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CHAPTER LXXIV.
How Sancho Panza was carried to his government; and of the strange adventure that befell Don Quixote in the castle.

After dinner, Don Quixote gave Sancho, in writing, the copy of his verbal instructions, ordering him to get somebody to read them to him. But the squire had no sooner got them, than he dropt the paper, which fell into the duke's hands, who communicating the same to the duchess, they found a fresh occasion of admiring the mixture of Don Quixote's good sense and extravagance; and so, carrying on the humour, they sent Sancho that afternoon, with a suitable equipage, to the place he was to govern, which, wherever it lay, was to be an island to him.
It happened that the management of this affair was committed to a steward of the duke's, a man of a facetious humour, and who had not only wit to start a pleasant design, but discretion to carry it on. He had already personated the Countess Trifaldi very successfully; and, with his master's instructions in relation to his behaviour towards Sancho, could not but discharge his trust to a wonder. Now it fell out, that Sancho no sooner cast his eyes on the steward than he fancied he saw the very face of Trifaldi; and turning to his master, "Look, sir," quoth he, "and see if this same steward of the duke's here has not the very face of my Lady Trifaldi." Don Quixote looked very earnestly on the steward, and having perused him from top to toe, "Sancho," said he, "thou art in the right; I see their faces are the very same. Yet, for all that, the steward and the disconsolate lady cannot be the same person, for that would imply a very great contradiction, and might involve us in more abstruse and difficult doubts than we have conveniency now to discuss or examine. Believe me, friend, our devotion cannot be too earnest, that we may be delivered from the power of these cursed enchantments." "You may think, sir," quoth Sancho, "that I am in jest, but I heard him speak just now, and I thought the very voice of Madam Trifaldi sounded in my ears. But mum is the word; I say nothing, though I shall watch him well, to find out whether I am right or wrong in my suspicion." "Well, do so," said Don Quixote; "and fail not to acquaint me with all the discoveries thou canst make in this affair, and other occurrences in thy government."
At last, Sancho set out with a numerous train. He was dressed like a man of the long-robe, and wore over his other clothes a white sad-coloured coat or gown, of watered camblet, and a cap of the same stuff. He was mounted on a mule; and behind him, by the duke's order, was led his Dapple, bridled and saddled like a horse of state, in gaudy trappings of silk; which so delighted Sancho, that every now and then he turned his head about to look upon him, and thought himself so happy, that now he would not have changed fortunes with the Emperor of Germany.
Immediately upon Sancho's departure, Don Quixote found the want of his presence; and, had it been in his power, he would have revoked his authority, and deprived him of his commission. The duchess, perceiving his disquiet, and desiring to know the cause of his melancholy, told him, that if it was Sancho's absence made him uneasy, she had squires enough, and damsels in her house, that should supply his place in any service he would be pleased to command. "It is true, madam," answered Don Quixote, "I am somewhat concerned for the absence of Sancho; but there is a more material cause of my present uneasiness, and I must beg to be excused, if, among the many obligations your grace is pleased to confer on me, I decline all but the good intention that has offered them. All I have further to crave is, your grace's permission to be alone in my apartment, and to be my own servant." "Sir," said the duchess, waving further discourse, "it is supper-time, and my lord expects us. Come, then, let us to supper, that you may go to bed betimes; for you must needs be weary still with the long journey you took to Candaya yesterday." "Indeed, madam," answered Don Quixote, "I feel no manner of weariness; for I can safely swear to your grace, that I never rode an easier horse, nor a better goer, than Clavileno. For my part, I cannot imagine what could induce Malambruno to part with so swift and gentle a horse, and to burn him too in such a manner."

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, etcetera, 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."

