When he had sung of her charms, one of the two who seemed like kings rose from his seat and spoke. He, Minos, who sat in judgment with Rhadamanthus, now begged the latter to stand up and announce what must be done in order to affect the resuscitation and restoration of the damsel Altisidora. As soon as he had declaimed all he had to say, he sat down, and in the next moment Rhadamanthus rose and decreed that all the officials gather quickly and attach the person of Sancho Panza, as through him alone Altisidora's restoration could be effected, he said, by his receiving twenty-four smacks in the face, twelve pinches and six pin-thrusts in the back and arms.

n.o.body but Sancho objected to the King's proclamation; but Sancho was emphatic enough for a mult.i.tude. "Body of me!" he replied unhesitatingly.

"What has mauling my face got to with the resurrection of this damsel?

The old woman takes kindly to my persecution; they enchant Dulcinea, and whip me in order to disenchant her. Altisidora dies of ailments G.o.d was pleased to send her, and to bring her to life they must give me four-and-twenty smacks, and p.r.i.c.k holes in my body with pins, and raise weals on my arms with pinches! Try those jokes on a brother-in-law; I am an old dog, and its no use with me."

But Rhadamanthus was bent in carrying out his threat. He gave a sign to one of the attendants, and in the next moment a procession of duennas started toward Sancho with raised hands. Sancho saw them coming against him, he grew frantic, and began to bellow like a bull, crying out: "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 shall bear all in patience to serve these gentlefolk; but I will not let duennas touch me, though the devil himself should carry me off!"

Here Don Quixote thought it was time for him to add his plea to that of the King, and he began to reason with Sancho. At last he subdued him somewhat, and by that time the duennas had reached the spot where Don Quixote and Sancho were seated, and one of them came up, curtsied, and gave the poor squire a smack on the face that nearly unseated him, and that made him exclaim: "Less politeness and less paint, Senora Duenna. By G.o.d, your hands smell of vinegar-wash!"

No sooner had Sancho uttered these words than he was smacked and pinched by nearly all the rest of them, until at last he lost his temper and seized a lighted torch, with which he pursued the flying duennas in an uncontrollable rage, crying: "Begone, ye ministers of h.e.l.l! I am not made of bra.s.s not to feel such out-of-the-way tortures."

But just then Altisidora--who probably was tired of lying on her back such a long time--moved, and in the next moment exclamations were heard from all in the court: "Altisidora is alive! Altisidora lives!"

Now that the great miracle had been attained, Rhadamanthus turned to Sancho and bade him still his anger; and Don Quixote again entreated Sancho, since he so n.o.bly had proven that virtue now was ripe in him, to go to work and disenchant his Dulcinea in the same breath. To this Sancho replied:

"That is 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 am to be always made the cow of the wedding for the cure of other people's ailments. Leave me alone; or else by the Lord I shall fling the whole thing to the dogs, come what may!"

By this time Altisidora had entirely recovered from her death and was now sitting up on the catafalque. The music was again heard, the voices sang, and all came forward to help the young maiden down from her elevated position.

Altisidora acted as if she were just coming out of a long, long sleep; and when she saw the Kings and the Duke and the d.u.c.h.ess she bowed her head to them in respect. Then she asked the Lord to forgive Don Quixote for his cruelty, while she praised and thanked Sancho Panza for his sacrifice, and offered to give him six smocks of hers to make into shirts for himself, adding that if they were not quite whole, they were at least all clean. On hearing this, Sancho fell on his knees and kissed her hands; and then one of the attendants approached him, at the order of the Duke, and asked him to return the red robe and the miter. Sancho, however, wanted to keep them to show to his villagers as a remembrance of his marvelous experience; and when the d.u.c.h.ess heard of his desire she commanded that they be given to her friend as a token of her everlasting esteem.

Soon everybody had left the court and retired to their quarters, and the Duke had Don Quixote and Sancho shown to their old chambers.

