Don Quixote repeated his thanks to the duchess, and after supper retired to his chamber, where, conformably to his determination, he remained alone. He shut the door of his chamber after him, and undressed himself by the light of two wax-candles. As he was putting off his hose, there fell—oh, misfortune, unworthy of such a personage—about four-and-twenty stitches of one of his stockings, which made it look like a lattice-window. The good knight was extremely afflicted, and would have given an ounce of silver for a drachm of green silk; green silk, I say, because his stockings were green. However, for his consolation, he bethought himself that Sancho had left him a pair of light boots, which he designed to put on the next day.
He laid himself down with a pensive, heavy mind; the thought of Sancho's absence, and the irreparable damage that his stocking had received, made him uneasy; he would have darned it, though it had been with silk of another colour—one of the greatest tokens of want a poor gentleman can shew. At last he put out the lights, but it was so hot that he could not compose himself to rest. Getting up, therefore, he opened a little shutter of a barred window that looked into a fine garden, and was presently sensible that some people were walking and talking there. He listened, and as they raised their voices, he easily overheard their discourse.
"No more, dear Emerenia," said one to the other. "Do not press me to sing; you know that from the first moment this stranger came to the castle, and my unhappy eyes gazed on him, I have been too conversant with tears and sorrow to sing or relish songs! Alas, all music jars when the soul is out of tune. Besides, you know the least thing wakens my lady, and I would not for the world she should find us here. But, grant she might not wake; what will my singing signify, if this new Æneas, who is come to our habitation to make me wretched, should be asleep, and not hear the sound of my complaint?" "Pray, my dear Altisidora," said the other, "do not make yourself uneasy with those thoughts; for, without doubt, the duchess is fast asleep, and every body in the house but we and the master of your heart. He is certainly awake; I heard him open his window just now: then sing, my poor grieving creature, sing, and join the melting music of the lute to the soft accents of thy voice." "Alas! my dear," replied Altisidora, "it is not that which frightens me most: I would not have my song betray my thoughts, for those that do not know the mighty force of love will be apt to take me for a light and indiscreet creature; but yet, since it must be so, I will venture: better shame on the face, than sorrow in the heart." This said, she began to touch her lute so sweetly, that Don Quixote was ravished. At the same time, the infinite number of adventures of this nature, such as he had read of in his books of knight-errantry; windows, grates, gardens, serenades, courtships, meetings, parleys, &c., crowded into his imagination, and he presently fancied that one of the duchess's damsels was in love with him, and struggling to conceal her passion. He began to be apprehensive of the danger to which his fidelity was exposed, but yet firmly determined to withstand the powerful allurement; and so recommending himself, with a great deal of fervency, to his Lady Dulcinea del Toboso, he resolved to hear the music; and, to let the serenading ladies know he was awake, he feigned a kind of sneeze, which did not a little please them, for it was the only thing they wanted to be assured their jest was not lost. With that, Altisidora, having tuned her lute afresh, after a flourish began her serenade; which, when Don Quixote had heard to an end, he thus began his expostulation: "Why," said he, with a sigh heaved from the bottom of his heart, "why must I be so unhappy a knight, that no damsel can gaze on me without falling in love! Why must the peerless Dulcinea be so unfortunate? Queens, why do you envy her? Empresses, why do you persecute her? Damsels of fifteen, why do you attempt to deprive her of her right? Leave, oh, leave the unfortunate fair! Let her triumph, glory, and rejoice, in the quiet possession of the heart which love has allotted her, and the absolute sway which she bears over my yielding soul. Away, unwelcome crowd of loving impertinents; Dulcinea alone can soften my temper, and mould me as she pleases. For her I am all sweetness; for you I am bitterness itself. There is to me no beauty, no prudence, no modesty, no gaiety, no nobility among your sex, but in Dulcinea alone. Let Altisidora weep or sing, still I am Dulcinea's, and hers alone, dead or alive, dutiful, and unchanged, in spite of all the necromantic powers in the world." This said, he hastily shut the window, and flung himself into his bed with as high an indignation as if he had received some great affront. There let us leave him a while, seeing that the great Sancho Panza calls upon us to attend him on the commencement of his famous government.
