受到冷落的巴西利奥会干什么吧。”
“他爱干什么就干什么吧，”桑乔说，“要不是他穷，他现在就同基特里亚结婚了。他身无分文还想高攀？依我看，大人，穷人就应该知足常乐，别异想天开。我敢用我的一只胳臂打赌，卡马乔完全能够用钱把巴西利奥埋起来。如果是这样，而且也应该是这样，那么，若是基特里亚回绝卡马乔送给她的华丽的衣服和首饰，因为卡马乔肯定会送给她的，却选择巴西利奥的掷棒和耍黑剑，那她就真是个大笨蛋了。掷棒掷得再好，击剑时假动作做得再漂亮，也换不来酒店里的一杯葡萄酒。技巧和水平卖不了钱，迪尔洛斯伯爵再有水平也赚不了钱。一个有水平的人如果再有钱，那才是像样的日子。在良好的基础上才盖得起高水平的大楼来，而世界上最坚实的基础就是钱。”
“看在上帝份上，桑乔，”唐吉诃德说，“你赶紧住嘴吧。我相信，如果允许你到处都说起来没个完，你恐怕连吃饭和睡觉的时间都不会有，得把所有的时间都用来说话了。”
“如果您记性不错，”桑乔说，“大概还记得，咱们这次出来之前曾有约定，其中一条就是让我任意说话，只要我不攻击别人，不冒犯您的尊严。直到现在，我觉得我还没有违犯这项约定。”
“我不记得有这条约定，桑乔，”唐吉诃德说，“即使有，我也要让你住嘴。你听，昨天晚上咱们听到过的那些乐器演奏的乐曲，今天又在村子里响起来了，婚礼肯定是在凉爽的上午，而不是在炎热的下午举行。”
桑乔按照主人的吩咐办了。他给罗西南多备了鞍，又给他的驴套上了驮鞍，两个人骑着牲口慢慢走进了树枝棚。首先映入桑乔眼帘的是在一棵当作烤肉叉用的榆树上正烤着整只的小牛，用来烤肉的木柴堆起来足有半座小山高。火周围还吊着六只锅，不过这可不是六只普通的锅，而是六个大坛子，每只锅都能盛下一个屠宰场的肉。一只只整羊放进去，就像放进几只雏鸽似的。无数只已经剥了皮的兔子和褪了毛的鸡挂在树上等待下锅，各种各样的飞禽猎物不计其数，也都挂在树上晾着。能装两阿罗瓦酒的酒囊，桑乔数了数，足有六十多个，而且后来知道里面都装满了上等葡萄酒。成堆的白面包堆得像打麦场上的麦垛一样高，奶酪就像砖头那样码在一起，形成了一堵墙，两口比染锅还大的油锅正在炸面食，两只特号的大铲子把炸好的面食从油锅里捞出来，放进旁边一口用来裹蜜的大锅里。五十多个男女厨师穿得干干净净，既高兴又利索地忙碌着。在破开的小牛肚子里，缝着十二只嫩嫩的猪崽，这样烤出来的牛肉更加肉嫩味美。各种各样的调料看来不是论磅，而是论阿罗瓦买来的，都放在一个敞开的大箱子里。总之，婚礼的场面虽然简朴，但食物极其丰盛，足够一支军队吃的。
桑乔看着这一切，欣赏着这一切，喜欢上了这一切。他首先被那些大锅吸引住了，很想先吃它半锅；接着，他又馋上了酒囊；最后，他盯上了煎锅里的东西，假如那些大肚子锅能够叫做煎锅的话。他实在忍不住，而且什么也干不下去了，就跑到一个正在忙碌的厨师身旁，客客气气地解释了一番自己的饿劲儿，请求厨师允许自己讨点锅里的汤来泡泡自己带的干面包。
厨师回答说：
“兄弟，感谢富豪卡马乔，今天不分什么穷人不穷人了。你来，找找看有没有大勺子，先捞一两只鸡，好好吃一顿吧。”
“我找不到勺子。”桑乔说。
“你等等，”厨师说，“我的天，你这个人办事真够磨蹭的，真没用！”
说完他抓起一只锅，从一个大坛子里舀出三只鸡和两只鹅，对桑乔说：
“吃吧，朋友，先吃这点儿当点心，一会儿再吃正餐。”
“我没家伙拿呀。”桑乔说。
“你连锅端走吧，”厨师说，“卡马乔有钱，今天又高兴，不在乎这点儿。”
桑乔在这边忙活的时候，唐吉诃德正在那边观看十二个农夫骑着十二匹马进了树枝棚。十二匹骏马都配着华丽鲜艳的马具，胸带上戴着铃铛。十二个人都穿着节日的盛装，井然有序地排成几行绕着草地慢跑，边跑边欢呼：
“卡马乔和基特里亚万岁！郎财女貌，基特里亚是世界上最美丽的女人！”
唐吉诃德心里想：看来，他们肯定没见过托博索的杜尔西内亚。如果他们见过，就不会这样赞颂这个基特里亚了。
很快又有各种各样的舞队从四面八方走进了树枝棚，其中有一支是剑舞队，二十四个英姿勃勃的小伙子穿着又细又白的麻布衣，头上戴着五颜六色的细绸巾。一伙灵巧的少年在前面引路。骑马的一个人问舞队中是否有谁受了伤。
“感谢上帝，到现在我们还没有任何人受伤，大家都挺好的。”
然后，他进入伙伴们的队伍里，灵巧地转着圈。唐吉诃德虽然见过这种舞蹈，但像今天跳得这么出色，他还是头一回看到。他觉得另一队风姿如玉的姑娘跳得也很不错。那些姑娘都很年轻，年龄都在二十四岁和十八岁之间，衣服都是帕尔米亚呢绒做的，头发有一部分扎成辫子，有一部分散披着，都是金黄色的，完全可以与太阳争辉。头上戴着用茉莉花、玫瑰、苋草和忍冬藤编成的花环。领队的是一位令人尊敬的老头和一位老妇，但是他们跳得轻松自如，远不像他们那个年纪的人。大家随着萨莫拉风笛的旋律起舞，表情庄重，步履轻盈，堪称是世界上最优秀的舞蹈表演家。
接着是一支技巧舞队和一支被称为“告示舞”的舞队。八个仙女分成两队，一队由爱神丘比特率领，另一队由财神打头。爱神的身上有两只翅膀，还带着弓、箭和箭袋，财神则穿金戴绸，五彩缤纷。跟随爱神的仙女每人背上都有一张白羊皮纸，分别用大字写着自己的名字。第一个仙女的名字是“诗艺”，第二个叫“才智”，第三个是“豪门”，第四个称为“勇敢”。财神身后跟随的仙女们也同样背着自己的名字。“慷慨”是第一个仙女的名字，“赠与”是第二个仙女的名字，第三个仙女叫“财富”，第四个叫“享受”。队伍最前面是由四个野人拖着的一座木制城堡。野人身上裹着染成绿色的麻布，再缠上长春藤。他们装扮得太逼真了，把桑乔吓了一跳。城堡的正门上方和城堡的四面都写着“谦逊之堡”的字样，四个鼓乐手和笛手演奏着乐曲。丘比特开始跳舞。他跳了两个组合动作，然后抬头张弓，向站在城堞之间的一位少女说道：
无论是在天空、陆地，
还是在波涛起伏的辽阔海洋，
或是在恐怖的阴间地府，
我都是
无所不能的神祇。
我从不知道什么叫畏惧。
人所不能，
我能实现；
人之所能，
我也能遂心任意。
念完诗后，他向城堡上射了一箭，然后退回原位。接着是财神出场。鼓乐声停止了，只听财神说道：
我比爱神更强，
爱神是我先导。
天上地下万物，
惟我门第最高，
最知名，最兀傲。
我就是财神，
但很少有人利用得好，
若无我能成事，那才蹊跷。
我可保佑你，
阿门，万事皆美妙。
财神退了下去，“诗艺”出场。她像其他几个人一样做了几个动作，然后眼睛盯着城堡上的少女，说道：
温情的才思，
温情的诗艺。
姑娘，我用我心
给你送去千首
孤傲高洁的诗。
即使你的佳运
遭到其他女人妒忌，
只要你不嫌弃，
我会让你升华到
超越月晕凌空立。
“诗艺”让开后，“慷慨”从财神身旁走出来。她做了几个动作，然后说道：
人们称我为慷慨，
只要我不是极度挥霍。
据说挥霍可以
把人的意志消磨。
然而为了你更加显贵，
我偏要极度挥霍，
尽管这是坏毛病，却也高尚，
满腔情爱
可借此尽情表露。
两队的各个角色就这样依次出场，每个人都做几个动作，再念几首诗，有的诗高雅华丽，有的诗令人捧腹。唐吉诃德的记性虽好，也只记住了前面说到的那几首。后来，所有的人都混在一起，分分合合，组成了各种美丽奔放的图案。爱神每次从城堡前面经过，就向城堡上射一箭；而财神从城堡前经过，就掷一个空心的金色彩球①，彩球落在城堡上就爆裂了。跳了好一阵后，财神掏出一个猫皮钱袋②，看样子里面装满了钱，把它也抛到城堡上。随着钱袋坠落，搭建城堡的木板散开，城堡里的少女暴露无遗。财神偕同他那队仙女，上前把一条大金链套到了少女的脖子上，表示已经俘虏并征服了她。爱神和他的仙女们看见了，连忙去抢她。所有这些表演都是载歌载舞，在鼓乐的伴奏下进行的。大家劝说四个野人停止了争斗。四个野人又把搭城堡的木板重新搭建起来，少女又像刚才一样重新藏在里面。大家高高兴兴地看着舞蹈表演全部结束。
①一种游戏。彩球如桔子大小，双方互掷，并用盾牌击碎对方的彩球。
②一种不将猫肚子剖开，而将猫皮完整剥下，用来装钱的皮袋。
唐吉诃德问一个仙女，是谁设计组织了这场舞蹈表演。仙女说是村里一位义演经纪人，他很善于编排这种活动。
“我敢打赌，”唐吉诃德说，“这个教士或义演经纪人亲卡马乔肯定胜过亲巴西利奥，而且更善于当讽刺剧的编导，而不是当主持晚祷的教士。舞蹈很好地表现了巴西利奥的才智和卡马乔的财富。”
这些话桑乔全听到了。桑乔说道：
“胜者为王，我站在卡马乔一边。”
“别说了，”唐吉诃德说，“桑乔，你真像一个势利小人，是那种喊‘胜者万岁’的人。”
“我到底属于哪种人我不知道。”桑乔说，“我只知道，从巴西利奥的锅里绝不会得到今天从卡马乔这儿得到的这么多吃的。”
桑乔把盛满鹅和鸡的锅拿给唐吉诃德看，抓起一只鸡，津津有味地吃起来，并且说道：
“巴西利奥完了，就因为他穷！你有多少钱就值多少钱。世界上的人只有两类，就像我祖母说的，那就是有钱人和没钱人。她站在有钱人那边。这年头儿，看什么都得先掂量掂量。一头披金的驴胜过一匹套着驮鞍的马。所以，我再说一遍，我站在卡马乔一边，他的锅里有的是鹅、鸡、兔子什么的。而在巴西利奥的锅里能得到什么呢？只剩下汤了。”
“你还有完没完了，桑乔？”唐吉诃德问。
“没完也得完呀，”桑乔说，“我已经看出来，您特别不爱听。若不是您打断我的话，我可以说三天。”
“上帝保佑，桑乔，”唐吉诃德说，“让我在死之前看到你成为哑巴！”
“要像咱们现在这个样子，”桑乔说，“不等您死，我就先入土了。那么，在世界末日到来之前，至少是最后审判日①到来之前，我肯定说不了话啦。”
①宗教中宣布世界末日来临的日子。
“就算是世界末日来临了，桑乔，”唐吉诃德说，“你也不会住嘴。你过去说，现在说，要说一辈子。而且，我死在你前面也是理所当然的事，所以，我从来不会想到你有不说话的时候，哪怕在你喝酒和睡觉的时候。这点我可以肯定。”
“说实在的，大人，”桑乔说，“对死神不必抱什么幻想，她是大羊小羊一样吃。我听我们的神甫讲过，无论是国王的深宅，还是穷人的茅屋，她的脚都一律踏平。这位老夫人一点儿也不娇气，没有什么她不敢的。她什么都敢吃，什么都敢做。无论什么人，不分年龄和地位，她统统装入自己的口袋。这位收割者从来不睡觉，总是不分时辰地收割，无论是干草还是绿苗都一律割掉。她吃东西似乎不嚼，把她能找到的东西都吞下去，像只饿狗似的，总是吃不够。虽然她并不是大腹便便，却总像患了水肿一般，焦渴难耐，就像人喝整坛子凉水一样，把所有有生命的东西都喝下去。”
“别再说了，桑乔，”唐吉诃德这时说，“你好自为之，适可而止吧。就冲你对死亡发表的这一番大实话，真可以说你是个杰出的说教者了。我告诉你，桑乔，你天生就聪明，完全可以随身带个布道台，到世界各地去慷慨陈词了。”
“别的我不懂，”桑乔说，“我只知道谁讲得好，谁就活得好。”
“你也不用再懂别的了。”唐吉诃德说，“不过我不明白，对上帝的惧怕本来是智慧的源泉，可你不怕上帝怕蜥蜴，却知道得那么多。”
“大人，关于您的骑士道，您愿意怎么办就怎么办。”桑乔说，“至于别人到底是惧怕还是勇敢，您就别操心了。我像所有的孩子一样惧怕上帝，这点我自己知道。您先让我把这些吃的消灭了吧，别的全是空话，等我们来世再说也行。”
说完桑乔又端着那只诱人的锅吃起来，这也激起了唐吉诃德的胃口。若不是由于下面又发生了事情，他肯定也会跟着吃起来。
Part 2 Chapter 21
While Don Quixote and Sancho were engaged in the discussion set forth the last chapter, they heard loud shouts and a great noise, which were uttered and made by the men on the mares as they went at full gallop, shouting, to receive the bride and bridegroom, who were approaching with musical instruments and pageantry of all sorts around them, and accompanied by the priest and the relatives of both, and all the most distinguished people of the surrounding villages. When Sancho saw the bride, he exclaimed, “By my faith, she is not dressed like a country girl, but like some fine court lady; egad, as well as I can make out, the patena she wears rich coral, and her green Cuenca stuff is thirty-pile velvet; and then the white linen trimming — by my oath, but it’s satin! Look at her hands — jet rings on them! May I never have luck if they’re not gold rings, and real gold, and set with pearls as white as a curdled milk, and every one of them worth an eye of one’s head! Whoreson baggage, what hair she has! if it’s not a wig, I never saw longer or fairer all the days of my life. See how bravely she bears herself — and her shape! Wouldn’t you say she was like a walking palm tree loaded with clusters of dates? for the trinkets she has hanging from her hair and neck look just like them. I swear in my heart she is a brave lass, and fit ‘to pass over the banks of Flanders.’”
Don Quixote laughed at Sancho’s boorish eulogies and thought that, saving his lady Dulcinea del Toboso, he had never seen a more beautiful woman. The fair Quiteria appeared somewhat pale, which was, no doubt, because of the bad night brides always pass dressing themselves out for their wedding on the morrow. They advanced towards a theatre that stood on one side of the meadow decked with carpets and boughs, where they were to plight their troth, and from which they were to behold the dances and plays; but at the moment of their arrival at the spot they heard a loud outcry behind them, and a voice exclaiming, “Wait a little, ye, as inconsiderate as ye are hasty!” At these words all turned round, and perceived that the speaker was a man clad in what seemed to be a loose black coat garnished with crimson patches like flames. He was crowned (as was presently seen) with a crown of gloomy cypress, and in his hand he held a long staff. As he approached he was recognised by everyone as the gay Basilio, and all waited anxiously to see what would come of his words, in dread of some catastrophe in consequence of his appearance at such a moment. He came up at last weary and breathless, and planting himself in front of the bridal pair, drove his staff, which had a steel spike at the end, into the ground, and, with a pale face and eyes fixed on Quiteria, he thus addressed her in a hoarse, trembling voice:
“Well dost thou know, ungrateful Quiteria, that according to the holy law we acknowledge, so long as live thou canst take no husband; nor art thou ignorant either that, in my hopes that time and my own exertions would improve my fortunes, I have never failed to observe the respect due to thy honour; but thou, casting behind thee all thou owest to my true love, wouldst surrender what is mine to another whose wealth serves to bring him not only good fortune but supreme happiness; and now to complete it (not that I think he deserves it, but inasmuch as heaven is pleased to bestow it upon him), I will, with my own hands, do away with the obstacle that may interfere with it, and remove myself from between you. Long live the rich Camacho! many a happy year may he live with the ungrateful Quiteria! and let the poor Basilio die, Basilio whose poverty clipped the wings of his happiness, and brought him to the grave!”
And so saying, he seized the staff he had driven into the ground, and leaving one half of it fixed there, showed it to be a sheath that concealed a tolerably long rapier; and, what may he called its hilt being planted in the ground, he swiftly, coolly, and deliberately threw himself upon it, and in an instant the bloody point and half the steel blade appeared at his back, the unhappy man falling to the earth bathed in his blood, and transfixed by his own weapon.
His friends at once ran to his aid, filled with grief at his misery and sad fate, and Don Quixote, dismounting from Rocinante, hastened to support him, and took him in his arms, and found he had not yet ceased to breathe. They were about to draw out the rapier, but the priest who was standing by objected to its being withdrawn before he had confessed him, as the instant of its withdrawal would be that of this death. Basilio, however, reviving slightly, said in a weak voice, as though in pain, “If thou wouldst consent, cruel Quiteria, to give me thy hand as my bride in this last fatal moment, I might still hope that my rashness would find pardon, as by its means I attained the bliss of being thine.”
Hearing this the priest bade him think of the welfare of his soul rather than of the cravings of the body, and in all earnestness implore God’s pardon for his sins and for his rash resolve; to which Basilio replied that he was determined not to confess unless Quiteria first gave him her hand in marriage, for that happiness would compose his mind and give him courage to make his confession.
Don Quixote hearing the wounded man’s entreaty, exclaimed aloud that what Basilio asked was just and reasonable, and moreover a request that might be easily complied with; and that it would be as much to Senor Camacho’s honour to receive the lady Quiteria as the widow of the brave Basilio as if he received her direct from her father.
“In this case,” said he, “it will be only to say ‘yes,’ and no consequences can follow the utterance of the word, for the nuptial couch of this marriage must be the grave.”
Camacho was listening to all this, perplexed and bewildered and not knowing what to say or do; but so urgent were the entreaties of Basilio’s friends, imploring him to allow Quiteria to give him her hand, so that his soul, quitting this life in despair, should not be lost, that they moved, nay, forced him, to say that if Quiteria were willing to give it he was satisfied, as it was only putting off the fulfillment of his wishes for a moment. At once all assailed Quiteria and pressed her, some with prayers, and others with tears, and others with persuasive arguments, to give her hand to poor Basilio; but she, harder than marble and more unmoved than any statue, seemed unable or unwilling to utter a word, nor would she have given any reply had not the priest bade her decide quickly what she meant to do, as Basilio now had his soul at his teeth, and there was no time for hesitation.
 
On this the fair Quiteria, to all appearance distressed, grieved, and repentant, advanced without a word to where Basilio lay, his eyes already turned in his head, his breathing short and painful, murmuring the name of Quiteria between his teeth, and apparently about to die like a heathen and not like a Christian. Quiteria approached him, and kneeling, demanded his hand by signs without speaking. Basilio opened his eyes and gazing fixedly at her, said, “O Quiteria, why hast thou turned compassionate at a moment when thy compassion will serve as a dagger to rob me of life, for I have not now the strength left either to bear the happiness thou givest me in accepting me as thine, or to suppress the pain that is rapidly drawing the dread shadow of death over my eyes? What I entreat of thee, O thou fatal star to me, is that the hand thou demandest of me and wouldst give me, be not given out of complaisance or to deceive me afresh, but that thou confess and declare that without any constraint upon thy will thou givest it to me as to thy lawful husband; for it is not meet that thou shouldst trifle with me at such a moment as this, or have recourse to falsehoods with one who has dealt so truly by thee.”
While uttering these words he showed such weakness that the bystanders expected each return of faintness would take his life with it. Then Quiteria, overcome with modesty and shame, holding in her right hand the hand of Basilio, said, “No force would bend my will; as freely, therefore, as it is possible for me to do so, I give thee the hand of a lawful wife, and take thine if thou givest it to me of thine own free will, untroubled and unaffected by the calamity thy hasty act has brought upon thee.”
“Yes, I give it,” said Basilio, “not agitated or distracted, but with unclouded reason that heaven is pleased to grant me, thus do I give myself to be thy husband.”
“And I give myself to be thy wife,” said Quiteria, “whether thou livest many years, or they carry thee from my arms to the grave.”
“For one so badly wounded,” observed Sancho at this point, “this young man has a great deal to say; they should make him leave off billing and cooing, and attend to his soul; for to my thinking he has it more on his tongue than at his teeth.”
Basilio and Quiteria having thus joined hands, the priest, deeply moved and with tears in his eyes, pronounced the blessing upon them, and implored heaven to grant an easy passage to the soul of the newly wedded man, who, the instant he received the blessing, started nimbly to his feet and with unparalleled effrontery pulled out the rapier that had been sheathed in his body. All the bystanders were astounded, and some, more simple than inquiring, began shouting, “A miracle, a miracle!” But Basilio replied, “No miracle, no miracle; only a trick, a trick!” The priest, perplexed and amazed, made haste to examine the wound with both hands, and found that the blade had passed, not through Basilio’s flesh and ribs, but through a hollow iron tube full of blood, which he had adroitly fixed at the place, the blood, as was afterwards ascertained, having been so prepared as not to congeal. In short, the priest and Camacho and most of those present saw they were tricked and made fools of. The bride showed no signs of displeasure at the deception; on the contrary, hearing them say that the marriage, being fraudulent, would not be valid, she said that she confirmed it afresh, whence they all concluded that the affair had been planned by agreement and understanding between the pair, whereat Camacho and his supporters were so mortified that they proceeded to revenge themselves by violence, and a great number of them drawing their swords attacked Basilio, in whose protection as many more swords were in an instant unsheathed, while Don Quixote taking the lead on horseback, with his lance over his arm and well covered with his shield, made all give way before him. Sancho, who never found any pleasure or enjoyment in such doings, retreated to the wine-jars from which he had taken his delectable skimmings, considering that, as a holy place, that spot would be respected.
“Hold, sirs, hold!” cried Don Quixote in a loud voice; “we have no right to take vengeance for wrongs that love may do to us: remember love and war are the same thing, and as in war it is allowable and common to make use of wiles and stratagems to overcome the enemy, so in the contests and rivalries of love the tricks and devices employed to attain the desired end are justifiable, provided they be not to the discredit or dishonour of the loved object. Quiteria belonged to Basilio and Basilio to Quiteria by the just and beneficent disposal of heaven. Camacho is rich, and can purchase his pleasure when, where, and as it pleases him. Basilio has but this ewe-lamb, and no one, however powerful he may be, shall take her from him; these two whom God hath joined man cannot separate; and he who attempts it must first pass the point of this lance;” and so saying he brandished it so stoutly and dexterously that he overawed all who did not know him.
But so deep an impression had the rejection of Quiteria made on Camacho’s mind that it banished her at once from his thoughts; and so the counsels of the priest, who was a wise and kindly disposed man, prevailed with him, and by their means he and his partisans were pacified and tranquillised, and to prove it put up their swords again, inveighing against the pliancy of Quiteria rather than the craftiness of Basilio; Camacho maintaining that, if Quiteria as a maiden had such a love for Basilio, she would have loved him too as a married woman, and that he ought to thank heaven more for having taken her than for having given her.
Camacho and those of his following, therefore, being consoled and pacified, those on Basilio’s side were appeased; and the rich Camacho, to show that he felt no resentment for the trick, and did not care about it, desired the festival to go on just as if he were married in reality. Neither Basilio, however, nor his bride, nor their followers would take any part in it, and they withdrew to Basilio’s village; for the poor, if they are persons of virtue and good sense, have those who follow, honour, and uphold them, just as the rich have those who flatter and dance attendance on them. With them they carried Don Quixote, regarding him as a man of worth and a stout one. Sancho alone had a cloud on his soul, for he found himself debarred from waiting for Camacho’s splendid feast and festival, which lasted until night; and thus dragged away, he moodily followed his master, who accompanied Basilio’s party, and left behind him the flesh-pots of Egypt; though in his heart he took them with him, and their now nearly finished skimmings that he carried in the bucket conjured up visions before his eyes of the glory and abundance of the good cheer he was losing. And so, vexed and dejected though not hungry, without dismounting from Dapple he followed in the footsteps of Rocinante.
 
唐吉诃德和桑乔正议论着前章说到的话题，忽听传来一阵喧闹之声。原来是一群马排成长长的队伍，热热闹闹地迎接新婚夫妇。马队周围是各种各样的乐器和表演，以及神甫、新郎新娘双方的亲属和邻村的头面人物。所有人都穿着节日的盛装。桑乔一看见新娘就说道：
“新娘穿戴得完全不像农妇，倒像是宫廷淑女。天哪，我看见她戴的胸章是珊瑚做的，那身昆卡出的帕尔米亚呢绒是三十层的！你看，饰边是用白麻纱做的！我敢保证，那是缎子的！再看她那手上，戴的若不是玉石戒指那才怪呢。那戒指太精美了，上面还镶满了凝乳般的白珍珠，每一颗的价值都很昂贵。嘿，婊子养的①！瞧那头发，若不是假发，像这么长又这么金黄的头发，我这辈子还从来没见过呢！无论是气质还是身材，你简直挑不出一点毛病来。还可以把她比喻为挂满了果实的能走动的椰枣树，她头发和脖子上的各种首饰就像树上的一串串椰枣。我从心里发誓，这才是高雅的姑娘，才值得一娶哩。”
①此处桑乔表示赞叹。
唐吉诃德听了桑乔这番粗俗的赞扬不禁哑然失笑。同时，他也觉得除了托博索的杜尔西内亚夫人之外，比这位基特里亚更漂亮的女人，他确实没见过。美女基特里亚迎面走来，面色有些苍白，这大概是睡眠不足所致。做新娘的大致都这样，在举行婚礼的前一天晚上忙于打扮，总是睡不好。他们走近草地旁边一座铺满了地毯和鲜花的看台，婚礼和舞蹈演出都将在那里举行。这时，他们忽然听到一阵喊声，其中一个声音喊道：
“等一等，干吗那么着急！”
大家闻声回头，原来是一个身穿带洋红色条饰的黑外套的男人在喊。后来人们发现，他头上戴着一顶办丧事用的柏枝冠，手里还拿着一根长长的手杖。待那人走近，大家认出他就是英俊青年巴西利奥。大家都呆住了，不知道他喊大家停下来要干什么，唯恐发生什么不测。
巴西利奥赶来了。他累得上气不接下气，站在新婚夫妇面前，把手杖带钢头的一端戳在地上，面无血色，两眼盯着基特里亚，声音颤抖而又沙哑地说道：
“忘恩负义的基特里亚，你完全清楚，按照咱们信奉的神圣法则，只要我还活着，你就不应该嫁给别人。同时，你也不是不知道，我本来指望随着时间的推移，再加上我的才智，我的家境会好起来，因此对你的名誉一直很尊重。可是，你竟然辜负了我的一片苦心，不嫁给我，却想嫁给别人！他的财富不仅可以使你过得很富裕，而且可以使你过得很幸福。为了让你幸福如意，尽管我觉得你不配，但这是天意，我要用我自己的双手清除可能妨碍你们的障碍，自寻短见。万岁，富豪卡马乔和负心女基特里亚万岁！祝他们幸福千秋！死吧，让穷人巴西利奥死吧，是他的贫穷使他失去了幸福，把他送入了坟墓！”
说完他拔起戳在地上的手杖，露出了留在地上的长剑，原来这是一把带剑的手杖的剑鞘，可以称之为剑柄的一头仍戳在地里。巴西利奥泰然自若，但却横心已定地往上一扑，剑尖和半截钢剑立刻从他的脊背上血淋淋地露了出来。可怜的巴西利奥被自己的剑刺倒在地，躺在了血泊中。
他的朋友们立刻围上来救他，对他给自己造成的不幸感到悲痛万分。唐吉诃德也下马赶来救巴西利奥。唐吉诃德抱起他，发现他还没断气。大家想把剑拔出来，可是在场的一位神甫却认为，在巴西利奥忏悔之前不能把剑拔出来，因为只要一拔剑，他立刻就会咽气。此时巴西利奥已经有些苏醒了。他声音痛苦而又有气无力地说道：
“如果你愿意的话，狠心的基特里亚，在这最后的危难时刻，请你把手伸给我，同意做我的妻子。我仍然想让我的莽撞能得到些宽慰，也就是能让我属于你。”
神甫听到此话后对他说，应该首先考虑自己的精神健康，其次才是身体的需要。神甫还十分诚恳地祈求上帝宽恕巴西利奥的罪恶和轻生。巴西利奥回答说，如果基特里亚不把手伸给他，同意做他的妻子，他无论如何也不会忏悔。只有基特里亚同意了，他才可能改变主意，才有气力忏悔。
唐吉诃德听了巴西利奥的请求后，高声说他的请求合情合理，而且可行；无论是把基特里亚作为英雄巴西利奥的遗孀娶过来，还是把她从她父母身边直接娶过来，卡马乔都同样体面。
“这里只是一句‘愿意’的问题，并不会有任何实际效果，因为在这种情况下，巴西利奥的婚礼只能是他的葬礼了。”
卡马乔听了此话，惶惶然不知如何说以及如何做才好。可是，巴西利奥的朋友们却七嘴八舌地要求卡马乔同意基特里亚把手伸给巴西利奥，做巴西利奥的妻子，以便这个在绝望中轻生的灵魂得到安慰。卡马乔一方面动了恻隐之心，另一方面也是迫不得已，说只要基特里亚愿意，他也同意，因为这不过是把自己的婚礼推迟一会儿的问题。
大家又围到基特里亚身旁。有的人再三请求，有的人以泪代言，有的人以理力争，劝她把手伸给可怜的巴西利奥。基特里亚一动不动，呆若木鸡，好像她不知道、不能够也不愿意答话似的。若不是神甫说她得马上决定到底怎么办，巴西利奥已经奄奄一息，容不得她再犹豫不决，恐怕基特里亚仍然会默不作声。
这样，美女基特里才一言不发、心烦意乱而且看起来似乎有些忧伤地来到巴西利奥身旁。此时巴西利奥已眼睛上翻，呼吸急促，但仍在不断地念叨基特里亚的名字，看来他等不及做忏悔就会死去。基特里亚走过来跪在巴西利奥身边，没有说话，只是示意巴西利奥把手伸出来。
巴西利奥睁大了眼睛，仔细看着她，说道：
“基特里亚，你这时才动了同情心，可是你的同情心现在只能是一把结束我的生命的匕首。我现在已经无力接受你同意嫁给我的荣耀，也无法驱除由于死亡幽灵即将合上我的眼睛而带来的痛苦了。我恳求你，我的灾星，不要为了应付我，也不要为了再次欺骗我，才让我伸出手来，并且把你的手也伸给我；我要你承认，你是心甘情愿地把手伸给我的，同意我做你的合法丈夫。在这种时刻，你再骗我，或者以虚情假意来对待我对你的一片真心，就毫无道理了。”
巴西利奥说着就昏了过去，在场的人都以为巴西利奥这回已魂归西天了。基特里亚郑重而又羞愧地用自己的右手抓住巴西利奥的右手，对他说道：
“任何力量都无法扭转我的意志。我心甘情愿地把我的右手伸给你，愿意做你的妻子，也接受你心甘情愿地伸来的右手，只要这个突如其来的意外并没有扰乱你的意识。”
“我把手伸给你。”巴西利奥说，“我并没有糊涂，而且老天照应，我的意识非常清楚。我把手伸给你，愿意做你的丈夫。”
“我愿意做你的妻子，”基特里亚说，“无论你寿比南山，还是就在我的怀抱里魂归西天。”
“这个小伙子受了那么重的伤，怎么还说那么多的话？”桑乔这时说，“别再让他卿卿我我了，先保重自己的灵魂吧。我觉得他现在光顾得说了。”
巴西利奥和基特里亚的手拉到了一起。神父不禁动情，潸然泪下，为他们祝福，祈求老天让新郎的灵魂得以安息。这位新郎刚受到祝福，就马上很轻松地站了起来，带着一种不易察觉的狡黠拔出了自己体内的剑。在场的人都很惊奇。有几个好奇心盛的人没有多想就喊起来：
“奇迹！真是奇迹！”
可是巴西利奥却说道：
“不是奇迹，而是巧计。”
神甫莫名其妙，立刻用双手扒开巴西利奥的伤口察看，发现原来并没有刺破巴西利奥的肉和骨头，只是刺破了巴西利奥准备的一支铁管。铁管里装满了血，放在一个合适的位置上。据后来所知，巴西利奥进行了精心配制，所以血不会凝固。
于是神甫、卡马乔和其他所有在场的人都感到被愚弄了。基特里亚却并不为这场闹剧难过；相反，当她听说这婚姻是骗局，因而无效时，却再次声明自己愿意同巴西利奥结婚。大家断定这是两人精心策划的骗局。卡马乔和他的那些人愤怒至极，拔出剑向巴西利奥冲去，要找他算帐。可是，马上又有很多人出来帮助巴西利奥。这时，唐吉诃德手持长矛，用盾挡着自己的身体，一马当先冲了出来。大家忙为唐吉诃德让出一块地方。桑乔对这种争斗之事从来不感兴趣。。刚才他从大坛子里尝到了美味，现在他又跑到大坛子旁边，把那儿看得像圣地似的。唐吉诃德大声说道：
“且慢，诸位大人，为爱情失意而进行报复是没有道理的。爱情同战争一样。在战争中，利用计谋战胜敌人是合法而且常用的办法。同样，在爱情的竞争中，也可以把善意的计谋用作达到自己预期的目标的一种手段，只要它不损害他们所爱的人的名誉就行。基特里亚属于巴西利奥，巴西利奥属于基特里亚，这是天意的合理安排。卡马乔很富裕，他随时随地都可以随意买到自己喜欢的东西。而巴西利奥只剩下一只羊了，任何人，不管他的势力有多大，也不应该夺走他这只羊。上帝把两个人安排在一起，那么，任何人也不应该把他们分开。谁如果想把他们分开，那就首先尝尝我的矛头吧。”
说完，唐吉诃德用力而又灵巧地挥舞起手中的长矛，使那些初识他的人大惊失色。卡马乔刚才一时忘了基特里亚的存在，现在才想起自己已被基特里亚抛弃，仍然耿耿于怀。神甫是个办事谨慎、心地善良的人。卡马乔听从了神甫的劝告，连同他的人一起平静下来，把他们的剑都放回了原处。此时他们并不在意巴西利奥的计谋，只是埋怨基特里亚轻率。卡马乔心想，基特里亚还没出嫁就那么爱巴西利奥，现在同巴西利奥结了婚，就会更加爱他。应该感谢上帝没有把基特里亚给他，而是把她从自己身边夺走了。
卡马乔和他这边的人都安静下来，巴西利奥那边的人也都不说话了。富豪卡马乔为了表示自己对这场闹剧并不介意，就想让婚礼继续举行下去，只当是他在结婚一样。不过，巴西利奥和基特里亚以及他们的那些人却不想这样举行婚礼，就回巴西利奥的村子去了。有钱人能受到一些人的阿谀奉承，品德高尚、头脑机敏的穷人同样也会有人追随、敬重和保护。
巴西利奥那些人觉得唐吉诃德有胆有识，就邀请唐吉诃德随他们回自己的村子去。只有桑乔怏怏不乐，他本来期待着卡马乔那丰盛的宴请，据说那天的宴请后来一直持续到晚上。桑乔跟在与巴西利奥那些人同行的主人后面，闷头赶路，虽然心中念念不忘，也只好把豪华安逸远远抛到身后，这指的是他那锅差不多吃完了的鸡和鹅。桑乔现在虽然不饿了，心中却仍然不快，只是若有所思地骑着驴，跟在罗西南多后面。
Part 2 Chapter 22
Many and great were the attentions shown to Don Quixote by the newly married couple, who felt themselves under an obligation to him for coming forward in defence of their cause; and they exalted his wisdom to the same level with his courage, rating him as a Cid in arms, and a Cicero in eloquence. Worthy Sancho enjoyed himself for three days at the expense of the pair, from whom they learned that the sham wound was not a scheme arranged with the fair Quiteria, but a device of Basilio’s , who counted on exactly the result they had seen; he confessed, it is true, that he had confided his idea to some of his friends, so that at the proper time they might aid him in his purpose and insure the success of the deception.
 
“That,” said Don Quixote, “is not and ought not to be called deception which aims at virtuous ends;” and the marriage of lovers he maintained to be a most excellent end, reminding them, however, that love has no greater enemy than hunger and constant want; for love is all gaiety, enjoyment, and happiness, especially when the lover is in the possession of the object of his love, and poverty and want are the declared enemies of all these; which he said to urge Senor Basilio to abandon the practice of those accomplishments he was skilled in, for though they brought him fame, they brought him no money, and apply himself to the acquisition of wealth by legitimate industry, which will never fail those who are prudent and persevering. The poor man who is a man of honour (if indeed a poor man can be a man of honour) has a jewel when he has a fair wife, and if she is taken from him, his honour is taken from him and slain. The fair woman who is a woman of honour, and whose husband is poor, deserves to be crowned with the laurels and crowns of victory and triumph. Beauty by itself attracts the desires of all who behold it, and the royal eagles and birds of towering flight stoop on it as on a dainty lure; but if beauty be accompanied by want and penury, then the ravens and the kites and other birds of prey assail it, and she who stands firm against such attacks well deserves to be called the crown of her husband. “Remember, O prudent Basilio,” added Don Quixote, “it was the opinion of a certain sage, I know not whom, that there was not more than one good woman in the whole world; and his advice was that each one should think and believe that this one good woman was his own wife, and in this way he would live happy. I myself am not married, nor, so far, has it ever entered my thoughts to be so; nevertheless I would venture to give advice to anyone who might ask it, as to the mode in which he should seek a wife such as he would be content to marry. The first thing I would recommend him, would be to look to good name rather than to wealth, for a good woman does not win a good name merely by being good, but by letting it he seen that she is so, and open looseness and freedom do much more damage to a woman’s honour than secret depravity. If you take a good woman into your house it will he an easy matter to keep her good, and even to make her still better; but if you take a bad one you will find it hard work to mend her, for it is no very easy matter to pass from one extreme to another. I do not say it is impossible, but I look upon it as difficult.”
Sancho, listening to all this, said to himself, “This master of mine, when I say anything that has weight and substance, says I might take a pulpit in hand, and go about the world preaching fine sermons; but I say of him that, when he begins stringing maxims together and giving advice not only might he take a pulpit in hand, but two on each finger, and go into the market-places to his heart’s content. Devil take you for a knight-errant, what a lot of things you know! I used to think in my heart that the only thing he knew was what belonged to his chivalry; but there is nothing he won’t have a finger in.”
Sancho muttered this somewhat aloud, and his master overheard him, and asked, “What art thou muttering there, Sancho?”
“I’m not saying anything or muttering anything,” said Sancho; “I was only saying to myself that I wish I had heard what your worship has said just now before I married; perhaps I’d say now, ‘The ox that’s loose licks himself well.’”
“Is thy Teresa so bad then, Sancho?”
“She is not very bad,” replied Sancho; “but she is not very good; at least she is not as good as I could wish.”
“Thou dost wrong, Sancho,” said Don Quixote, “to speak ill of thy wife; for after all she is the mother of thy children.” “We are quits,” returned Sancho; “for she speaks ill of me whenever she takes it into her head, especially when she is jealous; and Satan himself could not put up with her then.”
In fine, they remained three days with the newly married couple, by whom they were entertained and treated like kings. Don Quixote begged the fencing licentiate to find him a guide to show him the way to the cave of Montesinos, as he had a great desire to enter it and see with his own eyes if the wonderful tales that were told of it all over the country were true. The licentiate said he would get him a cousin of his own, a famous scholar, and one very much given to reading books of chivalry, who would have great pleasure in conducting him to the mouth of the very cave, and would show him the lakes of Ruidera, which were likewise famous all over La Mancha, and even all over Spain; and he assured him he would find him entertaining, for he was a youth who could write books good enough to be printed and dedicated to princes. The cousin arrived at last, leading an ass in foal, with a pack-saddle covered with a parti-coloured carpet or sackcloth; Sancho saddled Rocinante, got Dapple ready, and stocked his alforjas, along with which went those of the cousin, likewise well filled; and so, commending themselves to God and bidding farewell to all, they set out, taking the road for the famous cave of Montesinos.
On the way Don Quixote asked the cousin of what sort and character his pursuits, avocations, and studies were, to which he replied that he was by profession a humanist, and that his pursuits and studies were making books for the press, all of great utility and no less entertainment to the nation. One was called “The Book of Liveries,” in which he described seven hundred and three liveries, with their colours, mottoes, and ciphers, from which gentlemen of the court might pick and choose any they fancied for festivals and revels, without having to go a-begging for them from anyone, or puzzling their brains, as the saying is, to have them appropriate to their objects and purposes; “for,” said he, “I give the jealous, the rejected, the forgotten, the absent, what will suit them, and fit them without fail. I have another book, too, which I shall call ‘Metamorphoses, or the Spanish Ovid,’ one of rare and original invention, for imitating Ovid in burlesque style, I show in it who the Giralda of Seville and the Angel of the Magdalena were, what the sewer of Vecinguerra at Cordova was, what the bulls of Guisando, the Sierra Morena, the Leganitos and Lavapies fountains at Madrid, not forgetting those of the Piojo, of the Cano Dorado, and of the Priora; and all with their allegories, metaphors, and changes, so that they are amusing, interesting, and instructive, all at once. Another book I have which I call ‘The Supplement to Polydore Vergil,’ which treats of the invention of things, and is a work of great erudition and research, for I establish and elucidate elegantly some things of great importance which Polydore omitted to mention. He forgot to tell us who was the first man in the world that had a cold in his head, and who was the first to try salivation for the French disease, but I give it accurately set forth, and quote more than five-and-twenty authors in proof of it, so you may perceive I have laboured to good purpose and that the book will be of service to the whole world.”
Sancho, who had been very attentive to the cousin’s words, said to him, “Tell me, senor — and God give you luck in printing your books — can you tell me (for of course you know, as you know everything) who was the first man that scratched his head? For to my thinking it must have been our father Adam.”
“So it must,” replied the cousin; “for there is no doubt but Adam had a head and hair; and being the first man in the world he would have scratched himself sometimes.”
“So I think,” said Sancho; “but now tell me, who was the first tumbler in the world?”
“Really, brother,” answered the cousin, “I could not at this moment say positively without having investigated it; I will look it up when I go back to where I have my books, and will satisfy you the next time we meet, for this will not be the last time.”
“Look here, senor,” said Sancho, “don’t give yourself any trouble about it, for I have just this minute hit upon what I asked you. The first tumbler in the world, you must know, was Lucifer, when they cast or pitched him out of heaven; for he came tumbling into the bottomless pit.”
“You are right, friend,” said the cousin; and said Don Quixote, “Sancho, that question and answer are not thine own; thou hast heard them from some one else.”
“Hold your peace, senor,” said Sancho; “faith, if I take to asking questions and answering, I’ll go on from this till to-morrow morning. Nay! to ask foolish things and answer nonsense I needn’t go looking for help from my neighbours.”
“Thou hast said more than thou art aware of, Sancho,” said Don Quixote; “for there are some who weary themselves out in learning and proving things that, after they are known and proved, are not worth a farthing to the understanding or memory.”
In this and other pleasant conversation the day went by, and that night they put up at a small hamlet whence it was not more than two leagues to the cave of Montesinos, so the cousin told Don Quixote, adding, that if he was bent upon entering it, it would be requisite for him to provide himself with ropes, so that he might be tied and lowered into its depths. Don Quixote said that even if it reached to the bottomless pit he meant to see where it went to; so they bought about a hundred fathoms of rope, and next day at two in the afternoon they arrived at the cave, the mouth of which is spacious and wide, but full of thorn and wild-fig bushes and brambles and briars, so thick and matted that they completely close it up and cover it over.
On coming within sight of it the cousin, Sancho, and Don Quixote dismounted, and the first two immediately tied the latter very firmly with the ropes, and as they were girding and swathing him Sancho said to him, “Mind what you are about, master mine; don’t go burying yourself alive, or putting yourself where you’ll be like a bottle put to cool in a well; it’s no affair or business of your worship’s to become the explorer of this, which must be worse than a Moorish dungeon.”
“Tie me and hold thy peace,” said Don Quixote, “for an emprise like this, friend Sancho, was reserved for me;” and said the guide, “I beg of you, Senor Don Quixote, to observe carefully and examine with a hundred eyes everything that is within there; perhaps there may be some things for me to put into my book of ‘Transformations.’”
“The drum is in hands that will know how to beat it well enough,” said Sancho Panza.
When he had said this and finished the tying (which was not over the armour but only over the doublet) Don Quixote observed, “It was careless of us not to have provided ourselves with a small cattle-bell to be tied on the rope close to me, the sound of which would show that I was still descending and alive; but as that is out of the question now, in God’s hand be it to guide me;” and forthwith he fell on his knees and in a low voice offered up a prayer to heaven, imploring God to aid him and grant him success in this to all appearance perilous and untried adventure, and then exclaimed aloud, “O mistress of my actions and movements, illustrious and peerless Dulcinea del Toboso, if so be the prayers and supplications of this fortunate lover can reach thy ears, by thy incomparable beauty I entreat thee to listen to them, for they but ask thee not to refuse me thy favour and protection now that I stand in such need of them. I am about to precipitate, to sink, to plunge myself into the abyss that is here before me, only to let the world know that while thou dost favour me there is no impossibility I will not attempt and accomplish.” With these words he approached the cavern, and perceived that it was impossible to let himself down or effect an entrance except by sheer force or cleaving a passage; so drawing his sword he began to demolish and cut away the brambles at the mouth of the cave, at the noise of which a vast multitude of crows and choughs flew out of it so thick and so fast that they knocked Don Quixote down; and if he had been as much of a believer in augury as he was a Catholic Christian he would have taken it as a bad omen and declined to bury himself in such a place. He got up, however, and as there came no more crows, or night-birds like the bats that flew out at the same time with the crows, the cousin and Sancho giving him rope, he lowered himself into the depths of the dread cavern; and as he entered it Sancho sent his blessing after him, making a thousand crosses over him and saying, “God, and the Pena de Francia, and the Trinity of Gaeta guide thee, flower and cream of knights-errant. There thou goest, thou dare-devil of the earth, heart of steel, arm of brass; once more, God guide thee and send thee back safe, sound, and unhurt to the light of this world thou art leaving to bury thyself in the darkness thou art seeking there;” and the cousin offered up almost the same prayers and supplications.
 
Don Quixote kept calling to them to give him rope and more rope, and they gave it out little by little, and by the time the calls, which came out of the cave as out of a pipe, ceased to be heard they had let down the hundred fathoms of rope. They were inclined to pull Don Quixote up again, as they could give him no more rope; however, they waited about half an hour, at the end of which time they began to gather in the rope again with great ease and without feeling any weight, which made them fancy Don Quixote was remaining below; and persuaded that it was so, Sancho wept bitterly, and hauled away in great haste in order to settle the question. When, however, they had come to, as it seemed, rather more than eighty fathoms they felt a weight, at which they were greatly delighted; and at last, at ten fathoms more, they saw Don Quixote distinctly, and Sancho called out to him, saying, “Welcome back, senor, for we had begun to think you were going to stop there to found a family.” But Don Quixote answered not a word, and drawing him out entirely they perceived he had his eyes shut and every appearance of being fast asleep.
They stretched him on the ground and untied him, but still he did not awake; however, they rolled him back and forwards and shook and pulled him about, so that after some time he came to himself, stretching himself just as if he were waking up from a deep and sound sleep, and looking about him he said, “God forgive you, friends; ye have taken me away from the sweetest and most delightful existence and spectacle that ever human being enjoyed or beheld. Now indeed do I know that all the pleasures of this life pass away like a shadow and a dream, or fade like the flower of the field. O ill-fated Montesinos! O sore-wounded Durandarte! O unhappy Belerma! O tearful Guadiana, and ye O hapless daughters of Ruidera who show in your waves the tears that flowed from your beauteous eyes!”
 
The cousin and Sancho Panza listened with deep attention to the words of Don Quixote, who uttered them as though with immense pain he drew them up from his very bowels. They begged of him to explain himself, and tell them what he had seen in that hell down there.
“Hell do you call it?” said Don Quixote; “call it by no such name, for it does not deserve it, as ye shall soon see.”
He then begged them to give him something to eat, as he was very hungry. They spread the cousin’s sackcloth on the grass, and put the stores of the alforjas into requisition, and all three sitting down lovingly and sociably, they made a luncheon and a supper of it all in one; and when the sackcloth was removed, Don Quixote of La Mancha said, “Let no one rise, and attend to me, my sons, both of you.”
 
下午四点钟，太阳躲进了云层，只露出一点儿微弱的光线。唐吉诃德从容不迫地向他那两位忠实的听众介绍，自己在蒙特西诺斯洞窟里见到的情况。他开始说起来：
“从这儿下到十二人或十四人深的地方，右侧有个凹面，里面宽敞得能够容得下几头骡子和一架大骡车。透过地面上的几个缝隙或窟窿，只能射进几束微弱的光线，远远不够照明用的。我又累又烦，正当我吊在绳子上又急又恼，不知该如何向下走时，我发现了那块凹面，便决定进去休息一下。我大声喊你们，让你们等我叫你们时再放绳子，可你们大概没听见我的叫声。于是，我就把你们徐徐放下的绳子收起，盘成一团，坐在上面考虑待一会儿没人给我放绳子了，我怎么才能下到洞底。我正在胡思乱想，忽然一股极度的困意袭来，我竟不知怎么回事就睡着了。待我醒来时，发现自己竟来到了一片美妙秀丽、人类思维难以想象的风景如画的草地上。
“我睁大了眼睛，又揉了揉眼皮，发现自己并没有睡着，确实醒着。尽管这样，我还是拍了拍自己的脑袋和胸脯，证明那确实是我自己，而不是什么虚无的幻觉，而且我的触觉、感觉和思维能力就和我现在的情况一样。接着，我的眼前出现了一座富丽堂皇的皇宫或王宫，它的墙壁似乎都是水晶的。宫殿的两扇大门打开了，我看见一位令人肃然起敬的长者向我走来。他身穿一件深紫色长袍，袍子长得拖到地上，胸前和肩膀上披着一条青缎披巾，头上戴着黑色米兰帽，长长的白胡须垂过腰间。他的手里除了一串念珠外没有任何东西。念珠的珠子比普通的胡桃还大，大珠①比鸵鸟蛋还大。那长者的气质、步伐以及庄重而又悠然自得的神态，无论是分别讲还是总体说，都使我感到惊奇。他来到我面前做的第一件事就是紧紧地拥抱我，然后对我说：‘曼查的英勇骑士唐吉诃德，我们被魔法困在这偏远的山洞里，已经恭候你多年了，希望你能够把这个蒙特西诺斯洞窟里的情况公诸于世。这样伟大的业绩只有像你这样勇敢无畏、气概非凡的人才能胜任。跟我来，尊贵的大人，我想让你看看发生在这座水晶宫里的奇事。我就是这儿的总管，将在这里终身留守。我就叫蒙特西诺斯，这个洞窟就是以我的名字命名的。’他一说他是蒙特西诺斯，我就问他，洞外世界传说他按照老朋友杜兰达尔德的吩咐，在杜兰达尔德临死之前，用一把小匕首把老朋友的心脏掏了出来，献给贝莱尔玛夫人，这事是否是真的。他说是真的，不过不是匕首，更不是小匕首，而是一种比锥子还尖的锋利短刀。”
①念珠每十粒小珠间有一颗大珠。
“准是塞维利亚的拉蒙•德奥塞斯造的那种短刀。”桑乔这时候说。
“我也不清楚，”唐吉诃德说，“但决不会是那位短刀匠造的，因为拉蒙•德奥塞斯是不久前的人物，而发生这桩悲剧的龙塞斯巴列斯年代则是在很早以前。不过，这点情况并不重要，并不影响事情的真实性和历史的连贯性。”
“是这样。”小伙子说，“请您继续讲下去，唐吉诃德大人，我听得简直如痴如醉。”
“我也讲得津津有味，”唐吉诃德说，“令人尊敬的长者蒙特西诺斯领我走进水晶宫，宫殿里又有个雪白的地宫，里面凉快极了，还有一座做工极其精细的大理石陵墓。我看见陵墓里躺着骑士。那骑士不像其他陵墓里的骑士那样，是青铜的、大理石的或玉的，而是有血有肉的人。他的右手放在心脏一侧，我看见他的手毛茸茸的，而且青筋暴露，看样子这位骑士很有力气。蒙特西诺斯见我看着陵墓发怔，不等我发问就对我说：‘这就是我的朋友杜兰达尔德，那个时代多情勇敢的骑士精英。他和我以及其他许多在这里的男女一样，被那个法国魔法师梅兰制服在这里。据说梅兰是魔鬼的弟子，可我觉得他不像，因为人家说他比魔鬼还强点儿呢。至于我们是怎么样以及为什么被制服在这里的，无人知晓，不过，随着时间的推移，以后肯定会知道的，我想这个日子已经为期不远了。令我惊奇的是，杜兰达尔德的的确确死在我的怀抱里，他死后我亲手把他的心脏取了出来。他的心脏大概足有两磅重。据自然科学家讲，心脏大的人要比心脏小的人勇敢。既然这位骑士确实死了，他现在怎么还能不时地唉声叹气，好像他仍然活着似的？’正说到这儿，只听杜兰达尔德大叫一声，说道：
蒙特西诺斯呀，我的兄弟，
我还有最后一件事求你，
那就是等我死后，
我的灵魂已经脱离身体，
请你用短刀或者匕首，
把我的心脏
从胸膛取出，
送到贝莱尔玛那里去。
“令人尊敬的蒙特西诺斯听到声音，立刻跪倒在骑士面前，眼含热泪地说道：‘杜兰达尔德大人，我极其尊贵的兄弟，我已经在我们遭受重大损失的那一天按照你的吩咐做了。我尽可能小心地把你的心脏取了出来，没有在你的胸膛里留下一丝残余部分。我用花边手绢把你的心脏擦干净，带着它踏上了去法国的路程。启程之前，我挥泪如雨，掩埋了你的尸体。泪水冲洗了我的双手，冲洗了我的手在你的胸膛里沾染的鲜血。说得再具体些，我最亲爱的兄弟，在走出龙塞斯瓦列斯以后，我一到达某个有盐的地方，就往你的心脏上撒了点儿盐，以便它被送到贝莱尔玛夫人面前时，即使不是新鲜的，至少也没有变味。贝莱尔玛夫人，你，我，你的侍从瓜迪亚纳，女管家鲁伊德拉和她的七个女儿、两个外甥女，还有你的其他许多熟人和朋友，都被魔法师梅兰制服在这里已经多年了。五百年过去了，可是我们没有一个人死，只是少了鲁伊德拉以及她的女儿和外甥女们。大概是因为她们总哭哭啼啼，梅兰起了怜悯之心，就把她们变成了同样数量的小河，在人世间和曼查被称为鲁伊德拉小河。七条女儿河属于西班牙国王，两个外甥女小河则属于一个十分神圣的圣胡安骑士团。你的侍从瓜迪亚纳为你的不幸以泪洗面，最终变成了瓜迪亚纳河。这条河流到地面上，看到另一个世界的太阳，想到此时已经没有了你，心里非常难过，就又重新钻入地底。但是，它毕竟不能不顺流而走，所以又不时地露出地面，于是太阳和人们又能看到它了。贝莱尔玛的那些小河和其他许多小河都用自己的水补充它，最后浩浩荡荡地流入了葡萄牙。尽管如此，无论流到哪里，它都显得十分悲伤，不愿意用自己的水喂养珍贵的鱼类，只喂养了一些与金色塔霍河里的鱼大不相同的、味道并不鲜美的低档鱼种。我现在对你说的这些话，我的兄弟，我已经对你说过多次了，可你总是不回答，所以，我认为你是不信任我或者并没有听见我说，对此我到底是多么伤心，只有上帝知道。现在我想告诉你一点儿消息。这消息即使不能减轻你的痛苦，至少也不会给你增加任何痛苦。你知道吗，智人梅兰预言的那位能做很多事的伟大骑士，那位曼查的唐吉诃德，现在就站在你面前，你睁眼看看吧。他以比以往任何时候都辉煌的成就在当今之世重振了骑士道，他可以帮助我们解脱魔法。这样伟大的业绩只有这样伟大的人物才能完成。’‘可是如果解除不了魔法，’那位身受重创的杜兰达尔德说道，‘如果解除不了魔法，兄弟，我说呀，咱们别着急，那就洗牌吧①。’说完他就侧过身去，同以前一样默不作声了。
①当时输了牌的人常这样说，后引申开来，表示不甘心失败，准备从头开始。
“这时忽然传来哭喊声，还伴着深深的叹息和痛苦的抽泣声。我回过头去，透过水晶墙看见两队极其美丽的少女从另一间大厅里依次走出。少女都穿着丧服，头上像土耳其人，一样裹着白头巾。走在队尾的是一位夫人，她那庄重的神态像是夫人。她也穿着黑色的衣服，长长的白纱一直拖到地上，裹头的白巾比其他人都大两倍。她的眉心很窄，鼻子有些塌，偶尔露出那白得像剥了皮的杏仁一样的牙齿，也是稀稀落落，参差不齐。她的手上托着一个薄麻布包，里面隐约可见一块干瘪的东西，想必就是那颗已经干了的心脏。
“蒙特西诺斯告诉我，那队少女是杜兰达尔德和贝莱尔玛的佣人，她们同主人一起被魔法制服在这里。用细麻布托着心脏走在最后的那位夫人就是贝莱尔玛。她带领着那群少女每星期列队走四次，为杜兰达尔德的身体和心脏唱挽歌，确切地说，是哭挽歌。要说她的面目显得有些丑陋，不像传说的那么漂亮，那完全是由于魔法日夜折磨所致，这点从她的黑眼圈和憔悴的面容上就可以看出来。‘你别以为她脸色发黄、眼圈发黑与她月经不调有关，她已经有很多个月，甚至很多年没来月经了。完全是由于手里时刻捧着那颗心，她想起了她那苦命情人的不幸遭遇，自己内心悲痛，才变成了这个样子。否则，她的美貌、风度和精神几乎可以与托博索闻名遐迩的杜尔西内亚相比。’‘别说了，’我说，‘蒙特西诺斯大人，你的事你该怎么讲就怎么讲。你知道，任何比较都是可恶的，因此你不要拿某个人同其他人相比。托博索举世无双的杜尔西内亚就是杜尔西内亚，贝莱尔玛夫人就是贝莱尔玛夫人，她们该是谁就是谁，到此为止吧。’蒙特西诺斯回答说：‘唐吉诃德大人，请原谅，我承认我刚才说贝莱尔玛夫人几乎可以同杜尔西内亚夫人相比是不对的。假如我刚才意识到，我也不知道怎么就忽然意识到了，您就是杜尔西内亚夫人的骑士，我决不会拿贝莱尔玛夫人同她相比，而是拿天来同她相比了。’蒙特西诺斯这么一说我才静下心来。刚才我听他拿贝莱尔玛夫人同杜尔西内亚夫人相比，心里很不痛快。”
“不过，更让我惊奇的是，”桑乔说，“您为什么没有骑在那个老东西身上，把他的骨头都打断，把他的胡子揪得一根不剩呢？”
“不，桑乔朋友，”唐吉诃德说，“我如果那样做就不对了。我们大家都应该尊重老人，哪怕他们并不是骑士，尤其是要尊重那种既不是骑士又中了魔法的老人。我十分清楚，我们俩在讨论问题时应该平起平坐。”
小伙子这时说道：
“这我就不明白了，唐吉诃德大人，您在下面只待了这么短的时间，怎么会看见这么多东西，说了这么多的话？”
“我下去有多长时间？”唐吉诃德问。
“一个多小时。”
“不可能，”唐吉诃德说，“我在那儿天黑又天亮，天亮又天黑，一共三次。所以，按照我的计算，我在那个咱们的视线看不到、够不着的洞里一共过了三天。”
“我的主人说的大概是真的，”桑乔说，“他遇到的那些事都是被魔法变了样的，所以我们觉得是过了一小时，可是在那边却过了三天三夜。”
“是这样。”唐吉诃德说。
“您在那段时间里吃东西了吗，大人？”小伙子问。
“一口东西也没吃，”唐吉诃德说，“而且我也不饿，没感觉到饿。”
“那些被魔法控制的人呢，也不吃东西？”小伙子问。
“不吃东西。”唐吉诃德说，“他们也没有大便，虽然他们的指甲、胡子和头发似乎都在长。”
“那些被魔法制服的人睡觉吗？”桑乔问。
“不，不睡觉。”唐吉诃德说，“至少在我和他们在一起的那三天里，没有一个人合眼，我也没睡。”
“俗话说得好，”桑乔说，“近朱者赤，近墨者黑。您和那些不吃不睡的中了魔法的人在一起，您不吃不睡也就不足为奇了。不过请您原谅，我的主人，您刚才在这里说的那些事情，我若是相信了一件，就让我见上帝去……我差点儿说成让我见鬼去了。”
“为什么不相信呢？”小伙子问，“难道唐吉诃德大人说谎了吗？即使他想说谎，要编这么一大堆谎话，恐怕时间也来不及呀。”
“我觉得我的主人没有说谎。”桑乔说。
“那你觉得是怎么回事呢？”唐吉诃德问。
“我觉得是那个梅兰，或者是对您在下面看到并且谈了话的那些人施了魔法的魔法师们，向您的想象力和记忆力灌输了那座宫殿的事情，所以您刚才才那么说，而且以后也会那么说。”
“说来有可能，桑乔，”唐吉诃德说，“不过，我刚才说的那些都是我亲眼见到、亲手摸到的。蒙特西诺斯还告诉了我许许多多新奇的事情，只不过是现在没有时间讲，等咱们以后在路上我再慢慢给你说。对了，还有一件事，就是在那风景秀丽的原野上，在我眼前忽然闪现出三个农妇，像山羊似的蹦蹦跳跳。我一眼就认出其中一个就是托博索美丽无双的杜尔西内亚，另外两个是咱们在托博索出口处见到的另外两个农妇，对此你又该怎么说呢？我问蒙特西诺斯是否认识她们，蒙特西诺斯说不认识，估计是前几天刚在那儿出现的几位贵夫人，他对此并不感到惊奇，因为在那里还有其他几位前几个世纪和当今世纪的夫人，她们已经被魔法变成了不同的怪模样，其中有他认识的希内夫拉女王及其女仆金塔尼奥娜，她们正在为从布列塔尼来的兰萨罗特斟酒。”
桑乔听主人这么一说，就想到唐吉诃德或者是神志不正常，或者就是高兴过了头。桑乔知道所谓杜尔西内亚中了魔法的事是他一手制造的，他就是那个魔法师。现在，桑乔才完全相信他的主人神志不正常，已经全疯了。桑乔对唐吉诃德说道：
“您真是坏时候进洞交坏运，我亲爱的主人，而且糟糕的是碰到了蒙特西诺斯大人，他让您回来变成了这个样子。你没进洞以前神志很正常，就像上帝给了您一个正常的脑袋一样，妙语横生，还不时给人以教诲。可是，现在您胡说八道得简直没边了。”
“因为认识你，桑乔，”唐吉诃德说，“所以你说什么，我都不跟你计较。”
“我也不跟您计较，”桑乔说，“哪怕您因为我刚才说的那些话打我或者杀了我。还有一些话，若不是您总纠正我，我也得说呢。咱们现在既然没吵架，那就请您告诉我，您凭什么认出那是杜尔西内亚夫人？如果您同她搭了话，都说了些什么？她又是怎样回答的？”
“她穿的就是上次你指给我看时她穿的那身衣服。”唐吉诃德说，“我同她讲话，可她没回答，却转身跑了，快得简直如离弦之箭。我想去追她，可是蒙特西诺斯却劝我别再白费劲，而且我也该出洞了。
“蒙特西诺斯还说以后他会告诉我，贝莱尔玛、杜兰达尔德、他自己以及那里的所有人是如何摆脱魔法的。不过，最让我伤心的是，蒙特西诺斯正同我说着话，我竟没发现是什么时候，不幸的杜尔西内亚的一位女伴已经来到我身边，眼含泪水，颤抖着声音低声对我说：‘我们的杜尔西内亚夫人吻您的手，请您告诉她您的近况；还有，她现在手头紧，请您务必借给她六个雷阿尔，或者您有多少都借给她吧。她以这条白布裙为抵押，会尽快把钱还给您。’我很惊奇，转身问蒙特西诺斯：‘蒙特西诺斯大人，中了魔法的贵人难道也会有手头紧的时候？’蒙特西诺斯答道：‘请相信我，唐吉诃德大人，这种手头紧的情况到处都有，无处不在，即使中了魔法的人也不能幸免。既然杜尔西内亚夫人派人向您借六个雷阿尔，而且抵押品也挺值钱，您就把钱给她吧，看来杜尔西内亚夫人现在确实缺钱。’‘抵押品我不要，’我说，‘而且我也不能如数给她六个雷阿尔，因为我只有四个雷阿尔。’我给了她四个雷阿尔，也就是桑乔你那天给我，准备路上万一遇到穷人乞讨时用的四个雷阿尔。我对杜尔西内亚夫人的女伴说：‘朋友，请告诉你们的夫人，我为她的窘迫从心里感到难过，真想成为富卡尔①来救济她。我还要告诉她的就是，如果我看不到她温柔的目光，听不到她睿智的谈话，我的健康就不会也不该得到保障。所以，我诚心诚意地请求夫人允许这位已被她俘虏了心的辛劳骑士能够见到她，同她说几句话。请告诉她，她也许会在某个她意想不到的时候听到我如何向她信誓旦旦，就像曼图亚侯爵在半山腰遇到他行将咽气的侄子巴尔多维诺斯时，发誓要为侄子报仇时说的那样。侯爵发誓在为侄子报仇之前要食不求精，还有其他一些事情。在为杜尔西内亚夫人解除魔法之前，我不图安逸，要游历世界八方，要比葡萄牙的唐佩德罗王子走的地方还多。’‘这些都是您应该为我们夫人做的。’那个侍女说。
①富卡尔是卡洛斯一世时居住在西班牙的一个德国富翁，其富裕程度当时在西班牙有口皆碑。
“她接过了四个雷阿尔。不过她没有向我鞠躬行礼，而是向上跳了一下，跳了差不多有两米高。”
“噢，神圣的上帝啊！”桑乔这时候大喊一声说道，“世界上真有如此魔力的魔法师和魔法，竟把我本来很精明的主人变得如此疯癫？大人啊大人，请您看在上帝份上，保重自己，保全自己的名声，不要再听信那些让您神经错乱的胡言乱语了！”
“因为你很爱我，桑乔，你才这样对我说话。”唐吉诃德说，“因为你对世界上的事物还缺乏经验，所以稍微困难一点的事情你就以为是不可能的。就像我上次说的那样，等以后有时间的时候，我再给你讲我在下面看到的事情吧，那时你就会相信我讲的这些事都是不容置疑的。” 
 
Part 2 Chapter 23
It was about four in the afternoon when the sun, veiled in clouds, with subdued light and tempered beams, enabled Don Quixote to relate, without heat or inconvenience, what he had seen in the cave of Montesinos to his two illustrious hearers, and he began as follows:
“A matter of some twelve or fourteen times a man’s height down in this pit, on the right-hand side, there is a recess or space, roomy enough to contain a large cart with its mules. A little light reaches it through some chinks or crevices, communicating with it and open to the surface of the earth. This recess or space I perceived when I was already growing weary and disgusted at finding myself hanging suspended by the rope, travelling downwards into that dark region without any certainty or knowledge of where I was going, so I resolved to enter it and rest myself for a while. I called out, telling you not to let out more rope until I bade you, but you cannot have heard me. I then gathered in the rope you were sending me, and making a coil or pile of it I seated myself upon it, ruminating and considering what I was to do to lower myself to the bottom, having no one to hold me up; and as I was thus deep in thought and perplexity, suddenly and without provocation a profound sleep fell upon me, and when I least expected it, I know not how, I awoke and found myself in the midst of the most beautiful, delightful meadow that nature could produce or the most lively human imagination conceive. I opened my eyes, I rubbed them, and found I was not asleep but thoroughly awake. Nevertheless, I felt my head and breast to satisfy myself whether it was I myself who was there or some empty delusive phantom; but touch, feeling, the collected thoughts that passed through my mind, all convinced me that I was the same then and there that I am this moment. Next there presented itself to my sight a stately royal palace or castle, with walls that seemed built of clear transparent crystal; and through two great doors that opened wide therein, I saw coming forth and advancing towards me a venerable old man, clad in a long gown of mulberry-coloured serge that trailed upon the ground. On his shoulders and breast he had a green satin collegiate hood, and covering his head a black Milanese bonnet, and his snow-white beard fell below his girdle. He carried no arms whatever, nothing but a rosary of beads bigger than fair-sized filberts, each tenth bead being like a moderate ostrich egg; his bearing, his gait, his dignity and imposing presence held me spellbound and wondering. He approached me, and the first thing he did was to embrace me closely, and then he said to me, ‘For a long time now, O valiant knight Don Quixote of La Mancha, we who are here enchanted in these solitudes have been hoping to see thee, that thou mayest make known to the world what is shut up and concealed in this deep cave, called the cave of Montesinos, which thou hast entered, an achievement reserved for thy invincible heart and stupendous courage alone to attempt. Come with me, illustrious sir, and I will show thee the marvels hidden within this transparent castle, whereof I am the alcaide and perpetual warden; for I am Montesinos himself, from whom the cave takes its name.’
“The instant he told me he was Montesinos, I asked him if the story they told in the world above here was true, that he had taken out the heart of his great friend Durandarte from his breast with a little dagger, and carried it to the lady Belerma, as his friend when at the point of death had commanded him. He said in reply that they spoke the truth in every respect except as to the dagger, for it was not a dagger, nor little, but a burnished poniard sharper than an awl.”
“That poniard must have been made by Ramon de Hoces the Sevillian,” said Sancho.
“I do not know,” said Don Quixote; “it could not have been by that poniard maker, however, because Ramon de Hoces was a man of yesterday, and the affair of Roncesvalles, where this mishap occurred, was long ago; but the question is of no great importance, nor does it affect or make any alteration in the truth or substance of the story.”
“That is true,” said the cousin; “continue, Senor Don Quixote, for I am listening to you with the greatest pleasure in the world.”
“And with no less do I tell the tale,” said Don Quixote; “and so, to proceed — the venerable Montesinos led me into the palace of crystal, where, in a lower chamber, strangely cool and entirely of alabaster, was an elaborately wrought marble tomb, upon which I beheld, stretched at full length, a knight, not of bronze, or marble, or jasper, as are seen on other tombs, but of actual flesh and bone. His right hand (which seemed to me somewhat hairy and sinewy, a sign of great strength in its owner) lay on the side of his heart; but before I could put any question to Montesinos, he, seeing me gazing at the tomb in amazement, said to me, ‘This is my friend Durandarte, flower and mirror of the true lovers and valiant knights of his time. He is held enchanted here, as I myself and many others are, by that French enchanter Merlin, who, they say, was the devil’s son; but my belief is, not that he was the devil’s son, but that he knew, as the saying is, a point more than the devil. How or why he enchanted us, no one knows, but time will tell, and I suspect that time is not far off. What I marvel at is, that I know it to be as sure as that it is now day, that Durandarte ended his life in my arms, and that, after his death, I took out his heart with my own hands; and indeed it must have weighed more than two pounds, for, according to naturalists, he who has a large heart is more largely endowed with valour than he who has a small one. Then, as this is the case, and as the knight did really die, how comes it that he now moans and sighs from time to time, as if he were still alive?’
 
“As he said this, the wretched Durandarte cried out in a loud voice:
O cousin Montesinos!
‘T was my last request of thee,
When my soul hath left the body,
And that lying dead I be,
With thy poniard or thy dagger
Cut the heart from out my breast,
And bear it to Belerma.
This was my last request.
On hearing which, the venerable Montesinos fell on his knees before the unhappy knight, and with tearful eyes exclaimed, ‘Long since, Senor Durandarte, my beloved cousin, long since have I done what you bade me on that sad day when I lost you; I took out your heart as well as I could, not leaving an atom of it in your breast, I wiped it with a lace handkerchief, and I took the road to France with it, having first laid you in the bosom of the earth with tears enough to wash and cleanse my hands of the blood that covered them after wandering among your bowels; and more by token, O cousin of my soul, at the first village I came to after leaving Roncesvalles, I sprinkled a little salt upon your heart to keep it sweet, and bring it, if not fresh, at least pickled, into the presence of the lady Belerma, whom, together with you, myself, Guadiana your squire, the duenna Ruidera and her seven daughters and two nieces, and many more of your friends and acquaintances, the sage Merlin has been keeping enchanted here these many years; and although more than five hundred have gone by, not one of us has died; Ruidera and her daughters and nieces alone are missing, and these, because of the tears they shed, Merlin, out of the compassion he seems to have felt for them, changed into so many lakes, which to this day in the world of the living, and in the province of La Mancha, are called the Lakes of Ruidera. The seven daughters belong to the kings of Spain and the two nieces to the knights of a very holy order called the Order of St. John. Guadiana your squire, likewise bewailing your fate, was changed into a river of his own name, but when he came to the surface and beheld the sun of another heaven, so great was his grief at finding he was leaving you, that he plunged into the bowels of the earth; however, as he cannot help following his natural course, he from time to time comes forth and shows himself to the sun and the world. The lakes aforesaid send him their waters, and with these, and others that come to him, he makes a grand and imposing entrance into Portugal; but for all that, go where he may, he shows his melancholy and sadness, and takes no pride in breeding dainty choice fish, only coarse and tasteless sorts, very different from those of the golden Tagus. All this that I tell you now, O cousin mine, I have told you many times before, and as you make no answer, I fear that either you believe me not, or do not hear me, whereat I feel God knows what grief. I have now news to give you, which, if it serves not to alleviate your sufferings, will not in any wise increase them. Know that you have here before you (open your eyes and you will see) that great knight of whom the sage Merlin has prophesied such great things; that Don Quixote of La Mancha I mean, who has again, and to better purpose than in past times, revived in these days knight-errantry, long since forgotten, and by whose intervention and aid it may be we shall be disenchanted; for great deeds are reserved for great men.’
“‘And if that may not be,’ said the wretched Durandarte in a low and feeble voice, ‘if that may not be, then, my cousin, I say “patience and shuffle;"’ and turning over on his side, he relapsed into his former silence without uttering another word.
 
“And now there was heard a great outcry and lamentation, accompanied by deep sighs and bitter sobs. I looked round, and through the crystal wall I saw passing through another chamber a procession of two lines of fair damsels all clad in mourning, and with white turbans of Turkish fashion on their heads. Behind, in the rear of these, there came a lady, for so from her dignity she seemed to be, also clad in black, with a white veil so long and ample that it swept the ground. Her turban was twice as large as the largest of any of the others; her eyebrows met, her nose was rather flat, her mouth was large but with ruddy lips, and her teeth, of which at times she allowed a glimpse, were seen to be sparse and ill-set, though as white as peeled almonds. She carried in her hands a fine cloth, and in it, as well as I could make out, a heart that had been mummied, so parched and dried was it. Montesinos told me that all those forming the procession were the attendants of Durandarte and Belerma, who were enchanted there with their master and mistress, and that the last, she who carried the heart in the cloth, was the lady Belerma, who, with her damsels, four days in the week went in procession singing, or rather weeping, dirges over the body and miserable heart of his cousin; and that if she appeared to me somewhat ill-favoured or not so beautiful as fame reported her, it was because of the bad nights and worse days that she passed in that enchantment, as I could see by the great dark circles round her eyes, and her sickly complexion; ‘her sallowness, and the rings round her eyes,’ said he, ‘are not caused by the periodical ailment usual with women, for it is many months and even years since she has had any, but by the grief her own heart suffers because of that which she holds in her hand perpetually, and which recalls and brings back to her memory the sad fate of her lost lover; were it not for this, hardly would the great Dulcinea del Toboso, so celebrated in all these parts, and even in the world, come up to her for beauty, grace, and gaiety.’
“‘Hold hard!’ said I at this, ‘tell your story as you ought, Senor Don Montesinos, for you know very well that all comparisons are odious, and there is no occasion to compare one person with another; the peerless Dulcinea del Toboso is what she is, and the lady Dona Belerma is what she is and has been, and that’s enough.’ To which he made answer, ‘Forgive me, Senor Don Quixote; I own I was wrong and spoke unadvisedly in saying that the lady Dulcinea could scarcely come up to the lady Belerma; for it were enough for me to have learned, by what means I know not, that youare her knight, to make me bite my tongue out before I compared her to anything save heaven itself.’ After this apology which the great Montesinos made me, my heart recovered itself from the shock I had received in hearing my lady compared with Belerma.”
“Still I wonder,” said Sancho, “that your worship did not get upon the old fellow and bruise every bone of him with kicks, and pluck his beard until you didn’t leave a hair in it.”
“Nay, Sancho, my friend,” said Don Quixote, “it would not have been right in me to do that, for we are all bound to pay respect to the aged, even though they be not knights, but especially to those who are, and who are enchanted; I only know I gave him as good as he brought in the many other questions and answers we exchanged.”
“I cannot understand, Senor Don Quixote,” remarked the cousin here, “how it is that your worship, in such a short space of time as you have been below there, could have seen so many things, and said and answered so much.”
“How long is it since I went down?” asked Don Quixote.
“Little better than an hour,” replied Sancho.
“That cannot be,” returned Don Quixote, “because night overtook me while I was there, and day came, and it was night again and day again three times; so that, by my reckoning, I have been three days in those remote regions beyond our ken.”
“My master must be right,” replied Sancho; “for as everything that has happened to him is by enchantment, maybe what seems to us an hour would seem three days and nights there.”
“That’s it,” said Don Quixote.
“And did your worship eat anything all that time, senor?” asked the cousin.
“I never touched a morsel,” answered Don Quixote, “nor did I feel hunger, or think of it.”
“And do the enchanted eat?” said the cousin.
“They neither eat,” said Don Quixote; “nor are they subject to the greater excrements, though it is thought that their nails, beards, and hair grow.”
“And do the enchanted sleep, now, senor?” asked Sancho.
“Certainly not,” replied Don Quixote; “at least, during those three days I was with them not one of them closed an eye, nor did I either.”
“The proverb, ‘Tell me what company thou keepest and I’ll tell thee what thou art,’ is to the point here,” said Sancho; “your worship keeps company with enchanted people that are always fasting and watching; what wonder is it, then, that you neither eat nor sleep while you are with them? But forgive me, senor, if I say that of all this you have told us now, may God take me — I was just going to say the devil — if I believe a single particle.”
“What!” said the cousin, “has Senor Don Quixote, then, been lying? Why, even if he wished it he has not had time to imagine and put together such a host of lies.”
“I don’t believe my master lies,” said Sancho.
“If not, what dost thou believe?” asked Don Quixote.
“I believe,” replied Sancho, “that this Merlin, or those enchanters who enchanted the whole crew your worship says you saw and discoursed with down there, stuffed your imagination or your mind with all this rigmarole you have been treating us to, and all that is still to come.”
“All that might be, Sancho,” replied Don Quixote; “but it is not so, for everything that I have told you I saw with my own eyes, and touched with my own hands. But what will you say when I tell you now how, among the countless other marvellous things Montesinos showed me (of which at leisure and at the proper time I will give thee an account in the course of our journey, for they would not be all in place here), he showed me three country girls who went skipping and capering like goats over the pleasant fields there, and the instant I beheld them I knew one to be the peerless Dulcinea del Toboso, and the other two those same country girls that were with her and that we spoke to on the road from El Toboso! I asked Montesinos if he knew them, and he told me he did not, but he thought they must be some enchanted ladies of distinction, for it was only a few days before that they had made their appearance in those meadows; but I was not to be surprised at that, because there were a great many other ladies there of times past and present, enchanted in various strange shapes, and among them he had recognised Queen Guinevere and her dame Quintanona, she who poured out the wine for Lancelot when he came from Britain.”
When Sancho Panza heard his master say this he was ready to take leave of his senses, or die with laughter; for, as he knew the real truth about the pretended enchantment of Dulcinea, in which he himself had been the enchanter and concocter of all the evidence, he made up his mind at last that, beyond all doubt, his master was out of his wits and stark mad, so he said to him, “It was an evil hour, a worse season, and a sorrowful day, when your worship, dear master mine, went down to the other world, and an unlucky moment when you met with Senor Montesinos, who has sent you back to us like this. You were well enough here above in your full senses, such as God had given you, delivering maxims and giving advice at every turn, and not as you are now, talking the greatest nonsense that can be imagined.”
“As I know thee, Sancho,” said Don Quixote, “I heed not thy words.”
“Nor I your worship’s ,” said Sancho, “whether you beat me or kill me for those I have spoken, and will speak if you don’t correct and mend your own. But tell me, while we are still at peace, how or by what did you recognise the lady our mistress; and if you spoke to her, what did you say, and what did she answer?”
“I recognised her,” said Don Quixote, “by her wearing the same garments she wore when thou didst point her out to me. I spoke to her, but she did not utter a word in reply; on the contrary, she turned her back on me and took to flight, at such a pace that crossbow bolt could not have overtaken her. I wished to follow her, and would have done so had not Montesinos recommended me not to take the trouble as it would be useless, particularly as the time was drawing near when it would be necessary for me to quit the cavern. He told me, moreover, that in course of time he would let me know how he and Belerma, and Durandarte, and all who were there, were to be disenchanted. But of all I saw and observed down there, what gave me most pain was, that while Montesinos was speaking to me, one of the two companions of the hapless Dulcinea approached me on one without my having seen her coming, and with tears in her eyes said to me, in a low, agitated voice, ‘My lady Dulcinea del Toboso kisses your worship’s hands, and entreats you to do her the favour of letting her know how you are; and, being in great need, she also entreats your worship as earnestly as she can to be so good as to lend her half a dozen reals, or as much as you may have about you, on this new dimity petticoat that I have here; and she promises to repay them very speedily.’ I was amazed and taken aback by such a message, and turning to Senor Montesinos I asked him, ‘Is it possible, Senor Montesinos, that persons of distinction under enchantment can be in need?’ To which he replied, ‘Believe me, Senor Don Quixote, that which is called need is to be met with everywhere, and penetrates all quarters and reaches everyone, and does not spare even the enchanted; and as the lady Dulcinea del Toboso sends to beg those six reals, and the pledge is to all appearance a good one, there is nothing for it but to give them to her, for no doubt she must be in some great strait.’ ‘I will take no pledge of her,’ I replied, ‘nor yet can I give her what she asks, for all I have is four reals; which I gave (they were those which thou, Sancho, gavest me the other day to bestow in alms upon the poor I met along the road), and I said, ‘Tell your mistress, my dear, that I am grieved to the heart because of her distresses, and wish I was a Fucar to remedy them, and that I would have her know that I cannot be, and ought not be, in health while deprived of the happiness of seeing her and enjoying her discreet conversation, and that I implore her as earnestly as I can, to allow herself to be seen and addressed by this her captive servant and forlorn knight. Tell her, too, that when she least expects it she will hear it announced that I have made an oath and vow after the fashion of that which the Marquis of Mantua made to avenge his nephew Baldwin, when he found him at the point of death in the heart of the mountains, which was, not to eat bread off a tablecloth, and other trifling matters which he added, until he had avenged him; and I will make the same to take no rest, and to roam the seven regions of the earth more thoroughly than the Infante Don Pedro of Portugal ever roamed them, until I have disenchanted her.’ ‘All that and more, you owe my lady,’ the damsel’s answer to me, and taking the four reals, instead of making me a curtsey she cut a caper, springing two full yards into the air.”
“O blessed God!” exclaimed Sancho aloud at this, “is it possible that such things can be in the world, and that enchanters and enchantments can have such power in it as to have changed my master’s right senses into a craze so full of absurdity! O senor, senor, for God’s sake, consider yourself, have a care for your honour, and give no credit to this silly stuff that has left you scant and short of wits.”
“Thou talkest in this way because thou lovest me, Sancho,” said Don Quixote; “and not being experienced in the things of the world, everything that has some difficulty about it seems to thee impossible; but time will pass, as I said before, and I will tell thee some of the things I saw down there which will make thee believe what I have related now, the truth of which admits of neither reply nor question.”
 
斯洞窟的见闻，离奇怪诞令人难以置信
下午四点钟，太阳躲进了云层，只露出一点儿微弱的光线。唐吉诃德从容不迫地向他那两位忠实的听众介绍，自己在蒙特西诺斯洞窟里见到的情况。他开始说起来：
“从这儿下到十二人或十四人深的地方，右侧有个凹面，里面宽敞得能够容得下几头骡子和一架大骡车。透过地面上的几个缝隙或窟窿，只能射进几束微弱的光线，远远不够照明用的。我又累又烦，正当我吊在绳子上又急又恼，不知该如何向下走时，我发现了那块凹面，便决定进去休息一下。我大声喊你们，让你们等我叫你们时再放绳子，可你们大概没听见我的叫声。于是，我就把你们徐徐放下的绳子收起，盘成一团，坐在上面考虑待一会儿没人给我放绳子了，我怎么才能下到洞底。我正在胡思乱想，忽然一股极度的困意袭来，我竟不知怎么回事就睡着了。待我醒来时，发现自己竟来到了一片美妙秀丽、人类思维难以想象的风景如画的草地上。
“我睁大了眼睛，又揉了揉眼皮，发现自己并没有睡着，确实醒着。尽管这样，我还是拍了拍自己的脑袋和胸脯，证明那确实是我自己，而不是什么虚无的幻觉，而且我的触觉、感觉和思维能力就和我现在的情况一样。接着，我的眼前出现了一座富丽堂皇的皇宫或王宫，它的墙壁似乎都是水晶的。宫殿的两扇大门打开了，我看见一位令人肃然起敬的长者向我走来。他身穿一件深紫色长袍，袍子长得拖到地上，胸前和肩膀上披着一条青缎披巾，头上戴着黑色米兰帽，长长的白胡须垂过腰间。他的手里除了一串念珠外没有任何东西。念珠的珠子比普通的胡桃还大，大珠①比鸵鸟蛋还大。那长者的气质、步伐以及庄重而又悠然自得的神态，无论是分别讲还是总体说，都使我感到惊奇。他来到我面前做的第一件事就是紧紧地拥抱我，然后对我说：‘曼查的英勇骑士唐吉诃德，我们被魔法困在这偏远的山洞里，已经恭候你多年了，希望你能够把这个蒙特西诺斯洞窟里的情况公诸于世。这样伟大的业绩只有像你这样勇敢无畏、气概非凡的人才能胜任。跟我来，尊贵的大人，我想让你看看发生在这座水晶宫里的奇事。我就是这儿的总管，将在这里终身留守。我就叫蒙特西诺斯，这个洞窟就是以我的名字命名的。’他一说他是蒙特西诺斯，我就问他，洞外世界传说他按照老朋友杜兰达尔德的吩咐，在杜兰达尔德临死之前，用一把小匕首把老朋友的心脏掏了出来，献给贝莱尔玛夫人，这事是否是真的。他说是真的，不过不是匕首，更不是小匕首，而是一种比锥子还尖的锋利短刀。”
①念珠每十粒小珠间有一颗大珠。
“准是塞维利亚的拉蒙•德奥塞斯造的那种短刀。”桑乔这时候说。
“我也不清楚，”唐吉诃德说，“但决不会是那位短刀匠造的，因为拉蒙•德奥塞斯是不久前的人物，而发生这桩悲剧的龙塞斯巴列斯年代则是在很早以前。不过，这点情况并不重要，并不影响事情的真实性和历史的连贯性。”
“是这样。”小伙子说，“请您继续讲下去，唐吉诃德大人，我听得简直如痴如醉。”
“我也讲得津津有味，”唐吉诃德说，“令人尊敬的长者蒙特西诺斯领我走进水晶宫，宫殿里又有个雪白的地宫，里面凉快极了，还有一座做工极其精细的大理石陵墓。我看见陵墓里躺着骑士。那骑士不像其他陵墓里的骑士那样，是青铜的、大理石的或玉的，而是有血有肉的人。他的右手放在心脏一侧，我看见他的手毛茸茸的，而且青筋暴露，看样子这位骑士很有力气。蒙特西诺斯见我看着陵墓发怔，不等我发问就对我说：‘这就是我的朋友杜兰达尔德，那个时代多情勇敢的骑士精英。他和我以及其他许多在这里的男女一样，被那个法国魔法师梅兰制服在这里。据说梅兰是魔鬼的弟子，可我觉得他不像，因为人家说他比魔鬼还强点儿呢。至于我们是怎么样以及为什么被制服在这里的，无人知晓，不过，随着时间的推移，以后肯定会知道的，我想这个日子已经为期不远了。令我惊奇的是，杜兰达尔德的的确确死在我的怀抱里，他死后我亲手把他的心脏取了出来。他的心脏大概足有两磅重。据自然科学家讲，心脏大的人要比心脏小的人勇敢。既然这位骑士确实死了，他现在怎么还能不时地唉声叹气，好像他仍然活着似的？’正说到这儿，只听杜兰达尔德大叫一声，说道：
蒙特西诺斯呀，我的兄弟，
我还有最后一件事求你，
那就是等我死后，
我的灵魂已经脱离身体，
请你用短刀或者匕首，
把我的心脏
从胸膛取出，
送到贝莱尔玛那里去。
“令人尊敬的蒙特西诺斯听到声音，立刻跪倒在骑士面前，眼含热泪地说道：‘杜兰达尔德大人，我极其尊贵的兄弟，我已经在我们遭受重大损失的那一天按照你的吩咐做了。我尽可能小心地把你的心脏取了出来，没有在你的胸膛里留下一丝残余部分。我用花边手绢把你的心脏擦干净，带着它踏上了去法国的路程。启程之前，我挥泪如雨，掩埋了你的尸体。泪水冲洗了我的双手，冲洗了我的手在你的胸膛里沾染的鲜血。说得再具体些，我最亲爱的兄弟，在走出龙塞斯瓦列斯以后，我一到达某个有盐的地方，就往你的心脏上撒了点儿盐，以便它被送到贝莱尔玛夫人面前时，即使不是新鲜的，至少也没有变味。贝莱尔玛夫人，你，我，你的侍从瓜迪亚纳，女管家鲁伊德拉和她的七个女儿、两个外甥女，还有你的其他许多熟人和朋友，都被魔法师梅兰制服在这里已经多年了。五百年过去了，可是我们没有一个人死，只是少了鲁伊德拉以及她的女儿和外甥女们。大概是因为她们总哭哭啼啼，梅兰起了怜悯之心，就把她们变成了同样数量的小河，在人世间和曼查被称为鲁伊德拉小河。七条女儿河属于西班牙国王，两个外甥女小河则属于一个十分神圣的圣胡安骑士团。你的侍从瓜迪亚纳为你的不幸以泪洗面，最终变成了瓜迪亚纳河。这条河流到地面上，看到另一个世界的太阳，想到此时已经没有了你，心里非常难过，就又重新钻入地底。但是，它毕竟不能不顺流而走，所以又不时地露出地面，于是太阳和人们又能看到它了。贝莱尔玛的那些小河和其他许多小河都用自己的水补充它，最后浩浩荡荡地流入了葡萄牙。尽管如此，无论流到哪里，它都显得十分悲伤，不愿意用自己的水喂养珍贵的鱼类，只喂养了一些与金色塔霍河里的鱼大不相同的、味道并不鲜美的低档鱼种。我现在对你说的这些话，我的兄弟，我已经对你说过多次了，可你总是不回答，所以，我认为你是不信任我或者并没有听见我说，对此我到底是多么伤心，只有上帝知道。现在我想告诉你一点儿消息。这消息即使不能减轻你的痛苦，至少也不会给你增加任何痛苦。你知道吗，智人梅兰预言的那位能做很多事的伟大骑士，那位曼查的唐吉诃德，现在就站在你面前，你睁眼看看吧。他以比以往任何时候都辉煌的成就在当今之世重振了骑士道，他可以帮助我们解脱魔法。这样伟大的业绩只有这样伟大的人物才能完成。’‘可是如果解除不了魔法，’那位身受重创的杜兰达尔德说道，‘如果解除不了魔法，兄弟，我说呀，咱们别着急，那就洗牌吧①。’说完他就侧过身去，同以前一样默不作声了。
①当时输了牌的人常这样说，后引申开来，表示不甘心失败，准备从头开始。
“这时忽然传来哭喊声，还伴着深深的叹息和痛苦的抽泣声。我回过头去，透过水晶墙看见两队极其美丽的少女从另一间大厅里依次走出。少女都穿着丧服，头上像土耳其人，一样裹着白头巾。走在队尾的是一位夫人，她那庄重的神态像是夫人。她也穿着黑色的衣服，长长的白纱一直拖到地上，裹头的白巾比其他人都大两倍。她的眉心很窄，鼻子有些塌，偶尔露出那白得像剥了皮的杏仁一样的牙齿，也是稀稀落落，参差不齐。她的手上托着一个薄麻布包，里面隐约可见一块干瘪的东西，想必就是那颗已经干了的心脏。
“蒙特西诺斯告诉我，那队少女是杜兰达尔德和贝莱尔玛的佣人，她们同主人一起被魔法制服在这里。用细麻布托着心脏走在最后的那位夫人就是贝莱尔玛。她带领着那群少女每星期列队走四次，为杜兰达尔德的身体和心脏唱挽歌，确切地说，是哭挽歌。要说她的面目显得有些丑陋，不像传说的那么漂亮，那完全是由于魔法日夜折磨所致，这点从她的黑眼圈和憔悴的面容上就可以看出来。‘你别以为她脸色发黄、眼圈发黑与她月经不调有关，她已经有很多个月，甚至很多年没来月经了。完全是由于手里时刻捧着那颗心，她想起了她那苦命情人的不幸遭遇，自己内心悲痛，才变成了这个样子。否则，她的美貌、风度和精神几乎可以与托博索闻名遐迩的杜尔西内亚相比。’‘别说了，’我说，‘蒙特西诺斯大人，你的事你该怎么讲就怎么讲。你知道，任何比较都是可恶的，因此你不要拿某个人同其他人相比。托博索举世无双的杜尔西内亚就是杜尔西内亚，贝莱尔玛夫人就是贝莱尔玛夫人，她们该是谁就是谁，到此为止吧。’蒙特西诺斯回答说：‘唐吉诃德大人，请原谅，我承认我刚才说贝莱尔玛夫人几乎可以同杜尔西内亚夫人相比是不对的。假如我刚才意识到，我也不知道怎么就忽然意识到了，您就是杜尔西内亚夫人的骑士，我决不会拿贝莱尔玛夫人同她相比，而是拿天来同她相比了。’蒙特西诺斯这么一说我才静下心来。刚才我听他拿贝莱尔玛夫人同杜尔西内亚夫人相比，心里很不痛快。”
“不过，更让我惊奇的是，”桑乔说，“您为什么没有骑在那个老东西身上，把他的骨头都打断，把他的胡子揪得一根不剩呢？”
“不，桑乔朋友，”唐吉诃德说，“我如果那样做就不对了。我们大家都应该尊重老人，哪怕他们并不是骑士，尤其是要尊重那种既不是骑士又中了魔法的老人。我十分清楚，我们俩在讨论问题时应该平起平坐。”
小伙子这时说道：
“这我就不明白了，唐吉诃德大人，您在下面只待了这么短的时间，怎么会看见这么多东西，说了这么多的话？”
“我下去有多长时间？”唐吉诃德问。
“一个多小时。”
“不可能，”唐吉诃德说，“我在那儿天黑又天亮，天亮又天黑，一共三次。所以，按照我的计算，我在那个咱们的视线看不到、够不着的洞里一共过了三天。”
“我的主人说的大概是真的，”桑乔说，“他遇到的那些事都是被魔法变了样的，所以我们觉得是过了一小时，可是在那边却过了三天三夜。”
“是这样。”唐吉诃德说。
“您在那段时间里吃东西了吗，大人？”小伙子问。
“一口东西也没吃，”唐吉诃德说，“而且我也不饿，没感觉到饿。”
“那些被魔法控制的人呢，也不吃东西？”小伙子问。
“不吃东西。”唐吉诃德说，“他们也没有大便，虽然他们的指甲、胡子和头发似乎都在长。”
“那些被魔法制服的人睡觉吗？”桑乔问。
“不，不睡觉。”唐吉诃德说，“至少在我和他们在一起的那三天里，没有一个人合眼，我也没睡。”
“俗话说得好，”桑乔说，“近朱者赤，近墨者黑。您和那些不吃不睡的中了魔法的人在一起，您不吃不睡也就不足为奇了。不过请您原谅，我的主人，您刚才在这里说的那些事情，我若是相信了一件，就让我见上帝去……我差点儿说成让我见鬼去了。”
“为什么不相信呢？”小伙子问，“难道唐吉诃德大人说谎了吗？即使他想说谎，要编这么一大堆谎话，恐怕时间也来不及呀。”
“我觉得我的主人没有说谎。”桑乔说。
“那你觉得是怎么回事呢？”唐吉诃德问。
“我觉得是那个梅兰，或者是对您在下面看到并且谈了话的那些人施了魔法的魔法师们，向您的想象力和记忆力灌输了那座宫殿的事情，所以您刚才才那么说，而且以后也会那么说。”
“说来有可能，桑乔，”唐吉诃德说，“不过，我刚才说的那些都是我亲眼见到、亲手摸到的。蒙特西诺斯还告诉了我许许多多新奇的事情，只不过是现在没有时间讲，等咱们以后在路上我再慢慢给你说。对了，还有一件事，就是在那风景秀丽的原野上，在我眼前忽然闪现出三个农妇，像山羊似的蹦蹦跳跳。我一眼就认出其中一个就是托博索美丽无双的杜尔西内亚，另外两个是咱们在托博索出口处见到的另外两个农妇，对此你又该怎么说呢？我问蒙特西诺斯是否认识她们，蒙特西诺斯说不认识，估计是前几天刚在那儿出现的几位贵夫人，他对此并不感到惊奇，因为在那里还有其他几位前几个世纪和当今世纪的夫人，她们已经被魔法变成了不同的怪模样，其中有他认识的希内夫拉女王及其女仆金塔尼奥娜，她们正在为从布列塔尼来的兰萨罗特斟酒。”
桑乔听主人这么一说，就想到唐吉诃德或者是神志不正常，或者就是高兴过了头。桑乔知道所谓杜尔西内亚中了魔法的事是他一手制造的，他就是那个魔法师。现在，桑乔才完全相信他的主人神志不正常，已经全疯了。桑乔对唐吉诃德说道：
“您真是坏时候进洞交坏运，我亲爱的主人，而且糟糕的是碰到了蒙特西诺斯大人，他让您回来变成了这个样子。你没进洞以前神志很正常，就像上帝给了您一个正常的脑袋一样，妙语横生，还不时给人以教诲。可是，现在您胡说八道得简直没边了。”
“因为认识你，桑乔，”唐吉诃德说，“所以你说什么，我都不跟你计较。”
“我也不跟您计较，”桑乔说，“哪怕您因为我刚才说的那些话打我或者杀了我。还有一些话，若不是您总纠正我，我也得说呢。咱们现在既然没吵架，那就请您告诉我，您凭什么认出那是杜尔西内亚夫人？如果您同她搭了话，都说了些什么？她又是怎样回答的？”
“她穿的就是上次你指给我看时她穿的那身衣服。”唐吉诃德说，“我同她讲话，可她没回答，却转身跑了，快得简直如离弦之箭。我想去追她，可是蒙特西诺斯却劝我别再白费劲，而且我也该出洞了。
“蒙特西诺斯还说以后他会告诉我，贝莱尔玛、杜兰达尔德、他自己以及那里的所有人是如何摆脱魔法的。不过，最让我伤心的是，蒙特西诺斯正同我说着话，我竟没发现是什么时候，不幸的杜尔西内亚的一位女伴已经来到我身边，眼含泪水，颤抖着声音低声对我说：‘我们的杜尔西内亚夫人吻您的手，请您告诉她您的近况；还有，她现在手头紧，请您务必借给她六个雷阿尔，或者您有多少都借给她吧。她以这条白布裙为抵押，会尽快把钱还给您。’我很惊奇，转身问蒙特西诺斯：‘蒙特西诺斯大人，中了魔法的贵人难道也会有手头紧的时候？’蒙特西诺斯答道：‘请相信我，唐吉诃德大人，这种手头紧的情况到处都有，无处不在，即使中了魔法的人也不能幸免。既然杜尔西内亚夫人派人向您借六个雷阿尔，而且抵押品也挺值钱，您就把钱给她吧，看来杜尔西内亚夫人现在确实缺钱。’‘抵押品我不要，’我说，‘而且我也不能如数给她六个雷阿尔，因为我只有四个雷阿尔。’我给了她四个雷阿尔，也就是桑乔你那天给我，准备路上万一遇到穷人乞讨时用的四个雷阿尔。我对杜尔西内亚夫人的女伴说：‘朋友，请告诉你们的夫人，我为她的窘迫从心里感到难过，真想成为富卡尔①来救济她。我还要告诉她的就是，如果我看不到她温柔的目光，听不到她睿智的谈话，我的健康就不会也不该得到保障。所以，我诚心诚意地请求夫人允许这位已被她俘虏了心的辛劳骑士能够见到她，同她说几句话。请告诉她，她也许会在某个她意想不到的时候听到我如何向她信誓旦旦，就像曼图亚侯爵在半山腰遇到他行将咽气的侄子巴尔多维诺斯时，发誓要为侄子报仇时说的那样。侯爵发誓在为侄子报仇之前要食不求精，还有其他一些事情。在为杜尔西内亚夫人解除魔法之前，我不图安逸，要游历世界八方，要比葡萄牙的唐佩德罗王子走的地方还多。’‘这些都是您应该为我们夫人做的。’那个侍女说。
①富卡尔是卡洛斯一世时居住在西班牙的一个德国富翁，其富裕程度当时在西班牙有口皆碑。
“她接过了四个雷阿尔。不过她没有向我鞠躬行礼，而是向上跳了一下，跳了差不多有两米高。”
“噢，神圣的上帝啊！”桑乔这时候大喊一声说道，“世界上真有如此魔力的魔法师和魔法，竟把我本来很精明的主人变得如此疯癫？大人啊大人，请您看在上帝份上，保重自己，保全自己的名声，不要再听信那些让您神经错乱的胡言乱语了！”
“因为你很爱我，桑乔，你才这样对我说话。”唐吉诃德说，“因为你对世界上的事物还缺乏经验，所以稍微困难一点的事情你就以为是不可能的。就像我上次说的那样，等以后有时间的时候，我再给你讲我在下面看到的事情吧，那时你就会相信我讲的这些事都是不容置疑的。”
Part 2 Chapter 24
He who translated this great history from the original written by its first author, Cide Hamete Benengeli, says that on coming to the chapter giving the adventures of the cave of Montesinos he found written on the margin of it, in Hamete’s own hand, these exact words:
“I cannot convince or persuade myself that everything that is written in the preceding chapter could have precisely happened to the valiant Don Quixote; and for this reason, that all the adventures that have occurred up to the present have been possible and probable; but as for this one of the cave, I see no way of accepting it as true, as it passes all reasonable bounds. For me to believe that Don Quixote could lie, he being the most truthful gentleman and the noblest knight of his time, is impossible; he would not have told a lie though he were shot to death with arrows. On the other hand, I reflect that he related and told the story with all the circumstances detailed, and that he could not in so short a space have fabricated such a vast complication of absurdities; if, then, this adventure seems apocryphal, it is no fault of mine; and so, without affirming its falsehood or its truth, I write it down. Decide for thyself in thy wisdom, reader; for I am not bound, nor is it in my power, to do more; though certain it is they say that at the time of his death he retracted, and said he had invented it, thinking it matched and tallied with the adventures he had read of in his histories.” And then he goes on to say:
The cousin was amazed as well at Sancho’s boldness as at the patience of his master, and concluded that the good temper the latter displayed arose from the happiness he felt at having seen his lady Dulcinea, even enchanted as she was; because otherwise the words and language Sancho had addressed to him deserved a thrashing; for indeed he seemed to him to have been rather impudent to his master, to whom he now observed, “I, Senor Don Quixote of La Mancha, look upon the time I have spent in travelling with your worship as very well employed, for I have gained four things in the course of it; the first is that I have made your acquaintance, which I consider great good fortune; the second, that I have learned what the cave of Montesinos contains, together with the transformations of Guadiana and of the lakes of Ruidera; which will be of use to me for the Spanish Ovid that I have in hand; the third, to have discovered the antiquity of cards, that they were in use at least in the time of Charlemagne, as may be inferred from the words you say Durandarte uttered when, at the end of that long spell while Montesinos was talking to him, he woke up and said, ‘Patience and shuffle.’ This phrase and expression he could not have learned while he was enchanted, but only before he had become so, in France, and in the time of the aforesaid emperor Charlemagne. And this demonstration is just the thing for me for that other book I am writing, the ‘Supplement to Polydore Vergil on the Invention of Antiquities;’ for I believe he never thought of inserting that of cards in his book, as I mean to do in mine, and it will be a matter of great importance, particularly when I can cite so grave and veracious an authority as Senor Durandarte. And the fourth thing is, that I have ascertained the source of the river Guadiana, heretofore unknown to mankind.”
“You are right,” said Don Quixote; “but I should like to know, if by God’s favour they grant you a licence to print those books of yours — which I doubt — to whom do you mean dedicate them?”
“There are lords and grandees in Spain to whom they can be dedicated,” said the cousin.
“Not many,” said Don Quixote; “not that they are unworthy of it, but because they do not care to accept books and incur the obligation of making the return that seems due to the author’s labour and courtesy. One prince I know who makes up for all the rest, and more — how much more, if I ventured to say, perhaps I should stir up envy in many a noble breast; but let this stand over for some more convenient time, and let us go and look for some place to shelter ourselves in to-night.”
“Not far from this,” said the cousin, “there is a hermitage, where there lives a hermit, who they say was a soldier, and who has the reputation of being a good Christian and a very intelligent and charitable man. Close to the hermitage he has a small house which he built at his own cost, but though small it is large enough for the reception of guests.”
“Has this hermit any hens, do you think?” asked Sancho.
“Few hermits are without them,” said Don Quixote; “for those we see now-a-days are not like the hermits of the Egyptian deserts who were clad in palm-leaves, and lived on the roots of the earth. But do not think that by praising these I am disparaging the others; all I mean to say is that the penances of those of the present day do not come up to the asceticism and austerity of former times; but it does not follow from this that they are not all worthy; at least I think them so; and at the worst the hypocrite who pretends to be good does less harm than the open sinner.”
At this point they saw approaching the spot where they stood a man on foot, proceeding at a rapid pace, and beating a mule loaded with lances and halberds. When he came up to them, he saluted them and passed on without stopping. Don Quixote called to him, “Stay, good fellow; you seem to be making more haste than suits that mule.”
“I cannot stop, senor,” answered the man; “for the arms you see I carry here are to be used tomorrow, so I must not delay; God be with you. But if you want to know what I am carrying them for, I mean to lodge to-night at the inn that is beyond the hermitage, and if you be going the same road you will find me there, and I will tell you some curious things; once more God be with you;” and he urged on his mule at such a pace that Don Quixote had no time to ask him what these curious things were that he meant to tell them; and as he was somewhat inquisitive, and always tortured by his anxiety to learn something new, he decided to set out at once, and go and pass the night at the inn instead of stopping at the hermitage, where the cousin would have had them halt. Accordingly they mounted and all three took the direct road for the inn, which they reached a little before nightfall. On the road the cousin proposed they should go up to the hermitage to drink a sup. The instant Sancho heard this he steered his Dapple towards it, and Don Quixote and the cousin did the same; but it seems Sancho’s bad luck so ordered it that the hermit was not at home, for so a sub-hermit they found in the hermitage told them. They called for some of the best. She replied that her master had none, but that if they liked cheap water she would give it with great pleasure.
“If I found any in water,” said Sancho, “there are wells along the road where I could have had enough of it. Ah, Camacho’s wedding, and plentiful house of Don Diego, how often do I miss you!”
Leaving the hermitage, they pushed on towards the inn, and a little farther they came upon a youth who was pacing along in front of them at no great speed, so that they overtook him. He carried a sword over his shoulder, and slung on it a budget or bundle of his clothes apparently, probably his breeches or pantaloons, and his cloak and a shirt or two; for he had on a short jacket of velvet with a gloss like satin on it in places, and had his shirt out; his stockings were of silk, and his shoes square-toed as they wear them at court. His age might have been eighteen or nineteen; he was of a merry countenance, and to all appearance of an active habit, and he went along singing seguidillas to beguile the wearisomeness of the road. As they came up with him he was just finishing one, which the cousin got by heart and they say ran thus —
I’m off to the wars
For the want of pence,
Oh, had I but money
I’d show more sense.
The first to address him was Don Quixote, who said, “You travel very airily, sir gallant; whither bound, may we ask, if it is your pleasure to tell us?”
To which the youth replied, “The heat and my poverty are the reason of my travelling so airily, and it is to the wars that I am bound.”
“How poverty?” asked Don Quixote; “the heat one can understand.”
“Senor,” replied the youth, “in this bundle I carry velvet pantaloons to match this jacket; if I wear them out on the road, I shall not be able to make a decent appearance in them in the city, and I have not the wherewithal to buy others; and so for this reason, as well as to keep myself cool, I am making my way in this fashion to overtake some companies of infantry that are not twelve leagues off, in which I shall enlist, and there will be no want of baggage trains to travel with after that to the place of embarkation, which they say will be Carthagena; I would rather have the King for a master, and serve him in the wars, than serve a court pauper.”
“And did you get any bounty, now?” asked the cousin.
“If I had been in the service of some grandee of Spain or personage of distinction,” replied the youth, “I should have been safe to get it; for that is the advantage of serving good masters, that out of the servants’ hall men come to be ancients or captains, or get a good pension. But I, to my misfortune, always served place-hunters and adventurers, whose keep and wages were so miserable and scanty that half went in paying for the starching of one’s collars; it would be a miracle indeed if a page volunteer ever got anything like a reasonable bounty.”
“And tell me, for heaven’s sake,” asked Don Quixote, “is it possible, my friend, that all the time you served you never got any livery?”
“They gave me two,” replied the page; “but just as when one quits a religious community before making profession, they strip him of the dress of the order and give him back his own clothes, so did my masters return me mine; for as soon as the business on which they came to court was finished, they went home and took back the liveries they had given merely for show.”
“What spilorceria! — as an Italian would say,” said Don Quixote; “but for all that, consider yourself happy in having left court with as worthy an object as you have, for there is nothing on earth more honourable or profitable than serving, first of all God, and then one’s king and natural lord, particularly in the profession of arms, by which, if not more wealth, at least more honour is to be won than by letters, as I have said many a time; for though letters may have founded more great houses than arms, still those founded by arms have I know not what superiority over those founded by letters, and a certain splendour belonging to them that distinguishes them above all. And bear in mind what I am now about to say to you, for it will be of great use and comfort to you in time of trouble; it is, not to let your mind dwell on the adverse chances that may befall you; for the worst of all is death, and if it be a good death, the best of all is to die. They asked Julius Caesar, the valiant Roman emperor, what was the best death. He answered, that which is unexpected, which comes suddenly and unforeseen; and though he answered like a pagan, and one without the knowledge of the true God, yet, as far as sparing our feelings is concerned, he was right; for suppose you are killed in the first engagement or skirmish, whether by a cannon ball or blown up by mine, what matters it? It is only dying, and all is over; and according to Terence, a soldier shows better dead in battle, than alive and safe in flight; and the good soldier wins fame in proportion as he is obedient to his captains and those in command over him. And remember, my son, that it is better for the soldier to smell of gunpowder than of civet, and that if old age should come upon you in this honourable calling, though you may be covered with wounds and crippled and lame, it will not come upon you without honour, and that such as poverty cannot lessen; especially now that provisions are being made for supporting and relieving old and disabled soldiers; for it is not right to deal with them after the fashion of those who set free and get rid of their black slaves when they are old and useless, and, turning them out of their houses under the pretence of making them free, make them slaves to hunger, from which they cannot expect to be released except by death. But for the present I won’t say more than get ye up behind me on my horse as far as the inn, and sup with me there, and to-morrow you shall pursue your journey, and God give you as good speed as your intentions deserve.”
The page did not accept the invitation to mount, though he did that to supper at the inn; and here they say Sancho said to himself, “God be with you for a master; is it possible that a man who can say things so many and so good as he has said just now, can say that he saw the impossible absurdities he reports about the cave of Montesinos? Well, well, we shall see.”
And now, just as night was falling, they reached the inn, and it was not without satisfaction that Sancho perceived his master took it for a real inn, and not for a castle as usual. The instant they entered Don Quixote asked the landlord after the man with the lances and halberds, and was told that he was in the stable seeing to his mule; which was what Sancho and the cousin proceeded to do for their beasts, giving the best manger and the best place in the stable to Rocinante.
 
这部巨著的译者说，当他翻译到蒙特西诺斯洞窟探险这一章时，发现原作者锡德•哈迈德•贝嫩赫利本人在边白上写了下面几句话：
“我不能相信，也不想让自己相信，英勇的唐吉诃德真会遇到前面一章所记述的事情。他在此之前的各种奇遇都还真实可信，而洞窟奇遇这一章却显得不着边际，太超乎常理了。我不能想象，作为那个时代最当之无愧的贵族、最高尚的骑士，唐吉诃德竟会骗人；就是把他杀了，他也不会骗人。另外，我觉得他能讲得这样有声有色，这绝不是短时间内能够编出来的胡话。假如这段经历是杜撰的，我并没有责任，所以我也不管它是真是假，照写不误。读者须慎重对待，自己去判断，我也只能如此而已。不过，我确实听说唐吉诃德在临终之前反悔，承认这一段是他编的，因为他觉得在有关他的故事里应该有一段这样的经历。”然后，作者又言归正传：
小伙子对桑乔的大胆和唐吉诃德的耐心深感惊讶。他以为，唐吉诃德是由于见到了他的夫人杜尔西内亚而高兴，尽管是中了魔法的杜尔西内亚也好，否则，桑乔免不了因为自己的那番话而遭受皮肉之苦，桑乔对主人的那番话确实出格了。小伙子对唐吉诃德说：
“唐吉诃德大人，我觉得同您走这一趟确实受益匪浅，我从中得到了四个好处。第一就是认识了您，我觉得这是我的幸运。第二，我知道了这个蒙特西诺斯洞窟里的情况，并且了解了瓜迪亚纳河和鲁伊德拉诸河的变迁，这对我的《西班牙的奥维德》很有益处。第三，我知道了纸牌自古就有，至少在卡洛马尼奥皇帝时代就有了。按照您所说的，蒙特西诺斯同杜兰达尔德说了半天话之后，杜兰达尔德才醒过来说道：‘别着急，那就洗牌吧。’这种话肯定不会是在他被魔法制服以后，而是在他中魔法以前，在法国，即刚才说的那个卡洛马尼奥皇帝时代学会的。这个考证对于我正在编写的另一本书《维尔吉利奥•波利多罗古代发明补遗》也同样很有帮助。我觉得那本书里似乎忘了写纸牌的由来，现在正好写进去。这很重要，何况引证的又是像杜兰达尔德这样既严肃又可靠的人物。第四，就是确切查明了瓜迪亚纳河的发源地，这个问题到现在尚不为人所知呢。”
“您说得对，”唐吉诃德说，“不过我想问一下，虽说我对上帝能否恩准您的书出版还表示怀疑，但假如他能恩准，您打算把您的书献给谁呢？”
“所有能够接受我献书的达官贵人。”小伙子说。
“那不会有很多，”唐吉诃德说，“并不是他们不配，而是因为他们不愿意接受。他们觉得没有义务满足作者因其作品而应当享受的荣誉。不过，我认识的一位王子可以弥补这项缺陷，而且能弥补得甚好，如果我斗胆说出来，恐怕即使心胸再宽广的人也会嫉妒呢。可是，咱们还是先说到这儿吧，等有时间再慢慢聊。现在，咱们先去找个过夜的地方吧。”
“离这儿不远的地方有座寺院，”小伙子说，“住着一位隐士，听说他当过兵。大家觉得他是个好基督徒，而且特别见多识广，心地善良。他在寺院旁边自己花钱盖了一间房子。房子虽小，毕竟能容得下几个客人。”
“这位隐士也有母鸡吗？”桑乔问。
“很少有隐士不养母鸡的。”唐吉诃德说，“现在的隐士不同于埃及沙漠地带的那些隐士，穿的是棕榈叶，吃的是草根。我并不是想由此及彼，我只是想说明现在的隐士不像以前的教士那样清苦。不过，这并不等于说现在的隐士不像以前的隐士那样善良。至少我觉得他们还是善良的。如果人已经变坏了，假装善良的虚伪总比公开的罪恶强。”
他们正说着，迎面走来一个人。那人走得急，而且不时用棍子抽打一匹驮着长矛和戟的骡子，走到他们面前时，只打了个招呼，便匆匆过去了。唐吉诃德对那人说：
“那位好人，请停一停。看来你走得太快了，那头骡子恐怕不一定受得了呢。”
“我不能停下来，大人。”那个人说，“我带的这些兵器明天还得用呢，所以我现在不能停下来，再见吧。不过，如果你想知道我为什么要运这些东西，我打算今晚就住在过了寺院之后的那个客店里。你要是顺路，就去找我，我可以给你讲些新鲜事。现在还是再见吧。”
说完，不等唐吉诃德问他想讲什么新鲜事，他就急急地催骡走了。唐吉诃德觉得有些奇怪，而且他向来爱打听新鲜事，就吩咐立刻启程，也到那个客店，而不是去寺院光顾小伙子所说的那个隐士了。
于是三个人上了马，直奔客店，到达客店时，天色已接近傍晚。路过寺院时，小伙子曾建议唐吉诃德进去喝一杯。桑乔听到此话，立即掉转驴向寺院奔去，唐吉诃德和小伙子也跟了过去。可是命运好像跟桑乔过不去，隐士偏巧不在家，只碰到一个替隐士看家的人。三个人要向那个看家人买点贵的东西①，那人回答说主人没有贵的东西，不过，若是要便宜的水，他十分乐意提供。
“若是因为口渴，”桑乔说，“路上就有井，我喝井水就可以解渴了。”
于是他们离开寺院，催骡向客店赶去，走了不远，就发现前面有一位青年，他走得并不快，所以很快就赶上了他。青年肩上扛着剑，剑上挑着一个包袱，估计里面是短裤或肥腿裤、短斗篷、衬衣之类的衣服。他身上穿着丝绒短外套，有的地方已经磨得发亮了，衬衣也露在外面，脚上穿的是丝袜和京城当时流行的方头鞋②，年龄大约十八九岁，一张快活的脸，看样子挺机灵。他嘴里哼着塞基迪亚③解闷，走到他们面前时，正好唱完一曲。小伙子记得歌词是这样唱的：
从戎皆因贫困，
有钱决不入伍。
①当时习惯以此来指葡萄酒。
②据说，当时一位叫莱尔马的公爵脚孤拐很大，所以穿了一双方头鞋。于是，很多朝臣都仿效他，一时京城颇为风行方头鞋。
③西班牙一种民间乐曲及舞蹈，歌词为四行至七行的短诗。
唐吉诃德首先同青年攀谈。唐吉诃德问他：
“英俊的青年啊，看你轻装赶路，要去何方？如果你不介意，我们想知道。”
青年回答说：
“轻装赶路是因为天气热和贫困，我要去投军。”
“因为天气热还说得过去，”唐吉诃德说，“因为贫困是怎么回事？”
“大人，”那个青年说，“我这个包袱里有几条丝绒肥腿裤和一件短外套。如果我在路上穿坏，进城时就没有像样的衣服了，我也没钱再买衣服。还有，也是为了图凉快，我才穿得这么少，等我赶到离这儿十二西里远的步兵连入伍时再把衣服都穿上。那儿有不少车马到码头去，据说码头在卡塔赫纳。我宁愿入伍为国王效劳，也不愿意在京城里伺候穷光蛋。”
“您难道能得到什么赏赐吗？”小伙子问。
“若是我伺候一位西班牙的大人物，或者什么贵人，我肯定能得到赏赐。”青年人说，“伺候贵人总会有好处，仆役里往往出少尉或上尉，或者能弄到其他什么好差事。可是我不那么走运，总是伺候所谓的王位继承人或者收入菲薄的人，浆洗一条衣领就会花掉他们的一半薪俸。小听差若能挣大钱，那才是怪事呢。”
“你以你的生命发誓，告诉我，朋友，”唐吉诃德问道，“你干了这么多年，难道连一套制服都没挣到吗？”
“倒是给了我两套，”青年人说，“不过，就像出家人还俗之前要交还法衣，再取回自己的衣服一样，侍从们完成了在宫廷的服役后回家，制服也就收走了。制服当初只是为了装门面用的。”
“就像意大利人说的，真够奸的。”唐吉诃德说，“不过，你已经离开了宫廷，壮志满怀，应当看成是走了幸运之路。世界上再没有比首先为上帝效力，其次为国王和自己的主人效劳，尤其是以习武来为他们效劳更光荣、更有益的事情了。就像我多次说过的那样，习武即使不能像从文那样有利可图，至少比从文更能赢得荣誉。尽管文人比武士建立了更多的功业，我仍然觉得武士与文人相比，有种说不出的感觉，我知道那是一种辉煌的感觉，远远超过了文人。我现在有句话要对你说，你要记在脑子里，这对你会很有益处，会减轻你的负担。这句话就是要摒弃对可能遇到不测的忧虑，因为不测再大，至多不过是一死；如果死得其所，死是最崇高的事情。
“曾经有人问那位英勇的罗马皇帝凯撒，什么是最好的死亡方式。他回答说，最好是突如其来、意想不到地死去。尽管这听起来像是一个无视上帝真正存在的异教徒的回答，却说得很对，因为这样可以免除人类心灵的痛苦。假如你在两军冲突中阵亡，或者被炮弹击中，或者被地雷炸飞，那又何妨呢？反正都是一死，一切都结束了。按照泰伦提乌斯①的说法，战死比逃生更能称得上勇士；越是服从指挥官，越是尽可能执行指挥官的命令，就越能获得优秀战士的美名。你记住，孩子，一个优秀战士身上散发出的应当是火药味，而不是香味。当你年事已高却仍然从事这项光荣使命时，即使你满身伤痕，断手瘸腿，你至少也感到一种光荣，不会因为自己的贫困而感到羞耻。况且，现在已就如何救济老弱病残士兵发布了命令。有的人嫌年老的黑奴不能干活，就借口‘解放他们’而把他们赶走，如果用这种办法来对待老弱病残的士兵就不对了，这会使他们遭受饥饿，导致死亡。这件事我现在不想再谈了，你先上来，骑在我的马屁股上。咱们一同到客店去，再同我一起吃顿晚饭吧。明天早晨你继续赶你的路，愿上帝让你如愿以偿。”
①泰伦提乌斯是古罗马喜剧家。
那个青年没有骑唐吉诃德的马屁股，不过，他同意与唐吉诃德在客店共进晚餐。据说，桑乔当时心里想：
“上帝保佑我的主人吧！他刚才说了那么多，又说得那么好，可说起蒙特西诺斯洞窟的事情时，他怎么竟胡说他见到了那么多根本不可能见到的东西呢？好吧，以后再看吧。”
傍晚时分，他们到达了客店。这回桑乔有些高兴，因为他的主人没有像以住那样把客店当成城堡，而是把它当成了真正的客店。他们一进客店，唐吉诃德就向店主打听那个运送长矛和戟的人。店主说他正在马厩里安顿他的骡子呢。小伙子和桑乔也去安顿自己的驴，并且把马厩里最好的马槽和地方让给了罗西南多。
Part 2 Chapter 25
Don Quixote’s bread would not bake, as the common saying is, until he had heard and learned the curious things promised by the man who carried the arms. He went to seek him where the innkeeper said be was and having found him, bade him say now at any rate what he had to say in answer to the question he had asked him on the road. “The tale of my wonders must be taken more leisurely and not standing,” said the man; “let me finish foddering my beast, good sir; and then I’ll tell you things that will astonish you.”
“Don’t wait for that,” said Don Quixote; “I’ll help you in everything,” and so he did, sifting the barley for him and cleaning out the manger; a degree of humility which made the other feel bound to tell him with a good grace what he had asked; so seating himself on a bench, with Don Quixote beside him, and the cousin, the page, Sancho Panza, and the landlord, for a senate and an audience, he began his story in this way:
“You must know that in a village four leagues and a half from this inn, it so happened that one of the regidors, by the tricks and roguery of a servant girl of his (it’s too long a tale to tell), lost an ass; and though he did all he possibly could to find it, it was all to no purpose. A fortnight might have gone by, so the story goes, since the ass had been missing, when, as the regidor who had lost it was standing in the plaza, another regidor of the same town said to him, ‘Pay me for good news, gossip; your ass has turned up.’ ‘That I will, and well, gossip,’ said the other; ‘but tell us, where has he turned up?’ ‘In the forest,’ said the finder; ‘I saw him this morning without pack-saddle or harness of any sort, and so lean that it went to one’s heart to see him. I tried to drive him before me and bring him to you, but he is already so wild and shy that when I went near him he made off into the thickest part of the forest. If you have a mind that we two should go back and look for him, let me put up this she-ass at my house and I’ll be back at once.’ ‘You will be doing me a great kindness,’ said the owner of the ass, ‘and I’ll try to pay it back in the same coin.’ It is with all these circumstances, and in the very same way I am telling it now, that those who know all about the matter tell the story. Well then, the two regidors set off on foot, arm in arm, for the forest, and coming to the place where they hoped to find the ass they could not find him, nor was he to be seen anywhere about, search as they might. Seeing, then, that there was no sign of him, the regidor who had seen him said to the other, ‘Look here, gossip; a plan has occurred to me, by which, beyond a doubt, we shall manage to discover the animal, even if he is stowed away in the bowels of the earth, not to say the forest. Here it is. I can bray to perfection, and if you can ever so little, the thing’s as good as done.’ ‘Ever so little did you say, gossip?’ said the other; ‘by God, I’ll not give in to anybody, not even to the asses themselves.’ ‘We’ll soon see,’ said the second regidor, ‘for my plan is that you should go one side of the forest, and I the other, so as to go all round about it; and every now and then you will bray and I will bray; and it cannot be but that the ass will hear us, and answer us if he is in the forest.’ To which the owner of the ass replied, ‘It’s an excellent plan, I declare, gossip, and worthy of your great genius;’ and the two separating as agreed, it so fell out that they brayed almost at the same moment, and each, deceived by the braying of the other, ran to look, fancying the ass had turned up at last. When they came in sight of one another, said the loser, ‘Is it possible, gossip, that it was not my ass that brayed?’ ‘No, it was I,’ said the other. ‘Well then, I can tell you, gossip,’ said the ass’s owner, ‘that between you and an ass there is not an atom of difference as far as braying goes, for I never in all my life saw or heard anything more natural.’ ‘Those praises and compliments belong to you more justly than to me, gossip,’ said the inventor of the plan; ‘for, by the God that made me, you might give a couple of brays odds to the best and most finished brayer in the world; the tone you have got is deep, your voice is well kept up as to time and pitch, and your finishing notes come thick and fast; in fact, I own myself beaten, and yield the palm to you, and give in to you in this rare accomplishment.’ ‘Well then,’ said the owner, ‘I’ll set a higher value on myself for the future, and consider that I know something, as I have an excellence of some sort; for though I always thought I brayed well, I never supposed I came up to the pitch of perfection you say.’ ‘And I say too,’ said the second, ‘that there are rare gifts going to loss in the world, and that they are ill bestowed upon those who don’t know how to make use of them.’ ‘Ours,’ said the owner of the ass, ‘unless it is in cases like this we have now in hand, cannot be of any service to us, and even in this God grant they may be of some use.’ So saying they separated, and took to their braying once more, but every instant they were deceiving one another, and coming to meet one another again, until they arranged by way of countersign, so as to know that it was they and not the ass, to give two brays, one after the other. In this way, doubling the brays at every step, they made the complete circuit of the forest, but the lost ass never gave them an answer or even the sign of one. How could the poor ill-starred brute have answered, when, in the thickest part of the forest, they found him devoured by wolves? As soon as he saw him his owner said, ‘I was wondering he did not answer, for if he wasn’t dead he’d have brayed when he heard us, or he’d have been no ass; but for the sake of having heard you bray to such perfection, gossip, I count the trouble I have taken to look for him well bestowed, even though I have found him dead.’ ‘It’s in a good hand, gossip,’ said the other; ‘if the abbot sings well, the acolyte is not much behind him.’ So they returned disconsolate and hoarse to their village, where they told their friends, neighbours, and acquaintances what had befallen them in their search for the ass, each crying up the other’s perfection in braying. The whole story came to be known and spread abroad through the villages of the neighbourhood; and the devil, who never sleeps, with his love for sowing dissensions and scattering discord everywhere, blowing mischief about and making quarrels out of nothing, contrived to make the people of the other towns fall to braying whenever they saw anyone from our village, as if to throw the braying of our regidors in our teeth. Then the boys took to it, which was the same thing for it as getting into the hands and mouths of all the devils of hell; and braying spread from one town to another in such a way that the men of the braying town are as easy to be known as blacks are to be known from whites, and the unlucky joke has gone so far that several times the scoffed have come out in arms and in a body to do battle with the scoffers, and neither king nor rook, fear nor shame, can mend matters. To-morrow or the day after, I believe, the men of my town, that is, of the braying town, are going to take the field against another village two leagues away from ours, one of those that persecute us most; and that we may turn out well prepared I have bought these lances and halberds you have seen. These are the curious things I told you I had to tell, and if you don’t think them so, I have got no others;” and with this the worthy fellow brought his story to a close.
Just at this moment there came in at the gate of the inn a man entirely clad in chamois leather, hose, breeches, and doublet, who said in a loud voice, “Senor host, have you room? Here’s the divining ape and the show of the Release of Melisendra just coming.”
“Ods body!” said the landlord, “why, it’s Master Pedro! We’re in for a grand night!” I forgot to mention that the said Master Pedro had his left eye and nearly half his cheek covered with a patch of green taffety, showing that something ailed all that side. “Your worship is welcome, Master Pedro,” continued the landlord; “but where are the ape and the show, for I don’t see them?” “They are close at hand,” said he in the chamois leather, “but I came on first to know if there was any room.” “I’d make the Duke of Alva himself clear out to make room for Master Pedro,” said the landlord; “bring in the ape and the show; there’s company in the inn to-night that will pay to see that and the cleverness of the ape.” “So be it by all means,” said the man with the patch; “I’ll lower the price, and he well satisfied if I only pay my expenses; and now I’ll go back and hurry on the cart with the ape and the show;” and with this he went out of the inn.
Don Quixote at once asked the landlord what this Master Pedro was, and what was the show and what was the ape he had with him; which the landlord replied, “This is a famous puppet-showman, who for some time past has been going about this Mancha de Aragon, exhibiting a show of the release of Melisendra by the famous Don Gaiferos, one of the best and best-represented stories that have been seen in this part of the kingdom for many a year; he has also with him an ape with the most extraordinary gift ever seen in an ape or imagined in a human being; for if you ask him anything, he listens attentively to the question, and then jumps on his master’s shoulder, and pressing close to his ear tells him the answer which Master Pedro then delivers. He says a great deal more about things past than about things to come; and though he does not always hit the truth in every case, most times he is not far wrong, so that he makes us fancy he has got the devil in him. He gets two reals for every question if the ape answers; I mean if his master answers for him after he has whispered into his ear; and so it is believed that this same Master Pedro is very rich. He is a ‘gallant man’ as they say in Italy, and good company, and leads the finest life in the world; talks more than six, drinks more than a dozen, and all by his tongue, and his ape, and his show.”
Master Pedro now came back, and in a cart followed the show and the ape — a big one, without a tail and with buttocks as bare as felt, but not vicious-looking. As soon as Don Quixote saw him, he asked him, “Can you tell me, sir fortune-teller, what fish do we catch, and how will it be with us? See, here are my two reals,” and he bade Sancho give them to Master Pedro; but he answered for the ape and said, “Senor, this animal does not give any answer or information touching things that are to come; of things past he knows something, and more or less of things present.”
“Gad,” said Sancho, “I would not give a farthing to be told what’s past with me, for who knows that better than I do myself? And to pay for being told what I know would be mighty foolish. But as you know things present, here are my two reals, and tell me, most excellent sir ape, what is my wife Teresa Panza doing now, and what is she diverting herself with?”
Master Pedro refused to take the money, saying, “I will not receive payment in advance or until the service has been first rendered;” and then with his right hand he gave a couple of slaps on his left shoulder, and with one spring the ape perched himself upon it, and putting his mouth to his master’s ear began chattering his teeth rapidly; and having kept this up as long as one would be saying a credo, with another spring he brought himself to the ground, and the same instant Master Pedro ran in great haste and fell upon his knees before Don Quixote, and embracing his legs exclaimed, “These legs do I embrace as I would embrace the two pillars of Hercules, O illustrious reviver of knight-errantry, so long consigned to oblivion! O never yet duly extolled knight, Don Quixote of La Mancha, courage of the faint-hearted, prop of the tottering, arm of the fallen, staff and counsel of all who are unfortunate!”
 
Don Quixote was thunderstruck, Sancho astounded, the cousin staggered, the page astonished, the man from the braying town agape, the landlord in perplexity, and, in short, everyone amazed at the words of the puppet-showman, who went on to say, “And thou, worthy Sancho Panza, the best squire and squire to the best knight in the world! Be of good cheer, for thy good wife Teresa is well, and she is at this moment hackling a pound of flax; and more by token she has at her left hand a jug with a broken spout that holds a good drop of wine, with which she solaces herself at her work.”
“That I can well believe,” said Sancho. “She is a lucky one, and if it was not for her jealousy I would not change her for the giantess Andandona, who by my master’s account was a very clever and worthy woman; my Teresa is one of those that won’t let themselves want for anything, though their heirs may have to pay for it.”
“Now I declare,” said Don Quixote, “he who reads much and travels much sees and knows a great deal. I say so because what amount of persuasion could have persuaded me that there are apes in the world that can divine as I have seen now with my own eyes? For I am that very Don Quixote of La Mancha this worthy animal refers to, though he has gone rather too far in my praise; but whatever I may be, I thank heaven that it has endowed me with a tender and compassionate heart, always disposed to do good to all and harm to none.”
“If I had money,” said the page, “I would ask senor ape what will happen me in the peregrination I am making.”
To this Master Pedro, who had by this time risen from Don Quixote’s feet, replied, “I have already said that this little beast gives no answer as to the future; but if he did, not having money would be of no consequence, for to oblige Senor Don Quixote, here present, I would give up all the profits in the world. And now, because I have promised it, and to afford him pleasure, I will set up my show and offer entertainment to all who are in the inn, without any charge whatever.” As soon as he heard this, the landlord, delighted beyond measure, pointed out a place where the show might be fixed, which was done at once.
Don Quixote was not very well satisfied with the divinations of the ape, as he did not think it proper that an ape should divine anything, either past or future; so while Master Pedro was arranging the show, he retired with Sancho into a corner of the stable, where, without being overheard by anyone, he said to him, “Look here, Sancho, I have been seriously thinking over this ape’s extraordinary gift, and have come to the conclusion that beyond doubt this Master Pedro, his master, has a pact, tacit or express, with the devil.”
“If the packet is express from the devil,” said Sancho, “it must be a very dirty packet no doubt; but what good can it do Master Pedro to have such packets?”
“Thou dost not understand me, Sancho,” said Don Quixote; “I only mean he must have made some compact with the devil to infuse this power into the ape, that he may get his living, and after he has grown rich he will give him his soul, which is what the enemy of mankind wants; this I am led to believe by observing that the ape only answers about things past or present, and the devil’s knowledge extends no further; for the future he knows only by guesswork, and that not always; for it is reserved for God alone to know the times and the seasons, and for him there is neither past nor future; all is present. This being as it is, it is clear that this ape speaks by the spirit of the devil; and I am astonished they have not denounced him to the Holy Office, and put him to the question, and forced it out of him by whose virtue it is that he divines; because it is certain this ape is not an astrologer; neither his master nor he sets up, or knows how to set up, those figures they call judiciary, which are now so common in Spain that there is not a jade, or page, or old cobbler, that will not undertake to set up a figure as readily as pick up a knave of cards from the ground, bringing to nought the marvellous truth of the science by their lies and ignorance. I know of a lady who asked one of these figure schemers whether her little lap-dog would be in pup and would breed, and how many and of what colour the little pups would be. To which senor astrologer, after having set up his figure, made answer that the bitch would be in pup, and would drop three pups, one green, another bright red, and the third parti-coloured, provided she conceived between eleven and twelve either of the day or night, and on a Monday or Saturday; but as things turned out, two days after this the bitch died of a surfeit, and senor planet-ruler had the credit all over the place of being a most profound astrologer, as most of these planet-rulers have.”
“Still,” said Sancho, “I would be glad if your worship would make Master Pedro ask his ape whether what happened your worship in the cave of Montesinos is true; for, begging your worship’s pardon, I, for my part, take it to have been all flam and lies, or at any rate something you dreamt.”
“That may be,” replied Don Quixote; “however, I will do what you suggest; though I have my own scruples about it.”
At this point Master Pedro came up in quest of Don Quixote, to tell him the show was now ready and to come and see it, for it was worth seeing. Don Quixote explained his wish, and begged him to ask his ape at once to tell him whether certain things which had happened to him in the cave of Montesinos were dreams or realities, for to him they appeared to partake of both. Upon this Master Pedro, without answering, went back to fetch the ape, and, having placed it in front of Don Quixote and Sancho, said: “See here, senor ape, this gentleman wishes to know whether certain things which happened to him in the cave called the cave of Montesinos were false or true.” On his making the usual sign the ape mounted on his left shoulder and seemed to whisper in his ear, and Master Pedro said at once, “The ape says that the things you saw or that happened to you in that cave are, part of them false, part true; and that he only knows this and no more as regards this question; but if your worship wishes to know more, on Friday next he will answer all that may be asked him, for his virtue is at present exhausted, and will not return to him till Friday, as he has said.”
“Did I not say, senor,” said Sancho, “that I could not bring myself to believe that all your worship said about the adventures in the cave was true, or even the half of it?”
“The course of events will tell, Sancho,” replied Don Quixote; “time, that discloses all things, leaves nothing that it does not drag into the light of day, though it be buried in the bosom of the earth. But enough of that for the present; let us go and see Master Pedro’s show, for I am sure there must be something novel in it.”
“Something!” said Master Pedro; “this show of mine has sixty thousand novel things in it; let me tell you, Senor Don Quixote, it is one of the best-worth-seeing things in the world this day; but operibus credite et non verbis, and now let’s get to work, for it is growing late, and we have a great deal to do and to say and show.”
Don Quixote and Sancho obeyed him and went to where the show was already put up and uncovered, set all around with lighted wax tapers which made it look splendid and bright. When they came to it Master Pedro ensconced himself inside it, for it was he who had to work the puppets, and a boy, a servant of his, posted himself outside to act as showman and explain the mysteries of the exhibition, having a wand in his hand to point to the figures as they came out. And so, all who were in the inn being arranged in front of the show, some of them standing, and Don Quixote, Sancho, the page, and cousin, accommodated with the best places, the interpreter began to say what he will hear or see who reads or hears the next chapter.
 
唐吉诃德就像一只热锅上的蚂蚁，急于了解运送武器的人在路上答应讲的那些奇事。他按照店主的指点，找到了那个人，让那个人无论如何马上给他讲那些事情。那人答道：
“我说的那些奇事得慢慢讲，不能站着说。我的好大人，请先让我给骡子喂点吃的，然后再给你讲吧。我说的那些事准会让你惊奇。”
“那就别耽误时间了，”唐吉诃德说，“我来帮你做。”
说着他就动起手来，筛大麦，刷马槽。那人看到他那副热心的样子，也很愿意满足他的要求。送武器人在一条石凳上坐下来，唐吉诃德也挨着他坐下了。小伙子、青年人、桑乔和店主都凑过来听。那人讲道：
“诸位大概听说过，离这个客店大约四西里半的地方，有个市镇议员丢了一头驴。其实这是他家的一个女佣搞的鬼，说起来话就长了。议员虽然千方百计地找驴，却总也没找到。十五天过去了，丢驴的议员在广场上碰到了当地的另一位议员。那位议员对他说：‘请客吧，伙计，你的驴找着了。’‘我请客，没问题，伙计，’这个议员说，‘不过你告诉我，我的驴在哪儿呢？’‘在山上，’那个发现了驴的议员说，‘我今天早晨看见的。它身上的驮鞍和轭具都没了，看着真让人可怜。我想把它牵回来交给你，可是它已经变野了，不愿意见人。我刚走到它身边，它就跑掉了，钻进了大山深处。你要是愿意的话，咱们俩可以去找，不过你得先让我回家，把我这头驴安顿好。我马上就回来。’‘你如果能帮忙，’丢驴的议员说，‘我一定厚礼相谢。’我讲的情况就是这样，那些知道实情的人也是这么说的。于是，两个议员一起爬上山，到了那个地方找驴，可是找来找去没找到。他们又在周围的地方仔细寻找，还是没找到。于是那个发现了驴的议员对丢驴的议员说：‘听我说，伙计，我现在想到一个办法，要是照这个办法做，那头驴别说是藏在山里，就是藏在地底下，咱们也能找到它。我学驴叫学得特别好，如果你也能学驴叫，这事儿就成了。’‘你说学驴叫，伙计？’丢驴的议员问，‘天啊，要说学驴叫，我比谁都不差，就是跟驴比也不差呢。’‘那咱们就试试看，’另一位说，‘我想这样：你从山的这一侧上去，我从另一侧上去，咱们围着山走一遍。每走一段，你就学一声驴叫，我也跟着学驴叫。那头驴只要是在山里，就肯定能听见咱们叫，也会回答咱们。’丢驴的议员说：‘伙计，你的主意真不错，你真聪明。’
“于是两人分头行事。结果两人几乎是同时学驴叫，彼此都被对方的叫声欺骗了，以为是他们要找的驴出现了，便循声赶去。两人会合后，丢驴的议员说：‘伙计，难道刚才不是我的驴在叫么？’‘不，是我在叫。’另一个议员说。‘我告诉你吧，’丢驴的议员说，‘你的叫声和驴的叫声没什么区别，我这辈子还没听过谁学得这么像呢。’‘这恭维还是你当之无愧哟，我可不敢受用呀，伙计。我向上帝发誓，世界上学驴叫学得最像的人也只顶你一半。你声音高亢，声调持久，而且抑扬顿挫，有声有色，反正一句话，我只能是望尘莫及，甘拜下风啦。’‘由此看来，’丢驴的议员说，‘我可以引以自豪了，这说明我还有点本事，有一技之长。我以前就认为我学驴叫学得不错，可是从没想到像你说的这么好。’‘我还可以说，’那个议员说道，‘有些绝技已经在这个世界上失传了，那是因为某些不懂得利用它们的人使用不当所致。’‘像咱们这种绝技，若不是现在为自己的事用着了，恐怕在别处也派不上用场。就冲这点，咱们得求上帝保佑这种绝技总能对咱们有用。’
“说完两个人又分头行动，重新学起驴叫来，结果又是互相上当，重新会合在一起。最后，两人约定了暗号，连续叫两声便是他们自己的叫声，而不是驴的叫声。就这样，他们不时发出两声驴叫，走遍了一座大山，结果驴还是没回音。那头可怜而又倒霉的驴怎么会有回音呢，它已经在密林深处被狼吃掉了。后来，两个议员发现了驴的残骨。驴主人说：‘我原来就奇怪它怎么不回答呢。如果它没死，听见了咱们的声音肯定会叫，否则就不是驴了。不过，我听到你学驴叫学得这么像，也不枉我找驴一场，尽管我找到的是一头死驴。’‘你也不差呀，伙计，’另一个议员说，‘名师出高徒嘛！’说完两人便沙哑着嗓子垂头丧气地回到了镇子，并且向他们的朋友、邻居和熟人讲述了找驴的经过，还互相吹捧对方学驴叫顶呱呱。结果这件事被周围村镇的人知道了，并且传开了。魔鬼可没睡觉，它本来就喜欢到处挑拨是非，兴风作浪，结果邻近村镇的人一见到我们镇上的人就学驴叫，分明是以此来羞辱我们的议员学驴叫。
“年轻人也卷了进去，而且连说带比划，乱成一团，各个村镇都是一片驴叫声，闹得我们镇上的人到哪儿都能被人一眼认出来，就像黑白一样分明。最后，这种嘲弄发展到了我们这些被嘲弄者几次带着家伙成群结伙地去同那些嘲弄我们的人打架，打得难解难分，谁都不甘示弱。我估计明天或者哪一天，我们这个驴叫镇的人会去同离我们镇两西里的一个地方的人打架，那个地方的人尤其同我们过不去。你们看，我买的这些长矛和戟就是为此做准备的。这就是我要对你们讲的奇闻。如果你们觉得这算不上什么奇闻，别的事我就不知道了。”
送武器人刚讲完，客店门口来了一个人，他身上穿的袜子、肥腿裤和坎肩都是羊皮的。那人高声说道：
“店主大人，有房间吗？会占卦的猴子和《梅丽森德拉脱险记》的戏班子就要到了。”
“我的天哪，”店主说，“原来是佩德罗师傅！今儿晚上可热闹了。”
刚才忘了说明，这位佩德罗师傅的左眼和几乎半边脸都蒙着用绿色塔夫绸制的膏药，看样子那半边脸有什么毛病。店主接着说道：
“欢迎欢迎，佩德罗师傅。猴子和道具在哪儿呢，我怎么没看到？”
“已经很近了，”佩德罗师傅说，“我先来一步，看有没有房间。”
“就是阿尔瓦公爵在这儿住着，也得把房间让给佩德罗师傅呀！”店主说，“把猴子和道具运来吧。今晚店里有客人，他们要想看您的戏和猴儿表演就掏钱吧。”
“时机不错，”佩德罗师傅说，“我一定让让价，只要保住本就行了。我现在就去催促拉猴子和道具的车赶紧来。”
说完他转身走出了客店。
唐吉诃德问店主那佩德罗师傅是什么人，带来的是什么猴子和道具。店主答道：
“他是著名的木偶剧艺人，在靠近阿拉贡的曼查一带演出《著名的唐盖费罗斯解救梅丽森德拉》，已经好多天了。这是一部在这一带多年来没见过的优秀剧目，而且表演得很出色。他有一只猴子，非常聪明，别说跟猴子比，就是跟人比也不差。如果问它什么，它会认真听着，然后爬到主人的肩膀上，贴着主人的耳朵把答案告诉主人，然后佩德罗师傅再把答案告诉大家。它说的主要是过去的事情，对未来说得不多。虽然不是每次都回答得很准确，但大部分都能说对。因此，我们觉得它有魔鬼附身。猴子每回答一次问题，我是说它向主人耳语后，主人每代他回答一个问题，就收费两个雷阿尔，所以大家认为这位佩德罗师傅很有钱。他是一个风流男子，用意大利语说，是个‘好伙伴’，过着世界上最舒适的日子，说话比六个人说得多，喝酒比十二个人喝得多，这些全都靠他那张嘴、那只猴子和那个木偶剧团。”
这时，佩德罗师傅回来了，还有一辆车，车上是道具和一只猴子。猴子个头不小，没有尾巴，屁股毛烘烘的，不过猴子的脸并不难看。唐吉诃德一看见猴子便问：
“请告诉我，会占卦的先生，我们的命运如何？这是两个雷阿尔。”
唐吉诃德让桑乔交给佩德罗师傅两个雷阿尔。佩德罗替猴子答道：
“大人，这个猴子不回答关于未来的问题，它只谈过去的事情，现在的事情也能说一点儿。”
“岂有此理！”桑乔说，“我决不会花一分钱去让别人告诉我自己过去的事情。关于我自己的事儿，有谁能比我更清楚呢？花钱请教别人我已经知道的事情，那才是犯傻呢。不过，你既然知道现在的事情，这儿是两个雷阿尔，请告诉我，猴儿精大人，我老婆特雷莎•潘萨这会儿正在干什么，她怎样消磨时间？”
佩德罗师傅无意去接那两个雷阿尔，只是说：
“我不能未劳先取酬。”
说着他用右手拍自己的左肩两下，于是猴子一跃跳到了他肩上，把嘴凑到主人耳朵边，急速地搐动着牙齿，过了一会儿才跳回到地上。转瞬之间，佩德罗师傅已跪到唐吉诃德面前，抱住他的腿，说道：
“我抱着这两条腿，就仿佛抱着赫拉克勒斯的两根支柱！已被遗忘的骑士道的伟大振兴者呀！无论如何赞扬您都当之无愧的曼查的骑士唐吉诃德呀！您是呼唤昏厥者的精灵，扶持即将跌倒者的依靠，倒地者的保护人，所有不幸者的慰藉！”
唐吉诃德不知所措，桑乔目瞪口呆，小伙子表情茫然，青年人莫名其妙，送武器人如坠雾中，店主更是不知如何是好。总之，所有听了这番话的人都惊呆了。那木偶艺人继续说道：
“还有你，善良的桑乔！你是世界上最优秀骑士的最优秀侍从，你该知足了。你那位好老婆特雷莎现在很好，这会儿她正在梳理一磅亚麻。说得再具体一些，她身旁有个豁了口的酒坛子，里面装着很多葡萄酒。她正边干边喝呢。”
“我觉得这很好，”桑乔说，“她是个十分幸运的人。她不吃醋的时候，就是拿女巨人安丹多纳来换她，我也不干。据我主人说，那是个完美而又有用的巨人。我的特雷莎就是那种宁可亏待了孩子也不能委屈自己的人。”
“我告诉你们，”唐吉诃德说，“一个人看书多就见得多，也就见多识广，要不是我这会儿亲眼所见，我怎么会相信世界上有会占卦的猴子呢！我就是这个猴子所说的曼查的唐吉诃德，尽管它的颂扬有些言过其实。不过，无论我到底怎么样，得感谢老天，使我成了个心地善良的人，总是善待所有人，没有亏负过任何人。”
“如果我有钱，”青年人说，“我一定问问猴子，我此次远行会遇到什么情况。”
这时，佩德罗师傅已从唐吉诃德身边站起身来。他说道：
“我刚才已经说过，这个小畜生不回答有关未来事情的问题。如果它能回答，没钱也没关系。为了表示愿意为在场的唐吉诃德大人效劳，我愿意放弃我所有的利益。既然我应该而且愿意这样做，我要去布置戏台了，好为客店里的所有人免费助兴。”
店主一听，喜出望外，连忙去指点搭戏台的地方。戏台一会儿便搭好了。
唐吉诃德对猴子占卦并不十分满意，觉得无论是说过去还是道未来，让一个猴子出面总归不太合适。所以，在佩德罗师傅忙着搭戏台的时候，他同桑乔一起来到马厩一角谁也听不到他们说话的地方，对桑乔说：
“你听我说，桑乔，我仔细考虑了，这个猴子的本领很奇怪。我觉得不管是明文还是默契，它的主人佩德罗师傅肯定和魔鬼订过契约。”
“如果是给魔鬼搭的台子，那肯定很脏。”桑乔说，“不过，佩德罗师傅给魔鬼搭台子，对他又有什么好处呢？”
“你没听懂我的意思，桑乔，我是说他同魔鬼之间肯定有某种配合。他通过猴子施展魔鬼的本领，以此谋生，等发财以后，就把自己的灵魂交给魔鬼，而这正是与全人类为敌的魔鬼梦寐以求的。我相信这点是由于这只猴子只回答有关过去和现在的事情，魔鬼的智慧不也是仅限于此吗？对于未来的事情，它只能靠猜测，而且不是每次都能猜出来。只有上帝知道所有时候的事情；对于上帝来说，无所谓过去和未来，一切都是现在。
“事实既然如此，那个猴子显然是在以魔鬼的口吻说话。让我惊奇的是，怎么没有人向宗教裁判所告发它，对它进行调查，彻底搞清究竟是谁在占卦呢？无论是这只猴子还是它的主人，肯定都不会那种占星术。现在西班牙非常流行那种东西，无论是娘儿们还是小孩，或者修鞋的老头儿，都可以拿几张纸牌往地上一摊，靠他们的无知和谎言来断送科学的神圣真理。我听说有一位夫人请教算命先生，她的小母狗如果怀胎下崽，能够生几只什么颜色的小狗。那位算命先生掐算了一番之后说，如果她的小母狗怀胎生崽，能一窝生出三只小狗，一只是青色的，一只是肉色的，还有一只是杂色的，不过，必须是在白天或夜间的十一点和十二点之间交配，而且必须是在星期一或星期六。结果两天之后，那只母狗吃得太多撑死了。那个算命的也就同所有或者大多数算命先生一样，在当地被称为了‘一口清’。”
“不过，我倒是希望您让佩德罗师傅问问那只猴子，您在蒙特西诺斯洞里遇到的那些事情是不是真的。”桑乔说，“真对不起，我总觉得那全是骗人的东西，至少是虚幻的东西。”
“那倒有可能，”唐吉诃德说，“我就照你说的去办；不过，我总还是有点儿顾虑。”
恰巧佩德罗师傅来找唐吉诃德，说戏台已经准备就绪，请唐吉诃德看戏去，那出戏值得一看。唐吉诃德把自己的想法告诉了佩德罗师傅，请他马上就问问他的猴子，蒙特西诺斯洞里那些事究竟是虚幻还是事实。唐吉诃德自己觉得是两者兼而有之。佩德罗师傅一句话也没说，又把猴子带来了，当着唐吉诃德的面问猴子：
“猴儿先生，这位骑士想知道，他在一个名叫蒙特西诺斯的洞里看到的事情究竟是真的还是假的。”
他又像以往一样做了个手势，猴子跳到他的左肩上，那样子仿佛同他耳语了一番，然后佩德罗师傅说道：
“猴子说，您在那个洞里看到或遇到的事情部分是假部分是真。您问的事情，它现在只知道这些。如果您还有什么情况想了解，得等到星期五再问，它都可以回答您。现在，它神力已耗尽，就像刚才说的，得到星期五才能恢复呢。”
“我不是说过了吗，我的大人？”桑乔说，“我从来都不信您说的洞里那些事是真的，连一半都不信。”
“事实会说明一切，桑乔，”唐吉诃德说，“时间可以揭示一切事物，即使是埋在地下的事物，也终究会搞个水落石出。就说到这儿吧，现在咱们去看看好心的佩德罗师傅的戏吧，我想它肯定有点儿新鲜之处。”
“怎么是有点儿呢？”佩德罗师傅说，“我的戏里新鲜之处数以万计呢。我可以告诉您，唐吉诃德大人，这是世界上最值得看的东西，耳听为虚，眼见为实，咱们赶紧走吧，否则就晚了。我还有很多事要做要说要表演呢。”
唐吉诃德和桑乔跟着佩德罗师傅过去，来到那个露天戏台旁。戏台上到处都点满了蜡烛，显得一片辉煌又引人注目。他们一到，佩德罗师傅就钻进戏台里，他要在那儿操纵小木偶。戏台外面站着一个小伙计，佩德罗师傅让他讲解戏的内容。他手里拿着一根小棍，按照出场顺序一一指点着剧中人物。
客店里的所有人都来了，有的人还得站着。唐吉诃德、桑乔、青年人和那个小伙子坐在最好的位置看戏。讲解员开始讲解。其所说所演请看下章。
Part 2 Chapter 26
All were silent, Tyrians and Trojans; I mean all who were watching the show were hanging on the lips of the interpreter of its wonders, when drums and trumpets were heard to sound inside it and cannon to go off. The noise was soon over, and then the boy lifted up his voice and said, “This true story which is here represented to your worships is taken word for word from the French chronicles and from the Spanish ballads that are in everybody’s mouth, and in the mouth of the boys about the streets. Its subject is the release by Senor Don Gaiferos of his wife Melisendra, when a captive in Spain at the hands of the Moors in the city of Sansuena, for so they called then what is now called Saragossa; and there you may see how Don Gaiferos is playing at the tables, just as they sing it —
At tables playing Don Gaiferos sits,
For Melisendra is forgotten now.
And that personage who appears there with a crown on his head and a sceptre in his hand is the Emperor Charlemagne, the supposed father of Melisendra, who, angered to see his son-in-law’s inaction and unconcern, comes in to chide him; and observe with what vehemence and energy he chides him, so that you would fancy he was going to give him half a dozen raps with his sceptre; and indeed there are authors who say he did give them, and sound ones too; and after having said a great deal to him about imperilling his honour by not effecting the release of his wife, he said, so the tale runs,
Enough I’ve said, see to it now.
Observe, too, how the emperor turns away, and leaves Don Gaiferos fuming; and you see now how in a burst of anger, he flings the table and the board far from him and calls in haste for his armour, and asks his cousin Don Roland for the loan of his sword, Durindana, and how Don Roland refuses to lend it, offering him his company in the difficult enterprise he is undertaking; but he, in his valour and anger, will not accept it, and says that he alone will suffice to rescue his wife, even though she were imprisoned deep in the centre of the earth, and with this he retires to arm himself and set out on his journey at once. Now let your worships turn your eyes to that tower that appears there, which is supposed to be one of the towers of the alcazar of Saragossa, now called the Aljaferia; that lady who appears on that balcony dressed in Moorish fashion is the peerless Melisendra, for many a time she used to gaze from thence upon the road to France, and seek consolation in her captivity by thinking of Paris and her husband. Observe, too, a new incident which now occurs, such as, perhaps, never was seen. Do you not see that Moor, who silently and stealthily, with his finger on his lip, approaches Melisendra from behind? Observe now how he prints a kiss upon her lips, and what a hurry she is in to spit, and wipe them with the white sleeve of her smock, and how she bewails herself, and tears her fair hair as though it were to blame for the wrong. Observe, too, that the stately Moor who is in that corridor is King Marsilio of Sansuena, who, having seen the Moor’s insolence, at once orders him (though his kinsman and a great favourite of his) to be seized and given two hundred lashes, while carried through the streets of the city according to custom, with criers going before him and officers of justice behind; and here you see them come out to execute the sentence, although the offence has been scarcely committed; for among the Moors there are no indictments nor remands as with us.”
Here Don Quixote called out, “Child, child, go straight on with your story, and don’t run into curves and slants, for to establish a fact clearly there is need of a great deal of proof and confirmation;” and said Master Pedro from within, “Boy, stick to your text and do as the gentleman bids you; it’s the best plan; keep to your plain song, and don’t attempt harmonies, for they are apt to break down from being over fine.”
“I will,” said the boy, and he went on to say, “This figure that you see here on horseback, covered with a Gascon cloak, is Don Gaiferos himself, whom his wife, now avenged of the insult of the amorous Moor, and taking her stand on the balcony of the tower with a calmer and more tranquil countenance, has perceived without recognising him; and she addresses her husband, supposing him to be some traveller, and holds with him all that conversation and colloquy in the ballad that runs —
If you, sir knight, to France are bound,
Oh! for Gaiferos ask —
which I do not repeat here because prolixity begets disgust; suffice it to observe how Don Gaiferos discovers himself, and that by her joyful gestures Melisendra shows us she has recognised him; and what is more, we now see she lowers herself from the balcony to place herself on the haunches of her good husband’s horse. But ah! unhappy lady, the edge of her petticoat has caught on one of the bars of the balcony and she is left hanging in the air, unable to reach the ground. But you see how compassionate heaven sends aid in our sorest need; Don Gaiferos advances, and without minding whether the rich petticoat is torn or not, he seizes her and by force brings her to the ground, and then with one jerk places her on the haunches of his horse, astraddle like a man, and bids her hold on tight and clasp her arms round his neck, crossing them on his breast so as not to fall, for the lady Melisendra was not used to that style of riding. You see, too, how the neighing of the horse shows his satisfaction with the gallant and beautiful burden he bears in his lord and lady. You see how they wheel round and quit the city, and in joy and gladness take the road to Paris. Go in peace, O peerless pair of true lovers! May you reach your longed-for fatherland in safety, and may fortune interpose no impediment to your prosperous journey; may the eyes of your friends and kinsmen behold you enjoying in peace and tranquillity the remaining days of your life — and that they may be as many as those of Nestor!”
Here Master Pedro called out again and said, “Simplicity, boy! None of your high flights; all affectation is bad.”
The interpreter made no answer, but went on to say, “There was no want of idle eyes, that see everything, to see Melisendra come down and mount, and word was brought to King Marsilio, who at once gave orders to sound the alarm; and see what a stir there is, and how the city is drowned with the sound of the bells pealing in the towers of all the mosques.”
“Nay, nay,” said Don Quixote at this; “on that point of the bells Master Pedro is very inaccurate, for bells are not in use among the Moors; only kettledrums, and a kind of small trumpet somewhat like our clarion; to ring bells this way in Sansuena is unquestionably a great absurdity.”
On hearing this, Master Pedro stopped ringing, and said, “Don’t look into trifles, Senor Don Quixote, or want to have things up to a pitch of perfection that is out of reach. Are there not almost every day a thousand comedies represented all round us full of thousands of inaccuracies and absurdities, and, for all that, they have a successful run, and are listened to not only with applause, but with admiration and all the rest of it? Go on, boy, and don’t mind; for so long as I fill my pouch, no matter if I show as many inaccuracies as there are motes in a sunbeam.”
“True enough,” said Don Quixote; and the boy went on: “See what a numerous and glittering crowd of horsemen issues from the city in pursuit of the two faithful lovers, what a blowing of trumpets there is, what sounding of horns, what beating of drums and tabors; I fear me they will overtake them and bring them back tied to the tail of their own horse, which would be a dreadful sight.”
 
