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.dt The history and adventures of the renowned Don Quixote | Project Gutenberg
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The History and Adventures of the Renowned Don Quixote
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.ca Don Quixote and Sancho Panza on the road.
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[Illustration: Don Quixote and Sancho Panza on the road.]
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<xxl><B>THE HISTORY AND ADVENTURES OF THE RENOWNED DON QUIXOTE</B></xxl>

<l><B>TRANSLATED FROM THE SPANISH</B></l>

<l><B>OF</B></l>

<xxl><B>MIGUEL DE CERVANTES SAAVEDRA.</B></xxl>


<l><B>TO WHICH IS PREFIXED,</B></l>

<l><B>SOME ACCOUNT OF THE AUTHOR’S LIFE,</B></l>

<xl><B>BY DR. SMOLLETT.</B></xl>


<l><B>IN FOUR VOLUMES.</B></l>

LONDON:
Printed for <sc>Harrison</sc> and Co. No. 18, Paternoster Row.
<abbr rend=spell>M DCC XCII.</abbr>
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TO

HIS EXCELLENCY

DON RICARDO WALL,

PRINCIPAL SECRETARY OF STATE TO HIS MOST CATHOLICK MAJESTY,

LIEUTENANT GENERAL OF THE ARMIES OF SPAIN,

COMMENDARY OF PENAUZENDE IN THE ORDER OF SAINT JAGO, &C.

AND HERETOFORE

AMBASSADOR AND PLENIPOTENTIARY AT THE COURT OF GREAT BRITAIN.
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SIR,

The permission I obtained to inscribe the following Translation of
<sc>Don Quixote</sc> to your Excellency, while you resided in this
Capital, affords me a double pleasure; as it not only gives me an opportunity
of expressing that profound respect and veneration with which
I contemplate your Excellency’s character; but also implies your approbation,
which cannot fail to influence the publick in behalf of the
performance.

I have the honour to be,

Sir,

Your Excellency’s most obedient,

Humble Servant,

<abbr rend=spell>T.</abbr> SMOLLETT.

<sc>London</sc>,
<abbr=February>Feb.</abbr> 7, 1755.
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CONTENTS

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.nf l
  #The Life of Cervantes:trans-life# ... v

  #Translator’s Note:trans-note# ... xvii

  #Preface:preface# ... xix

  #Volume I:vol1# ... 25

    #Book I:book1-1# ... 25

      #Chapter I:chap1-1-1# ... 25

      #Chapter II:chap1-1-2# ... 29

      #Chapter III:chap1-1-3# ... 32

      #Chapter IV:chap1-1-4# ... 36

      #Chapter V:chap1-1-5# ... 40

      #Chapter VI:chap1-1-6# ... 42

      #Chapter VII:chap1-1-7# ... 46

      #Chapter VIII:chap1-1-8# ... 49

    #Book II:book1-2# ... 54

      #Chapter I:chap1-2-1# ... 54

      #Chapter II:chap1-2-2# ... 57

      #Chapter III:chap1-2-3# ... 60

      #Chapter IV:chap1-2-4# ... 64

      #Chapter V:chap1-2-5# ... 67

    #Book III:book1-3# ... 77

      #Chapter I:chap1-3-1# ... 77

      #Chapter II:chap1-3-2# ... 81

      #Chapter III:chap1-3-3# ... 85

      #Chapter IV:chap1-3-4# ... 90

      #Chapter V:chap1-3-5# ... 95

      #Chapter VI:chap1-3-6# ... 99

      #Chapter VII:chap1-3-7# ... 106

      #Chapter VIII:chap1-3-8# ... 113

      #Chapter IX:chap1-3-9# ... 119

      #Chapter X:chap1-3-10# ... 125

      #Chapter XI:chap1-3-11# ... 130

      #Chapter XII:chap1-3-12# ... 139

      #Chapter XIII:chap1-3-13# ... 143

  #Volume II:vol2# ... 153

    #Book IV:book2-4# ... 153

      #Chapter I:chap2-4-1# ... 153

      #Chapter II:chap2-4-2# ... 161

      #Chapter III:chap2-4-3# ... 167

      #Chapter IV:chap2-4-4# ... 173

      #Chapter V:chap2-4-5# ... 178

      #Chapter VI:chap2-4-6# ... 182

      #Chapter VII:chap2-4-7# ... 192

      #Chapter VIII:chap2-4-8# ... 203

      #Chapter IX:chap2-4-9# ... 207

      #Chapter X:chap2-4-10# ... 212

      #Chapter XI:chap2-4-11# ... 218

      #Chapter XII:chap2-4-12# ... 220

      #Chapter XIII:chap2-4-13# ... 225

      #Chapter XIV:chap2-4-14# ... 232

      #Chapter XV:chap2-4-15# ... 242

      #Chapter XVI:chap2-4-16# ... 246

      #Chapter XVII:chap2-4-17# ... 251

      #Chapter XVIII:chap2-4-18# ... 256

      #Chapter XIX:chap2-4-19# ... 260

      #Chapter XX:chap2-4-20# ... 265

      #Chapter XXI:chap2-4-21# ... 270

      #Chapter XXII:chap2-4-22# ... 274

      #Chapter XXIII:chap2-4-23# ... 278

      #Chapter XXIV:chap2-4-24# ... 282

      #Chapter XXV:chap2-4-25# ... 285

  #Volume III:vol3# ... 293

    #Preface:vol3-pref# ... 293

    #Approbation:vol3-app# ... 296

    #Book I:book3-1# ... 299

      #Chapter I:chap3-1-1# ... 299

      #Chapter II:chap3-1-2# ... 305

      #Chapter III:chap3-1-3# ... 308

      #Chapter IV:chap3-1-4# ... 312

      #Chapter V:chap3-1-5# ... 315

      #Chapter VI:chap3-1-6# ... 318

      #Chapter VII:chap3-1-7# ... 321

      #Chapter VIII:chap3-1-8# ... 325

      #Chapter IX:chap3-1-9# ... 329

      #Chapter X:chap3-1-10# ... 331

      #Chapter XI:chap3-1-11# ... 336

      #Chapter XII:chap3-1-12# .. 339

      #Chapter XIII:chap3-1-13# ... 342

      #Chapter XIV:chap3-1-14# ... 346

      #Chapter XV:chap3-1-15# ... 351

      #Chapter XVI:chap3-1-16# ... 353

      #Chapter XVII:chap3-1-17# ... 358

    #Book II:book3-2# ... 364

      #Chapter I:chap3-2-1# ... 364

      #Chapter II:chap3-2-2# ... 368

      #Chapter III:chap3-2-3# ... 372

      #Chapter IV:chap3-2-4# ... 377

      #Chapter V:chap3-2-5# ... 380

      #Chapter VI:chap3-2-6# ... 385

      #Chapter VII:chap3-2-7# ... 390

      #Chapter VIII:chap3-2-8# ... 394

      #Chapter IX:chap3-2-9# ... 401

      #Chapter X:chap3-2-10# ... 406

      #Chapter XI:chap3-2-11# ... 409

      #Chapter XII:chap3-2-12# ... 412

      #Chapter XIII:chap3-2-13# ... 416

      #Chapter XIV:chap3-2-14# ... 418

      #Chapter XV:chap3-2-15# ... 423

    #Book III:book3-3# ... 431

      #Chapter I:chap3-3-1# ... 431

      #Chapter II:chap3-3-2# ... 435

      #Chapter III:chap3-3-3# ... 439

      #Chapter IV:chap3-3-4# ... 443

      #Chapter V:chap3-3-5# ... 446

  #Volume IV:vol4# ... 447

    #Book III:book4-3# ... 447

      #Chapter VI:chap4-3-6# ... 447

      #Chapter VII:chap4-3-7# ... 450

      #Chapter VIII:chap4-3-8# ... 452

      #Chapter IX:chap4-3-9# ... 455

      #Chapter X:chap4-3-10# ... 461

      #Chapter XI:chap4-3-11# ... 464

      #Chapter XII:chap4-3-12# ... 467

      #Chapter XIII:chap4-3-13# ... 472

      #Chapter XIV:chap4-3-14# ... 475

      #Chapter XV:chap4-3-15# ... 477

      #Chapter XVI:chap4-3-16# ... 482

      #Chapter XVII:chap4-3-17# ... 487

      #Chapter XVIII:chap4-3-18# ... 493

      #Chapter XIX:chap4-3-19# ... 498

      #Chapter XX:chap4-3-20# ... 502

    #Book IV:book4-4# ... 507

      #Chapter I:chap4-4-1# ... 507

      #Chapter II:chap4-4-2# ... 510

      #Chapter III:chap4-4-3# ... 514

      #Chapter IV:chap4-4-4# ... 519

      #Chapter V:chap4-4-5# ... 521

      #Chapter VI:chap4-4-6# ... 523

      #Chapter VII:chap4-4-7# ... 530

      #Chapter VIII:chap4-4-8# ... 534

      #Chapter IX:chap4-4-9# ... 542

      #Chapter X:chap4-4-10# ... 543

      #Chapter XI:chap4-4-11# ... 550

      #Chapter XII:chap4-4-12# ... 556

      #Chapter XIII:chap4-4-13# ... 558

      #Chapter XIV:chap4-4-14# ... 561

      #Chapter XV:chap4-4-15# ... 564

      #Chapter XVI:chap4-4-16# ... 567

      #Chapter XVII:chap4-4-17# ... 570

      #Chapter XVIII:chap4-4-18# ... 572

      #Chapter XIX:chap4-4-19# ... 576

      #Chapter XX:chap4-4-20# ... 580

      #Chapter XXI:chap4-4-21# ... 582

      #Chapter XXII:chap4-4-22# ... 585
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PLATES
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    #Plate III, Don Quixote and Sancho Panza on the road.:plate3# ... i

    #Plate XII, Don Quixote Defends His Armour.:plate12# ... 34

    #Plate I, Sancho Being Tossed.:plate1# ... 89

    #Plate VIII, Don Quixote Valiantly Charging the Herd of Sheep.:plate8# ... 93

    #Plate XI, Sancho’s Ass Stolen As They Sleep.:plate11# ... 120

    #Plate XIV, The Tattered Gentleman Tells His Tale.:plate14# ... 126

    #Plate IX, Don Quixote Displays the Bason.:plate9# ... 257

    #Plate II, Don Quixote Worships His Lady.:plate2# ... 334

    #Plate XIII, Don Quixote Braves the Lions.:plate13# ... 360

    #Plate IV, Don Quixote Meets the Soldiers.:plate4# ... 406

    #Plate VII, Sancho Panza and the Duchess and Her Ladies.:plate7# ... 431

    #Plate VI, Governor Sancho Panza and the Woman.:plate6# ... 474

    #Plate V, Don Quixote and the Shepherdesses.:plate5# ... 527

    #Plate XVI, Don Quixote Attempts to Scourge Sancho Panza.:plate16# ... 535

    #Plate X, Don Quixote Dancing.:plate10# ... 546

    #Plate XV, Don Quixote on His Death-Bed.:plate15# ... 585
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THE LIFE OF CERVANTES.
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Miguel De Cervantes Saavedra was at once the glory and reproach of
Spain; for, if his admirable genius and heroick spirit conduced to the honour
of his country, the distress and obscurity which attended his old age, as
effectually redounded to her disgrace. Had he lived amidst Gothick darkness and
barbarity, where no records were used, and letters altogether unknown, we might
have expected to derive from tradition a number of particulars relating to the
family and fortune of a man so remarkably admired even in his own time. But one
would imagine pains had been taken to throw a veil of oblivion over the personal
concerns of this excellent author. No enquiry hath as yet been able to ascertain
the place of his nativity; and, although in his works he has declared himself a
gentleman by birth, no house has hitherto laid claim to such an illustrious descendant.

One author says he was born at Esquivias[#]; but offers no argument in support
of his assertion: and probably the conjecture was founded upon the encomiums
which Cervantes himself bestows on that place, to which he gives the epithet of
renowned, in his preface to Persiles and Sigismunda. Others affirm he first drew
breath in Lucena, grounding their opinion upon a vague tradition which there
prevails; and a third set take it for granted that he was a native of Seville, because
there are families in that city known by the names of Cervantes and Saavedra[#];
and our author mentions his having, in his early youth, seen plays acted
by Lope Rueda, who was a Sevilian. These, indeed, are presumptions that deserve
some regard, though far from implying certain information, they scarce even
amount to probable conjecture; nay, these very circumstances seem to disprove the
supposition; for, had he been actually descended from those families, they would
in all likelihood have preserved some memorials of his birth, which Don Nicholas
Antonio would have recorded, in speaking of his fellow-citizen. All these pretensions
are now generally set aside in favour of Madrid, which claims the honour
of having produced Cervantes, and builds her title on an expression in his
Voyage to Parnassus[#], which, in my opinion, is altogether equivocal and inconclusive.

In the midst of such undecided contention, if I may be allowed to hazard a
conjecture, I would suppose that there was something mysterious in his extraction,
which he had no inclination to explain, and that his family had domestick reasons
for maintaining the like reserve. Without admitting some such motive, we can
hardly account for his silence on a subject that would have afforded him an opportunity
to indulge that self-respect which he so honestly displays in the course of
his writings. Unless we conclude that he was instigated to renounce all connection
with his kindred and allies, by some contemptuous slight, mortifying repulse, or
real injury he had sustained; a supposition which, I own, is not at all improbable,
considering the jealous sensibility of the Spaniards in general, and the warmth of
resentment peculiar to our author, which glows through his productions, unrestrained
by all the fears of poverty, and all the maxims of old age and experience.
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Whatever may have been the place of his nativity, we gather from the preface
to his novels, that he was born in the year 1549: and his writings declare that his
education was by no means neglected; for, over and above a natural fund of
humour and invention, he appears to have possessed a valuable stock of acquired
knowledge; we find him intimately acquainted with the Latin classicks, well read
in the history of nations, versed in the philosophy, rhetorick, and divinity of the
schools, tinctured with astrology and geography, conversant with the best Italian
authors, and perfectly master of his own Castilian language. His genius, which
was too delicate and volatile to engage in the severer studies, directed his attention
to the productions of taste and polite literature; which, while they amused his
fancy, enlarged, augmented, and improved his ideas, and taught him to set proper
bounds to the excursions of his imagination.

Thus qualified, he could not fail to make pertinent observations in his commerce
with mankind: the peculiarities of character could not escape his penetration;
whatever he saw became familiar to his judgment and understanding; and
every scene he exhibits is a just well-drawn characteristick picture of human life.

How he exercised these talents in his youth, and in what manner the first years
of his manhood were employed, we are not able to explain, because history and
tradition are altogether silent on the subject; unless we admit the authority of one
author[#], who says he was secretary to the Duke of Alva, without alledging any
one fact or argument in support of his assertion. Had he actually enjoyed a post
of such importance, we should not, in all probability, have wanted materials to
supply this chasm in his life; nor should we find him afterwards in the station of
a common soldier.

Others imagine that he served as a volunteer in Flanders, where he was raised to
the rank of ensign in the company commanded by Don Diego de Urbina; grounding
this belief on the supposition that the history of the captive related in the first
part of Don Quixote, is a literal detail of his own adventures. But this notion
is rejected by those who consider that Cervantes would hardly have contented
himself with the humble appellation of Soldier, which, in speaking of himself, he
constantly assumes, had he ever appeared in any superior station of a military character.
In a word, we have very little information touching the transactions of
his life, but what he himself is pleased to give through the course of his writings;
and from this we learn, that he was chamberlain to Cardinal Aquaviva in Rome,
and followed the profession of a soldier for some years, in the army commanded
by Marco Antonio Colona[#]; who was, by Pope Pius <abbr='the fifth'>V.</abbr> appointed general of
the ecclesiastical forces employed against the Turks, and received the consecrated
standard from the hands of his holiness, in the church of <abbr=Saint>St.</abbr> Peter.

Under this celebrated captain, Cervantes embarked in the Christian fleet commanded
by Don John of Austria, who obtained over the Turks the glorious victory
of Lepanto, where our author lost his left hand by the shot of an arquebus.
This mutilation, which redounded so much to his honour, he has taken care to record
on divers occasions: and, indeed, it is very natural to suppose his imagination
would dwell upon such an adventure, as the favourite incident of his life. I wish
he had told us what recompence he received for his services, and what consolation
he enjoyed for the loss of his limb; which must have effectually disqualified him
for the office of a common soldier, and reduced him to the necessity of exercising
some other employment.

Perhaps it was at this period he entered into the service of Cardinal Aquaviva,
to whose protection he was entitled by his gallantry and misfortune; and now,
in all likelihood, he had leisure and opportunity to prosecute his favourite studies,
to cultivate the muse, and render himself conspicuous by the productions of his
genius; which was known and admired by several authors of distinction, even
before his captivity; for Louis Galvez De Montalvo, in his poem prefixed to
Galatea, says, “The world lamented his misfortune in tears, and the muse expressed
a widow’s grief at his absence.” I will even venture to suppose, that, in
this interval, his situation was such as enabled him to raise an independent fortune;
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for we find him afterwards relieving the wants of his fellow-captives in Barbary,
with such liberality as denoted the affluence of his own circumstances; and,
in his Voyage to Parnassus, which was published in his old age, Apollo upbraids
him with want of œconomy; and reminds him of his having once made his own
fortune, which in the sequel he squandered away.

I make no doubt but this was the most fortunate period of Saavedra’s life;
during which, he reformed and improved the Spanish theatre, and ushered into the
world a number of dramatick performances, which were acted with universal applause.
He tells us that he had seen plays acted by the great Lope De Rueda[#],
who was a native of Seville, and originally a gold-beater. When this genius first
appeared, the Spanish drama was in its infancy: one large sack or bag contained
all the furniture and dress of the theatre, consisting of four sheep skin jackets with
the wool on, trimmed with gilt leather; four beards and perriwigs, and the same
number of pastoral crooks. The piece was no other than a dialogue or eclogue
between two or three swains and a shepherdess, seasoned with comick interludes, or
rather low buffoonery, exhibited in the characters of a black-moor, a bravo, a fool,
and a Biscayan. The stage itself was composed of a few boards, raised about
three feet from the ground, upon four benches or forms. There was no other
scenery than a blanket or horse-cloth stretched across, behind which the musicians
sung old ballads, unaccompanied by any sort of instrument. Lope de Rueda not
only composed theatrical pieces, but also acted in every character with great
reputation; in which he was succeeded by Naharro, a Toledan, who improved and
augmented the decorations; brought the musick from behind the blanket, and
placed it forwards to the audience; deprived the actors of their counterfeit beards,
without which no man’s part had been hitherto performed; invented machines,
clouds, thunder, and lightning; and introduced challenges and combats with incredible
success. But still the drama was rude, unpolished, and irregular; and
the fable, though divided into five acts, was almost altogether destitute of manners,
propriety, and invention.

From this uncultivated state of ignorance and barbarity, Cervantes raised the
Spanish theatre to dignity and esteem, by enriching his dramatick productions with
moral sentiments, regularity of plan, and propriety of character; together with the
graces of poetry, and the beauties of imagination. He published thirty pieces,
which were represented at Madrid with universal applause; so that he may be
justly deemed the patriarch of the Spanish drama; and, in this particular, revered
above Lope de Vega himself, who did not appear until he had left off writing
for the stage.

In the year 1574, he was unfortunately taken by a Barbary corsair, and conveyed
to Algiers, where he was sold to a Moor, and remained a slave for the space
of five years and a half: during which, he exhibited repeated proofs of the most
enterprizing genius and heroick generosity. Though we know not on what occasion
he fell into the hands of the Barbarians, he himself gives us to understand, in
the story of the Captive, that he resided at Algiers in the reign of Hassan Aga, a
ruffian renegado, whose cruelty he describes in these terms. ‘He was every day
hanging one, impaling another, maiming a third, upon such slight occasions,
frequently without any cause assigned, that the Turks themselves owned he acted
thus out of mere wantonness and barbarity, as being naturally of a savage disposition,
and an inveterate enemy to the whole human race. The person who
used the greatest freedom with him, was one Saavedra, a Spanish soldier; who,
though he did many things which those people will not soon forget, in attempting
to regain his liberty, he never gave him one blow, nor ordered him once to
be chastised, nor even chid him with one hasty word; and yet the least of all his
pranks was sufficient, as we thought, to bring him to the stake; nay, he himself
was more than once afraid of being impaled alive. If time would permit, I
could here recount some of that soldier’s actions, which perhaps might entertain
and surprize you more than the relation of my own story.’

Thus Cervantes ascertains the time of his own slavery, delineates with great exactness
the character of that inhuman tyrant, who is recorded in history as a
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monster of cruelty and avarice; and proves to demonstration, that his own story
was quite different from that which the Captive related of himself. Saavedra’s adventures
at Algiers were truly surprizing; and though we cannot favour the publick
with a substantial detail of every incident, we have found means to learn such
particulars of his conduct, as cannot fail to reflect an additional lustre on a character
which has been long the object of admiration.

We are informed by a respectable historian[#], who was his fellow-slave, and an
eye-witness of the transaction, that Don Miguel de Cervantes, a gallant, enterprizing,
Spanish cavalier, who, though he never wanted money, could not obtain
his release without paying an exorbitant ransom, contrived a scheme for setting
himself free, together with fourteen unhappy gentlemen of his own country, who
were all in the like circumstances of thraldom under different patrons. His first
step was to redeem one Viana, a bold Mayorcan mariner, in whom he could confide,
and with whom he sent letters to the governor of that island, desiring, in the
name of himself and the other gentlemen captives, that he would send over a brigantine
under the direction of Viana, who had undertaken, at an appointed time,
to touch upon a certain part of the coast, where he should find them ready to embark.
In consequence of this agreement, they withdrew themselves from their respective
masters, and privately repaired to a garden near the sea-side, belonging to
a renegado Greek, whose name was Al-Caid Hassan; where they were concealed
in a cave, and carefully screened from the knowledge of the owner, by his gardener,
who was a Christian captive. Viana punctually performed his promise, and returned
in a vessel, with which he was supplied by the governor of Mayorca; but
some Moors chancing to pass just as he anchored at the appointed place, the coast
was instantly alarmed, and he found himself obliged to relinquish the enterprize.
Meanwhile, the captives being ignorant of this accident, remained in the cavern,
which they never quitted except in the night, and were maintained by the liberality
of Cervantes, for the space of seven months; during which the necessaries of life were
brought to them by a Spanish slave, known by the appellation of El Dorador, or the
Gilder. No wonder that their hope and patience began to fail, and their constitutions
to be affected by the dampness of the place, and the grief of their disappointment,
which Don Miguel endeavoured to alleviate by the exercise of his reason, good-humour,
and humanity; till at last their purveyor turned traitor; and, allured by the
hope of receiving a considerable reward, discovered the whole affair to Hassan Basha.
This tyrant, transported with joy at the information, immediately ordered the
guardian Basha, with a body of armed men, to follow the perfidious wretch, who
conducted them to the cave, where they seized those unhappy fugitives, together
with their faithful gardener, and forthwith carried the whole number to the publick
bagnio, except Cervantes, touching whose person they had received particular directions
from Hassan, who knew his character, and had been long desirous of possessing
such a notable slave. At present, however, his intention was to persuade
Don Miguel to accuse Oliver, one of the fathers of the redemption then at Algiers,
as an accomplice in the scheme they had projected, that he might, on this pretence,
extort from the friar, by way of composition, the greatest part of the money
which had been collected for the ransom of Christian slaves. Accordingly, he
endeavoured to inveigle Saavedra with artful promises, and to intimidate him with
dreadful threats and imprecations, into the confession or impeachment on which
he wanted to lay hold: but that generous Spaniard, with a resolution peculiar to
himself, rejected all his offers, and despising the terrors of his menaces, persisted
in affirming that he had no associate in the plan of their escape, which was purely
the result of his own reflection.

After having in vain tampered with his integrity, in repeated trials that lasted
for several days, he restored him and his companions to their respective patrons,
notwithstanding the remonstrances of Al Caid Hassan, owner of the garden in
which they had been apprehended; who, probably with a view to manifest his
own innocence, strenuously exhorted the Basha to inflict the most exemplary punishment
on the offenders, and actually put his own gardener to death. Cervantes
// File: 0010.png
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had so often signalized his genius, courage, and activity, that Hassan resolved to
make him his own, and purchased him from his master for five hundred ducats;
then he was heard to say, ‘While I hold that maimed Spaniard in safe custody,
my vessels, slaves, and even my whole city, are secure.’ For he had not only
concerted a number of schemes for the deliverance of his fellow-captives, but his
designs had even aspired to the conquest of Algiers, and he was at four different
times on the point of being impaled, hooked, or burned alive. Any single attempt
of that kind would have been deemed a capital offence, under the mildest
government that ever subsisted among the Moors; but there was something in the
character or personal deportment of Cervantes, which commanded respect from
barbarity itself: for we find that Hassan Basha treated him with incredible lenity,
and his redemption was afterwards effected by the intercession of a trinitarian father,
for a thousand ducats[#].

From this account of his behaviour in Barbary, it appears that he acted a far
more important part than that of a poor mutilated soldier: he is dignified with the
appellation of Don Miguel De Cervantes, and represented as a cavalier whose affluent
fortune enabled him to gratify the benevolence and liberality of his disposition.
We must therefore take it for granted, that he acquired this wealth after
the battle of Lepanto, where he surely would not have fought as a private soldier,
could he have commanded either money or interest to procure a more conspicuous
station in the service. Be that as it will, his conduct at Algiers reflects honour
upon his country; and while we applaud him as an author, we ought to revere
him as a man; nor will his modesty be less the object of our admiration, if we
consider that he has, upon this occasion, neglected the fairest opportunity a man
could possibly enjoy, of displaying his own character to the greatest advantage, and
indulging that self complacency which is so natural to the human heart.

As he returned to his own country with those principles by which he had been
distinguished in his exile, and an heart entendered and exercised in sympathizing
with his fellow-creatures in distress; we may suppose he could not advert to the
lessons of Oeconomy, which a warm imagination seldom or never retains; but that
his heart glowed with all the enthusiasm of friendship, and that his bounty extended
to every object of compassion which fell within his view.

Notwithstanding all the shafts of ridicule which he hath so successfully levelled
against the absurdities of the Spanish romance, we can plainly perceive from his
own writings, that he himself had a turn for chivalry: his life was a chain of extraordinary
adventures, his temper was altogether heroick, and his actions were,
without doubt, influenced by the most romantick notions of honour.

Spain has produced a greater number of these characters than we meet with
upon record in any other nation; and whether such singularity be the effect of natural
or moral causes, or of both combined, I shall not pretend to determine. Let
us only affirm, that this disposition is not confined to any particular people or period
of time: even in our own country, and in these degenerate days, we sometimes
find individuals whom nature seems to have intended for members of those ideal
societies which never did, and perhaps never can exist, but in imagination; and
who remind us of the characters described by Homer and Plutarch, as patriots
sacrificing their lives for their country, and heroes encountering danger, not with
indifference and contempt, but with all the rapture and impetuosity of a passionate
admirer.

If we consider Cervantes as a man inspired by such sentiments, and actuated by
// File: 0011.png
.pn +1
such motives; and at the same time, from his known sensibility and natural complexion,
suppose him to have been addicted to pleasure and the amusements of
gallantry; we cannot be surprized to find his finances in a little time exhausted,
and the face of his affairs totally reversed. It was probably in the decline of his
fortune, that he resolved to re-appear in the character of an author, and stand candidate
for the publick favour, which would be a certain resource in the day of
trouble: he therefore composed his Galatea, in six books, which was published in
the year 1584, dedicated to Ascanio Colonna, at that time abbot of <abbr=Saint>St.</abbr> Sophia,
and afterwards cardinal of the holy cross of Jerusalem.

The rich vein of invention, the tenderness of passion, the delicacy of sentiment,
the power and purity of diction, displayed in this performance, are celebrated
by Don Louis De Vargas Manrique, in a commendatory sonnet, which is
a very elegant and honourable testimony of our author’s success. Nevertheless,
the production has been censured for the irregularity of its stile, the incorrectness
of its versification, and the multiplicity of its incidents, which incumber and
perplex the principal narration; and, over and above these objections, the design
is not brought to a conclusion, so that the plan appears meagre and defective. He
himself pleads guilty to some part of the charge, in the sentence pronounced by the
curate, in the first part of Don Quixote; who, when the barber takes up the Galatea
of Miguel De Cervantes, ‘That same Cervantes,’ says he, ‘has been an
intimate friend of mine these many years; and is to my certain knowledge,
more conversant with misfortunes than with poetry. There is a good vein of
invention in his book, which proposes something, though it concludes nothing.
We must wait for the second part which he promises; and then, perhaps, his
amendment may deserve a full pardon, which is now denied.’

Whether the success of Galatea encouraged our author to oblige the world with
some of those theatrical pieces, which we have already mentioned as the first regular
productions of the Spanish drama, or the whole number of these was written
and acted before his captivity, I have not been able to determine; but, in all probability,
his first essays of that kind were exhibited in the interval between the battle
of Lepanto and the commencement of his slavery, and the rest published after
his redemption.

Unless we suppose him to have been employed at Madrid in this manner for his
subsistence, we must pass over two and twenty years, which afford us no particular
information touching the life of Saavedra; though, in that period, he married
Donna Cataline De Salazar, dissipated the remains of his fortune, experienced the
ingratitude of those he had befriended in his prosperity, and after having sustained
a series of mortifications and distress, was committed to prison in consequence of
the debts he had contracted.

In this dismal situation, he composed that performance which is the delight and
admiration of all Europe; I mean, the first part of Don Quixote, which he
wrote with a view to ridicule and discredit those absurd romances, filled with the
most nauseous improbability and unnatural extravagance, which had debauched the
taste of mankind, and were indeed a disgrace to common sense and reason. Not
that Cervantes had any intention to combat the spirit of knight-errantry, so prevalent
among the Spaniards; on the contrary, I am persuaded he would have been
the first man in the nation to stand up for the honour and defence of chivalry;
which, when restrained within due bounds, was an excellent institution, that inspired
the most heroick sentiments of courage and patriotism, and on many occasions
conduced to the peace and safety of the commonwealth. In the character of
Don Quixote, he exhibits a good understanding perverted by reading romantick
stories, which had no foundation in nature or in fact. His intellects are not supposed
to have been damaged by the perusal of authentick histories, which recount
the exploits of knights and heroes who really existed; but his madness seems to
have flowed from his credulity, and a certain wildness of imagination, which was
captivated by the marvellous representation of dwarfs, giants, necromancers, and
other preternatural extravagance. From these legends he formed his whole plan
of conduct; and, though nothing can be more ridiculous than the terms upon
which he is described to have commenced knight-errant, at a time when the regulations
of society had rendered the profession unnecessary, and indeed illegal;
// File: 0012.png
.pn +1
the criterion of his frenzy consists in that strange faculty of mistaking and confounding
the most familiar objects with the fantastical illusions which those romances
had engendered in his fancy. So that our author did not enter the lists
against the memory of the real substantial chivalry, which he held in veneration;
but with design to expel an hideous phantom that possessed the brains of the people,
waging perpetual war with true genius and invention.

The success of this undertaking must have exceeded his most sanguine hopes.
Don Quixote no sooner made his appearance, than the old romances vanished like
mist before the sun. The ridicule was so striking, that even the warmest admirers
of Amadis and his posterity seemed to awake from a dream, and reflected with
amazement upon their former infatuation. Every dispassionate reader was charmed
with the humorous characters of the knight and squire, who straight became the
favourites of his fancy; he was delighted with the variety of entertaining incidents,
and considered the author’s good sense and purity of stile with admiration
and applause.

He informs us, by the mouth of the batchelor Sampson Carrasco, that even
before the publication of the second part, twelve thousand copies of the first were
already in print, besides a new impression then working off at Antwerp. ‘The
very children,’ says he, ‘handle it, boys read it, men understand, and old people
applaud the performance. It is no sooner laid down by one, than another takes
it up, some struggling, and some entreating for a sight of it; in fine, this history
is the most delightful and least prejudicial entertainment that ever was seen; for,
in the whole book, there is not the least shadow of a dishonourable word, nor
one thought unworthy of a good catholick.’

Nor was this applause confined to the kingdoms and territories of Spain. The
fame of Don Quixote diffused itself through all the civilized countries of Europe;
and the work was so much admired in France, that some gentlemen who attended
the French ambassador to Madrid, in a conversation with the licentiate Marques
Torres, chaplain to the archbishop of Toledo, expressed their surprize that Cervantes
was not maintained from the publick treasury, as the honour and pride of
the Spanish nation. Nay, this work, which was first published at Madrid in the
year 1605, had the good fortune to extort the approbation of royalty itself: Philip
<abbr='the third'>III.</abbr> standing in a balcony of his palace, and surveying the adjacent country,
perceived a student on the bank of the Manzanares, reading a book, and every now
and then striking his forehead and bursting out into loud fits of laughter. His majesty
having observed his emotions for some time, ‘That student,’ said he, ‘is either mad,
or reading Don Quixote.’ Some of the courtiers in attendance, had the curiosity
to go out and enquire, and actually found the scholar engaged in the adventures
of our Manchegan.

As the book was dedicated to the Duke de Bejar, we may naturally suppose
that nobleman, either by his purse or interest, obtained the author’s discharge from
prison; for he congratulates himself upon the protection of such a patron, in
certain verses prefixed to the book, and supposed to be written by Urganda the
unknown. He afterwards attracted the notice of the Count De Lemos, who
seems to have been his chief and favourite benefactor; and even enjoyed a small
share of the countenance of the cardinal archbishop of Toledo: so that we cannot,
with any probability, espouse the opinion of those who believe his Don
Quixote was intended as a satire upon the administration of that nobleman. Nor
is there the least plausible reason for thinking his aim was to ridicule the conduct
of Charles <abbr='the fifth'>V.</abbr> whose name he never mentions without expressions of the utmost
reverence and regard. Indeed, his own indigence was a more severe satire than
any thing he could have invented against the ministry of Philip <abbr='the third'>III.</abbr> for, though
their protection kept him from starving, it did not exempt him from the difficulties
and mortifications of want; and no man of taste and humanity can reflect upon
his character and circumstances, without being shocked at the barbarous indifference
of his patrons. What he obtained was not the offering of liberality and taste, but
the scanted alms of compassion: he was not respected as a genius, but relieved
as a beggar.

One would hardly imagine that an author could languish in the shade of poverty
and contempt, while his works afforded entertainment and delight to whole
// File: 0013.png
.pn +1
nations, and even sovereigns were found in the number of his admirers; but Cervantes
had the misfortune to write in the reign of a prince whose disposition was
sordid, and whose talents, naturally mean, had received no manner of cultivation;
so that his head was altogether untinctured with science, and his heart an utter
stranger to the virtues of beneficence. Nor did the liberal arts derive the least encouragement
from his ministry, which was ever weak and wavering. The Duke
De Lerma seems to have been a proud, irresolute, shallow-brained politician, whose
whole attention was employed in preserving the good graces of his master; though,
notwithstanding all his efforts, he still fluctuated between favour and disgrace, and
at last was fain to shelter himself under the hat of a cardinal. As for the Count
de Lemos, who had some share in the administration, he affected to patronize men
of genius, though he had hardly penetration enough to distinguish merit; and the
little taste he possessed was so much warped by vanity and self-conceit, that there
was no other avenue to his friendship but the road of adulation and panegyrick:
we need not, therefore, wonder that his bounty was so sparingly bestowed upon
Cervantes, whose conscious worth and spirit would not suffer him to practise such
servility of prostration.

Rather than stoop so far beneath the dignity of his own character, he resolved to
endure the severest stings of fortune; and, for a series of years, wrestled with inconceivable
vexation and distress. Even in this low situation, he was not exempted
from the ill offices of those who envied his talents and his fame. The bad writers
vilified his genius, and censured his morals; they construed Don Quixote into
an impertinent libel, and endeavoured to depreciate his Exemplary Novels, which
were published at Madrid, in the year 1613. This performance is such as might
be expected from the invention and elegance of Cervantes, and was accordingly approved
by the best judges of his time. Indeed, it must have been a great consolation
to him, in the midst of his misfortunes, to see himself celebrated by the choicest
wits of Spain; and, among the rest, by the renowned Lope De Vega, prince of
the Spanish theatre, who, both during the life and after the death of our author,
mentioned him in the most respectful terms of admiration[#].

But, of all the insults to which he was exposed from the malevolence of mankind,
nothing provoked him so much, as the outrage he sustained, from the insolence
and knavery of an author, who, while he was preparing the second part of
Don Quixote for the press, in the year 1614, published a performance, intitled,
The Second Volume of the sage Hidalgo Don Quixote De La Mancha, containing
his third sally. Composed by the licentiate Alonzo Fernandez De Avellaneda,
a native of Tordesillas; dedicated to the alcalde, regidors, and gentlemen, of the
noble town of Argamasilla, the happy country of Don Quixote De La Mancha.
This impostor, not contented with having robbed Cervantes of his plan, and, as
some people believe, of a good part of his copy, attacked him personally, in his
preface, in the most virulent manner; accusing him of envy, malice, peevishness,
and rancour; reproaching him with his poverty, and taxing him with having
abused his cotemporary writers, particularly Lope De Vega, under the shadow
of whose reputation this spurious writer takes shelter, pretending to have been
lashed, together with that great genius, in some of our author’s critical reflections.

In spite of the disguise he assumed, Cervantes discovered him to be an Arragonian;
and in all probability knew his real name, which, however, he did not
think proper to transmit to posterity; and his silence in this particular was the
result either of discretion, or contempt. If he was a person of consequence, as
some people suppose, it was undoubtedly prudent in Cervantes to pretend ignorance
of his true name and quality; because, under the shadow of that pretence, he
could the more securely chastise him for his dullness, scurrility, and presumption:
but if he knew him to be a man of no character or estimation in life, he ought to
have deemed him altogether unworthy of his resentment; for his production was
such as could not possibly prejudice our author’s interest or reputation. It is altogether
void of invention and propriety; the characters of Don Quixote and
// File: 0014.png
.pn +1
Sancho are flattened into the most insipid absurdity; the adventures are unentertaining
and improbable; and the stile barbarous, swoln, and pedantick.

Howsoever Saavedra’s fortune might have been affected by this fraudulent anticipation,
I am persuaded, from the consideration of his magnanimity, that he
would have looked upon the attempt with silent disdain, had the fictitious Avellaneda
abstained from personal abuse; but finding himself so injuriously upbraided
with crimes which his soul abhorred, he gave a loose to his indignation and ridicule,
which appear through the preface and second part of Don Quixote, in a
variety of animadversions equally witty and severe. Indeed, the genuine continuation,
which was published in the year 1615, convinced the world that no other
person could compleat the plan of the original projector. It was received with
universal joy and approbation; and in a very little time translated into the languages
of Italy, France, England, and other countries, where, though the knight
appeared to disadvantage, he was treated as a noble stranger of superlative merit
and distinction.

In the year after the publication of his novels, Cervantes ushered into the
world a poem called, A Voyage to Parnassus, dedicated to Don Rodrigo De
Tapia, knight of <abbr=Saint>St.</abbr> Jago. This performance is an ironical satire on the Spanish
poets of his time, written in imitation of Cæsar Caporali, who lashed his
cotemporaries of Italy under the same title; though Saavedra seems to have had
also another scope, namely, to complain of the little regard that was paid to his
own age and talents. Those who will not allow this piece to be an excellent
poem, cannot help owning that it abounds with wit and manly satire; and that
nothing could be a more keen reproach upon the taste and patronage of the times,
than the dialogue that passes between him and Apollo; to whom, after having
made a bold, yet just recapitulation of his own success in writing, he pathetically
complains, that he was denied a seat among his brethren; and takes occasion to
observe, that rewards were not bestowed according to merit, but in consequence of
interest and favour.

He has, upon other occasions, made severe remarks upon the scarcity of patrons
among the nobility of Spain, and even aimed the shafts of his satire at the throne
itself. In his dedication of the second part of Don Quixote, to the Count De
Lemos, he proceeds in this ironical strain: ‘But no person expresses a greater
desire of seeing my Don Quixote, than the mighty Emperor of China, who,
about a month ago, sent me a letter by an express, desiring, or rather beseeching,
me to supply him with a copy of that performance, as he intended to build
and endow a college for teaching the Spanish language from my book, and was
resolved to make me rector or principal teacher. I asked if his majesty had
sent me any thing towards defraying the charges; and, when he answered in the
negative, “Why, then, friend,” said I, “you may return to China as soon as
you please; for my own part, I am not in a state of health to undertake such a
long journey: besides, I am not only weak in body, but still weaker in purse,
and so I am the emperor’s most humble servant.” In short, emperor for emperor,
and monarch for monarch, to take one with the other, and set the hare’s head
against the goose giblets, there is the noble Count De Lemos, at Naples, who,
without any rectorships, supports, protects, and favours me, to my heart’s
content.’

This facetious paragraph certainly alludes to some unsubstantial promise he had
received from the court. At the same time I cannot help observing, that his gratitude
and acknowledgment to the Count De Lemos, seem to have greatly exceeded
the obligation; for, at this very time, while he is extolling his generosity, he gives
us to understand that his circumstances were extremely indigent.

At the very time of this dedication, the poverty of Cervantes had increased to
such a degree of distress, that he was fain to sell eight plays, and as many
interludes, to Juan Villaroel, because he had neither means nor credit for printing
them at his own expence. These theatrical pieces, which were published at Madrid
in the year 1615, though counted inferior to many productions of Lope De Vega,
have nevertheless merit enough to persuade the discerning reader that they would
have succeeded in the representation; but he was no favourite with the players, who
have always arrogated to themselves the prerogative of judging and rejecting the
// File: 0015.png
.pn +1
productions of the drama; and, as they forbore to offer, he disdained to solicit
their acceptance. The truth is, he considered actors as the servants of the publick,
who, though entitled to a certain degree of favour and encouragement for the entertainment
they afforded, ought ever to demean themselves with modesty and respect
for their benefactors; and he had often professed himself an enemy to the
self-sufficiency, insolence, and outrageous behaviour of the king’s company; some
of whom had been guilty of the most flagrant crimes, and even committed murder
with impunity.

It is sometimes in the power of the most inconsiderable wretch to mortify a character
of the highest dignity. Cervantes, notwithstanding his contempt of such petty
criticks, could not help feeling the petulance of a puny player, who presumed to
depreciate the talents of this venerable father of the stage. ‘Some years ago[#],’
says he, ‘I had recourse again to my old amusement; and, on the supposition that
the times were not altered since my name was in some estimation, I composed a
few pieces for the stage; but found no birds in last year’s nests: my meaning is,
I could find no player who would ask for my performances, though the whole
company knew they were finished; so that I threw them aside, and condemned
them to perpetual silence. About this time, a certain bookseller told me he
would have purchased my plays, had he not been prevented by an actor, who
said, that from my prose much might be expected, but nothing from my verse.
I confess, I was not a little chagrined at hearing this declaration; and said to
myself, “Either I am quite altered, or the times are greatly improved, contrary
to common observation, by which the past is always preferred to the present.”
I revised my comedies, together with some interludes which had lain some time
in a corner, and I did not think them so wretched, but that they might appeal
from the muddy brain of this player, to the clearer perception of other actors less
scrupulous and more judicious. Being quite out of humour, I parted with the
copy to a bookseller, who offered me a tolerable price: I took his money, without
giving myself any farther trouble about the actors, and he printed them as you
see. I could wish they were the best in the world; or, at least, possessed of some
merit. Gentle reader, thou wilt soon see how they are, and if thou canst find
any thing to thy liking, and afterwards should happen to meet with my back-biting
actor, desire him, from me, to take care and mend himself; for I offend
no man: as for the plays, thou mayest tell him, they contain no glaring nonsense,
no palpable absurdities.’

The source of this indifference towards Cervantes, we can easily explain, by observing
that Lope De Vega had, by this time, engrossed the theatre, and the favour
of the publick, to such a degree, as ensured success to all his performances; so that
the players would not run any risk of miscarriage, in exhibiting the productions of an
old neglected veteran, who had neither inclination nor ability to support his theatrical
pieces by dint of interest and cabal. Far from being able to raise factions in his
favour, he could hardly subsist in the most parsimonious manner, and in all probability
would have actually starved, had not the charity of the Count De Lemos
enabled him barely to breathe.

The last work he finished was a novel, intitled, The Troubles of Persiles and
Sigismunda; which, however, he did not live to see in print. This child of his
old age he mentions in the warmest terms of paternal affection[#], preferring it to all
the rest of his productions; a compliment which every author pays to the youngest
offspring of his genius; for, whatever sentence the world may pronounce, every
man thinks he daily improves in experience and understanding; and that in refusing
the pre-eminence to his last effort, he would fairly own the decay and degeneracy
of his own talents.

We must not, however, impute the encomiums which Cervantes bestows upon
his last performance to this fond partiality alone; because the book has indubitable
merit; and, as he himself says, may presume to vie with the celebrated romance
of Heliodorus[#], in elegance of diction, entertaining incidents, and fecundity of
// File: 0016.png
.pn +1
invention. Before this novel saw the light, our author was seized with a dropsy,
which gradually conveyed him to his grave; and nothing could give a more advantageous
idea of his character, than the fortitude and good-humour which he
appears to have maintained to the last moment of his life, overwhelmed as he was
with misery, old age, and an incurable distemper. The preface and dedication of
his Persiles and Sigismunda contain a journal of his last stage, by which we are
enabled to guess at the precise time of his decease. ‘Loving reader,’ said he, ‘as
two of my friends and myself were coming from the famous town of Esquivias—famous,
I say, on a thousand accounts; first, for its illustrious families, and
secondly, for its more illustrious wines, &c.—I heard somebody galloping after
us, with intent, as I imagined, to join our company; and, indeed, he soon justified
my conjecture, by calling out to us to ride more softly. We accordingly
waited for this stranger; who riding up to us upon a she ass, appeared to be a
grey student; for he was cloathed in grey, with country buskins, such as peasants
wear to defend their legs in harvest-time, round-toed shoes, a sword provided,
as it happened, with a tolerable chape, a starched band, and an even
number of three-thread bredes; for the truth is, he had but two; and as his
band would every now and then shift to one side, he took incredible pains to adjust
it again. “Gentlemen,” said he, “you are going, belike, to solicit some
post or pension at court: his eminence of Toledo must be there, to be sure, or
the king at least, by your making such haste. In good faith I could hardly
overtake you, though my ass hath been more than once applauded for a tolerable
ambler.” To this address one of my companions replied, “We are obliged
to set on at a good rate, to keep up with that there mettlesome nag, belonging to
Signior Miguel De Cervantes.” Scarce had the student heard my name, when
springing from the back of his ass, whilst his pannel fell one way, and his wallet
another, he ran towards me, and taking hold of my stirrup, “Aye, aye,”
cried he, “this is the sound cripple! the renowned, the merry writer; in a
word, the darling of the muses!” In order to make some return to these high
compliments, I threw my arms about his neck, so as that he lost his band
by the eagerness of my embraces; and told him that he was mistaken, like many
of my well-wishers. “I am, indeed, Cervantes,” said I; “but not the darling
of the muses, or in any shape deserving of those encomiums you have
bestowed: be pleased, therefore, good Signior, to remount your beast and
let us travel together like friends the rest of the way.” The courteous student
took my advice; and, as we jogged on softly together, the conversation happening
to turn on the subject of my illness, the stranger soon pronounced my
doom, by assuring me that my distemper was a dropsy, which all the water of
the ocean, although it were not salt, would never be able to quench. “Therefore,
Signior Cervantes,” added the student, “you must totally abstain from
drink; but do not forget to eat heartily: and this regimen will effect your
recovery without physick.”—“I have received the same advice from other
people,” answered I, “but I cannot help drinking, as if I had been born to
do nothing else but drink. My life is drawing to a period; and, by the
daily journal of my pulse, which I find will have finished its course by
next Sunday at farthest, I shall also have finished my career; so that you come
in the very nick of time to be acquainted with me, though I shall have no
opportunity of shewing how much I am obliged to you for your good will.”
By this time we had reached the Toledo Bridge; where, finding we must part,
I embraced my student once more, and he having returned the compliment
with great cordiality, spurred up his beast, and left me as ill-disposed on my
horse as he was ill-mounted on his ass; although my pen itched to be writing
some humourous description of his equipage: but, adieu my merry friends all;
for I am going to die, and I hope to meet you again in the other world, as happy
as heart can wish.’

After this adventure, which he so pleasantly relates, (nay, even in his last
moments) he dictated a most affectionate dedication to his patron, the Count
De Lemos, who was at that time president of the Supreme Council in Italy.
He begins facetiously with a quotation from an old ballad; then proceeds to
tell his excellency, that he had received extreme unction, and was on the brink
// File: 0017.png
.pn +1
of eternity; yet he wished he could live to see the count’s return, and even to
finish the Weeks of the Garden, and the second part of Galatea, in which he had
made some progress.

This dedication was dated April 19, 1617; and, in all probability, the author
died the very next day, as the ceremony of the unction is never performed until
the patient is supposed to be in extremity: certain it is, he did not long survive
this period; for, in September, a licence was granted to Donna Catalina De Salazar,
widow of Miguel De Cervantes Saavedra, to print the Troubles of Persiles
and Sigismunda, a northern history; which was accordingly published at Madrid,
and afterwards translated into Italian.

Thus have I collected and related all the material circumstances mentioned by
history and tradition, concerning the life of Cervantes; which I shall conclude
with the portrait of his person, drawn by his own pen, in the preface to his
novels. His visage was sharp and aquiline, his hair of a chesnut colour, his
forehead smooth and high, his nose hookish or hawkish, his eyes brisk and chearful,
his mouth little, his beard originally of a golden hue, his upper-lip furnished
with large mustachios, his complexion fair, his stature of the middling size;
and he tells us, moreover, that he was thick in the shoulders, and not very light
of foot.

In a word, Cervantes, whether considered as a writer or a man, will be found
worthy of universal approbation and esteem; and we cannot help applauding that
fortitude and courage, which no difficulty could disturb, and no danger dismay;
while we admire that delightful stream of humour and invention, which flowed so
plenteous and so pure, surmounting all the mounds of malice and adversity.

.fn #
Thomas Tamayo De Vargas.
.fn-

.fn #
Don Nicholas Antonio.
.fn-

.fn #
He describes his departure from Madrid in these words: ‘Out of my country and
myself I go!’
.fn-

.fn #
Nicholas Antonio, biblioth. Hisp.
.fn-

.fn #
His dedication of Galatea.
.fn-

.fn #
In the preface to his plays.
.fn-

.fn #
<abbr rend=spell>F.</abbr> Diego Da Haedo.
.fn-

.fn #
To this adventure he doubtless alludes, in the story of the Captive; who says,
that when he and his fellow-slaves were deliberating about ransoming one of their number,
who should go to Valencia and Mayorca, and procure a vessel with which he might return
and fetch off the rest, the renegado who was of their council opposed the scheme, observing,
that those who are once delivered seldom think of performing the promises they have
made in captivity: as a confirmation of the truth of what he alledged, he briefly recounted
a case which had lately happened to some Christian gentlemen, attended with the strangest
circumstances ever known, even in those parts, where the most uncommon and surprizing
events occur almost every day.
.fn-

.fn #
Laurèl de Apollo Selva 8.
.fn-

.fn #
In his preface to his plays.
.fn-

.fn #
Preface to his novels. Dedication of the last part of Don Quixote.
.fn-

.fn #
The Loves of Theagenes and Chariclea.
.fn-

// File: 0018.png
.pn +1
.sp 4
.h2 id=trans-note
Translator’s Note
.sp 2
The translator’s aim, in this undertaking, was to maintain
that ludicrous solemnity and self-importance by which the
inimitable Cervantes has distinguished the character of Don
Quixote, without raising him to the insipid rank of a dry philosopher,
or debasing him to the melancholy circumstances and unentertaining
caprice of an ordinary madman; and to preserve the
native humour of Sancho Panza from degenerating into mere proverbial
phlegm, or affected buffoonery.

He has endeavoured to retain the spirit and ideas, without servilely
adhering to the literal expression of the original; from which,
however, he has not so far deviated, as to destroy that formality of
idiom, so peculiar to the Spaniards, and so essential to the character
of the work.

The satire and propriety of many allusions, which had been lost in
the change of custom and lapse of time, are restored in explanatory
notes; and the whole is conducted with that care and circumspection,
which ought to be exerted by every author, who, in attempting to
improve upon a task already performed, subjects himself to the most
invidious comparison.
// File: 0019.png
// File: 0020.png
.pn +1
.sp 4
.h2 id=preface
PREFACE TO THE READER.
.sp 2
Idle reader, without an oath thou mayest believe, that I wish this
book, as the child of my understanding, were the most beautiful,
sprightly, and discreet production, that ever was conceived. But it
was not in my power to contravene the order of nature: in consequence
of which, every creature procreates its own resemblance.
What, therefore, could be engendered in my barren, ill-cultivated
genius, but a dry, meagre offspring, wayward, capricious, and full
of whimsical notions peculiar to my own imagination, as if produced
in a prison, which is the seat of inconvenience, and the habitation
of every dismal sound[#]. Quiet solitude, pleasant fields, serene weather,
purling streams, and tranquillity of mind, contribute so much
to the fecundity even of the most barren genius, that it will bring
forth productions so fair as to awaken the admiration and delight of
mankind.

A man who is so unfortunate as to have an ugly child, destitute of
every grace and favourable endowment, may be so hood-winked by
paternal tenderness, that he cannot perceive his defects; but, on the
contrary, looks upon every blemish as a beauty, and recounts to his
friends every instance of his folly as a sample of his wit: but I, who,
though seemingly the parent, am no other than the step-father of Don
Quixote, will not sail with the stream of custom; nor, like some others,
supplicate thee, gentle reader, with the tears in my eyes, to pardon or
conceal the faults which thou mayest spy in this production. Thou
art neither its father nor kinsman; hast thy own soul in thy own body,
and a will as free as the finest; thou art in thy own house, of which I
hold thee as absolute master as the king of his revenue; and thou
knowest the common saying, ‘Under my cloak the king is a joke.’
These considerations free and exempt thee from all manner of restraint
and obligation; so that thou mayest fully and frankly declare
thy opinion of this history, without fear of calumny for thy censure, and
without hope of recompence for thy approbation.

I wished only to present thee with the performance, clean, neat, and
naked, without the ornament of a preface, and unincumbered with an
innumerable catalogue of such sonnets, epigrams, and commendatory
verses, as are generally prefixed to the productions of the present age;
for I can assure thee, that although the composition of the book hath
cost me some trouble, I have found more difficulty in writing this preface,
which is now under thy inspection: divers and sundry times did I
seize the pen, and as often laid it aside, for want of knowing what to
say; and during this uneasy state of suspence, while I was one day ruminating
on the subject, with the paper before me, the quill behind my
ear, my elbow fixed on the table, and my cheek leaning on my hand; a
// File: 0021.png
.pn +1
friend of mine, who possesses a great fund of humour and an excellent
understanding, suddenly entered the apartment, and finding me in
this musing posture, asked the cause of my being so contemplative.
As I had no occasion to conceal the nature of my perplexity, I told him
I was studying a Preface for the History of Don Quixote; a talk which I
found so difficult, that I was resolved to desist, and even suppress the adventures
of such a noble cavalier: for you may easily suppose how much I
must be confounded at the animadversions of that ancient law-giver the
vulgar, when it shall see me, after so many years that I have slept in silence
and oblivion, produce, in my old age, a performance as dry as a rush,
barren of invention, meagre in stile, beggarly in conceit, and utterly
destitute of wit and erudition; without quotations in the margin, or annotations
at the end, as we see in other books, let them be never so
fabulous and profane; indeed, they are generally so stuffed with apothegms
from Aristotle, Plato, and the whole body of philosophers,
that they excite the admiration of the readers, who look upon such
authors as men of unbounded knowledge, eloquence, and erudition.
When they bring a citation from the Holy Scripture, one would take
them for so many Saint Thomas’s, and other doctors of the church;
herein observing such ingenious decorum, that in one line they will
represent a frantick lover, and in the very next begin with a godly
sermon, from which the Christian readers, and even the hearers, receive
much comfort and edification. Now, my book must appear
without all these advantages; for I can neither quote in the margin,
nor note in the end: nor do I know what authors I have imitated, that
I may, like the rest of my brethren, prefix them to the work in alphabetical
order, beginning with Aristotle, and ending in Xenophon,
Zoilus, or Zeuxis, though one was a back biter, and the other a painter.
My history must likewise be published without poems at the beginning,
at least without sonnets written by dukes, marquisses, counts, bishops,
ladies, and celebrated poets: although, should I make the demand, I
know two or three good-natured friends, who would oblige me with
such verses as should not be equalled by the most famous poetry in
Spain.

‘In a word, my good friend,’ said I, ‘Signior Don Quixote shall
be buried in the archives of La Mancha, until Heaven shall provide
some person to adorn him with those decorations he seems to want;
for I find myself altogether unequal to the task, through insufficiency
and want of learning; and because I am naturally too bashful and
indolent to go in quest of authors to say what I myself can say as
well without their assistance. Hence arose my thoughtfulness and
meditation, which you will not wonder at, now that you have heard
the cause.’ My friend having listened attentively to my remonstrances,
slapped his forehead with the palm of his hand; and, bursting into a
loud laugh, ‘’Fore God! brother,’ said he, ‘I am now undeceived
of an error, in which I have lived during the whole term of our acquaintance;
for I always looked upon you as a person of prudence
and discretion; but now, I see, you are as far from that character as
heaven is distant from the earth. What! is it possible that such a trifling
inconvenience, so easily remedied, should have power to mortify and
perplex a genius like yours, brought to such maturity, and so well
calculated to demolish and surmount much greater difficulties? In
good faith, this does not proceed from want of ability, but from excessive
// File: 0022.png
.pn +1
indolence, that impedes the exercise of reason. If you would
be convinced of the truth of what I alledge, give me the hearing,
and, in the twinkling of an eye, all your difficulties shall vanish,
and a remedy be prescribed for all those defects which, you say,
perplex your understanding, and deter you from ushering to the light
your history of the renowned Don Quixote, the luminary and sole
mirror of knight-errantry.’ Hearing this declaration, I desired he
would tell me in what manner he proposed to fill up the vacuity of my
apprehension, to diffuse light, and reduce to order the chaos of my
confusion; and he replied, ‘Your first objection, namely, the want of
sonnets, epigrams, and commendatory verses from persons of rank
and gravity, may be obviated, by your taking the trouble to compose
them yourself, and then you may christen them by any name
you shall think proper to chuse, fathering them upon Prestor John of
the Indies, or the Emperor of Trebisond; who, I am well informed,
were very famous poets: and even should this intelligence be untrue,
and a few pedants and batchelors of arts should backbite and grumble
at your conduct, you need not value them three farthings; for although
they convict you of a lye, they cannot cut off the hand that
wrote it[#].

‘With regard to the practice of quoting in the margin, such books
and authors as have furnished you with sentences and sayings for the
embellishment of your history, you have nothing to do, but to season
the work with some Latin maxims, which your own memory will
suggest, or a little industry in searching easily obtain: for example,
in treating of freedom and captivity, you may say, <lang=la><i>Non bene pro toto
libertas venditur auro</i></lang>; and quote Horace, or whom you please, in
the margin. If the power of death happens to be your subject, you
have at hand, <lang=la><i>Pallida mors æquo pulsat pede pauperum tabernas regumque
turres</i></lang>. And expatiating upon that love and friendship which
God commands us to entertain even for our enemies, you may have
recourse to the Holy Scripture, though you should have never so little
curiosity, and say, in the very words of God himself, <lang=la><i>Ego autem
dico vobis, diligite inimicos vestros</i></lang>. In explaining the nature of malevolence,
you may again extract from the Gospel, <lang=la><i>De corde exeunt
cogitationes malæ</i></lang>. And the instability of friends may be aptly illustrated
by this distich of Cato, <lang=la><i>Donec eris felix, multos numerabis
amicos; tempora si fuerint nubila, solus eris</i></lang>. By these, and other such
scraps of Latin, you may pass for an able grammarian; a character
of no small honour and advantage in these days. And as to the annotations
at the end of the book, you may safely furnish them in
this manner: when you chance to write about giants, be sure to
mention Goliah; and this name alone, which costs you nothing, will
afford a grand annotation, couched in these words, “The giant
Golias, or Goliat, was a Philistine, whom the shepherd David slew
with a stone from a sling, in the valley of Terebinthus, as it is written
in such a chapter of the book of Kings.”

‘If you have a mind to display your erudition and knowledge of
cosmography, take an opportunity to introduce the River Tagus into
your history, and this will supply you with another famous annotation,
thus expressed. “The River Tagus, so called from a king of
// File: 0023.png
.pn +1
Spain, takes its rise in such a place, and is lost in the sea, after
having kissed the walls of the famous city of Lisbon; and is said
to have golden sands, &c.” If you treat of robbers, I will relate
the story of Cacus, which I have by rote. If of harlots, the
Bishop of Mondoneda will lend you a Lamia, a Lais, and a Flora;
and such a note will greatly redound to your credit. When you
write of cruelty, Ovid will surrender his Medea. When you mention
wizzards and inchanters, you will find a Calypso in Homer,
and a Circe in Virgil. If you have occasion to speak of valiant
captains, Julius Cæsar stands ready drawn in his own Commentaries;
and from Plutarch you may extract a thousand Alexanders.
If your theme be love, and you have but two ounces of the Tuscan
tongue, you will light upon Leon Hebreo, who will fill up the measure
of your desire: and if you do not chuse to travel into foreign
countries, you have at home Fonseca’s Treatise on the Love of God,
in which all that you, or the most ingenious critick can desire, is
fully decyphered and discussed. In a word, there is nothing more
to be done, than to procure a number of these names, and hint at
their particular stories in your text; and to leave me the talk of making
annotations and quotations, with which I will engage, on pain
of death, to fill up all the margins, besides four whole sheets at the
end of the book. Let us now proceed to the citation of authors,
so frequent in other books, and so little used in your performance;
the remedy is obvious and easy; take the trouble to find a book that
quotes the whole tribe alphabetically, as you observed, from Alpha
to Omega, and transfer them into your book; and though the absurdity
should appear never so glaring, as there is no necessity for using
such names, it will signify nothing. Nay, perhaps, some reader
will be weak enough to believe you have actually availed yourself
of all those authors, in the simple and sincere history you have composed;
and, if such a large catalogue of writers should answer no
other purpose, it may serve at first sight to give some authority to
the production: nor will any person take the trouble to examine,
whether you have or have not followed those originals, because he
can reap no benefit from his labour. But, if I am not mistaken,
your book needs none of those embellishments in which you say it
is defective: for it is one continued satire upon books of chivalry;
a subject which Aristotle never investigated, <abbr=Saint>St.</abbr> Basil never mentioned,
and Cicero never explained. The punctuality of truth, and
the observations of astrology, fall not within the fabulous relation
of our adventures; to the description of which, neither the proportions
of geometry, nor the confirmation of rhetorical arguments,
are of the least importance: nor hath it any connection with preaching,
or mingling divine truths with human imagination; a mixture
which no Christian’s fancy should conceive. It only seeks to avail
itself of imitation; and the more perfect this is, the more entertaining
the book will be: new, as your sole aim in writing, is
to invalidate the authority, and ridicule the absurdity, of those
books of chivalry, which have, as it were, fascinated the eyes
and judgment of the world, and in particular of the vulgar, you
have no occasion to go a begging maxims from philosophers, exhortations
from Holy Writ, fables from poets, speeches from orators,
or miracles from saints; your business is, with plain, significant, well-chosen,
// File: 0024.png
.pn +1
and elegant words, to render your periods sonorous, and your
stile entertaining; to give spirit and expression to all your descriptions,
and communicate your ideas without obscurity and confusion.
You must endeavour to write in such a manner as to convert melancholy
into mirth, increase good-humour, entertain the ignorant, excite
the admiration of the learned, escape the contempt of gravity,
and attract applause from persons of ingenuity and taste. Finally, let
your aim be levelled against that ill-founded bulwark of idle books of
chivalry, abhorred by many, but applauded by more; which if you
can batter down, you will have atchieved no inconsiderable exploit.’

I listened to my friend’s advice in profound silence, and his remarks
made such impression upon my mind, that I admitted them without hesitation
or dispute; and resolved that they should appear instead of a
Preface. Thou wilt, therefore, gentle reader, perceive his discretion,
and my good luck in finding such a counsellor in such an emergency;
nor wilt thou be sorry to receive, thus genuine and undisguised, the History
of the renowned Don Quixote de La Mancha, who, in the opinion
of all the people that live in the district of Montiel, was the most virtuous
and valiant knight who had appeared for many years in that
neighbourhood. I shall not pretend to enhance the merit of having
introduced thee to such a famous and honourable cavalier; but I expect
thanks for having made thee acquainted with Sancho Panza, in
whom I think are united all the squirish graces which we find scattered
through the whole tribe of vain books written on the subject of chivalry.
So, praying God will give thee health, without forgetting such an
humble creature as me, I bid thee heartily farewel.

.fn #
This is a strong presumption that the first part of Don Quixote was actually
written in a gaol.
.fn-

.fn #
Alluding to the loss of his hand in the battle of Lepanto.
.fn-
// File: 0025.png
// File: 0026.png
.pn 25
.sp 4
.h2 id=vol1
VOLUME THE FIRST. | PART <abbr=one>I.</abbr>
.sp 2
.h3 id=book1-1
BOOK <abbr=one>I.</abbr>
.sp 2
.h4 id=chap1-1-1
<abbr=chapter>CHAP.</abbr> <abbr=one>I.</abbr> | OF THE QUALITY AND AMUSEMENTS| OF THE RENOWNED DON QUIXOTE DE LA MANCHA.
.sp 2
In a certain corner of La
Mancha, the name of
which I do not chuse to
remember, there lately
lived one of those country
gentlemen, who adorn their
halls with a rusty lance and worm-eaten
target, and ride forth on the skeleton of
a horse, to course with a sort of a starved
greyhound.

Three-fourths of his income were
scarce sufficient to afford a dish of hodgepodge,
in which the mutton bore no
proportion to the beef[#], for dinner; a
plate of salmagundy, commonly at supper[#];
gripes and grumblings on Saturdays[#],
lentils on Fridays, and the addition
of a pigeon or some such thing on
the Lord’s day. The remaining part of
his revenue was consumed in the purchase
// File: 0027.png
.pn +1
of a fine black suit, with velvet
breeches, and slippers of the same, for
holidays; and a coat of home-spun,
which he wore in honour of his country
during the rest of the week.

He maintained a female housekeeper
turned of forty, a niece of about half
that age, and a trusty young fellow, fit
for field and market, who could turn
his hand to any thing, either to saddle
the horse or handle the hough[#].

Our squire, who bordered upon fifty,
was of a tough constitution, extremely
meagre, and hard featured, an early riser,
and in point of exercise, another
Nimrod[#]. He is said to have gone by
the name of Quixada, or Quesada, (for
in this particular the authors who mention
that circumstance disagree) though,
from the most probable conjectures, we
may conclude that he was called by the
significant name of Quixada[#]; but this is
of small importance to the history, in
the course of which it will be sufficient
if we swerve not a tittle from the truth.

Be it known, therefore, that this said
honest gentleman, at his leisure hours,
which engrossed the greatest part of the
year, addicted himself to the reading of
books of chivalry, which he perused with
such rapture and application, that he not
only forgot the pleasures of the chace,
but also utterly neglected the management
of his estate: nay, to such a pass
did his curiosity and madness in this
particular drive him, that he sold many
good acres of Terra Firma, to purchase
books of  knight-errantry, with which
he furnished his library to the utmost of
his power; but none of them pleased
him so much as those that were written
by the famous Feliciano De Silva, whom
he admired as the pearl of all authors,
for the brilliancy of his prose, and the
beautiful perplexity of his expression.
How was he transported, when he read
those amorous complaints, and doughty
challenges, that so often occur in his
works!

‘The reason of the unreasonable usage
my reason has met with, so unreasons
my reason, that I have reason to complain
of your beauty!’ And how did
he enjoy the following flower of composition!
‘The high heaven of your divinity,
which with stars divinely fortifies
your beauty, and renders you meritorious
of that merit, which by your
highness is merited.’

The poor gentleman lost his senses in
poring over, and attempting to discover
the meaning of these and other such
rhapsodies, which Aristotle himself would
not be able to unravel, were he to rise
from the dead for that purpose only. He
could not comprehend the probability of
those direful wounds, given and received
by Don Bellianis, whose face and
whose carcase must have remained quite
covered with marks and scars, even allowing
him to have been cured by the
most expert surgeons of the age in which
he lived.

He, notwithstanding, bestowed great
commendations on the author, who concludes
his book, with the promise of finishing
that interminable adventure;
and was more than once inclined to seize
the quill, with a view of performing
what was left undone; nay, he would
have actually accomplished the affair,
and published it accordingly, had not
reflections of greater moment employed
his imagination, and diverted him from
the execution of that design.

Divers and obstinate were the disputes
he maintained against the parson of the
parish, (a man of some learning, who
had taken his degrees at Siguenza[#],) on
that puzzling question, whether Palmerin
of England, or Amadis De Gaul,
was the most illustrious knight-errant:
// File: 0028.png
.pn +1
but master Nicholas, who acted as barber
to the village, affirmed, that none
of them equalled the knight of the sun,
or indeed could be compared to him in
any degree, except Don Galaor, brother
of Amadis De Gaul; for his disposition
was adapted to all emergencies;
he was neither such a precise, nor such a
puling coxcomb, as his brother; and in
point of valour, his equal at least.

So eager and entangled was our hidalgo[#],
in this kind of history, that he
would often read from morning to
night, and from night to morning again,
without interruption; till at last the
moisture of his brain being quite exhausted
with indefatigable watching and
study, he fairly lost his wits; all that
he had read of quarrels, inchantments,
battles, challenges, wounds, tortures,
amorous complaints, and other improbable
conceits, took full possession of
his fancy; and he believed all those romantick
exploits so implicitly, that, in
his opinion, the Holy Scripture was not
more true. He observed that Cid Ruydias
was an excellent knight; but not
equal to the lord of the flaming-sword,
who with one back-stroke had cut two
fierce and monstrous giants through the
middle. He had still a better opinion
of Bernardo Del Carpio; who, at the
battle of Roncevalles, put the inchanted
Orlando to death[#], by the same
means that Hercules used when he
strangled the earth born Anteus. Neither
was he silent in the praise of Morgante;
who, though of that gigantick
race which is noted for insolence and
incivility, was perfectly affable and
well-bred. But his chief favourite was
Reynaldo of Montalban, whom he
hugely admired for his prowess, in sallying
from his castle to rob travellers;
and, above all things, for his dexterity
in stealing that idol of the impostor Mahomet,
which, according to the history,
was of solid gold. For an opportunity
of pummelling the traitor Galalon[#], he
would willingly have given his house-keeper,
body and soul; nay, and his
niece into the bargain. In short, his
understanding being quite perverted, he
was seized with the strangest whim that
ever entered the brain of a madman:
this was no other than a full persuasion,
that it was highly expedient and necessary,
not only for his own honour,
but also for the good of the publick,
that he should profess knight-errantry,
and ride through the world in arms, to
seek adventures, and conform in all
points to the practice of those itinerant
heroes whose exploits he had read; redressing
all manner of grievances, and
courting all occasions of exposing himself
to such dangers, as in the event
would entitle him to everlasting renown.
This poor lunatick looked upon himself
already as good as seated, by his
own single valour, on the throne of
Trebisond; and, intoxicated with these
agreeable vapours of his unaccountable
folly, resolved to put his design in practice
forthwith.

In the first place he cleaned an old
suit of armour, which had belonged to
some of his ancestors, and which he
found in his garret, where it had lain
for several ages, quite covered over with
mouldiness and rust; but having scoured
and put it to rights, as well as he
could, he perceived, that instead of a
compleat helmet, there was only a
simple head-piece without a beaver.
This unlucky defect, however, his industry
supplied by a vizor, which he
made of paste-board, and fixed so artificially
to the morrion, that it looked
like an entire helmet. True it is, that
in order to try if it was strong enough
to risk his jaws in, he unsheathed his
sword, and bestowed upon it two hearty
strokes, the first of which in a twinkling
undid his whole week’s labour.
He did not at all approve of the facility
with which he hewed it in pieces; and
therefore, to secure himself from any
such danger for the future, went to work
anew. He faced it with a plate of iron,
in such a manner as that he remained
satisfied of its strength without putting
// File: 0029.png
.pn +1
it to a second trial, and looked upon it
as a most finished piece of armour.

He next visited his horse, which
(though he had more corners than a
rial[#], being as lean as Gonela’s, that
<lang=la><i>tantum pellis et ossa fuit</i></lang>) nevertheless,
in his eye, appeared infinitely preferable
to Alexander’s Bucephalus, or the Cid’s
Babieca. Four days he consumed in
inventing a name for this remarkable
steed; suggesting to himself what an
impropriety it would be if an horse of
his qualities, belonging to such a renowned
knight, should go without some
sounding and significant appellation: he
therefore resolved to accommodate him
with one that should not only declare
his past, but also his present capacity;
for he thought it but reasonable, that
since his master had altered his condition,
he should also change his horse’s
name, and invest him with some sublime
and sonorous epithet, suitable to
the new order and employment he professed.
Accordingly, after having chosen,
rejected, amended, tortured, and
revolved, a world of names in his imagination,
he fixed upon Rozinante[#], an
appellation, in his opinion, lofty, sonorous,
and expressive, not only of his
former, but likewise of his present situation,
which entitled him to the preference
over all other horses under the sun.
Having thus denominated his horse, so
much to his own satisfaction, he was
desirous of doing himself the like justice;
and after eight days study, actually
assumed the title of Don Quixote:
from whence, as hath been observed,
the authors of this authentick history
concluded, that his former name must
have been Quixada, and not Quesada,
as others are pleased to affirm. But recollecting
that the valiant Amadis, not
satisfied with that simple appellation,
added to it that of his country; and
in order to dignify the place of his
nativity, called himself Amadis De
Gaul. He resolved, like a worthy
knight, to follow such an illustrious example,
and assume the name of Don
Quixote de La Mancha, which, in his
opinion, fully expressed his generation,
and at the same time reflected infinite
honour on his fortunate country.

Accordingly, his armour being scowered,
his beaver fitted to his head-piece,
his steed accommodated with a name,
and his own dignified with these additions,
he reflected, that nothing else
was wanting but a lady to inspire him
with love; for a knight-errant without
a mistress, would be like a tree
destitute of leaves and fruit, or a body
without a soul. ‘If,’ said he, ‘for my
sins, or rather for my honour, I should
engage with some giant, an adventure
common in knight-errantry, and
overthrow him in the field, by cleaving
him in twain, or, in short, disarm
and subdue him; will it not be highly
proper that I should have a mistress,
to whom I may send my conquered
foe; who, coming into the presence
of the charming fair, will fall upon
his knees, and say, in an humble
and submissive tone; “Incomparable
princess, I am the giant Carculiambro,
lord of the island Malindrania,
who being vanquished in single combat
by the invincible knight Don
Quixote de La Mancha, am commanded
by him to present myself before
your beauty, that I may be disposed
of, according to the pleasure of
your highness?”’ How did the heart
of our worthy knight dance with joy
when he uttered this address; and still
more, when he found a lady worthy
of his affection! This, they say, was
an hale, buxom, country wench, called
Aldonza Lorenço, who lived in the
neighbourhood, and with whom he had
formerly been in love; though, by all
accounts, she never knew, nor gave
herself the least concern about the matter.
Her he looked upon as one qualified,
in all respects, to be the queen
of his inclinations; and putting his invention
again to the rack for a name
that should bear some affinity with her
own, and at the same time become a
princess or lady of quality, he determined
to call her Dulcinea del Toboso, she
being a native of that place; a name,
in his opinion, musical, romantick, and
// File: 0030.png
.pn +1
expressive, like the rest which he had
appropriated to himself and his concerns.

.fn #
Mutton in Spain is counted greatly preferable to beef.
.fn-

.fn #
<i>Salpicon</i>, which is the word in the original, is no other than cold beef sliced, and
eaten with oil, vinegar, and pepper.
.fn-

.fn #
Gripes and grumblings, in Spanish <lang=es><i>duelos y quebrantos</i></lang>; the true meaning of which
the former translators have been at great pains to investigate, as the importance of the
subject (no doubt) required. But their labours have, unhappily, ended in nothing else
but conjectures, which, for the entertainment and instruction of our readers, we beg leave
to repeat. One interprets the phrase into collops and eggs; ‘Being,’ saith he, ‘a very
sorry dish.’ In this decision, however, he is contradicted by another commentator,
who affirms, ‘It is a mess too good to mortify withal:’ neither can this virtuoso agree
with a late editor, who translates the passage in question into an amlet; but takes occasion
to fall out with Boyer for his description of that dish, which he most sagaciously understands
to be a ‘bacon froize,’ or ‘rather fryze, from its being fried, from frit in French;’
and concludes with this judicious query, ‘After all these learned disquisitions, who knows
but the author means a dish of nichils?’ If this was his meaning, indeed, surely we
may venture to conclude, that fasting was very expensive in La Mancha; for the author
mentions the <lang=es><i>duelos y quebrantos</i></lang> among those articles that confirmed three-fourths of the
knight’s income.

Having considered this momentous affair with all the deliberation it deserves, we in our
turn present the reader with cucumbers, greens, or pease-porridge, as the fruit of our industrious
researches; being thereunto determined by the literal signification of the text,
which is not ‘grumblings and groanings,’ as the last-mentioned ingenious annotator seems
to think, but rather pains and breakings; and evidently points at such eatables as generate
and expel wind; qualities (as every body knows) eminently inherent in those vegetables we
have mentioned as our hero’s Saturday’s repast.
.fn-

.fn #
<lang=es><i>Podadera</i></lang>, literally signifies a pruning-hook.
.fn-

.fn #
In the original, a lover of hunting.
.fn-

.fn #
<lang=es><i>Quixadas</i></lang>, signifies jaws, of which our knight had an extraordinary provision.
.fn-

.fn #
Siguenza, a town situated on the banks of the Henares, in New Castile, in which
there is a small university.
.fn-

.fn #
Hidalgo has much the same application in Spain as squire in England; though it
literally signifies the son of something, in contradistinction to those who are the sons of
nothing.
.fn-

.fn #
Orlando, the supposed nephew of Charlemagne, and poetical hero of Boiardo and
Ariosto, is said to have been invulnerable in all parts of his body, except the soles of his
feet, which he therefore took care to secure with double plates of armour.
.fn-

.fn #
Galalon is said to have betrayed Charlemagne’s army at Roncevalles, where it was
roughly handled by the Moors, in his retreat from Spain.
.fn-

.fn #
This is a joke upon the knight’s steed, which was so meagre, that his bones stuck
out like the corners of a Spanish rial, a coin of very irregular shape, not unlike the figure in
geometry called a trapezium.
.fn-

.fn #
Rozinante, implies that which was formerly an ordinary horse, though the <i>ante</i>
seems to have been intended by the knight as a badge of distinction, by which he was ranked
before all other horses.
.fn-
.sp 4
.h4 id=chap1-1-2
<abbr=chapter>CHAP.</abbr> <abbr=two>II.</abbr> | OF THE SAGE DON QUIXOTE’S FIRST SALLY FROM HIS OWN HABITATION.
.sp 2
These preparations being made,
he could no longer resist the desire
of executing his design; reflecting
with impatience on the injury his delay
occasioned in the world, where there
was abundance of grievances to be redressed,
wrongs to be rectified, errors
to be amended, abuses to be reformed,
and doubts to be removed; he therefore,
without communicating his intention
to any body, or being seen by a
living soul, one morning before day, in
the scorching month of July, put on
his armour, mounted Rozinante, buckled
his ill-contrived helmet, braced his
target, seized his lance, and through
the back door of his yard sallied into
the fields in a rapture of joy, occasioned
by this easy and successful beginning
of his admirable undertaking: but
scarce was he clear of the village, when
he was assaulted by such a terrible objection,
as had well-nigh induced our
hero to abandon his enterprize directly;
for he recollected that he had never been
knighted; and therefore, according to
the laws of chivalry, he neither could
nor ought to enter the lists with any antagonist
of that degree; nay, even granting
he had received that mark of distinction,
it was his duty to wear white
armour, like a new knight, without any
device on his shield, until such time as
his valour should entitle him to that honour[#].

These cogitations made him waver a
little in his plan; but his madness prevailing
over every other consideration,
suggested that he might be dubbed by
the first person he should meet, after the
example of many others who had fallen
upon the same expedient; as he had read
in those mischievous books which had
disordered his imagination[#]. With respect
to the white armour, he proposed,
with the first opportunity, to scower his
own, until it should be fairer than ermine:
and having satisfied his conscience
in this manner, he pursued his design,
without following any other road
than that which his horse was pleased to
chuse; being persuaded that, in so doing,
he manifested the true spirit of adventure.
Thus proceeded our flaming
adventurer, while he uttered the following
soliloquy.

‘Doubtless, in future ages, when
the true history of my famed exploits
shall come to light, the sage author,
when he recounts my first and early
sally, will express himself in this
manner: “Scarce had ruddy Phœbus,
o’er this wide and spacious earth, displayed
the golden threads of his refulgent
hair; and scarce the little
painted warblers with their forky
tongues, in soft, mellifluous harmony,
had hailed the approach of
rosy-winged Aurora, who stealing
from her jealous husband’s couch,
through the balconies and aërial
gates of Mancha’s bright horizon,
stood confessed to wondering mortals;
when lo! the illustrious knight Don
Quixote de La Mancha, up-springing
from the lazy down, bestrode famed
Rozinante his unrivalled steed! and
through Monteil’s ancient, well-known
field,” which was really the
case, “pursued his way.”’ Then he
added, ‘O fortunate age! O happy
times! in which shall be made publick
my incomparable atchievements,
worthy to be engraved in brass, on
marble sculptured, and in painting
shewn, as great examples to futurity!
And O! thou sage enchanter, whosoever
thou may’st be, doomed to record
the wondrous story, forget not,
I beseech thee, my trusty Rozinante,
the firm companion of my various
fate!’ Then making a sudden transition,
he exclaimed, as if he had been
actually in love, ‘O Dulcinea! sovereign
princess of this captive heart,
// File: 0031.png
.pn +1
what dire affliction hast thou made me
suffer, thus banished from thy presence
with reproach, and fettered by
thy rigorous command, not to appear
again before thy beauteous face!
Deign, princess, to remember this thy
faithful slave, who now endures such
misery for love of thee!’ These, and
other such rhapsodies, he strung together;
imitating, as much as in him lay,
the stile of those ridiculous books which
he had read; and jogging along, in
spite of the sun, which beamed upon
him so intensely hot, that surely his
brains, if any had remained, would
have been fried in his skull: that whole
day did he travel without encountering
any thing worth mentioning; a circumstance
that grieved him sorely, for he
had expected to find some object on
which he could try the prowess of his
valiant arm[#].

Some authors say, his first adventure
was that of the pass of Lapice; but
others affirm, that the windmills had
the maidenhead of his valour: all
that I can aver of the matter, in consequence
of what I found recorded in
the annals of La Mancha, is, that having
travelled the whole day, his horse
and he, about twilight, found themselves
excessively wearied, and half dead
with hunger; and that looking around
for some castle or sheep-cote, in which
he might allay the cravings of nature,
by repose and refreshment; he descried,
not far from the road, an inn, which
he looked upon as the star that would
guide him to the porch, if not the palace,
of his redemption: in this hope,
he put spurs to his horse, and just in
the twilight reached the gate, where at
that time there happened to be two ladies
of the game; who, being on their
journey to Seville, with the carriers, had
chanced to take up their night’s lodging
in this place.

As our hero’s imagination converted
whatsoever he saw, heard, or considered,
into something of which he had read in
books of chivalry; he no sooner perceived
the inn, than his fancy represented
it as a stately castle, with its
four towers and pinnacles of shining silver,
accommodated with a draw-bridge,
deep moat, and all other conveniences
that are described as belonging to buildings
of that kind.

When he was within a small distance
of this inn, which to him seemed a castle,
he drew bridle, and stopped Rozinante,
in hope that some dwarf would appear
upon the battlements, and signify his
arrival by sound of trumpet: but as
this ceremony was not performed so
soon as he expected, and his steed expressed
great eagerness to be in the stable,
he rode up to the gate, and observing
the battered wenches before-mentioned,
mistook them for two beautiful
maidens, or agreeable ladies, enjoying
the cool breeze at the castle gate. At
that instant, a swine-herd, who, in a
field hard by, was tending a drove of
hogs, (with leave be it spoken) chanced
to blow his horn, in order to collect
his scattered subjects: immediately the
knight’s expectation was fulfilled, and
concluding that now the dwarf had given
the signal of his approach, he rode
towards the inn with infinite satisfaction.
The ladies no sooner perceived such a
strange figure, armed with lance and
target, than they were seized with consternation,
and ran affrighted to the gate;
but Don Quixote, guessing their terror
by their flight, lifted up his paste-board
vizor, and discovering his meagre lanthorn-jaws
besmeared with dust, addressed
them thus, with gentle voice and
courteous demeanor: ‘Fly me not, ladies;
nor dread the least affront; for
it belongs not to the order of knighthood,
which I profess, to injure any
mortal, much less such high-born
damsels as your appearance declares
you to be.’

The wenches, who stared at him with
all their curiosity, in order to discover
his face, which the sorry beaver concealed,
hearing themselves stiled <sc>HIGH-BORN
DAMSELS</sc>, an epithet so foreign
to their profession, could contain themselves
no longer, but burst out into such
a fit of laughter, that Don Quixote, being
offended, rebuked them in these
words: ‘Nothing is more commendable
in beautiful women than modesty;
and nothing more ridiculous
than laughter proceeding from a slight
// File: 0032.png
.pn +1
cause: but this I mention not as a
reproach, by which I may incur your
indignation; on the contrary, my intention
is only to do you service.’

This address, which was wholly unintelligible
to the ladies, together with
the ludicrous appearance of him who
pronounced it, increased their mirth;
which kindled the knight’s anger, and
he began to wax wroth; when luckily
the landlord interposed. This inn-keeper,
who, by reason of his unwieldy belly,
was of a pacifick disposition, no
sooner beheld the preposterous figure of
our hero, equipped with such ill-suited
accoutrements as his bridle, lance, target,
and corslet composed, than he was
seized with an inclination to join the
nymphs in their unseasonable merriment;
but being justly afraid of incensing the
owner of such unaccountable furniture,
he resolved to behave civilly, and accordingly
accosted him in these words:
‘Sir knight, if your worship wants
lodging, you may be accommodated
in this inn with every thing in great
abundance, except a bed; for at present
we have not one unengaged.’
Don Quixote perceiving the humility of
the governor of the castle, for such he
supposed the landlord to be, answered,
‘For me, Signior Castellano, any thing
will suffice; my dress is armour, battles
my repose, &c.’ Mine host imagining
that he called him Castellano[#],
because he looked like a hypocritical
rogue; though indeed, he was an Andalusian,
born on the coast of <abbr=Saint>St.</abbr> Lucar,
as great a thief as Cacus, and more
mischievous than a collegian or a page,
replied with a sneer, ‘If that be the
case, I suppose your worship’s couch
is no other than the flinty rock, and
your sleep perpetual waking; so that
you may alight with the comfortable
assurance, that you will find, in this
mansion, continual opportunities of
defying sleep, not only for one night,
but for a whole year, if you please to
try the experiment.’ With these words,
he laid hold of the stirrup of Don Quixote;
who, dismounting with infinite pain
and difficulty, occasioned by his having
travelled all day long without any
refreshment, bade the landlord take special
care of his steed; for, he observed,
a better piece of horse-flesh had never
broke bread.

The innkeeper, though with all his
penetration he could not discern any
qualities in Rozinante sufficient to justify
one half of what was said in his
praise, led him civilly into the stable;
and having done the honours of the
place, returned to receive the commands
of his other guest, whom he found in
the hands of the high born damsels;
who having by this time reconciled
themselves to him, were busied in taking
off his armour: they had already disincumbered
him of his back and breast-plates,
but could fall upon no method
of disengaging his head and neck from
his ill-contrived helmet and gorget,
which were fast tied with green ribbands,
the Gordian knots of which no human
hands could loose; and he would by
no means allow them to be cut; so that
he remained all night armed from the
throat upwards, and afforded as odd and
comical a spectacle as ever was seen[#].
While these kind harridans, whom he
supposed to be the constable’s lady and
daughter, were employed in this hospitable
office, he said to them with a
smile of inconceivable pleasure, ‘Never
was knight so honoured by the service
of ladies as Don Quixote, when
he first ushered himself into the world;
ladies ministered unto him, and princesses
took charge of his Rozinante.
O Rozinante! (for that, fair ladies,
is the name of my steed, and Don
Quixote de La Mancha the appellation
of his master) not that I intended
to have disclosed myself until the
deeds atchieved in your service should
have made me known; but, in order
to accommodate my present situation
to that venerable romance of Sir Lancelot,
I am obliged to discover my
name a little prematurely; yet the time
// File: 0033.png
.pn +1
will come, when your highness shall
command, and I will obey, and the
valour of this arm testify the desire I
feel of being your slave.’

The charmers, whom nature never
desired to expose to such extraordinary
compliments, answered not a syllable,
but asked if he chose to have any thing
for supper. To which kind question
Don Quixote replied, that from the information
of his bowels, he believed
nothing eatable could come amiss. As
it was unluckily a meagre day, the inn
afforded no other fare than some bundles
of that fish which is called abadexo
in Castile, baccalao in Andalusia, curadillo
in some parts of Spain, and
truchuela in others: so that they inquired
if his worship could eat truchuela;
for there was no other fish to be
had. ‘A number of troutlings,’ answered
the knight, ‘will please me as
much as one trout; for, in my opinion,
eight single rials are equivalent
to one piece of eight; besides, those
troutlings may be as much preferable
to trouts, as veal is to beef, or lamb
to mutton[#]: be that as it will, let
the fish be immediately produced;
for the toil and burden of arms are
not to be borne without satisfying the
cravings of the stomach.’ A table
being therefore covered at the inn-door,
for the benefit of the cool air, mine host
brought out a cut of baccalao, wretchedly
watered, and villainously cooked,
with a loaf as black and greasy as his
guest’s own armour: but his manner
of eating afforded infinite subject for
mirth; for, his head being inclosed in
his helmet, and the beaver lifted up,
his own hands could be of no service in
reaching the food to his mouth; and
therefore one of the ladies undertook
to perform that office: but they found
it impossible to convey drink in the same
manner; and our hero must have made
an uncomfortable meal, if the landlord
had not bored a cane, and putting one
end of it in his mouth, poured some
wine into the other; an operation he endured
with patience, rather than suffer the
ribbands of his helmet to be destroyed.

While they were thus employed, a
sow-gelder happened to arrive at the
inn, and winding three or four blasts
with his horn, confirmed Don Quixote
in his opinion, that he sat in some stately
castle, entertained with musick during
his repast, which, consisting of delicate
troutling and bread of the finest
flour, was served up, not by a brace of
harlots and a thievish innkeeper, but
by the fair hands of two beautiful ladies,
and the courteous governor of the
place. This conceit justified his undertaking
and rendered him very happy
in the success of his first sally: but
he was mortified when he recollected
that he was not as yet knighted; because
he thought he could not lawfully
atchieve any adventure without having
been first invested with that honourable
order.

.fn #
According to the ancient rules of chivalry, no man was entitled to the rank and
degree of knighthood, until he had been in actual battle, and taken a prisoner with his
own hand.
.fn-

.fn #
It was common for one knight to dub another. Francis <abbr='the first'>I.</abbr> King of France, was
knighted, at his own desire, by the Chevalier Bayard, who was looked upon as the flower
of chivalry.
.fn-

.fn #
He might have imitated the young knight described in Perce Forest, who having
been dubbed by King Alexander, rode into a wood, and attacked the trees with such
fury and address, that the king and his whole court were convinced of his prowess and
dexterity.
.fn-

.fn #
<lang=es><i>Sano de Castella</i></lang>, signifies a crafty knave.
.fn-

.fn #
This circumstance of the ladies disarming the knight, is exactly conformable to the
practice of chivalry; though his refusing to lay aside his helmet is no great argument of
his courtesy or attachment to the laws and customs of his profession; for, among knights,
it was looked upon as an indispensible mark of respect, to appear without the helmet in
church, and in presence of ladies, or respectable personages; and, indeed, in those iron
times, this was considered as a necessary mark and proof of peaceable intention: hence we
derive the custom of uncovering the head in salutation.
.fn-

.fn #
In the original, or kid to he-goat.
.fn-

.sp 4
.h4 id=chap1-1-3
<abbr=chapter>CHAP.</abbr> <abbr=three>III.</abbr> | THE DIVERTING EXPEDIENT DON QUIXOTE FALLS UPON| IN ORDER TO BE KNIGHTED.
.sp 2
Harassed by this reflection,
he abridged his sorry meal, and
called for the landlord; with whom
having shut himself up in the stable, he
fell upon his knees, and addressed the
supposed constable in these words:
‘Never will I rise from this suppliant
posture, thrice valiant knight, until
your courtesy shall grant the boon I
mean to beg; a boon, that will not
only redound to your particular praise,
but also to the inestimable benefit of
mankind in general[#].’ The innkeeper
hearing such discourse proceed
from the mouth of his guest, who
kneeled before him, was astonished;
and gazed at our hero, without knowing
what to say or do: at length, however,
he intreated him to rise; but this
request was absolutely refused, until he
assured him that his boon should be
granted. ‘Signior,’ said Don Quixote,
‘I could expect no less from the
courtesy of your magnificence; I will
now therefore tell you, that the boon
which I have begged, and obtained
from your generosity, is, that you
will, to-morrow morning, vouchsafe
to confer upon me the honour of
// File: 0034.png
.pn +1
knighthood. This night will I watch
my arms in the chapel of your castle;
that the morning, as I said, may fulfil
my eager desire, and enable me, as
I ought, to traverse the four corners
of the world, in search of adventures
for the relief of the distressed, according
to the duty and office of chivalry,
and of those knight-errants, in imitation
of whom my genius is strongly
addicted to such atchievements.’

The landlord, who, as we have already
observed, was a sort of a wag,
and had, from the beginning, suspected
that his lodger’s brain was none of the
soundest, having heard him to an end,
no longer entertained any doubts about
the matter; and, in order to regale
himself and the rest of his guests with a
dish of mirth, resolved to humour him
in his extravagance. With this view,
he told him, that nothing could be more
just and reasonable than his request, his
conceptions being extremely well-suited,
and natural to such a peerless knight as
his commanding presence and gallant
demeanour demonstrated him to be; that
he himself had, in his youth, exercised
the honourable profession of errantry,
strolling from place to place in quest of
adventures, in the course of which he
did not fail to visit the suburbs of Malaga,
the isles of Riaran, the booths of
Seville, the market-place of Segovia,
the olive-gardens of Valencia, the little
tower of Grenada, the bay of <abbr=Saint>St.</abbr> Lucar,
the spout of Cordova[#], the publick
houses of Toledo, and many other
places, in which he had exercised the
dexterity of his hands as well as the
lightness of his heels, doing infinite mischief;
courting widows without number,
debauching damsels, ruining heirs,
and, in short, making himself known
at the bar of every tribunal in Spain:
that, at length, he had retired to the
castle, where he lived on his own means,
together with those of other people; accommodating
knights-errant of every
quality and degree, solely on account of
the affection he bore to them, and to
the coin which they parted with in return
for his hospitality. He, moreover,
informed him, that there was no chapel
in the castle at present, where he could
watch his armour, it having been demolished
in order to be rebuilt; but
that, in case of necessity, as he very
well knew, he might chuse any other
place; that the court-yard of the castle
would very well serve the purpose;
where, when the knight should have
watched all night, he, the host, would
in the morning, with God’s permission,
perform all the other ceremonies required,
and create him not only a knight,
but such an one as should not have his
fellow in the whole universe.

He then asked, if he carried any money
about with him: and the knight
replied, that he had not a sous; for
he had never read in the history of
knights-errant, that they had ever troubled
themselves with any such incumbrance.
The innkeeper assured him,
that his was very much mistaken, for
that though no such circumstance was
to be found in those histories, the authors
having thought it superfluous to
mention things that were so plainly necessary
as money and clean shirts, it
was not to be supposed that their heroes
travelled without supplies of both; he
might therefore take it for granted and
uncontrovertible, that all those knights,
whose actions are so voluminously recorded,
never rode without their purses
well lined in cases of emergency[#]; not
forgetting to carry a stock of linen, with
a small box of ointment to cure the
wounds they might receive in the course
of their adventures; for it was not to
be imagined, that any other relief was
to be had every time they should have
occasion to fight, and be wounded in
fields and desarts; unless they were befriended
by some sage inchanter, who
would assist them, by transporting through
the air, in a cloud, some damsel, or
dwarf, with a cordial of such virtue,
that one drop of it would instantly cure
them of their bruises and wounds, and
make them as sound as if no such mischance
had happened: but the knights
// File: 0035.png
.pn +1
of former ages, who had no such assistance
to depend upon, laid it down as a
constant maxim, to order their squires
to provide themselves with money and other
necessaries, such as ointment and lint
for immediate application: and, when
the knight happened to be without a
squire, which was very seldom the case,
he himself kept them in very small bags,
that hung, scarce perceptible, at his
horse’s rump, as if it were a treasure of
much greater importance. Though, indeed,
except upon such an occasion, that
of carrying bags was not much for the
honour of knight-errantry; for which
reason, he advised Don Quixote, and
now that he was on the brink of being
his godson, he might command him,
never thenceforward to travel without
money, and those other indispensible necessaries,
with which he should provide
himself as soon as possible; and then
he would, when he least thought of it,
find his account in having made such
provision.

The knight promised to follow his
advice with all deference and punctuality;
and thereupon received orders to
watch his armour in a large court on
one side of the inn; where, having gathered
the several pieces on a heap, he
placed them in a cistern that belonged to
the well; then bracing on his target,
and grasping his lance, he walked with
courteous demeanour backward and forward
before the cistern; beginning this
knightly exercise as soon as it was dark[#].
The roguish landlord having informed
every lodger in his house of our hero’s
frenzy, the watching of his armour,
and his expectation of being dubbed a
knight; they were astonished at such a
peculiar strain of madness, and going
out to observe him at a distance, beheld
him with silent gesture sometimes stalking
along, sometimes leaning on his spear,
with his eyes fixed upon his armour,
for a considerable space of time. Though
it was now night, the moon shone with
such splendour, as might even vie with
the source from which she derived her
brightness; so that every motion of our
noviciate was distinctly perceived by all
present. At this instant, a carrier, who
lodged in the inn, took it in his head
to water his mules; and it being necessary
for this purpose to clear the cistern,
he went to lift off Don Quixote’s
armour; when a loud voice accosted him
in these words: ‘O thou! whosoever
thou art, bold and insolent knight!
who presumest to touch the armour of
the most valiant errant that ever girded
himself with cold iron, consider what
thou art about to attempt, and touch
it not, unless thou art desirous of
yielding thy life as the price of thy
temerity.’

The carrier, far from regarding these
threats, which, had he regarded his own
carcase, he would not have despised, laid
hold on the sacred deposit, and threw it
piece-meal into the yard with all his
might. Don Quixote no sooner beheld
this profanation, than lifting up his eyes
to Heaven, and addressing himself, in
all likelihood, to his Mistress Dulcinea,
he said, ‘Grant me thy assistance, dear
lady of my heart! in this insult offered
to thy lowly vassal, and let me not
be deprived of thy favourable protection
in this my first perilous atchievement.’
Having uttered this and some
other ejaculation, he quitted his target,
and raising his lance with both hands,
bestowed it with such good-will upon
the carrier’s head, that he fell prostrate
on the ground, so effectually mauled,
that had the blow been repeated, there
would have been no occasion to call a
surgeon. This exploit being performed,
he replaced his armour, and returned
to his walk, which he continued with
his former composure.

.if h
.il fn=plate-xii.jpg id=plate12 w=60% alt=""
.ca Plate XII: Don Quixote Defends His Armour.
.if-
.if t
[Illustration: Don Quixote Defends His Armour.]
.if-

It was not long before another carrier,
not knowing what had happened to his
companion, who still lay without sense
or motion, arrived, with the same intention
of watering his mules, and went
straight up to the cistern, in order to remove
the armour; when Don Quixote,
without speaking a syllable, or asking
leave of any living soul, once more quitted
his target, and lifting up his lance,
made another experiment of its hardness
upon the pate of the second carrier,
which failed in the application, giving
way in four different places. At the
// File: 0036.png
// File: 0037.png
// File: 0038.png
.pn +1
noise of this encounter, every body
in the house, innkeeper, and all, came
running to the field; at sight of whom
Don Quixote, snatching up his target,
and drawing his sword, pronounced aloud,
‘O lady, of transcendent beauty!
the force and vigour of my enfeebled
heart; now, if ever, is the time for
thee to turn thy princely eyes on this
thy caitif knight, who is on the eve
of so mighty an adventure.’ So saying,
he seemed to have acquired such
courage, that had he been assaulted by
all the carriers in the universe, he would
not have retreated one step.

The companions of the wounded,
seeing how their friends had been handled,
began at a distance to discharge a
shower of stones upon the knight; who,
as well as he could, sheltered himself
under his shield, not daring to leave the
cistern, lest some mischance should happen
to his armour. The innkeeper called
aloud, entreating them to leave off;
for, as he had told them before, the
man being mad, would be acquitted on
account of his lunacy, even though he
should put every soul of them to death.
At the same time, Don Quixote, in a
voice louder still, upbraided them as
cowardly traitors, and called the constable
of the castle a worthless and base-born
knight, for allowing his guest to
be treated in such an inhospitable manner;
swearing, that if he had received
the honour of knighthood, he would
make him repent his discourteous behaviour.
‘But as for you,’ said he,
‘ye vile, ill-mannered scum, ye are beneath
my notice. Discharge, approach,
come forward, and annoy me as much
as you can, you shall soon see what
reward you will receive for your insolent
extravagance.’ These words,
delivered in a bold and resolute tone,
struck terror into the hearts of the assailants;
who, partly for this menace,
and partly on account of the landlord’s
persuasion, gave over their attack; while
he, on his side, allowed the wounded to
retire, and returned to his watch, with
his former ease and tranquillity.

These pranks of the knight were not
at all to the liking of the landlord, who
resolved to abridge the ceremony, and
bestow this unlucky order of knighthood
immediately, before any other mischief
should happen. Approaching him,
therefore, he disclaimed the insolence
with which his guest had been treated
by those saucy plebeians, without his
knowledge or consent; and observed that
they had been justly chastised for their
impudence: that, as he had told him
before, there was no chapel in the castle,
nor indeed, for what was to be done,
was it at all necessary; nothing of the
ceremony now remaining unperformed,
except the cuff on the neck, and the
thwack on the shoulders, as they are
prescribed in the ceremonial of the order;
and that this part might be executed
in the middle of a field: he assured
him also, that he had punctually
complied with every thing that regarded
the watching of his armour, which
might have been finished in two hours,
though he had already remained double
the time on that duty. Don Quixote
believing every syllable that he spoke,
said, he was ready to obey him in all
things, and besought him to conclude
the matter as soon as possible: for, in
case he should be attacked again, after
having been knighted, he would not leave
a soul alive in the castle, except those
whom he should spare at his request.

The constable, alarmed at this declaration,
immediately brought out his day-book,
in which he kept an account of
the barley and straw that was expended
for the use of the carriers, and attended
by a boy with a candle’s end in his hand,
together with the two ladies before mentioned,
came to the place where Don
Quixote stood; then ordering him to
kneel before him, mumbled in his manual,
as if he had been putting up some
very devout petition; in the midst of
which he lifted up his hand, and gave
him a hearty thump on the neck; then,
with the flat of his own sword, bestowed
an handsome application across his shoulders,
muttering all the time between his
teeth, as if he had been employed in
some fervent ejaculation[#]. This article
being fulfilled, he commanded one
of the ladies to gird on his sword, an
office she performed with great dexterity
and discretion, of which there was no
small need to restrain her laughter at each
particular of this strange ceremony: but
// File: 0039.png
.pn +1
the effects they had already seen of the
knight’s disposition, kept their mirth effectually
under the rein.

When this good lady had girded on
his sword, ‘Heaven preserve your worship!
adventurous knight,’ said she,
‘and make you fortunate in all your
encounters.’ Don Quixote then begged
to know her name, that he might
thenceforward understand to whom he
was obliged for the favour he had received
at her hands, and to whom he
might ascribe some part of the honour
he should acquire by the valour of his
invincible arm. She answered with great
humility, that her name was Tobosa,
daughter of an honest butcher in Toledo,
who lived in one of the stalls of
Sancho Minaya: that she should always
be at his service, and acknowledge him
for her lord and master. The knight
professed himself extremely obliged to
her for her love; and begged she would,
for the future, dignify her name by
calling herself Donna Tobosa. This
request she promised faithfully to comply
with; and a dialogue of the same
kind passed between him and the other
lady who buckled on his spur: when he
asked her name, she told him it was
Mollinera; and that her father was an
honourable miller of Antequera. Don
Quixote entreated her also to ennoble her
name with the same title of Donna, loaded
her with thanks, and made a tender
of his service. These hitherto unseen
ceremonies being dispatched, as it were
with post-haste, Don Quixote, impatient
to see himself on horseback, in quest
of adventures, saddled and mounted
Rozinante forthwith, and embracing his
host, uttered such a strange rhapsody of
thanks for his having dubbed him knight,
that it is impossible to rehearse the compliment.
The landlord, in order to get
rid of him the sooner, answered in terms
no less eloquent, though something more
laconick, and let him march off in a
happy hour, without demanding one farthing
for his lodging.

.fn #
This request was a little premature, inasmuch as the practice of chivalry did not
authorize the suppliant to ask a boon of his godfather, until he was dubbed, and then he
had a right to demand it.
.fn-

.fn #
Literally, the colt of Cordova, because the water gushes out of a fountain resembling
an horse’s mouth. These are places of resort frequented by thieves and sharpers.
.fn-

.fn #
Here the landlord was more selfish than observant of the customs of chivalry; for
knights were actually exempted from all expence whatever; except when damages were
awarded against them in a court of justice; and in that case they paid for their rank.
This they looked upon as a mark of their pre-eminence; in consequence of which, at
the siege of Dun le Roy, in the year 1411, each knight was ordered to carry eight fascines,
while the squire was quit for half the number.
.fn-

.fn #
This custom of watching armour in church or chapel, was a religious duty imposed
upon knights, who used to consume the whole night in prayer to some saint, whom they
chose as their patron; and this exercise of devotion was performed on the night preceding
the said saint’s day. The same ceremony was observed by those who were sentenced
to the combat-proof.
.fn-

.fn #
The slap on the shoulders, and the box on the ear being bestowed, the godfather pronounced,
‘In the name of God, <abbr=Saint>St.</abbr> Michael, and <abbr=Saint>St.</abbr> George, I dub thee knight: be
worthy, bold, and loyal.’
.fn-
.sp 4
.h4 id=chap1-1-4
<abbr=chapter>CHAP.</abbr> <abbr=four>IV.</abbr> | OF WHAT BEFEL OUR KNIGHT, WHEN HE SALLIED FROM THE INN.
.sp 2
It was early in the morning when
Don Quixote sallied from the inn, so
well satisfied, so sprightly, and so glad
// File: 0040.png
to see himself invested with the order of
knighthood, that the very girths of his
horse vibrated with joy: but, remembering
his landlord’s advice, with regard
to the necessaries he ought to carry
along with him, in particular the money
and clean shirts, he resolved to return
to his own house, and furnish himself
not only with these, but also with a
squire. For this office he fixed, in his
own mind, upon a poor ploughman who
lived in his neighbourhood, maintaining
a family of children by his labour;
a person in all respects qualified for the
lower services of chivalry. With this
view he steered his course homeward:
and Rozinante, as if he had guessed the
knight’s intention, began to move with
such alacrity and nimbleness, that his
hoofs scarce seemed to touch the ground.

He had not travelled far, when from
the thickest part of a wood that grew on
his right-hand, his ear was saluted with
shrill repeated cries, which seemed to
issue from the mouth of some creature
in grievous distress. No sooner did our
hero hear this lamentation, than he exclaimed,
‘Heaven be praised for the favour
with which it now indulges me,
in giving me an opportunity so soon
of fulfilling the duties of my profession,
and reaping the fruit of my
laudable intention! These cries doubtless
proceed from some miserable male
or female, who stands in need of my
immediate aid and protection.’ Then
turning Rozinante, he rode towards the
place whence the complaint seemed to
come; and having entered the wood a
few paces, he found a mare tied to one
oak, and a lad about fifteen, naked from
the waist upwards, made fast to another.
This was he who screamed so
piteously, and indeed not without reason;
for a sturdy peasant was employed
in making applications to his carcase
with a leathern strap, accompanying each
stripe with a word of reproof and advice.
Above all things, laying upon
him strong injunctions, to use his tongue
less, and his eyes more: the young fellow
replied, with great fervency, ‘I
will never do so again, master, so help
me God! I won’t do so any more; but
for the future take more care, and use
more dispatch.’

Don Quixote observing what passed,
pronounced aloud with great indignation:
‘Discourteous knight, it ill becomes
thee to attack one who cannot
// File: 0041.png
.pn +1
defend himself: mount thy steed,
couch thy lance,’ (for there was actually
a lance leaning against the tree to
which the mare was tied) ‘and I will
make thee sensible of the cowardice of
the action in which thou art now engaged.’
The peasant seeing this strange
figure, buckled in armour, and brandishing
a lance over his head, was mortally
afraid, and with great humility replied,
‘Sir knight, this lad whom I
am chastising, is my own servant hired
to keep a flock of sheep, which feed in
these fields; but he is so negligent, that
every day I lose one of the number,
and because I punish him for his carelessness,
or knavery, he says that I
scourge him out of avarice, rather than
pay him his wages; though, upon my
conscience, and as I shall answer to
God, he tells a lye.’—‘How! a lye,
before me, base caitif!’ cried Don
Quixote; ‘by the sun that enlightens
this globe, I have a good mind to thrust
this lance through thy body! Pay the
young man his wages straight, without
reply; or, by the Power that rules us,
I will finish and annihilate thee in an
instant! unbind him therefore without
hesitation.’

The countryman hung his head, and
without speaking a syllable, untied his
man; who, being asked by the knight
how much money was due to him, said
his master owed him for three quarters,
at the rate of six rials a month. His deliverer
having cast it up, found that the
whole amounted to sixty-three rials, and
ordered the peasant to disburse them instantly,
unless he had a mind to perish under
his hands. The affrighted farmer affirmed,
by the grievous situation in which
he was, and the oath he had already taken,
though, by the bye, he had taken
no oath at all, that the sum did not amount
to so much; for that he was to
discount and allow for three pair of
shoes he had received, and a rial for two
bleedings while he was sick. ‘Granting
that to be true,’ replied Don Quixote,
‘the shoes and the bleeding shall
stand for the stripes you have given
him without cause; for, if he has wore
out the leather of the shoes that you
paid for, you have made as free with
the leather of his carcase; and if the
barber let out his blood when he was
sick, you have blooded him when he
was well; he therefore stands acquitted
of these debts.’—‘The misfortune,
// File: 0042.png
Sir knight,’ said the peasant, ‘is
this; I have not coin about me: but
if Andrew will go home to my house,
I will pay him honestly in ready-money.’—‘Go
with you!’ cried the lad;
‘the devil fetch me if I do! No, no,
master, I must not think of that; were
I to go home with him alone, he would
flay me like another Saint Bartholomew.’—‘He
won’t do so,’ replied the
knight, ‘but shew more regard to my
commands; and if he will swear to
me by the laws of that order of knighthood
which he has received, that he
will pay you your wages, I will set
him free, and warrant the payment.’—‘Lord,
how your worship talks!’ said
the boy; ‘this master of mine is no
gentleman, nor has he received any
order of knighthood, but is known by
the name of rich John Haldudo, and
lives in the neighbourhood of Quintanar.’—‘No
matter,’ replied Don Quixote,
‘there may be knights among the
Haldudos, especially as every one is
the son of his own works.’—‘True,’
said Andrew; ‘but what works is my
master the son of, since he refuses to pay
me for my labour, and the sweat of my
brows?’—‘I don’t refuse; honest Andrew,’
answered the peasant; ‘thou wilt
do me a pleasure in going home with
me; and I swear by all the honours of
knighthood in the universe, that I will
pay thee thy wages, as I said before,
in ready-money; nay, you shall
have it perfumed into the bargain.’—‘Thank
you for your perfumes!’ said
the knight; ‘pay him in lawful coin,
and I shall be satisfied: and be sure
you fulfil the oath you have taken;
for, by the same obligation, I swear,
that in case you fail, I will return to
chastise you, and ferret you out, even
though you should be more concealed
than a lizard. If you would understand
who it is that lays such commands
upon you, that you may find
yourself under a necessity of performing
them with reverence and awe,
know that I am the valiant Don
Quixote de La Mancha, the redresser
of wrongs, and scourge of injustice:
so farewel. Remember, not to belye
your promise and oath, on pain of the
penalty prescribed.’ With these words,
he clapped spurs to Rozinante, and was
out of sight in a moment.

The countryman followed him with
his eyes, till he saw him quite clear of
// File: 0043.png
.pn +1
the wood; then turning to Andrew,
said, ‘Come hither, child, I must pay
what I owe you, according to the
order of that redresser of wrongs.’—‘And
adad,’ said Andrew, ‘you had
best not neglect the orders of that
worthy knight, who (blessings on his
heart!) is equally valiant and upright;
for odds bobs, if you do not pay me,
he will return and be as good as his
word.’—‘In faith, I am of the same
opinion,’ replied the peasant; ‘but,
out of my infinite regard for you, I
am desirous of encreasing the debt,
that the payment may be doubled.’
So saying, he laid hold of his arm, and
tying him again to the tree, flogged him
so severely, that he had like to have
died on the spot. ‘Now is the time,
Mr. Andrew,’ said the executioner,
‘to call upon the redresser of grievances,
who will find it difficult to redress
this, which by the bye I am loth
to finish, being very much inclined
to justify your fear of being flayed
alive.’ At length, however, he unbound
and left him at liberty to find
out his judge, who was to execute the
sentence he had pronounced. Andrew
sneaked off, not extremely well satisfied:
on the contrary, vowing to go in
quest of the valiant Don Quixote de
La Mancha, and inform him punctually
of every thing that had happened,
an account which would certainly induce
him to pay the countryman sevenfold.

In spite of this consolation, however,
he departed blubbering with pain, while
his master remained weeping with
laughter. And thus was the grievance
redressed by the valiant Don Quixote,
who, transported with the success, and
the happy and sublime beginning which
he imagined his chivalry had been favoured
with, jogged on towards his
own village, with infinite self satisfaction,
pronouncing with a low voice,
‘O Dulcinea del Toboso, fairest among
the fair! well may’st thou be counted
the most fortunate beauty upon
earth, seeing it is thy fate to keep in
subjection and wholly resigned to thy
will and pleasure, such a daring and
renowned knight as Don Quixote de
La Mancha now is, and always will
remain. He who, as all the world
knows, but yesterday received the honour
of knighthood, and has this day
redressed the greatest wrong and grievance
// File: 0044.png
that ever injustice hatched, and
cruelty committed! To-day he wrested
the lash from the hand of the merciless
enemy, who so unjustly scourged
the body of that tender infant!’ Having
uttered this exclamation, he found
himself in a road that divided into four
paths, and straight his imagination suggested
those cross-ways that were wont
to perplex knights-errant in their choice;
in imitation of whom, he paused a little,
and after mature deliberation, threw
the reins on Rozinante’s neck, leaving
the decision to him, who following his
first intention, took the path that led directly
to his own stable.

Having travelled about two miles farther,
Don Quixote descried a number of
people, who, as was afterwards known,
were six merchants of Toledo, going to
buy silks at Mercia, and who travelled
with umbrellas, attended by four servants
on horseback, and three mule-drivers
on foot. Don Quixote no sooner
perceived them at a distance, than he
imagined them to be some new adventure;
and, in order to imitate, as much
as in him lay, those scenes he had read
in his books of chivalry, he thought
this was an occasion expressly ordained
for him to execute his purposed atchievement.

He therefore, with gallant and resolute
deportment, seated himself firmly
in his stirrups, grasped his lance, braced
on his target, and posting himself in
the middle of the road, waited the arrival
of those knights-errant, for such
he judged them to be. When they were
near enough to hear him, he pronounced
in a loud and arrogant tone: ‘Let the
whole universe cease to move, if the
whole universe refuses to confess, that
there is not in the whole universe a
more beautiful damsel than the peerless
Dulcinea del Toboso, the high
and mighty Empress of La Mancha.’

The merchants hearing this declaration,
and seeing the strange figure
from which it proceeded, were alarmed
at both, and halting immediately, at a
distance reconnoitred the madness of the
author. Curious, however, to know
the meaning of that confession which he
exacted, one of them, who was a sort of
a wag, though at the same time a man of
prudence and discretion, accosted him
thus: ‘Sir Knight, as we have not the
honour to know who this worthy lady
is, be so good as to produce her;
// File: 0045.png
.pn +1
and if we find her so beautiful as you
proclaim her to be, we will gladly,
and without any sort of reward, confess
the truth, according to your desire.’—‘If
I produce her,’ replied
Don Quixote, ‘what is the mighty merit
of your confessing such a notorious
truth? The importance of my demand
consists in your believing, acknowledging,
affirming upon oath, and
defending her beauty, before you have
seen it. And this ye shall do, ye insolent
and uncivil race, or engage
with me in battle forthwith. Come
on then, one by one, according to
the laws of chivalry, or all together,
as the treacherous custom is among
such wretches as you; here I expect
you with full hope and confidence in
the justice of my cause.’—‘Sir knight,’
replied the merchant, ‘I humbly beg,
in the name of all these princes here
present, that your worship will not
oblige us to burden our consciences,
by giving testimony to a thing that we
have neither seen nor heard, especially
as it tends to the prejudice of the
queens and princesses of Alcarria and
Estremadura; but, if your worship
will be pleased to shew us any sort of
a picture of this lady, though it be no
bigger than a grain of wheat, so as
we can judge the clue by the thread,
we will be satisfied with this sample,
and you shall be obeyed to your
heart’s content; for I believe we are
already so prepossessed in her favour,
that though the portrait should represent
her squinting with one eye, and
distilling vermilion and brimstone
with the other, we will, notwithstanding,
in compliance to your worship,
say what you desire in her favour.’—‘Her
eyes, infamous wretch!’
replied Don Quixote, in a rage, ‘distil
not such productions, but teem with
amber and rich perfume; neither is
there any defect in her sight, or in her
body, which is more straight than a
Guadarrama spindle; but you shall
suffer for the licentious blasphemy you
have uttered against the unparalleled
beauty of my sovereign mistress.’ So
saying, he couched his lance, and attacked
the spokesman with such rage
and fury, that had not Rozinante luckily
stumbled and fallen in the midst of
his career, the merchant would have
// File: 0046.png
had no cause to rejoice in his rashness;
but when the unhappy steed fell to the
ground, the rider was thrown over his
head, and pitched at a good distance
upon the field, where he found all his
endeavours to get up again ineffectual,
so much was he encumbered with his
lance, target, helmet, and spurs, together
with the weight of his ancient
armour.

While he thus struggled, but in vain,
to rise, he bellowed forth, ‘Fly not,
ye cowardly crew; tarry a little, ye
base caitiffs: not through any fault
of my own, but of my horse, am I
thus discomfited.’ One of the mule-drivers,
who seems not to have been of
a very milky disposition, could not bear
this arrogant language of the poor overthrown
knight, without making a reply
upon his ribs. Going up to him, therefore,
he laid hold on his lance, and
breaking it, began to thresh him so severely,
that, in spite of the resistance
of his armour, he was almost beaten
into mummy; and though the fellow’s
master called to him to forbear, he was
so incensed, that he could not leave off
the game, until he had exhausted the
whole of his choler. Gathering the
other pieces of the lance, he reduced
them all to shivers, one after another,
on the miserable carcase of the Don,
who, notwithstanding this storm of
blows which descended on him, never
closed his mouth, but continued threatening
heaven and earth, and those banditti,
for such he took the merchants
to be.

The driver was tired at length of his
exercise, and his masters pursued their
journey, carrying with them sufficient
food for conversation about this poor
battered knight; who no sooner found
himself alone, than he made another
effort to rise; but if he found this design
impracticable when he was safe
and sound, much less could he accomplish
it now that he was disabled, and
as it were wrought into a paste. He
did not, however, look upon himself
as unhappy, because this misfortune
was in his opinion peculiar to knights-errant;
and, that he was not able to
rise on account of the innumerable
bruises he had received, he ascribed entirely
to the fault of his horse.
// File: 0047.png
.pn +1
.sp 4
.h4 id=chap1-1-5
<abbr=chapter>CHAP.</abbr> <abbr=five>V.</abbr> | IN WHICH THE STORY OF OUR KNIGHT’S MISFORTUNE IS CONTINUED.
.sp 2
Finding it therefore impossible
to move, he was fain to have recourse
to his usual remedy, which was to
amuse his imagination with some passages
of the books he had read; and
his madness immediately recalled to his
memory that of Valdovinos and the
Marquis of Mantua, when Carloto left
him wounded on the mountain; a piece
of history that every body knows, that
every young man is acquainted with,
and which is celebrated, nay more, believed,
by old age itself, though it be as
apocryphal as the miracles of Mahomet:
nevertheless, it occurred to him as an
occasion expressly adapted to his present
situation. Therefore, with marks
of extreme affliction, he began to roll
about upon the ground, and with a languid
voice, exclaim, in the words of
the wounded knight of the wood—

.pm verse-start
‘Where art thou, lady of my heart,
  ‘Regardless of my misery?
‘Thou little know’st thy lover’s smart,
  ‘Or faithless art and false pardie!’
.pm verse-end

In this manner he went on repeating
the romance until he came to these lines:

.pm verse-start
‘O noble prince of Mantuan plains.
  ‘My carnal kinsman, and my lord!’
.pm verse-end

Before he could repeat the whole couplet,
a peasant who was a neighbour of
his own, and lived in the same village,
chanced to pass, in his way from the
mill where he had been with a load of
wheat. This honest countryman seeing
a man lying stretched upon the ground,
came up, and asked him who he was,
and the reason of his lamenting so piteously.
Don Quixote doubtless believed
that this was his uncle the Marquis
of Mantua, and made no other reply
but the continuation of his romance,
in which he gave an account of
his own misfortune, occasioned by the
amour betwixt his wife and the emperor’s
son, exactly as it is related in
the book. The peasant, astonished at
such a rhapsody, took off his beaver,
which had been beaten to pieces by the
mule-driver, and wiping his face, which
was covered with dust, immediately
// File: 0048.png
knew the unfortunate knight. ‘Signior
Quixada,’ said he, (for so he was
called before he had lost his senses, and
was transformed from a sober country
gentleman into a knight-errant) ‘who
has left your worship in such a woeful
condition?’ But he, without minding
the question that was put to him, proceeded,
as before, with his romance;
which the honest man perceiving, went
to work, and took off his back and
breast-plates, to see if he had received
any wound, but he could perceive neither
blood nor scar upon his body. He
then raised him upon his legs, and with
infinite difficulty mounted him upon his
own beast, which appeared to him a safer
carriage than the knight’s steed.

Having gathered up his armour, even
to the splinters of the lance, he tied
them upon Rozinante, and taking hold
of the reins, together with the halter of
his own ass, jogged on towards the
village, not a little concerned to hear the
mad exclamations of Don Quixote, who
did not find himself extremely easy; for
he was so battered and bruised, that he
could not sit upright upon the beast, but
from time to time vented such dismal
groans, as obliged the peasant to ask
again what was the matter with him.
Indeed, one would have thought, that
the devil had assisted his memory in supplying
him with tales accommodated
to the circumstances of his own situation;
for at that instant, forgetting Valdovinos,
he recollected the story of
Abindar-raez the Moor, whom Rodrigo
de Narvaez, governor of Antequera,
took prisoner, and carried into
captivity to the place of his residence;
so that when the countryman repeated
his desire of knowing where he had
been, and what was the matter with
him, he answered to the purpose, nay,
indeed, in the very words, used by the
captive Abencerraje to the said Rodrigo
de Narvaez, as may be seen in the Diana
of George Monte-major, which he
had read, and so well-adapted for his
purpose, that the countryman hearing
such a composition of folly, wished them
both at the devil.

It was then he discovered that his
neighbour was mad; and therefore made
all the haste he could to the village, that
he might be the sooner rid of his uneasiness
at the unaccountable harangue
of Don Quixote; who had no sooner
finished this exclamation, than he accosted
// File: 0049.png
.pn +1
his conductor in these words—‘Know,
then, valiant Don Rodrigo de
Narvaez, that this same beautiful Xarifa,
whom I have mentioned, is no
other than the fair Dulcinea del Toboso,
for whom I have performed,
undertake, and will atchieve, the most
renowned exploits, that ever were,
are, or will be seen on earth.’ To
this address the countryman replied with
great simplicity—‘How your worship
talks! As I am a sinner, I am neither
Don Rodrigo de Narvaez, nor the
Marquis of Mantua, but Pedro Alonzo,
your neighbour; nor is your
worship either Valdovinos, or Abindar-raez,
but the worthy gentleman
Signior Quixada.’—‘I know very well
who I am,’ replied Don Quixote;
‘and that it is possible for me to be not
only those whom I have mentioned,
but also the whole Twelve Peers of
France, and even the Nine Worthies,
seeing that my atchievements will excel
not only those of each of them
singly, but even the exploits of them
all joined together.’

Discoursing in this manner, they arrived
at the village about twilight; but the
peasant staid till it was quite dark, that
the poor rib-roasted knight might not be
seen in such a woeful condition. Then
he conducted Don Quixote to his own
house, which was all in confusion.
When he arrived, the curate and the
barber of the village, two of his best
friends and companions, were present,
and his housekeeper was just saying with
a woeful countenance, ‘Mr. Licentiate
Pero Perez,’ that was the curate’s
name, ‘some misfortune must certainly
have happened to my master; for six
days, both he and his horse, together
with the target, lance, and armour,
have been missing[#]: as I am a sinner,
it is just come into my head, and
it is certainly as true as that every one
is born to die, those hellish books of
knight-errantry, which he used to read
with so much pleasure, have turned
his brain; for now I remember to have
heard him say to himself more than
once, that he longed to be a knight-errant,
and stroll about in quest of
adventures. May the devil and
Barrabas lay hold of such legends,
which have perverted one of the soundest
understandings in all La Mancha!’

To this remark the niece assented,
saying—‘Moreover, you must know,
Mr. Nicolas,’ this was the name of
the barber, ‘my uncle would frequently,
after having been reading in these
profane books of misadventures, for
two whole days and nights together,
start up, throw the book upon the
ground, and drawing his sword, fence
with the walls till he was quite fatigued,
then affirm that he had killed
four giants as big as steeples, and
swear that the sweat of his brows, occasioned
by this violent exercise, was
the blood of the wounds he had received
in battle; then he would drink
of a large pitcher of cold water, and
remain quiet and refreshed, saying,
that the water was a most precious beverage,
with which he was supplied by
the sage Isquife, a mighty inchanter
and friend of his; but I take the
whole blame to myself, for not having
informed your worship of my dear
uncle’s extravagancies, that some remedy
might have been applied before
they had proceeded to such excess;
and that you might have burnt all
those excommunicated books, which
deserve the fire as much as if they
were crammed with heresy.’

‘I am of the same opinion,’ said the
curate; ‘and assure you, before another
day shall pass, they shall undergo
a severe trial, and be condemned to the
flames, that they may not induce other
readers to follow the same path which
I am afraid my good friend has taken.’
Every syllable of this conversation was
overheard by Don Quixote and his
guide, which last had now no longer
any doubt about his neighbour’s infirmity,
and therefore pronounced with a
loud voice—‘Open your gates to the
valiant Valdovinos, and the great
Marquis of Mantua, who comes home
wounded from the field together with
the Moor Abindar-raez, who drags in
captivity the valiant Rodrigo de Narvaez,
governor of Antequera.’

Alarmed at these words, they came
all to the door, and perceiving who it
was, the barber and curate went to receive
their friend, and the women ran
// File: 0050.png
.pn +1
to embrace their master and kinsman;
who, though he had not as yet alighted,
for indeed it was not in his power, proclaimed
aloud—‘Let the whole world
take notice, that the wounds I have
received were owing to the fault of
my horse alone; carry me therefore to
bed, and send if possible for the sage
Urganda[#], to search and cure them.’—‘See
now, in an evil hour,’ cried
the housekeeper, hearing these words,
‘if I did not truly foretel of what leg
my master was lame!—Your worship
shall understand, in good time, that
without the assistance of that same
Urganda, we know how to cure the
hurts you have received; and cursed,
I say, nay a hundred and a hundred
times cursed, be those books of chivalry,
which have so disordered your
honour’s brain!’ Having carried him
to his bed, they began to search for his
wounds, but could find none; and he
told them that his whole body was one
continued bruise, occasioned by the fall
of his horse Rozinante, during his engagement
with ten of the most insolent
and outrageous giants that ever appeared
upon the face of the earth. ‘Ah,
ha!’ cried the curate, ‘have we got
giants too in the dance! Now, by the
faith of my function, I will reduce
them all to ashes before to-morrow
night!’

A thousand questions did they ask of
the knight, who made no other answer,
but desired them to bring him some food,
and leave him to his repose, which indeed
was what he had most occasion for.
They complied with his request, and
the curate informed himself at large of
the manner in which he had been found
by the countryman, who gave him full
satisfaction in that particular, and repeated
all the nonsense he had uttered
when he first found him, as well as what
he afterwards spoke in their way home.
This information confirmed the licentiate
in his resolution, which was executed
next day, when he brought his
friend master Nicolas the barber along
with him to Don Quixote’s house.

.fn #
The author seems to have committed a small oversight in this paragraph; for the
knight had not been gone above two days and one night, which he spent in watching his
armour.
.fn-

.fn #
The name of a good-natured inchantress in Amadis de Gaul. During the age of
knight-errantry, it was usual for ladies to study the art of surgery, in order to dress the
wounds of those knights who were their servants. One of the heroines of Perce Forest
says to Norgal, ‘Fair nephew, methinks your arm is not at ease.’—‘In faith, dear lady,’
answered Norgal, ‘you are in the right; and I beseech you to take it under your care.’
Then she called her daughter Helen, who entertained her cousin with good cheer, and afterwards
reduced his arm which was dislocated.
.fn-
.sp 4
.h4 id=chap1-1-6
<abbr=chapter>CHAP.</abbr> <abbr=six>VI.</abbr> | OF THE DIVERTING AND MINUTE SCRUTINY PERFORMED BY THE CURATE AND THE BARBER, IN THE LIBRARY OF OUR SAGACIOUS HERO.
.sp 2
While the knight was asleep,
his friends came and demanded
of his niece the key of the closet in
which those books, the authors of his
misfortune, were kept; and she delivering
it with great chearfulness, they went
into it in a body, housekeeper and all,
and found upwards of a hundred volumes,
great and small, extremely well
bound; which were no sooner perceived
by the governante, than she ran out
with great eagerness, and immediately
returned with a porringer of holy water,
and a sprig of hyssop, saying—‘Here,
Master Licentiate, pray take
and sprinkle the closet, lest some one
of the many inchanters contained in
these books should exercise his art
upon us, as a punishment for our
burning and banishing them from the
face of the earth.’

The licentiate, smiling at the old
housekeeper’s simplicity, desired the barber
to hand him the books one by one,
that he might see of what subjects they
treated, because they might possibly find
some that did not deserve to be purged
by fire. ‘There is not one of them,’
replied the niece, ‘which deserves the
least mercy, for they are all full of mischief
and deceit. You had better,
therefore, throw them out of the window
into the court-yard, and there set
fire to them in a heap: or let them be
carried into the back-yard, where the
bonfire may be made, and the smoke
will offend nobody.’ The housekeeper
assented to this proposal, so eager were
they both to destroy those innocents;
but the curate would by no means encourage
such barbarity, without reading
first, if possible, the title-pages.

The first that Master Nicolas delivered
into his hand, were the four volumes
of Amadis de Gaul. ‘There is,’ said
// File: 0051.png
.pn +1
the good man, ‘something mysterious
in this circumstance; for, as I have
heard, that was the first book of chivalry
printed in Spain, from which
all the rest have derived their origin
and plan; and therefore, in my opinion,
we ought to condemn him to
the fire, without hesitation, as the law-giver
of such a pernicious sect.’—‘By
no means,’ cried the barber; ‘for I
have also heard, that this is the best
book of the kind that was ever composed;
and therefore ought to be pardoned,
as an original and model in
its way.’—‘Right,’ said the curate;
‘and for that reason he shall be spared
for the present. Let us see that author
who stands next to him.’—‘This,’
says the barber, ‘contains the atchievements
of Esplandian, the lawful son of
Amadis de Gaul.’—‘Truly, then,’
said the curate, ‘the virtues of the father
shall not avail the son. Here,
Mrs Housekeeper, open that window,
and toss him into the yard,
where he shall serve as a foundation
for the bonfire we intend to make.’

This talk the housekeeper performed
with infinite satisfaction; and the worthy
Esplandian took his flight into the
yard, to wait in patience for the fire
with which he was threatened. ‘Proceed,’
cried the curate. ‘This that
comes next,’ said the barber, ‘is Amadis
of Greece; and I believe all
the authors on this shelf are of the
same family.’—‘To the yard, then,
with all of them,’ replied the curate;
‘for rather than not burn Queen Pintiquiniestra,
and the shepherd Darinel
with his eclogues, together with the
unintelligible and bedevilled discourses
of his author; I would even
consume the father who begat me,
should he appear in the figure of a
knight-errant.’—‘I am of your opinion,’
said the barber. ‘And I,’
cried the niece. ‘Since that is the case,’
said the housekeeper, ‘to the yard with
them immediately.’ Accordingly, they
delivered a number into her hands; and
she, out of tenderness for the stair-case,
sent them all out of the window.

‘Who may that tun-like author be?’
said the curate. ‘This here,’ answered
the barber, ‘is Don Olivante de Laura.’—‘The
very same,’ replied the curate,
‘who composed the Garden of Flowers;
and truly it is hard to determine,
which of his two books is the most
// File: 0052.png
true, or rather which of them is least
false: all that I know is, that he shall
go to the pile for his arrogance and
folly.’—‘He that follows,’ says the
barber, ‘is Florismarte of Hircania.’—‘What,
Signior Florismarte?’ replied
the curate: ‘in faith, then he must
prepare for his fate; notwithstanding
his surprizing birth, and mighty adventures,
and the unparalleled stiffness
and sterility of his stile.—Down
with him, Mistress Housekeeper! and
take this other along with you also.’—‘With
all my heart, dear Sir!’ replied
the governante; who executed his commands
with vast alacrity.

‘He that comes next,’ said the barber,
‘is the knight Platir.’—‘That is
an old book,’ said the clergyman;
‘but as I can find nothing in him that
deserves the least regard, he must e’en
keep the rest company.’ He was accordingly
doomed to the flames, without
farther question. The next book
they opened was intituled, The Knight
of the Cross; which the curate having
read, ‘The ignorance of this author,’
said he, ‘might be pardoned, on account
of his holy title; but according
to the proverb, “The devil skulks
behind the cross;” and therefore let
him descend into the fire.’ Master
Nicolas taking up another book, found
it was the Mirror of Chivalry. ‘Oh,
ho!’ cried the curate, ‘I have the honour
to know his worship. Away
with Signior Rinaldo de Mont-alban,
with his friends and companions,
who were greater thieves than Cacus;
not forgetting the Twelve Peers, together
with Turpin, their candid historian.
Though, truly, in my opinion,
their punishment ought not to exceed
perpetual banishment, because they
contain some part of the invention
of the renowned Matteo Boyardo,
on which was weaved the ingenious
web of the Christian poet Ludovico
Ariosto; to whom, should I find
him here speaking in any other language
than his own, I would pay
no regard; but, if he talks in his
own idiom, I will place him on
my head, in token of respect.’—‘I
have got him at home,’ said the barber,
‘in Italian, but I don’t understand
that language.’—‘Nor is it
necessary you should,’ replied the curate:
‘and here let us pray Heaven to
forgive the captain, who has impoverished
// File: 0053.png
.pn +1
him so much, by translating
him into Spanish, and making him
a Castilian. And, indeed, the same
thing will happen to all those who
pretend to translate books of poetry
into a foreign language; for, in spite
of all their care and ability, they will
find it impossible to give the translation
the same energy which is found
in the original. In short, I sentence
this book, and all those which we
shall find treating of French matters,
to be thrown and deposited in a dry
well, until we can determine at more
leisure what fate they must undergo,
except Bernardo del Carpio, and another
called Roncesvalles, which if
they fall into my hands, shall pass
into those of the housekeeper, and
thence into the fire, without any mitigation.’

This was approved of as an equitable
decision, and accordingly confirmed
by the barber, who knew the curate to
be such a good Christian, and so much
a friend to truth, that he would not be
guilty of an equivocation for the whole
universe. The next volume he opened
was Palmerin D’Oliva; and hard by
him stood another, called Palmerin of
England; which was no sooner perceived
by the licentiate, than he cried,
‘Let that Oliva be hewn in pieces, and
burned; so as not so much as a cinder
of him shall remain; but let the
English Palmerin be defended, and
preferred as an inestimable jewel, and
such another casket be made for him
as that which Alexander found among
the spoils of Darius, and destined as
a case for the works of Homer. That
book, neighbour, is venerable for two
reasons, first, because it is in itself
excellent; and, secondly, because it
is said to have been composed by an
ingenious king of Portugal. All the
adventures of the castle of Miraguarda
are incomparable, and contrived
with infinite art; the language perspicuous
and elegant, and the characters
supported with great propriety
of sentiment and decorum. I propose,
Mr. Nicolas, saving your better
judgment, to exempt this book and
Amadis de Gaul from the flames, and
let all the rest perish without farther
enquiry.’

‘Pardon me, neighbour,’ replied the
barber, ‘I have here got in my hand
the renowned Don Bellianis.’—‘Even
he,’ answered the priest, ‘with the second,
third, and fourth parts, stands
very much in need of a little rhubarb
to purge his excessive choler, and
ought to be pruned of that whole
Castle of Fame, and other more important
impertinences. For which reason,
let the sentence be changed into
transportation; and, according as he
reforms he shall be treated with lenity
and justice. In the mean time, friend
Nicolas, keep him safe in your house,
out of the reach of every reader.’—‘With
all my soul!’ answered the barber;
and without giving themselves the
trouble of reading any more titles, they
ordered the housekeeper to dismiss all
the large books into the yard.

This direction was not given to a
person who was either doating or deaf,
but to one who was much more inclined
to perform that office than to compose
the largest and finest web that ever was
seen. Taking up, therefore, seven or
eight at a time, she heaved them out of
the window, with incredible dispatch.
While she was thus endeavouring to lift
a good many together, one of them
chanced to fall at the feet of the barber,
who being seized with an inclination of
knowing the contents, found upon examination,
that it was called the History
of the famous Knight Tirante the White.
‘Heaven be praised!’ cried the curate,
aloud, ‘that we have discovered Tirante
the White in this place: pray give it
me, neighbour; for in this book I
reckon I have found a treasure of satisfaction,
and a rich mine of amusement.
Here is the famous Godamercy[#],
of Mont-alban, and his brother
Thomas of Mont-alban, and the
knight Fonseca, as also an account
of the battle fought between Alano
and the valiant Detriante, together
with the Witticisms of the Young
Lady, Joy of my Life, with the amorous
stratagems of the Widow Quiet,
and her highness the Empress who was
enamoured of her Squire Hippolito.
I do assure you, upon my word, Mr.
Nicolas, that, in point of stile, this
is the best book that ever was written.
Here the knights eat, sleep, and die,
// File: 0054.png
.pn +1
in their beds, after having made their
wills, with many circumstances that
are wanting in other books of the same
kind. Notwithstanding, the author
who composed it certainly deserved to
be sent to the gallies for life, for having
spent his time in writing so much
nonsense. Take and read him at
home, and you shall find what I say
to be true.’—‘Very like,’ replied the
barber: ‘what shall we do with these
small books that remain?’

‘These,’ said the curate, ‘cannot be
books of chivalry, but must be poems.’
Accordingly, opening one, he found it
was the Diana of George de Monte-major,
and taking it for granted that
all the rest were of the same kind, said,
‘These books do not deserve to be burnt
with the rest; for they neither are nor
ever will be guilty of so much mischief,
as those of chivalry have done; being
books of entertainment, and no ways
prejudicial to religion.’—‘Pray, Sir,’
said the niece, ‘be so good as to order
these to be burnt with the rest; for my
uncle will no sooner be cured of his
knight-errantry, than by reading these,
he will turn shepherd, and wander about
the groves and meadows, piping
and singing. Nay, what is worse,
perhaps turn poet, which they say is
an infectious and incurable distemper.’—‘The
young woman is in the right,’
said the curate; ‘and therefore it won’t
be amiss to remove this temptation and
stumbling block out of our friend’s
way. Since we have therefore begun
with the Diana of Monte-major, I am
of opinion that we should not burn him,
but only expunge what relates to the
sage Felicia, and the inchanted water,
together with all the larger poems, and
leave to him, a God’s name, all the
prose, and the honour of being the
ring-leader of the writers of that class.’

‘This that follows,’ said the barber,
‘is called Diana the Second of Salmantino,
and this other that bears the
same name, is written by Gil Polo.’—‘Let
Salmantino,’ replied the curate,
‘increase the number of those that are
already condemned to the yard; but
let Gil Polo be preserved as carefully
as if it was the production of Apollo
himself. Proceed, friend Nicolas,
and let us dispatch, for it grows late.’—‘This
here book,’ said the barber,
opening the next, ‘is called the ten
books of the Fortune of Love, the
// File: 0055.png
production of Antonio Lofrasco, a
Sardinian poet.’—‘By my holy orders,’
cried the curate, ‘since Phœbus
was Apollo, the Muses the daughters
of Jove, and bards delighted in poetry,
there never was such a pleasant
and comical performance composed as
this, which is the best and most original
of the kind which ever saw the
light; and he who has not read it may
assure himself, that he has never read
any thing of taste: reach it me, neighbour;
it gives me more pleasure to
have found this, than if I had received
a cassock of Florence silk.’

Accordingly, he laid it carefully by
with infinite pleasure, and the barber
proceeded in his talk, saying; ‘Those
that come next are the Shepherd of
Iberia, the Nymphs of Henares, and
the Undeceptions of Jealousy.’—‘Then
there is no more to do,’ said the
priest, ‘but to deliver them over to the
secular arm of the housekeeper; and
do not ask me why, else we shall never
have done.’—‘Here comes the Shepherd
of Filida.’—‘He is no shepherd,’
cried the curate, ‘but a very elegant
courtier, and therefore preserve him as
a precious jewel.’ Then the barber
laid hold of a very large volume, which
was entitled, The Treasure of Poetry.
‘If there was not so much of him, he
would be more esteemed,’ said the
licentiate, ‘that book ought to be weeded
and cleared of certain meannesses,
which have crept into the midst of its
excellencies: take care of it, for the
author is my friend, and deserves regard
for some other more heroick and
elevated works, which he has composed.’—‘And
this,’ continued the
barber, ‘is a Collection of Songs, by
Lopez Maldonado.’—‘That author
is my very good friend also,’ replied
the curate; ‘and his own verses out of
his own mouth are the admiration of
every body; for he chants them with
so sweet a voice, that the hearers are
inchanted. His eclogues are indeed
a little diffuse, but there cannot be too
much of a good thing. Let them be
preserved among the elect: but, pray
what book is that next to it?’ When
the barber told him it was the Galatea
of Miguel de Cervantes; ‘That same
Cervantes,’ said he, ‘has been an intimate
friend of mine these many years,
and is to my certain knowledge more
conversant with misfortunes than poetry.
// File: 0056.png
.pn +1
There is a good vein of invention
in his book, which proposes
something, though it concludes nothing.
We must wait for the second
part, which he promises, and then
perhaps his amendment may deserve
a full pardon, which is now denied:
until that happens, let him be close
confined in your closet.’

‘With all my heart,’ replied the barber;
‘but here come three more together,
the Araucana of Don Alonzo
de Ercilla, the Austriada of Juan
Ruso Jurado de Cordova, and the
Monserrato of Christoval de Virues, a
Valentian poet.’—‘These three books,’
said the curate, ‘are the best epic poems
in the Castilian language, and may be
compared with the most renowned performances
of Italy. Let them be kept
as the inestimable pledges of Spanish
poetry.’ The curate grew tired of examining
more books, and would have
condemned all the rest, contents unknown,
if the barber had not already
opened another, which was called the
Tears of Angelica. ‘I should have
shed tears for my rashness,’ said the
curate, hearing the name, ‘if I had ordered
that book to be burned: for its
author was one of the most celebrated
poets, not only of Spain, but of the
whole world; and, in particular, extremely
successful in translating some
of the Metamorphoses of Ovid.’

.fn #
In the original, <i>Quirielyson</i>, from the two Greek words κύριε ἐλέησον, signifying,
Lord have mercy.
.fn-
.sp 4
.h4 id=chap1-1-7
<abbr=chapter>CHAP.</abbr> <abbr=seven>VII.</abbr> | THE SECOND SALLY OF OUR WORTHY KNIGHT DON QUIXOTE DE LA MANCHA.
.sp 2
While they were busied in this
manner, Don Quixote began to
cry aloud, ‘This way, this way, ye
valiant knights! now is the time to
shew the strength of your invincible
arms, that the courtiers may not carry
off the honour of the tournament.’
The scrutiny of the books that remained
was deserted by the curate and barber,
who hastened to the author of this noisy
exclamation, and it is believed that all
were committed to the flames, unseen,
unheard, not even excepting the Carolea,
and Lyon of Spain, together with
the exploits of the emperor, composed
by Don Louis D’Avila; which were,
doubtless, among those committed to the
// File: 0057.png
fire; though, perhaps, had the curate
seen them, they would not have undergone
so severe a sentence.

When they arrived in Don Quixote’s
chamber, they found him on the floor,
proceeding with his rhapsody, and fencing
with the walls, as broad awake as
if he had never felt the influence of
sleep. Laying hold on him, by force they
re-conveyed him to his bed; where, after
having rested a little, he returned to
his ravings, and addressed himself to
the curate in these words: ‘Certainly,
my Lord Archbishop Turpin, we,
who are called the Twelve Peers of
France, will be greatly disgraced, if
we allow the court-knights to win the
victory in this tournament, after we,
the adventurers, have gained the prize
in the three preceding days.’—‘Give
yourself no trouble about that consideration,
my worthy friend,’ said the
curate; ‘for Providence may turn the
scale, and what is lost to-day may be
retrieved to-morrow. In the mean
time, have a reverend care of your
health, for you seem to be excessively
fatigued, if not wounded grievously.’—‘I
am not wounded,’ replied the
knight: ‘but that I am battered and
bruised, there is no manner of doubt;
for the bastard Don Orlando has mauled
me to mummy with the trunk of
an oak, and all out of mere envy, because
he saw that I alone withstood
his valour. But may I no longer deserve
the name of Reynaldos de Montalban,
if, when I rise from this bed, I
do not repay him in his own coin, in
spite of all his inchantments! Meanwhile,
bring me some food, which is
what I chiefly want at present, and
let me alone to take vengeance for the
injury I have received.’

In compliance with his desire they
brought him something to eat, and left
him again to his repose, not without admiration
of his madness and extravagance.
That very night the housekeeper
set fire to, and consumed, not
only all the books that were in the yard,
but also every one she could find in the
house; and no doubt many were burned,
which deserved to have been kept as
perpetual archives. But this their destiny,
and the laziness of the inquisitors,
would not allow; so that in them was
fulfilled the old proverb, <i>a saint may
sometimes suffer for a sinner</i>. Another
remedy which the curate and barber
// File: 0058.png
.pn +1
prescribed for the distemper of their
friend, was to alter and block up the
closet where his books had been kept;
that upon his getting up, he should not
find them, and the cause being taken
away, the effect might cease; and that,
upon his inquiry, they should tell him
an inchanter had carried them off, closet
and all; this resolution was executed
with all imaginable dispatch, during
the two days that Don Quixote kept his
bed.

The first thing he did when he got up,
was to go and visit his books, and not
finding the apartment where he had left
it, he went from one corner of the house
to the other in quest of his study. Coming
to the place where the door stood,
he endeavoured but in vain to get in,
and cast his eyes all around without uttering
one syllable; but after he had spent
some time in this sort of examination,
he inquired of his housekeeper whereabouts
he might find his book-closet.
She being well instructed, readily answered,
‘What closet, or what nothing
is your worship in search of? There
are neither books nor closet in this
house; for the devil himself has run
away with both.’—‘It was not the
devil,’ cried the niece, ‘but an inchanter
that conveyed himself hither
in a cloud, one night after your worship’s
departure, and alighting from a
dragon on which he was mounted,
entered the closet, where I know not
what he did, but having staid a very
little while, he came flying through
the roof, leaving the whole house full
of smoke. And when we went to see
what he had done, we could neither
find books nor closet; only the housekeeper
and I can very well remember,
that when the old wicked conjuror went
away, he cried in a loud voice, that for
the hatred he bore to the master of those
books and closet, he had done that
mischief, which would afterwards appear:
he said also, that his name was
the sage Munaton.’—‘You mean
Freston,’ said Don Quixote. ‘I do
not know,’ answered the housekeeper,
‘whether it was Freston or Friton; but
this I am certain of, that his name
ended in ton.’—‘The case then is
plain,’ said the knight; ‘that same sage
inchanter is one of my greatest enemies;
who bears me a grudge, because he
knows, by the mystery of his art,
that the time will come when I shall
// File: 0059.png
fight and vanquish in single battle a
certain knight, whom he favours, in
spite of all he can do to prevent my
success; and for this reason, he endeavours
to give me every mortification
in his power; but let me tell him
he won’t find it an easy matter to
contradict or evade what Heaven has
decreed.’—‘Who ever doubted that?’
said the niece; ‘but what business have
you, dear uncle, with these quarrels?
Would it not be better to live in peace
at home, than to stray up and down
the world in search of superfine bread,
without considering that many a one
goes out for wool, and comes home
quite shorn.’—‘My dear niece,’ replied
Don Quixote, ‘you are altogether
out of your reckoning. Before I be
shorn, I will pull and pluck off the
beards of all those who pretend to
touch a single hair of my mustacho.’

The two women did not chuse to
make any farther answer, because they
perceived that his choler was very much
inflamed. After this transaction, however,
he staid at home fifteen days in
great tranquillity, without giving the
least sign or inclination to repeat his folly;
during which time, many infinitely
diverting conversations passed between
him and his friends, the curate and the
barber; wherein he observed, that the
world was in want of nothing so much
as of knights-errant, and that in him
this honourable order was revived. The
clergyman sometimes contradicted him,
and sometimes assented to what he said,
because, without this artful conduct, he
would have had no chance of bringing
him to reason.

About this time, too, the knight tampered
with a peasant in the neighbourhood,
a very honest fellow, if a poor
man may deserve that title, but one who
had a very small quantity of brains in
his skull. In short, he said so much,
used so many arguments to persuade,
and promised him such mountains of
wealth, that this poor simpleton determined
to follow and serve him in quality
of squire. Among other things,
that he might be disposed to engage
chearfully, the knight told him that an
adventure might one day happen, in which
he should win some island in the twinkling
of an eye, and appoint him governor
of his conquest. Intoxicated with
these and other such promises, Sancho
Panza (so was the countryman called)
// File: 0060.png
.pn +1
deserted his wife and children, and listed
himself as his neighbour’s squire.

Thus far successful, Don Quixote took
measures for supplying himself with
money; and what by selling one thing,
mortgaging another, and making a
great many very bad bargains, he raised
a tolerable sum. At the same time accommodating
himself with a target,
which he borrowed of a friend, and
patching up the remains of his vizor as
well as he could, he advertised his squire
Sancho of the day and hour in which
he resolved to set out, that he might
provide himself with those things which
he thought most necessary for the occasion;
above all things, charging him to
purchase a wallet. Sancho promised to
obey his orders; and moreover said he
was resolved to carry along with him an
excellent ass which he had, as he was
not designed by nature to travel far on
foot.

With regard to the ass, Don Quixote
demurred a little, endeavouring to recollect
some knight-errant who had entertained
a squire mounted on an ass;
but as no such instance occurred to his
memory, he was nevertheless determined
to allow it on this occasion, on a
supposition that he should be able to accommodate
him with a more honourable
carriage, by dismounting the first
discourteous knight he should meet with.
He also laid in a store of linen, and every
thing else in his power, conformable to
the advice of the innkeeper.

Every thing being thus settled and fulfilled,
Panza, without taking leave of his
children and wife; and Don Quixote,
without bidding adieu to his niece and
housekeeper, sallied forth from the village
one night, unperceived by any living
soul, and travelled so hard, that before
dawn they found themselves secure from
all search, if any such had been made:
Sancho Panza journeying upon his ass
like a venerable patriarch, with his wallet
and leathern bottle, longing extremely
to see himself settled in the government
of that island which was promised
to him by his master.

The knight happened to take the
same route and follow the same road
in which he travelled at his first sally
through the field of Montiel, over which
he now passed with much less pains than
formerly, because it was now early in
the morning, the rays of the sun were
more oblique, consequently he was less
disturbed by the heat. It was hereabouts
that Sancho first opened his mouth,
saying to his master, ‘Sir knight-errant,
I hope your worship will not
forget that same island which you
have promised me, and which I warrant
myself able to govern, let it be
as great as it will.’ To this remonstrance
Don Quixote replied, ‘You
must know, friend Sancho Panza,
that it was an established custom among
the ancient knights-errant, to invest
their squires with the government of
such islands and kingdoms as they had
laid under their subjection; and I
am firmly resolved, that such a grateful
practice shall never fail in me,
who, on the contrary, mean to improve
it by my generosity; for they
sometimes, nay generally, waited until
their squires turned grey-haired,
and then, after they were worn out with
service, and had endured many dismal
days and doleful nights, bestowed
upon them the title of count
or marquis, at least of some valley or
province, more or less; but if Heaven
spares thy life and mine, before
six days be at an end, I may chance to
acquire such a kingdom as shall have
others depending upon it, as if expressly
designed for thee to be crowned
sovereign in one of them. And
thou oughtest not to be surprized, that
such incidents and accidents happen
to knights-errant, by means never before
known or conceived, as will
enable me even to exceed my promise.’—‘In
that case,’ replied Sancho Panza,
‘if I should ever become a king,
by any of those miracles which your
worship mentions, my duck Juana
Gutierez would also be a queen, and
each of my daughters an infanta.’—‘Certainly,’
said the knight; ‘who
doubts that?’—‘That do I,’ said the
squire; ‘for certain I am, that though
it were to rain kingdoms upon the
earth, not one of them would fit seemly
on the head of Mary Gutierez[#];
your worship must know, she is not
worth a farthing for a queen; she
might do indeed for a countess, with
the blessing of God, and good assistance.’—‘Recommend
the matter to
Providence,’ replied Don Quixote,
// File: 0061.png
.pn +1
which will bestow upon thee what will
be best adapted to thy capacity; but
let not thy soul be so far debased, as
to content itself with any thing less
than a vice-royalty.’—‘That I will
not,’ answered Sancho, ‘especially
as I have a powerful master in your
worship, who will load me with as
much preferment as I can conveniently
bear.’

.fn #
How comes Juana to be so suddenly metamorphosed into Mary?
.fn-
.sp 4
.h4 id=chap1-1-8
<abbr=chapter>CHAP.</abbr> <abbr=eight>VIII.</abbr> | OF THE HAPPY SUCCESS OF THE VALIANT DON QUIXOTE,| AND THE DREADFUL AND INCONCEIVABLE ADVENTURE OF THE WIND-MILLS,| WITH OTHER INCIDENTS WORTHY TO BE RECORDED| BY THE MOST ABLE HISTORIAN.
.sp 2
In the midst of this their conversation,
they discovered thirty or forty wind-mills
all together on the plain, which
the knight no sooner perceived, than he
said to his squire, ‘Chance has conducted
our affairs even better than we
could either wish or hope for; look
there, friend Sancho, and behold
thirty or forty outrageous giants, with
whom I intend to engage in battle,
and put every soul of them to death,
so that we may begin to enrich ourselves
with their spoils; for it is a
meritorious warfare, and serviceable
both to God and man, to extirpate
such a wicked race from the face of
the earth.’—‘What giants do you
mean?’ said Sancho Panza in amaze.
‘Those you see yonder,’ replied his
master, ‘with vast extended arms;
some of which are two leagues long.’—‘I
would your worship would take
notice,’ replied Sancho, ‘that those
you see yonder are no giants, but
wind-mills; and what seem arms to
you, are sails, which being turned
with the wind, make the mill-stone
work.’—‘It seems very plain,’ said
the knight, ‘that you are but a novice
in adventures; these I affirm to be
giants; and if thou art afraid, get out
of the reach of danger, and put up
thy prayers for me, while I join with
them in fierce and unequal combat.’
So saying, he put spurs to his steed
Rozinante, without paying the least regard
to the cries of his squire Sancho,
who assured him, that those he was going
// File: 0062.png
to attack were no giants, but innocent
wind-mills: but he was so much
possessed with the opinion that they were
giants, that he neither heard the advice
of his squire Sancho, nor would use the
intelligence of his own eyes, though he
was very near them; on the contrary,
when he approached them, he called
aloud, ‘Fly not, ye base and cowardly
miscreants, for he is but a single
knight who now attacks you.’ At
that instant a breeze of wind springing
up, the great sails began to turn; which
being perceived by Don Quixote, ‘Tho’
you wield,’ said he, ‘more arms than
ever belonged to the giant Briareus, I
will make you pay for your insolence.’
So saying, and heartily recommending
himself to his Lady Dulcinea, whom he
implored to succour him in this emergency,
bracing on his target, and setting
his lance in the rest, he put his Rozinante
to full speed, and assaulting the
nearest wind-mill, thrust it into one of
the sails, which was drove about by the
wind with so much fury, that the lance
was shivered to pieces, and both knight
and steed whirled aloft, and overthrown
in very bad plight upon the plain.

Sancho Panza rode as fast as the ass
could carry him to his assistance; and
when he came up, found him unable to
stir, by reason of the bruises which he
and Rozinante had received. ‘Lord
have mercy upon us!’ said the squire,
‘did not I tell your worship to consider
well what you were about? Did not
I assure you, they were no other than
wind-mills? Indeed, no body could
mistake them for any thing else, but
one who has wind-mills in his own
head!’—‘Pr’ythee, hold thy peace,
friend Sancho,’ replied Don Quixote;
‘the affairs of war are more than any
thing subject to change. How much
more so, as I believe, nay, am certain,
that the sage Freston, who stole my
closet and books, has converted those
giants into mills, in order to rob me
of the honour of their overthrow; such
is the enmity he bears me; but in the
end, all his treacherous arts will but
little avail against the vigour of my
sword.’—‘God’s will be done!’ replied
Sancho Panza, who helped him to
rise and mount Rozinante that was almost
disjointed.

While they conversed together upon
what had happened, they followed the
road that leads to the pass of Lapice;
// File: 0063.png
.pn +1
for in that, which was a great thoroughfare,
as Don Quixote observed, it was
impossible but they must meet with many
and divers adventures. As he jogged
along, a good deal concerned for the
loss of his lance, he said to his squire,
‘I remember to have read of a Spanish
knight, called Diego Perez de Vargos,
who, having broke his sword in battle,
tore off a mighty branch or
bough from an oak, with which he
performed such wonders, and felled
so many Moors, that he retained the
name of Machuca, or the Feller, and
all his descendants from that day forward
have gone by the name of Vargos
and Machuca. This circumstance
I mention to thee, because, from the
first ash or oak that I meet with, I
am resolved to rend as large and stout
a bough as that, with which I expect,
and intend to perform such exploits,
as thou shalt think thyself extremely
happy in being thought worthy
to see, and give testimony to feats
otherwise incredible.’—‘By God’s
help,’ says Sancho, ‘I believe that
every thing will happen as your worship
says: but pray, Sir, sit a little
more upright; for you seem to lean
strangely to one side, which must proceed
from the bruises you received in
your fall.’—‘Thou art in the right,’
answered Don Quixote; ‘and if I do
not complain of the pain, it is because
knights-errant are not permitted to
complain of any wound they receive,
even though their bowels should come
out of their bodies.’—‘If that be the
case, I have nothing to reply,’ said Sancho;
‘but God knows, I should be glad
your worship would complain when
any thing gives you pain; this I know,
that, for my own part, the smallest
prick in the world would make me
complain, if that law of not complaining
does not reach to the squires
as well as the knights.’ Don Quixote
could not help smiling at the simplicity
of his squire, to whom he gave permission
to complain as much and as often
as he pleased, whether he had cause
or no; for, as yet, he had read nothing
to the contrary in the history of knight-errantry.

Then Sancho observing that it was
dinner-time, his master told him, that
for the present he had no occasion for
food; but that he, his squire, might go
to victuals when he pleased. With this
// File: 0064.png
permission, Sancho adjusted himself as
well as he could upon his ass, and taking
out the provision with which he had
stuffed his wallet, he dropped behind his
master a good way, and kept his jaws
agoing as he jogged along, lifting the
bottle to his head, from time to time,
with so much satisfaction, that the most
pampered vintner of Malaga might have
envied his situation.

While he travelled in this manner,
repeating his agreeable draughts, he never
thought of the promise which his
master had made to him, nor considered
it as a toil, but rather as a diversion, to
go in quest of adventures, how dangerous
soever they might be: in fine, that night
they passed under a tuft of trees, from
one of which Don Quixote tore a withered
branch to serve instead of a lance; and
fitted to it the iron head he had taken from
that which was broken: all night long
the knight closed not an eye, but mused
upon his Lady Dulcinea, in order to accommodate
himself to what he had read
of those errants who had passed many
sleepless nights in woods and desarts,
entertaining themselves with the remembrance
of their mistresses.

This was not the case with Sancho
Panza, whose belly being well replenished,
and that not with plantane water,
made but one nap of the whole
night, and even then would not have
waked, unless his master had called to
him, notwithstanding the sun-beams
that played upon his face, and the singing
of the birds, which in great numbers,
and joyous melody, saluted the
approach of the new day. The first
thing he did when he got up, was to
visit his bottle, which finding considerably
more lank than it was the night
before, he was grievously afflicted, because
in the road that they pursued, he
had no hopes of being able in a little
time to supply its defect. Don Quixote
refusing to breakfast, because, as
we have already said, he regaled himself
with the savoury remembrance of
his mistress, they pursued their journey
towards the pass; which, after three days
travelling, they discovered. ‘Here,’ cried
Don Quixote, ‘here, brother Sancho
Panza, we shall be able to dip
our hands up to our elbows in what
is called adventure; but take notice,
although thou seest me beset with the
most extreme danger, thou must by
no means even so much as lay thy
// File: 0065.png
.pn +1
hand upon thy sword, with design
to defend me, unless I am assaulted
by vulgar and low-born antagonists;
in which case thou mayest come to
my assistance; but if they are knights,
thou art by no means permitted or
licensed, by the laws of chivalry, to
give me the least succour, until thou
thyself hast received the honour of
knighthood[#].’—‘As for that matter,’
replied Sancho, ‘your worship
shall be obeyed to a tittle; for I am
a very peaceable man, and not at all
fond of meddling with riots and quarrels.
True, indeed, in the defence
of my own person, I shall not pay
much regard to the said laws, seeing
every one that is aggrieved is permitted
to defend himself by all the laws of
God and man.’—‘I say nothing to
the contrary,’ replied Don Quixote;
‘but in the affair of assisting me against
knights, thou must keep thy natural
impetuosity under the rein.’—‘That
will I,’ answered Sancho, ‘and keep
your honour’s command as strictly as
I keep the Lord’s day.’

While they were engaged in this conversation,
there appeared before them
two Benedictine monks mounted upon
dromedaries, for their mules were not
much less, with their travelling spectacles
and umbrellas; after them came a
coach, accompanied by four or five people
on horseback, and two mule-drivers
on foot. In this carriage, it was afterwards
known, a Biscayan lady was
travelling to Seville to her husband, who
was bound to the Indies with a rich
cargo.

Don Quixote no sooner perceived the
friars, (who though they travelled the
same road, were not of her company)
than he said to his squire, ‘If I am not
very much mistaken, that will be the
most famous adventure that ever was
known, for those black apparitions
on the road must doubtless be inchanters,
who are carrying off in that
coach some princess they have stolen;
and there is a necessity for my exerting
my whole power in redressing
her wrongs.’—‘This will be worse
than the wind-mills,’ cried Sancho:
‘for the love of God! Sir, consider that
these are Benedictine friars; and those
who are in the coach can be no other
than common travellers. Mind what
I say, and consider what you do, and
let not the devil deceive you.’—‘I
have told thee already, Sancho,’ replied
Don Quixote, ‘that with regard
to adventures, thou art utterly ignorant:
what I say is true, and in a moment
thou shalt be convinced.’

So saying, he rode forward, and placed
himself in the middle of the highway
through which the friars were to pass;
and when he thought them near enough
to hear what he said, he pronounced, in
a loud voice, ‘Monstrous and diabolical
race! surrender, this instant, those
high-born princesses, whom you carry
captives in that coach; or prepare
to receive immediate death, as a just
punishment for your misdeeds.’ The
friars immediately stopped short, astonished
as much at the figure as at the
discourse of Don Quixote: to which
they replied, ‘Sir knight, we are neither
diabolical nor monstrous, but innocent
monks of the order of <abbr=Saint>St.</abbr> Benedict,
who are going this way about
our own affairs; neither do we know
of any princesses that are carried captives
in that coach.’—‘These fawning
speeches,’ said Don Quixote, ‘shall
not impose upon me, who know too
well what a treacherous pack ye are.’
And without waiting for any other reply,
he put spurs to Rozinante; and
couching his lance, attacked the first
friar with such fury and resolution, that
if he had not thrown himself from his
mule, he would have come to the ground
extremely ill-handled, not without some
desperate wound, nay, perhaps stone
dead. The second monk, who saw how
his companion had been treated, clapped
spurs to the flanks of his trusty mule,
and flew through the field even swifter
than the wind.

Sancho Panza seeing the friar on the
ground, leaped from his ass with great
// File: 0066.png
.pn +1
agility, and beginning to uncase him
with the utmost dexterity, two of their
servants came up, and asked for what
reason he stripped their master. The
squire replied, that the cloaths belonged
to him, as the spoils that Don Quixote,
his lord, had won in battle: but the
others, who did not understand raillery,
nor knew any thing of spoils and
battles, seeing Don Quixote at a good
distance, talking with the ladies in the
coach, went to loggerheads with Sancho,
whom they soon overthrew; and,
without leaving one hair of his beard,
mauled him so unmercifully, that he lay
stretched upon the ground, without sense
or motion. Then, with the utmost dispatch,
the friar mounted, as pale as a
sheet, and almost frightened to death;
and no sooner found himself on horseback,
than he galloped towards his companion,
who tarried at a good distance, to
see the issue of this strange adventure.
However, being joined again, without
waiting for the conclusion of it, they
pursued their journey; making as many
crosses as if the devil had been at their
backs.

Don Quixote, in the mean time, as
we have already observed, was engaged
in conversation with the lady in the coach,
to whom he expressed himself in this
manner; ‘Beautiful lady, you may now
dispose of your own person according
to your pleasure; for the pride of your
ravishers lies level with the ground,
being overthrown by this my invincible
arm; and that you may be at no
difficulty in understanding the same
of your deliverer, know that I am
Don Quixote de la Mancha, knight-errant,
adventurer and captive of the
unparalleled and beautiful Donna Dulcinea
del Toboso: and the only acknowledgment
I expect for the benefit
you have received is, that you return
to that place, and presenting
yourself before my mistress, tell her
what I have performed in behalf of
your liberty.’ This whole address of
the knight was overheard by a Biscayan
squire, who accompanied the coach, and
who, seeing that he would not allow
the carriage to pass forward, but insisted
upon their immediate returning to Toboso,
rode up to Don Quixote, and laying
hold of his lance, spoke to him
thus in bad Castilian, and worse Biscayan:
‘Get thee gone, cavalier! go
to the devil, I zay! vor, by the God
that made her, if thou wilt not let the
coach alone, che will kill thee dead,
as zure as che was a Biscayan.’ The
knight, understanding very well what
he said, replied with great composure;
‘If thou wast a gentleman, as thou art
not, I would chastise thy insolence
and rashness, wretched creature.’—‘I
not a gentleman!’ replied the Biscayan
in great choler; ‘by God in heaven,
thou lyest, as I am a Christian! if
thou wilt throw away thy lance, and
draw thy sword, che will soon zee
which be the better man[#]. Biscayan
by land, gentleman by zea,
gentleman by devil; and thou liest,
look ye, in thy throat, if thou zayest
otherwise.’—‘Thou shalt see that presently,
as Agragis said,’ replied Don
Quixote; who, throwing his lance upon
the ground, unsheathing his sword, and
bracing on his target, attacked the Biscayan
with full resolution to put him to
death[#].

His antagonist, who saw him approach,
fain would have alighted from
his mule, (which being one of the
worst that ever was let out for hire,
could not much be depended upon;)
but he scarce had time to draw his sword;
however, being luckily near the coach,
he snatched out of it a cushion, which
served him as a shield, and then they
flew upon each other as two mortal enemies.
The rest of the people who were
present endeavoured, but in vain, to appease
them; for the Biscayan swore, in
his uncouth expressions, that if they did
not leave him to fight the battle, he
would certainly murder his mistress, and
every body who should pretend to oppose
it. The lady in the coach, surprized
and frightened at what she saw,
ordered the coachman to drive a little
// File: 0067.png
.pn +1
out of the road, to a place from whence
she should see at a distance this rigorous
engagement. In the course of which,
the Biscayan bellowed such a huge stroke
upon the shoulder of Don Quixote,
that if it had not been for the defence of
his buckler, he would have been cleft
down to his girdle. The knight feeling
the shock of such an unconscionable
blow, exclaimed aloud, ‘O Dulcinea!
lady of my soul, thou rose of beauty,
succour thy knight, who, for the satisfaction
of thy excessive goodness, is
now involved in this dreadful emergency.’
To pronounce these words,
to raise his sword, to secure himself with
his target, and attack the Biscayan, was
the work of one instant; for he was determined
to risk his all upon a single
stroke. His antagonist, who saw him
advance, and by this time was convinced
of his courage by his resolution, determined
to follow his example; and covering
himself with his cushion, waited
his assault, without being able to turn his
mule either on one side or the other; for
she was already so jaded, and so little accustomed
to such pastime, that she would
not move one step out of the way.

Don Quixote, then, as we have said,
advanced against the cautious Biscayan,
his sword lifted up with an intention
to cleave him through the middle; the
Biscayan waited his attack in the same
posture, being shielded with his cushion.
The frightened bye-standers stood aloof,
intent upon the success of those
mighty strokes that threatened each of
the combatants; and the lady in the
coach, with the rest of her attendants,
put up a thousand prayers to Heaven,
and vowed an offering to every image,
and house of devotion in Spain, provided
God would deliver the squire and
them from the imminent danger in which
they were: but the misfortune is, that
in this very critical instant, the author of
the history has left this battle in suspence,
excusing himself, that he could
find no other account of Don Quixote’s
exploits, but what has already been related.
True it is, that this second author
of this work could not believe that
such a curious history was consigned to
oblivion; nor, that there could be such
a scarcity of curious virtuosi in La Mancha,
but that some papers relating to
this famous knight should be found in
their archives or cabinets: and therefore,
possessed of this opinion, he did not despair
of finding the conclusion of this
delightful history, which indeed he very
providentially lighted upon, in the manner
which will be related in the second
book.

.fn #
Here Don Quixote seems to have been too scrupulous: for though no squire was permitted
to engage with a knight on horseback, yet they were allowed, and even enjoined,
to assist their masters when they were unhorsed or in danger, by mounting them on fresh
steeds, supplying them with arms, and warding off the blows that were aimed at them;
Davy Gam, at the battle of Agincourt, lost his life in defending Henry <abbr='the fifth'>V.</abbr> of England,
and Saint Severin met with the same fate in warding off the blows that were aimed at
Francis <abbr='the first'>I.</abbr> of France, in the battle of Pavia.
.fn-

.fn #
The literal meaning of the Spanish is, ‘Thou shalt soon see who is to carry the cat to
the water:’ or rather, in the corrupted Biscayan phrase, ‘The water how soon thou wilt
see, that thou carriest to the cat.’
.fn-

.fn #
The behaviour of Don Quixote was exactly conformable to the rules of chivalry;
which, though they hindered a knight from fighting in armour with a squire, did not prevent
him from giving satisfaction to an inferior, at sword and target; and every squire who
was aggrieved had a right to demand it.
.fn-
// File: 0068.png
.pn +1
.sp 4
.h3 id=book1-2
BOOK <abbr=two>II.</abbr>
.sp 2
.h4 id=chap1-2-1
<abbr=chapter>CHAP.</abbr> <abbr=one>I.</abbr> | THE CONCLUSION AND CONSEQUENCE OF THE STUPENDOUS COMBAT BETWEEN THE GALLANT BISCAYAN, AND THE VALIANT KNIGHT OF LA MANCHA.
.sp 2
In the first book of this history
we left the valiant
Biscayan and renowned
Don Quixote with their
gleaming swords brandished
aloft, about to discharge two such
furious strokes, as must (if they had cut
sheer) have cleft them both asunder from
top to toe, like a couple of pomegranates;
and in this dubious and critical conjuncture,
the delicious history abruptly
breaks off, without our being informed
by the author where or how that which
is wanting may be found.

I was not a little concerned at this
disappointment; for the pleasure I enjoyed
in the little I had read, was changed
into disgust, when I reflected on the
small prospect I had of finding the greater
part of this relishing story, which in my
opinion was lost: and yet it seemed
impossible, and contrary to every laudable
custom, that such an excellent
knight should be unprovided with some
sage to undertake the history of his unheard
of exploits; a convenience which
none of those knights-errant, who went
in quest of adventures, ever wanted, each
of them having been accommodated
with one or two necromancers, on purpose
to record not only his atchievements,
but even his most hidden thoughts and
amusements. Surely, then, such a compleat
errant could not be so unlucky as to
want that, which even Platil, and other
such second-rate warriors, enjoyed.

I could not therefore prevail upon
myself to believe that such a spirited history
was left so lame and unfinished,
but laid the whole blame on the malignity
of time, which wastes and devours
all things, and by which, no doubt,
this was either consumed or concealed:
on the other hand, I considered, that as
some books had been found in his library
so modern as the Undeceptions of
Jealousy, together with the Nymphs and
Shepherds of Henares; his own history
must also be of a modern date, and the
circumstances, though not committed to
writing, still fresh in the memory of his
neighbours and townsmen. This consideration
perplexed and inflamed me
with the desire of knowing the true and
genuine account of the life and wonderful
exploits of our Spanish worthy Don
Quixote de La Mancha, the sun and
mirror of Manchegan chivalry; the first
// File: 0069.png
.pn +1
who, in this our age, and these degenerate
times, undertook the toil and exercise
of errantry and arms, to redress
grievances, support the widow, and protect
those damsels who stroll about with
whip and palfrey, from hill to hill, and
from dale to dale, on the strength of their
virginity alone: for in times past, unless
some libidinous clown with hatchet and
morrion, or monstrous giant, forced her
to his brutal wishes, a damsel might have
lived fourscore years without ever lying
under any other cover than that of heaven,
and then gone to her grave as good
a maiden as the mother that bore her.
I say, therefore, that for these and many
other considerations, our gallant Don
Quixote merits incessant and immortal
praise; and even I myself may claim
some share, for my labour and diligence
in finding the conclusion of this agreeable
history; though I am well aware,
that if I had not been favoured by fortune,
chance, or Providence, the world
would have been deprived of that pleasure
and satisfaction which the attentive
reader may enjoy for an hour or two, in
perusing what follows: the manner of
my finding it I will now recount.

While I was walking one day on the
exchange of Toledo, a boy coming up
to a certain mercer, offered to sell him a
bundle of old papers he had in his hand:
now, as I have always a strong propensity
to read even those scraps that sometimes
fly about the streets, I was led by
this my natural curiosity, to turn over
some of the leaves; I found them written
in Arabick, which not being able
to read, though I knew the characters,
I looked about for some Portuguese
Moor who should understand it; and,
indeed, though the language had been
both more elegant and ancient, I might
easily have found an interpreter. In
short, I lighted upon one, to whom expressing
my desire, and putting the pamphlet
into his hands, he opened it in the
middle, and after having read a few lines,
began to laugh; when I asked the cause
of his laughter, he said it was occasioned
by a whimsical annotation in the margin
of the book. I begged he would
tell me what it was, and he answered,
still laughing, ‘What I find written in
the margin, is to this purpose: “this
same Dulcinea, so often mentioned in
the history, is said to have had the
best hand at salting pork of any woman
in La Mancha.”’
// File: 0070.png

Not a little surprized at hearing Dulcinea
del Toboso mentioned, I immediately
conjectured that the bundle actually
contained the history of Don
Quixote. Possessed with this notion, I
bade him, with great eagerness, read the
title-page, which having perused, he
translated it extempore from Arabic to
Spanish, in these words: ‘The History
of Don Quixote de La Mancha, written
by Cid Hamet Benengeli, an Arabian
author.’ No small discretion was
requisite to dissemble the satisfaction I
felt, when my ears were saluted with
the title of these papers, which, snatching
from the master, I immediately
bought in the lump for half a rial;
though, if the owner had been cunning
enough to discover my eagerness to possess
them, he might have laid his account
with getting twelve times the sum
by the bargain.

I then retired with my Moor through
the cloisters of the cathedral, and desired
him to translate all those papers that related
to Don Quixote into the Castilian
tongue, without addition or diminution,
offering to pay any thing he should charge
for his labour: his demand was limited
to two quarters of raisins, and as many
bushels of wheat, for which he promised
to translate them with great care, conciseness,
and fidelity: but I, the more
to facilitate the business without parting
with such a rich prize, conducted him to
my own house, where, in little less than
six weeks, he translated the whole, in
the same manner as shall here be related.

In the first sheet was painted to the
life the battle betwixt Don Quixote and
the Biscayan, who were represented in
the same posture as the history has already
described, their swords brandished
aloft, one of the antagonists covered with
his shield, the other with his cushion,
and the Biscayan’s mule so naturally set
forth, that you might have known her
to have been an hireling, at the distance
of a bow-shot. Under the feet of her
rider was a label containing these words,
‘Don Sancho de Azpetia,’ which was
doubtless his name; and beneath our
knight was another, with the title of
‘Don Quixote.’ Rozinante was most
wonderfully delineated, so long and
raw-boned, so lank and meagre, so
sharp in the back, and consumptive, that
one might easily perceive, with what
propriety and penetration the name of
Rozinante had been bestowed upon him.
// File: 0071.png
.pn +1
Hard by the steed was Sancho Panza,
holding his ass by the halter, at whose
feet was a third label, inscribed ‘Sancho
Zancas,’ who, in the picture, was represented
as a person of a short stature,
swag belly, and long spindle-shanks:
for this reason he ought to be called indiscriminately
by the names of Panza[#]
and Zanchas; for by both these surnames
is he sometimes mentioned in history.

There were divers other minute circumstances
to be observed, but all of
them of small importance and concern
to the truth of the history, though, indeed,
nothing that is true can be impertinent:
however, if any objection can
be started to the truth of this, it can be
no other, but that the author was an
Arabian, of a nation but too much addicted
to falshood, though, as they are
at present our enemies, it may be supposed,
that he has rather failed than exceeded
in the representation of our hero’s
exploits; for, in my opinion, when he
had frequently opportunities and calls
to exercise his pen in the praise of such
an illustrious knight, he seems to be industriously
silent on the subject; a circumstance
very little to his commendation,
for all historians ought to be punctual,
candid, and dispassionate, that neither
interest, rancour, fear, or affection,
may mislead them from the road of Truth,
whose mother is History, that rival of
Time, that repository of great actions,
witness of the past, example and pattern
of the present, and oracle of future ages.
In this, I know, will be found whatsoever
can be expected in the most pleasant
performance; and if any thing seems
imperfect, I affirm it must be owing to
the fault of the infidel its author, rather
than to any failure of the subject itself:
in short, the second book in the translation
begins thus—

The flaming swords of the two valiant
and incensed combatants, brandished in
the air, seemed to threaten heaven, earth,
and hell, such was the rage and resolution
of those that wielded them; but the
first blow was discharged by the cholerick
Biscayan, who struck with such
force and fury, that if the blade had not
turned by the way, that single stroke
would have been sufficient to have put
an end to this dreadful conflict, and all
the other adventures of our knight; but
his good genius, which preserved him
for mightier things, turned the sword of
his antagonist aside, so that though it
fell upon his left shoulder, it did no
other damage than disarm that whole
side, slicing off in its passage, the greatest
part of his helmet, with half of his
ear, which fell to the ground with hideous
ruin, leaving him in a very uncomfortable
situation. Good Heavens! where
is the man who can worthily express the
rage and indignation which entered into
the heart of our Manchegan, when he
saw himself handled in this manner! I
shall only say, his fury was such, that
raising himself again in his stirrups, and
grasping his sword with both hands, he
discharged it so full upon the cushion
and head of the Biscayan, which it but
ill-defended, that, as if a mountain had
fallen upon him, he began to spout
blood from his nostrils, mouth, and
ears, and seemed ready to fall from his
mule, which would certainly have been
the case, if he had not laid hold of the
mane: yet notwithstanding this effort,
his feet falling out of the stirrups, and
his arms quitting their hold, the mule,
which was frightened at the terrible
stroke, began to run across the field,
and after a few plunges came with her
master to the ground. Don Quixote,
who sat observing him with great tranquillity,
no sooner perceived him fall,
than leaping from his horse, he ran up
to him with great agility, and setting
the point of his sword to his throat, bade
him surrender on pain of having his head
cut off. The Biscayan was so confounded
by the blow and fall he had
sustained, that he could not answer one
syllable; and as Don Quixote was
blinded by his rage, he would have
fared very ill, if the ladies of the coach,
who had hitherto, in great consternation,
been spectators of the battle, had not
run to the place where he was, and requested,
with the most fervent entreaties,
that his worship would grant them the
favour to spare the life of their squire.

To this petition the knight replied,
with great stateliness and gravity, ‘Assuredly,
most beautiful ladies, I am
very ready to do what you desire, but
it shall be upon condition and proviso,
that this cavalier promise to go straight
to Toboso, and present himself in my
behalf, before the unparalleled Donna
// File: 0072.png
.pn +1
Dulcinea, that she may use him according
to her good pleasure.’ The
timorous and disconsolate ladies, without
entering into the detail of what
Don Quixote desired, or enquiring who
this Dulcinea was, promised that the
squire should obey the knight’s commands
in every thing. ‘Upon the
faith of your word, then,’ said Don
Quixote, ‘I will do him no farther
damage, though he has richly deserved
it at my hand.’

.fn #
Panza, in Castilian, signifies Paunch; and Zancas, Spindle-shanks.
.fn-
.sp 4
.h4 id=chap1-2-2
<abbr=chapter>CHAP.</abbr> <abbr=two>II.</abbr> | OF WHAT FARTHER HAPPENED BETWEEN DON QUIXOTE AND THE BISCAYAN.
.sp 2
All this time, Sancho Panza having
got up, though very roughly
handled by the lacquies of the friars,
stood very attentively beholding the
battle of his master Don Quixote, and
put up ejaculatory petitions to heaven,
that it would please to grant him the
victory, and that he might gain by it
some island, of which he himself might
be made governor, in consequence of
the knight’s promise. Seeing therefore
the battle ended, and his master returning
to mount Rozinante, he went to
hold his stirrup, and before he got up,
fell on his knees before him; then laying
hold of his hand, and kissing it,
pronounced with great fervency, ‘Sir
Don Quixote, will your worship be
pleased to bestow on me the government
of that island which you have
won in this dreadful combat; for let
it be ever so great, I find I have
strength enough to govern it, as well
as any he who governs an island in
this world.’ To this request Don
Quixote replied, ‘You must know,
Brother Sancho, that such as these are
not adventures of islands, but frays
that happen in bye-roads, in which
there is nothing to be got but a broken
head, with the loss of an ear;
have a little patience, and we shall
meet with adventures, which will enable
me to make you not only a governor,
but something more.’ Sancho
made him many hearty acknowledgments
for his promise, then kissing
his hand again, and his coat of mail,
helped him to mount Rozinante; and
he himself getting upon his ass, followed
his master, who set off at a round
pace, and without bidding adieu, or
speaking one syllable to those in the
coach, entered a wood that was in the
neighbourhood.

Sancho followed him as hard as his
beast would trot; but Rozinante exerted
such speed, that seeing himself
left behind, he was obliged to call to his
master to wait for him. The knight
complied with his request, and checked
his horse, until he was overtaken by his
weary squire; who, when he approached
him, ‘Sir,’ said he, ‘methinks it
would be the wisest course for us to
retreat to some church; for as he with
whom you fought remains but in a
sorry condition, it is odds but they
inform the holy brotherhood of the
affair[#], and have us apprehended;
and verily, if they do, before we get
out of prison we may chance to sweat
for it.’—‘Peace, Sancho,’ said Don
Quixote, ‘where didst thou ever see or
hear, that a knight-errant was brought
to justice for the greatest homicides he
had committed?’—‘I know nothing
of your honey-seeds,’ answered Sancho,
‘nor in my life did I ever see one
of them; this only I know, that the
holy brotherhood commonly looks after
those who quarrel and fight up and
down the country; and as to the other
affair, I have no business to intermeddle
in it.’

‘Set your heart at ease then, friend
Sancho,’ replied Don Quixote, ‘for
I will deliver you from the hands of
the Philistines, much more from the
clutches of the brotherhood; but tell
me, on thy life, hast thou ever seen a
more valiant knight than me in any
country of the known world? Hast
thou ever read in story of any other
who possesses, or has possessed, more
courage in attacking, more breath in
persevering, more dexterity in wounding,
and more agility in overthrowing
his antagonist?’—‘The truth is,’ answered
Sancho, ‘I never read a history
since I was born; for indeed I can
neither read nor write; but what I
will make bold to wager upon is, that
a more daring master than your worship
// File: 0073.png
.pn +1
I never served in the days of my
life; and I wish to God, that your
courage may not meet with that reward
I have already mentioned.
What I beg of your worship at present
is, that you would allow me to
dress that ear, which bleeds very much,
for I have got some lint, and a little
white ointment in my wallet.’—‘These
would have been altogether
needless,’ answered the knight, ‘if I
had remembered to make a phial of
the balsam of Fierabras, one single
drop of which would save abundance
of time and trouble.’—‘What sort
of a phial and balsam is that?’ said
Sancho Panza. ‘It is a balsam,’ replied
Don Quixote, ‘the receipt of
which I retain in my memory, and
he that possesses the valuable composition
needs be in no fear of death,
nor think of perishing by any wound
whatsoever: and therefore, when I
shall have made it, and delivered it
into thy keeping, thou hast no more
to do when thou seest me in any combat
cut through the middle, a circumstance
that very often happens, but
to snatch up that part of the body
which falls to the ground, and before
the blood shall congeal, set it upon the
other half that remains in the saddle,
taking care to join them with the utmost
nicety and exactness; then making
me swallow a couple of draughts
of the aforesaid balsam, thou wilt see
me in a twinkling, as whole and as
sound as an apple.’

‘If that be the case,’ said Sancho
Panza, ‘I henceforth renounce the government
of that island you promised
me, and desire no other reward for my
long and faithful service, but that
your worship will give me the receipt
of that same most exceeding liquor;
for I imagine, that it will sell for two
rials an ounce at least, and that will
be sufficient to make me spend the
rest of my days in credit and ease:
but it will be necessary to know if the
composition be costly.’—‘I can make
a gallon of it for less than three rials,’
replied the knight. ‘Sinner that I am!’
cried Sancho, ‘what hinders your worship
from teaching me to make it this
moment?’—‘Hold thy tongue, friend,’
said the knight. ‘I intend to teach
thee greater secrets, and bestow upon
thee more considerable rewards than
that; but, in the mean time, let us
dress my ear, which pains me more
than I could wish.’

The squire accordingly took out his
lint and ointment: but when his master
found that his helmet was quite demolished,
he had almost run stark mad:
he laid his hand upon his sword, and
lifting up his hands to heaven, pronounced
aloud, ‘I swear by the Creator of
all things, and by all that is written
in the four holy evangelists! to lead
the life which the great Marquis of
Mantua led, when he swore to revenge
the death of his cousin Valdovinos;
neither to eat food upon a table, nor
enjoy his wife, with many other things,
which, though I do not remember, I
here consider as expressed, until I shall
have taken full vengeance upon him
who has done me this injury[#].’ Sancho
hearing this invocation, ‘Sir Don
Quixote,’ said he, ‘I hope your worship
will consider, that if the knight
shall accomplish what he was ordered
to do, namely, to present himself before
my Lady Dulcinea del Toboso,
he will have done his duty, and certainly
deserves no other punishment,
unless he commits a new crime.’—‘Thou
hast spoke very much to the
purpose, and hit the nail on the head,’
replied Don Quixote, ‘therefore I annul
my oath, so far as it regards my
revenge, but I make and confirm it
anew, to lead the life I have mentioned,
until such time as I can take by
force as good a helmet as this from
some other knight; and thou must
not think, Sancho, that I am now
making a smoke of straw; for I know
very well whom I imitate in this affair;
the same thing having literally
// File: 0074.png
.pn +1
happened about the helmet of Mambrino,
which cost Sacripante so dear.[#]’

‘Sir, Sir,’ replied Sancho, with some
heat, ‘I wish your worship would send
to the devil all such oaths, which are
so mischievous to the health and prejudicial
to the conscience; for, tell
me now, if we should not find in many
days, a man armed with a helmet,
what must we do? must we perform
this vow, in spite of all the rubs and
inconveniences in the way; such as
to lie in one’s cloaths, and not to sleep
in an inhabited place, with a thousand
other penances contained in the oath
of that old mad Marquis of Mantua,
which your worship now wants to renew?
Pray, Sir, consider that there
are no armed people in these roads,
none but carriers and carters, which
far from wearing helmets themselves,
perhaps never heard of any such thing
during the whole course of their lives.’—‘There
thou art egregiously mistaken,’
replied Don Quixote; ‘for,
before we are two hours in the cross-ways,
we shall see armed men more
numerous than those that came to
Albraca, in order to win Angelica the
fair.’—‘On then, and be it so,’ said
Sancho, ‘and pray God we may succeed,
and that the time may come
when we shall gain that island which
has cost me so dear, and then I care
not how soon I die.’—‘I have already
advised thee, Sancho,’ said the
knight, ‘to give thyself no trouble
about that affair; for, should we be
disappointed in the expectation of an
island, there is the kingdom of Denmark;
or that of Sobrediza, which
will suit thee as well as ever a ring
fitted a finger, and ought to give thee
more joy, because it is situated on
Terra Firma; but let us leave these
things to the determination of time, and
see if thou hast got any thing in thy
wallet; for we must go presently in
quest of some castle, where we may
procure a night’s lodging, and ingredients
to make that same balsam I
mentioned; for, I vow to God! my
ear gives me infinite pain.’

‘I have got here in my bags,’ said
Sancho, ‘an onion, a slice of cheese,
and a few crusts of bread; but these
are eatables which do not suit the palate
of such a valiant knight-errant
as your worship.’—‘How little you
understand of the matter!’ answered
Don Quixote. ‘Thou must know,
Sancho, that it is for the honour
of knights-errant, to abstain whole
months together from food, and when
they do eat, to be contented with what
is next at hand; this thou wouldst not
have been ignorant of, hadst thou read
so many histories as I have perused,
in which, numerous as they are, I
have never found any account of
knights-errant eating, except occasionally,
at some sumptuous banquet
made on purpose for them; at other
times, living upon air; and though it
must be taken for granted, that they
could not altogether live without eating,
or complying with the other necessities
of nature, being in effect men
as we are; yet we are likewise to
consider, that as the greatest part of
their lives was spent in travelling
through woods and desarts, without
any cook or caterer, their ordinary
diet was no other than such rustick
food as thou hast now got for our
present occasions[#]; therefore, friend
Sancho, give thyself no uneasiness,
because thou hast got nothing to gratify
the palate, nor seek to unhinge
or alter the constitution of things.’
// File: 0075.png
.pn +1

‘I beg your worship’s pardon,’ said
Sancho, ‘for as I can neither read nor
write, as I have already observed, I
may have mistaken the rules of your
knightly profession; but from henceforward
I will store my budget with
all sorts of dry fruits for your worship,
who are a knight; and for myself, who
am none, I will provide other more
volatile and substantial food[#].’—‘I
do not say, Sancho, that knights-errant
are obliged to eat nothing except
these fruits, but only that their most
ordinary sustenance is composed of
them and some certain herbs, which
they know how to gather in the fields;
a species of knowledge which I myself
am no stranger to.’—‘Surely,’
answered Sancho, ‘it is a great comfort
to know these same herbs; for it
comes into my head, we shall one day
or another have occasion to make use
of the knowledge:’ and taking out
the contents of his wallet, they eat together
with great harmony and satisfaction;
but, being desirous of finding
some place for their night’s lodging, they
finished their humble repast in a hurry,
and mounting their beasts, put on at a
good rate, in order to reach some village
before it should be dark; but the
hope of gratifying that desire failed them
with day-light, just when they happened
to be near a goatherd’s hut, in which
they resolved to pass the night; and in
the same proportion that Sancho was
disgusted at not being able to reach some
village, his master was rejoiced at an
opportunity of sleeping under the cope
of heaven, because he looked upon every
occasion of this kind as an act of
possession that strengthened the proof of
his knight-errantry.

.fn #
Santa Hermandad was a brotherhood or society instituted in Spain in times of confusion,
to suppress robbery, and render travelling safe.
.fn-

.fn #
These ridiculous oaths or vows are not confined to romances. Philip, the good
Duke of Burgundy, at a publick banquet, vowed to God, the holy virgin, the peacock,
and the ladies, that he would declare war against the infidels; and a great number of
persons who were present, listed themselves under the same vow, and incurred voluntary
penance until it should be accomplished. Some swore they would never lie upon a bed,
others renounced the use of a table-cloth, a third set obliged themselves to fast one particular
day in the week, a fourth went without one particular piece of armour, a fifth
wore his armour night and day, and many confined themselves to shirts of sackcloth
and hair.
.fn-

.fn #
Geoffroi de Rançon, having been injured by the Count de La Marche, swore by the
saints that he would wear his buskin like a woman, and never suffer himself to be shaved
in the manner of chivalry, until he should be revenged. This oath he scrupulously observed,
until he saw his adversary, with his wife and children, kneeling in distress before
the king, and imploring his forgiveness; then he called for a stool, adjusted his buskin,
and was shaved in presence of his majesty and the court.

The knight’s forehead was commonly shaved, that in case he should lose his helmet
in combat, his antagonist should have no hold by which he might be pulled off his
horse.
.fn-

.fn #
We read in Perce Forest, that there were flat stones placed at certain distances in
uninhabited parts of the country, for the use of knights-errant; who, having killed a
roe-buck, pressed the blood out of it upon one of these tables by the help of another
smooth stone, and then eat it with some salt and spices, which they carried along with
them for that purpose. This diet is called in the French romances, <lang=fr><i>Chevraux de presse,
nourreture des heraux</i></lang>.
.fn-

.fn #
Volatile, in the original, signifies any things that fly; and therefore Sancho may
be supposed to mean, he would provide himself with game or poultry; but the blunder
which we have made him commit seems to be more in character.
.fn-
.sp 4
.h4 id=chap1-2-3
<abbr=chapter>CHAP.</abbr> <abbr=three>III.</abbr> | OF WHAT HAPPENED TO DON QUIXOTE| WHILE HE REMAINED WITH THE GOATHERDS.
.sp 2
He received a very hearty welcome
from the goatherds; and Sancho
having, as well as he could, accommodated
Rozinante and his ass, was attracted
by the odour that issued from
some pieces of goat’s flesh that were
boiling in a kettle; but though he longed
very much at that instant to see if it
was time to transfer them from the kettle
to the belly, he checked his curiosity,
because the landlord took them from the
fire, and spreading some sheep-skins
upon the ground, let out their rustick
table without loss of time; inviting
their two guests to a share of their mess,
with many expressions of good-will and
hospitality. Then those who belonged
to the cot, being six in number, seated
themselves round the skins, having first,
with their boorish ceremony, desired
Don Quixote to sit down on a trough,
which they had overturned for that purpose.

The knight accepted their offer, and
Sancho remained standing, to administer
the cup, which was made of horn; but
his master perceiving him in this attitude,
‘That thou may’st see, Sancho,’ said
he, ‘the benefit which is concentered
in knight-errantry; and how near all
those who exercise themselves in any
sort of ministry belonging to it, are to
preferment and esteem of the world,
I desire thee to sit down here by my
side, in company with these worthy
people; and that thou may’st be on
an equal footing with me, thy natural
lord and master, eating in the same
dish, and drinking out of the same
cup that I use; for what is said of
love may be observed of knight-errantry,
that it puts all things upon
a level.’

‘I give you a thousand thanks,’ said
Sancho; ‘but I must tell your worship
that, provided I have plenty, I can eat
as much, nay more to my satisfaction,
standing on my legs, and in my own
company, than if I was to sit by the
side of an emperor; and, if all the
truth must be told, I had much rather
dine by myself in a corner, though it
should be upon a bit of bread and an
onion, without all your niceties and
ceremonies, than eat turkey-cocks at
another man’s table, where I am obliged
to chew softly, to drink sparingly,
to wipe my mouth every minute,
to abstain from sneezing or coughing,
though I should be never so
much inclined to either, and from a
// File: 0076.png
.pn +1
great many other things, which I can
freely do when alone; therefore, Sir
master of mine, I hope these honours
which your worship would put upon
me, as being the servant and abettor
of knight errantry, which to be sure
I am, while I remain in quality of your
squire, may be converted into other
things of more ease and advantage to
me, than those which, though I hold
them as received in full, I renounce
from henceforth for ever, amen.’—‘Thou
must nevertheless sit thee down,’
said his master; ‘for him that is humble,
God will exalt;’ and, seizing him
by the arm, he pulled him down to the
seat on which he himself sat.

The goatherds, who understood not a
word of all this jargon of squire and
knights-errant, did nothing but eat in
silence, and gaze upon their guests;
who, with keen appetite, and infinite
relish, solaced their stomachs, by swallowing
pieces as large as their fists.
This service of meat being finished,
they spread upon their skins great quantities
of acorns, and half a cheese,
harder than plaister of Paris: all this
time the horn was not idle, but went
round so fast, sometimes full, sometimes
empty, like the buckets of a well,
that they soon voided one of the two
skins of wine that hung in view.

Don Quixote having satisfied his appetite,
took up an handful of the acorns,
and after looking at them attentively,
delivered himself to this purpose: ‘Happy
age, and happy days were those,
to which the ancients gave the name
of golden; not that gold, which in
these our iron times is so much esteemed,
was to be acquired without trouble,
in that fortunate period; but
because people were then ignorant of
those two words <sc>MINE</sc> and <sc>THINE</sc>:
in that sacred age, all things were in
common; no man was necessitated,
in search of his daily food, to undergo
any other trouble than that of
reaching out his hand, and receiving
it from the sturdy oak, that liberally
invited him to pull his sweet and salutary
fruit. The limpid fountains
and murmuring rills afforded him
their savoury and transparent waters
in magnificent abundance. In clefts
of rocks and hollow trees, the prudent
and industrious bees formed their
commonwealths, offering without interest
to every hand the fruitful harvest
// File: 0077.png
of their delicious toil. The stately
cork-trees voluntarily stripped themselves
of their light extended bark,
with which men began to cover their
rural cottages, supported upon rustick
poles, with a view only to defend
themselves from the inclemencies of
the weather. All was then peace, all
was harmony, and all was friendship.
As yet the ponderous coulter of the
crooked plough had not presumed to
open, or visit the pious entrails of our
first mother, who, without compulsion,
presented on every part of her
wide and fertile bosom, every thing
that could satisfy, sustain, and delight
her sons, who then possessed her.
Then did the simple and beautiful
shepherdesses rove from hill to hill, and
dale to dale, bare-headed, in their
braided locks, without any other
cloaths than what were necessary to
cover modestly that which modesty
commands, and always has commanded
to be covered. Neither were
their ornaments such as are used now-a-days,
enhanced in value by the
Tyrian purple, and the many-ways
martyred silk, but composed of verdant
dock-leaves, and ivy interwove together;
with which they appeared,
perhaps, with as great pomp and contrivance
as the court ladies of our
days, dressed in all the rare and foreign
fashions which idle curiosity has
invented. Then were the amorous
dictates of the soul expressed in sensible
simplicity, just as they were
conceived, undisguised by the artificial
cloak of specious words. There
was no fraud, no deceit, no malice
intermixed with plain dealing truth;
justice then kept within her proper
bounds, undisturbed and unbiased by
interest and favour, which now impair,
confound, and persecute, her so
much; law was not then centered
in the arbitrary bosom of the judge,
for, at that time, there was neither
cause nor contest. Damsels and decency,
as I have already laid, went
about single, and without fear of being
injured by insolence or lust; and
their ruin, when it happened, was the
fruit of their own will and pleasure.
But, now-a-days, in this detestable
age, no maid is secure, though she
was concealed and shut up in such
another labyrinth as was that of Crete;
for, even there, the amorous pestilence,
// File: 0078.png
.pn +1
with the zeal of mischievous
importunity, would enter either by the
help of wings, or by gliding through
some chink or other, and all her barricadoed
chastity would go to wreck.
For the security of this virtue, in process
of time, when mischief grew to a
greater head, the order of knight-errantry
was first instituted to defend
damsels, protect widows, and succour
the needy and the fatherless. This
order, brother goatherds, I profess;
and thank you for this kind entertainment
and reception, which I and
my squire have received at your hands;
for though, by the law of nature, all
mankind are obliged to favour and
assist knights-errant, during the whole
course of their lives; yet, as you have
received and regaled me, before you
knew yourselves to be under that obligation,
I think it my duty to return
my most sincere acknowledgment for
your hospitality.’

