Chapter 17

The gentleman had observed these passages, and stood amazed, but especially when Don Quixote, having put on the helmet again, fixed himself well in the stirrups, tried whether his sword were loose enough in his scabbard, and rested his lance. "Now," cried he, "come what will come; here am I, who dare encounter the devil himself in person." By this time the wagon with the flags was come up with them, attended only by the carter, mounted on one of the mules, and another man that sat on the forepart. Don Quixote making up to them, "Whither go ye, friends?" said he. "What wagon is this? What do you convey in it? And what is the meaning of these flags?"--"The wagon is mine," answered the wagoner; "I have there fast two brave lions, which the general of Oran is sending to his majesty, and these colors of our lord the king are to let the people understand that what goes here belongs to him."--"And are the lions large?" inquired Don Quixote.--"Very large," answered the man at the door of the wagon; "there never came bigger from Afric into Spain. I am their keeper," added he, "and have had charge of several others, but I never saw the like of these before. In the foremost cage is a he-lion and in the other, behind, a lioness. By this time they are hungry, for they have not eaten to-day; therefore, pray, good sir, ride out of the way, for we must make haste to get to the place where we intend to feed them."--"What!" said Don Quixote, with a smile, "lion whelps against me! Against me those puny beasts! And at this time of day? Well, I will make those gentlemen that sent their lions this way know whether I am a man to be scared with lions. Get off, honest fellow; and since you are the keeper, open their cages, and let them both out; for, maugre and in despite of those enchanters that have sent them to try me, I will make the creatures know, in the midst of this very field, who Don Quixote de la Mancha is."--"So," thought the gentleman to himself, "now has our poor knight discovered who he is; the curds, I find, have softened his skull, and mellowed his brains."

On this, Sancho came up to him. "O good dear sir!" cried he, "for pity's sake, hinder my master from falling upon those lions by all means, or we shall all be torn a-pieces."--"Why," said the gentleman, "is your master so arrant a madman, then, that you should fear he would set upon such furious beasts?"--"Ah, sir!" said Sancho, "he is not mad, but venturesome."--"Well," replied the gentleman, "I will take care of that;" and with that advancing up to Don Quixote, who was urging the lion-keeper to open the cage, "Sir," said he, "knights-errant ought to engage in adventures from which there may be some hopes of coming off with safety, but not in such as are altogether desperate; for that courage which borders on temerity is more like madness than fortitude. Besides, these lions come not against you, nor dream of it, but are sent as a present to the king, and therefore, it is well not to detain them, or stop the wagon."--"Pray, sweet sir," replied Don Quixote, "go and amuse yourself with your tame partridge and your bold ferret, and leave every one to his own business. This is mine, and I know best whether these lion gentry are sent against me or no." Then turning about to the keeper, "Sirrah! you rascal you," said he, "either open your cages on the spot, or I vow to God, I will pin thee to the wagon with this lance."--"Good sir," cried the wagoner, seeing this strange apparition in armor so resolute, "for mercy's sake, do but let me take out our mules first, and get out of harm's way with them as fast as I can, before the lions get out; for if they should kill them, I should be undone forever, for that cart and they are all I have in the world to get a living with."--"Thou man of little faith," said Don Quixote, "take them out quickly, then, and go with them where thou wilt; though thou shalt presently see that thy precaution was needless, and thou mightest have spared thy pains."

