After this, Don Quixote was escorted into a hall the walls of which were covered with cloth of gold and rich tapestries, and here he was stripped of his armor by six fair damsels. These maidens could scarcely control their laughter when they saw him stand there, thin, emaciated, tall and bony, dressed in his chamois doublet and tight-fitting breeches. They begged him to permit them to put a clean shirt on him, but that he refused with many assurances of his modesty, asking them instead to give it to Sancho. The two were taken to a room, where Don Quixote, alone with his squire, undressed and put on the shirt, while he gave Sancho admonitions galore, as to how to behave, begging him never again to have any quarrels with any duennas, for that only tended to lessen the respect for the master, who was always judged by his squire's behavior and actions.
Then Don Quixote returned to the hall, where he was attired in a rich baldric and a scarlet mantle, with a sword and a gorgeous montera of green satin. As he passed through the halls and chambers on his way to the state dining room, he was escorted by the seneschal and twelve pages; and the sides of each room, as well as the aisles, were lined with servants in pompous liveries.
Only four covers were laid. Besides Don Quixote and his noble hosts the confessor of the ducal household, a cold and austere churchman, occupied a seat at the heavily laden table, to which our knight was ushered ceremoniously by the Duke himself. But the dinner had not even begun when Sancho unloosened his tongue and began with his proverbs, much to the distress and mortification of his master, although to the great enjoyment of the Duchess. Sancho had been standing by Don Quixote, staring wide-eyed and open-mouthed at everything that was taking place, for he had never in his life seen anything so sumptuous and ceremonious. The exchange of courtesies between the Duke and our Knight, when the latter finally was induced to accept the seat of honor at the head of the table, impressed the squire considerably; and it was then he thought the time ripe for the introduction of a story about this matter of seats. The Duchess told him by all means to let them hear it, and he began, telling it in the most roundabout way, with twists and curves, and expeditions here and there to places and matters that had as much to do with the story as had the proverbs that he stuffed it with.
Don Quixote was beside himself, and the confessor interrupted the poor squire impatiently again and again; but on he went. All the while the Duchess was laughing so heartily that she could scarcely sit up straight in the chair. And while the Duke engaged himself with Don Quixote, she carried on a confidential conversation with Sancho, who told her how he had tricked his master into believing that his Lady Dulcinea was enchanted, saying she was as much enchanted as his father.
When the confessor heard the sacrilegious conversation the Duchess was having with Sancho, discussing giants and enchantments, he severely reprimanded her and warned her that she would have to answer to God for whatever this man did and said. Then, addressing the Duke, whom he had forbidden to read the book about Don Quixote's adventures, he said: "This Don Simpleton, or whatever his name is, cannot be such a blockhead as your Excellency would have him, holding out encouragement to him to go on with his vagaries and follies." And then he turned to Don Quixote and told him to be on his way, and go home and bring up his children, if he had any; and he called him a numbskull, and other names, and a fool for believing that there were knights-errant in the world and Dulcineas and other such silly things.
Don Quixote sat still and never moved a muscle while the churchman was speaking, but as soon as he had said all he had to say, he sprang up from his seat, trembling in his whole body, his face contorted with rage.
CHAPTER XXXII
Of the Reply Don Quixote Gave His Censurer, with Other Incidents, Grave and Droll
HAD Don Quixote not been where he was and had the man who thus assailed him not been of the church, it is safe to say that Don Quixote would have made his defamer retract his words at the point of his sword. But instead he calmed himself, and began a long discourse on the virtues of knight-errantry, finishing it with an avowal of his intentions which, he swore, were to do good to all and evil to none. As for his deserving to be called a fool, he would leave that to the judgment of the Duke and the Duchess. But their worships never got a chance to utter a word before Sancho broke in with the most stupendous praise of his master's speech.