Don Quixote, however, seeing such a swarm of Moors and hearing such a din, thought it would be right to aid the fugitives, and standing up he exclaimed in a loud voice, “Never, while I live, will I permit foul play to be practised in my presence on such a famous knight and fearless lover as Don Gaiferos. Halt! ill-born rabble, follow him not nor pursue him, or ye will have to reckon with me in battle!” and suiting the action to the word, he drew his sword, and with one bound placed himself close to the show, and with unexampled rapidity and fury began to shower down blows on the puppet troop of Moors, knocking over some, decapitating others, maiming this one and demolishing that; and among many more he delivered one down stroke which, if Master Pedro had not ducked, made himself small, and got out of the way, would have sliced off his head as easily as if it had been made of almond-paste. Master Pedro kept shouting, “Hold hard! Senor Don Quixote! can’t you see they’re not real Moors you’re knocking down and killing and destroying, but only little pasteboard figures! Look — sinner that I am! — how you’re wrecking and ruining all that I’m worth!” But in spite of this, Don Quixote did not leave off discharging a continuous rain of cuts, slashes, downstrokes, and backstrokes, and at length, in less than the space of two credos, he brought the whole show to the ground, with all its fittings and figures shivered and knocked to pieces, King Marsilio badly wounded, and the Emperor Charlemagne with his crown and head split in two. The whole audience was thrown into confusion, the ape fled to the roof of the inn, the cousin was frightened, and even Sancho Panza himself was in mighty fear, for, as he swore after the storm was over, he had never seen his master in such a furious passion.
The complete destruction of the show being thus accomplished, Don Quixote became a little calmer, said, “I wish I had here before me now all those who do not or will not believe how useful knights-errant are in the world; just think, if I had not been here present, what would have become of the brave Don Gaiferos and the fair Melisendra! Depend upon it, by this time those dogs would have overtaken them and inflicted some outrage upon them. So, then, long live knight-errantry beyond everything living on earth this day!”
“Let it live, and welcome,” said Master Pedro at this in a feeble voice, “and let me die, for I am so unfortunate that I can say with King Don Rodrigo —
Yesterday was I lord of Spain
To-day I’ve not a turret left
That I may call mine own.
Not half an hour, nay, barely a minute ago, I saw myself lord of kings and emperors, with my stables filled with countless horses, and my trunks and bags with gay dresses unnumbered; and now I find myself ruined and laid low, destitute and a beggar, and above all without my ape, for, by my faith, my teeth will have to sweat for it before I have him caught; and all through the reckless fury of sir knight here, who, they say, protects the fatherless, and rights wrongs, and does other charitable deeds; but whose generous intentions have been found wanting in my case only, blessed and praised be the highest heavens! Verily, knight of the rueful figure he must be to have disfigured mine.”
Sancho Panza was touched by Master Pedro’s words, and said to him, “Don’t weep and lament, Master Pedro; you break my heart; let me tell you my master, Don Quixote, is so catholic and scrupulous a Christian that, if he can make out that he has done you any wrong, he will own it, and be willing to pay for it and make it good, and something over and above.”
“Only let Senor Don Quixote pay me for some part of the work he has destroyed,” said Master Pedro, “and I would be content, and his worship would ease his conscience, for he cannot be saved who keeps what is another’s against the owner’s will, and makes no restitution.”
“That is true,” said Don Quixote; “but at present I am not aware that I have got anything of yours, Master Pedro.”
“What!” returned Master Pedro; “and these relics lying here on the bare hard ground — what scattered and shattered them but the invincible strength of that mighty arm? And whose were the bodies they belonged to but mine? And what did I get my living by but by them?”
“Now am I fully convinced,” said Don Quixote, “of what I had many a time before believed; that the enchanters who persecute me do nothing more than put figures like these before my eyes, and then change and turn them into what they please. In truth and earnest, I assure you gentlemen who now hear me, that to me everything that has taken place here seemed to take place literally, that Melisendra was Melisendra, Don Gaiferos Don Gaiferos, Marsilio Marsilio, and Charlemagne Charlemagne. That was why my anger was roused; and to be faithful to my calling as a knight-errant I sought to give aid and protection to those who fled, and with this good intention I did what you have seen. If the result has been the opposite of what I intended, it is no fault of mine, but of those wicked beings that persecute me; but, for all that, I am willing to condemn myself in costs for this error of mine, though it did not proceed from malice; let Master Pedro see what he wants for the spoiled figures, for I agree to pay it at once in good and current money of Castile.”
Master Pedro made him a bow, saying, “I expected no less of the rare Christianity of the valiant Don Quixote of La Mancha, true helper and protector of all destitute and needy vagabonds; master landlord here and the great Sancho Panza shall be the arbitrators and appraisers between your worship and me of what these dilapidated figures are worth or may be worth.”
The landlord and Sancho consented, and then Master Pedro picked up from the ground King Marsilio of Saragossa with his head off, and said, “Here you see how impossible it is to restore this king to his former state, so I think, saving your better judgments, that for his death, decease, and demise, four reals and a half may be given me.”
“Proceed,” said Don Quixote.
“Well then, for this cleavage from top to bottom,” continued Master Pedro, taking up the split Emperor Charlemagne, “it would not be much if I were to ask five reals and a quarter.”
“It’s not little,” said Sancho.
“Nor is it much,” said the landlord; “make it even, and say five reals.”
“Let him have the whole five and a quarter,” said Don Quixote; “for the sum total of this notable disaster does not stand on a quarter more or less; and make an end of it quickly, Master Pedro, for it’s getting on to supper-time, and I have some hints of hunger.”
“For this figure,” said Master Pedro, “that is without a nose, and wants an eye, and is the fair Melisendra, I ask, and I am reasonable in my charge, two reals and twelve maravedis.”
“The very devil must be in it,” said Don Quixote, “if Melisendra and her husband are not by this time at least on the French border, for the horse they rode on seemed to me to fly rather than gallop; so you needn’t try to sell me the cat for the hare, showing me here a noseless Melisendra when she is now, may be, enjoying herself at her ease with her husband in France. God help every one to his own, Master Pedro, and let us all proceed fairly and honestly; and now go on.”
Master Pedro, perceiving that Don Quixote was beginning to wander, and return to his original fancy, was not disposed to let him escape, so he said to him, “This cannot be Melisendra, but must be one of the damsels that waited on her; so if I’m given sixty maravedis for her, I’ll be content and sufficiently paid.”
And so he went on, putting values on ever so many more smashed figures, which, after the two arbitrators had adjusted them to the satisfaction of both parties, came to forty reals and three-quarters; and over and above this sum, which Sancho at once disbursed, Master Pedro asked for two reals for his trouble in catching the ape.
“Let him have them, Sancho,” said Don Quixote; “not to catch the ape, but to get drunk; and two hundred would I give this minute for the good news, to anyone who could tell me positively, that the lady Dona Melisandra and Senor Don Gaiferos were now in France and with their own people.”
“No one could tell us that better than my ape,” said Master Pedro; “but there’s no devil that could catch him now; I suspect, however, that affection and hunger will drive him to come looking for me to-night; but to-morrow will soon be here and we shall see.”
In short, the puppet-show storm passed off, and all supped in peace and good fellowship at Don Quixote’s expense, for he was the height of generosity. Before it was daylight the man with the lances and halberds took his departure, and soon after daybreak the cousin and the page came to bid Don Quixote farewell, the former returning home, the latter resuming his journey, towards which, to help him, Don Quixote gave him twelve reals. Master Pedro did not care to engage in any more palaver with Don Quixote, whom he knew right well; so he rose before the sun, and having got together the remains of his show and caught his ape, he too went off to seek his adventures. The landlord, who did not know Don Quixote, was as much astonished at his mad freaks as at his generosity. To conclude, Sancho, by his master’s orders, paid him very liberally, and taking leave of him they quitted the inn at about eight in the morning and took to the road, where we will leave them to pursue their journey, for this is necessary in order to allow certain other matters to be set forth, which are required to clear up this famous history.
 
全场鸦雀无声，所有人都全神贯注地看着台上，仔细听讲解员讲解。只听一阵铜鼓和喇叭响，接着是一阵炮声。随后，讲解的小伙子提高了嗓门：
“现在，在你们面前表演的是根据法国编年史和西班牙街头流传的民谣编写的一个真实故事。其内容是唐盖费罗斯大人解救他的夫人梅丽森德拉的故事。梅丽森德拉被摩尔人关在西班牙当时叫做桑苏埃尼亚的城里，也就是现在的萨拉戈萨。你们看，唐盖费罗斯正在玩十五子棋，就像歌词唱的：
唐盖费罗斯正在玩十五子棋，
救梅丽森德拉的事已被忘记。
“那个头戴皇冠、手拿权杖的人就是梅丽森德拉的继父卡洛马尼奥皇帝。他见女婿如此游手好闲非常恼火，过来责备女婿。他责备得非常严厉，似乎恨不得用权杖打女婿十几下，甚至有人说他真的动手打了，而且打得很重。他还说了唐盖费罗斯如果不设法救出自己的妻子，就会名誉扫地等等诸如此类的话。他说：
我已经说够了，你看着办吧！
“你们看，皇帝转过身去，只剩下唐盖费罗斯还在那里生气。他离开了棋盘和棋子，让人给他马上拿盔甲来，又向他的兄弟罗尔丹借杜林达纳宝剑。罗尔丹不愿意借剑给他，却愿意陪同他去完成这个艰巨的任务。可是这位怒气冲天的英雄不同意，说单枪匹马就足以救出自己的妻子，哪怕妻子被藏在地下最深处。就这样，他全身披挂上路了。现在，请诸位掉过头来看那座塔楼。假设那是萨拉戈萨王宫，即现在叫阿尔哈费里亚王宫的一座瞭望塔。瞭望塔上那位穿着摩尔人服装的夫人就是举世无双的梅丽森德拉。她多次从这里遥望通向法国的道路，想念着巴黎和她的丈夫，聊以自慰。你们看，现在出现了一个你们或许再也见不到的场面。你们看见了吗？那个摩尔人把手指放在嘴边上，轻手轻脚地走到了梅丽森德拉背后？你们看，他在梅丽森德拉的嘴唇上吻了一下，而梅丽森德拉迅速地用自己的白衣袖擦嘴，伤心不已难过得直揪自己秀丽的头发，仿佛是她的头发造成了罪孽。你们看，走廊里那个表情严肃的摩尔人就是桑苏埃尼亚的马尔西利奥皇帝。皇帝看见了那个摩尔人的无礼行为，尽管那个摩尔人是他的亲戚，又是他的心腹，他还是下令把那个摩尔人抓起来，抽二百鞭，并且带到城里那个摩尔人常去的街上去游街示众：
叫喊者在前，
押解者在后。
你们看，那个摩尔人马上就要受到惩罚了，尽管他的罪恶企图并没有得逞。摩尔人不像我们，没有什么‘缓期执行，以观后效’。”
“孩子，孩子，”唐吉诃德这时候大声说道，“你有话直说，不要拐弯抹角的。要搞清一件事情，必须有很多的、充足的证据。”
佩德罗师傅也在台里说道：
“孩子，你别说得太离谱，最好是按照那位大人的吩咐去做。你继续讲下去，是怎样就怎样，不要冷嘲热讽的，否则很容易不攻自破。”
“我一定照办，”那个孩子说，“这个骑着马、身披加斯科尼斗篷的人就是唐盖费罗斯。他的妻子现在也在这里。她对那个胆大妄为的摩尔色鬼的愤恨已经解除，现在平静多了。她站在塔楼的瞭望台上同自己的丈夫说话。不过，她并没有认出自己的丈夫来，还以为那是某位过路人呢。她同这位所谓过路人的对话，民谣里是这样说的：
勇士，如果你到法国去，
请去找唐盖费罗斯。
“她的其他话我就不说了，罗罗嗦嗦常会使人生厌。现在只说唐盖费罗斯拿掉了斗篷，再看梅丽森德拉那高兴的样子，就可以知道她已经认出了自己的丈夫。我们可以看到她如何从瞭望台上下来，打算骑到丈夫的马屁股上。可是真不巧，她裙子的一角被瞭望台的铁栏杆挂住了，结果被悬空吊在了瞭望台上。
“你们再看，仁慈的老天总是在关键时刻解救危难。唐盖费罗斯奔驰而至，他不管梅丽森德拉贵重的裙子是否会被挂破，抓住她，硬把她拽了下来，然后一扭身把她放到马屁股上，让她像男人那样骑在马上，等她坐稳又叫她从背后搂住自己的胸，以免掉下去，因为梅丽森德拉夫人不习惯以这种方式骑马。你们看，骏马嘶鸣，表示它很高兴驮着勇敢的男主人和美丽的女主人。你们看，他们两个人转身出了城，兴奋不已地踏上了通往巴黎的路途。祝你们一路平安，你们这一对天下无比的真正有情人！祝你们安然无恙地回到渴望已久的祖国，一路顺风，畅通无阻！你们的朋友和亲戚正注视着你们，祝你们安度余生！”
此时，佩德罗师傅又提高了嗓门说道：
“说得痛快点儿，孩子，别支支吾吾的，各种形式的矫揉造作都不好。”
讲解员没有答话，只是继续说道：
“总有些游手好闲的人到处乱踅摸。他们看见梅丽森德拉从瞭望台上下来，上了唐盖费罗斯的马，就去向马尔西利奥皇帝报告。皇帝立即下令拿起武器追赶，你们看，他们的动作有多快。全城响遍了钟声，所有寺院的钟都敲响了。”
“这就错了，”唐吉诃德说，“在敲钟这个问题上，佩德罗师傅是大错特错了。摩尔人不敲钟，只敲铜鼓，还吹一种类似笛号的六孔竖笛。要说在桑苏埃尼亚敲钟，那简直是弥天大谎。”
佩德罗师傅闻言停止了表演，说道：
“您不要吹毛求疵，唐吉诃德大人，什么事也不要过分认真。现在上演的上千部滑稽戏，难道不都是一派胡言吗？虽然是一派胡言，可还是照演不误，不仅得到了掌声，而且得到了赞扬，得到了一切。只要能塞满我的钱包，孩子，即使戏里的错误多如牛毛，你也接着往下说！”
“这才是实话。”唐吉诃德说。
那孩子又说道：
“你们看，有多少骑兵出城追赶这对天主教情人啊！无数只小喇叭吹响了，无数只竖笛吹响了，无数只铜鼓敲响了。我真怕他们被抓住。如果他们被抓住，就要被拴在那匹马的尾巴上拖回来，那场面可就惨了。”
唐吉诃德看到这么多摩尔人追赶，又听到这样惊天动地的声音，觉得他应该帮助那两个正在逃跑的人。于是他站起来，大声说道：
“只要我还在，我绝不允许在我面前对这样一位著名的骑士，对勇敢而又多情的唐盖费罗斯进行污辱！站住，你这无耻的混蛋！不许再追，否则我就要动手了！”
说做就做，唐吉诃德拔出剑，一跃跳到戏台旁，雨点般地急速砍向那些木偶摩尔人，结果有的被打倒了，有的被砍掉了脑袋，有的缺胳膊断腿，有的成了碎块。混乱之中，有一剑猛劈下来，若不是佩德罗师傅蹲身躲避，他的脑袋肯定像切面团一样被砍掉了。佩德罗师傅喊道：
“快住手，唐吉诃德大人，您看看，您砍倒、打翻、杀死的摩尔人都不是真人，只是小泥人呀！我真是自作自受！把我的东西全毁了，我的家产全完了。”
不过，唐吉诃德并没有因此就停止砍杀。他双手持剑，连连砍杀，挥剑如雨，不一会儿工夫，戏台就塌了，所有的道具和木偶都变成了碎片。马尔西利奥国王受了重伤，卡洛马尼奥皇帝的脑袋和皇冠分了家。观众大乱，猴子从客店的房顶逃跑了，小伙子吓坏了，那个青年也非常害怕，连桑乔都惊恐不已，事过之后他曾发誓说，他从没见过主人如此狂怒。
把戏台全部砸坏之后，唐吉诃德才安静些了。他说道：
“我想让所有那些不相信或者不愿意相信的人都来看看，游侠骑士对于世界是多么有益。假如没有我在这里，善良的唐盖费罗斯和美丽的梅丽森德拉会怎么样呢？他们肯定会被那些坏蛋赶上，遭到不测。一句话，游侠骑士道应当比世界上的所有一切都更永久地存在下去！”
“让骑士道永久地存在下去！”佩德罗师傅这时有气无力地说道，“还不如让我去死吧！我真是倒霉透了，就像唐罗德里戈国王说的：
昨日我是西班牙的主人，
今天我却不能说
我身有分文。
半小时前，或者连半小时的一半时间都不到，我还拥有国王和皇帝，马厩里有许多马，箱子和口袋里有许多华丽的衣服。可现在，只剩下一堆破烂，我成了个穷光蛋。特别是我的猴子也没有了，看来要找回来，得费不少劲呢。这都怪这位不分青红皂白的骑士大人。据说他抑强扶弱，做了许多好事，怎么偏偏对我就不那么宽容呢！求高高在上的老天行行好吧，这位猥獕骑士这回可把我弄得真够猥獕的。”
桑乔听了佩德罗师傅的话不禁动了恻隐之心，说道：
“别伤心，佩德罗师傅，你也别叹气，我听了心里难受。我可以告诉你，我的主人唐吉诃德是个虔诚的教徒，十足的基督教徒。当他意识到他做了错事时，就会向你承认错误，赔偿你的损失，而且条件会优厚得多。”
“如果你的主人能够对他给我造成的损失赔偿一部分，我就知足了，那么他也可以心安理得。要是谁损坏了别人的东西又不赔偿，他的灵魂就升不了天。”
“是这样。”唐吉诃德说，“不过，我到现在仍不明白，我和您有什么关系，佩德罗师傅。”
“怎么没关系？”佩德罗师傅说，“这满地七零八落的东西，是谁把它们打碎的，弄得遍地都是？难道不是您的不可战胜的有力臂膀吗？这些乱七八糟的东西是您的吗？难道不是我的吗？我靠什么过日子，难道不是靠这些东西吗？”
“现在我才明白，”唐吉诃德说，“同前几次的情况一样，那些跟我过不去的魔法师先是让这些人物按照他们的本来面目在我面前出现，然后又改变了它们的模样。诸位正在听我说话的先生们，我实话对你们说，我刚才看到的都是千真万确的，梅丽森德拉就是梅丽森德拉，唐盖费罗斯就是唐盖费罗斯，马尔西利奥就是马尔西利奥，卡洛马尼奥就是卡洛马尼奥，所以我才怒从心头起。我要履行我游侠骑士的义务，我要帮助那两个被追赶的人，出于这一番好意，我才做了我刚才做过的事情。如果事与愿违，那并非我的过错，而是那些跟我过不去的坏人的过错。不过，既然我有错，尽管并非我有意铸成，我还是愿意主动受罚。佩德罗师傅，您看看这些被打坏的木偶一共需要赔多少钱，我一定用西班牙现行金币赔偿你。”
佩德罗师傅对唐吉诃德鞠了一躬，说道：
“我没想到，曼查英勇的唐吉诃德，穷苦弱者的真正恩人和保护人，竟会有如此空前的仁爱品德。至于这些被打碎的木偶到底值多少钱，就请店主大人和桑乔大哥做你我之间的公断人吧。”
店主和桑乔同意做公断人。于是，佩德罗师傅从地上拾起没有脑袋的萨拉戈萨国王马尔西利奥，说道：
“很明显，已经不可能把这个国王修复如初了。除非有什么更好的办法，否则我认为他已经死了，所以，怎么也得赔我四个半雷阿尔。”
“可以。”唐吉诃德说。
“这个已经被从上到下劈开了，”佩德罗师傅又拿起被劈开的卡洛马尼奥皇帝说，“所以，要四个雷阿尔加一个夸尔蒂约①并不算多。”
“也不少。”桑乔说。
“不算多，”店主说，“干脆凑个整数，就算五个雷阿尔吧。”
唐吉诃德说：“那就给五个雷阿尔加一个夸尔蒂约吧。损失这么大，我不在乎这一个夸尔蒂约。快点儿吧，佩德罗师傅，该吃晚饭了，我已经有点饿了。”
“这个没了鼻子又少了一只眼的木偶是美女梅丽森德拉。
我也不多要，就要两个雷阿尔加十二个马拉维迪②。”
①古币名，一夸尔蒂约相当于四分一雷阿尔。
②古币名，一个雷阿尔兑换三十四个马拉维迪。
“这就有点儿见鬼了，”唐吉诃德说，“因为梅丽森德拉和她的丈夫如果一路顺风，现在至少已进入法国享清福了。我觉得他们的马不是在跑，简直是在飞。所以你也别以次充好，拿别的木偶来冒充没鼻子的梅丽森德拉。上帝会保佑各方，佩德罗师傅，咱们还是都踏踏实实地过好自己的日子吧。您再接着说。”
佩德罗师傅见唐吉诃德又开始犯糊涂，就像刚才那样，生怕他又赖账，就说道：
“这个大概不是梅丽森德拉，而是她的侍女。那么，您赔我六十个马拉维迪，我就知足了。”
就这样，两人又一一讨论了其他被损木偶的价钱，再由两个公断人裁决，让双方都满意。赔款总数为四十雷阿尔零三个夸尔蒂约。桑乔付了钱。佩德罗师傅又要两个雷阿尔作为找猴子的劳务费。
“给他两个雷阿尔，桑乔，”唐吉诃德说，“不过不是找猴子，而是找消息。如果谁现在能够确切地告诉我，梅丽森德拉夫人和唐盖费罗斯大人已经回到了法国，并且已经与家人团聚，我就给他二百个雷阿尔作为奖励。”
“谁也比不上我的猴子说得更准确，”佩德罗师傅说，“可即使是魔鬼这会儿也找不到它。不过我觉得，无论是由于感情还是由于饥饿，它今天晚上都得回来找我，至于结果如何，只能明天见分晓了。”
戏台风波终于平息，大家一起客客气气地吃晚饭，唐吉诃德也显得格外慷慨，支付了晚餐的全部费用。
运送长矛和戟的人天亮之前就走了。天亮以后，小伙子和那个青年人也来向唐吉诃德告别，一个要回到家乡去，一个要继续赶路。唐吉诃德给了继续赶路的青年人十二个雷阿尔作为资助，佩德罗师傅已经很了解唐吉诃德，不愿意再和他纠缠，所以在凌晨太阳出来之前便收拾好自己那些被打坏的道具，带着自己的猴子，去寻找自己的运气了。店主并不了解唐吉诃德，所以对唐吉诃德的疯癫和慷慨感到十分惊奇。桑乔按照主人的吩咐非常大方地付了店钱。八点左右，唐吉诃德和桑乔离开客店上了路。且让他们走吧，咱们可以抽空把一些跟这部著名小说有关的情况介绍一下。
Part 2 Chapter 27
Cide Hamete, the chronicler of this great history, begins this chapter with these words, “I swear as a Catholic Christian;” with regard to which his translator says that Cide Hamete’s swearing as a Catholic Christian, he being — as no doubt he was — a Moor, only meant that, just as a Catholic Christian taking an oath swears, or ought to swear, what is true, and tell the truth in what he avers, so he was telling the truth, as much as if he swore as a Catholic Christian, in all he chose to write about Quixote, especially in declaring who Master Pedro was and what was the divining ape that astonished all the villages with his divinations. He says, then, that he who has read the First Part of this history will remember well enough the Gines de Pasamonte whom, with other galley slaves, Don Quixote set free in the Sierra Morena: a kindness for which he afterwards got poor thanks and worse payment from that evil-minded, ill-conditioned set. This Gines de Pasamonte — Don Ginesillo de Parapilla, Don Quixote called him — it was that stole Dapple from Sancho Panza; which, because by the fault of the printers neither the how nor the when was stated in the First Part, has been a puzzle to a good many people, who attribute to the bad memory of the author what was the error of the press. In fact, however, Gines stole him while Sancho Panza was asleep on his back, adopting the plan and device that Brunello had recourse to when he stole Sacripante’s horse from between his legs at the siege of Albracca; and, as has been told, Sancho afterwards recovered him. This Gines, then, afraid of being caught by the officers of justice, who were looking for him to punish him for his numberless rascalities and offences (which were so many and so great that he himself wrote a big book giving an account of them), resolved to shift his quarters into the kingdom of Aragon, and cover up his left eye, and take up the trade of a puppet-showman; for this, as well as juggling, he knew how to practise to perfection. From some released Christians returning from Barbary, it so happened, he bought the ape, which he taught to mount upon his shoulder on his making a certain sign, and to whisper, or seem to do so, in his ear. Thus prepared, before entering any village whither he was bound with his show and his ape, he used to inform himself at the nearest village, or from the most likely person he could find, as to what particular things had happened there, and to whom; and bearing them well in mind, the first thing be did was to exhibit his show, sometimes one story, sometimes another, but all lively, amusing, and familiar. As soon as the exhibition was over he brought forward the accomplishments of his ape, assuring the public that he divined all the past and the present, but as to the future he had no skill. For each question answered he asked two reals, and for some he made a reduction, just as he happened to feel the pulse of the questioners; and when now and then he came to houses where things that he knew of had happened to the people living there, even if they did not ask him a question, not caring to pay for it, he would make the sign to the ape and then declare that it had said so and so, which fitted the case exactly. In this way he acquired a prodigious name and all ran after him; on other occasions, being very crafty, he would answer in such a way that the answers suited the questions; and as no one cross-questioned him or pressed him to tell how his ape divined, he made fools of them all and filled his pouch. The instant he entered the inn he knew Don Quixote and Sancho, and with that knowledge it was easy for him to astonish them and all who were there; but it would have cost him dear had Don Quixote brought down his hand a little lower when he cut off King Marsilio’s head and destroyed all his horsemen, as related in the preceeding chapter.
So much for Master Pedro and his ape; and now to return to Don Quixote of La Mancha. After he had left the inn he determined to visit, first of all, the banks of the Ebro and that neighbourhood, before entering the city of Saragossa, for the ample time there was still to spare before the jousts left him enough for all. With this object in view he followed the road and travelled along it for two days, without meeting any adventure worth committing to writing until on the third day, as he was ascending a hill, he heard a great noise of drums, trumpets, and musket-shots. At first he imagined some regiment of soldiers was passing that way, and to see them he spurred Rocinante and mounted the hill. On reaching the top he saw at the foot of it over two hundred men, as it seemed to him, armed with weapons of various sorts, lances, crossbows, partisans, halberds, and pikes, and a few muskets and a great many bucklers. He descended the slope and approached the band near enough to see distinctly the flags, make out the colours and distinguish the devices they bore, especially one on a standard or ensign of white satin, on which there was painted in a very life-like style an ass like a little sard, with its head up, its mouth open and its tongue out, as if it were in the act and attitude of braying; and round it were inscribed in large characters these two lines —
They did not bray in vain,
Our alcaldes twain.
From this device Don Quixote concluded that these people must be from the braying town, and he said so to Sancho, explaining to him what was written on the standard. At the same time be observed that the man who had told them about the matter was wrong in saying that the two who brayed were regidors, for according to the lines of the standard they were alcaldes. To which Sancho replied, “Senor, there’s nothing to stick at in that, for maybe the regidors who brayed then came to he alcaldes of their town afterwards, and so they may go by both titles; moreover, it has nothing to do with the truth of the story whether the brayers were alcaldes or regidors, provided at any rate they did bray; for an alcalde is just as likely to bray as a regidor.” They perceived, in short, clearly that the town which had been twitted had turned out to do battle with some other that had jeered it more than was fair or neighbourly.
Don Quixote proceeded to join them, not a little to Sancho’s uneasiness, for he never relished mixing himself up in expeditions of that sort. The members of the troop received him into the midst of them, taking him to he some one who was on their side. Don Quixote, putting up his visor, advanced with an easy bearing and demeanour to the standard with the ass, and all the chief men of the army gathered round him to look at him, staring at him with the usual amazement that everybody felt on seeing him for the first time. Don Quixote, seeing them examining him so attentively, and that none of them spoke to him or put any question to him, determined to take advantage of their silence; so, breaking his own, he lifted up his voice and said, “Worthy sirs, I entreat you as earnestly as I can not to interrupt an argument I wish to address to you, until you find it displeases or wearies you; and if that come to pass, on the slightest hint you give me I will put a seal upon my lips and a gag upon my tongue.”
They all bade him say what he liked, for they would listen to him willingly.
 
With this permission Don Quixote went on to say, “I, sirs, am a knight-errant whose calling is that of arms, and whose profession is to protect those who require protection, and give help to such as stand in need of it. Some days ago I became acquainted with your misfortune and the cause which impels you to take up arms again and again to revenge yourselves upon your enemies; and having many times thought over your business in my mind, I find that, according to the laws of combat, you are mistaken in holding yourselves insulted; for a private individual cannot insult an entire community; unless it be by defying it collectively as a traitor, because he cannot tell who in particular is guilty of the treason for which he defies it. Of this we have an example in Don Diego Ordonez de Lara, who defied the whole town of Zamora, because he did not know that Vellido Dolfos alone had committed the treachery of slaying his king; and therefore he defied them all, and the vengeance and the reply concerned all; though, to be sure, Senor Don Diego went rather too far, indeed very much beyond the limits of a defiance; for he had no occasion to defy the dead, or the waters, or the fishes, or those yet unborn, and all the rest of it as set forth; but let that pass, for when anger breaks out there’s no father, governor, or bridle to check the tongue. The case being, then, that no one person can insult a kingdom, province, city, state, or entire community, it is clear there is no reason for going out to avenge the defiance of such an insult, inasmuch as it is not one. A fine thing it would be if the people of the clock town were to be at loggerheads every moment with everyone who called them by that name, — or the Cazoleros, Berengeneros, Ballenatos, Jaboneros, or the bearers of all the other names and titles that are always in the mouth of the boys and common people! It would be a nice business indeed if all these illustrious cities were to take huff and revenge themselves and go about perpetually making trombones of their swords in every petty quarrel! No, no; God forbid! There are four things for which sensible men and well-ordered States ought to take up arms, draw their swords, and risk their persons, lives, and properties. The first is to defend the Catholic faith; the second, to defend one’s life, which is in accordance with natural and divine law; the third, in defence of one’s honour, family, and property; the fourth, in the service of one’s king in a just war; and if to these we choose to add a fifth (which may be included in the second), in defence of one’s country. To these five, as it were capital causes, there may be added some others that may be just and reasonable, and make it a duty to take up arms; but to take them up for trifles and things to laugh at and he amused by rather than offended, looks as though he who did so was altogether wanting in common sense. Moreover, to take an unjust revenge (and there cannot be any just one) is directly opposed to the sacred law that we acknowledge, wherein we are commanded to do good to our enemies and to love them that hate us; a command which, though it seems somewhat difficult to obey, is only so to those who have in them less of God than of the world, and more of the flesh than of the spirit; for Jesus Christ, God and true man, who never lied, and could not and cannot lie, said, as our law-giver, that his yoke was easy and his burden light; he would not, therefore, have laid any command upon us that it was impossible to obey. Thus, sirs, you are bound to keep quiet by human and divine law.”
“The devil take me,” said Sancho to himself at this, “but this master of mine is a tologian; or, if not, faith, he’s as like one as one egg is like another.”
Don Quixote stopped to take breath, and, observing that silence was still preserved, had a mind to continue his discourse, and would have done so had not Sancho interposed with his smartness; for he, seeing his master pause, took the lead, saying, “My lord Don Quixote of La Mancha, who once was called the Knight of the Rueful Countenance, but now is called the Knight of the Lions, is a gentleman of great discretion who knows Latin and his mother tongue like a bachelor, and in everything that he deals with or advises proceeds like a good soldier, and has all the laws and ordinances of what they call combat at his fingers’ ends; so you have nothing to do but to let yourselves be guided by what he says, and on my head be it if it is wrong. Besides which, you have been told that it is folly to take offence at merely hearing a bray. I remember when I was a boy I brayed as often as I had a fancy, without anyone hindering me, and so elegantly and naturally that when I brayed all the asses in the town would bray; but I was none the less for that the son of my parents who were greatly respected; and though I was envied because of the gift by more than one of the high and mighty ones of the town, I did not care two farthings for it; and that you may see I am telling the truth, wait a bit and listen, for this art, like swimming, once learnt is never forgotten;” and then, taking hold of his nose, he began to bray so vigorously that all the valleys around rang again.
One of those, however, that stood near him, fancying he was mocking them, lifted up a long staff he had in his hand and smote him such a blow with it that Sancho dropped helpless to the ground. Don Quixote, seeing him so roughly handled, attacked the man who had struck him lance in hand, but so many thrust themselves between them that he could not avenge him. Far from it, finding a shower of stones rained upon him, and crossbows and muskets unnumbered levelled at him, he wheeled Rocinante round and, as fast as his best gallop could take him, fled from the midst of them, commending himself to God with all his heart to deliver him out of this peril, in dread every step of some ball coming in at his back and coming out at his breast, and every minute drawing his breath to see whether it had gone from him. The members of the band, however, were satisfied with seeing him take to flight, and did not fire on him. They put up Sancho, scarcely restored to his senses, on his ass, and let him go after his master; not that he was sufficiently in his wits to guide the beast, but Dapple followed the footsteps of Rocinante, from whom he could not remain a moment separated. Don Quixote having got some way off looked back, and seeing Sancho coming, waited for him, as he perceived that no one followed him. The men of the troop stood their ground till night, and as the enemy did not come out to battle, they returned to their town exulting; and had they been aware of the ancient custom of the Greeks, they would have erected a trophy on the spot.
 
解驴叫纠纷，不料事与愿违，自找倒霉
这部伟大小说的作者锡德•哈迈德在本章开头写道：“我以一个虔诚的基督教徒的名义发誓……”可是译者说，锡德•哈迈德明明是摩尔人，却要以一个虔诚的基督教徒的名义发誓，这无非是为了表明，既然他以基督教徒的名义发誓，他说的那些事就都是真实的，或者应该是真实的。所以，他写唐吉诃德的那些事，特别是介绍佩德罗师傅为何许人，那只猴子在那一带村镇以占卦称奇等等，也都是真的了。作者又说，读者也许还记得，在本书的上卷里，唐吉诃德在莫雷纳山释放的那批苦役犯里有个叫希内斯•德帕萨蒙特的，唐吉诃德称之为希内西略•德帕拉皮利亚，后来就是他偷了桑乔的驴。可是由于印刷者的失误，小说的上卷里忘了说明驴是如何被偷以及何时被偷的，所以很多人把印刷者的责任归咎于作者的疏忽。其实，希内斯是趁桑乔在驴背上打瞌睡的时候把驴偷走的，就像当初萨克里潘特骑在阿尔布拉卡上时，布鲁内略竟从他的腿下把马偷走了一样。后来桑乔把驴找回来了，这在前面已经有所记述。这个希内斯自知罪孽深重，罄竹难书，为了逃避法律的惩罚，决定逃到阿拉贡境内，蒙上左眼，靠演木偶戏过日子。演木偶戏这类事可是他的拿手本领。
后来，他从几个获得自由后从土耳其的柏培尔回来的基督徒手里买了那只猴子，训练它一看到自己的信号就跳到自己肩上，在耳边嘀嘀咕咕，或者像是嘀嘀咕咕。后来，他带着他的戏班子和猴子去某地演出之前，总是先在附近尽可能了解有哪些人，哪些事情，把这些记在脑子里。到了那个地方之后，他首先演出木偶戏。木偶戏有些是历史题材的，有些属于其他内容，但都是大家熟悉的有趣剧目。演完木偶戏后，他就开始显示猴子的本领，向当地人说猴子可以算出过去和现在的事情，只是不能预测将来的事情。每回答一个问题收两个雷阿尔，有时候也视问话人的情况酌情减价。他甚至还会到他知道曾出过什么事的家庭去，即使人家不愿意花钱占卦，他也向猴子发出信号，然后说猴子告诉他什么事情，结果当然很符合实际情况。他就这样赢得了大家的信任，人们都很崇拜他。他这个人很机灵，往往能把问题回答得恰如其分。由于从来没人追问过他的猴子是如何占卦的，所以他到处招摇撞骗而饱了私囊。那次，他一进客店就认出了唐吉诃德和桑乔。他很了解他们两人的情况，因此占起卦来很容易让唐吉诃德、桑乔和客店里的所有人感到惊奇。不过，正像前面一章所记述的那样，唐吉诃德挥剑斩掉了马尔西利奥国王的脑袋，并且扫荡了他的骑兵团。如果当时唐吉诃德的手再低一点儿，希内斯付出的代价可就大了。这就是有关佩德罗师傅及其猴子的情况。
再说曼查的唐吉诃德离开客店之后，决定先到埃布罗河沿岸地带，然后再进入萨拉戈萨城。在进行擂台比武之前，他还有的是时间四处周游。他怀着这个目的赶路，走了两天，没遇到什么值得记录在纸上的事情。第三天，唐吉诃德登上一个山区，忽然听到一阵鼓号声和火枪的枪声。
起初唐吉诃德还以为是某支军队从那儿经过。为了看得更清楚些，他催马往山顶赶去，到了山顶才发现是两百多名武装分子，带着各种武器，长矛呀、弩呀、戟呀、扎枪呀，还有一些火枪和护胸盾牌。唐吉诃德沿着山坡往下走，已经接近了那群人，可以清楚地看到他们的旗帜，而且可以看清旗子的颜色和旗帜上的徽记，特别是能看清其中一面白缎尖角旗上画着一头小驴。那头驴画得十分逼真，它昂着头，张着嘴，舌头伸出，那姿态仿佛在嘶叫。它的周围用大字写着两行字：
两位大市长
驴叫没白学
唐吉诃德根据这面旗子断定准是那个驴叫镇的人。于是他告诉了桑乔那旗子上写的是什么，还说，告诉他们这件事的人一定是弄错了，因为原来说学驴叫的是两位议员，可是按照旗子上写的，学驴叫的却是两位市长。桑乔答道：
“大人，这倒无关紧要，说不定当时学驴叫的两位议员后来成了市长呢。如果是这样，用这两种称呼都可以。况且，不管是市长学还是议员学，只要他们学过驴叫就行了。无论是市长还是议员，都可以学驴叫。”
最后，唐吉诃德和桑乔明白了，原来是受羞辱的那个镇子的人出来同羞辱他们的那个镇子的人打架。那个镇子的人闹得实在太不像话，他们已经无法再和睦相处了。
唐吉诃德向那些人走去。桑乔见了不无担心，他向来不愿意让唐吉诃德参与这种事情。那群人以为唐吉诃德是跟他们一伙的，就放他进了队伍。唐吉诃德掀起护眼罩，风度翩翩地来到驴旗下。那伙人当中的几个领头人都围过来看他，而且同所有初次见到他的人一样，感到十分惊奇。唐吉诃德见大家都盯着他，没有一个人说话，就趁别人还没开口，提高嗓门说道：
“各位大人好，我想对诸位说几句话。我恳求你们让我把话讲完。如果有什么地方冒犯了你们，只要你们稍微有所表示，我就会往我的嘴上贴个封条，把舌头缩回去。”
大家都说有话请讲，愿意洗耳恭听。这样，唐吉诃德才继续说道：
“诸位大人，我是个游侠骑士。游侠骑士是个习武行当，他的职责是扶弱济贫。我前几天听说了你们遭遇的不幸，也知道了你们不时同你们的对手发生冲突的原因。关于你们的事情，我已经考虑很久了。按照决斗的规则，如果你们认为自己受了侮辱，那就错了。因为一个人不能侮辱全镇的人，除非他不知道是谁背叛了自己，才把对方的人都一起算上。要说这种例子，只有唐迭戈•奥多涅斯•德拉腊。他不知道只是贝利多•多尔福斯背叛并杀害了国王，所以才侮辱整个萨莫拉的居民，于是全城人都要报仇，都起来反击。当然，唐迭戈大人做得确实有些过分，他所做的已经大大超出了他应该指责的范围。他没有理由侮辱死者，侮辱水，侮辱面包，侮辱那些即将出生的人和其他一些毫不相干的东西。可是愤怒一旦爆发，便一发而不可止，难以遏制。但即使这样，个人也不该侮辱整个王国、省、城市、村镇和全体人民。对于这种侮辱，显然也没有必要去报复，因为这还称不上是侮辱。那些年轻人和粗人总爱起外号，如果‘母钟镇’①的人总是去和如此称呼他们的人厮杀，还有‘管家男’、‘茄子秧’、‘小鲸鱼’、‘大肥皂’等地②的人也都去拼命，那还得了！如果这些人为了一点儿小事就去争斗，打来打去的，那还得了！那可不行！连上帝也不会答应！明智的男人和治理有方的国家只有在四种情况下才会弹上膛，剑出鞘，不惜牺牲个人的生命和财产。这四种情况就是：第一，保卫自己的天主教信仰；第二，保护自己的生命，这是顺理成章的法则；第三，保护自己的名誉、家庭和财产；第四，在正义战争中为国王效劳。如果可以再加个第五条，或者说附加一条，那就是保卫祖国。除了这五条至关重要的原因之外，还有其他一些正当合理的情况，也可以拿起武器。可是为一些枝节小事，为一些与其说是侮辱还不如说是开玩笑的小事舞刀弄枪，就显得有些欠考虑了。况且，进行这些并非正义的报复直接违反了我们所信仰的神圣法则。当然，如果是正义行动，那就谈不上是报复了。神圣法则要我们友好对待我们的敌人，热爱讨厌我们的人。这点虽然有点儿难以做到，但这是那些只注重人世而不尊重上帝、只注重肉体而忽略了精神的人所必须遵守的。耶稣基督是上帝，也是实实在在的人。他从不说谎，过去和现在都不说谎。作为我们的创世者，他说：‘我的轭是软和的，我的担子是轻的。’他并没有要求我们做任何办不到的事。所以诸位大人，你们有义务遵照人类的神圣法则平静下来。”“我的主人简直是神学家，”桑乔这时说，“否则真是活见鬼啦。就算他不是，也同神学家没什么区别。”
①因为该地区肥皂消费量很大。
②“管家男”指巴利阿多里德人，“茄子秧”指托莱多人，“水鲸鱼”指马德里人。这几个绰号都曾在当时的滑稽戏里使用。“大肥皂”指塞维利亚人，指塞维利亚的埃斯帕蒂纳镇。当地教堂需配置一个大钟，于是要求塞维利亚省为他们装一个“母钟”，以便以后生出小钟来。
唐吉诃德停下来喘口气。他见大家仍然盯着他不做声，就想继续说下去，似乎并没有察觉桑乔的尖刻言辞。桑乔见唐吉诃德停住了，立刻把话头接过来，说道：
“我的主人曼查的唐吉诃德，曾经叫‘猥獕骑士’，现在叫‘狮子骑士’，是一位非常聪明的贵族，精通拉丁文和卡斯蒂利亚语；他无论劝导什么事都是一把好手；对于各种决斗规则，他了如指掌。所以他说什么，你们尽管照办就行了，错了算我的。而且，他刚才说了，没有必要仅仅因为别人学驴叫就发火，我对此也同意。我年轻的时候，想怎么学就怎么学，没有人管我们，而且我学得惟妙惟肖。只要我一叫，全村所有的驴都跟着叫。不过尽管如此，我还是我爹妈的儿子，我爹妈都是很正派的人哩！我这点本领受到我们村几个人的嫉妒，不过我满不在乎。我说的都是真话，不信你们等等，听我叫一下。这种本领就跟游泳一样，一旦学会了，一辈子也忘不了。”
说完桑乔就用手捏着鼻子，开始学起驴叫来。他的叫声非常响亮，使附近所有的山谷都回荡不已。桑乔身旁的一个人以为桑乔是在嘲笑他们，便举起手里的棍子朝桑乔打去，打得桑乔支持不住，倒在地上。
唐吉诃德见桑乔遭打，便提起长矛向打桑乔的那个人冲去，可是两人之间隔着许多人，根本够不着那个人。相反，他见石头像雨点儿似的打来，还有许许多多弩和火枪对着他，只好掉转罗西南多，拼命地逃跑，一边跑还一边祈求上帝保佑他脱离危险，唯恐一颗子弹从背后打进，再从前胸穿出来。此外，他还得不时地喘息一下，以便看看自己是否还有气。不过，那些人见唐吉诃德已经逃跑，也就不再扔石头了。他们把桑乔抬到驴上，让他骑着驴随主人而去，当时桑乔刚刚醒过来，还不足以驾驭自己的驴。好在那头驴始终跟着罗西南多，寸步不离。唐吉诃德跑出一段路，回头见没有人追赶，便停下来等桑乔。
那伙人一直在原地等到天黑，没见对手前来应战，便高高兴兴地回自己的镇子了。如果他们知道古希腊人的习惯，肯定会在那个地方建立一座胜利纪念碑。
Part 2 Chapter 28
When the brave man flees, treachery is manifest and it is for wise men to reserve themselves for better occasions. This proved to be the case with Don Quixote, who, giving way before the fury of the townsfolk and the hostile intentions of the angry troop, took to flight and, without a thought of Sancho or the danger in which he was leaving him, retreated to such a distance as he thought made him safe. Sancho, lying across his ass, followed him, as has been said, and at length came up, having by this time recovered his senses, and on joining him let himself drop off Dapple at Rocinante’s feet, sore, bruised, and belaboured. Don Quixote dismounted to examine his wounds, but finding him whole from head to foot, he said to him, angrily enough, “In an evil hour didst thou take to braying, Sancho! Where hast thou learned that it is well done to mention the rope in the house of the man that has been hanged? To the music of brays what harmonies couldst thou expect to get but cudgels? Give thanks to God, Sancho, that they signed the cross on thee just now with a stick, and did not mark thee per signum crucis with a cutlass.”
“I’m not equal to answering,” said Sancho, “for I feel as if I was speaking through my shoulders; let us mount and get away from this; I’ll keep from braying, but not from saying that knights-errant fly and leave their good squires to be pounded like privet, or made meal of at the hands of their enemies.”
“He does not fly who retires,” returned Don Quixote; “for I would have thee know, Sancho, that the valour which is not based upon a foundation of prudence is called rashness, and the exploits of the rash man are to be attributed rather to good fortune than to courage; and so I own that I retired, but not that I fled; and therein I have followed the example of many valiant men who have reserved themselves for better times; the histories are full of instances of this, but as it would not be any good to thee or pleasure to me, I will not recount them to thee now.”
Sancho was by this time mounted with the help of Don Quixote, who then himself mounted Rocinante, and at a leisurely pace they proceeded to take shelter in a grove which was in sight about a quarter of a league off. Every now and then Sancho gave vent to deep sighs and dismal groans, and on Don Quixote asking him what caused such acute suffering, he replied that, from the end of his back-bone up to the nape of his neck, he was so sore that it nearly drove him out of his senses.
“The cause of that soreness,” said Don Quixote, “will be, no doubt, that the staff wherewith they smote thee being a very long one, it caught thee all down the back, where all the parts that are sore are situated, and had it reached any further thou wouldst be sorer still.”
“By God,” said Sancho, “your worship has relieved me of a great doubt, and cleared up the point for me in elegant style! Body o’ me! is the cause of my soreness such a mystery that there’s any need to tell me I am sore everywhere the staff hit me? If it was my ankles that pained me there might be something in going divining why they did, but it is not much to divine that I’m sore where they thrashed me. By my faith, master mine, the ills of others hang by a hair; every day I am discovering more and more how little I have to hope for from keeping company with your worship; for if this time you have allowed me to be drubbed, the next time, or a hundred times more, we’ll have the blanketings of the other day over again, and all the other pranks which, if they have fallen on my shoulders now, will be thrown in my teeth by-and-by. I would do a great deal better (if I was not an ignorant brute that will never do any good all my life), I would do a great deal better, I say, to go home to my wife and children and support them and bring them up on what God may please to give me, instead of following your worship along roads that lead nowhere and paths that are none at all, with little to drink and less to eat. And then when it comes to sleeping! Measure out seven feet on the earth, brother squire, and if that’s not enough for you, take as many more, for you may have it all your own way and stretch yourself to your heart’s content. Oh that I could see burnt and turned to ashes the first man that meddled with knight-errantry or at any rate the first who chose to be squire to such fools as all the knights-errant of past times must have been! Of those of the present day I say nothing, because, as your worship is one of them, I respect them, and because I know your worship knows a point more than the devil in all you say and think.”
“I would lay a good wager with you, Sancho,” said Don Quixote, “that now that you are talking on without anyone to stop you, you don’t feel a pain in your whole body. Talk away, my son, say whatever comes into your head or mouth, for so long as you feel no pain, the irritation your impertinences give me will he a pleasure to me; and if you are so anxious to go home to your wife and children, God forbid that I should prevent you; you have money of mine; see how long it is since we left our village this third time, and how much you can and ought to earn every month, and pay yourself out of your own hand.”
“When I worked for Tom Carrasco, the father of the bachelor Samson Carrasco that your worship knows,” replied Sancho, “I used to earn two ducats a month besides my food; I can’t tell what I can earn with your worship, though I know a knight-errant’s squire has harder times of it than he who works for a farmer; for after all, we who work for farmers, however much we toil all day, at the worst, at night, we have our olla supper and sleep in a bed, which I have not slept in since I have been in your worship’s service, if it wasn’t the short time we were in Don Diego de Miranda’s house, and the feast I had with the skimmings I took off Camacho’s pots, and what I ate, drank, and slept in Basilio’s house; all the rest of the time I have been sleeping on the hard ground under the open sky, exposed to what they call the inclemencies of heaven, keeping life in me with scraps of cheese and crusts of bread, and drinking water either from the brooks or from the springs we come to on these by-paths we travel.”
“I own, Sancho,” said Don Quixote, “that all thou sayest is true; how much, thinkest thou, ought I to give thee over and above what Tom Carrasco gave thee?”
“I think,” said Sancho, “that if your worship was to add on two reals a month I’d consider myself well paid; that is, as far as the wages of my labour go; but to make up to me for your worship’s pledge and promise to me to give me the government of an island, it would be fair to add six reals more, making thirty in all.”
“Very good,” said Don Quixote; “it is twenty-five days since we left our village, so reckon up, Sancho, according to the wages you have made out for yourself, and see how much I owe you in proportion, and pay yourself, as I said before, out of your own hand.”
“O body o’ me!” said Sancho, “but your worship is very much out in that reckoning; for when it comes to the promise of the island we must count from the day your worship promised it to me to this present hour we are at now.”
“Well, how long is it, Sancho, since I promised it to you?” said Don Quixote.
“If I remember rightly,” said Sancho, “it must be over twenty years, three days more or less.”
Don Quixote gave himself a great slap on the forehead and began to laugh heartily, and said he, “Why, I have not been wandering, either in the Sierra Morena or in the whole course of our sallies, but barely two months, and thou sayest, Sancho, that it is twenty years since I promised thee the island. I believe now thou wouldst have all the money thou hast of mine go in thy wages. If so, and if that be thy pleasure, I give it to thee now, once and for all, and much good may it do thee, for so long as I see myself rid of such a good-for-nothing squire I’ll be glad to be left a pauper without a rap. But tell me, thou perverter of the squirely rules of knight-errantry, where hast thou ever seen or read that any knight-errant’s squire made terms with his lord, ‘you must give me so much a month for serving you’? Plunge, scoundrel, rogue, monster — for such I take thee to be — plunge, I say, into the mare magnum of their histories; and if thou shalt find that any squire ever said or thought what thou hast said now, I will let thee nail it on my forehead, and give me, over and above, four sound slaps in the face. Turn the rein, or the halter, of thy Dapple, and begone home; for one single step further thou shalt not make in my company. O bread thanklessly received! O promises ill-bestowed! O man more beast than human being! Now, when I was about to raise thee to such a position, that, in spite of thy wife, they would call thee ‘my lord,’ thou art leaving me? Thou art going now when I had a firm and fixed intention of making thee lord of the best island in the world? Well, as thou thyself hast said before now, honey is not for the mouth of the ass. Ass thou art, ass thou wilt be, and ass thou wilt end when the course of thy life is run; for I know it will come to its close before thou dost perceive or discern that thou art a beast.”
Sancho regarded Don Quixote earnestly while he was giving him this rating, and was so touched by remorse that the tears came to his eyes, and in a piteous and broken voice he said to him, “Master mine, I confess that, to be a complete ass, all I want is a tail; if your worship will only fix one on to me, I’ll look on it as rightly placed, and I’ll serve you as an ass all the remaining days of my life. Forgive me and have pity on my folly, and remember I know but little, and, if I talk much, it’s more from infirmity than malice; but he who sins and mends commends himself to God.”
“I should have been surprised, Sancho,” said Don Quixote, “if thou hadst not introduced some bit of a proverb into thy speech. Well, well, I forgive thee, provided thou dost mend and not show thyself in future so fond of thine own interest, but try to be of good cheer and take heart, and encourage thyself to look forward to the fulfillment of my promises, which, by being delayed, does not become impossible.”
Sancho said he would do so, and keep up his heart as best he could. They then entered the grove, and Don Quixote settled himself at the foot of an elm, and Sancho at that of a beech, for trees of this kind and others like them always have feet but no hands. Sancho passed the night in pain, for with the evening dews the blow of the staff made itself felt all the more. Don Quixote passed it in his never-failing meditations; but, for all that, they had some winks of sleep, and with the appearance of daylight they pursued their journey in quest of the banks of the famous Ebro, where that befell them which will be told in the following chapter.
 
敌人诡计暴露，英雄不妨逃跑，伺机东山再起才算得上聪明人。唐吉诃德证实了这个真理。他激起了当地人的怒火，惹得那群愤怒的人对他不客气，他就脚下生烟，扔下了桑乔，置桑乔于危险而不顾，逃到了一个他认为足够安全的地方才止住脚步。桑乔就像刚才说的那样，横卧驴背在后面跟随。等到追上主人时，他已经清醒过来。桑乔从驴背上滚下来，落到罗西南多脚下，浑身疼痛，狼狈不堪。唐吉诃德下马察看桑乔的伤口。他见桑乔从头到脚都是好好的，不禁勃然大怒，说道：
“你偏偏在那个倒霉的时候学驴叫，桑乔！你为什么偏偏在秃子面前说灯泡亮？你学驴叫，除了招棍子打，还能招来什么？你得感谢上帝，桑乔，他们只打了你一棍子，没用刀子在你脸上划个十字。”
“我现在不想说什么，”桑乔说，“我觉得说话有些透不过气来。咱们骑上牲口走吧。我以后再也不学驴叫了，不过有句话我不能不说：有些游侠骑士只顾自己逃走，把忠实的仆人甩给敌人，任凭仆人被打得遍体鳞伤。”
“不是逃跑，是撤退。”唐吉诃德说，“你该知道，桑乔，勇敢而不谨慎，就是鲁莽，而鲁莽者成功多半靠的是运气，而不是靠勇气。所以我承认我是撤退了，但不是逃跑。在这方面，我是模仿许多勇士的做法，准备伺机东山再起。这种例子在历史上比比皆是。不过，讲这些对你没什么用处，我也没兴趣，我这会儿不想说了。”
桑乔在唐吉诃德的帮助下上了驴，唐吉诃德自己也骑上了马。他们慢慢走着，不知不觉走进了不远处的一片杨树林。桑乔不时发出痛苦的哎哟声和呻吟声。唐吉诃德问他怎么会这么难受，桑乔回答说，他从尾骨到脖子根都疼，疼得快没知觉了。
“他们用来打你的那根棍子很长，”唐吉诃德说，“打到了你的整条脊骨，所以你的脊背疼。如果打到你身上的面积更大，你会疼得更厉害。”
“我的天啊，”桑乔说，“您可帮我解释清楚了一个大问题，而且讲得这么精辟！真是的，我对疼痛的原因就那么不明白，还得您告诉我那是棍子打的！如果是我的脚踝疼，我或许还可以琢磨一下为什么会疼；可我是被打痛的，这原因还用猜吗？我的主人啊，我相信，别人是根本靠不住的。现在我越来越清楚地意识到，跟着您是别想指望得到什么了。这次您让我在那儿挨打，以后，您还会让我上百次地被人用被单扔，或者受其他捉弄。现在他们往我背上打，以后就会往我眼睛上打。我真是个笨蛋，否则我现在会混得好得多。以后除非是有好处的事，我什么也不再干了。我如果回家去照应我的老婆和孩子，靠上帝恩典，我再说一遍，我现在会混得好得多，也用不着跟着您在根本没有路的地方奔波，喝不好也吃不好。要说睡觉呢，侍从老弟呀，你就量七尺地吧，如果愿意，还可以再量七尺，随你的便，你愿意占多大地方就占多大地方。过去的所有游侠骑士都是傻瓜！谁第一个涉足游侠骑士，还有，谁第一个愿意给那些傻瓜骑士当侍从，我咒他被烧死，被烧成灰！至于现在的游侠骑士，我就什么也不说了。对现在这些游侠骑士，我得尊重，因为您就是其中的一个嘛，还因为我知道，在说话和考虑问题方面，您比魔鬼稍微强点儿。”
“我现在可以和你好好打个赌，桑乔，”唐吉诃德说，“你这会儿尽管说，没有人会阻拦你，这样你身上就一点儿也不疼了。说吧，我的宝贝，你脑子里怎么想的，都说出来。只要你不疼了，你胡说八道半天，我不但不生气，反而高兴。既然你那么愿意回家去找老婆孩子，如果我阻拦你，上帝也不容。我的钱就在你手里，你看看咱们第三次出来已经多长时间了，你每月该拿多少钱，你就自己拿吧。”
“您跟参孙•卡拉斯科不是很熟吗，我在为参孙•卡拉斯科的父亲托梅•卡拉斯科干活的时候，”桑乔说，“每月除了吃饭外，还挣两个杜卡多。至于在您这儿我应该挣多少钱，我就不知道了，我只知道当游侠骑士的侍从要比干农活辛苦多了。我们干农活，不管白天干多少活，不管怎么不好，至少可以围着锅吃晚饭，在床上睡觉。可是自从跟了您之后，我就没在床上睡过觉。除了咱们在迭戈•德米兰达家舒服了几天，在卡马乔的聚餐会上从锅里捞了点油水，还有，在巴西利奥家连吃带喝又睡了几天外，其余时间我都是露天睡在坚硬的土地上，忍受着各种恶劣天气，靠干奶酪和面包块充饥，喝的是野地路边的溪水或者泉水。”“我承认你说的都是真的，桑乔。”唐吉诃德说，“那么你说，我该比托梅•卡拉斯科再加多少钱呢？”
“我觉得如果您每月给我再加两个雷阿尔，”桑乔说，“就很不错了，这可以算是我的工钱。可是，若按照您答应给我一个小岛掌管的话，您应该给我再加六个雷阿尔才对，这样每月加起来就是三十个雷阿尔。”
“很好，’唐吉诃德说，“工钱就照你说的算。咱们离开村子已经二十五天了，你就按照这个数算吧，桑乔，看看我应该给你多少钱，然后就照我刚才说的，你自己拿吧。”
“我的天哪！”桑乔说，“您的帐算得太不对了。您答应给我岛屿的那份钱，应该从您答应给我岛屿之日起一直算到现在。”
“那么我答应你多长时间了，桑乔？”唐吉诃德问。
“如果我没记错的话，”桑乔回答说，“大概有二十年，再加三天左右。”
唐吉诃德拍了一下脑门，大笑起来，然后说道：
“从我在莫雷纳山那段日子到现在才将近两个月，桑乔，你怎么说我已经许给你岛屿二十年了呢？现在我告诉你，你是想用付你工钱的办法把我放在你手里的那些钱都拿走。如果真是这样，只要你愿意，我可以现在就把我的钱全部给你，但愿它能对你有用。只要能甩开如此没良心的侍从，我就是身无分文也高兴。告诉我，你这个游侠骑士侍从的叛逆，你在哪儿见过或者读过，某个游侠骑士的侍从敢在他的主人面前说‘您每月应该付我多少多少工钱’？你说，你说，你这个无赖、混蛋、妖怪！你就是一个十足的无赖、混蛋、妖怪！如果你能在那浩如烟海的骑士小说里找出哪个侍从说过，或者哪怕想过你刚才说的那些话，我就去死。还可以把我算成是傻瓜。掉转你的驴，回家去吧。从现在起，你没有必要再跟我往前走一步了，我的好心算让狗给吃了！我的诺言也算白说了！你这个人真是连猪狗都不如！我正要抬举你，让你老婆喊你‘大人’，你却要告辞了？我正打定主意要让你成为世界上最好的岛屿的总督，你却要走了？这真像你常说的那样，‘蜜不是喂驴的’。你是驴，你就是驴，你到死也只能是头驴。
依我看，你到死也不会知道你是个畜生。”
桑乔目不转睛地盯着唐吉诃德，听着主人骂自己，内疚不已。他眼里噙着泪花，声音颤抖地说道：
“我的主人，我承认除了差一条尾巴外，我真成一头驴了。如果您愿意给我安上一条尾巴，我很愿意戴上它，这一辈子每天都像驴一样侍奉您。请您原谅我不懂事。您也知道，我懂得很少。如果我说多了，那也是糊涂而决非恶意，况且，‘知错就改，上帝所爱’嘛。”
“你要是说话不带点俏皮话才怪呢，桑乔。那好，只要你改了，从今以后不再热衷于打小算盘，而是心胸宽广，振作精神，等待我的诺言实现，我就原谅你。我许的诺言尽管还没有实现，但并不是不可能的。”
桑乔强打起精神，说他一定照办。
两人说着话进入了那片杨树林。唐吉诃德躺在一棵榆树下，桑乔躺在一棵出毛榉树下，但这里的树都已经是只有根没有叶了。桑乔这一夜过得很难受，安静下来以后，棍子打的地方显得更疼了。唐吉诃德则整夜不断地思念心上人。尽管如此，两人最后都进入了梦乡。第二天天亮以后，两人又继续赶路，向著名的埃布罗河岸边走去。下一章将记述他们在那里遇到的事情。
Part 2 Chapter 29
By stages as already described or left undescribed, two days after quitting the grove Don Quixote and Sancho reached the river Ebro, and the sight of it was a great delight to Don Quixote as he contemplated and gazed upon the charms of its banks, the clearness of its stream, the gentleness of its current and the abundance of its crystal waters; and the pleasant view revived a thousand tender thoughts in his mind. Above all, he dwelt upon what he had seen in the cave of Montesinos; for though Master Pedro’s ape had told him that of those things part was true, part false, he clung more to their truth than to their falsehood, the very reverse of Sancho, who held them all to be downright lies.
As they were thus proceeding, then, they discovered a small boat, without oars or any other gear, that lay at the water’s edge tied to the stem of a tree growing on the bank. Don Quixote looked all round, and seeing nobody, at once, without more ado, dismounted from Rocinante and bade Sancho get down from Dapple and tie both beasts securely to the trunk of a poplar or willow that stood there. Sancho asked him the reason of this sudden dismounting and tying. Don Quixote made answer, “Thou must know, Sancho, that this bark is plainly, and without the possibility of any alternative, calling and inviting me to enter it, and in it go to give aid to some knight or other person of distinction in need of it, who is no doubt in some sore strait; for this is the way of the books of chivalry and of the enchanters who figure and speak in them. When a knight is involved in some difficulty from which he cannot be delivered save by the hand of another knight, though they may be at a distance of two or three thousand leagues or more one from the other, they either take him up on a cloud, or they provide a bark for him to get into, and in less than the twinkling of an eye they carry him where they will and where his help is required; and so, Sancho, this bark is placed here for the same purpose; this is as true as that it is now day, and ere this one passes tie Dapple and Rocinante together, and then in God’s hand be it to guide us; for I would not hold back from embarking, though barefooted friars were to beg me.”
“As that’s the case,” said Sancho, “and your worship chooses to give in to these — I don’t know if I may call them absurdities — at every turn, there’s nothing for it but to obey and bow the head, bearing in mind the proverb, ‘Do as thy master bids thee, and sit down to table with him;’ but for all that, for the sake of easing my conscience, I warn your worship that it is my opinion this bark is no enchanted one, but belongs to some of the fishermen of the river, for they catch the best shad in the world here.”
As Sancho said this, he tied the beasts, leaving them to the care and protection of the enchanters with sorrow enough in his heart. Don Quixote bade him not be uneasy about deserting the animals, “for he who would carry themselves over such longinquous roads and regions would take care to feed them.”
“I don’t understand that logiquous,” said Sancho, “nor have I ever heard the word all the days of my life.”
“Longinquous,” replied Don Quixote, “means far off; but it is no wonder thou dost not understand it, for thou art not bound to know Latin, like some who pretend to know it and don’t.”
“Now they are tied,” said Sancho; “what are we to do next?”
“What?” said Don Quixote, “cross ourselves and weigh anchor; I mean, embark and cut the moorings by which the bark is held;” and the bark began to drift away slowly from the bank. But when Sancho saw himself somewhere about two yards out in the river, he began to tremble and give himself up for lost; but nothing distressed him more than hearing Dapple bray and seeing Rocinante struggling to get loose, and said he to his master, “Dapple is braying in grief at our leaving him, and Rocinante is trying to escape and plunge in after us. O dear friends, peace be with you, and may this madness that is taking us away from you, turned into sober sense, bring us back to you.” And with this he fell weeping so bitterly, that Don Quixote said to him, sharply and angrily, “What art thou afraid of, cowardly creature? What art thou weeping at, heart of butter-paste? Who pursues or molests thee, thou soul of a tame mouse? What dost thou want, unsatisfied in the very heart of abundance? Art thou, perchance, tramping barefoot over the Riphaean mountains, instead of being seated on a bench like an archduke on the tranquil stream of this pleasant river, from which in a short space we shall come out upon the broad sea? But we must have already emerged and gone seven hundred or eight hundred leagues; and if I had here an astrolabe to take the altitude of the pole, I could tell thee how many we have travelled, though either I know little, or we have already crossed or shall shortly cross the equinoctial line which parts the two opposite poles midway.”
“And when we come to that line your worship speaks of,” said Sancho, “how far shall we have gone?”
“Very far,” said Don Quixote, “for of the three hundred and sixty degrees that this terraqueous globe contains, as computed by Ptolemy, the greatest cosmographer known, we shall have travelled one-half when we come to the line I spoke of.”
“By God,” said Sancho, “your worship gives me a nice authority for what you say, putrid Dolly something transmogrified, or whatever it is.”
Don Quixote laughed at the interpretation Sancho put upon “computed,” and the name of the cosmographer Ptolemy, and said he, “Thou must know, Sancho, that with the Spaniards and those who embark at Cadiz for the East Indies, one of the signs they have to show them when they have passed the equinoctial line I told thee of, is, that the lice die upon everybody on board the ship, and not a single one is left, or to be found in the whole vessel if they gave its weight in gold for it; so, Sancho, thou mayest as well pass thy hand down thy thigh, and if thou comest upon anything alive we shall be no longer in doubt; if not, then we have crossed.”
“I don’t believe a bit of it,” said Sancho; “still, I’ll do as your worship bids me; though I don’t know what need there is for trying these experiments, for I can see with my own eyes that we have not moved five yards away from the bank, or shifted two yards from where the animals stand, for there are Rocinante and Dapple in the very same place where we left them; and watching a point, as I do now, I swear by all that’s good, we are not stirring or moving at the pace of an ant.”
“Try the test I told thee of, Sancho,” said Don Quixote, “and don’t mind any other, for thou knowest nothing about colures, lines, parallels, zodiacs, ecliptics, poles, solstices, equinoxes, planets, signs, bearings, the measures of which the celestial and terrestrial spheres are composed; if thou wert acquainted with all these things, or any portion of them, thou wouldst see clearly how many parallels we have cut, what signs we have seen, and what constellations we have left behind and are now leaving behind. But again I tell thee, feel and hunt, for I am certain thou art cleaner than a sheet of smooth white paper.”
Sancho felt, and passing his hand gently and carefully down to the hollow of his left knee, he looked up at his master and said, “Either the test is a false one, or we have not come to where your worship says, nor within many leagues of it.”
“Why, how so?” asked Don Quixote; “hast thou come upon aught?”
“Ay, and aughts,” replied Sancho; and shaking his fingers he washed his whole hand in the river along which the boat was quietly gliding in midstream, not moved by any occult intelligence or invisible enchanter, but simply by the current, just there smooth and gentle.
They now came in sight of some large water mills that stood in the middle of the river, and the instant Don Quixote saw them he cried out, “Seest thou there, my friend? there stands the castle or fortress, where there is, no doubt, some knight in durance, or ill-used queen, or infanta, or princess, in whose aid I am brought hither.”
“What the devil city, fortress, or castle is your worship talking about, senor?” said Sancho; “don’t you see that those are mills that stand in the river to grind corn?”
“Hold thy peace, Sancho,” said Don Quixote; “though they look like mills they are not so; I have already told thee that enchantments transform things and change their proper shapes; I do not mean to say they really change them from one form into another, but that it seems as though they did, as experience proved in the transformation of Dulcinea, sole refuge of my hopes.”
By this time, the boat, having reached the middle of the stream, began to move less slowly than hitherto. The millers belonging to the mills, when they saw the boat coming down the river, and on the point of being sucked in by the draught of the wheels, ran out in haste, several of them, with long poles to stop it, and being all mealy, with faces and garments covered with flour, they presented a sinister appearance. They raised loud shouts, crying, “Devils of men, where are you going to? Are you mad? Do you want to drown yourselves, or dash yourselves to pieces among these wheels?”
“Did I not tell thee, Sancho,” said Don Quixote at this, “that we had reached the place where I am to show what the might of my arm can do? See what ruffians and villains come out against me; see what monsters oppose me; see what hideous countenances come to frighten us! You shall soon see, scoundrels!” And then standing up in the boat he began in a loud voice to hurl threats at the millers, exclaiming, “Ill-conditioned and worse-counselled rabble, restore to liberty and freedom the person ye hold in durance in this your fortress or prison, high or low or of whatever rank or quality he be, for I am Don Quixote of La Mancha, otherwise called the Knight of the Lions, for whom, by the disposition of heaven above, it is reserved to give a happy issue to this adventure;” and so saying he drew his sword and began making passes in the air at the millers, who, hearing but not understanding all this nonsense, strove to stop the boat, which was now getting into the rushing channel of the wheels. Sancho fell upon his knees devoutly appealing to heaven to deliver him from such imminent peril; which it did by the activity and quickness of the millers, who, pushing against the boat with their poles, stopped it, not, however, without upsetting and throwing Don Quixote and Sancho into the water; and lucky it was for Don Quixote that he could swim like a goose, though the weight of his armour carried him twice to the bottom; and had it not been for the millers, who plunged in and hoisted them both out, it would have been Troy town with the pair of them. As soon as, more drenched than thirsty, they were landed, Sancho went down on his knees and with clasped hands and eyes raised to heaven, prayed a long and fervent prayer to God to deliver him evermore from the rash projects and attempts of his master. The fishermen, the owners of the boat, which the mill-wheels had knocked to pieces, now came up, and seeing it smashed they proceeded to strip Sancho and to demand payment for it from Don Quixote; but he with great calmness, just as if nothing had happened him, told the millers and fishermen that he would pay for the bark most cheerfully, on condition that they delivered up to him, free and unhurt, the person or persons that were in durance in that castle of theirs.
 
“What persons or what castle art thou talking of, madman? Art thou for carrying off the people who come to grind corn in these mills?”
“That’s enough,” said Don Quixote to himself, “it would be preaching in the desert to attempt by entreaties to induce this rabble to do any virtuous action. In this adventure two mighty enchanters must have encountered one another, and one frustrates what the other attempts; one provided the bark for me, and the other upset me; God help us, this world is all machinations and schemes at cross purposes one with the other. I can do no more.” And then turning towards the mills he said aloud, “Friends, whoe’er ye be that are immured in that prison, forgive me that, to my misfortune and yours, I cannot deliver you from your misery; this adventure is doubtless reserved and destined for some other knight.”
So saying he settled with the fishermen, and paid fifty reals for the boat, which Sancho handed to them very much against the grain, saying, “With a couple more bark businesses like this we shall have sunk our whole capital.”
The fishermen and the millers stood staring in amazement at the two figures, so very different to all appearance from ordinary men, and were wholly unable to make out the drift of the observations and questions Don Quixote addressed to them; and coming to the conclusion that they were madmen, they left them and betook themselves, the millers to their mills, and the fishermen to their huts. Don Quixote and Sancho returned to their beasts, and to their life of beasts, and so ended the adventure of the enchanted bark.
 
且说唐吉诃德和桑乔走出杨树林，来到了埃布罗河边。一看到河，唐吉诃德不禁心旷神怡。只见岸边一片秀丽景色，河流平缓，河水清清，如水晶一般源源不断，竟勾起了唐吉诃德的无限情思，特别是他在蒙特西诺斯洞里遇到的情景。虽然佩德罗师傅的猴子说过，那些事不过是真假参半，可唐吉诃德还是宁愿相信那些事都是真的。而桑乔却相反，他觉得那些事全是假的。
他们再往前走，眼前出现了一只小船。船拴在岸边的一棵树上，船上既没有桨，也没有渔具。唐吉诃德向四周看了看，不见一个人影。他没说什么，翻身下了马，让桑乔也下了驴，把马和驴都拴在旁边的一棵杨树或者柳树上。桑乔问唐吉诃德为什么要这样，唐吉诃德说：
“你应该知道，桑乔，这条船肯定是在召唤我上去，乘着它去援救某个骑士或者其他有难而又急需帮助的贵人。这是骑士小说里魔法师常做的事情。某位骑士遇到了麻烦事，仅靠自己的力量已经不足以摆脱出来了，就必须求另外一位骑士帮助。虽然两个骑士相隔两三千里，或许更远，魔法师常常借助一块云，或者放上一条小船，让那个骑士上了小船，转眼之间，就从空中，或者海上，把骑士送到了需要他帮助的地方。所以我说，桑乔，这条小船肯定也是起这个作用的，这点可以确信无疑。不过在上船之前，你要先把马和驴拴在一起。我必须按照上帝的指引上船去，谁阻拦我也没有用。”
“如果是这样，”桑乔说，“您又要弄出点儿我不知道是不是该称为胡说八道的东西了。不过我只好低头服从了，就像俗话说的，‘照主人的吩咐办，方能吃饱饭’。尽管如此，我还是于心不忍，想告诉您，我觉得这条船并不是遭受魔法的人的船，而是一条渔船。这条河里有世界上最好的鲱鱼。”
桑乔边说边把驴和马拴在一起。把两头牲口撇下，让它们听天由命，桑乔心疼得很。唐吉诃德让桑乔不用担心，说那个要把他们送到千里迢迢之外的人会喂好这些牲口的。
“我不懂‘千里条条’是什么意思，”桑乔说，“我从来没有听说过这个词。”
“‘千里迢迢’就是遥远的意思，”唐吉诃德说，“你不懂，这不新鲜，你又没学过拉丁文，而且不像某些人那样，自以为懂，其实一无所知。”
“牲口已经拴好了，”桑乔说，“现在该怎么办了？”
“该怎么办？”唐吉诃德说，“画个十字起锚啊。我是说，上船去，砍断缆绳。”
唐吉诃德说着一跃就跳上了小船，桑乔也跟着跳了上去，并且砍断了缆绳，小船慢慢离开了河岸。小船离河岸将近两西里远的时候，桑乔开始哆嗦，唯恐船会沉到河里去。不过，最让他难过的还是听见他的驴在叫，看见罗西南多正在拼命企图挣脱缰绳。于是，他对唐吉诃德说：
“驴离开了咱们，难过得直叫唤，罗西南多也想挣脱出来，以便跟随咱们。最尊贵的朋友们，你们安静下来吧。疯癫把我们分开了，但愿随之而来的如梦初醒还会让我们回到你们身边！”
说到这儿，桑乔竟痛心地哭起来。唐吉诃德又气又恼地说道：
“你怕什么，胆小鬼？你哭什么，软骨头？谁打你了还是追你了，你这个耗子胆！难道你还缺什么吗？真是生在福中不知福。难道让你赤脚穿越里弗山①了？难道你不是像一位大公爵似的乘坐小船风平浪静地穿过这段迷人的河流，马上就要到达辽阔的大海了吗？咱们至少已经走出七八百里了。如果咱们这儿有仪器，可以量量北极的角度。那么我就可以告诉你，咱们已经走出多远了。虽然我懂得不多，我也可以说，咱们现在已经穿过或者很快就要穿过将南北极等距离平分的赤道线了。”
①摩洛哥地名。
“等咱们到达您说的那条赤道时，”桑乔问，“咱们就走出多远了？”
“已经很远了，”唐吉诃德说，“因为据已知最伟大的宇宙学家托勒密的计算，地球连水带陆地共有三百六十度。只要咱们到了我说的那条线，咱们就已经走了一半。”
“上帝保佑，”桑乔说，“您引证的是一位多么高级的人物呀！什么指甲和蒜，还加上什么蜜之类的，我真搞不清楚。”
唐吉诃德听到桑乔把宇宙学家、计算和托勒密等都搞错了，忍不住大笑。他对桑乔说道：
“你大概听说过，桑乔，西班牙人或者从加的斯上船去东印度群岛的人，要想知道自己是否已经过了我刚才对你说的那条赤道线，其中一个方法就是看船上所有人身上的虱子是否都死光了。船只要一过赤道线，你就是拿金子换，全船也找不出一个活虱子了。所以桑乔，你可以伸手往自己腿上摸一摸。如果摸到了活东西，咱们就算把这件事搞清楚了。如果没摸到活东西，就是已经过了赤道线。”
“我才不信呢，”桑乔说，“不过即使这样，我还是按您说的去做，尽管我不知道有什么必要做这种试验。凭我自己的眼睛看，咱们离开岸边并不远，而且离拴牲口的地方也很近，罗西南多和驴仍在原地。这么一看，我敢发誓，咱们走得像蚂蚁一样慢。”
“你就照我说的去做，桑乔，别的不用管。你不懂什么叫二分二至圈、经线、纬线、黄道带、黄道、极地、至日、二分点、行星、天体符号、方位、等量呀等等，这些东西构成了天体和地球。如果你懂得这些东西，或者只懂一部分，你就可以知道咱们现在处于什么纬线，现在是什么黄道带，咱们已经经过了什么星座，下面还要经过什么星座。我再说一遍，你往自己身上摸摸，我估计你现在肯定比白纸还干净。”
桑乔用手去摸，逐渐摸到了左膝窝里。他抬起头，看着主人说道：
“这个经验恐怕是假的，要不然就是离您说的那个地方还远着呢。”
“怎么回事？”唐吉诃德问，“你摸到点什么？”
“岂止是一点儿呢！”桑乔说。
桑乔甩甩手指头，又把整只手放进河里洗。小船随着河流平稳地向前漂移，没有任何神秘的魔力或者隐蔽的魔法师暗中推动，只有轻柔的河流缓缓流淌。
这时他们发现前面有几座高大的水磨房。唐吉诃德一看到水磨房就高声对桑乔说道：
“你看到了吗，朋友？前面出现了一座城市、城堡或者要塞，那位受困的骑士或者落难的女王、公主或王妃，肯定就在那儿，我就是为了解救他们而被召唤到此的。”
“您说什么见鬼的城市、城堡或要塞呀，大人？”桑乔说，“您没看清那只是磨小麦的水磨房吗？”
“住嘴，桑乔，”唐吉诃德说，“即使它们像水磨房，也根本不是水磨房。我不是说过嘛，魔法可以使任何东西改变自己的本来面目。不是真把它们改变了，而是把它们变得看上去像某种东西，例如，我唯一的希望杜尔西内亚就被改变了模样。”
他们说话时，小船已经进入河的主流，不像刚才走的那样缓慢了。磨房里的工人看见一条小船顺流而来，眼看就要撞进水轮，急忙拿起长竿子出来拦挡小船。他们的脸上和衣服上都是面粉，所以样子显得挺怪的。他们高声喊着：
“活见鬼！你们往哪儿去？不想活了？你们想干什么？你们是不是想掉进河里淹死。再被打成碎片呀？”
“我不是说过嘛，桑乔，”唐吉诃德说，“咱们已经到了可以让我大显身手的地方！你看，妖魔鬼怪已经出来了。跟咱们作对的妖怪可真不少，而且面目都那么丑恶……好吧，那就来吧，你们这群混蛋！”
唐吉诃德从船上站起来，对磨房工人厉声喝道：
“你们这群不知好歹的恶棍，赶紧把关在你们的要塞或牢狱里的人放出来，不管他们的身份是高是低，不管他们是什么人，我是曼查的唐吉诃德，又叫狮子骑士。我受上天之命，专程来解除这场危难。”
说完他拔出剑向磨房工人们挥舞。磨房工人们听了唐吉诃德一通乱喊，并不明白他喊的是什么意思，只顾用长竿去拦小船。此时，小船眼看就要进入水轮下的急流了。
桑乔跪了下来，诚心诚意地恳求老天把他从这场近在眼前的危难中解救出来。多亏磨房工人们手疾眼快，用长竿拦住了他们的船。船虽然被拦住了，可还是翻了个底朝天，唐吉诃德和桑乔都掉进水里。算唐吉诃德走运，他会游泳，但是身上的盔甲太重，拖累他两次沉到了河底。若不是磨房工人们跳进河里，把他们俩捞上来，情况就糟了。两人上了岸，浑身上下都湿透了，这回他们可不渴了。桑乔跪在地上，双手合拢，两眼朝天，虔诚地祈求了半天，祈求上帝保佑他从此摆脱主人的胡思乱想与胆大妄为。
小船的主人是几位渔民，此时也到了，可是小船已经被水轮撞成了碎片。看到小船坏了，几位渔民开始动手剥桑乔的衣服，并且要唐吉诃德赔偿小船。唐吉诃德十分镇静和若无其事地对磨房工人和渔民说，只要他们放了关押在城堡里的那个人或那几个人，他可以高价赔偿小船。
“什么人，什么城堡，”一个磨房工人说，“你有毛病呀？
你难道想把到这儿来磨小麦的人都带走吗？”
“够了！”唐吉诃德自言自语道，“看来，要说服这些强盗做件好事只不过是对牛弹琴。这回准是有两个本领高强的魔法师在较劲儿，一个想干，另一个就捣乱。一个让我上船，另一个就跟我对着干。上帝帮帮忙吧，这个世界到处都充满了尔虞我诈，我也没办法了。”
唐吉诃德提高了嗓门，看着水磨房说道：
“被关在里面的朋友们，无论你们是什么人，都请你们原谅我。由于我和你们的不幸，我现在无法把你们从苦难中解救出来。这项任务只好留给其他骑士去完成了。”
然后，唐吉诃德同渔民们讲好，赔偿了五十雷阿尔的船钱。桑乔很不情愿地付了钱，然后说道：
“再碰上两回这种乘船的事，咱们的钱就光了。”
渔民和磨房工人见他们两人与众不同，又听不懂唐吉诃德那些话的意思，感到十分惊奇，觉得他们像是疯子，便离开了他们。磨房工人进了水磨房，渔民回到自己的茅屋去了。唐吉诃德和桑乔也回到了他们拴牲口的地方。唐吉诃德和桑乔的魔船奇遇到此结束。
Part 2 Chapter 30
They reached their beasts in low spirits and bad humour enough, knight and squire, Sancho particularly, for with him what touched the stock of money touched his heart, and when any was taken from him he felt as if he was robbed of the apples of his eyes. In fine, without exchanging a word, they mounted and quitted the famous river, Don Quixote absorbed in thoughts of his love, Sancho in thinking of his advancement, which just then, it seemed to him, he was very far from securing; for, fool as he was, he saw clearly enough that his master’s acts were all or most of them utterly senseless; and he began to cast about for an opportunity of retiring from his service and going home some day, without entering into any explanations or taking any farewell of him. Fortune, however, ordered matters after a fashion very much the opposite of what he contemplated.
It so happened that the next day towards sunset, on coming out of a wood, Don Quixote cast his eyes over a green meadow, and at the far end of it observed some people, and as he drew nearer saw that it was a hawking party. Coming closer, he distinguished among them a lady of graceful mien, on a pure white palfrey or hackney caparisoned with green trappings and a silver-mounted side-saddle. The lady was also in green, and so richly and splendidly dressed that splendour itself seemed personified in her. On her left hand she bore a hawk, a proof to Don Quixote’s mind that she must be some great lady and the mistress of the whole hunting party, which was the fact; so he said to Sancho, “Run Sancho, my son, and say to that lady on the palfrey with the hawk that I, the Knight of the Lions, kiss the hands of her exalted beauty, and if her excellence will grant me leave I will go and kiss them in person and place myself at her service for aught that may be in my power and her highness may command; and mind, Sancho, how thou speakest, and take care not to thrust in any of thy proverbs into thy message.”
 
“You’ve got a likely one here to thrust any in!” said Sancho; “leave me alone for that! Why, this is not the first time in my life I have carried messages to high and exalted ladies.”
“Except that thou didst carry to the lady Dulcinea,” said Don Quixote, “I know not that thou hast carried any other, at least in my service.”
“That is true,” replied Sancho; “but pledges don’t distress a good payer, and in a house where there’s plenty supper is soon cooked; I mean there’s no need of telling or warning me about anything; for I’m ready for everything and know a little of everything.”
“That I believe, Sancho,” said Don Quixote; “go and good luck to thee, and God speed thee.”
Sancho went off at top speed, forcing Dapple out of his regular pace, and came to where the fair huntress was standing, and dismounting knelt before her and said, “Fair lady, that knight that you see there, the Knight of the Lions by name, is my master, and I am a squire of his, and at home they call me Sancho Panza. This same Knight of the Lions, who was called not long since the Knight of the Rueful Countenance, sends by me to say may it please your highness to give him leave that, with your permission, approbation, and consent, he may come and carry out his wishes, which are, as he says and I believe, to serve your exalted loftiness and beauty; and if you give it, your ladyship will do a thing which will redound to your honour, and he will receive a most distinguished favour and happiness.”
“You have indeed, squire,” said the lady, “delivered your message with all the formalities such messages require; rise up, for it is not right that the squire of a knight so great as he of the Rueful Countenance, of whom we have heard a great deal here, should remain on his knees; rise, my friend, and bid your master welcome to the services of myself and the duke my husband, in a country house we have here.”
Sancho got up, charmed as much by the beauty of the good lady as by her high-bred air and her courtesy, but, above all, by what she had said about having heard of his master, the Knight of the Rueful Countenance; for if she did not call him Knight of the Lions it was no doubt because he had so lately taken the name. “Tell me, brother squire,” asked the duchess (whose title, however, is not known), “this master of yours, is he not one of whom there is a history extant in print, called ‘The Ingenious Gentleman, Don Quixote of La Mancha,’ who has for the lady of his heart a certain Dulcinea del Toboso?”
“He is the same, senora,” replied Sancho; “and that squire of his who figures, or ought to figure, in the said history under the name of Sancho Panza, is myself, unless they have changed me in the cradle, I mean in the press.”
“I am rejoiced at all this,” said the duchess; “go, brother Panza, and tell your master that he is welcome to my estate, and that nothing could happen me that could give me greater pleasure.”
Sancho returned to his master mightily pleased with this gratifying answer, and told him all the great lady had said to him, lauding to the skies, in his rustic phrase, her rare beauty, her graceful gaiety, and her courtesy. Don Quixote drew himself up briskly in his saddle, fixed himself in his stirrups, settled his visor, gave Rocinante the spur, and with an easy bearing advanced to kiss the hands of the duchess, who, having sent to summon the duke her husband, told him while Don Quixote was approaching all about the message; and as both of them had read the First Part of this history, and from it were aware of Don Quixote’s crazy turn, they awaited him with the greatest delight and anxiety to make his acquaintance, meaning to fall in with his humour and agree with everything he said, and, so long as he stayed with them, to treat him as a knight-errant, with all the ceremonies usual in the books of chivalry they had read, for they themselves were very fond of them.
Don Quixote now came up with his visor raised, and as he seemed about to dismount Sancho made haste to go and hold his stirrup for him; but in getting down off Dapple he was so unlucky as to hitch his foot in one of the ropes of the pack-saddle in such a way that he was unable to free it, and was left hanging by it with his face and breast on the ground. Don Quixote, who was not used to dismount without having the stirrup held, fancying that Sancho had by this time come to hold it for him, threw himself off with a lurch and brought Rocinante’s saddle after him, which was no doubt badly girthed, and saddle and he both came to the ground; not without discomfiture to him and abundant curses muttered between his teeth against the unlucky Sancho, who had his foot still in the shackles. The duke ordered his huntsmen to go to the help of knight and squire, and they raised Don Quixote, sorely shaken by his fall; and he, limping, advanced as best he could to kneel before the noble pair. This, however, the duke would by no means permit; on the contrary, dismounting from his horse, he went and embraced Don Quixote, saying, “I am grieved, Sir Knight of the Rueful Countenance, that your first experience on my ground should have been such an unfortunate one as we have seen; but the carelessness of squires is often the cause of worse accidents.”
“That which has happened me in meeting you, mighty prince,” replied Don Quixote, “cannot be unfortunate, even if my fall had not stopped short of the depths of the bottomless pit, for the glory of having seen you would have lifted me up and delivered me from it. My squire, God’s curse upon him, is better at unloosing his tongue in talking impertinence than in tightening the girths of a saddle to keep it steady; but however I may be, allen or raised up, on foot or on horseback, I shall always be at your service and that of my lady the duchess, your worthy consort, worthy queen of beauty and paramount princess of courtesy.”
“Gently, Senor Don Quixote of La Mancha,” said the duke; “where my lady Dona Dulcinea del Toboso is, it is not right that other beauties should he praised.”
Sancho, by this time released from his entanglement, was standing by, and before his master could answer he said, “There is no denying, and it must be maintained, that my lady Dulcinea del Toboso is very beautiful; but the hare jumps up where one least expects it; and I have heard say that what we call nature is like a potter that makes vessels of clay, and he who makes one fair vessel can as well make two, or three, or a hundred; I say so because, by my faith, my lady the duchess is in no way behind my mistress the lady Dulcinea del Toboso.”
Don Quixote turned to the duchess and said, “Your highness may conceive that never had knight-errant in this world a more talkative or a droller squire than I have, and he will prove the truth of what I say, if your highness is pleased to accept of my services for a few days.”
To which the duchess made answer, “that worthy Sancho is droll I consider a very good thing, because it is a sign that he is shrewd; for drollery and sprightliness, Senor Don Quixote, as you very well know, do not take up their abode with dull wits; and as good Sancho is droll and sprightly I here set him down as shrewd.”
“And talkative,” added Don Quixote.
“So much the better,” said the duke, “for many droll things cannot be said in few words; but not to lose time in talking, come, great Knight of the Rueful Countenance — ”
“Of the Lions, your highness must say,” said Sancho, “for there is no Rueful Countenance nor any such character now.”
“He of the Lions be it,” continued the duke; “I say, let Sir Knight of the Lions come to a castle of mine close by, where he shall be given that reception which is due to so exalted a personage, and which the duchess and I are wont to give to all knights-errant who come there.”
By this time Sancho had fixed and girthed Rocinante’s saddle, and Don Quixote having got on his back and the duke mounted a fine horse, they placed the duchess in the middle and set out for the castle. The duchess desired Sancho to come to her side, for she found infinite enjoyment in listening to his shrewd remarks. Sancho required no pressing, but pushed himself in between them and the duke, who thought it rare good fortune to receive such a knight-errant and such a homely squire in their castle.
 
骑士和侍从垂头丧气地回到了自己的牲口旁边。特别是桑乔，用掉那些钱简直让他心疼死了，从他那儿拿钱就像挖了他眼珠似的。两人最后默默无言地骑上了牲口，离开了那条有名的大河。唐吉诃德仍沉浸在他的情思里，桑乔却在盘算，要想发财，看来前途已经很渺茫了。他虽然不聪明，却完全可以看清楚，主人的所有行动或大部分行动都是疯疯癫癫的。他想寻找机会，某一天神不知鬼不觉地回自己老家去。
可是，命运偏偏让他越不愿意怎样就越得怎样。
第二天，太阳刚下山，他们就走出了树林。唐吉诃德向绿草地极目望去，只见草地尽头正有一群人向他们走来。唐吉诃德看清了，那是一群放鹰打猎的猎人。待他们走得更近时，又发现其中有一位体态优美的夫人，骑着一匹浑身雪白的小马，绿色的宝石镶嵌座儿，还有个白银的靠背马鞍。那位夫人也穿了一身绿衣服，显得雍容华贵而又英姿飒爽。她的左手托着一只苍鹰，唐吉诃德一见那苍鹰，就猜到她一定是位贵夫人，而且是那群猎人的主子。唐吉诃德果然没猜错。
唐吉诃德对桑乔说道：
“你赶紧过去，桑乔小子，告诉那位骑小马、擎苍鹰的夫人，就说我狮子骑士希望吻这位尊贵夫人的手。如果她允许，我就过去吻，并且愿意全力为她效劳，听凭她的吩咐。不过，你说话注意点儿，桑乔，别总是带上你那些乱七八糟的俗语。”
“您这回可算是说错人了！”桑乔说，“您这话竟是对我说的！我这辈子又不是第一次向高贵的夫人传话！”
“除了向杜尔西内亚夫人传过话外，”唐吉诃德说，“我不知道你是否还对别人传过话，至少在我这儿没有。”
“这倒是真的，”桑乔说，“不过，‘兜里有钱，不怕欠帐；家里有粮，做饭不慌’。我是说，您什么也不用提醒我，我什么都会，什么都知道一点儿。”
“我也相信，桑乔，”唐吉诃德说，“上帝会帮助你，祝你走运。”
桑乔催着他的驴跑起来。跑到那位美丽的狩猎夫人面前时，他下了马，跪倒在夫人面前，说道：
“美丽的夫人，那边的那位骑士名叫狮子骑士，是我的主人。我是他的侍从，家里人都叫我桑乔。这位狮子骑士不久前也叫猥獕骑士，他派我来对您说，请您赏光允许他心甘情愿地实现他的愿望。根据他说的和我想的，这个愿望不是别的，就是为您这位高贵美丽的夫人效劳。如果您能同意这件事，不但对您有利，也可以为他脸上增光。”
“说得对，优秀的侍从，”那位夫人说，“你已经十分得体地完成了你的使命。站起来吧，像猥獕骑士这样伟大的骑士我们早有耳闻，他的侍从跪在地上就不合适了。站起来吧，朋友，告诉你的主人，我和我的公爵丈夫欢迎他到我们这儿的别墅来做客。”
桑乔站了起来。他对这位夫人的美貌和气质修养深感惊讶。不过更让他惊奇的是，这位夫人竟然听说过他的主人猥獕骑士。她没称他狮子骑士，大概因为狮子骑士这个称号是最近才提出来的。公爵夫人又问道：
“告诉我，侍从兄弟，你的主人是否就是现已出版的小说《唐吉诃德》里的那个人？而且，他还把托博索一个叫杜尔西内亚的女人当作自己的意中人？”
“就是他，夫人。”桑乔说，“他还有个侍从，这本小说里也应该有，除非是从一开始就漏掉了，我是说，在印刷的时候漏掉了。侍从的名字叫桑乔，就是我。”
“我为此非常高兴，”公爵夫人说，“去吧，桑乔兄弟，去告诉你的主人，说我们欢迎他到我们这儿来，再没有任何事能比这件事更让我高兴了。”
桑乔带着这个令人愉快的答复，非常高兴地跑回到主人那儿，把那位贵夫人对他讲的话又重复了一遍，并且用自己那套粗言俗语把贵夫人的美貌和风雅的举止捧上了天。唐吉诃德在马鞍上气宇轩昂地坐好，把脚在马蹬里放正，戴好护眼罩，催动罗西南多，风度翩翩地去吻公爵夫人的手。公爵夫人此时也把公爵丈夫叫来，把自己刚才对桑乔说的那番话告诉了丈夫。两人都是骑士小说的爱好者，原来都读过这部小说的上卷，了解唐吉诃德缺乏理智的可笑行为，所以非常愿意也非常高兴认识唐吉诃德。他们打算按照小说里记述的各种习惯和礼节来接待唐吉诃德，在唐吉诃德同他们在一起的几天里继续看他的热闹，他说什么都依着他。
这时唐吉诃德到了。他掀起护眼罩，看样子是想下马。桑乔赶紧过去为唐吉诃德扶住马蹬，可是很不幸，他下驴时，一只脚被驮鞍的绳子绊住，挣脱不出，结果脚吊在绳子上，嘴和胸着地摔了下来。唐吉诃德已经习惯了有人为他扶住马蹬下马，这回也以为桑乔已为他扶好了马蹬，便猛然翻身下马。那鞍子大概没捆好，结果他连人带鞍摔到了地上。唐吉诃德很不好意思，心里暗暗诅咒桑乔，其实桑乔的一只脚那时仍被绊着呢。
公爵连忙吩咐那些猎手把唐吉诃德和桑乔扶起来。唐吉诃德摔得浑身疼痛，一瘸一拐地想向公爵夫妇跪拜。可是公爵无论如何也不同意。相反，公爵却跳下马来，抱住了唐吉诃德，对他说道：
“我很抱歉，猥獕骑士大人，您第一次到我这儿来就发生了这样不幸的事情。侍从不小心往往会招致很严重的麻烦。”
“我见到了您，勇敢的公爵大人，”唐吉诃德说，“就不可能存在任何不幸了。即使我摔进深渊，见到您的荣耀也会让我重新腾飞，从深渊里脱身。我这个侍从，让上帝诅咒他吧，他只会张嘴胡说八道，连个鞍子都捆不结实。可是无论我怎么样，无论我摔倒了还是站立着，无论我步行还是骑马，我都时刻准备为您和您尊贵的夫人——美女之王、风雅公主之典范即我们的公爵夫人效劳。”
“且慢，我的唐吉诃德大人！”公爵说，“只要有托博索杜尔西内亚夫人在，您就不该称赞其他美人。”
桑乔此时已从绳子的纠缠中解脱出来，正站在旁边。他不等主人答话，就抢先说道：
“无可否认，我们的杜尔西内亚夫人确实很美丽。不料，能人又遇到高手，我听说这叫自然规律。这就好比一个陶器工匠做出一只精美的陶杯，也就可以做出两只、三只、上百只精美的陶杯那样。我这样说是因为我们的公爵夫人肯定不次于我的女主人杜尔西内亚夫人。”
唐吉诃德转身向公爵夫人说道：
“您完全可以想象到，世界上所有游侠骑士的侍从都不如我这个侍从多嘴而又滑稽。如果您能允许我为您效劳几天，他就会证明我说的是真的。”
公爵夫人答道：
“要是这位好桑乔滑稽，那我就更喜欢他了，滑稽证明他很机灵。滑稽与风趣，唐吉诃德大人，您知道，并不是愚蠢的人能够做到的。所以，如果说桑乔滑稽而又风趣，那么，我可以肯定他很机灵。”
“还爱多嘴。”唐吉诃德又补充了一句。
“那就更好了，”公爵说，“很多滑稽的事情不是三言两语可以说完的。咱们先不要在这个问题上耽误时间了，伟大的猥獕骑士，请您……”
“您该称狮子骑士，”桑乔说，“猥獕骑士已经不存在了，现在是狮子骑士的形象了。”
公爵接着说道：
“我说狮子骑士大人，请您到附近我的城堡里去吧，您将在那里享受贵人的待遇。我和我的夫人常常在那里接待路过的游侠骑士。”
桑乔此时已把罗西南多的鞍具收拾妥当，并且捆好，唐吉诃德骑了上去。公爵也骑上一匹漂亮的马，让公爵夫人走在两人中间，一起向城堡走去。公爵夫人吩咐桑乔跟在她旁边，说她喜欢听桑乔说话。桑乔也不客气，夹在三人中间，一起说着话。公爵和公爵夫人很高兴，觉得在他们的城堡里接待这样一位游侠骑士和一位侍从游子，真是一件很有趣的事情。
Part 2 Chapter 31
Supreme was the satisfaction that Sancho felt at seeing himself, as it seemed, an established favourite with the duchess, for he looked forward to finding in her castle what he had found in Don Diego’s house and in Basilio’s; he was always fond of good living, and always seized by the forelock any opportunity of feasting himself whenever it presented itself. The history informs us, then, that before they reached the country house or castle, the duke went on in advance and instructed all his servants how they were to treat Don Quixote; and so the instant he came up to the castle gates with the duchess, two lackeys or equerries, clad in what they call morning gowns of fine crimson satin reaching to their feet, hastened out, and catching Don Quixote in their arms before he saw or heard them, said to him, “Your highness should go and take my lady the duchess off her horse.”
 
Don Quixote obeyed, and great bandying of compliments followed between the two over the matter; but in the end the duchess’s determination carried the day, and she refused to get down or dismount from her palfrey except in the arms of the duke, saying she did not consider herself worthy to impose so unnecessary a burden on so great a knight. At length the duke came out to take her down, and as they entered a spacious court two fair damsels came forward and threw over Don Quixote’s shoulders a large mantle of the finest scarlet cloth, and at the same instant all the galleries of the court were lined with the men-servants and women-servants of the household, crying, “Welcome, flower and cream of knight-errantry!” while all or most of them flung pellets filled with scented water over Don Quixote and the duke and duchess; at all which Don Quixote was greatly astonished, and this was the first time that he thoroughly felt and believed himself to be a knight-errant in reality and not merely in fancy, now that he saw himself treated in the same way as he had read of such knights being treated in days of yore.
Sancho, deserting Dapple, hung on to the duchess and entered the castle, but feeling some twinges of conscience at having left the ass alone, he approached a respectable duenna who had come out with the rest to receive the duchess, and in a low voice he said to her, “Senora Gonzalez, or however your grace may be called — ”
“I am called Dona Rodriguez de Grijalba,” replied the duenna; “what is your will, brother?” To which Sancho made answer, “I should be glad if your worship would do me the favour to go out to the castle gate, where you will find a grey ass of mine; make them, if you please, put him in the stable, or put him there yourself, for the poor little beast is rather easily frightened, and cannot bear being alone at all.”
“If the master is as wise as the man,” said the duenna, “we have got a fine bargain. Be off with you, brother, and bad luck to you and him who brought you here; go, look after your ass, for we, the duennas of this house, are not used to work of that sort.”
“Well then, in troth,” returned Sancho, “I have heard my master, who is the very treasure-finder of stories, telling the story of Lancelot when he came from Britain, say that ladies waited upon him and duennas upon his hack; and, if it comes to my ass, I wouldn’t change him for Senor Lancelot’s hack.”
“If you are a jester, brother,” said the duenna, “keep your drolleries for some place where they’ll pass muster and be paid for; for you’ll get nothing from me but a fig.”
“At any rate, it will be a very ripe one,” said Sancho, “for you won’t lose the trick in years by a point too little.”
“Son of a bitch,” said the duenna, all aglow with anger, “whether I’m old or not, it’s with God I have to reckon, not with you, you garlic-stuffed scoundrel!” and she said it so loud, that the duchess heard it, and turning round and seeing the duenna in such a state of excitement, and her eyes flaming so, asked whom she was wrangling with.
“With this good fellow here,” said the duenna, “who has particularly requested me to go and put an ass of his that is at the castle gate into the stable, holding it up to me as an example that they did the same I don’t know where — that some ladies waited on one Lancelot, and duennas on his hack; and what is more, to wind up with, he called me old.”
“That,” said the duchess, “I should have considered the greatest affront that could be offered me;” and addressing Sancho, she said to him, “You must know, friend Sancho, that Dona Rodriguez is very youthful, and that she wears that hood more for authority and custom sake than because of her years.”
“May all the rest of mine be unlucky,” said Sancho, “if I meant it that way; I only spoke because the affection I have for my ass is so great, and I thought I could not commend him to a more kind-hearted person than the lady Dona Rodriguez.”
Don Quixote, who was listening, said to him, “Is this proper conversation for the place, Sancho?”
“Senor,” replied Sancho, “every one must mention what he wants wherever he may be; I thought of Dapple here, and I spoke of him here; if I had thought of him in the stable I would have spoken there.”
On which the duke observed, “Sancho is quite right, and there is no reason at all to find fault with him; Dapple shall be fed to his heart’s content, and Sancho may rest easy, for he shall be treated like himself.”
While this conversation, amusing to all except Don Quixote, was proceeding, they ascended the staircase and ushered Don Quixote into a chamber hung with rich cloth of gold and brocade; six damsels relieved him of his armour and waited on him like pages, all of them prepared and instructed by the duke and duchess as to what they were to do, and how they were to treat Don Quixote, so that he might see and believe they were treating him like a knight-errant. When his armour was removed, there stood Don Quixote in his tight-fitting breeches and chamois doublet, lean, lanky, and long, with cheeks that seemed to be kissing each other inside; such a figure, that if the damsels waiting on him had not taken care to check their merriment (which was one of the particular directions their master and mistress had given them), they would have burst with laughter. They asked him to let himself be stripped that they might put a shirt on him, but he would not on any account, saying that modesty became knights-errant just as much as valour. However, he said they might give the shirt to Sancho; and shutting himself in with him in a room where there was a sumptuous bed, he undressed and put on the shirt; and then, finding himself alone with Sancho, he said to him, “Tell me, thou new-fledged buffoon and old booby, dost thou think it right to offend and insult a duenna so deserving of reverence and respect as that one just now? Was that a time to bethink thee of thy Dapple, or are these noble personages likely to let the beasts fare badly when they treat their owners in such elegant style? For God’s sake, Sancho, restrain thyself, and don’t show the thread so as to let them see what a coarse, boorish texture thou art of. Remember, sinner that thou art, the master is the more esteemed the more respectable and well-bred his servants are; and that one of the greatest advantages that princes have over other men is that they have servants as good as themselves to wait on them. Dost thou not see — shortsighted being that thou art, and unlucky mortal that I am! — that if they perceive thee to be a coarse clown or a dull blockhead, they will suspect me to be some impostor or swindler? Nay, nay, Sancho friend, keep clear, oh, keep clear of these stumbling-blocks; for he who falls into the way of being a chatterbox and droll, drops into a wretched buffoon the first time he trips; bridle thy tongue, consider and weigh thy words before they escape thy mouth, and bear in mind we are now in quarters whence, by God’s help, and the strength of my arm, we shall come forth mightily advanced in fame and fortune.”
Sancho promised him with much earnestness to keep his mouth shut, and to bite off his tongue before he uttered a word that was not altogether to the purpose and well considered, and told him he might make his mind easy on that point, for it should never be discovered through him what they were.
Don Quixote dressed himself, put on his baldric with his sword, threw the scarlet mantle over his shoulders, placed on his head a montera of green satin that the damsels had given him, and thus arrayed passed out into the large room, where he found the damsels drawn up in double file, the same number on each side, all with the appliances for washing the hands, which they presented to him with profuse obeisances and ceremonies. Then came twelve pages, together with the seneschal, to lead him to dinner, as his hosts were already waiting for him. They placed him in the midst of them, and with much pomp and stateliness they conducted him into another room, where there was a sumptuous table laid with but four covers. The duchess and the duke came out to the door of the room to receive him, and with them a grave ecclesiastic, one of those who rule noblemen’s houses; one of those who, not being born magnates themselves, never know how to teach those who are how to behave as such; one of those who would have the greatness of great folk measured by their own narrowness of mind; one of those who, when they try to introduce economy into the household they rule, lead it into meanness. One of this sort, I say, must have been the grave churchman who came out with the duke and duchess to receive Don Quixote.
A vast number of polite speeches were exchanged, and at length, taking Don Quixote between them, they proceeded to sit down to table. The duke pressed Don Quixote to take the head of the table, and, though he refused, the entreaties of the duke were so urgent that he had to accept it.
The ecclesiastic took his seat opposite to him, and the duke and duchess those at the sides. All this time Sancho stood by, gaping with amazement at the honour he saw shown to his master by these illustrious persons; and observing all the ceremonious pressing that had passed between the duke and Don Quixote to induce him to take his seat at the head of the table, he said, “If your worship will give me leave I will tell you a story of what happened in my village about this matter of seats.”
The moment Sancho said this Don Quixote trembled, making sure that he was about to say something foolish. Sancho glanced at him, and guessing his thoughts, said, “Don’t be afraid of my going astray, senor, or saying anything that won’t be pat to the purpose; I haven’t forgotten the advice your worship gave me just now about talking much or little, well or ill.”
“I have no recollection of anything, Sancho,” said Don Quixote; “say what thou wilt, only say it quickly.”
“Well then,” said Sancho, “what I am going to say is so true that my master Don Quixote, who is here present, will keep me from lying.”
“Lie as much as thou wilt for all I care, Sancho,” said Don Quixote, “for I am not going to stop thee, but consider what thou art going to say.”
“I have so considered and reconsidered,” said Sancho, “that the bell-ringer’s in a safe berth; as will be seen by what follows.”
“It would be well,” said Don Quixote, “if your highnesses would order them to turn out this idiot, for he will talk a heap of nonsense.”
“By the life of the duke, Sancho shall not be taken away from me for a moment,” said the duchess; “I am very fond of him, for I know he is very discreet.”
“Discreet be the days of your holiness,” said Sancho, “for the good opinion you have of my wit, though there’s none in me; but the story I want to tell is this. There was an invitation given by a gentleman of my town, a very rich one, and one of quality, for he was one of the Alamos of Medina del Campo, and married to Dona Mencia de Quinones, the daughter of Don Alonso de Maranon, Knight of the Order of Santiago, that was drowned at the Herradura — him there was that quarrel about years ago in our village, that my master Don Quixote was mixed up in, to the best of my belief, that Tomasillo the scapegrace, the son of Balbastro the smith, was wounded in. — Isn’t all this true, master mine? As you live, say so, that these gentlefolk may not take me for some lying chatterer.”
“So far,” said the ecclesiastic, “I take you to be more a chatterer than a liar; but I don’t know what I shall take you for by-and-by.”
“Thou citest so many witnesses and proofs, Sancho,” said Don Quixote, “that I have no choice but to say thou must be telling the truth; go on, and cut the story short, for thou art taking the way not to make an end for two days to come.”
“He is not to cut it short,” said the duchess; “on the contrary, for my gratification, he is to tell it as he knows it, though he should not finish it these six days; and if he took so many they would be to me the pleasantest I ever spent.”
“Well then, sirs, I say,” continued Sancho, “that this same gentleman, whom I know as well as I do my own hands, for it’s not a bowshot from my house to his, invited a poor but respectable labourer — ”
“Get on, brother,” said the churchman; “at the rate you are going you will not stop with your story short of the next world.”
“I’ll stop less than half-way, please God,” said Sancho; “and so I say this labourer, coming to the house of the gentleman I spoke of that invited him — rest his soul, he is now dead; and more by token he died the death of an angel, so they say; for I was not there, for just at that time I had gone to reap at Tembleque — ”
“As you live, my son,” said the churchman, “make haste back from Tembleque, and finish your story without burying the gentleman, unless you want to make more funerals.”
“Well then, it so happened,” said Sancho, “that as the pair of them were going to sit down to table — and I think I can see them now plainer than ever — ”
Great was the enjoyment the duke and duchess derived from the irritation the worthy churchman showed at the long-winded, halting way Sancho had of telling his story, while Don Quixote was chafing with rage and vexation.
“So, as I was saying,” continued Sancho, “as the pair of them were going to sit down to table, as I said, the labourer insisted upon the gentleman’s taking the head of the table, and the gentleman insisted upon the labourer’s taking it, as his orders should be obeyed in his house; but the labourer, who plumed himself on his politeness and good breeding, would not on any account, until the gentleman, out of patience, putting his hands on his shoulders, compelled him by force to sit down, saying, ‘Sit down, you stupid lout, for wherever I sit will he the head to you; and that’s the story, and, troth, I think it hasn’t been brought in amiss here.”
Don Quixote turned all colours, which, on his sunburnt face, mottled it till it looked like jasper. The duke and duchess suppressed their laughter so as not altogether to mortify Don Quixote, for they saw through Sancho’s impertinence; and to change the conversation, and keep Sancho from uttering more absurdities, the duchess asked Don Quixote what news he had of the lady Dulcinea, and if he had sent her any presents of giants or miscreants lately, for he could not but have vanquished a good many.
To which Don Quixote replied, “Senora, my misfortunes, though they had a beginning, will never have an end. I have vanquished giants and I have sent her caitiffs and miscreants; but where are they to find her if she is enchanted and turned into the most ill-favoured peasant wench that can be imagined?”
“I don’t know,” said Sancho Panza; “to me she seems the fairest creature in the world; at any rate, in nimbleness and jumping she won’t give in to a tumbler; by my faith, senora duchess, she leaps from the ground on to the back of an ass like a cat.”
“Have you seen her enchanted, Sancho?” asked the duke.
“What, seen her!” said Sancho; “why, who the devil was it but myself that first thought of the enchantment business? She is as much enchanted as my father.”
The ecclesiastic, when he heard them talking of giants and caitiffs and enchantments, began to suspect that this must be Don Quixote of La Mancha, whose story the duke was always reading; and he had himself often reproved him for it, telling him it was foolish to read such fooleries; and becoming convinced that his suspicion was correct, addressing the duke, he said very angrily to him, “Senor, your excellence will have to give account to God for what this good man does. This Don Quixote, or Don Simpleton, or whatever his name is, cannot, I imagine, be such a blockhead as your excellence would have him, holding out encouragement to him to go on with his vagaries and follies.” Then turning to address Don Quixote he said, “And you, num-skull, who put it into your head that you are a knight-errant, and vanquish giants and capture miscreants? Go your ways in a good hour, and in a good hour be it said to you. Go home and bring up your children if you have any, and attend to your business, and give over going wandering about the world, gaping and making a laughing-stock of yourself to all who know you and all who don’t. Where, in heaven’s name, have you discovered that there are or ever were knights-errant? Where are there giants in Spain or miscreants in La Mancha, or enchanted Dulcineas, or all the rest of the silly things they tell about you?”
Don Quixote listened attentively to the reverend gentleman’s words, and as soon as he perceived he had done speaking, regardless of the presence of the duke and duchess, he sprang to his feet with angry looks and an agitated countenance, and said — But the reply deserves a chapter to itself.
 
桑乔感觉自己得到了公爵夫人的赏识，很高兴。他想，他在这座城堡里得到的款待不会亚于在迭戈和巴西利奥家得到的待遇。桑乔总是想过舒适的生活，所以只要有机会，他就决不放过。
据说公爵抢先一步回到了别墅或者城堡，向佣人们吩咐接待唐吉诃德的方法。唐吉诃德刚同公爵夫人来到城堡门口，就有两个穿着洋红色细缎晨衣的仆役或马夫从城堡里出来，把唐吉诃德从马上迅速扶了下来，又对唐吉诃德说：
“请您扶我们的公爵夫人下马。”
唐吉诃德要去扶公爵夫人下马，结果两人客气了半天，公爵夫人坚持要公爵抱她下马，说不能让堂堂的大骑士做这种小事。最后，还是公爵出来把她抱下了马。他们刚走进一个大院子，就有两位美丽的少女往唐吉诃德肩上披了一条红色大披巾。院子的走廊里立刻挤满了男女佣人，他们高声喊道：
“欢迎游侠骑士的精英！”
所有人，或者说大部分人，还往唐吉诃德、公爵和公爵夫人身上洒香水。唐吉诃德又惊又喜，这是他第一次切切实实地体验到自己是个游侠骑士了。这并非幻觉，他亲身体验到了过去只有在书里才能看到的游侠骑士所享受的待遇。
桑乔没有去照顾他的驴，紧随着公爵夫人进了城堡。可是，他又不忍心把驴孤零零地留在外面，就走到一群出来迎接公爵夫人的女仆面前，对其中一位老妇低声说：
“冈萨雷斯夫人，或者您的芳名是……”
“我叫唐娜罗德里格斯•德格里哈尔瓦。”老妇说道，“你有什么吩咐，兄弟？”
桑乔回答道：
“我想请您出城堡门一趟，我的灰驴还在外面。劳驾您找人或者您本人把它带到马厩里去。那可怜的驴胆小，从来没这样单独待过。”
“主人聪明，侍从也机灵，”老妇说，“真让我们长见识。去你的吧，兄弟，算你和带你来的那个人倒霉，你还是自己去照顾你的驴吧，这儿的女仆可没干过这种活儿！”
“可是，我确实听我的主人说过兰萨罗特的故事。我的主人满肚子都是故事。他说过：
他来自布列塔尼，
夫人们为他治伤，
女仆们为他看驴。
我这头驴，要是兰萨罗特大人拿他的坐骑来换，我还不干呢。”
“兄弟，你真有意思。”老妇说，“把你的滑稽留到有人掏钱听你说的地方去说吧，我这儿最多只能给你一下子。”
“那可好，”桑乔说，“您这一下子准轻不了。冲您这把年纪，您准亏不了！”
“婊子养的！”老妇发起怒来，说道，“我年纪老不老，我自己会告诉上帝，用不着告诉你，你这个混蛋，没教养的东西！”
老妇这句话的声音很高，公爵夫人也听见了。她回过头来，看见老妇怒不可遏，眼睛都红了，就问她在同谁说话。
“我刚才同这位好人说话，”老妇说，“他非叫我把城堡门口他的驴送到马厩去，还举例说，不知是在什么地方，有几位夫人为一个兰萨罗特治伤，有女仆照看他的驴。最不像话的就是他竟说我老了。”
“如果是说我，”公爵夫人说，“我也会觉得这话比什么都厉害。”
她又对桑乔说：
“你应该知道，桑乔朋友，唐娜罗德里格斯还很年轻。她戴头巾主要是保持尊严和出于习惯，并不是因为年纪大了。”
“我要是有那个意思，就让我余生不得安宁！”桑乔说，“我只是想说，我太心疼我的驴了，要交给像唐娜罗德里格斯夫人这样慈祥的人照管才行。”
这些话唐吉诃德全听到了。他对桑乔说：
“这些话是在这种地方讲的吗？”
“大人，”桑乔说，“一个人不论在什么地方，都可以按照自己的需要讲话。我在这儿想起了驴，就在这儿说驴；如果我在马厩里想起来，就在马厩里说。”
公爵说道：
“桑乔说得很对，他完全没有责任。桑乔你尽管放心，你的驴会得到应有的照顾，他们会像对待你一样对待你的驴。”
公爵这么一说，大家都很高兴，只有唐吉诃德除外。大家登上城堡高处，把唐吉诃德让进一座装饰着极其贵重的金色锦缎的客厅。六名少女帮助唐吉诃德脱下盔甲。这些少女事先已被公爵和公爵夫人教过，应当如何招待唐吉诃德，以便让他觉得自己是被当作游侠骑士款待的。唐吉诃德脱去盔甲后，身上只剩瘦腿裤和羊皮紧身坎肩，显得又细又高又瘦又干瘪，两颊瘦得几乎贴在一起了。看他那个样子，若不是主人事先嘱咐的几点注意事项里有一项是必须忍住笑，这几位少女早就笑出声来了。
她们请求唐吉诃德把衣服都脱下来，她们要给他换件衬衣。唐吉诃德坚决不同意，说游侠骑士的尊严同勇气一样重要。不过，他让人把衬衣交给了桑乔，自己则同桑乔一起躲进了一个小房间。房间里有个豪华床，唐吉诃德脱光衣服，换上了衬衣。他见只有自己和桑乔在场，就对桑乔说道：
“告诉我，你这个新小丑、老笨蛋，你觉得让那样一位令人尊敬的老妇人难堪对吗？那是你说你的驴的时候吗？或者说，像他们这样的大人既然能对客人百般照顾，还能让客人的驴受委屈吗？上帝保佑，桑乔，你得注意点儿，别露了馅，让人看出你是个乡巴佬。你呀，真糟糕！你记住，佣人表现得越好，越有教养，主人就越受到尊重；王公贵人居于其他人之上的一大高贵之处就是：他们拥有像自己一样高贵的佣人。算你苦命。算我倒霉！你难道没发现，如果人们看出你是个粗俗的乡巴佬或滑稽的傻瓜，就会把我也当成江湖骗子、冒牌骑士？别这样了，桑乔朋友，千万别再做这些失礼的事情了。爱多嘴又爱出洋相的人稍有闪失，就会被人看成是令人讨厌的骗子。管好你的舌头吧，说话之前再三考虑一下，别忘了，承蒙上帝的恩赐，靠我臂膀的力量，咱们的名声以及财产前景可观呢。”
桑乔十分恳切地答应唐吉诃德，他一定会按照主人的吩咐，管好自己的嘴巴，藏好自己的舌头，不经过仔细考虑不说话。他让唐吉诃德放心，自己不会给主人丢脸。
唐吉诃德穿好衣服，把皮肩带连同剑披挂在身上，再披上红色的披巾，戴上少女们为他准备的绿缎帽子。穿戴停当，他走出小房间，来到一个大厅里。少女们分排站立，手里都端着洗手水，毕恭毕敬地请他洗手。十二个侍者连同管家又来请他去吃饭，说主人已经在恭候了。这些人前呼后拥地围着唐吉诃德来到了另一个大厅，厅里已经摆好一桌丰盛的酒席，桌子上只有四套餐具。公爵和公爵夫人在大厅门口迎接，他们身旁还有一位庄重的教士，这种教士是专为贵族管家的。这种教士并非出身于贵族，所以并不知道该如何教育贵族，而是以小人之心去度君子之腹。所以，他们只希望他们管理的贵族家庭心胸狭隘，成为可怜人。我说的这位陪同公爵和公爵夫人出来迎接唐吉诃德的教士，大概就是这种人。他们极其客气地寒暄一番，又左右相伴地陪同唐吉诃德来到桌前。公爵请唐吉诃德坐在首席上。尽管唐吉诃德再三推辞，公爵还是坚持，唐吉诃德只好从命。教士坐在唐吉诃德的对面，公爵和公爵夫人分坐在唐吉诃德两侧。
桑乔也一直在场。他看到公爵夫妇对唐吉诃德如此礼遇，不胜惊奇。他见公爵和唐吉诃德你推我让，互相请对方坐在首席，就说：
“如果你们二位允许的话，我给你们讲一个我们村里关于坐席的故事吧。”
桑乔此话一出口，唐吉诃德不禁一哆嗦，他知道桑乔肯定又要说什么傻话了。桑乔看见了，懂得唐吉诃德的心思，就说道：
“我的大人，您不必害怕我会胡来，或者说一些不该说的东西。您嘱咐我的说多说少、说好说坏那一套，我都没忘。”
“我倒什么也不记得了，桑乔。”唐吉诃德说，“你随便说吧，反正你来得快。”
“我说的都是实话，”桑乔说，“有我的主人唐吉诃德在场，他不让我说谎。”
“你随便说谎，桑乔，”唐吉诃德说，“我不管，不过你说话要先想想。”
“我已经再三想过了，谁想找茬儿都没门儿，您回头就知道了。”
“诸位最好还是让这个笨蛋出去吧，”唐吉诃德说，“否则他不知道要说多少胡话呢。”
“我以公爵的名义发誓，”公爵夫人说，“千万别让桑乔走开。我很喜欢他，他很机灵。”
“承蒙您对我信任，”桑乔说，“可是我并不机灵。但愿夫人您永远机灵。我要讲的故事是这样的：我们村的一个贵族要请客。这个贵族很富有，而且有势力，是阿拉莫斯•德梅迪纳•德尔坎波家族的人。他同圣地亚哥骑士团骑士唐阿隆索•马拉尼翁的女儿唐娜门西亚•基尼奥内斯结了婚。唐阿隆索•马拉尼翁在埃拉杜拉淹死了，为此几年前在我们村还发生过一场争斗。我记得我的主人唐吉诃德也参加了，结果铁匠巴尔巴斯特罗的儿子，那个淘气鬼托马西略受了伤……这难道不是真事吗，我的主人？您倒是说句话呀，别让他们以为我是个多嘴多舌的骗子。”
“在此之前，”教士说，“我认为你倒不像说谎的人，只像个多嘴的人，不过从现在开始，我就不知道该怎么看你了。”
唐吉诃德说：“你举了这么多例证，桑乔，又介绍了这么多情况，我不能不说，你说的大概都是实话。你接着说吧，把故事讲简短些。照你这么讲，两天也讲不完。”
“你不必讲得简短，”公爵夫人说，“我喜欢听。相反，你知道什么就讲什么，即使六天都讲不完也没关系。如果真能讲那么多天，那也是我平生最愉快的日子。”
“那么，诸位大人，”桑乔接着说下去，“我对这个贵族了如指掌，他家离我家只有一箭之地。他请的客人是个穷农夫。
农夫虽然穷，却是个正派人。”
“接着说吧，兄弟，”教士说，“像你这么讲，恐怕这辈子也讲不完了。”
“只要上帝保佑，用半辈子就能讲完。”桑乔说，“后来，农夫到了那个请客的贵族家。那个贵族现在已经死了，愿他的灵魂安息。据说他死得很安详。我当时不在场，到腾布莱克收割去了……”
“我的天啊，那你就赶紧从腾布莱克回来吧。如果你不想为那个贵族举行葬礼，就把他埋了拉倒，赶紧把故事讲完吧。”
“问题是，”桑乔说，“当两个人正要入席的时候……此刻他们好像就在我眼前，很清楚。”
教士见桑乔讲得罗罗嗦嗦，断断续续，很不耐烦，唐吉诃德也是强压着怒火，公爵和公爵夫人却听得津津有味。
“我刚才说，他们正要入席。”桑乔说，“农夫一定要贵族坐在首席，贵族则坚持让农夫坐在首席，说在他家里就得听他的。可农夫自以为懂规矩，有教养，就是不肯坐在首席。后来那贵族火了，双手按着农夫的肩膀，硬逼他坐了下来，并且对他说：‘坐下吧，你这个笨蛋，我无论坐在什么地方，总是在你上首。’这就是我的故事。我觉得没有什么不合适的地方。”
唐吉诃德那本来是褐色的脸上，此时又仿佛涂上了无数种颜色。桑乔话里有话，他已经听明白了，有些羞愧难当。公爵和公爵夫人只好强忍着笑。为了转移一下话题，以免桑乔再继续说下去，公爵夫人就问唐吉诃德，有没有关于杜尔西内亚的消息；此外，他一定又打败了不少巨人和坏蛋，是不是又派他们去拜见杜尔西内亚了。唐吉诃德答道：
“夫人，我的不幸从来都是有始有终的。我打败过巨人，我派遣过坏蛋和恶棍去拜见杜尔西为亚夫人，可是她已经被魔法变成一个难以想象的丑农妇了，我派去的那些坏蛋又怎么能找到她呢？”
“这我就不知道了，”桑乔说，“我觉得她是世界上最漂亮的人；另外，若论轻盈和灵巧，她不亚于一个翻筋斗的演员。
她能像猫一样从地面一下子蹿到驴背上。”
“你看见过那个被魔法改变了模样的杜尔西内亚夫人吗？”公爵问。
“什么看见呀！”桑乔说，“是哪个家伙第一个发现她被魔法改变了模样的？不就是我吗？此事千真万确！”
教士听他们讲什么巨人呀、恶棍呀、魔法呀，意识到旁边这个客人大概就是曼查的唐吉诃德。关于唐吉诃德的那本小说公爵经常阅读。教士曾多次责怪公爵，说阅读这种胡说八道的东西本身就是一种无聊。可现在，他怀疑的事竟变成了现实。于是他十分恼火，对公爵说道：
“大人，您必须向上帝交代这个人做的好事！这个唐吉诃德，或者唐笨蛋，或者随便怎么称呼他吧，并不像您希望的那样糊涂，他只是趁机在您面前装疯卖傻。”
教士又转身对唐吉诃德说：
“还有你，蠢货，谁告诉你，说你是游侠骑士，还战胜了巨人，抓住了坏蛋？你趁早走人吧！我还告诉你，你回你的家里去，如果有孩子，养好你的孩子，管好你的财产，别再到处乱跑，装傻充愣，让认识你或不认识你的人笑话你啦。你这个倒霉鬼，无论是过去还是现在，你什么时候见过游侠骑士？西班牙有巨人吗？曼查有坏蛋吗？有你说的那个遭受魔法迫害的杜尔西内亚吗？有你说的那堆乱七八糟的东西吗？”
唐吉诃德认真倾听着那位令人尊敬的教士慷慨直言。见教士不说话了，唐吉诃德才不顾公爵和公爵夫人在座，满面怒容地站起来说道……
至于唐吉诃德怎样说，需专门记录一章。
 
Part 2 Chapter 32
Don Quixote, then, having risen to his feet, trembling from head to foot like a man dosed with mercury, said in a hurried, agitated voice, “The place I am in, the presence in which I stand, and the respect I have and always have had for the profession to which your worship belongs, hold and bind the hands of my just indignation; and as well for these reasons as because I know, as everyone knows, that a gownsman’s weapon is the same as a woman’s, the tongue, I will with mine engage in equal combat with your worship, from whom one might have expected good advice instead of foul abuse. Pious, well-meant reproof requires a different demeanour and arguments of another sort; at any rate, to have reproved me in public, and so roughly, exceeds the bounds of proper reproof, for that comes better with gentleness than with rudeness; and it is not seemly to call the sinner roundly blockhead and booby, without knowing anything of the sin that is reproved. Come, tell me, for which of the stupidities you have observed in me do you condemn and abuse me, and bid me go home and look after my house and wife and children, without knowing whether I have any? Is nothing more needed than to get a footing, by hook or by crook, in other people’s houses to rule over the masters (and that, perhaps, after having been brought up in all the straitness of some seminary, and without having ever seen more of the world than may lie within twenty or thirty leagues round), to fit one to lay down the law rashly for chivalry, and pass judgment on knights-errant? Is it, haply, an idle occupation, or is the time ill-spent that is spent in roaming the world in quest, not of its enjoyments, but of those arduous toils whereby the good mount upwards to the abodes of everlasting life? If gentlemen, great lords, nobles, men of high birth, were to rate me as a fool I should take it as an irreparable insult; but I care not a farthing if clerks who have never entered upon or trod the paths of chivalry should think me foolish. Knight I am, and knight I will die, if such be the pleasure of the Most High. Some take the broad road of overweening ambition; others that of mean and servile flattery; others that of deceitful hypocrisy, and some that of true religion; but I, led by my star, follow the narrow path of knight-errantry, and in pursuit of that calling I despise wealth, but not honour. I have redressed injuries, righted wrongs, punished insolences, vanquished giants, and crushed monsters; I am in love, for no other reason than that it is incumbent on knights-errant to be so; but though I am, I am no carnal-minded lover, but one of the chaste, platonic sort. My intentions are always directed to worthy ends, to do good to all and evil to none; and if he who means this, does this, and makes this his practice deserves to be called a fool, it is for your highnesses to say, O most excellent duke and duchess.”
“Good, by God!” cried Sancho; “say no more in your own defence, master mine, for there’s nothing more in the world to be said, thought, or insisted on; and besides, when this gentleman denies, as he has, that there are or ever have been any knights-errant in the world, is it any wonder if he knows nothing of what he has been talking about?”
“Perhaps, brother,” said the ecclesiastic, “you are that Sancho Panza that is mentioned, to whom your master has promised an island?”
“Yes, I am,” said Sancho, “and what’s more, I am one who deserves it as much as anyone; I am one of the sort — ‘Attach thyself to the good, and thou wilt be one of them,’ and of those, ‘Not with whom thou art bred, but with whom thou art fed,’ and of those, ‘Who leans against a good tree, a good shade covers him;’ I have leant upon a good master, and I have been for months going about with him, and please God I shall be just such another; long life to him and long life to me, for neither will he be in any want of empires to rule, or I of islands to govern.”
“No, Sancho my friend, certainly not,” said the duke, “for in the name of Senor Don Quixote I confer upon you the government of one of no small importance that I have at my disposal.”
“Go down on thy knees, Sancho,” said Don Quixote, “and kiss the feet of his excellence for the favour he has bestowed upon thee.”
Sancho obeyed, and on seeing this the ecclesiastic stood up from table completely out of temper, exclaiming, “By the gown I wear, I am almost inclined to say that your excellence is as great a fool as these sinners. No wonder they are mad, when people who are in their senses sanction their madness! I leave your excellence with them, for so long as they are in the house, I will remain in my own, and spare myself the trouble of reproving what I cannot remedy;” and without uttering another word, or eating another morsel, he went off, the entreaties of the duke and duchess being entirely unavailing to stop him; not that the duke said much to him, for he could not, because of the laughter his uncalled-for anger provoked.
When he had done laughing, he said to Don Quixote, “You have replied on your own behalf so stoutly, Sir Knight of the Lions, that there is no occasion to seek further satisfaction for this, which, though it may look like an offence, is not so at all, for, as women can give no offence, no more can ecclesiastics, as you very well know.”
“That is true,” said Don Quixote, “and the reason is, that he who is not liable to offence cannot give offence to anyone. Women, children, and ecclesiastics, as they cannot defend themselves, though they may receive offence cannot be insulted, because between the offence and the insult there is, as your excellence very well knows, this difference: the insult comes from one who is capable of offering it, and does so, and maintains it; the offence may come from any quarter without carrying insult. To take an example: a man is standing unsuspectingly in the street and ten others come up armed and beat him; he draws his sword and quits himself like a man, but the number of his antagonists makes it impossible for him to effect his purpose and avenge himself; this man suffers an offence but not an insult. Another example will make the same thing plain: a man is standing with his back turned, another comes up and strikes him, and after striking him takes to flight, without waiting an instant, and the other pursues him but does not overtake him; he who received the blow received an offence, but not an insult, because an insult must be maintained. If he who struck him, though he did so sneakingly and treacherously, had drawn his sword and stood and faced him, then he who had been struck would have received offence and insult at the same time; offence because he was struck treacherously, insult because he who struck him maintained what he had done, standing his ground without taking to flight. And so, according to the laws of the accursed duel, I may have received offence, but not insult, for neither women nor children can maintain it, nor can they wound, nor have they any way of standing their ground, and it is just the same with those connected with religion; for these three sorts of persons are without arms offensive or defensive, and so, though naturally they are bound to defend themselves, they have no right to offend anybody; and though I said just now I might have received offence, I say now certainly not, for he who cannot receive an insult can still less give one; for which reasons I ought not to feel, nor do I feel, aggrieved at what that good man said to me; I only wish he had stayed a little longer, that I might have shown him the mistake he makes in supposing and maintaining that there are not and never have been any knights-errant in the world; had Amadis or any of his countless descendants heard him say as much, I am sure it would not have gone well with his worship.”
“I will take my oath of that,” said Sancho; “they would have given him a slash that would have slit him down from top to toe like a pomegranate or a ripe melon; they were likely fellows to put up with jokes of that sort! By my faith, I’m certain if Reinaldos of Montalvan had heard the little man’s words he would have given him such a spank on the mouth that he wouldn’t have spoken for the next three years; ay, let him tackle them, and he’ll see how he’ll get out of their hands!”
The duchess, as she listened to Sancho, was ready to die with laughter, and in her own mind she set him down as droller and madder than his master; and there were a good many just then who were of the same opinion.
Don Quixote finally grew calm, and dinner came to an end, and as the cloth was removed four damsels came in, one of them with a silver basin, another with a jug also of silver, a third with two fine white towels on her shoulder, and the fourth with her arms bared to the elbows, and in her white hands (for white they certainly were) a round ball of Naples soap. The one with the basin approached, and with arch composure and impudence, thrust it under Don Quixote’s chin, who, wondering at such a ceremony, said never a word, supposing it to be the custom of that country to wash beards instead of hands; he therefore stretched his out as far as he could, and at the same instant the jug began to pour and the damsel with the soap rubbed his beard briskly, raising snow-flakes, for the soap lather was no less white, not only over the beard, but all over the face, and over the eyes of the submissive knight, so that they were perforce obliged to keep shut. The duke and duchess, who had not known anything about this, waited to see what came of this strange washing. The barber damsel, when she had him a hand’s breadth deep in lather, pretended that there was no more water, and bade the one with the jug go and fetch some, while Senor Don Quixote waited. She did so, and Don Quixote was left the strangest and most ludicrous figure that could be imagined. All those present, and there were a good many, were watching him, and as they saw him there with half a yard of neck, and that uncommonly brown, his eyes shut, and his beard full of soap, it was a great wonder, and only by great discretion, that they were able to restrain their laughter. The damsels, the concocters of the joke, kept their eyes down, not daring to look at their master and mistress; and as for them, laughter and anger struggled within them, and they knew not what to do, whether to punish the audacity of the girls, or to reward them for the amusement they had received from seeing Don Quixote in such a plight.
At length the damsel with the jug returned and they made an end of washing Don Quixote, and the one who carried the towels very deliberately wiped him and dried him; and all four together making him a profound obeisance and curtsey, they were about to go, when the duke, lest Don Quixote should see through the joke, called out to the one with the basin saying, “Come and wash me, and take care that there is water enough.” The girl, sharp-witted and prompt, came and placed the basin for the duke as she had done for Don Quixote, and they soon had him well soaped and washed, and having wiped him dry they made their obeisance and retired. It appeared afterwards that the duke had sworn that if they had not washed him as they had Don Quixote he would have punished them for their impudence, which they adroitly atoned for by soaping him as well.
Sancho observed the ceremony of the washing very attentively, and said to himself, “God bless me, if it were only the custom in this country to wash squires’ beards too as well as knights’. For by God and upon my soul I want it badly; and if they gave me a scrape of the razor besides I’d take it as a still greater kindness.”
“What are you saying to yourself, Sancho?” asked the duchess.
“I was saying, senora,” he replied, “that in the courts of other princes, when the cloth is taken away, I have always heard say they give water for the hands, but not lye for the beard; and that shows it is good to live long that you may see much; to be sure, they say too that he who lives a long life must undergo much evil, though to undergo a washing of that sort is pleasure rather than pain.”
“Don’t be uneasy, friend Sancho,” said the duchess; “I will take care that my damsels wash you, and even put you in the tub if necessary.”
“I’ll be content with the beard,” said Sancho, “at any rate for the present; and as for the future, God has decreed what is to be.”
“Attend to worthy Sancho’s request, seneschal,” said the duchess, “and do exactly what he wishes.”
The seneschal replied that Senor Sancho should be obeyed in everything; and with that he went away to dinner and took Sancho along with him, while the duke and duchess and Don Quixote remained at table discussing a great variety of things, but all bearing on the calling of arms and knight-errantry.
The duchess begged Don Quixote, as he seemed to have a retentive memory, to describe and portray to her the beauty and features of the lady Dulcinea del Toboso, for, judging by what fame trumpeted abroad of her beauty, she felt sure she must be the fairest creature in the world, nay, in all La Mancha.
Don Quixote sighed on hearing the duchess’s request, and said, “If I could pluck out my heart, and lay it on a plate on this table here before your highness’s eyes, it would spare my tongue the pain of telling what can hardly be thought of, for in it your excellence would see her portrayed in full. But why should I attempt to depict and describe in detail, and feature by feature, the beauty of the peerless Dulcinea, the burden being one worthy of other shoulders than mine, an enterprise wherein the pencils of Parrhasius, Timantes, and Apelles, and the graver of Lysippus ought to be employed, to paint it in pictures and carve it in marble and bronze, and Ciceronian and Demosthenian eloquence to sound its praises?”
“What does Demosthenian mean, Senor Don Quixote?” said the duchess; “it is a word I never heard in all my life.”
“Demosthenian eloquence,” said Don Quixote, “means the eloquence of Demosthenes, as Ciceronian means that of Cicero, who were the two most eloquent orators in the world.”
“True,” said the duke; “you must have lost your wits to ask such a question. Nevertheless, Senor Don Quixote would greatly gratify us if he would depict her to us; for never fear, even in an outline or sketch she will be something to make the fairest envious.”
“I would do so certainly,” said Don Quixote, “had she not been blurred to my mind’s eye by the misfortune that fell upon her a short time since, one of such a nature that I am more ready to weep over it than to describe it. For your highnesses must know that, going a few days back to kiss her hands and receive her benediction, approbation, and permission for this third sally, I found her altogether a different being from the one I sought; I found her enchanted and changed from a princess into a peasant, from fair to foul, from an angel into a devil, from fragrant to pestiferous, from refined to clownish, from a dignified lady into a jumping tomboy, and, in a word, from Dulcinea del Toboso into a coarse Sayago wench.”
“God bless me!” said the duke aloud at this, “who can have done the world such an injury? Who can have robbed it of the beauty that gladdened it, of the grace and gaiety that charmed it, of the modesty that shed a lustre upon it?”
“Who?” replied Don Quixote; “who could it be but some malignant enchanter of the many that persecute me out of envy — that accursed race born into the world to obscure and bring to naught the achievements of the good, and glorify and exalt the deeds of the wicked? Enchanters have persecuted me, enchanters persecute me still, and enchanters will continue to persecute me until they have sunk me and my lofty chivalry in the deep abyss of oblivion; and they injure and wound me where they know I feel it most. For to deprive a knight-errant of his lady is to deprive him of the eyes he sees with, of the sun that gives him light, of the food whereby he lives. Many a time before have I said it, and I say it now once more, a knight-errant without a lady is like a tree without leaves, a building without a foundation, or a shadow without the body that causes it.”
“There is no denying it,” said the duchess; “but still, if we are to believe the history of Don Quixote that has come out here lately with general applause, it is to be inferred from it, if I mistake not, that you never saw the lady Dulcinea, and that the said lady is nothing in the world but an imaginary lady, one that you yourself begot and gave birth to in your brain, and adorned with whatever charms and perfections you chose.”
“There is a good deal to be said on that point,” said Don Quixote; “God knows whether there he any Dulcinea or not in the world, or whether she is imaginary or not imaginary; these are things the proof of which must not be pushed to extreme lengths. I have not begotten nor given birth to my lady, though I behold her as she needs must be, a lady who contains in herself all the qualities to make her famous throughout the world, beautiful without blemish, dignified without haughtiness, tender and yet modest, gracious from courtesy and courteous from good breeding, and lastly, of exalted lineage, because beauty shines forth and excels with a higher degree of perfection upon good blood than in the fair of lowly birth.”
“That is true,” said the duke; “but Senor Don Quixote will give me leave to say what I am constrained to say by the story of his exploits that I have read, from which it is to be inferred that, granting there is a Dulcinea in El Toboso, or out of it, and that she is in the highest degree beautiful as you have described her to us, as regards the loftiness of her lineage she is not on a par with the Orianas, Alastrajareas, Madasimas, or others of that sort, with whom, as you well know, the histories abound.”
“To that I may reply,” said Don Quixote, “that Dulcinea is the daughter of her own works, and that virtues rectify blood, and that lowly virtue is more to be regarded and esteemed than exalted vice. Dulcinea, besides, has that within her that may raise her to be a crowned and sceptred queen; for the merit of a fair and virtuous woman is capable of performing greater miracles; and virtually, though not formally, she has in herself higher fortunes.”
“I protest, Senor Don Quixote,” said the duchess, “that in all you say, you go most cautiously and lead in hand, as the saying is; henceforth I will believe myself, and I will take care that everyone in my house believes, even my lord the duke if needs be, that there is a Dulcinea in El Toboso, and that she is living to-day, and that she is beautiful and nobly born and deserves to have such a knight as Senor Don Quixote in her service, and that is the highest praise that it is in my power to give her or that I can think of. But I cannot help entertaining a doubt, and having a certain grudge against Sancho Panza; the doubt is this, that the aforesaid history declares that the said Sancho Panza, when he carried a letter on your worship’s behalf to the said lady Dulcinea, found her sifting a sack of wheat; and more by token it says it was red wheat; a thing which makes me doubt the loftiness of her lineage.”
To this Don Quixote made answer, “Senora, your highness must know that everything or almost everything that happens me transcends the ordinary limits of what happens to other knights-errant; whether it he that it is directed by the inscrutable will of destiny, or by the malice of some jealous enchanter. Now it is an established fact that all or most famous knights-errant have some special gift, one that of being proof against enchantment, another that of being made of such invulnerable flesh that he cannot be wounded, as was the famous Roland, one of the twelve peers of France, of whom it is related that he could not be wounded except in the sole of his left foot, and that it must be with the point of a stout pin and not with any other sort of weapon whatever; and so, when Bernardo del Carpio slew him at Roncesvalles, finding that he could not wound him with steel, he lifted him up from the ground in his arms and strangled him, calling to mind seasonably the death which Hercules inflicted on Antaeus, the fierce giant that they say was the son of Terra. I would infer from what I have mentioned that perhaps I may have some gift of this kind, not that of being invulnerable, because experience has many times proved to me that I am of tender flesh and not at all impenetrable; nor that of being proof against enchantment, for I have already seen myself thrust into a cage, in which all the world would not have been able to confine me except by force of enchantments. But as I delivered myself from that one, I am inclined to believe that there is no other that can hurt me; and so, these enchanters, seeing that they cannot exert their vile craft against my person, revenge themselves on what I love most, and seek to rob me of life by maltreating that of Dulcinea in whom I live; and therefore I am convinced that when my squire carried my message to her, they changed her into a common peasant girl, engaged in such a mean occupation as sifting wheat; I have already said, however, that that wheat was not red wheat, nor wheat at all, but grains of orient pearl. And as a proof of all this, I must tell your highnesses that, coming to El Toboso a short time back, I was altogether unable to discover the palace of Dulcinea; and that the next day, though Sancho, my squire, saw her in her own proper shape, which is the fairest in the world, to me she appeared to be a coarse, ill-favoured farm-wench, and by no means a well-spoken one, she who is propriety itself. And so, as I am not and, so far as one can judge, cannot be enchanted, she it is that is enchanted, that is smitten, that is altered, changed, and transformed; in her have my enemies revenged themselves upon me, and for her shall I live in ceaseless tears, until I see her in her pristine state. I have mentioned this lest anybody should mind what Sancho said about Dulcinea’s winnowing or sifting; for, as they changed her to me, it is no wonder if they changed her to him. Dulcinea is illustrious and well-born, and of one of the gentle families of El Toboso, which are many, ancient, and good. Therein, most assuredly, not small is the share of the peerless Dulcinea, through whom her town will be famous and celebrated in ages to come, as Troy was through Helen, and Spain through La Cava, though with a better title and tradition. For another thing; I would have your graces understand that Sancho Panza is one of the drollest squires that ever served knight-errant; sometimes there is a simplicity about him so acute that it is an amusement to try and make out whether he is simple or sharp; he has mischievous tricks that stamp him rogue, and blundering ways that prove him a booby; he doubts everything and believes everything; when I fancy he is on the point of coming down headlong from sheer stupidity, he comes out with something shrewd that sends him up to the skies. After all, I would not exchange him for another squire, though I were given a city to boot, and therefore I am in doubt whether it will be well to send him to the government your highness has bestowed upon him; though I perceive in him a certain aptitude for the work of governing, so that, with a little trimming of his understanding, he would manage any government as easily as the king does his taxes; and moreover, we know already ample experience that it does not require much cleverness or much learning to be a governor, for there are a hundred round about us that scarcely know how to read, and govern like gerfalcons. The main point is that they should have good intentions and be desirous of doing right in all things, for they will never be at a loss for persons to advise and direct them in what they have to do, like those knight-governors who, being no lawyers, pronounce sentences with the aid of an assessor. My advice to him will be to take no bribe and surrender no right, and I have some other little matters in reserve, that shall be produced in due season for Sancho’s benefit and the advantage of the island he is to govern.”
The duke, duchess, and Don Quixote had reached this point in their conversation, when they heard voices and a great hubbub in the palace, and Sancho burst abruptly into the room all glowing with anger, with a straining-cloth by way of a bib, and followed by several servants, or, more properly speaking, kitchen-boys and other underlings, one of whom carried a small trough full of water, that from its colour and impurity was plainly dishwater. The one with the trough pursued him and followed him everywhere he went, endeavouring with the utmost persistence to thrust it under his chin, while another kitchen-boy seemed anxious to wash his beard.
“What is all this, brothers?” asked the duchess. “What is it? What do you want to do to this good man? Do you forget he is a governor-elect?”
To which the barber kitchen-boy replied, “The gentleman will not let himself be washed as is customary, and as my lord the and the senor his master have been.”
“Yes, I will,” said Sancho, in a great rage; “but I’d like it to be with cleaner towels, clearer lye, and not such dirty hands; for there’s not so much difference between me and my master that he should be washed with angels’ water and I with devil’s lye. The customs of countries and princes’ palaces are only good so long as they give no annoyance; but the way of washing they have here is worse than doing penance. I have a clean beard, and I don’t require to be refreshed in that fashion, and whoever comes to wash me or touch a hair of my head, I mean to say my beard, with all due respect be it said, I’ll give him a punch that will leave my fist sunk in his skull; for cirimonies and soapings of this sort are more like jokes than the polite attentions of one’s host.”
The duchess was ready to die with laughter when she saw Sancho’s rage and heard his words; but it was no pleasure to Don Quixote to see him in such a sorry trim, with the dingy towel about him, and the hangers-on of the kitchen all round him; so making a low bow to the duke and duchess, as if to ask their permission to speak, he addressed the rout in a dignified tone: “Holloa, gentlemen! you let that youth alone, and go back to where you came from, or anywhere else if you like; my squire is as clean as any other person, and those troughs are as bad as narrow thin-necked jars to him; take my advice and leave him alone, for neither he nor I understand joking.”
Sancho took the word out of his mouth and went on, “Nay, let them come and try their jokes on the country bumpkin, for it’s about as likely I’ll stand them as that it’s now midnight! Let them bring me a comb here, or what they please, and curry this beard of mine, and if they get anything out of it that offends against cleanliness, let them clip me to the skin.”
Upon this, the duchess, laughing all the while, said, “Sancho Panza is right, and always will be in all he says; he is clean, and, as he says himself, he does not require to be washed; and if our ways do not please him, he is free to choose. Besides, you promoters of cleanliness have been excessively careless and thoughtless, I don’t know if I ought not to say audacious, to bring troughs and wooden utensils and kitchen dishclouts, instead of basins and jugs of pure gold and towels of holland, to such a person and such a beard; but, after all, you are ill-conditioned and ill-bred, and spiteful as you are, you cannot help showing the grudge you have against the squires of knights-errant.”
The impudent servitors, and even the seneschal who came with them, took the duchess to be speaking in earnest, so they removed the straining-cloth from Sancho’s neck, and with something like shame and confusion of face went off all of them and left him; whereupon he, seeing himself safe out of that extreme danger, as it seemed to him, ran and fell on his knees before the duchess, saying, “From great ladies great favours may be looked for; this which your grace has done me today cannot be requited with less than wishing I was dubbed a knight-errant, to devote myself all the days of my life to the service of so exalted a lady. I am a labouring man, my name is Sancho Panza, I am married, I have children, and I am serving as a squire; if in any one of these ways I can serve your highness, I will not he longer in obeying than your grace in commanding.”
“It is easy to see, Sancho,” replied the duchess, “that you have learned to he polite in the school of politeness itself; I mean to say it is easy to see that you have been nursed in the bosom of Senor Don Quixote, who is, of course, the cream of good breeding and flower of ceremony — or cirimony, as you would say yourself. Fair be the fortunes of such a master and such a servant, the one the cynosure of knight-errantry, the other the star of squirely fidelity! Rise, Sancho, my friend; I will repay your courtesy by taking care that my lord the duke makes good to you the promised gift of the government as soon as possible.”
With this, the conversation came to an end, and Don Quixote retired to take his midday sleep; but the duchess begged Sancho, unless he had a very great desire to go to sleep, to come and spend the afternoon with her and her damsels in a very cool chamber. Sancho replied that, though he certainly had the habit of sleeping four or five hours in the heat of the day in summer, to serve her excellence he would try with all his might not to sleep even one that day, and that he would come in obedience to her command, and with that he went off. The duke gave fresh orders with respect to treating Don Quixote as a knight-errant, without departing even in smallest particular from the style in which, as the stories tell us, they used to treat the knights of old.
 