CHAPTER LXX

WHICH FOLLOWS CHAPTER SIXTY-NINE AND DEALS WITH MATTERS INDISPENSABLE FOR THE CLEAR COMPREHENSION OF THIS HISTORY

Sancho slept that night in the same chamber with Don Quixote. It was some time before he went asleep, however, for the pain of the pinching and smacking was quite evident. Don Quixote was inclined to talk, but Sancho begged him to let him sleep in peace for the remainder of the night, and at last both master and servant fell into slumber.

In the meantime it might be told how it came about that Don Quixote came to visit the ducal castle again. The bachelor Samson Carrasco, having learned as much as he could from the page that carried the letter to Teresa Panza of the whereabouts of the hero, decided that the time had come for another combat with him. Thus he procured a new suit of armor and a fresh horse and set out to find the Duke's castle.

Having reached it, he had a long conversation with the Duke, wherein he told him it was his great desire to bring Don Quixote back to his village and his friends, hoping that if he could defeat him in battle Don Quixote could be made to return of his own free will and in time be cured of his strange affliction. He then followed him to Saragossa, for which city he had set out when he left the Duke's castle, but finally traced him to Barcelona, where the bachelor encountered him with the result that he promised to return to his village and give up knight-errantry for a year.

On his way home, the bachelor, at the Duke's request, had stopped at the castle to inform him of the outcome of the combat, and it was then that the Duke decided to play the knight and his squire another joke.

The Duke had his men stationed everywhere on the road that led from Barcelona, and it was thus that they were able to bring in Don Quixote in the manner and at the hour that they did.

When daylight arrived the morning after Altisidora's coming to life, Don Quixote awoke and found her in his presence; and the instant he saw her he showed his modesty and his confusion by pulling the sheet over his head. But while Don Quixote was not inclined to converse with a maiden so early in the morning, Sancho showed no aversion to it whatever, for he bombarded Altisidora with all kinds of impertinent questions as to what was going on in h.e.l.l when she was there. Of course Altisidora denied having any intimate knowledge of this place, for in spite of her immodesty she had only got as far as the gates, she said.

Don Quixote now entered into the conversation and asked why the fair Altisidora had been so persistent in her love, when she knew that he would never change or give up his beloved Dulcinea, to whom he maintained he was born to belong. When she heard Don Quixote talk in this manner, Altisidora grew very angry with him, and exclaimed: "G.o.d's life! Don Stockfish, soul of a mortar, stone of a date, more obstinate and obdurate than a clown asked a favor when he has his mind made up! If I fall upon you I shall tear your eyes out! Do you fancy, then, Don Vanquished, Don Cudgeled, that I died for _your_ sake? All that you have seen to-night has been make believe; I am not the woman to let the black of my nail suffer for such a camel, much less die!"

Sancho interrupted her here and said he could well believe that; then he added: "All that about lovers pining to death is absurd. They may talk of it, but as far as doing it--Judas may believe that!"

Now the Duke and the d.u.c.h.ess entered, and after an animated conversation during which Sancho's amusing sayings as usual captivated his distinguished friends, Don Quixote begged leave to be on his way to his village. They granted him his request, and then they asked him whether he had forgiven Altisidora for having tried to capture his love. He replied saying that this lady's lack of virtue had its root in her idleness, and he recommended that the d.u.c.h.ess see to it that Altisidora was put to making lace or given some other employment. Sancho approved of his master's advice, and remarked sagely that he never had seen any lacemaker die for love; and he further ill.u.s.trated the truth of Don Quixote's remark by his own experience on that score: when he was digging, he vowed, he never bothered with the thought of his old woman. The testimony of two such staunch friends of hers as Don Quixote and Sancho made the d.u.c.h.ess promise that hereafter she would keep the fair Altisidora employed so that no foolish thoughts might take her away from the path of virtue. As soon as the fair maiden heard her mistress speak thus, however, she a.s.sured her that there was no longer any need of her being worked to death in order to divert her thought from the person of our knight errant, for his cruelty to her had been such that the very thought of that had now blotted him out of her memory forever. And, pretending to wipe a tear from her eye, she made a curtsy to the d.u.c.h.ess and left the chamber.

