Chapter LVII. Which deals with how Don Quixote took his leave of the duke, and of what befell him with the witty and forward Altisidora, the duchess’s damsel

By now it seemed to Don Quixote that it was right to leave behind so much idleness as he was living in at that castle; for he imagined that his person was greatly missed while he let himself stay shut up and slothful among the countless comforts and delights that those lords and ladies lavished on him as a knight-errant, and it seemed to him that he would have to give a strict account to heaven for that idleness and seclusion; and so one day he begged leave of the duke and duchess to depart. They gave it to him, with signs that it grieved them greatly that he was leaving them. The duchess gave Sancho Panza his wife’s letters, and he wept over them, and said:

“Who would have thought that hopes as great as those the news of my government bred in the breast of my wife Teresa Panza were to end in my going back now to the dragged-out adventures of my master Don Quixote of La Mancha? For all that, I’m glad to see that my Teresa lived up to who she is by sending the acorns to the duchess; for if she hadn’t sent them, she’d have shown herself ungrateful, and I’d have been sorry for it. What comforts me is that this gift can’t be given the name of a bribe, because I already had the government when she sent them, and it stands to reason that those who receive some kindness should show themselves grateful, even if it’s with trifles. In effect, naked I went into the government and naked I leave it; and so I can say with a clear conscience, which is no small thing: ‘Naked I was born, naked I am now: I neither lose nor gain.’”

This was what Sancho was turning over to himself on the day of departure; and Don Quixote, having taken his leave of the duke and duchess the night before, came out one morning and presented himself in armor in the courtyard of the castle. All the people of the castle watched him from the galleries, and the duke and duchess also came out to watch him. Sancho was on his gray, with his saddlebags, his valise, and his provisions, as happy as could be, because the duke’s steward, the one who had been the Trifaldi, had handed him a small purse holding two hundred gold escudos, to meet the needs of the road, and this Don Quixote did not yet know.

While, as has been said, they were all watching him, all of a sudden, from among the other duennas and damsels of the duchess who were watching him, the forward and witty Altisidora raised her voice and in a doleful tone said:

“Listen to me, you wicked knight;
rein your horse in for a while;
do not weary out the flanks
of your ill-commanded beast.
Look, false one, you are not fleeing
from some savage serpent’s fangs,
but from a little lamb
who is a long way from a ewe.
You have deceived, you hideous monster,
the loveliest of damsels
that Diana saw upon her mountains,
that Venus looked on in her woods.
Cruel Vireno, fugitive Aeneas,
Barabbas go with you; settle it there yourself.
You carry off, O impious carrying,
in the talons of your claws
the heart of a humble maiden,
tender as a girl in love.
You carried off three kerchiefs
and a pair of garters, from legs
that are the equal of pure marble
in smoothness, white and black.
You carried off two thousand sighs,
which, if they had been of fire,
could have burned two thousand Troys,
if two thousand Troys there were.
Cruel Vireno, fugitive Aeneas,
Barabbas go with you; settle it there yourself.
As for that Sancho, your squire,
may his bowels be so stubborn
and so hard that Dulcinea
never comes out of her enchantment.
For the fault that lies with you
let the sad lady bear the pain;
for here at home it can befall
that sometimes the just pay for the sinners.
May your finest adventures
turn into misadventures,
your pastimes into dreams,
your constancy into forgetting.
Cruel Vireno, fugitive Aeneas,
Barabbas go with you; settle it there yourself.
May you be held a faithless man
from Seville to Marchena,
from Granada as far as Loja,
from London to England.
If you play at reinado,
at cientos, or at primera,
may the kings all fly from you;
may you see no aces and no sevens.
If you ever cut your corns,
may the cuts gush out with blood,
and may the stumps stay in your gums
if you ever have your molars pulled.
Cruel Vireno, fugitive Aeneas,
Barabbas go with you; settle it there yourself.”

While the stricken Altisidora was complaining in the manner described, Don Quixote kept looking at her, and, without answering her a word, he turned his face to Sancho and said to him:

“By the souls of your forebears, my Sancho, I conjure you to tell me one truth. Tell me, are you by any chance carrying off the three kerchiefs and the garters this enamored damsel speaks of?”

To which Sancho answered:

“The three kerchiefs, yes, I’ve got; but the garters have as much to do with me as the hills of Úbeda.”

The duchess was amazed at Altisidora’s forwardness, for though she took her for bold, witty, and forward, it was not to the point of daring such liberties; and since she had not been warned of this jest, her amazement grew. The duke wanted to strengthen the joke, and said:

“It does not seem right to me, sir knight, that, having received in this castle of mine the good welcome that has been given you here, you should have dared to carry off three kerchiefs at the least, if not, at the most, my damsel’s garters; these are signs of a bad heart and tokens that do not match your fame. Give her back the garters; if not, I challenge you to mortal combat, with no fear that miscreant enchanters will turn or change my face, as they have done that of Tosilos my lackey, the one who entered into battle with you.”

“God forbid,” answered Don Quixote, “that I should unsheathe my sword against your most illustrious person, from whom I have received so many favors; the kerchiefs I will return, for Sancho says he has them; the garters are impossible, because neither have I received them, nor he either; and if this damsel of yours will look in her hiding places, she will surely find them. I, lord duke, have never been a thief, nor do I mean to be one in all my life, so long as God does not let me slip from his hand. This damsel speaks, as she says, as one in love, for which I am not to blame; and so I have no reason to ask pardon either of her or of Your Excellency, whom I beg to hold me in a better opinion, and to give me leave once more to go on my way.”

“May God give you so good a one, Señor Don Quixote,” said the duchess, “that the news we hear of your exploits may always be good. And go with God; for the longer you stay, the more you increase the fire in the breasts of the damsels who look at you; and as for mine, I will punish her so that from now on she does not run wild with her eyes or her words.”

“Only one word more I want you to hear from me, O valiant Don Quixote!” said Altisidora then. “And it is that I beg your pardon for the theft of the garters, because, by God and by my soul, I have them on, and I’ve fallen into the carelessness of the man who went looking for the ass he was riding.”

“Didn’t I say so?” said Sancho. “A fine one I am for covering up thefts! Why, if I’d wanted to commit them, the chance came to me on a plate in my government.”

Don Quixote bowed his head and made a reverence to the duke and duchess and to all those present, and, turning Rocinante’s reins, with Sancho following him on the gray, he rode out of the castle, setting his course for Zaragoza.