The whole of this tedious harangue,
which might very well have been spared,
was pronounced by our knight, because
the acorns they presented recalled to his
memory the golden age: therefore he
took it in his head to make these useless
reflections to the goatherds; who, without
answering one syllable, listened with
suspence and astonishment. Sancho was
also silent, but kept his teeth employed
upon the acorns, and paid many a visit
to the second wine-bag; which, that the
contents might be the cooler, was hung
upon a cork-tree. Don Quixote was
less tedious in his discourse than at his
meal, which being ended, one of the
goatherds said, ‘That your worship,
knight-errant, may be convinced of
our readiness and good-will to give
you all the entertainment in our power,
you shall have the pleasure and satisfaction
of hearing a song from one of
our companions, who will soon be here.
He is an understanding young fellow,
very much in love, who, moreover,
can read and write, and play upon
the rebeck[#], that it will delight you to
hear him.’ Scarce had the goatherd
pronounced these words, when their ears
were saluted with a sound of this instrument;
and presently after appeared
the musician, who was a young fellow
of about twenty, or twenty two years
of age, and of a very graceful appearance.
His companions asked him if he
had supped, and he answering in the
affirmative, one of them, who made the
offer to the knight, said to him, ‘If
that be the case, Antonio, you will
do us the pleasure to sing a song, that
this gentleman, our guest, may see
there are some, even among these
woods and mountains, who understand
musick. We have already informed
him of thy uncommon talents,
and we desire thou wouldst shew them,
in order to justify what we have said
in thy praise; I therefore earnestly
beseech thee to sit down and sing the
ballad of thy love, composed by thy
uncle the curate, which is so much
commended in our village.’—‘With
all my heart,’ replied the young man;
who, without farther entreaty, sat down
upon the trunk of an ancient oak, and
tuning his instrument, began in a very
graceful manner to sing and accompany
the following song.
.sp 2
.pm verse-start
<abbr=one>I.</abbr>

You love, Olalla, nay, adore me;
  In spite of all your art I know it,
Although you never smile before me,
  And neither tongue nor eyes avow it.

<abbr=two>II.</abbr>

For, sure to slight a lover’s passion
  So try’d as that which lives this heart in,
Were but small proof of penetration;
  And that you are no fool is certain.

<abbr=three>III.</abbr>

Sometimes, indeed, and ’tis amazing,
  Tho’ prov’d by evidence of twenty,
You’ve plainly shewn your soul was brazen,
  And eke your snowy bosom flinty.

<abbr=four>IV.</abbr>

Yet in the midst of maiden shyness,
  Affected scorn and decent scolding,
Kind Hope appear’d with proffer’d spy-glass,
  The border of her robe unfolding.

<abbr=five>V.</abbr>

Then balance in the scales of reason,
  My love unshaken and untainted,
Unapt to change from truth to treason,
  By frowns impair’d, by smiles augmented.

<abbr=six>VI.</abbr>

If love be courtesy refin’d,
  And you be civil to profusion,
That you will to my hopes prove kind,
  Is but a natural conclusion.
// File: 0079.png
.pn +1

<abbr=seven>VII.</abbr>

If gratitude that breast can soften,
  Which bids to other arts defiance,
The services I’ve render’d often,
  Must melt your soul to kind compliance.

<abbr=eight>VIII.</abbr>

For, more than once, had you attended,
  You might have seen me wear on Monday,
My best apparel scower’d and mended,
  With which I wont to honour Sunday.

<abbr=nine>IX.</abbr>

As love delights in finery,
  And women oft are won by tightness,
I’ve still endeavour’d in your eye,
  To shine the mirror of politeness.

<abbr=ten>X.</abbr>

That I have danc’d the swains among,
  To please your pride, what need I mention;
Or with the cock begun my song,
  To wake my sleeping fair’s attention!

<abbr=eleven>XI.</abbr>

Or that, enamour’d of your beauty,
  I’ve loudly sounded forth its praises;
A talk which, tho’ a lover’s duty,
  The spite of other women raises!

<abbr=twelve>XII.</abbr>

For, once, Teresa of the hill,
  Beneath all notice would have sunk ye,
‘You think Olalla angel still,’
  Said she, ‘but others scorn the monkey.’

<abbr=thirteen>XIII.</abbr>

‘Thanks to her beads of glittering glass,
  ‘And her false locks in ringlets curling,
‘And the false colour of her face,
  ‘Which Love himself might take for sterling.’

<abbr=fourteen>XIV.</abbr>

She ly’d, I told her in her throat;
  And when her kinsman kept a racket,
You know I made him change his note,
  And soundly thresh’d the booby’s jacket.

<abbr=fifteen>XV.</abbr>

Your lovely person, not your wealth,
  At first engag’d my inclination;
Nor would I now possess by stealth,
  The guilty joys of fornication.

<abbr=sixteen>XVI.</abbr>

The church has silken ties in store,
  Then yield thy neck to Hymen’s fetters;
Behold, I put my own before,
  And trust the noose that binds our betters.

<abbr=seventeen>XVII.</abbr>

Else, by each blessed saint I swear,
  And Heav’n forbid I prove a liar!
Never to quit this desart drear,
  Except in form of hooded friar[#].
.pm verse-end

Thus ended the goatherd’s ditty; and
though Don Quixote desired him to sing
another, yet Sancho Panza would by no
means give his consent, being more inclined
to take his natural rest than to
hear ballads; and therefore, he said to
his master, ‘Your worship had better
consider where you are to lodge this
night; for the labour that these honest
men undergo in the day, will not
suffer them to pass the night in singing.’—‘I
understand thee, Sancho,’
replied the knight, ‘it plainly appears
that the visits thou hast made to the
wine-bag, demand the consolation of
sleep, rather than that of musick.’—‘They
agreed with us all very well,
blessed be God!’ replied Sancho. ‘I
do not deny it,’ said the knight; ‘and
thou mayest bestow thyself in the best
manner thou canst; but it is more
seemly for those of my profession to
watch than to sleep: it would not be
amiss, however, Sancho, to dress my
ear again; for it gives me more pain
than I could wish.’ Sancho did as he
desired: when one of the goatherds perceiving
the wound, bade him give himself
// File: 0080.png
.pn +1
no trouble about it, for he would
apply a remedy that would heal it in a
trice: so saying, he took some leaves of
rosemary, which grew in great plenty
round the hut, and having chewed and
mixed them with a little salt, applied
the poultice to his ear; and binding it
up carefully, assured him, as it actually
happened, that it would need no
other plaister.

.fn #
A sort of small fiddle of one piece, with three strings, used by shepherds.
.fn-

.fn #
The reader will perceive that I have endeavoured to adapt the versification to the
plainness and rusticity of the sentiment, which are preserved through the whole of this
ballad; though all the other translators seem to have been bent upon setting the poetry at
variance with the pastoral simplicity of the thoughts. For example, who would ever
dream of a goatherd’s addressing his mistress in these terms?

.pm verse-start
‘With rapture on each charm I dwell,
  ‘And daily spread thy beauty’s fame;
‘And still my tongue thy praise shall tell,
  ‘Though envy swell, or malice blame.’
.pm verse-end

The original sentiments which this courtly stanza is designed to translate, are literally
these:

‘I do not mention the praises I have spoke of your beauty, which, though true in
fact, are the occasion of my being hated by some other women.’
.fn-
.sp 4
.h4 id=chap1-2-4
<abbr=chapter>CHAP.</abbr> <abbr=four>IV.</abbr> | WHAT WAS RELATED BY A GOATHERD, WHO CHANCED TO COME INTO THE HUT.
.sp 2
In the mean time, another of the
lads, who brought them victuals
from the village, entering the hut, said,
‘Do you know what has happened in
our town, comrades?’ When one
of them answered, ‘How should we!’
‘Know, then,’ continued he, ‘that the
famous student Chrysostom died this
morning; and it is murmured about,
that his death was occasioned by his
love for that devilish girl Marcella,
daughter of William the rich. She
that roves about these plains in the
habit of a shepherdess.’—‘For Marcella,
said you!’ cried one. ‘The
same,’ answered the goatherd; ‘and it
is certain, that in his last will he
ordered himself to be buried in the
field like a Moor (God bless us!)
at the foot of the rock, hard by the
cork-tree spring; for, the report goes,
and they say he said so himself, as
how the first time he saw her was in
that place; and he has also ordained
many other such things as the clergy
say must not be accomplished; nor
is it right they should be accomplished;
for, truly, they seem quite heathenish:
to all which objections his dear friend,
Ambrosio the student, who also dressed
himself like a shepherd, to keep him
company, replies, that he will perform
every thing, without fail, that
Chrysostom has ordered; and the
whole village is in an uproar about it:
but it is believed that every thing, at
last, will be done according to the
desire of Ambrosio, and all the rest
of the shepherds, his friends; and
that to-morrow he will be interred
with great pomp in the very spot I
have mentioned. I am resolved, therefore,
// File: 0081.png
as it will be a thing well worth
seeing, to go thither without fail, even
though I thought I should not be
able to return to the village that
night.’—‘We will do so too,’ replied
the goatherds, ‘and cast lots to see
which of us must stay and take care
of our flocks.’—‘You are in the
right, Pedro,’ said one; ‘but there
will be no occasion to use that shift,
for I myself will stay and take care of
the whole; and you must not impute
my tarrying to virtue, or the want of
curiosity, but to the plaguy thorn
that ran into my foot the other day,
and hinders me from walking.’—‘We
are obliged to thee, however,’
answered Pedro; whom Don Quixote
desired to tell him who that same dead
shepherd and living shepherdess were.

To this question the goatherd replied,
all that he knew of the matter was,
that the deceased was the son of a rich
farmer, who lived in the neighbourhood
of a village in these mountains;
that he had studied in Salamanca many
years, at the end of which he had returned
to his family with the character
of a great scholar: in particular, they
said he was very knowing in the science
of the stars, and what passed betwixt
the sun and moon, and the heavens; for
he had punctually foretold the clipse
of them both! ‘The obscuration of
those two great luminaries,’ said the
knight, ‘is called the eclipse, and not
the clipse, friend.’ But Pedro, without
troubling his head with these trifles,
proceeded, saying, ‘he likewise foresaw
when the year would be plentiful or
staril.’—‘You mean, sterile,’ said
Don Quixote. ‘Sterile, or staril,’ replied
Pedro, ‘comes all to the same purpose;
and I say, that his father and
his friends, taking his advice, became
very rich: for they gave credit to his
words, and followed his counsel in
all things. When he would say, this
year you must sow barley, and no
wheat; here you must sow carabances,
but no barley; next year there will
be a good harvest of oil; but for three
years to come there will not be a drop.’—‘That
science,’ replied Don Quixote,
‘is called astrology.’—‘I know not
how it is called,’ replied Pedro; ‘but
this I know, that he knew all this,
and much more. In short, not many
months after he came from Salamanca,
he appeared all of a sudden in
// File: 0082.png
.pn +1
shepherd-weeds, with his woolly jacket,
and a flock of sheep, having laid
aside the long dress of a student.
And he was accompanied by a friend
of his in the same habit, whose name
was Ambrosio, and who had been his
fellow student at college. I forgot to
tell you that Chrysostom the defunct
was such a great man at composing
couplets, that he made carols for
Christmas eve, and plays for the
Lord’s-day, which were represented
by the young men in our village; and
every body said, that they were tip-top.
When the people of the village
saw the two scholars so suddenly
cloathed like shepherds, they were surprized,
and could not guess their reason
for such an odd change. About
that time the father of this Chrysostom
dying, he inherited great riches, that
were in moveables and in lands, with
no small number of sheep, more or
less, and a great deal of money: of
all which this young man remained
desolate lord and master: and truly
he deserved it all; for he was an excellent
companion, very charitable, a
great friend to good folks, and had a
most blessed countenance. Afterwards
it came to be known, that his
reason for changing his garb, was no
other than with a view of strolling
through the woods and desarts after
that same shepherdess Marcella, whose
name my friend mentioned just now,
and with whom the poor defunct
Chrysostom was woundily in love:
and I will now tell you, for it is necessary
that you should know who this
wench is; for, mayhap, nay even
without a mayhap, you never heard
of such a thing in all the days of
your life, though you be older than
<abbr=Saint>St.</abbr> Paul[#].’—‘Say, Paul’s,’ replied
Don Quixote, offended at the goatherd’s
perverting the words. ‘Saint Paul was
no chicken,’ replied Pedro; ‘and if
your worship be resolved to correct
my words every moment, we shall not
have done in a twelvemonth.’—‘I
ask your pardon friend,’ said the
knight; ‘I only mention this, because
there is a wide difference between the
person of <abbr=Saint>St.</abbr> Paul, and a church
that goes by his name: but, however,
you made a very sensible reply; for,
to be sure, the saint lived long before
the church was built: therefore go on
with your story, and I promise not to
interrupt you again.’

‘Well, then, my good master,’ said
the goatherd, ‘there lived in our village
a farmer, still richer than Chrysostom’s
father; his name was William,
and God gave him, over and
above great wealth, a daughter, who
at her birth was the death of her mother,
the most worthy dame in all
the country. Methinks I see her now
with that face of her’s, which seemed
to have the sun on one side, and the
moon on the other; she was an excellent
housewife, and a great friend to
the poor, for which reason I believe
her soul is enjoying the presence of
God in paradise. Her husband died
of grief for the loss of so good a wife,
leaving his daughter Marcella, young
and rich, to the care of an uncle, who
has got a living in our village. The
girl grew up with so much beauty,
that she put us in mind of her mother,
who had a great share, and yet
it was thought it would be surpassed
by the daughter’s. It happened accordingly;
for when she came to the
age of fourteen or fifteen, nobody
could behold her without blessing
God, for having made so beautiful a
creature; and every body almost grew
desperately in love with her. Her
uncle kept her up with great care;
but, for all that, the fame of her exceeding
beauty spread in such a manner,
that both for her person and her
fortune, not only the richest people
in our town, but likewise in many
leagues about, came to ask her in
marriage of her uncle, with much
importunity and felicitation. But he,
who, to give him his due, was a good
christian, although he wanted to dispose
of her as soon as she came to the
age fit for matrimony, would not give
her away without her own consent;
neither had he a view in deferring her
marriage, to the gain and advantage
which he might enjoy in managing the
girl’s fortune. And truly I have
// File: 0083.png
.pn +1
heard this spoken in more companies
than one, very much to the praise of
the honest priest. For I would have
you know, Sir traveller, that in these
small towns people intermeddle and
grumble about every thing. And
this you may take for certain, as I
know it to be so, that a clergyman
must be excessively good indeed, if
he can oblige his flock to speak well
of him, especially in country villages.’—‘You
are certainly in the right,’ said
Don Quixote; ‘and pray go on, for
your story is very entertaining; and
you, honest Pedro, relate it with a
good grace.’—‘May I never want
God’s grace!’ said the shepherd; ‘for
that is the main chance; and you must
know, moreover, that though the
uncle proposed to his niece, and described
the good qualities of each in
particular who asked her in marriage,
desiring her to give her hand to some
one or other, and chuse for herself;
she never would give him any other
answer, but that she did not chuse to
marry, for she was too young to bear
the burden of matrimony. On account
of these excuses, which seemed
to have some reason in them, her uncle
forbore to importune her, and waited
till she should have more years and
discernment to make choice of her
own company; for he said, and to be
sure it was well said, that parents
should never dispose of their children
against their own inclinations. But
behold, when we least thought of it,
the timorous Marcella one day appeared
in the habit of a shepherdess;
and without imparting her design to
her uncle, or any body in the village,
for fear they might have dissuaded her
from it, she took to the field with her
own flock, in company of the other
damsels of the village. As she now
appeared in publick, and her beauty
was exposed to the eyes of every body,
you cannot conceive what a number
of rich youths, gentlemen and farmers,
immediately took the garb of
Chrysostom, and went wooing her
through the fields. One of these suitors,
as you have heard, was the deceased,
who, they say, left off loving
to adore her; and you must not think,
that because Marcella took to this
free and unconfined way of living,
she brought the least disparagement
upon her chastity and good name; on
// File: 0084.png
the contrary, such is the vigilance
with which she guards her honour,
that of all those who serve and solicit
her, not one has boasted, nor indeed
can boast with any truth, that she has
given him the smallest hope of accomplishing
his desire; for though she
neither flies, or avoids the company
and conversation of the shepherds, but
treats them in a courteous and friendly
manner, whenever any one of them
comes to disclose his intention, let it
be ever so just and holy, even marriage
itself, she throws him from her like a
stone from a sling; and being of this
disposition, does more damage in this
country, than if a pestilence had seized
it; for her affability and beauty allures
all the hearts of those that converse
with her to serve and love her,
but her coyness and plain dealing
drives them even to the borders of despair;
therefore they know not what
to say, but upbraid her with cruelty
and ingratitude, and give her a great
many such titles, as plainly shew the
nature of her disposition: and if your
worship was but to stay here one day,
you would hear these hills and dales
resound with the lamentations of her
rejected followers. Not far from this
place there is a tuft of about a dozen
of tall beeches, upon every one of
which you may read engraved the name
of Marcella, and over some a crown
cut out in the bark, as if her lover
would have declared, that Marcella
wears, and deserves to wear, the crown
of all earthly beauty. Here one shepherd
sighs, there another complains;
in one place you may hear amorous
ditties, in another the dirges of despair;
one lover sits musing through
all the hours of the night, at the foot
of some tall ash or rugged rock, and
there, without having closed his weeping
eyes, shrunk up as it were, and
intranced in his own reflections, he is
found by the rising sun; a second,
without giving respite or truce to his
sighs, exposed to the heat of the most
sultry summer’s sun, lies stretched
upon the burning sand, breathing his
complaints to pitying Heaven, and
over this and that, and these and those,
the free, the unconcerned, the fair
Marcella triumphs. We who are acquainted
with her disposition, wait with
impatience to see the end of all this
disdain, and long to know what happy
// File: 0085.png
.pn +1
man will tame such an unsociable
humour, and enjoy such exceeding
beauty. As every thing that I have
recounted is true to a tittle, I have
no reason to doubt the truth of what
our comrades said concerning the
cause of Chrysostom’s death; and
therefore I advise you, Sir, not to
fail being to-morrow at his burial,
which will be well worth seeing; for
Chrysostom had a great many friends,
and the spot in which he ordered himself
to be buried is not more than half
a league from hence.’

‘I will take care to be present,’ said
the knight, ‘and thank you heartily
for the pleasure you have given me in
relating such an interesting story.’—‘Oh!
as for that,’ cried the goatherd,
‘I do not know one half of what has
happened to the lovers of Marcella:
but to-morrow, perhaps, we may
light upon some shepherd on the road,
who is better acquainted with them.
In the mean time you will do well to
go to sleep under some cover, for the
cold night air may not agree with the
hurt your jaws have received, though
the remedy I have applied is such, that
you have nothing else to fear.’

Sancho Panza, who wished the goatherd’s
loquacity at the devil, earnestly
intreated his master to go to sleep in Pedro’s
hut. This request the knight
complied with, and spent the greatest
part of the night in thinking of his
Lady Dulcinea, in imitation of Marcella’s
lovers; while Sancho Panza,
taking up his lodging betwixt Rozinante
and his ass, slept soundly, not
like a discarded lover, but like one who
had been battered and bruised the day
before.

.fn #
In the original Spanish, the goatherd, instead of saying as old as Sarah, says, as old
as Sarna, which in that language signifies the itch; but as it is impossible to preserve
these mistakes in the translation, I have substituted another in its room, which I apprehend
is equally natural and expressive.
.fn-
.sp 4
.h4 id=chap1-2-5
<abbr=chapter>CHAP.</abbr> <abbr=five>V.</abbr> | THE CONCLUSION OF THE STORY OF THE SHEPHERDESS MARCELLA, AND OTHER INCIDENTS.
.sp 2
Scarce had Aurora disclosed herself
through the balconies of the
east, when five of the six goatherds
arising, went to waken Don Quixote,
and told him, that if he continued in
his resolution of going to see the famous
funeral of Chrysostom, they would
keep him company. The knight, who
desired nothing better, arose, and commanded
Sancho to saddle his horse and
// File: 0086.png
pannel his ass immediately. This order
was executed with great dispatch,
and they set out without loss of time.
They had not travelled more than a
quarter of a league, when, upon crossing
a path, they saw coming towards
them six shepherds, cloathed in jackets
of black sheep-skin, and crowned with
garlands of cypress and bitter-bay,
each having a club of holly in his hand.
Along with them came also two gentlemen
on horseback, very well equipped
for travel, accompanied by three young
men on foot.

When they advanced they saluted one
another, and understanding, upon inquiry,
that they were all bound to the
place of interment, they joined company,
and travelled together. One of the
horsemen said to his companion, ‘Signior
Vivaldo, we shall not have reason
to grudge our tarrying to see this famous
funeral, which must certainly
be very extraordinary, by the strange
account we have received from these
people, of the dead shepherd, and the
murderous shepherdess.’—‘I am of
the same opinion,’ answered Vivaldo;
‘and would not only tarry one day,
but even four or five, on purpose to
see it.’ Don Quixote asking what
they had heard of Marcella and Chrysostom,
the traveller replied, that early
in the morning they had met with these
shepherds, of whom inquiring the cause
of their being cloathed in such melancholy
weeds, they had been informed of
the coyness and beauty of a certain
shepherdess called Marcella, and the
hapless love of many who courted her,
together with the death of that same
Chrysostom to whose funeral they were
going. In short, he recounted every
circumstance of what Pedro had told
Don Quixote before.

This conversation being ended, another
began by Vivaldo’s asking Don
Quixote why he travelled thus in armour
in a peaceable country. To this
question the knight replied, ‘The exercise
of my profession will not permit
or allow me to go in any other
manner. Revels, feasting, and repose,
were invented by effeminate courtiers;
but toil, anxiety, and arms, are peculiar
to those whom the world calls
knights-errant, of which order I,
though unworthy, and the least, am
one.’ He had no sooner pronounced
these words, than all present took him
// File: 0087.png
.pn +1
for a madman; but, in order to confirm
their opinion, and discover what
kind of madness it was, Vivaldo desired
to know what he meant by knights-errant.
‘What!’ said Don Quixote,
‘have you never read the annals and
history of England, which treat of
the famous exploits of Arthur, who,
at present, in our Castilian language,
is called King Artus, and of whom
there is an ancient tradition, generally
believed all over Great Britain,
that he did not die, but was, by the
art of inchantment, metamorphosed
into a raven; and that the time will
come when he shall return, and recover
his sceptre and throne; for
which reason it cannot be proved, that
from that period to this, any Englishman
has killed a raven. In the reign
of that excellent king was instituted
that famous order of chivalry, called
the Knights of the Round Table; and
those amours punctually happened,
which are recounted of Don Lancelot
of the Lake, with Queen Ginebra, by
the help and mediation of that sage
and venerable duenna Quitaniona,
from whence that delightful ballad,
so much sung in Spain, took its rise:

.pm verse-start
‘For never, sure, was any knight
  ‘So serv’d by damsel, or by dame,
‘As Lancelot, that man of might,
  ‘When he at first from Britain came.’
.pm verse-end

‘With the rest of that most relishing
and delicious account of his amours
and valiant exploits. From that time
the order of knight-errantry was extended,
as it were, from hand to hand,
and spread through divers and sundry
parts of the world, producing, among
many other worthies celebrated for
their atchievements, the valiant Amadis
de Gaul, with all his sons and nephews,
even to the fifth generation;
the courageous Fleximarte of Hicarnia,
the never-enough to be commended
Tirante the White, and he whom,
in this our age, we have as it were seen,
heard, and conversed with, the invincible
and valorous knight Don Belianis
of Greece. This, gentlemen, is
what I meant by knight-errant; and
such as I have described is the order of
chivalry, which, as I have already
told you, I, though a sinner, have
professed; and the very same which
those knights I mentioned professed,
// File: 0088.png
I profess also. On which account I
am found in these desarts and solitudes,
in quest of adventures, fully determined
to lift my arm, and expose my
person, to the greatest danger that my
destiny shall decree, in behalf of the
needy and oppressed.’

By this declaration, the travellers were
convinced that the knight had lost his
wits, and easily perceived the species of
folly which had taken possession of his
brain, and which struck them with the
same surprise that always seized those
who became acquainted with our knight.
Vivaldo, who was a person of discretion
and a great deal of archness, in order
to travel agreeably the rest of the road
which they had to go till they should
come to the place of interment, wanted
to give him an opportunity of proceeding
in his extravagance, and in that
view said to him: ‘Sir knight-errant,
methinks your worship professes one
of the strictest orders upon earth; nay,
I will affirm, more strict than that of
the Carthusian friars.’

‘The order of the Carthusians,’ answered
Don Quixote, ‘may be as strict,
but, that it is as beneficial to mankind,
I am within a hair’s breadth of
doubting; for, to be plain with you,
the soldier who executes his captain’s
command, is no less valuable than the
captain who gave the order. I mean,
that the monks pray to God for their
fellow-creatures in peace and safety;
but we soldiers and knights put in execution
that for which they pray, by
the valour of our arms, and the edge
of our swords; living under no other
cover than the cope of heaven; set up
in a manner as marks for the intolerable
heat of the sun in summer, and
the chilly breath of frosty winter; we
are therefore God’s ministers, and the
arms by which he executes his justice
upon earth; and as the circumstances
of war, and what has the least affinity
and concern with it, cannot be accomplished
without sweat, anxiety, and fatigue;
it follows, that those who profess
it, are doubtless more subject to toil,
than those who in rest and security implore
the favour of God for persons
who can do nothing for themselves;
not that I would be thought to say or
imagine, the condition of a knight-errant
is equal to that of a recluse
monk; I would only infer from what
we suffer, that it is without doubt
// File: 0089.png
.pn +1
more troublesome, more battered, more
famished, more miserable, ragged, and
lousy; for the knights-errant of past
times certainly underwent numberless
misfortunes in the course of their
lives. And if some of them came to be
emperors by the valour of their arms,
considering the blood and sweat it cost
them, in faith it was a dear purchase;
and if those who attained such a supreme
station, had been without their
sage inchanters to assist them, they
might have been defrauded by their
desires, and grievously baulked of their
expectations.’

‘I am very much of your opinion,’
answered the traveller; ‘but there is
one thing among you knights-errant,
that I cannot approve of, and that is,
when any great and dangerous adventure
occurs, in which you run a manifest
risk of losing your lives, in the
instant of an engagement, you never
think of recommending your souls to
God, as every Christian ought to do
on such occasions; but, on the contrary,
put up your petitions to your
mistresses, with as much fervour
and devotion as if they were your
deities; a circumstance which, in my
opinion, smells strong of paganism.’—‘Sir,’
replied Don Quixote, ‘that
practice must in no degree be altered;
and woe be to that knight-errant who
should do otherwise; for, according
to the practice and custom of chivalry,
every knight, when he is upon the
point of atchieving some great feat,
must call up the idea of his mistress,
and turning his eyes upon her with all
the gentleness of love, implore, as it
were, by his looks, her favour and
protection in the doubtful dilemma in
which he is about to involve himself:
nay, even though nobody should hear
him, he is obliged to mutter between
his teeth an ejaculation, by which he
heartily and confidently recommends
himself to her good wishes: and of
this practice we have innumerable examples
in history; but I would not
have you think, that we are to forbear
recommending ourselves to God also;
there will be time and opportunity
enough for that duty in the course of
action.’

‘But, nevertheless,’ said the traveller,
‘I have still one scruple remaining;
which is, that I have often read of a
dispute between two knights, which
// File: 0090.png
proceeding to rage from one word to
another, they have turned about their
steeds, to gain ground for a good career;
and then, without any more
ceremony, returned to the encounter
at full gallop, recommending themselves
to their mistresses by the way;
and the common issue of such an engagement
is, that one of them is thrown
down by his horse’s crupper, stuck
through and through with his adversary’s
lance, while the other, with
difficulty, avoids a fall by laying hold
of his horse’s mane: now, I cannot
comprehend how the dead man could
have time to recommend himself to
God, in the course of so sudden an
attack; surely it would have been
better for his soul, if, instead of the
words he uttered in his career, he had
put up a petition to Heaven, according
to the duty and obligation of every
Christian; especially, as I take it for
granted that every knight-errant has
not a mistress; for all of them cannot
be in love.’—‘That’s impossible,’
answered Don Quixote. ‘I affirm, that
there never could be a knight-errant
without a mistress; for to be in love
is as natural and peculiar to them, as
the stars are to the heavens. I am
very certain that you never read an
history that gives an account of a
knight-errant without an amour; for
he that has never been in love, would
not be held as a legitimate member,
but some adulterate brood, who had
got into the fortress of chivalry, not
through the gate, but over the walls,
like a thief in the night.’

‘Yet, notwithstanding,’ said the traveller,
‘I have read that Don Galaor,
brother of the valiant Amadis de
Gaul, never had any known mistress
to whom he could recommend himself;
and he was not disregarded, but looked
upon as a very valiant and famous
knight.’—‘Signior,’ answered our
hero, Don Quixote, ‘one swallow makes
not a summer; besides, to my certain
knowledge, that knight was privately
very much in love; indeed, he
made love to every handsome woman
who came in his way; for that was
his natural disposition, which he by
no means could resist: in short, it is
very well attested, that he had one
mistress, whom he enthroned as sovereign
of his heart, and to whom he
recommended himself with great caution
// File: 0091.png
.pn +1
and privacy, because he piqued
himself upon being a secret knight.’

‘Since, then, it is essential to every
knight to be in love, we may conclude
that your worship, being of that
profession, is no stranger to that passion:
and if you do not value yourself
upon being as secret a knight as Don
Galaor, I earnestly entreat you, in
behalf of myself, and the rest of the
company, to tell us the name, country,
station, and qualities of your
mistress; who must think herself extremely
happy in reflecting, that all
the world knows how much she is
beloved and adored by so valiant a
knight as your worship appears to be.’

Here Don Quixote uttered a grievous
sigh, saying, ‘I am not positively certain,
whether or not that beauteous
enemy of mine takes pleasure in the
world’s knowing I am her slave; this
only I can say, in answer to the question
you asked with so much civility,
that her name is Dulcinea; her native
country, a certain part of La Mancha
called Toboso; her station must
at least be that of a princess, since she
is queen and lady of my soul; her
beauty supernatural, in that it justifies
all those impossible and chimerical attributes
of excellence, which the poets
bestow upon their nymphs; her hair
is of gold, her forehead the Elysian
Fields, her eye-brows heavenly arches,
her eyes themselves suns, her cheeks
roses, her lips of coral, her teeth of
pearl, her neck alabaster, her breast
marble, her hands ivory, her skin
whiter than snow; and those parts
which decency conceals from human
view are such, according my belief
and apprehension, as discretion ought
to enhance above all comparison.’

‘I wish we knew her lineage, race,
and family,’ replied Vivaldo. To
this hint the knight answered, ‘She is
not descended of the ancient Caii,
Curtii, and Scipios of Rome, nor of
the modern Colonas and Orsini, nor
of the Moncades and Requesenes of
Catalonia, much less of the Rebellas
and Villanovas of Valencia; or the
Palafaxes, Newcas, Rocabertis, Corellas,
Lunas, Alagones, Urreas, Fozes
and Gurreas of Arragon; or the
Cerdas, Manriquez, Mendozas and
Gusmans of Castile; or the Alencastros,
Pallas and Menesis of Portugal:
but she sprung from the family
of Tobosa de La Mancha: a lineage
which, though modern, may give a
noble rise to the most illustrious families
of future ages; and let no man
contradict what I say, except upon
the conditions expressed in that inscription
placed by Cerbino under the
trophy of Orlando’s arms!

.pm verse-start
‘“That knight alone these arms shall move,
”Who dares Orlando’s prowess prove[#].”
.pm verse-end

‘Although I myself am descended
from the Cachopines of Loredo[#],’
said the traveller, ‘I won’t presume to
compare with that of Toboso de La
Mancha; though, to be plain with
you, I never before heard of any such
generation.’—‘How, not heard!’ replied
Don Quixote. The rest of the
company jogged on, listening with great
attention to this discourse, and all of
them, even the goatherds, by this time
were convinced, that our knight’s judgment
// File: 0092.png
.pn +1
was grievously impaired. Sancho
alone believed that every thing his
master said was true, because he knew
his family, and had been acquainted
with himself from his cradle. The only
doubt that he entertained was of this
same beautiful Dulcinea del Toboso;
for never had such a name or such a
princess come within the sphere of his
observation, although he lived in the
neighbourhood of that place.

While they travelled along, conversing
in this manner, they perceived about
twenty shepherds descend through a
cleft made by two high mountains.
They were all clad in jackets of black
sheep-skin, and each of them crowned
with a garland, which was composed,
as we afterwards learned, partly of cypress,
and partly of yew; six of the
foremost carried a bier, upon which they
had strewed a variety of branches and
flowers. And this was no sooner perceived
by one of the goatherds, than he
said, ‘These are the people who carry
the corpse of Chrysostom, and the
foot of that mountain is the place
where he ordered himself to be interred.’

Upon this information they made
haste, and came up just at the time that
the bearers having laid down the body,
began to dig the grave with pick-axes
on one side of a flinty rock. They received
our travellers with great courtesy;
and Don Quixote, with his company,
went towards the bier to look at
the dead body, which was covered with
flowers, clad in shepherds weeds, and
seemingly thirty years old. Notwithstanding
he was dead, they could plainly
perceive that he had been a man of an
engaging aspect, and genteel stature;
and could not help wondering at the
sight of a great many papers, both sealed
and loose, that lay round him in the
coffin.

While the new-comers were observing
this phænomenon, and the shepherds
busied in digging a grave, a wonderful
and universal silence prevailed,
till such time as one of the bearers said
to another, ‘Consider, Ambrosio, if
this be the very spot which Chrysostom
mentioned, that his last will may
be punctually fulfilled.’—‘This,’
answered Ambrosio, ‘is the very place
in which my unhappy friend has often
recounted to me the story of his
misfortunes. Here it was he first
// File: 0093.png
beheld that mortal enemy of the human
race; here also did he first declare his
amorous and honourable intention;
and here, at last, did Marcella signify
her disgust and disdain, which put an
end to the tragedy of his wretched life;
and in this place, as a monument of
his mishap, did he desire to be deposited
in the bowels of eternal oblivion.’

Then addressing himself to Don
Quixote, and the travellers, he thus
proceeded: ‘This corpse, gentlemen,
which you behold with compassionate
eyes, was the habitation of a soul
which possessed an infinite share of the
riches of Heaven: this is the body of
Chrysostom, who was a man of unparalleled
genius, the pink of courtesy
and kindness; in friendship a
very phœnix, liberal without bounds,
grave without arrogance, gay without
meanness, and in short second to
none in every thing that was good,
and without second in all that was
unfortunate. He loved, and was abhorred;
he adored and was disdained;
he implored a savage; he importuned
a statue; he hunted the wind; cried
aloud to the desart; he was a slave
to the most ungrateful of women; and
the fruit of his servitude was death,
which overtook him in the middle of
his career; in short, he perished by
the cruelty of a shepherdess, whom
he has eternized in the memory of all
the people in this country; as these
papers which you gaze at would shew,
if he had not ordered me to commit
them to the flames as soon as his body
shall be deposited in the earth.’

‘You will use them, then, with more
cruelty and rigour,’ said Vivaldo,
‘than that of the author himself; seeing
it is neither just nor convenient to
fulfil the will of any man, provided
it be unreasonable. Augustus Cæsar
would have been in the wrong, had
he consented to the execution of what
the divine Mantuan ordered on his
death-bed. Wherefore, Signior Ambrosio,
while you commit the body of
your friend to the earth, you ought
not likewise to consign his writings to
oblivion; nor perform indiscreetly
what he in his affliction ordained; on
the contrary, by publishing these papers,
you ought to immortalize the
cruelty of Marcella, that it may serve
as an example in time to come, and
warn young men to shun and avoid
// File: 0094.png
.pn +1
such dangerous precipices; for I, and
the rest of this company, already
know the history of that enamoured
and unhappy friend, the nature of
your friendship, the occasion of his
death, together with the orders that he
left upon his death-bed: from which
lamentable story, it is easy to conclude
how excessive must have been
the cruelty of Marcella, the love of
Chrysostom, the faith of your friendship,
and the check which those receive,
who precipitately run through
the path exhibited to them by idle and
mischievous love. Last night, we understood
the death of Chrysostom,
who, we are informed, was to be buried
in this place; and therefore, out
of curiosity and concern, have turned
out of our way, resolving to come and
see with our eyes, what had affected
us so much in the hearing; and in return
for that concern, and the desire
we felt in remedying it, if it had been
in our power, we entreat thee, O discreet
Ambrosio! at least, for my own
part, I beg of thee, not to burn these
papers, but allow me to preserve some
of them.’

Accordingly, without staying for an
answer, he reached out his hand, and
took some of those that were nearest
him; which Ambrosio perceiving, said,
‘Out of civility, Signior, I will consent
to your keeping what you have taken
up; but to think that I will fail to
burn the rest, is a vain supposition.’
Vivaldo being desirous of seeing the contents,
immediately opened one, intitled,
A Song of Despair; which Ambrosio
hearing, said, ‘That is the last poem
my unhappy friend composed; and
that you may see, Signior, to what a
pass his misfortunes had reduced him,
read it aloud, and you’ll have time
enough to finish it before the grave be
made!’—‘That I will do with all
my heart,’ said Vivaldo; and every
body present being seized with the same
desire, they stood around him in a circle,
and he read what follows, with an audible
voice.
.sp 2
.pm verse-start
A SONG OF DESPAIR.

<abbr=one>I.</abbr>

Since then, thy pleasure, cruel maid!
  Is, that thy rigour and disdain
Should be from clime to clime convey’d,
  All hell shall aid me to complain!
// File: 0095.png
The torments of my heart to tell,
  And thy achievements to record,
My voice shall raise a dreadful yell,
  My bowels burst at every word:
Then listen to the baleful sound
  That issues from my throbbing breast,
Thy pride, perhaps, it may confound,
  And yield my madd’ning soul some rest.

<abbr=two>II.</abbr>

Let the snake’s hiss and wolf’s dire howl,
  The bull’s harsh note, the lion’s roar,
The boding crow and screeching owl,
  The tempest rattling on the shore,
The monster’s scream, the turtle’s moan,
  The shrieks of the infernal crew,
Be mingled with my dying groan,
  A concert terrible and new!
The hearer’s senses to appal,
  And Reason from her throne depose;
Such melody will suit the gall
  That from my burning liver flows!

<abbr=three>III.</abbr>

Old Tagus with his yellow hair,
  And Betis with her olive wreath,
Shall never echo such despair,
  Or listen to such notes of death,
As here I’ll utter and repeat,
  From hill to dale, from rock to cave,
In wilds untrod by human feet,
  In dungeons dreary as the grave.
The beasts of prey that scour the plain,
  Shall thy more savage nature know,
The spacious earth resound my strain;
  Such is the privilege of woe!

<abbr=four>IV.</abbr>

Disdain is death, and doubt o’erturns
  The patience of the firmest mind;
But jealousy still fiercer burns,
  Like all the flames of hell combin’d!
The horrors of that cursed fiend,
  In absence to distraction rage,
And all the succour hope can lend,
  The direful pangs will not assuage.
Such agonies will surely kill;
  Yet spite of absence, doubts and scorn,
I live a miracle, and still
  Those deadly flames within me burn!

<abbr=five>V.</abbr>

Hope’s shadow ne’er refresh’d my view,
  Despair attends with wakeful strife;
The first let happier swains pursue,
  The last my consort is for life.
Can hope and fear at once prevail,
  When fear on certainty is fed?
To shut mine eyes will nought avail,
  When thunder bursts around my head,
When cold Disdain in native dye
  Appears, and Falshood’s cunning lore
Perverts the tale of Truth, shall I
  Against Despondence shut the door?
// File: 0096.png
.pn +1

<abbr=six>VI.</abbr>

O jealousy! love’s tyrant lord,
  And thou, soul-chilling, dire disdain!
Lend me the dagger and the cord,
  To stab remembrance, strangle pain.
I die bereft of hope in death,
  Yet still those are the freest souls,
(I’ll vouch it with my latest breath)
  Whom love’s old tyranny controuls.
My fatal enemy is fair,
  In body and in mind, I’ll say,
And I have earn’d the woes I bear:
  By rigour love maintains the sway.

<abbr=seven>VII.</abbr>

With this opinion let me fall
  A prey to unrelenting scorn;
No fun’ral pomp shall grace my pall,
  No laurel my pale corpse adorn.
O thou! whose cruelty and hate
  The tortures of my breast proclaim,
Behold how willingly to fate
  I offer this devoted frame.
If thou, when I am past all pain,
  Should’st think my fall deserves a tear,
Let not one single drop distain
  Those eyes so killing and so clear.

<abbr=eight>VIII.</abbr>

No! rather let thy mirth display
  The joys that in thy bosom flow;
Ah! need I bid that heart be gay
  Which always triumph’d in my woe!
Come then, for ever barr’d of bliss,
  Ye, who with ceaseless torment dwell,
And agonizing, howl and hiss
  In the profoundest shades of hell:
Come, Tantalus, with raging thirst,
  Bring, Sysiphus, thy rolling stone,
Come, Titius, with thy vulture curst,
  Nor leave Ixion rack’d alone.

<abbr=nine>IX.</abbr>

The toiling sisters too shall join,
  And my sad, solemn dirge repeat,
When to the grave my friends consign
  These limbs deny’d a winding-sheet;
Fierce Cerberus shall clank his chain,
  In chorus with chimæras dire:
What other pomp, what other strain,
  Should he who dies of love require?
Be hush’d, my song, complain no more
  Of her whose pleasure gave thee birth;
But let the sorrows I deplore
  Sleep with me in the silent earth.
.pm verse-end

This ditty of Chrysostom was approved
by all the hearers; but he who read
it observed, that it did not seem to agree
with the report he had heard of Marcella’s
virtue and circumspection; inasmuch
as the author complained of
jealousy, absence, and suspicion, which
// File: 0097.png
tended to the prejudice of her morals
and reputation. To this objection,
Ambrosio, as one that was acquainted
with the most secret sentiments of his
friend, answered, ‘Signior, for your
satisfaction in this point, it is necessary
you should know, that the
forlorn shepherd composed this song
in the absence of Marcella, from
whose presence he had gone into voluntary
exile, in order to try if he
could reap the usual fruits of absence,
and forget the cause of his despair;
and as one in that situation is apt to
be fretted by every circumstance, and
invaded by every apprehension, poor
Chrysostom was harassed by groundless
jealousy and imaginary fears,
which tormented him as much as if
they had been real; for which reason,
this circumstance ought not to invalidate
the fame of Marcella’s virtue,
against which, exclusive of her cruelty,
arrogance, and disdain, envy itself
hath not been able to lay the least
imputation.’

‘That may be very true,’ replied
Vivaldo; who, being about to read another
of the papers he had saved from the
flames, was diverted from his purpose
by a wonderful vision, for such it seemed,
that all of a sudden presented itself
to their eyes. This was no other than
the shepherdess Marcella, who appeared
upon the top of the rock, just above the
grave they were digging, so beautiful that
she surpassed all report. Those who
had never seen her before, gazed with
silent admiration; nor were the rest,
who had been accustomed to see her,
less astonished at her appearance. But
no sooner did Ambrosio perceive her,
than with indignation in his looks, he
cried—

‘Comest thou hither, fierce basilisk
of these mountains! to see if the
wounds of this unhappy youth whom
thy cruelty hath slain, will bleed at
thy approach? or art thou come to
rejoice in the exploits of thy barbarity,
and from the top of that mountain,
behold, like another Nero, the
flames which thy impiety hath kindled?
or inhumanly to trample upon
this unfortunate corpse, as the unnatural
daughter insulted the dead body
of her father Tarquin? Tell us at
once the cause of thy approach, and
deign to signify thy pleasure, that I
who know how devoutly Chrysostom
// File: 0098.png
.pn +1
obeyed thee, when alive, may, now
that he is dead, dispose his friends to
yield the same obedience.’

‘I come not,’ answered Marcella,
for any of the purposes you have mentioned,
Ambrosio; but rather personally
to demonstrate how unreasonably
people blame me for their own
affliction, as well as for the death and
sufferings of Chrysostom. I beg,
therefore, that all present will give me
the hearing, as it will be unnecessary
to spend much time, or waste many
words, to convince those that are unprejudiced
of the truth. Heaven, you
say, hath given me beauty, nay, such
a share of it, as compels you to love
me, in spite of your resolutions to
the contrary; from whence you draw
this inference, and insist upon it, that
it is my duty to return your passion.
By the help of that small capacity
which nature has bestowed upon me, I
know that which is beautiful is lovely;
but I can by no means conceive, why
the object which is beloved for being
beautiful, is bound to be enamoured
of its admirer; more especially,
as it may happen that this same
admirer is an object of disgust and
abhorrence; in which case would it
be reasonable in him to say, “I love
thee because thou art beautiful, and
thou must favour my passion, although
I am deformed?” But granting the
beauty equal on both sides, it does
not follow that the desires ought to be
mutual; for all sorts of beauty do
not equally affect the spectator; some,
for example, delighting the eye only,
without captivating the heart. And
well it is for mankind, that things
are thus disposed; otherwise there
would be a strange perplexity and confusion
of desires, without power of
distinguishing and chusing particular
objects; for beauty being infinitely
diversified, the inclination would be
infinitely divided: and I have heard,
that true love must be undivided and
unconstrained; if this be the case, as
I believe it is, why should I constrain
my inclination, when I am under no
other obligation so to do, but your
saying that you are in love with me?
Otherwise tell me, if Heaven that made
me handsome, had created me a monster
of deformity, should I have had
cause to complain of you for not loving
me? Besides, you are to consider,
// File: 0099.png
that I did not chuse the beauty I possess;
such as it is, God was pleased
of his own free will and favour to
bestow it upon me, without any solicitation
on my part. Therefore, as
the viper deserves no blame for its
sting, although it be mortal, because
it is the gift of nature; neither ought
I to be reviled for being beautiful:
for beauty in a virtuous woman, is
like a distant flame and a sharp sword
afar off, which prove fatal to none but
those who approach too near them.
Honour and virtue are the ornaments
of the soul; without which the body,
though never so handsome, ought to
seem ugly. If chastity then be one of
the virtues which chiefly adorns and
beautifies both body and soul, why
should she that is beloved, lose that
jewel for which she is chiefly beloved,
merely to satisfy the appetite of one
who, for his own selfish enjoyment,
employs his whole care and industry
to destroy it? I was born free; and
to enjoy that freedom, have I chosen
the solitude of these fields. The trees
on these mountains are my companions;
and I have no other mirror than
the limpid streams of these crystal
brooks. With the trees and the streams
I share my contemplation and my beauty;
I am a distant flame, and a sword
afar off; those whom my eyes have
captivated, my tongue has undeceived;
and if hope be the food of desire, as
I gave none to Chrysostom, or to any
other person, so neither can his death,
nor that of any other of my admirers,
be justly imputed to my cruelty, but
rather, to their own obstinate despair.
To those who observe that his
intentions were honourable, and that
therefore I was bound to comply with
them, I answer, when he declared the
honesty of his designs in that very spot
where now his grave is digging, I told
him, my purpose was to live in perpetual
solitude, and let the earth alone
enjoy the fruits of my retirement, and
the spoils of my beauty: wherefore,
if he, notwithstanding this my explanation,
persevered without hope, and
sailed against the wind; it is no wonder
that he was overwhelmed in the
gulph of his rashness. Had I cajoled
him, I should have been perfidious;
had I gratified his inclination, I should
have acted contrary to my own reason
and resolution. But because he
// File: 0100.png
.pn +1
persisted after I had explained myself,
and despaired before he had cause to
think I abhorred him, I leave you to
judge whether or not it be reasonable
to lay his misfortune at my door. Let
him whom I have deceived complain,
and let him despair to whom I have
broke my promise; if I call upon any
man, he may depend upon me; if I
admit of his addresses, he may rejoice
in his success: but why should
I be stiled a barbarous homicide by
him whom I never soothed, deceived,
called, or admitted? Hitherto Heaven
has not thought fit that I should love
by destiny; and the world must excuse
me from loving by election. Let
this general declaration serve as an
answer to all those who solicit me in
particular, and henceforward give
them to understand, that whosoever
dies for me, perishes not by jealousy
or disdain, for she who never gave her
love, can never give just cause of jealousy;
neither ought her plain-dealing
to be interpreted into disdain.
Let him who terms me a fierce basilisk,
shun me as an evil being; if any man
thinks me ungrateful, let him refuse
his services when I ask them. If I
have disowned any one, let him renounce
me in his turn; and let him
who has found me cruel, abandon
me in my distress; this fierce basilisk,
this ungrateful, cruel, supercilious
wretch, will neither seek, serve,
own, nor follow you, in any shape
whatever. If Chrysostom perished by
the impatience of his own extravagant
desire, why should my innocent
reserve be inveighed against? If
I have preserved my virginity in these
desarts, why should he that loves me,
wish to see me lose it among mankind!
I have riches of my own, as you all
know, and covet no man’s wealth. I
am free, and will not be subjected; I
neither love nor hate any man; I do
not cajole this one, nor teaze that, nor
do I joke with one, or discourse with
another; but amuse myself with the
care of my goats, and the innocent
conversation of the shepherdesses belonging
to the neighbouring villages.
My desires are bounded by these
mountains; or if my meditation surpasses
these bounds, it is only to contemplate
the beauty of the heavens,
those steps by which the soul ascends
to its original mansion.’ So saying,
// File: 0101.png
without waiting for any reply, she turned
her back, and vanished into a thicket
on a neighbouring mountain, leaving
all that were present equally surprized
with her beauty and discretion.

Some of the by-standers being wounded
by the powerful shafts that were
darted from her fair eyes, manifested an
inclination to follow her, without availing
themselves of the ingenuous declaration
they had heard; which being
perceived by Don Quixote, who thought
this a proper occasion for exercising
his chivalry in defence of distressed
damsels; he laid his hand upon the
hilt of his sword, and in a lofty and
audible voice, pronounced, ‘Let no
person, of whatsoever rank or degree,
presume to follow the beautiful Marcella,
on pain of incurring my most
furious indignation. She has demonstrated,
by clear and undeniable arguments,
how little, if at all, she is
to be blamed for the death of Chrysostom;
and how averse she is to
comply with the desires of any of her
admirers; for which reason, instead
of being pursued and persecuted, she
ought to be honoured and esteemed by
all virtuous men, as the only person
in the universe who lives in such a
chaste and laudable intention.’ Whether
it was owing to these menaces of
the knight, or to the advice of Ambrose,
who desired them to perform the
last office to their deceased friend, not
one of the shepherds attempted to stir
from the spot, until the grave being finished,
and the papers burnt, the body
of poor Chrysostom was interred, not
without abundance of tears shed by his
surviving companions. The grave was
secured by a large fragment of the rock
which they rolled upon it, till such time
as a tomb-stone could be made, under
the direction of Ambrose, who was resolved
to have the following epitaph engraved
upon it.

.pm verse-start
The body of a wretched swain,
Kill’d by a cruel maid’s disdain,
  In this cold bed neglected lies.
He liv’d, fond hapless youth! to prove,
Th’ inhuman tyranny of love,
  Exerted in Marcella’s eyes.
.pm verse-end

Having strewed the place with a profusion
of flowers and branches, every
body present condoled, and took leave
of the afflicted executor; and Don
Quixote bade farewel to his kind landlords,
// File: 0102.png
.pn +1
as well as to the travellers, who
would have persuaded him to accompany
them to Seville, which they said was
a city so well adapted for adventures,
that they occurred in every street, nay,
at the corner of every blind alley. Our
hero thanked them most courteously for
their advice, and the inclination they
expressed to give him pleasure; but assured
them, he neither could nor would
set out for Seville, until he should have
cleared these desarts of the robbers and
banditti, of whom they were reported to
be full.

The travellers seeing him thus laudably
determined, importuned him no farther,
but, taking leave of him anew,
pursued their journey, during which they
did not fail to discuss the story of Marcella
and Chrysostom, as well as the
madness of Don Quixote; who, on his
part, resolved to go in quest of the shepherdess,
and offer her all the service in
his power: but this scheme did not turn
out according to his expectation, as will
be related in the course of this faithful
history, the second book of which is here
concluded.

END OF THE SECOND BOOK.

.fn #
When a knight challenged the whole world, he wore an emprize, consisting of a
gold chain, or some other badge of love and chivalry; and sometimes this emprize was
fixed in a publick place, to attract the attention of strangers. When any person accepted
the challenge for a trial of chivalry, called the combat of courtesy, he touched this emprize;
but, if he tore it away, it was considered as a resolution to fight the owner to extremity
or outrance. The combat of courtesy is still practised by our prize-fighters and
boxers, who shake hands before the engagement, in token of love.

But no defiance of this kind could be either published or accepted without the permission
of the prince at whose court the combatants chanced to be. Accordingly, we are
told by Oliver de La Marche, that the lord of Ternant having published a defiance at
the court of Burgundy, in the year 1445, Galiot asked the duke’s permission to touch
the challenger’s emprize; which being granted, he advanced and touched it, saying to
the bearer, while he bowed very low, ‘Noble knight, I touch your emprize; and, with
God’s permission, will do my utmost to fulfil your desire, either on horseback or on
foot.’ The lord of Ternant humbly thanked him for his condescension, said he was
extremely welcome, and promised to send him that same day a cartel, mentioning the
arms they should use.
.fn-

.fn #
Cachopines is the name given to the Europeans by the Indians of Mexico.
.fn-
// File: 0103.png
.pn +1
.sp 4
.h3 id=book1-3
BOOK <abbr=three>III.</abbr>
.sp 2
.h4 id=chap1-3-1
<abbr=chapter>CHAP.</abbr> <abbr=one>I.</abbr> | WHEREIN IS RECOUNTED THE UNLUCKY ADVENTURE WHICH HAPPENED TO DON QUIXOTE, IN MEETING WITH CERTAIN UNMERCIFUL YANGUESIANS.
.sp 2
The sage Cid Hamet Benengeli
relates, that Don
Quixote having bid adieu
to his entertainers, and to
all who were present at the
funeral of the shepherd
Chrysostom, entered, with his squire,
the same wood to which Marcella had
retreated; where, when they had wandered
about upwards of two hours, without
seeing her, they chanced to find
themselves in a delightful spot, overgrown
with verdant grass, and watered
by a cool and pleasant stream; which
was so inviting as to induce them to stay
in it during the heat of the day, that
now began to be very sultry; the knight
and squire, therefore, dismounting, and
leaving the ass and Rozinante at pleasure
to regale themselves with the rich
pasture, emptied their knapsack; and,
without any ceremony, attacked the
contents, which they eat together like
good friends, laying aside all vain distinction
of master and man.

Sancho had been at no pains to tether
Rozinante; secure, as he thought, in
knowing him to be so meek and peaceable,
that all the mares in the meadows
of Cordova could not provoke his concupiscence.
Chance, however, or the
devil, who is not often found napping,
ordered it so, as that a drove of Gallician
fillies belonging to certain Yanguesian
carriers, happened, at that very
instant, to be feeding in the same valley:
for, it being the custom of these
people to halt and refresh themselves and
their beasts in places where there is plenty
of water and grass, they could not
have lighted on a more convenient spot
than that where Don Quixote chanced
to be. It was then that Rozinante,
seized with an inclination to solace himself
with some of those skittish females,
no sooner had them in the wind, than
deviating from his natural disposition
and accustomed deliberation, without
asking leave of his lord and master, he
went off at a small trot, to communicate
his occasions to the objects of his
desire. But they, it seems, more fond
of their pasture than of his addresses,
received him so uncivilly with their
hoofs and teeth, that, in a twinkling,
his girth was broke, his saddle kicked
off, and he himself remained in cuerpo.
But what he chiefly suffered was from
the carriers, who, seeing violence offered
to their mares, ran to their assistance
// File: 0104.png
.pn +1
with long staves, which they exercised
upon him so unmercifully, that
he fell prostrate to the ground, almost
battered to death.

The knight and Sancho seeing their
steed thus bastinadoed, made all the haste
they could to his rescue; the former addressing
the latter in this manner: ‘I
perceive, friend Sancho, that these are
no knights, but fellows of low degree
and infamous descent: this particular
I mention, because thou mayest now
assist me in taking just vengeance upon
them, for the injury they have
done to Rozinante before my face.’—‘What
a devil of vengeance can we
pretend to take,’ answered the squire,
‘when they are more than twenty, and
we but two? Nay, I believe, if it
was put to the trial, no better than
one and a half.’—‘I myself am worth
an hundred of such vagabonds!’ cried
Don Quixote: and without uttering
another syllable, he unsheathed his
sword, and assaulted the Yanguesians,
being seconded by Sancho, who suffered
himself to be rouzed and encouraged by
the example of his master; and, indeed,
the knight lent the first he met with
such a hearty stroke, as laid open a leathern
jacket he wore, together with a
large portion of his shoulder.

The carriers seeing themselves thus
maltreated by two men only, took the
benefit of their numbers, and ran to
sustain one another with their staves;
then surrounding the two assailants, began
to drum upon their carcases with
infinite eagerness and dexterity. True
it is, at the second application, Sancho
fell to the earth; a misfortune that also
happened to his master; who, in spite of
all his own address, together with the
assistance of his good friend, soon found
himself stretched at the feet of Rozinante,
who had not as yet been able to rise:
from whence we may learn what furious
execution is often done by packstaves,
when managed by the hands of such
enraged clowns.

The carriers perceiving the havock
they had made, thought proper to load
again with all dispatch, and pursue
their journey, leaving our adventurers
in miserable plight and doleful dilemma.
The first that recovered the use
of his senses was Sancho Panza; who,
finding himself laid along by the side of
his master, pronounced, with a weak
and lamentable voice, ‘Sir Don Quixote!
// File: 0105.png
ah, Sir Don Quixote!’—‘What
wouldst thou have, brother Sancho?’
replied the knight, in the same feeble
and complaining tone. ‘I wish,’ resumed
Sancho, ‘your worship would,
if it be possible, comfort me with a
couple of gulps of that same balsam
made by fairy Blas, if you have got
any of it about you: perhaps it may
be serviceable in bruises and broken
bones, as well as in wounds and running
sores.’—‘Would to God I had
it here, unfortunate wight that I am!’
cried Don Quixote; ‘but I swear to
thee, Sancho, on the faith of a knight-errant,
that ere two days pass, if some
mischievous accident does not intervene,
I will have it in my possession,
if my hands do not very much misgive
me.’—‘In how many days does
your worship think we shall be able
to move our feet?’ said the squire.
‘With regard to myself,’ answered the
battered knight, ‘I really cannot fix
any number of days; but this I know,
that I alone am to blame for what has
happened, in condescending to use my
sword against antagonists who were
not dubbed and knighted like myself.
I therefore firmly believe, that as a
punishment for having transgressed the
laws of chivalry, the God of battles
hath permitted me to receive this disgraceful
chastisement; for which reason,
brother Sancho, it is proper that
thou shouldst be apprized of what I
am going to say, as it may be of great
importance to the safety of us both:
whenever thou shalt see us insulted or
aggrieved for the future, by such rascally
scum, thou shalt not wait for my
drawing upon them; for I will in no
shape meddle with such unworthy foes;
but lay thy hand upon thy sword, and
with thy own arm chastise them to thy
heart’s content; but should any knights
make up to their defence and assistance,
then shall I know how to protect thee,
and assault them with all my might;
and thou art already convinced, by a
thousand amazing proofs, how far extends
the valour of this my invincible
arm.’ So arrogant was the poor knight
become by his victory over the valiant
Biscayan.

This wholesome advice, however,
was not so much relished by Sancho,
but that he replied, ‘Sir, I am a quiet,
meek, peaceable man, and can digest
any injury, be it never so hard; for I
// File: 0106.png
.pn +1
have a wife and small children to
maintain and bring up: wherefore,
let me also apprize, (since I cannot lay
my commands upon) your worship,
that I will in no shape whatever use
my sword against either knight or
knave; and that henceforward, in
the fight of God, I forgive all injuries,
past, present, or to come, which
I have already received, at this present
time suffer, or may hereafter undergo,
from any person whatsoever,
high or low, rich or poor, gentle or
simple, without exception to rank or
circumstance.’

His master hearing this declaration,
answered, ‘I with the grievous pain I
feel in this rib would abate a little,
so as that I could speak for a few moments
with ease, and convince thee
of thy damnable error, Panza. Hark
ye me, sinner! suppose the gale of fortune,
which hath been hitherto so adverse,
should change in our favour;
and, swelling the sails of our desire,
conduct us safely, without the least
impediment, into the haven of some
one of those islands which I have promised
thee: what would become of
thy wretched affairs, if after I had won
and given it into thy possession, thou
shouldst frustrate my intention, by
thy lack of knighthood, ambition,
valour and courage, to revenge thy
wrongs, or defend thy government?
for I would have thee to know, that
in all new-conquered kingdoms or
provinces, the friends of their natural
masters are never so quiet or reconciled
to their new sovereign, as to dispel
all fear of some fresh insurrection,
to alter the government again, and,
as the saying is, try fortune once
more: it is therefore requisite that the
new possessor should have understanding
to govern, resolution to punish,
and valour to defend himself, in case
of any such accident.’

‘In this last accident which hath befallen
us,’ said Sancho, ‘I wish the
Lord had pleased to give me that same
understanding and valour your worship
mentions: but I protest, upon
the word of a poor sinner, that I am
at present more fit for a searcloth than
such conversation. See if your worship
can make shift to rise, and then
we will give some assistance to Rozinante,
though it be more than he deserves;
for he was the principal cause
// File: 0107.png
of all this plaguy-rib-roasting: never
could I believe such a thing of Rozinante,
who I always thought was as
chaste and sober a person as myself;
but this verifies the common remark,
that you must keep company a long
time with a man before you know
him thoroughly; and that there is nothing
certain in this life. Who could
have thought that those huge back-strokes
your worship dealt so heartily
to the unlucky traveller, would be followed,
as it were post-haste, by such
a mighty tempest of blows, as just
now discharged itself upon our shoulders!’—‘Thy
carcase, Sancho,’ said
Don Quixote, ‘was formed for enduring
such rough weather; but my limbs
were tenderly nursed in soft wool and
fine linen; and therefore must feel
more sensibly the pain of this discomfiture;
and if I did not believe (believe,
said I) if I were not certain, that
all these inconveniencies are inseparably
annexed to the exercise of arms,
I would lie still where I am, and die
with pure vexation.’

To this protestation the squire replied,
‘Seeing these misfortunes are the natural
crops of chivalry, pray good
your worship, do they happen at all
times of the year, or only fall at an
appointed season; because, in my simple
conjecture, two such harvests will
leave us altogether incapable of reaping
a third, if God, of his infinite
mercy, will not be pleased to send
us extraordinary succour.’—‘Thou
must know, friend Sancho,’ answered
Don Quixote, ‘that the life of a knight-errant
is subject to a thousand dangers
and mishaps; but then he enjoys the
self-same chance of being a king or
emperor, as experience demonstrates
to have been the case of divers and
sundry knights, the history of whose
lives I am perfectly well acquainted
with; and I could now relate, if this
pain would give me leave, the fortunes
of some, who, by their valour alone,
have risen to that supreme degree:
and those very persons, both before
and after their success, have undergone
various calamities and affliction;
witness the valiant Amadis de Gaul,
who saw himself in the power of his
mortal enemy Arcalaus the inchanter,
of whom it is positively affirmed, that
while the knight was his prisoner, he
caused him to be bound to a pillar in
// File: 0108.png
.pn +1
his court-yard, and gave him two
hundred stripes with the reins of his
horse’s bridle. There is likewise a
certain secret author of no small credit,
who relates that the knight of
the sun was caught in a trap in a certain
castle, and falling found himself
tied hand and foot in a deep dungeon
below ground, where was administered
unto him one of those things they call
clysters, composed of sand and water,
which had well nigh cost him his life;
and if he had not been succoured in
that perilous conjuncture by a sage who
was his good friend, the poor knight
would have fared very ill. Wherefore
what hath happened to me, may
easily pass unheeded, among those
much greater affronts that such worthy
people have undergone: besides, I
would have thee know, Sancho, that
it is never reckoned an affront to be
wounded by those instruments which
are casually in the hands of our enemies;
for it is expressly mentioned in
the laws of duelling, that if a shoe-maker
beats a man with a last he has
by accident in his hand, the man cannot
properly be said to be cudgelled,
although the said last was made of
wood. This particular I mention, that
thou mayest not suppose us affronted,
although we have been mauled in this
unlucky fray; for the weapons with
which those men threshed us so severely,
were no other than their own
pack-staves; and so far as I can remember,
there was neither tuck, poignard,
nor sword, among them.’

‘They did not give me time,’ answered
Sancho, ‘to make any such observation:
for scarce had I laid my
fingers upon my Toledo[#], when there
rained a shower of cudgels upon my
poor shoulders, that banished the light
from my eyes, and strength from my
feet, and laid me flat upon the spot
where I now lie, not so much concerned
about thinking whether this
drubbing be an affront or not, as
about the intolerable pain of the
blows, which remain imprinted upon
my memory as well as upon my carcase.’——‘Notwithstanding
all this
complaining,’ said the knight, ‘I
aver, brother Sancho, that there is no
remembrance which time does not
efface, nor pain that death does not
remove.’—‘And pray, what greater
misfortune can there be,’ answered
Sancho, ‘than that which nothing but
time can remove, or death put a stop
to? If this mishap of ours were such
a one as might be cured with a couple
of snips of searcloth, it would not
be altogether so vexatious; but so far
as I can see, all the plaister of an hospital
will not be sufficient to set us
cleverly on our legs again.’

‘Truce with thy reflections,’ replied
Don Quixote, ‘and collecting strength
out of weakness, as I will endeavour
to do, let us rise and examine Rozinante’s
case; for, in all appearance,
the poor beast hath not suffered the
least part of the misfortune.’—‘That
is not to be wondered at,’ said the
squire, ‘he being a knight-errant also;
but what surprizes me most is, that
my dapple should get off without paying
his score, when we are scored all
over.’—‘Destiny, when one door is
shut, always leaves another open, is a
resource in all calamities,’ said Don
Quixote: ‘this I observe, because thy
ass will now supply the place of Rozinante,
and carry me from hence to
some castle, where my wounds may be
cured: more especially as such carriage
will be no dishonour to chivalry; for
I remember to have read, that the
good old Silenus, tutor and companion
to the jolly god of mirth and
wine, entered the city of the hundred
gates, lolling at his ease upon a most
comely ass.’—‘It may be very true
that he rode upon an ass,’ replied Sancho;
‘but there is some difference, I
apprehend, between riding, and lying
across the beast like a bag of dirt.’
To this observation the knight answered,
‘Those wounds which are received
in battle, may well give, but can never
deprive one of honour: therefore,
friend Sancho, do as I bid thee, without
farther reply; get up as well as
thou canst, and lay me upon dapple
just as thou shalt find most convenient,
that we may be gone before night
comes to surprize us in this unfrequented
place.’

‘And yet,’ said Sancho, ‘I have
// File: 0109.png
.pn +1
heard your worship remark, that it is
usual for knights-errant to sleep upon
commons and heaths the greatest part
of the year; aye, and to be thankful
for their good fortune in being able
so to do.’—‘Yes,’ said the knight,
‘when they can do no better, or are in
love; and this is so true, that there
was a knight who lay upon a bare
rock, exposed to the sultry noon and
midnight damps, with all the inclemencies
of the weather, during two
whole years, before his mistress knew
any thing of the matter: this was no
other than Amadis, who, assuming the
name of Beltenebros, took up his
quarters upon the naked rock, for the
space of either eight years, or eight
months, I really do not remember
which; only that he remained doing
penance in that place, for some disgust
shewn to him by his dame Oriana:
but truce with this conversation,
Sancho, and make haste, before such
another accident can happen to thy
beast, as that which hath already befallen
Rozinante.’

‘Odds my life! that would be the
devil indeed!’ cried Sancho, who uttering
thirty ah’s and sixty oh’s! together
with a hundred and fifty ola’s!
and curses upon him who had brought
him to that pass, raised himself up,
though he could not for his soul stand
upright, but in spite of all his efforts,
remained bent like a Turkish bow; and
in that attitude, with infinite labour,
made shift to equip his ass, which had
also gone a little astray, presuming upon
the excessive licence of the time; he then
lifted up Rozinante, who, could he have
found a tongue to complain with, would
certainly have surpassed both his master
and Sancho in lamentation: in short,
the squire disposed of Don Quixote upon
the ass, to whose tail Rozinante was
tied; then taking his own dapple by the
halter, jogged on, sometimes faster,
sometimes slower, towards the place
where he conjectured the high road to
lie; and indeed, they had not exceeded
a short league, when by good luck,
which now seemed to take the management
of their affairs, they arrived at
the highway, and discovered an inn,
which, to Sancho’s great grief, was
mistaken for a castle by the joyful
knight. This difference of opinion
begat an obstinate dispute that lasted
until they arrived at the place, into
// File: 0110.png
which Sancho immediately conveyed his
cargo, without farther expostulation.

.fn #
Tizona, which is the word in the original, is a romantick name given to the sword
that belonged to Roderick Dias de Bivar, the famous Spanish general against the Moors.
.fn-
.sp 4
.h4 id=chap1-3-2
<abbr=chapter>CHAP.</abbr> <abbr=two>II.</abbr> | THE ADVENTURE THAT HAPPENED TO THIS SAGACIOUS KNIGHT AT THE INN,| WHICH HE MISTOOK FOR A CASTLE.
.sp 2
The innkeeper seeing Don Quixote
laid athwart the ass, asked what
was the matter? to which interrogation
Sancho replied, ‘Nothing but a few
bruises which my master has received
in a fall from a rock in this neighbourhood.’
The landlady, who differed
in disposition from most of your innkeepers
wives, being naturally charitable
and sympathizing with the calamities
of her fellow-creatures, came running to
the relief of the battered knight, and
brought her daughter, who was a very
handsome girl, to assist in taking care of
her guest. There was in the same house a
servant-maid from the Asturies, remarkable
for her capacious countenance, beetle
brow’d, flat-nosed, blind of one eye,
and bleared in the other: true it is, the
gentility of her shape made amends for
her other defects; she was something
short of seven hands from head to foot,
and moreover incumbered so much by her
shoulders, that she was obliged to contemplate
the dust beneath her feet oftener
than she could have wished.

This comely creature, with the assistance
of the other damsel, made up a sort
of sorry bed for our hero in a garret;
which gave evident tokens of having
been formerly an hay-loft, and in which
at that time a certain carrier had taken
up his quarters, in a bed of his own
making, a little on one side our knight’s:
and though his couch was composed of
the pannels and furniture of his mules,
it had greatly the advantage over Don
Quixote’s, which consisted only of four
rough boards, supported on two benches
of unequal height, covered by a mattras,
so thin it might have passed for a quilt,
and full of knots so hard as to be mistaken
for pebble stones, had not the wool
appeared through divers openings; with
a couple of sheets made of bull’s hide,
and a blanket so bare, that you might
have counted every thread, without
losing one of the reckoning.

In this wretched bed, Don Quixote
// File: 0111.png
.pn +1
having laid himself down, was anointed
from head to foot by the good woman
and her daughter, while Maritornes
(that was the Asturian’s name) stood
hard by holding a light. The landlady,
in the course of her application, perceiving
the knight’s whole body black
and blue, observed that those marks
seemed rather the effects of drubbing
than of a fall; but Sancho affirmed she
was mistaken, and that the marks in
question were occasioned by the knobs
and corners of the rocks among which
he fell. ‘And now I think of it,’ said
he, ‘pray, Madam, manage matters so
as to leave a little of your ointment,
for it will be needed, I’ll assure you;
my own loins are none of the soundest
at present.’—‘What, did you fall
too?’ said she. ‘I can’t say I did,’
answered the squire, ‘but I was so infected
by seeing my master tumble,
that my whole body aches as much as
if I had been cudgelled without mercy.’—‘That
may very easily happen,’
cried the daughter: ‘I myself have
often dreamed that I was falling from
a high tower, without ever coming to
the ground; and, upon waking, have
found myself bruised and battered, as
if I had actually got a great fall.’—‘Ah,
mistress!’ replied the squire, ‘here
is the point; I, without dreaming at
all, but on the contrary, being as
broad awake as I am this precious
minute, found almost as many marks
upon my own shoulders, as you have
observed upon those of my master Don
Quixote.’—‘What is the name of
that knight?’ said the Asturian.
‘Don Quixote de La Mancha,’ answered
the squire: ‘he is a knight-adventurer,
and one of the greatest and most
valiant that have been seen in this
world for many ages.’—‘And what
is a knight-adventurer?’ resumed the
wench. ‘Are you such a suckling as
not to know that?’ cried Sancho;
‘well, I’ll tell you, mistress of mine,
a knight-adventurer is a thing, that
before you count a couple, may be
kicked and be crowned: to-day he is
the most despicable and beggarly
wretch upon earth, and to-morrow he
will have a brace of kingdoms to bestow
upon his squires.’—‘Methinks,’
said the landlady, ‘seeing you appertain
to such a great man, you ought
to be a count at least.’—‘All in good
time,’ replied Sancho; ‘we have not
// File: 0112.png
been out a month in search of adventures,
and have found none worth
naming; besides, people sometimes
go in quest of one thing, and meet
with another: indeed, if my master
Don Quixote gets well of this drubbing——fall,
I mean, and I myself
escape without being crippled, I
won’t barter my hopes for the best
lordship in Spain.’

The knight having listened attentively
to this whole conversation, sat up in his
bed as well as he could, and taking his
landlady by the hand, ‘Believe me,
beautiful lady,’ said he, ‘you may
account yourself extremely happy in
having within your castle my person
as your guest; such a guest, that if I
praise him not, it is on account of the
common saying, that self-commendation
is in effect self-dispraise. My
squire, however, will intimate who I
am; while I content myself with assuring
you, that I will, to all eternity,
preserve engraven upon the tables of
my memory the benevolence you this
day vouchsafed unto me, that I may
be grateful for the favour, as long as
life shall remain. And, oh! that it
pleased you, Heaven supreme, that love
had not so vanquished and enslaved my
heart to the triumphant eyes of the
beautiful ingrate whom I now mention
between my teeth, but that the
charms of this amiable young lady
could be the authors of my freedom.’

The good woman, her daughter, and
the gentle Maritornes, were astonished
at this rhapsody, which they understood
as much as if it had been delivered
in Greek; though they could
easily comprehend, that the whole of
it tended to compliment and proffers of
service: as they were therefore altogether
unaccustomed to such language,
they gazed at him with admiration, as
a person of a different species from other
men; and having thanked him for
his courtesy, in their tapster phrase, left
him to his repose; while the Asturian
Maritornes administered to Sancho,
who had as much need of assistance as
his master.

She and the carrier had made an assignation
to divert themselves that night;
nay, she had given her word that as
soon as the company should be quiet,
and her master and mistress asleep, she
would visit him in the dark, and give
him all the satisfaction he desired; and
// File: 0113.png
.pn +1
indeed it is recorded, for the honour of
this good creature, that she never failed
to perform her promises of that kind
punctually, although they had been made
in the midst of a heath, and out of the
hearing of all evidence: for she valued
herself much upon her gentility, and
did not look upon it as any affront to
be servant at an inn, because, she observed,
disappointments and misfortunes
had reduced her to that condition.

The bed of Don Quixote, which we
have described so hard, so narrow, crazy,
and uncomfortable, stood foremost, and
exactly in the middle of this ruinous
hay-loft; hard by had Sancho taken up
his quarters upon a rush-mat, covered
with a rug, which seemed to be manufactured
of hemp, rather than wool; and
last of all was the carrier’s couch, composed,
as we have already said, of the
pannels and furniture of his two best
mules; for he had no less than twelve
plump, sleek, and notable beasts, being
one of the richest carriers in Arevalo,
according to the report of the author of
this history, who makes particular mention
of him, and says he knew him perfectly
well; nay, some go so far as to
affirm, that he was his distant relation:
be this as it will, Cid Hamet Benengeli
was a most curious historian, and punctual
to admiration, as appears from what
hath been related, which, though in itself
mean and trivial, he would by no
means pass over in silence. This ought
to serve as an example to those important
and weighty historians, who recount
events so succinctly and superficially,
that the reader can scarce get
a smack of them; while the most substantial
circumstances are left, as it
were, in the ink-horn, through carelessness,
ignorance, and malice. A thousand
times blessed be the authors of
Tablante and Ricamonte, and he that
compiled that other book, in which are
recounted the atchievements of Count
Tomillas! How punctually have they
described the most minute particular!—But,
to return to our story.

The carrier having visited his cattle,
and given them their night’s allowance,
stretched himself upon his pannels, in
expectation of the most faithful Maritornes;
while Sancho, plaistered all over,
and huddled up in his kennel, endeavoured
with all his might to sleep; but
the aching of his ribs would by no
means allow him to enjoy that satisfaction;
// File: 0114.png
and Don Quixote, for the same
uncomfortable reason, lay like a hare,
with his eyes wide open. A profound
silence reigned throughout the whole
house, in which there was no other light
than a lamp stuck up in the passage; and
this wonderful quiet, together with those
reflections which always occurred to our
knight, relating to the events continually
recorded in the books of chivalry, that
first disordered his understanding; I say,
those reflections suggested to his fancy
one of the strangest whims that ever entered
a man’s imagination. This was
no other than a full persuasion that he
was arrived at some famous castle; for,
as we have before observed, all the inns
he lodged at seemed castles to him; and
that the landlord’s daughter was the governor’s
only child, who, captivated by
his genteel appearance, was become
deeply enamoured of him, and had actually
promised to come, without the
knowledge of her parents, and pass the
best part of the night in bed with him.
Believing, therefore, this chimera (which
was the work of his own brain) to be
a firm and undoubted fact, he began to
reflect with extreme anxiety upon the
dangerous dilemma into which his virtue
was like to be drawn; and resolved
in his heart to commit no treason against
his mistress Dulcinea del Toboso; even
though Queen Ginebra herself, and the
lady Quintaniona, should make him a
tender of their favours.

While his mind was engrossed by these
extravagant fancies, the hour of assignation
arrived, and an unlucky hour it
was for him, when the kind Asturian,
barefoot and in her smock, having her
hair tucked up under a fustian nightcap,
entered the apartment in which the
three guests were lodged, and with silence
and caution directed her steps towards
the nest of her beloved carrier.
But scarce had she got within the door,
when her approach was perceived by
our knight, who sitting up in his bed,
in spite of his plaisters and the aching
of his ribs, stretched forth his arms to
receive this beautiful young lady, who,
on her part, holding in her breath, moved
softly on her tiptoes, groping her way
with her hands before her.

While she thus crept along, in quest
of her lover, she chanced to come within
arm’s-length of Don Quixote, who
laid fast hold of her by the wrist, and
without her daring to speak a syllable,
// File: 0115.png
.pn +1
pulled her towards him, and made her
sit down upon the bed; he then felt her
smock, which, though made of the
coarsest canvas, to him seemed a shift
of the finest and softest lawn; the string
of glass beads she wore about her wrist,
in his apprehension out-shone the brightest
oriental pearl: her hair, which bore
some resemblance to a horse’s mane, he
mistook for threads of pure Arabian
gold, that even eclipsed the splendor of
the sun; and her breath, which doubtless
smelt strong of broken meat and
garlick, his fancy converted into an
aromatick flavour, proceeding from her
delicate mouth: in short, his imagination
represented her in the same form
and situation with that of a certain princess,
recorded in one of his books, who
came to visit a wounded knight of whom
she was enamoured; with all the other
embellishments there described. Nay,
such was the infatuation of this poor
gentleman, that he was not to be undeceived,
either by the touch, the breath,
or any other circumstance of this honest
wench, though they were powerful
enough to discompose the stomach of
anybody but a rampant carrier.

But our knight believed he folded in
his arms the goddess of beauty, straining
her in his embrace, began to pronounce,
in a soft and amorous tone,
‘Would to Heaven! I were so circumstanced,
beautiful and high-born lady!
as to be able to pay the transcendent
favour bestowed upon me, in the contemplation
of your amazing charms;
but it hath pleased fortune, that never
ceases to persecute the virtuous, to lay
me upon this bed, so bruised and battered,
that even if it was my desire to
gratify yours, I should find it utterly
impossible; how much more so, when
that impossibility is linked to another
still greater? I mean the plighted faith
I have vowed to the peerless Dulcinea
del Toboso, the sole mistress of my
most hidden thoughts: did not that
consideration interpose, I should not
be such a simple knight, as to let slip
this happy occasion which your benevolence
hath tendered to my choice.’

Maritornes, sweating with vexation
to find herself thus pinioned, as it were,
by the knight, whose discourse she neither
heeded nor understood; endeavoured,
without answering a syllable, to disengage
herself from his embrace: while
the honest carrier, whose lewd desires
// File: 0116.png
kept him awake, and made him perceive
his doxy from the moment she entered,
listened attentively to every thing that
Don Quixote said; and being jealous
that the Asturian had broke her promise
to him, in order to keep it with another,
crept nearer the bed of his rival, to wait
the issue of this rhapsody, the meaning
of which he could not comprehend;
observing, however, that the wench
struggled to get loose, and that the
knight endeavoured to detain her, he
could not relish the joke, but lifting
his arm on high, discharged such a terrible
blow on the lanthorn jaws of the
enamoured Don, as bathed his whole
countenance in blood; and not satisfied
with this application, jumped upon his
ribs, and travelled over his whole carcase,
at a pace somewhat exceeding that
of a brisk trot, until the bed, which was
none of the strongest, either in materials
or foundation, unable to sustain
the additional weight, sunk to the
ground with both; and made such a
hideous noise in its fall, as waked the
inn-keeper, who immediately concluded
that Maritornes was concerned in the
adventure, because she made no answer
when he called.

On this supposition he arose, and
lighting a candle, went directly to the
place where he had heard the scuffle:
meanwhile, the poor wench, confused
and affrighted at the approach of her
master, who was a fellow of a most savage
disposition, retreated to the kennel
of Sancho Panza, who slept in spite of
all this din, and nestling in beside him,
wound herself up like a ball, and lay
snug. The landlord now entered the
apartment, and crying with a loud
voice, ‘Where have you got, strumpet?
to be sure these must be your jade’s
tricks, with a vengeance!’ Sancho
started, and feeling a prodigious weight
upon him, thought he was labouring
under the night-mare, and beginning to
lay about him on all sides, chanced, in
course of his efforts, to bestow divers
cuffs on Maritornes, who feeling herself
thus belaboured, forgot the care of
her reputation, and returned the squire’s
compliments so heartily, that sleep forsook
him whether he would or not:
without knowing the person who treated
him so roughly, he raised himself up,
as well as he could, and going to loggerheads
with Maritornes, a most furious
and diverting skirmish ensued.
// File: 0117.png
.pn +1

By this time, the carrier perceiving
by the light the situation of his mistress,
ran to her assistance; and the landlord
followed the same course, though with a
very different intention, namely, to
chastise the maid; being fully persuaded,
that she was the sole cause of all this
uproar; and so, as the saying is, the cat
to the rat, the rat to the rope, the rope
to the gallows. The carrier drummed
upon Sancho, Sancho struck at the
maid, the maid pummelled him, the innkeeper
disciplined her; all of them exerting
themselves with such eagerness,
that there was not one moment’s pause.
But, to crown the joke, the landlord’s
candle went out, and the combatants
being left in the dark, such a circulation
of blows ensued, that wheresoever
the fist fell, there the patient was disabled.

There chanced to lodge at the inn
that night, a trooper belonging to the
ancient holy brotherhood of Toledo,
who also hearing the strange noise of
this fray, arose, and seizing his tipstaff,
together with the tin-box that contained
his commission, entered the apartment
in the dark, calling aloud—‘Keep the
peace, in the king’s name; keep the
peace, in the name of the holy brotherhood.’
The first he encountered
was the forlorn Don Quixote, who lay
insensible on his demolished bed, with
his face uppermost; so that groping
about, he happened to lay hold of his
beard, and cried—‘Assist, I charge
you, the officers of justice:’ but perceiving
that the person he held neither
stirred nor spoke, he concluded that he
must be dead, and that the people
within were the assassins. In this persuasion
he raised his voice, crying—‘Shut
the gates of the inn, that none
may escape; for here is a man murdered.’
This exclamation, which astonished
them all, was no sooner heard,
than every one quitted his share in the
battle; the landlord retreated to his own
chamber, the carrier sneaked to his panniers,
and the damsel to her straw:
while the unfortunate knight and squire
were left on the spot, unable to move
from the places where they lay. The
trooper letting go the beard of Don
Quixote, went out for a light to search
for and apprehend the delinquents; but
in this design he was disappointed; the
landlord having purposely extinguished
the lamp when he retired to his apartment;
// File: 0118.png
so that he was obliged to have
recourse to the embers, at which, with
great industry and time, he made shift
to light another candle.
.sp 4
.h4 id=chap1-3-3
<abbr=chapter>CHAP.</abbr> <abbr=three>III.</abbr> | CONTAINING THE SEQUEL OF THOSE INCREDIBLE GRIEVANCES |WHICH THE VALIANT DON QUIXOTE, AND HIS TRUSTY SQUIRE SANCHO PANZA,| UNDERWENT AT THE INN,| WHICH FOR THEIR MISFORTUNE THE KNIGHT MISTOOK FOR A CASTLE.
.sp 2
About this time, Don Quixote
recovering the use of his tongue,
began to call in the same feeble tone
with which he spoke the preceding day,
when he lay stretched in the pack-staff
valley—‘Art thou asleep, friend Sancho?
friend Sancho, art thou asleep?’—‘God’s
my life!’ replied Sancho, full
of peevishness and pain, ‘how should I
be asleep, seeing all the devils in hell
have been upon me this whole night?’—‘That
thou mayest assure thyself of,’
answered the knight: ‘for either I understand
nothing at all, or this castle
is inchanted. Thou must know, Sancho,
(but what I am going to disclose
to thee, thou shalt swear to keep secret
till after my death.)’—‘I do swear,’
said Sancho. ‘This secrecy I insist
upon,’ replied his master, ‘because I
would by no means take away the
reputation of any person.’—‘Well
then,’ cried the squire, ‘I swear to
keep it secret till the days of your
worship be past and gone; and God
grant that I may be at liberty to reveal
it to-morrow.’—‘Have I done
you so much mischief, Sancho,’ said
Don Quixote, ‘that you wish to see me
dead so soon?’—‘It is not for that,’
replied the squire, ‘but because I am
an enemy to all secrets, and would
not have any thing rot in my keeping.’—‘Be
that as it may,’ said the
knight, ‘I will trust greater things to
thy love and fidelity. Know, therefore,
that this very night I have been
engaged in a most rare and wonderful
adventure; which, that I may
briefly relate, take notice, that a little
while ago, I was visited by the constable’s
daughter, than whom a more
beautiful and gracious young lady is
// File: 0119.png
.pn +1
scarce to be found on this terraqueous
globe. How shall I paint to thee the
comeliness of her person? how delineate
the acuteness of her understanding?
or, how shall I describe those
mysterious charms which, that I may
preserve the fealty I have sworn to
my own sovereign mistress Dulcinea
del Toboso, I must pass over in sacred
silence? I shall only tell thee, that
Heaven itself was jealous of the happiness
which fortune had put into my
power; or, perhaps, which is more
probable, this castle, as I have already
observed, is inchanted: for, while I
was engaged with her in a most delightful
and amorous conversation, an
unseen hand, belonging, doubtless, to
the arm of some monstrous giant, descended,
I know not whence, upon my
jaws, leaving my whole face bathed
in gore; and afterwards bruised me
in such a manner, that I am infinitely
worse than I was yesterday, when the
carriers maltreated us, as thou knowest,
for the excesses of Rozinante;
from whence I conjecture, that the
treasure of this fair damsel’s beauty
is guarded by some inchanted Moor,
and not destined for my possession.’—‘Nor
for mine neither,’ cried Sancho;
‘for I have been drubbed by five hundred
Moors, so unmercifully, that the
pack-stave threshing was but cakes and
gingerbread to what I now feel: so
that I see no great cause you have to
brag of that rare adventure, which
has left us in this comfortable pickle.
Indeed, your worship was not so badly
off, because you had that same incomparable
beauty in your arms; but
what had I, except the hardest knocks,
which, I hope, I shall ever feel in my
born days? Cursed am I, and the
mother that bore me; for though I
neither am knight errant, nor ever
design to be one, the greatest part of
the mischief that betides us for ever
falls to my share.’—‘It seems, then,
thou hast suffered too,’ said Don Quixote.
‘Woe be unto me and my whole
pedigree!’ cried Sancho; ‘have I
not been telling you so all this time?’—‘Give
thyself no concern about that
matter,’ answered the knight; ‘for
now I am determined to prepare that
precious balsam, which will cure us
both in the twinkling of an eye.’

About this time the officer of the holy
brotherhood, having made shift to light
his candle, came back to examine the
person whom he supposed murdered;
and Sancho, seeing him approach in his
shirt and woollen night-cap, with a very
unfavourable aspect, and a light in his
hand, said to his master, ‘Pray, Sir, is
this the inchanted Moor returned to
spend the last drop of his vengeance
upon us[#]?’—‘That cannot be the
Moor,’ answered Don Quixote, ‘for
inchanters never suffer themselves to
be seen.’—‘If they won’t allow themselves
to be seen,’ cried the squire,
‘they make no bones of letting themselves
be felt; that my shoulders can
testify.’—‘And mine too,’ said the
knight; ‘but we have no sufficient reason
to believe that he whom we now
see is the inchanted Moor.’

Meanwhile, the trooper drawing near,
and hearing them talk so deliberately,
remained some time in suspence; then
observing Don Quixote, who still lay on
his back, unable to stir, on account of
his bruises and plaisters, he went up to
him, saying, ‘How do’st do, honest
friend?’—‘I would speak more submissively,’
answered the knight, ‘were
I such a plebeian as you. Is that the
language used in this country to
knights-errant, you blockhead?’ The
officer finding himself treated with so
little ceremony, by such a miserable
wight, could not bear the reproach, but
lifting up his lamp, oil and all, discharged
it upon Don Quixote’s pate,
which suffered greatly in the encounter;
and the light being again extinguished,
slipped away in the dark. Things being
in this situation, ‘Sir,’ said Sancho
Panza, ‘without doubt, that was
the inchanted Moor, who keeps the
treasure for other people, and the fisty-cuffs
and lamp-leavings for us.’—‘It
must be so,’ replied the knight;
‘but we must not mind those affairs of
inchantment so much, as to let them
ruffle or inflame us; because, they being
invisible and fantastical, do what
we can we shall never be able to take
vengeance upon the authors of them:
get up, therefore, Sancho, if thou
canst, and desire the constable of this
castle to supply me with some oil, wine,
salt, and rosemary; that I may prepare
the salutiferous balsam, which,
// File: 0120.png
.pn +1
really, I believe, I stand in great need
of at present, for the wound which the
phantom hath given me bleeds apace.’

Accordingly the squire made shift to
rise, notwithstanding the intolerable aching
of his bones; and creeping in the
dark towards the innkeeper’s bed-chamber,
happened to meet with the trooper,
who stood listening, to know the intention
of his adversary. ‘Signior,’ cried
he, ‘whosoever you are, do us the benefit
and favour to assist us with some
rosemary, salt, wine, and oil; in order
to cure one of the most mighty
knights errant upon earth, who lies
in that bed, desperately wounded by
the hands of an inchanted Moor that
frequents this inn.’ The officer, hearing
such an address, concluded that the
man had lost his senses; and it being
by this time dawn, opened the inn-gate,
and calling to the landlord, told him
what this honest man wanted. The
innkeeper having provided Sancho with
the ingredients, he immediately carried
them to his master; who lay holding his
head between his two hands, and complaining
very much of the effect of the
lamp; which, however, had done no
farther damage than that of raising a
couple of large tumours upon his pate;
that which he took for blood being no
other than sweat forced out by the anguish
and pain he had undergone. In
short, he made a composition, by mixing
the materials together, and boiling
them a good while, until he found he
had brought the whole to a due consistence:
then he asked for a phial to
contain the balsam; but as there was
none in the house, he resolved to cork it
up in a tin oil-flask, of which the landlord
made him a present. Which being
done, he repeated over it more than
fourscore pater-nosters, with the like
number of ave-maria’s, salve’s and credo’s,
accompanying every word with
the sign of the cross, by way of benediction:
and this whole ceremony was
performed in presence of Sancho, the
innkeeper, and officer; the carrier having
very quietly gone to take care of his
beasts.

This precious balsam being thus composed,
the knight was determined to make
instant trial of the efficacy with which
he imagined it endued; and accordingly
swallowed about a pint and a half of
what remained in the pot, after the oil-flask
was full; which had scarce got
// File: 0121.png
down his throat, when he began to vomit
in such a manner, as left nothing
in his stomach; and a most copious
sweat breaking out upon him, in consequence
of the violent operation, he desired
they would wrap him up warm,
and leave him to his repose. They complied
with his request, and he fell into
a profound sleep that lasted three hours;
at the end of which awaking, he found
himself exceedingly refreshed, and so
well recovered of his bruises, that he
seemed perfectly well; and implicitly
believed that he had now made sure of
the balsam of Fierabras; which, while
he possessed, he might, with the utmost
confidence and safety, engage in the
most perilous quarrels, combats, and
havock, that could possibly happen.

Sancho Panza seeing his master recovered
to a miracle, begged he would
bestow upon him the sediment of the
pot, which was no small quantity: and
his request being granted, he laid hold
of it with both hands, and setting it
to his head, drank off, with strong faith
and eager inclination, almost as much
as his master had swallowed before. But
the poor squire’s stomach chanced to
be not quite so delicate as that of the
knight; and therefore, before he could
discharge a drop, he suffered such pangs
and reachings, such qualms and cold
sweats, that he verily believed his last
hour was come; and in the midst of his
wamblings and affliction cursed the balsam
and the miscreant that made it.
Don Quixote perceiving his situation,
said, ‘I believe that all this mischief
happens to thee, Sancho, because thou
art not a knight; for I am persuaded,
that this liquor will be of service to
none but such as are of the order of
knighthood.’—‘If your worship knew
so much,’ cried Sancho, ‘woe be unto
me and my whole generation!
why did you allow me to taste it?’
At this instant the potion began to operate,
and the poor squire to unload at
both ends with such fury, that the mat
upon which he had thrown himself,
and the sheet that covered him, were
soon in a woeful pickle: he sweated
and shivered with such violent motions
and fits, that not only he himself, but
every body present, thought he would
have given up the ghost.

This tempest of evacuation lasted near
two hours; at the expiration of which,
he found himself far from being relieved
// File: 0122.png
.pn +1
like his master, but, on the contrary,
so much fatigued that he was not able
to stand. The knight, as we have already
observed, finding himself in good
health and excellent spirits, longed fervently
to depart in quest of adventures,
thinking every minute he spent in that
place was an injury to the world in
general, and to those miserable objects
who wanted his favour and protection;
especially as he was now in possession
of the certain means of safety and confidence,
in that efficacious balsam he
had made. Prompted by these suggestions,
he himself saddled Rozinante,
and with his own hands put the pannel
upon the beast of the squire, whom he
also assisted in getting on his cloaths,
and mounting his ass. He then bestrode
his own steed; and laying hold
of a pitchfork that stood in the corner
of the yard, appropriated it to the use
of a lance; while all the people in the
house, exceeding twenty persons, beheld
him with admiration: the landlord’s
daughter being among the spectators,
he fixed his eyes upon her, and
from time to time uttered a profound
sigh, which seemed to be heaved from
the very bottom of his bowels; and
which, in the opinion of all those who
had seen him anointed over night, was
occasioned by the aching of his bones.

He and his squire being by this time
mounted, he halted at the gate, and
calling to the innkeeper, pronounced,
in a grave and solemn tone, ‘Numerous
and mighty are the favours, Sir
Constable, which I have received in
this castle of yours; and I shall think
myself under the highest obligation
to retain a grateful remembrance of
your courtesy all the days of my life.
If I can make you any return, in
taking vengeance on some insolent adversary,
who hath, perhaps, aggrieved
you; know, that it is my province
and profession to assist the helpless,
avenge the injured, and chastise
the false: recollect, therefore; and if
you have any boon of that sort to ask,
speak the word; I promise, by the
order of knighthood which I have
received, that you shall be righted
and redressed to your heart’s content.’—‘Sir
knight,’ replied the innkeeper,
with the same deliberation, ‘I have no
occasion for your worship’s assistance,
to redress any grievance of mine; for
I know how to revenge my own
wrongs when I suffer any: all I desire
is, that you will pay the score
you have run up in this inn, for provender
to your cattle, and food and
lodging to yourself and servant.’—‘It
seems, then, this is an inn,’ answered
the knight. ‘Aye, and a well-respected
one,’ said the landlord. ‘I
have been in a mistake all this time,’
resumed Don Quixote, ‘for I really
thought it was a castle; and that none
of the meanest neither: but since it is
no other than a house of publick entertainment,
you have nothing to do
but excuse me from paying a farthing;
for I can by no means transgress
the custom of knights-errant,
who, I am sure, as having read nothing
to the contrary[#], never paid
for lodging nor any thing else, in any
inn or house whatsoever, because they
had a right and title to the best of entertainment,
in recompence for the
intolerable sufferings they underwent,
in seeking adventures by night and by
day, in winter as well as summer,
on foot and on horseback, exposed to
hunger and thirst, to heat and cold,
and to all the inclemencies of heaven,
as well as the inconveniencies of earth.’—‘All
this is nothing to my purpose,’
said the innkeeper; ‘pay me what you
owe, and save all your idle tales of
knight-errantry for those who will be
// File: 0123.png
// File: 0124.png
// File: 0125.png
.pn +1
amused with them; for my own part,
I mind no tale but that of the money
I take.’—‘You are a saucy publican,
and a blockhead to boot,’ cried Don
Quixote; who, putting spurs to Rozinante,
and brandishing his pitchfork,
sallied out of the inn without opposition;
and was a good way off before he looked
behind to see if he was followed by his
squire.

The landlord, seeing the knight depart
without paying, ran up to seize
Sancho; who told him, that since his
master had refused to discharge the bill,
he must not expect any money from
him, who being the squire of a knight-errant,
was, as well as his master,
bound by the same laws to pay for nothing
in taverns and inns. The publican,
irritated at this answer, threatened,
if he would not pay him, to indemnify
himself in a manner that should
not be so much to the squire’s liking:
but Panza swore by the laws of chivalry
his master professed, that he would not
pay a doit, though it should cost him
his life; for he was resolved that the honourable
and ancient customs of knight-errantry
should not be lost through
his misbehaviour; neither should those
squires, who were to come into the world
after him, have occasion to complain
of his conduct, or reproach him with
the breach of so just a privilege.

.if h
.il fn=plate-i.jpg id=plate1 w=60% alt=""
.ca Plate I: Sancho Being Tossed.
.if-
.if t
[Illustration: Sancho Being Tossed.]
.if-

As the unfortunate Sancho’s evil
genius would have it, there were among
the company that lodged that night in
the house, four clothiers of Segovia,
three pin-makers from the great square
of Cordova, and a couple of shopkeepers
from the market-place of Seville; all
of them brisk jolly fellows, and mischievous
wags. These companions, as
if they had been inspired and instigated
by the same spirit, came up to the squire,
and pulled him from his ass; then, one
of them fetching a blanket from the
landlord’s bed, they put Sancho into it,
and lifting up their eyes, perceived the
roof was too low for their purpose;
therefore determined to carry him out into
the yard, which had no other ceiling
than the sky: there placing Panza in the
middle of the blanket, they began to
toss him on high, and divert themselves
with his capers, as the mob do with
dogs at Shrove-tide. The cries uttered
by this miserable vaulter, were so
piercing as to reach the ears of his
master, who halting to listen the more
// File: 0126.png
attentively, believed that some new adventure
was approaching, until he clearly
recognized the shrieks of his squire:
he immediately turned his horse, and
with infinite straining, made shift to
gallop back to the inn; but finding the
gate shut, rode round in search of some
other entrance; and when he approached
the yard-wall, which was not very
high, perceived the disagreeable joke
they were practising upon his squire,
who rose in the air, and sunk again with
such grace and celerity, that if his indignation
would have allowed him, I
verily believe the knight himself would
have laughed at the occasion. He attempted
to step from his horse upon the
wall, but was so bruised and battered,
that he could not move from his seat;
and therefore, situated as he was, began
to vent such a torrent of reproachful
and opprobrious language against Sancho’s
executioners, that it is impossible
to repeat the half of what he said.
This, however, neither interrupted their
mirth nor their diversion, nor gave the
least truce to the lamentations of Sancho,
who prayed and threatened by turns, as he
flew. Indeed, nothing of this sort either
could or did avail him, until leaving
off, out of pure weariness, they thought
fit to wrap him up in his great coat, and
set him on his ass again. The compassionate
Maritornes seeing him so
much fatigued, thought he would be
the better for a draught of water, which,
that it might be the cooler, she fetched
from the well; and Sancho had just
put the mug to his lips, when his draught
was retarded by the voice of his master,
who cried aloud, ‘Son Sancho, drink
not water, drink not that which will
be the occasion of thy death, my son;
behold this most sacred balsam,’ holding
up the cruse of potion in his hand,
‘two drops of which will effectually
cure thee.’ At these words the squire
eyed him, as it were, askance, and in a
tone still more vociferous, replied, ‘Perchance
your worship has forgot that I
am no knight; or may be, you want
to see me vomit up all the entrails I
have left, after last night’s quandary.
Keep your liquor for yourself, and
may all the devils in hell give you joy
of it; and leave me to my own discretion!’
He had no sooner pronounced
these words than he began to swallow;
and perceiving at the first draught,
that the cordial was no other than water,
// File: 0127.png
.pn +1
he did not chuse to repeat it; but
desired Maritornes to bring him some
wine. This request she complied with
very chearfully, and paid for it with her
own money; for it was reported of her,
that although she was reduced to that
low degree in life, she actually retained
some faint sketches and shadows of the
Christian.

Sancho having finished his draught,
clapped heels to his ass, and the inn-gate
being thrown wide open, sallied forth
very well satisfied with having got off
without paying any thing, although he
had succeeded at the expence of his
shoulders, which were indeed his usual
sureties. True it is, the landlord had
detained his bags for the reckoning;
but these Sancho did not miss in the
confusion of his retreat. As soon as
he was clear of the house, the innkeeper
would have barricadoed the gate, had
he not been prevented by the blanket
companions, who were of that sort of
people, who would not have valued Don
Quixote a farthing, even if he had been
actually one of the knights of the round-table.

.fn #
Literally, what is left in the bottom of his inkhorn.
.fn-

.fn #
Don Quixote seems in this place to have forgot one adventure of his great pattern,
Orlando, who, while he accompanied Angelica in her flight from Albracca, happened
to intrude upon the king of the Lestrigons as he sat at dinner in a valley; and being in
great want of victuals, accosted his most savage majesty in these words, recorded by Boyardo,
or rather Berni, in his poem intitled Orlando Innamorato.

.pm verse-start
<i>Poichè fortuna a quest’ora ne mena</i>
<i>Da voi, vi prego, che non vi despiaccia,</i>
<i>O pe nostri danari o in cortesia,</i>
<i>Che noi cenium con voi di compagnia.</i>
.pm verse-end

Thus humbly requesting, that he would either for love or money give them a bone to
pick.
.fn-
.sp 4
.h4 id=chap1-3-4
<abbr=chapter>CHAP.</abbr> <abbr=four>IV.</abbr> | IN WHICH IS RECOUNTED THE DISCOURSE| THAT PASSED BETWEEN SANCHO PANZA AND HIS MASTER DON QUIXOTE;| WITH OTHER ADVENTURES WORTHY OF RECORD.
.sp 2
Sancho made shift to overtake
his master, so haggard and dismayed,
that he was scarce able to manage
his beast: and when the knight perceived
his melancholy situation, ‘Honest
Sancho,’ said he, ‘I am now
convinced beyond all doubt, that this
castle or inn is inchanted; for those
who made such a barbarous pastime
of thy sufferings, could be no other
than phantoms and beings belonging
to the other world. I am confirmed
in this opinion, from having found,
that while I was by the wall of the
yard, a spectator of the acts of thy
mournful tragedy, I could neither
climb over to thy assistance, nor indeed
move from Rozinante, but was
fixed in the saddle by the power of
inchantment; for I swear to thee, by
the faith of my character! if I could
have alighted from my steed, and surmounted
the wall, I would have revenged
thy wrongs in such a manner,
that those idle miscreants should have
remembered the jest to their dying
day: although I know, that in so doing,
I should have transgressed the
laws of chivalry, which, I have often
told thee, do not allow a knight to
lift his arm against any person of an
inferior degree, except in defence of
his own life and limbs, or in cases of
the most pressing necessity.’—‘So
would I have revenged myself,’ said
Sancho, ‘knighted or not knighted;
but it was not in my power; though
I am very well satisfied that those who
diverted themselves at my cost were no
phantoms, nor inchanted beings, as
your worship imagines, but men made
of flesh and bones, as we are, and all
of them have Christian names, which I
heard repeated, while they tossed me
in the blanket; one, for example, is
called Pedro Martinez, another Tenorio
Harnandez, and the innkeeper
goes by the name of Juan Palameque
the left-handed; and therefore, Signior,
your being disabled from alighting
and getting over the wall, must
have been owing to something else
than inchantment. What I can clearly
discern from the whole is, that these
adventures we go in search of, will,
at the long run, bring us into such
misventures, that we shall not know
our right hands from our left; and
therefore, in my small judgment, the
best and wholesomest thing we can do,
will be to jog back again to our own
habitation now, while the harvest is
going on, to take care of our crops,
and leave off sauntering from post to
pillar[#], and falling out of the frying-pan
into the fire, as the saying is.’

‘How little art thou acquainted, Sancho,’
replied Don Quixote, ‘with
the pretensions of chivalry! hold thy
tongue and have patience; for the day
will soon arrive on which thy own
eyes shall judge what an honourable
profession it is: pray, tell me, now,
// File: 0128.png
.pn +1
what greater satisfaction can there be
in this world, or what pleasure can
equal that of a conqueror, who triumphs
over his adversary in battle?
None, sure!’—‘That may be,’ answered
the squire, ‘though I know nothing
of the matter. This only I
know, that since we have taken up the
trade of knights-errant, your worship
I mean, for as to my own part I have
no manner of title to be reckoned in
such an honourable list, we have not
gained one battle, except that with
the Biscayan; and even there your
worship came off with half an ear,
and the loss of one side of your helmet:
from that day to this good hour,
our lot hath been nothing but cudgelling
upon cudgelling, pummelling
upon pummelling; except the advantage
I have had over your worship, in
being tossed in a blanket by inchanted
Moors, whom I cannot be revenged
of, in order to know how pleasant
a pastime it is to overcome one’s enemy,
as your worship observes.’—‘That
is the very grievance, Sancho,
under which both you and I labour,’
said Don Quixote: ‘but, for the future,
I will endeavour to procure a
sword tempered with such masterly
skill, that he who wears it shall be
subject to no kind of inchantment;
and who knows but accident may
furnish me with that which Amadis
possessed, when he stiled himself the
knight of the flaming sword; and truly
it was one of the most excellent blades
that ever a warrior unsheathed; for,
besides that sovereign virtue it contained,
it cut keen as a razor, and no
armour, though ever so strong or inchanted,
could stand before its edge.’—‘I
am so devilishly lucky,’ said Sancho,
‘that if the case was really so, and
your worship should light on that same
sword, it would, like the precious
balsam, be of no service or security
to any but your true knights; and
we that are squires might sing for sorrow.’—‘Thou
must not be afraid of
that,’ replied the knight; ‘Heaven
will surely deal more mercifully with
thee.’

In such conversation, Don Quixote
and his squire jogged along, when the
former descrying on the road in which
they travelled, a large and thick cloud
of dust rolling towards them, turned to
Sancho, saying, ‘This, O Sancho, is
// File: 0129.png
the day that shall manifest the great
things which fortune hath in store for
me! This, I say, is the day on which
the valour of this arm shall be displayed
as much as upon any other
occasion; and on which I am resolved
to perform deeds that shall remain
engraven on the leaves of fame to all
posterity! Seest thou that cloud of
dust before us? The whole of it is
raised by a vast army, composed of various
and innumerable nations that
are marching this way.’—‘By that
way of reckoning, there must be two,’
said Sancho, ‘for right over against it
there is just such another.’ Don Quixote
immediately turned his eyes, and
perceiving Sancho’s information to be
true, was rejoiced beyond measure;
firmly believing that what he saw were
two armies in full march to attack each
other, and engage in the middle of that
spacious plain; for every hour and minute
of the day his imagination was engrossed
by those battles, inchantments,
dreadful accidents, extravagant amours,
and rhodomontades, which are recorded
in books of chivalry; and indeed every
thing he thought, said, or did, had a
tendency that way.

As for the dust he now saw, it was
raised by two flocks of sheep which
chanced to be driven from different parts
into the same road, and were so much
involved in this cloud of their own
making, that it was impossible to discern
them until they were very near. The
knight affirmed they were armies with
such assurance, that Sancho actually believed
it, and said to his master, ‘And
pray now, good your worship, what
must we do?’—‘What,’ answered
Don Quixote, ‘but assist and support
that side which is weak and discomfited?
Thou must know, Sancho,
that yonder host which fronts us, is
led and commanded by the mighty
Emperor Alifanfaron, sovereign of
the great island of Trapoban; and
that other behind us belongs to his
mortal enemy the king of the Garamanteans,
known by the name Pentapolin
with the naked arm, because
he always goes to battle with the sleeve
of his right-arm tucked up.’—‘But
why are those chieftains so mischievously
inclined towards each other?’
said Sancho. ‘The cause of their enmity,’
replied the knight, ‘is this:
Alifanfaron, who is a most outrageous
// File: 0130.png
.pn +1
Pagan, is enamoured of Pentapolin’s
daughter, a most beautiful and
courteous lady, who being a Christian,
her father will by no means betroth
her to the infidel prince, unless he shall
first renounce the law of his false prophet
Mahomet, and become a convert
to the true faith.’—‘Now, by
my whiskers!’ cried Sancho, ‘King
Pentapolin is an honest man, and I
am resolved to give him all the assistance
in my power.’—‘In so doing
thou wilt perform thy duty, Sancho,’
said his master; ‘for to engage in such
battles as these, it is not necessary to
be dubbed a knight.’—‘That I can
easily comprehend,’ replied the other;
‘but where shall we secure the ass, that
we may be sure of finding him after
the fray is over; for I believe it is not
the fashion now-a-days, to go to
battle on such a beast.’—‘True,’ said
the knight, ‘and I think the best way
will be to leave him to his chance,
whether he be lost or not; for we shall
have such choice of steeds, when once
we have gained the victory, that Rozinante
himself will run some risk of
being exchanged for another: but
observe and listen attentively; I will
now give thee a detail of the principal
knights that serve in these two armies;
and that thou may’st see and mark
them the better, let us retire to yon
rising ground, from whence we can
distinctly view the line of battle in
both.’ They accordingly placed themselves
upon a hillock, whence they could
easily have discerned the two flocks of
sheep which Don Quixote metamorphosed
into armies, had not the dust they
raised confounded and obscured the view;
but nevertheless, beholding in his imagination
that which could not otherwise
be seen, because it did not exist, he began
to pronounce with an audible voice—

‘That knight whom thou seest with
yellow armour, bearing in his shield
a lion crowned and crouching at the
feet of a young lady, is the gallant
Laucalco, lord of the silver bridge;
that other beside him, who wears armour
powdered with flowers of gold,
and bears for his device three crowns
argent in a field azure, is the amorous
Micocolembo, Grand Duke of
Quiracia; and he upon his right-hand,
with those gigantick limbs, is the never
to be daunted Brandabarbaran de
Boliche, sovereign of the three Arabias,
who comes armed with a serpent’s
skin, and, instead of a shield,
brandishes a huge gate, which, it is
said, belonged to the temple that Samson
overthrew, when he avenged himself
of his enemies at his death; but
turn thine eyes, and behold in the
front of this other army, the ever-conquering
and never-conquered Timonel
de Carcajona, prince of New-Biscay,
whose arms are quartered
azure, vert, argent, and or; and the
device in his shield, a cat or, in a field
gules, with the letters Miau, which
constitute the beginning of his lady’s
name; and she, they say, is the peerless
Miaulina, daughter of Alfeniquen,
Duke of Algarve; the other
who loads and oppresses the loins of
that fiery Arabian steed, with armour
white as snow, and a shield without
a device, is a noviciate knight of the
French nation, called Pierre Papin,
Baron of Utrique; the third, who
strikes his iron rowels into the flanks
of that spotted nimble zebra[#], is the
potent Duke of Nerbia, esparta-filardo
of the wood, who bears in his shield
for a device, a bunch of asparagus,
with an inscription signifying, “By
destiny I am dogged.”’

In this manner did he invent names
for a great many knights in either army,
to all of whom also he gave arms, colours,
mottos, and devices, without the
least hesitation, being incredibly inspired
by the fumes of a distempered fancy;
nay, he proceeded without any pause,
saying, ‘That squadron forming in our
front is composed of people of divers
nations: there be those who drink the
delicious waters of the celebrated Xanthus,
with the mountaineers who tread
the Masilican plains: and those who
sift the purest golden ore of Arabia
Felix; there also may be seen the people
who sport upon the cool and famous
banks of the translucent Thermodonte;
and those who conduct the
yellow Pactolus in many a winding
stream; the promise-breaking Numidians;
the Persians for their archery
renowned; the Parthians and the
Medes who combat as they fly; the
Arabians famed for shifting habitations;
the Scythians cruel as they are
// File: 0131.png
// File: 0132.png
// File: 0133.png
.pn +1
fair; the thick-lipped race of Ethiopia;
and an infinite variety of other
nations, whose looks I know, and can
discern, though I cannot recollect their
names. In that other squadron march
those men who lave in the crystal current
of the olive-bearing Betis; those
whose visages are cleaned and polished
with the limpid wave of the ever rich
and golden Tagus; those who delight
in the salutiferous draughts of Genil
the divine; those who scour the Tartesian
fields that with fat pasture teem;
those who make merry in the Elysian
meads of Herezan; the rich Manchegans
crowned with ruddy ears of corn;
those cloathed in steel the bold remains
of ancient Gothick blood; those who
bathe in Pisuerga, famous for its
gentle current; those who feed their
flocks upon the spacious meads of the
meandring Guadiana, celebrated for
its secret course; those who shiver
with the chill blasts of the woody Pyrenees;
and those who feel the snowy
flakes of lofty Appenine: in fine,
whatever nation Europe imbosoms and
contains.’

Heaven preserve us! what provinces
did he mention! what nations did he
name! bestowing, with wonderful facility,
those attributes that belonged
to each; being all the while absorpt,
and, as it were, immersed in the contents
of his deceitful books. Sancho
Panza listened attentively to his master,
without uttering one syllable; and from
time to time turned his eyes from one
side to another to see if he could discern
those knights and giants who were thus
described: but not being able to discover
one of them, ‘Sir,’ said he, ‘your
worship may say what you please, but
the devil a man, giant, or knight, that
you have mentioned, is there; at least
I can see none: perhaps, indeed, the
whole is inchantment, like the phantoms
of last night.’—‘How say’st thou?’
replied Don Quixote, ‘dost thou not
hear the neighing of steeds, the sound
of clarions, and noise of drums?’—‘I
hear nothing,’ answered Sancho,
‘but abundance of bleating of ewes and
lambs.’ And truly that was the case;
for by this time the two flocks were
pretty near them. ‘Thy fear,’ said
Don Quixote, ‘hinders thee from seeing
and hearing aright: for one effect of
terror is to disturb the senses, and make
objects appear otherwise than they are;
// File: 0134.png
if thou art therefore under such consternation,
retire on one side, and leave
me alone; for I myself am sufficient
to bestow victory on that cause which
I espouse.’ So saying, he clapped
spurs to Rozinante, and putting his lance
in the rest, darted down from the hillock
like lightning. In vain did Sancho
bellow forth, ‘Turn, Signior Don
Quixote: good your worship, turn! so
help me God, those are ewes and
lambs you are going to attack! Woe
be to the father that begat me! Will
you not turn? What madness possesses
you! Consider, here are no giants,
nor knights, nor cats, nor arms, nor
shields quartered or whole, nor inverted
azures, and the devils knows
what: was there ever such distraction?
sinner that I am!’

.if h
.il fn=plate-viii.jpg id=plate8 w=60% alt=""
.ca Plate VIII: Don Quixote Valiantly Charging the Herd of Sheep.
.if-
.if t
[Illustration: Don Quixote Valiantly Charging the Herd of Sheep.]
.if-

The knight, however, did not regard
this exclamation: on the contrary, he
rode on, bauling aloud, ‘So ho, knights!
you that attend and serve under the
banners of the valiant Emperor Pentapolin,
with the naked arm, follow
me in a body, and you shall behold
how easily I will avenge him, on his
adversary Alifanfaron, of Trapoban.’
Having uttered these words, he rushed
into the thickest of the squadron of sheep,
and began to lay about him, with as
much eagerness and fury, as if he had
been actually engaged with his mortal
enemies. The herdsmen and shepherds
who were driving the flock, called to
him to forbear; but finding their admonition
had no effect, they ungirded
their slings, and began to salute his ears
with stones, the least of which was as
large as an ordinary fist; but he, far
from minding their missiles, rode about
the field, crying, ‘Where art thou, proud
Alifanfaron? face me if thou darest;
I am but a single knight, who want
to prove thy prowess hand to hand,
and sacrifice thy life for the injury
thou hast done to Pentapolin Garamanta.’
Just as he pronounced these
words, he received a pebble on his side,
that seemed to have buried a couple of
his ribs in his belly; and gave him such
a rude shock, that he believed himself
either dead or desperately wounded; then
remembering his specifick, he pulled out
the cruse, and setting it to his mouth,
began to swallow the balsam; but before
he had drank what he thought a
sufficient dose, there came another such
almond, so plump upon his hand and
// File: 0135.png
.pn +1
cruse, that after having shivered the pot
to pieces, it carried off in its way three
or four of his grinders, and shattered
two of his fingers in a grievous manner:
in short, so irresistible were both the applications,
that the poor knight could
not help tumbling from his horse. The
shepherds immediately came up, and believing
him actually dead, gathered together
their flock with all imaginable
dispatch; and taking their dead, which
might be about seven in number, upon
their shoulders, made off without any
farther inquiry.

All this time Sancho remained upon
the hill, beholding, with amazement,
the madness of his master, tearing his
beard, and cursing the hour and minute
on which it was his fate to know him:
and now seeing him fallen, and the shepherds
gone, he descended to his assistance,
when finding him still sensible,
though in a miserable situation, ‘Did
not I warn you, Signior Don Quixote,’
said he, ‘to turn; and assure you
that those you went to attack were no
armies, but flocks of innocent sheep?’—‘How
strangely can that miscreant
inchanter, who is my enemy, transmography
things to thwart me? Know,
Sancho, that it is a very easy matter
for necromancers to make us assume
what shapes they please; and the malicious
wretch who persecutes me, envying
the glory I should have gained
in this battle, hath doubtless metamorphosed
the squadrons of the foe
into flocks of sheep: but thou shalt
do one thing, I intreat thee, Sancho, in
order to be undeceived and convinced
of the truth; mount thy ass, and follow
them fair and softly; and when
they are at a convenient distance from
hence, thou wilt see them return to their
former shapes, and ceasing to be sheep,
become men again, right and tight as I
at first described them; but do not go
at present, for I have occasion for thy
service and assistance: come hither, and
see how many teeth I have lost; methinks
there is not one left in my whole jaw.’

Sancho accordingly approached so
near as to trust his eyes into his master’s
mouth, just at the time when the balsam
began to operate in his stomach,
which, with the force of a culverin, discharged
its contents full in the beard
of the compassionate squire. ‘Holy Virgin!’
cried Sancho, ‘what is this that
hath befallen me? Without doubt,
// File: 0136.png
this poor sinner is mortally wounded,
since he vomits blood.’ But considering
the case more maturely, he found
by the colour, taste, and smell, that it
was not blood, but the balsam he had
seen him drink: and such was the loathing
he conceived at this recognition,
that his stomach turned, and he emptied
his bowels upon his master; so
that both of them remained in a handsome
pickle. Sancho ran to his ass, for
a towel to clean them, and some application
for his master’s hurt; but when
he missed his bags, he had well-nigh
lost his senses; he cursed his fate again,
and determined with himself to leave
the knight, and return to his habitation,
even though he should lose his
wages for the time he had already served,
as well as his hopes of governing
the Island of Promise.

At this juncture Don Quixote arose,
and clapping his left-hand to his cheek,
in order to prevent his teeth from falling
out, with the right laid hold of the
bridle of Rozinante; who, like a faithful
and affectionate servant, had never
stirred from his master’s side; and went
up to the place where his squire stood,
leaning upon his ass, with one hand applied
to his jaw, in the posture of a person
who is exceedingly pensive; the
knight perceiving him in this situation,
with manifest signs of melancholy in his
countenance, ‘Know Sancho,’ said he,
‘that one man is no more than another,
unless he can do more than another.
All those hurricanes that have happened
to us prognosticate that we soon
shall have fair weather, and that every
thing will succeed to our wish: for it
is impossible that either good or bad
fortune should be eternal; and therefore
it follows, that our adversity having
lasted so long, our prosperity must
be now at hand. Be not grieved then,
at the misfortunes that happen to me,
since no part of them falls to thy
share.’—‘Not to my share!’ answered
Sancho; ‘mayhap, then, he whom
they tossed in the blanket yesterday
was not the son of my father; and the
bags that are lost to-day, with all
the goods in them, belonged to some
other person.’—‘What, hast thou lost
the bags, Sancho!’ cried Don Quixote.
‘Yes, sure,’ said the other. ‘At
that rate, then, we have no victuals
to eat?’ resumed the knight. ‘That
would certainly be the case,’ answered
// File: 0137.png
.pn +1
the squire, ‘if the meadows did not furnish
those herbs you say you know
with which unfortunate knights like
your worship are wont to make up
such losses.’—‘Yes, but for all that,’
replied Don Quixote, ‘I could at present
relish a luncheon of brown bread, or a
loaf, with a couple of red herrings,
better than all the herbs described by
Dioscorides, even with the annotations
of Doctor Laguna; but, nevertheless,
mount thy beast, honest Sancho, and
follow me. God, who provides all
things, will not be wanting to us;
more especially as we are employed in
his immediate service: he faileth not
to provide for the gnats of the air,
the insects of the earth, the spawn of
the sea; and is so beneficent, as to
cause the sun to shine upon the good
and bad, and sendeth rain to the wicked
as well as the righteous.’—‘Your
worship,’ said Sancho, ‘is more fit
to be a preacher than a knight-errant.’—‘Knights-errant,’
replied his master,
‘ever had, and ought to have, some
knowledge of every thing; nay, some
there have been in times past, who
would stop to make a sermon or discourse
upon the highway, with as
much eloquence as if they had taken
their degrees at the university of Paris:
from whence it maybe inferred, that
the lance was never blunted by the pen,
nor the quill impeded by the lance.’—‘What
your worship observes may be
very true,’ said Sancho; ‘but, in the
mean time, let us leave this place,
and endeavour to get a night’s lodging
in some house or other, where, God
grant there may be neither blankets
nor blanketeers, nor phantoms, nor
inchanted Moors; else, may the devil
confound both hook and crook!’

‘Implore the protection of God, my
son,’ answered the knight, ‘and lead
me where thou wilt: for this once, I
leave our lodging to thy care; but
reach hither thy hand, and feel with
thy finger how many teeth I have lost
on this right side of my upper jaw,
which is the place that gives me the
greatest pain.’ Sancho introduced his
fingers, and having carefully examined
his gums. ‘How many teeth,’ said he,
was your worship wont to have in
this place?’—‘Four, besides the dog-tooth,’
answered Don Quixote, ‘all
of them sound and whole.’—‘Consider
what your worship says,’ replied
Sancho. ‘I say, four, if not five,’
resumed the knight; ‘for, in all my life,
I never lost tooth or fang, either by
worm, rheum, or scurvy.’—‘At present,’
said the squire, ‘in that part of
the lower jaw, your worship has but
two grinders and a half; and above,
neither half nor whole; all is smooth
as the palm of my hand.’—‘Cruel
fortune!’ cried Don Quixote, hearing
this melancholy piece of news;
‘would they had rather demolished a
limb, so it had not been the sword-arm:
for I would have thee to know,
Sancho, that a mouth without grinders,
is like a mill without a milstone;
and a tooth is worth a treasure[#]; but
such mischances always attend us who
profess the strict order of chivalry.
Get up, friend, and lead the way,
and I will follow at thy own pace.’
Sancho complied with his desire, and
took the way that seemed most likely to
lead to some accommodation, without
quitting the high road, which was thereabouts
very much frequented. While
they jogged on softly, because the pain
in Don Quixote’s jaws would not suffer
him to be quiet, or exert himself in
pushing forward, Sancho being desirous
of entertaining and diverting him with
his discourse, said, among other things,
what will be rehearsed in the following
chapter.

.fn #
In the original, from Ceca to Mecca; a phrase derived from the customs of the
Moors, who used to go in pilgrimage to these two places. Ceca was in the city of Cordova.
.fn-

.fn #
Zebra is a beautiful creature, native of Arabia, vulgarly called the wild ass.
.fn-

.fn #
I have endeavoured to preserve an alliteration in tooth and treasure, after the example
of Cervantes, who seems to have intended it, in the words <lang=es><i>diente</i></lang> and <lang=es><i>diamante</i></lang>.
.fn-
.sp 4
.h4 id=chap1-3-5
<abbr=chapter>CHAP.</abbr> <abbr=five>V.</abbr> | AN ACCOUNT OF THE SAGE DISCOURSE THAT PASSED BETWEEN SANCHO AND HIS MASTER—THE SUCCEEDING ADVENTURE OF THE CORPSE—WITH OTHER REMARKABLE EVENTS.
.sp 2
‘In my opinion, my good master,
all the misventures, which have
this day happened to us, are designed
as a punishment for the sins committed
by your worship, in neglecting to
fulfil the oath you took, not to eat
off a table-cloth, nor solace yourself
with the queen; together with all the
rest that follows, which your worship
// File: 0138.png
.pn +1
swore to observe, until such time as
you could carry off that helmet of
Malandrino, or how d’ye call the
Moor? for I don’t remember his right
name.’—‘Thou art very much in the
right,’ said Don Quixote: ‘to deal
ingenuously with thee, Sancho, that
affair had actually slipt out of my
remembrance; and thou mayest depend
upon it, that affair of the blanketing
happened to thee, for the fault
thou wast guilty of, in omitting to
put me in mind of it in time: but I
will make an atonement; for there
are methods for compounding every
thing, in the order of chivalry.’—‘Did
I swear any thing?’ replied Sancho.
‘Your not having sworn is of
no importance,’ said Don Quixote;
‘it is enough that I know you to be
concerned as an accessary; and whether
that be the case or not, it will
not be amiss to provide a remedy.’—‘Well,
then,’ replied the squire, ‘I
hope your worship will not forget this,
as you did the oath: perhaps the phantoms
may take it in their heads
again to divert themselves with me,
and even with your worship, if they
find you obstinate.’

In this and other such discourse, night
overtook them in the midst of their
journey, before they could light on or
discover any house where they could
procure lodging; and what was worse,
they were almost famished; for in their
bags they had lost their whole buttery
and provision: nay, to crown their misfortune,
an adventure happened to them,
that, without any exaggeration, might
have actually passed for something preternatural.
Though the night shut in
very dark, they continued travelling;
Sancho believing, that, as they were in
the king’s highway, they should probably
find an inn at the distance of a
league or two.

Jogging on, therefore, under cloud of
night, the squire exceeding hungry, and
the master very well disposed to eat, they
descried upon the road before them a
vast number of lights, that seemed like
moving stars, approaching them. Sancho
was confounded at the sight, the
meaning of which even Don Quixote
could not comprehend: the one checked
his ass, the other pulled in his horse’s
bridle, and both halted, in order to gaze
attentively at the apparition of the lights,
which seemed to increase the nearer they
// File: 0139.png
came. This being perceived by the
squire, he began to quake like quicksilver;
and the hair bristled up on Don
Quixote’s head: nevertheless, recollecting
himself a little, ‘Without doubt,
Sancho,’ said he, ‘this must be a vast
and perilous adventure in which I
shall be obliged to exert my whole
strength and prowess.’—‘Woe is me!’
cried Sancho, ‘if perchance this should
be an adventure of phantoms, as I
am afraid it is, where shall I find
ribs for the occasion?’—‘Phantoms
or not phantoms,’ said the knight,
‘I will not suffer them to touch a
thread of thy cloaths: if they made
merry at thy expence before, it was
owing to my incapacity to climb over
the yard wall; but at present we are
in an open field, where I can manage
my sword as I please.’—‘But if they
should benumb and bewitch you, as
they did in the morning,’ said the
squire, ‘what benefit shall I receive
from being in the open field?’—‘Be
that as it will,’ replied Don Quixote,
‘I beseech thee, Sancho, be of good
courage, and thou shalt soon know
by experience how much I am master
of that virtue.’ Sancho accordingly
promised to do his best, with God’s
assistance. Then they both stepped to
one side of the road, and began to gaze
again with great attention. While they
were thus endeavouring to discern the
meaning of the lights, they perceived
a great number of persons in white;
which dreadful vision entirely extinguished
the courage of Sancho Panza,
whose teeth began to chatter, as if he
had been in the cold fit of an ague;
and this agitation and chattering increased,
when they saw them more
distinctly; for, first and foremost appeared
about twenty persons on horseback,
all of them cloathed in white,
with each a lighted flambeau in his hand,
muttering in a low and plaintive tone.
Behind them came a litter covered with
black, followed by six mounted cavaliers
in deep mourning, that trailed at
the very heels of their mules, which
were easily distinguished from horses
by the slowness of their pace.

This strange vision, at such an hour,
and in such a desart place, was surely
sufficient to smite the heart of Sancho
with fear, and even make an impression
upon his master; and this would
have been the case, had he been any
// File: 0140.png
.pn +1
other than Don Quixote; as for the
squire, his whole stock of resolution
went to wreck. It was not so with his
master, whose imagination clearly represented
to him, that this was exactly
an adventure of the same kind with those
he had read in books of chivalry; that
the close litter was a bier, in which was
carried some dead or wounded knight,
the revenge of whose wrongs was reserved
for him alone: wherefore, without
canvassing the matter any farther,
he set his lance in the rest, fixed himself
in his seat, and with the most genteel
and gallant deportment, placing himself
in the middle of the road, through
which they were indispensibly obliged to
pass, he raised his voice, and called to
them as they approached—

‘Halt, knights, whosoever ye are,
and give an account of yourselves:
whence come ye? whither go ye? and
what are you carrying off in that bier?
for, in all appearance, you have either
done or received an injury; and it is
necessary and convenient that I should
know it, in order to chastise you for
what you are now doing, or revenge
the wrong you have already done.’—‘We
are at present in a hurry,’ replied
one of the phantoms in white; ‘the
inn we intend to lodge at is far off,
and we cannot stay to give such a tedious
account as you desire.’ So saying,
he spurred on his mule; while
Don Quixote, mightily incensed at this
reply, laid hold of his bridle, saying,
‘Stand, and answer the questions I
have asked, with more civility; otherwise
I will give battle to you all.’

The mule being skittish, was frighted
in such a manner, at being seized by
the bridle, that rearing on her hind feet,
she fell backward upon her rider; and
a servant on foot, seeing his master fall,
began to revile Don Quixote, whose
choler being already provoked, he couched
his lance, and without hesitation attacked
one of the mourners, who soon
fell to the ground, most miserably
mauled; then wheeling about upon the
rest, it was surprizing to see with what
dispatch he assaulted and put them to the
rout! while Rozinante acted with such
agility and fury, that one would have
sworn, at that instant, a pair of wings
had sprung from his back. All the
squadron arrayed in white, was composed
of timorous and unarmed people,
who were fain to get out of the fray as
// File: 0141.png
soon as possible, and began to fly across
the plain, with their lighted torches
like so many maskers in carnival time.
The mourners being involved and intangled
in their long robes, could not
stir out of the way; so that Don Quixote,
without running any risk, drubbed
them all round, and obliged them at
length to quit the field, much against
their inclination; for they actually believed
he was no man, but a devil incarnate,
who lay in wait to carry off
the dead body that was in the litter.

All this while Sancho stood beholding
with admiration the courage and intrepidity
of the knight; saying within
himself, ‘This master of mine is certainly
as strong and valiant as he pretends
to be.’

Meanwhile, Don Quixote, by the
light of a torch that lay burning on the
ground, perceiving the first whom the
mule overthrew, rode up to him, and
clapping the point of his lance to the poor
man’s throat, commanded him to yield,
otherwise he would put him to death.
To this declaration the other answered,
‘Methinks I am already sufficiently
quiet; for one of my legs is broke,
so that I cannot stir; I beseech your
worship, therefore, if you be a Christian,
not to kill me, as in so doing you
will commit the horrid sin of sacrilege;
for I am a licentiate, and have
taken holy orders.’—‘If you are an
ecclesiastick, what the devil brought
you here?’ cried Don Quixote. ‘The
devil, indeed, I think it was,’ answered
the overthrown priest. ‘You will have
to do with worse than the devil,’ said
the knight, ‘if you refuse the satisfaction
I at first demanded.’—‘That is
easily granted,’ replied the other; ‘and
in the first place your worship must
know, that though I just now called
myself a licentiate, I am no more than
a batchelor: my name is Alonzo Lopez;
I was born at Alcovendas; and
now come from the city of Baeça, in
company with eleven other priests,
who are those who fled with the torches;
we are conveying to Segovia that litter
which contains the corpse of a gentleman
who died at Baeça, where it was
deposited till now, (as I was saying)
that we are carrying his bones to be
interred at Segovia, which was the
place of his nativity.’—‘And who
killed him?’ said Don Quixote. ‘God
himself,’ replied the batchelor, ‘by
// File: 0142.png
.pn +1
means of a pestilential calenture that
seized him!’—‘At that rate,’ resumed
the knight, ‘the Lord hath saved
me the trouble of avenging his death,
as I would have done, had he been
slain by any mortal arm; but, considering
how he died, there is nothing
to be done, except to shrug up our
shoulders in silence, for this is all that
could happen, even if I myself should
fall by the same hand; and I desire
your reverence would take notice, that
I am a knight of La Mancha, called
Don Quixote, whose office and exercise
is to travel through the world,
redressing grievances and righting
wrongs[#].’—‘I do not know how
you can call this behaviour righting
wrongs,’ said the batchelor: ‘I am
sure you have changed my right into
wrong, by breaking my leg, which
will never be set to rights again so
long as I live; and the grievances
you have redressed for me, have been
to aggrieve me in such a manner, as
that I shall never cease to grieve at my
misventure, in meeting with you,
while you was in search of adventures.’—‘All
things do not equally
succeed,’ observed the knight; ‘it
was the misfortune of you and your
companions, Mr. Batchelor Alonzo
Lopez, to travel in the night, with
these surplices and lighted flambeaus,
singing all the way, before people clad
in deep mourning, so that you seemed
a company of ghosts broke from the
other world, therefore I could not
help performing my duty in attacking
you; and I would have behaved in the
same manner, had I actually known
you to be really and truly the inhabitants
of hell; for such indeed I thought
you were.’—‘Since my hard fate
would have it so,’ said the batchelor,
‘I entreat your worship, Sir knight-errant,
who have been the cause of an
unlucky errand to me, to help me from
getting under the mule, which keeps
one of my legs fast jammed between
the stirrup and the saddle.’—‘I might
have talked on till morning,’ said the
knight; ‘why did not you inform me
of your distress sooner?’

He then called aloud to Sancho, who
was in no hurry to hear him, but busy
in rummaging a sumpter-mule which
those honest priests brought along with
them, well furnished with provisions.
Having made a bag of his great coat,
into which he crammed as much of their
victuals as it would hold, he loaded his
ass with the bundle, and then running
up to his master, helped to free Mr.
Batchelor from the oppression of his
mule, on which having mounted him,
with a torch in his hand, Don Quixote
advised him to follow the route of his
companions; and desired him to beg
their pardon in his name, for the injury
he had done them, as it was not in
his power to avoid it. Sancho, likewise
interposing, said, ‘If in case the gentleman
should want to know who the
valiant hero is who put them to flight,
your worship may tell them, that he is
the famous Don Quixote de La Mancha,
otherwise surnamed the Knight
of the Rueful Countenance.’

Thus dismissed, the batchelor pursued
his way; and the knight asked
what had induced Sancho, now, rather
than at any other time, to stile him the
Knight of the Rueful Countenance.
‘Truly,’ answered Sancho, ‘I have
been looking at you some time by the
light of that torch the unfortunate
traveller held in his hand; and in good
faith, your worship cuts the most dismal
figure I have almost ever seen;
and it must certainly be occasioned
either by the fatigue you have undergone
in this battle, or by the want of
your teeth.’—‘That is not the case,’
replied his master; ‘but the sage who
is destined to write the history of my
exploits, hath thought proper that I
should assume some appellation, by the
example of former knights, one of
whom took the title of the Flaming
Sword; another of the Unicorn; a
third of the Ladies; a fourth of the
Phœnix; a fifth of the Griffin; a
sixth called himself the Knight of
Death; and by these epithets and
symbols they were known all over the
face of the earth; and therefore I say,
that the forementioned sage hath now
put it into thy thoughts, and directed
thy tongue to call me the Knight of
the Rueful Countenance; an appellation
that henceforward I adopt; and
// File: 0143.png
.pn +1
that it may suit me the better, I am
resolved to have a most woeful figure
painted upon my shield, with the first
opportunity.’—‘There is no occasion,’
said Sancho, ‘to throw away
time and money on such a device;
your worship has nothing more to do
but uncover your face; and I’ll warrant
those who behold it will call it a rueful
one, without your having recourse
to pictures and shields to explain your
meaning; and you may believe I tell
you nothing but the truth, when I
maintain, though it be but in jest, that
hunger and want of teeth makes your
worship look so ill-favouredly, that
we may very well save the expence of
a rueful picture.’

Don Quixote could not help laughing
at the pleasantry of Sancho, though he
actually determined to assume that name,
and have his shield and target painted
according to his fancy, ‘I know, Sancho,’
said he, ‘that I have incurred
the sentence of excommunication, for
having laid violent hands on consecrated
things, according to the canon;
“<lang=la><i>Si quis suadente diabolo, &c.</i></lang>” yet
you know I touched them not with
my hands, but with my lance; and
even then never dreamed of injuring
priests, or of giving the smallest offence
to the church, which I respect
and adore, like a faithful catholick
and Christian as I am; but, on the
contrary, took them for phantoms and
beings of another world: but the case
being as it is, I remember what happened
to the Cid Ruy Diaz, who broke
to pieces the chair of a certain king’s
ambassador, in presence of his holiness
the pope; for which outrage he was
excommunicated; and that very day
the worthy Rodrigo de Vivar behaved
like a valiant and honourable knight.’

The batchelor being gone, as we have
observed, without answering one word,
Don Quixote expressed a desire of examining
the litter, to see if it really contained
a corpse; but Sancho would by no
means consent to this enquiry, saying,
‘Your worship has already finished this
perilous adventure with less damage
to yourself than I have seen you receive
in any other; but the people
whom you have conquered and overthrown,
may chance to recollect that
they were vanquished by a single man,
and be so much ashamed and confounded
at their own cowardice as to
// File: 0144.png
rally, and if they find us, give us our
belly-full. Dapple is at present very
comfortably furnished; there is an uninhabited
mountain hard by, hunger
is craving, we have nothing to do but
retreat thither at a gentle trot; and,
as the saying is, “The dead to the
bier, and the living to good cheer.”’
With these words he took the lead with
his ass, and the knight thinking there
was a good deal of reason in what he
said, followed him very peaceably, without
making any reply.

When they had travelled a little way
between two hills, they found themselves
in a spacious and retired valley,
where they alighted; Sancho unloaded
the ass, they sat down on the green turf,
and with hunger for their sauce, dispatched
their breakfast, dinner, afternoon’s
luncheon, and supper, at one
meal; solacing their stomachs out of
more than one basket, which the ecclesiastical
attendants of the defunct, who
seldom neglect these things, had brought
along with them on their sumpter-mule:
but another misfortune befel them,
which, in Sancho’s opinion, was the
worst that could happen: they had not
one drop of wine to drink, nor indeed
of water to cool their throats, so that
they were parched with thirst; then the
squire, perceiving the meadow where
they sat was overgrown with green and
tender grass, made the proposal which
may be seen in the following chapter.

.fn #
Knights engaged themselves, by oath, to protect the widow and the orphan, to redress
all injuries; and, in a special manner, to defend the characters of ladies by force
of arms.
.fn-
.sp 4
.h4 id=chap1-3-6
<abbr=chapter>CHAP.</abbr> <abbr=six>VI.</abbr> | OF THE UNSEEN AND UNHEARD OF ADVENTURE| ATCHIEVED BY THE VALIANT DON QUIXOTE DE LA MANCHA,| WITH LESS HAZARD THAN EVER ATTENDED ANY EXPLOIT| PERFORMED BY THE MOST RENOWNED KNIGHT ON EARTH.
.sp 2
‘This grass, my good master,
proves beyond all contradiction,
that there must be some spring
or rivulet hereabouts by which it is
watered; and therefore we had better
proceed a little farther, until we
find wherewith to allay this terrible
thirst, which is more painful and fatiguing
than hunger alone.’ This
advice appearing rational to Don Quixote,
he took hold of Rozinante’s bridle,
and Sancho leading Dapple by the halter,
// File: 0145.png
.pn +1
after he had loaded him again with
the fragments of their supper, they began
to move farther into the meadow,
at a venture; for the night was so dark,
they could not distinguish one object
from another: but they had not gone
two hundred paces, when their ears
were saluted with a prodigious noise of
water, that seemed to rush down from
some huge and lofty rocks; they were
infinitely rejoiced at the sound, when
halting to listen, that they might know
whence it came, they were all of a sudden
surprized with another kind of noise,
that soon damped the pleasure occasioned
by the water, especially in Sancho,
who was naturally fearful and faint-hearted;
I say they heard the sound of regular
strokes, accompanied with strange
clanking of iron chains, which, added
to the dreadful din of the cataract,
would have smote the heart of any other
but Don Quixote with fear and consternation.

The night, as we have already observed,
was dark; our travellers happened
at this time to be in a grove of
tall trees, whose leaves, moving gently
by the wind, yielded a sort of dreary
whisper: so that the solitude of the place,
the darkness of the night, the noise of
the water, and rustling of the leaves,
concurred to inspire them with horror
and dismay; the more so, as the strokes
were continued, the wind sighed on,
and the morning was far off; and all
these circumstances were aggravated by
their ignorance of the place in which they
were. But Don Quixote, encouraged by
his own intrepid heart, mounted Rozinante,
braced his shield, and brandishing
his lance, ‘Friend Sancho,’ cried
he, ‘know that I was born by Heaven’s
appointment in these iron times to revive
the age of gold, or, as it is
usually called, the golden age. I am
he for whom strange perils, valiant
deeds, and vast adventures, are reserved!
I am he, I say, ordained to re-establish
the Knights of the Round-table,
the Twelve Peers of France, with
the Nine Worthies! He whose feats
shall bury, in oblivion the Platirs,
Tablantes, Olivantes, and Tirantes,
the Febuses and Belianises, together
with the whole tribe of knights-errant
who lived in former times; performing
such mighty and amazing
deeds of arms, as will eclipse their
most renowned acts! Consider well,
// File: 0146.png
thou true and loyal squire, the darkness
and the solemn stillness of this
night, the indistinct and hollow whispering
of these trees, the dreadful din
of that water we came to seek, which
seems to rush and rumble down from
the lofty mountains of the moon; together
with these incessant strokes that
strike and wound our ears: all those
circumstances united, or each singly by
itself, is sufficient to infuse fear, terror,
and dismay, into the breast of Mars
himself; much more in him who is
altogether unaccustomed to such adventures
and events. Yet all I have
described are only incentives that awaken
my courage, and already cause
my heart to rebound within my breast,
with desire to atchieve this adventure,
howsoever difficult it may appear to
be! Therefore straiten Rozinante’s
girth, recommend thyself to God, and
wait for me in this place, three days
at farthest; within which time, if I
come not back, thou mayest return to
our village; and, as the last favour and
service done to me, go from thence to
Toboso, and inform my incomparable
mistress, Dulcinea, that her captive
knight died in attempting things
that might render him worthy to be
called her lover.’

When Sancho heard these last words
of his master, he began to blubber with
incredible tenderness. ‘I cannot conceive,’
said he, ‘why your worship
should attempt such a terrible adventure:
it is now dark, and nobody sees
us; therefore we may turn out of this
road and avoid the danger, though we
should not taste liquor these three days;
and if nobody sees us, we run no risk
of being accused of cowardice; besides,
I have heard the curate of our
town, whom your worship knows very
well, remark in his preaching, “He
that seeketh danger perisheth therein;”
therefore it must be a sin to tempt
God by engaging in this rash exploit,
from whence there is no escaping without
a miracle; and Heaven hath
wrought enow of them already, in
preserving you from being blanketed
as I was, and bringing you off conqueror,
and sound wind and limb,
from the midst of so many adversaries
as accompanied the dead man:
and if all this will not move you, nor
soften your rugged heart, sure you
will relent, when you consider and
// File: 0147.png
.pn +1
are assured that your worship will be
scarce gone from hence, when I shall I
through pure fear yield my life to any
thing that may chuse to take it. I
left my habitation, wife and children,
to come and serve your worship, believing
it would be the better, not the
worse for me so to do; but as greediness
bursts the bag, so is the bag of
my hopes bursten; for when they are
at the highest pitch, in expectation of
that curst unlucky island your worship
has promised me so often, I find in
lieu of that, you want to make me
amends by leaving me in this desart,
removed from all human footsteps: for
the love of God, dear master, do me
not such wrong; or if your worship is
resolved to attempt this atchievement
at any rate, at least delay it till morning,
which, according to the signs I
learned when I was a shepherd, will appear
in less than three hours; for the
muzzle of the bear is at the top of his
head[#], and shews midnight in the line
of the left paw.’

‘How canst thou perceive,’ said Don
Quixote, ‘that line, or head, or muzzle,
thou talked of, when the night is so
dark that there is not a star to be seen?’—‘It
is so,’ answered Sancho; ‘but
fear hath many eyes; and I can at
present behold things that are hid within
the bowels of the earth; much more
those that appear in the firmament above:
a man of sound judgment, like
me, can easily foretel that it will soon
be day.’—‘Let it come when it will,’
answered Don Quixote, ‘it shall not be
said of me, either now or at any other
time, that I was diverted by tears and
intreaties from doing what I owed to
the customs of chivalry; I therefore
beseech thee, Sancho, to hold thy
peace; for God, who hath put it
in my heart to attempt this dreadful
and unseen adventure, will doubtless
take care of my safety, and comfort
thee in thy affliction: thy business at
present is to gird fast Rozinante, and
remain in this place, for dead or alive
I will soon return.’

Sancho finding this was the final resolution
of his master, and how little all
his tears, advice, and intreaties availed,
determined, to make use of stratagem to detain
the knight, if possible, till morning:
with this purpose, under pretence of adjusting
the girth of Rozinante, he fair and
softly, without being perceived, tied two
of the horse’s feet together with the halter
of his ass, in such a manner, that
when Don Quixote attempted to depart,
he found it impossible, because his steed
could move no otherwise than by leaps.
The squire perceiving the success of his
invention, ‘Sir,’ said he, ‘you may see
that Heaven, melted by my tears and
prayers, hath ordained that Rozinante
shall not stir; and if you obstinately
persist in spurring and driving him
on, you will only give offence to Providence,
and, as the saying is, “Kick
against the pricks.”’

The knight actually despaired of
making him go forward, because the
more he goaded his horse, the less was
he inclined to stir; and therefore, without
guessing a tittle of the ligature,
thought proper to submit and wait with
patience, either till morning, or such
time as Rozinante should recover the use
of his limbs; believing for certain, that
his disappointment was owing to another
cause than the craft of his squire, to
whom he said, ‘Since Rozinante is incapable
of moving, I am content to
wait for the dawn, though I cannot
help lamenting its delay.’—‘You
shall have no cause for lamentation,’
answered Sancho; ‘I will entertain your
worship with telling stories till day,
unless you chuse to alight, and take a
nap on the soft grass according to the
custom of knights-errant, that you
may find yourself refreshed when day
breaks, and ready to undertake the
unconscionable adventure that awaits
you.’—‘Talk not to me of alighting
or sleeping,’ said Don Quixote; ‘dost
thou imagine me to be one of those
knights who seek their repose in times
of danger? Sleep thou who wast born
to sleep, or follow thy own inclinations;
for my own part, I will behave
as becomes a person of my pretensions.’—‘Let
not your worship be
offended; for that was not my intention
when I spoke;’ answered Sancho;
who coming close to him, laid hold of
the saddle before and behind, and stood
embracing his master’s left thigh, without
daring to stir a finger’s breadth from
the spot; such was his consternation, inspired
// File: 0148.png
.pn +1
by the strokes, which all this time
sounded alternately in his ears.

Then Don Quixote claiming his promise
of entertaining him with some story;
‘I would with all my heart,’ said Sancho,
‘if the dread of what I hear would
allow me; but nevertheless I will try
to force out one story, which if I hit
it aright, without letting it slip through
my hands, is the best tale that ever
was told; therefore I would have your
worship be attentive, for thus I begin.

‘There was, so there was; the good
that shall fall, betide us all; and he
that seeks evil, may he meet with the
devil. Your worship may take notice,
that the beginning of ancient tales is
not just what came into the head of the
teller: no, they always began with
some saying of Cato the censor of
Rome, like this of, “He that seeks
evil, may he meet with the devil.”
And truly it comes as pat to the purpose
as the ring to my finger, in order
to persuade your worship to remain
where you are, without going in search
of evil in any manner of way; or else
to turn into another road, since we
are not bound to follow this in which
we have been surprized with fear and
terror.’—‘Follow thy story, Sancho,’
said Don Quixote; ‘and as to the road we
have to follow, leave the care of that
to me.’—‘To proceed, then,’ said
Sancho; ‘in a certain village of Estremadura
there lived a certain goat shepherd;
I mean, one that kept goats;
and this shepherd or goatherd, as the
story goes, was called Lope Ruyz;
and it came to pass, that this Lope
Ruyz fell in love with a shepherdess
whose name was Torralva; which
shepherdess, whose name was Torralva,
was the daughter of a rich
herdsman; and this rich herdsman—’

‘If thou telleth thy tale in this manner,’
cried Don Quixote, ‘repeating
every circumstance twice over, it will
not be finished these two days: proceed
therefore connectedly, and rehearse
it like a man of understanding;
otherwise thou hadst better hold thy
tongue.’—‘In my country,’ answered
Sancho, ‘all the old stories are told in
this manner; neither can I tell it in any
other; nor is it civil in your worship
to desire I should change the custom.’—‘Take
thy own way,’ said the knight;
‘and since it is the will of fate that I
should hear thee, pray go on.’
// File: 0149.png

‘Well, then, good master of mine,’
proceeded Sancho, ‘that same shepherd,
as I have already remarked, fell in
love with the shepherdess Torralva,
who was a thick, brawny wench, a
little coy, and somewhat masculine;
for she wore a sort of mustachios: methinks
I see her now for all the world.’—‘Then
thou knewest her?’ said the
knight. ‘Not I,’ answered the squire;
‘but the person who told me the story,
said it was so true and certain, that if
ever I should chance to tell it again,
I might affirm upon oath that I had
seen it with my own eyes—And so,
in process of time, the devil, who never
sleeps, but wants to have a finger
in every pye, managed matters in such
a manner, that the shepherd’s love for
the shepherdess was turned into malice
and deadly hate: and the cause, according
to evil tongues, was a certain
quantity of small jealousies she gave
him, exceeding all bounds of measure.
And such was the abhorrence the shepherd
conceived for her, from that good
day forward, that, in order to avoid
the sight of her, he resolved to absent
himself from his own country, and go
where he should never set eyes on her
again. Torralva, finding herself despised
by Lope, began to love him
more than ever.’—‘That is the natural
disposition of the sex,’ said Don Quixote,
‘to disdain those who adore them,
and love those by whom they are
abhorred: but proceed, Sancho.’

‘It so fell out,’ said Sancho, ‘that
the shepherd put his resolution in
practice, and driving his goats before
him, travelled through the plains of
Estremadura, towards the kingdom of
Portugal. Torralva, having got an
inkling of his design, was soon at his
heels, following him on foot, aye, and
barefoot too, with a pilgrim’s staff in
her hand, and a wallet at her back,
in which, as the report goes, she carried
a bit of a looking-glass, a broken
comb, and a kind of phial of wash
for her complexion: but howsomever,
whether she carried these things or
not, I shall not at present take upon
me to aver; but only say what is recorded,
that the shepherd came with
his flock to the river Guadiana, which
at that time was very high, having
almost forsaken its channel; and finding
at the place neither boat nor bark
to carry himself and his flock to the
// File: 0150.png
.pn +1
other side, he was very much in the
dumps, because he saw Torralva behind
him, and knew what he must
suffer from her tears and complaints:
but looking about, he at last perceived
hard by him a fisherman in a boat,
that was so small as to contain only
one person and one goat: nevertheless,
they struck up a bargain, by
which the man was to ferry over the
shepherd with his three hundred goats.
Accordingly the fisherman took one
goat into the boat, and carried it over;
then he returned and carried over another,
then he returned again to fetch
another. Pray, good your worship,
keep an exact account of the goats,
as the fisherman ferried them over;
for, if one only should be lost in the
reckoning, the story will break off,
and it will be impossible for me to relate
one word more. To be short,
then, I say, the landing-place on the
other side being full of mud and slippery,
was a great hindrance to the fisherman
in his going and coming; but however
he returned for the other goat, and
then for some more, and then for another.’

‘Suppose them all passed over at
once,’ said Don Quixote, ‘for if thou
goest backwards and forwards in this
manner, thou wilt not have them all
ferried over in a year.’—‘How many
have already passed?’ said the squire.
‘How the devil should I know?’ answered
the knight. ‘Did not I tell
you to keep a good account?’ said
Sancho; ‘now, before God, the tale is
ended, and it is impossible to proceed!’—‘How
can that be?’ replied Don
Quixote; ‘is it so essential to the story
to know the number of goats as they
passed, so precisely, that if I misreckon
one, thou canst not proceed?’—‘Certainly,
Sir,’ said Sancho, ‘I can proceed
in no manner of way: for when
I desired your worship to tell me what
number of goats had passed, and you
answered you did not know; at that
instant the whole of the story that remained
untold, vanished from my remembrance;
and, upon my conscience!
it was very curious and entertaining.’—‘At
that rate, then, the story is at
an end?’ said Don Quixote. ‘As
much at an end,’ replied the squire,
‘as the mother that bore me.’

‘In good sooth,’ resumed the knight,
‘thou hast related the strangest fable,
// File: 0151.png
tale, or story, that ever was invented;
and finished thy relation in such a
manner as never was or will be heard
again in this world; but nothing else
was to be expected from thy sound
judgment; and indeed it is a matter
of no admiration with me, because I
take it for granted, that these incessant
strokes have disordered thy understanding.’—‘Not
unlikely,’ said Sancho;
‘but this I know, that there is no more
to be said of the tale, which ended in
that place where the mistake began
about the passage of the goats.’—‘In
good time end it according to thy
own pleasure,’ replied the knight, ‘and
now let us see if Rozinante will move.’
So saying, he began again to spur, and
the horse to leap without moving from
his station, so effectually had Sancho
fettered him.

About this time, whether it was owing
to the coolness of the morning that
approached, or to his having supped
upon something that was laxative; or,
which is more probable, to the operation
of nature; Sancho was seized with
an inclination and desire of doing that
which could not be performed by proxy;
but such was the terror that had taken
possession of his soul, that he durst not
move the breadth of a nail-pairing from
his master’s side; at the same time it was
as impossible for him to resist the motion of
his bowels; and therefore, to compromise
the matter, he slipped his right-hand
from the hinder part of the saddle,
and without any noise softly undid the
slip-knot by which his breeches were
kept up; upon which they of themselves
fell down to his heels, where
they remained like a pair of shackles;
he then gathered up his shirt behind as
well as he could, and exposed his posteriors,
which were none of the smallest,
to the open air: this being done, and
he imagined it was the chief step he
could take to deliver himself from the
pressing occasion and dilemma in which
he was, another difficulty still greater
occurred, namely, that he should not
be able to disincumber himself without
noise; he therefore began to fix his
teeth close, shrug up his shoulders, and
hold in his breath with all his might.
But, notwithstanding these precautions,
he was so unlucky in the issue, as to
produce a rumbling sound very different
from that which had terrified him
so much. It did not escape the ears of
// File: 0152.png
.pn +1
Don Quixote, who immediately cried,
‘What noise is that, Sancho?’—‘I
know not, Sir,’ said the squire; ‘it
must be some new affair, for adventures
and misventures never begin
with trifles.’ He tried his fortune a
second time; and, without any more
noise or disorder, freed himself from
the load which had given him so much
uneasiness. But as Don Quixote’s sense
of smelling was altogether as acute as
that of his hearing, and Sancho stood
so close to him that the vapours ascended
towards him almost in a direct line, he
could not exclude some of them from
paying a visit to his nose. No sooner
was he sensible of the first salutation,
than, in his own defence, he pressed
his nose between his finger and thumb,
and, in a snuffling tone, pronounced,
‘Sancho, thou seemest to be in great
fear.’—‘I am so,’ answered the squire;
‘but how comes your worship to perceive
my fears now more than ever?’—‘Because
at present thou smellest
more than ever, and that not of amber,’
replied the knight. ‘That may
be,’ said Sancho; ‘but I am not so
much to blame as your worship, who
drags me at such unseasonable hours
into these uninhabited places.’—‘Retire
three or four steps farther off,
friend,’ resumed Don Quixote, stopping
his nose all the time, ‘and henceforth
take more heed of thy own person,
and remember what thou owest to
mine; for I find the frequent conversation
I maintain with thee, hath
engendered this disrespect.’—‘I’ll
lay a wager,’ replied Sancho, ‘that
your worship thinks I have been doing
something I ought not to have
done.’—‘The more you stir it, friend
Sancho,’ said the knight, ‘the more it
will stink.’

In this and other such discourse, the
master and his squire passed the night;
but Sancho perceiving the day begin to
break apace, with great care and secresy
unbound Rozinante, and tied up his
breeches. The beast, which was naturally
none of the briskest, seemed to
rejoice at his freedom, and began to
paw the ground; for as to curvetting,
with his leave be it spoken, he knew
nothing of the matter. Don Quixote,
finding him so mettlesome, conceived a
good omen from his eagerness, believing
it a certain presage of his success in
the dreadful adventure he was about to
// File: 0153.png
atchieve. Aurora now disclosed herself,
and objects appearing distinctly,
Don Quixote found himself in a grove
of tall chesnut-trees, which formed a
very thick shade. The strokes still continuing,
though he could not conceive
the meaning of them, he, without farther
delay, made Rozinante feel the spur;
then turning to take leave of Sancho,
commanded him to wait three days at
farthest, as he had directed before; and
if he should not return before that time
was expired, he might take it for granted
that God had been pleased to put a
period to his life in that perilous adventure;
he again recommended to him the
embassy and message he should carry
from him to his mistress Dulcinea, and
bade him give himself no uneasiness about
his wages; for he had made a
will before he quitted his family, in
which he should find his services repaid,
by a salary proportioned to the time of
his attendance: but if Heaven should
be pleased to bring him off from that
danger, safe, sound, and free, he might,
beyond all question, lay his account
with the government of the island he
had promised him. Sancho, hearing
these dismal expressions of his worthy
master repeated, began to blubber afresh,
and resolved not to leave him until
the last circumstance and issue of the
affair.

From these tears, and this honourable
determination of Sancho Panza,
the author of this history concludes, that
he must have been a gentleman born,
or an old Christian at least. His master
himself was melted a little at this testimony
of his affection, but not so much
as to discover the least weakness: on
the contrary, disguising his sentiments,
he rode forward towards the place from
whence the noise of the strokes and
water seemed to come; Sancho followed
on foot, and according to custom,
leading by the halter his ass, which
was the constant companion of his good
and evil fortune. Having travelled a
good way among those shady chesnut-trees,
they arrived in a small meadow
lying at the foot of a huge rock, over
which a stream of water rushed down
with vast impetuosity. Below appeared
a few wretched huts, that looked more
like ruins than houses; and they observed
that from them proceeded the
horrible din of the strokes, which had
not yet ceased.
// File: 0154.png
.pn +1

Rozinante being startled at the dreadful
noise of the strokes and water, Don
Quixote endeavoured to soothe him, and
advanced by little and little towards the
huts, recommending himself in the most
earnest manner to his mistress, whose
favour he implored in the atchievement
of that fearful enterprize: neither did
he omit praying to God for his protection.
Sancho, who never stirred from
his side, thrust his neck as far as he
could between the legs of Rozinante,
in order to discover the objects that
kept him in such terror and suspence;
and when they had proceeded about a
hundred paces farther, at the doubling
of a corner, stood fully disclosed to view
the very individual and undoubted cause
of this tremendous sound and terrible
noise, which had filled them with such
doubts and consternation all night long.

This was no other, (be not offended,
gentle reader) than six fulling-hammers,
which, by their alternate strokes,
produced that amazing din. Don Quixote
was struck dumb with astonishment
at the sight; Sancho looked at him, and
found his head hanging down upon his
breast, and other manifest signs of his
being out of countenance. The knight,
in his turn, looked at the squire, and
saw his mouth shut, his cheeks puffed
up, with other symptoms of his being
ready to burst with laughing. This
comical situation of the squire, in spite
of all his own melancholy, obliged the
master to begin; and Sancho no sooner
beheld the severity of the knight’s features
relaxed, than he opened the flood-gates
of his mirth, which broke forth
with such violence, that he was under
the necessity of supporting his sides with
both fists, that they might not be rent
to pieces by the convulsion. Four times
did he exhaust, and as often renew the
laugh with the same impetuosity as at
first; for which Don Quixote already
wished him at the devil, more especially
when he heard him pronounce, by way
of sneer, ‘Know, friend Sancho, that I
was born by Heaven’s appointment,
in these iron times, to revive the age
of gold, or the Golden Age! I am he
for whom strange perils, valiant deeds,
and vast adventures, are reserved!’
And in this manner he proceeded, repeating
all, or the greater part of the
knight’s exclamation, when they first
heard the terrible noise.

Don Quixote finding that Sancho made
// File: 0155.png
a jest of him, was so much ashamed and
provoked, that, lifting up his lance, he
bestowed upon him two or three thwacks,
which, had they fallen upon his head,
as they lighted on his shoulders, would
have saved his master the trouble of paying
his salary, unless it might be to his
heirs. Sancho feeling his joke turned
into such disagreeable earnest, which he
was afraid might not be as yet over,
addressed himself to his master with
great humility, saying, ‘Good your
worship, forbear; before God, I was
only in jest.’—‘Though you was in
jest,’ answered Don Quixote, ‘I was
not quite so merrily disposed: come hither,
Mr. Joker; don’t you think, that
if, instead of fulling-hammers, these
had been some very dangerous adventure,
I have shewn courage enough to
undertake and atchieve it? Am I,
who am a knight, obliged, for sooth, to
distinguish sounds, and know which
proceed from fulling-mills, and which
do not? especially as it may be the
case, and it really is so, that I never
saw one before; though it is otherwise
with thee, base plebeian as thou
art, who was born and bred up among
them: but see if thou canst metamorphose
these six hammers into so many
giants, and bring them within arm’s
length of me, one by one, or all
together; and if I don’t make them
lie with their heels uppermost, make
a jest of me as much as you please.’

‘Enough, dear master,’ replied Sancho,
‘I confess I have exceeded a little
in my pleasantry; but, pray tell me
now, that we are at peace again, as
God shall deliver your worship from
all succeeding adventures as safe and
sound as you have been extricated
from this, is not the terror with
which we were seized, a thing to be
laughed at and repeated? I mean,
my own terror; for, as to your worship,
I know you are an utter stranger
to terror and dismay!’—‘I do
not deny,’ answered Don Quixote,
‘that what hath happened to us is ridiculous
enough; but, nevertheless, it
ought not to be repeated; because
every body has not discretion to take
things by the right handle.’—‘I am
sure,’ replied Sancho, ‘that your worship
knows how to handle your lance,
with which, while you wanted to
handle my head, you happened to
salute my shoulders; thanks be to
// File: 0156.png
.pn +1
God, and my own activity, in avoiding
the blow: but all that, when it is
dry, will rub out; and I have often
heard it said, “He that loves thee
well, will often make thee cry.”
Nay, it is a common thing for your
gentry, when they have said a harsh
thing to a servant, to make it up
with him by giving him a pair of cast
breeches; though I don’t know what
they used to give after having beaten
him, unless it be the practice of
knights-errant, after blows, to give
islands, or kingdoms on the main
land.’

‘Who knows,’ said Don Quixote,
‘but the dice may run that way, and
all that thou hast mentioned come to
pass. I ask pardon for what is past,
since you are resolved to be more discreet
for the future; and as the first
emotions are not in a man’s own
power, I must apprize thee henceforward
to be more reserved, and abstain
from speaking so freely to me; for
in all the books of chivalry I have
read, and they are almost infinite, I
never found that any squire talked so
much to his master as thou hast talked
to thine: and really both you and I
are very much to blame; thou, in regarding
me so little; and I, in not
making myself regarded more. Was
not Gandalin, squire of Amadis de
Gaul, count of the Firm Island? and
yet we read of him, that he always
spoke to his master cap in hand, with
an inclination of his head, and his
body bent in the Turkish manner.
What need I mention Gasabal, squire
to Don Galaor, who was so reserved,
that, in order to express the excellence
of his surprizing silence, his
name is mentioned but once in the
whole course of that equally vast and
true history. From what I have said,
Sancho, thou art to draw this inference,
that there is a necessity for
maintaining some distinction between
the master and his man, the gentleman
and his servant, and the knight
and his squire: wherefore, from this
day forward, we are to be treated
with more respect and less provocation;
for if ever I am incensed by
you again, in any shape whatever,
the pitcher will pay for all. The favours
and benefits I have promised
will come in due time; and if they
should fail, your wages at least will
// File: 0157.png
be forthcoming, as I have already informed
you.’

‘All that your worship observes is
very just,’ said Sancho; ‘but I should
be glad to know, since if the benefits
come not in time, I must be fain to put
up with the wages, what was the hire
of a knight-errant’s squire in those
days; and whether they agreed by the
month or the day, like common labourers?’—‘I
do not believe,’ answered
Don Quixote, ‘that they were retained
for hire, but depended altogether
on favour; and though I have bequeathed
a sum to thee in my will,
which I have left signed and sealed at
home, it was done in case of the
worst; for one does not know how
chivalry may succeed in these calamitous
times: and I would not have my
soul punished in the other world for
so small a matter; for, let me tell
thee, Sancho, in this there is not a
more dangerous course than that of
adventures.’—‘That I know to be
true,’ answered the squire, ‘since the
noise of a fulling-mill could daunt
and disturb the heart of such a valiant
knight-errant as your worship: but
this I assure you of, that from this
good hour, my lips shall never give
umbrage to your worship in turning
your affairs to jest again; but, on the
contrary, honour you as my natural
lord and master.’—‘In so doing,’ replied
Don Quixote, ‘thou shalt live
long upon the face of the earth; for,
after your father and mother, you
ought to respect your master as another
parent.’

.fn #
In Castilian, <lang=es><i>bocina</i></lang> signifies a cornet, or hunting-horn, to which the Spaniards
suppose the constellation of Ursa Minor bears some resemblance.
.fn-
.sp 4
.h4 id=chap1-3-7
<abbr=chapter>CHAP.</abbr> <abbr=seven>VII.</abbr> | OF THE SUBLIME ADVENTURE AND SHINING ACQUISITION OF MAMBRINO’S HELMET—WITH OTHER ACCIDENTS THAT HAPPENED TO OUR INVINCIBLE KNIGHT.
.sp 2
About this time some rain beginning
to fall, Sancho proposed
that they should shelter themselves in
the fulling-mill; but Don Quixote had
conceived such abhorrence for it on account
of what was past, that he would
by no means set foot within its walls;
wherefore, turning to the right-hand,
they chanced to fall in with a road different
from that in which they had travelled
// File: 0158.png
.pn +1
the day before: they had not
gone far, when the knight discovered a
man riding with something on his head,
that glittered like polished gold; and
scarce had he descried this phænomenon,
when turning to Sancho, ‘I find,’ said
he, ‘that every proverb is strictly true;
indeed all of them are apothegms dictated
by Experience herself, the mother
of all science; more especially
that which says, “Shut one door, and
another will soon open:” this I mention,
because if last night Fortune shut
against us the door we sought to enter,
by deceiving us with the fulling-hammers;
to-day another stands wide
open, in profering to us another greater
and more certain adventure, by which
if I fail to enter, it shall be my own
fault, and not imputed to my ignorance
of fulling-mills, or the darkness
of the night. This I take upon
me to say, because, if I am not egregiously
mistaken, the person who
comes towards us, wears upon his
head the very helmet of Mambrino,
about which I swore the oath which
thou mayest remember.’

‘Consider well what your worship
says, and better still what you do!’
said Sancho. ‘I should not chuse to
meet with more fulling-mills to mill
us and maul us altogether out of our
senses.’—‘The devil take the fellow,’
cried Don Quixote, ‘what affinity is
there between a fulling-mill and a
helmet?’—‘Truly, I know not,’ answered
the squire; ‘but in good faith,
if I were permitted to speak freely, as
usual, I could perhaps give such reasons
as would convince your worship,
that you are mistaken in what you
say.’—‘How can I be mistaken, scrupulous
traitor?’ replied Don Quixote:
‘seest thou not yonder knight who rides
this way upon a dapple steed with a
golden helmet on his head?’—‘What
I perceive and discern,’ said Sancho,
‘is no other than a man upon a grey
ass, like my own, with something that
glitters on his head.’—‘And that is
the very helmet of Mambrino,’ replied
the knight: ‘stand aside, and
leave me alone to deal with him: thou
shalt see, that without speaking a syllable,
in order to spare time, this adventure
will be concluded by my acquisition
of the helmet I have longed
for so much.’—‘Yes, I will take care
to get out of the way,’ answered Sancho;
‘and God grant,’ cried he, as he
went off, ‘that this may turn out a
melon rather than a milling[#].’—‘I
have already warned thee, brother,’
said the knight, ‘not to mention, nor
even so much as think of the mill
again: else, by Heaven! I’ll say no
more, but mill the soul out of thy
body.’

Sancho was fain to hold his tongue,
dreading the performance of his master’s
oath, which had already struck him all
of a heap. The whole affair of the
helmet, steed, and knight, which Don
Quixote saw, was no more than this:
in that neighbourhood were two villages,
one of them so poor and small,
that it had neither shop nor barber: for
which reason, the trimmer of the larger
that was hard by, served the lesser also,
in which, at that time, there was a sick
person to be blooded, and another to be
shaved; so that this barber was going
thither with his brass bason under his
arm; but, as it chanced to rain while he
was on the road, that he might not spoil
his hat, which probably was a new one,
he sheltered his head under the bason,
which being clean scoured, made a flaming
appearance, at the distance of half
a league; and, as Sancho had observed,
he rode upon a grey ass, which gave occasion
to Don Quixote to believe he was
some knight with a helmet of gold,
mounted upon a dapple steed; for he
accommodated every thing he saw, with
incredible facility, to the extravagant
ravings of his disordered judgment.
When he, therefore, saw this unlucky
knight approach, without the least expostulation,
he put Rozinante to full
speed, and couching his lance in the
rest, resolved to run him through the
body at once; but, when he was almost
up with him, without checking the impetuosity
of his career, he cried aloud,
‘Defend thyself, wretched caitiff, or
voluntarily yield what so justly belongs
to me.’

The poor barber, who neither dreaded
nor dreamed of any such demand, seeing
this phantom coming full speed
upon him, could find no other means to
defend himself from the stroke of the
// File: 0159.png
.pn +1
lance, than to throw himself down over
the buttocks of his ass: then getting
up, before he had scarce touched the
ground, with the nimbleness of a stag,
he began to fly across the plain so swift,
that the wind itself could not overtake
him: but he left his bason upon the
spot, with which Don Quixote was satisfied,
saying, ‘The pagan hath acted
with discretion, in imitating the beaver,
which, seeing itself chaced by the
hunters, tears off with its teeth, by
natural instinct, these parts for which
it is pursued.’ Then, he ordered
Sancho to take up the helmet, which
the squire having examined all round,
‘Egad!’ said he, ‘it is a special good
bason, well worth a piece of eight, if
it be worth a farthing!’ and gave it
to his master, who putting it on his head,
and turning it round and round, without
being able to find the vizor, said,
‘Without doubt, the pagan for whom
this renowned helmet was first forged,
must have had a most capacious head:
but the worst of it is, that one half is
wanting.’

When Sancho heard him call the bason
a helmet, he could not refrain from
laughing; but, remembering the indignation
of his master, checked his
mirth all of a sudden; and when Don
Quixote asked what he laughed at,
replied, ‘I cannot help laughing when
I think of the huge head of the pagan
who owned that helmet, which looks
for all the world like a barber’s bason.’—‘Why,
truly Sancho,’ said he,
‘I imagine that this very individual inchanted
helmet, by some strange accident
or other, must have fallen into
the hands of somebody who did not
know its inestimable value, but seeing
it was made of the purest gold,
melted down one half of it for sale,
and left the other in this shape, resembling,
as thou sayest, a barber’s
bason: but be that as it may, since I
am satisfied of its real worth and identity,
the transmutation is of small
consequence; for I will order it to be
repaired in the first village where we
can find a blacksmith, in such a
manner as to be unexcelled, nay even
unequalled by that which Vulcan
forged and finished for the god of
war; meanwhile, I will wear it in
this manner, for it is still better than
nothing at all, and will be sufficient
// File: 0160.png
to defend me from any shower of stones
that may chance to fall.’

‘Yes, if they come not out of
slings, as was the case in the skirmish
between the two armies, when they
demolished your worship’s grinders,
and broke the cruse which contained
that blessed balsam, which made me
vomit up my liver and lights!’—‘That
loss gives me not much uneasiness,’
answered the knight, ‘because
thou knowest, Sancho, I retain the
receipt of it in my memory.’—‘So do
I,’ replied the squire. ‘But, Lord,
let me never stir from the place where
I now stand, if ever I either make or
meddle with it for the future; especially
as I hope I never shall have occasion
for it again, being resolved,
with the assistance of my five senses,
to avoid being hurt myself, and also
to refrain from hurting any person
whatsoever. As to another bout of
blanketing, I have little to say: such
misfortunes are not easily prevented;
but when they happen, there is nothing
else to be done, but to shrug up
our shoulders, hold in our breath, shut
our eyes, and leave ourselves to the determination
of chance and the blanket.’

‘Thou art a bad Christian, Sancho,’
said Don Quixote, when he heard these
words; ‘for once you receive an injury,
you never forget it; but know it is
peculiar to noble and generous minds
to overlook such trifles: hast thou got
a leg lamed, a rib fractured, or thy
head broke in the prosecution of that
jest, that thou canst not forget it? for
the affair, when duly considered, was
no more than jest and pastime; had I
not understood it so, I should have
returned ere now, and done more
mischief in revenging thy quarrel,
than the Grecians did for the rape of
Helen; who, it she had lived in this age,
or if my Dulcinea had flourished in
her time, would not have been so renowned
for beauty.’ Here he fetched
a profound sigh, and sent it to the
clouds. ‘Let it pass, then, for a joke,’
said Sancho, ‘since there is no likelihood
of its being revenged in earnest:
but I know what sort of jokes and
earnests those are; and I believe they
will scarce slip out of my memory,
while they remain engraven on my
shoulders. But, setting this aside, I
wish your worship would tell me what
// File: 0161.png
.pn +1
I shall do with this dapple steed so
like a grey ass, which was abandoned
by that caitiff, whom your worship
overthrew; for by the swiftness of his
heels, when he ran away, he seems to
have no thoughts of returning; and
by my whiskers ’tis an excellent beast!’

‘It is never my custom,’ said Don
Quixote, ‘to plunder those I overcome;
neither is it according to the laws of
chivalry, to take them from their
horses and leave them on foot, unless
the conqueror hath lost his own during
the engagement; in which case we
are allowed to take the horse of the
vanquished as the lawful spoils of
war: wherefore, Sancho, leave that
horse or ass, or what thou wilt, where
he now stands, and perhaps his master,
perceiving we are gone, will return
and find him.’—‘God is my witness,’
answered Sancho, ‘I should be glad to
carry him off, or at least exchange
him for my own, which seems to be
the worst of the two: truly the laws
of chivalry are too confined; and
since they do not extend to the exchange
of one ass for another, I
would fain know if they allow me to
change the furniture of the one for
that of the other?’—‘I am not quite
clear in that particular,’ replied the
knight; ‘and in such a dubious case,
till such time as we can get better information,
I think thou mayest exchange
the furniture, if the necessity for so
doing be extreme.’—‘It is so extreme,’
said Sancho, ‘that if it were
for my own particular wearing, I
could not want it more.’ Thus provided
with a licence, he made the exchange
of caparisons, and equipped his
beast with such finery, that he looked
ten per cent. the better.

This exploit being performed, they
went to breakfast on the remains of what
they had plundered from the sumpter-mule,
and quenched their thirst with
the water from the fulling-mills, without
turning their heads that way, so
much did they abhor them on account
of the dread which they had inspired.
The rage of hunger and anxiety being
thus appeased, they mounted, and without
following any determined course,
(for it is the practice of true knights-errant
to keep no certain road) they
left the choice of their route to the will
and pleasure of Rozinante, which was
always a rule to his master, as well as
// File: 0162.png
to the ass, that followed whithersoever he
led, like a trusty friend and companion.
In consequence, therefore, of his determination,
they returned into the high-road,
in which they travelled at random
without any particular scheme.

While they thus jogged on, ‘Sir,’
said Sancho to his master, ‘I wish
your worship would allow me to confer
a little with you; for, since you
imposed that severe command of silence
upon me, divers things have
perished in my stomach; and this moment
I have somewhat at my tongue’s
end, which I would not for the world
have miscarry.’—‘Speak then,’ said
Don Quixote, ‘and be concise in thy
discourse; for nothing that is prolix
can relish well.’—‘I say, Sir,’ answered
Sancho, ‘that for some days
past I have been considering how little
is to be got and saved by going in
quest of those adventures your worship
hunts after, through these cross-paths
and desarts, where, though you
conquer and atchieve the most perilous
exploits, there is nobody present
to be witness of your prowess; so that
it may remain in everlasting silence,
contrary to the intention, and prejudicial
to the merits of your worship;
wherefore, in my opinion, with submission
to your better judgment, our
wisest course would be to go into the
service of some emperor or great
prince, who hath a war upon his
hands, in whose service your worship
may have occasion to shew your personal
valour, your great strength, and
greater understanding; which being
perceived by the king we serve, he
cannot chuse but reward each of us
according to his deserts; neither will
there be wanting some person to write
the history of your worship’s exploits,
for a perpetual memorial: I shall not
mention my own, because they cannot
exceed the bounds of a squire’s province;
though this I will venture to say,
that if it was customary in chivalry to
recount the atchievements of our fraternity,
I don’t think but mine might
be inferred between the lines of the
book.’

‘Thou art not much in the wrong,’
replied Don Quixote; ‘but before it
comes to that issue, a knight must
travel up and down the world as a
probationer in quest of adventures,
until by his repeated atchievements he
// File: 0163.png
.pn +1
shall have acquired a sufficient stock
of fame; so that when he arrives at
the court of some mighty monarch,
he may be immediately known by his
works. In that case, as soon as he
shall be seen to enter the gates of the
city, all the boys will surround and follow
him, shouting and crying, “Behold
the knight of the sun,” or the
serpent, or of any other badge under
which he hath performed his great exploits.
“Behold,” they will say,
“the man who vanquished in single
combat the mighty giant Brocarbruno,
and delivered the great Mamaluke
of Persia from the strange inchantment
that prevailed over him for the
space of nine hundred years.” Thus
shall they proceed, recounting his exploits
from mouth to mouth; until,
surprized at the noise of the children
and populace, the king of that country
shall appear at one of the palace-windows;
and no sooner behold the
knight, than knowing him immediately
by his armour, or the device
upon his shield, he will certainly exclaim,
“So ho, there! let all the
knights belonging to my court go
forth and receive the flower of chivalry
that comes yonder.”

‘At this command all of them will
come out, and the king himself advance
to meet him on the middle of
the stair-case, where he will embrace
him most affectionately, giving him
the kiss of friendship and welcome;
then taking him by the hand, will he
conduct him to the queen’s closet,
where he will find her majesty with
the princess her daughter, who is one
of the most beautiful and accomplished
young ladies that ever was seen in
the known world. In this interview
she will immediately fix her eyes upon
the knight, who at that instant shall
be gazing at her, and each will appear
to the other something supernatural;
without knowing how or wherefore,
they will find themselves presently
caught and intangled in the
inextricable net of love, and be infinitely
concerned because they have
no opportunity of conversing together,
and of disclosing the reciprocal anxiety
of their thoughts. After this audience,
he will, doubtless, be carried
to some apartment of the palace richly
furnished, where, after they shall have
taken off his armour, they will clothe
// File: 0164.png
him in a rich scarlet robe brought for
the purpose; and if he made a fine
appearance in armour, he will look
infinitely more genteel in his doublet.
At night he will sup at the same
table with the king, queen, and infanta,
upon whom he will fix his
eyes as often as he can, without being
perceived by the by-standers; while
she will practise the same expedient
with equal sagacity: for, as I have
already observed, she must be a young
lady of vast discretion.

‘The table being uncovered, there
will enter at midnight through the
hall-door, a little deformed dwarf,
followed by a beautiful lady, guarded
by two giants; and he will propose a
certain adventure, contrived by a most
ancient sage, which whosoever shall
finish, will be deemed the most valiant
knight in the whole world: then the
king will order every warrior in waiting
to attempt it; but all of them
shall fail except the strange knight,
who will perform and accomplish it
very much to his own credit, as well
as to the satisfaction of the princess,
who will think herself extremely happy,
and well requited, for having placed
her affections so worthily. What is
better still, this king or prince, or
whatever he is, being at that time engaged
in a most obstinate war with a
potentate of equal strength, his guest,
after having staid a few days at court,
begs leave to go and serve him in the
field; and the king granting his
request with pleasure, the knight
most politely kisses his hand for the
great honour he hath done him; that
same night he goes to take his leave
of his mistress the infanta, through
the rails of a garden adjoining to the
chamber in which she lies; where
they have already at different times
enjoyed each other’s conversation, by
the means of a damsel, who being the
infanta’s confidante, is privy to the
whole amour: on this occasion he will
sigh most piteously, she will actually
faint away; the damsel will run for
water, and the knight will be extremely
concerned, because the day
begins to break, and he would not
for the world be discovered to the
prejudice of the lady’s reputation. In
fine, the princess recovers, and reaches
her fair hand through the rails to the
knight, who kisses it a thousand
// File: 0165.png
.pn +1
times, and bathes it with his tears;
then is concerted between them some
method by which he is to inform her
of his good or bad success, and the
infanta intreats him to return as soon
as possible: he swears solemnly to
comply with her request, kisses her
hand again, and bids her farewel with
such affliction as well-nigh deprives
him of life: from thence he retreats
to his chamber, throws himself upon
the bed, but cannot sleep, so grieved
is he at parting; he rises early in the
morning, goes to take leave of the
king, queen, and infanta; their majesties
accordingly bid him farewel,
after having informed him that the
princess is indisposed, and cannot see
company; the knight imputing her
disorder to her sorrow for his departure,
is pierced to the soul, and well-nigh
betrays his own anxiety. The
confidante being present all the while,
takes notice of every circumstance,
which she imparts to her lady, who
listens with tears in her eyes, and observes
that nothing gives so much uneasiness
as her ignorance of the knight’s
pedigree, and her impatience to know
whether or not he is of royal extraction:
the damsel assures her, that so
much politeness, gentility, and valour
as he possessed, could never be united
except in a dignified and royal disposition;
the afflicted infanta consoles
herself with this observation, and endeavouring
to regain her serenity, that
she may not give cause of suspicion to
her parents, in two days appears again
in publick.

‘The knight having set out for the
army, comes to battle, overcomes the
king’s adversary, takes many towns,
makes divers conquests, returns to
court, visits his mistress in the usual
manner, and the affair being concerted
between them, demands her in
marriage, as the reward of his service;
her father refuses to grant the boon, on
pretence of not knowing who this hero
is: but, nevertheless, either by stealth,
or some other way, the infanta becomes
his wife; and at last the king
is overjoyed at his good fortune, when
this knight proves to be the son of a
valiant monarch of some unknown
country, for I suppose it could not be
found in the map. The father dies,
the infanta succeeds, and in two words
the knight becomes king; this, then,
is the time to reward his squire, and
all those who helped him to ascend
the throne. The squire accordingly
is married to a damsel belonging to
the infanta, who doubtless must be
she that was privy to her amour, and
daughter of some powerful duke.’

‘This is what I want,’ cried Sancho,
‘and what with fair play I shall obtain;
for all that you have mentioned will
exactly happen to your worship, under
the title of The Knight of the Rueful
Countenance.’—‘Never doubt it,
Sancho,’ replied Don Quixote; ‘for
in the same manner, and by the same
steps I have recounted, knights errant
rise, and have risen to the rank
of kings and emperors. Our only
business now is to look out for some
Christian or Pagan king who is at
war, and hath a beautiful daughter;
but there will be time to think of that,
since, as I have already told thee, renown
must be acquired elsewhere, before
we repair to court; nay, another
difficulty occurs, namely, that
though we should find a king at war
who has a beautiful daughter, after
I shall have acquired incredible glory
through the whole universe; I do not
know how it can be proved that I am
of royal extraction, or even second
cousin to an emperor; and no king
will grant his daughter to me in marriage,
until he is first thoroughly satisfied
in that particular, though my
famous exploits should merit a much
more valuable reward; wherefore, on
account of this defect, I am afraid I
shall lose that which the prowess of
my arm may well deserve. True it
is, I am a gentleman of an ancient
and honourable family, not without
property, possession, and a title to the
revenge of the five hundred sueldos[#];
and it is not impossible, that the sage
ordained to write my history, may
furnish up my parentage and pedigree
in such a manner, as to prove me descended
in the fifteenth or sixteenth
// File: 0166.png
.pn +1
generation from a king; for I must
tell thee, Sancho, there are two sorts
of pedigree in the world; one that
brings and derives its original from
princes and monarchs, which time
hath defaced by little and little, till
at last it ends in a point like a pyramid;
the other owes its beginning to
people of mean degree, and increases
gradually to nobility and power; so
that the difference is, the one was
once something, but is now nothing;
and the other was once nothing, but
is now something! perhaps, therefore,
I may be one of the first mentioned
division; and my origin, upon
enquiry, be found high and mighty;
a circumstance that ought to satisfy
the king, who is to be my father-in-law;
and if it should not have that
effect, the infanta will be so enamoured
of me, that in spite of her father,
she will receive me as her lord and
husband, even though she were certain
of my being the son of a porter;
but should she be shy, then is the time
to carry her away by force, to any
corner of the earth I shall chuse for
my residence, until time or death shall
put an end to the resentment of her
parents.’

‘And here,’ cried Sancho, ‘nothing
can be more pat to the purpose, than
what some of your unconscionable
fellows often say, “Who would beg
a benison, that for the taking may
have venison[#]?” though it would
still be more proper, if they had said,
“Better thieve than grieve[#].” This
I observe, that in case the king, your
worship’s father-in-law, should not
prevail upon himself to give you the
infanta his daughter, you may, as
your worship says, steal and convey
her off by main force; but the misfortune
is, that while the peace is on
the anvil, and before you come to
the peaceable enjoyment of your kingdom,
the poor squire may chew his
cud in expectation of his recompense,
unless that confidante damsel, who is
to be his spouse, should make her
escape with the princess, and be content
to join her evil fortune to his,
until such time as Heaven shall ordain
it otherwise; for I believe his
master may very safely give her away
in lawful marriage.’—‘That thou
mayest depend upon,’ said Don Quixote.
‘Since it is so, then,’ answered Sancho,
‘we have nothing to do but recommend
ourselves to God, and let
fortune take its own course.’—‘The
Lord conduct it,’ replied the knight,
‘according to my desires and my necessity;
and small be his grace, who
counts himself base.’—‘A God’s
name be it so,’ said Sancho; ‘for my
own part I am an old Christian, and
therefore fit to be a lord.’—‘Aye, to
be greater than a lord,’ answered Don
Quixote; ‘and even if thou wast not
so well qualified, it would be of no
signification[#], because I being king,
can confer nobility upon thee, without
putting thee to the expence of purchasing,
or of subjecting thyself to
any kind of servitude; for, in creating
thee an earl, behold thou art a gentleman
at once; and let people say
what they will, in good faith, they
must call thee your lordship, if it
should make their hearts ache.’—‘And
do you reckon that I should not know
how to give authority to the portent?’
said the squire. ‘Patent, thou wouldst
say, and not portent,’ replied the
knight. ‘It may be so,’ answered Sancho;
‘but I insist upon it, that I should
demean myself very decently; for
once in my life-time I was beadle of
a corporation, and the gown became
me so well, that every body said I
had the presence of a warden: then
what shall I be when I am clothed
in a ducal-robe, all glittering with
pearls like a foreign count? Upon
my conscience, I believe people will
come a hundred leagues on purpose
to see me.’—‘You will make a very
good appearance,’ said Don Quixote;
‘but thou must take care to keep thy
beard close shaved; for it is so thick,
matted, and unseemly, that unless
thou hast recourse to the razor, every
second day at least, they will see what
// File: 0167.png
.pn +1
thou art a gun-shot off.’—‘What
else have I to do,’ said the squire,
‘but to hire a barber, and keep him
constantly in the house; and if I
find occasion for it, even make him
follow me as a master of the horse follows
one of your grandees.’

‘How do’st thou know,’ said Don
Quixote, ‘that our grandees are attended
by their masters of horse?’—‘That
you shall be satisfied in,’ answered
the squire: ‘heretofore I was a
whole month at court, where I saw a
very little gentleman, who they told
me was a very great lord, passing to
and fro, and a man following him a
horseback, turning ever and anon as
he turned, as if he had been the nobleman’s
own tail: when I asked why
the man did not overtake the other,
but always kept behind him; they
answered, that he was his master of
horse, and that it was a fashion among
the great, for each to be attended by
an officer of that name. Ever since
that time I have remembered their office
so distinctly, that I believe I shall
never forget it.’—‘I think thou art
much in the right,’ said Don Quixote,
‘in resolving to carry thy barber
along with thee; for customs come
not all together, because they were not
invented all at once; therefore thou
mayest be the first earl that ever went
attended by a shaver; and truly it is
an office of greater confidence to trim
the beard than to saddle the horse.’—‘Leave
that affair of the barber to my
management,’ said Sancho, ‘and be
it your care to make yourself a king,
and me an earl, with all convenient
speed.’—‘That shall be done,’ replied
the knight; who lifting up his
eyes, perceived that which shall be recounted
in the succeeding chapter.

.fn #
<lang=es><i>Oregano</i></lang>, in the original, signifies sweet marjoram; as if Sancho had wished his
master might find a nosegay, rather than a bloody nose.
.fn-

.fn #
The Spaniards of old paid a tribute of five hundred sueldos, or pieces of coin, to the
Moors, until they were delivered from this imposition by the gallantry of the gentlemen
or people of rank, from which exploit a Castilian of family used to express the nobility
and worth of his extraction, by saying he was of the revenge of the Sueldos.
.fn-

.fn #
Literally, ‘Never beg when you can take.’
.fn-

.fn #
In the original, ‘A snatch from behind a bush is better than the prayer of good
men.’
.fn-

.fn #
This seems to have been intended as a stroke of satire against those princes who sell
nobility to the highest bidder, without any regard to the merit of the purchaser.
.fn-
.sp 4
.h4 id=chap1-3-8
<abbr=chapter>CHAP.</abbr> <abbr=eight>VIII.</abbr> | DON QUIXOTE SETS AT LIBERTY| A NUMBER OF UNFORTUNATE PEOPLE,| WHO, MUCH AGAINST THEIR WILLS,| WERE GOING ON A JOURNEY THAT WAS NOT AT ALL TO THEIR LIKING.
.sp 2
Cid Hamet Benengeli, the Arabian
and Manchegan author, recounts
in this solemn, sublime, minute, pleasant,
and fanciful history, that the conversation
// File: 0168.png
between the renowned Don
Quixote, and his squire Sancho Panza,
as related in the foregoing chapter, was
no sooner concluded, than the knight
lifting up his eyes, beheld upon the road
before him about twelve men on foot,
strung together like beads, with a great
iron chain fastened to their necks, and
he perceived shackles upon the arms of
each. They were conducted by two
men on horseback, and the like number
on foot: the horsemen armed with firelocks,
and the foot with javelins and
swords. Sancho seeing them advance,
‘That,’ said he, ‘is the chain of slaves
compelled by the king to work in the
gallies.’—‘How, compelled!’ cried
the knight; ‘is it possible the king compels
people into his service?’—‘I don’t
say so,’ answered Sancho; ‘those
people are condemned for their crimes
to serve in the king’s gallies on compulsion.’—‘In
short,’ replied Don Quixote,
‘be that as it will, they go not voluntarily,
but are driven by force.’—‘Certainly,’
said Sancho. ‘Since that
is the case,’ resumed his master, ‘here
the execution of my office is concerned,
to annul force, and bring succour
to the miserable.’—‘Pray, good your
worship, take notice that justice,
which is the king himself, never uses
violence nor severity to such people,
except as a punishment for their crimes.’

By this time the chain of galley-slaves
being come up, Don Quixote, with much
courtesy, desired the guards would be
pleased to inform him of the cause or
causes for which those people were treated
in that manner: one of the horsemen
replied, that they were slaves belonging
to his majesty going to the gallies, and
that was all he could say, or the enquirer
had occasion to know of the matter.
‘Nevertheless,’ resumed the knight, ‘I
am desirous of knowing from each in
particular the occasion of his misfortune.’
To these be added other such
courteous entreaties to induce them to
satisfy his desire, that the other man on
horseback said, ‘Though we have got
along with us the register and certificate
of the sentence of each of those
malefactors, we have no time at present
to take it out and give you the
reading of it; but if you have a mind
to go and question themselves, they
will answer every thing you ask, to
the best of their knowledge; for they
are a set of miscreants, who delight in
// File: 0169.png
.pn +1
recounting as well as in acting their
roguery.’

With this permission, which he would
have taken if they had not granted it,
Don Quixote approached the chain and
asked of the foremost, for what offence
he travelled in that equipage. ‘Only
for being in love,’ answered the criminal.
‘For that only!’ replied the
knight. ‘If they condemn people
for being in love, I might have been
tugging in the gallies long ago.’—‘But
my love,’ answered the slave,
‘was quite different from what your
worship imagines. I fell deeply in love
with a basket crammed full of white
linen, and locked it so fast in my embrace,
that if justice had not tore it
from my arms by force, I should not
have quitted it willingly to this good
hour: the thing being flagrant, there
was no room for putting me to the
torture, and therefore the cause was
soon discussed; my shoulders were accommodated
with a cool hundred, I
was advised to divert myself three
years in the gurapas, and so the business
ended.’—‘Pray what are the gurapas?’
said Don Quixote. ‘The gurapas
are the gallies,’ answered the
thief; who was a young fellow, about
twenty years of age, and said he was a
native of Piedrahita.

The knight put the same question to
the second, who seemed so overwhelmed
with grief and melancholy, that he could
not answer one word; but the first saved
him the trouble, by saying, ‘This man,
Sir, goes to the gallies for being a
canary bird; I mean, for his skill in
vocal musick.’—‘What!’ said the
knight, ‘are people sentenced to the
gallies for their skill in musick.’—‘Yes,
Sir,’ answered the other, ‘for
nothing is worse than to sing in the
heart-ache.’—‘On the contrary,’ said
Don Quixote, ‘I have always heard it
observed, that musick and play will
fright sorrow away.’—‘But here,’ replied
the slave, ‘the case is quite different;
for he that sings but once will
have cause to weep for ever.’ Don
Quixote saying he could not comprehend
his meaning, one of the guards explained
it. ‘Sir,’ said he, ‘to sing in the
heart-ache, is a term used by these miscreants
to express a criminal who confesses
under the torture; and it hath
been applied to that delinquent, he
owned his crime, which was horse-stealing;
accordingly, having received
two hundred lashes he was condemned
for six years to the gallies, and he
appears always pensive and sad, because
his brother-rogues who keep him
company, continually maltreat, upbraid,
despise, and scoff at him, for
having confessed out of pure pusillanimity.
“For,” say they, “No contains
as many letters as Ay: an offender
is very lucky, when his life or
death depends upon his own tongue,
and not upon the evidence of witnesses;”
and truly I think they are not
far mistaken.’

‘I am of the same opinion,’ said
Don Quixote; and passing on, repeated
his former question to the third, who,
with great readiness and alacrity, answered,
‘I am going to pay a visit of
five years to Lady Gurapa, for having
wanted ten ducats.’—‘I will give
twenty with all my soul,’ replied the
knight, ‘to ease you of your misfortune.’—‘That,’
resumed the slave,
‘is like giving money to a man perishing
with hunger at sea, where there
is no food to be bought. I say this,
because had I been master in time of
those twenty ducats your worship now
offers, I would have anointed the secretary’s
pen, and quickened my lawyer’s
invention with them, to so good
purpose, that I should be now standing
at liberty in the square of Zocodover
in Toledo, and not dragging
like a hound to the gallies; but Heaven
is above—Patience and—that is
enough.’

Don Quixote then advanced to the
fourth, who was a man of a venerable
aspect, with a long white beard hanging
down to his girdle; and he no sooner
heard the knight ask the cause of his
being in that situation, than he began
to weep bitterly, without answering one
word; but the fifth criminal lent him
his tongue, saying, ‘That honourable
gentleman is going to the gallies for
four years, after having made his
publick appearance on horseback with
great solemnity.’—‘That is, I suppose,’
said Sancho, ‘after having been
exposed to publick shame[#].’—‘Even
// File: 0170.png
.pn +1
so,’ replied the slave, ‘and that punishment
was inflicted upon him for
being an ear-broker, or rather a broker
for the whole body: to be plain
with you, the gentleman was convicted
of pimping, and giving himself
out for a conjurer.’—‘Were it not
for the addition of his conjuring
scheme,’ said Don Quixote, ‘he is so
far from deserving to row in the gallies
for pure pimping, that it rather
intitles him to the command of them[#],
as general in chief; for if the office of
a pander was well regulated, it would
be a most honourable and necessary
employment in a well-ordered commonwealth,
reserved for people of birth
and talents, and like the other places
of trust, laid under the inspection of
proper comptrollers, and limited to a
certain number, like the brokers of
merchandize: such a regulation would
prevent many mischiefs, which are now
occasioned by that employment’s being
in the hands of idiots or simple
wretches, such as silly women, pages,
and buffoons, without either age or
experience; who, upon the most urgent
occasions, when there is need of
the most important contrivance, let
the morsel freeze between the dish and
the mouth, and can scarce distinguish
betwixt their right-hands and their
left. I could proceed and advance
many arguments to prove how advantageous
it would be in a commonwealth
to make proper distinctions in
the choice of those who exercise such a
necessary employment; but this is no
place to settle that affair in; and one
day I may chance to recommend it to
the consideration of those who can
both discern and provide a suitable remedy
for this defect. I shall only at
present observe, that the compassion
I feel at sight of these grey hairs,
and that venerable countenance in
distress for having been a pander, is
extinguished by the additional crime
of sorcery; though I am well apprized
there are no conjurers in the world,
who can force or alter the will, as
some weak minded people imagine:
for the inclination is free, and not to
be enslaved by any incantation whatsoever.
The practice of some simple
women, and knavish impostors, is to
compose poisonous mixtures, to deprive
people of their senses, under pretence of
causing them to be beloved; it being
a thing impossible, as I have said, to
compel the will.’—‘What your honour
says is very true,’ replied the
good old man; ‘and really, Sir, as to
the affair of conjuring, I am not guilty;
though I cannot deny that I have
been a pimp; but I never thought I
was to blame in that capacity, because
my whole intention was, that all the
world should enjoy themselves, and
live in peace and quiet without quarrels
and anxiety. Yet the uprightness
of my intention was of no service
in preventing my being sent to a place
from which I shall never return, oppressed
as I am with years and a violent
strangury, that will not allow
me a moment’s rest.’ So saying, he
began to weep again, as before; and his
tears raised the pity of Sancho to such a
degree, that he took a rial out of his
bosom, and gave it in charity to the distressed
senior.

