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May you be eaten by bears,

like His Majesty Favila.”

“That was a Visigothic king,” said Don Quixote, “who went hunting for big game and was devoured by a bear.”

“That’s what I’m saying,” responded Sancho. “I wouldn’t want princes and kings to put themselves in that kind of danger in exchange for a pleasure that really shouldn’t be one, since it involves killing an animal that hasn’t done anything wrong.”

“But you’re mistaken, Sancho,” responded the duke, “because the practice of hunting big game is more appropriate and necessary for kings and princes than any other. Hunting is an image of war: in it there are stratagems, traps, and snares for conquering the enemy safely; one suffers bitter cold and intolerable heat; idleness and sleep are diminished, one’s strength is fortified, one’s limbs are made agile; in short, it is a practice that harms no one and gives pleasure to many; and the best thing about it is that it is not for everyone, as other forms of hunting are, except for hawking, which also is only for kings and great lords. And so, Sancho, change your opinion, and when you are a governor, devote yourself to hunting and see how it will benefit you a hundred times over.”

“No,” responded Sancho, “a good governor and a broken leg stay at home.1 How nice if weary merchants came to see him and he was in the woods enjoying himself! What a misfortune for the governorship! By my faith, Señor, hunting and those pastimes are more for idlers than for governors. What I plan to amuse myself with is playing triunfo envidado2 on feast days and ninepins on Sundays and holidays; all this hunting and hollering3 doesn’t go well with my nature and doesn’t sit well with my conscience.”

“May it please God, Sancho, because there’s many a slip between the cup and the lip.”

“That may be so,” replied Sancho, “but if you pay your debts, you don’t worry about guaranties, and it’s better to have God’s help than to get up early, and your belly leads your feet, not the other way around; I mean, if God helps me, and I do what I ought to with good intentions, I’ll be sure to govern in grand style. Just put a finger in my mouth and see if I bite or not!”

“God and all his saints curse you, wretched Sancho,” said Don Quixote, “as I have said so often, will the day ever come when I see you speak an ordinary coherent sentence without any proverbs? Señores, your highnesses should leave this fool alone, for he will grind your souls not between two but two thousand proverbs brought in as opportunely and appropriately as the health God gives him, or me if I wanted to listen to them.”

“Sancho Panza’s proverbs,” said the duchess, “although more numerous than those of the Greek Commander,4 because of their brevity are no less estimable. As far as I am concerned, they give me more pleasure than others that may be more fitting and more opportune.”

Engaged in this and other amiable conversations, they walked out of the tent and into the forest, and in the collecting of some traps the day passed quickly and night fell, not as clear or as tranquil as it usually was at that time of year, which was the middle of summer, but it did bring a certain chiaroscuro that furthered the plans of the duke and duchess, for as dusk began to turn into night, it suddenly seemed that the entire forest on all four sides was ablaze, and then here and there, this way and that, an infinite number of cornets and other warlike instruments were heard, as if troops of cavalry were riding through the woods. The light of the fires and the sound of martial instruments almost blinded and deafened the eyes and ears of those nearby and even those who were elsewhere in the forest.

Then they heard the sound of infinite lelelíes, in the manner of a Moorish battle cry; trumpets and bugles blared, drums sounded, fifes played almost all at the same time, and so continually and so rapidly that one could lose one’s senses in the confused din of so many instruments. The duke was