Chapter XL. Of things that relate and belong to this adventure and to this memorable history

Really and truly, all who enjoy histories like this one ought to show themselves grateful to Cide Hamete, its first author, for the care he took in telling us its semiquavers, without leaving anything, however small, that he did not bring distinctly to light: he paints the thoughts, uncovers the fancies, answers the unspoken questions, clears up the doubts, resolves the arguments; in short, he lays bare the atoms of the most curious desire. O most celebrated author! O fortunate Don Quixote! O famous Dulcinea! O droll Sancho Panza! All together and each one by yourself, may you live for endless ages, for the delight and general pastime of the living.

The history says, then, that as soon as Sancho saw the Sorrowing One in a faint, he said:

“By the faith of an honest man I swear, and by the souls of all my forebears the Panzas, that never have I heard or seen, nor has my master told me, nor has it entered his head, an adventure like this one. A thousand Satans take you, Malambruno, so as not to curse you for an enchanter and a giant; and couldn’t you find any other kind of punishment to give these sinners but bearding them? What, wouldn’t it have been better, and suited them better, to take off half their noses from the middle up, even if they talked through them, than to put beards on them? I’ll bet they haven’t the money to pay somebody to shave them.”

“That is the truth, sir,” answered one of the twelve, “for we haven’t the money to get ourselves cleaned; and so some of us have taken up, as a money-saving remedy, the use of some sticking plasters or gummy patches, and, putting them on our faces and pulling them off all at once, we are left as smooth and bare as the bottom of a stone mortar; for, though there are women in Candaya who go from house to house to take off down and pluck eyebrows and make other concoctions having to do with women, we duennas of my lady would never let them in, because most of them smell of being thirds, bawds, that is, now that they have stopped being firsts; and if we are not relieved by Señor Don Quixote, they will carry us to our graves with beards.”

“I would pluck out my own in the land of the Moors,” said Don Quixote, “if I did not relieve you of yours.”

At this point the Trifaldi came out of her faint and said:

“Valiant knight, the jingle of that promise came to my ears while I lay in my swoon, and has been the means of my coming out of it and recovering all my senses; and so I beseech you once more, illustrious errant and indomitable lord, that your gracious promise be turned into deed.”

“It shall not be left undone through any fault of mine,” answered Don Quixote. “Tell me, lady, what it is I must do, for my spirit is very ready to serve you.”

“The case is,” answered the Sorrowing One, “that from here to the kingdom of Candaya, if one goes by land, it is five thousand leagues, two more or less; but if one goes by air, as the crow flies, three thousand two hundred and twenty-seven. It should also be known that Malambruno told me that when fortune brought me to the knight who would be our deliverer, he would send him a mount far better, and with fewer vices, than hired hacks on the way home, for it is to be that very wooden horse that bore away the fair Magalona when the valiant Pierres stole her, which horse is steered by a peg he has in his forehead that serves him as a bridle, and flies through the air so lightly that it seems the very devils are carrying him. This same horse, according to ancient tradition, was made by that sage Merlin; he lent him to Pierres, who was his friend, on whom he made great journeys and carried off, as has been said, the fair Magalona, taking her on the crupper through the air and leaving all who watched them from the ground gaping; and he lent him to no one but whom he pleased, or whoever paid him best; and from the great Pierres until now we do not know of anyone having mounted him. Malambruno has got him out of there with his arts, and has him in his power, and uses him on his journeys, which he makes every moment to different parts of the world, and today he is here and tomorrow in France and the day after in Potosí; and the best of it is that this horse neither eats nor sleeps nor wears out horseshoes, and goes at such an amble through the air, without having wings, that his rider may hold a brimming cup of water and not spill one drop, so smooth and gentle is his going; which is why the fair Magalona took great pleasure in riding him.”

To this Sancho said:

“For going gentle and smooth, give me my gray, though he doesn’t go through the air; but on the ground I’ll match him against every amble in the world.”

Everyone laughed, and the Sorrowing One went on:

“And this same horse, if Malambruno means to put an end to our misfortune, will be here before us before the night is half an hour old, for he gave me to understand that the sign he would give me, by which I would know that I had found the knight I was seeking, would be to send me the horse, wherever I might be, with ease and speed.”

“And how many fit on that horse?” asked Sancho.

The Sorrowing One answered:

“Two persons: one in the saddle and the other on the crupper; and, for the most part, these two persons are knight and squire, when there is no stolen damsel to be had.”

“I’d like to know, Lady Sorrowing One,” said Sancho, “what name this horse has.”

“His name,” answered the Sorrowing One, “is not like that of Bellerophon’s horse, which was called Pegasus, nor like that of Alexander the Great’s, called Bucephalus, nor like that of the furious Orlando’s, whose name was Brilladoro, still less Bayarte, which was the name of Reinaldos of Montalbán’s, nor Frontino, like Rugero’s, nor Bootes or Peritoa, the names they say the Sun’s horses go by; nor is he called Orelia either, like the horse on which the unfortunate Rodrigo, last king of the Goths, rode into the battle where he lost his life and his kingdom.”