Then Don Quixote addressed himself
to the next, who answered his question,
not with less, but infinitely more vivacity
than that of the former; saying,
‘I trudge in this manner, for having
jested a little extravagantly with two
of my female cousins, and with two
more, who, though not related to me,
were in the same degree of blood to
each other: in short, I jested with
them so long, that in the end there
was such an intricate increase of kindred
as no casuist could unravel.
Every thing was proved against me,
I had neither interest nor money, and
ran some risk of having my windpipe
stopped; but they only condemned
me for six years to the gallies; I submitted
to the sentence, as the punishment
of my crime: youth is on my side,
life may be long, and time brings
every thing to bear; if your worship,
Sir knight, will part with any small
matter for the comfort of poor wretches
like us, God will requite you in heaven,
and we upon earth will take
care to petition him for long life and
health to your worship, that you may
be as happy as by your goodly appearance
you deserve to be.’ The person
who spoke in this manner appeared in
// File: 0171.png
.pn +1
the dress of a student, and one of the
guards said he was a great orator and
excellent Latin scholar.

After all these came a man of a good
mien, about thirty years of age, who
squinted so horribly, that his eyes seemed
to look at each other: he was equipped
in a very different manner from the
rest; his foot being loaded with a huge
chain that went round his whole body,
and his neck adorned with two iron
rings, to one of which the chain was
fastened; and the other was called a
keep-friend, or friend’s-foot; from
which descended to his middle a couple
of iron bolts fitted with a pair of manacles
for his arms, secured by a large
padlock, in such a fashion, as to hinder
him from lifting up his hands to
his mouth, and to disable him from
bending his head to his hands. Don
Quixote enquiring why that man was
more fettered than all the rest, one of
the guard answered, ‘Because he is a
greater rogue than all the rest put together,
and so daring a villain, that
although he is shackled in that manner,
we are under some apprehension
that he will give us the slip.’—‘What
crime has he committed,’ said the
knight, ‘that deserves no greater punishment
than that of going to the
gallies?’—‘He goes for ten years,’
replied the guard, ‘which is a kind of
civil death; but you need not enquire
any farther, when you know that this
honest gentleman is the famous Gines
de Passamonte, alias Genisello de Parapilla.’—‘Softly,
Mr. Commissary,’
said the slave, hearing these words,
‘don’t transmography names and sir-names
in that manner. Gines is my
name, and not Ginesello, and Passamonte
the title of my family; not
Parapilla, as your worship says: let
every body turn about and look at
home, and he will have business
enough.’—‘Speak with less insolence,
Mr. Thief above sterling,’ replied the
commissary, ‘or else I shall make you
hold your peace with a vengeance.’—‘It
appears by this oppression,’ answered
the galley-slave, ‘that God’s will
must be done; but one day somebody
shall know whether or not my name
is Ginesello de Parapilla.’—‘An’t
you called so, you lying vagabond?’
said the guard. ‘Yes, yes, I am so
called,’ answered Gines; ‘but I will
make them change that name, or their
// File: 0172.png
skins shall pay for it, if ever I meet
them in a place I don’t chuse at present
to name.—Sir knight, if you have
any thing to bestow, pray let us have
it, and the Lord be with you, for you
only tire us with enquiring about
other people’s affairs; if you want to
be informed of my history, know, I
am that Gines de Passamonte, whose
life is written by these ten fingers.’

‘He tells nothing but the truth,’
said the commissary; ‘for he has actually
written his own history, as well
as could be desired, and pawned the
manuscript in gaol for two hundred
rials.’—‘Aye, and I shall redeem it,’
said Gines, ‘if it were for as many ducats.’—‘What!
is it so entertaining?’
said Don Quixote. ‘Yes,’ answered
Gines, ‘it is so entertaining,
that woe be unto Lazarillo de Tormes,
and all who have written or shall
write in that manner. What I can
affirm of mine is, that it contains
truths, and such ingenious and savoury
truths, as no fiction can equal.’—‘And
what is the title of your
book?’ said the knight. ‘The Life
of Gines de Passamonte,’ replied the
other. ‘Is it finished?’ said Don Quixote.
‘How can it be finished,’ answered
the author, ‘when my natural life is
not yet concluded? I have already
written my whole history from my
birth till the last time I was sent to
the gallies.’—‘You have visited them
before now then?’ said the knight.
‘For the service of God, and the good
of my country, I have already served
in them, during the space of four
years, and know the difference between
the biscuit and the bull’s pizzle,’
answered the thief; ‘and my journey to
them now gives me no great pain, for
there I shall have time to finish my
book, and set down a great many
things I have to say: there being spare
time enough in the gallies of Spain
for that purpose, which does not require
much leisure, as I have every
circumstance by heart.’—‘You seem
to be an ingenious fellow,’ said Don
Quixote. ‘And unfortunate,’ answered
Gines; ‘for genius is always attended
by evil fortune.’—‘Evil fortune
ought to attend villains like you,’
said the guard. ‘I have already desired
you, Mr. Commissary, to proceed fair
and softly,’ answered Passamonte;
‘your superiors did not give you that
// File: 0173.png
.pn +1
rod to maltreat us poor wretches, but
to conduct and carry us to the place
of our destination, according to his
majesty’s command: and by the life
of—but ’tis no matter. The spots we
received in the inn, may one day be
rubbed out in washing. Mum’s the
word. Let us live while we can,
speak while we may, and at present
pursue our journey; for this joke has
already lasted too long.’

The commissary lifted up his rod, in
order to give a proper reply to the
threats of Passamonte; but Don Quixote
interposing, begged he would not
chastise him; because it was not to be
wondered at, if one whose limbs were
so shackled, should take such liberties
with his tongue: then addressing himself
to the prisoners, ‘From all that you
have told me, dear brethren,’ said he,
‘I clearly perceive, that although you
ought to be chastised for your crimes,
the punishment you are going to suffer
is not much to your liking; on
the contrary, you make this journey
very much against your inclination;
and perhaps, the pusillanimity of one
of you under the torture, this man’s
want of money, and that others
scarcity of friends, and last of all,
the partiality of the judge, may have
been the cause of your perdition, in
depriving you of that justice your several
cases entitled you to. Which
consideration now operates within me,
suggesting, persuading, and even compelling
me to shew in your behalf,
the end and aim for which Heaven
sent me into this world, and made me
profess the order of knight-errantry,
by which I am bound by oath, to
succour the needy and oppressed; but
because I know, that one maxim of
prudence is, not to do that by foul
means which can be accomplished by
fair, I beseech Mr. Commissary and
the guards to unchain and let you depart
in peace. The king will not want
people to serve him on better occasions;
and I think it is very hard to
enslave those whom God and nature
have made free. Besides, gentlemen
soldiers,’ added the knight, ‘those poor
people have committed no offence
against you: and every body hath
sins to answer for. There is a God
in heaven, who will take care to chastise
the wicked and reward the righteous:
and it is not seemly, that honest
// File: 0174.png
men should be the executioners
of their fellow-creatures, on account
of matters with which they have no
concern. This favour I entreat in a
mild and peaceable manner; and if
you grant my request, will thank you
heartily: whereas, if you refuse to
do quietly what I desire, this lance
and sword, with the valour of my invincible
arm, shall make you do it
on compulsion.’

‘A fine joke, truly!’ replied the
commissary; ‘he has brought his harangue
to a very merry conclusion;
desiring us to set at liberty the king’s
prisoners, as if we had authority to
grant, or he to demand, their discharge.
I wish your worship would
go about your business, and set to
rights that bason on your skull, without
going in quest of a cat with three
feet.’—‘You are a cat, and a rat, and
a scoundrel to boot!’ replied the
knight, attacking him with such wonderful
dispatch, that he had not time to
put himself in a posture of defence, so
was thrown from his horse, dangerously
wounded by a thrust of the knight’s
lance. And it happened luckily that
this was one of the two who had firelocks.
The rest of the guard were at
first astonished and confounded at this
unexpected assault; but they soon recollected
themselves, and the horsemen
drawing their swords, while those on
foot handled their javelins, set upon
Don Quixote in their turn, who waited
for them with vast composure; and
doubtless he would have fared ill, if
the galley-slaves, seeing a fair occasion
offered of gaining their liberty, had
not made shift to obtain it, by breaking
the chain with which they were fettered.
Such was the confusion, that the
guards, between their endeavours to detain
the slaves that were unbound, and
their efforts against Don Quixote who
assaulted them, could do nothing at all
effectual. Sancho, for his part, assisted
in disengaging Gines de Passamonte,
who being the first that leaped free and
disencumbered on the plain, attacked
the wounded commissary, and robbed
him of his sword and musket, with
which pointing at one, and taking
aim at another, without firing, however,
in a trice there was not one of the guards
to be seen; for they made the best of
their way, not only from Passamonte’s
firelock, but also from the shower of
// File: 0175.png
.pn +1
stones which was rained upon them by
the rest of the slaves, who had by this
time disengaged themselves.

Sancho was infinitely grieved at this
event, representing to himself, that those
who fled would instantly give notice of
the affair to the holy brotherhood, which,
upon the tolling of a bell, would immediately
sally forth in search of the
delinquents. This supposition he suggested
to his master, whom he entreated
to depart forthwith, and conceal himself
somewhere in the neighbouring
mountain. ‘That may be a very good
expedient,’ said the knight; ‘but I
know what is proper for me to do at
present.’ He then called to the slaves,
who were all in confusion, and after
they had plundered and stripped the
commissary to the skin, they assembled
round him in a circle in order to receive
his commands, and he accosted them in
this manner: ‘It is the duty of honest
men to be thankful for benefits received:
and one of the sins that gives
the greatest offence to God, is ingratitude.
This truth I observe, gentlemen,
because you must be sensible, by
manifest experience, of that which you
have received from me; as an acknowledgment
for which, it is my will and
pleasure, that you set out immediately,
loaded with that chain from which
I have delivered your neck, and repairing
to the city of Toboso; there
present yourselves before the lady
Dulcinea del Toboso, and tell her that
her Knight of the Rueful Countenance
hath sent you to her, with his hearty
commendations. You shall also punctually
recount to her every circumstance
of this famous adventure, even
to the granting you that liberty you
so ardently wished for: and this duty
being performed, you may go a God’s
name whithersoever ye list.’

To this command Gines de Passamonte,
in the name of all the rest, answered,
‘What your worship commands,
most worthy deliverer, is of
all impossibilities the most impossible
to fulfil. For we must by no means
travel in a body, but single and divided,
and each by himself endeavour
to abscond within the bowels of the
earth, in order to avoid the holy brotherhood,
which will doubtless come
out in search of us. But your worship
may, and it is but justice you
should, change that service and tribute
intended for my lady Dulcinea
del Toboso, into a certain number of
Ave maria’s and Credo’s, which we
will say for your prosperity; and this
is a duty we can fulfil by night as well
as by day, in motion and at rest, and
in peace as well as in war: but to
suppose that we will now return to
the flesh-pots of Egypt, I mean, to
the carriage of our chain, and take
the road to Toboso, is to suppose that
it is now midnight, though it wants
little more than two hours of noon;
and indeed, to expect this condescension
of us, is like expecting pears
from an elm.’

‘Then, by heavens!’ said Don Quixote
in a rage, ‘Don Son of a Whore,
Don Ginesello de Parapilla, or whatsoever
is thy name, you shall go alone,
with your tail between your legs, and
carry the whole chain upon your own
shoulders.’ Passamonte, who was none
of the most passive people in the world,
having already smoaked the knight’s
weak side, from the mad action he had
committed in giving them their freedom,
and finding himself treated by him in
this haughty manner, tipped the wink
to his companions; who retiring with
him at a little distance, began to shower
forth such a number of stones upon their
deliverer, that he could not contrive how
to cover himself with his shield; and
poor Rozinante minded the spur no more
than if he had been made of brass. Sancho
retired behind his ass, which sheltered
him from the storm of hail that
descended on them both; but his master
could not screen himself so well, as
to avoid an infinite number of pebble-shot
which took place upon different
parts of his body, some of them with
such force, that he came tumbling to
the ground; and no sooner was he
fallen, than the student set upon him,
and snatching the bason from his head,
made a most furious application of it to
the knight’s shoulders, and then dashed
it upon the ground with such force, that
it went into a thousand pieces. They
likewise stripped him of a jacket[#] he
// File: 0176.png
.pn +1
wore above his armour; and would
even have taken his hose, had not his
greaves been in the way: they plundered
Sancho of his great coat, leaving
him in his doublet and hose; and dividing
the spoils of the battle among
them, each took his own separate route,
more anxious to escape the holy brotherhood,
which they dreaded, than to
load themselves with the chain again,
and go to present themselves before the
Lady Dulcinea del Toboso.

The ass and Rozinante, Sancho and
Don Quixote, were the only persons
remaining on the field. Dapple, with
his head hanging down in a pensive attitude,
and every now and then shaking
his ears, as if he imagined the hurricane
of stones that whizzed about
them was not yet over; Rozinante lying
stretched upon the ground, to which,
like his master, he was humbled by a
pebble: Sancho, in his doublet, terrified
at the thoughts of the holy brotherhood;
and Don Quixote excessively
out of humour, at seeing himself so ill
requited by those people whom he had
served in such an essential manner.

.fn #
A crime that is punished by the pillory in England, is in Spain expiated by the
convict’s being mounted upon an ass, in a particular dress, and led through the streets by
a crier, who proclaims the transgression.
.fn-

.fn #
This is a good hint for a reforming legislature.
.fn-

.fn #
It was the custom of knights to wear a coat of arms made of some rich stuff figured
in a particular manner. The Duke of Brabant being called in a hurry to the battle of
Agincourt, took a trumpeter’s banner, and making a hole through the middle, put it
over his head, and wore it as his coat of arms.
.fn-
.sp 4
.h4 id=chap1-3-9
<abbr=chapter>CHAP.</abbr> <abbr=nine>IX.</abbr> | OF WHAT BEFEL THE RENOWNED DON QUIXOTE IN THE BROWN MOUNTAIN;| BEING ONE OF THE MOST SURPRIZING ADVENTURES|WHICH IS RECOUNTED IN THIS TRUE HISTORY.
.sp 2
Don Quixote, finding himself so
evil entreated, said to his squire,
‘I have always heard it observed, Sancho,
that benefits conferred on base-minded
people are like drops of water
thrown into the sea. Had I taken thy
advice, I might have avoided this vexation:
but, now the affair is over,
we must have recourse to patience,
and take warning for the future.’—‘Yes,’
replied Sancho, ‘your worship
will take warning as sure as I am a
Turk; but, since you allow, that if
you had taken my advice, you would
have avoided this misfortune, take
my advice now, and you avoid a
greater still! for I give you notice,
that all your errantry will stand you
in little stead against the holy brotherhood,
who don’t value all the
knights-errant in the universe three
// File: 0177.png
farthings: and, in faith, this minute
methinks I hear their arrows buzzing
about my ears.’—‘Thou art naturally
a coward, Sancho,’ said the
knight; ‘but that thou mayest have no
reason to say I am obstinate, and never
follow thy counsel, for once thou
shalt prevail; I will retreat from the
danger thou dreadest so much; but
it shall be on condition, that thou
shalt never, either in life or death,
hint to any person whatsoever, that I
retired and avoided this peril through
fear, but merely in compliance with
thy earned request; for to say otherwise
would be to propagate falsehood;
and from this hour to that, and
from that hour to this, I give thee
the lye, and affirm thou lyest, and wilt
lye as often as thou shalt say or think
any such thing: make no reply, therefore;
the very thought of my being
supposed to abscond, or retreat from
danger, especially from this, as it implies
some sort of shadow of fear, inspires
me with such courage, that
here am I alone, ready to remain, and
expect not only the holy brotherhood,
which thou hast mentioned with fear
and trembling, but also the brothers
of the twelve tribes of Israel, those of
the seven Maccabees, with Castor and
Pollux, and all the brethren and brotherhoods
in the universe.’—‘Sir,’
replied Sancho, ‘to retreat is not to
fly; nor is it prudent to tarry when
the danger overbalances the hope, and
it is always the practice of wise people,
to reserve something for to-morrow,
without venturing all upon one
cast; and you must know, that though
I be a rustick and a clown, I have
all my life-time had a small share of
what is called good conduct; wherefore
you need not repent of having
taken my advice, but mount Rozinante,
if you can; if not, I will lend
you my assistance, and follow me;
for this noddle of mine tells me, that,
at present, we have more need of heels
than of hands.’

Don Quixote accordingly mounted,
without the least reply; and Sancho leading
the way upon his ass, they took refuge
in that part of the brown mountain
which was nearest, the squire intending
to go quite across to Viso or
Almodavar del Campo, after they should
have lurked for some days amongst the
rocks, that they might not be found,
// File: 0178.png
.pn +1
in case the holy brotherhood should
come in search of them: he was encouraged
to this resolution, by seeing, that
in the scuffle with the galley slaves,
the provisions his ass carried had escaped
untouched[#]; a circumstance that, in his
opinion, amounted to a miracle, considering
what the thieves had taken, and
how narrowly they had searched.

That evening they arrived in the very
heart of the Sierra Morena[#], where
Sancho proposed to spend the night,
and even to pass a few days, at least to
stay as long as their store should last:
accordingly they took up their lodging
between two rocks in the midst of a
great number of cork-trees; but fate,
which, according to the opinion of
those who do not enjoy the light of the
true faith, guides, conducts, and disposes
all things after its own way, ordained
that Gines de Passamonte, that
famous robber and cheat, who had been
delivered from the chain by the valour
and madness of Don Quixote; I say,
fate ordained that he, impelled by the
fear of the holy brotherhood, which he
did not dread without good reason happened
likewise to take refuge in those
mountains; and even to be carried by
this fear to the same place whither the
same principle had directed Don Quixote
and Sancho Panza, just time enough
to know who they were, notwithstanding
their being gone to sleep. As the
wicked are always ungrateful, and necessity
puts them to their shifts, and the
present convenience overcomes the prospect
of future quiet; Gines, who was
neither grateful nor good-natured, resolved
to steal Sancho’s ass, undervaluing
Rozinante, as a subject that he
could neither pawn nor sell: accordingly,
while the squire was asleep, he
stole Dapple; and, before morning, was
gone far enough to elude all pursuit.

.if h
.il fn=plate-xi.jpg id=plate11 w=60% alt=""
.ca Plate XI: Sancho’s Ass Stolen As They Sleep.
.if-
.if t
[Illustration: Sancho’s Ass Stolen As They Sleep.]
.if-

The appearance of Aurora that rejoices
the earth, had a quite contrary
effect upon Sancho Panza; who, missing
his Dapple, and searching for him
in vain, began to utter the most woeful
lamentation that ever was heard; and
Don Quixote, waked by the noise, heard
him exclaiming in this manner: ‘O
son of my bowels! born in my house,
the play fellow of my children, the
delight of my spouse, the envy of my
neighbours, and comforter of my
cares! in short, the half of my sustenance:
for with six and twenty maravedis,
which thou hast daily earned,
did I defray one half of my family-expence!’
Don Quixote hearing this
complaint, and being informed of the
cause, consoled Sancho with all the
arguments in his power; and, begging
him to have patience, promised to give
him a bill of exchange, on sight of
which he should receive three asses out
of five, which the knight had left at
home. Sancho being comforted with
this declaration, dried up his tears, moderated
his sighs, and returned a thousand
thanks to Don Quixote for his generosity.
As they sauntered among the
rocks, the knight’s heart was rejoiced
to see places so well adapted to those
adventures he was in quest of; for they
recalled to his remembrance those wonderful
events which had happened to
knights-errant among such rocks and
solitudes: he went on, musing on these
subjects, and indeed so wrapped up and
engrossed by them, that he minded nothing
else; while Sancho’s only care,
now that he thought he travelled in safety,
was to satisfy his appetite with what
remained of the spoils of the clergy;
he therefore jogged on leisurely after his
master, sitting side-ways on his ass[#],
and replenishing his own bags out of
that which contained the provision; and
while he was thus employed, would
not have given a farthing for the best
adventure that could happen.

Chancing, however, to lift up his
eyes, he perceived his master had stopped,
and was endeavouring, with the
point of his lance to raise some bundle
that lay upon the ground; he therefore
hastened up to him, in order to lend his
assistance, should it be found necessary;
and arrived just as the knight had turned
up with his lance, a pillion with a
// File: 0179.png
// File: 0180.png
// File: 0181.png
.pn +1
portmanteau fixed to it, all rotted and
consumed by the weather; but so heavy,
that Sancho was obliged to alight, in
order to take them up. His master having
ordered him to examine the contents
of the portmanteau, he obeyed with great
alacrity, and though it was shut with a
chain and padlock, there were so many
holes in it, that he soon reached the inside,
where he found four shirts of fine
holland, with other provision of linen,
equally fashionable and clean, together
with a pretty large heap of crowns of
gold, wrapped up in a rag; which he no
sooner perceived, than he cried in a rapture,
‘Blessed be Heaven for granting
us one advantageous adventure!’ then
continuing his search, he found a
pocket-book richly garnished, which
Don Quixote desired to have, bidding
him keep the money for his own use.
Sancho kissed his hand for the favour,
and taking the linen out of the portmanteau,
crammed it into the bag that
held their provision.

The knight having considered the
whole affair, ‘Sancho,’ said he, ‘I am
of opinion, and I cannot possibly be
mistaken, that some bewildered traveller,
in his passage over these mountains,
has been set upon by robbers,
who having slain him, must have
dragged his body to be buried in this
unfrequented place.’—‘That cannot
be the case,’ answered the squire; ‘for
if they had been robbers, they would
not have left the money behind them.’—‘Thou
art in the right,’ said Don
Quixote; ‘and I cannot guess nor conceive
what the matter can have been.
Let us see if there be any thing written
in this pocket-book, by which we
may trace out and come to the certainty
of what we want to know.’ He
opened it accordingly, and the first
thing he found was the rough draught,
though very legible, of a sonnet, which
he read aloud for the benefit of Sancho,
in these words.
.sp 2
.pm verse-start
<abbr=one>I.</abbr>

Love either cruel is or blind;
  Or still unequal to the cause,
Is this distemper of the mind,
  That with infernal torture gnaws.

<abbr=two>II.</abbr>

But Love’s a god, and cruelty
  In heavenly breasts can never dwell:
Then say by what authority,
  I’m doom’d to feel the pains of hell?

<abbr=three>III.</abbr>

Of all my sufferings and my woe,
  Is Chloe then the fatal source?
Sure ill from good can never flow,
  Nor so much beauty gild a curse.

<abbr=four>IV.</abbr>

With hopeless misery weigh’d down,
  I’ll seek for quiet in the grave;
For when the malady’s unknown,
  A miracle alone can save.
.pm verse-end

‘From such rhyme,’ said Sancho,
‘there is no information to be got, unless
by that Clue we could come to
the bottom of the affair[#].’—‘What
clue dost thou mean?’ said the knight.
‘The Clue your worship mentioned just
now in the sonnet,’ answered the
squire. ‘I mentioned no clue,’ replied
Don Quixote, ‘but Chloe, which is
without doubt the name of the lady
of whom the author of these verses
complains; and really he must have
been a very ingenious poet, or else I
know very little of the art.’—‘Then
your worship understands crambo?’
said the squire. ‘Better than you imagine,’
answered the knight, ‘as you
will see when you carry from me a
letter to my mistress Dulcinea del Toboso,
written in verse from top to
bottom; for thou must know, Sancho,
that all, or the greatest part of
the knights-errant who lived in former
ages, were very much addicted to
poetry and musick; these two qualities,
or rather gifts of nature, being
annexed to all errants in love; though
the truth is, their couplets were rather
sprightly than elegant.’—‘I wish
your worship would read on,’ said
Sancho; ‘perhaps you may find something
more to our satisfaction.’ Accordingly
the knight having turned over
the leaf, ‘Here is prose,’ said he; ‘and
seems to be a letter.’ Sancho asking
if it was upon business, his master replied,
‘In the beginning there was nothing
// File: 0182.png
.pn +1
but love.’—‘Pray, Sir,’ cried
Sancho, ‘read it aloud; for I am highly
delighted with matters of love.’—‘With
all my heart,’ answered Don
Quixote; who raising his voice, in compliance
with the squire’s request, read
what follows.

.pm letter-start
‘Thy false promises, together with
the certainty of my misfortune, have
exiled me to a corner of the world,
from whence thou wilt hear an account
of my death, before this my
complaint shall reach thine ears.
Thou hast cast me off, ungrateful as
thou art, in favour of one who,
though he is richer, is not a more deserving
lover than me: for if virtue
were the wealth that is most esteemed,
I should have no cause to envy the happiness
of others, or to bewail my own
mishap. What thy beauty had raised,
thy behaviour has overthrown: by
the first I mistook thee for an angel;
by the last I discovered thee to be a
woman. Mayest thou live in peace,
fair authoress of my misfortunes;
and Heaven grant that the deceit of
thy husband may never be disclosed,
that thou mayest never repent of what
thou hast done, nor I enjoy the revenge
I do not desire!’
.pm letter-end

Don Quixote having read this letter,
observed that nothing else could be inferred
either from it, or the verses, but
that the author was some despairing
lover. Then perusing the rest of the
book, he found more verses and letters,
some legible, and others not intelligible;
but the substance of them all was composed
of complaints, lamentations, suspicions,
desires, disgusts, favours, and
disdain, some of which were extolled,
and others deplored. While Don Quixote
examined the book, Sancho rummaged
the portmanteau, without leaving
a corner in that of the pillion which he
did not search, pry into, and overhaul;
no seam was left unripped, no lock of
wool unpicked, that nothing might be
lost through negligence and want of
care; so much was his cupidity awakened,
by finding the money, which amounted
to more than a hundred
crowns; and though he reaped no other
fruit from his industry, he thought himself
abundantly requited for his capers
in the blanket, his vomit of the balsam,
the benediction of the pack-staves,
// File: 0183.png
the fisty-cuffs of the carrier, the loss of
his bags, the robbery of his great coat,
with all the hunger, thirst, and fatigue
he had undergone in the service of his
worthy master, who had made him
more than amends by his generous present
of this windfall.

The knight of the rueful countenance
was impatient to know the owner
of the portmanteau; conjecturing by
the sonnet, the letter, the gold, and the
fine linen, that he must be some lover of
quality, whom the disdain and barbarity
of his mistress had driven to some desperate
end: but, as in that uninhabited
and rocky place, there was nobody who
could give him the information he wanted,
he resolved to penetrate still farther
into the mountain, without taking any
other road than what Rozinante should
chuse for his own conveniency, still confident
of meeting with some strange adventure
among these briars and brambles.

As he went on, entertaining himself
with these reflections, he perceived upon
the top of a hill right before him, a man
skipping from bush to bush, and rock
to rock, with wonderful agility; his
body seemed naked, his beard black and
bushy, his hair long and matted, his feet
unshod, his legs bare, and his thighs
covered with breeches, which to all appearance
were of crimson, but so ragged,
that his skin appeared through many
different holes, while his head was
without any sort of covering. Notwithstanding
the nimbleness with which
he passed, all these minute circumstances
were seen and remarked by the knight
of the rueful countenance, who in vain
attempted to follow him; those rough
roads being quite unpassable by the
feeble Rozinante, who was naturally
phlegmatick and tender-footed. However,
Don Quixote concluded that this
must be the owner of the pillion and
portmanteau, and determined within
himself to find him out, although he
should travel a whole year through the
mountains for that very purpose. With
this view he ordered Sancho to alight,
and take a short cut over one part of
the mountain, while he should go round
the other; and by this expedient they
might come up with the man who had
so suddenly vanished from their sight.
‘That proposal I can by no means
comply with,’ answered the squire;
‘for if I stir but an inch from your
worship, fear instantly lays hold on
// File: 0184.png
.pn +1
me, and assaults me in a thousand
horrid shapes and visions; and let this
serve to apprize you, that henceforward,
I will not budge a finger’s
breadth from your presence.’—‘Be
it so,’ said he of the rueful countenance;
‘and I am very glad that thou
canst avail thyself of my courage,
which shall never fail thee, even if
thy soul should fail thy body; follow
me, therefore, step by step, or at
thy own leisure; and use thine eyes
like two spy glasses; we will take
a compass round this little mountain,
and perhaps we may meet again with
that man, who is certainly no other
than the owner of what we found.’
To this observation Sancho replied,
‘Methinks we may save ourselves that
trouble; for if, upon finding him,
he should prove to be the owner of
the money, I must of course make
restitution; therefore we had better
spare all this fruitless search; and
keep it <i>bona fide</i>, until the true owner
appear of himself, without all this
intricate enquiry: and before that
happens, perhaps I shall have spent
the whole, and then I shall be discharged
by law.’—‘In that notion
thou art mistaken, Sancho,’ resumed
the knight; ‘for as we have already
good grounds to believe he is the
owner, it is our duty to find him
out, and restore what we have taken;
and though we should not find him,
the strong reason we have to believe
that it belongs to him will make us
equally guilty in detaining it, as we
should be if it really did. Wherefore,
friend Sancho, do not give thyself
any uneasiness about the enquiry;
because if we find him, I shall be
freed from a great deal of anxiety.’
So saying, he put spurs to Rozinante,
and Sancho followed him in his usual
manner. Having surrounded part of
the mountain, they found in a brook
that watered the foot of it, a dead mule
saddled and bridled, and half consumed
by the dogs and crows; another circumstance
which confirmed them in the
opinion, that he who fled from them
was master both of the mule and portmanteau.

While they were looking at this object,
they heard a shepherd’s whistle,
and presently on the left appeared a good
number of goats, and behind them, on
the top of the mountain, they descried
the goatherd, who seemed to be a man
in years. Don Quixote calling aloud,
entreated him to come down; and he,
in the same tone, asked what had brought
them to that place, which was seldom
trodden, except by the feet of goats,
wolves, and other wild beasts that harboured
thereabouts? Sancho bade him
come down, and they would tell him
what had brought them thither; upon
which the goatherd descended, and coming
up to Don Quixote, ‘I will wager,’
said he, ‘that you are looking at the
hireling mule, which lies dead in that
bottom, where in good sooth it hath
lain full six months. Pray, have you
met with its master?’—‘We have
met with nothing,’ answered the
knight, ‘but a pillion and portmanteau,
which we found not far from
hence.’—‘I have often seen the same
things,’ replied the goatherd, ‘but
would never touch nor go near them,
being afraid of some misfortune, or
of being questioned for theft; for the
devil is very cunning, and raises
blocks under our feet, over which we
stumble, and very often fall, without
knowing how or wherefore.’—‘That
is the very thing I say,’ answered Sancho,
‘though I saw them also, I would
not go within a stone’s throw of them;
there I left them, and there they remain
as they were; for I don’t chuse
to steal a dog with a collar about his
neck[#].’—‘Pr’ythee, honest friend,’
said Quixote, ‘dost thou know who the
owner of these things is?’—‘All that
I can say of the matter,’ answered
the goatherd, ‘is, that it may be about
six months, more or less, since there
came to our hut, which is about three
leagues from hence, a very genteel
young man of a comely appearance,
riding upon that very mule that now
lies dead, with the same pillion and
portmanteau which you say you found.
He asked what part of the mountain
was the most woody and concealed,
and we told him, that it was this very
spot where we now are; and it is so,
for if you go half a league farther
// File: 0185.png
.pn +1
into the mountain, you will perhaps
find it a very difficult matter to return:
and I marvel much how you have got
so far, for there is neither high-road
nor by-path that leads to this place.
But as I was saying, the young man
hearing our reply, turned his mule,
and rode towards the place to which
we had directed him, leaving us all
very much pleased with his appearance,
though not a little surprized at
his question, and the speed with which
we saw him ride back, into the heart
of the mountain: from that time we
saw no more of him, till a few days
after; when he sprung upon one of our
shepherds on the road; and, without
saying why or wherefore, beat and
bruised him unmercifully; after which
he went to the sumpter ass, and carrying
off all the bread and cheese that
was on his back, with surprizing nimbleness,
ran back again to the thicket.
As soon as we understood this particular,
several of us goatherds went in
search of him, through the most wild
and unfrequented part of the mountain,
for the space of two days, at the
end of which we found him lying in
the hollow of a large cork-tree. He
came out to us in a very civil manner,
with his cloaths all torn, and his
face so tanned and disfigured by the
sun, that we should scarce have known
him, had not his cloaths, tattered as
they were, which we had before taken
particular notice of, assured us that he
was the person we went in search of.
He saluted us very courteously, and in
a few words, though very well chosen,
bade us not wonder at seeing him
in that condition; for he was obliged
in that manner to do penance, which
had been enjoined him, on account
of his manifold sins and transgressions.
We earnestly begged to know
who he was; but that he never could
be prevailed upon to tell: we desired
him also, whenever he should have occasion
for food, without which he
could not live, to tell us where we
should find him, and we would bring
it to him with great care and affection;
or if that was not to his liking, we
desired him to ask it civilly, without
taking it by force. He thanked us
kindly for our tenders of service, begged
pardon for the assaults he had
committed, and promised for the future,
to ask it for God’s sake, without
// File: 0186.png
giving offence to any person whatsoever.
With regard to the place of
his habitation, he said, he had no
other than that which chance presented
every night when it grew dark;
and concluded his discourse with such
piteous lamentation, that our hearts
must have been made of flint, if we
could have heard it without shedding
tears, considering the woeful change he
had undergone since we saw him at first:
for as I have already observed, he was a
genteel, comely youth, and by his courteous
and polite discourse, shewed himself
to be a person of good birth and
excellent breeding; and though we who
heard him were only home-bred country
people, the gentility of his carriage
was easily perceived by our
clownish ignorance. In the midst of
this conversation that passed between
him and us, he grew silent all of a
sudden, and nailed, as it were, his
eyes to the ground, for a considerable
space of time, during which we remained
in suspense and no small concern,
to see the effect of this stupefaction;
for by his staring at the ground
for a good while, without moving his
eye-lids, then shutting them close and
biting his lips, and then drawing up
the skin of his forehead, we could
easily perceive that he was seized with
some fit of madness; and he soon confirmed
the truth of our opinion, for
he sprung up with surprizing force
from the ground on which he had
thrown himself, and attacked the
person who was next to him with
such rage and resolution, that if we
had not taken him off, he would have
beaten and bit him to death; crying
aloud all the time, “Ha, treacherous
Fernando! now shalt thou pay for
the injury thou hast done me. These
hands shall tear out thy heart, in
which all kinds of wickedness, particularly
fraud and deceit, are harboured
and dwell!” To these he
added other expressions, tending to reproach
that Fernando with treachery
and baseness. When we had got our
friend out of his clutches, with no
small trouble, he went off without
speaking another word, and ran at
full speed among these shrubs and
brambles, so as that it was impossible
for us to follow him. From these
things we conjectured that his madness
came upon him by fits, and that
// File: 0187.png
.pn +1
some person of the name of Fernando
must have done him some deadly
wrong, which hath driven him to
distraction. Indeed, this conjecture
has been since confirmed by his different
behaviour on divers occasions,
when he hath met with our shepherds,
from whom he hath sometimes begged
part of their provision, and at
other times hath taken it by force;
for when the fit of lunacy is upon
him, though they offer it of their own
free will, he will not accept of it
peaceably, without coming to blows;
but when he is in his right senses, he
begs it for God’s sake, in a very
courteous and civil manner, and returns
many thanks for the favour, accompanied
with abundance of tears.
And truly, gentlemen,’ added the goatherd,
‘I and four more country lads,
two of them my own servants, and
the other two friends of mine, yesterday
resolved to go in search of him,
and after having found him, to carry
him, either by force or fair means, to
the city of Almodavar, which is about
eight leagues from hence, and there
have him cured, if he be curable; or
learn of him, when he is in his
senses, who he is, or whether or not
he has any relations to whom we may
give an account of his misfortune.
This, gentlemen, is all I can say, in
answer to the questions you asked;
and you may take it for granted, that
the owner of the goods you found, is
the very same person whom you saw
skip about half-naked, with such agility:’
for Don Quixote had said that
they had seen a man in that condition,
leaping from rock to rock.

The knight was very much surprized
at this information of the goatherd,
which making him still more impatient
to know who this unfortunate lunatick
was, he determined with himself to put
his former design in execution, and
go in quest of him, through the whole
mountain, without leaving a cave or
corner unsearched until he should find
him. But accident was more his friend
on this occasion than he could either
imagine or expect; for at that instant,
the young man of himself appeared
in the cleft of a rock hard by the
place where they stood; and came towards
them, muttering something to
himself, which they could not have understood
had he been near, much less
// File: 0188.png
as he was at some distance from them.
His equipage was just as it has been
described; but, as he approached, Don
Quixote perceived that his buff doublet,
though torn to rags, still retained the
perfume: from whence he concluded,
that the person who wore such dress,
could not be a man of the lowest rank.
When he came up, he saluted them very
politely, though with a hoarse, mistuned
voice; and the salutation was returned
with no less courtesy by Don Quixote,
who alighting from Rozinante, with
genteel and graceful deportment, went
and embraced the stranger, whom he
strained within his arms a good while,
as if he had been a very old acquaintance.
The other, who might have been
called the tatterdemalion of the distracted,
as Don Quixote was stiled the
knight of the rueful countenance, after
having submitted to this embrace, stepped
back, and laying his hands on the
shoulders of the knight, stood looking
attentively in his face, in order to recollect
him; no less astonished, perhaps,
at the figure, mien, and armour of Don
Quixote, than this last was surprized
at his forlorn appearance. At length,
the first who broke silence after the embrace,
was the ragged youth, who spoke
what you may read in the following
chapter.

.fn #
This is an oversight of the author, who seems to have forgot that Sancho lost his
wallet at the inn, and was robbed by the galley-slaves of the great coat or cloak, in
which he carried the remains of that provision he had taken from those who attended the
dead body towards Segovia.
.fn-

.fn #
A chain of dusky mountains that divide Castile from Andalusia.
.fn-

.fn #
Here Cervantes hath been caught napping by the criticks; who observe, that Sancho
could not be mounted on the ass, which was but just now stolen by Gines de Passamonte.
.fn-

.fn #
As it is impossible to preserve the original blunders of Sancho, who mistakes Fili or
Phillis, for Hilo, that signifies a thread, we are obliged to substitute another, by changing
Phillis into Chloe, which Sancho, in English, might have as naturally mistaken for
a clue; and by this expedient the sense of the passage is not hurt, and but very little altered.
.fn-

.fn #
Methinks it is inconsistent with the character of the knight, to allow Sancho to tell
such a fraudulent untruth in his hearing; nor is Panza’s behaviour on this occasion much
for the honour of his simplicity.
.fn-
.sp 4
.h4 id=chap1-3-10
<abbr=chapter>CHAP.</abbr> <abbr=ten>X.</abbr> | THE CONTINUATION OF THE ADVENTURE IN THE SIERRA MORENA.
.sp 2
The history relates, that Don
Quixote listened with vast attention
to the shabby knight of the mountain,
who began the conversation thus:
‘Assuredly, Signior, though I have not
the honour to know who you are,
I thank you heartily for those expressions
of kindness with which you
treat me; and wish I were in such a
situation as would enable me to repay
this courteous reception with something
more than mere good-will: but my
hapless fortune affords me nothing to
offer in return for the civilities that
are shewn me, except a hearty inclination
to make a more adequate satisfaction.’—‘My
will and desire,’ answered
Don Quixote, ‘to serve you is
so strong, that I was determined not
// File: 0189.png
.pn +1
to quit these mountains until I had
found you, and learned of yourself
whether or not the grief you manifest
in this strange course of life, could be
alleviated by any kind of remedy, for
which, had need required, I would
have searched with all possible diligence;
and had your misfortune been
such as shut up all the avenues to advice
and redress, I was resolved to
join your lamentations, and bemoan
your misery to the utmost of my power:
for, in all misfortunes, the greatest
consolation is a sympathizing friend;
and if this my friendly intention deserves
the least return of civility, I
entreat you, Signior, by that courtesy
which I see you so eminently possess,
and moreover conjure you by that
object, which of all others in this life
you have most loved, or are most in
love with, to tell me who you are,
and inform me of the cause that
brings you to live and die in this solitude,
like the brute beasts among
which you dwell, so different from
that rank and situation to which your
appearance and person declare you are
entitled. And I swear by the order
of chivalry which I have received, unworthy
sinner that I am! and by the
profession of a knight-errant, that if
you comply with this my request, I will
serve you with that earnestness which
my duty obliges me to express; either
in remedying your mishap, if it admits
of remedy, or in condoling with
you, as I have already promised.’
The knight of the wood, hearing him
of the rueful countenance talk in this
manner, could do nothing for some
time but gaze, and stare, and survey
him from head to foot; at length,
having examined him thoroughly, he
said, ‘If you have got any food, for
God’s sake spare me a little; and after
I shall have eaten it, I will do as
you desire, in return for the civility
you now shew me.’

Sancho immediately pulled from his
bag, and the goatherd from his scrip,
some victuals to appease the hunger of
the tatterdemalion, who swallowed what
they gave him like a frantick person,
with such hurry, that he left not the
interval of an instant between one mouthful
and another, but seemed to devour
rather than eat, without either speaking
or being spoke to by the spectators. His
repast being ended, he beckoned them
// File: 0190.png
to follow, and conducted them to a
verdant spot of grass, at the turning of
a rock, a little way from the place where
they were; and sitting down on the
green turf, they followed his example;
not a word being spoke all the time, until
the ragged knight, after having adjusted
himself in his seat, began in this
manner. ‘If you desire, gentlemen,
that I should, in a few words, inform
you of the immensity of my misfortunes,
you must give me your promise
that you will not by any question,
or otherwise, interrupt the thread
of my doleful story; for if you should,
that instant I will break off the narration.’
This warning recalled to the
knight’s memory the story recounted by
his squire, which still remained unfinished,
because he had not kept an exact
account of the goats, as they passed
the river. But, to return to the tattered
knight: ‘I give you this precaution,’
added he, ‘because I would briefly pass
over the detail of my misfortunes,
the remembrance of which brings
fresh addition to my woe; and the
fewer questions you ask, the sooner
shall I have finished the relation; although,
in order to satisfy your curiosity
to the full, I will not fail to
mention every material circumstance.’
Don Quixote promised, in behalf of
himself and the company, to avoid all
manner of interruption; and the stranger,
thus assured, began in these words:

.if h
.il fn=plate-xiv.jpg id=plate14 w=60% alt=""
.ca Plate XIV: The Tattered Gentleman Tells His Tale.
.if-
.if t
[Illustration: The Tattered Gentleman Tells His Tale.]
.if-

‘My name is Cardenio, the place of
my nativity one of the best cities in
this province of Andalusia, my family
noble, my parents rich, and my misfortunes
so great, that no doubt they
have been lamented by them, and even
felt through my whole kindred, though
all their wealth would not alleviate
my woe; for the goods of fortune are
but of little service against those ills
inflicted by the hand of Heaven. In
the same country lived, shall I call her,
a paradise, which love had adorned
with all the charms I could desire to
possess; such was the beauty of Lucinda,
a young lady as well-born
and rich as I, though more fortunate
and endowed with less constancy than
what was due to my honourable intentions.
This Lucinda did I admire,
love, and adore, even from my most
tender years; and she made me all the
returns of love and inclination that I
could expect from her infant age.
// File: 0191.png
// File: 0193.png
.pn +1
Our parents were not ignorant of our
mutual affection, which gave them no
offence, because they foresaw that if
it should increase with our years, it
could have no other issue than marriage;
an union which the equality
of our age and fortune seemed to point
out. Meanwhile, our passion growing
up with our age, Lucinda’s father
thought himself obliged to forbid me
his house, imitating in that particular,
the parents of Thisbe, whom the
poets have celebrated so much. This
prohibition added flame to flame, and
wish to wish, for though our tongues
were restrained, they could not silence
our pens, which commonly express
the sentiments of the heart with more
liberty, because the presence of the
beloved object often confounds the
most determined intention, and puts
to silence the most undaunted tongue.

‘Good Heaven! what letters did I
write! what chaste endearing answers
did I receive! what songs did I compose,
inspired by love that displayed
the soul unmasked, inflamed each soft
desire, regaled the fancy, and indulged
the wish! in fine, my patience being
exhausted, and my heart almost consumed
with the desire of seeing her, I
resolved to execute the scheme which
seemed most favourable for my love
and pretensions; and this I put in
practice, by demanding her in marriage
of her father, who thanked me
for the honour I intended him, by this
proposal of marrying into his family;
but said, as my own father was alive,
it was properly his business to make
the demand; for, unless his consent
and inclination were obtained, Lucinda
was not a person either to be given
or taken in marriage by stealth. I
thanked him in my turn, for his politeness;
and thinking there was a great
deal of reason in what he said, assured
myself that my father would readily
agree to the proposal whenever I should
make it. I therefore flew instantly to
disclose my sentiments to him on that
subject; and entering the closet where
he was, found him reading a letter,
which, before I could speak a syllable,
he put into my hands saying, “By
this letter, Cardenio, you will see
how much Duke Ricardo is inclined
to do you service.” This Duke Ricardo,
as you must know, gentlemen,
is a grandee of Spain, whose estate lies
// File: 0194.png
in the best part of this province. I
took and read this letter, which was
so extremely kind, that I myself should
have blamed my father, had he refused
to comply with what he requested in
it: this was to send me immediately
to this house, he being desirous that I
should live as the companion, not the
servant, of the eldest son; and he would
take care of my fortune in such a manner
as should manifest the esteem he
had for me. Having read the letter,
I was struck dumb at knowing the
contents; especially when I heard my
father pronounce, “Two days hence,
Cardenio, you shall set out, according
to the pleasure of the duke; and you
ought to thank God for having opened
an avenue, through which you
may arrive at that fortune I know
you deserve.” To this declaration
he added other services, as became a
prudent father; and I, the night before
I departed, finding means to speak
with Lucinda, told her what had happened;
nay, I even imparted it to
her father, entreating him to wait a
few days, without disposing of her to
any other, until I should know in
what manner Ricardo wanted to employ
me. He gave me his promise
accordingly, and she confirmed it by
a thousand vows and anxious sighs.

‘I at length arrived at the seat of
Duke Ricardo, by whom I was so
well received and kindly entertained,
that Envy presently began to do her
office, possessing the old servants with
the opinion, that every expression of
favour I received from the duke was
prejudicial to their interest. But he
who was most rejoiced at my residing
there, was the duke’s second son, Fernando,
a gay, genteel, liberal, and
amorous youth, who in a short time
was pleased to honour me with such
intimacy of friendship as became the
subject of every body’s discourse; and
though the eldest brother loved and
favoured me also, he did not carry his
favour and affection to such a pitch.
Now, as all secrets are communicated
between friends, and the confidence
in which I lived with Fernando was
soon changed into friendship, he imparted
to me his most secret thoughts,
and among other things, a love affair
that gave him a good deal of disquiet.
In short, he had an inclination for a
country-maid, who was his father’s
// File: 0195.png
.pn +1
vassal; her parents were very rich,
and she herself so beautiful, reserved,
modest and discreet, that nobody who
knew her could determine in which of
these qualifications she most excelled.
These accomplishments of this fair
maiden inflamed the desires of Don
Fernando to such a pitch, that he resolved,
as the easiest conquest over her
virtue, to promise he would marry her;
for he found it impossible to gratify
his wish in any other way. I, prompted
and bound by my friendship, endeavoured
to dissuade and divert him
from his purpose, by the strongest arguments
and most lively examples I
could produce; but finding them all
ineffectual, I resolved to communicate
the whole affair to his father Duke
Ricardo.

‘Don Fernando, having abundance of
cunning and discernment, suspected
my intention; and was afraid, that
the obligation he saw I was under,
as a faithful servant, would not allow
me to conceal an affair so prejudicial
to the honour of the duke my
master; he therefore, in order to divert
and deceive me, observed that
he could find no better remedy to remove
the beauty that enslaved him
from his remembrance, than that of
absence for a few months; and therefore
desired that we should go to my
father’s house, upon pretence, as he
would tell the duke, of seeing and
purchasing some fine horses in our
town, which produces the best in the
world. Scarce had he uttered this
proposal, when prompted by my love,
exclusive of his prudent intention, I
approved of it, as one of the best concerted
schemes that could be imagined;
and was rejoiced at meeting with
such a fair conjuncture and occasion
of returning to my dear Lucinda. Induced
by this motive and desire, I applauded
his pretence, and enforced his
proposal, advising him to execute his
plan with all speed; for absence would
certainly do its office, in spite of the
most established inclination. At that
very time, as I afterwards understood,
he had enjoyed the country-maid, under
the title of her husband, and waited
for an opportunity of owning it
with safety to himself, being afraid of
the duke’s resentment, in case he should
discover his folly. It happened afterwards,
that as love in young people
// File: 0196.png
is, for the most part, nothing but
appetite, whose only aim is pleasure,
and this being enjoyed, what seemed
love vanishes, because it cannot exceed
the bounds of nature; whereas
real love is bounded by no such limits:
I say, as soon as Don Fernando
enjoyed the country girl, his desires
were appeased, and his raptures abated;
and if at first he pretended to seek
a cure for them in absence, he now
earnestly desired to be absent, that he
might avoid any farther gratification.

‘The duke having given him leave,
and ordered me to attend him, we arrived
at our habitation, where he was
received by my father in a manner
suitable to his rank and family. I
went instantly to visit Lucinda, whose
presence in a moment rekindled all
my desires, which indeed were neither
dead nor decayed within me: and, to
my infinite misfortune, I made Don
Fernando acquainted with my love,
because I thought, by the laws of that
intimate friendship with which he honoured
me, I ought to conceal nothing
from him. I therefore praised the beauty,
grace, and discretion of Lucinda,
in such a manner, as excited his curiosity
to see such an accomplished
young lady. Prompted by my evil
genius, I gratified his desire, shewing
her to him one night by the light of
a taper at the window from which I
used to converse with her. At sight
of her he absolutely forgot all the
beauties he had formerly seen; he
was struck dumb with wonder; he
seemed to lose all sense, became absent
and pensive; and in short, enamoured
of her to that degree, which
you will perceive in the course of my
unhappy story: and the more to inflame
his desire, which he concealed
from me, and disclosed to Heaven
alone, he happened one day to find a
letter which she had written, desiring
me to ask her in marriage of her father,
so prudent, modest, and tender,
that upon perusing it, he said, “In
Lucinda alone are concentered all the
charms of beauty and understanding,
which are divided among the rest of
her sex.” True it is, and I will now
confess it, and although I knew how
justly Fernando applauded Lucinda,
I was vexed at hearing these praises
proceed from his mouth, and began
to dread and suspect his inclination;
// File: 0197.png
.pn +1
for he was eternally talking of her,
and always turned the discourse upon
her, even when he was obliged to
bring her in by the head and shoulders;
a circumstance that waked a
sort of jealousy within me; not that I
imagined ought could alter the faith
and affection of Lucinda; yet, notwithstanding,
my destiny made me
dread the very thing that confidence
insured. Don Fernando always contrived
means to read the letters I sent
to Lucinda, together with her answers,
on pretence of being highly
pleased with the good sense they contained;
and it once happened, that
she having desired me to send her a
book of knight-errantry, in which
she took great delight, called Amadis
de Gaul——’

Don Quixote no sooner heard him
mention this book, than he said, ‘Had
you told me in the beginning of your
story, that your mistress Lucinda was
an admirer of books of chivalry, you
would have had no occasion to use any
other argument to convince me of
her sublime understanding; which I
should not have deemed quite so extraordinary
as you have represented it,
had she wanted relish for that sort of
reading: wherefore you need not spend
any more words with me, in extolling
her beauty, virtue, and good sense;
for, upon the knowledge of her taste
only, I pronounce her to be the most
beautiful and discreet lady in the universe.
I wish, however, that you had
sent along with Amadis de Gaul, the
worthy Don Rugel of Greece; for I
know your mistress Lucinda would
have been greatly pleased with Darayra
and Garaya, together with the
judicious sayings of the shepherd Darinel,
and those admirable verses of his
eclogues, sung and represented by him
with such grace, spirit, and discretion;
but the time will come when that
omission may be rectified; indeed, the
fault may be repaired as soon as you
shall please to accompany me to the
place of my habitation, where I can
supply you with more than three hundred
books, which are the feast of my
soul, and entertainment of my life;
though now I recollect, not one of
them remains in my possession; thanks
to the malice of wicked and envious
inchanters. But I hope you will
be so good as to forgive me for having
contradicted my promise of not
interrupting your story; for when
the subject turns upon chivalry or
knights-errant, I can no more forbear
interposing, than the rays of the
sun can cease to warm, or those of
the moon to wet: but I ask pardon;
pray proceed with your story; for
that is most to the purpose at present.’

While Don Quixote was talking in
this manner, Cardenio hung his head,
and fell into a profound reverie; and
though the knight repeated his request,
would neither lift up his head, nor answer
one word. At length, after a long
pause, looking up, ‘You cannot,’ said
he, ‘beat it out of my thoughts; nor
is there any person upon earth, who
can persuade me to the contrary; and
he must be a blockhead, who imagines
or believes otherwise, than that
the villain Master Elisabat carried on
a criminal correspondence with Queen
Madasima.’—‘By Heaven, ’tis false,’
cried Don Quixote, with great indignation
and impetuosity, as usual; ‘that
report is the effect of malice, or rather
mere wantonness. Queen Madasima
was a most royal dame, and it is not
to be presumed, that a princess of her
rank would confer favours upon a
mere quack doctor. Whosoever thinks
otherwise, lyes like a very great scoundrel;
and I will prove him such either
on horseback or a foot, armed or disarmed,
by night or by day, as will most
suit his inclination.’ Cardenio stood
all the while looking attentively at him,
and being by this time seized with the
paroxism of his madness, could not proceed
with his story; neither, if he had
proceeded, would Don Quixote have
listened to it, for he was offended at
what he had heard to the prejudice of
Queen Madasima[#], whose reputation
interested him as much as if she had
been actually his own mistress: such
wonderful impression had those profane
books made on his imagination!

I say, then, Cardenio being by this
time under the influence of his distraction,
and hearing himself called lyar
and scoundrel, with other terms of reproach,
could not relish the joke; but,
// File: 0198.png
.pn +1
snatching up a large pebble that lay
near him, aimed it so successfully at
Don Quixote’s breast, that he fell fairly
on his back with the blow. Sancho
Panza, seeing his master treated in this
manner, attacked the madman with his
clenched fist; but the lunatick received
him with such a blow, as knocked him
down to the ground at once, and then
getting upon him, mauled his carcase
to his heart’s content; while the goatherd,
who attempted to defend him,
met with the same fate. Having thus
mastered and pummelled them all round,
he left off, and with great composure
retreated to the thickets from whence he
came. Sancho then arose; and, enraged
to find himself handled in this manner
for nothing, ran to take vengeance
on the goatherd, saying that he was to
blame for the whole, because he had not
informed him, that the man had intervals
of madness; which had they
known, they might have guarded against
them. The goatherd affirmed, that he
had apprized them of what might happen;
and if they had not heard him,
it was no fault of his. The squire replied;
the goatherd retorted; and, in
conclusion, they went by the ears together,
and pulled each other’s beards
with such fury, that there would not
have been a single hair left on either
chin, had not Don Quixote interposed.
Sancho, grappling stoutly with his adversary,
cried, ‘Give me leave, Sir
Knight of the Rueful Countenance;
this is no armed knight, but a plebeian
like myself, of whom I can
securely take satisfaction for the injury
he has done me, by fighting with
him hand to hand, like a man of honour.’—‘True,’
said Don Quixote;
‘but the cause of what hath happened,
cannot be justly imputed to him.’
Peace accordingly ensued, and the knight
asked the goatherd again, if there was
a possibility of finding Cardenio; for
he was extremely desirous of hearing
the conclusion of his story. The goatherd
repeated what he had said before,
that he did not certainly know whereabouts
he resided; but, if they should
stay long in these parts, they could not
fail of finding him either mad or sober.

.fn #
Queen Madasima, a lady in Amadis de Gaul, attended by one Elisabat, a surgeon
with whom she travels, and lies in woods and desarts.
.fn-
.sp 4
.h4 id=chap1-3-11
<abbr=chapter>CHAP.</abbr> <abbr=eleven>XI.</abbr> | OF THE STRANGE ADVENTURES THAT HAPPENED TO THE VALIANT KNIGHT OF LA MANCHA IN THE SIERRA MORENA, WHERE HE DID PENANCE, IN IMITATION OF BELTENEBROS.
// File: 0199.png
.sp 2
Don Quixote, having taken leave
of the goatherd, and mounted Rozinante
again, commanded Sancho to
follow him; and the squire, bestriding
his ass, obeyed with great reluctance.
As they advanced at leisure, into the
most rocky part of the mountain, Sancho
longed to death for an opportunity of
talking, and waited impatiently till his
master should begin, that he might not
transgress his orders; but, being utterly
unable to keep silence any longer,
‘Sir Don Quixote,’ said he, ‘be pleased
to give me your blessing, and grant
me leave to return immediately to my
wife and children, with whom, at
least, I can talk and prattle my fill;
for in commanding me to travel with
you, through these desarts, night and
day, without opening my lips when
I am disposed to speak, your worship
buries me alive; if it were the will of
Heaven, that beasts spoke as they did
in the days of Hyssop, I should be
the less uneasy, because I would converse
with my ass at pleasure; and
that would be some comfort to me in
my misfortunes; but it is a very
hard case, and what I cannot bear
with patience, to travel in search of adventures
all my life, and find nought
but rib-roastings, blankettings, robberies,
and fisty-cuffs; and, after all,
be obliged to sew up our mouths,
without daring to bring up what lies
upon our stomachs, more than if we
were dumb.’

‘I understand thee, Sancho,’ replied
the knight; ‘thou art impatient until
I take off the interdiction I have laid
upon thy tongue. I take it off, then;
say what you please, on condition
that this repeal shall last no longer
than our stay in this mountain.’—‘Be
it so,’ said Sancho; ‘to-day I
will speak, to-morrow God’s will be
done; and the first use I make of this
safe conduct, is to ask why your worship
was in such a passion about that
Queen Magimasa, or how d’ye call
her; or of what signification was it
to you, whether that same Abat was
her sweetheart or not? Had your worship
overlooked that circumstance, that
you had no concern in, I firmly believe
the madman would, have gone
// File: 0200.png
.pn +1
on with his story, and you would
have saved yourself the pebble-shot,
with more than half a dozen kicks
and cuffs.’

‘In faith, Sancho,’ answered Don
Quixote, ‘If thou knewest, as I do,
what an honourable and princely lady
that Queen Madasima was, thou
wouldst say, I had great patience in
forbearing to demolish the mouth
from whence such blasphemy proceeded;
for sure, ’tis no less to say,
or even think, that a queen should
take a surgeon to her bed. The truth
of the story is, that Master Elisabat,
whom the lunatick mentioned, was
a man of prudence and discernment,
and served the queen in quality of tutor
and physician; but to suppose
that there was any indecent familiarity
between them, is a piece of folly
that deserves to be severely chastised:
and to convince thee that Cardenio
knew not what he said, thou mayest
remember he was deprived of his
senses, when he took notice of that
circumstance.’—‘This I’ll venture to
say,’ replied the squire, ‘that the
words of a madman are not to be
minded; for, if fortune had not stood
your worship’s friend, and directed
to your breast the pebble that was
aimed at your head, we should have
been in a fine condition, for your
having quarrelled about that lady,
whom Heaven confound! you may
depend upon it, Cardenio would have
been acquitted on account of his madness.’

‘Every knight-errant,’ said Don
Quixote, ‘is obliged to quarrel with
those who are out of their senses, as
well as those who are in them, if they
asperse the honour of women, whatsoever
they might be. How much
more, then, in behalf of princesses of
such high quality and accomplishments
as adorned Queen Madasima, for
whom I have a particular affection,
on account of her admirable qualifications;
for, over and above her
beauty, she had a great share of prudence
and resignation in her calamities,
which were manifold: and the
advice and company of Master Elisabat
were of great service in encouraging
her to bear her afflictions with
patience and equanimity. From hence,
the ignorant and malicious vulgar
took occasion to say and suppose, that
she admitted of his caresses; but they
lye. I say again, all those who either
say or think so, lye in their throats,
and I will tell them so two hundred
times over.’—‘As for my own part,’
said Sancho, ‘I neither say nor think
any such thing; those that do may dine
upon it: if they were too familiar,
by this time they have answered for it
to God. I prune my own vine, and
know nothing about thine. I never
meddle with other people’s concerns.
He that buys and denies, his own
purse belyes, as the saying is. Bare
I was born, and bare I remain; and
if I lose nothing, as little I gain. If
he did lie with her, that is no matter
of mine. Many people hunt the hare
without ever finding the scut; for,
Till you hedge in the sky, the starlings
will fly. And evil tongues will
not refrain from God himself.’

‘Good Heaven,’ cried Don Quixote,
‘what fooleries art thou stringing
together, Sancho? Pray, what relation
have these old saws to the subject
of our conversation? I charge thee to
hold thy peace, and henceforth entertain
thyself with spurring up thy
ass, and leave off talking of things
which do not concern thee: or let thy
whole five senses be convinced, that
every thing I have done, am doing,
or will do, is highly reasonable, and
in exact conformity with the laws of
chivalry, which I understand better
than any knight that ever professed
the order.’—‘Yes Sir,’ replied Sancho,
‘to be sure it is an excellent law of chivalry,
to stroll about bewildered in these
mountains, where there is neither high
road nor bye path, in search of a madman,
who, after we have found him,
will perhaps take it in his head to finish
what he left undone; not of his
story, but of your worship’s pate and
my ribs, which he may chance to
break in a thousand shivers.’

‘I say again, Sancho,’ resumed the
knight, ‘hold thy peace; for I would
have thee know, that I am not detained
in this place, so much by the
desire of finding the lunatick, as of
performing in it an exploit by which
I shall acquire everlasting renown
throughout the whole known world;
and put the stamp of perfection upon
the wonderful efforts of knight-errantry?’—‘And
will this exploit be
attended with much danger?’ said Sancho.
// File: 0201.png
.pn +1
‘No,’ answered he of the rueful
countenance, ‘though the dice may run
so as to produce bad instead of good
fortune; but the whole will depend
upon thy diligence.’—‘Upon my diligence!’
cried the squire. ‘Without
doubt,’ answered his master; ‘for, if
thou wilt return speedily, from the
place to which thou must be sent, my
affliction will soon be at an end, and
my glory will speedily begin: and,
that I may no longer keep thee in suspence
about the meaning of my
words, know, Sancho, that the celebrated
Amadis de Gaul was one of
the most perfect knights-errant; one
of them, said I? he alone was the
only, single, chief, and superior of all
his cotemporaries. Contempt and
shame upon Bellianis, and all those
who say he equalled him in any one
particular; for, by this light, they
are all egregiously deceived! I say,
moreover, when a painter desires to
become famous in his art, he endeavours
to imitate the originals painted
by the most noted artists; and the
same maxim holds in every other
science and exercise that adorns a
commonwealth: therefore, he who
wants to attain the virtues of prudence
and equanimity, must endeavour
to imitate the character of Ulysses,
in whose person and sufferings
Homer has drawn an excellent picture
of wisdom and patience, as Virgil, in
the person of Æneas, represents the
piety of an affectionate son, and the
sagacity of a wise and valiant general;
not that they are described and
set forth exactly as they were, but as
they ought to have been, as examples
of virtue to posterity. In the same
manner, Amadis shone like the north-star,
the Lucifer and sun of all valiant
and amorous knights; and therefore
must be imitated as a pattern, by all
those who serve under the banners of
love and chivalry. Now, this being
the case, friend Sancho, I find that
the knight-errant who approaches the
nearest to this great original, will bid
fairest for attaining the perfection of
chivalry: and one of the circumstances
in which that knight gave the
highest proofs of his worth, prudence,
valour, patience, constancy,
and love, was his retiring to the poor
rock, when he was in disgrace with
his mistress Oriana, there to do penance
under the feigned name Beltenebros[#];
an appellation certainly
very significant and proper to the way
of life he had voluntarily chosen. As
it is therefore more easy for me to
imitate him in this than in cleaving
giants, beheading serpents, slaying
dragons, overthrowing armies, scattering
navies, and dissolving inchantments;
and as this solitude is so well
adapted to such designs, I am resolved
to seize occasion by the forelock,
which she now so complaisantly presents.’

‘In reality,’ said Sancho, ‘what is
your worship resolved to do in this remote
place?’—‘Have I not already
told thee,’ replied the knight, ‘that I
am determined to imitate Amadis, in
acting the desperado, the lunatick,
the madman: to copy also after the
valiant Don Roldan, when he discovered,
in a fountain, certain marks by
which he was convinced that Angelica
the fair had committed uncleanness
with Medoro. A piece of information
attended with such grief
and anxiety, that he ran mad, tore
up the trees by the root, sullied the
waters of the transparent springs, slew
shepherds, destroyed flocks, set fire to
cottages, demolished houses, dragged
mares along the ground, and performed
a thousand other insolent feats
worthy to be inserted in Fame’s eternal
record; and because I do not propose
to imitate Roldan, or Orlando, or Rotolando,
for he went by all these
names, literally in all the extravagancies
he thought, said, and did, I will
copy his outlines as well as I can, in
the most essential parts of his character;
nay, perhaps, I may content
myself with the sole imitation of
Amadis, who, by his tears and sighs
alone, acquired as much fame as the
other with all the mischief he did.’—‘If
I apprehend the matter aright,’ said
Sancho, ‘the knights who played such
mad pranks were provoked, and had
some reason to act these fooleries and
penance: but what cause hath your
worship to turn madman? With what
lady are you in disgrace? or by what
// File: 0202.png
.pn +1
signs are you given to understand that
the Lady Dulcinea del Toboso has
been playing the rogue either with
Moor or Christian!’—‘This is the
point,’ answered Don Quixote, ‘and
refinement of my design; a knight
who turns madman, because he cannot
help it, can claim no merit from
his misfortune; but the great matter
is to run distracted without cause,
and give my lady reason to conceive
what I could do were I moistened,
when I can do so much being
dry. More especially, as I have sufficient
cause in the long absence to
which I am doomed by my ever-darling
mistress Dulcinea del Toboso;
for, according to the words of the
shepherd Matias Ambrosio, which
thou mayest have heard,

.pm verse-start
“In absence of my charming fair,
“I suffer all those ills I fear.”
.pm verse-end

‘Wherefore, friend Sancho, you need
not throw away your time unprofitably,
in advising me to refrain from
an imitation at once so admirable,
rare, and happy: mad I am, and
mad I shall be until thou returnest
with the answer of a letter which I
propose to send by thee to my Lady
Dulcinea; and if it be such as I am
entitled to by my love and fidelity,
my distraction and penance will end;
but, should it be otherwise, I shall
run mad in earnest, and consequently
be insensible of my misfortune: wherefore,
let her answer be as it may, it
will extricate me from the doubts and
affliction in which thou leaved me;
because, if it be favourable, I shall
enjoy it in my right senses; and if
it be unfavourable, my frenzy will
not feel it.

‘But tell me, Sancho, hast thou
taken care of Mambrino’s helmet,
which I saw thee take up, after that
ungrateful vagabond endeavoured in
vain to break it in pieces; a circumstance
that proves the excellency of
its temper?’ To this exclamation,
Sancho replied, ‘’Fore God! Sir Knight
of the Rueful Countenance, I cannot
suffer, nor bear with patience, some
things which your worship says; for
they make me imagine, that all you
have mentioned about chivalry, and
acquiring kingdoms and empires, and
// File: 0203.png
giving away islands, with other favours
and presents, according to the
practice of knights-errant, is nothing
but puffs of falshood, and the mere
effect of piction or fiction, or what do
you call it: for who that hears your
worship call a barber’s bason the helmet
of Mambrino, and sees you continue
in that error so many days, but
will believe, that he who affirms such
nonsense must be very much crazed
in his understanding? The bason,
which is all bruised and battered, I
have put up in my bag, in order to be
mended at home, and used for the service
of my own beard, if ever, by the
grace of God, I come to see my wife
and family.’—‘Hark ye, Sancho,’
said Don Quixote, ‘by the same oath
you swore, I swear again, that thou
hast the most slender understanding
that any squire in this world does or
ever did possess! Is it possible, that
after all thy travelling in my company,
thou art not convinced that
every thing belonging to knights-errant,
appears chimera, folly, and
distraction, being metamorphosed into
the reverse of what it is, by the
power of a tribe of inchanters who
attend us, changing, converting, and
restoring each particular, according to
their pleasure, and the inclination they
have to favour or annoy us: for which
reason, what seems a barber’s bason to
thee, I can easily discern to be the
helmet of Mambrino, and perhaps to
a third, it will assume a quite different
appearance; and I cannot but
admire the providence of the sage who
is my friend, in making that which is
really and truly Mambrino’s helmet,
appear a bason to the rest of mankind,
because it is of such inestimable value,
that if it was known, the whole
world would combine to ravish it from
me; but as it appears to them no
more than a barber’s bason, they never
attempt to obtain it. This was
plainly the case with the villain, who,
having endeavoured to break it in
pieces, left it on the ground, when
he went off; whereas, had he known
what it was, in good faith he would
not have quitted it so easily. Keep it
therefore with care, my friend, for at
present there is no occasion for it; on
the contrary, I shall strip off all my
armour, and remain naked as I was
// File: 0204.png
.pn +1
born, in case I be inclined to imitate
the penance of Roldan, rather than
that of Amadis.’

Conversing in this manner, they arrived
at the foot of a high mountain
that stood alone, as if it had been cut
out from the rest that surrounded it.
A gentle rill murmured by the skirts
of it, winding along a meadow, so
green and fertile, that it ravished the
spectator’s eye; while a number of
forest trees that grew around, together
with some delicious herbs and flowers,
conspired to make the place inchanting.
This was the scene in which the
knight of the rueful countenance chose
to do penance; and therefore he no
sooner perceived it, than he began to exclaim
aloud, as if he had actually lost
his senses, ‘This is the spot, ye heavens!
which I chuse and appoint my
residence, while I bewail that misfortune
to which you yourselves have reduced
me. This is the place where
the tears from these eyes will increase
the waters of that little brook;
and where my profound and uninterrupted
sighs will incessantly move the
leaves of these mountain-oaks, in
witness and testimony of the pangs
which my tormented heart endures.
O ye rural deities, whosoever ye are,
who take up your mansion in this uninhabited
place, give ear to the complaints
of an unhappy lover, whom a
tedious absence and imaginary doubts
have brought to lament among these
craggy hills, and bemoan the cruel
disposition of that ungrateful fair,
who is the end and perfection of all
human beauty? O ye nymphs and
dryads, who were wont to inhabit the
hills and groves, (so may no nimble
and lascivious satyrs, by whom you
are beloved, though loved in vain,
disturb your sweet repose) help me to
bewail my mishap: or at least disdain
not to hear my moan!—O Dulcinea
del Toboso! light of my darkness!
glory of my affliction! north-star of
my inclinations! and planet of my
fortune! as Heaven shall pour upon
you the blessings which you ask; consider
the place and condition to which
your absence hath exiled me, and put
such a period to my woe, as my fidelity
shall seem to deserve! O ye solitary
trees, who henceforth are to bear
me company in this retreat, convince
me, by the gentle waving of your
boughs, that my presence gives you
no disgust.—And thou, my squire, the
agreeable companion of my good and
evil fortune, faithfully retain in thy
remembrance what thou shalt see me
do, that thou mayest recount and rehearse
every circumstance to the lovely
cause of all my distraction!’ So saying,
he alighted; and, taking off the
bridle and saddle from Rozinante, gave
him a slap on the buttocks, pronouncing
these words: ‘He who is a slave himself,
bestows freedom upon thee, O
steed, as excellent in thy qualities as
unlucky in thy fate! go wheresoever
thou wilt; thou bearest engraven on
thy forehead, that thou wast never
equalled in swiftness, either by Astolpho’s
Hypogriff, or the renowned
Frontino that cost Bradamante so
dear.’

Sancho, hearing this apostrophe, ‘My
blessing,’ cried he, ‘be upon him
whose industry now saves us the trouble
of taking the halter from the head
of Dapple[#], who, in good faith,
should not want slaps on the buttocks,
nor abundance of fine things said in
his praise; but, if he was here, I
would not consent to his being turned
loose, there being no reason for so doing;
for he was never acquainted
with love and despair, no more than
I, who was his master, while it pleased
God I should be so: and truly,
Sir Knight of the Rueful Countenance,
if this departure of mine, and distraction
of your worship, are really
to take place, you had better saddle
Rozinante again, to supply the want
of Dapple; by which means a great
deal of time will be saved in my going
and coming; whereas, if I make
the journey on foot, I know not when
it will be performed; for, in short,
I am a very sorry walker.’—‘I say,
be it so, then, Sancho,’ answered
Don Quixote: ‘I approve of thy proposal;
and assure thee, that thou shalt
set out in three days, during which I
would have thee take notice of what
I shall do for her sake, that thou
mayest be able to give her a full account
of my behaviour.’—‘What
more can I see,’ said Sancho, ‘than
I have seen already?’—‘You are pretty
// File: 0205.png
.pn +1
perfect in your story,’ answered the
knight; ‘but, as yet, I have not torn my
cloaths, scattered my armour, and
dashed my head against the rocks, nor
performed many other things of this
sort, which thou wilt behold with admiration.’—‘For
the love of God,
Sir!’ cried Sancho, ‘take care how
you dash your head against the rocks;
for you may chance to meet with such
a one as will, at the first push, put the
finishing stroke to this whole scheme
of penance; and I should think, that
as knocks of the head are absolutely
necessary to compleat the work, your
worship might content yourself, seeing
the whole affair is a sham, a
counterfeit, and a joke; I say, your
worship might content yourself with
ramming your skull against water, or
some soft thing, like a cotton bag; and
leave it to my care to tell my lady, that
your worship went to loggerheads with
the point of a rock a thousand times
harder than adamant.’—‘Friend Sancho,’
replied the knight, ‘I am obliged
to thee, for thy kind intention;
but, thou must know, that what I
do is not a sham, but a very serious
matter; for, to behave otherwise, were
to transgress the orders of chivalry,
which forbid us to lye, under pain of
being degraded; and you know, that
to substitute one thing instead of another,
is downright telling a lye:
wherefore, my knocks on the head
must be real, hard, and effectual,
and not sophisticated or imaginary;
and it will be necessary to leave me
some lint for my wounds, since it was
the will of fate that we should lose
the balsam.’

‘It was a much greater misfortune,’
said the squire, ‘to lose the ass, and
with him the lint and all; but I beseech
your worship, not to talk of that
accursed drench, the sole mention of
which not only turns my stomach,
but even my very soul; and I beseech
you, moreover, to suppose we have
passed those three days, which you
have appointed for shewing me your
mad pranks; for I take them all for
granted, and will tell wonders of
them to my lady. Write the letter,
therefore, and dispatch me forthwith:
because I am impatient till I return
and deliver your worship from that
purgatory in which I leave you.’—‘Purgatory!
// File: 0206.png
call you it, Sancho?’ replied
Don Quixote: ‘it rather deserves
the name of hell, or something worse,
if worse can be.’—‘I have heard,’
said the squire, ‘that from hell there is
no retention.’—‘I know not,’ replied
the knight, ‘what you mean by
retention.’—‘Retention,’ answered
Sancho, ‘signifies, that whosoever goeth
to hell, neither will nor can come
back again. The contrary of which
shall happen to your worship, or my
feet will misgive me, provided I carry
spurs to quicken Rozinante: and
set me once face to face before my Lady
Dulcinea, at Toboso, I will tell her
such stories of the folly and madness,
for they are both the same thing, which
your worship has committed, and will
then be committing, that though I
should find her harder than a cork-tree,
I will make her as pliant as a
glove; and, with her sweet and honied
answer, return through the air,
like a witch, and deliver your worship
from this purgatory, that appears like
hell, though it be not really so, because
there are some hopes of getting out of
it; whereas those who are actually in
hell can have no such expectation; and
I dare say, your worship will not advance
any thing to the contrary.’

‘That is all very true,’ said he of
the rueful countenance; ‘but how shall
we make shift to write this letter?’—‘Aye,
and the bill for the colts?’
added Sancho. ‘That shall be inserted
in the letter,’ answered his master;
‘and I think, as there is no paper to
be had in this place, the best thing
we can do, will be to write in the
manner of the ancients, on the leaf
of a tree, or on waxen tables; though,
I believe, those will be as difficult to
be found as the paper. But, now I
remember what will do well, and excellently
well, for our purpose: I will
write it in the pocket-book which belonged
to Cardenio, and thou shalt
take care to have it fairly transcribed
in the first place where thou canst find
a school-master or a parish-clerk to
copy it. But, by no means employ
a scrivener, who way write it in such
an unintelligible court-hand, that Satan
himself could not understand it.’—‘But
what is to be done about the
signing of it?’ said Sancho. ‘Love-letters
are never signed,’ replied Don
// File: 0207.png
.pn +1
Quixote. ‘True,’ resumed the squire;
‘but all bills must be subscribed: and
if this of yours were to be copied,
they would say the subscription was
counterfeit, and I might go whistle
for my colts.’—‘The bill shall be
subscribed with my own hand in the
pocket-book; which my niece shall
no sooner see, than she will comply
with the order, without any farther
objection: and with regard to the letter,
instead of my subscription, thou
shalt cause to be inserted, “Yours,
till death; the Knight of the Rueful
Countenance.” And though it be
written by another hand, it is of small
importance, because, now I remember,
Dulcinea can neither read nor
write, nor ever set eyes on any writing
or letter of mine: for our mutual
love has been altogether platonick,
without extending farther than a modest
glance; and even that so seldom,
that I can safely swear, in twelve
years, during which I have loved her
more than the light of these eyes, which
will one day be closed in dust, I have
not seen her more than four times,
and even in these four times, perhaps,
she hath not perceived me looking at
her more than once. Such is the restraint
and reserve in which her father
Lorenzo Corchuelo, and her mother
Aldonza Nogales, have brought her
up!’

‘Ah, ha!’ cried Sancho, ‘is the
daughter of Lorenzo Corchuelo, whose
other name is Aldonza Lorenza, the
same with the Lady Dulcinea?’—‘Yes,’
answered the knight; ‘and she
deserves to be lady of the whole universe.’—‘I
know her perfectly well,’
said Sancho; ‘and this will venture to
say in her behalf, that she will pitch
the bar as well as e’er a lusty young
fellow in the village. Bless the sender!
she is a strapper, tall, and hale wind
and limb; and can lift out of the
mire any squire or knight errant, who
shall chuse her for his sweetheart.
Ah! the whore’s chick! what a pair
of lungs and voice has she got! I
heard her one day halloo from the
belfray to some young fellows of her
acquaintance, who were at work in a
corn-field of her father’s; and, though
it was at the distance of half a league,
they heard her as plain as if they had
been right under the steeple; and what
is better still, she is not at all coy,
// File: 0208.png
but behaves herself civilly; and jokes
and romps, and plays the rogue with
any body. Now, Sir Knight of the
Rueful Countenance, I say that your
worship not only has cause to run
mad for her, but even to despair and
hang yourself, and I am sure nobody
that heard it, but would say you had
done extremely well; even though the
devil should run away with you; and
truly, I wish I were now upon my way,
merely to see her; for I have not beheld
her these many days: and, surely,
she must be greatly altered; for
the sun and weather does very much
damage to the face of a woman
who is always at work in the field.
To tell you the truth, Sir Don Quixote,
I have hitherto lived in great ignorance
with respect to my Lady Dulcinea,
whom I verily believed to be
some princess, that your worship was
in love with; or a person of such
rank as to deserve the rich presents
you sent to her; namely, the Biscayan
and galley-slaves, with many others
whom you conquered in the course of
your numberless victories, both before
and since I have been your squire,
But, when one considers the affair,
what benefits can my Lady Aldonza
Lorenzo—I mean, my Lady Dulcinea
del Toboso, reap from your worship’s
sending, or having sent those whom
you overcome in battle, to fall upon
their knees before her? especially as
they might chance to come at a time
when she is busy, carding flax and
threshing corn; in which case, they
would be ashamed to see her, and she
laugh and be out of humour at their
arrival.’—‘I have frequently observed
before now, Sancho,’ said Don Quixote,
‘that thou art an everlasting babbler;
and, though of a shallow understanding,
thy bluntness borders often on
severity; but, to convince thee of thy
own ignorance and my discretion, thou
shalt give ear to a short story which I
will relate.

‘Know, then, that once upon a time
a certain handsome widow, young, free,
wealthy, and, above all, good-humoured,
fell in love with a thick,
squat, brawny, lay-brother, belonging
to a neighbouring convent; the
superior of which being informed
of the affair, said to the widow, one
day, by way of brotherly reproof,
“I am amazed, Madam, and not without
// File: 0209.png
.pn +1
cause, that a lady of your rank,
beauty, and fortune, should bestow
your affection upon such a low, simple,
clownish fellow; when there are
so many masters, graduates, and divines,
in the convent, among whom
your ladyship may chuse, as one
picks pears, saying, ‘This I like,
that I loath.’” The lady answered,
with great freedom and vivacity,
“Signior, you are very much deceived,
and very old-fashioned in your
opinion, if you think I have made a
bad choice in that fellow who seems
so simple: for, in that particular
which I admire, he is as much of a
philosopher, nay, more than Aristotle
himself.” In like manner, Sancho,
Dulcinea del Toboso is as proper
for my occasions as the highest
princess upon earth. All the poets,
who have celebrated ladies, under
names which they invented at pleasure,
had not really such mistresses as
they describe. Dost thou imagine,
that all the Amaryllis’s, Silvia’s, Phillis’s,
Diana’s, Galatea’s, Alida’s, and
other names so often met with in romances,
poems, barbers shops, and on
the stage, actually belonging to ladies
of flesh and blood, who were adored
by those who sing, and have sung
their praises? No, surely; but, on
the contrary, are, for the most part,
feigned and adopted as the subjects of
verse, that the poets may be thought
men of amorous and gallant dispositions.
Wherefore, let it suffice, that
I imagine and believe the worthy Aldonza
Lorenzo to be beautiful and
modest: and, as to her pedigree, it is
a matter of small importance; there
is no necessity for taking information
on that head, as if she were to be invested
with some order of knighthood;
and I take it for granted, that she is
the noblest princess in the universe;
for, thou must know, Sancho, if it
be a thing of which thou art ignorant,
that the two qualities, which, above
all others, inspire love, are beauty
and reputation: and these two is Dulcinea
in consummate possession of;
for in beauty she excels all women,
and is equalled by very few in point
of reputation. And, to conclude, I
imagine that all I have said is true,
without exaggeration or diminution.
I paint her in my fancy according to
my wish, as well in beauty as in rank;
// File: 0210.png
unexcelled by Helen, unrivalled by
Lucretia, or any other heroine of ages
past, whether Grecian, Roman, or
Barbarian; and let people say what
they will, if I am blamed by the ignorant,
I shall be acquitted by the
most rigid of those who are proper
judges of the case.’—‘I say,’ answered
Sancho, ‘that your worship is
very much in the right, and I am no
better than an ass: but I know not
why I should mention the word ass;
for one ought not to talk of halters in
the house of a man who was hanged.
But give me the letter, and farewel
till I return.’

Don Quixote pulled out the memorandum-book,
and, stepping aside, with
great composure, began to write the
letter; which, when he had finished,
he called to Sancho, saying he wanted
to read it to him, that he might retain
it in his memory, in case he should lose
it by the way; for every thing was to
be feared from his evil fortune. ‘Your
worship,’ answered Sancho, ‘may
write it down two or three times in
the book, and I will take special care
to convey it safely; but it is folly to
suppose that I can retain it in my memory,
which is so bad, that I have
many a time forgot my own name;
but, notwithstanding, pray, Sir, read
it to me; I shall be hugely rejoiced
to hear it; for it must certainly be
curiously penned.’—‘Listen then, and
I will read it,’ said Don Quixote;
who began as follows.

.pm letter-start
Don Quixote’s Letter to Dulcinea del
Toboso.

‘SOVEREIGN AND SUBLIME
PRINCESS,

‘He who is wounded by the edge
of absence, and whose heart
is stuck full of the darts of affliction,
most divine Dulcinea del Toboso!
wishes thee that health which he is
not doomed to enjoy. If I am scorned
by thy beauty, if thy virtue affords
me no relief, if thy disdain compleats
my misfortune; albeit, I am inured
to suffering, I can ill support the
misery I bear; which hath not only
been excessive, but also of long duration.
My trusty squire Sancho will give
thee an ample relation, O ungrateful
beauty and lovely foe! of the situation
in which I remain on thy account:
// File: 0211.png
.pn +1
if it be thy will to succour me, I am
thy slave: if not, use thy pleasure;
for the end of my life will satisfy thy
cruelty and my desire. Thine till
death,

‘THE KNIGHT OF THE RUEFUL
COUNTENANCE.’
.pm letter-end

‘By my father’s soul!’ cried Sancho,
‘this is the highest thing I ever heard.
Odds-niggers! how your worship
writes whatsoever you please, and how
curiously you conclude, “The Knight
of the Rueful Countenance.” I verily
believe your worship is the devil himself,
and knows every thing.’—‘All
that knowledge,’ replied the knight,
‘is necessary for the employment I profess.’—‘Why,
then,’ said the squire,
‘be so good as to write on the other
leaf the order for the three colts, and
be sure to subscribe distinctly, that
when it is presented, your hand-writing
may be known.’—‘With all my
heart!’ said Don Quixote, who having
written the order, read it aloud in these
terms.

.pm letter-start
‘DEAR NIECE,

‘Please deliver to Sancho Panza,
my squire, or order, at sight of
this my first bill of colts, three of the
five which I left at home in your custody;
which three colts I order you
to pay, in return for the like number
received of him: and this bill, together
with his receipt, shall be a sufficient
acquittance to you.

‘Given in the heart of the brown
mountain, the twentieth and second of
August, this present year.’
.pm letter-end

Sancho liked the form, and desired
his master to sign it. ‘There is no occasion
for my signing it,’ said Don
Quixote, ‘with any thing but my cypher,
which is sufficient not only for
three, but three hundred asses.’—‘As
to that, I will take your worship’s
word; and now give me leave to go
and saddle Rozinante, which when
I have done, and received your blessing,
I intend forthwith to depart,
without staying to see you play any
foolish tricks, though I will affirm, I
have beheld you perform so many, that
she will desire to hear no more of
the matter.’—‘At least, Sancho,’
// File: 0212.png
said the knight, ‘I would have thee,
because there is a necessity for it, stay
and see me strip, and perform a dozen
or two of mad pranks, which I
can easily finish in half an hour; for,
when thine eyes shall have been witnesses
of some things I will act, thou
mayest safely swear to what additions
thou shalt make in thy report; and
I assure thee, thou wilt not relate the
half of what I intend to atchieve.’—‘For
the love of God, dear Sir!’ cried
Sancho, ‘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 be 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 cloaths; 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 cussing.
What! is it to be borne, that
such a renowned knight-errant as your
worship, should run mad without why
or wherefore, on account of a —— I
would not have her ladyship compel
me to speak; or, egad, I shall blab
things by the dozen, even though they
should spoil the market. I am a rare
fellow at that sport. I find she knows
a little of my temper, otherwise i’faith!
she would take care to give me no offence.’—‘In
good faith, Sancho,’ said
Don Quixote, ‘thou seemest to be as
mad as myself.’—‘Not quite so mad,’
replied the squire, ‘but a little more
cholerick; but enough of that. What
eatables has your worship got to live
upon till my return? will you go to
the high-road, and rob the shepherds,
like Cardenio?’—‘Let not that give
thee any concern,’ answered the knight;
‘though I had store of provisions by me,
I should eat nothing but the herbs and
fruits which this meadow and these
trees afford; the perfection of my design
consisting in abstaining from food,
// File: 0213.png
.pn +1
and in encountering other hardships.’—‘Your
worship must know,’ said Sancho,
‘that I am afraid I shall not find
my way back again to this concealed
and unfrequented place, in which I
leave your worship.’—‘Take good
notice of the marks,’ answered the
knight, ‘and I shall endeavour to remain
always near this very spot: nay,
I will take care to ascend the highest
rocks hereabouts, that I may have a
chance of descrying thee afar off, in
thy return. But, the best scheme for
preventing thy being bewildered, will
be, to cut down some of the furze
that grows here in great plenty, and
drop bunches of it, at small distances
on the way, until thou shalt reach
the flat country: and they will serve
as land-marks to guide thee hither on
thy return, like the clue of Theseus,
in the labyrinth of Crete.’

‘I will take your advice,’ said Sancho;
who accordingly cutting a large
bundle, begged his master’s blessing, and
took his leave, not without many tears
on both sides. Then mounting Rozinante,
whom Don Quixote strongly recommended
to his care, commanding
him to pay as much regard to the steed
as he would shew for his own person;
he set out for the plain, scattering, by
the way, the furze he had cut, according
to the direction of his master. In
this manner then, did he begin his
journey, notwithstanding the incessant
importunities of Don Quixote, who solicited
him to stay and see some of his
extravagancies: but, he had not travelled
above an hundred yards, when he
returned, saying, ‘I confess your worship
was in the right, when you observed,
that, in order to my swearing
with a safe conscience that I have
seen you perform mad pranks, it would
be necessary for you to play some in
my presence; although, in my opinion,
I have seen a pretty good sample
already in your staying here by yourself.’—‘Did
not I tell thee so, Sancho?’
said Don Quixote: ‘wait a little,
and I will finish them in a twinkling.’
So saying, he stripped off his
breeches in a great hurry, leaving his
posteriors covered by the tail of his shirt
alone, and without farther ceremony,
cut a couple of capers, and a like number
of tumbles, with his head down
and his heels up, disclosing particulars,
which shocked the modesty of Sancho
// File: 0214.png
so much, that in order to avoid the sight
of them a second time, he turned Rozinante,
fully satisfied and pleased, that
he might now honestly swear he had
left his master distracted. We will
therefore let him pursue his journey,
till his return, which was more speedy
than could be expected.

.fn #
The Beautiful Obscure.
.fn-

.fn #
Lo! Sancho’s ass hath disappeared again.
.fn-
.sp 4
.h4 id=chap1-3-12
<abbr=chapter>CHAP.</abbr> <abbr=twelve>XII.</abbr> | A CONTINUATION OF THE REFINEMENTS IN LOVE,| PRACTISED BY DON QUIXOTE IN THE BROWN MOUNTAIN.
.sp 2
But, to return to the account of
what the Knight of the Rueful
Countenance executed when he found
himself alone. The history relates,
that, having performed the capers and
the tumbles, naked, from the waist
downward, and perceived that Sancho
was gone, without waiting to see more
of his extravagancies, he climbed to
the top of a high rock, and there revolved
what he had often reflected
upon without coming to any conclusion;
namely, whether it was better
and more fit for his purpose, to imitate
Orlando in his outrageous, or Amadis
in his melancholy madness. ‘It is not
to be wondered at,’ said he within
himself, ‘if Orlando was such a stout
and valiant knight as he is represented;
for he was actually inchanted,
and invulnerable by every weapon but
the point of a pin, thrust into his
foot, upon which he always wore a
shoe with seven soles of iron: though
that precaution did not avail him against
Bernardo del Carpeio, who being informed
of the contrivance, strangled
him in his arms at the battle of Roncevalles:
but the circumstance of his
valour apart, let us consider that of
his losing his senses, which actually
happened, when he found the tokens
in the fountain, and received the information
of the shepherd, by which
he learned that Angelica had slept
more than two afternoons with Modero,
the little Moor with curled
locks, who was Agramante’s page;
and, truly, if he was convinced in his
own mind, that his mistress had misbehaved
in that manner, it was no
great feat to run mad upon the discovery.
But why should I imitate
// File: 0215.png
.pn +1
him in his madness, when the occasion
is not similar; for, my Dulcinea
del Toboso, I dare swear, never
in all the days of her life, beheld one
Moor in his own likeness; and is this
day as much a virgin as the mother
that bore her; I should therefore do
her a manifest injury, in imagining
otherwise, and adopting that kind of
madness which possessed Orlando Furioso.
On the other hand, I am sensible
that Amadis de Gaul, without
losing his senses, or acting the madman,
acquired as much, or more fame
than he, in the character of a lover;
for, according to the history, all that
he did, when he found himself in
disgrace with his mistress Oriana, who
banished him from her presence during
pleasure, was to retire, in company
of a hermit, to the poor rock,
where he contented himself with bemoaning
his misfortune, until Heaven
sent him succour, in the midst of
his great necessity and affliction. If
this circumstance, therefore, be true,
as I know it is, why should I now
take the trouble of stripping myself
naked, or give umbrage to these
trees, which have done me no harm!
or what reason have I to defile the
pure stream of these rivulets, which,
when I want it, will yield me pleasant
drink! Flourish, then, the memory of
Amadis! and let him be imitated as
much as possible, by Don Quixote de
La Mancha, of whom may be said,
that which is recorded of another[#],
“If he did not atchieve great things,
at least he died in attempting.” And,
though I am not banished nor disdained
by my Dulcinea, let it suffice,
as I have already said, that I am absent
from her. Come, then, let us begin:
recur to my remembrance, ye
feats of Amadis, and initiate me in
the imitation of your fame. I know
his chief exercise was prayer, and in
that too will I follow his example.’
So saying, he composed a rosary of the
large galls of a cork tree, which he
strung together instead of beads; but,
he found an unsurmountable difficulty
in the want of an hermit to confess and
console him: wherefore, he entertained
himself in strolling about the meadow,
writing and engraving verses on the
barks of trees, and the smooth sand; all
of them on the subject of his own
melancholy, or in praise of his mistress
Dulcinea; but, after he was found in
this place, none, except the following,
remained intelligible and entire.
.sp 2
.pm verse-start
<abbr=one>I.</abbr>

Ye trees and herbs, so green and tall,
  That shade this meadow, and adorn,
If you rejoice not at my thrall,
  Give ear unto a wretch forlorn;
Nor let my grief, though loud, invade
  Your peace; but, by Don Quixote, be a
Self-offer’d tax of sorrow, paid
  In absence of his Dulcinea
                          del Toboso.

<abbr=two>II.</abbr>

These are the rocks to which he’s driven
  By her who seems not much to care for
The truest lover under heaven:
  And yet he knows not why nor wherefore.
By love toss’d like a tennis-ball,
  A cask of tears will not defray a
Whole day’s expence of grief and gall,
  In absence of his Dulcinea
                          del Toboso.

<abbr=three>III.</abbr>

Among these craggy rocks and brambles,
  He hangs, alas! on sorrow’s tenters;
Or curses, as alone he rambles,
  The cruel cause of his misventures.
Unpitying love about his ears,
  With scourge severe began to play a
Most dreadful game, that made his tears
  Flow for his absent Dulcinea
                          del Toboso.
.pm verse-end

These verses, with the addition of del
Toboso, to the name of Dulcinea, afforded
infinite diversion to those who
found them: for, they concluded Don
Quixote had imagined, that, if he
named her without this title, the stanza
could not possibly be understood;
and this was really the case, as he afterwards
owned. Many other ditties
did he compose; but, as we have already
observed, none but these three
stanzas could be decyphered and read.
In this amusement, in sighing, invoking
the fauns and sylvans of those
woods, the nymphs of the brooks, with
// File: 0216.png
.pn +1
the damp and doleful echo to hear,
console, and resound his complaints;
and, in culling plants to sustain nature,
he employed himself till the return of
Sancho, who, had he stayed three weeks,
instead of three days, the knight of the
rueful countenance would have been so
emaciated and disfigured, that he could
not have been known by the mother who
bore him.

However, it will not be amiss to leave
him, engrossed by his sighs and poetry; in
order to recount what happened to Sancho
Panza, in the execution of his embassy.
Having reached the highway, this trusty
messenger took the road to Toboso, and
next day arrived at the very inn where
he had met with the disgraceful adventure
of the blanketting. He no sooner
perceived the unlucky house, than he
fancied himself cutting capers in the
air again; and was very lothe to enter,
although it was then dinner time, and
he was very much instigated by the desire
of tasting something hot, as he had
lived for a great many days past on cold
victuals only. This inclination compelled
him to ride close up to the inn,
where, while he was sitting in suspence,
and hesitating whether or not he should
enter, two persons happened to come
to the door, and knowing him immediately,
the one said to the other, ‘Pray,
Mr. Licentiate, is not that man on
horseback our neighbour Sancho Panza;
who, as the housekeeper told us,
went out with our adventurer in quality
of squire?’—‘The very same,’ answered
the licentiate, ‘and that is the individual
horse of our friend Don Quixote.’
And no wonder they should know
him so easily; for they were no other
than the curate and barber of the knight’s
town, by whom the scrutiny and trial
of his books were held. Having therefore
recognized Sancho Panza and Rozinante,
and being impatient to hear
news of Don Quixote, they ran up to
the squire, and the curate called him
by name, saying, ‘Friend Sancho,
where is your master?’ Sancho, who
recollected them also, resolved to conceal
the place and condition in which he
had left his master; and therefore answered,
that the knight was in a certain
place, employed about a certain affair
of the utmost importance, which he
durst not disclose for the eyes that stood
in his head. ‘That pretence will not
do, Sancho,’ said the barber; ‘if
// File: 0217.png
you refuse to tell where he is, we shall
imagine, as indeed we do, that you
have robbed and murdered him, and
taken possession of his horse; so that
in good sooth, you must either produce
him, or in this very spot, we
will——’ ‘You have no occasion,’
cried Sancho, interrupting him, ‘to
threaten people in this manner; I am
not the man to rob and murder any
person; every man must fall by his
own fortune, or by the will of God
that created him: my master is sound
and safe, doing penance in the midst
of that mountain, to his heart’s content.’
He then, without pausing, in
a breath informed them of the condition
in which he left him, recounted all
the adventures which had happened to
him, and told them of the letter he was
carrying to my Lady Dulcinea del Toboso,
who was no other than Lorenzo
Corchuelo’s daughter, with whom his
master was up to his ears in love.

They were astonished at what the
squire related, and though well acquainted
with the particular species of
Don Quixote’s madness, this instance
afforded fresh admiration: they desired
Sancho to shew them the letter for the
Lady Dulcinea del Toboso; and he told
them it was only a rough draught,
written on the leaf of a pocket-book; and
that his master had ordered him to get
it transcribed on a sheet of paper, with
the first convenient opportunity. The
curate promised to transcribe it in a fair
legible hand, and again desiring a sight
of it, Sancho put his hand in his bosom,
in search of the book, which, however,
he could not find; and indeed,
had he fumbled till this time, it would
have been to no purpose; for he had left
it with Don Quixote, who had forgot
to give, as he to ask it of him, before
he set out. Sancho missing his charge,
grew pale as death, and searching again
his whole body with great eagerness,
could find nothing; upon which, without
more ado, he laid hold of his beard
with both hands, and plucked one half
of it from his chin; then, with vast
dispatch and precipitation, belaboured
his face and nose in such a manner, as
left the whole covered with blood. The
curate and barber seeing him make so
free with his own person, asked what
had happened to him, that made him
handle himself so roughly. ‘What
has happened to me?’ cried the squire,
// File: 0218.png
.pn +1
‘I have lost and let slip through my
fingers in an instant, three ass colts,
each of which was as tall as a tower.’—‘By
what means?’ resumed the barber.
‘I have lost,’ answered Sancho,
‘the pocket-book, in which was written
the letter for Dulcinea, together
with an order, signed by my master’s
own hand, desiring his niece to deliver
to me three colts out of four or
five which he has at home.’ At the
same time he told them how he had lost
Dapple. The curate comforted him,
by saying, that when he returned, his
master would renew the order, and give
him a bill upon paper, as the custom is,
for those written in pocket-books are
never accepted or paid.

With this assurance Sancho consoled
himself, observing, since that was the
case, he should not give himself much
uneasiness about the loss of the letter,
which, as he retained it by heart, he
could cause to be transcribed where and
when he pleased. The barber desired
him to repeat it, telling him they would
transcribe it; upon which Sancho began
to scratch his head, in order to recollect
it, standing sometimes on one
foot, sometimes on the other. One
while he fixed his eyes upon the ground,
then lifted them up to Heaven; at last,
after a most tedious pause, during which
he gnawed off the half of one of his
nails, and kept his hearers in the most
impatient suspence; ‘‘Fore God, Mr.
Licentiate,’ said he, ‘I believe the devil
has run away with every word that
I remembered of this letter; though I
am positive it began with subterrene
and sublime princess!’—‘It could
not be subterrene,’ said the barber,
‘but superterrene or sovereign.’—‘You
are in the right,’ resumed Sancho;
‘then, if my memory does not fail me,
it went on with the smitten, the sleepless,
and the sore, kisses your hands,
most ungrateful and unregarded beauty;
and something or other of health
and distemper which he wished her;
running on at this rate, till he concluded
with, “yours, till death, the
Knight of the Rueful Countenance.”’

The hearers were not a little diverted
with this specimen of Sancho’s memory,
which they applauded very much;
desiring him to repeat the letter again,
twice over, that they might retain it, until
they could have an opportunity of transcribing
it. He accordingly renewed his
// File: 0219.png
efforts, repeated it three times; and as
often recited three thousand other absurdities.
He likewise gave them an
account of every thing which had befallen
his master; but mentioned not a syllable
of the blanketting that had happened
to himself, in that very inn which
he refused to enter; nay, he gave them
to understand that his master, as soon as
he could bring him a favourable dispatch
from my Lady Dulcinea del Toboso,
would put himself in the way of
becoming an emperor or monarch at
least, according to the plan settled between
them. This he represented as a
very easy matter, considering the valour
of his person, and strength of his
arm; and told them, that this design
would be no sooner accomplished, than
the knight would bestow upon him in
marriage, (for by that time, he must of
necessity be a widower) one of the maids
of honour to the empress; a fine young
lady, and heiress of a vast and wealthy
estate upon the main land, without any
oilands or islands, which he did not
much care for.

Sancho uttered this piece of wrong-headed
information with such composure,
wiping his nose from time to time,
that his townsmen could not help admiring
anew the madness of Don Quixote;
which, like a whirlpool, had sucked
in and swept along with it the understanding
of this poor simpleton. They
did not chuse to fatigue themselves with
endeavours to convince him of his error;
but, as they believed it was not
prejudicial to his conscience, resolved,
for their amusement, to encourage him
in his folly; with this view they advised
him to pray to God for long
life and health to his master; and observed,
that it was a thing both likely
and feasible that he should, in process
of time, become an emperor, at least an
archbishop, or attain some station of
equal dignity. To this encouragement
Sancho replied, ‘Gentlemen, if fortune
should bring matters about, so
as that my master should incline to
be an archbishop rather than an emperor,
I should be glad to know what
archbishops-errant bestow upon their
squires?’ The curate told him, that
they commonly gave him some simple
benefice, curacy, or the office of sacristan,
with a good yearly income, besides
the fees of the altar, which are
usually reckoned at as much more.
// File: 0220.png
.pn +1
‘In order to fill an employment of that
kind,’ answered Sancho, ‘the squire
must be unmarried, and at least capable
of assisting at mass; and if that
be the case, what will become of me,
who have not only the misfortune to
be married, but am also ignorant of
the first letter of the <abbr rend=spell>A, B, C</abbr>; should
my master take it in his head to be an
archbishop, rather than an emperor,
according to the custom of knights-errant?’—‘Don’t
make yourself uneasy
about that matter, friend Sancho,’
said the barber; ‘for we will
intreat and advise your master, nay,
even make it an affair of conscience,
for him to become an emperor rather
than archbishop, as a station more suited
to his disposition, which is more war-like
than studious.’—‘I was of the
same opinion,’ resumed Sancho; ‘but
now, I’ll venture to say, he has a capacity
for every thing; and what I
intend to do, is to beseech our Lord
to direct his choice to that station
which will be most for his own honour
and my advantage.’—‘You
speak like a sensible man,’ said the
curate; ‘and in so doing will act the
part of a good Christian; but, our
present business is to think on some
means of putting an end to this useless
penance your master has imposed
upon himself; and in the mean time
go in to dinner.’ Sancho desired them
to enter, saying he would wait for them
at the door, and afterwards tell them
why he did not go in, and wherefore it
was not proper for him so to do; but
begged they would be so good as to
bring out something hot for himself,
and some barley for Rozinante. They
accordingly went in, and in a little
time the barber brought him out a mess
of hot victuals. After they had both
maturely deliberated about the means
of accomplishing their design, the curate
fell upon a scheme, extremely well-adapted
to the taste of the knight, as
well as to their purpose. He proposed
to clothe himself in the dress of a lady-errant,
and that the barber should disguise
himself as well as he could, in the
likeness of a squire; which being done,
they should go to the place where Don
Quixote was, and the priest, on pretence
of being a damsel in distress, should beg
a boon, which he, as a valiant knight-errant,
could not help granting. This
boon should be a request, that he would
// File: 0221.png
accompany her to a certain place whither
she would conduct him, there to
redress an injury she had received from
a discourteous knight; and the boon
should be attended with an humble supplication,
that he would not desire her
to take off her mask, nor ask any question
about her affairs, until he should
have done her justice upon her adversary.
And as he firmly believed that
Don Quixote would comply with any
request made in that stile, he hoped, by
these means, to withdraw him from the
mountain, and conduct him to his own
habitation, where they would endeavour
to find some remedy for his strange disorder.

.fn #
Probably alluding to the epitaph of Phaeton.

.pm verse-start
<i>Hic situs est Phaeton, currus auriga paterni,</i>
<i>Quem si non tenuit, magnis tamen excidit ausis.</i>
.pm verse-end
.fn-
.sp 4
.h4 id=chap1-3-13
<abbr=chapter>CHAP.</abbr> <abbr=thirteen>XIII.</abbr> | HOW THE CURATE AND BARBER SET OUT| ON THE EXECUTION OF THEIR PLAN;| WITH OTHER EVENTS WORTHY TO BE RECORDED IN THIS SUBLIME HISTORY.
.sp 2
This scheme of the curate was so
well relished by the barber, that
they began to put it in execution immediately;
by borrowing of the landlady
a petticoat and tucker, for which
the priest lent a new cassock in pawn;
while the barber made an artificial beard
of the tail of a pied ox, in which the
innkeeper used to stick his comb. When
the hostess asked what occasion they had
for these things, the curate gave her a
brief account of Don Quixote’s madness,
and explained the use to which
they intended to put the disguise, in
order to disengage him from the mountain
where he then was. The innkeeper
and his wife immediately discovered
that this lunatick was no other
than their quondam guest, who was author
of the balsam, and master of the
blanketted squire; and recounted to the
curate every thing that had happened, not
even forgetting the circumstance which
Sancho was at such pains to conceal.
In short, the landlady dressed up the
curate in a most curious manner; she
put upon him a cloth petticoat flounced
and furbelowed, with a broad border
of black velvet, and a close jerkin of
green velvet, garnished with robings of
white sattin, which, together with the
petticoat, seemed to have been made in
// File: 0222.png
.pn +1
the reign of King Bamba[#]; he would
not suffer himself to be coifed, but covered
his head with a quilted linen
night-cap, which he always carried about
with him; and bound his forehead with
a garter of black taffety, making a sort
of mask with the other, which effectually
concealed his countenance and
beard. Over all, he slapped his beaver,
which was so broad that it might have
served for an umbrella; and, wrapping
himself up in his cloak, mounted his
mule, sitting sideways like a woman;
while the barber bestrid his own beast,
with his beard flowing down to his
girdle, of a white and red colour, being
made, as we have before observed, of a
pied ox’s tail.

Thus equipped, they took leave of
every body present, even the kind Maritornes,
who promised, though a sinner,
to mumble a whole rosary over in
prayers to God, for the good success of
that arduous and Christian design they
had undertaken; but scarce had they
sallied from the inn, when the curate
began to think he was to blame for disguising
himself; it being, in his opinion,
indecent for a priest to appear in such a
manner, how much soever depended
upon their success. He therefore proposed
that he should exchange characters
with the barber, who might act the
part of the damsel in distress, while he
took that of the squire, which he thought
did not so much profane the dignity of
the cloth; and unless his neighbour
would agree to this proposal, he assured
him that he was resolved to go no farther,
even if the devil himself should
carry off Don Quixote. At that instant
Sancho chanced to come up, and
seeing them in such a garb, could not
refrain from laughing; in short, the
barber assented to every thing the other
proposed; and the plan being thus altered,
the curate began to instruct him
touching his behaviour and speech to
Don Quixote, in order to move and induce
him to accompany them, and quit
that place he had chosen for the scene of
his vain and extravagant penance. The
barber told him, that without his lessons,
he knew very well how to demean himself
in the character; and as he did not
chuse to put on the dress till they should
be near Don Quixote, he folded it
up with great care; the priest adjusted
his beard; and both together proceeded,
on their journey, under the direction,
of Sancho Panza, who by the way related
to them what happened between
his master and the madman whom they
met with in the Brown Mountain; concealing,
nevertheless, the circumstance
of the portmanteau, and its contents;
for, notwithstanding his simplicity, our
youth was as covetous as wiser people.

Next day they came to the broom
boughs, which Sancho had strewed, in
order to ascertain the place where he had
left his master: he no sooner, therefore,
perceived his marks, than he told them,
that was the entrance into the mountain;
and desired them to put on their
dresses, if they were necessary towards
the deliverance of his master: for they
had already assured him, that their travelling
in such disguise was of the utmost
importance, in disengaging the
knight from that disagreeable course of
life he had chosen: and they charged
him not to tell his master that he knew
who they were; and if he should ask,
as doubtless he would, whether or not
he had delivered the letter to Dulcinea,
they advised him to answer in the affirmative,
and tell him, that as she could
not read it, she had sent her answer by
word of mouth, commanding him, on
pain of her displeasure, to appear in her
presence with all convenient speed, on
an affair of the utmost consequence to
him: for, with this answer, and other
speeches they intended to make, they
did not at all doubt of reconciling him
to a better way of life, and prevail upon
him immediately to begin his career
towards being an emperor or king;
and as to the office of archbishop, Sancho
had nothing to fear. The squire
listened to these directions, which he
carefully deposited in his memory,
thanking them heartily for their intention
to advise his master to accept of an
emperor’s crown, rather than an archbishop’s
mitre; as he was very sensible
that emperors could do more for their
squires than archbishops-errant. He
also proposed to go before, in search of
his master, and impart to him this answer
of his lady, which, he assured them,
// File: 0223.png
.pn +1
would be sufficient to bring him out of
the mountain, without their being put
to any farther trouble. They approved
of his opinion, and resolved to stay where
they were until he should return with the
news of his having found Don Quixote:
accordingly, Sancho proceeded towards
the heart of the mountain, leaving them
in a spot watered by a small purling
brook, and shaded in a most cool and
agreeable manner by some rocks and
trees that grew round it.

It being then the month of August,
when the heat in those parts is excessive,
and three in the afternoon, which is the
hottest time of the day, they were the
more charmed with the situation, which
was so inviting, that they chose it for
the place of their residence, until Sancho
should return. While they lay at their
ease, under the covert of this shade, their
ears were saluted with the sound of a
voice, which, though unaccompanied by
any instrument, sung so sweet and melodiously,
that they were struck with
astonishment; little expecting to meet
with such a delicious warbler in that
unfrequented place; for though it is
usually said, that the woods and mountains
abound with shepherds, who sing
most inchantingly, that report is rather
the fiction of poets than the voice of
truth: besides, the verses which they
heard were not composed in the rustick
phrase of clowns, but in a polite and
courtly strain; as may be perceived by
the song itself, which follows:
.sp 2
.pm verse-start
<abbr=one>I.</abbr>

Ah! what inspires my woeful strain?
                  Unkind disdain!
Ah what augments my misery?
                  Fell jealousy!
Or say, what hath my patience worn?
                  An absent lover’s scorn.
The torments, then, that I endure,
No mortal remedy can cure:
For every languid hope is slain,
By absence, jealousy, disdain!

<abbr=two>II.</abbr>

From Love, my unrelenting foe,
                  These sorrows flow!
My infant glory’s overthrown,
                  By Fortune’s frown;
Confirm’d in this my wretched state,
                  By the decrees of Fate.
In Death alone I hope release
From this compounded, dire disease;
Whole cruel pangs to aggravate,
Fortune and Love conspire with Fate!
// File: 0224.png

<abbr=three>III.</abbr>

Ah, what will mitigate my doom?
                  The silent tomb!
Ah! what retrieve departed joy?
                  Inconstancy!
Or say, can aught but frenzy, bear
This tempest of despair?
All other efforts, then, are vain,
To cure this soul-tormenting pain,
That owns no other remedy
Than madness, death, inconstancy.
.pm verse-end

The hour, the season, and the solitude,
conspired with the agreeable voice of the
singer, to increase the wonder and satisfaction
of the hearers, who listened for
some time in expectation of something
else; but the silence having continued
a good while, they resolved to go in quest
of the person who sung so enchantingly,
and were just going to set out on this
design, when they were arrested by the
same voice, which again saluted their
ears with this other song:
.sp 2
.pm verse-start
<abbr=one>I.</abbr>

O sacred Friendship! mild and gay,
  Who to the regions of the bless’d
Hath soar’d, and left mankind a prey
  To fraud, in thy resemblance dress’d:

<abbr=two>II.</abbr>

Auspicious hear, and hither send
  Thy sister Truth, with radiant eyes,
To brand the false professing friend,
  Detected in the fair disguise.

<abbr=three>III.</abbr>

Or come thyself, and re-inspire
  The purpose candid and humane;
Else Peace and Order will retire,
  While Horror and Confusion reign.
.pm verse-end

This sonnet was concluded with a most
profound sigh, and the curate and barber
began again to listen for more; but,
finding the musick converted into mournful
sobs and interjections, they were determined
to know who this melancholy
person was, who sung so well, and
groaned so piteously. They had not
gone many paces with this intent, when
turning the point of a rock, they perceived
a man of the same make and appearance
that Sancho described, when
he related the story of Cardenio: he did
not seem surprized at sight of them, but
stood with his head reclining upon his
breast, in a very pensive posture, without
lifting his eyes to look at them,
after their first sudden appearance. The
// File: 0225.png
.pn +1
curate, who was a well-spoken man,
concluding, from the description, that
this must be he whose misfortune he had
been apprized of, went up, and in a
short, but pathetick address, exhorted
and entreated him to quit that miserable
course of life, which was the greatest
of all misfortunes, and altogether
perverted the end of his being. Cardenio
being at that time in one of his
lucid intervals, entirely free of that
frantick paroxism which used so utterly
to deprive him of his senses, and seeing
two people so differently dressed from
those he commonly met with in that solitude,
could not help being somewhat
surprized; especially, when he heard
him talk of his misfortune as a circumstance
with which they were well acquainted;
for the curate had mentioned
it in the course of his expostulation:
and therefore he answered in this manner:
‘I plainly perceive, gentlemen, that
Heaven, which is careful in succouring
the good, and sometimes even the
bad, hath sent, though I little deserve
such favour and condescension, divers
people into this unfrequented solitude,
so remote from all commerce and society,
in order to convince me by just
and various arguments, how unreasonably
I act in leading this kind of
life, which they have endeavoured to
make me exchange for a better; and,
as they know not the reasons I have to
think that, in quitting this situation,
I shall be plunged into a worse; they
have perhaps looked upon me as a
person of very shallow understanding,
or, which is still a conjecture more
unfavourable, a downright madman:
and truly, it is not to be wondered at,
if that was really the case; for I can
easily conceive, that my misfortunes
operate so intensely upon my imagination,
and impair my faculties so
much, that sometimes, in spite of
all my endeavours to the contrary, I
become, like that rock, void of all
sentiment and knowledge; and am
convinced of my infirmity too late,
when people shew me the marks of
what I have done, while I was under
the influence of that terrible transport:
then, all that I can do, is to
bewail my distemper; curse my lot in
vain; and, in excuse of my madness,
relate my sufferings to all who express
the least desire of hearing them; that
those of sounder judgment, knowing
the cause, may not wonder at the effects;
and if they cannot prevent, at
least pardon my frenzy; converting
their indignation at my extravagance
into compassion for my woes; and if
you, gentlemen, are come with that
intention, which hath brought others
to this place, before you proceed with
your prudent admonitions, I intreat
you to hear the detail of my misfortunes,
which you do not yet know,
and then, perhaps, you will save yourselves
the trouble which you might
otherwise take, in consoling an affliction
that admits of no consolation.’

The two friends, who desired nothing
else than to hear from his own mouth
the cause of his misfortune, earnestly
begged he would recount it, and promised
to attempt nothing contrary to his
own inclination in the way of remedy or
comfort. Thus assured, the melancholy
gentleman began his distressful story,
nearly in the same words and circumstances
which he had used a few days before,
to Don Quixote and the goatherd,
when he was interrupted in the affair of,
Mr. Elisabat, by the knight’s punctuality
in asserting the decorum of chivalry,
as the particulars of that quarrel
have been already related: but now he
remained fortunately free from his paroxism,
and of consequence, had time
to finish the narration, which was imperfect
before. When he therefore
came to the circumstances of the letter
which Don Fernando had found between
the leaves of Amadis de Gaul[#], he said
he remembered the contents, and accordingly
repeated them in these terms.
.sp 2
.pm letter-start
‘“LUCINDA TO CARDENIO.

‘“I every day discover new qualities in
Cardenio, which oblige and compel
me to esteem him the more. If
you are inclined to extricate me out of
all suspence, you may effectuate your
purpose, without the least prejudice to
my honour; for my father, who is,
well acquainted with your virtues,
loves me dearly, and far from tyrannizing
over my affections, will chearfully
// File: 0226.png
.pn +1
grant that which is so justly your
due, if your passion is such as I wish
and believe it to be.”
.pm letter-end

‘I resolved, as I have already told
you, to demand Lucinda in marriage,
upon the receipt of this letter, which
not only confirmed Don Fernando’s
high opinion of her prudence and virtue,
but also inflamed him with the
desire of ruining my hopes, before I
should be able to bring them to maturity.
I told this faithless friend, Lucinda’s
father expected that mine
should propose the match; and that
I durst not communicate my desire to
him, lest he should refuse to comply
with it: not that he was ignorant of
Lucinda’s rank, virtue, beauty, and
qualifications, which were sufficient
to ennoble any other family in Spain;
but, because I understood he was
averse to my being married, until he
should see what Duke Ricardo would
do in my behalf; in short, I told him
that I would not venture to propose it,
being afraid not only of this ill consequence,
but also of many others
which I could not foresee; although I
had a strong impression upon my
mind, that my wishes would never
be compleated. In answer to this declaration,
Don Fernando undertook
to manage the affair, and prevail upon
my father to propose the match to Lucinda’s
parents.——O villain! more
ambitious than Marius, more cruel
than Catiline, more savage than Sylla,
more fraudulent than Galalon, more
treacherous than Vellido[#], more vengeful
than Julian, and more covetous
than Judas! cruel, false, vindictive
traitor! what injuries hast thou suffered
from this poor credulous wretch,
who with such confidence disclosed to
thee the most secret recesses of his soul!
What offence had he given? what
words had he uttered, or what advice
had he offered, that did not directly
tend to thy honour and advantage?——But,
unhappy that I am!
wherefore should I complain? seeing
it is a thing certain, that when once
the tide of misfortune, heaped up by
one’s malignant stars, begins to descend
with violence and fury, no earthly
mound can oppose, nor human industry
divert its course. Who could
imagine, that such an illustrious, accomplished
young gentleman, as Don
Fernando, who lay under obligations
for the services I had done him, and
was powerful enough to obtain the
gratification of his wish, whithersoever
his amorous inclination pointed,
should plague himself, as I may
say, in attempts to rob me of my
single lamb, even before I had possessed
it?

‘But, let us lay aside these vain and
unprofitable reflections, and rejoin the
broken thread of my unfortunate story.
Well, then, Don Fernando, perceiving
that my presence would be an
obstruction to the execution of his
false and perfidious design, resolved
to send me back to his elder brother,
on pretence of getting money to pay
for six horses, which he purposely
bought that very day he undertook to
speak to my father, in order to have
an excuse for sending me away, that
he might, in my absence, the more
easily succeed in his villainous intention.
Was it possible for me to prevent
this treachery, or indeed conceive
his design! No, surely. On the contrary,
I offered, with the utmost alacrity,
to set out forthwith, so pleased
was I with the purchase he had made.
That very night I had a private conversation
with Lucinda, in which I
told her the scheme I had concerted
with Don Fernando, and bade her rest
assured in the hope that our just and
honourable desires would soon be gratified.
She, as little suspicious of
Don Fernando’s perfidy as I was, entreated
me to return with speed, believing
that our wishes would be compleated,
as soon as my father should
mention the affair to hers. I don’t
know upon what account, her eyes
were filled with tears when she pronounced
these words; and something
that seemed to swell in her throat,
prevented her from uttering another
syllable, though she looked as if she
had something more to say. I was
confounded at this new circumstance,
which had never happened before; in
all our former conversations, which
my good fortune offered, or my diligence
effected, there had been nothing
// File: 0227.png
.pn +1
but joy and satisfaction, without any
mixture of tears, sighs, jealousy,
dread, or suspicion; all my discourse
used to consist of acknowledgments
to Heaven, for having bestowed upon
me such a mistress, whose beauty I
extolled, and whose virtue and good
sense I admired; while she returned
the compliment, by praising those
qualities in me, which she, in the
partiality of her fondness, deemed
worthy of applause; besides, we
used to entertain each other with an
account of a thousand trifling accidents
that happened among our
neighbours and acquaintance: and
the heighth of my vivacity never
amounted to more than the seizing of
one of her delicate white hands, and
pressing it to my lips, through the
narrow distance betwixt the rails that
divided us. But, on that night,
which preceded the fatal day of my
departure, she wept, sighed, and sobbed,
and left me filled with confusion
and surprize, and terrified at such
unusual and melancholy marks of
grief and affliction in my Lucinda.
But I was flattered by my hopes,
which ascribed the whole to the
strength of her passion, and that sorrow
which is commonly produced by
the absence of a beloved object. In
fine, I set out, pensive and sad, my
imagination tortured with suspicions
and doubts, which my reflection
could neither digest nor explain: a
sure presage of the melancholy fate
that awaited me.

‘I arrived at the place of my destination,
and delivered my letters to
Don Fernando’s brother, who received
me kindly; but, far from dispatching
me immediately, desired me,
to my infinite regret, to wait eight
whole days in a place where his father
should not see me, because his
brother had writ to him to send the
money without the knowledge of the
duke. But this was altogether an
invention of the false Fernando, whose
brother had money enough, and could
have sent me back the very same day
on which I arrived. This was such
an order as I was scarce able to obey,
for I thought it impossible to support
life for so many days in the absence of
Lucinda, considering the sorrow in
which I had left her. Yet, notwithstanding,
I resolved to do my duty
like a faithful servant, though I very
well foresaw that my obedience must
be at the expence of my peace. Four
days of the eight were not yet elapsed,
when a man came in search of
me, and gave me a letter, the superscription
of which I no sooner beheld,
than I knew it to be written by Lucinda’s
own hand. I opened it with
fear and trembling, believing that
there must be something very extraordinary
in the case, which induced her
to write to me in my absence; considering
that while I was present, she
had been so sparing of her pen[#].
But, before I read a syllable, I asked
the messenger, who had put it into his
hands, and how long he had been upon
his journey? He answered, that passing
through a certain street, about noon,
he was stopped by a very beautiful
young lady, who called to him from
a window, saying, with great earnestness,
while the tears trickled from
her eyes, “Brother, if you are a
Christian, as you seem to be, I entreat
you, for God’s sake, to carry
this letter to the place and person for
whom it is directed; they are both
well known; and in so doing, you
will render a piece of service acceptable
to the Lord. That you may
not want conveniences upon the
road, here is something to defray
the expence of your journey.”” So
saying, she threw down a handkerchief,
in which were tied a hundred
rials, this gold ring, and the letter I
have delivered. Then, without waiting
for a reply, she went from the
window, after having seen me take
up the handkerchief and the letter,
and make signs that I would do as
she desired. Accordingly, finding
myself so well paid for the trouble I
should be at, and seeing, by the direction,
// File: 0228.png
.pn +1
that you was the person to
whom it was sent, (and I know you
perfectly well;) induced, moreover,
by the tears of that beautiful young
lady, I resolved to trust no other
messenger, but come and deliver it
with my own hand; and in sixteen
hours, which are past since I received
it, I have travelled to this place,
which, as you know, is about eighteen
leagues from our town. While
I listened attentively to the information
of this grateful and extraordinary
courier, my legs shook under me in
such a manner, that I could scarce
stand upright. At length, however,
I ventured to read the letter, which
contained these words.

.pm letter-start
‘“The promise which Don Fernando
made, to prevail upon your
father to propose a match to mine,
hath been performed more to his
inclination than your advantage.
Know, Cardenio, that your pretended
friend allied me in marriage
for himself; and my father, swayed
by the advantage which he thinks
Don Fernando has over you in point
of fortune, hath given his consent so
much in earnest, that two days hence
the nuptials are to be celebrated so
privately, that none but Heaven, and
some people in the family, are to be
present at the marriage. My situation
you may guess. If it be in
your power, return with all speed,
and the event of this affair will shew
whether I love you tenderly or not.
Heaven grant that this may come to
your hand, before mine shall be presented
to him who so ill performs the
duty of a friend!”
.pm letter-end

‘This, which was the sum of what
the letter contained, made me set out
immediately, without waiting for any
answer, or the money for which I had
come. For, by that time, I plainly
perceived that it was not the purchase
of the horses, but his own treacherous
intention, which had induced Don
Fernando to send me out of the way.
The indignation I conceived against
him, together with the fear of losing
the jewel which I had acquired, and
treasured up with such unwearied services
and care, added wings to my
speed, and conveyed me to the place
of my habitation, just at the hour and
// File: 0229.png
minute proper for my going to visit
Lucinda. I entered the town privately,
and leaving my mule at the house of
the honest man who brought the letter,
I went to the rail, which was the
constant witness of our love, and there
was so far favoured by fortune as to
find Lucinda.—We knew each other
presently; though not as we ought to
have known each other. But, who
is he who can arrogate praise to himself,
for having fathomed and discerned
the capricious sentiments and
sickly disposition of woman? Surely
no man on earth.—But this apart.
Lucinda perceiving me, “Cardenio,”
said she, “I am now in my
bridal dress, and this moment expected
in the hall by the traitor Don
Fernando, my covetous father, and
some other people, who shall bear
witness to my death sooner than to
my marriage. Be not confounded,
my friend, but endeavour to be present
at the sacrifice, which, if I cannot
prevent by my declaration, I
wear a dagger concealed, which can
obstruct a more vigorous determination;
and, by putting an end to my
life, begin to convince thee of the
sincere passion I have always entertained,
and shall retain for my Cardenio.”
Afraid I should want time
to answer her, I replied with great
hurry and confusion, “Let your
words be verified by your deeds, Madam.
If you have a dagger to assert
your love, I wear a sword to defend
it; or, should fortune prove our foe,
to rid myself of life.” I believe she
did not hear all that I said, because
she was called away in a hurry, to the
bridegroom, who waited for her.’

‘Thus deepened the night of my
distress; thus set the sun of my happiness!
I remained without light to
my eyes, or reflection to my mind,
for some time; I could neither resolve
to enter her father’s house, nor remove
to any other place; at length,
however, considering of what consequence
my presence might be, in case
any thing extraordinary should happen,
I recollected myself, as well as
I could, and went in, without being
perceived, as I was well acquainted
with all the passages and corners of
the house, and was favoured by the
confusion which then prevailed in it
on account of the nuptials. Thus
// File: 0230.png
.pn +1
entering, unseen, I found means to
conceal myself in the hollow of a
window in the hall, that was covered
by the meeting of two pieces of tapestry,
from behind which I could,
without being perceived, observe every
thing that happened.

‘How shall I describe the throbbings
and palpitations of my heart, the
images that occurred to my fancy,
the reflections that I made while I remained
in that situation! they were
such as I neither can nor ought to describe.
Let it suffice to say, the bridegroom
came into the hall, without
any other ornaments than his usual
dress, attended by a first cousin of
Lucinda, in quality of bridesman, no
other person being present, except
some servants of the family. A little
while after Lucinda came in from
her closet, accompanied by her mother
and two waiting-women; and as
richly dressed and adorned as her rank
and beauty deserved, or as the perfection
of gaiety and gallantry could
invent. The suspence and transport
of my soul would not allow me to observe
and mark the particulars of her
dress; I could only take notice of the
colours, which were carnation and
white; and the blaze of jewels that
adorned her, which was even excelled
by the singular beauty of her golden
locks, that struck the eye with more
splendor than all the precious stones,
together with the light of four torches
that burned in the hall.—O memory!
thou mortal enemy of my repose! to
what purpose dost thou now represent
to my fancy the unparalleled beauty
of that adorable foe? Cruel remembrance!
rather recal to my view the
particulars of what then happened,
that, incensed by such a manifest injury,
I may take vengeance, if not
upon her, at least upon my own life.
But you, gentlemen, must be tired
with these digressions; though my
misfortune is such as neither can, nor
ought to be superficially or succinctly
related; because every circumstance,
in my opinion, requires a full discussion.’
The curate answered, that
far from being tired, they were very
much entertained by those minute particulars,
which he thought deserved as
much attention as the principal events
of the story.

‘I say, then,’ resumed Cardenio,
// File: 0231.png
that the parties being assembled in the
hall, the curate of the parish entered,
and taking them both by the hands, in
order to perform his function, he said,
“Madam Lucinda, are you willing to
take Don Fernando here present for
your lawful spouse, as holy mother
church ordains?” At this question, I
thrust out my whole head and neck
from behind the tapestry, and, with
the utmost attention and disorder of
soul, listened, to Lucinda’s answer,
which I expected, as either the sentence
of my death or confirmation
of my life.—O that I had boldly advanced,
and called aloud, “Ah Lucinda!
Lucinda! take care what you
do; reflect upon your duty to me,
remember you are mine, and can never
belong to any other husband.
Consider, that my life must end the
moment you answer yes.—Ha! treacherous
Don Fernando! robber of
my glory! death of my life! what
are thy intentions! What wouldst
thou have! remember that, as a Christian,
thou canst not fulfil thy desires;
for I am Lucinda’s husband,
and she is my lawful wife!”—Fool
that I am! now, when I am absent,
and far removed from the danger, I
can reflect upon what I ought to have
done. Now that I am robbed of all
that was dear to my soul! accursed
be the robber, on whom I might have
taken vengeance, had my heart supplied
me with courage, as it now affords
inclination to complain. In
fine, as I then acted like a booby
and a coward, it is but reasonable
that I should now die of madness,
sorrow, and shame. The priest waited
for the reply of Lucinda, who
declined it a good while; and when I
expected she would either unsheath
her dagger to vindicate her love, employ
her tongue in the cause of truth,
or utter some ingenious fraud that
should tend to my advantage, I heard
her pronounce with a weak and faultering
voice, “Yes, I will.” Don
Fernando repeated the same words,
and the ring being put upon her finger,
they were united in the indissoluble
bond of marriage; then he embraced
his new-married spouse, who,
laying her hand on her heart, fainted
away in the arms of her mother. It
now remains to describe my own situation,
when I heard and saw my
// File: 0232.png
.pn +1
hopes thus baffled by Lucinda’s breach
of promise; and found myself rendered
incapable of ever retrieving the
happiness I had that instant lost. I
remained without sense or reflection,
abandoned, as I thought, by Heaven,
and a declared enemy to that earth on
which I lived. The air refused breath
for my sighs, the water denied moisture
for my tears, fire alone increased
within me, to such a degree, that I
was scorched with jealousy and rage!
Lucinda’s swooning threw the whole
company into confusion; and her mother
opening her breast to give her
air, found in it a folded paper, which
Don Fernando taking, read by the
light of one of the torches, and then
sat down in a chair, and leaned one
side of his head upon his hand, in a
pensive attitude, without minding the
remedies they were applying for the
recovery of his spouse.

‘I, seeing the whole family in confusion,
ventured to come out, cost
what it would; resolving, should I
be seen, to do some desperate action
that would convince the whole world
of my just indignation, in chastising
the false Don Fernando, and the fickle
fainting traitress. But fate, that reserved
me, if possible, for greater misfortunes,
ordained that I should then
abound in reflection, which hath since
failed me; and resolve, rather than take
vengeance upon my greatest enemies,
who, as they had no suspicion of me,
were then at my mercy, to turn upon
myself that resentment which they so
justly deferred to feel; and, perhaps,
with more rigour than I should have
exercised upon them, had I at that
time sacrificed them to my rage, because
sudden death is infinitely more
easy than that which is lengthened
out by lingering torments. In short,
I quitted the house, and went to the
place where I had left my mule,
which being saddled, I mounted her,
and without taking leave of my host,
sallied out of town, dreading, like another
Lot, to look behind me. When
I found myself alone in the open field,
shrouded by the darkness of the night,
and invited by the silence to complain,
without caution or fear of being overheard
or known, I raised my voice,
and gave a loose to my indignation,
in venting curses upon Lucinda and
Don Fernando, as if those vain exclamations
// File: 0233.png
could have atoned for the
injury they had done me. I bestowed
upon her the epithets of cruel, false,
perfidious, and ungrateful; but, above
all, avaricious; since the wealth of
my rival had shut the eyes of her love,
detached her from me, and swayed
her inclination towards him to whom
fortune had shewn herself more kind
and liberal. Yet, in the midst of these
reproaches and invectives, I could not
help excusing her, observing, it was
no wonder, that a damsel educated
under restraint, in the house of her
parents, bred up, and always accustomed
to obey them, should comply
with their will and pleasure, in marrying
a young gentleman of such
wealth, rank, and qualifications, that
her refusal might have been thought
to proceed either from want of sense,
or a passion for some other man, which
would have been a suspicion equally
prejudicial to her virtue and reputation:
then I argued on the other side
of the question; saying, had she owned
that I was her husband, her parents
would have seen she had not
committed an unpardonable crime in
making such a choice; since, before
the offer of Don Fernando, they themselves
could not have desired, had
their desires been bounded by reason,
a better match than me for their daughter;
and consequently, before she complied
with that compulsive injunction
of giving her hand to another, she
might have told them, that she had already
given it to me; in which case, I
would have appeared and confirmed
the truth of every thing she should
have feigned for the occasion; in fine,
I concluded, that superficial love, slender
understanding, vast ambition, and
thirst after grandeur, had obliterated
in her memory those professions by
which I had been deceived, cherished,
and supported, in the unshaken
hope of my honourable desires.

‘In this exclamation and anxiety I
travelled all night; and in the morning
found myself in one of the passages
to this mountain, in which I
proceeded three days more, without
high-road, or bye-path, till I stopped
at a small meadow, that lies either on
the right or left of these rocks; there
I enquired of some goatherds whereabouts
the most craggy part of the
mountain was; and, according to
// File: 0234.png
.pn +1
their directions, thither I rode, resolving
to put an end to my life.
When I arrived among those ragged
rocks, my mule fell down dead of
weariness and hunger; or, as I rather
believe, to disencumber herself
of such a useless load as then burdened
her; and I remained on foot,
quite spent and famished, without
having or desiring any support. In
this situation, I know not how long I
continued stretched upon the ground:
but, at length, I got up without feeling
any cravings or hunger, and found
myself in the midst of some shepherds,
who, doubtless, had relieved
my necessity. Indeed, they told me in
what condition I had been found, uttering
such incoherent and extravagant
expressions, as clearly demonstrated
that I had lost my senses.
Since that time, I have frequently
perceived my intellects so crazy and
unsound, that I perform a thousand
mad actions, tearing my cloaths, bellowing
through those unfrequented
places, cursing my fate, and repeating
in vain the beloved name of my fair
enemy, without any connected sentences,
or indeed any other intent
than that of putting an end to my
life by violent outcries; and when I
recover the use of my senses, I find
myself so weak and exhausted, that I
scarce can move. My usual habitation
is the hollow of a cork tree, large
enough to contain this miserable carcase;
the cow and goatherds who
frequent these mountains, maintain me
out of charity, by leaving food upon
the road, or rocks, on which they
think I may chance to find it; and,
even while I am deprived of my understanding,
natural instinct teaches
me to distinguish this necessary nourishment,
awakening my appetite and
desire of seizing it for my use. They
tell me, too, when they meet with me
in one of my lucid intervals, that at
other times I sally out by the highway,
and take it by force from the
shepherds, as they are bringing it
from their cots, although they offer it
of their own accord. In this manner
I lead my woeful and wretched
life, until Heaven shall be pleased to
put a period to it, or give me grace to
forget the beauty and falshood of Lucinda,
together with the wrong I
have suffered from Don Fernando.
If this shall happen before I die, my
intellects will return into their right
channel; otherwise there is nothing
to be done, but to supplicate Heaven
to have mercy on my soul; for I find
I have neither virtue nor strength to
extricate myself out of this extremity
into which I was voluntarily plunged.

‘This, gentlemen, is the bitter story
of my misfortune; tell me, if you
think it could have been rehearsed
with less concern than I have shewn;
and pray give yourselves no trouble
in offering to me such persuasions and
advice, as your reason prompts you to
think will do me service; for they can
have no other effect upon me, than the
prescription of a celebrated physician
upon a patient who will not receive
it. I will have no health without
Lucinda; and since she who is, or
ought to be mine, hath attached herself
to another, I, who might have
been the child of happiness, am now
the willing votary of woe. She, by
her inconstancy, wants to fix my perdition;
and I welcome it, in order to
gratify her desire, and be an example
to posterity, of one who wanted that
consolation, which almost all the
wretched use! namely, the impossibility
of receiving comfort; a consideration
that increases my misery,
which, I fear, will not end even with
death.’

Thus did Cardenio wind up the long
thread of his amorous and unfortunate
story; and just as the curate was about to
give him his best advice and consolation,
he was prevented by a voice that saluted
his ears, and in mournful accents pronounced
what will be rehearsed in the
fourth book of this narration; for, in
this place, the third is concluded by the
sage and attentive historian Cid Hamet
Benengeli.
.sp 2
END OF THE FIRST VOLUME.

.fn #
Bamba, or Wamba, king of the Visigoths in Spain, mounted the throne in the year
672, and was famous for his success against the Arabians, as well as for his attachment to
the Christian religion, as a proof of which he retired into a monastery, and resigned the
kingdom to Ervige.
.fn-

.fn #
There is no such letter mentioned in his conversation with Don Quixote.
.fn-

.fn #
Who murdered Sancho <abbr='the first'>I.</abbr> king of Castile, while he was engaged in the siege of Zamora.
.fn-

.fn #
The original <lang=es><i>pues presente pocas vezes lo bazía</i></lang>, signifies, ‘Since while I was present
she did it very seldom.’ This at first sight appears a solecism, and the petulant critick
will exclaim, ‘What occasion had she to write to her lover who was present, unless she
had lost the faculty of speech!’ But the seeming absurdity will vanish, when we reflect
that by <i>present</i>, he means, in the same city with his mistress; to whom, however, according
to the custom of Spain, he had little or no access but by a literary correspondence.
.fn-
// File: 0235.png
.pn +1
.sp 4
.h2 id=vol2
VOLUME THE SECOND. | PART <abbr=one>I.</abbr>
.sp 2
.h3 id=book2-4
BOOK <abbr=four>IV.</abbr>
.sp 2
.h4 id=chap2-4-1
<abbr=chapter>CHAP.</abbr> <abbr=one>I.</abbr> | OF THE NEW AND AGREEABLE ADVENTURE THAT HAPPENED TO THE CURATE AND BARBER, IN THE BROWN MOUNTAIN.
.sp 2
Thrice happy and fortunate
was that age which
produced the most audacious
knight Don Quixote
de la Mancha, in consequence
of whose honourable
resolution to restore and revive the
lost, and, as it were, buried order of
knight-errantry, we of these times,
barren and unfruitful of sprightly
amusements, enjoy the agreeable entertainment,
not only of his own true and
delightful adventures, but also the intervening
episodes, which are no less
real, artful, and delicious, than the
main history itself, the twisted, reeled,
and ravelled thread of which is continued
thus!

Just as the curate was ready to offer
some consolation to Cardenio, he was
prevented by a voice that saluted his
ears in these mournful accents, ‘Would
to God I could find a place to serve
as a private tomb for this wearisome
burden of life, which I bear so much
against my inclination! this very spot
will yield me what I ask, if I can
trust the solitary appearance of these
mountains. Alas! how much more
agreeable is the company of these
rocks and thickets, which give me opportunities
of complaining to Heaven,
than that of faithless man! since nature
hath not created one of whom I
could reasonably expect advice in difficulty,
comfort in affliction, or remedy
in distress!’

This exclamation was distinctly overheard
by the priest and his company,
who, concluding that the person who
spoke must be hard by, arose to make
farther enquiry, and had not gone twenty
paces, when behind the fragment of a
rock they perceived a boy sitting under
an ash-tree, in the habit of a peasant,
whose face, as he stooped, in order to
wash his feet in a brook that murmured
by him, they could not then survey.
Their approach they managed with softness
and silence, while his whole attention
was employed in bathing his legs,
that seemed two crystal pillars, which
had been produced among the pebbles
in the rill. They were surprized at the
whiteness and beauty of his feet, which
they could not believe had been formed
to tread the clods, and follow the cattle
or plough, as his dress would have seemed
to intimate; and the curate, who went
foremost, finding himself still unperceived
by the youth, made signs to the rest to
// File: 0236.png
.pn +1
crouch down, or hide themselves behind
a neighbouring rock. This being
done, all three stood gazing attentively
at the apparition, which was clad in a
double-skirted grey jacket, girt about
the middle with a white napkin, and
wore breeches and hose of the same
cloth, with a grey hunting-cap upon
his head; the hose being pulled up to
the middle of his leg, which actually
seemed of white alabaster. Having
washed his delicate feet, he wiped them
with a handkerchief which he took out
of his cap, and in so doing, lifted up
his head, shewing to the by-standers
a face of such exquisite beauty, that
Cardenio said in a whisper to the curate,
‘Since that is not Lucinda, it
can be no earthly, but some celestial
being!’ 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 Lucinda,
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, appeared
among her hair like moulds of drifted
snow. All these circumstances increasing
the desire of the by-standers
to know who she was, they resolved to
shew themselves, and at the stir they
made in advancing, the beauteous phantom
raised her head, and parting her
locks with both hands, to see what occasioned
the noise she heard, no sooner
perceived them than the started up, and,
without staying to put on her shoes, or
tie up her hair, seized a bundle that lay
by her, and betook herself to flight, full
of consternation and surprize: but she
had not run six yards, when her delicate
feet, unable to bear the roughness of
the stones, failed under her, and she
fell to the ground. This accident
being perceived by the other three, they
ran to her assistance, and the curate approaching
her first, ‘Stay, Madam,’
said he, ‘whosoever you are; those
// File: 0237.png
whom you see have no other design
than that of doing you service: therefore
there is no necessity for your attempting
such a precipitate flight, which
neither your own feet nor our inclination
will allow.’ To this address
she made no reply, being quite astonished
and confused; but the priest taking
her by the hand, proceeded in this manner:
‘Madam, though your dress concealed,
your hair hath discovered manifest
signs, that it must be no slight
cause which hath shrouded your beauty
in such unworthy disguise, and
brought you to this solitude, where it
is our fortune to find you; and to
offer, if not a certain remedy for your
misfortune, at least our best advice;
for no grievance can harass or drive
the afflicted to such extremity, while
life remains, as to make them shut
their ears against that counsel which
is given with the most humane and
benevolent intention. Wherefore,
Madam, or Sir, or what you please to
be, recollect yourself from the confusion
in which the sight of us hath
thrown you, and tell us the particulars
of your good or evil fortune, in
full assurance of finding us all together,
or each by himself, disposed to
sympathize with your affliction.’

While the curate pronounced these
words, the disguised damsel stood wrapt
in attention, gazing at them all round,
without moving her lips, or uttering one
syllable, like a country villager gaping
at rarities which he had never seen before:
but the priest enforcing what he
had said, with other arguments to the
same effect, she heaved a profound sigh,
and broke silence, saying, ‘Since these
solitary mountains have not been able
to conceal me, and my loose dishevelled
hair allows me not to disguise the
truth, it would be in vain for me to
feign such things as your reason could
not believe, though your courtesy
might excuse them. On that supposition,
I thank you, gentlemen, for
your humane offer, which lays me
under the obligation of giving you
all the satisfaction you desire; though
I am afraid, that the relation I shall
make of my misfortunes will, instead
of compassion, excite your disgust,
for you will find it impossible either
to cure my woes, or teach me to bear
them with fortitude; but, nevertheless,
that my reputation may not suffer
// File: 0238.png
.pn +1
in your opinion, as you have discovered
me to be a woman, and a young
one, alone, and in this disguise; circumstances
which, considered either
together or apart, might prejudice my
good name in this world; I will freely
disclose to you those things, which, if
possible, I would have willingly concealed.’

All this preamble was uttered in a
breath by the beautiful apparition, with
such volubility of tongue, and sweetness
of voice, that they admired her
good sense as much as her beauty; and
repeating their proffers of service, as well
as their intreaties that she would perform
her promise; she, without farther
importunity, put on her shoes with
great modesty, adjusted her hair, and
sat down in the midst of her three hearers,
upon a seat in the rock, where,
after having endeavoured to repress a
few tears that started in her eyes, she,
with a clear and deliberate voice, began
the story of her life in this manner.

‘In this province of Andalusia,
there is a place, from whence a certain
duke, one of those who are called
grandees of Spain, derives his title:
he hath two sons, the eldest of whom
is heir to his estate, and, in all appearance,
to his good qualities; but
the younger inherits nothing that I
know, but the treachery of Vellido,
and falshood of Galalon. To this
nobleman my parents are vassals; and
though low in pedigree, so considerable
in wealth, that if their descent
was equal to their fortune, they
would have nothing more to desire,
nor I the mortification of seeing myself
in this distress; for, I believe,
my misfortunes proceed from their
defect in point of birth, which though
not so mean as to make them ashamed
of their origin, is not splendid enough
to overthrow my conjecture about the
source of my affliction: in short,
they are farmers, of a plain honest
family, without the least intermixture
of Moorish blood; but, as the saying
is, old, rusty Christians; aye, and so
rusty, that by their riches and opulent
way of living, they are gradually acquiring
the title of gentlefolks, nay,
of quality too; though what they
prized above all riches and title, was
their happiness in having me for their
daughter; and therefore, as they had
// File: 0239.png
no other child to inherit their estate,
and were naturally the most affectionate
of parents, I was beloved and indulged
by them with the utmost degree
of parental fondness. I was the
mirror in which they beheld themselves,
the staff of their age, and
shared with Heaven their whole attention
and desires, with which, as they
were pure and unblemished, my own
perfectly corresponded; and therefore,
I was mistress of their affection as
well as their wealth. By my advice,
they received and dismissed their servants;
the tale and account of what
was both sowed and reaped, passed
through my hands; I managed the
oil-mills, the vineyards, the herds and
the flocks, the bee-hives, and every
thing that such a rich farmer as my
father may be supposed to possess: in
short, I was steward and mistress; and
acted with such care and œconomy,
that I should not find it easy to exaggerate
the pleasure and satisfaction
which my parents enjoyed. Those
parts of the day that remained, after
I had given all due attention to the
herdsmen, overseers, and other day-labourers,
I employed in exercises
equally decent and necessary for young
women, such as lace-making, needle-work,
and spinning; and if, at any
time, I interrupted these employments,
in order to recreate the mind,
I entertained myself with some religious
book, or diversified my amusement
with the harp; being convinced
by experience, that musick
lulls the disordered thoughts, and
elevates the dejected spirits. Such
was the life I led in my father’s house;
and if I have described it too minutely,
it is not through ostentation, in
order to display our riches, but with
a view of manifesting how innocently
I forfeited that happy situation, and
incurred the misery of my present
state. While I passed my time in
these occupations, my retirement was
such as almost equalled that of a nunnery,
being seen by nobody, as I
thought, but the servants of the family;
for I went to mass early in
the morning, accompanied by my
mother and the maids, and veiled
with such reserve, that my eyes scarce
beheld the ground on which I trod;
yet, nevertheless, I was perceived by
those of love, or rather libertinism,
// File: 0240.png
.pn +1
which even exceeds the lynx in penetration,
and then possessed the faculties
of Don Fernando, younger son
of the duke whom I have already
mentioned.’

She no sooner mentioned the name of
Don Fernando, than Cardenio changed
colour, and began to sweat with such
agitation, that the curate and barber,
perceiving it, were afraid he would be
seized with one of those fits of distraction
which, as they had heard, assaulted him
from time to time; but, after some drops
of sweat had burst out upon his skin,
he remained quiet, and looking earnestly
at the farmer’s fair daughter, immediately
guessed who she was; while she,
without observing the emotions of Cardenio,
went on with her story, in these
words: ‘And he no sooner beheld me,
than, as he afterwards protested, he
deeply felt the power of love, which
indeed his behaviour clearly evinced;
but, to shorten the account of my
misfortune, which is lengthened beyond
all comfort, I will pass over in
silence the industrious schemes that
Don Fernando planned, for opportunities
of declaring his passion. He
bribed every servant in the family,
and even made presents and proffers
of service to my relations: there was
nothing but gaiety and rejoicing all
day long in our street; and all night,
it was impossible to sleep for serenades.
The letters which, through an unknown
channel, came to my hand,
were without number, filled with the
most amorous flights and professions,
and vows and promises in every line;
but all these efforts, far from soothing,
hardened me against him, as
much as if he had been my mortal
foe; and all the stratagems he practised,
in order to subdue my coyness,
had a quite contrary effect: not that
I was disgusted at the gallantry of
Don Fernando, or enraged at his importunities,
for I felt a certain kind
of pleasure in being courted and beloved
by such a noble cavalier; neither
did I take umbrage at seeing myself
praised in his letters; for it is
my opinion, that all women, let them
be never so homely, are pleased to
hear themselves celebrated for beauty;
but, to all these artifices, I opposed my
own virtue, together with the repeated
advices of my parents, who plainly
perceived the passion of Don Fernando,
// File: 0241.png
because he himself took no care
to conceal it from the world. They
assured me, that in my virtue and prudence
alone they confided and deposited
their own honour and reputation:
they bade me consider the inequality
between Don Fernando and
me, which was a convincing proof
that his love, though he himself
asserted the contrary, tended more to
his gratification than my advantage;
and said, if I could throw any
obstruction in his way, to make him
quit his unjust pretensions, I should
be married immediately, according to
my own choice, either to one of the
principal persons of our own town, or
to some gentleman in the neighbourhood,
as I had abundance of lovers,
attracted by their wealth, and my reputation.
With these assurances, the
truth of which I could not doubt, I
fortified my integrity, and would never
send any reply to Don Fernando,
that could in the most distant manner
flatter him with the hope of accomplishing
his wish: but all my
reserve, which he ought to have looked
upon as the effect of disdain, served
only to whet his libidinous appetite,
which is the true name of the passion
he professed; for, had it been genuine
love, you would not now be listening
to my story, which I should have had
no occasion to recount.

‘In fine, Don Fernando got notice
that my parents intended to bestow
me in marriage, that they might deprive
him of all hope of possessing
me, or, at least, provide me with
more guards to protect my virtue;
and this piece of news alarmed him
so much, that he put in practice an
expedient to retard the dreaded match.
One night, while I sat in my apartment,
attended by my maid only, the
doors being all fast locked, that
through negligence my virtue might
not be in danger, without knowing
or comprehending the means of his
conveyance, he appeared before me, in
the midst of this reserve, precaution,
solitude, silence, and retreat! At
sight of him, I was so much confounded,
that the light forsook my
eyes, and my tongue denied its office;
so that being deprived of the power
of utterance, I could not cry for
help, neither, I believe, would he have
suffered me to exclaim; for he instantly
// File: 0242.png
.pn +1
seized me in his arms, my confusion
being such, that I had not
strength to defend myself, and began
to pour forth such protestations, that
I cannot conceive how falshood is able
to ape truth so exactly. The traitor’s
tears gave credit to his words, and
his sighs confirmed the honesty of his
intention. I, being a poor young creature
by myself, altogether unexperienced
in those affairs, began, I know
not how, to believe his false professions;
but, not so as to be moved to
weak compassion, either by his vows
or artful sorrow; on the contrary, my
first surprize being over, I recollected
my dissipated spirits, and with more
courage than I thought myself possessed
of, said to him, “Signior, if, instead
of being within your arms, as I
now am, I was in the paws of a fierce
lion, and my deliverance entirely depended
upon my doing or saying
any thing prejudicial to my virtue, it
would be as impossible for me to
comply with these terms, as it as
impossible for that which is, to lose
its existence; wherefore, though you
keep my body confined within your
arms, I am in full possession of my
soul, with all her chaste desires,
which are entirely opposite to yours,
as you will plainly perceive, if you
resolve to proceed in gratifying your
wishes by force. I am your vassal,
but not your slave; the nobility of
your blood neither has, nor ought
to have, the power of dishonouring
or despising the lowliness of mine;
and my character is as precious to
me, though I am but a plebeian
farmer’s daughter, as yours can be
to you, who are a nobleman and cavalier.
All your strength shall not
effect your purpose, neither am I
to be influenced by your riches, deceived
by your words, or melted by
your sighs and tears. Any of these
expressions in a man, to whom my
parents should give me in marriage,
would gain my consent and reciprocal
inclination; nay, if my honour
were safe, I could sacrifice my satisfaction,
and voluntarily yield what
you, Signior, now attempt to obtain
by force; this I observe, that you
may rest assured, I will never grant
any favour to him who is not my
lawful spouse.”
// File: 0243.png

‘“If that be your sole objection,
charming Dorothea,” (for that is the
name of this wretched creature) said
the perfidious cavalier, “behold I here
present my hand, in pledge, of being
yours for ever; and may Heaven, from
which nothing is concealed, together
with that image of the blessed Virgin,
bear witness to the sincerity and truth
of this declaration!”’ Cardenio, when
she called herself Dorothea, was surprized
anew, and confirmed in his first
conjecture; but, unwilling to interrupt
the story in which he expected to hear
the issue of what he already knew, he
only said, ‘Is your name Dorothea,
Madam? I have heard of one of that
name, to whose misfortunes yours
bear a great resemblance: but pray
proceed; the time will come when I
shall tell you such things as will equally
excite your terror and affliction.’
Dorothea, surprized at the discourse of
Cardenio, as well as at his strange and
ragged attire, intreated him, if he knew
any thing of her affairs, to communicate
it immediately; saying, that if fortune
had left her any thing of value, it
was the courage to endure any disaster
that might befal her; though she was
almost certain, that what she had already
suffered could admit of no addition.
‘Madam,’ replied Cardenio, ‘I
would not be the means of impairing
that fortitude, by telling you what I
know, if my conjecture be right;
neither is there any opportunity lost,
nor is it of any consequence to you,
whether you hear it or not.’—‘Be
that as it will,’ answered Dorothea,
‘I will go on with the sequel of my
story. Don Fernando, addressing himself
to the image he found in my
apartment, invoked the blessed Virgin
to bear witness to our nuptials, and
avowed himself my husband with the
most binding and solemn oaths; though,
before he proceeded so far, I desired
him to reflect upon what he was going
to do, and consider how much his father
might be incensed at his conduct,
when he should find him married to
the daughter of his own farmer and
vassal. I cautioned him against being
blinded by my beauty, such as it was,
telling him it would be far from being
a sufficient excuse for his error;
and begged, if he had any love and
regard for me, he would manifest it,
// File: 0244.png
.pn +1
in leaving me to a fate more adequate
to my rank and circumstances; observing,
that such unequal matches
were seldom blessed with a long duration
of those raptures with which
they begin.

‘All these reflections I repeated to
him, with many more which I do not
remember; but they had no effect in
diverting him from the prosecution of
his purpose; for he was like a man,
who, in making a bargain, never
boggles at the price of the commodity,
because he never intends to pay it.
At the same time, I held a short conference
with my own breast, saying
within myself, “Neither shall I be
the first, who, by marriage, has risen
from a low station to rank, and grandeur;
nor will Don Fernando be the
first nobleman whom beauty, or rather
blind affection, hath induced to
share his greatness with a partner of
unequal birth. Since, therefore, I
neither make a new world nor a new
custom, it is but reasonable in me to
embrace this honour that fortune
throws in my way; and although
the affection he professes should not
survive the accomplishment of his
wish, I shall nevertheless, in the sight
of God, remain his true and lawful
wife. Besides, should I treat him
with disdain, I see he is determined
to transgress the bounds of duty, and
avail himself of force; in which case,
I shall be dishonoured and inexcusable
in the opinion of those who do
not know how innocently I have incurred
their censure; for where shall
I find arguments to persuade my parents,
that this cavalier entered my
apartment without my knowledge and
consent?”

‘All these reflections, which my imagination
revolved in an instant, began
to sway me towards that which
(though I little thought so) proved
my ruin; especially when aided and
enforced by the oaths of Don Fernando,
the powers he called to witness,
the tears he shed, and, in short,
by his genteel carriage and agreeable
disposition accompanied by such marks
of real passion, as might have melted
any other heart as soft and unexperienced
as mine. I called my maid
to be a joint evidence with the powers
of Heaven: Don Fernando repeated
// File: 0245.png
and confirmed his oaths; took
other saints to witness his integrity;
imprecated a thousand curses on his
head, in case he should fail to fulfil
his promise; had recourse to sighs and
tears again, straining me still closer in
his arms, from which he had never released
me. By these means, and the
departure of my maid, I forfeited that
name, and he became a false and finished
traitor.

‘The morning that succeeded this
night of my misfortune, did not arrive
so soon, I believe, as Don Fernando
could have wished; for, when
once a man hath satisfied his rage of
appetite, his chief inclination is to
quit the scene of his success. This I
observe, because Don Fernando seemed
impatient to be gone; and, by the
industry of my maid, who had conducted
him to my chamber, found
himself in the street before day: when
he took his leave, he told me, though
not with such violence of rapture as
he expressed on his first coming, that
I might depend upon his honour, and
the sincerity of the oaths he had sworn;
as a farther confirmation of which,
he took a ring of value from his finger,
and put it upon mine. In short,
he vanished, leaving me in a situation
which I can neither call joyful nor sad.
This I know, that I remained in a
state of confusion and perplexity, and,
as it were, beside myself, on account
of what had happened; but I either
wanted courage or memory to quarrel
with my maid for the perfidy she had
been guilty of, in conducting Don
Fernando to my apartment; indeed,
I could not as yet determine, whether
the adventure would redound to my
advantage or misfortune. I told him,
at parting, that now I was his wife,
he might see me any night, by the
same means he had used to procure
the first interview, until he should
think proper to make our marriage
publick: but, except the following
night, I could never set eyes on him,
either in the street or at church, during
a whole month, which I spent in
the utmost anxiety of expectation; although
I knew he was in town, and
almost every day employed in the
chace, an exercise to which he was
greatly addicted. Those were doleful
and distracting hours and days
// File: 0246.png
.pn +1
to me; for then I began to doubt,
and afterwards to disbelieve the faith
of Don Fernando; then was my
maid exposed to those rebukes for her
presumption, which she had never
heard before; then was I obliged to
husband my tears, and wear composure
on my countenance, that I might
not give occasion to my parents to
ask the cause of my discontent, and
be put to the trouble of inventing falshoods
to deceive them. But all this
constraint was banished by an event,
the knowledge of which trod down
all other respects, put an end to all
my prudent measures, and by destroying
my patience, published my misfortune
to the world. This was no
other than a report that soon after prevailed
in our town, by which I learned
that Don Fernando was married,
in a neighbouring city, to a young
lady of exceeding beauty, and distinguished
birth, though her parents
could not give her a portion suitable
to such a noble alliance. I understood
her name was Lucinda, and that several
surprizing accidents had happened
at their nuptials.’

Cardenio hearing Lucinda’s name,
though he said nothing, shrugged up
his shoulders, bit his lips, contracted
the skin of his forehead, and discharged
from his eyes two fountains of tears;
but, notwithstanding, Dorothea continued
her story, saying, ‘This melancholy
piece of news no sooner reached
my ears, than, instead of freezing,
it inflamed my heart with such rage
and fury, that I had well-nigh run
out into the streets, and published
aloud the falshood and treachery he
had practised upon me: but my rage
was restrained for that time, by a plan
which I conceived, and actually put
in execution that very night. I dressed
myself in this garb, which I received
from one of the swains belonging
to the house, to whom I disclosed
my whole misfortune, intreating
him to attend me to the city, where
I understood my adversary was. After
having disapproved of the attempt,
and blamed my resolution, seeing me
determined, he offered to keep me
company, as he said, to the world’s
end: that moment I packed up my
woman’s dress in a pillow-case, together
with some jewels and money,
as a resource in time of need; and in
// File: 0247.png
the dead of that very night, without
giving the least hint to my perfidious
maid, left my father’s house, and
accompanied by my servant, and a
thousand strange imaginations, set out
for that city on foot, winged with the
desire of finding Don Fernando; and
resolved, though I could not prevent
what was already done, to demand
with what confidence he had done it.

‘In two days and an half I arrived
at the city, and enquiring for the house
of Lucinda’s parents, the first person
to whom I put the question, told me
more than I desired to hear. He directed
me to the house, and related
every incident which had happened at
his daughter’s wedding; a story so
publick, that it was the common town-talk.
He said, that on the night of
their nuptials, after she had pronounced
the “Yes,” by which he became
her husband, Lucinda was seized with
a violent fit; that Don Fernando opening
her breast to give her fresh air,
found in it a paper written with her
own hand, importing that she could
not lawfully espouse Fernando, being
already the wife of Cardenio, who,
as the man told me, was one of the
principal cavaliers of that town; and
that she had now pronounced the fatal
“Yes,” merely because she would not
swerve from the obedience she owed to
her parents; in short, he said, the contents
of the paper plainly gave them
to understand, that she intended to
make away with herself, immediately
after the ceremony, induced by the
reasons which were there contained;
and this resolution was confirmed by
a poignard which they found concealed
in some part of her dress. Don
Fernando perceiving, by what happened,
that Lucinda had baffled, scorned,
and undervalued his addresses,
ran to her before she had recovered the
use of her senses, and with the poignard
they had found, would have
stabbed her to the heart, had he not
been prevented by her parents and
the rest of the company. It was,
moreover, reported that Don Fernando
immediately retired; and that Lucinda
continued in a fit till next day.
When she recovered from her swoon,
she declared to her father and mother,
that she was the true and lawful wife
of that same Cardenio, who, it seems,
was present at the ceremony; and
// File: 0248.png
.pn +1
who, when he saw her actually married,
contrary to his former belief and
firm expectation, quitted the city in
despair, having first left a writing
that declared the wrong she had done
him, and signified his intention to
banish himself for ever from the society
of mankind. All this transaction
was so notorious and publick
in the city, as to furnish discourse for
every body; and the subject was not
diminished, when it was known that
Lucinda was not to be found either
in her father’s house, or in any other
part of the town, which were searched
all over by her parents, who had almost
run distracted, not knowing what
other method they should take to retrieve
her. This information revived
my hopes a little; for I was better
pleased to have missed Don Fernando,
than to have found him married to
another; thinking, that every gate of
comfort was not yet shut against me;
and that Heaven, perhaps, had thrown
that impediment in the way of his second
marriage, with a view of making
him reflect upon what he owed to the
first; and reminding him of his being
a Christian, consequently more interested
in the care of his soul than in
any other human concern. All these
things I revolved in my imagination;
and, as I had no real comfort, consoled
myself with the most feeble and
distant hope, in order to support a life
which I now abhor.

‘While I remained in this city, undetermined
what course to take, as I
could not find Don Fernando, I heard
a publick crier describe my person and
dress, and offer a considerable reward
to any one that should discover where
I was. Nay, it was said, that I had
seduced from my father’s house, the
young man who attended me; a circumstance
that touched me to the
very soul: finding my credit fallen so
low, that they were not satisfied with
publishing my escape, but must needs
also mention my attendant, a creature
so mean and unworthy of my attention
and regard, as soon as I heard
myself proclaimed, I quitted the town,
accompanied by my servant, who already
began to give marks of staggering
in his promised faith and fidelity,
and that night reached the most
woody part of this mountain, urged
by the fear of being discovered; but,
// File: 0249.png
as it is commonly observed, one mischance
invites another, and the end of
one misfortune is often the beginning
of a worse, this was literally my case:
my trusty servant, who had hitherto
behaved with such zeal and fidelity,
seeing me in this solitary place, and
instigated by his own villainy rather
than any beauty of mine, attempted
to avail himself of the opportunity
which he thought this desart offered;
and with great impudence, contempt
of Heaven, and disregard to me, began
to talk of love; when, finding
that I rejected his immodest proposals
with just indignation and disdain, he
laid aside intreaties for the use of
those who might please to use them,
and began to employ force for the
accomplishment of his will; but, just
Heaven, who seldom or never abandons
the righteous intention, favoured
and assisted mine so effectually, that
with the little strength I have, and
no great trouble, I pushed him over
a precipice, unknowing whether or
nor he survived the fall; then, as
nimbly as my weariness and terror
would allow, I penetrated farther into
the mountain, without any other
thought or intention, than that of
keeping myself concealed from my
father, and those whom he had employed
to find me out.

‘I know not how many months I have
lived in this place, where I met with
a grazier, who took me into his service,
and carried me to his house,
which stands in the very heart of the
mountain. Him I served all this
time, in quality of a cowherd, endeavouring
to be always in the field, that
I might the more easily conceal that
hair which now so unexpectedly discovered
my sex: yet, all my care and
industry were vain; for, my master
having found me out to be a woman,
was seized with the same desire that
took possession of my own servant.
But fortune, with the evil, does not always
send the remedy; for, I could
neither find rock nor bog, by which
I might have disabled my master, as I
had before punished my man; and
therefore, as the least inconvenience,
I have left his house, and chosen to
hide myself again among these thickets,
rather than try my strength against
him, in defence of my innocence. I
say, I returned to these woods in hopes
// File: 0250.png
.pn +1
of finding a place in which I might,
without impediment, implore Heaven
with sighs and tears, to have compassion
upon my misery, and give me
industry and grace to overcome it, or
quit my being in this solitude, without
leaving behind me the least trace
or remembrance of this forlorn wretch,
who, without any fault of her own,
hath afforded so much matter for conversation
and censure both at home
and abroad.
.sp 4
.h4 id=chap2-4-2
<abbr=chapter>CHAP.</abbr> <abbr=two>II.</abbr> | OF THE BEAUTIFUL DOROTHEA’S DISCRETION—WITH OTHER PLEASANT AND ENTERTAINING PARTICULARS.
.sp 2
‘This, gentlemen, is the genuine
detail of my tragick story;
consider, therefore, and judge whether
or not I have sufficient cause to
heave more sighs than I have vented,
utter more complaints than you have
heard, and shed more tears than have
flowed from mine eyes; and when
you shall have deliberated upon the
quality of my misfortune, you will
perceive how vain all consolation
must be, as the disease admits of no
remedy. I only ask what you easily
can, and ought to grant, namely, that
you would inform me where I can pass
my life, without being harrassed by
the surprize and fear of being found by
those who are in search of me. For,
though I am well assured, that my parents,
out of their great love and affection,
would receive me again into their
favour, such is the shame and confusion
I feel at the bare thought of their
having altered their opinion to my
prejudice, that I would rather conceal
myself from their sight for ever, than
appear in their presence under the
suspicion of having acted contrary to
the expectations they entertained from
my virtue.’ So saying, she left off
speaking, and her face was overspread
with a blush that plainly denoted the
sentiments and confusion of her soul.
Those who had heard her story, were
equally surprized and afflicted at her
misfortune; to which the curate was
going to offer some consolation and advice,
when Cardenio took her by the
hand, saying, ‘It seems, then, Madam,
// File: 0251.png
you are the beauteous Dorothea, only
daughter of Cleonardo the rich!’ She
was astonished to hear her father’s name
pronounced by one of such a miserable
appearance, (for we have already observed,
how wretchedly Cardenio was
cloathed) and said to him, ‘And who
are you, brother, who know so well
my father’s name; which, if I remember
aright, I have not once mentioned
in the whole course of my unfortunate
story?’

‘I am,’ replied Cardenio, ‘that unfortunate
man, to whom, as you have
observed, Lucinda said she was married.
I am that miserable Cardenio,
whom the villainy of him who reduced
you to your present situation,
hath brought to this deplorable condition
in which you now see me, ragged,
half-naked, destitute of all human
comfort, and, which is still
worse, deprived of my understanding,
except at certain short intervals, that
I enjoy by the permission of Heaven.
I, Dorothea, am the person who was
present at the perfidy of Don Fernando,
and heard Lucinda pronounce the
fatal “Yes,” by which she accepted
him for a husband. I am he who wanted
resolution to wait the issue of her
swoon, or stay and see the result of
that paper which was found in her
bosom; for, my soul could not sustain
the shock of such accumulated
misfortune; and therefore, I quitted
the house, already abandoned by my
patience, and leaving a letter with my
host, whom I charged to deliver it
into Lucinda’s own hand, betook myself
to these desarts, with an intention
here to finish the life which from that
instant I have abhorred as my most
inveterate foe. But fate hath not
been pleased to grant my wish, contenting
itself with having deprived me
of my judgment, with a view, perhaps,
of reserving me for better fortune;
which I begin to hope may
proceed from this lucky meeting with
you, since, if that which you have
recounted be true, as I believe it is,
there is a possibility that Heaven may
have in store for us both, a more favourable
termination of our disasters
than we imagine; for, supposing that
Lucinda, who is already my wife,
as she hath openly declared, cannot
be married to Don Fernando, nor he
lawfully wed her, being already
// File: 0252.png
.pn +1
espoused to you, I think we have
reason to hope, that Heaven will one
day restore what mutually belongs to
us; as it is neither alienated, ruined,
nor irretrievable. And since this consolation
still remains, sprung from
hopes that are not very remote, and
founded on expectations which are not
the effects of a disordered imagination,
I entreat you, Madam, in the
purity of your sentiments, to change
your present resolution, as I intend to
alter mine, and accommodate yourself
to the hopes of better fortune; for, I
swear upon the faith of a gentleman
and a Christian, that I will never abandon
you, until I see you in the
arms of Don Fernando, whom, if I
cannot by reasonable arguments, bring
to a true sense of his duty towards
you, I will then use that privilege to
which every gentleman is intitled,
and in single combat demand satisfaction
for the injury he has done you,
without minding my own wrongs,
which I will leave to the vengeance
of Heaven, that I may the sooner revenge
yours upon earth.’

This speech of Cardenio put an end
to the surprize of Dorothea, who being
at a loss how to thank him for his kind
and generous offer, stooped in order to
kiss his feet, but this piece of condescension
he would by no means allow.
The priest answering for both, approved
of Cardenio’s declaration; and, in a
particular manner, intreated, advised,
and persuaded them, to accompany him
to the village where he lived, in order
to provide themselves with what they
wanted; and there consult some scheme
either for finding Don Fernando, or for
carrying Dorothea back to her parents,
or, in short, for doing that which should
seem most necessary and convenient.
Cardenio and Dorothea thanked him for
his courteous offer, which they immediately
embraced; and the barber, who
had been silent and attentive all this
time, having joined the curate in his
compliments and hearty proffers of service,
briefly recounted the cause which
had brought them thither; namely, the
strange madness of Don Quixote; observing,
that they were then waiting for
the return of his squire, whom they had
sent in quest of his master. Cardenio
immediately, as if it had been the faint
impression of a dream, recollected and
related the quarrel which had happened
// File: 0253.png
between the knight and him, though
he could not remember the cause of the
dispute.

At that instant they heard and recognized
the voice of Sancho; who, not
finding them in the place where he had
left them, hallooed aloud; upon which
they went to meet him, and enquiring
about Don Quixote, were told by the
squire, that he found him naked to the
shirt, wan, meagre, half famished, and
sighing for his mistress Dulcinea; that
when he (Sancho) told him she had
commanded him to quit that place, and
go immediately to Toboso, where she
waited with impatience to see him, he
had answered, that he was determined
never to appear before her, until he
should have performed such atchievements
as would render him worthy of
her favour; and Sancho observed, that
if this resolution should hold, it was
possible he might never attain to the
rank of an emperor, as he was in duty
bound, nor even to that of an archbishop,
which was the least he could
expect. He desired them, therefore, to
consider some means of disengaging the
knight from his solitude. The priest
bade him be under no concern, for they
would fall upon a method to remove his
master, whether he would or no.

Then he explained to Cardenio and
Dorothea, the plan they had laid to
cure Don Quixote of his madness, or
at least bring him back to his own
house. This Dorothea no sooner understood,
than she told him, that she
was more proper than the barber for
acting the part of the distressed damsel;
especially, as she had cloaths along with
her, that would answer the purpose;
and bade them trust to her, for representing
every part of the character
which should be necessary towards the
success of their design, for she had
read a great many books of chivalry,
and was perfectly well acquainted with
the stile in which afflicted damsels were
wont to beg boons of knights-errant.
‘If that be the case,’ said the curate,
‘let us not delay the execution of our
scheme; for, without doubt, Heaven
seems to favour my endeavours; not
only in opening a door so unexpectedly,
towards the cure of your
misfortunes, but also in making you
subservient in facilitating our success.’
Dorothea then pulled out of her pillow-case,
a gown and petticoat of very
// File: 0254.png
.pn +1
rich stuff, with a beautiful green mantelet,
and opening a little casket, took out
a rich necklace and other jewels, with
which she instantly dressed herself to
such advantage that she appeared like a
lady of the first rank and fortune. All
these, and other ornaments, she said,
she had carried off from her father’s
house, in case of what might happen;
though hitherto she had met with no
opportunity of using them. Every one
present was charmed with her graceful
mien, easy deportment, and exceeding
beauty; and passed sentence on Don
Fernando, as a person of little taste
and discernment, for having abandoned
such excellence. But the admiration
of Sancho was superior to that of all
the rest; for he actually thought, and
indeed it was true, that in all the days of
his life, he had never seen such a beautiful
creature; and, accordingly, asked
the curate, with great eagerness, who
that handsome lady was, and what she
looked for in these bye places. ‘Friend
Sancho,’ answered the curate, ‘that
handsome lady, to say no more of her,
is heiress, in the direct male line, of
the kingdom of Micomicon[#], come
hither to beg a boon of your master,
that he would redress a wrong and
grievance done to her by a discourteous
giant; for such is the fame and
reputation of that excellent knight,
Don Quixote, through the whole extent
of Guinea, as to induce this
princess to come from thence in quest
of him.’—‘Blessed quest!’ cried Sancho,
‘and happy finding, say I! especially
if my master should be so fortunate
as to right the wrong, and redress
the grievance, by killing that
son of a whore of a giant that your
worship mentions; and kill him he
certainly will, if they should once
meet, provided he be not a phantom;
for you must know, my master has
no power over phantoms. But one
thing, among many others, I must
beg of you, Mr. Licentiate, and
that is, to put my master out of
conceit of an archbishoprick, for I
am afraid his inclination leans that
way, and advise him to marry this
princess out of hand, a match which
will make it impossible for him to receive
holy orders; and therefore he
will the more easily arrive at the seat
of empire, and I at the end of my
wish. For I have carefully considered
the affair, and by my reckoning,
I shall not find my account in
his being an archbishop, as I am altogether
unfit for the church, by reason
of my being married; and for
me, who have a wife and children,
to be petitioning for dispensations to
hold livings, would be an endless task.
Wherefore, Signior, the point is this:
let my master immediately take to
wife the same lady, whose name I do
not know; for, indeed, I never saw
her grace before this blessed minute.’—‘She
is called the princess Micomicona,’
replied the curate, ‘because
her kingdom being Micomicon, it is
plain her name must be Micomicona.’—‘Yes,
to be sure,’ said Sancho, ‘I
have known several people take a surname
and addition from the place of
their nativity, calling themselves, for
example, Pedro d’Alcala, Juna de
Ubeda, Diego de Valladolid; and I
suppose they have the same custom in
Guinea, where the queens take their
names from the kingdoms they rule.’
The priest confirmed Sancho’s opinion,
and promised to use his utmost influence
to promote the marriage of the knight.
With this assurance Sancho rested as
much satisfied as the other was surprized
at his simplicity, when he perceived
how carefully he cherished, in his imagination,
the same extravagant whims
that possessed his master, who he firmly
believed would one day become an
emperor.

By this time, Dorothea being mounted
on the curate’s mule, and the barber’s
face accommodated with the ox’s
tail by way of beard, they desired
Sancho to guide them to the place
where Don Quixote was, and cautioned
him against pretending to know the licentiate
and his companion, assuring
him that his master’s becoming an emperor
entirely depended upon his professing
ignorance of their persons. Yet
neither the curate nor Cardenio would
accompany them; because the presence
of this last might recal to the knight’s
memory the quarrel which had happened
between them; and it was not
yet proper that the priest should appear;
for which reasons, they let the rest proceed
by themselves, and they followed
// File: 0255.png
.pn +1
at a small distance, after the curate had
given her cue to Dorothea; who desired
him to make himself perfectly easy on
her account, for she would act the
part assigned to her, without the least
occasion for a prompter, in the true stile
and spirit of knight-errantry.

Having travelled about three quarters
of a league, they discovered Don Quixote
already cloathed, though still unarmed,
sitting in the midst of a labyrinth
of rocks: and Dorothea no sooner
understood it was he, in consequence of
Sancho’s information, than she whipped
up her palfrey, close attended by the
well-bearded barber, who, when she
approached the knight, threw himself
from his mule, and ran to help his lady
to alight. But she, dismounting with
great agility, went and fell upon her
knees before Don Quixote, whom, in
spite of his repeated endeavours to raise
her, she accosted in these words.

‘Never will I rise from this posture,
most valiant and invincible knight,
until your benevolence and courtesy
grant me a boon, which will not only
redound to the honour and applause
of your own person, but also to the
advantage of the most injured and
disconsolate damsel that ever the sun
beheld; and if the valour of your
mighty arm corresponds with the
voice of your immortal fame, you
are obliged to favour the unfortunate,
who, attracted by the odour
of your celebrated name, come from
far distant regions, in quest of your
assistance.’—‘Beauteous lady,’ replied
Don Quixote, ‘I will not answer one
word, nor hear one circumstance of
your affairs, until you rise from the
ground.’—‘I will not rise, Signior,’
answered the afflicted damsel, ‘until I
shall have obtained from your condescension,
the boon I beg.’—‘I condescend
and grant it,’ resumed the
knight, ‘provided, in so doing, I act
neither to the detriment nor derogation
of my king, my country, and
her who holds my heart and liberty[#].’—‘Your
compliance, worthy Signior,’
replied the mourning lady, ‘shall in no
ways affect the exceptions you have
made.’

At that instant Sancho came up, and
whispered softly in his master’s ear:
‘Your worship may safely grant the
boon she asks, which is a mere trifle;
no more than slaying a giantish sort
of a fellow; and she who begs it,
is the high and mighty princess Micomicona,
queen of the great empire
of Micomicon in Ethiopia.’—‘Whosoever
she is,’ answered Don Quixote,
‘I will do what I am in duty bound to
perform, and act according to the
dictates of my own conscience, and
conformable to the order I profess.’
Then turning to Dorothea, ‘Rise, most
beautiful lady,’ said he, ‘the boon
you ask is granted.’—‘Then, what I
ask is this,’ resumed the damsel, ‘that
your magnanimity would immediately
accompany me to the place from
whence I came, and promise to attempt
no other adventure, nor grant
any other request, until you shall have
taken vengeance on a traitor who hath
usurped my crown, contrary to all
right, human and divine.’—‘I grant
your request, Madam,’ answered Don
Quixote; ‘henceforth you may dispel
that melancholy with which you are
depressed, and let your fainting hope
resume new strength and vigour; for,
with the assistance of God, and this my
arm, you shall, in a short time, see
yourself restored to your kingdom,
and seated on the throne of your royal
ancestors, in defiance and despite of
all those evil-designing persons who
mean to oppose you: let us set hands
to the work then; for, according to
the common observation, Delay breeds
danger.’

The distressed damsel struggled with
great perseverance, to kiss his hand;

// File: 0256.png
.pn +1
but Don Quixote, who was in all respects
a well-bred knight, would by no
means allow such humiliation: on the
contrary, raising her up, he embraced
her with great politeness and cordiality,
ordering Sancho to secure Rozinante’s
girths, and help him to arm with all
expedition. The squire taking down
the armour, which hung on a tree, in
the manner of a trophy, and adjusting
the horse’s girths, in a twinkling, equipped
his master, who finding himself
armed, ‘Now,’ said he, ‘let us go, in
the name of God, to the assistance of
this high-born lady.’ The barber,
who was all this time on his knees, at
infinite pains to preserve his gravity and
his beard, the fall of which, perhaps,
would have utterly ruined their laudable
design, when he found the boon was
granted, and saw with what eagerness
the knight undertook to fulfil it, rose
up, and with the assistance of Don
Quixote, helped his lady upon her mule
again; then her protector bestrode Rozinante,
and he himself mounted his
own beast, while Sancho Panza being
left on foot, felt the loss of Dapple anew:
but this he contentedly bore, believing
that his master was now in the
right road, and almost at the very point
of being an emperor; for he assured
himself, that the knight would wed that
princess, and so become King of Micomicon
at least; the only uneasiness he
felt, was, on account of that kingdom’s
being in the land of negroes, so that all
his servants and vassals must be black;
but, his imagination supplied him with
a remedy for this inconvenience, and he
said within himself, ‘Suppose my vassals
are negroes, what else have I to
do, but transport them to Spain,
where I can sell them for ready-money,
with which I may purchase some
title or post that will maintain me
at my ease all the days of my life?
No, to be sure! sleep on, void of all
invention or ability to dispose of your
ware, and sell thirty, or ten thousand
slaves in the turning of a straw! Before
God! I’ll make them fly, little
and big, or just as I may; and,
blacks as they are, turn them all into
whites and yellows! Let me alone to
suck my own fingers.’ With these
conceits he was so much engrossed, and
so well satisfied, that he actually forgot
the pain of travelling on foot.
// File: 0257.png

Cardenio and the curate saw every
thing that passed, from behind some
bushes where they were hid, and could
fall upon no method of joining them
conveniently, until the priest, who was
an excellent schemer, thought of an
expedient for the purpose; having a
pair of scissars about him, he cut off
the beard of Cardenio with infinite dispatch,
and giving him a grey jacket,
with his own black cloak, he himself
remaining in his doublet and hose, the
tattered cavalier was so much altered in
point of appearance, that he would
scarce have known himself had he looked
in a glass. Although the others
were jogging on, while they disguised
themselves in this manner, they easily
reached the highway, before the knight
and his company, whose beasts were retarded
by the bushes and rockiness of
the ground; and taking their station
just at the mouth of the entrance to the
mountain, no sooner perceived the
knight and his attendants come forth,
than the curate looked earnestly at him
a good while, as if he had been recollecting
a person whom he knew, then
ran to him with open arms, crying
aloud, ‘Blessed be this meeting with
the mirror of chivalry, my worthy
compatriot Don Quixote de La Mancha,
the flower and cream of gentility,
the protector and physician of the distressed,
and quintessence of knights-errant!’
So saying, he embraced the
left-knee of Don Quixote; who being
astonished at the words and action of
the man, began to consider his features
with great attention, and at length, recollecting
him, was struck dumb with
admiration, at seeing him in that place,
and made many efforts to alight; which
when the priest opposed, ‘Give me
leave, Mr. Licentiate,’ said he, ‘it
is not seemly that I should remain
on horseback, when such a reverend
person as you travels on foot.’—‘I
will by no means,’ answered the curate,
‘consent to your alighting; since,
on horseback, your mighty arm hath
atchieved the greatest exploits and adventures
that this age hath seen; it
shall suffice for me, who am but an
unworthy priest, to get up, with permission,
behind this gentleman who
travels in your worship’s company;
and then I shall imagine myself
mounted upon Pegasus, a zebra, or
// File: 0258.png
.pn +1
that fiery courser that carried the famous
Moor Muzaraque, who still
lies inchanted in the vast mountain
Zulema, at a little distance from the
great Compluto.’—‘I did not think
of that expedient, Mr. Licentiate,’ resumed
the knight; ‘but I know that
my lady the princess will, out of regard
to me, be pleased to order her
squire to accommodate you with the
saddle of his mule, and he himself
may ride upon the crupper, if the
beast will carry double.’—‘I believe
she will,’ said the princess; ‘and I
am sure, there will be no occasion to
lay my commands upon my squire
who is too courteous and polite, to
suffer an ecclesiastick to travel on foot,
when it is in his power to provide him
with a beast.’—‘Your majesty is in
the right,’ answered the barber; who
instantly alighting, complimented the
curate with the saddle, which was accepted
without much intreaty.

But the misfortune was, when the
squire attempted to get up behind, the
mule, which was an hireling, consequently
mischievous, lifted up her hind
legs, and kicked with such fury, that
had they lighted on the head or breast
of Mr. Nicholas, he would have had
reason to curse the hour on which he set
out in quest of Don Quixote: such,
however, was his confusion, that he
came to the ground, and his beard being
neglected, fell off; so that he could
find no other method to prevent a discovery,
than to clap both hands to his
face, with great expedition, and roar
out that his teeth were demolished. Don
Quixote, seeing that huge mass of beard
torn from the jaw, without blood, and
lying at a good distance from the squire’s
face, ‘Good Heavens!’ cried he, ‘what
a wonderful phænomenon is this! The
beard is taken off and shaved as clean by
the heel of the mule, as if it had been
done by the hand of a barber.’ The
curate, seeing the risk he ran of being
detected in his scheme, snatched up the
tail, and running with it to Mr. Nicholas,
who still lay bellowing for help,
pulled his head to his breast with one
jerk, and clapping it on again, muttered
some words, which he said were
an infallible charm for fixing on beards,
as they should presently see; accordingly,
when the affair was adjusted, he
quitted the squire, who now seemed as
well bearded and as sound as ever; a
// File: 0259.png
circumstance that, above measure, surprized
the knight, who begged that the
curate, at a proper opportunity, would
impart to him the charm, which he imagined
must contain more virtues than
that of cementing beards, because it
was plain, that where the hair was torn
off, the skin and flesh must be lacerated
and hurt, and if the application could
heal those wounded parts, it was good
for something more than mere mustachios.
The curate confirmed his conjecture,
and promised to disclose the
secret to him, with the first proper opportunity;
then it was agreed, that the
priest should mount the mule by himself,
and, with the other two, ride her
by turns, until they should arrive at
the inn, which was about two leagues
off.

Don Quixote, the princess, and the
curate, being thus mounted, and Cardenio,
the barber, and Sancho Panza following
on foot, the knight told the damsel,
that her highness might conduct
him whithersoever she pleased; but, before
she could make any reply, the
priest interposed, saying, ‘Towards
what kingdom is your majesty journeying?
I am much mistaken in my
notions of kingdoms, if you are not
bound for Micomicon?’ She, who
had been well instructed in her cue,
concluding that the must answer in the
affirmative, said, ‘Yes, Signior, that
is the place of my destination.’—‘Then
you must pass through our village,’
answered the curate, ‘and take
your route to Carthagena, where your
highness may happily embark; and
if you meet with no hurricane, but
be favoured with a fair wind and
smooth sea, in something less than
nine years, you may get sight of that
vast Lake Meona, I mean, Meotis,
which is a little more than one hundred
days journey from your majesty’s
kingdom.’—‘Your worship must
be mistaken,’ said the princess, ‘for
two years are not yet elapsed since I
set out from thence; and though the
weather has always been bad, I have
already obtained what I so much
longed after, namely, the sight of
Signior Don Quixote de La Mancha,
whose fame reached my ears as soon
as I landed in Spain, and induced me
to come in quest of him, that I might
solicit his courtesy, and trust my
righteous cause to the valour of his
// File: 0260.png
.pn +1
invincible arm.’—‘Enough, Madam,’
said Don Quixote; ‘spare your encomiums;
for I am an utter enemy to
all sorts of adulation; and, although
you are not to be suspected of flattery,
my chaste ears are always offended at
that kind of discourse. What I can
safely affirm, is this; whether I have
valour or not, here is he, valiant or
pusillanimous, who will exert himself
to the last drop of his blood in the
service of your highness. But, this
apart——Pray, Mr. Licentiate, what
cause hath brought you hither alone,
where I am really astonished to find
you so ill attended, and so slightly
cloathed?’

‘In that particular you shall soon be
satisfied,’ answered the curate: ‘your
worship must know that I and our
friend Mr. Nicholas the barber, set
out for Seville, to recover a sum of
money, which was lent to me by a relation
of mine that went to the Indies,
a good many years ago; no less than
sixty thousand pieces of eight in good
silver, which make no inconsiderable
sum: and yesterday, passing through
this place, we were set upon by four
highwaymen, who stripped us even
to our very whiskers, and that in such
a manner as obliged the barber to
wear artificial ones; and you may see,’
pointing to Cardenio, ‘how they have
despoiled the face of this young man
who accompanied us; and the cream
of the story is, that, according to the
publick report, which prevails in this
neighbourhood, those who robbed us
were galley-slaves, that, almost in
this very place, were set at liberty by
a man so valiant, as to let them all
loose, in spite of the commissary and
his guards. Without all doubt he
must have been deprived of his senses,
or as great a villain as any of those he
freed, or some person void of all conscience
and feeling, who could thus
turn loose the wolf among the lambs,
the fox among the poultry, and the
flies among the honey-pots; defrauding
justice, and rebelling against his
king and rightful sovereign, by acting
contrary to his just commands, in depriving
the gallies of their hands, and
putting in confusion the holy brotherhood,
which have continued so many
years in undisturbed repose: in short,
he hath done a deed that may tend to
// File: 0261.png
the perdition of his own soul as well
as body.’

Sancho had before recounted to them
the adventure of the galley-slaves, which
he had atchieved with so much glory;
and therefore the curate urged it home,
in order to observe the behaviour of Don
Quixote, who changed colour at every
word, without daring to own himself
the deliverer of that worthy crew.
‘Those,’ added the priest, ‘were the
persons who rifled us; and God of
his infinite mercy forgive the man
who prevented the punishment they
so richly deserved!’

.fn #
As if he had said Ape-land, <lang=es><i>mico</i></lang> signifying an ape.
.fn-

.fn #
When a knight had once granted a boon in this manner, it was impossible for him to
retract, let the request be never so extravagant. We are told by Joinville, that the queen
of <abbr=Saint>St.</abbr> Lewis, being big with child, and in the utmost terror of falling alive into the hands
of the infidels at Damietta in Egypt, fell upon her knees before an old knight turned
of fourscore, and conjured him to grant her boon: the old man having promised to comply,
on the faith of his knighthood, she told him the favour she so pressingly solicited,
was, that he would cut off her head before she should fall into the hands of the enemy,
provided the Saracens should become masters of the town. The senior answered without
hesitation, that she might depend upon his sword; and owned he had taken that resolution
even before she signified her request.
.fn-
.sp 4
.h4 id=chap2-4-3
<abbr=chapter>CHAP.</abbr> <abbr=three>III.</abbr> | THE PLEASANT ARTIFICE PRACTISED TO EXTRICATE OUR ENAMOURED KNIGHT| FROM THE MOST RIGOROUS PENANCE HE HAD IMPOSED UPON HIMSELF.
.sp 2
Scarce had the curate pronounced
this apostrophe, when Sancho
blundered out—‘Then, in good faith,
Mr. Licentiate, he who performed
this exploit, was no other than my
master; not that I neglected to tell
and advise him beforehand, to consider
what he was about, and think
what a sin it would be to let loose
those who were going to the gallies
for the most grievous enormities.’—‘You
blockhead,’ cried Don Quixote,
incensed, ‘it neither concerns, nor belongs
to knights-errant, to examine
whether the afflicted, the enslaved, and
oppressed, whom they meet on the highway,
are reduced, to these wretched
circumstances by their crimes, or
their misfortunes; our business is only
to assist them in their distress, having
an eye to their sufferings, and not to
their demerits. I chanced to light
upon a string of miserable and discontented
objects, in behalf of whom
I acted according to the dictates of
my religion, without minding the
consequence; and he who takes umbrage
at what I have done, saving the
sacred character and honourable person
of Mr. Licentiate, is, I insist
upon it, utterly ignorant of chivalry,
and lyes like the base-born son of a
whore; and this assertion I will make
good with my sword, in the most
// File: 0262.png
.pn +1
ample manner.’ So saying, he fixed
himself in the stirrups, and cocked his
beaver; the barber’s bason, which he
mistook for Mambrino’s helmet, hanging
useless at the saddle-bow, until the
damage it received from the galley-slaves
could be repaired.

Dorothea, who was equally prudent
and witty, understanding that every
body present, except Sancho, diverted
themselves with the extravagant humour
of Don Quixote, was willing to
have her share of the entertainment;
and accordingly, perceiving that his indignation
was raised, ‘Sir knight,’ said
she, ‘I hope your worship will remember
your promise to me, by which
you are restricted from engaging in
any other adventure, howsoever pressing
it may be. Subdue your resentment
therefore, and be assured, that
had Mr. Licentiate known the galley-slaves
were set at liberty by that invincible
arm, he would have taken
three stitches in his mouth, and bit
his tongue three times, rather than
have uttered one word that should redound
to the prejudice of your worship.’—‘That
I swear I would have
done,’ said the curate; ‘aye, and have
plucked off one of my whiskers to
boot.’—‘Madam,’ answered the
knight, ‘I am silent. I will restrain the
just indignation which begins to rise
within me, and proceed in the utmost
peace and quiet, until I shall have
fulfilled the boon I promised to your
highness; but, in recompence for
this my kind intention, I beseech
you, if it be not too much trouble,
to make me acquainted with the nature
of your misfortune; and tell me
the number, quality, and condition
of those persons on whom I am to
take just satisfaction and full vengeance,
in your behalf.’—‘With all
my heart,’ answered Dorothea;
‘though I am afraid of tiring you with
a recital of woes and misfortunes.’
The knight assured her that would be
impossible; and she resumed, ‘Well
then, be so good as to favour me with
your attention.’

At these words, Cardenio and the
barber went up close to her, in order to
hear what story she, in her discretion,
would invent; and Sancho Panza, who
was as much deceived as his master, followed
their example. After she had
seated herself firmly in the saddle, cleared
// File: 0263.png
her pipes with a hem or two, and
made other preliminary gestures, she
with great sprightliness thus began:

‘In the first place, gentlemen, you
must know that my name is ——’
Here she made a full stop, having forgot
how the curate had christened her:
but this defect was soon remedied; for,
immediately conceiving the cause of her
hesitation, he said, ‘It is no wonder,
Madam, that your highness is disturbed
and disordered at the recollection of
your misfortunes, which are often so
great, as to impair the memory to such
a degree, that the afflicted cannot even
remember their own names: this effect
they have had upon you, Madam,
who have forgot that you are the Princess
Micomicona, legitimate heiress
of the great kingdom of Micomicon.
With the assistance of this hint, your
highness will easily recal the whole
thread of your story to your sorrowful
remembrance.’—‘You are in the
right,’ replied the damsel; ‘and I believe
I shall be able to bring my true
narrative to a happy conclusion without
farther prompting.

‘The king, my father, whose name
was Tinacrio the sage, foresaw, by
his profound skill in magick, that my
mother, who was called Queen Zaramilla,
would die before him; and
that, as he himself must quit this life
soon after, I should be left an helpless
orphan; but this consideration,
he said, did not give him so much
pain and confusion, as the certain
foreknowledge that a monstrous giant,
lord of a great island that bordered on
our kingdom, called Pandafilando of
the Gloomy Aspect: (for, it is affirmed,
that although his eyes are, like
any other person’s, placed in the middle
of his face, he always looks
askance, as if he squinted; and this
obliquity the malicious tyrant practises,
in order to surprize and intimidate
those who behold him;) I say,
my father foresaw by his art, that this
giant, informed of my being an orphan,
would invade me with a great
army, and deprive me of my whole
kingdom, without leaving so much as
a village for my retreat; and that
nothing could prevent this my ruin
and misfortune, unless I would consent
to marry him; though, so far as
he could learn, it would never come
into my thoughts to make such an
// File: 0264.png
.pn +1
unequal match; and truly his conjecture
was well founded; for, it never
entered into my head, to wed this
giant, or any other person, howsoever
tall and unmeasurable he might be.
My father, therefore, advised me,
that when, after his death, I should
get notice that Pandafilando was beginning
to invade my kingdom, I
should not stay to put myself in a posture
of defence, which would prove
my destruction, but freely leave him
the possession of my realms, if I was
resolved to avoid my own death, and
to prevent the total destruction of my
good and faithful subjects; for it
would be impossible to defend myself
against the infernal force of the giant:
but, that I should immediately set
out for Spain, where I would find a
remedy for all my misfortunes, in the
person of a certain knight-errant,
whose fame would be at that time
spread over the whole kingdom, and
whose name, if I right remember,
would be Don Hackfot, or Kickfot.’—‘Don
Quixote your ladyship would
say,’ cried Sancho, interposing, ‘alias
the Knight of the Rueful Countenance.’—‘The
very same,’ replied
Dorothea: ‘he told me, moreover, that
this knight would be a tall man,
with a long meagre visage, and have
on his right-side, below his left-shoulder,
or thereabouts, a grey mole garnished
with hairs, which bear some
resemblance to a hog’s bristles.’

Don Quixote hearing this circumstance,
said to his squire, ‘Come hither,
son Sancho, and help me to strip;
for I want to see if I am actually
the knight of whom that sage king
foretold.’—‘Why should your worship
strip?’ said Dorothea. ‘In order
to satisfy myself about that mole
which your royal father mentioned.’—‘You
need not give yourself the
trouble,’ said Sancho; ‘I know your
worship hath just such a mole on the
middle of your back-bone, which is
a sign of strength.’—‘That assurance
is sufficient,’ resumed Dorothea, ‘for,
among friends, we ought not to stand
upon trifles; and it is of very little
consequence whether the mole be upon
the shoulder or the back bone; provided
there is really such a mark on
any part of your body, which is all
composed of the same flesh. Without
doubt my worthy father was right
in every thing he prognosticated; and
I have exactly followed his directions,
in recommending my cause to the protection
of Signior Don Quixote, who
is certainly the individual knight my
father described; since his features
correspond with his fame, which fills
not only Spain, but likewise the whole
province of La Mancha[#]; for scarce
had I landed at Ossuna, than hearing
of his vast exploits, my mind suggested
that he must be the very person I came
in quest of.’—‘How could your highness,’
said Don Quixote, ‘land at
Ossuna, which is not a sea-port?’

Before she had time to make a reply,
the curate took the task upon himself,
saying, ‘The princess must mean, that
after she landed at Malaga, Ossuna
was the first place in which she heard
of your worship.’—‘That was my
meaning,’ said Dorothea. ‘There is
nothing more plain,’ answered the
priest; ‘and now your majesty may
proceed.’—‘I have nothing more to
say,’ resumed the princess, ‘but that,
at length, destiny has been so favourable
to me, in my finding Don Quixote,
I reckon and look upon myself
as queen again, and mistress of my
whole realms, since out of his great
courtesy and magnificence, he hath
promised, in consequence of the boon
I asked, to go with me whithersoever
I shall conduct him; and my intention
is no other than to bring him
face to face with Pandafilando of the
Gloomy Aspect, that he may, by putting
him to death, restore me to the
possession of that which he so unjustly
usurps; and all this will literally happen,
as it was prophesied by my worthy
father Tinacrio the Sage, who hath
also left it written in Chaldean or
Greek characters, for I cannot read
them, that if the knight mentioned in
the prophecy should, after having cut
off the giant’s head, demand me in
marriage, I must instantly accept of
him as my lawful husband, without the
// File: 0265.png
.pn +1
least hesitation, and give him immediate
possession of my person and
throne.’

Don Quixote hearing this circumstance,
cried, ‘What do you think
now, friend Sancho? do you hear
what passes? and did not I tell thee
as much? Observe now, whether or
not we have not a queen to marry,
and a kingdom to govern.’—‘Adzookers,
it is even so!’ cried the
squire; ‘and plague upon the son of a
whore who refuses to marry her, as
soon as Mr. Pandahiladoe’s weazond
is cut; then, what a delicate morsel
the queen is! odd, I wish all the fleas
in my bed were such as she!’ So saying,
he cut a brace of capers, with
marks of infinite satisfaction; then running
up, and taking hold of the bridle
of Dorothea’s mule, made her halt,
while he, falling down on his knees before
her, besought the princess to let
him kiss her hand, in token of his receiving
her as his queen and mistress.
Which of the company could behold
the madness of the master, and the simplicity
of the man, without laughing!
Dorothea actually gave him her hand,
and promised to make him a grandee,
as soon as, by the favour of Heaven,
she should be restored to the possession of
her kingdom; and he thanked her in
terms which redoubled the mirth of all
present.

‘This, gentlemen,’ added the damsel,
‘is my story, and nothing now remains
but to tell you, that of all the
people who attended me when I left
my own country, not one survives,
except this well-bearded squire; all
the rest having perished in a dreadful
storm that overtook us after we were
within sight of land: he and I miraculously
floated to the shore on two
planks; and indeed the whole course
of my life, as you may have observed
in my narration, hath been full of
mystery and wonder. If I have in
any thing exceeded the bounds of credibility,
or been less accurate than I
ought, I hope you will impute it to
that cause assigned by the licentiate,
in the beginning of my story; namely,
the continual and extraordinary
affliction, that often impairs the memory
of the unfortunate.’—‘But,
mine shall not be impaired, most high
and virtuous lady!’ said Don Quixote,
‘by all the misfortunes I shall undergo
in your service, let them be never
so great and unprecedented: therefore
I again confirm the boon I have
promised, and swear to attend you
even to the world’s end, until I get
sight of that ferocious adversary of
yours, whose proud head I hope to
slice off, with the assistance of God,
my own arm, and the edge of this
(I will not say good) sword; thanks
to Gines de Passamonte who run away
with my own[#].’ This last apostrophe
he muttered between his teeth, and then
proceeded aloud, saying—‘and after I
shall have deprived him of his head,
and put you in peaceable possession of
your throne, you shall be at free liberty
to dispose of your person, according
to your own will and pleasure;
for, while my memory is engrossed,
my will enslaved, and my understanding
subjected to her who——I
say no more; but, that it is impossible
I should incline, or have the least
thought towards marrying any other
person, though she were a perfect
phœnix.’

