Don Quixote - Part I - Page 225/400

"I, a poor young creature alone, ill versed among my people in cases such

as this, began, I know not how, to think all these lying protestations

true, though without being moved by his sighs and tears to anything more

than pure compassion; and so, as the first feeling of bewilderment passed

away, and I began in some degree to recover myself, I said to him with

more courage than I thought I could have possessed, 'If, as I am now in

your arms, senor, I were in the claws of a fierce lion, and my

deliverance could be procured by doing or saying anything to the

prejudice of my honour, it would no more be in my power to do it or say

it, than it would be possible that what was should not have been; so

then, if you hold my body clasped in your arms, I hold my soul secured by

virtuous intentions, very different from yours, as you will see if you

attempt to carry them into effect by force. I am your vassal, but I am

not your slave; your nobility neither has nor should have any right to

dishonour or degrade my humble birth; and low-born peasant as I am, I

have my self-respect as much as you, a lord and gentleman: with me your

violence will be to no purpose, your wealth will have no weight, your

words will have no power to deceive me, nor your sighs or tears to soften

me: were I to see any of the things I speak of in him whom my parents

gave me as a husband, his will should be mine, and mine should be bounded

by his; and my honour being preserved even though my inclinations were

not would willingly yield him what you, senor, would now obtain by force;

and this I say lest you should suppose that any but my lawful husband

shall ever win anything of me.' 'If that,' said this disloyal gentleman,

'be the only scruple you feel, fairest Dorothea' (for that is the name of

this unhappy being), 'see here I give you my hand to be yours, and let

Heaven, from which nothing is hid, and this image of Our Lady you have

here, be witnesses of this pledge.'"

When Cardenio heard her say she was called Dorothea, he showed fresh

agitation and felt convinced of the truth of his former suspicion, but he

was unwilling to interrupt the story, and wished to hear the end of what

he already all but knew, so he merely said:

"What! is Dorothea your name, senora? I have heard of another of the same

name who can perhaps match your misfortunes. But proceed; by-and-by I may

tell you something that will astonish you as much as it will excite your

compassion."