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SHARING
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CHAPTER XLIV. (CONT'D)
"That is not the point, Emerencia," replied Altisidora, "it is that I would not that my singing should lay bare my heart, and that I should be thought a light and wanton maiden by those who know not the mighty power of love; but come what may; better a blush on the cheeks than a sore in the heart;" and here a harp softly touched made itself heard. As he listened to all this Don Quixote was in a state of breathless amazement, for immediately the countless adventures like this, with windows, gratings, gardens, serenades, lovemakings, and languishings, that he had read of in his trashy books of chivalry, came to his mind. He at once concluded that some damsel of the duchess's was in love with him, and that her modesty forced her to keep her passion secret.
He trembled lest he should fall, and made an inward resolution not to yield; and commending himself with all his might and soul to his lady Dulcinea he made up his mind to listen to the music; and to let them know he was there he gave a pretended sneeze, at which the damsels were not a little delighted, for all they wanted was that Don Quixote should hear them. So having tuned the harp, Altisidora, running her hand across the strings, began this ballad:
O thou that art above in bed,
Between the holland sheets, A-lying there from night till morn,
With outstretched legs asleep;
O thou, most valiant knight of all
The famed Manchegan breed, Of purity and virtue more
Than gold of Araby;
Give ear unto a suffering maid,
Well-grown but evil-starr'd, For those two suns of thine have lit
A fire within her heart.
Adventures seeking thou dost rove,
To others bringing woe; Thou scatterest wounds, but, ah, the balm
To heal them dost withhold!
Say, valiant youth, and so may God
Thy enterprises speed, Didst thou the light mid Libya's sands
Or Jaca's rocks first see?
Did scaly serpents give thee suck?
Who nursed thee when a babe? Wert cradled in the forest rude,
Or gloomy mountain cave?
O Dulcinea may be proud,
That plump and lusty maid; For she alone hath had the power
A tiger fierce to tame.
And she for this shall famous be
From Tagus to Jarama, From Manzanares to Genil,
From Duero to Arlanza.
Fain would I change with her, and give
A petticoat to boot, The best and bravest that I have,
All trimmed with gold galloon.
O for to be the happy fair
Thy mighty arms enfold, Or even sit beside thy bed
And scratch thy dusty poll!
I rave,--to favours such as these
Unworthy to aspire; Thy feet to tickle were enough
For one so mean as I.
What caps, what slippers silver-laced,
Would I on thee bestow! What damask breeches make for thee;
What fine long holland cloaks!
And I would give thee pearls that should
As big as oak-galls show; So matchless big that each might well
Be called the great "Alone."
Manchegan Nero, look not down
From thy Tarpeian Rock Upon this burning heart, nor add
The fuel of thy wrath.
A virgin soft and young am I,
Not yet fifteen years old; (I'm only three months past fourteen,
I swear upon my soul).
I hobble not nor do I limp,
All blemish I'm without, And as I walk my lily locks
Are trailing on the ground.
And though my nose be rather flat,
And though my mouth be wide, My teeth like topazes exalt
My beauty to the sky.
Thou knowest that my voice is sweet,
That is if thou dost hear; And I am moulded in a form
Somewhat below the mean.
These charms, and many more, are thine,
Spoils to thy spear and bow all; A damsel of this house am I,
By name Altisidora.
Here the lay of the heart-stricken Altisidora came to an end, while the warmly wooed Don Quixote began to feel alarm; and with a deep sigh he said to himself, "O that I should be such an unlucky knight that no damsel can set eyes on me but falls in love with me! O that the peerless Dulcinea should be so unfortunate that they cannot let her enjoy my incomparable constancy in peace! What would ye with her, ye queens? Why do ye persecute her, ye empresses? Why ye pursue her, ye virgins of from fourteen to fifteen? Leave the unhappy being to triumph, rejoice and glory in the lot love has been pleased to bestow upon her in surrendering my heart and yielding up my soul to her. Ye love-smitten host, know that to Dulcinea only I am dough and sugar-paste, flint to all others; for her I am honey, for you aloes. For me Dulcinea alone is beautiful, wise, virtuous, graceful, and high-bred, and all others are ill-favoured, foolish, light, and low-born.
Nature sent me into the world to be hers and no other's; Altisidora may weep or sing, the lady for whose sake they belaboured me in the castle of the enchanted Moor may give way to despair, but I must be Dulcinea's, boiled or roast, pure, courteous, and chaste, in spite of all the magic-working powers on earth." And with that he shut the window with a bang, and, as much out of temper and out of sorts as if some great misfortune had befallen him, stretched himself on his bed, where we will leave him for the present, as the great Sancho Panza, who is about to set up his famous government, now demands our attention.
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