It was now time for dinner, and soon afterward Don Quixote, having dined with the Duke and the d.u.c.h.ess, made his departure from the castle with Sancho, and started again for his home.

CHAPTER LXXI

OF WHAT Pa.s.sED BETWEEN DON QUIXOTE AND HIS SQUIRE SANCHO ON THE WAY TO THEIR VILLAGE

Don Quixote and Sancho traveled along, both in a state of depression.

Don Quixote was sad because he had been forced to give up the glories of knight-errantry and chivalry; Sancho because Altisidora had not kept her word when she promised to give him the smocks. To Sancho it seemed a terrible injustice that physicians should be paid even if their patients died, and here he had brought back a human being from the dead, and was being rewarded in this ungrateful manner!

But Don Quixote's sadness was suddenly brightened by a hope that he might at last be able to prevail upon Sancho to bring about the disenchantment of Dulcinea. Knowing Sancho's covetousness, he offered him money as a bribe. Now Sancho became interested, and consented, for the love of his wife and children, to whip himself at a price of a quarter-real a lash, generously throwing the five lashes he had already given himself into the bargain.

"O blessed Sancho! O dear Sancho!" exclaimed Don Quixote. "How we shall be bound to serve thee, Dulcinea and I, all the days of our lives that Heaven may grant us! 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."

Sancho swore that he would begin the scourging that very night, and begged his master that he arrange it so that they spend the night in the open.

Night came at last, and when they had supped, Sancho proceeded to make a st.u.r.dy whip out of Dapple's halter. When he had finished this task he made off for a distant part of the woods. He left his master with such a determined look in his eyes that Don Quixote thought it best to warn him not to go too fast but to take a breathing-s.p.a.ce between lashes so that he would not cut his body to pieces. He was afraid also, he said, that Sancho might become so enthusiastic over what he was doing, or so anxious to come to the end of the lashes that he might overtax his strength, collapse and die; and he begged Sancho particularly not to do that, for then he would have gone through all his suffering in vain. When Sancho had stripped himself to the waist, Don Quixote placed himself where he could hear the sound of the lashes, and counted them on his rosary that Sancho would make neither too much nor too little effort to disenchant Dulcinea.

After half a dozen lashes, Sancho felt that he had inflicted a sufficient measure of pain upon himself already, and demanded a higher price for his service. Don Quixote told Sancho that he would pay him twice the amount promised; and the squire began again. But this time he did not whip himself but let the lashes fall on a tree; and with each lash he gave out the most heartrending cries, and uttered such groans that his master began to feel the pain of his squire's torture in his own heart. When he had counted a thousand lashes or thereabout, he was quite worried about Sancho and begged him to stop for the present, but Sancho told his master he might as well brave the remainder of the ordeal now.

Seeing his squire in such a sacrificing mood, Don Quixote retired at his request, and Sancho continued with the lashing, which he administered to a perfectly innocent tree with such brutality and ferocity that the bark flew in all directions. All the while he gave vent to his pain by fierce shrieks, and then there came one long agonizing cry, which nearly rent Don Quixote's heart, and Sancho exclaimed piteously: "Here dies Sancho, and all with him!" Don Quixote hastened to his squire's side, and insisted for the sake of his unsupported wife and children that he go no further, but to wait until some other time with the rest. Sancho retorted with a request that his master cover his shoulders with his cloak, as the exertion had been too great and had made him perspire freely, and he did not wish to run the risk of catching cold. Don Quixote did as he was asked and begged Sancho to lie down; then he covered him with the cloak.