Sancho was so much disgusted at this
last declaration of his master, refusing
the marriage, that raising his voice, he
cried with great indignation, ‘Signior
Don Quixote, I vow and swear your
worship is crazy, else you would never
boggle at marrying such a high-born
princess as this! Do you imagine
that fortune will offer such good luck
at every turn, as she now presents?
or pray, do you think my Lady Dulcinea
more handsome than the princess?
I am sure she is not half so beautiful,
and will even venture to say,
that she is not worthy to tie her majesty’s
shoe-strings. How the plague
shall I ever obtain the earldom I expect,
if your worship goes thus a-fishing
for mushrooms at sea? Marry
her, marry her, in the devil’s name,
without much ado; lay hold on this
kingdom that drops, as it were, into
your hand; and, after your coronation,
make me a marquis or lord-lieutenant,
and then the devil, if he
will, may run away with the rest.’

Don Quixote was enraged, when he
// File: 0266.png
.pn +1
heard such blasphemies uttered against
his mistress Dulcinea, and lifting up
his lance, without speaking a syllable,
or giving the least notice of his intention,
discharged two such hearty blows
upon the squire, as brought him instantly
to the ground; and had not Dorothea
called aloud, and begged of him
to forbear, would certainly have murdered
poor Sancho on the spot. ‘Do you
think,’ said he, after some pause,
‘you plebeian scoundrel, that I will always
stand with my hands in my
pockets; and that there is nothing to
be done, but for you to misbehave,
and for me to forgive you? I’ll teach
you better manners, you excommunicated
rascal; for such to be sure you
are, else you would not wag your
tongue against the peerless Dulcinea.
Don’t you know, you grovelling beggarly
villain, that were it not for the
valour with which she inspires this
arm, I should not have enough to kill
a flea? Tell me, you viperish scoffer,
what you think hath won this kingdom,
cut off the giant’s head, and
made you a marquis, for all this I
look upon as already done and determined?
Is it not the valour of
Dulcinea that makes use of my arm
as the instrument of her exploits? In
me she fights and overcomes; in her
I live, breathe, and have my being.
O thou whoreson, ungrateful ruffian,
who seest thyself raised from the dust
of the earth to the rank of nobility,
and repayest the obligation by slandering
thy benefactress.’

Sancho was not so roughly handled
but he heard every syllable that his
master spoke; and, starting up as nimbly
as he could, ran behind Dorothea’s
palfrey, from whence he said to the
knight, ‘Pray, Sir, if your worship
is determined against marrying this
great princess, is it not plain, that the
kingdom cannot be yours; and if that
be the case, what favours can you bestow
upon me? This is what I complain
of. I would your worship would,
once for all, marry this queen, who
is, as it were, rained down from
Heaven upon us; and then you may
converse with my Lady Dulcinea, according
to the custom of some kings
who keep concubines. As to the
affair of beauty, I will not intermeddle;
but, if the truth may be
told, I like them both very well,
// File: 0267.png
though I never saw my Lady Dulcinea
in my life.’—‘How! not seen
her, blasphemous traitor!’ cried Don
Quixote; ‘have you not just brought a
message from her?’—‘I say,’ answered
Sancho, ‘that when I saw her, I had
not an opportunity of examining the
particulars of her beauty and good
qualities one by one; but all together
she pleased me very much.’—‘Now,
Sancho,’ said Don Quixote, ‘I exculpate
thee, and thou must forgive
what I did in my wrath; for no man
can command the first emotions of his
passion.’—‘That I can plainly perceive,’
answered the squire, ‘and
therefore, the desire of speaking is always
the first motion in me; and
truly, when once my tongue begins to
itch, I cannot for my blood keep it
within my teeth.’—‘For all that,
friend Sancho,’ said the knight, ‘I
would have you consider before you
speak; for, though the pitcher goes
often to the well—I need not mention
what follows.’—‘In good time,’ replied
the squire, ‘there is a God above,
who sees the snare, and will judge
which of us is the more to blame; I in
speaking, or your worship in doing
evil.’—‘Let there be no more of this,
Sancho,’ said Dorothea, ‘but run
and kiss your master’s hand, and beg
his pardon; and henceforth set a better
guard upon your praise and disparagement;
above all things, beware
of saying any thing to the prejudice
of that Lady Toboso, whom I know
by nothing else than my inclination to
serve her: and if you put your trust in
God, you will not fail of acquiring
some estate, by which you will live
like a prince.’

Sancho took her advice, and, hanging
his head, went to beg a kiss of his
master’s hand, which was granted with
great solemnity of deportment; nay,
the knight gave him his blessing also,
desiring he would attend him while he
rode on a little before the rest of the
company, that he might have a better
opportunity of asking a few questions,
and conversing with him about affairs
of the utmost importance. Sancho obeyed
the order; and the two having advanced
a good way before the rest,
‘Since thy return,’ said Don Quixote,
‘I have had neither time nor convenience,
to enquire about many particular
circumstances of thy embassy,
// File: 0268.png
.pn +1
with the answer thou hast brought:
and now that fortune favours us with
a fit opportunity, thou must not deny
me the pleasure I shall receive from
thy agreeable information.’—‘Your
worship,’ answered the squire, ‘may
ask as many questions as you please:
I shall make every thing come out as
clear as it went in; but I intreat your
worship, dear Sir, not to be so revengeful
for the future.’—‘Why dost thou
call me revengeful?’ said the knight.
‘Because,’ resumed the squire, ‘those
blows I was just now honoured with,
were more owing to the quarrel the
devil picked between us, t’other night,
than to any thing I said against my
Lady Dulcinea, whom I love and reverence
as a relick, though she be not
one, merely, because she appertains to
your worship.’—‘No more of these
reflections, on thy life,’ said Don
Quixote; ‘else thou wilt give me fresh
umbrage: I freely forgave thee at that
time, and thou knowest, that, according
to the common observation,
Every new fault deserves a new penance.’

While this conversation passed between
them, they perceived a man riding
towards them on an ass; and, when he
came a little nearer, discerned him to be
a gypsie; but Sancho Panza, who sent
his soul abroad with his eyes, to examine
every ass that appeared, no sooner beheld
the rider, than he recognized Gines
de Passamonte, and by the thread of the
gypsie discovered the clue of his own ass;
for it was actually Dapple that carried
Passamonte, who, for the better convenience
of selling the beast, had disguised
himself in the dress of a gypsie, whose
language, with many others, he could
speak as fluently as his mother-tongue.
Sancho saw and recollected him, and no
sooner had he seen and recollected him,
than he bellowed forth, ‘Ah, villain,
Ginesillo! restore my goods! give me
back the comfort of my life! rob me
not of my heart’s content! give me
my ass! give me my darling! Fly,
thief! skip, robber; and seek not to
preserve that which is none of thy
own.’

There was no need of all this exclamation
and reproach; for Gines leaped
off at the first word, and at a pretty
round trot, which might have passed for
a gallop, made the best of his way, and
vanished in a twinkling. Sancho running
// File: 0269.png
to his ass, embraced it with great
affection, saying, ‘How hast thou been,
my dear Dapple? my trusty companion
and joy of my eyes!’ Then
kissed and caressed it as if it had been a
Christian; while Dapple very peaceably
received these demonstrations of love and
kindness, without answering one word.
The whole company wished him joy
of his recovery; particularly Don Quixote,
who assured him, that although he
had retrieved Dapple, the promise of
the three colts should not be annulled;
and Sancho thanked him for his generosity.

While the master and man were conversing
by themselves, the curate told
Dorothea, that she had behaved with
great discretion in her story, both with
regard to the matter and brevity of it,
as well as the resemblance it bore to
those legends that are found in books of
chivalry. She observed that she had
employed a good part of her leisure
time in reading such romances; but,
being ignorant of the situation of different
provinces and sea-ports, she had
spoke at random, when she mentioned
her landing at Ossuna.’—‘I thought so,’
resumed the priest, ‘and made all haste
to adjust matters by what I said; but,
is it not very strange, to see with what
facility this poor unfortunate gentleman
swallows all those lyes and fictions,
merely, because they are delivered
in the stile and manner of his
nonsensical books?’—‘So very strange
and singular,’ said Cardenio, ‘that
I question if there be any genius
whatever, so fertile as to frame such
a character by the mere force of invention.’—‘And
what is a very remarkable
circumstance,’ replied the
curate, ‘waving those extravagancies
which this worthy gentleman utters
upon the subject of his disorder, he
can discourse upon other topicks with
surprizing ability, and appears to be a
man of great knowledge and intellects;
so that, if you do not touch
upon chivalry, his hearers must look
upon him as a person of excellent understanding.’

While they were engaged in this conversation,
Don Quixote proceeded in
his with Sancho; to whom he said,
‘Come, friend Panza, let us forget
what is past, with regard to animosity,
and tell me, without any ingredient
of rancour and resentment, where
// File: 0270.png
.pn +1
and how you found Dulcinea? What
was she doing? What did she say?
What answer did she make? How did
she look when she read my letter? Who
transcribed it for her perusal? These
particulars, and every other circumstance
of the affair, which you think
worthy to be known, asked, and answered,
I expect you will explain,
without seeking to increase my pleasure
with false additions, much less to
diminish it by malicious omission.’—‘Signior,’
said Sancho, ‘if the truth
must be told, nobody transcribed the
letter; because I had no letter to be
transcribed.’—‘That is very true,’
replied the knight; ‘for, two days after
thy departure, I found the pocket-book
in which it was written; a circumstance
that gave me infinite pain,
as I could not conceive what thou
wouldst do when the mistake should
appear; indeed I always imagined
thou wouldst have returned hither immediately
upon the discovery.’—‘That
would certainly have been the case,’
said the squire, ‘if, when your worship
read it to me, I had not retained it in
my memory, so perfect as to be able
to dictate it to a parish clerk, who, as
I repeated, transcribed it so exactly,
that he said, in all the days of his life,
though he had read many letters of
excommunication, he had never seen
such a clever letter as yours.’—‘And
dost thou still retain it?’ said Don
Quixote. ‘No, Sir’ replied Sancho, ‘For,
after I had put it into her hand, I
thought there was no farther occasion
to retain it, and therefore let it slip out
of my remembrance; or, if any part
remains, it is that of the subterrene, I
mean sovereign lady, and the conclusion
Yours till death, the Knight of
the Rueful Countenance; with about
three hundred souls, and lives, and pigsnies,
which I set down in the middle.’

.fn #
This is a diverting example of the Bathos, not unlike that anticlimax repeated in the
art of sinking.

.pm verse-start
Nor Alps, nor Apennines could keep us out,
Nor fortified redoubt!
.pm verse-end

.fn-

.fn #
If the knight was robbed of his own sword by Gines, where did he find that which he
wore on this occasion?
.fn-
.sp 4
.h4 id=chap2-4-4
<abbr=chapter>CHAP.</abbr> <abbr=four>IV.</abbr> | THE SAVOURY CONVERSATION| THAT PASSED BETWEEN DON QUIXOTE AND HIS SQUIRE SANCHO PANZA,| WITH MANY OTHER INCIDENTS.
.sp 2
‘All this is pretty well; proceed!’
said Don Quixote: ‘how was
that queen of beauty employed, when
// File: 0271.png
you arrived? I dare say, you found
her stringing pearls, or embroidering
some device for this her captive knight,
with threads of gold.’—‘No, truly,’
answered the squire; ‘I found her winnowing
two bushels of wheat in the
yard.’—‘Then you may depend
upon it,’ resumed the knight, ‘the
grains of that wheat were converted
into pearls by the touch of her hand;
and didst thou observe, my friend,
whether it was of the finer or common
sort?’—‘Why, neither!’ said
Sancho; ‘it seemed to be, as it were,
red wheat.’—‘But, since it was winnowed
by her fair hands,’ answered
Don Quixote, ‘I dare affirm, it will
make the whitest bread in Spain. Go
on with thy information. When the
letter was delivered, did she not kiss
it, and place it on the crown of her
head, in token of respect? Did she not
perform some ceremony worthy of such
a letter? Pray, how did she receive
it?’—‘When I presented the letter,’
answered Sancho, ‘she was in a main
hurry, winnowing a large heap of
wheat that was in her sieve; and said
to me, “Friend, lay down the letter
on that sack; for I cannot pretend
to read it, until I have made an end
of my work.”’—‘Discreet lady!’
cried the knight; ‘her intention certainly
was to read it at her leisure, that
she might recreate herself with the
contents. Proceed, Sancho; and while
she was thus employed, what conversation
passed between you? what
questions did she ask concerning me?
and what answers didst thou make?
Recount the whole, without leaving
one syllable untold.’

‘She asked me no questions,’ replied
the squire; ‘but I told her, how I had
left your worship doing penance for
love of her, skipping among those
rocks, naked from the waist upwards,
like a mere savage, sleeping
on the bare ground; neglecting to
eat your food like a Christian, or to
comb your beard like a decent man;
but whining, and weeping, and cursing
your fortune.’—‘If you said
I cursed my fortune, you misrepresented
me,’ said Don Quixote; ‘for
I bless my fate, and will bless it all
the days of my life, for having made
me worthy to aspire to the love of such
an high lady as Dulcinea del Toboso.’—‘High
indeed!’ answered Sancho,
// File: 0272.png
.pn +1
‘for, in faith, she is a good hand
taller than I am.’—‘How hast thou
been measured with her, Sancho?’
said the knight. ‘I’ll tell you how,’
answered the squire; ‘while I was helping
to lay a load of corn upon an ass,
we came so close together, that I
could easily perceive she over-topped
me by a full hand.’—‘That may be
true,’ said Don Quixote; ‘though
her tallness is accompanied and adorned
by a myriad of mental graces.
But this you will not deny, Sancho,
that while you was so near her,
your nostrils were regaled by a Sabæan
odour, an aromatick fragrance, a certain
delicious sensation, for which
there is no name. I mean, a scent, a
perfume, such as fills the shop of
some curious glover.’—‘All that I
can say,’ answered Sancho, ‘is, that I
was sensible of a sort of rammish smell,
which I believe was owing to her being
in a muck sweat with hard work.’—‘That
is impossible,’ cried the knight;
‘thy sense must have been depraved, or
that smell must have proceeded from
thy own body; for I am perfectly
well acquainted with the odour of
that rose among briars, that lily of
the valley, that liquid amber.’—‘It
may be so,’ said Sancho: ‘I have often
known such smells come from
myself, as then seemed to come from
my Lady Dulcinea: but that is not to
be wondered at; because, as the saying
is, every fiend may stink of brimstone.’—‘Well,
then,’ added Don
Quixote, ‘she hath now winnowed the
wheat and sent it to the mill; how
did she behave after she had read my
letter?’—‘The letter,’ answered Sancho,
‘was not read at all; for, as she
could neither read nor write, she
chose to rend and tear it to pieces, rather
than give it to any body who
might publish her secrets in the village,
saying, she was very well satisfied
with the information I gave her
by word of mouth, concerning your
worship’s love for her, and the extraordinary
penance I left you doing on
her account. Finally, she bade me
tell you, that she kissed your worship’s
hands, being much more desirous
of seeing than writing to you;
and therefore she entreated and commanded
your worship, by these presents,
to quit this desart, and leave off
playing the fool, and forthwith set
out on your journey to Toboso, provided
that something else of greater
importance should not happen, for
she longed very much for a sight of
your worship, and laughed heartily
when I told her, that you had taken
the name of the Knight with the
Rueful Countenance. When I asked
if the Biscayan had been lately with
her, she answered, “Yes;” and that
he was very much of a gentleman;
but, when I enquired about the galley-slaves,
she said she had as yet seen
none of them.’

‘Hitherto all goes well,’ said the
knight, ‘but pray tell me what jewel
she gave you at parting, for the news
you had brought of me her lover; for,
it is an ancient practice and custom
among knights-errant and their mistresses,
to bestow upon their squires,
damsels, or dwarfs, who bring them
news of each other, some rich jewel,
as a reward and acknowledgment
for the message.’—‘It may be so,’
said Sancho; ‘and I think it an excellent
custom, but that must have been
in time past; for in this age it is
customary to give nothing but a piece
of bread and cheese, which was all
the present I received from my Lady
Dulcinea, who reached it over the
yard wall, when I took my leave;
by this token, that the cheese was
made of ewe’s milk.’—‘She is liberal
to excess,’ said the knight; ‘and if
she omitted giving thee a jewel, it must
certainly have been owing to her not
having any by her; but all in good
time[#]; I shall see her soon, and then
every thing will be set to rights. Yet
there is one thing, Sancho, which
overwhelms me with astonishment.
You seem to have travelled through
the air; for you have spent little
more than three days in your journey;
though Toboso is more than thirty
leagues distant from hence. From
this extraordinary expedition, I conjecture,
that the sage, who is my
friend, and interests himself in my
affairs, and such there certainly is,
// File: 0273.png
.pn +1
and must be, else I should be no
true knight-errant; I say, this inchanter
must have assisted thee in thy
journey, though thou didst not perceive
it; for some there are of that
class, who will take up a knight-errant
while he is asleep in his bed, and
without his knowing any thing of the
matter, he shall awake next morning
in some place more than a thousand
leagues from the house where he took
up his lodging the night before; and
without such sudden transportations, it
would be impossible for knights to
succour each other in distress, as they
frequently do. A knight errant, for
example, happens to be fighting in
the desarts of Armenia, with some
fierce dragon, dreadful goblin, or rival
knight; and being worsted, and
just at the point of being slain, behold,
when he least expects it, there
suddenly appears in a cloud or fiery
chariot, another knight, a friend of
his, who but a minute before resided
in England, and who assists and delivers
him from death; and that same
night, he finds himself supping at his
ease at his own house, which is often
two or three thousand leagues from
the field of battle; and all this is effected
by the industry and art of sage
inchanters, who take those valiant
knights under their protection.

‘Wherefore, friend Sancho, I can
easily believe that thou hast in so
little time travelled from hence to
Toboso and back again; because, as
I have already observed, some friendly
sage must have carried thee through
the air, though thou didst not perceive
it.’—‘Not unlikely,’ replied the
squire, ‘for, in good faith, Rozinante
went like a gypsy’s ass, with quicksilver
in his ears.’—‘With quicksilver,’
cried the knight; ‘ay, and a
legion of dæmons to boot, who are
beings that travel themselves, and
make other people travel as fast as
they please, without tiring.

‘But, waving this subject, how doest
thou think I ought to regulate my
conduct, now that my mistress commands
me to appear in her presence!
for, although I find myself obliged to
comply with her orders, I am utterly
incapacitated by the boon I have granted
to this princess: and I am bound
by the laws of chivalry to fulfil my
promise, before I indulge my inclination.
// File: 0274.png
On one hand, I am persecuted
and harrassed by the desire of seeing
Dulcinea; on the other, I am incited
and invited by my honour and the
glory I shall acquire in this enterprize.
I am therefore determined to travel
with all expedition, until I arrive at
the place where the giant resides; and,
when I shall have restored the princess
to the peaceful possession of her
kingdom, after having shortened the
usurper by the head, I will return to
the rays of that beauty which enlightens
my thoughts, and excuse
myself in such a manner as to obtain
her forgiveness, as she will plainly
perceive that my delay tended to the
increase of her glory and fame; seeing
all my reputation in arms, past,
present, or to come, proceeds from
her favour and inspiration.’—‘Lord!’
cried Sancho ‘how your worship is
concerned about a parcel of potsherds.
Pray tell me, Sir, do you
intend to make this journey for nothing,
and to let such a rich and
noble marriage as this slip through
your fingers; while the dowry is no
less than a kingdom, which I have
actually heard is more than twenty
thousand leagues round, plentifully
stored with every thing that is needful
for the sustenance of mortal man, and
larger than Portugal and Castile put
together? Hold your tongue, a God’s
name, and take shame to yourself, for
what you have said; pardon my freedom,
take my advice, and marry in
the first place where we can find a
curate, or make use of our friend the
licentiate, who will buckle you handsomely.
Take notice, therefore, that
I am of an age to give good counsel,
and this that I offer will fit you to a
hair, for a bird in hand is worth two
in the bush; and, as the saying is,
He that hath good in his view, and
yet will not evil eschew, his folly deserveth
to rue.’

‘Sancho,’ answered Don Quixote,
‘if thou advisest me to marry, with a
view of seeing me king, after I shall
have killed the giant, that I may have
an opportunity of rewarding thee with
what I have promised, thou must
know that I can easily gratify thy
wishes, without wedding the princess;
for, before I engage in the combat, I
will covenant, that, provided I come
off conqueror, and decline the marriage,
// File: 0275.png
.pn +1
I shall have it in my power to
dispose of one part of the kingdom,
as I shall think proper; and to whom
should I give it but to thee?’—‘That
is very plain,’ replied the squire; ‘but
I beseech your worship to make choice
of the sea-coast, because if I should
happen to dislike the country, I may
ship off my black slaves, and sell them,
as I have already hinted. Wherefore,
without troubling yourself at present,
about my Lady Dulcinea, I would
have you go and slay the giant, and
conclude that affair from which, before
God! we shall certainly reap
much honour and advantage.’—‘I
tell thee, Sancho,’ said Don Quixote,
‘thou art in the right, and I will follow
thy advice, so far as it regards my attendance
upon the princess, before I
visit Dulcinea. But say not a word
to any body, even those of our company
not excepted, of this conversation;
for, as she is so reserved and
careful of concealing her sentiments,
it would be inexcusable in me, if I,
or any other through my means,
should disclose them.’—‘Since this is
the case,’ said the squire, ‘why does
your worship command all those that
are vanquished by your arm to go and
present themselves before my Lady
Dulcinea? you may as well give it
under your hand, that you are her
true and trusty lover; for, if you compel
them to fall upon their knees before
her, and say they are sent by your
worship to pay homage to her, how
is it possible that the sentiments of
either you or her can be concealed?’

‘What an ignorant and simple fellow
thou art!’ resumed the knight;
‘canst thou not see that all this redounds
to her praise and exaltation?
Thou must know, that in our stile
of chivalry, it is deemed a great honour
for a lady to be admired by a
great many knights, whose wishes extend
no farther than to the desire of
serving her for her own sake, without
expecting any other reward for their
great and manifold services, than the
glory of being admitted into the number
of her knights.’—‘In like manner,’
said Sancho, ‘I have heard a
priest in the pulpit observe, that we
must love our Saviour for his own
sake, without being moved thereto,
by any fear of punishment or hopes
of applause, though, for my own
// File: 0276.png
part, I am inclined to love and serve
him on account of his power.’—‘Now,
the devil take the clown!’ cried
Don Quixote; ‘he sometimes makes
such shrewd observations that one
would think he had actually studied!’—‘And
yet, upon my conscience,’ answered
the squire, ‘I know not so much
as my letters.’ At that instant Master
Nicholas calling aloud to them to
stop a little, that the rest might have
time to drink at a spring which they
found in the way; Don Quixote turned
back, to the no small satisfaction of
Sancho, who was already tired with telling
lyes, and afraid of being detected
by his master; for, although he knew
that Dulcinea was the daughter of a
peasant at Toboso, he had never seen
her in his life. By this time Cardenio
had put on the cloaths which Dorothea
wore when they found her; and, though
they were none of the most elegant, he
made a much better figure than with
his tattered dress, which he now threw
away. The whole company sat down,
by the spring, where, while they appeased
the keen hunger that possessed them
all, with what the curate had brought
from the inn, a lad chanced to pass that
way, who, looking earnestly at the
whole company, at length run up to
Don Quixote, and embracing his knees,
began to blubber most heartily, saying,
‘Ah! Signior, don’t you know me?
look at me again; I am that same individual
young man called Andrew,
whom your worship delivered from
the tree to which I was tied.’ The
knight recollected his features, and taking
him by the hand, addressed himself
to the company in these words.

‘That you may see of what importance
knight-errantry is, to redress the
wrongs and grievances which are daily
committed by the insolent and
wicked wretches who live upon this
earth; know, that as I passed by a
wood some time ago, I heard the
screams and woeful cries of some afflicted
creature in the utmost distress:
and in consequence of my oath
and obligation, riding towards the
place from which the lamentation
seemed to come, I found this very
young man tied to an oak tree; and
I am glad from my soul that he is
here in person, to bear witness to the
truth. I say, he was bound to an
oak, naked, from the waist upwards;
// File: 0277.png
.pn +1
and a peasant, who I afterwards
understood was his master, stood
scourging him with the reins of a
bridle. When I enquired into the
cause of this barbarous treatment, the
rustick answered, that he only whipped
his own servant for being guilty of
some neglect that savoured more of
knavishness than simplicity. The
boy protested he had done nothing but
asked his wages: to this affirmation
the master replied, by some asseverations
which I have forgot; but though
I heard his excuses, I would not admit
of them. In short, I ordered the
peasant to untie the youth, and made
him swear that he would carry him
home and pay him his wages in ready
cash, nay, and pay him in rials that
should be perfumed. Is not this literally
true, son Andrew? Didst thou not
observe with what authority I commanded,
and with what humility he
promised to comply with every thing
that I imposed, suggested, and desired?
Answer without perturbation or doubt,
and tell this honourable company what
passed, that they may see and be convinced
of what use it is, as I said, to
have knights-errant continually upon
duty.’

‘All that your worship hath told is
very true,’ answered the young man;
‘but the end of the business was quite
the reverse of what you imagined.’—‘How!
the reverse!’ cried the knight;
‘has not the peasant paid thee thy wages?’—‘Far
from paying me my wages,’
said Andrew, ‘your worship was
no sooner out of the wood, and we by
ourselves again, than he bound me a
second time to the same oak, and
lashed me so severely, that I remained
like <abbr=Saint>St.</abbr> Bartholomew, flayed alive,
and at every stripe he jeered and scoffed,
and made game of your worship
in such a manner, that if it had not
been for the excessive pain I felt, I
could not have refrained from laughing
at what he said. In short, he
treated me so cruelly, that till this very
day, I have been in the hospital, for
the cure of the wounds I received from
that mischievous farmer; and truly
your worship was the cause of all that
I suffered; for if you had followed
your own road, without going where
nobody called you, or meddling with
other people’s affairs, my master
would have been satisfied with giving
// File: 0278.png
me a cool dozen or two, and then
loosed and paid me my due. But
when your worship abused him so unseasonably,
and called him so many
bad names, his choler was inflamed;
and, as he could not be revenged upon
you, as soon as you was gone, he
discharged the storm of his wrath upon
me, in such a manner that I shall
never be my own man again.’

‘The misfortune,’ said the knight,
‘was in my leaving him before I had
seen thee paid; for I ought to have
known by long experience, that no
peasant will keep his word, if he
thinks it his interest to break it.
But thou mayest remember, Andrew,
that I swore if he did not perform his
promise, I would return and search
for him, until he should be found,
even if he should hide himself in the
whale’s belly.’—‘Very true,’ replied
Andrew; ‘but that threat signified
nothing.’—‘Thou shalt presently see
what it signifies!’ resumed Don Quixote;
who, getting up hastily, ordered
Sancho to bridle Rozinante, who was
following their example in refreshing
himself with grass.

When Dorothea asked what he intended
to do, he replied, he was going
in quest of the peasant, to chastise him
for his villainous behaviour, and make
him pay Andrew to the last farthing, in
despite and defiance of all the rusticks
upon earth. To this declaration, she
answered, by desiring him to consider,
that according to the promised boon,
he could not engage in any enterprize,
until her affair should be finished; and
since this stipulation was known to himself
better than to any other person, she
intreated him to repress his resentment
till his return from her kingdom.
‘That is very true,’ resumed the knight,
‘and Andrew must wait with patience
for my return, as your majesty observes;
but I repeat my oath and my
promise, never to desist until I shall
have seen his wages paid, and his injuries
revenged.’—‘I don’t trust to
those oaths,’ said Andrew, ‘and
would rather, at present, have wherewithal
to bear my expences to Seville,
than all the revenge in the world; be
so good, if you have any victuals, to
give me something to eat upon my
journey, and the Lord be with your
worship and all knights-errant, who,
I wish, may always err as much in
// File: 0279.png
.pn +1
their own affairs, as they have done
in mine.’ Sancho, taking a luncheon
of bread and cheese from the store, gave
it to the young man, saying, ‘Here,
brother Andrew, take this; and now
we have all shared in your misfortune.’
When Andrew asked what
share of it had fallen to him, he replied,
‘That share of bread and cheese, which
I have given you; and God knows whether
I shall not feel the loss of it; for
you must know, friend, that we squires
of knights-errant are subject to many
a hungry belly, with other misfortunes
which are more easily felt than
described.’

Andrew accepted of the bread and
cheese, and seeing that nobody offered
him any thing else, made his bows, and as
the saying is, took his foot in his hand[#].
True it is, before he departed, he addressed
himself to Don Quixote, saying,
‘For the love of God! Sir knight-errant,
if ever you meet me again,
spare yourself the trouble of coming
to my assistance, even though you
should see me cut into minced meat,
but leave me to my misfortune, which
cannot be so great but that it may be
increased by the succour of your worship,
whom God confound, together
with all the knights errant that ever
were born.’ Don Quixote started up, in
order to chastise him, but he ran away
with such nimbleness, that nobody attempted
to pursue him; and the knight
was so ashamed of his exploit, that the
company were at great pains to contain
their laughter, to prevent his being quite
out of countenance.

.fn #
Literally, Sleeves are good even after Easter; <abbr rend=spell>i. e.</abbr> Though a good thing comes
late, it is never unseasonable.
.fn-

.fn #
Literally, “Took the road in his hands.”
.fn-
.sp 4
.h4 id=chap2-4-5
<abbr=chapter>CHAP.</abbr> <abbr=five>V.</abbr> | WHICH TREATS OF WHAT HAPPENED TO DON QUIXOTE AND HIS COMPANY |AT THE INN.
.sp 2
Their sumptuous meal being ended,
they saddled their beasts, and
without meeting any thing worthy of
mention, arrived next day at the very
inn which was so much the dread and
terror of Sancho; but, unwilling as he
was to enter, he could not avoid going
into it. The innkeeper, his wife, daughter,
and Maritornes, seeing Don Quixote
and Sancho at the gate, went out to
receive them, with great demonstrations
of joy; and the knight returned their
compliments with grave deportment and
solemn approbation, desiring them to
prepare a better bed for him than that
which he had occupied before. To this
demand, the landlady answered, that,
provided he would pay better than he
did before, he should lie like a prince;
he promised to see her satisfied, and they
immediately made up a tolerable bed, in
the same garret where he had formerly
lodged, in which he laid himself down,
very much disordered, both in body and
mind. He was no sooner locked up in
his chamber, than the landlady attacked
the barber, and seizing him by the
beard, cried, ‘By my faith! you shall
no longer use my tail for a beard.
Give me my tail, I say; for it is a
shame to see how my husband’s thing
is bandied about for want of it; I
mean the comb that he used to stick
in my tail.’ But the barber would
not part with it, for all her tugging,
until the priest desired him to restore it:
because there was no farther occasion for
the disguise, as he might now appear in
his own shape, and tell the knight, that
after he had been robbed by the galley-slaves,
he had fled to that inn; and if
he should enquire for the princess’s gentleman
usher, they would tell him, she
had dispatched him away before her,
to advertise her friends and subjects,
that she was upon the road, accompanied
by the deliverer of them all. Thus
satisfied, the barber willingly restored the
landlady’s tail, and every thing else they
had borrowed with a view of disengaging
Don Quixote from the mountain;
and all the people of the inn were
astonished at the beauty of Dorothea,
as also at the genteel mien of the swain
Cardenio. The curate ordered them to
get ready something to eat; and the
innkeeper, in hope of being well paid,
dressed, with all dispatch, a pretty reasonable
dinner; but they did not think
proper to waken Don Quixote, who, they
believed, stood at that time more in need
of sleep than of food.

The discourse at table, in presence of
the innkeeper, his wife, daughter, Maritornes,
and all the other lodgers, happening
to turn upon the uncommon
madness of the knight, and the condition
in which they found him; the
hostess recounted to them, what had
// File: 0280.png
.pn +1
happened in her house between him and
the carrier; then looking round the
room, and seeing Sancho was not present,
she told the whole story of the
blanketting, to the no small entertainment
of the company. The curate observing
that Don Quixote’s understanding
was disordered by the books of chivalry
he had read, the innkeeper replied, ‘I
cannot conceive how that is possible;
for, really, in my opinion, they are
the best reading in the world: I have
now in my custody two or three of
them, together with some other papers,
which, I verily believe, have
preserved not only my life, but also
that of many others; for, in harvest-time,
a great number of reapers come
hither, to pass the heat of the day;
and there being always one among
them who can read, he takes up a
book, and we, to the number of thirty
or more, forming a ring about him,
listen with such pleasure, as were
enough to make an old man grow
young again; at least, I can say for
myself; when I hear him read of those
furious and terrible strokes that have
been given by certain knights, I am
seized with the desire of being at it
myself, and could listen to such stories
whole nights and days without
ceasing.’—‘I wish you would, with
all my heart,’ replied the wife; ‘for,
I am sure, I never enjoy a quiet minute
in the house, except when they
are reading, and then you are so bamboozled
with what you hear, you forget
to scold for that time.’—‘That
is the very truth of the matter,’ said
Maritornes; ‘in good faith, I myself
am hugely diverted, when I hear
those things; they are so clever, especially
when they tell us how yon t’other
lady lay among orange trees, in the
embraces of her knight, while a duenna,
half dead with envy and surprize,
kept sentry over them; odd! all these
things make my chops water.’

‘And what is your opinion of the
matter, my young mistress?’ said the
priest to the innkeeper’s daughter.
‘Truly, Signior, I don’t well know,’
she replied; ‘but listen among the rest;
and really, though I do not understand
it, I am pleased with what I
hear; yet I take no delight in those
strokes that my father loves; but, in
the lamentations made by the knights,
when they are absent from their mistresses,
// File: 0281.png
which in good sooth, often
make me weep with compassion.’—‘Then
you would soon give them relief,
if they mourned for you, my
pretty maid?’ said Dorothea. ‘I
don’t know what I should do,’ answered
the girl; ‘but, this I know, that
some of those ladies are so cruel, their
knights call them lions, tygers, and
a thousand other reproachful names.
Jesus! I can’t conceive what sort of
folks those must be, who are so hard-hearted
and unconscionable as to let a
man of honour die, or lose his senses,
rather than take the least notice of
him; why should they be so coy? If
their suitors court them in an honest
way, let them marry, and that is all
the men desire.’—‘Hold your peace,
child,’ said the landlady; ‘methinks,
you are too well acquainted with these
things; young maidens, like you,
should neither know nor speak so
much.’ The daughter said, as the
gentleman asked her the question, she
could do no less than answer him: and
the curate demanding a sight of the
books, ‘With all my heart,’ replied
the innkeeper, who, going to his own
chamber, brought out an old portmanteau
secured with a chain, which
being opened, the priest found in it
three large volumes and some manuscripts
written in a very fair character.

The first book they opened appeared
to be Don Cirongilio of Thrace; the
second, Felixmarte of Hyrcania; and
the third, was the history of that great
Captain Gonçalo Hernandes de Cordova,
with the life of Diego Garcia de
Paredes. The curate having read the
titles of the two first, turned to the
barber, saying, ‘We now want our
friend’s housekeeper and cousin.’—‘Not
at all,’ answered Mr. Nicholas,
‘I myself can convey them to the yard,
or rather to the chimney, where there
is actually a special good fire.’—‘What!
you intend to burn these
books, then?’ said the innkeeper.
‘Only these two,’ answered the curate,
pointing to Don Cirongilio and Felixmarte.
‘I suppose, then,’ resumed the
landlord, ‘my books are heretick and
flegmatick?’—‘You mean schismatick,
honest friend, and not flegmatick,’
said the barber. ‘Even so,’
replied the landlord; ‘but, if any of
them be burnt, let it be the history of
that great captain, together with Diego
// File: 0282.png
.pn +1
Garcia; for, I would rather suffer you
to commit my son to the flames, than
to burn e’er a one of the rest.’—‘Heark
ye, brother,’ said the curate,
‘these two books are stuffed with lyes,
vanity and extravagance; but that
of the great captain is a true history,
containing the exploits of Gonçalo
Hernandez de Cordova, who, by his
numerous and valiant atchievements,
acquired, all the world over, the epithet
of the Great Captain, a renowned
and splendid appellation, merited by
him alone; and that Diego Garcia de
Paredes was a noble cavalier, born in
the city of Truxillo in Estremadura,
a most valiant soldier, and endowed
with such bodily strength, that with
a single finger he could stop a mill-wheel
in the heat of its motion; and
being once posted at the end of a
bridge, with a two-handed sword, he
alone prevented a vast army from passing
over it; he performed a great
many actions of the same kind, which
he himself hath recounted with all
the modesty of a gentleman who writes
his own memoirs; whereas, had they
been committed to writing by any
other free and dispassionate author,
they would have eclipsed all the Hectors,
Achilles’, and Orlandos, that
ever lived.’—‘You may tell such
stuff to my grannam,’ said the inn-keeper.
‘Lord! how you are surprized
at the stopping of a mill-wheel!
before God, I advise your worship to
read, as I have done[#], the history of
Felixmarte of Hyrcania, who, with a
single back-stroke, cut five giants
through the middle, as easily as if they
had been made of beans, like the figures
with which the boys divert
themselves. Another time, he engaged
a most infinite and powerful army,
consisting of a million and six hundred
thousand soldiers, all armed cap-a-pee,
whom he totally routed, as if they
had been flocks of sheep. Then what
shall we say of the most excellent
Don Cirongilio of Thrace, who was
so valiant and courageous, as may be
seen in the book of his history, that
while he was sailing on the river, a
fiery serpent rose above the water,
which he no sooner saw, than leaping
on its back, he fastened himself astride
upon its scaly shoulders, and seized if
by the throat, with both hands, so
forcibly, that the serpent feeling itself
well-nigh strangled, could find no
other remedy but dive into the profound,
with the knight, who would
not quit his hold; and when he descended
to the bottom, he found himself
in a palace situated in the midst of
a garden that was wonderfully pleasant;
and then the serpent turned itself
into an ancient man, who told
him such things as you would rejoice
to hear. Say no more, Signior; if
you was to hear it, you would run
stark mad for joy; so that, a fig for
your great captain, and that same
Diego Garcia you talk of!’

Dorothea hearing this harangue, whispered
to Cardenio, ‘Our host wants not
much to make the second edition of
Don Quixote.’—‘I think so too,’ answered
Cardenio; ‘for, by his discourse,
he seems to take it for granted,
that every thing which is recounted in
these books, is neither more nor less
than the truth; and all the capuchins
in Spain will not be able to alter his
belief.’—‘Consider, brother,’ resumed
the curate, ‘that there never was upon
earth such a person as Felixmarte
of Hyrcania, nor Don Cirongilio
of Thrace, nor any other of such
knights as are celebrated in books of
chivalry. The whole is a fiction
composed by idle persons of genius,
for the very purpose you mentioned,
namely pastime, which was the aim of
your reapers; for, I swear to you, no
such knights ever existed, nor were
any such exploits and extravagancies
ever performed in this world.’—‘You
must throw that bone to some other
dog!’ replied the landlord: ‘as if I
did not know that two and three make
five; or where my own shoe pinches.
Your worship must not think to feed me
with pap, for egad I am no such suckling!
A good joke, faith! You would
make me believe that all the contents
of these books are madness and lyes,
although they are printed by licence
from the king’s council; as if they
were persons who would wink at the
printing of such lyes, battles, and inchantments,
as turn people’s brains.’—‘Friend,’
replied the curate, ‘I have
// File: 0283.png
.pn +1
already told you, that they are designed
for the amusement of our idle
hours; and, as in every well-governed
commonwealth, the games of chess,
billiards, and tennis, are licensed for
the entertainment of those who neither
can nor ought to work; in like manner,
those books are allowed to be
printed, on the supposition, that no
body is so ignorant as to believe a syllable
of what they contain; and if I
was now permitted, or the company
required it, I could give some hints
towards the improvements of books of
chivalry, which perhaps might be
both serviceable and entertaining;
but, I hope, the time will come, when
I may have an opportunity of imparting
my suggestions to those who
can convert them to general use:
meanwhile, Mr. Publican, you may
depend upon the truth of what I have
said; take your books away, and settle
the affair of their truth or falshood, just
as your own comprehension will permit;
much good may they do you,
and God grant that you may never
halt on the same foot on which your
lodger Don Quixote is lame!’—‘I
hope,’ answered the innkeeper, ‘I
shall never be mad enough to turn
knight-errant, as I can easily perceive
that the customs now-a-days are quite
different from those in times past,
when, as it is reported, those famous
heroes travelled about the world.’

Sancho, who had come into the room,
about the middle of this conversation,
was very much confounded and perplexed,
when he heard them observe,
that there was no such thing as knight-errantry
in the present age, and that all
the books of chivalry were filled with
extravagance and fiction; he therefore
determined within himself, to wait the
issue of his master’s last undertaking;
and if it should not succeed as happily
as he expected, to leave him, and return,
with his wife and children, to his former
labour.

When the innkeeper took up the portmanteau
with the books, in order to
carry them away, ‘Stay,’ said the curate,
‘until I examine these papers
which are written in such a fair character.’
The landlord accordingly
pulled out a manuscript, consisting of
eight sheets of paper, intitled, in large
letters, ‘The Novel of the Impertinent
Curiosity[#].’ The priest having
read three or four lines to himself, said,
‘Really the title of this novel pleases
me so much, that I have a strong inclination
to peruse the whole.’ To
this observation, the innkeeper replied,
‘Then your reverence may read it aloud;
for, you must know, the reading of it
hath given great satisfaction to several
lodgers at this inn, who have earnestly
begged the copy; but that request I
would not comply with, because I
think of restoring it to the right owner,
as I expect that the person who left
the portmanteau with the books and
papers, in a mistake, will return, on
purpose to fetch them; or, you know,
he may chance to travel this way on,
other business; and though I should
miss them heavily, in faith they shall
be restored; for, though an innkeeper,
I am still a Christian.’—‘Friend,’
said the curate, ‘you are very much in
the right; but, for all that, if I like
the novel, you shall give me leave to
transcribe it.’—‘With all my heart,’
replied the landlord. While this discourse
passed between them, Cardenio
having taken up the manuscript, and began
to read, was of the curate’s opinion,
and intreated him to read it aloud,
that the whole company might hear it.
‘I will,’ answered the priest, ‘if you
think we had not better spend the time
in sleeping than in reading.’—‘For
my own part,’ said Dorothea, ‘it will
be a sufficient refreshment for me to
listen to some entertaining story; for
my mind is not composed enough
to let me sleep, even if I stood in need
of repose.’—‘If that be the case,’ resumed
the curate, ‘I will read it out
of curiosity, at a venture, and perhaps
it will yield us some entertainment
into the bargain.’ Master Nicholas
earnestly joined in the request,
and Sancho himself expressed a desire of
hearing it; upon which the licentiate
finding he should please the whole company
as well as himself, ‘Well, then,’
said he, ‘listen with attention, for the
novel begins in this manner.’

.fn #
It will appear in the sequel, that the landlord could not read at all; nevertheless,
he might boast of what he could not do.
.fn-

.fn #
The original, which is <lang=es><i>curioso impertinente</i></lang>, signifies one who is impertinently curious,
not a curious impertinent.
.fn-
// File: 0284.png
.pn +1
.sp 4
.h4 id=chap2-4-6
<abbr=chapter>CHAP.</abbr> <abbr=six>VI.</abbr> | THE NOVEL OF THE IMPERTINENT CURIOSITY.
.sp 2
‘In Florence, a rich and celebrated
city of Italy, situated in the province
called Tuscany, lived Anselmo
and Lothario, two wealthy and noble
cavaliers, so strictly united in the
bands of amity, that every body who
knew them, called them by way of
excellence and epithet, the Two
Friends; and, indeed, being both
batchelors, and their age and education
so much alike, it was not to be
wondered at if a reciprocal affection
sprung up between them; true it is,
Anselmo was rather more addicted to
amorous pastime than Lothario, whose
chief delight was in hunting; yet,
upon occasion, Anselmo could quit
his own amusements to pursue those
of his friend; and Lothario could
postpone his favourite diversion, in
order to practise that of Anselmo; in
this manner their inclinations proceeded
so mutually, that no clock ever
went with more regularity. Anselmo
happened to fall desperately in love
with a young lady of rank and beauty
in the same city, descended from such
a noble family, and so amiable in herself,
that he determined, with the approbation
of his friend, without which
he did nothing, to demand her of her
parents in marriage; and accordingly
put his resolution in practice. Lothario
was intrusted with the message,
and concluded the affair so much to
the satisfaction of his friends, that in
a very little time Anselmo saw himself
in possession of his heart’s desire;
and Camilla thought herself so happy
in having obtained such a husband,
that she was incessant in her
acknowledgments to Heaven and Lothario,
by whose mediation her happiness
was effected.

‘During the first two days after marriage,
which are commonly spent in
feasting and mirth, Lothario, as usual,
frequented the house of his friend,
with a view of honouring his nuptials,
and endeavouring, as much as in
him lay, to promote the joy and festivity
attending all such occasions; but
the wedding being over, and the frequency
// File: 0285.png
of visits and congratulations
abated, he began carefully and gradually
to absent himself from Anselmo’s
house, thinking, as every prudent
person would naturally conclude,
that a man ought not to visit and frequent
the house of a friend after he is
married, in the same manner as he had
practised while he was single; for,
though suspicion should never find
harbour with true and virtuous friendship,
yet the honour of a married
man is so delicate, as to be thought
subject to injury, not only from a
friend, but even from a brother.
Anselmo perceived Lothario’s remissness,
and complained of it loudly; saying,
that if he had thought his marriage
would have impaired their former
correspondence, he never would
have altered his condition; and begged,
that as by the mutual friendship
which inspired them while he was
single, they had acquired such an
agreeable title as that of the Two
Friends, he would not now suffer
that endearing and celebrated name to
be lost, by a scrupulous adherence to
mere form and punctilio. He therefore
entreated him, if he might be allowed
to use the expression, to be
master of his house, and to come in
and go out as formerly, assuring him
that the inclinations of Camilla, in
that respect, were exactly conformable
to his own; and that knowing the
perfect friendship which subsisted between
them, she was extremely mortified
at his late shyness.

‘To these and many other arguments
used by Anselmo, to persuade his
friend to frequent his house as usual,
Lothario answered with such prudence,
force, and discernment, that the other
was convinced of his discreet conduct;
and it was agreed betwixt them, that
Lothario should dine with him twice
a week, besides holidays; but, notwithstanding
this agreement, he resolved
to comply with it no farther
than he should see convenient for the
honour of Anselmo, which was dearer
to him than his own. He said, and
his observation was just, that a man
on whom Heaven hath bestowed a
beautiful wife, should be as cautious
of the men he brings home to his
house, as careful in observing the female
friends with whom his spouse
converses abroad; for that which cannot
// File: 0286.png
.pn +1
be performed nor concerted in the
street or the church, or at public
shows and diversions, with which a
husband must sometimes indulge his
wife, may be easily transacted in the
house of a female friend or relation,
in whom his chief confidence is reposed.
Wherefore, Lothario observed,
that every married man had occasion
for some friend to apprize him of any
omission in her conduct; for it often
happens that he is too much in love
with his wife, to observe, or too
much afraid of offending her, to
prescribe limits to her behaviour, in
those things, the following or eschewing
of which may tend to his honour
or reproach, whereas that inconvenience
might be easily amended by the
advice of a friend. But where shall
we find such a zealous, discreet, trusty
friend, as is here required? I really
know not, except in Lothario himself,
who, consulting the honour of Anselmo,
with the utmost care and circumspection,
was at great pains to contract,
abridge, and diminish, the number
of the days on which he had agreed
to frequent his house; that the
idle vulgar, and prying eyes of malice,
might not indulge their love of
slander, when they perceived a genteel
young man of such birth, fortune,
and accomplishments as he knew himself
possessed of, go into the house of
such a celebrated beauty as Camilla;
for, although his virtue and honour
might be a sufficient check, to the most
malevolent tongue, he would not expose
his own character, or that of his
friend, to the smallest censure; and
therefore employed the greatest part
of those days on which he had agreed
to visit Anselmo, in such things as he
pretended were indispensible; so that
when they were present, a great deal
of time was consumed by the complaints
of the one, and excuses of the
other. One day, however, as they
were walking through a meadow,
near the suburbs of the city, Anselmo
addressed himself to Lothario in
these terms.

‘“You believe, my friend Lothario,
that I can never be thankful enough
to Heaven for the blessings I enjoy,
not only in the most indulgent parents,
and in the abundance of those
things which are called the goods
of nature and fortune, but also in a
// File: 0287.png
friend like you, and a wife like Camilla,
two pledges which I esteem,
if not as highly as I ought, at least
as much as I can. Yet, though I
possess all those benefits which usually
constitute the happiness of mankind,
I find myself one of the most
disgusted and discontented men alive.
I have been for these many days so
harrassed and fatigued with such an
odd unaccountable desire, that I cannot
help being amazed at my infatuation,
for which I often blame and
rebuke myself, endeavouring to suppress
and conceal it from my own reflection;
but I find it as impossible to
keep the secret, as if I had industriously
published it to the whole world,
and since it must actually be disclosed
to somebody, I would have it deposited
in the most secret archives of
your heart, in full confidence, that by
the diligence which you as a trusty
friend will exert in my behalf, when
you know it, I shall soon see myself
delivered from that anxiety to which
it hath reduced me, and by your assiduity
be raised to a pitch of joy equal
to the degree of vexation which my
own folly hath intailed upon me.”

‘Lothario was astonished at this discourse
of Anselmo, as he could not
comprehend the meaning of such a
long preface and preamble, and endeavoured,
by revolving every thing in
his imagination, to find out what this
desire could be, that preyed so much
upon the spirits of his friend; but,
finding himself always wide of the
mark, he was willing to ease himself
immediately of the excessive pain his
suspence occasioned; and with this view
told Anselmo, that he did a manifest
injury to the warmth of his friendship,
in going about the bush, seeking
indirect methods to impart his most
secret thoughts, since he was well assured
that he might entirely depend
upon him, either for advice to suppress,
or assistance to support them.
“I am well convinced of the truth of
what you say,” answered Anselmo,
“and in that confidence will tell you,
my friend, that the desire with which
I am possessed, is to be certain, whether
or not my wife Camilla is as
virtuous and perfect as I believe her
to be; and this truth I shall never
be fully persuaded of, until the perfection
of her nature appear upon
// File: 0288.png
.pn +1
trial, as pure gold is proved by fire;
for it is my opinion, that there is no
woman virtuous, but in proportion
to the solicitation she hath withstood;
and that she only is chaste, who hath
not yielded to the promises, presents,
tears, and continual importunities
of persevering lovers. And
pray where is the merit of a woman’s
being chaste, when nobody ever
courted her to be otherwise? what
wonder that she should be reserved
and cautious, who has no opportunity
of indulging loose inclinations,
and who knows her husband would
immediately put her to death should
he once catch her tripping? Wherefore
I can never entertain the same
degree of esteem for a woman who
is chaste out of fear, or want of
opportunity, as I would for her who
hath triumphed over perseverance of
solicitation; so that for these, and
many other reasons I could urge to
sanction and enforce my opinion, I
desire that my wife Camilla may undergo
the test, and be refined in the
fire of importunate addresses, by one
possessed of sufficient accomplishments
to inspire a woman with love;
and if she comes off, as I believe she
will, victorious in the trial, I shall
think my own happiness unparalleled.
I shall then be able to say that
my wishes are fulfilled, and that she
hath fallen to my lot, of whom the
wise man saith, ‘<i>Who hath found
her?</i>’ And even if the contrary of
what I expect should happen, the
satisfaction of seeing my opinion
confirmed, will help me to bear with
patience that which would otherwise
prove such a costly experiment. Supposing,
then, that nothing you can say,
in opposition to this desire of mine,
can avail in diverting me from my
purpose, I expect and entreat that
you, my friend Lothario, will condescend
to be the instrument with
which I execute this work of my inclination.
I will give you proper
opportunities, and supply you with
every thing I see necessary for soliciting
a woman of virtue, honour, and
disinterested reserve; and what among
other things induces me to intrust
you with this enterprize, is the consideration,
that should Camilla’s
scruples be overcome, you will not
pursue your conquest to the last circumstance
// File: 0289.png
of rigour, but only suppose
that done, which, for good reason,
ought to remain undone; so that
I shall be injured by her inclination
alone, and my wrongs lie buried in
the virtue of your silence, which I
know, in whatever concerns my welfare,
will be eternal as that of death.
Wherefore, if you would have me
enjoy what deserves to be called life,
you will forthwith undertake this
amorous contest, not with lukewarmness
and languor, but with that
eagerness and diligence which corresponds
with my wish, and the confidence
in which I am secured by
your friendship.”

‘Such was the discourse of Anselmo;
to which Lothario listened so attentively,
that except what he is already
said to have uttered, he did not
open his lips, until his friend had finished
his proposal: but finding he
had nothing more to alledge, after
having for some time gazed upon him
as an object hitherto unseen, that inspired
him with astonishment and surprize,
“I cannot be persuaded, Anselmo,”
said he, “but what you have
said was spoke in jest; for, had I
thought you in earnest, I should
not have suffered you to proceed
so far; but, by refusing to listen,
have prevented such a long harangue.
Without doubt, you must either mistake
my disposition, or I be utterly
unacquainted with yours; and yet I
know you to be Anselmo, and you
must be sensible that I am Lothario;
the misfortune is, I no longer find
you the same Anselmo you was wont
to be, nor do I appear to you the same
Lothario as before; your discourse
favours not of that Anselmo who was
my friend, nor is what you ask a
thing to be demanded of that Lothario
who shared your confidence.
Good men, as a certain poet observes,
may try and avail themselves of their
friends, <i>usque ad aras</i>; I mean, not
presume upon their friendship, in
things contrary to the decrees of
Heaven. Now, if a heathen entertained
such ideas of friendship, how
much more should they be cherished
by a Christian, who knows, that no
human affection ought to interfere
with our love to God; and, when a
person stretches his connections so far
as to lay aside all respect for Heaven,
// File: 0290.png
.pn +1
in order to manifest his regard for a
friend, he ought not to be swayed by
trifles or matters of small consequence,
but by those things only on which the
life and honour of a friend depend.
Tell me then, Anselmo, which of these
is in danger, before I venture to gratify
your wish, by complying with the
detestable proposal you have made?
Surely, neither; on the contrary, if
I conceive you aright, you are desirous
that I should indefatigably endeavour
to deprive you, and myself
also, of that very life and honour
which it is my duty to preserve; for
if I rob you of honour, I rob you
of life; since a man without honour,
is worse than dead, and I being the
instrument, as you desire I should be,
that entails such a curse upon you,
shall not I be dishonoured, and of
consequence dead to all enjoyment
and fame. Listen with patience, my
friend Anselmo, and make no answer
until I shall have done with imparting
the suggestions of my mind, concerning
the strange proposal you have
made; for there will be time enough
for you to reply, and me to listen in
my turn.”—“With all my heart,”
cried Anselmo; “you may speak as
long as you please.”

‘Accordingly, Lothario proceeded,
saying, “In my opinion, Anselmo,
your disposition is at present like that
of the Moors, who will not suffer
themselves to be convicted of the errors
of their sect, by quotations from
the Holy Scripture, nor with arguments
founded on speculation, or the
articles of faith; but must be confuted
or convinced by examples that
are palpable, easy, familiar, and subject
to the certainty of mathematical
demonstration; for instance, if from
equal parts, we take equal parts,
those that remain are equal. And if
they do not understand this proposition
verbally, as is frequently the
case, it must be explained and set before
their eyes by manual operation,
which is also insufficient to persuade
them of the truth of our holy religion.
The self-same method must I
practise with you, whole desire deviates
so far from every thing that
bears the least shadow of reason, that
I should look upon it as time misspent,
to endeavour to convince you of
your folly, which is the only name
// File: 0291.png
your intention seems to deserve. Nay,
I am even tempted to leave you in
your extravagancy, as a punishment
for your preposterous desire; but I
am prevented from using such rigour
by my friendship, which will not permit
me to desert you in such manifest
danger of perdition. But, to make
this affair still more plain, tell me,
Anselmo, did not you desire me
to solicit one that was reserved, seduce
one that was chaste, make presents
to one that was disinterested,
and assiduously court one that was
wise? Yes, such was your demand.
If you are apprized, then, of the reserve,
virtue, disinterestedness, and
prudence of your wife, pray what is
your aim? If you believe that she will
triumph over all my assaults, as undoubtedly
she will, what fairer titles
can you bestow upon her, than those
she possesses already? or how will she
be more perfect after that trial, than
she is at present? You either do not
believe she is so virtuous as you have
represented her, or know not the nature
of your demand. If you think
she is not so chaste as you have described
her, you should not hazard
the trial; but rather, according to
the dictates of your own prudence,
treat her as a vicious woman: if you
are satisfied of her virtue, it would
be altogether impertinent to make
trial of that truth, which, from the
test, can acquire no additional esteem.
From whence we may reasonably
conclude, that for men to execute
designs which are clearly productive
of more hurt than benefit, is
the province of madness and temerity;
especially, when they are not
incited or compelled to these designs
by any sort of consideration; but,
on the contrary, may at a greater
distance perceive the manifest madness
of their intention. Difficulties
are undertaken, either for the sake of
God, of this world, or of both. The
first are incurred by holy men, who
live the life of angels here on earth;
the second, by those who traverse the
boundless ocean, visiting such a diversity
of climates and nations, with
a view of acquiring what are called
the goods of fortune; and such undertakings
as equally regard God and
man, fall to the share of those valiant
soldiers, who no sooner behold, in
// File: 0292.png
.pn +1
the wall of an adverse city, a breach,
though no bigger than that which is
made by a single cannon ball, than
laying aside all fear, and overlooking
with unconcern the manifest danger
that menaces them, winged with desire
of signalizing their valour in behalf
of their king, country, and religion,
throw themselves, with the
utmost intrepidity, into the midst of a
thousand deaths that oppose and await
them. These are the enterprizes which
are generally undertaken, and though
full of peril and inconvenience, attended
with glory, honour, and advantage;
but that which you have
planned, and purpose to put in execution,
neither tends to your acquiring
the approbation of God,
the goods of fortune, nor the applause
of mankind; for, granting
that the experiment should succeed
to your wish, it will make you neither
more happy, rich, or respected
than you are; and should it turn
out contrary to your expectation,
you will find yourself the most miserable
of all mortals. It will then
give you little ease to reflect, that
your misfortune is unknown; for,
the bare knowing it yourself, will be
sufficient to plunge you in affliction
and despair. As a confirmation of
this truth, you must give me leave to
repeat the following stanza, written
by the celebrated poet Lewis Tansilo,
at the end of the first part of the
tears of <abbr=Saint>St.</abbr> Peter.

.pm verse-start
‘“When Peter saw the approach of rosy morn,
His soul with sorrow and remorse was torn;
For, though from ev’ry mortal eye conceal’d,
The guilt to his own bosom stood reveal’d:
The candid breast will self-accusing, own
Each conscious fault, though to the world unknown,
Nor will th’ offender ’scape internal shame,
Tho’ unimpeach’d by justice or by fame.”
.pm verse-end

‘“Wherefore, secresy will never assuage
your grief; but, on the contrary,
you will incessantly weep, not
tears from your eyes, but drops of
blood from your heart, like that
simple doctor, whom our poet mentions[#],
who made trial of the vessel,
which the prudent Rinaldo, with
more discretion, refused to touch;
and although this be a poetical fiction,
it nevertheless contains a well couched
moral, worthy of notice, study
and imitation; especially, as what I
am going to say, will, I hope, bring
you to a due sense of the great error
you want to commit.

‘“Tell me, Anselmo, if Heaven or
good fortune had made you master
and lawful possessor of an exquisite
diamond, the brilliancy of which was
admired by all the lapidaries who
had seen it, and unanimously allowed
to be the most perfect of its kind;
an opinion, which, as you knew nothing
to the contrary, was exactly
conformable to your own; would it
be wise or pardonable in you, to put
that jewel betwixt an anvil and a
hammer, and by mere dint of blows
and strength of arm, try if it was as
hard and perfect as it had been pronounced?
for, supposing that the diamond
should resist the force of this
foolish experiment, it would thereby
acquire no addition of value or
fame; and, if it should be broke to
pieces, a thing that might easily happen,
would not all be lost? Yes,
for certain; and the owner be universally
deemed a fool. Consider,
then, my friend, that Camilla is an
exquisite diamond, not only in your
estimation, but in that of every one
who knows her; and it would be
highly unreasonable to expose her to
the least possibility of being broke;
for, even should she remain intire,
her reputation will receive no increase;
but, should she fail in the
trial, reflect upon what you must feel,
and the reason you will then have to
// File: 0293.png
.pn +1
complain of yourself, for having been
the fatal cause of her perdition and
your own despair. Consider, that no
jewel upon earth is comparable to a
woman of virtue and honour; and,
that the honour of the sex consists in
the fair characters they maintain.
Since, therefore, the reputation of
your wife is already as high as it
possibly can be, why would you bring
this truth into question? Remember,
my friend, that woman is an imperfect
creature; and that, far from laying
blocks in her way, over which
she might stumble and fall, we ought
to remove them with care, and clear
her paths from all obstructions, that
she may, without trouble, proceed
smoothly, in attaining to that perfection
which she may still want,
namely, immaculate virtue. We are
informed by naturalists, that the ermin
is a little animal, covered with
a furr of excessive whiteness, and that
the hunters use this artifice to catch
it: being well acquainted with the
places through which it chuses to
pass in its flight, they daub them
all over with mud, and as soon as
they get sight of the creature, drive
it directly thither. The ermin finding
himself thus barricadoed, stands
still, and is taken; chusing captivity,
rather than, by passing through the
filth, to stain and sully the whiteness
of its furr, which it prizes above liberty,
and even life itself. A chaste
and virtuous wife is like the ermin,
her character being more pure and
white than drifted snow; but he,
who would guard and preserve it, must
use a method quite different from
that which is practised upon the little
animal, and beware of clogging
her way with the mud of entertainments,
and the addresses of importunate
lovers; lest, perhaps, (nay,
without a perhaps) she should not
possess such virtue and resolution as
are sufficient of themselves to surmount
those obstructions. It is therefore
necessary to remove them, and
place before her the purity of virtue,
and the beauty of an unblemished reputation.
A virtuous woman also
resembles a bright transparent mirror,
which is liable to be stained and
obscured by the breath of those who
approach too near it. A virtuous
woman, like relicks, ought to be
// File: 0294.png
adored at a distance. She ought to be
preserved and esteemed as a beautiful
garden, full of flowers and roses, the
owner of which will suffer nobody
to handle them or pass through it,
permitting them only to enjoy its
fragrance and beauty afar off, through
the iron rails that surround it. In
fine, I will repeat a few verses that I
just now recollect, from a modern
comedy, because they seem to have
been composed upon the very subject
of our present discourse. A sage old
man advising his friend, who is blessed
with a handsome daughter, to
lock her up, and watch over her with
the utmost vigilance and care, among
other reasons, cautions him with
these—
.sp 2
.pm verse-start
<abbr=one>I.</abbr>

“Woman is form’d of brittle ware;
  Then, wherefore rashly seek to know
What force, unbroken, she will bear,
  And strike, perhaps, some fatal blow.

<abbr=two>II.</abbr>

“Though easily to fragments tore,
  ’Twere equally absurd and vain,
To dash in pieces on the floor,
  What never can be join’d again.

<abbr=three>III.</abbr>

“This maxim, then, by facts assur’d,
  Should henceforth be espous’d by all;
Where’er a Danæ lies immur’d,
  The tempting show’r of gold will fall.”
.pm verse-end

‘“All that I have hitherto suggested,
Anselmo, regards yourself; and now
it is but reasonable you should hear
something that concerns me; and if
I should be prolix in my observations,
you must excuse me, because
it is absolutely necessary to expatiate
on the subject, in order to extricate
you from the labyrinth in
which you are involved, and from
which you desire to be disengaged by
my assistance. You consider me as
a friend, and yet seek to deprive me
of my honour; a desire opposite to
all friendship or regard; nay, even
endeavour to make me rob you of
your own. That you want to destroy
mine, is plain; for Camilla,
finding herself exposed to my solicitations,
as you desire, will certainly
look upon me as a man void of all
principle and honour; because I attempt
// File: 0295.png
.pn +1
to succeed in a design so contrary
to the dignity of my own character,
and the friendship subsisting
between us. That you desire I
should rob you of yours, is not to be
doubted; because, Camilla, seeing
herself importuned by my addresses,
will think I must have observed some
levity in her conduct, which hath
encouraged me to disclose my vicious
inclinations, and think herself dishonoured
accordingly; so that you
will be as much concerned in her
dishonour, as if it was your own.
Hence springs the common observation,
that the husband of a lewd woman,
though he neither knows, nor
hath given the least occasion for the
misconduct of his wife, and though
his misfortune was neither owing to
his want of prudence or care, is, notwithstanding,
pointed at, and distinguished
by a name of scandal and
reproach; being looked upon, by
those who know the frailty of his
wife, with an eye of disdain, instead
of compassion, which he certainly deserves,
as his disgrace proceeds not
from any fault of his, but from the
loose inclinations of his worthless
spouse. I will now explain the reason,
why the husband of a bad woman
is justly dishonoured, though he
neither knows, nor hath been in any
shape accessary to her backslidings;
and you must hear me with patience,
because my remarks will, I hope, redound
to your own advantage.

‘“When God created our first parent
in the terrestrial paradise, we are
told, by the holy Scripture, that he
was thrown into a deep sleep, during
which, the Almighty took a rib
from his left side, and of this Eve
being formed, Adam no sooner awoke
and beheld her, than he cried, ‘<i>This
creature is flesh of my flesh, and bone
of my bone.</i>’ Nay, God himself pronounced,
‘<i>For this shall a man leave
father and mother, and they two
shall be one flesh.</i>’ Then was instituted
the divine sacrament of marriage,
consisting of such ties as death alone
can unbind; and endowed with such
miraculous virtue and power, as to
unite two different persons in one
flesh; nay, what is still more wonderful,
to combine two souls, so as
to produce but one will; provided
the union be happily effected. From
// File: 0296.png
hence it follows, that the flesh of the
wife being the same with that of the
husband, whatever stains or blemishes
are imbibed by the first, must equally
affect the other, although, as I have
already observed, he is in no manner
accessary to the misfortune.
Wherefore, as the whole person is
affected by the pain of the foot or
any other member of the human body;
and the head, though no way
concerned in the cause, be a fellow-sufferer
with the ancle when it is
hurt; by the same rule, an husband,
being a part of the same whole, must
bear a share of his wife’s dishonour;
for, as all the honours and disgraces
of this life proceed from flesh and
blood; the infamy of a vicious woman,
being of the same origin, must
be shared by her husband, who ought
to be looked upon as a dishonoured
person, though he be utterly ignorant
of the guilt. Reflect, therefore, Anselmo,
on the danger into which you
bring yourself, by seeking to disturb
the peace and tranquillity of your
virtuous wife. Reflect upon the vanity
and impertinence of that curiosity,
which prompts you to awaken
and stir up those humours, that now
lie tamed and quiet in the bosom of
your chaste spouse. Consider, that in
this rash adventure, your gain must
be very small, but your loss may be
so great, that I leave it unmentioned,
because I want words to express its
estimation. On the whole, if what
I have said be insufficient to divert
you from your mischievous design,
I desire you will chuse some other instrument
of your misfortune and disgrace;
for I will not undertake the
office, though, by my refusal, I
should even lose your friendship,
which is dearer to me than any thing
upon earth.”

‘Here the virtuous and prudent Lothario
left off speaking, and Anselmo
remained in such confusion and
perplexity, that, for some time, he
could not answer one word; at length,
however, he broke silence, saying,
“I have listened, my friend Lothario,
as you may have perceived, with
great attention to all you had to say,
and by your arguments, examples,
and comparisons, am fully convinced,
not only of your great discretion,
but also of that perfection of friendship
// File: 0297.png
.pn +1
to which you have attained: I
see also, and own, that in refusing
your counsel, and following my own,
I avoid the good and pursue the evil.
This truth being acknowledged, you
must consider me as a person afflicted
with that infirmity, which induces
some women to swallow earth, chalk,
coals, and other things of a worse
nature, which, if loathsome to the
sight, how much more disagreeable
must they be to the taste. Wherefore,
there is an absolute necessity for
using some method of cure, which
you may easily effect, by beginning
to solicit the love of Camilla, though
coldly and feignedly; and, sure, she
cannot be so frail as to surrender her
virtue at the first encounter. With
this slight attempt I shall rest satisfied,
and you fulfil the duty of friendship,
not only in giving me new life,
but also in dissuading me from being
the cause of my own dishonour. Nay,
you are obliged to comply with my
request, by this other consideration,
that, determined as I am to put my
design in execution, you ought not
to allow me to communicate this
extravagant resolution to any other
person, lest I run the risk of losing
that honour which you endeavour to
preserve; and, as to your suffering in
the opinion of Camilla, by attempting
to seduce her, that is a reflection of
small importance, because, when her
integrity is proved, you can soon inform
her of our whole contrivance;
consequently, regain and repossess the
former place you held in her esteem.
Since, therefore, by adventuring so
little, it is in your power to give me
so much satisfaction; I hope, you
will not refuse the office, even if it
was attended with more inconvenience;
for, I have already told you,
that I shall look upon the affair as
concluded, whenever you shall have
made the first attempt.”

‘Lothario seeing him fixed in his resolution,
even after he had exhausted
all his rhetorick to dissuade him from
it; and fearing he would execute his
threat of imparting his unhappy design
to some other person, determined
to prevent a greater misfortune, by
complying with his desire; purposing,
however, to manage the business in
such a manner, as to satisfy Anselmo,
without altering the sentiment of his
// File: 0298.png
wife. With this view, he told Anselmo
that he should have no occasion
to communicate his intention to any
other man; for he, Lothario, would
undertake the affair, and begin when
he pleased. Anselmo, embracing his
friend with great tenderness and affection,
thanked him as much for his
compliance, as if he had granted him
some vast favour; and it was concerted
between them, that Lothario
should begin the enterprize the very
next day, when Anselmo would give
him time and opportunity of being
alone with Camilla, that he might
speak to her with freedom; and also
supply him with money and jewels,
that with such presents he might promote
his suit; he, moreover, advised,
him to attempt her by musick, and
write verses in her praise; or, if that
would be too much trouble for the
gallant, he himself would compose
them for the purpose. Lothario undertook
every thing, but with a very
different intention from what Anselmo
supposed; and the agreement being
made, they returned to the house
of this last, where they found Camilla
waiting with great anxiety, for
her husband, who had that day tarried
longer than usual abroad. Lothario
soon after went home to his
own lodgings, leaving his friend as
happy as himself was perplexed how
to contrive a scheme for bringing this
affair to a fortunate issue; but that
night he fell upon an expedient to deceive
Anselmo, without giving offence
to his wife.

‘Next day he went to dine with his
friend, and was very kindly received
by Camilla, who entertained him
with great cordiality, as her husband’s
intimate companion. Dinner
being ended, and the table withdrawn,
Anselmo rising up, desired Lothario
to stay with Camilla till his return
from an indispensable piece of business,
that would detain him an hour
and a half. Camilla intreated him to
defer it until another time, and Lothario
offered to go along with him;
but he was deaf to both, pressing Lothario
to let him go, while he should
wait at his house till he came back,
for he wanted to talk with him upon
a subject of the last importance; at
the same time, desiring Camilla to
keep Lothario company till his return;
// File: 0299.png
.pn +1
in short, he so well feigned
the necessity, or rather folly of his
absence, that nobody could have suspected
the deceit. He accordingly
went out, and left Camilla and his
friend by themselves, for the rest of
the family had gone to dinner; so
that Lothario seeing himself within the
lists, according to Anselmo’s desire,
with his fair enemy, whose beauty
alone was powerful enough to overcome
a whole squadron of armed
knights, it may be easily conceived
what reason he had to fear, yet all he
did was to lean his head on his hand,
while his elbow rested upon the arm
of the chair in which he sat, and after
having begged pardon for his ill-manners,
to tell Camilla he would
take a nap till Anselmo’s return. She
said he would be more at his ease in a
couch than in the chair, and advised
him to walk into a chamber where he
would find one. This offer, however,
he declined, and slept where he
was till the return of his friend, who
finding Camilla in her own apartment,
and Lothario asleep, concluded that
by his long stay he had given them
time not only to speak, but also to
take their repose, and was impatient
for Lothario’s waking, that he might
carry him out to walk, and enquire
about his own fortune.

‘Every thing succeeded to his wish;
when his friend awoke, they went
forth together, and he put every question
to him that his curiosity suggested.
Lothario answered, that thinking
it improper to explain himself on the
first occasion, he had done nothing
but praised Camilla’s beauty, which,
together with her discretion, he told
her engrossed the conversation of the
whole city; this he imagined was the
most prudent beginning, as it might
prepossess her in his favour, and dispose
her to listen to him another time
with pleasure; being the same artifice
which is practised by the devil, who,
when he would seduce those who are
on their guard, transforms himself
from an imp of darkness into an angel
of light, and flattering them with
specious appearances, at length discovers
his cloven foot, and succeeds
in his design, provided his deceit be
not detected in the beginning. This
declaration was altogether satisfactory
to Anselmo, who said he would give
// File: 0300.png
him the same opportunity every day,
without quitting the house, in which
he would employ himself so artfully,
that Camilla should never suspect his
design. Many days passed, in which,
though Lothario never opened his
mouth on the subject to Camilla, he
told Anselmo that he had made many
efforts, but could never perceive in
her the least tendency to weakness, or
obtain the least shadow of hope; on
the contrary, that she had threatened,
if he did not lay aside the wicked design,
to disclose the whole affair to
her husband. “Very well,” said
Anselmo, “hitherto she is proof against
words, we must now try whether or
not she can resist works also. Tomorrow
you shall have two thousand
crowns in gold, for a present to her;
and as much more to purchase jewels,
for a bait; these are things with
which all beautiful women are captivated;
for, be they ever so chaste, they
love finery and gay apparel, if she withstands
that temptation, I will rest satisfied
and give you no farther trouble.”

‘Lothario promised to go through
with the enterprize, now that he had
begun, though he was persuaded he
should be fatigued and baffled in the
execution. Next day he received four
thousand crowns, and as many perplexities
along with them; for he did
not know what lye he should next invent;
however, he determined to tell
his friend, that Camilla was as invincible
to presents as to words, and that
he should give himself no farther vexation,
since all his endeavours were
thrown away to no purpose: but fortune,
which conduced matters in another
manner, ordained that Anselmo,
one day, after having, according to
custom, left Lothario and his wife by
themselves, and gone to his own
chamber, should peep through the
key-hole, and listen to their conversation,
it was then he perceived, that
in half an hour and more, Lothario
did not speak one word, neither
would he have opened his mouth,
had he remained a whole age in the
same situation. From hence he concluded,
that every thing his friend
had told him of Camilla’s replies,
was mere fiction; but, to be still
more assured, he came out of his
chamber, and calling Lothario aside,
asked what news he had, and how
// File: 0301.png
.pn +1
Camilla stood affected to him? He replied,
that he was resolved to drop the
business entirely, for she had checked
him with such bitterness and indignation,
that he had no mind to return to
the charge. “Ah, Lothario! Lothario!”
said Anselmo, “how much
you have failed in the duty of friendship,
and abused the confidence I
have reposed in your affection! I have
been all this time looking through the
key-hole of that door, and perceived
that you have not spoken one word
to Camilla, from whence I suspect
that your first declaration is yet to
come; and if that be the case, as
without doubt it is, wherefore have
you thus deceived me; and in so
doing, prevented me from other
means to satisfy my desire?” He said
no more, but this was sufficient to
cover Lothario with shame and confusion;
who, thinking his honour concerned
in being convicted of a lye,
swore to Anselmo, he would from
that moment take the charge of giving
him the satisfaction he required,
without the least equivocation, as
he might perceive by watching him
narrowly; though there would be no
occasion for using such diligence, because
his future behaviour in that affair
would acquit him of all suspicion.

‘Anselmo gave credit to his protestation;
and, that his opportunities might
be more secure, and less subject to interruption,
resolved to absent himself
from his own house for eight days,
during which he proposed to visit a
friend who lived in a village not far
from the city; and whom he desired
to invite him to his house with the
most earnest intreaties, that he might
excuse himself to Camilla for his absence.
Unfortunate and imprudent
Anselmo! what art thou doing? what
art thou contriving and concerting?
Consider that thou art acting against
thyself, planning thy own dishonour
and perdition. Your wife Camilla is
virtuous and sober, and you possess
her at present in quiet, enjoying uninterrupted
pleasure; her inclinations
never ramble beyond the walls of your
own house; you are her paradise
upon earth, the goal of her desires,
the accomplishment of her wishes,
and the standard by which she measures
her will, adjusting it in all respects
according to your pleasure and
// File: 0302.png
the directions of Heaven. Since the
mine of her honour, beauty, modesty,
and virtue, yields thee, without trouble,
all the riches which it contains,
or thou canst desire; why wouldst
thou, by digging in search of a new
and unheard-of treasure, risk the fall
or destruction of the whole, which is
sustained by the feeble props of female
constancy? Remember it is but
just, that he who builds on impossibilities
should be denied the privilege
of any other foundation; as the poet
hath better expressed it in the following
couplets—

.pm verse-start
‘“In death I sought new life to find,
And health, where pale distemper pin’d:
I look’d for freedom in the gaol,
And faith, where perjuries prevail;
But Fate supreme, whose stern decree
To sorrow match’d my destiny,
All possible relief withdrew,
Because th’impossible I kept in view.”
.pm verse-end

‘Next day Anselmo went to the
country, after having told Camilla,
that in his absence Lothario would
take charge of the family, and dine
with her every day; he therefore desired
her to treat him with all the respect
due to his own person. Camilla,
being a woman of honour and
discretion, was disgusted at this order,
and bade him consider how unseemly
it was for another man to sit
at the head of his table in his absence;
at the same time begging,
that if his directions proceeded from
his diffidence in her capacity, he
would for once put her management
to the trial, and be convinced by experience,
that she was equal to a more
important charge. Anselmo replied,
that such was his pleasure, and her
province was to bow the head and
obey; upon which, she, though unwillingly,
submitted. Next day he
set out accordingly, and Lothario
went to his house, where he met with
a very kind and honourable reception
from Camilla, who never gave him
an opportunity of being alone with
her, but was always surrounded by
her servants, generally attended by
her own maid, whose name was Leonela,
for whom her mistress had a
particular affection, because they had
been brought up together from their
infancy, in the house of Camilla’s
parents; and when she married Anselmo,
// File: 0303.png
.pn +1
she accompanied her to his
house in quality of waiting-woman.

‘During the first three days Lothario
did not declare himself, although
he had opportunities immediately after
the table was uncovered, while
the servants were at dinner, which
Camilla always ordered them to finish
with all expedition. Nay, she
gave directions to Leonela, to dine
every day before the cloth was laid
for herself, that she might always be
in waiting; but her maid’s thoughts
were too much engrossed by her own
amusements, the enjoyment of which
required such time and opportunity,
as often hindered her from obeying
the commands of her mistress, so that
she frequently behaved as if she had
received orders to leave them alone;
but the dignified presence of Camilla,
the gravity of her countenance,
and awfulness of person, were
such as effectually bridled Lothario’s
tongue: yet the energy of virtue, in
having this very effect, redounded the
more to the disadvantage of them
both; for, though his tongue was restricted,
his thoughts had a full and
free opportunity of contemplating at
leisure the charms both of her mind
and person, which were sufficient to
captivate not only an heart of flesh,
but even a statue of stone.

‘Lothario, by gazing at her during
those opportunities, beheld how worthy
she was to be beloved; and this
conviction began gradually to sap his
regard for his friend, so that he made
a thousand resolutions to quit the
city, and go where he should never
more be seen by Anselmo, or be exposed
to danger from the beauty of
his wife; but all these were baffled
by the pleasure he had already felt, in
seeing and admiring her charms; he
constrained himself, and combated his
own inclinations, in order to expel
and efface that satisfaction: when he
was alone he condemned his own madness,
and reproached himself as a false
friend and worthless Christian; he
made a thousand reflections and comparisons
between himself and Anselmo;
and they all terminated in this
conclusion, that the madness and rash
confidence of his friend greatly exceeded
his own infidelity, and that if
he could excuse himself to Heaven,
for what he intended to do, as easily
// File: 0304.png
as to mankind, he had no reason to
dread any punishment for the crime.
In short, the beauty and other accomplishments
of Camilla, together with
the opportunity which the ignorant
husband put into his hands, entirely
overthrew the integrity of Lothario;
who, giving way at once to the dictates
of his passion, began at the end
of three days, during which he had
been at continual war with his desires,
to address himself to Camilla
with such disorder and amorous discourse,
that she was utterly astonished,
and rising up went to her own chamber
without answering one word. But
this coyness did not abate Lothario’s
hope, which always increases with a
man’s love; on the contrary, he redoubled
his efforts: while she, perceiving
him behave so wide of expectation,
did not well know what conduct
to espouse; but, thinking it
would be both unseemly and unsafe
in her, to grant him another opportunity,
she determined that very night
to send a message to her husband, and
actually dispatched a servant to him
with the following letter.

.fn #
Ludovico Ariosto, author of Orlando Furioso, to which poem Cervantes frequently
alludes. Here, however, he seems to have forgot the passage he meant to cite; for the person
who proffered the cup to Rinaldo, was no doctor. In Canto 43, of the Orlando Furioso,
mention is made, indeed, of one Anselmo, who was a Doctor of Law, but not at all
concerned in the inchanted cup: yet it must be owned, that Dr. Anselmo had recourse
to an astrologer, in order to know whether his wife preserved her chastity in his absence.
.fn-
.sp 4
.h4 id=chap2-4-7
<abbr=chapter>CHAP.</abbr> <abbr=seven>VII.</abbr> | THE CONTINUATION OF THE NOVEL CALLED THE IMPERTINENT CURIOSITY.
.sp 2
‘“It is a common observation, that
an army without a general, and
a garrison without a chief, make but
a very indifferent appearance; but I
say, that a young married woman
without a husband makes a worse,
especially when his absence is not
the effect of absolute necessity; for
my own part, I find myself so uneasy,
and unable to support our separation,
that if you do not return
immediately, I must go and pass my
time at my father’s house, though I
should leave yours without a guard;
for I believe he that you left, if he
was designed for that purpose, hath
more regard to his own pleasure than
to your advantage; and since you are
wise, I have nothing more to say,
nor is it proper I should.”

‘When Anselmo received this letter,
he was convinced that Lothario had began
// File: 0305.png
.pn +1
the enterprize, and that his wife
had behaved according to his wish;
rejoiced beyond measure at this information,
he answered by a verbal message,
that she should by no means
leave the house, for he would return
in a very little time. Camilla was
astonished at this reply, which perplexed
her more than ever, as she
durst neither stay in her own house,
nor go to her father’s; for, in staying
at home, she endangered her honour,
and in going to her parents she transgressed
the commands of her husband.
In fine, she resolved upon that which
was worst of all, namely to remain
where she was, determined not to
avoid Lothario, that the servants
might not observe her situation; and
she was already sorry for what she
had written to Anselmo, being afraid
he would imagine Lothario had perceived
some levity in her conduct,
which encouraged him to lay aside
the decorum he ought to have preserved.
Confident of her own virtue,
she trusted to God and her conscious
prudence, by the help of which she
thought she could in silence refill all
the felicitations of Lothario, without
giving her husband any farther information,
lest it should involve him in
some trouble or dangerous dispute;
nay, she was even industrious in
inventing some excuse for Lothario,
in case Anselmo should ask the
reason that induced her to write such
a letter.

‘With these sentiments, which were
more honourable than prudent and
advantageous, she next day sat listening
to Lothario, who exerted himself
in such a manner, as to shake
her fortitude, which, with all her virtue,
was barely sufficient to hinder her
eyes from giving manifest indications
of the amorous compassion that his
tears and addresses had awakened in
her breast. All this tenderness, which
Lothario observed, inflamed his passion
the more; and thinking there
was a necessity for shortening the
siege, while this opportunity of Anselmo’s
absence lasted, he assaulted her
pride with the praises of her beauty;
for nothing sooner succeeds in overthrowing
the embattled towers of
female vanity, than vanity itself, employed
by the tongue of adulation: in
short, he so assiduously undermined
// File: 0306.png
the fortress of her virtue, and plied it
with such irresistible engines, that
though she had been made of brass,
she must have surrendered at mercy.
He wept, intreated, promised, flattered,
feigned, and importuned, with
such earnest expressions of love, as
conquered all her reserve; at last he
obtained a compleat triumph, which,
though what he least expected, was
what of all things he most ardently
desired; she yielded—the chaste Camilla
yielded! But what wonder?
since even Lothario’s friendship gave
way: a clear and incontestible proof,
that love is to be conquered by flight
alone; and that no person whatever
ought to engage such a powerful adversary,
hand to hand, because nothing
but force divine can subdue that
human power.

‘Leonela alone was privy to the
weakness of her mistress, which the
two new lovers and false friends could
not possibly conceal from her knowledge;
and Lothario did not chuse to
tell Camilla the contrivance of Anselmo,
who had given him the opportunity
of accomplishing his design;
that she might not undervalue his
love, by supposing that he courted her
by accident, without being at first
really enamoured of her charms. Anselmo
returning in a few days, did
not perceive the loss of that, which,
though he preserved with the least
care, he prized above all other possessions;
but going in quest of Lothario,
whom he found in his own lodging,
after a mutual embrace, he desired
he would tell him the news that
must determine his life or death. “The
news which I have to give you, my
friend,” said Lothario, “are these;
you have a wife who truly deserves
to be the pattern and queen of all
good women. The expressions I
used to her were spent in the air, my
promises were despised, my presents
rejected, and some tears that I feigned,
most heartily ridiculed; in short,
Camilla is the sum of all beauty, and
the casket in which are deposited honour,
affability, modesty, and all the
qualifications that dignify and adorn
a woman of virtue. Here, take back
your money, which I have had no occasion
to use: the chastity of your
spouse is not to be shaken by such
mean considerations as those of promises
// File: 0307.png
.pn +1
and presents; be satisfied, Anselmo,
and make no more unprofitable
trials; since you have dry-shod
crossed the sea of those doubts
and suspicions which are and may
be entertained of women, seek not to
plunge yourself anew into the dangerous
gulf of fresh difficulties, by
using another pilot to make a second
trial of the strength and tightness of
the vessel which you have received
from Heaven to perform the voyage
of this life, but consider yourself as
in a safe harbour, where you ought
to secure yourself with the anchor of
sound reflection, and remain until
you are called upon to pay that tax
from which no human rank can exempt
you.”

‘Anselmo was infinitely rejoiced at
this information of Lothario, which
he believed as implicitly as if it had
been pronounced by an oracle; but,
nevertheless, he besought him to continue
his addresses, merely for curiosity
and amusement, though not with
the same eagerness and diligence which
he had used before; he desired him
to write verses in praise of Camilla,
under the name of Chloris, promising
to tell his wife, that he, Lothario, was
in love with a lady whom he celebrated
under that fictitious name, in
order to preserve the decorum due to
her character; and he assured him,
that if Lothario did not chuse to take
the trouble of making verses, he himself
would compose them for the occasion.
“You shall not need,” said
Lothario; “the muses are not quite
so averse, but they visit me sometimes:
you may tell Camilla what
you have mentioned, concerning my
pretended love; and as for the verses,
if not adequate to the subject, they
shall at all events be the best I can
make.”

‘This agreement being concerted between
the impertinent husband and
treacherous friend, Anselmo returned
to his own house, and asked Camilla,
what she wondered he had not mentioned
before; namely, the meaning
of that letter which she had dispatched
to him in the country. She answered,
that she then fancied Lothario
looked at her with more freedom
than he used to take when Anselmo
was at home: but now she was undeceived,
and convinced of it’s being
// File: 0308.png
no more than mere imagination, for
he had of late avoided all occasions of
being alone with her. Anselmo said
she might make herself entirely easy,
from that quarter; for he knew that
Lothario was in love with a lady of
fashion in the city, whom he celebrated
under the name of Chloris; and even,
if he was free of any such engagements,
there was nothing to be feared
from the honour of Lothario, and the
friendship subsisting between them.
If Camilla had not been previously
advertised by her secret gallant, of
this supposed love of Chloris, with
which he intended to hoodwink her
husband, that he might sometimes indulge
himself in her own praise, under
the cover of that name, she would,
without doubt, have been distracted
with jealousy; but thus instructed,
she heard him without surprize or
concern.

‘Next day, while they were at dinner,
Anselmo intreated his friend to
repeat some of the verses he had composed
in praise of Chloris, who being
utterly unknown to Camilla, he might
securely say what he pleased. “Tho’
she were of her acquaintance,” answered
Lothario, “I should not think
myself bound to conceal my passion;
for, when a lover praises the beauty,
and at the same time bewails the
cruelty of his mistress, her reputation
can suffer no prejudice; but, be that
as it will, I own, I yesterday wrote a
song on the ingratitude of Chloris,
which you shall hear.
.sp 2
.pm verse-start
<abbr=one>I.</abbr>

“When night extends her silent reign,
  ”And sleep vouchsafes the world to bless,
“To Heav’n and Chloris I complain
  ”Of dire and affluent distress.


<abbr=two>II.</abbr>

“When Phœbus, led by rosy morn,
  ”At first, his radiant visage shews,
“With tears, and sighs, and groans forlorn,
  ”My soul the bitter plaint renews.


<abbr=three>III.</abbr>

“When from his bright meridian throne,
  ”The dazzling rays descend amain,
“With aggravated grief I moan,
  ”And night brings back the woeful strain,
“Thus, to my vows and pray’rs, I find,
  ”My Chloris deaf, and Heav’n unkind.“
.pm verse-end
// File: 0309.png
.pn +1

‘The song was approved by Camilla,
and much more so by her husband,
who applauded it to the skies,
and observed that the lady must be
excessively cruel, who could resist
such a true and pathetick complaint.
“What!” said Camilla, “is every
thing true that we are told by the
poets when they are in love?”—“What
they rehearse as poets,” answered
Lothario, “is not always truth;
but what they affirm as lovers, is always
from the heart.”—“You are certainly
in the right,” replied Anselmo,
with a view of supporting and giving
sanction to Lothario’s sentiments, in
the opinion of Camilla, whose indifference
about her husband’s artifice
was now equal to her love for his pretended
friend. Pleased therefore with
his performances, because she very
well knew that his inclinations and
compositions were inspired by, and addressed
to her, who was the true Chloris,
she desired him, if he had any
more songs or verses, to repeat them.
“I have another,” said Lothario, “but
I believe it is not so good; or, rather,
it is less tolerable than the last. However,
you shall judge for yourself;
here it is.”
.sp 2
.pm verse-start
<abbr=one>I.</abbr>

“Yes, cruel maid! I welcome death,
  ”And tho’ I perish undeplor’d,
“Thy beauty with my latest breath,
  ”Shall be applauded and ador’d.


<abbr=two>II.</abbr>

“Tho’ lost in dark oblivion’s shade,
  ”Bereft of favour, life, and fame,
“My faithful heart, when open laid,
  ”Will shew thine image and thy name.


<abbr=three>III.</abbr>

“These reliques I preserve with care,
  ”My comfort in disastrous fate;
“For, steel’d and whetted by despair,
  ”My love new force acquires from hate.
“Unhappy those! who, darkling, sail
  ”Where stars, and ports, and pilots sail.“
.pm verse-end

‘This song was commended as much
as the first, by Anselmo, who in this
manner added link to link of the
chain with which he enslaved himself,
and secured his own dishonour: for
then Lothario disgraced him most,
when he thought himself most honoured,
and every step that Camilla descended
towards the very center of contempt,
// File: 0310.png
she, in the opinion of her husband,
mounted to the very summit of
virtuous reputation. About this time,
happening to be alone with her maid,
“I am ashamed, dear Leonela,” said
she, “when I consider how I have undervalued
myself; for I ought to
have made Lothario employ a great
deal of time in purchasing the entire
possession of my favours, which I so
willingly surrendered at once; and I
am afraid that he will look upon my
sudden yielding as the effect of levity,
without reflecting upon the violence
of his own addresses, which it was
impossible to resist.”—“Let not that
give you the least disturbance, Madam,”
answered Leonela, “for there
is no reason why a thing should lose
its estimation, by being freely given,
if it is actually good in its kind and
worthy of esteem; nay, it is a common
saying, That he who gives freely,
gives twice.”—“There is also another
common observation,” replied
Camilla, “That which is easily got
is little valued.”—“You are not at
all affected by that observation,” resumed
Leonela, “for love, they say,
sometimes flies, sometimes walks,
runs with one, creeps with another,
warms a third, burns a fourth, wounding
some, and slaying others. In
one moment it begins, performs, and
concludes its career; lays siege in
the morning to a fortress, which is
surrendered before night, there being
no fortress that can withstand its
power. This being the case, what
cause have you to be alarmed or afraid?
This was the power that assisted
Lothario, by making use of my master’s
absence, as the instrument of his
success; and what love had determined,
must of necessity have been
concluded during that period, before
Anselmo could, by his return, prevent
the perfection of the work. Opportunity
is the best minister for executing
the designs of love; and is
employed in all his undertakings,
especially in the beginning of them.
This I know to be true, more by
experience than hearsay; and I shall
one day tell you, Madam, that I am a
girl of flesh and blood, as well as your
ladyship. Besides, your ladyship did
not yield until you had discerned in
the looks, sighs, protestations, promises,
and presents of Lothario, his
// File: 0311.png
.pn +1
whole soul undisguised, and adorned
with such virtues as rendered him
worthy of your love. Let not, therefore,
these scrupulous and whining
reflections harrass your imagination;
but assure yourself, that Lothario’s
love and yours are mutual: so that
you may think yourself extremely
happy, in being caught in the amorous
snare by a man of worth and
honour, who not only possesses the
four qualities beginning with <abbr rend=spell>S</abbr>[#],
which ought to be the case of all true
lovers, but also a whole alphabet of
accomplishments. Listen, and you
shall hear how cleverly I will recount
them. He is, in my simple
opinion, amiable, benevolent, courageous,
diverting, enamoured, firm,
gay, honourable, illustrious, loyal,
mettlesome, noble, obedient, princely,
qualified, rich, and the <abbr rend=spell>S. S.</abbr> as I
have already observed. Then, he is
trusty, vigilant; the <abbr rend=spell>X</abbr> does not suit
him, because it is a harsh letter; <abbr rend=spell>Y</abbr>
stands for youth, and <abbr rend=spell>Z</abbr> for zeal, in
his attachment to you.”

‘Camilla laughed at the alphabet of
her maid, whom she found more
knowing in the affairs of love than
she pretended to be; and this
knowledge indeed she confessed, disclosing
to her mistress an intrigue that
she carried on with a young man of a
good family in town. Camilla was
disturbed at this information, fearing
that her honour ran some risk from
their correspondence; and when she
pressed her to confess, whether or not
it had been brought to the last extremity,
she, without the least symptom
of shame, answered in the affirmative;
for, it is very certain, that
the failings of mistresses divest their
servants of all modesty; because, seeing
their ladies trip, they think themselves
intitled to halt, without being
at the trouble to conceal their defect.
Camilla, thus circumstanced, could
fall upon no other expedient than that
of cautioning her maid against betraying
her to the person who was her gallant,
and beseeching her to keep her
own intrigue secret, that it might not
fall under the observation of Anselmo
and Lothario.

‘Leonela promised to be upon her
guard, but managed her affairs with
so little discretion, that she confirmed
Camilla in the apprehension of losing
her reputation by the carelessness of
her maid; for the bold and immodest
Leonela, seeing that her lady’s conduct
was not the same as formerly, had the
assurance to introduce and conceal her
lover in the house, conscious, that although
her mistress should perceive,
she durst not detect him in that situation.
Among other disadvantages
incurred by these slips of women of fashion,
they become slaves to their
own servants, and find themselves
obliged to connive at their impudence
and vice.

‘This was the very case of Camilla,
who, though she more than once observed
Leonela engaged with her gallant,
in one of the chambers, far from
reprimanding her on that score, she
gave opportunities of concealing him,
and did all she could to prevent his
being seen by her husband. But all
their caution could not screen him
from the notice of Lothario; who,
perceiving him come out of the house,
one morning at break of day, and not
knowing who he was, at first mistook
him for a phantom; but seeing him
run away, and seek to hide himself
with care and concern, he soon changed
that simple opinion for another,
which would have ruined them all,
had not Camilla found out an expedient
to prevent their destruction. He
was so far from thinking, that this
man whom he saw coming out of Anselmo’s
house, at such an unseasonable
hour, had gone in on Leonela’s account,
that he did not even remember
there was such a person in the world;
on the contrary, he was firmly persuaded,
that Camilla, who yielded so
easily to his addresses, had acted in the
same manner to some other person;
for this additional misfortune attends
a loose woman, that she loses her credit
even with the man by whose importunities
and intreaties her honour
has subdued. Nay, he believes, that
she will be more easily won by another
than by him, and implicitly credits
every suspicion that may arise from
that unjust inference. On this occasion,
Lothario’s good sense failed, and
// File: 0312.png
.pn +1
all his caution seemed to vanish;
since, regardless of every thing that
was right or reasonable, without farther
examination, he hied him to Anselmo
before he was up, where, impatient
and blind with the jealous fury
that preyed upon his entrails, and inflamed
with the desire of being revenged
upon Camilla, who had given
him no offence, he expressed himself
thus.

‘“You must know, Anselmo, that
for some days past, I have had a continual
struggle with myself, endeavouring
to suppress that which I
no longer either can or ought to conceal
from your knowledge. The
fortress of Camilla is at last surrendered,
and submitted entirely to the
dominion of my will. This I have
delayed imparting to you, until I
should be certain whether her compliance
was owing to some transient
flash of affection, or to the desire of
trying the sincerity of those addresses
which, by your own direction, were
carried on; and I likewise concluded,
that if she was a woman of honour
and virtue as we both imagined,
she would ere now have given
you an account of my solicitation.
But finding that still undone, I take
it for granted she means to keep her
promise of giving me an interview in
the wardrobe, the very next time you
go to the country; (and here it was
where Camilla actually used to entertain
him) but I should not wish
that you would run precipitately into
any scheme of vengeance. However,
as the crime is committed in
thought only, before an opportunity
offers of performing that promise,
Camilla may change her mind, and
repent of her weakness. Wherefore,
as you have hitherto, in whole or in
part, followed my advice, I hope
you will treasure up and observe one
which I shall now offer, that you
may, without the least possibility of
being deceived, carefully and cautiously
satisfy yourself, so as to take
such measures as your prudence shall
suggest. You may pretend that you
are going, as usual, for two or three
days to the country, and in the mean
time conceal yourself in the wardrobe,
where you will find tapestry
and plenty of other things for the
purpose; from thence you, with your
// File: 0313.png
own eyes, as I with mine, will observe
the conduct of Camilla, and
if unhappily you should find more
cause to fear than to hope, you may
in person revenge your own wrongs,
with silence, safety, and discretion.”

‘Anselmo was thunderstruck at this
declaration of Lothario, which came
upon him when he least expected it;
for he already looked upon Camilla
as a conqueror in the fictitious assaults
of his friend, and had actually began
to enjoy the glory of her triumph.
After having stood silent for
a long time, with his eyes fixed upon
the ground, “Lothario,” said he,
“you have acted up to the expectation
of my friendship: I will adhere to
your advice in every thing; do what
you please; I hope you will keep
this unexpected affair as secret as the
nature of it requires.”

‘His false friend promised to observe
the caution; but soon as he quitted
the apartment, repented of every
thing he had said, reflecting how
foolishly he had proceeded, and that
he might have punished Camilla by
means less cruel and dishonourable.
He cursed his own folly, condemned
his precipitation, and endeavoured to
find out some expedient to undo what
he had done, or at least bring it to
some favourable issue. At length,
he resolved to disclose the whole to
Camilla, as there wanted not opportunities
of being with her alone; and
that very day being together, she
made use of the first that happened,
addressing herself to him in this manner.
“Know, my dear Lothario,
that my heart is ready to burst with
one affliction, which is so grievous
that it will be a wonder if I survive
it: Leonela is arrived to such a
pitch of impudence, that every
night she introduces a gallant into
the house, and remains with him
till morning, very much at the expence
of my reputation, as the field
is left open for any malicious construction,
upon seeing a man come
out of my house at such unseasonable
hours; and the misfortune is, I dare
neither chide nor chastise her for her
audacity; for her being privy to our
correspondence puts a bridle in my
mouth, obliging me to be silent on
the subject of her folly, from which
I fear some mischance will befal us.”
// File: 0314.png
.pn +1

‘When Camilla began this discourse,
Lothario imagined it was an artifice
to deceive and persuade him that the
man he had seen coming out of the
house had been there on Leonela’s account
only; but, seeing his mistress
weep, and in the utmost affection entreat
him to find out some remedy for
this inconvenience, he was convinced
of the truth, and covered with shame
and remorse for what he had done;
nevertheless, he desired Camilla to
make herself easy, and promised to
fall upon some method to curb Leonela’s
insolence. He then told her
what, instigated by the rage of jealousy,
he had disclosed to Anselmo,
who by his appointment was to conceal
himself in the wardrobe, that he
might have an incontestible proof of
her infidelity: he begged pardon for
his madness, with advice how to remedy
it, and to extricate himself from
the labyrinth in which he was involved
by his own imprudence. Camilla
was astonished at the discourse of Lothario,
whom she chid and reprimanded
with great reason and resentment,
for the groundless suspicion which had
driven him to such a mad and mischievous
resolution; but women having
naturally more invention than men
can boast of, either for a good or bad
occasion, though sometimes they fail
in premeditated schemes, Camilla instantly
thought of a cure for this seemingly
incurable dilemma, and bade
Lothario prevail upon her husband to
conceal himself in the appointed place,
the very next day; for she hoped to
reap such advantage from his concealment,
as that for the future they
should enjoy each other without the
least fear or interruption. She, therefore,
without disclosing to her lover
the whole of her plan, desired him to
take care, when Anselmo was hid, to
come at Leonela’s call, and answer
every question she should ask, in the
same manner as he would reply if he
did not know that her husband was
within hearing. Lothario insisted upon
knowing the particulars of her scheme,
that he might with more security and
success perform his cue; but Camilla
assured him he had nothing to do but
answer her questions with truth and
sincerity; being unwilling to make
him previously acquainted with her design,
lest he should disapprove of that
// File: 0315.png
which to her seemed so necessary, and
recommend another which perhaps
she might not think so effectual. Accordingly,
Lothario took his leave, and
next day Anselmo, under pretence of
going to his friend’s country-house,
set out, but soon returned to his hiding-place;
Camilla and her maid having
purposely given him an opportunity
of getting in unseen. There he
remained in a state of perturbation,
which may be easily conceived to harrass
the breast of a man who expected
to see with his own eyes the bowels
of his honour dissected, and found
himself on the brink of losing that supreme
bliss which he thought he possessed
in his beloved Camilla.

‘She and her maid, by this time,
certified of his being there, went to
the wardrobe, which Camilla no sooner
entered, than heaving a profound
sigh, “Dear Leonela,” said she, “rather
than execute the design which I
conceal from your knowledge, that
you may not endeavour to prevent it,
would it not be better for you to
take this poignard of Anselmo, and
plunge it in my unfortunate bosom?
Yet do not, Leonela; for it were unreasonable
that I should be punished
for another’s crime; I want first to
know what the daring and licentious
eyes of Lothario have discerned in my
conduct, that should encourage him
to declare a passion so guilty as that
which he hath owned, so much to my
dishonour and the prejudice of his
friend. Go to that window, Leonela,
and beckon to him, for doubtless
he is now in the street, expecting to
succeed in his wicked intention; but
I shall first execute mine, which is
equally honourable and severe.”—“Alas,
Madam!” answered the cunning
and well-instructed Leonela,
“how do you intend to use that fatal
poignard? are you determined to
take away your own life, or that of
Lothario? by sacrificing either the
one or the other, you will entirely
ruin your own reputation. You
should rather stifle your wrongs, than
give that wicked wretch an opportunity
of finding us here alone; consider,
Madam, that we are but weak
women, and he a determined man,
who, blinded by his guilty passion,
may by force deprive you of that
which you value more than life, before
// File: 0316.png
.pn +1
you can execute your purpose
upon him. A plague upon my master
Anselmo, for allowing that impudent
fellow to be so free in his
house! besides, Madam, should you
kill him, as I believe you intend to
do, what shall we do with him after
he is dead?”—“Nothing, my friend,”
replied Camilla, “but let Anselmo
bury him; for he ought to take
pleasure in the task of interring his
own infamy. Go and beckon to him,
I say, for every moment I delay my
just revenge seems to injure afresh
that fidelity which I owe to my
husband.”

‘All this conversation was overheard
by Anselmo, whose sentiments were
entirely changed by what Camilla said;
and when he understood that she intended
to kill Lothario, he was inclined
to come out and discover himself,
in order to prevent the deed; but
he was diverted from that resolution
by the desire of seeing the issue of his
wife’s gallant and virtuous determination;
purposing, however, to appear
seasonably enough for the safety
of his friend.

‘About this time Camilla throwing
herself upon a couch, was seized with
a violent fit, during which Leonela
wept bitterly, exclaiming, “Ah,
woe is me! must I then see, expiring
in these unfortunate arms, the flower
of human virtue, the queen of excellent
wives, the pattern of chastity!”
with other epithets of the same
kind, which nobody could have heard,
without esteeming her the most faithful
and afflicted damsel upon earth,
and her mistress another persecuted
Penelope. Camilla, having soon recovered
from her fit, said to her woman,
“Why don’t you go and call
this the most faithful friend that ever
was seen by the day, or shrouded by
the night? Make haste; go, run, fly;
let not the fire of my rage be consumed
by your delay, and the just
vengeance I mean to take evaporate
in curses and unsubstantial threats.”—“I
go,” answered Leonela, “but
you must first give me that poignard,
lest, in my absence, you do a deed
to make all those who love you weep
to the end of their lives.”—“Go,
dear Leonela,” replied her mistress,
“and fear nothing; for although, in
your opinion, I may be rash and even
// File: 0317.png
unreasonable, in thus resenting the
affront upon my honour; I shall not
behave like that Lucretia, who, ’tis
said, killed herself, though innocent,
without having first punished the villainous
cause of her misfortune. If
I must die, I will at least fall fully
revenged of him who is the occasion
of my being here, to bewail his audacious
behaviour, which, I am sure,
proceeded from no misconduct of
mine.”

‘Many intreaties did she use, before
Leonela would go and call Lothario,
but at length she prevailed; the maid
went out to seek him, and, in her absence,
Camilla uttered the following
soliloquy. “Good Heaven! would
it not have been more prudent to dismiss
Lothario as usual, than to give
him this occasion of thinking me vicious
and immodest, even though that
opinion can only last until I have an
opportunity of undeceiving him?
Yes, certainly; but I shall not think
myself revenged, nor the honour of my
husband sufficiently vindicated, if he
escapes so smooth and clean from this
snare into which his wicked inclinations
have decoyed him. Let the traitor
pay with his life for the enterprize
of his lascivious desire; the world
shall know, if even the affair be made
publick, that Camilla not only preserved
her affection for her husband
inviolate, but also took vengeance on
the man who thought to impair it.
Yet, methinks, I ought to disclose
the whole to Anselmo; but I have
already touched upon the subject, in
the letter I sent to him when he was
in the country; and his omitting to
apply a remedy to the evil I then
hinted at, must certainly be owing to
his own integrity and unsuspecting
heart, which would not suffer him to
believe, that the breast of such a constant
friend could harbour one
thought to the prejudice of his honour;
indeed, this was my own opinion,
until his behaviour became intolerably
licentious, and his presents,
promises, and tears, fully manifested
his guilty purpose. But, wherefore
these reflections? does a gallant resolution
stand in need of hesitating
advice? No! traitor, avaunt! hither
vengeance! enter, thou false, perfidious
wretch, come, quick, be speedy,
die, and let the consequence be what
// File: 0318.png
.pn +1
it will! Pure and unspotted I came
into the possession of him whom Heaven
appointed to be my husband and
my lord, and equally pure shall I
leave his embrace, though bathed in
my own chaste blood, and embrued
in the tainted gore of the falsest
friend that ever friendship saw!” So
saying, she brandished the drawn dagger
in her hand, and stalked across
the room with such disordered steps
and violent gestures, that she seemed
to have lost her senses, and looked
more like a desperate ruffian than a
delicate wife.

‘All this transport and agitation was
perceived, with astonishment, by Anselmo,
where he stood concealed behind
the tapestry; he thought he had
now seen and heard enough to dispel
suspicions of a stronger kind than those
he entertained; and even wished that
the proof might proceed no farther,
by Lothario’s failing to keep the
appointment; for he was afraid that
some sudden unlucky accident might
happen. Being therefore on the point
of shewing himself, and running to
embrace and undeceive his wife, he
was prevented by seeing Leonela return
with his friend, whom Camilla
no sooner beheld, than drawing a line
before her, with the dagger, she said,
“Take notice, Lothario, if you attempt
to pass this line, or even approach
it, the moment I perceive your
intention, I will plunge the poignard
in my breast. Without offering
the least reply, therefore, to this
declaration, I desire you will listen
to some questions I mean to ask,
which you may answer as you shall
think proper; in the first place, tell
me, Lothario, if you know my husband
Anselmo, and what station he
maintains in your opinion? and then
be as explicit in your sentiments of
me; answer without perturbation or
difficulty, for the questions I ask are
easily solved.”

‘Lothario was not so ignorant, but
that he had conceived her design, from
the moment of her desiring him to advise
Anselmo to conceal himself; and
therefore his replies were so seasonable,
and corresponded so exactly with her
aim, that this fiction had all the air
of the most genuine truth. “Beauteous
Camilla,” said he, “I did not
imagine you had sent for me with a
// File: 0319.png
view of asking questions so foreign
to the purpose for which I come; if
you meant to delay the promised bliss,
you might have protracted the assignation
to a more distant term; for,
the nearer the prospect of enjoyment
is, the more grievous will the disappointment
be: but that you may
have no cause to complain of my refusing
to answer your demands, I
will own that I know your husband
Anselmo, with whom I have been
intimate from our most tender years.
Of the friendship (as you know) subsisting
between us, I will say nothing,
that I may not bear witness to the
wrong which love, the powerful excuse
of greater crimes, compels me
to commit: you too I know, and
rate as high as you can possibly be in
his esteem; for a prize of less value I
should not have acted so unbecoming
my own character, or transgressed
those laws of perfect friendship,
which I have broken and violated, at
the instigation of that mischievous
and irresistible power.”

‘“Since thou art self-convicted so
far,” replied Camilla, “thou mortal
enemy to all that merits love!
with what face darest thou appear
before her who is the mirror that reflects
him, and in which thou oughtest
to have seen how little reason and encouragement
thou hadst to wrong his
honour; but, unfortunate that I am!
I have found out the cause that induced
thee to forget thyself so far;
it must have been some lightness of
carriage in me; immodesty I will not
call it, because it could not be the
effect of deliberate determination, but
must have proceeded from a neglect
of some of those forms which women
often inadvertently omit before those
whom they think they can entertain
without ceremony. Otherwise, tell
me, traitor, when did I ever answer
thy addresses with any word or sign
that could awaken in thy breast the
least glimpse of hope to accomplish
thy infamous aim? Did I not always
reject and reprove thy amorous protestations
with rigour and severity?
and when were thy promises
and presents believed and accepted?
But, as I think no person could long
persevere in such a flagitious intention,
without being supported by
some sort of hope, I am willing to
// File: 0320.png
.pn +1
lay the blame of your impertinence
at my own door; since, without doubt,
some failure of care in me, hath
enabled you to exert yours so long;
and therefore, I will inflict upon
myself the punishment that your
crime deserves; but that you may
see, in being thus inhuman to myself,
it was impossible for me to deal
mildly by you, I have invited you
hither, to be witness of the sacrifice
I mean to offer to the injured honour
of my noble husband, whom you
have aggrieved to the utmost of your
power, I myself being accessary to
the wrong, because I have not industriously
enough avoided all occasion,
if I gave you any, of favouring
and countenancing your wicked
inclinations. I say, the suspicion I
have, that some levity of mine engendered
such frantick sentiments in
your bosom, gives me the utmost
pain, and prompts me to chastise my
indiscretion with my own hands, rather
than make my fault more publick,
by submitting to another executioner;
but, if I must perish, my
fall shall be accompanied with the
death of him whose blood will satisfy
the vengeance which I already in
some measure enjoy, when I consider
that wheresoever I go, I shall
have before mine eyes, the victim I
offered to the most disinterested justice,
in punishing the wretch who hath reduced
me to this despair.”

‘So saying, she assaulted Lothario
with incredible force and agility, manifesting
such eagerness to plunge the
poignard in his breast, that he himself
doubted whether her endeavours
were feigned or real; and was actually
obliged to exert his whole strength
in defending himself from Camilla,
who acted this strange imposture so
much to the life, that, in order to
give it the greater appearance of truth,
she resolved to colour it with her own
blood; for seeing, or feigning, that she
could not touch Lothario, she cried,
“Though fate denies me the full satisfaction
of my just desire, it cannot
rob me of one part of my revenge.”
With these words, struggling to disengage
her dagger-hand, which was
held by Lothario, she at last succeeded,
and directing her poignard to a
part of her body, which she thought
she might slightly wound without danger,
// File: 0321.png
she sheathed it between her shoulder
and left-breast, and fell upon the
floor as in a swoon.

‘Leonela and Lothario were astonished
and confounded at this
event, and still dubious whether or
not Camilla was in earnest, when they
saw her stretched upon the ground,
and bathed in her own blood. Lothario
ran, in the utmost fright and
consternation, to draw forth the dagger;
but perceiving what a superficial
wound she had made, he recovered
of the terror which had began to seize
him, and could not help admiring
anew, the uncommon sagacity, prudence,
and discretion, of the beautiful
Camilla; that he might therefore proceed
in the part he had to act, he began
to make long and sorrowful lamentation
over the body, as if she
had been really dead, imprecating a
thousand curses, not only upon himself,
but also upon him who was the
original cause of this disaster; and as
he knew that Anselmo was listening,
said such melancholy things, that
whosoever had heard him, would have
pitied his case, as much as that of Camilla,
though they had believed her
actually dead.

‘Leonela lifted her up, and laying
her on the bed, earnestly entreated
Lothario to find some person who
would cure her privately; and begged
he would advise her, with regard to
what she should tell Anselmo, about
her lady’s wound, in case he should
return before she was cured: he said
she might tell him what she pleased,
for he was then in no condition to
give any profitable advice about the
matter; he only desired her to fall
upon some method of staunching the
blood, and declared that for his own
part he would go where man should
never see him. He accordingly departed
with the appearance of infinite
grief and anxiety, and when he found
himself alone, in a private place,
crossed himself with amazement at the
invention of Camilla, and the artful
behaviour of her maid. He could easily
conceive that Anselmo was by this
time thoroughly convinced of his having
a second Portia for his wife; and
was impatient to see him, that they
might together extol her behaviour,
which, though imposture, had more
appearance of truth than any thing
// File: 0322.png
.pn +1
of the same kind that had ever been
practised.

‘Leonela, as she was desired, stopped
her lady’s blood, of which there was
just enough to give credit to her artifice;
and washing the wound with a
little wine, bound it up as well as she
could, uttering such sorrowful expressions
all the time, as would have been
sufficient, without any previous lamentation,
to persuade Anselmo that
his wife was the mirror of chastity.
Leonela’s complaints were joined by
those of her mistress, who taxed herself
with cowardice and pusillanimity,
in having lost the best opportunity
she should ever have of parting with
that life which she abhorred. She
consulted her maid about disclosing
the whole affair to her beloved spouse;
but this scheme Leonela opposed, observing
that it would lay her master under
an obligation of taking vengeance
on Lothario; a satisfaction he could
not enjoy without exposing himself
to great danger; and that a virtuous
woman, far from seeking to involve
her husband in quarrels, was in duty
bound to keep him free of all such
disputes, by every method in her
power. Camilla seemed to approve
of her maid’s prudence, and promised
to follow her advice; but said it
would be necessary at all events to
invent some excuse to Anselmo about
the wound, which he could not fail
of observing. Leonela assuring her,
that they could never tell a lye even in
jest, the mistress replied, “What
shall I do then, child? for I would
not attempt to frame and maintain
a falshood, even though my life depended
upon it; since, therefore, we
know not how to extricate ourselves
otherwise, we must e’en discover the
naked truth, rather than run the risk
of being detected in a lye.”—“Don’t
give yourself any farther uneasiness,
Madam,” said Leonela; “by to-morrow
morning I shall have found some
expedient; perhaps the wound being
where it is, may be concealed from
his view, and Heaven vouchsafe to
favour our upright and honourable
intention. Compose yourself, dear
Madam, endeavour to calm the perturbation
of your spirits, that my
master may not perceive your disorder,
and leave the consequence to my
// File: 0323.png
care and that of Heaven, which never
fails to favour the righteous design.”

‘Anselmo listened with the utmost
attention to this tragedy of the death
of his honour, which was represented
with such exquisite and surprizing address,
that the actors seemed really
transformed into the very characters
they feigned; he longed impatiently
for night, and an opportunity of
escaping unseen, that he might fly to
his worthy friend Lothario, and receive
his congratulation upon the precious
jewel he had found in this vindication
of his wife’s virtue; they
took care to furnish him with the occasion
he wanted; and he, without
letting it slip, ran immediately in
quest of Lothario. It would be difficult
to describe the eagerness of his
embraces at meeting, or to recount the
expressions he used in the overflowings
of his satisfaction, and the extravagant
praises he bestowed on Camilla.
All these Lothario heard, without being
able to manifest the least signs of
joy; his reflections taxed him with the
deceit he had practised, and the injury
he had done his unsuspecting
friend. Anselmo took notice that he
did not seem to participate in his pleasure,
but believed his concern proceeded
from the thoughts of having
been the occasion of Camilla’s wound:
he therefore, among other things, told
him to make himself easy on that
score, for the hurt must certainly have
been very slight, as they had agreed
to conceal it from his knowledge;
and since there was no bad consequence
to be apprehended, he hoped
for the future to enjoy, in mirth and
good-humour, the friendship of his
dear Lothario, by whose industry and
mediation he now saw himself raised
to the most sublime pitch of human
felicity; at the same time he signified,
that his desire and design was to pursue
no other amusement than that of
composing verses in praise of Camilla,
that should transmit to latest posterity
the remembrance of her worth.

‘Lothario commended his laudable
determination, and promised to contribute
all that lay in his power towards
the rearing of such an illustrious
edifice; so that Anselmo being
the most agreeably deceived of any
man that ever lived, led by the hand
// File: 0324.png
.pn +1
to his own house, the very man who,
though in his opinion the instrument
of his glory, was the total perdition
of his fame. Camilla received him
with a countenance expressing resentment,
but a soul brimful of joy; and
their secret correspondence continued
uninterrupted for a few months, at
the end of which the wheel of fortune
having performed a full circle, the
intrigue, which had been hitherto so
artfully concealed, was discovered,
and Anselmo’s Impertinent Curiosity
cost him his life.’

.fn #
<lang=es><i>Sensato, secreto, sobrepusado, senzero</i></lang>; Sensible, secret, surpassing, and sincere.
.fn-
.sp 4
.h4 id=chap2-4-8
<abbr=chapter>CHAP.</abbr> <abbr=eight>VIII.</abbr> | THE CONCLUSION OF THE IMPERTINENT CURIOSITY.
.sp 2
A little more of this novel remained
to be read, when Sancho came
running in great confusion, from the
garret where his master Don Quixote
lay, bawling aloud, ‘Come hither,
gentlemen! make haste to the assistance
of my master, who is this precious
minute engaged and grappled in
the toughest battle that ever my eyes
beheld! Egad, he has given that same
giant, the enemy to my Lady the
princess of Micomicona, such a back-stroke,
as hath sliced off his head as
smooth and clean as the skin of a
turnip.’—‘What do you mean, brother?’
said the curate, closing the
book; ‘are you in your right wits,
Sancho? How the devil can your master
be fighting with a giant who is
two thousand leagues from hence?’

That instant they heard a great noise
in the apartment, and Don Quixote proclaiming
aloud, ‘Stay, villain! robber!
caitiff! here I have thee, and thy scymitar
shall not avail.’ Then he began
to strike furiously at the walls; and
Sancho exclaimed, ‘Don’t stand here
listening, but go in and part the fray,
or lend your assistance to my master,
though I believe that will be needless
by this time, for the giant is certainly
dead, and giving an account to God
of his wicked and misspent life: nay,
I saw, with my own eyes, his blood
running about the floor, and his head
cut off, laying on one side, as a large
wine bag.’—‘May I be hanged,’
cried the innkeeper, at these words, ‘if
this Don Quixote, or Don Devil, has
// File: 0325.png
not cut open one of the skins filled
with red wine, that stood at his bed’s
head, and the wine that ran out is
mistaken by this simple fellow for
blood!’

So saying, he rushed into the apartment
with the whole company at his
heels, and found the knight in a very
ludicrous situation; he appeared in his
shirt, which was too scanty before to
cover his thighs, and still shorter behind,
by six inches at least, and displayed
a pair of long lank legs, imbrowned
with hair, and not extremely
clean; his head was covered with a little,
red, greasy night-cap, belonging to
the landlord; round his left-arm he
had wrapped the blanket of his bed, to
which Sancho, for good reasons known
to himself, bore an inveterate grudge;
and in his right, he wielded his drawn
sword, with which he laid about him
at a furious rate, talking as if he was
actually at blows with the giant; but,
what was very surprizing, his eyes were
shut all the time, and he was fast asleep,
dreaming of this encounter; for his
imagination was so much engrossed by
the adventure he had undertaken to atchieve,
as to make him dream that he
was already arrived in the kingdom of
Micomicon, and engaged in single combat
with his gigantick adversary; instead
of whom, he hacked the wine-bags
so furiously, that the whole room
was afloat with their contents.

The innkeeper no sooner perceived
this havock, than incensed to the last
degree, he assaulted Don Quixote with
his clenched fists, and began to pummel
him so severely, that if the curate
and Cardenio had not interposed, he
would soon have put an end to the adventure
of the giant; yet, for all that,
the poor knight did not awake until the
barber fetching a kettle of cold water
from the well, soused him all
over; even then, though sleep forsook
him, he did not recollect the situation
he was in; and Dorothea, seeing him
so slight and airily equipped, did not
chuse to be a spectator of the combat
between her adversary and protector.
Meanwhile, Sancho went about the
room, prying into every corner, and
searching for the giant’s head; which
when he could not find, ‘I know,’
said he, ‘that every thing goes by inchantment
in this house: the last
time I was in this very spot, I received
// File: 0326.png
.pn +1
a great many thwacks and
thumps without seeing a soul, or being
able to guess from whence they
came; and now this head is vanished,
though I saw it cut off with mine own
eyes, and the blood spout out of the
body, like water from a fountain.’—‘What!
dost thou talk of blood and
fountains, thou enemy of God and
his saints!’ cried the inn-keeper;
‘don’t you see, rascal, that there is no
blood or fountain, but the skins that
are pierced, and the red wine that
swims about the room? I hope the
soul of him who pierced them, will
swim in hell!’—‘I know nothing of
the matter,’ replied Sancho; ‘but that,
on account of my not finding the
head, I shall see my earldom dissolve
like salt in water.’

Thus the squire, though awake, was
more extravagant than Don Quixote in
his dream; such an impression had his
master’s promises made upon his imagination.
The phlegmatick temper of
the squire, together with the mischievous
disposition of the knight, well-nigh
distracted the landlord, who swore, that
they should not now, as formerly, go
away without paying; and that all the
privilege of their errantry should not
exempt them from paying both reckonings
to the last farthing, for the damage
they had done, even to the bits of leather
for patching the wine-skins that
were cut. The curate, by this time, had
got hold of the hands of Don Quixote,
who, believing he had now finished the
adventure, and was in presence of the
Princess Micomicona, fell upon his
knees before the priest, saying, ‘Renowned
princess, your highness may
henceforth live secure of what that
misbegotten wretch can do; and I,
from this day forward, am acquitted
of my promise, which is now, by the
assistance of Heaven above, and the
favour of her for whom I live and
breathe, happily and fully performed.’—‘Did
not I tell you so?’ cried
Sancho, hearing these words. ‘You
see I am not drunk, and may take
notice that my master hath put the
giant in pickle: the holidays will certainly
come round, and the earldom
fit me to a hair.’

Who could refrain from laughing at
the follies of the master and man? they
occasioned abundance of mirth to every
one present, except the landlord, who
// File: 0327.png
cursed himself to the devil. At length
the barber, curate, and Cardenio, with
no small difficulty, put the knight to
bed again, where he fell fast asleep in
an instant, like one who had been excessively
fatigued; they left him to his
repose, and went out to console Sancho
for his disappointment in losing the giant’s
head; but they found it a harder
task to pacify the innkeeper, who was
driven almost to despair, by the sudden
death of his wine-bags; besides, the
landlady began to cry, in a whimpering
tone, ‘In an unlucky minute and evil
hour did this knight-errant enter my
doors! for I am sure, I never beheld
him without paying dearly for the
sight! The last time he was here, he
refused to defray a whole night’s expence
of supper, lodging, straw, and
barley, for himself and his squire,
his horse and his ass; saying that he
was a knight-errant, forsooth: (God
send him and all other knights-errant
upon errands that will tend to their
sorrow!) and therefore, was not obliged
to pay for any thing, because
it was not ordained in the registers of
chivalry; then, this gentleman coming
after him t’other day, borrowed
my tail, and though I have got it
again, it is a good penny the worse
for the wearing, the hair being plucked
off in such a manner as makes it
unfit for my husband’s purpose; and
to finish and conclude the whole, my
bags are broke, and my wine spilt;
(would I could see his heart’s blood
in the same condition!) but he must
not think to get off so easily, for by
the bones of my father, and my mother’s
soul! they shall pay for every
thing upon the nail; or, may I never
be called by my own name again, or
believed to be my father’s own child!’

These, and other expressions of the
same kind, were uttered, with great
bitterness, by the landlady; and her
faithful servant Maritornes joined in the
exclamation; while the daughter held
her peace, and, from time to time,
smiled at their indignation, which at
last was appeased by the curate, who
promised to give them satisfaction, to
the best of his power, for the loss they
had sustained in bags and wine, and,
in particular, for the damage done to
the tail, which they valued so highly;
and Dorothea comforted Sancho, by telling
him, that as soon as ever it should
// File: 0328.png
.pn +1
appear that his master had actually cut
off the giant’s head, and she should
find herself in quiet possession of her
kingdom, she would bestow upon him
the best earldom in her gift. The
squire was consoled by this promise,
and assured the princess, that he was
certain he had seen the giant’s head, by
the same token that he had a huge
beard that flowed down to his middle;
and that the whole was now vanished,
because every thing in that house was
performed by inchantment, as he had
found by woeful experience, the last
time he had lodged in that apartment.
Dorothea said she was of the same opinion,
desiring he would give himself no
uneasiness, for every thing would be
for the best, and succeed to his heart’s
content. The quiet of the house being
thus re-established, the curate wanted
to read the remaining part of the novel,
which he perceived already drew near
a close; and Cardenio, Dorothea, and
the rest, intreating him to finish the story,
he, with a view of pleasing them as
well as himself, proceeded in these
words.

‘Anselmo being now satisfied of his
wife’s virtue, enjoyed himself without
the least disturbance or care; while
Camilla, in order to disguise her real
sentiments, affected always to frown
upon Lothario, who, as a farther sanction
to this stratagem, desired Anselmo
to excuse him from coming to his
house, since it was plain that Camilla
was disgusted at his presence: but the
infatuated Anselmo would by no
means comply with this request; so
that this unhappy husband was, in a
thousand shapes, the author of his
own dishonour, while, in his own
opinion, he was laying up a store of
happiness and reputation.

‘About this time Leonela’s desire of
gratifying her own loose wishes, carried
her to such a pitch of imprudence, that
she gave her wantonness the rein without
the least caution; conscious that
her mistress would conceal her conduct,
and even advise her how to carry
on the intrigue without the least danger
of being detected. At length, however,
Anselmo, one night heard somebody
walking in her apartment, and
endeavouring to get in and see who it
was, found the door shut against him.
This circumstance increased his desire,
he made a violent effort, and the
// File: 0329.png
door flew open, upon which he entered,
and seeing a man leap out of
the window into the street, ran hastily
to lay hold or get sight of him;
but he was disappointed in both by
Leonela, who hanging upon her master,
cried, “Hold, dear Sir! be not
surprized, nor seek to pursue the person
who is fled; he was here on my
account, and is as good as my wedded
husband.”

‘Anselmo would give no credit to
her words, but, blinded with passion,
drew his poignard to stab Leonela,
whom he commanded to reveal the
truth on pain of immediate death.
She, terrified by his threats, answered,
without knowing what she said,
“Spare my life, good Sir, and I will
disclose things of greater importance
than you imagine.”—“Speak, then,”
cried Anselmo, “or thou shalt instantly
die.”—“At present,” replied
Leonela, “I am in such perturbation,
that I cannot possibly make a distinct
confession; delay your vengeance
till to-morrow morning, and then
you shall hear something that will
strike you with astonishment: meanwhile,
be assured, that he who leaped
out of the window, is a young man
of this city, who has given me a
promise of marriage.”

‘Anselmo being somewhat pacified
by this declaration, resolved to grant
the respite she demanded; though he
never dreamed of hearing any thing
to the prejudice of Camilla, of whose
virtue he was satisfied and secure;
he therefore quitted the room, in
which however he locked up Leonela,
telling her she must continue in that
place, until she should have made this
promised discovery; then going to
Camilla, informed her of every thing
that had passed, together with the
promise her maid had made of discovering
things of great importance.
It is almost needless to say that Camilla
was disturbed at this information:
the terror that took possession
of her was such, that believing, with
good reason too, Leonela would actually
disclose to Anselmo every circumstance
of her infidelity, she had
not resolution enough to wait the issue
of her suspicion; but that very night,
while her husband was asleep, collected
the best of her jewels, with some
money, and getting out of the house,
// File: 0330.png
.pn +1
without being perceived, fled to Lothario,
and recounted what had happened,
at the same time beseeching
him to put her in a place of safety, or
accompany her to some retreat, where
they should be secure from the search
of Anselmo.

‘Such was the confusion of Lothario,
at the news of this unexpected
event, that he could not answer one
syllable, nor for some time resolve
upon what was to be done. At length
he proposed to carry Camilla to a monastery,
the abbess of which was his
first cousin; and his mistress consenting
to the proposal, he conducted her
thither with all the dispatch which the
nature of the case required, and leaving
her to the care of his relation,
quitted the city that very night, without
imparting the cause of his absence
to any living soul.

‘Next morning, soon as it was day,
Anselmo, without perceiving that Camilla
was gone, so eagerly did he
long to hear this confession of her
maid, arose and went directly to the
room in which he had confined her;
but he no sooner opened the door,
and entered the apartment, than he
perceived the sheets of the bed tied together,
hanging out of the window;
a manifest proof that Leonela had
lowered herself down into the street,
by means of that contrivance: he then
returned, with a good deal of chagrin,
to communicate his disappointment to
Camilla, whom when he could not
find, he was seized with the utmost
consternation, especially as none of
the servants could give the least account
of her departure; but chancing,
in the course of his enquiry, to
find the coffers open, and the best
part of her jewels carried off, he began
to comprehend his disgrace; and
concluded that Leonela was not the
cause of his misfortune.

‘Dispirited with this reflection, he
did not stay to dress, but went in a
most disconsolate situation, to give an
account of his mishap to his friend
Lothario; and when he understood
from his servants, that their master
had gone out in the night, and carried
all his ready money along with
him, he had well-nigh lost his senses.
To crown his misery, he returned to
his own house, which was deserted
by all his servants, and found himself
// File: 0331.png
the most solitary being in nature; he
knew not what to think, say, or do,
and his judgment began to be impaired;
for, upon recollection, he perceived
that he was in an instant deprived
of wife, friend, and servants,
renounced by Heaven, and, what
he felt more deeply than any other
part of his disaster, destitute of honour,
by the misconduct of Camilla,
from which he dated his utter destruction.
At length, after a long
internal struggle, he resolved to go to
the country-house of his friend, where
he had been, when he furnished the
opportunity of planning his own ruin.
Accordingly, having locked his door,
he mounted his horse, and almost
fainting under the burden of his woes,
set out for that place; but scarce had
he travelled one half of the way, when
harrassed by his shocking reflections,
he was obliged to alight and tie his
horse to a tree, at the root of which
he threw himself down, giving vent
to the most lamentable sighs that ever
were heaved: there he remained till
the twilight; about which time,
perceiving a man coming on horseback
from the city, after salutation,
he asked what news were stirring at
Florence. “The strangest,” replied
the citizen, “that have been
heard these many days; it is publickly
reported, that Lothario, the
intimate friend of Anselmo the rich,
who lived at <abbr=Saint>St.</abbr> John’s, hath this
last night carried off the wife of
his friend, who is also missing.
This discovery was made to the governor
by Camilla’s maid, who was
detected in letting herself down by
a sheet, from one of the windows of
Anselmo’s house. In short, I do not
know the particulars exactly; but
the whole city is astonished at this
event, which they could never have
expected from the intimacy of the
two gentlemen, who were so strictly
united in the bands of amity, as to
acquire the title of the Two Friends.”—“Do
you know what road Lothario
and Camilla have taken?” said Anselmo.
“That is not yet discovered,”
replied the traveller; “though the governor
hath used great diligence in
the enquiry.” Anselmo wished him
a good evening; and the citizen having
returned the compliment, proceeded
on his journey.
// File: 0332.png
.pn +1

‘These unhappy news reduced this
ill-fated husband to the verge of
death as well as distraction. He
mounted, however, as well as he
could, and arrived at the house of his
friend, who had not as yet heard of
his misfortune; but seeing him so exhausted,
ghastly, and pale, imagined he
had met with some grievous disaster.
Anselmo begged to be put to bed immediately,
and furnished with pen,
ink, and paper: thus provided, he
was left alone, and the chamber locked
at his own desire; then the remembrance
of his misfortune began to be
so heavy upon his soul, that he plainly
perceived his end approaching, and
being desirous of declaring the cause
of his strange and sudden death, he
took up the pen; but, before he could
execute his design, his breath failed
him, and he expired, a victim to that
sorrow which was occasioned by his
own impertinent curiosity. His friend
finding it grow late, and that Anselmo
had not called, went into his
chamber, to enquire about his health;
there he found him lying upon his
face, one half of his body in bed,
and the other on the table, with a pen
in his hand, and a written paper lying
open before him.

‘The gentleman having spoke to
him without receiving any answer,
took him by the hand, and feeling
him cold and stiff, concluded he was
dead. Surprized and concerned to
the last degree, he called up his family
to be witnesses of this melancholy
event, and knowing the paper
to be Anselmo’s own hand-writing,
read the contents, in these words:
“I am deprived of life by my own impertinent
curiosity. If the news of
my death reach Camilla’s ears, let
her know that I forgive her infidelity;
for she was not bound to perform
miracles, nor I under any necessity
of expecting them at her
hands: since, therefore, I have been
the contriver of my own dishonour,
there is no reason that——” So far he
had written, but life had forsaken
him, before he could finish the sentence.
Next day his friend sent an
account of his death to his parents,
who were already informed of his
mischance, as also of the convent to
which Camilla had retreated; and
where she now lay at the point of accompanying
// File: 0333.png
her spouse in his last indispensible
journey; not so much on
account of Anselmo’s death, as in
consequence of the information she
received concerning her absent lover;
it was said, that though she was now
a widow, she would neither quit the
convent nor take the veil; but, in a
little time the news arrived of Lothario’s
being killed in a battle which
was fought between the renowned
Captain Gonçalo Fernandes de Cordova,
and Monsieur De Lautrec, in
the kingdom of Naples, whither this
too-late repenting friend had made his
retreat. This event was no sooner
known, than Camilla professed herself
a nun, and in a few days yielded up
her life a prey to grief and melancholy.
Such was the untimely end
to which they were all brought from a
beginning of whim and indiscretion.’

‘This novel,’ said the curate, ‘is
not amiss; but I cannot think the
story is true; and if it be feigned, the
author has erred in point of invention;
for it cannot be supposed that
any husband would be so mad as to
try this dangerous experiment of Anselmo:
had it been related of a gallant
and his mistress, it might have
passed; but with regard to a husband
and his wife, it is altogether improbable;
however, the manner of narrating
it is not disagreeable.’
.sp 4
.h4 id=chap2-4-9
<abbr=chapter>CHAP.</abbr> <abbr=nine>IX.</abbr> | AN ACCOUNT OF OTHER STRANGE ADVENTURES THAT HAPPENED AT THE INN.
.sp 2
At that instant the landlord, standing
at the inn-door, exclaimed,
‘There is a noble company: odd! if
they halt here, we shall sing for joy.’—‘What
company?’ said Cardenio.
‘Four men,’ replied the inn-keeper,
‘who ride with short stirrups, each of
them equipped with lance, target, and
mask, with a lady on a side-saddle,
dressed in white and veiled, and two
attendants on foot.’ When the priest
asked if they were near, he answered,
‘So near, that they are already at the
gate.’

Dorothea hearing this information,
put on her veil, and Cardenio withdrew
// File: 0334.png
.pn +1
into Don Quixote’s apartment. Immediately
the whole company announced
by the landlord, entered the inn-yard;
and the four horsemen, who
were persons of genteel mien and carriage,
instantly alighting, went to help
the lady from her horse, when one of
them taking her in his arms, placed her
in a chair that stood by the door of the
room in which Cardenio had concealed
himself. All this time neither she nor
they took off their masks, nor uttered
one syllable; but when she was seated,
she heaved a profound sigh, and let her
arms fall down on each side, like a person
fainting with weakness. While
the footman led the horses into the
stable, the curate being curious to know
who those persons were, so remarkable
in their silence and dress, went up and
put the question to one of the lacquies,
who answered, ‘Truly, Signior, we
are as ignorant in that particular as
you are; though they seem to be
people of condition, especially he who
took the lady in his arms, because
all the rest behave to him with great
respect, following his directions in
every thing with the utmost punctuality.’—‘And,
pray, who may the
lady be?’ said the priest. ‘We know
as little of her as of the man,’ replied
the lacquey; ‘for during the journey
I have never once beheld her face; I
have often heard her sigh bitterly,
and utter piercing groans, in every
one of which she seemed to yield her
very soul; but it is not to be wondered
at that we should know so little of
their affairs, my companion and I
having attended them two days only;
for, meeting us on the road, they intreated
and persuaded us to accompany
them as far as Andalusia, promising
to pay us handsomely for our
trouble.’—‘Have you never heard
one of them named?’ resumed the curate.
‘Never once,’ answered the young
man; ‘they travel with surprizing
silence; nothing is heard but the sobs
and sighs of the poor lady, which
move us to compassion; we firmly believe
that she is forced upon this journey,
and gather from her dress that
she is a nun; or, which is more probable,
going to take the veil; and
finding herself very little inclined to
that way of life, is melancholy at the
prospect.’

The curate said, nothing was more
// File: 0335.png
probable; and leaving the lacquey, returned
to Dorothea, who by this time,
out of natural sympathy with the affliction
of the masked lady, had approached
and accosted her in these words:
‘What is the matter with you, dear
Madam? If you labour under any
indisposition which the practice and
experience of women can relieve, my
assistance is heartily at your service.’
To this kind offer no reply was made
by the sorrowful lady, who, notwithstanding
the other’s repeated intreaties,
would not open her mouth; until the
person who by the lacquey’s information
was chief of the company, addressing
himself to Dorothea, said, ‘Do
not fatigue yourself, Madam, in
making proffers of service to that woman,
who cannot be grateful for any
favour she receives; nor importune her
for any reply, unless you desire to
hear some falshoods proceed from her
lips.’—‘My lips,’ said the hitherto
silent lady, ‘were never profaned with
falshood; on the contrary, my present
misfortune is owing to my sincerity
and my abhorrence of lyes.
Of this assertion you yourself are too
sensible; since your own perfidy and
falshood are the effects of my constancy
and truth.’

These words were distinctly overheard
by Cardenio, who was only separated
from them by the door of Don
Quixote’s chamber; and they no sooner
reached his ear, than he cried aloud,
‘Good Heaven, what do I hear!
What voice is that which struck
my sense!’ The lady being exceedingly
surprized at that exclamation,
turned about her head, and not seeing
the person that pronounced it, started
up, and ran towards the apartment from
whence it seemed to come; but was
prevented by her conductor, who would
not suffer her to move one step farther.
In the disorder occasioned by
her struggle, her mask dropped off,
and discovered a countenance of incomparable
and amazing beauty, even
though disguised with paleness and horror;
for her eyes rolled about to every
corner which her sight could reach, with
such eagerness and wildness, that she
looked like a woman possessed.

Dorothea, and all present, were infinitely
concerned at these symptoms,
the meaning of which they could not
understand; meanwhile, the cavalier
// File: 0336.png
.pn +1
was so busied in holding her fast by the
shoulders, that he could not attend to
his mask, which also fell to the ground:
and Dorothea lifting up her eyes towards
him, as he held the lady in his
arms, perceived that this cavalier was
no other than her own husband, Don
Fernando. No sooner did she recognize
his features, than fetching a long and
melancholy sigh from the very bottom
of her soul, she fell backward in a
swoon; and if the barber had not been
at hand to support her, would have certainly
come to the ground. The curate
ran instantly to take off her veil, that
he might sprinkle water on her face,
which was immediately known by Don
Fernando, who held the other lady in
his arms, and was thunderstruck at the
sight: he would not, however, quit
Lucinda, who struggled to get loose;
she and Cardenio having by this time
recognized each other by their mutual
exclamations. He had also overheard
the groan uttered by Dorothea when
she fainted; and believing that it proceeded
from Lucinda, rushed out of his
apartment in a fright, when the first object
he beheld was Don Fernando clasping
her in his arms. This nobleman
knew him immediately; and all three
(namely, Lucinda, Cardenio, and Dorothea)
were struck dumb with astonishment,
and seemed insensible of what
had happened, gazing in silence at one
another.

Dorothea directed her eager view to
Don Fernando, who stared at Cardenio,
whose eyes were fixed upon Lucinda,
who looked wishfully at him; but the
first that broke silence, was this last,
who addressed herself in these words to
Don Fernando: ‘Suffer me, Signior,
in regard to your own character, since
you are deaf to every other consideration,
to cleave to that wall of which
I am the ivy, to avail myself of that
prop from which you could not disengage
me, with all your importunities,
promises, and threats. Behold
how Heaven, by unusual and mysterious
means, hath brought me to my
true and lawful husband; and since
you know, by dear-bought experience,
that nothing but death can expel
his image from my breast, let this
plain demonstration, since all other
attempts are vain, convert your love
into rage, your friendship into hate,
and instantly deprive me of life, which
// File: 0337.png
I shall yield with pleasure in the presence
of my legal lord, who will then
perhaps be convinced of the fidelity
I preserved to the last moment of my
existence.’

In the mean time, Dorothea being recovered
from her swoon, had listened to
Lucinda’s declaration, by which she
discovered her situation and name; but
perceiving that Don Fernando neither
quitted his hold, nor answered one word
to her solicitation, she exerted her whole
strength in falling down on her knees
before him, and having shed a large
quantity of tears from her beautiful
eyes, accosted him in these words: ‘My
dear lord! if your eyes were not
dazzled and obscured by the rays of
that sun which you hold eclipsed within
your arms, you would perceive that
she who thus kneels before you, is the
unhappy (so long as you are pleased she
should be so) and forlorn Dorothea—I
am that humble country maiden
whom your generosity or passion
vouchsafed to raise to the honour of
calling you her own. I am she who,
confined within the bounds of modesty,
lived a contented life, until
moved by your importunities, and
seemingly upright addresses, she opened
the gates of her reserve, and surrendered
to you the keys of her freedom.
An offering but ill requited,
as plainly appears by that hard fate,
in consequence of which I am found
in this place, and also find you in
your present situation. Nevertheless,
I would not have you imagine that I
came hither, induced by any dishonourable
motives; but that the sorrow
conceived at seeing myself forsaken
and forgotten by you, was the sole
cause of my retreat. You desired I
should be your own; and that desire
you accomplished so effectually, that
although your inclinations may be
changed, it is impossible you should
cease to be mine. Consider, my lord,
that my unparalleled affection may
counterbalance the beauty and birth
of her for whom I am abandoned;
you cannot be the fair Lucinda’s husband,
because you are already mine;
nor she become your wife, while she
appertains to Cardenio; and it will
be a much easier task, if you reflect
upon it impartially, to recal your love
for her who adores you, than to gain
the affection of one by whom you are
// File: 0338.png
.pn +1
abhorred. You solicited my unsuspecting
heart, you importuned my
integrity, you was not ignorant of my
lowly station, and know in what
manner I yielded to your will; so
that you have no subterfuge, nor the
least room to say you was deceived.
If this be the case, as doubtless it is,
and you be a Christian as well as a
gentleman, why do you, by such evasions,
delay to make the end as happy
as the beginning of my fortune? If
you will not receive me as what I
really am, your lawful wife, at least
admit me into the number of your
slaves; for, in whatever shape I belong
to you, I shall account myself
fortunate and blessed; do not, therefore,
by renouncing me entirely, give
scandal an opportunity of impeaching
my honour. Make not my parents
miserable in their old age; their faithful
services to your father merit a more
kind return! if you think your blood
will be debased in mixing with mine,
consider, that almost all the great families
on earth have undergone the
same intercourse, and that the woman’s
quality in no manner affects illustrious
descents: besides, true nobility
consists in virtue; and in that
shall I have the advantage over you,
if you deny and oppose the justice of
my claim. In fine, the last argument
I shall use is this, whether you are
pleased or displeased with your destiny,
I am your lawful wife: witness
your own words, which neither
are nor ought to be false; if you value
yourself on that for which you
undervalue me; witness your handwriting,
and Heaven above, to the
testimony of which you appealed for
the performance of your promise; and
if all these should fail, your conscience
will never cease whispering to
you, amidst your pleasures, in vindication
of this truth, which will disturb
your most exalted enjoyments.’

This supplication, enforced with
other arguments, was pronounced so
feelingly by the afflicted and weeping
Dorothea, that tears of sympathy were
shed by all present, the companions of
Don Fernando not excepted; he himself
listened without answering one word,
until she had made an end of her address,
and began to utter such woeful
sighs and groans, as were almost sufficient
to melt an heart of brass. Lucinda
stood gazing upon her with equal
compassion for her sorrow, and admiration
of her beauty and good sense;
nay, she would have gone and offered
her all the consolation in her power,
had she not still been kept fast locked in
the arms of Don Fernando; who, full of
confusion and surprize, after having for
a good while fixed his eyes upon Dorothea,
with great attention, opened his
arms, and leaving Lucinda at liberty,
said, ‘You have conquered, beauteous
Dorothea: the victory is yours; for
so many truths conjoined are surely
irresistible.’

Lucinda was so faint and weak, that
when Don Fernando quitted her, she
would have fallen to the ground, had it
not been for Cardenio, who had placed
himself behind her ravisher, that he
might not be known[#]; but now, laying
aside all fear, and resolving to adventure
every thing, he sprung to the
assistance of Lucinda, and catching her
in his arms, ‘If,’ said he, ‘it be the
will and pleasure of pitying Heaven,
that you should find repose, my faithful,
constant, and charming Lucinda!
I think you can enjoy it no where
so securely, as in these arms, which
now receive, and formerly encircled
you, when fortune was pleased that I
should call you mine.’

At these words, she gazed upon him
with great eagerness; she had before began
to recognize his voice, and now,
recollecting his features, like a person
deprived of judgment, who disregards
all decency and form, she threw her
arms about his neck, and joining her
lips to his, ‘Yes, my dear Cardenio,’
said she, ‘you are the real lord of this
your slave, in spite of adverse fate,
and all those threats, though greater
than they are, that persecute my life,
which now depends on yours alone.’

An unexpected sight was this to Don
Fernando, and all the bye-standers,
who were not a little surprized at what
they saw. While Dorothea observing
her husband change colour, and signify
an inclination of being revenged upon
Cardenio, by laying his hand upon his
sword, ran, with incredible agility, and
// File: 0339.png
.pn +1
clasping his knees, which she kissed,
held him so firmly embraced, that he
could not move, saying, while the tears
trickled from her eyes, ‘What means
my only refuge to do on this unexpected
occasion? Your own wife is
now kneeling before you, and she
whom you desire to wed is in the arms
of her lawful husband; consider whether
it be just or possible for you to
undo that which Heaven hath done;
why should you seek to unite yourself
with one, who disdaining all opposition
and inconvenience, and confirmed
in her own constancy and
truth, even before your eyes, lets fall
from hers a shower of tenderness
into the bosom of her lawful spouse?
For the sake of God and of yourself, I
entreat and beseech you, that this remarkable
recognition may not only
fail to increase your indignation, but
even diminish it in such a manner, that
these two lovers may, without any
impediment from you, enjoy each
other as long as Heaven will permit
them to live. In this self-denial you
will manifest the generosity of your
noble and illustrious soul, and convince
the world, that you are governed
more by reason than by appetite.’

While Dorothea pronounced these
words, Cardenio, though he held Lucinda
in his arms, kept his eyes still
fixed upon Don Fernando, with full resolution,
if he attempted any thing to
his prejudice, to defend himself as well
as he could, against his adversary and
all his adherents, although it should
cost him his life; but this young nobleman’s
friends, together with the curate
and barber, not forgetting honest
Sancho Panza, who were present at the
whole affair, interposed, and making a
circle about him, begged earnestly that
he would be pleased to consider the tears
of Dorothea; and if what she alledged
was true, as they firmly believed it was,
no longer suffer her to be defrauded of
her just and reasonable hope. They
desired him to observe, that in all appearance
it was not by accident, but
the immediate direction of Providence,
that they had all met together so unexpectedly
in this place; and the curate
intreated him to reflect, that death alone
could divide Lucinda from Cardenio;
that though they might be parted by the
edge of the sword, they would look,
upon death as the greatest blessing that
// File: 0340.png
could befal them, and that, in a case
of this kind, which admitted of no
other remedy, it would be his wisest
course to constrain and conquer his own
passion, and demonstrate the generosity
of his heart, by permitting, of his own
free-will, these two lovers to enjoy that
state of happiness which heaven had ordained
for their lot; that he should contemplate
Dorothea’s beauty, which, far
from being excelled, was equalled in
few or none; and to her beauty, add
the consideration of her humility and
excessive love; above all, take notice,
that if he valued himself upon being a
gentleman and a Christian, he could do
no less than perform the promise he had
given, and in so doing, act in conformity
to the will of God, and satisfy
the discreet part of mankind, who are
very sensible that it is the prerogative
of beauty, even in a low estate, when
accompanied with virtue, to be lifted up
to the highest rank, without any disparagement
to the person who thus raises
it to an equality with himself; and since
the irresistible force of inclination must
prevail, provided there be nothing criminal
in the means, he is not to be
blamed who acts according to its dictates.

To these arguments were added so
many of the same sort, that the valiant
heart of Don Fernando, nourished by
illustrious blood, relented, and he was
overcome by the force of that truth,
which, however inclined, he could not
deny. The signal of his surrender, and
yielding to this reasonable and just proposal,
was his stooping down and embracing
Dorothea: to whom he said,
‘Rise, Madam; it is not just that she
who reigns in my soul, should lie
prostrate at my feet. If hitherto I
have given small proof of what I now
profess, perhaps my omission hath
been owing to the appointment of
Heaven, that by giving you an opportunity
of manifesting the sincerity of
your love, I might know how to esteem
you according to your deserts.
I beg, therefore, you will not upbraid
me with my misconduct and unkind
neglect; since the same force and occasion
that attached me to you, was
the cause of my endeavour to disengage
myself. That you may be convinced
of the truth, behold and contemplate
the eyes of the now contented
Lucinda, in which you will find
// File: 0341.png
.pn +1
an excuse for all my errors; and, since
she hath found and attained her
heart’s desire, and my utmost wish is
fulfilled in thus retrieving you, may
she live in peace and quiet, for many
happy years, with her Cardenio, and
may Heaven grant the same felicity
to me with Dorothea!’

So saying, he embraced her again,
pressing his lips to her’s with such tenderness,
that it required his greatest efforts
to forbear giving, with his tears,
indubitable signs of his affection and
remorse. But those endeavours did not
succeed with Lucinda, Cardenio, and
every other person present, who began
to weep so plentifully, either at their
own happiness, or the satisfaction of
their friends, that one would have
thought some grievous misfortune had
happened to the whole company. Even
Sancho blubbered, though he afterwards
owned, that his sorrow proceeded from
seeing that Dorothea was not, as he
imagined, the Queen of Micomicon,
from whom he expelled such favours.

This universal admiration and thaw
having lasted some time, Cardenio and
Lucinda fell upon their knees before
Don Fernando, whom they thanked for
his generosity in such polite terms, that
he scarce knew what answer to make,
but raised and embraced them both with
demonstrations of uncommon courtesy
and affection. Then asking Dorothea
how she had come to that place, so distant
from her own home, she with great
elegance and brevity repeated what she
had before recounted to Cardenio; and
her husband and his company were so
pleased with her narration, that they
wished it could have been spun out to a
much greater length; so gracefully did
she relate her own misfortunes.

Her talk being finished, Don Fernando
informed them of what had happened
to him in the city, after he
found, in Lucinda’s bosom, the paper
in which she declared herself Cardenio’s
wife. Seeing that she could not possibly
be his, he said, he was determined to
put her to death, and would actually
have executed his purpose, had not her
parents interposed. He then quitted the
house, full of shame and resentment,
resolving to revenge himself with the
first opportunity; and next day understood
that she was gone off, without any
body’s knowing whither she had directed
her flight. At length, however, in a
// File: 0342.png
few months, he got notice that she was
in a certain monastery, where she intended
to spend her whole life, if she
could not enjoy it in the company of
Cardenio. He no sooner received this
intimation, than chusing these three
gentlemen for his companions, he went
straight to the place of her residence;
but without speaking to her, or making
himself known, lest the monastery
should be more strictly guarded on his
account. He waited, therefore, until
one day he found the porter’s lodge
open; when leaving two of his friends
to secure the door, he entered the monastery
with the other, in quest of Lucinda,
whom he found in the cloisters,
talking with a nun; and snatching her
off, without giving her a moment’s
time for recollection, carried her instantly
to a place where they provided
themselves with necessaries for their journey.
This exploit they were enabled to
perform with safety, because the monastery
stood in the middle of a field,
at a good distance from any village or
town. He said, Lucinda no sooner
perceived herself in his power, than she
fainted away; and when she recovered
the use of her senses, did nothing but
weep and sigh, without speaking one
word: so that, accompanied with silence
and tears, they had arrived at that
inn, which he looked upon as the heavenly
goal where all earthly misfortunes
are happily terminated.

.fn #
But it appears in the preceding page, that he was already known both to Fernando
and Lucinda. <lang=la><i>Aliquando bonus dormitat Homerus.</i></lang>
.fn-
.sp 4
.h4 id=chap2-4-10
<abbr=chapter>CHAP.</abbr> <abbr=ten>X.</abbr> | A CONTINUATION OF THE HISTORY OF THE RENOWNED PRINCESS MICOMICONA,| WITH OTHER PLEASANT ADVENTURES.
.sp 2
Sancho heard every thing that
passed with no small anxiety of
mind, seeing the hopes of his preferment
vanish into smoke, the beautiful
Princess Micomicona transformed into
Dorothea, the giant into Don Fernando,
and his master in a sound sleep, little
dreaming of what had happened. Dorothea
could not persuade herself, that
all her good fortune was not a dream;
Cardenio entertained the same opinion,
which was also embraced by Lucinda;
while Don Fernando gave thanks to
Heaven for its favour, in extricating
him from that labyrinth of perplexity,
// File: 0343.png
.pn +1
in which he was at the point of losing his
reputation and soul. In fine, every person
present was well satisfied, and rejoiced
at the happy issue of such intricate and
desperate affairs. The curate represented
every thing in the right point of
view, with great discretion, and congratulated
the parties concerned on the
felicity they had acquired; but she
whose joy was most vociferous was the
landlady, who loudly exulted in the
promise of Cardenio and the curate, who
had undertaken to pay her with interest,
for the damage she had sustained on
Don Quixote’s account. Sancho alone,
as we have already observed, was afflicted,
unfortunate, and sad, and going
to his master who was just awake,
said, with a lamentable tone, ‘Sir
Knight of the Rueful Countenance,
your worship may now sleep as long as
you please, without giving yourself
the trouble of slaying the giant, or
restoring the princess to her throne;
that whole affair is already brought to
a conclusion.’

‘I really believe what you say,’ answered
the knight, ‘for I have been
engaged with the giant, in the most
obstinate and outrageous combat that
I believe I shall ever fight in all the
days of my life; with one back-stroke,
slam went his head to the
ground, and discharged such a quantity
of blood, that it ran like rills of
water along the field.’—‘Or rather
like red wine, your worship should
say,’ replied the squire; ‘for I must
inform you, if you do not already
know it, that the dead giant is no
other than a wine bag, and the blood,
eighteen gallons of good red wine,
which was contained in its belly:
the head you cut off is the whore my
mother, and the whole affair is gone
to the devil.’—‘What does the lunatick
mean?’ said Don Quixote; ‘are
you in your right senses, Sancho?’—‘Rise,
Sir,’ resumed the squire, ‘and
see what a fine piece of work you have
made, and what a score you have
run. You shall behold the queen
converted into a private lady, called
Dorothea, with many other strange
events, at which, if you take them
right, you will be hugely, astonished.’—‘I
shall not wonder at any thing of
that kind,’ replied his master; ‘for
thou may’st remember, the last time
// File: 0344.png
we were in this house, I told thee that
every incident which happened was
conducted and brought about by inchantment,
so that we need not be surprized
if the same power should prevail
at present.’—‘I should be of
your worship’s opinion,’ answered
Sancho, ‘if my blanketting had been
of the same stamp; but that was not
the case, for it was really and truly a
substantial tossing. This very innkeeper
whom we saw to-day, held a
corner of the blanket, and canted me
into the air with great strength and
nimbleness, passing a thousand waggish
jokes, and laughing at me all the
while; from whence I concluded,
simple and sinner as I am, that as I
knew their persons, there was no inchantment
in the case, but abundance
of bruising and bad fortune.’—‘Well,
heaven will make thee amends,’
said the knight; ‘meanwhile reach me
my clothes; for I want to go forth and
examine those events and transformations
which thou hast mentioned.’

While Sancho was helping him to
dress, the curate gave Don Fernando
and his company an account of Don
Quixote’s madness, and the artifice they
had used to disengage him from the
poor rock to which he imagined himself
exiled by the disdain of his mistress.
He also recounted all those adventures
that Sancho had imparted to him, at
which they were not a little surprized,
and laughed immoderately; agreeing in
opinion with every body who knew the
knight, that it was the strangest extravagance
that ever entered a disturbed
imagination. The priest moreover observed,
that since the good fortune of
Dorothea obstructed the progress of their
design, there was a necessity for inventing
another plan that should bring him
home to his own house. Cardenio proposed
that they should prosecute the
scheme they had already begun; and
Lucinda would act and represent the
part of Dorothea. ‘No,’ said Don
Fernando, ‘that must not be: Dorothea
shall still proceed with her own
invention; for, as it cannot be far
from hence to the habitation of that
honest gentleman, I shall be glad to
contribute towards his cure.’ And
when he understood that they would arrive
in two days at his house; ‘Were
it farther off,’ said he, ‘I should go
// File: 0345.png
.pn +1
with pleasure to assist in such a laudable
design.’

At that instant Don Quixote came
forth, armed at all points, with Mambrino’s
helmet, battered as it was, upon
his head, his shield braced upon his
arm, and his pole or lance in his hand.
Don Fernando and his companions were
amazed at this strange apparition, when
they beheld such a rueful length of face,
so withered and tawney, together with
his ill-sorted armour, and the solemnity
of his gait. They gazed upon him in
silent expectation of what he would
say; while he, with infinite gravity of
aspect, fixing his eyes upon Dorothea,
accosted her in these words; ‘Fair lady,
I am informed by this my squire,
that your greatness is annihilated, and
your quality undone, by being changed
from your former rank of queen
and sovereign princess, into the condition
of a private damsel. If this
hath been done by the necromancy of
the king your father, who is perhaps
afraid that I should not be able to
give you the assistance required, I say
he neither knows, nor ever did know,
the half of that art which he professeth,
and that he is but little conversant
in the history of chivalry; for
had he read and perused it with such
leisure and attention as I have bestowed
upon that subject, he would have
found, that on every occasion, knights
of much less reputation than I possess,
have atchieved much more difficult
enterprizes than this, it being a matter
of small moment to kill a pitiful
giant, let him be as arrogant as he
will; for not many hours ago, I saw
myself engaged with one,—but I chuse
to be silent rather than have my veracity
called in question, though time,
that unmasks all things, will shew
when we least expect it—’

‘That you was engaged with wine-bags,
and not with a giant!’ cried the
innkeeper; who was silenced by Don
Fernando, and forbid to interrupt the
knight’s discourse in any shape whatever.
So that Don Quixote proceeded,
saying, ‘In fine, if the father of your
disinterested highness hath performed
this metamorphosis on your person,
for the causes I have mentioned, I
hope you will give no credit to such
considerations; for there is no danger
upon earth through which my sword
// File: 0346.png
will not open a way, and by laying
the head of your adversary in the
dust in a few days, invest yours with
that crown to which you have an undoubted
right.’

Here Don Quixote left off speaking,
in expectation of a reply from the princess,
who knowing it was Don Fernando’s
pleasure that she should continue
the deceit, until the knight could be
brought back to his own house, answered
with equal gravity and grace, ‘Whosoever
hath told you, most valiant
Knight of the Rueful Countenance,
that I am changed and transformed
from what I was, has not adhered to
the truth in his information: indeed I
am somewhat changed by certain fortunate
events which have happened
even beyond my own expectation;
but; nevertheless, I have not ceased
to be what I was, nor altered that resolution
which I have always maintained,
of taking the advantage of
your valiant and invincible arm.
Wherefore, dear Sir, be so good as
to do justice to the honour of the father
who begat me, and look upon
him as a man of sagacity and foresight;
since, by the science he possessed,
he found such an easy and effectual
path to the cure of my misfortune;
for I firmly believe, that were
it not for you, I should not now be so
happy as I am, as the greatest part of
these gentlemen can truly witness.
Nothing then remains, but that we
set out to-morrow, because we could
not propose to travel far to-day;
and as for the success on which my
hopes are built, I leave it entirely to
God, and the worth of your heroick
breast.’

Don Quixote hearing these words, turned
to Sancho in the most violent indignation,
saying, ‘I protest, sirrah! you
are the most malicious little slanderer
in Spain. Say, you rascal—you vagabond—did
not you tell me just
now, that the princess was transformed
into a private gentlewoman called
Dorothea; and that the head, which
I know I cut from the giant’s shoulders,
was the whore your mother;
with many more foolish particulars,
which threw me into the greatest confusion
that I ever felt since I was born?
By Heaven!’ (here he turned up his
eyes and bit his lips) ‘I have a strong
// File: 0347.png
.pn +1
inclination to commit such slaughter
upon thee, as will be an instructive
warning[#] to all the lying squires who
shall henceforth attend knights-errant,
in the course of their adventures.’

‘Pray be pacified, good your worship!’
cried Sancho: ‘I may possibly
be deceived in what concerns the
change of my Lady Princess Micomicona;
but as to the giant’s
head being a wine-bag, and the blood
no other than good red wine, I am
not mistaken, as I shall answer to
God; for the skins that were slashed
are still to be seen by your worship’s
bed-side, and the whole room is
flooded with the wine. But the proof
of the pudding is in the eating of it[#];
you will be convinced when Mr.
What-d’ye call him our landlord
here makes out a bill of the damage
he has suffered. As to the rest, I am
rejoiced from my soul, to find that
the queen’s majesty is the same as
usual, because it concerns me, as well
as any other neighbour’s child.’—‘I
tell thee, Sancho,’ replied Don
Quixote, ‘that thou art distracted; forgive
me, that is enough.’—‘Enough
in all conscience,’ said Don Fernando;
‘there is nothing more to be said
on this subject. I think the princess
judges very prudently in deferring her
journey till to-morrow, because the
day is already far advanced; let us
therefore spend this night in agreeable
conversation, and at the approach of
day, we will in a body attend the gallant
Don Quixote, that we may be
witnesses of the unheard-of exploits
which he will doubtless perform in
the course of this vast enterprize he
hath undertaken.’—‘It is my duty
and resolution to serve and attend
you,’ answered the knight; ‘and I
have the most grateful sense of your
favour and good opinion, which I
shall endeavour to justify, though it
should cost me my life, or even more—if
more I can pay.’

Many compliments and proffers of
service passed between Don Fernando
and Don Quixote; but they were interrupted
by the arrival of a traveller, who,
by his garb, seemed to be a Christian
slave lately escaped from Barbary; for
he was clad in a coat of blue cloth,
wanting a collar, with short skirts and
half-sleeves; his breeches and cap were
of the same stuff; and he wore date-coloured
buskins, with a Moorish scymitar
flung in a shoulder-belt across his
breast. He was followed by a woman
dressed in the Moorish habit, mounted
upon an ass, with a veil over her face,
a brocaded bonnet on her head, and a
mantle that flowed from her shoulders
to her heels. The man was robust, and
well-proportioned, seemingly turned of
forty, with a brownish complexion,
large whiskers, and a well-furnished
beard; in short, his mean was so genteel,
that if he had been properly dressed,
they would have taken him for a man
of birth and quality.

Soon as he entered the gate, he called
for a private apartment, and seemed very
much concerned, when he understood
that all the rooms of the inn were engaged;
however, he went to the lady in
Moorish dress, and lifted her off in
his arms. Upon which Lucinda, Dorothea,
the landlady, her daughter, and
Maritornes, flocked around her; their
curiosity being excited by the novelty
of the garb, which none of them had
ever seen before; and Dorothea, who
was always good-humoured, mannerly,
and discreet, concluding that both she
and her conductor were chagrined at
their want of a chamber, spoke to her
thus: ‘Be not uneasy, Madam, at
your want of accommodation here; it
is the inconvenience of almost all
inns; but if you will be pleased to
partake with us, (pointing to Lucinda)
perhaps you will find that in the
course of your journey you have been
fain to put up with harder fare.’ The
veiled lady made no answer; but only
rising from her seat, signified her thanks
by crossing her hands upon her bosom,
bending her body, and bowing her head;
so that from her silence they conjectured
that she must be a native Moor, and
that she could not speak any Christian
language.

Her attendant, who had hitherto been
// File: 0348.png
.pn +1
employed in something else, perceiving
that the company had made a circle
about his companion, who could make
no replies to their interrogations, said
to them, ‘Ladies, this young woman
understands little or no Spanish, and
speaks no language but that of her
own country; so that she is incapable
of answering any questions you may
have asked.’—‘We have asked no
questions,’ said Lucinda, ‘but only
made her an offer of our company
for this night, with a share of our
lodging, and what accommodation is
to be had: and this we tender with
that hearty good-will which obliges
us to serve all strangers, especially
those of our own sex who stand in
need of our assistance.’—‘Dear Madam,’
replied the conductor, ‘in her
name, and in my own, I return you a
thousand thanks, and highly esteem
your proffered favour, which on this
occasion, and from such persons as
your appearance proclaims you to be,
must certainly be very kind and condescending.’—‘Signior,’
said Dorothea,
‘is this lady Christian or Moor?
By her silence and her dress, we are
induced to believe she is not what we
could wish her to be.’—‘In her body
and dress,’ replied the stranger, ‘she
is a Moor, but altogether a Christian
in her soul; for she longs ardently to
be a professed convert to our faith.’—‘Then
she is not baptized?’ resumed
Lucinda. ‘She has had no opportunity,’
said the captive, ‘since she quitted
Algiers, which is her native country;
and hitherto hath never been in
such imminent danger of her life, as to
make it necessary before she is instructed
in all the ceremonies enjoined
by our holy mother church; but, if
it please Heaven, she shall be baptized
very soon, with decency suitable to
the quality of her person, which is
greater than either her dress or mine
seems to declare.’

This intimation raised the curiosity of
all the spectators, to know who this
Moor and captive were; but nobody
chose to ask the question at that time,
which seemed more proper for reposing
themselves than relating the history of
their lives. Dorothea taking her by
the hand, seated the stranger close by her
side, and entreated her to take off the
veil; she looked at her conductor, as
// File: 0349.png
if she wanted to know what the lady
desired, and he told her in Arabick,
that they entreated her to be uncovered;
at the same time, advising her to comply
with their request. She accordingly
unveiled herself, and discovered a face
so amiable, that Dorothea thought her
handsomer than Lucinda, who, in her
turn, gave her the preference to Dorothea;
and all present concluded, that
if any creature upon earth could vie
with them in beauty, it was this Moorish
lady, who, in the opinion of some of
the company, excelled them both in certain
particulars. As beauty, therefore,
has the privilege and energy to
conciliate minds and attract affections,
every body present was seized with
an inclination to serve and cherish
the charming Moor. Don Fernando
asked her name of the captive, who
answered, ‘Lela Zorayda.’ This she no
sooner heard, than understanding the
question which had been put to the
Christian, she pronounced with great
eagerness and sweetness of concern,
‘No, no Zorayda; Maria, Maria!’
signifying that her name was Maria, and
not Zorayda: these words, with the
affecting manner in which they were expressed,
brought tears from the eyes of
some of the hearers, especially the women,
who are naturally tender and compassionate.
Lucinda embraced her affectionately,
saying, ‘Yes, yes, Maria,
Maria.’ And to this the Moor
replied, ‘Yes, yes, Maria; Zorayda,
‘<i>macange</i>;’ which, in the Arabick,
signifies ‘<i>No</i>.’

Meanwhile it grew late, and the innkeeper,
by order of Don Fernando’s
attendants, prepared with great diligence
and care, as good a repast as he
could possibly provide; so that when
supper-time arrived, they sat down all
together at a long hall-table, for there
was neither a round nor square one in
the house. They forced the head and
principal seat, in spite of all his excuses
on Don Quixote, who desired that
the Princess Micomicona might sit by
the side of her protector; next to her,
Lucinda and Zorayda placed themselves,
being fronted by Fernando and Cardenio,
at whose left-hand sat the captive
and the other gentlemen, while the curate
and the barber took their station
close to the ladies. In this manner they
supped with vast satisfaction, which was
// File: 0350.png
.pn +1
still increased, when Don Quixote leaving
off eating, and inspired by the same
spirit that moved him to harangue among
the goat-herds, began the following dissertation:
‘Verily, gentlemen, if it be
duly considered, great and unexpected
events are seen by those who profess
the order of knight-errantry. What
inhabitant of this earth, if he should
now enter the gates of this castle,
and behold us seated in this manner,
could conceive or credit that we are
what we are? Who could imagine,
that this lady on my right-hand is the
great queen whom we all know her to
be; and that I am the Knight of the
Rueful Countenance, so celebrated by
the voice of fame? Now there is no
manner of doubt, that this exercise
and art exceeds all others hitherto invented
by man, and that it ought to
be more esteemed, because it is more
exposed to danger. Away with those
who give letters the preference over
arms! I affirm, that such people,
whosoever they are, know not what
they say; for the sole reason to
which they adhere, in this decision,
is, that the labour of the body is exceeded
by that of the mind; and that
the profession of arms is altogether
as corporeal as the exercise and office
of a common day-labourer, that
requires nothing more than bodily
strength; as if that which is called
soldiership by us who profess it, did
not include acts of valour which none
but persons of uncommon genius
could execute; or, as if the toil of a
warrior who has the charge of an army,
or commands in a town that is
besieged, doth not affect the mind as
well as the body. Is it to be supposed,
that by mere corporeal strength he
can penetrate and discover the intention
of the enemy? To anticipate
designs, baffle stratagems, surmount
difficulties, and prevent the mischief
that is to be dreaded, are all efforts
of the understanding, in which
the body hath no share; if the profession
of arms, therefore, requires genius,
as well as that of letters, let
us see which of the two requires most
mental toil: and this question may
be determined by considering the end
and aim of each; for that occupation
deserves the highest esteem, which
hath the noblest purpose in view, the
// File: 0351.png
end and scope of letters. I speak not
here of that divine learning, whose
aim is to raise and conduct the soul to
Heaven; to an end so infinite, no intention
whatever can be compared. I
speak of human learning, the ultimate
end of which is to regulate distributive
justice, render to every one his
due, and to understand and to protect
the equitable laws: an aim certainly
generous and highly commendable!
yet not so deserving of the most sublime
praise as the profession of arms,
the object and the end of which is
peace, the greatest good that mortals
can enjoy; for the first blessed news
which this world and mankind heard,
were those pronounced by the angels,
on that night which was our day,
when they sung in the air, “Glory be
to God on high; and on earth, peace
and good will towards men!” and
the salutation, which the best Master,
either in heaven or upon earth, taught
his adherents and favourites; which
was to say when they entered any
house, “Peace be to this house!”
Nay, he himself at different times,
said, “My peace I give unto you!
My peace I leave with you! Peace
be among you!” A jewel and legacy
well worthy of him who left it! a
jewel, without which there can be no
felicity, either on earth or in heaven!
This peace is the genuine aim of war;
for arms and war are the same; and
this being taken for granted, the end
of war is nobler than that of learning;
wherefore let us next consider
the bodily toil sustained by each, that
we may see on which side the balance
lies in that particular.’

In this sensible manner did Don
Quixote continue his discourse, from
which nobody that heard him could distinguish
that he was mad; on the contrary,
his audience confiding chiefly of
gentlemen, to which title the profession
of arms is annexed, they listened with
great pleasure, while he proceeded thus.

‘The hardships of a student, I say,
are these; first of all, poverty, (not
that all students are poor, but that we
may suppose the worst that can happen)
and when I have named his indigence,
the whole of his misfortune
is mentioned; for he that is poor can
enjoy nothing that is good, but must
endure necessity in all its forms; sometimes
// File: 0352.png
.pn +1
hunger, sometimes cold, sometimes
nakedness, and often all three
together. Nevertheless, his necessity
is not so great, but that he eats, though
perhaps later than usual, or though
he may feed upon the leavings of the
rich, or which is the greatest misery
to which a scholar can be reduced, go
a-sopping[#], as they term it; then
they are always admitted to some
charitable person’s fire-side or chimney-corner,
where, if they cannot
warm themselves effectually, they
may at least defy the cold; and at
night they sleep under cover. I need
not descend to minute particulars;
such as want of linen, scarcity of
shoes, flimsy and thread-bare cloaths,
nor the surfeits which they so eagerly
incur, when their good fortune sets a
plentiful table in their way. By this
path, rough and difficult as I have
already described it, after many tumblings,
slidings, risings, and fallings,
they at last attain to the wished degree,
which being gained, we have
seen many who have passed with a favourable
gale of fortune, through these
quicksands and straits of Scylla and
Charybdis; I say, we have seen many
such command and dictate to the world,
from a chair of state; their hunger
being changed into satiety, their cold
into refreshment, their rags into gay
apparel, and the matts on which they
lay, to the richest damask and finest
holland: a recompence which their
merit most justly enjoys! but their labours,
when fairly stated and compared,
are infinitely short of the warrior’s,
as I shall now clearly demonstrate.’

.fn #
In the original, ‘As will put salt in the skull.’
.fn-

.fn #
Literally, ‘You shall see when the eggs are fried.’ A phrase alluding to the story
of a thief, who having stole a frying-pan, and being asked by the owner what he carried
under his cloak, replied, ‘You will see when the eggs are fried.’ Metaphorically,
‘Time will discover.’
.fn-

.fn #
Alluding to the charity given at the gates of monasteries.
.fn-
.sp 4
.h4 id=chap2-4-11
<abbr=chapter>CHAP.</abbr> <abbr=eleven>XI.</abbr> | THE SEQUEL OF DON QUIXOTE’S CURIOUS DISCOURSE, ON THE SUBJECTS OF LEARNING AND WAR.
.sp 2
The knight proceeded thus: ‘Since
we began with the student, representing
his poverty in all its circumstances,
let us see if the soldier
be more wealthy: and we shall find
that poverty itself is not poorer; for he
is restricted to his miserable pay, which
comes always late, if ever, or to what
he can plunder by force with the imminent
danger of his life and conscience;
and frequently his nakedness
is such, that his slashed buff
doublet serves him instead of coat,
shirt, and all other parts of apparel.
In a winter campaign, while
he remains in the open field, he has
nothing to mitigate the severity of the
cold, but his own breath, which, as
it proceeds from an empty place,
must, I believe, be cold, contrary to
all the rules of nature: but stay till
the approach of night, when it is to
be hoped his bed will make amends
for all these inconveniencies; and this,
if it be not his own fault, will never
offend in point of narrowness, for
he may measure as many feet of
ground as he thinks sufficient, and
there tumble about at pleasure, without
any danger of discomposing the
sheets. Then, instead of the day and
hour of receiving the degrees of his
art, comes the day of battle, in which
his head is adorned with the doctoral
tossle, made in form of a pledgit, to
stuff the wound made by some ball,
which perhaps hath gone through his
temples, or left him maimed of a
leg or arm; and even if this should
not happen, but merciful Heaven
guard and preserve him safe and
sound, he continues as poor as ever;
he must risk himself in several more
rencounters and battles, and be victorious
in each, before his circumstances
be bettered; but these miracles
rarely happen. Tell me, gentlemen,
have you considered what a
small proportion those who make their
fortunes by war bear to those who perish
in the field? Doubtless, you must
answer that there is no sort of comparison;
that the slain are scarce to
be numbered, while the living who
are recompensed for their services,
may be comprehended within three figures
of arithmetick[#]. The case of
// File: 0353.png
.pn +1
the learned is quite the reverse[#]; for,
one way or another, they are all provided:
so that, though the toil of a
soldier is greater, his reward is much
less. To this observation, it may
be replied, that it is far more easy to
reward two thousand scholars than
thirty thousand soldiers; for the first
are recompensed with offices, which
must of course be bestowed on people
of their profession; whereas, the
others can enjoy no reward, except a
share of the property belonging to
their master whom they serve: even
this impossibility strengthens my asseveration.

‘But waving that consideration,
which would lead us into a most intricate
labyrinth, let us return to the
pre-eminence which arms have over
learning; a point hitherto undecided,
of such force are the reasons alledged
on both sides of the question; one of
which, in favour of the last, is, that
without letters, the profession of arms
could not be supported, because there
are laws to which war itself is subject;
and all laws fall within the
province of letters and learned men.
To this observation, the partizans
of the other opinion reply, that no
laws could be maintained without
arms, which preserve the constitution,
defend kingdoms, guard cities, scour
the highways, and clear the seas of
piratical corsairs. In short, that without
arms, all republicks, kingdoms,
monarchies, cities, journies by land,
and voyages by sea, would be exposed
to the horror and confusion that attend
unbridled war, while it continues
in all its licentious privilege
and force. It is a general and established
maxim, that every thing ought
to be esteemed in proportion to what
it costs. Now, to become eminent in
letters, costs the student much time,
watching, hunger, nakedness, vertigoes,
indigestion, and their consequences,
which are in part mentioned
above: but, to acquire in a
regular manner the character of a good
soldier, a man must undergo all these
inconveniences in an incomparably
greater degree; because he is every
moment in danger of losing his life.
What fear of indigence and poverty
can seize and harrass the student’s apprehension,
equal to that which must
possess the soldier besieged in a fortress,
who being placed centinel or
guard in some ravelin or cavalier[#],
perceives the enemy at work undermining
the very spot whereon he
stands, without daring to stir from
his post, or avoid the danger by which
he is so imminently threatened? All
he can do, is to give notice of what
passes to his captain, who must endeavour
to baffle the foe by some countermine,
while he remains upon the
place in terror and expectation of
being suddenly whirled aloft into
the clouds without wings, and of
falling thence headlong into the profound
abyss: if this danger seems
inconsiderable, let us see whether it
be equalled or exceeded in the grappling
of two gallies, by their prows,
in the midst of the extended ocean;
when they are locked and fastened
into each other, and the soldier hath
not an inch more than two feet of
the beak to stand upon, while he
sees himself threatened and opposed
by as many ministers of death as
there are cannon in the enemy’s vessel,
and these within a spear’s length
of his body; and is sensible, that if
his feet should chance to slip, he
would instantly visit the profound
bosom of the sea; yet, nevertheless,
with an intrepid heart, incited and
transported by honour, he bears the
brunt of their whole artillery, and
endeavours by that narrow passage
to board the adverse vessel; and,
what is very much to be admired, is,
that as soon as one falls, never to
rise again till the general resurrection,
another occupies his place; and
should he also drop into the sea,
// File: 0354.png
.pn +1
which, like an enemy, gapes to devour
him, another and another still
succeeds, without the smallest intermission:
an instance of gallantry and
boldness the greatest to be found in
all the extremities of war. Happy
were the ages past, while strangers
to those infernal instruments of artillery,
the author of which is, I
firmly believe, now in hell, enjoying
the reward of his diabolical invention,
that puts it in the power of an
infamous coward to deprive the most
valiant cavalier of life; for, often in
the heat of that courage and resolution
that fires and animates the gallant
breast, there comes a random
ball, how or from whence no man
can tell, shot off, perhaps, by one
that fled, and was afraid at the
flash of his own accursed machine,
and, in an instant, puts an end to
the schemes and exigence of a man
who deserved to live for ages. This
very consideration makes me almost
own, that I am sorry for having
chosen this profession of a knight-errant
in this detestable age; for,
though no danger can daunt my resolution,
it gives me some uneasiness
to think that powder and shot may
deprive me of the opportunity of
making myself famous and renowned
through the whole globe, for the
valour of my arm, and the keenness
of my sword: but, let the will of
Heaven be fulfilled! if I accomplish
my aim, I shall be more esteemed,
because I have faced more danger
than ever was incurred by the knights-errant
in ages past.’

While the rest of the company were
employed in eating, this long harangue
was uttered by Don Quixote, who never
thought of swallowing a morsel;
though Sancho frequently put him in
mind of eating his supper, observing,
that he would afterwards have time
enough to say what he pleased. The
hearers were moved with fresh concern,
at seeing a man, who in every
other subject seemed to have a large
share of sense and discernment, lose it
so irrecoverably, whenever the discourse
turned upon the cursed mischievous
theme of chivalry. The curate
observed, that there was a great
deal of reason in what he had advanced
in favour of arms; and that he
himself, though a graduate, consequently
a man of letters, was entirely of the
knight’s opinion.

Supper being ended, and the table
uncovered, while the landlady, her
daughter, and Maritornes, were busied
in fitting up the garret of Don
Quixote de La Mancha, in which it
was determined the three ladies should
pass the night by themselves; Don Fernando
intreated the captive to recount
the story of his life, which he imagined
must be both uncommon and entertaining,
from the specimen they had already
seen, in his arriving thus equipped,
in company with the fair Zorayda.
To this request the stranger answered,
that he would willingly obey his command,
though he was afraid the company
would not find the relation to their
liking; but, nevertheless, rather than
fail in point of obedience, he was ready
to make it. The curate and whole
company thanked him for his complaisance,
and joined in the request; and
he seeing himself besought by so many,
said there was no occasion for entreaties,
where they might so effectually
command: ‘Lend me your attention,
therefore, and you shall hear a true
story, perhaps unequalled by those
fictions which are usually adorned
with all the curious and profound
artifice of composition.’

At this preamble, all present adjusted
and composed themselves; and he
perceiving the general silence in which
they waited for the performance of his
promise, began in this manner, with
a grave and agreeable voice.

.fn #
<abbr rend=spell>I. e.</abbr> Do not amount to 1000, which is a number expressed by four figures.
.fn-

.fn #
The literal translation is, ‘For, from the skirts—for I would not mention the
‘sleeves.’ The Spaniards, instead of the English phrase, ‘By Hook or by Crook,’ use this
of ‘From the sleeves, or the skirts;’ derived from the practice of taylors, who are supposed
to cabbage from those parts of the habit in which there is the greatest quantity
of cloth; but the knight’s exception of sleeves, on this occasion, seems to have proceeded
from a supposition that poor scholars are generally provided for in the church, and
consequently wear cassocks, which descend to the heels.
.fn-

.fn #
Cavalier is an artificial mount raised in a fortress for the convenience of scouring a
field, or opposing a commanding work of the enemy.
.fn-
.sp 4
.h4 id=chap2-4-12
<abbr=chapter>CHAP.</abbr> <abbr=twelve>XII.</abbr> | IN WHICH THE CAPTIVE RECOUNTS HIS LIFE AND ADVENTURES.
.sp 2
‘In a certain place among the mountains
of Leon, my family had
its origin; more beholden to the liberality
of nature than to the smiles
of fortune: though, amidst the narrowness
of circumstances, which prevails
in that country, my father had
the reputation of being rich, and
really was so, had he possessed the
art of preserving, as he practised the
means of spending his estate. This
liberal and profuse disposition was
owing to his having been a soldier
in his youth, the army being a school
// File: 0355.png
.pn +1
in which the miser becomes generous,
and the benevolent man grows prodigal;
for a covetous soldier is a
monster which is rarely seen. My
father exceeded the bounds of liberality,
and bordered upon those of
prodigality; a disposition of very
little service to a married man who
has children to succeed him in rank
as well as name: and he had no less
than three; all of them sons, already
at an age to chuse for themselves.
The old gentleman finding it impossible,
as he said, to resist the bent of
his inclination, was resolved to deprive
himself of the means that induced
and enabled him to spend so
lavishly, by giving up his estate;
as without money Alexander himself
must have seemed frugal.

‘One day, therefore, calling us
all three together into his chamber,
he delivered himself in these or
the like words: “Sons, to say I
love you, is no more than to say
and know you are my own children;
though it would seem that I do not
love you, by my squandering away
the fortune which is your due. But
that you may be henceforth convinced
that I love you like a true
parent, rather than seek your destruction
like a step-father, I am resolved
to execute a plan which I
have formed a good while ago, and
digested with the most mature deliberation.
You are now of an age
to chuse settlements for yourselves,
or at least to pitch upon employments
which, in your riper years, may
conduce to your honour and advantage.
My intention is to divide
my estate into four equal parts,
three of which you shall receive
among you, in equal shares, without
the least difference or distinction;
and the fourth I will reserve for my
own sustenance and support, while
Heaven will be pleased to protract
the days of my life. But after you
have received your portions, I should
be glad to find you inclined to follow
the paths which I shall propose.
We have a saying in Spain, which
I believe is very true, as indeed all
proverbs are, because they are short
sentences dictated by long and sage
experience; that which I mean,
contains no more than these words:
The church, the court, or the sea;
// File: 0356.png
as if it more fully expressed the following
advice, ‘He that would make
his fortune, ought either to dedicate
his time to the church, go to sea as
a merchant, or attach himself to the
court,’ for it is commonly observed
that, ‘The king’s crumb is worth
the baron’s batch.’ This I mention,
because I wish and desire that
one of you would follow letters,
another merchandize, and a third
serve his sovereign in the field, since
it is difficult to obtain an office at
court: and although much wealth
cannot be expected, there is a great
deal of valour and reputation to be
acquired in war. In eight days I
will give each of you his share, in
ready-money, without defrauding
you of one farthing, as you will see
by my distribution. Tell me, therefore,
if you are willing to follow
my advice in what I have proposed?”
said my father, addressing himself to
me as the eldest. After having dissuaded
him from parting with his
estate, and desired him to spend as
much of it as he pleased, observing,
that we were young men, and capable
of making our own fortunes, I concluded
with saying, I would obey his
will, and for my own part, chuse to
serve God and my king, in adhering
to the exercise of arms. My second
brother made the same offer, proposing
to set sail for the Indies, and
employ his stock of ready-money in
traffick. The youngest, and I believe
the wisest, said he would qualify
himself for the church, by going and
finishing his studies at Salamanca.

‘We having thus agreed in the choice
of our different employments, our father
embraced us all affectionately, and
within the time he had proposed, performed
his promise of giving us our
portions, which to the best of my remembrance
amounted to three thousand
ducats each; for an uncle of
ours paid ready-money for the whole
estate, that it might not be alienated
from the family. In one day, all
three took leave of our worthy father;
when I thinking it a piece of inhumanity
to leave him so straitened in his
old age, prevailed upon him to accept
two thousand of the three I had received,
as the remainder was sufficient
to accommodate me with all the
necessaries of a soldier. Each of my
// File: 0357.png
.pn +1
brothers, induced by my example,
gave him back one-third of their
shares; so that he remained possessed
of four thousand ducats in cash,
and the value of three thousand more
in land, which he did not chuse to
sell. At length, I say, we took
leave of him, and that uncle whom I
have mentioned, not without great
concern and many tears on all sides;
they charging us to seize every opportunity
of making them acquainted
with our adventures, either in prosperity
or adversity. Having given
this promise, and received their embraces
and blessing, one took the
road to Salamanca, another went to
Seville, and I set out for Alicant,
where I understood there was a ship
taking in a lading of wool for Genoa.
Two and twenty years are now
elapsed since I left my father’s house;
and during all that time, though I
have written several letters, I never
received the least information concerning
him or my brothers. What
hath happened to myself within that
period, I will now briefly relate.

‘Embarking at Alicant, I had a
favourable passage to Genoa, from
whence I went to Milan, where I
provided myself with arms and some
gay military furniture. Then I departed
for Piedmont, with a resolution
of inlisting in the service; and
being upon the road to Alexandria
de la Paglia, was informed that the
great duke of Alva was on his march
into Flanders. Upon receiving this
intimation, I changed my design, attended
him to the Low Countries,
served in all his campaigns, and was
present at the death of the counts
Egmont and Horn. There I obtained
an ensign’s commission in the
company of a famous captain of
Guadalajara, whose name was Diego
de Urbina: but after I had been
some time in Flanders, the news arrived
of the league between his Holiness
Pope Pius the Fifth of happy
memory, and the Spanish monarchy,
against their common enemy the
Turk, who about that time had, by
means of his fleet, made a conquest
of the famous island of Cyrus, which
was under the dominion of the Venetians;
a most lamentable and unfortunate
loss. It was certainly
known that the most serene Don John
// File: 0358.png
of Austria, natural brother to our
good King Philip, was to be general
of this league; and the vast preparations
for this war were publickly reported.
All these rumours raised
and excited within me the desire and
resolution of being present in a
campaign of such expectation; and
though I had strong hopes, and indeed
certain promises, of being promoted
to the rank of a captain as
soon as a vacancy should happen, I
chose to quit that prospect, and go,
as I actually did, to Italy; and
luckily for me, Don John of Austria
was then at Genoa, just going to
embark for Naples, in order to join
the Venetian fleet, which he afterwards
found at Messina. In short, I
served in that most happy campaign,
and was advanced to the rank of
captain of foot, which honourable
post I obtained more by good fortune
than merit, and that day which was
so fortunate for Christendom, on
which the world was convinced of
the error they had espoused in believing
the Turks invincible by sea;
on that day, I say, when the Ottoman
pride and insolence were humbled
and broke among so many happy
Christians there present, (and sure
those who fell were happier than the
living victors!) I alone was unfortunate;
for, instead of receiving
a naval crown, which would have
been my reward, had I lived in the
Roman ages, on the night that succeeded
that glorious day, I found
myself a captive loaded with chains!
And this was the cause of my misfortune:
Uchali, King of Algiers, a
bold and fortunate corsair, having
attacked and mastered the capitan
galley of Malta, in which there remained
only three knights alive, and
these desperately wounded; the vessel
commanded by John Andrea Doria,
in which my company was stationed,
hastened to her relief, and I doing
my duty on that occasion, leaped
into the enemy’s ship, which disengaging
herself immediately from
our galley, that was grappled with
her, my soldiers were prevented from
following their officer, and I found
myself alone among my foes, whom,
by reason of their numbers, I could
not resist; therefore was obliged to
submit after having been almost
// File: 0359.png
.pn +1
covered over with wounds; and
Uchali, as you have heard, gentlemen,
having saved himself with his whole
squadron, I remained his prisoner,
the only sad person amidst the general
joy, and captive among so many that
were set free; for full fifteen thousand
Christians who came into the
action chained to the Turkish oars,
that day recovered their long wished
for liberty.

‘I was carried to Constantinople,
where Selim, the grand Turk, created
my master general of the sea, for having
done his duty in the battle, and
as a proof of his valour brought off
the high standard of Malta. Next
year, which was that of seventy-two,
I rowed in the capitan galley of the
Three Lanthorns, at Navarino, where
I saw and observed the Christians lose
the opportunity of taking the whole
Turkish fleet in the harbour; for,
all the Levantines and Janissaries belonging
to it laid their account with
being attacked in port, and had actually
got in readiness their knapsacks
and passamaques, (which are a kind of
shoes) in order to go on shore, and
seek their safety in flight, without
waiting for the assault; such was the
consternation that prevailed among
them! But Heaven ordained things to
happen in another manner; not through
any error or neglect of the general
who commanded the expedition, but
on account of the sins of Christendom;
it being the will and permission of
God, that we should never want executioners
to chastise us. In short, Uchali
retreated to Modon, which is an
island almost contiguous to Navarino,
where he disembarked his men, fortified
the mouth of the harbour, and
remained until Don John set sail on his
return. In this expedition, the galley
called the Prize, commanded by a
son of the famous corsair Barbarossa,
was taken by the capitan galley of Naples
called the She-wolf, the commander
of which was that thunderbolt of
war, that father of his soldiers, that
fortunate and invincible chief, Don
Alvaro de Basan, marquis of Santa
Cruz: and I cannot help mentioning
what happened at the taking of this
prize. The son of Barbarossa was so
cruel, and treated his captives so inhumanly,
that when the rowers perceived
the She-wolf ready to board,
and in a fair way of taking her, they
quitted their oars all at once, and
seizing the captain, who stood upon
the strentrel[#], calling to them to
row lustily, they tossed him forwards
from bench to bench, and bit him so
severely as he went along, that before
he passed the main-mast, his soul passed
into hell. Such was his barbarity,
as I have already observed, and
such the revenge which their hatred
to him inspired!

‘We returned to Constantinople;
and during the following year, which
was seventy-three, understood that
Don John had taken Tunis, wrested
that whole kingdom from the Turks,
and put Muley Hamet in possession
of the whole; thus cutting off all
the hopes of a restoration from Muley
Hamida, the most valiant and most
cruel Moor of his time. The grand
Signior was deeply affected with his
loss, and practising that sagacity which
is peculiar to all those of his family,
clapped up a peace with the Venetians,
who were much more desirous
of it than he. Next year, being seventy-four,
he attacked the goleta
and fort, which Don John had left
half-finished, near Tunis: and on
all these occasions I was present,
being tied to the oar, without the
least hope of freedom, especially by
ransom; for, I was resolved not to
write to my father an account of my
misfortune. At length, the goleta
and fort were both lost, having been
besieged by seventy-five thousand
Turkish soldiers, regularly paid, and
upwards of four hundred thousand
Moors and Arabs from the other
parts of Africa; this multitude being
provided with a vast quantity of
warlike stores and ammunition, and
attended with such a number of pioneers,
that, by throwing handfuls of
earth, they might have covered both
the places they came to besiege. The
goleta, which had been counted impregnable,
was first taken; not through
any fault of the besieged, who performed
all that men could do in its defence,
but because experience shewed
that trenches could be made with ease
in that loose sand, under which,
// File: 0360.png
.pn +1
though water was commonly found
at the depth of two spans, the Turks,
at that time, dug as many fathoms,
without finding one drop; and so filling
a vast number of sacks, raised
their works so high as to overlook the
fort; then mounting this cavalier
with cannon, kept such a firing as
rendered it impossible for the garrison
to make any longer defence. It was
a common opinion, that our troops
ought not to have shut themselves up
in the goleta, but opposed the disembarkation
in the plain; however,
those who talk in that manner, speak
at random, and must be persons of
small experience in such affairs; for,
if the whole garrison in both places
scarce amounted to seven thousand
soldiers, how could such a small number,
though ever so valiant, take the
field, and at the same time defend
the forts, against such a multitude
of foes? And how could the forts be
possibly maintained without supplies,
in an enemy’s country, when they
were hemmed in by such a numerous
and obstinate army? But others
thought, and I am of the same opinion,
that Heaven manifested a particular
grace and favour to Spain, in
permitting them to destroy that rendezvous
and pretence of mischief,
that sink, spunge, and devourer of infinite
sums of money, which were
there unprofitably spent, without serving
any other purpose than that of
preserving the memory of its being
the most happy conquest of the invincible
Charles the Fifth: as if it was
necessary for those stones to support
his fame, which is already immortal.
The fort was also yielded, though the
Turks won it by inches; for the garrison
behaved with such gallantry
and resolution, that in two and twenty
general assaults, the enemy lost upwards
of twenty-five thousand men;
and of the three hundred Spanish soldiers
that remained alive, they did not
make one prisoner who had not been
wounded during the siege: a clear
and certain proof of the obstinate valour
with which the places were defended.
A small fort, or tower,
that stood in the middle of the lake,
under the command of Don Juan
Zanoguera, a Valentian knight and
celebrated soldier, surrendered upon
terms: but, Don Pedro Puertocarrero,
// File: 0361.png
general of the goleta, was made
prisoner; and though he did all that
man could do in defence of the place,
he was so deeply affected by the loss
of it, that he died of grief on the road
to Constantinople, whither they were
carrying him captive. The general
of the fort, whose name was Gabrio
Cerbellon, a Milanese gentleman, a
great engineer, and excellent soldier,
was likewise taken prisoner; and in
these two forts perished many persons
of note, among whom was one Pagan
d’Oria, a knight of <abbr=Saint>St.</abbr> John, a gentleman
of a most generous disposition,
as appeared from his excessive liberality
to his brother the famous Juan
Andrea d’Oria; and what made his
death still more lamentable, was, that
he perished by the hands of some
Arabs, to whom, seeing the fort already
lost, he trusted himself, relying
upon their promise to carry him disguised
in a Moorish dress, to Tabarca,
which is a small port or settlement
belonging to the Genoese, who fish
for coral on that part of the coast;
but those perfidious Arabs cut off
his head, which they carried to the
general of the Turkish navy, who
fulfilled upon them our Castilian proverb,
which imports, that though we
love the treason, we abhor the traitor;
for it was reported, that he ordered
them all to be hanged, because they
had not brought him alive.

‘Among the Christians who were
taken in the fort, was one Don Pedro
de Aguilar, a native of some town in
Andalousia, who had been an ensign
in the garrison, a soldier of great
worth and rare endowments, particularly
blessed with a happy talent for
poetry. This circumstance I mention,
because it was his fate to belong
to our galley, where he was my companion
at the oar, and fellow-slave;
and before we departed from that
harbour, he composed two songs, by
way of epitaph upon the goleta and the
fort. As I have them both by heart,
I believe it will not be disagreeable to
the company if I repeat them.’

When the captive mentioned Don
Pedro de Aguilar, Don Fernando
looked at his companions, who smiled;
and when the stranger was going to repeat
the songs, one of the three said to
him, ‘Before you proceed, I beg the
favour to know what became of that
// File: 0362.png
.pn +1
Don Pedro de Aguilar?’—‘All
that I know of the matter,’ replied
the captive, ‘is, that after having
staid two years at Constantinople,
he made off in the habit of an arnaut[#],
with a Greek spy: but I do
not know whether or not he obtained
his liberty, though I believe be succeeded;
for about a year after, I
saw the same Greek at Constantinople;
but I had not an opportunity
to enquire about the success of
their scheme.’—‘Then I can satisfy
you in that particular,’ resumed
the cavalier; ‘Don Pedro is my brother,
and now lives at home, in
good health and easy circumstances,
blessed with a wife and three hopeful
sons.’——‘Thanks be to God
for the great mercies bestowed upon
him!’ answered the captive; ‘for, in
my opinion, there is no happiness
on earth equal to that of liberty
regained.’—‘Besides,’ said the gentleman,
‘I retain in my memory the
songs which my brother composed.’—‘Be
so good, then,’ replied the stranger,
‘as to entertain the company with
them; for, doubtless, you can repeat
them more perfectly than I can.’—‘With
all my heart,’ said the cavalier:
‘that upon the goleta runs thus.’

.fn #
The strentrel, or estanterol, is a post that supports the awning of the poop.
.fn-

.fn #
A Dalmatian trooper.
.fn-
.sp 4
.h4 id=chap2-4-13
<abbr=chapter>CHAP.</abbr> <abbr=thirteen>XIII.</abbr> | THE CONTINUATION OF THE CAPTIVE’S HISTORY.
.sp 2
.pm verse-start
<abbr=one>I.</abbr>

“Ye happy shades, whose deeds renown’d
  ”Have freed you from encumb’ring clay;
“From this low scene, where woes abound,
  ”Ascending to eternal day.

<abbr=two>II.</abbr>

“With glorious zeal your bosoms glow’d,
  ”Your bodies brav’d excessive toil:
“Your blood with that of Pagans flow’d,
  ”To drench the hostile, barren soil.

<abbr=three>III.</abbr>

“Your lives, but not your courage, fail’d;
  ”Death seal’d your just, victorious claim;
“Enjoy, still honour’d and bewail’d,
  ”Immortal happiness and fame.“
.pm verse-end

‘These are the very words which I
remember,’ said the captive. ‘And
if my memory does not fail me,’ replied
the gentleman, ‘the other upon
the fort is this.
.sp 2
.pm verse-start
<abbr=one>I.</abbr>

“Lo! from yon ruins on the desart plain,
  ”Oppress’d with numbers, in th’ unequal fight,
“Three thousand souls of Christian warriors slain,
  ”To happier regions, wing’d their joyous flight.

