CHAPTER XIV

Of what befell Don Quixote in the Brown Mountains

Don Quixote, finding himself in such a bad plight, said to his Squire: 'I have often heard it said that to do good to ungrateful men, is to cast water into the sea. If I had listened to your advice, I might have avoided this trouble. But, now that it is over, there is nothing for it but to be patient and to be wise another time.'

'If you take warning by this or anything else,' replied Sancho, 'call me a Turk. But, as you say, you might have avoided this trouble by taking my advice. Listen to what I say now, and you will avoid a greater danger. For let me tell you that it is no use talking about Knighthood and its customs to the Holy Brotherhood, for it cares not two farthings for all the Knights Errant in the world, and for myself, I seem to hear their arrows buzzing round my ears already.'

'Thou art by nature a coward, Sancho,' replied Don Quixote; 'but that thou mayest not say that I am obstinate, and that I never follow thine advice, I will take thy counsel this time, and hide myself from the attacks thou fearest so greatly. But it must be on one condition, that thou never tell to any mortal creature that I withdrew myself out of this danger for fear, but only to humour thy wishes. For if thou sayest anything else thou liest.'

'Sir,' answered Sancho Panza, 'to retreat is not to run away, nor is it wise to wait where there is more danger than hope, and it is the part of a wise man to spend to-day in keeping himself safe for to-morrow. Therefore, rude clown as I am, take my advice, and mount Rozinante and follow me as quickly as you are able.'

Don Quixote mounted Rozinante without another word, and, Sancho leading the way on his Ass, they entered that part of the Brown Mountains that was near them, a favourite haunt for outlaws and robbers in those days, and a spot where they would be safe from pursuit. For it was Sancho's plan to hide themselves for some days among the crags, so as not to be found even if the Holy Brotherhood should come and look for them.

They arrived that night in the very midst of the mountains, and there Sancho thought it best to spend the night, and, indeed, as many days as their food lasted; and with this intention they took up their abode among a number of tall trees that grew between two rocks.

It happened, however, that Gines of Passamonte, the famous cheat and robber whom Don Quixote by his valour and folly had released from his chains, resolved to hide himself also among the same mountains, and destiny led him to the very spot where Don Quixote and his Squire were hiding, and at the very moment that they had fallen asleep, tired out with the day's toil. And as the wicked are always ungrateful, and necessity forces them to evil deeds, Gines, who was neither grateful nor good natured, resolved to rob Sancho Panza of his Ass, not caring for Rozinante, as he thought he was not worth riding or selling. Sancho Panza slept soundly, and, while he slept, Gines stole his Ass, and before morning he was so far off as to be past finding.

The morning sun arose bringing joy to the earth, but only grief to poor Sancho, for he missed his Dapple, and, finding himself deprived of him, he began the saddest and most doleful lamentation possible, and when Don Quixote awoke he heard him mourning in a most melancholy way, crying out: 'O my beloved Ass, born in mine own house, the sport of my children, the comfort of my wife, the envy of my neighbours, the ease of my burdens, and, beyond all, the support of my household, for with what I gained daily by thee did I pay half of mine expenses!'

Don Quixote, who heard this lament, and knew the cause of it, comforted Sancho as best he could, and desired him to have patience, promising to give him a letter to command those at his house to hand over to him three out of five ass foals that he had at home. Sancho was comforted by this, dried his tears, moderated his sobs, and thanked Don Quixote for the favours he had done him.

And as they entered farther among the mountains the Knight felt glad at heart that he had come to a place so suitable for the adventures he was in search of. They reminded him of marvellous stories he had read of what had happened to Knights Errant in similar wild places, and his mind was so full of these things that he thought of nothing else whatever. As for Sancho, he trudged behind his Master, loaded with the things that his Ass should have carried.

While Sancho was thus walking along, he raised his eyes and saw that his Master had come to a stop, and was trying with the point of his lance to lift what seemed like a bundle that was lying on the ground. Upon which he ran to see whether his Master wanted his aid, and came up to him just as he was lifting up a saddle cushion with a portmanteau fast to it. These were half rotten and falling to pieces, yet they weighed so much that Sancho's help was required to lift them up. His Master ordered him to see what was in the portmanteau, and Sancho obeyed him as quickly as might be. And although it was shut with a chain and a padlock, yet Sancho could see through the rents and tears what was inside it, namely, four fine Holland shirts and other linen clothes, both curious and delicate, besides a handkerchief containing a good quantity of gold.

'At last,' cried Sancho, 'we have met with an adventure worth something,' and searching on he came across a little memorandum book very richly bound.

Don Quixote asked him for this, but bade him keep the money for himself.

For this rich favour Sancho kissed his hands, and taking all the linen, he crammed it into their provision-bag.

Don Quixote, having considered awhile, said: 'Methinks, Sancho, that some traveller having lost his way must have passed over the mountains, and being met by thieves, they slew him and buried him in this secret place.'

'It cannot be so,' answered Sancho, 'for if they had been thieves they would not have left the money behind them.'

'Thou sayest true,' said Don Quixote, 'and therefore I cannot guess what can have happened. But stay, we will look at the pocket-book, and see whether there is anything written in it by which we may discover what we want to know.'

He opened it, and the first thing he found in it was a poem, which was all about the author's love for some fair Chloe who would not care for him. Don Quixote read this aloud to Sancho.

'Nothing can be learned from these verses,' said the Squire, 'unless by that clue which is there we may get some help.'

'What clue is there here?' said Don Quixote.

'I thought your Lordship mentioned a clue there.'

'I did not say _clue_, but _Chloe_,' replied Don Quixote, 'which no doubt is the name of the lady of whom the author of this poem complains.'

