Don Quixote_ Translation by Edith Grossman (HarperCollins) - Miguel De Cervantes Saavedra [393]
“What does Demosthenian mean, Señor Don Quixote?” asked the duchess. “That is a word I have never heard before in all my days.”
“Demosthenian rhetoric,” responded Don Quixote, “is the same as saying the rhetoric of Demosthenes, as Ciceronian means of Cicero, and they were the two greatest rhetoricians in the world.”
“That is true,” said the duke, “and you must have been confused when you asked the question. But, even so, Señor Don Quixote would give us great pleasure if he would depict her for us, and I am certain that even in the broad strokes of a sketch, she will appear in such a fashion that even the most beautiful women will be envious of her.”
“I would do so, most certainly,” responded Don Quixote, “if my image of her had not been blurred by the misfortune that befell her recently, one so great that I am better prepared to weep for her than to describe her; because your highnesses must know that not long ago, when I was going to kiss her hands and receive her blessing, approval, and permission for this third sally, I found a person different from the one I was seeking: I found her enchanted, transformed from a princess into a peasant, from beautiful to ugly, from an angel into a devil, from fragrant into foul-smelling, from well-spoken into a rustic, from serene into skittish, from light into darkness, and, finally, from Dulcinea of Toboso into a lowborn farmgirl from Sayago.”
“Lord save me!” the duke exclaimed in a loud voice. “Who could have done so much harm to the world? Who has removed from it the beauty that brought it joy, the grace that brought it delight, the virtue that brought it honor?”
“Who?” responded Don Quixote. “Who can it be but some malevolent enchanter, one of the many envious ones who pursue me? An accursed race, born into the world to darken and crush the feats of good men, to shed light on and raise up the deeds of the wicked. Enchanters have pursued me, enchanters pursue me now, and enchanters will pursue me until they throw me and my high chivalric exploits into the profound abyss of oblivion; they harm and wound me in the part where they can see I feel it most, for taking away his lady from a knight errant is taking away the eyes with which he sees, and the sun that shines down on him, and the sustenance that maintains him. I have said it many times before, and now I say it again: the knight errant without a lady is like a tree without leaves, a building without a foundation, a shadow without a body to cast it.”
“There is nothing more to say,” said the duchess, “but if, despite this, we are to believe the history of Señor Don Quixote that only recently has come into the world to the general applause of all people, we infer from that, if I remember correctly, that your grace has never seen Señora Dulcinea, and that she does not exist in the world but is an imaginary lady, and that your grace engendered and gave birth to her in your mind, and depicted her with all the graces and perfections that you desired.”
“There is much to say about that,” responded Don Quixote. “God knows if Dulcinea exists in the world or not, or if she is imaginary or not imaginary; these are not the kinds of things whose verification can be carried through to the end. I neither engendered nor gave birth to my lady, although I contemplate her in the manner proper to a lady who possesses the qualities that can make her famous throughout the world, to wit: she is beautiful without blemish, serious without arrogance, amorous but modest, grateful because