唐吉诃德站了起来，颤抖着全身，声音急促而又含糊地说道：
“此地此时以及我对您所处地位的一贯尊重，压抑了我的正义怒火。还有，就是我说过的，所有穿长袍的人都使用同女人一样的武器，那就是舌头。所以，我也只想同您开始一场舌战。我本来以为您会好言相劝，却没想到您竟然出口伤人。进行善意有效的指责应该选择其他场合，需要一定的条件。您刚才当众尖刻地指责我，显然已经完全超出了善意指责的范围。善意的指责最好是和颜悦色，而不是疾言厉色，而且，更不应该在还没搞清自己指责的对象究竟有没有错的时候，就无缘无故地指责人家是笨蛋、蠢货。请您告诉我，我究竟做了什么蠢事，值得您如此指责我？您让我回家去管好家，您可知道我有没有老婆孩子，就让我去管好老婆孩子？有的人自己在小家小户长大，所见识的只不过是他们村周围方圆二三十里地方的事，却钻到别人家去教训人，还规定骑士道应该如何如何，对游侠骑士评头品足，这难道不是胡闹吗？如果一个人东奔西走，不谋私利，历尽千辛万苦，最后得以留芳千古，你能说他虚度光阴、枉费年华吗？如果是各类骑士和各类出类拔萃、慷慨大方、出身名门的人把我看成傻瓜，我无可非议；可如果是那些从未涉足骑士道的学究把我说成是蠢货，我不以为然。我就是骑士，如果上帝愿意，我这个骑士可以去死。有的人有追求广阔天地的雄心大志，有的人有阿谀奉承的奴颜媚骨，有的人贪图虚伪的自我欺骗，还有的人追求一种真正的信仰。而我呢，只按照我的命运的指引，走游侠骑士的狭窄之路。为此，我鄙夷钱财，却不放弃荣誉。我曾经为人雪耻，拨乱反正，惩处暴孽，战胜巨人，打败妖怪。我也多情，而游侠骑士必然如此。可我不是那种低级情人，我只追求高尚的精神向往。我一直保持着我的良好追求，即善待大家，不恶对一人。请尊贵的公爵和公爵夫人评评，一个如此情趣、如此行事、如此追求的人是否应当被人称为傻瓜？”
“天啊，说得真好！”桑乔说，“您不必再说下去了，我的大人，我的主人，因为这个世界上已经没什么可再说、再想、再主张的了。这位大人一再坚持说，无论过去还是现在，世界上都没有游侠骑士。这是因为他对此一无所知，才这样说，这又有什么可奇怪的呢？”
“大概你就是那个桑乔吧，兄弟？”教士问，“据说你的主人曾许诺过给你一个岛屿？”
“我就是桑乔，”桑乔说，“而且我也同别人一样，当得了总督。我是‘近朱者赤’，属于那种‘不求同日生，但要同日过’，‘背靠大树好乘凉’的人。我已经找到了一个好主人，并且陪伴他很多个月了。假如上帝愿意，我也会变得同他一样。他长寿我也长寿；他不乏统帅的威严，我也会成为岛屿总督。”
“确实如此，桑乔。”公爵此时说道，“我这儿正好有一个不错的岛屿，没人管理，现在我就代表唐吉诃德大人，把它分配给你。”
“赶紧跪下，桑乔！”唐吉诃德说，“快吻公爵大人的脚，感谢他对你的恩赐。”
桑乔照办了。教士见状极其愤怒地从桌子旁站起身来，说道：
“我以我的教袍发誓，您像这两个罪人一样愚蠢。连明白人都变疯了，疯子岂不更疯！您接着陪他们吧。只要他们还在这儿，我就回我家去。既然说了也无济于事，我省得白费口舌。”
教士不再多说，什么也没吃便离去了。公爵夫妇请求他留下也无济于事，公爵就不再说了。他觉得教士如此生气大可不必，他已经笑得说不出话来了。
公爵最后终于止住了笑，对唐吉诃德说道：
“狮子骑士大人，您回答得太高明了，使得他无言以对。虽然他觉得这是对他的冒犯，可事实绝非如此。您很清楚，这就如同妇女不冒犯别人一样，教士也从不冒犯别人。”
“是这样。”唐吉诃德说，“道理就在于：不应该受到冒犯的人也不应该去冒犯别人。妇女、儿童和教士即使受到攻击也不能自卫，所以他们不应该受到凌辱。冒犯与凌辱之间有这种区别，这点您很清楚。凌辱来自于能够做到、已经做到而且仍坚持做的一方；而冒犯可能来自于任何一方，但是这并不等于凌辱。举例说吧：一个人在大街上漫不经心地走，忽然来了十个手持武器的人，把他打了。尽管他拔剑尽力自卫，仍然寡不敌众，最终没能达到自己的目的，也就是报仇。这个人受到的就是冒犯，而不是凌辱。同样的情况还可以再举另外一个例子：如果一个人正在走路，背后来了一个人打他，而且打完了就跑。挨打的人追他，结果没追上。这个挨打的人受到的也是冒犯，而不是凌辱。如果打人者还坚持打他，那才是凌辱。如果那个人打了他，尽管是突然袭击，可随后仍然持剑原地不动，面对自己的对手，那么挨打的人就是既受到了冒犯，又受到了凌辱。说他受到了冒犯是因为那个人对他突然袭击；说他受到了凌辱是因为打他的那个人不仅没有逃跑，反而留在原地不动。
“所以，按照这个决斗的规则，我很可能受到了冒犯，但是没有受到凌辱。儿童们不懂事，同妇女们一样逃跑不了，而且他们也没有能力坚持对抗。宗教界的人也同样如此。前面说到的这三种人缺少进攻和防御的能力。虽然他们本能地要保护自己，可他们无法冒犯任何人。我刚才说我可能受到了冒犯，但现在一想，这根本算不上冒犯。不能凌辱别人的人，自己也谈不上受到污辱。因此我不该生气，其实也并没有为那位善良人说我的那些话生气。我只希望过一段时间后，他能够明白，他以为世界上过去和现在都没有游侠骑士的想法是错误的。如果阿马迪斯或者他家旅中的某个子孙知道了这件事，我想这对他就不妙了。”
“这点我敢肯定，”桑乔说，“他们肯定会把他像切石榴或熟透了的甜瓜似的从头到脚劈开。他们若是发起怒来可叫人够受的！我凭我的信仰发誓，我敢肯定，假如雷纳尔多斯•德蒙塔尔万听见了这小子说的话，准会一个嘴巴打得他三年说不出话来。谁要是惹了他们又想逃出他们的手心，那才是怪事呢。”
公爵夫人听了桑乔的话觉得很可笑。她觉得桑乔比唐吉诃德更滑稽更疯癫。当时在场的许多人也都这么想。
唐吉诃德终于平静下来了。宴请结束，撤去台布，又来了四个侍女。其中一个手里端着一个银盘，另一个端着一个洗手盆，也是银的，还有一个肩上搭着两块极白极高级的毛巾，最后一个裸露着半截胳膊，她那双雪白的手上托着一块那不勒斯出产的圆形香皂。托盘的侍女走过来，潇洒而又灵活地把盘子举到唐吉诃德的胡子下面。唐吉诃德一句话也没说，对眼前这个侍女的举动感到惊奇，以为这是当地的什么习惯，不洗手反倒洗胡子，于是他尽可能地把胡子往前凑。端洗手盆的侍女立刻往唐吉诃德的脸上撩水，拿香皂的侍女用手在唐吉诃德的脸上急速地抹香皂，唐吉诃德老老实实地任凭她涂抹，结果不仅他的胡子，而且他的整个脸甚至眼睛上都是雪花似的香皂沫了，唐吉诃德只好使劲闭上眼睛。公爵和公爵夫人不知其中实情，只是眼睁睁地看着侍女们到底要干什么。待唐吉诃德脸上的香皂沫有一拃厚时，涂香皂沫的侍女推说没有洗脸水了，叫端盆的侍女去加水，让唐吉诃德等着。唐吉诃德只好等在那里，当时他那可笑的样子可想而知。
当时在场的人很多，大家都看着唐吉诃德。他们见唐吉诃德把他那深褐色的脖子伸得足有半尺长，紧闭着眼睛，胡子上全是香皂沫，实在令人忍俊不禁。侍女们都低着头，不敢看自己的主人。公爵和公爵夫人觉得这些侍女既可气又可笑，不知该如何是好，到底是对她们的恶作剧进行惩罚呢，还是为她们把唐吉诃德弄成这个样子，给大家带来了快乐而给予奖励。端水盆的侍女回来后，她们为唐吉诃德洗了脸，拿毛巾的侍女为唐吉诃德仔细擦干了脸。然后，四个侍女一齐向唐吉诃德深深鞠了一躬，准备离去。可是公爵为了不让唐吉诃德看破这个恶作剧，便叫过端盆子的侍女来，对她说：
“过来帮我洗洗，你看水还没用完呢。”
侍女很机灵，走过来像对唐吉诃德那样把盆子端给公爵，并且迅速而又认真地为公爵洗脸涂香皂，并且为公爵把脸擦干净，然后鞠躬退了出去。事后才得知，原来公爵觉得如果不像唐吉诃德那样也给他洗洗脸，侍女们肯定会因为她们的恶作剧而受到惩罚。既然同样为公爵洗了脸，事情就可以巧妙地掩饰过去了。
桑乔仔细地看着这种洗脸方式，心里想：“上帝保佑，这个地方是否像给骑士洗胡子一样，也有为侍从洗胡子的习惯？无论对上帝而言还是对我而言，显然都需要这么洗洗。若是再能用剃刀刮刮胡子，那就更妙了。”
“你说什么，桑乔？”公爵夫人问。
“我是说，夫人，”桑乔说，“我听说过在别处王宫贵府吃完饭要洗手，但从没听说过要洗胡子。到底还是活得越久越好，这样见识就更多。谁说活得越长，倒霉就越多呀？这样洗洗胡子毕竟不是受罪嘛。”
“别着急，桑乔，”公爵夫人说，“我让侍女们也给你洗洗胡子，以后必要时甚至可以给你大洗一通。”
“只要现在能给我洗洗胡子我就知足了，”桑乔说，“至于以后怎么样，那就看上帝怎么说了。”
“当差的，”公爵夫人对餐厅侍者说，“你就按这位好桑乔要求的去做吧，他要怎么办就怎么办。”
侍者说他愿全力为桑乔效劳，说完就带着桑乔去吃饭了。只剩下公爵夫妇和唐吉诃德天南海北地聊天，不过，都没离开习武和游侠骑士的话题。
公爵夫人请唐吉诃德描绘一下杜尔西内亚的美貌和面孔，说唐吉诃德对此肯定有幸福的回忆，据她所知，杜尔西内亚夫人的美貌不仅名扬四海，而且连曼查都知道了！唐吉诃德听了公爵夫人的话，长叹一声说道：
“假如我能够把我的心掏出来，放在您面前这张桌子上的一个盘子里，您就可以看见印在我心上的倩影，用不着我再费口舌描述她那难以形容的美貌了。不过，为什么要让我来仔细描述举世无双的杜尔西内亚的美貌呢？这件事也许别人更能胜任，像帕拉西奥、蒂曼特斯、阿佩勒斯，可以用他们的画笔，利西波可以用他的镂刀，把杜尔西内亚的相貌刻画在大理石和青铜器上；还有西塞罗和德摩斯梯尼，可以用他们的文辞来赞美她。”
“什么是德摩斯梯尼文辞，唐吉诃德大人？”公爵夫人问，“我还从来没听说过呢。”
“‘德摩斯梯尼文辞’就是‘德摩斯梯尼的文辞’，就好比说‘西塞罗文辞’是‘西塞罗的文辞’一样。他们两位是世界上最伟大的文辞家。”
“原来是这样。”公爵说，“夫人糊涂了，竟提出这种问题。尽管如此，如果唐吉诃德大人能向我们描述一下杜尔西内亚的情况，我们还是很高兴的。我敢肯定，哪怕您只是大略地描述一下，她也一定漂亮得足以让最美丽的女人嫉妒！”
“我怕把她不久前遭受的不幸从我心头抹掉，”唐吉诃德说，“不然我就加以描述了。现在，我更为她难过，而不是描述她。二位大概知道了，前些天我曾想去吻她的手，得到她的祝福，指望她允许我第三次出征，可我碰到的却是一位与我所寻求的杜尔西内亚完全不同的人。她受到魔法的迫害，从贵夫人变成了农妇，从漂亮变成了丑陋，从天使变成了魔鬼，从香气扑鼻变成了臭不可闻，从能言善辩变成了粗俗不堪，从仪态大方变成了十分轻佻，从春风满面变成了愁眉不展，总之一句话，托博索的杜尔西内亚变成了萨亚戈的一个乡下妇女。”
“上帝保佑！”公爵喊了一声，说道，“是谁制造了世界上这样大的罪恶？是谁夺走了她的美貌、气质和荣誉？”
“谁？”唐吉诃德说，“除了某个出于嫉妒而跟我过不去的恶毒的魔法师，还能有谁呢？这种坏东西生在世上就是为了污蔑诋毁好人的业绩，宣扬他们的丑恶行为。以前有魔法师跟我过不去，现在有魔法师跟我过不去，将来还会有魔法师跟我捣乱，直到把我和我的骑士精神埋葬进被遗忘的深渊。在这方面，他们选择了最能触痛我的方式，因为夺走游侠骑士的情人就好比夺走了他用于观看的眼睛，夺走照亮他的太阳，夺走养活他的食粮。我已多次说过，现在还要再说一遍，没有夫人的游侠骑士就好比没有树叶的大树，没有根基的建筑物，没有形体的荫影。”
“说得太对了，”公爵夫人说，“不过，假如我们相信前些天刚刚出版的那本已经受到了普遍欢迎的有关唐吉诃德的小说，假如我没有记错的话，那么，您好像从没见过杜尔西内亚夫人，而且这位夫人压根儿就不存在，她只是您幻想之中的一位夫人，是您在自己的意识里造就了这样一个人物，并且用您所希望的各种美德勾画了她。”
“关于这点，我可要说说。”唐吉诃德说，“上帝知道世界上到底有没有杜尔西内亚，她到底是不是虚构的人物，这种事没有必要去追根寻底。并非我无中生有，我确实把她当作一位具有各种美德、足以扬名于世的贵夫人，非常崇拜。她美丽无瑕，端庄而不高傲，多情而不失节，并且由于知恩图报而彬彬有礼，由于彬彬有礼而不失为大家闺秀，总之，正因为她出身豪门，所以才显示出她血统高贵，显示出她远比那些门第卑微的美女更完美。”
“是这样，”公爵说，“不过，唐吉诃德大人想必会允许我斗胆告诉您，我读过有关您的那本小说。按照那本小说上写的，就算在托博索或者托搏索之外的什么地方有一位杜尔西内亚，而且她也像您描述得那样美丽可爱，可是若论血统高贵，她恐怕比不上奥里亚娜、阿拉斯特拉哈雷娅、马达西玛和其他此类豪门女子。像这样的豪门女子在骑士小说里比比皆是，这点您很清楚。”
“对此我要说，”唐吉诃德说，“杜尔西内亚行如其人，她的道德行为表现了她的血统。一位道德高尚的平民比一位品行低下的贵人更应当受到尊重，况且，杜尔西内亚完全有条件成为头戴王冠、手持权杖的女王呢。一位貌美品端的女子的地位应当奇迹般地提高，即使没有正式提高，也应当从精神上得到承认。”
“唐吉诃德大人，”公爵夫人说，“您说起话来真可谓是小心翼翼，就像人们常说的，字斟句酌。我从此相信，必要的话还要让我家里的所有人，包括我的丈夫相信，在托博索有个杜尔西内亚。她依然健在，而且容貌艳丽，出身高贵，值得像唐吉诃德这样的骑士为她效劳。不过，我还有一丝怀疑，并且因此对桑乔产生了一点儿说不出来的反感。我的怀疑就是那本小说里说过，桑乔把您的信送到杜尔西内亚那儿时，她正在筛一口袋麦子，而且说得很明确，是荞麦，这就让人对她的高贵血统产生怀疑了。”
唐吉诃德回答说：
“夫人，您大概知道，我遇到的全部或大部分情况都与其他游侠骑士遇到的情况不同，也许这是不可捉摸的命运的安排，也许这是某个嫉贤妒能的魔法师的捉弄。有一点已经得到了证实，那就是所有或大多数著名的游侠骑士都各有所长。他们有的不怕魔法，有的刀枪不入，譬如法国的十二廷臣之一，那个著名的罗尔丹。据说他全身只有左脚板能受到伤害，而且必须用大号针的针尖，其他任何武器都不起作用。所以，贝尔纳多•德尔卡皮奥在龙塞斯瓦列斯杀他的时候，见用铁器奈何不了他，就想起了赫拉克勒斯把据说是大地之子的凶恶巨人安泰举起杀死的办法，用双臂把罗尔丹从地上抱起，扼死了他。
“我说这些话的意思是，我也可能在这些方面有某种才能，不过不是刀枪不入的本领，因为我的经历已多次证明，我皮薄肉嫩，绝非刀枪不入。而且，我也无力抵制住魔法，因为我曾经被关进笼子里。不过，从我那次脱身之后，我相信已经没有任何魔法可以遏制我了。所以，魔法师见他们的恶毒手段对我已经不起作用，就下手害我心爱的人来报复我，想采取虐待杜尔西内亚的办法置我于死地，因为杜尔西内亚就是我的命根子。因此我觉得，当我的侍从为我送信去的时候，他们就把她变成了一个正在干筛麦子之类粗活儿的农妇。不过我已经说过，那麦子绝非荞麦或小麦，而是一颗颗东方明珠。为了证明这点，我可以告诉诸位，前不久我去了一趟托博索，却始终没找到杜尔西内亚的宫殿。第二天，我的侍从看到了她的本来面目，真可谓是世界美女之最；但在我眼里，她却成了一个粗俗丑陋的农妇，本来挺聪明的人，却变得语无伦次。我并没有身中魔法，而且照理我也不可能再中魔法了，所以，只能说是她受到了魔法的侵害，被改变了模样，是我的对手们想以她来报复我。在见到她恢复本来面目之前，我会始终为她哭泣。我说这些，是想让大家不要相信桑乔说的杜尔西内亚筛麦子的事。杜尔西内亚既然可以在我眼里被改变模样，也完全可以在桑乔眼里被改变模样。杜尔西内亚属于托博索的豪门世家，当地有很多这种高贵古老的世家。我相信，杜尔西内亚的家族一定有举足轻重的地位。在未来的几个世纪里，她的家乡一定会以她的名字命名，并且因此而名噪一时，就如同特洛伊以海伦而闻名，西班牙以卡瓦而著称一样，甚至比她们的影响还大得多。
“此外，我还想让公爵夫人知道，桑乔是有史以来游侠骑士最滑稽的侍从，而且有时候，他又傻又聪明，让人在想他到底是傻还是聪明时觉得很有趣。有时他办坏事，人家骂他混蛋；有时他又犯糊涂，人家骂他笨蛋。他怀疑一切，又相信一切。有时我以为他简直愚蠢透了，可后来才发现他真是聪明极了。总之，如果用另外一个侍从来同我换，即使再另加一座城市，我也不换。我现在正在迟疑，把他派到您赐给他的那个岛上去是否合适。至于当总督的能力，我觉得只要指点他一下，他肯定能像其他人一样当好总督。而且，我们多次的经历也证明了，做总督不一定需要很多知识和文化，现在几乎有上百个总督不识字，可是他们却管理得很好。其中的关键就在于，只要他们有良好的意图，又愿意把事情做好，就会有人为他们出主意，告诉他们应该怎样做才好。那些没有文化的优秀总督，就是靠谋士来决断事情的。我只想劝您不要贪不义之财，也不放弃应得之利。还有其他一些小建议，我暂且先留在肚子里不说，到必要的时候再说，这对于您启用桑乔以及他管理岛屿都是有益处的。”
公爵、公爵夫人和唐吉诃德刚说到这儿，忽听得城堡内一片喧闹。只见桑乔惊慌失措地猛然闯了进来，脖子上像戴围嘴儿似的围着一条围裙。他身后跟着很多佣人，更确切地说，是厨房里的杂役和一些工友，其中一个人手里还端着一小盆水。看那水的颜色和浑浊的样子，大概是洗碗水。拿盆的人紧追桑乔，十分热切地要把盆送到桑乔的胡子底下，另外一个杂役看样子是想帮桑乔洗胡子。
“这是干什么，诸位？”公爵夫人问，“这是什么意思？你们想要对这位善良的人干什么？你们怎么不想想，他已经被定为总督了？”
那个要给桑乔洗胡子的杂役说：
“这位大人不愿意让我们按照规矩给他洗胡子，而我们的公爵大人和他的东家大人都是这样洗的。
“我愿意洗，”桑乔说，“但是我想用干净点儿的毛巾，更清点儿的水，他们的手也别那么脏。我和我的主人之间不该有这么大的差别，让侍女用香水给他洗，却让这些见鬼的家伙用脏水给我洗。无论是百姓之家还是王宫的习惯，都必须不使人反感才好，更何况这儿的洗胡子习惯简直比鞭子抽还难受。我的胡子挺干净，没必要再这么折腾。谁若是想给我洗，哪怕他只是碰一碰我脑袋上的一根毛，我是说我的胡子，对不起，我就一拳打进他的脑袋。这种怪‘鬼矩’和洗法不像是招待客人，倒像是耍弄客人呢。”
公爵夫人见桑乔气成这个样子，又听他说了这番话，不禁笑了。唐吉诃德见桑乔这副打扮，身上围着斑纹围裙，周围还有一大群厨房的杂役，便有些不高兴。唐吉诃德向公爵和公爵夫人深深鞠了一躬，像是请求他们允许自己讲话，然后就声音平缓地对那些佣人说道：
“你们好，小伙子们，请你们放开他吧。你们刚才从哪儿来的，现在请回到哪儿去，或者去你们想去的地方吧。我的侍从现在脸很干净，这套东西只能让他感到难受。听我的话，把他放开吧。他和我都不习惯开玩笑。”
桑乔又接过话来说道：
“你们这是拿笨蛋开心！我现在简直是活受罪！你们拿个梳子或者别的什么来，把我的胡子梳一梳，如果能梳出什么不干净的东西，那就给我剃个阴阳头！”
公爵夫人并没有因此而止住笑，她说道：
“桑乔说得很有道理，他说什么事儿都有道理。就像他说的，他现在挺干净的，没必要洗，既然他不习惯我们这儿的习惯，就请他自便吧。你们这些人也太不在意，或者说你们太冒失了，对于这样一位人物，对于这样的胡子，你们不用纯金的托盘和洗手盆以及德国毛巾，却把木盆和擦碗用的抹布拿来了。反正一句话，你们是一群没有教养的混蛋。正因为你们是一群坏蛋，才对游侠骑士的侍从不由自主地表现出恶意。”
那些杂役和与他们同来的餐厅侍者以为公爵夫人真是在说他们，便赶紧把围裙从桑乔脖子上拿下来，慌作一团地退了出去，撇下了桑乔。桑乔见自己已经摆脱了他认为是天大的危险，立刻跪到公爵夫人面前，说道：
“夫人尊贵，恩德无限。您对我的恩德，我唯有在来世被封为游侠骑士后终生服侍您才能报答。我是个农夫，名叫桑乔•潘萨，已婚，有子女，给人当侍从。如果我有什么能为您效劳的地方，只要您吩咐一声，我俯首听命。”
“桑乔，”公爵夫人说，“看来你已经在礼貌中学到了礼貌。我是说，你已经在唐吉诃德大人的熏陶下学会了礼貌，可以说是礼貌的规矩或者如你所说的‘鬼矩’的榜样了。有这样的主人和仆人多好！一位是游侠骑士的北斗，一位是忠实侍从的指南。起来吧，桑乔朋友，对于你的礼貌，我也予以回报。我要敦促公爵大人尽快履行让你做总督的诺言。”
他们的谈话到此结束。唐吉诃德去午休，公爵夫人对桑乔说，如果他不是特别困乏的话，就请他陪同自己和侍女们到一个凉爽的客厅去度过下午。桑乔说，夏季他有每天睡四五个小时午觉的习惯，不过为了给夫人效劳，他宁愿争取全天不睡觉，随时听候夫人的吩咐。说完他便离去了。于是，公爵又吩咐家人怎样按照古代骑士的习惯，把唐吉诃德当作游侠骑士款待好。
Part 2 Chapter 33
The history records that Sancho did not sleep that afternoon, but in order to keep his word came, before he had well done dinner, to visit the duchess, who, finding enjoyment in listening to him, made him sit down beside her on a low seat, though Sancho, out of pure good breeding, wanted not to sit down; the duchess, however, told him he was to sit down as governor and talk as squire, as in both respects he was worthy of even the chair of the Cid Ruy Diaz the Campeador. Sancho shrugged his shoulders, obeyed, and sat down, and all the duchess’s damsels and duennas gathered round him, waiting in profound silence to hear what he would say. It was the duchess, however, who spoke first, saying:
“Now that we are alone, and that there is nobody here to overhear us, I should be glad if the senor governor would relieve me of certain doubts I have, rising out of the history of the great Don Quixote that is now in print. One is: inasmuch as worthy Sancho never saw Dulcinea, I mean the lady Dulcinea del Toboso, nor took Don Quixote’s letter to her, for it was left in the memorandum book in the Sierra Morena, how did he dare to invent the answer and all that about finding her sifting wheat, the whole story being a deception and falsehood, and so much to the prejudice of the peerless Dulcinea’s good name, a thing that is not at all becoming the character and fidelity of a good squire?”
 
At these words, Sancho, without uttering one in reply, got up from his chair, and with noiseless steps, with his body bent and his finger on his lips, went all round the room lifting up the hangings; and this done, he came back to his seat and said, “Now, senora, that I have seen that there is no one except the bystanders listening to us on the sly, I will answer what you have asked me, and all you may ask me, without fear or dread. And the first thing I have got to say is, that for my own part I hold my master Don Quixote to be stark mad, though sometimes he says things that, to my mind, and indeed everybody’s that listens to him, are so wise, and run in such a straight furrow, that Satan himself could not have said them better; but for all that, really, and beyond all question, it’s my firm belief he is cracked. Well, then, as this is clear to my mind, I can venture to make him believe things that have neither head nor tail, like that affair of the answer to the letter, and that other of six or eight days ago, which is not yet in history, that is to say, the affair of the enchantment of my lady Dulcinea; for I made him believe she is enchanted, though there’s no more truth in it than over the hills of Ubeda.
The duchess begged him to tell her about the enchantment or deception, so Sancho told the whole story exactly as it had happened, and his hearers were not a little amused by it; and then resuming, the duchess said, “In consequence of what worthy Sancho has told me, a doubt starts up in my mind, and there comes a kind of whisper to my ear that says, ‘If Don Quixote be mad, crazy, and cracked, and Sancho Panza his squire knows it, and, notwithstanding, serves and follows him, and goes trusting to his empty promises, there can be no doubt he must be still madder and sillier than his master; and that being so, it will be cast in your teeth, senora duchess, if you give the said Sancho an island to govern; for how will he who does not know how to govern himself know how to govern others?’”
“By God, senora,” said Sancho, “but that doubt comes timely; but your grace may say it out, and speak plainly, or as you like; for I know what you say is true, and if I were wise I should have left my master long ago; but this was my fate, this was my bad luck; I can’t help it, I must follow him; we’re from the same village, I’ve eaten his bread, I’m fond of him, I’m grateful, he gave me his ass-colts, and above all I’m faithful; so it’s quite impossible for anything to separate us, except the pickaxe and shovel. And if your highness does not like to give me the government you promised, God made me without it, and maybe your not giving it to me will be all the better for my conscience, for fool as I am I know the proverb ‘to her hurt the ant got wings,’ and it may be that Sancho the squire will get to heaven sooner than Sancho the governor. ‘They make as good bread here as in France,’ and ‘by night all cats are grey,’ and ‘a hard case enough his, who hasn’t broken his fast at two in the afternoon,’ and ‘there’s no stomach a hand’s breadth bigger than another,’ and the same can he filled ‘with straw or hay,’ as the saying is, and ‘the little birds of the field have God for their purveyor and caterer,’ and ‘four yards of Cuenca frieze keep one warmer than four of Segovia broad-cloth,’ and ‘when we quit this world and are put underground the prince travels by as narrow a path as the journeyman,’ and ‘the Pope’s body does not take up more feet of earth than the sacristan’s ,’ for all that the one is higher than the other; for when we go to our graves we all pack ourselves up and make ourselves small, or rather they pack us up and make us small in spite of us, and then — good night to us. And I say once more, if your ladyship does not like to give me the island because I’m a fool, like a wise man I will take care to give myself no trouble about it; I have heard say that ‘behind the cross there’s the devil,’ and that ‘all that glitters is not gold,’ and that from among the oxen, and the ploughs, and the yokes, Wamba the husbandman was taken to be made King of Spain, and from among brocades, and pleasures, and riches, Roderick was taken to be devoured by adders, if the verses of the old ballads don’t lie.”
“To be sure they don’t lie!” exclaimed Dona Rodriguez, the duenna, who was one of the listeners. “Why, there’s a ballad that says they put King Rodrigo alive into a tomb full of toads, and adders, and lizards, and that two days afterwards the king, in a plaintive, feeble voice, cried out from within the tomb —
They gnaw me now, they gnaw me now, There where I most did sin.
And according to that the gentleman has good reason to say he would rather be a labouring man than a king, if vermin are to eat him.”
The duchess could not help laughing at the simplicity of her duenna, or wondering at the language and proverbs of Sancho, to whom she said, “Worthy Sancho knows very well that when once a knight has made a promise he strives to keep it, though it should cost him his life. My lord and husband the duke, though not one of the errant sort, is none the less a knight for that reason, and will keep his word about the promised island, in spite of the envy and malice of the world. Let Sancho he of good cheer; for when he least expects it he will find himself seated on the throne of his island and seat of dignity, and will take possession of his government that he may discard it for another of three-bordered brocade. The charge I give him is to be careful how he governs his vassals, bearing in mind that they are all loyal and well-born.”
“As to governing them well,” said Sancho, “there’s no need of charging me to do that, for I’m kind-hearted by nature, and full of compassion for the poor; there’s no stealing the loaf from him who kneads and bakes;’ and by my faith it won’t do to throw false dice with me; I am an old dog, and I know all about ‘tus, tus;’ I can be wide-awake if need be, and I don’t let clouds come before my eyes, for I know where the shoe pinches me; I say so, because with me the good will have support and protection, and the bad neither footing nor access. And it seems to me that, in governments, to make a beginning is everything; and maybe, after having been governor a fortnight, I’ll take kindly to the work and know more about it than the field labour I have been brought up to.”
“You are right, Sancho,” said the duchess, “for no one is born ready taught, and the bishops are made out of men and not out of stones. But to return to the subject we were discussing just now, the enchantment of the lady Dulcinea, I look upon it as certain, and something more than evident, that Sancho’s idea of practising a deception upon his master, making him believe that the peasant girl was Dulcinea and that if he did not recognise her it must be because she was enchanted, was all a device of one of the enchanters that persecute Don Quixote. For in truth and earnest, I know from good authority that the coarse country wench who jumped up on the ass was and is Dulcinea del Toboso, and that worthy Sancho, though he fancies himself the deceiver, is the one that is deceived; and that there is no more reason to doubt the truth of this, than of anything else we never saw. Senor Sancho Panza must know that we too have enchanters here that are well disposed to us, and tell us what goes on in the world, plainly and distinctly, without subterfuge or deception; and believe me, Sancho, that agile country lass was and is Dulcinea del Toboso, who is as much enchanted as the mother that bore her; and when we least expect it, we shall see her in her own proper form, and then Sancho will he disabused of the error he is under at present.”
“All that’s very possible,” said Sancho Panza; “and now I’m willing to believe what my master says about what he saw in the cave of Montesinos, where he says he saw the lady Dulcinea del Toboso in the very same dress and apparel that I said I had seen her in when I enchanted her all to please myself. It must be all exactly the other way, as your ladyship says; because it is impossible to suppose that out of my poor wit such a cunning trick could be concocted in a moment, nor do I think my master is so mad that by my weak and feeble persuasion he could be made to believe a thing so out of all reason. But, senora, your excellence must not therefore think me ill-disposed, for a dolt like me is not bound to see into the thoughts and plots of those vile enchanters. I invented all that to escape my master’s scolding, and not with any intention of hurting him; and if it has turned out differently, there is a God in heaven who judges our hearts.”
“That is true,” said the duchess; “but tell me, Sancho, what is this you say about the cave of Montesinos, for I should like to know.”
Sancho upon this related to her, word for word, what has been said already touching that adventure, and having heard it the duchess said, “From this occurrence it may be inferred that, as the great Don Quixote says he saw there the same country wench Sancho saw on the way from El Toboso, it is, no doubt, Dulcinea, and that there are some very active and exceedingly busy enchanters about.”
“So I say,” said Sancho, “and if my lady Dulcinea is enchanted, so much the worse for her, and I’m not going to pick a quarrel with my master’s enemies, who seem to be many and spiteful. The truth is that the one I saw was a country wench, and I set her down to be a country wench; and if that was Dulcinea it must not be laid at my door, nor should I be called to answer for it or take the consequences. But they must go nagging at me at every step — ‘Sancho said it, Sancho did it, Sancho here, Sancho there,’ as if Sancho was nobody at all, and not that same Sancho Panza that’s now going all over the world in books, so Samson Carrasco told me, and he’s at any rate one that’s a bachelor of Salamanca; and people of that sort can’t lie, except when the whim seizes them or they have some very good reason for it. So there’s no occasion for anybody to quarrel with me; and then I have a good character, and, as I have heard my master say, ‘a good name is better than great riches;’ let them only stick me into this government and they’ll see wonders, for one who has been a good squire will be a good governor.”
“All worthy Sancho’s observations,” said the duchess, “are Catonian sentences, or at any rate out of the very heart of Michael Verino himself, who florentibus occidit annis. In fact, to speak in his own style, ‘under a bad cloak there’s often a good drinker.’”
“Indeed, senora,” said Sancho, “I never yet drank out of wickedness; from thirst I have very likely, for I have nothing of the hypocrite in me; I drink when I’m inclined, or, if I’m not inclined, when they offer it to me, so as not to look either strait-laced or ill-bred; for when a friend drinks one’s health what heart can be so hard as not to return it? But if I put on my shoes I don’t dirty them; besides, squires to knights-errant mostly drink water, for they are always wandering among woods, forests and meadows, mountains and crags, without a drop of wine to be had if they gave their eyes for it.”
“So I believe,” said the duchess; “and now let Sancho go and take his sleep, and we will talk by-and-by at greater length, and settle how he may soon go and stick himself into the government, as he says.”
Sancho once more kissed the duchess’s hand, and entreated her to let good care be taken of his Dapple, for he was the light of his eyes.
“What is Dapple?” said the duchess.
“My ass,” said Sancho, “which, not to mention him by that name, I’m accustomed to call Dapple; I begged this lady duenna here to take care of him when I came into the castle, and she got as angry as if I had said she was ugly or old, though it ought to be more natural and proper for duennas to feed asses than to ornament chambers. God bless me! what a spite a gentleman of my village had against these ladies!”
“He must have been some clown,” said Dona Rodriguez the duenna; “for if he had been a gentleman and well-born he would have exalted them higher than the horns of the moon.”
“That will do,” said the duchess; “no more of this; hush, Dona Rodriguez, and let Senor Panza rest easy and leave the treatment of Dapple in my charge, for as he is a treasure of Sancho’s , I’ll put him on the apple of my eye.”
“It will be enough for him to he in the stable,” said Sancho, “for neither he nor I are worthy to rest a moment in the apple of your highness’s eye, and I’d as soon stab myself as consent to it; for though my master says that in civilities it is better to lose by a card too many than a card too few, when it comes to civilities to asses we must mind what we are about and keep within due bounds.”
“Take him to your government, Sancho,” said the duchess, “and there you will be able to make as much of him as you like, and even release him from work and pension him off.”
“Don’t think, senora duchess, that you have said anything absurd,” said Sancho; “I have seen more than two asses go to governments, and for me to take mine with me would he nothing new.”
Sancho’s words made the duchess laugh again and gave her fresh amusement, and dismissing him to sleep she went away to tell the duke the conversation she had had with him, and between them they plotted and arranged to play a joke upon Don Quixote that was to be a rare one and entirely in knight-errantry style, and in that same style they practised several upon him, so much in keeping and so clever that they form the best adventures this great history contains.
 
据说桑乔那天没有睡午觉，因为他有言在先，所以吃完饭就去找公爵夫人了。公爵夫人很愿意听桑乔说话，就让他坐在自己身旁的矮凳上。桑乔很有教养，不肯坐。公爵夫人就让他以总督的身份坐下来，以侍从的身份说话。有这两种身份，就是勇士锡德•鲁伊•迪亚斯的椅子也能坐。桑乔耸了耸肩膀，表示服从，便坐下了。公爵夫人的所有女仆都过来了，极其安静地围着桑乔，想听听他到底讲什么。不料公爵夫人先开了口，她说道：
“趁着现在没有外人在场听咱们说话，我想请教一下总督大人。我读了已经出版的那本写伟大骑士唐吉诃德的小说，有几个疑问，其中一个就是善良的桑乔既然没见过杜尔西内亚，我指的是托博索的杜尔西内亚夫人，也没有替唐吉诃德大人带信去，因为那封信还留在莫雷纳山唐吉诃德的记事本上，桑乔怎么敢大胆瞎编，说什么他看见杜尔西内亚夫人正在筛麦子呢？这是一派胡言，既不利于举世无双的杜尔西内亚的名誉，也与忠诚侍从的身份和品性不相称嘛。”
桑乔一句话也没回答，站起身来，弯着腰，把手指放在嘴唇上，轻手轻脚沿着整个客厅走了一遍，又把所有窗帘都掀起来看了看，然后才重新坐下说道：
“夫人，我刚才已经看过了，除了在场的各位之外，没有人偷听咱们的谈话。现在，无论是您刚才那个问题还是其他任何问题，我都可以放心大胆地回答了。我首先要告诉您的是，我的主人唐吉诃德是个十足的疯子，尽管有时候他说起事情来让我觉得，甚至让所有听他议论的人都觉得，他讲得明明白白，头头是道，连魔鬼都比不上。即使这样，我也可以坦率地说，他是个疯子。这点我已经想象到了，所以才敢瞎编一些完全是无中生有的事情，例如那次回信的事。还有一件七八天前的事，这件事还没写进小说里去呢，我认为应该写进去，那就是我们的夫人杜尔西内亚中魔法的事儿。我告诉他杜尔西内亚中了魔法，其实那是没影儿的事。”
公爵夫人请桑乔讲讲那件事儿或者说那个玩笑，桑乔就一五一十地讲了一遍，在场的人都听得津津有味。后来公爵夫人说：
“听了这位好桑乔讲的事儿，我不禁心生疑窦，仿佛有个确确实实的声音在我耳边说：‘如果曼查的唐吉诃德是个疯子、笨蛋，是个头脑发昏的人，而且他的侍从桑乔对此很清楚，尽管如此桑乔还是服侍他，跟随他，仍然执著地相信唐吉诃德那些不可能实现的诺言，那么，桑乔一定比自己的主人更疯癫、更愚蠢。既然这样，公爵夫人，你打算把岛屿交给他去管就是失策了。他连自己都管不好，怎么能管得好其他人呢？”
“上帝保佑，夫人，”桑乔说，“您这个疑虑来得真突然。不过您尽可以直言，或者随您怎么说吧，我承认您说的是事实。我要是聪明的话，早就离开我的主人了。可这就是我的命运，是我的不幸。我只能跟随他。我们是同一个地方的人，我服侍过他，他是知恩图报的人，把他的几头驴驹给了我。更重要的是，我是个忠心的人。现在除了铁锹和锄头，已经没有任何东西能把我们分开了。如果您不愿意把已经答应的总督位置给我，我当总督就没希望了。不过，不当总督我心里更踏实。我虽然不聪明，却懂得‘蚂蚁遭祸因为长翅膀’，说不定当侍从的桑乔比当总督的桑乔更容易升天堂哩。‘此地彼处一样好’，‘夜晚猫儿都是褐色的’，‘人最大的不幸是下午两点还没吃上早饭’，‘谁的胃也不比别人的胃大多少’。而且就像人们常说的，‘不管是好是赖都能吃饱’，‘田间小鸟自有上帝供养’，‘四米昆卡粗呢比四米塞戈维亚细呢更保暖’呢。当我们离开这个世界入土的时候，无论是君主还是工友，都得同走这条狭路，无论是教皇还是教堂司事，谁的身体也多占不了地方，尽管前者比后者的身份高得多。只要进了坟墓，我们都得收缩，或者不由自主地收缩，不管我们愿意不愿意，不管我们知道不知道。
“我再说一遍，如果您觉得我笨，不愿意把岛屿给我，我知道这跟聪明不聪明根本没关系。我听说，‘十字架后有魔鬼’，‘闪光的不一定都是金子’。如果古代叙事歌谣没有说谎的话，赶牛使犁拉轭绳的庄稼汉万巴后来成了西班牙国王；而细绸锦缎、花天酒地和堆金积玉的国王罗德里戈后来却被喂了蛇。”
“怎么会说谎呢！”一直在旁边听着的那个女仆唐娜罗德里格斯插嘴道，“有一首歌谣就说罗德里戈国王被活活扔进一个满是癞蛤蟆、毒蛇和蜥蜴的坑里。两天之后，国王还在坑里低声沉痛地哼哼道：
我的身上罪恶重，
它们就在我身上咬。
由此说来，这位大人说他宁愿做农夫而不愿做国王就很有道理了，免得被那些爬虫吃了。”
听了女仆的这些蠢话，公爵夫人可笑不出来了。同时，她对桑乔的那番议论和成串的俗语感到惊奇，对桑乔说道：
“你知道，好桑乔，君子一言，即使豁出性命也得兑现。我的丈夫公爵大人虽然不是游侠骑士，但这并不等于他不是君子，所以他一定会履行他的诺言，把岛屿给你，不管其他人如何嫉妒，如何捣乱。打起精神来吧，桑乔，你会在你意想不到的时候坐上岛屿总督的宝座，行使你的管辖权。除非以后有更好的美差，你千万不要放弃。我要提醒你，你要注意管好你的臣民，他们都忠心耿耿，而且出身高贵。”
“应该好好管理他们之类的话不用您嘱咐我，”桑乔说，“我生性仁慈，而且同情穷人。别人的事情别人做，谁也别惦记。我凭我的信仰发誓，谁也别想哄我。我也算个老家伙了，什么都见过。我知道该怎么应付事儿，谁也别想糊弄我，我自己怎么回事我自己知道。我说这些话无非是说，谁若是对我好，什么都好商量，若是对我不好，那就什么都别提了。我觉得当总督这样的事关键在于开头，等当了一段时间后就会得心应手，而且会比我从小就熟悉的农村活计更熟悉。”
“你说得对，桑乔，”公爵夫人说，“谁也不是生来就会做事的。主教也来自人间，而不是石头造就的。不过，咱们还是回到刚才谈到的杜尔西内亚夫人中魔法那件事上来吧。我现在已经查明，桑乔自以为他戏弄了主人，让主人以为那个农妇就是杜尔西内亚，如果主人没有认出杜尔西内亚，那就是杜尔西内亚被魔法改变了模样，所有这些都是跟唐吉诃德大人过不去的某个魔法师一手造成的。但是我确信，跳上驴背的那个农妇真的是托博索的杜尔西内亚。善良的桑乔以为他骗了人，其实是他自己被骗了。有些事我们虽然没亲眼看到，却是确凿无疑的事实。桑乔你应该知道，我们这儿也有魔法师，只不过他们对我们很友好，告诉我们世界上发生的各种事情，而且原原本本，没有任何编造。相信我吧，桑乔，那个跳上驴背的农妇就是托博索的杜尔西内亚，此事千真万确！说不定哪一天，咱们就会看到杜尔西内亚的本来面目，到那个时候桑乔就会明白是自己上当了。”
“这倒完全有可能。”桑乔说，“我现在愿意相信，我的主人介绍的他在蒙特西诺斯洞窟里的见闻都是真的，他说他看见杜尔西内亚夫人穿的就是我胡说她被魔法改变模样后穿的那套衣服。可是若照夫人您所说，这一切都该是相反的。我的低下智力既不会也不应该一下子编出那么完整的谎话来。我的主人即使再疯癫，也不会相信一套如此荒诞离奇的事情。夫人，您不要以为我有什么坏心，像我这样一个笨蛋，不可能识破魔法师的恶毒诡计。我编造那个谎话是为了逃脱主人对我的惩罚，并不是存心同他捣乱。如果事与愿违，有上帝在天上可以明断。”
“此话有理，”公爵夫人说，“不过桑乔，你给我讲讲蒙特西诺斯洞窟是怎么回事吧，我很想听呢。”
于是，桑乔又把那次经历的事情讲了一遍。公爵夫人听罢说道：
“从这件事里可以推断出，伟大的唐吉诃德说他看到了桑乔在托博索城外看到的那位农妇，那么她肯定就是杜尔西内亚。那儿的魔法师都很精明，很不一般。”
“所以我说，”桑乔说，“如果我们的杜尔西内亚夫人中了魔法，那就由她去受罪吧。我犯不着去同我主人的冤家对头打架，他们人数很多，又很恶毒。我看到了一位农妇，这是事实，我觉得她是个农妇，所以就认为她是农妇了。如果那人是杜尔西内亚，我并不知情，所以不怨我，无论如何也不能怨我。你们不要总是怨我，整天吵吵嚷嚷什么‘这是桑乔说的’，‘这是桑乔做的’，‘这又是桑乔做的’，‘这还是桑乔干的’，就好像桑乔是谁都可以指责的人，而不是桑乔本来那个人，参孙•卡拉斯科说的那个已经被写进书里的桑乔似的。参孙•卡拉斯科至少是在萨拉曼卡毕业的学士，他不应该说谎，除非是别有用心。所以，谁也没必要跟我过不去，我已经名声在外了。我听我主人说，一个人的名声比很多财富都重要。所以，还是让我去当总督吧，我一定会放大家喜出望外。能当好侍从的人，也能当好总督。”
“善良的桑乔刚才说的全是卡顿式的警句，”公爵夫人说，“至少像英年早逝的米卡埃尔•贝里诺的思想，就像他自己说的那样，‘穿破衣不妨有海量’。”
“是的，夫人，”桑乔说，“我这辈子从没喝多过，除非有时候口渴了。我从来也不装模作样，想喝就喝，不想喝的时候，如果有人请我喝，为了不让人以为我假惺惺或者没规矩，我也喝。朋友请我干一杯，我不回敬人家一杯，那心肠也未免太狠了吧？不过，我虽然常在河边走，就是不湿鞋。况且，游侠骑士的侍从平时只喝水，因为他们常常出没于深山老林，走荒野，攀峭壁，即使出再大的价钱，也换不到一丁点儿葡萄酒。”
“我也这样认为。”公爵夫人说，“现在，让桑乔先去休息吧，然后咱们再长谈。我们很快就会像桑乔说的那样，把他放到总督职位上去。”
桑乔又吻了公爵夫人的手，并请求公爵夫人照看好他的灰灰儿，灰灰儿简直就是他的命根子。
“什么灰灰儿？”公爵夫人问。
“就是我的驴。”桑乔说，“我不愿意叫它驴，所以叫它灰灰。我刚到城堡时，曾请求那位女仆帮我照看它，结果把她吓成那个样子，好像谁说她丑了或者老了似的。其实，喂牲口跟在客厅里装门面相比更是她份内的事。上帝保信，我们家乡有个绅士，对这种婆娘简直讨厌透了！”
“他大概是个乡巴佬吧。”女佣唐娜罗德里格斯说，“如果他是个绅士，有教养，就会把女仆们捧上天。”
“好了，”公爵夫人说，“别再说了，唐娜罗德里格斯快住嘴吧，桑乔大人也静一静，照管灰灰的事儿由我负责。既然它是桑乔的宠物，我一定会像对待自己的眼睛一样对待它。”
“让它呆在马厩里就行了。”桑乔说，“要说您像对待自己的眼睛一样对待它，无论是它还是我，都实在不敢当，让我简直如坐针毡。尽管我的主人说过，即使输牌，也要先输大的，可是对驴就不一样了，应该照章办事，公事公办。”
“你带着驴去上任当总督吧，”公爵夫人说，“到了那儿，你可以如意地伺候它，也可以让它退休。”
“公爵夫人，”桑乔说，“您不要以为您说得言过其实了。我就见过至少有两个人是骑着驴去当总督的。所以，我骑着我的驴上任当总督也算不得新鲜事儿。”
桑乔这番话又惹得公爵夫人开心地大笑起来。她打发桑乔去休息，自己则把刚刚发生的事情都告诉了公爵。两人又一同策划完全按招待骑士的那套方法招待唐吉诃德，好拿他开开心。他们的玩笑开得精彩别致，在这部巨著里是十分出色的。
Part 2 Chapter 34
Great was the pleasure the duke and duchess took in the conversation of Don Quixote and Sancho Panza; and, more bent than ever upon the plan they had of practising some jokes upon them that should have the look and appearance of adventures, they took as their basis of action what Don Quixote had already told them about the cave of Montesinos, in order to play him a famous one. But what the duches marvelled at above all was that Sancho’s simplicity could be so great as to make him believe as absolute truth that Dulcinea had been enchanted, when it was he himself who had been the enchanter and trickster in the business. Having, therefore, instructed their servants in everything they were to do, six days afterwards they took him out to hunt, with as great a retinue of huntsmen and beaters as a crowned king.
They presented Don Quixote with a hunting suit, and Sancho with another of the finest green cloth; but Don Quixote declined to put his on, saying that he must soon return to the hard pursuit of arms, and could not carry wardrobes or stores with him. Sancho, however, took what they gave him, meaning to sell it the first opportunity.
The appointed day having arrived, Don Quixote armed himself, and Sancho arrayed himself, and mounted on his Dapple (for he would not give him up though they offered him a horse), he placed himself in the midst of the troop of huntsmen. The duchess came out splendidly attired, and Don Quixote, in pure courtesy and politeness, held the rein of her palfrey, though the duke wanted not to allow him; and at last they reached a wood that lay between two high mountains, where, after occupying various posts, ambushes, and paths, and distributing the party in different positions, the hunt began with great noise, shouting, and hallooing, so that, between the baying of the hounds and the blowing of the horns, they could not hear one another. The duchess dismounted, and with a sharp boar-spear in her hand posted herself where she knew the wild boars were in the habit of passing. The duke and Don Quixote likewise dismounted and placed themselves one at each side of her. Sancho took up a position in the rear of all without dismounting from Dapple, whom he dared not desert lest some mischief should befall him. Scarcely had they taken their stand in a line with several of their servants, when they saw a huge boar, closely pressed by the hounds and followed by the huntsmen, making towards them, grinding his teeth and tusks, and scattering foam from his mouth. As soon as he saw him Don Quixote, bracing his shield on his arm, and drawing his sword, advanced to meet him; the duke with boar-spear did the same; but the duchess would have gone in front of them all had not the duke prevented her. Sancho alone, deserting Dapple at the sight of the mighty beast, took to his heels as hard as he could and strove in vain to mount a tall oak. As he was clinging to a branch, however, half-way up in his struggle to reach the top, the bough, such was his ill-luck and hard fate, gave way, and caught in his fall by a broken limb of the oak, he hung suspended in the air unable to reach the ground. Finding himself in this position, and that the green coat was beginning to tear, and reflecting that if the fierce animal came that way he might be able to get at him, he began to utter such cries, and call for help so earnestly, that all who heard him and did not see him felt sure he must be in the teeth of some wild beast. In the end the tusked boar fell pierced by the blades of the many spears they held in front of him; and Don Quixote, turning round at the cries of Sancho, for he knew by them that it was he, saw him hanging from the oak head downwards, with Dapple, who did not forsake him in his distress, close beside him; and Cide Hamete observes that he seldom saw Sancho Panza without seeing Dapple, or Dapple without seeing Sancho Panza; such was their attachment and loyalty one to the other. Don Quixote went over and unhooked Sancho, who, as soon as he found himself on the ground, looked at the rent in his huntingcoat and was grieved to the heart, for he thought he had got a patrimonial estate in that suit.
Meanwhile they had slung the mighty boar across the back of a mule, and having covered it with sprigs of rosemary and branches of myrtle, they bore it away as the spoils of victory to some large field-tents which had been pitched in the middle of the wood, where they found the tables laid and dinner served, in such grand and sumptuous style that it was easy to see the rank and magnificence of those who had provided it. Sancho, as he showed the rents in his torn suit to the duchess, observed, “If we had been hunting hares, or after small birds, my coat would have been safe from being in the plight it’s in; I don’t know what pleasure one can find in lying in wait for an animal that may take your life with his tusk if he gets at you. I recollect having heard an old ballad sung that says,
By bears be thou devoured, as erst
Was famous Favila.”
“That,” said Don Quixote, “was a Gothic king, who, going a-hunting, was devoured by a bear.”
“Just so,” said Sancho; “and I would not have kings and princes expose themselves to such dangers for the sake of a pleasure which, to my mind, ought not to be one, as it consists in killing an animal that has done no harm whatever.”
“Quite the contrary, Sancho; you are wrong there,” said the duke; “for hunting is more suitable and requisite for kings and princes than for anybody else. The chase is the emblem of war; it has stratagems, wiles, and crafty devices for overcoming the enemy in safety; in it extreme cold and intolerable heat have to be borne, indolence and sleep are despised, the bodily powers are invigorated, the limbs of him who engages in it are made supple, and, in a word, it is a pursuit which may be followed without injury to anyone and with enjoyment to many; and the best of it is, it is not for everybody, as field-sports of other sorts are, except hawking, which also is only for kings and great lords. Reconsider your opinion therefore, Sancho, and when you are governor take to hunting, and you will find the good of it.”
“Nay,” said Sancho, “the good governor should have a broken leg and keep at home;” it would be a nice thing if, after people had been at the trouble of coming to look for him on business, the governor were to be away in the forest enjoying himself; the government would go on badly in that fashion. By my faith, senor, hunting and amusements are more fit for idlers than for governors; what I intend to amuse myself with is playing all fours at Eastertime, and bowls on Sundays and holidays; for these huntings don’t suit my condition or agree with my conscience.”
“God grant it may turn out so,” said the duke; “because it’s a long step from saying to doing.”
“Be that as it may,” said Sancho, “‘pledges don’t distress a good payer,’ and ‘he whom God helps does better than he who gets up early,’ and ‘it’s the tripes that carry the feet and not the feet the tripes;’ I mean to say that if God gives me help and I do my duty honestly, no doubt I’ll govern better than a gerfalcon. Nay, let them only put a finger in my mouth, and they’ll see whether I can bite or not.”
“The curse of God and all his saints upon thee, thou accursed Sancho!” exclaimed Don Quixote; “when will the day come — as I have often said to thee — when I shall hear thee make one single coherent, rational remark without proverbs? Pray, your highnesses, leave this fool alone, for he will grind your souls between, not to say two, but two thousand proverbs, dragged in as much in season, and as much to the purpose as — may God grant as much health to him, or to me if I want to listen to them!”
“Sancho Panza’s proverbs,” said the duchess, “though more in number than the Greek Commander’s, are not therefore less to be esteemed for the conciseness of the maxims. For my own part, I can say they give me more pleasure than others that may be better brought in and more seasonably introduced.”
In pleasant conversation of this sort they passed out of the tent into the wood, and the day was spent in visiting some of the posts and hiding-places, and then night closed in, not, however, as brilliantly or tranquilly as might have been expected at the season, for it was then midsummer; but bringing with it a kind of haze that greatly aided the project of the duke and duchess; and thus, as night began to fall, and a little after twilight set in, suddenly the whole wood on all four sides seemed to be on fire, and shortly after, here, there, on all sides, a vast number of trumpets and other military instruments were heard, as if several troops of cavalry were passing through the wood. The blaze of the fire and the noise of the warlike instruments almost blinded the eyes and deafened the ears of those that stood by, and indeed of all who were in the wood. Then there were heard repeated lelilies after the fashion of the Moors when they rush to battle; trumpets and clarions brayed, drums beat, fifes played, so unceasingly and so fast that he could not have had any senses who did not lose them with the confused din of so many instruments. The duke was astounded, the duchess amazed, Don Quixote wondering, Sancho Panza trembling, and indeed, even they who were aware of the cause were frightened. In their fear, silence fell upon them, and a postillion, in the guise of a demon, passed in front of them, blowing, in lieu of a bugle, a huge hollow horn that gave out a horrible hoarse note.
“Ho there! brother courier,” cried the duke, “who are you? Where are you going? What troops are these that seem to be passing through the wood?”
To which the courier replied in a harsh, discordant voice, “I am the devil; I am in search of Don Quixote of La Mancha; those who are coming this way are six troops of enchanters, who are bringing on a triumphal car the peerless Dulcinea del Toboso; she comes under enchantment, together with the gallant Frenchman Montesinos, to give instructions to Don Quixote as to how, she the said lady, may be disenchanted.”
“If you were the devil, as you say and as your appearance indicates,” said the duke, “you would have known the said knight Don Quixote of La Mancha, for you have him here before you.”
“By God and upon my conscience,” said the devil, “I never observed it, for my mind is occupied with so many different things that I was forgetting the main thing I came about.”
“This demon must be an honest fellow and a good Christian,” said Sancho; “for if he wasn’t he wouldn’t swear by God and his conscience; I feel sure now there must be good souls even in hell itself.”
Without dismounting, the demon then turned to Don Quixote and said, “The unfortunate but valiant knight Montesinos sends me to thee, the Knight of the Lions (would that I saw thee in their claws), bidding me tell thee to wait for him wherever I may find thee, as he brings with him her whom they call Dulcinea del Toboso, that he may show thee what is needful in order to disenchant her; and as I came for no more I need stay no longer; demons of my sort be with thee, and good angels with these gentles;” and so saying he blew his huge horn, turned about and went off without waiting for a reply from anyone.
They all felt fresh wonder, but particularly Sancho and Don Quixote; Sancho to see how, in defiance of the truth, they would have it that Dulcinea was enchanted; Don Quixote because he could not feel sure whether what had happened to him in the cave of Montesinos was true or not; and as he was deep in these cogitations the duke said to him, “Do you mean to wait, Senor Don Quixote?”
“Why not?” replied he; “here will I wait, fearless and firm, though all hell should come to attack me.”
“Well then, if I see another devil or hear another horn like the last, I’ll wait here as much as in Flanders,” said Sancho.
Night now closed in more completely, and many lights began to flit through the wood, just as those fiery exhalations from the earth, that look like shooting-stars to our eyes, flit through the heavens; a frightful noise, too, was heard, like that made by the solid wheels the ox-carts usually have, by the harsh, ceaseless creaking of which, they say, the bears and wolves are put to flight, if there happen to be any where they are passing. In addition to all this commotion, there came a further disturbance to increase the tumult, for now it seemed as if in truth, on all four sides of the wood, four encounters or battles were going on at the same time; in one quarter resounded the dull noise of a terrible cannonade, in another numberless muskets were being discharged, the shouts of the combatants sounded almost close at hand, and farther away the Moorish lelilies were raised again and again. In a word, the bugles, the horns, the clarions, the trumpets, the drums, the cannon, the musketry, and above all the tremendous noise of the carts, all made up together a din so confused and terrific that Don Quixote had need to summon up all his courage to brave it; but Sancho’s gave way, and he fell fainting on the skirt of the duchess’s robe, who let him lie there and promptly bade them throw water in his face. This was done, and he came to himself by the time that one of the carts with the creaking wheels reached the spot. It was drawn by four plodding oxen all covered with black housings; on each horn they had fixed a large lighted wax taper, and on the top of the cart was constructed a raised seat, on which sat a venerable old man with a beard whiter than the very snow, and so long that it fell below his waist; he was dressed in a long robe of black buckram; for as the cart was thickly set with a multitude of candles it was easy to make out everything that was on it. Leading it were two hideous demons, also clad in buckram, with countenances so frightful that Sancho, having once seen them, shut his eyes so as not to see them again. As soon as the cart came opposite the spot the old man rose from his lofty seat, and standing up said in a loud voice, “I am the sage Lirgandeo,” and without another word the cart then passed on. Behind it came another of the same form, with another aged man enthroned, who, stopping the cart, said in a voice no less solemn than that of the first, “I am the sage Alquife, the great friend of Urganda the Unknown,” and passed on. Then another cart came by at the same pace, but the occupant of the throne was not old like the others, but a man stalwart and robust, and of a forbidding countenance, who as he came up said in a voice far hoarser and more devilish, “I am the enchanter Archelaus, the mortal enemy of Amadis of Gaul and all his kindred,” and then passed on. Having gone a short distance the three carts halted and the monotonous noise of their wheels ceased, and soon after they heard another, not noise, but sound of sweet, harmonious music, of which Sancho was very glad, taking it to be a good sign; and said he to the duchess, from whom he did not stir a step, or for a single instant, “Senora, where there’s music there can’t be mischief.”
“Nor where there are lights and it is bright,” said the duchess; to which Sancho replied, “Fire gives light, and it’s bright where there are bonfires, as we see by those that are all round us and perhaps may burn us; but music is a sign of mirth and merrymaking.”
“That remains to be seen,” said Don Quixote, who was listening to all that passed; and he was right, as is shown in the following chapter.
 
公爵和公爵夫人觉得同唐吉诃德和桑乔的谈话非常有趣，于是他们进一步拿他们开心，决定按照唐吉诃德说他在蒙特西诺斯洞窟里看到的那种情况，布置一场大闹剧。不过，公爵夫人没想到桑乔竟会如此单纯，当初明明是他一手制造了杜尔西内亚被魔法改变了模样的荒唐之说，现在他自己却又信以为真了。公爵和公爵夫人吩咐手下人如何如何行事。六天之后，他们率领大批猎手像陪同国王似的邀请唐吉诃德和桑乔去打猎。公爵和公爵夫人送给唐吉诃德一套猎装，另外也送了一套青色细呢猎装给桑乔。可是唐吉诃德不愿意穿那套猎装，说他第二天还得重新投入艰苦的戎马生涯，不可能带什么衣柜或食品柜。桑乔却接受了送给他的那套猎装，打算以后有机会就把那套衣服卖掉。
打猎那天，唐吉诃德浑身披挂，桑乔也穿好衣服，骑上驴，加入了打猎的行列。虽然人家愿意为他提供一匹马，可他还是舍不得那头驴。公爵夫人整装一新，大大方方地走出来。唐吉诃德出于礼貌，尽管公爵极力反对，还是坚持为公爵夫人的马牵着缰绳。他们来到两座高山中间的一片树林中，大家分散开来，各自找好自己的位置和埋伏处，随后便高声喊叫起来，开始围猎。他们的喊声很大，再加上狗叫声和号角声，以至于彼此之间连说话都听不见了。
公爵夫人下了马，手持一把锐利的投枪站在她以为野猪经常出没的地方。公爵和唐吉诃德也下马站在公爵夫人两侧。桑乔位于他们后面；他并没有下驴，不愿意冒险让他的驴遭到不测。他们的两边站着许多佣人。大家刚刚站定，就看见一头巨大的野猪龇牙咧嘴、口吐白沫地向他们奔来，后面有一群猎人和猎犬在追赶。唐吉诃德见状抄起剑，拿起盾，抢先迎上去。公爵也手持投枪迎上去，不过，若不是公爵拦着，抢在最前面的还是公爵夫人。只有桑乔一见到这头凶猛的野兽，就撇下他的驴拼命跑起来。桑乔想爬上一棵圣栎树，却又爬不上去，只能抓住一根树枝，搮在树干上往上窜。偏偏该他倒霉，树枝折断了。他摔下来时又被桠杈挂住悬在了半空。
桑乔眼看自己的绿色猎装就要被撕破，而且觉得那只野兽马上就要够着自己了，便大声喊救命，而且声音非常急迫。若是没看见他，光听他那喊声，准以为他已经被野猪咬着了。后来，野猪终于被众多的投枪刺倒了。唐吉诃德循着桑乔的喊声回头望，只见桑乔倒挂在树上，旁边是那头跟桑乔患难与共的灰驴。正如锡德•哈迈德所说，很少看见有桑乔没驴的时候，也很少看见有驴没桑乔的时候，两者之间的友谊和信任已经达到了这种程度。
唐吉诃德过去把桑乔解了下来。桑乔落地脱了身，见自己的猎装被撕破了，心疼得要死，因为他本来把那件衣服当成了一份资产。这时，有几个人已经把野猪横放到一匹骡子的背上，又用迷迭香和爱神木的树枝把野猪盖上，把它作为战利品带到了树林中搭设的几个帐篷那儿。帐篷里已经摆好了桌子，准备好了丰盛的酒席，让人一眼便知主人在此摆出了极大的排场。桑乔指着他那件撕破的衣服说：
“假如咱们打的只是兔子或小鸟，我的衣服肯定不会弄成这个样子。我不知道打这样一头野兽有什么好玩儿。要是被它咬一口，那就连命都没了。我记得一首老歌谣唱道：
就像著名的法维拉一样
被熊吃掉。”
“那是一位哥特族国王。”唐吉诃德说，“他去打猎时，被熊吃掉了。”
“我说的就是他。”桑乔说，“我不赞成让所有的王宫贵族都冒这样的危险，去换取一种无谓的乐趣，况且，这种乐趣只是杀死一头没犯任何罪的野兽。”
“你又错了，桑乔，”公爵说，“围猎是王宫贵人最适宜而又最不可缺少的一件事。狩猎可以说是战争的一种表现形式，也需要利用战术、狡诈和诡计去打败敌人。为此，需要忍受凛冽的严寒和难以忍受的酷暑，不得休息和睡眠。它可以锻炼人的力量，使人们的四肢更加灵活。总之，这是一项对任何人都没有害处的活动，并且可以给很多人带来欢乐。而它最大的好处就在于它不同于一般狩猎，那是大家都可以从事的。它就像用鹰打猎一样，只有王公贵族才能做到。所以桑乔啊，你得改变一下看法。等你当了总督，也去打猎的时候，你就知道打猎有多大的好处了。”
“不见得吧，”桑乔说，“优秀的总督应当是大门不出，二门不迈。有人气喘吁吁地跑来找他办事，他却在山上消遣打猎呢，这样不合适呀！这样的总督太差劲了。大人，我觉得打猎和消遣是游手好闲之徒的事，而不是总督的事。我想要的娱乐就是复活节时打打牌，星期日或节日时打打球，什么打猎、打累呀，我既不习惯，也不忍心那样做。”
“上帝保佑，但愿如此，桑乔，说是说，做是做，两者并不是一回事。”
“不管怎么说，”桑乔说，“‘打算还债，就不能心疼抵押品’，‘上帝帮忙胜过自己瞎忙’，‘肚子填满，腿就不软’。我是说，只要上帝肯帮忙，我当总督肯定比谁都当得好。不信你们就试试看，看我到底行不行！”
“你真该被上帝和所有的圣贤诅咒，该死的桑乔！”唐吉诃德说，“我说过多少回了，你什么时候才可以不扯俗语就把事情说清楚呀！两位大人，别理这个笨蛋，他真能把人烦死。他说起话来可不是一两句俗语哩。要是上帝不谴责，我再愿意听，他能够讲上两千句呢！”
公爵夫人说：“即使桑乔的俗语比希腊修道院长①的俗语还多，也不会因为多就减少了其价值。从我这方面来说，即使别的俗语说得再好，比他用的更恰当，我也还是乐意听他讲。”
①此处指萨拉曼卡教授、圣地亚哥修道院长和古希腊文化学者埃尔南•努涅斯•古斯曼。他曾于1555年出版了一本俗语专集。
他们说着闲话，走出帐篷，察看了几个埋伏处和岗哨，一天就过去了，夜慕渐渐降临。虽然是仲夏之夜，却不像往常那样明晰宁静，仿佛天公作美，朦胧的月色也要帮助公爵实现自己的目的似的。天色渐黑，黄昏刚刚来临，树林里突然狼烟四起，接着便听到远远近近一片号角和军乐声，仿佛有大批骑兵从树林里通过。伴着震耳欲聋的军乐声，耀眼的火光使周围的人几乎看不清眼前的一切，就更不用说森林里面的人了。随后，便是摩尔人打仗时呼喊的“雷里里”声，喇叭、号角和战鼓声连在一起，谁听了都会张皇失措。公爵慌乱，公爵夫人愕然，唐吉诃德惊讶不已，桑乔浑身颤抖，最后连一些知情人都害怕了。恐惧使大家都闭上了嘴。这时，一个魔鬼装束的驿车向导从他们面前跑过。不过他没有像其他向导那样吹着喇叭，而是吹着一只很大的空心牛角，牛角发出空荡而又可怕的声音。
“喂，向导兄弟，”公爵说，“你是谁？到哪儿去？似乎有军队从此地路过，那是些什么人？”
向导的声音既响亮又令人恐惧，他说道：
“我是魔鬼，我来寻找曼查的唐吉诃德。来到此地的是六支魔法师军队，他们用一辆彩车载来了托博索的举世无双的杜尔西内亚。她同法国勇士蒙特西诺斯一起被魔法制服了。她是来命令唐吉诃德为她解除魔法的。”
“如果你真像你说的那样，而且也像你的外观那样是魔鬼，你就应该认识曼查的唐吉诃德呀，他现在就在你面前。”
“我向上帝并且凭着我的良心发誓，”魔鬼说，“我并不认识他。现在我脑子里有好多乱七八糟的事情，倒把主要的事儿忘了。”
“这个魔鬼肯定是好人，是个好基督徒，”桑乔说，“否则他就不会说‘向上帝并且凭着良心发誓’了。现在我明白了，即使在地狱里也有好人。”
那魔鬼说完并没有下马，却转过头去对唐吉诃德说：
“狮子骑士，我真想看到你落到狮子爪下！落难的勇士蒙特西诺斯派我来，让我一碰到你就告诉你，让你在原地等他，他要带着托博索的杜尔西内亚夫人来找你，让你为她破除魔法。我的任务仅只如此，没有必要再耽搁了。愿所有像我一样的魔鬼同你在一起，愿善良的天使同这些大人在一起。”
说完他又吹起那只巨大的牛角，不等别人说什么，便转身离去了。
大家这次更惊讶了，尤其是桑乔和唐吉诃德。桑乔知道杜尔西内亚中魔法的事情是假的，所以对此事居然弄假成真感到惊讶。而唐吉诃德惊讶的是，这样就更不明白自己在蒙特西诺斯洞窟遇到的事情是真还是假了。大家正想着，只听公爵说道：
“您想在这儿等吗，唐吉诃德大人？”
“为什么不等呢？”唐吉诃德说，“即使地狱里的所有魔鬼都来找我，我也毫无畏惧，岿然不动。”
桑乔说：“如果我再看见一个魔鬼，再听到刚才那种牛角声，我就说不准还等不等了。”
此时天色已经完全黑下来，树林里流动着许多火光，仿佛大地冒出了阵阵气体飘浮在空中，在我们眼里仿佛变成了颗颗流星。这时，又听到一种类似牛车的实心轮子发出的声音。那种持续不断的凄厉声音，即使狼和熊也会被吓跑。伴着这种声音的是另外一种可怕的猛烈枪炮声，而且声音越来越响，仿佛树林里真的是四面开战了。那边响起了密集的枪声，近处又听到战士的呐喊，远处则是摩尔人的“雷里里”声。总之，号音、牛角、喇叭、战鼓、炮火、枪声，特别是那种可怕的车轮声，汇成了一种混乱而又令人恐惧的声音，连唐吉诃德也得鼓足他的全部勇气才勉强支撑住。桑乔已经吓昏了，倒在公爵夫人的裙下。公爵夫人忙吩咐往桑乔脸上泼水。
泼完水后，桑乔发现一辆发出那种吱嘎轮声的牛车来到了他们那个哨位。四头懒洋洋的牛罩着黑色饰布，拉着那辆车，每头牛的牛角上都缚着一支点燃的四芯大蜡烛。车上有个高高的座椅，椅子上坐着一位令人肃然起敬的老者。老人的胡子比雪还白，并且长长地垂过腰间，身上穿的是黑色粗麻布长袍。牛车上点着无数支蜡烛，因此可以清楚地看到车上的一切。两个也穿着同样的粗麻布衣的魔鬼牵着牛车。魔鬼的面目太丑了，桑乔只看了一眼，就不敢再看。牛车来到哨位前站住了。那位令人肃然起敬的老者从他那高高的座椅上站起来，大声说道：
“我是智者利尔甘多。”
他不再说什么，牛车继续向前走。随之而来的是另外一辆样式完全相同的牛车，以及另外一位傲慢的老者。老者让牛车停下，也同样威严地说道：
“我是智者阿尔基费，是不可莫测的乌尔甘达的老朋友。”
牛车继续向前走，接着又来了一辆牛车。不过，这回车上坐的不像刚才那两辆车上的老者，而是一个身体强壮、面目丑恶的彪形大汉。他一到，就像刚才那两个人一样站起来，声音更响亮、更可怕地说道：
“我是魔法师阿卡劳斯，是高卢的阿马迪斯和他所有亲属的死对头。”
牛车继续向前走。三辆牛车走出不远便停住了，车轮那种刺耳的声音也随之而止，接着便是一种轻柔悦耳的音乐。桑乔听了很高兴，觉得这是个好兆头。他一直呆在公爵夫人身旁，此时便对公爵夫人说道：
“夫人，有音乐就不会有麻烦事了。”
“有光亮的地方也不会有麻烦事。”公爵夫人说。
桑乔说道：
“火产生光，火堆发出亮。现在火已经向我们靠近，很可能要烧着我们了。不过，音乐毕竟是欢乐和节日的征兆。”
“咱们看看再说吧。唐吉诃德听了桑乔的话说道。
唐吉诃德说对了。详情请看下章。
Part 2 Chapter 35
They saw advancing towards them, to the sound of this pleasing music, what they call a triumphal car, drawn by six grey mules with white linen housings, on each of which was mounted a penitent, robed also in white, with a large lighted wax taper in his hand. The car was twice or, perhaps, three times as large as the former ones, and in front and on the sides stood twelve more penitents, all as white as snow and all with lighted tapers, a spectacle to excite fear as well as wonder; and on a raised throne was seated a nymph draped in a multitude of silver-tissue veils with an embroidery of countless gold spangles glittering all over them, that made her appear, if not richly, at least brilliantly, apparelled. She had her face covered with thin transparent sendal, the texture of which did not prevent the fair features of a maiden from being distinguished, while the numerous lights made it possible to judge of her beauty and of her years, which seemed to be not less than seventeen but not to have yet reached twenty. Beside her was a figure in a robe of state, as they call it, reaching to the feet, while the head was covered with a black veil. But the instant the car was opposite the duke and duchess and Don Quixote the music of the clarions ceased, and then that of the lutes and harps on the car, and the figure in the robe rose up, and flinging it apart and removing the veil from its face, disclosed to their eyes the shape of Death itself, fleshless and hideous, at which sight Don Quixote felt uneasy, Sancho frightened, and the duke and duchess displayed a certain trepidation. Having risen to its feet, this living death, in a sleepy voice and with a tongue hardly awake, held forth as follows:
 
I am that Merlin who the legends say
The devil had for father, and the lie
Hath gathered credence with the lapse of time.
Of magic prince, of Zoroastric lore
Monarch and treasurer, with jealous eye
I view the efforts of the age to hide
The gallant deeds of doughty errant knights,
Who are, and ever have been, dear to me.
Enchanters and magicians and their kind
Are mostly hard of heart; not so am I;
For mine is tender, soft, compassionate,
And its delight is doing good to all.
In the dim caverns of the gloomy Dis,
Where, tracing mystic lines and characters,
My soul abideth now, there came to me
The sorrow-laden plaint of her, the fair,
The peerless Dulcinea del Toboso.
I knew of her enchantment and her fate,
From high-born dame to peasant wench transformed
And touched with pity, first I turned the leaves
Of countless volumes of my devilish craft,
And then, in this grim grisly skeleton
Myself encasing, hither have I come
To show where lies the fitting remedy
To give relief in such a piteous case.
O thou, the pride and pink of all that wear
The adamantine steel! O shining light,
O beacon, polestar, path and guide of all
Who, scorning slumber and the lazy down,
Adopt the toilsome life of bloodstained arms!
To thee, great hero who all praise transcends,
La Mancha’s lustre and Iberia’s star,
Don Quixote, wise as brave, to thee I say —
For peerless Dulcinea del Toboso
Her pristine form and beauty to regain,
‘T is needful that thy esquire Sancho shall,
On his own sturdy buttocks bared to heaven,
Three thousand and three hundred lashes lay,
And that they smart and sting and hurt him well.
Thus have the authors of her woe resolved.
And this is, gentles, wherefore I have come.
“By all that’s good,” exclaimed Sancho at this, “I’ll just as soon give myself three stabs with a dagger as three, not to say three thousand, lashes. The devil take such a way of disenchanting! I don’t see what my backside has got to do with enchantments. By God, if Senor Merlin has not found out some other way of disenchanting the lady Dulcinea del Toboso, she may go to her grave enchanted.”
“But I’ll take you, Don Clown stuffed with garlic,” said Don Quixote, “and tie you to a tree as naked as when your mother brought you forth, and give you, not to say three thousand three hundred, but six thousand six hundred lashes, and so well laid on that they won’t be got rid of if you try three thousand three hundred times; don’t answer me a word or I’ll tear your soul out.”
On hearing this Merlin said, “That will not do, for the lashes worthy Sancho has to receive must be given of his own free will and not by force, and at whatever time he pleases, for there is no fixed limit assigned to him; but it is permitted him, if he likes to commute by half the pain of this whipping, to let them be given by the hand of another, though it may be somewhat weighty.”
“Not a hand, my own or anybody else’s , weighty or weighable, shall touch me,” said Sancho. “Was it I that gave birth to the lady Dulcinea del Toboso, that my backside is to pay for the sins of her eyes? My master, indeed, that’s a part of her — for, he’s always calling her ‘my life’ and ‘my soul,’ and his stay and prop — may and ought to whip himself for her and take all the trouble required for her disenchantment. But for me to whip myself! Abernuncio!”
As soon as Sancho had done speaking the nymph in silver that was at the side of Merlin’s ghost stood up, and removing the thin veil from her face disclosed one that seemed to all something more than exceedingly beautiful; and with a masculine freedom from embarrassment and in a voice not very like a lady’s , addressing Sancho directly, said, “Thou wretched squire, soul of a pitcher, heart of a cork tree, with bowels of flint and pebbles; if, thou impudent thief, they bade thee throw thyself down from some lofty tower; if, enemy of mankind, they asked thee to swallow a dozen of toads, two of lizards, and three of adders; if they wanted thee to slay thy wife and children with a sharp murderous scimitar, it would be no wonder for thee to show thyself stubborn and squeamish. But to make a piece of work about three thousand three hundred lashes, what every poor little charity-boy gets every month — it is enough to amaze, astonish, astound the compassionate bowels of all who hear it, nay, all who come to hear it in the course of time. Turn, O miserable, hard-hearted animal, turn, I say, those timorous owl’s eyes upon these of mine that are compared to radiant stars, and thou wilt see them weeping trickling streams and rills, and tracing furrows, tracks, and paths over the fair fields of my cheeks. Let it move thee, crafty, ill-conditioned monster, to see my blooming youth — still in its teens, for I am not yet twenty — wasting and withering away beneath the husk of a rude peasant wench; and if I do not appear in that shape now, it is a special favour Senor Merlin here has granted me, to the sole end that my beauty may soften thee; for the tears of beauty in distress turn rocks into cotton and tigers into ewes. Lay on to that hide of thine, thou great untamed brute, rouse up thy lusty vigour that only urges thee to eat and eat, and set free the softness of my flesh, the gentleness of my nature, and the fairness of my face. And if thou wilt not relent or come to reason for me, do so for the sake of that poor knight thou hast beside thee; thy master I mean, whose soul I can this moment see, how he has it stuck in his throat not ten fingers from his lips, and only waiting for thy inflexible or yielding reply to make its escape by his mouth or go back again into his stomach.”
Don Quixote on hearing this felt his throat, and turning to the duke he said, “By God, senor, Dulcinea says true, I have my soul stuck here in my throat like the nut of a crossbow.”
“What say you to this, Sancho?” said the duchess.
“I say, senora,” returned Sancho, “what I said before; as for the lashes, abernuncio!”
“Abrenuncio, you should say, Sancho, and not as you do,” said the duke.
“Let me alone, your highness,” said Sancho. “I’m not in a humour now to look into niceties or a letter more or less, for these lashes that are to be given me, or I’m to give myself, have so upset me, that I don’t know what I’m saying or doing. But I’d like to know of this lady, my lady Dulcinea del Toboso, where she learned this way she has of asking favours. She comes to ask me to score my flesh with lashes, and she calls me soul of a pitcher, and great untamed brute, and a string of foul names that the devil is welcome to. Is my flesh brass? or is it anything to me whether she is enchanted or not? Does she bring with her a basket of fair linen, shirts, kerchiefs, socks — not that wear any — to coax me? No, nothing but one piece of abuse after another, though she knows the proverb they have here that ‘an ass loaded with gold goes lightly up a mountain,’ and that ‘gifts break rocks,’ and ‘praying to God and plying the hammer,’ and that ‘one “take” is better than two “I’ll give thee’s ."’ Then there’s my master, who ought to stroke me down and pet me to make me turn wool and carded cotton; he says if he gets hold of me he’ll tie me naked to a tree and double the tale of lashes on me. These tender-hearted gentry should consider that it’s not merely a squire, but a governor they are asking to whip himself; just as if it was ‘drink with cherries.’ Let them learn, plague take them, the right way to ask, and beg, and behave themselves; for all times are not alike, nor are people always in good humour. I’m now ready to burst with grief at seeing my green coat torn, and they come to ask me to whip myself of my own free will, I having as little fancy for it as for turning cacique.”
“Well then, the fact is, friend Sancho,” said the duke, “that unless you become softer than a ripe fig, you shall not get hold of the government. It would be a nice thing for me to send my islanders a cruel governor with flinty bowels, who won’t yield to the tears of afflicted damsels or to the prayers of wise, magisterial, ancient enchanters and sages. In short, Sancho, either you must be whipped by yourself, or they must whip you, or you shan’t be governor.”
“Senor,” said Sancho, “won’t two days’ grace be given me in which to consider what is best for me?”
“No, certainly not,” said Merlin; “here, this minute, and on the spot, the matter must be settled; either Dulcinea will return to the cave of Montesinos and to her former condition of peasant wench, or else in her present form shall be carried to the Elysian fields, where she will remain waiting until the number of stripes is completed.”
“Now then, Sancho!” said the duchess, “show courage, and gratitude for your master Don Quixote’s bread that you have eaten; we are all bound to oblige and please him for his benevolent disposition and lofty chivalry. Consent to this whipping, my son; to the devil with the devil, and leave fear to milksops, for ‘a stout heart breaks bad luck,’ as you very well know.”
To this Sancho replied with an irrelevant remark, which, addressing Merlin, he made to him, “Will your worship tell me, Senor Merlin — when that courier devil came up he gave my master a message from Senor Montesinos, charging him to wait for him here, as he was coming to arrange how the lady Dona Dulcinea del Toboso was to be disenchanted; but up to the present we have not seen Montesinos, nor anything like him.”
To which Merlin made answer, “The devil, Sancho, is a blockhead and a great scoundrel; I sent him to look for your master, but not with a message from Montesinos but from myself; for Montesinos is in his cave expecting, or more properly speaking, waiting for his disenchantment; for there’s the tail to be skinned yet for him; if he owes you anything, or you have any business to transact with him, I’ll bring him to you and put him where you choose; but for the present make up your mind to consent to this penance, and believe me it will be very good for you, for soul as well for body — for your soul because of the charity with which you perform it, for your body because I know that you are of a sanguine habit and it will do you no harm to draw a little blood.”
“There are a great many doctors in the world; even the enchanters are doctors,” said Sancho; “however, as everybody tells me the same thing — though I can’t see it myself — I say I am willing to give myself the three thousand three hundred lashes, provided I am to lay them on whenever I like, without any fixing of days or times; and I’ll try and get out of debt as quickly as I can, that the world may enjoy the beauty of the lady Dulcinea del Toboso; as it seems, contrary to what I thought, that she is beautiful after all. It must be a condition, too, that I am not to be bound to draw blood with the scourge, and that if any of the lashes happen to he fly-flappers they are to count. Item, that, in case I should make any mistake in the reckoning, Senor Merlin, as he knows everything, is to keep count, and let me know how many are still wanting or over the number.”
“There will be no need to let you know of any over,” said Merlin, “because, when you reach the full number, the lady Dulcinea will at once, and that very instant, be disenchanted, and will come in her gratitude to seek out the worthy Sancho, and thank him, and even reward him for the good work. So you have no cause to be uneasy about stripes too many or too few; heaven forbid I should cheat anyone of even a hair of his head.”
“Well then, in God’s hands be it,” said Sancho; “in the hard case I’m in I give in; I say I accept the penance on the conditions laid down.”
The instant Sancho uttered these last words the music of the clarions struck up once more, and again a host of muskets were discharged, and Don Quixote hung on Sancho’s neck kissing him again and again on the forehead and cheeks. The duchess and the duke expressed the greatest satisfaction, the car began to move on, and as it passed the fair Dulcinea bowed to the duke and duchess and made a low curtsey to Sancho.
 
And now bright smiling dawn came on apace; the flowers of the field, revived, raised up their heads, and the crystal waters of the brooks, murmuring over the grey and white pebbles, hastened to pay their tribute to the expectant rivers; the glad earth, the unclouded sky, the fresh breeze, the clear light, each and all showed that the day that came treading on the skirts of morning would be calm and bright. The duke and duchess, pleased with their hunt and at having carried out their plans so cleverly and successfully, returned to their castle resolved to follow up their joke; for to them there was no reality that could afford them more amusement.
 
随着优美的音乐，一辆彩车向他们开来。彩车由六匹披着白麻布的棕色骡子拉着，而每匹骡子背上都骑着一位光赎罪者①。他们都穿着白衣服，手里各举一支大蜡烛。这辆车比刚才那几辆车大两三倍，车上两侧站着另十二名赎罪者。他们的衣服比雪还白，手里也都拿着点燃的大蜡烛，让人惊奇不已。在高高的宝座上端坐着一位仙女。她身穿千层银纱，纱上又有极小的金箔点缀，即使称不上华丽，至少也可以说是引人注目。她的脸上罩着薄纱，透过轻纱，可以看到她那清秀无比的脸庞。明亮的烛光可以让人看出她的较好容貌与妙龄，看起来还不到二十岁，但是又超过十七岁。她的身旁是一个身穿拖地衣的人。那人的衣服盖到了脚面，头上还罩着黑纱巾。车子到公爵、公爵夫人和唐吉诃德面前停下了，音乐声戛然而止。接着，车上又响起了竖琴和诗琴声。穿拖地长袍的人站了起来，把衣服向两边掀开，又揭掉头上的纱巾，竟露出一具骷髅相，十分难看。唐吉诃德见了不禁有些惊慌，桑乔见了更是怕得要死，公爵和公爵夫人也有些惴惴不安。这个活骷髅站起来，声音仍带着某种睡意，舌头有些发涩地说道：
①赎罪者可分为光赎罪者和血赎罪者。前者手举蜡烛，后者鞭打自己，以示赎罪。
我就是小说中
多年误传
父亲为魔鬼的梅尔林。
我是魔法之王，琐罗亚斯德教的
君主和化身。
我与时代和世纪抗衡，
不让时代和世纪湮灭
英勇的游侠骑士的殊勋，
我眷顾他们自始至今。
虽然众多的魔法师和巫师
心狠手辣，冷酷无情，
奸诈阴险，
我却心慈手软，乐善好施，
普渡众生。
在阴森的狄斯①府里，
我的魂灵绘写符咒和字样，
聚精会神，
忽然传来了托博索的杜尔西内亚
痛苦的声音，
方得知她不幸身中魔法，
从贵夫人变成了农妇，
我心痛如焚。
在阴暗可怕的地府内，
我潜心研究，
翻阅书籍无数本，
今日方得来解除
这万恶祸根。
噢，智勇双全的唐吉诃德大人，
你是所有身披盔甲的
勇士的骄傲，
你是所有
抛弃愚梦，投笔从戎，
从事艰苦流血生涯者的
明灯和指路人。
我要告诉你，
荣获赞誉的勇士，
曼查的辉煌，西班牙的星辰，
为了恢复杜尔西内亚的
音容笑貌，
需要你的侍从桑乔
在光天化日之下，
裸露他的肥屁股
自抽三千三百鞭，
直打得他疼痛难忍。
此乃制造此劫难的魔法师们
商量决定。
我就是为此而来，谨告诸位大人。
①狄斯是冥王普卢同的别名。狄斯府指地狱。
“见他的鬼去吧！”桑乔说，“别说打三千鞭子，就是打我三鞭子，也跟捅我三刀一样疼！这叫什么解除魔法的鬼主意呀！上帝保佑，如果解除杜尔西内亚所遭受的魔法，梅尔林大人只有这个办法，那还是让杜尔西内亚带着魔法进坟墓去吧！”
“你这个乡巴佬，没有教养的东西，”唐吉诃德说，“我真该把你捆在树上，剥得一丝不挂，不是打你三千三百鞭子，而是打你六千六百鞭子，而且要打得结结实实，让你挣三千三百下也挣脱不了！你别跟我顶嘴，否则我就宰了你。”
梅尔林闻言说道：
“别这样，应该让善良的桑乔在自愿的时候自觉地吃鞭子，不要强迫。不要给他规定期限。如果桑乔愿意让别人来打，可以给他减少一半数量，不过那就可能打得重些。”
“不管是别人打还是我自己打，不管是手重还是手轻，”桑乔说，“谁也休想碰我一下。难道我是为了杜尔西内亚才活着的吗？她的脸受了罪就该让我拿屁股来补偿吗？我的主人跟她才是一回事呢，动不动就叫她‘我的宝贝’、‘我的命根子’、‘我的靠山’什么的，他才应该为杜尔西内亚受过，为杜尔西内亚摆脱魔法尽心竭力呢！为什么要打我？我‘急绝’！”
桑乔刚说完，梅尔林身边那位披着银纱的少女就站起身来，掀掉脸上的薄纱，露出一张非常美丽的脸庞。她的举止有些男子气，而且声音也不像女子，她面对桑乔说道：“你这个倒霉的侍从，愚蠢的家伙，硬心肠的东西，坏蛋，不要脸的人，人类的公敌！如果有人命令你从一个高塔上跳下来，要求你吃一打癞蛤蟆、两条蜥蜴和三条蛇，劝你用一把又长又尖的大刀把你老婆孩子都杀了，而你犹豫彷徨逃避，那倒还不算新鲜。想不到只挨三千三百鞭子，你就当回事了，孤儿院收养的那些孤儿，不管淘气不淘气，哪个月不挨鞭子？像你这么说，哪个慈善心肠的人听见了，哪怕是以后听见了，不会诧异愕然？你这个可怜而又狠心的畜生，用你那双贼眼看看我的眼睛吧，和我这双明亮的眼睛比较一下吧，你就会看到泪水正一缕缕缓慢而持续地流淌，在我美丽的面颊上形成了一条条沟沟坎坎。动动心吧，你这个卑鄙恶毒的妖怪。我正值豆蔻年华，我才十几岁，才十九岁，还不到二十岁，却要在这农妇的相貌下凋零枯萎！也许我现在的样子还不像农妇，那是这位在场的梅尔林大人特别关照的结果，而这仅仅是为了让你见到我的美貌后心肠变软。我这痛苦的美貌，即使石头见了也会变成像棉花一样软，即使猛虎见了也会变成像绵羊一样温顺。赶紧打吧，你这桀骜不驯的怪兽，拿出你吃东西的那股劲头来，恢复我平滑的肌肤、温顺的性情和秀丽的面容吧。如果你的心不愿为我所动，不愿为我效劳，你也该为你身旁这位可怜的骑士着想呀！我是指你的主人，我看见他的灵魂已经哽在喉咙里，离嘴唇不远了，只等你一个冷酷或温情的回答，就会脱口而出或者咽回肚里呢。”
唐吉诃德听到此话，用手摸了摸喉咙，转身对公爵说道：
“我向上帝发誓，大人，杜尔西内亚说的是真的，我的灵魂已经在喉咙这儿了，正哽在这里呢。”
“你说这事该怎么办呢，桑乔？”公爵夫人问。
“夫人，”桑乔说，“我还是刚才那句话，我‘急绝！’”
“应该说‘拒绝’，桑乔，你刚才说得不对。”公爵说。
“您别跟我那么较真儿。”桑乔说，“我现在没时间考虑那么细，说得差不多就行了。我应该挨的这些鞭子，或者我必须挨的这些鞭子，搅得我心烦意乱，我也不知道该怎么说，怎么做了。我倒是想知道，我们的杜尔西内亚夫人从哪儿学会了这样央求人。她让我露出肉来挨打，却骂我是愚蠢的家伙、桀骜的怪兽等一大串难听的话，谁能受得了呀！难道我的皮肉是铁打的，或者跟是否能解除魔法有什么相干？她并没有拿一筐家用的白单子、衬衫、头巾和短袜来感谢我呀！老实说，这些东西我都用不着，可是总不该一句接一句地骂我呀。她知道不知道俗话说的，‘驴背驮金，上山才有劲’，‘礼物能够打碎顽石’，‘一边求上帝，一边给实惠’，‘给一样胜过两声空许诺’？至于我的主人，也应该好好地哄我，让我高兴，我不就服服帖帖了吗？可是他却说要抓住我，剥光我的衣服，把我捆在树上，再多打一倍鞭子！若真是那样，诸位好心的大人不妨想想，挨打的人不光是侍从，而且还是总督呢！就像人们常说的，‘那就更不得了啦’！这帮人真该好好学学怎样央求人，学学讲礼貌。就是同一个人，也不会总是那么好脾气呀。我现在看见我的绿猎装撕破了正难过得要死，他们却来让我心甘情愿地挨鞭打，这不是自找没趣嘛！”
“实际上，桑乔朋友，”公爵说，“如果你不服服帖帖，你就谋不到总督的位置。如果我给我的臣民委派一个残忍冷酷、在落难女子的眼泪和德高望重的魔法师的请求面前毫不动心的总督，那合适吗？反正一句话，桑乔，或者你鞭打自己，或者让别人鞭打你，不然你就休想当总督。”
“大人，”桑乔说，“您给我两天期限，让我考虑一下哪种情况对我最好，行吗？”
“不行，绝对不行，”梅尔林说，“必须在此时此地就作出决定。或者杜尔西内亚回到蒙特西诺斯洞窟去，恢复她农妇的模样，或者让她到极乐的福地去等着你完成挨打的数目。”
“喂，好桑乔，”公爵夫人说，“你既然吃了唐吉诃德大人这碗饭，就应该鼓足劲，好好给他干。对于这样品德优秀、道德高尚的骑士，我们大家都应该效劳，满足他的要求。挨鞭子的事，你就答应吧。办事要快，免得夜长梦多。‘好心可以解厄运’，这点你很清楚。”
听公爵夫人这么一说，桑乔忽然对梅尔林胡说八道起来。
桑乔问道：
“请您告诉我，梅尔林大人，刚才那个该死的驿车向导给我的主人带来了蒙特西诺斯的口信，让我的主人在这儿等他，他要来教我的主人为杜尔西内亚解除魔法。可是到现在，我并没见到蒙特西诺斯或其他类似的人呀。”
梅尔林答道：
“桑乔朋友，那个该死的向导是个大笨蛋、大坏蛋。我派他来找你的主人，并不是叫他传达蒙特西诺斯的口信，而是传达我的口信。蒙特西诺斯现在仍在洞窟里，正等着为他解除魔法呢，尽管现在只差最后一步了。如果有什么需要他为你做的事情，或者你有什么事情要跟他商量，我可以把他叫来，把他送到你指定的任何地方。不过，现在你还是先答应挨鞭子的事儿吧。请你相信我，无论从精神上还是从肉体上，这都会对你有好处。从精神上说，它可以使你更仁慈；从肉体上说，我知道你是多血的体质，出点儿血没什么关系。”
“世界上医生真多，连魔法师都成医生了。”桑乔说，“既然大家都这么说，尽管我并不自愿，我还是说愿意挨这三千三百鞭子吧。不过有个条件，那就是必须在我高兴的时候才打，不能给我规定期限。我争取尽快把这笔帐了结，让大家都能欣赏到杜尔西内亚的美貌。看来她与我想象的不一样，真的很漂亮。我还有个条件，那就是不能要求我非得打出血不可，假如有几下打得像拍蚊子似的，那也得算数。还有，就是为了防止我数错，无所不知的梅尔林大人得认真计数，告诉我是打少了还是打多了。”
“打多了也用不着通知，”梅尔林说，“因为只要打够了数，杜尔西内亚夫人身上的魔法就会立即被解除，她就会立即跑来向好人桑乔致谢，弄好了还会奖励你呢。所以，你没有必要计较打多了或打少了。老天不会允许我欺骗任何人，哪怕是一丝一毫。”
“哎，那就干吧！”桑乔说，“我只好认倒霉了。我是说我同意挨打，但是要遵守我刚才说的那些条件。”
桑乔刚说完这句话，笛号和音乐声顿时响起，又放了一阵阵火枪。唐吉诃德勾住桑乔的脖子，在桑乔的额头和脸颊上吻个不停。公爵夫人和公爵都显出极其高兴的样子。那辆牛车走了起来，经过公爵夫妇面前时，杜尔西内亚向他们低头行礼，又向桑乔深深地鞠了一躬。
此时天已渐明，一片喜气洋洋的景象，田野间的花草昂首挺立，跳珠溅玉般的溪水在白色和褐色的卵石间低吟，汇入远处的河流。大地欢唱，天空明朗，阳光柔和，所有景象都预示着与黎明一起到来的这一天是宁静晴朗的一天。公爵和公爵夫人对打猎的结果感到满意，也为他们机智顺利地达到了预期的目的而感到高兴。他们又回到城堡，准备继续把玩笑开下去。他们觉得再没有比这更有意思的事情了。
Part 2 Chapter 36
The duke had a majordomo of a very facetious and sportive turn, and he it was that played the part of Merlin, made all the arrangements for the late adventure, composed the verses, and got a page to represent Dulcinea; and now, with the assistance of his master and mistress, he got up another of the drollest and strangest contrivances that can be imagined.
The duchess asked Sancho the next day if he had made a beginning with his penance task which he had to perform for the disenchantment of Dulcinea. He said he had, and had given himself five lashes overnight.
The duchess asked him what he had given them with.
He said with his hand.
“That,” said the duchess, “is more like giving oneself slaps than lashes; I am sure the sage Merlin will not be satisfied with such tenderness; worthy Sancho must make a scourge with claws, or a cat-o’-nine tails, that will make itself felt; for it’s with blood that letters enter, and the release of so great a lady as Dulcinea will not be granted so cheaply, or at such a paltry price; and remember, Sancho, that works of charity done in a lukewarm and half-hearted way are without merit and of no avail.”
To which Sancho replied, “If your ladyship will give me a proper scourge or cord, I’ll lay on with it, provided it does not hurt too much; for you must know, boor as I am, my flesh is more cotton than hemp, and it won’t do for me to destroy myself for the good of anybody else.”
“So be it by all means,” said the duchess; “tomorrow I’ll give you a scourge that will be just the thing for you, and will accommodate itself to the tenderness of your flesh, as if it was its own sister.”
Then said Sancho, “Your highness must know, dear lady of my soul, that I have a letter written to my wife, Teresa Panza, giving her an account of all that has happened me since I left her; I have it here in my bosom, and there’s nothing wanting but to put the address to it; I’d be glad if your discretion would read it, for I think it runs in the governor style; I mean the way governors ought to write.”
“And who dictated it?” asked the duchess.
“Who should have dictated but myself, sinner as I am?” said Sancho.
“And did you write it yourself?” said the duchess.
“That I didn’t,” said Sancho; “for I can neither read nor write, though I can sign my name.”
“Let us see it,” said the duchess, “for never fear but you display in it the quality and quantity of your wit.”
Sancho drew out an open letter from his bosom, and the duchess, taking it, found it ran in this fashion:
SANCHO Panza’S LETTER TO HIS WIFE, TERESA PANZA
If I was well whipped I went mounted like a gentleman; if I have got a good government it is at the cost of a good whipping. Thou wilt not understand this just now, my Teresa; by-and-by thou wilt know what it means. I may tell thee, Teresa, I mean thee to go in a coach, for that is a matter of importance, because every other way of going is going on all-fours. Thou art a governor’s wife; take care that nobody speaks evil of thee behind thy back. I send thee here a green hunting suit that my lady the duchess gave me; alter it so as to make a petticoat and bodice for our daughter. Don Quixote, my master, if I am to believe what I hear in these parts, is a madman of some sense, and a droll blockhead, and I am no way behind him. We have been in the cave of Montesinos, and the sage Merlin has laid hold of me for the disenchantment of Dulcinea del Toboso, her that is called Aldonza Lorenzo over there. With three thousand three hundred lashes, less five, that I’m to give myself, she will be left as entirely disenchanted as the mother that bore her. Say nothing of this to anyone; for, make thy affairs public, and some will say they are white and others will say they are black. I shall leave this in a few days for my government, to which I am going with a mighty great desire to make money, for they tell me all new governors set out with the same desire; I will feel the pulse of it and will let thee know if thou art to come and live with me or not. Dapple is well and sends many remembrances to thee; I am not going to leave him behind though they took me away to be Grand Turk. My lady the duchess kisses thy hands a thousand times; do thou make a return with two thousand, for as my master says, nothing costs less or is cheaper than civility. God has not been pleased to provide another valise for me with another hundred crowns, like the one the other day; but never mind, my Teresa, the bell-ringer is in safe quarters, and all will come out in the scouring of the government; only it troubles me greatly what they tell me — that once I have tasted it I will eat my hands off after it; and if that is so it will not come very cheap to me; though to be sure the maimed have a benefice of their own in the alms they beg for; so that one way or another thou wilt be rich and in luck. God give it to thee as he can, and keep me to serve thee. From this castle, the 20th of July, 1614.
Thy husband, the governor.
SANCHO Panza
When she had done reading the letter the duchess said to Sancho, “On two points the worthy governor goes rather astray; one is in saying or hinting that this government has been bestowed upon him for the lashes that he is to give himself, when he knows (and he cannot deny it) that when my lord the duke promised it to him nobody ever dreamt of such a thing as lashes; the other is that he shows himself here to he very covetous; and I would not have him a money-seeker, for ‘covetousness bursts the bag,’ and the covetous governor does ungoverned justice.”
“I don’t mean it that way, senora,” said Sancho; “and if you think the letter doesn’t run as it ought to do, it’s only to tear it up and make another; and maybe it will be a worse one if it is left to my gumption.”
“No, no,” said the duchess, “this one will do, and I wish the duke to see it.”
With this they betook themselves to a garden where they were to dine, and the duchess showed Sancho’s letter to the duke, who was highly delighted with it. They dined, and after the cloth had been removed and they had amused themselves for a while with Sancho’s rich conversation, the melancholy sound of a fife and harsh discordant drum made itself heard. All seemed somewhat put out by this dull, confused, martial harmony, especially Don Quixote, who could not keep his seat from pure disquietude; as to Sancho, it is needless to say that fear drove him to his usual refuge, the side or the skirts of the duchess; and indeed and in truth the sound they heard was a most doleful and melancholy one. While they were still in uncertainty they saw advancing towards them through the garden two men clad in mourning robes so long and flowing that they trailed upon the ground. As they marched they beat two great drums which were likewise draped in black, and beside them came the fife player, black and sombre like the others. Following these came a personage of gigantic stature enveloped rather than clad in a gown of the deepest black, the skirt of which was of prodigious dimensions. Over the gown, girdling or crossing his figure, he had a broad baldric which was also black, and from which hung a huge scimitar with a black scabbard and furniture. He had his face covered with a transparent black veil, through which might be descried a very long beard as white as snow. He came on keeping step to the sound of the drums with great gravity and dignity; and, in short, his stature, his gait, the sombreness of his appearance and his following might well have struck with astonishment, as they did, all who beheld him without knowing who he was. With this measured pace and in this guise he advanced to kneel before the duke, who, with the others, awaited him standing. The duke, however, would not on any account allow him to speak until he had risen. The prodigious scarecrow obeyed, and standing up, removed the veil from his face and disclosed the most enormous, the longest, the whitest and the thickest beard that human eyes had ever beheld until that moment, and then fetching up a grave, sonorous voice from the depths of his broad, capacious chest, and fixing his eyes on the duke, he said:
“Most high and mighty senor, my name is Trifaldin of the White Beard; I am squire to the Countess Trifaldi, otherwise called the Distressed Duenna, on whose behalf I bear a message to your highness, which is that your magnificence will be pleased to grant her leave and permission to come and tell you her trouble, which is one of the strangest and most wonderful that the mind most familiar with trouble in the world could have imagined; but first she desires to know if the valiant and never vanquished knight, Don Quixote of La Mancha, is in this your castle, for she has come in quest of him on foot and without breaking her fast from the kingdom of Kandy to your realms here; a thing which may and ought to be regarded as a miracle or set down to enchantment; she is even now at the gate of this fortress or plaisance, and only waits for your permission to enter. I have spoken.” And with that he coughed, and stroked down his beard with both his hands, and stood very tranquilly waiting for the response of the duke, which was to this effect: “Many days ago, worthy squire Trifaldin of the White Beard, we heard of the misfortune of my lady the Countess Trifaldi, whom the enchanters have caused to be called the Distressed Duenna. Bid her enter, O stupendous squire, and tell her that the valiant knight Don Quixote of La Mancha is here, and from his generous disposition she may safely promise herself every protection and assistance; and you may tell her, too, that if my aid be necessary it will not be withheld, for I am bound to give it to her by my quality of knight, which involves the protection of women of all sorts, especially widowed, wronged, and distressed dames, such as her ladyship seems to be.”
On hearing this Trifaldin bent the knee to the ground, and making a sign to the fifer and drummers to strike up, he turned and marched out of the garden to the same notes and at the same pace as when he entered, leaving them all amazed at his bearing and solemnity. Turning to Don Quixote, the duke said, “After all, renowned knight, the mists of malice and ignorance are unable to hide or obscure the light of valour and virtue. I say so, because your excellence has been barely six days in this castle, and already the unhappy and the afflicted come in quest of you from lands far distant and remote, and not in coaches or on dromedaries, but on foot and fasting, confident that in that mighty arm they will find a cure for their sorrows and troubles; thanks to your great achievements, which are circulated all over the known earth.”
“I wish, senor duke,” replied Don Quixote, “that blessed ecclesiastic, who at table the other day showed such ill-will and bitter spite against knights-errant, were here now to see with his own eyes whether knights of the sort are needed in the world; he would at any rate learn by experience that those suffering any extraordinary affliction or sorrow, in extreme cases and unusual misfortunes do not go to look for a remedy to the houses of jurists or village sacristans, or to the knight who has never attempted to pass the bounds of his own town, or to the indolent courtier who only seeks for news to repeat and talk of, instead of striving to do deeds and exploits for others to relate and record. Relief in distress, help in need, protection for damsels, consolation for widows, are to be found in no sort of persons better than in knights-errant; and I give unceasing thanks to heaven that I am one, and regard any misfortune or suffering that may befall me in the pursuit of so honourable a calling as endured to good purpose. Let this duenna come and ask what she will, for I will effect her relief by the might of my arm and the dauntless resolution of my bold heart.”
 
咄咄怪事，以及桑乔写给他老婆的信
公爵有个管家很爱开玩笑，也很会开玩笑。是他扮演了梅尔林，策划了刚才那场闹剧，编了那首诗，并且指使一个侍童串演了杜尔西内亚。最后，管家又与男女主人一起精心策划了另一场更加滑稽的闹剧。
公爵夫人第二天问桑乔，他是否已经开始为解救杜尔西内亚而鞭打自己。桑乔说已经开始了，前一天晚上打了五下。
公爵夫人问他是用什么打的，桑乔回答说是用手。
“这算拍，不叫鞭打。”公爵夫人说，“你打得这么轻，我估计梅尔林魔法师不会满意。好桑乔得做一条带三角钉的粗鞭子，那样抽打自己才会感觉到疼。‘若要学好，功夫得到家’，低廉的代价换不来像杜尔西内亚这样尊贵的夫人的自由。桑乔，你应该知道，随随便便敷衍的慈善行为算不上功德，也没有任何价值。”
桑乔回答说：
“夫人，请您给我一条不太粗的鞭子或绳子吧。我就用它抽打，而且不能把自己打得太疼。我应该告诉您，虽然我是个粗人，可我的肉更像棉花，而不像针茅。我没有必要去为了别人的好处而遭受皮肉之苦。”
“好吧，”公爵夫人说，“明天我给你一条适合你的皮肉的鞭子，让你不会有任何疼痛。”
桑乔说：
“尊贵的夫人，我给我老婆特雷莎•潘萨写了一封信，把我同她分手以后的事都告诉了她。信就在我怀里，现在只欠在信封上写通讯地址了。我想让您也看看。我觉得这封信写得像个总督的样子。我的意思是说，是按照总督写信应该用的那种方式写的。”
“由谁写的呢？”公爵夫人问。
“除了倒霉的我，还会有谁呢？”桑乔说。
“你亲笔写的？”公爵夫人问。
“那可没门儿。”桑乔说，“我既不会读，也不会写，只会签个名。”
“那就让我们看看信吧。”公爵夫人说，“你肯定在你的信里充分表现了你的才华。”
桑乔从怀里拿出一封尚未封口的信。公爵夫人接过来，见到信是这样写的：
桑乔•潘萨给他老婆特雷莎•潘萨的信
虽然我挨了一顿鞭子，却称得上是个男子汉了；只要我能当个好总督，挨一顿鞭子也值得。这些你现在可能还不懂，我的特雷莎，不过以后你会明白的。你该知道，我的特雷莎，现在我已决心让你出门乘马车，这符合你的身份。出门不坐车等于爬。你是总督夫人了，谁敢在背后议论你呢！我派人给你送上一件绿猎装，这是我的女主人公爵夫人送给我的。你把它改一下，给咱们的女儿做条连衣裙吧。我在这儿听说，我的主人唐吉诃德是个有头脑的疯子，是个滑稽的蠢货，而我比他也并不逊色。我们一块儿去过蒙特西诺斯洞窟，梅尔林大师要利用我为杜尔西内亚解除魔法，其实，她叫阿尔东萨•洛伦索。我只要打自己三千三百鞭子，她就会恢复她的本来面目。现在我已经打了五下。这件事你对任何人都不要讲，否则会有人说东道西。过几天我就要启程上任去做总督了。我这次去一心想挣钱，听说所有的新总督都是这么想的。我先去摸摸情况，再通知你是否该来陪伴我。毛驴挺好，它让我代它向你多多问候。我就是做了土耳其苏丹，也不会抛弃它。我们的公爵夫人上千遍地吻你的手，而你得回吻她的手两千遍。我的主人说，得体的礼貌不花钱，却比什么都更值钱。上帝没有像上次那样开恩，再赏给我一个装有一百金盾的手提箱。不过你别难过，我的特雷莎，留得青山在，当了总督就不怕没柴烧。让我担心的是，据说一旦当上了总督，就撒不开手了。如果真是那样，我就太亏了，即使缺胳膊短腿的人，靠乞讨也能得不少钱呢。不过无论怎样，我都会让你享福的。上帝会赐福予你，并且让我服侍你。
你的总督夫君
桑乔•潘萨
1614年7月20日于公爵府
公爵夫人看完信对桑乔说：
“善良的总督在两件事上有偏差：其一是信上说或者让人觉得，这个总督的位置是靠吃鞭子换来的，其实，吃鞭子本来就是他份内之事。他明明知道，而且也无法否认，公爵大人许诺他当总督的时候，还没有谁想到吃鞭子的事呢。另外一点就是从信上可以看出他野心很大。我不想让他适得其反，贪心太大反而会坏了事，贪心的总督执法就会不公正。”
“我并不是那个意思，夫人。”桑乔说，“您如果觉得这封信写得不好，那就把它撕了重写。只怕我这点儿本事，越写越糟。”
“不，不是这样。”公爵夫人说，“信写得不错，而且，我还想让公爵大人看看呢。”
说完他们就到花园去了，那天他们要在花园里吃饭。公爵夫人把桑乔的信拿给公爵看，公爵饶有兴趣地接过来看了一遍。吃完饭，撤去了台布，大家又同桑乔说笑了不少时间。这时，忽然响起一阵凄凉的笛声和沉闷杂乱的鼓声。大家都被这种慌乱、急促和忧伤的旋律弄得心慌意乱，唐吉诃德更是坐立不安。桑乔就更别说了，早又吓得习惯性地跑到他的庇护者——公爵夫人的裙边藏了起来，因为那阵阵鼓乐声听起来确实够瘆人的。
心神不定的众人忽然发现有两个人跑进花园来，长长的黑衣服直拖到地上。他们边走边敲鼓，鼓上也蒙着黑布。旁边还有一个人吹笛子，他也像那两个人一样穿着一身黑衣服。后面还有一个身材魁梧的人，他身上披着一件黑长袍，而不是穿着，长袍的下摆特别大。长袍上斜搭着一条宽宽的黑色皮肩带，肩带上挂着一把大刀，刀把和刀鞘也都是黑色的。那人脸上蒙着透明的黑纱，透过黑纱隐约可见他那极长的胡子。他随着鼓声严肃而又平稳地移动着脚步。他那高大的身材，那从头到脚的黑色，以及那相伴的鼓乐声，使所有不相识的人见了都不寒而栗。
公爵和其他人都站在原地没动。那人走到公爵面前，跪了下来。公爵坚持让那人站起来说话。那个面目可怕的人站了起来，揭开脸上的面罩，露出一张世人从未见过的可怕、修长、白皙而且胡须浓密的脸。他的眼睛盯着公爵，浑厚而又洪亮的声音从他那宽阔的胸膛里传出。他说道：
“尊贵的大人，我叫‘白胡子三摆’，是‘三摆裙伯爵夫人’又称‘忧伤妇人’的侍从。我代她给您捎来个口信，就是请您允许她进来诉说一下她的悲伤，她的悲伤可以说比世上最大的悲伤更悲伤。她首先想知道曼查的那位战无不胜的英勇骑士唐吉诃德是否还在您府上，她为此徒步从坎达亚赶到您这儿，连早饭都没吃呢。这简直可以说是奇迹，或者说是靠魔法的力量才能做到的事情。她这会儿就在这座城堡或是别墅的门口，只要您吩咐一声，她就可以进来。我说完了。”
他说完咳嗽一声，双手从上到下一捋胡子，十分平静地等候公爵的回答。公爵说：
“好吧，好侍从‘白胡子三摆’，很多天以前我们就听说了‘三摆裙伯爵夫人’的不幸，魔法师们使她成了‘忧伤妇人’。优秀的侍从啊，你不妨叫她进来，曼查的英勇骑士唐吉诃德就在这里。他襟怀宽广，肯定会答应全力保护和帮助夫人。另外，你还可以替我告诉她，如果她需要我的帮助，我将义不容辞，这也是一个男人应尽的义务。帮助各类妇女。特别是像夫人这样受到欺侮的忧伤寡妇，更是我们的份内之事。”
“三摆”听了此话，跪拜了一下，就示意吹笛敲鼓，然后踏着来时那样的鼓点，迈着同样的步伐走出了花园。众人对这个人的出现和举止依然惊魂未定。公爵转过身来对唐吉诃德说：
“著名的骑士啊，邪恶和无知的阴云终究遮盖不了意志和道德的光芒。我这样说是因为您到此地才六天，就有痛苦忧伤的人仰慕您的盖世功名，从遥远的地方赶来，并且不是乘马车或者骑骆驼，而是饿着肚子徒步走来，相信您的坚实臂膀可以把他们从痛苦和忧伤中解救出来。”
“公爵大人，”唐吉诃德说，“我很希望那天在饭桌上恶意低毁游侠骑士的可爱教士现在能在这里，让他亲眼看看世界上是否需要游侠骑士。他至少可以亲眼观察到，那些遭受到极大苦难的人在遇到巨大危难的关头并没有去律师事务所，也没有去这里的教堂司事和从来不离开家乡的绅士那儿去寻求解决办法，更没有去找无所事事的朝臣。这种人不去争取建立让人们歌功颂德的事业，却只会把人家的事当新闻到处传播。没有任何人能像游侠骑士这样解除痛苦、救危济困、保护少女、安慰寡妇。我不胜感谢老天，让我有幸成了一名游侠骑士。我将不辞万苦行使我的光荣职责。让这位夫人来吧，她有什么要求尽管说，我将以我的臂膀的力量和我的昂扬精神的坚定斗志，把她从危难中解救出来。”
Part 2 Chapter 37
The duke and duchess were extremely glad to see how readily Don Quixote fell in with their scheme; but at this moment Sancho observed, “I hope this senora duenna won’t be putting any difficulties in the way of the promise of my government; for I have heard a Toledo apothecary, who talked like a goldfinch, say that where duennas were mixed up nothing good could happen. God bless me, how he hated them, that same apothecary! And so what I’m thinking is, if all duennas, of whatever sort or condition they may be, are plagues and busybodies, what must they be that are distressed, like this Countess Three-skirts or Three-tails! — for in my country skirts or tails, tails or skirts, it’s all one.”
“Hush, friend Sancho,” said Don Quixote; “since this lady duenna comes in quest of me from such a distant land she cannot be one of those the apothecary meant; moreover this is a countess, and when countesses serve as duennas it is in the service of queens and empresses, for in their own houses they are mistresses paramount and have other duennas to wait on them.”
To this Dona Rodriguez, who was present, made answer, “My lady the duchess has duennas in her service that might be countesses if it was the will of fortune; ‘but laws go as kings like;’ let nobody speak ill of duennas, above all of ancient maiden ones; for though I am not one myself, I know and am aware of the advantage a maiden duenna has over one that is a widow; but ‘he who clipped us has kept the scissors.’”
“For all that,” said Sancho, “there’s so much to be clipped about duennas, so my barber said, that ‘it will be better not to stir the rice even though it sticks.’”
“These squires,” returned Dona Rodriguez, “are always our enemies; and as they are the haunting spirits of the antechambers and watch us at every step, whenever they are not saying their prayers (and that’s often enough) they spend their time in tattling about us, digging up our bones and burying our good name. But I can tell these walking blocks that we will live in spite of them, and in great houses too, though we die of hunger and cover our flesh, be it delicate or not, with widow’s weeds, as one covers or hides a dunghill on a procession day. By my faith, if it were permitted me and time allowed, I could prove, not only to those here present, but to all the world, that there is no virtue that is not to be found in a duenna.”
“I have no doubt,” said the duchess, “that my good Dona Rodriguez is right, and very much so; but she had better bide her time for fighting her own battle and that of the rest of the duennas, so as to crush the calumny of that vile apothecary, and root out the prejudice in the great Sancho Panza’s mind.”
To which Sancho replied, “Ever since I have sniffed the governorship I have got rid of the humours of a squire, and I don’t care a wild fig for all the duennas in the world.”
They would have carried on this duenna dispute further had they not heard the notes of the fife and drums once more, from which they concluded that the Distressed Duenna was making her entrance. The duchess asked the duke if it would be proper to go out to receive her, as she was a countess and a person of rank.
“In respect of her being a countess,” said Sancho, before the duke could reply, “I am for your highnesses going out to receive her; but in respect of her being a duenna, it is my opinion you should not stir a step.”
“Who bade thee meddle in this, Sancho?” said Don Quixote.
“Who, senor?” said Sancho; “I meddle for I have a right to meddle, as a squire who has learned the rules of courtesy in the school of your worship, the most courteous and best-bred knight in the whole world of courtliness; and in these things, as I have heard your worship say, as much is lost by a card too many as by a card too few, and to one who has his ears open, few words.”
“Sancho is right,” said the duke; “we’ll see what the countess is like, and by that measure the courtesy that is due to her.”
And now the drums and fife made their entrance as before; and here the author brought this short chapter to an end and began the next, following up the same adventure, which is one of the most notable in the history.
 
公爵和公爵夫人见唐吉诃德按照他们的意图乖乖地上了钩，十分高兴。这时桑乔却忽然说道：
“我不想让这位女佣妨碍实现让我当总督的诺言。我听托莱多的一位饶舌的药剂师说过，凡事只要有女佣插手准糟糕。那位药剂师是多么讨厌她们呀！由此我想到，既然所有的女佣不管是什么性格和脾气都令人讨厌，那么，这位被称作‘三摆裙’或‘三尾裙’伯爵夫人的女佣又能怎么样呢？在我们那儿，摆就是尾，尾就是摆，都是一回事。”
“住嘴，桑乔朋友，”唐吉诃德说，“这位女佣既然从很远的地方跑来找我，就决不会是药剂师说的那类女佣，况且她还是伯爵夫人呢。伯爵夫人当女佣，肯定是服侍女王或王后，而在家里则受其他女佣服侍，是十足的贵夫人。”
这时，在场的唐娜罗德里格斯说道：
“我们公爵夫人的女佣若是运气好，也可以做伯爵夫人，只可惜命运的安排往往不如意。谁也别想说女佣的坏话，特别是身为老处女的女佣的坏话！虽然我不是老处女，也完全了解身为老处女的女佣比身为寡妇的女佣强多少。有人剪了我们的头发，手里却仍然拿着剪刀。”
“即使剪了头发，”桑乔说，“女佣身上还是有很多可剪的东西。我们那儿的理发师说过，‘米饭即使粘锅，还是别搅好’。”
“侍从们总是和我们作对。”唐娜罗德里格斯说，“他们就像是前厅里的幽灵，总是随时注视着我们。除了祈祷之外，他们常常嚼舌头议论我们，翻我们的老帐，诋毁我们的名誉。不管这些用黑衣服裹着我们的细嫩或者不细嫩的肌肤，就像在游行的日子里得用什么东西把垃圾堆盖上一样，我们还是存活于世，而且生活在贵人家里！如果有可能的话，而且时间又允许，我会让在场的人以及世界上所有的人都知道，女佣身上具备了各种美德！”
“我觉得唐娜罗德里格斯说得不错，”公爵夫人说，“而且说得很对。不过，你若是想为自己和其他女佣辩护，驳斥那个药剂师的恶意中伤，根除桑乔的偏见，最好还是另外再找时间吧。”
桑乔于是说道：
“自从我有望当上总督之后，骄矜使我摆脱了侍从的所有晦气，我根本就不把这些女佣放在眼里。”
若不是又响起了鼓乐声，表示“忧伤妇人”已经光临，他们的谈话还会继续下去。公爵夫人问公爵该不该出去迎接，因为这毕竟是一位伯爵夫人，是贵人呀。
“因为她是伯爵夫人，”桑乔不等公爵答话便抢先说道，“所以我主张你们出去迎接。但她又是个普通妇人，所以我又觉得你们根本用不着挪步。”
“谁叫你多嘴了，桑乔？”唐吉诃德说。
“谁叫我多嘴，大人？”桑乔说，“是我自己。我这个侍从已经从您那儿学到了规矩，可以称得上是最有礼貌的侍从了。关于这种事，我听您说过：‘同样是输牌，输多输少无所谓’，‘对聪明人不必多言’。”
“桑乔说得对。”公爵说，“咱们先去看看这位伯爵夫人究竟是什么样子，再说该怎么样招待她吧。”
这时，鼓手和笛手又像刚才那样吹吹打打地进来了。
作者将这一短章写至此，便又开始了另一章，继续介绍这件令人难忘的事情。
Part 2 Chapter 38
Following the melancholy musicians there filed into the garden as many as twelve duennas, in two lines, all dressed in ample mourning robes apparently of milled serge, with hoods of fine white gauze so long that they allowed only the border of the robe to be seen. Behind them came the Countess Trifaldi, the squire Trifaldin of the White Beard leading her by the hand, clad in the finest unnapped black baize, such that, had it a nap, every tuft would have shown as big as a Martos chickpea; the tail, or skirt, or whatever it might be called, ended in three points which were borne up by the hands of three pages, likewise dressed in mourning, forming an elegant geometrical figure with the three acute angles made by the three points, from which all who saw the peaked skirt concluded that it must be because of it the countess was called Trifaldi, as though it were Countess of the Three Skirts; and Benengeli says it was so, and that by her right name she was called the Countess Lobuna, because wolves bred in great numbers in her country; and if, instead of wolves, they had been foxes, she would have been called the Countess Zorruna, as it was the custom in those parts for lords to take distinctive titles from the thing or things most abundant in their dominions; this countess, however, in honour of the new fashion of her skirt, dropped Lobuna and took up Trifaldi.
The twelve duennas and the lady came on at procession pace, their faces being covered with black veils, not transparent ones like Trifaldin’s , but so close that they allowed nothing to be seen through them. As soon as the band of duennas was fully in sight, the duke, the duchess, and Don Quixote stood up, as well as all who were watching the slow-moving procession. The twelve duennas halted and formed a lane, along which the Distressed One advanced, Trifaldin still holding her hand. On seeing this the duke, the duchess, and Don Quixote went some twelve paces forward to meet her. She then, kneeling on the ground, said in a voice hoarse and rough, rather than fine and delicate, “May it please your highnesses not to offer such courtesies to this your servant, I should say to this your handmaid, for I am in such distress that I shall never be able to make a proper return, because my strange and unparalleled misfortune has carried off my wits, and I know not whither; but it must be a long way off, for the more I look for them the less I find them.”
“He would be wanting in wits, senora countess,” said the duke, “who did not perceive your worth by your person, for at a glance it may be seen it deserves all the cream of courtesy and flower of polite usage;” and raising her up by the hand he led her to a seat beside the duchess, who likewise received her with great urbanity. Don Quixote remained silent, while Sancho was dying to see the features of Trifaldi and one or two of her many duennas; but there was no possibility of it until they themselves displayed them of their own accord and free will.
All kept still, waiting to see who would break silence, which the Distressed Duenna did in these words: “I am confident, most mighty lord, most fair lady, and most discreet company, that my most miserable misery will be accorded a reception no less dispassionate than generous and condolent in your most valiant bosoms, for it is one that is enough to melt marble, soften diamonds, and mollify the steel of the most hardened hearts in the world; but ere it is proclaimed to your hearing, not to say your ears, I would fain be enlightened whether there be present in this society, circle, or company, that knight immaculatissimus, Don Quixote de la Manchissima, and his squirissimus Panza.”
“The Panza is here,” said Sancho, before anyone could reply, “and Don Quixotissimus too; and so, most distressedest Duenissima, you may say what you willissimus, for we are all readissimus to do you any servissimus.”
On this Don Quixote rose, and addressing the Distressed Duenna, said, “If your sorrows, afflicted lady, can indulge in any hope of relief from the valour or might of any knight-errant, here are mine, which, feeble and limited though they be, shall be entirely devoted to your service. I am Don Quixote of La Mancha, whose calling it is to give aid to the needy of all sorts; and that being so, it is not necessary for you, senora, to make any appeal to benevolence, or deal in preambles, only to tell your woes plainly and straightforwardly: for you have hearers that will know how, if not to remedy them, to sympathise with them.”
On hearing this, the Distressed Duenna made as though she would throw herself at Don Quixote’s feet, and actually did fall before them and said, as she strove to embrace them, “Before these feet and legs I cast myself, O unconquered knight, as before, what they are, the foundations and pillars of knight-errantry; these feet I desire to kiss, for upon their steps hangs and depends the sole remedy for my misfortune, O valorous errant, whose veritable achievements leave behind and eclipse the fabulous ones of the Amadises, Esplandians, and Belianises!” Then turning from Don Quixote to Sancho Panza, and grasping his hands, she said, “O thou, most loyal squire that ever served knight-errant in this present age or ages past, whose goodness is more extensive than the beard of Trifaldin my companion here of present, well mayest thou boast thyself that, in serving the great Don Quixote, thou art serving, summed up in one, the whole host of knights that have ever borne arms in the world. I conjure thee, by what thou owest to thy most loyal goodness, that thou wilt become my kind intercessor with thy master, that he speedily give aid to this most humble and most unfortunate countess.”
To this Sancho made answer, “As to my goodness, senora, being as long and as great as your squire’s beard, it matters very little to me; may I have my soul well bearded and moustached when it comes to quit this life, that’s the point; about beards here below I care little or nothing; but without all these blandishments and prayers, I will beg my master (for I know he loves me, and, besides, he has need of me just now for a certain business) to help and aid your worship as far as he can; unpack your woes and lay them before us, and leave us to deal with them, for we’ll be all of one mind.”
The duke and duchess, as it was they who had made the experiment of this adventure, were ready to burst with laughter at all this, and between themselves they commended the clever acting of the Trifaldi, who, returning to her seat, said, “Queen Dona Maguncia reigned over the famous kingdom of Kandy, which lies between the great Trapobana and the Southern Sea, two leagues beyond Cape Comorin. She was the widow of King Archipiela, her lord and husband, and of their marriage they had issue the Princess Antonomasia, heiress of the kingdom; which Princess Antonomasia was reared and brought up under my care and direction, I being the oldest and highest in rank of her mother’s duennas. Time passed, and the young Antonomasia reached the age of fourteen, and such a perfection of beauty, that nature could not raise it higher. Then, it must not be supposed her intelligence was childish; she was as intelligent as she was fair, and she was fairer than all the world; and is so still, unless the envious fates and hard-hearted sisters three have cut for her the thread of life. But that they have not, for Heaven will not suffer so great a wrong to Earth, as it would be to pluck unripe the grapes of the fairest vineyard on its surface. Of this beauty, to which my poor feeble tongue has failed to do justice, countless princes, not only of that country, but of others, were enamoured, and among them a private gentleman, who was at the court, dared to raise his thoughts to the heaven of so great beauty, trusting to his youth, his gallant bearing, his numerous accomplishments and graces, and his quickness and readiness of wit; for I may tell your highnesses, if I am not wearying you, that he played the guitar so as to make it speak, and he was, besides, a poet and a great dancer, and he could make birdcages so well, that by making them alone he might have gained a livelihood, had he found himself reduced to utter poverty; and gifts and graces of this kind are enough to bring down a mountain, not to say a tender young girl. But all his gallantry, wit, and gaiety, all his graces and accomplishments, would have been of little or no avail towards gaining the fortress of my pupil, had not the impudent thief taken the precaution of gaining me over first. First, the villain and heartless vagabond sought to win my good-will and purchase my compliance, so as to get me, like a treacherous warder, to deliver up to him the keys of the fortress I had in charge. In a word, he gained an influence over my mind, and overcame my resolutions with I know not what trinkets and jewels he gave me; but it was some verses I heard him singing one night from a grating that opened on the street where he lived, that, more than anything else, made me give way and led to my fall; and if I remember rightly they ran thus:
From that sweet enemy of mine
My bleeding heart hath had its wound;
And to increase the pain I’m bound
To suffer and to make no sign.
The lines seemed pearls to me and his voice sweet as syrup; and afterwards, I may say ever since then, looking at the misfortune into which I have fallen, I have thought that poets, as Plato advised, ought to he banished from all well-ordered States; at least the amatory ones, for they write verses, not like those of ‘The Marquis of Mantua,’ that delight and draw tears from the women and children, but sharp-pointed conceits that pierce the heart like soft thorns, and like the lightning strike it, leaving the raiment uninjured. Another time he sang:
Come Death, so subtly veiled that I
Thy coming know not, how or when,
Lest it should give me life again
To find how sweet it is to die.
— and other verses and burdens of the same sort, such as enchant when sung and fascinate when written. And then, when they condescend to compose a sort of verse that was at that time in vogue in Kandy, which they call seguidillas! Then it is that hearts leap and laughter breaks forth, and the body grows restless and all the senses turn quicksilver. And so I say, sirs, that these troubadours richly deserve to be banished to the isles of the lizards. Though it is not they that are in fault, but the simpletons that extol them, and the fools that believe in them; and had I been the faithful duenna I should have been, his stale conceits would have never moved me, nor should I have been taken in by such phrases as ‘in death I live,’ ‘in ice I burn,’ ‘in flames I shiver,’ ‘hopeless I hope,’ ‘I go and stay,’ and paradoxes of that sort which their writings are full of. And then when they promise the Phoenix of Arabia, the crown of Ariadne, the horses of the Sun, the pearls of the South, the gold of Tibar, and the balsam of Panchaia! Then it is they give a loose to their pens, for it costs them little to make promises they have no intention or power of fulfilling. But where am I wandering to? Woe is me, unfortunate being! What madness or folly leads me to speak of the faults of others, when there is so much to be said about my own? Again, woe is me, hapless that I am! it was not verses that conquered me, but my own simplicity; it was not music made me yield, but my own imprudence; my own great ignorance and little caution opened the way and cleared the path for Don Clavijo’s advances, for that was the name of the gentleman I have referred to; and so, with my help as go-between, he found his way many a time into the chamber of the deceived Antonomasia (deceived not by him but by me) under the title of a lawful husband; for, sinner though I was, would not have allowed him to approach the edge of her shoe-sole without being her husband. No, no, not that; marriage must come first in any business of this sort that I take in hand. But there was one hitch in this case, which was that of inequality of rank, Don Clavijo being a private gentleman, and the Princess Antonomasia, as I said, heiress to the kingdom. The entanglement remained for some time a secret, kept hidden by my cunning precautions, until I perceived that a certain expansion of waist in Antonomasia must before long disclose it, the dread of which made us all there take counsel together, and it was agreed that before the mischief came to light, Don Clavijo should demand Antonomasia as his wife before the Vicar, in virtue of an agreement to marry him made by the princess, and drafted by my wit in such binding terms that the might of Samson could not have broken it. The necessary steps were taken; the Vicar saw the agreement, and took the lady’s confession; she confessed everything in full, and he ordered her into the custody of a very worthy alguacil of the court.”
“Are there alguacils of the court in Kandy, too,” said Sancho at this, “and poets, and seguidillas? I swear I think the world is the same all over! But make haste, Senora Trifaldi; for it is late, and I am dying to know the end of this long story.”
“I will,” replied the countess.
 
十二个妇人排成两行，跟在那几个忧伤的吹鼓手后面走进了花园。她们身上穿着宽大的丧服，丧服像是一种类似哔叽的绒布做的，她们头上披着细白布长巾，只露出丧服的一点儿饰边。侍从“白胡子三摆”牵着“三摆裙伯爵夫人”的手跟在后面。夫人穿的是极细密的黑色台面呢，如果用刷子卷刷一下，那结成的卷儿肯定比马托斯出产的鹰嘴豆还大。她的所谓“三尾”或“三摆”都是尖形的，由三个身着丧服的侍童提着，三个三角形构成了一个引人注目的几何图形。看到这尖摆裙，所有人都明白她为什么叫“三摆裙伯爵夫人”了。据贝嫩赫利说，她确实是由此得名为“三摆裙伯爵夫人”的，其实按照她的本名，她应该叫“母狼伯爵夫人”。当地习惯于以某人领地上最多的东西来称呼他。如果这位夫人的领地上狐狸多，就会叫她“狐狸伯爵夫人”。不过，这位夫人为了突出她的裙子，没有叫“母狼伯爵夫人”，而是叫“三摆裙伯爵夫人”。
十二个女佣和伯爵夫人迈着稳重的步伐行进。女佣们脸上都蒙着黑纱，不过不像伯爵夫人的黑纱那样透明，而是很厚实，让人一点儿也看不见黑纱后面的东西。这一行人刚一出现，公爵、公爵夫人和唐吉诃德就站了起来。其他人见到这一队人也都站了起来。十二个女佣停住了脚步，让开一条路，“三摆裙伯爵夫人”从后面走上前来，拉着“白胡子三摆”的手依然没有松开。公爵、公爵夫人和唐吉诃德上前十几步去迎接这位夫人。这时，伯爵夫人跪到地上，不是细声细气而是粗声粗气地说道：
“诸位大人，对你们的仆人，对你们这个女佣，不必过分客气。我是忧伤人，不懂得还礼，我的天大不幸已使我不知魂归何处了，大概已经跑到很远的地方去了。我越是寻找，越找不到。”
“伯爵夫人，”公爵说，“如果有谁没发现您的风雅，那才是有眼无珠呢。您的雍容华贵和文质彬彬是有目共睹的。”
公爵拉着伯爵夫人的手，请她站起来，让她坐到公爵夫人身旁的一把椅子上。公爵夫人也非常客气地请她坐下。唐吉诃德默不作声。桑乔却急于看到“三摆裙夫人”和那些女佣的面孔。不过，除非那些人自愿把脸露出来，否则桑乔是根本不可能看到的。
大家都静静地等着，看谁先开口。最后，还是忧伤妇人先开了腔：
“最尊贵的大人，最美丽的夫人，最机智的各位先生，我相信我的最大痛苦已经在你们宽广的胸怀里引起了最深切的同情。我的痛苦足以让大理石动情，让钻石伤感，让世界上最冷酷的心牵肠挂肚。不过，在我讲述我的痛苦经历之前，我希望你们能告诉我，最曼查最正直的骑士唐吉诃德和他的最侍从桑乔是否在你们这里。”
“桑乔在这里，”桑乔不等别人答话就抢先说道，“那个最唐吉诃德也在这里。所以，最忧伤的贵妇人，您最可以畅所欲言，我们大家都最愿意为您效劳。”
唐吉诃德这时站了起来，对忧伤妇人讲道：
“忧伤妇人，如果某位游侠骑士的勇气和力量有希望使您摆脱痛苦，那么我愿意用我的菲薄之力为您效劳。我就是曼查的唐吉诃德。我的任务就是帮助各种各样的落难者。所以，您不必感恩戴德地拐弯抹角，请您把您的痛苦直截了当地说出来吧。我们听了以后即使不能帮助您，至少也会对您表示同情。”
忧伤妇人闻言扑到唐吉诃德脚下，然后又抱住他的脚说：
“我要扑倒在您脚下，无敌的骑士！这双脚是游侠骑士的支柱。我想吻这双脚，解脱我的痛苦全得靠这双脚迈出的步伐。勇敢的游侠骑士，您的光辉事迹使阿马迪斯、埃斯普兰蒂安和贝利亚尼斯的传奇般的业绩都相形见绌！”
说完她又转向桑乔，拉着桑乔的手说：
“你是古往今来最忠实地为游侠骑士效劳的侍从，你的恩德比我的伙伴‘白胡子三摆’的胡子还长！你完全可以因为你为伟大的唐吉诃德效劳，从而为全世界所有从武的游侠骑士效了劳而感到骄傲！你忠实善良，因此我请求你帮我恳求你的主人，让他救助我这个卑微不幸的伯爵夫人吧。”
桑乔回答说：
“夫人，我的恩德是不是像您的侍从的胡子那样长，我倒不在乎。关键是来世我的灵魂还得有胡子，至于现在的胡子怎么样，我倒是无所谓的，或者说根本没关系。您用不着百般请求，我一定会请我的主人尽力帮助您。我知道我的主人非常喜欢我，更何况他现在还需要我帮忙为他做件事呢。您可以把您的痛苦都讲出来，咱们不妨商量商量。”
公爵、公爵夫人和其他知情人顿时笑出了声。他们暗自称赞“三摆裙夫人”善于随机应变，而且装得惟妙惟肖。“三摆裙夫人”重新又坐下，说道：
“在特拉波瓦纳和南海之间，离科摩林角两西里外的地方有个著名的坎达亚王国，由阿奇彼拉国王的遗孀唐娜马贡西娅管理。阿奇彼拉国王和唐娜马贡西娅有个公主叫安东诺玛霞，她是这个王国的继承人。安东诺玛霞是由我带大的，我是她母亲手下资格最老、作用最大的女佣。
“天来日往，安东诺玛霞长到了十四岁。她长得太美了，美得不能再美了。她很聪明，但那时还是孩子式的聪明。她既聪明又漂亮，简直可以说是世界上最漂亮的人。她现在也是世界上最美丽的人，除非嫉妒美丽的命运和狠毒的命运女神①割断了她的生命线。不过，老天不会允许，也不应该允许人间出现这样的罪恶，那就等于是把人间最甜美的葡萄在还没成熟的时候摘了下来。这位美丽的姑娘，都怪我嘴笨，不能把她的美貌形容出来，她引起了国内外无数王孙公子的爱慕。其中有京城的一位男子，自恃貌美有钱而且多才多艺，竟然对姑娘想入非非。如果你们不讨厌的话，我可以告诉你们，他弹起吉他来如歌如诉，而且他不仅会作诗，还会跳舞。他还会做鸟笼子，以后如果生活上窘困，他光靠做鸟笼子就能维持生活。他的这些本领完全可以倾倒一座大山，就更别说倾倒一个姑娘了。可是，这个不要脸的家伙若不用计策首先攻破我这一关，他的所有那些才能就很难或者根本不可能征服姑娘这座堡垒。这个心术不正的家伙想首先打通我这一关，博取我的欢心，好让我这个糊涂看门人把我看守的这座堡垒的钥匙交给他。总之，他用一些小首饰笼络我，买通了我。不过，最令我俯首听命的还是一天晚上我听到他唱的一首歌。我的住处的一扇窗户就对着他住的那条小巷。如果我没记错的话，歌词是这样的：
①命运女神共有三个，共同掌管人的生命之线，一个纺，一个量，一个剪。
我那甜蜜的冤家对头
把我的心灵伤透，
纵然倍受煎熬，
苦不堪言，我仍极力忍受。
“当时我觉得这歌词字字珠玑，歌声似蜜，从那以后我才知道了这类诗的害处。我觉得应该像柏拉图建议的那样，在正经八摆的国家里把那些诗人驱逐出境，至少是那些写坏诗的人。这种人的诗不像曼图亚侯爵的诗那样，能为儿童和妇女带来欢乐和眼泪，却只能产生害处，就像软刀子一样刺穿你的灵魂，或者像闪电一样，虽然并没损害人的衣服，却已伤害了人的灵魂。他还唱道：
让死亡不知不觉
悄悄来临吧，
死亡的快乐
也不能重新给我生命。
“这类歌的歌声让人心旷神怡，歌词让人如痴如醉。如果将这类词句改写成那种在坎达亚颇为流行的塞基迪亚，又会怎么样呢？那就会让人神魂颠倒、嬉笑无常和坐立不宁，总之一句话，人就像抽了疯似的。所以我说，诸位大人把这类诗人驱逐到拉加托岛①去完全是名正言顺的。不过这也不怪他们，全怪那些吹捧他们、相信他们的笨蛋。如果我是个好管家，就不会相信他们那些陈腐的观念和骗人的谎话，什么‘我在死亡里生活’，‘在冰块里燃烧’，‘在火里发抖’，‘毫无希望地期待’，‘我走了依然留下’，以及其他这类根本不着边际的东西。他们还动不动就许给你长生鸟、阿里阿德涅的北冕星座②、太阳车上的马、南海的珍珠、台伯河的黄金，以及潘卡亚的香脂等等，结果又怎么样呢？反正他们大笔一挥，不费什么力气就许诺了很多连想都想不出，而且也根本办不到的东西。可是，我扯到哪儿去了？我这个人真糟糕，自己这么多事还没说呢，怎么倒数落起别人的过错来了？我这个人真糟糕，那些诗并没能征服我，倒是我自己的单纯征服了我。那些音乐并没能打动我的心，倒是我自己的轻浮动摇了我。我的愚昧无知和缺少警惕为克拉维霍打开了方便之门，克拉维霍就是我刚才说的那个男子。我成了他们的中间人。他一次又一次以安东诺玛霞真正丈夫的名义来到安东诺玛霞的房间。安东诺玛霞实际上不是受克拉维霍的骗，而是受了我的骗。但我虽然有错，如果不是她丈夫，我决不会让别人沾她的边儿！
①关押重犯的岛屿，位于牙买加西侧。
②阿里阿德涅是希腊神话中一女神，后升天化为北冕星座。
“这不行，我要管这种事，他们无论如何也得结婚！他们的这桩婚事里只有一点不好，就是两人地位不平等。克拉维霍是个普通男子，而安东诺玛霞公主则是这个王国的继承人。我精心策划这件事，可是后来安东诺玛霞的肚子鼓了起来，吓得我们三个人赶紧商量对策，决定在事情还没有败露之前，先让公主出一张愿意做克拉维霍妻子的字据，由我来证明，铁证如山，就是大力士参孙也推不翻，然后再让克拉维霍拿着这张字据去找教区牧师，请求允许安东诺玛霞做他的妻子。牧师看了字据，又听了公主的忏悔，公主说出了实情，于是他吩咐把公主送到京城一个很正直的小官吏家里藏起来……”
桑乔这时说：
“原来在坎达亚也有官吏，也有诗人和塞基迪亚呀。我敢说，世界上哪儿都一样。不过，‘三摆裙夫人’，您快点讲吧，时间不早了，我特别想知道这个长长故事的结局呢。”
“那我就讲下去，”伯爵夫人说。
Part 2 Chapter 39
By every word that Sancho uttered, the duchess was as much delighted as Don Quixote was driven to desperation. He bade him hold his tongue, and the Distressed One went on to say: “At length, after much questioning and answering, as the princess held to her story, without changing or varying her previous declaration, the Vicar gave his decision in favour of Don Clavijo, and she was delivered over to him as his lawful wife; which the Queen Dona Maguncia, the Princess Antonomasia’s mother, so took to heart, that within the space of three days we buried her.”
“She died, no doubt,” said Sancho.
“Of course,” said Trifaldin; “they don’t bury living people in Kandy, only the dead.”
“Senor Squire,” said Sancho, “a man in a swoon has been known to be buried before now, in the belief that he was dead; and it struck me that Queen Maguncia ought to have swooned rather than died; because with life a great many things come right, and the princess’s folly was not so great that she need feel it so keenly. If the lady had married some page of hers, or some other servant of the house, as many another has done, so I have heard say, then the mischief would have been past curing. But to marry such an elegant accomplished gentleman as has been just now described to us — indeed, indeed, though it was a folly, it was not such a great one as you think; for according to the rules of my master here — and he won’t allow me to lie — as of men of letters bishops are made, so of gentlemen knights, specially if they be errant, kings and emperors may be made.”
“Thou art right, Sancho,” said Don Quixote, “for with a knight-errant, if he has but two fingers’ breadth of good fortune, it is on the cards to become the mightiest lord on earth. But let senora the Distressed One proceed; for I suspect she has got yet to tell us the bitter part of this so far sweet story.”
“The bitter is indeed to come,” said the countess; “and such bitter that colocynth is sweet and oleander toothsome in comparison. The queen, then, being dead, and not in a swoon, we buried her; and hardly had we covered her with earth, hardly had we said our last farewells, when, quis talia fando temperet a lachrymis? over the queen’s grave there appeared, mounted upon a wooden horse, the giant Malambruno, Maguncia’s first cousin, who besides being cruel is an enchanter; and he, to revenge the death of his cousin, punish the audacity of Don Clavijo, and in wrath at the contumacy of Antonomasia, left them both enchanted by his art on the grave itself; she being changed into an ape of brass, and he into a horrible crocodile of some unknown metal; while between the two there stands a pillar, also of metal, with certain characters in the Syriac language inscribed upon it, which, being translated into Kandian, and now into Castilian, contain the following sentence: ‘These two rash lovers shall not recover their former shape until the valiant Manchegan comes to do battle with me in single combat; for the Fates reserve this unexampled adventure for his mighty valour alone.’ This done, he drew from its sheath a huge broad scimitar, and seizing me by the hair he made as though he meant to cut my throat and shear my head clean off. I was terror-stricken, my voice stuck in my throat, and I was in the deepest distress; nevertheless I summoned up my strength as well as I could, and in a trembling and piteous voice I addressed such words to him as induced him to stay the infliction of a punishment so severe. He then caused all the duennas of the palace, those that are here present, to be brought before him; and after having dwelt upon the enormity of our offence, and denounced duennas, their characters, their evil ways and worse intrigues, laying to the charge of all what I alone was guilty of, he said he would not visit us with capital punishment, but with others of a slow nature which would be in effect civil death for ever; and the very instant he ceased speaking we all felt the pores of our faces opening, and pricking us, as if with the points of needles. We at once put our hands up to our faces and found ourselves in the state you now see.”
Here the Distressed One and the other duennas raised the veils with which they were covered, and disclosed countenances all bristling with beards, some red, some black, some white, and some grizzled, at which spectacle the duke and duchess made a show of being filled with wonder. Don Quixote and Sancho were overwhelmed with amazement, and the bystanders lost in astonishment, while the Trifaldi went on to say: “Thus did that malevolent villain Malambruno punish us, covering the tenderness and softness of our faces with these rough bristles! Would to heaven that he had swept off our heads with his enormous scimitar instead of obscuring the light of our countenances with these wool-combings that cover us! For if we look into the matter, sirs (and what I am now going to say I would say with eyes flowing like fountains, only that the thought of our misfortune and the oceans they have already wept, keep them as dry as barley spears, and so I say it without tears), where, I ask, can a duenna with a beard to to? What father or mother will feel pity for her? Who will help her? For, if even when she has a smooth skin, and a face tortured by a thousand kinds of washes and cosmetics, she can hardly get anybody to love her, what will she do when she shows a countenace turned into a thicket? Oh duennas, companions mine! it was an unlucky moment when we were born and an ill-starred hour when our fathers begot us!” And as she said this she showed signs of being about to faint.
 
无论桑乔说什么，公爵夫人都很喜欢听，可是唐吉诃德却急坏了，他让桑乔赶紧住嘴。忧伤妇人又接着说道：
“简单说吧，后来几经反复，公主还是坚持己见，不改初衷，于是牧师批准了克拉维霍的请求，让安东诺玛霞做了他的妻子。这一下可把安东诺玛霞的母亲唐娜马贡西娅气坏了。
没过三天，我们就把她埋掉了。”
“那么她准是死了。”桑乔说。
“那当然，”白胡子三摆说，“在坎达亚从来不埋活人，只埋死人。”
“侍从大人，”桑乔说，“以前可有过晕过去的人被当成死人埋掉的事情。我觉得马贡西娅王后可能是晕过去了，并不是死了。只要人还活着，很多事都可以商量，而且公主的事也并不是什么很大的蠢事，何至于让她这么难过！如果公主同某个侍童，或者同她家的某个佣人结了婚，这种事常有，那才是没有办法的糟糕事呢。若是照您说的，她嫁给了一个英俊而又有才华的男子，即使是件蠢事，也并不像人们想象得那么蠢。按照我主人的规定，他就在旁边，从来不许我说谎，既然文人雅士可以成为主教，那么骑士，特别是游侠骑士，就完全可以成为国王和皇帝。”
“你说得对，桑乔，”唐吉诃德说，“游侠骑士只要有一点运气，就可以成为世界上最高贵的主人。不过忧伤妇人，请您继续讲下去吧，我似乎觉得这个甜蜜的故事后面就是悲苦的部分了。”
“岂止是苦呀，”伯爵夫人说，“而且是苦得很呢！与这个苦比起来，药西瓜①都算是甜的，夹竹桃也算是香的了。王后不是昏过去了，她确实是死了，我们把她掩埋了。这事谁能闻之不泣呢？我们刚刚把土盖好，还没来得及说一声‘安息吧’，就看见马贡西娅的表兄马兰布鲁诺巨人骑着一匹木马出现在王后的坟墓上。他这个人不仅狠毒，而且会魔法。为了给王后报仇，他就在王后的坟墓上对胆大妄为的克拉维霍和轻佻放纵的安东诺玛霞施了魔法。他把安东诺玛霞变成了一只青铜母猴，把克拉维霍变成了一条不知是什么金属的可怕鳄鱼，在他们俩中间还立了一个同样是用那种金属做的纪念碑，上面用叙利亚文写了几行字，若是译成坎达亚语，现在再翻成西班牙语，意思就是：‘在曼查的勇士同我展开一场恶战之前，这一对胆大妄为的情人不得恢复原状，这次空前的事件要靠那位勇士才能解决。’施完魔法后，马兰布鲁诺从刀鞘里抽出一把又长又大的大刀，揪着我的头发，做出要切断我的喉咙、割掉我的脑袋的样子。我吓坏了，可我还是竭尽我的全力，声音颤抖而又痛苦地对他说这说那，这才使他放了手。最后，他把王宫里的所有女仆都叫来，也就是现在旁边这几位女仆，除了大骂女仆们品行恶劣、诡计多端之外，还把我的罪责也都加到了她们身上。他说，他不想一下子杀了我们，他要慢慢地折磨我们，让我们欲死不能，欲活不成。他刚说完这句话，我们就觉得我们脸上的毛孔都张开了，整张脸都像被针扎了似的，用手一摸脸，我们发现自己已经变成了现在这模样。”
①一种植物，味苦。
忧伤妇人和其他女仆说着就摘掉了头罩，露出了满是胡须的脸庞，有的是金黄色的，有的是黑色的，有的是白色的，还有的是灰白色的。公爵和公爵夫人都惊讶不已，唐吉诃德和桑乔也呆住了，在场的其他人更是面带惧色。“三摆裙夫人”又接着说道：
“那个坏蛋马兰布鲁诺就是这样惩罚我们的，他用这些猪鬃似的东西遮盖了我们娇嫩的脸庞。我宁愿祈求老天让他用大刀割掉我们的脑袋，也不愿意让这些毛烘烘的东西遮住我们的脸！再往下讲我本来会泪如泉涌的，可是一想到我们遭受的不幸，我们已经欲哭无泪，所以再往下讲我也就不会流泪了。咱们不妨想一想，诸位大人，一个满脸胡须的女仆能够到哪儿去呢？谁家的父母能不为自己的女儿变成这个样子而心疼呢？谁能帮助她呢？以前她的脸细滑柔嫩，还涂了很多香脂，尚且没有人十分爱她，现在她满脸胡须，又该怎么办呢？我的女仆伙伴们啊，咱们真是生不逢时啊，父母是在不吉利的时辰生养了我们！”
说到这儿，她似乎要昏过去了。
Part 2 Chapter 40
Verily and truly all those who find pleasure in histories like this ought show their gratitude to Cide Hamete, its original author, for the scrupulous care he has taken to set before us all its minute particulars, not leaving anything, however trifling it may be, that he does not make clear and plain. He portrays the thoughts, he reveals the fancies, he answers implied questions, clears up doubts, sets objections at rest, and, in a word, makes plain the smallest points the most inquisitive can desire to know. O renowned author! O happy Don Quixote! O famous famous droll Sancho! All and each, may ye live countless ages for the delight and amusement of the dwellers on earth!
The history goes on to say that when Sancho saw the Distressed One faint he exclaimed: “I swear by the faith of an honest man and the shades of all my ancestors the Panzas, that never I did see or hear of, nor has my master related or conceived in his mind, such an adventure as this. A thousand devils — not to curse thee — take thee, Malambruno, for an enchanter and a giant! Couldst thou find no other sort of punishment for these sinners but bearding them? Would it not have been better — it would have been better for them — to have taken off half their noses from the middle upwards, even though they’d have snuffled when they spoke, than to have put beards on them? I’ll bet they have not the means of paying anybody to shave them.”
“That is the truth, senor,” said one of the twelve; “we have not the money to get ourselves shaved, and so we have, some of us, taken to using sticking-plasters by way of an economical remedy, for by applying them to our faces and plucking them off with a jerk we are left as bare and smooth as the bottom of a stone mortar. There are, to be sure, women in Kandy that go about from house to house to remove down, and trim eyebrows, and make cosmetics for the use of the women, but we, the duennas of my lady, would never let them in, for most of them have a flavour of agents that have ceased to be principals; and if we are not relieved by Senor Don Quixote we shall be carried to our graves with beards.”
“I will pluck out my own in the land of the Moors,” said Don Quixote, “if I don’t cure yours.”
At this instant the Trifaldi recovered from her swoon and said, “The chink of that promise, valiant knight, reached my ears in the midst of my swoon, and has been the means of reviving me and bringing back my senses; and so once more I implore you, illustrious errant, indomitable sir, to let your gracious promises be turned into deeds.”
“There shall be no delay on my part,” said Don Quixote. “Bethink you, senora, of what I must do, for my heart is most eager to serve you.”
“The fact is,” replied the Distressed One, “it is five thousand leagues, a couple more or less, from this to the kingdom of Kandy, if you go by land; but if you go through the air and in a straight line, it is three thousand two hundred and twenty-seven. You must know, too, that Malambruno told me that, whenever fate provided the knight our deliverer, he himself would send him a steed far better and with less tricks than a post-horse; for he will be that same wooden horse on which the valiant Pierres carried off the fair Magalona; which said horse is guided by a peg he has in his forehead that serves for a bridle, and flies through the air with such rapidity that you would fancy the very devils were carrying him. This horse, according to ancient tradition, was made by Merlin. He lent him to Pierres, who was a friend of his, and who made long journeys with him, and, as has been said, carried off the fair Magalona, bearing her through the air on its haunches and making all who beheld them from the earth gape with astonishment; and he never lent him save to those whom he loved or those who paid him well; and since the great Pierres we know of no one having mounted him until now. From him Malambruno stole him by his magic art, and he has him now in his possession, and makes use of him in his journeys which he constantly makes through different parts of the world; he is here to-day, to-morrow in France, and the next day in Potosi; and the best of it is the said horse neither eats nor sleeps nor wears out shoes, and goes at an ambling pace through the air without wings, so that he whom he has mounted upon him can carry a cup full of water in his hand without spilling a drop, so smoothly and easily does he go, for which reason the fair Magalona enjoyed riding him greatly.”
“For going smoothly and easily,” said Sancho at this, “give me my Dapple, though he can’t go through the air; but on the ground I’ll back him against all the amblers in the world.”
They all laughed, and the Distressed One continued: “And this same horse, if so be that Malambruno is disposed to put an end to our sufferings, will be here before us ere the night shall have advanced half an hour; for he announced to me that the sign he would give me whereby I might know that I had found the knight I was in quest of, would be to send me the horse wherever he might be, speedily and promptly.”
“And how many is there room for on this horse?” asked Sancho.
“Two,” said the Distressed One, “one in the saddle, and the other on the croup; and generally these two are knight and squire, when there is no damsel that’s being carried off.”
“I’d like to know, Senora Distressed One,” said Sancho, “what is the name of this horse?”
“His name,” said the Distressed One, “is not the same as Bellerophon’s horse that was called Pegasus, or Alexander the Great’s , called Bucephalus, or Orlando Furioso’s, the name of which was Brigliador, nor yet Bayard, the horse of Reinaldos of Montalvan, nor Frontino like Ruggiero’s , nor Bootes or Peritoa, as they say the horses of the sun were called, nor is he called Orelia, like the horse on which the unfortunate Rodrigo, the last king of the Goths, rode to the battle where he lost his life and his kingdom.”
“I’ll bet,” said Sancho, “that as they have given him none of these famous names of well-known horses, no more have they given him the name of my master’s Rocinante, which for being apt surpasses all that have been mentioned.”
“That is true,” said the bearded countess, “still it fits him very well, for he is called Clavileno the Swift, which name is in accordance with his being made of wood, with the peg he has in his forehead, and with the swift pace at which he travels; and so, as far as name goes, he may compare with the famous Rocinante.”
“I have nothing to say against his name,” said Sancho; “but with what sort of bridle or halter is he managed?”
“I have said already,” said the Trifaldi, “that it is with a peg, by turning which to one side or the other the knight who rides him makes him go as he pleases, either through the upper air, or skimming and almost sweeping the earth, or else in that middle course that is sought and followed in all well-regulated proceedings.”
“I’d like to see him,” said Sancho; “but to fancy I’m going to mount him, either in the saddle or on the croup, is to ask pears of the elm tree. A good joke indeed! I can hardly keep my seat upon Dapple, and on a pack-saddle softer than silk itself, and here they’d have me hold on upon haunches of plank without pad or cushion of any sort! Gad, I have no notion of bruising myself to get rid of anyone’s beard; let each one shave himself as best he can; I’m not going to accompany my master on any such long journey; besides, I can’t give any help to the shaving of these beards as I can to the disenchantment of my lady Dulcinea.”
“Yes, you can, my friend,” replied the Trifaldi; “and so much, that without you, so I understand, we shall be able to do nothing.”
“In the king’s name!” exclaimed Sancho, “what have squires got to do with the adventures of their masters? Are they to have the fame of such as they go through, and we the labour? Body o’ me! if the historians would only say, ‘Such and such a knight finished such and such an adventure, but with the help of so and so, his squire, without which it would have been impossible for him to accomplish it;’ but they write curtly, “Don Paralipomenon of the Three Stars accomplished the adventure of the six monsters;’ without mentioning such a person as his squire, who was there all the time, just as if there was no such being. Once more, sirs, I say my master may go alone, and much good may it do him; and I’ll stay here in the company of my lady the duchess; and maybe when he comes back, he will find the lady Dulcinea’s affair ever so much advanced; for I mean in leisure hours, and at idle moments, to give myself a spell of whipping without so much as a hair to cover me.”
“For all that you must go if it be necessary, my good Sancho,” said the duchess, “for they are worthy folk who ask you; and the faces of these ladies must not remain overgrown in this way because of your idle fears; that would be a hard case indeed.”
“In the king’s name, once more!” said Sancho; “If this charitable work were to be done for the sake of damsels in confinement or charity-girls, a man might expose himself to some hardships; but to bear it for the sake of stripping beards off duennas! Devil take it! I’d sooner see them all bearded, from the highest to the lowest, and from the most prudish to the most affected.”
“You are very hard on duennas, Sancho my friend,” said the duchess; “you incline very much to the opinion of the Toledo apothecary. But indeed you are wrong; there are duennas in my house that may serve as patterns of duennas; and here is my Dona Rodriguez, who will not allow me to say otherwise.”
“Your excellence may say it if you like,” said the Rodriguez; “for God knows the truth of everything; and whether we duennas are good or bad, bearded or smooth, we are our mothers’ daughters like other women; and as God sent us into the world, he knows why he did, and on his mercy I rely, and not on anybody’s beard.”
“Well, Senora Rodriguez, Senora Trifaldi, and present company,” said Don Quixote, “I trust in Heaven that it will look with kindly eyes upon your troubles, for Sancho will do as I bid him. Only let Clavileno come and let me find myself face to face with Malambruno, and I am certain no razor will shave you more easily than my sword shall shave Malambruno’s head off his shoulders; for ‘God bears with the wicked, but not for ever.”
“Ah!” exclaimed the Distressed One at this, “may all the stars of the celestial regions look down upon your greatness with benign eyes, valiant knight, and shed every prosperity and valour upon your heart, that it may be the shield and safeguard of the abused and downtrodden race of duennas, detested by apothecaries, sneered at by squires, and made game of by pages. Ill betide the jade that in the flower of her youth would not sooner become a nun than a duenna! Unfortunate beings that we are, we duennas! Though we may be descended in the direct male line from Hector of Troy himself, our mistresses never fail to address us as ‘you’ if they think it makes queens of them. O giant Malambruno, though thou art an enchanter, thou art true to thy promises. Send us now the peerless Clavileno, that our misfortune may be brought to an end; for if the hot weather sets in and these beards of ours are still there, alas for our lot!”
The Trifaldi said this in such a pathetic way that she drew tears from the eyes of all and even Sancho’s filled up; and he resolved in his heart to accompany his master to the uttermost ends of the earth, if so be the removal of the wool from those venerable countenances depended upon it.
 
