Chapter XI. Of what befell Don Quixote with some goatherds

He was welcomed by the goatherds with good cheer; and Sancho, having settled Rocinante and his donkey as best he could, went after the smell given off by some pieces of salted goat that were boiling in a pot over the fire; and though he would have liked at that very moment to see whether they were ready to be moved from the pot to his stomach, he held back, because the goatherds took them off the fire and, spreading some sheepskins on the ground, very quickly laid their rustic table and invited the two of them, with every sign of goodwill, to share what they had. Six of them, all there were in the fold, sat down around the skins, having first, with rough ceremony, begged Don Quixote to sit on a trough that they turned upside down for him. Don Quixote sat down, and Sancho remained standing to serve him his cup, which was made of horn. Seeing him on his feet, his master said to him:

“So that you may see, Sancho, the good that knight-errantry holds within it, and how near those who practice any office of it are to coming before long to be honored and esteemed by the world, I wish you to sit here at my side, in the company of these good people, and to be one and the same with me, who am your master and natural lord; to eat from my plate and drink from where I drink; for of knight-errantry the same may be said as is said of love: that it makes all things equal.”

“Many thanks!” said Sancho. “But I can tell your grace that, as long as I had plenty to eat, I’d eat it just as well, and better, standing up and on my own as sitting beside an emperor. And if the truth be told, what I eat in my own corner, without fuss or manners, even if it’s bread and onion, tastes much better to me than the turkey cocks at other tables where I have to chew slowly, drink little, wipe my mouth often, and not sneeze or cough if I feel like it, or do the other things that being alone and free bring with them. So, my master, these honors your grace wants to give me for being a servant and follower of knight-errantry, as I am, being your grace’s squire, turn them into other things that will be of more comfort and use to me; for these, though I take them as kindly received, I renounce from here to the end of the world.”

“For all that, you shall sit down; for whoever humbles himself, God exalts.”

And, taking him by the arm, he made him sit down beside him.

The goatherds did not understand that gibberish of squires and knights-errant, and did nothing but eat and keep quiet and watch their guests, who, with great relish and appetite, were stowing away chunks of meat as big as a fist. When the course of meat was done, they spread a great quantity of dried acorns on the sheepskins, and set out with them half a cheese harder than if it had been made of mortar. The horn, meanwhile, was not idle, for it went around so often (now full, now empty, like the bucket of a waterwheel) that it easily emptied one of the two wineskins that were in view. After Don Quixote had well satisfied his stomach, he took up a handful of acorns and, gazing at them attentively, gave voice to words like these:

“Happy the age and happy the centuries on which the ancients bestowed the name of golden, and not because gold, which in this iron age of ours is so highly prized, was to be had in that fortunate time without any labor, but because those who lived then did not know these two words, ‘yours’ and ‘mine.’ In that holy age all things were held in common; no one, to get his daily bread, needed to take any more trouble than to lift his hand and reach it down from the sturdy oaks, which freely invited them to their sweet and ripened fruit. The clear springs and running rivers offered them, in magnificent abundance, delicious and transparent water. In the clefts of the rocks and in the hollows of the trees the diligent and prudent bees set up their commonwealth, offering to any hand, without asking any return, the fertile harvest of their sweetest labor. The stout cork oaks shed of their own accord, with no other art than their own courtesy, their broad, light bark, with which men first began to cover their houses, raised on rough stakes, for no other purpose than to shelter them from the harshness of the skies. All was peace then, all friendship, all harmony; the heavy share of the curved plow had not yet dared to open or visit the merciful bowels of our first mother, for she, without being forced, offered from every part of her fertile and spacious breast whatever might fill, sustain, and delight the children who then possessed her. Then indeed the simple and lovely shepherd girls went from valley to valley and from hill to hill, their hair in braids or flowing loose, with no more clothing than was needed to cover modestly what modesty wishes, and has always wished, to be covered; and their adornments were not those in use today, which Tyrian purple and silk tormented in so many ways make costly, but a few green leaves of burdock and ivy woven together, in which they may have gone as splendid and as finely arrayed as our court ladies go now with the rare and outlandish devices that idle ingenuity has taught them. In those days the loving thoughts of the soul were set forth simply and plainly, in the very form and manner in which the soul conceived them, without seeking artful turns of phrase to make much of them. Fraud, deceit, and malice had not yet mixed themselves with truth and plainness. Justice kept within her own bounds, and those who seek favor and those who seek gain, who now so belittle, disturb, and persecute her, did not dare to trouble or offend her. Arbitrary judgment had not yet taken its seat in the mind of the judge, for then there was nothing to judge and no one to be judged. Maidens and their modesty went about, as I have said, wherever they pleased, alone and their own mistress, without fear that another’s boldness or lustful intent would do them harm, and their ruin was born of their own pleasure and their own free will. And now, in these detestable centuries of ours, none of them is safe, even if another new labyrinth like that of Crete should hide and enclose her; for there, through the chinks or through the air, with the zeal of its accursed persistence, the plague of love gets in to them and makes all their seclusion come to ruin. It was for their protection, as time went on and wickedness grew, that the order of knights-errant was instituted, to defend maidens, protect widows, and succor orphans and the needy. To this order I belong, brother goatherds, and I thank you for the welcome and kind reception you give me and my squire; for although by natural law all who live are bound to show favor to knights-errant, still, since I know that without knowing of this obligation you took me in and treated me well, it is right that, with all the goodwill I can muster, I should thank you for yours.”

