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WHEN the delightful music was ended they might see one of those you call triumphant chariots come
towards them, drawn by six dun mules, but covered with white linen; and upon each of them came a penitentiary with a
torch, clothed likewise all in white. The cart was twice or thrice as big as the three former, and at the top and
sides of it were twelve other penitentiaries, as white as snow, all with their torches lighted, a sight that admired
and astonished jointly; and in a high throne sat a nymph, clad in a veil of cloth of silver, a world of golden
spangles glimmering about her; her face was covered with a fine cloth of tiffany, for all whose wrinkles the face of
a most delicate damsel was seen through it, and the many lights made them easily distinguish her beauty and years,
which, in likelihood, came not to twenty, nor were under seventeen. Next her came a shape clad in a gown of those
you call side-garments, down to her foot; her head was covered with a black veil; but, even as the cart came to be
just over against the dukes and Don Quixote, the music of the hautboys ceased, and the harps and lutes that came in
the cart began; and the gowned shape rising up, unfolding her garment on both sides, and taking her veil off from
her head, she discovered plainly the picture of raw-boned Death, at which Don Quixote was troubled, and Sancho
afraid, and the dukes made show of some timorous resenting. This live Death standing up, with a drowsy voice, and a
tongue not much waking, began in this manner:1
‘I Merlin am, he that in histories,
They say, the devil to my father had
(A tale by age succeeding authorised),
The prince and monarch of the magic art
And register of deep astrology.
Succeeding ages, since, me emulate,
That only seek to sing and blazon forth
The rare exploits of those knights-errant brave
To whom I bore and bear a liking great.
‘And howsoever of enchanters, and
Those that are wizards or magicians be,
Hard the condition, rough and devilish is,
Yet mine is tender, soft, and amorous,
And unto all friendly, to do them good.
‘In the obscure and darkest caves of Dis,
Whereas my soul hath still been entertained
In forming circles and of characters,
I heard the lamentable note of fair
And peerless Dulcinea del Toboso.
‘I knew of her enchantment and hard hap,
Her transformation from a goodly dame
Into a rustic wench; I sorry was,
And shutting up my spirit within this hollow,
This terrible and fierce anatomy,
When I had turned a hundred thousand books
Of this my dev’lish science and uncouth,
I come to give the remedy that’s fit
To such a grief, and to an ill so great.
‘O glory thou of all that do put on
Their coats of steel and hardest diamond,
Thou light, thou lanthorn, path, North-star, and guide
To those that, casting off their sluggish sleep
And feather-beds, themselves accommodate
To use the exercise of bloody arms,—
To thee, I say, O never praised enough,
Not as thou oughtst to be! O valiant!
‘O jointly wise! to thee, O Don Quixote,
The Mancha’s splendour and the star of Spain,
That, to recover to her first estate,
The peerless Dulcinea del Tobos,
It is convenient that Sancho thy squire,
Himself three thousand and three hundred give
Lashes upon his valiant buttocks, both
Unto the air discovered, and likewise
That they may vex and smart, and grieve him sore.
And upon this let all resolved be
That of her hard misfortunes authors were.
My masters, this my cause of coming was.’
‘By Gad,’ quoth Sancho, ‘I say not three thousand, but I will as soon give myself three stabs as
three. The devil take this kind of disenchanting. What have my buttocks to do with enchantments? Verily, if Master
Merlin have found no other means to disenchant the Lady Dulcinea del Toboso, she may go enchanted to her grave.’
‘Goodman-rascal,’ quoth Don Quixote, ‘you garlic stinkard, I shall take you, and bind you to a tree, as naked as
your mother brought you forth, and let me not say three thousand and three hundred, but I’ll give you six thousand
and six hundred, so well laid on that you shall not claw them off at three thousand and three hundred plucks. And
reply not a word: if thou dost, I’ll tear out thy very soul.’
Which when Merlin heard, quoth he, ‘It must not be so, for the stripes that honest Sancho must receive must be with
his good will, and not perforce, and at what time he will, for no time is prefixed him; but it is lawful for him, if
he will redeem one half of this beating, he may receive it from another’s hand that may lay it on well.’