所有喜欢这个故事的人真应该感谢原作者锡德•哈迈德，他事无巨细地向我们介绍了故事的每一个细节。他向我们刻画了人物的思想，揭示了人物的想象力，道出了隐情，解开了疑团，分析了情节，总之，把人们想知道的每一点细微的东西都做了交代。噢，杰出的作者！幸运的唐吉诃德！大出风头的杜尔西内亚！滑稽的桑乔•潘萨！这些人一个个都将千秋万代地为生活带来笑谈。
故事说，桑乔看见忧伤妇人昏了过去，就说：
“我凭着一个正直人的信仰，凭着潘萨家族的历代祖先发誓，这种事我从未听过也从未见过，我的主人也从没有对我讲过，甚至他连想也没有想到过会有这种事。见你的鬼去吧，你这个魔法师巨人马兰布鲁诺！你除了让她们满脸长满胡须外，就没有别的办法来惩治这些娘儿们吗？怎么搞的！你把她们的下半个鼻子割掉岂不更好？尽管以后她们说起话来会瓮声瓮气，可那对她们岂不是更合适吗？我敢打赌，她们连剃胡须的钱也没有。”
“是的，大人，”一个女仆说，“我们没钱剃胡须，所以我们有的人采用了一个省钱的办法，把膏药贴在脸上，然后猛地揭下来，这样脸上就像磨盘一样平滑了。虽然在坎达亚专有女人挨家串户为人去汗毛、纹眉毛或者兜售妇女化妆品，可是我们从来不让她们进门，因为这种人以前都是卖身的，现在又来拉皮条。如果唐吉诃德大人不能帮助我们，我们就得带着胡子进坟墓了。”
“我若是不能帮助你们，”唐吉诃德说，“我就到摩尔人那儿去把我的胡子揪掉。”
此时“三摆裙夫人”也苏醒过来，说道：
“英勇的骑士，我在昏迷中听到了你的诺言，于是我就苏醒过来了。现在我再次请求你，著名的游侠骑士和战无不胜的大人，你一定不要食言啊。”
“我决不会食言，”唐吉诃德说，“夫人，您看我现在应该怎么办呢？我现在随时听候您的吩咐。”
“现在的情况是，”忧伤妇人说，“从这儿到坎达亚王国，如果从陆地走，距离有五千西里，多少不会相差两西里地；如果从空中走直线，就只有三千二百二十七西里。我还应该告诉你们，马兰布鲁诺对我说，如果我有幸找到了能帮我解脱魔法的骑士，他就送给那位骑士一匹马。那匹马比租来的马只好不坏，是英勇的彼雷斯夺回美丽的马加洛娜时骑的木马。木马靠额头上的一个当辔头用的销子操纵，飞起来特别轻盈，像是见了鬼。按照以前的传说，这匹马是魔法师梅尔林组装的，后来借给了他的朋友彼雷斯。彼雷斯就骑着它到处周游，并且像刚才说的，骑着它夺回了美丽的马加洛娜。彼雷斯用马的臀部驮着马加洛娜在空中飞行，当时看见他们的人无不目瞪口呆。梅尔林只把马借给他喜欢的人或是能出大价钱的人。自从伟大的彼雷斯那次骑马之后到现在，我们还没听说有谁骑过那匹马呢。马兰布鲁诺靠他的手腕把马弄了出来，霸占了它，并且骑着它到处奔波。他去过世界上许多地方，今天在这儿，明天就到了法兰西，后天又到了波多西。妙就妙在这匹马不吃不睡也不用马蹄铁，没有翅膀却能疾步如飞，而且走得非常稳，骑马的人可以手里平端满满一杯水，水一点儿也不会洒出来。所以，美人马加洛娜骑上这匹马时很高兴。”
桑乔这时说道：
“要说走得稳，还得数我那头驴。它虽然不能在空中飞，只是在地上走，我却敢说世界上的任何马都跑不过它。”
大家都笑了。忧伤妇人又接着说道：
“如果马兰布鲁诺想结束我们的不幸，他就会在午夜之前把这匹马送到我们面前，这是个信号。他若是把马送来，我马上就知道我已经找到了我要找的骑士。”
“那匹马能够载几个人？”桑乔问。
忧伤妇人回答道：
“两个人，一个骑在马鞍上，另一人骑在鞍后。如果没有夺来的女人的话，两个人通常是一个骑士和一个侍从。”
“忧伤妇人，”桑乔说，“我想知道那匹马叫什么名字？”
“它并不像贝来罗丰特的马那样叫佩加索，”忧伤妇人说，“也不像亚历山大的马那样叫布塞法罗，不像疯狂的罗兰的马那样叫布里利亚多罗，更不叫巴亚尔特，那是雷纳尔多斯•德蒙塔尔万的马；它不像鲁赫罗的马那样叫弗朗蒂诺，也不叫布特斯或佩里托亚，据说那是索尔的马；它也不叫奥雷利亚，哥特人倒霉的末代国王罗德里戈就是骑着那匹马参战，结果丧命亡国的。”
“我敢打赌，”桑乔说，“既然那么多名马的响亮名字它都不用，它肯定也不会采用我主人那匹马的名字罗西南多，而这个名字显然比所有马的名字都强。”
“是的，”忧伤妇人说，“不过这匹马的名字也起得很合适。它叫‘轻木销’，因为它是用木头做的，额头上有个销子，而且跑得飞快。论名字，它完全可以同驰名的罗西南多比美。”
“名字倒不错，”桑乔说，“可是用什么样的缰辔来驾驭它呢？”
“我刚才说过了，”三摆裙夫人说，“就靠那个销子。骑马的人把销子往这边或那边拧，就可以任意操纵它，或者让它腾云驾雾，或者让它掠地飞翔，或者不高不低，这是最好的，办事要有条理就得这样。”
“我倒想见见这匹马，”桑乔说，“不过，若想让我骑到它的鞍子上或屁股上去，那可别指望。我骑驴时要坐在比丝绵还软的驮鞍上，才勉强能走稳，现在要我骑在木马的硬屁股上，什么垫子都没有，那怎么行呢！我可不愿为了去掉别人脸上的胡须而让自己受罪。谁觉得合适谁就去做，我可不想陪我的主人跑那么远，况且，这不像使我的女主人杜尔西内亚解脱魔法，根本用不着我去管什么去掉胡须的闲事。”
“用得着，”三摆裙夫人说，“而且你应该管。我觉得若是没有你，我们什么事情也做不成。”
“我的天啊！”桑乔说，“主人征险同侍从有什么相干呀？他们征险成功，获得美名，却要我们去吃苦受罪，这像什么话！如果骑士小说的作者写上‘某某骑士完成了什么征险，但这是在他的侍从某某的帮助下完成的，没有侍从的帮助，骑士根本不可能完成这次征险’……那倒也成。可书上只是干巴巴地写：‘三星骑士唐帕拉里波梅农完成了某次征险，降伏了六个妖怪。’却只字不提侍从，好像世界上根本就没有侍从似的，其实，侍从一直跟随在左右嘛！各位大人，我现在再说一遍，让我的主人只身前往吧，他一定会马到成功。我要留在这里陪伴我的女主人公爵夫人。很可能在我的主人回来时，杜尔西内亚夫人的事情已大有好转了。我宁愿在这里抽空打自己一顿鞭子，把自己打得浑身是伤。”
“即使这样，如果有必要，你还是得陪你的主人去，好桑乔，这么多的好人都在求你呢。不能仅仅因为你害怕，就让这些女仆永远满脸胡须，那可是件丢人的事。”
“我还得再喊一遍我的天啊！”桑乔说，“如果是为一些幽居的女人或慈善堂的女孩做善事，那么男子汉作出冒险牺牲或许还值得；可如果是为了去掉女仆脸上的胡须而受罪，那就太冤枉了！我倒宁愿看到，从老太太到小姑娘，从娇声娇气到白皮嫩肉的，一个个都长上胡须！”
“你对女仆们太过分了，桑乔朋友。”公爵夫人说，“你太偏信药剂师的话了。你肯定是错了。我家有的女仆可以说是女仆的楷模。我身边这位唐娜罗德里格斯就无可挑剔。”
“随您怎么说，”唐娜罗德里格斯说，“上帝反正会判明是非。无论我们好还是不好，长胡须还是不长胡须，都像其他女人一样是从娘肚子里出来的，上帝既然让我们来到这个世界上，就知道该如何安排我们。我只接受上帝的怜悯，不接受什么胡须！”
“行了，唐娜罗德里格斯夫人、三摆裙夫人以及其他各位，”唐吉诃德说，“我希望老天会怜惜你们的痛苦，桑乔也会按照我的吩咐去做。只要‘轻木销’一到，我就与马兰布鲁诺交手，准能去掉你们脸上的胡须，用快刀把马兰布鲁诺的脑袋从他的肩膀上砍下来。上帝有时会让好人受苦，可是并不永远如此。”
“啊！”忧伤妇人说道，“让天上所有的星星都用温和的目光看着您吧，英勇的骑士，让它们给您以运气和勇气，来保护这些被人唾弃的女仆吧。药剂师憎恶她们，侍从议论她们，侍童也欺骗她们。她们年轻时没做修女却当了女仆，真是邪了门，活该受罪！我们这些倒霉的女仆，即使是特洛伊王子赫克托的直系后代，也还是要被我们的女主人以‘你’相称，也许这样她们就觉得自己是女王了。啊，巨人马兰布鲁诺啊，你虽然是魔法师，却言而有信，赶紧派那举世无双的‘轻木销’来吧，快来结束我们的不幸吧！假如天气热了，我们仍长着胡子，那可就糟了！”
三摆裙夫人这番伤心之言使所有在场的人都流下了眼泪，连桑乔也不例外。他心想，若能除去这些令人尊敬的脸庞上的胡须，即使陪主人走到天涯海角，他也心甘情愿。
Part 2 Chapter 41
And now night came, and with it the appointed time for the arrival of the famous horse Clavileno, the non-appearance of which was already beginning to make Don Quixote uneasy, for it struck him that, as Malambruno was so long about sending it, either he himself was not the knight for whom the adventure was reserved, or else Malambruno did not dare to meet him in single combat. But lo! suddenly there came into the garden four wild-men all clad in green ivy bearing on their shoulders a great wooden horse. They placed it on its feet on the ground, and one of the wild-men said, “Let the knight who has heart for it mount this machine.”
Here Sancho exclaimed, “I don’t mount, for neither have I the heart nor am I a knight.”
“And let the squire, if he has one,” continued the wild-man, “take his seat on the croup, and let him trust the valiant Malambruno; for by no sword save his, nor by the malice of any other, shall he be assailed. It is but to turn this peg the horse has in his neck, and he will bear them through the air to where Malambruno awaits them; but lest the vast elevation of their course should make them giddy, their eyes must be covered until the horse neighs, which will be the sign of their having completed their journey.”
With these words, leaving Clavileno behind them, they retired with easy dignity the way they came. As soon as the Distressed One saw the horse, almost in tears she exclaimed to Don Quixote, “Valiant knight, the promise of Malambruno has proved trustworthy; the horse has come, our beards are growing, and by every hair in them all of us implore thee to shave and shear us, as it is only mounting him with thy squire and making a happy beginning with your new journey.”
“That I will, Senora Countess Trifaldi,” said Don Quixote, “most gladly and with right goodwill, without stopping to take a cushion or put on my spurs, so as not to lose time, such is my desire to see you and all these duennas shaved clean.”
“That I won’t,” said Sancho, “with good-will or bad-will, or any way at all; and if this shaving can’t be done without my mounting on the croup, my master had better look out for another squire to go with him, and these ladies for some other way of making their faces smooth; I’m no witch to have a taste for travelling through the air. What would my islanders say when they heard their governor was going, strolling about on the winds? And another thing, as it is three thousand and odd leagues from this to Kandy, if the horse tires, or the giant takes huff, we’ll he half a dozen years getting back, and there won’t be isle or island in the world that will know me: and so, as it is a common saying ‘in delay there’s danger,’ and ‘when they offer thee a heifer run with a halter,’ these ladies’ beards must excuse me; ‘Saint Peter is very well in Rome;’ I mean I am very well in this house where so much is made of me, and I hope for such a good thing from the master as to see myself a governor.”
“Friend Sancho,” said the duke at this, “the island that I have promised you is not a moving one, or one that will run away; it has roots so deeply buried in the bowels of the earth that it will be no easy matter to pluck it up or shift it from where it is; you know as well as I do that there is no sort of office of any importance that is not obtained by a bribe of some kind, great or small; well then, that which I look to receive for this government is that you go with your master Don Quixote, and bring this memorable adventure to a conclusion; and whether you return on Clavileno as quickly as his speed seems to promise, or adverse fortune brings you back on foot travelling as a pilgrim from hostel to hostel and from inn to inn, you will always find your island on your return where you left it, and your islanders with the same eagerness they have always had to receive you as their governor, and my good-will will remain the same; doubt not the truth of this, Senor Sancho, for that would be grievously wronging my disposition to serve you.”
“Say no more, senor,” said Sancho; “I am a poor squire and not equal to carrying so much courtesy; let my master mount; bandage my eyes and commit me to God’s care, and tell me if I may commend myself to our Lord or call upon the angels to protect me when we go towering up there.”
To this the Trifaldi made answer, “Sancho, you may freely commend yourself to God or whom you will; for Malambruno though an enchanter is a Christian, and works his enchantments with great circumspection, taking very good care not to fall out with anyone.”
“Well then,” said Sancho, “God and the most holy Trinity of Gaeta give me help!”
“Since the memorable adventure of the fulling mills,” said Don Quixote, “I have never seen Sancho in such a fright as now; were I as superstitious as others his abject fear would cause me some little trepidation of spirit. But come here, Sancho, for with the leave of these gentles I would say a word or two to thee in private;” and drawing Sancho aside among the trees of the garden and seizing both his hands he said, “Thou seest, brother Sancho, the long journey we have before us, and God knows when we shall return, or what leisure or opportunities this business will allow us; I wish thee therefore to retire now to thy chamber, as though thou wert going to fetch something required for the road, and in a trice give thyself if it be only five hundred lashes on account of the three thousand three hundred to which thou art bound; it will be all to the good, and to make a beginning with a thing is to have it half finished.”
“By God,” said Sancho, “but your worship must be out of your senses! This is like the common saying, ‘You see me with child, and you want me a virgin.’ Just as I’m about to go sitting on a bare board, your worship would have me score my backside! Indeed, your worship is not reasonable. Let us be off to shave these duennas; and on our return I promise on my word to make such haste to wipe off all that’s due as will satisfy your worship; I can’t say more.”
“Well, I will comfort myself with that promise, my good Sancho,” replied Don Quixote, “and I believe thou wilt keep it; for indeed though stupid thou art veracious.”
“I’m not voracious,” said Sancho, “only peckish; but even if I was a little, still I’d keep my word.”
With this they went back to mount Clavileno, and as they were about to do so Don Quixote said, “Cover thine eyes, Sancho, and mount; for one who sends for us from lands so far distant cannot mean to deceive us for the sake of the paltry glory to be derived from deceiving persons who trust in him; though all should turn out the contrary of what I hope, no malice will be able to dim the glory of having undertaken this exploit.”
“Let us be off, senor,” said Sancho, “for I have taken the beards and tears of these ladies deeply to heart, and I shan’t eat a bit to relish it until I have seen them restored to their former smoothness. Mount, your worship, and blindfold yourself, for if I am to go on the croup, it is plain the rider in the saddle must mount first.”
“That is true,” said Don Quixote, and, taking a handkerchief out of his pocket, he begged the Distressed One to bandage his eyes very carefully; but after having them bandaged he uncovered them again, saying, “If my memory does not deceive me, I have read in Virgil of the Palladium of Troy, a wooden horse the Greeks offered to the goddess Pallas, which was big with armed knights, who were afterwards the destruction of Troy; so it would he as well to see, first of all, what Clavileno has in his stomach.”
“There is no occasion,” said the Distressed One; “I will be bail for him, and I know that Malambruno has nothing tricky or treacherous about him; you may mount without any fear, Senor Don Quixote; on my head be it if any harm befalls you.”
Don Quixote thought that to say anything further with regard to his safety would be putting his courage in an unfavourable light; and so, without more words, he mounted Clavileno, and tried the peg, which turned easily; and as he had no stirrups and his legs hung down, he looked like nothing so much as a figure in some Roman triumph painted or embroidered on a Flemish tapestry.
Much against the grain, and very slowly, Sancho proceeded to mount, and, after settling himself as well as he could on the croup, found it rather hard, and not at all soft, and asked the duke if it would be possible to oblige him with a pad of some kind, or a cushion; even if it were off the couch of his lady the duchess, or the bed of one of the pages; as the haunches of that horse were more like marble than wood. On this the Trifaldi observed that Clavileno would not bear any kind of harness or trappings, and that his best plan would be to sit sideways like a woman, as in that way he would not feel the hardness so much.
Sancho did so, and, bidding them farewell, allowed his eyes to he bandaged, but immediately afterwards uncovered them again, and looking tenderly and tearfully on those in the garden, bade them help him in his present strait with plenty of Paternosters and Ave Marias, that God might provide some one to say as many for them, whenever they found themselves in a similar emergency.
At this Don Quixote exclaimed, “Art thou on the gallows, thief, or at thy last moment, to use pitiful entreaties of that sort? Cowardly, spiritless creature, art thou not in the very place the fair Magalona occupied, and from which she descended, not into the grave, but to become Queen of France; unless the histories lie? And I who am here beside thee, may I not put myself on a par with the valiant Pierres, who pressed this very spot that I now press? Cover thine eyes, cover thine eyes, abject animal, and let not thy fear escape thy lips, at least in my presence.”
“Blindfold me,” said Sancho; “as you won’t let me commend myself or be commended to God, is it any wonder if I am afraid there is a region of devils about here that will carry us off to Peralvillo?”
They were then blindfolded, and Don Quixote, finding himself settled to his satisfaction, felt for the peg, and the instant he placed his fingers on it, all the duennas and all who stood by lifted up their voices exclaiming, “God guide thee, valiant knight! God be with thee, intrepid squire! Now, now ye go cleaving the air more swiftly than an arrow! Now ye begin to amaze and astonish all who are gazing at you from the earth! Take care not to wobble about, valiant Sancho! Mind thou fall not, for thy fall will be worse than that rash youth’s who tried to steer the chariot of his father the Sun!”
As Sancho heard the voices, clinging tightly to his master and winding his arms round him, he said, “Senor, how do they make out we are going up so high, if their voices reach us here and they seem to be speaking quite close to us?”
“Don’t mind that, Sancho,” said Don Quixote; “for as affairs of this sort, and flights like this are out of the common course of things, you can see and hear as much as you like a thousand leagues off; but don’t squeeze me so tight or thou wilt upset me; and really I know not what thou hast to be uneasy or frightened at, for I can safely swear I never mounted a smoother-going steed all the days of my life; one would fancy we never stirred from one place. Banish fear, my friend, for indeed everything is going as it ought, and we have the wind astern.”
“That’s true,” said Sancho, “for such a strong wind comes against me on this side, that it seems as if people were blowing on me with a thousand pair of bellows;” which was the case; they were puffing at him with a great pair of bellows; for the whole adventure was so well planned by the duke, the duchess, and their majordomo, that nothing was omitted to make it perfectly successful.
Don Quixote now, feeling the blast, said, “Beyond a doubt, Sancho, we must have already reached the second region of the air, where the hail and snow are generated; the thunder, the lightning, and the thunderbolts are engendered in the third region, and if we go on ascending at this rate, we shall shortly plunge into the region of fire, and I know not how to regulate this peg, so as not to mount up where we shall be burned.”
And now they began to warm their faces, from a distance, with tow that could be easily set on fire and extinguished again, fixed on the end of a cane. On feeling the heat Sancho said, “May I die if we are not already in that fire place, or very near it, for a good part of my beard has been singed, and I have a mind, senor, to uncover and see whereabouts we are.”
“Do nothing of the kind,” said Don Quixote; “remember the true story of the licentiate Torralva that the devils carried flying through the air riding on a stick with his eyes shut; who in twelve hours reached Rome and dismounted at Torre di Nona, which is a street of the city, and saw the whole sack and storming and the death of Bourbon, and was back in Madrid the next morning, where he gave an account of all he had seen; and he said moreover that as he was going through the air, the devil bade him open his eyes, and he did so, and saw himself so near the body of the moon, so it seemed to him, that he could have laid hold of it with his hand, and that he did not dare to look at the earth lest he should be seized with giddiness. So that, Sancho, it will not do for us to uncover ourselves, for he who has us in charge will be responsible for us; and perhaps we are gaining an altitude and mounting up to enable us to descend at one swoop on the kingdom of Kandy, as the saker or falcon does on the heron, so as to seize it however high it may soar; and though it seems to us not half an hour since we left the garden, believe me we must have travelled a great distance.”
“I don’t know how that may be,” said Sancho; “all I know is that if the Senora Magallanes or Magalona was satisfied with this croup, she could not have been very tender of flesh.”
The duke, the duchess, and all in the garden were listening to the conversation of the two heroes, and were beyond measure amused by it; and now, desirous of putting a finishing touch to this rare and well-contrived adventure, they applied a light to Clavileno’s tail with some tow, and the horse, being full of squibs and crackers, immediately blew up with a prodigious noise, and brought Don Quixote and Sancho Panza to the ground half singed. By this time the bearded band of duennas, the Trifaldi and all, had vanished from the garden, and those that remained lay stretched on the ground as if in a swoon. Don Quixote and Sancho got up rather shaken, and, looking about them, were filled with amazement at finding themselves in the same garden from which they had started, and seeing such a number of people stretched on the ground; and their astonishment was increased when at one side of the garden they perceived a tall lance planted in the ground, and hanging from it by two cords of green silk a smooth white parchment on which there was the following inscription in large gold letters: “The illustrious knight Don Quixote of La Mancha has, by merely attempting it, finished and concluded the adventure of the Countess Trifaldi, otherwise called the Distressed Duenna; Malambruno is now satisfied on every point, the chins of the duennas are now smooth and clean, and King Don Clavijo and Queen Antonomasia in their original form; and when the squirely flagellation shall have been completed, the white dove shall find herself delivered from the pestiferous gerfalcons that persecute her, and in the arms of her beloved mate; for such is the decree of the sage Merlin, arch-enchanter of enchanters.”
As soon as Don Quixote had read the inscription on the parchment he perceived clearly that it referred to the disenchantment of Dulcinea, and returning hearty thanks to heaven that he had with so little danger achieved so grand an exploit as to restore to their former complexion the countenances of those venerable duennas, he advanced towards the duke and duchess, who had not yet come to themselves, and taking the duke by the hand he said, “Be of good cheer, worthy sir, be of good cheer; it’s nothing at all; the adventure is now over and without any harm done, as the inscription fixed on this post shows plainly.”
The duke came to himself slowly and like one recovering consciousness after a heavy sleep, and the duchess and all who had fallen prostrate about the garden did the same, with such demonstrations of wonder and amazement that they would have almost persuaded one that what they pretended so adroitly in jest had happened to them in reality. The duke read the placard with half-shut eyes, and then ran to embrace Don Quixote with-open arms, declaring him to be the best knight that had ever been seen in any age. Sancho kept looking about for the Distressed One, to see what her face was like without the beard, and if she was as fair as her elegant person promised; but they told him that, the instant Clavileno descended flaming through the air and came to the ground, the whole band of duennas with the Trifaldi vanished, and that they were already shaved and without a stump left.
The duchess asked Sancho how he had fared on that long journey, to which Sancho replied, “I felt, senora, that we were flying through the region of fire, as my master told me, and I wanted to uncover my eyes for a bit; but my master, when I asked leave to uncover myself, would not let me; but as I have a little bit of curiosity about me, and a desire to know what is forbidden and kept from me, quietly and without anyone seeing me I drew aside the handkerchief covering my eyes ever so little, close to my nose, and from underneath looked towards the earth, and it seemed to me that it was altogether no bigger than a grain of mustard seed, and that the men walking on it were little bigger than hazel nuts; so you may see how high we must have got to then.”
To this the duchess said, “Sancho, my friend, mind what you are saying; it seems you could not have seen the earth, but only the men walking on it; for if the earth looked to you like a grain of mustard seed, and each man like a hazel nut, one man alone would have covered the whole earth.”
“That is true,” said Sancho, “but for all that I got a glimpse of a bit of one side of it, and saw it all.”
“Take care, Sancho,” said the duchess, “with a bit of one side one does not see the whole of what one looks at.”
“I don’t understand that way of looking at things,” said Sancho; “I only know that your ladyship will do well to bear in mind that as we were flying by enchantment so I might have seen the whole earth and all the men by enchantment whatever way I looked; and if you won’t believe this, no more will you believe that, uncovering myself nearly to the eyebrows, I saw myself so close to the sky that there was not a palm and a half between me and it; and by everything that I can swear by, senora, it is mighty great! And it so happened we came by where the seven goats are, and by God and upon my soul, as in my youth I was a goatherd in my own country, as soon as I saw them I felt a longing to be among them for a little, and if I had not given way to it I think I’d have burst. So I come and take, and what do I do? without saying anything to anybody, not even to my master, softly and quietly I got down from Clavileno and amused myself with the goats — which are like violets, like flowers — for nigh three-quarters of an hour; and Clavileno never stirred or moved from one spot.”
“And while the good Sancho was amusing himself with the goats,” said the duke, “how did Senor Don Quixote amuse himself?”
To which Don Quixote replied, “As all these things and such like occurrences are out of the ordinary course of nature, it is no wonder that Sancho says what he does; for my own part I can only say that I did not uncover my eyes either above or below, nor did I see sky or earth or sea or shore. It is true I felt that I was passing through the region of the air, and even that I touched that of fire; but that we passed farther I cannot believe; for the region of fire being between the heaven of the moon and the last region of the air, we could not have reached that heaven where the seven goats Sancho speaks of are without being burned; and as we were not burned, either Sancho is lying or Sancho is dreaming.”
“I am neither lying nor dreaming,” said Sancho; “only ask me the tokens of those same goats, and you’ll see by that whether I’m telling the truth or not.”
“Tell us them then, Sancho,” said the duchess.
“Two of them,” said Sancho, “are green, two blood-red, two blue, and one a mixture of all colours.”
“An odd sort of goat, that,” said the duke; “in this earthly region of ours we have no such colours; I mean goats of such colours.”
“That’s very plain,” said Sancho; “of course there must be a difference between the goats of heaven and the goats of the earth.”
“Tell me, Sancho,” said the duke, “did you see any he-goat among those goats?”
“No, senor,” said Sancho; “but I have heard say that none ever passed the horns of the moon.”
They did not care to ask him anything more about his journey, for they saw he was in the vein to go rambling all over the heavens giving an account of everything that went on there, without having ever stirred from the garden. Such, in short, was the end of the adventure of the Distressed Duenna, which gave the duke and duchess laughing matter not only for the time being, but for all their lives, and Sancho something to talk about for ages, if he lived so long; but Don Quixote, coming close to his ear, said to him, “Sancho, as you would have us believe what you saw in heaven, I require you to believe me as to what I saw in the cave of Montesinos; I say no more.”
 
此时天已傍晚，约定让著名的“轻木销”木马到来的时间也临近了。唐吉诃德开始不安起来。他怕马兰布鲁诺迟迟不把马送来，是觉得他不能胜任这次征险，再不然就是马兰布鲁诺不敢前来同他交战。这时，他忽然看见四个浑身披挂着常春藤的野人，肩扛着一匹木马走进了花园。他们把木马放到地上，一个野人说道：
“哪位骑士有勇气，就骑上去吧。”
“我不骑，”桑乔说，“我不是骑士，也没有勇气。”
野人又接着说：
“如果这位骑士有侍从，就让他的侍从骑到马屁股上吧。请相信英勇的马兰布鲁诺，他只想比剑，决无其它恶意。只需拧一下马脖子上的这个销子①，马就可以带你们飞到马兰布鲁诺所在的地方。不过，飞得高会让人头晕，所以得把你们的眼睛蒙上，等到听到马嘶，就说明到了目的地，那时再把你们的眼睛解开。”
①上文说销子安在马额头上，这里变为安在马脖子上了。
说完，几个野人便撇下木马，神气活现地顺着原路出去了。忧伤妇人一看到木马，便几乎是眼含热泪地对唐吉诃德说道：
“英勇的骑士，马兰布鲁诺已经说到做到了。现在木马果然来了，我们的胡须仍在增长。我们每个人，每根胡须，都请求您快点为我们动手吧。我们需要您做的只不过是同您的侍从一起骑上马去，开始你们的新旅程。”
“我马上就照办，三摆裙伯爵夫人，而且心甘情愿，不会浪费时间去配坐垫，戴马刺。我急着要看夫人您和所有女仆的光滑面孔呢。”
“我可不去，”桑乔说，“无论是软哄还是硬逼，我都不去。如果一定要我骑到木马的屁股上去，才能去掉她们的胡须，那就让我的主人另找一个侍从陪他，这几位夫人也另想办法去掉脸上的胡须吧。我不是巫师，不想到天上去飞。假如海岛上的臣民听说他们的总督在天上飞行，会怎样想呢？况且，从这儿到坎达亚有三千多西里，假如马累了或者巨人生气了，我们得耽搁五六年才能回来呢。到那时候，世上就没有什么岛屿要我去管了。常言道，‘越晚越玄’，还有，‘给你一头牛，赶紧拿绳牵’。让这些夫人的胡须原谅我吧。‘维持现状，再好不过’。我是说让我留在这儿最好，他们待我很好，我还指望在这儿弄个总督当呢。”
公爵说道：
“桑乔朋友，我许诺给你的岛屿不会动，跑不了。它的根扎得很深，直扎到地底深处，就是费尽了力气也拔不出来挪不动。你我都知道，所有这类比较重要的官职总得多少付点代价才能得到。而我需要你为当这个总督付出的代价，就是同你的主人唐吉诃德一起去完成这件留芳千古的大事。你很快就可以骑着‘轻木销’赶回来。即使你时运不佳，像朝圣者似的一个客店一个客店走回来，你仍然会得到原来的那个岛屿，你的臣民们仍然会欢迎你去做他们的总督。我的主意不会改变。你对此别怀疑，桑乔朋友，否则就是辜负了我的一片厚意。”
“别再说了，大人。”桑乔说，“我是个穷侍从，当不起您的如此厚望。让我的主人上马，再给我蒙上眼睛吧，愿上帝保佑我们。等飞到天上的时候，请告诉我一声，我要向上帝祈祷，还要祈求天使保佑呢。”
三摆裙夫人答道：
“桑乔，你可以向上帝或者任何人祈祷。马兰布鲁诺虽然是个魔法师，可他也是个基督徒。他施魔法时准确而又谨慎，不会殃及其他人的。”
“那么，”桑乔说，“就让上帝和加埃塔的三位一体来保佑我吧。”
“自从那次难忘的砑布机冒险之后，”唐吉诃德说，“我从没见桑乔像现在这样害怕过。如果我也像其他人一样迷信，他这么怯懦就会使我从精神上气馁了。你过来，桑乔，如果诸位大人允许的话，我想单独同你说几句话。”
唐吉诃德同桑乔走到花园的树丛中，拉着桑乔的双手对他说道：
“桑乔兄弟，你看到了，长途跋涉在等着咱们，连上帝都不知道咱们什么时候才回来，是否还有机会和时间。所以，我想让你假装去找一点路上需用的东西，现在就回到你的房间里去，赶紧把你承诺的那三千三百鞭子至少打五百下。该打的总得打呀。‘事情一着手，就算完成了一半’。”
“我的上帝！”桑乔说，“您大概又犯糊涂了，就像人们常说的，‘又要马儿跑，又让马儿不吃草’！我现在得坐着硬木板远行，您这样做不是要打烂我的屁股吗？无论如何您都没道理。咱们现在先去为女仆们去掉胡须吧。我向您保证，等咱们回来，一定赶紧履行我的诺言，让您满意，别的我就不说了。”
唐吉诃德说道：
“既然你这么承诺，我也就放心了。我相信你会履行诺言。
你虽然笨，可是人挺实在。”
“我不算笨，也不算聪明，”桑乔说，“即使我条件一般，却能说到做到。”
说完两人就回来骑木马。唐吉诃德一骑上马就说道：
“把眼睛蒙上，桑乔。上马吧，桑乔。人家从那么远的地方把马派来，不会骗咱们。欺骗相信自己的人是不光彩的。即使事情同我想象的相反，咱们的这次行动也只会带来荣誉，不会产生任何不良后果。”
“咱们走吧，大人。”桑乔说，“这几位夫人的胡须和眼泪真是刺痛了我的心。在看到她们的脸光洁如初之前，我恐怕连一口东西也吃不下去。您先上马，把眼睛蒙上。我是坐在马屁股上的，当然应该是坐在鞍子上的先上马。”
“是应该这样。”唐吉诃德说。
他从衣袋里掏出一条手绢，请忧伤妇人为他仔细地蒙上眼睛。眼睛蒙好后，他又把手绢解开，说道：
“如果我没有记错的话，在维吉尔的著作里有个特洛伊的帕拉狄翁，那是希腊人献给帕拉斯女神的木马。在它的肚子里藏着武装骑士，这些骑士后来毁掉了特洛伊城。所以，最好是先看看‘轻木销’的肚子里有什么东西。”
“这不必了，”忧伤妇人说，“我相信马兰布鲁诺，知道他不会做背信弃义的事。请您上马吧，唐吉诃德大人，用不着有丝毫害怕。如果出了什么事，由我负责。”
唐吉诃德觉得，提出任何有关安全的要求都会有损于他的勇气，也就不再争辩，骑上木马，试了试销子，转动得挺灵便。木马身上没有备马蹬，所以唐吉诃德垂着腿，样子就像弗拉门科壁毯上描画或织绣的罗马凯旋图中的某个人物。桑乔非常不情愿地慢慢爬上木马，尽可能地在马屁股上坐好。他发现这个马屁股有点硬，一点儿也不软，就问公爵是否能给他从公爵夫人的客厅或哪个侍童的床上找个坐垫或靠垫来。那马屁股简直不像是木头做的，倒像是大理石。三摆裙夫人说这匹木马不能再装任何东西，桑乔可以按照女式骑法横坐在马屁股上，那样就不会觉得那么硬了。桑乔照办了，并且说了声“再见”，让人蒙上了他的眼睛。眼睛蒙好后，他又重新解开，久久地凝视着花园里的所有人，眼含热泪地请求大家在这个关键时刻为他念《天主经》，念《万福玛利亚》。一旦他们遇到危险，上帝就也会派人为他们念经。
唐吉诃德说道：
“你这个混蛋，难道你是要上断头台，或是快要咽气了，竟如此祈求祷告？你这个没有良心的胆小鬼！你现在坐的位子不正是美丽的马加洛娜原来坐过的地方吗？历史总不会骗人，后来她从马上下来后并没有进坟墓，而是当了法兰西的王后。我就在你旁边，我现在坐的地方就是彼雷斯原来坐过的地方，能道我比不上他吗？你这个没心没肺的畜生，蒙上眼睛，蒙上眼睛吧！别让你的恐惧从嘴上表现出来，至少别在我面前出声！”
“请把我的眼睛蒙上吧。”桑乔说，“既然不愿意让我祈求上帝，又不愿意让别人为我祷告，我害怕又有什么可说的呢？
说不定会有一群魔鬼把咱们弄到佩拉尔比略①去呢。”
①佩拉尔比略是在雷阿尔城附近民团处决罪犯的地方。
两人蒙上了眼睛，唐吉诃德觉得一切已准备就绪，就伸手去摸销子。他的手刚刚触到销子，在场的女仆和其他所有人都高喊起来：
“上帝为你引路，英勇的骑士！”
“上帝与你在一起，无畏的侍从！”
“你们已经飞起来了，以超过飞箭的速度刺破天空吧！”
“地上所有注视着你们的人已经开始惊讶和羡慕了！”
“坐稳了，英勇的桑乔，别晃悠！小心别摔下来！从前那个鲁莽的小伙子驾驭太阳车就摔了下来。好家伙，你若是摔下来，就会比他摔得还惨！”
桑乔听到喊声，紧紧地搂着唐吉诃德，对他说道：
“大人，他们说咱们飞得已经很高了，可是为什么咱们还能听见他们的声音，而且声音就像在咱们身边似的？”
“你就别管了，桑乔，这种事情以及咱们的飞行都是超常规的，你能够任意看到和听到千里之外的事情。别搂我这么紧，你快要把我拽倒了。我真不明白你究竟怕什么。我发誓，这是我平生骑得最平稳的一次，简直就像在原地不动似的。别害怕，伙计，一切正常，而且非常顺利。”
“是啊，”桑乔说，“我这边风特别大，好像有上千只风箱在对着我吹似的。”
确实有几只大风箱在吹他们。公爵、公爵夫人和管家对这个闹剧进行了精心策划，没有露出一点儿破绽。
唐吉诃德觉得有风，就说：
“桑乔，咱们大概是到了第二层天，这儿有冰雹雪花，而雷鸣电闪是在第三层天。如果照这样往上升，咱们很快就会到达火焰天了。我不知道该怎么拧这个销子，才能够不继续上升，否则咱们就得被烤焦了。”
此时正有人用竹竿挑着一些点燃的薄麻布片，从远处烤他们的脸。桑乔觉到了热，说道：
“我敢打赌，咱们现在已经到了火焰天，或者离它很近了，因为我的一大片胡子已经被烤焦了。大人，我想打开布看看咱们到底在什么地方。”
“不行，”唐吉诃德说，“你可别忘了托拉尔瓦②的真实故事。魔鬼驱使他骑着竹竿，闭着眼睛，十二个小时就到了罗马。他在罗马城一条名叫托雷•德诺奈的街上落地，看到了波旁①失败、被袭和死亡的全过程。羿日早晨他又回到了马德里，报告了他在罗马看到的事情。他还说，他在空中飞行的时候，魔鬼叫他睁开眼睛。他把眼睛睁开了，觉得自己离月亮已经很近，简直伸手可得。他不敢往地面上看，怕自己会昏厥过去。所以桑乔，咱们没必要把蒙眼布解开。如果有什么情况，带咱们飞的人会告诉咱们。也许咱们现在正盘旋上升，准备直奔坎达亚王国，就像猎鹰在草鹭上方盘旋那样。它飞得再高，也是要扑下来捕捉草鹭的。虽然咱们离开花园才不过半小时，我却觉得咱们已经走了很远的路。”
①欧亨尼奥•托拉尔瓦，西班牙16世纪一教士，在宗教法庭上说他被魔鬼驱使，骑着一根竹竿，一夜之间往返罗马，目睹了1527年罗马大劫乱的场面。
②法国陆军元帅，1527年进攻罗马时战死。
“我不知道，”桑乔说，“我只知道马加良娜或马加洛娜夫人若是喜欢这种马屁股，她的皮肉也不会很娇嫩。”
两位勇士的对话都被公爵、公爵夫人和花园里的其他人听到了，大家觉得很开心。他们觉得这场精心策划的闹剧该收场了，就用点燃的麻布去烧木马的尾巴，马肚子里装满了花炮，立刻一声巨响爆炸了，把唐吉诃德和桑乔掀到了地上。
两人都被烧得半焦。
此时，花园里那群满面胡须的女仆和三摆裙夫人都不见了，花园里的其他人则像昏了过去似的躺到地上。唐吉诃德和桑乔遍体鳞伤地从地上爬起来，惊恐地看到他们还在刚才的那个花园里，而且地上躺了许多人。更让他们惊奇的是看到花园一侧的地上有一支巨大的长矛插在地上，长矛上用两条绿色绸带系着一张白羊皮纸，上面用金色大字写着：
曼查的著名骑士唐吉诃德初试得手，结束了三摆裙夫人又名忧伤妇人及其同伴的苦难。
马兰布鲁诺心满意足，女仆的胡须已一根不剩，克拉维霍国王和安东诺玛霞王后已恢复原样。魔法师之王梅尔林有令，待骑士的侍从打够了鞭数，白鸽就能摆脱恶鹰的追逐，投入情侣的怀抱。
唐吉诃德看完羊皮纸上的字，知道这是指为杜尔西内亚解除魔法的事。他一再感谢老天让他仅冒如此小的风险就完成了如此伟大的事业，让那些令人尊敬的女仆又恢复了原来的样子。不过，现在那些女仆已经不见踪影了。唐吉诃德来到尚未苏醒过来的公爵和公爵夫人身旁，拉着公爵的手说道：
“喂，善良的大人，醒醒，醒醒吧，一切都过去了，而且十全十美，在那张羊皮纸上写得很清楚。”
公爵慢慢睁开眼睛，仿佛刚从梦中醒来。公爵夫人和花园里的其他人也都苏醒过来。大家都装出十分惊奇和意外的样子，仿佛他们刻意安排的那些事确实发生过一样。公爵眼睛半睁半闭地看了看那张羊皮纸，然后张开双臂拥抱唐吉诃德，说唐吉诃德是古往今来最优秀的骑士。桑乔四处寻找忧伤妇人，想看看她没有胡须的脸是什么样子，是否真像她俊俏的身材那样漂亮。可是别人告诉他，木马燃烧着从空中落到地上时，包括三摆裙夫人在内的所有女仆脸上都已一干二净，而且转眼就不知去向了。公爵夫人问桑乔这次长途旅行的情况，桑乔回答说：
“夫人，我觉得我们飞到了我的主人说的火焰天。我想把蒙眼睛的布掀开一点儿往外看看，可是我的主人不允许。不过，我也不知道是出于什么好奇心，越是不让我知道的事情我就越想知道。我不露声色地把蒙眼睛的布往鼻子那儿挪了挪，偷偷往地球看了一眼，看到地球只不过是芥菜子那么大，上面走动的人倒比榛子还大点儿，一个人就可以把整个地球盖住，由此可见我们飞得有多高了。”
公爵夫人说道：
“桑乔朋友，你看你说些什么呀。看来你并没有看见地球，只是看到了地球上行走的人。你看见地球只有芥菜子那么点儿，而人倒有榛子那么大，当然一个人就可以把地球遮住了。”
“事实就是这样。”桑乔说，“不管怎么说，我是从一道缝里往下看的，看到了整个地球。”
“桑乔，”公爵夫人说，“从一条缝里是看不到事物全部的。”
“我不知道是否看得到全部，”桑乔说，“我只知道您该明白，我们是靠魔力飞行的。靠着魔力，我从任何方向都可以看到整个地球和地球上的人。如果您不相信这点，也就不会相信我是把蒙眼睛的布挪到了眉毛上，看见自己已经挨近天了，离天只不过一拃半远。我敢发誓，那个天特别大。后来我们又经过了七只小羊的地方①。上帝可以作证，我小时候在家乡当过羊倌，所以一看见它们，就想过去逗它们玩一会儿。若是不能和它们玩一会儿，我会难受死的。怎么办呢？我不声不响，对任何人都没说，也没和主人说，就悄悄地下了木马，同小羊玩起来。那小羊漂亮得像花朵似的。我同它们玩了三刻钟，那木马在原地一动不动，一步都没有向前走。”
“那么，在好桑乔同小羊玩的时候，”公爵问，“唐吉诃德大人干什么呢？”
①这里指昂星座。
唐吉诃德答道：
“这种事情已经超出了常规，所以随便桑乔怎么说，都算不了什么。至于我，我没有把蒙眼布往上掀或者往下拉，没看见天，也没看见地，没看见海，也没看见沙滩。我只是确实感觉到我在天空中飞，几乎快到火焰天了。我不相信能穿过位于月亮层和天顶之间的火焰天，如果我们到了桑乔所说的有七只小羊的那层天，我们早就被烧死了。既然我们没有被烧死，那就说明桑乔在说谎或是做梦。”
“我没说谎，也没做梦。”桑乔说，“不信你们问我那几只羊的情况，就能知道我说的是不是真话了。”
“你说吧，桑乔。”公爵夫人说。
“有两只是绿色的，”桑乔说，“有两只是红色的，有两只是蓝色的，还有一只是杂色的。”
“这些羊可真新鲜。”公爵说，“我是说在我们这个地方，羊一般不是这种颜色。”
“这很清楚，”桑乔说，“天上的羊和地上羊就是不一样嘛。”
“那你说，桑乔，”公爵问道，“那几只羊里有公羊吗？”
“没有，大人，”桑乔说，“我听说它们都没什么区别。”
大家不再问他旅途上的事，觉得桑乔虽然并没出花园，却准备把他在天上见到的所有事情都一一细数呢。
忧伤妇人的故事到此结束。它不仅当时为公爵提供了笑料，而且成了他一辈子的笑料。如果他能活几百年，他会把桑乔的事讲上几百年。唐吉诃德凑到桑乔身边，对桑乔耳语道：
“桑乔，你若想让人们相信你在天上的那些见闻，就应该先相信我在蒙特西诺斯洞的见闻，别的我就不多说了！”
Part 2 Chapter 42
The duke and duchess were so well pleased with the successful and droll result of the adventure of the Distressed One, that they resolved to carry on the joke, seeing what a fit subject they had to deal with for making it all pass for reality. So having laid their plans and given instructions to their servants and vassals how to behave to Sancho in his government of the promised island, the next day, that following Clavileno’s flight, the duke told Sancho to prepare and get ready to go and be governor, for his islanders were already looking out for him as for the showers of May.
Sancho made him an obeisance, and said, “Ever since I came down from heaven, and from the top of it beheld the earth, and saw how little it is, the great desire I had to be a governor has been partly cooled in me; for what is there grand in being ruler on a grain of mustard seed, or what dignity or authority in governing half a dozen men about as big as hazel nuts; for, so far as I could see, there were no more on the whole earth? If your lordship would be so good as to give me ever so small a bit of heaven, were it no more than half a league, I’d rather have it than the best island in the world.”
“Recollect, Sancho,” said the duke, “I cannot give a bit of heaven, no not so much as the breadth of my nail, to anyone; rewards and favours of that sort are reserved for God alone. What I can give I give you, and that is a real, genuine island, compact, well proportioned, and uncommonly fertile and fruitful, where, if you know how to use your opportunities, you may, with the help of the world’s riches, gain those of heaven.”
“Well then,” said Sancho, “let the island come; and I’ll try and be such a governor, that in spite of scoundrels I’ll go to heaven; and it’s not from any craving to quit my own humble condition or better myself, but from the desire I have to try what it tastes like to be a governor.”
“If you once make trial of it, Sancho,” said the duke, “you’ll eat your fingers off after the government, so sweet a thing is it to command and be obeyed. Depend upon it when your master comes to be emperor (as he will beyond a doubt from the course his affairs are taking), it will be no easy matter to wrest the dignity from him, and he will be sore and sorry at heart to have been so long without becoming one.”
“Senor,” said Sancho, “it is my belief it’s a good thing to be in command, if it’s only over a drove of cattle.”
“May I be buried with you, Sancho,” said the duke, “but you know everything; I hope you will make as good a governor as your sagacity promises; and that is all I have to say; and now remember to-morrow is the day you must set out for the government of the island, and this evening they will provide you with the proper attire for you to wear, and all things requisite for your departure.”
“Let them dress me as they like,” said Sancho; “however I’m dressed I’ll be Sancho Panza.”
“That’s true,” said the duke; “but one’s dress must be suited to the office or rank one holds; for it would not do for a jurist to dress like a soldier, or a soldier like a priest. You, Sancho, shall go partly as a lawyer, partly as a captain, for, in the island I am giving you, arms are needed as much as letters, and letters as much as arms.”
“Of letters I know but little,” said Sancho, “for I don’t even know the A B C; but it is enough for me to have the Christus in my memory to be a good governor. As for arms, I’ll handle those they give me till I drop, and then, God be my help!”
“With so good a memory,” said the duke, “Sancho cannot go wrong in anything.”
Here Don Quixote joined them; and learning what passed, and how soon Sancho was to go to his government, he with the duke’s permission took him by the hand, and retired to his room with him for the purpose of giving him advice as to how he was to demean himself in his office. As soon as they had entered the chamber he closed the door after him, and almost by force made Sancho sit down beside him, and in a quiet tone thus addressed him: “I give infinite thanks to heaven, friend Sancho, that, before I have met with any good luck, fortune has come forward to meet thee. I who counted upon my good fortune to discharge the recompense of thy services, find myself still waiting for advancement, while thou, before the time, and contrary to all reasonable expectation, seest thyself blessed in the fulfillment of thy desires. Some will bribe, beg, solicit, rise early, entreat, persist, without attaining the object of their suit; while another comes, and without knowing why or wherefore, finds himself invested with the place or office so many have sued for; and here it is that the common saying, ‘There is good luck as well as bad luck in suits,’ applies. Thou, who, to my thinking, art beyond all doubt a dullard, without early rising or night watching or taking any trouble, with the mere breath of knight-errantry that has breathed upon thee, seest thyself without more ado governor of an island, as though it were a mere matter of course. This I say, Sancho, that thou attribute not the favour thou hast received to thine own merits, but give thanks to heaven that disposes matters beneficently, and secondly thanks to the great power the profession of knight-errantry contains in itself. With a heart, then, inclined to believe what I have said to thee, attend, my son, to thy Cato here who would counsel thee and be thy polestar and guide to direct and pilot thee to a safe haven out of this stormy sea wherein thou art about to ingulf thyself; for offices and great trusts are nothing else but a mighty gulf of troubles.
“First of all, my son, thou must fear God, for in the fear of him is wisdom, and being wise thou canst not err in aught.
“Secondly, thou must keep in view what thou art, striving to know thyself, the most difficult thing to know that the mind can imagine. If thou knowest thyself, it will follow thou wilt not puff thyself up like the frog that strove to make himself as large as the ox; if thou dost, the recollection of having kept pigs in thine own country will serve as the ugly feet for the wheel of thy folly.”
“That’s the truth,” said Sancho; “but that was when I was a boy; afterwards when I was something more of a man it was geese I kept, not pigs. But to my thinking that has nothing to do with it; for all who are governors don’t come of a kingly stock.”
“True,” said Don Quixote, “and for that reason those who are not of noble origin should take care that the dignity of the office they hold he accompanied by a gentle suavity, which wisely managed will save them from the sneers of malice that no station escapes.
“Glory in thy humble birth, Sancho, and he not ashamed of saying thou art peasant-born; for when it is seen thou art not ashamed no one will set himself to put thee to the blush; and pride thyself rather upon being one of lowly virtue than a lofty sinner. Countless are they who, born of mean parentage, have risen to the highest dignities, pontifical and imperial, and of the truth of this I could give thee instances enough to weary thee.
“Remember, Sancho, if thou make virtue thy aim, and take a pride in doing virtuous actions, thou wilt have no cause to envy those who have princely and lordly ones, for blood is an inheritance, but virtue an acquisition, and virtue has in itself alone a worth that blood does not possess.
“This being so, if perchance anyone of thy kinsfolk should come to see thee when thou art in thine island, thou art not to repel or slight him, but on the contrary to welcome him, entertain him, and make much of him; for in so doing thou wilt be approved of heaven (which is not pleased that any should despise what it hath made), and wilt comply with the laws of well-ordered nature.
“If thou carriest thy wife with thee (and it is not well for those that administer governments to be long without their wives), teach and instruct her, and strive to smooth down her natural roughness; for all that may be gained by a wise governor may be lost and wasted by a boorish stupid wife.
“If perchance thou art left a widower — a thing which may happen — and in virtue of thy office seekest a consort of higher degree, choose not one to serve thee for a hook, or for a fishing-rod, or for the hood of thy ‘won’t have it;’ for verily, I tell thee, for all the judge’s wife receives, the husband will be held accountable at the general calling to account; where he will have repay in death fourfold, items that in life he regarded as naught.
“Never go by arbitrary law, which is so much favoured by ignorant men who plume themselves on cleverness.
“Let the tears of the poor man find with thee more compassion, but not more justice, than the pleadings of the rich.
“Strive to lay bare the truth, as well amid the promises and presents of the rich man, as amid the sobs and entreaties of the poor.
“When equity may and should be brought into play, press not the utmost rigour of the law against the guilty; for the reputation of the stern judge stands not higher than that of the compassionate.
“If perchance thou permittest the staff of justice to swerve, let it be not by the weight of a gift, but by that of mercy.
“If it should happen thee to give judgment in the cause of one who is thine enemy, turn thy thoughts away from thy injury and fix them on the justice of the case.
“Let not thine own passion blind thee in another man’s cause; for the errors thou wilt thus commit will be most frequently irremediable; or if not, only to be remedied at the expense of thy good name and even of thy fortune.
“If any handsome woman come to seek justice of thee, turn away thine eyes from her tears and thine ears from her lamentations, and consider deliberately the merits of her demand, if thou wouldst not have thy reason swept away by her weeping, and thy rectitude by her sighs.
“Abuse not by word him whom thou hast to punish in deed, for the pain of punishment is enough for the unfortunate without the addition of thine objurgations.
“Bear in mind that the culprit who comes under thy jurisdiction is but a miserable man subject to all the propensities of our depraved nature, and so far as may be in thy power show thyself lenient and forbearing; for though the attributes of God are all equal, to our eyes that of mercy is brighter and loftier than that of justice.
“If thou followest these precepts and rules, Sancho, thy days will be long, thy fame eternal, thy reward abundant, thy felicity unutterable; thou wilt marry thy children as thou wouldst; they and thy grandchildren will bear titles; thou wilt live in peace and concord with all men; and, when life draws to a close, death will come to thee in calm and ripe old age, and the light and loving hands of thy great-grandchildren will close thine eyes.
“What I have thus far addressed to thee are instructions for the adornment of thy mind; listen now to those which tend to that of the body.”
 
的谆谆教导以及其他深思熟虑的嘱咐
所谓忧伤妇人苦难的滑稽闹剧顺利结束。公爵和公爵夫人见唐吉诃德和桑乔竟信以为真，便决定把这个玩笑再开下去。于是，他们吩咐佣人和下属，继续同桑乔开总督的玩笑。第二天，也就是乘木马飞行之后的那天，公爵通知桑乔准备赴任去当总督，说他的岛屿臣民正对他翘首以待呢。桑乔对公爵鞠了一躬，说道：
“自从我由天上下来之后，自从我居高临下地看地球，看到地球是那么小之后，我原来一心要当总督的劲头就有所减少了。在芥菜子那么大的地方当官有什么了不起呢？管辖十几个榛子大小的人也没什么可神气的。地球上难道就没有其他事可做了吗？如果您能给我一小块天空，哪怕只有半里地，我也宁愿要这块天空，而不要地上最大的岛屿。”
“可是桑乔朋友，”公爵说，“我不能给谁一小块天空，哪怕只是指甲那么大一块也不行。只有上帝才能恩赐天空。我能给你的只是一个地地道道的岛屿，十分肥沃。你如果真有本领，完全可以利用地上的财富去赢得天上的财富。”
“那好，”桑乔说，“我就要那个岛屿吧。我一定当好总督。不过，即使有千难万险，以后我还是要上天。这倒不是我贪心太大或者不自量力，我只是想尝尝当总督的滋味。”
“一旦你尝到了这种滋味，桑乔，”公爵说，“你肯定会难舍难离。发号施令是一件很美的事情。根据目前的情况，你的主人准会当上皇帝。我敢肯定，他当了皇帝以后，谁也别想再把他拉下来。到那时，他心里最难受的肯定是没能早点当上皇帝。”
“大人，”桑乔说，“我觉得，即使是对一群牲畜发号施令，也是件挺美的事儿。”
“我的看法和你一样，桑乔，你真是心明眼亮。”公爵说，“我希望你能做个像你说的那样的总督。这件事就说到这儿吧。明天你就要去做岛屿总督了，今天下午，你就收拾该准备的衣服和其他启程需要的东西吧。”
“随便给我穿什么都行，”桑乔说，“不管穿什么衣服，我总归是桑乔。”
“话虽这么说，”公爵说，“衣服还是应该与人的职业和身份相称。法官穿得像个士兵就不合适，士兵穿得像个牧师也不妥。你得穿得既像文官，又像武官，因为在我给你的那个岛上，既需要文，也需要武，既需要武，也需要文。”
“若论文的我不行，”桑乔说，“我大字不识一个。不过，只要我记好一个‘十’字，就能当好总督。若论武的，给我什么家伙我都能使，直到使不动为止，到那时就只好听天由命了。”
“你既然有这么好的记性，”公爵说，“就不会出错儿。”
这时候唐吉诃德来了。他听说桑乔要当总督，而且马上就要赴任，便征得公爵同意，拉着桑乔的手，来到自己的房间，想告诉桑乔应该怎样当总督。一进房间，唐吉诃德就随手关上门，几乎是硬按着桑乔坐在自己身边，心平气和地说道：
“我得万分感谢老天，桑乔朋友，老天让你先于我交上了好运。我本来指望待我发迹后再酬劳你。现在我刚刚开始时来运转，你却超乎常规地提前实现了自己的愿望。有的人又是贿赂，又是托人，又是起早贪黑，又是乞求，又是纠缠，却并没有得到他们想要得到的东西。而有的人还不知道是怎么回事，就得到了别人梦寐以求的职位。在我看来，你只不过是个笨蛋，并没有起早贪黑地干，也没有出什么气力，只凭游侠骑士给你带来的福分，就不费吹灰之力地成了一个岛屿的总督。桑乔，我说这些无非是让你不要把得来的好处归功于自己，而应该感谢暗中掌握着万物的老天，还应该感谢伟大的骑士道。你应该真心相信我对你说的这些话，孩子，仔细倾听你这位卡顿的话吧。他在开导你，他是指引你进入安全港湾的北斗星。你就要驶入惊涛骇浪的大海了，官场就好比是波涛汹涌的大海哟！
“孩子，你首先应该畏惧上帝，畏惧上帝就是智慧，有了智慧就不会犯任何错误。
“第二，你应该认清你自己到底是什么人，尽力做到有自知之明，这是最难能可贵的。有自知之明，你才不会像妄想跟牛比大小的蛤蟆那样自大。你得意忘形的时候，只须想想自己曾在家乡喂过猪，就会像开屏的孔雀看到自己的丑脚一样清醒了。”
“话是这么说，”桑乔说，“但那时我还是个孩子。后来我大点儿了，喂的就是鹅而不是猪了。不过，我对此并不在意，并非所有的总督都是皇亲贵族呀！”
“是啊，”唐吉诃德说，“所以，那些非贵族出身的人担任了要职，要宽以待人，谨慎处事，免得遭到恶意中伤。任何职位的人都可能遭到恶意中伤。
“你应该以你的卑微出身为荣，桑乔，不要耻于说自己出自农家。只要你不作贱自己，别人也不会作贱你。你应该为自己是一个正直的平民，不是一个高贵的罪人而感到自豪。有许许多多出身低下的人最后当上了教皇或皇帝，这种情况的例子数不胜数哩。
“桑乔，如果你以道德为重，以做正直的事情为荣，你就不必去羡慕那些豪门贵族，因为血统可以继承，道德却不能世袭。道德本身就具有价值，而血统本身却不值分文。
“所以，假如你到了岛上，有什么亲戚来看望你，你不要撵他走，也不要对他发火，而应该热情款待他。这样不仅老天满意，因为老天总希望人们不鄙视自己的过去，而且也顺应了民情。
“当总督的长期不带老婆恐怕不合适。如果你把老婆接去了，就应该教导她，使她克服陋习。常常有这种情况：一个贤明的总督做了好事，却被他愚蠢的老婆给毁了。
“万一你成了鳏夫，这种事完全有可能发生，你想利用你的职位找到更好的配偶，可千万别找那种想拿你当工具，嘴里说不要，却伸着手要钱的女人。我告诉你，即使是法官的老婆勒索了别人的钱，到了阴间以后也还是要法官把他生前该负责的那部分加倍偿还。
“许多自以为聪明的蠢人总是依照自己的意志办案，你可千万不要这样。
“无论是富人许诺或馈赠，还是穷人流泪或纠缠，你都要注意查明真相。
“只要能宽恕，就不要严酷苛刻，严厉法官的名声毕竟不如好心肠法官的名声。
“如果你审理某个冤家对头的案子，一定要排除个人感情，实事求是地判案。
“你不要徇私枉法。案子判错了往往无法补救，即使能够补救，也会损害自己的名誉和财产。
“如果有漂亮的女人请你办案，你一定不要被她的眼泪和呻吟蒙蔽，要仔细研究她所要求的内容，免得让她的哭泣影响你的理智，让她的唉声叹气动摇了你的心。
“对于那些必须动刑法的人不要再恶语相向。他受了刑本来就很不幸，就不要再辱骂了。
“把你处分的罪人看成是本性未改的可怜虫，尤其是从你这方面不要伤害他，要对他宽容。虽然仁爱和公正同样是上帝的品德，但我们总觉得宽容比严厉更可取。
“如果你能够按照这些话去做，桑乔，你就会长命百岁，英名永存，功禄难以估量，幸福难以形容，就可以使你的子女婚姻美满，你的子孙后代留名，你就能与大家和睦相处，就能安度晚年，到你百年时，你的重孙们就会为你轻轻合上眼睛。我刚才是教你如何美化你的灵魂，现在，我再来告诉你如何美化你的外表吧。”
Part 2 Chapter 43
Who, hearing the foregoing discourse of Don Quixote, would not have set him down for a person of great good sense and greater rectitude of purpose? But, as has been frequently observed in the course of this great history, he only talked nonsense when he touched on chivalry, and in discussing all other subjects showed that he had a clear and unbiassed understanding; so that at every turn his acts gave the lie to his intellect, and his intellect to his acts; but in the case of these second counsels that he gave Sancho he showed himself to have a lively turn of humour, and displayed conspicuously his wisdom, and also his folly.
Sancho listened to him with the deepest attention, and endeavoured to fix his counsels in his memory, like one who meant to follow them and by their means bring the full promise of his government to a happy issue. Don Quixote, then, went on to say:
“With regard to the mode in which thou shouldst govern thy person and thy house, Sancho, the first charge I have to give thee is to be clean, and to cut thy nails, not letting them grow as some do, whose ignorance makes them fancy that long nails are an ornament to their hands, as if those excrescences they neglect to cut were nails, and not the talons of a lizard-catching kestrel — a filthy and unnatural abuse.
“Go not ungirt and loose, Sancho; for disordered attire is a sign of an unstable mind, unless indeed the slovenliness and slackness is to he set down to craft, as was the common opinion in the case of Julius Caesar.
“Ascertain cautiously what thy office may be worth; and if it will allow thee to give liveries to thy servants, give them respectable and serviceable, rather than showy and gay ones, and divide them between thy servants and the poor; that is to say, if thou canst clothe six pages, clothe three and three poor men, and thus thou wilt have pages for heaven and pages for earth; the vainglorious never think of this new mode of giving liveries.
“Eat not garlic nor onions, lest they find out thy boorish origin by the smell; walk slowly and speak deliberately, but not in such a way as to make it seem thou art listening to thyself, for all affectation is bad.
“Dine sparingly and sup more sparingly still; for the health of the whole body is forged in the workshop of the stomach.
“Be temperate in drinking, bearing in mind that wine in excess keeps neither secrets nor promises.
“Take care, Sancho, not to chew on both sides, and not to eruct in anybody’s presence.”
“Eruct!” said Sancho; “I don’t know what that means.”
“To eruct, Sancho,” said Don Quixote, “means to belch, and that is one of the filthiest words in the Spanish language, though a very expressive one; and therefore nice folk have had recourse to the Latin, and instead of belch say eruct, and instead of belches say eructations; and if some do not understand these terms it matters little, for custom will bring them into use in the course of time, so that they will be readily understood; this is the way a language is enriched; custom and the public are all-powerful there.”
“In truth, senor,” said Sancho, “one of the counsels and cautions I mean to bear in mind shall be this, not to belch, for I’m constantly doing it.”
“Eruct, Sancho, not belch,” said Don Quixote.
“Eruct, I shall say henceforth, and I swear not to forget it,” said Sancho.
“Likewise, Sancho,” said Don Quixote, “thou must not mingle such a quantity of proverbs in thy discourse as thou dost; for though proverbs are short maxims, thou dost drag them in so often by the head and shoulders that they savour more of nonsense than of maxims.”
“God alone can cure that,” said Sancho; “for I have more proverbs in me than a book, and when I speak they come so thick together into my mouth that they fall to fighting among themselves to get out; that’s why my tongue lets fly the first that come, though they may not be pat to the purpose. But I’ll take care henceforward to use such as befit the dignity of my office; for ‘in a house where there’s plenty, supper is soon cooked,’ and ‘he who binds does not wrangle,’ and ‘the bell-ringer’s in a safe berth,’ and ‘giving and keeping require brains.’”
“That’s it, Sancho!” said Don Quixote; “pack, tack, string proverbs together; nobody is hindering thee! ‘My mother beats me, and I go on with my tricks.’ I am bidding thee avoid proverbs, and here in a second thou hast shot out a whole litany of them, which have as much to do with what we are talking about as ‘over the hills of Ubeda.’ Mind, Sancho, I do not say that a proverb aptly brought in is objectionable; but to pile up and string together proverbs at random makes conversation dull and vulgar.
“When thou ridest on horseback, do not go lolling with thy body on the back of the saddle, nor carry thy legs stiff or sticking out from the horse’s belly, nor yet sit so loosely that one would suppose thou wert on Dapple; for the seat on a horse makes gentlemen of some and grooms of others.
“Be moderate in thy sleep; for he who does not rise early does not get the benefit of the day; and remember, Sancho, diligence is the mother of good fortune, and indolence, its opposite, never yet attained the object of an honest ambition.
“The last counsel I will give thee now, though it does not tend to bodily improvement, I would have thee carry carefully in thy memory, for I believe it will be no less useful to thee than those I have given thee already, and it is this — never engage in a dispute about families, at least in the way of comparing them one with another; for necessarily one of those compared will be better than the other, and thou wilt be hated by the one thou hast disparaged, and get nothing in any shape from the one thou hast exalted.
“Thy attire shall be hose of full length, a long jerkin, and a cloak a trifle longer; loose breeches by no means, for they are becoming neither for gentlemen nor for governors.
“For the present, Sancho, this is all that has occurred to me to advise thee; as time goes by and occasions arise my instructions shall follow, if thou take care to let me know how thou art circumstanced.”
“Senor,” said Sancho, “I see well enough that all these things your worship has said to me are good, holy, and profitable; but what use will they be to me if I don’t remember one of them? To be sure that about not letting my nails grow, and marrying again if I have the chance, will not slip out of my head; but all that other hash, muddle, and jumble — I don’t and can’t recollect any more of it than of last year’s clouds; so it must be given me in writing; for though I can’t either read or write, I’ll give it to my confessor, to drive it into me and remind me of it whenever it is necessary.”
“Ah, sinner that I am!” said Don Quixote, “how bad it looks in governors not to know how to read or write; for let me tell thee, Sancho, when a man knows not how to read, or is left-handed, it argues one of two things; either that he was the son of exceedingly mean and lowly parents, or that he himself was so incorrigible and ill-conditioned that neither good company nor good teaching could make any impression on him. It is a great defect that thou labourest under, and therefore I would have thee learn at any rate to sign thy name.” “I can sign my name well enough,” said Sancho, “for when I was steward of the brotherhood in my village I learned to make certain letters, like the marks on bales of goods, which they told me made out my name. Besides I can pretend my right hand is disabled and make some one else sign for me, for ‘there’s a remedy for everything except death;’ and as I shall be in command and hold the staff, I can do as I like; moreover, ‘he who has the alcalde for his father — ,’ and I’ll be governor, and that’s higher than alcalde. Only come and see! Let them make light of me and abuse me; ‘they’ll come for wool and go back shorn;’ ‘whom God loves, his house is known to Him;’ ‘the silly sayings of the rich pass for saws in the world;’ and as I’ll be rich, being a governor, and at the same time generous, as I mean to be, no fault will he seen in me. ‘Only make yourself honey and the flies will suck you;’ ‘as much as thou hast so much art thou worth,’ as my grandmother used to say; and ‘thou canst have no revenge of a man of substance.’”
“Oh, God’s curse upon thee, Sancho!” here exclaimed Don Quixote; “sixty thousand devils fly away with thee and thy proverbs! For the last hour thou hast been stringing them together and inflicting the pangs of torture on me with every one of them. Those proverbs will bring thee to the gallows one day, I promise thee; thy subjects will take the government from thee, or there will be revolts among them. Tell me, where dost thou pick them up, thou booby? How dost thou apply them, thou blockhead? For with me, to utter one and make it apply properly, I have to sweat and labour as if I were digging.”
“By God, master mine,” said Sancho, “your worship is making a fuss about very little. Why the devil should you be vexed if I make use of what is my own? And I have got nothing else, nor any other stock in trade except proverbs and more proverbs; and here are three just this instant come into my head, pat to the purpose and like pears in a basket; but I won’t repeat them, for ‘sage silence is called Sancho.’”
“That, Sancho, thou art not,” said Don Quixote; “for not only art thou not sage silence, but thou art pestilent prate and perversity; still I would like to know what three proverbs have just now come into thy memory, for I have been turning over mine own — and it is a good one — and none occurs to me.”
“What can be better,” said Sancho, “than ‘never put thy thumbs between two back teeth;’ and ‘to “get out of my house” and “what do you want with my wife?” there is no answer;’ and ‘whether the pitcher hits the stove, or the stove the pitcher, it’s a bad business for the pitcher;’ all which fit to a hair? For no one should quarrel with his governor, or him in authority over him, because he will come off the worst, as he does who puts his finger between two back and if they are not back teeth it makes no difference, so long as they are teeth; and to whatever the governor may say there’s no answer, any more than to ‘get out of my house’ and ‘what do you want with my wife?’ and then, as for that about the stone and the pitcher, a blind man could see that. So that he ‘who sees the mote in another’s eye had need to see the beam in his own,’ that it be not said of himself, ‘the dead woman was frightened at the one with her throat cut;’ and your worship knows well that ‘the fool knows more in his own house than the wise man in another’s .’”
“Nay, Sancho,” said Don Quixote, “the fool knows nothing, either in his own house or in anybody else’s , for no wise structure of any sort can stand on a foundation of folly; but let us say no more about it, Sancho, for if thou governest badly, thine will he the fault and mine the shame; but I comfort myself with having done my duty in advising thee as earnestly and as wisely as I could; and thus I am released from my obligations and my promise. God guide thee, Sancho, and govern thee in thy government, and deliver me from the misgiving I have that thou wilt turn the whole island upside down, a thing I might easily prevent by explaining to the duke what thou art and telling him that all that fat little person of thine is nothing else but a sack full of proverbs and sauciness.”
“Senor,” said Sancho, “if your worship thinks I’m not fit for this government, I give it up on the spot; for the mere black of the nail of my soul is dearer to me than my whole body; and I can live just as well, simple Sancho, on bread and onions, as governor, on partridges and capons; and what’s more, while we’re asleep we’re all equal, great and small, rich and poor. But if your worship looks into it, you will see it was your worship alone that put me on to this business of governing; for I know no more about the government of islands than a buzzard; and if there’s any reason to think that because of my being a governor the devil will get hold of me, I’d rather go Sancho to heaven than governor to hell.”
“By God, Sancho,” said Don Quixote, “for those last words thou hast uttered alone, I consider thou deservest to be governor of a thousand islands. Thou hast good natural instincts, without which no knowledge is worth anything; commend thyself to God, and try not to swerve in the pursuit of thy main object; I mean, always make it thy aim and fixed purpose to do right in all matters that come before thee, for heaven always helps good intentions; and now let us go to dinner, for I think my lord and lady are waiting for us.”
 
听了唐吉诃德这番话，谁会不把他当成一个足智多谋、识见万里的人呢？不过，就像这部巨著里记述的那样，他只是在谈论骑士道时才胡言乱语，而谈论其他事情时则头脑清晰，所以他时时表现出言行不符的情况。他对桑乔的第二部分告诫表现得更为风趣，把他的才智和疯狂都提高到了一个新的高度。桑乔全神贯注地聆听着，似乎要把这些话牢牢记住，以便遵照这些话当好总督。唐吉诃德接着说道：
“至于应该如何管好你自己和你的家，桑乔，我首先告诉你，你应该注意整洁，要剪指甲，不要像某些人那样，留着长长的指甲，还以为那样手形美，其实，那倒更像丑恶的蜥蜴的爪子了。这是个不讲卫生的陋习。
“你不要衣冠不整、邋邋遢遢的，桑乔。衣冠不整给人一种萎靡不振的印象，除非像人们说凯撒大帝那样，是故意装的。
“你要认真惦量一下你的职务的分量。如果你想给你的佣人做制服，就要做既实用又大方的，别要那种花里胡哨的，而且还要兼顾穷人。我的意思是说，假如你想给六个侍童做制服，那么你就做三套，再做另外三套给穷人，这样你在天上和人间就都有人侍候了。这种做衣服的办法，虚荣心强的人是不会办到的。
“你别吃大蒜和葱头，免得人家闻到你身上有这种味就知道你是个乡巴佬。
“你走路要慢，说话要沉稳，不过，也别声音小得像是说给自己听似的。这些都不好。
“饭要少吃，尤其是晚饭，因为身体好全都靠胃里消化得好。
“酒要少喝，别忘记酒喝得多了既容易说漏嘴，又容易误事。
“你得注意，桑乔，吃饭时不要狼吞虎咽，也不要在别人面前‘嗝儿’。”
“我不懂什么叫‘嗝儿’。”桑乔说。
唐吉诃德对他说：
“‘嗝儿’就是打嗝儿，桑乔，这是西班牙文里最难听的一个词，尽管它的意义很明确。所以，斯文人就选择了拉丁语，‘打嗝儿’就说‘嗝儿’。如果有些人还是不懂，那也没关系，慢慢地人们就会接受，也就容易懂了。这样可以丰富语言，要知道能够改变俗人语言的是习惯。”
“是的，大人，”桑乔说，“我应该记住您的教诲，也就是不要打嗝儿，我总是打嗝儿。”
“是‘嗝儿’，不是‘打嗝儿’。”唐吉诃德说。
“以后我就说‘嗝儿’，”桑乔说，“肯定不会忘了。”
“还有桑乔，你说话时不要总带那么多俗语。那样虽然有时显得很简练，可更多的时候却显得牵强附会，反而显得不伦不类了。”
“这就得靠上帝帮忙了，”桑乔说，“因为我知道的俗语比书上还多。我一说话它们就拥到我的嘴边，争先恐后地要往外跑，顾不上合适不合适，还没等找到合适的词就跑了出来，不过，我以后说话一定注意，要与我的重要职位相符，反正‘家里有粮，做事不慌’，‘一言既出，难以收回’，‘站着说话不腰疼’，‘别管给还是要，都得有头脑’。”
“你就是这样，桑乔，”唐吉诃德说，“一说起俗语来就一串一串的，谁也拿你没办法！仍然是‘你说你的，我该干什么还干什么’！我正在告诉你说话时少带俗语，你就马上又说出一大串来，而且内容根本不沾边！桑乔，我并不是说讲话时带俗语不好，但如果是乱用一气，就显得既无意义又粗俗了。
“你骑马的时候不要把身子往后仰，也不要直着两条腿不夹马肚子，骑马时不能像你骑驴那样吊儿郎当的。同样是骑马，有的人像骑士，有的人就像马夫。
“你不要睡懒觉，日出不起身就等于白过了一天。你注意，桑乔，勤奋是成功之母，而懒惰从来都不能完成自己的预定目标。“我要给你的最后一句忠告不是给你美化外表的，但我希望你永远记住它，我觉得它就像我刚才说的那些话一样重要。这句话就是你永远不要追问别人的家世，至少不要互相比。一比就会有高低，被比下去的人会恨你，比上来的人也不会抬举你。
“你应该穿紧身长裤，长外衣，斗篷也要长些。至于肥腿裤，千万别穿，无论是骑士还是总督都不应该穿肥腿裤。
“桑乔，我现在想起来的就是这些。以后想起什么来再告诉你，你也别忘了把你的情况告诉我。”
“大人，”桑乔说，“我知道您对我说的这些都是善意、珍贵和有益的，可是如果我无论如何也记不住，那又有什么用呢？您不让我留长指甲，让我有机会就再结婚，我都不会忘记。可是，您说了那么一大堆东西，就像过眼烟云一样，我现在记不住，以后也记不住。最好您给我写下来。不过，我又不识字。您还是等我向牧师忏悔时，把它交给牧师吧。”
“我的天啊，”唐吉诃德说，“总督不识字多不像话呀！桑乔，你该知道，如果一个人不会写字，或者不聪明，那只能说明他的父母太卑贱，或者是他太调皮捣蛋，实在不可教养。
你的差距真不小呀。我觉得你至少得学会签字。”
“签名字我倒会。”桑乔说，“我以前是我们那儿的总管，学会了写几个字母，就像货包上的标记，人家说那就是我的名字。有时我还装作右手有毛病，让别人为我代签。反正干什么都有办法对付，若是没法对付，我反正有绝对权力，想怎么办就怎么办，更何况我还有靠山呢……我是总督，比靠山还靠山，到时候就知道了。谁要想跟我捣乱，准让他搬起石头砸自己的脚。‘富在深山有远亲，富人的蠢话也成了格言’。我当了总督，就会成为富人，而且我花钱大方，我本来就打算大方，那么我就是完人了。‘人善被人欺，’我祖母常这样说，‘有根有势，无奈他何’。”
“这个该死的桑乔，”唐吉诃德说，“真应该让你和你的俗语见鬼去！你一口气能说半天俗语，我听着像被灌了辣椒水似的。我敢保证，你这些俗语迟早得把你送上绞刑架。你的臣民们也会因为这些俗语把你从总督的位子上赶下来，或者联合起来推翻你。告诉我，你这个白痴，你哪儿来的这么多俗语？你又是怎么会用的呢？我怎么要说一句恰当的俗语就那么费劲呢？”
“天啊，我的主人，”桑乔说，“您真不该为这区区小事大动肝火。我用的是自己的东西，这跟见不见鬼有什么关系呢？别的东西我没有，除了俗语还是俗语。现在我又想起了四句俗语，用起来恐怕再恰当不过了，可是我别再说了，‘慎言即君子’嘛。”
“你可不是君子，”唐吉诃德说，“因为你不仅不慎言，而且还到处乱说，说个不停。但即使这样，我还是想听听你现在想起来的那四句非常合适的俗语是什么。我的脑子也不错，可是想了半天，也没想出一句合适的。”
桑乔说：“‘千万别往智齿中间伸指头’，‘问你想找我老婆干什么，就是叫你滚蛋，你还有什么好说的’，‘甭管石头碰坛子还是坛子碰石头，倒霉的都是坛子’，这几句话难道不是很合适吗？难道还有什么比这些更好吗？谁也别想跟总督或者管他的人过不去，否则最后吃亏的还是他自己，这就好比你要把手指放到两个智齿中间，即便不是智齿，只是放到牙齿中间也一样。不论总督说什么也别顶嘴，就好比人家对你说‘你想找我老婆干什么？滚出我家去！’一样。至于石头碰坛子的结果，就是瞎子也能看见。所以，能够看到别人眼里有斑点的人，也应该看到自己眼里的梁木①，免得别人说‘死人还怕吊死鬼’。您很清楚，傻子在家里比聪明人在外面懂得还多。”
①参见《圣经》。“为什么看见你兄弟眼中有刺，却不想想自己眼中有梁木呢？”意指看人不看己。
“不是这样，桑乔，”唐吉诃德说，“傻子无论在家里还是在外面，都是什么也不懂，而笨人什么聪明事也办不成。咱们先不说这些吧，桑乔。你如果当不好总督，那就是你的罪孽，我的耻辱。令我宽慰的是，我已经把我应该告诉你的东西都尽我所能地如实告诉你了，这就尽到了我的义务，履行了我的诺言。让上帝指引你，桑乔，督促你当好你的总督吧。我用不着担心你把整个岛屿搞得一团糟了。我只要向公爵说明你是什么人，说这个小胖子是一个满肚子俗语和坏水的家伙，就可以问心无愧了。”
“大人，”桑乔说，“如果您觉得我不配做这个总督，我就不去了。我注重人的点滴精神胜于人的整个肉体。这个桑乔当百姓时是粗茶淡饭，当了总督也不过是个酒足饭饱，更何况若论睡觉，大人物或是小人物，富人和穷人，全都是一样哩。如果您注意到了这点，就会想起当初还是您要我当岛屿总督的，我其实对管理岛屿的事一无所知。假如因为当总督而让我去阴间，我宁愿仍做桑乔升天堂，却不愿意当个总督下地狱。”
“天啊，桑乔，”唐吉诃德说，“就凭你最后这几句话，我觉得你就应该当上千个岛屿的总督。你天性好。没有好的天性，再有心计也没用。你向上帝祈祷，保佑你实现初衷吧。我是想让你不改初衷，心想事成，老天总是扶助善良的愿望。咱们去吃饭吧，那些大人大概正等着咱们呢。”
Part 2 Chapter 44
It is stated, they say, in the true original of this history, that when Cide Hamete came to write this chapter, his interpreter did not translate it as he wrote it — that is, as a kind of complaint the Moor made against himself for having taken in hand a story so dry and of so little variety as this of Don Quixote, for he found himself forced to speak perpetually of him and Sancho, without venturing to indulge in digressions and episodes more serious and more interesting. He said, too, that to go on, mind, hand, pen always restricted to writing upon one single subject, and speaking through the mouths of a few characters, was intolerable drudgery, the result of which was never equal to the author’s labour, and that to avoid this he had in the First Part availed himself of the device of novels, like “The Ill-advised Curiosity,” and “The Captive Captain,” which stand, as it were, apart from the story; the others are given there being incidents which occurred to Don Quixote himself and could not be omitted. He also thought, he says, that many, engrossed by the interest attaching to the exploits of Don Quixote, would take none in the novels, and pass them over hastily or impatiently without noticing the elegance and art of their composition, which would be very manifest were they published by themselves and not as mere adjuncts to the crazes of Don Quixote or the simplicities of Sancho. Therefore in this Second Part he thought it best not to insert novels, either separate or interwoven, but only episodes, something like them, arising out of the circumstances the facts present; and even these sparingly, and with no more words than suffice to make them plain; and as he confines and restricts himself to the narrow limits of the narrative, though he has ability; capacity, and brains enough to deal with the whole universe, he requests that his labours may not be despised, and that credit be given him, not alone for what he writes, but for what he has refrained from writing.
And so he goes on with his story, saying that the day Don Quixote gave the counsels to Sancho, the same afternoon after dinner he handed them to him in writing so that he might get some one to read them to him. They had scarcely, however, been given to him when he let them drop, and they fell into the hands of the duke, who showed them to the duchess and they were both amazed afresh at the madness and wit of Don Quixote. To carry on the joke, then, the same evening they despatched Sancho with a large following to the village that was to serve him for an island. It happened that the person who had him in charge was a majordomo of the duke’s , a man of great discretion and humour — and there can be no humour without discretion — and the same who played the part of the Countess Trifaldi in the comical way that has been already described; and thus qualified, and instructed by his master and mistress as to how to deal with Sancho, he carried out their scheme admirably. Now it came to pass that as soon as Sancho saw this majordomo he seemed in his features to recognise those of the Trifaldi, and turning to his master, he said to him, “Senor, either the devil will carry me off, here on this spot, righteous and believing, or your worship will own to me that the face of this majordomo of the duke’s here is the very face of the Distressed One.”
Don Quixote regarded the majordomo attentively, and having done so, said to Sancho, “There is no reason why the devil should carry thee off, Sancho, either righteous or believing — and what thou meanest by that I know not; the face of the Distressed One is that of the majordomo, but for all that the majordomo is not the Distressed One; for his being so would involve a mighty contradiction; but this is not the time for going into questions of the sort, which would be involving ourselves in an inextricable labyrinth. Believe me, my friend, we must pray earnestly to our Lord that he deliver us both from wicked wizards and enchanters.”
“It is no joke, senor,” said Sancho, “for before this I heard him speak, and it seemed exactly as if the voice of the Trifaldi was sounding in my ears. Well, I’ll hold my peace; but I’ll take care to be on the look-out henceforth for any sign that may be seen to confirm or do away with this suspicion.”
“Thou wilt do well, Sancho,” said Don Quixote, “and thou wilt let me know all thou discoverest, and all that befalls thee in thy government.”
Sancho at last set out attended by a great number of people. He was dressed in the garb of a lawyer, with a gaban of tawny watered camlet over all and a montera cap of the same material, and mounted a la gineta upon a mule. Behind him, in accordance with the duke’s orders, followed Dapple with brand new ass-trappings and ornaments of silk, and from time to time Sancho turned round to look at his ass, so well pleased to have him with him that he would not have changed places with the emperor of Germany. On taking leave he kissed the hands of the duke and duchess and got his master’s blessing, which Don Quixote gave him with tears, and he received blubbering.
 
Let worthy Sancho go in peace, and good luck to him, Gentle Reader; and look out for two bushels of laughter, which the account of how he behaved himself in office will give thee. In the meantime turn thy attention to what happened his master the same night, and if thou dost not laugh thereat, at any rate thou wilt stretch thy mouth with a grin; for Don Quixote’s adventures must be honoured either with wonder or with laughter.
It is recorded, then, that as soon as Sancho had gone, Don Quixote felt his loneliness, and had it been possible for him to revoke the mandate and take away the government from him he would have done so. The duchess observed his dejection and asked him why he was melancholy; because, she said, if it was for the loss of Sancho, there were squires, duennas, and damsels in her house who would wait upon him to his full satisfaction.
“The truth is, senora,” replied Don Quixote, “that I do feel the loss of Sancho; but that is not the main cause of my looking sad; and of all the offers your excellence makes me, I accept only the good-will with which they are made, and as to the remainder I entreat of your excellence to permit and allow me alone to wait upon myself in my chamber.”
“Indeed, Senor Don Quixote,” said the duchess, “that must not be; four of my damsels, as beautiful as flowers, shall wait upon you.”
“To me,” said Don Quixote, “they will not be flowers, but thorns to pierce my heart. They, or anything like them, shall as soon enter my chamber as fly. If your highness wishes to gratify me still further, though I deserve it not, permit me to please myself, and wait upon myself in my own room; for I place a barrier between my inclinations and my virtue, and I do not wish to break this rule through the generosity your highness is disposed to display towards me; and, in short, I will sleep in my clothes, sooner than allow anyone to undress me.”
“Say no more, Senor Don Quixote, say no more,” said the duchess; “I assure you I will give orders that not even a fly, not to say a damsel, shall enter your room. I am not the one to undermine the propriety of Senor Don Quixote, for it strikes me that among his many virtues the one that is pre-eminent is that of modesty. Your worship may undress and dress in private and in your own way, as you please and when you please, for there will be no one to hinder you; and in your chamber you will find all the utensils requisite to supply the wants of one who sleeps with his door locked, to the end that no natural needs compel you to open it. May the great Dulcinea del Toboso live a thousand years, and may her fame extend all over the surface of the globe, for she deserves to be loved by a knight so valiant and so virtuous; and may kind heaven infuse zeal into the heart of our governor Sancho Panza to finish off his discipline speedily, so that the world may once more enjoy the beauty of so grand a lady.”
To which Don Quixote replied, “Your highness has spoken like what you are; from the mouth of a noble lady nothing bad can come; and Dulcinea will be more fortunate, and better known to the world by the praise of your highness than by all the eulogies the greatest orators on earth could bestow upon her.”
“Well, well, Senor Don Quixote,” said the duchess, is nearly supper-time, and the duke is is probably waiting; come let us go to supper, and retire to rest early, for the journey you made yesterday from Kandy was not such a short one but that it must have caused you some fatigue.”
“I feel none, senora,” said Don Quixote, “for I would go so far as to swear to your excellence that in all my life I never mounted a quieter beast, or a pleasanter paced one, than Clavileno; and I don’t know what could have induced Malambruno to discard a steed so swift and so gentle, and burn it so recklessly as he did.”
“Probably,” said the duchess, “repenting of the evil he had done to the Trifaldi and company, and others, and the crimes he must have committed as a wizard and enchanter, he resolved to make away with all the instruments of his craft; and so burned Clavileno as the chief one, and that which mainly kept him restless, wandering from land to land; and by its ashes and the trophy of the placard the valour of the great Don Quixote of La Mancha is established for ever.”
Don Quixote renewed his thanks to the duchess; and having supped, retired to his chamber alone, refusing to allow anyone to enter with him to wait on him, such was his fear of encountering temptations that might lead or drive him to forget his chaste fidelity to his lady Dulcinea; for he had always present to his mind the virtue of Amadis, that flower and mirror of knights-errant. He locked the door behind him, and by the light of two wax candles undressed himself, but as he was taking off his stockings — O disaster unworthy of such a personage! — there came a burst, not of sighs, or anything belying his delicacy or good breeding, but of some two dozen stitches in one of his stockings, that made it look like a window-lattice. The worthy gentleman was beyond measure distressed, and at that moment he would have given an ounce of silver to have had half a drachm of green silk there; I say green silk, because the stockings were green.
Here Cide Hamete exclaimed as he was writing, “O poverty, poverty! I know not what could have possessed the great Cordovan poet to call thee ‘holy gift ungratefully received.’ Although a Moor, I know well enough from the intercourse I have had with Christians that holiness consists in charity, humility, faith, obedience, and poverty; but for all that, I say he must have a great deal of godliness who can find any satisfaction in being poor; unless, indeed, it be the kind of poverty one of their greatest saints refers to, saying, ‘possess all things as though ye possessed them not;’ which is what they call poverty in spirit. But thou, that other poverty — for it is of thee I am speaking now — why dost thou love to fall out with gentlemen and men of good birth more than with other people? Why dost thou compel them to smear the cracks in their shoes, and to have the buttons of their coats, one silk, another hair, and another glass? Why must their ruffs be always crinkled like endive leaves, and not crimped with a crimping iron?” (From this we may perceive the antiquity of starch and crimped ruffs.) Then he goes on: “Poor gentleman of good family! always cockering up his honour, dining miserably and in secret, and making a hypocrite of the toothpick with which he sallies out into the street after eating nothing to oblige him to use it! Poor fellow, I say, with his nervous honour, fancying they perceive a league off the patch on his shoe, the sweat-stains on his hat, the shabbiness of his cloak, and the hunger of his stomach!”
All this was brought home to Don Quixote by the bursting of his stitches; however, he comforted himself on perceiving that Sancho had left behind a pair of travelling boots, which he resolved to wear the next day. At last he went to bed, out of spirits and heavy at heart, as much because he missed Sancho as because of the irreparable disaster to his stockings, the stitches of which he would have even taken up with silk of another colour, which is one of the greatest signs of poverty a gentleman can show in the course of his never-failing embarrassments. He put out the candles; but the night was warm and he could not sleep; he rose from his bed and opened slightly a grated window that looked out on a beautiful garden, and as he did so he perceived and heard people walking and talking in the garden. He set himself to listen attentively, and those below raised their voices so that he could hear these words:
“Urge me not to sing, Emerencia, for thou knowest that ever since this stranger entered the castle and my eyes beheld him, I cannot sing but only weep; besides my lady is a light rather than a heavy sleeper, and I would not for all the wealth of the world that she found us here; and even if she were asleep and did not waken, my singing would be in vain, if this strange AEneas, who has come into my neighbourhood to flout me, sleeps on and wakens not to hear it.”
“Heed not that, dear Altisidora,” replied a voice; “the duchess is no doubt asleep, and everybody in the house save the lord of thy heart and disturber of thy soul; for just now I perceived him open the grated window of his chamber, so he must be awake; sing, my poor sufferer, in a low sweet tone to the accompaniment of thy harp; and even if the duchess hears us we can lay the blame on the heat of the night.”
“That is not the point, Emerencia,” replied Altisidora, “it is that I would not that my singing should lay bare my heart, and that I should be thought a light and wanton maiden by those who know not the mighty power of love; but come what may; better a blush on the cheeks than a sore in the heart;” and here a harp softly touched made itself heard. As he listened to all this Don Quixote was in a state of breathless amazement, for immediately the countless adventures like this, with windows, gratings, gardens, serenades, lovemakings, and languishings, that he had read of in his trashy books of chivalry, came to his mind. He at once concluded that some damsel of the duchess’s was in love with him, and that her modesty forced her to keep her passion secret. He trembled lest he should fall, and made an inward resolution not to yield; and commending himself with all his might and soul to his lady Dulcinea he made up his mind to listen to the music; and to let them know he was there he gave a pretended sneeze, at which the damsels were not a little delighted, for all they wanted was that Don Quixote should hear them. So having tuned the harp, Altisidora, running her hand across the strings, began this ballad:
O thou that art above in bed,
Between the holland sheets,
A-lying there from night till morn,
With outstretched legs asleep;
O thou, most valiant knight of all
The famed Manchegan breed,
Of purity and virtue more
Than gold of Araby;
Give ear unto a suffering maid,
Well-grown but evil-starr’d,
For those two suns of thine have lit
A fire within her heart.
Adventures seeking thou dost rove,
To others bringing woe;
Thou scatterest wounds, but, ah, the balm
To heal them dost withhold!
Say, valiant youth, and so may God
Thy enterprises speed,
Didst thou the light mid Libya’s sands
Or Jaca’s rocks first see?
Did scaly serpents give thee suck?
Who nursed thee when a babe?
Wert cradled in the forest rude,
Or gloomy mountain cave?
O Dulcinea may be proud,
That plump and lusty maid;
For she alone hath had the power
A tiger fierce to tame.
And she for this shall famous be
From Tagus to Jarama,
From Manzanares to Genil,
From Duero to Arlanza.
Fain would I change with her, and give
A petticoat to boot,
The best and bravest that I have,
All trimmed with gold galloon.
O for to be the happy fair
Thy mighty arms enfold,
Or even sit beside thy bed
And scratch thy dusty poll!
I rave, — to favours such as these
Unworthy to aspire;
Thy feet to tickle were enough
For one so mean as I.
What caps, what slippers silver-laced,
Would I on thee bestow!
What damask breeches make for thee;
What fine long holland cloaks!
And I would give thee pearls that should
As big as oak-galls show;
So matchless big that each might well
Be called the great “Alone.”
Manchegan Nero, look not down
From thy Tarpeian Rock
Upon this burning heart, nor add
The fuel of thy wrath.
A virgin soft and young am I,
Not yet fifteen years old;
(I’m only three months past fourteen,
I swear upon my soul).
I hobble not nor do I limp,
All blemish I’m without,
And as I walk my lily locks
Are trailing on the ground.
And though my nose be rather flat,
And though my mouth be wide,
My teeth like topazes exalt
My beauty to the sky.
Thou knowest that my voice is sweet,
That is if thou dost hear;
And I am moulded in a form
Somewhat below the mean.
These charms, and many more, are thine,
Spoils to thy spear and bow all;
A damsel of this house am I,
By name Altisidora.
 
Here the lay of the heart-stricken Altisidora came to an end, while the warmly wooed Don Quixote began to feel alarm; and with a deep sigh he said to himself, “O that I should be such an unlucky knight that no damsel can set eyes on me but falls in love with me! O that the peerless Dulcinea should be so unfortunate that they cannot let her enjoy my incomparable constancy in peace! What would ye with her, ye queens? Why do ye persecute her, ye empresses? Why ye pursue her, ye virgins of from fourteen to fifteen? Leave the unhappy being to triumph, rejoice and glory in the lot love has been pleased to bestow upon her in surrendering my heart and yielding up my soul to her. Ye love-smitten host, know that to Dulcinea only I am dough and sugar-paste, flint to all others; for her I am honey, for you aloes. For me Dulcinea alone is beautiful, wise, virtuous, graceful, and high-bred, and all others are ill-favoured, foolish, light, and low-born. Nature sent me into the world to be hers and no other’s ; Altisidora may weep or sing, the lady for whose sake they belaboured me in the castle of the enchanted Moor may give way to despair, but I must be Dulcinea’s , boiled or roast, pure, courteous, and chaste, in spite of all the magic-working powers on earth.” And with that he shut the window with a bang, and, as much out of temper and out of sorts as if some great misfortune had befallen him, stretched himself on his bed, where we will leave him for the present, as the great Sancho Panza, who is about to set up his famous government, now demands our attention.
 
据说小说作者锡德•哈迈德写的这章，译者没有照原文翻译。锡德•哈迈德对自己总是干巴巴地局限于唐吉诃德不满意，因为这样就总得写唐吉诃德和桑乔，而不能扩展到其他更严肃或者更风趣的故事上去。他觉得总是把自己的心思、手和笔集中在一个题目上，而且总是叙述那么几个人，简直让人难以承受，而且读者也不满意。为了避免这个缺陷，他在上卷里采取了穿插几个故事的手法，例如《无谓的猜疑》和《被俘虏的上尉》。那两个故事与这部小说没有什么联系，可是其他故事却与唐吉诃德相关，所以不能不写。作者还说，他估计很多人只注意唐吉诃德的事迹，而忽视了那些故事，匆匆带过，或者读起来满心不快，却没有注意到故事本身所包含的深刻内涵。如果把这些故事单独出版，不与疯癫的唐吉诃德和愚蠢的桑乔交织在一起，就容易发现它们的深刻含义了。所以在下卷里，作者不准备采用故事，无论它们与本书有关还是无关，而是记述一些从本书事件中衍生出来的情节，并且要语言精炼。虽然语言不多，但是作者的能力、才干和智慧足以描述世间的一切。作者请人们不要忽略了他的良苦用心，别只是对他写出的东西加以赞扬，而且要注意到他没有写出来的东西。
言归正传。那天唐吉诃德开导完桑乔，就去吃饭了。吃完饭，他又把自己的话写了下来，让桑乔以后找人给他念。可是，桑乔刚拿到这几张纸就把它丢了，结果落到了公爵手里。公爵又告诉了公爵夫人。他们不禁再次对唐吉诃德的疯癫和聪慧感到意外，于是决定把这个玩笑继续下去。当天下午，他们派了不少人陪着桑乔到了准备让桑乔当总督的地方，而领队的就是公爵的管家。这个人很机灵，也很风趣，他若是不机灵也就不会风趣了，刚才说的那个“三摆裙夫人”就是他装扮的。管家已从主人处得知应当如何对付桑乔，结果扮演得十分成功。且说桑乔一见到管家，就觉得他的脸同忧伤妇人的脸完全一样，便转身对唐吉诃德说道：
“大人，看来我又见到鬼了。不过，您恐怕也得承认，这位管家的这张脸就是忧伤妇人那张脸。”
唐吉诃德仔细看了看管家，看完后对桑乔说：
“没必要让你见什么鬼，桑乔，我不明白你的意思。即使忧伤妇人的脸像管家的脸，那也不等于说管家就是忧伤妇人。如果他们同是一个人，那问题就太复杂了。现在不是弄清这个问题的时候，那会把我们弄湖涂的。相信我吧，朋友，现在需要我们十分虔诚地请求上帝，把我们俩从巫师和魔法师的恶作剧里解脱出来。”
“这并不是开玩笑，大人。”桑乔说，“刚才我听他说话，就仿佛是三摆裙夫人在我耳边说话似的。那好吧，我不说了，不过我会从现在起开始留心，看是否会发现什么迹象来证实或者否定我的怀疑。”
“你这样做就对了，桑乔。”唐吉诃德说，“无论你发现什么情况，还有你当总督时遇到的各种情况，都要及时告诉我。”
桑乔终于在众人的簇拥下出门了。他打扮成文官的样子，又披了一件很宽大的棕黄色羽纱风衣，头戴一顶用同样面料制作的帽子，骑着骡子，后面跟随着他的驴。按照公爵的吩咐，驴已经配备了鞍具和发亮的丝绸饰品。桑乔不时回头看看他的驴。有这么多人簇拥着他，他感到十分得意，这时候就是让他去做德国的皇帝，他也不会去了。
桑乔向公爵和公爵夫人告别，又接受了唐吉诃德的祝福。
唐吉诃德祝福时眼含热泪，桑乔也是一副哭相。
亲爱的读者，让桑乔一路平安，事事如意吧。你若是知道了他后来在总督职位上的行为，准会笑个不停的。现在，且看看唐吉诃德那天晚上所做的事吧。你看了即使没有笑出声，也会像猴子一样把嘴咧开！唐吉诃德那天晚上做的事真是让人既惊奇又好笑。据记载，那天桑乔刚走，唐吉诃德就感觉到孤独。如果可能的话，他肯定会让公爵收回成命，不叫桑乔去当总督了。
公爵夫人见唐吉诃德郁郁不乐，便问他为什么不高兴。如果是因为桑乔不在的缘故，那么，公爵家里的侍从、女佣和侍女都可以供他使唤，保证让他称心如意。
“的确是因为桑乔不在的缘故，夫人。”唐吉诃德说，“不过，这并不是我看起来郁郁不乐的主要原因。您对我的关怀，我只能心领了。我请求您让我在自己的房间里自己照顾自己。”
“可不能这样，”公爵夫人说，“我这儿有四个侍女可供您使唤，她们个个都花容月貌。”
“对于我来说，”唐吉诃德说，“她们并非花容月貌，而是如芒在背。让她们进入我的房间，那绝对不行。您是关怀我，可我不该享受这种关怀，您还是让我自便吧。我宁愿在我的欲望和贞操之间建起一道城墙，也不愿意由于您对我的关怀而失去贞操。我宁可和衣而睡，也不愿意让别人给我脱衣服。”
“别再说了，唐吉诃德大人。”公爵夫人说，“我会吩咐的，别说是一个侍女，就是一只母苍蝇也休想进入您的房间。我可不是那种人，让唐吉诃德大人您败坏自己的尊严。我已经意识到了，贞操是您诸多美德中最突出的一点。您可以在房间里自个儿关着门，随时任意脱衣服和穿衣服，绝对没有人来阻拦您。您可以在房间里找到各种必要的器皿，即使您要方便也不必出门。让托博索的杜尔西内亚长命百岁，让她的芳名传遍整个大地吧，只有她才配被如此英勇、如此自重的骑士所爱。让仁慈的老天催促我们的桑乔总督尽早完成他的鞭笞苦行，好让世人重新欣赏到如此伟大的夫人的美貌吧。”
唐吉诃德说：
“高贵的夫人说起话来真是恰如其分，善良的夫人讲起话来从来不会有任何恶意。而世界上最幸运的人当属杜尔西内亚，因为她竟受到了您的赞扬。在她受到的各种赞扬里，唯有您的赞扬最有分量。”
“那么好吧，唐吉诃德大人，”公爵夫人说，“已经是吃晚饭的时候了，公爵大概正在等咱们呢。请您同我们一起吃晚饭，然后您就早点睡觉吧。昨天的坎达亚之行可不近，您大概也累了。”
“我一点儿也没感到累，夫人。”唐吉诃德说，“我可以向您发誓，我平生从未骑过‘轻木销’这样平稳的马。我真不明白马兰布鲁诺凭什么把如此轻盈、如此英俊的马无缘无故地烧掉。”
“这很容易理解。”公爵夫人说，“作为巫师和魔法师，他已经对三摆裙夫人及其一行还有其他人做了孽，后来他后悔了，想毁掉他这个做孽的主要工具。就是这匹木马带着他到处奔波，所以他把木马烧了。随着木马燃烧留下的灰烬和由此建立的丰碑，曼查的伟大骑士唐吉诃德的英名将与世长存。”
唐吉诃德再次对公爵夫人表示感谢。吃完晚饭后，唐吉诃德回到房间里，只身一人。他不许任何人进去服侍他，以免遇到什么情况使他身不由己地失掉对他的杜尔西内亚夫人的忠贞。他的脑子里时刻不忘游侠骑士的精英阿马迪斯的美德。他随手关上门，借着两支蜡烛的光线脱衣服。真糟糕，像他这样正统的人真不该遇到这种不正统的事——不是什么污染房间空气的排放秽气之类的事，而是在他脱袜子的时候有一只袜子上出现了几十个洞，简直成了网状。唐吉诃德懊丧极了，他宁愿花一盎司银子去换一点儿绿色绸布。要绿色绸布是因为他那双袜子是绿色的。
贝嫩赫利写到这里惊叹道：“贫困啊贫困，我不明白为什么那位科尔多瓦大诗人会称你为：
未受答谢的神圣礼品！
我虽为摩尔人，但通过同基督徒们的交往，我得知基督教的神圣之处就在于仁慈、谦逊、信念、恭顺和贫困。尽管如此，我还是认为甘于贫困更接近于圣德，只要不是那种圣人所说的‘置买了财产却好像一无所有’①，即人们所称的精神贫困就行。我说的这另一种贫困啊，你为什么偏偏跟一些破落贵族和有身份的人过不去呢？你为什么总是让他们的鞋上裂口子，让他们的衣服扣子有的是丝绸的，有的是鬃的，有的是玻璃的呢？为什么让他们大部分人的衣领总是皱皱巴巴，而不是挺括的衣领呢？（由此可见，以前就开始时兴上浆的衣领了。）那些可怜的有身份的人，为了炫耀自己的身份，在家里偷偷地胡乱吃一些东西，牙齿间并没有什么可剔之物，可是走到大街上却要装模作样地剔牙！这种人真可怜，为了那一点点体面，总怕别人从一里之外就能看到那带补丁的鞋、帽上的汗渍、短短的斗篷和饥肠辘辘的样子！
①参见《新约全书》的《哥林多前书》第七章第三十节。
唐吉诃德见袜子上开了线，烦恼起来，但他看到桑乔留下了一双旅行靴，又放下心来。他想，第二天就穿这双靴子。最后，他上床躺下，心事重重，又闷闷不乐，这一方面是因为桑乔不在的缘故，另一方面是因为那双倒霉的袜子。即使能用另外一种颜色的丝绸补上那双袜子，那也是一个破落贵族贫困潦倒的明显标志。他吹灭了蜡烛。天气很热，他不能入睡，于是起身把朝向花园的一扇窗户打开了一点儿。刚一打开窗户，他就感到有人在花园里走动，而且还听到有人在说话。他仔细谛听。说话人抬高了嗓门，他听到了这样的对话：
“别勉强我唱歌，埃梅伦西亚。你知道，自从那个外来人一到咱们城堡，我的眼睛看到了他，我就不会唱歌而只会哭了。况且，咱们的女主人睡觉很警醒，我不想让她知道咱们在这里。即使没有把她惊醒，若是我的那位令我心焦的埃涅阿斯没听见我唱的歌，那也是白唱呀。”
“别这么想，亲爱的阿尔蒂西多拉。”另一个人说道，“公爵夫人和这儿的所有人肯定都睡熟了，只有那位令你心神不安的心上人还没有睡。我觉得房屋的窗户打开了，他肯定没有睡。可怜的痴情人，你就随着竖琴的伴奏低声婉唱吧，如果公爵夫人听到了，咱们就说天气热，睡不着。”
“哎，你没说到点子上，埃梅伦西亚。”阿尔蒂西多拉说，“我不愿意让我的歌暴露我的心扉，让那些不了解爱情力量的人误以为我任性而又轻浮。但是不管怎样，我还是宁愿羞在脸上，也不愿意难受在心里。”
此时，竖琴非常悦耳地响了起来，唐吉诃德听到后不由得十分紧张。他立刻想到他在那些异想天开的骑士小说里看到的许多类似的情况，什么窗户、栅栏、花园、音乐、卿卿我我和异想天开等等。他马上意识到，一定是公爵夫人的某个侍女爱上了他，可是羞怯又迫使她把秘密埋藏在心底。唐吉诃德怕自己把持不住，心里告诫自己不能屈服。他一方面真心实意地祈求杜尔西内亚保佑自己度过这一关，另一方面又决定先听听乐曲，搞清楚到底是怎么回事。他装着打了个喷嚏。两个侍女听到了喷嚏声很高兴，她们就是希望让唐吉诃德听到她们的对话。阿尔蒂西多拉调好竖琴，唱起了这首歌谣：
你铺盖着洁白的亚麻布哟，
躺在床上，
仰天大睡，
从天黑到天亮。
你是曼查
最英勇的骑士，
正直宽厚，
品德高尚。
请你倾听这位
出身好运气糟的侍女的忧伤歌声吧，
你那两只炽热的眼睛
已使她心魂荡漾。
你外出征险，
却给别人带来痛苦；
你制造了麻烦，
却拒绝抚慰那创伤。
让上帝激励你的热情，
告诉我吧，年轻人，
你究竟是生长在利比亚，
还是生长在哈卡山梁？
是蛇哺育你乳汁，
还是粗野的森林
或恐怖的大山
把你喂养？
美女杜尔西内亚
胆高志壮，
征服了猛虎野兽，
得意洋洋。
从埃纳雷斯到哈拉马，
从塔霍到曼萨纳雷斯，
从皮苏埃加斯到阿兰萨，
她的美名传四方。
如果能让我代替她，
我将把我最鲜艳的裙子
加上金边饰，
拱手奉上。
即使不能投入你的怀抱
我也要服侍在你的床榻旁，
为你去头屑，
为你搔头挠痒。
我已要求得太多，
恐怕不配享受这样的荣光，
我只想为你搓脚，
这事儿理应我担当。
我想送你许许多多的发网，
许许多多的银拖鞋，
许许多多的花锦缎裤，
许许多多的白衣裳！
我要送你许多珍珠，
颗颗晶莹，
堪称“独一无二”①，
举世无双！
你不必管你的塔耳的珀伊业②，
你这位曼查的尼禄③，
烈火在把我烘烤，
你千万不要再风助火旺。
我是个娇嫩的少女，
我凭着灵魂向天发誓，
我芳龄十五还不足，
才十四岁零三个月的模样。
我的屁股不歪，
腿不跛，四肢健全。
我的头发似百合花，
长垂至地上。
我天生一张鹰嘴，
有点塌鼻梁，
一口牙齿似黄玉，
衬得我貌美如国色天香。
我的声音你已听到，
如蜜似糖，
我的身材比中等矮，
可是矮中又偏上。
我绰约多姿，
专门为给你欣赏。
我就是这城堡中
人称阿尔蒂西多拉的姑娘。
①此处大概是指西班牙王宫的一颗珍珠。该珍珠又称“奇珠”、“单珠”。
②古罗马神话人物。其父在萨宾战争中镇守卡庇托，她向萨宾人表示愿意献出城堡，条件是萨宾人将左臂所戴的手镯都赠给她。但萨宾人却将左手所执的盾牌掷过来，将她砸死。
③尼禄是古罗马暴君。
伤心至极的阿尔蒂西多拉唱完了歌，饱受青睐的唐吉诃德受宠若惊。他长叹一声，心里想：“我这个游侠骑士真不幸，没有一个姑娘不想见到我，不爱上我……！举世无双的杜尔西内亚可真是好运不长，总是有人不想让她单独享受我的无可动摇的忠贞……！女王们，你们想把她怎么样？女皇们，你们为什么要折磨她？十四五岁的姑娘们，你们为什么同她过不去？你们让这个可怜人在爱情的命运安排中占上风吧！让她享受这种安排并且为此而得意吧！爱情已经使我把我的全部心灵都献给了杜尔西内亚。对于她来说，我是面团，是糖果条；而对于其他女人来说，我就是燧石。我只对她柔情似蜜，而对别的女人都不感兴趣。我觉得唯有杜尔西内亚美丽、聪明、正直、风雅和出身高贵，而其他人都丑陋、愚蠢、轻浮和出身卑微。我来到世上只属于她，而不能属于其他任何人。阿尔蒂西多拉，随你哭，随你唱吧！那位害得我在受魔法控制的城堡里被揍了一顿的姑娘啊，你也死了心吧。我是个纯洁、正直、有教养的人，无论把我烹还是把我烤，无论使用世界上什么巫术，我都属于杜尔西内亚！”
想到这儿，唐吉诃德愤愤地砰的一声关上了窗户，好像他受到了多大的不幸，然后躺回到床上。咱们现在且不说他，桑乔正在召唤咱们呢。桑乔就要开始做他那著名的总督了。
Part 2 Chapter 45
O perpetual discoverer of the antipodes, torch of the world, eye of heaven, sweet stimulator of the water-coolers! Thimbraeus here, Phoebus there, now archer, now physician, father of poetry, inventor of music; thou that always risest and, notwithstanding appearances, never settest! To thee, O Sun, by whose aid man begetteth man, to thee I appeal to help me and lighten the darkness of my wit that I may be able to proceed with scrupulous exactitude in giving an account of the great Sancho Panza’s government; for without thee I feel myself weak, feeble, and uncertain.
To come to the point, then — Sancho with all his attendants arrived at a village of some thousand inhabitants, and one of the largest the duke possessed. They informed him that it was called the island of Barataria, either because the name of the village was Baratario, or because of the joke by way of which the government had been conferred upon him. On reaching the gates of the town, which was a walled one, the municipality came forth to meet him, the bells rang out a peal, and the inhabitants showed every sign of general satisfaction; and with great pomp they conducted him to the principal church to give thanks to God, and then with burlesque ceremonies they presented him with the keys of the town, and acknowledged him as perpetual governor of the island of Barataria. The costume, the beard, and the fat squat figure of the new governor astonished all those who were not in the secret, and even all who were, and they were not a few. Finally, leading him out of the church they carried him to the judgment seat and seated him on it, and the duke’s majordomo said to him, “It is an ancient custom in this island, senor governor, that he who comes to take possession of this famous island is bound to answer a question which shall be put to him, and which must he a somewhat knotty and difficult one; and by his answer the people take the measure of their new governor’s wit, and hail with joy or deplore his arrival accordingly.”
While the majordomo was making this speech Sancho was gazing at several large letters inscribed on the wall opposite his seat, and as he could not read he asked what that was that was painted on the wall. The answer was, “Senor, there is written and recorded the day on which your lordship took possession of this island, and the inscription says, ‘This day, the so-and-so of such-and-such a month and year, Senor Don Sancho Panza took possession of this island; many years may he enjoy it.’”
“And whom do they call Don Sancho Panza?” asked Sancho.
“Your lordship,” replied the majordomo; “for no other Panza but the one who is now seated in that chair has ever entered this island.”
“Well then, let me tell you, brother,” said Sancho, “I haven’t got the ‘Don,’ nor has any one of my family ever had it; my name is plain Sancho Panza, and Sancho was my father’s name, and Sancho was my grandfather’s and they were all Panzas, without any Dons or Donas tacked on; I suspect that in this island there are more Dons than stones; but never mind; God knows what I mean, and maybe if my government lasts four days I’ll weed out these Dons that no doubt are as great a nuisance as the midges, they’re so plenty. Let the majordomo go on with his question, and I’ll give the best answer I can, whether the people deplore or not.”
At this instant there came into court two old men, one carrying a cane by way of a walking-stick, and the one who had no stick said, “Senor, some time ago I lent this good man ten gold-crowns in gold to gratify him and do him a service, on the condition that he was to return them to me whenever I should ask for them. A long time passed before I asked for them, for I would not put him to any greater straits to return them than he was in when I lent them to him; but thinking he was growing careless about payment I asked for them once and several times; and not only will he not give them back, but he denies that he owes them, and says I never lent him any such crowns; or if I did, that he repaid them; and I have no witnesses either of the loan, or the payment, for he never paid me; I want your worship to put him to his oath, and if he swears he returned them to me I forgive him the debt here and before God.”
 
“What say you to this, good old man, you with the stick?” said Sancho.
To which the old man replied, “I admit, senor, that he lent them to me; but let your worship lower your staff, and as he leaves it to my oath, I’ll swear that I gave them back, and paid him really and truly.”
The governor lowered the staff, and as he did so the old man who had the stick handed it to the other old man to hold for him while he swore, as if he found it in his way; and then laid his hand on the cross of the staff, saying that it was true the ten crowns that were demanded of him had been lent him; but that he had with his own hand given them back into the hand of the other, and that he, not recollecting it, was always asking for them.
Seeing this the great governor asked the creditor what answer he had to make to what his opponent said. He said that no doubt his debtor had told the truth, for he believed him to be an honest man and a good Christian, and he himself must have forgotten when and how he had given him back the crowns; and that from that time forth he would make no further demand upon him.
The debtor took his stick again, and bowing his head left the court. Observing this, and how, without another word, he made off, and observing too the resignation of the plaintiff, Sancho buried his head in his bosom and remained for a short space in deep thought, with the forefinger of his right hand on his brow and nose; then he raised his head and bade them call back the old man with the stick, for he had already taken his departure. They brought him back, and as soon as Sancho saw him he said, “Honest man, give me that stick, for I want it.”
“Willingly,” said the old man; “here it is senor,” and he put it into his hand.
Sancho took it and, handing it to the other old man, said to him, “Go, and God be with you; for now you are paid.”
“I, senor!” returned the old man; “why, is this cane worth ten gold-crowns?”
“Yes,” said the governor, “or if not I am the greatest dolt in the world; now you will see whether I have got the headpiece to govern a whole kingdom;” and he ordered the cane to be broken in two, there, in the presence of all. It was done, and in the middle of it they found ten gold-crowns. All were filled with amazement, and looked upon their governor as another Solomon. They asked him how he had come to the conclusion that the ten crowns were in the cane; he replied, that observing how the old man who swore gave the stick to his opponent while he was taking the oath, and swore that he had really and truly given him the crowns, and how as soon as he had done swearing he asked for the stick again, it came into his head that the sum demanded must be inside it; and from this he said it might be seen that God sometimes guides those who govern in their judgments, even though they may be fools; besides he had himself heard the curate of his village mention just such another case, and he had so good a memory, that if it was not that he forgot everything he wished to remember, there would not be such a memory in all the island. To conclude, the old men went off, one crestfallen, and the other in high contentment, all who were present were astonished, and he who was recording the words, deeds, and movements of Sancho could not make up his mind whether he was to look upon him and set him down as a fool or as a man of sense.
As soon as this case was disposed of, there came into court a woman holding on with a tight grip to a man dressed like a well-to-do cattle dealer, and she came forward making a great outcry and exclaiming, “Justice, senor governor, justice! and if I don’t get it on earth I’ll go look for it in heaven. Senor governor of my soul, this wicked man caught me in the middle of the fields here and used my body as if it was an ill-washed rag, and, woe is me! got from me what I had kept these three-and-twenty years and more, defending it against Moors and Christians, natives and strangers; and I always as hard as an oak, and keeping myself as pure as a salamander in the fire, or wool among the brambles, for this good fellow to come now with clean hands to handle me!”
“It remains to be proved whether this gallant has clean hands or not,” said Sancho; and turning to the man he asked him what he had to say in answer to the woman’s charge.
He all in confusion made answer, “Sirs, I am a poor pig dealer, and this morning I left the village to sell (saving your presence) four pigs, and between dues and cribbings they got out of me little less than the worth of them. As I was returning to my village I fell in on the road with this good dame, and the devil who makes a coil and a mess out of everything, yoked us together. I paid her fairly, but she not contented laid hold of me and never let go until she brought me here; she says I forced her, but she lies by the oath I swear or am ready to swear; and this is the whole truth and every particle of it.”
The governor on this asked him if he had any money in silver about him; he said he had about twenty ducats in a leather purse in his bosom. The governor bade him take it out and hand it to the complainant; he obeyed trembling; the woman took it, and making a thousand salaams to all and praying to God for the long life and health of the senor governor who had such regard for distressed orphans and virgins, she hurried out of court with the purse grasped in both her hands, first looking, however, to see if the money it contained was silver.
As soon as she was gone Sancho said to the cattle dealer, whose tears were already starting and whose eyes and heart were following his purse, “Good fellow, go after that woman and take the purse from her, by force even, and come back with it here;” and he did not say it to one who was a fool or deaf, for the man was off like a flash of lightning, and ran to do as he was bid.
All the bystanders waited anxiously to see the end of the case, and presently both man and woman came back at even closer grips than before, she with her petticoat up and the purse in the lap of it, and he struggling hard to take it from her, but all to no purpose, so stout was the woman’s defence, she all the while crying out, “Justice from God and the world! see here, senor governor, the shamelessness and boldness of this villain, who in the middle of the town, in the middle of the street, wanted to take from me the purse your worship bade him give me.”
“And did he take it?” asked the governor.
“Take it!” said the woman; “I’d let my life be taken from me sooner than the purse. A pretty child I’d be! It’s another sort of cat they must throw in my face, and not that poor scurvy knave. Pincers and hammers, mallets and chisels would not get it out of my grip; no, nor lions’ claws; the soul from out of my body first!”
“She is right,” said the man; “I own myself beaten and powerless; I confess I haven’t the strength to take it from her;” and he let go his hold of her.
Upon this the governor said to the woman, “Let me see that purse, my worthy and sturdy friend.” She handed it to him at once, and the governor returned it to the man, and said to the unforced mistress of force, “Sister, if you had shown as much, or only half as much, spirit and vigour in defending your body as you have shown in defending that purse, the strength of Hercules could not have forced you. Be off, and God speed you, and bad luck to you, and don’t show your face in all this island, or within six leagues of it on any side, under pain of two hundred lashes; be off at once, I say, you shameless, cheating shrew.”
The woman was cowed and went off disconsolately, hanging her head; and the governor said to the man, “Honest man, go home with your money, and God speed you; and for the future, if you don’t want to lose it, see that you don’t take it into your head to yoke with anybody.” The man thanked him as clumsily as he could and went his way, and the bystanders were again filled with admiration at their new governor’s judgments and sentences.
Next, two men, one apparently a farm labourer, and the other a tailor, for he had a pair of shears in his hand, presented themselves before him, and the tailor said, “Senor governor, this labourer and I come before your worship by reason of this honest man coming to my shop yesterday (for saving everybody’s presence I’m a passed tailor, God be thanked), and putting a piece of cloth into my hands and asking me, ‘Senor, will there be enough in this cloth to make me a cap?’ Measuring the cloth I said there would. He probably suspected — as I supposed, and I supposed right — that I wanted to steal some of the cloth, led to think so by his own roguery and the bad opinion people have of tailors; and he told me to see if there would he enough for two. I guessed what he would be at, and I said ‘yes.’ He, still following up his original unworthy notion, went on adding cap after cap, and I ‘yes’ after ‘yes,’ until we got as far as five. He has just this moment come for them; I gave them to him, but he won’t pay me for the making; on the contrary, he calls upon me to pay him, or else return his cloth.”
“Is all this true, brother?” said Sancho.
“Yes,” replied the man; “but will your worship make him show the five caps he has made me?”
“With all my heart,” said the tailor; and drawing his hand from under his cloak he showed five caps stuck upon the five fingers of it, and said, “there are the caps this good man asks for; and by God and upon my conscience I haven’t a scrap of cloth left, and I’ll let the work be examined by the inspectors of the trade.”
All present laughed at the number of caps and the novelty of the suit; Sancho set himself to think for a moment, and then said, “It seems to me that in this case it is not necessary to deliver long-winded arguments, but only to give off-hand the judgment of an honest man; and so my decision is that the tailor lose the making and the labourer the cloth, and that the caps go to the prisoners in the gaol, and let there be no more about it.”
If the previous decision about the cattle dealer’s purse excited the admiration of the bystanders, this provoked their laughter; however, the governor’s orders were after all executed. All this, having been taken down by his chronicler, was at once despatched to the duke, who was looking out for it with great eagerness; and here let us leave the good Sancho; for his master, sorely troubled in mind by Altisidora’s music, has pressing claims upon us now.
 
太阳啊，大地的永恒观察者，地球的火炬，天空的眼睛！你促使人们使用凉杯；有人称你是廷布里奥，有人称你是费博①；在这儿你是射手，在那儿你是医生；你是诗歌之父，你又是音乐的创始者！你只升不落，虽然看起来你也沉落。我要告诉你，太阳，在你的帮助下，人们一代代繁衍；我要告诉你，太阳，是你在黑暗中照亮了我的智慧，让我能逐一叙述出伟大的桑乔担任总督的事情；没有你，我会感到虚弱无力，迷茫徬徨。
①廷布里奥和费博都是太阳神的意思。
且说桑乔带着他的全体随行人员来到了有一千多居民的地方，那是公爵最好的领地之一。小岛的名字叫巴拉托里亚岛，这也许是因为那个地方本来就叫巴拉托里亚，也许是因为给桑乔的是个便宜的总督位置①。小岛上围了一圈城墙。桑乔刚到城门口，城内的全体官员就出来迎接。人们敲起了钟，大家显示出一片欢腾的样子。桑乔被前呼后拥着送到当地最大的教堂，向上帝谢恩。在举行了一些滑稽的仪式之后，人们向桑乔赠送了该城的钥匙，接受他为巴拉托里亚岛的永久总督。
①巴拉托里亚与西班牙语中“便宜”一词的语音相近。
新总督的服装、大胡子和胖身子使所有不明底细的人都感到惊奇，就连知道底细的人也不无诧异。从教堂出来后，桑乔又被送到审判厅的座椅上。公爵的管家对桑乔说：
“总督大人，这个岛上有个老习惯，就是新总督上任，必须回答向他提出的一个问题，而这个问题可能有点棘手，以便让人们了解一下新总督的智慧，由此看出他的到来究竟是可喜还是可悲。”
管家对桑乔说着这些话，桑乔却在观看座椅对面墙上的很多大字。他不识字，便问墙上画的是什么。有人告诉他：
“大人，那上面注明了您就任这个岛屿总督的日期。上面写着：今天，某年某月某日，唐桑乔•潘萨就任本岛总督，祝愿他享职多年。”
“谁叫唐桑乔•潘萨？”桑乔问。
“就是您呀，”管家说，“在这个岛上，除了您这位坐在椅子上的潘萨，再没有其他人了。”
“那你听着，兄弟，”桑乔说，“我没有什么‘唐’的头衔，我家世世代代也没有过这个头衔，称我桑乔•潘萨就行了。我的父亲叫桑乔，我的祖父叫桑乔，所有的桑乔都没什么唐不唐的。我估计这个岛上的‘唐’准比石头还多，这已经够了。上帝会理解我。只要我做上四天总督，就会把这些‘唐’都清除掉。他们一群一群像苍蝇一样讨厌。管家，请提问吧，不管老百姓伤心不伤心，我都会尽我所知来回答。”
这时有两个人走进了审判厅，一个人是农夫的打扮，另一个人像是裁缝，手里还拿着把剪刀。裁缝说道：
“总督大人，我和这个农夫是来请您明断的。这个农夫昨天到我的裁缝店来。诸位，对不起，上帝保佑，我是个经过考核的裁缝。他拿着一块布问我：‘大人，这块布能够做一顶帽子吗？’我量了量布，说行。我想，他肯定怀疑我会偷他一小块布。果然，我想对了。这完全是出于他对裁缝的恶意和偏见。他又问我做两顶帽子行不行。我猜透了他的心思，对他说行。他仍然贼心不死，还要加做帽子，我也同意了。最后，我们一直加到了五顶帽子。现在，他来取帽子，我把帽子给了他，可是他不愿意掏钱，还让我赔他钱或者还他布。”
“就这些吗，兄弟？”桑乔问。
“是的，大人，”农夫说道，“不过，您还是让他把他给我做的那五顶帽子拿出来看看吧。”
“那没问题。”裁缝说。
裁缝立刻把手从短斗篷里抽了出来，手的五个手指头上各戴着一顶小帽子。裁缝说道：
“这就是这个人让我做的五顶帽子。我凭良心向上帝发誓，我没留下一点儿布。我可以让裁缝行业的监查员来检验。”
看见这几顶帽子，听了这场官司，所有在场的人都笑了。
桑乔考虑了一下说道：
“我觉得这个案子不用拖延很久，明眼人马上就可以裁断。现在我判决：裁缝不许要工钱，农夫不许要布料，帽子送给牢里的囚徒，行了。”
大家对刚才那牧主钱包案①的判决感到佩服，对这个判决却不由得哄堂大笑。不过，他们还是按照总督的吩咐去做了。这时又来了另外两位老人，一位手里拿着竹杖。没拿竹杖的老人说道：
“大人，不久前我为了满足他的要求，做点好事，曾借给他十个金盾，讲好在我向他要的时候他就还我。我不想让他因为还钱而过得比向我借钱时还窘迫，因此就很长时间没催他还钱。后来我觉得他好像不想还了，就再三找他要。可是他不仅不还我钱，还矢口否认，说他从来没有向我借过十个金盾；如果真借了，他早就还了。我没有证人能证明我把钱借给了他，他也没有证人证明他把钱还给了我，因为他根本就没还给我钱。我想请您让他发个誓。如果他敢发誓说已经把钱还给我了，我今生来世都不要这笔钱了。”
①此处有误，牧主钱包案是下面的案子。
“你有什么好说的，拿竹杖的好老头？”桑乔问。
老人答道：
“大人，我承认他曾借钱给我。请您垂下您的权杖吧。既然他让我发誓吧，那我就对着权杖发誓吧，我确确实实把钱还给他了。”
总督把权杖交给拿竹杖的老人。老人把他的竹杖交给另一位老人，似乎有些行动不便地走过去，手摸着权杖的十字架说，他的确借了十个金盾，但他已经把钱还到了另一位老人手里，而那位老人忘记了，现在又来要他还钱。
伟大的总督于是问债主怎么回答，说欠债人肯定是已经把钱还了，他觉得欠债人是个好人，是善良的基督徒，估计是债主忘记了欠债人在什么时候和什么地方已经把钱还给他了，所以以后再也不许向欠债人讨债了。欠债人拿过竹杖，低着头退出了审判厅。桑乔见状也立刻要退堂。可是他看到原告仍等在那里，便垂头到胸前，把右手的食指放在眉毛和鼻子之间，若有所思了一会儿，然后抬起头，叫人把拿竹杖的老人找回来。老人回来了，桑乔一见到他便说道：
“善良的人，请您把竹杖交给我，我有用。”
“我十分愿意交给您，”老人说，“请您拿去吧，大人。”
竹杖交到了桑乔手里。桑乔一拿到竹杖，就把它交给另一位老人，并对那位老人说道：
“上帝保佑您，欠您的钱已经还给您了。”
“还给我了，大人？”老人问，“这么一根竹杖就值十个金盾吗？”
“是的，”总督说，“如果不是这样，我就是世界上的头号笨蛋。现在，就可以看出我是否有能力管理一个王国啦。”
桑乔命令当众把竹杖打开。竹杖打开后，在里面发现了十个金盾。众人都惊奇不已，觉得他们的总督真是个新萨洛蒙①。大家问桑乔怎么会想到竹杖里面藏有十个金盾。桑乔回答说，他见那个老头把竹杖交给了对方，才发誓说确实把钱还了，可是发完誓以后又把竹杖要了回来，于是他就猜到那十个金盾在竹杖里面。由此人们可以推断出，有些总督虽然笨，却有上帝指引他们断案。另外，桑乔曾听村里的神甫讲过一个类似的案子。若不是桑乔偶尔会把他想记住的事情忘掉，整个岛上恐怕找不出比他更好的记性呢。最后，两位老人一个满面愧色，另一个拿到了钱，一同离去了。在场的人都深感意外，为桑乔写传的人也拿不定桑乔到底是愚蠢还是聪明了。
①古代一贤王，以善断疑案著称。
这个案子刚了结，又进来一个女人。她紧紧抓着一个男人，看打扮，那男人是个富裕的牧主。女人边走边喊：
“请您主持公道啊，总督大人，请您主持公道！如果我在地上找不到公道，就只好上天去找了！尊贵的总督大人，这个臭男人在田里抓住了我，像用破抹布似的把我糟蹋了。我真倒霉，我守了二十三年多，躲过了摩尔人和基督徒，躲过了当地人和外来人。我一直守身如玉，平安无事或是逢凶化吉，结果到头来却让这个家伙坐享其成了。”
“这个男人是否坐享其成，还得调查呢。”桑乔说。
桑乔转身问那个男人，对于那女人的指责有什么可说的。
那人已慌成一团，答道：
“诸位大人，我是个可怜的牧主。今天上午我出去卖——对不起，恕我失言，卖了四头猪。交了贸易税和其他各种苛税杂税后，刚刚够本。在回村的路上，我碰到了这个臭婆娘，我们竟鬼使神差地混到了一起。我付了她足够的钱，可她还不满足，揪住我不放，把我拽到这儿，说我强奸了她。我发誓，我马上就发誓，她撒谎。这就是全部真相，一点儿不假。”
总督问他身上是否带着钱。牧主说他怀里的一个皮钱包里有二十杜卡多。总督让他把皮钱包拿出来，原封不动地交给那女人。牧主颤抖着把钱包掏了出来。女人把钱包拿过去，向所有人千恩万谢，又祈求上帝让保护苦难弱女的总督健康长寿，然后双手抓着钱包走出了审判厅。不过，在走出去之前，她已经看到了钱包里确实有钱。牧主眼含泪水地一直盯着自己的钱包。那女人刚走出去，桑乔就对牧主说：
“喂，你去跟着那女人，不管她答应不答应，都要把钱包抢回来，然后再同她一起回到这儿来。”
桑乔这句话可没白说。收主立刻闪电般地冲出去抢钱包。所有在场的人都莫名其妙，等着看这个案子怎样收场。过了一会儿，这一男一女就回来了，两人比先前扭得还紧。那女人提着裙子，把钱包放在裙兜里。牧主想把钱包夺回来，可那女人一直死死护着，竟夺不回来。那女人大声喊道：
“让上帝和世人主持一下公道吧，您看看，总督大人，这个没心没肺的东西多不要脸，多大的胆子，竟敢在光天化日之下把您判给我的钱包抢回去！”
“他把钱包抢走了吗？”总督问。
“抢走？”那女人说，“谁要想抢走这钱包，得先要了我的命。这个宝贝儿！别人或许还能吓唬吓唬我，但不是这个令人恶心的倒霉鬼！即使用钳子、锤子、榔头、凿子，他也休想把钱包从我手里抢走，就是用狮爪子也不行，除非先把我杀了！”
“她说得对，”牧主说，“我服输了。我承认我没那么大力气把钱包从她那儿夺回来。只好这样了。”
于是，总督对那女人说：
“正直而又勇敢的女人，把那钱包拿出来让我看看。”
女人把钱包递给总督，总督又把钱包递给了牧主，然后对那个力大无比的女人说道：
“我说大姐呀，如果你用你刚才保护钱包的勇气和力量来保护自己的身体，即使是赫拉克勒斯也不能奈何你！你趁早滚蛋吧，滚出这个岛屿，滚得远远的，否则就打你二百鞭子。
赶紧滚吧，你这个骗子，不要脸的东西！”
那女人吓坏了，低着头，垂头丧气地走了。
“臭东西，带着你的钱滚回去吧。如果你不想再赔钱的话，从今以后就再也不要跟谁鬼混了。”
牧主十分尴尬地道了谢，然后走了。周围的人再次对新总督的判断感到佩服。这些都被桑乔的传记作者记了下来，并且送到了公爵那儿，公爵正急着要看呢！
桑乔的事就先写到这儿，咱们赶紧去看看他的主人吧。唐吉诃德这时正被阿尔蒂西多拉的音乐弄得神魂颠倒呢。
Part 2 Chapter 46
We left Don Quixote wrapped up in the reflections which the music of the enamourned maid Altisidora had given rise to. He went to bed with them, and just like fleas they would not let him sleep or get a moment’s rest, and the broken stitches of his stockings helped them. But as Time is fleet and no obstacle can stay his course, he came riding on the hours, and morning very soon arrived. Seeing which Don Quixote quitted the soft down, and, nowise slothful, dressed himself in his chamois suit and put on his travelling boots to hide the disaster to his stockings. He threw over him his scarlet mantle, put on his head a montera of green velvet trimmed with silver edging, flung across his shoulder the baldric with his good trenchant sword, took up a large rosary that he always carried with him, and with great solemnity and precision of gait proceeded to the antechamber where the duke and duchess were already dressed and waiting for him. But as he passed through a gallery, Altisidora and the other damsel, her friend, were lying in wait for him, and the instant Altisidora saw him she pretended to faint, while her friend caught her in her lap, and began hastily unlacing the bosom of her dress.
Don Quixote observed it, and approaching them said, “I know very well what this seizure arises from.”
“I know not from what,” replied the friend, “for Altisidora is the healthiest damsel in all this house, and I have never heard her complain all the time I have known her. A plague on all the knights-errant in the world, if they be all ungrateful! Go away, Senor Don Quixote; for this poor child will not come to herself again so long as you are here.”
 
To which Don Quixote returned, “Do me the favour, senora, to let a lute be placed in my chamber to-night; and I will comfort this poor maiden to the best of my power; for in the early stages of love a prompt disillusion is an approved remedy;” and with this he retired, so as not to be remarked by any who might see him there.
He had scarcely withdrawn when Altisidora, recovering from her swoon, said to her companion, “The lute must be left, for no doubt Don Quixote intends to give us some music; and being his it will not be bad.”
They went at once to inform the duchess of what was going on, and of the lute Don Quixote asked for, and she, delighted beyond measure, plotted with the duke and her two damsels to play him a trick that should be amusing but harmless; and in high glee they waited for night, which came quickly as the day had come; and as for the day, the duke and duchess spent it in charming conversation with Don Quixote.
When eleven o’clock came, Don Quixote found a guitar in his chamber; he tried it, opened the window, and perceived that some persons were walking in the garden; and having passed his fingers over the frets of the guitar and tuned it as well as he could, he spat and cleared his chest, and then with a voice a little hoarse but full-toned, he sang the following ballad, which he had himself that day composed:
Mighty Love the hearts of maidens
Doth unsettle and perplex,
And the instrument he uses
Most of all is idleness.
Sewing, stitching, any labour,
Having always work to do,
To the poison Love instilleth
Is the antidote most sure.
And to proper-minded maidens
Who desire the matron’s name
Modesty’s a marriage portion,
Modesty their highest praise.
Men of prudence and discretion,
Courtiers gay and gallant knights,
With the wanton damsels dally,
But the modest take to wife.
There are passions, transient, fleeting,
Loves in hostelries declar’d,
Sunrise loves, with sunset ended,
When the guest hath gone his way.
Love that springs up swift and sudden,
Here to-day, to-morrow flown,
Passes, leaves no trace behind it,
Leaves no image on the soul.
Painting that is laid on painting
Maketh no display or show;
Where one beauty’s in possession
There no other can take hold.
Dulcinea del Toboso
Painted on my heart I wear;
Never from its tablets, never,
Can her image be eras’d.
The quality of all in lovers
Most esteemed is constancy;
‘T is by this that love works wonders,
This exalts them to the skies.
Don Quixote had got so far with his song, to which the duke, the duchess, Altisidora, and nearly the whole household of the castle were listening, when all of a sudden from a gallery above that was exactly over his window they let down a cord with more than a hundred bells attached to it, and immediately after that discharged a great sack full of cats, which also had bells of smaller size tied to their tails. Such was the din of the bells and the squalling of the cats, that though the duke and duchess were the contrivers of the joke they were startled by it, while Don Quixote stood paralysed with fear; and as luck would have it, two or three of the cats made their way in through the grating of his chamber, and flying from one side to the other, made it seem as if there was a legion of devils at large in it. They extinguished the candles that were burning in the room, and rushed about seeking some way of escape; the cord with the large bells never ceased rising and falling; and most of the people of the castle, not knowing what was really the matter, were at their wits’ end with astonishment. Don Quixote sprang to his feet, and drawing his sword, began making passes at the grating, shouting out, “Avaunt, malignant enchanters! avaunt, ye witchcraft-working rabble! I am Don Quixote of La Mancha, against whom your evil machinations avail not nor have any power.” And turning upon the cats that were running about the room, he made several cuts at them. They dashed at the grating and escaped by it, save one that, finding itself hard pressed by the slashes of Don Quixote’s sword, flew at his face and held on to his nose tooth and nail, with the pain of which he began to shout his loudest. The duke and duchess hearing this, and guessing what it was, ran with all haste to his room, and as the poor gentleman was striving with all his might to detach the cat from his face, they opened the door with a master-key and went in with lights and witnessed the unequal combat. The duke ran forward to part the combatants, but Don Quixote cried out aloud, “Let no one take him from me; leave me hand to hand with this demon, this wizard, this enchanter; I will teach him, I myself, who Don Quixote of La Mancha is.” The cat, however, never minding these threats, snarled and held on; but at last the duke pulled it off and flung it out of the window. Don Quixote was left with a face as full of holes as a sieve and a nose not in very good condition, and greatly vexed that they did not let him finish the battle he had been so stoutly fighting with that villain of an enchanter. They sent for some oil of John’s wort, and Altisidora herself with her own fair hands bandaged all the wounded parts; and as she did so she said to him in a low voice. “All these mishaps have befallen thee, hardhearted knight, for the sin of thy insensibility and obstinacy; and God grant thy squire Sancho may forget to whip himself, so that that dearly beloved Dulcinea of thine may never be released from her enchantment, that thou mayest never come to her bed, at least while I who adore thee am alive.”
To all this Don Quixote made no answer except to heave deep sighs, and then stretched himself on his bed, thanking the duke and duchess for their kindness, not because he stood in any fear of that bell-ringing rabble of enchanters in cat shape, but because he recognised their good intentions in coming to his rescue. The duke and duchess left him to repose and withdrew greatly grieved at the unfortunate result of the joke; as they never thought the adventure would have fallen so heavy on Don Quixote or cost him so dear, for it cost him five days of confinement to his bed, during which he had another adventure, pleasanter than the late one, which his chronicler will not relate just now in order that he may turn his attention to Sancho Panza, who was proceeding with great diligence and drollery in his government.
 
情意绵绵，却受到铃铛和猫的惊吓
前面说到，伟大的唐吉诃德被阿尔蒂西多拉姑娘的歌声搅得心绪不宁。他虽然躺到了床上，却仿佛有跳蚤在身上无法入睡，一刻也不能安宁。可是时间在悄悄流逝，没有任何东西阻挡得住。时间从唐吉诃德身边溜过，很快就到了第二天早晨。唐吉诃德看见天亮了，便撇开柔软的羽被，并没有一丝困意。他穿上他的麂皮衣，又穿上旅行靴，以此遮掩那倒霉的袜子，又往身上被了件红色披风，往头上戴了一顶银带镶边的绿色天鹅绒帽子。他把那柄锋利的剑挂到皮肩带上，拿起一大串他时刻不离手的念珠，装模作样地一摇一晃向前厅走去。公爵和公爵夫人已穿戴整齐，正在前厅等着他。唐吉诃德经过一个长廊时发现阿尔蒂西多拉和她的朋友，也就是那另外一位姑娘，正特意在长廊上等着他呢。阿尔蒂西多拉一看到唐吉诃德就假装晕了过去。她的朋友立刻把她抱在自己腿上，并且马上要为她解开胸衣。
唐吉诃德见状立刻走过来说道：
“我知道这是怎么回事。”
“可我不知道。”阿尔蒂西多拉的朋友说，“阿尔蒂西多拉是我们这儿身体最好的姑娘。自从我认识她以后，从没听她哼过一声。如果世界上的游侠骑士都是无情无义的东西，那就让他们都不得好死吧。请您走开，唐吉诃德大人，如果您在这儿，这个姑娘就不会醒来。”
唐吉诃德说道：
“姑娘，请你今晚在我的房间里放一把琴，我将尽力安抚这位心受创伤的姑娘。在爱情萌芽之际就及时让当事人醒悟，通常是最有效的补救办法。”
唐吉诃德说完就走了，他不愿意让别人看见他在那儿。
唐吉诃德刚刚走开，阿尔蒂西多拉就苏醒过来，对她的伙伴说道：
“得往唐吉诃德的房间里放一把琴。他肯定会给咱们唱歌，而且唱得很不错。”
她们把刚才的事和唐吉诃德要琴的事告诉了公爵夫人，公爵夫人非常高兴。她同公爵和姑娘们商量好，要同唐吉诃德开一个风趣而无恶意的玩笑。大家高高兴兴地等着天黑。那天，公爵和公爵夫人同唐吉诃德美美地聊了一天，白天像黑夜一样很快就过去了。公爵夫人还真的派了她的一名侍童去找特雷莎•潘萨，派的就是那个曾在森林里扮成被魔法改变了模样的杜尔西内亚的侍童。公爵夫人让侍童送去桑乔写给特雷莎•潘萨的那封信和桑乔要捎回家的一捆衣服，并且在回来以后把他在那儿遇到的事情详细讲述一遍。一切准备就绪，此时已是半夜十一点，唐吉诃德发现他的房间里有一把琴。他调了调琴弦，打开窗户，觉得花园里有人在走动，便试了一下琴弦，仔细调好音，用力清了清嗓子。虽然他是个哑嗓子，可还是自鸣得意地唱起了他当天编的这首歌：
爱情的力量
常令人春心荡漾，
造成它的就是
人的悠闲游逛。
缝缝补补，操劳耕作，
终日奔忙，
就是医治爱情饥渴的
最好处方。
深闺佳秀
追求的是在结婚之日，
贞操和人们的赞扬
能成为她的嫁妆。
游侠骑士
和宫廷朝臣，
总是同浪女调情，
同正派的姑娘拜堂。
也有些萍水相逢，
野路鸳鸯，
他们逢场作戏，
分手便忘。
突然降临的爱情
今日到来明日忘，
不会在人心中
留下坚实的印象。
画上再作画，
徒劳一场。
有了第一个心上人，
便容不得旁人争抢。
托博索的杜尔西内亚
已经印在我心灵的空白画板上，
留下了不可磨灭的
肖像一张。
爱情的忠贞
最为宝贵，
爱情由此升华，
爱情由此高尚。
唐吉诃德的歌谣就唱到这里。公爵、公爵夫人、阿尔蒂西多拉和城堡里几乎所有的人都在那儿听他唱。忽然，从唐吉诃德房间窗户正上方的阳台上垂下一条系着一百多个铃铛的绳子，接着又有人从上面放下一大口袋猫，猫的尾巴上都系着小铃铛。
铃铛和猫叫的声音都很大，使得这场玩笑的组织者公爵和公爵夫人也吓了一跳。唐吉诃德更是吓得魂飞魄散。偏巧，有两三只猫从窗户掉进了唐吉诃德的房间里。它们在房间里东奔西窜，简直像闹鬼似的。猫把房间里的两支蜡烛扑灭了，然后到处乱跑，寻找逃走的出口。绳子一上一下铃声不止，城堡里的人大多数都不知实情，感到非常惊讶。唐吉诃德站起身，把剑伸到窗外，一边挥砍一边喊道：
“滚出去，恶毒的魔法师！滚出去，会巫术的混蛋！我是曼查的唐吉诃德，任何罪恶的企图都对我无能为力！”
唐吉诃德又转身对在他的房间内乱窜的那些猫乱刺一通。几只猫都跑到窗户那儿逃了出去，只有一只猫被唐吉诃德追得太急了，竟跳到了唐吉诃德的脸上，用爪子抓住唐吉诃德的鼻子乱咬，疼得唐吉诃德拼命大喊。公爵和公爵夫人听到了喊声，急忙跑到唐吉诃德的房间门前，用万能钥匙打开了房门，看见这位可怜的骑士正用尽全力把猫从自己的脸上往下拽。他们手持蜡烛走进来，看到了这场不同寻常的搏斗。公爵要上去帮助他把猫拽下来，唐吉诃德却大声说道：
“谁也不要把它弄开！让我同这个魔鬼、这个巫师、这个魔法师徒手格斗吧！我要让它知道曼查的唐吉诃德到底是什么人！”
可是，猫却不为这些威胁所动，依然嘶叫着紧抓不放。最后，还是公爵把猫拽了下来，扔出了窗户。
唐吉诃德满脸是伤，鼻子也被抓出了一道道印痕。可是，唐吉诃德仍然为未能把这场同恶毒魔法师的激战进行到底而垂头丧气。有人为唐吉诃德拿来了阿帕里西奥油①，阿尔蒂西多拉用她极其白皙的双手为唐吉诃德的伤口包上了纱布。她一边包伤口，一边低声对唐吉诃德说：
“无情的骑士，你遇到了这些晦气的事情皆因你冷若冰霜。但愿上帝让你的侍从桑乔忘了鞭笞自己的事情，让你心爱的杜尔西内亚永远摆脱不了魔法，让你永远不能与她共入洞房，至少在我活着的时候是这样，因为我喜欢你。”
①一种治伤的药，是以其研制者的名字命名的。
唐吉诃德听了一言不发，只是深深地叹了一口气，然后躺到了床上。他对公爵和公爵夫人表示感谢，说自己并不怕魔法师、混蛋猫和铃铛，但他知道他们是好心来救自己。公爵和公爵夫人让唐吉诃德好好休息，然后就离开了。他们为这场玩笑竟让唐吉诃德付出了如此沉痛的代价而深感内疚。唐吉诃德闭门在床上躺了五天，在此期间他又遇到了更为可笑的事情。不过，小说的作者现在暂时还不想叙述，且让我们先去看看正在热心而又滑稽地当总督的桑乔•潘萨吧。
Part 2 Chapter 47
The history says that from the justice court they carried Sancho to a sumptuous palace, where in a spacious chamber there was a table laid out with royal magnificence. The clarions sounded as Sancho entered the room, and four pages came forward to present him with water for his hands, which Sancho received with great dignity. The music ceased, and Sancho seated himself at the head of the table, for there was only that seat placed, and no more than one cover laid. A personage, who it appeared afterwards was a physician, placed himself standing by his side with a whalebone wand in his hand. They then lifted up a fine white cloth covering fruit and a great variety of dishes of different sorts; one who looked like a student said grace, and a page put a laced bib on Sancho, while another who played the part of head carver placed a dish of fruit before him. But hardly had he tasted a morsel when the man with the wand touched the plate with it, and they took it away from before him with the utmost celerity. The carver, however, brought him another dish, and Sancho proceeded to try it; but before he could get at it, not to say taste it, already the wand had touched it and a page had carried it off with the same promptitude as the fruit. Sancho seeing this was puzzled, and looking from one to another asked if this dinner was to be eaten after the fashion of a jugglery trick.
To this he with the wand replied, “It is not to be eaten, senor governor, except as is usual and customary in other islands where there are governors. I, senor, am a physician, and I am paid a salary in this island to serve its governors as such, and I have a much greater regard for their health than for my own, studying day and night and making myself acquainted with the governor’s constitution, in order to be able to cure him when he falls sick. The chief thing I have to do is to attend at his dinners and suppers and allow him to eat what appears to me to be fit for him, and keep from him what I think will do him harm and be injurious to his stomach; and therefore I ordered that plate of fruit to be removed as being too moist, and that other dish I ordered to he removed as being too hot and containing many spices that stimulate thirst; for he who drinks much kills and consumes the radical moisture wherein life consists.”
“Well then,” said Sancho, “that dish of roast partridges there that seems so savoury will not do me any harm.”
To this the physician replied, “Of those my lord the governor shall not eat so long as I live.”
“Why so?” said Sancho.
“Because,” replied the doctor, “our master Hippocrates, the polestar and beacon of medicine, says in one of his aphorisms omnis saturatio mala, perdicis autem pessima, which means ‘all repletion is bad, but that of partridge is the worst of all.”
“In that case,” said Sancho, “let senor doctor see among the dishes that are on the table what will do me most good and least harm, and let me eat it, without tapping it with his stick; for by the life of the governor, and so may God suffer me to enjoy it, but I’m dying of hunger; and in spite of the doctor and all he may say, to deny me food is the way to take my life instead of prolonging it.”
“Your worship is right, senor governor,” said the physician; “and therefore your worship, I consider, should not eat of those stewed rabbits there, because it is a furry kind of food; if that veal were not roasted and served with pickles, you might try it; but it is out of the question.”
“That big dish that is smoking farther off,” said Sancho, “seems to me to be an olla podrida, and out of the diversity of things in such ollas, I can’t fail to light upon something tasty and good for me.”
 
“Absit,” said the doctor; “far from us be any such base thought! There is nothing in the world less nourishing than an olla podrida; to canons, or rectors of colleges, or peasants’ weddings with your ollas podridas, but let us have none of them on the tables of governors, where everything that is present should be delicate and refined; and the reason is, that always, everywhere and by everybody, simple medicines are more esteemed than compound ones, for we cannot go wrong in those that are simple, while in the compound we may, by merely altering the quantity of the things composing them. But what I am of opinion the governor should cat now in order to preserve and fortify his health is a hundred or so of wafer cakes and a few thin slices of conserve of quinces, which will settle his stomach and help his digestion.”
Sancho on hearing this threw himself back in his chair and surveyed the doctor steadily, and in a solemn tone asked him what his name was and where he had studied.
He replied, “My name, senor governor, is Doctor Pedro Recio de Aguero I am a native of a place called Tirteafuera which lies between Caracuel and Almodovar del Campo, on the right-hand side, and I have the degree of doctor from the university of Osuna.”
To which Sancho, glowing all over with rage, returned, “Then let Doctor Pedro Recio de Malaguero, native of Tirteafuera, a place that’s on the right-hand side as we go from Caracuel to Almodovar del Campo, graduate of Osuna, get out of my presence at once; or I swear by the sun I’ll take a cudgel, and by dint of blows, beginning with him, I’ll not leave a doctor in the whole island; at least of those I know to be ignorant; for as to learned, wise, sensible physicians, them I will reverence and honour as divine persons. Once more I say let Pedro Recio get out of this or I’ll take this chair I am sitting on and break it over his head. And if they call me to account for it, I’ll clear myself by saying I served God in killing a bad doctor — a general executioner. And now give me something to eat, or else take your government; for a trade that does not feed its master is not worth two beans.”
The doctor was dismayed when he saw the governor in such a passion, and he would have made a Tirteafuera out of the room but that the same instant a post-horn sounded in the street; and the carver putting his head out of the window turned round and said, “It’s a courier from my lord the duke, no doubt with some despatch of importance.”
The courier came in all sweating and flurried, and taking a paper from his bosom, placed it in the governor’s hands. Sancho handed it to the majordomo and bade him read the superscription, which ran thus: To Don Sancho Panza, Governor of the Island of Barataria, into his own hands or those of his secretary. Sancho when he heard this said, “Which of you is my secretary?” “I am, senor,” said one of those present, “for I can read and write, and am a Biscayan.” “With that addition,” said Sancho, “you might be secretary to the emperor himself; open this paper and see what it says.” The new-born secretary obeyed, and having read the contents said the matter was one to be discussed in private. Sancho ordered the chamber to be cleared, the majordomo and the carver only remaining; so the doctor and the others withdrew, and then the secretary read the letter, which was as follows:
It has come to my knowledge, Senor Don Sancho Panza, that certain enemies of mine and of the island are about to make a furious attack upon it some night, I know not when. It behoves you to be on the alert and keep watch, that they surprise you not. I also know by trustworthy spies that four persons have entered the town in disguise in order to take your life, because they stand in dread of your great capacity; keep your eyes open and take heed who approaches you to address you, and eat nothing that is presented to you. I will take care to send you aid if you find yourself in difficulty, but in all things you will act as may be expected of your judgment. From this place, the Sixteenth of August, at four in the morning.
Your friend,
The DUKE
Sancho was astonished, and those who stood by made believe to be so too, and turning to the majordomo he said to him, “What we have got to do first, and it must be done at once, is to put Doctor Recio in the lock-up; for if anyone wants to kill me it is he, and by a slow death and the worst of all, which is hunger.”
“Likewise,” said the carver, “it is my opinion your worship should not eat anything that is on this table, for the whole was a present from some nuns; and as they say, ‘behind the cross there’s the devil.’”
“I don’t deny it,” said Sancho; “so for the present give me a piece of bread and four pounds or so of grapes; no poison can come in them; for the fact is I can’t go on without eating; and if we are to be prepared for these battles that are threatening us we must be well provisioned; for it is the tripes that carry the heart and not the heart the tripes. And you, secretary, answer my lord the duke and tell him that all his commands shall be obeyed to the letter, as he directs; and say from me to my lady the duchess that I kiss her hands, and that I beg of her not to forget to send my letter and bundle to my wife Teresa Panza by a messenger; and I will take it as a great favour and will not fail to serve her in all that may lie within my power; and as you are about it you may enclose a kiss of the hand to my master Don Quixote that he may see I am grateful bread; and as a good secretary and a good Biscayan you may add whatever you like and whatever will come in best; and now take away this cloth and give me something to eat, and I’ll be ready to meet all the spies and assassins and enchanters that may come against me or my island.”
At this instant a page entered saying, “Here is a farmer on business, who wants to speak to your lordship on a matter of great importance, he says.”
“It’s very odd,” said Sancho, “the ways of these men on business; is it possible they can be such fools as not to see that an hour like this is no hour for coming on business? We who govern and we who are judges — are we not men of flesh and blood, and are we not to be allowed the time required for taking rest, unless they’d have us made of marble? By God and on my conscience, if the government remains in my hands (which I have a notion it won’t), I’ll bring more than one man on business to order. However, tell this good man to come in; but take care first of all that he is not some spy or one of my assassins.”
“No, my lord,” said the page, “for he looks like a simple fellow, and either I know very little or he is as good as good bread.”
“There is nothing to be afraid of,” said the majordomo, “for we are all here.”
“Would it be possible, carver,” said Sancho, “now that Doctor Pedro Recio is not here, to let me eat something solid and substantial, if it were even a piece of bread and an onion?”
“To-night at supper,” said the carver, “the shortcomings of the dinner shall be made good, and your lordship shall be fully contented.”
“God grant it,” said Sancho.
The farmer now came in, a well-favoured man that one might see a thousand leagues off was an honest fellow and a good soul. The first thing he said was, “Which is the lord governor here?”
“Which should it be,” said the secretary, “but he who is seated in the chair?”
“Then I humble myself before him,” said the farmer; and going on his knees he asked for his hand, to kiss it. Sancho refused it, and bade him stand up and say what he wanted. The farmer obeyed, and then said, “I am a farmer, senor, a native of Miguelturra, a village two leagues from Ciudad Real.”
“Another Tirteafuera!” said Sancho; “say on, brother; I know Miguelturra very well I can tell you, for it’s not very far from my own town.”
“The case is this, senor,” continued the farmer, “that by God’s mercy I am married with the leave and licence of the holy Roman Catholic Church; I have two sons, students, and the younger is studying to become bachelor, and the elder to be licentiate; I am a widower, for my wife died, or more properly speaking, a bad doctor killed her on my hands, giving her a purge when she was with child; and if it had pleased God that the child had been born, and was a boy, I would have put him to study for doctor, that he might not envy his brothers the bachelor and the licentiate.”
“So that if your wife had not died, or had not been killed, you would not now be a widower,” said Sancho.
“No, senor, certainly not,” said the farmer.
“We’ve got that much settled,” said Sancho; “get on, brother, for it’s more bed-time than business-time.”
“Well then,” said the farmer, “this son of mine who is going to be a bachelor, fell in love in the said town with a damsel called Clara Perlerina, daughter of Andres Perlerino, a very rich farmer; and this name of Perlerines does not come to them by ancestry or descent, but because all the family are paralytics, and for a better name they call them Perlerines; though to tell the truth the damsel is as fair as an Oriental pearl, and like a flower of the field, if you look at her on the right side; on the left not so much, for on that side she wants an eye that she lost by small-pox; and though her face is thickly and deeply pitted, those who love her say they are not pits that are there, but the graves where the hearts of her lovers are buried. She is so cleanly that not to soil her face she carries her nose turned up, as they say, so that one would fancy it was running away from her mouth; and with all this she looks extremely well, for she has a wide mouth; and but for wanting ten or a dozen teeth and grinders she might compare and compete with the comeliest. Of her lips I say nothing, for they are so fine and thin that, if lips might be reeled, one might make a skein of them; but being of a different colour from ordinary lips they are wonderful, for they are mottled, blue, green, and purple — let my lord the governor pardon me for painting so minutely the charms of her who some time or other will be my daughter; for I love her, and I don’t find her amiss.”
“Paint what you will,” said Sancho; “I enjoy your painting, and if I had dined there could be no dessert more to my taste than your portrait.”
“That I have still to furnish,” said the farmer; “but a time will come when we may be able if we are not now; and I can tell you, senor, if I could paint her gracefulness and her tall figure, it would astonish you; but that is impossible because she is bent double with her knees up to her mouth; but for all that it is easy to see that if she could stand up she’d knock her head against the ceiling; and she would have given her hand to my bachelor ere this, only that she can’t stretch it out, for it’s contracted; but still one can see its elegance and fine make by its long furrowed nails.”
“That will do, brother,” said Sancho; “consider you have painted her from head to foot; what is it you want now? Come to the point without all this beating about the bush, and all these scraps and additions.”
“I want your worship, senor,” said the farmer, “to do me the favour of giving me a letter of recommendation to the girl’s father, begging him to be so good as to let this marriage take place, as we are not ill-matched either in the gifts of fortune or of nature; for to tell the truth, senor governor, my son is possessed of a devil, and there is not a day but the evil spirits torment him three or four times; and from having once fallen into the fire, he has his face puckered up like a piece of parchment, and his eyes watery and always running; but he has the disposition of an angel, and if it was not for belabouring and pummelling himself he’d be a saint.”
“Is there anything else you want, good man?” said Sancho.
“There’s another thing I’d like,” said the farmer, “but I’m afraid to mention it; however, out it must; for after all I can’t let it be rotting in my breast, come what may. I mean, senor, that I’d like your worship to give me three hundred or six hundred ducats as a help to my bachelor’s portion, to help him in setting up house; for they must, in short, live by themselves, without being subject to the interferences of their fathers-in-law.”
“Just see if there’s anything else you’d like,” said Sancho, “and don’t hold back from mentioning it out of bashfulness or modesty.”
“No, indeed there is not,” said the farmer.
The moment he said this the governor started to his feet, and seizing the chair he had been sitting on exclaimed, “By all that’s good, you ill-bred, boorish Don Bumpkin, if you don’t get out of this at once and hide yourself from my sight, I’ll lay your head open with this chair. You whoreson rascal, you devil’s own painter, and is it at this hour you come to ask me for six hundred ducats! How should I have them, you stinking brute? And why should I give them to you if I had them, you knave and blockhead? What have I to do with Miguelturra or the whole family of the Perlerines? Get out I say, or by the life of my lord the duke I’ll do as I said. You’re not from Miguelturra, but some knave sent here from hell to tempt me. Why, you villain, I have not yet had the government half a day, and you want me to have six hundred ducats already!”
The carver made signs to the farmer to leave the room, which he did with his head down, and to all appearance in terror lest the governor should carry his threats into effect, for the rogue knew very well how to play his part.
But let us leave Sancho in his wrath, and peace be with them all; and let us return to Don Quixote, whom we left with his face bandaged and doctored after the cat wounds, of which he was not cured for eight days; and on one of these there befell him what Cide Hamete promises to relate with that exactitude and truth with which he is wont to set forth everything connected with this great history, however minute it may be.
 