<abbr=two>II.</abbr>

“Yet not before in vain they had essay’d
  ”The force and vigour of their dauntless arms;
“Till wearied and reduc’d, though undismay’d,
  ”They welcom’d death, encompass’d with alarms.

<abbr=three>III.</abbr>

“On Afric’s coast, as records tell,
  ”The scene of past and present woes,
“More valiant bodies never fell,
  ”More spotless spirits never rose.“
.pm verse-end

The songs were not disliked; and
the captive rejoicing at the good fortune
of his comrade, proceeded thus in
his narration.

‘The goleta and forts being taken,
the Turks ordered the first to be dismantled,
the other being quite demolished
before it was surrendered;
and that this might be done with the
less trouble, and greater dispatch, it
was undermined in three parts, but
they could by no means blow up
the old walls, which seemed to be
the weakest part, while that which
was executed by Fratin, was destroyed
with great facility. In short,
the victorious fleet returned in
triumph to Constantinople, where,
in a few months, happened the death
of my master Uchali, who went by
the name of Uchali Fartax, which,
in the language of that country,
signifies the Scabby Renegado; for
such he actually was, and it is a
custom among the Turks, to bestow
epithets upon people, derived either
from some defect or virtue inherent
in them: this method they practise,
because they have but four families
distinguished by particular names,
and these are descended from the
house of Ottoman; so that the rest,
as I have observed, adopt some appellation,
either from the blemishes
// File: 0363.png
.pn +1
of the body, or the virtues of the
mind. This leper, therefore, tugged
at the oar, during fourteen years,
as slave to the Grand Signior; and
when he was turned of thirty-four,
apostatized, out of resentment against
a Turk, who struck him at the oar;
renouncing his religion, that he
might be able to revenge the affront.
Such was his gallantry and conduct,
that without practising those vile
steps and methods by which the
sultan’s favourites are raised, he
was promoted to the throne of Algiers,
and afterwards created general
at sea, which is the third post in
the empire. He was a native of
Calabria, a man of good morals,
and behaved with great humanity
to his slaves, who, to the number of
three thousand, were at his death,
in consequence of his last will, divided
between his renegadoes and the
Grand Signior, who is also coheir with
the children of all his deceased subjects.
I fell to the share of a Venetian,
who had been a common sailor
when he was taken; and Uchali
had such an affection for him, that
he enjoyed the greatest share of his
favour, and became the most cruel
renegado that ever was known. This
man, whose name was Azanaga,
acquired great riches, and even succeeded
to the crown of Algiers, to
which place I accompanied him from
Constantinople, with some degree of
satisfaction, at the thoughts of being
so near my own country; not that I
intended to send home an account of
my unhappy fate, but to see if
fortune would not prove more favourable
at Algiers than at Constantinople,
where I had laid a thousand
schemes for my escape, without having
an opportunity of putting one of
them in execution; but I was in
hope of finding at Algiers some
other more effectual means of obtaining
that which I so ardently desired:
for the hope of gaining my liberty
never forsook my breast; on the
contrary, when all my pains, efforts,
and expectations, miscarried, far from
abandoning myself to despair, I endeavoured
to find out some new expedient,
which though ever so frail and
unsubstantial, served to support my
spirits, and flatter my imagination.
// File: 0364.png
Thus I made shift to live within a
house or prison, called a bath, in
which the Turks confine the Christian
captives, whether belonging to the
king, or private persons, or of that
class which they call magazine-slaves;
these are the captives of the
council, who serve the state in publick
works, and other kinds of day-labour;
and find great difficulty in
obtaining their freedom, because
they belong to the community, and
have no particular master with whom
they can treat concerning their ransom,
even though they can command
money for the purpose.

‘In these baths, as I have already
said, some private persons lodge
their slaves, especially when their
ransom is agreed upon; and there
they remain secure, and at their ease,
until it arrives. Neither do the king’s
captives, who are to be ransomed,
go out to work with the rest of the
crew, except when the money is delayed;
and then, that they may be
induced to write with more importunity,
they are sent out with the rest
to cut wood, an office of no small
mortification and toil. As they knew
I had been a captain, I in vain
assured them, that I had neither interest
nor money; they put me into
the number of those who were to be
ransomed, loading me with a chain,
rather to denote my condition than
to secure my person; so that I spent
my time in that bath, among a great
many cavaliers and people of fashion,
who were thus marked and designed
for ransom; and though we were sometimes,
nay, almost always exposed
to hunger and nakedness, nothing
gave us so much pain, as to hear and
see, upon every occasion, the new
and unheard of cruelties which my
master exercised upon the Christians.
He was every day hanging one, impaling
another, maiming a third,
upon such slight occasions, frequently
without any cause assigned, that the
Turks themselves owned he acted
thus out of mere wantonness or barbarity,
as being naturally of a savage
disposition, and an inveterate enemy
to the whole human race. The person
who used the greatest freedom
with him was a Spanish soldier,
called such-a-one de Saavedra; who,
// File: 0365.png
.pn +1
though he did many things which
those people will not soon forget, in
attempting to regain his liberty, he
never gave him one blow, nor ordered
him once to be chastised, nor
even chid him with one hasty word;
and yet the least of all his pranks
was sufficient, as we thought, to
bring him to the stake: nay, he
himself was more than once afraid
of being impaled alive. If time
would permit, I could here recount
some of that soldier’s actions, which
perhaps, might entertain and surprize
you more than the relation of
my own story.

‘But to return to the thread of my
narration: just over the yard of our
prison were the windows of a rich
and principal Moor; but, according
to the custom of the country, they
were rather like peep-holes than windows,
and even these covered with
very thick and close lattices. One
day I chanced to be on the terrace of
our gaol, with three of my companions,
passing the time in trying which of
us could leap farthest in our shackles,
the rest of the Christians being
gone out to work; I casually lifted
up my eyes, and perceived a cane
with a handkerchief tied to it, held
out at these little openings I have
mentioned, and waving to and fro,
as if by way of signal for some of us
to go and catch it. This object was
no sooner observed, than one of my
companions ran hastily to the place
that was directly under it, to see if
the cane would be dropped, or what
would be the consequence; but when
he arrived it was pulled up, and
moved from one side to another, as if
a man should signify his dissent from
any proposal, by shaking his head:
when the Christian returned, the cane
was lowered again, with the same
motion as at first, upon which another
of our company tried the experiment,
but succeeded no better than
the first; a third went, and miscarried
like the other two. Observing
their disappointment, I was resolved
to try my fortune also; accordingly,
I had no sooner placed myself under
the cane than it was dropped, and
fell down within the bath, just at my
feet. I snatched it up immediately,
and untied the handkerchief, in
which I found a knot containing ten
// File: 0366.png
zianiys, which are pieces of bad gold,
current among the Moors, each of
them valued at ten rials of our money.
It would be superfluous to say that I
rejoiced at this windfall: indeed, my
joy was equal to my surprize; for I
could not conceive from whence that
present could come, especially to me,
the circumstance of the cane’s being
refused to every other person plainly
shewing that the favour was intended
for me. I pocketed this lucky sum,
broke the cane, returned to the terrace,
and looked at the window, through
which appeared a very white hand,
that opened the lattice, and hastily
shut it again: from this circumstance
we understood, or at least imagined,
that we owed the present to some lady
who lived in that house; and, in
token of thanks, made our obeisance
in the Moorish manner, by bowing
the head, bending the body, and
crossing the hands upon the breast.
Soon after this ceremony, a small
cross made of cane, was held out at
the window, and immediately withdrawn:
a signal which confirmed us
in the opinion that we were befriended
by some Christian woman,
who lived as a slave in that house;
but this supposition was changed,
when we reflected upon the whiteness
of the hand, and the bracelets which
we had perceived; and then we
concluded that she must be one of
those Christian renegades whom their
masters frequently take to wife; and
even think themselves fortunate in
having such an opportunity; for they
esteem them much more than the
women of their own nation. But all
our conjectures were wide of the truth.

‘From this day forward, our whole
entertainment was to gaze at the window,
as the north in which the star
of the cane had appeared; but full
fifteen days elapsed, before we had
another glimpse either of that or the
hand, or indeed of any other signal;
and during this interval, though we
endeavoured by all the means in our
power to learn who lived in that
house, and whether or not there was a
Christian renegado in it, we never
could get any other information, but
that it belonged to a rich Moor of
great note, called Agimorato, who
had been alcaide of Pata, an office
of great honour among that people;
// File: 0367.png
.pn +1
but, when we least expected another
shower of zianiys, the cane reappeared
all of a sudden, with
another handkerchief, and a larger
knot than before, and this occurrence
happened as formerly, when none but
ourselves were in the bath: we made
the usual experiment, each of my three
companions, going towards it as at
first without success, until I approached,
and then it was immediately
dropped. I untied the knot, within
which I found forty crowns in Spanish
gold, and a paper written in
Arabian characters, with a large cross
at the head of the page. I kissed the
sacred sign, put up the money, returned
to the terrace, where we made
our obeisance; the hand appearing
again, I made signs that I should read
the letter, and then the window was
shut. We were equally pleased and
perplexed at this event, for none of
us understood Arabick; and although
our impatience to know the contents
of the paper was very great, the difficulty
of finding an interpreter was
still greater. At length I determined
to trust a renegade a native of Murcia,
who had professed himself my
friend, and given me such pledges of
his fidelity, as obliged him to keep
any secret I should think proper to
impart: for those renegades who intend
to return to Christendom, usually
carry about with them certificates
signed by the principal captives, attesting
in the most ample form they
can devise, that such a renegade is an
honest man, who hath always been
obliging to the Christians, and is desirous
of making his escape with the
first opportunity. Some there are who
procure these testimonials with a good
intention, others use them occasionally,
as the instruments of their
craft: for, going to rob and plunder
on the Christian coasts, if they should
chance to be shipwrecked or taken,
they produce their certificates, and observe
that these papers will shew the
real design of their coming on a
cruize with Turks, which was no
other than to take the first occasion of
returning to their native country; by
these means they escape the first fury
of resentment, and are reconciled to
the church, without suffering the least
damage; but when they see their opportunity,
they return to Barbary,
// File: 0368.png
and re-assume their former way of
life; whereas those who procure recommendations
with a good design,
make use of them accordingly, and
remain in peace among the Christians.
Such a renegado was this friend,
who had obtained certificates from all
my companions, conceived in the
strongest terms of confidence and applause;
for which, had he been detected,
the Moors would have burned
him alive. I knew that he could
both speak and write the Arabian
tongue; but, before I would disclose
the whole affair, I desired him to read
that paper which I had found by
chance in a corner of my cabbin. He
opened it accordingly, and having
pored and perused it a good while,
muttering between his teeth, I asked
if he understood the contents. He
answered in the affirmative, bidding
me, if I chose to have the literal meaning,
furnish him with pen and ink,
that he might translate it the more exactly.
I accordingly accommodated
him with what he desired; and when
he had made an end of the translation
at his own leisure, he said, “This
that I have written in Spanish is the
literal meaning of that Moorish paper;
and you are to take notice, that
wheresoever you meet with the words
Lela Marien, they signify our Lady
the Blessed Virgin.”

‘The paper contained these words—“When
I was a child, my father had a
woman slave, who in my own language
taught me the Christian worship,
and told me divers things of
Lela Marien. This Christian died,
and I am sure her soul did not go to
the fire, but to Ala; for I saw her
twice after her death, and she advised
me to go to the land of the Christians,
where I should see Lela Marien,
by whom I was beloved. I know
not which way to go; many Christians
I have seen from this window,
but not one who seems so much a
gentleman as yourself. I am very
beautiful and young, and have a great
deal of money in my possession. If
thou canst find out any method of
carrying me to thy country, thou
shalt there be my husband, if thou
art so inclined; but, if that be contrary
to thy inclination, I shall not
be uneasy, for Lela Marien will provide
me with a spouse. I write this
// File: 0369.png
.pn +1
with my own hand; let nobody read
it, but such as you can trust. Beware
of the Moors, for they are altogether
deceitful; therefore I am
very much concerned, for I would
not have it disclosed to any person
whatever; because, if it should come
to my father’s ears, he would instantly
cause me to be sunk in a well, and
covered with stones. I will fasten a
thread to the cane, to which thou
mayest tie thine answer; and if thou
hast not a proper person to write for
thee in Arabick, let me know by
signs; for Lela Marien will help me
to understand them. May she and
Ala preserve thee, by means of this
cross, which I often kiss, according
to the direction of my deceased
slave!”

‘You may easily conceive, gentlemen,
whether or not we were surprized
and rejoiced at the contents of this
paper. Indeed, the symptoms of joy
and admiration appeared so plain in
our behaviour, that the renegado suspected
it was not found by accident,
but actually written and addressed to
one of our company. He accordingly
intreated us to tell him if his conjecture
was true, protesting that we
might safely trust to his fidelity, and
assuring us, if we would favour him
with our confidence, he would venture
his life in procuring our freedom.
So saying, he pulled from his bosom
a crucifix of metal, and with many
tears, swore by the God represented
under the form of that image, in
whom he, though a wretched sinner,
fully and faithfully believed, that he
would be trusty and secret in every
thing we should please to communicate;
for he firmly believed, and as it
were prognosticated, that by means of
her who had written the paper, we
should all obtain liberty, and he accomplish
that which he had so much
at heart, namely, his re-admission into
the bosom of his holy mother church,
from which he, through his ignorance
and guilt, had been like a rotten
member, divided and cut off.
This declaration he made with so
many tears and signs of repentance,
that we unanimously agreed to intrust
him with the affair, and accordingly
gave him an account of every
thing that had happened, without suppressing
one circumstance; and shewed
// File: 0370.png
him the window at which the cane
appeared: so that from thence he had
took, his mark of the house, resolving
to inform himself, with great care and
caution, of the name and quality of
those who lived in it. Meanwhile,
we were all of opinion, that there was
a necessity for answering the billet;
and there being a person present, who
could perform that office, the renegado
that instant wrote in Arabick
what I dictated, which was literally
as I shall now repeat, for of all the
material circumstances of that affair,
not one hath escaped my memory,
which will retain them all to my last
breath. In short, this was the answer
which I sent to the beautiful
Moor.

.pm letter-start
“MY DEAR LADY!

“Mayest thou be protected by
the true Ala, and that blessed
Mary the real mother of God, who,
because she loves thee, hath put it into
thy heart to go to the land of Christians;
beseech her therefore, that she
will be pleased to teach thee how thou
mayest obey her commands; for she
is so benevolent that she will grant
thy request. For my own part, and
in behalf of those who are my fellow
prisoners, I promise to serve
thee with our whole power, even unto
death. Fail not to write and give
me notice of what thou shalt resolve
to do; and I will always answer
thy letters; for the great Ala hath
favoured us with the friendship of
a Christian captive, who can speak
and write thy language, as thou
wilt perceive by this paper; wherefore
thou mayest communicate thy
will and pleasure to us without fear.
As to thy offer of becoming my
wife, when thou shalt be safely settled
in the land of the Christians, I
pledge myself thine, on the faith of
a good Christian; and know, that
those of our religion perform their
promises more punctually than the
Moors. God, and his mother Mary,
take my dear lady into their holy
protection!”
.pm letter-end

‘This letter being written and sealed,
I waited two days until the bath
was empty, and then went to the
usual place on the terrace, to look
// File: 0371.png
.pn +1
for the cane, which in a little time
appeared. I no sooner perceived the
sign, though I could not see who made
it, than I held up the letter to make
her understand that she should fasten
a thread to the cane; but that was already
done, and I tied the paper to it
accordingly. In a little time our star
appeared again, loaded with the white
flag of peace; which being dropped,
I took it up, and found, in different
coins of gold and silver, to the amount
of fifty crowns, which increased
our satisfaction fifty-fold, and confirmed
us in the hope of obtaining our
freedom. That same night our renegade
returned, and told us, he was
informed the house was inhabited by
that same Moor I have mentioned
under the name of Agimorato, who
was excessively rich, and had only
one daughter to inherit his whole fortune;
that by the current report in
the city, she was the most beautiful
woman in Barbary; and that many
of the viceroys who went thither, had
demanded her in marriage, but she
would never yield her consent; he likewise
understood that she had once a
Christian slave, who had died some
time ago; so that all these circumstances
agreed with the contents of
her letter. We then consulted with
the renegade about the means of transporting
ourselves with the Moorish
lady, into Christendom; and, at
length, we came to the resolution of
waiting for another intimation from
Zorayda, which is the name of her
who now desires to be called Maria;
for we plainly perceived, that by
means of her, and no other, we should
be enabled to surmount all the difficulties
that occurred.

‘Having come to this determination,
the renegado bid us give ourselves no
uneasiness, for he would either procure
our liberty or forfeit his own life. The
bath being full of people during four
days, no cane appeared all that time; at
the end of which the usual solitude prevailing,
we perceived it with a handkerchief
so pregnant as to promise a
most happy birth. I stood under it;
the whole was dropped as usual, and
I found in the handkerchief another
paper with one hundred crowns
in gold, without any mixture of other
coin. The renegade being then present,
we carried him to our cabbin,
// File: 0372.png
where we desired him to read the letter,
which he interpreted in these
words.

.pm letter-start
“I know not, dear Sir, how to give
directions about our passage into
Spain; nor hath Lela Marien told
me, though I have earnestly implored
her assistance. But what may be
easily effected is this: I will from this
window furnish you with a great
quantity of money; so that you may
ransom yourself and your companions;
and going to the land of the
Christians, purchase a bark with
which you may return for the rest;
and you will find me in my father’s
garden, which is by the gate of Barbazon,
close to the sea-side. There
I shall be during the whole summer,
with my father and servants; and
from thence you may, in the night,
carry me to the bark without fear.
But remember thou shalt be my husband;
otherwise I will pray to Marien
to chastise thee. If thou canst
depend upon no other person for purchasing
the bark, ransom thyself for
that purpose. I know thou wilt be
more apt than any other body to return,
because thou art a gentleman
and a Christian. Be sure to inform
thyself well about the garden. When
I see thee walking where thou art at
present, I shall know the bath is
empty, and provide thee with more
money. Ala preserve thee, my dear
gentleman!”
.pm letter-end

‘These were the contents and purport
of the second paper; which being
read in presence of us all, each proposed
himself as the person to be ransomed,
promising to go and return
with the utmost punctuality; I likewise
offered myself for that purpose.
But the renegado opposed the proposal;
saying, that he could by no
means consent that one should be set
free, before we had all obtained our liberty:
because experience had taught
him, how ill those who are free perform
the promises they have made in
their captivity; for prisoners of note
had often practised the expedient of
ransoming one of their number, to go
to Valencia or Majorca, with money
to purchase an armed bark, and return
for his companions, but they
never saw his face again; for having
// File: 0373.png
.pn +1
once obtained his own liberty, the
dread of losing it again, by returning,
blots all manner of obligations out of
his remembrance. As a confirmation
of the truth of what he alledged, he
briefly recounted a case which had
lately happened to some Christian
gentlemen, attended with the strangest
circumstances ever known even in
these parts, where the most uncommon
and surprizing events occur almost
every day. In short, he told
us, the most practicable and prudent
scheme was, to give him the money
we should receive for our ransom,
with which he would purchase a bark
at Algiers, under pretence of becoming
merchant, and trading to Tetuan,
and the other places on that
coast; and that being master of the
vessel, he would soon contrive the
means of disengaging us from the
bath, and getting us all on board;
especially if the Moorish lady should
perform her promise in supplying us
with money sufficient to pay the ransom
of our whole company; in which
case, being no longer slaves, we might
embark with the greatest ease and
safety, even at noon-day. The greatest
difficulty that occurred, was the backwardness
of the Moors, to allow a
renegade to purchase or command a
vessel, unless it be a large cruizer for
pirating; because they suspect, especially
if he be a Spaniard, that his
sole motive in buying a small bark, is
to make his escape into Christendom;
but he undertook to remedy that inconvenience,
by giving a share of the
bark and profits of the merchandize
to a Tangarin Moor; by which means
he should be master of the bark, and
of consequence have it in his power
to accomplish the whole affair.

‘Although, in the opinion of me and
my companions, there was no better
plan than that of sending to Majorca
for a bark, as the Moorish lady had
proposed, we durst not contradict the
sentiments of the renegade, lest he,
being disobliged by our acting contrary
to his intention, should make
a discovery of our correspondence
with the fair Moor, and endanger not
only our lives, but also that of Zorayda,
for which we would have willingly
sacrificed our own. We therefore
determined to rely upon God and
the renegado; and immediately wrote
// File: 0374.png
an answer to Zorayda, importing, that
we would adhere in every thing to her
advice, which was as prudent as if
it had been dictated by Lela Marien;
and that it depended solely upon her,
either to hasten or retard the negociation;
pledging my faith anew to become
her spouse. In consequence of
this intimation, the very next day,
when the bath happened to be empty,
she, at different times, by means of
the cane and handkerchief, transmitted
two thousand crowns in gold,
with a paper signifying, that on the
first Jama, which is Friday, she should
set out for her father’s garden, but before
her departure, supply us with
more money; and desired us to inform
her, if we should find that insufficient;
for she would give us as
much as we could desire, her father
having such vast sums, that he would
never be sensible of what she took,
especially as all his keys were in her
possession. We immediately accommodated
the renegado with five hundred
crowns, for the purchase of the bark;
with eight hundred more I ransomed
myself, depositing the money with a
Valentian merchant then residing at
Algiers, who bargained for my ransom
with the king, and obtained my
freedom, upon giving his word to pay
the money on the arrival of the first
ship from Valencia; for, if he had paid
it immediately, the king would have
suspected that the ransom had been
some time at Algiers, and that the
merchant had hitherto detained it for
his own convenience. In short, my
master was so contentious, that I durst
by no means disburse the money at
once. On the Thursday before the
fair Zorayda removed to her father’s
country house, she gave us another
thousand crowns, and apprized us of
her departure; intreating me, as soon
as I should be ransomed, to make myself
acquainted with her father’s garden,
and find some opportunity of
going thither to see her. I answered,
in few words, that I would obey her
in every thing, desiring she would fervently
recommend us to Lela Marien
in all those prayers which she had
learned of the slave.

‘This affair being transacted, means
were concerted for ransoming my three
companions; lest, seeing me at liberty
and themselves confined, since I had
// File: 0375.png
.pn +1
money enough to procure their freedom,
they should be chagrined and
tempted by the devil to do something
to the prejudice of Zorayda; for, although
their honour and integrity
might have secured me against any
such apprehension, I would not run
the smallest risk, and therefore took
care they should be ransomed by the
same canal through which my liberty
was obtained; depositing the whole
sum required in the merchant’s hands,
that he might with more certainty
and confidence act the part of their
bondsman; though we never disclosed
to him our secret commerce with Zorayda,
for fear of what might happen.’
.sp 4
.h4 id=chap2-4-14
<abbr=chapter>CHAP.</abbr> <abbr=fourteen>XIV.</abbr> | THE CONTINUATION OF THE CAPTIVE’S ADVENTURES.
.sp 2
‘Before fifteen days had elapsed,
our renegado had purchased
a stout vessel capable of containing thirty
persons at least; and to secure what he
had done with a favourable pretext, he
made a voyage to a place called Sargel,
about thirty leagues from Algiers,
towards the coast of Oran, where there
is a great traffick of dried figs; and he
made two or three trips of this kind
in company with the Tagarin Moor
already mentioned. The Moors of
Arragon are in Barbary called Tagarins,
and those of Grenada go by the
name of Mudajares; though these last
are in the kingdom of Fez called
Elches, being the people whom the
king chiefly uses in his wars. I say,
then, in every passage, the renegado
brought his bark to an anchor in a
small creek, within two bow shots of
Agimorato’s garden, and there purposely
employed himself and his
Moorish rowers in practising the Zala[#],
or attempted that in jest which he
intended to execute in earnest. He
went frequently to Zorayda’s garden,
on pretence of asking fruit, which he always
received from her father, though
he did not know him; but although,
as he afterwards owned, he wanted to
speak with Zorayda, and tell her that he
was the person appointed by me to carry
her off to the land of the Christians,
that she might be satisfied and secure
of his fidelity; he never had an opportunity
of executing his design, for
the Moorish women avoid the sight of
their own countrymen and the Turks,
unless when they are commanded to
appear by their parents and husbands:
though they talk and converse with
Christian captives even more freely
than decency allows. I should have
been very much concerned had he
spoke with her, because it would perhaps
have given her great uneasiness
to see renegades intrusted with the
affair; but God, who ordained all for
the best, gave him no opportunity of
fulfilling his well-meaning intention.

‘Perceiving how securely he traded
to and from Sargel, and anchored
when, where, and how he pleased, his
partner submitting to his direction in
all things; and that I being ransomed,
there was nothing wanted but
some Christians to row, he desired me
to pick out those who should accompany
me exclusive of my friends who
were ransomed, and bespeak them for
the Friday following, which he had
appointed for the day of our departure.
Seeing him thus determined, I spoke to
a dozen Spaniards, all of them able-bodied
rowers, and people who could
easily get out of the city; and indeed
it was no small difficulty to find so
many at that conjuncture, for no
fewer than twenty gallies being then
out upon the cruize, almost all the
rowers were employed; so that I should
not have found those I have mentioned
had not their master staid at home that
summer to finish a vessel which he had
on the stocks. All I said to them was,
that next Friday in the evening they
should slily slip out of the city one by
one, and betake themselves to Agimorato’s
garden, where they should wait
my coming; and I directed every one
by himself, if he should meet with
other Christians at the rendezvous, to
say nothing but that I had ordered him
to wait for me in that place.

‘This point being settled, another
precaution still more necessary remained
untaken; this was to advertise
Zorayda of the situation of our affairs,
that she might be prepared and guarded
against surprize at our sudden assault,
before she could think it possible that
the Christian bark was arrived. Resolved
// File: 0376.png
.pn +1
therefore to see and speak with
her if possible one day before our departure,
I went to the garden on pretence
of gathering some herbs, and the
first person I met was her father, who
spoke to me in a language used
through all Barbary, and even at
Constantinople, between the captives
and the Moors; it is neither Arabick
nor Castilian, nor indeed peculiar to
any nation, but a mixture of different
tongues by which we may make shift to
understand each other. I say, he asked
in this sort of jargon who I was, and
what I wanted in his garden? I answered
that I was a slave belonging to
Arnaute Mami, who I knew to be an
intimate friend of his, and that I
wanted a few herbs for a sallad. In
consequence of this answer, he enquired
whether or not I was to be ransomed,
and what my master demanded for my
freedom? And while we were thus
conversing together, the fair Zorayda
came out into the garden. She had
already perceived me from a window
of the house; and as the Moorish women
make no scruple of shewing
themselves to Christians, with whom,
as I have already observed, they are
not at all shy, she without any hesitation
walked towards the place where I
was standing with her father, who no
sooner saw her, than he called at a distance
desiring her to come up. It
would be a difficult task for me at
present to describe the exceeding beauty,
the genteel mien, the gay and rich
ornaments with which my beloved
Zorayda then presented herself before
mine eyes: I shall only observe, that
the pearls about her beauteous neck
and ears, out-numbered the hairs of her
head. On her ancles, which were
bare, according to the custom of the
country, she wore carcaxes, (by which
name the bracelets for the feet are
called in the Morisco language) of
the purest gold, set with such a quantity
of diamonds, that she afterwards
told me her father valued them at
twenty thousand ducats; and those
she wore upon her wrists were of equal
richness. The pearls, though in such
a vast number, were extremely fine;
for the greatest pride and magnificence
of the Moorish women lie in pearls
and embroidery; consequently there
is a greater quantity of pearls and
seed-pearl in Barbary than in all the
// File: 0377.png
other nations of the world, and Zorayda’s
father had the reputation of
possessing the greatest number and the
best in Algiers, together with a fortune
of two hundred thousand Spanish
crowns, of all which she who is now
mine was once mistress. Whether
with the assistance of all these ornaments
she appeared beautiful or not,
and what she must have been in her
prosperity, may be conjectured by what
remains after the great fatigues she
hath undergone; for it is well known
that the beauty of some women hath
its days and seasons, and is diminished
or increased according to the circumstances
that happen; being improved
or impaired, nay, often totally destroyed,
by the passions of the mind.
In short, she approached in all the
pomp of dress, and all the excess of
beauty; at least to me she seemed the
most beautiful creature I had ever
seen; which circumstance, joined to
the obligation I lay under, made me
look upon her as an angel sent from
heaven for my delight and deliverance.
When she came up, her father told
her in their own language that I was
a captive belonging to his friend Arnaute
Mami, and had come for a sallad;
upon which she took up the discourse,
and in that jumble of languages
before-mentioned, asked if I
was a gentleman, and why I did not
ransom myself? I answered that I
was already ransomed, and that she
might see in what esteem I was with
my master by the sum he received for
my freedom, which was no less than
fifteen hundred sultanins. To this
observation she replied, “Truly, if
thou hadst belonged to my father, he
should not have parted with thee for
twice the sum; for you Christians always
dissemble, and call yourselves
poorer than you really are, with a
view of imposing upon the Moors.”—“That
may be sometimes the case,
Madam,” said I, “but I adhered to
the truth in bargaining with my master,
and will deal honestly with all
mankind.” She then asked how
soon I intended to depart: and I answered,
“To-morrow, I believe; there
is a French ship in the harbour to
sail in the morning, and I have some
thoughts of taking my passage on
board of her.”—“Had not you better
stay till the arrival of a vessel from
// File: 0378.png
.pn +1
Spain,” said Zorayda, “than trust
yourself with the French, who are
no good friends of yours?”—“No,
Madam,” answered I; “though, as
there is a Spanish ship expected, if
she arrives immediately, I believe I
shall wait for her; but it is more likely
that I shall sail to-morrow; for the desire
I have to see myself in my native
country with those I love, is too strong
to let me wait for any other convenience,
let it be ever so good.”—“Without
doubt,” said Zorayda, “thou
art married in thy own country, and
therefore desirous of being with thy
wife?”—“I am not yet wedded,”
I replied; “but under promise of being
married at my return.”—“And
is the woman beautiful to whom
thou hast pledged thy faith?” said
she. “So beautiful,” answered I,
“that, to compliment her, and tell
thee the truth, she is the exact resemblance
of thyself.”

‘Her father laughed heartily at this
declaration, saying, “Truly, Christian,
she must be very handsome indeed,
if she resembles my daughter,
who is the most beautiful woman in
this kingdom: look at her, and thou
wilt see whether or not I speak truth.”

‘In the greatest part of this conversation,
Agimorato served as interpreter
for his daughter, he being
better acquainted with this spurious
language, which though she understood
a little in consequence of its
being much spoke among the Moors,
she explained, her meaning by signs,
oftener than by words.

‘While we were engaged in this
and other such conversation, a Moor
ran towards us, crying aloud, that
four Turks having got through the
pales, or leaped over the garden wall,
were gathering the fruit, though it
was not yet ripe. At this information
the old man and Zorayda started;
for the Moors are commonly, and as
it were, naturally, afraid of the Turks,
especially the soldiers, who are so insolent
and imperious to their Moorish
subjects, that they treat them worse
than if they were slaves. Accordingly,
the father said to Zorayda, “Daughter,
retire to the house, and lock thyself
up, while I go and talk to those
dogs; and thou Christian,” (turning
to me) “gather thy herbs, and depart
in peace; and Ala send thee safe into
// File: 0379.png
thy own country!” I made my
obeysance, and he went in search of
the Turks, leaving me alone with
Zorayda, who pretended to go homeward
according to her father’s desire;
but no sooner was he out of sight,
among the trees of the garden, than
she came back, with her eyes drowned
in tears, saying, “Amexi, Christiano,
amexi!” the signification of which
address is, “Thou art going away,
Christian, thou art going away!”—“Yes,
Madam,” answered I, “but by
no means without you: on the next Jama
expect me, and be not afraid when
you see us; for we shall certainly
go to the land of the Christians.” I
made shift to express myself in such
a manner, that she understood this,
and every thing else that I said; and
throwing her arm about my neck,
began to walk towards the house,
with a slow and faultering pace: but
it pleased fortune, which might have
proved very unlucky, had not Heaven
otherwise ordained, that while we
walked in this attitude, with her arm
about my neck, we were observed by
her father, on his return from having
sent away the Turks; and we immediately
perceived ourselves discovered.
Nevertheless, Zorayda, prompted by
her discretion and presence of mind,
would not take her arm from my
neck; but, on the contrary, coming
closer to me; let her head drop upon
my bosom, and her knees sunk under
her, as if she was fainting; while I
seemed to support her with a sort of
strained civility.

‘The father seeing his daughter in
this situation, ran towards us with
great concern, and asked what was
the matter: but she making no reply,
“Doubtless,” said he, “she hath
fainted with the fright occasioned by
the insolence of those dogs.” Then,
taking her out of my arms, he supported
her in his own; while she,
fetching a deep sigh, the tears still
continuing in her eyes, repeated,
“Amexi, Christiano, amexi!——Begone,
Christian, begone.”—“There
is no necessity for the Christian’s
departure,” said the father, “he hath
done thee no harm; and as the
Turks are gone already, be not disturbed:
thou hast no cause to be
uneasy; for as I have already said,
the Turks, at my entreaty, went out
// File: 0380.png
.pn +1
as they had come in.”—“Indeed,
Sir,” said I, “they have discomposed
her very much, as you observe;
but since she desires me to go, I will
not stay to give offence. Peace be
with you! I will, with your permission,
return to this garden for herbs,
if they should be wanted; for my
master says there are none better to be
found in any other place.”—“Thou
mayest come as often as thou wilt,”
answered Agimorato: “what my
daughter says is not out of resentment
against thee or any other
Christian; but instead of bidding the
Turks begone, she applied the words
to thee, or else thought it was time
for thee to go and gather thy herbs.”
I then took leave of them both; and
she, as if her soul had been rent from
her body, went away with her father;
while I, on pretence of culling my
sallad, went round the whole garden
at my pleasure, observing all the entries
and outlets, together with the
strength of the house, and every convenience
that might tend to facilitate
our purpose.

‘Having thus reconnoitered, I went
and communicated my observations
to the renegado and the rest of my
companions, longing eagerly for the
hour of seeing myself in peaceable
possession of the blessing which fortune
presented in the beauteous and
charming Zorayda. At length the
intervening time elapsed, and the long-wished-for
day and period arrived,
when all of us, following the order
and plan which had been often canvassed,
and at last settled, after the
most mature deliberation, our desires
were happily accomplished. On the
Friday after I had spoke with Zorayda,
Morrenago, which was the
renegade’s name, anchored his bark,
at night-fall, opposite to the place
where my charming mistress resided;
and the Christians who were to row,
in consequence of my directions, lay
already concealed in different corners,
all around the place, waiting for me
with impatience, joy, and desire of
attacking the vessel which was in
view; for they were ignorant of our
confederacy with the renegade, and
believed that they must win and maintain
their liberty by force of arms, in
killing all the Moors who belonged
to the bark; wherefore, as soon as I
// File: 0381.png
and my companions appeared, those
who were hid came and joined us immediately,
about the time when the
city gates were shut, so that not a soul
was to be seen in the fields. Being
all met together, we were in some
doubt whether we should go immediately
for Zorayda; or first of all secure
the Moorish rowers belonging to
the bark. While we hesitated on this
point, the renegado arriving, asked
what we waited for; observing, that
now was the time, the Moors being
altogether unguarded, and the greatest
part of them actually asleep. We
told him the subject of our doubt;
upon which he assured us, that it was
of the greatest consequence to make
ourselves first masters of the bark, a
precaution which might be easily taken,
without running the least hazard,
and then we could go in quest of Zorayda,
with greater security. His advice
was unanimously approved; and
therefore without farther delay, we
followed him as guide to the vessel,
into which he leaped, and drawing a
scymitar, called in the Moorish language,
“Let none of you stir on
pain of death.” The Christians
were at his back in an instant; while
the Moors being naturally pusillanimous,
hearing their master talk in this
manner, were seized with consternation:
and as there were few or no
arms on board, suffered themselves,
without the least resistance, to be fettered
by the Christians, who performed
this office with infinite dexterity
and dispatch, threatening to put
them all to the sword, if any one of
them should raise his voice, or attempt
to make the least noise.

‘This scheme being executed, we
left one half of our number to guard
them, and with the rest, using the renegado
still as our guide, went to
Agimorato’s garden door, which fortunately
opened with as much ease as
if it had not been locked; so that,
without being perceived, we proceeded
to the house with great silence and
composure. The adorable Zorayda,
who stood waiting for us at a window,
no sooner perceived people at the door,
than she asked with a low voice, if we
were Nazarini? which in their language
signifies Christians. I replied in
the affirmative, desiring her to come
down; when she knew my voice, she
// File: 0382.png
.pn +1
made no delay, but without answering
one syllable, came down in a moment,
opened the door, and appeared
so beautiful and richly dressed, as to
surpass all description. Transported
at the sight, I took her hand and kissed
it most devoutly; the renegado
and my two companions did the
same; and the rest, though ignorant
of the occasion, followed our example,
thinking we expressed our
thanks and acknowledgments to her
as the instrument of our deliverance.
The renegado asked, in the Morisco
tongue, if her father was in the
house: and she assuring him, that he
was asleep in his own apartment;
“Then it will be necessary,” said Morrenago,
“to wake and carry him off,
together with every thing of value,
in this agreeable habitation.”—“Touch
not my father,” said she,
“and take my word for it there is nothing
valuable in this house but what
I have secured, which is enough to
make you all rich and happy; stay
a little, and thou shalt see.”

‘So saying, she went back into the
house, protesting she would immediately
return, and desiring us to make
no noise. I then asked the renegade
what had passed between them, and
when he told me, charged him to do
nothing that should be disagreeable
to Zorayda, who soon returned with
a coffer so full of golden crowns, that
she could scarce support the weight.
But our evil fortune ordained that her
father should wake in the interim,
and hear a noise in the garden; upon
which he started up, and running to
the window, no sooner perceived that
we were all Christians, than he began
to bawl in Arabick with vast vociferation,
“Christians! Christians!
thieves! thieves!” and his cries
threw us all into the utmost terror
and confusion; however, the renegado
seeing the danger we were in,
and how much it imported him to atchieve
the enterprize without being
detected, ran up to Agimorato, with
infinite agility, being accompanied
with some others of our company,
as I could not leave Zorayda, who by
this time had fainted in my arms; in
short, those who entered the house
managed him so well, that in a moment
they brought him down with
his hands tied, and an handkerchief
// File: 0383.png
in his mouth, to hinder him from crying,
threatening all the while, that if
he presumed to speak, it would cost
him his life. His daughter covered
her eyes, that she might not see her
father in that condition; while he was
astonished at sight of her, little thinking
how willingly she had put herself
in our power, and our feet being then
more necessary than our hands, we,
with great industry and dispatch, returned
to the vessel, where we were
expected with impatience by those we
had left, who had began to fear we
had met with some mischance.

‘Before two hours of the night had
elapsed, we were all safe on board,
where we untied the hands of Zorayda’s
father, and took the handkerchief
out of his mouth; though
the renegado commanded him again to
be silent, on pain of death. Seeing his
daughter also in our power, he began
to sigh most bitterly, more especially
as he perceived her lie quietly in my
arms, without resisting, complaining,
or the least appearance of constraint;
but he was fain to hold his tongue,
lest the renegado should put his repeated
threats in execution. Zorayda
now seeing us embarked, and on the
point of manning the oars, while her
father and the other Moors remained
fettered, as prisoners among us, bade
the renegado desire, in her name, that
I would be so good as to dismiss the
Moors, and set her father at liberty;
for she would rather throw herself into
the sea, than behold a parent, who
loved her so much, dragged into captivity
on her account. Morrenago
having made me acquainted with her
request, I consented to the proposal; but
he said it was by no means expedient,
because, should we leave them there,
they would instantly alarm both town
and country; so that some light frigates
would be sent out in pursuit of
us, and then we should be so beset,
both by sea and land, that it would be
impossible for us to escape; he proposed
therefore, to set them at liberty
on the first Christian land he should
make. We were all of the same opinion,
which was also embraced by
Zorayda, to whom he imparted the
reasons which hindered us from complying
immediately with her desire;
then each of our valiant rowers laid
hold of his oar with joy, silence, and
// File: 0384.png
.pn +1
alacrity, and recommending ourselves
to the protection of God, we took our
departure, directing our course towards
the island of Majorca, which
was the nearest Christian land; but,
the north wind beginning to blow,
and the sea becoming rough, it was
impossible to steer our course, and we
were obliged to row along shore towards
Oran, not without great apprehension
of being discovered from
the town of Sargel, which lies upon
that coast, about sixty miles from
Algiers; we were also afraid of meeting,
in those parts, with some of the
gallies which frequently come thither
from Tetuan to trade; though each
of us singly, and all of us together,
presumed, that if we could fall in
with a merchant-vessel not fitted out,
or manned for a corsair, far from losing
our liberty again, we should make
ourselves masters of a ship in which
we might perform our voyage with
more security. While we thus coasted
along, Zorayda lay with her head
in my bosom, that she might not see
her father in distress; and I could
hear her imploring Lela Marien to
assist us in our design.

‘When we had rowed about thirty
miles, day-breaking discovered that
we were about three gun shots distant
from the shore of a desart country,
where not a soul appeared to detect
us; but, for all that, we plied
hard to get a little farther off to sea,
which was now somewhat calmer;
and having made about two leagues,
directed the men to row by turns, that
we might refresh ourselves with the
provisions, of which we had plenty in
the bark; but the rowers said, it was
then no time to be idle, and desired
the rest to bring them victuals, which
they would eat while at work, protesting
that they would by no means quit their
oars; this hint was accordingly taken,
and a fresh gale springing up, we
were obliged to lay aside our oars, and
make sail directly for Oran; for it was
impossible to follow any other course.
All this was done with great expedition;
we sailed at the rate of eight
miles in an hour, without any other
dread than that of falling in with some
corsair. We ordered some victuals
to be given to the Moors, who were
consoled by the renegado’s telling
them, that they were not slaves, and
// File: 0385.png
should have their freedom with the
first opportunity; the same declaration
he made to Zorayda’s father,
who answered, “I might expect any
other favour from your generosity and
courteous behaviour, O Christians!
but, you must not think me so simple
as to believe you will give me my freedom;
for you would never have run
such risk in depriving me of it, with
a view of restoring it so liberally;
especially when you know who I am,
and the advantage you may reap from
my ransom, which, if you will now
propose, I here promise to pay your
utmost demand, for myself and this
unhappy daughter, or for her alone,
who is the better part of my
soul!”

‘So saying, he wept with such bitterness,
as moved us all to compassion,
and obliged Zorayda to lift up
her eyes; when seeing the tears trickle
down from his aged cheeks, she was
melted, and rising from the place
where I supported her, went to embrace
her father; then joining her face
to his, the two uttered such a tender
lamentation, as drew tears of sympathy
from the eyes of almost all those
who heard it; but, when Agimorato
perceived her so gayly dressed, with
all her jewels about her, he said
with some surprize, in their language,
“What is the meaning of this finery,
my child? Last night, before this
terrible misfortune happened, I saw
thee in thy ordinary and common
dress; but now, though thou hadst
neither time, nor any happy tidings
to solemnize with such ornaments and
finery, I see thee decked in all the richest
apparel I could contrive or bestow
upon thee, while fortune was much
more favourable than at present! Answer
me in this particular, at which
I am more concerned and surprized,
than at the mishap which hath befallen
us?” The renegado interpreted
to us all that the Moor said to
his daughter, who made no answer to
his question; but when he saw on one
side of the bark the coffer in which
she used to keep her jewels, which
he knew he had left at Algiers, when
he moved to his country house; he
was still more confounded, and asked
how that casket had fallen into our
hands, and what it contained. To
this question the renegado replied,
// File: 0386.png
.pn +1
without waiting for Zorayda’s answer;
“You need not weary yourself, Signior,
in putting so many questions to
your daughter; for I can satisfy you
in one word: know, then, that Zorayda
is a Christian; that she hath
filed off our chains, and converted
our captivity into freedom; that she
came hither of her own accord, and
is now, I believe, as well satisfied
with her present condition as one delivered
from darkness to light, from
death to life, and from affliction to
triumph.”—“Daughter!” cried the
Moor, “is that which he affirms
true?”—“Yes,” replied Zorayda.
“That thou art actually a Christian,
and the very person who hath put
thy father into the hands of his enemies?”
resumed the old man. “I
am a Christian, ’tis true,” said Zorayda,
“but not the person who reduced
you to this situation; for my
desire never extended so far as either
to leave or render you unhappy, my
sole intention being to provide for my
own welfare.”—“And how hast
thou provided for it, my child?”
replied the father. “Put that question
to Lela Marien,” said she, “who
will inform you better than I can.”

‘Scarce had these words reached
the ears of Agimorato, than, with
incredible agility, he darted himself
headlong into the sea; where, without
all doubt, he must have perished,
had not his large entangling
robes helped to keep him afloat.
Zorayda shrieking, begged we would
save her father; upon which we all
exerted ourselves, and laying hold
of his upper garment, pulled him
on board, already half drowned, and
deprived of all sensation; when she
was so much affected with his condition,
that she uttered a most tender
and doleful lamentation over
him, as if he had been actually dead.
Having turned him upon his face,
a great quantity of water ran out of
his mouth, and he recovered the use
of his senses, in the space of two
hours, during which, the wind shifting,
we were driven towards the
shore, and by main dint of rowing
kept from running aground;
but by good fortune, we arrived in
a creek formed by a small creek or
promontory, known among the
Moors by the name of Cava Rumia,
which signifies, the wicked Christian
woman; there being a tradition among
them, that Cava[#], on whose
account they lost their possessions in
Spain, is interred in that place; for
Cava, in their language, implies a
wicked woman, and Rumia, signifies
Christian: so that they look
upon it as a bad omen, when they
are obliged, by necessity, to drop
anchor here; and, except in cases of
emergency, they never attempt it:
though to us, it was by no means
the shelter of a wicked woman, but
a secure harbour in stormy weather.
Having placed centinels on
shore, without quitting our oars, we
made another meal of what the renegado
had provided; and prayed
heartily to God and the blessed Virgin,
to favour and assist us, in bringing
such a fortunate beginning to a
happy conclusion. We then determined,
at the intreaty of Zorayda, to
set her father and the Moors, whom
we had fettered, on shore, because
she had not resolution enough, nor
could her tender disposition endure
to see her parent and countrymen in
the condition of captives; we accordingly
promised to gratify her
desire, at our departure, since we
ran no risk in setting them at liberty
in that uninhabited place.

‘Our prayers were not so vain as to
be rejected by Heaven, that sent a
favourable wind and a smooth sea,
inviting us to proceed with alacrity
in the voyage we had undertaken.
This we no sooner perceived, than
unbinding the Moors, we put them
all on shore, one by one, to their no
small astonishment: but, when we
came to dismiss Zorayda’s father,
who by this time had recovered the
entire use of his senses, “Christians,”
said he, “do you think that bad woman
rejoices at my freedom through
filial piety? No surely! but merely
to be rid of the check which she
would receive from my presence, in
seeking to gratify her vicious desires.
// File: 0387.png
.pn +1
Do not imagine that she hath
been induced to change her religion,
because she believes that the
Christian faith is preferable to ours?
No; she hath apostatized, because
she understood that, in your country
she might indulge her loose inclinations
more freely than in her own.”
Then turning to Zorayda, while I
and another Christian held him fast;
that she might not commit some desperate
action, he said, “O infamous
wretch, and ill-advised
maiden! what blindness and distraction
hath prompted thee to put
thyself in the power of these dogs,
who are all our natural foes? Cursed
be the hour in which thou wast
engendered! and cursed be the gaiety
and indulgence in which I brought
thee up!”

‘Perceiving that there was no likelihood
of his ending his exclamations
for some time, I presently set
him on shore, where he proceeded
with his reproaches, imprecations,
and complaints, imploring the mediation
of Mahomet with Ala,
to confound, overwhelm, and destroy
us: and when we had sailed
out of hearing, we could perceive
him act his despair, pulling his
beard, and rolling himself upon the
ground; nay, once he raised his
voice in such a manner, that we
could distinctly hear him pronounce,
“Return, my beloved daughter! return
to the shore; I forgive all that
is past: leave with these men the
money which they already have in
their possession, and return to comfort
thy disconsolate father, who, if
thou forsakest him, will lie down
and breathe his last upon this barren
sand!” This pathetick address
was heard by Zorayda, who lamented
his affliction with the utmost sensibility,
though she could make no
other reply than this: “Ala grant, my
dear father, that Lela Marien, who
was the cause of my conversion,
may console you in your distress!
Ala knows, I could not do otherwise
than I have acted, and that
these Christians owe nothing to any
particular good-will I bore them;
for if I had not assisted and accompanied
them in their escape, but remained
at home with you, it would
have been impossible for me, in
conference of the earnest solicitations
// File: 0388.png
of my own soul, to execute
that which, in my opinion, is as
righteous as it is infamous and
wicked in yours.” But these
words never reached the ears of her
father, whom by this time we could
not perceive: I therefore endeavoured
to console my amiable mistress;
while the rest were intent upon our
voyage, which was so much favoured
by a fair wind, that we laid our account
with being next day on the
coast of Spain.

‘But, as good fortune seldom comes
pure and single, unattended or unpursued
by some troublesome and unexpected
circumstance, it was ordained
by Heaven, (perhaps, in consequence
of the curses imprecated by
the Moor upon his daughter; for
such curses are to be dreaded, let the
parent be what he will:) I say, Heaven
ordained, that when we were a good
way off at sea, with a flowing sheet,
three hours of the night being already
spent, the oars lashed up, because
the fair wind made it unnecessary
to use them, and the moon
shining with remarkable brightness;
we perceived a large round vessel
with all her sails out, steering a little
upon the wind, right athwart our
hause, and so near that we were
obliged to shorten sail, that she
might not run foul of us, while she
clapped her helm a-weather that we
might have time to pass: those upon
deck hailed us, asking who we were,
whence we came, and whither bound;
but, as they spoke in French, the
renegado said, “Let no man answer;
these are French privateers,
who make prize of every thing that
falls in their way.”

‘Thus cautioned, we made no reply,
but sailed on, leaving the ship
a little to windward; when all of a
sudden, they discharged two pieces
of cannon, loaded, in all appearance,
with chain-shot: for one of
them cut away our mast in the middle;
which, with the sail, fell overboard
into the sea; and the other coming a
moment after, took us amidships,
and laid the side of the bark entirely
open, without doing any other mischief.
Seeing ourselves going to the
bottom, we began to cry aloud for
assistance, beseeching the people in
the ship to save us from perishing:
then they brought to, and hoisting
// File: 0389.png
.pn +1
out their boat or pinnace, it was
instantly manned by a dozen of
Frenchmen, well armed with their
muskets, and lighted match, who
rowing up to us, and seeing how few
we were, as also that our bark was
on the point of foundering, took us
in, observing that this misfortune
had happened, because we had been
so uncivil as to refuse an answer to
their hail: while the renegado, without
being perceived, took up the
coffer in which Zorayda’s treasure
was contained, and threw it into
the sea. In short, we went onboard
with the French; who, when they
had informed themselves of every
thing we could impart, for their
purpose; as if they had been our
enemies, plundered us of all that we
had, taking from Zorayda the very
bracelets she wore upon her ancles.
But their behaviour to her gave me
the more anxiety, as I was afraid
that, after having pilfered all her
rich and precious jewels, they would
proceed to rob her of that which was
of greater value, and which she herself
esteemed infinitely more than all
the rest: but the desires of those
people extend no farther than to
money, and with that they can
never satiate their avarice, which
then engrossed them so much, that
they would even have robbed us of
the wretched garments we wore in
our captivity, if they could have
applied them to any sort of use; nay,
some among them proposed to wrap
us all together in a sail, and throw us
into the sea; because they intended
to trade in the ports of Spain, under
pretence of being Bretons, and if
they carried us thither alive, their
depredation would be discovered,
and themselves chastised accordingly.
But the captain, who had
with his own hands rifled my beloved
Zorayda, said, he was satisfied
with the prize he had got, and
resolved to touch at no port in Spain,
but pass the Straits of Gibraltar in
the night, or take the best opportunity
of so doing that should occur,
and return to Rochelle, from whence
he had sailed on the cruize; they,
therefore, agreed to give us their
boat, with what necessaries we should
want, to finish the little that remained
of our voyage: this promise
// File: 0390.png
they actually performed the next day,
at a small distance from the Spanish
coast, at sight of which, all our poverty
and vexation vanished from
our remembrance, as if we had never
endured them; such is the transport
occasioned by liberty regained! It
might be about noon when we were
put into the boat, with two casks of
water and some biscuit; and the
captain, moved to compassion at the
distress of the lovely Zorayda, gave
her to the amount of forty crowns
in gold, and would not suffer his
soldiers to strip her of the cloaths
which she now wears: so that, at parting,
instead of complaining of the
hard usage we met with, we thanked
them kindly for the benefit we had
received at their hands. They steered
right before the wind for the Straits,
while we, without minding any other
compass than that of the land that
appeared a-head, plied our oars so vigorously,
that at sun-set we were near
enough to conclude, that we could
easily reach the shore before the night
should be far advanced; but that
night being dark, without any moonshine,
and every body on board ignorant
of the coast, some of our company
judged it unsafe to row ashore,
while others insisted upon our running
that hazard, even if we should land
among rocks, or in some uninhabited
part of the country, that we might be
secured from the just apprehension of
meeting with some rovers from Tetuan,
who are frequently in the beginning
of the night in Barbary, and in
the morning on the Spanish coast,
where having taken a prize, they return
the same day, and sleep at home
in their own houses. Of these contrary
opinions, we chose that of rowing
gently towards the shore, with intent,
if the smoothness of the sea would
permit, to land at the first convenient
place. In consequence of this resolution,
a little before midnight we
arrived at the foot of a huge and lofty
mountain, though not so rocky towards
the sea but that there was a
little space left for commodious landing.
The boat being run ashore, and
all of us disembarked, we kissed the
ground, and with tears of unutterable
joy, returned sincere thanks to our
gracious Lord, for his unparalleled
protection vouchsafed to us in the
// File: 0391.png
.pn +1
voyage: then we took out the provision,
and dragging her on shore, ascended
a vast way up the mountain;
not being as yet able to quiet our apprehensions,
or persuade ourselves,
though it actually was so, that the soil
we trod was Christian ground. The
day broke much later than we could
have wished, and about this time we
gained the summit of the mountain;
purposing to look from thence for
some village or shepherd-huts; but,
although we viewed the whole country
around, we could neither discern
village, house, highway, path, nor
the least trace of human footsteps.
Nevertheless, we determined to penetrate
farther into the country, since
it could not be long before we should
discover some person who would give
information; but what gave me
the greatest concern was, to see Zorayda
travelling on foot among the
flinty rocks: for though I sometimes
took her on my shoulders, she was
much more fatigued with seeing me
weary, than refreshed by finding herself
exempted from walking, and
therefore would not allow me to take
any more trouble of that kind, but
proceeded with infinite chearfulness
and patience, while I led her by the
hand all the way.

‘In this manner we had gone about
a quarter of a league, when our ears
were saluted by the sound of a small
sheep-bell, which was a sure sign of
a flock’s being somewhere not far off:
looking therefore attentively to discover
it, we perceived a young shepherd,
sitting with great composure at
the root of a cork-tree, smoothing a
stick with his knife. When we called
to him he raised his head, and
started nimbly up; and, as we afterwards
understood, the renegade and
Zorayda, who were in Moorish dress,
being the first objects that presented
themselves to his eyes, he thought all
the corsairs of Barbary were upon
him, and running with incredible
swiftness into a wood that grew near
the place where he was, he began to
cry as loud as he could bawl, “The
Moors! The Moors are landed! The
Moors! The Moors! to arms, to
arms!” These exclamations threw
us all into a perplexity; but reflecting
that his cries would alarm the country,
and that the cavalry of the coast would
// File: 0392.png
immediately come and see what was
the matter; it was agreed, that the
renegade should pull off his Turkish
robes, and put on a slave’s jacket,
with which one of our company accommodated
him, though he himself
remained in his shirt. This being
done, we recommended ourselves to
God, and followed the same road
which we saw the shepherd take, expecting
every moment to see ourselves
surrounded by the cavalry of
the coast. Neither were we deceived
in our expectation; for in less than
two hours, having crossed those thickets,
and entered a plain on the other
side, we descried about fifty horsemen
riding briskly towards us, at a hand-gallop;
upon which we halted until
they should come up: but when they
arrived, and instead of the Moors
they came in quest of beheld so many
poor Christian captives, they were
utterly confounded; and one of them
asked, if we were the people who had
been the occasion of a shepherd’s calling
to arms. I answered in the affirmative,
and being desirous of telling
him who we were, whence we came,
and what had happened to us, one
of our company knew the horseman
who accosted us, and without giving
me time to speak another word, said,
“Thanks be to God, gentlemen, for
having conducted us to such an agreeable
part of the country; for, if I am
not mistaken, the ground we now
tread belongs to Velez Malaga—and,
if the years of my captivity have not
impaired my remembrance, you, Signior,
who ask that question, are Pedro
Bustamante, my uncle.”

‘Scarce had the captive pronounced
these words, when the cavalier threw
himself from his horse, and ran to
embrace the young man; saying,
“Dear nephew of my life and soul! I
now recollect thee; thy supposed
death has been mourned by myself,
my sister, thy mother, and all thy
relations, who are still alive; for
Heaven hath been pleased to spare
their lives, that they might enjoy the
pleasure of seeing thee again. I knew
thou wast at Algiers, and from the
information of thy habit, and that
of all your company, I guess you
have made a miraculous escape.”—“Your
conjecture is true,” replied the
young man, “and we shall have time
// File: 0393.png
.pn +1
to recount the particulars.” As soon
as the horsemen understood we were
Christian captives, they alighted, and
each of them made a tender of his
horse to carry us to the city of Velez
Malaga, which was about a league
and a half from the place where they
found us. Some of them went to
bring the boat round to the city, after
we had told them where she lay; others
took us up behind them; and Zorayda
rode with the Christian’s uncle.
All the people came out to receive us,
being apprized of our arrival, by one
of the troopers who had pushed on before;
not that they were surprized
at the sight of the captives freed, or
Moors in captivity, for the inhabitants
on that coast are accustomed to
see great numbers of both; but they
were amazed at the beauty of Zorayda
which was at that instant in full
perfection; the fatigue of her journey,
co-operating with the joy the felt
in seeing herself in a Christian country,
without the fear of being lost,
having produced such a bloom upon her
countenance, that, unless I was then
prejudiced by my affection, I will
venture to say, the world never produced,
at least I had never seen, a
more beautiful creature.

‘We went directly to church, to
make our acknowledgments to God
for his mercies; and as soon as Zorayda
entered, she said she perceived
some faces that resembled Lela Marien:
we told her these were the images
of the blessed Virgin; and the renegado,
as well as he could, informed
her of their signification, that she might
adore them, as if each was actually the
person of Lela Marien, who had spoke
to her; so that, having naturally a
good understanding, with a docile and
discerning disposition; she easily comprehended
what he said upon the subject.
From thence they conducted us
to our lodgings in different families
of the town; the renegado, Zorayda,
and I, being invited by the Christian
who escaped with us, to the house of
his father, who was moderately provided
with the good things of this life,
and treated us with the same affection
he expressed for his own son. Six days
we tarried at Velez, during which the
renegado having informed himself of
what was necessary for him to do,
went to the city of Grenada, there,
// File: 0394.png
by means of the holy inquisition, to
be re-admitted into the bosom of our
most sacred church: the rest of our
company departed, each for his own
home; leaving Zorayda and me by
ourselves, destitute of every thing but
the few crowns which she received
from the courtesy or the French corsair.
With part of these I bought
the animal on which she arrived at
this inn, and hitherto have cherished
her with the affection of a parent,
and the service of a squire, without
using the prerogative of a husband;
we are now upon the road to the place
of my nativity, to see if my father be
still alive, and if either of my brothers
has been more fortunate than
myself; though, as heaven hath made
Zorayda my companion for life, fortune
could not have possibly bestowed
upon me any other favour which I
should have valued at so high a rate.
The patience with which she bears
the inconveniences attending poverty,
and the zeal she manifests to become
a Christian, is so great and extraordinary,
as to raise my admiration,
and engage me to serve her all the
days of my life; but the pleasure I
take in this office, and in the prospect
of seeing her mine, is disturbed and
perverted, by reflecting that possibly
in my own country I shall not find a
corner in which I can shelter the dear
object of my love; and that time or
death may have made such alterations
in the fortune and lives of my father
and his other children, that I shall
scarce meet with a soul that knows
me.

‘This, gentlemen, is the substance
of my story; whether or not it be agreeable
and uncommon, I leave to
the decision of your better judgment;
assuring you, that I wish I could have
related it more succinctly, though the
fear of tiring you hath made me suppress
a good number of circumstances.’

.fn #
Zala, or Sala, is the Moorish salutation.
.fn-

.fn #
Cava, or Caba, daughter of Count Julian, Count of Ceuta, was violated by Roderick
king of Spain; and, in order to revenge this injury, the father called the Saracens into
that kingdom, in the year 712.
.fn-
.sp 4
.h4 id=chap2-4-15
<abbr=chapter>CHAP.</abbr> <abbr=fifteen>XV.</abbr> | OF WHAT FARTHER HAPPENED AT THE INN,| WITH MANY OTHER PARTICULARS WORTHY TO BE KNOWN.
.sp 2
Here the captive left off speaking;
and Don Fernando said to him,
‘Really, Signior Captain, the novelty
// File: 0395.png
.pn +1
of your strange adventures is equalled
by your agreeable manner of relating
them. Your whole story is uncommon,
surprizing, and full of incidents
that keep the hearers in admiration
and suspence; and such is the pleasure
we have received from it, that though
the narration should have continued
till to-morrow morning, we should rejoice
at your beginning it anew.’

When this compliment was passed,
Cardenio, and all the rest of the company,
offered to serve him to the utmost
of their power, with such affectionate
and sincere expressions of friendship,
that the captain was extremely well satisfied
of their good-will. Don Fernando,
in particular, promised, that
if he would go home with him, his
brother the marquis should stand godfather
to Zorayda; and that he, for
his part, would accommodate him in
such a manner, that he should return to
the place of his nativity with that authority
and ease to which he was intitled
by his birth and merit. The captive
thanked him in the most courteous manner,
but declined accepting any of his
generous offers.

It was now night, when a coach arrived
at the inn, attended by some men
on horseback, who demanded lodging;
and the landlady made answer, that
there was not in the whole house an
handful of room unengaged. ‘Be
that as it will,’ said one of the horsemen,
who had entered the gate, ‘there
must be some found for my lord
judge.’ At mention of that name
the hostess was disturbed, saying, ‘Signior,
the greatest difficulty is my want
of beds; but if his lordship hath
brought one along with him, as I suppose
he hath, he is very welcome to
come in: I and my husband will quit
our own apartment to accommodate
his worship.’—‘Be it so,’ said the
attendant. By this time a person had
alighted from the coach, who, by his
garb, immediately shewed the nature
of his rank and office; for his long
robe, with high sleeves tucked up,
plainly distinguished him to be a judge,
as the servant had affirmed. He led
by the hand a young lady seemingly
sixteen years of age, dressed in a riding
suit, and so sprightly, beautiful,
and genteel, as to raise the admiration
of all who beheld her: so that those
who had not seen Dorothea, Lucinda,
// File: 0396.png
and Zorayda then present, would have
thought it a very difficult talk to find
another woman of equal beauty. Don
Quixote seeing the judge and young
lady as they entered, pronounced with
great solemnity, ‘Your worship may
securely enter and recreate yourself in
this castle, which, though narrow and
inconvenient, there is no narrowness
and inconvenience in this world, but
what will make room for arms and
letters, especially if they have for their
guide and conductor such beauty as
that which accompanies the letters of
your worship, in the person of that
amiable young lady, to whom not only
castles ought to open and unfold their
gates, but also rocks divide, and
mountains bow their heads at her approach.
Enter, I say, this paradise,
where you will find stars and suns to
accompany that heaven which you
have brought hither. Here you will
find arms in perfection, and beauty
in excess!’

The judge marvelled greatly at this
address of the knight, whom he earnestly
considered, no less surprized at
his figure than his words, without
knowing what reply to make, so much
was he confounded at both; when he
was relieved by the appearance of
Lucinda, Dorothea, and Zorayda;
who, upon hearing the news of their
arrival, and the landlady’s description
of the young beauty, had come out to
welcome and receive her: the beauteous
ladies of the inn welcomed this
beauteous damsel; while Don Fernando,
Cardenio, and the curate,
paid their compliments to the judge,
in the most civil and polite terms.
He was more and more astonished at
what he saw and heard, though he
could easily perceive that his fellow-lodgers
were persons of rank and consequence:
but the mien, visage, and
figure of Don Quixote, baffled all
his conjectures. Compliments having
thus passed on all sides, and the
conveniences of the inn being duly
considered, it was agreed, as before,
that all the ladies should sleep together
in the fore-mentioned apartment,
and the men sit in another room to
guard them. The judge was very
well satisfied, that his daughter (for
such the young maiden was) should
lodge with the other ladies, she herself
willingly consenting to the proposal;
// File: 0397.png
.pn +1
and what with part of the
inn-keeper’s narrow bed, and the
half of that which the judge brought
along with him, they made shift to
pass the night more agreeably than
they expected.

The captive, who, from the first
moment he beheld the judge, felt his
heart throb with a sort of intimation
that this was his own brother, asked
of one of the servants that attended
him, his master’s name, with the
place of his nativity. The footman
replied, that his name was the licentiate
Juan Perez de Viedma; and
born, as he had been informed, in
the mountains of Leon. This information,
together with what he himself
had before observed, confirmed
him in the opinion, that he was his
brother, who by his father’s advice
had followed his studies. Transported
with this discovery, he called aside
Don Fernando, the curate, and Cardenio,
to whom he imparted the affair,
and assured them that the judge was his
own brother by the servant’s report,
so far on his way to the West Indies,
in quality of supreme judge of Mexico.
He understood also by the same canal,
that the young lady was his daughter,
whose birth had cost the mother her
life; and that he was very much enriched
by his wife’s fortune, which
had been settled on the children of the
marriage. The captive therefore consulted
them about the method he
should take to make himself known,
or rather to be assured before-hand
whether upon the discovery his brother
would be ashamed of his poverty,
or receive him with the bowels of affection.
‘Leave that talk to my conduct,
Signior Captain,’ said the curate;
‘though there is all the reason
in the world to believe that you will
meet with a brotherly reception: for
the virtue and prudence that appear
in his courteous demeanor give no
indications of his being proud and
unnatural, but rather declare that he
knows how to consider the accidents
of fortune in the right point of
view.’—‘Nevertheless,’ replied the
captain, ‘I would not willingly disclose
myself of a sudden, but prepare
him by some round-about insinuation.’—‘I
have already told you,’
answered the curate, ‘that I will manage
the affair to your mutual satisfaction.’
By this time, the cloth
being laid[#], and every body sat down
to table, except the captive and the
ladies, who supped in their own apartment,
the curate addressed himself to
the judge, saying—‘I had once a
comrade of your lordship’s name at
Constantinople, where I was a slave
for many years. He was one of the
bravest soldiers and best officers in
the Spanish infantry, but his misfortunes
were equal to his valour and
ability.’——‘Dear Sir,’ cried the
judge, ‘what was that officer’s
name?’—‘He was called Ruy Perez
de Viedma,’ replied the priest,
‘and a native of some town in the
mountains of Leon. He told me a
circumstance that happened between
his father, two brothers, and himself,
which, had it not been affirmed by a
person of his veracity, I should have
looked upon as one of those tales
which old women tell by the fire-side
in winter; for he said his father divided
his estate equally among his three
sons, whom he at the same time enriched
with advice more salutary than
any that ever Cato gave. This I
know, the choice he made of going
into the army succeeded so
well, that in a few years, by his gallant
behaviour, and without any other
assistance than that of his extraordinary
virtue, he rose to be captain of
foot, and saw himself in the straight
road of becoming a field officer very
soon: but there, where he had reason
to expect the smiles of fortune, she
proved most unkind; he having lost
her, with his liberty, on that glorious
day of the battle at Lepanto, in
which it was found by so many
Christians. I was taken in the goleta;
and, after various vicissitudes,
we happened to be fellow-slaves at
Constantinople, from whence he was
transported to Algiers, where he met
with one of the strangest adventures
that ever was known.’

Then the curate briefly recapitulated
the story of Zorayda, to which
the judge listened with more attention
than ever he had yielded on the
// File: 0398.png
.pn +1
bench[#]. But the priest brought it no
farther than the period when the French
corsairs plundered the Christians who
were in the bark, describing the poverty
and distress to which they had reduced
his comrade and the beautiful Moor;
and observing that he did not know
what farther befel them, nor whether
they had arrived in Spain, or been carried
into France.

The captain stood at some distance
behind, listening to what the curate said,
and observing the emotions of his brother;
who, seeing that the curate had
made an end of his story, uttered a profound
sigh, saying, while the tears
gushed from his eyes, ‘O Signior! if
you knew how nearly I am concerned
in what you have related, you would
not wonder at these tears, which, in
spite of all my fortitude and discretion,
trickle from mine eyes. That
valiant captain whom you have mentioned
is my father’s eldest son, who
being more brave and noble-minded
than my youngest[#] brother and me,
chose the honourable exercise of arms,
which was one of the three paths proposed
by our father in his advice, as
you seem to have been informed by
your companion in adversity. I followed
that of letters, in which God
hath been pleased to reward my diligence
with that station which you see
I now maintain: my younger brother
is at present in Peru, so rich, that his
remittances to my father and me have
made large amends for the small sum
he carried with him at first; and even
enabled the old gentleman fully to
indulge his liberal disposition, impowering
me also to prosecute my studies
with more honour and decency,
until I acquired the post I now enjoy.
My father is still alive, though daily
pining with the desire of hearing from
his eldest son, and putting up petitions
to Heaven incessantly, that his
own eyes may not be closed for ever
until he shall have seen those of his first-born
in life. What gives me a great
deal of surprize is, that a person of
his discretion should, in the midst of
such trouble and affliction, or even
in his prosperity, omit writing to his
father; for if he, or either of us, had
known his situation, he should have
had no occasion to wait for the miracle
of the cane in obtaining his liberty;
but at present the uncertainty
of his fate gives me the greatest concern,
as it is doubtful whether those
French have set him at liberty, or
taken away his life to conceal their
robbery. This apprehension will
convert the joy and satisfaction with
which I undertook my journey into
melancholy and despondence.—O my
dear brother! would to Heaven I
knew where thou art, that I might
go and free thee from all trouble and
affliction, though at the expence of
my own! Who shall carry the news
of thy being alive to our aged father,
that although thou art shut up in the
deepest dungeon of Barbary, thou
mayest be delivered by my brother’s
riches and my own!—O generous and
lovely Zorayda! who shall requite
thy benevolence to my brother, be
present at the regeneration of thy
soul, and assist at the nuptials which
would afford such pleasure to us all!’

These and many other exclamations
the judge pronounced with such symptoms
of sorrow at the news he had
received of his brother, that all the
hearers sympathized with him in the
expressions of his grief. The curate,
seeing every thing succeed to his own
expectation, and the captain’s desire,
was unwilling to protract the judge’s
anguish, and the impatience of the
whole company; so rising from the
table, and going into the other apartment,
he led out Zorayda, who was
followed by Lucinda, Dorothea, and
the young lady lately arrived; then,
taking in his other hand the captain,
who stood waiting to see what he intended,
he went into the room, where
the judge and the rest of the gentlemen
sat, and presenting them both,
said, ‘Dry your tears, my lord judge,
and enjoy the completion of your
wish; behold your worthy brother,
and virtuous sister-in-law: this is
Captain Viedma, and that the beautiful
Moor who behaved so generously
to him in his distress: the French
// File: 0399.png
.pn +1
corsairs have reduced them to this
extremity, that you may have an opportunity
of displaying the liberality
of your noble breast.’

The captain ran to embrace his
brother, who kept him off with both
hands fixed on his shoulders, that he
might consider him the more attentively;
but no sooner did he recollect his
features, than he flew into his arms,
and shed a flood of tears of joy, while
the greatest part of those who were present
wept in concert at the affecting
scene. The expressions of both the
brothers, and their mutual demonstrations
of affection, are, I believe, scarce
to be conceived, much less described.
They briefly recounted their adventures
to each other, and manifested the genuine
flame of fraternal affection. There the
judge embraced Zorayda, making her
a tender of all his wealth; there he
commanded his daughter to receive her
with open arms; there the mutual caresses
of the beautiful Christian and
lovely Moor renewed the tears of the
whole company; there Don Quixote
silently observed these surprising accidents,
which he wholly attributed to
the chimeras of knight-errantry; there it
was concerted that the captain and Zorayda
should return to Seville with his
brother, from whence they could advertise
their father of the liberty and arrival
of his son; that the old gentleman being
still able to undertake such a journey,
might come and be present at the
baptism and nuptials of his daughter-in-law;
as it would be impossible for
the judge to go far out of his way, because
he was informed, that in a month
the flota would set sail from Seville for
New Spain; and it would be extremely
inconvenient for him to lose his passage.
In short, the whole company were exceedingly
rejoiced at the captive’s good
fortune; and two-thirds of the night
being already exhausted, they agreed
to retire and repose themselves during
the remaining part of it; while Don
Quixote undertook to guard the castle
from the assaults of any giant or wicked
adventurer that might possibly covet
the vast treasure of beauty which it contained.
Those of his acquaintance
thanked him for his courteous offer,
and afterwards gave an account of his
strange disorder to the judge, who was
not a little diverted with the detail of
his extravagance. Sancho Panza alone
// File: 0400.png
was distracted at their sitting up so late:
though, in point of lodging, he was
better accommodated than all the rest;
for he made his bed of the furniture of
his ass, which cost him so dear, as will
hereafter be seen.

The ladies having retired to their
apartment, and every other person disposed
of himself as tolerably as he
could, Don Quixote went out to keep
guard at the castle gate, according to
his promise; and a little before morning,
the ladies were serenaded by a
voice so clear and well tuned, as to
attract the attention of them all, especially
of Dorothea, who was awake,
and lay in the same bed with Donna
Clara de Viedma, the judge’s daughter.
Nobody could imagine who the
singer was, the voice being single, and
unaccompanied by any instrument,
and seeming to come sometimes from
the stable, and sometimes from the
court-yard. While they listened with
equal surprize and attention, Cardenio
came to the door, saying, ‘You that
are not asleep, take notice, and you
will hear the voice of a mule-driver,
who chaunts most enchantingly.’
When Dorothea told him that
they had heard it already, he went
away; while she, employing her whole
attention, when he began to sing again,
could plainly distinguish the following
words.

.fn #
This is the second time they have sat down to supper in one night. Vide <abbr=page>p.</abbr> #216#.
.fn-

.fn #
A judge in Spanish is called <lang=es><i>Oyder</i></lang>, <abbr rend=spell>i. e.</abbr> <i>Hearer</i>; and the original, literally translated,
is, ‘The hearer was never so much an hearer before.’
.fn-

.fn #
Cervantes seems to have forgot that the judge was the youngest of the three brothers,
the second having gone to the Indies.
.fn-
.sp 4
.h4 id=chap2-4-16
<abbr=chapter>CHAP.</abbr> <abbr=sixteen>XVI.</abbr> | THE AGREEABLE STORY OF THE YOUNG MULETEER, WITH MANY OTHER STRANGE INCIDENTS THAT HAPPENED IN THE INN.
.sp 2
.pm verse-start
<abbr=one>I.</abbr>

‘Toss’d in a sea of doubts and fears,
  Love’s hapless mariner I sail,
Where no inviting port appears,
  To screen me from the stormy gale.

<abbr=two>II.</abbr>

‘At distance view’d, a chearing star
  Conducts me thro’ the swelling tide;
A brighter luminary, far,
  Than Palinurus e’er descry’d.

<abbr=three>III.</abbr>

‘My soul, attracted by its blaze,
  Still follows where it points the way,
And while attentively I gaze,
  Considers not how far I stray.
// File: 0401.png
.pn +1

<abbr=four>IV.</abbr>

‘But female pride, reserv’d and shy,
  Like clouds that deepen on the day,
Oft shroud it from my longing eye,
  When most I need the genial ray.

<abbr=five>V.</abbr>

‘O lovely star, so pure and bright!
  Whole splendour feeds my vital fire;
The moment thou deny’st thy light,
  Thy lost adorer will expire!’
.pm verse-end

Here the musician pausing, Dorothea
thought it was pity Clara should
not hear such an excellent voice; therefore,
by gently jogging, she waked her,
saying, ‘I ask pardon, my dear Clara,
for disturbing you; but my intention
in so doing, was to regale you with
one of the best voices that ever you
heard.’ Clara, being still half asleep,
did not at first understand what she said,
which, at her desire, Dorothea repeated;
and the young lady listened accordingly;
but scarce had she heard two
lines of the song, which was now resumed,
when she began to tremble as
violently as if she had been seized with
a severe fit of the ague, saying, while
she hugged Dorothea, ‘Ah! dear lady
of my life and soul, why did you
wake me? The greatest favour that
fortune could at present bestow, would
be to keep both my eyes and ears fast
shut, that I might neither see nor hear
that unfortunate musician.’—‘What
do you mean, my dear child?’ answered
Dorothea; ‘consider what you say;
he that sings is a young muleteer!’—‘Ah,
no!’ replied Clara, ‘he is a
young gentleman of great fortune,
and so much master of my heart,
that unless he quits it of his own
accord, it shall remain eternally in
his possession.’ Dorothea was surprized
at this passionate declaration of
such a young creature, who seemed to
have so much more sensibility than could
be expected from her tender years; and
said to her, ‘Truly, Donna Clara, you
talk in such a manner that I do not
understand you. Pray explain yourself,
and tell me the meaning of those
expressions, about fortune and heart,
and that musician whose voice hath
thrown you into such disorder: but
say no more at present; for I would
not, by attending to your transports,
lose the pleasure of hearing the singer,
who now seems to be tuning his voice,
// File: 0402.png
and preparing to give us another
song.’—‘With all my heart,’ said
Clara, stopping her ears with her fingers,
to the farther admiration of Dorothea,
who listening attentively, heard
the musician proceed in these words:
.sp 2
.pm verse-start
<abbr=one>I.</abbr>

‘Aspiring Hope, thou, unconfin’d,
  Pursu’st th’ imaginary path,
Thro’ woods, and rocks, and waves combin’d,
  Defying danger, toil, and death.

<abbr=two>II.</abbr>

‘No laurel shall adorn his brow,
  No happiness the sluggard crown;
Who tamely can to fortune bow,
  And slumber on th’ inglorious down.

<abbr=three>III.</abbr>

‘The joys unmatch’d bestow’d by love,
  Can never be too dearly priz’d;
For undeny’d examples prove,
  What’s cheaply bought, is soon despis’d.

<abbr=four>IV.</abbr>

‘Success, by the consenting fair,
  Is oft to perseverance given;
Then wherefore should my soul despair
  Of mounting from this earth to Heaven!’
.pm verse-end

Here the voice ended, and Clara’s
sighs beginning afresh, kindled Dorothea’s
curiosity to know the cause of
such agreeable musick and grievous lamentation;
she therefore now desired
to hear what her bed-fellow had before
proffered to impart. Then Clara, fearful
of being overheard by Lucinda, crept
close to Dorothea, and applying her
mouth to her ear, so that she could securely
speak without being perceived,
‘Dear Madam,’ said she, ‘that singer
is the son of an Arragonian gentleman,
who is lord of two towns, and
when at court lives opposite to my father’s
house; and although our windows
are covered with canvas in
winter, and lattices in summer, I
know not how this young gentleman,
while he prosecuted his studies, got
sight of me, either at church or somewhere
else; and, in short, being smitten,
disclosed his passion from the
windows of his own apartment, by so
many tears and significant expressions,
that I believed him sincere, and even
loved him in my turn, without knowing
the nature of my own desires.
Among other signs, he made that of
// File: 0403.png
.pn +1
joining his hands, giving me to understand
that he would take me to
wife; and though I should have been
extremely glad to comply with that
proposal, as I was alone and motherless,
I had nobody to consult, and
therefore let it rest, without granting
him any other favour, except
(when his father and mine were
abroad) that of lifting up the canvas
or lattice, that he might have a more
perfect view of my person; and this
condescension always transported him
so much, that I was afraid he would
have run stark mad with joy. In the
midst of this commerce, the time of
my father’s departure drew near, of
which being informed, though not by
me, for I never had an opportunity
of telling him, he fell sick, as I understand,
of grief, so that when we
set out I could not see him, as I wished,
to indulge one parting look; but,
having travelled two days, just as I
entered the place at which we lodged
last night, I perceived him standing
at the gate, disguised so naturally
in the habit of a muleteer, that it
would have been impossible for me
to know him, had not his image been
so deeply imprinted on my soul. The
sight of him filled me with joy and
surprize; and he gazed upon me by
stealth, unperceived by my father,
from whom he always conceals his
face when he crosses the road before
me, or is obliged to appear at the inns
where we lodge. Knowing, therefore,
who he is, and that he travels on
foot, undergoing so much hardship
and fatigue for love of me, I am half
dead with grief and anxiety, and
wheresoever he sets his feet, there I
fix my pitying eyes. I know not
what he intends by thus following
me, nor how he could manage to
escape from his father, who loves him
tenderly, because he has no heir but
him; and the young gentleman deserves
all his affection, as you will
perceive when you see him. I can
moreover assure you, what he sings is
the product of his own head; for I
have been told that he is a great scholar,
and an excellent poet; every time
I behold him or hear him sing, I start
and tremble from head to foot, being
afraid that he will be known by my
father, and thus our mutual love be
// File: 0404.png
discovered; for, though I never spoke
to him in my life, my passion is so
violent, that without him I shall not
be able to live. This, dear Madam,
is all I can say concerning that musician,
whose voice hath given you
such pleasure, and is alone sufficient
to convince you that he is not a muleteer,
but the lord of towns and hearts,
as I have described him.’

‘Enough, Donna Clara,’ said Dorothea,
kissing her with great affection;
‘say no more, but wait with patience
till the approach of a new day, when
I hope in God to manage matters so
well as to bring such a virtuous beginning
to an happy end.’—‘Ah,
Madam!’ replied the young lady,
‘what happy end can be expected, seeing
his father is a man of such rank
and fortune, that he would think me
unworthy to be the servant, much less
the wife of his son! and as to marrying
him without my own father’s
consent, I would not do it for the
whole universe. All I desire is, that
the young gentleman would return;
perhaps his absence, and the length of
the journey we have undertaken, will
alleviate the uneasiness I at present
felt, though I must own I believe that
remedy will have small effect. I cannot
conceive what the deuce is the
matter with me; nor how this same
love got entrance into my heart, considering
how young we both are; for
I really believe we are of the same
age, and my father says, that till
Michaelmas next, I shall not be sixteen.’
Dorothea could not help
laughing at these innocent observations
of Donna Clara; to whom she said,
‘Let us sleep, my dear, during the
little that I believe remains of the
night; God will grant us a new day,
and if my skill fails me not, every
thing will succeed to our wish.’

They accordingly went to rest, and a
general silence prevailed over the whole
house, in which there was not a soul
awake, except the innkeeper’s daughter
and her maid Maritornes, who by this
time being acquainted with the extravagant
humour of Don Quixote, and
knowing that he was then without the
gate, keeping guard in arms and on
horseback, determined to play some trick
upon him, or at least divert themselves
in listening to his folly.
// File: 0405.png
.pn +1

The inn chancing to have no window
nor opening towards the field, but
a hole through which they took in their
straw; this pair of demi-ladies[#] there
took their station, and observed Don
Quixote, who sat on horseback, leaning
upon his lance, and breathing from time
to time such profound and doleful sighs,
as seemed to tear his very soul; they
likewise heard him pronounce, in a soft,
complacent, and amorous tone, ‘O my
dear mistress, Dulcinea del Toboso!
thou perfection of beauty, scope and
sum total of discretion, cabinet of
good humour, depository of virtue,
and lastly, the idea of all that is useful,
chaste, and delectable in this life!
in what art thou at present employed?
Art thou reflecting upon thy captive
knight, who voluntarily subjects himself
to such dangers, with the sole
view of serving thee? Give me some
information of my love, thou three-faced
luminary! who now, perhaps,
with envious eyes, beholdest her walking
through some gallery of her sumptuous
palace, or leaning over some
balcony, revolving in her mind, how,
without impairing the delicacy of her
honour, she may asswage the torments
that this heart endures on her account;
how she may crown my sufferings
with glory; my care with
comfort; in fine, my death with new
life, and my service with reward; and
thou, sun, who by this time must be
busy in harnessing thy steeds to light
the world, and enjoy the sight of her
who is the sovereign of my soul, I
entreat thee to salute her in my behalf;
but, in thy salutation, beware
of touching her amiable countenance,
else I shall be more jealous of thee
than ever thou wast of that nimble ingrate,
who made thee sweat so much
along the plains of Thessaly, or banks
of Peneus, for I do not remember
through which thou ran’st, so jealous
and enamoured.’

So far had the knight proceeded in
this piteous exclamation, when the innkeepers
daughter whispered softly, ‘Sir
knight, will your worship be pleased
to come this way?’ Hearing this invitation,
he lifted up his eyes, and by
the light of the moon, which was then
in full splendour, perceived them beckon
to him from the straw-hole, which he
mistook for a window adorned with
gilded bars, suitable to the grandeur of
such a magnificent castle as the inn appeared;
then his crazy imagination instantly
suggested, as before, that the
beauteous damsel, daughter of the constable,
being captivated by his person,
intended again to solicit his love. On
this supposition, that he might not seem
discourteous or ungrateful, he turned
Rozinante, and riding up to the hole, no
sooner perceived the two lasses, than he
said, ‘I am extremely concerned, most
beautiful lady, that you have fixed
your amorous inclinations where it is
impossible they should meet with that
return which is due to your rank and
qualifications; but you ought not to
impute your disappointment to any
fault in me, whom love hath rendered
incapable of yielding my heart to any
other but to her, who at first sight
took absolute possession of my soul.
Pardon my refusal, honoured Madam,
and retire to your apartment, without
seeking to explain your sentiments
more fully, that I may not appear insensible
or ungrateful; and if your
love can find in me the power of giving
you any other sort of satisfaction, you
may freely command my service; for
I swear by that absent and amiable
enemy of mine, to gratify your wish
immediately; even if you should desire
to have a lock of Medusa’s hair,
which was altogether composed of
snakes, or the rays of the sun confined
in a phial.’

‘Sir knight,’ answered Maritornes,
‘my lady has no occasion for either of
these things.’—‘What then is your
lady’s pleasure, discreet duenna?’ resumed
the knight. ‘Only the favour
of one of your beautiful hands,’ replied
Maritornes, ‘with which she may,
in some measure, indulge the longing
desire that brought her to the straw-hole,
so much to the danger of her
reputation, that if she should be detected
by her father, the first slice of
his indignation would cost her an ear
at least.’—‘I would fain see him take
that liberty,’ said Don Quixote; ‘but
he will take care to refrain from any
such acts of barbarity, unless he
has a mind I should bring him to the
most calamitous exit that ever happened
to a father, for having laid violent
// File: 0406.png
.pn +1
hands upon the delicate members
of his enamoured daughter.’

Maritornes concluding that he would
certainly grant the request, and having
already determined on what she was to
do, ran down to the stable, and laid
hold of the halter belonging to Sancho’s
ass, with which she instantly returned,
just when Don Quixote had made shift
to set his feet on the saddle that he might
reach the gilded window, at which he
imagined the wounded damsel was
standing: presenting therefore his hand,
‘Receive, Madam,’ said he, ‘that hand,
or rather that chastiser of all evil-doers;
receive, I say, that hand,
which was never touched by any
other woman, not even by her who is
in possession of my whole body. I
do not present it to be kissed; but
that you may contemplate the contexture
of its nerves, the knittings
of the muscles, the large and swelling
veins, from whence you may conjecture
what strength must reside in the
arm to which it belongs.’—‘That
we shall see presently,’ said Maritornes;
who having made a running
knot on the halter, fixed it upon his
wrist, and descending from the hole,
made fast the other end to the bolt of the
hay-loft door. The knight feeling the
roughness of this bracelet, said, ‘Your
ladyship seems to rasp rather than to
clasp thy hand; do not treat it so
cruelly; for it is not to blame for
what you suffer, from my inclination;
nor is it just that such a small
part should bear the whole brunt of
your indignation; consider, that one
who is such a friend to love, ought not
to be so attached to revenge.’

All these expostulations of Don Quixote
were uttered in vain; for as soon as
Maritornes had tied him up, she and her
companion, ready to expire with laughing,
left him fastened in such a manner,
that it was impossible for him to get
loose: thus, while he stood on Rozinante’s
back, with his whole arm thrust
up into the straw-hole, and fast tied to
the bolt of the door, he was in the utmost
apprehension and dread, that if his horse
should make the least motion to either
side, he must lose his support, and the
weight of his whole body hang by one
arm, so that he durst not venture to stir;
though he might have expected, from
the patience and peaceful disposition of
Rozinante, that he would stand motionless
// File: 0407.png
for a whole century. In short,
finding himself thus tucked up, and
the ladies vanished, he imagined that
the whole had been effected by the power
of inchantment, which he had experienced
once before, in that same castle,
when he was belaboured by the inchanted
Moor of a carrier; and cursed,
within himself, his want of conduct
and discretion, in entering a second
time that fortress in which he had fared
so ill at first; it being a maxim among
knights-errant, that when they prove an
adventure, without success, they conclude
it is reserved for another, and
therefore think it unnecessary to make a
second trial. Nevertheless, he pulled
with intention to disengage his arm,
but he was so well secured, that all his
efforts were ineffectual; true it is, he
pulled with caution, that Rozinante
might not be disturbed; and though he
had a longing desire of sitting down upon
the saddle again, he found that he
must either continue in his present upright
posture, or part with his hand;
then he began to wish for the sword of
Amadis, against which no inchantment
could prevail; then cursed his fortune;
then exaggerated the loss which the
world would sustain, while he remained
inchanted, as he firmly believed himself to
be; then he reflected anew upon his beloved
Dulcinea del Toboso; then he called
to his trusty squire Sancho Panza, who,
stretched upon the pannel of his ass,
and buried in sleep, at that instant, retained
no remembrance of the mother
that bore him; then he implored the
assistance of the two sages, Lirgando and
Alquife; then he invoked his good
friend Urganda, for succour in his
distress; and, in fine, the morning
found him in that situation, so distracted
and perplexed, that he roared aloud like
a bull, without expecting that the day
would put an end to this disaster, which
he thought would be eternal, believing
himself actually inchanted: and this
opinion was confirmed, by his seeing
that Rozinante scarce offered to stir;
for he was persuaded, that in this manner,
without eating, drinking, or sleeping,
he and his horse would continue
until the evil influence of the stars should
pass over, or some other sage of superior
skill disengage them from their inchantment.

But for once he was mistaken in his
calculation; for day had scarce began
// File: 0408.png
.pn +1
to dawn, when four men on horseback
arrived at the inn, well mounted, and
accoutred with carbines hanging at their
saddle-bows; the knight perceiving
from the place, where in spite of his
misfortune, he still kept guard, that
they thundered for entrance at the gate,
which was still shut, called in an arrogant
and haughty tone, ‘Knights or
squires, or whosoever you are, you
have no business to make such a noise
at the gate of this castle; for it is very
plain, that either the people within
are asleep, or unaccustomed, at these
hours, to open the fortress, which
you cannot enter before the sun rise.
Retire, therefore, and wait until the
day be farther advanced, and then we
shall see whether or not you have any
title to be admitted.’

‘What the devil of a fortress or
castle is this, that we must observe
such ceremony!’ said one of the company:
‘if you are the innkeeper, order
somebody to open the door; we are all
travellers, and only want to bait, that
we may forthwith proceed on our journey,
for we are in haste.’—‘Gentlemen,’
replied Don Quixote, ‘do you think I
resemble an innkeeper?’—‘I don’t
know what you resemble,’ answered
the other, ‘but this I know, that you
talk nonsense in calling this inn a
castle.’—‘A castle it is,’ cried the
knight, ‘and one of the best in this
province; nay, at this very instant, it
contains those who have wore crowns
on their heads, and wielded sceptres in
their hands.’—‘Or rather the reverse,’
said the traveller; ‘that is, the sceptre
on the head, and crown in the hand[#]:
but perhaps there may be within
some company of strollers, who frequently
wear these crowns and sceptres
you mention; for otherwise, in such a
sorry inn, without any sort of noise or
stir, I cannot believe that any persons
of such note would lodge.’—‘You
know little of the world,’ replied Don
Quixote, ‘since you are so ignorant of
the events that happen in knight-errantry.’

The other horsemen being tired with
this dialogue that passed between the
knight and their companion, began
again to knock and bawl with such vociferation,
that the landlord and all the
persons in the inn waking, rose to see
who called so furiously: about this time
one of the horses belonging to the travellers
drew near and smelled at Rozinante,
who, sad and melancholy, with
his ears hanging down, stood supporting
his outstretched master without stirring;
but at length, being made of
flesh, though he seemed to have been
carved out of a block, he was sensible of
the civility, and turned about to repay
the compliment to the courteous stranger;
and scarce had he moved one step,
when both his master’s feet slipping
from the saddle, he would have tumbled
to the ground had he not hung by his
arm, which endured such torture in the
shock, that he verily believed it was cut
off by the wrist, or torn away by the
shoulder. He was suspended so low,
that the tops of his toes almost touched
the ground; a circumstance that increased
his calamity: for feeling how
little he wanted of being firmly sustained,
he stretched and fatigued himself
with endeavouring to set his feet
upon the ground; like those wretches,
who, in undergoing the strappado, being
hoisted up a very little space, increase
their own torment by their eager
efforts to lengthen their bodies, misled
by the vain hope of reaching the
ground.

.fn #
In the original <lang=es>demi-donzellas</lang>, equivalent to the modern term demi-reps.
.fn-

.fn #
Alluding to the delinquents, who were branded and marked with these figures.
.fn-
.sp 4
.h4 id=chap2-4-17
<abbr=chapter>CHAP.</abbr> <abbr=seventeen>XVII.</abbr> | A CONTINUATION OF THE SURPRIZING EVENTS THAT HAPPENED IN THE INN.
.sp 2
Don Quixote actually made such
a hideous outcry, that the innkeeper
opened the door, and ran out to
see what was the matter; while the
strangers that remained without were
no less astonished at his bellowing.
Maritornes being also waked by the
same noise, conjectured what might be
the case, and going straight to the hay-loft
without being perceived, untied the
halter that sustained him, so that the
knight came to the ground in sight of
the landlord and strangers, who running
up, asked what was the matter with
him, and wherefore he cried so violently?
Without answering one word, he loosed
// File: 0409.png
.pn +1
the tether from his wrist, and rising up,
mounted Rozinante, braced his target,
couched his lance, and making a pretty
large circuit in the field, returned at a
half gallop, pronouncing with great emphasis,
‘If any person whatever sayeth
that I have justly suffered inchantment,
I here with the permission of my Lady
Princess Micomicona give him the
lye, challenge, and defy him to single
combat.’

The travellers were amazed at his
words; but their astonishment abated
when the innkeeper told them who Don
Quixote was, observing that they ought
not to mind what he did, because he
was disordered in his brain: they then
asked if he had seen a youth about fifteen
years of age, dressed like a young
muleteer, with such and such marks,
giving an exact description of Donna
Clara’s lover. The landlord answered,
there were so many people in his house,
that he could not possibly distinguish the
person for whom they enquired; but
one of them perceiving the judge’s
coach, ‘He must certainly be here,’
said he; ‘for this is the coach which
they say he followed: let one of us
stay at the door, and the rest go in to
search for him; it will also be proper
that one go round the whole house,
to prevent his escaping over the yard
wall.’ This plan being agreed upon,
two of them entered the inn, another
remained at the door, and the fourth
rode round the house to reconnoitre;
while the landlord observing every thing
that passed, could not conceive the
meaning of all this care and diligence,
although he believed they were in search
of the youth whom they had described.
By this time it was clear day-light, and
upon that account, as well as in consequence
of Don Quixote’s roaring, all
the company were awake, and got up,
especially Donna Clara and Dorothea,
who had slept very little that night;
the first being disturbed and alarmed by
reflecting that her lover was so near, and
the other kept awake by the desire of
seeing this pretended muleteer.

Don Quixote seeing that none of the
travellers took the least notice of him,
or made any answer to his defiance, was
transported with rage and vexation; and
if he could have recollected any law of
chivalry, authorizing a knight-errant to
undertake another enterprize while he
was under promise and oath to abstain
// File: 0410.png
from any adventure until that in which
he was engaged was already atchieved,
he would have assaulted them all together,
and forced them to reply, contrary
to their inclination: but thinking it
was neither expedient nor just to begin
a new enterprize until he had re-established
the Princess Micomicona on her
throne, he chose to be silent, waiting to
see the effects of that diligence practised
by the new comers, one of whom found
the youth they came in quest of sleeping
by the side of a muleteer, and little
dreaming that any body was in search
of him, much less that he was in any
danger of being discovered. The man,
however, shook him by the arm, saying,
‘Truly, Signior Don Lewis, this is
a very suitable dress for one of your
quality, and the bed in which you
now lie extremely well-adapted to the
tenderness and delicacy in which your
mother brought you up.’

The youth rubbed his sleepy eyes,
and looking stedfastly at the person who
held him by the arm, no sooner perceived
that he was one of his father’s
servants, than he was so much surprized
and confounded, that for a good while
he could not speak one word; while the
domestick proceeded, saying, ‘At present,
Don Lewis, there is nothing
else to be done but to exert your patience
and return home, if you are
not resolved that your father and my
lady shall visit the other world; for
nothing else can be expected from
their anxiety at your absence.’—‘How
did my father get notice that I travelled
this road, and in this habit?’
said Don Lewis. ‘A student,’ replied
the servant, ‘to whom you imparted
your intention, was so much moved
by the sorrow that took possession of
your parents the moment you were
missed, that he disclosed your scheme
to your father, who instantly dispatched
four of his domesticks in
search of you; and we are all here, at
your service, infinitely rejoiced that
we have now an opportunity of returning
speedily, and carrying you
back to the longing eyes of those by
whom you are so much beloved.’—‘That
may depend upon my own will,
and the appointment of Heaven,’ said
the young nobleman. ‘What should
you will, or Heaven ordain, but your
immediate return, which indeed you
cannot possibly avoid?’
// File: 0411.png
.pn +1

All this conversation was overheard
by the muleteer with whom Don Lewis
lay, who got up immediately, and going
to Don Fernando, Cardenio, and
the ladies, who were already dressed,
told them how the man called his fellow-servant,
Don, and communicated
every thing that passed between them
concerning the domestick’s proposal of
conducting him home again, and the
youth’s refusal to comply with his desire.
This information, together with the
knowledge of that sweet voice with
which Heaven had endowed him, excited
in all the company a desire of
knowing more particularly who he was,
and even of assisting him, should they
offer any violence to his inclination:
for this purpose, therefore, they repaired
to the place where he still stood talking and
disputing with his father’s servant. At
the same time Dorothea coming out of
her apartment, followed by Donna Clara,
in the utmost confusion called Cardenio
aside, and briefly related to him the story
of the musician and the judge’s daughter;
and he in his turn informed her of
what passed on the arrival of his father’s
servants. This he spoke not so softly
but that he was overheard by Clara,
who was so much affected at the news,
that if Dorothea had not supported her,
she would have fallen to the ground;
but Cardenio desired them to retire into
their apartment, saying, he would endeavour
to set every thing to rights,
and they accordingly followed his advice.
Meanwhile, the four who had
come in quest of Don Lewis stood
round him in the inn, persuading him
to return without loss of time, and console
his melancholy father; but he assured
them he could by no means comply
with their request until he had finished
an affair upon which his honour,
life, and soul, depended. Then the
domesticks began to be more urgent,
protesting they would in no shape return
without him; and declaring that
if he would not go willingly, they would
be obliged to carry him off by force.
‘That you shall never do,’ replied Don
Lewis, ‘unless you carry me off dead:
and indeed you may as well kill me,
as force me away in any shape.’

Most of the people in the house were
now gathered together to hear the dispute,
particularly Cardenio, Don Fernando,
his companions, the judge, curate,
barber, and Don Quixote, who
// File: 0412.png
thought it was no longer necessary to
guard the castle. Cardenio being already
acquainted with the young man’s
story, asked what reason the domesticks
had to carry off the youth contrary to
his own inclination. ‘Our motive,’
replied one of the four, ‘is to retrieve
his father’s life, which is in danger of
being lost on account of this young
gentleman’s absence.’ To this declaration
Don Lewis answered, ‘There
is no reason why I should here give
an account of my affairs; I am free,
and will return if I please, otherwise
none of you shall compel me into
your measures.’—‘Your honour will,
I hope, hear reason,’ said the servant;
‘or if you should not, it will be enough
for us to execute our errand, as we are
in duty bound.’

Here the judge desiring to know the
whole affair from the bottom, the man
having lived in the same neighbourhood,
knew him, and replied, ‘My Lord
Judge, don’t you know that young
gentleman is your neighbour’s son,
who hath absented himself from his
father’s house, in a dress altogether
unbecoming his quality, as your
lordship may perceive?’ Then the
judge looking at him more attentively,
recollected his features, and embracing
him said, ‘What a frolick is this,
Don Lewis? or what powerful cause
hath induced you to come hither in a
garb so ill-suited to your rank and fortune?’
The tears gushing into the
young man’s eyes, he could not answer
one word to the judge, who desired the
four domesticks to make themselves
easy, for all would be well; then taking
Don Lewis by the hand, he led him
aside, and asked again the cause of his
coming in that manner.

While he was employed in this and
other questions, they heard a great noise
at the inn door, occasioned by two
men who had lodged all night in the
house, and who seeing every body intent
upon knowing the business of the four
last comers, resolved to march off without
paying their reckoning; but the innkeeper,
who minded his own affairs
more than those of any other person,
stopped them on the threshold, demanded
his money, and upbraided them for
their evil intention, with such abusive
language, as provoked them to answer
by dint of fists, which they began to
employ so dextrously, that the poor
// File: 0413.png
.pn +1
landlord found himself under the necessity
of calling aloud for assistance.
His wife and daughter seeing nobody
so idle, consequently so proper for the
purpose as Don Quixote, the damsel addressed
him in these words: ‘Sir knight,
I beseech your worship, by the valour
which God hath given you, to go to
the assistance of my poor father, whom
two wicked men are now beating to
a jelly.’ To this request the knight
replied, with great leisure, and infinite
phlegm, ‘Beautiful young lady, I cannot
at present grant your petition,
being restricted from intermeddling
in any other adventure, until I shall
have accomplished one in which my
honour is already engaged; all that I
can do for your service is this, run
and desire your father to maintain the
combat as well as he can, and by no
means allow himself to be overcome,
until I go and ask permission of the
Princess Micomicona, to succour him
in his distress; and if I obtain it, be
assured that I will rescue him from all
danger.’—‘Sinner that I am!’ cried
Maritornes, who was then present,
‘before your worship can obtain that
permission, my master will be in the
other world.’—‘Allow me, Madam,’
answered Don Quixote, ‘to go and
solicit the licence I mention, which
if I obtain, I shall not make much
account of his being in the other
world, from whence I will retrieve
him, though all its inhabitants should
combine to oppose me; at least I shall
take such vengeance on those who
have sent him thither, as will give
you full and ample satisfaction.’

So saying, he went and kneeled before
Dorothea, begging in the stile and
manner of knight-errantry, that her
highness would be pleased to give him
permission to run and assist the constable
of the castle, who was at that time involved
in a very grievous disaster. The
princess having very graciously granted
his request, he braced on his target, unsheathed
his sword, and ran to the gate,
where the two guests still continued pummelling
the landlord; but as soon as he
beheld them, he stopped short, as if
suddenly surprized, and when Maritornes
and her mistress asked what hindered
him from giving assistance to their
master and husband, ‘I am hindered,’
answered the knight, ‘by a law, which
will not permit me to use my sword
// File: 0414.png
against plebeians; but call hither my
squire Sancho, for to him it belongs,
and is peculiar, to engage in such vengeance
and defence.’

This transaction happened on the very
field of battle, while kicks and cuffs
were dealt with infinite dexterity, to the
no small prejudice of the innkeeper’s
carcase, and the rage of his wife, daughter,
and Maritornes, who were half-distracted
at seeing the cowardice of
Don Quixote, and the distress of their
lord and master. But let us here leave
him awhile, for he shall not want one
to assist him; or else, let him suffer with
patience, and hold his tongue as becomes
those who rashly undertake adventures
which they have not strength
to atchieve; and let us retreat backwards,
about fifty yards, to see what
answer Don Lewis made to the judge,
whom we left enquiring the cause of his
travelling on foot in such a mean habit.
The youth, squeezing both his
hands with great eagerness, in token of
the excessive grief that wrung his heart,
and shedding a flood of tears, replied to
this question, ‘Dear Sir, I can give you
no other reason, but that from the first
moment that fortune made us neighbours,
and Heaven ordained that I
should see Donna Clara, your daughter
and my delight, I, that instant,
made her mistress of my heart; and if
your inclination, my real lord and father,
does not oppose my happiness, this
very day she shall be my lawful wife;
for her I forsook my father’s house, and
disguised myself in this manner, with
a resolution to follow whithersoever
she should go, directing my views towards
her, like the arrow to its mark,
and the needle to the pole; though
she knows no more of my passion
than what she may have understood
from the tears which, at a distance,
she hath often seen me shed. You
yourself, my lord, know the rank and
fortune of my father, whose sole heir
I am. If you think that a motive
sufficient for venturing to make me
perfectly happy, receive me immediately
as your son; and though my father,
prompted perhaps by other
views, should be disobliged at the
blessing which I have chosen for myself,
it is in the power of time to work
greater changes and alterations than
human prudence can foresee.’

Here the enamoured youth left off
// File: 0415.png
.pn +1
speaking, and the judge remained in
the utmost suspense; not only admiring
the discretion with which Don Lewis
had disclosed his passion, but also finding
himself perplexed about the resolution
he was to take, in such a sudden
and unexpected affair. He therefore
made no other reply for the present, but
to desire he would make himself easy,
and detain his servants a day longer,
that he might have time to consider
what steps it would be most proper to
take, for the satisfaction of all concerned.
Don Lewis kissed his hands by
force, and even bathed them with his
tears; a circumstance sufficient to melt
a heart of marble, much more that of
the judge, who, being a man of prudence,
had already conceived all the
advantages of such a match for his
daughter; though he wished it could be
effected, if possible, with the consent of
the young man’s father, who, he knew,
had some pretensions to a title for his
son.

By this time peace was re-established
between the innkeeper and his two
lodgers, who being persuaded by the
arguments and exhortations of Don
Quixote, more than by his threats, had
paid their reckoning to the last farthing;
and the servants of Don Lewis waited
the result of the judge’s advice, together
with their master’s resolution; when
the devil, who is ever watchful, so ordered
matters, that the barber should
just then enter the inn; that very barber
from whom Don Quixote had retrieved
Mambrino’s helmet, and Sancho Panza
taken the furniture of his ass, which he
had exchanged for his own. This individual
shaver, as he led his beast to the
stable, perceived Sancho employed in
mending something that belonged to the
pannel, and knowing him at first sight,
assaulted the squire in a trice, crying,
‘Ha! Don thief, I have caught you
at last. Restore my bason and pannel,
with all the furniture you stole
from me.’

Sancho seeing himself so suddenly attacked,
and hearing the reproachful language
of his antagonist, with one hand
laid fast hold on the pannel, and with
the other bestowed upon the barber such
a slap in the face, as bathed his whole
jaws in blood. But for all that, he
would not quit the pannel which he had
also seized; on the contrary, he raised
his voice so high as to alarm the whole
company, and bring them to the scene
of contention, crying, ‘Justice! help
in the king’s name! this robber wants
to murder me, because I endeavour
to recover my own property.’—‘You
lye,’ answered the squire; ‘I am no
robber; my Lord Don Quixote won
these spoils fairly in battle.’ The
knight coming up among the rest, beheld
with infinite satisfaction, his squire
so alert in offending and defending, and
looking upon him from thenceforward
as a man of valour, resolved in his
heart, to have him dubbed with the first
opportunity, confident that on him the
order of knighthood would be very well
bestowed. Among other things alledged
by the barber in the course of the
fray, ‘Gentlemen,’ said he, ‘that pannel
belongs as much to me as my
soul belongs to God; for I know it
as well as if it had been produced by
my own body, and though I had all
the mind in the world, my ass, which
is now in the stable, would not suffer
me to tell a falshood; since you will
not take my word, pray go and try it
upon his back, and if it does not fit
him to a hair, I shall give you leave
to call me the greatest lyar upon earth.
Besides, the very same day on which
they took my pannel, they also robbed
me of a new brass bason, never hanselled,
that cost me a good crown[#].’

Don Quixote hearing this, could contain
himself no longer, but interposed
between the combatants, whom he parted,
and depositing the pannel on the
ground, to be publickly viewed until
the truth should appear, addressed himself
thus to the spectators: ‘Gentlemen,
you may now clearly and manifestly
perceive how this honest squire
errs in his judgment, by calling that
a bason, which was, is, and shall be,
Mambrino’s helmet; a piece of armour
I won in fair and open battle,
and now possess by the just laws of
conquest. With regard to the pannel,
I will not intermeddle; all that I
can say of the matter is, that my
squire Sancho having asked permission
to take the trappings of that coward’s
horse, and adorn his own with them,
I gave him leave, and he took them
accordingly; though I can give no
// File: 0416.png
.pn +1
other reason for their being now converted
into a pannel, but that such
transformations frequently happen in
the events of chivalry: yet, as a confirmation
of what I say, run, friend
Sancho, and bring hither the helmet,
which this honest man calls a bason.’

‘’Fore God!’ answered Sancho, ‘if
your worship has no better proof of
our honourable doings than what you
mention, Mambrino’s helmet will turn
out a bason, as certainly as this honest
man’s trappings are transmographied
into a pannel.’—‘Do what I order,’
replied the knight; ‘sure I am
every thing in this castle cannot be
conducted by inchantment.’ Sancho
went accordingly, and fetched this bason
or helmet of Mambrino, as his master
called it, which Don Quixote taking in
his hand, said, ‘Behold, gentlemen,
with what face this plebeian can affirm
that this is a bason, and not the helmet
I have mentioned: now, I swear
by the order of knighthood I profess,
that this is the individual helmet which
I took from him, without the least
addition or diminution.’—‘Without
all manner of doubt,’ said Sancho;
‘for since my master won it, to this
good hour, he hath used it but in one
battle, when he delivered those mischievous
galley-slaves; and if it had
not been for that same bason-helmet,
he could not have come off so well:
for there was a deadly shower of stones
rained upon his pate in that storm.’

.fn #
Literally, ‘Lady of a crown.’
.fn-
.sp 4
.h4 id=chap2-4-18
<abbr=chapter>CHAP.</abbr> <abbr=eighteen>XVIII.</abbr> | THE DECISION OF THE DOUBTS CONCERNING MAMBRINO’S HELMET AND THE PANNEL—WITH A FULL AND TRUE ACCOUNT OF MANY OTHER ADVENTURES.
.sp 2
‘Gentlemen,’ said the barber,
‘pray favour me with
your opinion concerning what is affirmed
by these gentlefolks, who so
obstinately maintain that this is not a
bason, but a helmet!’—‘And if any
one affirms to the contrary,’ replied
Don Quixote, ‘I will make him sensible
that he lyes, if he be a knight;
and if a plebeian, that he lyes a thousand
times.’ His own townsman,
who was present all the while, being
well acquainted with the knight’s humour,
// File: 0417.png
resolved to encourage him in his
extravagance, and carry on the joke for
the diversion of the company; with this
view he addressed himself to the other
shaver, saying, ‘Mr. Barber, or whosoever
you are, you must know that I am of
the same profession; I have had a certificate
of my examination these twenty
years; and know very well all the instruments
of the art, without excepting
one. I was, moreover, a soldier
in my youth, consequently can
distinguish an helmet, a morrion, and
a casque with its beaver, together
with every thing relating to military
affairs; I mean the different kinds of
armour wore by soldiers in the field:
I say, under correction, and still with
submission to better judgment, that
the object now in dispute, which that
worthy gentleman holds in his hand,
is not only no barbers bason, but
also, as far from being one as black
is from white, or falshood from truth.
I likewise aver, that though it is an
helmet, it is not entire.’—‘You
are certainly in the right,’ said Don
Quixote, ‘for it wants one half, which
is the beaver.’

The curate, who by this time understood
the intention of his friend, seconded
his asseveration, which was also
confirmed by Cardenio, Don Fernando,
and his companions; and the judge
himself would have bore a part in the
jest, had he not been engrossed by the
affair of Don Lewis; but that earnest
business kept him in such perplexity of
thought, that he could give little or no
attention to the joke that was going forward.

.if h
.il fn=plate-ix.jpg id=plate9 w=60% alt=""
.ca Plate IX: Don Quixote Displays the Bason.
.if-
.if t
[Illustration: Don Quixote Displays the Bason.]
.if-

‘Good God!’ cried the barber, with
amazement, ‘is it possible that so many
honourable persons should pronounce
this bason to be a helmet! an assertion
sufficient to astonish a whole university,
let it be never so learned.
Well, if that bason be an helmet, I
suppose the pannel must be a horses
trappings too, as this gentleman
says.’—‘To me it seems a pannel,’
replied the knight; ‘but, as I have already
observed, I will not pretend to
decide whether it be the pannel of an
ass, or the furniture of a steed.’—‘Don
Quixote has no more to do but
speak his opinion,’ said the curate;
‘for in affairs of chivalry, all these
gentlemen, myself, and even the ladies,
yield to his superior understanding.’—‘By
// File: 0418.png
// File: 0419.png
// File: 0420.png
.pn +1
Heaven! gentlemen,’ cried
the knight, ‘so many strange accidents
have happened to me, twice that I
have lodged in this castle, that I will
not venture positively to affirm the
truth of any thing that may be asked
relating to it; for I imagine that
every thing in this place is conducted
by the power of inchantment. The
first time I passed the night in this
place, I was harrassed extremely by
an inchanted Moor that resides in the
castle, while Sancho was almost as
roughly handled by some of his attendants;
and this very night I was
suspended by one arm for the space
of two hours, without knowing how
or wherefore I incurred that misfortune.
For me, therefore, to give my
opinion in a case of such perplexity,
would be a rash decision: with regard
to the helmet, which they say is
a bason, I have already expressed my
sentiments; but dare not give a definitive
sentence by declaring whether
that be a pannel or a horse’s furniture.
That I leave to the judgment of the good
company, who not being knights, as
I am, perhaps are not subjected to
the inchantments of this place; but,
enjoying their faculties clear and undisturbed,
can judge of these things
as they really and truly are, not as
they appear to my imagination.’—‘Doubtless,’
replied Don Fernando,
‘Signior Don Quixote manifests his
own prudence, in observing that to
us belongs the determination of this
affair, which, that it may be the better
founded, I will in private take the
opinions of this good company one by
one, and then openly declare the full
result of my enquiry.’

To those who are acquainted with
the knight’s humour, this proposal afforded
matter of infinite diversion; but
the rest being ignorant of the joke,
looked upon it as a piece of downright
madness: this was particularly the opinion
of the domesticks belonging to
Don Lewis, which was even espoused
by himself and three travellers just arrived,
who seemed to be troopers of the
holy brotherhood, as indeed they were;
but he that almost ran distracted was
the barber, whose bason was, even in
his own sight, transformed into Mambrino’s
helmet, while he expected every
moment that his pannel would be certainly
declared the rich trappings and
furniture of a horse. Every body
laughed to see Don Fernando going
about with great gravity collecting opinions
in whispers, that each might privately
declare whether that jewel, about
which there had been such obstinate disputes,
was the pannel of an ass, or the
furniture of a steed. Having received
the answers of all those who knew Don
Quixote, he pronounced aloud, ‘Truly,
honest friend, I am quite tired with
asking so many opinions: for every
one to whom I put the question, affirms
it is downright distraction to
call this a pannel, which is certainly
the furniture of a horse, and that too
of an excellent breed. Therefore, you
must e’en have patience: for in spite
of you, and the testimony of your ass
to boot, an horse’s furniture it must
remain, as you have failed so egregiously
in the proof of what you alledge.’—‘May
I never taste the joys
of heaven!’ cried the transported barber,
‘if you are not all deceived; and
so may my soul appear before God, as
this appears to me, a mere pannel,
and not the furniture of an horse! but
thus might overcomes[#]——I say no
more, neither am I drunk, being
fresh and fasting from every thing
but sin.’

The company laughed as heartily at
the simplicity of the barber as the extravagance
of the knight, who upon this
decision, said, ‘Nothing now remains,
but that every one should take his
own again; and may <abbr=Saint>St.</abbr> Peter bless
what God bestows[#].’ One of the four
servants belonging to Don Lewis now
interposed, saying, ‘If this be not a
premeditated joke, I cannot persuade
myself that people of sound understanding,
such as all this company are
or seem to be, should venture to say
and affirm that this is no bason, nor
that a pannel; yet seeing this is both
said and affirmed, I conceive there
must be some mystery in thus insisting
upon a thing so contrary to truth
and experience; for, by God!’ (an
oath he swore with great emphasis) ‘all
// File: 0421.png
.pn +1
the people on earth shall never make
me believe that this is not a barber’s
bason, or that not the pannel of an
he-ass.’—‘Why not of a she-ass?’
said the curate. ‘That distinction
makes no difference,’ said the servant;
‘nor has it any concern with the dispute,
which is occasioned by your
saying that it is not a pannel at all.’

At the same time, one of the troopers
who had entered and been witness to
the quarrel and question, could no
longer contain his choler and displeasure
at what he heard; and therefore
said, in a furious tone, ‘If that is not a
pannel, my father never begat me;
and he that says, or shall say the contrary,
must be drunk.’—‘You lye,
like an infamous scoundrel!’ replied
Don Quixote; who lifting up his lance,
which he still kept in his hand, aimed
such a stroke at the troopers skull, that
if he had not been very expeditious in
shifting it, he would have been stretched
at full length upon the ground, on
which the weapon was shivered to
pieces: the rest of the troop, seeing
their companion so roughly handled,
raised their voices, crying for help to
the holy brotherhood; the innkeeper
being of that fraternity, ran in for his
tipstaff and sword, and espoused the
cause of his brethren; the domesticks
surrounded Don Lewis, that he might
not escape in the scuffle; the barber seeing
the house turned topsy-turvey, laid
hold again of the pannel, which was at
the same time seized by Sancho; Don
Quixote attacked the troopers sword-in-hand;
Don Lewis called to his servants
to leave him, and go to the assistance of
Cardenio and Don Fernando, who had
ranged themselves on the side of Don
Quixote; the curate exhorted, the landlady
screamed, the daughter wept, Maritornes
blubbered, Dorothea was confounded,
Lucinda perplexed, and Donna
Clara fainted away. The barber pummelled
Sancho, who returned the compliment;
one of the servants presuming
to seize Don Lewis by the arm, that he
might not run away, the young gentleman
gave him such a slap in the face as
bathed all his teeth in blood; the judge
exerted himself in his defence. Don
Fernando having brought one of the
troopers to the ground, kicked his
whole carcase to his heart’s content;
the landlord raised his voice again,
roaring for help to the holy brotherhood;
// File: 0422.png
so that the whole inn was a scene
of lamentation, cries, shrieks, confusion,
dread, dismay, disaster, back-strokes,
cudgelling, kicks, cuffs, and
effusion of blood. In the midst of this
labyrinth, chaos, and composition of
mischief, Don Quixote’s imagination
suggested that he was all of a sudden
involved in the confusion of Agramonte’s
camp, and therefore pronounced
with a voice that made the whole inn
resound, ‘Let every man forbear, put
up his sword, be quiet and listen, unless
he be weary of his life.’

On hearing this exclamation, all the
combatants paused, while he proceeded
thus: ‘Did not I tell you, gentlemen,
that this castle was inchanted, and
doubtless inhabited by a whole legion
of devils? as a proof of which, you
may now perceive with your own eyes
how the discord and mutiny in Agramonte’s
camp is translated hither:
behold, in one place, we fight for a
sword; in another, for a horse; in a
third, for an eagle; and in a fourth,
for a helmet; in short, we are all by
the ears together, for we know not
what.—Advance, therefore, my lord
judge, and Mr. Curate, and in the
persons of Agramonte and King Sobrino,
re-establish peace among us;
for, by Almighty God! it were wicked
and absurd, that persons of our importance
should be slain in such a frivolous
cause.’

The troopers, who did not understand
the knight’s stile, and found
themselves very severely treated by Don
Fernando, Cardenio, and their companions,
would not be pacified; but it
was otherwise with the barber, who,
in the scuffle, had lost both his pannel
and beard: Sancho, who, like a faithful
servant, minded the least hint of his
master, willingly obeyed, and the servants
of Don Lewis were fain to be
quiet, seeing how little they had got by
concerning themselves in the fray; the
innkeeper alone insisted upon their
chastising the insolence of that madman,
who was every moment throwing
the whole house into confusion; at
length the disturbance was appeased,
the pannel remained as an horse’s furniture
till the day of judgment, the
bason as an helmet, and the inn as a
castle, in Don Quixote’s imagination.

Every thing being thus amicably
composed by the persuasion of the judge
// File: 0423.png
.pn +1
and priest, the servants of Don Lewis
began again to press him with great
obstinacy to set out with them for his
father’s house immediately; and while
he expostulated with them, the judge
consulted with Don Fernando, Cardenio,
and the curate, about what he
should do on this occasion; imparting
to them the declaration Don Lewis had
made; at last it was agreed that Don
Fernando should tell the servants who
he was, and express a desire that Don
Lewis should accompany him to Andalousia,
where his brother the marquis
should entertain him according to his
rank and merit; for he well knew the
young gentleman was fixed in the determination
of being cut to pieces rather
than return to his father at that
time. The domesticks being informed
of Don Fernando’s quality, and understanding
the resolution of Don Lewis,
determined amongst themselves that
three of them should return and give
the father an account of what had happened,
while the fourth should attend
the young gentleman, until they should
either come back for him, or know his
father’s pleasure.

In this manner was that accumulation
of quarrels appeased by the authority of
Agramonte and prudence of King Sobrino;
but the enemy of concord and
rival of peace being thus foiled and disappointed,
and seeing how little fruit
he had reaped from the labyrinth of
confusion in which he had involved
them, determined to try his hand once
more, and revive discord and disturbance
anew; and these were the means
he practised for this purpose: the
troopers, apprized of the quality of
those with whom they had been engaged,
were fain to be quiet and retreat
from the fray, concluding that
whatever might happen they would have
the worst of the battle; but one of
them who had been pummelled and
kicked by Don Fernando, recollected
that among other warrants for apprehending
delinquents, he had one against
Don Quixote, issued by the holy brotherhood,
on account of his having set
the galley-slaves at liberty, as Sancho
had very justly feared: this coming into
his head, he was resolved to assure himself
whether or not the knight’s person
agreed with the description, and pulling
out of his bosom a bundle of parchment,
he soon found what he sought,
// File: 0424.png
and beginning to spell with great deliberation
(for he was by no means an
expert reader) between every word he
fixed his eyes upon the knight, whose
physiognomy he compared with the
marks specified in the warrant, and discovered
beyond all doubt that he was
the very person described; no sooner
was he thus convinced, than putting
up the parchment, and holding the
warrant in his left-hand, he with his
right seized Don Quixote so fast by the
collar that he could scarce fetch his
breath, roaring aloud, ‘Help, in the
name of the holy brotherhood; and
that you may see my demand is just,
read that warrant for apprehending
this highwayman.’

The curate, upon perusing the warrant,
found what the trooper said was
true, and that the description exactly
agreed with the person of Don Quixote,
who seeing himself so unworthily treated
by such a ragamuffin, was incensed to
the highest degree, so that every bone
in his body trembled with rage; and
he made shift to fasten on the trooper’s
throat with both hands so violently,
that if his companions had not come to
his assistance, he would have quitted
his life before the knight had quitted
his hold. The innkeeper being obliged
to succour his brethren, ran immediately
to their assistance; his wife seeing
her husband re-engaged in the quarrel,
exalted her voice anew; Maritornes and
the daughter squalled in concert, imploring
heaven and the bye-standers for
help: Sancho perceiving what passed,
‘By the Lord!’ cried he, ‘what my
master says about the inchantments
of this castle is certainly true; for it is
impossible to live an hour in quiet
within its walls.’

Don Fernando parted the knight and
trooper, to their mutual satisfaction;
unlocking their hands, which were fast
clinched in the doublet-collar of the
one, and the wind-pipe of the other, but
for all that they did not cease demanding
their prisoner, and the assistance of
the company, in binding and delivering
him to their charge, agreeable to the service
of the king, and the order of the
holy brotherhood, in whose behalf they
repeated their demand of favour and assistance,
to secure that felon, robber,
and thief. Don Quixote smiled at hearing
these epithets, and with much composure
replied, ‘Come hither, ye vile
// File: 0425.png
.pn +1
and base-born race! do you call it the
province of an highwayman to loose
the chains of the captive, and set the
prisoner free! to succour the miserable,
raise the fallen, and relieve the
distressed? Ah! infamous crew! whose
low and grovelling understanding renders
you unworthy that Heaven should
reveal to you the worth that is contained
in knight-errantry, or make
you sensible of your sin and ignorance,
in neglecting to revere the very shadow,
much more the substance of any
knight. Come hither, ye rogues in a
troop, and not troopers; ye robbers
licensed by the holy brotherhood; and
tell me what ignorant wretch he was,
who signed a warrant of caption
against such a knight as me? Who
did not know that we are exempted
from all judicial authority, and that
a knight’s own sword is his law, he
being privileged by his valour, and
restricted only by his will and pleasure?
Who was the blockhead, I
say, who does not know, that no
gentleman’s charter contains so many
rights and indulgences as adhere to
a knight-errant, the very day on
which he is dubbed, and devotes himself
to the painful exercise of arms?
What knight-errant ever paid tax,
toll, custom, duty, or excise? What
taylor ever brought in a bill for making
his cloaths? What governor ever
made him pay for lodging in his
castle? What king did ever neglect to
seat him at his own table? What
damsel ever resisted his charms, or refused
to submit herself entirely to his
pleasure and will? And, in fine, what
knight-errant ever was, is, or will be,
whose single valour is not sufficient
to annihilate four hundred troopers,
should they presume to oppose him?’

.fn #
The original would be more literally translated, by saying, ‘The law’s measure is
the king’s pleasure.’
.fn-

.fn #
A bridal benediction.
.fn-
.sp 4
.h4 id=chap2-4-19
<abbr=chapter>CHAP.</abbr> <abbr=nineteen>XIX.</abbr> | IN WHICH IS CONCLUDED THE NOTABLE ADVENTURE OF THE TROOPERS—WITH AN ACCOUNT OF THE SURPRIZING FEROCITY OF OUR WORTHY KNIGHT DON QUIXOTE.
.sp 2
While Don Quixote harangued
in this manner, the curate was
employed in persuading the troopers,
that he was a man disordered in his
// File: 0426.png
judgment, as they might perceive both
by his words and actions, and therefore
they ought not to proceed any farther
in the affair; for even if they
should apprehend him, he would soon
be dismissed as a person <i>non compos</i>.
To this observation the man who had
the warrant replied, that it was not
his business to judge of Don Quixote’s
madness, but to obey the orders
of his superiors; and that if he was
apprehended once, they might discharge
him three hundred times over,
if they would. ‘For all that,’ said
the priest, ‘you must not carry him off
at present, nor do I believe he will
suffer himself to be so treated.’

In short, the curate talked so effectually,
and the knight himself acted such
extravagancies, that the troopers must
have been more mad than he, if they
had not plainly perceived his defect;
therefore they thought proper to be satisfied,
and even performed the office
of mediators betwixt the barber and
Sancho Panza, who still maintained the
fray with great animosity; for the troopers,
as limbs of justice, brought the
cause to an arbitration, and decided it
in such a manner as left both parties if
not fully satisfied, at least in some sort
content with the determination, which
was, that the pannels should be exchanged,
but the girths and halters remain
as they were. With regard to
Mambrino’s helmet, the curate, unperceived
by Don Quixote, took the barber
aside, and paid him eight rials for the
bason, taking a receipt in full, that
cleared the knight from any suspicion
of fraud from thence forward, for
ever, Amen.

These two quarrels, which were of
the greatest importance of any that
happened, being luckily composed, it
remained that three of the servants belonging
to Don Lewis should return,
and the fourth accompany his master to
the place whither Don Fernando intended
to conduct him; and as good luck
and favourable fortune had already began
to quell the spirit of discord, and
smooth all difficulties, in behalf of the
lovers and heroes of the inn, they were
resolved to proceed in such a laudable
work, and bring every thing to a happy
conclusion; for the domesticks were satisfied
with what Don Lewis proposed;
a circumstance that gave such pleasure
to Donna Clara, that every body who
// File: 0427.png
.pn +1
beheld her face might have discerned
the joy of her soul. Zorayda, though
she did not well understand the incidents
she had seen, was sorrowful and
gay, by turns, according as she perceived
the company affected, particularly
her Spaniard, upon whom her eyes
and heart were always fixed. The innkeeper,
who took particular notice of the
full satisfaction which the barber had
received from the curate, demanded
payment of Don Quixote, of the reckoning,
as well as for the damage he had
done to the bags, and the loss of his
wine; swearing that neither Rozinante
nor Sancho’s ass should stir from the
stable, until he should be satisfied to
the last farthing[#]. The curate pacified
the landlord, and Don Fernando paid
the bill, although the judge very frankly
offered to take that upon himself.
In this manner universal concord was
restored; so that the inn no longer represented
the disorder in Agramonte’s
camp, but rather the peace and quiet
that reigned in the time of Octavius
Cæsar; and this blessing was generally
ascribed to the laudable intention and
great eloquence of the priest, together
with the incomparable generosity of Don
Fernando.

Don Quixote now finding himself
freed and disentangled from so many
broils in which both he and his squire
had been involved, thought it high time
to proceed on his journey, in order to
finish that great adventure to which he had
been summoned and chosen: he therefore,
with determined purpose, went and
fell upon his knees before Dorothea, who
refusing to hear him in that posture,
he rose in obedience to her will, and
expressed himself in this manner: ‘It
is a common proverb, beauteous princess,
that diligence is the mother of
success; and in many important causes,
experience hath shewn that the assiduity
of the solicitor hath brought
a very doubtful suit to a very fortunate
issue. But the truth of this
maxim is no where more evinced than
in war, where activity and dispatch
anticipate the designs of the enemy,
and obtain the victory before he has
time to put himself in a posture of
defence. This I observe, most high
and excellent princess, because, in my
opinion, our stay in this castle is unprofitable
and prejudicial, as we may
one day perceive, when it is too late;
for who knows but by means of secret
and artful spies, your enemy, the
giant, may get notice that I am coming
to destroy him; and taking the
opportunity of our delay, fortify himself
in some impregnable castle, against
which all my diligence, and the
strength of my indefatigable arm, will
not avail. Wherefore, most noble
princess, let us, as I have already observed,
prevent his designs by our activity,
and set out immediately, in the
name of good fortune, which your
highness shall not long sigh for, after
I shall have come within sight of your
adversary.’

Here the knight left off speaking,
and with great composure expected the
answer of the beautiful infanta; who,
with a most princely air, and in a
stile perfectly well-suited to his address,
replied in this manner: ‘I thank you,
Sir Knight, for the desire you express
to assist me in my necessity, like a
true knight, whose duty and province
it is, to succour the fatherless and
distressed; and Heaven grant that
your desire and my expectation may
be fulfilled, that you may see there
are grateful women upon earth. With
regard to my departure, let it be as
speedy as you please: my will is altogether
included in yours; dispose
of me, therefore, according to your
own pleasure; for she who hath once
invested you with the charge and defence
of her person, and solely depends
upon your valour, for being re-established
on her throne, would act
preposterously, in seeking to contradict
what your prudence shall ordain.’—‘In
the name of God, then,’ cried
Don Quixote, ‘since a princess humbles
herself thus before me, I will
not let slip the opportunity of raising
her up, and placing her upon the
throne of her ancestors. Let us depart
immediately; for the desire of
seeing you restored, the length of the
journey, and the common reflection,
that “delays are dangerous,” act as
spurs upon my resolution; and since
// File: 0428.png
.pn +1
Heaven hath not created, nor hell ever
seen an object that could strike me
with terror and consternation—go,
Sancho, saddle Rozinante, prepare the
queen’s palfrey, and get ready your
own ass, while we take leave of the
constable and these noble personages,
and set forward on our journey, without
loss of time.’

Here Sancho, who was present all the
time, shook his head, saying, ‘Ah,
master, master! there are more tricks
in town than you dream of; with
submission to the honourable lappets
be it spoken.’—‘What tricks can
there be either in town or city, that
can redound to my discredit, rascal?’
cried the knight. ‘Nay, if your worship
be in a passion,’ replied the squire,
‘I will keep my tongue within my
teeth, and not mention a syllable of
what, as a trusty squire and faithful
servant, I am bound to reveal to my
master.’—‘Say what thou wouldst,’
answered Don Quixote, ‘so thy words
have no tendency to make me afraid;
for in being susceptible of fear, thou
shewest the baseness of thy own character,
as I, in being proof against
all sorts of terror, preserve the dignity
of mine.’—‘As I am a sinner to
God,’ cried Sancho, ‘that is not the
case; but this I know for truth and
positive certainty, that this lady, who
calls herself queen of the great kingdom
of Micomicon, is no more a
queen than my mother; for if she
were what she pretends to be, she
would not be nuzzling into a corner
with one of this company, at every
snatch of an opportunity.’

Dorothea’s face was overspread with
a blush, at these words of Sancho; for,
sooth to say, her husband Don Fernando
had several times, as he thought unperceived,
made free with her lips, as
earnest of that reward his affection deserved;
and in so doing, she was observed
by Sancho, who thought that
such condescension in her looked more
like the behaviour of a courtezan than
that of such a mighty princess; so that
she neither could nor would answer one
word to this charge, but suffered him
to proceed in these words: ‘This, dear
master, I make bold to mention; because,
if after we have travelled the
Lord knows how far, and passed
many weary days and bitter nights,
he that is taking his recreation in this
// File: 0429.png
inn should gather the fruit of all our
labour; we need not be in such a perilous
hurry to saddle Rozinante, prepare
the palfrey, and get ready the
ass; but had better remain in peace
where we are; and, as the saying is,
“While we enjoy our meal, let every
harlot mind her spinning-wheel.”’

Gracious Heaven! what a torrent of
indignation entered the breast of Don
Quixote, when he heard these indecent
expressions of his squire: such, I say,
was the rage that took possession of his
faculties, that with a faltering voice
and stammering tongue, while his eyes
flashed lightning, he exclaimed, ‘O
villainous, inconsiderate, indecent and
ignorant peasant! thou foul-mouthed,
unmannerly, insolent, and malicious
slanderer! darest thou utter such language
against these honourable ladies
in my presence? darest thou entertain
such disgraceful and audacious ideas
in thy confused imagination? Get out
of my sight, monster of nature, depository
of lyes, cupboard of deceit, granary
of knavery, inventor of mischief,
publisher of folly, and foe to that respect
which is due to royalty; go, nor
presume to see my face again, on pain
of my highest displeasure!’ so saying,
he pulled up his eye-brows, distended
his cheeks, looked round him, and with
his right-foot stamped violently upon
the floor, in consequence of the wrath
that preyed upon his intrails.

Sancho was so shrunk and terrified
at these words and furious gestures, that
he would have been glad, if the earth
had opened that instant under his feet
and swallowed him up; and not knowing
what else to do, he sneaked off from
the presence of his incensed master: but
the discreet Dorothea, who was so well
acquainted with Don Quixote’s humour,
in order to appease his indignation,
accosted him thus; ‘Sir Knight
of the Rueful Countenance, let not
your wrath be kindled by the nonsense
which your good squire hath uttered,
for, perhaps, he might have had some
sort of reason for what he said; and
as from his good understanding and
Christian conscience, he cannot be
suspected of a design to bear false
witness against any person whatever,
it is to be supposed, and indeed I firmly
believe, that every thing in this
castle, as you, Sir Knight, have observed,
being conducted by means of
// File: 0430.png
.pn +1
inchantment, Sancho, through that
diabolical medium, must have seen
what he affirms, so much to the prejudice
of my honour and reputation.’—‘I
swear by Almighty God!’ cried
Don Quixote, ‘that your highness hath
hit upon the true cause! and the eyes
of that poor sinner, Sancho, have been
fascinated by some delusive vision, of
what could not possibly be real; for,
unless he had been misled by inchantment,
such is the innocence and simplicity
of that miserable wretch, that I
know he neither could nor would invent
a slander against any living soul.’—‘That
certainly is, and shall be the
case,’ said Don Fernando; ‘for
which reason, Signior Don Quixote
ought to pardon and restore him to
the bosom of his favour, <lang=la><i>Sicut erat
in principio</i></lang>, before those illusions impaired
his understanding.’

The knight promised to forgive him
accordingly; upon which the curate
went in quest of Sancho, who came in
with great humility, and falling on his
knees, begged leave to kiss his master’s
hand; this favour was granted by Don
Quixote, who also gave him his benediction,
saying, ‘Thou wilt now, son
Sancho, be convinced of the truth of
what I have so often told thee, that
all things in this castle are performed
by the power of inchantment.’—‘I believe
so too,’ replied the squire, ‘except
in the affair of the blanketting, which
really happened in the ordinary course
of things.’—‘Thou must not imagine
any such thing,’ answered the
knight; ‘for had that been the case, I
should have revenged thy cause at the
time, and even now would do thee
justice; but neither at that time nor
now, could I, or can I find any persons
to chastise as the cause of thy
disaster.’

The company being desirous of knowing
the affair of the blanket, the landlord
gave a very minute detail of Sancho’s
capering, to the no small diversion
of all present, except the squire
himself, who would have been very
much out of countenance, had not the
knight assured him anew, that the whole
was effected by inchantment; though
the folly of Sancho never rose to such
a pitch, but that he firmly believed,
without the least mixture of doubt or
delusion, that his blanketting had been
performed by persons of flesh and blood,
// File: 0431.png
and not by phantoms or imaginary beings,
according to the opinion and affirmation
of his master.

Two days had this illustrious company
already passed at the inn, from
whence thinking it now high time to depart,
they concerted matters in such a
manner, as that, without putting Dorothea
and Don Fernando to the trouble
of returning with Don Quixote to the
place of his habitation, in order to carry
on the scheme concerning the restoration
of Queen Micomicona, the curate and
barber were enabled to execute their design
of carrying him to his own house,
where endeavours might be used for the
cure of his disorder. In consequence
of this plan, they agreed with the master
of an ox waggon, who chanced to
pass that way, for transporting the
knight in the following manner; having
made a sort of wooden cage, capacious
enough to hold Don Quixote at his ease,
Don Fernando, with his companions,
the servants of Don Lewis, together
with the troopers and innkeeper, by order
and direction of the curate, covered
their faces and disguised themselves,
some in one shape, some in another, so
as to appear, in Don Quixote’s eyes,
quite different from the people he had
seen in the castle. Thus equipped, they
entered, with all imaginable silence, into
the chamber where he lay asleep and
fatigued with the toil he had undergone
in the skirmishes already described; and
laying fast hold on him, while he securely
enjoyed his ease, without dreaming
of such an accident, tied both his
hands and feet so effectually, that when
he waked, in surprize, he could neither
move, nor do any other thing but testify
his wonder and perplexity at the sight
of such strange faces. He then had recourse
to what his distempered imagination
continually suggested, and concluded
that all these figures were phantoms
of that inchanted castle; and that
he himself was, without all question,
under the power of incantation, seeing
he could not even stir in his own defence;
and this conceit was exactly
foreseen by the curate, who was author
of the whole contrivance. The only
person of the whole company who remained
unaltered, both in figure and
intellect, was Sancho; who, though his
lack of understanding fell very little
short of his master’s infirmity, was not
so mad but that he knew every one of
// File: 0432.png
.pn +1
the apparitions, though he durst not
open his mouth, until he should see the
meaning of this assault and capture of
the knight, who likewise expected, in
silence, the issue of his own misfortune.

Having brought the cage into his
apartment, they inclosed him in it, and
fixed the bars so fast, that it was impossible
to pull them asunder; then taking
it on their shoulders, in carrying it
out, they were saluted by as dreadful
a voice as could be assumed by the barber
(I do not mean the owner of the
pannel) who pronounced these words;
‘O Knight of the Rueful Countenance!
afflict not thyself on account of thy
present confinement, which is necessary
towards the more speedy accomplishment
of that great adventure
in which thy valour hath engaged
thee; and which will be atchieved
when the furious Manchegan
lion is coupled with the white Tobosian
dove, their lofty necks being
humbled to the soft matrimonial yoke:
from which unheard-of conjunction,
the world shall be blessed with courageous
whelps, who will imitate the
tearing talons of their valiant sire;
and this will happen, ere the pursuer
of the fugitive nymph shall have
twice performed his visit through the
resplendent constellations, in his natural
and rapid course.—And O! thou
the most noble and obedient squire
that ever wore sword in belt, beard on
chin, or smell in nostril, be not dismayed
nor discontented at seeing the
flower of knight-errantry thus carried
off before thine eyes; for, if it
please the Creator of this world, soon
shalt thou be so exalted and sublimed,
as that thou wilt not even know thyself;
neither shalt thou be defrauded
of the fruit of those promises which
thy worthy lord has made in thy behalf;
and I assure thee, in the name
of the sage Fibberiana[#], that thy salary
shall be faithfully paid, as in effect
thou wilt see; follow, therefore,
the footsteps of the valiant and inchanted
knight; for it is necessary
that you should proceed together to
the end of your career; and as I am
not permitted to declare myself more
explicitly, I bid you heartily farewel,
and will return I well know whither.’
Towards the end of this prophecy, he
raised his voice to the highest pitch, and
then sunk it gradually to such a faint
and distant tone, that even those who
were privy to the joke, were tempted to
believe what they had heard.

Don Quixote remained very much
comforted by this prophecy, the meaning
of which he no sooner heard than
comprehended; interpreting the whole
into a promise, that he should one day
see himself joined in the just and holy
hands of matrimony with his beloved
Dulcinea del Toboso, from whose fortunate
womb would proceed those whelps
(meaning his sons) which would perpetuate
the glory of La Mancha. In
this persuasion, therefore, and firm belief,
he raised his voice, and heaving a
profound sigh, replied, ‘O thou! whosoever
thou art, whose prognostication
sounds so favourably in mine
ears, I beg thou wilt, in my name
beseech the sage inchanter who takes
charge of my affairs, that he will not
leave me to perish in the confinement
which I now suffer, until I shall have
seen the accomplishment of those joyful
and incomparable promises which
thou hast uttered in my behalf. So
shall I glory in the hardships of this
prison, and bear with pleasure these
chains with which my limbs are fettered;
and instead of comparing the
boards on which I lie, to the rough,
uncomfortable field of battle, consider
them as the soothing down of the
most happy and luxurious marriage-bed.
With respect to the consolation
of Sancho Panza, my squire, I confide
in his virtue and affection, which
will not allow him to forsake me
either in prosperity or adversity; for
should his evil fortune, or my unhappy
fate, hinder me from bestowing
upon him the island, or some equivalent,
according to my promise; at
least, he shall not lose his wages, specified
and bequeathed to him in my
will, that is already made; a recompence
which, though proportioned to
my own slender ability, comes far short
of his great and faithful services.’

Here the squire bowed in the most
respectful manner, and kissed both his
hands, as he could not make his compliments
to one of them apart, they
being fast bound together. Then the
// File: 0433.png
.pn +1
apparitions taking the cage upon their
shoulders, carried it to the waggon, in
which it was immediately fixed.

.fn #
It were to be wished, for the honour of Spanish innkeepers, that Cervantes had
caused mine host to restore Sancho’s wallet, which he had detained on the day of the
blanketting; as such restitution would have increased the general satisfaction.
.fn-

.fn #
A word of equal signification with <lang=es><i>mentironiana</i></lang>, from <lang=es><i>mentereso</i></lang>, a lyar.
.fn-
.sp 4
.h4 id=chap2-4-20
<abbr=chapter>CHAP.</abbr> <abbr=twenty>XX.</abbr> | AN ACCOUNT OF THE STRANGE MANNER IN WHICH DON QUIXOTE| WAS INCHANTED—WITH OTHER REMARKABLE EVENTS.
.sp 2
Don Quixote seeing himself thus
encaged, and placed upon a cart,
could not help saying, ‘Many very
grave histories have I read, concerning
knights-errant; but never did I
read, see, or hear, that inchanted
knights were transported in this manner,
at such a pace as these lazy, slow-footed
animals, seem to promise; for
they used always to be carried through
the air with surprizing swiftness, wrapped
up in some dark and dusky cloud,
or in a fiery chariot, or mounted on a
hypogriff, or some such creature; so
that, before God! I am utterly confounded
at my own fate, in being
thus transported on a waggon drawn
by oxen. But, perhaps, the chivalry
and inchantments of this age follow
a different path from that which was
pursued of old; and as I am a new
knight on the face of the earth, and
the first who revived the long-forgotten
order of errantry, perhaps they
might have also newly invented other
kinds of incantation, and other methods
of conveying those whom they
inchant.—What is thy opinion of the
matter, son Sancho?’—‘I know not
what my opinion is,’ replied the
squire, ‘because I am not so well read
in the scriptures of errantry as your
worship; but, for all that, I will venture
to affirm, aye and swear to it,
that these apparitions who stroll about
us, are not altogether catholick.’—‘Catholick!
my stars[#]!’ answered the
knight, ‘how can they be catholick,
when they are all devils, who have assumed
fantastical shapes, and come
hither on purpose to perform this
deed, and leave me in my present situation?
But that thou mayest be convinced
of the truth of what I alledge[#],
endeavour to touch and feel
them, and thou wilt perceive that
they have no other bodies but forms
of condensed air consisting of nothing
but mere semblance.’—‘’Fore
God, Sir!’ cried Sancho, ‘I have
made that trial already, and that same
devil who goes about so busy, is well
provided with good substantial flesh,
and has another property widely different
from what is reported of evil
spirits, all of whom, they say, stink
of brimstone and other bad smells;
whereas, he is so well scented with
amber, that you may perceive it
at the distance of half a league.’
Sancho made this remark on Don Fernando,
who being a man of fashion,
probably wore scented linen. ‘Marvel
not at that circumstance, friend
Sancho,’ replied the knight; ‘for
thou must know that devils are a set
of very sagacious beings; and although
they bring smells along with
them, they themselves being spirits,
can produce no smell; or if any odour
proceeds from them, it cannot be agreeable,
but rather stinking and unwholesome,
because they carry their hell about
them wheresoever they are, and their
torments admit of no kind of alleviation;
now, sweet smells being agreeable
and delicious, cannot possibly
proceed from beings which are
productive of nought but evil; therefore,
if in thy opinion that devil
smells of amber, either thy senses are
perverted, or he wants to impose upon
thy understanding, by making
thee believe that he is not an inhabitant
of hell.’

Don Fernando and Cardenio overhearing
this dialogue between the master
and the squire, were afraid of Sancho’s
stumbling upon the discovery of their
whole plot, in which he seemed already
to have made great progress, therefore
determined to hasten their departure,
and calling the landlord aside, ordered
him to saddle Rozinante, and put the
pannel on Sancho’s ass. This talk he
performed with great dispatch, while the
// File: 0434.png
.pn +1
curate agreed to give the troopers so
much a day for attending Don Quixote
to the town where he lived. Cardenio
having fastened the target to one side of
the pummel of Rozinante’s saddle, and
the bason to the other, made signs for
Sancho to mount his ass, and lead his
master’s steed by the bridle, and then
stationed two of the troopers with their
carbines on each side of the waggon.
But before it began to move, the landlady,
her daughter, and Maritornes,
came out to take leave of Don Quixote,
feigning themselves extremely affected
with his misfortune; upon which
he said to them, ‘Weep not, worthy
ladies; all these disasters are incident
to those who chuse my profession;
and if I were not subject to such calamities,
I should not deem myself a
renowned knight-errant; for these
things never happen to knights of
little fame and reputation, who are
never regarded, scarce even remembered
on the face of the earth. It is
quite otherwise with the valiant,
whose virtue and valour are envied by
many princes and rivals, who endeavour
by the most perfidious means to
destroy them; but, nevertheless, virtue
is so powerful, that of herself she
will, in spite of all the necromancy
possessed by the first inventor, Zoroaster,
come off conqueror in every severe
trial, and shine refulgent in the
world, as the sun shines in the heavens.
Pardon me, beauteous ladies,
if I have given you any disgust,
through neglect or omission; for willingly
and knowingly I never offended
a living soul; and pray to God to deliver
me from this prison, in which I
am confined by some malicious inchanter;
for, if I regain my liberty,
the favours I have received from your
courtesy in this castle, shall never
escape my remembrance, but always
be acknowledged with gratitude, service,
and respect.’

While the knight made these professions
to the ladies of the castle, the curate
and barber took their leave of Don
Fernando and his companions, the captain
and his brother, and all the happy
ladies, especially Dorothea and Lucinda;
they embraced each other, and
agreed to maintain a correspondence by
letters; Don Fernando giving the curate
a direction by which he might write
to him an account of the knight’s future
behaviour and fate, than which, he protested,
nothing could yield him more
pleasure; and promising, for his own
part, to inform the priest of every thing
which he thought would conduce to his
satisfaction, relating to his own marriage,
the baptism of Zorayda, the success
of Don Lewis, and the return of
Lucinda to her father’s house; the priest
having assured him that he would obey
his commands with the utmost punctuality,
they embraced again, and repeated
their mutual proffers of service. The
innkeeper coming to the curate, put into
his hand a bundle of papers which he
said he had found in the lining of the
portmanteau, along with the novel of
the Impertinent Curiosity; and since the
owner had not returned that way, he
desired the priest to accept of them, for
as he himself could not read, he had no
occasion for such useless furniture: the
curate thanked him for his present,
which he immediately opened, and found
written in the title-page, ‘Rinconete and
Cortadilla, a novel[#];’ from hence he
concluded, that since the Impertinent
Curiosity was an entertaining story, this
might also have some merit, as being
probably a work of the same author;
and on this supposition put it carefully
up, intending to peruse it with the first
convenient opportunity; then he and
his friend the barber mounting their
beasts, with their faces still disguised,
that they might not be known by Don
Quixote, jogged on behind the waggon.
And the order of their march was this:
first of all proceeded the cart, conducted
by the driver, and guarded on each
side by the troopers with their carbines,
as we have already observed; then followed
Sancho Panza upon his ass, leading
Rozinante by the bridle; and in the
rear of all came the curate and the barber,
masked, and mounted on their trusty
mules, with a grave and solemn air,
marching no faster than the slow pace
of the oxen would allow; while the
knight sat within his cage, his hands
fettered, and his legs outstretched, leaning
against the bars, with such silence
and resignation, that he looked more
like a statue of stone than a man of
// File: 0435.png
.pn +1
flesh and blood. In this slow and silent
manner had they travelled about a couple
of leagues, when they arrived in a valley,
which the waggoner thinking a convenient
spot for his purpose, proposed to
the curate that they should halt to refresh
themselves, and let the oxen feed;
but the barber was of opinion that they
should proceed a little farther, to the
other side of a rising ground, which appeared
at a small distance, where he
knew there was another valley better
stored with grass, and much more agreeable
than this in which the waggoner
proposed to halt. The advice of Mr.
Nicholas was approved, and they jogged
on accordingly.

About this time the curate chancing
to look back, perceived behind them six
or seven men well mounted, who soon
overtook them, as they did not travel at
the phlegmatick pace of the oxen, but
like people who rode on ecclesiastick
mules, and were desirous of spending
the heat of the day at an inn that appeared
within less than a league of the
waggon. These expeditious strangers
coming up with our slow travellers, saluted
them courteously; and one among
them, who was actually a canon of
Toledo, and master of those who accompanied
him, observing the regular
procession of the waggon, troopers,
Sancho, Rozinante, the curate, and barber,
and in particular Don Quixote encaged
and secured as he was, could not
help asking why and whither they were
conveying that man in such a manner?
though he had already conjectured, from
the badges of the troopers, that he must
be some atrocious robber or delinquent,
the punishment of whom belonged to
the holy brotherhood. One of the
troopers to whom the question was put,
answered, ‘Signior, the gentleman himself
will tell you the meaning of his
travelling in this manner; for our
parts we know nothing at all of the
matter.’ The knight, overhearing
what passed, said to the strangers,
‘Gentlemen, if you are skilled and
conversant in matters of knight-errantry,
I will communicate my misfortune;
otherwise there is no reason
why I should fatigue myself with the
relation.’

By this time the curate and barber,
having perceived the travellers in conversation
with the knight, came up in
order to prevent their plot from being
// File: 0436.png
discovered, just as the canon had begun
to answer Don Quixote in these words:
‘Truly, brother, I am better acquainted
with books of chivalry than with
the Summaries of Villalpando; so that
if there be nothing else requisite, you
may freely impart to me as much as
you please.’—‘A God’s name, then,’
said Don Quixote, ‘if that be the case,
‘you must know, Signior cavalier, that
I am inchanted in this cage, through
the envy and fraud of mischievous
necromancers; for virtue is always
more persecuted by the wicked than
beloved by the righteous. A knight-errant
I am, though none of those
whose names Fame never enrolled
in her eternal records; but of that
number, whom maugre, and in despite
of Envy herself, and all the magi
whom Persia ever produced, with the
brachmans of India, and gymnosophists
of Ethiopia, will leave their
names engraved on the temple of immortality,
as examples and patterns
to succeeding ages, by which all
knights errant may see what steps
they must follow, if they wish to attain
the height and honourable summit
of arms.’

Here the curate interposing, said,
‘Signior Don Quixote speaks no more
than the truth: he is inchanted in
that waggon, not on account of his
own crimes or misdemeanors, but
through the malice of those who are
disgusted at virtue, and offended at
valour. This, Signior, is the Knight
of the Rueful Countenance, whose
name perhaps you have heard, and
whose valiant exploits and mighty
atchievements will be engraved on
durable brass, and carved in eternal
marble, in spite of the unwearied efforts
of malice to cancel, and of envy
to obscure them.’

The canon hearing such a stile proceed
not only from the prisoner’s
mouth, but also from the lips of him
who was free, had well-nigh crossed
himself with astonishment, and could
not conceive what had befallen him,
while his whole company were seized
with the same degree of amazement:
but Sancho Panza, who was near
enough to hear what passed, being
willing to undeceive the strangers, said
to them, ‘Gentlemen, whether what I
am going to say be ill or well taken,
I must tell you the case is this: my
// File: 0437.png
.pn +1
master Don Quixote is no more inchanted
than the mother that bore
me; he enjoys his right wits, eats,
drinks, and does his occasions, like
other men, and as he himself was
wont to do before he was encaged;
now, if this be the truth of the matter,
how can any man persuade me
that he is inchanted? since I have
heard divers persons observe, that
those who were inchanted neither eat,
sleep, nor speak; whereas my master,
if he is not hindered, will talk like
thirty barristers.’ Then turning to
the curate, he proceeded thus: ‘Ah,
Mr. Curate, Mr. Curate! you think
I don’t know you, and imagine that
I cannot dive into the meaning of
these new inchantments, but you are
mistaken; I know you very well for
all your masking, and can smell out
your plots, disguise them as you will;
in short, as the saying is, Just are
virtue’s fears, when envy domineers,
and Bounty will not stay, where niggards
bear the sway. Damn the devil!
if it had not been for your reverence,
my master by this time would
have been married to the Princess
Micomicona, and I should have been
an earl at least; for less I could not
expect, either from the generosity of
my Lord of the Rueful Countenance,
or from the greatness of my own services:
but now I see the truth of
what is commonly said, That fortune
turns faster than a mill-wheel; and
that those who were yesterday at top,
may find themselves at bottom to-day.
It grieves me on account of my
poor wife and children, who, instead
of seeing their father come home in the
post of governor or viceroy of some
land or kingdom, as they had great
reason to expect, will behold him returning
in the station of a common
groom: all this I have observed, Mr.
Curate, for no other reason but to
prevail upon your fathership to make
a conscience of the ill-treatment my
master receives at your hands, and
consider that God may call you to
account in the next world for this
captivity of my Lord Don Quixote,
and for all the succours and benefits
that are prevented by his being thus
confined.’

‘Snuff me these candles!’ cried the
barber, hearing the squire’s declaration;
‘why, sure, Sancho, you belong to
your master’s fraternity; by the Lord!
I find you ought to keep him company
in his cage, and undergo the
same sort of inchantment, so much
are you infected with the humour of
his chivalry: in an unhappy moment
were you got with child by his promises,
and in an evil hour did that
island you harp so much upon take
possession of your skull.’—‘I am not
with child by any person whatever,’
answered Sancho, ‘nor will I suffer any
king in Christendom to beget a child
upon my body; for though I be a poor
man, I’m an old Christian, and owe
no man a farthing: if I long for an
island, others long for things that are
worse, every one being the son of his
own works; the lowest mortal may
come to be pope, much more governor
of an island, especially as my master
may gain more than he knows well
what to do with. Mr. Barber, you
had better think before you speak:
there is something else to do than
shaving of beards, and one Pedro
may differ from another[#]; this I say
because we know one another, and
you must not think to palm false dice
upon me: with regard to the inchantment
of my master, God knows the
truth, and there let it lie; for, as the
saying is, The more you stir it, the
more it will—you know what.’ The
barber durst not make any reply, lest
Sancho’s simplicity should discover
what he and the curate were so desirous
of concealing; and the priest being under
the same apprehension, desired the
canon to ride on with him a little before
the waggon, promising to disclose
the mystery of the encaged knight, with
other particulars that would yield him
some diversion: the canon put on accordingly
with his servants, listening
attentively to every thing the curate
was pleased to communicate concerning
the rank, employment, madness, and
manners, of Don Quixote; for he briefly
recounted the cause and beginning of
his disorder, with the whole progress of
his adventures, until he was secured in
the cage by their contrivance, that they
might carry him home to his own house,
and endeavour to find some cure for his
distemper.
// File: 0438.png
.pn +1

The canon and his servants were
astonished anew at hearing the strange
story of Don Quixote; which being finished,
the Toledan replied, ‘Truly,
Mr. Curate, I am firmly persuaded
that those books of chivalry are very
prejudicial in the commonwealth;
for though I have been induced by a
false taste and idle curiosity to read
the beginning of almost every one
that hath been printed, I never could
prevail upon myself to read any one
of them from the first to the last page;
because, in my opinion, they are all
of the same stamp, without any essential
difference. And, indeed, that kind
of composition seems to fall under
that species of writing called the Milesian
Fables, which are no other than
extravagant tales calculated for mere
amusement, without any tendency to
instruction; on the contrary, the scope
of your apologues is to convey instruction
and delight together. Now,
though the principal intention of those
books is to delight and entertain the
reader, I do not see how they can answer
that end, being, as they are,
stuffed with such improbable nonsense;
for the pleasure that the soul
conceives, is from the beauty and
harmony of those things which are
contemplated by the view, or suggested
by the imagination; so that
we can receive no pleasure from objects
that are unnatural and deformed.
And what beauty, symmetry,
or proportion, can be observed
in a book containing the history of a
youth of seventeen, who with one
back-stroke cuts through the middle
a giant like a tower, with as much
ease as if he had been made of paste;
and in the description of a battle,
after having observed that there are
no less than a million of combatants
on the side opposite to that which the
hero of the piece espouses, we must,
in despite of common-sense, believe,
that such a knight obtained the victory
by the single valour of his invincible
arm. Then, how shall we
account for the confidence with which
some queen, empress, or orphan
heiress, throws herself into the protection
of an unknown knight-errant?
What mind, if not wholly barbarous
and uncultivated, can be pleased with
an account of a huge tower full of
knights sailing upon the sea like a
// File: 0439.png
ship before the wind; being overnight
upon the coast of Lombardy, and
next morning arrived in the dominions
of Prester John in the Indies,
or in some other country which Ptolemy
never discovered, nor Marcus
Polus ever saw? If to this observation
it be answered, that the authors
of those books do not pretend that
the stories they contain are true, and
therefore they are under no necessity
of adhering to such niceties of composition;
I reply, that fiction is always
the better the nearer it resembles
truth, and agreeable in proportion to
the probability it bears, and the
doubtful credit which it inspires.
Wherefore, all such fables ought to
be suited to the understanding of
those who read them, and written so
as that by softening impossibilities,
smoothing what is rough, and keeping
the mind in suspense, they may
surprize, agreeably perplex, and entertain,
creating equal admiration
and delight; and these never can be
excited by authors who forsake probability
and imitation, in which the
perfection of writing consists. I have
never as yet seen in any book of chivalry
an entire body of a fable, with
all its members so proportioned, as
that the middle corresponds with the
beginning, and the end is suitable to
both; on the contrary, one would
think the author’s intention is commonly
to form a chimera or monster,
instead of a figure well proportioned
in all its parts. Besides, their stile
is usually harsh, their atchievements
incredible, their amours lascivious,
their courtesy impertinent, their
battles tedious, their dialogue insipid,
their voyages extravagant, and,
in short, the whole void of all ingenuity
of invention; so that they deserve
to be banished as useless members
from every Christian commonwealth.’

The curate, who had listened with
great attention, hearing the canon talk
so sensibly, looked upon him as a
man of excellent understanding, and
assented to every thing he said; observing,
that, in consequence of his
being of the same opinion, and of the
grudge he bore to such books of chivalry,
he had burned a great number
of those that belonged to Don Quixote.
He then gave him a detail of the scrutiny
// File: 0440.png
.pn +1
which had been made, distinguishing
such as he spared from those that he
condemned to the flames.

The traveller laughed heartily at this
account of such an extraordinary trial,
saying, that notwithstanding what he
had advanced to the disadvantage of
such books, there was one thing in
them which he could not but approve;
namely, the subject they presented for a
good genius to display itself, opening a
large and ample field in which the pen
might at leisure expatiate in the description
of shipwrecks, tempests, battles,
and encounters; painting a valiant general
with all his necessary accomplishments,
sage, and penetrating into the
enemy’s designs, eloquent and effectual
either in persuading or dissuading his
soldiers, ripe in council, prompt in execution,
and equally brave in standing
or in giving an assault. One while recounting
a piteous tragical story, at
another time describing a joyful and
unexpected event; here, a most beautiful
lady, endued with virtue, discretion,
and reserve; there, a Christian knight,
possessed of courtesy and valour; in the
third place, an outrageous boasting barbarian;
and in a fourth, a polite, considerate,
gallant prince; not forgetting
to describe the faith and loyalty of
vassals, together with the grandeur and
generosity of great men. The author
may also shew himself an astrologer,
geographer, musician, and well skilled
in state-affairs; nay, if he be so minded,
he will sometimes have an opportunity
of manifesting his skill in necromancy
and magick; he may represent the cunning
of Ulysses, the piety of Æneas, the
valour of Achilles, the misfortunes of
Hector, the perfidy of Sinon, the friendship
of Euryalus, the liberality of Alexander,
the ability of Cæsar, the clemency
and candour of Trajan, the fidelity
of Zopyrus, the wisdom of Cato,
and finally, all those qualifications
which constitute the perfection of an
illustrious hero; sometimes uniting them
in one, sometimes dividing them into
several characters: and the whole being
expressed in an agreeable stile and ingenious
invention, that borders as near
as possible upon the truth, will doubtless
produce a web of such various and
beautiful texture, as when finished,
to display that perfection which will
attain the chief end and scope of such
writings; which, as I have already observed,
// File: 0441.png
is to convey instruction mingled
with delight. Besides, the unlimited
competition of such books gives
the author opportunities of shewing his
talents in epicks, lyricks, tragedy, and
comedy, and all the different branches
of the delicious and agreeable arts of
poetry and rhetorick; for epicks may
be written in prose as well as verse.

.fn #
In the original, <lang=es><i>mi padre!</i></lang> my father! which I have changed for an exclamation more
frequently used in our language.
.fn-

.fn #
In the text, the knight is guilty of a palpable solecism, in desiring Sancho to touch
and feel that which he himself expressly observes was subject neither to touch or feeling.
.fn-

.fn #
Written by Cervantes himself.
.fn-

.fn #
Equivalent to our saying, ‘Every Jack is not a good fellow.’
.fn-
.sp 4
.h4 id=chap2-4-21
<abbr=chapter>CHAP.</abbr> <abbr='twenty-one'>XXI.</abbr> | IN WHICH THE CANON PROSECUTES THE SUBJECT OF KNIGHT-ERRANTRY, |AND MAKES OTHER OBSERVATIONS WORTHY OF HIS GENIUS.
.sp 2
‘Mr. Canon,’ said the curate,
‘what you have observed, is
extremely just, and therefore those
authors deserve the greater reprehension,
who have composed such books,
without the least regard to good sense
or the rules of art, by which they
might have conducted their plans,
and rendered themselves as famous in
prose as the two princes of Greek
and Latin poetry are now in verse.’—‘I
myself,’ replied the canon, ‘have
been tempted to write a book of chivalry,
observing all the maxims and
precautions I have now laid down;
nay, to tell you the truth, no less
than a hundred sheets of it are already
written; and, in order to try if
my own opinion of it was well founded,
I have communicated my performance
to a great many people
who are passionately fond of that kind
of reading; not only men of learning
and taste, but also ignorant persons,
who chiefly delight in extravagant
adventures; and I have been favoured
with the agreeable approbation
of them all: nevertheless, I have
not proceeded on the work; because,
I not only thought it foreign to my
profession, but likewise concluded,
that the world abounds much more
with fools than people of sense; and
though an author had better be applauded
by the few that are wise, than
laughed at by the many that are foolish,
I was unwilling to expose myself
to the uninformed judgment of
the arrogant vulgar, whose province
it principally is to read books of this
kind. But what contributed most to
// File: 0442.png
.pn +1
my laying aside the pen, and indeed
all thoughts of bringing the work
to a conclusion, was a reflection I
made upon the comedies of the present
age. “If,” said I to myself,
“our modern plays, not only those
which are formed upon fiction, but
likewise such as are founded on the
truth of history, are all, or for the
greatest part, universally known to
be monstrous productions, without
either head or tail, and yet received
with pleasure by the multitude, who
approve and esteem them as excellent
performances, though they are far
from deserving that title; and if the
authors who compose, and the actors
who represent them, affirm, that this
and no other method is to be practised,
because the multitude must be
pleased; that those which bear the
marks of contrivance, and produce
a fable digested according to the rules
of art, serve only for entertainment
to four or five people of taste, who
discern the beauties of the plan, which
utterly escape all the rest of the audience;
and that it is better for them
to gain a comfortable livelihood by
the many, than starve upon reputation
with the few.”—“At this rate,”
said I, “if I should finish my book,
after having scorched every hair in
my whiskers, in poring over it, to
preserve those rules and precepts already
mentioned, I might fare at
last, like the sagacious botcher,
who sewed for nothing, and found
his customers in thread[#].” I have
sometimes endeavoured to persuade
the players, that they were mistaken
in their maxims; and that
they would bring more company to
their house, and acquire much more
reputation, by representing regular
comedies, than such absurd performances;
but I always found
them so obstinately bigotted to their
own fancies, that no evidence or demonstration
could alter their opinion
in the least. I remember, I once
said to one of these pragmatick fellows,
“Don’t you recollect, that a
few years ago, three tragedies were
acted, composed by a celebrated poet
of this kingdom; and that they
raised admiration, pleasure, and surprize,
in all who saw them exhibited,
gentle as well as simple, ignorant
as well as learned, and brought
more money to the actors than thirty
of the best that have since appeared?”—“Doubtless,”
answered the player,
“you mean Isabella, Phillis, and Alexandria.”—“The
very same,”
said I; “and pray take notice, whether
or not they are composed according
to rule, or failed to please
every body, because they were regular?
Wherefore, the fault does
not lie in the multitude’s demanding
absurdities, but in those who can represent
nothing else; for there is
nothing absurd in the play of Ingratitude
Revenged, nor in Numantia,
the Merchant Lover, the Favourable
Female Foe, nor in some
others which are composed by poets
of genius, to their own reputation,
and the advantage of those who represented
them.” I made use of many
more arguments, by which he seemed
to be confuted, though not so much
satisfied or convinced, as to retract
his erroneous opinions.’

‘Mr. Canon,’ said the curate, interrupting
him in this place, ‘the subject
you have touched upon awakes
in me an old grudge I have bore to
our modern plays, even equal to that
I entertain against books of chivalry.
Comedy, according to Tully, ought
to be the mirrour of life, the exemplar
of manners, and picture of truth;
whereas, those that are represented
in this age, are mirrours of absurdity,
exemplars of folly, and pictures of
lewdness; for sure nothing can be
more absurd in a dramatick performance,
than to see the person, who in
the first scene of the first act, was
produced a child in swaddling-cloaths,
appear a full grown man with a beard,
in the second; or to represent an old
man active and valiant, a young soldier
cowardly, a footman eloquent,
a page a counsellor, a king a porter,
and a princess a scullion. Then what
shall we say concerning their management
of the time and place, in which
the actions have or may be supposed
to have happened? I have seen a comedy,
the first act of which was laid in
Europe, the second in Asia, and the
third was finished in Africa; nay,
had there been a fourth, the scene
would have shifted to America; so
that the fable would have travelled
// File: 0443.png
.pn +1
through all the four divisions of the
globe. If imitation be the chief aim
of comedy, how can any ordinary
understanding be satisfied with seeing
an action that passed in the time
of King Pepin and Charlemagne,
ascribed to the Emperor Heraclius,
who being the principal personage, is
represented, like Godfrey of Bulloign,
carrying the cross into Jerusalem,
and making himself master of the holy
sepulchre; an infinite number of years
having passed between the one and
the other. Or, when a comedy is
founded upon fiction, to see scraps of
real history introduced, and facts misrepresented
both with regard to persons
and times; not with any ingenuity
of contrivance, but with the
most manifest and inexcusable errors
and stupidity; and what is worst of
all, there is a set of ignorant pretenders,
who call this the perfection of
writing; and that every attempt to
succeed by a contrary method is no
other than a wild-goose chace[#]. Again,
if we consider those plays that
are written on divine subjects, how
many false miracles do they contain?
how many apocryphal events misunderstood
by the author, who frequently
confounds the operations of one
saint with those of another? Nay, in
prophane subjects, they have the assurance
to work miracles, for no other
respect or consideration, but because
they think such a miracle will
make a very decent appearance in such
a place; and, as they term it, attract
the admiration of the vulgar, and
bring them in crowds to the play:
but all this redounds to the prejudice
of truth, the contempt of history,
and scandal of our Spanish wits; so
that the authors of other nations, who
punctually observe the unities of the
drama, conclude that we are barbarous
and ignorant, from our absurd
and preposterous productions. Neither
is it a sufficient excuse to say,
that the intent of all well-governed
commonwealths, in permitting publick
plays to be acted, is to entertain
the common people with some honest
recreation, in order to divert those
bad humours which idleness usually
engenders; and that, since this end
is answered by any play whatever,
either good or bad, there is no occasion
to cramp and limit the authors
or actors to the just laws of composition;
the purpose of the legislature
being, as I have said, accomplished
without any such restriction. To
this suggestion I answer, that the same
end, without any sort of comparison,
will be much better answered by good
than bad comedies; for, after having
seen an artful and well-digested play
represented, the hearer will go away,
delighted with the comic parts, instructed
by the serious, and agreeably
surprized with the incidents; collecting
information from the dialogue,
precaution from the deceits of the
fable, experience from the examples
exhibited, affection for virtue, and indignation
for vice. All these sensations,
I say, will a good comedy
excite in the spectator’s mind, let it be
never so stupid and uncultivated; for
of all impossibilities, it is the most
impossible, that a comedy, thus perfect
in all its parts, should not yield
more entertainment, satisfaction, and
delight, than one that is defective in
each particular, as the greatest part
of our modern pieces are. Neither
is this want of correctness always to
be laid to the author’s charge; for
there are some poets among us who
are perfectly well acquainted with the
rules of writing, and could easily
avoid any such errors of composition;
but as their pieces are made for
sale, they say, and it is very true,
that the players would not purchase
them, if they were of any other
stamp; so that the author is fain to
accommodate himself to the demand
of the actor who pays him for his
work. The truth of this observation
evidently appears in a great number
of comedies which have been composed
by a most happy genius of these
kingdoms[#], with so much wit, pleasantry,
elegance of versification, genteel
dialogue, sententious gravity, and
finally, with such elocution and sublimity
of stile, that the whole world
resounds with his fame; yet in suiting
himself to the false taste of the
actors, he hath not been able to bring
them all to the requisite point of perfection.
// File: 0444.png
.pn +1
Others again are so inconsiderate
in their productions, that after
representation, the players have
been frequently obliged to fly and
abscond for fear of chastisement, on
account of having exhibited something
to the prejudice of royal
heads, or dishonour of noble families;
now all these inconveniences, with
many more that I do not chuse
to mention, might be prevented, if
there was at court some person of taste
and learning, appointed to examine
every dramatick performance before
its appearance on the stage; and this
precaution should affect not only the
plays composed in Madrid, but all
pieces whatever to be represented
within the monarchy of Spain; for,
without the approbation of this licencer,
signed and sealed, no magistrate
should allow any production to
be acted within the bounds of his jurisdiction.
In consequence of this
expedient the actors would take care
to submit every play to the censure of
the examiner, that they might afterwards
represent them with safety;
and the authors would employ more
caution and study in their compositions,
knowing that they must pass
the rigorous examination of an intelligent
judge; in this manner, good
comedies would be produced, and the
aim of such writings happily accomplished,
to the entertainment of the
people, and the credit of Spanish
wits; while the actors would represent
them with security and advantage,
and the state be exempted from
the trouble of chastising such delinquents.
And if the same licencer,
or any other person, were invested
with the charge of examining books
of chivalry, before they see the light,
some performances of that sort would
certainly appear in all the perfection
you have described, enriching our
language with the delightful and precious
treasure of eloquence; while
the old romances would be entirely
eclipsed by the light of the new, that
would furnish rational amusement,
not only for the idle, but also for
those who are most industrious; seeing
it is impossible for the bow to continue
always bent, or that feeble nature
can subsist without some innocent
recreation.’

Thus far had the canon and curate
// File: 0445.png
proceeded in their conversation, when
the barber coming up to them, said to
his townsman, ‘Mr. Licentiate, this
is the place in which I proposed to
halt, that the oxen might have fresh
pasture in abundance.’ The curate
approved of the hint, and communicated
their intention to the canon, who
resolved to stay with them, being invited
by the situation of a delicious valley
that presented itself to his view; that
he might therefore enjoy the agreeable
spot, together with the conversation of
the curate, for whom he had already
conceived an affection, and be more
particularly informed of Don Quixote’s
exploits, he ordered his domesticks
to proceed to an inn, which was
not far off, and bring from thence
victuals sufficient for the whole company;
for he was resolved to spend the
afternoon where he was. One of the
servants told him that the sumpter-mule,
which by that time had
reached the inn, carried provision
enough, and that they should want nothing
but barley for the beasts. ‘If
that be the case,’ said the canon,
‘carry the rest to the inn, and bring
the sumpter-mule hither.’

Meanwhile Sancho perceiving that
he might now speak to his master,
without being overheard by the curate
and barber, of whom he was suspicious,
approached the cage, and thus addressed
himself to the knight: ‘Truly,
Sir, in order to disburthen my conscience,
I must tell you something
concerning this same inchantment.
These people, with masks on their
faces, are no other than the curate
and barber of our town, who, I verily
believe, have contrived to carry
you off in this manner, out of pure
envy and spite, because your worship
has got the heels of them in your famous
atchievements: now, this being
supposed, it follows as plain as the
nose upon my face, that you are not
inchanted, but rather fooled and
bamboozled. As a proof of which, I
desire to ask you one question, which
if you answer, as I do believe you
will, your worship may clap your ten
fingers on the trick, and perceive that
you are not inchanted, but that your
whole brain is turned topsy-turvy.’—‘Ask
what you will, son Sancho,’
replied Don Quixote, ‘I will freely answer,
and satisfy your doubts to the
// File: 0446.png
.pn +1
best of my power; with regard to
your saying, that those who attend
us are our friends and townsmen, the
curate and barber, so indeed they
may appear to your eye; but that they
are really and effectually so, you
must by no means believe: on the
contrary, you are to conclude, that
if they resemble our friends, the inchanters,
who can assume what form
they please, have taken that appearance
and resemblance, to mislead your
credit, and bewilder your imagination
in such a labyrinth of perplexity,
that even the clue of Theseus would
not extricate your thoughts. Besides,
they may have done it with a
view of confounding my judgment,
that I might not be able to guess
from what quarter my misfortune
proceeds; for, if on the one hand you
affirm that I am attended by the barber
and curate of our town; and on
the other hand, I find myself encaged;
though I am sensible that nothing but
supernatural force could suffice to
confine me thus, what would you
have me say or think, but that the
manner of my inchantment exceeds
every thing I have read in all the histories
that treat of inchanted knights?
Wherefore set your heart at rest, and
take it for granted, that these are as
far from being the persons you have
mentioned, as I am from being a
Turk. With respect to thy desire of
asking me questions, I repeat my promise
of answering, even if thy interrogation
should last till to-morrow
morning.’—‘God’s blessed mother!’
cried the squire, with great vociferation,
‘is it possible that your worship can be
so thick-skulled and brainless, as not
to perceive the truth of what I alledge,
and see that this imprisonment
and misfortune is more owing to malice
than inchantment? But seeing it
is so, I will venture to prove, beyond
all contradiction, that you are no
more inchanted than my ass. Tell me,
therefore, as God shall deliver you
from this mischance, and as you hope
to see yourself in the arms of my
Lady Dulcinea, when you least expect
any such good luck—’ ‘Truce with
thy conjuration,’ said the knight,
‘and ask what thou wilt, I have already
promised to answer with the utmost
punctuality.’—‘That is my request,’
answered Sancho, ‘and what
// File: 0447.png
I want to know is, that your worship
will tell me, without eking or
curtailing God’s precious truth, but
in honest simplicity of heart as it
ought to be, and always is told those
who, like your worship, profess the
occupation of arms, under the title
of knight-errants—’ ‘I tell thee,’
cried the knight, interrupting him, ‘I
will not in the least prevaricate. Dispatch
then, Sancho, for truly I am
quite tired with so many salvos, solicitations,
and preambles.’—‘I make
so bold,’ replied the squire, ‘because
I am well aware of my master’s goodness
and sincerity, which being as it
were to the purpose, I ask (with reverence
be it spoken) whether or not,
since you have been confined, and as
you suppose inchanted in this cage,
your worship hath felt any motion or
desire to undam either way, as the
saying is?’—‘I do not know what
you mean by undamming,’ answered
Don Quixote; ‘you must be more explicit,
Sancho, if you expect an answer
to the purpose.’—‘Is it possible,’
said the squire, ‘that your worship
should be ignorant of the meaning
of the word undamming, which is
the first thing the boys learn at school?
Well, then, you must know, I wanted
to ask if you never had any inclination
to do that which nobody else
can do for you?’—‘Now I understand
thee, Sancho,’ said the knight; ‘verily
I have had divers calls of that
nature, one of which is at present
very importunate: pray fall upon
some method to disembarrass me, for
I believe all is not so sweet and clean
as it ought to be.’

.fn #
A Spanish proverb, applicable to a great many modern projectors and reformers.
.fn-

.fn #
<lang=es><i>Buscar gullirias</i></lang>, signifies to seek dainties.
.fn-

.fn #
Lopez de Vega Carpio.
.fn-
.sp 4
.h4 id=chap2-4-22
<abbr=chapter>CHAP.</abbr> <abbr='twenty-two'>XXII.</abbr> | THE SAGE CONVERSATION THAT PASSED BETWEEN SANCHO PANZA| AND HIS MASTER DON QUIXOTE.
.sp 2
‘Ha!’ cried Sancho, ‘have I caught
you at last? This is what I
wanted to know with all my heart
and soul: come on, Sir, there is no
denying of what is commonly said,
when any person is in the dumps, I
know not what is the matter with
such an one; he neither eats, drinks,
nor sleeps, nor answers to the purpose,
// File: 0448.png
.pn +1
when he is spoke to; sure the
man must be enchanted: from whence
we are to conclude, that those who are
inchanted neither eat, drink, sleep,
nor do their natural occasions, as I
have observed. But this is not the
case with such as are disturbed with
the inclination that your worship at
present feels, drinking when they can
get liquor, eating when they can lay
hold on food, and giving plain answers
to every question that is asked.’—‘Thou
art in the right,’ replied Don
Quixote; ‘but I have already told thee,
that there are different kinds of inchantment;
and time may have so entirely
altered the fashion, that those
who are under the power of inchantment
in this age, may, like me, retain
the use of their faculties, though
it was quite otherwise of old; so that
there is no arguing or drawing consequences
against the different practice
of different times. I am sensible
and certain of my being inchanted,
and this is sufficient for the quiet of
my conscience, which would give me
great uneasiness if I had the least
doubt about my fate, and allowed myself
to be in this cage like an idle
coward, deceitfully withholding my
succour from a great number of the
needy and oppressed, who at this very
hour must be in the most absolute and
extreme necessity, from the want of
my aid and protection.’—‘Nevertheless,’
answered the squire, ‘for your
more abundant satisfaction, your worship,
methinks, might try to escape
from this prison; for my own part,
I’ll be bound not only to give my assistance,
but even to work your deliverance,
and then you may endeavour
to remount your trusty Rozinante,
who trudges along as melancholy
and sad as if he was inchanted
also. This being performed, let us
try our fate once more in quest of adventures;
and if they do not turn out
to our expectation, it will be time
enough to return to the cage, in which
I promise, on the faith of a true and
loyal squire, to shut myself up with
your worship, if perchance, through
your ill fortune or my folly, this that
I mention should not succeed.’—‘I
am content to follow thy counsel,
brother Sancho,’ replied the knight;
‘and whenever thou shalt perceive a
proper conjuncture for effecting my
// File: 0449.png
deliverance, I will implicitly obey
thee in every thing, but thou wilt
soon find thyself deceived in thy opinion
of my mishap.’

This conversation between the knight-errant
and the erring squire, lasted until
they arrived at the place in which the
curate, canon, and barber, who had
already alighted, waited for them. The
waggoner immediately unyoking his
oxen, turned them loose in that verdant
and delicious spot, the coolness of
which was extremely inviting, not only
to inchanted people like Don Quixote,
but also to persons of intelligence and
discretion like his squire, who besought
the curate to let his master come out of
the cage for a few minutes; because,
without such permission, the prison
would not be quite so clean as the decency
of such a knight required. The
curate, understanding what he meant,
told him that he would willingly grant
his request, were he not under some apprehension
that his master, finding himself
at liberty, would play one of his
old pranks, and be gone where men
should never see his face again. ‘I
will be bound for his good behaviour,’
answered Sancho; ‘and I
also,’ said the canon, ‘especially if
he will promise, on the word of a
knight, not to stir from our presence,
until he shall have obtained our consent.’

‘I will,’ cried the knight (who overheard
all that passed;) ‘the more so, as
one, who, like me, is inchanted, cannot
be at liberty to make use of his
own person; for the inchanter can so
utterly deprive him of all motion, that
he shall not be able to stir from the
place for three whole ages; and if he
should make his escape, would whisk
him back through the air in a twinkling.’
This being the case, he said
they might very safely uncage him,
especially as such indulgence would redound
to the benefit of the whole company;
for he protested that if they did
not comply with his present necessities,
he should be obliged to incommode their
sense of smelling, unless they removed
to a greater distance from the place of
his confinement.

The canon, confiding in his word
and honour, took him by the hands,
tied as they were, and helped him to
descend from his cage: then the knight,
being infinitely rejoiced at his momentary
// File: 0450.png
.pn +1
deliverance, stretched every joint
in his body, and going up to Rozinante,
gave him a slap on the buttocks, saying,
‘I still hope in God and his blessed
mother, thou flower and mirrour of
steeds! that in a short time we shall
both obtain our heart’s desire; thou
prancing under the agreeable pressure
of thy lord, and I mounted upon thy
trusty back, exercising the employment
for which Heaven sent me into
the world.’ Having pronounced this
apostrophe, he retired with Sancho to
a remote place, from whence he returned
much eased and comforted, and
more desirous than ever of executing
the project of his squire. The canon
could not help gazing upon him, being
struck with admiration at the strange
unaccountable symptoms of his disorder;
for in all his conversation and
replies, he gave evident proofs of an
excellent understanding, and never lost
himself[#] except on the subject of chivalry,
as we have formerly observed:
he was therefore touched with compassion
for his infirmity, and when the
whole company were seated on the
grass, waiting for the return of the
sumpter-mule, addressed himself to the
knight in this manner:

‘Is it possible, good Sir, that the
idle and unlucky reading of books
of chivalry can have so far impaired
your judgment, as that you should now
believe yourself inchanted, and give
credit to other illusions of the same
kind, which are as far from being
true as truth is distant from falshood?
Is it possible that the human understanding
can suppose that ever this
world produced that infinite number
of Amadis’s, with the whole crowd
of famous knights, so many emperors
of Trebisond, Fleximarte’s of Hyrcania,
palfreys, damsels, serpents, dragons,
and giants; so many incredible
adventures, inchantments of different
kinds, battles, dreadful encounters,
magnificence of apparel, enamoured
princesses, squires created earls, witty
dwarfs, billets, amorous expressions,
valiant ladies, and finally, such extravagant
events as are contained in
books of knight-errantry? For my
own part, when I read a performance
of that sort, without reflecting that it
is a legend of vanity and lyes, my
imagination is a little amused; but
as soon as I begin to consider it in the
right point of view, I dash the volume
against the wall, and would even
commit it to the flames, (if I should
chance to be near a fire) as a criminal
richly deserving such punishment on
account of its falshood and imposture,
so contrary to nature, and bewildered
from the track of common-sense, and
as an inventor of new sects and preposterous
ways of life, misleading
and inducing the ignorant vulgar to
believe the absurdities which it contains;
nay, so presumptuous are such
productions, as to disturb the minds
of gentlemen of birth and education,
as may be too plainly perceived by
their effects upon you, Signior, whom
they have reduced to such a pass as
to make it necessary that you should
be cooped up in a cage, and transported
from place to place on a waggon,
like a lion or tyger exhibited as
a shew for money. Go to, Signior
Don Quixote! have pity upon yourself,
return into the bosom of discretion,
and put those happy talents
which Heaven hath been pleased to
bestow upon you to a better use, employing
your genius in other studies,
which may redound to the increase of
your honour, as well as to the good
of your soul; or, if swayed by your
natural inclination, you are still desirous
of reading the histories of exploits
and atchievements, you may
have recourse to the book of Judges
in the Holy Scripture, and there you
will find real miracles of might, and
actions equally valiant and true,
Portugal produced a Viriatus, Rome
a Cæsar, Carthage an Hannibal,
Greece an Alexander, Castile a count
Fernan Gonçales, Valencia a Cid,
Andalousia a Gonzalo Fernandez,
Estremadura a Diego Garcia de Paredes,
Xerez a Garcia Perez de Vargas,
Toledo a Garcilasso, Seville a
Don Manuel de Leon; the history of
their valiant exploits will afford entertainment,
instruction, surprize, and
delight, to readers of the most sublime
conception. Such study as
this would be worthy of the good
sense of Signior Don Quixote, who
would thus become learned in history,
enamoured of virtue, improved
// File: 0451.png
.pn +1
in worth, bettered in morals, brave
without rashness, cautious without
cowardice; while the whole would
redound to the honour of God, his
own particular emolument, and the
renown of La Mancha, from whence
I understand his family and origin is
derived.’

Don Quixote listened with infinite
attention to his harangue; and even
after he perceived it was finished, looked
stedfastly at the canon for some time,
before he answered in these words:
‘Signior Hidalgo, if I am not mistaken,
the scope of your discourse
was to convince me that there never
were knights-errant in this world;
that all the books of chivalry are
false, deceitful, unprofitable, nay
mischievous, in a commonwealth;
that I have been much to blame in
reading, more so in believing, and
most of all in imitating, the characters
they describe, by following the most
painful profession of knight-errantry;
and, lastly, you deny that ever there
was an Amadis, either of Gaul or
Greece, or that any one of that vast
number of knights recorded in those
writings had any real existence.’—‘You
have exactly summed up my
allegations,’ said the canon. ‘You
were likewise pleased to add,’ resumed
the knight, ‘that such books
had done me infinite prejudice, impaired
my judgment, and reduced me
to the necessity of being confined in a
cage; and that I would do well to
amend and alter my course of studies,
and to use performances which
contain more truth, instruction, and
delight.’—‘That,’ said the canon,
‘was my precise meaning.’—‘Why,
then,’ cried Don Quixote, ‘in my
opinion the person impaired in his
judgment, and inchanted, is no other
than your worship, who have presumed
to utter such blasphemies
against an order so well received in
the world, and established as truth,
that he who like you denies it deserves
the same punishment you inflicted
upon those books that gave
you disgust; for, to say that there
never was such a person as Amadis,
or any other of those adventurous
knights with whom history abounds,
is like an endeavour to persuade
people that frost is not cold, that the
sun yields no light, and the earth no
sustenance. Will any earthly eloquence
make a man believe, that the
story of the infanta Floripes, and
Guy of Burgundy, is false; or that
of Fierabras, with the bridge of Mantible,
which happened in the time of
Charlemagne, and I vow to God is
as true as that the sun shines at noon-day?
If this be a lye, you may also
affirm that there never was such an
event as the Trojan war, nor such
persons as Hector and Achilles, or the
Twelve Peers of France, or Arthur
King of England, who to this day
survives in the likeness of a raven,
and is every moment expected to reascend
his throne. People may as
well venture to say, that the history
of Guarino Mesquino, and the suit of
<abbr=Saint>St.</abbr> Grial, are pure fiction; and look
upon the amours of Don Tristan and
Queen Iseo, with those of Ginebra
and Lancelot, as altogether apocryphal;
though there are people who
almost remember to have seen the
Duenna Quintanona, who was the
best wine-skinker in Great Britain:
this is so true, that I myself have
heard my grandmother by the father’s
side often say, when she happened to
see a Duenna with a reverend biggen[#],
“Grandson, there is a person very like
the Duenna Quintanona.” From
whence I conclude, that she must either
have known her personally, or
at least seen some picture of that venerable
matron. Then, who can
deny the history of Peter of Provence
and the fair Magalona, since, to this
day, may be seen in the royal armoury
the very peg that turned the wooden
horse upon which the valiant Peter
travelled through the air; by the
same token, that it is something
larger than the pole of a coach,
and stands near the saddle of Babieca.
Nay, at Roncevalles you may see
Orlando’s horn, as big as a weaver’s
beam. From all which circumstances
we may justly infer, that the
Twelve Peers, the Peters, the Cids,
with all those who were called
knights-errant, actually existed, according
to the records of their fame;
otherwise they may as well deny
that the valiant Portuguese, Juan de
// File: 0452.png
.pn +1
Merlo, was a knight-errant; though
it is well known, that he went to
Burgundy and fought in the city of
Ras, with the famous lord of Charne,
called Monseigneur Pierre, and afterwards
in the city of Basil, with
Monseigneur Henrique de Remestan;
gaining the victory in each of these
combats, with abundance of honourable
fame. Neither, I suppose, will
they credit the defiance and adventures
that were also atchieved in Burgundy,
by those valiant Spaniards, Pedro Barba
and Guttierre Quixada, (from whom
I am lineally descended on the father’s
side) who conquered the sons
of the Count de <abbr=Saint>St.</abbr> Paul: nay, let
them likewise refuse to own that Don
Fernando de Guevara went in quest
of adventures into Germany, where
he fought with Messire George, a
knight of the houshold to the Duke
of Austria; and say that the justs and
tournaments at Suero de Quinones,
and the pass, were mere illusion, as
well as the enterprizes of Monseigneur
Lewis de Falses, against Don
Gonçalo de Guzman, a Castilian
knight, together with many other exploits
performed by Christian warriors
belonging to these and other foreign
realms, so authentick and true,
that (I repeat my asseveration) he who
denies them is void of all reason and
common sense.’

The canon was struck with admiration,
when he heard Don Quixote utter
such a medley of fiction and truth; and
perceiving that he was intimately acquainted
with every circumstance regarding
and concerning the atchievements
of knight-errantry, answered him
in these words: ‘Signior Don Quixote,
I cannot deny but what you have said
is partly true, particularly that which
regards the Spanish knights; I grant
also that there was an order called the
Twelve Peers of France, but cannot
believe that they performed all
those exploits recounted by archbishop
Turpin; for the truth is, they were a
set of knights chosen by the kings of
France, under the title of the Twelve
Peers, because they were all equal in
point of virtue, rank, and valour; at
least, if they were not, they ought to
have been possessed of this parity of
qualifications; for it was an association
resembling the modern orders of
<abbr=Saint>St.</abbr> Jago and Calatrava, which suppose,
// File: 0453.png
that every member is valiant, virtuous,
and noble; and as we now
say a knight of <abbr=Saint>St.</abbr> Juan or Alcantara,
in those days they said a knight
of the Twelve Peers; because those
who professed that military order were
equal in all respects, and twelve in
number; that there were such persons
as the Cid and Bernardo del Carpio,
I make no question; but whether or
not they performed all those exploits
which are ascribed to them, is, I believe,
extremely doubtful; with respect
to the peg of Count Peter, which
you say stands by the saddle of Babieca
in the royal armoury, to my
shame be it spoken, I am either so
ignorant or short-sighted, that although
I have seen the saddle, I could
never observe the peg, large as you
have been pleased to describe it.’—‘But
there it certainly is,’ replied the
knight; ‘and what makes it the more
remarkable, it is said to be kept in a
case of calves leather, that it may not
rust.’—‘It may be so,’ said the
canon; ‘but, by my holy orders! I do
not remember to have seen any such
thing; yet, granting it to be in that
place, I am not therefore bound to
believe the stories that are recounted
of so many Amadis’s, and such a
rabble of knights; nor is it reasonable,
that a person of honour, like
you, endowed with so many happy
talents, should give credit to such extravagant
rhodomontades as are related
in the lying legends of knight-errantry.’

.fn #
Literally, ‘Never lost the stirrup.’
.fn-

.fn #
<lang=es><i>Toca</i></lang>, which is the original word, signifies a woman’s coif, veil, or handkerchief.
.fn-
.sp 4
.h4 id=chap2-4-23
<abbr=chapter>CHAP.</abbr> <abbr='twenty-three'>XXIII.</abbr> | OF THE SAGE CONTEST BETWEEN DON QUIXOTE| AND THE CANON—WITH OTHER EVENTS.
.sp 2
‘A good jest, truly,’ replied Don
Quixote, ‘that books printed
with the licence of kings, and approbation
of those who are appointed
to examine them, read with universal
delight, celebrated by great and small,
rich and poor, knights and plebeians,
the learned and illiterate; finally, by
persons of all ranks and degrees whatever;
should contain nothing but
lyes; notwithstanding the appearance
of truth which they maintain, in
mentioning the father, mother, country,
// File: 0454.png
.pn +1
relations, condition, birth-place;
and in giving an exact journal of the
exploits peculiar to every individual
knight; cease, therefore, good Sir,
to vent such blasphemy, and believe
that in this particular, I advise you to
act according to the dictates of good
sense: read them again, and you will
see what pleasure you will reap for
your pains; for what can be more
entertaining than to see, as it were,
before our eyes, a vast lake of boiling
pitch, through which an infinite
number of serpents, snakes, and
alligators, with many other kinds
of fierce and terrible creatures, are
continually winding and writhing
along; then to hear a most dismal
voice that seems to issue from the
middle of this pitchy pool, pronounce,
“O knight, whosoever thou art, that
now standest gazing at the dreadful
lake, if thou wouldst enjoy the
bliss that is concealed beneath these
sable waves, display the valour of
thy dauntless breast, and dart thyself
amidst these black and burning billows;
otherwise, thou art not worthy
to behold the mighty wonders deposited
and contained within the seven
castles of the seven nymphs, that dwell
below this sullen flood.” Scarce
hath the sound of this dismal voice
ceased to vibrate on his ear, when
the knight, without the least hesitation,
or reflecting upon the danger
he incurs, nay, without putting off
his heavy armour, but recommending
himself to God and his mistress,
plunges at once into the burning lake;
and when he neither cares nor knows
what will be his fate, finds himself
in the midst of a delightful plain, by
which the Elysian fields are infinitely
excelled: there the heaven seems more
transparent, and the sun shines with
new lustre; the eye is entertained with
an agreeable forest of tall and leafy
trees, whose verdure delights the
view; while the ear is regaled with
the sweet and artless notes of an infinite
number of little painted warblers
that hop from bough to bough;
here he perceives a brook, whose refreshing
waters, clear as liquid chrystal,
run murmuring on the yellow
sand, and glistening pebbles, that
emulate the purest pearls, and heaps
of sifted gold.

‘In one place springs an artificial
// File: 0455.png
fountain adorned with variegated jasper
and polished marble; in another
rises a rustick grotto, in which the
small shells of the mussel, and the
white and yellow twisted domes of
the snail, placed in beauteous disorder,
and mixed with bits of shining
chrystal and counterfeit emeralds, compose
such an agreeable variety, that
nature seems to be excelled by imitative
art. In a third place, all of a
sudden, appears a strong castle or
magnificent palace, the walls of massy
gold, the battlements of diamond,
the gates of hyacinth, and, finally,
the workmanship so admirable, as infinitely
to excel the materials, which
are no less than adamant, carbuncles,
rubies, pearls, emeralds, and gold.
Nay, after having thus feasted his
eyes, there still remains for him to see
a fair bevy of damsels coming out at
the castle gate, dressed in such gay
and splendid attire, that were I to describe
it minutely, as it is represented
in the history, I should never have
done. Then she who appears the
principal, takes by the hand the undaunted
knight, who threw himself
into the boiling-lake, and silently leading
him into the rich castle or palace,
strips him as naked as he was when
his mother bore him, and bathes him
in water of an agreeable temperature,
then anoints his whole body with aromatick
essences, and puts upon him a
shirt of the finest lawn, all scented and
perfumed; then comes another damsel,
and throws over his shoulders a
mantle, which, at least, is usually
valued at the price of a whole city, or
more. After all this ceremony, what
a sight it is, when, as they relate,
he is conducted into another hall, in
which a table is furnished with such
elegance as to excite his admiration
and suspense! when they sprinkle upon
his hands water distilled from amber
and odoriferous flowers! when he is
seated upon a chair of ivory, and attended
by all those damsels, who
serve him in amazing silence! when
he is allured by such a variety of
dishes, and so savourily cooked, that
the appetite is confounded in its
choice! Then to hear musick during
his repast, without seeing the minstrel,
or knowing from whence the
sounds proceeds; and, after he has
refreshed himself, and the table is
// File: 0456.png
.pn +1
uncovered, while he lolls at ease upon
his chair, perhaps picking his teeth,
according to custom, he is surprized
with the sight of another young lady,
much more beautiful than any of the
former, who enters the hall, and sitting
down by the knight, begins to
tell him whose castle that is, and how
she is inchanted within it, relating
other circumstances which create wonder
in him, and raise the admiration
of those who read the story. I need
not farther expatiate on this subject,
since, from what hath been said, it
plainly appears, that any part whatever
of the history of any knight-errant
whatever, must yield pleasure and
surprize to any reader whatsoever.
Believe me, therefore, good Sir, and
as I have already hinted, take the
trouble of reading those books, and
you will see what effectual antidotes
they are against melancholy, and how
they improve the disposition, when it
is bad. For my own part I can safely
aver, that since I professed the order
of knight errantry, I have been valiant,
courteous, liberal, well-bred,
generous, civil, daring, good-humoured,
and a patient endurer of
toils, captivities, and inchantment;
and though I so lately found myself
shut up in a cage like a madman, I
hope, by the valour of this my arm,
provided Heaven shall favour, and
fortune cease to oppose me, in a few
days to see myself sovereign of some
kingdom, when I shall be enabled to
demonstrate the gratitude and generosity
which reside within my breast;
for, truly, Signior, a poor man is incapable
of exerting the virtue of liberality,
let him possess it in never so
eminent a degree; and that gratitude
which is restrained to good-will alone,
is like faith without works, no more
than the ghost of virtue. Wherefore
I wish fortune would speedily furnish
me with an opportunity of making
myself an emperor, that I may exercise
the virtues of my heart, in bestowing
benefits on my friends, especially
on my poor squire Sancho Panza,
one of the best men in the world,
whom I intend to create an earl, in
consequence of a promise which he
obtained from me long ago, though
I fear he wants capacity to manage
his estate.’