‘No other, nor laying on,’ quoth Sancho; ‘no hand shall come near me. Am I Dulcinea del Toboso’s mother, trow ye?
that my buttocks should pay for the offence of her eyes? My master, indeed, he is a part of her, since every
stitch-while he calls her “my life,” “my soul,” “my sustenance,” “my prop”; he may be whipped for her, and do all
that is fitting for her disenchanting, but for me to whip myself I bernounce.’2
Sancho scarce ended his speech when the silver nymph that came next to Merlin’s ghost, taking off her thin veil, she
discovered her face, which seemed unto all to be extraordinary fair, and with a manly grace and voice not very
amiable, directing her speech to Sancho, she said, ‘O thou unhappy squire, soul of lead, and heart of cork, and
entrails of flint, if thou hadst been bidden, thou face-flying thief, to cast thyself from a high tower down to the
ground; if thou hadst been wished, enemy of mankind, to eat a dozen of toads, two of lizards, and three of snakes;
if thou hadst been persuaded to kill thy wife and children with some truculent and sharp scimitar, no marvel though
thou shouldst show thyself nice and squeamish: but to make ado for three thousand and three hundred lashes (since
the poorest school-boy that is, hath them every month) admires, astonishes, and affrights all the pitiful entrails
of the auditors, and of all them that in process of time shall come to hear of it: put, O miserable and flinty
breast — put, I say, thy skittish moil’s eyes upon the balls of mine, compared to shining stars, and thou shalt see
them weep drop after drop, making furrows, careers, and paths upon the fair fields of my cheeks. Let it move thee,
knavish and untoward monster, that my flourishing age (which is yet but in its ten and some years; for I am
nineteen, and not yet twenty) doth consume and wither under the bark of a rustic labourer; and if now I seem not so
to thee, ‘tis a particular favour that Signior Merlin hath done me, who is here present, only that my beauty may
make thee relent; for the tears of an afflicted fairness turn rocks into cotton, and tigers into lambs. Lash, lash
that thick flesh of thine, untame beast, and rouse up thy courage from sloth, which makes thee only fit to eat till
thou burst, and set my smooth flesh at liberty, the gentleness of my condition, and the beauty of my face; and if
for my sake thou wilt not be mollified, and reduced to some reasonable terms, yet do it for that poor knight that is
by thee — for thy master, I say, whose soul I see is traversed in his throat, not ten fingers from his lips,
expecting nothing but thy rigid or soft answer, either to come out of his mouth or to turn back to his stomach.’
Don Quixote, hearing this, felt to his throat, and turning to the duke, said, ‘Before God, sir, Dulcinea hath said
true; for my soul indeed is traversed in my throat like the nock of a cross-bow.’ ‘What say you to this, Sancho?’
quoth the duchess. ‘I say’ what I have said,’ quoth Sancho, ‘that the lashes I bernounce.’ ‘Renounce, thou wouldst
say, Sancho,’ said the duke. ‘Let your greatness pardon me,’ said Sancho; ‘I am not now to look into subtleties, nor
your letters too many or too few; for these lashes that I must have do so trouble me that I know not what to do or
say; but I would fain know of my Lady Dulcinea del Toboso where she learned this kind of pegging she hath; she comes
to desire me to tear my flesh with lashes, and calls me leaden soul, and untamed beast, with a catalogue of ill
names that the devil would not suffer. Does she think my flesh is made of brass? Or will her disenchantment be worth
anything to me or no? What basket of white linen, of shirts, caps, or socks (though I wear none) doth she bring with
her, to soften me with? Only some kind of railing or other, knowing the usual proverb is, “An ass laden with gold
will go lightly uphill”; and that Gifts do enter stone walls; and serve God and work hard; and better a bird in the
hand than two in the bush. And my master too, that should animate me to this task, and comfort me, to make me become
as soft as wool, he says that he will tie me naked to a tree and double the number of my lashes; and therefore these
compassionate gentles should consider that they do not only wish a squire to whip himself, but a governor also, as
if it were no more but drink to your cherries: let ’em learn, let ’em learn, with a pox, to know how to ask and to
demand; for all times are not alike, and men are not always in a good-humour: I am now ready to burst with grief to
see my torn coat, and now you come to bid me whip myself willingly, I being as far from it as to turn cacique.’3
‘By my faith, Sancho,’ quoth the duke, ‘if you do not make yourself as soft as a ripe fig, you finger not the
government. ‘Twere good, indeed, that I should send a cruel flinty-hearted governor amongst my islanders, that will
not bend to the tears of afflicted damsels, nor the entreaties of discreet, imperious, ancient, wise enchanters. To
conclude, Sancho, either you must whip yourself, or be whipped, or not be governor.’