“I’ll bet,” said Sancho, “that since they haven’t given him any of those famous names of such well-known horses, they won’t have given him my master’s either, Rocinante, which for fitting him exceeds all those that have been named.”

“That is so,” answered the bearded countess, “but still his name suits him very well, for he is called Clavileño the Swift-Winged, a name that agrees with his being made of wood, leño, and with the peg, clavija, he carries in his forehead, and with the lightness, ligereza, with which he travels; and so, as far as the name goes, he may well compete with the famous Rocinante.”

“I’ve nothing against the name,” replied Sancho, “but with what bridle or what halter is he steered?”

“I have already said,” answered the Trifaldi, “with the peg; by turning it one way or the other, the knight who rides him makes him go as he wishes, either up through the air, or skimming and almost sweeping the ground, or in the middle way, which is the one to be sought and kept to in all well-ordered actions.”

“I’d like to see it,” answered Sancho, “but to think I’m to get on him, either in the saddle or on the crupper, is asking the elm for pears. A fine thing, when I can barely keep my seat on my gray, and on a packsaddle softer than silk itself, and now they want me to keep my seat on a crupper of boards, without any cushion or pillow at all! By God, I don’t mean to grind myself to bits to take the beards off anybody: let each one shave himself as best suits him, for I don’t mean to go with my master on such a long journey. All the more since I can’t be needed for shaving off these beards the way I am for disenchanting my lady Dulcinea.”

“Yes, you are, my friend,” answered the Trifaldi, “and so much so that without your presence I understand we shall do nothing.”

“Help, in the king’s name!” said Sancho. “What have squires to do with their masters’ adventures? Are they to carry off the fame of the ones they finish, and we to carry the toil? Body of me! If only the historians would say: ‘Such-and-such a knight finished such-and-such an adventure, but with the help of So-and-so, his squire, without whom it would have been impossible to finish it.’ But for them to write just plain: ‘Don Paralipomenon of the Three Stars finished the adventure of the six monsters,’ without naming the person of his squire, who was there through it all, as if he didn’t exist in the world! Now, sirs, I say again that my master can go alone, and much good may it do him, for I’ll stay here in the company of the duchess my lady, and it might be that when he came back he’d find the lady Dulcinea’s cause bettered by the third and the fifth; because I mean, in my idle and unoccupied moments, to give myself a round of lashes that no hair will cover.”

“For all that, you are to go with him if need be, good Sancho, for good people will beg it of you; for the faces of these ladies must not be left so overgrown because of your useless fear; for that, surely, would be a sorry thing.”

“Help, in the king’s name, again!” replied Sancho. “If this charity were being done for some cloistered maidens, or for some charity-school girls, a man might risk any hardship, but to put up with it to take the beards off duennas, bad year to that! I’d sooner see them all with beards, from the biggest to the smallest, and from the most finicky to the most prim.”

“You bear duennas a grudge, Sancho my friend,” said the duchess. “You go a long way after the opinion of the Toledo apothecary. Well, on my faith, you are not right; for there are duennas in my house who could be a model for duennas, and here is my Doña Rodríguez, who will not let me say otherwise.”

“Let your excellency say it,” said Rodríguez, “for God knows the truth of everything, and good or bad, bearded or beardless as we duennas may be, our mothers bore us like other women; and since God cast us into the world, He knows what for, and I rely on His mercy, and not on anybody’s beard.”

“Well, then, Señora Rodríguez,” said Don Quixote, “and Señora Trifaldi and company, I trust in heaven that it will look with kindly eyes on your woes, and that Sancho will do what I command him, whether Clavileño comes or I find myself face to face with Malambruno; for I know there would be no razor that would shave your graces more easily than my sword would shave Malambruno’s head from his shoulders; for God bears with the wicked, but not forever.”

“Ah!” said the Sorrowing One at this point. “May all the stars of the celestial regions look with kindly eyes on your greatness, valiant knight, and pour into your spirit every prosperity and valor, to be the shield and protection of the reviled and downtrodden duennaish kind, abominated by apothecaries, gossiped about by squires, and wheedled by pages; and bad luck to the hussy who, in the flower of her age, did not become a nun before she became a duenna! Unhappy we duennas, for though we came in a straight line, male to male, from Hector of Troy himself, our mistresses would not stop throwing a vos at us, the word one uses to inferiors, if they thought it would make them queens! O giant Malambruno, who, though you are an enchanter, are most certain in your promises, send us now the peerless Clavileño, so that our misfortune may end; for if the heat comes on and these beards of ours are still here, woe to our fortunes!”

The Trifaldi said this with so much feeling that she drew tears from the eyes of all those present, and even filled Sancho’s, and he resolved in his heart to go with his master to the farthest ends of the world, if the removing of the wool from those venerable faces depended on it.