At dawn they resumed their journey, and when they had traveled three leagues, they came to an inn. Don Quixote did not take it for a castle this time; as a matter of fact, ever since he had found himself vanquished, he had begun to talk of and see things in a more rational way. They entered, and when Sancho saw the painted pictures on the wall he remarked to his master that not long from now there would be paintings picturing their deeds in every tavern and inn in the country. Don Quixote then turned to his squire and asked him whether he would like to finish the whipping business that day, and Sancho said it made no difference to him when he did it; he only made a suggestion that he thought he would prefer to do it among the trees as they seemed to help him bear the pain miraculously. But on second consideration Don Quixote deemed it advisable to put it off till a later time, when they were closer to their village, in case Sancho should have a breakdown as a result of his flogging himself. Their conversation came to an end when Sancho began to shoot proverbs at his master out of the corner of his mouth at such a speed that Don Quixote was overwhelmed and tore his hair in desperation.

CHAPTERS LXXII-LXXIII

OF THE OMENS DON QUIXOTE HAD AS HE ENTERED HIS OWN VILLAGE; AND OTHER INCIDENTS THAT EMBELLISH AND GIVE A COLOR TO THIS GREAT HISTORY

When they had left the inn that day Don Quixote and his squire traveled all through the night, and the following morning they arrived at their own village, from which they had been absent so long.

Among the first to meet them were the curate and Samson Carrasco, who had discovered at a distance the red robe the d.u.c.h.ess had given to Sancho as a memento of their friendship. Sancho had thrown it over his donkey and the discarded armor, and it shone in the morning sun as brightly as a fiery sunset. Dapple was also adorned with the miter, which proudly crowned the beast's head.

[Ill.u.s.tration: "WITH EACH LASH HE GAVE OUT THE MOST HEARTRENDING CRIES."--_Page 333_]

When Don Quixote saw his old friends, he dismounted and embraced them; and all the little boys in town came running to see the sight of Dapple and the returning revivers of knight-errantry. They called out to their playmates: "Come here, fellows, and see how Sancho Panza's donkey is rigged out; and take a look at Don Quixote's horse: he is leaner than ever!"

As they walked through the village, it was a whole parade that followed them; and at Don Quixote's house they were received by the niece and the housekeeper, who had already heard of the return.

Teresa Panza, too, had been given the news, but she was sorely disappointed when she ran out with her two dirty children to welcome the returning Governor. She scolded him soundly for coming home dressed like a vagabond. But Sancho told her to put a clamp on her tongue, for he did bring her money, at any rate, he said. Then his daughter fell on his neck and kissed him, and in the next instant the whole family had dragged him inside their little cottage.

Don Quixote shut himself in with the curate and the bachelor, as soon as he had entered his house, and related to them the sad story of his defeat, and the promise he had made to the Knight of the White Moon; and then he broached his new idea, that of turning shepherd. He told his friends he had chosen new names for them, for he hoped that they would share his new life with him; and they at once praised his scheme and promised that as shepherds they would accompany him in his pursuit of happiness. Samson added that he would be an especially valuable member of the pastoral colony, for he knew how to write poetry, and would devote his time to singing the praises of their simple life. Of course, there must be shepherdesses, too, Don Quixote ruled, and they could be represented by such modest and virtuous women as Dulcinea and Teresa Panza.

When they had conversed in this pleasant manner for some time, the curate and the bachelor left, begging Don Quixote to take good care of himself and to eat plentifully. As soon as they had departed, the niece and the housekeeper, who had overheard the three men, entered the late knight's room and begged him not to turn shepherd saying that his health was not such as to allow him to dwell in the open in the damp night air; sooner or later he would succ.u.mb, they said, and take ill and die. They were both agreed that the foolishness of knight-errantry was much better than this craze. They entreated him to remain at home, to go to confession often, and to indulge in doing good deeds and being kind to the poor, instead. But Don Quixote would have none of their advice. He told them he knew where his duty lay. Then he implored them to put him to bed, saying that they ought to know he had always their interest at heart, no matter what happened.

The two women began to weep, and then they helped Don Quixote to bed, and there they did all they could to make him comfortable, and gave him something to eat.