“No, on my faith, I do not,” replied I; “but I doubt not he had a very hideous name; like all those evil spirits whose mischievous doings are narrated in books of chivalry. I have heard of a certain author who, during the space of several days, puzzled himself sorely to fix on a name for an enchanter whom he introduced into one of his stories. His object was to find a pompous, high-sounding name, which would be expressive of the enchanter’s character. The author in question happened one day to be visiting the house of a friend where he and others were playing at cards. During the game, the master of the house calling to one of the servants, said,—‘Hola Cœlio! trae aquí cantos!’—(Hola Cœlio! bring hither some stones!)[62] These words fell with such sonorous emphasis on the ear of our author, that he immediately rose from the card-table, and, without taking leave of his friends, he straightway hurried home, where he wrote down the name Traquicantos, with which he baptized his enchanter....
“But to return to the magician of Binche, of whom I was just now speaking. By his fiendish arts he spread dismay among the inhabitants of the neighbouring country, doing all sorts of mischief, and threatening still greater harm. The knights ascertained that the said enchanter dwelt in a palace which, being continually enveloped in a hazy cloud, was invisible even to those who had the courage to seek to discover it.[X] But it happened that a virtuous princess, deeply versed in the occult sciences of foresight and foreknowledge, seeing the mischief wrought by the enchanter, declared that within a certain lofty mountain-peak there was hidden a sword possessing singular power, as was denoted by the following lines inscribed on it:—
“‘Whosoever shall draw forth this sword from the stone within which it is hidden, will terminate these evils, and dispel these enchantments; and will restore to freedom the prisoners now languishing in cruel captivity. Finally, he will hurl to destruction the enchanter’s gloomy castle, and he will, moreover, achieve many other good deeds which, though not here declared, are, nevertheless, promised and predestined.’
“The knights implored the emperor’s permission to undertake this mighty adventure. The permission was accorded, and the knights passed two whole days in performing, in the presence of the emperor and the prince, certain crazy exploits similar to those we read of in books of chivalry—those mischevous creations of idle imagination. Now, I leave you to weigh and consider (with the sound judgment which must dwell in the mind of a Señor Bachelor of Laws)[63] the fact that the said knights actually performed these feats, or rather these fooleries, and that they were approved by the emperor and the prince Don Philip, who derived therefrom much entertainment. And will it be said that there are not other madmen in the world besides the ingenious knight of La Mancha, when such as these find favour in the eyes of emperors and kings?[Y] But the fools so thickly scattered through this Christian realm cannot endure that the reading of this said book Don Quixote should have the effect of convincing the unlettered common people that romances of chivalry are filled with improbabilities alike adverse to reason and common sense. Therefore it is that they attack the book with such determined fury and perversity, picking faults in it, and seeking to prove that there are no persons in the world so mad as to put faith in the reality of the stories related in books of chivalry. But the courts of kings, to say nothing of more humble places, are full of such madmen, for courts are the birthplaces of madness of every kind. These people say and do all sorts of crazy things: they enter upon insane enterprises to their own injury, and there is no possibility of convincing them of their errors. And these, forsooth, are the persons who find fault with the illustrious knight Don Quixote, the mirror not only of all crazy La Manchians, but of all crack-brained Spaniards; indeed, it may be said, that he is the clear reflection of all madmen throughout the world. For these reasons, instead of being depreciated, the work deserves to be prized and esteemed by all right-judging persons, inasmuch as it is the only one of all the many stories of chivalry that has been written with an honest and useful purpose. After all, the delusions of Don Quixote are less absurd than many things related in those romances: and from time immemorial there have been numberless lunatics in the world who have not, in the general opinion, been accounted mad. The laudable intention of the author was to banish the false order of knight-errantry, by the highly-seasoned dish of diversion presented in his true history.”
Just as I uttered these words, the bachelor’s unlucky nag, by a sudden leap, snapped the reins by which he was fastened up; he had taken a fancy to sport with the mule who, tied to the trunk of an old oak, was quietly reposing on the grass. The mule, however, with becoming dignity, evinced her dislike of such familiarity by several smart kicks. One of them, aimed at the one eye of the poor horse which still retained some little power of vision, rendered it as blind as the other. In another instant a severe kick laid him prostrate on the earth, to all appearance bringing to an end the miseries of the horse, and the falls of his rider.
At this unexpected disaster, and naturally expecting that the poor animal, which lay struggling and gasping, was about to draw his last breath, the bachelor vented his grief in a torrent of lamentations, at the same time bitterly reproaching himself for the little caution he had observed in securing the safety of the precious jewel which he had probably hired from the stables of Colmenares.[64] He began to curse the hour when he had set out on his luckless journey.
I, to console him, said, “After all, Señor Bachelor, this misfortune has happened not inopportunely. But a minute ago you were observing that the book called Don Quixote is full of absurd extravagances. Now, a truce with your lamentations, and recall to your memory that famous adventure of the Knight of La Mancha when he encountered the most disastrous of all his misfortunes—I mean when he met with the Yangueses on his departure from Chrysostom’s funeral, on which occasion Rosinante had a narrow escape with his life.”
“Lléveme el Diablo!” exclaimed the bachelor in a rage. “Truly I wish you and your Don Quixote were a hundred leagues off. Since the moment when I first set eyes on you, as many disasters have beset me as though I were under the ban of excommunication.” So saying, he made an effort, though a vain one, to raise up his horse, which was sorely hurt, and now quite blind; at every tug of the reins he slowly thrust forward one or the other of his feet, with languid movements indicative of expiring life.
Seeing that the disaster was past all remedy, and that the sun, already receding over the mountain-tops, was about to set in his ocean-bed, I took a courteous leave of my luckless companion. But he, wholly engrossed by his great, albeit useless, efforts to raise up his horse, neither heard my farewell, nor saw my departure. There I left him, venting imprecations and uttering complaints against his evil star. I can even fancy that I hear him now. What afterwards became of him I know not, nor did I inquire. Mounting my trusty mule, I forthwith pursued my way to Toledo, and evening had set in when I entered the city gates.