a low
sweet sound of flutes, which, coming unbroken by human voice (for there
silence itself kept silence), had a soft and languishing effect. Then,
beside the pillow of what seemed to be the dead body, suddenly appeared a
fair youth in a Roman habit, who, to the accompaniment of a harp which he
himself played, sang in a sweet and clear voice these two stanzas:

While fair Altisidora, who the sport
Of cold Don Quixote's cruelty hath been,
Returns to life, and in this magic court
The dames in sables come to grace the scene,
And while her matrons all in seemly sort
My lady robes in baize and bombazine,
Her beauty and her sorrows will I sing
With defter quill than touched the Thracian string.

But not in life alone, methinks, to me
Belongs the office; Lady, when my tongue
Is cold in death, believe me, unto thee
My voice shall raise its tributary song.
My soul, from this strait prison-house set free,
As o'er the Stygian lake it floats along,
Thy praises singing still shall hold its way,
And make the waters of oblivion stay.

At this point one of the two that looked like kings exclaimed, "Enough,
enough, divine singer! It would be an endless task to put before us now
the death and the charms of the peerless Altisidora, not dead as the
ignorant world imagines, but living in the voice of fame and in the
penance which Sancho Panza, here present, has to undergo to restore her
to the long-lost light. Do thou, therefore, O Rhadamanthus, who sittest
in judgment with me in the murky caverns of Dis, as thou knowest all that
the inscrutable fates have decreed touching the resuscitation of this
damsel, announce and declare it at once, that the happiness we look
forward to from her restoration be no longer deferred."

No sooner had Minos the fellow judge of Rhadamanthus said this, than
Rhadamanthus rising up said:

"Ho, officials of this house, high and low, great and small, make haste
hither one and all, and print on Sancho's face four-and-twenty smacks,
and give him twelve pinches and six pin thrusts in the back and arms; for
upon this ceremony depends the restoration of Altisidora."

On hearing this Sancho broke silence and cried out, "By all that's good,
I'll as soon let my face be smacked or handled as turn Moor. Body o' me!
What has handling my face got to do with the resurrection of this damsel?
'The old woman took kindly to the blits; they enchant Dulcinea, and whip
me in order to disenchant her; Altisido