且说桑乔从审判厅来到一座富丽堂皇的宫殿里，那里已经摆上了一张豪华而又十分干净的桌子。桑乔刚走进去，立刻就响起了笛号声，随之走出来四个侍童，为桑乔端来了洗手水。桑乔非常庄重地洗了洗手。笛号声止。桑乔坐到了上首的位置上，其实，也只有那一个位置，而且桌上也只有一套餐具。桑乔身旁还站了一个人，后来才看出来，那是一位医生，他手里拿着一根鲸鱼骨。侍童撤去桌上那块极白的高级毛巾布，露出了各种水果和许多美味佳肴。一个学生模样的人为桑乔祝福，一个侍童为桑乔戴上了镶花边的围嘴儿。一个餐厅侍者为桑乔端来一盘水果①，可桑乔还没来得及吃上一口，拿鲸鱼骨的那个人就用鲸鱼骨敲了一下盘子，侍者立刻把盘子飞快地撤走了。接着，侍者又为桑乔端来一盘菜。桑乔刚要吃，可他还没来得及尝到滋味，那人又用鲸鱼骨敲了一下盘子，侍者又像撤水果盘那样把那道菜飞快地端走了。桑乔见状感到奇怪，看着大家，问这是吃饭还是变戏法。拿鲸鱼骨的人答道：
①据说当时贵人在用餐前先吃水果，餐后再吃甜食。
“总督大人，吃饭得有规矩，在其他有总督的岛屿上也同样。大人，我是医生，我在这个岛上的职责就是当岛屿总督的医生。我注重总督的健康胜于自己的健康。我日夜研究总督的体质，一旦总督生病时就为总督治病。不过，我做得更多的是当总督吃东西或吃饭时站在一旁，同意总督吃我认为适合于他的东西，撤掉我认为不利于总督脾胃的东西。所以，我刚才让人把水果拿走了，因为水果是生冷之物。我让人撤去那盘菜是因为那菜太燥热，而且里面有很多香料，吃了会让人口渴。水喝多了就会冲淡人的体液，而人的生命就是由体液构成的。”
“那么，我觉得那盘烤石鸡味道肯定不错，吃了不会有任何坏处。”
医生说道：
“只要我活着，就不会让总督吃那盘菜。”
“为什么？”桑乔问。
医生答道：
“因为我们医学界的祖师希波克拉底①有一句名言：‘多食有害，石鸡尤甚②。’意思是说，什么吃多了都不好，特别是石鸡，更不能多吃。”
①希波克拉底是古希腊医学家，被誉为古代“医学之父”。曾提出“体液病理学说”，认为人体由血液、粘液、黄胆汁和黑胆汁四种体液组成，四液调和则体健，失调则患病。
②原文为“面包尤甚”。医生在此做了改动。
“这么说来，”桑乔说，“大夫，你看看桌子上的这些菜里，哪些菜对我最合适，哪些菜不太伤身，就直接让我吃，不必用鲸鱼骨敲了。天哪，我都快饿死了，况且上帝也让我吃呢。无论大夫你愿意不愿意，无论你怎么说，反正不让我吃就是要我的命，而不是让我延年益寿。”
“您说得对，总督大人，”医生说，“那么，我觉得您不要吃那盘炖兔肉，那菜有点儿硬；那份牛肉，如果不是腌烤的，倒还可以尝尝，可是现在也吃不得。”
桑乔说：
“最前面那个冒着热气的大盘子，我估计是什锦火锅，那里面有那么多东西，总会有一些既合我口味又有营养的东西吧。”
“非也。”医生说，“这种破菜咱们根本别考虑，世界上再没有什么比什锦火锅更糟糕的了。这种火锅是牧师、学校的校长和农家办婚事时食用的，还是让它从总督的餐桌上消失吧。总督餐桌上用的应该是精心选料、精心烹制的菜肴，其理由就是无论在什么情况下，无论对什么人，单味药总比多味药好。因为单味药不会用错，而多味药由于药剂多了就可能会改变药的作用。所以我说，总督大人要想保养身体，使身体强壮，就应该吃一百个蛋卷和薄薄几片榅桲肉，这些东西既养胃又有助于消化。”
桑乔听了这话后往椅背上靠了靠，仔细打量着这个医生，厉声问他叫什么名字，是在哪儿学的医。医生回答道：
“总督大人，我是佩德罗•雷西奥•德阿圭罗大夫。在卡拉库埃尔和阿尔莫多瓦尔•德坎波之间，路右边有个地方叫蒂尔特亚富埃拉，我就是那儿的人。我有奥苏纳大学颁发的博士学位。”
桑乔立刻怒气冲天地说道：
“好吧，卡拉库埃尔和阿尔莫多瓦尔•德坎波之间路右边蒂尔特亚富埃拉的、毕业于奥苏纳大学的臭佩德罗•雷西奥•德阿圭罗医生，你马上从我眼前滚开！否则我向太阳发誓，我要拿一根大棒子把岛上所有的医生都打跑，至少是那些我觉得一窍不通的医生。对于那些高明的医生，我待若上宾，奉如神明。我再说一遍，佩德罗•雷西奥，你马上给我滚开，否则我就抄起我现在坐的这把椅子，让它在你头上开花！不管谁来问，我都会说，我为上帝做了件好事，打死了一个混蛋医生，国家的一个刽子手！快给我吃饭吧，要不就让你们来当总督。连饭都不让吃的总督算老几呀。”
医生见总督大怒，不由得慌了手脚，打算溜出去。正在这时，外面响起了驿车的号角声。餐厅侍者探头向窗外望了望，说道：
“公爵大人的邮车来了，大概送来了什么重要的消息。”
邮差满脸大汗且惊魂未定地跑了进来。他从怀里掏出一个密封函件，送到总督手上。桑乔又把它交给文书，让他念念函件封面。封面上写着：巴拉塔里亚岛总督桑乔•潘萨亲启或转交其文书。桑乔闻言问道：
“谁是我的文书？”
在场的一个人答道：
“是我，大人，我识字。我是比斯开人。”
“就凭这点，”桑乔说，“你就是给国王当文书也行①。你把函件打开，看看上面说了些什么？”
①当时王宫里的文书大部分是比斯开人。
文书把函件打开看了一遍，说这件事得单独谈。桑乔吩咐除了管家和餐厅侍者之外，其他人都出去。其他人和医生都出去了。文书把函件念了一遍，上面写道：
唐桑乔•潘萨大人，据我得到的消息，那座岛屿以及其他地方的一些敌人可能会对该岛发动一次疯狂的袭击，不过我不知道是在哪天晚上。请务必提高警惕，不可大意。我还听说，有四个经过乔装打扮的奸细已经潜入你那个地方，企图杀害你，因为他们对你的智慧感到十分恐惧。请你睁大眼睛，注意那些去找你说话的人，还有，不要吃别人送的东西。如果你遇到了麻烦，我肯定会悉心相助。我相信，凭你的智慧，完全可以应付各种情况。
你的朋友
公爵
8月16日晨于本地
桑乔吓坏了；其他几个人也惊慌起来。桑乔转身对管家说道：
“现在，马上应该做的就是把雷西奥大夫投入大牢。如果有人想害我，那就是他。他想慢慢把我折磨死，譬如说采取饿的办法。”
“不过，我觉得这桌上的东西您都不能吃。”餐厅侍者说，“这些东西都是几个修女送来的。人们常说，十字架后有魔鬼。”
“这我同意，”桑乔说，“现在，你们给我拿一块面包和四磅葡萄来吧。这些东西不会有毒，我总不能不吃东西呀。如果咱们眼下面临一场战斗，那就得先吃饱，因为肚子不饱，心慌腿软。你，文书，给我的主人公爵回个函件，说我会不折不扣地执行他的指示，并代我吻我的女主人公爵夫人的手，请她别忘了派人把我的信和那个包袱送给我老婆特雷莎•潘萨。承蒙她的关照，我以后一定会尽全力报答。你顺便也给唐吉诃德带个吻手礼吧，我可是个知恩的人。你呢，算个好文书，是个好比斯开人，还有什么该加上的东西你都加上吧。现在，让人把这桌食物撤下去，另外给我弄点儿吃的，那么，无论什么奸细或刺客想冒犯我或者我的岛屿，我就都能对付了。”
这时，一个侍童进来说道：
“有个农夫想同您谈件事，他说事情很重要。”
“这种人真怪，”桑乔说，“难道他们就这么笨，没看见现在不是谈事情的时候吗？难道我们这些管理的总督就不是有血有肉的人，该休息的时候也不让我们休息，我们是石头做的吗？上帝保佑，我预感到，我这个总督是当不长了。如果我想把这个总督当下去，就得给这些来谈事的人立下点儿章法。现在，你让那个人进来吧，不过你要先弄清他是不是奸细或刺客。”
“不会的，大人，”侍童说，“他看上去像个大笨蛋。不过我不太了解情况，也许他还是个大好人呢。”
“没什么可怕的，”管家说，“我们大家都在这儿呢。”
“餐厅侍者，”桑乔说，“现在佩德罗•雷西奥大夫不在这儿，能不能弄点顶事的吃食来？哪怕是一块面包或一个葱头也好。”
“今天的晚饭会把这些都补上，让您心满意足，一点儿也不亏。”餐厅侍者说。
“但愿如此。”桑乔说。
这时，那个农夫进来了。他的样子很和气，让人老远就可以看出他是心地极其善良的人。他说道：
“哪位是总督大人？”
“哪位？”桑乔说，“除了椅子上坐的这位还有谁啊？”
“那我就拜见您了。”农夫说。
农夫跪下来，请桑乔把手伸出来给他吻。桑乔没有伸手，只是让农夫站起来，有什么事尽管说。农夫起身说道：
“大人，我是离京城两西里的一个名叫米格尔图拉的地方的农夫。”
“又是个从蒂尔特亚富埃拉来的！”桑乔说，“说吧，老兄，我告诉你，我对米格尔图拉很了解，我们村离那儿不远。”
“事情是这样的，大人，”农夫接着说道，“靠上帝开恩，我在天主教堂结了婚。我有两个上学的儿子，小的读学士，大的读硕士。我现在是光棍，我老婆死了，说得更确切些，是一个江湖医生害死了她。她怀孕的时候，那个医生给她吃了泻药。如果上帝保佑，让那个孩子生下来，而且是个男孩，我就会让他去读博士，那么他就不会嫉妒他的一个兄弟读学士，另一个兄弟读硕士了。”
“这样说来，”桑乔说，“如果你老婆没死，或者没有被害死的话，你现在就不是光棍了。”
“是的，大人，不会是光棍。”农夫说。
“这就行了。”桑乔说，“你快接着说，老兄，现在是该睡午觉的时候，而不是谈事情的时候。”
“好，我说。”农夫说，“我的那个准备读学士的儿子爱上了本村一个叫克拉拉•佩莱里娜的姑娘。她的父亲叫安德烈斯•佩莱里诺，是个富裕农民。这‘佩莱里’并不是世袭祖传的姓氏，而是因为这个家庭的所有人都是佩拉①病人，为了叫起来好听点，才叫他们‘佩莱里’什么。不过说实话，这个姑娘还真像颗东方明珠。从右边看，她宛若花朵；可是如果从左边看，她就不那么漂亮了，因为她少了一只左眼，是得天花时瞎的。她脸上有很多大麻点，有人说对于那些爱她至深的人来说，那不是麻点，而是坟墓，是埋葬那些对她有情的人的灵魂的坟墓。她的脸非常干净，为了保持脸的清洁，她长了个翘鼻子，那鼻子就好像是从嘴里跑出来的似的。尽管如此，她还是显得非常美，因为她的嘴特别大，要不是因为缺了十颗或十几颗牙，那简直可以赶上甚至超过最标致的嘴了。她的嘴唇就更没的说了，又薄又嫩，如果努嘴的话，她那嘴就像个线团。她那嘴唇的颜色也不同寻常，简直神了，有蓝色，有绿色，有紫色，一道儿一道儿的。对不起，总督大人，我是不是对这个终将成为我儿媳的姑娘描述得太细致了？
我很喜欢她，觉得她挺不错。”
①“佩拉”的意思是“风瘫”，下句的“佩莱里”意思是“珍珠”。
“你随便描述吧，”桑乔说，“如果我已经吃过了饭，就会更喜欢听你描述，我可以把你的描述当作饭后的甜食。”
“甜食当然得上，”农夫说，“可不是现在，得等到合适的时候。大人，如果我能把她的优美高贵的身材描述一下，你们准会感到惊讶，可是我描述不出来，因为她是驼背，膝盖挨着嘴。即使这样，人们也可以看出，假如她能站起来，脑袋准能顶到天花板呢。本来，她早就可以同我那个准备读学士的儿子携手结连理，可是不幸，她的手总是蜷曲着，尽管如此，从那凹陷的长指甲还是可以看出她的手形很优美。”
“好了，”桑乔说，“老兄，你已经把她从头到脚描述了一遍，那么，你到底想说什么事呢？有什么事你就说吧，别拐弯抹角，吞吞吐吐的。”
“大人，”农夫说，“我是想请您给我的亲家写一封举荐信，让他同意这门亲事，因为无论财产还是天姿，他们都并非不般配。我跟您说实话，大人，我儿子中了邪，每天都三番五次地受妖精折磨。有一次，他掉进火里，脸给烧得像羊皮纸那么皱，眼睛也总是湿漉漉的。如果他不是总用棍子和拳头朝自己乱打，他肯定是个条件很不错的人。”
“你还有什么事，老兄？”桑乔问。
“还有一件事，我不敢说。”农夫说，“不过，管它呢，无论有没有用，我还是说出来吧，免得让它烂在肚子里。大人，我想请您给我三百或六百个杜卡多，资助我那个读学士的儿子。我是说，帮他成个家。他们得自立门户，免得岳父岳母乱搅和。”
“你还有什么事都说出来，”桑乔说，“别不好意思。”
“没了，真的没了。”农夫说。
农夫刚说完，总督就马上站了起来。他抓住自己的坐椅说道：
“他妈的，你这个不识抬举的乡巴佬！你若是不马上从我面前滚开，找个地方藏起来，我就用这把椅子打烂你的头！你这个婊子养的恶棍，能说会道的魔鬼，竟在这个时候向我要六百杜卡多！我哪儿来这笔钱，讨厌鬼？就算我有，又凭什么要给你，你这个蠢货！什么米格尔图拉以及佩莱里，同我有什么关系？滚！我告诉你，你若是不马上滚开，我向我的主人公爵发誓，我就不客气了！你根本不是从米格尔图拉来的，而是地狱里某个狡诈的家伙派你来试探我的！你说，你这个没良心的东西，我才当了一天半的总督，你就以为我能有六百杜卡多吗？”
餐厅侍者示意农夫赶紧出去。农夫怕总督发怒，低着头出去了。这个家伙还挺知趣的。
不过，咱们还是让桑乔去生他的气，让大家相安无事吧。现在，咱们再去看看唐吉诃德。刚才谈到他的脸被猫抓伤了，包上了纱布，过了八天伤才好。在这段时间里，唐吉诃德又遇到了一件事，锡德•哈迈德答应像本书里的其他事一样，事无巨细都原原本本地讲出来。
Part 2 Chapter 48
Exceedingly moody and dejected was the sorely wounded Don Quixote, with his face bandaged and marked, not by the hand of God, but by the claws of a cat, mishaps incidental to knight-errantry.
 
Six days he remained without appearing in public, and one night as he lay awake thinking of his misfortunes and of Altisidora’s pursuit of him, he perceived that some one was opening the door of his room with a key, and he at once made up his mind that the enamoured damsel was coming to make an assault upon his chastity and put him in danger of failing in the fidelity he owed to his lady Dulcinea del Toboso. “No,” said he, firmly persuaded of the truth of his idea (and he said it loud enough to be heard), “the greatest beauty upon earth shall not avail to make me renounce my adoration of her whom I bear stamped and graved in the core of my heart and the secret depths of my bowels; be thou, lady mine, transformed into a clumsy country wench, or into a nymph of golden Tagus weaving a web of silk and gold, let Merlin or Montesinos hold thee captive where they will; whereer thou art, thou art mine, and where’er I am, must he thine.” The very instant he had uttered these words, the door opened. He stood up on the bed wrapped from head to foot in a yellow satin coverlet, with a cap on his head, and his face and his moustaches tied up, his face because of the scratches, and his moustaches to keep them from drooping and falling down, in which trim he looked the most extraordinary scarecrow that could be conceived. He kept his eyes fixed on the door, and just as he was expecting to see the love-smitten and unhappy Altisidora make her appearance, he saw coming in a most venerable duenna, in a long white-bordered veil that covered and enveloped her from head to foot. Between the fingers of her left hand she held a short lighted candle, while with her right she shaded it to keep the light from her eyes, which were covered by spectacles of great size, and she advanced with noiseless steps, treading very softly.
Don Quixote kept an eye upon her from his watchtower, and observing her costume and noting her silence, he concluded that it must be some witch or sorceress that was coming in such a guise to work him some mischief, and he began crossing himself at a great rate. The spectre still advanced, and on reaching the middle of the room, looked up and saw the energy with which Don Quixote was crossing himself; and if he was scared by seeing such a figure as hers, she was terrified at the sight of his; for the moment she saw his tall yellow form with the coverlet and the bandages that disfigured him, she gave a loud scream, and exclaiming, “Jesus! what’s this I see?” let fall the candle in her fright, and then finding herself in the dark, turned about to make off, but stumbling on her skirts in her consternation, she measured her length with a mighty fall.
 
Don Quixote in his trepidation began saying, “I conjure thee, phantom, or whatever thou art, tell me what thou art and what thou wouldst with me. If thou art a soul in torment, say so, and all that my powers can do I will do for thee; for I am a Catholic Christian and love to do good to all the world, and to this end I have embraced the order of knight-errantry to which I belong, the province of which extends to doing good even to souls in purgatory.”
The unfortunate duenna hearing herself thus conjured, by her own fear guessed Don Quixote’s and in a low plaintive voice answered, “Senor Don Quixote — if so be you are indeed Don Quixote — I am no phantom or spectre or soul in purgatory, as you seem to think, but Dona Rodriguez, duenna of honour to my lady the duchess, and I come to you with one of those grievances your worship is wont to redress.”
“Tell me, Senora Dona Rodriguez,” said Don Quixote, “do you perchance come to transact any go-between business? Because I must tell you I am not available for anybody’s purpose, thanks to the peerless beauty of my lady Dulcinea del Toboso. In short, Senora Dona Rodriguez, if you will leave out and put aside all love messages, you may go and light your candle and come back, and we will discuss all the commands you have for me and whatever you wish, saving only, as I said, all seductive communications.”
“I carry nobody’s messages, senor,” said the duenna; “little you know me. Nay, I’m not far enough advanced in years to take to any such childish tricks. God be praised I have a soul in my body still, and all my teeth and grinders in my mouth, except one or two that the colds, so common in this Aragon country, have robbed me of. But wait a little, while I go and light my candle, and I will return immediately and lay my sorrows before you as before one who relieves those of all the world;” and without staying for an answer she quitted the room and left Don Quixote tranquilly meditating while he waited for her. A thousand thoughts at once suggested themselves to him on the subject of this new adventure, and it struck him as being ill done and worse advised in him to expose himself to the danger of breaking his plighted faith to his lady; and said he to himself, “Who knows but that the devil, being wily and cunning, may be trying now to entrap me with a duenna, having failed with empresses, queens, duchesses, marchionesses, and countesses? Many a time have I heard it said by many a man of sense that he will sooner offer you a flat-nosed wench than a roman-nosed one; and who knows but this privacy, this opportunity, this silence, may awaken my sleeping desires, and lead me in these my latter years to fall where I have never tripped? In cases of this sort it is better to flee than to await the battle. But I must be out of my senses to think and utter such nonsense; for it is impossible that a long, white-hooded spectacled duenna could stir up or excite a wanton thought in the most graceless bosom in the world. Is there a duenna on earth that has fair flesh? Is there a duenna in the world that escapes being ill-tempered, wrinkled, and prudish? Avaunt, then, ye duenna crew, undelightful to all mankind. Oh, but that lady did well who, they say, had at the end of her reception room a couple of figures of duennas with spectacles and lace-cushions, as if at work, and those statues served quite as well to give an air of propriety to the room as if they had been real duennas.”
So saying he leaped off the bed, intending to close the door and not allow Senora Rodriguez to enter; but as he went to shut it Senora Rodriguez returned with a wax candle lighted, and having a closer view of Don Quixote, with the coverlet round him, and his bandages and night-cap, she was alarmed afresh, and retreating a couple of paces, exclaimed, “Am I safe, sir knight? for I don’t look upon it as a sign of very great virtue that your worship should have got up out of bed.”
“I may well ask the same, senora,” said Don Quixote; “and I do ask whether I shall be safe from being assailed and forced?”
“Of whom and against whom do you demand that security, sir knight?” said the duenna.
“Of you and against you I ask it,” said Don Quixote; “for I am not marble, nor are you brass, nor is it now ten o’clock in the morning, but midnight, or a trifle past it I fancy, and we are in a room more secluded and retired than the cave could have been where the treacherous and daring AEneas enjoyed the fair soft-hearted Dido. But give me your hand, senora; I require no better protection than my own continence, and my own sense of propriety; as well as that which is inspired by that venerable head-dress;” and so saying he kissed her right hand and took it in his own, she yielding it to him with equal ceremoniousness. And here Cide Hamete inserts a parenthesis in which he says that to have seen the pair marching from the door to the bed, linked hand in hand in this way, he would have given the best of the two tunics he had.
Don Quixote finally got into bed, and Dona Rodriguez took her seat on a chair at some little distance from his couch, without taking off her spectacles or putting aside the candle. Don Quixote wrapped the bedclothes round him and covered himself up completely, leaving nothing but his face visible, and as soon as they had both regained their composure he broke silence, saying, “Now, Senora Dona Rodriguez, you may unbosom yourself and out with everything you have in your sorrowful heart and afflicted bowels; and by me you shall be listened to with chaste ears, and aided by compassionate exertions.”
“I believe it,” replied the duenna; “from your worship’s gentle and winning presence only such a Christian answer could be expected. The fact is, then, Senor Don Quixote, that though you see me seated in this chair, here in the middle of the kingdom of Aragon, and in the attire of a despised outcast duenna, I am from the Asturias of Oviedo, and of a family with which many of the best of the province are connected by blood; but my untoward fate and the improvidence of my parents, who, I know not how, were unseasonably reduced to poverty, brought me to the court of Madrid, where as a provision and to avoid greater misfortunes, my parents placed me as seamstress in the service of a lady of quality, and I would have you know that for hemming and sewing I have never been surpassed by any all my life. My parents left me in service and returned to their own country, and a few years later went, no doubt, to heaven, for they were excellent good Catholic Christians. I was left an orphan with nothing but the miserable wages and trifling presents that are given to servants of my sort in palaces; but about this time, without any encouragement on my part, one of the esquires of the household fell in love with me, a man somewhat advanced in years, full-bearded and personable, and above all as good a gentleman as the king himself, for he came of a mountain stock. We did not carry on our loves with such secrecy but that they came to the knowledge of my lady, and she, not to have any fuss about it, had us married with the full sanction of the holy mother Roman Catholic Church, of which marriage a daughter was born to put an end to my good fortune, if I had any; not that I died in childbirth, for I passed through it safely and in due season, but because shortly afterwards my husband died of a certain shock he received, and had I time to tell you of it I know your worship would be surprised;” and here she began to weep bitterly and said, “Pardon me, Senor Don Quixote, if I am unable to control myself, for every time I think of my unfortunate husband my eyes fill up with tears. God bless me, with what an air of dignity he used to carry my lady behind him on a stout mule as black as jet! for in those days they did not use coaches or chairs, as they say they do now, and ladies rode behind their squires. This much at least I cannot help telling you, that you may observe the good breeding and punctiliousness of my worthy husband. As he was turning into the Calle de Santiago in Madrid, which is rather narrow, one of the alcaldes of the Court, with two alguacils before him, was coming out of it, and as soon as my good squire saw him he wheeled his mule about and made as if he would turn and accompany him. My lady, who was riding behind him, said to him in a low voice, ‘What are you about, you sneak, don’t you see that I am here?’ The alcalde like a polite man pulled up his horse and said to him, ‘Proceed, senor, for it is I, rather, who ought to accompany my lady Dona Casilda’ — for that was my mistress’s name. Still my husband, cap in hand, persisted in trying to accompany the alcalde, and seeing this my lady, filled with rage and vexation, pulled out a big pin, or, I rather think, a bodkin, out of her needle-case and drove it into his back with such force that my husband gave a loud yell, and writhing fell to the ground with his lady. Her two lacqueys ran to rise her up, and the alcalde and the alguacils did the same; the Guadalajara gate was all in commotion — I mean the idlers congregated there; my mistress came back on foot, and my husband hurried away to a barber’s shop protesting that he was run right through the guts. The courtesy of my husband was noised abroad to such an extent, that the boys gave him no peace in the street; and on this account, and because he was somewhat shortsighted, my lady dismissed him; and it was chagrin at this I am convinced beyond a doubt that brought on his death. I was left a helpless widow, with a daughter on my hands growing up in beauty like the sea-foam; at length, however, as I had the character of being an excellent needlewoman, my lady the duchess, then lately married to my lord the duke, offered to take me with her to this kingdom of Aragon, and my daughter also, and here as time went by my daughter grew up and with her all the graces in the world; she sings like a lark, dances quick as thought, foots it like a gipsy, reads and writes like a schoolmaster, and does sums like a miser; of her neatness I say nothing, for the running water is not purer, and her age is now, if my memory serves me, sixteen years five months and three days, one more or less. To come to the point, the son of a very rich farmer, living in a village of my lord the duke’s not very far from here, fell in love with this girl of mine; and in short, how I know not, they came together, and under the promise of marrying her he made a fool of my daughter, and will not keep his word. And though my lord the duke is aware of it (for I have complained to him, not once but many and many a time, and entreated him to order the farmer to marry my daughter), he turns a deaf ear and will scarcely listen to me; the reason being that as the deceiver’s father is so rich, and lends him money, and is constantly going security for his debts, he does not like to offend or annoy him in any way. Now, senor, I want your worship to take it upon yourself to redress this wrong either by entreaty or by arms; for by what all the world says you came into it to redress grievances and right wrongs and help the unfortunate. Let your worship put before you the unprotected condition of my daughter, her youth, and all the perfections I have said she possesses; and before God and on my conscience, out of all the damsels my lady has, there is not one that comes up to the sole of her shoe, and the one they call Altisidora, and look upon as the boldest and gayest of them, put in comparison with my daughter, does not come within two leagues of her. For I would have you know, senor, all is not gold that glitters, and that same little Altisidora has more forwardness than good looks, and more impudence than modesty; besides being not very sound, for she has such a disagreeable breath that one cannot bear to be near her for a moment; and even my lady the duchess — but I’ll hold my tongue, for they say that walls have ears.”
“For heaven’s sake, Dona Rodriguez, what ails my lady the duchess?” asked Don Quixote.
“Adjured in that way,” replied the duenna, “I cannot help answering the question and telling the whole truth. Senor Don Quixote, have you observed the comeliness of my lady the duchess, that smooth complexion of hers like a burnished polished sword, those two cheeks of milk and carmine, that gay lively step with which she treads or rather seems to spurn the earth, so that one would fancy she went radiating health wherever she passed? Well then, let me tell you she may thank, first of all God, for this, and next, two issues that she has, one in each leg, by which all the evil humours, of which the doctors say she is full, are discharged.”
“Blessed Virgin!” exclaimed Don Quixote; “and is it possible that my lady the duchess has drains of that sort? I would not have believed it if the barefoot friars had told it me; but as the lady Dona Rodriguez says so, it must be so. But surely such issues, and in such places, do not discharge humours, but liquid amber. Verily, I do believe now that this practice of opening issues is a very important matter for the health.”
Don Quixote had hardly said this, when the chamber door flew open with a loud bang, and with the start the noise gave her Dona Rodriguez let the candle fall from her hand, and the room was left as dark as a wolf’s mouth, as the saying is. Suddenly the poor duenna felt two hands seize her by the throat, so tightly that she could not croak, while some one else, without uttering a word, very briskly hoisted up her petticoats, and with what seemed to be a slipper began to lay on so heartily that anyone would have felt pity for her; but although Don Quixote felt it he never stirred from his bed, but lay quiet and silent, nay apprehensive that his turn for a drubbing might be coming. Nor was the apprehension an idle one; one; for leaving the duenna (who did not dare to cry out) well basted, the silent executioners fell upon Don Quixote, and stripping him of the sheet and the coverlet, they pinched him so fast and so hard that he was driven to defend himself with his fists, and all this in marvellous silence. The battle lasted nearly half an hour, and then the phantoms fled; Dona Rodriguez gathered up her skirts, and bemoaning her fate went out without saying a word to Don Quixote, and he, sorely pinched, puzzled, and dejected, remained alone, and there we will leave him, wondering who could have been the perverse enchanter who had reduced him to such a state; but that shall be told in due season, for Sancho claims our attention, and the methodical arrangement of the story demands it.
 
的一场风波，以及其他值得永世不忘的事件
唐吉诃德受了伤，十分懊丧。他脸上的印迹不是上帝留下的，而是猫抓的。这是游侠骑士难免的倒霉事儿。在他没露面的六天里，有一个晚上，他思量着自己遇到的种种不幸以及阿尔蒂西多拉的纠缠，夜不能寐。忽然，他觉得有人用钥匙开他房间的门，于是马上想到是那个多情的阿尔蒂西多拉想趁他不注意，迫使他失去对杜尔西内亚的忠贞。他对此确信无疑，就把嗓门提高到可以让对方听到的程度，说道：“就是世界上最漂亮的女子，也不会让我放弃我对我夫人发自内心最深处的崇拜。我的夫人，无论你变成丑陋的农妇还是变成金色塔霍河里正在用金色丝纱编织锦绣的仙女，无论你被梅尔林或蒙特西诺斯关在什么地方，你都属于我；而我无论在什么地方，也都属于你。”
唐吉诃德刚说完这几句话，门就开了。他连忙在床上站起来，从头到脚裹着黄缎床单，头上扣着一顶便帽，脸上和胡子上都缠着纱布。脸是因为被猫抓的，胡子是因为要它向上翘。他这副样子，看上去真像个幽灵。他两眼盯着门，满以为进来的是已经被他弄得神魂颠倒而且心灵受伤的阿尔蒂西多拉，却没想到进来的是一个极其庄重的女佣。她身上穿着又宽又长的白色长袍，长袍把她从头到脚都盖住了。她左手拿着半截点燃的蜡烛，右手遮着眼，以免烛光直射她的眼睛。她慢慢地移动着脚步，落地很轻。
唐吉诃德站在床上，看到进来一个这样装束的怪物，而且脚步特别轻，以为是一个巫婆或女魔法师来害他，立刻慌不迭地画起十字来。女佣走到房子中间，一抬头，立刻看到了正在画十字的唐吉诃德。刚才唐吉诃德看到她时非常害怕，现在，她看到唐吉诃德那又高又黄的裹着床单和纱布的怪样子就更害怕了，不由得大叫一声说道：
“天哪，我看到的是什么？”
惊慌之中蜡烛掉到了地上，周围一片漆黑。她转身想跑，可又被裙子绊住了，摔了个大跟头。只听唐吉诃德胆战心惊地说道：
“幽灵，或者随便你是谁，我向你发誓，只要你告诉我你是谁，到我这儿想干什么，即使你是个冤魂，我也会尽我的全部力量帮助你。我是个天主教徒，愿意对所有人行善，而且我也正是为此才当上游侠骑士的。我甚至对炼狱里的鬼魂行善。”
惊魂未定的女佣听了这番带着恐惧腔调的发誓，猜出是唐吉诃德，就沉痛地低声说道：
“唐吉诃德大人，如果您确实就是唐吉诃德的话，我告诉您，我不是幽灵，不是怪物，也不是鬼魂。您大概也猜到了，我是您尊贵的女主人公爵夫人的女佣唐娜罗德里格斯。有些事只有您帮忙才能解决，我正是为了这样一件事而来的。”
“说吧，唐娜罗德里格斯夫人。”唐吉诃德说，“你是不是来给我拉皮条的？我告诉你，为了举世无双的美人杜尔西内亚，我不会被任何人引诱。一句话，我告诉你，唐娜罗德里格斯夫人，只要你不提那些男女私情的事，你不妨先回去点上蜡烛再来。你有什么吩咐，想干什么，咱们都可以商量，就像我刚才说的，只要不是那种邪门歪道的事就行。”
“我给谁拉皮条呀，大人？”女佣说，“您真是看错人了。我这把年纪还不至于糊涂到那种程度，去干那种卑鄙的事情呀。托上帝的福，我身体健康，除了因为感冒掉了几颗牙之外，我的牙齿仍然很齐全。感冒在阿拉贡这儿很流行。请您等一会儿，我去点上蜡烛，马上就回来，好向您这位解救苦难的救世主诉诉我的苦楚。”
她不等唐吉诃德回头就出去了。唐吉诃德一边静静地等候，一边思考着。想到这次意外的事情，他心绪纷乱，觉得这是糟糕的事情，很可能会破坏他对他的夫人的忠贞。唐吉诃德心想：“谁知道是不是诡计多端的魔鬼现在想用女佣来迷惑我，达到他们用女皇、王后、公爵夫人、侯爵夫人和伯爵夫人都没有达到的目的呢？我常听一些聪明人说，魔鬼常常是一计不成又施一计。谁知道在这夜深人静的时候，我会不会控制不住自己的欲望，同她睡觉，使我保持多年的忠贞付诸东流呢？遇到这种情况，免战比迎战好。不过，我也不必想入非非，这些全是我自己想的。像这样身穿白色长袍、高个子、戴眼镜的女佣，就是世界上最大的好色之徒也不会动心。难道世界上还有哪个女佣是细皮嫩肉吗？难道还有哪个女佣不是五大三粗、满脸皱纹而且还装模作样吗？让那群女佣都滚出去吧，她们真让人索然无味！据说，有个夫人做得挺不错，在她的客厅里放了两个女佣半身像，还戴着眼镜，靠着垫子，好像在那儿做活的样子，那样客厅里就好像真有了两个女佣似的，显得很有气派。”
唐吉诃德这么想着，从床上一跃而起，打算把门关上，不让女佣唐娜罗德里格斯进来。可是他走到门口，唐娜罗德里格斯已经点燃一支白蜡烛回来了。她迎面看见唐吉诃德近在眼前，身上依然裹着床单、纱布，头上还戴着帽子，又吓了一跳。她后退几步，说道：
“您能让我放心吗，骑士大人？我觉得您下床来，好像不是正常举动。”
“我正要问你呢，夫人。”唐吉诃德说，“我正要问你能否让我放心，保证我不受到骚扰或强暴？”
“到底是谁让谁放心呀，骑士大人？”女佣问。
“是我求你让我放心，”唐吉诃德说，“因为我不是石头人，你也并非青铜心，况且现在不是上午十点，而是深更半夜，也许比深更半夜还晚些呢，而且这个地方很隐蔽，也许它会成为背信弃义的埃涅阿斯占有美丽而富有同情心的狄多的地方。不过，请您把手伸过来吧，夫人，我觉得我的良心和自重以及您那令人起敬的长袍，已能让我放心了。”
说完唐吉诃德吻了吻自己的手，然后又去拉女佣的手。女佣也以同样的动作还报唐吉诃德。
锡德•哈迈德在此有一段插话，说他向穆罕默德发誓，假如能让他欣赏到两个人手拉手走到床前那情景，他宁愿从他那两件最好的斗篷中拿出一件来捐献。
唐吉诃德上了床，唐娜罗德里格斯坐在一把椅子上，椅子与床有一定的距离。她没有摘眼镜，也没有吹灭蜡烛。唐吉诃德缩在床上，全身捂得严严实实，只露出一个脑袋。两人定下神以后，唐吉诃德首先开了口：
“唐娜罗德里格斯夫人，现在您不妨把您内心的痛苦事都说出来，我一定仔细倾听，真心相助。”
“从您慈善和蔼的面孔上，”女佣说，“我就断定一定会从您这儿得到这种诚恳的回答。现在的情况是，唐吉诃德大人，虽然您现在看见我坐在这把椅子上，身在阿拉贡，穿着一身受苦受罪的女佣的衣服，其实我是奥维多的阿斯图里亚斯人，我家和当地的许多豪门都有关系。可是我命运不佳，父母又不会过日子，结果稀里糊涂地就把家产丢尽了。后来父母把我送到了首都马德里。为了让我过上踏实日子，不再受更大的苦，他们把我放在一个贵夫人家做侍女。我不妨告诉您，若论做抽结①或白料加工②的活儿，这辈子也休想有谁比得过我。父母把我留在那人家干活，自己就回去了，大概过了没几年就死了。他们是非常善良的基督教徒。我孤身一人，靠那点儿可怜的工钱和深宫大院里的侍女所能得到的菲薄赏赐生活。这时候，她家的一个侍从爱上了我，是他主动找我的。那个人年纪不小了，满面胡须，人却挺精神。他是山上人，那气派简直像国王似的。我们并不掩饰我们的爱情，后来消息传到了女主人那儿。她为了避免让人说闲话，就让我们在教堂结了婚。结婚后我们有了一个女孩，可是我好运不长。我倒没有死于分娩，而是孩子出生后不久，我的丈夫就受了一场惊吓去世了。我现在给您讲讲这件事，我想您一定会感到惊讶。”
①缝纫式刺绣的花饰，在布上抽掉几根纱后分段结扎而成。
②指在白色床单、罩布或内衣上做的针线活。
女佣伤心地哭起来，说道：
“请您原谅，唐吉诃德大人，您也不用劝我。每当我想到我那夭折的丈夫，就泪水盈眶。上帝保佑，当时他把女主人带在那匹高大黝黑的骡子屁股上，可威风啦！那时候不像现在这样，贵夫人出门都是乘车或坐轿子。那时的贵夫人都是坐在侍从的鞍后。这件事我不能不讲，因为从这儿可以看出我那好丈夫的礼貌和办事认真的态度。他们刚走上马德里的圣地亚哥大街，那条街比较窄，迎面就走来一位京城的长官，前面有两个差役开路。我的丈夫一看到差役，就掉转骡子的缰绳，准备让路。可是坐在鞍后的女主人却低声说道：‘你干什么，倒霉鬼？你不知道我在这儿吗？’那长官很有礼貌，他勒住马，对我丈夫说：‘请您先过，大人，我应该给唐娜卡西尔达夫人让路。’我的女主人叫唐娜卡西尔达。
“可是我丈夫把帽子拿在手里，仍然坚持让那位长官先过。我的女主人不由得怒气冲天，从一个匣子里拿出一个大号别针或锥子来，刺进了我丈夫的腰。我丈夫一弯腰，连同女主人一起摔到了地上。女主人的两个仆役赶紧去扶女主人，那位长官和两个差役也跑来帮忙。瓜达拉哈拉大门①一下子就乱了，我是说，旁边那些无所事事的人一下子就乱了。女主人走了，我丈夫来到一家理发馆，说他的肚子被刺穿了。我丈夫的过分礼让一下子就传开了，连街上的孩子们都追着他起哄。就因为这个，再加上我丈夫有点儿近视，我的女主人把他辞退了。肯定是因为这事，我丈夫郁郁而死。我成了寡妇，无依无靠，还带着我女儿。我女儿慢慢长大了，漂亮得像朵花。后来，因为我善于做手工活是出了名的，我的女主人那时刚刚同公爵结婚，就把我也带到了阿拉贡这儿。我女儿也一起来了。她一天天长大了，多才多艺。她唱歌如百灵，宫廷舞跳得很轻盈，民间舞又跳得很豪放。她读书写字决不逊于学校的老师，算起帐来也十分精明。至于她多么讲卫生就不用说了，连流水都不如她干净。如果我没记错的话，她现在应该是十六岁五个月零三天了。
①瓜达拉哈拉大门据说是游手好闲的人聚集的地方。
“公爵在离这儿不远有个村庄，那儿有个大富农，他的儿子后来爱上了我的女儿。实际上我还没明白是怎么回事，他们就结合了。富农的儿子声称要同我女儿结婚，其实是骗了我女儿，却又不想履行他的诺言。公爵知道这件事，我同他说过不止一次。我请公爵让那个富农的儿子同我女儿结婚，可是公爵充耳不闻，甚至不愿意听我说。原因就是那个富农很有钱，他借钱给公爵；公爵要借别人钱时，他又出面作保，所以公爵无论如何也不想得罪他。所以，大人，我想请您做主，无论是好言相劝还是武力相逼，总之要结束这种罪恶状况。大家都说您生来就是要铲除罪恶，拨乱反正，扶弱济贫的。我已经对您说过了。我女儿无依无靠，漂亮而又年轻，还有许多别的优点。无论是向上帝发誓还是凭良心而论，在我女主人身边的这么多姑娘里，没有一个能比得上她。我可以告诉您，大人，闪光的不一定都是金子。那个叫阿尔蒂西多拉的自以为很漂亮，可是她并不文静，倒有点疯劲儿，而且她身体也不怎么好，总是有那么一股让人讨厌的气味。谁要是在她身边，连一会儿也待不下去。还有公爵夫人……我不说了。
俗话说，隔墙有耳。”
“天哪，唐娜罗德里格斯夫人，公爵夫人又怎么了？”
“您既然这样恳求，”女佣说，“我就得据实相告了。唐吉诃德大人，您发现我的女主人公爵夫人的美貌之处了吗？她的脸光润滑腻，两频可谓雪肤冰肌，宛如日月相映；她走路轻盈风雅，所到之处都让人感到她秀美的仪容。您应该知道，这首先得感谢上帝，不过还有一点，那就是要归功于她的两条腿上的两个排泻口。医生说她身上全是坏水，而坏水都从那两个口子里排泄出来。”
“圣母玛利亚啊！”唐吉诃德说，“我们的公爵夫人身上真会有这种排泄口吗？如果是别人说，我绝对不会相信，可这是唐娜罗德里格斯说的，也许真是这样。不过，从这种地方的排泄口里流出来的不应该是坏水，而应该是琥珀之液。现在我才真正相信，这种排泄口对于人体健康是十分重要的。”
唐吉诃德刚说完这几句话，就听见房间的门砰的一声打开了，唐娜罗德里格斯手中的蜡烛连吓带震地掉到了地上。可怜的女佣马上感到自己的脖子被两只手死死地扼住了，喘不过气来。同时，另一个人一声不吭地撩起女佣的裙子，用一个好像是女拖鞋的东西抽打女佣，而且打得很厉害。唐吉诃德虽然看着很心疼，却不敢从床上跳下来。他不知道那到底是什么东西，只好默不作声地蜷缩在床上，怕自己也遭到一顿打。他的这种担心也有道理。那两个打手把女佣打得浑身是伤，可女佣连呻吟都不敢。然后，那两个打手又来到唐吉诃德的床边，掀开床单，对唐吉诃德又拧又掐，唐吉诃德只好挥拳招架。奇怪的是他们都不出声。
这样打了半个小时，两个幽灵才出去。唐娜罗德里格斯放下裙子，为自己的不幸呻吟着，然后走出门，没有再和唐吉诃德说一句话。唐吉诃德被掐得浑身疼痛。他摸不着头脑，百思不得其解，很想知道是哪个恶毒的魔法师把他害成这样。咱们暂且不管他，先去看看桑乔•潘萨吧。这本小说安排得很好，桑乔正在叫咱们呢。
Part 2 Chapter 49
We left the great governor angered and irritated by that portrait-painting rogue of a farmer who, instructed the majordomo, as the majordomo was by the duke, tried to practise upon him; he however, fool, boor, and clown as he was, held his own against them all, saying to those round him and to Doctor Pedro Recio, who as soon as the private business of the duke’s letter was disposed of had returned to the room, “Now I see plainly enough that judges and governors ought to be and must be made of brass not to feel the importunities of the applicants that at all times and all seasons insist on being heard, and having their business despatched, and their own affairs and no others attended to, come what may; and if the poor judge does not hear them and settle the matter — either because he cannot or because that is not the time set apart for hearing them — forthwith they abuse him, and run him down, and gnaw at his bones, and even pick holes in his pedigree. You silly, stupid applicant, don’t be in a hurry; wait for the proper time and season for doing business; don’t come at dinner-hour, or at bed-time; for judges are only flesh and blood, and must give to Nature what she naturally demands of them; all except myself, for in my case I give her nothing to eat, thanks to Senor Doctor Pedro Recio Tirteafuera here, who would have me die of hunger, and declares that death to be life; and the same sort of life may God give him and all his kind — I mean the bad doctors; for the good ones deserve palms and laurels.”
All who knew Sancho Panza were astonished to hear him speak so elegantly, and did not know what to attribute it to unless it were that office and grave responsibility either smarten or stupefy men’s wits. At last Doctor Pedro Recio Agilers of Tirteafuera promised to let him have supper that night though it might be in contravention of all the aphorisms of Hippocrates. With this the governor was satisfied and looked forward to the approach of night and supper-time with great anxiety; and though time, to his mind, stood still and made no progress, nevertheless the hour he so longed for came, and they gave him a beef salad with onions and some boiled calves’ feet rather far gone. At this he fell to with greater relish than if they had given him francolins from Milan, pheasants from Rome, veal from Sorrento, partridges from Moron, or geese from Lavajos, and turning to the doctor at supper he said to him, “Look here, senor doctor, for the future don’t trouble yourself about giving me dainty things or choice dishes to eat, for it will be only taking my stomach off its hinges; it is accustomed to goat, cow, bacon, hung beef, turnips and onions; and if by any chance it is given these palace dishes, it receives them squeamishly, and sometimes with loathing. What the head-carver had best do is to serve me with what they call ollas podridas (and the rottener they are the better they smell); and he can put whatever he likes into them, so long as it is good to eat, and I’ll be obliged to him, and will requite him some day. But let nobody play pranks on me, for either we are or we are not; let us live and eat in peace and good-fellowship, for when God sends the dawn, be sends it for all. I mean to govern this island without giving up a right or taking a bribe; let everyone keep his eye open, and look out for the arrow; for I can tell them ‘the devil’s in Cantillana,’ and if they drive me to it they’ll see something that will astonish them. Nay! make yourself honey and the flies eat you.”
“Of a truth, senor governor,” said the carver, “your worship is in the right of it in everything you have said; and I promise you in the name of all the inhabitants of this island that they will serve your worship with all zeal, affection, and good-will, for the mild kind of government you have given a sample of to begin with, leaves them no ground for doing or thinking anything to your worship’s disadvantage.”
“That I believe,” said Sancho; “and they would be great fools if they did or thought otherwise; once more I say, see to my feeding and my Dapple’s for that is the great point and what is most to the purpose; and when the hour comes let us go the rounds, for it is my intention to purge this island of all manner of uncleanness and of all idle good-for-nothing vagabonds; for I would have you know that lazy idlers are the same thing in a State as the drones in a hive, that eat up the honey the industrious bees make. I mean to protect the husbandman, to preserve to the gentleman his privileges, to reward the virtuous, and above all to respect religion and honour its ministers. What say you to that, my friends? Is there anything in what I say, or am I talking to no purpose?”
“There is so much in what your worship says, senor governor,” said the majordomo, “that I am filled with wonder when I see a man like your worship, entirely without learning (for I believe you have none at all), say such things, and so full of sound maxims and sage remarks, very different from what was expected of your worship’s intelligence by those who sent us or by us who came here. Every day we see something new in this world; jokes become realities, and the jokers find the tables turned upon them.”
Night came, and with the permission of Doctor Pedro Recio, the governor had supper. They then got ready to go the rounds, and he started with the majordomo, the secretary, the head-carver, the chronicler charged with recording his deeds, and alguacils and notaries enough to form a fair-sized squadron. In the midst marched Sancho with his staff, as fine a sight as one could wish to see, and but a few streets of the town had been traversed when they heard a noise as of a clashing of swords. They hastened to the spot, and found that the combatants were but two, who seeing the authorities approaching stood still, and one of them exclaimed, “Help, in the name of God and the king! Are men to he allowed to rob in the middle of this town, and rush out and attack people in the very streets?”
“Be calm, my good man,” said Sancho, “and tell me what the cause of this quarrel is; for I am the governor.”
Said the other combatant, “Senor governor, I will tell you in a very few words. Your worship must know that this gentleman has just now won more than a thousand reals in that gambling house opposite, and God knows how. I was there, and gave more than one doubtful point in his favour, very much against what my conscience told me. He made off with his winnings, and when I made sure he was going to give me a crown or so at least by way of a present, as it is usual and customary to give men of quality of my sort who stand by to see fair or foul play, and back up swindles, and prevent quarrels, he pocketed his money and left the house. Indignant at this I followed him, and speaking him fairly and civilly asked him to give me if it were only eight reals, for he knows I am an honest man and that I have neither profession nor property, for my parents never brought me up to any or left me any; but the rogue, who is a greater thief than Cacus and a greater sharper than Andradilla, would not give me more than four reals; so your worship may see how little shame and conscience he has. But by my faith if you had not come up I’d have made him disgorge his winnings, and he’d have learned what the range of the steel-yard was.”
“What say you to this?” asked Sancho. The other replied that all his antagonist said was true, and that he did not choose to give him more than four reals because he very often gave him money; and that those who expected presents ought to be civil and take what is given them with a cheerful countenance, and not make any claim against winners unless they know them for certain to be sharpers and their winnings to be unfairly won; and that there could be no better proof that he himself was an honest man than his having refused to give anything; for sharpers always pay tribute to lookers-on who know them.
“That is true,” said the majordomo; “let your worship consider what is to be done with these men.”
“What is to be done,” said Sancho, “is this; you, the winner, be you good, bad, or indifferent, give this assailant of yours a hundred reals at once, and you must disburse thirty more for the poor prisoners; and you who have neither profession nor property, and hang about the island in idleness, take these hundred reals now, and some time of the day to-morrow quit the island under sentence of banishment for ten years, and under pain of completing it in another life if you violate the sentence, for I’ll hang you on a gibbet, or at least the hangman will by my orders; not a word from either of you, or I’ll make him feel my hand.”
The one paid down the money and the other took it, and the latter quitted the island, while the other went home; and then the governor said, “Either I am not good for much, or I’ll get rid of these gambling houses, for it strikes me they are very mischievous.”
“This one at least,” said one of the notaries, “your worship will not be able to get rid of, for a great man owns it, and what he loses every year is beyond all comparison more than what he makes by the cards. On the minor gambling houses your worship may exercise your power, and it is they that do most harm and shelter the most barefaced practices; for in the houses of lords and gentlemen of quality the notorious sharpers dare not attempt to play their tricks; and as the vice of gambling has become common, it is better that men should play in houses of repute than in some tradesman’s , where they catch an unlucky fellow in the small hours of the morning and skin him alive.”
“I know already, notary, that there is a good deal to he said on that point,” said Sancho.
And now a tipstaff came up with a young man in his grasp, and said, “Senor governor, this youth was coming towards us, and as soon as he saw the officers of justice he turned about and ran like a deer, a sure proof that he must be some evil-doer; I ran after him, and had it not been that he stumbled and fell, I should never have caught him.”
“What did you run for, fellow?” said Sancho.
To which the young man replied, “Senor, it was to avoid answering all the questions officers of justice put.”
“What are you by trade?”
“A weaver.”
“And what do you weave?”
“Lance heads, with your worship’s good leave.”
“You’re facetious with me! You plume yourself on being a wag? Very good; and where were you going just now?”
“To take the air, senor.”
“And where does one take the air in this island?”
“Where it blows.”
“Good! your answers are very much to the point; you are a smart youth; but take notice that I am the air, and that I blow upon you a-stern, and send you to gaol. Ho there! lay hold of him and take him off; I’ll make him sleep there to-night without air.”
“By God,” said the young man, “your worship will make me sleep in gaol just as soon as make me king.”
“Why shan’t I make thee sleep in gaol?” said Sancho. “Have I not the power to arrest thee and release thee whenever I like?”
“All the power your worship has,” said the young man, “won’t be able to make me sleep in gaol.”
“How? not able!” said Sancho; “take him away at once where he’ll see his mistake with his own eyes, even if the gaoler is willing to exert his interested generosity on his behalf; for I’ll lay a penalty of two thousand ducats on him if he allows him to stir a step from the prison.”
“That’s ridiculous,” said the young man; “the fact is, all the men on earth will not make me sleep in prison.”
“Tell me, you devil,” said Sancho, “have you got any angel that will deliver you, and take off the irons I am going to order them to put upon you?”
“Now, senor governor,” said the young man in a sprightly manner, “let us be reasonable and come to the point. Granted your worship may order me to be taken to prison, and to have irons and chains put on me, and to be shut up in a cell, and may lay heavy penalties on the gaoler if he lets me out, and that he obeys your orders; still, if I don’t choose to sleep, and choose to remain awake all night without closing an eye, will your worship with all your power be able to make me sleep if I don’t choose?”
“No, truly,” said the secretary, “and the fellow has made his point.”
“So then,” said Sancho, “it would be entirely of your own choice you would keep from sleeping; not in opposition to my will?”
“No, senor,” said the youth, “certainly not.”
“Well then, go, and God be with you,” said Sancho; “be off home to sleep, and God give you sound sleep, for I don’t want to rob you of it; but for the future, let me advise you don’t joke with the authorities, because you may come across some one who will bring down the joke on your own skull.”
The young man went his way, and the governor continued his round, and shortly afterwards two tipstaffs came up with a man in custody, and said, “Senor governor, this person, who seems to be a man, is not so, but a woman, and not an ill-favoured one, in man’s clothes.” They raised two or three lanterns to her face, and by their light they distinguished the features of a woman to all appearance of the age of sixteen or a little more, with her hair gathered into a gold and green silk net, and fair as a thousand pearls. They scanned her from head to foot, and observed that she had on red silk stockings with garters of white taffety bordered with gold and pearl; her breeches were of green and gold stuff, and under an open jacket or jerkin of the same she wore a doublet of the finest white and gold cloth; her shoes were white and such as men wear; she carried no sword at her belt, but only a richly ornamented dagger, and on her fingers she had several handsome rings. In short, the girl seemed fair to look at in the eyes of all, and none of those who beheld her knew her, the people of the town said they could not imagine who she was, and those who were in the secret of the jokes that were to be practised upon Sancho were the ones who were most surprised, for this incident or discovery had not been arranged by them; and they watched anxiously to see how the affair would end.
Sancho was fascinated by the girl’s beauty, and he asked her who she was, where she was going, and what had induced her to dress herself in that garb. She with her eyes fixed on the ground answered in modest confusion, “I cannot tell you, senor, before so many people what it is of such consequence to me to have kept secret; one thing I wish to be known, that I am no thief or evildoer, but only an unhappy maiden whom the power of jealousy has led to break through the respect that is due to modesty.”
Hearing this the majordomo said to Sancho, “Make the people stand back, senor governor, that this lady may say what she wishes with less embarrassment.”
Sancho gave the order, and all except the majordomo, the head-carver, and the secretary fell back. Finding herself then in the presence of no more, the damsel went on to say, “I am the daughter, sirs, of Pedro Perez Mazorca, the wool-farmer of this town, who is in the habit of coming very often to my father’s house.”
“That won’t do, senora,” said the majordomo; “for I know Pedro Perez very well, and I know he has no child at all, either son or daughter; and besides, though you say he is your father, you add then that he comes very often to your father’s house.”
“I had already noticed that,” said Sancho.
“I am confused just now, sirs,” said the damsel, “and I don’t know what I am saying; but the truth is that I am the daughter of Diego de la Llana, whom you must all know.”
“Ay, that will do,” said the majordomo; “for I know Diego de la Llana, and know that he is a gentleman of position and a rich man, and that he has a son and a daughter, and that since he was left a widower nobody in all this town can speak of having seen his daughter’s face; for he keeps her so closely shut up that he does not give even the sun a chance of seeing her; and for all that report says she is extremely beautiful.”
“It is true,” said the damsel, “and I am that daughter; whether report lies or not as to my beauty, you, sirs, will have decided by this time, as you have seen me;” and with this she began to weep bitterly.
On seeing this the secretary leant over to the head-carver’s ear, and said to him in a low voice, “Something serious has no doubt happened this poor maiden, that she goes wandering from home in such a dress and at such an hour, and one of her rank too.” “There can be no doubt about it,” returned the carver, “and moreover her tears confirm your suspicion.” Sancho gave her the best comfort he could, and entreated her to tell them without any fear what had happened her, as they would all earnestly and by every means in their power endeavour to relieve her.
“The fact is, sirs,” said she, “that my father has kept me shut up these ten years, for so long is it since the earth received my mother. Mass is said at home in a sumptuous chapel, and all this time I have seen but the sun in the heaven by day, and the moon and the stars by night; nor do I know what streets are like, or plazas, or churches, or even men, except my father and a brother I have, and Pedro Perez the wool-farmer; whom, because he came frequently to our house, I took it into my head to call my father, to avoid naming my own. This seclusion and the restrictions laid upon my going out, were it only to church, have been keeping me unhappy for many a day and month past; I longed to see the world, or at least the town where I was born, and it did not seem to me that this wish was inconsistent with the respect maidens of good quality should have for themselves. When I heard them talking of bull-fights taking place, and of javelin games, and of acting plays, I asked my brother, who is a year younger than myself, to tell me what sort of things these were, and many more that I had never seen; he explained them to me as well as he could, but the only effect was to kindle in me a still stronger desire to see them. At last, to cut short the story of my ruin, I begged and entreated my brother — O that I had never made such an entreaty — ” And once more she gave way to a burst of weeping.
“Proceed, senora,” said the majordomo, “and finish your story of what has happened to you, for your words and tears are keeping us all in suspense.”
“I have but little more to say, though many a tear to shed,” said the damsel; “for ill-placed desires can only be paid for in some such way.”
The maiden’s beauty had made a deep impression on the head-carver’s heart, and he again raised his lantern for another look at her, and thought they were not tears she was shedding, but seed-pearl or dew of the meadow, nay, he exalted them still higher, and made Oriental pearls of them, and fervently hoped her misfortune might not be so great a one as her tears and sobs seemed to indicate. The governor was losing patience at the length of time the girl was taking to tell her story, and told her not to keep them waiting any longer; for it was late, and there still remained a good deal of the town to be gone over.
She, with broken sobs and half-suppressed sighs, went on to say, “My misfortune, my misadventure, is simply this, that I entreated my brother to dress me up as a man in a suit of his clothes, and take me some night, when our father was asleep, to see the whole town; he, overcome by my entreaties, consented, and dressing me in this suit and himself in clothes of mine that fitted him as if made for him (for he has not a hair on his chin, and might pass for a very beautiful young girl), to-night, about an hour ago, more or less, we left the house, and guided by our youthful and foolish impulse we made the circuit of the whole town, and then, as we were about to return home, we saw a great troop of people coming, and my brother said to me, ‘Sister, this must be the round, stir your feet and put wings to them, and follow me as fast as you can, lest they recognise us, for that would be a bad business for us;’ and so saying he turned about and began, I cannot say to run but to fly; in less than six paces I fell from fright, and then the officer of justice came up and carried me before your worships, where I find myself put to shame before all these people as whimsical and vicious.”
“So then, senora,” said Sancho, “no other mishap has befallen you, nor was it jealousy that made you leave home, as you said at the beginning of your story?”
“Nothing has happened me,” said she, “nor was it jealousy that brought me out, but merely a longing to see the world, which did not go beyond seeing the streets of this town.”
The appearance of the tipstaffs with her brother in custody, whom one of them had overtaken as he ran away from his sister, now fully confirmed the truth of what the damsel said. He had nothing on but a rich petticoat and a short blue damask cloak with fine gold lace, and his head was uncovered and adorned only with its own hair, which looked like rings of gold, so bright and curly was it. The governor, the majordomo, and the carver went aside with him, and, unheard by his sister, asked him how he came to be in that dress, and he with no less shame and embarrassment told exactly the same story as his sister, to the great delight of the enamoured carver; the governor, however, said to them, “In truth, young lady and gentleman, this has been a very childish affair, and to explain your folly and rashness there was no necessity for all this delay and all these tears and sighs; for if you had said we are so-and-so, and we escaped from our father’s house in this way in order to ramble about, out of mere curiosity and with no other object, there would have been an end of the matter, and none of these little sobs and tears and all the rest of it.”
“That is true,” said the damsel, “but you see the confusion I was in was so great it did not let me behave as I ought.”
“No harm has been done,” said Sancho; “come, we will leave you at your father’s house; perhaps they will not have missed you; and another time don’t be so childish or eager to see the world; for a respectable damsel should have a broken leg and keep at home; and the woman and the hen by gadding about are soon lost; and she who is eager to see is also eager to be seen; I say no more.”
The youth thanked the governor for his kind offer to take them home, and they directed their steps towards the house, which was not far off. On reaching it the youth threw a pebble up at a grating, and immediately a woman-servant who was waiting for them came down and opened the door to them, and they went in, leaving the party marvelling as much at their grace and beauty as at the fancy they had for seeing the world by night and without quitting the village; which, however, they set down to their youth.
The head-carver was left with a heart pierced through and through, and he made up his mind on the spot to demand the damsel in marriage of her father on the morrow, making sure she would not be refused him as he was a servant of the duke’s ; and even to Sancho ideas and schemes of marrying the youth to his daughter Sanchica suggested themselves, and he resolved to open the negotiation at the proper season, persuading himself that no husband could be refused to a governor’s daughter. And so the night’s round came to an end, and a couple of days later the government, whereby all his plans were overthrown and swept away, as will be seen farther on.
 
前面说到桑乔正在为农夫的那番描述而生闷气。其实，那个农夫是受管家的委派，管家又受公爵的指使，前来捉弄桑乔的。桑乔虽然又粗又笨，却并没有被耍弄。桑乔看完公爵给他的密信，又回到客厅，对身边的人和佩德罗•雷西奥大夫说：
“现在我算真正明白了，无论是地方官还是总督，都得是铁人才成，以便无论什么时候有人来找他，他都不能烦，都得听他们说，为他们办事，不管有什么情况，都得先办他们的事。如果长官不听他们说，不办他们的事，或者办不到，或者当时不见他们，他们就骂骂咧咧，嘀嘀咕咕，甚至连老祖宗也捎带上。这些前来办事的笨蛋，你着什么急呀，你等合适的时候再来，别在吃饭和睡觉的时候来嘛。长官也是肉长的，该怎么样时就得怎么样。可我就不能这样，想吃也不能吃。这全怪旁边这位佩德罗•雷西奥•蒂尔特亚富埃拉。他想饿死我，却说这样才能长寿。但愿上帝让他和所有像他这样的医生都如此长寿。当然，我说的是坏医生，对于好医生应该嘉奖。”
那些认识桑乔的人听到他如此慷慨陈词都感到吃惊，不知他为什么会这样，认为大概是重要的职位能使人更聪明，或者更愚蠢吧。最后佩德罗•雷西奥大夫答应，无论希波克拉底还有什么告诫，也要让桑乔当天吃晚饭。总督听了十分高兴，焦急地等着晚饭时间到来。虽然桑乔觉得时间似乎静止不动了，晚饭的时间总算如期而至。晚饭是凉拌牛肉葱头和已经放了几天的炖牛蹄，桑乔吃得津津有味，比吃米兰的鹧鸪、罗马的雉鸡、索伦托的小牛肉、莫隆的石鸡或拉瓦霍斯的鹅还香。他边吃还边对医生说：
“我说大夫，以后你不必给我弄什么大鱼大肉或者美味佳肴，那样反倒让我倒胃口。我的胃就习惯羊肉、牛肉、腌猪肉、咸肉干、萝卜、葱头什么的。如果吃宫廷大菜，我倒吃不惯，有时候还恶心呢。餐厅侍者可以把那个叫什锦火锅的菜给我端来，里面的东西越杂，味道越好，只要是吃的，往里面放什么都可以。我早晚会酬谢他的。谁也别想拿我开心，否则我就豁出去了。大家在一起客客气气，彼此都愉快。我在这个岛上该管的就管，不该管的就不管；大家各扫门前雪就行了。我告诉你，否则就会乱成一团。到时候你们就知道我的厉害了，别敬酒不吃吃罚酒。”
“真的，总督大人，”餐厅侍者说，“您刚才说得太对了。我代表岛上的居民向您表示，愿意不折不扣而且满腔热忱地为您效劳。您一开始就对我们这么好，我们怎么会不尽心竭力地为您效劳呢！”
“我相信这点，”桑乔说，“谁要想干别的，那可就是自找倒霉了。我再说一遍，你们注意给我和我的驴弄好吃的，这才是最要紧的事。等会儿咱们去巡视一下，我想把这个岛上的种种坏事以及游手好闲、不务正业的人都清除干净。我可以告诉你们，各位朋友，游手好闲的人在这个国家里就好像是蜂房里的雄蜂，它们专吃工蜂做的蜂蜜。我要照顾劳动者，维护贵族的地位，奖励品行端正的人，尊重宗教和宗教人士的名誉。你们觉得怎么样，朋友们，我是不是有点烦人呢？”
“您讲了这些，”管家说，“使我感到很佩服。像您这样没有文化的人，我估计甚至是大字不识一个的人，竟能如此金口玉言，已经超出了派我们到这儿来的人以及我们这些人的意料。看来世界上真是无奇不有，玩笑竟变成了现实，想嘲弄别人的人自己倒被嘲弄了。”
到了晚上，经过雷西奥的批准，桑乔吃过晚饭，大家收拾妥当，便准备外出巡视。陪同的有管家、文书、餐厅侍者、专门记录桑乔行踪的传记作者、差役和文书，浩浩荡荡，行色壮观。桑乔拿着他的权杖神气活现地走在中间。他们才巡视了几条街，就听见一阵乒乒乓乓的声音，原来是两个人在打架。他们一见来了当官的，就住了手。其中一人说道：
“上帝保佑！国王保佑！在大街上竟会遭抢，在光天化日之下竟有人行抢！”
“别着急，好人，”桑乔说，“告诉我为什么打架，我是总督。”
有一个人说道：
“总督大人，我来简单讲一下。您大概明白，这个道貌岸然的人刚才在对面那家赌场里赢了一千多雷阿尔，天知道他是怎么赢的。我当时就在旁边，知道他做了几次手脚，可是我昧着良心没说。他赢了钱，我等着他给我至少一个埃斯库多做抽头儿，这是我们这类人的规矩。我们专门给人帮忙，谁手脚不干净也不说，以免打架。可是他却把钱一揣，出了赌场。我气急败坏地跟了出来，对他好言相劝，让他怎么也得给我八个雷阿尔。他知道我这个人没职业也没收入，因为我父母既没教我也没给我什么职业。可这个狡猾的家伙比卡科还贼，比安德拉迪利亚还鬼，他只想给我四个雷阿尔。您看，总督大人，他多不要脸，多没良心！不过就是您没来，我也会让他把钱吐出来，让他明白明白。”
“你有什么好说的？”桑乔问另一个人。
那个人说这个人说的全是实话，他只能给这个人四个雷阿尔，因为他已经给过这个人好几次钱了。另外，要抽头儿的人得讲点礼貌，如果他不能肯定赢钱的人手脚不老实，那钱不是正经赢来的，他拿钱时应陪着笑脸，不能计较给多少。为了证明自己是好人，而不是像那人说的那样手脚不老实，他一个钱也不准备多给。只有手脚不老实的人才会给旁边看破他作弊的人一些赏钱呢。
“是这样，”管家说，“总督，您看该怎样处理这两个人呢？”
“现在应该做的是，”桑乔说，“你，赢家，不管你是不是好人，或者你又是又不是，马上给跟你打架的这个人一百个雷阿尔，然后你还得掏三十个雷阿尔给监狱里那些可怜的人们。而你这个既没职业又没收入、在岛上无所事事的人呢，拿上这一百个雷阿尔，明天就离开这个岛吧，十年内不许回来，如果违反，就罚你来世补罪。我要把你吊在耻辱柱上，至少我派去的刽子手会这样做。谁也别再说什么，否则我就要揍你们了。”
一个人掏了钱，另一个人收了钱；这个人离开了岛屿，那个人回了家。总督说道：
“除非我能力不足，否则我一定要取缔这些赌场，我觉得它们是非常有害的地方。”
“至少这一家您不能取缔。”文书说，“这家赌场是一个大人物开的，他打牌每年输掉的钱比赢的钱还多。对其他小赌场您可以显示一下您的权力。那种小赌场更有害，更可恶。那些出了名的爱做手脚的人不敢到达官贵人的赌场上去耍手腕。赌博是一种通病，在大赌场赌就比在小赌场情况好。小赌场若是在后半夜逮着一个倒霉鬼，非得活剥了他的皮才算完。”
“文书啊。”桑乔说，“现在我明白了，这里面还有不少说头呢。”
这时候，一个捕快揪着一个小伙子过来了。捕快说道：
“总督大人，这个小伙子本来是朝咱们这儿走的。可他一看到咱们，转身就跑，而且跑得飞快，看样子是个罪犯。我在后面追，若不是他绊倒了，我恐怕还抓不着他呢。”
“喂，你为什么跑呢？”桑乔问。
小伙子答道：
“为了避免捕快们问的许多问题。”
“你是干什么的？”
“编织工人。”
“编织什么？”
“请您别见怪，织长矛上的铁枪头。”
“你想跟我耍贫嘴？那好，你现在要到哪儿去？”
“去透透空气。”
“好，你这就说对了。小伙子，你还挺聪明。可是你要知道，我就是空气，就是吹你的，要把你吹到大牢去。把他抓起来，带步！我要让他今晚闷在大牢里睡觉！”
“上帝保佑！”小伙子说，“您想让我在大牢里睡觉，那根本不可能。”
“为什么我不能让你在大牢里睡觉？”桑乔问，“难道我没权力想抓你就抓，想放你就放吗？”
“您就是再有权力，”小伙子说，“也不能叫我在大牢里睡觉。”
“为什么不能？”桑乔说，“马上把他带走，让他亲身尝尝滋味就明白了。即使他买通了典狱长也不能放他。如果典狱长让你离开大牢一步，我就罚他两千杜卡多。”
“这都是笑话，”小伙子说，“谁也不能让我在大牢里睡觉。”
“告诉我，你这个魔鬼，”桑乔说，“我要给你戴上脚镣，难道有哪位天使能够去掉你的脚镣吗？”
“好了，总督大人，”小伙子不慌不忙地说，“咱们现在论论理，说到正题上吧。假设您能够把我投入大牢，给我套上锁链脚镣，而且如果有哪个典狱长敢把我放出来，您就重罚他。可是我不睡觉，整夜都不睡觉，连眼皮都不眨一下，您有什么办法能让我睡觉呢？”
“不能，”文书说，“这回他算是达到目的了。”
“如果是这样，”桑乔说，“那是你自己不愿意睡，而不是跟我过不去。”
“不是，大人，”小伙子说，“我绝没有想跟您过不去。”
“滚蛋，”桑乔说，“回你的家睡觉去！愿上帝让你睡个好觉，我也不想阻止你睡个好觉。不过，我劝你以后别跟长官开玩笑，弄不好，玩笑就开到你脑袋上去了。”
小伙子走了，总督又继续巡视。不一会儿又来了两个捕快，还带来一个人。捕快说道：
“总督大人，这个貌似男人的人不是男人，而是女人，长得不难看。她穿了一身男人的衣服。”
两三只灯笼一齐向那人的脸上照去，确实是一张女人的脸。看样子她有十六七岁。她的头发罩在一个高级的青丝线发网里，宛如无数珍球在闪烁。大家从上到下打量着她，只见她脚穿肉色丝袜，配着白塔夫绸袜带和珍珠串状的穗子，身穿高级面料的宽短裤和短外套，外套敞开着，露出里面的白色精纺面料的紧身坎肩，足登白色男鞋。她腰里别的不是剑，而是一把非常华贵的匕首，手指上还戴着许多贵重的戒指。大家都觉得她很漂亮，可是在场的人没有一个人认识她，都想不起她是谁，而那些明知这是一场戏弄桑乔的闹剧的人更是感到意外，因为他们并没有安排这件事。大家都迷惑不解，想看看事情会怎样发展。桑乔对这个姑娘的美貌很惊讶，问她是什么人，为什么穿这身衣服。姑娘低着头，十分羞涩地说道：
“大人，我不能当着众人说这么重要的事情，这是我的秘密。不过有一点我想让您知道，那就是我既不是盗贼，也不是坏人，而是个不幸的姑娘，只是凭一时冲动，才做了这样不够庄重的事情。”
管家听姑娘这么一讲，便对桑乔说道：
“总督大人，您让其他人走开，让这个姑娘放心大胆地讲讲她的事吧。”
于是，总督让其他人都走开，只留下管家、餐厅侍者和文书。姑娘见只剩下几个人了，便说道：
“诸位大人，我是当地一个卖羊毛的佃户佩德罗•佩雷斯•马索卡的女儿，他常到我父亲家来。”
“不对，姑娘，”管家说，“我跟佩德罗•佩雷斯很熟，知道他没有儿女。还有，你说他是你父亲，怎么又说他常到你父亲家？”
“我早就注意到这点了。”桑乔说。
“诸位大人，我现在心慌意乱，也不知道自己都说了些什么。”姑娘说，“实际上我是迭戈•德拉利亚纳的女儿，大概你们都认识他。”
“这才对，”管家说，“我认识迭戈•德拉利亚纳，知道他是这儿一个有钱的贵族，有一儿一女。不过，自从他妻子死了以后，这儿就再也没人见过他女儿了。他把女儿关在家里，看管得紧紧的。尽管如此，我还是听说他女儿非常漂亮。”
“是这样，”姑娘说，“我就是他的女儿。至于说我漂亮不漂亮，诸位大人，你们都已经看见我了，当然很清楚。”
接着，姑娘伤心地哭起来。管家见状就走到餐厅侍者身旁，对他耳语道：
“这个可怜的姑娘肯定遇到了什么事，否则，如此尊贵人家的女孩子不会在这个时候这身打扮跑出来。”
“没错，”餐厅侍者说，“她这一哭，更说明是这么回事了。”
桑乔竭力劝慰，让她别害怕，到底遇到了什么事，都告诉他，大家会尽可能地真心帮助她。
“诸位大人，”姑娘说，“我母亲入土十年，我父亲就把我关在家里十年，连做弥撒也是在家里一个漂亮的小教堂里做。我从没有见过日月星辰，不知道大街、广场、庙宇是什么样子；除了父亲、我的一个弟弟和那个叫佩德罗•佩雷斯的佃户外，我也见不到其他男人。那个佃户常出入我家，所以我刚才突然想起说他是我父亲，以避免说出我父亲是谁。这样长期把我关在家里，不让我出门，连教堂都不让我去，使我特别伤心。我很想看看外面的世界，至少看看我出生的那个村镇，并且觉得这不会有失大家闺秀的身份。我一听说有什么斗牛、骑马打仗或演戏，就问我弟弟。弟弟比我小一岁，他告诉我这些都是怎么回事，还有其他许多事情，我都没见过。他说得绘声绘色，可这样一来，我更想到外面去看看了。干脆我简单点儿说，我为什么会弄成这个样子吧。我求我弟弟……我再也不会求人做这种事了……”
说到这儿她又哭起来。管家对她说道：
“姑娘，你接着说吧，把你遇到的事都说出来。我们听了你的话，看到你流眼泪，都感到很惊讶。”
“我没什么好多说的了，”姑娘道，“不过，眼泪倒是还有很多，随着非分的愿望而来的只能是眼泪。”
餐厅侍者对姑娘的美貌动了心，于是又把灯笼拿到姑娘脸前照了照。他觉得从姑娘眼睛里流出来的不是眼泪，而是珍珠、露珠，甚至可以说是东方大明珠。尽管姑娘又是哭又是叹气，他还是希望姑娘没遇到多大的不幸。总督对姑娘讲得罗罗嗦嗦有点儿不耐烦，让她赶紧讲那些最重要的事情，时间也不早了，他还有很多地方要去巡视呢。姑娘哽咽着说道：
“我倒霉就倒霉在让弟弟借给我一身他的衣服，晚上趁父母都睡觉了，带我到整个村庄看看。他经不住我的恳求，给了我这身衣服。他穿上我的一身衣服，还挺合适。他还没长胡子，穿上我的衣服，挺像个漂亮的姑娘。今天晚上，我们出来大概一小时了，到处瞎转，走遍了整个村镇。后来我们正要回家，忽然看见来了一群人。弟弟对我说：‘姐姐，大概是巡夜的来了。你脚步轻点，赶紧跟我跑，若是让他们认出咱们来就糟了。’说完他转身就跑，他哪儿是跑呀，简直是飞。我慌慌张张地没跑几步就摔倒了。这时候捕快赶到了，就把我带到了您这儿。我太任性，所以才在众人面前出了丑。”
“那么，小姐，”桑乔说，“你并没有遇到什么倒霉的事，也不像你开始说的那样，是一时冲动跑出来的？”
“我没遇到什么事，也没有什么一时冲动，只不过是想看看外面的世界，看看这个地方的街道。”
姑娘的话得到了证实，捕快把她弟弟也带来了。他刚才与姐姐分手后很快就被捕快抓到了。他身着漂亮的短裙，披着一条有金银花边的蓝缎大披巾，头上没戴头巾，也没有什么头饰，只有一绺绺的金发。总督、管家和餐厅侍者把那男孩拉到一旁，为的是不让他姐姐听到他们说话。他们问这个男孩子为什么穿这身衣服。男孩子像姐姐一样不好意思。他把事情的原委讲了一下，同他姐姐讲的一样。餐厅侍者听了很高兴，而桑乔对姐弟两人说道：
“孩子们，这只是一件小孩子淘气的事。这点事用不着讲那么半天，而且又是掉泪又叹气。你们只要说，我们是某某人，仅仅因为好奇，从家里跑出来转转，并没有其他目的’，也就完了，没必要唉声叹气、哭哭啼啼的。”
“您说得对，”姑娘说，“可是要知道，我刚才吓坏了，不知怎么办才好。”
“好在没什么事，”桑乔说，“走吧，我们送你们回家去。也许你们的父亲还不知道你们不在家呢。你们以后别再淘气了，也别老想看什么外面的世界了。一个正派姑娘，应该大门不出，二门不迈；‘女人和母鸡，迷路最容易’；‘想看别人，也就是想让别人看自己’。我不多说了。”
男孩子感谢总督的好意。两个孩子的家离那儿不远，大家一起走过去。来到家门前，男孩子往一个窗户上扔了一块卵石，立刻有个女佣出来开门。女佣一直在等他们。两人进去了。大家对姑娘的绰约风姿感到惊讶，对她竟想在深更半夜跑出来看外面的世界感到意外，但她毕竟是个孩子。餐厅侍者已经动了心，想改日再来向姑娘的父亲提亲。他觉得自己是公爵的佣人，姑娘的父亲肯定不会拒绝。其实，桑乔很想让他同自己的女儿桑奇卡结婚，正准备择日办理呢。桑乔觉得，对于总督的女儿来说，没有哪个男人会拒绝做她的丈夫。
当晚的巡视就此结束。两天之后，他的总督任职也结束了。他的打算全部落空了。请看下文。
Part 2 Chapter 50
Wherein is Set Forth who the Enchanters and Executioners Were Who Flogged the Duenna and Pinched Don Quixote, and Also what Befell the Page who Carried the Letter to Teresa Panza, Sancho Panza’s Wife

Cide Hamete, the painstaking investigator of the minute points of this veracious history, says that when Dona Rodriguez left her own room to go to Don Quixote’s , another duenna who slept with her observed her, and as all duennas are fond of prying, listening, and sniffing, she followed her so silently that the good Rodriguez never perceived it; and as soon as the duenna saw her enter Don Quixote’s room, not to fail in a duenna’s invariable practice of tattling, she hurried off that instant to report to the duchess how Dona Rodriguez was closeted with Don Quixote. The duchess told the duke, and asked him to let her and Altisidora go and see what the said duenna wanted with Don Quixote. The duke gave them leave, and the pair cautiously and quietly crept to the door of the room and posted themselves so close to it that they could hear all that was said inside. But when the duchess heard how the Rodriguez had made public the Aranjuez of her issues she could not restrain herself, nor Altisidora either; and so, filled with rage and thirsting for vengeance, they burst into the room and tormented Don Quixote and flogged the duenna in the manner already described; for indignities offered to their charms and self-esteem mightily provoke the anger of women and make them eager for revenge. The duchess told the duke what had happened, and he was much amused by it; and she, in pursuance of her design of making merry and diverting herself with Don Quixote, despatched the page who had played the part of Dulcinea in the negotiations for her disenchantment (which Sancho Panza in the cares of government had forgotten all about) to Teresa Panza his wife with her husband’s letter and another from herself, and also a great string of fine coral beads as a present.
Now the history says this page was very sharp and quick-witted; and eager to serve his lord and lady he set off very willingly for Sancho’s village. Before he entered it he observed a number of women washing in a brook, and asked them if they could tell him whether there lived there a woman of the name of Teresa Panza, wife of one Sancho Panza, squire to a knight called Don Quixote of La Mancha. At the question a young girl who was washing stood up and said, “Teresa Panza is my mother, and that Sancho is my father, and that knight is our master.”
“Well then, miss,” said the page, “come and show me where your mother is, for I bring her a letter and a present from your father.”
“That I will with all my heart, senor,” said the girl, who seemed to be about fourteen, more or less; and leaving the clothes she was washing to one of her companions, and without putting anything on her head or feet, for she was bare-legged and had her hair hanging about her, away she skipped in front of the page’s horse, saying, “Come, your worship, our house is at the entrance of the town, and my mother is there, sorrowful enough at not having had any news of my father this ever so long.”
“Well,” said the page, “I am bringing her such good news that she will have reason to thank God.”
And then, skipping, running, and capering, the girl reached the town, but before going into the house she called out at the door, “Come out, mother Teresa, come out, come out; here’s a gentleman with letters and other things from my good father.” At these words her mother Teresa Panza came out spinning a bundle of flax, in a grey petticoat (so short was it one would have fancied “they to her shame had cut it short”), a grey bodice of the same stuff, and a smock. She was not very old, though plainly past forty, strong, healthy, vigorous, and sun-dried; and seeing her daughter and the page on horseback, she exclaimed, “What’s this, child? What gentleman is this?”
“A servant of my lady, Dona Teresa Panza,” replied the page; and suiting the action to the word he flung himself off his horse, and with great humility advanced to kneel before the lady Teresa, saying, “Let me kiss your hand, Senora Dona Teresa, as the lawful and only wife of Senor Don Sancho Panza, rightful governor of the island of Barataria.”
“Ah, senor, get up, do that,” said Teresa; “for I’m not a bit of a court lady, but only a poor country woman, the daughter of a clodcrusher, and the wife of a squire-errant and not of any governor at all.”
“You are,” said the page, “the most worthy wife of a most arch-worthy governor; and as a proof of what I say accept this letter and this present;” and at the same time he took out of his pocket a string of coral beads with gold clasps, and placed it on her neck, and said, “This letter is from his lordship the governor, and the other as well as these coral beads from my lady the duchess, who sends me to your worship.”
Teresa stood lost in astonishment, and her daughter just as much, and the girl said, “May I die but our master Don Quixote’s at the bottom of this; he must have given father the government or county he so often promised him.”
“That is the truth,” said the page; “for it is through Senor Don Quixote that Senor Sancho is now governor of the island of Barataria, as will be seen by this letter.”
“Will your worship read it to me, noble sir?” said Teresa; “for though I can spin I can’t read, not a scrap.”
“Nor I either,” said Sanchica; “but wait a bit, and I’ll go and fetch some one who can read it, either the curate himself or the bachelor Samson Carrasco, and they’ll come gladly to hear any news of my father.”
“There is no need to fetch anybody,” said the page; “for though I can’t spin I can read, and I’ll read it;” and so he read it through, but as it has been already given it is not inserted here; and then he took out the other one from the duchess, which ran as follows:
Friend Teresa, — Your husband Sancho’s good qualities, of heart as well as of head, induced and compelled me to request my husband the duke to give him the government of one of his many islands. I am told he governs like a gerfalcon, of which I am very glad, and my lord the duke, of course, also; and I am very thankful to heaven that I have not made a mistake in choosing him for that same government; for I would have Senora Teresa know that a good governor is hard to find in this world and may God make me as good as Sancho’s way of governing. Herewith I send you, my dear, a string of coral beads with gold clasps; I wish they were Oriental pearls; but “he who gives thee a bone does not wish to see thee dead;” a time will come when we shall become acquainted and meet one another, but God knows the future. Commend me to your daughter Sanchica, and tell her from me to hold herself in readiness, for I mean to make a high match for her when she least expects it. They tell me there are big acorns in your village; send me a couple of dozen or so, and I shall value them greatly as coming from your hand; and write to me at length to assure me of your health and well-being; and if there be anything you stand in need of, it is but to open your mouth, and that shall be the measure; and so God keep you.
From this place. Your loving friend, The DUCHESS.
“Ah, what a good, plain, lowly lady!” said Teresa when she heard the letter; “that I may be buried with ladies of that sort, and not the gentlewomen we have in this town, that fancy because they are gentlewomen the wind must not touch them, and go to church with as much airs as if they were queens, no less, and seem to think they are disgraced if they look at a farmer’s wife! And see here how this good lady, for all she’s a duchess, calls me ‘friend,’ and treats me as if I was her equal — and equal may I see her with the tallest church-tower in La Mancha! And as for the acorns, senor, I’ll send her ladyship a peck and such big ones that one might come to see them as a show and a wonder. And now, Sanchica, see that the gentleman is comfortable; put up his horse, and get some eggs out of the stable, and cut plenty of bacon, and let’s give him his dinner like a prince; for the good news he has brought, and his own bonny face deserve it all; and meanwhile I’ll run out and give the neighbours the news of our good luck, and father curate, and Master Nicholas the barber, who are and always have been such friends of thy father’s .”
“That I will, mother,” said Sanchica; “but mind, you must give me half of that string; for I don’t think my lady the duchess could have been so stupid as to send it all to you.”
“It is all for thee, my child,” said Teresa; “but let me wear it round my neck for a few days; for verily it seems to make my heart glad.”
“You will be glad too,” said the page, “when you see the bundle there is in this portmanteau, for it is a suit of the finest cloth, that the governor only wore one day out hunting and now sends, all for Senora Sanchica.”
“May he live a thousand years,” said Sanchica, “and the bearer as many, nay two thousand, if needful.”
With this Teresa hurried out of the house with the letters, and with the string of beads round her neck, and went along thrumming the letters as if they were a tambourine, and by chance coming across the curate and Samson Carrasco she began capering and saying, “None of us poor now, faith! We’ve got a little government! Ay, let the finest fine lady tackle me, and I’ll give her a setting down!”
“What’s all this, Teresa Panza,” said they; “what madness is this, and what papers are those?”
“The madness is only this,” said she, “that these are the letters of duchesses and governors, and these I have on my neck are fine coral beads, with ave-marias and paternosters of beaten gold, and I am a governess.”
“God help us,” said the curate, “we don’t understand you, Teresa, or know what you are talking about.”
“There, you may see it yourselves,” said Teresa, and she handed them the letters.
The curate read them out for Samson Carrasco to hear, and Samson and he regarded one another with looks of astonishment at what they had read, and the bachelor asked who had brought the letters. Teresa in reply bade them come with her to her house and they would see the messenger, a most elegant youth, who had brought another present which was worth as much more. The curate took the coral beads from her neck and examined them again and again, and having satisfied himself as to their fineness he fell to wondering afresh, and said, “By the gown I wear I don’t know what to say or think of these letters and presents; on the one hand I can see and feel the fineness of these coral beads, and on the other I read how a duchess sends to beg for a couple of dozen of acorns.”
“Square that if you can,” said Carrasco; “well, let’s go and see the messenger, and from him we’ll learn something about this mystery that has turned up.”
They did so, and Teresa returned with them. They found the page sifting a little barley for his horse, and Sanchica cutting a rasher of bacon to be paved with eggs for his dinner. His looks and his handsome apparel pleased them both greatly; and after they had saluted him courteously, and he them, Samson begged him to give them his news, as well of Don Quixote as of Sancho Panza, for, he said, though they had read the letters from Sancho and her ladyship the duchess, they were still puzzled and could not make out what was meant by Sancho’s government, and above all of an island, when all or most of those in the Mediterranean belonged to his Majesty.
To this the page replied, “As to Senor Sancho Panza’s being a governor there is no doubt whatever; but whether it is an island or not that he governs, with that I have nothing to do; suffice it that it is a town of more than a thousand inhabitants; with regard to the acorns I may tell you my lady the duchess is so unpretending and unassuming that, not to speak of sending to beg for acorns from a peasant woman, she has been known to send to ask for the loan of a comb from one of her neighbours; for I would have your worships know that the ladies of Aragon, though they are just as illustrious, are not so punctilious and haughty as the Castilian ladies; they treat people with greater familiarity.”
In the middle of this conversation Sanchica came in with her skirt full of eggs, and said she to the page, “Tell me, senor, does my father wear trunk-hose since he has been governor?”
“I have not noticed,” said the page; “but no doubt he wears them.”
“Ah! my God!” said Sanchica, “what a sight it must be to see my father in tights! Isn’t it odd that ever since I was born I have had a longing to see my father in trunk-hose?”
“As things go you will see that if you live,” said the page; “by God he is in the way to take the road with a sunshade if the government only lasts him two months more.”
The curate and the bachelor could see plainly enough that the page spoke in a waggish vein; but the fineness of the coral beads, and the hunting suit that Sancho sent (for Teresa had already shown it to them) did away with the impression; and they could not help laughing at Sanchica’s wish, and still more when Teresa said, “Senor curate, look about if there’s anybody here going to Madrid or Toledo, to buy me a hooped petticoat, a proper fashionable one of the best quality; for indeed and indeed I must do honour to my husband’s government as well as I can; nay, if I am put to it and have to, I’ll go to Court and set a coach like all the world; for she who has a governor for her husband may very well have one and keep one.”
“And why not, mother!” said Sanchica; “would to God it were to-day instead of to-morrow, even though they were to say when they saw me seated in the coach with my mother, ‘See that rubbish, that garlic-stuffed fellow’s daughter, how she goes stretched at her ease in a coach as if she was a she-pope!’ But let them tramp through the mud, and let me go in my coach with my feet off the ground. Bad luck to backbiters all over the world; ‘let me go warm and the people may laugh.’ Do I say right, mother?”
“To be sure you do, my child,” said Teresa; “and all this good luck, and even more, my good Sancho foretold me; and thou wilt see, my daughter, he won’t stop till he has made me a countess; for to make a beginning is everything in luck; and as I have heard thy good father say many a time (for besides being thy father he’s the father of proverbs too), ‘When they offer thee a heifer, run with a halter; when they offer thee a government, take it; when they would give thee a county, seize it; when they say, “Here, here!” to thee with something good, swallow it.’ Oh no! go to sleep, and don’t answer the strokes of good fortune and the lucky chances that are knocking at the door of your house!”
“And what do I care,” added Sanchica, “whether anybody says when he sees me holding my head up, ‘The dog saw himself in hempen breeches,’ and the rest of it?”
Hearing this the curate said, “I do believe that all this family of the Panzas are born with a sackful of proverbs in their insides, every one of them; I never saw one of them that does not pour them out at all times and on all occasions.”
“That is true,” said the page, “for Senor Governor Sancho utters them at every turn; and though a great many of them are not to the purpose, still they amuse one, and my lady the duchess and the duke praise them highly.”
“Then you still maintain that all this about Sancho’s government is true, senor,” said the bachelor, “and that there actually is a duchess who sends him presents and writes to him? Because we, although we have handled the present and read the letters, don’t believe it and suspect it to be something in the line of our fellow-townsman Don Quixote, who fancies that everything is done by enchantment; and for this reason I am almost ready to say that I’d like to touch and feel your worship to see whether you are a mere ambassador of the imagination or a man of flesh and blood.”
“All I know, sirs,” replied the page, “is that I am a real ambassador, and that Senor Sancho Panza is governor as a matter of fact, and that my lord and lady the duke and duchess can give, and have given him this same government, and that I have heard the said Sancho Panza bears himself very stoutly therein; whether there be any enchantment in all this or not, it is for your worships to settle between you; for that’s all I know by the oath I swear, and that is by the life of my parents whom I have still alive, and love dearly.”
“It may be so,” said the bachelor; “but dubitat Augustinus.”
“Doubt who will,” said the page; “what I have told you is the truth, and that will always rise above falsehood as oil above water; if not operibus credite, et non verbis. Let one of you come with me, and he will see with his eyes what he does not believe with his ears.”
“It’s for me to make that trip,” said Sanchica; “take me with you, senor, behind you on your horse; for I’ll go with all my heart to see my father.”
“Governors’ daughters,” said the page, “must not travel along the roads alone, but accompanied by coaches and litters and a great number of attendants.”
“By God,” said Sanchica, “I can go just as well mounted on a she-ass as in a coach; what a dainty lass you must take me for!”
“Hush, girl,” said Teresa; “you don’t know what you’re talking about; the gentleman is quite right, for ‘as the time so the behaviour;’ when it was Sancho it was ‘Sancha;’ when it is governor it’s ‘senora;’ I don’t know if I’m right.”
“Senora Teresa says more than she is aware of,” said the page; “and now give me something to eat and let me go at once, for I mean to return this evening.”
“Come and do penance with me,” said the curate at this; “for Senora Teresa has more will than means to serve so worthy a guest.”
The page refused, but had to consent at last for his own sake; and the curate took him home with him very gladly, in order to have an opportunity of questioning him at leisure about Don Quixote and his doings. The bachelor offered to write the letters in reply for Teresa; but she did not care to let him mix himself up in her affairs, for she thought him somewhat given to joking; and so she gave a cake and a couple of eggs to a young acolyte who was a penman, and he wrote for her two letters, one for her husband and the other for the duchess, dictated out of her own head, which are not the worst inserted in this great history, as will be seen farther on.
 
谁，侍童给桑乔的老婆特雷沙•潘萨送信
锡德•哈迈德这部书中描写的每个细节都准确无误。他说，唐娜罗德里格斯走出自己的房间到唐吉诃德那儿去的时候，被另一个与她同居一室的女佣发觉了。所有的女佣都喜欢打听、了解和刺探别人的情况。她悄悄跟在唐娜罗德里格斯后面，而唐娜罗德里格斯对此却一无所知。那个女佣见唐娜罗德里格斯进了唐吉诃德的房间，马上也像其他爱搬弄是非的女佣一样，把这件事报告给公爵夫人，说唐娜罗德里格斯正在唐吉诃德的房间里。
公爵夫人又把这件事告诉了公爵，并请求公爵允许她和阿尔蒂西多拉一起去看看，到底唐娜罗德里格斯在唐吉诃德那儿干什么。公爵同意了，于是两人一步步摸索着，悄悄来到唐吉诃德房间的门前。因为离得近，所以里面说的话都能听到。公爵夫人听到唐娜罗德里格斯把她腿上有排泄口的事情抖搂了出来，怒不可遏，阿尔蒂西多拉也气坏了。两人满腔怒火，非要教训唐娜罗德里格斯不可，于是猛然冲进去，就像前面说到的，把唐吉诃德掐了一遍，又把唐娜罗德里格斯抽打了一顿。有损女人美丽形象的攻击最令女人恼火，她们总得设法报复了才罢。公爵夫人把发生的事情告诉了公爵，公爵听了觉得很有趣。公爵夫人也想把玩笑继续开下去，拿唐吉诃德解闷，就派了那个曾经装扮成中了魔法的杜尔西内亚的侍童，把桑乔给他老婆特雷莎•潘萨的信和自己的一封信送去，还送了一大串珊瑚珠作为礼物。此时的桑乔正忙着当总督，早把为杜尔西内亚解除魔法的事扔到脑后去了。
据说那个侍童很聪明，很愿意为自己的主子效劳，于是他高高兴兴地到桑乔家去了。还没进村，侍童就看见有些女人在小溪边洗衣服，于是侍童问她们，那地方是否有个叫特雷莎•潘萨的女人，她的丈夫桑乔•潘萨是曼查一个叫唐吉诃德的骑士的侍从。一个正在洗衣服的女孩站起来说道：
“特雷莎•潘萨是我母亲，桑乔是我父亲，那个骑士是我们的主人。”
“那么你过来，小姑娘，”侍童说，“带我去见你母亲吧。
我给她带来了你父亲的一封信和一件礼物。”
“我很愿意带您去，大人。”小女孩说道。看上去她十四岁左右。她把自己洗的衣服交给一个同伴，没戴头巾，也没穿袜子，就卷着裤腿，披散着头发，跳到侍童的马前说道：
“请您跟我来吧。我家就在村口，我母亲也在家，已经好多天没听到父亲的消息了，她正着急呢。”
“那么我给她带来了好消息，”侍童说，“这可得感谢上帝。”
小姑娘蹦蹦跳跳地来到村头，还没进屋就喊道：
“快出来，妈妈！快出来，出来呀！”
随着喊声，女孩的母亲特雷莎•潘萨出来了，手里还在绕着一团麻绳。她穿着一条棕褐色裙子，裙子短到仅够遮羞的部位；上身的紧身背心和衬衫也都是棕褐色的。人看样子倒不很老，不过也四十多岁了。然而，她的身体很健壮，皮肤也晒成了褐色。她一见女儿和骑在马上的侍童，便问道：
“怎么回事，孩子？这位大人是谁？”
“是唐娜特雷莎•潘萨夫人您的仆人。”侍童答道。
侍童说完就下了马，毕恭毕敬地跪倒在特雷莎夫人面前，说道：
“唐娜特雷莎夫人，您是巴拉托里亚岛总督桑乔•潘萨的结发妻子，请您把手伸给我吧。”
“我的天啊，滚一边儿去，别跟我来这套！”特雷莎说，“我又不是什么宫廷夫人，只是个贫苦农妇，是个短工的女儿，是个游侠骑士侍从而不是什么总督的老婆！”
“您就是最尊贵的总督的最尊贵夫人，”侍童说，“为了证明我说的是真的，请您接受这封信和这份礼物。”
接着，侍童从衣袋里拿出一串珊瑚珠，两端是两颗金珠，把它挂到了特雷莎的脖子上，并且说道：
“这儿还有总督大人的一封信。另一封信和珊瑚珠是我的女主人公爵夫人派我给您送来的。”
特雷莎和她的女儿都惊呆了。小姑娘说道：
“我拿性命担保，这准是我们的主人唐吉诃德干的。他多次答应要让父亲当总督或伯爵，大概现在已经让父亲当上了。”
“是的，”侍童说，“靠着唐吉诃德大人的面子，桑乔大人现在已经是巴拉托里亚岛的总督了。你们看看信就知道了。”
“请您给我念念吧，侍臣。”特雷莎说，“我只会纺线，不识字。”
“我也不识字。”桑奇卡也说，“不过你们等等，我去找个人来念念，找牧师，或者参孙•卡拉斯科学士。他们也愿意知道我父亲的消息，肯定会来。”
“没必要去找人念。我不会纺线，可是识字。”
侍童把信念了一遍。信的内容前面已经提到，此处就不赘述了。侍童又掏出了公爵夫人的信，信是这样写的：
特雷莎朋友，您的善良聪明的丈夫桑乔的优秀品质感动了我，迫使我请求我的丈夫公爵给他一个岛屿，让他当总督，我丈夫有很多岛屿。听说他把岛屿管理得很不错，我为此感到高兴，我丈夫也同样高兴。我非常感谢老天没让我选错人。我想告诉特雷莎夫人，要在世界上找到一个好总督很困难。感谢上帝让我找到了桑乔这样的人当总督。
亲爱的朋友，我派人给您送去一串两端是金珠的珊瑚珠子。我很愿意送您这东方明珠，礼轻情义重。咱们也许会有机会认识交流，谁知道以后会怎么样呢。代问您女儿桑奇卡好，告诉她也许在她意想不到的时候，我会让她嫁到高贵人家去。
听说你们那儿的橡子特别大，请给我带几十个来。因为是来自您的手，我会特别珍重它们的。请给我多多写信，告诉我您的身体状况。有什么事需要我帮忙的，尽管开口，您的要求一定会得到满足。愿上帝保佑您。
您的好朋友
公爵夫人于本地
“哎呀，多么善良、多么平易近人、多么谦虚的夫人啊。”信刚一念完，特雷莎就说道，“我愿意永远和这样的夫人在一起。我讨厌我们村的那些贵夫人，她们谁也不理，把自己想得跟女王一样高贵，觉得看农妇一眼就有失她们的身份。你们看这位夫人，虽然是公爵夫人，却称我为朋友，对我平等相待，可我觉得她像曼查的钟楼一样高。至于橡子，侍臣，我要送给夫人一塞雷敏①，若论个儿，颗颗都大得出奇。桑奇卡，现在你先照顾一下这位侍臣，把他的马安顿好，再从马厩拿几个鸡蛋来，切一大块腌猪肉，让咱们好好犒劳犒劳他吧。就冲他带来的好消息和他那张漂亮的脸蛋，真该好好款待他。我先去把咱们的好消息告诉邻居，告诉神甫，告诉理发的尼古拉斯师傅，他们都是你父亲的好朋友嘛。”
①容量单位，一塞雷敏相当于4．625公升。
“我就去，妈妈，”桑奇卡说，“可是您得把那串珊瑚珠分给我一半儿。我觉得公爵夫人不会那么笨，把一串珊瑚珠都送给你一个人。”
“这串珠子全是你的，”特雷莎说，“不过你先让我戴几天，我从心里特别喜欢它。”
“这个口袋里的衣服你们也一定喜欢，”侍童说，“全是细料子衣服，总督只是在打猎时穿过一天。这些都是送给桑奇卡的。”
“爸爸千岁！”桑奇卡说，“把衣服送来的人也千岁！如果需要的话，还可以两千岁！”
特雷莎手里拿着信，脖子上挂着珊瑚珠出了家门，边走边像敲手鼓似的拍着信。正巧她碰到了神甫和参孙•卡拉斯科，便手舞足蹈地说起来：
“现在我们家可不算穷人了！我们家出了个总督！无论哪个贵族夫人，无论她有多神气，我都不把她放在眼里！”
“怎么回事，特雷莎•潘萨？你抽什么疯？那几张纸是什么？”
“我没抽疯。这是公爵夫人和总督的来信。我脖子上戴的是用高级珊瑚做的念珠，两头的珠子是真金的。我是总督夫人！”
“除了上帝，我们谁也听不懂你的话，不知道你在说什么。”
“那你们看看这个。”特雷莎说。
她把信交给神甫和参孙•卡拉斯科。神甫把信念了一遍，参孙•卡拉斯科在旁边听着，结果两人面面相觑，对信上的内容感到很吃惊。卡拉斯科问是谁把信送来的，特雷莎让他们随自己去她家，就可以见到送信人了。那是个仪表堂堂的小伙子。他还带来了一件贵重的礼物。神甫把她脖子上的珊瑚珠拿下来看了看，确实挺高级的，这就更奇怪了。神甫说：
“我凭我身上的法衣发誓，我不明白也想不出这两封信和这件礼物到底是怎么回事。凭我眼看手摸，这串珊瑚珠的确很精致，可是写信的公爵夫人怎么会只要几十个橡子呢？”
“别瞎猜了！”卡拉斯科这时候说道，“咱们还是去看看带信来的那个人吧。咱们搞不清楚的事情可以让他告诉咱们。”
于是他们来到特雷莎家。侍童正在筛大麦准备喂他的马；桑奇卡正在切肉，准备再摊上几个鸡蛋，做给侍童吃。侍童的外貌和服饰使神甫和参孙产生了一种好感。他们非常客气地互致问候后，参孙请侍童谈谈唐吉诃德和桑乔的情况，说他和神甫虽然看了桑乔和公爵夫人的信，但还是没弄清桑乔当总督到底是怎么回事，因为地中海里的全部或者大部分岛屿都是国王的。侍童答道：
“桑乔•潘萨当了总督，这点没错；至于当的是不是岛屿的总督，我可没打听，只知道那是一个有一千多人的地方。说到要橡子的事，那得说我们公爵夫人平易近人，不摆架子（侍童没说公爵夫人不仅向农妇讨橡子，而且还向一位女街坊借过梳子呢）。我想你们应该知道，阿拉贡的贵夫人虽然身份高贵，却不像卡斯蒂利亚的贵夫人那样摆臭架子，而是同平民百姓很接近。”
他们正说着，桑奇卡兜着几个鸡蛋蹦蹦跳跳地跑进来问侍童：
“请您告诉我，我父亲当了总督以后还穿连袜裤①吗？”
“我没看见，”侍童说，“大概穿吧。”
“啊，我的上帝呀，”桑奇卡说，“我父亲穿连袜裤会是什么样子呀！我从小就喜欢看他穿连袜裤，这难道不好吗？”
“以后你都会看到，”侍童说，“我向上帝发誓，只要你父亲当上两个月的总督，出门就还得戴套头棉帽呢②。”
①侍从穿的一种裤子。
②贵人戴的帽子，既防冷又防土。
神甫和学士看出侍童说话时明显带着一种嘲弄的口吻。可是侍童确实带来了精美的珊瑚珠，特雷莎还让他们看了桑乔送来的猎服，这又打消了两人的疑虑。听了桑奇卡的愿望，他们不由得笑起来，特雷莎更是让他们乐得嘴都合不上了。特雷莎说：
“神甫大人，请您留意一下是否有人到马德里或托莱多去，让他给我带一条地地道道的带裙撑的裙子，而且要最好的，最时髦的。我怎么也得给我当总督的丈夫争点面子。就是我不愿意，我也得像其他夫人那样，坐着马车去京城呢。丈夫当了总督，当然坐得起马车了。”
“可不是嘛，妈妈！”桑奇卡说，“求上帝保佑，让我们早早坐上车，别人看见我坐在车上准会说：‘你们看那个丫头，满身蒜味，还像个女皇似的出门乘马车呢。’让他们去踩烂泥吧，我可得乘车，不让脚沾地。这年头哪儿都有人嘀嘀咕咕的。随便他们怎么说吧，反正我舒服了。我说得对吗，妈妈？”
“你说得太对了，孩子！”特雷莎说，“我的好桑乔早就告诉我会有这些好事，而且以后还会有更大的好事呢。你看着吧，孩子，我早晚得当上伯爵夫人。咱们这才是个开头。我常听你那好爸爸说，噢，他不仅是你的好爸爸，也是俗语的好爸爸。他说，人家给你牛，你就赶紧拿绳牵走；让你当总督，你就当；让你当伯爵，你就别客气；若是送你一件令人啧啧称羡的礼物，你就赶紧揣起来。你只管睡你的觉，好事自然会来敲你的门，你都不用吭气！”
“有人看见我生活得好，得意洋洋，”桑奇卡说，“就说什么‘狗穿上麻裤①’之类，我才不在乎呢！”
①全句应为“狗穿上麻裤，就不认识同伴了”。
神甫闻言说道：
“我相信桑乔家族的人都是天生满肚子俗语。无论什么时候，一张嘴就是俗语。”
“是的，”侍童说，“桑乔总督一张嘴就是俗语。虽然常常用得并不合适，却挺有意思的，我的女主人公爵夫人和公爵都很赞赏。”
“大人，”学士说，“您仍然坚持说桑乔当总督的事是真的，而且真有公爵夫人写信送礼物来吗？虽然我们摸过了礼物，也看过了信，可我们还是不能相信这些事，总觉得这属于我们的老乡唐吉诃德遇到的那种事。他认为他遇到的那些事都是受魔法操纵的。所以，我现在只差说我该摸摸您了，看看您究竟是一位魔幻使者还是一个有血有肉的人？”
“诸位大人，”侍童说，“我只知道我是个地地道道的使者。还有，桑乔•潘萨确实当了总督，是我的主人公爵和公爵夫人让他当的总督。我还听说这个桑乔•潘萨当总督当得很有魄力。至于这里面是否有魔法，你们自己去争论吧。我只能发誓担保我说的是真的。我以我父母的生命发誓。我的父母都还健在，我非常爱他们。”
“事情可能确实如此，”学士说，“不过谁都有权利怀疑。”
“谁愿意怀疑就怀疑去吧，”侍童说，“反正事实我已经说过了。假话总是靠不住的，早晚得露馅。‘你们纵然不信我，也应当信这些事①。’你们可以选哪一位跟我回去，既然耳听为虚，那就眼见为实吧。”
①此处是引用《圣经》里的一句话。
“那就让我去吧，”桑奇卡说，“您让我坐在您的马屁股上，我很想去看看我父亲。”
“总督的女儿不能独来独往，得有大批车轿和侍者相随。”
“我向上帝发誓，”桑奇卡说，“我也可以骑一头母驴去。
这也跟乘车一样，您别以为我太娇气了。”
“住嘴，孩子！”特雷莎说，“你没听明白，这位大人说得对。什么时候得说什么话。他是桑乔，我就是桑查；他是总督，我就是总督夫人。不知我说得对不对。”
“特雷莎夫人说得言简意深。”侍童说，“给我点吃的吧，帮我准备一下，我想今天下午回去。”
神甫说：
“请您到我那儿吃顿便饭吧。招待您这样的贵客，特雷莎夫人恐怕有此心无此力。”
侍童不想去，不过后来他还是接受了神甫的好意。神甫很愿意让侍童到自己家来，这样就可以仔细打听唐吉诃德和他的所作所为了。
学士自告奋勇替特雷莎写回信，可特雷莎不愿意让学士插手，她觉得学士办事总不太可靠。于是，她拿了一个小面包和两个鸡蛋去找一个会写字的少年。少年替她写了两封信，一封给她丈夫，一封给公爵夫人。从这两封信里可以看出，特雷莎的才智在本书里不算是最差的。请看下文。
Part 2 Chapter 51
Day came after the night of the governor’s round; a night which the head-carver passed without sleeping, so were his thoughts of the face and air and beauty of the disguised damsel, while the majordomo spent what was left of it in writing an account to his lord and lady of all Sancho said and did, being as much amazed at his sayings as at his doings, for there was a mixture of shrewdness and simplicity in all his words and deeds. The senor governor got up, and by Doctor Pedro Recio’s directions they made him break his fast on a little conserve and four sups of cold water, which Sancho would have readily exchanged for a piece of bread and a bunch of grapes; but seeing there was no help for it, he submitted with no little sorrow of heart and discomfort of stomach; Pedro Recio having persuaded him that light and delicate diet enlivened the wits, and that was what was most essential for persons placed in command and in responsible situations, where they have to employ not only the bodily powers but those of the mind also.
By means of this sophistry Sancho was made to endure hunger, and hunger so keen that in his heart he cursed the government, and even him who had given it to him; however, with his hunger and his conserve he undertook to deliver judgments that day, and the first thing that came before him was a question that was submitted to him by a stranger, in the presence of the majordomo and the other attendants, and it was in these words: “Senor, a large river separated two districts of one and the same lordship — will your worship please to pay attention, for the case is an important and a rather knotty one? Well then, on this river there was a bridge, and at one end of it a gallows, and a sort of tribunal, where four judges commonly sat to administer the law which the lord of river, bridge and the lordship had enacted, and which was to this effect, ‘If anyone crosses by this bridge from one side to the other he shall declare on oath where he is going to and with what object; and if he swears truly, he shall be allowed to pass, but if falsely, he shall be put to death for it by hanging on the gallows erected there, without any remission.’ Though the law and its severe penalty were known, many persons crossed, but in their declarations it was easy to see at once they were telling the truth, and the judges let them pass free. It happened, however, that one man, when they came to take his declaration, swore and said that by the oath he took he was going to die upon that gallows that stood there, and nothing else. The judges held a consultation over the oath, and they said, ‘If we let this man pass free he has sworn falsely, and by the law he ought to die; but if we hang him, as he swore he was going to die on that gallows, and therefore swore the truth, by the same law he ought to go free.’ It is asked of your worship, senor governor, what are the judges to do with this man? For they are still in doubt and perplexity; and having heard of your worship’s acute and exalted intellect, they have sent me to entreat your worship on their behalf to give your opinion on this very intricate and puzzling case.”
To this Sancho made answer, “Indeed those gentlemen the judges that send you to me might have spared themselves the trouble, for I have more of the obtuse than the acute in me; but repeat the case over again, so that I may understand it, and then perhaps I may be able to hit the point.”
The querist repeated again and again what he had said before, and then Sancho said, “It seems to me I can set the matter right in a moment, and in this way; the man swears that he is going to die upon the gallows; but if he dies upon it, he has sworn the truth, and by the law enacted deserves to go free and pass over the bridge; but if they don’t hang him, then he has sworn falsely, and by the same law deserves to be hanged.”
“It is as the senor governor says,” said the messenger; “and as regards a complete comprehension of the case, there is nothing left to desire or hesitate about.”
“Well then I say,” said Sancho, “that of this man they should let pass the part that has sworn truly, and hang the part that has lied; and in this way the conditions of the passage will be fully complied with.”
“But then, senor governor,” replied the querist, “the man will have to be divided into two parts; and if he is divided of course he will die; and so none of the requirements of the law will be carried out, and it is absolutely necessary to comply with it.”
“Look here, my good sir,” said Sancho; “either I’m a numskull or else there is the same reason for this passenger dying as for his living and passing over the bridge; for if the truth saves him the falsehood equally condemns him; and that being the case it is my opinion you should say to the gentlemen who sent you to me that as the arguments for condemning him and for absolving him are exactly balanced, they should let him pass freely, as it is always more praiseworthy to do good than to do evil; this I would give signed with my name if I knew how to sign; and what I have said in this case is not out of my own head, but one of the many precepts my master Don Quixote gave me the night before I left to become governor of this island, that came into my mind, and it was this, that when there was any doubt about the justice of a case I should lean to mercy; and it is God’s will that I should recollect it now, for it fits this case as if it was made for it.”
“That is true,” said the majordomo; “and I maintain that Lycurgus himself, who gave laws to the Lacedemonians, could not have pronounced a better decision than the great Panza has given; let the morning’s audience close with this, and I will see that the senor governor has dinner entirely to his liking.”
“That’s all I ask for — fair play,” said Sancho; “give me my dinner, and then let it rain cases and questions on me, and I’ll despatch them in a twinkling.”
The majordomo kept his word, for he felt it against his conscience to kill so wise a governor by hunger; particularly as he intended to have done with him that same night, playing off the last joke he was commissioned to practise upon him.
It came to pass, then, that after he had dined that day, in opposition to the rules and aphorisms of Doctor Tirteafuera, as they were taking away the cloth there came a courier with a letter from Don Quixote for the governor. Sancho ordered the secretary to read it to himself, and if there was nothing in it that demanded secrecy to read it aloud. The secretary did so, and after he had skimmed the contents he said, “It may well be read aloud, for what Senor Don Quixote writes to your worship deserves to be printed or written in letters of gold, and it is as follows.”
DON Quixote OF LA Mancha’S LETTER TO SANCHO Panza, GoVERNOR OF The ISLAND OF BARATARIA.
When I was expecting to hear of thy stupidities and blunders, friend Sancho, I have received intelligence of thy displays of good sense, for which I give special thanks to heaven that can raise the poor from the dunghill and of fools to make wise men. They tell me thou dost govern as if thou wert a man, and art a man as if thou wert a beast, so great is the humility wherewith thou dost comport thyself. But I would have thee bear in mind, Sancho, that very often it is fitting and necessary for the authority of office to resist the humility of the heart; for the seemly array of one who is invested with grave duties should be such as they require and not measured by what his own humble tastes may lead him to prefer. Dress well; a stick dressed up does not look like a stick; I do not say thou shouldst wear trinkets or fine raiment, or that being a judge thou shouldst dress like a soldier, but that thou shouldst array thyself in the apparel thy office requires, and that at the same time it be neat and handsome. To win the good-will of the people thou governest there are two things, among others, that thou must do; one is to be civil to all (this, however, I told thee before), and the other to take care that food be abundant, for there is nothing that vexes the heart of the poor more than hunger and high prices. Make not many proclamations; but those thou makest take care that they be good ones, and above all that they be observed and carried out; for proclamations that are not observed are the same as if they did not exist; nay, they encourage the idea that the prince who had the wisdom and authority to make them had not the power to enforce them; and laws that threaten and are not enforced come to he like the log, the king of the frogs, that frightened them at first, but that in time they despised and mounted upon. Be a father to virtue and a stepfather to vice. Be not always strict, nor yet always lenient, but observe a mean between these two extremes, for in that is the aim of wisdom. Visit the gaols, the slaughter-houses, and the market-places; for the presence of the governor is of great importance in such places; it comforts the prisoners who are in hopes of a speedy release, it is the bugbear of the butchers who have then to give just weight, and it is the terror of the market-women for the same reason. Let it not be seen that thou art (even if perchance thou art, which I do not believe) covetous, a follower of women, or a glutton; for when the people and those that have dealings with thee become aware of thy special weakness they will bring their batteries to bear upon thee in that quarter, till they have brought thee down to the depths of perdition. Consider and reconsider, con and con over again the advices and the instructions I gave thee before thy departure hence to thy government, and thou wilt see that in them, if thou dost follow them, thou hast a help at hand that will lighten for thee the troubles and difficulties that beset governors at every step. Write to thy lord and lady and show thyself grateful to them, for ingratitude is the daughter of pride, and one of the greatest sins we know of; and he who is grateful to those who have been good to him shows that he will be so to God also who has bestowed and still bestows so many blessings upon him.
My lady the duchess sent off a messenger with thy suit and another present to thy wife Teresa Panza; we expect the answer every moment. I have been a little indisposed through a certain scratching I came in for, not very much to the benefit of my nose; but it was nothing; for if there are enchanters who maltreat me, there are also some who defend me. Let me know if the majordomo who is with thee had any share in the Trifaldi performance, as thou didst suspect; and keep me informed of everything that happens thee, as the distance is so short; all the more as I am thinking of giving over very shortly this idle life I am now leading, for I was not born for it. A thing has occurred to me which I am inclined to think will put me out of favour with the duke and duchess; but though I am sorry for it I do not care, for after all I must obey my calling rather than their pleasure, in accordance with the common saying, amicus Plato, sed magis amica veritas. I quote this Latin to thee because I conclude that since thou hast been a governor thou wilt have learned it. Adieu; God keep thee from being an object of pity to anyone.
Thy friend, DON Quixote OF LA Mancha.
Sancho listened to the letter with great attention, and it was praised and considered wise by all who heard it; he then rose up from table, and calling his secretary shut himself in with him in his own room, and without putting it off any longer set about answering his master Don Quixote at once; and he bade the secretary write down what he told him without adding or suppressing anything, which he did, and the answer was to the following effect.
SANCHO Panza’S LETTER TO DON Quixote OF LA Mancha.
The pressure of business is so great upon me that I have no time to scratch my head or even to cut my nails; and I have them so long — God send a remedy for it. I say this, master of my soul, that you may not be surprised if I have not until now sent you word of how I fare, well or ill, in this government, in which I am suffering more hunger than when we two were wandering through the woods and wastes.
My lord the duke wrote to me the other day to warn me that certain spies had got into this island to kill me; but up to the present I have not found out any except a certain doctor who receives a salary in this town for killing all the governors that come here; he is called Doctor Pedro Recio, and is from Tirteafuera; so you see what a name he has to make me dread dying under his hands. This doctor says of himself that he does not cure diseases when there are any, but prevents them coming, and the medicines he uses are diet and more diet until he brings one down to bare bones; as if leanness was not worse than fever.
In short he is killing me with hunger, and I am dying myself of vexation; for when I thought I was coming to this government to get my meat hot and my drink cool, and take my ease between holland sheets on feather beds, I find I have come to do penance as if I was a hermit; and as I don’t do it willingly I suspect that in the end the devil will carry me off.
So far I have not handled any dues or taken any bribes, and I don’t know what to think of it; for here they tell me that the governors that come to this island, before entering it have plenty of money either given to them or lent to them by the people of the town, and that this is the usual custom not only here but with all who enter upon governments.
Last night going the rounds I came upon a fair damsel in man’s clothes, and a brother of hers dressed as a woman; my head-carver has fallen in love with the girl, and has in his own mind chosen her for a wife, so he says, and I have chosen youth for a son-in-law; to-day we are going to explain our intentions to the father of the pair, who is one Diego de la Llana, a gentleman and an old Christian as much as you please.
I have visited the market-places, as your worship advises me, and yesterday I found a stall-keeper selling new hazel nuts and proved her to have mixed a bushel of old empty rotten nuts with a bushel of new; I confiscated the whole for the children of the charity-school, who will know how to distinguish them well enough, and I sentenced her not to come into the market-place for a fortnight; they told me I did bravely. I can tell your worship it is commonly said in this town that there are no people worse than the market-women, for they are all barefaced, unconscionable, and impudent, and I can well believe it from what I have seen of them in other towns.
I am very glad my lady the duchess has written to my wife Teresa Panza and sent her the present your worship speaks of; and I will strive to show myself grateful when the time comes; kiss her hands for me, and tell her I say she has not thrown it into a sack with a hole in it, as she will see in the end. I should not like your worship to have any difference with my lord and lady; for if you fall out with them it is plain it must do me harm; and as you give me advice to be grateful it will not do for your worship not to be so yourself to those who have shown you such kindness, and by whom you have been treated so hospitably in their castle.
That about the scratching I don’t understand; but I suppose it must be one of the ill-turns the wicked enchanters are always doing your worship; when we meet I shall know all about it. I wish I could send your worship something; but I don’t know what to send, unless it be some very curious clyster pipes, to work with bladders, that they make in this island; but if the office remains with me I’ll find out something to send, one way or another. If my wife Teresa Panza writes to me, pay the postage and send me the letter, for I have a very great desire to hear how my house and wife and children are going on. And so, may God deliver your worship from evil-minded enchanters, and bring me well and peacefully out of this government, which I doubt, for I expect to take leave of it and my life together, from the way Doctor Pedro Recio treats me.
Your worship’s servant SANCHO Panza The GoVERNOR.
The secretary sealed the letter, and immediately dismissed the courier; and those who were carrying on the joke against Sancho putting their heads together arranged how he was to be dismissed from the government. Sancho spent the afternoon in drawing up certain ordinances relating to the good government of what he fancied the island; and he ordained that there were to be no provision hucksters in the State, and that men might import wine into it from any place they pleased, provided they declared the quarter it came from, so that a price might be put upon it according to its quality, reputation, and the estimation it was held in; and he that watered his wine, or changed the name, was to forfeit his life for it. He reduced the prices of all manner of shoes, boots, and stockings, but of shoes in particular, as they seemed to him to run extravagantly high. He established a fixed rate for servants’ wages, which were becoming recklessly exorbitant. He laid extremely heavy penalties upon those who sang lewd or loose songs either by day or night. He decreed that no blind man should sing of any miracle in verse, unless he could produce authentic evidence that it was true, for it was his opinion that most of those the blind men sing are trumped up, to the detriment of the true ones. He established and created an alguacil of the poor, not to harass them, but to examine them and see whether they really were so; for many a sturdy thief or drunkard goes about under cover of a make-believe crippled limb or a sham sore. In a word, he made so many good rules that to this day they are preserved there, and are called The constitutions of the great governor Sancho Panza.
 
在总督巡视的那天晚上，餐厅侍者夜不能寐，一直在想那个女扮男装的姑娘的如玉风姿和如花容貌。管家则利用第二天天还没亮的时间，把桑乔的言行记录下来，准备报告给他的主子。桑乔的言行使他感到惊奇，他觉得桑乔的言行总是前后不一致，愚中有智，智中有愚。
总督大人也起床了。按照佩德罗•雷西奥的吩咐，桑乔只吃了一口腌蔬菜，喝了几口凉水，其实桑乔很想吃一块面包和一串葡萄。不过他知道他必须这样做，由不得自己，也就将就了，可是心疼得厉害，胃也不好受。佩德罗•雷西奥已经告诉他，吃得少而精可以活跃人的智慧，而掌大权当大官的人用得更多的是脑力而不是体力。
既然这样，桑乔就只好挨饿了。他在心里暗暗诅咒这个总督职位，甚至还诅咒让他当总督的那个人。尽管只吃了点腌蔬菜，仍然饥肠辘辘，桑乔那天还是去升堂判案了。第一个上来的是个外地人。他当着管家和其他人的面问桑乔：
“大人，有一条大河把一位领主的领地一分为二。请您注意听好，这个情况很重要，而且有点复杂。这条河上有一座桥，桥的一头有一个绞刑架和一幢当审判厅用的房子，平时总有四个法官在那儿执行这条河、这座桥和这片领地的主人的命令。这个命令是这样的：如果有人要经过这座桥到河的对岸去，他首先得发誓声明他过桥后要到哪儿去，要去干什么。如果他说的是真的，就让他过桥；如果他说的是谎话，就在旁边的那个绞刑架上绞死他，绝不宽恕。
“这个命令和这个苛刻的条件生效后，有很多人过了桥。法官只要看他们发誓时说的是真话，就让他们过桥。后来有一天，一个人发誓说他要做的就是死在旁边那个绞刑架上，没有其他事。几位法官考虑了一下这个人的誓言，议论道：‘如果咱们让这个人过去，那么他发誓时就是说了谎，按照命令就得绞死他；可如果咱们绞死他，他又发誓说他要死在那个绞刑架上，那么他的誓言又是真的了，按照命令，就应该放他过河。’那么请问您，总督大人，几位法官应该怎样处置这个人呢？他们到现在还没有拿定主意。他们仰慕您的聪慧大名，派我来请您谈谈您对这个如此棘手的案子的看法。”
桑乔答道：
“其实这几位法官大可不必派你来，因为我也并不聪明。不过既然这样了，你就再讲讲这件事，让我听个明白，说不定我还能抓住问题的关键呢。”
来人又把刚才说过的事说了两遍。桑乔说道：
“我觉得这件事我两句话就可以说清楚。事情是这样的：有个人发誓要死在绞刑架上。如果他真的死在绞刑架上，那么他发的誓就是真话，按照命令，就该让他过桥；可是如果不绞死他呢，他发誓时就撒了谎，按照同一命令，就该绞死他。”
“事情正像总督大人说的这样，”来人说道，“明明白白，清清楚楚。”
“那么，我说呀，”桑乔说，“这个人说真话那部分应该过桥，把他说假话那部分绞死，这就不折不扣地执行了有关过桥的命令嘛。”
“总督大人，”来人说道，“那就得把人分为两半，一半撒谎的，一半真实的。可如果真分了，那人准得死，也就根本无法执行什么命令了，可是那个命令又必须执行。”
“你听我说，好人，”桑乔说，“或者是我这个人笨，或者是提到的这个人既有理由去死，也有理由活着过桥。如果他说了真话，他可以免于一死；可他若是说了假话，就该处死他。既然这样，我觉得你应该告诉派你来的那些人，既然处死他和赦免他并放他过桥的理由是一样的，那么行善总是比作恶容易受到赞扬。如果我会签字的话，我就会签上我的名字，把这件事定下来。这种处理方法并不是我说的，我想起了我到这个岛屿就任总督之前我的主人唐吉诃德，他给我的诸多告诫之一就是在执法可宽可严的情况下以宽为好。上帝提醒我这句话，现在正好用上。”
“有道理，”管家说，“我觉得，就是为斯巴达人立法的利库尔戈也不会做出比我们伟大的桑乔更为英明的判决了。今天上午的审判到此结束，我去吩咐他们给总督大人做点可口的饭菜。”
“我正需要呢，你可别骗我。”桑乔说，“让我吃饱了，别管什么疑难案子都尽管来，由我来指点迷津！”
于是管家吩咐人做饭。他觉得让如此英明的总督饿死实在于心不忍，而且他还想在当晚结束他奉命同唐吉诃德开的最后一个玩笑呢。那天桑乔不顾蒂尔特亚富埃拉那位医生的劝诫大吃了一顿。刚吃完饭，一个信使就送来了唐吉诃德给总督的一封信。桑乔让文书把信念给他听听，而且如果没有什么机密内容的话，就大声念。文书打开信看了一遍，说道：
“完全可以大声念。唐吉诃德大人给您的这封信真可谓字字珠玑。信是这样写的：
曼查的唐吉诃德给巴拉塔里亚岛总督桑乔•潘萨的信
桑乔朋友，我本以为别人会说你办事粗心愚蠢，可没想到别人却说你处事灵敏。我为此特别感谢老天，是‘他从粪堆中提拔穷乏人’①，使笨蛋变得聪明。据说你当总督时还像个人似的，可你当普通人的时候，就凭你那寒酸劲儿，却像个牲口似的。桑乔，你应该告诫自己，时时注意，而且也有必要注意，当官就得有个当官的样子，身居要职的人外观必须与他的身份相符，而不能由着自己的寒酸性子来。你应该穿得好一点儿，一经包装，大不一样。我并不是让你穿金戴银，不过作为长官，也不要穿得跟士兵似的，而是应该根据你的职位穿戴，只要干净整洁就行。
①此处援引了《圣经》中的话。
要想赢得你所管辖的百姓的拥护，你就得做两件事情：第一就是要与人为善，其实这点我已对你说过多次；另一点就是保证要丰衣足食，对于老百姓来说，没有什么比饥饿和贫困更令他们忧虑的了。
你不要颁布很多法令，而如果要颁布，就一定要颁布好的法令，尤其要注意的是，这些法令必须得到遵守执行。有令不行等于没有，而且还会让人以为他们的君主有能力和权力制定法令，却没有力量使法令得到贯彻执行。咋咋唬唬而又不执行的法令早晚身像充当蛤蟆王的木头一样，蛤蟆开始还怕那根木头，后来便看不起它，最后干脆跳到它上面去了。
你要厚道德薄恶习。你不要总是那么严厉，也不要总是那么和善，而要寻求两个极端之间的中庸之道，这才是最聪明的。你应该到监狱、屠宰场和广场去，总督在这些地方出现是很重要的。囚徒总希望他们的案子早点结束，你去就可以安慰他们；对于屠夫们，你是一种威慑，他们就不敢缺斤短两；对于摊贩们你同样是一种威慑。你即使有点儿贪婪、好色和贪吃，也不要表现出来，我相信你不是这种人。在你上任之前我给你写的那些劝诫，你如果还保留着的话，要反复重温，你就会知道，它们可以帮助你克服那些当总督的人时时遇到的困难和麻烦。你要给你的主人写信，表示你是知恩图报的人。忘恩负义由高傲产生，是人类已知的几大罪孽之一。对恩人知恩图报的人自然也知道感激上帝，因为上帝曾经而且不断地赐予他恩德。
公爵夫人已经派人把你的衣服和另一件礼物给你妻子特雷莎•潘萨送去了，目前还没有回音。我现在有些不舒服，鼻子被猫抓了几下，但并不严重。这没什么，如果说有专门同我过不去的魔法师，那么也会有专门保护我的魔法师。
你告诉我，同你在一起的管家是不是像你怀疑的那样，同三摆裙夫人的事情有牵连？还有，你在那儿遇到的事情都请一一告诉我，咱们离得不远。此外，我还想尽快摆脱这种无所事事的生活，我生来就不是过这种日子的人。
我现在遇到了一件事，估计公爵和公爵夫人不会高兴。我虽然很为难，却又顾不得了。我首先得履行我的职责，而不是依照我个人的好恶来决定，就像人们常说的：“柏拉图亲，真理更亲。”我说这句拉丁文也是为了让你知道，你当总督以后也得学拉丁文。向上帝致意，让上帝保佑你别成了可怜虫。
你的朋友
曼查的唐吉诃德
桑乔认真地听完了这封信。其他听到信的人也齐声称赞这封信写得有水平。桑乔从桌旁站起来，叫文书到他的房间去。他刻不容缓地要给他的主人唐吉诃德写回信。桑乔告诉文书，他说什么，文书就写什么，不必有任何删改。文书答应照办。他的回信如下：
桑乔•潘萨给曼查的唐吉诃德的信
我现在太忙了，忙得连挠头剪指甲的时间都没有，所以我现在的指甲长得很，只好听天由命吧。我最亲爱的大人，我到现在一直没有把我当总督的情况告诉您是怕您担忧，我现在正挨饿，比咱们在荒郊野岭时饿得还厉害。
公爵大人有一天给我写来一封信，告诉我已经有几个奸细潜进这个岛屿想害死我。不过到目前为止，我只发现了这儿的一个大夫，他受雇把来这儿的总督全都害死了。他就是佩德罗•雷西奥大夫，是蒂尔特亚富埃拉人，您听听这名字，我怎么能不担心死在他手里呢！这个大夫说，他并不是有病医病，而是无病预防，而他采用的方法就是节食再节食，直到把人饿成皮包骨，就好像瘦弱并不比发烧更糟糕似的。最后，他会把我逐渐饿死。我也快气死了。我本来想到这个岛上来吃香的喝辣的，铺软的盖绒的，可是到头来却像个苦行僧似的。我并不是自愿节食的，所以早晚得见阎王。
至今我还没有获取应得之利，也没有得到不义之财。我无法想象这些都从哪儿来。我听说，岛上的总督往往在上岛之前就有人送给他或借给他很多钱。据说不仅是这儿，其他地方的总督也都是这样。
昨天晚上我出去巡视，碰到了一个女扮男装的姑娘和她的男扮女装的弟弟。我的餐厅侍者爱上了那个姑娘，据他说，他甚至想入非非地要娶她为妻。我倒是看上了那个男孩子，想让他做我女婿。今天，我们两人要去找那两个孩子的父亲，把我们的想法提出来。那人叫迭戈•德拉利亚纳，是一位很老的基督徒绅士。
我已经照您的劝告去过广场了。昨天我在那儿检查了一个卖榛子的女贩子，发现她把一法内加的新榛子同另一法内加又陈又空又烂的榛子混在一起卖。我把她的榛子全没收了，送给孤儿院的孩子们，他们能区分出新老榛子来；我又罚那个女贩子十五天内不准进入广场。别人都说我做得很棒。我告诉您，这个地方的女贩子最坏，是出了名的，她们都恬不知耻，丧尽良心，而且胆大妄为。我相信是这样的，我在其他地方看到的女贩子也是这样的。
您说公爵夫人给我老婆特雷莎•潘萨写了一封信，还送了她一件礼物，我对此非常满足。我会找机会报答的。请您代我吻她的手，告诉她，她的好心不会白费，以后就看我的行动吧。
我不希望您同公爵和公爵夫人闹别扭。如果您同他们斗气，也会影响到我。您劝我知恩图报，公爵和公爵夫人如此照顾您，而且在他们的城堡里热情款待您，如果您不知恩图报就不对了。
至于猫抓的事我还不清楚。不过我可以想象得到，一定是那些常常同您过不去的恶毒魔法师捣的鬼，此事咱们见面再谈。
我想送您一点儿东西，可又不知道该送什么，要不就送您这个岛上出产的几根洗肠子用的灌肠管吧，样子很别致。假如我还继续担任总督，我无论如何也会给您送点儿东西去。
如果我老婆特雷莎•潘萨给我寄信来，请您先代付邮费，再把信转给我。我很想知道我家、我老婆和孩子们的情况。最后，愿上帝保佑您摆脱那些魔法师的恶意纠缠，让我这个总督当得平平安安。我对此还有点怀疑，因为若是照佩德罗•雷西奥大夫那样对待我，我恐怕连总督的位置带性命都保不住。
您的仆人
桑乔•潘萨总督
文书把信封好，然后派人送走。几个拿桑乔开心的人又聚集在一起，商量怎样把这位总督打发走。那天下午，桑乔准备了几个法令，要治理他心目中的岛屿。他命令不准在岛上贩卖食品，不过允许从任何地方向岛上进口酒，但必须标明是何地的产品，以便按照它的质地和名气制定价格；如果有人胆敢搀水或者改变酒的名称，格杀勿论。他还把鞋袜的价格都降了一些，特别是鞋的价格，他觉得鞋的价格太高了。他规定了佣人的工钱标准，因为有的佣人利欲熏心，漫天要价。他规定对于唱淫秽歌曲的人，无论是白天唱还是晚上唱，都一律严惩。他命令不准瞎子唱奇迹剧①中的民谣，除非他有确凿的证据表明那些都是事实，因为他觉得瞎子唱的东西都是假的，有损于真实性。他还创设了一个专管残疾人的官儿，不过不是为了迫害残疾人，而是让他去检查那些人是否真正是残疾人，因为有的人假装腿脚有毛病或者身上有烂疮，其实是盗贼或酗酒的健康人。总之，桑乔颁布了一些很好的法令，至今还在那里沿用，而且被称为《伟大总督桑乔•潘萨大法》。
①奇迹剧是中世纪的一种剧目。
Part 2 Chapter 52
Cide Hamete relates that Don Quixote being now cured of his scratches felt that the life he was leading in the castle was entirely inconsistent with the order of chivalry he professed, so he determined to ask the duke and duchess to permit him to take his departure for Saragossa, as the time of the festival was now drawing near, and he hoped to win there the suit of armour which is the prize at festivals of the sort. But one day at table with the duke and duchess, just as he was about to carry his resolution into effect and ask for their permission, lo and behold suddenly there came in through the door of the great hall two women, as they afterwards proved to be, draped in mourning from head to foot, one of whom approaching Don Quixote flung herself at full length at his feet, pressing her lips to them, and uttering moans so sad, so deep, and so doleful that she put all who heard and saw her into a state of perplexity; and though the duke and duchess supposed it must be some joke their servants were playing off upon Don Quixote, still the earnest way the woman sighed and moaned and wept puzzled them and made them feel uncertain, until Don Quixote, touched with compassion, raised her up and made her unveil herself and remove the mantle from her tearful face. She complied and disclosed what no one could have ever anticipated, for she disclosed the countenance of Dona Rodriguez, the duenna of the house; the other female in mourning being her daughter, who had been made a fool of by the rich farmer’s son. All who knew her were filled with astonishment, and the duke and duchess more than any; for though they thought her a simpleton and a weak creature, they did not think her capable of crazy pranks. Dona Rodriguez, at length, turning to her master and mistress said to them, “Will your excellences be pleased to permit me to speak to this gentleman for a moment, for it is requisite I should do so in order to get successfully out of the business in which the boldness of an evil-minded clown has involved me?”
The duke said that for his part he gave her leave, and that she might speak with Senor Don Quixote as much as she liked.
She then, turning to Don Quixote and addressing herself to him said, “Some days since, valiant knight, I gave you an account of the injustice and treachery of a wicked farmer to my dearly beloved daughter, the unhappy damsel here before you, and you promised me to take her part and right the wrong that has been done her; but now it has come to my hearing that you are about to depart from this castle in quest of such fair adventures as God may vouchsafe to you; therefore, before you take the road, I would that you challenge this froward rustic, and compel him to marry my daughter in fulfillment of the promise he gave her to become her husband before he seduced her; for to expect that my lord the duke will do me justice is to ask pears from the elm tree, for the reason I stated privately to your worship; and so may our Lord grant you good health and forsake us not.”
To these words Don Quixote replied very gravely and solemnly, “Worthy duenna, check your tears, or rather dry them, and spare your sighs, for I take it upon myself to obtain redress for your daughter, for whom it would have been better not to have been so ready to believe lovers’ promises, which are for the most part quickly made and very slowly performed; and so, with my lord the duke’s leave, I will at once go in quest of this inhuman youth, and will find him out and challenge him and slay him, if so be he refuses to keep his promised word; for the chief object of my profession is to spare the humble and chastise the proud; I mean, to help the distressed and destroy the oppressors.”
“There is no necessity,” said the duke, “for your worship to take the trouble of seeking out the rustic of whom this worthy duenna complains, nor is there any necessity, either, for asking my leave to challenge him; for I admit him duly challenged, and will take care that he is informed of the challenge, and accepts it, and comes to answer it in person to this castle of mine, where I shall afford to both a fair field, observing all the conditions which are usually and properly observed in such trials, and observing too justice to both sides, as all princes who offer a free field to combatants within the limits of their lordships are bound to do.”
“Then with that assurance and your highness’s good leave,” said Don Quixote, “I hereby for this once waive my privilege of gentle blood, and come down and put myself on a level with the lowly birth of the wrong-doer, making myself equal with him and enabling him to enter into combat with me; and so, I challenge and defy him, though absent, on the plea of his malfeasance in breaking faith with this poor damsel, who was a maiden and now by his misdeed is none; and say that he shall fulfill the promise he gave her to become her lawful husband, or else stake his life upon the question.”
And then plucking off a glove he threw it down in the middle of the hall, and the duke picked it up, saying, as he had said before, that he accepted the challenge in the name of his vassal, and fixed six days thence as the time, the courtyard of the castle as the place, and for arms the customary ones of knights, lance and shield and full armour, with all the other accessories, without trickery, guile, or charms of any sort, and examined and passed by the judges of the field. “But first of all,” he said, “it is requisite that this worthy duenna and unworthy damsel should place their claim for justice in the hands of Don Quixote; for otherwise nothing can be done, nor can the said challenge be brought to a lawful issue.”
“I do so place it,” replied the duenna.
“And I too,” added her daughter, all in tears and covered with shame and confusion.
This declaration having been made, and the duke having settled in his own mind what he would do in the matter, the ladies in black withdrew, and the duchess gave orders that for the future they were not to be treated as servants of hers, but as lady adventurers who came to her house to demand justice; so they gave them a room to themselves and waited on them as they would on strangers, to the consternation of the other women-servants, who did not know where the folly and imprudence of Dona Rodriguez and her unlucky daughter would stop.
And now, to complete the enjoyment of the feast and bring the dinner to a satisfactory end, lo and behold the page who had carried the letters and presents to Teresa Panza, the wife of the governor Sancho, entered the hall; and the duke and duchess were very well pleased to see him, being anxious to know the result of his journey; but when they asked him the page said in reply that he could not give it before so many people or in a few words, and begged their excellences to be pleased to let it wait for a private opportunity, and in the meantime amuse themselves with these letters; and taking out the letters he placed them in the duchess’s hand. One bore by way of address, Letter for my lady the Duchess So-and-so, of I don’t know where; and the other To my husband Sancho Panza, governor of the island of Barataria, whom God prosper longer than me. The duchess’s bread would not bake, as the saying is, until she had read her letter; and having looked over it herself and seen that it might be read aloud for the duke and all present to hear, she read out as follows.
TERESA Panza’S LETTER TO The DUCHESS.
The letter your highness wrote me, my lady, gave me great pleasure, for indeed I found it very welcome. The string of coral beads is very fine, and my husband’s hunting suit does not fall short of it. All this village is very much pleased that your ladyship has made a governor of my good man Sancho; though nobody will believe it, particularly the curate, and Master Nicholas the barber, and the bachelor Samson Carrasco; but I don’t care for that, for so long as it is true, as it is, they may all say what they like; though, to tell the truth, if the coral beads and the suit had not come I would not have believed it either; for in this village everybody thinks my husband a numskull, and except for governing a flock of goats, they cannot fancy what sort of government he can be fit for. God grant it, and direct him according as he sees his children stand in need of it. I am resolved with your worship’s leave, lady of my soul, to make the most of this fair day, and go to Court to stretch myself at ease in a coach, and make all those I have envying me already burst their eyes out; so I beg your excellence to order my husband to send me a small trifle of money, and to let it be something to speak of, because one’s expenses are heavy at the Court; for a loaf costs a real, and meat thirty maravedis a pound, which is beyond everything; and if he does not want me to go let him tell me in time, for my feet are on the fidgets to he off; and my friends and neighbours tell me that if my daughter and I make a figure and a brave show at Court, my husband will come to be known far more by me than I by him, for of course plenty of people will ask, “Who are those ladies in that coach?” and some servant of mine will answer, “The wife and daughter of Sancho Panza, governor of the island of Barataria;” and in this way Sancho will become known, and I’ll be thought well of, and “to Rome for everything.” I am as vexed as vexed can be that they have gathered no acorns this year in our village; for all that I send your highness about half a peck that I went to the wood to gather and pick out one by one myself, and I could find no bigger ones; I wish they were as big as ostrich eggs.
Let not your high mightiness forget to write to me; and I will take care to answer, and let you know how I am, and whatever news there may be in this place, where I remain, praying our Lord to have your highness in his keeping and not to forget me.
Sancha my daughter, and my son, kiss your worship’s hands.
She who would rather see your ladyship than write to you,
Your servant,
TERESA Panza.
All were greatly amused by Teresa Panza’s letter, but particularly the duke and duchess; and the duchess asked Don Quixote’s opinion whether they might open the letter that had come for the governor, which she suspected must be very good. Don Quixote said that to gratify them he would open it, and did so, and found that it ran as follows.
TERESA Panza’S LETTER TO HER HUSBAND SANCHO PANZA.
I got thy letter, Sancho of my soul, and I promise thee and swear as a Catholic Christian that I was within two fingers’ breadth of going mad I was so happy. I can tell thee, brother, when I came to hear that thou wert a governor I thought I should have dropped dead with pure joy; and thou knowest they say sudden joy kills as well as great sorrow; and as for Sanchica thy daughter, she leaked from sheer happiness. I had before me the suit thou didst send me, and the coral beads my lady the duchess sent me round my neck, and the letters in my hands, and there was the bearer of them standing by, and in spite of all this I verily believed and thought that what I saw and handled was all a dream; for who could have thought that a goatherd would come to be a governor of islands? Thou knowest, my friend, what my mother used to say, that one must live long to see much; I say it because I expect to see more if I live longer; for I don’t expect to stop until I see thee a farmer of taxes or a collector of revenue, which are offices where, though the devil carries off those who make a bad use of them, still they make and handle money. My lady the duchess will tell thee the desire I have to go to the Court; consider the matter and let me know thy pleasure; I will try to do honour to thee by going in a coach.
Neither the curate, nor the barber, nor the bachelor, nor even the sacristan, can believe that thou art a governor, and they say the whole thing is a delusion or an enchantment affair, like everything belonging to thy master Don Quixote; and Samson says he must go in search of thee and drive the government out of thy head and the madness out of Don Quixote’s skull; I only laugh, and look at my string of beads, and plan out the dress I am going to make for our daughter out of thy suit. I sent some acorns to my lady the duchess; I wish they had been gold. Send me some strings of pearls if they are in fashion in that island. Here is the news of the village; La Berrueca has married her daughter to a good-for-nothing painter, who came here to paint anything that might turn up. The council gave him an order to paint his Majesty’s arms over the door of the town-hall; he asked two ducats, which they paid him in advance; he worked for eight days, and at the end of them had nothing painted, and then said he had no turn for painting such trifling things; he returned the money, and for all that has married on the pretence of being a good workman; to be sure he has now laid aside his paint-brush and taken a spade in hand, and goes to the field like a gentleman. Pedro Lobo’s son has received the first orders and tonsure, with the intention of becoming a priest. Minguilla, Mingo Silvato’s granddaughter, found it out, and has gone to law with him on the score of having given her promise of marriage. Evil tongues say she is with child by him, but he denies it stoutly. There are no olives this year, and there is not a drop of vinegar to be had in the whole village. A company of soldiers passed through here; when they left they took away with them three of the girls of the village; I will not tell thee who they are; perhaps they will come back, and they will be sure to find those who will take them for wives with all their blemishes, good or bad. Sanchica is making bonelace; she earns eight maravedis a day clear, which she puts into a moneybox as a help towards house furnishing; but now that she is a governor’s daughter thou wilt give her a portion without her working for it. The fountain in the plaza has run dry. A flash of lightning struck the gibbet, and I wish they all lit there. I look for an answer to this, and to know thy mind about my going to the Court; and so, God keep thee longer than me, or as long, for I would not leave thee in this world without me.
Thy wife,
TERESA Panza.
The letters were applauded, laughed over, relished, and admired; and then, as if to put the seal to the business, the courier arrived, bringing the one Sancho sent to Don Quixote, and this, too, was read out, and it raised some doubts as to the governor’s simplicity. The duchess withdrew to hear from the page about his adventures in Sancho’s village, which he narrated at full length without leaving a single circumstance unmentioned. He gave her the acorns, and also a cheese which Teresa had given him as being particularly good and superior to those of Tronchon. The duchess received it with greatest delight, in which we will leave her, to describe the end of the government of the great Sancho Panza, flower and mirror of all governors of islands.
 
的唐娜罗德里格斯的奇遇
锡德•哈迈德说到唐吉诃德的伤口已经愈合，于是他觉得继续在那个城堡里住下去有悖于他所奉行的骑士道，便决定请求公爵和公爵夫人允许他到萨拉戈萨去。萨拉戈萨的节日已经临近，唐吉诃德想在节日里参加比武赢一副盔甲。一天，他同公爵和公爵夫人一起吃饭。他正要张口说出自己的请求，忽然看见大门口进来两个女人，她们从头到脚都罩着黑衣服。其中一人走到唐吉诃德面前伏了下来，嘴贴着他的脚抽泣起来。她抽泣得如此伤心，如此深切，如此悲痛，使得所有在场的人都不知所措了。尽管公爵和公爵夫人猜想，可能是佣人们又要拿唐吉诃德开心，可是看到那女人唉声叹气并且哭得那么悲切，也觉得莫名其妙了。最后，还是唐吉诃德动了恻隐之心，把那女人扶了起来，让她揭去蒙在头上的黑纱，露出脸来。那女人把黑纱拿了下来，大家万万没想到原来是女佣唐娜罗德里格斯。另一个穿黑衣服的女人是她那个遭富农儿子耍弄的女儿。所有认识她们的人都大为吃惊，尤其是公爵和公爵夫人。虽然他们觉得唐娜罗德里格斯有些呆头呆脑，而且脾气也怪，却没想到她会做出这种疯事来。唐娜罗德里格斯向公爵和公爵夫人转过身来说道：
“请你们允许我同这位骑士说几句话，只有这样我才能摆脱一个心怀叵测的家伙对我的无礼行为。”
公爵说他允许唐娜罗德里格斯同唐吉诃德大人说话，而且想说什么都可以。唐娜罗德里格斯转向唐吉诃德说道：
“英勇的骑士，前两天我已经向您讲过一个坏农夫糟蹋我心爱的女儿的事情，这个不幸的姑娘就在您眼前。您曾答应我要保护她，要为她所遭受的痛苦伸张正义，可我现在却听说您要离开这座城堡，去追求上帝赐予您的好运。我想让您在上路之前向那个野小子挑战，让他同我女儿结婚，实现他在同我女儿结合之前许下的诺言。要指望我的主人公爵主持公道，那是白日做梦，这里面的原因我私下已经同您讲过了。为此，愿上帝保佑您身体健康长寿，保佑我们能够得到您的庇护。”
唐吉诃德对此一本正经地答道：
“好女佣，擦干你的眼泪吧，或者说，你不要再唉声叹气了。我来负责拯救你的女儿。其实，当初她不轻信情人的诺言就好了，这种诺言常常是说得容易实现难。这样吧，只要我的主人公爵允许，我马上就去找那个没良心的家伙。找到他我就向他挑战。如果他逃避兑现他的诺言，我就立刻杀了他。我的主要职责就是惩强扶弱，也就是说，帮助弱者，惩罚强暴者。”
“您不必费力去找这位善良的女佣所指责的农夫了。”公爵说，“您也不必请求我允许您向他挑战了。现在，我就确认这场决斗，并且负责把你的挑战通知他，让他到我的城堡来应战。我将在城堡里为你们提供可靠的场地，并且像其他所有在自己的领地内为交战双方提供场地的贵族一样，保证对双方不偏不倚。”
“既然您允许，而且又这么肯定，”唐吉诃德说，“那么我就在此宣布，这次我放弃我的贵族身份，自贬为平民，以便与这个害人的家伙平起平坐，让他能够同我决斗。虽然他现在不在场，我也宣布向他挑战。他做了坏事，没有履行对这个可怜姑娘的诺言，玷污了她的清白。他必须履行他答应做这个姑娘的丈夫的诺言，或者是为此而丧命。”
说完唐吉诃德就摘下一只手套，扔到了大厅中央。公爵把手套拾了起来，说就像刚才自己说过的那样，他以他那位臣民的名义接受挑战，并且确定日期就在六天之后，地点就在城堡的一块空场上。骑士们惯用的各种武器，包括长矛、盾牌、合成盔甲①以及各种附件都一应俱全，而且要经过裁判官的检查，无一作假。
①一种可拆卸的盔甲，以利于骑士的行动。
“不过，在此之前需要我这位好女佣和苦命的姑娘赋予唐吉诃德全权，让他为她们主持公道，否则就不算数，连这次挑战也不能算数。”
“我全权委托他。”女佣说。
“我也全权委托他。”那姑娘满面泪痕，既羞愧又沮丧地接着说道。
事情敲定了，公爵也想好了下面该怎么做。两个穿黑衣服的女人离开了大厅。公爵夫人吩咐从那以后不要再把她们看作佣人，而要把她们看成是跑到公爵家来请求公道的江湖女子，并且为她们单独准备了房间，把她们当成外人看待。这一下其他女佣可有点害怕了，不知道愚蠢放肆的唐娜罗德里格斯和她倒霉的女儿会把事情弄到什么地步。这时，为了凑热闹活跃气氛，让人愉快地吃完这顿饭，给桑乔•潘萨总督的夫人特雷莎•潘萨送信和礼物的侍童进来了。他这一到，公爵和公爵夫人都高兴起来，他们急于知道侍童此行的情况。他们问侍童，侍童说不便在大庭广众面前讲，而且也不是几句话就可以说完的，请求主人允许他以后再单独同他们讲，现在则可以先看看回信。侍童说着拿出了两封信，交给公爵夫人。一封信上面写着“不知何在的公爵夫人收”，另一封上面写着“巴拉塔里亚岛总督、我的丈夫桑乔•潘萨收，愿上帝让他比我多享福”。
公爵夫人迫不及待。她打开信看了一遍，觉得可以让公爵和其他在场的人听，便念起来：
特雷莎•潘萨给公爵夫人的信
亲爱的夫人，很高兴收到您的来信，说实话，这封信我期待已久。珊瑚珠很好看，我丈夫的猎服也不错。这儿的人听说您让我丈夫桑乔当了总督，都非常高兴，尽管有些人并不相信，特别是神甫、理发师尼古拉斯师傅和参孙•卡拉斯科学士。不过，我对此无所谓，随它去吧，他们愿意怎么说就让他们去说吧。说实话，如果不是见到珊瑚珠和猎服，我也不会相信，因为这儿的人都把我丈夫看成笨蛋，除了能管一群羊外，无法想象他还能管好什么。但愿上帝保佑他当好总督，这对子女们也有利。有利时机不可错过，尊贵的夫人，我已经决定，只要您允许，我就乘车到京城去，让那些嫉妒我的人把眼珠子都气出来。所以，我请求您让我丈夫给我寄点儿钱来，得要一笔钱呢。因为京城的开销很大，面包论雷阿尔卖，肉论磅卖，三十马拉维迪一磅，真够贵的。如果他不想让我去，也早点儿告诉我。我现在已经像热锅上的蚂蚁，急着要上路呢。我的女朋友和女邻居们都对我说，如果我和我女儿在京城春风得意，神气活现，那么，就是我丈夫靠我们出了名，而不是我们靠他出了名。那时候很多人肯定会问：‘车上的夫人是什么人？’我的佣人就会回答：‘是巴拉塔里亚岛总督桑乔•潘萨的夫人和女儿。’这样桑乔就出名了，我也身价倍增，反正我是豁出去了。
很抱歉，今年我们这儿橡子歉收。尽管如此，我还是为您送去半塞雷敏的橡子，这些都是我到山上一个一个捡来的，我捡的都是最大的。我很希望它们个个都像驼鸟蛋那么大。
请您务必给我写信，我也一定给您回信，告诉您我的身体状况和这儿的各种情况。我请求上帝保佑您，也保佑我。我的女儿桑奇卡和儿子吻您的手。我不仅愿意给您写信，而且更愿意见到您。
您的仆人
特雷莎•潘萨
大家听公爵夫人念完特雷莎•潘萨的这封信，都觉得很有意思，尤其是公爵和公爵夫人。公爵夫人问唐吉诃德，是否可以把特雷莎•潘萨给总督的信也打开看看，估计也非常有意思。唐吉诃德说他可以把信拆开，以飨众人。唐吉诃德把信拆开了，信是这样写的：
特雷莎•潘萨给丈夫桑乔•潘萨的信
我亲爱的桑乔，来信收到了。我向你保证，并且以一个基督教徒的身份发誓，我差点儿高兴得疯了。你听着，伙计，我一听说你成了总督，就高兴得以为自己快要死过去了。听说突如其来的喜悦也会像巨大的痛苦一样让人毙命。你女儿桑奇卡高兴得眼泪都出来了，可是她自己却不知道。你派人送来的衣服就在我眼前，公爵夫人送给我的珊瑚珠就挂在我脖子上，信就在我手上，信使就在我身旁。即使这样，我还是觉得我看到摸到的都是一场梦。谁能想到一个牧羊人能够成为岛屿的总督呢？你也知道，伙计，我母亲常说：“人活得长，才见识多。”我这么说是因为我想活得长，见得多，直到看见你成为税吏的时候。虽然那种差事干得不好会去见阎王，但他们手里总是有钱。女主人公爵夫人会向你转达我想去京城的愿望。你考虑一下，决定之后告诉我。我打算乘车去京城，为你争光。
神甫、理发师，甚至包括教堂司事，都不相信你当了总督，说这是一种哄骗或者魔法之类的事情，就像你主人唐吉诃德遇到的那些事情一样。参孙还说要去找你，把你头脑里的总督赶走，也除掉唐吉诃德脑袋里的疯狂。我对此只是一笑置之，然后看看自己的珊瑚珠，盘算着怎样把你的衣服给女儿穿。
我送给公爵夫人一点儿橡子，但愿它们都是最好的。如果那个岛上时兴珍珠项链，你给我带几串来。
咱们这儿的新闻就是贝鲁埃卡把她的女儿嫁给了一个糟糕的画家，他到咱们这儿来看看有什么好画的。村委会让他把国王的徽记画在村委会的门上。他要两个杜卡多，结果画了八天，什么也没画出来。他说他不善于画这种零七八碎的东西，又把钱还回来了。即使这样，他还是以画家的名义结了婚。实际上他已经不再画画儿了，而是拿起锄头下地干活，也算个正经人了。佩德罗•德洛沃的儿子已经准备出家当教士。明戈•西尔瓦托的孙女明吉利娅则要求他履行诺言，同自己结婚。有些碎嘴的人说她怀的孩子就是他的，可是他矢口否认。
今年油橄榄没有收成，全村找不到一滴醋。有一队士兵从咱们村路过，顺便带走了三个姑娘。我不想告诉你是哪三个人。也许她们还会回来。无论她们是不是有事，我想，肯定会有人愿意娶她们为妻。
桑奇卡织花边，每天可以挣八个马拉维迪。她把钱放在储钱罐里，以后可以补充她的嫁妆。不过，现在她已经是总督的女儿了，即使不干活，你也可以给她准备嫁妆了。广场上的泉眼干涸了，一个闪电击到山峰上，可是这些跟我又有什么关系呢！
我等着你的回信以及有关我去京城的决定。愿上帝保佑你比我活得更长，或者同我活得一样长，因为我不想让你单独留在这个世界上。
你的妻子
特雷莎•潘萨
大家对这两封信大加赞扬，谈笑不休。这时邮差又带来了桑乔给唐吉诃德的信，大家也把这封信念了一遍。于是人们对桑乔到底是否蠢笨开始怀疑了。公爵夫人退了出去，问了侍童有关他在桑乔家乡遇到的情况。侍童一五一十地讲了一遍，除了把橡子交给公爵夫人外，还呈上特雷莎送给她的一块奶酪。那块奶酪特别好，比特龙琼出产的奶酪还要好。公爵夫人非常高兴地收下了奶酪。我们暂且先不谈公爵夫人，而是去看看海岛总督的精英桑乔•潘萨如何结束他的总督任职吧。
Part 2 Chapter 53
To fancy that in this life anything belonging to it will remain for ever in the same state is an idle fancy; on the contrary, in it everything seems to go in a circle, I mean round and round. The spring succeeds the summer, the summer the fall, the fall the autumn, the autumn the winter, and the winter the spring, and so time rolls with never-ceasing wheel. Man’s life alone, swifter than time, speeds onward to its end without any hope of renewal, save it be in that other life which is endless and boundless. Thus saith Cide Hamete the Mahometan philosopher; for there are many that by the light of nature alone, without the light of faith, have a comprehension of the fleeting nature and instability of this present life and the endless duration of that eternal life we hope for; but our author is here speaking of the rapidity with which Sancho’s government came to an end, melted away, disappeared, vanished as it were in smoke and shadow. For as he lay in bed on the night of the seventh day of his government, sated, not with bread and wine, but with delivering judgments and giving opinions and making laws and proclamations, just as sleep, in spite of hunger, was beginning to close his eyelids, he heard such a noise of bell-ringing and shouting that one would have fancied the whole island was going to the bottom. He sat up in bed and remained listening intently to try if he could make out what could be the cause of so great an uproar; not only, however, was he unable to discover what it was, but as countless drums and trumpets now helped to swell the din of the bells and shouts, he was more puzzled than ever, and filled with fear and terror; and getting up he put on a pair of slippers because of the dampness of the floor, and without throwing a dressing gown or anything of the kind over him he rushed out of the door of his room, just in time to see approaching along a corridor a band of more than twenty persons with lighted torches and naked swords in their hands, all shouting out, “To arms, to arms, senor governor, to arms! The enemy is in the island in countless numbers, and we are lost unless your skill and valour come to our support.”
Keeping up this noise, tumult, and uproar, they came to where Sancho stood dazed and bewildered by what he saw and heard, and as they approached one of them called out to him, “Arm at once, your lordship, if you would not have yourself destroyed and the whole island lost.”
“What have I to do with arming?” said Sancho. “What do I know about arms or supports? Better leave all that to my master Don Quixote, who will settle it and make all safe in a trice; for I, sinner that I am, God help me, don’t understand these scuffles.”
“Ah, senor governor,” said another, “what slackness of mettle this is! Arm yourself; here are arms for you, offensive and defensive; come out to the plaza and be our leader and captain; it falls upon you by right, for you are our governor.”
“Arm me then, in God’s name,” said Sancho, and they at once produced two large shields they had come provided with, and placed them upon him over his shirt, without letting him put on anything else, one shield in front and the other behind, and passing his arms through openings they had made, they bound him tight with ropes, so that there he was walled and boarded up as straight as a spindle and unable to bend his knees or stir a single step. In his hand they placed a lance, on which he leant to keep himself from falling, and as soon as they had him thus fixed they bade him march forward and lead them on and give them all courage; for with him for their guide and lamp and morning star, they were sure to bring their business to a successful issue.
 
“How am I to march, unlucky being that I am?” said Sancho, “when I can’t stir my knee-caps, for these boards I have bound so tight to my body won’t let me. What you must do is carry me in your arms, and lay me across or set me upright in some postern, and I’ll hold it either with this lance or with my body.”
“On, senor governor!” cried another, “it is fear more than the boards that keeps you from moving; make haste, stir yourself, for there is no time to lose; the enemy is increasing in numbers, the shouts grow louder, and the danger is pressing.”
Urged by these exhortations and reproaches the poor governor made an attempt to advance, but fell to the ground with such a crash that he fancied he had broken himself all to pieces. There he lay like a tortoise enclosed in its shell, or a side of bacon between two kneading-troughs, or a boat bottom up on the beach; nor did the gang of jokers feel any compassion for him when they saw him down; so far from that, extinguishing their torches they began to shout afresh and to renew the calls to arms with such energy, trampling on poor Sancho, and slashing at him over the shield with their swords in such a way that, if he had not gathered himself together and made himself small and drawn in his head between the shields, it would have fared badly with the poor governor, as, squeezed into that narrow compass, he lay, sweating and sweating again, and commending himself with all his heart to God to deliver him from his present peril. Some stumbled over him, others fell upon him, and one there was who took up a position on top of him for some time, and from thence as if from a watchtower issued orders to the troops, shouting out, “Here, our side! Here the enemy is thickest! Hold the breach there! Shut that gate! Barricade those ladders! Here with your stink-pots of pitch and resin, and kettles of boiling oil! Block the streets with feather beds!” In short, in his ardour he mentioned every little thing, and every implement and engine of war by means of which an assault upon a city is warded off, while the bruised and battered Sancho, who heard and suffered all, was saying to himself, “O if it would only please the Lord to let the island be lost at once, and I could see myself either dead or out of this torture!” Heaven heard his prayer, and when he least expected it he heard voices exclaiming, “Victory, victory! The enemy retreats beaten! Come, senor governor, get up, and come and enjoy the victory, and divide the spoils that have been won from the foe by the might of that invincible arm.”
“Lift me up,” said the wretched Sancho in a woebegone voice. They helped him to rise, and as soon as he was on his feet said, “The enemy I have beaten you may nail to my forehead; I don’t want to divide the spoils of the foe, I only beg and entreat some friend, if I have one, to give me a sup of wine, for I’m parched with thirst, and wipe me dry, for I’m turning to water.”
They rubbed him down, fetched him wine and unbound the shields, and he seated himself upon his bed, and with fear, agitation, and fatigue he fainted away. Those who had been concerned in the joke were now sorry they had pushed it so far; however, the anxiety his fainting away had caused them was relieved by his returning to himself. He asked what o’clock it was; they told him it was just daybreak. He said no more, and in silence began to dress himself, while all watched him, waiting to see what the haste with which he was putting on his clothes meant.
 
