Don Fernando, in the meantime, extracted a promise from three of the servants of Don Luis to return to Madrid, while the other one agreed to remain and accompany his young master to where Don Fernando wanted him to go. Dona Clara was sparkling with happiness; and Zoraida seemed to feel at home with the Christians, in spite of the noise and tumult she had had to live through during her short stay at the inn.

The landlord did not forget the reckoning for the wine-skins and all the other things whose loss he could attribute to Don Quixote, for he had witnessed the curate's paying off the debt for the barber's helmet. Don Fernando paid all the innkeeper's demands generously, after the curate had decided the claims were just.

But when Don Quixote felt no discord in the air, he betook himself to the presence of Dorothea, knelt before her, and told her how willing and anxious he was to serve her and conquer her giant. And he requested that they make ready to leave. Her reply was simple and direct, for she told him that his will was hers. So Don Quixote ordered his squire to saddle Rocinante and his own donkey; but Sancho only shook his head in sorry fashion.

"Master," he said, "there is more mischief in the village than one hears of." And as his master begged him to speak freely, he burst out: "This lady, who calls herself ruler 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."

Though it was merely with her husband, Don Fernando, that she had, as Sancho said, rubbed noses, the crimson in her royal blood came to the surface, and her face turned as red as a beet. Sancho, fearing that the Princess was a courtesan, wanted to save his master the two years'

journey to Micomicon, if at the end of it it should turn out that another one than Don Quixote or himself should reap the fruits of their labor.

It is impossible to describe the terrible wrath of the knight when he heard the Princess thus slandered. His indignation and fury knew no bounds. He began to stammer and stutter, inarticulate with rage, until Sancho was scared out of his wits, afraid of being cut open by his raving master's sword. He was just about to turn his back on his master and disappear till the storm had pa.s.sed, when Dorothea came to his rescue. She suggested that Sancho's strange behavior could only be ascribed to one thing: enchantment. How else could he have seen such diabolical things as he described, how could he have been made to bear false witness against her, and how could he have spoken words so offensive to her modesty? Knowing the heart of Sancho, Don Quixote at once thought her explanation a most ingenious one, for what else could have put into Sancho's head such disrespect for a royal personage? Don Fernando, too, pleaded in Sancho's behalf; and Sancho meekly stumbled to his knees before his master, and kissed his hand frantically, begging him for forgiveness. Whereupon our knight errant with many gestures pardoned and blessed him.

"Now, Sancho, my son," he said, "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."

To which Sancho Panza replied meekly but firmly: "So it is, I believe, except the affair of the blanket, which came to pa.s.s in reality by ordinary means."

But Don Quixote as usual was not in a mood to listen to nonsense, and he replied that if such were the case he would have avenged him, but seeing no one to avenge himself upon, how could it have been anything else but enchantment?

Those who were there were eager to know what had happened to Sancho, and the landlord was most obliging in giving a graphic description of all that had occurred. They all seemed to enjoy the account enormously, for they laughed hilariously. Had Don Quixote not again a.s.sured Sancho that it most certainly had happened by enchantment, there is no doubt that he would have interrupted their hilarity.

It was now two days since they had arrived at the inn, and Don Fernando and Dorothea were becoming anxious to depart. In order that they might not have to go out of their way, it was arranged that they should go by themselves; meanwhile a scheme was devised whereby the curate and the barber could restore Don Quixote to his native village.

An ox-cart pa.s.sed that day, and the curate, hearing it was going in the direction of El Toboso, made arrangements with the owner to make the journey with him. Then he ordered some of the servants to make a cage, large enough to hold Don Quixote, and provided it with bars. He then asked Don Fernando and his companions, the officers of the Holy Brotherhood, the servants of Don Luis, and the innkeeper to cover their faces and change their appearance so that Don Quixote would think they were quite different people.

When this had been done they tiptoed to the valiant knight errant's room, where they found him fast asleep, bound him, without waking him, hand and foot; then they stood about the room silently. When the knight awoke, he was startled to find that he could not move, and seeing all these strangely conjured-up figures before him, it struck him they must be phantoms of the enchanted castle. He was absolutely helpless, and the men had no difficulty in stuffing him into the cage.

The bars were nailed on securely, and the cage was then carried out of the inn and placed in the ox-cart.

While the procession slowly proceeded from the inn to the ox-cart, the men supporting the cage on their shoulders, the barber chanted strange words in a weird and hollow voice. The barber took it upon himself to become the prophet of the occasion, and he proclaimed to the Knight of the Rueful Countenance that he ought not to consider his present imprisonment an affliction. It was in a way a sort of penance, he said, through which he would be humbled to be in readiness for a still greater, sweeter imprisonment, the bond of matrimony. This prediction would come true, he avowed, when the fierce Manchegan lion and the tender Tobosan dove met again. They would be joined in one, and the offspring of this union would be of such stuff as to set the world aflame.