The wagoner on this made haste to take out his mules, while the keeper cried out loud, "Bear witness, all ye that are here present, that it is against my will I am forced to open the cages and let loose the lions; and that I protest to this gentleman here, that he shall be answerable for all the mischief and damage they may do; together with the loss of my salary and fees. And now, sirs, shift for yourselves, for, as for myself, I know the lions will do me no harm." Once more the gentleman tried to dissuade Don Quixote from doing so mad a thing, telling him that he tempted Heaven in exposing himself to so great a danger. To this Don Quixote made no other answer, but that he knew what he had to do. "Consider, however, what you do," replied the gentleman, "for it is most certain that you are very much mistaken."--"Well, sir," said Don Quixote, "if you care not to be spectator of an action which you think is like to be tragical, e'en put spurs to your mare, and provide for your safety." Sancho, hearing this, came up to his master with tears in his eyes and begged him not to go about this undertaking, to which the adventure of the windmills, and the fulling mills, and all the brunts he had ever borne in his life, were but cakes and gingerbread. "Good your worship," cried he, "here is no enchantment in the case, nor anything like it. I peeped even now through the grates of the cage, and I am sure I saw the claw of a true lion, and such a claw as makes me think the lion that owns it must be bigger than a mountain."--"At any rate," said Don Quixote, "thy fear will make him bigger than half the world. Retire, Sancho, and leave me, and if I chance to fall here thou knowest our old agreement; repair to Dulcinea--I say no more." To this he added some expressions which cut off all hopes of his giving over his mad design.

The gentleman in green would have opposed him; but, considering the other much better armed, and that it was not prudence to encounter a madman, as Don Quixote seemed to be, he even took the opportunity, while he was hastening the keeper and repeating his threats, to march off with his mare, as Sancho did with Dapple, and the carter with his mules, every one making the best of their way to get as far as they could from the wagon before the lions were let loose. Sancho at the same time made lamentations for his master's death; for he gave him up for lost, not questioning but the lions had already got him into their clutches. He cursed his ill fortune, and the hour he came again to his service; but for all his wailing and lamenting, he punched on poor Dapple, to get as far as he could from the lions. The keeper, perceiving the persons who fled to be at a good distance, fell to arguing and entreating Don Quixote as he had done before. But he told him again that all his reasons and entreaties were but in vain, and bid him say no more, but immediately dispatch.

Now while the keeper took time to open the foremost cage, Don Quixote stood debating with himself, whether he had best make his attack on foot or on horseback; and upon mature deliberation, he resolved to do it on foot, lest Rozinante, at sight of the lions, should be put into disorder. Accordingly he quitted his horse, threw aside his lance, grasped his shield, and drew his sword; then advancing step by step, with wondrous courage and an undaunted heart, he posted himself just before the door of the cage, commending himself to Heaven, and afterwards to his lady Dulcinea.

At this point it must be known, the author of this faithful history makes the following exclamation. "O thou most brave and unutterably bold Don Quixote de la Mancha! Thou mirror and grand exemplar of valor! Thou second and new Don Emanuel de Leon, the late glory and honor of all Spanish cavaliers! What words shall I use to express this astonishing deed of thine! What language shall I employ to convince posterity of its truth! What praises can be coined, and eulogies invented, that will not be outvied by thy superior merit, though hyperboles were piled on hyperboles! Thou alone, on foot, intrepid and magnanimous, with nothing but a sword, and that none of the sharpest, with thy single shield, and that none of the brightest, stoodst ready to receive and encounter the two fiercest lions that ever roared within the Libyan deserts. Then let thine own deeds speak thy praise, brave champion of La Mancha, while I am obliged to leave off, for want of words to maintain the flight." Here ended the author's exclamation, and the history goes on.

The keeper, observing the posture Don Quixote had put himself in, and that it was not possible for him to prevent letting out the lions, without incurring the resentment of the desperate knight, set the door of the foremost cage wide open; where, as I have said, was the male lion, who appeared of a monstrous bigness and of a hideous, frightful aspect. The first thing he did was to turn himself round in his cage, stretch out one of his paws, and rouse himself. After that he gaped and yawned for a good while, and then thrust out almost two spans of tongue, and with it licked the dust out of his eyes and face. Having done this, he thrust his head out of the cage, and stared about with his eyes that looked like two live coals; a sight and motion enough to have struck terror into temerity itself. But Don Quixote only regarded it with attention, wishing he would leap out of the wagon, and come within his reach, that he might cut the monster piecemeal. To this height had his incredible folly transported him; but the generous lion, more gentle than arrogant, taking no notice of his vaporing and bravados, after he had looked about him awhile, turned his tail, and having showed Don Quixote his hinder parts, very contentedly lay down again in his apartment.