If this sentence provoked the laughter of the whole court, the next no less raised their admiration. For after the governor's order was executed, two old men appeared before him; one of them with a large cane in his hand, which he used as a staff. "My lord," said the other, who had none, "some time ago, I lent this man ten gold crowns, to do him a kindness, which money he was to repay me on demand. I did not ask him for it again for a good while, lest it should prove inconvenient. However, perceiving that he took no care to pay me, I have asked him for my due; nay, I have been forced to dun him hard for it. But still, he did not only refuse to pay me again, but denied he owed me any thing, and said that 'if I lent him so much money, he certainly returned it.' Now, because I have no witnesses of the loan, nor he of the pretended payment, I beseech your lordship to put him to his oath; and if he will swear he has paid me, I will freely forgive him before God and the world." "What say you to this, old gentleman with the staff?" asked Sancho. "Sir," answered the old man, "I own he lent me the gold; and since he requires my oath, I beg you will be pleased to hold down your rod of justice, that I may swear upon it how I have honestly and truly returned him his money." Thereupon the governor held down his rod; and in the mean time the defendant gave his cane to the plaintiff to hold, as if it hindered him while he was to make a cross and swear over the judge's rod. This done, he declared it was true the other had lent him ten crowns, but that he had really returned him the same sum into his own hands. The great governor, hearing this, asked the creditor what he had to reply. He made answer that, since his adversary had sworn it, he was satisfied; for he believed him to be a better Christian than offer to forswear himself, and that perhaps he had forgotten he had been repaid. Then the defendant took his cane again, and having made a low obeisance to the judge, was immediately leaving the court; which when Sancho perceived, reflecting on the passage of the cane, and admiring the creditor's patience, after he had thought a while he suddenly ordered the old man with the staff to be called back. "Honest man," said Sancho, "let me look at that cane a little; I have a use for it." "With all my heart, sir," answered the other; "here it is;" and with that he gave it him. Sancho took it, and giving it to the other old man, "There," said he, "go your ways, and Heaven be with you, for now you are paid." "How so, my lord?" cried the old man; "do you judge this cane to be worth ten gold crowns?" "Certainly," said the governor, "or else I am the greatest dunce in the world. And now you shall see whether I have not a head-piece fit to govern a whole kingdom, upon a shift." This said, he ordered the cane to be broken in open court; which was no sooner done, than out dropped the ten crowns. All the spectators were amazed, and began to look on their governor as a second Solomon. They asked him how he could conjecture that the ten crowns were in the cane. He told them that he had observed how the defendant gave it to the plaintiff to hold while he took his oath, and then swore he had truly returned him the money into his own hands, after which he took his cane again from the plaintiff: this considered, it came into his head that the money was lodged within the reed. From whence may be learned, that though sometimes those that govern are destitute of sense, yet it often pleases God to direct them in their judgment. The two old men went away, the one to his satisfaction, the other with shame and disgrace; and the beholders were astonished; insomuch that the person who was commissioned to register Sancho's words and actions, and observe his behaviour, was not able to determine whether he should not give him the character of a wise man, instead of that of a fool, which he had been thought to deserve.
And now, let us leave honest Sancho here for a while for his master, who requires our attendance, Altisidora's serenade having strangely discomposed his mind.

CHAPTER LXXVI.
Of a dreadful alarm which Don Quixote experienced.

We left the great Don Quixote profoundly buried in the thoughts into which Altisidora's serenade had plunged him. At the return of light, our knight, more early than the sun, forsook his downy bed, put on his chamois apparel, and, drawing on his walking-boots, concealed in one of them the disaster of his hose. He threw his scarlet cloak over his shoulder, and clapped on his valiant head his cap of green velvet edged with silver lace. Over his right shoulder he hung his belt, the sustainer of his trusty executing sword. About his wrist he wore the rosary, which he always carried about him; and thus accoutred, with a great deal of state and majesty, he moved towards the antechamber, where the duke and duchess were ready dressed, and expecting his coming. As he went through a gallery, he met Altisidora and her companion, who waited for him in the passage; and no sooner did Altisidora espy him, than she dissembled a swooning fit, and immediately dropped into the arms of her friend. Which Don Quixote perceiving, he approached, and, turning to the damsel, "I know the meaning of all this," said he, "and whence these accidents proceed." "You know more than I do," answered the assisting damsel; "but this I am sure of, that hitherto there is not a damsel in this house that has enjoyed her health better than Altisidora: I never knew her make the least complaint before. Pray, my Lord Don Quixote, retire; for this poor young creature will not come to herself while you are by." "Madam," answered the knight, "I beg that a lute may be left in my chamber this evening, that I may assuage this lady's grief as well as I can; for in the beginning of an affair of this kind, a speedy discovery of aversion or pre-engagement is the most effectual cure." This said, he left them, that he might not be found alone with them by those that might happen to go by. He was scarce gone when Altisidora's fit was over; and, turning, to her companion, "By all means," said she, "let him have a lute; for without doubt the knight has a mind to give us some music, and we shall have sport enough." Then they went and acquainted the duchess with their proceeding, and Don Quixote's desiring a lute; whereupon she plotted with the duke and her woman a new contrivance, to have a little harmless sport with the knight.
At eleven o'clock Don Quixote retired to his apartment, and finding a lute there, he tuned it, opened the window, and, perceiving there was somebody walking in the garden, he ran over the strings of the instrument; and having tuned it again as nicely as he could, he coughed and cleared his throat; and then, with a voice somewhat hoarse, yet not unmusical, he sang the following song, which he had composed himself that very day:
The Advice.
Love, a strong designing foe, Careless hearts with ease deceives; Can thy breast resist his blow, Which your sloth unguarded leaves?
If you're idle, you're destroyed, All his art on you he tries; But be watchful and employed, Straight the baffled tempter flies.
Maids for modest grace admired, If they would their fortunes raise, Must in silence live retired: 'Tis their virtue speaks their praise.
The divine Tobosan fair, Dulcinea, claims me whole; Nothing can her image tear; 'Tis one substance with my soul.
Then let fortune smile or frown, Nothing shall my faith remove; Constant truth, the lover's crown, Can work miracles in love.