‘Sir,’ quoth Sancho, ‘may I not have two days’ respite to consider?’ ‘No, by no means,’ quoth Merlin; now at this
instant, and in this place, this business must be despatched, or Dulcinea shall return to Montesinos’ Cave, and to
her pristine being of a country-wench, or as she is she shall be carried to the Elysian Fields, there to expect till
the number of these lashes be fulfilled.’ ‘Go to, honest Sancho,’ said the duchess, ‘be of good cheer, show your
love for your master’s bread that you have eaten, to whom all of us are indebted for his pleasing condition and his
high chivalry. Say ay, son, to this whipping cheer, and hang the devil, and let fear go whistle; a good heart
conquers ill fortune, as well thou knowest.’
To this Sancho yielded these foolish speeches, speaking to Merlin: ‘Tell me, Signior Merlin,’ said he, ‘when the
devil-post passed by here, and delivered his message to my master from Signior Montesinos, bidding him from him he
should expect him here, because he came to give order that my Lady Dulcinea should be disenchanted, — where is he,
that hitherto we have neither seen Montesinos or any such thing?’
To which said Merlin, ‘Friend Sancho, the devil is an ass and an errant knave. I sent him in quest of your master,
but not with any message from Montesinos, but from me, for he is still in his cave, plotting, or, to say truer,
expecting his disenchantment, for yet he wants something toward it; and if he owe thee aught, or thou have anything
to do with him, I’ll bring him thee, and set him where thou wilt: and therefore now make an end, and yield to this
disciplining, and believe me it will do thee much good, as well for thy mind as for thy body — for thy mind,
touching the charity thou shalt perform; for thy body, for I know thou art of a sanguine complexion, and it can do
thee no hurt to let out some blood.’
‘What a company of physicians there be in the world!’ said Sancho. ‘Even the very enchanters are physicians. Well,
since everybody tells me so, that it is good — yet I cannot think so — I. am content to give myself three thousand
and three hundred lashes, on condition that I may be giving of them as long as I please, and I will be out of debt
as soon as ‘tis possible, that the world may enjoy the beauty of the Lady Dulcinea del Toboso, since it appears,
contrary to what I thought, that she is fair. On condition likewise that I may not draw blood with the whip, and if
any lash go by, too, it shall pass for current. Item, that Signior Merlin, if I forget any part of the number (since
he knows all), shall have a care to tell them, and to let me know how many I want, or if I exceed.’ ‘For your
exceeding,’ quoth Merlin, ‘there needs no telling, for, coming to your just number, forthwith Dulcinea shall be
disenchanted, and shall come in all thankfulness to seek Sancho, to gratify and reward him for the good deed. So you
need not be scrupulous, either of your excess or defect, and God forbid I should deceive anybody in so much as a
hair’s-breadth.’
‘Well,’ quoth Sancho, ‘a God’s name be it! I yield to my ill fortune, and with the aforesaid condition accept of the
penitence.’
Scarce had Sancho spoken these words when the waits began to play, and a world of guns were shot off, and Don
Quixote hung about Sancho’s neck, kissing his cheeks and forehead a thousand times. The duke, the duchess, and all
the bystanders, were wonderfully delighted, and the cart began to go on, and, passing by, the fair Dulcinea inclined
her head to the dukes, and made a low courtsy to Sancho. And by this the merry morn came on apace, and the flowers
of the field began to bloom and rise up, and liquid crystal of the brooks, murmuring through the grey pebbles, went
to give tribute to the rivers, that expected them; the sky was clear, and the air wholesome, the light perspicuous;
each by itself, and all together, showed manifestly that the day, whose skirts Aurora came trampling on, should be
bright and clear.
And the dukes being satisfied with the chase, and to have obtained their purpose so discreetly and happily, they
returned to their castle, with an intention to second their jest; for to them there was no earnest could give more
content.
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