When Don Quixote heard these words, he was stirred into an exalted emotion. Had he not been well bound it would have been expressed by kneeling. He raised his eyes toward Heaven and thanked the Lord for having sent this prophet to him in this needy moment. He prayed that he should not be left to perish in the cage, and also implored of the prophet not to let his faithful Sancho Panza abandon him, saying that if by chance the promise of the island should not come true, he had made provision for him in his will. Sancho was much moved by what his encaged and enchanted master had said, and he bent down and kissed his hands--he had to kiss both since they were tied together. By that time the procession had arrived at the ox-cart, and all was ready for the departure.

CHAPTER XLVII

OF THE STRANGE MANNER IN WHICH DON QUIXOTE OF LA MANCHA WAS CARRIED AWAY ENCHANTED, TOGETHER WITH OTHER REMARKABLE INCIDENTS

Don Quixote was greatly perplexed and, indeed, somewhat impatient with the slow speed of the cart carrying away this enchanted knight. The cart had rolled only a few paces and then stopped; there was nothing exciting or heroic in being carried off in such a way! Never had he read anywhere of so ridiculously slow and tame a proceeding. And on an ox-cart! However, times had changed, and he realized that until he had established the new era of knight-errantry, the most plebeian ways of being captured by enchantment would have to serve. Yet, he did not consider it beneath his dignity to ask Sancho what he thought on the subject.

"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."

Don Quixote could not refrain from laughing aloud at his squire's simplicity. How could they be Catholics when they were devils, made of no substance whatever, nothing but air?

[Ill.u.s.tration: "HE PRAYED THAT HE SHOULD NOT BE LEFT TO PERISH IN THE CAGE."--_Page 131_]

"By the Lord, Master," interrupted Sancho excitedly, "I have touched them already, and one of the devils, I swear, has firm flesh.

Furthermore, I have always heard it said that all devils smelled of sulphur and brimstone, but this one smells of amber half a league off."

Here Sancho was referring to Don Fernando, who, like most n.o.bles, used a perfume; but Don Quixote explained to his squire that this particular devil was so besprinkled in order to give people the impression he was not a devil.

While Don Quixote and his squire were thus exchanging thoughts on the subject of devils and their religion and what stuff they were made of, the curate and the barber were saying farewell to Don Fernando, his bride, Dorothea, Cardenio, Luscinda, the Judge and Dona Clara, as well as to the Captain and the Captain's bride, Zoraida. All of them promised to write to the curate, so that he in return might let them know how his and Don Quixote's journey had ended.

After many embraces, the curate and the barber were ready to make their departure when the landlord came running out with some papers which he handed to the curate as a gift. The landlord said it was the ma.n.u.script of the novel, "Rinconete and Cortadillo," a part of the contents of the valise in which he had found the story of "Ill-Advised Curiosity," which the curate had read aloud at the inn.

The curate thanked the innkeeper, saying that he hoped it was as good as the other novel. Then he and the barber covered their faces that they might not be recognized by Don Quixote, and took their places behind the cart, mounted on their mules. The three officers of the Brotherhood had been brought by the curate to escort them to El Toboso, armed with muskets. And then Sancho Panza, mounted on his donkey, led Rocinante by the reins. As the procession started, the landlady came out to weep make-believe tears for Don Quixote, who begged her to shed none, for in the end, he said, virtue would triumph.

At the head of the procession came the ox-cart, the officers of the Brotherhood marching beside it, then followed Sancho Panza on his a.s.s, leading Rocinante by the bridle, and in the rear trailed the curate and the barber on their mules. The slow pace of the oxen had to be imitated by the rest, so the whole procession took on a solemn and mysterious aspect, which was enhanced by the encaged Don Quixote's stiff and stone-like form leaning against the wooden bars.

They had traveled several leagues, when the curate heard the sound of riders approaching from behind. Turning in his saddle he perceived six or seven men, mounted on mules, and riding at a quick pace. They had soon overtaken the procession, and exchanged greetings with the curate and the barber. One of the travelers was a canon of Toledo, and on observing the fettered Don Quixote, with the armed officers of the Brotherhood as an escort, he took it for granted that the knight was some dangerous highwayman. Yet, scrutinizing the strange parade, he could not help asking questions. So when he inquired of one of the officers why Don Quixote was being transported in that way, the officer did not know what to say but referred him for an explanation to Don Quixote himself.