No sooner had Don Quixote made an end of his song, to which the duke, duchess, Altisidora, and almost all the people in the castle listened all the while, than on a sudden, from an open gallery over the knight's window, they let down a rope, with at least a hundred little tinkling bells hanging about it. After that came down a great number of cats, poured out of a huge sack, all of them with smaller bells tied to their tails. The jangling of the bells, and the squalling of the cats, made such a dismal noise, that the very contrivers of the jest themselves were scared for the present, and Don Quixote was strangely surprised and quite dismayed. At the same time, as ill-luck would have it, two or three frighted cats leaped in through the bars of his chamber-window, and running up and down the room like so many evil spirits, one would have thought a whole legion of demons had been flying about the chamber. They put out the candles that stood lighted there, and endeavoured to get out. Meanwhile, the rope with the bigger bells about it was pulled up and down, and those who knew nothing of the contrivance were greatly surprised. At last, Don Quixote, recovering from his astonishment, drew his sword, and fenced and laid about him at the window, crying aloud, "Avaunt, ye wicked enchanters! hence, infernal scoundrels! I am Don Quixote de la Mancha, and all your cursed devices cannot work their ends against me." And then, running after the cats, he began to thrust and cut at them furiously, while they strove to get out. At last they made their escape at the window--all but one of them; who, finding himself hard put to it, flew in his face, and, laying hold on his nose with his claws and teeth, put him to such pain that the knight began to cry out as loud as he could. Thereupon, the duke and the duchess, imagining the cause of his outcry, ran to his assistance immediately; and having opened the door of his chamber with a master-key, found the poor knight struggling hard with the cat, that would not quit its hold. By the light of the candles which they had with them, they saw the unequal combat. The duke offered to interpose and take off the animal, but Don Quixote would not permit him. "Let nobody touch him," cried he; "let me alone hand to hand with this sorcerer, this necromancer; I'll make him know what it is to deal with Don Quixote de la Mancha!" But the cat, not minding his threats, growled on, and still held fast; till at length the duke got its claws unhooked, and flung him out at the window. Don Quixote's face was hideously scratched, and his nose in no very good condition. Yet nothing vexed him so much as that they had rescued out of his hands the villainous necromancer. Immediately some ointment was sent for, and Altisidora herself applied some plasters to his sores, whispering in his ear at the same time, "Cruel, hard-hearted knight," said she, "all these disasters are befallen thee as a just punishment for thy obdurate stubbornness and disdain. May thy squire Sancho forget to whip himself, that thy darling Dulcinea may never be delivered from her enchantment, at least so long as I, thy neglected adorer, live!" Don Quixote made no answer at all to this; only he heaved up a profound sigh, and then went to take his repose, after he had returned the duke and duchess thanks, not so much for their assistance against that rascally crew of jangling enchanters--for he defied them all--but for their kindness and good intent. Then the duke and duchess left him, not a little troubled at the miscarriage of their jest, which they did not think would have proved so fatal to the knight as to oblige him, as it did, to keep his chamber some days; during which time there happened to him another adventure, more pleasant than the last; which, however, cannot be now related; for the historian must return to Sancho Panza, who was very busy, and no less pleasant, in his government.