He got himself dressed at last, and then, slowly, for he was sorely bruised and could not go fast, he proceeded to the stable, followed by all who were present, and going up to Dapple embraced him and gave him a loving kiss on the forehead, and said to him, not without tears in his eyes, “Come along, comrade and friend and partner of my toils and sorrows; when I was with you and had no cares to trouble me except mending your harness and feeding your little carcass, happy were my hours, my days, and my years; but since I left you, and mounted the towers of ambition and pride, a thousand miseries, a thousand troubles, and four thousand anxieties have entered into my soul;” and all the while he was speaking in this strain he was fixing the pack-saddle on the ass, without a word from anyone. Then having Dapple saddled, he, with great pain and difficulty, got up on him, and addressing himself to the majordomo, the secretary, the head-carver, and Pedro Recio the doctor and several others who stood by, he said, “Make way, gentlemen, and let me go back to my old freedom; let me go look for my past life, and raise myself up from this present death. I was not born to be a governor or protect islands or cities from the enemies that choose to attack them. Ploughing and digging, vinedressing and pruning, are more in my way than defending provinces or kingdoms. ‘Saint Peter is very well at Rome; I mean each of us is best following the trade he was born to. A reaping-hook fits my hand better than a governor’s sceptre; I’d rather have my fill of gazpacho’ than be subject to the misery of a meddling doctor who me with hunger, and I’d rather lie in summer under the shade of an oak, and in winter wrap myself in a double sheepskin jacket in freedom, than go to bed between holland sheets and dress in sables under the restraint of a government. God be with your worships, and tell my lord the duke that ‘naked I was born, naked I find myself, I neither lose nor gain;’ I mean that without a farthing I came into this government, and without a farthing I go out of it, very different from the way governors commonly leave other islands. Stand aside and let me go; I have to plaster myself, for I believe every one of my ribs is crushed, thanks to the enemies that have been trampling over me to-night.”
“That is unnecessary, senor governor,” said Doctor Recio, “for I will give your worship a draught against falls and bruises that will soon make you as sound and strong as ever; and as for your diet I promise your worship to behave better, and let you eat plentifully of whatever you like.”
“You spoke late,” said Sancho. “I’d as soon turn Turk as stay any longer. Those jokes won’t pass a second time. By God I’d as soon remain in this government, or take another, even if it was offered me between two plates, as fly to heaven without wings. I am of the breed of the Panzas, and they are every one of them obstinate, and if they once say ‘odds,’ odds it must be, no matter if it is evens, in spite of all the world. Here in this stable I leave the ant’s wings that lifted me up into the air for the swifts and other birds to eat me, and let’s take to level ground and our feet once more; and if they’re not shod in pinked shoes of cordovan, they won’t want for rough sandals of hemp; ‘every ewe to her like,’ ‘and let no one stretch his leg beyond the length of the sheet;’ and now let me pass, for it’s growing late with me.”
To this the majordomo said, “Senor governor, we would let your worship go with all our hearts, though it sorely grieves us to lose you, for your wit and Christian conduct naturally make us regret you; but it is well known that every governor, before he leaves the place where he has been governing, is bound first of all to render an account. Let your worship do so for the ten days you have held the government, and then you may go and the peace of God go with you.”
“No one can demand it of me,” said Sancho, “but he whom my lord the duke shall appoint; I am going to meet him, and to him I will render an exact one; besides, when I go forth naked as I do, there is no other proof needed to show that I have governed like an angel.”
“By God the great Sancho is right,” said Doctor Recio, “and we should let him go, for the duke will be beyond measure glad to see him.”
They all agreed to this, and allowed him to go, first offering to bear him company and furnish him with all he wanted for his own comfort or for the journey. Sancho said he did not want anything more than a little barley for Dapple, and half a cheese and half a loaf for himself; for the distance being so short there was no occasion for any better or bulkier provant. They all embraced him, and he with tears embraced all of them, and left them filled with admiration not only at his remarks but at his firm and sensible resolution.
 
“若想让生活中的事物永远保持永恒不变的状态，那只能是一种妄想。相反，人们应该想到一切都是循环往复的：春去夏来，夏过秋至，秋往冬到，冬逝春临，时间就是如此循环不已的。只有人的生命有其尽头，而且赛过日月穿梭，除非在天国英灵长存，否则永远不得复生。”这是伊斯兰哲学家锡德•哈迈德的话，让人懂得了人生如梦，永存只是一种企盼。人们不必靠信仰指点，只靠自己天生的感应就能领悟到这一点。我们作者的这段话只是想说明桑乔当总督不过是过眼烟云，转瞬即逝。
这是桑乔当总督的第七天晚上。他在床上躺着，不仅因为面包没饱酒未足，而且因为忙于批文审卷，制定法规法令，所以困意袭来，虽然饥肠辘辘，眼皮还是慢慢地合上了。这时，忽然响起了巨大的钟声和喊声，似乎整个岛屿都要沉陷下去了。桑乔从床上坐起来，仔细倾听着，想辨明究竟发生了什么事，外面竟这样乱哄哄的。可是他不仅没把骚乱的原因搞清楚，反而听到除了喊声和钟声之外，还增加了号角声和鼓声。于是桑乔更加慌乱了，恐惧万分。他赶紧下地。地上潮，他穿上拖鞋，来不及披上外衣，就跑出门外，恰巧看见二十多个人手里拿着火炬和剑跑过来，边跑边大声喊道：
“拿起武器，赶快拿起武器，总督大人！已经有无数敌人上了咱们的岛，如果您不用您的智慧和勇气拯救我们，我们就完了！”
桑乔面对这些喊声和狂乱感到惊慌失措，目瞪口呆。这时，有人跑到他身边对他说：
“大人，如果您不想完蛋，不想让这座岛完蛋，就赶紧拿起武器！”
“我有什么武器呀，我又能帮你们干什么呢？”桑乔说，“这种事情最好让我的主人唐吉诃德去做，他三下五除二就可以完事大吉。我这个上帝的罪人，对这些事情一窍不通呀。”
“哎呀，总督大人，”另一个人说，“您怎么这么窝囊呀！我们给您带来了进攻和防御的武器，您赶紧拿起武器。带领我们杀敌吧。您是我们的总督，这是您的份内之事。”
“那就给我武器吧。”桑乔说。
于是，有人立刻给他拿来两个大盾牌①，一前一后地扣在他的衬衣上，来不及让他再套一件外衣，就从盾牌的凹处把桑乔的胳膊掏出来，用绳子把盾牌牢牢地捆在桑乔身上，弄得桑乔像根木头似的直直地站在那儿，既不能弯腿，也不能挪步。有人往桑乔手里塞了一根长矛，让他当拐棍撑着，以免跌倒。弄好以后，大家让桑乔在前面带路，给大家鼓劲，说他是北极星、指路灯、启明星，有了他一定会取得最后的成功。
①一种可以遮挡全身的长盾牌。
“可是，”桑乔说，“我觉得真别扭，两块盾牌捆在我身上，膝盖动弹不得，我怎么走得了路呢？你们把我抬着或者架着弄到道口去，让我用我的长矛或者我的身体守住道口吧。”
“行了，总督，”另一个人说，“是恐惧而不是盾牌让您迈不开步子。您快点挪步吧，否则就晚了。敌人越来越多，喊声越来越大，危险也更大了。”
大家连劝带骂，可怜的总督只好试着挪动步子，结果一下子重重地摔倒在地上，他还以为自己摔成了几块呢。桑乔趴在地上，就像一只缩在龟壳里的乌龟，像半扇夹在木槽中的腌猪肉，或者像一只扣在沙滩上的小船。那些拿桑乔开心的人并没有因为看到他倒在地上而生出一点儿怜悯之心，相反却熄灭了火把，又重新提高了嗓门，不断喊着“拿起武器”，在他身上快速地跑来跑去，而且用剑向他身上的盾牌不断地刺。若是桑乔没有把头缩在两个盾牌之间，他可就遭了大殃了。桑乔蜷缩在两块盾牌之间，大汗淋漓，一心只求上帝保佑他脱险。有的人被桑乔绊倒，有的人摔倒在他身上，还有人竟在他身上站了半天，拿他的身体当瞭望台，一边指挥着队伍一边大声喊道：
“现在全看我们了，让敌人都往这儿来吧！守住那个缺口！关上那座大门！截断那个楼梯！赶紧上燃烧罐！把松脂放到油锅里去煮！用垫子把那几条通道堵住！”
那个人把守城时能够用得着的术语和武器弹药都起劲地数了一遍，被压在下面的桑乔浑身疼痛，心里说道：“哎哟，但愿上帝保佑，让这个岛赶紧失守吧，让我赶紧死掉或者赶紧摆脱这场苦难吧！”老天听到了他的请求，桑乔出乎意料地听见人们在喊：
“胜利了！胜利了！敌人被打败了！噢，总督大人，您赶紧起来，享受胜利的欢乐吧。靠您战无不胜的勇气，我们从敌人那儿得到了不少战利品，您把这些战利品给大家分了吧！”
“你们把我扶起来。”浑身疼痛的桑乔痛苦地说道。
大家把他扶了起来，桑乔站好后说道：
“我可不相信我打死了某个敌人，我也不想去分配从敌人那里夺来的战利品。如果有谁还同我是朋友，就请这位朋友给我一口葡萄酒吧，我快要渴死了，再帮我擦擦汗吧，我浑身都湿透了。”
大家给桑乔擦了擦汗，给他拿来葡萄酒，又把他身上的盾牌解了下来。桑乔连惊带吓，坐在盾牌上竟昏了过去。于是大家都为恶作剧搞得太过火而发慌了。不过，桑乔马上又苏醒过来，大家这才放了心。桑乔问现在是什么时候，大家说是凌晨。桑乔一声不响地开始穿衣服。大家也都默不作声地看他穿衣服，看他这么早穿上衣服到底要干什么。桑乔穿好了衣服，慢慢地走向马厩。他浑身疼痛，根本走不快。大家都跟在他后面，只见他走到他的驴前，亲热地吻了一下驴的额头，噙着眼泪对驴说道：
“来吧，我的伙计，我的朋友，与我同苦共难的伙伴，我同你在一起的时候，只想着别忘了给你修补你的鞍具，喂饱你的肚子。对于我来说，那些时光、那些年月都是幸福的。可是自从我离开了你，爬上了野心和狂妄的高塔之后，心中却增加了数不尽的苦恼和不安。”
桑乔一边说一边给他的驴套上驮鞍，旁边的人都一言不发。套好驮鞍后，桑乔十分伤心地骑了上去，嘴里对管家、文书、餐厅侍者、佩德罗•雷西奥大夫和其他人嘟哝着。他说道：
“请让开路吧，诸位大人，让我回到往日自由自在的生活里去吧，让我去寻找往日那种生活，使我从现在这种死亡中复生吧。我生来就不是当总督的料，敌人向我们进攻的时候，我却不能带着大家保卫岛屿和城市。我更善于耕田锄地，修剪葡萄枝，压葡萄蔓，而不是颁布命令，也不懂得保卫辖区或王国的事。‘维持现状，再好不过’，我是说每个人生来就注定了干什么。我一把镰刀在手，胜过握着总督的权杖；我宁愿饱饱地喝一顿冷汤，也不愿忍受一个劣等医生的折磨，那样非把我饿死不可；我宁愿夏日躺在圣栎树的树荫下，冬天穿着只有几根毛的羊皮袄，逍遥自在地生活，也不愿床上铺着白亚麻细布，身上穿着紫貂皮大衣当总督。再见吧，诸位大人，请告诉公爵大人，我来去赤条条，不多也不少，我的意思是说，我来当总督的时候身无分文，离开总督职务时也两袖清风，与其他岛屿总督离任时的情况完全相反。请你们靠边点儿，让我过去，我要去上点儿膏药。我觉得肋骨疼得厉害，这全是敌人晚上在我身上踩的。”
“您不必这样，总督大人。”雷西奥大夫说，“我给您一点治摔伤的汤药，您喝了以后很快就会精力充沛如初。至于吃的，我向您保证一定改正，让您想吃什么就痛痛快快吃个够。”
“晚矣！”桑乔说，“想让我留下来，那是不可能的事。这种捉弄已经不是一两回了。我向上帝发誓，当总督的事情仅此一回，以后就是再大张旗鼓地请我，也休想叫我当总督了。我们潘萨家族的人都很固执，说不行就是不行，怎么说也不行。让蚂蚁的翅膀留在马厩里吧，就是这副翅膀，把我带到了天空，想让燕子或其他鸟儿把我吃掉。还是让我回到陆地上踏踏实实地走路吧。即使这双脚没有网眼羊皮鞋①，至少我不缺草鞋穿。物以类聚，人以群分，谁也别想跑出自己那个圈儿去。还是让我过去吧，已经晚了。”
①这种鞋曾一度在贵族中流行。
管家说道：“总督大人，尽管我们非常惋惜，但我们还是会痛痛快快地放您过去。您机智灵敏，品行端正，我们也愿意放您走。可是大家都知道，每个总督在离任之前都有责任谈谈自己这段时间的工作情况。那么，您就谈谈您当这十天总督的情况，然后您爱到哪儿就到哪儿去吧。”
“除了公爵大人，谁也不能要求我做什么。”桑乔说，“待我见到公爵大人，我会向他如实禀告的。况且，我走时两袖清风，这就足以说明我这个总督当得多好了。”
“我向上帝发誓，”雷西奥大夫说，“桑乔说得很对。我觉得咱们现在可以让他走了，公爵大人现在也一定很想见到他。”
大家都同意让桑乔走，而且愿意送他一段路，再送他一些礼物和路上需要的东西。桑乔说他只需要一点儿喂驴的大麦和他自己吃的半个面包。路并不远，所以没必要多带，也最好别带那么多东西。大家拥抱了桑乔，桑乔含泪拥抱了大家，然后离去。大家对桑乔那番议论和他果断而又明智的决定表示钦佩。
Part 2 Chapter 54
The duke and duchess resolved that the challenge Don Quixote had, for the reason already mentioned, given their vassal, should be proceeded with; and as the young man was in Flanders, whither he had fled to escape having Dona Rodriguez for a mother-in-law, they arranged to substitute for him a Gascon lacquey, named Tosilos, first of all carefully instructing him in all he had to do. Two days later the duke told Don Quixote that in four days from that time his opponent would present himself on the field of battle armed as a knight, and would maintain that the damsel lied by half a beard, nay a whole beard, if she affirmed that he had given her a promise of marriage. Don Quixote was greatly pleased at the news, and promised himself to do wonders in the lists, and reckoned it rare good fortune that an opportunity should have offered for letting his noble hosts see what the might of his strong arm was capable of; and so in high spirits and satisfaction he awaited the expiration of the four days, which measured by his impatience seemed spinning themselves out into four hundred ages. Let us leave them to pass as we do other things, and go and bear Sancho company, as mounted on Dapple, half glad, half sad, he paced along on his road to join his master, in whose society he was happier than in being governor of all the islands in the world. Well then, it so happened that before he had gone a great way from the island of his government (and whether it was island, city, town, or village that he governed he never troubled himself to inquire) he saw coming along the road he was travelling six pilgrims with staves, foreigners of that sort that beg for alms singing; who as they drew near arranged themselves in a line and lifting up their voices all together began to sing in their own language something that Sancho could not with the exception of one word which sounded plainly “alms,” from which he gathered that it was alms they asked for in their song; and being, as Cide Hamete says, remarkably charitable, he took out of his alforias the half loaf and half cheese he had been provided with, and gave them to them, explaining to them by signs that he had nothing else to give them. They received them very gladly, but exclaimed, “Geld! Geld!”
“I don’t understand what you want of me, good people,” said Sancho.
On this one of them took a purse out of his bosom and showed it to Sancho, by which he comprehended they were asking for money, and putting his thumb to his throat and spreading his hand upwards he gave them to understand that he had not the sign of a coin about him, and urging Dapple forward he broke through them. But as he was passing, one of them who had been examining him very closely rushed towards him, and flinging his arms round him exclaimed in a loud voice and good Spanish, “God bless me! What’s this I see? Is it possible that I hold in my arms my dear friend, my good neighbour Sancho Panza? But there’s no doubt about it, for I’m not asleep, nor am I drunk just now.”
Sancho was surprised to hear himself called by his name and find himself embraced by a foreign pilgrim, and after regarding him steadily without speaking he was still unable to recognise him; but the pilgrim perceiving his perplexity cried, “What! and is it possible, Sancho Panza, that thou dost not know thy neighbour Ricote, the Morisco shopkeeper of thy village?”
Sancho upon this looking at him more carefully began to recall his features, and at last recognised him perfectly, and without getting off the ass threw his arms round his neck saying, “Who the devil could have known thee, Ricote, in this mummer’s dress thou art in? Tell me, who bas frenchified thee, and how dost thou dare to return to Spain, where if they catch thee and recognise thee it will go hard enough with thee?”
“If thou dost not betray me, Sancho,” said the pilgrim, “I am safe; for in this dress no one will recognise me; but let us turn aside out of the road into that grove there where my comrades are going to eat and rest, and thou shalt eat with them there, for they are very good fellows; I’ll have time enough to tell thee then all that has happened me since I left our village in obedience to his Majesty’s edict that threatened such severities against the unfortunate people of my nation, as thou hast heard.”
Sancho complied, and Ricote having spoken to the other pilgrims they withdrew to the grove they saw, turning a considerable distance out of the road. They threw down their staves, took off their pilgrim’s cloaks and remained in their under-clothing; they were all good-looking young fellows, except Ricote, who was a man somewhat advanced in years. They carried alforjas all of them, and all apparently well filled, at least with things provocative of thirst, such as would summon it from two leagues off. They stretched themselves on the ground, and making a tablecloth of the grass they spread upon it bread, salt, knives, walnut, scraps of cheese, and well-picked ham-bones which if they were past gnawing were not past sucking. They also put down a black dainty called, they say, caviar, and made of the eggs of fish, a great thirst-wakener. Nor was there any lack of olives, dry, it is true, and without any seasoning, but for all that toothsome and pleasant. But what made the best show in the field of the banquet was half a dozen botas of wine, for each of them produced his own from his alforjas; even the good Ricote, who from a Morisco had transformed himself into a German or Dutchman, took out his, which in size might have vied with the five others. They then began to eat with very great relish and very leisurely, making the most of each morsel — very small ones of everything — they took up on the point of the knife; and then all at the same moment raised their arms and botas aloft, the mouths placed in their mouths, and all eyes fixed on heaven just as if they were taking aim at it; and in this attitude they remained ever so long, wagging their heads from side to side as if in acknowledgment of the pleasure they were enjoying while they decanted the bowels of the bottles into their own stomachs.
Sancho beheld all, “and nothing gave him pain;” so far from that, acting on the proverb he knew so well, “when thou art at Rome do as thou seest,” he asked Ricote for his bota and took aim like the rest of them, and with not less enjoyment. Four times did the botas bear being uplifted, but the fifth it was all in vain, for they were drier and more sapless than a rush by that time, which made the jollity that had been kept up so far begin to flag.
Every now and then some one of them would grasp Sancho’s right hand in his own saying, “Espanoli y Tudesqui tuto uno: bon compano;” and Sancho would answer, “Bon compano, jur a Di!” and then go off into a fit of laughter that lasted an hour, without a thought for the moment of anything that had befallen him in his government; for cares have very little sway over us while we are eating and drinking. At length, the wine having come to an end with them, drowsiness began to come over them, and they dropped asleep on their very table and tablecloth. Ricote and Sancho alone remained awake, for they had eaten more and drunk less, and Ricote drawing Sancho aside, they seated themselves at the foot of a beech, leaving the pilgrims buried in sweet sleep; and without once falling into his own Morisco tongue Ricote spoke as follows in pure Castilian:
“Thou knowest well, neighbour and friend Sancho Panza, how the proclamation or edict his Majesty commanded to be issued against those of my nation filled us all with terror and dismay; me at least it did, insomuch that I think before the time granted us for quitting Spain was out, the full force of the penalty had already fallen upon me and upon my children. I decided, then, and I think wisely (just like one who knows that at a certain date the house he lives in will be taken from him, and looks out beforehand for another to change into), I decided, I say, to leave the town myself, alone and without my family, and go to seek out some place to remove them to comfortably and not in the hurried way in which the others took their departure; for I saw very plainly, and so did all the older men among us, that the proclamations were not mere threats, as some said, but positive enactments which would be enforced at the appointed time; and what made me believe this was what I knew of the base and extravagant designs which our people harboured, designs of such a nature that I think it was a divine inspiration that moved his Majesty to carry out a resolution so spirited; not that we were all guilty, for some there were true and steadfast Christians; but they were so few that they could make no head against those who were not; and it was not prudent to cherish a viper in the bosom by having enemies in the house. In short it was with just cause that we were visited with the penalty of banishment, a mild and lenient one in the eyes of some, but to us the most terrible that could be inflicted upon us. Wherever we are we weep for Spain; for after all we were born there and it is our natural fatherland. Nowhere do we find the reception our unhappy condition needs; and in Barbary and all the parts of Africa where we counted upon being received, succoured, and welcomed, it is there they insult and ill-treat us most. We knew not our good fortune until we lost it; and such is the longing we almost all of us have to return to Spain, that most of those who like myself know the language, and there are many who do, come back to it and leave their wives and children forsaken yonder, so great is their love for it; and now I know by experience the meaning of the saying, sweet is the love of one’s country.
“I left our village, as I said, and went to France, but though they gave us a kind reception there I was anxious to see all I could. I crossed into Italy, and reached Germany, and there it seemed to me we might live with more freedom, as the inhabitants do not pay any attention to trifling points; everyone lives as he likes, for in most parts they enjoy liberty of conscience. I took a house in a town near Augsburg, and then joined these pilgrims, who are in the habit of coming to Spain in great numbers every year to visit the shrines there, which they look upon as their Indies and a sure and certain source of gain. They travel nearly all over it, and there is no town out of which they do not go full up of meat and drink, as the saying is, and with a real, at least, in money, and they come off at the end of their travels with more than a hundred crowns saved, which, changed into gold, they smuggle out of the kingdom either in the hollow of their staves or in the patches of their pilgrim’s cloaks or by some device of their own, and carry to their own country in spite of the guards at the posts and passes where they are searched. Now my purpose is, Sancho, to carry away the treasure that I left buried, which, as it is outside the town, I shall be able to do without risk, and to write, or cross over from Valencia, to my daughter and wife, who I know are at Algiers, and find some means of bringing them to some French port and thence to Germany, there to await what it may be God’s will to do with us; for, after all, Sancho, I know well that Ricota my daughter and Francisca Ricota my wife are Catholic Christians, and though I am not so much so, still I am more of a Christian than a Moor, and it is always my prayer to God that he will open the eyes of my understanding and show me how I am to serve him; but what amazes me and I cannot understand is why my wife and daughter should have gone to Barbary rather than to France, where they could live as Christians.”
To this Sancho replied, “Remember, Ricote, that may not have been open to them, for Juan Tiopieyo thy wife’s brother took them, and being a true Moor he went where he could go most easily; and another thing I can tell thee, it is my belief thou art going in vain to look for what thou hast left buried, for we heard they took from thy brother-in-law and thy wife a great quantity of pearls and money in gold which they brought to be passed.”
“That may be,” said Ricote; “but I know they did not touch my hoard, for I did not tell them where it was, for fear of accidents; and so, if thou wilt come with me, Sancho, and help me to take it away and conceal it, I will give thee two hundred crowns wherewith thou mayest relieve thy necessities, and, as thou knowest, I know they are many.”
“I would do it,” said Sancho; “but I am not at all covetous, for I gave up an office this morning in which, if I was, I might have made the walls of my house of gold and dined off silver plates before six months were over; and so for this reason, and because I feel I would be guilty of treason to my king if I helped his enemies, I would not go with thee if instead of promising me two hundred crowns thou wert to give me four hundred here in hand.”
“And what office is this thou hast given up, Sancho?” asked Ricote.
“I have given up being governor of an island,” said Sancho, “and such a one, faith, as you won’t find the like of easily.”
“And where is this island?” said Ricote.
“Where?” said Sancho; “two leagues from here, and it is called the island of Barataria.”
“Nonsense! Sancho,” said Ricote; “islands are away out in the sea; there are no islands on the mainland.”
“What? No islands!” said Sancho; “I tell thee, friend Ricote, I left it this morning, and yesterday I was governing there as I pleased like a sagittarius; but for all that I gave it up, for it seemed to me a dangerous office, a governor’s .”
“And what hast thou gained by the government?” asked Ricote.
“I have gained,” said Sancho, “the knowledge that I am no good for governing, unless it is a drove of cattle, and that the riches that are to be got by these governments are got at the cost of one’s rest and sleep, ay and even one’s food; for in islands the governors must eat little, especially if they have doctors to look after their health.”
“I don’t understand thee, Sancho,” said Ricote; “but it seems to me all nonsense thou art talking. Who would give thee islands to govern? Is there any scarcity in the world of cleverer men than thou art for governors? Hold thy peace, Sancho, and come back to thy senses, and consider whether thou wilt come with me as I said to help me to take away treasure I left buried (for indeed it may be called a treasure, it is so large), and I will give thee wherewithal to keep thee, as I told thee.”
“And I have told thee already, Ricote, that I will not,” said Sancho; “let it content thee that by me thou shalt not be betrayed, and go thy way in God’s name and let me go mine; for I know that well-gotten gain may be lost, but ill-gotten gain is lost, itself and its owner likewise.”
“I will not press thee, Sancho,” said Ricote; “but tell me, wert thou in our village when my wife and daughter and brother-in-law left it?”
“I was so,” said Sancho; “and I can tell thee thy daughter left it looking so lovely that all the village turned out to see her, and everybody said she was the fairest creature in the world. She wept as she went, and embraced all her friends and acquaintances and those who came out to see her, and she begged them all to commend her to God and Our Lady his mother, and this in such a touching way that it made me weep myself, though I’m not much given to tears commonly; and, faith, many a one would have liked to hide her, or go out and carry her off on the road; but the fear of going against the king’s command kept them back. The one who showed himself most moved was Don Pedro Gregorio, the rich young heir thou knowest of, and they say he was deep in love with her; and since she left he has not been seen in our village again, and we all suspect he has gone after her to steal her away, but so far nothing has been heard of it.”
“I always had a suspicion that gentleman had a passion for my daughter,” said Ricote; “but as I felt sure of my Ricota’s virtue it gave me no uneasiness to know that he loved her; for thou must have heard it said, Sancho, that the Morisco women seldom or never engage in amours with the old Christians; and my daughter, who I fancy thought more of being a Christian than of lovemaking, would not trouble herself about the attentions of this heir.”
“God grant it,” said Sancho, “for it would be a bad business for both of them; but now let me be off, friend Ricote, for I want to reach where my master Don Quixote is to-night.”
“God be with thee, brother Sancho,” said Ricote; “my comrades are beginning to stir, and it is time, too, for us to continue our journey;” and then they both embraced, and Sancho mounted Dapple, and Ricote leant upon his staff, and so they parted.
 
公爵和公爵夫人决定让唐吉诃德同他们的臣民进行决斗，其起因前面已经提到过了。那个小伙子不愿意同唐娜罗德里格斯的女儿结婚，已经跑到佛兰德去了。于是公爵和公爵夫人商定，让他们的一个仆人顶替那个小伙子。仆人是加斯科尼人，名叫托西洛斯。公爵和公爵夫人详细地告诉他应该如何如何做。两天之后，公爵告诉唐吉诃德，那个小伙子坚持说，若说他答应过同那个姑娘结婚，那就是姑娘睁着眼睛说谎话，而且是弥天大谎，所以，他准备四天之后以武装骑士的身份前来决斗。唐吉诃德听到这个消息后十分高兴，自信这回可以大显身手了。他把这次决斗当成向公爵和公爵夫人显示其勇敢臂膀的力量之天赐良机，焦急而又兴奋地等了四天，就好像过了四个世纪似的。
咱们暂且把唐吉诃德放在一边，去看看桑乔吧。桑乔悲喜交加地骑着他的驴赶路，来找他的主人，觉得能同唐吉诃德在一起比当岛屿总督还让他高兴。
桑乔走出他当总督的那个岛屿不远（其实桑乔从来没搞清，他当总督的那个地方到底是岛屿还是城市、乡镇或其他什么地方），看见迎面走来六个拿着长拐杖的朝圣者，也就是那种唱着歌乞讨的外国人。那几个人走到桑乔面前，一字排开，提高了嗓门，用他们自己的语言唱起了歌。桑乔听不懂，只有一个词他能理解，那就是“施舍”，于是他明白了，那几个人只不过是想要施舍。就像锡德•哈迈德说的，桑乔是个非常慈善的人，从褡裢里拿出了半块面包和半块奶酪递给他们，并且比划着告诉他们，自己没有其他东西可给了。那几个人高兴地接过东西说道：
“盖尔特①！盖尔特！”
①盖尔特是德语单词“钱”的译音。
“几位好人，”桑乔说，“我不明白你们要什么东西。”
其中一个人从怀里掏出一个口袋让桑乔看，桑乔这才明白他们要的是钱。桑乔用大拇指顶着自己的喉咙，摊开两手，意思是说他没有一文钱，然后便催驴冲了过去。就在他冲过去的一刹那，那几个人当中的一位仔细看了他一下，立刻扑过来双手抱住他的腰，用非常地道的西班牙语高声喊道：“上帝保佑！我看见谁了？我抱住的不就是我尊贵的朋友，我的好邻居桑乔•潘萨吗？对，肯定是他，我现在既不是在做梦，也没有喝醉。”
桑乔听到有人喊他的名字，还抱住他的腰，十分惊奇。他一句话也没说，仔细地看了那人一会儿，仍然没有认出他是谁。那个人见桑乔还在发愣，便对他说道：
“桑乔兄弟，你怎么连你的邻居，摩尔人店主里科特都认不出来了？”
桑乔再仔细看看，才慢慢认出确实是那个人。桑乔骑在驴上，抱着那人的脖子说：
“你穿这身小丑的打扮，里科特，哪个鬼能认出你呀！告诉我，谁把你变成外国佬了？你怎么还敢回到西班牙来？假如有人遇到你，认出你，你可就麻烦了。”
“只要你不说出去，桑乔，”那个朝圣人说，“就冲这身打扮，我敢肯定没有谁能认出我来。咱们离开大路，到那片杨树林那儿去吧。我的几个同伴想在那儿吃点东西，休息一会儿。你也同他们一起吃，他们都是老实人。我可以给你讲讲我遵照皇上的谕旨①离开咱们村以后遇到的事情。那个法令可把我们这些倒霉的人害苦了，这你想必听说过。”
①西班牙历史上曾多次颁布法令，驱逐摩尔人出境。
桑乔同意了，里科特招呼同伴向离大路很远的那片杨树林走去。那几个人扔掉长拐杖，脱去披肩，原来除了里科特已经上了年纪之外，他们都是些很精神的小伙子。他们都带着褡裢。而且看上去都装着不少令人垂涎欲滴的东西。他们躺到地上，以青草为台布，摆上面包、刀叉、核桃、奶酪片，还有几根大骨头，虽然没什么肉可啃，却还可以吮一吮。还有一种黑色食物，据说叫鱼子酱，是用鱼子做的，很适合下酒。油橄榄也不少，尽管都已经干瘪，没腌过，但可以含着吃，味道也不错。不过，在这些食物里最引人注目的还是六个小酒囊，他们每人都在褡裢里带了一个。那个里科特也带了一个，他现在已从摩尔人变成德国人了。他把酒囊拿了出来，大小也和另外五个酒囊差不多。
他们开始极有兴致但又极从容地喝酒，仔细地品味着每一口酒；吃的东西也都是一点儿一点儿地用刀尖挑着吃。吃到一定时候，大家一齐抬起胳膊，举起酒囊，嘴对着酒囊口，眼睛看着天，仿佛在向天空瞄准，然后才左右摇着头，做出非常快意的样子，过了好一会儿才把酒囊里的酒喝到肚子里去。桑乔把这一切都看在眼里，可他并不感到难过，相反，他就像那句俗语常说的那样，来了个入乡随俗，向里科特要过酒囊，也像其他人一样瞄向天空，然后津津有味地把酒喝下去。
酒囊一共举了四次，要举第五次已经不可能了，酒囊里已经空空如也，令大家很扫兴。不过，他们还是不时地用自己的右手去握桑乔的手，嘴里还说着“西班牙人德国人，都是一家人，都是好兄弟”。桑乔也回答：“我向上帝发誓，都是好兄弟！”桑乔这样嘻嘻哈哈地笑了一个小时，把他当总督遇到的那些事情都忘得一干二净。人们在吃喝的时候一般都很少考虑事情。喝完酒后，困意又开始袭扰大家，大家就在他们刚才还当桌子和台布用的草地上睡着了。里科特和桑乔吃喝得比较少，所以还清醒。里科特拉着桑乔，来到一棵山毛榉树旁边坐下，让那几个人甜蜜地睡去。里科特讲摩尔人的语言当然没问题，可是他却用地地道道的西班牙语向桑乔说道：
“我的邻居和朋友桑乔，你很清楚，陛下颁布的那个驱逐我们的谕旨可把我们吓坏了，至少把我吓得够呛。还没到限定我们离开西班牙的时间，我和我的孩子们就已经受到严厉的惩治了。我觉得还是应该先安顿好再搬走，所有被限定时间离开他们居住的家园而搬到另一个地方去的人都是这么认为的。所以，我决定先一个人出去找好住的地方，然后再回来同家人一起搬出去。我清楚地看到，我们那儿的所有老人都看得很清楚，皇上的谕旨并不像有些人说的那样只是随便说说而已，而是不折不扣的法令，到了时间就一定会执行。我必须承认这个现实。我知道我们有些人曾有过恶毒的企图，皇上受了神灵的启示才作出这个英明的决定。可这并不是我们所有人都有罪，我们中间也有一些虚诚的基督徒。不过这种人毕竟是少数，大部分人与此相反，因而不能把敌人留在家里，把蛇留在怀里当然不行。
“反正我们遭驱逐是理所当然，罪有应得。有的人觉得驱逐我们还算轻的，可是对于我们来说，这已经是最严厉的惩罚了。我们无论到了什么地方，都因思念西班牙而哭泣，毕竟我们出生在西班牙，那里是我们的故乡。我们到处流浪，始终没有找到一个合适的地方。我们本来指望在柏培拉，在非洲的某个地方受到款待，可是偏偏那里的人最虐待我们。我们真是‘有福不懂享，失掉后方知’。我们都非常想回到西班牙来，其中很多人像我一样会讲西班牙语，他们已经回到了西班牙，而把老婆孩子留在外面无依无靠，他们太爱西班牙了。现在我才理解了人们常说的‘乡情最甜’的意思。我离开咱们村，去了法国。虽然我们在那儿受到了很好的招待，我还是想到处看看。我又经过意大利去了德国。我觉得在那儿生活得更自在些，那儿的居民不怎么小心眼儿，每个人都按照自己的意志生活，他们大部分人在思想上没有什么约束。
“我在奥古斯塔①附近找到了一所房子，并且在那儿遇到了这几个外国人。他们很多人都习惯了每年来一次西班牙，看看西班牙的教堂。他们把西班牙当成了他们的安乐园，每次都肯定能赚到不少钱，而且收入颇丰。他们几乎走遍了整个西班牙，而且每到一个地方，都是酒足饭饱，离开的时候手里至少有一个雷阿尔。等到走完西班牙，每个人都有一百多个杜卡多。他们把杜卡多换成金子，或者藏在长拐杖的筒里，或者藏在披肩的补丁里，或者用其他办法，把钱带出西班牙，送回他们国家去，尽管路上有层层关卡检查他们。桑乔，现在我想把我当初埋藏的财宝取出来。财宝埋在村外，所以去取不会有什么危险。我想写信或者取道瓦伦西亚去找我女儿和我老婆，我知道她们正在阿尔及尔。我正筹划如何把她们带到法国的某个港口，然后再把她们带到德国去，再往后就听天由命了。桑乔，我的确知道我女儿和我老婆是真正的基督徒。我虽然比不上她们，但也应该算基督徒而不是摩尔人了。我总是祈求上帝睁开眼睛，并且告诉我应该如何敬奉他。最让我感到意外的就是我不知道，我老婆和女儿为什么选择了柏培拉而没有去法国。她们是基督徒，完全可以在法国生活。”
①奥古斯塔即现在德国的奥格斯堡。
桑乔答道：
“你看，里科特，这件事大概由不得你，她们是由你老婆的兄弟胡安•蒂奥彼索带走的。他是个地道的摩尔人，当然要到最合适他的地方去。还有一件事我要告诉你，就是我估计你去找你埋藏的那些东西恐怕是徒劳。我们听说，你老婆和她兄弟带的很多珠宝和金钱都被检查出来没收了。”
“被没收了倒有可能，”里科特说，“不过桑乔，我知道我埋藏的那些东西他们没动，因为我怕出意外，没有告诉他们东西埋在哪儿了。桑乔，你如果愿意同我一起去，把埋的那些东西挖出来收好，我给你二百个盾。你可以添补些东西，我知道你现在很缺钱。”
“我即使陪你去，”桑乔说，“也决不为贪钱。如果我贪钱，凭我今天早晨放弃的一个官职，六个月前我就可以用金砖砌墙，用银盘吃饭了。我觉得同你一起去就等于背叛了国王，帮助了他的敌人。别说你答应给我二百个盾，就是你现在给我四百个盾，我也不去。”
“你放弃的是什么官职，桑乔？”里科特问。
“我放弃的官职是海岛的总督，”桑乔说，“说实在的，要想再找到那样的官职可就不容易了。”
“那个岛屿在什么地方？”里科特问。
“在哪儿？”桑乔说，“离这儿两西里地远，叫巴拉塔里亚岛。”
“别说了，桑乔，”里科特说，“岛屿都在海里，陆地上根本就没有岛屿。”
“怎么没有？”桑乔说，“我告诉你，里科特朋友，我今天早晨就是从那儿出来的。昨天，我还在那儿挺得意地当总督，干得蛮不错呢。不过，我觉得当总督有危险，所以不干了。”
“那你当总督得到什么好处了？”里科特问。
“得到的好处就是，”桑乔说，“知道了我不适合当总督，只配管一群牲畜；还有，就是当这类总督赚钱要以牺牲休息和睡眠甚至放弃吃饭为代价。因为在岛上，总督得吃得少，特别是在身边有保健医生的时候。”
“我不明白你说的是什么，”里科特说，“我觉得你讲的这些全是胡说八道。谁会把岛屿交给你，让你做总督呀？世界上难道就没人比你更有当总督的才干？别说了，桑乔，你还是先清醒清醒吧，看看你是不是愿意同我一起去，就像我刚才说的，帮我把埋在地下的财宝挖出来。说实话，那东西真不少，可以称得上是财宝了。我也说过了，我一定会给你报酬。”
“我已经对你说过了，里科特，”桑乔说，“我不想去。不过你放心，我不会告发你。你我趁早各赶各的路。我知道，好来的钱易丢，不好来的钱连钱带人一起完。”
“我也不想勉强你，桑乔，”里科特说，“不过你告诉我，我女儿、老婆和她兄弟离开时，你在村子里吗？”
“是的，我在。”桑乔说，“我还可以告诉你，你女儿离开的时候打扮得很漂亮，村里所有的人都出来看，大家都说你女儿是世界上最漂亮的人。她边走边哭，同她的女伴和相识的人拥抱。她请求所有前来看她的人祈求上帝和圣母保佑她。她说得那么伤心，连我这个不怎么爱哭的人都掉泪了。肯定有很多人想把她藏起来，或者在半路把她截回来，可是又怕违抗了国王的命令，只好罢休。最伤心的就是唐佩德罗•格雷戈里奥，就是你知道的那个很有钱的少爷，听说他非常喜欢你女儿。你女儿走后，他再也没有在村里露过面。大家都猜想他也跟着走了，想把你女儿抢回来。不过，到现在还没有听到任何消息。”
“我原来一直怀疑那个小伙子爱着我女儿。”里科特说，“不过我相信我的里科塔的品行，因此虽然知道他爱着我女儿，我并不担心。你也一定听说过，桑乔，很少有或者根本没有摩尔姑娘同笃信基督教的男子通婚的。我相信我女儿主要是因为她信奉基督教，而不是多情，所以她不会理睬那个殷勤的少爷。”
“但愿如此，”桑乔说，“否则双方都不好办。我该走了，里科特朋友，我想今天晚上赶到我主人唐吉诃德那儿去。”
“愿上帝保佑你，桑乔兄弟。我的伙伴们也快醒了，我们也得接着赶路了。”
两人相互拥抱，桑乔骑上驴，里科特拿起长拐杖，彼此分手。
Part 2 Chapter 55
The length of time he delayed with Ricote prevented Sancho from reaching the duke’s castle that day, though he was within half a league of it when night, somewhat dark and cloudy, overtook him. This, however, as it was summer time, did not give him much uneasiness, and he turned aside out of the road intending to wait for morning; but his ill luck and hard fate so willed it that as he was searching about for a place to make himself as comfortable as possible, he and Dapple fell into a deep dark hole that lay among some very old buildings. As he fell he commended himself with all his heart to God, fancying he was not going to stop until he reached the depths of the bottomless pit; but it did not turn out so, for at little more than thrice a man’s height Dapple touched bottom, and he found himself sitting on him without having received any hurt or damage whatever. He felt himself all over and held his breath to try whether he was quite sound or had a hole made in him anywhere, and finding himself all right and whole and in perfect health he was profuse in his thanks to God our Lord for the mercy that had been shown him, for he made sure he had been broken into a thousand pieces. He also felt along the sides of the pit with his hands to see if it were possible to get out of it without help, but he found they were quite smooth and afforded no hold anywhere, at which he was greatly distressed, especially when he heard how pathetically and dolefully Dapple was bemoaning himself, and no wonder he complained, nor was it from ill-temper, for in truth he was not in a very good case. “Alas,” said Sancho, “what unexpected accidents happen at every step to those who live in this miserable world! Who would have said that one who saw himself yesterday sitting on a throne, governor of an island, giving orders to his servants and his vassals, would see himself to-day buried in a pit without a soul to help him, or servant or vassal to come to his relief? Here must we perish with hunger, my ass and myself, if indeed we don’t die first, he of his bruises and injuries, and I of grief and sorrow. At any rate I’ll not be as lucky as my master Don Quixote of La Mancha, when he went down into the cave of that enchanted Montesinos, where he found people to make more of him than if he had been in his own house; for it seems he came in for a table laid out and a bed ready made. There he saw fair and pleasant visions, but here I’ll see, I imagine, toads and adders. Unlucky wretch that I am, what an end my follies and fancies have come to! They’ll take up my bones out of this, when it is heaven’s will that I’m found, picked clean, white and polished, and my good Dapple’s with them, and by that, perhaps, it will be found out who we are, at least by such as have heard that Sancho Panza never separated from his ass, nor his ass from Sancho Panza. Unlucky wretches, I say again, that our hard fate should not let us die in our own country and among our own people, where if there was no help for our misfortune, at any rate there would be some one to grieve for it and to close our eyes as we passed away! O comrade and friend, how ill have I repaid thy faithful services! Forgive me, and entreat Fortune, as well as thou canst, to deliver us out of this miserable strait we are both in; and I promise to put a crown of laurel on thy head, and make thee look like a poet laureate, and give thee double feeds.”
 
In this strain did Sancho bewail himself, and his ass listened to him, but answered him never a word, such was the distress and anguish the poor beast found himself in. At length, after a night spent in bitter moanings and lamentations, day came, and by its light Sancho perceived that it was wholly impossible to escape out of that pit without help, and he fell to bemoaning his fate and uttering loud shouts to find out if there was anyone within hearing; but all his shouting was only crying in the wilderness, for there was not a soul anywhere in the neighbourhood to hear him, and then at last he gave himself up for dead. Dapple was lying on his back, and Sancho helped him to his feet, which he was scarcely able to keep; and then taking a piece of bread out of his alforjas which had shared their fortunes in the fall, he gave it to the ass, to whom it was not unwelcome, saying to him as if he understood him, “With bread all sorrows are less.”
And now he perceived on one side of the pit a hole large enough to admit a person if he stooped and squeezed himself into a small compass. Sancho made for it, and entered it by creeping, and found it wide and spacious on the inside, which he was able to see as a ray of sunlight that penetrated what might be called the roof showed it all plainly. He observed too that it opened and widened out into another spacious cavity; seeing which he made his way back to where the ass was, and with a stone began to pick away the clay from the hole until in a short time he had made room for the beast to pass easily, and this accomplished, taking him by the halter, he proceeded to traverse the cavern to see if there was any outlet at the other end. He advanced, sometimes in the dark, sometimes without light, but never without fear; “God Almighty help me!” said he to himself; “this that is a misadventure to me would make a good adventure for my master Don Quixote. He would have been sure to take these depths and dungeons for flowery gardens or the palaces of Galiana, and would have counted upon issuing out of this darkness and imprisonment into some blooming meadow; but I, unlucky that I am, hopeless and spiritless, expect at every step another pit deeper than the first to open under my feet and swallow me up for good; ‘welcome evil, if thou comest alone.’”
In this way and with these reflections he seemed to himself to have travelled rather more than half a league, when at last he perceived a dim light that looked like daylight and found its way in on one side, showing that this road, which appeared to him the road to the other world, led to some opening.
Here Cide Hamete leaves him, and returns to Don Quixote, who in high spirits and satisfaction was looking forward to the day fixed for the battle he was to fight with him who had robbed Dona Rodriguez’s daughter of her honour, for whom he hoped to obtain satisfaction for the wrong and injury shamefully done to her. It came to pass, then, that having sallied forth one morning to practise and exercise himself in what he would have to do in the encounter he expected to find himself engaged in the next day, as he was putting Rocinante through his paces or pressing him to the charge, he brought his feet so close to a pit that but for reining him in tightly it would have been impossible for him to avoid falling into it. He pulled him up, however, without a fall, and coming a little closer examined the hole without dismounting; but as he was looking at it he heard loud cries proceeding from it, and by listening attentively was able to make out that he who uttered them was saying, “Ho, above there! is there any Christian that hears me, or any charitable gentleman that will take pity on a sinner buried alive, on an unfortunate disgoverned governor?”
It struck Don Quixote that it was the voice of Sancho Panza he heard, whereat he was taken aback and amazed, and raising his own voice as much as he could, he cried out, “Who is below there? Who is that complaining?”
“Who should be here, or who should complain,” was the answer, “but the forlorn Sancho Panza, for his sins and for his ill-luck governor of the island of Barataria, squire that was to the famous knight Don Quixote of La Mancha?”
When Don Quixote heard this his amazement was redoubled and his perturbation grew greater than ever, for it suggested itself to his mind that Sancho must be dead, and that his soul was in torment down there; and carried away by this idea he exclaimed, “I conjure thee by everything that as a Catholic Christian I can conjure thee by, tell me who thou art; and if thou art a soul in torment, tell me what thou wouldst have me do for thee; for as my profession is to give aid and succour to those that need it in this world, it will also extend to aiding and succouring the distressed of the other, who cannot help themselves.”
“In that case,” answered the voice, “your worship who speaks to me must be my master Don Quixote of La Mancha; nay, from the tone of the voice it is plain it can be nobody else.”
“Don Quixote I am,” replied Don Quixote, “he whose profession it is to aid and succour the living and the dead in their necessities; wherefore tell me who thou art, for thou art keeping me in suspense; because, if thou art my squire Sancho Panza, and art dead, since the devils have not carried thee off, and thou art by God’s mercy in purgatory, our holy mother the Roman Catholic Church has intercessory means sufficient to release thee from the pains thou art in; and I for my part will plead with her to that end, so far as my substance will go; without further delay, therefore, declare thyself, and tell me who thou art.”
“By all that’s good,” was the answer, “and by the birth of whomsoever your worship chooses, I swear, Senor Don Quixote of La Mancha, that I am your squire Sancho Panza, and that I have never died all my life; but that, having given up my government for reasons that would require more time to explain, I fell last night into this pit where I am now, and Dapple is witness and won’t let me lie, for more by token he is here with me.”
Nor was this all; one would have fancied the ass understood what Sancho said, because that moment he began to bray so loudly that the whole cave rang again.
“Famous testimony!” exclaimed Don Quixote; “I know that bray as well as if I was its mother, and thy voice too, my Sancho. Wait while I go to the duke’s castle, which is close by, and I will bring some one to take thee out of this pit into which thy sins no doubt have brought thee.”
“Go, your worship,” said Sancho, “and come back quick for God’s sake; for I cannot bear being buried alive any longer, and I’m dying of fear.”
Don Quixote left him, and hastened to the castle to tell the duke and duchess what had happened Sancho, and they were not a little astonished at it; they could easily understand his having fallen, from the confirmatory circumstance of the cave which had been in existence there from time immemorial; but they could not imagine how he had quitted the government without their receiving any intimation of his coming. To be brief, they fetched ropes and tackle, as the saying is, and by dint of many hands and much labour they drew up Dapple and Sancho Panza out of the darkness into the light of day. A student who saw him remarked, “That’s the way all bad governors should come out of their governments, as this sinner comes out of the depths of the pit, dead with hunger, pale, and I suppose without a farthing.”
Sancho overheard him and said, “It is eight or ten days, brother growler, since I entered upon the government of the island they gave me, and all that time I never had a bellyful of victuals, no not for an hour; doctors persecuted me and enemies crushed my bones; nor had I any opportunity of taking bribes or levying taxes; and if that be the case, as it is, I don’t deserve, I think, to come out in this fashion; but ‘man proposes and God disposes;’ and God knows what is best, and what suits each one best; and ‘as the occasion, so the behaviour;’ and ‘let nobody say “I won’t drink of this water;"’ and ‘where one thinks there are flitches, there are no pegs;’ God knows my meaning and that’s enough; I say no more, though I could.”
“Be not angry or annoyed at what thou hearest, Sancho,” said Don Quixote, “or there will never be an end of it; keep a safe conscience and let them say what they like; for trying to stop slanderers’ tongues is like trying to put gates to the open plain. If a governor comes out of his government rich, they say he has been a thief; and if he comes out poor, that he has been a noodle and a blockhead.”
“They’ll be pretty sure this time,” said Sancho, “to set me down for a fool rather than a thief.”
Thus talking, and surrounded by boys and a crowd of people, they reached the castle, where in one of the corridors the duke and duchess stood waiting for them; but Sancho would not go up to see the duke until he had first put up Dapple in the stable, for he said he had passed a very bad night in his last quarters; then he went upstairs to see his lord and lady, and kneeling before them he said, “Because it was your highnesses’ pleasure, not because of any desert of my own, I went to govern your island of Barataria, which ‘I entered naked, and naked I find myself; I neither lose nor gain.’ Whether I have governed well or ill, I have had witnesses who will say what they think fit. I have answered questions, I have decided causes, and always dying of hunger, for Doctor Pedro Recio of Tirteafuera, the island and governor doctor, would have it so. Enemies attacked us by night and put us in a great quandary, but the people of the island say they came off safe and victorious by the might of my arm; and may God give them as much health as there’s truth in what they say. In short, during that time I have weighed the cares and responsibilities governing brings with it, and by my reckoning I find my shoulders can’t bear them, nor are they a load for my loins or arrows for my quiver; and so, before the government threw me over I preferred to throw the government over; and yesterday morning I left the island as I found it, with the same streets, houses, and roofs it had when I entered it. I asked no loan of anybody, nor did I try to fill my pocket; and though I meant to make some useful laws, I made hardly any, as I was afraid they would not be kept; for in that case it comes to the same thing to make them or not to make them. I quitted the island, as I said, without any escort except my ass; I fell into a pit, I pushed on through it, until this morning by the light of the sun I saw an outlet, but not so easy a one but that, had not heaven sent me my master Don Quixote, I’d have stayed there till the end of the world. So now my lord and lady duke and duchess, here is your governor Sancho Panza, who in the bare ten days he has held the government has come by the knowledge that he would not give anything to be governor, not to say of an island, but of the whole world; and that point being settled, kissing your worships’ feet, and imitating the game of the boys when they say, ‘leap thou, and give me one,’ I take a leap out of the government and pass into the service of my master Don Quixote; for after all, though in it I eat my bread in fear and trembling, at any rate I take my fill; and for my part, so long as I’m full, it’s all alike to me whether it’s with carrots or with partridges.”
Here Sancho brought his long speech to an end, Don Quixote having been the whole time in dread of his uttering a host of absurdities; and when he found him leave off with so few, he thanked heaven in his heart. The duke embraced Sancho and told him he was heartily sorry he had given up the government so soon, but that he would see that he was provided with some other post on his estate less onerous and more profitable. The duchess also embraced him, and gave orders that he should be taken good care of, as it was plain to see he had been badly treated and worse bruised.
 
桑乔那天半路遇见里科特耽误了时间，当天没能赶回公爵的城堡。他离城堡还有半西里路的时候，天色就黑下来了。不过因为是夏天，问题也不大。桑乔离开了大路，想找个地方，等到天亮再走。可他偏偏是那么倒霉，就在他找地方休息的时候，竟然连人带驴掉进了几座破旧建筑物之间一个又深又黑的坑里。往坑下摔的时候，桑乔在内心虔诚地祈求上帝保佑。他以为自己摔到万丈深渊里去了，可事实并不是这样。他的驴摔到三人深的时候就落了地，桑乔在驴背上竟然安然无恙。他摸遍了自己的全身，又屏住气，看自己到底是完整无缺还是身上哪儿摔出了窟窿。他见自己好好的，没有摔坏，便不停地感谢上帝对他大发慈悲，否则他肯定会摔得粉身碎骨了。他用手摸着坑壁，想看自己能否爬出去，可到处都是光秃秃的，没有可以下手的地方，因此他很沮丧，再听到他的驴的痛苦呻吟声，就更难过了。不过这不怪驴，它并不是无病呻吟，而是确实不好受。
“哎，”桑乔感慨道，“人活在这个可怜的世界上，随时都有可能遇到飞来的横祸！谁能想到，岛屿的总督昨天还对佣人和臣民颐指气使，今天竟摔到了一个坑里，而且无论是他的佣人还是他的臣民，居然无一人赶来相助！即使驴不疼死，我不伤心死，我们也得在这儿活活饿死！至少我不像我的主人唐吉诃德那样走运。他下了蒙特西诺斯洞窟后，那儿的饭桌和床铺都是现成的，条件比他家里还好。他在那儿看到的幽灵都漂亮文静，而我在这儿看到的只能是蛤蟆和蛇。我真倒霉，我的疯癫和幻想落了个什么结局呀！等到老天有眼发现我们的时候，我们已经成为两具白骨了。他们发现我这头好驴的骨头，大概就会猜到我们是准了，至少那些听说过桑乔离不开驴，驴也离不开桑乔的人可以猜到。我再说一遍，我们真可怜，我们的倒霉的命运竟不让我们死在家乡，死在亲人中间，否则，即使无法把我们从不幸中解救出来，至少还有人为我们伤心，在我们临终时为我们合上眼睛！哎，我的伙伴，我的朋友，你忠心耿耿地为我服务，可是我对你的报答多么不够呀！原谅我吧，请求命运尽可能把我们从困境中解脱出来吧。我发誓要在你的头上戴个桂冠，让你像个得了桂冠的诗人一样，而且还要把你的饲料增加一倍。”
桑乔在那儿唉声叹气，他的驴在旁边听着一声不吭，这就是可怜的桑乔当时的处境。桑乔在哀叹和抱怨中度过了那个凄凉的夜晚。白昼来临，天亮了，这回桑乔才看清，如果没人帮忙，他就休想从坑里出去。他哀叹起来，喊叫起来，看是否有人听见自己的喊声。可是他的喊声如落入荒野，没人能听到他的喊声，于是桑乔以为自己死定了。驴仰面躺在地上，桑乔把它扶了起来，它才算勉强站住了。褡裢也同桑乔一起落入了坑内。桑乔从褡裢里拿出一块面包喂驴，驴也不客气。就好像驴能听懂他说话似的，桑乔对驴说道：
“肚子吃饱，痛苦减少。”
这时，桑乔发现坑的一侧有一个洞，容得下一个人蜷缩进去。桑乔爬了进去，看到那洞里面非常宽敞，一束阳光从一个可以称为洞顶的地方射进来，照亮了洞里。他还看到，这个洞延伸到另一边，另外还有一个宽敞的洞穴。看完后，桑乔又回到驴身边，拿起一块石头，把洞口周围的土挖掉，一直挖到能够让驴顺利通过的程度才罢手。桑乔扯起驴缰绳走过洞口，向前走去，看是否能从另一侧找到出口。洞内忽明忽暗，令人提心吊胆。“万能的上帝保佑我吧。”桑乔心里说，“这种事对于我来说是倒霉事，但若是遇到我的主人唐吉诃德，就成奇遇了。他肯定会把这地穴洞窟当成是鲜花满园和富丽堂皇的宫殿。而且，他还希望走出又黑又窄的洞后，外面又是遍野的鲜花。我就没那么有运气了。我没这个意识，也没这个情绪。我每走一步都想着脚下会裂出一个更比一个大的深渊，把我吞进去。‘祸如果单行，就算是万幸’。”桑乔就这样想着，走了大约半西里路，发现前面有一束朦胧的光线。
对于桑乔来说，也许这就意味着他的生死路走到了尽头。
锡德•哈迈德•贝嫩赫利写到这儿，又把故事转到了唐吉诃德那儿。唐吉诃德正惊喜地等着与夺走了唐娜罗德里格斯女儿名誉的家伙决斗，他要让那个家伙为自己做的孽付出代价。在预定决斗的前一天早晨，唐吉诃德骑着罗西南多疾驰出去，准备为决斗做些演练活动，结果跑到一个坑边的时候，幸亏他紧紧勒住了缰绳，不然就掉下去了。唐吉诃德催马走到坑边，从马上向坑内张望。他正看着，忽听坑内有人大声喊叫。他又仔细听了听，听到仿佛有人在向他呼救：
“喂，上面的人，有哪位基督徒能听见我喊叫吗？或者，有哪位好心的骑士心疼这位被活埋的罪人，这位已经不再是总督的不幸总督吗？”
唐吉诃德听着觉得像桑乔的声音，非常惊奇。他全力提高了嗓门，问道：
“谁在下面？谁在叫苦？”
“还有谁能在这儿叫苦呢？”桑乔说，“只能是那个由于自己的罪孽和厄运而吃尽了苦头的巴拉塔里亚岛总督，也就是曼查的著名骑士唐吉诃德以前的侍从桑乔•潘萨呗。”
唐吉诃德听下面这么一说，更惊奇了，而且开始感到害怕。他立刻想到桑乔大概已经死了，眼下在下面赎罪的是桑乔的鬼魂。这样一想，他便说道：
“我以一个虔诚的基督徒的名义向你发誓，请你告诉我你是谁。如果你是个正在涤罪的鬼魂，请告诉我，我能为你做点什么。我的职业就是帮助这个世界受苦受难的人，而且我也扶助另一个世界的苦难者，假如他们不能自助的话。”
“这么说来，”桑乔说，“上面同我说话的人大概就是我的主人唐吉诃德吧，听声音只能是他，不可能是别人。”
“我是唐吉诃德。”唐吉诃德答道，“我从事的事业就是帮助受苦难的活人和死人。告诉我你是谁，我简直莫名其妙了。如果你是我的侍从桑乔，那么你大概已经死了。可是上帝开恩，没让魔鬼把你带走，而是让你留在炼狱里。我们神圣的天主教完全可以帮助你，把你从这个炼狱里解脱出来。我也愿意用我的全部财力求教会超度你。所以我刚才问你，你到底是谁。”
“真见鬼了，”下面答道，“不管您怎么说，唐吉诃德大人，我发誓，我就是您的侍从桑乔。我一天也没死过，只不过是不再当总督了。这里面的情况和原因待我以后再找时间告诉您。昨天晚上，我掉到了这个坑里。我的驴也在这儿，它可以作证，它就在我身边呢。”
驴似乎听懂了桑乔说的话，立刻大声嘶叫起来，叫声在整个坑里回荡。
“真是个好见证！”唐吉诃德说，“这驴叫声我太熟悉了，你的声音我也听到了。桑乔，你等着，公爵的城堡离这儿不远，我马上就去，找人把你从坑里弄出来。你掉进坑里，大概是因为你造了孽。”
“您去吧，”桑乔说，“看在上帝份上，您快点儿回来。我被活埋在这儿，真受不了，简直快要把我吓死了。”
唐吉诃德离开桑乔回到城堡里，把桑乔的事告诉了公爵和公爵夫人。他们虽然知道那个坑，那个坑早在不知什么年代就有了，可还是感到很意外。他们不明白桑乔为什么不事先通知他们就决定不当总督了。最后，派很多人带了很多绳索，费了很大气力，才把桑乔从那个坑里拉了上来。一个学生模样的人见状说道：
“所有坏总督离职时都应该是这个样子，就像这个罪人从坑里出来时一样，饿得面无血色，而且看样子身无分文。”
桑乔听到后说道：
“那位说话的老弟呀，在八天或十天以前，我得到了一个岛屿，当上了总督。在这段时间里，我从没有一刻吃饱过，而且有医生害我，有敌人踩疼了我的骨头；我既没有得到不义之财，也没有赚到钱。在这种情况下，我觉得我不该落得这样的下场。可是‘人生有命，富贵在天’，每个人怎样才好，上帝自有安排，只能听天由命，这话真绝了。‘以为那儿挂着咸肉，其实连挂肉的钩子也没有’。只要上帝理解我就够了，我也不再说什么了，尽管我还能说。”
“你不要生气，桑乔，也不必为别人说什么而发火，那就没完了。你只要问心无愧就行，别人爱说什么就让他们去说吧；若想管住多嘴人的舌头，只能是螳臂当车。如果总督离任时发了财，人们就会说他是盗贼；如果他离任时没钱，人们就会说他是傻瓜笨蛋。”
“我敢肯定，”桑乔说，“这次人们不会说我是盗贼，只会说我是笨蛋。”
他们就这样边走边说，由许多大人和孩子簇拥着回到公爵的城堡。公爵和公爵夫人正在走廊里等着唐吉诃德和桑乔。可桑乔还是先到马厩把他的驴安顿好，才去见公爵和公爵夫人，解释说他的驴前一天晚上已经受了不少罪。桑乔见到公爵和公爵夫人时双膝跪地，说道：
“两位大人，我按照你们的意愿，而并非自己有此能力，到巴拉塔里亚岛当了总督，结果来去赤条条，没亏也没赚。至于我这个总督当得好不好，这儿自有证人，他们可以随便说。我判明了疑案，解决了争端，总是饥肠辘辘，因为岛上总督的医生，那个蒂尔特亚富埃拉的佩德罗•雷西奥大夫，总让我这样。敌人趁夜向我们进攻，情况十分危急，岛上的人说只有靠我的臂膀的力量，他们才能安然无恙，取得胜利。他们说的是实话，愿上帝保佑他们身体健康。反正经过这段时间，我已经体会到了总督的重负和责任，而且也意识到我的肩膀和肋骨，还有我的承受能力，都不足以担负起如此的重负和责任。所以，与其让总督职务把我解除，还不如我先把总督职务解除了。昨天早晨我离开了海岛，走过了我去岛上时走过的街道和房子。我没有向任何人借过钱，也没有赚到一点儿钱。我本来想颁布几个有益的法令，可是我没有颁布，怕它们得不到遵守，那就等于没颁布一样。就像我刚才说的，我只身一人离开了海岛，只有我的驴陪伴我。我走过一个坑边时摔了进去，今天早晨，出了太阳，我才看到出口。出来可不那么容易，若不是老天派我的主人唐吉诃德去救我，我肯定就死在那儿了。所以，我的公爵大人和公爵夫人，你们的总督桑乔•潘萨就在你们面前。他当了十天总督，所得的收获就是认识到，别说当一个海岛的总督，就是当全世界的总督，他也无所谓了。他就是带着这个想法前来吻你们的脚，而且还模仿着孩子们做游戏的话说：‘你跳来，我跳去。’现在我从总督的位置上跳出来，再回来服侍我的主人唐吉诃德。同他在一起，虽然吃饭时常担惊受怕，我也知足了。无论是熊掌还是鱼，对我来说都一样。”
桑乔就这样长篇大论地说了一通。唐吉诃德本来怕桑乔说起话来又是漏洞百出，见桑乔这么快就说完了，直在心里感谢老天。公爵拥抱了桑乔，说他从心里对桑乔如此迅速地离开了总督职务感到遗憾，不过他会尽力为桑乔物色一个担子轻可是油水大的差事干。公爵夫人也拥抱了桑乔，并且吩咐家人好好招待桑乔，因为看样子桑乔伤得不轻，情绪也不佳。
Part 2 Chapter 56
The duke and duchess had no reason to regret the joke that had been played upon Sancho Panza in giving him the government; especially as their majordomo returned the same day, and gave them a minute account of almost every word and deed that Sancho uttered or did during the time; and to wind up with, eloquently described to them the attack upon the island and Sancho’s fright and departure, with which they were not a little amused. After this the history goes on to say that the day fixed for the battle arrived, and that the duke, after having repeatedly instructed his lacquey Tosilos how to deal with Don Quixote so as to vanquish him without killing or wounding him, gave orders to have the heads removed from the lances, telling Don Quixote that Christian charity, on which he plumed himself, could not suffer the battle to be fought with so much risk and danger to life; and that he must be content with the offer of a battlefield on his territory (though that was against the decree of the holy Council, which prohibits all challenges of the sort) and not push such an arduous venture to its extreme limits. Don Quixote bade his excellence arrange all matters connected with the affair as he pleased, as on his part he would obey him in everything. The dread day, then, having arrived, and the duke having ordered a spacious stand to be erected facing the court of the castle for the judges of the field and the appellant duennas, mother and daughter, vast crowds flocked from all the villages and hamlets of the neighbourhood to see the novel spectacle of the battle; nobody, dead or alive, in those parts having ever seen or heard of such a one.
The first person to enter the-field and the lists was the master of the ceremonies, who surveyed and paced the whole ground to see that there was nothing unfair and nothing concealed to make the combatants stumble or fall; then the duennas entered and seated themselves, enveloped in mantles covering their eyes, nay even their bosoms, and displaying no slight emotion as Don Quixote appeared in the lists. Shortly afterwards, accompanied by several trumpets and mounted on a powerful steed that threatened to crush the whole place, the great lacquey Tosilos made his appearance on one side of the courtyard with his visor down and stiffly cased in a suit of stout shining armour. The horse was a manifest Frieslander, broad-backed and flea-bitten, and with half a hundred of wool hanging to each of his fetlocks. The gallant combatant came well primed by his master the duke as to how he was to bear himself against the valiant Don Quixote of La Mancha; being warned that he must on no account slay him, but strive to shirk the first encounter so as to avoid the risk of killing him, as he was sure to do if he met him full tilt. He crossed the courtyard at a walk, and coming to where the duennas were placed stopped to look at her who demanded him for a husband; the marshal of the field summoned Don Quixote, who had already presented himself in the courtyard, and standing by the side of Tosilos he addressed the duennas, and asked them if they consented that Don Quixote of La Mancha should do battle for their right. They said they did, and that whatever he should do in that behalf they declared rightly done, final and valid. By this time the duke and duchess had taken their places in a gallery commanding the enclosure, which was filled to overflowing with a multitude of people eager to see this perilous and unparalleled encounter. The conditions of the combat were that if Don Quixote proved the victor his antagonist was to marry the daughter of Dona Rodriguez; but if he should be vanquished his opponent was released from the promise that was claimed against him and from all obligations to give satisfaction. The master of the ceremonies apportioned the sun to them, and stationed them, each on the spot where he was to stand. The drums beat, the sound of the trumpets filled the air, the earth trembled under foot, the hearts of the gazing crowd were full of anxiety, some hoping for a happy issue, some apprehensive of an untoward ending to the affair, and lastly, Don Quixote, commending himself with all his heart to God our Lord and to the lady Dulcinea del Toboso, stood waiting for them to give the necessary signal for the onset. Our lacquey, however, was thinking of something very different; he only thought of what I am now going to mention.
It seems that as he stood contemplating his enemy she struck him as the most beautiful woman he had ever seen all his life; and the little blind boy whom in our streets they commonly call Love had no mind to let slip the chance of triumphing over a lacquey heart, and adding it to the list of his trophies; and so, stealing gently upon him unseen, he drove a dart two yards long into the poor lacquey’s left side and pierced his heart through and through; which he was able to do quite at his ease, for Love is invisible, and comes in and goes out as he likes, without anyone calling him to account for what he does. Well then, when they gave the signal for the onset our lacquey was in an ecstasy, musing upon the beauty of her whom he had already made mistress of his liberty, and so he paid no attention to the sound of the trumpet, unlike Don Quixote, who was off the instant he heard it, and, at the highest speed Rocinante was capable of, set out to meet his enemy, his good squire Sancho shouting lustily as he saw him start, “God guide thee, cream and flower of knights-errant! God give thee the victory, for thou hast the right on thy side!” But though Tosilos saw Don Quixote coming at him he never stirred a step from the spot where he was posted; and instead of doing so called loudly to the marshal of the field, to whom when he came up to see what he wanted he said, “Senor, is not this battle to decide whether I marry or do not marry that lady?” “Just so,” was the answer. “Well then,” said the lacquey, “I feel qualms of conscience, and I should lay a-heavy burden upon it if I were to proceed any further with the combat; I therefore declare that I yield myself vanquished, and that I am willing to marry the lady at once.”
The marshal of the field was lost in astonishment at the words of Tosilos; and as he was one of those who were privy to the arrangement of the affair he knew not what to say in reply. Don Quixote pulled up in mid career when he saw that his enemy was not coming on to the attack. The duke could not make out the reason why the battle did not go on; but the marshal of the field hastened to him to let him know what Tosilos said, and he was amazed and extremely angry at it. In the meantime Tosilos advanced to where Dona Rodriguez sat and said in a loud voice, “Senora, I am willing to marry your daughter, and I have no wish to obtain by strife and fighting what I can obtain in peace and without any risk to my life.”
The valiant Don Quixote heard him, and said, “As that is the case I am released and absolved from my promise; let them marry by all means, and as ‘God our Lord has given her, may Saint Peter add his blessing.’”
The duke had now descended to the courtyard of the castle, and going up to Tosilos he said to him, “Is it true, sir knight, that you yield yourself vanquished, and that moved by scruples of conscience you wish to marry this damsel?”
“It is, senor,” replied Tosilos.
“And he does well,” said Sancho, “for what thou hast to give to the mouse, give to the cat, and it will save thee all trouble.”
Tosilos meanwhile was trying to unlace his helmet, and he begged them to come to his help at once, as his power of breathing was failing him, and he could not remain so long shut up in that confined space. They removed it in all haste, and his lacquey features were revealed to public gaze. At this sight Dona Rodriguez and her daughter raised a mighty outcry, exclaiming, “This is a trick! This is a trick! They have put Tosilos, my lord the duke’s lacquey, upon us in place of the real husband. The justice of God and the king against such trickery, not to say roguery!”
“Do not distress yourselves, ladies,” said Don Quixote; “for this is no trickery or roguery; or if it is, it is not the duke who is at the bottom of it, but those wicked enchanters who persecute me, and who, jealous of my reaping the glory of this victory, have turned your husband’s features into those of this person, who you say is a lacquey of the duke’s; take my advice, and notwithstanding the malice of my enemies marry him, for beyond a doubt he is the one you wish for a husband.”
When the duke heard this all his anger was near vanishing in a fit of laughter, and he said, “The things that happen to Senor Don Quixote are so extraordinary that I am ready to believe this lacquey of mine is not one; but let us adopt this plan and device; let us put off the marriage for, say, a fortnight, and let us keep this person about whom we are uncertain in close confinement, and perhaps in the course of that time he may return to his original shape; for the spite which the enchanters entertain against Senor Don Quixote cannot last so long, especially as it is of so little advantage to them to practise these deceptions and transformations.”
“Oh, senor,” said Sancho, “those scoundrels are well used to changing whatever concerns my master from one thing into another. A knight that he overcame some time back, called the Knight of the Mirrors, they turned into the shape of the bachelor Samson Carrasco of our town and a great friend of ours; and my lady Dulcinea del Toboso they have turned into a common country wench; so I suspect this lacquey will have to live and die a lacquey all the days of his life.”
Here the Rodriguez’s daughter exclaimed, “Let him be who he may, this man that claims me for a wife; I am thankful to him for the same, for I had rather he the lawful wife of a lacquey than the cheated mistress of a gentleman; though he who played me false is nothing of the kind.”
To be brief, all the talk and all that had happened ended in Tosilos being shut up until it was seen how his transformation turned out. All hailed Don Quixote as victor, but the greater number were vexed and disappointed at finding that the combatants they had been so anxiously waiting for had not battered one another to pieces, just as the boys are disappointed when the man they are waiting to see hanged does not come out, because the prosecution or the court has pardoned him. The people dispersed, the duke and Don Quixote returned to the castle, they locked up Tosilos, Dona Rodriguez and her daughter remained perfectly contented when they saw that any way the affair must end in marriage, and Tosilos wanted nothing else.
 
与仆人托西洛斯进行了一场空前的决斗
公爵和公爵夫人对他们让桑乔当总督这个玩笑并没有感到后悔。特别是管家当天也赶回来了，向他们一五一十地把桑乔说的话和做的事都讲述了一遍，甚至包括他们佯装攻岛，桑乔害怕，一走了事等等，公爵和公爵夫人更觉得有意思了。接着，故事说到规定的决斗日期到了。在此之前，公爵已经多次嘱咐仆人托西洛斯，该如何战胜唐吉诃德，却又不能伤害他。公爵还吩咐把长矛的铁尖取了下来。公爵对唐吉诃德说，他所信奉的基督教不允许这次决斗太残酷，千万别危及性命。他能够在自己的领地上提供决斗场地就很不错了，因为决斗违反了教会关于禁止决斗的规定。他不想让这次决斗那么严酷。
唐吉诃德说公爵尽管吩咐，他都会服从。可怕的一天终于到了，公爵已吩咐在城堡前面的广场上搭起了一个宽敞的决斗台，决斗的裁判和原告女佣母女都坐在台上。当地和附近的无数人都跑来观看。在那个地方，无论是仍然健在的人还是已经死去的人，都没见过甚至没听说过这种决斗。
司仪首先进入场地，在场地内巡视察看，以防有任何欺骗行为或者有可能绊倒人的东西。女佣母女俩随后进入场地，坐到了自己的位置上。她们的头巾盖住了眼睛，甚至盖到了胸口，以示她们的极大悲痛。唐吉诃德出场了。不一会儿，身材高大的仆人托西洛斯也骑着一匹高头大马，在一片号角声的伴奏下从决斗台的另一侧出场了。他眼睛上戴着护眼罩，身上穿着亮光闪闪的坚固盔甲。他的马看样子是弗里萨马①，身体宽大，呈黑白色，每个蹄子上都长着一大丛毛。
①弗里萨出产的马非常雄健，四蹄毛多。
这位勇敢的战士已从公爵处得知该如何对待勇敢的唐吉诃德。他无论如何也不能杀死他，只能在交锋时尽力躲闪，以免在两人正面冲杀时危及自己的生命。他沿着决斗场转了一圈，来到母女俩面前，看了一眼那位要求同他结婚的姑娘。司仪召唤已经来到决斗场上的唐吉诃德，让唐吉诃德当着托西洛斯的面问两位女佣，是否同意让唐吉诃德为她们主持公道。她们回答说同意，而且无论出现什么结果，她们都认账，都认为有效。此时，公爵和公爵夫人正在决斗场上边的一个回廊里观看。他们周围簇拥着无数人，都想看看这场空前严酷的决斗。决斗的条件是，如果唐吉诃德战胜对手，那个对手就得同唐娜罗德里格斯的女儿结婚；如果唐吉诃德战败了，那个对手就不再履行同那个姑娘结婚的诺言，而且不承担任何义务。
司仪让两个人站到平等地面向阳光的位置，让他们在各自的位置上站好。鼓声响起，号角声响彻天空，脚下的大地在颤动。大家都悬着心，有些人害怕，有些人则期待着决斗的结果，不管是什么结果。唐吉诃德此时一边在心里虔诚地向上帝、向杜尔西内亚夫人祈祷，一边等待着发出开始进攻的信号。可是，那位仆人却另有想法，且看下面。
那个仆人看了姑娘一眼，立刻觉得她是自己平生见过的最美丽的姑娘。那个被人们称为爱神的瞎小子居然不放过战胜一个仆人灵魂的机会，以便给自己的功劳薄上再添光彩。他神不知鬼不觉地来到仆人身旁，把一支两尺长的箭从左侧射进了仆人的胸膛，箭穿透了仆人的心。爱神完全可以做到这点，因为他是隐而不见的，可以任意穿梭，而且没有任何人要求他解释自己做的事情。
进攻的信号发出时，那个仆人已经走了神，正想入非非地想着那个姑娘的美貌，竟没有听到号角声。唐吉诃德一听到号角声就立刻开始进攻。他催动罗西南多快速冲向敌人。他的侍从桑乔见状大声喊道：
“上帝为你指路，游侠骑士的精英！上帝保佑你胜利，正义在你一边！”
托西洛斯虽然看见唐吉诃德向他冲来，却呆在原地一动不动，相反，他大声呼唤司仪。司仪跑过来看他想干什么。仆人对司仪说道：
“大人，这场战斗是为了决定是否同那个姑娘结婚的问题吧？”
“是的。”司仪答道。
“那么好吧，”仆人说，“我内心感到害怕。如果把这场战斗进行下去，我于心不忍。我愿意认输，同那个姑娘结婚。”
司仪是这次活动的知情者之一，所以听了托西洛斯的话十分惊讶，不知如何回答是好。唐吉诃德见自己的对手不向前进攻，跑了一半也停下来。公爵不知道决斗为什么停了下来，待司仪向他报告了托西洛斯的话以后，他不禁勃然大怒。此时，托西洛斯已经来到唐娜罗德里格斯面前，大声说道：
“夫人，我愿意同您的女儿结婚。我不愿通过争斗获取本来可以心平气和、相安无事地得到的东西。”
唐吉诃德听到此话后说道：
“既然这样，我的话也就算兑现了。让他赶紧结婚吧，这是上帝的安排，让圣佩德罗为他们祝福吧。”
公爵从城堡的看台上走下来，来到托西洛斯身旁问他：
“小伙子，你真的认输了？你是不是因为内心感到恐惧才愿意同这个姑娘结婚的？”
“是的，大人。”托西洛斯说。
“他做得对。”桑乔此时说道，“本来应该给耗子的，现在给了猫，这回倒省事了。”
托西洛斯想摘掉头盔，就请大家帮忙，因为头盔扣得太紧，他有点受不了。大家立刻帮他把头盔摘了下来，结果仆人露出了他的本来面目。唐娜罗德里格斯和她女儿一见就大声喊道：
“这是个骗局！他们让公爵的仆人托西洛斯冒充我真正的丈夫！愿上帝和国王为我们主持公道！这要不说是卑鄙，也够恶毒了！”
“别着急，”唐吉诃德说，“这并不恶毒，也不卑鄙，即使恶毒卑鄙，也不是公爵所为，而是那些专跟我捣乱的魔法师干的事情。他们嫉妒我在这次决斗中取得胜利，于是把你丈夫的面孔变成了你说的那个公爵仆人的面孔。你就听我的劝告吧，尽管我的敌人在捣乱，你还是同他结婚吧，他肯定就是你想得到的那个丈夫。”
公爵听了差点儿大笑起来，说道：
“唐吉诃德遇到的事情总是这么奇怪！我竟差点相信我这个仆人不是我的仆人了。咱们还是采取这个办法吧：如果你们同意，咱们把婚礼推迟十五天，先把咱们怀疑的这个人关起来。这期间他肯定会恢复原形，魔法师们对唐吉诃德大人的仇恨不至于持续那么长时间，况且他们把人的面孔改变了对他们也没什么好处呀。”
“噢，大人，”桑乔说，“这些坏蛋常常把一些与我主人有关的东西变成另外一种东西。前几天我的主人打败了一个叫‘镜子骑士’的骑士，可是魔法师们把他变成了我们村一位老朋友参孙•卡拉斯科的模样，还把我的女主人杜尔西内亚变成了一个丑陋的农妇。所以，我觉得这个仆人无论是生是死，这辈子只能当仆人了。”
唐娜罗德里格斯的女儿说道：
“无论这个向我求婚的人是谁，我都要感谢他。我宁愿成为一个仆人的正式妻子，也不愿意当一个绅士的玩物，更何况玩弄我的人还不是绅士呢。”
不过，最后托西洛斯还是被关了起来，以便看看他到底能变成什么模样。很多人欢呼唐吉诃德的胜利，可是更多的人却因为没有看到两个战士被撕成碎片而感到沮丧，就像那些本来想看绞死人的孩子却看到被判绞刑的人被赦免时那样沮丧。人们离去了，公爵和唐吉诃德回到了城堡，托西洛斯被关了起来。唐娜罗德里格斯和她女儿满意地看到，不管怎么样，这件事最终将以结婚收场。托西洛斯也对此寄托了很大的希望。
Part 2 Chapter 57
Don Quixote now felt it right to quit a life of such idleness as he was leading in the castle; for he fancied that he was making himself sorely missed by suffering himself to remain shut up and inactive amid the countless luxuries and enjoyments his hosts lavished upon him as a knight, and he felt too that he would have to render a strict account to heaven of that indolence and seclusion; and so one day he asked the duke and duchess to grant him permission to take his departure. They gave it, showing at the same time that they were very sorry he was leaving them.
 
The duchess gave his wife’s letters to Sancho Panza, who shed tears over them, saying, “Who would have thought that such grand hopes as the news of my government bred in my wife Teresa Panza’s breast would end in my going back now to the vagabond adventures of my master Don Quixote of La Mancha? Still I’m glad to see my Teresa behaved as she ought in sending the acorns, for if she had not sent them I’d have been sorry, and she’d have shown herself ungrateful. It is a comfort to me that they can’t call that present a bribe; for I had got the government already when she sent them, and it’s but reasonable that those who have had a good turn done them should show their gratitude, if it’s only with a trifle. After all I went into the government naked, and I come out of it naked; so I can say with a safe conscience — and that’s no small matter — ‘naked I was born, naked I find myself, I neither lose nor gain.’”
Thus did Sancho soliloquise on the day of their departure, as Don Quixote, who had the night before taken leave of the duke and duchess, coming out made his appearance at an early hour in full armour in the courtyard of the castle. The whole household of the castle were watching him from the corridors, and the duke and duchess, too, came out to see him. Sancho was mounted on his Dapple, with his alforjas, valise, and proven. supremely happy because the duke’s majordomo, the same that had acted the part of the Trifaldi, had given him a little purse with two hundred gold crowns to meet the necessary expenses of the road, but of this Don Quixote knew nothing as yet. While all were, as has been said, observing him, suddenly from among the duennas and handmaidens the impudent and witty Altisidora lifted up her voice and said in pathetic tones:
Give ear, cruel knight;
Draw rein; where’s the need
Of spurring the flanks
Of that ill-broken steed?
From what art thou flying?
No dragon I am,
Not even a sheep,
But a tender young lamb.
Thou hast jilted a maiden
As fair to behold
As nymph of Diana
Or Venus of old.
Bireno, AEneas, what worse shall I call thee?
Barabbas go with thee! All evil befall thee!
In thy claws, ruthless robber,
Thou bearest away
The heart of a meek
Loving maid for thy prey,
Three kerchiefs thou stealest,
And garters a pair,
From legs than the whitest
Of marble more fair;
And the sighs that pursue thee
Would burn to the ground
Two thousand Troy Towns,
If so many were found.
Bireno, AEneas, what worse shall I call thee?
Barabbas go with thee! All evil befall thee!
May no bowels of mercy
To Sancho be granted,
And thy Dulcinea
Be left still enchanted,
May thy falsehood to me
Find its punishment in her,
For in my land the just
Often pays for the sinner.
May thy grandest adventures
Discomfitures prove,
May thy joys be all dreams,
And forgotten thy love.
Bireno, AEneas, what worse shall I call thee?
Barabbas go with thee! All evil befall thee!
May thy name be abhorred
For thy conduct to ladies,
From London to England,
From Seville to Cadiz;
May thy cards be unlucky,
Thy hands contain ne’er a
King, seven, or ace
When thou playest primera;
When thy corns are cut
May it be to the quick;
When thy grinders are drawn
May the roots of them stick.
Bireno, AEneas, what worse shall I call thee?
Barabbas go with thee! All evil befall thee!
All the while the unhappy Altisidora was bewailing herself in the above strain Don Quixote stood staring at her; and without uttering a word in reply to her he turned round to Sancho and said, “Sancho my friend, I conjure thee by the life of thy forefathers tell me the truth; say, hast thou by any chance taken the three kerchiefs and the garters this love-sick maid speaks of?”
To this Sancho made answer, “The three kerchiefs I have; but the garters, as much as ‘over the hills of Ubeda.’”
The duchess was amazed at Altisidora’s assurance; she knew that she was bold, lively, and impudent, but not so much so as to venture to make free in this fashion; and not being prepared for the joke, her astonishment was all the greater. The duke had a mind to keep up the sport, so he said, “It does not seem to me well done in you, sir knight, that after having received the hospitality that has been offered you in this very castle, you should have ventured to carry off even three kerchiefs, not to say my handmaid’s garters. It shows a bad heart and does not tally with your reputation. Restore her garters, or else I defy you to mortal combat, for I am not afraid of rascally enchanters changing or altering my features as they changed his who encountered you into those of my lacquey, Tosilos.”
“God forbid,” said Don Quixote, “that I should draw my sword against your illustrious person from which I have received such great favours. The kerchiefs I will restore, as Sancho says he has them; as to the garters that is impossible, for I have not got them, neither has he; and if your handmaiden here will look in her hiding-places, depend upon it she will find them. I have never been a thief, my lord duke, nor do I mean to be so long as I live, if God cease not to have me in his keeping. This damsel by her own confession speaks as one in love, for which I am not to blame, and therefore need not ask pardon, either of her or of your excellence, whom I entreat to have a better opinion of me, and once more to give me leave to pursue my journey.”
“And may God so prosper it, Senor Don Quixote,” said the duchess, “that we may always hear good news of your exploits; God speed you; for the longer you stay, the more you inflame the hearts of the damsels who behold you; and as for this one of mine, I will so chastise her that she will not transgress again, either with her eyes or with her words.”
“One word and no more, O valiant Don Quixote, I ask you to hear,” said Altisidora, “and that is that I beg your pardon about the theft of the garters; for by God and upon my soul I have got them on, and I have fallen into the same blunder as he did who went looking for his ass being all the while mounted on it.”
“Didn’t I say so?” said Sancho. “I’m a likely one to hide thefts! Why if I wanted to deal in them, opportunities came ready enough to me in my government.”
Don Quixote bowed his head, and saluted the duke and duchess and all the bystanders, and wheeling Rocinante round, Sancho following him on Dapple, he rode out of the castle, shaping his course for Saragossa.
 
侍女阿尔蒂西多拉同唐吉诃德的纠葛
唐吉诃德觉得自己应该摆脱城堡里这种安逸的生活了。他觉得让自己无所事事地留在这里，让公爵和公爵夫人像对待所有游侠骑士那样，每天都沉溺在歌舞升平之中，实在有负于上帝。于是有一天，他请求公爵和公爵夫人准许自己离开。公爵和公爵夫人表现出很依依不舍的样子，同意了唐吉诃德的请求。公爵夫人把桑乔的妻子给丈夫的信交给了桑乔。
桑乔看完信，不禁泪流满面，说道：
“我老婆特雷莎听说我当了总督，对我寄托了如此大的希望，哪里会想到到头来，我还得跟着主人唐吉诃德四处漂泊呢？但即使这样，我还是很高兴我的特雷莎不忘本分，给公爵夫人送来了橡子，否则她就显得忘恩负义了，那么我会很伤心的。令我宽慰的是，这礼物不能算贿赂，因为在她送橡子之前，我已经当上了总督。如果得到了别人的好处，哪怕只送一点儿小小的礼物，也算是知恩图报了。实际上，我当总督来去都是赤条条，因此我可以心安理得地说：‘我生来赤条条，现在也是赤条条，没亏也没赚。’这就不错了。”
这是桑乔出发那天发生的事。唐吉诃德在前一天晚上已经向公爵和公爵夫人告别，现在他全身披挂地出现在城堡的空场上。城堡里的所有人都已聚集在走廊里看着唐吉诃德，公爵和公爵夫人也来了。桑乔带着褡裢、提包和干粮，骑在驴背上，非常高兴，因为前一天晚上，公爵的管家，也就是那个扮成三摆裙夫人的人，给了他一个小口袋，里面有两百个金盾，以备路上用。这件事连唐吉诃德也不知道。大家正为唐吉诃德送行，女佣群里那个机灵淘气的阿尔蒂西多拉忽然提高了嗓门，语调凄凉地说道：
坏骑士，请你勒一下缰绳，
听我讲，
不必催动你那不驯的马匹
把蹄扬。
虚伪的人，你逃避的
不是一条毒蛇，
而是一只
小小的羔羊。
恶毒的魔鬼，你嘲弄的
是山上的狄安娜和树林里的维纳斯
都相形见绌的
美丽姑娘。
冷酷的比雷诺①，逃亡的埃涅阿斯②，
让恶魔与你为伴，我心才舒畅。
你用你的爪子
无情地带走了
一个多情温柔姑娘的
肝胆心肠。
你还带走了三块头巾，
一副吊袜带，
就从我那
洁白似玉的细嫩腿上。
你还带走了我的无数叹息，
倘若它们能变成火焰，
即使有无数的特洛伊，
也会被烧光。
冷酷的比雷诺，逃亡的埃涅阿斯，
让恶魔与你为伴，我心才舒畅。
你的侍从桑乔
冷漠无情，
却使你的杜尔西内亚摆脱不了魔障。
也许在我这里，
好人为罪人受过。
你是自作自受，
重罚应当。
你的最佳运气
终将变成不幸，
你的遐思只能变成梦想，
你的忠贞必将被人遗忘。
冷酷的比雷诺，逃亡的埃涅阿斯，
让恶魔与你为伴，我心才舒畅。
从塞维利亚到马切纳，
从格拉纳达到洛哈，
从伦敦到英国③
让你的伪君子臭名远扬。
如果你玩
“王朝”、“百分”或“头牌”④，
大小王不到你手，
七和A也无望。
你若修趼子，
让你血流不止；
你若拔牙，
让你牙根断在牙床！
冷酷的比雷诺，逃亡的埃涅阿斯，
让恶魔与你为伴，我心才舒畅。
①比雷诺是阿里奥斯托的《疯狂的奥兰多》中的人物，曾将其情人抛弃于荒岛上。
②埃涅阿斯抛弃了他的情人迦太基女王，逃到意大利，参见《埃涅阿斯纪》。
③马切纳位于塞维利亚境内，洛哈位于格拉纳达境内，伦敦是英国首都。此处均为戏谑语。
④三种牌戏名。在这三种打法中，大小王、七和A分别是最大的。
心受创伤的阿尔蒂西多拉哀叹着自己的命运，唐吉诃德一直注视着她，一言不发。阿尔蒂西多拉唱完后，唐吉诃德转过头对桑乔说道：
“我以你家先辈的性命发誓，我的桑乔，你必须对我说实话，是不是你拿了这位多情姑娘说的那三块头巾和一副吊袜带？”
桑乔答道：
“三块头巾是我拿的，可那副吊袜带，跟我根本就不沾边。”
公爵夫人对阿尔蒂西多拉的大胆行为甚感惊讶。她虽然知道阿尔蒂西多拉冒失、爱开玩笑并且放肆，却没料到这个姑娘会放肆到这种程度。而且，她事先并不知道阿尔蒂西多拉会开这个玩笑，所以更是惊奇不已。公爵想把气氛搞得更活跃些，便说道：
“骑士大人，您在我的城堡里受到了很好的款待，却居然偷走我的侍女的至少三块头巾，也许还有一副吊袜带，我觉得这样不好。这表明您居心不良，与您的盛名不符。请您把吊袜带还给这位姑娘，否则我就要同您展开一场生死决斗，而且决不惧怕恶毒的魔法师像对待与您交战的仆人托西洛斯那样，改变我的面孔。”
“上帝并不希望我向曾经热情照顾我的大人拔剑。”唐吉诃德说，“头巾我可以还回去，桑乔说在他手里呢。可是还吊袜带就不可能了，因为我和桑乔都没拿。如果您这位女佣仔细翻翻自己的东西，准能找到。公爵大人，我从没有偷过东西，今生今世也不想偷，上帝也不允许我这样做。至于这位姑娘已经坠入情网而不能自拔，我没有责任，因此也就没有必要向您和向她道歉。我只请求您不要把人看扁了，还是重新让我上路吧。”
“愿上帝保佑您一路平安，唐吉诃德大人。”公爵夫人说，“愿我们总能听到您的好消息。再见吧。只要您还留在这里，所有看到您的姑娘就都会欲火难捺。我这个侍女我自会责罚，让她以后心正眼不斜。”
“请您再听我说一句，英勇的唐吉诃德。”阿尔蒂西多拉说道，“请您原谅我说您拿了我的吊袜带。我向上帝和我的灵魂发誓，吊袜带现在就在我腿上呢。我真是骑驴找驴。”
“我早就说过，”桑乔说，“若是我拿了东西不说，那像话吗？如果我想拿，我当总督的时候有的是机会。”
唐吉诃德向公爵、公爵夫人和所有在场的人低头鞠躬，然后掉转缰绳走出了城堡。桑乔骑着驴跟在后面，两人直奔萨拉戈萨。
Part 2 Chapter 58
When Don Quixote saw himself in open country, free, and relieved from the attentions of Altisidora, he felt at his ease, and in fresh spirits to take up the pursuit of chivalry once more; and turning to Sancho he said, “Freedom, Sancho, is one of the most precious gifts that heaven has bestowed upon men; no treasures that the earth holds buried or the sea conceals can compare with it; for freedom, as for honour, life may and should be ventured; and on the other hand, captivity is the greatest evil that can fall to the lot of man. I say this, Sancho, because thou hast seen the good cheer, the abundance we have enjoyed in this castle we are leaving; well then, amid those dainty banquets and snow-cooled beverages I felt as though I were undergoing the straits of hunger, because I did not enjoy them with the same freedom as if they had been mine own; for the sense of being under an obligation to return benefits and favours received is a restraint that checks the independence of the spirit. Happy he, to whom heaven has given a piece of bread for which he is not bound to give thanks to any but heaven itself!”
“For all your worship says,” said Sancho, “it is not becoming that there should he no thanks on our part for two hundred gold crowns that the duke’s majordomo has given me in a little purse which I carry next my heart, like a warming plaster or comforter, to meet any chance calls; for we shan’t always find castles where they’ll entertain us; now and then we may light upon roadside inns where they’ll cudgel us.”
In conversation of this sort the knight and squire errant were pursuing their journey, when, after they had gone a little more than half a league, they perceived some dozen men dressed like labourers stretched upon their cloaks on the grass of a green meadow eating their dinner. They had beside them what seemed to be white sheets concealing some objects under them, standing upright or lying flat, and arranged at intervals. Don Quixote approached the diners, and, saluting them courteously first, he asked them what it was those cloths covered. “Senor,” answered one of the party, “under these cloths are some images carved in relief intended for a retablo we are putting up in our village; we carry them covered up that they may not be soiled, and on our shoulders that they may not be broken.”
“With your good leave,” said Don Quixote, “I should like to see them; for images that are carried so carefully no doubt must be fine ones.”
“I should think they were!” said the other; “let the money they cost speak for that; for as a matter of fact there is not one of them that does not stand us in more than fifty ducats; and that your worship may judge; wait a moment, and you shall see with your own eyes;” and getting up from his dinner he went and uncovered the first image, which proved to be one of Saint George on horseback with a serpent writhing at his feet and the lance thrust down its throat with all that fierceness that is usually depicted. The whole group was one blaze of gold, as the saying is. On seeing it Don Quixote said, “That knight was one of the best knights-errant the army of heaven ever owned; he was called Don Saint George, and he was moreover a defender of maidens. Let us see this next one.”
The man uncovered it, and it was seen to be that of Saint Martin on his horse, dividing his cloak with the beggar. The instant Don Quixote saw it he said, “This knight too was one of the Christian adventurers, but I believe he was generous rather than valiant, as thou mayest perceive, Sancho, by his dividing his cloak with the beggar and giving him half of it; no doubt it was winter at the time, for otherwise he would have given him the whole of it, so charitable was he.”
“It was not that, most likely,” said Sancho, “but that he held with the proverb that says, ‘For giving and keeping there’s need of brains.’”
Don Quixote laughed, and asked them to take off the next cloth, underneath which was seen the image of the patron saint of the Spains seated on horseback, his sword stained with blood, trampling on Moors and treading heads underfoot; and on seeing it Don Quixote exclaimed, “Ay, this is a knight, and of the squadrons of Christ! This one is called Don Saint James the Moorslayer, one of the bravest saints and knights the world ever had or heaven has now.”
They then raised another cloth which it appeared covered Saint Paul falling from his horse, with all the details that are usually given in representations of his conversion. When Don Quixote saw it, rendered in such lifelike style that one would have said Christ was speaking and Paul answering, “This,” he said, “was in his time the greatest enemy that the Church of God our Lord had, and the greatest champion it will ever have; a knight-errant in life, a steadfast saint in death, an untiring labourer in the Lord’s vineyard, a teacher of the Gentiles, whose school was heaven, and whose instructor and master was Jesus Christ himself.”
There were no more images, so Don Quixote bade them cover them up again, and said to those who had brought them, “I take it as a happy omen, brothers, to have seen what I have; for these saints and knights were of the same profession as myself, which is the calling of arms; only there is this difference between them and me, that they were saints, and fought with divine weapons, and I am a sinner and fight with human ones. They won heaven by force of arms, for heaven suffereth violence; and I, so far, know not what I have won by dint of my sufferings; but if my Dulcinea del Toboso were to be released from hers, perhaps with mended fortunes and a mind restored to itself I might direct my steps in a better path than I am following at present.”
“May God hear and sin be deaf,” said Sancho to this.
The men were filled with wonder, as well at the figure as at the words of Don Quixote, though they did not understand one half of what he meant by them. They finished their dinner, took their images on their backs, and bidding farewell to Don Quixote resumed their journey.
Sancho was amazed afresh at the extent of his master’s knowledge, as much as if he had never known him, for it seemed to him that there was no story or event in the world that he had not at his fingers’ ends and fixed in his memory, and he said to him, “In truth, master mine, if this that has happened to us to-day is to be called an adventure, it has been one of the sweetest and pleasantest that have befallen us in the whole course of our travels; we have come out of it unbelaboured and undismayed, neither have we drawn sword nor have we smitten the earth with our bodies, nor have we been left famishing; blessed be God that he has let me see such a thing with my own eyes!”
“Thou sayest well, Sancho,” said Don Quixote, “but remember all times are not alike nor do they always run the same way; and these things the vulgar commonly call omens, which are not based upon any natural reason, will by him who is wise be esteemed and reckoned happy accidents merely. One of these believers in omens will get up of a morning, leave his house, and meet a friar of the order of the blessed Saint Francis, and, as if he had met a griffin, he will turn about and go home. With another Mendoza the salt is spilt on his table, and gloom is spilt over his heart, as if nature was obliged to give warning of coming misfortunes by means of such trivial things as these. The wise man and the Christian should not trifle with what it may please heaven to do. Scipio on coming to Africa stumbled as he leaped on shore; his soldiers took it as a bad omen; but he, clasping the soil with his arms, exclaimed, ‘Thou canst not escape me, Africa, for I hold thee tight between my arms.’ Thus, Sancho, meeting those images has been to me a most happy occurrence.”
“I can well believe it,” said Sancho; “but I wish your worship would tell me what is the reason that the Spaniards, when they are about to give battle, in calling on that Saint James the Moorslayer, say ‘Santiago and close Spain!’ Is Spain, then, open, so that it is needful to close it; or what is the meaning of this form?”
“Thou art very simple, Sancho,” said Don Quixote; “God, look you, gave that great knight of the Red Cross to Spain as her patron saint and protector, especially in those hard struggles the Spaniards had with the Moors; and therefore they invoke and call upon him as their defender in all their battles; and in these he has been many a time seen beating down, trampling under foot, destroying and slaughtering the Hagarene squadrons in the sight of all; of which fact I could give thee many examples recorded in truthful Spanish histories.”
Sancho changed the subject, and said to his master, “I marvel, senor, at the boldness of Altisidora, the duchess’s handmaid; he whom they call Love must have cruelly pierced and wounded her; they say he is a little blind urchin who, though blear-eyed, or more properly speaking sightless, if he aims at a heart, be it ever so small, hits it and pierces it through and through with his arrows. I have heard it said too that the arrows of Love are blunted and robbed of their points by maidenly modesty and reserve; but with this Altisidora it seems they are sharpened rather than blunted.”
“Bear in mind, Sancho,” said Don Quixote, “that love is influenced by no consideration, recognises no restraints of reason, and is of the same nature as death, that assails alike the lofty palaces of kings and the humble cabins of shepherds; and when it takes entire possession of a heart, the first thing it does is to banish fear and shame from it; and so without shame Altisidora declared her passion, which excited in my mind embarrassment rather than commiseration.”
“Notable cruelty!” exclaimed Sancho; “unheard-of ingratitude! I can only say for myself that the very smallest loving word of hers would have subdued me and made a slave of me. The devil! What a heart of marble, what bowels of brass, what a soul of mortar! But I can’t imagine what it is that this damsel saw in your worship that could have conquered and captivated her so. What gallant figure was it, what bold bearing, what sprightly grace, what comeliness of feature, which of these things by itself, or what all together, could have made her fall in love with you? For indeed and in truth many a time I stop to look at your worship from the sole of your foot to the topmost hair of your head, and I see more to frighten one than to make one fall in love; moreover I have heard say that beauty is the first and main thing that excites love, and as your worship has none at all, I don’t know what the poor creature fell in love with.”
“Recollect, Sancho,” replied Don Quixote, “there are two sorts of beauty, one of the mind, the other of the body; that of the mind displays and exhibits itself in intelligence, in modesty, in honourable conduct, in generosity, in good breeding; and all these qualities are possible and may exist in an ugly man; and when it is this sort of beauty and not that of the body that is the attraction, love is apt to spring up suddenly and violently. I, Sancho, perceive clearly enough that I am not beautiful, but at the same time I know I am not hideous; and it is enough for an honest man not to be a monster to he an object of love, if only he possesses the endowments of mind I have mentioned.”
While engaged in this discourse they were making their way through a wood that lay beyond the road, when suddenly, without expecting anything of the kind, Don Quixote found himself caught in some nets of green cord stretched from one tree to another; and unable to conceive what it could be, he said to Sancho, “Sancho, it strikes me this affair of these nets will prove one of the strangest adventures imaginable. May I die if the enchanters that persecute me are not trying to entangle me in them and delay my journey, by way of revenge for my obduracy towards Altisidora. Well then let me tell them that if these nets, instead of being green cord, were made of the hardest diamonds, or stronger than that wherewith the jealous god of blacksmiths enmeshed Venus and Mars, I would break them as easily as if they were made of rushes or cotton threads.” But just as he was about to press forward and break through all, suddenly from among some trees two shepherdesses of surpassing beauty presented themselves to his sight — or at least damsels dressed like shepherdesses, save that their jerkins and sayas were of fine brocade; that is to say, the sayas were rich farthingales of gold embroidered tabby. Their hair, that in its golden brightness vied with the beams of the sun itself, fell loose upon their shoulders and was crowned with garlands twined with green laurel and red everlasting; and their years to all appearance were not under fifteen nor above eighteen.
 
Such was the spectacle that filled Sancho with amazement, fascinated Don Quixote, made the sun halt in his course to behold them, and held all four in a strange silence. One of the shepherdesses, at length, was the first to speak and said to Don Quixote, “Hold, sir knight, and do not break these nets; for they are not spread here to do you any harm, but only for our amusement; and as I know you will ask why they have been put up, and who we are, I will tell you in a few words. In a village some two leagues from this, where there are many people of quality and rich gentlefolk, it was agreed upon by a number of friends and relations to come with their wives, sons and daughters, neighbours, friends and kinsmen, and make holiday in this spot, which is one of the pleasantest in the whole neighbourhood, setting up a new pastoral Arcadia among ourselves, we maidens dressing ourselves as shepherdesses and the youths as shepherds. We have prepared two eclogues, one by the famous poet Garcilasso, the other by the most excellent Camoens, in its own Portuguese tongue, but we have not as yet acted them. Yesterday was the first day of our coming here; we have a few of what they say are called field-tents pitched among the trees on the bank of an ample brook that fertilises all these meadows; last night we spread these nets in the trees here to snare the silly little birds that startled by the noise we make may fly into them. If you please to he our guest, senor, you will be welcomed heartily and courteously, for here just now neither care nor sorrow shall enter.”
She held her peace and said no more, and Don Quixote made answer, “Of a truth, fairest lady, Actaeon when he unexpectedly beheld Diana bathing in the stream could not have been more fascinated and wonderstruck than I at the sight of your beauty. I commend your mode of entertainment, and thank you for the kindness of your invitation; and if I can serve you, you may command me with full confidence of being obeyed, for my profession is none other than to show myself grateful, and ready to serve persons of all conditions, but especially persons of quality such as your appearance indicates; and if, instead of taking up, as they probably do, but a small space, these nets took up the whole surface of the globe, I would seek out new worlds through which to pass, so as not to break them; and that ye may give some degree of credence to this exaggerated language of mine, know that it is no less than Don Quixote of La Mancha that makes this declaration to you, if indeed it be that such a name has reached your ears.”
“Ah! friend of my soul,” instantly exclaimed the other shepherdess, “what great good fortune has befallen us! Seest thou this gentleman we have before us? Well then let me tell thee he is the most valiant and the most devoted and the most courteous gentleman in all the world, unless a history of his achievements that has been printed and I have read is telling lies and deceiving us. I will lay a wager that this good fellow who is with him is one Sancho Panza his squire, whose drolleries none can equal.”
“That’s true,” said Sancho; “I am that same droll and squire you speak of, and this gentleman is my master Don Quixote of La Mancha, the same that’s in the history and that they talk about.”
“Oh, my friend,” said the other, “let us entreat him to stay; for it will give our fathers and brothers infinite pleasure; I too have heard just what thou hast told me of the valour of the one and the drolleries of the other; and what is more, of him they say that he is the most constant and loyal lover that was ever heard of, and that his lady is one Dulcinea del Toboso, to whom all over Spain the palm of beauty is awarded.”
“And justly awarded,” said Don Quixote, “unless, indeed, your unequalled beauty makes it a matter of doubt. But spare yourselves the trouble, ladies, of pressing me to stay, for the urgent calls of my profession do not allow me to take rest under any circumstances.”
At this instant there came up to the spot where the four stood a brother of one of the two shepherdesses, like them in shepherd costume, and as richly and gaily dressed as they were. They told him that their companion was the valiant Don Quixote of La Mancha, and the other Sancho his squire, of whom he knew already from having read their history. The gay shepherd offered him his services and begged that he would accompany him to their tents, and Don Quixote had to give way and comply. And now the gave was started, and the nets were filled with a variety of birds that deceived by the colour fell into the danger they were flying from. Upwards of thirty persons, all gaily attired as shepherds and shepherdesses, assembled on the spot, and were at once informed who Don Quixote and his squire were, whereat they were not a little delighted, as they knew of him already through his history. They repaired to the tents, where they found tables laid out, and choicely, plentifully, and neatly furnished. They treated Don Quixote as a person of distinction, giving him the place of honour, and all observed him, and were full of astonishment at the spectacle. At last the cloth being removed, Don Quixote with great composure lifted up his voice and said:
“One of the greatest sins that men are guilty of is — some will say pride — but I say ingratitude, going by the common saying that hell is full of ingrates. This sin, so far as it has lain in my power, I have endeavoured to avoid ever since I have enjoyed the faculty of reason; and if I am unable to requite good deeds that have been done me by other deeds, I substitute the desire to do so; and if that be not enough I make them known publicly; for he who declares and makes known the good deeds done to him would repay them by others if it were in his power, and for the most part those who receive are the inferiors of those who give. Thus, God is superior to all because he is the supreme giver, and the offerings of man fall short by an infinite distance of being a full return for the gifts of God; but gratitude in some degree makes up for this deficiency and shortcoming. I therefore, grateful for the favour that has been extended to me here, and unable to make a return in the same measure, restricted as I am by the narrow limits of my power, offer what I can and what I have to offer in my own way; and so I declare that for two full days I will maintain in the middle of this highway leading to Saragossa, that these ladies disguised as shepherdesses, who are here present, are the fairest and most courteous maidens in the world, excepting only the peerless Dulcinea del Toboso, sole mistress of my thoughts, be it said without offence to those who hear me, ladies and gentlemen.”
On hearing this Sancho, who had been listening with great attention, cried out in a loud voice, “Is it possible there is anyone in the world who will dare to say and swear that this master of mine is a madman? Say, gentlemen shepherds, is there a village priest, be he ever so wise or learned, who could say what my master has said; or is there knight-errant, whatever renown he may have as a man of valour, that could offer what my master has offered now?”
Don Quixote turned upon Sancho, and with a countenance glowing with anger said to him, “Is it possible, Sancho, there is anyone in the whole world who will say thou art not a fool, with a lining to match, and I know not what trimmings of impertinence and roguery? Who asked thee to meddle in my affairs, or to inquire whether I am a wise man or a blockhead? Hold thy peace; answer me not a word; saddle Rocinante if he be unsaddled; and let us go to put my offer into execution; for with the right that I have on my side thou mayest reckon as vanquished all who shall venture to question it;” and in a great rage, and showing his anger plainly, he rose from his seat, leaving the company lost in wonder, and making them feel doubtful whether they ought to regard him as a madman or a rational being. In the end, though they sought to dissuade him from involving himself in such a challenge, assuring him they admitted his gratitude as fully established, and needed no fresh proofs to be convinced of his valiant spirit, as those related in the history of his exploits were sufficient, still Don Quixote persisted in his resolve; and mounted on Rocinante, bracing his buckler on his arm and grasping his lance, he posted himself in the middle of a high road that was not far from the green meadow. Sancho followed on Dapple, together with all the members of the pastoral gathering, eager to see what would be the upshot of his vainglorious and extraordinary proposal.
Don Quixote, then, having, as has been said, planted himself in the middle of the road, made the welkin ring with words to this effect: “Ho ye travellers and wayfarers, knights, squires, folk on foot or on horseback, who pass this way or shall pass in the course of the next two days! Know that Don Quixote of La Mancha, knight-errant, is posted here to maintain by arms that the beauty and courtesy enshrined in the nymphs that dwell in these meadows and groves surpass all upon earth, putting aside the lady of my heart, Dulcinea del Toboso. Wherefore, let him who is of the opposite opinion come on, for here I await him.”
Twice he repeated the same words, and twice they fell unheard by any adventurer; but fate, that was guiding affairs for him from better to better, so ordered it that shortly afterwards there appeared on the road a crowd of men on horseback, many of them with lances in their hands, all riding in a compact body and in great haste. No sooner had those who were with Don Quixote seen them than they turned about and withdrew to some distance from the road, for they knew that if they stayed some harm might come to them; but Don Quixote with intrepid heart stood his ground, and Sancho Panza shielded himself with Rocinante’s hind-quarters. The troop of lancers came up, and one of them who was in advance began shouting to Don Quixote, “Get out of the way, you son of the devil, or these bulls will knock you to pieces!”
“Rabble!” returned Don Quixote, “I care nothing for bulls, be they the fiercest Jarama breeds on its banks. Confess at once, scoundrels, that what I have declared is true; else ye have to deal with me in combat.”
The herdsman had no time to reply, nor Don Quixote to get out of the way even if he wished; and so the drove of fierce bulls and tame bullocks, together with the crowd of herdsmen and others who were taking them to be penned up in a village where they were to be run the next day, passed over Don Quixote and over Sancho, Rocinante and Dapple, hurling them all to the earth and rolling them over on the ground. Sancho was left crushed, Don Quixote scared, Dapple belaboured and Rocinante in no very sound condition.
 
They all got up, however, at length, and Don Quixote in great haste, stumbling here and falling there, started off running after the drove, shouting out, “Hold! stay! ye rascally rabble, a single knight awaits you, and he is not of the temper or opinion of those who say, ‘For a flying enemy make a bridge of silver.’” The retreating party in their haste, however, did not stop for that, or heed his menaces any more than last year’s clouds. Weariness brought Don Quixote to a halt, and more enraged than avenged he sat down on the road to wait until Sancho, Rocinante and Dapple came up. When they reached him master and man mounted once more, and without going back to bid farewell to the mock or imitation Arcadia, and more in humiliation than contentment, they continued their journey.
 
唐吉诃德和桑乔遭受了公牛的非礼之后，一路风尘，来到了树林间的一泓清泉边。他们为驴和马摘掉了笼头，任其游荡。主仆二人坐下来，桑乔从他藏食品的褡裢里拿出了一些他称为熟肉的食物。唐吉诃德漱了口，洗了脸，清凉了一下，觉得精神爽快些了。他心中烦闷，没有吃东西；桑乔仅仅是出于礼貌才没动摆在自己面前的东西，主人没吃，他也不敢先尝。可是，他见主人只管自己想心事，根本就没想去拿面包，也就不顾什么规矩了，一声不吭地拿起面包和奶酪往肚子里填。
“吃吧，桑乔朋友，”唐吉诃德说，“你得维持生命，这比我维持自己的生命更重要。我忧心忡忡，厄运不断，干脆让我死掉算了。桑乔，我生来就是虽生犹死，而你呢，是为死而吃。为了让你知道我说的是实话，你不妨想想，我这个人史书有载，武艺有名，行为有礼，王宫有请，姑娘有求，总之，我本来应该由于我的英勇业绩而得到桂冠，取得英名，可是今天上午我却被那些粗野无礼的牲畜踩得浑身疼痛。现在，我的牙崩了，手也麻了，完全没有胃口了。所以，我想还是让自己饿死算了，这是一种最残酷的死亡方式。”
“可我觉得，”桑乔说，“有句俗语，您大概不会赞成，就是说‘死也要当饱死鬼’。至少我不想把自己饿死，相反，我倒想像皮匠那样。皮匠用牙齿把皮子咬住，尽可能地拉长。我也会拼命吃，尽力延长我的生命，一直到气数已尽。您应该知道，大人，世界上再没有比像您这样绝望更傻的事了。还是听我的吧，吃完东西以后在这片绿草垫子上睡一会儿，醒来后您就会觉得好一些。”
唐吉诃德觉得桑乔这几句话不仅不傻，倒有点哲学家的味道，便同意了。不过，他对桑乔说道：
“喂，桑乔，如果你能按照我现在说的去做，我的心情就会轻松一些，不那么难受。那就是当我按照你说的去睡觉的时候，你往远处走一点儿，解开衣服，用罗西南多的缰绳抽打自己三四百下。要想让杜尔西内亚摆脱魔法，你还差三千多下呢。由于你的疏忽，她现在仍然受着魔法的折磨，这是多大的憾事呀。”
“这事可得从长计议，”桑乔说，“咱们俩现在还是先睡觉，然后再说吧。您该知道，让一个人狠狠抽打自己，这可不是简单的事情，更何况是个腹中空空的人呢。我的女主人杜尔西内亚夫人还是耐心点儿吧，也许她在某个意想不到的时候发现我已经被打得百孔千疮了。‘不死就有日子’，我是说，只要我还活着，我就愿意实现我的诺言。”
唐吉诃德对此表示感谢，然后吃了点儿东西。桑乔吃得可不少。吃完后，两人倒地睡觉，任凭那两头牲口在肥沃的草地上随意啃青。他们醒来时天色已渐晚，两人便赶紧骑上牲口继续赶路，想尽快赶到一西里外的一个客店去。我这里说客店是因为唐吉诃德称它为客店，而没有像以往那样把所有的客店都称为城堡。
他们来到客店，问店主是否还有房间。店主说不仅有，而且条件很好，在萨拉戈萨可称是独占鳌头。两人从马背和驴背上翻身跃下。店主给了桑乔一把钥匙，桑乔把他们带的食物放到一个房间里，又把两匹牲口牵到马厩里，喂了些草料，然后出来看唐吉诃德还有什么吩咐。唐吉诃德正坐在一个石凳上。桑乔特别感谢老天，他的主人这次没把客店当成城堡。到了吃晚饭的时间，两人回到他们的房间。桑乔问店主，晚饭有什么可吃的，店主回答说，那要看客人的口味了，可以说想吃什么有什么，从天上的飞鸟到地上的家禽，还有海里的鱼，应有尽有。
“用不了那么多，”桑乔说，“我们俩只要有两只烤鸡就够了。我的主人身体不舒服，吃不多，我吃得也不是特别多。”
店主说没有鸡，鸡都被老鹰叼走了。
“那么，您就去让他们烤一只嫩母鸡吧。”桑乔说。
“母鸡？我的妈呀！”店主说，“实话告诉你，我昨天把五十多只母鸡都拿到城里卖掉了。除了母鸡，你随便要什么都可以。”
“那么，”桑乔说，“牛犊肉或羊羔肉总该有吧。”
“现在客店里没有，”店主说，“没有是因为用完了。不过，下星期有的是。”
“这下可好了，”桑乔说，“这也没有，那也没有，咸肉和鸡蛋总该有吧？”
“我的天哪，”店主说，“这位客人可真够笨的。我刚才说过这儿没有母鸡，你怎么还想要鸡蛋呢？你再想想，还有什么好吃的，可以要点儿美味的东西。”
“我的天哪，这么办吧，”桑乔说，“店主大人，你说说你这儿有什么吧，我们也不用再考虑了。”
“我有两只牛犊蹄一般大小的老牛蹄，或者说两只像老牛蹄一般大小的牛犊蹄，现在正煮着呢。我已经加了豆子、葱头和咸肉。这会儿它们正叫着：快来吃我吧，快来吃我吧。”
“那么现在我们就要它，谁也不许再要了。”桑乔说，“我一定出比别人多的价钱。我最喜欢吃这种东西了。无论什么蹄子我都爱吃。”
“没有人会再要的，”店主说，“因为我这里的其他客人都很有身份，他们都自己带着厨师、管理员和原料。”
“若论有身份，”桑乔说，“谁也不如我的主人有身份。不过，他所从事的职业不允许他带着食物和饮料。我们躺在草地上吃橡子或野果就饱了。”
桑乔同店主的谈话到此为止，因为店主问桑乔他的主人是干什么的，桑乔就不愿意再往下说了。到了吃晚饭的时候，唐吉诃德仍留在房间里。店主把那锅牛蹄端来，自己也坐下来大大方方地一起吃。这个房间同隔壁那个房间似乎只隔着一堵薄墙。唐吉诃德听到那个房间里有人在说话：
“亲爱的唐赫罗尼莫大人，趁现在还没有送晚饭来，咱们还是看看《唐吉诃德》的下卷吧。”
一听到提起自己的名字，唐吉诃德立刻站起来，仔细倾听他们的谈话。只听得那个唐赫罗尼莫大人说道：
“唐胡安大人，您为什么要看那些胡言乱语呢？凡是读过《唐吉诃德》上卷的人都知道，这部小说索然无味，那么下卷还会有什么意思呢？”
“尽管如此，”唐胡安说，“还是看看为好。无论哪本书，都是开卷有益。不过，我最不满意的就是书上说，唐吉诃德已经不再忠于托博索的杜尔西内亚了。”
唐吉诃德闻言勃然大怒，说道：
“无论是谁，只要他说曼查的唐吉诃德抛弃了托博索的杜尔西内亚，我就要同他拼命，让他知道这纯粹是一派胡言！唐吉诃德根本不可能抛弃杜尔西内亚。杜尔西内亚也不可能被唐吉诃德抛弃，她不会被任何人抛弃。唐吉诃德并不是那种见异思迁的人，而且他的职业也不允许他移情别处。”
“谁在听我们说话？”隔壁有人说道。
“还能有谁呢，”桑乔说，“只能是曼查的唐吉诃德本人。他说到就能做到，更何况他‘既然能还帐，就不怕抵押’呢。”
桑乔刚说完，就看见两个骑士装束的人进了房门。其中一人搂住唐吉诃德的脖子说道：
“见了您，果然名不虚传。而您的盛名又使您不虚此行。确切无疑，您就是真正的唐吉诃德，是游侠骑士的北斗星和指路明灯。有的人竟想顶替您的英名，诋毁您的功绩，就像这本书的作者那样，只能是徒劳一场。”
那人说着把同伴手里的一本书交给唐吉诃德。唐吉诃德接过来，一言不发，翻了翻书，过了一会儿才说道：
“我只随便翻了一下，便发现作者有三点不堪一击。首先是序言上的几句话；其次是作者的阿拉贡语风，他写东西时有些地方没用冠词；第三点就是主要情节不符合事实。例如，这儿说我的侍从桑乔•潘萨的妻子叫玛丽•古铁雷斯，其实她叫特雷莎•潘萨。既然在这么重要的地方都有误，其他地方的谬误就可想而知了。”
桑乔说道：
“这种人算什么呀！居然把我老婆特雷莎•潘萨说成是玛丽•古铁雷斯！大人，您再翻翻书，看看书里是不是有我的名字，是不是把我的名字也改了？”
“朋友，听你说话这口气，”唐赫罗尼莫说，“你肯定就是唐吉诃德大人的侍从桑乔•潘萨了？”
“正是我，”桑乔说，“我为此感到骄傲。”
“实话对你讲，”那人说道，“这位作者并没有把你如实写出来。他把你描述成一个贪吃的笨蛋，一点儿也不滑稽，与写你主人那本书上卷里的桑乔完全不同。”
“愿上帝饶恕他吧，”桑乔说，“他完全可以不写我嘛。不知道就别乱说，事情该怎么样就是怎么样。”
那两个人请唐吉诃德到他们房间去与他们共进晚餐。他们很清楚，那个客店里没有什么适合唐吉诃德吃的东西。唐吉诃德不便推辞，就很有礼貌地过去同他们一起吃晚饭，于是这锅牛蹄就成桑乔的了。桑乔坐到了上首位置，店主也挨着他坐下来。他同桑乔一样对蹄类食品很感兴趣。
吃晚饭时，唐胡安向唐吉诃德打听有关杜尔西内亚的情况，问他们是否已经结婚，杜尔西内亚是否怀孕了，或者仍是个处女。如果她仍守身如玉，那么，她对唐吉诃德也肯定一往情深。唐吉诃德答道：
“杜尔西内亚仍然完好如初，我对她也比以往任何时候都忠贞。我们之间的联系同以前一样，并不频繁，不过，她的花容月貌现在已变成一个丑陋的农妇模样了。”
接着，唐吉诃德讲述了杜尔西内亚中魔法以及他在蒙特西诺斯洞窟内看到的情况，还提到了贤人梅尔林曾吩咐过，若想让杜尔西内亚摆脱魔法，就得让桑乔自己鞭笞自己。那两个人听唐吉诃德讲述他的这些奇遇觉得非常有意思，同时又对他能把这些乱七八糟的东西讲得有声有色感到惊奇。他一会儿讲得有条有理，一会儿又讲得糊里糊涂，让人搞不清他到底是明白人还是疯子。
桑乔吃完晚饭，撇下那个已经醉倒的店主，来到唐吉诃德所在的房间，进门便说道：
“我敢拿生命打赌，诸位大人，你们看的那本书的作者肯定是跟我过不去。他把我说成了馋鬼，但愿他别再把我称为醉鬼。”
“他的确把你说成醉鬼，”唐赫罗尼莫说，“但我忘记是怎么说的了，我只知道说得挺不好的。不过，我亲眼见到了眼前这位桑乔，就知道那全是胡说八道。”
“请你们诸位相信，你们看的那本书里的桑乔和唐吉诃德大概是另外两个人，而不是锡德•哈迈德•贝嫩赫利写的书里的桑乔和唐吉诃德。我们是贝嫩赫利写的唐吉诃德和桑乔。我的主人勇敢、机智而又多情，我单纯、滑稽，既不贪吃也不贪杯。”“我也这样认为。”唐胡安说，“如果可能的话，应该下令除了原作者锡德•哈迈德之外，任何人都不许记述伟大的唐吉诃德的事情，就像亚历山大下令除了阿佩莱斯①之外，任何人都不许画他的像一样。”
①阿佩莱斯是古希腊时代早期的画家，曾为马其顿的腓力二世及其子亚历山大大帝充当宫廷画师。
“谁愿意写我就写吧，”唐吉诃德说，“但是不要丑化我。
污蔑太多往往会导致让人失去耐心。”
“若不是唐吉诃德大人这么有耐心，”唐胡安说，“我估计他这种耐心是相当大的，恐怕没有什么污蔑可以逃脱他的反击。”
大家说着话消磨了大半夜，虽然唐胡安想让唐吉诃德再翻翻那本书，看看还有什么可说的，最终却未能如愿。唐吉诃德说，就算他把全书都看了，也只能说是满篇荒谬，而且，万一传到那本书作者的耳朵里，说唐吉诃德见过那本书，他就该得意了，还以为唐吉诃德通读了那本书呢。人心里应该干净，眼睛里更应该干净。那两个人问唐吉诃德准备到哪儿去，唐吉诃德说要到萨拉戈萨去参加一年一度的盔甲擂台赛。唐胡安说，那本书里讲到唐吉诃德或其他什么人曾参加了一次穿环擂台赛，写得毫无新意，缺乏文采，没有特点，全是一派胡言。”
“如果情况是这样，”唐吉诃德说，“我就不去萨拉戈萨了，这样就可以揭穿作者的谎言，让人们知道我并不是他说的那个唐吉诃德。”
“您做得很对，”唐赫罗尼莫说，“在巴塞罗那另外还有其他一些比赛，您可以在那儿显示您的风采。”
“我也想这样。”唐吉诃德说，“现在是睡觉的时候了，请原谅，我要上床休息了。请你们务必把我当成你们的一位老朋友和侍者。”
“我也如此，”桑乔说，“也许什么时候我能为你们做点儿事情。”
他们互相道别，唐吉诃德和桑乔回到了自己的房间，剩下唐胡安和唐赫罗尼莫仍在那里为看到唐吉诃德既明智又疯癫而发呆。他们确信，这两个人就是真正的唐吉诃德和桑乔，而不是那位阿拉贡作者杜撰的那两个。
第二天早晨，唐吉诃德用手拍打着隔壁房间的薄墙，向那两个人告别。桑乔慷慨地向店主付了钱，让店主少吹牛，多置办些东西。
Part 2 Chapter 59
A clear limpid spring which they discovered in a cool grove relieved Don Quixote and Sancho of the dust and fatigue due to the unpolite behaviour of the bulls, and by the side of this, having turned Dapple and Rocinante loose without headstall or bridle, the forlorn pair, master and man, seated themselves. Sancho had recourse to the larder of his alforjas and took out of them what he called the prog; Don Quixote rinsed his mouth and bathed his face, by which cooling process his flagging energies were revived. Out of pure vexation he remained without eating, and out of pure politeness Sancho did not venture to touch a morsel of what was before him, but waited for his master to act as taster. Seeing, however, that, absorbed in thought, he was forgetting to carry the bread to his mouth, he said never a word, and trampling every sort of good breeding under foot, began to stow away in his paunch the bread and cheese that came to his hand.
 
“Eat, Sancho my friend,” said Don Quixote; “support life, which is of more consequence to thee than to me, and leave me to die under the pain of my thoughts and pressure of my misfortunes. I was born, Sancho, to live dying, and thou to die eating; and to prove the truth of what I say, look at me, printed in histories, famed in arms, courteous in behaviour, honoured by princes, courted by maidens; and after all, when I looked forward to palms, triumphs, and crowns, won and earned by my valiant deeds, I have this morning seen myself trampled on, kicked, and crushed by the feet of unclean and filthy animals. This thought blunts my teeth, paralyses my jaws, cramps my hands, and robs me of all appetite for food; so much so that I have a mind to let myself die of hunger, the cruelest death of all deaths.”
“So then,” said Sancho, munching hard all the time, “your worship does not agree with the proverb that says, ‘Let Martha die, but let her die with a full belly.’ I, at any rate, have no mind to kill myself; so far from that, I mean to do as the cobbler does, who stretches the leather with his teeth until he makes it reach as far as he wants. I’ll stretch out my life by eating until it reaches the end heaven has fixed for it; and let me tell you, senor, there’s no greater folly than to think of dying of despair as your worship does; take my advice, and after eating lie down and sleep a bit on this green grass-mattress, and you will see that when you awake you’ll feel something better.”
Don Quixote did as he recommended, for it struck him that Sancho’s reasoning was more like a philosopher’s than a blockhead’s , and said he, “Sancho, if thou wilt do for me what I am going to tell thee my ease of mind would be more assured and my heaviness of heart not so great; and it is this; to go aside a little while I am sleeping in accordance with thy advice, and, making bare thy carcase to the air, to give thyself three or four hundred lashes with Rocinante’s reins, on account of the three thousand and odd thou art to give thyself for the disenchantment of Dulcinea; for it is a great pity that the poor lady should be left enchanted through thy carelessness and negligence.”
“There is a good deal to be said on that point,” said Sancho; “let us both go to sleep now, and after that, God has decreed what will happen. Let me tell your worship that for a man to whip himself in cold blood is a hard thing, especially if the stripes fall upon an ill-nourished and worse-fed body. Let my lady Dulcinea have patience, and when she is least expecting it, she will see me made a riddle of with whipping, and ‘until death it’s all life;’ I mean that I have still life in me, and the desire to make good what I have promised.”
Don Quixote thanked him, and ate a little, and Sancho a good deal, and then they both lay down to sleep, leaving those two inseparable friends and comrades, Rocinante and Dapple, to their own devices and to feed unrestrained upon the abundant grass with which the meadow was furnished. They woke up rather late, mounted once more and resumed their journey, pushing on to reach an inn which was in sight, apparently a league off. I say an inn, because Don Quixote called it so, contrary to his usual practice of calling all inns castles. They reached it, and asked the landlord if they could put up there. He said yes, with as much comfort and as good fare as they could find in Saragossa. They dismounted, and Sancho stowed away his larder in a room of which the landlord gave him the key. He took the beasts to the stable, fed them, and came back to see what orders Don Quixote, who was seated on a bench at the door, had for him, giving special thanks to heaven that this inn had not been taken for a castle by his master. Supper-time came, and they repaired to their room, and Sancho asked the landlord what he had to give them for supper. To this the landlord replied that his mouth should be the measure; he had only to ask what he would; for that inn was provided with the birds of the air and the fowls of the earth and the fish of the sea.
“There’s no need of all that,” said Sancho; “if they’ll roast us a couple of chickens we’ll be satisfied, for my master is delicate and eats little, and I’m not over and above gluttonous.”
The landlord replied he had no chickens, for the kites had stolen them.
“Well then,” said Sancho, “let senor landlord tell them to roast a pullet, so that it is a tender one.”
“Pullet! My father!” said the landlord; “indeed and in truth it’s only yesterday I sent over fifty to the city to sell; but saving pullets ask what you will.”
“In that case,” said Sancho, “you will not be without veal or kid.”
“Just now,” said the landlord, “there’s none in the house, for it’s all finished; but next week there will he enough and to spare.”
“Much good that does us,” said Sancho; “I’ll lay a bet that all these short-comings are going to wind up in plenty of bacon and eggs.”
“By God,” said the landlord, “my guest’s wits must he precious dull; I tell him I have neither pullets nor hens, and he wants me to have eggs! Talk of other dainties, if you please, and don’t ask for hens again.”
“Body o’ me!” said Sancho, “let’s settle the matter; say at once what you have got, and let us have no more words about it.”
“In truth and earnest, senor guest,” said the landlord, “all I have is a couple of cow-heels like calves’ feet, or a couple of calves’ feet like cowheels; they are boiled with chick-peas, onions, and bacon, and at this moment they are crying ‘Come eat me, come eat me.”
“I mark them for mine on the spot,” said Sancho; “let nobody touch them; I’ll pay better for them than anyone else, for I could not wish for anything more to my taste; and I don’t care a pin whether they are feet or heels.”
“Nobody shall touch them,” said the landlord; “for the other guests I have, being persons of high quality, bring their own cook and caterer and larder with them.”
“If you come to people of quality,” said Sancho, “there’s nobody more so than my master; but the calling he follows does not allow of larders or store-rooms; we lay ourselves down in the middle of a meadow, and fill ourselves with acorns or medlars.”
Here ended Sancho’s conversation with the landlord, Sancho not caring to carry it any farther by answering him; for he had already asked him what calling or what profession it was his master was of.
Supper-time having come, then, Don Quixote betook himself to his room, the landlord brought in the stew-pan just as it was, and he sat himself down to sup very resolutely. It seems that in another room, which was next to Don Quixote’s , with nothing but a thin partition to separate it, he overheard these words, “As you live, Senor Don Jeronimo, while they are bringing supper, let us read another chapter of the Second Part of ‘Don Quixote of La Mancha.’”
The instant Don Quixote heard his own name be started to his feet and listened with open ears to catch what they said about him, and heard the Don Jeronimo who had been addressed say in reply, “Why would you have us read that absurd stuff, Don Juan, when it is impossible for anyone who has read the First Part of the history of ‘Don Quixote of La Mancha’ to take any pleasure in reading this Second Part?”
“For all that,” said he who was addressed as Don Juan, “we shall do well to read it, for there is no book so bad but it has something good in it. What displeases me most in it is that it represents Don Quixote as now cured of his love for Dulcinea del Toboso.”
On hearing this Don Quixote, full of wrath and indignation, lifted up his voice and said, “Whoever he may be who says that Don Quixote of La Mancha has forgotten or can forget Dulcinea del Toboso, I will teach him with equal arms that what he says is very far from the truth; for neither can the peerless Dulcinea del Toboso be forgotten, nor can forgetfulness have a place in Don Quixote; his motto is constancy, and his profession to maintain the same with his life and never wrong it.”
“Who is this that answers us?” said they in the next room.
“Who should it be,” said Sancho, “but Don Quixote of La Mancha himself, who will make good all he has said and all he will say; for pledges don’t trouble a good payer.”
Sancho had hardly uttered these words when two gentlemen, for such they seemed to be, entered the room, and one of them, throwing his arms round Don Quixote’s neck, said to him, “Your appearance cannot leave any question as to your name, nor can your name fail to identify your appearance; unquestionably, senor, you are the real Don Quixote of La Mancha, cynosure and morning star of knight-errantry, despite and in defiance of him who has sought to usurp your name and bring to naught your achievements, as the author of this book which I here present to you has done;” and with this he put a book which his companion carried into the hands of Don Quixote, who took it, and without replying began to run his eye over it; but he presently returned it saying, “In the little I have seen I have discovered three things in this author that deserve to be censured. The first is some words that I have read in the preface; the next that the language is Aragonese, for sometimes he writes without articles; and the third, which above all stamps him as ignorant, is that he goes wrong and departs from the truth in the most important part of the history, for here he says that my squire Sancho Panza’s wife is called Mari Gutierrez, when she is called nothing of the sort, but Teresa Panza; and when a man errs on such an important point as this there is good reason to fear that he is in error on every other point in the history.”
“A nice sort of historian, indeed!” exclaimed Sancho at this; “he must know a deal about our affairs when he calls my wife Teresa Panza, Mari Gutierrez; take the book again, senor, and see if I am in it and if he has changed my name.”
“From your talk, friend,” said Don Jeronimo, “no doubt you are Sancho Panza, Senor Don Quixote’s squire.”
“Yes, I am,” said Sancho; “and I’m proud of it.”
“Faith, then,” said the gentleman, “this new author does not handle you with the decency that displays itself in your person; he makes you out a heavy feeder and a fool, and not in the least droll, and a very different being from the Sancho described in the First Part of your master’s history.”
“God forgive him,” said Sancho; “he might have left me in my corner without troubling his head about me; ‘let him who knows how ring the bells; ‘Saint Peter is very well in Rome.’”
The two gentlemen pressed Don Quixote to come into their room and have supper with them, as they knew very well there was nothing in that inn fit for one of his sort. Don Quixote, who was always polite, yielded to their request and supped with them. Sancho stayed behind with the stew. and invested with plenary delegated authority seated himself at the head of the table, and the landlord sat down with him, for he was no less fond of cow-heel and calves’ feet than Sancho was.
While at supper Don Juan asked Don Quixote what news he had of the lady Dulcinea del Toboso, was she married, had she been brought to bed, or was she with child, or did she in maidenhood, still preserving her modesty and delicacy, cherish the remembrance of the tender passion of Senor Don Quixote?
To this he replied, “Dulcinea is a maiden still, and my passion more firmly rooted than ever, our intercourse unsatisfactory as before, and her beauty transformed into that of a foul country wench;” and then he proceeded to give them a full and particular account of the enchantment of Dulcinea, and of what had happened him in the cave of Montesinos, together with what the sage Merlin had prescribed for her disenchantment, namely the scourging of Sancho.
Exceedingly great was the amusement the two gentlemen derived from hearing Don Quixote recount the strange incidents of his history; and if they were amazed by his absurdities they were equally amazed by the elegant style in which he delivered them. On the one hand they regarded him as a man of wit and sense, and on the other he seemed to them a maundering blockhead, and they could not make up their minds whereabouts between wisdom and folly they ought to place him.
Sancho having finished his supper, and left the landlord in the X condition, repaired to the room where his master was, and as he came in said, “May I die, sirs, if the author of this book your worships have got has any mind that we should agree; as he calls me glutton (according to what your worships say) I wish he may not call me drunkard too.”
“But he does,” said Don Jeronimo; “I cannot remember, however, in what way, though I know his words are offensive, and what is more, lying, as I can see plainly by the physiognomy of the worthy Sancho before me.”
“Believe me,” said Sancho, “the Sancho and the Don Quixote of this history must be different persons from those that appear in the one Cide Hamete Benengeli wrote, who are ourselves; my master valiant, wise, and true in love, and I simple, droll, and neither glutton nor drunkard.”
“I believe it,” said Don Juan; “and were it possible, an order should be issued that no one should have the presumption to deal with anything relating to Don Quixote, save his original author Cide Hamete; just as Alexander commanded that no one should presume to paint his portrait save Apelles.”
 
“Let him who will paint me,” said Don Quixote; “but let him not abuse me; for patience will often break down when they heap insults upon it.”
“None can be offered to Senor Don Quixote,” said Don Juan, “that he himself will not be able to avenge, if he does not ward it off with the shield of his patience, which, I take it, is great and strong.”
A considerable portion of the night passed in conversation of this sort, and though Don Juan wished Don Quixote to read more of the book to see what it was all about, he was not to be prevailed upon, saying that he treated it as read and pronounced it utterly silly; and, if by any chance it should come to its author’s ears that he had it in his hand, he did not want him to flatter himself with the idea that he had read it; for our thoughts, and still more our eyes, should keep themselves aloof from what is obscene and filthy.
They asked him whither he meant to direct his steps. He replied, to Saragossa, to take part in the harness jousts which were held in that city every year. Don Juan told him that the new history described how Don Quixote, let him be who he might, took part there in a tilting at the ring, utterly devoid of invention, poor in mottoes, very poor in costume, though rich in sillinesses.
“For that very reason,” said Don Quixote, “I will not set foot in Saragossa; and by that means I shall expose to the world the lie of this new history writer, and people will see that I am not the Don Quixote he speaks of.”
“You will do quite right,” said Don Jeronimo; “and there are other jousts at Barcelona in which Senor Don Quixote may display his prowess.”
“That is what I mean to do,” said Don Quixote; “and as it is now time, I pray your worships to give me leave to retire to bed, and to place and retain me among the number of your greatest friends and servants.”
“And me too,” said Sancho; “maybe I’ll be good for something.”
With this they exchanged farewells, and Don Quixote and Sancho retired to their room, leaving Don Juan and Don Jeronimo amazed to see the medley he made of his good sense and his craziness; and they felt thoroughly convinced that these, and not those their Aragonese author described, were the genuine Don Quixote and Sancho. Don Quixote rose betimes, and bade adieu to his hosts by knocking at the partition of the other room. Sancho paid the landlord magnificently, and recommended him either to say less about the providing of his inn or to keep it better provided.
 
唐吉诃德和桑乔遭受了公牛的非礼之后，一路风尘，来到了树林间的一泓清泉边。他们为驴和马摘掉了笼头，任其游荡。主仆二人坐下来，桑乔从他藏食品的褡裢里拿出了一些他称为熟肉的食物。唐吉诃德漱了口，洗了脸，清凉了一下，觉得精神爽快些了。他心中烦闷，没有吃东西；桑乔仅仅是出于礼貌才没动摆在自己面前的东西，主人没吃，他也不敢先尝。可是，他见主人只管自己想心事，根本就没想去拿面包，也就不顾什么规矩了，一声不吭地拿起面包和奶酪往肚子里填。
“吃吧，桑乔朋友，”唐吉诃德说，“你得维持生命，这比我维持自己的生命更重要。我忧心忡忡，厄运不断，干脆让我死掉算了。桑乔，我生来就是虽生犹死，而你呢，是为死而吃。为了让你知道我说的是实话，你不妨想想，我这个人史书有载，武艺有名，行为有礼，王宫有请，姑娘有求，总之，我本来应该由于我的英勇业绩而得到桂冠，取得英名，可是今天上午我却被那些粗野无礼的牲畜踩得浑身疼痛。现在，我的牙崩了，手也麻了，完全没有胃口了。所以，我想还是让自己饿死算了，这是一种最残酷的死亡方式。”
“可我觉得，”桑乔说，“有句俗语，您大概不会赞成，就是说‘死也要当饱死鬼’。至少我不想把自己饿死，相反，我倒想像皮匠那样。皮匠用牙齿把皮子咬住，尽可能地拉长。我也会拼命吃，尽力延长我的生命，一直到气数已尽。您应该知道，大人，世界上再没有比像您这样绝望更傻的事了。还是听我的吧，吃完东西以后在这片绿草垫子上睡一会儿，醒来后您就会觉得好一些。”
唐吉诃德觉得桑乔这几句话不仅不傻，倒有点哲学家的味道，便同意了。不过，他对桑乔说道：
“喂，桑乔，如果你能按照我现在说的去做，我的心情就会轻松一些，不那么难受。那就是当我按照你说的去睡觉的时候，你往远处走一点儿，解开衣服，用罗西南多的缰绳抽打自己三四百下。要想让杜尔西内亚摆脱魔法，你还差三千多下呢。由于你的疏忽，她现在仍然受着魔法的折磨，这是多大的憾事呀。”
“这事可得从长计议，”桑乔说，“咱们俩现在还是先睡觉，然后再说吧。您该知道，让一个人狠狠抽打自己，这可不是简单的事情，更何况是个腹中空空的人呢。我的女主人杜尔西内亚夫人还是耐心点儿吧，也许她在某个意想不到的时候发现我已经被打得百孔千疮了。‘不死就有日子’，我是说，只要我还活着，我就愿意实现我的诺言。”
唐吉诃德对此表示感谢，然后吃了点儿东西。桑乔吃得可不少。吃完后，两人倒地睡觉，任凭那两头牲口在肥沃的草地上随意啃青。他们醒来时天色已渐晚，两人便赶紧骑上牲口继续赶路，想尽快赶到一西里外的一个客店去。我这里说客店是因为唐吉诃德称它为客店，而没有像以往那样把所有的客店都称为城堡。
他们来到客店，问店主是否还有房间。店主说不仅有，而且条件很好，在萨拉戈萨可称是独占鳌头。两人从马背和驴背上翻身跃下。店主给了桑乔一把钥匙，桑乔把他们带的食物放到一个房间里，又把两匹牲口牵到马厩里，喂了些草料，然后出来看唐吉诃德还有什么吩咐。唐吉诃德正坐在一个石凳上。桑乔特别感谢老天，他的主人这次没把客店当成城堡。到了吃晚饭的时间，两人回到他们的房间。桑乔问店主，晚饭有什么可吃的，店主回答说，那要看客人的口味了，可以说想吃什么有什么，从天上的飞鸟到地上的家禽，还有海里的鱼，应有尽有。
“用不了那么多，”桑乔说，“我们俩只要有两只烤鸡就够了。我的主人身体不舒服，吃不多，我吃得也不是特别多。”
店主说没有鸡，鸡都被老鹰叼走了。
“那么，您就去让他们烤一只嫩母鸡吧。”桑乔说。
“母鸡？我的妈呀！”店主说，“实话告诉你，我昨天把五十多只母鸡都拿到城里卖掉了。除了母鸡，你随便要什么都可以。”
“那么，”桑乔说，“牛犊肉或羊羔肉总该有吧。”
“现在客店里没有，”店主说，“没有是因为用完了。不过，下星期有的是。”
“这下可好了，”桑乔说，“这也没有，那也没有，咸肉和鸡蛋总该有吧？”
“我的天哪，”店主说，“这位客人可真够笨的。我刚才说过这儿没有母鸡，你怎么还想要鸡蛋呢？你再想想，还有什么好吃的，可以要点儿美味的东西。”
“我的天哪，这么办吧，”桑乔说，“店主大人，你说说你这儿有什么吧，我们也不用再考虑了。”
“我有两只牛犊蹄一般大小的老牛蹄，或者说两只像老牛蹄一般大小的牛犊蹄，现在正煮着呢。我已经加了豆子、葱头和咸肉。这会儿它们正叫着：快来吃我吧，快来吃我吧。”
“那么现在我们就要它，谁也不许再要了。”桑乔说，“我一定出比别人多的价钱。我最喜欢吃这种东西了。无论什么蹄子我都爱吃。”
“没有人会再要的，”店主说，“因为我这里的其他客人都很有身份，他们都自己带着厨师、管理员和原料。”
“若论有身份，”桑乔说，“谁也不如我的主人有身份。不过，他所从事的职业不允许他带着食物和饮料。我们躺在草地上吃橡子或野果就饱了。”
桑乔同店主的谈话到此为止，因为店主问桑乔他的主人是干什么的，桑乔就不愿意再往下说了。到了吃晚饭的时候，唐吉诃德仍留在房间里。店主把那锅牛蹄端来，自己也坐下来大大方方地一起吃。这个房间同隔壁那个房间似乎只隔着一堵薄墙。唐吉诃德听到那个房间里有人在说话：
“亲爱的唐赫罗尼莫大人，趁现在还没有送晚饭来，咱们还是看看《唐吉诃德》的下卷吧。”
一听到提起自己的名字，唐吉诃德立刻站起来，仔细倾听他们的谈话。只听得那个唐赫罗尼莫大人说道：
“唐胡安大人，您为什么要看那些胡言乱语呢？凡是读过《唐吉诃德》上卷的人都知道，这部小说索然无味，那么下卷还会有什么意思呢？”
“尽管如此，”唐胡安说，“还是看看为好。无论哪本书，都是开卷有益。不过，我最不满意的就是书上说，唐吉诃德已经不再忠于托博索的杜尔西内亚了。”
唐吉诃德闻言勃然大怒，说道：
“无论是谁，只要他说曼查的唐吉诃德抛弃了托博索的杜尔西内亚，我就要同他拼命，让他知道这纯粹是一派胡言！唐吉诃德根本不可能抛弃杜尔西内亚。杜尔西内亚也不可能被唐吉诃德抛弃，她不会被任何人抛弃。唐吉诃德并不是那种见异思迁的人，而且他的职业也不允许他移情别处。”
“谁在听我们说话？”隔壁有人说道。
“还能有谁呢，”桑乔说，“只能是曼查的唐吉诃德本人。他说到就能做到，更何况他‘既然能还帐，就不怕抵押’呢。”
桑乔刚说完，就看见两个骑士装束的人进了房门。其中一人搂住唐吉诃德的脖子说道：
“见了您，果然名不虚传。而您的盛名又使您不虚此行。确切无疑，您就是真正的唐吉诃德，是游侠骑士的北斗星和指路明灯。有的人竟想顶替您的英名，诋毁您的功绩，就像这本书的作者那样，只能是徒劳一场。”
那人说着把同伴手里的一本书交给唐吉诃德。唐吉诃德接过来，一言不发，翻了翻书，过了一会儿才说道：
“我只随便翻了一下，便发现作者有三点不堪一击。首先是序言上的几句话；其次是作者的阿拉贡语风，他写东西时有些地方没用冠词；第三点就是主要情节不符合事实。例如，这儿说我的侍从桑乔•潘萨的妻子叫玛丽•古铁雷斯，其实她叫特雷莎•潘萨。既然在这么重要的地方都有误，其他地方的谬误就可想而知了。”
桑乔说道：
“这种人算什么呀！居然把我老婆特雷莎•潘萨说成是玛丽•古铁雷斯！大人，您再翻翻书，看看书里是不是有我的名字，是不是把我的名字也改了？”
“朋友，听你说话这口气，”唐赫罗尼莫说，“你肯定就是唐吉诃德大人的侍从桑乔•潘萨了？”
“正是我，”桑乔说，“我为此感到骄傲。”
“实话对你讲，”那人说道，“这位作者并没有把你如实写出来。他把你描述成一个贪吃的笨蛋，一点儿也不滑稽，与写你主人那本书上卷里的桑乔完全不同。”
“愿上帝饶恕他吧，”桑乔说，“他完全可以不写我嘛。不知道就别乱说，事情该怎么样就是怎么样。”
那两个人请唐吉诃德到他们房间去与他们共进晚餐。他们很清楚，那个客店里没有什么适合唐吉诃德吃的东西。唐吉诃德不便推辞，就很有礼貌地过去同他们一起吃晚饭，于是这锅牛蹄就成桑乔的了。桑乔坐到了上首位置，店主也挨着他坐下来。他同桑乔一样对蹄类食品很感兴趣。
吃晚饭时，唐胡安向唐吉诃德打听有关杜尔西内亚的情况，问他们是否已经结婚，杜尔西内亚是否怀孕了，或者仍是个处女。如果她仍守身如玉，那么，她对唐吉诃德也肯定一往情深。唐吉诃德答道：
“杜尔西内亚仍然完好如初，我对她也比以往任何时候都忠贞。我们之间的联系同以前一样，并不频繁，不过，她的花容月貌现在已变成一个丑陋的农妇模样了。”
接着，唐吉诃德讲述了杜尔西内亚中魔法以及他在蒙特西诺斯洞窟内看到的情况，还提到了贤人梅尔林曾吩咐过，若想让杜尔西内亚摆脱魔法，就得让桑乔自己鞭笞自己。那两个人听唐吉诃德讲述他的这些奇遇觉得非常有意思，同时又对他能把这些乱七八糟的东西讲得有声有色感到惊奇。他一会儿讲得有条有理，一会儿又讲得糊里糊涂，让人搞不清他到底是明白人还是疯子。
桑乔吃完晚饭，撇下那个已经醉倒的店主，来到唐吉诃德所在的房间，进门便说道：
“我敢拿生命打赌，诸位大人，你们看的那本书的作者肯定是跟我过不去。他把我说成了馋鬼，但愿他别再把我称为醉鬼。”
“他的确把你说成醉鬼，”唐赫罗尼莫说，“但我忘记是怎么说的了，我只知道说得挺不好的。不过，我亲眼见到了眼前这位桑乔，就知道那全是胡说八道。”
“请你们诸位相信，你们看的那本书里的桑乔和唐吉诃德大概是另外两个人，而不是锡德•哈迈德•贝嫩赫利写的书里的桑乔和唐吉诃德。我们是贝嫩赫利写的唐吉诃德和桑乔。我的主人勇敢、机智而又多情，我单纯、滑稽，既不贪吃也不贪杯。”“我也这样认为。”唐胡安说，“如果可能的话，应该下令除了原作者锡德•哈迈德之外，任何人都不许记述伟大的唐吉诃德的事情，就像亚历山大下令除了阿佩莱斯①之外，任何人都不许画他的像一样。”
①阿佩莱斯是古希腊时代早期的画家，曾为马其顿的腓力二世及其子亚历山大大帝充当宫廷画师。
“谁愿意写我就写吧，”唐吉诃德说，“但是不要丑化我。
污蔑太多往往会导致让人失去耐心。”
“若不是唐吉诃德大人这么有耐心，”唐胡安说，“我估计他这种耐心是相当大的，恐怕没有什么污蔑可以逃脱他的反击。”
大家说着话消磨了大半夜，虽然唐胡安想让唐吉诃德再翻翻那本书，看看还有什么可说的，最终却未能如愿。唐吉诃德说，就算他把全书都看了，也只能说是满篇荒谬，而且，万一传到那本书作者的耳朵里，说唐吉诃德见过那本书，他就该得意了，还以为唐吉诃德通读了那本书呢。人心里应该干净，眼睛里更应该干净。那两个人问唐吉诃德准备到哪儿去，唐吉诃德说要到萨拉戈萨去参加一年一度的盔甲擂台赛。唐胡安说，那本书里讲到唐吉诃德或其他什么人曾参加了一次穿环擂台赛，写得毫无新意，缺乏文采，没有特点，全是一派胡言。”
“如果情况是这样，”唐吉诃德说，“我就不去萨拉戈萨了，这样就可以揭穿作者的谎言，让人们知道我并不是他说的那个唐吉诃德。”
“您做得很对，”唐赫罗尼莫说，“在巴塞罗那另外还有其他一些比赛，您可以在那儿显示您的风采。”
“我也想这样。”唐吉诃德说，“现在是睡觉的时候了，请原谅，我要上床休息了。请你们务必把我当成你们的一位老朋友和侍者。”
“我也如此，”桑乔说，“也许什么时候我能为你们做点儿事情。”
他们互相道别，唐吉诃德和桑乔回到了自己的房间，剩下唐胡安和唐赫罗尼莫仍在那里为看到唐吉诃德既明智又疯癫而发呆。他们确信，这两个人就是真正的唐吉诃德和桑乔，而不是那位阿拉贡作者杜撰的那两个。
第二天早晨，唐吉诃德用手拍打着隔壁房间的薄墙，向那两个人告别。桑乔慷慨地向店主付了钱，让店主少吹牛，多置办些东西。
Part 2 Chapter 60
It was a fresh morning giving promise of a cool day as Don Quixote quitted the inn, first of all taking care to ascertain the most direct road to Barcelona without touching upon Saragossa; so anxious was he to make out this new historian, who they said abused him so, to be a liar. Well, as it fell out, nothing worthy of being recorded happened him for six days, at the end of which, having turned aside out of the road, he was overtaken by night in a thicket of oak or cork trees; for on this point Cide Hamete is not as precise as he usually is on other matters.
Master and man dismounted from their beasts, and as soon as they had settled themselves at the foot of the trees, Sancho, who had had a good noontide meal that day, let himself, without more ado, pass the gates of sleep. But Don Quixote, whom his thoughts, far more than hunger, kept awake, could not close an eye, and roamed in fancy to and fro through all sorts of places. At one moment it seemed to him that he was in the cave of Montesinos and saw Dulcinea, transformed into a country wench, skipping and mounting upon her she-ass; again that the words of the sage Merlin were sounding in his ears, setting forth the conditions to be observed and the exertions to be made for the disenchantment of Dulcinea. He lost all patience when he considered the laziness and want of charity of his squire Sancho; for to the best of his belief he had only given himself five lashes, a number paltry and disproportioned to the vast number required. At this thought he felt such vexation and anger that he reasoned the matter thus: “If Alexander the Great cut the Gordian knot, saying, ‘To cut comes to the same thing as to untie,’ and yet did not fail to become lord paramount of all Asia, neither more nor less could happen now in Dulcinea’s disenchantment if I scourge Sancho against his will; for, if it is the condition of the remedy that Sancho shall receive three thousand and odd lashes, what does it matter to me whether he inflicts them himself, or some one else inflicts them, when the essential point is that he receives them, let them come from whatever quarter they may?”
With this idea he went over to Sancho, having first taken Rocinante’s reins and arranged them so as to be able to flog him with them, and began to untie the points (the common belief is he had but one in front) by which his breeches were held up; but the instant he approached him Sancho woke up in his full senses and cried out, “What is this? Who is touching me and untrussing me?”
“It is I,” said Don Quixote, “and I come to make good thy shortcomings and relieve my own distresses; I come to whip thee, Sancho, and wipe off some portion of the debt thou hast undertaken. Dulcinea is perishing, thou art living on regardless, I am dying of hope deferred; therefore untruss thyself with a good will, for mine it is, here, in this retired spot, to give thee at least two thousand lashes.”
“Not a bit of it,” said Sancho; “let your worship keep quiet, or else by the living God the deaf shall hear us; the lashes I pledged myself to must be voluntary and not forced upon me, and just now I have no fancy to whip myself; it is enough if I give you my word to flog and flap myself when I have a mind.”
“It will not do to leave it to thy courtesy, Sancho,” said Don Quixote, “for thou art hard of heart and, though a clown, tender of flesh;” and at the same time he strove and struggled to untie him.
Seeing this Sancho got up, and grappling with his master he gripped him with all his might in his arms, giving him a trip with the heel stretched him on the ground on his back, and pressing his right knee on his chest held his hands in his own so that he could neither move nor breathe.
“How now, traitor!” exclaimed Don Quixote. “Dost thou revolt against thy master and natural lord? Dost thou rise against him who gives thee his bread?”
“I neither put down king, nor set up king,” said Sancho; “I only stand up for myself who am my own lord; if your worship promises me to be quiet, and not to offer to whip me now, I’ll let you go free and unhindered; if not —
Traitor and Dona Sancha’s foe,
Thou diest on the spot.”
Don Quixote gave his promise, and swore by the life of his thoughts not to touch so much as a hair of his garments, and to leave him entirely free and to his own discretion to whip himself whenever he pleased.
 