Don Quixote, seeing this, commanded the keeper to rouse him with blows, and force him out. "Not I, indeed, sir," answered the keeper; "I dare not do it for my life; for if I provoke him, I am sure to be the first he will tear to pieces. Let me advise you, sir, to be satisfied with your day's work. 'Tis as much as the bravest can pretend to do. Then pray go no further, I beseech you: the door stands open, the lion is at his choice, whether he will come out or no, and since he did not come out at the first, I dare engage he will not stir out this day. You have shown enough the greatness of your courage. No brave combatant is obliged to do more than challenge his enemy, and wait for him in the field. If he comes not, that is his fault, and the scandal is his, and the crown of victory is the challenger's."

"'Tis true," replied Don Quixote. "Come, shut the door, honest friend, and give me a certificate under thy hand, in the amplest form thou canst, of what thou hast seen me perform; how thou didst open the cage for the lion; how I expected his coming, and he did not come out; how I stayed his own time, and instead of meeting me, he turned tail and lay down, I am obliged to do no more. So, enchantments avaunt! and Heaven prosper truth, justice, and true knight-errantry! Shut the door, as I bid thee, while I make signs to those that ran away from us, and get them to come back, that they may have an account of this exploit from my own mouth." The keeper obeyed, and Don Quixote, clapping on the point of his lance the handkerchief with which he had wiped off the deluge of curds from his face, began to call to the fugitives, who fled nevertheless, looking behind them all the way, and trooped on in a body with the gentleman at the head of them.

At last, Sancho observed the signal of the white flag, and calling out to the rest, "Hold," cried he, "my master calls to us; I will he hanged if he has not got the better of the lions." At this they all faced about, and perceived Don Quixote flourishing his ensign; whereupon recovering a little from their fright, they little by little came back, till they could plainly distinguish Don Quixote's voice; and then they came up to the wagon. As soon as they were got near it, "Come on, friend," said he to the carter; "put to thy mules again, and pursue thy journey; and, Sancho, do you give him two gold crowns for the lion-keeper and himself, to make them amends for the time I have detained them."--"Ay, that I will with all my heart," quoth Sancho; "but what is become of the lions? Are they dead or alive?" Then the keeper very formally related the whole action, not failing to exaggerate, to the best of his skill, Don Quixote's courage; how at his sight alone the lion was so terrified, that he neither would nor durst quit his stronghold, though for that end his cage door was kept open for a considerable time; and how upon his remonstrating to the knight, who would have had the lion forced out, that it was presuming too much upon Heaven, he had permitted, though with great reluctancy, that the lion should be shut up again. "Well, Sancho," said Don Quixote to his squire, "what dost thou think of this? Can enchantment prevail over true fortitude? No, these magicians may perhaps rob me of success, but of fortitude and courage it would be impossible."

Sancho gave the wagoner and the keeper the two pieces. The first harnessed his mules, and the last thanked Don Quixote for his bounty, and promised to acquaint the king himself with his heroic action when he came to court. "Well," said Don Quixote, "if his majesty should chance to inquire who did this thing, tell him it was the Knight of the Lions; a name I intend henceforth to take up, in lieu of that which I hitherto assumed, of the Knight of the Doleful Countenance; in which proceeding I do but conform to the ancient custom of knights-errant, who changed their names as often as they pleased, or as it suited with their advantage."

THE RIDE ON THE WOODEN HORSE

_By Miguel de Cervantes Saavedra_

[An enchanter has revenged himself upon some ladies by putting heavy beards upon their faces. Don Quixote has been persuaded that the beards will vanish if he will take a journey of three thousand leagues on a wooden horse.]