These last words being overheard by
// File: 0457.png
Sancho, he said to his master, ‘Signior
Don Quixote, I wish you would
take the trouble to give me that same
earldom, which is as firmly promised
by your worship as expected by me,
and I will undertake to find ability to
manage it; or, if I should find myself
at a loss, I have heard it often said,
that there are certain persons who farm
the estates of great noblemen at so
much a year, and take charge of the
whole, while the owner lolls at his
ease, enjoying his income, without
troubling his noddle about any other
affairs. Now, I would live in the
very same manner, minding the cares
of this world as little as possible; but
leaving off all sorts of business, enjoying
my rents, like any duke, and
let the world wag.’—‘Brother Sancho,’
said the canon, ‘that is to be
understood only of the spending your
income; but the lord of a great estate
must have regard to the administration
of justice, which requires ability,
sound judgment, and principally an
upright intention; for if this be
wanting in the beginning, the middle
and end will always be involved in
error; and therefore Heaven usually
assists the righteous intent of the simple,
while it confounds the wicked aims
of the cunning.’—‘I know nothing
of these philosophies,’ answered the
squire; ‘but this I know, that I wish
to God I had this earldom, as soon
as I should find understanding to manage
it; for I have as big a soul as
my neighbours, and as much body as
he that has more; and would be as
much a king in my own estate, as any
he that wears a head: and so being,
I would do what I pleased; and doing
what I pleased, I should please
myself; and pleasing myself, I should
be satisfied; and in being satisfied, I
should have nothing more to desire;
and having nothing more to desire,
there would be an end; so let the
earldom come a God’s name! I wish
we could see it, as one blind man said
to another.’—‘These are no bad philosophies,
as you call them, Sancho,’
said the canon; ‘but, for all that, there
is much to be said on the subject of
earldoms.’—‘I know not what more
can be said,’ replied Don Quixote;
‘for my own part, I do no more than
follow the example transmitted to me
by the great Amadis de Gaul, who
// File: 0458.png
.pn +1
created his squire earl of the Firm
Island; and therefore I may, without
scruple of conscience, bestow the same
honour on Sancho Panza, who is one
of the best squires that ever served
knight-errant.’

The canon was amazed at the methodical
madness of Don Quixote, manifested
in his description of the Knight
of the Lake; and in the impression
which the false adventures of chivalry
had made upon his imagination; neither
was his wonder diminished, when
he considered the folly of Sancho, who
so ardently desired the possession of that
island which his master had promised to
give him, as the reward of his services.

By this time the canon’s servants had
returned from the inn, with the sumpter-mule;
and, instead of a table, spread
a carpet on the green grass, under the
shade of some trees, where the company
seating themselves all round, went
to dinner, that the waggoner might not
lose the opportunity of such a convenient
situation as we have already observed.
While they thus enjoyed themselves,
their ears were struck with a sudden
noise, and the sound of a bell, issuing
from the midst of some briars and
thickets that surrounded the place where
they sat; and immediately appeared a
beautiful she-goat, her skin speckled
with spots of white, black, and grey,
followed by the goatherd; who, in his
rustick dialect, called to her to stop and
return to the fold. The fugitive goat
trembling with affright, came towards
the company, and there stopped, as if
to implore their protection; while her
keeper, seizing her by the horns, accosted
her in these words, as if she had
been possessed of sense and understanding;
‘Ah! you spotted wanton, what
a rambler you have become of late;
the wolves will feast upon you one
day; what is the matter with you,
my pretty child? Yet what else can it
be but that you are a female, and
consequently inconstant! a plague
upon your disposition, and all those
you resemble: return, return, my darling;
and if you are not so happy, at
least you will be more secure, in the
fold among your companions! for if
you, who ought to watch over and guide
the rest, stray about in this imprudent
manner, what must become of them?’

These words of the goatherd diverted
those who heard them, especially the
// File: 0459.png
canon, who said to him, ‘I beseech
you, brother, to pacify yourself, and
be not in such a hurry to drive back
your goat, which being a female, as
you observe, will follow her natural
disposition, in spite of all you can do
to oppose it. Take this morsel, and
assuage your choler with a cup of
wine, and in the mean time the goat
will repose herself.’

So saying, he presented to him, on
the point of a fork, the hind-quarter of
a cold rabbit, which was thankfully
accepted by the goatherd; who having
taken a long draught, and composed
himself, said to the company, ‘Gentlemen,
you must not take me for a simpleton,
because I talk to this animal
as if it were a rational creature; for
really there is a mystery concealed
beneath the words I have uttered. I
am a peasant, ’tis true, yet not so
rustick but that I know how to converse
with men as well as beasts.’—‘I
firmly believe what you say,’ replied
the curate; ‘for I myself have experienced
that the mountains produce
learned men, and that philosophers
are to be found within the shepherd’s
cot.’—‘At least,’ resumed the goatherd,
‘the cottage may contain those
who are warned by woeful experience;
and to convince you feelingly
that what I alledge is true, I, though
undesired, and self-invited, saving the
good pleasure of this good company,
entreat a moment’s hearing, while I
recount a true story, which will confirm
what that gentleman,’ pointing
to the curate, ‘and myself have observed.’

To this proposal Don Quixote replied,
‘As this affair seems to bear something
of the shadow of an adventure, I for my
part will gladly give you the hearing,
brother, and so will all those gentlemen
who are persons of taste, and lovers of
curious novels, that surprize, delight,
and entertain the sensible hearer, for
I hope your story will certainly produce
these agreeable effects: begin
then, friend, we are all attention.’—‘By
your leave,’ cried Sancho, ‘I will
e’en betake myself with this piece of
pasty to yonder brook, and lay in store
for three days; for I have heard my
master Don Quixote observe, that the
squire of a knight-errant ought to eat
as often and as much as he can; because
they are frequently so bewildered
// File: 0460.png
.pn +1
in woods and forests, that it
will take them six whole days to disengage
themselves; and if a man’s
belly or his bags be not well lined
with provision, there he may stay, as
he often does, till he withers into
perfect mummy.’—‘You are in the
right, Sancho,’ said the knight, ‘go
where you will, and eat as much as
you please; for my own part, my
grosser appetite is satisfied, and now I
want refreshment for the mind, which
I shall enjoy in listening to this honest
countryman’s story.’—‘We shall all
share in the repast,’ replied the canon,
who intreated the peasant to perform his
promise.

Then the goatherd gave the goat,
which he held by the horns, two slaps
on the buttocks, saying, ‘Lie down by
my side, you speckled Nanny; we shall
have time enough to return to the
fold.’ The creature seemed to understand
his meaning, for he was no sooner
set than she lay down very quietly, and
looking in his face, gave him to understand
that she was attentive to what he
was going to say; upon which he began
his story in these words.
.sp 4
.h4 id=chap2-4-24
<abbr=chapter>CHAP.</abbr> <abbr='twenty-four'>XXIV.</abbr> | THE STORY WHICH THE GOATHERD RECOUNTED| TO THE CONDUCTORS OF DON QUIXOTE.
.sp 2
‘Three leagues from this valley
stands a village, which
though small, is one of the richest
in all this country; and therein dwelt
a farmer in great repute: and albeit
respect follows worldly wealth, he
was more beloved for his virtue than
respected for his riches; but what he
regarded as the best part of his good
fortune, (as he himself was wont
to say) was a daughter he had, of
such exceeding beauty, rare discretion,
modesty, and grace, that every
one who saw and knew her, marvelled
at the happy talents with
which Heaven and nature had enriched
her body and her soul. In
the cradle she was handsome, and
continually increased in beauty, till
at the age of sixteen she was a most
inchanting creature: the fame of her
charms began to spread over all the
neighbouring villages; but what
need I say the neighbouring villages!
// File: 0461.png
it extended to distant cities, and
even made its way into the king’s
court, filling the ears of all sorts of
people, who came from all parts to
see her, as if she had been some
great curiosity, or miracle-working
image. Her father watched over
her with great care, and she took
great care of herself; for, truly, a
maiden’s own prudent reserve is a
better guard upon her conduct than
all the bolts and spies, and padlocks
upon earth. The father’s wealth,
and the daughter’s beauty, moved a
great many people, both of town and
country, to demand her in marriage;
but he, like one who has the disposal
of a rich jewel, was perplexed
in his mind, and could not determine
in favour of any one of the
infinite number that solicited his
consent. Among the crowd of her
suitors, I was one who conceived
great and flattering hopes of success,
because her father knew me to be
his townsman, of an honest family,
in the flower of my age, rich in
wealth, and in point of understanding
not very poor. She was also
courted by another young man of
our town, who was in every respect
my equal; so that her father was
perplexed, and wavered in his choice,
because he thought his daughter
would be well bestowed upon either
of us; wherefore, in order to deliver
himself from this suspence, he
resolved to communicate our demands
to Leandra, (for that is the
name of this wealthy maiden, who
hath made me miserable) and since
we were equal in all qualifications, to
refer the whole affair to the choice and
decision of his beloved daughter.
An example worthy to be followed
by every father in the settlement of
his children: not that I would have
parents leave them to their own
choice, in things that are manifestly
wicked and base; but first propose
a number of prudent schemes, out
of which they may be allowed to
fix upon that which is most to their
liking. I know not to which of
us Leandra gave the preference;
this only I know, that her father
put us off, on pretence of his daughter’s
tender years, in general terms,
which neither laid him under any
// File: 0462.png
.pn +1
obligation nor gave us any cause of
complaint. I think proper to tell
you, that I am called Eugenio, and
my rival Anselmo, that you may be
acquainted with the names of the
persons principally concerned in this
tragedy, which is still depending;
though one may easily foresee, that
it must have a melancholy end.

‘But, to return to my story: just
about that time, there came to our
town one Vincent de La Rosa, the son
of a poor labouring man that lived
in the village: this Vincent, who
was just returned from being a soldier
in Italy, and other foreign parts,
had been carried away, when he
was a boy about twelve years of age,
by a captain that chanced to march
through the town with his company;
and now, after an absence of
another dozen of years, he returned,
in the garb of a soldier, pinked up
in a thousand colours, and bedecked
with a power of glass toys and slender-chains
of steel. To-day he dressed
himself out in one gay suit, to-morrow
in another: but all his finery and
gewgaws were of little weight or value.
The labouring people, who are
naturally malicious, nay, when idleness
gives them opportunity, downright
malice itself, observed and took
an exact account of all his ornaments
and fine apparel, and found that he
had no more than three suits of different
colours, with garters and hose;
but he found means to disguise them
by such inventions, that one who
had not been at the pains to detect
him, would have sworn that he had
appeared in more than ten different
dresses, and in upwards of twenty
plumes of feathers; and you
must not think it impertinent or
foolish in me to give you this account
of his cloaths, because they
bear a considerable share in the story.
He used to seat himself upon a stone,
under a tall poplar that grew in
our market-place, and there keep
us all gaping around him at the exploits
which he recounted; if you
would take his word for it, there
was not a country on the face of the
earth, which he had not seen, nor
a battle in which he had not served:
he had killed a greater number of
Moors than ever Tunis or Morocco
produced; and, by his own account,
// File: 0463.png
fought more single combats than
were ever maintained by Gante,
Luna, Diego Garcia de Paredez,
and a thousand more whom he
named, gaining the victory in each,
without losing one single drop of
his blood; then he would shew the
marks of wounds, which though
not to be distinguished, he gave us
to understand were the effects of
musket-shot he had received in different
actions and encounters; finally,
with incredible arrogance, he used
to <i>thou</i> his own equals, even those
who knew his extraction, and say
that his own arm was his father,
his family the work of his own
hands, and being a soldier, he owed
nothing even to the king himself:
with all his boasting, he knew something
of musick, and could thrum upon
the guittar so as that some people
said he made it speak. But his talents
did not end here; for he was
also a piece of a poet, and wrote
ballads a league and a half long,
upon every silly trifle that happened
in the village. Well, then,
this soldier whom I have described,
this Vincent de La Rosa, this braggadocio,
this gallant, this musician,
and poet, was often seen and observed
by Leandra from the window
of her apartment, that looked
towards the market-place. She was
captivated by the tinsel of his gaudy
cloaths, and inchanted by his
ballads; for he gave away twenty
copies of each that he composed; the
feats he related of himself, reached
her ears: in short, (as the devil
himself must certainly have ordained)
she fell in love with him,
even before he had the presumption
to make any attempt upon her heart;
and, as in the affairs of love every
thing is easily accomplished by the
man who is already in possession of
the woman’s affection, Leandra and
Vincent soon came to a right understanding;
and before any one of
her numerous admirers had the least
inkling of her inclination, she had
already gratified it, by leaving the
house of her loving and indulgent
father, (mother she had none) and
running away with the soldier, who
triumphed in that enterprise, and
more effectually than in any one he
had ever undertaken.
// File: 0464.png
.pn +1

‘This event filled not only the
whole village, but likewise all who
heard of it, with admiration: I, for
my part, was amazed, Anselmo
astonished, the father overwhelmed
with sorrow, and the relations with
shame. Justice, however, being solicited,
the troopers immediately took
the road, examined every copse and
thicket thereabouts, and after a
search of three days, found the giddy
Leandra in the cave of a mountain,
naked to the smock, and stripped
of a great quantity of money
and precious jewels, which she had
carried off when she made her escape.
When she was brought back
to the presence of her afflicted father,
and questioned about her misfortune,
she frankly owned that Vincent
de La Rosa had imposed upon
her; that under promise of marriage,
he had persuaded her to forsake
her father’s house, promising
to conduct her to Naples, which
he said, was the most beautiful and
flourishing city in the whole world;
that she inadvertently and fondly
believed his false professions, and
robbing her father, put herself under
his protection that same night
she was missed, when he carried her
to a rocky mountain, and confined
her in the cave where she was found:
she likewise affirmed that the soldier,
without making any attempt upon
her virtue, had stripped her of all
she had, and left her in that forlorn
condition; a circumstance that surprized
all who heard it, the soldier’s
continence being so incredible; but
she insisted upon it with such earnest
asseverations, that the disconsolate
father was in some sort comforted,
making little account of the money
he had lost, since his daughter was
allowed to keep the jewel which
when once lost there is no hope of
retrieving.

‘The same day that Leandra appeared,
her father removed her from
our eyes, and shut her up in a
monastery of a neighbouring town,
hoping that time would efface some
part of the bad opinion his daughter
had incurred. The tender years
of Leandra served as an excuse for
her misconduct, especially with those
who are not concerned in the affair;
but those who know her discretion
// File: 0465.png
and good sense, do not ascribe her
fault to ignorance, but to mere levity,
and the natural disposition of
women, which is always injudicious
and imperfect. Leandra being thus
secured, Anselmo’s eyes were blind
to every thing that could yield him
pleasure; and mine remained in darkness,
without the least glimpse of
light to direct them to any agreeable
object: the absence of Leandra
increased our affliction, and exhausted
our patience; we cursed the soldier’s
finery, and exclaimed against
her father’s want of care. At length
we agreed to quit the village, and
repair to this valley, where he feeding
a vast flock of sheep, which are
his own property, and I tending a
numerous fold of goats, which are
also mine, we spend our lives under
the cool shade of lofty trees,
and give vent to our passion, either
by singing, in concert, the praise or
dispraise of the beautiful Leandra, or
each by himself singing in the lonely
grove, and ejaculating his complaint
to Heaven. In imitation of us, many
more of Leandra’s lovers have betaken
themselves to these rugged
mountains, and the exercise of the same
employment; so that this spot seems to
be transformed into a pastoral Arcadia,
every field being crouded with
shepherds and folds, and every corner
resounding with the name of the
fair Leandra. One curses and calls
her fickle, inconstant, and immodest; a
second condemns her credulity and
lightness of behaviour; a third acquits
and forgives her, while she is
arraigned and reproached by a fourth;
some celebrate her beauty; others find
fault with her disposition: in short,
she is censured and adored by them
all; nay, to such a pitch hath their
extravagance risen, that some of them
complain of her disdain, though they
never spoke to her; and others, in
their lamentations, pretend to feel
the rage of jealousy, which is a passion
she never inspired; for, as I have
already mentioned, her fault was
known before her inclination was suspected:
there is not the hollow of a
rock, the margin of a rill, nor the
shade of a tree, that is not occupied
by some shepherd, recounting his
misfortune to the winds; wherever
an echo can be formed, it repeats the
// File: 0466.png
.pn +1
name of Leandra; the hills resound
with Leandra; the rivulets murmur
Leandra; in short, Leandra
keeps us all inchanted and perplexed,
hoping we know not how,
and dreading we know not what.
Among the wrong-headed society, he
that shews the least, though he has
the greatest share of judgment, is my
rival Anselmo; who, notwithstanding
all the cause he has to be dissatisfied,
complains of absence only, turning
his lamentation to the sound of the
rebeck, which he touches with admirable
skill, in verses that shew the excellence
of his genius. I follow a
more easy, and in my opinion, a wiser
course, namely, to inveigh against the
levity of the female sex; their fickleness,
their double dealing, their
rotten promises, their broken faith;
and finally, their want of judgment
in bestowing their affections. These,
gentlemen, are my reasons for the discourse
you heard me address to my
goat, whom (because she is a female)
I despise, although she be the best of
the fold. This is the story I promised
to recount, and if I have been prolix
in the narration, I shall not be brief
in what service you shall please to
command. Hard by is my cottage,
in which I have plenty of new milk,
and most savoury cheese, with abundance
of the fruit in season, no less
agreeable to the taste than to the view.’
.sp 4
.h4 id=chap2-4-25
<abbr=chapter>CHAP.</abbr> <abbr='twenty-five'>XXV.</abbr> | OF THE QUARREL THAT HAPPENED BETWEEN DON QUIXOTE AND THE GOATHERD,| WITH THE CURIOUS ADVENTURE OF THE DISCIPLINANTS, WHICH THE KNIGHT HAPPILY ATCHIEVED WITH THE SWEAT OF HIS BROW.
.sp 2
This story of the goatherd gave
infinite pleasure to all that heard
it, especially to the canon, who observed,
with admiration, his manner
of relating it, as distant from the rustick
phrase of a peasant as near approaching
to the polite stile of a courtier;
and therefore he said, the curate
had justly observed that the mountains
sometimes produced learned men.
Every body made proffers of service to
Eugenio, but he that shewed himself
// File: 0467.png
most liberal in compliment was Don
Quixote, who said to him, ‘Truly,
brother goatherd, were it possible
for me to undertake any new adventure,
I would forthwith set forward
in your behalf, and deliver Leandra
from that monastery, in which she
is, doubtless, detained against her
will, in spite of the abbess and all
that should oppose my design; and
would put her into your hands to be
treated according to your good will
and pleasure, so far as is consistent
with the laws of chivalry, by which
all damsels are protected from
wrongs: though I hope in God, that
a malicious inchanter shall not so
far prevail, but that he may be
excelled in power, by another of a
more righteous disposition; and then
you may depend upon my favour
and assistance, according to the duty
of my profession, which is no other
than to succour the wretched and
the weak.’

The goatherd stared at Don Quixote,
and being struck with admiration at
his rueful aspect and dishevelled locks,
said to the barber, who sat near him,
‘Signior, pray, who is that man who
looks and talks so wildly?’—‘Who
should it be,’ answered the barber,
‘but the renowned Don Quixote de La
Mancha! the redresser of grievances,
the righter of wrongs, the protector
of damsels, the terror of giants,
and thunder-bolt of war?’—‘That
discourse,’ replied the peasant, ‘puts
me in mind of those books which treat
of knights errant, who were commonly
distinguished by such titles as
you bestow on that man: but, I suppose,
you are pleased to be merry,
or else the apartments of this poor
gentleman’s skull are but indifferent-furnished.’

‘You are a most impudent rascal!’
(cried the knight, over-hearing what
he said) ‘it is your skull that is unfurnished
and unsound; but mine is
more pregnant than the abominable
whore that brought you forth.’ So
saying, he snatched up a loaf, and flung
it at the goatherd with such fury, that
he levelled his nose with his face.

Eugenio, who did not understand
raillery, finding himself maltreated
in earnest, without any respect for the
carpet, table-cloth, or company, leaped
upon the knight, and laying hold of
// File: 0468.png
.pn +1
his collar, with both hands, would
certainly have strangled him, if Sancho
Panza had not at that instant sprung to
his master’s assistance, and pulling his
antagonist backwards, tumbled him
over upon the table, where plates, cups,
victuals, wine, and all went to wreck.
Don Quixote finding himself disengaged,
arose, and in his turn, got upon
the goatherd, who being battered
by the master, and kicked by the man,
was creeping about on all fours in quest
of a table-knife, with which he intended
to take some bloody revenge, but
was prevented by the canon and curate;
the goatherd, however, managed matters
so as that he got the knight under
him, when he rained such a shower
of kicks and cuffs upon his carcase,
that our hero’s countenance was as
much overflowed with blood as his
own; the curate and canon were ready
to burst with laughing, the troopers
capered about with joy, and the
whole company hallooed, according
to the practice of the spectators
when two dogs are engaged: Sancho
Panza alone was distracted, because he
could not get out of the clutches of one
of the canon’s servants, who hindered
him from assisting his master. In fine,
when every body was thus regaled and
rejoiced, except the combatants, who
worried each other, they heard a trumpet
utter such a melancholy note, that
they could not help turning their
heads, and looking towards the place
from whence the sound seemed to
come: but he on whom it made the
greatest impression was Don Quixote;
who, though lying under his antagonist,
very much against his inclination,
and more than sufficiently pummelled,
said to the goatherd, ‘Brother devil,
(for sure thou canst be nothing else,
who hast strength and valour sufficient
to overcome my efforts) I beg a
truce for one hour only; because the
doleful sound of that trumpet which
salutes our ears, seems to summon
me to some new adventure.’

The goatherd being by this time
heartily tired of drubbing, as well as of
being drubbed, immediately complied
with his request; and Don Quixote
starting up, directed his view towards
the place whence the sound seemed to
issue, where he descried a great number
of people dressed in white like disciplinants,
coming down the side of a
neighbouring hill. That year the heavens
had withheld refreshing showers
from the earth; and through all the
villages of that district the people instituted
processions, disciplines, and prayers,
beseeching God to open the fountains
of his mercy, and favour them
with rain: for this purpose, the inhabitants
of a neighbouring village were
then going in procession to a holy hermitage
built on an eminence that skirted
the valley; and Don Quixote seeing the
strange dress of the disciplinants[#],
without recollecting that he had frequently
seen such habits before, concluded
the whole to be an adventure,
which it was the province of him as a
knight-errant to atchieve: what served
to confirm him in this notion, was an
image cloathed in black, which was
carried before them, and which he supposed
to be some princess whom those
discourteous robbers were carrying off
by force.

This whim no sooner entered his
brain, than he ran with great agility to
Rozinante, who was feeding very quietly,
and taking the bridle and shield,
which hung upon the pummel of the
saddle, clapped the bit in his mouth
in a twinkling, and demanding his
sword from Sancho, mounted his steed,
and braced his target, calling aloud to
the company, ‘Now, honourable gentlemen,
ye shall perceive the importance
of those who profess the order of
knight-errantry! now, I say, ye shall,
in the deliverance of that excellent
lady, who is at present a captive, behold
how much knights-errant ought
to be esteemed.’

So saying, he clapped heels to Rozinante,
(spurs he had none) and at a
hand-gallop (for we do not find in this
true history that ever Rozinante went
full-speed) rode up to attack the disciplinants.
Though the canon, curate
and barber, made efforts to detain him,
they found it impracticable; he was
even deaf to the cries of Sancho, who
bawled with great vociferation: ‘Where
are you going, Signior Don Quixote?
what devil possesses and provokes you
to act against our Catholick faith!
take notice—a plague upon me!—take
notice that this is no other than a
procession of disciplinants, and that
lady carried on the bier the blessed
// File: 0469.png
.pn +1
image of the immaculate Virgin!
Consider, Signior, what you are
about, for sure I am you do not
know!’

In vain did Sancho strain his lungs:
his master was so intent upon overtaking
the apparitions, and setting the lady
in black at liberty, that he heard not
one syllable; nor if he had, would he
have returned, even if the king had
commanded him so to do. When he
approached the procession, he stopped
Rozinante, who was already out of
breath, and with a hoarse disordered
voice, pronounced, ‘You there, who
perhaps disguise yourselves for no
good, stop, and give ear to what I am
going to say.’

Those who carried the image were
the first that halted, and one of the four
priests who sung the litanies, observing
the strange aspect of Don Quixote, the
leanness of Rozinante, with other ridiculous
circumstances belonging to both,
answered in these words: ‘Friend, if
you have any thing to say, speak
quickly; for these our brethren are
all this while scourging their own
flesh; and we cannot, nor is it reasonable
we should tarry to hear any thing
that cannot be comprehended in two
words.’—‘I will comprehend what
I have to say in one,’ replied the
knight; ‘and it is this: I command
you instantly to set free that beautiful
lady, whose tears and melancholy deportment
clearly demonstrate that you
are carrying her off, contrary to her
inclination, after having done her
some notorious wrong; and I, who
was born to redress such grievances,
will not suffer you to proceed one step
farther, until she shall have obtained
that liberty she deserves.’

From these words, concluding that he
must be some madman, all of them began
to laugh very heartily; and their
mirth acting as a train of gunpowder
to the knight’s choler, he drew his
sword, and without uttering another
word, attacked the bearers; one of
whom, leaving his share of the load to
his companions, opposed himself to this
aggressor, brandishing a fork or pole,
on which (when they were wearied)
they supported the bier. Don Quixote,
with a furious back-stroke, cut this
implement in two; but with the piece
which remained in the hand of the defendant,
// File: 0470.png
received such a thwack upon
the shoulder above his sword-arm, that
his buckler was unable to sustain the
shock of such a rude assault, and down
came the poor knight in a most lamentable
condition.

Sancho Panza, who came puffing after
his master, seeing him fall, called
aloud to his antagonist to forbear; for
he was a poor inchanted knight, who
had never done the least harm to man,
woman, or child; but the peasant’s forbearance
was not owing to this exclamation
of the squire, so much as to the
situation of Don Quixote, who neither
moved hand nor foot; so that believing
he had done his business, he hastily gathered
up his frock, and fled through
the field as nimble as a buck. By this
time the whole company were come up
to the place where Don Quixote lay;
and those belonging to the procession
seeing so many people running towards
them, accompanied by the troopers with
their cross-bows, began to be in dread
of some mischievous event, and formed
themselves into a circle around the
image: then the disciplinants lifting
up their hoods, and wielding their
scourges, and the priests their long tapers,
waited the assault, with full determination
to defend themselves, and,
if possible, act offensively against all
who should attack them. But fortune
disposed of things more favourably
than they expected; for all that
Sancho did, was to throw himself upon
the body of his master, who he believed
was actually dead, and utter
the most doleful and ludicrous lamentation
that ever was heard. The curate
was immediately known by a brother
of the cloth, who belonged to the procession,
and this acquaintance dispelled
the apprehension which both squadrons
had began to conceive. Our licentiate
told his friend in a few words who Don
Quixote was, upon which he and the
whole crowd of disciplinants went to
see whether or not the poor knight was
dead, and heard Sancho Panza, with
tears in his eyes, lamenting in these words:
‘O flower of chivalry, who
by the single stroke of a cudgel, hast
finished the career of thy well-spent
life! O thou honour of thy family,
thou glory of La Mancha! aye, and
of the whole world, which being deprived
of thee, will soon be filled
// File: 0471.png
.pn +1
with evil-doers, who will prosper
without fear of chastisement for their
wicked deeds! Oh, thou wast more
liberal than all the Alexanders that
ever lived! for thou gavest me, for
eight months service only, the best
island that ever the sea surrounded.
Oh! thou wast humble with the
haughty, and haughty with the humble,
tempting dangers, enduring disgraces,
in love without cause, imitating
the good, scourging the wicked,
a professed enemy to every thing
that was base; in short, a knight-errant,
and that is every thing in one
word!’

The cries and groans of Sancho revived
his master, and the first words he
pronounced were these: ‘He who is
condemned to live absent from thee,
most amiable Dulcinea! is subjected
to much greater hardships than these.
Friend Sancho, help to lay me on the
inchanted car; for I am incapable
of pressing Rozinante’s saddle, this
whole shoulder being crushed to
pieces.’—‘That I’ll do very willingly,
dear master,’ replied the squire;
‘and let us return to our own habitation,
in company of these gentlemen,
who wish you well; and there we will
lay a scheme for another sally, which
I hope will be more fortunate and
creditable.’—‘You are in the right,
Sancho,’ replied Don Quixote, ‘and
it will be very prudent in us to let the
malign influence of the stars pass
over.’

The canon, curate, and barber, approved
of his intention, and being extremely
diverted with the squire’s simplicity,
conveyed the knight to his former
situation in the waggon. The procession
was formed anew, and set forwards
accordingly: the goatherd took
his leave of the company; the troopers,
being unwilling to go farther, were
paid by the curate for their trouble; the
canon having intreated the priest to inform
him by letter of Don Quixote’s
fate, with regard to the continuation or
cure of his extravagance, bade him farewel,
and proceeded on his journey; in
short, there was a general separation,
till at length the curate, barber, Don
Quixote, and Panza, were left by themselves,
with the trusty Rozinante, who,
with the patience of his master, bore
and beheld every thing that passed.
// File: 0472.png

The waggoner yoking his oxen, accommodated
the knight with a truss of
hay, and with his usual phlegm jogged
on according to the priest’s directions,
till, at the end of six days, they arrived
at their own village, which they
entered about noon; and it chancing to
be Sunday, the market-place through
which they were obliged to pass was
crouded with people, who running to
see what was in the cage, recognized
their townsman, and were struck with
astonishment. A boy ran immediately
to his housekeeper and niece, whom
when he informed of their master’s arrival,
in a most meagre, withered condition,
stretched upon a truss of hay,
in a waggon; it was a piteous thing to
hear the cries that were uttered by these
worthy ladies, who buffetted themselves
through vexation, and vented
bitter curses against the wicked books
of chivalry; which lamentations, buffettings,
and curses, were repeated with
greater violence than ever, when they
saw the knight enter his own gate.

Sancho Panza’s wife, who had got
intimation that he was gone with Don
Quixote in quality of his squire, hearing
of his return, ran straight to her
husband, and the first question she asked
was, whether or not the ass was in
good health? when the squire answered,
that the ass was in better health
than his master, ‘Thanks be to God,’
cried she, ‘for that and all his other
mercies. But, now tell me, friend,
what good you have got by your
squireship? Have you brought home
a new petticoat for me, or shoes for
your children?’—‘I have brought no
such matters, my dear,’ replied Sancho,
‘but things of greater consideration
and importance.’—‘I am glad
of that, with all my heart!’ said the
wife; ‘pray shew me these things of
greater consideration and importance,
that the sight of them may rejoice my
heart, which hath been so sad and
discontented all the weary time of
your being away.’—‘You shall see
them at home,’ answered Sancho;
‘and heark’ee, wife, make yourself easy
for the present; for, an it please God
that we set out again in quest of adventures,
you shall speedily behold
your husband an earl, or governor of
an island; I don’t mean your common
islands, but one of the best that
// File: 0473.png
.pn +1
ever was seen.’—‘The Lord in heaven
grant it, husband; for I am sure
we have need enough of such windfalls:
but tell me, what is an island;
for, truly, I know not the meaning of
the word?’—‘Honey was not made
for the mouth of an ass,’ said the
squire; ‘you shall see what it is, all
in good time, my dear; aye, and admire
to hear all your vassals call you,
my lady.’—‘What is that you say,
Sancho, of ladies, islands, and vassals?’
cried Joan Panza; for that was
the name of the squire’s wife, though
she was not related to Sancho before
marriage; but it is the custom in La
Mancha for the women to take the
names of their husbands. ‘Don’t be
in such a hurry to know every thing,
Joan,’ replied the squire; ‘it is sufficient
that I tell thee nothing but
truth; let this, therefore, stop that
mouth of thine. Mean time, however,
I care not if I tell thee, that
it is one of the most pleasant occupations
in the world for an honourable
person, like me, to be squire
to a knight-errant, when he is in quest
of adventures. True it is, the greatest
part of them do not fall out quite
so much to one’s liking as one could
wish; for, out of a hundred in which
we are engaged, ninety-nine are generally
cross and unfortunate. That
I know by experience, having been
sometimes threshed, and sometimes
blanketted; but howsomever, it is a
curious pastime to be always in expectation
of adventures, crossing huge
mountains, searching woods, climbing
rocks, visiting castles, lodging at
inns, where we live at rack and
manger, and the devil a farthing to
pay.’

While this conversation passed between
Sancho and his wife, the housekeeper
and niece received Don Quixote,
whom they undressed and put to bed
in his old chamber, while he eyed them
askance, without being able to comprehend
where he was. The curate laid
his injunctions on the niece to cherish
her uncle with great tenderness, and
charged them both to take especial care
that he might not escape again, giving
them an account of the trouble he had
been at in bringing him back to his own
house. Here they raised their voices again
// File: 0474.png
in concert, renewing their curses upon
the books of chivalry, and beseeching
Heaven to confound the authors of such
madness and lyes to the lowest pit of
hell; in short they were half distracted
with the apprehension of losing him
again, as soon as his health should be
re-established; and this was actually
the case.

But the author of this history, although
he inquired with the utmost curiosity
and diligence, concerning the
actions of Don Quixote in his third
sally, could never find any satisfactory
and authentick account of them; only,
fame hath preserved some memoirs in
La Mancha, by which it appears that
Don Quixote, when he set out the third
time, went to Saragossa, where he was
present at a most celebrated tournament,
in which many things happened to him
worthy of his genius and valour: but
with regard to his death and burial, he
could obtain no information; and must
have remained entirely ignorant of that
event, had he not luckily met with an
old physician, who had in his custody a
leaden box, which he said he found under
the foundation of an ancient hermitage
that was repairing. This box
contained some skins of parchment, on
which were written in Gothick characters
and Castilian verse, many of
our knight’s exploits, with a description
of Dulcinea’s beauty, Rozinante’s figure,
Sancho’s fidelity, and Don Quixote’s
own funeral, celebrated by divers
epitaphs, and panegyricks on his life
and morals. All that could be read,
and fairly copied, are those which are here
inserted by the faithful author of this
new and surprizing history, who, in recompence
for the immense trouble he has
undergone in his enquiries, and in examining
the archives of La Mancha,
that he might publish it with more certainty,
desires the reader to favour him
with the same credit which intelligent
persons give to those books of chivalry
that pass so currently in the world;
and herewith he will rest fully satisfied;
and perhaps be animated to search after,
and find out other histories, if not as
authentick, at least as full of invention
and entertainment.

The verses which were written in the
first skin of parchment found in the
leaden box were these—
// File: 0475.png
.pn +1
.sp 2
THE ACADEMICIANS OF ARGAMASILLA,
A TOWN OF LA MANCHA,
ON THE LIFE AND DEATH OF THE
VALIANT DON QUIXOTE DE LA
MANCHA, HOC SCRIPSERUNT.
.sp 2
MONICONGO, ACADEMICIAN OF ARGAMASILLA,
ON THE SEPULTURE
OF DON QUIXOTE.
.sp 2
.pm verse-start
EPITAPH.

The bully that La Mancha deck’d
  With spoils that shame the Cretan Jason,
Whose judgment ripe, and wit uncheck’d,
  The trumpet of renown shall blazon;
That arm, whose valour did extend
  To Gæta, from remote Cathay;
That muse which did the welkin rend
  With verse which brazen plates display;
Who Amadis left far behind,
  And deem’d Galaor a mere baby,
Whose valour with such lustre shin’d,
  As shew’d ev’n Belianis shabby;
He that on Rozinante rode,
Now mingles with this clay-cold clod!
.pm verse-end
.sp 2
PANIGUADO, ACADEMICIAN OF ARGAMASILLA,
IN PRAISE OF DULCINEA
DEL TOBOSO.
.sp 2
.pm verse-start
SONG.

The maid, you see, with cheeks so blouzy,
High-chested, vigorous, and frouzy,
Dulcinea, fam’d Toboso’s princess,
Don Quixote’s gen’rous flame evinces:
For her, on foot, he did explore
The sable mountain o’er and o’er,
Through many a weary field did halt,
And all through Rozinante’s fault.
Hard fate! that such a dame should die
In spite of him and chivalry;
That he whose deeds e’en stones proclaim,
Should mourn a disappointed flame!
.pm verse-end
.sp 2
CAPRICHOSO, A MOST INGENIOUS
ACADEMICIAN OF ARGAMASILLA,
IN PRAISE OF ROZINANTE,
THE RENOWNED STEED OF DON
QUIXOTE DE LA MANCHA.
.sp 2
.pm verse-start
On a proud trunk of Adamant,
  Whose bloody branches smell’d of war,
La Mancha’s frantick wight did plant
  His standard glitt’ring from afar.
There hung his arms; there gleam’d his sword,
  That wont to level, hack, and hew;
Yet shall the wond’ring muse afford
  For new exploits, a stile that’s new.
Let Gaul of Amadis be proud,
  Greece boast the champions she hath bore;
Don Quixote triumphs o’er the crowd
  Of all the warlike knights of yore:
For neither Gaul nor Greece can vie
With fam’d La Mancha’s chivalry.
Ev’n Rozinante wears the bay;
Let Brilladore and Bayard bray[#].
.pm verse-end
.sp 2
BURLADOR, AN ARGAMASILLAN
ACADEMICIAN, ON SANCHO
PANZA.
.sp 2
.pm verse-start
SONG.

Here Sancho view of body small,
  But great in worth, in action clear,
The best and simplest squire of all
  The world e’er saw, I vow and swear.
And earl he surely might have been,
  Had not this knavish age of brass,
With insolence and envious spleen,
  Conspir’d against him and his ass;
That ass, on which he gently trotted
  At gentle Rozinante’s tail;
Vain man, with flatt’ring hope besotted,
  How, in a dream, thy prospects fail!
.pm verse-end
.sp 2
CACHIDIABLO, ACADEMICIAN OF
ARGAMASILLA, ON THE SEPULTURE
OF DON QUIXOTE.
.sp 2
.pm verse-start
EPITAPH.

On Rozinante’s back
  The knight that whilome travell’d
Thro’ highway, path, and track,
  Is here bemir’d and gravell’d:
And eke as stiff as he,
  The block of Sancho Panza,
A trusty squire, perdie!
  As ever mortal man saw.
.pm verse-end
.sp 2
TIQUITOCK, ACADEMICIAN OF
ARGAMASILLA, ON THE SEPULTURE
OF DULCINEA DEL TOBOSO.
.sp 2
.pm verse-start
Here lies Dulcinea, once so plump,
  But now her fat all melts away;
For death, with an inhuman thump,
  Has turn’d her into dust and clay.
// File: 0476.png
.pn +1
Of a true breed she surely sprung,
  And wanted not external grace;
Quixote’s heart with love she stung,
  And shone the glory of her race.
.pm verse-end

These were all the verses which could
be read; the rest being worm-eaten,
were delivered to an academician, that
he might attempt to unravel their meaning
by conjecture. This task we understand,
he has performed with infinite
pains and study, intending to publish
them to the world, in expectation of
the third sally of Don Quixote.

‘<i>Forse altri canterà con miglior plettro.</i>’

END OF THE SECOND VOLUME.

.fn #
Persons hired to whip themselves on such occasions.
.fn-

.fn #
The horse of Orlando Furioso was called Brigliadoro; as Bayardo was the name
of the steed belonging to Ruggiero, the second, if not the first hero in Ariosto’s incomparable
poem.
.fn-
// File: 0477.png
.pn +1
// File: 0478.png
.pn +1
.sp 4
.h2 id=vol3
VOLUME THE THIRD. | PART <abbr=two>II.</abbr>
.sp 2
.h3 id=vol3-pref
PREFACE.
.sp 2
Heavens! with what eagerness must thou be waiting for this
prologue, courteous reader, whosoever thou art, gentle or simple,
in hopes of finding it replete with resentment, reproaches, and revenge,
against the author of the Second Don Quixote; him, I mean,
who, it is reported, was engendered at Tordesillas, and brought forth
in Tarragona. But, truly, I have no intention to give thee that satisfaction:
for, although injuries may awaken indignation in vulgar
breasts; mine, I hope, will always be an exception to that rule. Thou
wouldst be glad, perhaps, to find me bellowing upon him the epithets
of ass, blockhead, and insolent coxcomb; but such low revenge never
once entered my imagination: his own conscience will sufficiently
chastise him; let him therefore chew the cud of remorse, and digest
it if he can. I own, I cannot help feeling the unjust reproach when
he taxes me with lameness and old age, as if it had been in my
power to retard the lapse of time; or that I had been maimed in some
tavern-brawl, and not on the most glorious occasion that ever the past
or present age beheld, or posterity can ever hope to see. If my
wounds do not brighten in the eyes of every spectator, they are at
least esteemed by those who know where they were acquired[#]; and
who thinks that a soldier who falls in battle makes a much more
noble appearance than he who saves himself by flight. This opinion
is so rooted within my own breast, that, were such an impossibility
proposed and effected, I would rather be lame as I am, with the share
I had in that stupendous action, than sound of body, without the
honour of having been there. The wounds that appear in a soldier’s
countenance and bosom, are so many stars to guide the rest of mankind
to the haven of honour, and the desire of honest praise; and it
ought to be observed, that an author does not write with his grey hairs,
but according to the dictates of his understanding, which is usually
improved by years and experience. I perceive also, that he calls me
envious; and, as if I were utterly ignorant, is at the pains to describe
the nature of envy; though I protest of the two kinds, I only harbour
that which is pure, virtuous, and noble. This being the case,
as it undoubtedly is, I have not the least inclination to inveigh against
any priest, especially one who bears the office of familiar to the holy
inquisition; and if what he says be advanced in behalf of him whose
cause he seems to espouse, he is altogether mistaken, in my opinion,
of that person, whose genius I adore: I admire his works, together
with his continual occupation in the practice of virtues; but I am actually
obliged to this honourable author, for saying that my novels[#]
are more satirical than exemplary, though he owns they are good of
// File: 0479.png
.pn +1
their kind; for, without being exemplary, they cannot possibly be
good.

I suppose, gentle reader, thou art by this time of opinion, that I
walk with great circumspection, and scrupulously confine myself within
the bounds of modesty, conscious that it is inhuman to heap affliction
on the afflicted; and that this gentleman’s must needs be very great,
since he dares not appear in the open field, and in the face of Heaven,
but conceals his name, and dissembles his country, as if he had
been guilty of high treason: tell him, therefore, in my name, if ever
thou shouldst chance to find him out, that I do not at all think myself
injured by what he has done, for well do I know, what temptations
the devil spreads before us; and that one of his most effectual snares,
is to make a man believe that he has capacity to write a book, by which
he shall obtain an equal share of money and reputation. In confirmation
of what I say, I will beg the favour of you to tell him a short
story.

There was in Seville, a certain madman seized with the most diverting
whim that ever entered the brain of a lunatick. He used to walk
with a hollow cane, pointed at one end; and whenever he met with a
dog in the street, or in any other place, he clapped his foot on one of
the creature’s hind-legs, pulled up the other with his hand, and applying,
as well as he could, the pipe to his posteriors, instantly blew
him up as round as a ball. This operation being performed, he clapped
him twice on the belly, and dismissed the patient, saying, very
gravely, to the mob that never failed to gather round him, ‘Gentlemen,
I suppose, now, you think it is an easy matter to blow up a
dog!’ In like manner, I say, ‘I suppose your worship thinks it
an easy matter to write a book.’ If this story should not be to his
liking, be so good, friendly reader, as to tell this other, which also relates
to a dog and a madman.

There was another ideot in Cordova, who had a trick of carrying
upon his head a piece of marble, or heavy stone; and, as often as he
perceived any dog off his guard, he would approach him slily, and let
it fall plump upon his head. This was no joke to the poor dog, who
used to run barking and howling the length of three whole streets,
before he ventured to look behind. But, among others, he one day
happened to discharge his burden on a cap-maker’s favourite dog;
down went the stone upon his head, and the injured beast set up the
howl: the master seeing what passed, was filled with indignation,
snatched up his measure, and sallying out upon the lunatick, did not
leave a whole bone in his skin; saying, at every blow he bestowed,
‘Dog! rascal! use my spaniel in this manner! Did not you see, barbarous
villain, that my dog was a spaniel!’ Thus repeating the word
spaniel a great many times, he beat the aggressor into jelly.

The madman being documented, sneaked off, and kept his chamber
a whole month; at the end of which, he returned to his former pastime,
with a greater stone than ever, and coming up to a dog that lay
asleep, considered him with great attention, but was afraid of discharging
the stone, saying, ‘’Ware spaniel!’ In short, all the dogs
he afterwards met with, whether curs or mastiffs, were in his opinion
spaniels; so that he never ventured to repeat his experiment.——Now
this may be the fate of our historian, who will not chuse to open the
flood-gates of his wit again, in composing books, which, if bad, are
harder than stone.
// File: 0480.png
.pn +1

Tell him, likewise, that I value not his threats a farthing, when he
says that his performance will deprive me of bread; but answer him
with a quotation from the famous interlude of the Perendenga: ‘To
four and twenty, live, my lord, and Christ be with us all.’ Long
live the great Count de Lemos, whose well-known Christian generosity
supports me against all the strokes of adverse fortune; and long life to
the transcendent charity of the most illustrious archbishop of Toledo,
Don Bernardo de Sandoval y Rojas; if there was not one printing-press
in the whole world, or if more books were published against me
than there are letters in the couplets of Mingo Rebulgo; these two
princes, unsolicited by any adulation or other kind of praise on my
part, but purely out of their own benevolence, have been pleased to
honour me with their countenance and favour, in which I think myself
infinitely more happy and rich, than if I had been conducted to the
highest pinnacle of fortune, in the ordinary way. Honour may be
enjoyed by a poor, but never by a vicious man; nobility may be clouded
by indigence, but never altogether obscured; for virtue, shining by
its own internal light, even through the inconveniencies and crannies
of poverty, will recommend itself to the esteem of high and princely
minds, and of consequence obtain their favour and protection. Thou
needest say no more to him; nor will I give thee any farther trouble,
except to observe, that thou art to consider this second part of Don
Quixote as a work of the same artificer, and composed of the same
materials with the first, in which I present the knight at full length;
and, in short, exhibit him dead and buried; that no man, for the future,
may presume to raise fresh evidence against him; those already
examined being sufficient for the purpose. The more so, as a man of
honour has already given an account of his ingenious follies, without
any intention to resume the subject; for there may be too much even
of a good thing; and the scarcity of those things which are in themselves
indifferent, often brings them into some degree of estimation.
I had almost forgot to tell thee, that thou mayest expect the Persiles,
which I am now finishing, together with the second part of Galatea.

.fn #
The battle of Lepanto.
.fn-

.fn #
Novales Exemplares.
.fn-
// File: 0481.png
.pn +1
.sp 2
.h3 id=vol3-app
APPROBATION.
.sp 2
By order of Signior Doctor Gutierrez de Cetina, vicar-general of
the city of Madrid, where his majesty keeps his court, I have
perused the second part of the sage knight, Don Quixote de La Mancha,
written by Miguel de Cervantes Saavedra; in which I can find
nothing unworthy of a zealous Christian, or deviating from that respect
which is justly due to good example and moral virtue. On the contrary,
the performance contains much erudition and profitable amusement;
not only in the well-supported sequel of his design, to extirpate
those vain and lying books of chivalry, which had already too far
spread their infection; but also in the purity of his Castilian language,
unadulterated with insipid affectation, which every man of sense abhors;
and in his manner of correcting the vicious, who generally feel
the point of his satire. Yet he so wisely observes the laws of Christian
rebuke, that the patient labouring under the infirmity which he
intends to cure, may, in such sweet and palatable medicine, even
without his own knowledge, or the least hindrance and loathing, swallow
down an effectual detestation for vice; so that he will find himself
at once delighted and reformed, in consequence of an art which is
known to few. There are many authors, who not knowing how to
blend and mix instruction with delight, have seen all their tedious labours
miscarry; because, not being able to imitate Diogenes, as a
learned philosopher, they have presumed licentiously, not to say obscurely,
to mimick him as a cynic, giving ear to slander, and inventing
things that never happened, by which means they enlarge the vicious
capacity of those whom their harsh reproofs stigmatize; and, perhaps,
strike out new paths of lewdness hitherto unknown; so that instead of
reformers, they become teachers and abettors of vice. In this manner
they grow hateful to men of sense, and lose all their credit, if they
had any, with the people, who refuse to encourage their writings; while
the vicious are rather hardened than amended by their rash and imprudent
corruption; for the knife and caustick are not proper for all kinds
of tumours, some of which are more successfully treated by soft and
gentle remedies, by the application of which, the experienced and
learned physician often attains his end of discussing them; a period
much more eligible than that which is obtained by the barbarity of
steel.

The writings of Miguel de Cervantes have met with a very different
reception, not only from our nation, but likewise from strangers; who,
as if he was something miraculous, are inflamed with the desire of seeing
the author of those books which have met with such general applause,
on account of the decency and decorum, as well as the agreeable
sweetness of his stile, in Spain, France, Italy, Germany, and
Flanders. This I can with great truth affirm, that on the twentieth
and fifth day of February, in this year of God, one thousand six hundred
// File: 0482.png
.pn +1
and fifteen, I attended my master, his grace Don Bernardo de
Sandoval y Rojas, cardinal archbishop of Toledo, when he returned
the visit of the French ambassador, who came to treat about a double
match betwixt the princes and princesses of France and Spain; and
several gentlemen of that country, belonging to the embassy, who
were equally sensible and well-bred, as well as lovers of the Belles
Lettres, in their conversation with me and the other chaplains of the
cardinal, desired to know what books of genius were in highest esteem
among us; I chanced to mention this performance, which was then
under my examination: but no sooner did they hear the name of Miguel
de Cervantes, than they began to expatiate upon the high esteem
in which France and the neighbouring kingdoms held his productions;
namely, the Galatea, which one of them could almost repeat, with
the novels, and the first part of Don Quixote. Such were the commendations
they bestowed upon them, that I offered to introduce them
to the author, whom they honoured with a thousand demonstrations of
regard. They were curious to know his age, profession, quality, and
fortune; and when I found myself obliged to tell them he was a soldier
and a gentleman, oppressed with poverty and old age; one of them
replied in these very words: ‘What! does not Spain load such a man
with riches, and maintain him out of the publick treasury?’——Another
of those gentlemen, hearing this observation, interposed, saying,
with great vivacity, ‘If necessity compels him to write, God grant
that he may never enjoy affluence; but, in being poor, enrich the
world with his works.’

I believe this will be thought rather too much for a certificate; and
some will say, that I have even encroached upon the bounds of flattery;
but the truth of my allegation disproves that suspicion, and acquits
me of the charge; besides, in this age, adulation is bestowed
upon none but those who are in a capacity of greasing the fist of the
flatterer; who, though he praises in fulsome fiction, experts to be rewarded
in substantial truth.

Madrid, Feb. 27, 1615.  <sc>The Licentiate Marques Torres.</sc>
.sp 4
.h4
THE ORDINARY LICENCE.
.sp 2
By order and command of the lords of council, I have caused to
be examined, the book specified in this petition: which book contains
nothing to the prejudice of religion or morals; but, on the contrary,
is fraught with much lawful amusement, blended with moral
philosophy; wherefore it may be allowed to be printed.
.sp 2
Madrid, Nov. 5, 1615. <sc>Doctor Gutierrez de Cetina.</sc>
.sp 4
.h4
APPROBATION.
.sp 2
By order and command of the lords of council, I have perused
the second part of Don Quixote de La Mancha, written by Miguel
de Cervantes; a book that contains nothing to the prejudice of
// File: 0483.png
.pn +1
our holy catholick faith, or sound morals; on the contrary, much honest
recreation, and agreeable amusement, such as the ancients judged not
only allowable, but convenient for the commonwealth: even the severe
Lacedemonians erected a statue to the goddess of laughter; and the
Thessalians instituted festivals to the same power, according to Pausanias,
quoted by Vossius, lib. <abbr=two>ii.</abbr> <lang=la><i>De signis eccles.</i></lang> cap. 10. for exhilarating
the melancholy, and raising the dejected spirits; as observed by
Tully in his first book, <i>De Legibus</i>; and by the poet, who says, <lang=la>‘<i>Interpone
tuis interdum gaudia curis.</i>’</lang> Which maxim hath been the
guide of this author, who has mingled fiction with truth, delight with
instruction, and morals with pleasantry; disguising the hook of reproof
with the bait of sprightly entertainment, and fulfilling the sequel of his
well-executed scheme, to depreciate and expel the books of chivalry,
from the mischievous contagion of which he hath purged these kingdoms,
with admirable diligence and dexterity. In short, it is a work
worthy of that great genius, which is the honour and ornament of our
nation, and the envy and admiration of strangers. This is my opinion,
with submission, &c.

Madrid, March 17, 1615.          <sc>Joseph de Valdivielso.</sc>
// File: 0484.png
.pn +1
.sp 4
.h3 id=book3-1
BOOK <abbr=one>I.</abbr>
.sp 2
.h4 id=chap3-1-1
<abbr=chapter>CHAP.</abbr> <abbr=one>I.</abbr> | OF THE BEHAVIOUR OF THE CURATE AND BARBER,| WITH REGARD TO DON QUIXOTE’S INFIRMITY.
.sp 2
Cid Hamet Benengeli, in
the second part of this history,
containing the third
sally of Don Quixote, relates
that the curate and
barber forbore to visit him
for a whole month, that they might
not revive and recal to his imagination
the remembrance of things past;
but, during all that time, they frequently
went to see the housekeeper
and niece, on whom they laid strong
injunctions to cherish the knight with
great care and tenderness, and treat him
with such comfortable food as should
be most agreeable to his stomach and
brain, in which they reasonably supposed
that his whole disorder lay. The
ladies assured them it was their chief
study, which they would prosecute with
all imaginable care and satisfaction;
for they began to perceive that their
master, at certain intervals, gave tokens
of being in his right wits. This information
afforded great pleasure to the
two friends, who now concluded they
had acted wisely in bringing him home on
the inchanted waggon, as hath been recounted
in the last chapter of the first part
of this sublime and punctual history; and
determined to pay him a visit, that they
might be convinced of his amendment,
which they deemed almost impossible;
though they agreed to avoid, with great
care, the subject of chivalry, that they
might run no risk of ripping up the
wound so lately closed.

In short, they entered his chamber,
and found him sitting upon his bed, in
a waistcoat of green baize, and a red
Toledan night-cap, so meagre, shrunk,
and withered, that he looked like an
Egyptian mummy; he received them
very courteously, and when they enquired
into the state of his health, spoke
of his indisposition and himself with
great judgment and elocution. The
conversation happening to turn on what
is called reasons of state, and modes of
administration, they amended certain
abuses, and condemned others, reforming
one custom, and banishing another;
as if each of the three had been a new
legislator, a modern Lycurgus, or regenerated
Solon; and in such a manner
did they furbish up the common-wealth,
that one would have imagined they had
committed it to a forge, and brought
out another quite different from that
which they put in. Don Quixote spoke
on every subject that was handled, with
// File: 0485.png
.pn +1
such discretion, as actually convinced the
two examiners, that he was quite sound,
and had recovered the right exercise
of his judgment; while the niece and
housekeeper, who were present all the
time, thought they could never be thankful
enough to God, when they heard
their master talk so sensibly. But the
curate altering his first resolution, which
was to avoid the subject of chivalry,
now determined to make an experiment,
by which he should be thoroughly satisfied,
whether the knight’s cure was real
or imaginary; with this view, he from
one thing to another came to mention
some news from court; and among other
pieces of intelligence, said he was certainly
informed that the Turk had taken
the sea, with a powerful armament,
though his design was not known, nor
could it be guessed where the expected
storm would burst; but that these preparations,
which keep us almost constantly
in arms, had alarmed all Christendom;
and that his majesty had ordered
the coasts of Naples and Sicily,
with the island of Malta, to be provided
against all attempts. To this intimation
Don Quixote replied, ‘His majesty
has acted like a most prudent
warrior, in providing for the safety of
his dominions, that the enemy may
not find them unprepared; but, if he
would take my advice, I would furnish
him with an expedient, which I
believe our sovereign at present little
thinks of.’

The curate no sooner heard these
words, than he said within himself,
‘Lord have mercy upon thee, poor Don
Quixote! if I am not mistaken, thou
art just going to cast thyself headlong
from the highest pinnacle of madness,
into the profound abyss of thy folly.’
But the barber, who immediately adopted
the same suspicion, asked the knight
what that expedient was, which he
thought should be put in practice by way
of prevention; observing, that it was,
perhaps, such a scheme as deserved to
be inserted in the list of those impertinent
advices usually offered to crowned
heads. ‘Mine, Mr. Shaver,’ said Don
Quixote, ‘will be pertinent, not impertinent.’—‘I
don’t say otherwise,’
replied the barber; ‘I only made that
observation, because experience hath
shewn that all, or the greatest part of
those projects which have been offered
to his majesty, are either impossible,
// File: 0486.png
extravagant, or prejudicial to the state.’—‘My
scheme,’ answered the knight,
‘is neither impossible nor extravagant;
but, on the contrary, the most easy,
just, brief, and expeditious, that ever
projector conceived.’—‘Methinks
your worship is very slow in delivering
it, Signior Don Quixote,’ said the
priest. ‘I should not chuse,’ answered
the knight, ‘to have what I say here
carried by to-morrow morning, to the
ears of the lords of the council; by
which means, another may reap the
credit and reward of my labour.’—‘For
my own part,’ cried the barber,
‘I here give my word, before God!
never to disclose what your worship
shall impart, either to king or knave,
or any mortal man; an oath I learned
in the romance of the Curate, who,
in the preface, gives the king notice
of the robber that stole his hundred
ducats, and ambling mule.’—‘I am
not acquainted with the story,’ said
Don Quixote, ‘but the oath is a good
oath, because I am convinced that Mr.
Nicholas is an honest man.’—‘Be that
as it will,’ replied the curate, ‘I will
be bound for him, and undertake, that
with regard to this affair, he shall speak
no more than if he was actually dumb,
on pain of whatever penalty you shall
think proper to inflict.’—‘And who
will be security for you, Mr. Curate?’
said the knight. ‘My profession,’
answered the priest, ‘by which
I am bound to keep secrets.’—‘Body
of me!’ cried Don Quixote, ‘his
majesty has nothing to do, but to issue
a proclamation, commanding all the
knights-errant in Spain to assemble at
his court, by such a day; and although
not more than half a dozen
should come, among these one may be
found, who is alone sufficient to overthrow
the whole Turkish power.
Pray, gentlemen, give attention, and
take me along with you; is it such a
new thing, for a single knight to cut in
pieces a whole army of two hundred
thousand men, as if they had but one
common throat, or were made of ginger-bread?
How many histories are
there, think you, filled with such marvellous
exploits? Unfortunate it is for
me, (I will not say, for any other)
that the renowned Don Belianis is not
now alive, or some knight of the innumerable
race of Amadis de Gaul;
for if any one of them was now living,
// File: 0487.png
.pn +1
to confront the Turks, in good
sooth, I should not chuse to farm
their conquests; but God will provide
for his own people, and produce
some champion, who, if not equal
in valour to former knights-errant,
at least will be inferior to none of
them in point of courage[#]; Heaven
knows my meaning; I will say no
more.’—‘Lack-a-day!’ cried the
niece, when she heard this insinuation,
‘I’ll be hanged, if my uncle is not
resolved to turn knight errant again.’—‘A
knight-errant,’ replied Don Quixote,
‘I will live and die; and the Turks
may make their descents or ascents,
when they will, with all the power they
are masters of. I say again, Heaven
knows my meaning.’ Here the barber
interposing, ‘Gentlemen,’ said he,
‘I beg you will give me leave to tell
a short story of what happened at Seville;
it comes so pat to the purpose,
that I have a strong inclination to relate
it.’ Don Quixote and the curate
granted his request, and the rest yielded
him attention, when he began in these
words.

‘There was in the mad-house at Seville,
a certain lunatick, whom his
relations had sent thither on account
of the defect in his judgment; he
had taken his degrees in the canon
law, at Ossuna; and many were of
opinion, that if he had acquired them
at Salamanca, he would not have been
a bit the wiser; this graduate, having
been confined some years, took it in his
head, that he was quite well, and restored
to his right wits; and in this
imagination, wrote to the archbishop,
earnestly entreating him, with many
sensible arguments, to give order that
he should be extricated from the misery
in which he lived; since, through
the mercy of God, he had recovered
his lost judgment, though his relations
kept him still in confinement,
that they might enjoy his estate, and,
in despite of truth, were resolved that
he should be mad to the day of his
death. The archbishop, persuaded
by the many sensible and pathetick
letters he received, ordered one of his
chaplains to go to the rector of the
mad-house, and enquire into the truth
of what the licentiate alledged, and
even to talk with himself, that, if he
should find him quite recovered, he
might bring him away, and set him
at liberty. The chaplain obeyed the
command of his grace, and the rector
assured him that the man was still
mad; for although he would very often
talk like a person of excellent understanding,
at the long run he commonly
broke out into folly and nonsense,
as absurd as the first part of his
discourse was rational and discreet;
however, he himself might make the
experiment, by conversing with the
licentiate. The chaplain accordingly
went to his apartment, and talked
with him a whole hour and more,
during which time the lunatick did
not utter one vague or incoherent
sentence; but, on the contrary, spoke
so judiciously, that the chaplain could
not help believing him quite sound of
intellect; among other things, he told
him the rector was his enemy, and
pronounced him still distracted, though
with lucid intervals, that he might not
lose the presents which he received from
his relations; so that the greatest cause
of his misfortune was no other than
his own affluent estate, which to enjoy,
his adversaries craftily pretended to
doubt of the mercy which the Lord had
vouchsafed him, in re-converting him
from a beast into a man; in short, he
talked so effectually as to render the
rector suspected, to prove his relations
covetous and unnatural, and himself
so discreet, that the chaplain determined
to carry him forthwith to the
archbishop, that his grace might be
personally satisfied of the truth. With
// File: 0488.png
.pn +1
this laudable intention, he desired the
rector to order the licentiate to be dressed
with the cloaths in which he entered
the house: the rector again advised
him to consider what he was
about; for the licentiate was, without
all question, still distracted. But
these cautions and counsels had no
effect in dissuading the chaplain from
carrying him off, and the rector seeing
the archbishop’s order, was obliged
to obey; so that the licentiate received
his own cloaths, which were
decent and new. Seeing himself thus
diverted of the badge of his disorder,
and habited again like a person of
sound intellects, he besought the chaplain,
that he would be so charitable
as to allow him to go and take leave of
his companions in affliction; the other
granted his request, and said he would
accompany him, in order to see the
patients; upon which they went up
stairs, followed by several persons
who chanced to be then present. The
licentiate, going to the gate of a cell,
in which there was a furious madman,
though at that time he was calm and
quiet, said to him, “Brother, have
you any commands for me? I am
going to my own house, for God of
his infinite goodness and mercy, without
any desert of mine, hath been
pleased to restore unto me the use of
my reason, and I am now perfectly
recovered; so that there is nothing
impossible to the power of the Almighty;
put, therefore, your hope
and trust in him, who, as he hath restored
me to my former state, will
grant the same indulgence to you,
if you confide in his protection. I
will take care to send you some cordial
food, and be sure, at all events,
to eat it; for, you must know, I
conclude from experience, that all
our disorder proceeds from an empty
stomach, and the brain’s being filled
with wind. Take heart, brother,
take heart; for despondence under
misfortune consumes the constitution,
and hastens the stroke of death.”
This discourse being overheard by
another lunatick, who was confined
in a cell opposite to that of the furious
patient, he started up stark naked
from an old mat on which he lay, and
roared aloud, “Who is that going
away so sober and so sound?” The
licentiate replied, “’Tis I, brother,
who am going home, being under
no necessity of tarrying longer in this
place; thanks be to Heaven for the
signal favour I have received!”—“Take
care what you say, Mr. Licentiate,
and let not the devil deceive
you,” answered the madman: “halt
a little, stay where you are, and spare
yourself the trouble of being brought
back.”—“I know that I am perfectly
recovered,” said the licentiate,
“and shall, have no farther occasion to
visit the Stations[#].”—“You recovered!”
cried the other, “good!
we shall see—adieu—but, I swear
by Jupiter, whose majesty I represent
on earth, that, for the transgression
this day committed in Seville,
by discharging you from the
house, as a person of sound judgment,
I will take such vengeance as
shall be a monument of wrath for
ever and ever, amen. Do’st thou not
know, pitiful licentiate, that all this
is in my power, being, as I have already
observed, Jove the thunderer,
who wield the flaming bolts, with
which I use to threaten, and can destroy
the universe? But with one evil
only will I chastise this ignorant people;
I will not suffer one drop of
rain to fall upon the city, nor its
confines, nor indeed in any part of
this district, for the space of three
whole years, reckoning from the day
and minute in which this dreadful
menace is made. Thou free! thou
sound! thou recovered! and I mad!
I distracted and confined! I will
sooner hang myself than rain one
spoonful.” The by-standers were
very attentive to the vociferous exclamations
of this madman, when our
licentiate turning to the chaplain, and
taking him by the hand, said, “Dear
Sir, give yourself no uneasiness or
concern about what he says; for if
he who is Jupiter, witholds refreshing
showers from the earth, I who am
Neptune, the father and god of waters,
will rain as often as I please,
should there be occasion for it, in
consequence of the privilege I possess.”
To this promise the chaplain
// File: 0489.png
.pn +1
replied, “Nevertheless, Signior Neptune,
it will not be politick to incense
Signior Jupiter; therefore, your
worship will be so good as to stay
where you are, till some other day,
when we may have more leisure and
convenience to remove you.” The
rector and the rest of the company
could not help laughing, the chaplain
was out of countenance, the licentiate
was stripped, and sent back to
his cell; and so ends my story.’

‘And this is the story, Mr. Barber,’
said Don Quixote, ‘which
came so pat to the purpose, that you
could not help relating it? Ah, Mr.
Shaver! Mr. Shaver! he must be
blind indeed, that cannot see through
the bottom of a sieve. Is it possible
your worship does not know that comparisons
in point of genius, virtue,
beauty, and descent, are always odious
and ill received? I, Mr. Barber,
am not Neptune, god of waters;
neither do I set up for being thought
a wise man, knowing that I am not
so: the sole end of my labours is to
convince the world of its error, in
not seeking to renew those most happy
times when the order of knight-errantry
exerted itself in full perfection;
but this depraved age of ours is unworthy
of tasting that felicity which
was enjoyed by those ages, when
knights-errant undertook the charge,
and burdened their shoulders with
the defence of kingdoms, the protection
of damsels, the relief of wards
and orphans, the chastisement of the
proud, and the promotion of the humble.
The greatest part of your modern
knights rustle in damasks, brocades,
and other rich and splendid
attire, instead of rattling in coats of
mail; no knight now sleeps in the
open field, exposed to the inclemency
of the weather, armed at all points
cap-a-pee; no warrior, in this degenerate age,
sits on horseback, and
without disengaging his feet from
the stirrups, but leaning upon his
lance, endeavours to take as it were
a snatch of sleep, after the example
of former knights-errant; no champion,
now-a-days, coming out of
some dreary wood, immediately enters
another rocky wilderness, through
which he reaches the barren and deserted
coast of the rough and stormy
sea, where, finding in some creek, a
// File: 0490.png
crazy boat without oars, sails, mast,
or tackle, he intrepidly throws himself
into it, and launches out upon
the implacable billows that whirl him
aloft to heaven, and then sink him to
the profound abyss, while his unshaken
soul defies the storm; then,
when he dreams of no such matter,
he finds himself three thousand leagues
and more from the place where he embarked,
and leaping ashore on some
remote and unknown country, achieves
adventures worthy to be written,
not on parchment, but on brass.
But now sloth triumphs over activity,
idleness over toil, vice over virtue,
arrogance over valour, and the theory
over the practice of arms, which obtained
and shone resplendent in those
golden ages that produced knights-errant.
Pray, tell me, who could be
more honourable and valiant than the
famous Amadis de Gaul? who more
discreet than Palmerin of England?
who more insinuating and pliant than
Tirante the White? who more gallant
than Lifuarte of Greece? who
more hacked and hacking than Don
Belianis? who more intrepid than
Perion of Gaul? or, who more daring
than Felixmarte of Hircania?
who more sincere than Esplandian?
who more desperate than Cirongilio
of Thrace? who more brave than Rodamont?
who more prudent than King
Sobrino? who more bold than Reynaldo?
who more invincible than Roldan?
and who more gallant and courteous
than Rugero? from whom (according
to Turpin, in his Cosmographia) the
present Dukes of Ferrara are descended.
All these, with many more which I
could name, Mr. Curate, were knights-errant,
and the very light and glory of
chivalry; these, or such as these, are
the champions proposed by my scheme,
which, should it take place, would
effectually serve his majesty’s purpose,
spare an infinite expence, and the
Turk would even tear his own beard
in despair; in that case I would tarry
where I am, since the chaplain would
not think fit to enlarge me; and if
Jupiter, as the barber said, would
not rain, here am I ready to frustrate
his intent; this I mention, that Mr.
Bason, there, may know I understand
his meaning.’—‘Verily, Signior Don
Quixote,’ said Mr. Nicholas, ‘I
meant no harm, so help me God! my
// File: 0491.png
.pn +1
intention was good, and therefore
your worship ought not to be displeased.’—‘Whether
I am displeased or
not,’ replied the knight, ‘I myself
know best.’

Here the curate interposing, said,
‘Though I have hitherto scarce opened
my mouth, I cannot be easy under
a scruple which tears and gnaws
my conscience, and which arose
from what Signior Don Quixote hath
just now asserted.’—‘In greater matters,
Mr. Curate may command me,’
answered the knight; ‘out with your
scruple, then; for scruples of conscience
are very uncomfortable companions.’—‘With
your good permission,’
replied the priest, ‘this it is:
I can by no means persuade myself
that the whole tribe of knights-errant,
whom your worship have named,
were really and truly earthly persons
of flesh and blood; on the contrary,
I imagine all these things are
fictions, fables, and lying dreams,
recounted by men who are awake, or
rather by those who are half asleep.’—‘That,’
said Don Quixote, ‘is another
error incident to many people,
who do not believe that any such
knights ever existed; and I have, on
divers and sundry occasions, endeavoured
to dissipate that almost general
mistake by the light of truth. Sometimes,
indeed, I have not succeeded
in my attempts; however, I have
frequently gained my point, by supporting
it on the shoulders of demonstration;
and truly the case is so
clear, that I could almost affirm I
have with my own eyes beheld Amadis
de Gaul, who was a tall man,
of a fair complexion, well furnished
with a black beard, his aspect something
between mild and severe, concise
of speech, slow to anger, and
soon appeased. In the same manner,
methinks, I could delineate and paint
all the knights-errant that ever were
recorded in history; for, according to
the ideas formed by reading these
histories, and by comparing their exploits
and dispositions, sound philosophy
may discover their lineaments,
statures, and complexions.’—‘Signior
Don Quixote,’ said the barber,
‘how large do you think the giant
Morgante must have been?’—‘As to
the affair of giants,’ answered the
// File: 0492.png
knight, ‘there are different opinions;
some affirming, and others denying,
the existence of any such beings: but
the Holy Scriptures, which surely cannot
fail one atom in point of truth,
put that affair beyond all dispute, in
relating the story of that Philistine
Goliath, who was seven cubits and
an half in height; a most amazing
stature! Besides, in the island of
Sicily, several thigh and shoulder-bones
have been dug up, so large as
to manifest, that the persons to whom
they belonged must have been huge
giants, as tall as high towers; and
this can be proved by mathematical
demonstration; but, nevertheless, I
will not pretend to ascertain the size
of Morgante; though I believe he
was not very tall, because I find in
the history which gives a particular
account of his exploits, that he often
slept under a roof: now, if there was
any house capacious enough to receive
him, his magnitude could not
be very extraordinary.’—‘No, surely,’
said the curate: who, being diverted
with his extravagant assertions,
asked his opinion concerning
the looks and persons of Reynaldo de
Montalban, Don Orlando, and the
rest of the Twelve Peers of France,
who were all knights-errant. ‘With
regard to Reynaldo,’ answered Don
Quixote, ‘I will venture to say, he
was broad visaged, and of a ruddy
complexion, with large rolling
eyes, full of punctilio, excessively
cholerick, and a friend to robbers
and vagabonds. As for Roldan, or
Rotolando, or Orlando, (for he is
mentioned in history by all these
names) it is my opinion, and I affirm,
that he was of a middling
stature, broad-shouldered, somewhat
bandy-legged, of a dark complexion
and carrotty beard, hairy all over,
with a frowning aspect, sparing of
speech, though very affable and well
bred.’—‘If Roldan was not more
comely than you have represented
him,’ replied the curate, ‘I do not
wonder that Angelica the Fair disdained
and deserted him, for the gallantry,
mirth, and pleasantry of the
little smock-faced Moor, to whose
embraces she yielded; and, surely,
she was in the right, to prefer the
smoothness of Medoro to the roughness
// File: 0493.png
.pn +1
of Roldan.’—‘That same Angelica,
Mr. Curate,’ said the knight,
‘was an unsettled rambling young
woman, that longed after novelties,
and left the world as full of her impertinent
actions as of the fame of
her beauty. She undervalued a thousand
noblemen, a thousand valiant
and discreet admirers, and contented
herself with a yellow haired page,
who had neither fortune nor reputation,
but that of being grateful to his
friend. The renowned Ariosto, who
sung the praises of her beauty, either
not daring or not designing to rehearse
what happened to her after her
base intrigue, because he deemed it a
theme not extremely honourable for
his muse, dropped her at these lines:

.pm verse-start
‘“Another bard may sing, in loftier lay,
How he obtain’d the sceptre of Cathay.”
.pm verse-end

‘And truly this was a sort of prophecy,
for the poets are also called <lang=la><i>vates</i></lang>,
which in Latin signifies <i>diviners</i>, and
it was plainly verified in the event,
an Andalusian bard having since that
time sung in verse her tears and lamentation,
as the most famous and
sublime genius of Castile hath celebrated
her beauty.’

‘Pray tell me, Signior Don Quixote,’
said the barber, ‘among all
those authors who have written in her
praise, hath not some one or other
composed a satire against my Lady
Angelica?’—‘I firmly believe,’ replied
the knight, ‘that if Sacripante or
Roldan had been bards, they would
have made the damsel smart severely,
it being natural and peculiar to poets,
who are disdained and rejected by
their false mistresses, whether real or
imaginary, to revenge themselves by
satires and lampoons; a resentment
altogether unworthy of generous
breasts; but hitherto I have not met
with any such defamatory verses
against the Lady Angelica, though
she made strange confusion in the
world.’—‘That is a wonder, indeed!’
said the curate.—When hearing the
housekeeper and niece, who had some
time before quitted the company,
bawling aloud in the yard, they ran
out to see what was the occasion of
such noise.

.fn #
Ridiculous as this scheme may seem to be, such an expedient has actually succeeded
in practice. During the captivity of John King of France, his dominions were ravaged
by above one hundred thousand peasants, who, under the name of Jacquieers, assembled
in arms to exterminate the noblesse; and among other horrid outrages, murdered
every gentleman that fell in their way. The Duchess of Normandy and Orleans, together
with three hundred ladies of rank, retired for protection to Meaux, where they
were surrounded, and would have actually perished by the swords of these banditti, had
they not been rescued by the Count de Foix, and the captal of Buch; who, hearing of
their distress, hastened to their relief with no more than sixty knights; and, without
hesitation, attacked that furious multitude with such bravery and vigour, that they were
soon routed and dispersed.
.fn-

.fn #
A certain number of churches through which they made circuits, uttering an appointed
prayer at each.
.fn-
// File: 0494.png
.sp 4
.h4 id=chap3-1-2
<abbr=chapter>CHAP.</abbr> <abbr=two>II.</abbr> | THE NOTABLE FRAY THAT HAPPENED| BETWEEN SANCHO AND DON QUIXOTE’S NIECE AND HOUSEKEEPER—WITH OTHER DIVERTING INCIDENTS.
.sp 2
The history relates, that the noise
which Don Quixote, the curate,
and barber heard, was occasioned by
the niece and housekeeper scolding at
Sancho, who struggled to get in and
see his master, while they defended the
door. ‘What does the swag-bellied
lurcher want in this house?’ said
the housekeeper: ‘get you home, brother;
it was you, and none but you,
that turned my poor master’s brain,
enticing him from his own home, to
stroll about the highways.’ To this
apostrophe Sancho replied, ‘Housekeeper
of Satan! ’tis my brain that’s
turned; ’twas I that was enticed to
stroll about the highways, and not
thy master, for he carried me a rambling;
so that you have reckoned without
your host. ’Twas he that wheedled
me from my own house, with the
promise of an island, which I expect
to this good hour.’—‘Devil choak
thee with islands, thou cursed cormorant!’
cried the niece: ‘and pray
what is an island; is it any thing to
eat, thou gorbellied glutton, ha?’—‘No,
not to eat, but to govern,’ answered
Sancho, ‘and a fat government
it is. Better than four cities, or the
places of any four of the king’s alcades.’—‘Be
that as it will,’ said the
housekeeper, ‘thou shan’t set foot in
this house, thou bag of mischief, and
bundle of malice! go and look after
thy own family, fatten thy hogs, and
let us hear no more of these islands or
oil-lands.’

The curate and barber were highly
entertained with this dialogue; but Don
Quixote fearing that Sancho would open
his budget, and disburden himself of
some mischievous load of folly, by
blabbing things not much to his credit,
called him in, bidding the women hold
their tongues, and give him entrance.
Sancho being accordingly admitted, the
curate and barber took their leave of
Don Quixote, whose recovery they despaired
of, seeing him so unalterably
// File: 0495.png
.pn +1
fixed in his folly, and so wholly possessed
with the frantick spirit of knight-errantry.
‘You shall see, neighbour,’
said the curate to the barber, ‘that
when we least think of it, this poor
gentleman will make another sally.’—‘That
I make no doubt of,’ answered
the barber, ‘but I don’t wonder so
much at the madness of the knight,
as at the simplicity of the squire, who
believes so devoutly in this island,
that I think all the invention of man
could not extract it from his skull.’—‘God
mend them!’ replied the curate:
‘meanwhile, let us keep a strict
eye over their behaviour, and observe
the operation of their joint extravagance;
for the madness of the master
seems to have been cast in the same
mould with the foolishness of the
man, and in my opinion, the one
without the other would not be worth
a farthing.’—‘True,’ said the barber;
‘and I should be glad to know
what they are now talking of.’—‘I
dare say,’ replied the curate, ‘the
niece and house-keeper will give us a
good account of their conversation;
for they are none of those who can
resist the opportunity of listening.’

In the mean time, Don Quixote having
shut himself up in his apartment
with Sancho, said, ‘It gives me much
concern, Sancho, to hear thee say, as
thou dost, that I enticed thee from
thy cottage, when thou knowest that
I, at the same time, quitted my own
house; together we set out, lived and
travelled together; sharing the same
fortune and the same fate. If
thou hast been once tossed in a blanket,
I have been bruised an hundred
times; and this is the only
pre-eminence I enjoyed.’—‘And
that’s but reasonable,’ replied Sancho,
‘according to your worship’s own
remark, that misfortune belongs more
to knights-errant than to their squires.’—‘There
you are mistaken, Sancho,’
said Don Quixote; ‘for the Latin adage
says, <lang=la><i>Quando caput dolet, &c.</i></lang>’—‘Nay,’
quoth Sancho, ‘I understand
no lingo but my mother-tongue.’—‘The
meaning,’ said the master, ‘is,
When the head aches, all the members
are affected. I, therefore, as thy
lord and master, am thy head, and
thou, as my servant, are a part of
me; so that whatever mischief has
happened, or may happen to me,
// File: 0496.png
ought to extend to thee likewise,
in the same manner as I bear a share
in all thy sufferings.’—‘So it ought
to be,’ said Sancho, ‘but when I, as
a member, was tossed in a blanket,
my head sat peaceably on the other
side of the wall, and beheld me vaulting
in the air, without feeling the
least uneasiness; and since the members
are obliged to ache with the head,
I think it is but just that the head
should ache with the members.’—‘How
canst thou affirm, Sancho,’ replied
Don Quixote, ‘that I felt no
pain while thou was tossed in the
blanket? Say, or think so no more;
for I was, at that time, more afflicted
in mind than thou in body.

‘But let us wave this subject for the
present, and time will, no doubt, offer
an opportunity of considering it
more maturely, and of setting every
thing to rights: and tell me, friend
Sancho, how I am spoke of in this
place? What say the vulgar? What
character do I bear among the gentry?
and how am I treated by the knights?
What is their opinion of my valour,
exploits, and courteous behaviour?
and how do they relish the design I
have undertaken of raising and restoring
to the world the long-forgotten
order of knight-errantry? In short,
Sancho, I desire that thou wilt inform
me of every thing thou hast heard
on this subject, without adding to the
good, or subtracting from the evil;
it being the duty of faithful servants
to represent the truth to their masters
in its own native form, neither exaggerated
by adulation, nor diminished
by any other vain respect: and
let me tell thee, Sancho, if the naked
truth was always conveyed to the ears
of princes, undisguised by flattery,
we should see better days, and other
æras would deserve the name of the
iron age more than the present, which
would be justly looked upon as the
age of gold. Remember this advice,
Sancho, and inform me with honesty
and discretion, of all that thou knowest
in regard to what I have asked.’—‘That
I will with all my heart, Sir,’
answered Sancho, ‘on condition that
your worship won’t be offended with
the truth, since you desire to see it in
its nakedness, just as it came to my
knowledge.’—‘I shall not be offended
in the least,’ replied Don Quixote:
// File: 0497.png
.pn +1
‘speak therefore freely, without going
about the bush.’

‘Well, then,’ said the squire, ‘in the
first place, you must know that the
common people think your worship a
stark-staring madman, and me a most
notorious fool: the better sort say,
that, scorning the rank of a private
gentleman, you have put Don before
your name, and dubbed yourself
knight, with a small garden, a few
acres of land, and a doublet clouted
on both sides. The knights, forsooth,
are affronted that your small gentry
should pretend to vie with them, especially
those needy squires who sole
their own shoes, and darn their black
hose with green silk.’—‘That observation,’
said Don Quixote, ‘cannot
affect me; for I always wear good
cloaths, and never appear patched.
My doublet may, indeed, be torn,
but then it is by my armour, not by
time.’—‘Touching the valour, courtesy,
adventures, and design of your
worship,’ said Sancho, ‘there are different
opinions. Some say, he is mad,
but a diverting madman; others allow
that he is valiant, but unlucky; a
third set observe that he is courteous,
but impertinent; and in this manner we
are handled so severely, that neither your
worship nor I have a whole bone left.’—‘You
see, Sancho,’ said Don Quixote,
‘that whenever virtue shines in an eminent
degree, she always meets with
persecution. Few or none of the
celebrated heroes of antiquity could
escape the calumnies of malice: Julius
Cæsar, a most daring, wise, and
valiant general, was accused of being
ambitious, and not over-cleanly
in his customs or apparel; Alexander,
who by his atchievements acquired
the name of Great, was said to be a
drunkard; and Hercules, renowned
for his labours, reported to have been
lewd and effeminate; Don Galaor,
brother of Amadis de Gaul, was
grumbled at for being excessively
quarrelsome; and Amadis himself
ridiculed as an arrant whiner. Therefore,
son Sancho, among so many
aspersions thrown upon such great
men, I may well overlook what is
said against me; since it is no worse
than what thou hast repeated.’—‘That’s
the very thing, body of my
father!’ replied Sancho. ‘What, is
// File: 0498.png
there any thing more!’ said his master.
‘More!’ cried the squire, ‘the
tail is yet unfleaed. What you have
heard is but cakes and gingerbread;
but, if your worship would know all
the backbitings we suffer, I will this
moment bring hither one who can
inform you of every circumstance,
without losing a crumb; for, last
night, the son of Bartholomew Carrasco
arrived from Salamanca, where
he has been at his studies, and got a
batchelor’s degree; and when I went
to welcome him home, he told me
there was a printed book of your
worship’s history, in which you go by
the name of The Ingenious Squire
Don Quixote de La Mancha; and
that I am mentioned in it by my own
name of Sancho Panza, as well as
my Lady Dulcinea del Toboso, with
other things that passed between you
and me only; at hearing of which
I crossed myself through fear, wondering
how they should come to the
knowledge of the historian.’—‘You
may depend upon it, Sancho,’ said
Don Quixote, ‘the author of our history
must be some sage inchanter; for
nothing is hid from writers of that
class.’—‘How can he be a sage inchanter,’
said Sancho, ‘when batchelor
Sampson Carrasco (for that’s
the name of him who told me) says
the author of our history is called
Cid Hamet Bean-and-jelly?’—‘That
name is Moorish,’ replied Don Quixote.
‘Very like,’ said the squire; ‘for
I have often heard, that the Moors
are very fond of beans and jellies.’—‘Thou
must certainly be mistaken,
Sancho,’ said Don Quixote, ‘in the
surname of that Cid, which, in
Arabick, signifies Signior.’—‘Very
possible,’ answered the squire; ‘but
if your worship desires to see the
batchelor, I will bring him hither in
a twinkling.’—‘Thou wilt oblige
me very much, my friend,’ said Don
Quixote; ‘for what thou hast told me
has bred such doubts and suspense
within me, that I cannot eat a morsel
with any satisfaction, until I am
informed of the whole affair.’—‘Then
I’ll go seek him,’ replied Sancho:
who, leaving his master, went in quest
of the batchelor, with whom he returned
in a little time, and a most pleasant
dialogue ensued.
// File: 0499.png
.pn +1
.sp 4
.h4 id=chap3-1-3
<abbr=chapter>CHAP.</abbr> <abbr=three>III.</abbr> | THE LUDICROUS CONVERSATION THAT PASSED BETWEEN DON QUIXOTE, SANCHO PANZA, AND THE BATCHELOR SAMPSON CARRASCO.
.sp 2
Don Quixote remained extremely
pensive, in expectation of the Batchelor
Sampson Carrasco, from whom
he hoped to hear news of himself, in
print, according to Sancho’s information;
though he could hardly persuade
himself that there could be such a history
extant; the blood of his enemies
whom he had slain, being scarce, as yet,
dry upon the blade of his sword, and yet
they would have his high atchievements
already recorded in printed books. He
therefore imagined that some sage, either
friend or foe, had cast them off, by the
power of inchantment: if a friend, in
order to aggrandize and extol them above
the most distinguished exploits of knight-errantry;
if an enemy, to annihilate
and depress them beneath the meanest
actions that ever were recorded of any
squire. ‘Although,’ said he, within
himself, ‘the deeds of squires are never
committed to writing; and if my history
actually exists, seeing it treats
of a knight-errant, it must, of necessity,
be pompous, sublime, surprizing,
magnificent, and true.’ This
reflection consoled him a little; but he
became uneasy again, when he recollected
that his author was a Moor, as
appeared by the name of Cid; and that
no truth was to be expected from that
people, who are all false, deceitful, and
chimerical. He was afraid that his
amours were treated with some indecency,
that might impair and prejudice
the honour of his Lady Dulcinea del
Toboso, wishing for nothing more than
a true representation of his fidelity, and
the decorum he always preserved, in
refusing queens, empresses, and damsels
of all ranks, thus keeping the impulse
of his passions under the rein. Tossed,
therefore, and fluctuating on these and
many other fancies, he was found by
Sancho and Carrasco, whom the knight
received with great courtesy.

The batchelor, though his name was
Sampson, was not very big, but a great
wag, of a pale complexion and excellent
understanding; he was about the
// File: 0500.png
age of four and twenty; had a round
visage, flat nose, and capacious mouth,
all symptoms of a mischievous disposition,
addicted to jokes and raillery; as
appeared when he approached Don
Quixote, before whom he fell upon his
knees, saying, ‘Permit me to kiss your
most puissant hand, Signior Don Quixote
de La Mancha; for by the habit
of <abbr=Saint>St.</abbr> Peter, which I wear, though
I have received no other orders than
the first four, your worship is one of
the most famous knights-errant that
ever were, or ever will be, within the
circumference of the globe! Blessed
be Cid Hamet Benengeli, who wrote
the history of your greatness! and
thrice blessed that curious person who
took care to have it translated from
the Arabick into our mother-tongue,
for the entertainment of mankind!’
Don Quixote, raising him up, said,
‘’Tis true, then, that there is a history
of me, and that the sage who composed
it is a Moor.’—‘So true, Signior,’
said Sampson, ‘that, to my
certain knowledge, there are twelve
thousand volumes of it this day in
print; let Portugal, Barcelona, and
Valencia, where they were printed,
contradict me if they can. It is even
reported to be now in the press at
Antwerp; and I can easily perceive,
that there is scarce a nation or language
into which it will not be translated.’—‘One
of the things,’ said
Don Quixote on this occasion, ‘which
ought to afford the greatest satisfaction
to a virtuous and eminent man,
is to live and see himself celebrated
in different languages, and his actions
recorded in print, with universal approbation;
I say, with approbation;
because, to be represented otherwise, is
worse than the worst of deaths.’—‘In
point of reputation and renown,’
said the batchelor, ‘your worship alone
bears away the palm from all other
knights-errant; for the Moor in
Arabick, and the Christian in his language,
have been careful in painting
the gallantry of your worship to the
life; your vast courage in encountering
dangers, your patience in adversity,
your fortitude in the midst of
wounds and mischance, together with
the honour and chastity of your platonick
love for my Lady Donna Dulcinea
del Toboso.’

Here Sancho interposing, said, ‘I
// File: 0501.png
.pn +1
never heard my lady called Donna
Dulcinea, but simply the Lady Dulcinea
del Toboso; so that there the
history is wrong.’—‘That is no material
objection,’ answered Carrasco.
‘No, sure,’ replied the knight. ‘But
tell me, Mr. Batchelor, which of my
exploits is most esteemed in this history.’—‘As
to that particular,’ said
the batchelor, ‘there are as many different
opinions as there are different
tastes. Some stick to the adventure
of the wind-mills, which to your worship
appeared monstrous giants; others,
to that of the fulling-mills; this reader,
to the description of the two armies,
which were afterwards metamorphosed
into flocks of sheep; while
another magnifies that of the dead
body, which was carrying to the place
of interment at Segovia: one says,
that the deliverance of the galley-slaves
excels all the rest; and a second
affirms, that none of them equals the
adventure of the Benedictine giants,
and your battle with the valiant Biscayner.’

Here Sancho interrupting him again,
said, ‘Tell me, Mr. Batchelor, is the
adventure of the Yanguesians mentioned,
when our modest Rozinante longed
for green peas in December[#].’—‘Nothing,’
replied Sampson, ‘has escaped
the pen of the sage author, who relates
every thing most minutely, even
to the capers which honest Sancho cut
in the blanket.’—‘I cut no capers in
the blanket,’ answered Sancho; ‘but
in the air, I grant you, I performed
more than I desired.’—‘In my opinion,’
said Don Quixote, ‘there is no
human history that does not contain
reverses of fortune, especially those
that treat of chivalry, which cannot
always be attended with success.’—‘Nevertheless,’
resumed the batchelor,
‘some who have read your history, say
they should not have been sorry, had
the author forgot a few of those infinite
drubbings which, in different
encounters, were bestowed on the great
Don Quixote.’—‘But in this consists
the truth of history,’ said the
squire.

Don Quixote observed, that they
might as well have omitted them; for
those incidents, which neither change
nor affect the truth of the story, ought
to be left out, if they tend to depreciate
the chief character. ‘Take my word
for it,’ said he, ‘Æneas was not so
pious as Virgil represents him, nor
Ulysses so prudent as he is exhibited
by Homer,’—‘True,’ said Sampson;
‘but it is one thing to compose as
a poet, and another to record as an
historian: the poet may relate or rehearse
things, not as they were, but
as they ought to have been; whereas
an historian must transmit them, not
as they ought to have been, but exactly
as they were; without adding to,
or subtracting the least tittle from the
truth.’—‘Since this Moorish gentleman
has told all the truth,’ said Sancho,
‘I don’t doubt that, among the
drubbings of my master, he has mentioned
mine also; for they never took
the measure of his shoulders, without
crossing my whole body: but at this
I ought not to wonder, since, as he observes,
when the head aches, the members
ought to have their share of the
pain.’—‘You are a sly rogue, Sancho,’
replied Don Quixote; ‘and I find
you don’t want memory, when you
think proper to use it.’—‘If I had
all the mind in the world,’ said Sancho,
‘to forget the blows I have received,
the marks, which are still fresh
upon my carcase, would by no means
allow me.’

‘Hold your peace, Sancho,’ said the
knight, ‘and don’t interrupt Mr.
Batchelor, whom I intreat to proceed;
and let me know what more is
said of me in this same history.’—‘Aye,
and of me too,’ cried Sancho;
‘who, they say, am one of the principal
personages of it.’—‘You mean
persons, and not personages, friend
Sancho,’ said Sampson. ‘What!
have we got another reprimander of
words?’ said the squire; ‘since it is
come to this, we shall never have
done.’—‘Plague light on me! Sancho!’
replied the batchelor, ‘if you
are not the second person of the history;
// File: 0502.png
.pn +1
and there are many who would
rather hear you speak than the first
character in the book; though some
there be also, who say you are excessively
credulous, in believing there
could be any foundation for the government
of that island, which was
promised to you by Signior Don Quixote,
here present.’—‘There is no
time lost[#],’ said Don Quixote; ‘while
thou art advancing in years, Sancho,
age will bring experience; and then
thou wilt be more qualified and fit to
govern than thou art at present.’—‘’Fore
God! Sir,’ said Sancho, ‘the
island which I cannot govern with
these years, I shall never govern, were
I as old as Methusalem: the mischief
is, that this same island is delayed
I don’t know how; not that I
want noddle to govern it.’—‘Recommend
it, Sancho,’ said Don Quixote,
‘to the direction of Heaven, which
does all for the best, and may, perhaps,
exceed your expectation; for
not a leaf can move upon a tree,
without the permission of God.’—‘True,’
said Sampson, ‘if it be the
will of God, Sancho shall not want
a thousand islands, much less one, to
govern.’—‘I have seen governors in
my time,’ quoth Sancho, ‘who, to
my thinking, did not come up to the
sole of my shoe, and yet they were
called your lordship, and served in
plate.’—‘Those were not governors
of islands,’ replied Sampson, ‘but
of other governments more easily managed;
for such as govern islands
ought at least to have some grammatical
knowledge.’—‘I know very
well how to cram[#],’ said Sancho;
‘but as to the matted cawl, I will neither
meddle nor make, because I
don’t understand it; but leaving this
government in the hands of God,
who will dispose of me the best for
his own service, I am, Mr. Batchelor,
Sampson Carrasco, infinitely pleased
and rejoiced that the author of our
history has spoke of me in such a
manner as not to give offence; for,
by the faith of a good squire! if he
had said any thing of me, that did
not become an old Christian, as I am,
the deaf should have heard of it.’—‘That
were a miracle, indeed!’ answered
Sampson. ‘Miracle or no miracle,’
said Sancho, ‘let every man
take care how he speaks or writes of
honest people, and not set down at a
venture the first thing that comes into
his jolter-head.’

‘One of the faults that are found
with the history,’ added the batchelor,
‘is, that the author has inserted
in it a novel, intitled, The Impertinent
Curiosity. Not that the thing
itself is bad, or poorly executed, but
because it is unseasonable, and has
nothing to do with the story of his
worship Signior Don Quixote.’—‘I’ll
lay a wager,’ cried Sancho, ‘that this
son of a cur has made a strange hodge-podge
of the whole.’—‘Now I find,’
said the knight, ‘that the author of
my history is no sage, but some ignorant
prater, who, without either judgment
or premeditation, has undertaken
to write it at random, like Orbaneja
the painter of Ubeda, who
being asked what he painted, answered,
“Just as it happens;” and when
he would sometimes scrawl out a
misshapen cock, was fain to write under
it in Gothick letters, “This is a
cock;” and my history being of the
same kind, will need a commentary
to make it intelligible.’—‘Not at all,’
answered Sampson, ‘it is already so
plain, that there is not the least ambiguity
in it; the very children handle
it, boys read it, men understand, and
old people applaud it: in short, it is
so thumbed, so read, so well known
by every body, that no sooner a
meagre horse appears, than they say,
“There goes Rozinante!”, but those
who peruse it most, are your pages;
you cannot go into a nobleman’s antichamber
where you won’t find a
Don Quixote, which is no sooner laid
down by one, than another takes it
up, some struggling, and some intreating
for a sight of it; in fine, this
history is the most delightful and least
prejudicial entertainment that ever was
seen; for in the whole book there is
// File: 0503.png
.pn +1
not the least shadow of a dishonourable
word, nor one thought unworthy
of a good Catholick.’—‘To write
otherwise,’ said Don Quixote, ‘were
not to publish truth, but to propagate
lyes; and those historians who deal in
such, ought to be burnt like coiners
of false money; but I cannot imagine
what induced the author to avail himself
of novels and stories that did
not belong to the subject, when he
had such a fund of my adventures to
relate: he, doubtless, stuck to the proverb,
So the gizzard is crammed, it
matters not how[#]; for truly, had he
confined himself to the manifestation
of my reveries, my sighs, my tears,
my benevolence, and undertakings,
he might have compiled a volume
larger, or as large, as all the works of
Tostatus bound together[#]. Really,
Mr. Batchelor, according to my comprehension,
it requires great judgment,
and a ripe understanding, to
compose histories, or indeed any books
whatever; for to write with elegance
and wit, is the province of great geniuses
only. The wittiest person in
the comedy is he that plays the fool;
for he must be no simpleton who can
exhibit a diverting representation of
folly. History is a sacred subject, because
the soul of it is truth; and
where truth is, there the divinity will
reside: yet there are some who compose
and cast off books, as if they
were tossing up a dish of pancakes.’

‘There is no book so bad,’ said the
batchelor, ‘but you may find something
good in it.’—‘Doubtless,’ replied
the knight; ‘but it frequently
happens, that those who have deservedly
purchased and acquired great reputation
by their writings, lose it all,
or at least forfeit a part of it, in printing
them.’—‘The reason,’ said Sampson,
‘is, that printed works are perused
with leisure, consequently their
faults easily observed; and the greater
the reputation of the author is, the
more severely are they scrutinized:
men celebrated for their genius, great
poets, and illustrious historians, are,
for the most part, if not always, envied
by those whose pleasure and particular
entertainment consists in criticising
the works of others, without
having obliged the world with any
thing of their own.’—‘That is not
to be wondered at,’ said Don Quixote;
‘for there are many theologists
who make but a poor figure in the
pulpit, and yet are excellent in discerning
the faults and superfluities of
those who preach well.’—‘That is
all true, Signior Don Quixote,’ said
Carrasco; ‘and I could wish that those
censurers were either a little more compassionate,
or something less scrupulous,
than to insist upon such blemishes
of the work they decry, as may be compared
to little spots in the sun, and
as <lang=la><i>aliquando bonus dormitat Homerus</i></lang>,
consider how long the author watched,
in order to display the light of his performance,
with as little shade as possible.
Perhaps, too, those things which
disgust them are no other than moles,
that sometimes add to the beauty of
the face on which they grow; and
therefore I affirm, that he who publishes
a book runs an immense risk;
because it is absolutely impossible to
compose such an one as will please and
entertain every reader.’—‘I believe
few will relish that which treats of
me,’ said the knight. ‘Quite the
contrary,’ answered Sampson; ‘for, as
<lang=la><i>stultorum infinitus est numerus</i></lang>, the
number of those who are delighted
with your history is infinite; though
some accuse the author’s memory as
false or faulty, because he has forgot
to tell who the thief was that stole
Sancho’s Dapple, of whom there was
not a word mentioned: we can only
infer from the history, that he was
stolen; and by-and-by we find the
squire mounted on the same beast,
without knowing how he was retrieved.
They say, likewise, that he has
omitted telling what Sancho did with
// File: 0504.png
.pn +1
those hundred crowns which he found
in the portmanteau, in Sierra Morena;
and which are never mentioned
though many people desire to know
what use he made of them; and this
is one of the chief defects in the
work.’

‘Mr. Sampson,’ answered the squire,
‘I am not in an humour at present to
give accounts and reckonings of that
affair; for I feel a certain qualmishness
in my stomach, and if I don’t
recruit it with a couple of draughts
of old stingo, I shall be in most grievous
taking[#]; I have the cordial at
home, and my dame waits for me;
but when I have filled my belly, I
will return and satisfy your worship,
and all the world, in whatever
they shall desire to ask, both with regard
to the loss of my beast, and the
spending of the hundred crowns.’ So,
without expecting a reply, or speaking
another word, he hied him home, while
Don Quixote desired and intreated the
batchelor to stay and do penance with
him. The batchelor accepted the invitation,
and stayed; a pair of pigeons
was added to the knight’s ordinary; he
talked of nothing but chivalry at table,
and Carrasco encouraged the discourse.
The repast ended, they took their afternoon’s
nap, Sancho returned, and the
former conversation was renewed.

.fn #
<lang=es><i>Pedir cotufas en el golfo</i></lang>, signifies to look for tartuffles in the sea; a proverb applicable
to those who are too sanguine in their expectations, and unreasonable in their
desires.
.fn-

.fn #
<lang=es><i>Aun ay sol en las bardas.</i></lang> There is still sun-shine on the wall, <abbr rend=spell>i. e.</abbr> It is not yet
too late.
.fn-

.fn #
Finding it impossible to translate the original pun or blunder, I have substituted another
in its room, on the word Grammatical, which I think has at least an equally good
effect.
.fn-

.fn #
The original is, <lang=es>‘<i>De paja, y di beno, el jergonelleno</i>;’</lang> <abbr rend=spell>i. e.</abbr> ‘The bed is filled, though
it be with hay and straw.’
.fn-

.fn #
Alphonsus Tostatus, bishop of Avila, was said to have known every thing that could
be known. He made a figure at the council of Basil; wrote twenty-seven volumes; and
dying in the fortieth year of his age, was interred in the church of Avila, with this
epitaph:——<lang=la><i>Hic stupor est mundi, qui scibile discutit omne.</i></lang>
.fn-

.fn #
In Spanish, <lang=es><i>Me pondra en la espina de Santa Lucia</i></lang>; <abbr rend=spell>i. e.</abbr> ‘Will put me on <abbr=Saint>St.</abbr>
Lucia’s thorn:’ applicable to any uneasy situation.
.fn-
.sp 4
.h4 id=chap3-1-4
<abbr=chapter>CHAP.</abbr> <abbr=four>IV.</abbr> | IN WHICH SANCHO PANZA SATISFIES THE DOUBTS,| AND ANSWERS THE QUESTIONS OF BATCHELOR SAMPSON CARRASCO;| WITH OTHER INCIDENTS WORTHY TO BE RECITED AND KNOWN.
.sp 2
Sancho returning to his master’s
house, resumed the former conversation,
to gratify Mr. Sampson, who
said he wanted to know when, in what
manner, and by whom his ass had been
stolen; ‘You must know, then,’ said
he, ‘that very night we fled from the
holy brotherhood, and got into the
Brown Mountain, after the misventuresome
adventure of the galley-slaves,
and the corpse that was carrying
to Segovia, we took up our quarters
in a thicket, where my master and
I, being both fatigued, and sorely
bruised in the frays we had just finished,
went to rest, he leaning upon
his lance, and I lolling upon Dapple,
as if we had been stretched upon four
feather-beds; I, in particular, slept
so sound, that the thief, whosoever
he was, had an opportunity of coming
and propping me up with four
stakes, fixed under the corner of my
pannel, on which I was left astride;
so that he slipped Dapple from under
me, without my perceiving it in the
least.’—‘And this is no difficult
matter, nor new device,’ said Don
Quixote; ‘for the same thing happened
to Sacripante at the siege of Albraca,
where, by this contrivance,
his horse was stolen from between his
legs by the famous robber Brunelo[#].’—‘When
morning came,’ proceeded
Sancho, ‘I no sooner began to stretch
myself, than the stakes gave way,
and down I came to the ground with
a vengeance; I looked for my beast,
and finding he was gone, the tears
gushed from my eyes, and I set up a
lamentation, which, if the author of
our history has not set down, you may
depend upon it, he hath neglected a
very excellent circumstance; a good
many days after this mischance, as I
chanced to be travelling with my lady
the Princess Micomicona, descrying
a person riding towards me in the habit
of a gypsy, I immediately knew
my own ass, and discovered the rider
to be Gines de Passamonte, that impostor
and notorious malefactor, whom
my master and I delivered from the
galley-chain.’

‘The error lies not in that part of
the history,’ replied the batchelor,
‘but consists in the author’s saying that
Sancho rode on the same ass, before
it appears that he had retrieved him.’—‘As
so that affair,’ said the squire,
‘I can give you no satisfactory answer;
perhaps it was an oversight in the historian,
or owing to the carelessness of
the printer.’—‘Doubtless it was so,’
replied Sampson; ‘but what became
// File: 0505.png
.pn +1
of those hundred crowns? were they
laid up or laid out?’—‘I laid them
out,’ answered Sancho, ‘in necessaries
for my own person, my wife, and
children; and those crowns were the
cause of my gossip’s bearing patiently
my ramblings and rovings in the service
of my lord and master Don Quixote;
for if, after such a long absence,
I had come home without my ass,
and never a cross in my pocket, I
might have expected a welcome the
wrong way. Now, if you have any
thing else to ask, here I am ready to
answer the king in person; and it
matters not to any person, whether I
did or did not bring them home, or
whether I spent them or lent them;
for if the blows I have received in our
peregrinations were to be repaid with
money, rated at no more than four
maravedis a piece, another hundred
crowns would not quit one half of
the score; therefore, let every man
lay his hand upon his heart, and not
pretend to mistake an hawk for a
hand-saw[#]; for we are all as God
made us, and a great many of us much
worse.’

‘I will take care,’ said Carrasco, ‘to
apprize the author of the history, that
if it should come to another edition,
he may not forget to insert what honest
Sancho observes, as it will not a
little contribute to raise the value of
the work.’—‘Mr. Batchelor,’ said
the knight, ‘did you, in reading it,
perceive any thing else that ought to
be amended?’—‘There might be
some things altered for the better,’
replied Carrasco; ‘but none of such
consequence as those already mentioned.’—‘And
pray,’ resumed Don
Quixote, ‘does the author promise a
second part?’—‘Yes,’ said Sampson,
‘but he says he has not yet found it,
nor does he know in whose possession
it is; so that we are still in doubt,
whether or not it will see the light:
on that account, therefore, and likewise
because some people say, that second
parts are never good, while
others observe, that too much already
hath been written concerning Don
Quixote, it is believed that there will
be no second part; though there is a
a third sort more jovial than wise, who
cry, “Quixote for ever! let the knight
engage, and Sancho Panza harangue;
come what will, we shall be satisfied.”’—‘And
how does the author seem inclined?’
said the knight. ‘How?’
answered Carrasco, ‘to set the press
a-going, as soon as he can find the
history, for which he is now searching
with all imaginable diligence;
thereto swayed by interest, more than
by any motive of praise.’—‘Since
the author keeps interest and money
in his eye,’ said Sancho, ‘it will be
a wonder if he succeeds; for he’ll do
nothing but hurry, hurry, like a taylor
on Easter-eve; and your works
that are trumped up in a haste, are
never finished with that perfection
they require; I would have Mr. Moor
take care, and consider what he is
about; for my master and I will furnish
him with materials, in point of
adventures and different events, sufficient
to compose not only one, but a
hundred second parts. What! I suppose
the honest man thinks we are
now sleeping among straw; but let
him lift up our feet, and then he will
see which of them wants to be shod;
all that I shall say is, if my master
had taken my advice, we might have
been already in the fields, redressing
grievances, and righting wrongs, according
to the use and custom of true
knights-errant.’

Scarce had Sancho pronounced these
last words, when their ears were saluted
by the neighing of Rozinante, which
Don Quixote considered as a most happy
omen, and determined in three or four
days to set out on his third expedition;
accordingly, he declared his intention
to the batchelor, whose advice he asked
with regard to the route he should take.
Sampson said, that in his opinion, he
ought to direct his course towards the
kingdom of Arragon, and go to Saragossa,
where, in a few days, was to be
held a most solemn tournament on the
festival of <abbr=Saint>St.</abbr> George; there he would
have an opportunity of winning the
palm from the Arragonian knights,
which would raise his reputation above
that of all the champions upon earth:
he applauded his design as a most valiant
and honourable determination, and
begged he would be more cautious in
encountering dangers, because his life
was not his own, but the property of
// File: 0506.png
.pn +1
all those who had occasion for protection
and succour in distress.

‘That is the very thing I repose,
Mr. Sampson,’ said the squire; ‘for
my master thinks no more of attacking
a hundred men in arms, than
a hungry boy would think of swallowing
half a dozen pippins[#]. Body
of the universe! Mr. Batchelor, if
there are times for attacking, there
are also seasons for retreating; the
cry must not always be “<abbr=Saint>St.</abbr> Jago!
charge, Spain[#]!” especially as I have
heard, and, if I remember aright, my
master himself has often observed,
that valour lies in the middle, between
the extremes of cowardice and rashness;
this being the case, I would not
have him fly without good reason,
nor give the assault when he is likely
to be overpowered by numbers; but,
above all things, I give my master notice,
that if he carries me along with
him, it shall be on condition that he
fight all the battles himself, and I be
obliged to do nothing, but tend his
person, that is, take care of his belly,
and keep him sweet and clean; in
which case, I will jig it away with
pleasure[#]; but to think that I will put
hand to sword, even against base-born
plebeians with cap and hatchet, is a
wild imagination: for my own part,
Mr. Sampson, I do not pretend to
the reputation of being valiant, but
of being the best and loyalest squire
that ever served a knight-errant; and
if my master Don Quixote, in consideration
of my great and faithful
services, shall be pleased to bestow
upon me one of those many islands
which his worship says will fall in his
way, I shall very thankfully receive
the favour; and even if he should not
keep his word, here stand I, simple
as I am, and one man must not depend
upon another, but trust in God
alone; besides, the bread I eat, without
a government, mayhap will relish
better than the dainties of a governor;
and how do I know but the
devil may, in these governments, raise
some stumbling-block, over which I
shall fall and beat out my grinders?
Sancho I was born, and Sancho will I
die; but, nevertheless, if by the favour
of Providence, I could fairly and
softly, without much risk or anxiety,
obtain an island, or some such matter,
I am not such a ninny as to throw
it away; for, as the saying is, When
the heifer is offered, be ready with the
rope; and, When good fortune comes
to thy door, be sure to bid it welcome.’

‘Brother Sancho,’ said the batchelor,
‘you have spoke like a professor; but
for all that, put your trust in God,
and Signior Don Quixote, who instead
of an island, will give you a whole
kingdom.’—‘The one as likely as the
other,’ answered Sancho; ‘though I
dare venture to assure Signior Carrasco,
that the kingdom, which my master
shall bestow upon me, will not be put
into a rotten sack; for I have felt my
own pulse, and find myself in health
sufficient to rule kingdoms and govern
islands, as I have, upon many
other occasions, hinted to my master.’—‘Consider,
Sancho,’ said the batchelor,
‘that honours often change the
disposition; and, perhaps, when you
come to be governor, you will not
know the mother that bore you.’—‘That
may be the case,’ answered the
squire, ‘with those who were born
among mallows; but not with me,
who have got four inches of old christian
suet on my ribs; then if you
come to consider my disposition, you
will find I am incapable of behaving
ungratefully to any person whatever.’—‘God
grant it to be so,’ said the
knight; ‘but this will appear when you
arrive at the government, which methinks
I have already in mine eye.’

He then intreated the batchelor, if he
was a poet, to favour him with a copy
of verses on his intended parting from
his mistress Dulcinea del Toboso,
and desired that every line might begin
with a letter of her name, so that the
initials being joined together, might
make Dulcinea del Toboso. Carrasco,
though he owned he was not one of the
// File: 0507.png
.pn +1
famous poets of Spain, who were said to
be but three and a half[#], promised to
compose such an acrostick as he desired,
which, by the bye, he foresaw would be
no easy task, because the name consisted
of seventeen letters, and if he should
make four stanzas of four lines each,
one must be left out; or should they be
composed of five, called decimas or
roundelays, three letters would be wanting
to compleat the number; however,
he would endeavour to sink one letter
as much as he could, so that in four
stanzas the name Dulcinea del Toboso
should be included. ‘That must be
done, at all events,’ said Don Quixote;
‘for if the name be not plain and manifest,
no woman will believe that she
was the subject of the poem.’ This
affair being thus settled, as also the
time of their departure, which was fixed
at the distance of eight days, Don
Quixote charged the batchelor to keep it
secret, especially from the curate, Mr.
Nicholas, his niece, and housekeeper,
that they might not obstruct his honourable
and valiant determination. Carrasco,
having promised to observe this
caution, took his leave of the knight,
whom he begged to favour him on every
occasion, with an account of his good
or evil fortune; and Sancho went home,
to provide every thing necessary for their
expedition.

.fn #
As related in the famous poem of Orlando Inamorato, composed by Boyardo, of
which the Orlando Furioso of Ariosto is the continuation.
.fn-

.fn #
In the original, ‘Black for white.’
.fn-

.fn #
Literally, <lang=es><i>badeas</i></lang>, a kind of water melon.
.fn-

.fn #
This is the cry uttered by the Spaniards when they charge in battle.
.fn-

.fn #
<lang=es><i>Baylar el agua delante</i></lang>, is a phrase applicable to those who do their duty with alacrity,
taken from the practice of watering the courts in Spain, an office which the maids
perform with a motion that resembles dancing.
.fn-

.fn #
Alonzo de Ercilla, author of the Auraucana; Juan Rufo de Cordova, author of the
Austriada; Christopher Verves de Valentia, author of the Monserratte; and as for the
half, Cervantes in all probability meant himself.
.fn-
.sp 4
.h4 id=chap3-1-5
<abbr=chapter>CHAP.</abbr> <abbr=five>V.</abbr> | OF THE SAGE AND PLEASANT DIALOGUE BETWEEN SANCHO PANZA| AND HIS WIFE TERESA PANZA,| WITH OTHER INCIDENTS WORTHY TO BE MOST HAPPILY RECORDED.
.sp 2
The translator says he looks upon
this chapter as apocryphal, because
it represents Sancho Panza speaking in a
stile quite different from that which
might be expected from his shallow understanding,
and making such ingenious
observations, as he thinks it impossible
he should know; but he would not
leave it out, that he might punctually
perform the duty of a faithful translator,
and therefore proceeds in these words.

Sancho returned to his own house in
such high spirits, that his wife perceived
his gaiety at the distance of a bow shot,
and could not help saying, ‘What is
the matter, friend Sancho, that you
seem so joyful?’ To this question the
squire answered, ‘An it pleased God,
wife, I should be very glad if I were
not so joyful as I seem to be.’—‘Truly,
husband,’ replied Teresa[#], ‘I
don’t understand you; and cannot
conceive what you mean, by saying
you should be very glad, an it pleased
God, you were not so joyful; for,
simple though I be, I am always glad
with what makes me joyful.’—‘Mark
me, Teresa,’ said the squire, ‘I am rejoiced,
because it is determined that I
shall return to the service of my master
Don Quixote, who is going to
make a third sally in quest of adventures,
and I must accompany him in
his expedition; for so my destiny will
have it, together with the comfortable
and lively hope of finding another
hundred crowns like those I have expended:
on the other hand, sorry am
I to part with thee and my children;
and if God would permit me to eat
my bread dry-shod at home, without
dragging me over clifts and cross-paths;
(and this might be done at a
small expence, if he would only say
the word) it is plain that my joy
would be more firm and perfect;
whereas that which I feel at present, is
mingled with the melancholy thoughts
of leaving thee, my duck; wherefore
I justly said I should be glad, an it
pleased God, I were less joyful.’—‘Verily,
Sancho,’ said his wife, ‘ever
since you made yourself a member of
knight-errantry, you talk in such a
round-about manner, that there is no
understanding what you say.’—‘Let it
suffice,’ answered the squire, ‘that I am
understood by God, who is the understander
of all things; and there let it
rest: meanwhile, take notice, gossip,
it will be convenient for you to tend
Dapple for these two or three days
with special care; let his allowance
// File: 0508.png
.pn +1
be doubled, that he may be enabled
to carry arms; and look out for the
pannel and the red of the tackle, for
we are not going to a wedding, but to
traverse the globe, and give and take
dry blows with your giants, dragons,
and hobgoblins, and hear nothing but
hissing, roaring, bellowing, and bleating;
and all this would be but flowers
of lavender, were it not our doom to
encounter with Yanguesians and inchanted
Moors.’—‘I very well believe
that squires-errant do not eat the bread
of idleness,’ replied Teresa; ‘and
therefore, husband, I shall continually
pray to our Lord, to deliver you from
such misfortunes.’—‘I tell thee, wife,’
said Sancho, ‘if I did not expect to
see myself in a little time governor of
an island, I should drop down dead
upon the spot.’—‘By no means, dear
husband,’ cried Teresa, ‘Let the hen
live, though she have the pip; and I
hope you will live, though the devil
run away with all the governments
upon earth; without a government
did you come from your mother’s
womb; without a government have
you lived to this good hour; and without
a government shall you go or be
carried to your grave, in God’s own
time: there are many in the world
who have no governments, and yet,
for all that, they live and are numbered
among the people. Hunger is the
best sauce, and as that is never wanting
among the poor, they always relish
what they eat; but take care, Sancho,
if you come to a government, that you
do not forget me and your children:
consider, Sanchico has already fifteen
good years over his head, and that it
is time for him to go to school, if in
case his uncle the abbot has a mind to
breed him to the church: consider too,
that your daughter Mary Sancha, will
not break her heart if we marry her,
for I am much mistaken if she does
not long for a husband, as much as
you do for a government; and the
short and long of it is, you had better
have your daughter ill buckled as a
wife, than well kept as a concubine.’

‘Take my word for it,’ answered
Sancho, ‘if by the blessing of God I
come to any sort of government, I intend,
my dear, to match Mary Sancha
so high, that nobody shall come near
her, without calling her, <i>your ladyship</i>.’—‘Never
think of that, Sancho!’
// File: 0509.png
cried Teresa, ‘match her with her
equal, which will be more prudent
than to raise her from clogs to pattens,
from good fourteen-penny hoyden
grey, to farthingales and petticoats of
silk, and from <i>Molly</i> and <i>thou</i>, to
<i>Donna</i> and <i>my lady such-a-one</i>; the
girl’s head would be quite turned, and
she would be continually falling into
some blunder, that would discover the
coarse thread of her home-spun breeding.’—‘Shut
that foolish mouth of
thine,’ said Sancho; ‘in two or three
years practice, quality and politeness
will become quite familiar to her; or,
if they should not, what does it signify?
Let her first be a lady, and then
happen what will.’—‘Meddle, Sancho,
with those of your own station,’ replied
Teresa, ‘and seek not to lift your
head too high; but remember the proverb
that says, When your neighbour’s
son comes to the door, wipe his nose,
and take him in. It would be a fine
thing, truly, to match our Mary with
a great count or cavalier, who would,
when he should take it in his head, look
upon her as a monster, and call her
country wench, and clod-breaker’s
and hemp-spinner’s brat; that shall
never happen in my life time, husband;
it was not for that I brought
up my child; do you find a portion,
and as to her marriage, leave that to
my care; there is Lope Tocho, old
John Tocho’s son, a jolly young fellow,
stout and wholesome, whom we
all know, and I can perceive that he has
no dislike to the girl; besides, he being
our equal, she will be very well
matched with him; for we shall always
have them under our eye, and
the two families will live together,
parents and children, sons-in-law and
grandsons, and the peace and blessing
of God will dwell amongst us; wherefore
you shall not match me her in
your courts and grand palaces, where
she will neither understand nor be understood.’—‘Hark
ye, you beast and
yoke-fellow for Barrabas!’ replied
Sancho, ‘why wouldst thou now, without
rhime or reason, prevent me from
matching my daughter, so as that my
grand-children shall be persons of
quality? remember, Teresa, I have
often heard my elders and betters observe,
He that’s coy when fortune’s
kind, may after seek but never find.
And should not I be to blame, if,
// File: 0510.png
.pn +1
now that she knocks at my door, I
should bolt it against her? Let us,
therefore, take the advantage of the
favourable gale that blows.’

It was this uncommon stile, with
what Sancho says below, that induced
the translator to pronounce the whole
chapter apocryphal.

‘Can’t you perceive, animal, with
half an eye,’ proceeded Sancho, ‘that
I shall act wisely, in devoting this
body of mine to some beneficial government
that will lift us out of the
dirt, and enable me to match Mary
Sancha according to my own good
pleasure: then wilt thou hear thyself
called Donna Teresa Panza, and find
thyself seated at church upon carpets,
cushions, and tapestry, in despite and
defiance of all the small gentry in the
parish; and not be always in the same
moping circumstances, without increase
or diminution, like a picture in
the hangings: but no more of this;
Sanchica shall be a countess, though
thou shouldst cry thy heart out.’—‘Look
before you leap, husband,’ answered
Teresa: ‘after all, I wish to
God this quality of my daughter may
not be the cause of her perdition; take
your own way, and make her dutchess
or princess, or what you please, but
I’ll assure you, it shall never be with
my consent or good will; I was always
a lover of equality, my dear,
and can’t bear to see people hold
their heads high without reason.
Teresa was I christened, a bare and
simple name, without the addition,
garniture, and embroidery of Don or
Donna; my father’s name is Cascajo,
and mine, as being your spouse, Teresa
Panza, though by rights I should
be called Teresa Cascajo: but as the
king minds, the law binds; and with
that name am I contented, though it
be not burdened with a Don, which
weighs so heavy, that I should not be
able to bear it; neither will I put it in
the power of those who see me dressed
like a countess or governor’s lady, to
say, “Mind Mrs. Porkfeeder; how
proud she looks! it was but yesterday
she toiled hard at the distaff, and went
to mass with the tail of her gown
about her head, instead of a veil: but
now, forsooth, she has got her fine farthingales
and jewels, and holds up her
head as if we did not know her.” If
God preserve me in my seven or five
senses, or as many as they be, I shall
never bring myself into such a quandary:
as for your part, spouse, you
may go to your governments and
islands, and be as proud as a peacock;
but as for my daughter and me, by
the life of my father! we will not stir
one step from the village; for, The
wife that deserves a good name, stays
at home as if she were lame; and, The
maid must be still a doing, that hopes
to see the men come a wooing. You
and Don Quixote may therefore go to
your adventures, and leave us to our
misventures; for God will better our
condition, if we deserve his mercy;
though truly I cannot imagine who
made him a Don; I am sure, neither
his father nor grandfather had any
such title.’—‘I tell thee, wife,’ replied
the squire, ‘thou hast certainly
got some devil in that carcase of thine;
the Lord watch over thee, woman!
what a deal of stuff hast thou been
tacking together, without either head
or tail? What the devil has your Cascajos,
jewels, proverbs, and pride, to
do with what I have been saying?
Heark ye, you ignorant beast, for
such I may call thee, as thou hast
neither capacity to understand my discourse,
nor prudence to make sure of
good fortune when it lies in thy way,
were I to say, that my daughter shall
throw herself from the top of a steeple,
or go strolling about the world, like
the Infanta Donna Uraca, thou
wouldst have reason to contradict my
pleasure; but if, in two turnings of a
ball and one twinkling of an eye, our
good fortune should lay a title across
our shoulders, and raising thee from
the stubble, set thee in a chair of state,
under a canopy, or lay thee upon a
sofa, consisting of more velvet almohadas[#],
than there are Moors in all the
family of the Almohadas in Morocco;
wherefore wouldst not thou consent,
and with me enjoy the good-luck that
falls?’—‘I’ll tell thee wherefore,
husband,’ replied Teresa, ‘because, as
the saying is, What covers, discovers
thee; the eyes of people always run
slightly over the poor, but make an
halt to examine the rich; and if a person
so examined was once poor, then
// File: 0511.png
.pn +1
comes the grumbling and the slandering;
and he is persecuted by back-biters,
who swarm in our streets like
bees.’

‘Give ear, Teresa, and listen to what
I am going to say,’ answered Sancho:
‘for mayhap thou hast never heard such
a thing in all the days of thy life;
and I do not now pretend to speak
from my own reflection, but to repeat
the remarks of the good father who
preached last Lent in our village. He
said, if I right remember, that all
objects present to the view, exist, and
are impressed upon the imagination,
with much greater energy and force,
than those which we only remember
to have seen.’ (The arguments here
used by Sancho, contributed also to
make the translator believe this chapter
apocryphal; because they seem to exceed
the capacity of the squire, who
proceeded thus:) ‘From whence it happens,
that when we see any person
magnificently dressed, and surrounded
with the pomp of servants, we find
ourselves invited, and, as it were,
compelled to pay him respect; although
the memory should, at that instant,
represent to us some mean circumstances
of his former life; because
that defect, whether in point of family
or fortune, is already past and
removed, and we only regard what
is present to our view; and if the
person, whom fortune hath thus raised
from the lowness of oblivion to
the height of prosperity, be well-bred,
liberal, and courteous, without
pretending to vie with the ancient nobility,
you may take it for granted,
Teresa, that nobody will remember
what he was, but reverence what he
now is, except the children of Envy,
from whom no thriving person is secure.’—‘I
really do not understand
you,’ said Teresa: ‘you may do what
you will; but seek not to distract my
brain with your rhetorick and harranguing,
for if you be revolved to
do what you say—’ ‘You must call
it resolved, woman, and not revolved,’
cried Sancho. ‘Never plague yourself
to dispute with me, husband,’ answered
Teresa: ‘I speak as God pleases,
and meddle not with other people’s
concerns. If you are obstinately bent
upon this same government, I desire
you will carry your son Sancho along
with you, and from this hour teach
him the art of that profession; for it
is but reasonable that the sons should
inherit and learn the trade of their
fathers.’—‘As soon as I have obtained
my government,’ said Sancho, ‘I
will send the money for him by the
post, as by that time I shall have
plenty; for there are always people in
abundance that will lend to a governor
who has no money of his own;
and be sure you cloath him in such a
manner as to disguise his present condition,
and make him appear like
what he is to be.’—‘Send you the
money,’ answered Teresa, ‘and I will
dress him up like any branch of
palm[#].’—‘Well, then,’ said Sancho,
‘we are agreed about making our
daughter a countess——’ ‘That day
I behold her a countess,’ cried the
wife, ‘I shall reckon her dead and
buried; but, I tell you again, you
may use your pleasure: for we women
are born to be obedient to our husbands,
though they are no better than
blocks.’

So saying, she began to weep as bitterly
as if she had actually seen her
daughter laid in her grave. Sancho
consoled her, by saying, that although
she must be a countess, he would defer
her promotion as long as he could.
Thus ended the conversation, and the
squire went back to Don Quixote to
concert measures for their speedy departure.

.fn #
Sancho’s wife has already been mentioned under the names of Juana and Mary, and
now she is called Teresa.
.fn-

.fn #
Almohada signifies a cushion.
.fn-

.fn #
Alluding to the bough that is adorned and carried in procession on Palm Sunday.
.fn-
.sp 4
.h4 id=chap3-1-6
<abbr=chapter>CHAP.</abbr> <abbr=six>VI.</abbr> | OF WHAT PASSED BETWEEN DON QUIXOTE,| HIS NIECE, AND HOUSEKEEPER,| BEING ONE OF THE MOST IMPORTANT CHAPTERS OF THE WHOLE HISTORY.
.sp 2
While this impertinent conversation
passed between Sancho
Panza and his wife Teresa Cascajo,
Don Quixote’s niece and housekeeper
were not idle; for, collecting from a
thousand symptoms that their master
wanted to give them the slip a third
time, and return to the exercise of his
unlucky knight-errantry, they endeavoured,
by all possible means, to divert
// File: 0512.png
.pn +1
him from his extravagant design; but
all they could say was like preaching to
the desart, or hammering cold iron.
However, among many other arguments,
the housekeeper said to him,
‘As I hope to be saved, dear master, if
your worship will not settle at home in
your own house, but are resolved to
stray about the mountains and vallies,
like a troubled ghost, in quest of what
you term adventures, but what I call
mischances, I will complain in person,
and raise up my voice to God
and the king, that they may apply
some remedy to your disorder.’ To
this declaration, the knight replied,
‘Mrs. Housekeeper, how God will
accept of thy complaints I know not;
neither can I guess in what manner
his majesty will answer thy petition:
this only I know, that if I were king,
I would excuse myself from answering
that infinite number of impertinent
memorials which are daily presented;
for one of the greatest of the
many fatigues that attend royalty, is
that of being obliged to listen and reply
to all petitions; therefore I would
not have his majesty troubled with any
affair of mine.’—‘Pray, Sir,’ said the
housekeeper, ‘are there no knights at
court?’—‘Yes, there are many,’ answered
Don Quixote; ‘and it is reasonable,
that there should be always a
good number in attendance to adorn
the court, and support the pomp and
magnificence of majesty.’—‘Would
it not be better, then, for your worship,’
replied the matron, ‘to be one
of that number, and serve your king
and master quietly and safely at court?’—‘You
must know, good woman,’
said Don Quixote, ‘all knights cannot
be courtiers; neither can or ought all
courtiers to be knights errant: there
ought to be plenty of both; and though
we are all knights, there is a great
difference between the one sort and the
other; your courtiers, without crossing
the thresholds of their own apartments,
travel over the world, in maps, gratis,
and never know what it is to suffer
either heat, cold, hunger, or thirst,
in their journey; whereas, we real
knights-errant measure the whole
globe with our own footsteps, exposed
night and day, on horse-back and a-foot,
to the summer’s sun and winter’s
cold, and all the inclemencies of the
weather; we not only seek to see the
picture, but the person of our foe, and
on all emergencies and occasions attack him,
without paying any regard
to the trifling rules of challenges;
whether, for example, his sword and
lance be shorter or longer than our
own; whether he wears about him any
relick or secret coat of mail; or whether
the sun and wind be equally divided;
with other ceremonies of that
nature, which are usually observed in
duelling, and which, though I know
them punctually, thou art little acquainted
with: thou must also know,
that a good knight-errant, though he
sees ten giants, whose heads not only
touch, but overtop the clouds, with
legs like lofty steeples, and arms resembling
the masts of vast and warlike
ships; while each eye, as large as
a mill-wheel, beams and burns like a
glass furnace, is by no means confounded
or abashed; but, on the contrary,
with genteel demeanour, and
intrepid heart, approaches, assaults,
and, if possible, vanquishes and overthrows
them in a twinkling, though
they are armed with the shell of a certain
fish, said to be harder than adamant;
and instead of a sword, use a
keen scymitar of damasked steel, or a
huge club, armed with a point of the
same metal, as I have seen on a dozen
different occasions. All this I have
mentioned, good woman, that thou
mayest see what difference there is between
knights of different orders;
and every prince ought, in reason, to
pay greater respect to his second, or
rather this first species of knights-errant,
among whom, as we read in
history, there have been some who
were the bulwarks not only of one,
but of many kingdoms.’

‘Ah, dear Sir,’ cried the niece, interrupting
him, ‘consider that all those
stories of knights-errant are nothing
but lyes and invention; and every one
of the books that contain them deserves,
if not to be burnt, at least to
wear a <i>san benito</i>[#], or some other
badge, by which it may be known for
an infamous perverter of virtue and
good sense.’—‘By the God that protects
// File: 0513.png
.pn +1
me!’ cried the knight, ‘wert
thou not undoubtedly my niece, as
being my own sister’s child, I would
chastise thee in such a manner, for the
blasphemy thou hast uttered, that the
whole world would resound with the
example. How! shall a pert baggage,
who has scarce capacity enough to
manage a dozen lace bobbins, dare
to wag her tongue in censuring the
histories of knights-errant? What
would Signior Amadis say to such
presumption? But, surely, he would
forgive thy arrogance; for he was the
most humble and courteous knight of
his time, and besides the particular
champion and protector of damsels:
but thou mightest have been heard by
another who would not treat thee so
gently; for all are not affable and
well-bred; on the contrary, some there
are extremely brutal and impolite.
All those who call themselves knights,
are not entitled to that distinction;
some being of pure gold, and others
of baser metal, notwithstanding the
denomination they assume. But these
last cannot stand the touchstone of
truth: there are many plebeians, who
sweat and struggle to maintain the
appearance of gentlemen; and, on
the other hand, there are gentlemen
of rank who seem industrious to appear
mean and degenerate; the one
sort raise themselves either by ambition
or virtue, while the other abase
themselves by viciousness or sloth; so
that we must avail ourselves of our
understanding and discernment, in
distinguishing those persons, who,
though they bear the same appellation,
are yet so different in point of character.’—‘Good
God!’ said the niece,
‘that your worship should be so learned,
that even, if need were, you might
mount the pulpit, or go a preaching
in the streets, and yet remain in such
woeful blindness and palpable folly,
as to persuade the world that you are
a valiant and vigorous righter of
wrongs, when you are old, feeble,
and almost crippled with age; but,
above all things, to give yourself out
for a knight, when you are no such
thing; for, though rich gentlemen
may be knighted, poor gentlemen,
like you, seldom are.’

‘There is a good deal of truth in
what thou hast observed, cousin,’ replied
Don Quixote; ‘and I could
// File: 0514.png
tell thee such things, concerning families,
as would raise thine admiration;
but these I suppress, that I may not
seem to mix what’s human with what’s
divine. Take notice, however, my
friends, and be attentive to what I
am going to say: all the families in
the world may be reduced to four
kinds, which are these; one that,
from low beginnings, hath extended
and dilated to a pitch of power and
greatness; another, that from great
beginnings hath continued to preserve
and maintain its original importance;
a third, that from vast beginnings
hath ended in a point, diminishing
and decaying from its foundation, into
an inconsiderable point like that of
a pyramid, which in respect of its
base, is next kin to nothing; a fourth,
and that the most numerous, had neither
a good foundation, nor reasonable
superstructure, and therefore sinks
into oblivion, unobserved; such are
the families of plebeians and ordinary
people. The first, that from low beginnings
hath mounted to power and
greatness, which it preserves to this
day, is exemplified in the house of
Ottoman, that from an humble shepherd,
who gave rise to it, attained
that pinnacle of grandeur on which it
now stands; the second sort of pedigree,
that without augmentation hath
preserved its original importance, is
exhibited in the persons of many
princes, who are such by inheritance;
and support their rank without addition
or diminution, containing themselves
peaceably within the limits of
their own dominions; of those who,
from illustrious beginnings, have
dwindled into a point, there are a
thousand examples in the Pharaohs
and Ptolemeys of Egypt, the Cæsars
of Rome, with all the tribe, if they
may be so called, of our Median, Assyrian,
Persian, Greek, and Barbarian
princes, monarchs, and great men.
All these families and states, together
with their founders, have ended in a
very inconsiderable point; since, at
this day, it is impossible to trace out
one of their descendants; or, if we
could, he would be found in some base
and low degree. I have nothing to
say of the plebeians, who only serve
to increase the number of the living,
without deferring any other fame or
panegyrick. From what I have said, I
// File: 0515.png
.pn +1
would have you infer, my precious
wise-acres, that there is a great confusion
of pedigrees; and that those only
appear grand and illustrious, whole
representatives abound with virtue, liberality,
and wealth: I say, virtue, liberality,
and wealth; because the vicious
great man is no more than a
great sinner; and the rich man without
liberality, a mere covetous beggar;
for happiness does not consist
in possessing, but in spending riches;
and that not in squandering them
away, but in knowing how to use
them with taste. Now a poor knight
has no other way of signalizing his
birth, but the practice of virtue, being
affable, well-bred, courteous,
kind, and obliging; a stranger to
pride, arrogance, and slander; and,
above all things, charitable; for, by
giving two farthings chearfully to the
poor, he may shew himself as generous
as he that dispenses alms by
sound of bell: and whosoever sees
him adorned with these virtues, although
he should be an utter stranger
to his race, will conclude that he is
descended of a good family. Indeed,
it would be a sort of miracle to find
it otherwise; so that praise is always
the reward of virtue, and never fails
to attend the righteous. There are
two paths, my children, that lead to
wealth and honour: one is that of
learning, the other that of arms; now
I am better qualified for the last than
for the first; and (as I judge from my
inclination to arms) was born under
the influence of the planet Mars; so
that I am, as it were, obliged to chuse
that road, which I will pursue in spite
of the whole universe: you will therefore
fatigue yourselves to no purpose,
in attempting to persuade me from
that which Heaven inspires, fortune
ordains, reason demands, and, above
all things, my own inclination dictates;
knowing, as I do, the innumerable
toils annexed to knight errantry,
I am also well acquainted with
the infinite benefits acquired in the
exercise of that profession. I know
the path of virtue is very strait, while
the road of vice is broad and spacious.
I know their end and issue is different:
the wide extended way of vice conducts
the traveller to death; while the
narrow toilful path of virtue leads to
happiness and life—not that which
// File: 0516.png
perisheth, but that which hath no end;
and I know, as our great Castilian
poet observes—

.pm verse-start
‘“By these rough paths of toil and pain,
Th’ immortal feats of bliss we gain,
Deny’d to those who heedless stray
In tempting pleasure’s flow’ry way.”’
.pm verse-end

‘Ah! woe is me!’ cried the cousin,
‘my uncle is a poet too! he knows
every thing, and can do every thing:
I’ll lay a wager, if he should turn
bricklayer, he could build a house
like any cage.’—‘I do assure thee,
niece,’ replied Don Quixote, ‘if those
knightly sentiments did not wholly
engross my attention, there is not a
thing on earth that I could not make,
nor a curiosity that should not go
through my hands, especially bird-cages
and tooth-picks.’

Here the conversation was interrupted
by a knocking at the gate; which, as
they found upon enquiry, was made
by Sancho; whose presence was no
sooner intimated, than the housekeeper
ran away to hide herself that she might
avoid the sight of him whom she abhorred:
the niece, therefore, opened the
door, and his master came out to receive
him with open arms; then, shutting
themselves up together, another dialogue
passed, no ways inferior to the
former.

.fn #
A dress put upon convicted hereticks.
.fn-
.sp 4
.h4 id=chap3-1-7
<abbr=chapter>CHAP.</abbr> <abbr=seven>VII.</abbr> | OF WHAT PASSED BETWEEN DON QUIXOTE AND HIS SQUIRE;| WITH OTHER SURPRIZING INCIDENTS.
.sp 2
The housekeeper seeing that her
master and Sancho were locked
up together, immediately guessed the
subject of the conversation; and imagining,
that the result of this confutation
would be a third sally, she put on
her veil, and full of trouble and anxiety,
went in quest of the batchelor Sampson
Carrasco, thinking, that as he was a
well spoken man, and her master’s new
friend, he might persuade him to lay
aside such an extravagant design: accordingly,
she found him taking a turn
in his own yard, and fell upon her
knees before him, in a cold sweat, occasioned
by her vexation. Carrasco seeing
her appear with such marks of sorrow
// File: 0517.png
.pn +1
and consternation, said, ‘What is
the matter, Mrs. Housekeeper? what
hath befallen you? something seems
to have harrowed up your very
soul!’—‘Nothing at all, dear Mr.
Sampson,’ cried the housekeeper,
‘only my master is breaking out;
he is certainly breaking out!’—‘How
breaking out?’ said Sampson;
‘is any part of his body unsound?’—‘Where
should it break
out,’ replied the other, ‘but through
the gate of his madness? My meaning,
dear batchelor of my soul! is, that he
is going to make another sally, (and
that will be the third) searching up
and down the world for what he calls
adventures, though I cannot imagine
why they should have that name[#]:
the first time, he returned so battered
and bruised, that they were fain to
lay him across an ass, like a sack of
oats, because he could not sit upright;
the second time, he was brought
home in a waggon, stretched and
cooped up in a cage, in which he imagined
himself inchanted, in such a
woeful plight, that he could scarce be
known by the mother that bore him,
so lank and meagre, with his eyes sunk
into the lowest pit of his brain; so that
before I could bring him into any tolerable
degree of strength, I expended
more than six hundred new-laid eggs,
as God and all the world know, as
well as my hens, that will not suffer
me to tell a lye.’—‘That I verily believe,’
said the batchelor; ‘your hens
are so good, plump, and well bred,
that they would rather burst than say
one thing, and mean another. Well,
then, Mrs. Housekeeper, nothing else
hath happened, neither have you met
with any other misfortune, but the
apprehension of what your master Don
Quixote will do?’—‘Nothing else,’
said she. ‘Give yourself no trouble
then,’ resumed the batchelor, ‘but go
home a-God’s name, and get ready
something hot for my breakfast; and
in your way, repeat <abbr=Saint>St.</abbr> Apollonia’s
prayer, if you can; I will follow
in a little time, and then you shall
see wonders.’—‘Dear heart!’ cried
the housekeeper, ‘<abbr=Saint>St.</abbr> Apollonia’s
prayer, say you? that I should repeat
if my master had the tooth-ach;
but, lack-a-day! his distemper lies
in his skull.’—‘I know what I say,’
answered Sampson: ‘take my advice,
Mrs. Housekeeper, and do not pretend
to dispute with me; for I
would have thee to know that I
am a batchelor of Salamanca; there’s
no higher batcheleering than that.’
She accordingly moved homeward, while
Sampson went to communicate to the
curate that which will be in due time
disclosed.

While Don Quixote and Sancho were
closeted together, there passed between
them a conversation which the history
recounts with great punctuality and
truth. ‘Signior,’ said the squire, ‘I have
at length traduced my wife to consent
that I shall attend your worship
wheresoever you please to carry me.’-‘Say
reduced, and not traduced, Sancho,’
replied the knight. ‘I have
once or twice, if my memory serves
me,’ said Sancho, ‘intreated your
worship not to correct my words, if
you understand my meaning; and
when you can’t make it out, I desire
you would say, “Sancho,” or “devil,
I don’t understand thee:” then if I
fail in explaining myself, you may
correct me as much as you please;
for I am so fossile.’—‘I do not understand
thee now,’ cried Don Quixote,
‘nor can I comprehend what
thou wouldst be at, in saying I am
so fossile.’—‘So fossile!’ said the
squire; ‘that is, whereby as how I
am just so.’—‘Nay, now thou art
more and more unintelligible,’ replied
the knight. ‘If your worship
does not understand me now,’
answered Sancho, ‘I know not how
to express it; for I am already at
my wit’s end, and Lord have mercy
upon me.’—‘O! now I conceive
thy meaning,’ said the knight;
‘thou wouldst say thou art so docile,
gentle, and tractable, as to comprehend
every thing I say, and
retain whatsoever I shall teach thee.’—‘I’ll
lay a wager,’ said the squire,
‘that from the beginning, you knew
my meaning by my mumping, but
wanted to confound me by leading
me into a thousand more blunders.’—‘It
may be so,’ said the knight; ‘but
in reality, what says Teresa?’—‘Teresa,’
answered Sancho, ‘says
I must be sharp with your worship.
// File: 0518.png
.pn +1
Fast bind, fast find; He that shuffles
does not always cut; and that, A
bird in the hand is worth two in the
bush: now I know that A wife’s
counsel is bad, but he that will not
take it is mad.’—‘So say I,’ replied
Don Quixote; ‘proceed, friend
Sancho, you speak like an oracle to-day.’—‘Why
then the case is this,’
resumed Sancho; ‘your worship very
well knows we are all mortal, here to-day,
and gone to-morrow; for the
lamb goes as fast as the dam; and no
man in this world can promise himself
more hours of life than God is
pleased to grant him; because death is
deaf, and when he knocks at the door
of life is always in a hurry, and will
not be detained either by fair means or
force, by sceptres or mitres, as the report
goes, and as we have often heard
it declared from the pulpit.’—‘All
this is very true,’ said the knight;
‘but I cannot guess what you drive at.’—‘What
I drive at,’ answered Sancho,
‘is, that your worship would appoint
me a certain monthly salary for the
time I shall serve you, to be paid out
of your estate; for I do not chuse to
depend upon recompences that come
late, or low, or never. God will protect
me with my own. In short, I
would know what I have to trust to,
whether little or much; for, The hen
clucks though but on one egg; Many
littles make a mickle; and, He that is
getting aught, is losing nought. True
it is, if it should happen, which I
neither believe nor expect, that your
worship can give me that island you
have promised me so long; I am not so
greedy or ungrateful, but that I will
suffer my rent to be appraised, and my
salary deducted in due portion[#]’.—‘To
be sure, friend Sancho,’ said the knight,
‘all portions ought to be proportioned.’—‘I
understand you,’ replied the squire,
‘I should have said proportion instead
of portion; but that is of no signification,
since my meaning is comprehended
by your worship.’—‘Aye,
and so thoroughly comprehended,’ said
Don Quixote, ‘that I have penetrated
into the inmost recesses of thy thoughts,
and perceive the mark at which those
innumerable shafts of thy proverbs
are aimed. Look you, Sancho, I
would appoint thee a salary, if I could
find in any history of knights-errant,
one precedent, by which I might discover,
or have the least glimpse of
what they used to give monthly or
yearly; but I have carefully perused
all, or the greatest part or those histories,
and cannot remember to have
read, that any knight-errant ever paid
a certain salary to his squire. I only
know that all of them trusted to
favour, and when it was least in their
thoughts, provided their masters
chanced to be fortunate, they found
themselves rewarded with an island
or something equivalent, and at least
were honoured with rank and title.
If with these hopes and expectations,
you are willing to return to my service,
do it a-God’s name; but if you
think I will unhinge and deviate from
the ancient customs of chivalry, you
are grievously mistaken: wherefore,
friend Sancho, you may go home
again, and declare my intention to
your wife Teresa; and if she is pleased,
and you are willing to depend upon
my favour, <lang=la><i>bene quidem</i></lang>; if not, let us
shake hands and part: while there are
peas in the dove-house, I shall never
want pigeons; and remember, my
child, that it is better to be rich in hope
than poor in possession; and that a
good claim is preferable to bad pay.
I talk in this manner, Sancho, to show
that I can pour forth a volley of proverbs
as well as you; and finally, I
must and will give you to understand,
that if you do not chuse to serve me
on those terms, and share my fortune,
whatsoever it may be, I pray God may
prosper and make a saint of you; for
my part, I shall not want squires more
obedient and careful, though less troublesome
and talkative than your worship.’

When Sancho heard this firm resolution
of his master, the sky began to
lour, and down flagged the wings of his
heart in a moment: for he had believed
that the knight would not set out without
him for all the wealth in the world.
While he thus remained pensive and dejected,
in came Sampson Carrasco, followed
by the niece, who was very desirous
// File: 0519.png
.pn +1
to hear with what arguments he
would dissuade her uncle from going
again in quest of adventures. Sampson,
who was a notable wag, no sooner entered,
than embracing the knight, as at
first, he pronounced with an audible
voice, ‘O flower of knight-errantry,
resplendent sun of arms, thou glory
and mirrour of the Spanish nation!
may it please the Almighty, of his
infinite power, that if any person or
persons shall raise any impediment to
obstruct thy third sally, they may never
extricate themselves from the labyrinth
of their desires, or accomplish
what they so unjustly wish!’ Then
turning to the duenna, ‘Mrs. Housekeeper,’
said he, ‘you need not now
repeat <abbr=Saint>St.</abbr> Apollonia’s prayer; for I
know it is the precise determination
of the stars, that Signior Don Quixote
shall again execute his new and
lofty plan: and I should greatly burden
my confidence if I forbore to intimate,
and desire, that this knight
will no longer withold and detain the
force of his valiant arm, and the virtue
of his heroick soul; because, by
his delay he retards the righting of
wrongs, the protection of orphans,
the honour of maidens, the favour of
widows, the support of wives, with
many other things of that nature,
which regard, concern, depend upon,
and appertain, to the order of knight-errantry.
Courage! Signior Don
Quixote, beautiful and brave; may
your worship and grandeur set out before
to morrow morning; and if any
thing be wanting to forward your expedition,
here am I, ready to make
it good with my person and fortune;
and, if need be, to serve your magnificence
in quality of squire; an office
in the execution of which I
should think myself extremely happy.’

Don Quixote hearing this proffer,
turned to Sancho, saying, ‘Did not I
tell thee, Sancho, that I should not
want for squires? Take notice who it
is that offers to attend me; who, but
the unheard of batchelor Sampson
Carrasco; the perpetual darling and
delight of the court-yards belonging
to the Salamancan schools; sound of
body, strong of limb, a silent sufferer
of heat and cold, hunger and thirst,
and endued with all those qualifications
which are requisite in the squire
of a knight-errant: but Heaven will
// File: 0520.png
not permit me, for my own satisfaction,
to break and demolish this pillar
of learning, this urn of sciences,
and to hew down such an eminent
branch of the liberal arts. No, let
this new Sampson stay at home, and
honour the place of his nativity, together
with the grey hairs of his ancient
parents; while I make shift with
any sort of squire, since Sancho will
not vouchsafe to go along with me.’

‘Y—yes, I do vouchsafe!’ cried
Sancho, blubbering; ‘it shall never be
said of me, dear master, that when the
victuals were eaten up, the company
sneaked off; I am not come of such an
ungrateful stock; for all the world, and
especially my own townsmen, know
what sort of people the Panzas were, of
whom I am descended; besides, I have
perceived, and am sensible, by many
good works, and more good words, that
your worship is actually inclined
to do for me; and if I have haggled
more than enough about my
wages, it was to please my wife, who,
if she once takes in hand to persuade me
to any thing, no cooper’s adze drives the
hoops of a barrel as she drives at her
purpose, until she hath gained it; but,
after all, a man must be a man, and a
woman a woman: now I being a man
every inch of me, when or wheresoever
I please to shew myself, (that I cannot
deny) I am resolved to be master in my
own house, in spite of the devil, the
world, and the flesh; and therefore your
worship has no more to do but prepare
your will, with the codicil, so as that
it cannot be rebuked; and then let us
take our departure, that we may not
endanger the soul of Mr. Sampson,
whose conscience, he says, prompts
him to persuade your worship to make
a third sally through the world; and
here I promise again to serve your
worship faithfully and lawfully, as
well as, and better than, all the
squires that ever attended the knights-errant,
either in past or present time.’

The batchelor was astonished at hearing
the manner and conclusion of Sancho’s
speech; for although he had read
the first part of his master’s history, he
never believed him so diverting as he is
there represented; but now, hearing him
talk of the will and codicil that could
not be rebuked, instead of revoked, he
was convinced of the truth of what he
had read, and confirmed in the opinion
// File: 0521.png
.pn +1
of his being one of the most solemn
simpletons of the present age; saying,
within himself, two such madmen as
the master and his squire are not to be
paralleled upon earth. In fine, Don
Quixote and Sancho were reconciled,
and embraced each other; and, in consequence
of the opinion and assent of
the great Carrasco, whom they looked
upon as an oracle, it was determined
that they should depart in three days,
during which they would have time to
provide themselves with necessaries for
the journey, and find a compleat helmet
for the knight, who insisted upon
carrying one along with him into the
field. Sampson, accordingly, undertook
to accommodate him, saying he
could command an helmet that was in
possession of a friend of his; though the
brightness of the metal was not a little
obscured by the rust and mould which it
had contracted.

Innumerable were the curses which
were vented against the batchelor by the
housekeeper and niece, who tore their
hair, and scratched their faces; and
like the hired mourners, formerly in
use, lamented the departure, as if it
had been the death of their master. But
Sampson’s view in persuading him to
another sally, was to execute a design
which he had concerted with the curate
and barber, as will appear in the sequel.
In short, during those three days, Don
Quixote and Sancho furnished themselves
with every thing they thought
they should have occasion for; the squire
pacified his wife, the knight appeased
his niece and housekeeper; and on the
evening of the fourth day, without being
perceived by any living soul but the
batchelor, who insisted upon accompanying
them half a league out of
town, they set out, and took the road to
Toboso; Don Quixote mounted on his
trusty Rozinante, and Sancho throned
upon his old friend Dapple, with a pair
of bags well lined with belly-timber,
and a purse of money, which his master
deposited in his hands, in case of accidents
in their expedition.

Sampson, embracing the knight, intreated
him to write an account of his
good or evil fortune, that he might congratulate
or sympathize with him, as
the laws of friendship require. Don
Quixote assured him, he would comply
with his request; the batchelor returned
// File: 0522.png
to the village, and the other two pursued
their way towards the great city of
Toboso.

.fn #
The original, <lang=es><i>ventura</i></lang>, signifies good luck as well as adventures.
.fn-

.fn #
I have substituted this play upon the word proportion, in lieu of Sancho’s blundering
on <lang=es><i>rata</i></lang>.
.fn-
.sp 4
.h4 id=chap3-1-8
<abbr=chapter>CHAP.</abbr> <abbr=eight>VIII.</abbr> | AN ACCOUNT OF WHAT HAPPENED TO DON QUIXOTE,| IN HIS JOURNEY TO VISIT HIS MISTRESS DULCINEA DEL TOBOSO.
.sp 2
‘Blessed be the Almighty Ala,’
saith Cid Hamet Benengeli, in
the beginning of this chapter; and this
benediction he repeats three times, in
consequence of finding Don Quixote
and Sancho in the field again; observing,
that the readers of this agreeable
history may assure themselves that, from
this period, the exploits of the knight
and his squire begin. He therefore
persuades them to forget the former adventures
of our sage hero, and fix their
attention upon those which are to come;
and which now begin in the road to Toboso,
as the others took their origin in
the field of Montiel; and truly his demand
is but reasonable, considering the
fair promise he makes. Thus, therefore,
he proceeds.

Scarce had Sampson left Don Quixote
and Sancho by themselves, when Rozinante
began to neigh, and Dapple to
bray most melodiously; a circumstance
which was looked upon by both our adventurers
as a fortunate signal and most
happy omen; though, to deal candidly
with the reader, the brayings of the ass
exceeded in number the neighings of
the horse; from whence Sancho concluded,
his fortune would surmount and
overtop that of his master. But whether
or not he founded his belief on his
knowledge in judicial astrology, I cannot
determine, the history being silent on
that subject; yet certain it is he had
been heard to say when he stumbled or
fell, that he wished he had not stirred
over his own threshold; for nothing was
to be got by a stumble or fall but a torn
shoe, or broken bone; and truly, simple
as he was, he had some reason for making
that observation.

‘Friend Sancho,’ said Don Quixote,
‘the night is so far advanced, that we
shall not be able to reach Toboso by
day-light; yet thither I am determined
to go, before I engage in any
// File: 0523.png
.pn +1
other adventure, that I may receive
the benediction and good leave of the
peerless Dulcinea, by the help of
which I shall certainly atchieve, and
happily perform, the most perilous exploits;
for nothing in this life exalts
the valour of knights-errant so much
as the favour of their mistresses.’—‘I
am of the same way of thinking,’ replied
the squire; ‘but I believe your
worship will find some difficulty in
seeing her in a proper place for courtship,
or indeed for receiving her blessing,
unless she throws it over the
pales of the yard through which I
saw her for the first time, when I carried
the letter that gave an account of
the folly and mad pranks I left your
worship committing in the heart of the
brown mountain.’—‘Didst thou then
actually imagine,’ said Don Quixote,
‘that those were the pales of a yard,
over or through which thou sawest that
paragon of gentleness and beauty?
Certainly they could be no other than
galleries, arcades, or corridores, such
as belong to rich and royal palaces.’—‘It
may be so,’ answered Sancho, ‘but
either my memory fails me very much,
or to me they seemed no better than
the pales of a farmer’s yard.’—‘Be
that as it will,’ resumed Don Quixote,
‘thither we will go, and at any rate
get sight of her; for be it through
pales, windows, crannies, or the rails
of a garden, so the least ray of that
sun of beauty reach mine eyes, it
will enlighten my understanding,
and fortify my heart in such a manner,
that I shall remain the unequalled
phœnix of valour and discretion.’—‘Truly,
Sir,’ said the squire,
‘when I saw that same sun of my Lady
Dulcinea del Toboso, it was not so
bright as to send forth any rays at
all; but the case was, the wheat that
her ladyship was winnowing, as I
told you before, raised such a cloud
of dust about her, as quite darkened
her countenance.’—‘Wilt thou still
persist, Sancho,’ replied the errant,
‘in saying, thinking, believing, and affirming,
that my mistress Dulcinea
was employed in such a mean office,
so wide of all that is or ought to be
practised by persons of rank, who are
created and reserved for other exercises
and amusements, that denote
their quality at the distance of a bow-shot.
Thou seemest to forget, O
// File: 0524.png
Sancho! those verses of our poet, in
which he paints the labours that in
their chrystal bowers engrossed the
four nymphs, who, raising their heads
above the waves of their beloved Tagus,
sat down to work in the verdant
meadow those rich and silken webs,
which, as the ingenious poet describes,
were with gold and pearls adorned
and interweaved. In this manner my
mistress must have been employed
when thou sawest her; but some
wicked inchanter, envious of my happiness
and fame, converts and perverts
every thing that yields me pleasure,
into shapes and figures different from
its real appearance; and in that history
of my atchievements which they
say is printed, if the author be some
sage who is an enemy to my success,
I am afraid he hath confounded one
thing with another, and clogged every
fact with a thousand falsehoods; straying
from his subject, to recount
actions quite foreign to the skilful detail
of a true history! O envy! thou
root of infinite mischief, and canker-worm
of virtue! The commission of
all other vices, Sancho, is attended
with some sort of delight; but envy
produces nothing in the heart that
harbours it but rage, rancour, and
disgust.’—‘So say I, master,’ answered
Sancho: ‘and I suppose, in this legend
or history of us, which Batchelor
Carrasco says he has seen, my reputation
goes like a jolting hackney-coach,
and is tossed about, as the
saying is, like a tennis-ball; though
in good faith, I never spoke an ill
word of any inchanter whatsoever;
nor am I rich enough to stir up envy
in any living soul: true it is I am a
little waggish, and have a small spice
of knavery at bottom; but all this is
crowned and covered with the broad
cloak of my simplicity, which is always
natural and never affected; and
if there was nothing else but my believing,
as I always do firmly and
sincerely, in God, as well as in all
that is owned and believed by the holy
Roman catholick church; and my being
a mortal enemy, as I certainly am,
to the Jews, the historians ought to have
mercy upon me, and use me tenderly
in their writings: but let them say
what they will, I naked was born,
and naked remain; and if I lose nothing,
as little I gain: though, provided
// File: 0525.png
.pn +1
I see myself mentioned in a book,
and circulate through the world from
hand to hand, I don’t value what they
can say of me a fig’s end.’

‘That observation,’ said Don Quixote,
‘puts me in mind of what happened
to a famous poet of this age, who
having composed a severe satire against
the court ladies, omitted to insert one
in particular, by name, so that it was
doubtful whether or not she was implied
in any part of the performance.
The lady, thus neglected, complained
to the poet, asking what he had seen
in her character unworthy of being
described among the rest, and desiring
him to enlarge the satire, that she
might be included in the supplement,
or look to himself. The author complied
with her request, lashing her in
terms not fit to be named; and she
was perfectly well satisfied with the
fame of being infamous. Of a piece
with this ambition was that reported
of the shepherd, who set fire to the
celebrated temple of Diana, reckoned
one of the wonders of the world, with
no other view than to render his name
immortal; and although there was a
severe edict, prohibiting all persons
whatever from making mention of
his name, either by word or writing,
that he might not accomplish his aim,
it is very well known at this day,
that his name was Erostratus. This
likewise bears an affinity to that occurrence
which passed at Rome, between
that great emperor Charles the Fifth,
and a certain knight. The emperor
went to visit the famous temple of the
Rotunda, which was of old called the
Pantheon, but is now more happily
named the Church of All-Saints, the
most entire edifice that remains of
heathen Rome, and which most of all
evinces the grandeur and magnificence
of its founders. It is built in the
shape of half an orange, of a vast extent,
and very well lighted, though it
has but one window, or rather a round
lanthorn at its top, from whence the
emperor considered the inside of the
structure, being attended by a Roman
knight, who described the excellence
and ingenious contrivance of that vast
and memorable work; and, after they
had descended, said to him, “Sacred
Sir, a thousand times was I seized
with an inclination to clasp your majesty
in my arms, and throw myself
// File: 0526.png
down from the lanthorn, in order to
eternize my name.”—“I thank you,”
replied the emperor, “for having resisted
such a wicked suggestion, and
henceforward will never give you an
opportunity of repeating such a proof
of your loyalty; avoid my presence,
and never presume to speak to me
again.” But, notwithstanding this
severe command, he conferred upon
him some extraordinary favour. My
meaning, Sancho, is, that the desire
of fame is a most active principle in
the human breast. What dost thou
imagine was the motive that prevailed
on Horatius to throw himself from
the bridge, armed at all points, into
the depth of the river Tyber? what
induced Mutius to burn his hand and
arm? what impelled Curtius to dart
himself into the flaming gulph which
opened in the midst of Rome? what
prompted Cæsar to pass the Rubicon,
in spite of all the unfavourable omens
that appeared? and, to give you a
more modern instance, what consideration
bore the ships, and left on
shore, encompassed with enemies, those
valiant Spaniards in the new world,
under the conduct of the most courteous
Cortez? All these, and many
other great and various exploits, are,
were, and shall be performed, in consequence
of that desire of fame, which
flatters mortals with a share of that
immortality which they deem the
merited reward of their renowned atchievements:
although we catholick
Christian knights-errant ought to pay
greater attention to that glory which
is to come, and eternally survives
within the etherial and celestial mansions,
than to the vanity of that same,
which is obtained in this present perishable
state, and which, considered
in its longest duration, must end at
length with the world itself, which
hath its appointed period. Wherefore,
Sancho, our works must not exceed
the limits prescribed by the Christian
religion which we profess. We
must, in slaying giants, extirpate pride;
get the better of envy by benevolence
and virtue; resist anger with patience
and forbearance; conquer gluttony
and sloth by temperance and watchfulness;
luxury and lewdness by our
fidelity to those whom we constitute
mistresses of our inclination; and idleness
by travelling through all parts of
// File: 0527.png
.pn +1
the world in quest of opportunities to
evince ourselves not only Christians,
but, moreover, renowned knights.
Thus, Sancho, thou seest the means
of acquiring that superlative praise
which produces fame and reputation.’

‘All that your worship hath hitherto
said,’ replied the squire, ‘I understand
perfectly well; but, for all
that, I wish you would dissolve me
one doubt, which hath this moment
struck me in the noddle.’—‘Thy
meaning is resolve, Sancho,’ said the
knight: ‘in good time, out with it, and
I will give thee satisfaction, as far as
my own knowledge extends.’—‘Tell
me, then, Signior,’ proceeded Sancho,
‘where now are all those Julys and
Augusts, and adventuresome knights
who died so long ago?’—‘The Heathens,’
answered Don Quixote, ‘are
doubtless in hell; and the Christians,
if they were good catholicks, either
in purgatory or in heaven.’—‘Right,’
said the squire; ‘let us next enquire,
if the tombs that contain the bodies
of that sort of gentry are lighted with
silver lamps; or the walls of their
chapels adorned with crutches, winding
sheets, periwigs, legs, and eyes,
made of wax; if not, pray in what
manner are they adorned?’ To this
question Don Quixote answered, that
the sepulchres of the heathen heroes
were, for the most part, sumptuous
temples; the ashes of Julius Cæsar
were placed upon the top of a stone
pyramid, of vast dimensions, still to
be seen at Rome, under the name of
<abbr=Saint>St.</abbr> Peter’s obelisk; the emperor Adrian’s
tomb was a building as large as
a good village, formerly called Moles
Adriani, but at present the Castle of <abbr=Saint>St.</abbr>
Angelo; and Queen Artemisia buried
her husband Mausolus in a monument,
that was accounted one of the seven
wonders of the world; but none of
these sepulchres, nor any other belonging
to the heathens, were adorned
with shrouds, offerings, or marks, to
denote the sanctity of the persons
there buried. ‘So I perceive,’ said
Sancho; ‘and now tell me, whether it
be more meritorious to slay a giant,
or raise up the dead to life again?’—‘The
answer is plain,’ replied the
knight; ‘it is more meritorious to re-animate
the dead.’—‘Then I have
caught you fairly,’ cried the squire;
‘he who revives the dead, restores sight
// File: 0528.png
to the blind, straightens the crooked,
heals the sick; before whose tomb the
lamps continually burn, whose chapels
are filled with devout people who
adore his relicks upon their knees;
I say, he shall have more fame in this
world, and that which is to come, than
all the heathen emperors and knights-errant
that ever lived have left or will
leave behind them.’—‘I am very sensible
of the truth of what you alledge,’
answered the knight. ‘Now this same,
this grace, this prerogative, or what
you call it,’ resumed the squire, ‘is
veiled in the bodies and relicks of the
saints; and with the approbation and
licence of our holy mother church,
they have their lamps, tapers, shrouds,
crutches, pictures, periwigs, eyes,
and legs, whereby the devotion of the
people is increased, and their own
Christian fame promulgated; the bodies
and relicks of saints are carried
upon the shoulders of kings, who kiss
the very fragments of their bones,
with which they enrich and adorn
their most precious altars and oratories.’—‘What
wouldst thou have me
infer from all this?’ said Don Quixote.
‘My meaning,’ replied Sancho,
‘is, that we should turn saints immediately,
and so with the greater dispatch
acquire that fame which we are
in search of; and pray take notice,
Signior, it was but yesterday, or t’other
day, as one may say in comparison,
that they canonized and beatified two
bare-footed friars; and people now
think it a great happiness to be allowed
to touch and kiss the iron chains
with which they girded and tormented
their poor bodies; and which are
in greater esteem than the sword of
Orlando, which, as the report goes,
is kept in the armoury of our lord the
king, whom God in Heaven bless:
wherefore, dear master, it is better to
be an humble friar of any order whatever,
than the most valiant knight
that ever breathed; for, with God,
two dozen of disciplines will more
avail than as many thousand back-strokes,
whether they be bestowed on
giants, dragons, or hobgoblins.’—‘All
this is very true,’ answered Don
Quixote; ‘but we cannot all be friars;
and various are the paths by which
God conducts the good to Heaven.
Chivalry itself is a religious order,
and some that were knights are now
// File: 0529.png
.pn +1
saints in glory.’—‘True,’ resumed
the squire, ‘but I have often heard it
observed, that there are more friars
than knights in Heaven.’—‘The
reason,’ said the knight, ‘is, because
there is a greater number of monks
than of the other order.’—‘And yet
there are many knights-errant,’ replied
the squire. ‘There is, indeed, a
good number,’ answered Don Quixote;
‘but very few that deserve the
name.’

In this, and other such discourse, they
passed that night and the following day,
without encountering any thing worthy
of being mentioned; a circumstance
that chagrined our knight not a little.
Next day, however, in the twilight,
they descried the great city of Toboso;
at sight of which Don Quixote’s spirits
were exhilarated, and Sancho’s depressed,
because he did not know where to
find the house of Dulcinea, whom he
had never seen, neither had his master
ever beheld this peerless princess; so that
the one suffered perturbation from the
desire of seeing her, and the other because
he had not seen her; and, indeed,
Sancho could not contrive how to manage
the affair, when his master should
send him to Toboso. In fine, Don
Quixote resolved to enter the city in the
dark; and with this view they tarried
in a grove of oaks, not far from the
gate, till the night was advanced; then
entered the town, where they met with
things which amount to things indeed.
.sp 4
.h4 id=chap3-1-9
<abbr=chapter>CHAP.</abbr> <abbr=nine>IX.</abbr> | WHICH CONTAINS WHAT YOU WILL SEE IN THE PERUSAL OF IT.
.sp 2
It was midnight, or thereabout, when
Don Quixote and Sancho, leaving
their covert, entered the city of Toboso,
which was then in profound silence,
all its inhabitants being asleep, and
lying with outstretched legs, as the saying
is. The night was clear, though
Sancho wished it otherwise, that in the
darkness he might find an excuse for
his imposition; and nothing was heard
in the whole town but the barking of
dogs, which thundered in Don Quixote’s
ears, and very much disturbed
the heart of Sancho; yet, from time to
time, they were saluted by the braying
of asses, the grunting of hogs, and the
// File: 0530.png
mewing of cats; which different notes
being augmented by the stillness of the
night, were considered as ill omens by
the enamoured knight, who nevertheless
said to his squire, ‘Son Sancho,
lead on to the palace of Dulcinea,
whom, perhaps, we shall find awake.’—‘Body
of the sun!’ cried Sancho,
‘what palace should I lead to? when I
saw her highness she was in a very
small cottage.’—‘Then she must have
been retired,’ answered the knight,
‘to some small apartment of her castle,
to divert herself with her damsels, according
to the use and custom of princesses
and ladies of rank.’—‘Signior,’
said the squire, ‘since your worship, in
spite of all that I can say, will
have my Lady Dulcinea’s house to
be a castle, is this an hour to find the
gate open? and will it be decent for
us to throw the whole family into
confusion and uproar, by making a
racket, and demanding entrance, at
this time of night? Do you think we
are going to a bawdy-house, like your
fornicators, who rap and knock, and
enter at any hour of the four and
twenty?’—‘First of all, let us fairly
find the castle,’ replied the knight,
‘and then I will tell thee what is to be
done; and take notice, Sancho, for
either mine eye-sight fails me, or that
great shadowy building before us is
the palace of Dulcinea.’—‘Advance,
then,’ answered Sancho, ‘perhaps it
may be so; and yet, though I should
see it with mine eyes, and touch it
with my hands, I will believe it as
much as I believe it is now twelve
o’clock at noon.’

Don Quixote, however, proceeded;
and having gone about two hundred
paces, came up with the building that
produced the shadow, and perceiving it
an high steeple, found it was no castle,
but in reality the principal church in
town. ‘We are arrived at the cathedral,
Sancho,’ said he. ‘So I perceive,’
replied the squire, ‘and God
grant we be not arrived at our graves!
for it is no good sign to be strolling
about church-yards at these hours:
besides, I have already told your
worship, (if my memory serves me
right) that my lady’s house stands in
a blind alley.’—‘The curse of God
light on thee, for a blockhead as thou
art!’ cried Don Quixote; ‘where didst
thou ever hear of castles and royal palaces,
// File: 0531.png
.pn +1
built in blind alleys?’—‘Signior,’
answered Sancho, ‘every country
has its own customs; and perhaps
it is the custom here, in Toboso, to
raise palaces and grand edifices in
blind alleys; I therefore humbly beseech
your worship to let me search
all the streets and alleys I shall meet
with; and who knows but in some
corner I may light on this same
castle, which I wish the dogs had devoured,
before it had brought us to
such perplexity and confusion?’—‘Talk
respectfully, Sancho, of those
things that appertain to my mistress,’
said the knight; ‘let us spend our holiday
in peace, and not throw the
helve after the hatchet.’—‘Well, I
will be pacified,’ answered the squire;
‘though how can I endure your worship
should expect that I who have
seen my lady’s house but once,
should know it always, and even
find it out in the middle of the night,
when you yourself are at a loss, though
you must have seen it a thousand
times?’—‘You distract me, Sancho,’
cried Don Quixote; ‘heark ye, heretick,
have not I told you a thousand
times, that in all the days of my life,
I never saw the peerless Dulcinea, nor
ever crossed the threshold of her palace,
being only enamoured by hearsay,
and the great reputation of her
beauty and discretion?’—‘I hear your
worship say so now,’ replied Sancho;
‘and tell you in my turn, that if you
have not seen her, no more have I.’—‘That
is impossible,’ resumed the
knight; ‘at least, you told me you
had seen her winnowing wheat,
when you brought back an answer to
the letter with which I sent you to
her habitation.’—‘Truly, Signior,
you must not depend upon that,’ answered
Sancho; ‘for you must know,
my seeing her, and bringing back the
answer, was also upon hearsay; and
I am as incapable of giving any account
of the Lady Dulcinea, as I am
of pulling the moon by the nose.’
‘Sancho! Sancho!’ said Don Quixote,
‘there is a time for jesting, and a time
when jokes are very unseasonable;
though I say I have never seen or
spoke with the mistress of my soul,
there is no reason for thy making the
same declaration, which thou knowest
is so contrary to the truth.’

While they thus conversed together,
they perceived a person passing that way
with a couple of mules; and by the noise
of a plough-share, which they dragged
along, justly concluded that he was a
peasant who had risen before day to go
to labour: they were not mistaken; it
was actually a labourer, who went
along singing the ballad of Ronscevalles[#];
which the knight no sooner heard,
than he exclaimed, ‘Let me die, Sancho!
if any thing lucky will befal
us to-night; don’t you hear what
that peasant is singing?’—‘Yes,’ said
Sancho; ‘but what has the defeat at
Ronscevalles to do with our affair?
If he had sung the ballad of Calaynos,
it would have been the same
thing with regard to our good or evil
fortune.’

Don Quixote said to the peasant, who
was by this time come-up, ‘Can you
tell me, honest friend, and the blessing
of God attend you, in what
part of this city stands the palace of
the peerless princess Donna Dulcinea
del Toboso?’—‘Signor,’ answered
the young man, ‘I am a stranger, and
have been but a few days in town, in
the service of a rich farmer, whose
lands I till; but in that house that
fronts you live the curate and sexton
of the parish, and either or both can
give your worship an account of that
same princess, for they keep a register
of all the inhabitants of Toboso,
though I believe, there is no such
thing as a princess in the whole place:
there are, indeed, many ladies of fashion,
and every one may be a princess
in her own house.’—‘She whom
I ask for must be one of these,’ said
the knight. ‘It may be so,’ answered
the peasant; ‘but I shall be overtaken
by the morning.’ So saying, he drove
on his mules, without waiting for any
more questions.

Sancho, seeing his matter in suspence,
and over and above dissatisfied, ‘Signior,’
said he, ‘day begins to break,
and it will not be altogether convenient
to let the sun find us here in the
street: we had better quit the city, and
look out for some wood in the neighbourhood,
where your worship may
// File: 0532.png
.pn +1
enjoy the cool shade; and I will return
by day, and search every hole
and cranny in Toboso for this house,
castle, or palace of my lady, and it
will be very unfortunate, indeed, if I
cannot find it; and if I have the good
luck, to meet with her ladyship, I will
tell her where and how I have left
your worship, in expectation of her
contriving some means whereby you
may visit her, without any prejudice
to her honour and reputation.’—‘Sancho,’
cried Don Quixote, ‘thou
hast uttered a thousand sentences
within the compass of a few words:
the counsel thou hast given me I relish,
and most willingly receive. Come,
my son, let us go in quest of some
thicket, where I may embower myself,
while thou shalt return to seek,
see, and talk with my mistress, from
whose courtesy and discretion I hope
to receive more than miraculous favours.’

Sancho burned with impatience to
see his master fairly out of town, that
he might not detect the falshood of the
answer which he pretended to bring
from Dulcinea, while he remained in
the Brown Mountain: he therefore pressed
him to depart, and about two miles
from the city they found a thicket or
wood, where Don Quixote took up his
residence, while Sancho went back to
commune with Dulcinea; and, in the
course of his embassy, met with adventures
that demand new credit and fresh
attention.

.fn #
Like our Chevy Chase.
.fn-
.sp 4
.h4 id=chap3-1-10
<abbr=chapter>CHAP.</abbr> <abbr=ten>X.</abbr> | GIVES AN ACCOUNT OF THE STRATAGEM WHICH SANCHO PRACTISED,| IN ORDER TO INCHANT THE LADY DULCINEA|—WITH OTHER CIRCUMSTANCES EQUALLY LUDICROUS AND TRUE.
.sp 2
The author of this stupendous
history, when he comes to relate
what is contained in this chapter, says,
he would have willingly passed it over
in silence, because he was afraid that it
would not be believed; for here the
madness of Don Quixote soars to the
highest pitch of extravagance that can
be imagined, and even by two bow
shots, at least, exceeds all credit and
conception: yet, notwithstanding this
// File: 0533.png
jealousy and apprehension, he has recounted
it in the same manner as it happened,
without adding to the history, or
detracting one tittle from the truth, undervaluing
the risk he runs of being
deemed apocryphal: and surely he was
in the right; for truth may bend, but
will never break, and always surmounts
falshood, as oil floats above water.
Wherefore he proceeds in the narrative,
saying—

Don Quixote having taken his station
in the forest, grove, or wood, near
to the great city of Toboso, ordered
Sancho to go back to town, and not return
to his presence before he should
have spoken to his mistress, and begged,
in his name, that she would be pleased
to grant an interview to her captive
knight, and deign to bestow upon him
her blessing, through which he might
expect the most happy issue to all his
attempts and enterprizes.

The squire, having undertaken to execute
this command, and to bring back
as favourable an answer as he had
brought the first time; ‘Go, my son,’
said the knight, ‘and be not confounded
when you find yourself beamed
upon by that resplendent sun of beauty,
which is the object of your enquiry:
happy thou, above all the
squires that ever lived! Be sure to
retain in thy memory every circumstance
of thy reception; observe if
she changes colour, while thou art
delivering my message; if she is discomposed,
and under confusion at the
mention of my name; whether she
sinks upon her cushion, or happens at
the time to be seated under the rich
canopy of her authority; if she be
standing, take notice whether or not
she sometimes supports herself on one
foot, sometimes on the other; and if
she repeats her answer more than once,
changing it from kind to harsh, from
sour to amorous; and if she lifts up
her hand to adjust her hair, although
it be not disorderd; finally, son,
mark all her gestures and emotions;
and if thou bringest me an exact detail
of them, I shall be able to divine
her most abstruse sentiments,
touching the concerns of my passion:
for know, Sancho, if thou art still
to learn, among lovers, the least gesticulation
in their external behaviour,
while the conversation turns upon
their amours, is, as it were, a messenger
// File: 0534.png
.pn +1
that brings a most certain account
of what passes within the soul.
Go, friend, and enjoy thy fate, so
much more favourable than thy master’s;
and return with much more
success than that which I dread and
expect in this cruel solitude, where I
now remain.’—‘I go,’ replied Sancho,
‘and will return in a twinkling;
therefore, good your worship, do encourage
that little heart of yours,
which, at present, must be no bigger
than a hazle-nut; and consider, as
the saying is, A stout heart flings
misfortune; Where you meet with no
hooks, you need expect no bacon;
and again, The hare often starts,
where the hunter leasts expects her.
This I observe, because, though we
did not find the palace and castle of
my lady in the night; now that it is
day, I hope to stumble upon it, when
I least expect to see it; and if so be
I once catch it, let me alone with
her.’—‘Sancho,’ said the knight,
‘God grant me better fortune in my
desires than you have in the application
of the proverbs you utter.’

This was no sooner said, than Sancho
switching Dapple, quitted the knight,
who remained on horseback, resting his
legs upon his stirrups, and leaning upon
his lance, his imagination being engrossed
by the most melancholy suggestions.
Here let us leave him, and proceed with
Sancho Panza; who, parting from his
master, in equal perplexity and confusion,
no sooner found himself clear of
the wood, than looking back, and perceiving
that Don Quixote was not in
sight, he alighted from his ass, and sitting
down at the root of a tree, began
to catechise himself in these words:
‘Brother Sancho, be so good as to
let us know, where your worship is
going? Are you in search of some
stray beast?—No, truly!—What then
is your errand?—Why, really, I am
going in search of a thing of nought,
a princess, God wot! and in her, the
sun and the whole heaven of beauty.
And, pray, where may you expect to
meet with this that you mention, Sancho?—Where,
but in the great city of
Toboso.—Well, and by whose order
are you going upon this enquiry?—By
order of the renowned knight Don
Quixote de La Mancha, the righter of
wrongs, who gives thirst to the hungry,
and food to those that are dry.—All
// File: 0535.png
this is mighty well; but do you
know the house, Sancho?—My master
says, it must be some royal palace,
or stately castle.—But have you never
once seen this same princess?—Neither
I nor he ever set eyes on her.—And
do you think it will be well bestowed,
if the inhabitants of Toboso, getting
notice that you are come with an intention
to wheedle away their princesses,
and disturb their dames, should
break every bone of your skin, and
grind your ribs to a paste, with pure
cudgelling?—Verily they would not be
much to blame, unless they considered,
that I do nothing but execute my
master’s command, and being only a
messenger, am not in fault.—Never
trust to that, Sancho; for the Manchegans
are as cholerick as honourable,
and will not suffer themselves to
be tickled by any person whatever.
Ecod! if you are once smoked, you
will come but scurvily off.—Bodikins!
since that be the case, why
should I plague myself, seeking a cat
with three legs, for another man’s
pleasure?—Besides, you may as well
seek for a magpye in Rabena, or a
batchelor in Salamanca, as for Dulcinea
in Toboso.—The devil, and
none but the devil, has sent me on
this fool’s errand!’

The result of this soliloquy was another,
that broke out in these words:
‘There is a remedy for every thing but
death, under whose yoke we must all
pass, will we nill we, when this life is
at an end. This master of mine, as
I have perceived by a thousand instances,
is mad enough to be shackled
among straw; and truly I am not
much behind him in folly; nay, indeed,
I am more mad than he,
seeing I serve and follow him, if
there be any truth in the proverb
that says, Tell me your company,
and I will tell you your manners:
and the other, Not he with whom
you was bred, but he by whom
you are fed. Now he being, as he
certainly is, a madman; aye, and so
mad as for the most part to mistake
one thing for another, affirming white
to be black, and black to be white;
as plainly appeared when he took the
windmills for giants, the mules of the
friars for dromedaries, the flocks of
sheep for opposite armies; and a great
many other things in the same stile: I
// File: 0536.png
.pn +1
say, it will be no difficult matter to
make him believe the first country-wench
I shall meet with to be his
mistress Dulcinea; and if he boggles
at swallowing the cheat, I will swear
lustily to the truth of what I affirm;
and if he swears also, I will swear
again; and if he is positive, I will be
more positive; so that come what will,
my obstinacy shall always exceed his.
Perhaps, by this stubborn behaviour,
I shall get rid of all such troublesome
messages for the future; when he finds
what disagreeable answers I bring; or
perhaps, which I rather believe, he
will think that one of those inchanters,
who, he says, bear him a grudge,
hath transmographied her shape, in
order to vex and disquiet him.’

Sancho having found out this expedient,
was quite calm and satisfied in
his mind, and thinking he had brought
the business to a good bearing, remained
where he was till the evening, that
Don Quixote might think he had sufficient
time to execute his orders, and return.
Everything succeeded so well to
his wish, that when he got up to mount
Dapple, he descried three country wenches
riding from Toboso, towards the
place where he stood, upon three young
he or she asses, for the author does not
declare their sex; though in all likelihood
they were of the female gender,
as your village maidens commonly ride
upon she-asses; but this being a circumstance
of small importance, we shall
not give ourselves any trouble to ascertain
it.

In short, Sancho no sooner perceived
the wenches, than he rode back at a
round trot to his master, whom he found
sighing bitterly, and pouring forth a
thousand amorous complaints; the
knight seeing him arrive, ‘Well, friend
Sancho,’ said he, ‘is this day to be
marked with a white or black stone?’—‘Your
worship,’ answered the squire,
‘had better mark it with red ochre,
like the titles on a professor’s chair,
that it may be seen the better by those
who look at it.’—‘At that rate,’ replied
Don Quixote, ‘thou bringest me
good news.’—‘So good,’ answered
Sancho, ‘that your worship has nothing
to do but to mount Rozinante, and
gallop into the plain, where you will
see my Lady Dulcinea del Toboso and
two of her damsels coming this way
to pay you a visit.’—‘Gracious God!’
// File: 0537.png
cried the knight, ‘what is that you
say, friend Sancho? Take care how
you deceive me! endeavouring, by
feigned joy, to enliven my real sadness.’—‘What
should I get by deceiving
your worship?’ said the squire.
‘Besides, you can easily be satisfied of
the truth of what I say. Make haste,
Signior, come and see our mistress the
princess, arrayed and adorned; in
short, as she ought to be; her damsels
and she are all one flame of gold;
all covered with pearls, diamonds,
rubies, and brocade, more than ten
hands deep; their hair flowing loose
about their shoulders, like so many
sun-beams waving with the wind;
and moreover they are mounted on
three pied belfreys, that it would do
one’s heart good to see them.’—‘Palfreys,
you mean, Sancho,’ said the
knight. ‘There is no great difference,’
answered the squire, ‘between palfreys
and belfreys; but, be that as it will,
they are the finest creatures one would
desire to see, especially my Lady Dulcinea,
who is enough to stupify the
five senses.’—‘Come, then, my son,’
replied Don Quixote; ‘and as a gratuity
for bringing this piece of news,
equally welcome and unexpected, I
bestow upon thee the spoils of the first
adventure I shall atchieve; and if
thou art not satisfied with that recompence,
I will give unto thee the foals
that shall this year be brought forth
by my three mares, which thou
knowest we left with young upon our
town common.’—‘I stick to the
foals,’ cried the squire, ‘for as to the
spoils of our first adventure, I question
whether or not they will be worth
accepting.’

By this time, they were clear of the
wood, and in sight of the three country-maidens;
when the knight lifting
up his eyes, and surveying the whole
road to Toboso, without seeing any
thing but them, began to be troubled in
mind, and asked Sancho if the ladies
had got out of town when he left them.
‘Out of town?’ said Sancho. ‘What!
are your worship’s eyes in the nape of
your neck, that you don’t see them
coming towards us, glittering and
shining like the sun at noon?’—‘I
see nobody,’ replied the knight, ‘but
three country-wenches riding upon
asses.’—‘God deliver me from the
devil!’ cried the squire, ‘is it possible
// File: 0538.png
.pn +1
that three belfreys, or how-d’ye-call-ums,
white as the driven snow,
should appear no better than asses in
your worship’s eyes? By the Lord!
I’ll give you leave to pluck off every
hair of my beard if that be the case.’—‘Then
I tell thee, Sancho,’ said his
master, ‘they are as certainly he or she-asses
as I am Don Quixote, and thou
Sancho Panza; at least, so they seem to
me.’—‘Hold your tongue, Signior,’
replied Sancho, ‘and never talk in that
manner, but snuff your eyes, and go
and make your reverence to the mistress
of your heart, who is just at
hand.’

So saying, he advanced towards the
damsels, and alighting from Dapple,
seized one of their beasts by the halter;
then fell upon his knees before the rider,
to whom he addressed himself in
this manner: ‘Queen, princess, and duchess
of beauty, will your highness
and greatness be pleased to receive
into grace and favour your captive
knight, who sits there stupified to
stone, utterly confounded and deprived
of pulse, at seeing himself in presence
of your magnificence; I am
Sancho Panza his squire, and he is the
perplexed and down trodden knight
Don Quixote de La Mancha, alias
the Knight of the Rueful Countenance.’

.if h
.il fn=plate-ii.jpg id=plate2 w=60% alt=""
.ca Plate II: Don Quixote Worships His Lady.
.if-
.if t
[Illustration: Don Quixote Worships His Lady.]
.if-

By this time Don Quixote having
placed himself on his knees, by Sancho,
gazed with staring eyes and troubled vision,
upon the object which the squire
called queen and princess; and perceiving
nothing but a country-wench’s
visage, and that none of the most agreeable,
for it was round and flat-nosed,
he remained in the utmost confusion and
surprize, without daring to open his
lips. The other two damsels were
equally astonished at seeing a couple of
such different figures kneeling before
their companion, whom they had detained;
but she, breaking silence, pronounced
in a most ungracious and resentful
manner, ‘Get out of the way,
and let us pass, for we are in a hurry.’
To this apostrophe Sancho replied, ‘O
princess and universal Lady of Toboso!
do not your magnificent bowels
yearn, to see upon his marrow-bones
before your sublimated presence, the
very pillar and prop of knight-errantry?’
One of the other two hearing
this pathetick remonstrance, bauled aloud,
// File: 0539.png
‘Would I had the currying that ass’s
hide of thine: mind, forsooth, how
your small gentry come and pass their
gibes upon us country-folks; as if
we could not give them as good as
they bring. Go about your business,
friend, and leave us to mind our’n,
and so God b’w’ye.’

Here the knight interposing, said,
‘Rise, Sancho, I can plainly perceive
that fortune, not yet tired of persecuting
me, hath barred every avenue
by which any comfort could arrive at
the miserable soul that this carcase
contains: and thou! the essence of
every thing that is desirable in nature,
thou sum of human perfection, and
sole remedy of this afflicted heart, by
which thou art adored! although that
malicious inchanter, my inveterate
enemy, hath spread clouds and cataracts
before mine eyes, to them and
them only changing and transforming
thy unequalled beauty into the appearance
of a poor country-wench;
if he hath not also altered my figure
into that of some frightful spectre
horrid to thy view, deign to look upon
me with complacency and love; because
thou mayest perceive by this
submissive posture I have assumed,
even before thy person thus disguised,
the humility with which my soul
adores thy charms.’—‘You may go
kiss my grannam,’ cried the damsel;
‘I’m a fine Madam, truly, to hear such
gibberish; we should be more obliged
to you if you would get out of our
way, and let us go about our own
affairs.’

Sancho accordingly quitted his hold,
leaving her free to go whither she would,
and highly pleased with the issue of his
stratagem. The supposititious Dulcinea
no sooner found herself at liberty,
than pricking her palfrey with a goad
which was in the end of a stick
she had in her hand, the creature galloped,
across the field with great speed,
and feeling the application more severe
than usual, began to plunge and kick in
such a manner, that my lady fell to the
ground. Don Quixote perceiving this
accident, ran with great eagerness to
raise her up, and Sancho made haste to
adjust and gird on the pannel, which
had got under the ass’s belly. This affair
being set to rights, the knight went
to lift his inchanted mistress in his
arms, and placed her on her seat again;
// File: 0540.png
// File: 0541.png
// File: 0542.png
.pn +1
but she, starting up from the ground,
saved him that trouble; for, retreating
a few paces backwards, she made a small
run, and clapping both hands upon the
crupper, leaped upon the pannel as
nimble as a falcon, seating herself
astride like a man.

‘By <abbr=Saint>St.</abbr> Roque!’ cried Sancho, ‘my
lady mistress is as light as a hawk,
and can teach the most dextrous horseman
to ride; at one jump she has
sprung into the saddle, and, without
spurs, made her palfrey fly like any
zebra: and truly, her damsels are not
a whit behind; for they go scouring
along as swift as the wind.’ This
was actually true; for Dulcinea was no
sooner remounted than the other two
trotted after her, and at last disappeared,
after having gone more than half a
league, at full speed, without once
looking behind them.

Don Quixote followed them with his
eyes, until they vanished; then turning
to his squire, ‘Sancho,’ said he, ‘thou
seest how I am persecuted by inchanters,
and mayest perceive how far the
malice and grudge they bear me extends;
seeing they have deprived me
of the pleasure I should have enjoyed
at the sight of my mistress in her own
beauteous form. Surely, I was born
to be an example of misery; the very
mark and butt for all the arrows of
misfortune; nay, thou art also to observe,
Sancho, that those traitors were
not contented with a simple metamorphosis
of my Dulcinea, but have
transformed and changed her into the
base and homely figure of that country-wench;
robbing her, at the same
time, of that which is so peculiar to
ladies of fashion, I mean, that sweet
scent which is the result of their living
among flowers and perfume; for
know, my friend, when I went to
lift Dulcinea upon her palfrey, as
thou sayest it was, though to me it
seemed neither more nor less than a
she-ass, I was almost suffocated and
poisoned with a whiff of undigested
garlick!’

‘O ye miscreants!’ cried Sancho,
‘O ye malicious and mischievous inchanters!
would to God, I could see
you all strung by the gills, like so
many haddocks! much you know,
much you can, and much more will
you still be doing. Was it not
enough, ye knaves, to change the
// File: 0543.png
pearls of my lady’s eyes into a couple
of cork-tree galls, and her hair of
shining gold into the bristles of a red
cow’s tail; and, in short, so transmography
every feature of her countenance;
without your meddling with
the sweetness of her breath, by which
they might have discovered what was
concealed beneath that bark of homeliness:
though, to tell the truth, I saw
not her homeliness but beauty, which
was exceedingly increased by a mole
upon her upper lip, something like a
whisker, consisting of seven or eight red
hairs, like threads of gold, as long as
my hand.’—‘According to the correspondence
which the moles of the
face have with those of the body,’
said Don Quixote, ‘Dulcinea must
have just such another on the brawny
part of her thigh, of the same side;
but hairs of such a length are, methinks,
rather too long for moles.’—‘I
do assure your worship,’ answered
Sancho, ‘they seemed as if they had
come into the world with her.’—‘I
very well believe what you say, my
friend,’ replied the knight; ‘for nature
hath bestowed nothing on Dulcinea
but what is perfectly finished;
wherefore, if thou hadst seen an hundred
such moles, in her would they
be so many moons and resplendent
stars: but tell me, Sancho, that which
you adjusted, and which to me seemed
a pannel, was it a plain pad or a side-saddle?’—‘It
was a great side-saddle,’
answered the squire, ‘so rich that
half the kingdom would not buy it.’—‘And
why could not I see all this!’
said the knight. ‘I say again, Sancho,
and will repeat it a thousand
times, that I am the most unfortunate
of men.’

The rogue Sancho, finding his master
so dextrously gulled, and hearing him
talk in this mad strain, could scarce refrain
from laughing in his face: in
fine, a good deal more of this sort of
conversation having passed between them,
they remounted their beasts, and took
the road to Saragosa, where they expected
to arrive time enough to be
present at the solemn festival yearly celebrated
in that famous city; but before
they accomplished their journey, they
met with adventures, which, for their
variety, novelty, and greatness, deserve
to be read and recorded, as in the sequel.
// File: 0544.png
.pn +1
.sp 4
.h4 id=chap3-1-11
<abbr=chapter>CHAP.</abbr> <abbr=eleven>XI.</abbr> | OF THE STRANGE ADVENTURE WHICH BEFEL THE VALIANT DON QUIXOTE,| WITH THE CART OR WAGGON CONTAINING THE PARLIAMENT OF DEATH.
.sp 2
Don Quixote jogged along exceedingly
pensive, his thoughts being
engrossed by the scurvy trick which the
inchanters had played him, in transforming
his mistress Dulcinea into the
disagreeable figure of a country-wench;
and he could not conceive what remedy
he should find for restoring her to
her former shape. So much was he absorbed
in this reflection, that he insensibly
dropped the reins upon the neck of Rozinante,
who being sensible of the liberty
he enjoyed, at every two steps turned
aside to take a pluck at the inviting
pasture with which those fields abounded.
At length Sancho Panza rouzed
him from this fit of musing, saying,
‘Signior, melancholy was not made for
beasts, but for men; and yet if men
encourage melancholy too much, they
become no better than beasts; good
your worship, be contented, mind
what you’re about, take hold of Rozinante’s
reins, rouze up, awake, and
shew that gaiety which all knights-errant
ought to have. What the
devil is the meaning of all this faint-heartedness?
Sure you don’t know
whether we are here or in France! let
Satan rather run away with all the
Dulcineas upon earth; for the health
of one single knight is of more value
than all the inchanted persons or transformations
that ever were known.’—‘Peace,
Sancho,’ cried Don Quixote,
with a voice that was none of the faintest,
‘Peace, I say; and utter not such
blasphemies against that inchanted
lady, of whose disgrace and misfortune
I am the sole cause: for, from
the envy of my wicked foes, her mischance
hath sprung.’—‘So I say,’ answered
Sancho; ‘for, He that hath seen
her before, let him look at her now,
and her fortune deplore.’—‘Well
mayest thou make that observation,
Sancho,’ said the knight, ‘seeing thou
sawest her in the full perfection of her
beauty; as the inchantment did not
extend so far as to disturb thy vision,
or conceal her charms from thy view.
// File: 0545.png
No! against me alone, and my longing
eyes, was the force of its poison
directed! Yet, nevertheless, Sancho,
I cannot help observing, that you
made but an indifferent picture of her
beauty; for if I rightly remember,
you likened her eyes to pearls; now,
eyes resembling pearls, are more peculiar
to dead whitings than to living
beauties; and, in my conjecture,
Dulcinea’s must be rather like green
emeralds, arched over with two celestial
rainbows: those pearls, therefore,
must be compared to her teeth,
which, without doubt, you have mistaken
for her eyes.’—‘Nothing more
likely,’ answered the squire, ‘for I
was as much confounded by her beauty
as your worship by her ugliness; but
let us recommend this whole business
to God, who fore-ordains every thing
that is to happen in this vale of tears;
in this evil world of ours, where
scarce any thing is to be had, without
a mixture of falshood, knavery,
and sin. One thing, dear Sir, of all
others, gives me the greatest pain;
and that is, to think what method is
to be fallen upon, when your worship,
after having vanquished some
giant or knight, shall command him
to go and present himself before the
beauty of the Lady Dulcinea, where
will this poor giant, or this poor miserable
object of a vanquished knight,
find out the person to whom he is sent?
Methinks I see them strolling up and
down, and gaping about thro’ the streets
of Toboso, in quest of my Lady Dulcinea;
and if they should stumble upon
her in their way, they would no more
know her than they would know my
father.’—‘Sancho,’ resumed Don Quixote,
‘perhaps the inchantment will not
extend so far as to disguise Dulcinea
to the eyes of those vanquished giants
and knights who shall present themselves
before her; and in one or two
of the first whom I shall conquer
and send thither, we will make the
experiment, commanding them to return
and give me an account of what
shall happen to them, with regard to
that affair.’—‘Truly, Signior,’ said
Sancho, ‘I heartily approve of your
worship’s scheme; because, by this
artifice, we will soon learn what we
want to know; and if so be that she
is only concealed from your worship,
you are the most unfortunate person
// File: 0546.png
.pn +1
of the two; for as my Lady Dulcinea
enjoys good health and satisfaction,
we will comfort ourselves, and make
the best of a bad bargain, going about
in quest of adventures, and leaving
the rest to time, who is the best physician
for these and other greater calamities.’

Don Quixote would have replied, but
was prevented by the appearance of a
sort of waggon that crossed the road,
full of the strangest figures that can be
imagined, and conducted by a frightful
dæmon that drove the mules. The cart
being altogether open, without tilt or
cover, the first figure that struck the eyes
of Don Quixote, was Death itself in
human shape; next to which appeared
an angel with broad painted wings;
on one side, stood an emperor with a
crown (seemingly) of gold, upon his
head; and hard by Death, was the god
Cupid, with his bow, quiver, and arrows,
but without the bandage on his
eyes; there was likewise a knight armed
cap-a-pee, except that he wore neither
helmet nor head-piece, but a hat
adorned with a plume of variegated
feathers. Besides these, there were
other personages of different countenance
and dress; so that the whole
groupe appearing of a sudden, discomposed
our hero a little, and filled the
heart of Sancho with fear; but Don
Quixote soon recollected himself, and
rejoiced, because he looked upon it as
some new and perilous adventure. On
this supposition, and with an effort of
courage capable of encountering the
greatest danger, he placed himself before
the wain, and with a loud and
threatening voice, pronounced, ‘Driver,
coachman, devil, or whatsoever thou
art, tell me straight, whither thou art
going, and who those people are whom
thou drivest in that carriage, which
looks more like Charon’s bark than
any modern vehicle.’ The devil
stopping his waggon very courteously,
replied, ‘Signior, we are players belonging
to the company of Angulo el
Malo, and have, this morning, which
is the octave of Corpus Christi, been
representing, in a village on the other
side of yon hill, the piece called the
Parliament of Death, which we are
going to act over again, this very
evening, in that other village now in
sight; we therefore travel in our habits,
to save ourselves the trouble of
// File: 0547.png
undressing and dressing anew; this
young man plays the part of Death,
that other represents an angel; the
woman, who is the author’s wife,
acts the queen; he with the plume of
feathers is our hero; the emperor you
may distinguish by his gilded crown;
and I am the devil, which is one of
the best characters in the performance,
for I myself am the chief actor
of this company. If your worship
is desirous of knowing any thing
else concerning our affairs, question
me freely, and I will answer with the
utmost punctuality, for being a devil
I understand every thing.’

‘By the faith of a knight-errant!’
said Don Quixote, ‘when I first descried
the waggon, I thought myself
on the eve of some great adventure;
and now I affirm, that a man ought
to examine things with more senses
than one, before he can be assured of
the truth; proceed, my honest friends,
a God’s name, in order to exhibit
your entertainment, and if I can serve
you in any respect, you may command
my endeavours, which shall be
heartily and freely exerted for your
advantage; for, from my childhood,
I have been a great lover of masques
and theatrical representations.’

While this conversation passed between
them, they chanced to be overtaken
by one of the company, dressed
in motley, hung round with a number
of morrice-bells, with a pole in his
hand, to the end of which were tied
three blown ox-bladders. This merry-andrew
advancing to Don Quixote,
began to fence with his pole, beating
the ground with his bladders, and skipping
about, so that his bells rung continually:
till at length Rozinante, being
disturbed at the uncommon apparition,
took the bridle between his teeth; and
the knight being unable to restrain him,
began to gallop across the plain with
more nimbleness than could have been
expected from the bones of his anatomy.
Sancho seeing his master in
danger of falling, leaped from Dapple,
and ran with all dispatch to give him
all possible assistance; but before he
came up, the knight was overthrown
close by Rozinante, who had come to
the ground with his lord; and this was
the usual end and consequence of all his
frolicksome adventures. Scarce had
Sancho quitted his beast, to run to the
// File: 0548.png
.pn +1
assistance of his master, when the bladder
shaking devil jumped upon Dapple,
and began to belabour him with his
rattle; so that being frightened at the
noise, rather than with the smart of the
application, he took to his heels, and
flew towards the village where they intended
to perform. Sancho seeing, at
the same time, the career of Dapple,
and his master’s fall, scarce knew which
of these misfortunes he ought first to remedy;
but at length, as became a loyal
servant and trusty squire, his love for
his master prevailed over his tenderness
for the beast; though every time he
saw the bladders railed aloft, and discharged
upon Dapple’s buttocks, he
felt the pangs and tortures of death, and
would rather have received every thwack
upon the apple of his own eye than have
seen it fall upon the least hair of his
ass’s tail.

In this state of perplexity and tribulation,
he arrived at the place where
Don Quixote lay in a very indifferent
plight, and helping him to mount Rozinante,
‘Signior,’ said he, ‘the devil
has run away with Dapple.’—‘Which
devil?’ cried the knight. ‘He with
the bladders,’ answered the squire.
‘I will retrieve him,’ replied Don Quixote,
‘even if he should conceal him
in the darkest and deepest dungeon in
hell; follow me, Sancho, the waggon
moves slowly, and the mules shall
atone for the loss of Dapple.’

‘There is no occasion for putting
ourselves to that trouble,’ said the
squire: ‘good your worship, be pacified!
for I see the devil has quitted
my ass, and returned to the rest of his
crew.’

