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Chapter 67

  • **Of the resolution Don Quixote formed to turn shepherd and take to a life i_he fields while the year for which he had given his word was running it_ourse; with other events truly delectable and happy**
  • If a multitude of reflections used to harass Don Quixote before he had bee_verthrown, a great many more harassed him since his fall. He was under th_hade of a tree, as has been said, and there, like flies on honey, thought_ame crowding upon him and stinging him. Some of them turned upon th_isenchantment of Dulcinea, others upon the life he was about to lead in hi_nforced retirement. Sancho came up and spoke in high praise of the generou_isposition of the lacquey Tosilos.
  • "Is it possible, Sancho," said Don Quixote, "that thou dost still think tha_e yonder is a real lacquey? Apparently it has escaped thy memory that tho_ast seen Dulcinea turned and transformed into a peasant wench, and the Knigh_f the Mirrors into the bachelor Carrasco; all the work of the enchanters tha_ersecute me. But tell me now, didst thou ask this Tosilos, as thou calles_im, what has become of Altisidora, did she weep over my absence, or has sh_lready consigned to oblivion the love thoughts that used to afflict her whe_ was present?"
  • "The thoughts that I had," said Sancho, "were not such as to leave time fo_sking fool's questions. Body o' me, senor! is your worship in a condition no_o inquire into other people's thoughts, above all love thoughts?"
  • "Look ye, Sancho," said Don Quixote, "there is a great difference between wha_s done out of love and what is done out of gratitude. A knight may ver_ossibly be proof against love; but it is impossible, strictly speaking, fo_im to be ungrateful. Altisidora, to all appearance, loved me truly; she gav_e the three kerchiefs thou knowest of; she wept at my departure, she curse_e, she abused me, casting shame to the winds she bewailed herself in public;
  • all signs that she adored me; for the wrath of lovers always ends in curses. _ad no hopes to give her, nor treasures to offer her, for mine are given t_ulcinea, and the treasures of knights-errant are like those of the fairies,'
  • illusory and deceptive; all I can give her is the place in my memory I kee_or her, without prejudice, however, to that which I hold devoted to Dulcinea,
  • whom thou art wronging by thy remissness in whipping thyself and scourgin_hat flesh—would that I saw it eaten by wolves—which would rather keep itsel_or the worms than for the relief of that poor lady."
  • "Senor," replied Sancho, "if the truth is to be told, I cannot persuade mysel_hat the whipping of my backside has anything to do with the disenchantment o_he enchanted; it is like saying, 'If your head aches rub ointment on you_nees;' at any rate I'll make bold to swear that in all the histories dealin_ith knight-errantry that your worship has read you have never come acros_nybody disenchanted by whipping; but whether or no I'll whip myself when _ave a fancy for it, and the opportunity serves for scourging mysel_omfortably."
  • "God grant it," said Don Quixote; "and heaven give thee grace to take it t_eart and own the obligation thou art under to help my lady, who is thin_lso, inasmuch as thou art mine."
  • As they pursued their journey talking in this way they came to the very sam_pot where they had been trampled on by the bulls. Don Quixote recognised it,
  • and said he to Sancho, "This is the meadow where we came upon those ga_hepherdesses and gallant shepherds who were trying to revive and imitate th_astoral Arcadia there, an idea as novel as it was happy, in emulatio_hereof, if so be thou dost approve of it, Sancho, I would have ourselves tur_hepherds, at any rate for the time I have to live in retirement. I will bu_ome ewes and everything else requisite for the pastoral calling; and, I unde_he name of the shepherd Quixotize and thou as the shepherd Panzino, we wil_oam the woods and groves and meadows singing songs here, lamenting in elegie_here, drinking of the crystal waters of the springs or limpid brooks o_lowing rivers. The oaks will yield us their sweet fruit with bountiful hand,
  • the trunks of the hard cork trees a seat, the willows shade, the rose_erfume, the widespread meadows carpets tinted with a thousand dyes; the clea_ure air will give us breath, the moon and stars lighten the darkness of th_ight for us, song shall be our delight, lamenting our joy, Apollo will suppl_s with verses, and love with conceits whereby we shall make ourselves fame_or ever, not only in this but in ages to come."
  • "Egad," said Sancho, "but that sort of life squares, nay corners, with m_otions; and what is more the bachelor Samson Carrasco and Master Nicholas th_arber won't have well seen it before they'll want to follow it and tur_hepherds along with us; and God grant it may not come into the curate's hea_o join the sheepfold too, he's so jovial and fond of enjoying himself."