"Blind thy eyes, Sancho," said Don Quixote, "and get up. Sure he that sends so far for us can have no design to deceive us! since it would never be to his credit to delude those that rely on his word; and, though the success should be contrary to our desires, still, it is not in the power of malice to eclipse the glory of so brave an attempt."--"To horse, then, sir," cried Sancho. "The beards and tears of these poor gentlewomen are sticking in my heart. And I shall not eat a bit to do me good till I see them as smooth as before. Mount, then, I say, and blindfold yourself first; for, if I must ride behind, it is a plain case you must get up before me."--"That is right," said Don Quixote; and, with that, pulling a handkerchief out of his pocket, he gave it to the Disconsolate Lady to hoodwink him. She did so; but presently after, uncovering himself, "If I remember right," said he, "we read in Virgil of the Trojan Palladium, that wooden horse which the Greeks offered the goddess Pallas, full of armed knights who afterwards proved the total ruin of Troy. It were prudent, therefore, before we get up, to see what Clavileño has within him."--"You need not," said the Disconsolate Lady; "I dare engage that Malambruno would not countenance any base or treacherous practice. Mount, Don Quixote, without fear; whatever accident befalls you, I dare answer for." Upon this, Don Quixote mounted, without any reply, imagining that anything said concerning his security would be a reflection on his valor. He then began to try the pin, which was easily turned; and as he sat, with his long legs stretched at length without stirrups, he looked like one of those antique figures in a Roman triumph, painted or woven in Flemish arras.

Sancho, very leisurely and unwillingly, was made to climb up; and, fixing himself as well as he could on the crupper, felt it somewhat hard and uneasy. With that, looking on the duke, "Good my lord," quoth he, "will you lend me something to clap under me; some pillow from the page's bed, or the duchess's cushion of state, or anything; for this horse's crupper seems rather marble than wood."--"It is needless," said Trifaldi; "for Clavileño will bear no kind of furniture upon him; so that, for your greater ease, you had best sit sideways, like a woman." Sancho did so; and after he had taken his leave they bound a cloth over his eyes; but presently after, uncovering them, with a pitiful look on the spectators, he prayed them with tears in his eyes to help him in this peril with two Paternosters and two Ave Marias, as they would expect the like charity themselves in such a condition!--"What! you rascal," said Don Quixote, "do you think yourself at the gallows, and at the point of death, that you hold forth in such a piteous strain? Dastardly wretch without a soul, dost thou not know that the fair Magalona once sat in thy place, and alighted from thence, not into the grave, but into the throne of France, if there is truth in history? And do not I sit by thee, that I may vie with the valorous Peter, and press the seat that was once pressed by him? Come, blindfold thyself, poor spiritless animal, and let me not hear thee betray the least symptom of fear, at least not in my presence."--"Well," quoth Sancho, "let them bind me; but, if you will not let one say his prayers nor be prayed for, it is no marvel one should fear that we may have a legion of imps about us to deal with us, as at Peralvillo."

Now, both being hoodwinked, and Don Quixote perceiving everything ready, be began to turn the pin; and no sooner had he set his hand to it than the waitingwomen and all the company set up their throats, calling out, "Speed you well, valorous knight; Heaven be your guide, undaunted squire! Now, now, you fly aloft, cutting the air more swiftly than an arrow, while the gazing world wonders at your course! Sit fast, courageous Sancho! you do not sit steady; have a care of falling; for your fall would be greater than the aspiring youth's that sought to guide the chariot of the sun-god, his father." All this Sancho heard, and, girting his arms fast about his master, "Sir," quoth he, "why do they say we are so high, since we can hear their voices? Truly I hear them so plainly that one would think they were talking close by us."--"Never mind that," answered Don Quixote; "for in these extraordinary kinds of flight you can hear and see what you wish a thousand leagues off. But do not hold me so hard, for you will make me tumble off. I know not what makes thee tremble so, for I dare swear I never rode easier in all my life; our horse goes as if he did not move at all. Take courage, then; for the affair is in a good way, and we have the wind astern."--"I think so, too," quoth Sancho; "for I feel the wind puff as briskly here as if a thousand pairs of bellows were blowing on me at my back." Sancho was not in the wrong; for two or three pairs of bellows were indeed giving air; so well had the plot of this adventure been laid by the duke, the duchess, and their steward, that nothing was wanting to perfect it.