After looking through the book again, Don Quixote found a despairing love-letter, and several other verses and letters full of laments and misery, from which he came to the conclusion that the owner of the book was some sad rejected lover.

The Knight of the Rueful Countenance was very desirous to know who was the owner of the portmanteau, believing from what he had seen that he must be a man of some position, whom the disdain and cruelty of a fair lady had driven to desperate courses. But as there was no one in this remote and solitary place to satisfy his curiosity, he rode on, taking any road that Rozinante chose, in the firm belief that he would find some strange adventure among the mountains.

And as he rode he saw a man on top of a little mountain, leaping from rock to rock and tuft to tuft with marvellous agility. He made him out to be half-naked, with a black and matted beard, his hair long and tangled, his feet unshod, and his legs bare. He wore some breeches of tawny velvet, but these appeared so torn to rags that his skin showed in many places. His head, too, was bare, and although he ran by with all haste, yet was the Knight able to mark all these things. But he could not follow him, because it was not in Rozinante's power, being in a weak state and naturally very slow and steady-going, to travel over these rough places at any speed. Don Quixote at once came to the conclusion that he was the owner of the portmanteau, and resolved to go in search of him, even if he should have to spend a whole year in the mountains till he found him. So he commanded Sancho to go on one side of the mountain, while he went the other, and, said he, 'one of us may thus come across this man who has vanished so suddenly out of our sight.'

'I dare not do so,' replied Sancho, 'for on parting one step from you, fear seizes me and fills me with a thousand kinds of terror and affright. Let me say, once for all, that henceforth I do not stir a finger's-breadth from your presence.'

'Well,' replied Don Quixote, 'I am glad that thou dost build upon my valour, which shall not fail thee even though everything else fails thee. Follow me, then, and keep thine eyes open, so that we may find this strange man, who is no doubt the owner of the portmanteau.'

'Surely,' said Sancho, 'it were better not to find him, for if we should meet him, and he turned out to be the owner of the money, we should have to return it to him. Let us rather keep it faithfully until some one turns up to claim it, when perhaps I shall have spent it all, and in that case I shall be free from blame.'

'In that thou art mistaken, Sancho,' replied Don Quixote, 'for now that we have a suspicion who the owner is, we are bound to search him out and restore him his money.'

So saying Don Quixote led the way, and in a little time they came upon a dead mule, half devoured by dogs and crows; and as they were looking at it they heard a whistle, such as shepherds use, and there appeared at their left hand a great number of goats, and behind them on the top of the mountain was the Goatherd, who was quite an old man.

Don Quixote called to him, and begged him to come down to where they stood; and the Goatherd, after looking at them for a few minutes, in surprise at seeing them in this lonely spot, descended to where they stood.

'I wager,' he said, as he came towards them, 'that you are wondering how the mule came there that lies dead in that bottom. Well, it has been lying there these six months. Tell me, have you come across his master as yet?'

'We have fallen in with nobody,' replied Don Quixote, 'but a saddle cushion and a portmanteau, which we found not far from here.'

'I have also found the same portmanteau,' said the Goatherd, 'but I would never take it up nor approach it for fear some ill-luck should come upon me, or lest some one should accuse me of theft.'

'Tell me, my good fellow,' said Don Quixote, 'do you know who is the owner of these things?'

'All I can tell you is this,' said the Goatherd, 'that some six months ago, more or less, there arrived at one of our sheepfolds, some three leagues off, a young gentleman of comely presence mounted on that mule which lies dead there, and with the same saddle cushion and portmanteau that you have seen. He asked us which was the most hidden part of the mountain, and we told him that this was, which is certainly true, for if you go a league further on perhaps you might not find your way out, and indeed I marvel how you found your way in so readily. As soon as the young man had heard our answer he turned his bridle and went towards the place we showed him, and made towards these mountains. After that we did not see him for a good many days, until one day, when one of our shepherds came by with provisions, he attacked him and beat him, and carried off all the bread and cheese that he carried, and then fled away back again to the mountains. When we heard of this, some of us goatherds went to look for him, and spent almost two days in the most solitary places in the mountains, and in the end found him lurking in the hollow part of a large cork-tree. He came out to us very meekly, his clothes torn and his face burned by the sun, so that we hardly knew him again. He saluted us courteously, and in a few civil words told us not to wonder at his condition, for he was working out a penance placed upon him for the sins he had committed. We begged him to tell us who he was, but he would not do so. We begged him also that when he had need of food he would tell us where we might find him, and we would willingly bring it to him, and told him there was no need to take it by force. He thanked us very much for our offer, and asked pardon for his violence, and promised in future to ask food of our shepherds without giving annoyance to any one. But even while he was speaking to us, he bit his lips and bent his brows, and it was clear some fit of madness was upon him, for he cried out: "O treacherous Fernando, here thou shalt pay me the injury thou didst me; these hands shall rend thy heart!" and many other wild and whirring words which he addressed to some Fernando. But at the same time he fell upon one of our goatherds, and we had no little trouble to get him away. Then without another word he fled to the briars and the brambles, where we could not follow him. By this we think that he has a madness which comes upon him at times, for sometimes he will take his food from our shepherds with courtesy and humanity, at others he seizes it by force, though they are ever willing to give it. We have thought to take him by force to the town of Almodavar, to see if he can be cured, or to find out if he has any relatives to whom we can restore him. This, Sirs, is all that I can tell you of what you have asked me, and for certain he it is who is the owner of the things you have found.'

Don Quixote was greatly amazed by what he had heard, and determined to search for him through the mountains, without leaving a corner or cave unsought until he had found him.