CHAPTER LXXV.
How the great Sancho Panza took possession of his island, and in what manner he began to govern.
After having travelled a certain distance, Governor Sancho, with his attendants, came to a town that had about a thousand inhabitants, and was one of the best in the duke's territories. They gave him to understand that the name of the place was the island of Barataria. As soon as he came to the gates, the magistrates came out to receive him, the bells rung, and all the people gave general demonstrations of joy. They then delivered him the keys of the gates, and received him as perpetual governor of the island of Barataria.
Next they carried him to the court of justice; where, when they had placed him in his seat, "My lord governor," said the duke's steward to him, "it is an ancient custom here, that he who takes possession of this famous island must answer some difficult and intricate question that is propounded to him; and, by the return he makes, the people feel the pulse of his understanding, and, by an estimate of his abilities, judge whether they ought to rejoice or to be sorry for his coming."
All the while the steward was speaking, Sancho was staring on an inscription in large characters on the wall over against his seat; and, as he could not read, he asked what was the meaning of that which he saw painted there upon the wall. "Sir," said they, "it is an account of the day when your lordship took possession of this island; and the inscription runs thus: 'This day the Lord Don Sancho Panza took possession of this island, which may he long enjoy.'" "And who is he," asked Sancho, "whom they call Don Sancho Panza?" "Your lordship," answered the steward; "for we know of no other Panza in this island but yourself, who now sits in this chair." "Well, friend," said Sancho, "pray take notice that Don does not belong to me, nor was it borne by any of my family before me. Plain Sancho Panza is my name; my father was called Sancho, my grandfather Sancho, and all of us have been Panzas, without any Don or Donna added to our name. Now do I already guess your Dons are as thick as stones in this island. But it is enough that Heaven knows my meaning: if my government happens to last but four days to an end, it shall go hard but I will clear the island of those swarms of Dons, that must needs be as troublesome as so many gnats. Come, now for your question, good Mr. Steward; and I will answer it as well as I can, whether the town be sorry or pleased."
At this instant, two men came into the court, the one dressed like a country fellow, the other looked like a tailor, with a pair of shears in his hand. "If it please you, my lord," cried the tailor, "this honest man came to my shop yesterday; for, saving your presence, I am a tailor, and free of my company too; so, my lord, he shewed me a piece of cloth: 'Sir,' quoth he, 'is there enough of this to make a cap?' Whereupon I measured the stuff, and answered, Yes. Now, as I imagined, do you see, he could not but imagine (and perhaps he imagined right enough), that I had a mind to cabbage some of his cloth—judging hard of us honest tailors. 'Prithee,' quoth he, 'look there be not enough for two caps?' Now I smelt him out, and told him there was. Whereupon the old knave, going on to the same tune, bid me look again, and see whether it would not make three; and at last if it would not make five? I was resolved to humour my customer, and said it might; so we struck a bargain. Just now the man is come for his caps, which I gave him; but he refuses to pay me for my work; and now he will have me give him his cloth again, or pay him for it." "Is this true, honest man?" said Sancho to the farmer. "Yes, if it please you," answered the fellow; "but pray let him shew the five caps he has made me." "With all my heart," cried the tailor; and with that, pulling his hand from under his cloak, he held up five little tiny caps, hanging upon his four fingers and thumb, as upon so many pins. "There," quoth he, "you see the five caps this good gaffer asks for; and, on my conscience, I have not wronged him of the least shred of his cloth; and let any workman be judge." The sight of the caps, and the oddness of the cause, set the whole court a-laughing. Only Sancho sat gravely considering a while; and then, "Methinks," said he, "this suit may be decided without any more ado, with a great deal of equity; and therefore, the judgment of the court is, that the tailor shall lose his making, and the countryman his cloth, and that the caps be given to the poor prisoners; and so let there be an end of the business."