  • "Thou art in the right of it, Sancho," said Don Quixote; "and the bachelo_amson Carrasco, if he enters the pastoral fraternity, as no doubt he will,
  • may call himself the shepherd Samsonino, or perhaps the shepherd Carrascon;
  • Nicholas the barber may call himself Niculoso, as old Boscan formerly wa_alled Nemoroso; as for the curate I don't know what name we can fit to hi_nless it be something derived from his title, and we call him the shepher_uriambro. For the shepherdesses whose lovers we shall be, we can pick name_s we would pears; and as my lady's name does just as well for a shepherdess'_s for a princess's, I need not trouble myself to look for one that will sui_er better; to thine, Sancho, thou canst give what name thou wilt."
  • "I don't mean to give her any but Teresona," said Sancho, "which will go wel_ith her stoutness and with her own right name, as she is called Teresa; an_hen when I sing her praises in my verses I'll show how chaste my passion is,
  • for I'm not going to look 'for better bread than ever came from wheat' i_ther men's houses. It won't do for the curate to have a shepherdess, for th_ake of good example; and if the bachelor chooses to have one, that is hi_ook-out."
  • "God bless me, Sancho my friend!" said Don Quixote, "what a life we shal_ead! What hautboys and Zamora bagpipes we shall hear, what tabors, timbrels,
  • and rebecks! And then if among all these different sorts of music that of th_lbogues is heard, almost all the pastoral instruments will be there."
  • "What are albogues?" asked Sancho, "for I never in my life heard tell of the_r saw them."
  • "Albogues," said Don Quixote, "are brass plates like candlesticks that struc_gainst one another on the hollow side make a noise which, if not ver_leasing or harmonious, is not disagreeable and accords very well with th_ude notes of the bagpipe and tabor. The word albogue is Morisco, as are al_hose in our Spanish tongue that begin with al; for example, almohaza,
  • almorzar, alhombra, alguacil, alhucema, almacen, alcancia, and others of th_ame sort, of which there are not many more; our language has only three tha_re Morisco and end in i, which are borcegui, zaquizami, and maravedi. Alhel_nd alfaqui are seen to be Arabic, as well by the al at the beginning as b_he they end with. I mention this incidentally, the chance allusion t_lbogues having reminded me of it; and it will be of great assistance to us i_he perfect practice of this calling that I am something of a poet, as tho_nowest, and that besides the bachelor Samson Carrasco is an accomplished one.
  • Of the curate I say nothing; but I will wager he has some spice of the poet i_im, and no doubt Master Nicholas too, for all barbers, or most of them, ar_uitar players and stringers of verses. I will bewail my separation; tho_halt glorify thyself as a constant lover; the shepherd Carrascon will figur_s a rejected one, and the curate Curiambro as whatever may please him best;
  • and so all will go as gaily as heart could wish."
  • To this Sancho made answer, "I am so unlucky, senor, that I'm afraid the da_ill never come when I'll see myself at such a calling. O what neat spoon_'ll make when I'm a shepherd! What messes, creams, garlands, pastoral odd_nd ends! And if they don't get me a name for wisdom, they'll not fail to ge_e one for ingenuity. My daughter Sanchica will bring us our dinner to th_asture. But stay-she's good-looking, and shepherds there are with mor_ischief than simplicity in them; I would not have her 'come for wool and g_ack shorn;' love-making and lawless desires are just as common in the field_s in the cities, and in shepherds' shanties as in royal palaces; 'do awa_ith the cause, you do away with the sin;' 'if eyes don't see hearts don'_reak' and 'better a clear escape than good men's prayers.'"
  • "A truce to thy proverbs, Sancho," exclaimed Don Quixote; "any one of thos_hou hast uttered would suffice to explain thy meaning; many a time have _ecommended thee not to be so lavish with proverbs and to exercise som_oderation in delivering them; but it seems to me it is only 'preaching in th_esert;' 'my mother beats me and I go on with my tricks."
  • "It seems to me," said Sancho, "that your worship is like the common saying,
  • 'Said the frying-pan to the kettle, Get away, blackbreech.' You chide me fo_ttering proverbs, and you string them in couples yourself."
  • "Observe, Sancho," replied Don Quixote, "I bring in proverbs to the purpose,
  • and when I quote them they fit like a ring to the finger; thou bringest the_n by the head and shoulders, in such a way that thou dost drag them in,
  • rather than introduce them; if I am not mistaken, I have told thee alread_hat proverbs are short maxims drawn from the experience and observation o_ur wise men of old; but the proverb that is not to the purpose is a piece o_onsense and not a maxim. But enough of this; as nightfall is drawing on le_s retire some little distance from the high road to pass the night; what i_n store for us to-morrow God knoweth."
  • They turned aside, and supped late and poorly, very much against Sancho'_ill, who turned over in his mind the hardships attendant upon knight-errantr_n woods and forests, even though at times plenty presented itself in castle_nd houses, as at Don Diego de Miranda's, at the wedding of Camacho the Rich,
  • and at Don Antonio Moreno's; he reflected, however, that it could not b_lways day, nor always night; and so that night he passed in sleeping, and hi_aster in waking.