Sancho rose and removed some distance from the spot, but as he was about to place himself leaning against another tree he felt something touch his head, and putting up his hands encountered somebody’s two feet with shoes and stockings on them. He trembled with fear and made for another tree, where the very same thing happened to him, and he fell a-shouting, calling upon Don Quixote to come and protect him. Don Quixote did so, and asked him what had happened to him, and what he was afraid of. Sancho replied that all the trees were full of men’s feet and legs. Don Quixote felt them, and guessed at once what it was, and said to Sancho, “Thou hast nothing to be afraid of, for these feet and legs that thou feelest but canst not see belong no doubt to some outlaws and freebooters that have been hanged on these trees; for the authorities in these parts are wont to hang them up by twenties and thirties when they catch them; whereby I conjecture that I must be near Barcelona;” and it was, in fact, as he supposed; with the first light they looked up and saw that the fruit hanging on those trees were freebooters’ bodies.
And now day dawned; and if the dead freebooters had scared them, their hearts were no less troubled by upwards of forty living ones, who all of a sudden surrounded them, and in the Catalan tongue bade them stand and wait until their captain came up. Don Quixote was on foot with his horse unbridled and his lance leaning against a tree, and in short completely defenceless; he thought it best therefore to fold his arms and bow his head and reserve himself for a more favourable occasion and opportunity. The robbers made haste to search Dapple, and did not leave him a single thing of all he carried in the alforjas and in the valise; and lucky it was for Sancho that the duke’s crowns and those he brought from home were in a girdle that he wore round him; but for all that these good folk would have stripped him, and even looked to see what he had hidden between the skin and flesh, but for the arrival at that moment of their captain, who was about thirty-four years of age apparently, strongly built, above the middle height, of stern aspect and swarthy complexion. He was mounted upon a powerful horse, and had on a coat of mail, with four of the pistols they call petronels in that country at his waist. He saw that his squires (for so they call those who follow that trade) were about to rifle Sancho Panza, but he ordered them to desist and was at once obeyed, so the girdle escaped. He wondered to see the lance leaning against the tree, the shield on the ground, and Don Quixote in armour and dejected, with the saddest and most melancholy face that sadness itself could produce; and going up to him he said, “Be not so cast down, good man, for you have not fallen into the hands of any inhuman Busiris, but into Roque Guinart’s , which are more merciful than cruel.”
“The cause of my dejection,” returned Don Quixote, “is not that I have fallen into thy hands, O valiant Roque, whose fame is bounded by no limits on earth, but that my carelessness should have been so great that thy soldiers should have caught me unbridled, when it is my duty, according to the rule of knight-errantry which I profess, to be always on the alert and at all times my own sentinel; for let me tell thee, great Roque, had they found me on my horse, with my lance and shield, it would not have been very easy for them to reduce me to submission, for I am Don Quixote of La Mancha, he who hath filled the whole world with his achievements.”
Roque Guinart at once perceived that Don Quixote’s weakness was more akin to madness than to swagger; and though he had sometimes heard him spoken of, he never regarded the things attributed to him as true, nor could he persuade himself that such a humour could become dominant in the heart of man; he was extremely glad, therefore, to meet him and test at close quarters what he had heard of him at a distance; so he said to him, “Despair not, valiant knight, nor regard as an untoward fate the position in which thou findest thyself; it may be that by these slips thy crooked fortune will make itself straight; for heaven by strange circuitous ways, mysterious and incomprehensible to man, raises up the fallen and makes rich the poor.”
Don Quixote was about to thank him, when they heard behind them a noise as of a troop of horses; there was, however, but one, riding on which at a furious pace came a youth, apparently about twenty years of age, clad in green damask edged with gold and breeches and a loose frock, with a hat looped up in the Walloon fashion, tight-fitting polished boots, gilt spurs, dagger and sword, and in his hand a musketoon, and a pair of pistols at his waist.
Roque turned round at the noise and perceived this comely figure, which drawing near thus addressed him, “I came in quest of thee, valiant Roque, to find in thee if not a remedy at least relief in my misfortune; and not to keep thee in suspense, for I see thou dost not recognise me, I will tell thee who I am; I am Claudia Jeronima, the daughter of Simon Forte, thy good friend, and special enemy of Clauquel Torrellas, who is thine also as being of the faction opposed to thee. Thou knowest that this Torrellas has a son who is called, or at least was not two hours since, Don Vicente Torrellas. Well, to cut short the tale of my misfortune, I will tell thee in a few words what this youth has brought upon me. He saw me, he paid court to me, I listened to him, and, unknown to my father, I loved him; for there is no woman, however secluded she may live or close she may be kept, who will not have opportunities and to spare for following her headlong impulses. In a word, he pledged himself to be mine, and I promised to be his, without carrying matters any further. Yesterday I learned that, forgetful of his pledge to me, he was about to marry another, and that he was to go this morning to plight his troth, intelligence which overwhelmed and exasperated me; my father not being at home I was able to adopt this costume you see, and urging my horse to speed I overtook Don Vicente about a league from this, and without waiting to utter reproaches or hear excuses I fired this musket at him, and these two pistols besides, and to the best of my belief I must have lodged more than two bullets in his body, opening doors to let my honour go free, enveloped in his blood. I left him there in the hands of his servants, who did not dare and were not able to interfere in his defence, and I come to seek from thee a safe-conduct into France, where I have relatives with whom I can live; and also to implore thee to protect my father, so that Don Vicente’s numerous kinsmen may not venture to wreak their lawless vengeance upon him.”
Roque, filled with admiration at the gallant bearing, high spirit, comely figure, and adventure of the fair Claudia, said to her, “Come, senora, let us go and see if thy enemy is dead; and then we will consider what will be best for thee.” Don Quixote, who had been listening to what Claudia said and Roque Guinart said in reply to her, exclaimed, “Nobody need trouble himself with the defence of this lady, for I take it upon myself. Give me my horse and arms, and wait for me here; I will go in quest of this knight, and dead or alive I will make him keep his word plighted to so great beauty.”
“Nobody need have any doubt about that,” said Sancho, “for my master has a very happy knack of matchmaking; it’s not many days since he forced another man to marry, who in the same way backed out of his promise to another maiden; and if it had not been for his persecutors the enchanters changing the man’s proper shape into a lacquey’s the said maiden would not be one this minute.”
Roque, who was paying more attention to the fair Claudia’s adventure than to the words of master or man, did not hear them; and ordering his squires to restore to Sancho everything they had stripped Dapple of, he directed them to return to the place where they had been quartered during the night, and then set off with Claudia at full speed in search of the wounded or slain Don Vicente. They reached the spot where Claudia met him, but found nothing there save freshly spilt blood; looking all round, however, they descried some people on the slope of a hill above them, and concluded, as indeed it proved to be, that it was Don Vicente, whom either dead or alive his servants were removing to attend to his wounds or to bury him. They made haste to overtake them, which, as the party moved slowly, they were able to do with ease. They found Don Vicente in the arms of his servants, whom he was entreating in a broken feeble voice to leave him there to die, as the pain of his wounds would not suffer him to go any farther. Claudia and Roque threw themselves off their horses and advanced towards him; the servants were overawed by the appearance of Roque, and Claudia was moved by the sight of Don Vicente, and going up to him half tenderly half sternly, she seized his hand and said to him, “Hadst thou given me this according to our compact thou hadst never come to this pass.”
The wounded gentleman opened his all but closed eyes, and recognising Claudia said, “I see clearly, fair and mistaken lady, that it is thou that hast slain me, a punishment not merited or deserved by my feelings towards thee, for never did I mean to, nor could I, wrong thee in thought or deed.”
“It is not true, then,” said Claudia, “that thou wert going this morning to marry Leonora the daughter of the rich Balvastro?”
“Assuredly not,” replied Don Vicente; “my cruel fortune must have carried those tidings to thee to drive thee in thy jealousy to take my life; and to assure thyself of this, press my hands and take me for thy husband if thou wilt; I have no better satisfaction to offer thee for the wrong thou fanciest thou hast received from me.”
Claudia wrung his hands, and her own heart was so wrung that she lay fainting on the bleeding breast of Don Vicente, whom a death spasm seized the same instant. Roque was in perplexity and knew not what to do; the servants ran to fetch water to sprinkle their faces, and brought some and bathed them with it. Claudia recovered from her fainting fit, but not so Don Vicente from the paroxysm that had overtaken him, for his life had come to an end. On perceiving this, Claudia, when she had convinced herself that her beloved husband was no more, rent the air with her sighs and made the heavens ring with her lamentations; she tore her hair and scattered it to the winds, she beat her face with her hands and showed all the signs of grief and sorrow that could be conceived to come from an afflicted heart. “Cruel, reckless woman!” she cried, “how easily wert thou moved to carry out a thought so wicked! O furious force of jealousy, to what desperate lengths dost thou lead those that give thee lodging in their bosoms! O husband, whose unhappy fate in being mine hath borne thee from the marriage bed to the grave!”
So vehement and so piteous were the lamentations of Claudia that they drew tears from Roque’s eyes, unused as they were to shed them on any occasion. The servants wept, Claudia swooned away again and again, and the whole place seemed a field of sorrow and an abode of misfortune. In the end Roque Guinart directed Don Vicente’s servants to carry his body to his father’s village, which was close by, for burial. Claudia told him she meant to go to a monastery of which an aunt of hers was abbess, where she intended to pass her life with a better and everlasting spouse. He applauded her pious resolution, and offered to accompany her whithersoever she wished, and to protect her father against the kinsmen of Don Vicente and all the world, should they seek to injure him. Claudia would not on any account allow him to accompany her; and thanking him for his offers as well as she could, took leave of him in tears. The servants of Don Vicente carried away his body, and Roque returned to his comrades, and so ended the love of Claudia Jeronima; but what wonder, when it was the insuperable and cruel might of jealousy that wove the web of her sad story?
 
Roque Guinart found his squires at the place to which he had ordered them, and Don Quixote on Rocinante in the midst of them delivering a harangue to them in which he urged them to give up a mode of life so full of peril, as well to the soul as to the body; but as most of them were Gascons, rough lawless fellows, his speech did not make much impression on them. Roque on coming up asked Sancho if his men had returned and restored to him the treasures and jewels they had stripped off Dapple. Sancho said they had, but that three kerchiefs that were worth three cities were missing.
“What are you talking about, man?” said one of the bystanders; “I have got them, and they are not worth three reals.”
“That is true,” said Don Quixote; “but my squire values them at the rate he says, as having been given me by the person who gave them.”
Roque Guinart ordered them to be restored at once; and making his men fall in in line he directed all the clothing, jewellery, and money that they had taken since the last distribution to be produced; and making a hasty valuation, and reducing what could not be divided into money, he made shares for the whole band so equitably and carefully, that in no case did he exceed or fall short of strict distributive justice.
When this had been done, and all left satisfied, Roque observed to Don Quixote, “If this scrupulous exactness were not observed with these fellows there would be no living with them.”
Upon this Sancho remarked, “From what I have seen here, justice is such a good thing that there is no doing without it, even among the thieves themselves.”
One of the squires heard this, and raising the butt-end of his harquebuss would no doubt have broken Sancho’s head with it had not Roque Guinart called out to him to hold his hand. Sancho was frightened out of his wits, and vowed not to open his lips so long as he was in the company of these people.
At this instant one or two of those squires who were posted as sentinels on the roads, to watch who came along them and report what passed to their chief, came up and said, “Senor, there is a great troop of people not far off coming along the road to Barcelona.”
To which Roque replied, “Hast thou made out whether they are of the sort that are after us, or of the sort we are after?”
“The sort we are after,” said the squire.
“Well then, away with you all,” said Roque, “and bring them here to me at once without letting one of them escape.”
 
They obeyed, and Don Quixote, Sancho, and Roque, left by themselves, waited to see what the squires brought, and while they were waiting Roque said to Don Quixote, “It must seem a strange sort of life to Senor Don Quixote, this of ours, strange adventures, strange incidents, and all full of danger; and I do not wonder that it should seem so, for in truth I must own there is no mode of life more restless or anxious than ours. What led me into it was a certain thirst for vengeance, which is strong enough to disturb the quietest hearts. I am by nature tender-hearted and kindly, but, as I said, the desire to revenge myself for a wrong that was done me so overturns all my better impulses that I keep on in this way of life in spite of what conscience tells me; and as one depth calls to another, and one sin to another sin, revenges have linked themselves together, and I have taken upon myself not only my own but those of others: it pleases God, however, that, though I see myself in this maze of entanglements, I do not lose all hope of escaping from it and reaching a safe port.”
Don Quixote was amazed to hear Roque utter such excellent and just sentiments, for he did not think that among those who followed such trades as robbing, murdering, and waylaying, there could be anyone capable of a virtuous thought, and he said in reply, “Senor Roque, the beginning of health lies in knowing the disease and in the sick man’s willingness to take the medicines which the physician prescribes; you are sick, you know what ails you, and heaven, or more properly speaking God, who is our physician, will administer medicines that will cure you, and cure gradually, and not of a sudden or by a miracle; besides, sinners of discernment are nearer amendment than those who are fools; and as your worship has shown good sense in your remarks, all you have to do is to keep up a good heart and trust that the weakness of your conscience will be strengthened. And if you have any desire to shorten the journey and put yourself easily in the way of salvation, come with me, and I will show you how to become a knight-errant, a calling wherein so many hardships and mishaps are encountered that if they be taken as penances they will lodge you in heaven in a trice.”
Roque laughed at Don Quixote’s exhortation, and changing the conversation he related the tragic affair of Claudia Jeronima, at which Sancho was extremely grieved; for he had not found the young woman’s beauty, boldness, and spirit at all amiss.
And now the squires despatched to make the prize came up, bringing with them two gentlemen on horseback, two pilgrims on foot, and a coach full of women with some six servants on foot and on horseback in attendance on them, and a couple of muleteers whom the gentlemen had with them. The squires made a ring round them, both victors and vanquished maintaining profound silence, waiting for the great Roque Guinart to speak. He asked the gentlemen who they were, whither they were going, and what money they carried with them; “Senor,” replied one of them, “we are two captains of Spanish infantry; our companies are at Naples, and we are on our way to embark in four galleys which they say are at Barcelona under orders for Sicily; and we have about two or three hundred crowns, with which we are, according to our notions, rich and contented, for a soldier’s poverty does not allow a more extensive hoard.”
Roque asked the pilgrims the same questions he had put to the captains, and was answered that they were going to take ship for Rome, and that between them they might have about sixty reals. He asked also who was in the coach, whither they were bound and what money they had, and one of the men on horseback replied, “The persons in the coach are my lady Dona Guiomar de Quinones, wife of the regent of the Vicaria at Naples, her little daughter, a handmaid and a duenna; we six servants are in attendance upon her, and the money amounts to six hundred crowns.”
“So then,” said Roque Guinart, “we have got here nine hundred crowns and sixty reals; my soldiers must number some sixty; see how much there falls to each, for I am a bad arithmetician.” As soon as the robbers heard this they raised a shout of “Long life to Roque Guinart, in spite of the lladres that seek his ruin!”
The captains showed plainly the concern they felt, the regent’s lady was downcast, and the pilgrims did not at all enjoy seeing their property confiscated. Roque kept them in suspense in this way for a while; but he had no desire to prolong their distress, which might be seen a bowshot off, and turning to the captains he said, “Sirs, will your worships be pleased of your courtesy to lend me sixty crowns, and her ladyship the regent’s wife eighty, to satisfy this band that follows me, for ‘it is by his singing the abbot gets his dinner;’ and then you may at once proceed on your journey, free and unhindered, with a safe-conduct which I shall give you, so that if you come across any other bands of mine that I have scattered in these parts, they may do you no harm; for I have no intention of doing injury to soldiers, or to any woman, especially one of quality.”
Profuse and hearty were the expressions of gratitude with which the captains thanked Roque for his courtesy and generosity; for such they regarded his leaving them their own money. Senora Dona Guiomar de Quinones wanted to throw herself out of the coach to kiss the feet and hands of the great Roque, but he would not suffer it on any account; so far from that, he begged her pardon for the wrong he had done her under pressure of the inexorable necessities of his unfortunate calling. The regent’s lady ordered one of her servants to give the eighty crowns that had been assessed as her share at once, for the captains had already paid down their sixty. The pilgrims were about to give up the whole of their little hoard, but Roque bade them keep quiet, and turning to his men he said, “Of these crowns two fall to each man and twenty remain over; let ten be given to these pilgrims, and the other ten to this worthy squire that he may be able to speak favourably of this adventure;” and then having writing materials, with which he always went provided, brought to him, he gave them in writing a safe-conduct to the leaders of his bands; and bidding them farewell let them go free and filled with admiration at his magnanimity, his generous disposition, and his unusual conduct, and inclined to regard him as an Alexander the Great rather than a notorious robber.
One of the squires observed in his mixture of Gascon and Catalan, “This captain of ours would make a better friar than highwayman; if he wants to be so generous another time, let it be with his own property and not ours.”
 
The unlucky wight did not speak so low but that Roque overheard him, and drawing his sword almost split his head in two, saying, “That is the way I punish impudent saucy fellows.” They were all taken aback, and not one of them dared to utter a word, such deference did they pay him. Roque then withdrew to one side and wrote a letter to a friend of his at Barcelona, telling him that the famous Don Quixote of La Mancha, the knight-errant of whom there was so much talk, was with him, and was, he assured him, the drollest and wisest man in the world; and that in four days from that date, that is to say, on Saint John the Baptist’s Day, he was going to deposit him in full armour mounted on his horse Rocinante, together with his squire Sancho on an ass, in the middle of the strand of the city; and bidding him give notice of this to his friends the Niarros, that they might divert themselves with him. He wished, he said, his enemies the Cadells could be deprived of this pleasure; but that was impossible, because the crazes and shrewd sayings of Don Quixote and the humours of his squire Sancho Panza could not help giving general pleasure to all the world. He despatched the letter by one of his squires, who, exchanging the costume of a highwayman for that of a peasant, made his way into Barcelona and gave it to the person to whom it was directed.
 
唐吉诃德离开客店的那个早晨，天气很凉爽，看样子全天也不会热。他已打听好哪条路可以直奔巴塞罗那而不必绕道萨拉戈萨，目的是要揭穿那本新书作者的谎言，因为听说作者对他进行了恶毒攻击。他们走了六天路，没遇到什么可以记述的事情。六天后，他们离开了大路，刚走进树林，天就黑了。记事准确的锡德•哈迈德这次没有说明那是橡树林还是栓皮槠树林。
两人从牲口背上下来，靠在树干上休息。桑乔那天已吃饱了，马上便进入了梦乡。唐吉诃德却合不上眼，主要不是由于饿，是由于思绪万千而不能成眠。他的思绪到处飘荡，一会儿觉得自己到了蒙特西诺斯洞窟，一会儿又看到被变成农妇的杜尔西内亚跳上了她那头母驴，接着又听到贤人梅尔林的话语在耳边回响，提醒他如何才能解除附在杜尔西内亚身上的魔法。他见桑乔仅打了自己五下，离所需数目差得太远了，又气又恼，心中想：“如果亚历山大大帝割断了戈迪乌斯的绳结，说‘割断就算解开了’，而且并没有因此就没能主宰整个亚洲，那么，要解除附在杜尔西内亚身上的魔法，也可以采用这种办法，也就是不管桑乔愿意不愿意，由我来鞭打他。既然为杜尔西内亚解除魔法的条件就是桑乔挨三千多鞭子，那么，由我打，让他自己打，或是让其他人打，都是一样的。因为关键在于挨打的是他，不管是由谁来打。”
于是，唐吉诃德首先解开了罗西南多的缰绳，做好了鞭打的准备，然后来到桑乔身边，开始解桑乔的腰带，他知道桑乔只用一条带子系着自己的肥腿裤。但是不等他解开带子，桑乔就醒了。桑乔马上睡意全消，问道：
“怎么回事，是谁在动我？谁在解我的腰带？”
“是我，”唐吉诃德说，“我来帮你完成你尚欠的部分，同时也解除我的烦恼。我来抽打你，桑乔，让你偿还你欠的那部分债。杜尔西内亚受尽了折磨，你却在这里无动于衷，我都快急死了。最好是你自己解开裤子，让我在这荒郊野岭打你至少两千鞭子吧。”
“不行，”桑乔说，“您还是老实点儿，否则我向上帝发誓，我会闹得让聋子都能听见咱们的动静。让我抽打自己必须是心甘情愿的，不能强迫，可现在我不想打自己。我告诉您，当我愿意的时候，我一定会抽打自己，这就够了。”
“不能由着你来，”唐吉诃德说，“你心肠冷酷，而且人虽然是乡巴佬，皮肉却挺嫩的。”
唐吉诃德还是要解开桑乔的裤子。桑乔见状站了起来，扑向主人，双手抓着他，脚下一绊，把唐吉诃德推了个仰面朝天，摔倒在地。接着，桑乔又用右膝盖压住唐吉诃德的胸膛，按住唐吉诃德的双手，让他动弹不得，连喘气都难。唐吉诃德说道：
“你这个叛逆，竟敢跟你的主人造反？主人养活了你，你竟敢对主人无礼？”
“我不偏不倚。”桑乔说，“我这是自己帮助自己，我就是我的主人。您答应老实点儿，现在不再想抽打我，我就放开您，否则的话——
你就死定了，叛逆，
唐娜桑查的敌人①！”
①这里引用的是民歌里的句子。
唐吉诃德答应了，他以自己的生命发誓，连桑乔衣服上的一根毛也不想碰了，而且同意桑乔在他愿意的时候自觉自愿地鞭打自己。桑乔站起身，走出很远，才靠在一棵树上。可是，他忽然觉得有什么东西碰到了他的脑袋，伸手一摸，竟是两只穿着鞋袜的人脚。桑乔吓得直发抖，赶紧跑到另一棵树下，结果又遇到了同样的情况。他大声喊叫唐吉诃德来救他。唐吉诃德问他发生了什么事，是什么可怕的东西。桑乔回答说，那些树上全都挂满了人脚和人腿。唐吉诃德摸了一下，立刻猜到是怎么回事了。他对桑乔说道：
“你没有必要害怕，这肯定是一些在树上被绞死的逃犯和强盗的脚和腿。这一带抓到逃犯和强盗，往往把二三十人或三四十人一起吊在树上绞死。我估计这儿离巴塞罗那不远了。”
事情果然不出唐吉诃德所料。
天蒙蒙亮时，唐吉诃德和桑乔抬眼细望，看到树上吊着的果然是强盗们的尸体。强盗尸体本来就把他们吓了一跳，不料，突然又有四十多个活强盗围住了他们，这一吓更是非同小可。强盗们用卡塔卢尼亚语告诉他们老实点儿，等着强盗们的头儿来。唐吉诃德站在那里，毫无防范，马没戴嚼子，长矛靠在树上。他只好抱着双臂，低着头，准备见机行事。
强盗们先搜查了驴，把褡裢和手提袋里的东西洗劫一空。桑乔暗自庆幸，公爵和公爵夫人送给他们的金盾和他们从家里带来的一些钱都藏在贴身的腰包里，没有被那些人拿走。若不是那些强盗的头目这时候到了，那些强盗说不定还会把他们里外搜个遍呢。强盗头儿看样子有三四十岁，身体挺结实，中等偏高的身材，目光严肃，皮肤黝黑。他骑着一匹高头大马，穿着一身铁甲，腰两边分别插着四只小火枪。他见他的侍从们正要剥桑乔的衣服，须知在他们那帮人里也称侍从，就命令不要再剥了，这样桑乔的腰包才算侥幸保存了下来。那个强盗头儿看到靠在树上的长矛、放在地上的盾牌和全身披挂、若有所思却又忧心忡忡的唐吉诃德，便走近唐吉诃德，说道：
“不要难过，好兄弟，你并没有落到残忍的布西里斯①手里，而是在心地善良、并不残酷的罗克•吉纳德②手里。”
“我并不是为落到你手里而难过，英勇的罗克，你的英名传颂遐迩。我只是怨自己一时大意，马未上鞍就被你的兵士围住了。按照我所奉行的游侠骑士道，我应该时刻警惕，永不懈怠。我应该告诉你，伟大的罗克，假如我是骑在我的马上，手持长矛和盾牌，要抓住我可不那么容易。我是曼查的唐吉诃德，我的业绩名扬四方。”
罗克•吉纳德马上就意识到了唐吉诃德的毛病，与其说这是吹牛，还不如说是疯癫。对此他虽然原来就有所耳闻，但从不认为确有其事，也不相信一个人会疯成这个样子。现在，他遇到了唐吉诃德本人，能够切身体验一下他听说的事情了。
他觉得很有意思，就对唐吉诃德说道：
“英勇的骑士，不必心灰意冷，怨天尤人。现在看来是倒霉的事，可说不定你马上就会时来运转。老天做事总是神秘莫测，它常常会让跌倒的人重新站立起来，让穷人变成富人。”
唐吉诃德正要道谢，背后忽然传来一阵马蹄声。其实只有一匹马，一个小伙子疾驰而来，看样子最多二十岁，穿一身金边绿色锦缎肥腿裤和套头短上衣，头上像瓦龙人③那样斜戴着帽子，皮靴锃亮，马刺、剑和匕首都是镀金的。他手里拿着一只猎枪，腰两侧又各插着一只手枪。罗克循声回过头去，只见这英俊少年来到他身边说道：
①布西里斯是古希腊神话中的埃及国王，以残忍著称。
②罗克•吉纳德是西班牙的著名侠盗。
③瓦龙人是比利时南部的人。
“喂，英勇的罗克，我是来找你的。即使你不能救助我，至少能减轻我的痛苦。你大概还没认出我来吧，为了不让你感到意外，我想先告诉你我是谁。我是西蒙•福特的女儿克劳迪娅•赫罗尼玛。我父亲和你是朋友，他也同你一样，是克劳克尔•托雷利亚斯的死对头。这个人是与你对立的帮派头头之一。你知道，托雷利亚斯有个儿子叫比森特•托雷利亚斯，至少刚才他还叫这个名字。这个……且让我长话短说，简单说几句我的不幸是如何引起的吧。他看上了我，向我求爱，我听信了他的话，背着父亲偷偷同他谈情说爱。一个女人，无论她住得多么偏僻，无论对她约束得多么紧，只要她想实现自己那骚动的欲望，就总能找到机会。后来，他答应做我的丈夫，我也答应做他的妻子，但只是说说而已。昨天，我听说，他已经忘了他对我的诺言，要同别的女人结婚了，今天上午就要举行婚礼。我知道后实在控制不住了，趁着父亲不在家，换上了这身衣服，骑着这匹马匆忙追赶，在离这儿约一西里远的地方追上了比森特。我没抱怨他，也没听他道歉，就用这只猎枪朝他开了一枪，又用这两只手枪补了两枪。我觉得他身上中的枪弹肯定不止两颗。我用他身上流淌的鲜血挽回了我的名誉。当我离开时，他的几个佣人围着他，那些佣人不敢也没能力起来抵抗。我来找你是想让你把我带到法国去，我在那儿有亲戚。同时，我还请求你保护我父亲，别让他们到我父亲那儿去报仇。”
罗克对美丽的克劳迪娅的绰约风姿、优美身材以及她的所作所为感到吃惊。他对克劳迪娅说道：
“来吧，姑娘，咱们去看看你的对手死了没有，然后再说你到底应该干什么。”
唐吉诃德一直在仔细听着克劳迪娅和罗克•吉纳德的对话。唐吉诃德说道：
“不用烦劳谁来保护这位姑娘了，这是我的事。把马和武器还给我，你们在这儿等着。无论那个青年是死是活，我都要找到他，让他履行对这位如此美丽的姑娘的诺言。”
“对此谁也不用怀疑，”桑乔说，“我的主人在撮合婚姻方向很有一手。前不久，他还让另一个拒绝同姑娘履行结婚诺言的小伙子同那个姑娘结了婚。若不是魔法师把那个小伙子的本来面目变成了仆人模样，现在那姑娘早成媳妇了。”
罗克正在想美丽的克劳迪娅的事情，并没有注意唐吉诃德和桑乔的话。他让他的随从们把从桑乔那儿抢走的东西都还给桑乔，并且各自回到他们前一天晚上呆的地方去，然后就同克劳迪娅一起飞马去寻找那个受了伤或是已经死了的比森特。他们来到克劳迪娅说的那个地方，却没发现比森特，只见到地上有一滩鲜血。两人举目向四周望去，见到山坡上有一些人，估计是比森特和他的佣人们。果然不错，他的佣人不管他死没死，正抬着他走，也不知是要送他去治伤还是去掩埋他。两人赶紧追过去。那些人走得很慢，所以很快就赶上了他们。比森特被佣人们抬着，正用疲惫和微弱的声音请求佣人们让他死在那儿，伤口疼得太厉害了，他实在没法再走了。
克劳迪娅和罗克从马上跳下来，来到比森特身边。佣人们见罗克来了都很害怕。克劳迪娅看到比森特也百感交集。她既心疼又严厉地走到比森特身旁，对他说道：
“如果你按照咱们的约定同我结婚，就不会落到这种地步了。”
受伤的比森特吃力地睁开眼睛，认出了克劳迪娅。他对克劳迪娅说道：
“我看得很清楚，上了当的美丽姑娘呀，是你杀了我，辜负了我的一片情意，我从来没有想做对不起你的事呀。”
“人家说你今天上午要同富豪巴尔萨斯特罗的女儿莱昂诺拉结婚，难道这不是真的？”
“不，不是真的。”比森特说，“我真不幸，叫你得到这种消息，结果你妒火攻心，想要我的命。我能死在你的怀抱里，也算我幸运。为了向你证明我说的是实话，如果你愿意，请你握住我的手，接受我做你的丈夫。这是我能给你的最好答复，尽管你以为我伤害了你。”
克劳迪娅抓住了比森特的手，肝肠欲断，昏倒在比森特那冒血的胸口上。比森特也昏死过去了。罗克慌了，不知如何是好。佣人们找来凉水，喷到克劳迪娅和比森特的脸上。克劳迪娅醒了过来，可比森特却永远也不可能苏醒了。克劳迪娅哭天号地，揪下自己的头发到处乱扔，还抓自己的脸，显出一副悲痛欲绝的样子。
“你这个狠心的糊涂女人呀，”她叫道，“你怎么会如此轻率地下了毒手呢？疯狂的嫉妒竟让你把你的心上人推上了绝路！噢，我的丈夫，你太不幸了。你本是我的亲人，却从洞房被送到了坟墓！”
克劳迪娅的悲痛使从来没哭过的罗克也流下了泪水。佣人们呜咽着，克劳迪娅不时地晕过去，周围成了一片悲伤和不幸的原野。后来，罗克•吉纳德吩咐佣人们把比森特的尸体送到他父亲那儿去安葬。克劳迪娅对罗克说，她想到一家修道院去，她的一个姨妈在那个修道院当院长。她要在修道院里了却余生，以上帝为她的永恒伴侣。罗克对克劳迪娅的想法表示赞同，并且愿意陪同她去她想去的任何地方。如果比森特的亲戚或者其他什么人想伤害她父亲，他都会出面保护她父亲。克劳迪娅坚持不让罗克陪送，对他的好意深表感谢，然后哭着走了。比森特的佣人们，把比森特的尸体抬走了，罗克也回到了他手下那些人身旁。这就是克劳迪娅•赫罗尼玛爱情的结局。难以按捺的嫉妒之火导致了她的这段伤心史，这又何足怪呢？
罗克•吉纳德看见他的随从们仍呆在自己原来的位置上，唐吉诃德也骑着马置身于他们当中，正劝说他们放弃那种无论对灵魂还是对肉体都很危险的生活方式呢。然而，那些人都是粗野放荡的加斯科尼人，根本听不进唐吉诃德的话。罗克一到，就问桑乔，他手下人从桑乔的驴那儿拿走的东西是否都已经归还了。桑乔说已经归还了，但是还缺三块价值连城的头巾。
“你说什么？”在场的一个人说，“头巾在我这儿呢，它们也就值三个雷阿尔。”
“是的，”唐吉诃德说，“不过我的侍从很珍视它。这是别人送给他的。”
罗克•吉纳德吩咐立刻把头巾还给桑乔，然后又吩咐他手下那些人一字排开，把所有衣物、珠宝和钱财都拿出来摆在自己面前。他简单估算了一下，又把那些不能分割的东西折算成钱，统一分配给大家。他分得既仔细又合理，大家都很满意。分完东西后，罗克对唐吉诃德说：
“如果不能分配得如此公平，就无法在他们中间生存下去。”
桑乔说道：
“现在我看到了，还是公平好，就是盗贼之间也需要公平。”
罗克的一个随从听到桑乔的话，举起火枪的枪托欲打桑乔，被罗克喝住了，否则桑乔的脑袋非得开花不可。桑乔吓坏了，决定和这群人在一起的时候再也不开口了。
这时，罗克的几个守在路上监视过往行人的随从跑来向罗克报告说：
“大人，离这儿不远，在通往巴塞罗那的路上来了一大群人。”
罗克问道：
“是找我们的人，还是我们要找的人？”
“是我们要找的人。”随从答道。
“全体出发！”罗克说道，“马上把他们都带到这儿来，不许让一个人跑掉！”
随从们都走了，只剩下唐吉诃德、桑乔和罗克在原地等着随从们把那些过路人抓来。这时，罗克对唐吉诃德说：
“唐吉诃德大人一定会觉得我们这种生活很新鲜，我们所做的事情很危险。您如果这样认为，我并不感到奇怪。我承认，再没有什么生活比我们的生活更动荡不安了。我知道是受了冤屈的力量让我选择了这种生活，这是一种要扰乱所有宁静生活的力量。就我的本性来说，我是富有同情心的善良人，可是就像我刚才说的，一种要为我所受到的伤害复仇的力量压倒了我所有的善良意愿，使我身不由己地走上了这条罪恶之路，结果‘深渊与深渊响应①’，罪恶接着罪恶，我不仅为自己报仇，还负责为别人报仇。虽然我现在处在彷徨的迷宫中，可是上帝保佑我，我并没有失去从这个迷宫里安然逃脱的希望。”
①引自《旧约全书•诗篇》。
唐吉诃德听了罗克这番有理有节的议论，感到很意外，他原以为在这些偷杀抢掠的人里没有人会如此明智呢。他对罗克说道：
“罗克大人，恢复健康的原则就是首先要了解自己的病情所在，然后按照医生的指示服药。您现在有病，而且知道病痛何在，老天或者说上帝就是我们的医生，会给您开出治病的药。不过，病常常是逐渐好的，不是突然就奇迹般地好了。聪明的病人比头脑简单的人更容易治疗。从您刚才的谈话中可以看到您很明智，现在只需您鼓起勇气，等着您意识上的疾病逐渐好转。如果您想少走弯路，尽快拯救自己，您就跟我走，我会教您如何做游侠骑士。您经历了千辛万苦，以此来赎罪，很快就可以升入天堂。”
罗克听了唐吉诃德的话笑了。他转了个话题，向唐吉诃德讲述了克劳迪娅•赫罗尼玛的悲剧。桑乔听了十分难过，他对这个美丽、开朗而又朝气蓬勃的姑娘已经产生了好感。
这时，那几个出去抓人的随从回来了，还带回两个骑马的小伙子、两个步行的朝圣者和一车妇女，车旁边有六名步行或骑马的佣人伴随，此外还有那两个骑马的小伙子带的骡夫。罗克的随从们把这些人围在中间，大家都不说话，等着罗克开口。罗克问那两个骑马的小伙子是什么人，要到哪儿去，带了多少钱。其中一人答道：
“大人，我们是西班牙步兵的两名上尉，我们的部队现在驻扎在那不勒斯。据说在巴塞罗那有四艘船奉命要开往西西里，我们是去登船的。我们身上带了两三百个盾，我们挺知足的，当兵的平时穷惯了，不可能有很多钱。”
罗克向两名朝圣者问了同样的问题。朝圣者说他们要乘船去罗马，两人一共只带了六十雷阿尔。罗克又问车上坐的是什么人，想到哪儿去，一共带了多少钱。一个骑马的小伙子说道：
“车上坐的是我的女主人，那不勒斯法庭庭长的夫人唐娜吉奥马•德基尼奥内斯，以及她的一个小女儿、一个女佣人和一个女管家。我们六个仆人就是护送她们的。我们一共带了六百个盾。”
“既然这样，”罗克说，“咱们一共有九百个盾和六十个雷阿尔，我的兵士大概有六十人，你们算算，他们每个人可以得多少？我算术不好。”
他的随从们听到这话，齐声喊道：
“罗克•吉纳德万岁，气死那些想毁掉他的混蛋们！”
眼看自己的钱就要被没收，两名上尉垂头丧气，庭长夫人伤心不已，朝圣者满腹牢骚。罗克等了一会儿，见他们的悲伤表情仍然那么明显，便不想让他们再伤心下去了。他转过身对两个上尉说：
“两位上尉大人，请你们帮帮忙，借给我六十个盾；庭长夫人，请您借我八十个盾，别让和我一起来的这些人失望，就是‘修道院长也得靠唱歌吃饭’呢。然后，你们痛痛快快地赶你们的路。我给你们开个通行证，如果再碰到我手下的其他人，他们决不会伤害你们。我既不想冒犯我的兵士们，也不想冒犯任何一位妇女，特别是那些贵族妇女。”
两位上尉对罗克说了不少好话，对他的宽容表示感谢。唐娜吉奥马•德基尼奥内斯夫人欲下车来吻伟大罗克的手和脚，罗克坚决不允。相反，他请庭长夫人原谅自己，自己也是迫不得已，干这行的只能这样做。夫人吩咐她的仆人拿出了八十个盾，而两个上尉早已把他们该拿的六十个盾准备好了。两个朝圣者也打算倾其所有，可是罗克叫他们先等一等，转身对他的部下说：
“这些盾你们每人拿两个，这样就还剩二十个。十个给朝圣者，十个给这位善良的侍从，别让他说咱们的坏话。”
罗克吩咐把随身携带的文具准备好，给他手下的几个小头目写了通行证，然后向那些人告别，让他们走了。那些人对这位慷慨大度的罗克的奇怪举动感到惊奇，觉得他不像一个臭名昭著的强盗，倒像是亚历山大大帝。有个侍从用加斯科尼和卡塔卢尼亚语说道：
“这个头头更适合当教士，而不是当强盗。他若是想表现他的大度，以后就应该只花自己的钱，而不要花别人的钱。”
这个倒霉鬼说话的声音不算小。罗克伸手拔出剑，把他的脑袋几乎劈成了两半。罗克说道：
“谁敢口吐狂言，我就这样惩罚他！”
大家都吓坏了，谁也不敢说话，只能唯唯诺诺。
罗克向旁边走出几步，给他在巴塞罗那的一个朋友写了封信，告诉那位朋友，自己如何遇到了曼查的著名的唐吉诃德，关于这位游侠骑士有很多话题可以谈，他是世界上最滑稽又最清醒的人。四天之后，也就是“施洗的约翰①日’，他会骑着他的罗西南多，与他的骑驴的侍从桑乔一起，全身披挂地出现在巴塞罗那的海滩上。罗克让朋友把这消息告诉尼亚罗②的朋友们，叫他们拿唐吉诃德开开心，但他不想让自己的对立派凯德尔也分享这份快乐。不过，这似乎又不可能，因为对于疯癫而又明智的唐吉诃德及其滑稽的侍从桑乔，大家都非常感兴趣。罗克让自己的一个随从换上农夫的衣服，把信送往巴塞罗那。
①这里指的是为耶稣施洗的圣约翰。
②尼亚罗和下面的凯德尔是西班牙的两个有名的对立强盗帮派。罗克•吉纳德是尼亚罗派的头领。
Part 2 Chapter 61
Don Quixote passed three days and three nights with Roque, and had he passed three hundred years he would have found enough to observe and wonder at in his mode of life. At daybreak they were in one spot, at dinner-time in another; sometimes they fled without knowing from whom, at other times they lay in wait, not knowing for what. They slept standing, breaking their slumbers to shift from place to place. There was nothing but sending out spies and scouts, posting sentinels and blowing the matches of harquebusses, though they carried but few, for almost all used flintlocks. Roque passed his nights in some place or other apart from his men, that they might not know where he was, for the many proclamations the viceroy of Barcelona had issued against his life kept him in fear and uneasiness, and he did not venture to trust anyone, afraid that even his own men would kill him or deliver him up to the authorities; of a truth, a weary miserable life! At length, by unfrequented roads, short cuts, and secret paths, Roque, Don Quixote, and Sancho, together with six squires, set out for Barcelona. They reached the strand on Saint John’s Eve during the night; and Roque, after embracing Don Quixote and Sancho (to whom he presented the ten crowns he had promised but had not until then given), left them with many expressions of good-will on both sides.
Roque went back, while Don Quixote remained on horseback, just as he was, waiting for day, and it was not long before the countenance of the fair Aurora began to show itself at the balconies of the east, gladdening the grass and flowers, if not the ear, though to gladden that too there came at the same moment a sound of clarions and drums, and a din of bells, and a tramp, tramp, and cries of “Clear the way there!” of some runners, that seemed to issue from the city.
 
The dawn made way for the sun that with a face broader than a buckler began to rise slowly above the low line of the horizon; Don Quixote and Sancho gazed all round them; they beheld the sea, a sight until then unseen by them; it struck them as exceedingly spacious and broad, much more so than the lakes of Ruidera which they had seen in La Mancha. They saw the galleys along the beach, which, lowering their awnings, displayed themselves decked with streamers and pennons that trembled in the breeze and kissed and swept the water, while on board the bugles, trumpets, and clarions were sounding and filling the air far and near with melodious warlike notes. Then they began to move and execute a kind of skirmish upon the calm water, while a vast number of horsemen on fine horses and in showy liveries, issuing from the city, engaged on their side in a somewhat similar movement. The soldiers on board the galleys kept up a ceaseless fire, which they on the walls and forts of the city returned, and the heavy cannon rent the air with the tremendous noise they made, to which the gangway guns of the galleys replied. The bright sea, the smiling earth, the clear air — though at times darkened by the smoke of the guns — all seemed to fill the whole multitude with unexpected delight. Sancho could not make out how it was that those great masses that moved over the sea had so many feet.
And now the horsemen in livery came galloping up with shouts and outlandish cries and cheers to where Don Quixote stood amazed and wondering; and one of them, he to whom Roque had sent word, addressing him exclaimed, “Welcome to our city, mirror, beacon, star and cynosure of all knight-errantry in its widest extent! Welcome, I say, valiant Don Quixote of La Mancha; not the false, the fictitious, the apocryphal, that these latter days have offered us in lying histories, but the true, the legitimate, the real one that Cide Hamete Benengeli, flower of historians, has described to us!”
Don Quixote made no answer, nor did the horsemen wait for one, but wheeling again with all their followers, they began curvetting round Don Quixote, who, turning to Sancho, said, “These gentlemen have plainly recognised us; I will wager they have read our history, and even that newly printed one by the Aragonese.”
The cavalier who had addressed Don Quixote again approached him and said, “Come with us, Senor Don Quixote, for we are all of us your servants and great friends of Roque Guinart’s ;” to which Don Quixote returned, “If courtesy breeds courtesy, yours, sir knight, is daughter or very nearly akin to the great Roque’s ; carry me where you please; I will have no will but yours, especially if you deign to employ it in your service.”
 
The cavalier replied with words no less polite, and then, all closing in around him, they set out with him for the city, to the music of the clarions and the drums. As they were entering it, the wicked one, who is the author of all mischief, and the boys who are wickeder than the wicked one, contrived that a couple of these audacious irrepressible urchins should force their way through the crowd, and lifting up, one of them Dapple’s tail and the other Rocinante’s, insert a bunch of furze under each. The poor beasts felt the strange spurs and added to their anguish by pressing their tails tight, so much so that, cutting a multitude of capers, they flung their masters to the ground. Don Quixote, covered with shame and out of countenance, ran to pluck the plume from his poor jade’s tail, while Sancho did the same for Dapple. His conductors tried to punish the audacity of the boys, but there was no possibility of doing so, for they hid themselves among the hundreds of others that were following them. Don Quixote and Sancho mounted once more, and with the same music and acclamations reached their conductor’s house, which was large and stately, that of a rich gentleman, in short; and there for the present we will leave them, for such is Cide Hamete’s pleasure.
 
以及其他不新奇但却真实的事情
唐吉诃德同罗克一起度过了三天三夜。不过，即使他同罗克一起度过三百年，罗克的生活也总是那么变化无穷：早晨还在这儿，吃饭时就跑到别处去了；有时不知要躲避什么人，有时又不知在等待什么人。他们睡觉时都站着，睡到一半又转移地方。他们所做的就是站岗放哨，吹旺火枪的引火绳，尽管他们并没有几只火枪，大部分人只是用燧石枪。罗克不同他的部下一同过夜，总是独处一地，谁也不准打听他在哪儿。巴塞罗那总督已经发布了很多布告，悬赏捉拿他，因此罗克总是忐忑不安，心惊胆战，怕他的部下把他杀了或者把他送交官府。他这种生活真是可怜而又可悲。
罗克、唐吉诃德、桑乔和另外六个随从沿着荒凉的小路，一路披荆斩棘地赶赴巴塞罗那，在圣约翰日前夜来到了巴塞罗那的海滩。罗克拥抱了唐吉诃德和桑乔，把前面曾许给桑乔的十个盾交给了桑乔。几个人客气一番，罗克便告别了。
罗克走了以后，唐吉诃德仍留在原地，骑在马上等待天明。东方很快就露出了晨曦，乳白色的晨光为绿草鲜花带来了愉悦。人们可以听到笛声、鼓声和铃销声，以及从城里来的脚夫“让一下！让一下！”的吆喝声。晨曦又迎来了太阳。
太阳就像一块大护胸盾，从地平线冉冉升起。
唐吉诃德和桑乔放眼向四方望去，看到了他们从未见过的大海。大海浩瀚无垠，比他们在曼查看到的鲁伊德拉湖大得多了。他们还看到，停泊于海岸的几艘船已经降下了船篷。船上无数彩带和三角旗迎风飘动，还不时地垂掠水面。船上鼓号齐鸣，悠扬而又雄壮的音调远近可闻。那几艘船摆开战斗的阵势，开始在平静的水面上缓缓移动。地面上与之呼应的是无数身着艳丽服装的骑手，骑着英俊的马匹从城内奔出。船上的士兵连连射击，城墙上和堡垒里的士兵放炮回敬，炮声隆隆，划破了天空。船上的士兵也不甘示弱，开炮作答。大海起舞，大地欢腾，空气清新，只有炮火的烟雾偶尔混浊了晴空。此情此景仿佛让所有人都感到了一种从未有过的兴致。只有桑乔无论如何也想象不出，为什么那些在海上移动的庞然大物竟有那么多只脚①。
①指船桨。
那些高喊着“雷里里”的骑马人已经冲到了唐吉诃德面前，把唐吉诃德吓得不知所措。其中一个骑马人就是罗克通知的那个人。他对唐吉诃德说道：
“欢迎您到我们城市来，游侠骑士的楷模、明灯和北斗星，还有您的其他数不尽的英名。欢迎您，曼查的英勇的唐吉诃德，我说的不是我们最近看到的那部伪作里的假唐吉诃德，而是史学家精英锡德•哈迈德•贝嫩赫利描述的那个真正的唐吉诃德。”
唐吉诃德并不答话。那几个骑马人也不等他答话，便同一起来的那些人围着唐吉诃德绕起圈来。唐吉诃德转身对桑乔说道：
“他们认识我。我敢打赌，他们一定读过写咱们的书，连刚刚出版的阿拉贡人写的那本也读过。”
刚才同唐吉诃德说话的那个骑马人又转回来对唐吉诃德说道：
“请您跟我们走吧，唐吉诃德大人。我们是罗克•吉纳德的老朋友，都是您的仆人。”
唐吉诃德答道：
“如果礼貌能够带动礼貌，那么骑士大人，您的盛情源于伟大的罗克对我的盛情。您随意带我到任何地方去吧，我愿意尊崇您的意志，而且只要您乐意，我愿意为您效劳。”
那位骑马人也同样客套了一番。然后，那些人簇拥着唐吉诃德，随着鼓乐的伴奏，一起走向城里。他们刚进城，就有两个坏得不能再坏的顽童挤进了人群里，一个掀起灰驴的尾巴，另一个掀起罗西南多的尾巴，把两束棘豆分别插进两头牲口的屁股。两头牲口感到疼痛，可是越夹尾巴越难受，便尥起蹶子来，把两个主人摔到了地上。唐吉诃德又羞又气，赶紧把插进马屁股的东西拔了出来，桑乔也把驴屁股里的东西扯了出来。伴随唐吉诃德的那些人想惩罚那两个顽童，可是已经不可能了，两个孩子早已混进了数以千计的人群之中。
唐吉诃德和桑乔又骑上牲口，仍然在鼓乐声的伴奏下来到了那个引路的骑马人的家。那是个高门大宅，看样子是个富裕人家。这些咱们暂且不提吧，因为这是锡德•哈迈德的意思。
Part 2 Chapter 62
Don Quixote’s host was one Don Antonio Moreno by name, a gentleman of wealth and intelligence, and very fond of diverting himself in any fair and good-natured way; and having Don Quixote in his house he set about devising modes of making him exhibit his mad points in some harmless fashion; for jests that give pain are no jests, and no sport is worth anything if it hurts another. The first thing he did was to make Don Quixote take off his armour, and lead him, in that tight chamois suit we have already described and depicted more than once, out on a balcony overhanging one of the chief streets of the city, in full view of the crowd and of the boys, who gazed at him as they would at a monkey. The cavaliers in livery careered before him again as though it were for him alone, and not to enliven the festival of the day, that they wore it, and Sancho was in high delight, for it seemed to him that, how he knew not, he had fallen upon another Camacho’s wedding, another house like Don Diego de Miranda’s , another castle like the duke’s. Some of Don Antonio’s friends dined with him that day, and all showed honour to Don Quixote and treated him as a knight-errant, and he becoming puffed up and exalted in consequence could not contain himself for satisfaction. Such were the drolleries of Sancho that all the servants of the house, and all who heard him, were kept hanging upon his lips. While at table Don Antonio said to him, “We hear, worthy Sancho, that you are so fond of manjar blanco and forced-meat balls, that if you have any left, you keep them in your bosom for the next day.”
“No, senor, that’s not true,” said Sancho, “for I am more cleanly than greedy, and my master Don Quixote here knows well that we two are used to live for a week on a handful of acorns or nuts. To be sure, if it so happens that they offer me a heifer, I run with a halter; I mean, I eat what I’m given, and make use of opportunities as I find them; but whoever says that I’m an out-of-the-way eater or not cleanly, let me tell him that he is wrong; and I’d put it in a different way if I did not respect the honourable beards that are at the table.”
“Indeed,” said Don Quixote, “Sancho’s moderation and cleanliness in eating might be inscribed and graved on plates of brass, to be kept in eternal remembrance in ages to come. It is true that when he is hungry there is a certain appearance of voracity about him, for he eats at a great pace and chews with both jaws; but cleanliness he is always mindful of; and when he was governor he learned how to eat daintily, so much so that he eats grapes, and even pomegranate pips, with a fork.”
“What!” said Don Antonio, “has Sancho been a governor?”
“Ay,” said Sancho, “and of an island called Barataria. I governed it to perfection for ten days; and lost my rest all the time; and learned to look down upon all the governments in the world; I got out of it by taking to flight, and fell into a pit where I gave myself up for dead, and out of which I escaped alive by a miracle.”
Don Quixote then gave them a minute account of the whole affair of Sancho’s government, with which he greatly amused his hearers.
On the cloth being removed Don Antonio, taking Don Quixote by the hand, passed with him into a distant room in which there was nothing in the way of furniture except a table, apparently of jasper, resting on a pedestal of the same, upon which was set up, after the fashion of the busts of the Roman emperors, a head which seemed to be of bronze. Don Antonio traversed the whole apartment with Don Quixote and walked round the table several times, and then said, “Now, Senor Don Quixote, that I am satisfied that no one is listening to us, and that the door is shut, I will tell you of one of the rarest adventures, or more properly speaking strange things, that can be imagined, on condition that you will keep what I say to you in the remotest recesses of secrecy.”
“I swear it,” said Don Quixote, “and for greater security I will put a flag-stone over it; for I would have you know, Senor Don Antonio” (he had by this time learned his name), “that you are addressing one who, though he has ears to hear, has no tongue to speak; so that you may safely transfer whatever you have in your bosom into mine, and rely upon it that you have consigned it to the depths of silence.”
“In reliance upon that promise,” said Don Antonio, “I will astonish you with what you shall see and hear, and relieve myself of some of the vexation it gives me to have no one to whom I can confide my secrets, for they are not of a sort to be entrusted to everybody.”
Don Quixote was puzzled, wondering what could be the object of such precautions; whereupon Don Antonio taking his hand passed it over the bronze head and the whole table and the pedestal of jasper on which it stood, and then said, “This head, Senor Don Quixote, has been made and fabricated by one of the greatest magicians and wizards the world ever saw, a Pole, I believe, by birth, and a pupil of the famous Escotillo of whom such marvellous stories are told. He was here in my house, and for a consideration of a thousand crowns that I gave him he constructed this head, which has the property and virtue of answering whatever questions are put to its ear. He observed the points of the compass, he traced figures, he studied the stars, he watched favourable moments, and at length brought it to the perfection we shall see to-morrow, for on Fridays it is mute, and this being Friday we must wait till the next day. In the interval your worship may consider what you would like to ask it; and I know by experience that in all its answers it tells the truth.”
Don Quixote was amazed at the virtue and property of the head, and was inclined to disbelieve Don Antonio; but seeing what a short time he had to wait to test the matter, he did not choose to say anything except that he thanked him for having revealed to him so mighty a secret. They then quitted the room, Don Antonio locked the door, and they repaired to the chamber where the rest of the gentlemen were assembled. In the meantime Sancho had recounted to them several of the adventures and accidents that had happened his master.
That afternoon they took Don Quixote out for a stroll, not in his armour but in street costume, with a surcoat of tawny cloth upon him, that at that season would have made ice itself sweat. Orders were left with the servants to entertain Sancho so as not to let him leave the house. Don Quixote was mounted, not on Rocinante, but upon a tall mule of easy pace and handsomely caparisoned. They put the surcoat on him, and on the back, without his perceiving it, they stitched a parchment on which they wrote in large letters, “This is Don Quixote of La Mancha.” As they set out upon their excursion the placard attracted the eyes of all who chanced to see him, and as they read out, “This is Don Quixote of La Mancha,” Don Quixote was amazed to see how many people gazed at him, called him by his name, and recognised him, and turning to Don Antonio, who rode at his side, he observed to him, “Great are the privileges knight-errantry involves, for it makes him who professes it known and famous in every region of the earth; see, Don Antonio, even the very boys of this city know me without ever having seen me.”
“True, Senor Don Quixote,” returned Don Antonio; “for as fire cannot be hidden or kept secret, virtue cannot escape being recognised; and that which is attained by the profession of arms shines distinguished above all others.”
It came to pass, however, that as Don Quixote was proceeding amid the acclamations that have been described, a Castilian, reading the inscription on his back, cried out in a loud voice, “The devil take thee for a Don Quixote of La Mancha! What! art thou here, and not dead of the countless drubbings that have fallen on thy ribs? Thou art mad; and if thou wert so by thyself, and kept thyself within thy madness, it would not be so bad; but thou hast the gift of making fools and blockheads of all who have anything to do with thee or say to thee. Why, look at these gentlemen bearing thee company! Get thee home, blockhead, and see after thy affairs, and thy wife and children, and give over these fooleries that are sapping thy brains and skimming away thy wits.”
“Go your own way, brother,” said Don Antonio, “and don’t offer advice to those who don’t ask you for it. Senor Don Quixote is in his full senses, and we who bear him company are not fools; virtue is to be honoured wherever it may be found; go, and bad luck to you, and don’t meddle where you are not wanted.”
“By God, your worship is right,” replied the Castilian; “for to advise this good man is to kick against the pricks; still for all that it fills me with pity that the sound wit they say the blockhead has in everything should dribble away by the channel of his knight-errantry; but may the bad luck your worship talks of follow me and all my descendants, if, from this day forth, though I should live longer than Methuselah, I ever give advice to anybody even if he asks me for it.”
The advice-giver took himself off, and they continued their stroll; but so great was the press of the boys and people to read the placard, that Don Antonio was forced to remove it as if he were taking off something else.
 
Night came and they went home, and there was a ladies’ dancing party, for Don Antonio’s wife, a lady of rank and gaiety, beauty and wit, had invited some friends of hers to come and do honour to her guest and amuse themselves with his strange delusions. Several of them came, they supped sumptuously, the dance began at about ten o’clock. Among the ladies were two of a mischievous and frolicsome turn, and, though perfectly modest, somewhat free in playing tricks for harmless diversion sake. These two were so indefatigable in taking Don Quixote out to dance that they tired him down, not only in body but in spirit. It was a sight to see the figure Don Quixote made, long, lank, lean, and yellow, his garments clinging tight to him, ungainly, and above all anything but agile.
 
The gay ladies made secret love to him, and he on his part secretly repelled them, but finding himself hard pressed by their blandishments he lifted up his voice and exclaimed, “Fugite, partes adversae! Leave me in peace, unwelcome overtures; avaunt, with your desires, ladies, for she who is queen of mine, the peerless Dulcinea del Toboso, suffers none but hers to lead me captive and subdue me;” and so saying he sat down on the floor in the middle of the room, tired out and broken down by all this exertion in the dance.
Don Antonio directed him to be taken up bodily and carried to bed, and the first that laid hold of him was Sancho, saying as he did so, “In an evil hour you took to dancing, master mine; do you fancy all mighty men of valour are dancers, and all knights-errant given to capering? If you do, I can tell you you are mistaken; there’s many a man would rather undertake to kill a giant than cut a caper. If it had been the shoe-fling you were at I could take your place, for I can do the shoe-fling like a gerfalcon; but I’m no good at dancing.”
With these and other observations Sancho set the whole ball-room laughing, and then put his master to bed, covering him up well so that he might sweat out any chill caught after his dancing.
The next day Don Antonio thought he might as well make trial of the enchanted head, and with Don Quixote, Sancho, and two others, friends of his, besides the two ladies that had tired out Don Quixote at the ball, who had remained for the night with Don Antonio’s wife, he locked himself up in the chamber where the head was. He explained to them the property it possessed and entrusted the secret to them, telling them that now for the first time he was going to try the virtue of the enchanted head; but except Don Antonio’s two friends no one else was privy to the mystery of the enchantment, and if Don Antonio had not first revealed it to them they would have been inevitably reduced to the same state of amazement as the rest, so artfully and skilfully was it contrived.
The first to approach the ear of the head was Don Antonio himself, and in a low voice but not so low as not to be audible to all, he said to it, “Head, tell me by the virtue that lies in thee what am I at this moment thinking of?”
The head, without any movement of the lips, answered in a clear and distinct voice, so as to be heard by all, “I cannot judge of thoughts.”
All were thunderstruck at this, and all the more so as they saw that there was nobody anywhere near the table or in the whole room that could have answered. “How many of us are here?” asked Don Antonio once more; and it was answered him in the same way softly, “Thou and thy wife, with two friends of thine and two of hers, and a famous knight called Don Quixote of La Mancha, and a squire of his, Sancho Panza by name.”
Now there was fresh astonishment; now everyone’s hair was standing on end with awe; and Don Antonio retiring from the head exclaimed, “This suffices to show me that I have not been deceived by him who sold thee to me, O sage head, talking head, answering head, wonderful head! Let some one else go and put what question he likes to it.”
And as women are commonly impulsive and inquisitive, the first to come forward was one of the two friends of Don Antonio’s wife, and her question was, “Tell me, Head, what shall I do to be very beautiful?” and the answer she got was, “Be very modest.”
“I question thee no further,” said the fair querist.
Her companion then came up and said, “I should like to know, Head, whether my husband loves me or not;” the answer given to her was, “Think how he uses thee, and thou mayest guess;” and the married lady went off saying, “That answer did not need a question; for of course the treatment one receives shows the disposition of him from whom it is received.”
Then one of Don Antonio’s two friends advanced and asked it, “Who am I?” “Thou knowest,” was the answer. “That is not what I ask thee,” said the gentleman, “but to tell me if thou knowest me.” “Yes, I know thee, thou art Don Pedro Noriz,” was the reply.
“I do not seek to know more,” said the gentleman, “for this is enough to convince me, O Head, that thou knowest everything;” and as he retired the other friend came forward and asked it, “Tell me, Head, what are the wishes of my eldest son?”
“I have said already,” was the answer, “that I cannot judge of wishes; however, I can tell thee the wish of thy son is to bury thee.”
“That’s ‘what I see with my eyes I point out with my finger,’” said the gentleman, “so I ask no more.”
Don Antonio’s wife came up and said, “I know not what to ask thee, Head; I would only seek to know of thee if I shall have many years of enjoyment of my good husband;” and the answer she received was, “Thou shalt, for his vigour and his temperate habits promise many years of life, which by their intemperance others so often cut short.”
Then Don Quixote came forward and said, “Tell me, thou that answerest, was that which I describe as having happened to me in the cave of Montesinos the truth or a dream? Will Sancho’s whipping be accomplished without fail? Will the disenchantment of Dulcinea be brought about?”
 
“As to the question of the cave,” was the reply, “there is much to be said; there is something of both in it. Sancho’s whipping will proceed leisurely. The disenchantment of Dulcinea will attain its due consummation.”
“I seek to know no more,” said Don Quixote; “let me but see Dulcinea disenchanted, and I will consider that all the good fortune I could wish for has come upon me all at once.”
The last questioner was Sancho, and his questions were, “Head, shall I by any chance have another government? Shall I ever escape from the hard life of a squire? Shall I get back to see my wife and children?” To which the answer came, “Thou shalt govern in thy house; and if thou returnest to it thou shalt see thy wife and children; and on ceasing to serve thou shalt cease to be a squire.”
“Good, by God!” said Sancho Panza; “I could have told myself that; the prophet Perogrullo could have said no more.”
“What answer wouldst thou have, beast?” said Don Quixote; “is it not enough that the replies this head has given suit the questions put to it?”
“Yes, it is enough,” said Sancho; “but I should have liked it to have made itself plainer and told me more.”
The questions and answers came to an end here, but not the wonder with which all were filled, except Don Antonio’s two friends who were in the secret. This Cide Hamete Benengeli thought fit to reveal at once, not to keep the world in suspense, fancying that the head had some strange magical mystery in it. He says, therefore, that on the model of another head, the work of an image maker, which he had seen at Madrid, Don Antonio made this one at home for his own amusement and to astonish ignorant people; and its mechanism was as follows. The table was of wood painted and varnished to imitate jasper, and the pedestal on which it stood was of the same material, with four eagles’ claws projecting from it to support the weight more steadily. The head, which resembled a bust or figure of a Roman emperor, and was coloured like bronze, was hollow throughout, as was the table, into which it was fitted so exactly that no trace of the joining was visible. The pedestal of the table was also hollow and communicated with the throat and neck of the head, and the whole was in communication with another room underneath the chamber in which the head stood. Through the entire cavity in the pedestal, table, throat and neck of the bust or figure, there passed a tube of tin carefully adjusted and concealed from sight. In the room below corresponding to the one above was placed the person who was to answer, with his mouth to the tube, and the voice, as in an ear-trumpet, passed from above downwards, and from below upwards, the words coming clearly and distinctly; it was impossible, thus, to detect the trick. A nephew of Don Antonio’s , a smart sharp-witted student, was the answerer, and as he had been told beforehand by his uncle who the persons were that would come with him that day into the chamber where the head was, it was an easy matter for him to answer the first question at once and correctly; the others he answered by guess-work, and, being clever, cleverly. Cide Hamete adds that this marvellous contrivance stood for some ten or twelve days; but that, as it became noised abroad through the city that he had in his house an enchanted head that answered all who asked questions of it, Don Antonio, fearing it might come to the ears of the watchful sentinels of our faith, explained the matter to the inquisitors, who commanded him to break it up and have done with it, lest the ignorant vulgar should be scandalised. By Don Quixote, however, and by Sancho the head was still held to be an enchanted one, and capable of answering questions, though more to Don Quixote’s satisfaction than Sancho’s.
The gentlemen of the city, to gratify Don Antonio and also to do the honours to Don Quixote, and give him an opportunity of displaying his folly, made arrangements for a tilting at the ring in six days from that time, which, however, for reason that will be mentioned hereafter, did not take place.
Don Quixote took a fancy to stroll about the city quietly and on foot, for he feared that if he went on horseback the boys would follow him; so he and Sancho and two servants that Don Antonio gave him set out for a walk. Thus it came to pass that going along one of the streets Don Quixote lifted up his eyes and saw written in very large letters over a door, “Books printed here,” at which he was vastly pleased, for until then he had never seen a printing office, and he was curious to know what it was like. He entered with all his following, and saw them drawing sheets in one place, correcting in another, setting up type here, revising there; in short all the work that is to be seen in great printing offices. He went up to one case and asked what they were about there; the workmen told him, he watched them with wonder, and passed on. He approached one man, among others, and asked him what he was doing. The workman replied, “Senor, this gentleman here” (pointing to a man of prepossessing appearance and a certain gravity of look) “has translated an Italian book into our Spanish tongue, and I am setting it up in type for the press.”
“What is the title of the book?” asked Don Quixote; to which the author replied, “Senor, in Italian the book is called Le Bagatelle.”
“And what does Le Bagatelle import in our Spanish?” asked Don Quixote.
“Le Bagatelle,” said the author, “is as though we should say in Spanish Los Juguetes; but though the book is humble in name it has good solid matter in it.”
“I,” said Don Quixote, “have some little smattering of Italian, and I plume myself on singing some of Ariosto’s stanzas; but tell me, senor — I do not say this to test your ability, but merely out of curiosity — have you ever met with the word pignatta in your book?”
“Yes, often,” said the author.
“And how do you render that in Spanish?”
“How should I render it,” returned the author, “but by olla?”
“Body o’ me,” exclaimed Don Quixote, “what a proficient you are in the Italian language! I would lay a good wager that where they say in Italian piace you say in Spanish place, and where they say piu you say mas, and you translate su by arriba and giu by abajo.”
“I translate them so of course,” said the author, “for those are their proper equivalents.”
“I would venture to swear,” said Don Quixote, “that your worship is not known in the world, which always begrudges their reward to rare wits and praiseworthy labours. What talents lie wasted there! What genius thrust away into corners! What worth left neglected! Still it seems to me that translation from one language into another, if it be not from the queens of languages, the Greek and the Latin, is like looking at Flemish tapestries on the wrong side; for though the figures are visible, they are full of threads that make them indistinct, and they do not show with the smoothness and brightness of the right side; and translation from easy languages argues neither ingenuity nor command of words, any more than transcribing or copying out one document from another. But I do not mean by this to draw the inference that no credit is to be allowed for the work of translating, for a man may employ himself in ways worse and less profitable to himself. This estimate does not include two famous translators, Doctor Cristobal de Figueroa, in his Pastor Fido, and Don Juan de Jauregui, in his Aminta, wherein by their felicity they leave it in doubt which is the translation and which the original. But tell me, are you printing this book at your own risk, or have you sold the copyright to some bookseller?”
“I print at my own risk,” said the author, “and I expect to make a thousand ducats at least by this first edition, which is to be of two thousand copies that will go off in a twinkling at six reals apiece.”
“A fine calculation you are making!” said Don Quixote; “it is plain you don’t know the ins and outs of the printers, and how they play into one another’s hands. I promise you when you find yourself saddled with two thousand copies you will feel so sore that it will astonish you, particularly if the book is a little out of the common and not in any way highly spiced.”
“What!” said the author, “would your worship, then, have me give it to a bookseller who will give three maravedis for the copyright and think he is doing me a favour? I do not print my books to win fame in the world, for I am known in it already by my works; I want to make money, without which reputation is not worth a rap.”
“God send your worship good luck,” said Don Quixote; and he moved on to another case, where he saw them correcting a sheet of a book with the title of “Light of the Soul;” noticing it he observed, “Books like this, though there are many of the kind, are the ones that deserve to be printed, for many are the sinners in these days, and lights unnumbered are needed for all that are in darkness.”
He passed on, and saw they were also correcting another book, and when he asked its title they told him it was called, “The Second Part of the Ingenious Gentleman Don Quixote of La Mancha,” by one of Tordesillas.
“I have heard of this book already,” said Don Quixote, “and verily and on my conscience I thought it had been by this time burned to ashes as a meddlesome intruder; but its Martinmas will come to it as it does to every pig; for fictions have the more merit and charm about them the more nearly they approach the truth or what looks like it; and true stories, the truer they are the better they are;” and so saying he walked out of the printing office with a certain amount of displeasure in his looks. That same day Don Antonio arranged to take him to see the galleys that lay at the beach, whereat Sancho was in high delight, as he had never seen any all his life. Don Antonio sent word to the commandant of the galleys that he intended to bring his guest, the famous Don Quixote of La Mancha, of whom the commandant and all the citizens had already heard, that afternoon to see them; and what happened on board of them will be told in the next chapter.
 
唐吉诃德的东道主叫安东尼奥•莫雷诺，是个富裕而又精明的绅士，喜欢开一些并不粗俗的善意的玩笑。他见唐吉诃德来到了他家，就想让大家拿唐吉诃德的疯癫开心，但是又不伤害唐吉诃德的自尊心。刺伤了人的自尊心就算不上玩笑了，哪怕是伤害第三者也称不上是娱乐。他做的第一件事就是让唐吉诃德脱去盔甲，仅穿着我们在前面叙述过的那件羚羊皮紧身背心，走到一个面对该城主要大街的阳台上去，让众多大人和孩子像看猴子似的看他。唐吉诃德面前又出现了许多穿艳丽服装的骑马人，他们跑来跑去仿佛不是为了庆祝当天的节日，而是专门供唐吉诃德检阅似的。桑乔特别高兴，竟莫名其妙地以为又碰上了一次卡马乔的婚礼，又到了一个像唐迭戈•德米兰达那样的宅第，又出现了一个像公爵府那样的城堡。
那天，安东尼奥请几个朋友吃饭，大家对唐吉诃德都很尊重，把他当游侠骑士对待。唐吉诃德自然得意洋洋，喜形于色。桑乔更是妙语连珠，吸引了所有佣人和能听到他讲话的人，席间安东尼奥对桑乔说：
“好桑乔，我们听说你特别喜欢吃米粉牛奶杏仁羹和丸子，如果吃不完，你还藏到怀里留着第二天吃。”
“并不是这样，大人。”桑乔说，“我很爱干净，并不那么贪吃。我的主人唐吉诃德就在旁边，他十分清楚，有时候一把橡子或胡桃就够我们俩吃八天。的确，也有可能遇到人家给我一头小牛，我马上就拿绳去牵的情况，我的意思是说，有什么我就吃什么，有机会就不放过。可是，无论谁说我贪吃或者不讲卫生，你们都千万别信。若不是有诸位贵宾在席，这话我还会另有说法呢。”
“的确如此，”唐吉诃德说，“桑乔的克制和讲卫生真值得载入史册，供后人怀念。他饿的时候确实有点儿贪吃，吃得既快又狼吞虎咽，不过他一直很注意卫生。他当总督的时候吃东西就很文雅，曾经用叉子吃葡萄和石榴子。”
“怎么，”安东尼奥说，“桑乔还当过总督？”
“是的，”桑乔说，“我当过一个叫巴拉塔里亚的海岛的总督。我痛痛快快地当了十天总督。后来我失去了耐心，开始鄙视世界上的所有总督，于是就从那儿逃了出来，结果掉进了一个大坑。我以为我要死在那儿了，可是却奇迹般地活了下来。”
唐吉诃德把桑乔当总督的事情详细地叙述了一遍，众人听得津津有味。
吃完饭后，安东尼奥拉着唐吉诃德的手来到一个单独的房间。房间里只有一张桌子，看样子是碧玉的；桌子只有一条桌腿，也是碧玉的。桌子上摆放着两个罗马皇帝的半身像，大概是用青铜制的。安东尼奥带着唐吉诃德绕桌子转了几圈，然后才说道：
“唐吉诃德大人，我已经察看过了，现在没有任何人看见咱们或者听见咱们说话，门也关上了。我想告诉您一件最罕见的奇闻，或者说是一件难以想象的新闻，不过我有个条件，那就是您得严守秘密。”
“我发誓，”唐吉诃德说，“为了更保险起见，我还可以在严守秘密之上再压一块石头。”唐吉诃德现在已经知道了安东尼奥的名字，又说道，“而且我想告诉您，安东尼奥大人，我只有耳朵往里进，没有嘴往外传。所以您尽可放心，心里有什么事都完全可以告诉我，就算是把秘密扔到沉默的深渊里去了。”
“既然您这么说，”安东尼奥说，“我可要让您对您的所见所闻大吃一惊了。这也算是我的一种排遣吧。这件事我一直无处可讲，它并不是随便可以和任何人讲的。”
唐吉诃德觉得很好奇，等着安东尼奥到底说什么。这时，安东尼奥抓着唐吉诃德的手，把那青铜像、那碧玉桌子以及那条桌腿都摸了一遍，然后才说道：
“唐吉诃德大人，这个头像是由世界上最优秀的魔法师制作的。那个魔法师大概是波兰人。他是著名的埃斯科蒂略的门徒，关于他有很多神奇的传说。那个魔法师就在我家住过。我出价一千个盾，请他制作了这个头像。您靠近头像的耳朵随便问什么问题，他都能回答。那位魔法师画符念咒，观象掐算，让这个头像具备了这种特异功能。明天，咱们可以试试看。星期五这个头像不说话，而今天恰好是星期五，所以咱们得等到明天。在这段时间里您可以准备一下要提的问题。
根据我的经验，它回答得都很准确。”
唐吉诃德听说头像有这种特异功能，感到非常惊奇，对安东尼奥的话不太相信。不过，既然过不了多长时间就可以试验，他也就不想再说什么了，只是对安东尼奥如此推心置腹表示感谢。两人走出房间，安东尼奥用钥匙把门锁好。两人来到客厅，其他人仍在那里听桑乔讲他和他主人的种种奇遇。
当天下午，他们陪唐吉诃德外出散步。唐吉诃德没有穿盔甲，一身休闲装束，穿着棕黄色的长袍。当时，那样的天气穿长袍，即使是冰块也要冒汗的。安东尼奥吩咐佣人们与桑乔周旋，别让他出门。唐吉诃德出了门，他没有骑罗西南多，而是骑着一匹高大、驯顺的骡子，并且鞍具也很漂亮。他们让唐吉诃德穿上长袍，并且在长袍背部悄悄地贴了一张羊皮纸，上面用大字写着：“这就是曼查的唐吉诃德。”他们开始在街上走动，这张羊皮纸吸引了过往行人的注意力。大家念着“这就是曼查的唐吉诃德”。唐吉诃德见有很多人看他，说得出他的名字，认出了他，甚觉惊讶。他转过身对身旁的安东尼奥说：
“游侠骑士就是与众不同，它可以使人名扬天下。不信，您看看，安东尼奥大人，这个城市这么多人，甚至包括许多孩子，他们根本没见过我，却能够认出我来。”
“是这样，唐吉诃德大人。”安东尼奥说，“这就如同火不可能被包藏一样，功德也不可能被湮没。游侠骑士道永远辉煌，功盖四方。”
唐吉诃德正走着，忽然有个卡斯蒂利亚人看到了唐吉诃德背上的羊皮纸，高声说道：
“见鬼去吧，曼查的唐吉诃德！你挨了那么多棍子，居然没死，又跑到这儿来了！你是个疯子！如果你只是在自己家里疯，那还好点儿，可是你还要把跟你交往的人都变得疯疯癫癫的，否则，为什么会有这么多大人跟着你？你还是趁早回家去吧，笨蛋，照顾好你的财产，照顾好你的老婆孩子，别再鬼迷心窍，疯疯癫癫啦。”
“兄弟，”安东尼奥说，“你还是走你的路吧。别人没向你请教，你也就不必为别人操心了。唐吉诃德大人非常明智，我们这些陪着他的人也不傻。品德高尚的人到处都应该受到尊重。你别自找倒霉了，没叫你来，你就别搀和。”
“不错，您说得对，”那个卡斯蒂利亚人说，“劝说这种人等于对牛弹琴。让我遗憾的是，据说这个笨蛋在各方面都很聪明，只是让游侠骑士的疯癫给毁了。从今以后，我谁也不劝了，即使我能长命百岁，即使别人向我讨教，我也不管了，否则就像您说的那样，让我和我的后代倒霉透顶！”
那人说完就走了，大家又继续在街上闲逛。可是，总有很多大人和小孩挤着念那张纸。安东尼奥只好假装给唐吉诃德掸什么东西，把那张纸条取了下来。
傍晚，他们回到安东尼奥的家，正好赶上一个贵妇舞会。原来，安东尼奥的夫人是个高贵而又快活、美丽而又聪明的女人，她邀请了很多女伴一起来招待客人，同时也想拿唐吉诃德的疯癫开开心。因此，到了几位女客，大家共进了一顿丰盛的晚餐。舞会在晚上十点左右开始。来客中有两位喜欢恶作剧的夫人。她们虽然是正派人，但若是开起无恶意的玩笑来，就显得有些放肆了。她们请唐吉诃德拼命地跳舞，折腾得唐吉诃德不仅身体很累，精神上也感到很疲惫。这从唐吉诃德那副又细又高、又瘦又黄、衣服紧裹在身上、萎靡不振、毫不感到轻松的样子就可以看出来。两位夫人悄悄地向唐吉诃德暗送秋波，唐吉诃德也悄悄地予以蔑视。后来，唐吉诃德见两位夫人的攻势越来越紧，便提高嗓门说道：“滚开，我的敌手！不要再来纠缠我！你们还是知趣些吧，托博索无与伦比的杜尔西内亚才是我心上的皇后，其他任何人都不可能征服我的心！”
说完，他就坐在了大厅中央的地面上，此时，他已跳得浑身像散了架似的。安东尼奥赶紧叫人把他背到床上去。桑乔首先抢上来抓着唐吉诃德说：
“您跳什么舞呀，我的大人，真是自找倒霉！您以为所有的勇士都能跳舞，所有的游侠骑士都是舞蹈家吗？我是说，您如果真这么想，那就是自欺欺人。有的人宁愿去杀一个巨人，也不愿意蹦蹦跳跳。若论蹦蹦跳跳，我完全可以代替您，我跳得好极了。可要是跳正经的舞蹈，我就一点儿也摸不着门了。”
桑乔这些话把舞会上的人都逗乐了。桑乔把唐吉诃德弄到床上，给他盖好被子，以免他因为跳舞出汗而着凉。
第二天，安东尼奥觉得可以做通灵头像的试验了。他同唐吉诃德、桑乔、另外两位朋友以及那两个在舞会上把唐吉诃德累得够呛的夫人一起，来到安放头像的房间。两位夫人在舞会当晚留宿在安东尼奥夫人那儿了。安东尼奥向他们讲述了头像的特异功能，并嘱咐大家一定保密，还说这是第一次验证这种功能。除了安东尼奥的两位朋友，其他人都不知道这件事的实情。如果不是安东尼奥事先把这件事告诉了那两位朋友，他们也会像其他人一样惊讶不已的。由此可见，一切都安排得井井有条。
安东尼奥首先凑近头像的耳朵，低声提问。声音虽然低，可是在场的人都能听到。安东尼奥问：
“头像啊，凭着你的本领，告诉我，我现在在想什么？”
头像的嘴唇并没有动，可是说话的声音却很清晰，屋里的人都能听清楚。头像说：
“我不管别人想什么。”
听到这声音，大家都很惊奇，因为在整个房间里，包括桌子底下，都没看见有答话的人。
“我们一共有多少人？”安东尼奥又问。
头像回答的声音仍然那样低沉：
“你和你夫人，还有你的两个朋友，你夫人的两个朋友，曼查的一位叫唐吉诃德的著名骑士，以及他的名叫桑乔的侍从。”
大家更加吃惊，惊得头发都直立起来了。安东尼奥离开头像，说道：
“这足以证明，我并没有受那个把头像卖给我的人欺骗。多么聪明的头像啊，会说话的头像，还能回答问题，多么神奇啊！现在换换人吧，谁想问什么都可以。”
女人们一般都好奇，爱打听，安东尼奥夫人的两位女伴中有一个人问道：
“告诉我，头像，我怎样做才能变得更漂亮？”
头像回答说：
“人得正派。”
“我不问别的了。”那位夫人说。
另一位夫人也过去问，她说：
“头像，我想知道，我丈夫是否真心爱我。”
头像回答说：
“这要看他的行动才能清楚。”
这位夫人走到一旁说：
“这不算回答。一个人的行动当然能表现出他的心思。”
安东尼奥的一位朋友走过去问道：
“我是谁？”
头像回答说：
“你自己知道。”
“我不是问这个，”安东尼奥的这位朋友说，“我问的是你是否认识我？”
“是的，我认识你，”头像答道，“你是唐佩德罗•诺里斯。”
“我不想再问其他事情了，知道这些就够了。噢，头像，你真是无所不知！”
安东尼奥的另一位朋友也走过去问道：
“告诉我，头像，我的大儿子现在想干什么？”
“我已经说过了，”头像说，“我不管别人想干什么。不过，尽管如此，我还是可以告诉你，你的大儿子想埋葬你。”
“真是这样，”安东尼奥的那位朋友说，“我确实亲眼见到，亲身体会到了。”
他不再问什么了。安东尼奥的夫人又走过去问道：
“头像，我不知道我该问你什么，我只想让你告诉我，我的好丈夫是否能陪伴我多年。”
“是的，能够陪伴你多年，因为你起居有节，可以长寿。
放纵的生活常常缩短人的生命。”
接着，唐吉诃德走过去问道：
“请你告诉我，答话人，我讲述的在蒙特西诺斯洞窟里遇到的那些事，究竟是真的还是在做梦？我的侍从桑乔应该受鞭笞，确有其事吗？这能够解脱附在杜尔西内亚身上的魔法吗？”
“关于洞窟的情况，”头像回答说，“得视情况而定，两种可能性都有。桑乔受鞭笞的事得慢慢来。只要鞭打够了数量，杜尔西内亚就可以摆脱魔法。”
“就这些，”唐吉诃德说，“只要能看到杜尔西内亚摆脱魔法，我就会好运从天降，心想事成。”
最后问话的是桑乔。桑乔问道：
“头像，我还能当总督吗？我能摆脱侍从的苦差吗？我还能见到我的老婆和孩子吗？”
头像回答说：
“你只能当你们家的总督。只要你回家，就可以见到你的老婆和孩子，也不用再服侍别人，当侍从这份苦差了。”
“说得多妙呀，”桑乔说，“这话我也会说，连预言家佩罗格鲁略①也会说这些！”
①佩罗格鲁略是传说中的滑头预言家。
“畜生，”唐吉诃德说，“你还想怎么回答你？头像有问必答，这还不够吗？”
“够了，”桑乔说，“不过，我想让它说得再清楚点儿，再多说点儿。”
问答结束了。除了安东尼奥那两位知情的朋友，大家都感到很惊奇。锡德•哈迈德•贝嫩赫利为了不让大家感到惊奇，后来解释说，一定是某个魔法师在头像的脑袋里安了什么东西。据说，这个头像是安东尼奥•莫雷诺按照他在马德里看到的一个巧匠制作的另一个头像仿造的。安东尼奥把它放在家里聊以解闷或者蒙骗无知的人。头像的制作过程是这样的：先做个木头桌子，经过涂漆刷釉，让它看起来像是碧玉做的。桌腿也采用了同样的方法，而且还从桌腿里伸出四只魔爪来，这样桌子就更稳当了。头像做成某个罗马皇帝的样子，颜色涂成青铜色，里面是空心的。桌面也是空心的，把头像镶嵌在桌子上，连接得天衣无缝，一点儿破绽都看不出来。桌子腿同样是空心的，与头像的喉咙和胸部衔接，然后通过头像下面的一个小房间与另外一个房间相通。一根铁皮管子把桌腿、桌面、头像胸部和喉咙部分贯通起来，可谓珠联璧合，任何人也不会察觉。在与房间相通的下层那个小房间里，答话的人把嘴贴在铁皮管上，把铁皮管当成传话筒，声音由下到上，再由上到下，话语连贯清晰，谁也不会发现其中的奥秘。安东尼奥有个侄子，是个机灵而又聪明的学生，答话的就是他。他事先已经知道有哪些人同他叔叔在放头像的房间里，所以很容易就迅速准确地回答了第一个问题，其他问题则靠他的聪明机智来猜测作答。
锡德•哈迈德还说，这个神奇的头像此后只存在了十天或十二天。原来，城里立刻就传开了，说安东尼奥家里有个通灵头像，能够有问必答。没想到这件事被警觉的宗教卫士知道了，他们把这件事报告了宗教裁判所。宗教裁判所下令毁掉头像，以免那些无知的百姓大惊小怪。不过，唐吉诃德和桑乔仍然认为那头像通灵，因此能回答问题。而且，唐吉诃德对头像比桑乔更为满意。
城里的绅士们为了讨好安东尼奥，庆贺唐吉诃德的到来，同时也为了让唐吉诃德的疯癫多出点洋相，决定在六天后举行一次跑马穿环比赛，但是由于下面发生的事情，这次比赛未能如期举行。唐吉诃德想在城里的大街上随便逛逛。他担心如果骑马，后面又会有很多孩子跟着，就和桑乔以及安东尼奥派给他的两名佣人一起步行出了门。走到一条大街上，唐吉诃德抬头望去，看到一扇门上有个大字招牌，上面写着：“承印书籍”。唐吉诃德非常高兴，因为他从未见过印刷厂，想看看到底是怎么回事。他和他的一行人走过去，看到这儿在印刷，那儿在校样，有的人排版，有的人校改，反正都是大印刷厂里那一套。唐吉诃德走到一个大字盘前，问排字工人在干什么。工人们做了解释，唐吉诃德觉得很新鲜，然后又继续往前走。他又来到一个排字工人面前，问他在干什么。那工人答道：
“大人，”他指着一位相貌端正、神情严肃的人说，“这位大人已经把一本托斯卡纳语的书译成了西班牙文，我们正在排版，准备印刷。”
“这本书的书名叫什么？”唐吉诃德问。
那个译者答道：
“大人，这本托斯卡纳语的书名原文叫Le　Bagatelle。”
“Le　Bagatelle译成西班牙文是什么意思？”唐吉诃德问。
“Le　Bagatelle就相当于我们西班牙语的‘小玩意儿’，”译者说，“虽然从书名看，这本书很普通，但是内容很好，很深刻。”
“我懂得一点儿托斯卡纳语，而且常为自己能念几段阿里奥斯托的诗而自豪。不过大人，我想请教您一点儿事。我这样做并不是想考验您的才智，而是出于个人好奇。您在您的译作里是否遇到过pinata这个词？”
“经常遇到。”译者说。
“那么，您把它译成西班牙文的哪个词呢？”唐吉诃德问。
“译成哪个词？”译者说，“只能译成‘锅’嘛。”
“谢天谢地！”唐吉诃德说，“您对托斯卡纳语真是太精通了！我敢跟您打个大赌，托斯卡纳语中的piace，您一定译成了西班牙文的‘喜欢’，凡是遇到più，您都说成是‘多’，把su当作‘上面’，而giù是‘下面’。”
“是这样，”译者说，“这正是这几个词的本义。”
“我敢发誓，”唐吉诃德说，“您不是当代的著名人士，而且，您反对褒扬才子佳人和传世佳作。有多少有本领的人被埋没，有多少天才被打入冷宫！有多少道德高尚的人没有得到应有的称赞！尽管如此，我觉得把一种语言翻译成另外一种语言，除非原文是像希腊语和拉丁语那样的经典语言，否则，都会像从背面看佛兰德的挂毯一样，虽然图案看得见，可是底线太多，使得图案黯然失色，失去了作品的原有光彩。至于翻译其他一些简单的语言，更会失去才华和文采，就像只是生搬硬套过来或者只是从一张纸抄到另一张纸上一样。我并不是因此就说翻译这个行业一无是处，因为其他一些职业的情况比这个行当还糟糕，而且收益也少呢。可是有两个著名译者不在此列，一个是克里斯托瓦尔•德菲格罗亚，他翻译了《忠实牧人》；另一个是胡安•德豪雷吉，他翻译了《阿明塔》。他们的译文流畅，让人难分原作和译作。不过，请您告诉我，您这本书是自费印刷还是已经把版权卖给了某个书商？”
“我这是自费印刷。”译者说，“我估计，这第一版至少可以赚一千个盾。这一版大约印两千册，每册卖六个雷阿尔，我估计很快就可以销完。”
“您盘算得不错。”唐吉诃德说，“这说明你很不了解印刷厂商的花招和他们之间的关系。我敢肯定，您背着两千册书，累得腰酸腿疼的时候，您就慌了，如果这是平淡无奇的书就尤为如此。”
“什么？”译者说，“您想让我把这本书交给书商吗？他们买我的版权只出三个马拉维迪，还以为是对我开恩呢。我印书并不是为了成名，我的作品已经有名声了。我只是想得一点儿利，没有利，空名不值半文钱。”
“但愿上帝能让您一本万利。”唐吉诃德说。
唐吉诃德走到一个字盘前，看到那儿正在校改一部清样，书名是《灵魂之光》。唐吉诃德说：
“这类书虽然已经出了很多，但还是应该再出版。现在有罪孽的人太多，需要有很多光明来指引他们。”
唐吉诃德又继续往前走，看到人们正在校改另外一本书。他问书名叫什么，那些人告诉他是《唐吉诃德》的下卷，是托德西利亚斯附近的某某人著的。
“我听说过这本书，”唐吉诃德说，“说句良心话，我觉得真应该把这本荒谬的书付之一炬烧成灰。不过，是猪总免不了挨刀子，虚构的故事编得越真实或者越像真的才越好，而真实的故事当然也是更真实才更好。”
说完，唐吉诃德满面不悦地走出印刷厂。那天，安东尼奥已经安排了他们去参观海边的几条船。桑乔没见过船，所以特别高兴。安东尼奥通知四船船队①的指挥官，说他的客人唐吉诃德下午要去参观船队。船队的人员和周围的居民都听说过唐吉诃德，有关唐吉诃德在船上的事情请看下章。
①每四艘船为一个船队。
Part 2 Chapter 63
Profound were Don Quixote’s reflections on the reply of the enchanted head, not one of them, however, hitting on the secret of the trick, but all concentrated on the promise, which he regarded as a certainty, of Dulcinea’s disenchantment. This he turned over in his mind again and again with great satisfaction, fully persuaded that he would shortly see its fulfillment; and as for Sancho, though, as has been said, he hated being a governor, still he had a longing to be giving orders and finding himself obeyed once more; this is the misfortune that being in authority, even in jest, brings with it.
To resume; that afternoon their host Don Antonio Moreno and his two friends, with Don Quixote and Sancho, went to the galleys. The commandant had been already made aware of his good fortune in seeing two such famous persons as Don Quixote and Sancho, and the instant they came to the shore all the galleys struck their awnings and the clarions rang out. A skiff covered with rich carpets and cushions of crimson velvet was immediately lowered into the water, and as Don Quixote stepped on board of it, the leading galley fired her gangway gun, and the other galleys did the same; and as he mounted the starboard ladder the whole crew saluted him (as is the custom when a personage of distinction comes on board a galley) by exclaiming “Hu, hu, hu,” three times. The general, for so we shall call him, a Valencian gentleman of rank, gave him his hand and embraced him, saying, “I shall mark this day with a white stone as one of the happiest I can expect to enjoy in my lifetime, since I have seen Senor Don Quixote of La Mancha, pattern and image wherein we see contained and condensed all that is worthy in knight-errantry.”
Don Quixote delighted beyond measure with such a lordly reception, replied to him in words no less courteous. All then proceeded to the poop, which was very handsomely decorated, and seated themselves on the bulwark benches; the boatswain passed along the gangway and piped all hands to strip, which they did in an instant. Sancho, seeing such a number of men stripped to the skin, was taken aback, and still more when he saw them spread the awning so briskly that it seemed to him as if all the devils were at work at it; but all this was cakes and fancy bread to what I am going to tell now. Sancho was seated on the captain’s stage, close to the aftermost rower on the right-hand side. He, previously instructed in what he was to do, laid hold of Sancho, hoisting him up in his arms, and the whole crew, who were standing ready, beginning on the right, proceeded to pass him on, whirling him along from hand to hand and from bench to bench with such rapidity that it took the sight out of poor Sancho’s eyes, and he made quite sure that the devils themselves were flying away with him; nor did they leave off with him until they had sent him back along the left side and deposited him on the poop; and the poor fellow was left bruised and breathless and all in a sweat, and unable to comprehend what it was that had happened to him.
Don Quixote when he saw Sancho’s flight without wings asked the general if this was a usual ceremony with those who came on board the galleys for the first time; for, if so, as he had no intention of adopting them as a profession, he had no mind to perform such feats of agility, and if anyone offered to lay hold of him to whirl him about, he vowed to God he would kick his soul out; and as he said this he stood up and clapped his hand upon his sword. At this instant they struck the awning and lowered the yard with a prodigious rattle. Sancho thought heaven was coming off its hinges and going to fall on his head, and full of terror he ducked it and buried it between his knees; nor were Don Quixote’s knees altogether under control, for he too shook a little, squeezed his shoulders together and lost colour. The crew then hoisted the yard with the same rapidity and clatter as when they lowered it, all the while keeping silence as though they had neither voice nor breath. The boatswain gave the signal to weigh anchor, and leaping upon the middle of the gangway began to lay on to the shoulders of the crew with his courbash or whip, and to haul out gradually to sea.
When Sancho saw so many red feet (for such he took the oars to be) moving all together, he said to himself, “It’s these that are the real chanted things, and not the ones my master talks of. What can those wretches have done to be so whipped; and how does that one man who goes along there whistling dare to whip so many? I declare this is hell, or at least purgatory!”
Don Quixote, observing how attentively Sancho regarded what was going on, said to him, “Ah, Sancho my friend, how quickly and cheaply might you finish off the disenchantment of Dulcinea, if you would strip to the waist and take your place among those gentlemen! Amid the pain and sufferings of so many you would not feel your own much; and moreover perhaps the sage Merlin would allow each of these lashes, being laid on with a good hand, to count for ten of those which you must give yourself at last.”
The general was about to ask what these lashes were, and what was Dulcinea’s disenchantment, when a sailor exclaimed, “Monjui signals that there is an oared vessel off the coast to the west.”
On hearing this the general sprang upon the gangway crying, “Now then, my sons, don’t let her give us the slip! It must be some Algerine corsair brigantine that the watchtower signals to us.” The three others immediately came alongside the chief galley to receive their orders. The general ordered two to put out to sea while he with the other kept in shore, so that in this way the vessel could not escape them. The crews plied the oars driving the galleys so furiously that they seemed to fly. The two that had put out to sea, after a couple of miles sighted a vessel which, so far as they could make out, they judged to be one of fourteen or fifteen banks, and so she proved. As soon as the vessel discovered the galleys she went about with the object and in the hope of making her escape by her speed; but the attempt failed, for the chief galley was one of the fastest vessels afloat, and overhauled her so rapidly that they on board the brigantine saw clearly there was no possibility of escaping, and the rais therefore would have had them drop their oars and give themselves up so as not to provoke the captain in command of our galleys to anger. But chance, directing things otherwise, so ordered it that just as the chief galley came close enough for those on board the vessel to hear the shouts from her calling on them to surrender, two Toraquis, that is to say two Turks, both drunken, that with a dozen more were on board the brigantine, discharged their muskets, killing two of the soldiers that lined the sides of our vessel. Seeing this the general swore he would not leave one of those he found on board the vessel alive, but as he bore down furiously upon her she slipped away from him underneath the oars. The galley shot a good way ahead; those on board the vessel saw their case was desperate, and while the galley was coming about they made sail, and by sailing and rowing once more tried to sheer off; but their activity did not do them as much good as their rashness did them harm, for the galley coming up with them in a little more than half a mile threw her oars over them and took the whole of them alive. The other two galleys now joined company and all four returned with the prize to the beach, where a vast multitude stood waiting for them, eager to see what they brought back. The general anchored close in, and perceived that the viceroy of the city was on the shore. He ordered the skiff to push off to fetch him, and the yard to be lowered for the purpose of hanging forthwith the rais and the rest of the men taken on board the vessel, about six-and-thirty in number, all smart fellows and most of them Turkish musketeers. He asked which was the rais of the brigantine, and was answered in Spanish by one of the prisoners (who afterwards proved to he a Spanish renegade), “This young man, senor that you see here is our rais,” and he pointed to one of the handsomest and most gallant-looking youths that could be imagined. He did not seem to be twenty years of age.
“Tell me, dog,” said the general, “what led thee to kill my soldiers, when thou sawest it was impossible for thee to escape? Is that the way to behave to chief galleys? Knowest thou not that rashness is not valour? Faint prospects of success should make men bold, but not rash.”
The rais was about to reply, but the general could not at that moment listen to him, as he had to hasten to receive the viceroy, who was now coming on board the galley, and with him certain of his attendants and some of the people.
“You have had a good chase, senor general,” said the viceroy.
“Your excellency shall soon see how good, by the game strung up to this yard,” replied the general.
“How so?” returned the viceroy.
“Because,” said the general, “against all law, reason, and usages of war they have killed on my hands two of the best soldiers on board these galleys, and I have sworn to hang every man that I have taken, but above all this youth who is the rais of the brigantine,” and he pointed to him as he stood with his hands already bound and the rope round his neck, ready for death.
The viceroy looked at him, and seeing him so well-favoured, so graceful, and so submissive, he felt a desire to spare his life, the comeliness of the youth furnishing him at once with a letter of recommendation. He therefore questioned him, saying, “Tell me, rais, art thou Turk, Moor, or renegade?”
To which the youth replied, also in Spanish, “I am neither Turk, nor Moor, nor renegade.”
“What art thou, then?” said the viceroy.
“A Christian woman,” replied the youth.
“A woman and a Christian, in such a dress and in such circumstances! It is more marvellous than credible,” said the viceroy.
“Suspend the execution of the sentence,” said the youth; “your vengeance will not lose much by waiting while I tell you the story of my life.”
What heart could be so hard as not to he softened by these words, at any rate so far as to listen to what the unhappy youth had to say? The general bade him say what he pleased, but not to expect pardon for his flagrant offence. With this permission the youth began in these words.
“Born of Morisco parents, I am of that nation, more unhappy than wise, upon which of late a sea of woes has poured down. In the course of our misfortune I was carried to Barbary by two uncles of mine, for it was in vain that I declared I was a Christian, as in fact I am, and not a mere pretended one, or outwardly, but a true Catholic Christian. It availed me nothing with those charged with our sad expatriation to protest this, nor would my uncles believe it; on the contrary, they treated it as an untruth and a subterfuge set up to enable me to remain behind in the land of my birth; and so, more by force than of my own will, they took me with them. I had a Christian mother, and a father who was a man of sound sense and a Christian too; I imbibed the Catholic faith with my mother’s milk, I was well brought up, and neither in word nor in deed did I, I think, show any sign of being a Morisco. To accompany these virtues, for such I hold them, my beauty, if I possess any, grew with my growth; and great as was the seclusion in which I lived it was not so great but that a young gentleman, Don Gaspar Gregorio by name, eldest son of a gentleman who is lord of a village near ours, contrived to find opportunities of seeing me. How he saw me, how we met, how his heart was lost to me, and mine not kept from him, would take too long to tell, especially at a moment when I am in dread of the cruel cord that threatens me interposing between tongue and throat; I will only say, therefore, that Don Gregorio chose to accompany me in our banishment. He joined company with the Moriscoes who were going forth from other villages, for he knew their language very well, and on the voyage he struck up a friendship with my two uncles who were carrying me with them; for my father, like a wise and far-sighted man, as soon as he heard the first edict for our expulsion, quitted the village and departed in quest of some refuge for us abroad. He left hidden and buried, at a spot of which I alone have knowledge, a large quantity of pearls and precious stones of great value, together with a sum of money in gold cruzadoes and doubloons. He charged me on no account to touch the treasure, if by any chance they expelled us before his return. I obeyed him, and with my uncles, as I have said, and others of our kindred and neighbours, passed over to Barbary, and the place where we took up our abode was Algiers, much the same as if we had taken it up in hell itself. The king heard of my beauty, and report told him of my wealth, which was in some degree fortunate for me. He summoned me before him, and asked me what part of Spain I came from, and what money and jewels I had. I mentioned the place, and told him the jewels and money were buried there; but that they might easily be recovered if I myself went back for them. All this I told him, in dread lest my beauty and not his own covetousness should influence him. While he was engaged in conversation with me, they brought him word that in company with me was one of the handsomest and most graceful youths that could be imagined. I knew at once that they were speaking of Don Gaspar Gregorio, whose comeliness surpasses the most highly vaunted beauty. I was troubled when I thought of the danger he was in, for among those barbarous Turks a fair youth is more esteemed than a woman, be she ever so beautiful. The king immediately ordered him to be brought before him that he might see him, and asked me if what they said about the youth was true. I then, almost as if inspired by heaven, told him it was, but that I would have him to know it was not a man, but a woman like myself, and I entreated him to allow me to go and dress her in the attire proper to her, so that her beauty might be seen to perfection, and that she might present herself before him with less embarrassment. He bade me go by all means, and said that the next day we should discuss the plan to be adopted for my return to Spain to carry away the hidden treasure. I saw Don Gaspar, I told him the danger he was in if he let it be seen he was a man, I dressed him as a Moorish woman, and that same afternoon I brought him before the king, who was charmed when he saw him, and resolved to keep the damsel and make a present of her to the Grand Signor; and to avoid the risk she might run among the women of his seraglio, and distrustful of himself, he commanded her to be placed in the house of some Moorish ladies of rank who would protect and attend to her; and thither he was taken at once. What we both suffered (for I cannot deny that I love him) may be left to the imagination of those who are separated if they love one an. other dearly. The king then arranged that I should return to Spain in this brigantine, and that two Turks, those who killed your soldiers, should accompany me. There also came with me this Spanish renegade” — and here she pointed to him who had first spoken — “whom I know to be secretly a Christian, and to be more desirous of being left in Spain than of returning to Barbary. The rest of the crew of the brigantine are Moors and Turks, who merely serve as rowers. The two Turks, greedy and insolent, instead of obeying the orders we had to land me and this renegade in Christian dress (with which we came provided) on the first Spanish ground we came to, chose to run along the coast and make some prize if they could, fearing that if they put us ashore first, we might, in case of some accident befalling us, make it known that the brigantine was at sea, and thus, if there happened to be any galleys on the coast, they might be taken. We sighted this shore last night, and knowing nothing of these galleys, we were discovered, and the result was what you have seen. To sum up, there is Don Gregorio in woman’s dress, among women, in imminent danger of his life; and here am I, with hands bound, in expectation, or rather in dread, of losing my life, of which I am already weary. Here, sirs, ends my sad story, as true as it is unhappy; all I ask of you is to allow me to die like a Christian, for, as I have already said, I am not to be charged with the offence of which those of my nation are guilty;” and she stood silent, her eyes filled with moving tears, accompanied by plenty from the bystanders. The viceroy, touched with compassion, went up to her without speaking and untied the cord that bound the hands of the Moorish girl.
But all the while the Morisco Christian was telling her strange story, an elderly pilgrim, who had come on board of the galley at the same time as the viceroy, kept his eyes fixed upon her; and the instant she ceased speaking he threw himself at her feet, and embracing them said in a voice broken by sobs and sighs, “O Ana Felix, my unhappy daughter, I am thy father Ricote, come back to look for thee, unable to live without thee, my soul that thou art!”
At these words of his, Sancho opened his eyes and raised his head, which he had been holding down, brooding over his unlucky excursion; and looking at the pilgrim he recognised in him that same Ricote he met the day he quitted his government, and felt satisfied that this was his daughter. She being now unbound embraced her father, mingling her tears with his, while he addressing the general and the viceroy said, “This, sirs, is my daughter, more unhappy in her adventures than in her name. She is Ana Felix, surnamed Ricote, celebrated as much for her own beauty as for my wealth. I quitted my native land in search of some shelter or refuge for us abroad, and having found one in Germany I returned in this pilgrim’s dress, in the company of some other German pilgrims, to seek my daughter and take up a large quantity of treasure I had left buried. My daughter I did not find, the treasure I found and have with me; and now, in this strange roundabout way you have seen, I find the treasure that more than all makes me rich, my beloved daughter. If our innocence and her tears and mine can with strict justice open the door to clemency, extend it to us, for we never had any intention of injuring you, nor do we sympathise with the aims of our people, who have been justly banished.”
“I know Ricote well,” said Sancho at this, “and I know too that what he says about Ana Felix being his daughter is true; but as to those other particulars about going and coming, and having good or bad intentions, I say nothing.”
While all present stood amazed at this strange occurrence the general said, “At any rate your tears will not allow me to keep my oath; live, fair Ana Felix, all the years that heaven has allotted you; but these rash insolent fellows must pay the penalty of the crime they have committed;” and with that he gave orders to have the two Turks who had killed his two soldiers hanged at once at the yard-arm. The viceroy, however, begged him earnestly not to hang them, as their behaviour savoured rather of madness than of bravado. The general yielded to the viceroy’s request, for revenge is not easily taken in cold blood. They then tried to devise some scheme for rescuing Don Gaspar Gregorio from the danger in which he had been left. Ricote offered for that object more than two thousand ducats that he had in pearls and gems; they proposed several plans, but none so good as that suggested by the renegade already mentioned, who offered to return to Algiers in a small vessel of about six banks, manned by Christian rowers, as he knew where, how, and when he could and should land, nor was he ignorant of the house in which Don Gaspar was staying. The general and the viceroy had some hesitation about placing confidence in the renegade and entrusting him with the Christians who were to row, but Ana Felix said she could answer for him, and her father offered to go and pay the ransom of the Christians if by any chance they should not be forthcoming. This, then, being agreed upon, the viceroy landed, and Don Antonio Moreno took the fair Morisco and her father home with him, the viceroy charging him to give them the best reception and welcome in his power, while on his own part he offered all that house contained for their entertainment; so great was the good-will and kindliness the beauty of Ana Felix had infused into his heart.
 
唐吉诃德仍在思索着通灵头像的那些答话，丝毫未意识到这里有什么诡诈，并且对那些有关杜尔西内亚能够摆脱魔法的话信以为真。他想来想去，觉得这个诺言很快就可以实现，心中暗自欢喜。桑乔虽然像刚才说的那样对当总督厌倦了，但还是盼着能重掌大权，发号施令。虽然当总督只不过是一场玩笑，他还是落了个愿意当官的毛病。
那天下午，安东尼奥和他的两个朋友陪同唐吉诃德和桑乔去船上参观。船队指挥官事先已得知他们要光临，指挥官也愿意见识一下这两个出名的人物。他们刚接近船队，几艘船就一齐降下船篷，拉响汽笛，并且很快地放下一只小船，船上铺着高级地毯，备有洋红色天鹅绒软垫。唐吉诃德刚刚踏上小船，指挥船就鸣炮致意，其他几艘船也跟着鸣炮响应。唐吉诃德登上右翼的舷梯，船上的所有人都按照欢迎贵宾的习惯，三呼“呜、呜、呜”以示致意。船队的将军，我们暂且称他为将军吧，是瓦伦西亚的一位贵族。他拥抱着唐吉诃德说道：
“今天我见到了集游侠骑士各种美德于一身的曼查的唐吉诃德大人，这是我一生中最幸运的一天，我要把这一天定作白石日。”
唐吉诃德同样彬彬有礼地答谢。他见自己被当成了大人物，心里很高兴。船上所有人都集中到了船尾，船尾布置得很漂亮。大家一起坐在船尾的长凳上。水手长跑到甲板中央吹哨，示意水手们脱衣服①，水手们立刻都把衣服脱了。桑乔见转眼间这么多人都把衣服脱了，有点儿害怕，特别是见到水手们迅速升起了船篷，更害怕了，觉得这一切都仿佛是魔鬼们在那儿操作。不过，比起下面发生的事情来，这就是小事一桩了。桑乔坐在驶帆杆上，身旁是右舷领船手②。领船手事先已得到吩咐，心中有了数。现在他抓住桑乔，把桑乔举了起来。所有水手也都站了起来。他们开始沿着船右舷依次传递桑乔，边传边转动桑乔的身体。他们传递得非常快，桑乔头晕目眩，以为自己肯定完了。最后，桑乔又被传回到船尾。可怜的桑乔被传得浑身酸痛，气喘吁吁，一身冷汗，到末了也没弄清究竟发生了什么事情。
①脱衣服是为了使大劲划船。
②指挥水手划桨的人。
唐吉诃德见水手们传递桑乔，便问将军是否对所有初次登船的人都要这样做。如果是这样，他说自己并不想在船上待下去，因而不愿意接受这种操练，并且向上帝发誓说，如果谁想把他举起来依次传递，他一定会叫那个人小命归西天。
唐吉诃德说完便站起来，手握剑柄。
这时，船篷降了下来，随着一声巨响，桅杆也倒了。桑乔以为天塌了，就要砸到自己的脑袋上，吓得立刻蜷缩起身子，把脑袋夹到两条腿中间。唐吉诃德也并非处变不惊。他吓了一跳，耸起肩膀，脸上大惊失色。水手们立刻又把桅杆竖了起来。所有这一切都默不作声地进行，仿佛大家都不会出声似的。水手长又发出了起锚的信号，然后跳到甲板中间，挥鞭向水手们的背上抽去。船慢慢启动了。桑乔把船桨当成了船的脚。他见那么多红色的船脚一齐摆动，心中暗自说道：
“这才是真正的魔法呢！我主人说的那些魔法根本算不了什么。这些不幸的人究竟犯了什么罪，竟这样抽打他们？而这个吹哨的家伙一个人怎么敢打那么多人呢？现在我明白了，这里是地狱，或者至少也是炼狱。”
唐吉诃德见桑乔正在认真观察所发生的一切，便对他说道：
“桑乔，如果你愿意的话，现在就把上衣脱掉，站到他们中间去，那么，为解除杜尔西内亚的魔法挨鞭子就方便多了。有这么多人受苦受难，你也就会觉得自己受的苦没什么了不起，而且说不定梅尔林看见打得这么狠，会以一鞭当十鞭算呢。”
将军正要问鞭笞是怎么回事，为杜尔西内亚解脱魔法又是怎么回事，一个水手忽然报告说：
“蒙特胡依奇发来信号说，沿西海岸有一条手划船。”
一听这话，将军跳到甲板中央，说道：
“哎，孩子们，瞭望哨说的那条船大概是一条阿尔及尔的海盗船，可别让它跑了。”
另外三艘船也按照指挥船的吩咐马上跟了上来。将军吩咐其中两艘船开到海上去，自己这艘船和另外一艘船则沿海岸行驶，这样，那条手划船就跑不掉了。水手们加紧划桨，船如飞一般向前疾驶。到海上去的那两艘船在距离那条船大约两海里的地方发现了目标，并且看出是一条有十四五排坐板的手划船。事实确实如此。那条船发现了这只船队，企图逃跑，想靠自己船的灵巧脱身。可是事与愿违，这艘指挥船是当时海上最轻巧的船之一，它逐渐接近了那条船。船上的人已明显意识到他们肯定跑不掉了。为了不激怒指挥船上的人，手划船的船长想让船上的人放下船桨投降。然而，命运却另有安排。指挥船已经接近了那条船，船上的人已经可以听到让他们投降的喊声了，可是船上有十四个土耳其人，其中两个喝醉了酒，竟放了两枪，打死了指挥船船头过道上的两个士兵。
将军见状发誓要杀死手划船上的所有人。指挥船拼命向前驶去，却又冲过了手划船，让那条船从指挥船的船桨下躲过去了。指挥船冲过头很大一段距离。手划船见指挥船超过了自己，便趁指挥船掉头的机会升起了船帆，帆桨并用，再次企图逃跑。可是他们的办法没能奏效，反而因为冒险闯了祸，没跑出半海里就被指挥船追上了。指挥船往手划船上抛过去一排桨，然后把船上的人全部生擒了。这时，另外两艘船也赶了上来，四艘船一起带着俘获物返回海岸。岸上有无数人正翘首以待，想看看他们究竟带回了什么。将军命令在靠近海岸的地方抛锚。他发现城市的总督也在岸上的人群里。
将军吩咐放下小船把总督接上船，又下令放倒桅杆，准备把手划船的船长和其他人都绞死。那条船上一共有三十六个人，不少是年轻力壮的土耳其小伙子，其中大部分是枪手。将军问谁是船长，俘虏中有个人用西班牙语回答，原来他是个叛教的西班牙人。他说：
“大人，这个小伙子就是我们船长。”
说着他指了指其中一个非常英俊的小伙子，看样子还不到二十岁。将军问他：
“你说，你这个缺心眼儿的狗崽子，既然已经跑不掉了，你为什么还要杀死我的兵士？你就是这样对待指挥船的吗？你难道不知道，你的鲁莽算不上勇敢吗？渺茫的希望可以使人勇敢，但并不是让人鲁莽啊。”
手划船的船长要答话，但是将军已经来不及听了，他得去迎接总督。总督带着几个佣人和当地的几个居民上了船。
“干得好啊，将军大人。”总督说。
“太好了，”将军说，“您马上就可以看到，他们要被吊在桅杆上绞死了。”
“为什么要绞死他们呢？”总督问。
“因为他违反了法律，违反了战争的常规，杀死了我们船上两名最优秀的兵士。我发誓要把抓到的所有人都绞死，特别是这个小伙子，他是这条船的船长。”
将军说着指了指那个小伙子。小伙子已经被捆绑住双手，脖子上套着绳索，正等着被处死。总督看了看他，见是个英俊潇洒、神态谦和的小伙子，不禁动了恻隐之心，想免他一死，便问道：
“告诉我，船长，你是土耳其人、摩尔人还是叛教者？”
“我不是土耳其人，不是摩尔人，也不是叛教者。”
“那么你是什么人呢？”总督问。
“是个基督徒女人。”小伙子回答。
“你穿这身衣服，做这种事情，竟是基督徒，而且是女人？
真难以置信，简直让人惊奇。”
“诸位大人，”小伙子说，“请暂缓处死我吧，待我讲完我的身世，你们再向我报仇也不晚呢。”
即使心肠再硬的人听到这话能不动心？至少可以先听听这个伤心忧郁的人到底讲些什么。将军说，他可以随便讲，但休想最后逃脱惩罚。于是，小伙子开始讲起来：
“我的父母都是摩尔人，我们这个民族不够明智，并且很不幸，尤其是最近，灾难更是不断地降临。在不幸的潮流中，我的两个舅舅根本不理睬我说我是基督徒，把我带到了柏培拉。其实我真是基督徒，而且不是装的，是真的基督徒。我曾把我的情况告诉了负责放逐我们的人，可是根本不起作用，连我舅舅都不愿意相信。相反，他们以为我是有说谎，是编造借口想赖在我出生的那块土地上，所以还是硬逼着把我带走了。我的母亲是基督徒，父亲很有本事，也信奉基督教。我从吃奶时就信奉基督教，信奉基督教的良好习俗，无论是语言方面还是其他方面，我都一点儿不像摩尔人。
“随着我的各种美德日益增长，我认为自己有不少美德，我的美貌也与日俱增，如果说我还算漂亮的话。虽然我规规矩矩，闭门不出，还是让一个叫加斯帕尔•格雷戈里奥的小伙子看见了，这个小伙子是与我们家相邻的一个绅士的长子。至于他如何看见了我，我们说了什么，他如何倾心于我，而我又对他很满意，说起来话就长了。也许我刚说到半截儿，我脖子上的绳索就勒过来了。所以，我只说格雷戈里奥愿意陪同我一起外逃。他的摩尔语讲得很好，便同其他地方的摩尔人混到了一起。路上，他同我的两个舅舅交上了朋友。我父亲既机灵又谨慎。他一听说要驱逐我们的法令，便离开家到国外去找能够安身的地方。父亲把很多贵重的珠宝、钱财和罗乌拉埋藏在一个地方，那个地方只有我一个人知道。父亲说，假如在他回来之前我们就被赶走了，我千万不要去动那些埋着的宝藏。我确实没有去动那些宝藏，随着两个舅舅和亲朋好友一起到了柏培拉。我们最终在阿尔及尔落了脚，从此就好像进了地狱。
“当地国王听说了我长得美，又听说我有一笔财富，就派人把我叫去，问我是西班牙什么地方的人，带了多少钱和珠宝。我把藏宝的地点和藏了什么东西都告诉了他，而且说，如果我亲自回去，就很容易找到。我知道他不仅贪图我的美貌，而且还贪图我的财产，才对他说了这些。我们正说着话，有人进来报告说，我们这一伙中还有个非常英俊的小伙子。后来我才知道他们说的是加斯帕尔•格雷戈里奥，他的美貌使所有人都大为逊色。一想到格雷戈里奥面临的危险，我就慌了。我听说，那些野蛮的土耳其人喜欢一个漂亮的男孩或小伙子往往胜过漂亮的女人，无论那女人是多么漂亮。国王吩咐把格雷戈里奥带来看看，又问我他是否像报告的人说的那么漂亮。我好像事先想好了似的，说他的确很漂亮，不过他不是男的，他同我一样是女人。我请求国王允许我去为他换上自己的衣服，让他充分显示出自己的美貌，也免得他来见国王时难为情。国王让我赶紧去，至于我如何回到西班牙去取那些宝藏，且留待以后再谈。我同加斯帕尔讲了他暴露出自己是男人会遇到危险，让他换上摩尔女人的衣服，当天下午就带他去见国王。国王见了他十分高兴，打算把他留下来作为礼物献给土耳其皇帝。国王怕后宫的女人害他，也怕自己把持不住，就吩咐把他送到几个摩尔贵夫人家里，把他看管好并服侍好。他马上就被送走了。
“我不能否认我爱他。我们两人都很难过，这时我们才体会到相爱之人离别的痛苦。国王后来安排我乘这条手划船返回西班牙，叫那两个杀死了你们士兵的土耳其人与我同行。另外，还有这个西班牙叛教者，”说着她指了指刚才最先说话的那个人，“我很清楚他暗里仍然信奉基督徒，指望留在西班牙而不再回到柏培拉。其他人都是摩尔人和土耳其人，只管划船。这两个贪婪卑鄙的土耳其人，国王吩咐他们给我和这个叛教者换上基督徒的衣服，在西班牙上岸，可他们不听国王吩咐，在沿岸地区游弋，如果可能就抢些财物。他们怕我们先上岸，万一遇到事，就会暴露他们在海上的船，要是岸边再有船，就会抓住他们。昨天晚上，我们发现了这个海滩，却不知道这儿还有四艘船。我们暴露了，而后来的事情你们都清楚。现在，格雷戈里奥正身着女装混在女人中间，随时都有生命危险。我双手被捆着，正在等死。确切地说，我怕死，可是我已经活够了。诸位大人，这就是我的伤心经历，既真实又不幸。我只请求你们让我作为一个基督徒去死。我已经说过，跟我同族的人犯的错误与我毫无关系。”
讲到这儿她不再说话，眼中噙满了泪水，其他在场的人也陪着落泪。总督非常同情她，一言不发地走到她身边，解开了捆着她那双纤纤素手的绳子。
当摩尔姑娘讲述她的颠沛流离的经历时，有一位朝圣老人的眼睛一直盯着她。那位老人是跟着总督上船的。摩尔姑娘刚讲完，他就扑倒在姑娘的脚下，抱着她的脚泣不成声地说道：
“哎，安娜•费利克斯，我不幸的女儿哟！我是你父亲里科特。我回来就是找你的，没有你我活不下去呀，你是我的心肝！”
桑乔正低着头想他这次出游遇到的倒霉事。听到这话，他睁开眼睛抬起头，看着那个朝圣人，认出他就是自己离开总督职位那天遇到的里科特，而且也认出那个摩尔姑娘就是里科特的女儿。里科特的女儿现在已被松了绑，她抱着父亲，两人的眼泪流到了一起。里科特对将军和总督说；
“两位大人，这就是我那个名字虽好听、身世却不幸的女儿。她叫安娜•费利克斯，又名里科塔。她由于美貌和财富而出了名。我离开了我的祖国，到国外去寻找能够安顿我们的地方。现在我已经在德国找好了地方，于是打扮成朝圣者，跟几个德国人一起回来寻找我女儿，想取出我埋藏的财宝。
“我没有找到女儿，却找到了财宝。现在我把财宝带来了，经过刚才这段曲折的奇遇，我又找到了我的无价之宝，也就是我女儿。如果我们的小小罪孽和她与我的眼泪能够引起你们的怜悯，就请你们可怜可怜我们吧。我们从未想冒犯你们，也从未想同我们那些被放逐的同胞一起做什么对不起你们的事情。”
桑乔这时说道：
“我认识里科特，知道安娜•费利克斯确是他女儿。至于其他什么来来去去、好意歹意的烦事，我就管不着了。”
所有在场的人都被这故事惊呆了。将军说道：
“你们的眼泪已经使我无论如何也不能再履行我的诺言了。美丽的安娜•费利克斯，活下去吧，老天会让你安享余生，而让那些犯下罪行的大胆无礼的家伙受罚。”
接着，将军命令绞死那两个杀害了兵士的土耳其人，然而总督却请求不要绞死这两个土耳其人，因为他们犯下罪恶主要是出于一种疯狂，而不是出于勇气。将军同意了总督的请求，不准备再进行残酷的报复了。接着，大家又策划如何把格雷戈里奥从危险中解救出来。里科特主动提出愿拿出价值两千杜卡多的珠宝。大家出了很多主意，可是哪个都不如那个西班牙叛教者的主意好。他自告奋勇要带领一条配有划船手的六对桨船返回阿尔及尔，他知道应该在何时何地如何营救加斯帕尔，而且他了解加斯帕尔所在的那间房子。将军和总督对叛教者表示怀疑，准备当划船手的西班牙人也不信任他。可是安娜•费利克斯信任他，她的父亲里科特也说，如果几个划船的西班牙人被俘，他愿意出钱去赎人。
商量好这个办法之后，总督下了船。安东尼奥•莫雷诺也带着摩尔姑娘和她父亲回到自己家，因为总督已委托他尽力照顾好这父女二人。安东尼奥本人也很愿意照顾好他们。安东尼奥的热情主要是出于对安娜•费利克斯的美貌颇有好感。
Part 2 Chapter 64
The wife of Don Antonio Moreno, so the history says, was extremely happy to see Ana Felix in her house. She welcomed her with great kindness, charmed as well by her beauty as by her intelligence; for in both respects the fair Morisco was richly endowed, and all the people of the city flocked to see her as though they had been summoned by the ringing of the bells.
Don Quixote told Don Antonio that the plan adopted for releasing Don Gregorio was not a good one, for its risks were greater than its advantages, and that it would be better to land himself with his arms and horse in Barbary; for he would carry him off in spite of the whole Moorish host, as Don Gaiferos carried off his wife Melisendra.
“Remember, your worship,” observed Sancho on hearing him say so, “Senor Don Gaiferos carried off his wife from the mainland, and took her to France by land; but in this case, if by chance we carry off Don Gregorio, we have no way of bringing him to Spain, for there’s the sea between.”
“There’s a remedy for everything except death,” said Don Quixote; “if they bring the vessel close to the shore we shall be able to get on board though all the world strive to prevent us.”
“Your worship hits it off mighty well and mighty easy,” said Sancho; “but ‘it’s a long step from saying to doing;’ and I hold to the renegade, for he seems to me an honest good-hearted fellow.”
Don Antonio then said that if the renegade did not prove successful, the expedient of the great Don Quixote’s expedition to Barbary should be adopted. Two days afterwards the renegade put to sea in a light vessel of six oars a-side manned by a stout crew, and two days later the galleys made sail eastward, the general having begged the viceroy to let him know all about the release of Don Gregorio and about Ana Felix, and the viceroy promised to do as he requested.
One morning as Don Quixote went out for a stroll along the beach, arrayed in full armour (for, as he often said, that was “his only gear, his only rest the fray,” and he never was without it for a moment), he saw coming towards him a knight, also in full armour, with a shining moon painted on his shield, who, on approaching sufficiently near to be heard, said in a loud voice, addressing himself to Don Quixote, “Illustrious knight, and never sufficiently extolled Don Quixote of La Mancha, I am the Knight of the White Moon, whose unheard-of achievements will perhaps have recalled him to thy memory. I come to do battle with thee and prove the might of thy arm, to the end that I make thee acknowledge and confess that my lady, let her be who she may, is incomparably fairer than thy Dulcinea del Toboso. If thou dost acknowledge this fairly and openly, thou shalt escape death and save me the trouble of inflicting it upon thee; if thou fightest and I vanquish thee, I demand no other satisfaction than that, laying aside arms and abstaining from going in quest of adventures, thou withdraw and betake thyself to thine own village for the space of a year, and live there without putting hand to sword, in peace and quiet and beneficial repose, the same being needful for the increase of thy substance and the salvation of thy soul; and if thou dost vanquish me, my head shall be at thy disposal, my arms and horse thy spoils, and the renown of my deeds transferred and added to thine. Consider which will be thy best course, and give me thy answer speedily, for this day is all the time I have for the despatch of this business.”
Don Quixote was amazed and astonished, as well at the Knight of the White Moon’s arrogance, as at his reason for delivering the defiance, and with calm dignity he answered him, “Knight of the White Moon, of whose achievements I have never heard until now, I will venture to swear you have never seen the illustrious Dulcinea; for had you seen her I know you would have taken care not to venture yourself upon this issue, because the sight would have removed all doubt from your mind that there ever has been or can be a beauty to be compared with hers; and so, not saying you lie, but merely that you are not correct in what you state, I accept your challenge, with the conditions you have proposed, and at once, that the day you have fixed may not expire; and from your conditions I except only that of the renown of your achievements being transferred to me, for I know not of what sort they are nor what they may amount to; I am satisfied with my own, such as they be. Take, therefore, the side of the field you choose, and I will do the same; and to whom God shall give it may Saint Peter add his blessing.”
The Knight of the White Moon had been seen from the city, and it was told the viceroy how he was in conversation with Don Quixote. The viceroy, fancying it must be some fresh adventure got up by Don Antonio Moreno or some other gentleman of the city, hurried out at once to the beach accompanied by Don Antonio and several other gentlemen, just as Don Quixote was wheeling Rocinante round in order to take up the necessary distance. The viceroy upon this, seeing that the pair of them were evidently preparing to come to the charge, put himself between them, asking them what it was that led them to engage in combat all of a sudden in this way. The Knight of the White Moon replied that it was a question of precedence of beauty; and briefly told him what he had said to Don Quixote, and how the conditions of the defiance agreed upon on both sides had been accepted. The viceroy went over to Don Antonio, and asked in a low voice did he know who the Knight of the White Moon was, or was it some joke they were playing on Don Quixote. Don Antonio replied that he neither knew who he was nor whether the defiance was in joke or in earnest. This answer left the viceroy in a state of perplexity, not knowing whether he ought to let the combat go on or not; but unable to persuade himself that it was anything but a joke he fell back, saying, “If there be no other way out of it, gallant knights, except to confess or die, and Don Quixote is inflexible, and your worship of the White Moon still more so, in God’s hand be it, and fall on.”
He of the White Moon thanked the viceroy in courteous and well-chosen words for the permission he gave them, and so did Don Quixote, who then, commending himself with all his heart to heaven and to his Dulcinea, as was his custom on the eve of any combat that awaited him, proceeded to take a little more distance, as he saw his antagonist was doing the same; then, without blast of trumpet or other warlike instrument to give them the signal to charge, both at the same instant wheeled their horses; and he of the White Moon, being the swifter, met Don Quixote after having traversed two-thirds of the course, and there encountered him with such violence that, without touching him with his lance (for he held it high, to all appearance purposely), he hurled Don Quixote and Rocinante to the earth, a perilous fall. He sprang upon him at once, and placing the lance over his visor said to him, “You are vanquished, sir knight, nay dead unless you admit the conditions of our defiance.”
Don Quixote, bruised and stupefied, without raising his visor said in a weak feeble voice as if he were speaking out of a tomb, “Dulcinea del Toboso is the fairest woman in the world, and I the most unfortunate knight on earth; it is not fitting that this truth should suffer by my feebleness; drive your lance home, sir knight, and take my life, since you have taken away my honour.”
“That will I not, in sooth,” said he of the White Moon; “live the fame of the lady Dulcinea’s beauty undimmed as ever; all I require is that the great Don Quixote retire to his own home for a year, or for so long a time as shall by me be enjoined upon him, as we agreed before engaging in this combat.”
The viceroy, Don Antonio, and several others who were present heard all this, and heard too how Don Quixote replied that so long as nothing in prejudice of Dulcinea was demanded of him, he would observe all the rest like a true and loyal knight. The engagement given, he of the White Moon wheeled about, and making obeisance to the viceroy with a movement of the head, rode away into the city at a half gallop. The viceroy bade Don Antonio hasten after him, and by some means or other find out who he was. They raised Don Quixote up and uncovered his face, and found him pale and bathed with sweat.
 
Rocinante from the mere hard measure he had received lay unable to stir for the present. Sancho, wholly dejected and woebegone, knew not what to say or do. He fancied that all was a dream, that the whole business was a piece of enchantment. Here was his master defeated, and bound not to take up arms for a year. He saw the light of the glory of his achievements obscured; the hopes of the promises lately made him swept away like smoke before the wind; Rocinante, he feared, was crippled for life, and his master’s bones out of joint; for if he were only shaken out of his madness it would be no small luck. In the end they carried him into the city in a hand-chair which the viceroy sent for, and thither the viceroy himself returned, cager to ascertain who this Knight of the White Moon was who had left Don Quixote in such a sad plight.
 
安东尼奥•莫雷诺的夫人见安娜•费利克斯来到她家非常高兴，十分热情地接待了安娜•费利克斯。她不仅喜欢安娜•费利克斯的美貌，而且喜欢她的聪敏，在这两方面，安娜•费利克斯都可以说是出类拔萃。全城居民都跑出来看安娜•费利克斯。
唐吉诃德对安东尼奥说，他觉得大家商定的解救加斯帕尔的方法不妥，而且很危险，最好是让他全身披挂，带着他的马去柏培拉。即使全体摩尔人出动，他也能把加斯帕尔救出来，就像唐盖费罗斯那次救他夫人梅丽森德拉一样。
“您别忘了，”桑乔说，“唐盖费罗斯是从陆地上把他妻子救出来，而且是通过陆地把妻子送到法国的。可我们即使把加斯帕尔救出来，中间隔着海，也无法把他送回西班牙。”
“天无绝人之路，”唐吉诃德说，“只要船到岸边，我们肯定能上岸，多少人也拦不住。”
“您说得倒轻巧，”桑乔说，“可是说来容易做到难。我还是主张让那个叛教者去。他是个好人，心肠也很好。”
安东尼奥说，如果叛教者没能把事情办好，他就请唐吉诃德出征柏培拉。
两天后，叛教者乘一条六对桨的小船出发了，船上配备了勇敢的划船手。又过了两天，那几艘大船也驶往东方。临行前，将军请求总督把营救格雷戈里奥的情况和安娜•费利克斯的状况告诉他，总督答应一定做到。
一天清晨，唐吉诃德全身披挂地在海滩上散步。就像他常说的，甲胄即服装，战斗即休息，所以他总是甲胄不离身。此时他忽然发现，前面有一个同样全副武装的骑士向他走来，骑士的盾牌上还画着一个亮晶晶的月亮。那人走到两人相互听得见的距离，便提高嗓门对唐吉诃德说道：
“受到举世称赞的杰出骑士，曼查的唐吉诃德啊，我是白月骑士，我的英雄业绩也许你还记忆犹新。我特来向你挑战，试试你臂膀的力量，要你承认我的情人，别管她是谁，都显而易见地比托博索的杜尔西内亚漂亮。如果你痛痛快快地承认这个事实，我可以免你一死，我也就不用再劳神动手了。假如你同我比试，而且我战胜了你，我只要求你放下武器，并且不再征险，回到你的家乡一年内不许出来。在这期间，你不许舞刀弄剑，老老实实地过日子，这样才能增加你的财富，拯救你的灵魂。假如你打败了我，我的脑袋就交给你了，我的盔甲和马匹成为你的战利品，我的功名也都转让到你的名下。你看怎么办好吧，马上告诉我，我今天就要把这件事了结。”
唐吉诃德对这位趾高气扬的白月骑士的挑战甚感意外和惊奇。他心平气和但又神态严肃地对白月骑士说道：“白月骑士，你的业绩我至今没听说过。我可以向你发誓，你从未见过尊贵的杜尔西内亚。如果你见过她，就不会向我提出这种要求了。你的亲眼所见就会让你明白，世界上没有也不可能有能与杜尔西内亚相比的美貌。所以，我不说你撒了谎，只说你讲得不对。你刚才提出的挑战条件我接受，而且，咱们马上就进行决斗吧，今天决定的事情就别拖到明天。不过，你提出的条件中有一条我不能接受，就是你要把你的功名让给我那条。我不知道你有什么业绩，而且我有自己的业绩就够了，且不管我的业绩如何。你任意选择你的位置站好吧，我也选择好我的位置，现在，就请上帝保佑，老天祝福吧。”
城里有人发现了白月骑士，马上报告了总督，说白月骑士正在同唐吉诃德说话。总督估计，肯定又是安东尼奥或者城里的其他某位绅士出的点子，便带着安东尼奥和其他绅士一起赶到了海滩。他们赶到时，唐吉诃德正掉转马的缰绳，准备站到自己的位置上去。总督见两个人眼看就要对冲过去，便站到了两人中间，问他们为什么忽然想起要进行这次决斗。
白月骑士说是为了决定两个女人究竟谁最漂亮，接着便介绍了他对唐吉诃德说的那些话，以及唐吉诃德接受了他的挑战条件等情况。总督走到了安东尼奥身旁，悄声问他是否知道白月骑士是什么人，这是不是同唐吉诃德开个玩笑。安东尼奥说，他也不知道这究竟是玩笑还是真的决斗。听安东尼奥这么一说，总督也拿不定主意这场决斗该不该进行了。不过，他估计是个玩笑，便退到一旁说道：
“两位骑士大人，既然已经无法调和，就只能决一雌雄了。那好，让唐吉诃德在他的位置上准备好，白月骑士您也准备好，开始吧。”
白月骑士客客气气地感谢总督慷慨准许他们进行决斗，唐吉诃德也同样表示了谢意。唐吉诃德虔诚地祈求上帝和他的杜尔西内亚保佑他。唐吉诃德每次准备开始战斗时都这样。唐吉诃德见对手纵马跑开，准备把距离拉大一点儿，就自己也催马往远处跑了一点儿。没有号角或其他什么进攻的信号，两个人同时掉转了马头。白月骑士的马跑得比较快，所以，它跑了三分之二的距离才与唐吉诃德相遇。白月骑士并没有用长矛去碰唐吉诃德，好像故意把长矛抬高了一些，只是凭借巨大的惯性，把唐吉诃德连人带马撞倒在地上，而且撞得不轻。然后，白月骑士居高临下地用长矛指着唐吉诃德的护眼罩说道：
“你输了，骑士，如果你不认可我提出的挑战条件，你就死定了。”
唐吉诃德摔得浑身疼痛，头晕目眩。他并没有掀开护眼罩，声音就像是从坟墓里发出的一样，有气无力地说道：
“托博索的杜尔西内亚是世界上最美丽的女人，我是世界上最倒霉的骑士。我不能因为自己的无能而抹杀这个事实。握紧你的长矛，骑士，杀死我吧，我已经名誉扫地了。”
“我肯定不会杀死你，”白月骑士说，“托博索的杜尔西内亚夫人的美貌名声也不会受到损害。我只要你像咱们开始决斗前商定的那样，回到你的老家去，一年之内，除非我另有吩咐，不准再出来，这就够了。”
总督、安东尼奥和其他许多在场的人都听到了这些话。他们还听到唐吉诃德说，只要不损害杜尔西内亚，他作为一个说到做到的真正骑士，一切都可以执行。白月骑士听到唐吉诃德这几句话，便掉转马头，向总督点头致意，然后不慌不忙地向城里走去。
总督吩咐安东尼奥在后面跟着，以便弄清那个白月骑士到底是什么人。大家扶起唐吉诃德，为他卸下面具，只见他面无血色，大汗淋漓。罗西南多伤得不轻，当时已动弹不得。桑乔忧心忡忡，愁眉不展，不知该说什么做什么才好。这件事简直如一场恶梦，他觉得这一切都是魔法操纵的。他见主人已经认输，答应在一年之内不再动兵器，便联想到主人的英名已经黯淡，主人兑现新近答应的诺言的希望已经化为乌有。他担心罗西南多被摔坏了，担心主人骨头脱臼了。不过，如果因此把主人的疯病摔没了，那倒也算是一件幸事。后来，总督派人送来了轿子，大家把唐吉诃德抬到城里。总督也回到城里，急于打听那个把唐吉诃德打得一败涂地的白月骑士究竟是何许人也。
Part 2 Chapter 65
Don Antonia Moreno followed the Knight of the White Moon, and a number of boys followed him too, nay pursued him, until they had him fairly housed in a hostel in the heart of the city. Don Antonio, eager to make his acquaintance, entered also; a squire came out to meet him and remove his armour, and he shut himself into a lower room, still attended by Don Antonio, whose bread would not bake until he had found out who he was. He of the White Moon, seeing then that the gentleman would not leave him, said, “I know very well, senor, what you have come for; it is to find out who I am; and as there is no reason why I should conceal it from you, while my servant here is taking off my armour I will tell you the true state of the case, without leaving out anything. You must know, senor, that I am called the bachelor Samson Carrasco. I am of the same village as Don Quixote of La Mancha, whose craze and folly make all of us who know him feel pity for him, and I am one of those who have felt it most; and persuaded that his chance of recovery lay in quiet and keeping at home and in his own house, I hit upon a device for keeping him there. Three months ago, therefore, I went out to meet him as a knight-errant, under the assumed name of the Knight of the Mirrors, intending to engage him in combat and overcome him without hurting him, making it the condition of our combat that the vanquished should be at the disposal of the victor. What I meant to demand of him (for I regarded him as vanquished already) was that he should return to his own village, and not leave it for a whole year, by which time he might he cured. But fate ordered it otherwise, for he vanquished me and unhorsed me, and so my plan failed. He went his way, and I came back conquered, covered with shame, and sorely bruised by my fall, which was a particularly dangerous one. But this did not quench my desire to meet him again and overcome him, as you have seen to-day. And as he is so scrupulous in his observance of the laws of knight-errantry, he will, no doubt, in order to keep his word, obey the injunction I have laid upon him. This, senor, is how the matter stands, and I have nothing more to tell you. I implore of you not to betray me, or tell Don Quixote who I am; so that my honest endeavours may be successful, and that a man of excellent wits — were he only rid of the fooleries of chivalry — may get them back again.”
“O senor,” said Don Antonio, “may God forgive you the wrong you have done the whole world in trying to bring the most amusing madman in it back to his senses. Do you not see, senor, that the gain by Don Quixote’s sanity can never equal the enjoyment his crazes give? But my belief is that all the senor bachelor’s pains will be of no avail to bring a man so hopelessly cracked to his senses again; and if it were not uncharitable, I would say may Don Quixote never be cured, for by his recovery we lose not only his own drolleries, but his squire Sancho Panza’s too, any one of which is enough to turn melancholy itself into merriment. However, I’ll hold my peace and say nothing to him, and we’ll see whether I am right in my suspicion that Senor Carrasco’s efforts will be fruitless.”
The bachelor replied that at all events the affair promised well, and he hoped for a happy result from it; and putting his services at Don Antonio’s commands he took his leave of him; and having had his armour packed at once upon a mule, he rode away from the city the same day on the horse he rode to battle, and returned to his own country without meeting any adventure calling for record in this veracious history.
Don Antonio reported to the viceroy what Carrasco told him, and the viceroy was not very well pleased to hear it, for with Don Quixote’s retirement there was an end to the amusement of all who knew anything of his mad doings.
Six days did Don Quixote keep his bed, dejected, melancholy, moody and out of sorts, brooding over the unhappy event of his defeat. Sancho strove to comfort him, and among other things he said to him, “Hold up your head, senor, and be of good cheer if you can, and give thanks to heaven that if you have had a tumble to the ground you have not come off with a broken rib; and, as you know that ‘where they give they take,’ and that ‘there are not always fletches where there are pegs,’ a fig for the doctor, for there’s no need of him to cure this ailment. Let us go home, and give over going about in search of adventures in strange lands and places; rightly looked at, it is I that am the greater loser, though it is your worship that has had the worse usage. With the government I gave up all wish to be a governor again, but I did not give up all longing to be a count; and that will never come to pass if your worship gives up becoming a king by renouncing the calling of chivalry; and so my hopes are going to turn into smoke.”
“Peace, Sancho,” said Don Quixote; “thou seest my suspension and retirement is not to exceed a year; I shall soon return to my honoured calling, and I shall not be at a loss for a kingdom to win and a county to bestow on thee.”
“May God hear it and sin be deaf,” said Sancho; “I have always heard say that ‘a good hope is better than a bad holding.”
As they were talking Don Antonio came in looking extremely pleased and exclaiming, “Reward me for my good news, Senor Don Quixote! Don Gregorio and the renegade who went for him have come ashore — ashore do I say? They are by this time in the viceroy’s house, and will be here immediately.”
Don Quixote cheered up a little and said, “Of a truth I am almost ready to say I should have been glad had it turned out just the other way, for it would have obliged me to cross over to Barbary, where by the might of my arm I should have restored to liberty, not only Don Gregorio, but all the Christian captives there are in Barbary. But what am I saying, miserable being that I am? Am I not he that has been conquered? Am I not he that has been overthrown? Am I not he who must not take up arms for a year? Then what am I making professions for; what am I bragging about; when it is fitter for me to handle the distaff than the sword?”
“No more of that, senor,” said Sancho; “‘let the hen live, even though it be with her pip; ‘today for thee and to-morrow for me;’ in these affairs of encounters and whacks one must not mind them, for he that falls to-day may get up to-morrow; unless indeed he chooses to lie in bed, I mean gives way to weakness and does not pluck up fresh spirit for fresh battles; let your worship get up now to receive Don Gregorio; for the household seems to be in a bustle, and no doubt he has come by this time;” and so it proved, for as soon as Don Gregorio and the renegade had given the viceroy an account of the voyage out and home, Don Gregorio, eager to see Ana Felix, came with the renegade to Don Antonio’s house. When they carried him away from Algiers he was in woman’s dress; on board the vessel, however, he exchanged it for that of a captive who escaped with him; but in whatever dress he might be he looked like one to be loved and served and esteemed, for he was surpassingly well-favoured, and to judge by appearances some seventeen or eighteen years of age. Ricote and his daughter came out to welcome him, the father with tears, the daughter with bashfulness. They did not embrace each other, for where there is deep love there will never be overmuch boldness. Seen side by side, the comeliness of Don Gregorio and the beauty of Ana Felix were the admiration of all who were present. It was silence that spoke for the lovers at that moment, and their eyes were the tongues that declared their pure and happy feelings. The renegade explained the measures and means he had adopted to rescue Don Gregorio, and Don Gregorio at no great length, but in a few words, in which he showed that his intelligence was in advance of his years, described the peril and embarrassment he found himself in among the women with whom he had sojourned. To conclude, Ricote liberally recompensed and rewarded as well the renegade as the men who had rowed; and the renegade effected his readmission into the body of the Church and was reconciled with it, and from a rotten limb became by penance and repentance a clean and sound one.
Two days later the viceroy discussed with Don Antonio the steps they should take to enable Ana Felix and her father to stay in Spain, for it seemed to them there could be no objection to a daughter who was so good a Christian and a father to all appearance so well disposed remaining there. Don Antonio offered to arrange the matter at the capital, whither he was compelled to go on some other business, hinting that many a difficult affair was settled there with the help of favour and bribes.
“Nay,” said Ricote, who was present during the conversation, “it will not do to rely upon favour or bribes, because with the great Don Bernardino de Velasco, Conde de Salazar, to whom his Majesty has entrusted our expulsion, neither entreaties nor promises, bribes nor appeals to compassion, are of any use; for though it is true he mingles mercy with justice, still, seeing that the whole body of our nation is tainted and corrupt, he applies to it the cautery that burns rather than the salve that soothes; and thus, by prudence, sagacity, care and the fear he inspires, he has borne on his mighty shoulders the weight of this great policy and carried it into effect, all our schemes and plots, importunities and wiles, being ineffectual to blind his Argus eyes, ever on the watch lest one of us should remain behind in concealment, and like a hidden root come in course of time to sprout and bear poisonous fruit in Spain, now cleansed, and relieved of the fear in which our vast numbers kept it. Heroic resolve of the great Philip the Third, and unparalleled wisdom to have entrusted it to the said Don Bernardino de Velasco!”
“At any rate,” said Don Antonio, “when I am there I will make all possible efforts, and let heaven do as pleases it best; Don Gregorio will come with me to relieve the anxiety which his parents must be suffering on account of his absence; Ana Felix will remain in my house with my wife, or in a monastery; and I know the viceroy will be glad that the worthy Ricote should stay with him until we see what terms I can make.”
The viceroy agreed to all that was proposed; but Don Gregorio on learning what had passed declared he could not and would not on any account leave Ana Felix; however, as it was his purpose to go and see his parents and devise some way of returning for her, he fell in with the proposed arrangement. Ana Felix remained with Don Antonio’s wife, and Ricote in the viceroy’s house.
The day for Don Antonio’s departure came; and two days later that for Don Quixote’s and Sancho’s, for Don Quixote’s fall did not suffer him to take the road sooner. There were tears and sighs, swoonings and sobs, at the parting between Don Gregorio and Ana Felix. Ricote offered Don Gregorio a thousand crowns if he would have them, but he would not take any save five which Don Antonio lent him and he promised to repay at the capital. So the two of them took their departure, and Don Quixote and Sancho afterwards, as has been already said, Don Quixote without his armour and in travelling gear, and Sancho on foot, Dapple being loaded with the armour.
 
安东尼奥跟着白月骑士一直走进城里的客店，想弄清他到底是谁。一路上，一群孩子也跟着白月骑士起哄。一个侍从自客店里出来，为白月骑士卸去了盔甲。白月骑士走进一间客房，安东尼奥也跟了进去，他迫不及待地想看到白月骑士的本来面目。白月骑士见安东尼奥紧追不放，便对安东尼奥说道：
“大人，我知道你想弄清我到底是谁。我没有必要隐瞒你。趁着侍从为我卸去盔甲的工夫，我可以把事情的真相一五一十都告诉你。大人，我是参孙•卡拉斯科学士，与唐吉诃德同住一村。看见他那疯呆模样，我们所有认识他的人都可怜他，特别是我。我们觉得要想让他恢复健康，就得让他回到村里去，在家好好休养。我正是为此而来的。三个月前，我扮成游侠骑士的样子，自称是镜子骑士，在路上等着他，想同他交锋，打败他却又不伤害他，条件是谁败了谁就服从胜利者。我想如果他败了，我向他提出的条件就是让他回到村里去，一年之内不准再出村，也许在这段时间里，他的病可以治愈。谁知天有不测，他把我打败了，把我掀下了马。结果我没有达到预期的目的，他继续走他的路。我被打败了，满心惭愧，而且摔得不轻，只好回家了。不过，我并没有因此就放弃再次找他并打败他的想法。你们今天也看到了，他是个恪守游侠骑士规矩的人，因此，他既然答应了我向他提出的条件，就肯定会说到做到。
“大人，这就是事情的全部原委。我请求您不要暴露我的身份，也不要告诉唐吉诃德我是谁，以免我的良好愿望落空。他本来是个很聪明的人，只要他放弃那愚蠢的骑士道，就会恢复他的神志。”
“噢，大人，”安东尼奥说，“愿上帝饶恕您吧！您想让世界上最滑稽的疯子恢复正常，就等于冒犯了大家。您难道没看到吗，大人？一个头脑正常的唐吉诃德给人们带来的利益，并不如一个丑态百出的唐吉诃德给人们带来的乐趣多。我估计，学士大人的计策并不能让一个如此疯癫的人恢复正常。若不是于心不忍，我倒真希望唐吉诃德别恢复正常。因为他一旦恢复正常，我们就不仅失掉了从他身上得到的乐趣，而且也失掉了从他的侍从桑乔•潘萨那儿获得的乐趣。这两种乐趣都足以给人带来欢乐，排忧解愁。尽管如此，我会守口如瓶的，决不向唐吉诃德透露半点儿实情。我想以此来证实我怀疑卡拉斯科大人的计策能否奏效是正确的。”
卡拉斯科说，无论怎样，既然事情已经有了开头，他就希望有个圆满的结局。他问安东尼奥还有什么吩咐，然后向安东尼奥告别，把自己的兵器收拾好，放到骡背上，又骑上他刚才同唐吉诃德交战时骑的那匹马，当天就出城返乡了，一路上并没有遇到什么值得记述的事情。安东尼奥把卡拉斯科对他讲的话告诉了总督，总督听了有些沮丧。他觉得唐吉诃德一旦返乡隐居，就失去了可以借他的疯癫开心的那种欢乐。
唐吉诃德在床上躺了六天，闷闷不乐，情绪低落，反反复复地想他被打败的倒霉事。桑乔来宽慰他，对他说道：
“大人，抬起头来，若是可能就高兴起来吧。您得感谢老天，虽然您被打翻在地，却并未摔断一根肋骨。您应该知道，恶有恶报，‘以为那儿有咸肉，其实连挂肉的钩子都没有’。您也别理医生，现在并不需要他们为您看病。咱们还是回家去吧，别再在异地他乡征什么险了。其实您想想，虽然您最倒霉，最吃亏的却还是我。我放弃了总督的位置，不再想当总督了，可是我并没有放弃当伯爵的愿望。如果您放弃做游侠骑士，不当国王，我也就当不成伯爵，我的希望就全部化为乌有了。”
“住嘴，桑乔，你明白，我退居家乡只不过是一年时间，然后，我还要重操我的光荣事业，那时候还会有王国等着我去征服，也还有伯爵的头衔可以授予你。”
“愿上帝听见此话，”桑乔说，“充耳不闻的是罪人！我常听人说，‘良好的希望胜过菲薄的实物’。”
他们正说着话，安东尼奥走过来，十分高兴地说道：
“好消息，唐吉诃德大人，格雷戈里奥和去营救他的叛教者已经上岸了。我怎么只说上岸了？他们现在已经在总督家里，并且马上就要到这儿来了。”
唐吉诃德略微高兴地说道：
“说实话，如果事情的结局相反，我倒会更高兴。那样我就得去柏培拉了，用我臂膀的力量解救格雷戈里奥，而且还要解救那里的所有西班牙俘虏。可是，我这个可怜人，还有什么好说的呢？战败者难道不是我吗？被打翻在地的难道不是我吗？一年之内不准再操兵器的难道不是我吗？我都答应了什么？我更适合纺线而不是操剑，我还有什么可夸口的呢？”
“别这样，大人，”桑乔说，“‘掉了毛的凤凰也赛过鸡’，‘一日河东，一日河西’，‘胜负乃兵家常事’，今天摔倒了，只要不是泄了气趴在床上，我是说只要不自暴自弃，而是准备重振旗鼓，明天就可以重新崛起。您赶快起来接待格雷戈里奥吧，外面人声嘈杂，我估计他们已经到了。”
果然如此，在格雷戈里奥和叛教者向总督汇报了他们的情况之后，格雷戈里奥急于见到安娜•费利克斯，就同叛教者一起来到了安东尼奥家。格雷戈里奥从阿尔及尔逃出时仍然身着女装，后来在船上与一个同行的俘虏对换了衣服。可是无论穿什么衣服，他都显得那么惹人喜欢，那么英俊，他太漂亮了。他的年龄看上去大约十七八岁。里科特和女儿出来迎接他。里科特眼含热泪，安娜•费利克斯倒显得有些矜持，两个年轻人并没有互相拥抱。爱情笃厚并不一定要十分外露。格雷戈里奥和安娜•费利克斯这一对儿的美貌使在场的人无不啧啧赞叹。一对情人相对无言，眼睛成了传递他们欢乐而又圣洁的情思的媒介。叛教者讲述了他们设法解救格雷戈里奥的过程，格雷戈里奥则介绍了他在女人堆里的危险和窘境。他没有长篇大论，而是寥寥数语，表现了一种少年老成的智慧。后来里科特慷慨解囊，酬谢了划船的水手。叛教者重又皈依了圣教，他那已腐烂的身体经过忏悔认罪重又纯洁健康了。
两天之后，总督同安东尼奥商量，怎样才能让安娜•费利克斯和她父亲留在西班牙。他们觉得，把如此虔诚的基督徒安娜•费利克斯和她的善良的父亲留在西班牙，并没有什么不合适的地方。安东尼奥自告奋勇到京城去游说这件事，而且他正好有事要到京城去办。他觉得在京城通过熟人关系送点儿礼，很多麻烦的事情都可以迎刃而解。
“并非如此，”里科特在一旁听到了安东尼奥的话之后说道，“靠熟人关系和送礼并不能解决问题。对于我们的萨拉萨尔伯爵、伟大的唐贝尔纳迪诺•德委拉斯科大人来说，任何乞求、许诺、送礼和可怜相都无济于事。当初，皇上就是责成他把我们赶走的。虽然他对我们恩威并用，可是他看透了我们这个民族已病入膏肓，只能用烧灼疗法来根治，不能再用涂膏药来敷衍了。于是，他凭着他那处事谨慎、嗅觉灵敏、聪明的才智和令人生畏的威严挑起了这副重担，无论我们如何绞尽脑汁、费尽心机、苦苦哀求或者企图蒙混过关，都无法逃脱他那双阿尔戈斯①的眼睛。他总是时刻警惕着，不让我们任何一个人能够留下来，不让任何一件事瞒住他。万一有根茎留下来，随着时间的流逝，就会在西班牙发芽并结出毒果。而目前，西班牙已经彻底排除了由于我们存在而造成的隐患。菲利普三世责成唐贝尔纳迪诺•德委拉斯科负责这件事，这是多么大胆的决定，多么英明的决策呀！”
①希腊神话中的三眼、四眼或多眼怪物，力大无穷，睡觉的时候总睁着一些眼睛。
“无论如何，我到了京城以后都会尽力而为。谋事在人，成事在天。”安东尼奥说，“格雷戈里奥同我一起去。他走了以后，他的父母很伤心，他也得安抚一下父母。安娜•费利克斯不妨同我夫人留在家里或者到修道院去。我知道总督大人很愿意让善良的里科特到他家去，然后等我回来再视情况作出决定。”
总督同意安东尼奥的意见，可是格雷戈里奥说，他无论如何也不愿意和不能离开安娜•费利克斯。不过，后来考虑到还得去见父母，回来后仍然可以找她，他便同意了。于是，安娜•费利克斯留下来同安东尼奥的夫人在一起，里科特去了总督家。
安东尼奥出发的日子到了。唐吉诃德因为摔伤了，不便赶路，因此和桑乔又呆了两天才走。格雷戈里奥同安娜•费利克斯告别时，两人哭得死去活来。里科特对格雷戈里奥说，如果他愿意，可以给他一千个盾。可是格雷戈里奥一个盾也没要，只是向安东尼奥借了五个盾，而且说到京城之后一定还。于是两人上路了。两天之后，唐吉诃德和桑乔也离开了。唐吉诃德没有穿盔甲，只是一身便装。桑乔的驴驮着盔甲，因而桑乔只能步行跟在后面。
Part 2 Chapter 66
As he left Barcelona, Don Quixote turned gaze upon the spot where he had fallen. “Here Troy was,” said he; “here my ill-luck, not my cowardice, robbed me of all the glory I had won; here Fortune made me the victim of her caprices; here the lustre of my achievements was dimmed; here, in a word, fell my happiness never to rise again.”
 
“Senor,” said Sancho on hearing this, “it is the part of brave hearts to be patient in adversity just as much as to be glad in prosperity; I judge by myself, for, if when I was a governor I was glad, now that I am a squire and on foot I am not sad; and I have heard say that she whom commonly they call Fortune is a drunken whimsical jade, and, what is more, blind, and therefore neither sees what she does, nor knows whom she casts down or whom she sets up.”
“Thou art a great philosopher, Sancho,” said Don Quixote; “thou speakest very sensibly; I know not who taught thee. But I can tell thee there is no such thing as Fortune in the world, nor does anything which takes place there, be it good or bad, come about by chance, but by the special preordination of heaven; and hence the common saying that ‘each of us is the maker of his own Fortune.’ I have been that of mine; but not with the proper amount of prudence, and my self-confidence has therefore made me pay dearly; for I ought to have reflected that Rocinante’s feeble strength could not resist the mighty bulk of the Knight of the White Moon’s horse. In a word, I ventured it, I did my best, I was overthrown, but though I lost my honour I did not lose nor can I lose the virtue of keeping my word. When I was a knight-errant, daring and valiant, I supported my achievements by hand and deed, and now that I am a humble squire I will support my words by keeping the promise I have given. Forward then, Sancho my friend, let us go to keep the year of the novitiate in our own country, and in that seclusion we shall pick up fresh strength to return to the by me never-forgotten calling of arms.”
“Senor,” returned Sancho, “travelling on foot is not such a pleasant thing that it makes me feel disposed or tempted to make long marches. Let us leave this armour hung up on some tree, instead of some one that has been hanged; and then with me on Dapple’s back and my feet off the ground we will arrange the stages as your worship pleases to measure them out; but to suppose that I am going to travel on foot, and make long ones, is to suppose nonsense.”
“Thou sayest well, Sancho,” said Don Quixote; “let my armour be hung up for a trophy, and under it or round it we will carve on the trees what was inscribed on the trophy of Roland’s armour —
These let none move
Who dareth not his might with Roland prove.”
“That’s the very thing,” said Sancho; “and if it was not that we should feel the want of Rocinante on the road, it would be as well to leave him hung up too.”
“And yet, I had rather not have either him or the armour hung up,” said Don Quixote, “that it may not be said, ‘for good service a bad return.’”
“Your worship is right,” said Sancho; “for, as sensible people hold, ‘the fault of the ass must not be laid on the pack-saddle;’ and, as in this affair the fault is your worship’s , punish yourself and don’t let your anger break out against the already battered and bloody armour, or the meekness of Rocinante, or the tenderness of my feet, trying to make them travel more than is reasonable.”
 
In converse of this sort the whole of that day went by, as did the four succeeding ones, without anything occurring to interrupt their journey, but on the fifth as they entered a village they found a great number of people at the door of an inn enjoying themselves, as it was a holiday. Upon Don Quixote’s approach a peasant called out, “One of these two gentlemen who come here, and who don’t know the parties, will tell us what we ought to do about our wager.”
“That I will, certainly,” said Don Quixote, “and according to the rights of the case, if I can manage to understand it.”
“Well, here it is, worthy sir,” said the peasant; “a man of this village who is so fat that he weighs twenty stone challenged another, a neighbour of his, who does not weigh more than nine, to run a race. The agreement was that they were to run a distance of a hundred paces with equal weights; and when the challenger was asked how the weights were to be equalised he said that the other, as he weighed nine stone, should put eleven in iron on his back, and that in this way the twenty stone of the thin man would equal the twenty stone of the fat one.”
“Not at all,” exclaimed Sancho at once, before Don Quixote could answer; “it’s for me, that only a few days ago left off being a governor and a judge, as all the world knows, to settle these doubtful questions and give an opinion in disputes of all sorts.”
“Answer in God’s name, Sancho my friend,” said Don Quixote, “for I am not fit to give crumbs to a cat, my wits are so confused and upset.”
With this permission Sancho said to the peasants who stood clustered round him, waiting with open mouths for the decision to come from his, “Brothers, what the fat man requires is not in reason, nor has it a shadow of justice in it; because, if it be true, as they say, that the challenged may choose the weapons, the other has no right to choose such as will prevent and keep him from winning. My decision, therefore, is that the fat challenger prune, peel, thin, trim and correct himself, and take eleven stone of his flesh off his body, here or there, as he pleases, and as suits him best; and being in this way reduced to nine stone weight, he will make himself equal and even with nine stone of his opponent, and they will be able to run on equal terms.”
“By all that’s good,” said one of the peasants as he heard Sancho’s decision, “but the gentleman has spoken like a saint, and given judgment like a canon! But I’ll be bound the fat man won’t part with an ounce of his flesh, not to say eleven stone.”
“The best plan will be for them not to run,” said another, “so that neither the thin man break down under the weight, nor the fat one strip himself of his flesh; let half the wager be spent in wine, and let’s take these gentlemen to the tavern where there’s the best, and ‘over me be the cloak when it rains.”
“I thank you, sirs,” said Don Quixote; “but I cannot stop for an instant, for sad thoughts and unhappy circumstances force me to seem discourteous and to travel apace;” and spurring Rocinante he pushed on, leaving them wondering at what they had seen and heard, at his own strange figure and at the shrewdness of his servant, for such they took Sancho to be; and another of them observed, “If the servant is so clever, what must the master be? I’ll bet, if they are going to Salamanca to study, they’ll come to be alcaldes of the Court in a trice; for it’s a mere joke — only to read and read, and have interest and good luck; and before a man knows where he is he finds himself with a staff in his hand or a mitre on his head.”
That night master and man passed out in the fields in the open air, and the next day as they were pursuing their journey they saw coming towards them a man on foot with alforjas at the neck and a javelin or spiked staff in his hand, the very cut of a foot courier; who, as soon as he came close to Don Quixote, increased his pace and half running came up to him, and embracing his right thigh, for he could reach no higher, exclaimed with evident pleasure, “O Senor Don Quixote of La Mancha, what happiness it will be to the heart of my lord the duke when he knows your worship is coming back to his castle, for he is still there with my lady the duchess!”
“I do not recognise you, friend,” said Don Quixote, “nor do I know who you are, unless you tell me.”
“I am Tosilos, my lord the duke’s lacquey, Senor Don Quixote,” replied the courier; “he who refused to fight your worship about marrying the daughter of Dona Rodriguez.”
“God bless me!” exclaimed Don Quixote; “is it possible that you are the one whom mine enemies the enchanters changed into the lacquey you speak of in order to rob me of the honour of that battle?”
“Nonsense, good sir!” said the messenger; “there was no enchantment or transformation at all; I entered the lists just as much lacquey Tosilos as I came out of them lacquey Tosilos. I thought to marry without fighting, for the girl had taken my fancy; but my scheme had a very different result, for as soon as your worship had left the castle my lord the duke had a hundred strokes of the stick given me for having acted contrary to the orders he gave me before engaging in the combat; and the end of the whole affair is that the girl has become a nun, and Dona Rodriguez has gone back to Castile, and I am now on my way to Barcelona with a packet of letters for the viceroy which my master is sending him. If your worship would like a drop, sound though warm, I have a gourd here full of the best, and some scraps of Tronchon cheese that will serve as a provocative and wakener of your thirst if so be it is asleep.”
“I take the offer,” said Sancho; “no more compliments about it; pour out, good Tosilos, in spite of all the enchanters in the Indies.”
“Thou art indeed the greatest glutton in the world, Sancho,” said Don Quixote, “and the greatest booby on earth, not to be able to see that this courier is enchanted and this Tosilos a sham one; stop with him and take thy fill; I will go on slowly and wait for thee to come up with me.”
The lacquey laughed, unsheathed his gourd, unwalletted his scraps, and taking out a small loaf of bread he and Sancho seated themselves on the green grass, and in peace and good fellowship finished off the contents of the alforjas down to the bottom, so resolutely that they licked the wrapper of the letters, merely because it smelt of cheese.
Said Tosilos to Sancho, “Beyond a doubt, Sancho my friend, this master of thine ought to be a madman.”
“Ought!” said Sancho; “he owes no man anything; he pays for everything, particularly when the coin is madness. I see it plain enough, and I tell him so plain enough; but what’s the use? especially now that it is all over with him, for here he is beaten by the Knight of the White Moon.”
Tosilos begged him to explain what had happened him, but Sancho replied that it would not be good manners to leave his master waiting for him; and that some other day if they met there would be time enough for that; and then getting up, after shaking his doublet and brushing the crumbs out of his beard, he drove Dapple on before him, and bidding adieu to Tosilos left him and rejoined his master, who was waiting for him under the shade of a tree.
 