Don Quixote at last feeling the wind, "Sure," said he, "we must be risen to the second region of the air, where are engendered the hail and snow; thunder, lightning, and thunderbolts are produced in the third region; so that, if we mount at this rate, we shall be in the region of fire presently; and I do not know how to manage this pin, so as to avoid being scorched." At the same time some flax, easy to light and to quench at a distance, was clapped to the end of a long stick, and made their faces hot; and the heat affecting Sancho, he cried, "May I be hanged, if we be not come to this fire region or very near it; for the half of my beard is singed already. I have a mind to peep out and see whereabouts we are."--"By no means," answered Don Quixote, "but remember the true story of Doctor Torralva, whom the devil carried to Rome hoodwinked, and, bestriding a reed, in twelve hours' time setting him down in the tower of Nona, in one of the streets of that city. There he saw the dreadful tumult, assault, and death of Bourdon; and, the next morning, he found himself back in Madrid, where he related the story. Who said, as he went through the air, the devil bade him open his eyes, which he did, and then found himself as it seemed so near the moon that he could touch him with his finger; but durst not look towards the earth, lest his brains should turn. So, Sancho, we need not unveil our eyes, but trust to him that has charge of us, and fear nothing, for perhaps we only mount high, to come straight down upon the kingdom of Candaya, as a hawk or falcon falls upon a heron, to seize it more strongly from a height; for, though it appears to us not half an hour since we left the garden, we have, nevertheless, traveled over a vast tract."--"I know nothing of the matter," replied Sancho; "but of this I am very certain, that, if the Lady Magallanes, or Magalona, could sit this wooden crupper, she cannot have had very tender flesh."

This dialogue of the valiant pair was very pleasant all this while to the duke and duchess, and the rest of the company; and now, at last, resolving to put an end to this extraordinary and well-contrived adventure, they set fire with some tow to Clavileño's tail; and, the horse being stuffed full of fireworks, burst presently into pieces, with a mighty noise, throwing Don Quixote and Sancho to the ground half scorched. By this time the Disconsolate Lady and bearded regiment vanished out of the garden, and all the rest, as if in a trance, lay flat upon the ground. Don Quixote and Sancho, sorely bruised, got up, amazed to find themselves in the same garden whence they took horse, and to see such a number of people lie on the ground. But their wonder was increased by the appearance of a large lance stuck in the ground, and a scroll of white parchment fastened to it by two green silken strings, with the following inscription upon it, in golden characters:--

_"The renowned knight Don Quixote de la Mancha achieved the adventure of the Countess Trifaldi, otherwise called the Disconsolate Lady, and her companions, by solely attempting it. Malambruno is fully contented and satisfied. The waiting gentlewomen have lost their beards. King Clavijo and Queen Antonomasia have resumed their pristine shapes; and, when the squire's scourging shall be finished, the white dove shall escape the pernicious hawks that pursue her, and be lulled in the arms of her beloved. This is ordained by the Sage Merlin, proto-enchanter of enchanters."_

Don Quixote, having read this document, clearly understood it to refer to Dulcinea's disenchantment, and rendered thanks to Heaven that he had achieved so great a feat with so little danger, and brought back to their former bloom the faces of the venerable waiting-women, who had now disappeared; and approaching the duke and duchess, who had not yet come to themselves, he took the duke by the hand: "Courage, courage, noble sir," cried he, "there is no danger; the adventure is finished without damage, as you may read it registered in that record."

The duke, as if he had been waked out of a sound sleep, recovered himself by degrees, as did the duchess and the rest of the company, who were lying prostrate in the garden, all of them acting the surprise and fear so naturally that the jest might have been believed earnest. The duke with half-closed eyes read the scroll; then, embracing Don Quixote, extolled him as the bravest knight the earth had ever possessed. As for Sancho, he was looking up and down for the Disconsolate Lady, to see what sort of a face she had got, without her beard. But he was informed that as Clavileño came down flaming in the air, the whole squadron of women with Trifaldi vanished immediately, but all of them shaved and without a hair upon their faces.