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CHAPTER VIII

Which recounts what befell Don Quixote as he was going to see his lady Dulcinea of Toboso

“Blessed be almighty Allah!” says Hamete Benengeli at the beginning of the eighth chapter. “Blessed be Allah!” he repeats three times, and says he gives these blessings at seeing that he now has Don Quixote and Sancho in the countryside, and the readers of his amiable history can assume that from this point on, the feats and exploits of Don Quixote and his squire will commence, and he will persuade them to forget the past knightly deeds of the Ingenious Gentleman and set their eyes upon those that are still to come, for they begin now on the road to Toboso, just as the earlier ones began in the fields of Montiel, and what he asks is very little considering all that he promises, and so he continues, saying:

Don Quixote and Sancho were now alone, and as soon as Sansón rode away Rocinante began to neigh and the donkey to snort, and both knight and squire considered this a good sign and a fortunate omen; although, if truth be told, the donkey snorted and brayed more than the horse neighed, and from this Sancho concluded that his good fortune would exceed and go beyond that of his master, and I do not know if he based this on the astrology he may have known, since the history says nothing about that, although he had been heard to say whenever he stumbled or fell that he would have been happy if he had never left his house, because the only thing one got from stumbling or falling was a torn shoe or broken ribs, and though he was a fool, in this he was not far off the mark. Don Quixote said to him:

“Sancho my friend, night is coming on more hurriedly and more darkly than we require if we are to see Toboso at dawn, for I am determined to go there before I embark on another adventure, and there I shall receive the blessing and approval of the peerless Dulcinea, and with this approval I believe and am certain that I shall finish and bring to a happy conclusion every dangerous adventure, for nothing in this life makes knights errant more valiant than finding themselves favored by their ladies.”

“I believe that, too,” responded Sancho, “but I think it will be difficult for your grace to talk to her or be with her, at least any place where you can receive her blessing, unless she throws it down to you from the fence around the corral where I saw her the first time, when I brought her the letter with news of the foolish and crazy things your grace was doing in the heart of the Sierra Morena.”

“Did you imagine they were corral fences, Sancho,” said Don Quixote, “which you looked through or over in order to see that never sufficiently praised elegance and beauty? Surely they were galleries, or passageways, or porticoes, or whatever they are called, of rich and regal palaces.”

“Anything’s possible,” responded Sancho, “but they looked like fences to me, unless my memory fails me.”

“Despite everything, Sancho, let us go there,” replied Don Quixote. “As long as I see her, it does not matter to me if it is through fences, or windows, or narrow cracks, or the grillework around a garden; any ray of light from the sun of her beauty that reaches my eyes will illuminate my understanding and fortify my heart, so that I shall be unique and incomparable in judgment and valor.”

“Well, the truth is, Señor,” responded Sancho, “that when I saw the sun of my lady Dulcinea of Toboso, it wasn’t bright enough to send out any rays, and it must have been that since her grace was sifting that wheat I told you about, the dust she raised made something like a cloud in front of her face and darkened it.”

“Do you still persist, Sancho,” said Don Quixote, “in saying, thinking, believing, and insisting that my lady Dulcinea was sifting wheat, when that is a task and a practice far removed from everything that is done and should be done by highborn persons, who are created and intended for other practices and pastimes, which reveal their rank even at a distance…! Oh, Sancho, how badly you remember the verses of our poet1