This observation was actually true;
Dapple and his new rider had come to
the ground, in imitation of the knight
and Rozinante: upon which the devil
trudged on foot to the village, and the
ass returned to his right owner. ‘For
all that,’ said Don Quixote, ‘it will
not be amiss to punish the troop for
that devil’s incivility, though it should
be in the person of the emperor himself.’—‘I
hope your worship’s imagination
will harbour no such thoughts,’
answered Sancho; ‘take my advice,
and never meddle with players, who
are a set of people in such high favour
with the publick, that I have
known an actor taken up for two
murders, and yet ’scape scot-free:
// File: 0549.png
your worship must know, that being
the ministers of mirth and pleasure,
they are favoured, protected, assisted,
and esteemed by every body; especially
if they belong to the king’s
company, or to some grandee; in
which case all, or most of them, look
like princes in their manners and
dress.’—‘Nevertheless,’ replied the
knight, ‘that farcical devil shall not
escape unpunished, or applaud himself
for what he has done, though all
mankind should appear in his favour.’

So saying, he rode towards the waggon,
which was by this time pretty
near the village, and called aloud,
‘Stay, my merry men; halt a little,
and I will teach you how to treat the
asses and cattle belonging to the
squires of knights-errant.’ Don
Quixote hallooed so loud as to be heard
and understood by the people in the
waggon, who judging, by his words,
the intention of the speaker, Death instantly
jumped out of the cart, and was
followed by the Emperor, the Devil-driver,
and the Angel, with the Queen
and Cupid in their train; in short, the
whole company armed themselves with
stones, and, drawing up in order of
battle, stood without flinching, to receive
the assailant at point of pebble.

The knight perceiving them arranged
in such a formidable squadron, their
arms lifted up in a posture that threatened
a powerful discharge of stones,
checked Rozinante, and began to consider
in what manner he should attack
them, with least hazard to his person.
During this pause, Sancho came up,
and seeing him bent upon a assaulting such
a well-compacted brigade, ‘It will be
the height of madness,’ said he, ‘to
attempt any such adventure; consider,
dear Sir, that there is no kicking
against the pricks; and that there is
no armour upon earth sufficient to defend
your body from such a shower,
unless your worship could creep into
a bell of brass; you ought also to remember,
that it favours more of rashness
than of true valour, for one man
to attack a whole army, in which Death
and emperors fight in person, being
aided and assisted both by good and
evil angels; and if that consideration
will not prevail upon you to be quiet,
you ought to be diverted from your
purpose, by knowing certainly, that
among all those enemies in the appearances
// File: 0550.png
.pn +1
of kings, princes, and emperors,
there is not so much as one
single knight-errant.’—‘Now, indeed,’
cried Don Quixote, ‘thou hast
hit upon the sole reason that can and
ought to dissuade me from my determined
design; I neither can nor ought
to draw my sword (as I have told thee,
on many other occasions) against any
person who hath not received the honour
of knighthood; to thee, Sancho,
it belongs, if so thou art inclined,
to take vengeance for the injury
done to Dapple, while I from hence
will assist and encourage thee with salutary
advice.’—‘Signior,’ answered
the squire, ‘there is no occasion to take
vengeance of any person whatever;
for it is not the part of a good Christian
to revenge the wrongs he hath
suffered: besides, I will prevail upon
my ass to leave the affair to my inclination,
which is to live peaceably
all the days that Heaven shall grant
me in this life.’—‘Since that is thy
determination,’ replied the knight,
‘honest Sancho, discreet Sancho, christian
and sincere Sancho, let us leave
these phantoms, and go in quest of adventures
more dignified and substantial;
for this country seems to promise
a great many, and those very
extraordinary too.’

He accordingly turned his horse,
Sancho went to catch Dapple, while
Death, with his whole flying squadron,
returned to their waggon, and proceeded
on their journey. Thus was the dismal
adventure of the waggon of Death
happily terminated by the wholesome
advice which Sancho Panza gave to his
master; who next day met with another
equally surprizing, in the person of an
enamoured knight-errant.
.sp 4
.h4 id=chap3-1-12
<abbr=chapter>CHAP.</abbr> <abbr=twelve>XII.</abbr> | OF THE STRANGE ADVENTURE THAT HAPPENED TO THE VALIANT DON QUIXOTE,| IN HIS ENCOUNTER WITH THE KNIGHT OF THE MIRROURS.
.sp 2
The night that followed the rencounter
with Death, Don Quixote
and his squire passed among some tall
and shady trees; the knight, by Sancho’s
persuasion, having eaten of what
was found in the store that Dapple carried.
// File: 0551.png
During this meal, Sancho said
to his master, ‘What a fool should I
have been, Signior, if I had chosen,
by way of gratification, the spoils
of your worship’s first adventure, instead
of the three foals? Verily, verily,
a bird in hand is worth two in
the bush.’—‘But, for all that,’ answered
Don Quixote, ‘hadst thou suffered
me to attack them, as I intended,
thou wouldst have enjoyed among
the spoils the emperor’s golden crown,
with Cupid’s painted wings, which I
would have stripped off against the
grain, and put into thy possession.’—‘The
sceptres and crowns of your
stage emperors are never made of pure
gold, but of tin or tinsel,’ replied the
squire. ‘True,’ said the knight, ‘the
ornaments of comedy ought not to be
rich and real, but feigned and artificial,
like the drama itself, which I
would have thee respect, Sancho, and
receive into favour, together with
those who represent and compose it;
for they are all instruments of great
benefit to the commonwealth, holding,
as it were, a looking-glass always
before us, in which we see naturally
delineated all the actions of
life; and no other companion whatever
represents to us more lively what
we are, and what we ought to be,
than comedy and her attendants; for
example, hast thou never seen a play
acted, in which kings, emperors,
popes, knights, ladies, and many
other characters, were introduced?
One acts the ruffian, another the
sharper, a third the merchant, a fourth
the soldier, a fifth the designing fool,
and a sixth the simple lover; but the
play being ended, and the dresses laid
aside, all the actors remain upon an
equal footing.’—‘Yes, I have seen
all this,’ answered Sancho. ‘Then
the very same thing,’ said the knight,
‘happens in the comedy and commerce
of this world, where one meets with
some people playing the parts of emperors,
others in the characters of
popes; and, finally, all the different
personages that can be introduced in
a comedy; but when the play is done,
that is, when life is at an end,
Death strips them of the robes that
distinguished their stations, and they
become all equal in the grave.’—‘A
brave comparison!’ cried Sancho,
‘though not so new but I have heard
// File: 0552.png
.pn +1
it made on divers and sundry occasions
as well as that of the game of
chess, during which every piece maintains
a particular station and character;
and when the game is over, they
are all mixed, jumbled, and shaken
together in a bag, like mortals in
the grave.’—‘Sancho,’ resumed the
knight, ‘every day you become less
simple and more discreet.’—‘Yes,’
said the squire, ‘some small portion of
your worship’s discretion must needs
stick to me; as lands which are, in
their own nature, sapless and barren,
being well dunged and cultivated,
come to yield excellent fruit.  My
meaning is, that your worship’s conversation
hath fallen like dung upon
the barren desart of my understanding,
which being cultivated by the
time of my service and communication,
will, I hope, produce blessed
fruit, such as shall not disgrace, nor
stray from the path of that good breeding
which your worship hath bestowed
on my narrow capacity.’

Don Quixote could not help smiling
at the affected terms in which Sancho
delivered himself, though what he said
of his own improvement was actually
true; for at certain times he talked to
admiration; and yet when he attempted
to argue, or speak in a polite stile,
his efforts always, or for the most part,
ended in precipitating himself from the
pinnacle of simplicity to the depth of
ignorance; his chief talent laying in his
memory, which never failed to furnish
him with proverbs that he lugged into
his discourse, whether they were pat to
the purpose or not, as may be seen and
observed through the whole course of
this history.

In this, and other such conversation,
the greatest part of the night elapsed,
when Sancho began to be inclined to
let fall the portcullices of his eyes, as
he termed it, when he wanted to go to
sleep: he therefore unpannelled Dapple,
to let him graze among the rich pasture
with which the place abounded; but
Rozinante’s saddle he would not remove,
in consequence of his master’s
express order, which was never to unsaddle
his steed while they were in the
field, or did not sleep under cover; it
being an ancient established custom, observed
by all knights errant, in these
cases, to take the bridle out of the horse’s
mouth, and hang it upon the pummel
of the saddle, but to leave the saddle
itself untouched. This expedient was
accordingly performed by Sancho, who
turned Rozinante loose with Dapple;
and between these two animals such a
strict reciprocal friendship subsisted, that,
according to tradition from father to
son, the author of this true history wrote
particular chapters on this very subject;
but, in order to preserve the decency and
decorum which belongs to such an heroick
composition, omitted them; though
sometimes he seems to neglect this precaution,
and writes, that these two
friends used to approach and scrub each
other most lovingly; and after they had
rested and refreshed themselves, Rozinante
would stretch his head more than
half a yard over Dapple’s neck, while
the two were wont to stand in this posture,
with their eyes fixed upon the
ground, three whole days together; at
least, till they were parted, or compelled
by hunger to go in quest of sustenance;
nay, it is confidently reported, that the
author had compared their mutual attachment
to the friendship of Nisus or
Euryalus, or that which subsisted between
Pylades and Orestes. If this be
the case, we may with admiration conceive
how firm the fellowship of those
two pacifick animals must have been; to
the utter confusion of mankind, who so
little regard the laws of friendship and
society, according to the common saying,
‘there is no trust in profession;
the staff will turn into a spear[#],’ and,
as the song goes, ‘the modes of the
court so common are grown, that a
true friend can hardly be met.’ Let
no man imagine the author went out of
his road, in comparing the friendship of
brutes with that of the human species;
for men have received valuable hints,
and learned many things of importance
from beasts, such as the clyster from
storks, gratitude and the use of vomits
from dogs, vigilance from the crane,
foresight and frugality from the ant,
honesty from the elephant, and loyalty
from the horse.

In fine, Sancho went to sleep at the
// File: 0553.png
.pn +1
root of a cork-tree, and Don Quixote
began to slumber under an oak; but
being in a very little time awaked by a
noise behind him, he started up, and
employing both eyes and ears to distinguish
whence it proceeded, he perceived
two men on horseback, one of whom,
letting himself drop, as it were, from
the saddle, said to the other, ‘Alight,
my friend, and unbit the horses; for
this place seems to abound with pasture
for them, and with silence and
solitude, which are the necessary food
of my amorous thoughts.’ He had
no sooner pronounced these words, than
he threw himself upon the ground, and
his armour rattled as he fell, furnishing
Don Quixote with a manifest proof of
his being a knight-errant: he therefore
approached Sancho, who was asleep, and
shaking him by the arm, with no small
difficulty, brought him to himself; saying,
in a low voice, ‘Brother Sancho,
here is an adventure.’—‘God grant
it may be a good one,’ answered the
squire; ‘and pray, Signior, whereabouts
may her ladyship be?’—‘Where?’
said Don Quixote, ‘turn thine eyes this
way, and behold lying upon the grass
a knight-errant, who, by what I have
already observed, cannot be over and
above easy in his mind? for I saw him
throw himself upon the ground, with
evident marks of vexation, and heard
his armour clatter in his fall.’—‘But
how has your worship found that this
is an adventure?’ replied the squire.
‘I will not positively say that it is
altogether an adventure,’ answered the
knight, ‘but rather the beginning of
one: for thus they usually commence:
but hark! he seems to tune a lute or
rebeck, and by his hawking and hemming,
I suppose he is going to sing.’—‘In
good faith, it is even so,’ said
Sancho, ‘and he must be some knight-errant
in love.’—‘All knights-errant
are so,’ resumed Don Quixote;
‘but let us listen, and by the thread of
his song, discover the clue of his
thoughts; for, From the abundance
of the heart the tongue speaketh.’

Sancho would have made some reply,
but was prevented by the voice of the
Knight of the Wood, which was neither
very sweet nor disagreeable; and,
listening with surprize, they heard him
sing the following song:
// File: 0554.png
.sp 2
.pm verse-start
<abbr=one>I.</abbr>

‘Subjected to thy sov’reign will,
  Ah, cruel maid! my fate decree:
The sentence, tho’ inhuman, still
  Shall never be declin’d by me.
.sp 2

<abbr=two>II.</abbr>

‘Say, that my death thy joy would move,
  My breath with freedom I’ll resign—
Or wouldst thou listen to my love,
  The God himself shall whisper mine.

<abbr=three>III.</abbr>

‘This heart, thy vassal whilst I live,
  Like ductile wax, and diamond hard,
Thy stamp will yieldingly receive,
  And keep th’ impression unimpair’d.’
.pm verse-end
.sp 2
The Knight of the Wood finished
this complaint with an ‘Ah!’ that seemed
to be heaved from the bottom of
his soul, and soon after exclaimed, in a
sorrowful tone, ‘O thou most beautiful
and ungrateful woman upon earth! is
it possible, that the most serene Casildea
de Vandalia has doomed this her
captive knight to consume and exhaust
himself in continual peregrinations, in
harsh and rugged toils? Is it not
enough that I have established the
fame of thy beauty above all comparison,
by the extorted confession of
all the knights of Navarre, Leon,
Tartesia, Castile, and finally of La
Mancha?’

‘Not so, neither,’ cried Don Quixote,
interposing; ‘for I, who am of La
Mancha, never made any such acknowledgment;
neither could I, or
ought I, to make a confession so prejudicial
to the beauty of my own mistress:
therefore, Sancho, this knight
must certainly be disordered in his
judgment; but let us listen, perhaps
he will explain himself.’—‘Very
like,’ answered the squire, ‘he seems
to be in the humour of complaining
for a whole month.’

But this was not the case; for the
Knight of the Wood, hearing people
talk so near him, proceeded no farther
in his lamentation, but starting up,
called with a courteous and sonorous
voice, ‘Who is there? are you of the
number of the happy or afflicted?’—‘Of
the afflicted,’ replied Don Quixote.—‘Come
hither, then,’ resumed the
stranger, ‘and depend upon it you will
// File: 0555.png
.pn +1
find the very essence of sorrow and
affliction.’

Don Quixote hearing him speak in
such civil and pathetick terms, went towards
him, with Sancho at his back,
when the complaining knight took him
by the hand, saying, ‘Sit down, Sir
knight, for that you are one of those
who profess knight-errantry, I am
convinced by finding you in this
place, accompanied by solitude and
the dews of night, which are the peculiar
companions of those who belong
to our order.’

To this address Don Quixote replied,
‘I am a knight of that order you mention;
and though melancholy, mischance,
and misfortune, have taken
up their habitation in my soul, they
have not been able to banish from it
that compassion which I feel for the
unhappy. From the soliloquy you
just now uttered, I gather that your
misfortunes are of the amorous kind;
I mean, that they proceed from the passion
you entertain for that beautiful
ingrate whom you named in your
complaint.’ While this conversation
passed, they sat down together upon the
grass, with all the marks of amity and
good fellowship, as if at break of day
they had not been doomed to break each
other’s head. ‘Perchance, Sir Knight,’
said the stranger, ‘you are in love?’—‘By
mischance I am so,’ answered Don
Quixote, ‘though the vexation that proceeds
from well placed affection
ought rather to be deemed a benefit
than misfortune.’—‘True,’ said the
Knight of the Wood, ‘if our judgment
and reason are not disturbed by disdain,
which, if exerted severely, seems
a-kin to revenge.’—‘I never was disdained
by my mistress,’ replied Don
Quixote. ‘No, indeed,’ (cried Sancho,
who stood hard by) ‘my lady is as
meek as a lamb, and as soft as butter.’

The stranger knight asked if that
was his squire; and the other answering
in the affirmative, ‘I never saw a
squire,’ said he, ‘that, like him, durst
intrude upon his master’s conversation;
at least, I can say so much for
mine, who, though as tall as his father,
was never known to open his
lips, when I was engaged in discourse.’—‘In
good faith!’ cried Sancho, ‘I
have spoke, and will speak again, before
as good a man as—but let that
// File: 0556.png
rest—the more you stir it, the more it
will——.’

Here the other squire took hold on
Sancho by the arm, saying, ‘Let you
and I go somewhere, and talk our
bellies-full, in our own way, and
leave our masters at liberty to recount
their amours; for sure I am, the night
will be spent before they are done.’—‘With
all my heart,’ replied Sancho,
‘and I will tell your worship who I
am, that you may see whether or not
I am qualified to be ranked among
your talking squires.’ They accordingly
retired together, and between them
passed a conversation every bit as merry
as that of their masters was grave.

.fn #
As the original quotation is a fragment that will not complete the sense, I have
taken the liberty to make the allusion altogether English.
.fn-
.sp 4
.h4 id=chap3-1-13
<abbr=chapter>CHAP.</abbr> <abbr=thirteen>XIII.</abbr> | IN WHICH IS CONTINUED THE ADVENTURE OF THE KNIGHT OF THE WOOD—WITH A SAGE, UNCOMMON, AND AGREEABLE DIALOGUE, THAT PASSED BETWEEN THE TWO SQUIRES.
.sp 2
The knights and their squires
being thus parted, the first entertained
each other with the story of
their loves, while the last indulged themselves
with a reciprocal account of their
own lives: but the history first of all
records the conversation of the domesticks,
and then proceeds to relate what
passed between the masters. The squires,
therefore, having chosen a situation at a
convenient distance from the knights,
he of the wood accosted Sancho in these
words: ‘Signior, this is a troublesome
life that we squires to knights-errant
lead; in good soothe, we earn our
bread with the sweat of our brows,
which is one of the curses that God
denounced against our first parents.’—‘It
may also be said,’ replied Sancho,
‘that we earn it with the frost of our
bodies; for no creatures on earth suffer
more heat and cold than the miserable
squires of knight-errantry; and
even that would be more tolerable, if
we had any thing good to eat; for,
Hearty fare lightens care, as the
saying is; but we often pass a whole
day, nay sometimes two, without
ever breaking our fast, except upon
the winds of heaven.’—‘All this,’
said the other, ‘may be endured, with
the hope of reward; for if the knight-errant
// File: 0557.png
.pn +1
is not extremely unfortunate,
his squire must, in a very little time,
see himself recompensed with the handsome
government of some island, or
with the possession of a profitable earldom.’—‘For
my own part,’ answered
Sancho, ‘I have already told my master,
that I shall be satisfied with the
government of an island, which he
has been so noble and generous as to
promise me, divers and sundry times.’—‘And
I,’ said the stranger, ‘am contented
with a canonship, which my
master has already bespoke for me,
on account of my faithful services.’—‘It
seems, then, your master must be
an ecclesiastical knight,’ replied Sancho,
‘seeing he can provide for his squire
in the church: but as for mine, he is
a mere layman; though I remember,
that certain very wise persons (and
yet, I believe, not very honest at bottom)
advised him to procure for himself
an archbishoprick; but he would
be nothing but an emperor: and I was
then in a grievous quandary, for fear
he should take it in his head to be of
the church; in which case, I should
not have been qualified to hold a benefice;
for your worship must know,
though I look like a man, I am no
better than a beast at church-matters.’—‘Verily,’
said he of the wood, ‘your
worship mistakes the matter quite;
your governments of islands are not
at all desirable; some are vexatious,
some are beggarly, others attended
with much melancholy and fatigue;
in short, the most creditable and orderly
brings along with it a load of
care and inconvenience, that lies heavy
on the shoulders of the unhappy
person whose lot it is to bear it: it
would be abundantly better for us to
undergo this accursed slavery, to return
to our own homes, and there amuse
ourselves with more agreeable
pastime; such, for example, as hunting
or fishing; for what squire is there
on earth, so poor as to want a horse,
a couple of hounds, and a fishing-rod,
wherewith to entertain himself at his
own habitation?’

‘For my own part,’ answered Sancho,
‘I want none of these conveniencies:
true it is I have not a horse,
but then I am in possession of an ass,
which is worth my master’s steed twice
over. God let me never see a joyful
Easter, if I would truck with him for
// File: 0558.png
four bushels of barley to boot; you
may laugh, if you will, at the price
I set upon Dapple, (for that is the
colour of my beast;) then, I should
never be in want of hounds; for there
are plenty, and to spare, in our town,
and you know nothing is so relishing
as to hunt at another’s expence.’—‘Really
and truly, Signior Squire,’
resumed the stranger, ‘I am fully resolved
and determined to quit these
knights-errant, with all their crazy
pranks, and betake myself to my own
town, where I will bring up my children;
for, thank God, I have three,
like as many oriental pearls.’—‘And
I have a couple,’ said Sancho, ‘that
may be presented to the pope in person;
especially my daughter, whom I
breed up to be a countess, by the blessing
of God, though it be contrary
to her mother’s inclination.’—‘And
of what age may this young lady be,
whom you are breeding for a countess?’
said the squire of the wood.
‘Fifteen years, or thereabouts,’ answered
Sancho; ‘but she is as tall as a
spear, fresh as an April morn, and
strong as a porter.’—‘These are qualifications
not only for a countess, but
even for the nymph of the greenwood-tree,’
said the other: ‘ah, the
whoreson baggage! what a buxom jade
she must be.’ Sancho, nettled at this
epithet, replied, ‘She is no whore, neither
was her mother before her; nor
shall either of them be so, an please
God, whilst I live: so I think you
might talk more civilly; for, considering
your worship has been bred among
knights-errant, who are, as it were,
courtesy itself, methinks your words
might be better chosen.’—‘How little
are you acquainted with the nature of
commendation, Signior Squire?’ answered
he of the wood. ‘Don’t you
know, that when any cavalier, at a
bull-feast, wounds the bull dextrously,
or when any person behaves
remarkably well, the people exclaim,
“How cleverly the son of a whore has
done it?” and that which looks like
reproach, is on such occasions a notable
commendation. Take my word,
Signior, you ought to renounce all
children, if their behaviour does not
entitle the parents to such praise.’—‘I
do renounce them,’ answered Sancho;
‘at that rate, and for that reason,
your worship may call my wife and
// File: 0559.png
.pn +1
daughter as many whores as you
please; for both in word and deed,
they richly deserve the name; and that
I may see them again, I beseech God
to deliver me from this mortal sin,
which will be the case, if he delivers
me from this dangerous employment
of squire, which I have incurred a
second time, being seduced and enticed
by a purse of one hundred ducats,
which I found one day in the midst
of the Brown Mountain; and the
devil continually sets before mine eyes,
here and there and every where, a bag
full of doubloons, which, at every
step, methinks I have fast in my
clutches, hugging it in my arms,
and carrying it home to my own
house, where I purchase mortgages
and estates, and live like any
prince; and while I please myself
with these notions, I bear, without
murmuring, all the toils and fatigues
I undergo, in the service of the wiseacre
my master, who, I know, is more
of a madman than a knight.’

‘So that, according to the proverb,’
replied the stranger, ‘Covetousness
bursts the bag. But if you talk of
wiseacres, there is not a greater in the
universe than my master, who is one
of those concerning whom people say,
He is burdened like an ass, with another
man’s load; for truly he is
turned mad, that another knight may
turn wise, and is going about in quest
of that which, when he hath found
it, may hit him in the teeth.’—‘And
pray, is he in love?’ said Sancho.
‘Yes,’ replied the other, ‘he is enamoured
of one Casildea de Vandalia,
the most fickle dame that ever was
seen; but her cruelty is not the foot
that he halts upon at present: he has
got other crotchets of greater importance
grumbling in his gizzard, which
ere long will more plainly appear.’—‘There
is no road so smooth,’ resumed
Sancho, ‘but you’ll meet with rubs and
hollows in it. Other people use beans,
but I boil whole kettles full. Madness
is always more accompanied and
followed after, than discretion: but
if it be true, as it is commonly alledged,
that company in affliction lessens
the weight of it, I shall comfort myself
by reflecting that your worship
serves a master who is as distracted as
mine.’—‘Distracted, I grant you,’
said he of the wood, ‘but valiant, and
still mere mischievous than valiant or
distracted.’—‘That is not the case
with my master,’ replied Sancho, ‘he
has nothing at all mischievous about
him; on the contrary, is as dull as a
beetle, and knows not what it is to
harm man, woman, or child, or to
harbour the least malice, but seeks to
do good unto all mankind. A child
may persuade him that it is night at
noon; and, indeed, for that very simplicity,
I love him as my own bowels,
and cannot find in my heart to
leave him, notwithstanding all the
mad pranks he is guilty of.’—‘But
for all that, Signior and brother of
mine,’ said the stranger, ‘if the
blind lead the blind, they are both in
danger of falling into the ditch. We
had much better retire fair and softly,
and return to our own habitations;
for they who go in search of adventures
do not always find them to
their liking.’

About this time Sancho began to
hawk a kind of dry spitting; which
being observed by the charitable squire
of the wood, ‘Methinks,’ said he, ‘we
have talked till our tongues cleave to
the roofs of our mouths; but I have
got something that will agreeably
moisten them, at my saddle-bow.’ He
accordingly got up, and going aside to
his horse, soon returned with a large
leathern bottle of wine, and a pye half a
yard long: and this is really no exaggeration;
for it contained a whole fed
rabbit, so large, that when Sancho felt
it, he took it for a whole goat or a large
kid at least, crying, as soon as he perceived
it, ‘How! does your worship
usually carry such provision as this
about with you?’—‘What d’ye
think?’ answered the other; ‘d’ye
take me for a hackney squire[#]? I
carry a better cupboard on my horse’s
crupper than e’er a general on his
march.’

Sancho fell to, without staying for
intreaty, and swallowed, in the dark,
huge mouthfuls, with as much ease as
if it had been flummery, saying between
// File: 0560.png
.pn +1
whiles, ‘Yes, indeed, your worship
is a true and loyal squire, well
dammed and gristed, as the saying is,
grand and magnificent withal, as
plainly appears from this banquet,
which, if it did not come hither by
the art of inchantment, at least seems
so to have done; this is not the case
with such an unlucky poor devil as
me, who carry nothing in my bags
but a piece of cheese hard enough to
knock out a giant’s brains, accompanied
by three or four dozen of carrobes,
and as many hazle-nuts;
thanks to the niggardliness and opinion
of my master, and the rule he
observes, by which knights-errant
must maintain and support themselves
with nothing but dried fruits, and
the herbs of the field.’—‘In good
faith, brother!’ resumed he of the
wood, ‘my stomach was not made for
your sweet thistle, wild pear, and
mountain roots; let our masters please
themselves with their own opinions
and rules of chivalry, and live according
to their meagre commands;
for my own part, I always carry some
cold pasty, happen what will, and
this bottle hanging at my saddle-bow,
which I love so devoutly, that I kiss
and embrace it almost every minute.’
So saying, he handed it to Sancho, who
lifting it up to his mouth, stood gazing
at the stars a whole quarter of an hour,
and when his draught was out, he hung
his head on one side, pronouncing with
a long sigh, ‘Ah, whoreson! how catholick
it is!’—‘You see now,’ said
he of the wood, hearing Sancho’s whoreson,
‘how you have praised the wine,
by giving it such a title.’—‘I am sensible,’
replied Sancho, ‘and confess that
it is no disparagement to any body
to be called the son of a whore, when
it is understood in the way of commendation;
but tell me, Signior, by
the life of what you best love, is not
this wine from Cividad Real?’

‘You have an excellent taste,’ answered
he of the wood, ‘it comes from
no other part, I’ll assure you; and
has, moreover, some good years over
its head.’—‘Let me alone for that,’
said Sancho, ‘you’ll never catch me
tripping in the knowledge of wine,
let it be never so difficult to distinguish;
is it not an extraordinary
thing, Signior Squire, that I should
have such a sure and natural instinct
// File: 0561.png
in the knowledge of wine, that give
me but a smell of any kind whatever,
and I will tell you exactly its country,
growth, and age, together with
the changes it will undergo, and all
other circumstances appertaining to the
mystery? But this is not to be wondered
at; for, by my father’s side, I
had two kinsmen who were the most
excellent tasters that La Mancha hath
known for these many years; as a
proof of which, I will tell you what
once happened to them. A sample of
wine was presented to them out of a
hogshead, and their opinions asked
concerning the condition and quality;
that is, the goodness or badness of
the liquor to which it belonged; one
of them tasted it with the tip of his
tongue, the other did no more than
clap it to his nose; the first said the
wine tasted of iron, the other affirmed
it had a twang of goats leather; the
owner protested that the pipe was
clean, and the contents without any
sort of mixture that could give the
liquor either the taste of iron, or the
smell of goats leather: nevertheless,
the two famous tasters stuck to the
judgment they had given; time passed
on, the wine was sold, and when the
pipe came to be cleaned, they found
in it a small key, tied to a leathern
thong. By this your worship may
perceive, whether or not one who is
descended from such a race, may venture
to give his opinion in cases of
this nature.’—‘Therefore, I say,’ replied
the stranger, ‘that we ought to
quit this trade of going in quest of
adventures, and be contented with our
loaf, without longing for dainties;
let us return to our own cottages,
where God will find us, if it be his
blessed will.’—‘I will serve my master
till he arrives at Saragossa,’ said
Sancho, ‘and then we shall come to a
right understanding.’

In fine, the two honest squires talked
and drank so copiously, that sleep was
fain to tie up their tongues, and allay
their drought, which it was impossible
to remove; each, therefore, grasping
the bottle, which by this time was almost
empty, fell asleep, with the morsel
half chewed in his mouth. In this
situation we will leave them for the
present, and relate what happened between
the knight of the wood, and him
of the rueful countenance.

.fn #
Literally, ‘a squire of wool and water,’ an allusion to a custom among the Spaniards,
who sometimes have domesticks to attend them to mass, and sprinkle them with
holy water: these are generally shabby fellows, who have very poor appointments.
.fn-
// File: 0562.png
.pn +1
.sp 4
.h4 id=chap3-1-14
<abbr=chapter>CHAP.</abbr> <abbr=fourteen>XIV.</abbr> | WHEREIN THE ADVENTURE OF THE KNIGHT OF THE WOOD IS CONTINUED.
.sp 2
In the course of the conversation that
passed between the two knights, the
history relates, that he of the wood said
to Don Quixote, ‘Finally, Sir Knight,
you must know, my destiny, or rather
my choice, led me to place my
affection on the peerless Casildea de
Vandalia. I call her peerless, because
she has no equal, either in point of
stature, quality, fortune, or beauty.
Now this lady, in return for all my
virtuous inclination and amorous desires,
like the stepmother of Hercules,
employs me in many various
toils and dangers, promising at the
conclusion of each, that with the next
my cares shall be finished; but thus
she goes on, stringing one labour to
another, without number, and I know
not which will be the last that is to
produce the accomplishment of my
wishes. At one time she commanded
me to go and challenge that famous
giantess of Seville, called Giralda[#],
who is so valiant and strong,
(her body being made of brass) and
who, without shifting her station, is
the most changeable and fickle female
in the whole world. I came, saw, and
conquered; fixing her motionless to
one point, for during a whole week,
the wind blew from the north. Another
time, she ordered me to weigh
the ancient figures called the Valiant
Bulls of Guisando[#]; an enterprize
more suitable to porters than to knights;
nay, she even commanded me to throw
myself headlong into the gulph of Cabra,
an adventure equally new and
dangerous, and bring to her a particular
account of what is contained in
that dark and deep abyss. I fixed the
inconstant Giralda, weighed the bulls
of Guisando, precipitated myself into
the gulph, and brought to light the
secrets of its abyss; and yet my
hopes are dead; ah, how dead! while
her cruelty and disdain are still alive;
ah, how much alive! In short, to conclude,
she ordered me to traverse all
the provinces of Spain, and compel
every knight-errant in the kingdom
to confess that she is preferable, in
point of beauty, to all the women
upon earth; and that I am the most
valiant and amorous knight in the
world. In consequence of this command,
I have travelled over the greatest
part of Spain, and vanquished many
knights who have presumed to contradict
my assertion: but I value and
applaud myself chiefly for having
conquered in single combat, that so
renowned knight Don Quixote de La
Mancha, and made him confess that
my Casildea is more beautiful than
his Dulcinea. Now, in that single
conquest, I deem myself superior to
all the knights in the universe; for
that same Don Quixote hath vanquished
all his cotemporaries; and I,
in conquering him, have transferred
and conveyed to my own person all
his honour, glory, and reputation;
the victor being always honoured in
proportion to the fame of his vanquished
foe; wherefore, the innumerable
atchievements of the said Don
Quixote are placed to my credit, as if
they were the effects of my own personal
prowess.’

Don Quixote was astonished at hearing
the knight of the wood talk in this
manner, and was a thousand times
tempted to give him the lye; nay, ‘You
lye,’ was at the very tip of his tongue;
but repressing his indignation as well as
he could, that he might make the
stranger’s own tongue convict him of
falshood, he replied very calmly, ‘That
your worship, Sir Knight, may have
vanquished the greatest part of the
knights-errant in Spain, and even in
the whole world, I do not pretend to
question; but that you have conquered
Don Quixote de La Mancha,
I doubt very much; perhaps it might
be another who resembles him, though
there are few such.’—‘How! not
conquer him?’ cried he of the wood;
‘now, by yon canopy of Heaven, under
which we sit, I engaged, overcame,
and subjected that very individual
// File: 0563.png
.pn +1
Don Quixote; he is a tall,
meagre, long-legged, lanthorn-jawed,
stalking figure; his hair inclining to
grey, his nose hooked and aquiline,
with long, straight, black, mustachios;
in his excursions he assumes the name
of the Knight of the Rueful Countenance;
and is attended by a peasant
called Sancho Panza, who serves
him in quality of squire; he presses
the loins, and governs the reins of a
famous steed hight Rozinante; and,
in fine, he avows, as the mistress of
his heart, one Dulcinea del Toboso,
formerly known by the name of Aldonza
Lorenzo; in like manner, my
own mistress, whose name is Casildea,
being a native of Andalousia, is now
distinguished by the appellation of
Casildea de Vandalia. If all these
proofs are not sufficient to evince my
veracity, here is my sword, which
shall make a convert of incredulity
itself.’

‘Have a little patience, Sir Knight,’
said Don Quixote, ‘and give ear unto
what I am going to say. You must
know, that same Don Quixote you
mention, is the dearest friend I have
upon earth; so that I may say, I love
him as well as my own individual
person; now your description of him
is so punctual and exact, that I should
never doubt but he is actually the
person you have vanquished, did I
not see with my eyes, and, as it were,
feel with my hands, the impossibility
of the fact; and yet, as divers inchanters
are his enemies, particularly
one who persecutes him incessantly,
some one among them may have assumed
his figure, and allowed himself
to be overcome, in order to defraud
the knight of that fame which
his gallant exploits had collected and
acquired through the whole known
world; in confirmation of this conjecture,
I must also tell you, that
about two days ago, those perverse inchanters
transformed the shape and person
of the beautiful Dulcinea del Toboso,
into that of a mean and plebeian
country-wench; so that Don Quixote
must have also undergone a transformation.
And if all this is not
enough to ascertain the truth of what
I say, here is Don Quixote himself,
who will maintain it by force of arms,
on horseback or on foot, or in any
shape you please.’
// File: 0564.png

So saying, he started up, and grasping
his sword, stood waiting for the resolution
of the Knight of the Wood, who
with great deliberation replied; ‘A
good paymaster needs no pawn, Signior
Don Quixote; he who could vanquish
you when you was transformed,
may well hope to reduce you in <lang=la><i>propria
persona</i></lang>; but as it is unseemly
for knights to perform their exploits
in the dark, like robbers and ruffians,
let us wait for day, that the sun may
shine upon our works; and let this
be the condition of our combat, that
the vanquished shall comply with the
will of the victor, and do every thing
that he shall desire, provided his commands
be such as a knight-errant can
decently obey.’

Don Quixote assured him, that he
was extremely well satisfied with the
condition and proviso; upon which they
went in quest of their squires, who were
found snoring in the very same attitudes
in which sleep had surprized them.
They wakened, and ordered them to
get their horses ready; for by sun-rise
they intended to engage in a most unparalleled
and bloody single combat.
Sancho was astonished and confounded
at this piece of news; despairing of his
master’s safety, when he recollected
what the other squire had told him concerning
the valour of the knight of
the wood. The two squires, however,
without pretending to make any words,
went to look for their cattle, and found
the three steeds, with Dapple, (for they
had smelled each other out) very sociably
met together. While they were thus employed,
‘Brother,’ said he of the wood
to Sancho, ‘you must know that it is
customary with your warriors of Andalousia,
when they are godfathers in
any quarrel, not to stand idle, with
their arms across, while their godsons
are engaged. This I hint, by way of
apprising you that, while our masters
are at it, we must exchange a few dry
blows too.’—‘That custom, Signior
squire,’ answered Sancho, ‘may pass
current with those ruffians and warriors
you mention; but that it prevails
among the squires of knights-errant,
I can by no means believe; at least, I
have never heard such a custom mentioned
by my master, who knows all
the ordinances of chivalry by rote.
Besides, granting it to be fact, and
expressly ordained, that the squires
// File: 0565.png
.pn +1
must go to loggerheads while their
masters are engaged; I will by no
means comply with it, but pay the
penalty incurred by peaceable squires,
which I am sure cannot exceed a couple
of pounds of wax; and that will
not cost me so much as the pence I
should expend in the cure of my head,
which I should lay my account with
having split and divided into two halves;
and moreover, it is impossible that I
should fight, because I have got no
sword, and never wore one in my born
days.’—‘I know a very good remedy
for that inconvenience,’ said the stranger:
‘here are a couple of linen bags,
of the same size; you shall take one,
and I the other, and play away upon
each other with equal arms.’—‘With
all my heart,’ answered Sancho; ‘that
sort of exercise will serve to dust our
jackets, without hurting our skin.’—‘Not
quite so neither,’ resumed the
other, ‘for that the bags may not flap in
the air, we will clap into each half a
dozen clear smooth pebbles, of equal
weight and magnitude; so that we
may thwack one another without hurt
or damage.’—‘Body of my father,’
cried Sancho, ‘mind what sable furrs
and flakes of carded cotton he would
line the bags withal, to prevent them
from grinding our skulls, and making
a paste of our bones! Hark ye, master
of mine, I’ll have nothing to do
with them, though they were fluffed
with balls of silk; let our masters
fight as they shall think proper, but
for our parts, let us drink and live
quietly; for old father Time will take
care to rid us of our lives, without
our seeking occasions to throw them
away before the appointed season, at
which, being ripe, they drop off of
their own accord.’

‘But, for all that,’ replied he of the
wood, ‘we must have a bout, if it
should not last half an hour.’—‘By
no means,’ said Sancho; ‘I shall not be
so uncivil and ungrateful as to have
any difference, let it be never so small,
with a person at whose cost I have
both eaten and drank: besides, who
the devil do you think can fight in
cool blood, without any sort of anger
or provocation?’—‘I know how to
remove that objection,’ resumed the
stranger: ‘before we begin the battle,
I will come up fair and softly, and
give your worship two or three such
// File: 0566.png
hearty boxes on the ear, as will lay
you flat at my feet, and awaken your
choler, though it should sleep sounder
than a dormouse.’—‘Against that expedient,’
answered Sancho, ‘I know
another twice as good: for I will lay
hold on a good cudgel, and before
your worship comes to awaken my
choler, give your own such a lullaby
of dry beating, that it shall never
wake but in the next world, where
you’ll have reason to know that I am
not a man who will suffer his nose to
be handled by any person whatsomever;
wherefore, let every one look to
his own affairs. Though it would be
the wisest course for every man to let
his own choler lie still and sleep: for
nobody knows the heart of his neighbour,
and some who go out for wool,
come home quite shorn. God himself
bestowed his blessing upon peace,
and curse upon contention; for if a
cat that is confined, provoked, and
persecuted, turns into a lion, the Lord
knows what I, who am a man, may
turn into: I therefore, Signior Squire,
give your worship notice, that all the
mischief and damage which shall proceed
from our quarrel, must be charged
to your account.’—‘Mighty well,’
replied the stranger, ‘we shall see what
is to be done, when God sends us
morning.’

Now a thousand kinds of painted
birds began to warble from the trees,
and in their various and sprightly notes
seemed to welcome and salute the fresh
and joyous morn, which already,
through the gates and balconies of the
east, disclosed her beauteous visage;
while from her hair distilled an infinite
number of liquid pearls, in which delicious
liquor the herbs being bathed,
seemed to sprout and rain a shower of
seed-pearl upon the earth. The willows
shed savoury manna, the fountains
laughed, the brooks murmured, the
woods rejoiced, and the meadows adorned
themselves at her approach.

But scarce had the light of day rendered
objects distinguishable, when the
first thing that presented itself to the
eyes of Sancho Panza was the nose of
his brother squire, which was so large as
almost to over-shadow his whole body.
It is actually said to have been of excessive
magnitude, crooked in the middle,
and studded all over with warts of
a mulberry colour, like the fruit called
// File: 0567.png
.pn +1
berengena; and it hung down two fingers
breadth below his mouth. The
size, colour, warts, and curvature of
this feature, rendered the face so frightful
and deformed, that Sancho no sooner
beheld it than he began to shake in
every limb, like a child troubled with
convulsions; and resolved, in his heart,
to endure two hundred buffetings, before
his choler should be awaked, so as
to fight with such a hobgoblin.

Don Quixote surveying his antagonist,
found his vizor already down, and closed
in such a manner as effectually concealed
his face; but he perceived him
to be a muscular man, of a middling
stature. Over his arms he wore a loose
coat or cassock, to all appearance of the
finest cloth of gold, powdered with a
number of small moons formed of the
brightest looking-glass, which had a
most magnificent, gay, and shewy effect.
Over his helmet waved a great quantity
of green, yellow, and white plumes; and
his lance, which leaned against a tree,
was excessively long and large, armed
with above a hand’s breadth of pointed
steel. All these particulars were observed
and considered by Don Quixote,
who concluded, from what he saw and
observed, that the said knight must be a
person of Herculean strength. Nevertheless,
far from being afraid, like
Sancho Panza, he, with the most gallant
intrepidity, thus addressed himself
to the Knight of the Mirrours: ‘I entreat
you, by your courtesy, Sir Knight,
if your eager desire of fighting hath
not destroyed that quality, to lift up
your beaver a little, that I may see
whether or not the grace of your
countenance corresponds with the gallantry
of your demeanour.’—‘Signior
cavalier,’ replied he of the looking-glasses,
‘whether you are victor or vanquished
in this enterprize, you will
have time and opportunity more than
sufficient to consider my visage: my
reason for not satisfying your desire
at present, is, that I should deem it a
notable injury to the beautiful Casildea
de Vandalia, to spend so much
time as it would take to lift up my
beaver, before I compel you to confess
what you know I pretend to maintain.’—‘Yet,
while we mount our
steeds,’ said Don Quixote, ‘you may
easily tell me if I am that same Don
Quixote whom you pretend to have
overcome.’—‘To that question I answer,’
// File: 0568.png
said he of the mirrours, ‘that
you are as like the knight I overcame,
as one egg is like another; but
as you say you are persecuted by inchanters,
I will not venture to affirm
whether or not you are the same person.’—‘That
is enough,’ replied Don
Quixote, ‘to convince me that you are
mistaken: nevertheless, to persuade
you beyond all possibility of doubt,
let us have recourse to our horses, and
in less time than you would have taken
to lift your beaver, if God, my mistress,
and my arm avail me, I shall
see your face; and you will see I am
not that conquered Don Quixote whom
you suppose me to be.’

Thus breaking off the conversation,
they mounted their horses; and Don
Quixote turned Rozinante, in order to
take a sufficiency of ground for returning
to encounter his antagonist, while
he of the mirrours took the same precaution.
But the first had not proceeded
twenty paces when he was called back
by the other, and the two meeting again
half way, ‘Take notice, Sir Knight,’
said he of the looking glasses, ‘the condition
of our combat is, that the conquered,
as I have already observed,
must be at the discretion of the conqueror.’—‘I
know it,’ answered Don
Quixote, ‘provided the commands imposed
upon the vanquished be such as
do not transgress the bounds of chivalry.’—‘So
I understand the conditions,’
answered he of the mirrours.

At that instant the strange nose of
the squire presented itself to the eyes of
Don Quixote, who was no less astonished
than Sancho at the sight; insomuch
that he took him for some monster, or
new-fashioned man, such as are not
commonly found in this world. Sancho,
seeing his master set out, in order to
take his career, would not stay alone
with nozzle, being afraid, that one flirt
of such a snout in his face would determine
the quarrel, and lay him stretched
along the ground, either through fear
or the severity of the blow, he therefore
ran after his master, and laying hold
of one of Rozinante’s stirrups, when he
saw him ready to turn, ‘I beseech your
worship, dear master,’ cried he, ‘before
you turn to begin the combat,
help me in climbing this cork-tree,
from whence I may behold, more to
my liking than from the ground,
your worship’s gallant encounter with
// File: 0569.png
.pn +1
that same knight.’—‘I rather believe,
Sancho,’ said Don Quixote, ‘that thy
motive for clambering up is to see the
bull-fight from a scaffold, without
any danger to thyself.’—‘The truth
is,’ answered Panza, ‘the outrageous
nose of that squire fills me with such
astonishment and affright, that I dare
not tarry along with him.’—‘It is
such indeed,’ replied the knight, ‘that
were I any other than what I am, I
should be feared at its appearance:
come, therefore, and I will help thee
to ascend to the place you mention.’

While Don Quixote stopped until
Sancho should get up into the cork-tree,
the Knight of the Mirrours took as
much ground as he thought necessary,
and imagining that Don Quixote had
done the same, without waiting for
sound of trumpet, or other signal, he
turned his horse, which was not a whit
superior to Rozinante, either in fleetness
or appearance, and at his full speed,
which was a middling trot, rode forwards
to encounter his antagonist; but
seeing him busy in the exaltation of
Sancho, he pulled in the reins, and
halted in the middle of his career; a
circumstance that gave infinite joy to
his steed, which was already so tired,
that he could not move another step.
Don Quixote perceiving his enemy approaching
with such speed, drove his
spurs stoutly into the meagre flanks of
Rozinante, and made him spring forwards
in such a manner, that the history
says, this was the only occasion on
which he was ever known to gallop;
for, at all other times, his swiftest pace
was no other than a downright trot;
and with this hitherto unseen fury he
arrived at the spot where the Knight of
the Mirrours sat, thrusting his spurs
rowel-deep into the sides of his horse,
without being able to move him one
finger’s breadth from the place where
he had made his halt. In this confusion
and dilemma Don Quixote found his
antagonist embroiled with his horse,
and embarrassed with his lance, which,
either through want of knowledge or of
time, he had not as yet fixed in the rest.
Our Manchegan, who never minded
these incumbrances, safely, and without
the least danger to his own person,
encountered him of the mirrours with
such vigour, as to bring him, very much
against his inclination, to the ground,
over the crupper of his horse, with such
// File: 0570.png
a fall, that he lay without sense or motion,
to all appearance bereft of life.

Sancho no sooner saw him unhorsed,
than sliding down from the cork-tree,
he ran down to his master, who having
alighted from Rozinante, stood over the
Knight of the Mirrours, untying his
helmet, in order to see, whether or not
he was actually dead, and to give him
air, in case he should be alive. Then it
was he saw—who can relate what he
saw, without creating admiration, wonder,
and affright in those who hear it!
He saw, says the history, the very face,
the very figure, the very aspect, the very
physiognomy, the very effigies, the very
perspective of the batchelor, Sampson
Carrasco; and this he no sooner beheld,
than raising his voice, he cried, ‘Come
hither, Sancho, and behold what thou
shalt see, but not believe; quick, my
child, and contemplate the power of
magick: here thou wilt see what those
wizards and inchanters can do.’
Sancho accordingly approached, and
seeing the face of batchelor Carrasco,
began to cross and bless himself a
thousand times.

Mean while, the overthrown knight,
giving no signs of life, Sancho said to
Don Quixote, ‘In my opinion, master,
right or wrong, your worship should
thrust your sword through the jaws
of this miscreant, who seems to
be the batchelor Sampson Carrasco,
and in him, perhaps, you may slay
one of those inchanters who are your
enemies.’—‘That is no bad advice,’
said the knight, ‘for the fewer enemies
the better.’ So saying, he drew his
sword, in order to put in execution the
advice and counsel of Sancho, when the
squire belonging to the Knight of the
Mirrours, came up without his frightful
nose, and cried aloud, ‘Take care
what you do, Signior Don Quixote;
he who lies at your feet is your friend
the batchelor Sampson Carrasco, and
I am his squire.’

Sancho seeing him without his original
deformity, ‘And the nose?’ said
he. ‘I have it here,’ replied the other;
who putting his hand in his right side-pocket,
pulled out a paste-board nose,
covered with varnish, such as we have
already described. Sancho having considered
him more and more attentively,
broke out into a loud exclamation of
wonder, crying, ‘Blessed virgin watch
over me! Sure this is not my neighbour
// File: 0571.png
.pn +1
and gossip Tommy Cecial?’—‘The
very same,’ answered the unsnouted
squire, ‘Thomas Cecial I am,
your own friend and gossip, Sancho
Panza, and I will presently tell you
by what round-about conduits, tricks,
and mischievous stories, I have been
brought hither: in the mean time, supplicate
and beseech your master’s worship
not to treat, maltreat, wound, or
slay, the Knight of the Looking-glasses,
who now lies at his feet; for, without
all doubt, he is no other than our
townsman, the inconsiderate and ill-advised
batchelor Sampson Carrasco.’

About this time, the Knight of the
Mirrours came to himself; and Don
Quixote perceiving he had recovered
the use of his senses, clapped the point
of his naked sword to his throat, saying,
‘Knight, you are a dead man, if you
do not instantly confess that the peerless
Dulcinea del Toboso excels your
Casildea de Vandalia, in beauty; and
in the next place, you must promise,
(provided you escape with life from
this contention and overthrow) to go
to the city of Toboso, and present
yourself before her, in my name, that
she may dispose of you according to
her good pleasure; and if she leaves
you at your own disposal, you shall
return in quest of me; for the tracks
of my exploits will serve as a guide to
conduct you to the place where I shall
be, and give me an account of what
hath passed between you; these conditions
being conformable to what we
agreed upon before the combat, and
not deviating from the customs of
knight-errantry.’—‘I confess,’ said
the vanquished knight, ‘that the clouted
dirty shoe of the Lady Dulcinea
del Toboso, excels the dishevelled,
though shining locks of Casildea: I
promise to go and return from her to
your presence, and give you a full and
particular detail of what you demand.’—‘You
must, in like manner, confess
and believe,’ added Don Quixote, ‘that
the knight whom you overcame neither
was nor could be Don Quixote
de La Mancha, but some other who
resembled him; as I confess and believe,
that although you appear to be
the batchelor Sampson Carrasco, you
are not really he, but another cloathed
in his appearance, with which my
enemies have invested you, in order
to arrest my arm, and restrain the impetuosity
// File: 0572.png
of my rage, so as that I
may bear the glory of my conquest
with moderation.’—‘I confess, judge,
and perceive, in all respects, as you
believe, judge, and perceive,’ answered
the discomfited knight; ‘and I beseech
you to allow me to rise, if the
severity of my fall, which hath put
me in a miserable plight, will permit
me to get up.’

He was accordingly assisted in rising,
by Don Quixote and his own squire
Tommy Cecial, from whose person
Sancho could not withdraw his eyes,
while he asked a thousand questions;
the answers to which manifestly shewed,
that he was really and truly the individual
Tommy Cecial, whom he pretended
to be; but the apprehension
which Sancho had conceived, from
what his master said touching the inchanters,
who had metamorphosed the
Knight of the Mirrours into the Batchelor
Carrasco, hindered him from giving
credit to the truth of what he saw with
his own eyes. Finally, both master
and man remained under the influence
of that deception, while he of the mirrours,
with his squire, in exceeding bad
humour and evil plight, took his leave of
Don Quixote and Sancho, to go in quest
of some place where he might beplaister
and besplinter his ribs. Don Quixote
and Sancho returned to the prosecution
of their journey; in which the history
leaves them, to explain the mystery of
the knight of the looking-glasses and
his snouted squire.

.fn #
A brass statue on a steeple at Seville, serving for a weather-cock.
.fn-

.fn #
These are stone statues of bulls, erected by the Romans at Guisando, a town in
Castile; all the inscriptions are effaced, except the name of <abbr rend=spell>A.</abbr> Quintus Cæcilius,
Consul <abbr rend=spell>II</abbr>.
.fn-
.sp 4
.h4 id=chap3-1-15
<abbr=chapter>CHAP.</abbr> <abbr=fifteen>XV.</abbr> | WHICH GIVES AN ACCOUNT AND INFORMATION| OF THE KNIGHT OF THE MIRROURS AND HIS SQUIRE.
.sp 2
Don Quixote went on his way rejoicing;
he gloried, he triumphed
in the importance of his conquest, imagining
the knight of the mirrours to be
the most redoubtable of all knights that
had yet ever appeared; and what afforded
him likewise great matter of comfort
was, that this knight, having engaged
himself by the ties of honour,
from which he could not deviate, without
forfeiting his title to the order, he
conceived hopes of hearing soon from
Dulcinea, and of being certainly informed
// File: 0573.png
.pn +1
whether the inchantment of that
princess still continued; though, indeed,
it happened, that he and the
knight of the mirrours thought, at that
time, differently upon this subject; inasmuch
as the latter was solely intent
upon thinking how he should repair the
damage done to his carcase.

And here the historian informs his
readers, that when Sampson Carrasco
advised Don Quixote to resume the profession
of knight-errantry, it was in
consequence of mature consultation between
him, the curate, and the barber,
when they deliberated upon the means
of keeping him in peace and quiet at
home, so that his brains, for the future,
should not be disturbed in pursuit of
those wild extravagances; the result of
which was, that the only way to cure
the frenzy of this unhappy man, was
at present not to check his ungovernable
obstinacy, but to humour it, and
encourage him to go out again, as they
saw it was impossible to prevent him;
that Sampson should arm himself, and
take an opportunity of meeting and
challenging him, as a knight-errant;
that he should settle the terms with him,
that the vanquished should be at the
disposal of the conqueror; that, in consequence
of this agreement, Don Quixote,
when overcome, (which they looked
upon as a matter of little doubt and
difficulty) should be ordered to return
home, and not to pass the bounds of
his own village for the space of two
years, without the good-will and permission
of the other; that, no doubt,
this he would religiously comply with,
as not daring to violate the laws of the
order; and that there might be hopes,
he would either in that space of time be
naturally cured of those extravagant
follies, or they might find out some
method of diverting his mind from the
farther pursuit of them. Carrasco undertook
the affair very readily; and
this Thomas Cecial, an intimate friend
and companion of Sancho, and a queer
sort of fellow, proffered his service to
go upon the expedition, in the quality
of squire. Sampson got himself accoutred
in the manner you have read,
and Cecial appeared in the terrors of
that tremendous paste-board nose, to
disguise himself from Sancho; and being
thus equipped, they followed him
so close, that they were very near coming
up with him at the adventure of
// File: 0574.png
the waggon of Death; they met him
however in the wood, where ensued
what the attentive reader must already
be acquainted with; and where, had it
not been for Don Quixote’s heated imagination,
which hurried him into the
belief that the batchelor was not the
batchelor Signior Sampson Carrasco,
would have been effectually stopped
in the progress of his university degrees,
and would not even have found
a nest where he expected a flight of
sparrows.

Thomas Cecial, finding the unhappy
success that attended their undertaking,
said, ‘Mr. Carrasco, I cannot in my
conscience see why we ought to complain;
it is one thing to undertake,
but another thing to finish: we looked
upon Don Quixote as mad, and
ourselves as hugely wise; but, behold
the end! we take our march
back again, both from a fool’s errand,
and you most handsomely drubbed
to boot, while he pursues his journey
in safety and triumph; and I
should really be curious to know which
is the greatest fool, he who is made
so by nature, or he who makes himself
one?’—‘There is this difference,’
replied the batchelor, ‘between
a natural and a wilful fool; that the
former will always remain so, the
latter may cease to be so when he has
a mind.’—‘As that is the case,’ said
Thomas, ‘I think I have been a monstrous
fool in coming here to attend
you as your squire; and therefore,
that I may be so no longer, I will
this instant hie me to my own habitation.’—‘In
that particular, you
may do what seems good unto you,’
replied Sampson; ‘but as for me, I see
not the place of my dwelling, until
I shall have taken bodily vengeance
upon Don Quixote: ’tis not now
from motives of charity or benevolence;
no, ’tis revenge, and the anguish
of my ribs, that prompt me to
persevere in attempting the work of
his reformation.’

They entertained one another in this
manner, till they came to a village,
where they had the good fortune to find
a bone-setter, who put the batchelor’s
ribs somewhat to rights; and Cecial
took the route for his own village, leaving
Carrasco deep in his meditations,
projecting schemes of revenge. In due
time, the history will again mention
// File: 0575.png
.pn +1
him; but, at present, let us share with
Don Quixote in the transports of his
joy.
.sp 4
.h4 id=chap3-1-16
<abbr=chapter>CHAP.</abbr> <abbr=sixteen>XVI.</abbr> | WHAT HAPPENED TO DON QUIXOTE WITH A GRAVE GENTLEMAN OF LA MANCHA.
.sp 2
Don Quixote, as we have observed,
went on his way, glorying
in his success. From that day, he
dated himself the most renowned and
invincible of all knights that had ever
yet gone through a course of labours
on this our earth: he looked upon all
dangers, all difficulties that possibly
could come in his way, as already vanquished,
already overcome: he now
valued not a rush the machinations of
the most powerful inchanters. The
very traces of former misfortunes, those
drubbings out of number he had undergone,
in discharging the functions
of knighthood, were now quite obliterated
from his memory. He thought
no more of the shower of stones which
had so sorely afflicted his jaw-bones,
nor the mortifying ingratitude of the
galley-slaves; nor did he think any
more of the pack-staves of the Yanguesian
carriers, who had the hardiness to
make his sides resound like the dusting
of a carpet: in short, the idea he
conceived of his own felicity was so
great, that, ‘Could I,’ said he to himself,
‘but accomplish the great point of delivering
my celestial princess from the
power of inchantment, I should not
envy the glory that ever was or will be
purchased by any knight in the universe.’

He was lost in these reveries, when
Sancho interrupted him: ‘Signior, you
will hardly believe what a fool I am;
but it is an actual truth, that I cannot
keep myself from thinking on
that horrid and unmeasurable nose of
my neighbour Tom Cecial.’—‘And
dost thou really believe,’ replied the
other, ‘that the Knight of the Mirrours
was Sampson Carrasco; and
that thy old companion, Thomas
Cecial, was his squire?’—‘As to
that affair, I can say nothing to it,’
answered Sancho; ‘only one thing I
am positive in, that no one but himself
could have given me such an account
of my house, my wife, and
my children; and as to his face,
// File: 0576.png
when that nose was slipt off, it was
the very individual face of Thomas
Cecial, just as I have beheld it many
a time, when we were next door
neighbours in our village: and as for
his voice, I will take my oath, it is
the same to a tittle.’—‘Come, Sancho,’
said Don Quixote, ‘let us reason
coolly upon this head: what probability
is there, that Sampson Carrasco
should come, as a knight-errant,
armed cap-a-pee, to offer me
combat? Am I his enemy, or did I
ever give him occasion to bear resentment
against me? Do you imagine
I am his rival, or that he has
entered into the profession of chivalry,
as envying the glory I have acquired
by arms?’—‘But then, Sir,’ answered
Sancho, ‘what account can we give
of the resemblance of that same
knight and his squire to Sampson
Carrasco, and my old friend Thomas
Cecial? And if it be inchantment,
as your worship says, were there no
other two in the world but them
whose likeness they could assume?’—‘It
is all design,’ answered the other;
‘and the contrivance of those cursed
inchanters that persecute me, who
easily foreseeing I should be victorious
in the combat, changed the form of
the vanquished knight into that of
the batchelor, that the friendship I
have for him might check the fury
of my sword, and shield him against
the effects of my just indignation;
and by that means save the life of
him who by treachery and artifice
had attempted to take away mine.
But what farther proof need there be
of the power of those inchanters, to
change the appearance of human countenances,
the fair into the deformed,
and the deformed into the fair, than
what thou thyself hast lately found
by certain experience? Thou, who
not two days since beheld the peerless
Dulcinea in all the charms and
lustre of perfect beauty, while at the
same time she appeared to me an
ugly rustick wench, with bleared eyes,
and stinking breath; and doubtless,
if the wicked magician could effect
such a diabolical inchantment as that,
it is not to be wondered at, if he did
the like by Carrasco and Thomas
Cecial, to rob me of the glory of my
victory: however, this is my consolation,
that the prowess of my arm
// File: 0577.png
.pn +1
hath prevailed against my enemy,
whatever shape he has assumed.’—‘It
is God alone who knows the truth
of all things,’ answered Sancho: who,
well knowing that the transformation
of Dulcinea was the effect of his own
inchantments, upon that account was
not quite convinced by his master’s arguments;
but durst not mutter the
least word, lest something should have
dropped from him, by which he might
have betrayed himself.

While they were discoursing in this
manner, a gentleman, mounted in the
jockey-fashion, on a fine flea-bitten
mare, came up with them, dressed in a
riding-coat of fine green cloth, faced
with murry-coloured velvet, and a
hunting-cap of the same; his furniture
of a piece, murry-coloured and
green; he had a belt of green and gold,
at which hung a Moorish scymitar,
and his buskins were wrought in the
same manner; his spurs were not gilt,
but so finely varnished with green, that
as they were more of a piece with the
rest of his dress, they looked better
than if they had been pure gold.
When this gentleman overtook them,
he saluted them with great politeness,
and was spurring on, in order to pass
them, when Don Quixote calling to
him, said, ‘Signior, if you are not in
haste, and are a going this way, I
should be exceeding glad to join company
with you.’—‘Sir,’ answered
the other, ‘I should not have been in
such haste to pass you, but was afraid
your horse might be unruly, in the
company of my mare.’—‘If that be
all,’ answered Sancho, ‘you may stop
your mare when you please, with
great safety; ours is the most sober
and most discreet horse in the world,
and has more breeding than ever to let
his naughtiness get the better of him
upon such occasions, and never transgressed
in this particular but once,
and then my master and I both suffered
severely in the flesh for it: I say
once more, your worship may stop;
for if your mare was served up in a
dish, our steed would not so much
as smell to her.’ Upon this assurance,
the gentleman stopped, and looked with
amazement at the air and appearance of
Don Quixote, who rode without his
helmet, which hung like a wallet before
Sancho, at the pummel of his ass’s
pannel; and, on the other hand, Don
// File: 0578.png
Quixote beheld him with no less attention,
conceiving him to be some person
of figure and distinction. The traveller
seemed to be a man about fifty;
he had some, though few, grey hairs;
his features were sharp, and in his looks
appeared neither levity nor moroseness:
in short, his appearance bespoke him a
man of consequence. He looked with
a kind of astonishment at Don Quixote,
as having never beheld such a
phænomenon before; the lankness of
the horse, and the tall stature of the
person that rode him, the sepulchral
meagreness of his aspect, his solemn
gravity, the strangeness of his armour,
all together forming such a composition
as perhaps had never before been seen
in that country.

Don Quixote observed with what attention
the traveller considered him;
and, by the surprize he saw him in,
guessing what he wanted to know, as
he was himself the very flower of civility,
and of excessive complaisance,
he was resolved to be beforehand with
him, and save him the trouble of asking
any question: ‘Signior,’ said he,
‘I am not at all surprized to find, that
with amazement you contemplate this
my appearance, so new to you, and
so different from that of other mortals;
but your wonder will cease,
when I have told you that I am of
the fraternity of those knights whom
people distinguish by the title of adventure-hunters.
I have left my native
home, mortgaged my all, bid
adieu to ease and pleasure, and cast
myself upon fortune, to dispose of
me as she shall think proper; my design
being to awaken the lost and decayed
spirit of knight-errantry: it is
now some time since I entered upon
the resolution of accomplishing this
aim, during which period I have suffered
a variety of fortune, tossed about
from one adventure to another, sometimes
triumphant, at other times not
so successful, until I have in a great
measure fulfilled my design, having
relieved many disconsolate widows,
afforded protection to many distressed
damsels, and been of aid and assistance
to divers married women and
fatherless children, the true duty and
intent of our order; so that, by numberless
exploits becoming a Christian
hero, I am now celebrated in print
through almost all the nations of the
// File: 0579.png
.pn +1
habitable globe. Thirty thousand
copies of my renowned history are already
in the hands of the publick;
and if Heaven does not think proper
to put a stop to it, in all likelihood
there will be a thousand times as many
more. In one word, Sir, I am Don
Quixote de La Mancha, otherwise
stiled the Knight of the Rueful Countenance;
and though I own it is illiberal
to sound one’s own praises, yet
am I sometimes obliged to do it; but
then, never unless when no one is by
to do it for me; so that, Signior, after
what I have told you, neither my
lance nor my shield, my horse nor my
squire, the wanness of my countenance,
nor the lankness of my person,
and all my whole composition
together, ought any more to affect
you with surprize, since you know
the profession I am of, and the order
I belong to.’

There Don Quixote stopped to give
the traveller an opportunity of reply;
but he was so long before he opened his
mouth, that it seemed as if he could
make no answer; however, after a long
pause, ‘Sir Knight,’ said he, ‘you
was not mistaken, when, by the surprize
you saw me in, you guessed the
desire I had to be informed; but I
am still as much surprized as ever,
and though what you say may be
right, that my knowing who you are
ought to have made my wonder cease,
it is yet far from having that effect
upon me. Can it be possible, that there
are indeed now in the world knights-errant
really existing, and that there
are published accounts of real adventures?
I should never have once
dreamed that there was such a thing
upon earth as any one who assisted
married women and orphans, relieved
widows, and protected damsels, if I
had not had this opportunity of being
convinced by now seeing you; and
Heaven be praised, that this noble
history of your real and glorious atchievements
is in print, as it must efface
and discredit those numberless
romances about knights-errant, who
never had being, and with which the
world was so pestered and abused, to
the apparent corruption of the mind
of the readers, and the discredit of
real and true history.’—‘As to that
circumstance, Sir, there is much to
be said, and you must not be too rash
// File: 0580.png
in believing, that the histories of
knight errantry are all fable.’—‘Is
there any one,’ answered the traveller,
‘who makes a doubt of it?’—‘I
do, for one,’ answered Don Quixote;
‘but we will drop that subject for the
present, as I doubt not but, if we
continue any time travelling together,
I shall be able, by the blessing of
God, to convince you of your error,
and to shew you that you are prejudiced
only by the number of those
who have entertained a notion, that
such accounts are fictitious.’

These last words of Don Quixote
gave the gentleman in green a suspicious
idea of his understanding: he had a notion
that he must be disordered in his
senses, and was expecting some other
proof of it; but, without entering into
farther discourse, Don Quixote desired
his companion to let him know who he
was, as he himself had given an account
of his life and situation. To which
request the gentleman replied, ‘Sir
Knight of the Rueful Countenance,
I am a gentleman born in a village
where, if it pleases God, we shall all
dine to-day; my fortune is better than
moderate, and my name Don Diego
de Miranda. I pass my time chearfully,
with my wife, my children,
and my friends; my usual diversions
are fishing and hunting; but I neither
keep hounds nor hawks; all I have
are some decoy-partridges and a good
ferret. My library consists of about
some six dozen of Spanish and Latin
books; some are books of history,
others of piety; for as to books of
chivalry, I have not yet allowed them
to come under my roof: I am more
inclined to the reading of profane
than religious authors, if the subjects
they treat of are of an innocent nature,
if the stile is engaging, and the
incidents affecting and surprizing: but,
indeed, Spain produces mighty few
performances of this sort. I live in
terms of good neighbourhood with
all about me; sometimes I go to their
houses, sometimes I invite them to
mine; my table is neat and clean, and
sufficiently affluent, without extravagance.
I slander no one, nor do I
allow backbiters to come near me;
my eyes pry not into the actions of
other men, nor have I any impertinent
curiosity to know the secrets of
their lives. I go to mass every day,
// File: 0581.png
.pn +1
and the poor man partakes of my
substance; I make no ostentation in
the good I do, that I may defend
myself against the attacks of hypocrisy
and vain-glory, well knowing,
that the best fortified heart is hardly
proof against these sly deceivers. As
far as I have an opportunity, I am a
reconciler of differences among my
neighbours: I particularly pay my
devotions to the blessed Mother, and
have an entire dependance on the
mercies of God our Saviour.’

Sancho had listened with uncommon
attention to what the gentleman in green
said; and this discourse seemed to him
of such exalted piety and virtue, that
he immediately conceived such a man
must be endowed with the power of
working miracles: fully persuaded of
the truth of this supposition, he threw
himself off his ass, ran up to the gentleman,
seized his right stirrup, and with
a heart overflowing with devotion, and
eyes full of tears, fell a kissing his
feet. Which humility, when the traveller
perceived, ‘What is the matter,
friend,’ said he; ‘what is the meaning
of these embraces?’—‘Pray let
me alone,’ said Sancho; ‘for in my
life before, excepting your worship,
did I never know a saint mounted on
horseback.’—‘I have no title to be
thought so,’ answered the gentleman;
‘on the contrary, I am a miserable sinner;
but the simplicity of your behaviour,
my friend, shews, that you
yourself must be a very good man.’
Upon this declaration Sancho quitted
him, and again remounted Dapple, having
by his behaviour unbended the solemn
gravity of his master into a smile,
and increased the wonder of Don Diego.

Don Quixote then made enquiry into
the number of children he had, informing
him at the same time, that the
ancient sages, who were not enlightened
with the knowledge of the true God,
reckoned the gifts of fortune and nature,
abundance of friends and encrease
of dutiful children, as constituting part
of the supreme happiness. ‘Sir,’ answered
Don Diego, ‘I have one son; and if I
had none, should, peradventure, think
myself happier than I am; not that
he is very bad, but because he does
not come up to what I would wish
him to be. He is now eighteen years
of age, six of which he has spent at
Salamanca, studying Greek and Latin;
// File: 0582.png
and when I would have had him
apply to something else, I found him
so dipt in poetry, if that deserves the
name of science, that I could not prevail
upon him to take to the study of
the law, which was what I wanted he
should do; nor would he apply to divinity,
the first and noblest of all
sciences. I was desirous to make him
the honour and ornament of his family,
as we live in an age, and under
a monarch, where useful and virtuous
learning is so amply recompensed:
for what is learning without virtue;
no better than pearls on a dunghill!
He will spend whole days in examining
whether such a verse in Homer’s
Iliad be expressed with propriety, whether
such an epigram of Martial is
to be construed into a lewd sense or
not, and whether such a verse in Virgil
will bear this or that meaning. In
a word, these authors, with Horace,
Persius, Juvenal, and Tibullus, engross
the whole of his time and conversation.
As to the modern authors
of his own country, he seems to have
no great relish for them, though, notwithstanding
his seeming disregard,
he is now busied in making a kind of
commentary upon four verses, which,
I believe, are designed as a subject for
a prize in the schools.’

To this information, the other answered,
‘Signior, children are to be considered
as part of the bowels of the parents,
and be they good or bad, we
must treat them as such, and cherish
them accordingly. It is incumbent
upon parents to lead them betimes into
the paths of decency and virtue, to
instil into them sound principles, and
train them up in Christian discipline,
that by these means they may be the
stay of their declining years, and an
honour to their own descendants. I
am not against using persuasion to incline
them either to the study of this or
that science, but look upon using force
as altogether unwarrantable; more
especially as the young gentleman
does not study in view of getting his
livelihood, he being so fortunate as
to have that secured by inheritance:
then I think he should be indulged in
pursuing whatever his genius or inclination
mostly prompts him to; and
though in poetry there is more pleasure
than utility, it generally does honour
to the person who has a vein for
// File: 0583.png
.pn +1
it. I liken poetry to a young, tender,
and beautiful virgin, whom many
other virgins, that is, all the other
sciences, are assiduous to ornament,
enrich, and embellish; now as she
makes use of them all, so likewise
does she reflect a lustre upon them
all. But then this tender virgin is
not to be handled roughly; she is not
to be dragged through the streets, exposed
in publick places, or stand as a
prostitute at the gates of palaces.
She is a kind of alchemy of such rare
virtue, that whoever knows the nature
of her composition may change her
into pure gold of inestimable value:
whoever would keep her must narrowly
look after her; she must not be indulged
in the indecency of obscene
satire, nor allowed to run into insipid
sonnets; and though she may enjoy
the profits arising from heroick poetry,
weeping tragedy, or laughing comedy,
yet the muse must not be venal;
no buffoons must have any thing to
do with her, and she must be kept sacred
from the unhallowed multitude,
who neither know nor esteem those
hidden treasures she carries about her.
And think not that by the multitude
I only mean the common rank of
men; no, under that class I number
all who are strangers to real knowledge,
be they peers or be they princes.
But, whoever is possessed of
those qualifications I have been mentioning,
and with them attempts the
study and execution of poetry, I say,
his name will be famous and held in
veneration wherever politeness extends
its influence. As to what you
say of your son’s not esteeming the
poetry of his own country, I don’t
think he is quite right in that opinion,
and for this reason: the mighty
Homer did not write in Latin, because
he was a Greek; nor Virgil in Greek,
for the same reason that he was a Roman;
and, in general, every one of
the ancient poets wrote in the language
of his own country, and did not seek
for another to clothe the majesty of
his ideas. As this is the case, I think
it should be a prevailing maxim in all
countries; nor should we undervalue
the German poet for writing in his
own language, nor the Castilian, nor
even the Biscayan, for writing in
his; but, perhaps, your son does not
dislike Spanish poetry, but Spanish
// File: 0584.png
poets, as being destitute of the knowledge
of other languages or sciences,
that might contribute to cultivate, assist,
and enliven their own natural genius;
and even this prejudice might be
carried too far; for the maxim that a
poet is born with his talent, is certainly
just; that is, a real poet comes
forth a poet into the world, and with
this natural endowment, implanted in
him by his Creator, produces, without
the help of study or cultivation,
such things as verify that of the poets
when they say, <lang=la>“<i>Est Deus in nobis.</i>”</lang>
One so born a poet, if he cultivates
his genius by the assistance of art,
must be much better, nay, greatly
preferable to him who, without natural
fire, attains to the knowledge of
the rules only; for it is obvious, that
as art does not exceed nature, but
serves to polish and bring it to perfection,
so art assisting nature, and nature
so assisted by art, form the accomplished
poet. To conclude, Signior,
my advice is, that your son
should be allowed to follow the bent
of his own inclination; and as he
must be already an exceeding good
scholar, having mastered the learned
languages, which may be looked upon
as having mounted the first steps in his
progress to the seat of the sciences,
by the assistance of that knowledge he
will be able, without more help, to
climb to the top of human literature,
which as much adorns and sets off a
gentleman as a mitre does a bishop,
or the long robe the counsel learned
in the law. If you find him writing
satires injurious to private characters,
burn his works and rebuke him; but
if he composes discourses, that comprehend
for their subject of satire vice
in general, as Horace did with so
much elegance, then commend him:
for, though it be unlawful to mark
and single out particular persons, it is
allowable to write against particular
vices; for example, to write against
envy, or to lash the envious, and so
of others. Here are some poets, indeed,
who, rather than baulk their
fancy of saying a smart thing, will risk
being sent to the isles of Pontus. As
the manners, so will the verses be;
if the former are chaste, the latter will
be so likewise. Writing is the interpreter
of the mind, which will always
produce what is consonant to
// File: 0585.png
.pn +1
its own native conceptions; and when
kings, and the great men of the earth,
once see this wonderful gift of poetry
employed on subjects of wisdom,
virtue, and dignity, they bestow
marks of honour, esteem, and munificence
upon the poet; they crown
him from the leaves of that tree, which
is proof against the glancing thunderbolt,
emblematically denoting, that
such as wear that crown ought to be
secure against all hurt or offence.’

The traveller wondered so much at
Don Quixote’s discourse, that he began
to be staggered in his mind, whether he
was a madman or not. But as this
conversation did not altogether hit Sancho’s
taste, he had, in the midst of it,
gone out of the road, to beg a little
milk of some shepherds who were milking
ewes hard by; and the gentleman
in green, who seemed very fond of the
good sense and ingenious conversation
of Don Quixote, was going to renew
their dialogue, when the Don, suddenly
lifting up his eyes, saw a carriage with
the king’s colours meeting them upon
the road, and taking this for some new
adventure, called to Sancho to bring
his helmet. Sancho, hearing the voice
of his master, left the shepherd in great
hurry, and mounting Dapple, arrived
where Don Quixote was, to whom there
happened a very terrible and tremendous
adventure.
.sp 4
.h4 id=chap3-1-17
<abbr=chapter>CHAP.</abbr> <abbr=seventeen>XVII.</abbr> | WHICH SETS BEFORE THE READER THAT HIGHEST AND MOST EXALTED PINNACLE, WHICH THE INCREDIBLE MAGNANIMITY OF DON QUIXOTE EVER DID,| OR EVER COULD ARRIVE AT—WITH THE HAPPY ISSUE OF THE ADVENTURE OF THE LIONS.
.sp 2
The history then proceeds to inform
us, that when Don Quixote
called upon Sancho to bring him his
helmet, he, Sancho, was deep in bargain
with the shepherds about some
curds; and finding himself summoned in
such violent haste by his master, was at
a prodigious loss what to do with them,
for he had paid for them, and could not
bear the thoughts of losing his purchase:
in this extremity he had recourse to his
master’s helmet, in which he safely stowed
them, and hugging himself in this
lucky thought, away he trotted to receive
the commands of his lord and
master, who desired him to deliver his
helmet; ‘For,’ said he, ‘if I know
aught of adventures, that which I descry
yonder will prove such a one as
will oblige me to have recourse to
arms.’

Don Diego, upon hearing this declaration,
looked about him every where,
but could discover nothing, except a
carriage coming towards them, with
two or three flying flags, by which he
guessed the carriage might be loaded
with some of the king’s money, and
mentioned this observation to Don
Quixote, who minded not what he said,
his brain wandering so upon adventures,
that every thing must be one, and nothing
but a series of one adventure upon
the back of another; he therefore answered
the gentleman to this effect;
‘Sir, forewarned and fore-armed is
half the day; I am not now to learn
that I have enemies of all kinds, visible
and invisible, neither know I the
time, the place, the hour, nor under
what appearance they will attack
me.’ With these words, turning
about, he demanded his helmet of Sancho;
who not having time to disengage
the curds from it, was obliged to deliver
it, with that lining in the inside, to his
master, who took it, and without farther
examination, clapped it in a great
hurry upon his head, which pressing and
squeezing the curds, the whey began to
ooze down his beard; and this circumstance
so startled him, that he called out
to Sancho, ‘What can this mean? Is
my skull softening, or my brains melting,
or do I sweat from head to foot?
Surely, this I can say, that if I do
sweat, it is not through fear, though
I am fully persuaded this will prove a
most terrible adventure. If you have
got any thing, let me have it to wipe
me; for this deluge of sweat blinds
my eyes.’ Sancho replied not, but
gave him a cloth, and with it sent up
his thanks to the Almighty, that his
master had not found out what it was.
Don Quixote, after rubbing himself,
took off his helmet, to see what it was
that sat so cool upon his head, and, perceiving
something white and clotted,
put it to his nose, and snuffed at it;
‘By the life of my Lady Dulcinea del
Toboso,’ cried he, ‘thou hast put
curds into my helmet, thou traitor,
thou ill-bred squire!’ To which apostrophe,
// File: 0586.png
.pn +1
Sancho answered with great
unconcern and tranquillity, ‘If they
are curds, let me have them to eat;
but the devil ought rather to eat them,
for I am sure it must be he who put
them there. I offer to defile your
worship’s helmet! in good troth, I can
perceive, by the help of that understanding
God has given me, that I
am not without my inchanters too,
who are at me, as a sort of member
and limb of your worship; and I’ll
be sworn, have put that nastiness there,
to instigate your worship to wrath
against me, and stir up your worship
to anoint my ribs in the manner your
worship was wont to do. But this
time they have missed their aim I
trow, as I can depend upon the just
sentence of my master, who will easily
weigh with himself, that I had neither
curds, cream, nor any such stuff;
and that, if I had, it was more likely
I should have crammed them into my
own guts than put them into his worship’s
helmet.’—‘All this is possible,’
cried Don Quixote: and all this the
other gentleman saw, and saw with
astonishment, more especially when our
hero, after having cleaned his head,
beard, chops, and helmet, clapped the
latter upon his skull, and fixing himself
in his seat, tried whether or not his
sword could be easily drawn; then
grasping his spear, ‘Now,’ cried he,
‘happen what will happen, here am I,
determined for the combat, should the
prince of the evil spirits set himself in
battle array against me.’

By this time the carriage with the
streamers was come up, attended only
by the driver (who rode one of the
mules) and a man who sat upon the
fore-part of it. Don Quixote wedged
himself directly in their way, and called
out, ‘Whither, my brethren, are you
bound? what carriage is this? what
does it contain? what ensigns are
those displayed?’ To which interrogations
the waggoner replied, ‘The
carriage itself belongs to me, and
within are two savage lions, which
the general of Oran sends to court to
his majesty: the streamers are the ensigns
of our lord the king, to shew
that what is here contained belongs
to the crown.’—‘Are these lions
large?’ answered Don Quixote.—‘So
large,’ replied the man, who sat
on the fore-part of the waggon, ‘that
// File: 0587.png
lions of a more monstrous size never
came from Barbary into this kingdom.
I am their keeper, and have
had several under my charge before
now, but never any so big as they:
there is a male and female; the he
is in the first cage, and the female in
the other; they are now ravenous
with hunger, having had no food to-day,
and therefore I must entreat you
to get out of the way, as we must
make haste to the place where they are
to be fed.’ To which intreaty, Don
Quixote answered with a half smile,
‘What are your lion whelps to me,
and at this time of day too! are lion
whelps brought against me! I’ll make
those who sent them hither—yes, by
the holy God! I’ll make them see
whether I am a man to be scared by
lions. Come, honest friend, get off;
and as you are their keeper, open the
cages and turn them out; for, in the
midst of this plain, will I make the
savage beasts of the wilderness know
who Don Quixote de La Mancha is,
in defiance of the inchanters who have
sent them against me.’

‘Aha!’ said Don Diego to himself,
‘I think our Knight of the Rueful
Countenance has now given us a pretty
incontestable sample of what he is;
these curds have certainly soaked his
skull, and suppurated his brains.’
Then Sancho came up to Diego, and
said, ‘For God’s sake, Signior, take
care that my master’s worship does
not encounter these lions, or belike
we shall all of us be tore to pieces.’—‘What!’
answered he, ‘is your master
then really so much out of his wits,
that you believe and dread he will
engage these savage monsters?’—‘He
is not out of his wits,’ replied Sancho,
‘but prodigious bold.’

‘I’ll make him give over,’ answered
the other; then going up to Don Quixote,
who was pressing the keeper to
open the cages, he said, ‘Signior, gentlemen
of the order of knights-errant
ought to go upon adventures
that have a probability of success, not
such as are quite desperate; for that
courage which is almost temerity, savours
rather of madness than true
fortitude. Besides, these lions do not
come with any hostile design against
you; no, they think of nothing less;
they are going to be presented to the
king, and as they are on their way
// File: 0588.png
.pn +1
to court, I think they should not be
stopped in their journey.’—‘Pray,
good Signior,’ said Don Quixote, ‘if
you will please to get away from
hence, and look after your ferrets and
decoy-partridges, do, and leave every
one to mind his own business: this
is my business, and it behoves me to
know whether or not these lions come
against me.’ Then turning to the
keeper, ‘Sirrah,’ said he, ‘if you
do not immediately open the cages, I
swear by the living God, I will this
instant pin you to the place where
you sit.’

The carter seeing the obstinate resolution
of this armed phantom, who addressed
him, begged for the sake of
charity, he would let him take off his
mules, and get with them out of danger,
before the lions were uncaged,
‘For should my cattle be slain,’ said he,
‘I am undone for ever, having nothing
to depend upon for bread but this
cart and these mules.’—‘Man of little
faith,’ said Don Quixote, ‘alight;
take off thy mules, and do what thou
wilt; but thou shalt quickly see thou
hast laboured in vain, and that thou
mightest have spared thyself this unnecessary
trouble.’

The carter then got off, and unharnessed
in great hurry, and the keeper
spoke aloud, ‘I call all present to witness
that I am forced against my
will, to open the cages, and let loose
the lions; and I here declare, that
this gentleman is chargeable with,
and answerable for, all the harm they
shall do, as also for my salary and
perquisites over and above. And
now, gentlemen, pray take care of
yourselves, and get out of the way;
for, as to me, I know they will do
me no harm.’ Don Diego again urged
him to forbear attempting so extravagant
an action, alledging it was
tempting of God, to think of going
about such a desperate undertaking.
The other replied, that he knew what
he did, and Don Diego once more desired
him to think well of what he was
about, as he was certain that he deceived
himself. ‘Signior,’ said Don
Quixote, ‘if you do not care to be a
spectator of what you think will be a
tragical adventure, set spurs to your
mare, and provide for your own
safety.’ Sancho, upon this intimation,
fell a blubbering, and earnestly besought
// File: 0589.png
him not to think of entering upon
this adventure; ‘For, in companion
of this,’ said he, ‘the windmills, the
terrible adventure of the fulling-mill
hammers, nay, all the exploits your
worship has performed during the
course of your life, are but custards
and puff-paste. Consider, Sir,’ continued
he, ‘that there can be no inchantment
in this cage; I myself
have peeped through the cage, and
there I saw the claw of a real living
lion; and sure I am, that the beast
that owns such a claw must be bigger
than a mountain.’—‘Be he large or
small,’ answered Don Quixote, ‘thy
fear would magnify him to the bigness
of one half of the globe. Be
gone, leave me: if I die, you know
our old agreement; repair to Dulcinea.
I say no more!’ He spoke
several other things, which shewed he
was determined on what he was about,
and that all attempts to dissuade him
were in vain.

Don Diego would willingly have
stopped him; but had neither weapons
nor armour equal to the other’s, and,
besides, did not think it prudent to engage
with a man who was frantick; for,
by this time, he was convinced that
Don Quixote was so in all respects;
who still pressing the keeper, and repeating
his threats, Don Diego clapped
spurs to his mare, Sancho applied his
heels to Dapple, the carter put forward
his mules, and all endeavoured to get
as fast out of the way as they could,
before the beasts were let loose. Sancho
deplored the fate of his master,
who he believed was just going to be
sacrificed by the lions: he bewailed his
own hard fortune, and cursed the hour
when he thought of serving him again;
however, amidst the intenseness of his
grief, he ceased not to punch and jog
on his ass, that he might get from the
cart as fast as possible. The keeper
seeing that these runaways were now
safe at a sufficient distance, renewed
his expostulations with Don Quixote,
who said, ‘I hear you, friend; but
give yourself no more trouble with
arguments or entreaties, it will all
signify nothing; and therefore I desire
you will make haste.’

While the keeper protracted the time
in opening the first grate, Don Quixote
considered with himself, whether he
had best alight for the combat, or continue
// File: 0590.png
// File: 0591.png
// File: 0592.png
.pn +1
on the back of Rozinante; and
determined, at last, to fight on foot,
lest his steed might take fright at the
sight of the lions. Accordingly, he
leaped upon the ground, threw away
his lance, braced his shield, and drew
his sword; in which attitude, approaching
with great steadiness, he placed
himself just before the cart, recommending
himself, with great devotion,
first to the protection of the Almighty,
and then to his mistress Dulcinea del
Toboso.

.if h
.il fn=plate-xiii.jpg id=plate13 w=60% alt=""
.ca Plate XIII: Don Quixote Braves the Lions.
.if-
.if t
[Illustration: Don Quixote Braves the Lions.]
.if-

We must observe, that at this place
the author of this history breaks out
into pathetick exclamations, expressing
himself to this purpose: O Don Quixote
de La Mancha! renowned for fortitude,
brave beyond human expression;
thou mirrour, in which all heroes of
the earth may contemplate their own
perfections! thou second and other Don
Manual de Leon, glory and ornament
of Spanish knights! how shall I find
words worthy to relate this matchless
atchievement: by what power of argument
shall I make it gain credit among
future generations? for what encomiums
ever so exalted, even beyond
the hyperbole, can there be but what
thou deservest? On foot thou stood’st,
collected within thy magnanimous self,
with a sword far from being sharp, with
a shield far from bright and shining;
there, I say, didst thou stand waiting
and expecting two of the fiercest lions
that were ever yet engendered in the
dens of Libya. I want words wherewithal
to embellish thy great atchievements:
let thy own exploits, then, be
the harbinger of thy praises, O heroick
Manchegan!

The author here breaks off his exclamation,
and proceeds in the recital
of the history, saying,—

The keeper seeing Don Quixote fixed
in this posture, and finding himself under
a necessity of letting loose the he-lion,
to avoid the resentment of this
enraged and intrepid hero, flung the
door of the first cage open, where the
lion appeared lying, of a monstrous
bigness and terrifying aspect: he immediately
turned himself round in the
cage, put out one of his paws, and
stretching himself at full length yawned
and gaped with great composure, and
then, with a tongue of about half a
yard long, cleaned his face and eyes;
after which he thrust his head out of the
// File: 0593.png
cage, and stared around him with eyes
like firebrands; a sight sufficient to
have struck a damp into the most intrepid
heart: but Don Quixote only fixed
his eyes attentively upon him, wishing
for the minute he would leap out of
the cart, that he might engage and cut
him in pieces; to such an unaccountable
degree had his frenzy worked up
his disturbed imagination. But the
lion, naturally generous, and more inclinable
to be gentle than rough, heeded
not his bravadoes or flourishing: on the
contrary, after having looked around
him, as we have observed, turned
about, and shewing our hero his backside,
with great composure and tranquillity,
laid himself down again to
rest; which circumstance Don Quixote
perceiving, ordered the keeper to rouze
him by blows, and oblige him to come
forth. ‘Nay, that I wont,’ answered
he; ‘for, should I enrage him, he
would immediately tear me to pieces:
come, Sir Knight, be contented with
what you have done, which is all that
can be expected from any man’s
courage, and give over tempting fortune
any more. The door of his
cage is open, and he may come forth,
or not, as he pleases; but as he has
not come out now, he will not all
day. The intrepidity of your worship’s
valour is sufficiently vouched;
I apprehend the bravery of no combatant
needs do more than challenge
his adversary, and await him in the
field; and if the enemy won’t meet
him, the imputation of cowardice lies
with him, and the crown of victory
devolves upon the other.’—‘You say
true,’ said Don Quixote; ‘shut the
door, my friend, and let me have,
under your hand, in the best manner
you are able to draw it, a certificate
of what you have now seen; for I
think it is highly fitting mankind
should know that you opened the lion’s
cage; that I waited for him, and he
came not out; and that I waited for him
again, and he came not out, and that
again he laid himself down. I am not
bound to do any more; so inchantments
avaunt, and God prosper truth,
justice, and noble chivalry! shut the
door therefore, and I will wave a
signal for those who have run off to
return, and have an account of this
action from your own mouth.’

The keeper obeyed; and Don Quixote
// File: 0594.png
.pn +1
clapping upon the point of his
lance the cloth Sancho had given him
to wipe off the curds, called out to
them who were still pursuing their flight,
and at every step, all in a body, turning
about their heads, and Don Diego leading
them on; but Sancho chancing to espy
the signal of the linen cloth, ‘I’ll be
bound to be crucified,’ said he, ‘if my
master has not got the better of the
lions; for he now calls to us.’ They
all stopped, and perceived it was Don
Quixote who made the sign; upon which
the violence of their terrors somewhat
abated, and they approached nearer and
nearer by degrees, till they could distinctly
hear the voice of Don Quixote
calling to them; at last they came back
to the cart, and Don Quixote said to
the carter, ‘Harness your mules again,
my friend, and go on in your journey;
and, Sancho, give him and the
keeper two crowns of gold, as a recompence
for the time I have detained
them.’—‘That I will most willingly
do; but where are the lions, dead or
alive?’ Then the keeper very circumstantially,
and dividing his discourse
with great propriety, gave an account
of the issue of this adventure, exaggerating
with all his might, and all the
power of rhetorick he could muster up,
the courage of Don Quixote: ‘At sight
of whom,’ said he, ‘the lion, overawed,
would not, or rather durst not,
venture out of the cage, though I
held the door open a considerable
time; and that, upon remonstrating
to the great knight, that it was tempting
of God to provoke the lion so far
as to oblige him to come out by force,
as he wanted him to have done, and
was going to make him do whether
he would or not, his honour had suffered
the cage-door to be shut.’—‘Sancho,’
said Don Quixote, ‘what
dost thou think now; can inchantments
avail aught against true courage?
they may, indeed, and with
ease, stand in the way of my good
fortune; but of valour and resolution
they never can deprive me.’ Sancho
gave the crowns to the people; the
carter harnessed his mules, and the
keeper kissed Don Quixote’s hand for
his liberality, and promised, when he
arrived at court, he would give an account
of this heroick atchievement to
his majesty himself. ‘Should the king,’
said Don Quixote, ‘perchance enquire
// File: 0595.png
who performed it, tell him it was
the Knight of the Lions; for I am determined,
that, from this time forward,
the title I have been hitherto
distinguished by, of Knight of the
Rueful Countenance, shall be changed,
bartered, and sunk, into that of
Knight of the Lions; and in this
alteration I imitate the example of
knights-errant of old, who, as they
pleased, altered their designations as
it best suited their purposes.’

The carriage went forward, Don
Quixote, Sancho, and the traveller in
green, pursued their journey; and during
all this time, Don Diego de Miranda
was so attentive to remark and
observe the actions of Don Quixote,
that he had not opened his mouth; but
looked upon him as a man whose good
sense was blended with a strange sort of
madness: the reason was, he knew as
yet nothing of the first part of his history;
had he read that, his amazement
at the knight’s words and actions would
have vanished, as it would have cleared
up to him the nature of his frenzy;
but as he knew not that, he was at
times divided in his opinion, sometimes
believing him in his senses, and at
other times thinking him frantick; because
what he spoke was sensible, consistent,
and genteelly expressed; but
his actions discovered all the symptoms
of wildness, folly, and temerity. ‘For
what greater sign of disorder,’ said he
to himself, ‘can there be, than for a
man to clap on a helmet full of curds,
and then take it into his head that
some magician had liquified his skull;
and what more certain proof of foolhardiness
and wild frenzy, than for a
person, in spite of all that can be
said to him, to resolve to engage lions?’

Don Quixote interrupted these reflections
and soliloquy of his fellow-traveller,
by saying, ‘Signior Don Diego
de Miranda, I don’t doubt but that
in your judgment I must pass for an
extravagant madman; and, indeed, no
wonder; for, to be sure, my actions
would seem to declare me such: but,
at the same time, I must beg leave to
say to you, that I am not so disordered,
or so bereft of understanding,
as to you I may have seemed. The
gay cavalier, who in burnished armour,
before the ladies, prances over
the lists, makes a gallant appearance!
the adventurous knight too shews off
// File: 0596.png
.pn +1
to great advantage, when in the midst
of the spacious square, in view of his
prince, he transfixes the furious bull.
And a noble appearance make those
knights, who, in military exercises,
or such like, are the life, spirit, and
even honour of their prince’s court.
But a much more noble figure than all
these makes the knight-errant, who,
in the solitudes of the desart, through
the almost impervious passages of the
forest, and over the craggy mountains,
goes in quest of perilous adventures,
to bring them to a successful
issue, and that only to obtain
glory, honour, and an immortal name.
A knight-errant, I say, makes a more
glorious appearance, when he assists
the widow in some solitary plain,
than the courtier knight, when he
lavishes his gallantry on a town-lady.
All cavaliers have their different
spheres, in which they act; let the
courtier pay his attendance to the ladies,
adorn the court of his prince
with the splendor of his equipage, entertain
gentlemen of inferior fortunes
with the hospitality of his sumptuous
table; let him propose matches of different
exercise, and direct the justs
and tournaments; let him shew himself
splendid, liberal, and munificent;
and, above all, approve himself
a good Christian: in acting thus, he
will discharge the duties that belong
to him. But for the knight-errant,
let him explore the most hidden recesses
of the universe, plunge into
the perplexities of the labyrinths; let
him, at all times, not be afraid of
even impossibilities; in the barren,
wasteful wilderness, let him defy the
scorching rays of the solstitial sun,
and the piercing chillings of the nipping
frost. Lions must not frighten
him, phantoms must not terrify him,
nor dragons dismay him; for, in
searching after such, engaging with
and getting the better of all difficulties,
consists his true and proper occupation.
It being my fortune, then,
to be of this last order, I cannot,
consistent with that, avoid engaging
in whatever I deem to be part of the
duty of my calling; and for these
reasons, though I knew, that encountering
the lions was in itself an
act of the greatest temerity, yet it
immediately belonged to my profession:
I am very sensible that true fortitude
is placed between the two extremes
of cowardice and fool-hardiness;
but then, it is better valour
should mount even to an over-daring
hardiness, than be debased to pusillanimity;
for, as the prodigal is more
likely to become truly generous than
the miser, so will the over-courageous
sooner be brought to true valour, than
the coward to be courageous at all;
and in undertaking adventures, I assure
you, Don Diego, it is much better
to overdo than underdo, and much
better does it sound in the ear of him
to whom it is related, that a knight
is daring and presumptuous, than
that he is pusillanimous and faint-hearted.’

‘Signior Don Quixote,’ answered
Diego, ‘I think all you have said is
consonant to the rule of right reason;
and I am of opinion, that if the laws
and statutes of true chivalry were lost,
they would be found deposited and
faithfully recorded in your breast: but
if you please, we will put on, for it
grows late; let us get towards my
house and village, that you may have
some rest, and taste of some refreshment
after your late fatigue, which,
if it does not weary the body, must
be heavy upon the mind, the labours
of which often affect the body likewise.’—‘I
accept of your invitation,
Don Diego,’ said the other, ‘as a
favour and mark of politeness.’ And
hastening forward a little quicker than
they had done before, they arrived about
two in the afternoon at the habitation
of Diego, on whom Don Quixote bestowed
the appellation of the Knight of
the Green Surtout.

END OF BOOK I. PART II.
// File: 0597.png
.pn +1
.sp 4
.h3 id=book3-2
BOOK <abbr=two>II.</abbr>
.sp 2
.h4 id=chap3-2-1
<abbr=chapter>CHAP.</abbr> <abbr=one>I.</abbr> | OF WHAT BEFEL DON QUIXOTE| AT THE CASTLE OR HOUSE OF THE KNIGHT OF THE GREEN SURTOUT—WITH OTHER OUT-OF-THE-WAY MATTERS.
.sp 2
Don Quixote found that
Diego’s house, like the
houses of most country
gentlemen, was large and
roomy, with the arms of
the family over the great
gates, cut out in rough stone; the buttery
was in the yard, the cellar was under
the porch, and around were placed
divers jars, which jars being of the
manufactory of Toboso, recalled the
memory of the metamorphosed and inchanted
Dulcinea; upon which, without
reflecting what he said, or before
whom he poured out his sighs and
tears: ‘O dearest pledges,’ said he,
‘which now I find in bitterness of sorrow,
but sweet and ravishing when
Heaven’s high will ordained it so.
O jars of Toboso, which have recalled
into my mind the dear idea of my
greatest sorrow!’ This exclamation
was overheard by the young poet, Diego’s
son; who, along with his mother,
had come down to receive Don Quixote.
Both mother and son were struck
with his uncouth figure, and he, alighting
from Rozinante, with great good
breeding, begged leave to kiss the lady’s
hand. To which intreaty Don Diego
added, ‘Madam, receive with your
usual politeness, Signior Don Quixote
de La Mancha, knight-errant, whom
I here introduce to you as a gentleman
of the brightest parts and most
intrepid courage of any in the world.’
Donna Christina (for that was the lady’s
name) received him with all the
marks of respect and esteem, and Don
Quixote overpaid them in polite and
mannerly acknowledgments; the same
kind of intercourse passed between him
and the young scholar, whom he took
by his conversation to be a gentleman
of vivacity and acuteness.

The author here minutely describes
Don Diego’s house, gives an inventory
of the furniture usually contained in
the house of a rich country gentleman:
but the translators of this history have
thought it adviseable not to mention
these and such other particular matters,
as being rather foreign from the main
scope of this history, in which truth has
more energy than needless and languid
digressions.

Don Quixote was conducted into a
hall, where Sancho disarmed him; after
which, he remained in his other accoutrements,
a pair of wide walloon breeches,
// File: 0598.png
.pn +1
and a shamoy-leather doublet, stained
with the rust of his armour; his band
was collegian, neither starched nor
laced; his buskins of the colour of dates,
and his shoes of waxed leather; he girded
upon his thigh his trusty sword,
which hung at a belt of seal’s skin, for
it is believed he had been for some years
troubled with an imbecility in his
loins; and over all these was a long
cloak of good grey cloth; but, before
he stirred any farther, he applied to his
face five or six pitchers (the precise
number not being exactly ascertained)
of fair water, which, nevertheless, still
ran off exhibiting a whey colour; and
it was undoubtedly owing to the irregular
appetite of Sancho, and his having
made the bargain for these nasty curds,
that his master was now scoured so
white and so clean. In this equipment,
as here described, and with a
gallant air and address, Don Quixote
walked into another hall, where the
young gentleman of the house was
waiting to receive and entertain him,
till dinner should be got ready; for as
to the Lady Donna Christina, she was
busy in ordering matters so, upon the
arrival of this noble guest, as to let it
be seen she knew what reception to give
those who came to visit under her roof.

While Don Quixote was unarming,
Don Lorenzo (that was the name of
Diego’s son) took the opportunity of
that leisure time to ask his father, who
that knight was he had brought home
to them; ‘For,’ said he, ‘his name
and his uncouth figure, and your
telling us, at the same time, that he is
a knight-errant, puzzle both my mother
and me prodigiously.’—‘I know
not,’ said Don Diego, ‘what answer
to make you; all I can say is, I never
saw a madman act more frantickly,
and have heard him talk so very
sensibly, as gave the lye to all his actions:
but I would have you enter
into conversation with him, and sound
the depth of his understanding; you
have sense enough, and therefore
I would have you form a judgment
of him according to your own
observation; to say the truth, I myself
am more inclined to believe him
distracted than otherwise.’

Upon this intimation, Don Lorenzo
went to entertain Don Quixote, as we
have mentioned; who, among other discourse,
said to Lorenzo, ‘Signior Don
// File: 0599.png
Diego de Miranda, your father has
been pleased to inform me a little of
your great genius and good judgment,
and particularly that you are a great
poet.’—‘A poet, in some sense, I
may be,’ said Lorenzo; ‘but a great
one did I never so much as dare even
in my own imagination to think myself.
True it is, I am a little fond of poetry,
and of reading the good poets;
but don’t at all for that reason merit
the title my father is pleased to bestow
upon me.’—‘I love your reserve,’
said Don Quixote: ‘for poets are usually
far removed from modesty, each thinking
himself the greatest in the world.’—‘No
rule holds universally,’ answered
Lorenzo, ‘and there may be one who is
really a great poet, and yet does not
think himself so.’—‘There must be very
few such,’ answered the other; ‘but
pray, Sir,’ continued he, ‘what verses
are those you are about, which your
father says make you so anxious and
studious? for, if it be commenting
upon some theme, I know somewhat
of the art of paraphrasing, and should
be glad to see what your performance
is; and if they are designed as a poetical
prize, let me advise you to obtain
the second, for the first is decreed
in view of interest, or in favour of the
great quality of some person; but merit
carries the second: so that, according
to the general practice of our universities,
the third becomes the second,
and the first the third; but, notwithstanding
this acceptation, the name of
the first makes a great shew.’—‘So
far, surely,’ said Lorenzo to himself,
‘this gentleman shews no signs of a
disturbed understanding; but we’ll go
on.—Your worship, I presume, has
been long at the schools; pray, Sir,
what sciences have you addicted yourself
to?’—‘That of knight-errantry,’
replied Don Quixote; ‘a science equally
sublime as your poetry; and, in my
humble opinion, even mounted a few
steps above it.’—‘That science,’ answered
Lorenzo, ‘I am hitherto a stranger
to; it has not yet come within
the extent of my knowledge.’—‘It is
a science,’ answered the other, ‘that
includes in itself virtually, most,
if not all the other sciences in the
world; for he who professes it must be
a civilian, and know the laws both
of distributive and communicative justice,
to determine, with equity and
// File: 0600.png
.pn +1
propriety, what lawfully and properly
belongs to every individual: he must
be a good divine and casuist, that he
may, with clearness and precision,
defend the principles of the Christian
faith, which he professes, as often as
he shall be required so to do: he ought
to be a physician, and particularly a
botanist, that, in the midst of desarts
and wildernesses, he may know those
herbs that are of efficacy in curing
wounds; for a knight-errant cannot
at every turn have recourse to a surgeon.
He ought to be an astronomer,
to distinguish by the stars the time of
the night, together with the climate
and part of the globe on which he
chances to be: he must be learned in
the mathematicks, for which he will
frequently have occasion; and besides
being adorned with all the theological
and cardinal virtues, he ought to descend
to other minute branches of
science. I say, for example, he must
know how to swim like an herring, to
shoe an horse, to mend a saddle and
bridle; and, returning to what we
have observed above, he must preserve
his fealty to God and his mistress; he
must be chaste in thought, decent in
speech, liberal in action, valiant in exploits,
patient in toil, charitable with
the needy; and finally, an asserter of
truth, even though the defence of it
should cost him his life. Of all these
great and small qualities is a good
knight-errant composed; so that
Signior Don Lorenzo may judge,
whether it be a snivelling science which
is learned and professed by a knight-errant:
and whether it may not be
compared with the sublimest which
are taught in colleges and schools.’—‘If
that be the case,’ replied Don Lorenzo,
‘I affirm, that it has the advantage
over all others.’—‘How!’ cried
Don Quixote, ‘if that be the case!’—‘What
I would say,’ resumed Lorenzo,
‘is, that I doubt whether there ever
were or are knights-errants adorned
with so many virtues.’—‘I have often
said what I am now going to repeat,’
answered Don Quixote, ‘that the greatest
part of the world believes there
never were knights-errant; and, in
my opinion, if Heaven does not work
a miracle to prove that they both did
and do exist, whatever trouble may be
taken will fail of success, as I know
by repeated experience. I will not,
// File: 0601.png
therefore, spend time at present, in refuting
and rectifying the error in
which you and many others are involved;
but my intention is to pray
that Heaven will extricate you from
your mistake, and give you to understand
how advantageous and necessary
knights-errant have been to the world
in past ages, and how useful they
might be to the present, were it the
custom to solicit their assistance: but,
now, for the sins of mankind, idleness,
sloth, gluttony, and extravagance,
prevail and triumph.’ Here
Don Lorenzo said within himself, ‘Now
hath our guest given us the slip; but,
nevertheless, he is a whimsical madman,
and I should be an idle fool, if I
thought otherwise.’

In this place their discourse was interrupted
by a call to table; and Don
Diego asked his son, what he had fairly
extracted from the genius of his guest.
To this question he replied, ‘All the
best physicians and writers that the
world contains, will not extract him
fairly from the blotted sheet of his
madness; but he is a party-coloured
maniack, full of lucid intervals.’
They sat down to eat, and their repast
was such as Don Diego had said upon
the road he was wont to bestow upon his
friends whom he invited, neat, plentiful,
and savoury; but what yielded more satisfaction
to Don Quixote, was the wonderful
silence that prevailed over the
whole house, which in this particular resembled
a monastery of Carthusians.

The cloth being removed, grace said,
and hands washed, Don Quixote earnestly
desired that Don Lorenzo would repeat
the verses designed for the literary
contest; and the young gentleman answered,
‘Rather than appear one of those
authors, who when they are requested
to rehearse their works, refuse to grant
the favour, and on the other hand,
disgorge them upon those who have no
inclination to hear them; I will repeat
my gloss, from which I expect no reward,
as I composed it solely with a
view to exercise my genius.’—‘It was
the opinion of an ingenious friend of
mine,’ said Don Quixote, ‘that no man
ought to fatigue himself in glossing
upon verses; because, as he observed,
the gloss could never come up to the
text; and very often, or indeed almost
always, the gloss was foreign to the
original proposition; besides, the laws
// File: 0602.png
.pn +1
of the gloss were extremely narrow,
restricting the paraphraser from the
use of interrogations; and, “Said
he,” or, “I will say;” as well as
from changing verbs into nouns, and
altering the sentiment; with other ties
and shackles incurred by those who
try their fortune in this way, as you
yourself undoubtedly know.’—‘Verily,
Signior Don Quixote,’ cried Don
Lorenzo, ‘I am very desirous of intrapping
your worship in false Latin; but
it is not in my power, for you slip
through my fingers like an eel.’—‘I
do not know,’ answered the knight,
‘what you mean by saying I slip through
your fingers.’—‘I will explain myself
some other time,’ replied Don Lorenzo;
‘mean-while, your worship
will be pleased to hear the paraphrase
and the text, which run thus—
.sp 2
.pm verse-start

‘THE TEXT.

‘Could I the moments past renew,
  Though fate should other joys deny;
Or bring the future scenes to view
  In time’s dark womb that rip’ning lie.


‘THE GLOSS.

‘As all things perish and decay;
  So did that happiness I mourn,
On silent pinion fleet away;
  Ah! never—never to return.
At Fortune’s feet forlorn I lie:
  Would she again propitious strew
Her favours, who more blest than I,
  <i>Could I the moments past renew</i>!

‘No pleasure, palm, or wreathe I claim,
  No wealth or triumph seek to find;
For all my wish, and all my aim,
  Is to retrieve my peace of mind.
Ah, Fortune! thy returning smile
  Would change to bliss my destiny,
And ev’ry gloomy thought beguile,
  <i>Though fate should other joys deny</i>.

‘Fond wish! impossible and vain;
  No pow’r on this terrestrial ball
Can Time’s unwearied foot detain,
  Or his accomplish’d flight recall.
He forward flies, nor looks behind;
  And those miscarriage will pursue,
Who hope this fugitive to bind,
  <i>Or bring the future scenes to view</i>.

‘Perplex’d with hopes and fears I live,
  Tho’ death at once would ease my pain;
What folly, then, for me to grieve,
  Who can that easy cure obtain?
// File: 0603.png
No! yet a wiser course I’ll steer,
  Resolv’d my fortune still to try,
Until those happier days appear,
  <i>In time’s dark womb that rip’ning lie</i>.’
.pm verse-end

Don Lorenzo no sooner concluded
his paraphrase, than Don Quixote starting
up, took the young gentleman by
the right-hand, and raising his voice
even almost to a halloo, pronounced,
‘Now, by the Heaven of heavens! noble
youth, you are the best poet in the
world, and deserve to be crowned
with laurel, not by Cyprus or Gaeta,
as an author said, whom God pardon,
but by the academy of Athens, did
it now subsist, and by those of Paris,
Bologna, and Salamanca, which are
still in being. Heaven grant, that
those judges who deny you the first
prize, may be transfixed by the arrows
of Apollo, and that the Muses
may never deign to cross the thresholds
of their doors. Signior, let me
hear, if you please, some of your more
majestick verses, that I may be thoroughly
acquainted with the pulse of
your admirable genius.’ Is it not
diverting to observe, that Don Lorenzo
was pleased with the applause of Don
Quixote, although he considered him as
a madman? O influence of flattery, how
far dost thou extend! and how unlimited
are the limits of thy agreeable jurisdiction!
This truth is verified in the
behaviour of Lorenzo; who, in compliance
with the desire and intreaty of
the knight, repeated this sonnet, on the
fable or story of Pyramus and Thisbe.
.sp 2
.pm verse-start
SONNET.

Fair Thisbe’s charms what bulwarks could withstand!
  They pierc’d e’en to her gallant lover’s soul;
And Cupid hasten’d from the Cyprian strand,
  To view the narrow paths by which they stole.
Here silence spoke; and through that narrow breach,
  Which e’en the timid voice durst not essay,
Th’ intrepid souls to perfect union stretch:
  Inspir’d, impower’d, by love’s almighty sway.
Th’ ill-fated pair to death untimely came,
  With flow’ry pleasure’s tempting bait intic’d:
By the same poignard, monument, and fame,
  At once destroy’d, enclos’d, immortaliz’d.
.pm verse-end
// File: 0604.png
.pn +1

‘Blessed be God!’ cried Don Quixote,
when he had heard the sonnet of
Don Lorenzo, ‘that amidst the infinite
number of consumptive poets that now
exist, I have found one consummate,
as your worship has plainly evinced
yourself, by the art and execution of
those stanzas.’

The knight was sumptuously regaled
in the house of Don Diego, for the space
of four days; at the expiration of which
he thanked his entertainer for the noble
treatment he had received from his hospitality,
and begged leave to depart; for
as it did not become knights-errant to
devote much time to ease and banquetting,
he was desirous of fulfilling the
duty of his profession in seeking adventures,
with which he understood that
country abounded, and in which he
hoped to employ the time till the day of
the tournament of Saragossa, whither he
was bound; but, first of all, he was resolved
to enter the cave of Montesinos,
about which so many strange stories were
recounted all over that neighbourhood,
that he might investigate and discover
the origin and real springs of the seven
lakes of Ruydera. Don Diego and his
son applauded the glorious design, and
desired he would supply himself with
whatever their house or fortune could
afford; for they would, with the utmost
good-will, perform that service, which
they equally owed to his personal valour
and honourable profession. At
length arrived the day of his departure,
as joyful to the knight as dismal and unfortunate
to Sancho Panza, who had
lived so much at his ease amidst the
plenty of Don Diego’s house, that he
could not without reluctance return to
the hunger that prevails in dreary forests,
and to the poverty of his ill provided
bags, which, however, he now took
care to fill and stuff with what he thought
most necessary for his occasions.

At parting, Don Quixote addressing
himself to Don Lorenzo, ‘I know not,’
said he, ‘whether I have already told
your worship, but if I have, let me
now repeat the intimation, that when
you are inclined to take the shortest
and easiest road to the inaccessible summit
of the temple of fame, you have
no more to do, but to leave on one
side the path of poetry, which is pretty
narrow, and follow that of knight-errantry,
which, though the narrowest
// File: 0605.png
of all others, will conduct you to the
throne of empire, in the turning of a
straw.’ With this advice did the
knight, as it were, sum up the process
of his madness; which, however, was
still more manifest in this addition:
‘Heaven knows what pleasure I should
feel in the company and association of
Don Lorenzo, whom I would teach,
by my own example, to spare the fallen,
and trample the haughty under foot;
virtues annexed to the order I profess:
but as his tender years do not require
such tutorage, nor would his laudable
exercises permit him to pursue
my steps, I shall content myself with
assuring his worship, that being a poet,
he may certainly acquire renown, if
he will conduct himself rather by the
opinion of others, than his own; for
no parent ever thought his own off-spring
ugly, and this prejudice is still
more strong towards the children of
the understanding.’

Both father and son admired anew
the strange medley of Don Quixote’s
discourse, in which so much discretion
and madness were jumbled together;
and were astonished at the wilfulness
and obstinacy with which he was so
wholly bent upon the search of his misadventurous
adventures, that constituted
the very aim of all his desires. Nevertheless,
they repeated their offers of service
and civility, and with the good
leave of the lady of the castle, Don
Quixote and Sancho set out on Rozinante
and Dapple.
.sp 4
.h4 id=chap3-2-2
<abbr=chapter>CHAP.</abbr> <abbr=two>II.</abbr> | IN WHICH IS RECOUNTED| THE ADVENTURE OF THE ENAMOURED SHEPHERD—WITH OTHER TRULY DIVERTING INCIDENTS.
.sp 2
A little way Don Quixote had travelled
from the habitation of Don
Diego, when he was joined by two persons
dressed like ecclesiasticks, or students,
and a couple of labouring men
mounted upon asses; behind one of the
students was a bundle wrapped up in
green buckram, seemingly consisting of
some linen and two pair of coarse thread
stockings; while the other was encumbered
with nothing but a couple of
new black fencing-foils, with their buttons.
The countrymen carried other
// File: 0606.png
.pn +1
things, which discovered and gave notice,
that they were on their return from
some great town, where they had made
a purchase, and were bringing it home
to their own village; and they, as well
as the students, were seized with that
admiration which was incident to all
those who for the first time beheld Don
Quixote; indeed, they burned with curiosity
to know what sort of a creature
he was, so different in appearance from
other men.

The knight saluted them courteously,
and understanding their road was
the same route that he designed to follow,
made a proffer of his company, at
the same time begging they would
slacken their pace, as the beasts travelled
faster than his horse. In order to facilitate
their compliance with his request,
he briefly told them who he was, made
them acquainted with his office and profession,
which was chivalry, and observed
that he was going in quest of adventures,
through all parts of the world;
giving them to understand, that his proper
name was Don Quixote de La Mancha,
and his appellative the Knight of
the Lions.

All this information was Greek or
gibberish to the countrymen, but not
to the students, who immediately discovered
the weakness of Don Quixote’s
brain; nevertheless, they beheld him
with admiration, and one of them, in a
respectful manner accosted him thus:
‘If your worship, Sir Knight, follows
no determined road, as those who go
in quest of adventures seldom do, be
so good as to accompany us, and you
will be an eye-witness of one of the
most splendid and opulent weddings
that ever was celebrated in La Mancha,
or in many leagues around.’

When Don Quixote asked if it was
the marriage of any prince, which he so
highly extolled, the other replied, ‘It
is no other than the bridal of a farmer
and a country maid; he the richest
of all this neighbourhood, and she
the comeliest that ever man beheld.
The preparations are new and extraordinary;
for the marriage is to be
celebrated in a meadow adjoining to
the village of the bride who, by way
of excellency, is called Quiteria the
Beautiful, and the bridegroom is
known by the appellation of Camacho
the Rich; she is but eighteen, and
// File: 0607.png
he turned of twenty, to that they are
extremely well matched; though some
curious persons, who remember all
the pedigrees in the world, are pleased
to say, that her family has in that
respect the advantage of Camacho’s:
but now-a-days these circumstances
are altogether overlooked; for wealth
is able to repair a number of flaws.
In a word, Camacho is liberal, and
has taken it in his head to overshadow
and cover the whole meadow in such
a manner, that the sun will find some
difficulty in penetrating, so as to visit
the verdant plants with which the
ground is adorned. He has likewise
bespoke choice dancers, both with
swords and morrice-bells; for there
are people in the village who can jingle
and snap to perfection; not to mention
your shoe-slappers, a power of
whom are summoned to the nuptials:
but none of those things I have mentioned,
or of a great many circumstances
I have left untold, are likely
to render the marriage so memorable
as the behaviour which is on this occasion
expected from the rejected Basilius.

‘This Basilius is a neighbouring
swain, and townsman of Quiteria, and
there is nothing but a partition wall
between his house and that of her parents,
whence Cupid took occasion to
renew the long forgotten loves of Pyramus
and Thisbe, for Basilius became
enamoured of Quiteria, even
from his tender years, and she smiled
upon his passion with all manner
of honourable indulgence; insomuch
that the love of the two children, Basilius
and Quiteria, furnished entertainment
and discourse for the whole
village. As their age increased, Quiteria’s
father resolved to forbid Basilius
the usual access he had to his
house; and, to free himself from all
sorts of jealousy and suspicion, proposed
a match between his daughter
and the rich Camacho, thinking it
would not be so well to give her away
to Basilius, to whom fortune had not
been so kind as nature; though, to tell
the truth, without envy or affection,
he is the most active young man we
know, an expert pitcher of the bar,
an excellent wrestler, and great judge
of hand-ball: he runs like a deer,
leaps nimbler than a goat, plays at
// File: 0608.png
.pn +1
nine-pins as if he used inchantment,
sings like a sky lark, touches the guittar
so as to make it perfectly speak,
and handles a foil like the best fencer
in the world.’—‘For that sole accomplishment,’
cried Don Quixote,
‘the young man deserves not only to
be married to the beautiful Quiteria,
but even to Queen Ginebra herself,
were she now alive, in spite of Sir
Lancelot, and all those who should endeavour
to oppose the match.’—‘Let
my wife alone for that,’ said Sancho
Panza, who had hitherto travelled in
silent attention; ‘she, good woman,
would have every body match
with his equal, sticking to the old
proverb, that says, Let every goose a
gander chuse. What I would willingly
see is the marriage of this worthy
Basilius; for he has already got
my good-will, with that same lady
Quiteria; and God grant them peace
and plenty, and rest their souls in heaven—[his
meaning was quite the reverse]—who
prevent lovers from marrying
according to their inclinations.’—‘If
that was always the case,’ replied
Don Quixote, ‘parents would be deprived
of that election and jurisdiction
they possess, to marry their children
when and how they shall think
proper; and if every daughter was at
liberty to indulge her own inclination
in the choice of an husband, one would
perhaps chuse her father’s servant,
and another place her affection upon
some gaudy coxcomb, whom she
might chance to see passing along the
street, even though he should be a disorderly
ruffian: for love and affection
easily blind the eyes of the understanding,
which are so necessary towards
the settlement of one’s condition
in life; and as we are apt to commit
very important mistakes in the
article of matrimony, it requires great
caution, as well as the particular favour
of Heaven, to succeed in the
choice of a wife. A prudent man,
who is resolved to undertake a long
journey, will, before he sets out, endeavour
to find a safe, quiet, and agreeable
fellow-traveller. Then why
should not the same pains be taken by
the man who is going to travel through
the whole journey of life? especially
in the choice of a companion for bed,
board, and every other purpose for
which the wife is subservient to the
// File: 0609.png
husband; a man’s own wedded wife
is not like a commodity which being
once bought may be bartered, exchanged,
or returned, but is an inseparable
appendage that lasts for
life.

‘Marriage is a noose, into which if
the neck should happen to slip, it becomes
inexplicable as the Gordian
knot, and cannot be undone till cut
asunder by the scythe of death. Much
more could I add upon this subject,
if I were not prevented by the desire
I have to know whether Mr. Licentiate
has any thing farther to entertain
us with, relative to the history of
Basilius.’ To this hint the other (call
him scholar, batchelor, or licentiate)
replied, ‘I have not any thing material
to add, but that from the time he understood
Quiteria was to be married
to Camacho the Rich, he was never
seen to smile, or heard to speak consistently:
he is thoughtful and melancholy,
talks to himself; all which are
undoubtedly symptoms of a disordered
mind. He scarce either eats or sleeps;
and what little he does eat is fruit;
when he sleeps at all it is upon the
bare ground, and in the open air, like
the beasts of the field. He every now
and then looks up to heaven; at other
times, like one stupid, fixes his eyes
on the ground, and seems as if he was a
cloathed statue, with the drapery flowing
to the gales of the wind: in a
word, he gives such indications of a
fatal passion, that we believe for certain,
when Quiteria to-morrow pronounces
the Word “Yes,” she will
in that seal the sentence of his death.’

‘God will order things better,’ said
Sancho, ‘for he inflicts the wound, and
will also perform the cure. No one
knows what may happen; there are a
great many hours between this and
to-morrow, and in one hour, even in
a moment, down comes the house; I
have myself seen sun-shine and rain at
the same time; a man goes to bed
well at night, but cannot bestir himself
next morning. Let me know,
the best of ye, if any man can brag
of having put a spoke in fortune’s
wheel? No one, to be sure; and between
the Yes and No of a woman, I
would not venture to thrust the point
of a pin, and that for a weighty reason,
because there would-not be room
for it; if you will only allow me one
// File: 0610.png
.pn +1
thing, that Quiteria loves Basilius,
I’ll yet engage to give him a wallet-full
of good-luck; for I have been
told, that love wears a pair of spectacles,
which spectacles make copper
look like gold, and poverty appear to
be riches, and specks in the eyes to
seem pearls.’—‘A curse on thee!’
cried Don Quixote, ‘what is it thou
wouldst be at! once thou art set in
to stringing thy proverbs, none but
Judas, with whom wish thou wert,
can have patience to hear thee out!
Say, animal, what knowest thou about
spokes or wheels, or any other thing
whatsoever?’—‘O! since you do not
understand me,’ answered the squire,
‘no wonder you think it nonsense what
I say; but that signifies nothing: I understand
myself, nor have I said many
nonsensical things yet, only your worship
always plays the cricket upon
my words and actions.’—‘God confound
thee, thou confounder of all
language!’ said Don Quixote. ‘Cricket!
I suppose thou meanest critick.’—‘As
to that matter, Sir,’ said Sancho,
‘be not too severe upon me; you know
I was neither bred at court, nor studied
at Salamanca, to know when I
am right in the letter of a word; and
as I hope for mercy from God, I think
it unreasonable to expect that, the
Sayagues[#] should speak in the same
manner as the Toledans; though, for
that matter, there are Toledans who
are not more nice than other folks at
the work of speaking properly.’—‘Very
true,’ said the licentiate, ‘for
how should a man, whose business is
in the tan yards, and in the Zocodover[#],
speak so good language as they
who do nothing but walk from morning
to night in the cloysters of the
cathedral? and yet they are all Toledans;
on the other hand, purity, propriety,
elegance, and perspicuity, are
to be found among polite people of
sense; though they be natives of Majalahonda;
I say people of sense, because
so great a number of people are
not so, and sense is the foundation of
good language, assisted by custom and
use. I must tell you, gentlemen, it
has pleased God, for my sins, that
I have studied the canon-law at Salamanca,
and I pique myself a little
on being able to converse in clear,
easy, and expressive language.’—‘If
you had not piqued yourself more upon
your dexterity at these good-for-nothing
foils you carry about with
you, than upon your knowledge in
languages, instead of lagging the hindmost,
you might have been at the head
of your class,’ said the other student.
‘I tell you, Mr. Batchelor, that you
are the most prejudiced man in the
world, in that respect, for treating
dexterity at the sword as a matter of
no signification.’—‘It is no prejudice
with me, it is a confirmed
opinion and truth,’ replied Corchuelo;
‘and if you please to make
the experiment, I will convince you.
You carry foils now along with you,
and an opportunity offers; I’ll shew
you that I have nerves and strength,
backed with such courage as will
prove sufficient to demonstrate to you
that my opinion is not the effect of
prejudice; get off your ass, and try
your measured distances, your wheelings,
your longes, and art of defence;
and I’ll engage, with only the plain
rustick skill I have, to make you see
the stars at noon-day; for I trust under
God, the man is yet unborn who
can make me turn my back; nor have
I met with any man whom I will not
oblige to give ground.’—‘As to turning
your back, or not turning your
back, that is none of my business,’ replied
the master of the science; ‘though
it is not impossible but that the first
spot you fix your foot on may prove
your burying-ground: I mean, it is
possible you may be left dead there,
for slighting the noble science of defence.’—‘That
we shall see presently,’
replied Corchuelo, jumping hastily
upon the ground, and snatching
with great fury one of the foils, which
the other carried upon his ass.

Here Don Quixote cried out, ‘Not
so, by heavens! I will be umpire of
this fencing-match, and judge of this
long-controverted dispute.’ So saying,
he alighted from Rozinante, and
grasping his lance, planted himself in
the very middle of the road, just as
master licentiate, in a masterly posture
and regular advances, was making
towards Corchuelo, who ran at him with
// File: 0611.png
.pn +1
fire, as the saying is, flashing from his
eyes; while the two country fellows,
without dismounting, sat still as spectators
of this most deadly tragedy. Corchuelo
assailed him every way with high
strokes, low strokes, back-strokes, cuts,
thrusts, flashes out of number, and as
thick as hail; in short, he fell upon the
licentiate like an enraged lion, but was
checked a little in the career of his fury
by a smart push in the mouth from the
licentiate’s foil, who made him kiss the
button, though with less devotion than
if it had been a relick. In a word, the
licentiate, by skilful and well-planted
thrusts, counted the buttons of his cassock,
and went through it so often, that
it hung in rags like the tails of the polypus:
twice was Corchuelo’s hat struck
off; and so spent was he, that in rage
and spite, and furious choler, he flung
the foil into the air with so much force,
that one of the countrymen, who went
to fetch it, being a kind of scrivener,
declared upon oath, that it went near
three quarters of a league; which affidavit
being preserved, has been, and is,
a testimony to demonstrate that art prevails
over strength.

Corchuelo, quite tired out, sat down;
and Sancho going up to him, ‘Mr.
Batchelor,’ said he, ‘if you will be
ruled by me, from henceforth challenge
no one to fence, but dare them
to wrestle and pitch the bar, since now
you are of a proper age and strength
for that exercise; for I have heard say
of these fencers, that they can thrust
you the point of a sword through the
eye of a needle.’—‘I am now convinced,’
answered Corchuelo, ‘and
am taught by experience a truth I
could not otherwise have believed.’

So getting up, he went and embraced
his adversary, and they were now better
friends than ever. The company not
being willing to wait for the scrivener,
who was gone after the foil, imagining
he might be too long absent, resolved to
put forward as fast as they could, that
they might arrive early at Quiteria’s
village, whither they were all going.
As they travelled on their way, the licentiate
demonstrated to them the excellencies
of the noble science of defence,
by such convincing arguments, drawn
from the nature of truth and mathematical
certainty, that every one was convinced
of the usefulness of the science;
and Corchuelo particularly was made a
// File: 0612.png
convert, and entirely cured of his obstinacy.

The night was just fallen, and before
they came to the village, it seemed as if
something like a heaven full of an infinite
number of bright stars was between
them and it; they likewise heard an
harmonious but mixed sound of flutes,
tambourines, psalters, cymbals, drums,
and bells. As they came nearer, they
perceived the boughs of an arbour,
which was made on one side of the entrance
into the village; and this all
flaming with lights, which were not in
the least disturbed by the wind; for the
evening was so calm, that there was not
a breath of air, so much as to move a
leaf upon a tree. But the life and spirit
of the wedding consisted in the musicians,
who in bands ranged up and
down that delightful place, some singing,
some dancing, and others playing
upon the different instruments. In a
word, it looked as if joy and delight
were sporting and playing through this
meadow: a great many were employed
in raising scaffolds, that they might view
from them more commodiously the plays
and dances which were to be in that
place, to solemnize the nuptials of Camacho
the Rich, and the obsequies of
Basilius. Don Quixote refused to enter
the village, though both the batchelor
and the countryman invited him: but
he pleaded what he thought a sufficient
excuse, the custom of knights-errant
to sleep in fields and forests, rather than
in towns, though under gilded roofs;
and therefore he turned a little aside,
grievously against the will of Sancho,
who had not yet forgotten the good
lodgings he had enjoyed in the house of
Don Diego.

.fn #
Poor people that live about Zamora.
.fn-

.fn #
Zocodover, a square in Toledo, like Smithfield, where cattle are sold.
.fn-
.sp 4
.h4 id=chap3-2-3
<abbr=chapter>CHAP.</abbr> <abbr=three>III.</abbr> | AN ACCOUNT OF THE WEDDING OF CAMACHO THE RICH, AND WHAT HAPPENED TO BASILIUS THE POOR.
.sp 2
The fair Aurora had hardly allowed
Phœbus time to dry up the
liquid pearls that hung upon his golden
locks, when Don Quixote shaking from
his limbs the drowsy fetters of sloth,
got upon his legs, and called to Sancho
Panza, who lay stretched along, and
snoring; which situation his master seeing,
// File: 0613.png
.pn +1
before he awaked him, broke out
into this soliloquy: ‘Happy thou, and
blessed beyond the fate of other mortals,
who, neither envying nor envied,
sleepest sound, with unconcern of
soul! Inchanters neither persecute,
nor inchantments terrify thee: sleep
on, I say again, and a hundred times
more I say, sleep on; no jealousies on
account of a mistress torture thee with
perpetual watchings, no anxious cares
of paying debts awake thee, no solicitude
how thou must to-morrow provide
for thyself and little ones breaks
in upon thy slumbers. Ambitious
views create thee no disquiet, nor the
vain pomp of this empty world occasions
thee any disturbance; thy concern
is centered within the bounds of
taking care of thy ass; for, as to taking
care of thy person, that is laid
upon my shoulders, a charge and burden
that both nature and custom have
laid upon masters; the servant sleeps,
while the master is awake, and thinking
how he shall maintain him, advance
him in life, or do him some service.
The uneasiness that arises from
seeing the heavens as it were hard as
brass, locked up, and refusing rain
to cherish the earth, brings no anxiety
upon the servant, but upon the
master; who, in the days of dearth
and famine, is bound to provide for
him who served him in the time of
abundant and plentiful harvest.’

To all this effusion Sancho answered
not one word, for he was fast asleep, nor
would have waked when he did, but
that his master jogged him with the
butt-end of his lance. He waked yawning
and drowsy; and turning his face
every way, ‘Umph!’ said he, ‘from
yonder shady bower, if my nostrils
deceive me not, proceeds rather the
steam and savour of broiled rashers of
bacon, than the fragrance of thyme
and jessamine. O’ my conscience!
weddings that begin in this savoury
manner, must needs, in truth, be magnificent
and abundant.’—‘Thou epicure,’
said Don Quixote, ‘have done,
and let us go see this wedding, and
what will be the fate of the slighted
Basilius.’—‘Let his fate be as it
pleases,’ quoth Sancho; ‘what, he
poor and marry Quiteria! A pretty
fancy truly, for one not worth a groat
to think of matching so high; ’tis my
opinion, a man who is poor ought to
// File: 0614.png
bless God for what he finds, and not
be diving to find truffles at the bottom
of the sea. I’ll lay a limb that
Camacho can cover this same Basilius
from head to foot with sixpenny
pieces; and if this be so, as it certainly
is, Quiteria would be a pretty lady
of a bride, indeed, to refuse all the
fine cloaths and fine things that, I
warrant you, Camacho has given her
already, and can give her still more;
and to prefer, instead of them, a pitch
at the bar truly, and a pass at the foils,
which, it seems, make up Basilius’s
riches. Go into a tavern for a pint
of wine, and see if they will take a
pitch of the bar, or a clever push of
the foils, in lieu of the reckoning; as
for your abilities, and your refinements,
and graces, that will bring in
none of the ready; Count Dirlos may
have them for me: but when they
happen to take their resting-place on
a man who has wherewithal, O then,
I wish no better than that my life may
shew off as well as they do. Upon
a good foundation a good house may
be raised, and the very best bottom and
best foundation of any is wealth.’—‘Oh!’
cried Don Quixote, ‘have done;
have done with this harangue: I do
from my soul believe, if one would
but suffer thee to go on, thou wouldst
lose both thy eating and sleeping in
talking.’—‘Was your worship possessed
of a good memory,’ replied Sancho,
‘you would remember certain articles
stipulated between us, before we
sallied forth upon this expedition; one
of which was, that I was to talk as
much as I pleased, provided it was not
scandal against my neighbour, or derogating
from your worship’s authority;
and I imagine that nothing I
have hitherto said is a breach of this
agreement.’—‘I remember no such
agreement,’ said Don Quixote; ‘but,
allowing it to be so, it is my pleasure
you should give over, and come attend
me; for now the instruments we
heard last evening send their chearing
sounds through the vallies; and
beyond all doubt the nuptials will
not be put off to the sultry heat of the
noon-day, but be solemnized in the
fresh cool of the morning.’

Sancho did as he was commanded,
and putting on Rozinante’s saddle and
Dapple’s pannel, they both mounted,
and gently walked their beasts into the
// File: 0615.png
.pn +1
artificial shade. The first object that
presented itself to the eyes of Sancho,
was an entire bullock spitted whole,
upon an elm, roasting by a fire of wood
of the size of a middling mountain, and
round it six pots, but not such pots as
are cast in common moulds, for they
were half jars, and each of them contained
a whole shamble of meat; whole
sheep found room in them, and were
stowed as commodiously as if they had
been so many pigeons. There was an
innumerable quantity of cased hares;
and ready-plucked fowls that hung
about the branches of the trees, ready
to be swallowed up in these receivers;
and an infinite number of wild-fowl,
with vast quantities of venison, were
likewise hanging about the trees, for the
air to cool them. Sancho himself told
above threescore skins, which, as it was
afterwards discovered, were full of rich
wines, every skin containing above
twenty-four quarts. Loaves of the
whitest bread were piled up like heaps
of wheat on a threshing-floor; and such
a quantity of cheese ranged in the form
of bricks, as seemed a wall; two cauldrons
of oil, larger than a dyer’s vat,
were ready for frying their fritters and
pancakes; and when fried, they took
them out with strong peels, and dipped
them in another pot that stood by full of
prepared honey. The cooks, men and
women, amounted to above fifty, clean,
good-humoured, and all busy; in the
belly of the roasting bullock were sewed
a dozen sucking pigs, to make it tender
and savoury. Spices of all sorts, which
seemed to have been bought by wholesale
and not by retail, stood in a vast
chest. In short, the preparations for the
wedding were indeed in a rustick taste,
but in such plenty and profusion as
might have feasted an army.

Sancho looked at every thing, attentively
considered each particular, and
was in raptures with the whole. But
his whole heart and affections were
chiefly captivated by the flesh pots; out
of them he would have been glad, with
all his heart, to have filled about a moderate
barrel. Then the wine-skins
made his bowels yearn; and after these
the contents of the frying-pans, if vessels
of such immoderate size may be so
called. He could hold out no longer;
it was not in the power of his nature to
contain himself; therefore up he went
to one of the cooks, who was busy, and
// File: 0616.png
addressing himself to him with a humble
and hungry air, begged that he might
be permitted to sop a luncheon of bread
in one of the pots. To which request
the cook replied, ‘Hunger does not
preside over this day, thanks be to
Camacho the Rich; e’en alight, and
see if thou canst find any where a ladle,
and skim out a fowl or two, and much
good may it do thy good heart.’—‘I
see no ladle,’ laid Sancho. ‘God
forgive me all my sins!’ cried the
cook, ‘what a poor helpless thing thou
art! stay.’ So saying, he laid hold
of a kettle, and dipping it at once into
one of the half-jar pots, brought up
three pullets, and a couple of geese.
‘Here,’ said he, ‘eat; make a breakfast
of this scum, and see if you can stay
your stomach with it till dinner-time.’—‘I
have nothing to put it in,’ said
Sancho. ‘Then take ladle and all,’
replied the cook; ‘for Camacho’s riches
and good fortune are sufficient to supply
every thing.’

While Sancho Panza passed his time
in this manner, Don Quixote was attentive
in observing about a dozen of
countrymen, who entered in at one side
of this spacious arbour, mounted upon
beautiful mares, each of them accoutred
with rich and gay caparisons, and hung
round with little bells. They were clad
in holiday apparel, and coursed round
the meadow in a body, and, in regular
careers, several times, with a joyous
Moorish shout, flourishing, and crying
out, ‘Long live Camacho and Quiteria,
he as rich as she is fair, and she the
fairest of the universe.’ Which exclamation,
Don Quixote hearing, said
within himself, ‘It is evident they never
have beheld the beauty of my
Dulcinea del Toboso; had they ever
been blessed with a sight of her transcendant
charms, they would be more
sparing in their praises of this their
Quiteria.’

Some time after there entered, at different
parts of the arbour, different sets
of dancers; one of whom consisted of
twenty-four sword dancers, all of them
clean, well-made, jolly swains, clad in
fine white linen, and white handkerchiefs
embroidered with silk of various
colours. One of those who were
mounted upon the mares asked a youth,
who led the band of the sword-dancers,
whether any of his companions had received
any hurt? ‘As yet,’ replied the
// File: 0617.png
.pn +1
other, ‘we are all safe and sound,
thanks be to God, no one is wounded!’
and immediately upon that mixed
among his companions with so many
twistings and windings, and with such
dexterity, that though Don Quixote had
been used to behold such dances, he
never saw any he approved so much.
Another dance likewise pleased him
prodigiously; that was another chorus
of twelve most beautiful damsels, of
such an age, that none appeared under
fourteen, nor did any seem to be quite
eighteen; they were all clad in green
stuff of Cuenca, their locks were, some
plaited, some flowing loose, and all so
fine and flaxen, as to rival those of
Phœbus himself, and crowned with
garlands of roses, of jessamine, and of
woodbine. This beautiful bevy was
led up to the dance by a venerable old
man and an ancient matron, both more
airy and agile than could be expected
from their years. A bagpipe of Zamora
was their musick, and with modesty
in their looks and countenances, and
lightness of foot, they danced and tripped
it away the prettiest in the world.
After these, entered an emblematick
dance of eight nymphs divided into two
bodies: the God of Love led one, and Interest
the other; Cupid with his wings,
his bow, his quiver, and arrows; Interest
clad in gold, and silk of rich and
various colours. The nymphs, attendants
on Cupid, had their names displayed
in white parchment, and capital
letters on their backs: the first was named
Poetry, the second Discretion, the third
Pedigree, the fourth Bravery. The
attendants on Interest were likewise
characterised: the first was Liberality,
the second Bounty, the third Treasure,
the fourth Quiet possession. The whole
masque was preceded by a wooden
castle, drawn by savages, clad in ivy and
hemp dyed green, and so savage they
looked, that they had almost frightened
Sancho. On the front and on each of
the four sides of this machine were inscribed
these words, ‘The Castle of
Discretion.’ Four able musicians
played on the tabor and the pipe. Cupid,
who began the dance, after he had
made two movements, lifted up his
eyes, and bent his bow against a damsel
that stood upon the battlements of the
castle, to whom he pronounced this address—
// File: 0618.png

.pm verse-start
‘I am the God whose pow’r extends
  Thro’ the wide ocean, earth, and sky;
To my soft sway all nature bends,
  Compell’d by beauty to comply.
Fearless, I rule, in calm and storm,
  Indulge my pleasure to the full,
Things deem’d impossible perform,
  Bestow, resume, ordain, annul.’
.pm verse-end

Having repeated these stanzas, he shot
an arrow to the top of the castle, and
retired to his station. Then Interest advanced,
and performed other two movements;
after which the tabors were
silent, and the power rehearsed these
lines—

.pm verse-start
‘My pow’r exceeds the might of Love;
  For Cupid bows to me alone,
Of all things fram’d by Heav’n above,
  The most respected, sought, and known.
My name is Interest, mine aid
  But few obtain, though all desire;
Yet shall thy virtue, beauteous maid,
  My constant services acquire.’
.pm verse-end

Interest retiring, was succeeded by
Poetry; who, after having performed his
motions like the rest, fixed his eyes upon
the lady of the castle, and said—

.pm verse-start
‘Let Poetry, whose strain divine
  The wond’rous pow’r of song displays,
His heart to thee, fair nymph, consign,
  Transported, in melodious lays;
If haply, thou wilt not refuse
  To grant my supplicated boon,
Thy fame shall, wafted by the muse,
  Surmount the circle of the moon.’
.pm verse-end

Poetry disappearing, Liberality advanced
from the side of Interest, and,
after several movements, repeated these
lines—

.pm verse-start
‘My name is Liberality,
  Alike beneficent and wise,
To shun wild prodigality,
  And sordid avarice despise:
Yet, for thy favour lavish grown,
  A prodigal I mean to prove;
An honourable vice, I own,
  But giving is the test of love.’
.pm verse-end

In this manner, all the figures of the
two squadrons advanced and retired,
every one performing his movements,
and repeating his verses, some of which
were elegant, and others foolish enough;
but those we have inserted were all that
Don Quixote could retain, although his
memory was very tenacious: then mixing
// File: 0619.png
.pn +1
all together in the dance, they winded
and turned with great ease, grace, and
agility. Cupid, in passing, shot arrows
at the castle, while Interest battered it
with round gilded earthen pots: at
length, after the dance had continued
a good while, this last pulled out a large
purse made of Roman cat skin, to all
appearance full of money, and throwing
it at the castle, the boards seemed to
be disjointed by the blow, and immediately
fell asunder, leaving the damsel
quite discovered and defenceless; then
Interest, with the figures of his train,
advancing, and throwing a great gold
chain about her neck, seemed bent upon
taking and dragging her into captivity.
This design being perceived by Cupid
and his partisans, they made an effort to
release her, and all their motions were
performed by the sound of the tabors,
to which they danced and capered in
concert. Then the savages interposing,
and effecting an accommodation, refitted
and rejoined the boards of the castle
with admirable dispatch, the damsel enclosed
herself anew; and thus the dance
was finished, to the infinite satisfaction
of the spectators.

Don Quixote asked one of the nymphs,
what author had contrived and composed
this entertainment; and being
told it was the production of the parson,
who had a rare noddle for such conceits,
‘I’ll lay a wager,’ said he, ‘that
this same batchelor or curate is more
a friend of Camacho than of Basilius;
and that he is better acquainted with
satire than prayer; for he has very
artfully interwoven in this mask the
talents of Basilius, and the wealth
of his rival.’ Sancho Panza overhearing
this observation, ‘My cock is
the king,’ said he; ‘and I hold fast by
Camacho.’—‘Then am I convinced,’
replied the knight, ‘that Sancho is
one of those low-born peasants, who
cry, “Long life to the conqueror.”’—‘I
know not,’ resumed the squire,
‘what sect I am of; but this I know
perfectly well, that I shall never skim
from the flesh pots of Basilius, such
a delicate scum as this that I have
taken from the boilers of Camacho.’
With these words, he produced the
kettle full of geese and pullets, and
seizing a bird, began to eat with great
glee and satisfaction; saying, in defiance
of the talents possessed by Basilius,
‘Thou art worth just as much as
thou hast, and hast just as much as thou
art worth. There are only two families
in the world, as my grannum
was wont to observe, the Have-somethings
and the Have-nothings: though
she always stuck to the former; and
now-a-days, my good master, we are
more apt to feel the pulse of property
than of wisdom. An ass with golden
trappings, makes a better appearance
than a horse with a pack saddle.
Therefore, I say again, I hold fast
by Camacho, the plentiful scum of
whose pots contains geese, hares, and
conies; while that of Basilius, if it
comes to hand, or even if it should
only come to the feet, is no better
than dish-washings.’

‘Sancho,’ cried Don Quixote, ‘hast
thou finished thy harangue?’—‘It
shall be finished,’ replied the squire,
‘as I see your worship is displeased
with it; though, if your disgust had
not fallen in the way, I had cut out
work enough for three days.’—‘Grant
Heaven,’ said the knight, ‘that I may
see thee dumb before I die!’—‘At
the rate we follow,’ answered Panza,
‘before your worship dies, my mouth
will be crammed with clay, and then
I may chance to be so dumb, that I
shall not speak another word to the
end of the world, or at least till the
day of judgment.’—‘Even should
that be the case,’ replied Don Quixote,
‘I say unto thee, O Sancho! thy
silence will never counterbalance what
thou didst, dost, and wilt say, during
the course of thy life; moreover,
according to the nature of things, the
day of my death will happen before
thine; so that I have no hope of ever
seeing thee silent, even while thou art
drinking or sleeping, and that is the
greatest favour I could expect.’

‘In good sooth, Signior,’ said the
squire, ‘there is no trusting to Mrs.
Ghostly, (I mean, death) who gobbles
up the goslin as well as the goose[#];
and as I have heard our curate observe,
tramples down the lofty turrets
of the prince, as well as the lowly
// File: 0620.png
.pn +1
cottage of the swain. That same lady
who is more powerful than coy,
knows not what it is to be dainty and
squeamish; but eats of every thing,
and crams her wallet with people of
all nations, degrees, and conditions;
she is none of your labourers that
take this afternoon’s nap, but mows
at all hours, cutting down the dry
stubble as well as the green grass; nor
does she seem to chew, but rather
swallows and devours every thing
that falls in her way; for she is gnawed
by a dog’s hunger that is never satisfied;
and though she has no belly,
plainly shews herself dropsical, and
so thirsty as to drink up the lives of
all the people upon earth, just as one
would swallow a draught of cool water.’—‘Enough,
friend Sancho,’ cried
the knight, interrupting him in this
place; ‘keep thyself well, now thou
art in order, and beware of stumbling
again; for, really, a good preacher
could not speak more to the purpose
than thou hast spoken upon death, in
thy rustick manner of expression; I
say unto thee, Sancho, if thy discretion
was equal to thy natural parts,
thou mightest ascend the pulpit, and
go about teaching and preaching to
admiration.’—‘He is a good preacher
who is a good liver,’ answered Panza;
‘and that is all the divinity I know.’—‘And
that is sufficient,’ said the
knight; ‘yet I shall never understand
or comprehend, as the fear of God is
the beginning of wisdom, how thou,
who art more afraid of a lizard than
of thy Maker, should be so wise?’—‘Signior,’
replied Sancho, ‘I desire
your worship would determine in your
own affairs of chivalry, without taking
the trouble to judge of other people’s
valour or fears; for my own
part, I am as pretty a fearer of God as
one would desire to see in any neighbour’s
child; wherefore, I beseech
your worship, let me discuss this
same scum; for every thing else is
idle chat, of which we shall be able
to give a bad account in the other
world.’ So saying, he renewed his
attack upon his kettle, with such keen
appetite as awakened that of his master,
who would certainly have joined in the
assault, had not he been prevented by
that which we must now relate.

.fn #
In the original there is a play upon the words <lang=es>Descarnado</lang>, <lang=es>Cordero</lang>, and <lang=es>Carnero</lang>,
which I have endeavoured to imitate, by substituting goose in the room of mutton, which
is the literal meaning of the text.
.fn-
.sp 4
.h4 id=chap3-2-4
<abbr=chapter>CHAP.</abbr> <abbr=four>IV.</abbr> | WHICH CONTINUES TO TREAT OF CAMACHO’S WEDDING, AND OTHER INCIDENTS.
.sp 2
While Don Quixote and Sancho
were engaged in the conversation
related in the preceding chapter,
they heard a great noise and shouting,
raised by a company mounted on mares,
galloping in full cry, to meet the young
couple; who came surrounded by a
thousand kinds of instruments, and accompanied
by the curate, the relations,
and all the creditable people of the
neighbouring villages, in their holiday
cloaths. Sancho, seeing the bride, exclaimed
with marks of admiration,
‘I ’faith! she looks more like one of
your gay court-dames, than a plain
country-maid. Now, by the biggest
beads of my rosary! instead of a tin
brooch[#], her breast is bedizened with
rich coral, and her hoyden-grey is
turned into thirty-piled velvet; and,
body o’me! the trimming is not of
white linen, but of silk and sattin:
then handle me her hands, set off with
what? jewels of jet? No! let me
never thrive, if they an’t decked with
rings of gold! aye, and of massy
gold, paved with pearls as white as
a curd, every one of which is worth
a Jew’s eye. O the whoreson baggage!
and such hair! if it is not
false, I never saw any so long, and
so fair in my born-days. Do but
mind how buxom, straight, and tall
she is, and see whether she may not
be compared to a moving palm-tree,
loaded with clusters of dates; for nothing
can be more like the gewgaws
and toys that hang from her hair and
neck. By my salvation! the damsel
is well covered, and might pass
through all the banks of Flanders.’
Don Quixote, though he smiled at the
rustick praises of his squire, owned that,
exclusive of his mistress Dulcinea del
Toboso, she was the most beautiful female
he had ever seen.
// File: 0621.png
.pn +1

Nevertheless, the fair Quiteria was
paler than usual; and this change of
complexion must have been owing to
the bad night which brides always pass
in adorning themselves for the approaching
day of their nuptials. The
company repaired to a theatre erected
at one side of the meadow, and ornamented
with carpets and boughs, where
the ceremony was to be performed, and
from whence they were to see the
masques and other diversions; and they
had just arrived at the place when their
ears were saluted with a noise behind
them, and a voice that pronounced,
‘Stay a little, hasty and inconsiderate
people.’—In consequence of this address,
they turned about, and perceived
it was uttered by a man cloathed in a
loose black coat, interspersed with crimson
flames, crowned, as they soon perceived,
with a chaplet of funeral cypress,
and holding in his hand a truncheon
of uncommon size. As he approached,
he was known to be the
gallant Basilius; at sight of whom they
were surprized, and waited in suspence
to see the issue of his exclamation,
dreading some mischance from such an
unseasonable visit. At length, wearied
and breathless, he came up to the bride
and bridegroom, and thrusting in the
ground his staff that was pointed with
steel, he fixed his eyes upon Quiteria,
and with a pale aspect and hoarse quavering
voice, pronounced these words:
‘Thou well knowest, ungrateful Quiteria,
that, according to the holy faith
we profess, thou canst not espouse
another husband while I am alive;
nor art thou ignorant, that while I
waited until time and diligence should
meliorate my fortune, I never sought
to deviate from that decorum which
thy honour required I should preserve;
yet thou, disburdening thyself
of all the obligations which thou
owest to my honest passion, hast made
another person master of what is justly
mine; a man whose wealth is not
only subservient to his good fortune,
but even renders him superlatively
happy; which happiness, that he may
enjoy to the full (not that I think he
deserves it, but because it is the will of
Heaven to bestow it) I will, with my
own hands, remove the impossibility
or inconvenience that may obstruct
it, by taking myself out of the way.
Long live, long live Camacho the
Rich, with Quiteria the Ungrateful, to
// File: 0622.png
enjoy many quiet and happy years;
and death be the portion of the poor
Basilius, whose poverty clipped the
wings of his fortune, and laid him in
an untimely grave.’

So saying, he laid hold of the staff
which he had stuck in the earth, and
drew from it a middling tuck, which
was concealed in it as in a scabbard;
then fixing that which may be called
the hilt on the ground, he threw himself,
with great activity and resolution,
upon the point, which in an instant
came out bloody at his shoulder, leaving
the unhappy youth weltering in gore,
and stretched upon the ground, transfixed
with his own weapon. His friends immediately
ran to his assistance, pierced
with affliction at his misery and lamentable
fate; and Don Quixote, dismounting,
flew to his relief, held him
in his arms, and found that he had
not as yet expired. They were inclined
to withdraw the tuck; but the
curate, who was present, gave his opinion
that it should not be withdrawn
before he had confessed himself, because
his death would be the immediate
consequence of pulling out the weapon.
Meanwhile, Basilius recovering
a little, said, in a faint and piteous tone,
‘Ah, cruel Quiteria! wouldst thou,
in this last and fatal agony, bestow
upon me thy hand in marriage, I
should deem my rashness exculpated,
seeing by that I should acquire the
happiness of calling thee my own.’
The curate, hearing this address, exhorted
him to employ his attention
upon the health of his soul, rather than
upon such carnal pleasures, and earnestly
pray to God to pardon his sins,
and in particular this last desperate determination.
To this remonstrance Basilius
replied, that he would by no
means confess, until Quiteria should first
grant him her hand, a favour which
would set his heart at rest, and give him
spirits to undergo his confession.

Don Quixote hearing the petition of
the wounded man, declared, in an audible
voice, that Basilius requested nothing
but what was just and reasonable,
and besides very practicable; and that
Signior Camacho’s honour would suffer
no more, in wedding Signora Quiteria
as the widow of Basilius, than in
receiving her from her father’s own
hands; for here nothing was required
but the monosyllable of assent, which
could have no other effect than the
// File: 0623.png
.pn +1
trouble of pronouncing it, as the bridal
bed must also be the tomb of such a
marriage. Camacho heard the whole,
which kept him in such confusion and
suspence, that he knew not what to say
or do: but the friends of Basilius were
so clamorous in soliciting him to consent
to Quiteria’s giving her hand in
marriage to the hapless youth, whose
soul would otherwise perish in despair,
that he was persuaded, and as it were
compelled to say, that if his bride
would grant that favour, he should be
satisfied, as it would only for a moment
delay the accomplishment of his
desires. Immediately they surrounded
Quiteria, whom with tears, intreaties,
and other pathetic remonstrances, they
pressed to give her hand to poor Basilius;
but she, more obdurate than
marble, and more inflexible than a
statue, neither could, would, or desired
to answer one word; nor would
she have made the least reply, had not
the curate desired her to come to a
speedy determination, for the soul of
Basilius being already between his teeth,
would not afford long time for hesitation.

Then the beautiful Quiteria, without
speaking one syllable, but seemingly
disordered, sad, and sorrowful, advanced
to the place where Basilius lay, with
his eyes already fixed, breathing short
and thick, murmuring the name of
Quiteria, and, to all appearance, dying
rather like an heathen than a Christian.
The bride at length approaching, and
kneeling before him, desired by signs
he would hold out his hand: then Basilius
unfixing his eyes, and stedfastly
gazing upon her, ‘O Quiteria!’ said
he, ‘thou art become kind at a time
when thy kindness must serve as a
sword to finish my unfortunate life;
seeing I have not strength enough left
to obtain that glory which thou
wouldst confer in calling me thine; or
to suspend the grief that comes so
fast to cover mine eyes with the dismal
shades of death. What I request,
O fatal star of my destiny! is,
that thy consent to this exchange of
vows may not be a mere compliment
to deceive me anew; but that thou
wilt confess and declare there is no
restraint upon thy inclination, while
thy hand is given and delivered to
me as thy lawful husband, for it
would be cruel to use deceit and dissimulation
with one in such extremity,
// File: 0624.png
who has always behaved to thee with
such sincerity and truth.’ Having
pronounced these words, he fainted
away, so that all the bye-standers thought
his soul would forsake his body in that
swoon: but when he retrieved the use
of his faculties, Quiteria, all-blushing
with modesty, took hold of his right
hand, saying, ‘No force upon earth
would be sufficient to biass my will;
and therefore, with all the freedom of
inclination, I give thee my hand as
thy lawful wife, and receive thine
on the same terms, if thou bestowest
it with the same good will, undisturbed
and unconfounded by the calamity
into which thou hast been hurried by
thy own precipitate conduct.’—‘I
do,’ answered Basilius, ‘without either
disorder or confusion; but, on the
contrary, with all the clearness of understanding
with which Heaven hath
thought proper to endow me, I give
and deliver myself for thy true and
faithful husband.’—‘And I take
thee for such,’ replied Quiteria, ‘whether
thou mayest live many years, or
now be hurried from mine arms to
the grave.’—‘Considering how desperately
this spark is wounded,’ said
Sancho Panza, ‘methinks he talks
woundily: make him lay aside his
courtship, and mind his soul, which
seems to be in his tongue rather than
between his teeth.’

The hands of Basilius and Quiteria
being joined, the tender-hearted curate,
with tears in his eyes, pronounced the
nuptial benediction, and fervently prayed,
that God would grant forgiveness
and repose to the soul of the bridegroom;
who no sooner perceived the ceremony
was performed, than he nimbly sprung
upon his legs with incredible activity,
withdrew the tuck which was
sheathed in his body, to the admiration
of the by-standers; some of whom,
being more simple than curious, began
to cry aloud, ‘A miracle! a miracle!’
But Basilius replied, ‘No miracle! no
miracle! but sheer industry! nothing
but industry!’ The curate, confounded
and astonished, ran up to feel the
wound with both his hands, and found
that the blade, instead of passing through
the body of Basilius, had run through
an iron tube fitted to the part, and full
of blood, which, as they afterwards
understood, was prepared so as to retain
its fluidity: in a word, the curate and
Camacho, with almost all the company,
// File: 0625.png
.pn +1
found themselves fairly out-witted.
The bride, however, expressed no mortification
at the deceit: on the contrary,
hearing somebody observe that such a
marriage, obtained by fraud, could not
be valid, she said she confirmed it anew.
From which circumstance every one
concluded that the stratagem had been
contrived and executed with her privity
and consent. This supposition enraged
Camacho and his adherents to such a
degree, that they referred their revenge
to the prowess of their hands, and, unsheathing
a great many swords, assaulted
Basilius, in whose favour almost an
equal number were instantly produced.
Don Quixote taking the lead on horseback,
well armed with his lance and
shield, made the whole company give
ground; while Sancho, who had no
delight or comfort in such exploits, retired
to the jars from which he had extracted
his agreeable scum, looking
upon that place as a sacred sanctuary
and respected retreat. The knight exclaimed,
in an audible voice, ‘Forbear,
gentlemen, forbear: it is unjust
to revenge the grievances of love;
for, in this particular, love and war
are the same; and, as in the last, it is
lawful and customary to use feints
and stratagems against the enemy; so
likewise in amorous contests and competitions,
all sorts of tricks and contrivances,
are allowed in attaining the
accomplishment of the lover’s desire,
provided they do not tend to the disparagement
or dishonour of the beloved
object. Quiteria was fated to Basilius,
and Basilius to Quiteria, by the just
and favourable determination of Heaven.
Camacho is rich, and may purchase
his pleasure when, where, and
how his inclination shall require:
whereas Basilius has but this one
poor sheep, of which he ought not to
be deprived by any person how powerful
soever he may be; for those whom
God hath joined, no man shall put
asunder; and he who attempts it must
first pass through the point of this
lance.’ So saying, he brandished it
with such strength and dexterity, as
filled the hearts of those who did not
know him with fear and consternation;
and the disdain of Quiteria made such
a deep impression upon the imagination
of Camacho, that he shook her from his
heart in an instant; so that the persuasions
of the curate, who was a prudent
// File: 0626.png
and well-meaning priest, pacified
and quieted him and his partizans, who,
in token of peace, sheathed their weapons,
blaming the inconstancy of Quiteria
more than the contrivance of Basilius;
and Camacho himself observed,
that if she loved Basilius before marriage,
the same love would have continued
after it; and that he had more
reason to thank Heaven for having lost,
than he should have had for obtaining
such an help-mate.

Camacho, and those of his train,
being thus consoled and appeased, the
friends of Basilius took no step to disturb
their peace; and Camacho the
Rich, in order to shew how little he resented
or thought of the trick which
had been played him, desired that the
entertainments might proceed as if he
was really to be married: but Basilius
with his bride and followers refusing to
partake of them, set out in a body for
the place of his habitation; for the
poor, who are virtuous and discreet,
will always find people to honour, attend,
and support them, as well as the
rich with all their parasites and companions.
In consequence of their earnest
intreaty, they were accompanied by
Don Quixote, whom they esteemed as
a prodigy of valour and integrity; and
nothing was cloudy but the soul of
Sancho, when he found it impossible to
enjoy the splendid banquets and diversions
of Camacho, that lasted till night:
he therefore, in a fretful and melancholy
mood, followed his master, who joined
the troop of Basilius; leaving behind
the flesh-pots of Egypt, although he
still retained them in his fancy; and the
half-finished scum of his kettle inhanced
the glory and abundance of the benefit
he had lost; so that, pensive, sullen,
and sad, yet without hunger or dismounting
from Dapple, he silently
trudged after the heels of Rozinante.

.fn #
The patina was a small consecrated plate which the Spanish women, especially those
of an inferior rank, wore upon their breasts.
.fn-
.sp 4
.h4 id=chap3-2-5
<abbr=chapter>CHAP.</abbr> <abbr=five>V.</abbr> | IN WHICH IS RECOUNTED THE VAST ADVENTURE OF THE CAVE OF MONTESINOS,| IN THE HEART OF LA MANCHA, WHICH WAS HAPPILY ATCHIEVED| BY THE VALIANT DON QUIXOTE.
.sp 2
Great and manifold were the
treats and particulars of respect,
paid to Don Quixote by the new-married
couple, who thought themselves
// File: 0627.png
.pn +1
greatly obliged by the readiness he had
shewn to defend their cause, and looked
upon his discretion to be equal to his
valour; indeed, they esteemed him a
perfect Cid in arms, and a Cicero in
elocution. Honest Sancho regaled himself
three days at their expence, during
which it was known that the contrivance
of the fictitious wound had not been
communicated to Quiteria, but was
hatched by the ingenuity of Basilius
himself, in hope of meeting with that
success which, as we have seen, he actually
attained; true it is, he confessed
he had imparted his design to some of
his friends, that they might, in case of
necessity, favour his intention, and facilitate
the execution of his deceit.

‘Whatsoever hath virtue for its ultimate
aim,’ said Don Quixote, ‘neither
can or ought to be called deceit; and
surely no aim can be more excellent
than the union of two lovers in the
holy bands of marriage.’ He observed,
that the greatest enemy of love is
hunger and necessity; for love is altogether
sprightly, joyous, and satisfied,
especially when the object of desire is
in possession of the lover, whose fierce
and declared adversaries are want and
inconvenience. He made these observations
with a view to persuade Signior
Basilius to quiet the exercise of those
talents he possessed, which, though they
acquired reputation, would not earn a
farthing of money, and to employ his
attention in augmenting his estate by
legal and industrious means, that never
fail the prudent and the careful. The
poor man of honour (if a poor man can
deserve that title) possesses, in a beautiful
wife, a jewel; and when that is
taken away, he is deprived of his honour,
which is murdered: a beautiful
and chaste woman, whose husband is
poor, deserves to be crowned with laurel
and palms of triumph; for beauty
alone attracts the inclinations of those
who behold it, just as the royal eagle
and soaring hawk stoop to the savoury
lure; but if that beauty is incumbered
by poverty and want, it is likewise
attacked by ravens, kites, and
other birds of prey; and if she who
possesses it firmly withstands all these
assaults, she well deserves to be called
the crown of her husband. ‘Take
notice, dearest Basilius,’ added the
knight, ‘it was the opinion of a certain
// File: 0628.png
sage, that there was but one good
wife in the whole world; and he advised
every husband to believe she had
fallen to his share, and accordingly
be satisfied with his lot. I myself am
not married, nor hitherto have I entertained
the least thought of changing
my condition; nevertheless, I will
venture to advise him who asks my
advice, in such a manner, that he
may find a woman to his wish: in the
first place, I would exhort him to pay
more regard to reputation than to fortune;
for a virtuous woman does not
acquire a good name, merely by being
virtuous, she must likewise maintain
the exteriors of deportment, for the
honour of the sex suffers much more
from levity and freedom of behaviour
in publick, than from any private
misdeeds. If thou bringest a good
woman to thy house, it will be an
easy task to preserve and even improve
her virtue; but, shouldst thou chuse
a wife of a different character, it will
cost thee abundance of pains to mend
her; for it is not very practicable to
pass from one extreme to another: I
do not say it is altogether impossible,
though I hold it for a matter of much
difficulty.’

Sancho hearing these remarks, said to
himself, ‘This master of mine, whenever
I chance to utter any thing pithy
or substantial, will say I might take
a pulpit in hand, and travel through
the world, teaching and preaching to
admiration; now, I will say for him,
that when he begins to string sentences,
and give advice, he might not
only take one pulpit in hand, but even
a couple on each finger, and stroll
about the market-towns. Wit, whither
wouldst thou? May the devil
fetch him for a knight-errant! he
knows but every thing. I thought
for certain, he could be acquainted
with nothing but what relates to his
chivalries; but he pecks at every
thing, and throws his spoonful in
every man’s dish.’

His master overheard him murmuring
in this manner, and asking what he
grumbled at, ‘I don’t grumble,’ answered
Sancho, ‘I was only saying to
myself, I wished I had heard those
remarks of your worship before I
married; in which case I might now,
perhaps, remark in my turn, “The
// File: 0629.png
.pn +1
loosened ox is well licked.”’—‘What,
is Teresa such a bad wife?’ said the
knight. ‘Not very bad,’ answered the
squire, ‘but then she is not very good;
at least, not so good as I could wish.’—‘You
are in the wrong, Sancho,’
said Don Quixote, ‘to disparage your
wife, who in effect is the mother of
your children.’—‘As to that matter,’
replied Sancho, ‘we are not at all in
one another’s debt; for she can disparage
me fast enough, especially
when she takes it in her head to be
jealous, and then Satan himself could
not endure her.’

In a word, they stayed three days
with the new-married couple, during
which they were treated and served like
the king’s own person; and here Don
Quixote desired the nimble-wristed licentiate
to provide him with a guide to
direct his steps to the cave of Montesinos,
which he had a longing desire to
explore, that he might investigate with
his own eyes the truth of those wonderful
stories that were reported of it
through the whole neighbourhood. The
licentiate promised to accommodate him
with a first cousin of his own, a famous
student deeply read in books of chivalry,
who would willingly conduct him
to the very mouth of the cave, and
point out the lakes of Ruydera, so famous
not only in the province of La
Mancha, but also through the whole
kingdom of Spain; and he likewise observed,
that he would find his conversation
very entertaining; for he was a
lad who knew how to compose books
for the press, and even dedicate them to
princes. At length this cousin arrived
upon an ass big with foal, whose pannel
was covered with a piece of tawdry
tapestry or carpet: Sancho saddled Rozinante,
put Dapple in order, stowed his
wallet, which was reinforced by the
cousin’s, likewise very well stored; then
recommending themselves to God, and
taking leave of the company, they set
out, chusing the shortest road to the
famous cave of Montesinos.

While they travelled along, Don
Quixote addressing himself to the student,
asked what was the nature and
quality of his exercises, studies, and
profession? To this question the other
answered, that his profession was humanity;
and that his exercise and study
consisted in composing books for the
press, of great emolument, and no less
// File: 0630.png
entertainment to the publick; that one of
them was intitled, The Book of Liveries,
in which he had described seven hundred
and three liveries, with their colours,
mottos, and cyphers: ‘From these,’
said he, ‘your courtiers may extract
and assume such devices as will suit
their fancies, in times of festivity and
rejoicing, without going about begging
from any person whatever, or
cudgelling their brains, as the saying is,
in order to invent what will suit their
several desires and dispositions; for I
insert those that will fit the jealous, the
disdained, the forgotten, and absent, so
exactly, that the just will far exceed the
number of the Gentiles, I have likewise
finished another book, which I
propose to call, The Metamorphoses;
or, The Spanish Ovid; of an invention
equally new and agreeable; for
there, in imitation of Naso, I give a
burlesque description and history of
the Giralda of Seville, the Angel of La
Madalina, the Conduit of Vecinguerra
at Cordova, the bulls of Guisanda,
the Sierra Morena, the Fountains of
Leganitos, and the Levapies of Madrid,
not forgetting those of the Piojo,
the Golden Pipe, and the Priora, with
their allegories, metaphors, and transformations,
which at once surprize,
instruct, and entertain. I have a
third performance, which I denominate,
The Supplement to Polydore’s
Virgil, which treats of the invention
of things, and is a work of great study
and erudition; for many things of
great importance, which Polydore has
omitted, I examine and explain in a
most elegant stile: he, for example,
has forgot to let us know who was
the first person troubled with a defluxion
or rheum, and who was first
anointed for the cure of the French
distemper: now these two questions
I resolve in the most accurate manner,
upon the authority of above five and
twenty authors; so your worship will
perceive whether I have laboured to
good purpose, and composed a book
that will be useful to the world in general.’

Sancho having listened very attentively
to this narration, ‘Tell me,
Signior,’ said he, ‘so may God lend
an helping hand to the printing of
your books; tell me, if you know,
and surely you know every thing,
who was the first man that scratched
// File: 0631.png
.pn +1
his own head? for my own part, I
firmly believe it must have been our
father Adam.’—‘Certainly,’ answered
the student; ‘for Adam without
doubt had a head, and hair upon it;
now that being the case, and he being
the first man in the world, he must
have scratched it sometimes.’—‘I am
of the same opinion,’ resumed Sancho;
‘but now, pray tell me who was the
first tumbler!’—‘Verily, brother,’ resumed
the scholar, ‘I cannot determine
that point until I shall have studied it,
and study it I will, upon my return
to the place where I keep my books;
so that I shall satisfy you the next
time we meet, for I hope this will not
be the last time of our meeting.’—‘Then
I desire you will give yourself
no trouble about the matter,’ said Sancho;
‘for I have already found out the
solution of my question: know, Signior,
that the first tumbler must have
been Lucifer, who, when he was
thrown and rejected from heaven, came
tumbling down to the bottomless pit.’—‘Friend,’
cried the student, ‘you
are certainly in the right.’—‘That
question and answer,’ said Don Quixote,
‘is none of thy own; thou must have
learned them from some other person,
Sancho.’—‘Hold your tongue, Signior,’
replied the squire: ‘for, in good
faith! if I begin to question and answer,
I shall not have done till morning:
yes, as to the matter of asking
like a fool, and answering like a simpleton,
I have no occasion to crave the
assistance of my neighbours.’—‘Thou
hast said more than thou art aware of,’
answered Don Quixote; ‘for some people
there are who fatigue themselves
in learning, and investigating that
which, when learned and investigated,
is not worth a farthing either to the
memory or understanding.’

In this and other such relishing discourse
they passed that day, and at night
took up their lodging in a small village,
from whence, as the scholar told the
knight, the distance to the cave of Montesinos
did not exceed a couple of leagues;
and he observed, that if Don Quixote
was really determined to explore the
cavern, it would be necessary to provide
ropes, by which he might be lowered
down to its bottom. The knight said,
that although he should descend to the
abyss, he would see the bottom, for
// File: 0632.png
which purpose he purchased about a
hundred fathoms of rope. Next day,
about two o’clock in the afternoon, they
arrived at the cave, and found the mouth
broad and spacious, though overgrown
with thorns, weeds, brambles, and
brakes, so thick and intricate, that it was
almost quite covered and concealed; at
sight of the place all three alighted;
the student and Sancho immediately began
to fasten the rope strongly about
the knight, and while they were thus
employed in cording and girding him,
Sancho addressing himself to the adventurer,
‘Dear master,’ said he, ‘consider
what your worship is about; seek not
to bury yourself alive, and to be used
like a bottle of wine, let down to cool
in some well; for it neither concerns
nor belongs to your worship to be the
surveyor of that pit, which must be
worse than a dungeon.’—‘Tie the
knot, and hold thy tongue, friend Sancho,’
answered Don Quixote, ‘for
such an enterprize as this was reserved
for me alone.’ Then the guide
interposing, ‘I intreat your worship,
Signior Don Quixote,’ said he, ‘to
consider attentively and examine, as
it were, with a hundred eyes, every
circumstance within this cave, where,
perhaps, there may be things which I
shall insert among my transformations.’—‘The
cymbal,’ answered
Sancho, ‘is in the hands that can play
it to the utmost nicety.’

This discourse having passed, and
the ligature being made, not over the
knight’s armour but his doublet, ‘We
have been guilty of an inadvertency,’
said Don Quixote, ‘in coming hither
unprovided with a small bell, which,
had it been tied to me with the same
cord, would, with its sound, have
given you notice, as I descended, of
my being alive; but, as it is now impossible
to be accommodated, I commit
myself to the hands of God, who
will conduct me.’ Then falling upon
his knees, he in a low voice preferred
a prayer to Heaven, beseeching God to
assist and crown him with success, in
this seemingly perilous and new adventure.
His ejaculation being finished,
he pronounced, in a loud voice, ‘O!
thou mistress of my deeds and motions,
the most resplendent and peerless Dulcinea
del Toboso! if the prayer and
petition of this thy adventurous lover
// File: 0633.png
.pn +1
can possibly reach thine ears, I conjure
thee, by thy unheard-of beauty,
to grant my request, which is no other
than that thou wouldst not now deny
me thy favour and protection, when I
stand so much in need of both; for I
am just upon the brink of darting,
plunging, and ingulphing myself into
the profound abyss that opens wide
before me, on purpose that the world
may know there is nothing so impossible
that I will not attempt and execute,
under the wings of thy favour.’

So saying, he approached the pit,
where he found it would be impracticable
to slip down, or make way for entering,
without the strength of arms and
back-strokes: he therefore, unsheathing
his sword, began to lay about him, and
mow down the bushes that grew around
the mouth of the cave, out of which an
infinite number of huge crows and daws,
affrighted at the noise and disturbance,
sallied forth with such force and velocity,
as laid the knight upon his back; and had
he been as superstitious as he was a good
catholick, he would have looked upon
this irruption as a bad omen, and excused
himself from visiting the bowels
of such a dreary place; at length he rose,
and seeing that the flight of crows, and
other birds of night, was now over, (for
a number of bats had likewise come
forth) he put the rope into the hands of
Sancho and the scholar, desiring them
to lower him down to the bottom of that
dreadful cavern, which when he entered,
Sancho gave him his benediction,
and making a thousand crosses over him,
exclaimed, ‘God and the Rock of
France, together with the Trinity of
Gaeta, be thy guides, thou flower, and
cream, and scum of knights-errant:
there thou goest, bully of the globe,
heart of steel, and arm of brass! I say
again, God be thy guide, and bring
thee back safe, sound, and without
deceit, to the light of this life, which
thou art now forsaking to bury thyself
in that obscurity.’ Almost the
same prayer and deprecation was uttered
by the scholar; while Don Quixote
called aloud for rope, and afterwards for
more rope, which they gave him by little
and little. By that time the voice,
which ascended through the windings
and turnings of the cave, ceased to vibrate
on their ears, they had already uncoiled
// File: 0634.png
the hundred fathoms, and were
inclined to hoist him up again, as they
had no more cord to spare: they stayed,
however, about half an hour, at the expiration
of which they began to pull up
the rope, which seemed to have no
weight attached to it, and came up with
such ease, that they imagined the knight
was left below; a supposition, in consequence
of which the squire wept most
bitterly, while he pulled with great eagerness
in order to discover the truth;
but when they had coiled up about four-score
fathoms they felt the weight again,
and were exceedingly rejoiced: finally,
at the distance of ten fathoms, they distinctly
perceived Don Quixote; to whom
Sancho addressed himself, saying, ‘Dear
master, I wish your worship an happy
return; we began to think you had
tarried below to breed.’

To this welcome the knight answered
not a word. When they had pulled
him up, they perceived his eyes were
shut, and that, to all appearance, he was
fast asleep; then he was laid upon the
ground, and untied, but still he did not
awake: however, by dint of turning,
jogging, shaking, and moving, they,
after some time, brought him to himself,
when yawning hideously as if he
had awoke from a profound and heavy
sleep, he looked around with amazement,
and pronounced, ‘God forgive
you, friends, for having withdrawn
me from the most delightful prospect
and agreeable life that ever mortal
saw or enjoyed: in effect, I am
now fully convinced, that all the
pleasures of this life fleet away like
a shadow or dream, or fade like the
flowers of the field. O unfortunate
Montesinos! O deeply wounded Durandarte!
O hapless Belerma! O weeping
Guadiana! and you forlorn daughters
of Ruydera, who by your waters
shew the copious floods of tears that
fall from your beauteous eyes!’

The scholar and Sancho hearing
these words, which Don Quixote seemed
to heave with immense pain from
his very entrails, begged he would explain
the meaning of what he had said,
and inform them of what he had seen
in that infernal gulph. ‘Infernal, call
you it?’ said the knight; ‘pray give
it a better epithet, for that it surely
does deserve, as you will presently
// File: 0635.png
.pn +1
perceive.’ Then he desired they would
give him something to eat, for he was
excessively hungry; and they, spreading
the carpet upon the grass, produced
the buttery of their bags, when all
three sitting around them, in love and
good fellowship, made one meal serve
for supper and afternoon’s luncheon,
which being finished, and the cloth
taken away, ‘My sons,’ said Don
Quixote, ‘let no man stir, but listen
with your whole attention to that
which I am going to rehearse.’
.sp 4
.h4 id=chap3-2-6
<abbr=chapter>CHAP.</abbr> <abbr=six>VI.</abbr> | OF THE WONDERFUL INCIDENTS RECOUNTED BY THE EXTRAVAGANT DON QUIXOTE,| WHO PRETENDED TO HAVE SEEN THEM IN THE PROFOUND CAVE OF MONTESINOS;| FROM THE GREATNESS AND IMPOSSIBILITY OF WHICH |THIS ADVENTURE HAS BEEN DEEMED APOCRYPHAL.
.sp 2
It might be about four o’clock in
the afternoon, when the sun retiring
behind a cloud, so as to emit a
scanty light and temperate rays, gave
Don Quixote an opportunity of relating
coolly and comfortably to his two
illustrious hearers the particulars he
had seen in the cave of Montesinos;
and he accordingly began to recite what
follows.

‘About twelve or fourteen fathoms
below the mouth of this dungeon,
there is a concavity on the right
hand, wide enough to contain a large
waggon with its cattle, and illuminated
by a small stream of light that descends
through corresponding cracks
and crannies, which open at a distance
on the surface of the earth:
this spacious cavity I perceived,
when I was tired and out of humour
at finding myself hanging and descending
by a rope, through that
dark and dreary dungeon, without
knowing any certain and determined
way; I therefore resolved to enter it,
and repose myself a little, and called
to you to leave off lowering the rope,
until I should give you farther notice;
but I suppose you did not hear
me, so that I gathered up the cord
you let down, and making it into
an heap or coil, sat down upon it in
// File: 0636.png
a very pensive mood, to consider how
I should descend to the bottom,
having no person to support my
weight. While I sat musing on this
misfortune, I was all of a sudden
overpowered by a most profound
sleep, and without dreaming of the
matter, or knowing how, or wherefore,
I awoke, and found myself in
the midst of the most beautiful,
charming and delightful meadow that
nature could create, or the most fertile
imagination conceive. I rubbed and
wiped my eyes, so as to see that far
from sleeping I was broad awake:
nevertheless, I felt my head, and
fumbled in my bosom, in order to
be assured, whether it was really my
identical self or some unsubstantial
phantom and counterfeit; but the
touch, the reflection, and connected
discourse I held with myself, concurred
to convince me, that I was
the same at that time as I find myself
at present. Then was my view
regaled with a sumptuous palace or
castle, with walls and battlements of
clear, transparent chrystal, and two
large folding gates, which, opening,
there came forth, advancing towards
me, a venerable old man, clad in a
long cloak of purple baize, that trailed
upon the ground: his shoulders and
breast were girded with a collegiate
scarf of green sattin; his head was
covered with a black Milan cap; and
his beard, white as the drifted snow,
descended to his middle. He wore
no arms, but held in his hand a rosary
of beads as large as walnuts;
though the tens were as big as ostrich-eggs;
and his deportment, air, gravity,
and dignified presence, filled
me with surprize and veneration.
Coming up to me, the first thing he
did was to hug me closely in his arms;
then he said, “Long, very long,
most valiant knight Don Quixote de
La Mancha, have we, who are inchanted
in these solitudes, expected
thy arrival, that thou mayest inform
the world of what is contained and
concealed in this profound cavern,
which is called the cave of Montesinos;
an adventure hitherto reserved
on purpose to be atchieved by
thy invincible heart and most stupendous
courage. Follow me, illustrious
Signior, and I will shew
thee the wonders that lie hid in this
// File: 0637.png
.pn +1
transparent castle, of which I am
governor and perpetual warder, as
being that identical Montesinos,
from whom the cavern takes its
name.” No sooner had he told
me who he was, than I asked if it
was true, what the world above related
of him, namely, that he had,
with a small dagger, cut out the
heart of his great friend Durandarte,
and carried it to the Lady Belerma,
according to his own desire, while
he was in the agonies of death. He
answered, every circumstance was
true, except that of the dagger; for
it was neither a dagger, nor small
in its dimensions, but a polished
poignard as sharp as an awl.’

Here Sancho interposing, observed,
that such a poignard must have been
made by Raymond de Hozes of Seville.
‘I do not know who was the maker,’
said the knight, ‘but it could not be
that sword-cutler; for Raymond de
Hozes was living t’other day; whereas
many years are elapsed since the
battle of Roncesvalles, where that
misfortune happened; but this enquiry
is of no importance; nor does
it disturb or alter the truth and evidence
of the story.’—‘No, surely,’
cried the scholar, ‘pray good your
worship Don Quixote proceed; for I
listen to your narration with infinite
pleasure.’—‘And I feel no less in
recounting it,’ answered the knight.

‘Well, then, the venerable Montesinos
led me into the chrystalline
palace, where, in a low hall, cool
beyond conception, and lined with
alabaster, stood a monument of
marble of exquisite workmanship,
upon which I perceived a knight lying
at full length, I do not mean a
statue of bronze, marble, or jasper,
such as we commonly see on other
tombs, but a man of real flesh and
bones; he held his right-hand, which
being muscular and hairy, denoted
the great strength of the owner, over
the region of the heart; and before
I had time to ask any questions,
Montesinos seeing me astonished, and
gazing attentively at the sepulchre,
“This is my friend Durandarte,” said
he, “the flower and mirrour of all
the valiant and enamoured knights
of his time: here he is kept inchanted
as well as myself, and many others
of both sexes, by Merlin, that French
// File: 0638.png
inchanter, who is said to have been
begotten by the devil; though, for
my own part, I believe he is not really
the devil’s son, but that, according
to the proverb, He knows one point
more than the devil. How, or for
what reason he inchanted us, nobody
knows, but time will discover the mystery;
and, in my opinion, that time is
not far off: what surprizes me is,
I know as certainly as the sun shines,
that Durandarte breathed his last in
my arms, and after he was dead, I
with my own individual hands took
out his heart, which must certainly
have weighed a couple of pounds;
for, according to the observation of
naturalists, the man who has a large
heart is endowed with more valour
than he whose heart is of smaller
dimensions: this being the case, and
the knight certainly dead, how comes
he, even at this day, to sigh and
complain, from time to time, as if
he was actually alive?”

‘He had no sooner pronounced these
words, than the wretched Durandarte
cried, in a loud voice, “O cousin
Montesinos! the last favour I requested
of you, was, that when my
soul should quit my body, you would
extract my heart either with poignard
or dagger, and carry it to Belerma.”
The venerable Montesinos, hearing
this apostrophe, kneeled before the
piteous knight, and with tears in his
eyes, replied, “Already, Signior
Durandarte, my dearest cousin! already
have I executed what you
commanded me to perform, on that
unlucky day of our defeat: I extracted
your heart as well as I could,
without leaving the smallest particle
of it in your breast; I wiped it with
a laced handkerchief, and set out
with it full gallop for France, after
having first committed you to the
bosom of the earth with such a flood
of tears as was sufficient to bathe
and wash my hands of the blood
they had contracted by raking in
your bowels; and as a surer token,
dear cousin of my soul! at the first
place I reached, in my way from
Roncesvalles, I sprinkled your heart
with a little salt, that it might not
acquire a bad smell, and continue,
if not quite fresh, at least tolerably
sweet, until it could be presented to
the Lady Belerma, who, together
// File: 0639.png
.pn +1
with you and me, and your squire
Guadiana, the duenna Ruydera, her
seven daughters, and two nieces,
and many others of your friends and
acquaintance, have been long inchanted
in this place by the sage
Merlin; and although five hundred
years are elapsed, not one of us is
dead; though we have lost Ruydera
with her daughters and nieces, who,
by weeping, are, through the compassion
of Merlin, converted into so
many lakes, which, in the world above,
and in the province of La Mancha,
are called the Lakes of Ruydera;
the Seven Sisters belong to the king
of Spain, and the Two Nieces to the
knights of a very holy order, called
<abbr=Saint>St.</abbr> John. Your squire Guadiana
bewailing likewise your misfortune,
was changed into a river of the
same name, which, when it reached
the surface of the earth, and saw
the sun of the other sky, was so
grieved at the thoughts of leaving
you, that he sunk down into the
bowels of the globe; but, as it was
not possible for him to resist his natural
current, he from time to time
rises up, shewing himself to the sun,
and to the nations: he receives a reinforcement
from the waters of the
forementioned lakes, with which,
and many others that join his stream,
he enters Portugal in majesty and
pomp. Nevertheless, wheresoever he
runs, he discovers a sullen melancholy,
and does not pique himself
upon breeding within his channel
fish of dainty relish and esteem; but
only such as are coarse and unsavoury,
and widely different from
those of the golden Tagus. What
I now say, my dear cousin, I have
often expressed, and as you make
no reply, I conclude you either do
not hear or do not give credit to my
words: a circumstance which, as
Heaven doth know, overwhelms me
with affliction. I will at present
make you acquainted with one piece
of news, which, if it does not alleviate
your sorrow, can surely, in
no shape, tend to its augmentation.
Know then, here stands in your presence
(open your eyes and behold
him) that great knight of whom so
many things have been prophesied
by the sage Merlin; that Don Quixote
de La Mancha, I say, who has
// File: 0640.png
renewed, and, with greater advantages
than in times past, raised again
from oblivion the long forgotten
chivalry, by the means and favour
of whom, perhaps, we ourselves may
be disenchanted; for great men such
great achievements are reserved.”—“And
if that should not be the case,”
replied the afflicted Durandarte, in a
faint and languid tone; “and if that
should not be the case, cousin, I say,
patience, and shuffle the cards.”
Then turning himself upon one side,
he relapsed into his usual silence,
without speaking another word.

‘At that instant, hearing a great noise
of shrieks and lamentations, accompanied
by doleful sighing and dismal
sobbing, I turned about, and saw
through the chrystal walls into another
apartment, through which a procession
passed, consisting of two flies of
most beautiful damsels in mourning,
with white turbans on their heads, in
the Turkish manner; in the rear of
these came a lady, for such, by her
stately demeanour, she seemed to be,
cloathed like the rest in black, with a
veil so full and long that it kissed the
ground: her turban was twice as
large as the largest of the others, her
eye brows met above her nose, which
was flattish; her mouth was large,
but her lips retained the colour of vermillion;
her teeth, which she sometimes
disclosed, were thin and ill-set,
though white as blanched almonds;
and in her hand she held a fine linen
cloth, in which, as near as I could
guess, was an heart so dried and
shrivelled, that it seemed to be of perfect
mummy. Montesinos gave me
to understand, that all those of the
procession were domesticks of Durandarte
and Belarma, inchanted in that
place, together with their lord and
lady; and that the last who carried
the heart in the napkin, was Belerma
herself, who, with her damsels, never
failed to appear in that procession four
days in the week, and sung, or rather
howl, dirges over the body, and the
woeful heart of his cousin: and that,
if she now seemed a little homely, or
not quite so beautiful as fame reported
her, the change proceeded from
the bad nights and worse days
she passed in that state of inchantment,
as I might perceive in her large
wrinkles and wan complexion; nor
// File: 0641.png
.pn +1
did that yellowness and those furrows
proceed from any irregularity in the
monthly disorder incident to women;
for many months and even
years had passed since she had the
least shew of any such evacuation;
but solely from the anguish of her
heart, occasioned by that which she
holds incessantly in her hand, and
which renews and recalls to her memory
the misfortune of her ill-fated
lover: had it not been for that mischance,
scarce would she have been
equalled in beauty, sprightliness, and
grace, even by the fair Dulcinea del
Toboso, celebrated as she is not
only in this country, but also through
the whole universe.

‘“Softly, Signior Don Montesinos,”
said I, interrupting him at the period,
“be so good as to tell your story as it
ought to be told; for you know all
comparisons are odious, and therefore
there is no occasion to compare
any person with another; the peerless
Dulcinea del Toboso is what
she is, and the Lady Donna Belerma
is likewise what she is and has been,
and there let the matter rest.” To
this remonstrance he replied, “Pardon
me, Signior Don Quixote; I
confess I have been to blame, and
egregiously erred, in saying, the
Lady Dulcinea would scarce equal
the Lady Belerma; seeing, my having
known by certain guesses that
your worship is the knight of Dulcinea,
was sufficient to have induced
me to bite off my tongue, rather
than compare her with any thing but
Heaven itself.” Such satisfaction from
the great Montesinos allayed the disgust
that my heart received in hearing
Belerma compared with my mistress.’

‘I marvel much,’ said Sancho, ‘that
your worship did not fall upon the
old hunks, and break every bone in
his skin; aye, and pull his beard in
such a manner as not to leave one
single hair.’—‘By no means, friend
Sancho,’ answered the knight, ‘it
would not have become me to behave
in that manner; for we are all obliged
to respect our seniors, although they
are not knights; but more especially
those who are really of that quality,
and besides in a state of inchantment.
This I know full well, that there
was nothing left unpaid on either side,
// File: 0642.png
in the course of the questions and answers
that passed between us.’

Here the scholar, interposing, ‘I
cannot conceive,’ said he, ‘Signior
Don Quixote, how your worship, in
such a short time as that you have
spent below, could see so many things,
and ask and answer such a number of
questions.’—‘How long is it since I
descended?’ said the knight. ‘Little
more than an hour,’ replied the
squire. ‘That’s impossible,’ resumed
Don Quixote; ‘for night fell, and
morning dawned, and darkness and
light succeeded each other three times;
so that, by my reckoning, I must
have remained three days in those sequestered
shades, which are hidden
from our view.’—‘My master must
be in the right,’ said Sancho, ‘for as
all those things have happened by inchantment,
perhaps what appeared
but one hour to us, might seem three
days and nights to your worship.’—‘It
may be so,’ answered the knight.
Then the student asking if his worship
had eaten any thing in all that
time, ‘I have not tasted one mouthful,’
said he, ‘nor had I the least sensation
of hunger.’—‘And do those who are
inchanted, eat?’ resumed the scholar,
‘They do not eat,’ answered Don Quixote,
‘nor do they void the larger excrements,
though, it is supposed, that
their nails, beards, and hair, are always
growing.’

Here Sancho desired to know, if ever
those inchanted gentry enjoyed the benefit
of sleep. To which interrogation his
master replied, ‘No, surely; at least, in
those three days that I passed among
them, neither they nor myself once
closed an eye.’—‘Here then,’ said the
squire, ‘we may conveniently trust in
the proverb, Tell me your company,
and I’ll tell you your manners.
While your worship keeps company
with inchanted people, who are always
fasting and watching, it is no
great wonder if you neither eat nor
sleep while you are among them; but
really, Signior, your worship must
forgive me, if I say, that of all you
have told us, God take me, I was
going to say the devil, if I believe
one circumstance.’—‘How!’ cried the
scholar, ‘then Signior Don Quixote
must have lyed: who even if we could
entertain such a supposition, has not
// File: 0643.png
.pn +1
had time to compose and contrive such
a number of fables.’—‘I do not believe
that my master tells lies,’ answered
Sancho. ‘What, then, is thy
conception?’ said the knight. ‘I conceive,’
replied Sancho, ‘that Merlin,
or those magicians who have inchanted
the whole rabble which your worship
hath seen and discoursed with below,
have likewise stuffed your noddle
or memory with all that nonsense
which you have already recounted, as
well as what you have left untold.’—‘That
might be the case,’ said Don
Quixote, ‘but I assure you it is not so
at present; for what I have recounted
I saw with my own eyes, and touched
with my own hands. But, what wilt
thou say, when I now tell thee, that
among an infinite number of other
wonderful things, which I shall relate
hereafter in the course of our
travels, as they do not all belong to
this place, Montesinos shewed me
three country-wenches, leaping and
skipping like so many goats through
those delightful plains; and scarce
had I set eyes on them, when I recognize
them to be the peerless Dulcinea,
and those two individual young
women, with whom we spoke in the
neighbourhood of Toboso. When
I asked Montesinos if he knew them,
he answered in the negative, but said
he took them to be some inchanted
ladies of quality; for they had appeared
but a few days in that meadow;
nor ought I to wonder at that circumstance,
forasmuch as in the same place
there were many ladies of the past
and present age, inchanted in different
and strange forms; among whom he
recollected Queen Ginebra and her
duenna Quintanona, who was skinker
to Lancelot, when he came from
Britain.’ Sancho, hearing his master
talk in this manner, was ready
to run distracted, or burst with laughing;
for, knowing the truth of the
feigned inchantment of Dulcinea, of
which indeed he himself had been the
author and evidence, he was convinced
beyond all doubt, that his master
was stark-staring mad; and in that
persuasion exclaimed, ‘In evil hour,
accursed season, and unlucky day, my
dear master, did your worship go
down to the other world; and in a
mischievous moment did you meet
// File: 0644.png
with Signior Montesinos, who has
sent you back in such a woeful
condition. Well was your worship
here above, in your sound judgment,
such as God had bestowed upon you,
saying sentences, and giving counsel
at every turn, and not as at present,
venting a heap of the greatest nonsense,
that was ever conceived.’—‘I
know thee too well, Sancho,’ answered
Don Quixote, ‘to mind what
thou sayest.’—‘And I, in like manner,’
replied the squire, ‘know you
too well to regard what you say:
wound me, or confound me, or kill
me if you will, for what I have said,
and what I mean to say, if your worship
does not mend and correct your
own speeches; but, now we are at
peace, pray tell me how or by what
token you came to know our lady mistress,
and if you spoke to her, what
answer she made?’

‘I knew her again,’ replied the
knight, ‘by the same cloaths she wore
when thou thyself didst shew her to
my astonished eyes; I likewise addressed
myself to her, but she answered
not a syllable; on the contrary, she
turned about, and fled so swiftly,
that an arrow would not have overtaken
her: nevertheless, I wished to
follow, and would certainly have pursued
her, had not Montesinos advised
me not to fatigue myself; for it would
be to no purpose, and besides, it was
time for me to return to the light
above. He likewise told me, that,
in process of time, he would give me
notice in what manner he, Durandarte,
Belerma, and all the rest, in
those sequestered shades, were to be
disenchanted. But what of all I saw
and observed gave me the greatest
pain was this; while I was engaged
in this conversation with Montesinos,
one of the hapless Dulcinea’s companions
came up to me, unperceived,
and with tears in her eyes, thus accosted
me, in a low and whimpering
voice: “My Lady Dulcinea Del Toboso
kisses your worship’s hands,
and begs your worship will be pleased
to let her know how your worship
does; moreover, being in great necessity,
she supplicates your worship,
in the most earnest manner, to be
pleased to lend her, upon this her new
cotton under petticoat, half a dozen
// File: 0645.png
.pn +1
rials, or any small matter your worship
can spare, which upon her honest
word, shall be restored in a very
short time.” This message filled
me with surprize and concern; and
turning to the sage, “Is it possible,
Signior Montesinos,” said I, “that
people of condition are exposed to
necessity, in a state of inchantment?”
To this question he replied, “Take
my word for it, Signior Don Quixote
de La Mancha, that which we
call necessity is known in all states,
extending to all conditions, prevailing
among every class of people,
and not even sparing those who are
inchanted; and since Signora Dulcinea
Del Toboso sends to beg these
six rials, and the pledge seems to
be well worth the money, you
had better let her have them; for
she must certainly be in great trouble.”—“The
pledge I will not
touch,” said I, “nor indeed can I
comply with her request; for I have
not above four rials!” which I gave
her; and these were the very individual
pieces which I received from thee,
Sancho, t’other day, in order to give
away in charity to the poor I might
meet with on the road, “Sweet-heart,”
said I, “tell your lady that
her distress affects me to the very
soul, and I wish I were as rich as
Fouckar[#] to remove it; let her
know, that I neither can, nor will
enjoy health while deprived of her
agreeable presence and improving
conversation; and that I fervently
and earnestly beg her goodness will
be pleased to indulge with her company,
this her captive servant and
afflicted knight. Tell her also, that,
when least she dreams of any such
matter, she shall hear that I have
made a vow, like that which was
sworn by the Marquis of Mantua,
to revenge his cousin Valdovinos;
when he found him at the last gasp,
in the middle of the mountain;
namely, that he would not eat from
off a table-cloth, together with some
whimsical additions, until he should
have revenged his death; and, in like
manner, I will swear never to be
quiet, but traverse the seven divisions
of the globe, more punctually than
did the infant Don Pedro of Portugal[#],
until she be restored to the
upper world.”—“All that and
much more you owe to my lady,”
said the damsel; who, taking the rials
instead of curtseying, cut a caper in
the air two yards high.’

‘O holy God!’ cried Sancho, with
a loud voice, ‘is it possible that those
inchanters and enchantments should
have such power to change the good
sense of my master into such nonsensical
madness! O Signior, Signior!
for the love of God, look to yourself,
have some respect for your own honour,
and give no credit to those vanities,
which have diminished and
disturbed your senses.’—‘Thy regard
for me, Sancho, makes thee
talk in that manner,’ answered the
knight: ‘and as thou art not experienced
in the events of this world,
every thing that is uncommon, to
thee seems impossible; but the time
will come, as I have already observed,
when I shall recount some
circumstances which I saw below,
that will compel thee to believe what
I have now related, the truth of which
neither admits of dispute or reply.’

.fn #
Fouckar was a very rich merchant of Augsburg, and a great favourite of Charles
<abbr='the fifth'>V.</abbr> who owed him a very considerable sum. It is reported of him, that when the emperor
lodged at his house, in his return from Tunis, the fire in his chamber was of cinnamon,
and his landlord lighted it with his imperial majesty’s own obligation, thereby
cancelling an immense debt. The wealth of these traders, for there were two brothers,
became proverbial, and it was usual to say of any very opulent person, ‘He is as rich as
a Fouckar.’
.fn-

.fn #
This was the great patron of the Portuguese discoveries along the coast of Africa to
the Cape of Good Hope.
.fn-
.sp 4
.h4 id=chap3-2-7
<abbr=chapter>CHAP.</abbr> <abbr=seven>VII.</abbr> | IN WHICH ARE RECOUNTED A THOUSAND FOOLERIES,| EQUALLY IMPERTINENT,| AND NECESSARY TO THE TRUE UNDERSTANDING OF THIS SUBLIME HISTORY.
.sp 2
He who translated this sublime
history from the original, composed
by its first author Cid Hamet
// File: 0646.png
.pn +1
Benengeli, says, that coming to the
chapter which treats of the adventure
of the cave, he found this observation
written on the margin in the handwriting
of the said Hamet.

‘I cannot conceive or persuade myself
that the valiant Don Quixote literally
saw and heard all that is recounted
in the foregoing chapter, for
this reason: all the adventures in
which he has hitherto been engaged,
are feasible and likely to have happened;
but this of the cave I can by no
means believe true, in any circumstance,
because it is so wide of all
reason and probability; then to suppose
that Don Quixote would tell
lyes, he that was the truest gentleman
and most noble knight of his time!
it is not possible! He certainly would
have suffered himself to be shot to
death, rather than deviate one tittle
from the truth; besides, I consider
that he explained and recounted the
adventure so circumstantially, that he
could not be supposed to have contrived
extempore such a large concatenation
of extravagances; but, after
all, should the adventure seem apocryphal,
the blame cannot be laid to
my door, and therefore I give it to
the publick without affirming it either
to be true or false. Reader, if thou
hast discernment, thou mayest judge
for thyself; for it is neither my duty,
nor is it in my power to do more:
though it is held for certain, that the
knight, on his death-bed, retracted
the whole, saying he had invented the
story because it seemed to agree and
quadrate with those adventures he had
read in his books.’

Then the Arabian proceeds in his
history to this effect.