离开巴塞罗那时，唐吉诃德回头看了看他被撞倒的地方，说道：
“这里就是特洛伊！并非我的胆怯，而是晦气在这里断送了我已经取得的荣誉。命运在这里捉弄了我，使我的丰功伟绩黯然失色。我的运气在此彻底消失，再也不能复得了！”
桑乔闻言说道：
“大人，得意之时不忘形，身处逆境不气馁，才称得上是英雄胆略。我对自己也是这样要求的。我当总督时很高兴，现在是侍从，而且得步行，可我并没有伤心。我听说人们称为命运的那个东西就像个瞎眼醉婆，胡搅蛮干，连她自己也搞不清她究竟推翻了谁，扶植了谁。”
“你说得太有道理了，”唐吉诃德说，“你说得太精辟了，我不知道是谁教了你这些东西。我告诉你，世界上根本就不存在什么命运，也没有什么事情是靠命运产生的，不管是好事还是坏事。除非是天意，否则所有的事情都是偶然的。这就是人们常说的‘不信命运信自己’，我就是这样。可是我不够谨慎，而且刚愎自用，所以出了丑。我本应想到白月骑士的马身高体壮，瘦弱的罗西南多抵御不了它。但我毕竟是尽了力。我被撞倒在地，虽然丢了脸，却没有丢掉敢做敢当的美德。我做游侠骑士时勇敢顽强，以我的双手和行动建立了我的业绩。现在我是个落魄的绅士，也一定要遵守诺言，建立我的信誉。开步走吧，桑乔朋友，咱们回家去苦修一年，养精蓄锐，然后再准备重返我念念不忘的武士行当吧。”
“大人，”桑乔说，“走路的滋味可不好受，而且也走不远。咱们还是把这盔甲像对待绞刑犯那样挂在树上吧。我骑在我的驴背上，双脚不沾地，您愿意走多远咱们就走多远。要想让我靠脚板走路，而且走得远，那可是根本办不到的。”
“说得好，桑乔，”唐吉诃德说，“你就把我的盔甲当作纪念品挂到树上去，并且在那棵树和周围的树上刻下罗尔丹为它的盔甲镌刻的那句话吧：
不敌罗尔丹，
莫把盔甲犯。”
“我觉得您说得好极了。”桑乔说，“若不是因为咱们路上少不了罗西南多，真该把它也挂到树上去。”
“说实话，无论是罗西南多还是盔甲，我都不想挂到树上去，”唐吉诃德说，“免得人家说辛劳一场，如此下场。”
“您说得很对，”桑乔说，“据聪明人讲，驴的错不赖驮鞍。这件事是您的错，所以应该惩罚您，不该迁怒于已经沾上了血迹的破盔甲和性情温和的罗西南多，更不能怪我的脚板太软，明明走不了那么远的路还非要走。”
他们说着话，一天过去了，以后几天也一路顺利，没有遇到什么事情。第五天，他们在一个村口遇到很多人聚集在一个客店门前。原来是过节，他们正在那儿娱乐消遣。唐吉诃德走近时，一个农夫高声喊道：
“来的这两位大人谁都不认识，咱们让他们中的一个人说说咱们打赌的事应该怎么办吧。”
“只要我能弄清是怎么回事，”唐吉诃德说，“我一定秉公评判。”
“这位好大人，”那个农夫说道，“现在的情况是，有一位村民特别胖，体重为十一阿罗瓦，他要同一位体重不足五阿罗瓦的村民赛跑，条件是同样跑一百步，而且负重也一样。可是当人家问那个胖子，体重不同的问题怎么解决时，他却说让那个体重五阿罗瓦的人再背六阿罗瓦的东西，这样两个人的体重就一样了。”
“这就不对了，”不等唐吉诃德答话，桑乔就抢先说道，“大家都知道，前不久我当过总督和判官，这类疑难问题还是让我来判断吧。”
“那你就说吧，桑乔朋友，”唐吉诃德说，“我现在糊里糊涂的，脑子很乱。”
很多人张口结舌地围着桑乔，等着他的判断。桑乔说道：
“诸位兄弟，这个胖子的要求毫无道理。如果我听说的是真的，那么受到挑战的人应该有权挑选武器，若是只让受挑战的人挑选妨碍自己取胜的武器就不对了。依我之见，提出赛跑的胖子应该去掉多余的体重，不管是切还是削，是割还是剔，也不管是从身体什么部位，反正他觉得合适就行，去掉多出来的那部分肉，只剩下五阿罗瓦，这样体重就和对手一样，可以赛跑了。”
“太棒了，”农夫听了桑乔的决断后说，“这位大人果然真知灼见，料事如神。不过我敢肯定，那个胖子连一盎司肉都不会割，就更别说六阿罗瓦了。”
“既然瘦子不愿受累，胖子不愿割肉，”另一个农夫说，“那就别赛了。咱们还是拿出一半赌注去喝酒吧。咱们带这两位大人到最好的酒店去，我那份钱呢……到时候再说。”
“诸位大人，”唐吉诃德说，“我感谢你们，可是我一刻也不能停留。我现在境遇不好，心绪不佳，恕我失礼了，我得赶紧赶路。”
说完唐吉诃德就催马向前。在场者看到唐吉诃德那副奇怪的模样，又看到他的侍从料事如神，觉得很奇怪。他们觉得桑乔是个精明人。另一个农夫说道：
“如果仆人都这么精明，那么他的主人还用说吗？我敢打赌，他们若是再去萨拉曼卡学习学习，转眼之间就可以成为京城的市长。这种事就跟开玩笑似的，上点学，托点儿关系，再碰上好运气，不知什么时候就权杖在手或者戴上主教的冠冕了。”
当天晚上，唐吉诃德和桑乔露宿在野外。第二天他们继续赶路，走到半路，忽见一个人迎面走来，脖子上挎着一个褡裢，手里拿着一杆标枪或者梭标之类的东西，看样子像个步行信使。他走近唐吉诃德时快步抢上前，搮住唐吉诃德的右腿，显出十分高兴的样子说道：
“哎呀，我的唐吉诃德大人，我们公爵大人若是知道您要回到他们的城堡去，该有多高兴啊，他和公爵夫人正在城堡里等着您呢！”
“我并不认识你呀，朋友，”唐吉诃德说，“如果你不告诉我，我想不起你是谁。”
“唐吉诃德大人，”信使答道，“我是公爵的仆人托西洛斯呀。正是我不愿为了同唐娜罗德里格斯的女儿结婚的事同您决斗呀。”
“上帝保佑！”唐吉诃德说，“我的对头魔法师为了诋毁我取胜的荣誉，把那个人变成了仆人，而你就是那个人吗？”
“别说了，好大人，”信使说道，“根本就没有什么改变模样的事。我上决斗场时是仆人托西洛斯，下场时仍然是仆人托西洛斯。我觉得那个姑娘很漂亮，想娶她，所以就不决斗了。可是，事与愿违。您刚刚走出城堡，公爵大人就让人打了我一百棍子，说我违背了他在决斗前给我的指示。最后的结果是姑娘当了修女，唐娜罗德里格斯回卡斯蒂利亚去了。我现在要去巴塞罗那，主人让我给总督送信去。如果您想喝点儿酒，我带了个酒葫芦，里面装着香醇的上等好酒，而且还有点热乎呢。我还带了一些特龙琼奶酪片可以下酒。您就是睡着了，也能把您馋醒。”
“我是来者不拒，”桑乔说，“你把酒分分吧，给我斟点儿酒，好托西洛斯，即使西印度群岛①的所有魔法师都不愿意也没关系。”
①指今日的美洲。
“你真是世界上最大的馋鬼，最大的白痴。”唐吉诃德说，“你竟看不出这是中了魔法的信使，是个假托西洛斯吗？那么你就在这儿和他喝个够吧。我先慢慢向前走，在前面等着你。”
托西洛斯不由得笑了。他打开葫芦，从褡裢里拿出奶酪片，又取出一个小面包，和桑乔一起坐到绿草地上，亲亲热热地把褡裢里的东西吃了个精光。他们吃得特别香，因为信札也沾了点奶酪味，他们还把信札也舔了舔。托西洛斯对桑乔说：
“桑乔朋友，你的主人肯定是个疯子。”
“怎么会呢？”桑乔说，“他并不欠任何人钱，该付的钱都付了，但他支付的是他的疯癫。这点我看得很清楚，而且也对他说过，可是又起了什么作用呢？况且，现在这种情况已经结束，他被白月骑士打败了。”
托西洛斯请求桑乔给他讲讲是怎么回事，可桑乔说，让主人在前面等着太不礼貌，以后找时间再说吧。说完桑乔抖了抖外衣，擦了擦胡子上的在遄包，又对托西洛斯说了声“再见”，便去追赶唐吉诃德了。唐吉诃德正在一棵树的树荫下等着他呢。
Part 2 Chapter 67
If a multitude of reflections used to harass Don Quixote before he had been overthrown, a great many more harassed him since his fall. He was under the shade of a tree, as has been said, and there, like flies on honey, thoughts came crowding upon him and stinging him. Some of them turned upon the disenchantment of Dulcinea, others upon the life he was about to lead in his enforced retirement. Sancho came up and spoke in high praise of the generous disposition of the lacquey Tosilos.
“Is it possible, Sancho,” said Don Quixote, “that thou dost still think that he yonder is a real lacquey? Apparently it has escaped thy memory that thou hast seen Dulcinea turned and transformed into a peasant wench, and the Knight of the Mirrors into the bachelor Carrasco; all the work of the enchanters that persecute me. But tell me now, didst thou ask this Tosilos, as thou callest him, what has become of Altisidora, did she weep over my absence, or has she already consigned to oblivion the love thoughts that used to afflict her when I was present?”
“The thoughts that I had,” said Sancho, “were not such as to leave time for asking fool’s questions. Body o’ me, senor! is your worship in a condition now to inquire into other people’s thoughts, above all love thoughts?”
“Look ye, Sancho,” said Don Quixote, “there is a great difference between what is done out of love and what is done out of gratitude. A knight may very possibly he proof against love; but it is impossible, strictly speaking, for him to be ungrateful. Altisidora, to all appearance, loved me truly; she gave me the three kerchiefs thou knowest of; she wept at my departure, she cursed me, she abused me, casting shame to the winds she bewailed herself in public; all signs that she adored me; for the wrath of lovers always ends in curses. I had no hopes to give her, nor treasures to offer her, for mine are given to Dulcinea, and the treasures of knights-errant are like those of the fairies,’ illusory and deceptive; all I can give her is the place in my memory I keep for her, without prejudice, however, to that which I hold devoted to Dulcinea, whom thou art wronging by thy remissness in whipping thyself and scourging that flesh — would that I saw it eaten by wolves — which would rather keep itself for the worms than for the relief of that poor lady.”
“Senor,” replied Sancho, “if the truth is to be told, I cannot persuade myself that the whipping of my backside has anything to do with the disenchantment of the enchanted; it is like saying, ‘If your head aches rub ointment on your knees;’ at any rate I’ll make bold to swear that in all the histories dealing with knight-errantry that your worship has read you have never come across anybody disenchanted by whipping; but whether or no I’ll whip myself when I have a fancy for it, and the opportunity serves for scourging myself comfortably.”
“God grant it,” said Don Quixote; “and heaven give thee grace to take it to heart and own the obligation thou art under to help my lady, who is thine also, inasmuch as thou art mine.”
As they pursued their journey talking in this way they came to the very same spot where they had been trampled on by the bulls. Don Quixote recognised it, and said he to Sancho, “This is the meadow where we came upon those gay shepherdesses and gallant shepherds who were trying to revive and imitate the pastoral Arcadia there, an idea as novel as it was happy, in emulation whereof, if so he thou dost approve of it, Sancho, I would have ourselves turn shepherds, at any rate for the time I have to live in retirement. I will buy some ewes and everything else requisite for the pastoral calling; and, I under the name of the shepherd Quixotize and thou as the shepherd Panzino, we will roam the woods and groves and meadows singing songs here, lamenting in elegies there, drinking of the crystal waters of the springs or limpid brooks or flowing rivers. The oaks will yield us their sweet fruit with bountiful hand, the trunks of the hard cork trees a seat, the willows shade, the roses perfume, the widespread meadows carpets tinted with a thousand dyes; the clear pure air will give us breath, the moon and stars lighten the darkness of the night for us, song shall be our delight, lamenting our joy, Apollo will supply us with verses, and love with conceits whereby we shall make ourselves famed for ever, not only in this but in ages to come.”
“Egad,” said Sancho, “but that sort of life squares, nay corners, with my notions; and what is more the bachelor Samson Carrasco and Master Nicholas the barber won’t have well seen it before they’ll want to follow it and turn shepherds along with us; and God grant it may not come into the curate’s head to join the sheepfold too, he’s so jovial and fond of enjoying himself.”
“Thou art in the right of it, Sancho,” said Don Quixote; “and the bachelor Samson Carrasco, if he enters the pastoral fraternity, as no doubt he will, may call himself the shepherd Samsonino, or perhaps the shepherd Carrascon; Nicholas the barber may call himself Niculoso, as old Boscan formerly was called Nemoroso; as for the curate I don’t know what name we can fit to him unless it be something derived from his title, and we call him the shepherd Curiambro. For the shepherdesses whose lovers we shall be, we can pick names as we would pears; and as my lady’s name does just as well for a shepherdess’s as for a princess’s , I need not trouble myself to look for one that will suit her better; to thine, Sancho, thou canst give what name thou wilt.”
“I don’t mean to give her any but Teresona,” said Sancho, “which will go well with her stoutness and with her own right name, as she is called Teresa; and then when I sing her praises in my verses I’ll show how chaste my passion is, for I’m not going to look ‘for better bread than ever came from wheat’ in other men’s houses. It won’t do for the curate to have a shepherdess, for the sake of good example; and if the bachelor chooses to have one, that is his look-out.”
“God bless me, Sancho my friend!” said Don Quixote, “what a life we shall lead! What hautboys and Zamora bagpipes we shall hear, what tabors, timbrels, and rebecks! And then if among all these different sorts of music that of the albogues is heard, almost all the pastoral instruments will be there.”
“What are albogues?” asked Sancho, “for I never in my life heard tell of them or saw them.”
“Albogues,” said Don Quixote, “are brass plates like candlesticks that struck against one another on the hollow side make a noise which, if not very pleasing or harmonious, is not disagreeable and accords very well with the rude notes of the bagpipe and tabor. The word albogue is Morisco, as are all those in our Spanish tongue that begin with al; for example, almohaza, almorzar, alhombra, alguacil, alhucema, almacen, alcancia, and others of the same sort, of which there are not many more; our language has only three that are Morisco and end in i, which are borcegui, zaquizami, and maravedi. Alheli and alfaqui are seen to be Arabic, as well by the al at the beginning as by the they end with. I mention this incidentally, the chance allusion to albogues having reminded me of it; and it will be of great assistance to us in the perfect practice of this calling that I am something of a poet, as thou knowest, and that besides the bachelor Samson Carrasco is an accomplished one. Of the curate I say nothing; but I will wager he has some spice of the poet in him, and no doubt Master Nicholas too, for all barbers, or most of them, are guitar players and stringers of verses. I will bewail my separation; thou shalt glorify thyself as a constant lover; the shepherd Carrascon will figure as a rejected one, and the curate Curiambro as whatever may please him best; and so all will go as gaily as heart could wish.”
To this Sancho made answer, “I am so unlucky, senor, that I’m afraid the day will never come when I’ll see myself at such a calling. O what neat spoons I’ll make when I’m a shepherd! What messes, creams, garlands, pastoral odds and ends! And if they don’t get me a name for wisdom, they’ll not fail to get me one for ingenuity. My daughter Sanchica will bring us our dinner to the pasture. But stay — she’s good-looking, and shepherds there are with more mischief than simplicity in them; I would not have her ‘come for wool and go back shorn;’ love-making and lawless desires are just as common in the fields as in the cities, and in shepherds’ shanties as in royal palaces; ‘do away with the cause, you do away with the sin;’ ‘if eyes don’t see hearts don’t break’ and ‘better a clear escape than good men’s prayers.’”
“A truce to thy proverbs, Sancho,” exclaimed Don Quixote; “any one of those thou hast uttered would suffice to explain thy meaning; many a time have I recommended thee not to be so lavish with proverbs and to exercise some moderation in delivering them; but it seems to me it is only ‘preaching in the desert;’ ‘my mother beats me and I go on with my tricks.”
“It seems to me,” said Sancho, “that your worship is like the common saying, ‘Said the frying-pan to the kettle, Get away, blackbreech.’ You chide me for uttering proverbs, and you string them in couples yourself.”
“Observe, Sancho,” replied Don Quixote, “I bring in proverbs to the purpose, and when I quote them they fit like a ring to the finger; thou bringest them in by the head and shoulders, in such a way that thou dost drag them in, rather than introduce them; if I am not mistaken, I have told thee already that proverbs are short maxims drawn from the experience and observation of our wise men of old; but the proverb that is not to the purpose is a piece of nonsense and not a maxim. But enough of this; as nightfall is drawing on let us retire some little distance from the high road to pass the night; what is in store for us to-morrow God knoweth.”
They turned aside, and supped late and poorly, very much against Sancho’s will, who turned over in his mind the hardships attendant upon knight-errantry in woods and forests, even though at times plenty presented itself in castles and houses, as at Don Diego de Miranda’s , at the wedding of Camacho the Rich, and at Don Antonio Moreno’s; he reflected, however, that it could not be always day, nor always night; and so that night he passed in sleeping, and his master in waking.
 
人，过田园生活，以及其他有趣的真事
如果说唐吉诃德在被打倒之前就总是忧心忡忡，这次吃了败仗更显得烦躁不安了。前面说到他正在树荫下等待桑乔，脑子里乱哄哄的。他一会儿想到为杜尔西内亚解除魔法的事，一会儿又想到他迫不得已隐退后的生活。桑乔过来了，向他夸奖托西洛斯的慷慨大方。
“桑乔啊，”唐吉诃德说，“你仍然以为他真是那个仆人吗？你曾亲眼看到杜尔西内亚变成了农妇，镜子骑士变成了卡拉斯科学士，这些都是同我作对的魔法师们干的。看来你把这些都忘了。不过你告诉我，你向托西洛斯打听过那个阿尔蒂西多拉后来怎么样吗？她当着我的面哭哭啼啼，是不是在我走后就把同我的缠绵之情全都抛到脑后去了？”
“我没打听这些，也没时间问这种傻事。真见鬼，您这会儿怎么还打听别人的心思，特别是情思呢？”
“你看，桑乔，”唐吉诃德说，“爱慕之情与感激之情有很大区别，一个骑士可以对别人的爱慕之情不动声色，但是万万不可不感谢她的一片厚意。阿尔蒂西多拉看起来非常爱我，送给我三条头巾，这事你知道。我走的时候，她哭哭啼啼，不顾廉耻地诅咒我，埋怨我，这些都证明她对我一片痴心。情人的愤怒最后往往变成咒骂。我不能让她指望得到我的财富，因为我的财富像水中的月亮，是虚幻的东西。我能给她的只是我对她的怀念，不过这并不影响我对杜尔西内亚的怀念。说到杜尔西内亚，你总是迟迟不肯抽打自己，抽打你的皮肉，这可把她坑苦了。我真想看到你的皮肉被狼吃了！你宁可留着你的皮肉让蛆虫咬，却不肯用它去救那位可怜的夫人。”
“大人，”桑乔说，“说实话，我不相信抽打我的屁股跟解除魔法有什么关系，这就好比你头痛却让你去医脚似的。至少我敢发誓，您看过的那些有关游侠骑士的书里没有靠鞭笞解除魔法的事。不过，不管怎样，待我有了时间，而且愿意抽打自己的时候，我还是要打的。”
“但愿如此。”唐吉诃德说，“愿老天能让你明白，你有责任帮助我的女主人，她也是你的女主人，因为我是你的主人。”
他们边说边赶路，又到了他们那天被公牛群撞倒的地方。
唐吉诃德认出了这个地方，对桑乔说道：
“咱们就是在这片草地上遇到了英姿飒爽的牧羊女和精神抖擞的牧羊人，他们想在这里重现当年的牧羊人乐园。这倒是个挺新奇的想法。桑乔，如果你觉得合适，咱们也可以学学他们，做做牧羊人，至少在我隐退的这段时间里可以这样。我去买些羊和其他牧人需要的东西。我可以取名为牧人吉诃蒂斯，你就叫牧人潘西诺。咱们可以漫步在山间、森林和草地上，这儿唱唱歌，那儿吟吟诗，饮着晶莹的泉水，清澈的溪水，或者汹涌的河水；圣栎树以它极其丰富的枝叶供给我们香甜的果实，粗壮的栓皮槠树干是我们的坐凳，柳树为我们遮荫，玫瑰给我们送来芳香，广阔的草原就像是一块五彩斑斓的地毯；夜晚，空气清新，星月皎洁，咱们纵情歌唱，忧愁化为欢乐，阿波罗给我们带来诗兴，爱情为我们创造灵感，这样咱们就可以在现在和未来的世纪里闻名遐迩，功垂史册了。”
“天哪，”桑乔说，“我仿佛已经置身于这种生活之中了。参孙•卡拉斯科学士和理发师尼古拉斯师傅要是看见这种生活，也会来同咱们一起牧羊人；冲这快活劲儿，就连神甫也会身不由己地钻进羊圈里来呢。”
“你说得很对，”唐吉诃德说，“如果参孙•卡拉斯科加入我们这个牧人乐园，他肯定会来，可以叫他参索尼诺或者牧人卡拉斯孔；理发师尼古拉斯可以叫尼库洛索，就像博斯坎叫内莫罗索①一样；至于神甫，我就不知道该起什么名字了，除非起个派生的名字，叫库里昂布罗。至于那些可以做咱们情人的牧羊姑娘的名字，咱们不妨再仔细斟酌。不过，我的意中人叫牧羊姑娘或牧羊公主就行了，不必再费心另外寻找，没有比这更合适的名字了。桑乔，你的意中人叫什么名字，你可以随便起。”
①博斯坎•阿尔莫加维尔是16世纪初的西班牙诗人，曾引进意大利诗歌的格律和形式，并且影响了西班牙的伟大诗人加尔西拉索•德拉•维加。现代研究资料认为，内莫罗索是指加尔西拉索本人。
“她块头大，”桑乔说，“原名又叫特雷莎，我只能给她起个名字叫特雷索娜。此外，我还要在诗里赞颂她，以表现我的忠贞，并没有到外面去找野食。神甫应该以身作则，不应该有牧羊女做情人。如果学士想要情人，那就随他的便吧。”
“上帝保佑，”唐吉诃德说，“那是一种什么样的生活啊！木笛声飘送到我们耳边，还有萨莫拉风笛、长鼓、铃鼓和三弦琴！在这些乐器的音乐声中还能听到钹的声音，这样牧人的乐器就基本上全有了。”
“什么是钹呀？”桑乔问，“我这辈子还没听说过这个名字，也没见过这种东西呢。”
“钹就是两块烛台形的铜片，”唐吉诃德说，“中间隆起的部分撞击在一起时发出一种声音，即使算不上和谐悦耳，也不难听，而是像风笛和长鼓一样质朴。这个词源于摩尔语，就像西班牙语中所有那些以al开头的词一样，如almohaza、alBmorzar、alfombra、alguacil、alhucema、almacén、alcancía等等，不用再一一罗列了。以i结尾的源于摩尔语的词只有三个，那就是borceguí、zaquizamí和maravdí。albelí和alfaauí以al开头，以í结尾，显然都是源于阿拉伯语。你刚才问到钹，我想起了这些，顺便说说。我还有点儿诗才，这你知道，参孙•卡拉斯科更有了不起的诗才，这有助于使咱们的这种生活更加美满。至于神甫，我就不说什么了。不过我敢打赌，他也准有几分诗人的才气。尼古拉斯师傅肯定也是这样，我对此毫不怀疑，因为所有或大多数理发师都能弹弹吉他，念念诗。到时候我倾诉我的离情别绪，你自夸是忠实的情人，牧人卡拉斯孔为遭到鄙夷而忿忿不平，神甫库里昂布罗随便当什么角色都行，那种日子该多美呀！”
桑乔说道：
“大人，我总是很不幸，恐怕永远也不会有那么一天了。等我成了牧人，我得做光滑的木匙，还得做油煎面包，甜奶酪、花冠和许许多多牧人要做的事情呀！虽然别人并没有说我心灵，但我手巧是出了名的。我女儿桑奇卡可以给咱们送饭来。不过，也得小心，她相貌不错，有的牧人并不那么单纯，总是不怀好意。本来是好事，可别闹出个坏结局来。无论是乡村还是城里，无论是牧人的茅屋还是王宫的大殿，都有爱情，都有叵测的居心。‘祸根不存，罪恶不生’，‘眼不见，心不动’，‘与其操心，不如脱身’。”
“别说那么多俗语了，桑乔，”唐吉诃德说，“你说了那么多，其实一句话就足以表达你的意思。我讲你多少次了，别说那么多俗语，这等于对牛弹琴，可你总是‘你说你的，我干我的’。”
“而我觉得您总是‘煎锅嫌炒锅黑’。”桑乔说，“您总怪我说俗语，其实您说起俗语来也是一串一串的。”
“可是桑乔，”唐吉诃德说，“我说俗语总是用得恰到好处，而你却是不管三七二十一，抓来就说。如果我没记错的话，我曾对你说过，俗语是历代聪明人从他们的经验里提炼出来的警句，如果用得不当，就成了胡言乱语。咱们先别说这个了，天已经晚了，咱们得找个地方过夜。谁知道明天的情况会怎么样呢。”
他们离开大路去找住处。晚饭吃得很晚，也吃得不好，桑乔很不满意。桑乔想到游侠骑士只能在荒郊野岭凑合着吃，虽然有时也能在城堡或大户人家里饱餐一顿，就像在迭戈•德米兰达的家、富人卡马乔的婚礼和安东尼奥•莫雷诺家那样。不过，世界上不能总是白天，也不能总是黑夜，他想着想着就睡着了。唐吉诃德却彻夜未眠。
Part 2 Chapter 68
The night was somewhat dark, for though there was a moon in the sky it was not in a quarter where she could be seen; for sometimes the lady Diana goes on a stroll to the antipodes, and leaves the mountains all black and the valleys in darkness. Don Quixote obeyed nature so far as to sleep his first sleep, but did not give way to the second, very different from Sancho, who never had any second, because with him sleep lasted from night till morning, wherein he showed what a sound constitution and few cares he had. Don Quixote’s cares kept him restless, so much so that he awoke Sancho and said to him, “I am amazed, Sancho, at the unconcern of thy temperament. I believe thou art made of marble or hard brass, incapable of any emotion or feeling whatever. I lie awake while thou sleepest, I weep while thou singest, I am faint with fasting while thou art sluggish and torpid from pure repletion. It is the duty of good servants to share the sufferings and feel the sorrows of their masters, if it be only for the sake of appearances. See the calmness of the night, the solitude of the spot, inviting us to break our slumbers by a vigil of some sort. Rise as thou livest, and retire a little distance, and with a good heart and cheerful courage give thyself three or four hundred lashes on account of Dulcinea’s disenchantment score; and this I entreat of thee, making it a request, for I have no desire to come to grips with thee a second time, as I know thou hast a heavy hand. As soon as thou hast laid them on we will pass the rest of the night, I singing my separation, thou thy constancy, making a beginning at once with the pastoral life we are to follow at our village.”
“Senor,” replied Sancho, “I’m no monk to get up out of the middle of my sleep and scourge myself, nor does it seem to me that one can pass from one extreme of the pain of whipping to the other of music. Will your worship let me sleep, and not worry me about whipping myself? or you’ll make me swear never to touch a hair of my doublet, not to say my flesh.”
“O hard heart!” said Don Quixote, “O pitiless squire! O bread ill-bestowed and favours ill-acknowledged, both those I have done thee and those I mean to do thee! Through me hast thou seen thyself a governor, and through me thou seest thyself in immediate expectation of being a count, or obtaining some other equivalent title, for I— post tenebras spero lucem.”
“I don’t know what that is,” said Sancho; “all I know is that so long as I am asleep I have neither fear nor hope, trouble nor glory; and good luck betide him that invented sleep, the cloak that covers over all a man’s thoughts, the food that removes hunger, the drink that drives away thirst, the fire that warms the cold, the cold that tempers the heat, and, to wind up with, the universal coin wherewith everything is bought, the weight and balance that makes the shepherd equal with the king and the fool with the wise man. Sleep, I have heard say, has only one fault, that it is like death; for between a sleeping man and a dead man there is very little difference.”
“Never have I heard thee speak so elegantly as now, Sancho,” said Don Quixote; “and here I begin to see the truth of the proverb thou dost sometimes quote, ‘Not with whom thou art bred, but with whom thou art fed.’”
“Ha, by my life, master mine,” said Sancho, “it’s not I that am stringing proverbs now, for they drop in pairs from your worship’s mouth faster than from mine; only there is this difference between mine and yours, that yours are well-timed and mine are untimely; but anyhow, they are all proverbs.”
At this point they became aware of a harsh indistinct noise that seemed to spread through all the valleys around. Don Quixote stood up and laid his hand upon his sword, and Sancho ensconced himself under Dapple and put the bundle of armour on one side of him and the ass’s pack-saddle on the other, in fear and trembling as great as Don Quixote’s perturbation. Each instant the noise increased and came nearer to the two terrified men, or at least to one, for as to the other, his courage is known to all. The fact of the matter was that some men were taking above six hundred pigs to sell at a fair, and were on their way with them at that hour, and so great was the noise they made and their grunting and blowing, that they deafened the ears of Don Quixote and Sancho Panza, and they could not make out what it was. The wide-spread grunting drove came on in a surging mass, and without showing any respect for Don Quixote’s dignity or Sancho’s, passed right over the pair of them, demolishing Sancho’s entrenchments, and not only upsetting Don Quixote but sweeping Rocinante off his feet into the bargain; and what with the trampling and the grunting, and the pace at which the unclean beasts went, pack-saddle, armour, Dapple and Rocinante were left scattered on the ground and Sancho and Don Quixote at their wits’ end.
Sancho got up as well as he could and begged his master to give him his sword, saying he wanted to kill half a dozen of those dirty unmannerly pigs, for he had by this time found out that that was what they were.
“Let them be, my friend,” said Don Quixote; “this insult is the penalty of my sin; and it is the righteous chastisement of heaven that jackals should devour a vanquished knight, and wasps sting him and pigs trample him under foot.”
“I suppose it is the chastisement of heaven, too,” said Sancho, “that flies should prick the squires of vanquished knights, and lice eat them, and hunger assail them. If we squires were the sons of the knights we serve, or their very near relations, it would be no wonder if the penalty of their misdeeds overtook us, even to the fourth generation. But what have the Panzas to do with the Quixotes? Well, well, let’s lie down again and sleep out what little of the night there’s left, and God will send us dawn and we shall be all right.”
 
“Sleep thou, Sancho,” returned Don Quixote, “for thou wast born to sleep as I was born to watch; and during the time it now wants of dawn I will give a loose rein to my thoughts, and seek a vent for them in a little madrigal which, unknown to thee, I composed in my head last night.”
“I should think,” said Sancho, “that the thoughts that allow one to make verses cannot be of great consequence; let your worship string verses as much as you like and I’ll sleep as much as I can;” and forthwith, taking the space of ground he required, he muffled himself up and fell into a sound sleep, undisturbed by bond, debt, or trouble of any sort. Don Quixote, propped up against the trunk of a beech or a cork tree — for Cide Hamete does not specify what kind of tree it was — sang in this strain to the accompaniment of his own sighs:
When in my mind
I muse, O Love, upon thy cruelty,
To death I flee,
In hope therein the end of all to find.
But drawing near
That welcome haven in my sea of woe,
Such joy I know,
That life revives, and still I linger here.
Thus life doth slay,
And death again to life restoreth me;
Strange destiny,
That deals with life and death as with a play!
He accompanied each verse with many sighs and not a few tears, just like one whose heart was pierced with grief at his defeat and his separation from Dulcinea.
And now daylight came, and the sun smote Sancho on the eyes with his beams. He awoke, roused himself up, shook himself and stretched his lazy limbs, and seeing the havoc the pigs had made with his stores he cursed the drove, and more besides. Then the pair resumed their journey, and as evening closed in they saw coming towards them some ten men on horseback and four or five on foot. Don Quixote’s heart beat quick and Sancho’s quailed with fear, for the persons approaching them carried lances and bucklers, and were in very warlike guise. Don Quixote turned to Sancho and said, “If I could make use of my weapons, and my promise had not tied my hands, I would count this host that comes against us but cakes and fancy bread; but perhaps it may prove something different from what we apprehend.” The men on horseback now came up, and raising their lances surrounded Don Quixote in silence, and pointed them at his back and breast, menacing him with death. One of those on foot, putting his finger to his lips as a sign to him to be silent, seized Rocinante’s bridle and drew him out of the road, and the others driving Sancho and Dapple before them, and all maintaining a strange silence, followed in the steps of the one who led Don Quixote. The latter two or three times attempted to ask where they were taking him to and what they wanted, but the instant he began to open his lips they threatened to close them with the points of their lances; and Sancho fared the same way, for the moment he seemed about to speak one of those on foot punched him with a goad, and Dapple likewise, as if he too wanted to talk. Night set in, they quickened their pace, and the fears of the two prisoners grew greater, especially as they heard themselves assailed with — “Get on, ye Troglodytes;” “Silence, ye barbarians;” “March, ye cannibals;” “No murmuring, ye Scythians;” “Don’t open your eyes, ye murderous Polyphemes, ye blood-thirsty lions,” and suchlike names with which their captors harassed the ears of the wretched master and man. Sancho went along saying to himself, “We, tortolites, barbers, animals! I don’t like those names at all; ‘it’s in a bad wind our corn is being winnowed;’ ‘misfortune comes upon us all at once like sticks on a dog,’ and God grant it may be no worse than them that this unlucky adventure has in store for us.”
Don Quixote rode completely dazed, unable with the aid of all his wits to make out what could be the meaning of these abusive names they called them, and the only conclusion he could arrive at was that there was no good to be hoped for and much evil to be feared. And now, about an hour after midnight, they reached a castle which Don Quixote saw at once was the duke’s , where they had been but a short time before. “God bless me!” said he, as he recognised the mansion, “what does this mean? It is all courtesy and politeness in this house; but with the vanquished good turns into evil, and evil into worse.”
They entered the chief court of the castle and found it prepared and fitted up in a style that added to their amazement and doubled their fears, as will be seen in the following chapter.
 
那天晚上比较黑。虽然月亮仍在天上，可就是不愿露面。这位狄安娜夫人大概到地球的另一面去散步了，结果弄得山谷都是黑乎乎的。唐吉诃德只打了个盹儿，就再也没睡着。桑乔却相反，一觉睡到大天亮，一看就知道是个心宽体胖的人。唐吉诃德心事重重，睡不着，只好把桑乔叫醒，对他说道：
“桑乔，我对你什么都不在乎的脾气真感到惊讶。你大概是石凿的或铁打的，什么时候都无动于衷。我守夜时你睡觉，我哭泣时你唱歌，我饿得头昏眼花时你却撑得直犯懒。好佣人应该为主人分忧，忧主人之忧嘛。你看这夜色多么清幽，万籁俱寂，仿佛在邀请我们从梦中醒来，与它共度良宵呢。赶紧起来吧，往远处走一点儿，拿出点儿勇气和报恩的精神来，打自己三四百鞭子，为了让杜尔西内亚摆脱魔法而把欠的帐还上一部分吧。我求求你，我不想像上次那样跟你动手了。你打完自己之后，今夜剩下的时间咱们就唱歌儿。我倾诉我的相思，你赞颂你的忠贞。回村以后那种牧羊的生活咱们现在就可以开始了。”
“大人，”桑乔说，“我又不是苦行僧，没必要半夜三更起来鞭挞自己，而且我也不信鞭挞的痛苦能转化为快乐的歌声。您还是让我睡觉吧，别再逼我抽打自己了，不然的话我发誓，以后别说碰我的皮肉，就连衣服上的一根细毛儿也休想碰我！”
“多狠的心肠呀！多么冷酷的侍从呀！我白养活你了，我对你的照顾和以后会给你的照顾，你全忘记了！你靠着我才当上了总督，你靠着我才有望获得伯爵或者类似的称号，而且在过了这一年之后，这个诺言很快就会实现。黑暗即将过去，曙光就在前头呀。”
“这些我不懂，”桑乔说，“我只知道在我睡觉的时候，既没有感到痛苦，也没有感到希望，没有辛劳，也没有荣耀。不知是谁发明了睡眠，真该感谢他。睡眠消除了人类的一切思想，成了解饥的饭食，解渴的清水，驱寒的火焰，驱热的清凉，一句话，睡眠是可以买到一切东西的货币；无论是国王还是平民，无论是智者还是傻瓜，它都像个天平，一视同仁。我听说睡眠只有一点不好，那就是和死差不多，睡着了的人就像死人一样。”
“我从没有听到你像现在这样慷慨陈词，”唐吉诃德说，“由此我认识到，你的一句口头语说得很对：‘出身并不重要，关键是跟谁过。’”
“见鬼去吧，我的大人，”桑乔说，“现在并不是我张口就是俗语，而是您动不动就来两句俗语，而且比我说得更多！您和我之间只有一个区别，那就是您比我说得恰当，我说得常常对不上号。但是不管怎么说，它们都是俗语。”
这时，他们忽然听到一阵沉闷的嘈杂声以及凄厉的声音响彻了谷地。唐吉诃德站起来，手握剑柄；桑乔则赶紧钻到驴下面，用驴驮的盔甲和驮鞍挡住自己。桑乔吓得直发抖，唐吉诃德也茫然不知所措。声音越来越大，离他们越来越近，把其中一个人吓得够呛，而另一个人的胆量是大家都知道的。原来，是有人赶着六百多头猪到集上去卖，正好从那儿路过。那群猪呼哧着鼻子拼命地叫，把唐吉诃德和桑乔的耳朵都快震聋了，因而他们已经分不清那到底是什么声音了。大群的猪浩浩荡荡地呼叫着开过来，根本不理会唐吉诃德和桑乔的尊严。它们冲破了桑乔的防御工事，不仅撞倒了唐吉诃德，顺便还把罗西南多也带倒了。那群愚蠢的牲畜迅速地冲过来，把驮鞍、盔甲、驴、罗西南多、桑乔和唐吉诃德都掀翻在地，一片狼藉。桑乔挣扎着站起来，向唐吉诃德要剑，说要把这帮粗鲁的猪大爷宰掉几个。唐吉诃德对桑乔说道：
“算了吧，朋友，是我造了孽，咱们才受到这种冒犯。这是上帝对一个战败的游侠骑士的惩罚。战败的游侠骑士就应该被狼啃，被蜂蜇，被猪踩！”
“这也是老天对战败骑士的侍从的惩罚。”桑乔说，“这样的侍从就应该被蚊虫叮，被虱子咬，忍饥挨饿。假如我们这些侍从是我们服侍的骑士的儿子或者什么近亲，那就是把我们惩罚到第三代或者第四代也不为过。可是，桑乔家族跟唐吉诃德家族有什么关系呀？好了，咱们还是先歇着吧。天快亮了，咱们再睡一会儿，有什么事天亮再说吧。”
“你去睡吧，桑乔，”唐吉诃德说，“你就知道睡觉！我可要守夜。在天亮之前的这段时间里，我要丢开我的思绪，做一首情诗。你不知道，昨天晚上我就已经打好腹稿了。”
“依我看，”桑乔说，“想做诗的心情也没什么了不起的。您愿意怎么做诗就怎么做吧，我反正是能睡多少就睡多少。”
然后，他随意躺到了地上，蜷缩成一团，进入了梦乡，什么欠帐、痛苦之类的事情，全都置之脑后了。唐吉诃德靠着一棵山毛榉或者栓皮槠，锡德•哈迈德•贝嫩赫利没说清是什么树，唉声叹气地念起诗来：
每当我想着你，爱情，
都是对我的痛苦折磨。
我真想奔向死亡，
从此把无穷的痛苦摆脱。
然而当我到达死亡的边缘，
却又裹足不前；
爱情给我带来了如此的欢乐，
欲死不忍心，生活更执著。
我总是虽生求死，
死又复活；
生生死死，
百般蹉跎①！
①这是意大利诗人佩德罗•本博的一首情诗。
唐吉诃德念着诗，叹着气，泪眼潸然，心中似乎为自己战败和思念杜尔西内亚而痛苦万分。
天亮了，阳光照到了桑乔的眼睛上。他起身伸了个懒腰，活动了一下四肢，望着自己带的干粮被猪群毁得一片狼藉，不禁又诅咒起来，而且骂的还不仅仅是那群猪。后来，唐吉诃德和桑乔又继续赶路。下午，他们看到迎面走来近十个骑马的人和四五个步行的人。唐吉诃德不由得心情紧张起来，桑乔也吓得够呛，因为那些人手持长矛和盾牌，一副气势汹汹的样子。唐吉诃德转身对桑乔说：
“桑乔，如果不是我的诺言束缚了我的手脚，如果我还能操持武器的话，我完全可以把对面来的这群人打得落花流水，那么情况就不一样了。”
这时，那几个骑马的人手持长矛，一声不响地围住了唐吉诃德，分别用长矛指着他的前胸和后背。一个步行的人把手放在嘴边上，示意唐吉诃德别出声，抓着罗西南多的笼头，把它牵出了大路。其他几个步行的人揪着桑乔的驴，非常奇怪地一句话也不说，跟在唐吉诃德他们后面。唐吉诃德几次想开口问他们要把自己带到哪里去，想干什么，可是刚一开口，就有人用长矛的铁头指指他，示意他住嘴。桑乔的情况也一样，他刚要说话，就有人用带刺的棍子捅他，而且还捅他的驴，仿佛驴也想说话似的。夜色降临，那几个人加快了脚步，唐吉诃德和桑乔也更紧张了，尤其是听到那几个人不时地么喝：
“快走，你们这两个野人！”
“住嘴，蠢货！”
“小心点儿，你们这两个吃人的家伙！”
“别吭声，够了！不许把眼睛瞪那么大，你们这两个杀人的魔鬼，吃人不吐骨头的野狮！”
那几个人还骂了其他一些话，唐吉诃德和桑乔听着都十分刺耳。桑乔心里说：“我们怎么‘噎人’，怎么‘闯祸’，又怎么成‘痴人’和‘野屎’①啦？这些话真不好听。真是屋漏偏逢下雨，人不顺心连喝凉水都塞牙缝儿。但愿这场灾祸到此为止吧。”
①桑乔没听清楚那几个人喊的话，误作声音相近的词了。
唐吉诃德也同样莫名其妙，猜不透那些人为什么用这些词骂他和桑乔，但他估计是凶多吉少。
他们在黑夜中走了大约一小时，来到一座城堡前。唐吉诃德认出那是他们前不久还住过的公爵城堡。
“上帝保佑！”唐吉诃德说道，“这是怎么回事呀？这儿原先是热情好客的地方，可是，对战败的人连好地方也变坏了，坏地方就变得更糟糕了。”
他们进了城堡的院子。看到里面的陈设，唐吉诃德和桑乔更惊奇，也更害怕了。详情请看下章。
Part 2 Chapter 69
The horsemen dismounted, and, together with the men on foot, without a moment’s delay taking up Sancho and Don Quixote bodily, they carried them into the court, all round which near a hundred torches fixed in sockets were burning, besides above five hundred lamps in the corridors, so that in spite of the night, which was somewhat dark, the want of daylight could not be perceived. In the middle of the court was a catafalque, raised about two yards above the ground and covered completely by an immense canopy of black velvet, and on the steps all round it white wax tapers burned in more than a hundred silver candlesticks. Upon the catafalque was seen the dead body of a damsel so lovely that by her beauty she made death itself look beautiful. She lay with her head resting upon a cushion of brocade and crowned with a garland of sweet-smelling flowers of divers sorts, her hands crossed upon her bosom, and between them a branch of yellow palm of victory. On one side of the court was erected a stage, where upon two chairs were seated two persons who from having crowns on their heads and sceptres in their hands appeared to be kings of some sort, whether real or mock ones. By the side of this stage, which was reached by steps, were two other chairs on which the men carrying the prisoners seated Don Quixote and Sancho, all in silence, and by signs giving them to understand that they too were to he silent; which, however, they would have been without any signs, for their amazement at all they saw held them tongue-tied. And now two persons of distinction, who were at once recognised by Don Quixote as his hosts the duke and duchess, ascended the stage attended by a numerous suite, and seated themselves on two gorgeous chairs close to the two kings, as they seemed to be. Who would not have been amazed at this? Nor was this all, for Don Quixote had perceived that the dead body on the catafalque was that of the fair Altisidora. As the duke and duchess mounted the stage Don Quixote and Sancho rose and made them a profound obeisance, which they returned by bowing their heads slightly. At this moment an official crossed over, and approaching Sancho threw over him a robe of black buckram painted all over with flames of fire, and taking off his cap put upon his head a mitre such as those undergoing the sentence of the Holy Office wear; and whispered in his ear that he must not open his lips, or they would put a gag upon him, or take his life. Sancho surveyed himself from head to foot and saw himself all ablaze with flames; but as they did not burn him, he did not care two farthings for them. He took off the mitre and seeing painted with devils he put it on again, saying to himself, “Well, so far those don’t burn me nor do these carry me off.” Don Quixote surveyed him too, and though fear had got the better of his faculties, he could not help smiling to see the figure Sancho presented. And now from underneath the catafalque, so it seemed, there rose a low sweet sound of flutes, which, coming unbroken by human voice (for there silence itself kept silence), had a soft and languishing effect. Then, beside the pillow of what seemed to be the dead body, suddenly appeared a fair youth in a Roman habit, who, to the accompaniment of a harp which he himself played, sang in a sweet and clear voice these two stanzas:
While fair Altisidora, who the sport
Of cold Don Quixote’s cruelty hath been,
Returns to life, and in this magic court
The dames in sables come to grace the scene,
And while her matrons all in seemly sort
My lady robes in baize and bombazine,
Her beauty and her sorrows will I sing
With defter quill than touched the Thracian string.
But not in life alone, methinks, to me
Belongs the office; Lady, when my tongue
Is cold in death, believe me, unto thee
My voice shall raise its tributary song.
My soul, from this strait prison-house set free,
As o’er the Stygian lake it floats along,
Thy praises singing still shall hold its way,
And make the waters of oblivion stay.
At this point one of the two that looked like kings exclaimed, “Enough, enough, divine singer! It would be an endless task to put before us now the death and the charms of the peerless Altisidora, not dead as the ignorant world imagines, but living in the voice of fame and in the penance which Sancho Panza, here present, has to undergo to restore her to the long-lost light. Do thou, therefore, O Rhadamanthus, who sittest in judgment with me in the murky caverns of Dis, as thou knowest all that the inscrutable fates have decreed touching the resuscitation of this damsel, announce and declare it at once, that the happiness we look forward to from her restoration be no longer deferred.”
No sooner had Minos the fellow judge of Rhadamanthus said this, than Rhadamanthus rising up said:
“Ho, officials of this house, high and low, great and small, make haste hither one and all, and print on Sancho’s face four-and-twenty smacks, and give him twelve pinches and six pin thrusts in the back and arms; for upon this ceremony depends the restoration of Altisidora.”
On hearing this Sancho broke silence and cried out, “By all that’s good, I’ll as soon let my face be smacked or handled as turn Moor. Body o’ me! What has handling my face got to do with the resurrection of this damsel? ‘The old woman took kindly to the blits; they enchant Dulcinea, and whip me in order to disenchant her; Altisidora dies of ailments God was pleased to send her, and to bring her to life again they must give me four-and-twenty smacks, and prick holes in my body with pins, and raise weals on my arms with pinches! Try those jokes on a brother-in-law; ‘I’m an old dog, and “tus, tus” is no use with me.’”
“Thou shalt die,” said Rhadamanthus in a loud voice; “relent, thou tiger; humble thyself, proud Nimrod; suffer and he silent, for no impossibilities are asked of thee; it is not for thee to inquire into the difficulties in this matter; smacked thou must be, pricked thou shalt see thyself, and with pinches thou must be made to howl. Ho, I say, officials, obey my orders; or by the word of an honest man, ye shall see what ye were born for.”
At this some six duennas, advancing across the court, made their appearance in procession, one after the other, four of them with spectacles, and all with their right hands uplifted, showing four fingers of wrist to make their hands look longer, as is the fashion now-a-days. No sooner had Sancho caught sight of them than, bellowing like a bull, he exclaimed, “I might let myself be handled by all the world; but allow duennas to touch me — not a bit of it! Scratch my face, as my master was served in this very castle; run me through the body with burnished daggers; pinch my arms with red-hot pincers; I’ll bear all in patience to serve these gentlefolk; but I won’t let duennas touch me, though the devil should carry me off!”
Here Don Quixote, too, broke silence, saying to Sancho, “Have patience, my son, and gratify these noble persons, and give all thanks to heaven that it has infused such virtue into thy person, that by its sufferings thou canst disenchant the enchanted and restore to life the dead.”
The duennas were now close to Sancho, and he, having become more tractable and reasonable, settling himself well in his chair presented his face and beard to the first, who delivered him a smack very stoutly laid on, and then made him a low curtsey.
“Less politeness and less paint, senora duenna,” said Sancho; “by God your hands smell of vinegar-wash.”
In fine, all the duennas smacked him and several others of the household pinched him; but what he could not stand was being pricked by the pins; and so, apparently out of patience, he started up out of his chair, and seizing a lighted torch that stood near him fell upon the duennas and the whole set of his tormentors, exclaiming, “Begone, ye ministers of hell; I’m not made of brass not to feel such out-of-the-way tortures.”
At this instant Altisidora, who probably was tired of having been so long lying on her back, turned on her side; seeing which the bystanders cried out almost with one voice, “Altisidora is alive! Altisidora lives!”
Rhadamanthus bade Sancho put away his wrath, as the object they had in view was now attained. When Don Quixote saw Altisidora move, he went on his knees to Sancho saying to him, “Now is the time, son of my bowels, not to call thee my squire, for thee to give thyself some of those lashes thou art bound to lay on for the disenchantment of Dulcinea. Now, I say, is the time when the virtue that is in thee is ripe, and endowed with efficacy to work the good that is looked for from thee.”
To which Sancho made answer, “That’s trick upon trick, I think, and not honey upon pancakes; a nice thing it would be for a whipping to come now, on the top of pinches, smacks, and pin-proddings! You had better take a big stone and tie it round my neck, and pitch me into a well; I should not mind it much, if I’m to be always made the cow of the wedding for the cure of other people’s ailments. Leave me alone; or else by God I’ll fling the whole thing to the dogs, let come what may.”
Altisidora had by this time sat up on the catafalque, and as she did so the clarions sounded, accompanied by the flutes, and the voices of all present exclaiming, “Long life to Altisidora! long life to Altisidora!” The duke and duchess and the kings Minos and Rhadamanthus stood up, and all, together with Don Quixote and Sancho, advanced to receive her and take her down from the catafalque; and she, making as though she were recovering from a swoon, bowed her head to the duke and duchess and to the kings, and looking sideways at Don Quixote, said to him, “God forgive thee, insensible knight, for through thy cruelty I have been, to me it seems, more than a thousand years in the other world; and to thee, the most compassionate upon earth, I render thanks for the life I am now in possession of. From this day forth, friend Sancho, count as thine six smocks of mine which I bestow upon thee, to make as many shirts for thyself, and if they are not all quite whole, at any rate they are all clean.”
Sancho kissed her hands in gratitude, kneeling, and with the mitre in his hand. The duke bade them take it from him, and give him back his cap and doublet and remove the flaming robe. Sancho begged the duke to let them leave him the robe and mitre; as he wanted to take them home for a token and memento of that unexampled adventure. The duchess said they must leave them with him; for he knew already what a great friend of his she was. The duke then gave orders that the court should be cleared, and that all should retire to their chambers, and that Don Quixote and Sancho should be conducted to their old quarters.
 
那几个骑马的人下了马，和几个步行的人一起，把桑乔和唐吉诃德推推搡搡地弄进了院子。院子周围的大烛台上插着一百多支火炬，走廊里还有五百多盏照明灯，虽然天已渐黑，院子里却依然如同白昼。院子中间设置了一个两米高的灵台，上面盖着一块巨大的黑色天鹅绒。灵台四周的一百多个银烛台上燃着白色的蜡烛。灵台上摆放着一位姑娘的尸体，人虽已死去，容貌依然楚楚动人。她头戴由各色花卉编织的花环，枕着锦缎枕头，双手交叉在胸前，手里还有一束已经枯萎的黄色棕榈叶。院子的一端有个台子，后面的两把椅子上坐着两个人。他们头戴王冠，手持权杖，看样子像国王之类的人物，但真假就不知道了。台子只能沿阶而上，旁边还有两把椅子，唐吉诃德和桑乔被带过去，坐到了这两把椅子上。大家都默不作声，同时也示意唐吉诃德和桑乔不要出声。其实，用不着告诉他们俩，他们也不会出声。他们早已被眼前的奇怪景象惊得目瞪口呆了。
这时，有两位贵人在很多人的簇拥下登上了台子，唐吉诃德认出那是公爵和公爵夫人。那两个像国王的人身旁有两把豪华的椅子，公爵和公爵夫人坐到了那两把椅子上。唐吉诃德又认出躺在灵台上的竟是美丽的阿尔蒂西多拉，他怎能不更加惊奇呢？公爵和公爵夫人登上台子后，唐吉诃德和桑乔站起来，向他们深深地鞠了躬，公爵和公爵夫人也对唐吉诃德和桑乔微微点头。
这时，有一位陪祭从侧面走到桑乔身边，给他披上一件黑麻孝衣，衣服上画满了火焰，又摘掉了桑乔头上的帽子，给他戴上一个纸糊的高帽，就像宗教裁判所审判犯人时给犯人戴的那种帽子。这人还对他耳语说不许开口，否则就把他的嘴堵上或者要他的命。桑乔把自己上上下下地打量了一番，看到自己虽然满身是火焰，却并不灼人，也就不在意了。他把纸帽子摘下来，看了看上面画的魔鬼，又把帽子戴上了，心想只要火不烧身，魔鬼不要他的命，这副样子倒没什么关系。
唐吉诃德也看了看桑乔，尽管唐吉诃德已经吓呆了，可看到桑乔那个模样，还是忍不住笑了。这时，轻柔的笛声仿佛从灵台下面飘了出来。没有任何人吭声，那笛声显得越发缠绵动人。忽然，那个貌似尸体的姑娘枕边忽然出现了一个罗马人打扮的英俊少年。他弹着竖琴，在琴声的伴奏下非常深情地唱起了两首诗：
冷酷的唐吉诃德使得你
香消玉殒，阿尔蒂西多拉呀，
在这阴曹地府，
贵夫人们都为你身裹素纱。
女主人已吩咐所有的女佣
为你戴孝披麻。
我则以胜过色雷斯①歌手的灵感，
唱出你的美貌和不幸的生涯。
我不仅今生今世
把你赞颂，
我还要用我冰冷的舌头
让你来世美名传天下。
愿我的灵魂
飞入冥湖②之中，
挡住那忘却记忆的湖水，
秋水伊人，令我魂牵肠挂。
“不必再说了，”一个国王模样的人说道，“圣洁的歌手，不必再说了，举世无双的阿尔蒂西多拉命途多舛，一言难尽，她的美德真是唱也唱不完。她并不是像凡夫俗子想象的那样已经死去，而是永生在人们的传颂之中。若想让她起死回生，桑乔•潘萨就得付出代价，现在他正好在场。那么你，与我同在冥国当判官的拉达曼托③呀，你知道，神和莫测的命运已经决定让这个姑娘还魂，你赶紧当众宣布吧，我们一直在等着这个消息呢。”
①巴尔干半岛东南部一地区。色雷斯人尤以诗歌和音乐著称。
②在希腊神话中指意大利的阿尔维诺湖，据说是地狱的入口。
③宙斯和欧罗巴之子，后来成为乐土的统治者和冥界的判官之一。此处的说话者应为另一判官弥诺斯。
弥诺斯刚说完，拉达曼托便起身说道：
“凡是在这儿干事的人，无论高的矮的还是大的小的，都排队过来，把桑乔的下巴胡噜二十四下，再在他的胳膊上和腰上掐十二下，用针扎六下，这样，阿尔蒂西多拉就能死而复生。”
桑乔听了立刻大声喊道：
“我敢发誓，想在我脸上胡噜，根本没门儿！真见鬼，在我脸上胡噜跟这个姑娘死而复生有什么关系？真是眉毛胡子一起来。杜尔西内亚中了魔法，就得让我挨鞭挞，她才能摆脱魔法；这个姑娘要还魂，就得胡噜我二十四下，用针往我身上乱扎，还得把我的胳膊掐痛！我可不吃你们这一套！”
“你找死呀！”拉达曼托说，“放老实点儿，你这吃人的老虎；低下头来，你这傲慢的宁录①；住嘴，又没让你做什么办不到的事。你就别找辙了，老老实实地让人胡噜你的脸，让人用针扎你，让人掐得你直叫唤吧！喂，凡是在这儿干事的，都赶紧执行我的命令！否则，我让你们吃不了兜着走！”
①《圣经》中的人物，在耶和华面前被称为“英勇的猎户”。
此时，已有六个女佣排成一队来到院里，其中四个还戴着眼镜。她们高举右手，露出四寸长腕。现在人们都时兴长手腕。桑乔一见就立刻吼起来：
“我可以让任何人胡噜我的脸，但是女佣不行！我可以像我的主人那次在这个城堡里一样，让猫抓我的脸，让锋利的匕首刺穿我的身体，让烧红的火钳拧我的皮肉，这些我都可以忍耐，任凭各位大人发落。可是，如果想让这几个女佣碰我，我宁死不从！”
唐吉诃德此时也开了口，他对桑乔说道：
“忍耐一下吧，宝贝，让这几位大人也高兴高兴吧。你得感谢老天让你积德行善，帮中了魔法的人解脱魔法，使死者复生，从而做出你的牺牲！”
女佣已经走近了桑乔。桑乔被说服了，他服服帖帖地在椅子上坐好，冲着第一个女佣扬起脸，撅起胡子。那个女佣在桑乔的下巴上用劲胡噜了一下，然后深深鞠了一躬。
“少来点儿礼，少抹点儿油吧，女佣夫人。”桑乔说，“我向上帝发誓，你手上的味儿够酸的。”
几个女佣都胡噜了桑乔的脸，其他佣人也都拧了他。可是轮到用针扎他的时候，他再也受不了啦。他从椅子上猛然跳起来，怒气冲冲地抓起椅子旁边的一支火炬，撵着那几个女佣和扎过他的人喊道：
“滚开，你们这些地狱里的小鬼，难道我是铁打的，受得了这般折磨？”
阿尔蒂西多拉已经躺得太久了，这时她侧了一下身子。在场的人看到后几乎同声喊道：
“阿尔蒂西多拉活了！阿尔蒂西多拉活了！”
拉达曼托让桑乔息怒，现在他们的目的已经达到了。
唐吉诃德见阿尔蒂西多拉又能动弹了，连忙过去跪到桑乔面前，说道：
“我的心肝宝贝，你现在可不仅是我的侍从。现在你该抽自己几鞭子了，快帮助杜尔西内亚解脱魔法吧。这会儿你的本领已经学到家啦，完全可以水到渠成。”
桑乔答道：
“真是没完没了，又要给我加码呀！刚才又拧又胡噜又扎，现在还要鞭子打！干脆拿块大石头绑在我脖子上，把我扔到井里去吧。总是为了给别人治病而拿我开涮，我可受不了！饶了我吧，不然我向上帝发誓，我可不管三七二十一，豁出去了！”
这时，阿尔蒂西多拉已经在灵台上坐了起来，笛声也随之而起。大家齐声喊道：
“阿尔蒂西多拉万岁！阿尔蒂西多拉万岁！”
公爵、公爵夫人、弥诺斯和拉达曼托都站起身来，同唐吉诃德和桑乔一起过去，把阿尔蒂西多拉从灵台上扶了下来。阿尔蒂西多拉似乎刚刚苏醒，向公爵和公爵夫人以及弥诺斯和拉达曼托鞠了个躬，然后又斜瞄着唐吉诃德说道：“让上帝饶恕你吧，丧尽天良的骑士。由于你的冷酷无情，我在另一个世界里仿佛度过了上千年。而你呢，世界上最富有同情心的侍从呀，感谢你让我又获得了生命。桑乔朋友，以后我要送给你六件衬衫，你可以改改自己穿。那些衬衫虽然不是件件完整如新，但至少都是干净的。”
桑乔手里拿着纸高帽，跪在地上吻了阿尔蒂西多拉的手。公爵吩咐把纸高帽拿走，把桑乔的帽子还给桑乔，并且给桑乔穿上他自己的外衣，把画着火焰的衣服也拿走。桑乔则请求公爵把那件衣服和那顶帽子留给他，他准备把这两件东西带回家乡，作为对这次前所未闻的奇遇的纪念。公爵夫人满口答应，想以此证明她是桑乔的好朋友。公爵吩咐大家离开院子，于是众人都回到了各自的房间。唐吉诃德和桑乔也回到了他们原先住过的那个房间。 
 
Part 2 Chapter 70
Sancho slept that night in a cot in the same chamber with Don Quixote, a thing he would have gladly excused if he could for he knew very well that with questions and answers his master would not let him sleep, and he was in no humour for talking much, as he still felt the pain of his late martyrdom, which interfered with his freedom of speech; and it would have been more to his taste to sleep in a hovel alone, than in that luxurious chamber in company. And so well founded did his apprehension prove, and so correct was his anticipation, that scarcely had his master got into bed when he said, “What dost thou think of tonight’s adventure, Sancho? Great and mighty is the power of cold-hearted scorn, for thou with thine own eyes hast seen Altisidora slain, not by arrows, nor by the sword, nor by any warlike weapon, nor by deadly poisons, but by the thought of the sternness and scorn with which I have always treated her.”
“She might have died and welcome,” said Sancho, “when she pleased and how she pleased; and she might have left me alone, for I never made her fall in love or scorned her. I don’t know nor can I imagine how the recovery of Altisidora, a damsel more fanciful than wise, can have, as I have said before, anything to do with the sufferings of Sancho Panza. Now I begin to see plainly and clearly that there are enchanters and enchanted people in the world; and may God deliver me from them, since I can’t deliver myself; and so I beg of your worship to let me sleep and not ask me any more questions, unless you want me to throw myself out of the window.”
“Sleep, Sancho my friend,” said Don Quixote, “if the pinprodding and pinches thou hast received and the smacks administered to thee will let thee.”
“No pain came up to the insult of the smacks,” said Sancho, “for the simple reason that it was duennas, confound them, that gave them to me; but once more I entreat your worship to let me sleep, for sleep is relief from misery to those who are miserable when awake.”
“Be it so, and God be with thee,” said Don Quixote.
They fell asleep, both of them, and Cide Hamete, the author of this great history, took this opportunity to record and relate what it was that induced the duke and duchess to get up the elaborate plot that has been described. The bachelor Samson Carrasco, he says, not forgetting how he as the Knight of the Mirrors had been vanquished and overthrown by Don Quixote, which defeat and overthrow upset all his plans, resolved to try his hand again, hoping for better luck than he had before; and so, having learned where Don Quixote was from the page who brought the letter and present to Sancho’s wife, Teresa Panza, he got himself new armour and another horse, and put a white moon upon his shield, and to carry his arms he had a mule led by a peasant, not by Tom Cecial his former squire for fear he should be recognised by Sancho or Don Quixote. He came to the duke’s castle, and the duke informed him of the road and route Don Quixote had taken with the intention of being present at the jousts at Saragossa. He told him, too, of the jokes he had practised upon him, and of the device for the disenchantment of Dulcinea at the expense of Sancho’s backside; and finally he gave him an account of the trick Sancho had played upon his master, making him believe that Dulcinea was enchanted and turned into a country wench; and of how the duchess, his wife, had persuaded Sancho that it was he himself who was deceived, inasmuch as Dulcinea was really enchanted; at which the bachelor laughed not a little, and marvelled as well at the sharpness and simplicity of Sancho as at the length to which Don Quixote’s madness went. The duke begged of him if he found him (whether he overcame him or not) to return that way and let him know the result. This the bachelor did; he set out in quest of Don Quixote, and not finding him at Saragossa, he went on, and how he fared has been already told. He returned to the duke’s castle and told him all, what the conditions of the combat were, and how Don Quixote was now, like a loyal knight-errant, returning to keep his promise of retiring to his village for a year, by which time, said the bachelor, he might perhaps be cured of his madness; for that was the object that had led him to adopt these disguises, as it was a sad thing for a gentleman of such good parts as Don Quixote to be a madman. And so he took his leave of the duke, and went home to his village to wait there for Don Quixote, who was coming after him. Thereupon the duke seized the opportunity of practising this mystification upon him; so much did he enjoy everything connected with Sancho and Don Quixote. He had the roads about the castle far and near, everywhere he thought Don Quixote was likely to pass on his return, occupied by large numbers of his servants on foot and on horseback, who were to bring him to the castle, by fair means or foul, if they met him. They did meet him, and sent word to the duke, who, having already settled what was to be done, as soon as he heard of his arrival, ordered the torches and lamps in the court to be lit and Altisidora to be placed on the catafalque with all the pomp and ceremony that has been described, the whole affair being so well arranged and acted that it differed but little from reality. And Cide Hamete says, moreover, that for his part he considers the concocters of the joke as crazy as the victims of it, and that the duke and duchess were not two fingers’ breadth removed from being something like fools themselves when they took such pains to make game of a pair of fools.
As for the latter, one was sleeping soundly and the other lying awake occupied with his desultory thoughts, when daylight came to them bringing with it the desire to rise; for the lazy down was never a delight to Don Quixote, victor or vanquished. Altisidora, come back from death to life as Don Quixote fancied, following up the freak of her lord and lady, entered the chamber, crowned with the garland she had worn on the catafalque and in a robe of white taffeta embroidered with gold flowers, her hair flowing loose over her shoulders, and leaning upon a staff of fine black ebony. Don Quixote, disconcerted and in confusion at her appearance, huddled himself up and well-nigh covered himself altogether with the sheets and counterpane of the bed, tongue-tied, and unable to offer her any civility. Altisidora seated herself on a chair at the head of the bed, and, after a deep sigh, said to him in a feeble, soft voice, “When women of rank and modest maidens trample honour under foot, and give a loose to the tongue that breaks through every impediment, publishing abroad the inmost secrets of their hearts, they are reduced to sore extremities. Such a one am I, Senor Don Quixote of La Mancha, crushed, conquered, love-smitten, but yet patient under suffering and virtuous, and so much so that my heart broke with grief and I lost my life. For the last two days I have been dead, slain by the thought of the cruelty with which thou hast treated me, obdurate knight,
O harder thou than marble to my plaint;
or at least believed to be dead by all who saw me; and had it not been that Love, taking pity on me, let my recovery rest upon the sufferings of this good squire, there I should have remained in the other world.”
“Love might very well have let it rest upon the sufferings of my ass, and I should have been obliged to him,” said Sancho. “But tell me, senora — and may heaven send you a tenderer lover than my master — what did you see in the other world? What goes on in hell? For of course that’s where one who dies in despair is bound for.”
“To tell you the truth,” said Altisidora, “I cannot have died outright, for I did not go into hell; had I gone in, it is very certain I should never have come out again, do what I might. The truth is, I came to the gate, where some dozen or so of devils were playing tennis, all in breeches and doublets, with falling collars trimmed with Flemish bonelace, and ruffles of the same that served them for wristbands, with four fingers’ breadth of the arms exposed to make their hands look longer; in their hands they held rackets of fire; but what amazed me still more was that books, apparently full of wind and rubbish, served them for tennis balls, a strange and marvellous thing; this, however, did not astonish me so much as to observe that, although with players it is usual for the winners to be glad and the losers sorry, there in that game all were growling, all were snarling, and all were cursing one another.” “That’s no wonder,” said Sancho; “for devils, whether playing or not, can never be content, win or lose.”
“Very likely,” said Altisidora; “but there is another thing that surprises me too, I mean surprised me then, and that was that no ball outlasted the first throw or was of any use a second time; and it was wonderful the constant succession there was of books, new and old. To one of them, a brand-new, well-bound one, they gave such a stroke that they knocked the guts out of it and scattered the leaves about. ‘Look what book that is,’ said one devil to another, and the other replied, ‘It is the “Second Part of the History of Don Quixote of La Mancha,” not by Cide Hamete, the original author, but by an Aragonese who by his own account is of Tordesillas.’ ‘Out of this with it,’ said the first, ‘and into the depths of hell with it out of my sight.’ ‘Is it so bad?’ said the other. ‘So bad is it,’ said the first, ‘that if I had set myself deliberately to make a worse, I could not have done it.’ They then went on with their game, knocking other books about; and I, having heard them mention the name of Don Quixote whom I love and adore so, took care to retain this vision in my memory.”
“A vision it must have been, no doubt,” said Don Quixote, “for there is no other I in the world; this history has been going about here for some time from hand to hand, but it does not stay long in any, for everybody gives it a taste of his foot. I am not disturbed by hearing that I am wandering in a fantastic shape in the darkness of the pit or in the daylight above, for I am not the one that history treats of. If it should be good, faithful, and true, it will have ages of life; but if it should be bad, from its birth to its burial will not be a very long journey.”
Altisidora was about to proceed with her complaint against Don Quixote, when he said to her, “I have several times told you, senora that it grieves me you should have set your affections upon me, as from mine they can only receive gratitude, but no return. I was born to belong to Dulcinea del Toboso, and the fates, if there are any, dedicated me to her; and to suppose that any other beauty can take the place she occupies in my heart is to suppose an impossibility. This frank declaration should suffice to make you retire within the bounds of your modesty, for no one can bind himself to do impossibilities.”
Hearing this, Altisidora, with a show of anger and agitation, exclaimed, “God’s life! Don Stockfish, soul of a mortar, stone of a date, more obstinate and obdurate than a clown asked a favour when he has his mind made up, if I fall upon you I’ll tear your eyes out! Do you fancy, Don Vanquished, Don Cudgelled, that I died for your sake? All that you have seen to-night has been make-believe; I’m not the woman to let the black of my nail suffer for such a camel, much less die!”
“That I can well believe,” said Sancho; “for all that about lovers pining to death is absurd; they may talk of it, but as for doing it — Judas may believe that!”
While they were talking, the musician, singer, and poet, who had sung the two stanzas given above came in, and making a profound obeisance to Don Quixote said, “Will your worship, sir knight, reckon and retain me in the number of your most faithful servants, for I have long been a great admirer of yours, as well because of your fame as because of your achievements?” “Will your worship tell me who you are,” replied Don Quixote, “so that my courtesy may be answerable to your deserts?” The young man replied that he was the musician and songster of the night before. “Of a truth,” said Don Quixote, “your worship has a most excellent voice; but what you sang did not seem to me very much to the purpose; for what have Garcilasso’s stanzas to do with the death of this lady?”
“Don’t be surprised at that,” returned the musician; “for with the callow poets of our day the way is for every one to write as he pleases and pilfer where he chooses, whether it be germane to the matter or not, and now-a-days there is no piece of silliness they can sing or write that is not set down to poetic licence.”
Don Quixote was about to reply, but was prevented by the duke and duchess, who came in to see him, and with them there followed a long and delightful conversation, in the course of which Sancho said so many droll and saucy things that he left the duke and duchess wondering not only at his simplicity but at his sharpness. Don Quixote begged their permission to take his departure that same day, inasmuch as for a vanquished knight like himself it was fitter he should live in a pig-sty than in a royal palace. They gave it very readily, and the duchess asked him if Altisidora was in his good graces.
He replied, “Senora, let me tell your ladyship that this damsel’s ailment comes entirely of idleness, and the cure for it is honest and constant employment. She herself has told me that lace is worn in hell; and as she must know how to make it, let it never be out of her hands; for when she is occupied in shifting the bobbins to and fro, the image or images of what she loves will not shift to and fro in her thoughts; this is the truth, this is my opinion, and this is my advice.”
“And mine,” added Sancho; “for I never in all my life saw a lace-maker that died for love; when damsels are at work their minds are more set on finishing their tasks than on thinking of their loves. I speak from my own experience; for when I’m digging I never think of my old woman; I mean my Teresa Panza, whom I love better than my own eyelids.” “You say well, Sancho,” said the duchess, “and I will take care that my Altisidora employs herself henceforward in needlework of some sort; for she is extremely expert at it.” “There is no occasion to have recourse to that remedy, senora,” said Altisidora; “for the mere thought of the cruelty with which this vagabond villain has treated me will suffice to blot him out of my memory without any other device; with your highness’s leave I will retire, not to have before my eyes, I won’t say his rueful countenance, but his abominable, ugly looks.” “That reminds me of the common saying, that ‘he that rails is ready to forgive,’” said the duke.
Altisidora then, pretending to wipe away her tears with a handkerchief, made an obeisance to her master and mistress and quitted the room.
“Ill luck betide thee, poor damsel,” said Sancho, “ill luck betide thee! Thou hast fallen in with a soul as dry as a rush and a heart as hard as oak; had it been me, i’faith ‘another cock would have crowed to thee.’”
So the conversation came to an end, and Don Quixote dressed himself and dined with the duke and duchess, and set out the same evening.
 
当晚，桑乔与唐吉诃德同住一屋，睡在一张带轱辘的床上。桑乔本想避免与唐吉诃德同居一室，他知道唐吉诃德肯定会问这问那，不让他睡觉。桑乔不想多说话，浑身的疼痛迟迟不消，连舌头也不利索了。他宁愿只身睡在茅屋里，也不愿同唐吉诃德共享那个华丽的房间。桑乔的担心果然有道理。唐吉诃德一上床就说道：
“桑乔，你觉得今晚的事情怎么样？冷酷无情的力量有多大，你亲眼看到了。不用箭，不用剑或其他兵器，仅凭我的冷酷就使阿尔蒂西多拉断送了性命。”
“她愿意什么时候死，愿意怎么死，就去死吧，”桑乔说，“反正跟我没关系。我这辈子既没爱上她，也没蔑视她。我真不明白，就像我上次说过的，阿尔蒂西多拉这个想入非非的姑娘的死活，跟桑乔•潘萨受罪有什么关系？现在我必须承认，世界上的确有魔法师和魔法。让上帝保佑我吧，因为我也免不了会中魔法。不过，现在您还是让我睡觉吧。别再问这问那了，除非您是想逼我从窗口跳出去。”
“那你就睡吧，桑乔朋友，”唐吉诃德说，“只要你在挨了针扎、又掐又拧和胡噜之后还能睡得着。”
“疼倒是不疼，”桑乔说，“最讨厌的就是乱胡噜，让那些女佣乱胡噜一气。我再求您，让我睡觉吧，清醒的时候感觉到的痛苦，睡着了就会大大减轻。”
“但愿如此，”唐吉诃德说，“愿上帝与你同在。”
两人睡觉了。这部巨著的作者锡德•哈迈德想利用这段时间讲述一下，公爵和公爵夫人为什么又想起了安排上文那场闹剧。原来，参孙•卡拉斯科学士扮作镜子骑士被唐吉诃德打败，计划落空以后，他仍然念念不忘，仍然想再试试运气。他碰到曾经给桑乔的老婆特雷莎•潘萨捎信送礼的那个仆人，打听到唐吉诃德的下落，另找了一套盔甲和一匹马，拿着一块画有白月的盾牌，雇了个农夫，牵着一匹骡子，驮上各种必要的物品，又去找唐吉诃德。不过，他没有用原来那个侍从托梅•塞西亚尔，免得让桑乔或唐吉诃德认出来。
参孙•卡拉斯科来到公爵的城堡。公爵告诉他唐吉诃德已经去了萨拉戈萨，准备参加在那儿举行的擂台赛。公爵还讲了戏弄桑乔，让他鞭打自己的屁股，为杜尔西内亚解除魔法的事，而且把桑乔欺骗唐吉诃德，说杜尔西内亚中了魔法，变成了农妇，而公爵夫人又让桑乔相信受骗的是他自己，杜尔西内亚真的中了魔法等等，都告诉了卡拉斯科。卡拉斯科感到很可笑，也感到惊奇，没想到桑乔竟如此单纯，而唐吉诃德又如此疯癫。公爵请求卡拉斯科在找到唐吉诃德后，无论是否战胜了唐吉诃德，都要回来把结果告诉他。卡拉斯科同意了。他启程去萨拉戈萨找唐吉诃德，没找到。他又继续找，结果出现了前面说过的情况。于是，他回到公爵的城堡，把情况告诉了公爵，包括他同唐吉诃德决斗前讲好的条件，而唐吉诃德作为一名忠实的游侠骑士，已同意回乡隐退一年。卡拉斯科说，但愿唐吉诃德的疯病在这一年里能够治愈，他也正是为此才化装而来的。他觉得，像唐吉诃德这样聪明的贵族竟变成了疯子，真是件令人遗憾的事情。
卡拉斯科后来告别公爵，回到了家乡，等着唐吉诃德随后归来。公爵对桑乔和唐吉诃德意犹未尽，利用这段时间又开了刚才叙述的那场玩笑。公爵派了很多佣人，让他们有的骑马，有的步行，等候在城堡附近唐吉诃德可能经过的各条道路上，一旦发现唐吉诃德和桑乔，无论是哄骗还是强拉，一定要把他们带到城堡来。佣人们果然找到了唐吉诃德和桑乔，并且通知了公爵。公爵事先已准备好，于是点燃了院子里的火炬和蜡烛，并且让阿尔蒂西多拉躺到灵台上，一切都演得那么惟妙惟肖，跟真的差不多。锡德•哈迈德还说，他觉得，无论是戏弄别人还是被人戏弄都够疯的。公爵和公爵夫人起劲地戏弄两个疯子，他们自己也快成两个疯子了。而那两个真疯子一个睡得正香，另一个却睡不着觉，正在胡思乱想。天亮了，他们也该起床了。特别是唐吉诃德，无论是胜是负，从来都不喜欢睡懒觉。
唐吉诃德真的以为那个阿尔蒂西多拉死而复生了，而她却接着她的主人继续拿唐吉诃德开心。她头上仍然戴着她在灵台上戴的那个花环，穿着一件绣着金花的白色塔夫绸长衫，头发披散在背上，手拿一根精制的乌木杖，走进了唐吉诃德的房间。唐吉诃德一见她进来，立刻慌作一团，缩进被单里，张口结舌，竟连一句客气话都说不出来了。阿尔蒂西多拉坐到床边的一把椅子上，长叹了一口气，娇声细气地说道：
“尊贵的女人和庄重的姑娘只有在万不得已的时候才不顾廉耻，毫无顾忌地当众说出自己内心的秘密。唐吉诃德大人，我现在就处于这种情况。我多情善感，但仍然不失体面，内心十分痛苦。我难以忍受，因而丧了命。你如此冷酷地对待我——
面对我的哀怨，你竟然无动于衷！
没有良心的骑士啊，我已经死了两天，至少凡是看见我的人都认为我已经死了两天。若不是爱情怜悯我，以这位善良侍从受难的方式解救了我，现在我还在冥府里呆着呢。”
“爱情完全可以让我的驴来做这件事嘛，”桑乔说，“那我就真得感谢它啦！但愿老天给你找一个比我主人更温存的情人。不过，姑娘，请你告诉我，你在冥府都看见什么了？真有地狱吗？凡是绝望而死的人，最后都得下地狱的。”
“实话告诉你吧，”阿尔蒂西多接着说，“我并没有完全死去，所以我也没进入地狱。如果真进了地狱，那我就无论如何也出不来了。不过，我的确到了地狱的门口，有十几个鬼正在打球。他们都穿着裤子和紧身上衣，衣领和袖口上都绣着佛兰德式的花边，露出四寸长的手腕子，这样可以显得手更长。他们手里拿着火焰拍。令我惊奇的是，他们打的不是球，而是书，书里装的是气或者烂棉花之类的东西，真新鲜。而且，更让我惊奇的是，一般打球的时候是赢家高兴输者悲，可是他们打球的时候，都骂骂咧咧地互相埋怨。”
“这不算新鲜，”桑乔说，“他们是鬼，所以不管玩不玩，不管赢没赢，他们都不会高兴。”
“大概是这样吧。”阿尔蒂西多拉说，“还有一件事我也挺奇怪，应该说我当时非常奇怪，那就是他们的书只打一下就坏，不能再打第二下。所以总得换书，不管是新书旧书，简直神了。其中有一本新书，装订得很好，刚打了一下，书就散了。一个鬼对另一个鬼说：‘你看那是什么书？’那个鬼答道：‘这是《唐吉诃德》下卷，但不是原作者锡德•哈迈德写的那本，而是一个阿拉贡人写的，据说他家在托德西利亚斯那儿。’‘把它拿开，’另一个鬼说，‘把它扔到地狱的深渊里去，再也别让我看到它。’‘这本书就那么差吗？’一个鬼问道。‘太差了，’第一个鬼说，‘差得就是我想写这么差都写不了。’他们又继续玩，打一些书。我听他们提到了唐吉诃德这个名字，而我热爱唐吉诃德，所以把这个情况尽力记了下来。”
“那肯定是一种虚幻，”唐吉诃德说，“因为世界上只有一个唐吉诃德。而且，这本书在这儿也曾传阅过，传来传去的，因为谁也不想要它。无论是听说这本书被扔进了地狱的深渊，还是听说它光明正大地在世上流传，我都不在乎，反正那本书里写的不是我。如果那本书写得好，写得真实，它就会流传于世；如果写得不好，它问世之后不久就会消失。”
阿尔蒂西多拉还想继续埋怨唐吉诃德，唐吉诃德却对她说道：
“我已经同你说过多次了，姑娘，你总是对我寄托情思，这让我很为难。我对此只能表示感谢，却不能予以回报。我生来就属于托博索的杜尔西内亚。如果真的存在命运的话，那么，命运已把我安排给了她。若想用另外一个美女来代替她在我心中的地位，那是根本不可能的事。这就足以让你明白了，你应该自重，不可能的事情谁也不能勉强。”
听到此话，阿尔蒂西多拉脸上骤然变色。她对唐吉诃德说道：
“好啊，你这个骨瘦如柴的家伙，榆木脑袋死心眼，比乡巴佬还固执，怎么说都不行！我真想扑过去，把你的眼睛挖出来！你这个战败的大人，挨揍的大人，难道你真以为我会为你去死吗？你昨天晚上看到的一切都是假的，我可不是那种女人！谁稍微碰我一下我都嫌疼，就更别说为了像你这样的笨蛋去死了。”
“这点我相信，”唐吉诃德说，“为情而死是笑话，那只是说说而已；要说真的去死，鬼才信呢。”
他们正说着话，前一天晚上唱歌的那位音乐家、歌手兼诗人进来了。他向唐吉诃德鞠了个躬，说道：
“骑士大人，我很早以前就听说了您的英名和事迹，非常崇拜您。请您把我当作您的一个仆人吧。”
唐吉诃德说：
“请您告诉我您是谁，我将以礼相待。”
小伙子说他就是前一天晚上唱歌的那个人。
“不错，”唐吉诃德说，“您的嗓子确实不错。不过，我觉得您唱的内容不一定合适，加西拉索的诗同这个姑娘的死有什么关系呢？”
“您别见怪，”小伙子说，“我们这些毛头诗人总是想写什么就写什么，想抄谁的就抄谁的，也不管对题不对题。如果不是胡唱乱写，那倒是怪事了。”
唐吉诃德正要答话，却被进来看望他的公爵和公爵夫人打断了。宾主高高兴兴地谈了很长时间，桑乔又说了很多趣话和傻话，让公爵和公爵夫人出乎意料，弄不清桑乔到底是聪明还是傻。唐吉诃德请求公爵和公爵夫人允许他当天就离开，因为像他这样的战败骑士应该住在简陋的小屋，而不是住在豪华的殿堂里。公爵和公爵夫人很痛快地答应了。公爵夫人问唐吉诃德是否喜欢阿尔蒂西多拉，唐吉诃德说道：
“大人，您应该明白，这个姑娘的毛病来源于闲散，解决的办法就是让她总有点儿正经活干。她说地狱里很时兴花边，而且她又会做花边，那就不应该让她的手闲着。织来织去，就没工夫想什么情人不情人的事情了。这是事实。这是我的看法，也是我的忠告。”
“这也是我的看法和忠告。”桑乔说道，“我这辈子还没听说过哪个织花边的姑娘为爱情而死呢。活儿一多，姑娘们就只想着完成任务，没时间去想什么爱情了。我的情况就是这样。我刨地的时候就爱把我的内人，我是说我的特雷莎•潘萨忘记，尽管我爱她胜过自己的眼睫毛。”
“你说得很对，桑乔，”伯爵夫人说，“以后我准备让阿尔蒂西多拉做点针线活。她的针线活很好。”
“没必要采用这种方法，夫人。”阿尔蒂西多拉说，“一想到这位流浪汉对我的冷酷无情，不必采用任何方法，我就会把他忘得一干二净。夫人，请允许我出去吧，免得这个已经不是可悲而是可恶的形象总是在我眼前晃动。”
“我觉得，”公爵说，“这就是人们常说的——
骂个不停，
怒气将平。”
阿尔蒂西多拉假装用手绢擦了擦眼泪，向公爵和公爵夫人鞠了个躬，然后走出了房间。
“我敢担保，”桑乔说，“姑娘，你运气不好，因为你碰到了一个心眼好、心肠硬的人。要是碰上我这样的人，情况就大不一样了。”
聊完以后，唐吉诃德穿好衣服，同公爵和公爵夫人一起吃了饭，当天下午就离开了。
Part 2 Chapter 71
The vanquished and afflicted Don Quixote went along very downcast in one respect and very happy in another. His sadness arose from his defeat, and his satisfaction from the thought of the virtue that lay in Sancho, as had been proved by the resurrection of Altisidora; though it was with difficulty he could persuade himself that the love-smitten damsel had been really dead. Sancho went along anything but cheerful, for it grieved him that Altisidora had not kept her promise of giving him the smocks; and turning this over in his mind he said to his master, “Surely, senor, I’m the most unlucky doctor in the world; there’s many a physician that, after killing the sick man he had to cure, requires to be paid for his work, though it is only signing a bit of a list of medicines, that the apothecary and not he makes up, and, there, his labour is over; but with me though to cure somebody else costs me drops of blood, smacks, pinches, pinproddings, and whippings, nobody gives me a farthing. Well, I swear by all that’s good if they put another patient into my hands, they’ll have to grease them for me before I cure him; for, as they say, ‘it’s by his singing the abbot gets his dinner,’ and I’m not going to believe that heaven has bestowed upon me the virtue I have, that I should be dealing it out to others all for nothing.”
“Thou art right, Sancho my friend,” said Don Quixote, “and Altisidora has behaved very badly in not giving thee the smocks she promised; and although that virtue of thine is gratis data — as it has cost thee no study whatever, any more than such study as thy personal sufferings may be — I can say for myself that if thou wouldst have payment for the lashes on account of the disenchant of Dulcinea, I would have given it to thee freely ere this. I am not sure, however, whether payment will comport with the cure, and I would not have the reward interfere with the medicine. I think there will be nothing lost by trying it; consider how much thou wouldst have, Sancho, and whip thyself at once, and pay thyself down with thine own hand, as thou hast money of mine.”
At this proposal Sancho opened his eyes and his ears a palm’s breadth wide, and in his heart very readily acquiesced in whipping himself, and said he to his master, “Very well then, senor, I’ll hold myself in readiness to gratify your worship’s wishes if I’m to profit by it; for the love of my wife and children forces me to seem grasping. Let your worship say how much you will pay me for each lash I give myself.”
“If Sancho,” replied Don Quixote, “I were to requite thee as the importance and nature of the cure deserves, the treasures of Venice, the mines of Potosi, would be insufficient to pay thee. See what thou hast of mine, and put a price on each lash.”
“Of them,” said Sancho, “there are three thousand three hundred and odd; of these I have given myself five, the rest remain; let the five go for the odd ones, and let us take the three thousand three hundred, which at a quarter real apiece (for I will not take less though the whole world should bid me) make three thousand three hundred quarter reals; the three thousand are one thousand five hundred half reals, which make seven hundred and fifty reals; and the three hundred make a hundred and fifty half reals, which come to seventy-five reals, which added to the seven hundred and fifty make eight hundred and twenty-five reals in all. These I will stop out of what I have belonging to your worship, and I’ll return home rich and content, though well whipped, for ‘there’s no taking trout’ — but I say no more.”
“O blessed Sancho! O dear Sancho!” said Don Quixote; “how we shall be bound to serve thee, Dulcinea and I, all the days of our lives that heaven may grant us! If she returns to her lost shape (and it cannot be but that she will) her misfortune will have been good fortune, and my defeat a most happy triumph. But look here, Sancho; when wilt thou begin the scourging? For if thou wilt make short work of it, I will give thee a hundred reals over and above.”
“When?” said Sancho; “this night without fail. Let your worship order it so that we pass it out of doors and in the open air, and I’ll scarify myself.”
Night, longed for by Don Quixote with the greatest anxiety in the world, came at last, though it seemed to him that the wheels of Apollo’s car had broken down, and that the day was drawing itself out longer than usual, just as is the case with lovers, who never make the reckoning of their desires agree with time. They made their way at length in among some pleasant trees that stood a little distance from the road, and there vacating Rocinante’s saddle and Dapple’s pack-saddle, they stretched themselves on the green grass and made their supper off Sancho’s stores, and he making a powerful and flexible whip out of Dapple’s halter and headstall retreated about twenty paces from his master among some beech trees. Don Quixote seeing him march off with such resolution and spirit, said to him, “Take care, my friend, not to cut thyself to pieces; allow the lashes to wait for one another, and do not be in so great a hurry as to run thyself out of breath midway; I mean, do not lay on so strenuously as to make thy life fail thee before thou hast reached the desired number; and that thou mayest not lose by a card too much or too little, I will station myself apart and count on my rosary here the lashes thou givest thyself. May heaven help thee as thy good intention deserves.”
“‘Pledges don’t distress a good payer,’” said Sancho; “I mean to lay on in such a way as without killing myself to hurt myself, for in that, no doubt, lies the essence of this miracle.”
He then stripped himself from the waist upwards, and snatching up the rope he began to lay on and Don Quixote to count the lashes. He might have given himself six or eight when he began to think the joke no trifle, and its price very low; and holding his hand for a moment, he told his master that he cried off on the score of a blind bargain, for each of those lashes ought to be paid for at the rate of half a real instead of a quarter.
“Go on, Sancho my friend, and be not disheartened,” said Don Quixote; “for I double the stakes as to price.”
“In that case,” said Sancho, “in God’s hand be it, and let it rain lashes.” But the rogue no longer laid them on his shoulders, but laid on to the trees, with such groans every now and then, that one would have thought at each of them his soul was being plucked up by the roots. Don Quixote, touched to the heart, and fearing he might make an end of himself, and that through Sancho’s imprudence he might miss his own object, said to him, “As thou livest, my friend, let the matter rest where it is, for the remedy seems to me a very rough one, and it will he well to have patience; ‘Zamora was not won in an hour.’ If I have not reckoned wrong thou hast given thyself over a thousand lashes; that is enough for the present; ‘for the ass,’ to put it in homely phrase, ‘bears the load, but not the overload.’”
“No, no, senor,” replied Sancho; “it shall never be said of me, ‘The money paid, the arms broken;’ go back a little further, your worship, and let me give myself at any rate a thousand lashes more; for in a couple of bouts like this we shall have finished off the lot, and there will be even cloth to spare.”
“As thou art in such a willing mood,” said Don Quixote, “may heaven aid thee; lay on and I’ll retire.”
Sancho returned to his task with so much resolution that he soon had the bark stripped off several trees, such was the severity with which he whipped himself; and one time, raising his voice, and giving a beech a tremendous lash, he cried out, “Here dies Samson, and all with him!”
 
At the sound of his piteous cry and of the stroke of the cruel lash, Don Quixote ran to him at once, and seizing the twisted halter that served him for a courbash, said to him, “Heaven forbid, Sancho my friend, that to please me thou shouldst lose thy life, which is needed for the support of thy wife and children; let Dulcinea wait for a better opportunity, and I will content myself with a hope soon to be realised, and have patience until thou hast gained fresh strength so as to finish off this business to the satisfaction of everybody.”
“As your worship will have it so, senor,” said Sancho, “so be it; but throw your cloak over my shoulders, for I’m sweating and I don’t want to take cold; it’s a risk that novice disciplinants run.”
Don Quixote obeyed, and stripping himself covered Sancho, who slept until the sun woke him; they then resumed their journey, which for the time being they brought to an end at a village that lay three leagues farther on. They dismounted at a hostelry which Don Quixote recognised as such and did not take to be a castle with moat, turrets, portcullis, and drawbridge; for ever since he had been vanquished he talked more rationally about everything, as will be shown presently. They quartered him in a room on the ground floor, where in place of leather hangings there were pieces of painted serge such as they commonly use in villages. On one of them was painted by some very poor hand the Rape of Helen, when the bold guest carried her off from Menelaus, and on the other was the story of Dido and AEneas, she on a high tower, as though she were making signals with a half sheet to her fugitive guest who was out at sea flying in a frigate or brigantine. He noticed in the two stories that Helen did not go very reluctantly, for she was laughing slyly and roguishly; but the fair Dido was shown dropping tears the size of walnuts from her eyes. Don Quixote as he looked at them observed, “Those two ladies were very unfortunate not to have been born in this age, and I unfortunate above all men not to have been born in theirs. Had I fallen in with those gentlemen, Troy would not have been burned or Carthage destroyed, for it would have been only for me to slay Paris, and all these misfortunes would have been avoided.”
“I’ll lay a bet,” said Sancho, “that before long there won’t be a tavern, roadside inn, hostelry, or barber’s shop where the story of our doings won’t be painted up; but I’d like it painted by the hand of a better painter than painted these.”
“Thou art right, Sancho,” said Don Quixote, “for this painter is like Orbaneja, a painter there was at Ubeda, who when they asked him what he was painting, used to say, ‘Whatever it may turn out; and if he chanced to paint a cock he would write under it, ‘This is a cock,’ for fear they might think it was a fox. The painter or writer, for it’s all the same, who published the history of this new Don Quixote that has come out, must have been one of this sort I think, Sancho, for he painted or wrote ‘whatever it might turn out;’ or perhaps he is like a poet called Mauleon that was about the Court some years ago, who used to answer at haphazard whatever he was asked, and on one asking him what Deum de Deo meant, he replied De donde diere. But, putting this aside, tell me, Sancho, hast thou a mind to have another turn at thyself to-night, and wouldst thou rather have it indoors or in the open air?”
“Egad, senor,” said Sancho, “for what I’m going to give myself, it comes all the same to me whether it is in a house or in the fields; still I’d like it to be among trees; for I think they are company for me and help me to bear my pain wonderfully.”
“And yet it must not be, Sancho my friend,” said Don Quixote; “but, to enable thee to recover strength, we must keep it for our own village; for at the latest we shall get there the day after tomorrow.”
Sancho said he might do as he pleased; but that for his own part he would like to finish off the business quickly before his blood cooled and while he had an appetite, because “in delay there is apt to be danger” very often, and “praying to God and plying the hammer,” and “one take was better than two I’ll give thee’s ,” and “a sparrow in the hand than a vulture on the wing.”
“For God’s sake, Sancho, no more proverbs!” exclaimed Don Quixote; “it seems to me thou art becoming sicut erat again; speak in a plain, simple, straight-forward way, as I have often told thee, and thou wilt find the good of it.”
“I don’t know what bad luck it is of mine,” argument to my mind; however, I mean to mend said Sancho, “but I can’t utter a word without a proverb that is not as good as an argument to my mind; however, I mean to mend if I can;” and so for the present the conversation ended.
 
战败以后失魂落魄的唐吉诃德一方面郁郁不乐，另一方面心里又很高兴。他悲的是自己被打败了，喜的是发现了桑乔的本领居然能让阿尔蒂西多拉起死回生。不过，唐吉诃德对此仍有一点儿疑虑，他以为阿尔蒂西多拉并没有真正死去。桑乔却一点儿也不高兴，因为阿尔蒂西多拉答应给他衬衫，却并没有给他。想来想去，桑乔对唐吉诃德说：
“说实话，大人，可以说我大概是世界上最倒霉的医生了。别的医生把他看的病人治死了，还让人家掏看病钱。他们做的只不过是开个药方，在上面签个名，而且药还不是他们做的，是药房做的，让病人喝下去就算完事了。可是我呢，为了给别人治病，我得流血得让人胡噜，还得让人又掐又扎又打，我自己却什么好处也没得到。我发誓，下次若是再有人找我看病，我得先让他给我上点儿供。修道院长还得靠唱歌挣饭吃呢。我就不信老天教给我看病的本领，却让我白白地给别人看病。”
“说得对，桑乔，”唐吉诃德说，“阿尔蒂西多拉答应给你衬衫却没给，她这样做很不好。尽管你那本领是白捡的，没费什么工夫去学，可你是通过挨打受罪才掌握这个本领的。从我这方面来说，如果你原来提出为解除附在杜尔西内亚身上的魔法而要报酬，我早就付你一大笔钱了。不过，我不知道拿了钱以后再治病是否还奏效。我可不想让金钱影响疗效。尽管如此，我觉得咱们不妨试试。桑乔，你先说，你想要多少钱，然后你就鞭打自己吧，钱最后扣除，反正我的钱都在你手里呢。”
桑乔一听这话立刻睁大了眼睛，把耳朵伸出一拃长。只要能得到优厚的报酬，他打心眼里愿意自己打自己。他对唐吉诃德说：
“那么好吧，大人，我愿意满足您的愿望，那样我自己也可以得到好处。我非常爱我的孩子和老婆，而这使得我需要钱。您说吧，我每打自己一鞭子您给我多少钱？”
“桑乔，”唐吉诃德说，“你这本是件功德无量的事，我即使把威尼斯的财宝和波托西的矿藏全都给你也不为过。你估计你身上有我多少钱，开个价吧，每打一鞭子给你多少钱。”
“一共得打三千三百多下，”桑乔说，“我已经打了自己五下，其余的还没动呢。把这五鞭子算作零头去掉，还剩下三千三百鞭子。就算每鞭一个夸尔蒂约吧，如果再少，谁逼我干我也不干了，那就是三千三百个夸尔蒂约；三千夸尔蒂约就是一千五百个二分之一的雷阿尔，相当于七百五十个雷阿尔；三百个夸尔蒂约就是一百五十个二分之一的雷阿尔，相当于七十五个雷阿尔；再加上七百五十个雷阿尔就是八百二十五个雷阿尔。这钱我得从您的钱里扣出来。那么我虽然挨了鞭子，回家时毕竟有钱了，心里也高兴。要想抓到鱼……我不说了①。”
①下半句是“就得湿裤子”。
“积德行善的桑乔啊，可爱的桑乔啊，”唐吉诃德说，“我和杜尔西内亚这辈子该如何报答你呀！如果这次能成功，她肯定会恢复原貌，她的不幸就会转化为幸运，我的失败也就会转化为极大的成功。桑乔，你看你什么时候开始鞭打呀？为了让你早点儿动手，我再给你加一百个雷阿尔。”
“什么时候？”桑乔说，“就今天晚上吧。你准备好，咱们今晚露宿在野外，我一定把自己打得皮开肉绽。”
唐吉诃德急不可耐地等着夜晚到来。他觉得太阳神的车子好像车轮坏了，他就像情人期待幽会那样，觉得那天特别长，而没有意识到是自己太着急了。夜晚终于到来了。他们来到离大路不远的一片葱郁的树林中，从马背上和驴背上下来，躺在绿色的草地上吃着桑乔带来的干粮。吃完东西后，桑乔用驴的缰绳做成一根粗而有弹性的鞭子，来到离主人大约二十步远的几棵山毛榉树中间。唐吉诃德见到桑乔那副毅然决然的样子，对他说道：
“朋友，别把自己打坏了，打几下就停一停，别急着使劲打，中间歇口气儿。我是说你别打得太狠了，结果还没打够数就送了命。为了避免你计错数，我在旁边用念珠给你记着鞭数。但愿老天成全你的好意。”
“没有金刚钻，就不揽瓷器活儿。”桑乔说，“我自有办法既不把自己打死，也不把自己打疼，这样才算显出我的神通。”
桑乔说完脱光了自己上半身的衣服，抓过鞭子开始抽打自己，唐吉诃德则开始为他计数。刚打了七八下，桑乔就意识到这个玩笑开得太重了，自己开的价也太低了。他停了一下，对唐吉诃德说刚才自己吃亏了，他觉得每鞭应该付半个雷阿尔，而不是一个夸尔蒂约。”
“你接着打吧，桑乔朋友，”唐吉诃德说，“别松劲儿，我把价钱提高一倍。”
“既然这样，”桑乔说，“那就听天由命吧，让鞭子像雨点一般地打来吧！”
可是，狡滑的桑乔并没有把鞭子打在自己的背上，而是打到了树干上，而且每打一下还呻吟一下，仿佛每一下都打得非常狠似的。唐吉诃德心肠软，怕桑乔不小心把自己打死，那么他的目的也就达不到了，便对桑乔说道：
“喂，朋友，为了你的性命，咱们这次还是到这儿为止吧。我觉得这副药太厉害了，得慢慢来。一口吃不成胖子。如果我没数错的话，你已经打了自己一千多下。这次打这么多就够了，驴虽然能负重，太重了也驮不动。”唐吉诃德说话就是这么粗鲁。
“不，不，大人，”桑乔说，“我可不想让人说我拿了钱就不认帐。您让开一点儿，让我再打一千下，有这么两回就可以完事了，也许还能有富余呢。”
“既然你能受得了，”唐吉诃德说，“愿老天助你一臂之力。
你打吧，我走开一点儿。”
桑乔又继续抽下去，把好几棵树的树皮都抽得脱落了。由此可见他抽得有多狠。有一次他狠命地抽打一棵山毛榉，竟提高了嗓门喊道：
“参孙啊，我宁愿与他们同归于尽！”
听到这凄厉的喊声和猛烈的抽打声，唐吉诃德赶紧跑了过来。他抓住桑乔那根用缰绳做的鞭子，对桑乔说道：
“桑乔，命运不允许你为了我的利益而牺牲你的性命。你还得养活老婆孩子呢，还是让杜尔西内亚再等个更好的机会吧。实现我的愿望已经指日可待，我知足了。你还是先养足精神，找个大家都合适的时候再了结这件事情吧。”
“我的大人，”桑乔说，“既然您愿意这样，就先打到这儿吧。您把您的外衣被到我背上吧。我出了一身汗，可千万别着凉，初次受鞭笞的人最怕着凉。”
唐吉诃德把自己的外衣脱下来给桑乔披上，自己仅穿着内衣。桑乔裹着唐吉诃德的外衣睡着了，一觉睡到了日出。两人继续赶路，走了三西里远。
他们在一个客店前下了马和驴。唐吉诃德认出那只是一个客店，而不是什么带有壕沟、瞭望塔、吊门和吊桥的城堡。自从吃了败仗以后，唐吉诃德比以前清醒多了，下面就可以证明这一点。他们被安排到楼下的一个房间里。在房间的墙壁上，按照当时农村的习惯挂着几幅旧皮雕画，其中一幅拙劣地画着海伦被特洛伊王子帕里斯从墨涅拉俄斯①，那儿拐走的情景；另一幅画的是狄多和埃涅阿斯的故事。狄多站在一座高塔上，挥舞着半条床单，向海上乘着三桅船或双桅船逃亡的远客示意。唐吉诃德发现画上的海伦并非不情愿，因为她正在偷偷地笑；而美丽的狄多脸上则淌出了胡桃般大小的泪珠。唐吉诃德说道：
①在希腊神话中，帕里斯从海伦的丈夫墨涅拉俄斯处拐走了海伦，引起了特洛伊战争。
“这两位夫人没有出生在当今的时代真是太不幸了，而我没有出生在她们那个年代也很不幸。那几个人若是遇到了我，特洛伊就不会被烧掉，伽太基也不会被毁掉，我一个人就可以把帕里斯杀掉，就可以免除这些灾难！”
“我敢打赌，”桑乔说，“不用多久，所有酒店、客店、旅馆或者理发店，都不会不把咱们的事迹画上去。我希望有比这些人更优秀的画家来画出咱们的事迹。”
“你说得对，桑乔，”唐吉诃德说，“而且，这个画家应该像乌韦达的画家奥瓦内哈那样，人家问他画的是什么东西时，他说：‘像什么就是什么。’如果他偶然画出了一只公鸡，他就会在下面注上：“这是一只公鸡。”免得别人以为他画的是一只狐狸。桑乔，绘画和写作其实是一回事，我觉得那个出版了唐吉诃德新传的家伙，大概就是这样的人，他写的像什么就算什么。他大概也像多年前宫廷的一位叫毛莱翁的诗人一样，别人问他什么他都信口乱说。别人问他Deum　de　Deo是什么意思，他就说是De　donde　diere①。不过，咱们暂且不谈这些吧。桑乔，你告诉我，你是否愿意今天晚上再打自己一顿？而且，你是愿意在屋里打呢，还是愿意在露天打？”
①前句为拉丁文“上帝啊”的意思，后句为西班牙文“无论从哪儿来”的意思。两句形相近，意义不同。
“大人呀，”桑乔说，“我觉得在屋里打和在野外打都一样，不过最好还是在树林里，这样我就会觉得有那些树同我在一起，可以神奇地同我分享痛苦。”
“那就算了，桑乔朋友，”唐吉诃德说，“你还是养精蓄锐，等咱们回到村里再打吧。最迟后天，咱们就可以到家了。”
桑乔说随唐吉诃德的便，但他愿意趁热打铁，一鼓作气，尽快把这件事了结：“‘拖拖拉拉，事情就玄’，‘板上钉钉事竟成’，‘一个在手胜过两个在望’，‘手里的鸟胜过天上的鹰’嘛。”
“看在上帝份上，你别再说俗语了。”唐吉诃德说，“我看你老毛病又犯了。你有话就直说，别绕弯说那么多乱七八糟的东西。我跟你说过多少次了，你以后会知道这对你有多大好处。”
“我也不知道这是什么毛病，”桑乔说，“不说点俗语，我就觉得没说清楚。不过，以后我尽可能改吧。”
他们这次谈话到此结束。
Part 2 Chapter 72
All that day Don Quixote and Sancho remained in the village and inn waiting for night, the one to finish off his task of scourging in the open country, the other to see it accomplished, for therein lay the accomplishment of his wishes. Meanwhile there arrived at the hostelry a traveller on horseback with three or four servants, one of whom said to him who appeared to be the master, “Here, Senor Don Alvaro Tarfe, your worship may take your siesta to-day; the quarters seem clean and cool.”
When he heard this Don Quixote said to Sancho, “Look here, Sancho; on turning over the leaves of that book of the Second Part of my history I think I came casually upon this name of Don Alvaro Tarfe.”
“Very likely,” said Sancho; “we had better let him dismount, and by-and-by we can ask about it.”
The gentleman dismounted, and the landlady gave him a room on the ground floor opposite Don Quixote’s and adorned with painted serge hangings of the same sort. The newly arrived gentleman put on a summer coat, and coming out to the gateway of the hostelry, which was wide and cool, addressing Don Quixote, who was pacing up and down there, he asked, “In what direction your worship bound, gentle sir?”
“To a village near this which is my own village,” replied Don Quixote; “and your worship, where are you bound for?”
“I am going to Granada, senor,” said the gentleman, “to my own country.”
“And a goodly country,” said Don Quixote; “but will your worship do me the favour of telling me your name, for it strikes me it is of more importance to me to know it than I can tell you.”
“My name is Don Alvaro Tarfe,” replied the traveller.
To which Don Quixote returned, “I have no doubt whatever that your worship is that Don Alvaro Tarfe who appears in print in the Second Part of the history of Don Quixote of La Mancha, lately printed and published by a new author.”
“I am the same,” replied the gentleman; “and that same Don Quixote, the principal personage in the said history, was a very great friend of mine, and it was I who took him away from home, or at least induced him to come to some jousts that were to be held at Saragossa, whither I was going myself; indeed, I showed him many kindnesses, and saved him from having his shoulders touched up by the executioner because of his extreme rashness.”
Tell me, Senor Don Alvaro,” said Don Quixote, “am I at all like that Don Quixote you talk of?”
“No indeed,” replied the traveller, “not a bit.”
“And that Don Quixote — ” said our one, “had he with him a squire called Sancho Panza?”
“He had,” said Don Alvaro; “but though he had the name of being very droll, I never heard him say anything that had any drollery in it.”
“That I can well believe,” said Sancho at this, “for to come out with drolleries is not in everybody’s line; and that Sancho your worship speaks of, gentle sir, must be some great scoundrel, dunderhead, and thief, all in one; for I am the real Sancho Panza, and I have more drolleries than if it rained them; let your worship only try; come along with me for a year or so, and you will find they fall from me at every turn, and so rich and so plentiful that though mostly I don’t know what I am saying I make everybody that hears me laugh. And the real Don Quixote of La Mancha, the famous, the valiant, the wise, the lover, the righter of wrongs, the guardian of minors and orphans, the protector of widows, the killer of damsels, he who has for his sole mistress the peerless Dulcinea del Toboso, is this gentleman before you, my master; all other Don Quixotes and all other Sancho Panzas are dreams and mockeries.”
“By God I believe it,” said Don Alvaro; “for you have uttered more drolleries, my friend, in the few words you have spoken than the other Sancho Panza in all I ever heard from him, and they were not a few. He was more greedy than well-spoken, and more dull than droll; and I am convinced that the enchanters who persecute Don Quixote the Good have been trying to persecute me with Don Quixote the Bad. But I don’t know what to say, for I am ready to swear I left him shut up in the Casa del Nuncio at Toledo, and here another Don Quixote turns up, though a very different one from mine.”
“I don’t know whether I am good,” said Don Quixote, “but I can safely say I am not ‘the Bad;’ and to prove it, let me tell you, Senor Don Alvaro Tarfe, I have never in my life been in Saragossa; so far from that, when it was told me that this imaginary Don Quixote had been present at the jousts in that city, I declined to enter it, in order to drag his falsehood before the face of the world; and so I went on straight to Barcelona, the treasure-house of courtesy, haven of strangers, asylum of the poor, home of the valiant, champion of the wronged, pleasant exchange of firm friendships, and city unrivalled in site and beauty. And though the adventures that befell me there are not by any means matters of enjoyment, but rather of regret, I do not regret them, simply because I have seen it. In a word, Senor Don Alvaro Tarfe, I am Don Quixote of La Mancha, the one that fame speaks of, and not the unlucky one that has attempted to usurp my name and deck himself out in my ideas. I entreat your worship by your devoir as a gentleman to be so good as to make a declaration before the alcalde of this village that you never in all your life saw me until now, and that neither am I the Don Quixote in print in the Second Part, nor this Sancho Panza, my squire, the one your worship knew.”
“That I will do most willingly,” replied Don Alvaro; “though it amazes me to find two Don Quixotes and two Sancho Panzas at once, as much alike in name as they differ in demeanour; and again I say and declare that what I saw I cannot have seen, and that what happened me cannot have happened.”
“No doubt your worship is enchanted, like my lady Dulcinea del Toboso,” said Sancho; “and would to heaven your disenchantment rested on my giving myself another three thousand and odd lashes like what I’m giving myself for her, for I’d lay them on without looking for anything.”
“I don’t understand that about the lashes,” said Don Alvaro. Sancho replied that it was a long story to tell, but he would tell him if they happened to he going the same road.
By this dinner-time arrived, and Don Quixote and Don Alvaro dined together. The alcalde of the village came by chance into the inn together with a notary, and Don Quixote laid a petition before him, showing that it was requisite for his rights that Don Alvaro Tarfe, the gentleman there present, should make a declaration before him that he did not know Don Quixote of La Mancha, also there present, and that he was not the one that was in print in a history entitled “Second Part of Don Quixote of La Mancha, by one Avellaneda of Tordesillas.” The alcalde finally put it in legal form, and the declaration was made with all the formalities required in such cases, at which Don Quixote and Sancho were in high delight, as if a declaration of the sort was of any great importance to them, and as if their words and deeds did not plainly show the difference between the two Don Quixotes and the two Sanchos. Many civilities and offers of service were exchanged by Don Alvaro and Don Quixote, in the course of which the great Manchegan displayed such good taste that he disabused Don Alvaro of the error he was under; and he, on his part, felt convinced he must have been enchanted, now that he had been brought in contact with two such opposite Don Quixotes.
Evening came, they set out from the village, and after about half a league two roads branched off, one leading to Don Quixote’s village, the other the road Don Alvaro was to follow. In this short interval Don Quixote told him of his unfortunate defeat, and of Dulcinea’s enchantment and the remedy, all which threw Don Alvaro into fresh amazement, and embracing Don Quixote and Sancho he went his way, and Don Quixote went his. That night he passed among trees again in order to give Sancho an opportunity of working out his penance, which he did in the same fashion as the night before, at the expense of the bark of the beech trees much more than of his back, of which he took such good care that the lashes would not have knocked off a fly had there been one there. The duped Don Quixote did not miss a single stroke of the count, and he found that together with those of the night before they made up three thousand and twenty-nine. The sun apparently had got up early to witness the sacrifice, and with his light they resumed their journey, discussing the deception practised on Don Alvaro, and saying how well done it was to have taken his declaration before a magistrate in such an unimpeachable form. That day and night they travelled on, nor did anything worth mention happen them, unless it was that in the course of the night Sancho finished off his task, whereat Don Quixote was beyond measure joyful. He watched for daylight, to see if along the road he should fall in with his already disenchanted lady Dulcinea; and as he pursued his journey there was no woman he met that he did not go up to, to see if she was Dulcinea del Toboso, as he held it absolutely certain that Merlin’s promises could not lie. Full of these thoughts and anxieties, they ascended a rising ground wherefrom they descried their own village, at the sight of which Sancho fell on his knees exclaiming, “Open thine eyes, longed-for home, and see how thy son Sancho Panza comes back to thee, if not very rich, very well whipped! Open thine arms and receive, too, thy son Don Quixote, who, if he comes vanquishe by the arm of another, comes victor over himself, which, as he himself has told me, is the greatest victory anyone can desire. I’m bringing back money, for if I was well whipped, I went mounted like a gentleman.”
 
“Have done with these fooleries,” said Don Quixote; “let us push on straight and get to our own place, where we will give free range to our fancies, and settle our plans for our future pastoral life.”
With this they descended the slope and directed their steps to their village.
 
唐吉诃德和桑乔那天在客店里等待天黑。他们一个想在野外把自己那顿鞭子打完，另一个想看看打完之后，自己的愿望是否能够实现。这时，一个骑马的客人带着三四个佣人来到了客店。一个佣人向那个看样子是主人的人说道：
“阿尔瓦罗•塔费大人，您可以先在这儿睡个午觉，这个客店既干净又凉快。”
唐吉诃德听到此话，对桑乔说道：
“你看，桑乔，我随手翻阅那本写我的小说下卷时，常见到这个阿尔瓦罗•塔费的名字。”
“那很可能，”桑乔说，“咱们等他下了马，然后去问问他。”
那人下了马，来到唐吉诃德对面的房间。
原来店主也给了他一个楼下的房间。在那间房子里也挂着同唐吉诃德这个房间一样的皮雕画。新来的客人换了身夏天的衣服，来到客店门口。门口宽敞凉爽。他见唐吉诃德正在门口散步，便问道：
“请问您要到哪儿去，尊贵的大人？”
唐吉诃德答道：
“离这儿不远的一个村庄。我是那儿的人。您准备到哪儿去？”
“我嘛，大人，”那人说道，“要去格拉纳达，那儿是我的故乡。”
“多好的地方啊！”唐吉诃德说，“请问您尊姓大名，这对我来说很重要，只是说来话长。”
“我叫阿尔瓦罗•塔费。”那个客人答道。
唐吉诃德说道：
“有一位文坛新手刚刚出版了一本《唐吉诃德》下卷，里面有个阿尔瓦罗•塔费，大概就是您吧。”
“正是我，”那人答道，“书里的那个主人公唐吉诃德是我的老朋友，是我把他从家乡带出去的。别的不说，至少他去萨拉戈萨参加擂台赛，就是我鼓动他去的。说实在的，我真帮了他不少忙，多亏我才使他背上免受了皮肉之苦。他这个人太鲁莽。”
“那么请您告诉我，您看我有点儿像您说的那个唐吉诃德吗？”
“不像，”那人说道，“一点儿也不像。”
“那个唐吉诃德还带了一个名叫桑乔•潘萨的侍从吧？”
唐吉诃德问道。
“是有个侍从。”阿尔瓦罗说道，“虽然我听说这个侍从很滑稽，却从来没听他说过一句俏皮话。”
“这点我完全相信，”桑乔这时也插嘴道，“因为俏皮话并不是人人都会说的。尊贵的大人，您说的那个桑乔准是个头号的笨蛋、傻瓜、盗贼，我才是真正的桑乔•潘萨呢。我妙语连珠，不信您可以试试。您跟着我至少一年，就会发现我开口就是俏皮话，常常是我还没意识到自己说了什么，就把听我说话的人全都逗笑了。曼查的那位真正的唐吉诃德声名显赫，既勇敢又聪明。他多情善感，铲除邪恶，扶弱济贫，保护寡妇，惹得姑娘们为他死去活来，他唯一的心上人就是托博索的杜尔西内亚。他就是您眼前这位大人。他是我的主人，其他的所有唐吉诃德和桑乔都是骗人的。”
“天哪，一点儿也不错。”阿尔瓦罗说，“朋友，你开口几句就说得妙不可言。我原来见过的那个桑乔说得倒是不少，可是没你说得风趣。他不能说却挺能吃，不滑稽却挺傻。我敢肯定，那些专同唐吉诃德作对的魔法师也想借那个坏唐吉诃德来同我作对。我不知道该怎么说才好，但我敢发誓，那个唐吉诃德已经让我送到托莱多的天神院①去治疗了，现在又冒出一个唐吉诃德来，虽然这位大人与我那个唐吉诃德大不相同。”
①这里指疯人院。
“我是不是好人，我不知道。”唐吉诃德说，“我只知道我不是坏人。为了证明这一点，我想告诉您，阿尔瓦罗•塔费大人，我这辈子从未去过萨拉戈萨。我听说那个冒牌的唐吉诃德已经去了萨拉戈萨，准备参加擂台赛，我就不去了，以正视听。于是我直奔巴塞罗那。那儿是礼仪之邦，是外来人的安身处，是济贫处，是勇士的摇篮。它给受难之人以慰籍，给真正的朋友以交往的场所，无论地势或者风景，都是独一无二的理想之处。
“虽然我也在那儿遇到一些不愉快的事情，而且很糟糕，但毕竟亲眼见到了它，总算不虚此行。总之，阿尔瓦罗•塔费大人，我就是曼查的那位名扬四海的唐吉诃德，而不是什么欺世盗名的可怜虫。您既然是位绅士，我就请求您当着这个村的长官的面声明，您是平生第一次见到我，我不是那本书的下卷里说的那个唐吉诃德，我的这个侍从桑乔•潘萨也不是您见过的那个桑乔。”
“乐于从命。”阿尔瓦罗说，“想不到我竟同时见到了两个名字完全相同、行为却大相径庭的唐吉诃德和桑乔，真让我惊讶。我简直不能相信我见到和遇到的事情了。”
“您肯定像托博索的杜尔西内亚一样中了魔法。”桑乔说，“您可以祈求老天，让我像对待她那样，为解除附在您身上的魔法而再打自己三千多鞭子。我一定尽力，而且分文不取。”
“我不明白什么鞭子不鞭子。”阿尔瓦罗说。
桑乔说，说来话长，不过既然同路，可以在路上再慢慢讲。这时，到了吃饭的时间，唐吉诃德和阿尔瓦罗一起进餐。恰巧该村的村长来到了客店，还带了个文书。唐吉诃德请求村长，说他有权力让那位在场的绅士阿尔瓦罗•塔费在村长面前发表声明，这位绅士刚才居然没认出曼查的唐吉诃德，而这个唐吉诃德并不是托德西利亚斯一个叫阿韦利亚内达的人出版的一本《唐吉诃德》下卷里说的那个唐吉诃德。村长按照法律规定办理了这个声明，而且这个声明具有完全的法律效力。唐吉诃德和桑乔非常高兴，觉得这个声明对于他们很重要，似乎他们自己的言行还不足以证明两个唐吉诃德和两个桑乔之间的差别似的。阿尔瓦罗和唐吉诃德寒暄了一番，感觉这位曼查的唐吉诃德很明世理，于是阿尔瓦罗真的以为是自己错了，竟遇到了两个完全不同的唐吉诃德，以为是自己中了魔法。
当天下午，他们离开了那个客店，走了约半西里路，来到一个岔路口，一条路通向唐吉诃德居住的村庄，另一条则是阿尔瓦罗要走的那条路。在这段短短的路程上，唐吉诃德向阿尔瓦罗讲述了他被打败的倒霉事，以及杜尔西内亚如何中了魔法又如何摆脱魔法的事，令阿尔瓦罗惊讶不已。阿尔瓦罗拥抱了唐吉诃德和桑乔之后继续赶自己的路。唐吉诃德也接着往前走。当晚，他在一片小树林里过夜，以便让桑乔完成他尚未完成的那部分鞭笞。桑乔又像前一天晚上那样如法炮制，结果没伤着自己的背，倒把几棵山毛榉的树皮打得够呛。桑乔根本就没抽自己的背。假如他背上有个苍蝇，也不会被鞭笞轰走。唐吉诃德丝毫不差地计着数，加上前一夜打的，一共打了三千零二十九下。太阳好像早早就升起来了，想看看桑乔怎样折腾自己。天亮之后，他们又继续赶路，一路上谈的无非是阿尔瓦罗如何受了骗，他们又如何办理了正式的法律文件。
他们走了一天一夜，一路上没遇到什么值得记叙的事情。由于桑乔完成了鞭笞的任务，唐吉诃德特别高兴。他期待着天明，想看看能否在路上遇到他那位已经摆脱了魔法的杜尔西内亚。路上每碰到一个女人，唐吉诃德都要看看是不是杜尔西内亚。他坚信梅尔林的话不会有错。他这样胡思乱想着，同桑乔一起爬上了一个山坡，从山坡上可以看到他们的村庄。
桑乔一看到村庄，便跪下来说道：
“我渴望已久的家乡啊，睁开眼睛看看吧，你的儿子桑乔•潘萨回来了。他虽然没能发财，却挨足了鞭子。张开你的臂膀，也请接受你的儿子唐吉诃德吧。他虽然败在了别人手下，却战胜了自己。他对我说过，这是他所企盼的最大胜利。我现在手里有钱了。虽然我狠狠地挨了鞭子，却也算个体面的人物了。”
“别犯傻了，”唐吉诃德说，“咱们还是径直回村吧。回去以后咱们就充分发挥咱们的想象力，筹划一下咱们的牧人乐园生活吧。”
说着两人就下了山坡，进村去了。
Part 2 Chapter 73
At the entrance of the village, so says Cide Hamete, Don Quixote saw two boys quarrelling on the village threshing-floor one of whom said to the other, “Take it easy, Periquillo; thou shalt never see it again as long as thou livest.”
Don Quixote heard this, and said he to Sancho, “Dost thou not mark, friend, what that boy said, ‘Thou shalt never see it again as long as thou livest’?”
“Well,” said Sancho, “what does it matter if the boy said so?”
“What!” said Don Quixote, “dost thou not see that, applied to the object of my desires, the words mean that I am never to see Dulcinea more?”
Sancho was about to answer, when his attention was diverted by seeing a hare come flying across the plain pursued by several greyhounds and sportsmen. In its terror it ran to take shelter and hide itself under Dapple. Sancho caught it alive and presented it to Don Quixote, who was saying, “Malum signum, malum signum! a hare flies, greyhounds chase it, Dulcinea appears not.”
“Your worship’s a strange man,” said Sancho; “let’s take it for granted that this hare is Dulcinea, and these greyhounds chasing it the malignant enchanters who turned her into a country wench; she flies, and I catch her and put her into your worship’s hands, and you hold her in your arms and cherish her; what bad sign is that, or what ill omen is there to be found here?”
The two boys who had been quarrelling came over to look at the hare, and Sancho asked one of them what their quarrel was about. He was answered by the one who had said, “Thou shalt never see it again as long as thou livest,” that he had taken a cage full of crickets from the other boy, and did not mean to give it back to him as long as he lived. Sancho took out four cuartos from his pocket and gave them to the boy for the cage, which he placed in Don Quixote’s hands, saying, “There, senor! there are the omens broken and destroyed, and they have no more to do with our affairs, to my thinking, fool as I am, than with last year’s clouds; and if I remember rightly I have heard the curate of our village say that it does not become Christians or sensible people to give any heed to these silly things; and even you yourself said the same to me some time ago, telling me that all Christians who minded omens were fools; but there’s no need of making words about it; let us push on and go into our village.”
The sportsmen came up and asked for their hare, which Don Quixote gave them. They then went on, and upon the green at the entrance of the town they came upon the curate and the bachelor Samson Carrasco busy with their breviaries. It should be mentioned that Sancho had thrown, by way of a sumpter-cloth, over Dapple and over the bundle of armour, the buckram robe painted with flames which they had put upon him at the duke’s castle the night Altisidora came back to life. He had also fixed the mitre on Dapple’s head, the oddest transformation and decoration that ever ass in the world underwent. They were at once recognised by both the curate and the bachelor, who came towards them with open arms. Don Quixote dismounted and received them with a close embrace; and the boys, who are lynxes that nothing escapes, spied out the ass’s mitre and came running to see it, calling out to one another, “Come here, boys, and see Sancho Panza’s ass figged out finer than Mingo, and Don Quixote’s beast leaner than ever.”
So at length, with the boys capering round them, and accompanied by the curate and the bachelor, they made their entrance into the town, and proceeded to Don Quixote’s house, at the door of which they found his housekeeper and niece, whom the news of his arrival had already reached. It had been brought to Teresa Panza, Sancho’s wife, as well, and she with her hair all loose and half naked, dragging Sanchica her daughter by the hand, ran out to meet her husband; but seeing him coming in by no means as good case as she thought a governor ought to be, she said to him, “How is it you come this way, husband? It seems to me you come tramping and footsore, and looking more like a disorderly vagabond than a governor.”
“Hold your tongue, Teresa,” said Sancho; “often ‘where there are pegs there are no flitches;’ let’s go into the house and there you’ll hear strange things. I bring money, and that’s the main thing, got by my own industry without wronging anybody.”
“You bring the money, my good husband,” said Teresa, “and no matter whether it was got this way or that; for, however you may have got it, you’ll not have brought any new practice into the world.”
Sanchica embraced her father and asked him if he brought her anything, for she had been looking out for him as for the showers of May; and she taking hold of him by the girdle on one side, and his wife by the hand, while the daughter led Dapple, they made for their house, leaving Don Quixote in his, in the hands of his niece and housekeeper, and in the company of the curate and the bachelor.
Don Quixote at once, without any regard to time or season, withdrew in private with the bachelor and the curate, and in a few words told them of his defeat, and of the engagement he was under not to quit his village for a year, which he meant to keep to the letter without departing a hair’s breadth from it, as became a knight-errant bound by scrupulous good faith and the laws of knight-errantry; and of how he thought of turning shepherd for that year, and taking his diversion in the solitude of the fields, where he could with perfect freedom give range to his thoughts of love while he followed the virtuous pastoral calling; and he besought them, if they had not a great deal to do and were not prevented by more important business, to consent to be his companions, for he would buy sheep enough to qualify them for shepherds; and the most important point of the whole affair, he could tell them, was settled, for he had given them names that would fit them to a T. The curate asked what they were. Don Quixote replied that he himself was to be called the shepherd Quixotize and the bachelor the shepherd Carrascon, and the curate the shepherd Curambro, and Sancho Panza the shepherd Pancino.
Both were astounded at Don Quixote’s new craze; however, lest he should once more make off out of the village from them in pursuit of his chivalry, they trusting that in the course of the year he might be cured, fell in with his new project, applauded his crazy idea as a bright one, and offered to share the life with him. “And what’s more,” said Samson Carrasco, “I am, as all the world knows, a very famous poet, and I’ll be always making verses, pastoral, or courtly, or as it may come into my head, to pass away our time in those secluded regions where we shall be roaming. But what is most needful, sirs, is that each of us should choose the name of the shepherdess he means to glorify in his verses, and that we should not leave a tree, be it ever so hard, without writing up and carving her name on it, as is the habit and custom of love-smitten shepherds.”
“That’s the very thing,” said Don Quixote; “though I am relieved from looking for the name of an imaginary shepherdess, for there’s the peerless Dulcinea del Toboso, the glory of these brooksides, the ornament of these meadows, the mainstay of beauty, the cream of all the graces, and, in a word, the being to whom all praise is appropriate, be it ever so hyperbolical.”
“Very true,” said the curate; “but we the others must look about for accommodating shepherdesses that will answer our purpose one way or another.”
“And,” added Samson Carrasco, “if they fail us, we can call them by the names of the ones in print that the world is filled with, Filidas, Amarilises, Dianas, Fleridas, Galateas, Belisardas; for as they sell them in the market-places we may fairly buy them and make them our own. If my lady, or I should say my shepherdess, happens to be called Ana, I’ll sing her praises under the name of Anarda, and if Francisca, I’ll call her Francenia, and if Lucia, Lucinda, for it all comes to the same thing; and Sancho Panza, if he joins this fraternity, may glorify his wife Teresa Panza as Teresaina.”
Don Quixote laughed at the adaptation of the name, and the curate bestowed vast praise upon the worthy and honourable resolution he had made, and again offered to bear him company all the time that he could spare from his imperative duties. And so they took their leave of him, recommending and beseeching him to take care of his health and treat himself to a suitable diet.
It so happened his niece and the housekeeper overheard all the three of them said; and as soon as they were gone they both of them came in to Don Quixote, and said the niece, “What’s this, uncle? Now that we were thinking you had come back to stay at home and lead a quiet respectable life there, are you going to get into fresh entanglements, and turn ‘young shepherd, thou that comest here, young shepherd going there?’ Nay! indeed ‘the straw is too hard now to make pipes of.’”
“And,” added the housekeeper, “will your worship be able to bear, out in the fields, the heats of summer, and the chills of winter, and the howling of the wolves? Not you; for that’s a life and a business for hardy men, bred and seasoned to such work almost from the time they were in swaddling-clothes. Why, to make choice of evils, it’s better to be a knight-errant than a shepherd! Look here, senor; take my advice — and I’m not giving it to you full of bread and wine, but fasting, and with fifty years upon my head — stay at home, look after your affairs, go often to confession, be good to the poor, and upon my soul be it if any evil comes to you.”
“Hold your peace, my daughters,” said Don Quixote; “I know very well what my duty is; help me to bed, for I don’t feel very well; and rest assured that, knight-errant now or wandering shepherd to be, I shall never fail to have a care for your interests, as you will see in the end.” And the good wenches (for that they undoubtedly were), the housekeeper and niece, helped him to bed, where they gave him something to eat and made him as comfortable as possible.
 
锡德•哈迈德说，唐吉诃德进村时，看到两个孩子正在打谷场上吵架。一个孩子说：
“你死心吧，佩里吉略，你这辈子别想再看到她了。”
唐吉诃德听见了，问桑乔：
“你听见那个孩子的话了吗，朋友？他说：‘你这辈子别想再看到她了。’”
“听见了，”桑乔说，“那又有什么关系呢？”
“什么关系？”唐吉诃德说，“那句话是冲我说的，意思是说我这辈子别想再看到杜尔西内亚了。”
桑乔刚要说话，忽然看见野地里有一只兔子正向他们跑来，许多猎狗和猎人在后面追赶。兔子吓得东躲西藏，最后窜到了驴肚子下面。桑乔伸手抓住兔子，把它交给了唐吉诃德。唐吉诃德喃喃自语道：
“不祥之兆，不祥之兆！猎狗追，兔子跑，杜尔西内亚见不到！”
“您真怪，”桑乔说，“就算这只兔子是杜尔西内亚，后面追赶的是把她变成农妇的可恶的魔法师，她不是已经脱身了吗？而且，我又把它抓住交给了您，您正把它抱在怀里抚摸，这里有什么不祥之兆呢？”
两个吵架的孩子也跑来看兔子。桑乔问其中一个孩子刚才为什么吵架。那个说过“你这辈子别想再见到她了”的孩子说，他拿了另外一个孩子的一笼子蟋蟀，打算一辈子不还了。桑乔从衣袋里掏出四文钱，送给那个孩子，向他要过那个笼子，再把它交给唐吉诃德，并且说道：
“大人，这样不祥之兆就被打消了。其实，它和咱们的事根本没关系。我虽然笨，可是我知道，这些预兆只是过眼烟云。如果我没记错的话，我记得咱们村的神甫说过，基督徒和聪明人不该注意这些枝节小事。您前几天也对我说过，相信兆头的人都是傻瓜。咱们不值得在这些事情上纠缠，还是进村吧。”
猎人们跑过来要兔子，唐吉诃德把兔子给了他们。两人又往前走，在村口看到神甫和卡拉斯科学士正在一块草地上祈祷。应该说一下，在阿尔蒂西多拉还魂的那天晚上，桑乔曾穿过一件画满火焰的麻布衣服。现在，桑乔却把这件衣服当作盖布盖住了驴和放在驴背上的盔甲，还把那顶纸高帽戴到了驴头上。可以说，世界上从没有驴是这种打扮。神甫和学士马上认出了唐吉诃德和桑乔，张开双臂过来迎接他们。唐吉诃德下了马，紧紧拥抱了神甫和学士。孩子们眼尖，一下子就发现了驴头上的纸高帽，都跑过来看，而且还互相招呼着：
“伙伴们，快来看啊，桑乔•潘萨的驴打扮得多么漂亮！
唐吉诃德的马可是比以前更瘦了。”
唐吉诃德和桑乔在神甫和学士的陪伴下以及孩子们的簇拥下进了村子。他们先来到唐吉诃德家。唐吉诃德的女管家和外甥女听说唐吉诃德要回来了，正在门口等着呢。桑乔的老婆特雷莎•潘萨也听到了消息，披头散发、袒胸露背地拉着女儿桑奇卡跑来找丈夫。她见桑乔没有如她想象的那样像个总督似的穿得衣冠楚楚，便对桑乔说道：
“你怎么这个样子呀，我的丈夫？看你像是走回来的，一定把脚走疼了。我看你像个逃难的，哪里像什么总督！”
“别说了，特雷莎，”桑乔说，“以为有好事的地方，常常根本就没那么回事。咱们先回家吧，我有好多新鲜事要告诉你呢。我带钱回来了。这是大事。钱是我想法子挣的，谁也没坑。”
“别管是怎么挣的，”特雷莎说，“只要带回钱来就行，我的好丈夫。无论怎样挣，你也不会挣出什么新花样。”
桑奇卡抱着父亲，问他为自己带了什么东西，她一直在等着呢。女儿一手抓着桑乔的腰带，一手牵着驴，特雷莎拉着丈夫的手，一起回了家。唐吉诃德家里只剩下唐吉诃德、女管家和外甥女。神甫和学士也留下来陪伴唐吉诃德。
唐吉诃德立刻把学士和神甫拉到一边，简单地介绍了自己如何吃败仗，按讲定的条件得在家里呆一年；他是真正的游侠骑士，决心恪守条件的规定，不越雷池一步。他又说，他打算这一段时间过无忧无虑的牧羊生活，在田野树林里抒发他的情思。他还请求神甫和学士，如果没有其他重大的事情，就来跟他作伴。他要买一大群羊，并且已经为他们取了世界上最有牧歌风味的名字。神甫问他都是什么名字。唐吉诃德说，他本人叫牧羊人吉诃蒂斯，学士叫牧羊人卡拉斯孔，神甫叫牧羊人库里昂布罗，桑乔•潘萨叫牧羊人潘希诺。
神甫和学士眼见他的疯劲又有了新花样，十分吃惊，但是想到这样可以把他留在家乡，并且可望在这一年内治好他那游侠骑士的疯癫，于是就接受了他这种牧羊生涯的痴想，并且表示愿与他共度牧羊生涯。
“大家都知道，”参孙•卡拉斯科说，“我作诗是非常在行的，我可以写好多好多牧歌。咱们在田野里漫游时，可以引吭高歌。不过，先生们，有件事可别忘了：咱们得给自己歌颂的牧羊姑娘选一个名字，这是绝对必要的。还别忘了多情的牧羊人的习惯：不管树有多硬，要在每棵树上都刻上那个牧羊姑娘的名字。”
“你讲得太对了，”唐吉诃德答道，“不过，我是不用费神给虚拟的牧羊姑娘找名字了，因为我的心已经被绝代佳人杜尔西内亚占据了。她是河边的光环，草原的花朵，美女的典范，风雅的楷模，总之，对她极尽赞颂也毫不过分。”
“是这样，”神甫说，“但我们还得为我们的牧羊姑娘起几个名字，即使没有很合适的，也得找几个差不多的。”
参孙•卡拉斯科说道：
“如果没有合适的名字，咱们可以借用书上的。书上有的是，什么菲丽达、阿玛丽丝、迪亚娜丝、弗莱丽达丝、加拉特娅丝、贝丽萨尔达丝等等。这些在市场上就有卖的，咱们买回来就是咱们的。假如我那位夫人，最好说我那位牧羊姑娘，名叫安娜，我就以安娜尔达的名字歌颂她；如果她叫弗朗西丝卡，我就叫她弗朗塞妮亚；她若是叫露西亚，我就叫她露辛达，这就行了。如果桑乔•潘萨愿意加入进来，可以把他老婆特雷莎•潘萨称为特雷萨依娜。”
唐吉诃德听到这些名字，不禁笑了。神甫再次称赞他的决定英明，表示只要不忙就来跟他作伴。然后他们二人告辞，同时还劝他注意保养身体。
女管家和外甥女跟往常一样偷听了他们的谈话。神甫和学士刚走，她们俩就进来找唐吉诃德。外甥女说：
“这是怎么回事，舅舅？我们以为您这次回来会老老实实地呆在家里，过点清闲日子呢，可是您又想起了什么馊主意，说什么——
小牧童你来了，
小牧童你又走了。
老实说吧，您这把年纪，干什么都力不从心了。”
女管家也说道：
“大人，旷野里奔波，夏天的烈日，冬天的寒霜，您怎么受得了？还有豺狼的嚎叫哩！老天保佑！大人，您连想也别去想。那行当只配给天生干那活儿的人去干，给健壮如牛的人去干。当游侠骑士纵有千不好，万不好，也比当牧羊人强。说实话，主人，听我的忠告吧。我并不是吃饱了撑得胡乱说，我还在吃斋修身哩。我都五十多了，还是听我的吧：守在家里，照料一下家业，常做忏悔，帮穷人做点好事，要是有什么灾害降临，全由我顶着好了。”
唐吉诃德说：“孩子们，别多说，该干什么我心中有数。我这会儿觉得有点不舒服，你们扶我上床吧。你们放心，不管我当游侠骑士还是当牧羊人，我都会照顾你们，到时你们就知道了。”
外甥女和女管家无疑都是好脾气，她们扶他上了床，给他吃的，精心地照料他睡下。
Part 2 Chapter 74
As nothing that is man’s can last for ever, but all tends ever downwards from its beginning to its end, and above all man’s life, and as Don Quixote’s enjoyed no special dispensation from heaven to stay its course, its end and close came when he least looked for it. For — whether it was of the dejection the thought of his defeat produced, or of heaven’s will that so ordered it — a fever settled upon him and kept him in his bed for six days, during which he was often visited by his friends the curate, the bachelor, and the barber, while his good squire Sancho Panza never quitted his bedside. They, persuaded that it was grief at finding himself vanquished, and the object of his heart, the liberation and disenchantment of Dulcinea, unattained, that kept him in this state, strove by all the means in their power to cheer him up; the bachelor bidding him take heart and get up to begin his pastoral life, for which he himself, he said, had already composed an eclogue that would take the shine out of all Sannazaro had ever written, and had bought with his own money two famous dogs to guard the flock, one called Barcino and the other Butron, which a herdsman of Quintanar had sold him.
But for all this Don Quixote could not shake off his sadness. His friends called in the doctor, who felt his pulse and was not very well satisfied with it, and said that in any case it would be well for him to attend to the health of his soul, as that of his body was in a bad way. Don Quixote heard this calmly; but not so his housekeeper, his niece, and his squire, who fell weeping bitterly, as if they had him lying dead before them. The doctor’s opinion was that melancholy and depression were bringing him to his end. Don Quixote begged them to leave him to himself, as he had a wish to sleep a little. They obeyed, and he slept at one stretch, as the saying is, more than six hours, so that the housekeeper and niece thought he was going to sleep for ever. But at the end of that time he woke up, and in a loud voice exclaimed, “Blessed be Almighty God, who has shown me such goodness. In truth his mercies are boundless, and the sins of men can neither limit them nor keep them back!”
The niece listened with attention to her uncle’s words, and they struck her as more coherent than what usually fell from him, at least during his illness, so she asked, “What are you saying, senor? Has anything strange occurred? What mercies or what sins of men are you talking of?”
“The mercies, niece,” said Don Quixote, “are those that God has this moment shown me, and with him, as I said, my sins are no impediment to them. My reason is now free and clear, rid of the dark shadows of ignorance that my unhappy constant study of those detestable books of chivalry cast over it. Now I see through their absurdities and deceptions, and it only grieves me that this destruction of my illusions has come so late that it leaves me no time to make some amends by reading other books that might be a light to my soul. Niece, I feel myself at the point of death, and I would fain meet it in such a way as to show that my life has not been so ill that I should leave behind me the name of a madman; for though I have been one, I would not that the fact should be made plainer at my death. Call in to me, my dear, my good friends the curate, the bachelor Samson Carrasco, and Master Nicholas the barber, for I wish to confess and make my will.” But his niece was saved the trouble by the entrance of the three. The instant Don Quixote saw them he exclaimed, “Good news for you, good sirs, that I am no longer Don Quixote of La Mancha, but Alonso Quixano, whose way of life won for him the name of Good. Now am I the enemy of Amadis of Gaul and of the whole countless troop of his descendants; odious to me now are all the profane stories of knight-errantry; now I perceive my folly, and the peril into which reading them brought me; now, by God’s mercy schooled into my right senses, I loathe them.”
When the three heard him speak in this way, they had no doubt whatever that some new craze had taken possession of him; and said Samson, “What? Senor Don Quixote! Now that we have intelligence of the lady Dulcinea being disenchanted, are you taking this line; now, just as we are on the point of becoming shepherds, to pass our lives singing, like princes, are you thinking of turning hermit? Hush, for heaven’s sake, be rational and let’s have no more nonsense.”
“All that nonsense,” said Don Quixote, “that until now has been a reality to my hurt, my death will, with heaven’s help, turn to my good. I feel, sirs, that I am rapidly drawing near death; a truce to jesting; let me have a confessor to confess me, and a notary to make my will; for in extremities like this, man must not trifle with his soul; and while the curate is confessing me let some one, I beg, go for the notary.”
They looked at one another, wondering at Don Quixote’s words; but, though uncertain, they were inclined to believe him, and one of the signs by which they came to the conclusion he was dying was this so sudden and complete return to his senses after having been mad; for to the words already quoted he added much more, so well expressed, so devout, and so rational, as to banish all doubt and convince them that he was sound of mind. The curate turned them all out, and left alone with him confessed him. The bachelor went for the notary and returned shortly afterwards with him and with Sancho, who, having already learned from the bachelor the condition his master was in, and finding the housekeeper and niece weeping, began to blubber and shed tears.
The confession over, the curate came out saying, “Alonso Quixano the Good is indeed dying, and is indeed in his right mind; we may now go in to him while he makes his will.”
This news gave a tremendous impulse to the brimming eyes of the housekeeper, niece, and Sancho Panza his good squire, making the tears burst from their eyes and a host of sighs from their hearts; for of a truth, as has been said more than once, whether as plain Alonso Quixano the Good, or as Don Quixote of La Mancha, Don Quixote was always of a gentle disposition and kindly in all his ways, and hence he was beloved, not only by those of his own house, but by all who knew him.
The notary came in with the rest, and as soon as the preamble of the had been set out and Don Quixote had commended his soul to God with all the devout formalities that are usual, coming to the bequests, he said, “Item, it is my will that, touching certain moneys in the hands of Sancho Panza (whom in my madness I made my squire), inasmuch as between him and me there have been certain accounts and debits and credits, no claim be made against him, nor any account demanded of him in respect of them; but that if anything remain over and above, after he has paid himself what I owe him, the balance, which will be but little, shall be his, and much good may it do him; and if, as when I was mad I had a share in giving him the government of an island, so, now that I am in my senses, I could give him that of a kingdom, it should be his, for the simplicity of his character and the fidelity of his conduct deserve it.” And then, turning to Sancho, he said, “Forgive me, my friend, that I led thee to seem as mad as myself, making thee fall into the same error I myself fell into, that there were and still are knights-errant in the world.”
“Ah!” said Sancho weeping, “don’t die, master, but take my advice and live many years; for the foolishest thing a man can do in this life is to let himself die without rhyme or reason, without anybody killing him, or any hands but melancholy’s making an end of him. Come, don’t be lazy, but get up from your bed and let us take to the fields in shepherd’s trim as we agreed. Perhaps behind some bush we shall find the lady Dulcinea disenchanted, as fine as fine can be. If it be that you are dying of vexation at having been vanquished, lay the blame on me, and say you were overthrown because I had girthed Rocinante badly; besides you must have seen in your books of chivalry that it is a common thing for knights to upset one another, and for him who is conquered to-day to be conqueror tomorrow.”
“Very true,” said Samson, “and good Sancho Panza’s view of these cases is quite right.”
“Sirs, not so fast,” said Don Quixote, “‘in last year’s nests there are no birds this year.’ I was mad, now I am in my senses; I was Don Quixote of La Mancha, I am now, as I said, Alonso Quixano the Good; and may my repentance and sincerity restore me to the esteem you used to have for me; and now let Master Notary proceed.
“Item, I leave all my property absolutely to Antonia Quixana my niece, here present, after all has been deducted from the most available portion of it that may be required to satisfy the bequests I have made. And the first disbursement I desire to be made is the payment of the wages I owe for the time my housekeeper has served me, with twenty ducats, over and above, for a gown. The curate and the bachelor Samson Carrasco, now present, I appoint my executors.
“Item, it is my wish that if Antonia Quixana, my niece, desires to marry, she shall marry a man of whom it shall be first of all ascertained by information taken that he does not know what books of chivalry are; and if it should be proved that he does, and if, in spite of this, my niece insists upon marrying him, and does marry him, then that she shall forfeit the whole of what I have left her, which my executors shall devote to works of charity as they please.
“Item, I entreat the aforesaid gentlemen my executors, that, if any happy chance should lead them to discover the author who is said to have written a history now going about under the title of ‘Second Part of the Achievements of Don Quixote of La Mancha,’ they beg of him on my behalf as earnestly as they can to forgive me for having been, without intending it, the cause of his writing so many and such monstrous absurdities as he has written in it; for I am leaving the world with a feeling of compunction at having provoked him to write them.”
With this he closed his will, and a faintness coming over him he stretched himself out at full length on the bed. All were in a flutter and made haste to relieve him, and during the three days he lived after that on which he made his will he fainted away very often. The house was all in confusion; but still the niece ate and the housekeeper drank and Sancho Panza enjoyed himself; for inheriting property wipes out or softens down in the heir the feeling of grief the dead man might be expected to leave behind him.
 
At last Don Quixote’s end came, after he had received all the sacraments, and had in full and forcible terms expressed his detestation of books of chivalry. The notary was there at the time, and he said that in no book of chivalry had he ever read of any knight-errant dying in his bed so calmly and so like a Christian as Don Quixote, who amid the tears and lamentations of all present yielded up his spirit, that is to say died. On perceiving it the curate begged the notary to bear witness that Alonso Quixano the Good, commonly called Don Quixote of La Mancha, had passed away from this present life, and died naturally; and said he desired this testimony in order to remove the possibility of any other author save Cide Hamete Benengeli bringing him to life again falsely and making interminable stories out of his achievements.
Such was the end of the Ingenious Gentleman of La Mancha, whose village Cide Hamete would not indicate precisely, in order to leave all the towns and villages of La Mancha to contend among themselves for the right to adopt him and claim him as a son, as the seven cities of Greece contended for Homer. The lamentations of Sancho and the niece and housekeeper are omitted here, as well as the new epitaphs upon his tomb; Samson Carrasco, however, put the following lines:
A doughty gentleman lies here;
A stranger all his life to fear;
Nor in his death could Death prevail,
In that last hour, to make him quail.
He for the world but little cared;
And at his feats the world was scared;
A crazy man his life he passed,
But in his senses died at last.
And said most sage Cide Hamete to his pen, “Rest here, hung up by this brass wire, upon this shelf, O my pen, whether of skilful make or clumsy cut I know not; here shalt thou remain long ages hence, unless presumptuous or malignant story-tellers take thee down to profane thee. But ere they touch thee warn them, and, as best thou canst, say to them:
Hold off! ye weaklings; hold your hands!
Adventure it let none,
For this emprise, my lord the king,
Was meant for me alone.
For me alone was Don Quixote born, and I for him; it was his to act, mine to write; we two together make but one, notwithstanding and in spite of that pretended Tordesillesque writer who has ventured or would venture with his great, coarse, ill-trimmed ostrich quill to write the achievements of my valiant knight; — no burden for his shoulders, nor subject for his frozen wit: whom, if perchance thou shouldst come to know him, thou shalt warn to leave at rest where they lie the weary mouldering bones of Don Quixote, and not to attempt to carry him off, in opposition to all the privileges of death, to Old Castile, making him rise from the grave where in reality and truth he lies stretched at full length, powerless to make any third expedition or new sally; for the two that he has already made, so much to the enjoyment and approval of everybody to whom they have become known, in this as well as in foreign countries, are quite sufficient for the purpose of turning into ridicule the whole of those made by the whole set of the knights-errant; and so doing shalt thou discharge thy Christian calling, giving good counsel to one that bears ill-will to thee. And I shall remain satisfied, and proud to have been the first who has ever enjoyed the fruit of his writings as fully as he could desire; for my desire has been no other than to deliver over to the detestation of mankind the false and foolish tales of the books of chivalry, which, thanks to that of my true Don Quixote, are even now tottering, and doubtless doomed to fall for ever. Farewell.”
 
人世间一切事物，无不经历了由兴至衰并且最后导致消亡的历程，特别是人的生命。唐吉诃德的生命也并未得到老天的特别关照，因而不知不觉地走了下坡路。也许是因为他被打败了，心中郁郁不乐，也许是因为老天的安排，他高烧不退，在床上躺了六天。神甫、学士和理发师常常来看他，桑乔也一直守在他床边。他们估计，唐吉诃德是因为被打败造成的忧伤，以及未能实现他为杜尔西内亚解除魔法的初衷而病倒的，便尽可能地为他宽心。学士叫唐吉诃德振作起精神来，准备过牧羊人的生活，为此他还写了一首牧歌，可以说超过了萨纳萨罗①所有的诗；此外，他还花钱买了两只著名的牧羊犬，一只叫巴尔西诺，另一只叫布特龙，是一个叫金塔纳尔的牧人卖给他的；可是，唐吉诃德仍然愁眉不展。
①萨纳萨罗是意大利诗人，曾出版诗集《牧人乐园》。
朋友们又为唐吉诃德请来了大夫。大夫号了脉，说情况不好，现在无论如何得先拯救他的灵魂，他的身体已经很危险了。唐吉诃德听了以后很镇静，可是女管家、外甥女和侍从却伤心地哭了起来，好像唐吉诃德已经死到临头了。大夫认为忧郁是唐吉诃德的病根。唐吉诃德说，他想一个人呆一会儿，睡一会儿觉。大家出去了，唐吉诃德一下子就睡了六个小时。女管家和外甥女生怕唐吉诃德一下子睡过去，可他醒来后却大声说道：
“感谢万能的上帝，给了我如此的恩典。上帝慈悲无量，盖过了世人所有的罪孽！”
外甥女仔细听着，觉得他的谈吐比以前清醒了，至少比生病期间清醒了，便问道：
“您说什么呀？咱们又得了什么新的恩典？慈悲是怎么回事？罪孽是怎么回事？”
“慈悲就是上帝现在对我发的慈悲。”唐吉诃德说，“外甥女，我刚才说，他的慈悲盖过了世人所有的罪孽。他恢复了我的理智，使我不再受任何干扰。过去，我老是读那些该死的骑士小说，给自己罩上了无知的阴云。现在，这些阴云已荡然无存。我已清楚那些书纯属胡说八道，只是深悔自己觉悟太迟，没有时间去研读一些启迪心灵智慧的书来补救了。外甥女啊，我发现自己死期已至，尽管我一生都被别人当成疯子，我在死时却不愿如此。孩子，去把我的好朋友神甫、卡拉斯科学士和尼古拉斯师傅叫来吧，我要忏悔和立遗嘱。”
这三个人正好进来了。唐吉诃德一见到他们就说：
“善良的大人们，我有个好消息，我不再是曼查的唐吉诃德了，而是阿隆索•基哈诺，人们习惯称我为‘大好人’。我现在把高卢的阿马迪斯和他的世代家族视为仇敌，对所有荒诞不经的骑士小说弃如敝屣。我意识到了阅读这些小说的愚蠢性和危险性。靠上帝的慈悲，我现在已翻然悔悟，对骑士小说深恶痛绝了。”
三个人听了都以为唐吉诃德又发疯了。参孙说道：
“唐吉诃德大人，您这是怎么了？我们刚刚得到消息说，杜尔西内亚夫人已经摆脱了魔法。现在咱们马上就要去当牧人，过无忧无虑、无拘无束的生活了，您怎么又临阵退缩呢？
您清醒清醒，别再说了。”
“正是那些东西害了我一辈子，”唐吉诃德说，“靠老天帮忙，但愿在我临死前，它们能对我转害为益。大人们，我觉得我现在已行将就木，别再耍弄我了。请你们找个忏悔神父和公证人来吧，我要立遗嘱。在这种时刻不应该拿人的灵魂开玩笑。所以，我请神甫听我忏悔，其他人去找公证人来。”
大家听了唐吉诃德的话十分惊奇，面面相觑。尽管他们仍有所怀疑，但还是愿意相信这件事，料想是唐吉诃德快死了，因此由疯癫变得明智了。他还说了许多虚诚而有道理的话，证明他确实已经恢复正常了。
神甫让大家出去，他自己留下听唐吉诃德忏悔。学士去找公证人，一会儿就和桑乔一起回来了。桑乔听学士介绍了唐吉诃德现在的状况，又见女管家和外甥女哭哭啼啼，也抽泣起来，泪流满面。唐吉诃德忏悔完，神甫出来说道：
“这个神智清醒的大好人阿隆索•基哈诺真是要死了，咱们进去为他立遗嘱吧。”
女管家、外甥女和唐吉诃德的好侍从桑乔听到这话泪水又夺眶而出，而且哽咽不止。前面讲过，无论在这个唐吉诃德确实是大好人阿隆索•基哈诺的时候，还是在后来成了曼查的唐吉诃德以后，都性情温和，待人厚道，所以不仅家里人喜欢他，村里所有认识他的人也都喜欢他。公证人跟着大家来到唐吉诃德的房间里，准备好了遗嘱的开头格式。在为唐吉诃德的灵魂祝福后，人们又按照基督教的规定举行了仪式，然后唐吉诃德说道：
“遗嘱内容：我曾自愿将一笔钱交给桑乔•潘萨掌管。在我疯癫的时期，他充当了我的侍从。现在，我们之间的帐目和纠葛我不再追究，他也不必再向我交代帐目。如果除了我欠他的款项之外还略有结余，也全部都归他所有，但愿能对他有所帮助。在我疯癫之时，我曾让他出任岛屿的总督，现在我并不糊涂，如果可能的话，我将让他出任一个王国的国王，他忠厚老实，受之无愧。”
唐吉诃德又转过头对桑乔说：
“朋友，请原谅我把你害得像我和世界上的所有游侠骑士一样疯疯癫癫。”
“哎哟，”桑乔哭着说道，“您可别死呀。您听听我的劝，长命百岁吧。一个人最大的疯癫就是让自己无缘无故地死去！现在既没人杀您，也没人打您，您可别因为忧郁就结束了自己的性命。您别犯懒了，从床上爬起来，咱们按照约定的那样，穿上牧人的服装到野外去吧，也许咱们能在某一丛灌木后面碰到杜尔西内亚呢，肯定能碰到！如果您因为战败而忧郁致死，那全都怨我，是我没把罗西南多的肚带拴好，让它把您摔了下来。况且，您在那些骑士小说里也见到过，一些骑士被另外一些骑士打败是常有的事，今日败，明天又会胜嘛。”
“是这样，”参孙说道，“桑乔这些话说得确实很对。”
“诸位大人，”唐吉诃德说，“且听我说，一朝天子一朝臣。我过去是疯子，现在不疯了；我以前是曼查的唐吉诃德，现在就像刚才我说过的，我是大好人阿隆索•基哈诺。但愿诸位见我真心忏悔，能够像以前一样尊重我。请继续写下去吧，公证人大人。
“内容：除去应扣除的款项外，将我的全部财产遗赠给我在场的外甥女安东尼娅•基哈娜，但首先应支付女管家在我家做工期间应得到的全部报酬，另外再加二十个杜卡多和一件衣服。我指定在场的神甫大人和参孙•卡拉斯科学士大人为遗嘱执行人。
“内容：如果我的外甥女安东尼娅•基哈娜愿意结婚，她必须嫁给一个经查明对骑士小说一无所知的人；若查明此人读过骑士小说，而我的外甥女仍然愿意同他结婚，并且同他结了婚，我将收回我的成命，由我的遗嘱执行人将我的财产捐赠给慈善机构。
“内容：我请求上述遗嘱执行人，如果遇到那位据说是撰写了《唐吉诃德》下卷的作者，请代我向他竭诚致歉。我竟意想不到地促成他写了这部荒谬绝伦的小说，对此我深感不安。”
立完遗嘱，唐吉诃德昏了过去，直挺挺地躺在床上。大家七手八脚地赶紧抢救，就这样醒过来又昏过去地持续了三天。
唐吉诃德家里乱成一团，不过，外甥女照常吃饭，女管家依然喝酒，桑乔情绪也还行，因为继承的财产多多少少减轻了继承者怀念垂死者的悲伤。最后，唐吉诃德接受了各种圣礼，又慷慨陈词地抨击了骑士小说之后便溘然长逝了。公证人当时在场，他说，他从未在任何一本骑士小说里看到过任何一个游侠骑士像唐吉诃德这样安然死在了床上。唐吉诃德在亲友的同情和眼泪中魂归西天，也就是说他死了。
神甫见状立刻请公证人出具证明：人称曼查的唐吉诃德的大好人阿隆索•基哈诺已经过世，属自然死亡。神甫这样做是为了避免有人在锡德•哈迈德之后又杜撰唐吉诃德起死回生，建立了无穷无尽的英雄业绩等等。唐吉诃德从此告别了人间。关于他的家乡，锡德•哈迈德不愿明确指出来，以便让曼查所有村镇的人都以为自己是唐吉诃德的后代，就像希腊的六个城市都争说荷马是自己那个地方的人一样。
至于桑乔、外甥女和女管家如何哀悼唐吉诃德，我们姑且略去，只说参孙•卡拉斯科学士在唐吉诃德的墓碑上写的墓志铭吧：
高尚贵族，
长眠此地，
英勇绝伦，
虽死犹生，
功盖天地。
雄踞世界，
震憾寰宇，
身经百难，
生前疯癫，
死后颖异。
具有远见卓识的锡德•哈迈德又写道：“我的笔呀，我且把你搁置于此。你将存在几个世纪，也许会有某些文痞把你重新拿起，滥用一气。不过，不等他们下手，我就要用最好的方式告诉他们：
请不要碰这支笔，
不要那么卑鄙；
这项伟大的事业
专为我立。
“唐吉诃德只为我而生，我也只为他而生；他能做，我能写，只有我们俩能够合二为一。托德西利亚斯的冒牌作家竟敢用他的拙笔刻画我们的英勇骑士的业绩，实在是力不从心，才思也不够功底。如果你碰到了他，就告诉他，还是让唐吉诃德那把老骨头安息吧。不要违背死亡的规律，让他又从墓地里跑出来，到旧卡斯蒂利亚去了①。他确实已经躺到了地下，不可能再作第三次出游了。他两次出征，已经让人们把游侠骑士的行径嘲弄得淋漓尽致了，无论是当地还是其他王国的人对此都很赞赏。你对怀有恶意的人好言相劝，已经尽到了你作为基督徒的义务。我的愿望无非是让人们对那些骑士小说里人物的荒诞行径深恶痛绝。现在，我首先享受到了这种成果，已经心满意足。由于我这本关于唐吉诃德的真实故事，骑士小说将日趋衰落，并且最终将彻底消亡。
再见。
①那本伪作说，唐吉诃德从疯人院出来后又去了旧卡斯蒂利亚等地方。