This whole long harangue—which might well have been dispensed with—was made by our knight because the acorns set before him called the golden age to mind, and he took it into his head to make that useless speech to the goatherds, who, without answering him a word, sat listening to him dumbfounded and bewildered. Sancho, likewise, kept quiet and ate acorns, and paid frequent visits to the second wineskin, which they had hung from a cork oak to cool the wine.

Don Quixote took longer in talking than the supper did in coming to an end; and when it was over, one of the goatherds said:

“So that your grace, sir knight-errant, may say with more truth that we entertain you with ready goodwill, we want to give you some pleasure and amusement by having a comrade of ours sing, who won’t be long in getting here; he is a very bright lad and very much in love, and, above all, he can read and write and plays the rebec so well there’s nothing more to wish for.”

The goatherd had scarcely finished saying this when the sound of the rebec reached their ears, and soon after the one who played it arrived, a young man of about twenty-two, very handsome and graceful. His comrades asked him whether he had had supper, and when he answered that he had, the one who had made the offer said to him:

“In that case, Antonio, you can do us the favor of singing a little, so that this gentleman, our guest, may see that here in the mountains and woods too there are those who know something of music. We have told him of your fine gifts, and we want you to show them and prove us right; and so I beg you, on your life, to sit down and sing the ballad of your love that your uncle the beneficed priest made for you, which went down very well in the village.”

“With pleasure,” answered the young man.

And, without waiting to be asked again, he sat down on the stump of a lopped oak, and, tuning his rebec, very gracefully began before long to sing in this way:

Antonio

“I know, Olalla, you adore me,
although you have not told me so,
not even with your eyes at least,
those silent tongues of lovers’ talk.
Because I know that you are wise,
I hold it certain that you love me;
for never yet was love unlucky
when it was owned and understood.
It’s true enough that now and then,
Olalla, you have let me see
that you possess a soul of bronze
and that your white breast is of rock.
But there among your sharp reproaches
and your most modest turnings-off,
sometimes Hope lets me catch a glimpse
of the hem and border of her gown.
My faith goes darting at the lure,
my faith, which never has been able
to dwindle for not being called
nor swell for being one of the chosen.
If love is courtesy, then from
the courtesy you have, I gather
that the outcome of my hopes
will be the one that I imagine.
And if services have some part
in making a heart turn kindly,
then some of those that I have done
will strengthen my side of the case.
For if you have paid any heed,
more than once you will have seen
that I have worn on Mondays
what did me honor on a Sunday.
Since love and finery go walking
together down a single road,
at every time before your eyes
I’ve wished to show myself well groomed.
I pass over the dancing done for you,
nor will I paint the serenades
that you have heard at all odd hours
and at the first crow of the cock.
I do not count the many praises
that I have spoken of your beauty,
which, true as they are, have made
some other girls think ill of me.
Teresa del Berrocal,
when I was praising you, said to me:
‘One thinks he’s worshiping an angel
and ends up worshiping an ape,
thanks to all her trinkets
and to all her borrowed hair
and to her hypocritic beauties,
which could deceive Love himself.’
I gave her the lie, and she was angry;
her cousin took her part:
he challenged me, and well you know
what I did then and what he did.
I do not love you by the heap,
nor do I court you and serve you
for the sake of keeping a mistress;
my purpose is a better one.
The Church has yokes of rawhide
that are bowknots made of silk;
put your neck into the yoke,
and you will see me put in mine.
If not, I swear from here and now
by the most blessed saint there is
I will never leave these mountains
except to be a Capuchin.”

Here the goatherd ended his song; and although Don Quixote begged him to sing something more, Sancho Panza would not allow it, for he was more in the mood for sleeping than for listening to songs. And so he said to his master:

“Your grace might as well settle yourself right away where you’re going to sleep tonight, for the work these good men have all day doesn’t allow them to spend their nights singing.”

“I understand you, Sancho,” Don Quixote answered him, “for I can see clearly enough that the visits to the wineskin call for a reward of sleep rather than of music.”

“It tastes good to all of us, blessed be God,” answered Sancho.

“I do not deny it,” replied Don Quixote, “but settle yourself wherever you like, for those of my profession look better keeping watch than sleeping. Still, for all that, it would be well, Sancho, for you to dress this ear of mine again, for it is hurting me more than it ought.”

Sancho did as he was told; and one of the goatherds, seeing the wound, told him not to worry, for he would apply a remedy that would heal it easily. And, taking some rosemary leaves, of which there was plenty thereabouts, he chewed them and mixed them with a little salt, and, laying them on the ear, he bandaged it very well, assuring him that he needed no other medicine; and so it proved.