The knight errant had heard the canon's question, and he offered to give him the information if he knew anything about errantry. As the canon said he had read a good deal about knights errant and their deeds, Don Quixote was quick to tell of his misfortune--how he had been encaged and made helpless by enchantment. At this moment the curate, seeing that the canon was talking to Don Quixote, and fearing a mishap in the carrying out of their plan, came up and joined in the conversation. He corroborated what the knight errant had just said, and added that it was not for his sins that he was enchanted, but because of his enemies' hatred of virtuous deeds, of which this famous Knight of the Rueful Countenance was the strongest champion in their age.

When the good canon heard the two of them talk like that, he was at a loss for words and felt he had to cross himself, in which action his attendants joined him. But as luck would have it, Sancho Panza had been listening, and seeing the curate disguised by a mask, the suspicion crept into his head that he was trying to play a joke on his master. So he burst into the conversation with a grudge against them all.

"Well, sirs, you may like it or not," he declared, "but my master is as much enchanted as my mother! He is in his full senses; he can eat, and sleep, and drink. Then why do they want me to believe that he is enchanted? I have heard it said that when you are enchanted you cannot do any of these things, nor talk. And my master will talk more than thirty lawyers would if you do not stop him." Then turning to the curate, he exclaimed: "And, senor curate, senor curate! Do you think I do not know you? Well, I can tell you I do, for all your face is covered; and I can tell you I am up to you, however you may hide your tricks. 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."

And then the faithful Sancho went on to say that he had told all this that the curate might weigh in his conscience the pranks he had played on Don Quixote, and for which he would have to pay in heaven (if he ever should come there) unless he did penance now. Here the barber thought it best to put an end to Sancho's communications, and offered him a place in the cage beside his master, but Sancho was quick to retort: "Mind how you talk, master barber, for shaving is not everything; and as to the enchantment of my master, G.o.d knows the truth!"

Soon after Sancho had commenced his tirade, the curate thought it best, having listened to his own denunciation, to explain everything concerning the knight errant and his squire to the canon. Therefore he asked him to ride on ahead with him. When the canon had heard the whole story, he remarked that he thought that books of chivalry were really harmful, for not one of them was truthful. He was amused when the curate related how he and the barber had burned nearly all of Don Quixote's treasures in literature of this sort.

"But what mind," asked the canon, "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?"

CHAPTER XLVIII

IN WHICH THE CANON PURSUES THE SUBJECT OF THE BOOKS OF CHIVALRY, WITH OTHER MATTERS WORTHY OF HIS WIT

The curate and the canon had become very much interested in their subject, and the canon after a while confided to the curate that he himself had once started to write a book on chivalry, with the intention of making each incident in it a plausible one. It was his view that fiction was all the better the more it resembled the truth.

Furthermore, he believed in adhering to good taste and to the rules of art; these things, it seemed to him, had been ignored in the writing of these books. From fiction the conversation drifted to playwriting, and here again the curate and the canon were of the same mind. The actors of their age chose plays that appealed to people of nonsense and with bad taste. Instead of trying to improve the national taste, they produced tawdry plays. The canon cited three excellent plays, however, that he had seen at Madrid, which had earned great profits for their producers; this proved to the canon that the great ma.s.s of the public did appreciate a really good play if it was only produced.

While the two clergymen were thus whiling away the time, the barber approached and told the curate they had reached a place which to him seemed a good pasture for the oxen. It was now noon, and the canon decided to join them in their rest. He offered them food out of the provisions that he had brought along on a pack-mule. The rest of the canon's mules were sent to an inn, which was seen nearby, to be fed there.

Seeing his master unguarded, Sancho decided the time had come when he could speak undisturbedly to him, so he hastened to tell him of the plot that the curate and the barber had hit upon. He told his master he was certain it was out of envy and malice, for his having surpa.s.sed them in fame and brave deeds. Don Quixote, however, calmly told his squire that if he saw two shapes that resembled the barber and the curate there, they could be nothing but devils having taken on the appearance of his friends in order to be able to do their black deeds so much the more safely and cruelly.

CHAPTER XLIX

WHICH TREATS OF HOW OUR KNIGHT IS PERMITTED TO DESCEND FROM HIS CAGE, AND OF THE CANON'S ATTEMPT TO CONVERT HIM FROM HIS ILLUSIONS

During his conversation with Sancho, Don Quixote suddenly felt it an absolute necessity to leave the cage, and to stretch himself in the open. So Sancho went to the curate to ask his permission, which he received upon promising to answer for his master's not disappearing.

The curate and the canon went to the cage, and Don Quixote swore as a knight that he would not run away, whereupon they untied his hands and feet.