Having washed his delicate feet, he wiped them with an handkerchief, which he took out of his cap, and in so doing, lifted up his head, showing to the bystanders, a face of such exquisite beauty, that Cardenio said in a whisper to the curate, "Since that is not Luscinda, it can be no earthly, but some celestial being!" (Part I, Chapter XXVIII, paragraph 3, 229)
The narrator of course knows that the boy is a girl -- so it's supposed to be funny when Cardenio finds this boy hotter than his lost lady-love? I'm at least persuaded to think so by the fact that Cardenio completely doesn't notice the boy's maleness. Or does he? It seems significant that he calls the boy a "that," an "it," instead of a "he."
Cardenio's mistake then makes the revelation that the boy is a girl all the funnier:
The youth taking off his cap, and shaking his head, a large quantity of hair, that Apollo himself might envy, flowed down upon his shoulders and discovered to the spectators, that the supposed peasant was no other than a woman, the most delicate and handsome that the curate and barber had ever beheld; or even Cardenio, had he not seen and been acquainted with Luscinda, who alone, as he afterwards owned, could contend with her in beauty. Her golden locks fell down in such length and quantity, as not only covered her shoulders, but also concealed every other part of her body except her feet: and, instead of a comb, she made use of her hands, which if her feet looked like crystal in the brook, her hands appeared like a comb of molded snow sifting thorough her hair. (immediately after the last quote)
Still, her hair "not only covered her shoulders, but also concealed every other part of her body except her feet." Why is the naked girl they see in the stream not allowed to be visibly naked? Maybe it's because they have the licenciate with them, and Cervantes doesn't want to write about a priest who's a Peeping Tom. Or maybe it's because they're really more chivalrous than I give them credit for. But it seems equally likely, right now that Dorotea is covered with her own impossibly long (impossibly clean) hair because the men who watch her really wish she were a boy. They're also glad that she's a girl, because they understand that finding a boy this pretty might be problematic for their self-constructed masculinities. So the narrator compromises, and gives them a girl covered in hair, so that only her head, hands, and feet stick out -- a girl that allows them to imagine, privately, that she's really a boy after all. The hair (like the joke the narrator makes very early: "Under my cloak, the king is a joke!") allows a fantasy so private that those who enjoy it don't have to confront any of the inconsistencies that such a fantasy entails.
But Cardenio and his companions don't seem to get that their heterosexuality might now be in question -- rather like Sancho takes a long time to figure out that Quixote is unreliable (and Cervantes takes forever to remember what's happened to Sancho's donkey at any particular moment in the narrative). Still, I keep enjoying these queered moments. Today, the novel reads like Quixote is in love with Sancho; Cardenio and Don Fernando were certainly in love with each other; and in the story that the innkeepers have someone (I don't remember whom read), Lotario and Anselmo would much rather have sex with each other, at least at the beginning of their tricky trial of Camila's virtue (whom they seem to be using as a proxy for having sex together), than with Anselmo's poor wife they end up unknowingly trading back and forth. Sancho doesn't want Quixote to show him his penis, though -- when Quixote says he'll see Sancho off from the mountain by removing his pants and taking a half-air-bath, Sancho says
"For the love of God! dear Sir, let me not see your worship naked: for, it will give me so much uneasiness, that I shall not be able to refrain from weeping; and, my head aches already, with the sorrow I felt last night, about Dapple; so, that I cannot bear to set a mourning again: wherefore, if it be your worship's pleasure, that I should see some of your mad actions, pray dispatch them in your clothes; and let them be such as will stand you in most stead: for my own part, I think there is no occasion for any such thing; and if you dispense with them, it will save time, and send me back the sooner with such news as your worship desires and deserves. For, if my lady Dulcinea is not prepared to send a reasonable answer, I solemnly protest, I will extract a favourable reply out of her maw, by kicking and hitting." (Part I, Chapter XXVI, paragraph 24, page 202)
As Sancho frames it, Quixote would be dishonored by showing him his penis, and this dishonor would be enough that Sancho "shall not be able to refrain from weeping." But Sancho seems to reply in such a horrified way, in part, because he is too busy being in love with his donkey, Dapple, to notice appreciate attention from anyone else -- when he finally gets Dapple back, he "kissed and caressed [the donkey] as if it had been a Christian; while Dapple very peaceably received these demonstrations of love and kindness, without answering one word" (Part I, Chapter XXX, paragraph 16, page 255). (I hope to god that Henry Brooke had read this novel -- Sancho's receipt of Dapple so reminds me of young Harry rescuing his pet rooster Dicky from some villagers who wanted to eat the bird that I'm convinced it's a knowing imitation.) Being in love with Dapple doesn't make Sancho any straighter than Quixote, though -- Smollet's narrator is careful to refer to the animal most of the time as "the ass." Sancho sure loves that ass.
photographed on Beta Bridge yesterday