The scholar was equally astonished
at the presumption of Sancho Panza
and the forbearance of his master, and
concluded that the satisfaction he derived
from having seen his mistress
Dulcinea del Toboso, even though inchanted,
had produced that milkiness of
temper, which was now so remarkable;
had not this been the case, Sancho’s
freedom and remarks were such as
would have brought a wooden shower
upon his shoulders; for he was downright
impertinent to his master, to whom
the student thus addressed himself: ‘For
my own part, Signior Don Quixote
de La Mancha, I look upon this as
// File: 0647.png
the happiest journey I ever performed;
for, in the course of it, I have made
four valuable acquisitions. In the
first place, I have gained the acquaintance
of your worship, which I deem
a piece of singular felicity. Secondly,
I have been made acquainted with
what is locked up and contained in
the cave of Montesinos, together with
the Metamorphoses of Guadiana,
and the Lakes of Ruydera; transmutations
that will aptly fill a place in
the Spanish Ovid which I have in
hand. Thirdly, I have discovered
the antiquity of card-playing, which,
at least, must be as old as the time of
Charlemagne, as may be gathered
from the words which your worship
heard Durandarte pronounce, when,
at the end of that long harangue of
Montesinos, he awoke and said, “Patience,
and shuffle the cards.” For
that phrase and manner of speaking
he could not have learned during his
inchantment; but certainly, when he
was alive and well in France, during
the reign of the said Charlemagne:
and this investigation comes pat to
the purpose, for the other book which
I am composing; I mean, the Supplement
to Polydore Virgil, on the invention
of antiquities; for I take it
for granted, he has forgot to insert in
his book the discovery of card-playing,
which I will now explain, and
doubtless it will be a very material
circumstance, especially when confirmed
by such a grave and authentick evidence
as Signior Durandarte. Fourthly
and lastly, I have now ascertained
the source of the Guadiana, hitherto
unknown among the nations.’

‘You have indeed good reason to be
satisfied,’ replied the knight; ‘but I
should be glad to know, if, by God’s
assistance, you should obtain a licence
for printing those books, (which is a
matter of doubt with me) to what
patron you intend they should be dedicated?’—‘There
are plenty of lords
and grandees in Spain,’ answered the
scholar, ‘to whom they may be dedicated.’—‘But
a very few,’ said Don
Quixote; ‘not but that a great many
deserve dedications, but because few
will receive them, that they may not
lay themselves under the obligation of
making such a recompence as may
seem due to the labour and courtesy
of authors: one prince, indeed, I
// File: 0648.png
.pn +1
know, who supplies the defect of the
rest with such advantages, that if I
durst presume to describe them, I
might perhaps excite envy in many
noble hearts. But let that circumstance
rest till a more convenient season;
and, in the mean time, let us endeavour
to find some place where we
may procure a night’s lodging.’—‘Not
far from hence,’ replied the student,
‘is an hermitage where lives an
anchorite, who is said to have been a
soldier, and bears the character of
being a good Christian, and moreover
a very discreet and charitable man:
adjoining to the hermitage is a little
house, built by the labour of his own
hands, which, though narrow, is
large enough to receive travellers.’—‘Can
that same hermitage produce any
poultry?’ said Sancho. ‘There are
few hermitages destitute of that provision,’
answered the knight; ‘for the
anchorites of these days are not like
those who dwelt in the desarts of
Egypt, cloathing themselves with
palm-leaves, and subsisting on the
roots of the earth. And here I would
not be understood to extol one sort,
in order to depreciate another; for the
penance now in use does not come up
to the rigour and austerity of those
times. Nevertheless, they are all
good, at least, so I suppose them to be
be; and even should the stream run
foul, the hypocrite, who cloaks his
knavery, is less dangerous to the
commonwealth than he who transgresses
in the face of day.’

This conversation was interrupted by
the appearance of a man coming towards
them on foot, walking fast, and
switching a mule loaded with lances
and halberts: when he came up he
saluted them, and passed on at a good
pace, and Don Quixote perceiving his
hurry, ‘Honest friend,’ said he, ‘pray
stop a little, for you seem to go faster
than your mule could wish.’—‘Signior,’
answered the man, ‘I cannot
tarry at present, because these arms
of which I have the charge, are to
be used to-morrow morning, so that
I cannot possibly stay, therefore adieu:
but if you desire to know for what
purpose they were procured, at the
inn which is beyond the hermitage I
have some thoughts of taking my
night’s lodging, and if you are travelling
the same road, there you will
// File: 0649.png
find me, and there you shall hear
strange tidings; so, once more I bid
you farewel.’ So saying, he whipped
up the mule in such a manner,
that Don Quixote had not time to ask
another question concerning those strange
tidings which he promised to relate;
but, being extremely curious, and continually
fatigued with the desire of
learning novelties, he ordered his company
to set off that instant, and proceed
to the inn, without touching at
the hermitage, where the scholar wished
to pass the evening. In compliance
with the knight’s desire, all three mounted
their beasts, and followed the direct
road to the inn, which they reached a
little before the twilight. The student,
however, proposed that they should call
and take a draught at the hermitage.
Sancho Panza, hearing this proposal,
immediately turned Dapple’s head towards
it, being followed by Don Quixote
and the scholar: but his ill luck
seemed to have ordained, that the hermit
should not be at home, as they were
told by an under-hermit, whom they
found in the place. When the squire
demanded a flask of his best and dearest,
he answered, that his master had no
wine, but if he chose a pitcher of his
cheapest water, he should have it with all
his heart. ‘If I had chosen water,’ said
Sancho, ‘there is plenty of wells upon
the road, from which I might have
quenched my thirst. O the wedding
of Camacho! and the abundance of
Don Diego’s house! how often shall
I lament the loss of you?’

When he had uttered this ejaculation,
they quitted the hermitage, and
pushed on towards the inn; and having
rode forwards a little way, they
overtook a lad who travelled the same
road at his own leisure: he carried a
sword over his shoulder, that supported
a bundle of cloaths, which seemed to
consist of trousers, a cloak, and shirt;
for he wore a velvet jacket with some
slips of sattin, and the shirt hanging
out; he had silk stockings, and square-toed
shoes in the court fashion; his age
seemed to be about eighteen or nineteen;
he had a sprightly countenance, and an
agility in his person; he amused himself
in singing couplets to beguile the
fatigue of travelling, and when they
overtook him, had just finished one,
which the student remembered to have
run in this strain.
// File: 0650.png
.pn +1

.pm verse-start
‘To the wars my necessity drags me away,
But if I had money at home I would stay.’
.pm verse-end

The first who accosted him was Don
Quixote, saying, ‘You travel very light,
young gentleman; pray, good now,
whither may you be going?’ To this
interrogation the youth replied, ‘I travel
so light on account of poverty, and
the heat of the weather; and I am
going to the wars.’—‘The heat may
be a very good reason,’ resumed the
knight; ‘but how should poverty be the
cause of your travelling in that manner?’—‘Signior,’
answered the youth,
‘I carry in this bundle a pair of velvet
trunk-breeches, fellows to this jacket,
which if I wear out in the country,
they will do me no credit in town,
and I have not wherewithal to purchase
a reinforcement; for this reason,
therefore, and the benefit of the free
air, I travel as you see me, until I
get up with some companies of foot,
which are quartered at a town about
twelve leagues from hence; there I
shall inlist among them, and there will
not be wanting some baggage-waggon,
in which I may proceed to the
place of embarkation, which they say
is to be Carthagena; and I would
much rather have the king for my lord
and master, and serve him in his wars,
than be the lacquey of some scoundrel
at court.’—‘And have you obtained
any post?’ said the scholar. ‘Had I
served a grandee of Spain, or some
person of quality,’ replied the youth,
‘I should certainly have got something
of that kind; for this is the advantage
of being in good service, that a
man is frequently preferred from the
back of his master’s chair to a pair
of colours, a company, or some handsome
provision: but it was my unhappy
fate to be always in the service
of poor idle rascals, or foreigners,
who give such a miserable and consumptive
allowance of board-wages,
that one half was expended in the
starching of a ruff; and it would be
looked upon as a miracle, if any such
page adventurer should obtain a tolerable
provision.’—‘And pray,
friend,’ said Don Quixote, ‘is is possible,
that during all the years you
have been in service, you never had a
livery?’—‘Yes,’ answered the page,
‘I have had two; but, as he who quits
a convent before he professes, is stripped
of his habit, and obliged to resume
his own cloaths, so was I served
by my masters, who, after having
transacted the business that brought
them to court, returned to their own
homes, and took back the liveries,
which they had given me out of mere
ostentation.’

‘A very scandalous espilocheria[#],
indeed, as the Italians call it,’ said
Don Quixote; ‘but, notwithstanding,
you may think yourself very happy
in having left the court with such a
laudable intention; for there is nothing
upon earth more productive of
honour and profit, next to the service
of God, than the service of the king,
our natural lord and master; especially
in the exercise of arms, by
which more honour, if not more
wealth, is acquired than by learning
itself; for, as I have divers and sundry
times observed, although a greater
number of families has been raised by
learning than by arms, yet those founded
upon arms rise, I don’t know how,
above their fellows, with a kind of
natural splendor, by which all others
are outshone; and what I am now going
to say, I desire you will lay up in
your remembrance, for it will be of
much comfort and utility to you, in
the midst of all your sufferings: never
entertain a thought of what adversity
may happen, for the worst is death;
and provided it comes with honour, it
is the greatest happiness to die. Julius
Cæsar, that valiant emperor of Rome,
being asked which was the most agreeable
death, answered, “That which
is sudden, unexpected, and unforeseen:”
and though this reply savoured
of the pagan, ignorant of the knowledge
of the true God, nevertheless,
with regard to his being freed from
the pangs of human infirmity, he said
well; for supposing you should be
slain in the first action or skirmish,
either by a cannon ball, or the explosion
of a mine, what does it signify?
we must all die, and there is an end
to the whole; and, according to Terence,
a dead soldier, who falls in battle,
makes a much nobler appearance
than one who lives by running away:
the good soldier acquires reputation
// File: 0651.png
.pn +1
in proportion to the obedience he pays
to his captain, or those who have a
right to command him; and pray,
take notice, child, a soldier had much
better smell of gunpowder than of
civet; and if old age overtake you in
that noble employment, though you
should be covered over with wounds,
paralytick, or lame, it can never overtake
you without such honour as poverty
cannot diminish; especially now,
that provision is to be made for the
maintenance and relief of old disabled
soldiers; for it is not reasonable that
they should be treated like negro
slaves, to whom, when they are old
and incapable of service, their masters
often give their freedom, driving them
from their houses, and under the title
of liberty, leaving them still slaves to
hunger, which nothing but death can
dispel. This is all I have to say at
present; therefore get up and ride behind
me to the inn, where I shall treat
you with a supper, and in the morning
you may pursue your journey,
which I pray God may be as fortunate
as your intention is good.’

The page excused himself from riding
behind the knight, though he embraced
his invitation to supper at the inn; and
Sancho said within himself, ‘Lord
comfort thee for a master! Is it possible
that a man who can utter so many
good things, should affirm that he
has seen all that impossible nonsense
which he has told of the cave of
Montesinos! But, time is the trier of
all things.’

In such discourse they arrived at the
inn, just as it grew dark, and Sancho
was not a little rejoiced to find that his
master took it to be a real inn, and not
a castle, according to his usual whims.
They had scarcely entered, when Don
Quixote enquired of the landlord about
the man with the lances and halberts,
and understood he was in the stable,
providing for the accommodation of his
beast; an example which was followed
by the student and Sancho, who preferred
Rozinante to the best manger and
stall of the whole stable.

.fn #
A knavish trick.
.fn-
.sp 4
.h4 id=chap3-2-8
<abbr=chapter>CHAP.</abbr> <abbr=eight>VIII.</abbr> | IN WHICH IS SET FORTH THE BRAYING ADVENTURE, AND THE DIVERTING ATCHIEVEMENT OF THE PUPPETS, WITH THE MEMORABLE RESPONSES OF THE DIVINING APE.
// File: 0652.png
.sp 2
Don Quixote would not stay till
his bread was baked, as the saying
is, so impatient was he to hear and
know the strange tidings that were promised
by the arms-carrier, in quest of
whom he forthwith went to the place
where the landlord said he was; and
having found him, desired he would by
all means gratify him with a circumstantial
account of those things he had
mentioned on the road. ‘The account
of my strange tidings,’ answered the
man, ‘I shall give when I am more at
leisure, and not at work as I am at
present: if your worship will give me
time to take care of my beast, I will
tell you such things as you will be
surprized to hear.’—‘They shall not
be delayed on that account,’ said the
knight, ‘for I myself will lend you an
helping hand.’ He accordingly winnowed
the corn and cleaned the manger;
so that the man, induced by his humility,
could do no less than grant his request,
with good will: sitting down,
therefore, in a hollow of the wall, close
by Don Quixote, who, with the scholar,
page, Sancho Panza, and the inn-keeper,
composed his council and audience, he
began to relate what follows.

‘You must know, gentlemen, that
in a village at the distance of four
leagues and a half from this inn, it
came to pass, that a certain alderman,
through the craft and malice
of a servant wench, which I have
not time to explain, lost an ass; and
though the said alderman used all
possible means to find him, he found
it impossible to succeed: fifteen days
had the ass been missing, according
to publick fame and report, when
the owner was, in the market-place,
accosted by another alderman of the
same town, who said, “Hansel me
for my good news, neighbour; your
beast has appeared.”—“That I will,
neighbour, and heartily,” answered
the other; “but let us know where
he has appeared.”—“Upon the
mountain,” replied the finder: “I
saw him this morning, without
pack-saddle or any sort of furniture;
and so lean, that it was piteous to
behold him. I would have driven
him before me, and brought him
// File: 0653.png
.pn +1
home; but he is so wild and shy,
that when I went near him, he took
to his heels, and ran into the most
concealed part of the mountain: if
you chuse it, we two will go in quest
of him; stay till I house my own
beast, and I’ll return presently.”—“I
shall be much obliged to you,”
said he of the strayed ass; “and I
shall endeavour to repay you in the
same coin.” With these very circumstances,
and in the self-same
manner that I relate the affair to you,
it is told and related by all those who
have entered into the true spirit of
the case.

‘In conclusion, the two aldermen
walked hand in hand to the mountain,
and coming to the place and
spot where they expected to find the
ass, they found him not; nor could
they get one glimpse of him, although
they searched all about, over and over.
Perceiving that he was not likely to
appear, “Heark ye, neighbour,”
said the alderman who had seen him,
“there is a contrivance come into my
head, by which we shall certainly
discover this animal, even though
he should be concealed in the bowels
of the earth, much more if he is
in this mountain; and that is this,
I have a marvellous knack at braying,
and if you have any turn
that way, you may conclude the
business is done.”—“Any turn,
neighbour!” cried the other: “by
the Lord! I will not yield in point
of braying to the best man alive,
not even to an identical ass,”—“We
shall see presently,” answered
the second alderman; “for my
intention is that you should go
to one side of the mountain, and
I to the other, so as to walk round
it quite, and every now and then
you shall bray, and I will bray;
and it cannot be but that the ass
will hear, and answer, if he is on
this mountain.” To this proposal
the owner replied, “Neighbour, it is
an excellent scheme, and worthy
your great genius.” So parting,
according to agreement, it came to
pass that both brayed almost at the
same time, and each being deceived
by the other’s braying ran forward
in hopes of finding the ass; when
perceiving their mistake, “Neighbour,”
said the loser, “is it possible
// File: 0654.png
that was not my ass which
brayed just now?”—“No: it was
I,” answered the other. “Agad,
then,” cried the owner, “there is
not the least difference, in point of
braying, between you and an ass!
for in my life did I never hear or
see such a resemblance.”—“That
compliment and approbation,” answered
the contriver, “would be
much better bestowed upon yourself
than upon me, neighbour; for
by the God that made me, you would
give two heats of advantage to the
biggest and best brayer in Christendom;
for the sound you produce is
deep, sonorous, within proper time
and compass, and the falls frequent
and sharp; in a word, I own myself
overcome, and yield you the palm
and banner of that rare talent.”—“By
the mass!” said the owner, “I
will from henceforward have a higher
opinion of my own ability, and believe
I know something, since I really
possess such a gift; for although
I always thought I brayed tolerably
well, I never imagined I excelled so
much as you say I do.”—“I therefore
tell you,” replied the other,
“that many rare talents are lost in this
world; and that they are ill-bestowed
on those who cannot turn
them to advantage.”—“Ours,”
said the owner, “except in such
cases as this, that we have now in
hand, can be but of little service,
and even in this God grant it may
turn to account.”

‘After these mutual compliments
they parted a second time, and began
to bray again; but still they were
deceived, and met as before, until,
by way of counter-signal, from
which they might know one another,
they agreed to bray twice in a breath:
accordingly they doubled their brayings,
and encompassed the whole
mountain, without being favoured
with the least answer or sign from
the strayed ass; and, indeed, no wonder,
the poor unfortunate animal did
not answer; for they found him in
the remotest part of the wood, almost
devoured by the wolves. The owner
seeing him in this plight, “I marvelled
much,” said he, “that he did
not answer, for had he been alive
and heard you, he must have brayed
again, else he had been no ass; but
// File: 0655.png
.pn +1
as I have had the pleasure of hearing
you bray so melodiously, neighbour,
I think my trouble well bestowed,
even although I have found him
dead.”—“’Tis in good hands, neighbour,”
replied the other; “for in
chanting the clerk is not a whit inferior
to the curate.”

‘Having made these mutual remarks,
they returned to the village, equally
hoarse and disconsolate, and recounted
to their friends, neighbours, and
acquaintance, what had happened to
them, in their searching for the ass,
extolling one another to the skies for
the talent of braying; so that every
circumstance of the story was related
among the neighbouring villages;
and the devil, who is never at rest,
but always glad of an opportunity
to sow discord and scatter quarrels,
raising lyes in the wind, and huge
chimeras from little or no foundation,
so ordered matters, that the
people of the other villages, when
they saw any person belonging to our
town, began to bray, as if to hit
him in the teeth with the braying of
our aldermen. The story was taken
up by the boys, which was all one
as if he had fallen into the hands and
mouths of all the devils in hell, and
the braying was circulated from one
town to another in such a manner,
that the natives of the village of
Braywick are as well known and distinguished
as a Blackmore from a
Spaniard; and this joke has become
so serious, that our townsmen have
frequently gone forth in arms and regular
order to give battle to the jokers,
without any regard to king or rook,
or fear or shame; I believe that tomorrow
or next day, the men of
Braywick will take the field once
more against the people of another
village within two leagues of us, who
are our chief persecutors; and that
we may be well provided for the occasion,
I have purchased the lances
and halberts, you have seen. Now
these are the strange tidings which I
said I would relate; and if you do
not think them so, I have no other
worth your hearing.’

Thus the honest man concluded his
story; and at that instant came into
the house, a man cloathed in a doublet,
breeches, and hose of shamoy-leather,
who said with a loud voice,
// File: 0656.png
‘So ho, Mr. Landlord! have you got
any lodging for the fortune-telling
ape, and the puppet-shew of the deliverance
of Melisendra?’—‘Odd’s
bodikins!’ cried the inn-keeper, ‘Master
Peter here! we shall have rare doings
i’faith.’ We forgot to observe
that the left-eye, and half of the cheek
of this Master Peter was covered with
a patch of green silk, from whence it
was supposed all that side of the face
laboured under some infirmity. Be
that as it will, the innkeeper proceeded,
saying, ‘Welcome, good Master Peter;
but where is the ape and the
puppet-shew? for I see neither.’—‘They
are at hand,’ answered the owner
of the shamoy-suit; ‘but I came before
to know whether or not we could have
lodging.’—‘The Duke D’Alva himself
should be turned out to make
room for Master Peter,’ said the landlord;
‘bring hither your ape and your
shew, for there is company in the
house that will pay for a sight of
them.’—‘In good time, then,’ replied
the wearer of the patch. ‘I will
lower the price, and think myself well
paid, if they defray the expence of
my lodging; meanwhile, I’ll go and
lead hither the cart that contains my
puppets and my ape.’

So saying, he went out; and Don
Quixote enquiring who this Master Peter
was, with the puppet-shew and ape, the
landlord replied, ‘This is a famous
puppet-shew man, who had long travelled
through La Mancha and Arragon,
representing the story of Melisendra,
who was delivered by the
famous Don Gayferos, one of the
most entertaining and best represented
histories which have been for many
years seen in this kingdom; he likewise
carries along with him an ape of
the rarest talent that ever was known
among apes, or conceived among men:
for if you ask any question, it listens
attentively to what you say, then leaping
upon his master’s shoulders, and
clapping its mouth to his ear, it gives
an answer, which Master Peter immediately
explains. Of things that
are past it says much more than of
those that are to come, and though
it does not hit the truth exactly in
every thing, it errs but seldom; so
that we are inclined to believe it is inspired
by the devil. Every question
costs a couple of rials, provided the
// File: 0657.png
.pn +1
ape answers; I mean, supposing the
master answers for the ape, after it
has whispered in his ear; wherefore,
Master Peter is thought to be woundy
rich: indeed, he is a gallant man, as
they say in Italy, an excellent companion,
and lives the pleasantest life
in the world; he talks as much as any
six, and drinks more than a dozen,
and all at the expence of his tongue,
his ape, and his puppet-shew.’

Just as he spoke these words, Master
Peter returned with the cart that contained
the puppets and the ape, which
was a very large animal, without a tail;
his buttocks were like felt, but not ugly
withal; and Don Quixote no sooner beheld
him than he asked, ‘Pray, Mr.
Fortune-teller, what have we got in
the net? what fortune awaits us? Behold,
here are my two rials.’ So saying,
he ordered Sancho to give them to
Mr. Peter; who answered in the name
of the ape, ‘Signior, this animal
gives no response or intelligence concerning
what is to come; he is only
acquainted with the past, and knows
something of the present.’—‘Rabbit
it!’ cried Sancho, ‘I would not give
a doit to be told of the past; for who
knows that better than myself; and to
pay for being informed of what I know,
would be downright folly; but since
he knows the present, here are my two
rials; and tell me, good your apeship,
how my wife Teresa Panza is at present
employed?’ Master Peter refused
to take the money; saying, ‘I will not
receive a premium per advance, until
it is preceded by service.’ Then clapping
his hand twice upon his left shoulder,
the ape with one skip, leaped upon
it, and laying its mouth to his ear,
began to mow and chatter with great
eagerness; having made this motion,
which continued as long time as one
would take in repeating the creed, with
another skip he leaped upon the ground.
Immediately Master Peter, with infinite
hurry, threw himself on his knees
before Don Quixote, and hugging his
shins, exclaimed, ‘These legs I embrace,
as I would embrace the pillars
of Hercules, O thou celebrated reviver
of the already forgotten order
of knight-errantry! thou never enough
to be applauded cavalier Don Quixote
de La Mancha; the soul of the dejected,
the prop of the falling, the
shield of those that are fallen, the staff
// File: 0658.png
and comfort of all the unhappy!’
Don Quixote was alarmed, Sancho
thunderstruck; the scholar surprized,
the page confounded, the Braywick
carrier amazed, the landlord astonished,
and, in a word, admiration prevailed
among all those who heard the words
of the shewman; while he proceeded,
saying, ‘And thou, worthy Sancho
Panza, the best squire of the bravest
knight in the universe, be merry and
rejoice; for thine agreeable helpmate
Teresa is in good health, and this
very moment employed in dressing a
pound of flax; by the same token,
there stands at her right-hand a broken
mouthed pitcher, containing a good
sup of wine, with which she comforts
herself while she is at work.’—‘That
I can easily believe,’ answered Sancho;
‘for she is a rare one, and if she
was not a little given to jealousy, I
would not exchange her for the giantess
Andandona, who, as my master
says, was a very proper and compleat
housewife; and truly my Teresa is
one of those who will live to their
heart’s content, even though their
heirs pay for it.’

‘I am now convinced,’ said Don
Quixote, ‘that he who reads and travels
much, will see and learn a great
deal. This observation I make, because
no arguments would have been
sufficient to persuade me, that there
are apes in the world endowed with
the gift of divination, as I have this
day seen with my own eyes; for I am
the very Don Quixote named by that
good animal, which, however, has expatiated
rather too much in my praise;
but be that as it may, I give thanks
to God, who bestowed upon me a mild
and compassionate disposition, ever inclined
to do good to all mankind, and
harm to no person whatever.’—‘If I
had money,’ said the page, ‘I would
ask Signior Ape, what will be the
success of my present perigrination?’
To this hint, Master Peter, who had
rose from his prostration, replied, ‘I
have already told you, that this creature
does not answer for what is to
come; if he did, your want of money
would be no objection; for, in order to
to serve Don Quixote here present, I
would willingly forfeit all the interested
views in the world; and now, as in
duty bound, I will, for his amusement,
set up my shew, and divert all
// File: 0659.png
.pn +1
the people in the house, without fee or
reward.’ The landlord, hearing this
declaration, was rejoiced beyond measure,
and pointed out a proper place for
the exhibition of his entertainment,
which was prepared in a twinkling.

Don Quixote was not very well satisfied
with the divinations of the ape, as
he did not think it natural for such an
animal to divine, in things either past,
present, or to come; and, therefore, while
Master Peter was busy in setting up his
shew, he retired, with his squire, to a
corner of the stable, where they could
confer together without being overheard,
and spoke to this effect: ‘Hark
ye, Sancho, I have considered this
wonderful talent of the ape; and, according
to my notion, this same Master
Peter, its owner, must certainly
have made a secret or express pact
with the devil.’—‘Nay, if it be the
devil’s pack,’ answered Sancho, ‘it
must be a very dirty pack; but what
signifies such a pack to Master Peter?’—‘Sancho,’
replied the knight, ‘you
do not understand my meaning; what
I would say is, that he must certainly
have made some concert with the devil
who hath infused this talent into
the ape, by which he gains his livelihood;
and when he becomes rich,
he must yield him his soul, which is
the aim of that universal enemy of
mankind; and what confirms me in
this opinion, is, that the ape answers
no questions but such as regard the
past and present time: now, the devil’s
understanding reaches no farther;
what is to come he knows only
by conjecture, and that not always;
for it is the attribute of God alone to
know times and seasons; to him there
is neither past nor future, but all things
are ever present to his eyes. This being
the case, as doubtless it is, the ape
certainly speaks from the inspiration
of the devil; and I am surprized it
hath not been accused and examined
by the holy office, which would soon
discover by virtue of whom it presumes
to divine; for surely this ape
is no astrologer, nor did he or his
master ever raise, or were capable of
raising, those figures called judicial,
which are now so common in Spain,
that every pitiful little hussy, page,
and even cobler, has the impudence
to raise an horoscope, as readily as a
knave of trumps, from the ground,
// File: 0660.png
ruining and disgracing, by their ignorance
and falsities, the wonderful
truth of that noble science. One lady
I myself know, who having enquired
of one of those pretenders, whether
a little bitch she had would have puppies,
how many, and of what colour
they would be; Mr. Astrologer, after
having raised his figure, replied,
that the bitch would bring forth three
puppies, one of a green, another of
carnation, and a third of a mixed
colour, provided the bitch would take
the dog between the hours of eleven
and twelve at noon or night, on Saturday
or Monday. Notwithstanding
this prediction, the bitch died in three
days of a surfeit; and yet Mr. Figure-caster
was still esteemed in the
place a most infallible astrologer, as
almost all those fellows are.’—‘Nevertheless,’
answered Sancho, ‘I wish
your worship would desire Master
Peter to ask his ape, if what happened
to your worship in the cave of Montesinos
is really true; as for my own
part, begging your worship’s pardon,
I cannot for the blood of me help
thinking it was all a flam and a lye,
or at least no better than a dream.’—‘It
may be so,’ replied Don Quixote:
‘But I will take thy advice; for truly,
I myself have some sort of scruples
about the matter.’

Here he was interrupted by the arrival
of Mr. Peter, who came to tell him
that the shew was ready, and invite him
to come and see it; for it would be well
worth his trouble. Then the knight
imparted his sentiments, desiring he
would ask the ape whether or not certain
incidents that happened in the cave
of Montesinos, were dreams or realities,
for to him the whole seemed to be a
mixture of both, Master Peter, without
answering one word, went and
brought the ape into the presence of Don
Quixote and Sancho, and thus accosted
it: ‘Look ye, Mr. Ape, this knight
wants to know, whether certain things
that happened to him in a place called
the cave of Montesinos be true or
false.’ Then making the usual signal,
the creature leaped upon his left-shoulder,
and seemingly whispered something
in his ear. In consequence of this communication,
‘The ape,’ said Master
Peter, ‘declares, that part of what your
worship saw and underwent in that
same cave is false, and part is likely to
// File: 0661.png
.pn 401
be true; and this, and nothing else, is
all he knows touching that interrogation:
but if your worship desires to be
farther informed he will next Friday
answer all the questions you can ask;
at present his virtue has left him, and
will not return till Friday, as I have
already observed.’—‘Signior,’ said
Sancho to his master, ‘did not I always
affirm your worship should never make
me believe that all, or even the half of
those accidents you pretended to have
met with in the cave was true?’—‘The
event will shew,’ answered Don
Quixote; ‘for there is nothing that
time, the discoverer of all things, will
not bring to light, even though it
should be hidden in the bowels of the
earth. Let that suffice for the present;
and now we will go and see the
puppet-shew of honest Master Peter,
which I really believe will be productive
of some novelty.’—‘Of some!’
cried master Peter: ‘my shew is productive
of sixty thousand. Why, I
tell your worship, Signior Don Quixote,
there is nothing equal to it in the
whole world; but, <lang=la><i>Operibus credite &
non verbis</i></lang>: let us begin presently;
for it grows late, and we have a great
deal to do, to say, and to shew.’

In consequence of this request, Don
Quixote and Sancho repaired to the
place where the puppet-shew was set up,
and set forth with a great number of
little wax-lights, which made a most
resplendent appearance. Master Peter
withdrew within the curtain, in order to
play the figures of the piece; and on
the outside sat a boy, who was his servant,
to interpret and explain the mysteries
of the shew, holding a wand,
with which he pointed out the puppets
as they entered. All the people of the
inn being seated, some fronting the
stage, and Don Quixote with Sancho,
the page and the scholar, accommodated
with the best places, the dragoman began
to pronounce that which will be
heard and seen by those who will take
the trouble to read or peruse the following
chapter.
.sp 4
.h4 id=chap3-2-9
<abbr=chapter>CHAP.</abbr> <abbr=nine>IX.</abbr> | IN WHICH IS CONTINUED THE DIVERTING ADVENTURE OF THE PUPPET-SHEW;| WITH OTHER MATTERS REALLY ENTERTAINING ENOUGH.
// File: 0662.png
.sp 2
Universal silence prevailed
among Tyrians as well as Trojans;
that is, all the spectators of the
shew sat in silent expectation, suspended
as it were on the mouth of him who
was appointed to expound the wonders
of the piece; when their ears were saluted
with the sound of attabals, trumpets,
and artillery, that issued from behind
the scene; and this noise being
soon over, the boy thus began in an
audible voice: ‘This true history,
which will now be represented before
the honourable company, is literally
extracted from the French chronicles
and Spanish ballads, which may be
heard every day repeated in the streets
by man, woman, and child. It exhibits
the manner in which Signior Don
Gayferos accomplished the deliverance
of his spouse Melisendra, who was a
captive in Spain, detained by the
Moors in the city of Sansuenna,
which was formerly the name given
to what we now call Saragossa; and
pray, gentlemen, take notice, Don
Gayferos is playing at tables, according
to the old song:

.pm verse-start
‘“Now Gayferos, at tables playing,
Of Melisendra thinks no more.”
.pm verse-end

‘And that personage who next appears,
with a crown on his head and
a sceptre in his hand, is the emperor
Charlemagne, the supposed father of
Melisendra, who, vexed at the indolence
and carelessness of his son-in-law,
comes forth to chide him; and
observe with what vehemence and
keenness he seems to scold; one would
imagine he intended to give him half
a dozen raps on the pate with his
sceptre; nay, some authors say that he
actually did bestow them, aye, and
that with very good-will: after having
said abundance of things concerning
the risk his honour would run,
if he did not effect the deliverance of
his spouse, he is reported to have added
these words, “I have said enough,
look to it.” Behold, gentlemen, how
the emperor turns about and walks
off, leaving Don Gayferos in a fume,
who, in the impatience of his anger,
throws away the tablet and pieces, and
// File: 0663.png
.pn +1
calls hastily for his armour, desiring
his cousin Orlando to lend him his
sword Durindana. Don Orlando will
not comply with his request; but
offers to attend him in his difficult
enterprize: however, the provoked
hero will not accept of his offer; on
the contrary, he says his own single arm
is sufficient to deliver his wife, even
though she were concealed in the profoundest
centre of the earth. So saying,
he goes in to arm, that he may
be able to set out with all expedition.
Gentlemen, turn your eyes to the
tower that appears yonder, and suppose
it one of the towers belonging
to the castle of Saragossa, now called
Aljaferia. That lady who stands in
the balcony in the Moorish dress is
the peerless Melisendra, who from
thence hath often cast her longing
eyes towards the road to France, and
consoled herself in her captivity, by
thinking on the city of Paris and her
valiant lord. Observe likewise a new
incident, the like of which perhaps
you have never seen before: don’t you
see that Moor stealing along silently
and softly, step by step, with his finger
on his mouth, behind Melisendra?
Now mind how he prints a kiss
in the very middle of her lips, and
with what eagerness she spits, and
wipes them with the sleeves of her
shift, lamenting aloud, and tearing,
for anger, her beautiful hair, as if it
had been guilty of the transgression.
Behold, now, that venerable Moor in
yon gallery; he is Marsilius, the king
of Sansuenna, who, having perceived
the insolence of the Moor, although
he was his own relation, and a great
favourite, orders him to be apprehended,
and carried through the principal
streets of the city, with the
criers before, and the rods behind,
with which he is to receive two hundred
stripes; and here you shall see
the sentence executed, almost as soon
as the crime is committed; for among
the Moors there is no copy of a
writ, trial, or delay, as in our courts
of justice.’

Here Don Quixote interposing, said,
with a loud voice, ‘Boy, boy, follow your
story in a right line, without falling into
curves and crosses; for there is not so
much proof and counter-proof required
to bring truth to light.’—‘Sirrah,’
cried Mr. Peter, from the curtain,
// File: 0664.png
‘none of your vagaries, but follow
that gentleman’s counsel, which is
good and wholesome; sing your plain
song, without counterpoints; for you
may spin your thread so fine as to
break it.’—‘I shall obey your orders,’
answered the boy, who proceeded, saying—

‘That there figure a horseback,
wrapped up in a cloak of Gascony,
is the very individual Don Gayferos,
to whom his only lady, by this time
revenged of the presumptuous and
enamoured Moor, talks with more
seeming composure from the battlements
of the tower, supposing him to
be some traveller, and between the
two passeth the whole discourse and
conversation, recorded in the ballad,
which says,

.pm verse-start
‘“Sir knight, if you to France do go,
For Gayferos enquire:”
.pm verse-end

‘together with what follows, which I
shall not at present repeat, because
prolixity engenders disgust. Let it
suffice that you see how Gayferos discovers
himself, and that we learn from
the joyful gestures of Melisendra, that
she recognizes her husband; especially
as we now see her let herself down
from the balcony, in order to get a-horseback
behind her loving spouse;
but as ill luck would have it, the
border of her under petticoat has
caught hold of one of the iron spikes
of the balcony, and there she hangs
dangling, without being able to reach
the ground: but you see how compassionate
Heaven brings relief in the
most pressing emergencies; for Don
Gayferos comes to her assistance, and
without minding whether or not the
rich petticoat may be torn, seizes
his lady, and by main force brings
her to the ground; then with one
jerk, sets her upon the crupper of his
horse, astride like a man, bidding her
hold fast, and throw her arms around
his neck, so as to cross them on his
breast, that she may be in no danger
of falling; for my Lady Melisendra
was not used to ride in that manner:
you likewise perceive how the horse,
by his neighing, expresses the satisfaction
he feels in carrying the valiant
and beautiful burden of his lord
and mistress. You see how they turn
about, and quitting the city, take the
// File: 0665.png
.pn +1
road to Paris, with equal eagerness
and joy. Go in peace, ye peerless
pair of faithful lovers; may you arrive
in safety at your desired country,
without fortune’s raising any obstruction
to your happy journey; and may
the eyes of your friends and kindred
behold you enjoy in peace all the
days of your life, which I hope will
exceed the age of Nestor!’ Here Mr.
Peter interposing again, called aloud,
‘None of your flourishes, sirrah; seek
not to entangle yourself, for all affectation
is naught.’ The interpreter,
without answering a syllable, went on
in this manner. ‘There were not
wanting some idle eyes which nothing
can escape, and they, perceiving the
descent and flight of Melisendra,
gave notice of it to king Marsilio, who
straight gave orders for sounding to
arms: and behold the hurry and commotion
of the city, occasioned by the
sound of bells that ring in every minaret.’

‘It cannot be,’ cried Don Quixote.
‘In what regards the bells, Mr. Peter
is guilty of an impropriety; for the
Moors use no bells, but attabals or
kettle-drums, and a kind of dulcimers,
like those belonging to our
waits; so that the circumstance of
ringing bells in Sansuenna is a downright
absurdity.’ Mr. Peter hearing
this observation, left off ringing and
answered, ‘Signior Don Quixote,
your worship must not mind such
trifles, nor seek for that perfection
which is not to be found. How
many plays do you see every day represented,
full of impropriety and
absurdities? yet they happily run
their career, and are heard, not simply
with applause, but even with universal
admiration. Proceed, boy, and
let people talk; for, provided I fill
my pocket, I don’t care if there
should be more improprieties than
there are atoms in the sun.’—‘You
are in the right,’ replied the knight;
and thus the boy went on:

‘Behold what a number of resplendent
cavalry marches out of the city
in pursuit of the two catholick lovers:
what a sound of trumpets,
tinkling of dulcimers, and rattling
of drums and kettle-drums! I am
afraid they will overtake and bring
them back tied to their horse’s tail,
// File: 0666.png
and that would be a most dismal spectacle.’

Don Quixote seeing such a number
of Moors, and hearing this uproar,
thought it was incumbent upon him to
assist the fugitives; and therefore starting
up, he pronounced with a loud
voice, ‘Never, while I breathe, will I
consent that such an injury should be
done in my presence to a knight so
famous, daring, and enamoured, as is
Don Gayferos: desist, ye base-born
plebeians; seek not to follow and
punish him, but face me in battle,
if you dare.’ With these words and
actions he unsheathed his sword, and
springing up to the puppet shew, began
with incredible agility and fury to lay
about him among the Moorish puppets,
demolishing some, beheading
others, maiming this, and hacking
that; and in the course of this exercise,
he fetched such a back-stroke, that
had not Mr. Peter stooped and squatted
down with great expedition, he would
have sliced off his head as easily as if it
had been made of ginger-bread. This
unfortunate shew-man exalting his
voice, ‘Hold, for the love of God!
Signior Don Quixote,’ said he, ‘and
take notice, that those whom you
overthrow, kill and destroy, are not
real Moors, but poor, harmless, little
figures of paste; consider, sinner that
I am! you are ruining me, by depriving
me of my livelihood.’ Notwithstanding
this remonstrance, the
knight continued to play away in a perfect
shower of back-strokes, fore strokes,
outside and inside, that fell as thick as
hail; so that in less than a couple of credos,
he brought the whole shew to the
ground, all the tackle and figures being
hewed down and dismembered; king
Marsilio himself sorely wounded, and the
crown, together with the head of the
emperor, cleft in twain. The whole audience
was involved in confusion; the
ape fled to the roof of the house, the
scholar trembled, the page was seized
with consternation, and Sancho Panza
himself overwhelmed with terror and
dismay; for, as he swore after the hurricane
subsided, he had never before seen
his master in such a frantick rage.

The puppet-shew being thus entirely
demolished, Don Quixote became a
little more composed, saying, ‘I wish
I had before me, at this very moment,
// File: 0667.png
.pn +1
those who either do not, or
will not believe that knights-errant
are of any benefit or service to mankind,
that they might see what would
have become of the worthy Don
Gayferos, and the beautiful Melisendra,
had not I been present on this
occasion; certainly, by this time, they
would have been overtaken by these
dogs, who would have done them
some grievous injury: let knight-errantry,
therefore, live and flourish
above all things upon the face of the
earth.’—‘In a happy hour let it live,’
cried Mr. Peter in a languid tone, ‘and
let me die, who am so unfortunate,
that I may say with king Rodrigo,
“Yesterday I was lord of Spain, and
now there is not one battlement I
can call my own.” Half an hour,
yea not half a minute is elapsed, since
I saw myself in possession of kings
and emperors; my stables, coffers,
and bags, were filled with an infinite
number of horses and other
gay particulars, and now I find myself
quite desolate and abased, poor
and beggarly, and, which is worst of
all, deprived of my ape, who in good
faith will make my teeth sweat, before
he returns to me his lawful master;
and all this misfortune I have suffered
from this here Sir Knight, who
is said to protect orphans, rectify
wrongs, and perform other charitable
actions; but, in me alone, his generous
intention has failed; blessed and
praised be the highest Heavens above!
In a word, the Knight of the Rueful
Figure is he by whom I and mine are
disfigured and undone.’

Sancho Panza melted at this piteous
lamentation: ‘Do not weep, Mr. Peter,’
said he, ‘do not whine so piteously,
or thou’lt break my heart, for
I’d have thee know, my master Don
Quixote is such a catholick and scrupulous
Christian, that provided he be
convinced of having done thee wrong,
he knows how to make amends, and
will satisfy and repay thee with double
interest.’—‘If Signior Don Quixote,’
replied the shew-man, ‘will
make some atonement for the deeds
by which he has undone me, I shall
rest satisfied, and his worship’s conscience
will be at peace; for that man
cannot expect salvation who withholds
the effects of his neighbour
against his will, and refuses to make
// File: 0668.png
restitution.’—‘You are in the right,’
said Don Quixote; ‘but as yet I do
not know that I withhold any of
your effects, Mr. Peter.’—‘How!
none of mine?’ cried the shew-man,
‘and these unfortunate remains that
lie extended on the hard and barren
pavement, were they not thus scattered
and annihilated by the invincible
force of that redoubted arm?
to whom but me did their unhappy
bodies belong? and with what but
them did I procure a comfortable subsistence?’—‘Now,’
cried Don Quixote,
‘I am fully convinced of what I have
on divers occasions believed; namely,
that those inchanters, by whom I am
persecuted, take pleasure in presenting
realities to my view, and then changing
and metamorphosing them into
such figures and forms as they chuse
to bestow: believe me, gentlemen, to
me every thing that has passed appeared
a true and literal concurrence of
real facts; and the figures represented
seemed to be really and truly the
very individual persons of Melisendra,
Don Gayferos, Marsilio, and
Charlemagne: in consequence of that
belief, my wrath was provoked; and,
in order to fulfil the function of a
knight-errant, I resolved to favour
and assist the fair fugitive; in the
execution of which resolve, I have
done what you see. If the exploit
has turned out contrary to my expectation,
the blame ought not to
lie with me, but with those miscreants,
by whom I am persecuted:
nevertheless, as I have committed an
error, although it did not proceed
from malice aforethought, I stand by
my own award condemned in costs;
let Mr. Peter make out his own bill
of the figures that are demolished,
and I promise it shall be paid on the
spot, in good and lawful current coin
of this kingdom.’ The shew-man
hearing this declaration, made a profound
bow, saying, ‘I expected no less
from the unheard-of Christianity of
the valiant Don Quixote de La Mancha,
the unflinching auxiliary and
support of the whole tribe of needy
and forlorn vagabonds: Mr. Landlord
and the great Sancho shall act as
moderators and appraisers between
your worship and me, with regard to
what the injured figures are or might
be worth.’
// File: 0669.png
.pn +1

The innkeeper and squire having undertaken
this office, Mr. Peter lifted up
the headless Marsilio king of Saragossa,
saying, ‘You see how impossible it is
to reinstate the king in his former
situation; and, therefore, with submission
to better judgments, I think
I must be allowed four rials and an
half, on account of his death and final
perdition.’ The knight desiring
him to proceed, ‘Then,’ said he, ‘for
this dreadful gash from top to bottom,’
(taking up the cloven emperor
Charlemagne) ‘I cannot be thought
exorbitant, if I demand five rials and
a quarter.’—‘That’s no small matter,’
said Sancho. ‘Nor a great deal
too much,’ replied the landlord.
‘Split the difference, and set him down
at five rials.’—‘Let him have the
whole five and a quarter,’ said Don
Quixote; ‘for in such a notable misfortune,
a quarter more or less is a mere
trifle. And pray, dispatch, Mr. Peter,
for it is now supper-time, and I
begin to feel some symptoms of a keen
appetite.’—‘For that figure without
a nose, and deprived of one eye, which
is the beautiful Melisendra,’ proceeded
Peter, ‘I demand two rials and
twelve maravedis.’—‘The devil’s
in’t,’ cried the knight, ‘if Melisendra
is not by this time, with her
husband, at least upon the frontiers
of France; for the horse on which they
were mounted, seemed to fly rather
than tread the ground; so that there
is no reason for your selling me a cat
instead of a coney; that is, in presenting
me with a noseless Melisendra,
when, in all probability, that lady is
now enjoying herself at leisure with
her husband in France. God give
every man joy of his own, Mr. Peter,
and let us all endeavour to walk
tightly and rightly! and now you may
proceed.’ Mr. Peter perceiving Don
Quixote beginning to warp and return
to his old bias, resolved to be even with
him, and with that view said, ‘This
cannot be Melisendra, but must be
one of her waiting-women, for whom
I shall think myself very well paid,
and rest satisfied with threescore maravedis.’
In the same manner did he
set prices on many other maimed figures,
so that, after they were moderated by
the two arbitrators to the satisfaction
of both parties, the whole sum amounted
to forty rials and three quarters,
which being disbursed by Sancho, Mr.
Peter demanded another brace of rials
for the trouble he should have in catching
the ape. ‘Let him have them,
Sancho,’ said Don Quixote, ‘not for
catching the ape but the juice of the
grape[#]; and I would now give two
hundred as a reward to any person
who would certify that the Lady Donna
Melisendra, and her lord Don
Gayferos, are now safe among their
friends in France.’—‘No person upon
earth can resolve that question sooner
or better than my ape,’ replied Mr.
Peter; ‘but the devil himself cannot
catch him at present, though I imagine
hunger and affection will compel
him to return to me some time to-night;
and if God will send us a new
day, we shall see what can be done.’
In time, the hurricane of the puppet-shew
being quite blown over, the whole company
supped together in peace and good
fellowship, at the expence of Don
Quixote, who was liberal to excess.

Before day-break, the lance and halbert
carrier set out for his village, and
early in the morning the scholar and
the page came to take their leave of
Don Quixote, the first intending to return
to his own home, and the other
to pursue his journey, for the comfort
of which the knight made him a present
of a dozen rials. Mr. Peter, having
no inclination to re-involve himself in
any sort of dispute with Don Quixote,
to whose disposition he was no stranger,
arose before the sun, and packing up
the remains of his puppets, together
with his ape, sallied forth also in quest
of farther adventures. The innkeeper,
who knew not Don Quixote, was
equally astonished at his madness and
liberality. Finally, Sancho paid him
handsomely, by his master’s order, and
the two bidding him farewel about
eight o’clock in the morning, left the
inn, and betook themselves to the road,
in which we will leave them, having now
a proper opportunity to recount other
incidents appertaining and necessary to
the illustration of this famous history.

.fn #
In the original there is a miserable pun upon the words Mono and Mona, the first
of which signifies an ape, and the other drunkenness.
.fn-
// File: 0670.png
.pn +1
.sp 4
.h4 id=chap3-2-10
<abbr=chapter>CHAP.</abbr> <abbr=ten>X.</abbr> | IN WHICH THE READER WILL DISCOVER WHO| MR. PETER AND HIS APE WERE—TOGETHER WITH| DON QUIXOTE’S BAD SUCCESS IN THE BRAYING ADVENTURE,| WHICH DID NOT AT ALL TURN OUT ACCORDING TO HIS WISH AND EXPECTATION.
.sp 2
Cid Hamet, author of this sublime
history, begins this chapter with
these words: ‘I swear, as a Catholick
Christian:’ and upon this occasion,
the translator observes, that Cid Hamet
being a Moor, as he certainly was, in
swearing as a Catholick Christian,
means no more than that, as a Catholick
Christian, when he makes oath,
swears he will speak the truth, and nothing
but the truth, in like manner he
would adhere to it, as a Catholick
Christian adheres to his oath, in what
he intended to write concerning Don
Quixote, especially in disclosing the
mystery of Mr. Peter and the fortune-telling
ape, whose talent attracted the
admiration of all that country. He
then proceeds to observe, that he who
has read the first part of this history,
cannot but remember that same Gines
de Passamonte, whom, together with his
fellow-slaves, Don Quixote set at liberty
near the Brown Mountain; a benefit
for which he was ill thanked, and worse
requited, by that mischievous and immoral
crew. This Gines de Passamonte,
whom Don Quixote called Ginesillo
de Parapilla, was the very thief
who stole Sancho’s Dapple; and as,
through the fault of the printers, neither
the time nor the manner of that
conveyance is described, in the first part
of the book, many people ascribed this
error of the press to want of memory
in the author: but, in short, stolen he
was, by Gines, even while Sancho was
sitting sleeping on his back, by means
of the same contrivance and expedient
that was used by Brunelo, who, while
Sacripante lay at Albraça, withdrew
his horse from between his legs; and
Sancho afterwards retrieved him, as we
have already related. Gines, then,
afraid of being overtaken by justice,
that was in quest of him, to chastise him
for his numberless tricks and transgressions,
which were so manifold and remarkable
// File: 0671.png
as to fill a large volume of
his own composing, resolved to remove
himself into the kingdom of Arragon,
to cover his left eye with a patch, and
profess the occupation of playing puppets,
and performing tricks of legerdemain,
which he understood to great perfection;
he afterwards happened to fall
in company with some Christians just
delivered from bondage in Barbary, of
whom he purchased that ape, which he
taught to leap upon his shoulder, at a
certain signal, and whisper, or seem to
whisper in his ear. Having so far succeeded,
before he entered any place
with his puppet-shew and ape, he took
care to inform himself at the next village,
or of any person whom he could
conveniently pump, of the particular accidents
that had happened at that place,
with all their circumstances, which he
retained by dint of a tenacious memory.
The first thing he did, was to represent
his puppet-shew, the subject of
which he extracted sometimes from one
story, and sometimes from another; but
it was always full of mirth and entertainment,
and well known; and this
being ended, he propounded the talents
of his ape; telling the audience that
he could disclose the past and present;
but with regard to the future, he pretended
to no knowledge: for every response
he demanded two rials, though
sometimes he afforded them cheaper,
just as he felt the pulse of his consulters;
and as he sometimes came to families,
the anecdotes of which he
knew, even though they would spend
no money upon questions, he would
make the signal to the ape, and then
say he had communicated this and that
circumstance, which tallied exactly with
what had really happened. By these
means he acquired the credit of infallibility,
and drew the whole country
after him; at other times, as he had
abundance of cunning and penetration,
he would answer in such a manner, that
the responses agreed perfectly well with
the questions; and there being nobody
to hamper him, by enquiring and sifting
into the bottom of this pretended divination
of the monkey, he found means
to make monkeys of all his followers,
and fill his bags at the same time. As
soon as he entered the inn, he knew
Don Quixote and Sancho, and this recognition
enabled him to excite the admiration
of the knight, squire, and all
// File: 0672.png
// File: 0673.png
// File: 0674.png
.pn +1
the by-standers: but his art would have
cost him dear, had Don Quixote lowered
his hand a little, when he decapitated
king Marsilio, and destroyed his whole
cavalry, as we have related that adventure
in the preceding chapter.

.if h
.il fn=plate-iv.jpg id=plate4 w=60% alt=""
.ca Plate IV: Don Quixote Meets the Soldiers.
.if-
.if t
[Illustration: Don Quixote Meets the Soldiers.]
.if-

So much for Mr. Peter and his ape;
and now returning to Don Quixote de
La Mancha, we must observe, that after
having departed from the inn, he
resolved, in the first place, to visit the
banks of the river Ebro, and all the
circumjacent country, before he should
enter the city of Saragossa, as the
length of time between this period and
the tournaments permitted him to make
such an excursion. With this resolution
he proceeded in the road, through
which he travelled two days, without
encountering any thing worth relating,
until on the third, as he ascended a
rising ground, his ears were saluted
with a mighty noise of kettle-drums,
trumpets, and muskets, which he at first
imagined might proceed from some
company of soldiers marching that way;
in order, therefore, to view them, he
spurred up Rozinante, and when he
reached the top of the rising ground,
saw below, as near as he could guess,
above two hundred men, equipped with
different kinds of arms, such as lances,
cross-bows, partisans, halberts, pikes,
a few muskets, and a great number of
targets. He rode down the hill, and
drew so near this squadron, that he could
distinguish their colours, and observe
their devices, particularly a banner or
pendant of white sattin, on which was
painted to the life, an ass of the small
Sardinian breed, with his head raised,
his mouth open, and his tongue lolling
out as if in the very act and attitude of
braying, and surrounded by this motto,
in capital letters—

.pm verse-start
‘It is no children’s play,
When brother bailiffs bray.’
.pm verse-end

From this symbol Don Quixote gathered,
that those people belonged to the
village of Braywick; and this discovery
he communicated to Sancho, whom he
likewise made acquainted with the motto
of the standard; observing, at the
same time, that he, by whom they were
informed of the adventure, had committed
a mistake, in saying the brayers
were aldermen; for, according to this
couplet, they must have been bailiffs.
// File: 0675.png
To this observation, Sancho replied,
‘Signior, in that circumstance, there
is nothing to be mended; for those
who were aldermen when they brayed,
might very well in time come to
be bailiffs of the corporation, consequently
they may be mentioned with
both titles; especially as it is of small
signification to the truth of the story,
whether the brayers were aldermen or
bailiffs, provided they really conjunctly
and severally did bray, for a bailiff
is as likely to bray as an alderman.’

Finally, conjecturing and understanding
that the people who were ridiculed
had come forth to fight those who had
ridiculed them, and carried the joke beyond
the bounds of reason and good
neighbourhood, Don Quixote approached
their line of battle, to the no small
chagrin of Sancho, who was never fond
of interposing on such occasions; and
they were immediately received by the
whole squadron, who believed the knight
was come to espouse their quarrel.
Then Don Quixote lifting up his visor,
with graceful ease and courteous demeanour,
advanced to the standard of
the ass, where he was environed by the
chiefs of the army, who gazed at him
with that admiration incident to all
those who beheld him for the first time.
The knight perceiving them looking
at him so attentively, without speaking
or asking any question, resolved to take
advantage of their silence, and breaking
his own, began in this manner,
with an audible voice, ‘Worthy gentlemen,
I beg, in the most earnest
manner, that you will not interrupt
a discourse I intend to make until
you perceive it becomes insipid and
disgusting; in which case, I will, upon
the least sign, put a seal upon my lips,
and a gag upon my tongue.’

All the spectators assured him, he
might say what he pleased, and they
would willingly give him the hearing;
so that, thus licensed, he proceeded to
this effect: ‘I, gentlemen, am a
knight-errant, whose exercise is that
of arms, and whose profession is to
assist the needy, and favour those who
want favour and protection. Some
days ago I was informed of your
disgrace, and the motives which
have induced you to arm at every
turn, in order to take vengeance on
your enemies: and having once and
// File: 0676.png
.pn +1
again revolved your affairs in my
mind, I find that, according to the
laws of duel, you are in the wrong
to suppose yourselves affronted: for
no individual can affront a whole
community, unless they are accused
of treason by the lump, because the
person guilty of the said treason is
not known, consequently cannot be
challenged by himself. Of this practice,
we have an instance in Don
Diego Ordonnez de Lara, who challenged
the whole town of Zamorano,
because he did not know that Velido
Dolfos alone was the traitor who had
slain his king; he therefore defied
the whole body of inhabitants, and
to the whole body of them did the
answer and revenge belong: though,
indeed, Signior Don Diego bordered
upon extravagance, and exceeded the
bounds of defiance; for he had not
sufficient reason to challenge the dead,
the water and the bread, or those
who were yet unborn, as well as
other minute matters therein set forth:
but let that pass. When choler once
is born, the tongue all curb doth
scorn[#]; I mean, a bridle to restrain it.
This being the case, then, that one
single person cannot affront an entire
kingdom, province, city, society, or
corporation, it plainly appears, that
you have no just cause to come forth,
in order to take vengeance for that
which was not really an affront: for
it would be a good joke, indeed, if
the inhabitants of a town called
Clockwell, should take it in their
heads, at every turn, to slay every
person that might ask, “What is’t
o’clock[#]?” Or if the cheesemongers,
fruiterers, whalebone-sellers, soap-boilers,
and those of other names and
appellations that are in the mouth
of every boy, and hacknied among
the vulgar; I say, it would surely be
a good joke, if all those people,
who are distinguished by their different
callings, should be ashamed
and incensed at such simple provocations,
and be always making
sacbuts of their swords, in every trifling
quarrel: no, no; God neither
likes, nor will suffer such unjustifiable
revenge. Prudent men, and
well-ordered commonwealths, ought
to take up arms, unsheathe their
swords, and risque their persons,
lives, and fortunes, for four causes
only: Firstly, to defend the Catholick
faith; secondly, in self-defence, which
is justified by the laws of God and
nature; thirdly, in behalf of one’s
honour, family, and fortune; and
fourthly, in the service of his majesty,
when he is engaged in a just war: and
if we should add a fifth cause (which,
indeed, ought to be ranked as a second)
it is the defence of one’s country.
To these principle causes may
be annexed some others, both just
and reasonable, which may oblige
us to have recourse to arms; but to
take them up for childish trifles, and
things that are rather subjects of
laughter and diversion than of serious
revenge, seems to denote a total defect
of reason and discretion; especially as
unjust vengeance (and surely no vengeance
can be just) is diametrically
opposite to that holy law we profess,
by which we are enjoined to do good
to our enemies, and love those by
whom we are abhorred: a command
which, though seemingly difficult, is
not really hard to be observed, except
by those who have less of God than
of this world, and more of the flesh
than of the Spirit; for Jesus Christ,
the true God and true man, who never
lyed, who neither was nor is capable
of falshood, as being our eternal
Lawgiver, tells us, that his yoke
is easy, and his burden is light:
therefore, he would not impose a command
which we could not possibly
fulfil; and consequently, good gentlemen,
you are obliged by laws divine
and human, to be appeased.’

At his period, Sancho said within
himself, ‘The devil run away with me,
if this master of mine is not a downright
theologister! at least, if he is not,
no two eggs were ever more alike.’
Don Quixote having taken breath a
little, and finding the audience still attentive,
was inclined to prosecute his
harangue, and would certainly have
pursued the subject, had not he been
// File: 0677.png
.pn +1
prevented by the archness of Sancho,
who, during his master’s pause, took it
in hand, saying, ‘My master, Don
Quixote de La Mancha, who, at one
time, went by the name of the Knight
of the Rueful Countenance, but is at
present called the Knight of the Lions,
is a very learned gentleman, that understands
Latin and Castilian like a
perfect batchelor of arts. In all his
sermons and exhortations, he proceeds
like a very able soldier, as having
all the laws and ordinances of
what you call duel, at his finger’s
end; therefore, you have no more to
do but let yourselves be guided by his
counsel; and if you go wrong, the
blame shall lie upon my shoulders;
especially, as he hath already told you
that it is mere madness to be angry
without any cause but that of a man’s
braying. I remember, when I was a
boy, I brayed whensoever and wheresoever
I pleased, without lett or molestation;
aye, and so prettily and naturally,
that I was always answered
by all the asses of the common; yet,
for all that, I did not cease to be the
son of my parents, who were most
worthy people; and though, for this
talent, I was envied by more than
enow of the gravest folks in the parish,
I valued not their envy two farthings:
and, that you may see I speak
nothing but the truth, wait a little,
and give me the hearing; for the art
of braying is like that of swimming,
which, when once learned, is never
forgot.’

So saying, he clapped his fingers to
his nostrils, and began to bray so stoutly,
that all the neighbouring vallies re-echoed
the sound. But one of those
who stood next him, supposing the
squire made himself merry at their expence,
lifted up a pole that was in his
hand, and bestowed it upon him with
such good will, that Sancho, in spite
of his efforts, came to the ground.

Don Quixote, seeing his squire so
roughly handled, attacked the aggressor
lance in hand; but such a number of
people interposed, that he found it impossible
to take vengeance: on the contrary,
perceiving a cloud of stones
ready to pour upon him, and being
threatened by a vast number of presented
cross-bows and muskets, he wheeled
Rozinante about, and galloped off as
fast as the steed could carry him; recommending
// File: 0678.png
himself heartily to the
protection of God, that he might be
delivered from that danger; and in the
apprehension that some ball would enter
at his shoulder, and make its exit
through his breast, he held in his breath,
at every step, in order to know whether
or not he was wounded. But those
who composed the squadron, being satisfied
with his flight, did not shoot
after him; and as for Sancho, they laid
him across upon his beast, as soon as he
recovered the use of his senses, and allowed
him to follow his master; not
that he was able to manage the ass; but
Dapple followed the footsteps of Rozinante,
from whom he could not bear to
be parted, though but for a moment.
The knight having rode a good way,
turned his horse’s head, and seeing
Sancho following, waited for his coming
up, as he perceived nobody attempted
to pursue him.

The warriors of Braywick kept their
ground till night, and as their adversaries
did not think proper to give them
battle, returned to their own town
with joy and satisfaction; and had they
known the ancient custom of the Greeks,
they would have erected a trophy on
the spot.

.fn #
Literally, ‘When choler quits the mother, the tongue has then no father.’
.fn-

.fn #
I have ventured to deviate a little from the precise meaning of the original, which
the reader will own to be very insipid when he reads the literal translation: ‘For it would
be good, if the inhabitants of the town of Reloxa,’ (signifying a watch, or clock)
‘should, at every turn, slay those that call them so.’
.fn-
.sp 4
.h4 id=chap3-2-11
<abbr=chapter>CHAP.</abbr> <abbr=eleven>XI.</abbr> | OF THINGS RELATED BY BENENGELI, WHICH HE WHO READS THEM ATTENTIVELY, WILL KNOW.
.sp 2
When a brave man flies, he
must have discovered some
odds or foul play; and it is the business
of prudent captains, to reserve
themselves for better occasions. This
maxim was verified in Don Quixote,
who, by giving way to popular fury,
and the evil intention of that incensed
squadron, took to his heels, and without
paying the least regard to Sancho,
or the danger in which he left him,
moved off to such a distance as he judged
sufficient for his own security. He
was followed by Sancho lying across
the ass, as we have already observed,
who, by that time he was brought up
to his master, had just recovered the
use of his senses, and fell from Dapple
at the feet of Rozinante, all battered
and bruised, and in an agony of pain.
// File: 0679.png
.pn +1

The knight dismounting to search his
wounds, no sooner perceived he was
sound from head to foot, than he thus accosted
him in an angry tone: ‘In evil
hour, you must understand braying, sirrah!
Where did you learn it was convenient
to talk of halters in the house of
a man that was hanged? To the tenor
of braying what bass could you expect
but the basting of a cudgel? You
have reason to thank God that, instead
of receiving a benediction with a pole,
you have not been crossed with a scymitar.’—‘I
am at present in no condition
to answer,’ said Sancho; ‘for
methinks I talk through my shoulders:
let us mount and depart from
this place, and I shall make an end
of my braying; though I shall never
be weary of telling as how knights-errant
run away, and leave their honest
squires, beaten to chaff and
pounded to cinders, in the power of
their enemies.’—‘There is a wide
difference between flying and retreating,’
answered Don Quixote; ‘for
you must know, Sancho, that valour
which is not founded on the base of
discretion, is termed temerity or rashness;
and the achievements of a rash
person ought to be ascribed rather to
good fortune than courage. I own,
therefore, I have retreated, but not
fled; and in so doing have imitated
a great number of valiant chiefs, who
reserved themselves for more dignified
occasions: and of these instances histories
are full; but I omit rehearsing
them at present, because the recital
would be of no advantage to thee, or
entertainment to myself.’

By this time, Sancho being set upon
his ass again by Don Quixote, who
likewise mounted Rozinante, they jogged
along softly, in order to shelter
themselves in a grove that appeared at
the distance of a quarter of a league;
and the squire, every now and then
heaving up a most profound ‘Ah!’
accompanied with piteous groans, his
master desired to know the cause of such
bitter ejaculations. To which question
the squire replied, that from the extremity
of his rump to the nape of his
neck, he felt such intolerable pain as
was like to deprive him of his senses.
‘The cause of that pain,’ said Don
Quixote, ‘must doubtless be this; as
the pole or staff by which you have
// File: 0680.png
suffered was long and large, it extended
over the whole back, comprehending
all those parts that now
give you pain; and if it had reached
still farther, the pain would have been
more extensive.’—‘’Fore God,’ cried
Sancho, ‘your worship has taken me
out of a huge uncertainty, and resolved
the doubt in delicate terms. Body
o’me! was the cause of my pain so
mysterious, that there was a necessity
for telling me, I feel pain in those
parts that were cudgelled? Had my
shins ached, there might have been
some reason for guessing at the cause
of their aching; but, surely, there is
no great witchcraft required to tell me
that my back aches, because it was
crossed with a quarter staff! In good
faith, Sir Master of mine, Our neighbour’s
care hangs by a hair. Every
day I see more and more how the land
lies, and how little I have to expect
from keeping your worship’s company;
for if you left me to be cudgelled
at this time, we shall, upon a hundred
different occasions, return to our
late blankettings and other such toys;
and though this misfortune has fallen
upon my shoulders, they next may
light upon my eyes. Abundantly
better should I have done, but I am
such a barbarian, that in all the days
of my life, I never did well; I say
again, abundantly better should I have
done, had I returned to my house,
my wife, and my children, and maintained
and brought them up with
what Providence should please to
bestow, rather than fag after your
worship in this manner, through
roadless roads, and pathless paths,
drinking bad liquor and eating worse
food; then, when I come to sleep—“Brother
squire, measure out seven
feet of ground; and if you chuse to be
more at your ease, take as much more,
for the ladle is in your own hand,
and lay yourself out to your heart’s
desire.” Would to God I could
see the first man who meddled with
knight-errantry burnt to a cinder; at
least the first booby who chose to be
squire to such wiseacres as all former
knights-errant must have been! Of
the present, I say nothing; as your
worship is one of the number, I hold
them in respect, because I am sensible,
that in speeching and understanding,
// File: 0681.png
.pn +1
you know a point more than the devil
himself.’

‘I would venture to lay a good
wager, Sancho,’ said Don Quixote,
‘that now, while you are permitted to
speak without the least hindrance,
you feel no pain in any part of your
body. Proceed, child, and out with
every thing that comes into your head,
or tarries at your tongue’s end; for,
provided you are free from pain, I
shall convert into pleasure that disgust
which proceeds from your folly and
impertinence; and if you are so much
bent upon returning to your house,
your wife and your family, God forbid
that I should oppose your resolution.
You have some of my money
in your hands; recollect how
long it is since we set out on this
my third sally; then reckon what
you might and should have earned
monthly, and be your own paymaster.’—‘When
I worked for Thomas
Carrasco, father of Batchelor Sampson,
who is your worship’s acquaintance,’
answered Sancho, ‘I earned
two ducats a month, besides my
victuals: with your worship I know
not what I can earn; though well I
know that the squire of a knight-errant
has a much more troublesome
office than that of a farmer’s servant;
for, in fact, we who serve husbandmen,
let us work never so hard through
the day, and happen what will, have
a hot supper out of the pot at night,
and lie in a good bed, which I have
never enjoyed since I have been in
your worship’s service, except for that
short space of time that we stayed in
the house of Don Diego de Miranda;
and bating the good cheer I found
among the scum of Camacho’s kettle,
and my eating, drinking, and sleeping,
at the habitation of Basilius; all the
rest of the time I have slept on the
hard ground, under the cope of heaven,
exposed to what you call the inclemencies
of the weather, living upon
cheese-pairings and crusts of bread,
and drinking cold water, sometimes
from the brooks and sometimes from
the springs we met with in the publick
roads through which we travelled.’

‘Allowing,’ said Don Quixote, ‘that
all you have mentioned is true, how
much more do you think I ought to
give you than that which you received
from Thomas Carrasco?’—‘With
// File: 0682.png
the addition of two rials a month,’
replied Sancho, ‘I shall think myself
well paid, that is, with regard to my
wages; but, as to some satisfaction
for your worship’s word and promise
of making me a governor of an island,
methinks it would be but fair and
honest to add six rials more; and
then, altogether will come to thirty.’—‘Very
well reckoned,’ answered the
knight; ‘now, according to the tale of
wages you have mentioned, calculate
fairly and exactly what I am indebted
to you, for the five and twenty
days that are elapsed since our departure
from our own village, and,
as I said before, be your own paymaster.’—‘Body
o’me!’ cried Sancho,
‘your worship is quite out in your
reckoning; for in regard to the promise
of the island, we must compute
from the day in which your honour
made the said promise to this blessed
hour.’—‘How long, then, has that
same promise been made?’ said Don
Quixote. ‘If my memory does not
fail me,’ answered the squire, ‘it must
be above twenty years, a few days
over or under.’ Here, the knight
slapping his forehead with his hand,
began to laugh heartily, saying,
‘Why, my stay in the Sierra Morena,
with the whole course of our peregrinations,
has scarce employed two
months: and wilt thou say I have
promised thee that island these twenty
years? Now I perceive thy intention
is to keep, in lieu of wages, all my
money that is in thy hands; and if
that be the case, and thou really lookest
upon it with an eye of desire, I give
thee the whole sum from this moment,
and much good may it do
thee; for, provided I find myself rid
of such a wretched squire, I shall
think myself happy, though poor and
pennyless. But, tell me, thou prevaricator
of all the squirely ordinances
of chivalry! where hast thou seen or
read that any squire of a knight-errant
ever presumed to bargain with
his master touching a certain monthly
salary for his service? Launch out,
launch out! you ruffian, vagabond,
and hobgoblin! for such you are;
launch out, I say, into the <lang=la><i>mare
magnum</i></lang> of chivalry; and if you
find that any squire ever attempted to
say, or even to think, what thou hast
here uttered, I will give thee leave to
// File: 0683.png
.pn +1
nail the passage on my forehead, and
pinch the sign of the four nipples on
my face, by way of additional mortification.
Turn immediately the reins
of the halter of your ass, and return
to your house, your wife, and your
family; for one step farther thou shalt
not travel with me. O bread ill-bestowed!
O promise misapplied! O
wretch that favoured more of the
beast than of the man! At this juncture,
when I was on the eve of raising
thee to such a station as would have
ennobled thee, even in spite of thy
wife, thou seekest to leave me! Now
thou art going away, when I had
firmly and unalterably resolved to
make thee lord of the best island in
the universe! In a word, as thou thyself
hast observed upon other occasions,
An ass’s mouth was not made
for honey, &c. An ass thou art, an
ass wilt thou be; aye, and thou wilt
die like an ass, when the course of
thy life is finished; for I am convinced
that thy days will reach their utmost
period, before thou shalt learn
and know what a beast thou art!’

Sancho looked woefully at his master,
while he poured forth these reproaches,
from which the squire felt
such compunction, that the tears started
in his eyes; and he replied in a faint,
whimpering tone, ‘My good master,
I confess that, in order to be really
and truly an ass, I want nothing but
a tail, which, if your worship will
furnish me with, I shall think it well
bestowed, and serve you as a beast of
burden all the days of my life.
Good your worship, forgive and look
upon my green years with compassion,
and consider that I know very little;
and if I speak a great deal of nonsense,
it does not proceed from malice
but infirmity; and Those who sin and
kiss the rod, find favour in the sight
of God.’—‘I should have been surprized,
Sancho,’ said the knight, ‘if
thou hadst not seasoned thy discourse
with some proverbial expression. Well,
then, for the present, I forgive thee,
in hope of thy amendment, and on
condition that thou wilt not henceforward
betray such a sordid and selfish
disposition, but endeavour to enlarge
thy heart, fortify and encourage
thy mind, to wait the accomplishment
of my promises; which, though it
may not speedily happen, is nevertheless
// File: 0684.png
far from being impossible?’ Sancho
said he would do his endeavour,
and follow his advice, even though
he should gather strength from feebleness.

Then they betook themselves to the
covert of the grove, where the knight
accommodated himself at the root of an
elm, and the squire retreated to the foot
of a beech; for these and other such trees
never want feet, though they are always
destitute of hands. Sancho passed
the night in great trouble; for the cold
air augmented the pain of his bruises;
whereas, Don Quixote amused himself
with his incessant meditations. Nevertheless,
both master and man gave way
to the operations of sleep, and at the
approach of morn, prosecuted their way
to the banks of the renowned Ebro,
where they were involved in an adventure
that will be recounted in the
succeeding chapter.
.sp 4
.h4 id=chap3-2-12
<abbr=chapter>CHAP.</abbr> <abbr=twelve>XII.</abbr> | OF THE FAMOUS ADVENTURE OF THE INCHANTED BARK.
.sp 2
By dint of travelling at a very deliberate
pace for the space of two
days after they quitted the grove, Don
Quixote and Sancho arrived at the river
Ebro, the sight of which afforded infinite
pleasure to the knight, who eagerly
contemplated the amenity of its
banks, the transparency of its water,
the tranquillity of its course, and the
abundance of its chrystal stream, the
joyous prospect of which renewed in
his remembrance a thousand amorous
thoughts, that chiefly turned upon what
he had seen in the cave of Montesinos;
for, although Master Peter’s ape had
declared, that part of those circumstances
was true, and part of them false,
he inclined more to the belief that they
were altogether real; while Sancho, on
the contrary, looked upon the whole
detail as one continued lye.

As they jogged on in this manner,
their view was saluted by a small boat,
without oars, or any other tackle, close
to the river-side, and made fast to a
tree that grew on the bank. Don
Quixote looking around him, without
perceiving any living soul, alighted
immediately from Rozinante, commanding
Sancho to quit the back of Dapple,
// File: 0685.png
.pn +1
and tie both beasts securely to the trunk
of a poplar or willow that grew upon
the spot. When the squire desired to
know the cause of this sudden descent
and ligation, ‘You must know, Sancho,’
said the knight, ‘that this vessel
is here on purpose, without a possibility
of any other design, to call
and invite me to embark, that I may
be conveyed to the succour of some
knight, or other necessitous personage
of high degree, who must certainly
be involved in some dire disaster;
for this is the very spirit of
books of chivalry, and the practice
of those inchanters concerning whom
they treat, who, when any knight in
distress cannot be delivered by their
art, but solely by the prowess of another
errant, though perhaps at the
distance of two or three thousand
leagues or more, they snatch him
up in a cloud, or provide him
with a vessel, in which he embarks,
and in the twinkling of an eye he is
transported either through the air, or
by sea, to the place where his assistance
is required: this bark, therefore, O
Sancho, is brought hither for the like
purpose, as sure as it is now day;
and before the day be spent, take and
secure Dapple and Rozinante together,
and let us commit ourselves to the direction
of God; for even the barefooted
Carmelites shall not dissuade
me from embarking.’—‘Since that is
the case,’ answered Sancho, ‘and
your worship is resolved at every turn
to plunge into these (I know not
whether I should call them mad) vagaries,
I have nothing to do but bow
and obey; according to the proverb,
If you obey the commands of your
lord, you may sit as a guest at his board.
Nevertheless, in order to disburden
my confidence, I must give your worship
notice, that in my opinion this
same bark has nothing to do with
inchanted people, but belongs to some
fishermen of this river, in which they
catch the best shads in the world.’

This remonstrance was made while
he tied the cattle, which he could not
leave to the protection of inchanters,
without being grieved to the very soul.
But the knight exhorted him to banish
his anxiety on account of the animals,
which would be carefully maintained
and protected by the same sage destined
to transport their riders through roads
// File: 0686.png
and regions of such longitude. ‘I do not
understand what you mean by logickhood,’
said the squire; ‘for I never
heard such a word before in the whole
course of my life.’—‘By longitude
I mean, length,’ answered the knight,
‘but I do not at all wonder that thou
shouldst not understand the word;
for thou art not obliged to be acquainted
with the Latin tongue,
like some arrogant people who pretend
to knowledge of which they are
entirely ignorant.’—‘The beasts are
now secured,’ said Sancho, ‘what is
next to be done?’—‘What!’ replied
Don Quixote, ‘but to cross ourselves
and weigh anchor; I mean to embark,
and cut the rope by which the
vessel is made fast.’

So saying, he leaped on board, whither
he was followed by Sancho, and
the fastening being cut, the boat edged
gently off from the bank. The squire
seeing himself about two fathoms from
the shore, began to tremble, in the apprehension
of perishing; but nothing
gave him more pain than hearing Dapple
raise his voice, and seeing Rozinante
struggle for his freedom. ‘Now, Dapple,’
said he to his master, ‘brays for
grief at our departure; and Rozinante
strives to get loose, that he may throw
himself into the water and swim after
us!—Farewel, my dearly beloved
friends, peace be with you, and may
the madness that parts us be converted
and undeceived, that we may be
restored to your agreeable company.’

Then he began to weep so bitterly,
that the knight exclaimed, in a tone of
rage and vexation, ‘Of what art thou
afraid, cowardly miscreant! wherefore
dost thou weep, thou heart of butter!
who persecutes, who molests
thee, thou soul of a garret-mouse!
or what wants dost thou suffer, beggarly
wretch, rolling as thou art in
the very bowels of abundance! art
thou, peradventure, travelling, barefoot
over the Riphean mountains!
No: seated like an archduke upon
a convenient bench, thou art softly
conveyed by the gentle current of
this delicious river, from which in a
little time we shall launch into the
wide and extended ocean: but, indeed,
we must have already entered
the open sea; aye, and sailed at least
seven or eight hundred leagues; and,
if I had here an astrolabe to take the
// File: 0687.png
.pn +1
elevation of the pole, I would tell
thee exactly what way we have made;
though either I have little skill, or
we have already passed, or will pass
in a very little time, the equinoctial
line, that divides the globe into two
equal parts.’—‘And how far shall
we have gone when we come to that
same line your worship mentions?’
said Sancho. ‘A great way,’ replied
the knight; ‘for, of three hundred and
sixty degrees, comprehending the
whole terraqueous globe, according
to the computation of Ptolemy, who
was the greatest cosmographer ever
known, we shall have traversed one
half when we reach the equinoctial
line.’—‘’Fore God!’ cried Sancho,
‘your worship has brought a set of
rare witnesses to prove the truth of
what you say, Copulation and Kiss-me-gaffer,
with the addition of Tool-i’me,
or some such name[#].’ Don Quixote
laughed at Sancho’s blunders, upon
the computation of the cosmographer
Ptolemy; adding, ‘You must know,
Sancho, that one of the signs by
which those who embark at Cadiz
for the East Indies, know they have
passed the equinoctial, is the total
destruction of vermin among the
passengers and seamen: so that not
one louse remains alive, or can be
had in the whole ship, even though
you should give its weight in gold;
thou mayest therefore slip thy hand
along thy thigh, Sancho, and if thou
canst catch any thing alive, our doubt
will be resolved; but if there is nothing
to be found, we must certainly
have passed the line.’—‘I can hardly
believe it,’ answered the squire; ‘but,
however, I will do as your worship
desires; though there is no necessity
for trying those experiments; for I
can see with my own eyes, that we
have not moved five yards from the
bank, no, nor have we driven two
yards below the cattle; for there stand
Rozinante and Dapple, in the very
spot where they were left; and taking
aim as I do now, I vow to God, we
do not move or go at the pace of a
pismire.’—‘Sancho,’ said the knight,
‘perform the investigation I have mentioned,
and give thyself no trouble
about any other circumstance; for
thou dost not know the meaning of
colours, lines, parallels, zodiacks,
eclipticks, poles, solstices, equinoxes,
planets, constellations, points, and
measures, that compose the spheres
celestial and terrestrial. Wert thou acquainted
with these, or even a part of
them, thou wouldst distinctly perceive
what parallels we have crossed,
what signs we have seen, and what
constellations we have left, and are
now leaving behind us. I therefore
repeat my request, that thou wouldst
examine and go afishing upon thyself;
for I am persuaded thou art
clean and smooth as a sheet of white
paper.’

Sancho, in compliance with his desire,
slipped down his hand softly, and
felt about his left ham; then raising his
head, and looking at his master, ‘Either
the experiment is false,’ said he; ‘or we
have not reached the place your worship
mentioned, by many leagues.’—‘What!’
said the knight, ‘hast thou
found something?’—‘Aye, more than
one something,’ answered the squire:
who snapped his fingers, and afterwards
washed them in the river, along
the current of which the boat glided
softly, without the assistance of any secret
power, or concealed inchanter, being
conveyed by nothing but the stream,
which then ran with a smooth and
gentle course.

In this manner they proceeded, when
they discovered some large mills, built
in the middle of the river, which Don
Quixote no sooner perceived, than he
addressed himself to Sancho, in an exalted
voice: ‘Behold, my friend, yonder
appears the city, castle, or fortress,
that contains some oppressed knight-errant,
queen, infanta, or princess in
distress, for whose relief I am brought
hither.’—‘What the devil does your
worship mean by a city, fortress, or
castle!’ cried the squire; ‘don’t you see
these are mills, built in the river, for
// File: 0688.png
.pn +1
grinding wheat?’—‘Peace, Sancho,’
replied the knight, ‘although they appear
to be mills, they are in reality
edifices of a very different nature: I
have already told thee, that all things
are transformed and changed by the
power of inchantment; I do not mean
that they are really changed in any
circumstance but appearance, as we
have been taught by woeful experience
in the transformation of Dulcinea,
the sole refuge of my hope.’

By this time, the boat being sucked
into the middle of the stream, so as to
move considerably faster than at first,
was perceived by the millers, who seeing
it advancing to the indraught of the
wheels, came suddenly out in a body,
with long poles, to stop its motion; and
as their faces and cloaths were be-powdered
with meal, they made a
frightful figure, while they exclaimed,
with great vociferation, ‘You devils
of men! where are you going: are
you mad; to come and drown yourselves,
or be ground to pieces by the
wheels?’

Don Quixote, hearing this address,
‘Did not I tell thee, Sancho,’ said he,
‘that we had arrived at the scene in
which I must exert the prowess of
mine arm? Behold, what felons and
assassins come forth to try my valour;
behold what a number of hobgoblins
range themselves against me; behold,
I say, what horrid physiognomies appear
to scare and overawe us; but you
shall presently see what will happen.
Ye ruffians!’ Then, starting up, he
began to threaten and revile them, exclaiming
aloud, ‘Ye scum, ye scoundrels,
ill-intentioned and worse-advised!
release, I charge you, and restore
to the full fruition of freedom,
the person whom ye keep confined
and oppressed in that fortress or gaol,
let him be high or low, or of what
rank and quality soever he may be;
for I am Don Quixote de La Mancha,
otherwise intitled the Knight of the
Lions, destined by the appointment of
Heaven above, to bring this adventure
to an happy issue.’

So saying, he unsheathed his sword,
and brandished it in the air, in defiance
of the millers, who hearing this rhapsody
without understanding it, began
to employ their poles, in order to turn
aside the boat, which by this time had
entered the current and canal of the
wheels. As for Sancho, he fell upon
his knees, and prayed devoutly that
Heaven would deliver him from such
imminent danger; and his deliverance
was accordingly effected by the alertness
and dexterity of the millers, who
pushed back the boat with their poles;
yet not without oversetting the vessel;
so as that the knight and his squire
were soused over head and ears in the
water. It was well for Don Quixote
that he could swim like a goose; nevertheless,
the weight of his armour sunk
him twice to the bottom, and had not
the millers thrown themselves into the
river, and weighed them up by main
strength, it might have been said, ‘Here
Troy once stood[#].’

They were no sooner dragged ashore,
rather drenched than dead of drought,
than the squire, humbling himself upon
his knees, again clasping his hands and
lifting up his eyes to Heaven, uttered a
very fervent petition to God, that he
might be from thenceforward delivered
from the frantick projects and mad attempts
of his master. This ejaculation
was scarce finished, when they were
joined by the fishermen who were owners
of the boat, which was crushed to pieces
by the mill-wheels; and they perceiving
the wreck, began to strip Sancho, and
demand indemnification of his master,
who, with great tranquillity, as if nothing
at all had happened told the millers
and fishermen that he would pay
for the bark with the utmost chearfulness,
on condition that they would release,
without ransom or security, the
person or persons whom they detained
in durance and oppression within the
castle.

‘What does the madman mean by
persons and castles?’ answered one of
the millers; ‘wouldst thou carry off the
customers that bring grist to our mills,
forsooth?’—‘Enough,’ said Don
Quixote within himself, ‘I might as
// File: 0689.png
.pn +1
well preach to the desart, as attempt,
by intreaties, to prevail upon such
miscreants to do any virtuous action.
In this adventure there must certainly
be two powerful inchanters engaged
on opposite sides, one of whom baffles
the designs of the other; by one I was
provided with a bark, and his antagonist
overturned me in the water.
Lord mend us! the world is nothing
but a continual warfare of opposite
machinations and deceit; for my own
part, I can do no more.’ Then raising
his voice, and fixing his eyes upon
the mills, ‘Friends,’ cried he, ‘whosoever
you are who lie confined within
that prison, forgive me, that for my
misfortune, as well as yours, it is not
in my power to extricate you from
your distress; for some other knight
the adventure must be reserved.’
Having pronounced this apostrophe, he
compounded with the fishermen, for
whose boat he paid fifty rials, which
Sancho disbursed with great reluctance,
saying, ‘Two such boatfuls will sink
our whole stock to the bottom.’

The fishermen and millers gazed with
admiration at those two figures, so different
in appearance from other men;
and as they could by no means understand
the meaning and tendency of Don
Quixote’s discourse, and the questions
he asked, they looked upon them as
madmen, and went away. The millers
retreated to their mills; the fishermen
betook themselves to their cottage; the
knight and squire, like beasts, returned
to their beasts; and thus ended the adventure
of the enchanted bark.

.fn #
As it is altogether impossible, in a translation, literally to preserve the low humour
arising from blunders upon words or sounds, I have been obliged to substitute an equivalent
jingle, in the room of <lang=es><i>puto</i></lang>, <lang=es><i>gafo</i></lang> and <lang=es><i>meon</i></lang>, which are Spanish words, signifying, a
a <i>whore</i>, a <i>catamite</i>, and a <i>piss-a-bed</i>: so that Sancho, deceived by the affinity of these
sounds to <i>computo</i>, <i>cosmographa</i>, and <i>Ptolemeo</i>, thought he had reason to say his master
had produced a fair set of evidences.
.fn-

.fn #
In allusion to the speech that Virgil puts in the mouth of Panthus Othryades, who
says to Æneas,

.pm verse-start
——<lang=la><i>fuit Ilium, et ingens</i></lang>
<lang=la><i>Gloria Teucrorum!</i></lang>
.pm verse-end

.fn-
.sp 4
.h4 id=chap3-2-13
<abbr=chapter>CHAP.</abbr> <abbr=thirteen>XIII.</abbr> | OF WHAT PASSED BETWEEN DON QUIXOTE AND A FAIR HUNTRESS.
.sp 2
In a melancholy plight did the knight
and squire reach the place where
their cattle stood; indeed, they were
both sufficiently out of humour, especially
Sancho, who was cut to the soul
by the incroachment upon their capital,
which to him was as precious as the
apple of his eye. At length, they
mounted, in the most profound silence,
and departed from the banks of that
famous river; Don Quixote buried as
it were amidst the meditations of his
love, and Sancho immersed in those of
// File: 0690.png
his preferment, which at that time
seemed to be at a weary distance; for
maugre all his simplicity and folly, he
could easily perceive that all, or the
greatest part of his master’s actions,
proceeded from frenzy and distraction;
he therefore resolved to take an opportunity
of retreating abruptly to his own
house, without expostulation, or the ceremony
of taking leave. But fortune
ordained that things should fall out
quite contrary to his apprehensions.

Next day, at sun-set, as they came out
of a wood, Don Quixote extending his
view over a delightful green meadow,
perceived some people at the farther end
of it; and as he proceeded, saw they
were hawkers: approaching still nearer,
he observed among them a gay lady,
mounted upon a palfrey or beautiful pad
as white as the driven snow, adorned with
green furniture and a saddle of silver;
the lady was likewise dressed in a rich
habit of the same colour, as fine as finery
itself. On her left-hand she carried
a hawk, a circumstance from which the
knight concluded she was some lady of
high rank, and mistress of all the rest; nor
was he mistaken. On this supposition,
therefore, he said to his squire, ‘Make
haste, son Sancho, go and tell that
lady of the palfrey and hawk, that I,
the Knight of the Lions, send my
respects to her exceeding beauty; and
that, with her good leave, I will go
and pay my compliments in person,
and make her a tender of my service
to the utmost of my power, in whatever
she shall please to command; but
keep a guard upon your tongue, Sancho,
and beware of thrusting in some
of your proverbs, while you deliver
my embassy.’—‘To be sure, you have
found me a deadly thruster,’ answered
the squire, ‘that you give me such
warning! as if this were the first time
in my life, that I have carried embassies
to ladies of high rank and augmentation.’—‘Except
that which you
carried to the Lady Dulcinea,’ said
the knight, ‘I do not know that ever
you carried another; at least while in
my service.’—‘That’s true,’ replied
Sancho, ‘but a good paymaster never
wants bail; and a dinner is easily got,
where there is plenty of meat for the
pot: what I mean is, that there is no
occasion to tell me or advertise me of
any thing; for I am never out, and
have a sort of a smack of every thing.’—‘I
// File: 0691.png
.pn +1
believe it, Sancho,’ said Don
Quixote; ‘go in peace, and God be
your guide.’

The squire setting out accordingly,
at a good rate, and spurring Dapple beyond
his natural pace, came up with
the fair huntress; then alighting and
kneeling before her, ‘Beautiful lady,’
said he, ‘yonder knight, called the
Knight of the Lions, is my master,
and I am this squire, known at my
own home by the name of Sancho
Panza; and that same Knight of the
Lions, though formerly of the Rueful
Countenance, sends me to beg your
grandeur would be pleased to allow
him purposely, courteously, and consentingly,
to come and gratify his desire,
which is no other, as he says,
and I believe, than to serve your exalted
beauty and hawkingship; and
in so doing, your excellency will do a
thing that will redound to your own
advantage, and from which he will
receive the most notorious honour and
satisfaction.’

‘Worthy squire,’ replied the lady,
‘assuredly you have delivered your embassy
with all the circumstances that
such embassies require; pray rise, for
it is not reasonable, that the squire of
such a great knight-errant as he of
the Rueful Countenance, whose character
is well known in these parts,
should remain in that posture; rise,
friend, and go tell your master, that
he shall be extremely welcome to
command the services of me and the
duke my husband, at our country-house
in the neighbourhood.’ Sancho
arose, equally astonished at the
beauty, good-breeding, and affability,
of this worthy lady: but he was still
more surprized at what she said concerning
the well-known character of
the Knight of the Rueful Countenance;
for if she did not give him the appellation
of the Lions, it was because he had
but lately assumed that epithet. ‘Pray,
tell me, brother squire,’ said the
duchess, whose title is not known, ‘is
not your master the person whose history
is printed under the name of the
sage Hidalgo Don Quixote de La
Mancha, who professes himself the
admirer of one Dulcinea del Toboso?’—‘The
very same, my lady,’ answered
Sancho, ‘and I myself am that very
squire of his who is mentioned, or
ought to be mentioned, in that history,
// File: 0692.png
by the name of Sancho Panza,
unless they have changed me in the
cradle, I mean, in the press.’—‘I am
extremely glad to hear it,’ replied the
duchess; ‘go, brother Sancho, and
tell your master, that he is well met,
and welcome to my estate; and that
nothing could give me more pleasure
than his arrival.’

Sancho, in an excess of joy, occasioned
by this agreeable answer, returned,
and recounted to his master all that
this lady of rank had said, extolling
to the skies, in his rustick phrase, her
exceeding beauty, good-humour, and
politeness. The knight chose one of
his genteelest attitudes, fixed himself
well in his stirrups, adjusted his vizor,
quickened Rozinante, and with an agreeable
air, advanced to pay his respects
to the duchess; who, while he approached,
ordered her husband to be called, and
communicated the curious embassy. As
they had read the first part of the history,
from which they learned the extravagant
humour of Don Quixote, they
waited with infinite pleasure, and the
most eager desire of being acquainted
with the original, fully determined to
gratify his humour in every thing, and
treat him all the time he should stay
with them, as a real knight-errant;
that is, with all the ceremonies described
in those books of chivalry they had
read, and to which, indeed, they were
greatly attached. Meanwhile, Don
Quixote approaching with his beaver
up, made a motion to alight, and Sancho
made haste to hold the stirrup; but
he was so unfortunate, that in dismounting
from Dapple, he slipped his foot
through the noose of the stirrup rope,
in such a manner, that he could not
possibly disentangle himself, but continued
hanging with his face and part
of his body on the ground. The
knight, who never alighted without
his assistance, imagining that Sancho,
as usual, held the stirrup, threw himself
off with a swing, and the saddle,
which must have been very ill girted,
and he, came to the ground together;
not without great disgrace, and a thousand
curses which he muttered between
his teeth against the unfortunate Sancho,
whose leg was still in the stocks.

The duke, seeing their distress, ordered
his huntsman to assist the knight
and squire; and they lifted up Don
Quixote, who was very much bruised
// File: 0693.png
.pn +1
by the fall; nevertheless, he advanced
as well as he could, with a limping
pace, and kneeled before this noble
pair: but the duke would by no means
allow him to remain in that posture;
on the contrary, alighting from his
horse, he ran to embrace the knight,
saying, ‘I am heartily sorry, Sir Knight
of the Rueful Countenance, that the
first time you touch my ground, you
should be so unlucky; but the carelessness
of squires is often the cause
of greater misfortunes.’—‘This accident,
valiant prince,’ replied Don
Quixote, ‘cannot possibly be deemed
a misfortune, though I had been
plunged into the profound abyss;
for even from thence should I have
been raised and extricated by the
glory of seeing your grace. My
squire, whom God confound! is more
ready at untying his tongue, in order
to utter malicious insinuations, than
at tying and securing the girth of a
saddle; but whether fallen or exalted,
afoot or on horseback, I shall always
be devoted to your service, and
that of my Lady Duchess, your grace’s
worthy consort, the dignified queen
of beauty, and universal princess of
politeness’—‘Softly, my good Signior
Don Quixote de La Mancha,’
said the duke, ‘where my Lady Dulcinea
del Toboso reigns, no other
beauty deserves applause.’

By this time Sancho Panza had disentangled
himself and come up, and
interposing in the discourse, before his
master could make any reply, ‘It cannot
be denied,’ said he, ‘but must always
be affirmed, that my Lady Dulcinea
del Toboso is extremely beautiful:
but the hare starts where she is
least expected; for I have heard it
said, that the power called Nature is
like a potter, who, if he can make
one beautiful vessel, can in like manner
make two, three, aye, and a
hundred; this, I observe, because, in
good faith, my Lady Duchess comes
not a whit behind my Lady Mistress
Donna Dulcinea del Toboso.’ Don
Quixote turning to the duchess, ‘Your
grace must know,’ said he, ‘that no
knight-errant upon earth has such a
prattling and free-spoken squire as
mine; and he will certainly verify
my words, if your highness shall be
pleased to make use of my service for
a few days.’—‘I have the better opinion
// File: 0694.png
of honest Sancho, for his being
free-spoken,’ answered the duchess:
‘that is a sign of his discretion; for
pleasantry and wit, Signior Don
Quixote, as your worship very well
knows, do not love to dwell in a reserved
disposition; and therefore, since
honest Sancho is frank and free-spoken,
I from henceforth set him down as a
man of discretion.’—‘And loquacity,’
added the knight. ‘So much
the better,’ said the duke; ‘for a great
deal of wit cannot be expressed in a
few words; and that we may not
spend more time in them, come, renowned
Knight of the Rueful Countenance——’
‘Of the Lions, your
highness must call him,’ cried Sancho;
‘the Rueful Countenance is no
more.’—‘Of the Lions let it be then,’
continued the duke; ‘I say, come, Sir
Knight of the Lions, to a castle I
have in this neighbourhood, where
you shall meet with that reception
which is due to a person of your
fame and character, and that respect
which I and the duchess always pay
to the knights-errant who favour us
with their company.’

By this time Sancho having replaced
and secured Rozinante’s saddle, Don
Quixote bestrode that famous steed; and
the duke mounting a beautiful courser,
they rode towards the castle, on each
side of the duchess, who desired Sancho
to keep close to her; for she took
infinite pleasure in hearing his conceits.
Indeed, the squire did not need
intreaty, but mingling among the three,
made a fourth in the conversation, to
the unspeakable satisfaction of their
graces, who thought themselves extremely
fortunate in having an opportunity
of entertaining, at their castle,
such a knight-errant, and such an erring
squire.
.sp 4
.h4 id=chap3-2-14
<abbr=chapter>CHAP.</abbr> <abbr=fourteen>XIV.</abbr> | WHICH TREATS OF MANIFOLD IMPORTANT SUBJECTS.
.sp 2
Sancho rejoiced exceedingly at
seeing himself, as he thought, a favourite
with the duchess; for being a
staunch well-wisher to good cheer, he
imagined he should find the same abundance
in the castle, which prevailed in
the houses of Don Diego and Basilius,
// File: 0695.png
.pn +1
and always took by the forelock every
occasion of living at his ease. The history
then relates, that before they reached
the castle or pleasure-house, the duke
riding on before, directed his servants
how to behave to Don Quixote; who no
sooner arrived at the gate with the duchess,
than two lacquies or grooms came
forth, clad in long trailing morning-gowns
of fine crimson sattin, and lifting
him off, said, without being heard
or perceived, ‘Your highness must go
and help my Lady Duchess to dismount.’
The knight took the hint,
and a dispute of compliments passed
between them on the subject; but, at
length, the obstinacy of the duchess prevailed;
for she would not quit her palfrey,
or alight, except in the arms of
the duke, saying, she was not worthy
to load such an excellent knight with
such an useless burden; at last, the
duke came out to perform the office, and
when they entered the court-yard, they
were met by two beautiful damsels,
who threw a mantle of the finest scarlet
over Don Quixote’s shoulders, and
the corridores were instantly crouded
with servants of both sexes, who exclaimed
aloud, ‘Welcome, thou flower
and cream of knights-errant!’ while
all, or the greatest part of them, emptied
bottles of sweet water upon him and
their graces, to the admiration of Don
Quixote, who now, for the first time,
was sure and satisfied of his being a
real, and not a fantastick knight-errant,
because he saw himself treated as
the knights of former ages whose histories
he had read.

Sancho quitted Dapple, and betaking
himself to the duchess, entered the
castle; where, however, his confidence
upbraiding him for having left his
beast alone, he made up to a reverend
duenna, who with others had come out
to receive the duchess, and accosting
her in a soft voice, ‘Signora Gonçalez,’
said he, ‘or what’s your name,
Madam?’—‘My name is Duenna
Rodrigues de Grijalva,’ answered the
gentlewoman; ‘what are your commands,
brother?’—‘I wish you would
do me the favour, good Madam,’ replied
the squire, ‘to go to the castle-gate,
where you will find a dapple ass
of mine, and be so good as either
to send or lead him to the stable;
for the poor creature is a little timorous,
and cannot bear to be alone,
// File: 0696.png
by any manner of means.’—‘If the
master be as wise as the man,’ cried
the duenna, ‘we have brought our pigs
to a fine market; get you gone, brother,
with a vengeance to you, and
those who brought you hither, and
take care of your ass with your own
hands; the duennas of this house are
not used to such employment.’—‘But,
for all that,’ said Sancho, ‘I have
heard my master, who is a perfect
mine of history, tell us how, when
Lancelot came from Britain, ladies
tended his own person, and duennas
took care of his horse; now, with
respect to my ass, I declare I would
not exchange him for Signior Lancelot’s
courser.’—‘Hark ye, friend,’
replied the duenna, ‘if you are a jack-pudding,
keep your jokes for a proper
place, where they may turn to account;
from me you’ll get nothing
but a fig for them.’—‘Very well,’
said the squire, ‘I’ll answer for its
ripeness; your worship won’t lose
your game by a short reckoning.’—‘You
whoreson,’ cried the duenna, in
a violent rage, ‘whether I am old or
not, I must render an account to God,
and not to such a garlick-eating rascal
as you.’

This address she pronounced in such
an audible voice, that she was overheard
by the duchess; who, turning
about, and seeing her woman in such
wrath and trepidation, asked, with whom
she was in such passion. ‘With this
honest fellow, here,’ answered the duenna;
‘who has earnestly desired me to
go and house an ass of his, that stands
at the castle-gate, telling me, forsooth,
as an example, that the same
employment was undertaken by some
ladies, who took care of one Lancelot,
while the duennas looked after
his horse; and to crown the compliment,
he tells me I am old.’—‘I,
myself,’ said the duchess, ‘would
construe that into the greatest affront
that could be given.—Take notice,
friend Sancho, that Donna Rodriguez
is in the prime of her youth; and
that the veil she wears is more for authority
and custom, than on account
of her years.’—‘Accursed be those I
have to live,’ cried the squire, ‘if
I spoke to her for that reason; but,
only for the great affection I bear to
my ass, whom I thought I could not
recommend to a more charitable person
// File: 0697.png
.pn +1
than Signora Donna Rodriguez.’
Don Quixote overhearing all that passed,
‘Is that proper discourse for this place,
Sancho?’ said he. ‘Signior,’ replied
the squire, ‘every man must speak of
his wants where he finds them; here
I thought of Dapple, and here I talked
of him; and if he had come into
my head in the stable, there too he
should have been honourably mentioned.’
Here the duke interposing,
‘Sancho is very much in the right,’ said
he, ‘and must not be blamed for what
he has said; Dapple shall have no
more to do but ask and have as much
provender as he can eat; for that Sancho
may be quite easy in that respect,
for his beast shall be treated like his
own person.’

This conversation, which was extremely
agreeable to all, except Don
Quixote, brought them to the top of
the stair-case: and the knight being
conducted into an apartment, hung
with the richest tissue and brocade,
was unarmed, and attended by six
sprightly damsels, well instructed by
the duke and duchess in the particulars
of behaviour which they were to
observe towards Don Quixote, in order
to convince him that he was treated
in all respects like a knight-errant.
Thus disarmed, he remained in his
strait breeches and shamoy doublet,
so long, so lank, so lean, with
his lanthorn jaws kissing each other,
that if the damsels had not been
very careful in preserving their gravity,
according to the precise orders
they had received, they must certainly
have burst with laughing at sight
of such an uncouth figure. They desired
he would allow them to undress
and shift him; but he would not assent
to this proposal, saying that knights-errant
ought to be as remarkable for
decency as for valour: he therefore
bade them deliver the shirt to Sancho,
with whom shutting himself up in a
chamber, furnished with a magnificent
bed, he was immediately undressed
and shifted. Then being alone with
his squire, ‘Tell me,’ said he, ‘thou
modern buffoon and ancient blockhead!
was it thy province to dishonour
and affront a venerable duenna,
so worthy of reverence and respect!
Was that a time to think of
Dapple? or couldst thou imagine
those noble persons would neglect
// File: 0698.png
the cattle belonging to guests
whom they treated with such elegance?
For the love of God, Sancho;
set a guard upon thy tongue, and behave
so as that people may not discover,
by the thread, the coarse country
web of which thou art woven:
consider, sinner as thou art, that the
matter is respected in proportion to
the discretion and good-breeding of
his servants; and this is one of the
great advantages which noblemen
have over people of inferior rank:
dost thou not consider, thou plague
to thyself, and vexation to me! that if
they perceive thee to be a base-bred
clown or blundering fool, they will
take me for some cheating impostor
or knight of the post! No, no, Sancho,
shun and avoid those inconveniences;
for he who sets up for a merry-andrew,
falls at the first stumble
into a disgraced buffoon: bridle thy
tongue, therefore, consider and ruminate
well, before the words issue
from thy mouth; and remember that
we are now arrived at a place from
whence by the favour of God, and
the valour of mine arm, we shall depart,
bettered three, nay, five-fold,
both in fortune and in fame.’ Sancho
promised, with repeated assurances,
that he would rather stitch up his
mouth, or bite off his tongue, than utter
one word that should not be pat to
the purpose, and well considered, according
to his command; and that he
might make himself perfectly easy on
that score, for by him it should never
be discovered who they were.

Don Quixote having dressed himself,
girded on his sword, thrown the scarlet
mantle over his shoulders, and covered
his head with a cap of green
velvet, which he received from the
damsels, came forth thus equipped,
into the great hall, where he found the
maidens placed in two equal rows,
furnished with the implements for
hands-washing, which they administered
with profound respect and abundance
of ceremony: then came the
major-domo, attended by twelve pages,
to conduct him to the table where
their graces waited for him; he was
accordingly surrounded by these domesticks,
and led with great pomp and
majesty into another hall, in which appeared
a table, nobly decorated, with
four covers. The duke and duchess
// File: 0699.png
.pn +1
came to the door to receive him, attended
by one of those grave ecclesiasticks
who govern the families of noblemen;
who being of no birth themselves,
know not how to direct those who are;
who seek to measure the grandeur of
the great by the narrowness of their
own souls; and, in attempting to
make their pupils œconomists, convert
them into downright misers: such, I
say, was the grave clergyman who
came out to receive Don Quixote, with
the duke and duchess. After a thousand
courteous compliments, they
walked on each side of him to the table,
where the duke complimented him with
the upper end; and though he refused
that honour, they importuned him so
much, that he was obliged to comply;
the clergyman sitting opposite to him,
and the duke and duchess taking their
places at the sides.

Sancho, who was present at all this
ceremony, being confounded and astonished
at the honours which were paid
to his master, and perceiving the formality
and entreaties that passed between
his grace and Don Quixote, about
sitting at the head of the table, intruded
himself, as usual, into the discourse,
saying, ‘With your honour’s
leave, I’ll tell you a story of what
happened in our village, with respect
to the upper-hand in sitting.’

Scarce had he pronounced these
words, when the knight began to tremble
with apprehensions that he was
going to utter some absurdity; but the
squire seeing and understanding the cause
of his matter’s trepidation, ‘Signior,’
said he, ‘Your worship needs not be
afraid that I shall misbehave, or say,
something that is not to the matter
in hand; for I have not forgot the
advice I just now received from your
worship, about speaking a little or a
great deal, to the purpose, and not
to the purpose.’—‘I know nothing
at all of the matter,’ answered the
knight; ‘say what thou wilt, so thou
sayest it quickly.’—‘Well then,’ replied
Sancho, ‘what I am going to say,
is true, for my master Don Quixote,
here present, would not suffer me to
tell a lye.’—‘As for me,’ said Don
Quixote, ‘you may lye as much as you
please, without lett or molestation:
but I advise you to consider well what
you are about to say.’—‘I have it so
// File: 0700.png
well considered and reconsidered, that I
am as safe as he that has the repique in
hand, as will appear in the performance.’—‘Your
graces will do well,’ said
Don Quixote, ‘to order the servants to
turn out this madman, who will commit
a thousand blunders.’—‘By the
life of the duke!’ cried the duchess,
‘I will not part with my good friend
Sancho, for whom I have a very great
respect, because I know him to be
a person of wit and pleasantry.’—‘Pleasant
may all the days of your
holiness be, for your good opinion,
of my deserts,’ said the squire; ‘though
God knows, they are but slender
enough: however, my story is this.

‘There was an invitation given by a
gentleman of our town, who was
both rich and well born, as being
come of the Alamos of Medina del
Campo, and married to Donna Mencia
de Quinones, daughter of Don
Alonzo de Maranon, Knight of the
Order of <abbr=Saint>St.</abbr> Jago, who was drowned
in the Herradura, and occasioned a
quarrel some years ago in our village,
in which, if I am not mistaken, my
master Don Quixote was concerned;
but this I know, mad Tom, the son
of old Balvastro the blacksmith, was
hurt on that occasion.—Now, Sir
Master of mine, is not this God’s
truth; speak upon your worship’s
honour, that these noble persons may
not look upon me as a chattering
lyar?’—‘Hitherto,’ said the clergyman,
‘I take you to be a chatterer
rather than a lyar; but I know not
what I shall take you for in the sequel.’—‘Thou
hast produced so
many witnesses and tokens,’ replied
the knight, ‘that I cannot but say thy
story looks like truth; proceed, however,
and shorten thy tale, for thou
art in the way of lengthening it out
for the space of two whole days.’—‘He
shall not shorten it,’ said the
duchess, ‘if he consults my entertainment;
but, on the contrary, tell
it in his own way, though it should
not be finished in six days; for should
it hold out so long, they will be some
of the pleasantest I ever passed.’

‘Well, then, my masters,’ proceeded
Sancho, ‘that same gentleman, whom
I know as well as I know these two
hands, for it is not above a bow-shot
from his house to mine; invited a
// File: 0701.png
.pn +1
farmer, who, though not rich, was a
very honest man.’—‘Dispatch, brother,’
cried the priest, interposing,
‘for at this rate, your story will reach
to the other world.’—‘It will hardly
go half so far, an it please God,’
answered the squire; who thus proceeded:
‘So, as I was saying, the
farmer going to the house of the
gentleman inviter, who is now dead,
God rest his soul! by the same token
they say he died like an angel; for
my own part, I was not present at his
death, having gone a reaping to Tembleque.’—‘As
you hope to live,
son,’ cried the ecclesiastick, ‘return
quickly from Tembleque, and finish
your story, without staying to inter
the gentleman, unless you have a
mind to bury us all?’—‘Well, to
come to the point,’ replied Sancho;
‘when the two came to be seated at
table. Methinks I see them now
more than ever.’ The duke and
duchess were infinitely pleased with the
disgust which the reverend ecclesiastick
expressed at the tedious and circumstantial
manner in which the squire related
his story, while Don Quixote was almost
consumed by shame and indignation.
‘I say, moreover,’ resumed
Sancho, ‘that the two, as I have already
observed, coming to sit down at the table,
the farmer obstinately refused to
take the upper-end, according to the
desire of the entertainer; while the gentleman
on the other hand as obstinately
insisted upon his compliance, alledging
that he ought to be master in his
own house; but the farmer, who
piqued himself upon his politeness
and good-breeding, still persisted in
his refusal, until the gentleman,
growing angry, took him by the
shoulders, and thrust him into the
seat, saying, “Know, Mr. Chaff-thresher,
that wheresoever I sit, I
shall always be at the head of the
table.” Now this is my tale, and
I really believe it was brought in
pretty pat to the purpose.’

Don Quixote’s brown face was
speckled with a thousand different colours
at this recital: and their graces
restrained their laughter, that he might
not be quite abashed at the sarcastick
insinuation of his squire. To change
the discourse, therefore, and prevent
Sancho from uttering any other such
dangerous contents, the duchess addressing
// File: 0702.png
herself to the knight, asked,
when he had heard from the Lady
Dulcinea; and if he had lately sent her
any presents from the great number of
giants and robbers whom he must have
vanquished. To this interrogation the
knight replied, ‘My misfortunes,
Madam, though they had a beginning,
will never have an end. Giants I
have vanquished; felons and robbers
I have sent; but where must they
find her, inchanted and transformed
as she is, into the most homely country
wench that can be imagined!’—‘This
I know,’ said Sancho Panza:
‘to me she seemed the most beautiful
creature in the whole world; at
least, in point of nimbleness and leaping,
she would get the better of a
professed rope-dancer.—In good faith,
my Lady Duchess, she skipped from
the ground upon her ass, like a perfect
cat.’—‘What! have you seen her
inchanted, Sancho?’ said the duke.
‘How! I seen her?’ replied the squire:
‘who the devil but I was the first that
fell upon the plot of the inchantment:
to be sure she was as much inchanted
as my father.’

The ecclesiastick hearing them talk
of giants, felons, and inchantments,
began to imagine that this must be the
Don Quixote de La Mancha, whose
history the duke took such delight in
reading, that he had often reprehended
his grace for being so mad as to read
such nonsense; and being now confirmed
in his suspicion, he said to the duke,
in a very cholerick tone, ‘Signior, your
excellency is accountable to Heaven
for the actions of that poor man.
That Don Quixote, or Don Driveller,
or what’s his name, would not, I
imagine, be such a fool, if your excellency
did not administer fuel and
encouragement to his madness and
folly.’ Then addressing himself to
the knight, ‘And pray, Mr. Wiseacre,’
said he, ‘who has stuffed your brain
with the ridiculous conceit of your
being a knight-errant, conquering
giants, and apprehending robbers?
Return, in good hour, (for in good
hour I advise you) return to your own
house, educate your children, if you
have any, take care of your own
concerns, and leave off strolling about
the country, sucking the wind, and
exposing yourself to the laughter of
those who do, and those who do not,
// File: 0703.png
.pn +1
know your infirmity. Where, in
evil hour, did you find that there are,
or ever were, knights-errant? Where
did you ever see giants in Spain, caitiffs
in La Mancha, or inchanted Dulcineas,
with all that tribe of absurdities
that are recounted as your adventures?’

Don Quixote, who listened attentively
to the discourse of this venerable person,
no sooner perceived he had left off
speaking, than forgetting the respect he
owed the duke and duchess, he started
up, and with ireful aspect and glowing
visage, replied——But the reply deserves
a chapter for itself.
.sp 4
.h4 id=chap3-2-15
<abbr=chapter>CHAP.</abbr> <abbr=fifteen>XV.</abbr> | CONTAINING DON QUIXOTE’S REPLY TO HIS REPROVER;| WITH OTHER SERIOUS AND DIVERTING INCIDENTS.
.sp 2
Don Quixote starting up, and trembling
from head to foot, like
quicksilver, thus accosted the ecclesiastick,
with an eager, yet faultering
tongue: ‘The place and presence in
which I am, and the respect which I
always had and still have for the function
you profess, withold and tie up
the hands of my just resentment; for
these reasons, as well as because I
know what all the world knows, that
gownmen and women make use of no
weapons but their tongues, I will,
with mine, fairly engage your reverence,
of whom I might have expected
good advice, rather than infamous
reproach; as wholesome and well-meant
reproof requires far other circumstances,
and ought to be conveyed
in gentler terms: at least, a rebuke in
publick, delivered with such asperity,
has exceeded all the bounds of Christian
reprehension, the beginning of
which ought to be mild rather than
severe; nor is it just to call the delinquent
in plain terms, a wiseacre and
a fool, without knowing the nature
of the fault for which he is reprehensible.
But, pray tell me, reverend
Signior, for which of the absurdities
you have noted in my behaviour, do
you condemn and reproach me, bidding
me return to my own house, to
take care of my family, my wife and
// File: 0704.png
children, without knowing whether
I have either wife or children? What
then! is there nothing required but
to enter a house at random, in order
to lead the master by the nose; and
shall a narrow-minded pedant, on the
strength of having taught a few pupils
to read Latin, though he has
seen no more of the world than what
may be contained in twenty or thirty
leagues of district, presume abruptly,
without permission, to give laws to
chivalry, and judge of knights-errant?
Is it a vain undertaking then,
or is the time misspent, which we employ
in travelling about the world,
not in quest of its delights, but its
adversities, by which good men ascend
the throne of immortality? Had I been
counted a fool by knights, or people
of fashion, birth, or generosity, I
should have deemed myself irreparably
affronted; but my being regarded as
a madman by book-worms who never
entered or trod the paths of chivalry,
I value not a farthing; a knight I
am, and a knight I shall die according
to the pleasure of the Almighty.
Some chuse the spacious field of proud
ambition; others take that of base and
servile adulation; a third set follow
the paths of deceitful hypocrisy; and
a fourth proceed in that of true religion;
but I, by the influence of my
stars, pursue the narrow track of
knight-errantry, for the exercise of
which, I undervalue fortune in the
chace of honour. I have assisted the
aggrieved, redressed wrongs, chastised
the insolent, overcome giants, and
overthrown hobgoblins. I am enamoured,
for no other reason but because
it is necessary that knights-errant
should be in love; and this being
the case, I am not a vicious libertine,
but a chaste platonick admirer. My
intention I always direct to a worthy
aim, namely, to do good unto all men,
and harm to no creature.—Whether
or not he who thinks, acts, and speaks
in this manner, deserves to be called
a fool, let your graces determine?’

‘Well argued, master!’ cried Sancho:
’‘Fore God! your worship needs
say no more in behalf of your
own character; for there is no
more to be said, thought, or insisted
upon; especially as that gentleman
denies, and he certainly has denied,
// File: 0705.png
.pn +1
that there either are, or ever were,
knights-errant in this world; so that
he knows nothing at all of the matter!’—‘Brother,’
replied the priest,
‘belike you are that Sancho Panza, to
whom they say your master has promised
an island?’—‘Yes, I am,’ said
the squire, ‘and I hope I deserve it as
well as another. I am one of whom
you may say, Keep good company,
and you’ll learn good manners; and,
I ask not where you was hatched, but
where you was watched. And again,
Well sheltered shall he be, who leans
against a sturdy tree. Now I have
leaned against a good master, and accompanied
him many months, and
will learn to be just such another as
himself; and if God pleases, and he
live and I live, he will not want governments
to give, nor I islands to
govern.’—‘No, surely, friend Sancho,’
said the duke, ‘for I myself,
in the name of Signior Don Quixote,
will confer upon you the government
of an odd island, and that not inconsiderable,
which is in my possession.’—‘Fall
upon your knees, Sancho,’
cried Don Quixote, ‘and kiss his excellency’s
feet, for the honour he has
done you.’ Sancho did as he was
desired: and the ecclesiastick no sooner
saw the ceremony performed, than he
rose from table in a violent passion,
saying, ‘By the habit which I wear,
I affirm, that your excellency is as
mad as these poor sinners: what
wonder that they should be frantick,
when people who are in their senses
canonize their phrenzy! Your excellency
may enjoy their company by
yourself; for while they remain in
this house, I shall stay in my own,
and excuse myself from reproving
what I cannot remedy.’ Without
farther speech, or eating another mouthful,
he went away abruptly, in spite
of all their graces could say to detain
him. Indeed the duke said not much;
for he was hindered by the laughter
which the priest’s impertinent indignation
had produced; however, as soon
as he could resume his gravity, he addressed
himself to Don Quixote in these
words.

‘Sir Knight of the Lions, your
worship has made such an ample reply,
that nothing farther remains to
be done, by way of satisfaction for
that, which though it may seem an
// File: 0706.png
affront, falls by no means under that
denomination; for neither the female
sex nor the clergy, can give affronts,
as your worship so very well knows.’—‘Undoubtedly,’
answered the knight;
‘and the reason is, because those persons
who cannot receive, are not capable
of giving an affront. Women,
children, and ecclesiasticks, as they
cannot defend themselves when attacked,
so neither can they be affronted:
for there is this difference between
an injury and affront, as your excellency
well knows; an affront
comes from a person who is capable
of giving an affront, and when it is
given, maintains it; whereas, an injury
may come from any quarter, unattended
by an affront. For example,
a man walking carelessly in the street,
is assaulted and cudgelled by ten
armed persons, against whom he draws
his sword, and behaves like a man of
honour; but he is overpowered by
the number of his antagonists,
and prevented from executing his
intention, which is to revenge the
wrong; this man is injured, not
affronted. A truth which we will
confirm by another example: A man
comes and strikes another, whose
back is turned, and then betakes
himself to his heels; and the other
pursues, though he cannot overtake
the fugitive. The man so struck
received an injury, but no affront,
because an affront ought to be maintained.
If he who gave the blow,
though it was done by stealth, in a
cowardly manner, had drawn his
sword, and stood facing the enemy,
he who received the blow would have
been both injured and affronted:
injured, because he was surprized; and
affronted, because he who gave the
blow maintained it by keeping his
ground. And therefore, according
to the punctilios of honour, I may
be injured but not affronted; for women
and children do not feel those
things; they can neither fly nor stand
their ground: and the same rule holds
good with those who are consecrated
to the service of religion. Now these
three classes of mankind are destitute
of offensive and defensive weapons;
and though nature obliges them to
stand in their own defence, yet they
can offend nobody: and albeit I
just now said I might be injured, I
// File: 0707.png
.pn +1
now affirm it cannot be in any shape;
for he who cannot receive, much less
can he give an affront. For which
reasons I ought not to resent, nor do
I resent, the reproaches of that honest
man; I only wish he had staid a
little, until I should have convinced
him of his error, in thinking and
saying, there never were, nor are,
knights-errant upon the face of the
earth; an asseveration which might
have turned to his prejudice, had it
been overheard by Amadis, or any
one of his infinite progeny.’—‘I’ll
take my corporal oath,’ cried Sancho,
‘that they would have given a back-stroke
that would have laid him open
from top to toe, like a pomegranate
or ripe melon: they were a rare set
to endure such tickling. By my
holy-dame! I am well assured, that if
Reynaldos of Montalvan had heard
this manikin’s discourse, he would
have given him such a slap in the
mouth, that he should not have spoke
another word in three long years.
No, no! let him meddle with them,
and he’ll see how well he’ll escape out
of their clutches.’ The duchess had
well-nigh died with laughing at this
speech of Sancho; who, in her sentiment,
was a more diverting madman
than his master, and a great many people
at that time were of the same way of
thinking.

Finally, Don Quixote was appeased,
dinner ended, and the cloth being taken
away, in came four damsels, one of
them with a silver ewer, another with a
flask of the same metal, a third with a
couple of very fine white towels over her
arm, and a fourth with her arms bare
up to the elbow, and in her white
hands, for doubtless they were white, a
wash ball of Neapolitan soap. She who
carried the ewer, approaching with a
genteel carriage, and modest assurance,
thrust it under the beard of Don Quixote,
who, without speaking one word,
wondered at this ceremony; from which
he concluded, that it was the custom of
the country to wash beards, instead of
hands: he therefore stretched out his
chin as far as he could, and immediately
the flask began to rain; the damsel
with the soap-ball lathered him with
great expedition, raising flakes of snow,
(for the suds were as white) not only
upon the beard, but also over the whole
face of the obedient knight, insomuch
// File: 0708.png
that he was obliged to shut his eyes in
their defence; while the duke and duchess,
who were not in the secret, sat
impatiently waiting to see the issue of
this ablution. The young she-barber
having raised the lather as high as her
hand, pretended the water was spent,
and bade the damsel of the flask go for
a fresh supply, and Signior Don Quixote
would have patience till her
return. He accordingly waited with
patience, exhibiting the strangest and
most ludicrous figure that ever was conceived,
to the view of numerous spectators,
who seeing half a yard of neck
more than moderately brown, two eyes
shut, and his beard covered with lather,
had need of great discretion to restrain
their laughter, and it was a wonder they
could smother it at any rate. As for
the damsels concerned in the joke, they
kept their eyes fixed on the ground,
without daring to look at the duke and
duchess, who were at once agitated by
mirth and indignation; and did not
know, whether they should resolve upon
chastising their presumption, or rewarding
them for the pleasure they received
in seeing the knight in such an
attitude. At length the damsel returning
with more water, they finished the
ablution of Don Quixote; then she who
carried the towels having wiped and
dried him with great composure, all
four at once made a most profound
curtsey, and were going away. But the
duke, fearing the knight would smell
the joke, called to the damsel of the
ewer, saying—‘Come hither, and wash
me too, and be sure you have water
enough.’ The girl being very handy
and acute, obeyed without hesitation,
placed the ewer under his grace’s chin,
and when he was well washed, lathered,
wiped, and dried, they dropped their
curtsies and retired. It was afterwards
known, the duke had sworn within himself,
that if they should have refused to
serve him in that manner, he would
have chastised them for their assurance;
but they prudently escaped a scouring,
by scouring his grace.

Sancho having attentively considered
this ceremony of cleansing—‘God’s
mercy!’ said he within himself, ‘is
it the custom in this country to wash
the squire’s beard as well as the
knight’s? For God and my own conscience
knows, I have need of such
purification; and if they would give
// File: 0709.png
.pn +1
me the touch of a razor, the benefit
would still be the greater.’—‘What
is that you mutter, Sancho?’ said the
duchess. ‘I say, my lady,’ answered
the squire, ‘I have always heard it said,
that in the courts of other princes,
when the cloth is taken away, water
for the hands is brought in, but not
suds for the beard; so that the longer
we live, the more we learn: yet it is
also observed, that he who lives much
time will bear much misfortune;
though to undergo such a purification
as this may pass for a pleasure rather
than a toil.’—‘Give yourself no concern,
friend Sancho,’ said the duchess,
‘for I will order my maids not only to
wash, but also to lay you a-bucking,
should it be necessary.’—‘I shall be
satisfied with the lathering of my
beard,’ replied the squire; ‘at least
for the present, and God will ordain
what is to happen in the sequel.’ The
duchess turning to the major-domo—‘Remember,’
said she, ‘what honest
Sancho desires, and gratify his inclination
with the utmost punctuality.’
This domestick promised that Signior
Sancho should be obeyed in all things;
and returning to dinner with the squire,
left their graces and Don Quixote sitting
at the table, discoursing on many
and various subjects, though all of them
related to chivalry and the exercise of
arms.

The duchess entreated the knight,
who seemed to possess such a tenacious
memory, to delineate and describe the
beauty and deportment of the Lady
Dulcinea del Toboso, who, she concluded,
from what fame had proclaimed
of her charms, must be the fairest creature,
not only in the whole world, but
even in La Mancha. Don Quixote
sighing, at her grace’s request—‘If,’
said he, ‘I could take out my heart,
and lay it before your highness in a
plate, upon this table, I should save
my tongue the trouble of saying what
is almost inconceivable, for in it your
excellency would see her picture at
full length: but why should I now
attempt to delineate and describe circumstantially
the particular charms of
the peerless Dulcinea? A burden
worthy of other shoulders than mine,
and a task which ought to employ the
pencils of Parrhasius, Timanthes,
and Apelles, together with the chissel
of Lysippus, to exhibit her image on
canvas, brass, and marble, as well as
the Ciceronian and Demosthenian
eloquence to sound her praise.’—‘What
does Signior Don Quixote
mean by Demosthenian,’ said the duchess,
‘which is a word I never heard
before in the whole course of my life.’—‘Demosthenian
eloquence,’ answered
the knight, ‘has the same signification
as the eloquence of Demosthenes, and
Ciceronian means that of Cicero; for
these two were the greatest orators in
the whole world.’—‘Certainly,’ said
the duke, ‘and you exposed yourself by
such an interrogation: nevertheless,
Signior Don Quixote would give us
infinite pleasure, could he be prevailed
upon to describe that beauty which,
even in a sketch or rough draught,
would certainly appear such as might
excite envy in the most beautiful women
of the creation.’—‘I would assuredly
comply with your grace’s desire,’
replied the knight, ‘were not
her idea blotted from my remembrance,
by the misfortune which hath
lately befallen her; a misfortune
which induces me to bewail rather
than describe her; for your highness
must observe, that when I went some
time ago to kiss her hands and receive
her benediction, consent, and
licence, for this my third sally, I
found her quite otherwise than I expected;
I found her enchanted and
transformed from a princess into a
country wench, from beauty into
deformity, from an angel into a dæmon,
from a delicious perfume into
a pestilential vapour, from the pink of
compliment into the most clownish
dialect, from light into darkness,
from a sedate young lady into a rustick
romp, and finally, from Dulcinea del
Toboso into a Sayago[#] drab.’—‘God
protect us!’ cried the duke with a
loud voice, ‘who can have done such
mischief to the world, in robbing it
of that beauty by which it was delighted,
that good humour by which
it was entertained, and that modesty
which did it honour?’—‘Who?’ answered
the knight; ‘who could it be,
but one of the malignant and envious
// File: 0710.png
.pn +1
tribe of enchanters, by whom I am
persecuted? That accursed race,
brought into the world on purpose to
obscure and annihilate the exploits of
the good, and to illustrate and extol
the deeds of the wicked. Persecuted
I have been by enchanters, persecuted
I am by enchanters, and enchanters
will persecute me, until I and all my
lofty feats of chivalry are plunged into
the abyss of oblivion: nay, they
injure and wound me in that part
where they know my feeling is most
acute; for to deprive a knight-errant
of his mistress, is to rob him of
the eyes with which he sees, the sun
by which he is enlightened, and the
support by which he is maintained.
I have many times said, and now I
repeat the observation, that a knight-errant
without a mistress, is like a tree
without leaves, a building without
cement, and a shadow without the
substance by which it is produced.’

‘There is no more to be said,’ replied
the duchess; ‘nevertheless, if we
are to believe the history of Signior
Don Quixote, which has lately been
ushered into the world, with the general
applause of the different nations
that compose it, we must conclude (if
I right remember) that your worship
never saw the Lady Dulcinea, and
that there is no such person in being;
but that it is only a fantastical mistress,
begot and born in your imagination,
which hath decked her with
all the graces and perfection that fancy
could conceive.’—‘Much may be
said on that subject,’ answered Don
Quixote; ‘God knows whether or
not there is such a person as Dulcinea
in the world, whether she is fantastical
or not fantastical; for these things are
not to be too nicely investigated: for
my own part, I neither begat nor bore
my mistress, although I contemplate
her with that admiration which is due
to a lady, in whom are concentered
those qualities that ought to render
her renowned throughout the whole
world, such as beauty without blemish,
gravity without pride, tenderness with
chastity, affability from courtesy,
courtesy from good-breeding; and,
finally, dignity from birth, because
nobleness of blood reflects an additional
splendor upon beauty, and
shews it to greater perfection than that
which we find, among the fairest of
// File: 0711.png
those who are meanly born.’—‘Your
observation is extremely just,’ said
the duke: ‘but Signior Don Quixote
must give me leave to mention what
the history of his adventures, which I
have read, obliges me to declare;
namely, that though we grant there
may be a Dulcinea, either in or out
of Toboso, and that she may be
beautiful to excess, as your worship
has described her, yet, in respect to
pedigree, she is by no means on a
footing with the Orianas, the Alastrajareas,
Madasimas, together with
the rest of that class, which occurs so
often in those histories that are so familiar
to your worship.’

‘To that observation I can answer,’
said the knight, ‘that Dulcinea is the
daughter of her own works; that
good qualities ennoble the blood, and
that a virtuous person of low descent
ought to be more esteemed than a vicious
man of high degree; especially
as Dulcinea possesses qualifications
which may raise her to the throne of
a crowned and sceptered queen; for
the merit of a virtuous and beautiful
woman is sufficient to work still
greater miracles, and virtually, though
not formally, contains within itself
still greater advantages.’—‘Signior
Don Quixote,’ said the duchess, ‘every
thing you say is spoken with deliberation,
and, according to the proverb,
you proceed with the plummet in your
hand: henceforth I shall firmly believe,
and make my whole family,
even the duke himself, should there be
occasion, believe, that Dulcinea is
living at this day in Toboso; that she
is beautiful, high born, and in all respects
worthy to be served and admired
by such a knight as Signior
Don Quixote; and that is the highest
compliment that can be bestowed.
But I cannot help forming a scruple,
and entertaining a kind of grudge
against Sancho Panza: the scruple
arises from a particular of the history,
importing, that the said Sancho found
the Lady Dulcinea winnowing a sack
of wheat, when he carried a letter to
her from your worship, by the same
token it is said to have been red
wheat; a circumstance that makes
me doubt the nobleness of her pedigree.’

To this remark Don Quixote replied—‘Madam,
your highness must know
// File: 0712.png
.pn +1
that all or the greatest part of the incidents
that happen to me, deviate
from the ordinary limits of those adventures
which occur to other knights-errant,
either conduced by the inscrutable
will of destiny, or effected by
the malice of some envious enchanter;
and it is a circumstance well known
of all or the greatest part of renowned
knights-errant, that one possessed the
virtue of being proof against enchantment,
another of being invulnerable,
which was the case of the famous Orlando,
one of the Twelve Peers of
France, who, as it is recorded, could
not be wounded in any other place but
the sole of his left foot, and even there,
with no other weapon than the point
of a large pin; so that Bernardo del
Carpio, who slew him at the battle of
Roncesvalles, perceiving that he could
make no impression upon him with
steel, lifted him off the ground, and
strangled him between his arms, in
imitation of the manner in which
Hercules destroyed Anteus, that ferocious
giant said to be the son of
Earth. What I would infer from
what I have said, is, that I too may
have some of these virtues centered
in my person, though not that of
being invulnerable, for I have been
frequently convinced by experience,
that my flesh is very tender, and by
no means impenetrable; nor that of
being proof against enchantment, for
I once found myself cooped up in a
cage, in which the whole world would
not have had strength enough to inclose
me, without the additional power
of enchantment; but since I freed
myself from that confinement, I am
apt to believe that no other will ever
interrupt the course of my adventures;
and, therefore, those enchanters,
seeing that their wicked arts will
not take effect upon my own person,
revenge themselves on those things
to which my affection is chiefly attached,
and endeavour to deprive me
of life, by persecuting that of Dulcinea,
for whom alone I live. I
therefore am persuaded, that when my
squire delivered my message, they had
converted her into a coarse country
wench, employed in such a mean exercise
as that of winnowing wheat:
but I have already said, that it could
not be red wheat, nor indeed any sort
// File: 0713.png
of wheat, but oriental pearls; and as
a proof of this asseveration, I must
tell your highnesses, that when I lately
went to Toboso, I could by no means
find Dulcinea’s palace; and the day
following, while my squire Sancho beheld
her in her own figure, which is
the fairest in the whole world, to me
she seemed a rustick and homely country
wench, without any thing sensible in
her conversation; whereas she is in fact
the very pink of discretion and good
sense. Now, since I myself neither am,
nor, in all probability, can be enchanted,
she is the person enchanted, offended,
changed, perverted, and transformed,
and in her my enemies have
taken vengeance upon me; so that, for
her, I shall live in perpetual affliction,
until I see her restored to her former
state; all this I have observed, that
nobody may scruple about what Sancho
said of her sifting and winnowing;
for, since they have transformed her in
my view, no wonder they should change
her form in his. Dulcinea is a person
of birth and fashion, one of the genteel
families of Toboso, which are
very numerous, ancient and noble; and
certainly no small part of these qualifications
falls to the share of the peerless
Dulcinea, on whose account the
place of her nativity will become famous
and renowned in future ages,
as Troy is become famous by Helen,
and Spain by Cava, though with a
better title and nobler fame. On the
other hand, I must inform your graces,
that Sancho Panza is one of the most
pleasant squires that ever served a
knight-errant: sometimes his simplicity
is so arch, that to consider whether
he is more fool or wag, yields abundance
of pleasure; he hath roguery
enough to pass for a knave, and absurdities
sufficient to confirm him a
fool; he doubts every thing, and believes
every thing; and often, when
I think, he is going to discharge nonsense,
he will utter apophthegms that
will raise him to the skies; in a word,
I would not exchange him for any
other squire, even with a city to boot;
and therefore I am in doubt whether
or not it will be expedient to send him
to that government which your grace
has been so good as to bestow upon
him; although I can perceive in him
a certain aptitude for such an office;
// File: 0714.png
.pn +1
so that, when his understanding is a
very little polished, he will agree with
any government, like the king with
his customs; for we know by repeated
experience, that great talents and
learning are not necessary in a governor,
as there are a hundred at least,
who govern like <i>jerfaulcons</i>, though
they can hardly read their mother
tongue; provided their intention is
righteous, and their desire to do justice,
they will never want counsellors
to direct them in every transaction,
like your military governors, who
being illiterate themselves, never decide
without the advice of an assessor.
I shall advise him corruption to eschew,
but never quit his due: and inculcate
some other small matters that are in my
head, which, in process of time, may
redound to his own interest, as well as
to the advantage of the island under
his command.’

Thus far the conversation had proceeded
between their graces and Don
Quixote, when they heard a number of
people talking, and a great noise in the
palace, and presently Sancho entered
the hall in a fright, tucked with a dish-clout
by way of bib, and followed by
several boys, or rather scullions and
other small gentry, one of whom brought
a tray full of water, which, by its colour
and filth, appeared to be dish-washings,
pursuing and persecuting the poor
squire, and struggling to thrust it under
his chin; while another, with the same
earnestness, endeavoured to lather his
beard. ‘What is the matter, fellows?’
cried the duchess, ‘what is the matter?
What designs have you upon that
worthy gentleman? Hah! don’t you
consider he is governor elect?’ To
this apostrophe, the barber scullion replied—‘The
gentleman won’t suffer
himself to be washed according to the
custom and manner practised upon my
Lord Duke and his own master.’—‘Yes,
I will,’ cried Sancho in a violent
passion, ‘but it must be with whiter
towels, clearer suds, and cleaner
hands; for surely there is not such a
difference between me and my master,
as that he should be washed with
angel water, and I drenched with
devil’s lye. The customs of different
countries, and the fashions of princely
courts, are no farther good than as
they are agreeable; but this here
custom of lathering is worse than the
exercise of disciplinants[#]. My beard
is clean enough, and needs no such
scrubbing; and if any man pretends
to lather me, or touch a hair of my
head, (my beard I mean) saving this
honourable presence, I’ll drive my
fist in his scull; for these ceremonies
of soap scouring look rather like
making game than making welcome.’
The duchess was ready to
burst with laughing at the rage and remonstrance
of Sancho: but Don Quixote
was not extremely well pleased, to
see his squire tucked up with such a dirty
cloth, and surrounded with so many
sons of the kitchen; he therefore,
making a low bow to the duke and
duchess, by way of asking their permission
to speak, thus addressed himself
to the scullions, in a solemn tone—‘So
ho, you gentlemen cavaliers! I desire
your worships will let the young man
alone, and return to the place from
whence you came, or go whithersoever
you please; my squire is as
cleanly as another, and those trays
are as unfit for him as a narrow-necked
bottle: take my advice, therefore,
and let him alone; for neither he nor
I understand such impertinent jokes.’
Here Sancho, taking the word out of
his master’s mouth, proceeded, saying—‘No,
no, let them perform their clumsy
joke, which I shall bear as sure as
it is now night! let them fetch a
comb, or what they will, to curry this
beard, and if they catch any thing that
should give offence to cleanliness,
they shall shear me against the hair.’

At this period, the duchess still laughing—‘Sancho
// File: 0715.png
.pn +1
Panza,’ said she, ‘is
certainly in the right in all that he
has said, and will be in the right in
all that he shall say; he is already
clean enough, and as he observes, has
no occasion to be washed; and if he
does not like the custom of the place,
he shall follow his own inclination[#];
besides, you ministers of cleanliness
have been extremely remiss and negligent,
not to say presumptuous, in
bringing to such a personage and
such a beard, trays, wooden troughs,
and dishclouts, instead of ewers and
golden basons, and towels of the
finest holland: but the case is, you are
base-born miscreants, and like caitiffs
as you are, cannot forbear shewing
the grudge you bear to the squires of
knights errant.’ The whole scullion
ministry, as well as the major-domo,
who came in with them, believed
her grace was actually in earnest, and
sneaked away in great shame and confusion,
after having untied the dishclout
from the neck of Sancho, who seeing
himself delivered from that imminent
danger, went and fell upon his knees
before the duchess, saying—‘From great
ladies great benefits are expected; and
this that I have now received from
your grace, I can in no other shape
repay, than in wishing I were dubbed
a knight-errant, that I might
spend all the days of my life in the
service of such a noble and exalted
lady; a peasant I am, and Sancho
Panza by name, with a wife and family,
and serve in quality of a squire;
and if in any of these respects I can
serve your highness, I shall be more
speedy in obeying than your grace in
laying your commands.’—‘Sancho,’
replied the duchess, ‘it plainly appears
that you have learned politeness
in the school of courtesy itself; I say,
it plainly appears, that you have been
bred up at the feet of Don Quixote,
who is the cream of compliment, and
flower of ceremony, or, as you term
it, Sarah-money: long life and prosperity
to such a master and such a
pupil; one the north-pole of knight-errantry,
and the other the very star
of squirish fidelity. Rise, friend Sancho,
and I will remunerate your politeness,
by prevailing upon my Lord
Duke to perform his promise of the
government with all possible dispatch.’

Here the conversation being broke off,
the knight retired to take his afternoon’s
nap[#], and the duchess desired Sancho,
if he was not very much disposed to
sleep, to go and pass the evening with
her and her women, in a very cool and
pleasant apartment. Sancho told her,
that although it was really his custom
to sleep for four or five hours every afternoon
in the heat of summer, yet,
for the satisfaction of her grace’s goodness,
he would that day strive, with all
his might, to keep himself awake, and
obey her commands in all things: he accordingly
attended her steps; while the
duke gave fresh directions for treating
Don Quixote as a real knight-errant,
without deviating one tittle from the
stile in which the ancient knights are
said to have been entertained.

END OF BOOK II. PART II.

.fn #
Sayago is a district in the kingdom of Leon, the inhabitants of which were extremely
poor, and very meanly cloathed.
.fn-

.fn #
In Spain and Italy there is, upon every Holy Thursday, a procession of disciplinants, or
people who do penance in sackcloth, carrying a flambeau in one hand, and in the other a
scourge, with which they belabour their own shoulders, in such a manner, that the very
street is sometimes coloured with their blood: some of these disciplinants, however, are
mere hypocrites, who under their sackcloth wear women’s stay’s, buff jackets, and even
plates of tin; so that they are often detected from the sound of the stroke: and at Rome
nothing is more common than to hear the people who accompany these devotees, call out,
according to the report of the application, ‘<lang=it><i>Guipponi di Buffalo!—Busti di Donna!</i></lang> and
<lang=it><i>Corrazini di Latta!</i></lang>’
.fn-

.fn #
<lang=es>‘<i>Su alma en su palma.</i>’</lang> The original expression literally signifies, ‘His soul is in
his hand,’ <abbr rend=spell>i. e.</abbr> ‘He is at his own discretion.’
.fn-

.fn #
In Spain the people always retire after dinner, and sleep till six o’clock, whence
the afternoon’s nap is called <lang=es><i>siesta</i></lang>.
.fn-
// File: 0716.png
// File: 0717.png
// File: 0718.png
.pn +1
.sp 4
.h3 id=book3-3
BOOK <abbr=three>III.</abbr>
.sp 2
.h4 id=chap3-3-1
<abbr=chapter>CHAP.</abbr> <abbr=one>I.</abbr> | OF THE PLEASANT CONVERSATION THAT PASSED BETWEEN THE DUCHESS,| HER WOMEN, AND SANCHO PANZA;| WORTHY TO BE READ AND REMEMBERED.
.sp 2
The history then relates,
that Sancho did not sleep
that afternoon; but, according
to his promise,
went, eating all the way,
into the apartment of the
duchess, who took great delight in hearing
his conversation, and desired him
to sit close by her on a joint-stool,
though the squire, out of pure good-breeding,
begged to be excused; but
her grace told him, he should sit as governor,
and speak as squire, for in
both capacities he deserved the individual
seat of the champion Cid Roy
Dias.

.if h
.il fn=plate-vii.jpg id=plate7 w=60% alt="
.ca Plate VII: Sancho Panza and the Duchess and Her Ladies.
.if-
.if t
[Illustration: Sancho Panza and the Duchess and Her Ladies.]
.if-
.sp 2

Sancho, shrugging up his shoulders,
obeyed and took his place, surrounded
by all the damsels and duennas, who
listened with profound silence and attention.
Nevertheless, the duchess was
the first who began the discourse, saying—‘Now
that we are by ourselves,
unheard by any body, I must entreat
Mr. Governor, to resolve certain
doubts of mine, produced by the
printed history of the great Don Quixote;
one of which doubts is this:
as honest Sancho never saw Dulcinea,
I mean, the Lady Dulcinea del Toboso,
nor conveyed to her the letter
of Signior Don Quixote, which remained
with the memorandum book
in Sierra Morena, how durst he feign
an answer, and pretend that he found
her winnowing wheat, a circumstance
altogether ridiculous and untrue, so
much to the prejudice of the peerless
Dulcinea’s reputation, and so ill becoming
the station and fidelity of a
trusty squire?’

Without making any immediate answer
to this interrogation, Sancho rose
from his seat, and moving softly on his
tiptoes, with his body bent, and a finger
on his lips, examined the whole
apartment, lifting up and looking behind
the tapestry; and this scrutiny being
made, returned to his stool, and replied—‘Now,
my Lady Duchess, that I
am assured there is no skulker listening,
and that we are not overheard
by any but this good company, I will,
without fear or trembling, answer all
the questions of your grace; and first
and foremost, I will own, I look upon
my master Don Quixote as an incurable
madman; although sometimes
he says things, which, to my thinking,
and in the opinion of all who
hear them, are so sensible and well-directed,
that even Satan himself could
// File: 0719.png
.pn +1
not mend them: nevertheless, I am
really and truly, and without any
scruple, fully persuaded within myself,
that he is downright distracted.
Now as I am possessed with this notion,
I venture to make him believe
any story, without either head or tail,
like that of the answer to his letter,
and another trick that I played him
six or eight days ago, which is not
yet recorded in the history; I mean,
the enchantment of Donna Dulcinea,
which I palmed upon him, though it
was a tale as wild and uncertain as
the hills of Ubeda[#].’

The duchess desired he would recount
that enchantment or deception; and he
accordingly related it exactly as it happened,
to the no small entertainment of
the hearers; but when he was about to
proceed in his discourse, her grace interposing,
said—‘From this recital of honest
Sancho, a scruple has started in
my mind, and whispers me in the ear,
since Don Quixote de La Mancha is so
lunatick, crazy, and mad, and his
squire Sancho Panza, who knows his
infirmity, nevertheless serves and follows
him, and even depends upon his
vain promises; the said squire must,
without all doubt, be more crazy and
mad than his master; and if this be
the case, as it certainly is, it would
be no great sign of wisdom in you,
my Lady Duchess, to bestow an island
on such a governor; for how will
he be able to govern other people,
who cannot govern himself?’

‘’Fore God, my lady,’ cried the
squire, ‘your scruple starts in the right
place; and I beg your ladyship will
let it speak out in its own way, for
I know it speaks truth. Had I been
wise, I should have left my master
long ago; but this was my fate and
my misventure: I cannot do otherwise,
but follow him I must. We
are of the same town; I have eaten
of his bread; I have an affection for
him; he returns me his love, and has
given me his colts; but, above all,
I am constant and faithful, and therefore
nothing can possibly part us but
the sexton’s shovel. If your highness
does not chuse to perform your
promise of the island, God made me
of a less matter, and perhaps your
refusal may turn out to the ease of my
conscience; for maugre all my madness,
I understand the proverb that
says, The pismire found wings to her
sorrow: and perhaps Sancho the
Squire may get sooner to heaven than
Governor Sancho; There’s as good
bread baked here as in France; and
By night all cats are grey; and
sure, The man his lot may rue, who
has not broke his fast by two; Between
man and man the maw cannot
differ a span; and, as the saying is,
With hay or with straw we’ll fill up
the craw; The little birds of the field
have God for their steward and shield;
Four yards of coarse Cuenca stuff are
warmer than as much of fine Segovia
serge; When we leave this world and
are laid in the ground, the Lord goes
in as narrow a path as his labourer;
and, The pope’s body takes up no more
room than the sexton’s; for though
the one be higher than the other,
When we go to the pit, we must lie
snug, and make it fit; or, We shall be
obliged to find room, though scanty
is the tomb: and so good night.
Wherefore, I say again, if your
grace will not give me the island,
because I’m a fool, I shall be so wise
as not to break my heart at the disappointment;
and I have often heard,
that the devil skulks behind the cross;
It is not all gold that glitters; and
that, From his oxen, his yokes, and
his ploughs, Bamba the husbandman
was raised to the throne of Spain; and
that from his riches, pastime, and
embroidery, Rodorigo was taken to
be devoured by serpents, if the rhimes
of old ballads do not lye.’

Here Donna Rodriguez the duenna,
who was one of the hearers, interposing,
‘Wherefore should they lye?’ said she,
‘for the ballad says as how they thrust
King Rodorigo all alive into a tomb
full of toads, lizards, and snakes;
and two days after, he was heard to
cry with a weak and doleful voice,
“Now they eat me! now they gnaw
the part in which I sinned so heinously!”
And therefore the gentleman
// File: 0720.png
.pn +1
is in the right to say he would
rather be a husbandman than a king,
to be devoured by vermin.’

The duchess could neither help
laughing at the simplicity of her duenna,
nor admiring the discourse and proverbs
of Sancho, to whom she replied—‘Honest
Sancho very well knows
whatsoever a knight promises must be
fulfilled, even though it should cost
him his life; now, my lord and husband
the duke, though no errant, is,
nevertheless, a knight; and therefore
will perform his promise of the island,
in spite of all the envy and malice of
the world; let Sancho, then, be of
good cheer; for when he least thinks
of the matter, he will see himself
seated in the saddle of his island and
dominion, and grasp his government,
which he would not exchange for one
of superfine brocade; but I charge
him to mind how he governs his
vassals, who, I give him notice, are
all people of honest parents and approved
loyalty.’

‘With respect to their being happy
under my government,’ said the squire,
‘you need not give me any thing in
charge; for I am naturally charitable
and compassionate towards the poor;
and, From him who can knead and
bake, it is not easy to steal a cake.
By my salvation, they shall not pass
false dice upon me! I am an old dog,
not to be taken in with, “Come hither,
poor Tray[#].” I know how to snuff
my peepers upon proper occasions;
nor will I consent to walk with cobwebs
in my eyes; for I know where
the shoe pinches. This I observe,
because the righteous shall always
have the benefit of my heart and
hand, but the wicked shall have neither
foot nor footing. In my opinion,
every governor must have a beginning
in the art and mystery of government,
and perhaps, in a fortnight’s administration,
I shall lick my fingers after
the office, and know as much of
the matter as I do of day-labour, to
which I was bred.’

‘Sancho,’ said the duchess, ‘you are
certainly in the right; for no man
was ever a scholar at his birth; and
bishops are made of men, and not of
blocks, but to return to our former
discourse about the inchantment of
the Lady Dulcinea; I take it for an
absolute certainty, and not a bare asseveration,
that Sancho’s scheme of
deceiving his master, and making him
believe that the country wench was
Dulcinea, whom the knight could
not know, because she was inchanted;
I say, this scheme was altogether
the invention of one of those inchanters
who persecute Don Quixote; for I
know, from very good authority, that
the village maiden who skipped upon
the ass, was really and truly the individual
Dulcinea del Toboso; and
that Sancho, in thinking himself the
deceiver, was, in fast, the person deceived:
a truth of which we ought
no more to doubt, than of things we
never saw; for Signior Sancho Panza
must know, that here also we have
friendly inchanters, who, out of real
regard, impart to us every thing that
passes, truly and distinctly, without
circumlocution or deceit; and therefore,
Sancho may believe me, when
I affirm, that the jumping wench
was, and is, Dulcinea del Toboso,
who is as much inchanted as the mother
that bore her; and when we
dream of no such thing, we shall see
her in her own shape, and then Sancho
will be undeceived.’

‘There is nothing more likely,’ cried
the squire; ‘and now I am apt to believe
my master’s account of the cave
of Montesinos, where he saw my
Lady Dulcinea del Toboso, dressed in
the same manner that I described,
when I inchanted her for my own
amusement. Now, the whole affair
must have been quite the reverse, as
your ladyship observes; for it cannot
be supposed that my ignorant pate
could contrive, in an instant, such an
ingenious stratagem; nor can I think
my master such a fool, as upon my
weak and meagre persuasion, to believe
such an improbable device; but
for all that, my lady, your goodness
ought not to take me for an evil-minded
person, seeing a blockhead,
like me, is not obliged to bore into
the designs and knavery of abominable
inchanters. I contrived the scheme,
in order to escape the displeasure of
my master Don Quixote, and not
// File: 0721.png
.pn +1
with any design to do him hurt; and
if it has turned out otherwise, there’s
a Judge in heaven who knows the
heart.’—‘Very true,’ answered the
duchess; ‘but tell me now, Sancho,
the story of the cave of Montesinos,
which I shall be extremely glad to
hear.’

Then Sancho Panza recounted every
circumstance of that adventure, as it
hath been already related; and her
grace having heard the whole—‘From
this incident,’ said she, ‘we may infer,
that since the great Don Quixote
says he beheld in that place the same
country wench whom Sancho saw in
the neighbourhood of Toboso, it
could be no other than Dulcinea,
and that the inchanters of this country
are very officious, and extremely
curious.’—‘This I will venture to
say,’ replied Panza, ‘that if my Lady
Dulcinea del Toboso is really inchanted,
’tis her own loss, and that it
is no business of mine to enter the
lists with my master’s enemies, who
are certainly both wicked and numerous.
True it is, she I saw was a
country-wench, for such I took her,
and such I judged her to be. If that
was Dulcinea, it ought not to be laid
to my charge, nor am I to be blackened
for that reason; yet I must be
lugged in, at every bawdy house
bench, with “Sancho said this; Sancho
did that; Sancho went, and
Sancho came!” as if Sancho were
just such as they would please to make
him, and not the very same Sancho
Panza who has already travelled all
the world over in books, as I have
been informed by Samson Carrasco,
who is, at least, a batcheleering person
of Salamanca; and such people
cannot tell an untruth, except
when it comes into their heads, or
will turn to their account; wherefore,
nobody has any right to meddle with
me; and seeing I live in good repute,
and I have heard my master say, A
good name is better than tons of
wealth, even shove me into this government,
and they shall see marvellous
things; for he who has been a
good squire, will never become a bad
governor.’

‘All that honest Sancho has uttered,’
said the duchess, ‘is Catonian wisdom,
or at least the very essence of Michael
Verino[#], <lang=la><i>Florentibus occidit annis</i></lang>. In
a word, to speak in his own stile, A
good drinker is often found under a
rusty cloak.’—‘In sober truth, my
Lady,’ answered Sancho, ‘I never in
my life drank out of malice; from
thirst I might, for I have not the least
spice of hypocrisy in my belly; I
drink when I chuse it, and even when
I would rather be excused, because I
am desired so to do, that I may not
seem shy or ill-bred; for sure he must
have an heart of marble who can refuse
to pledge a friend; for though I
put on my shoes, I will not defile
them; especially, as the squires of
knights-errant usually drink water,
as they are always strolling through
forests, woods, and meadows, and over
rocks and mountains, without finding
the smallest charity of wine, even
though one should offer to purchase it
with an eye.’—‘I believe what you
say,’ answered the duchess: ‘at present
Sancho may go to rest; and we
shall afterwards talk more at large
upon these subjects, and take order
that with all convenient dispatch he
may be, to use his own words, shoved
into that same government.’

Sancho kissed his hands again, and
begged her grace would be so good as
to give directions about the entertainment
of Dapple, who was the light of
his eyes. When she asked, what he
meant by Dapple—‘My ass,’ replied
the squire, ‘whom, rather than use the
vulgar term, I call Dapple: when I
first came to the castle, I desired Madam
Duenna here to take care of
him; and truly she was as much
affronted as if I had called her ugly
and old; though I think it would
be more natural and proper for duennas
to look after cattle, than to
regulate rooms of state. God’s my
life! what a spite a gentleman of
our town had to these waiting-gentlewomen.’—‘He
must be some ill-bred
clown,’ said Donna Rodriguez
the duenna; ‘for had he been a gentleman
of birth, he would have exalted
them above the horns of the moon.’—‘Enough,
for the present,’ resumed
the duchess: ‘hold your tongue, Donna
// File: 0722.png
.pn +1
Rodriguez, and let Signior Panza
make himself perfectly easy, and leave
me to take special care of Dapple,
whom, as being a moveable appertaining
to Sancho, I will place him
above the apple of mine eye.’—‘The
stable is a place good enough for him,’
answered the squire; ‘for neither he
nor I are worthy of being placed for
one moment above the apple of your
highness’s eye; and I will as soon
consent to his being disposed of in
that manner, as I would to drive a
dagger in my breast; for although,
as my master says, in point of courtesy,
one ought to lose the game by a
card too much, rather than by a card
too little; in respect to asses, and the
apple of an eye, one ought to proceed
cautiously with the compass in his
hand, and measure as he goes.’

‘Sancho may conduct him to his government,’
said the duchess, ‘and there
entertain him to his heart’s content;
nay, even infranchise him from all
labour.’—‘Your grace, my Lady
Duchess, needs not think much of
that,’ replied the squire; ‘for I have
seen more than one or two asses go to
governments; and therefore it will
be no new practice if I carry Dapple
to mine.’

This remark renewed the laughter
and satisfaction of the duchess, who
having dismissed him to his repose, went
to communicate the conversation to the
duke; and this noble couple contrived
and gave directions about the execution
of a pleasant joke upon Don Quixote,
which should turn out a famous incident,
and be conformable in all respects
to the stile of chivalry; in which they
invented a number, with such propriety
and discretion, that they are counted
the best adventures contained in this important
history.

.fn #
This is an expression proverbially applied to any story that is vague, inconsistent, or of
dubious authority; for the hills of Ubeda make an extensive chain, the different parts of
which are differently denominated, from the different countries or districts through which it
extends; so that the whole is not easily ascertained.
.fn-

.fn #
In the original, ‘And thoroughly understand “<i>Tus, tus</i>”’; which is an expression in
Spain, to wheedle a cur.
.fn-

.fn #
A young Florentine, of great genius, who died in the seventeenth year of his age, and
was lamented by all the poets of his time.
.fn-
.sp 4
.h4 id=chap3-3-2
<abbr=chapter>CHAP.</abbr> <abbr=two>II.</abbr> | WHICH GIVES AN ACCOUNT OF THE INFORMATION RECEIVED,| TOUCHING THE MEANS FOR DISINCHANTING| THE PEERLESS DULCINEA DEL TOBOSO:| ONE OF THE MOST RENOWNED ADVENTURES OF THIS BOOK.
.sp 2
Great was the satisfaction
which the duke and duchess received
from the conversation of Don
// File: 0723.png
Quixote and Sancho Panza; and being
confirmed in their design of practising
some jokes, which should bear a faint
shadow and appearance of adventures,
they took the hint for a very extraordinary
contrivance, from the knight’s
account of what had happened to him
in the cave of Montesinos: but what
mostly excited the admiration of the
duchess, was the amazing simplicity of
Sancho, who was by this time brought
to believe, as an infallible truth, the
inchantment of Dulcinea, though he
himself was the only inchanter and projector
of that whole stratagem. Their
graces having given directions to the
servants, touching the execution of
the scheme they had laid, at the end
of six days they went forth to hunt
the wild boar, with as great an apparatus
of hunters and spearmen as used
to attend the king in person. Don
Quixote was presented with a hunting
suit, and Sancho received another of
superfine green cloth; but the knight
excused himself from accepting the
present, observing that, in a few days,
he should be obliged to resume the
rugged exercise of arms, and therefore
could not encumber himself with
baggage and wardrobes; as for the
squire, he took that which was
offered to him, without scruple, intending
to sell it with the first opportunity.

On the morning of the appointed
day, Don Quixote armed himself at all
points, Sancho put on his green suit,
and mounting Dapple, which he would
not exchange for the best steed in the
stable, mingled among the troop of
hunters: the duchess came forth very
gaily caparisoned, and the knight, out
of pure courtesy and good breeding,
would have held the reins of her palfrey;
but the duke would not consent
to his performing such an office. At
length they arrived at a wood, between
two very high mountains, where the disposition
being made, the toils set, and
the people distributed in their different
posts, the hunt began with a vast noise
of hallooing and crying, and nothing
could be distinctly heard for the barking
of the dogs and the sound of the
horns. The duchess alighted, and
with a pointed boar-spear in her hand,
took post in a place through which she
knew the wild beasts were used to come;
the duke and Don Quixote likewise dismounting,
// File: 0724.png
.pn +1
posted themselves on each
side of her grace, while Sancho stayed
in the rear, without parting from Dapple,
whom he durst not quit, lest some
misfortune should happen to that darling
beast.

Scarce had they set foot on ground,
and taken their stations, supported by
a number of servants, when they beheld
a monstrous boar baited by the dogs
and pursued by the hunters, running
towards them, gnashing his teeth and
tusks, and foaming at the mouth. The
knight no sooner perceived this savage,
than bracing his shield and unsheathing
his sword, he advanced to receive him;
while the duke did the same with his
boar-spear; but the duchess would have
been the foremost of the three, had
she not been restrained by her lord.
Sancho alone seeing this furious animal,
forsook his friend Dapple, and
running full speed, in order to climb a
lofty oak, found his endeavours altogether
ineffectual; for having surmounted
one half of the ascent, the branch
on which he stood struggling to gain
the top, unfortunately gave way, and
in falling, he was caught by another
stump of the tree, so that he hung
dangling in the air, without being able
to reach the ground. Perceiving himself
thus suspended, that his green suit
was torn, and supposing that if the wild
boar should come up, he would be
able to seize him as he hung, he began
to utter such doleful cries, and roar
so hideously for assistance, that all those
who heard his clamour, without
seeing his situation, actually believed
he was in the jaws of some savage
beast. At length the tusky boar being
pierced and killed by the number of
spears that opposed him, Don Quixote
turned about his head, in consequence
of Sancho’s cries, by which he recognized
his faithful squire, whom he saw
hanging from the oak, with his head
downwards, and hard by he perceived
Dapple, who did not forsake him in
his calamity: and Cid Hamet observes,
that he very seldom saw Sancho without
Dapple, or Dapple without Sancho,
such was the friendship and fidelity
subsisting between them. Don
Quixote immediately advanced and unhooked
Sancho; who finding himself
delivered, and fairly placed upon firm
ground, examined the rent in his hunting-suit,
which grieved him to the soul;
// File: 0725.png
for in that dress he thought he had obtained
an invaluable inheritance.

About this time they laid the mighty
boar across a sumpter mule, and covering
him with sprigs of myrtle and rosemary,
carried him in triumph, as the
spoils of victory, to a large field-tent,
pitched in the middle of the wood,
where they found the cloth ready laid,
and the table furnished with such a
grand and sumptuous entertainment as
well bespoke the wealth and magnificence
of the founder. Sancho presenting
to the duchess the skirts of his torn
suit—‘If,’ said he, ‘this had been
hare or sparrow-hunting, my coat
would have been secure from this unlucky
accident; for my own part,
I do not know what pleasure there
is in attacking an animal, which, if
he can once fasten his tusks on you,
will deprive you of life. I remember
to have heard people sing an old ballad,
that says—

.pm verse-start
‘“May bears upon thy carcase feed,
As erst on Fabila they did.”’
.pm verse-end

‘That was a Gothick king,’ said
Don Quixote, ‘who in going to the
chace, was devoured by a bear.’—‘That
is the very thing I say,’ replied
the squire, ‘I would not have kings
and noblemen run themselves into
such dangers, for the enjoyment of
a diversion which, in my opinion,
hardly deserves the name, as it consists
in murdering a poor beast that
never committed any crime.’—‘There,
Sancho, you are mistaken,’
said the duke, ‘for the exercise of
hunting wild-beasts is of all others
the most necessary and suitable to
kings and noblemen. The chace is
a picture of war, comprehending
schemes, feints, and stratagems, for
taking advantage of the enemy; by
this we are enabled to endure extreme
cold and excessive heat, to contemn
ease and undervalue sleep; our bodies
acquire strength, and our limbs
agility; in a word, it is an exercise
that affords pleasure to numbers, and
does prejudice to none; and what
renders it superior to all others is,
that it cannot be enjoyed by every
body, like all the other kinds of
sport, except hawking, which is also
peculiar to sovereigns and persons
of rank; you must therefore alter
// File: 0726.png
.pn +1
your opinion, Sancho, and when you
are governor, employ yourself in the
chace, which you will find of incredible
service.[#]’—‘Surely, that cannot
be,’ answered the squire; ‘a
good governor will stay at home, as
if he had a broken bone. It would
look rarely indeed, if, when people
fatigued with a journey, come to visit
him upon business, he should be
taking his diversion upon the hills;
in that case the government would go
to wreck. In good faith, my lord,
such pastime is more proper for idle
folks than for governors: I intend,
God willing, to amuse myself with a
game at cards at Easter, and with
nine pins on Sundays and holidays;
for as to these chaces or cases, they
neither suit my condition, nor agree
with my confidence.’—‘God grant
Sancho may behave as he says he
will,’ replied the duke; ‘but there is
a wide difference between saying and
doing.’—‘Let it be as wide as it
pleases,’ cried Sancho. ‘A good paymaster
needs no pawn; God’s blessing
is better than early rising; and,
The belly is carried by the feet, and
not the feet by the belly; I mean,
that with God’s assistance, and a
righteous intention, I shall certainly
be able to govern like any goshawk;
aye, aye, let them thrust their fingers
in my mouth, and they shall see
whether or no I can bite.’

‘The curse of God, and all his
saints, light on thee, accursed babbler!’
cried Don Quixote: ‘will that
day never come, as I have often said,
when I shall hear thee speak sensibly
and distinctly, without lugging in old
saws?—My Lord and Lady Duchess, I
entreat your graces to let that madman
alone; otherwise he will grind your
souls, not between two but two thousand
proverbs, dragged in as much
to the purpose, and as seasonably as I
wish God may give him health, or
me protection, if I desire to hear
them.’—‘The proverbs of Sancho
Panza,’ said the duchess, ‘though
more in number than those of the
Greek commentator, are not the less
to be esteemed for the conciseness of
the apophthegms. I can safely say
for myself, that they give me much
more pleasure than I should receive
from others, though better culled and
more suitable to the occasion.’

In the midst of this and other such
savoury conversation, they quitted the
tent, to examine some snares they had
laid; in which amusement the day was
soon elapsed, and was succeeded by the
night, which did not appear so serene
and composed as it might have been
expected at the season of the year, which
was midsummer, but along with it
came a certain <i>darkness visible</i>, which
greatly assisted the design of the duke
and duchess. When the night, therefore,
began to fall, a little after the twilight,
all of a sudden the four quarters
of the wood seemed to be on fire, and
here and there, and every where, they
heard an infinite number of cornets and
other warlike instruments, as if a great
number of cavalry had been marching
through the wood; so that the light of
the flames, and the sound of those warlike
instruments, dazzled and astonished
the eyes and ears of the bye-standers, and
indeed of all the people in the wood.
This noise was succeeded by innumerable
<i>lelilles</i>, or cries used by the Moors
in battle; the trumpets and clarions exalted
their brazen throats, the drums
rattled, and the fires resounded all together,
in such a continued and alarming
concert, that the man must have
been utterly devoid of all sense who did
not lose it in consequence of such confusion
and uproar. The duke was confounded,
the duchess amazed, Don
Quixote astonished, Sancho Panza affrighted;
and, finally, even those who
were let into the secret, seemed to be
seized with consternation, which produced
among them a most dreary silence.

During this pause, came a postillion
dressed, like a devil, and instead of a
cornet, blew an unmeasurable horn,
which yielded an hoarse and dreadful
sound. ‘Holla! brother courier,’ cried
the duke, ‘who are you? where are you
going? and what troops are those that
seem to march across the wood?’ To
these interrogations the courier replied,
in a dismal, hollow tone—‘I am the
devil, going in quest of Don Quixote
de La Mancha; those who follow are
six troops of inchanters, who bring
upon a triumphant car the peerless
Dulcinea del Toboso inchanted, accompanied
// File: 0727.png
.pn +1
by the gallant Frenchman
Montesinos, to instruct Don Quixote
in a certain method for disinchanting
the said Lady Dulcinea.’—‘If you
were the devil,’ answered the duke,
‘as you say you are, and your figure
seems to declare, you would have
distinguished that same knight Don
Quixote de La Mancha, who now
stands before you.’—‘’Fore God!
and upon my conscience,’ cried the
devil, ‘I did not see him; for my
thoughts are so much distracted by
different avocations, that I had forgot
the principal aim of my coming.’—‘Without
doubt,’ said Sancho, ‘that
devil must be an honest man, and a
good Christian, otherwise he would not
swear, ’Fore God, and on my conscience!
Now I am fully convinced
that there must be some worthy people
even in hell.’

Then the courier, without alighting,
fixed his eyes upon Don Quixote, and
pronounced—‘To thee, the Knight of
the Lions (and would I might see
thee in their clutches) am I sent by
the unfortunate though valiant knight
Montesinos, who commanded me to
desire, in his name, that thou wouldst
wait on the very spot where I should
find thee, because he brings along
with him one Dulcinea del Toboso,
in order to communicate what will be
necessary towards her disinchantment;
and as this message was the sole cause
of my coming, there is no cause that
requires my longer stay. Devils like
me be with thee, and good angels
guard that noble pair!’ So saying,
he sounded his dreadful horn, and rode
off, without waiting for the least reply.

This address renewed the astonishment
of all present, especially of Sancho
and Don Quixote; of Sancho, because,
in despite of truth, he saw they
were resolved that Dulcinea should be
inchanted; and of Don Quixote, because
he could not be certain of the truth of
what had happened to him in the cave
of Montesinos. While he was wrapped
in these meditations, the duke accosted
him, saying—‘Signior Don Quixote, do
you intend to wait?’—‘Wherefore
not?’ replied the knight; ‘here will I
wait, courageous and intrepid, though
all hell should come to assault me.’—‘Then,
for my part,’ cried Sancho,
‘if I see another devil, and hear another
horn like that which passed, I
// File: 0728.png
should as soon wait here as in Flanders.’

About this time the night being more
advanced, a number of lights began to
gleam through the wood, like the dry
exhalations of the earth that glide
through the air, and are mistaken by
ignorant people for shooting stars: their
fears were likewise invaded by a frightful
sound, like that occasioned by the
massy wheels of waggons drawn by
oxen; an harsh and grating noise, from
which the very bears and wolves (if any
chance to be in the way) are said to fly
with terror. This uproar was succeeded
by another more terrible than all the
rest; for all at once, at the four corners
of the wood, there really seemed to be
four encounters or battles: in one place
was heard the horrid din of cannon;
in another a vast number of muskets
were fired; here resounded the cries of
the combatants; there the Moorish <i>lelilles</i>
were repeated with vast vociferation.
In a word, the cornets, horns,
bugles, clarions, trumpets, drums,
artillery, and musketry, but, above all,
the dismal noise of the cars, formed all
together such a confused and horrible
concert, that Don Quixote was obliged
to recollect his whole courage, in order
to bear it without emotion; but Sancho’s
heart died within him, and down
he came in a swoon upon the train of the
duchess, who received him as he fell,
and with marks of great concern, ordered
her servants to throw water in his
face: in consequence of this application,
he recovered, just as one of the waggons
with the creaking wheels came up
to the place where they stood. It was
drawn by four lazy oxen, wholly covered
with black trappings, with a large
lighted taper tied to each horn, and in
the waggon was raised a lofty seat, on
which sat a venerable old man, with a
beard as white as snow itself, that flowed
down below his middle, and a large
loose garment of black buckram; for
the waggon being stuck full of lights, it
was easy to observe and distinguish every
thing that it contained. It was conducted
by two ugly devils clad also in
buckram, with such hideous features,
that Sancho no sooner saw them than
he shut his eyes, that they might not
encounter such frightful objects. This
carriage being come up, the venerable
senior rose up from his lofty seat, and
pronounced aloud—‘I am the sage Lirgandeo.’
// File: 0729.png
.pn +1
He said no more; and the
waggon proceeded. Another carriage
followed in the same manner, with another
old man inthroned, who ordering
the waggon to stop, said with a voice as
solemn as the first—‘I am the sage Alquife,
the great friend of Urganda
the unknown.’ And so the carriage
proceeded. Then a third approached
in the same stile: but he who possessed
this throne, instead of being old like the
others, was a robust man of a very disagreeable
aspect, who rising from his
seat, like the other two, exclaimed in a
more hoarse and diabolical tone—‘I am
the inchanter Arcalaus, the mortal
enemy of Amadis de Gaul, and his
whole race.’ And so the carriage
passed on; but when they had proceeded
a little way, the three waggons halted,
then ceased the dismal creaking of the
wheels, and no other sound was heard
but that of an agreeable musical concert,
which rejoiced the heart of Sancho,
who took it as a good omen, and in
that persuasion said to the duchess, from
whom he had not budged an hair’s
breadth—‘My Lady Duchess, where
there is musick there can be no harm.’—‘As
little should we expect any
harm where there is light and illumination,’
answered the duchess. ‘And
yet,’ replied the squire, ‘we may be
easily burnt by such torches and bonfires
as these, notwithstanding all the
light and illuminations they produced;
but musick is always a sign of joy and
feasting.’—‘Time will shew,’ said
Don Quixote, who overheard the conversation;
and he said well, as will appear
in the following chapter.

.fn #
Literally, ‘And you shall see it will be worth a loaf that will serve a hundred.’
.fn-
.sp 4
.h4 id=chap3-3-3
<abbr=chapter>CHAP.</abbr> <abbr=three>III.</abbr> | BEING A CONTINUATION OF WHAT WAS IMPARTED TO DON QUIXOTE,| TOUCHING THE MEANS FOR DISINCHANTING| DULCINEA—WITH AN ACCOUNT OF OTHER SURPRIZING INCIDENTS.
.sp 2
Moving to the sound of this
agreeable musick, came one of
those carriages, called triumphal cars,
drawn by six grey mules, covered with
white linen, and upon each was mounted
a penitent of light[#], clad also in white,
with a large lighted wax taper in his
hand. The car was twice, nay thrice
as large as the carriages which had
passed, and the tops and sides were occupied
by twelve other penitents as
white as snow, with their lighted tapers:
a sight that excited equal terror
and surprise. Seated on a lofty throne
appeared a nymph, habited in robes of
silver tissue, bespangled with innumerable
leaves of gold brocade; so that her
dress, if not rich, was extremely gaudy;
her face was covered with a delicate and
transparent veil of fine tiffany, the plaits
of which could not conceal the beauteous
features of a young lady; and the number
of lights enabled the spectators to
distinguish her charms and her age,
which seemed to be turned of seventeen,
but under twenty. Close by her appeared
a figure clad in what is called a
robe of state, that reached to his feet;
and his head was muffled in a black
veil. The cart had no sooner come opposite
to the duke and duchess and
Don Quixote, than the musick of the
waits, the harps, and lutes, ceased all
at once; then this figure rising, threw
aside his robe, and taking off the veil,
disclosed to view the horrible and incarnate
form of death; at sight of which
Don Quixote was startled, Sancho overwhelmed
with fear, and the duke and
duchess exhibited some affected marks
of consternation.

This living death standing upright,
began, with a languid voice and tongue,
but half awake, to repeat the following
address—

.pm verse-start
‘I Merlin am, by histories bely’d.
That represent the devil as my fire:
A falshood sanction’d by the lapse of time.
I am the prince of magick, in whose breast
The Zoroastrick science lies intomb’d:
The rival of invidious Time, whose wings
Still seek to shade and darken all exploits
Atchiev’d by the illustrious errant knights,
For whom my friendship glows, and ever glow’d.

‘Tho’ all my fellows of th’inchanting tribe,
The magi and magicians, ever nurs’d
A disposition barbarous and harsh,
Mine still was tender, gentle, and humane,
A friend to all the various race of man.
In the profoundest cave of gloomy Dis,
Where my industrious spirit was employ’d
// File: 0730.png
.pn +1
In forming mystick characters and spells,
Mine ears were wounded with the wailing cries
Of fam’d Dulcinea, that matchless fair.

‘I learn’d her strange inchantment, and condol’d
Her transformation from a gentle nymph
To the vile figure of a rustick wench.
And hundred thousand volumes I perus’d,
Fraught with the dark and diabolick art;
Then in the horrible and ghastly trunk
Of this dry skeleton my soul enclosed:
And now I come on purpose to impart
An easy remedy for her mishap.

‘O thou! the glory of all knights who wear
Impervious coats of mail and adamant;
Thou light and lanthorn, path, and north, and guide
Of all who quit the drowsy joys of sloth,
And starting from the lazy down, embrace
Th’ intolerable use and exercise
Of rude, unwieldy, sanguinary arms:
To thee I speak, great chief, whose valiant deeds
So far transcend the loudest blast of fame.

‘Quixote, for courage and discretion fam’d,
La Mancha’s mirrour, and the star of Spain,
In order to recover and restore
Thy peerless mistress to her former state,
Sancho, thy faithful squire, must undergo
Three thousand and three hundred stripes, apply’d
To his posteriors, passively expos’d;
And he himself must wield the pliant scourge
And start, and smart, and tingle with the pain.
Thus stands th’ irrevocable doom pronounc’d
By the fell authors of her dire mischance;
And on this errand, gentles, am I come.’
.pm verse-end

‘I vow to God!’ cried Sancho at
this period, ‘not to mention three
thousand, I will as soon give myself
three stabs with a dagger as three single
stripes with a scourge. Now, devil
take such ways of disenchanting!
I cannot conceive what my buttocks
have to do with inchantments. Before
God! if Signior Merlin can find
no other method for disinchanting my
Lady Dulcinea del Toboso, he may
e’en go enchanted to her grave.’—‘Hark
ye, Don Garlick-eating rustick,’
said Don Quixote, ‘I shall
take and tie you to a tree, naked as
your mother bore you, and not to
mention three thousand three hundred,
give you six thousand six hundred
// File: 0731.png
lashes, so well laid on, that three thousand
three hundred twitches shall not
pull them off; and answer me not a
syllable, or I will tear thy soul from
thy body.’

Merlin hearing this declaration—‘Not
so, neither,’ said he; ‘the lashes
to be received by honest Sancho must
be voluntary, not upon compulsion,
and at his own leisure, for there is
no time fixed for the final execution;
nevertheless, he is so far indulged,
that he may be quit for one half of
the stripes, provided he will allow
the other half to be inflicted by another
hand, though it may chance to
be a little weighty.’—‘No man’s
hand shall touch my flesh! neither
another’s, nor my own, nor weighty
nor unweighed. What a plague! did
I, forsooth, bring my Lady Dulcinea
into the world, that my backside
must suffer for the transgression of her
eyes? My master, indeed, who is a
part of her, and is continually calling
her his life, his soul, his sustenance
and support, may, and ought
to lash himself for her sake, and take
with all dispatch the necessary steps
for her disenchantment; but for me
to scourge my own body, I denounce
it!’

Scarce had Sancho uttered this remonstrance,
when the embroidered
nymph who sat by Merlin’s spirit, rising
up, took off her transparent veil,
and disclosing a face, which to all the
spectators seemed more than exceedingly
beautiful, addressed herself in these
words directly to Sancho Panza, with
a masculine assurance, and a voice that
was not extremely melodious—‘O ill-conditioned
squire! thou soul of a
pitcher, heart of cork, and bowels
of flinty pebbles! hadst thou been
commanded, thou nose-slaying caitiff,
to throw thyself down from a lofty
tower; hadst thou been desired, thou
enemy of human species, to swallow a
dozen of toads, twice the number of
lizards, and three dozen of snakes;
hadst thou been urged to murder thy
wife and children with some sharp
and ruthless scymitar, it would not
have been strange to see thee shy and
fearful; but to make such objections
to three thousand three hundred stripes,
which there is scarce a naughty boy
that does not receive every month,
astounds, astonishes, and affrights the
// File: 0732.png
.pn +1
compassionate bowels of all this audience,
as well as of all those who shall
hear it in the future course of time.
Turn, O miserable, hard-hearted animal!
turn, I say, thy mulish goggle
eyes upon these balls of mine that
emulate the glittering stars, and see
how they weep, thread by thread,
and skein by skein, creating trenches,
paths, and furrows, through the delightful
meadows of my cheeks!
Wilt thou not relent, thou crafty and
malicious monster, at seeing me, in
the flower of my age, (for I am still
in my teens, being no more than
nineteen, which is one year short of
twenty) consume and pine within the
bark of a homely rustick wench? in
which form if I do not now appear,
it is owing to the particular favour of
Signior Merlin, who has indulged me
so far, that my beauty might melt thy
savage heart; for the tears of afflicted
beauty soften rocks to cotton, and
transform tygers into gentle lambs.
Chastise, chastise, obdurate beast, that
brawny beef of thine; arouze that
slothful spirit which inclines thee to
nothing but to gorge and regorge thy
voracious maw, and set at liberty the
beauty of my face; and if, for my
sake, thou wilt not mollify thyself,
and listen to any reasonable terms, at
least relent in favour of that poor
knight who stands forlorn at thy elbow;
I mean, thy master, whose soul
I now can see traversed in his throat,
not above ten fingers breadth from
his lips, waiting for nothing but thy
kind or rigorous reply, in consequence
of which it will either leap out of his
mouth, or retire to his stomach.’

Don Quixote hearing these words,
felt his throat, and turning to the duke,
‘By Heaven! my lord,’ said he,
‘Dulcinea has spoke truth; for here
do I feel my soul traversed in my
throat, like the nut of a cross-bow.’
When the duchess asked what Sancho
said to that circumstance, ‘I say,’ replied
the squire, ‘what I have said already,
that the whipping I denounce.’—‘You
must call it renounce,’ said
the duke, ‘and not denounce.’—‘I
would your grace would let me alone,’
answered Sancho, ‘this is no time for
me to mind niceties and letters, more
or less; for I am so confounded at
those stripes which I am to receive,
or execute upon myself, that I neither
know what I am saying or doing:
yet I should be glad to know where
my Lady Dulcinea del Toboso learned
that manner of asking favours.
She comes to desire me to tear open
my flesh with a horse-whip, and calls
me soul of a pitcher, obdurate beast,
and a whole rigmarole of villainous
names, which the devil may suffer
for me! What a plague, is my flesh
made of brass; or is it any thing to
me, whether she is disinchanted or
no? What baskets of white linen,
shirts, caps, and socks, (though I wear
none) does she bring to soften me?
Nothing but abuse upon abuse;
without remembering the proverb,
that says, An ass loaded with gold
will skip over a mountain. A generous
gift the rock will rift. We must
fervently pray, and hammer away.
I will give thee, is good; but, Here,
take it, is better. Then, my master,
who ought to lead me fair and softly
by the hand, and persuade me with
gentle words to whip myself into wool
and carded cotton, declares, forsooth,
that if he should once take me in
hand, he will tie me naked to a tree,
and double the allowance of stripes.
These angry gentlemen ought to consider
it is not only a squire, but a governor
whom they desire to flog himself,
as if it was no more than drinking
after cherries. Let them learn,
let them learn, with a vengeance,
how to entreat and beg with good-breeding;
for all seasons are not the
same; and a man is not always in
good-humour; here am I ready to
burst with vexation to see the rent in
my green coat, and they must needs
come and desire me to whip myself
with good will, when, God knows, I
am as far from doing it with good
will, as I am from turning Turk[#].’

‘Nevertheless, friend Sancho,’ said
the duke, ‘if your heart does not become
softer than a ripe fig, you shall
finger no government of mine. It
would be a fine scheme, indeed, if I
should send to my islanders a cruel,
flinty-hearted governor, who would
not melt at the tears of damsels in affliction;
nor at the entreaties of wise,
imperious, ancient sages and inchanters!
// File: 0733.png
.pn +1
In a word, Sancho, you must
either consent to whip yourself, or be
whipped, or lay aside all thoughts of
being a governor.’—‘My good lord,’
replied the squire, ‘will not they give
me two days to consider and determine
what will be for the best?’—‘By
no means,’ cried Merlin: ‘on
this very spot, and this very instant,
the business must be discussed; otherwise
Dulcinea will return to the cave
of Montesinos, and the appearance of
a country-wench; whereas, if you
comply, she will, in her present form,
be transported to the Elysian fields,
where she must reside until the number
of the stripes be accomplished.’

‘Go to, honest Sancho,’ said the
duchess, ‘pluck up your spirits, and
behave like a grateful squire that has
eaten the bread of Signior Don Quixote,
who is intitled to the service and
acknowledgments of us all, by his
amiable disposition and sublime chivalry.
Say Aye, my son, to this same
flagellation, and let the devil fetch
the devil; leave fear to the coward;
for a stout heart quails misfortune, as
you very well know.’

To these exhortations Sancho made
no reply; but addressing himself to
Merlin, with his usual extravagance,
‘Good, your worship, pray tell me,
Signior Merlin, the meaning of one
thing: a certain courier devil came
here with a message to my master,
from Signior Montesinos, desiring
him to stay in this place until he
should come up; for he would teach
him a way to disinchant my Lady
Dulcinea del Toboso; and hitherto
we have seen no such person?’ To
this interrogation Merlin replied, ‘That
devil, friend Sancho, is an ignorant
blockhead, and a very great knave.
I sent him hither in quest of your
master; not with a message from
Montesinos, but from myself; for
Montesinos is still in his cave, planning,
or rather expecting his disinchantment,
the worst of which is still
to come; but if he owes you any
thing, or you have any business to
transact with him, I will bring you
face to face wherever you shall appoint.
In the mean time, dispatch,
and give your consent to this discipline;
which, I assure you, will
greatly redound to the advantage both
of your soul and body: to your soul,
from the charity of the undertaking;
and to your body, as I know you are
of a florid complexion, and will be
the better for losing a little blood.’

‘What a number of leeches have we
got in this world!’ said Sancho; ‘the
very inchanters are physicians; but
since every body says so, although I
cannot perceive it myself, I am content
to give myself three thousand
three hundred lashes, on condition
that I may give them when and where
I shall think proper, without being
confined to any certain time, or rate
of allowance; and I will endeavour
to discharge the debt as soon as possible,
that the world may enjoy the
beauty of the Lady Dulcinea del Toboso,
since, contrary to my former
belief, she appears to be really beautiful.
I likewise covenant that I shall
not be obliged to fetch blood with the
scourge, and that in case I should
chance to be whipped by the officers
of justice[#], every lash so received shall
enter into the tale: Item, lest I should
commit a mistake in the number, Signior
Merlin, who knows every thing,
shall take care to reckon them, and
give me to understand how far I have
fallen short, or exceeded the appointed
score.’—‘There will be no occasion
to apprize you of the overplus,’ said
Merlin; ‘for as soon as the number shall
be compleated, the Lady Dulcinea will
be disinchanted, and come, out of pure
gratitude, to return thanks, and even
a recompence to the charitable Sancho
for his good work. You need
not, therefore, make any scruple about
the superplus or the deficiency; nor
will Heaven allow me to defraud any
person, even of a single hair.’—‘A
God’s name, then,’ cried Sancho,
‘I consent in my tribulation; I say, I
accept of the penance on the conditions
aforesaid.’

Scarce had Sancho pronounced these
last words, when the musick of the
waits began to play again, and an infinite
// File: 0734.png
.pn +1
number of muskets were discharged,
while Don Quixote, hanging about Sancho’s
neck, imprinted a world of kisses
on his cheeks and forehead; the duke
and duchess, and all the by-standers,
expressed the utmost pleasure, the car
began to move, and the beauteous Dulcinea,
in passing, bowed to their graces,
and made a profound curtsy to Sancho.

About this time the chearful smiling
morn advanced; the flowerets of the
field, with heads erect, diffused their
fragrance; and the liquid chrystal of the
rills murmuring among the variegated
pebbles, went sliding on to pay its tribute
to the rivers, that waited to receive
their customary dues: the joyous
earth, the splendid firmament, the buxom
air, and light unclouded; each singly,
and all together joined, prognosticated
plainly, that the day, which trod
upon Aurora’s skirts, would be serene
and fair. The duke and duchess, extremely
well satisfied with the chace, as
well as with the ingenious and fortunate
execution of their design, returned
to the castle, with full intention to perform
the sequel of their jest, than which
no real adventure could have given
them more delight.

.fn #
<lang=la><i>Disciplinante de lux</i></lang>, is a cant phrase, applied to those who are exposed to publick
shame.
.fn-

.fn #
Literally, <lang=es><i>cacique</i></lang>, which was the appellation given to Indian princes.
.fn-

.fn #
The other translators have interpreted <lang=es><i>mosqueo</i></lang> into a fly-flap, which is undoubtedly
one of his meanings; but as it likewise signifies flagellation at the cart’s tail, I
have taken it in this last acceptation, which, I think, heightens the humour of the
passage.
.fn-
.sp 4
.h4 id=chap3-3-4
<abbr=chapter>CHAP.</abbr> <abbr=four>IV.</abbr> | WHICH GIVES AN ACCOUNT OF THE PERILOUS AND INCONCEIVABLE| ADVENTURE OF THE AFFLICTED DUENNA,| ALIAS THE COUNTESS TRIFALDI—|TOGETHER WITH A LETTER WHICH SANCHO PANZA WROTE TO HIS WIFE TERESA PANZA.
.sp 2
The duke’s steward was a man of
humour and ingenuity, who acted
the part of Merlin, and adjusted all the
apparatus of the foregoing adventure;
for he composed the verses, and directed
a page to represent Dulcinea; finally,
under the auspices of his lord and lady,
he projected another of the most agreeable
and strange fancy that could possibly
be conceived.

Next day the duchess asking Sancho
if he had begun the task of the penance,
which he was to undergo for the disinchantment
of Dulcinea, he answered in
the affirmative, and said, he had that
same night given himself five lashes;
// File: 0735.png
but when she enquired about the instrument
with which they were inflicted, he
owned they were applied with his hand.
‘That is rather clapping than lashing,’
replied her grace; ‘and I take it for
granted, the sage Merlin will not be
content with such delicacy; it will be
absolutely necessary that honest Sancho
should make a scourge of briars,
or use a switch that will make him
feel it; for learning is not acquired
without pain, and the liberty of such
an high-born lady as Dulcinea is not
to be purchased for a trifle.’ To
this remonstrance Sancho replied, ‘I
wish your grace would lend me some
convenient whip, or ragged rope’s
end, which would do the business
without giving me a great deal of
pain; for I would have your grace to
know, that although I am a labouring
man, my flesh has more of the
cotton than the mat weed in it; and
there is no reason that I should destroy
myself for another’s advantage.’—‘In
good time be it,’ answered the duchess;
‘to-morrow morning I will give
you a scourge that will fit you to an
hair, and agree as well with the tenderness
of your flesh, as if it was its
own brother.’

This affair being adjusted, ‘My lady,’
said Sancho Panza, ‘your highness
must know I have writ a letter to
my wife Teresa Panza, giving an account
of all that hath befallen me
since we parted: here it is in my bosom,
and wants nothing but a superscription.
I wish your grace, in your
great understanding, would read it;
for, in my mind, it smacks of the
governor; I mean, of the manner in
which governors ought to write.’—‘And
who was the inditer?’ said the
duchess. ‘Who should indite it, sinner
that I am, but myself!’ answered
the squire. ‘Did you likewise write it
yourself?’ replied her grace. ‘I did
not so much as think of any such
matter,’ said Sancho; ‘for the truth is,
I can neither read nor write, though
I know very well how to set my
mark.’—‘Let us see this epistle,’
quoth the duchess, ‘in which, I dare
say, you have displayed the quality and
extent of your understanding.’

Then Sancho pulling an open letter
from his bosom, the duchess took and
read it to this effect.
// File: 0736.png
.pn +1
.sp 2
.pm letter-start
SANCHO’S LETTER TO HIS WIFE TERESA PANZA.
.sp 2
‘If I have been finely lashed, I have
been well mounted; If I have
obtained a good government, it has
cost me a good whipping. This,
Teresa, thou wilt not now understand,
but shalt learn some other opportunity.
Know, Teresa, I am determined
thou shalt ride in a coach, which is a
resolution pat to the purpose; for any
other way of travelling is fit for none
but cats. A governor’s lady you
shall be, and I would fain see the
best of them tread upon thy heels.
I have sent thee a green hunting suit,
which was a present from my Lady
Duchess. Make it up into a petticoat
and jacket for our daughter. My
master Don Quixote, as I have heard
in this country, is a sensible madman,
and a diverting fool, and I myself
am nothing short of him in these
respects. We have been in the cave
of Montesinos, and the sage Merlin
has pitched upon me to disinchant the
Lady Dulcinea del Toboso, who in
your parts is called Aldonza Lorenzo;
with three thousand three hundred
stripes, lacking five, which I am to
give myself, she will be as much disinchanted
as the mother that bore her.
Thou shalt not mention a syllable of
this to any person whatsoever; for if
you go to seek advice about your own
concerns, one will say it is white,
and another swear ’tis black.’

A few days hence I shall set out for
my government, whither I go with a
most outrageous desire of getting money;
and I am told, this is the case
with all new governors. I will feel
the pulse of it, and give thee notice
whether or no thou shalt come and
live with me.

Dapple is in good health, and sends
his most hearty commendations: I
believe I shall not forsake him even if
they should make me the Grand Turk.
My Lady Duchess kisses thy hand a
thousand times: return the compliment
with two thousand; for, as my
master says, Nothing is so reasonable
and cheap as good manners. It has
not pleased God that I should stumble
upon another portmanteau with a hundred
crowns, as heretofore; but let
that give thee no uneasiness, my dear
Teresa, for he is safe who has good
// File: 0737.png
cards to play; and what is amiss will
come out in the washing of this same
government. One thing, I own, gives
me great concern: I am told, that if
once I taste it, I shall be apt to eat my
fingers; and should that be the case,
it will be no cheap bargain; though
the lame and the paralytick enjoy a
sort of canonry in the alms they receive.
Wherefore, one way or another,
thou wilt certainly be rich and
fortunate. The Lord make thee so,
as he very well may, and preserve for
thy service thy husband the governor.

‘<sc>Sancho Panza.</sc>

‘From the Duke’s Castle, July 20, 1614.’
.pm letter-end
.sp 2
The Duchess having read the letter to
an end, ‘In two circumstances,’ said
she, ‘the honest governor is a little out
of the way. First, in saying or insinuating,
that the government was
bestowed upon him, in return for the
stripes he must undergo; whereas he
knows, and cannot deny, that when my
Lord Duke promised him the island,
nobody thought of any such thing as
stripes in the world: Secondly, he
discovers an avaricious disposition,
and I should not like to see him a
skin flint; for greediness bursts the
bag, and a covetous governor will do
very ungoverned justice.’—‘I did not
write with that intention,’ answered
the squire: ‘and if your ladyship
thinks this is not a proper letter, there
is nothing to do but tear it and
write another, which perhaps will be
still worse, if it be left to my own numbskull.’—‘No,
no,’ cried the duchess,
‘this will do very well, and must be
shewn to the duke.’

Accordingly, repairing to a garden,
where they were to dine that day, she
communicated Sancho’s epistle to the
duke, who perused it with infinite pleasure.
Here they went to dinner, and
after the cloth was taken away, and they
had entertained themselves a good while
with the savoury conversation of Sancho,
their ears were suddenly invaded
with the dismal sound of a fife and a
hoarse unbraced drum: all the company
were startled at this confused, martial,
and melancholy musick, especially Don
Quixote, whose emotion would not allow
him to sit quiet. With regard to
Sancho, all that can be said is, that
he was driven by fear to his usual shelter,
// File: 0738.png
.pn +1
the sides or skirts of the duchess:
for the sound they heard was really and
truly horrible and dreary. In the midst
of this confusion and surprize, which
took hold on all present, they saw two
men enter the garden, in mourning-cloaks,
so large and long that they
trailed upon the ground. These figures
were employed in beating two large
drums, which were likewise covered
with black, and they were accompanied
by a fifer as black and dismal as themselves,
and followed by a personage of
gigantick stature, rolled rather than
cloathed in a cassock of the blackest hue,
furnished with a train of unmeasurable
length. Over this cassock, his body
was girded and crossed with a broad
black belt, from which depended an
immense scymitar, with hilt and sheath
of the same sable colour. His face was
covered with a black, transparent veil,
through which appeared a huge and
bushy beard as white as snow; and in
walking he kept time to the sound of
the drums, with great gravity and
composure. In a word, his tallness,
his demeanour, his melancholy dress,
and his attendants, were sufficient
to surprize, and did surprize, all those
who beheld him, without knowing
the nature of the scheme. With the
said solemnity of personification he advanced
in order to kneel before the
duke, who, with the rest of the company,
received him standing; but his
grace would by no means hear his address
until he rose. The prodigious
spectre complied with his desire and
stood upright; then unveiling his face,
and displaying the largest, whitest,
thickest, and most stupendous beard
that ever human eyes beheld, he fixed
his eyes upon the duke, and in a grave,
sonorous voice, extracted and discharged
from his ample and dilated
chest, pronounced, ‘Most high and
mighty prince, I am Trifaldin of the
Snowy Beard, squire to the Countess
Trifaldi, otherwise distinguished by
the appellation of the afflicted duenna:
from her I bring a message
to your grace, requesting that your
magnificence would be pleased to
give her leave and opportunity to
enter and declare in person her mishap;
which is the strangest and the
newest that ever the most hapless imagination
could conceive; and first
of all, she wants to know if the
// File: 0739.png
valiant and invincible knight Don
Quixote de La Mancha now resides
within your castle; for in quest of
him, she is come a-foot and fasting
from the kingdom of Candaya to
these your territories: a circumstance
which might and ought to be deemed
a miracle, or at least effected by
the power of inchantment. She is
now at the gate of this fortress or
pleasure-house, and only waits for
your permission to come in.’

So saying, he hemmed; and with
both hands stroaking his beard from
top to bottom, waited with great composure
for the duke’s reply, which was
this: ‘Worthy Squire Trifaldin of
the Snowy Beard, many days are
passed since we have been apprized of
the misfortune of my Lady Countess
Trifaldi, on whom the inchanters
have intailed the epithet of the afflicted
duenna; well may you,
stupendous squire, desire her to come
in; and here is the valiant knight
Don Quixote de La Mancha, from
whose generous disposition she may
securely promise herself all manner
of aid and protection; and you may
likewise give her to understand, in
my name, that if my assistance be
necessary, it shall not be wanting;
for I think myself obliged to grant
it, as being a knight, to which
title is annexed and belongs, that
maxim of assisting the fair-sex with
all our might, especially widowed,
reduced, and afflicted duennas, like
her ladyship.’ Trifaldin hearing this
declaration, bent his knee to the
ground, and making a signal to the
fifer and drums to repeat the same note,
and resume the same pace with which
they entered, he retired from the garden,
leaving the whole company astonished
at his presence and deportment.

Then the duke turning to Don
Quixote, ‘In a word, renowned
knight,’ said he, ‘it is not in the
power of all the clouds of ignorance
and malice to conceal or obscure the
light of valour and of virtue. This
observation I make, because your
excellency has been scarce six days
in this castle, when, the melancholy
and afflicted come in quest of you from
the most distant and sequestered countries,
not in coaches or on dromedaries,
but a-foot and fasting, confident
of finding in that most valiant
// File: 0740.png
.pn +1
arm the remedy and cure of their toils
and misfortunes: thanks to your
illustrious exploits, which pervade
and encircle the whole habitable
globe.’

‘My Lord Duke,’ replied the knight,
‘I wish that same pious ecclesiastick
was here at present; he, who at
your grace’s table, the other day,
expressed so much ill-will and such
an inveterate grudge to knights-errant,
that he might see with his
own eyes whether or not such knights
are of any service in this world; or
at least, be fully convinced that the
distressed and disconsolate, overwhelmed
with extraordinary woes,
and enormous misfortunes, do not
go for redress to the houses of learned
men, to the mansions of parish priests,
nor to the knight who never dreamed
of going beyond the limits of his
own estate; nor to the idle courtier,
who would rather enquire about
news, that he might have the pleasure
of repeating and retailing
them, than endeavour to perform
actions and exploits for others to
perpetuate and record: the redress of
grievances, the support of the necessitous,
the protection of damsels, and
the consolation of widows, are found
in no set of people more than in
knights-errant; that I am one of
these, I return infinite thanks to
Heaven, and shall cheerfully undergo
whatever danger and disgrace may
befall me in the course of such an
honourable exercise. Let this duenna
approach, and beg what boon she
shall desire, I will commit her cause
to the strength of my arm, and the
intrepid resolution of my aspiring
soul.’
.sp 4
.h4 id=chap3-3-5
<abbr=chapter>CHAP.</abbr> <abbr=five>V.</abbr> | IN WHICH IS CONTINUED THE FAMOUS ADVENTURE OF THE AFFLICTED DUENNA.
.sp 2
The duke and duchess were exceedingly
rejoiced to see Don
Quixote’s behaviour correspond so well
with their design. Sancho interposing,
‘I wish,’ said he, ‘this Madam Duenna
may not throw some stumbling-block
in the way of my government; for I
have heard an apothecary of Toledo,
who talked like any goldfinch, observe,
that nothing good could happen
where duennas interfered. Lord
help us! what a spite that same
apothecary had to the whole tribe;
from whence I conclude that seeing
duennas of all qualities and degrees
whatsoever are offensive and impertinent,
what must those be who are
afflicted, which they say is the case
with this Trifaldis[#], or three-tailed
countess? for, in my country, skirts
and tails, and tails and skirts, are
the same thing.’—‘Hold your tongue,
friend Sancho,’ said Don Quixote:
‘this lady, who is come in quest of
me from remote countries, cannot
be one of those to whom the apothecary
alluded, especially as she is a
countess; and when ladies of that
rank serve as duennas, it must be
under queens and empresses; for in
their own houses they are honoured
with the title of Ladyship, and have
other duennas in their service.’

To this remark Donna Rodriguez,
who was present, replied, ‘My lady
duchess has duennas in her service,
who might have been countesses, had
it pleased fortune; but the law’s
measure is the king’s pleasure; and
let no body speak disrespectfully of
duennas, especially of those who are
ancient and maidens; for although I
am not of that class, I can easily
perceive and comprehend the advantage
a maiden duenna has over one
that is a widow: and he that undertakes
to hear us, will have no easy
talk to perform.’—‘And yet, for all
that,’ replied Sancho, ‘if my barber’s
word may be taken, you duennas require
so much to be shorn, that—You
had better not stir the porridge though
it stick to the pot.’—‘The squires are
always our enemies,’ answered Donna
Rodriguez: ‘they are imps of the
antichamber, who are every minute
making a jest of us; and except when
they are at prayers, which is not often
the case, their whole time is spent in
back-biting, disinterring our bones,
and interring our reputation. But
let met tell those moving blocks, that,
in spite of all they can do, we will
live in the world, aye, in noble families,
// File: 0741.png
.pn +1
though we should die of hunger,
and clothe our delicate or indelicate
bodies with a black shroud, as they
cover or shade a dunghill with tapestry
on a day of procession. In good
faith! if I were allowed, and the
time required it, I could demonstrate
not only to those who are now present,
but likewise to the whole world, that
there is no kind of virtue which does
not center in a duenna.’—‘I believe
there is reason, and a great deal of reason,
in what the worthy Donna Rodriguez
observes,’ said the duchess; ‘but
she must wait for a proper opportunity
to appear in behalf of herself and other
duennas, and confute the ill opinion
of that malicious apothecary, as well
as to eradicate those sentiments from
the breast of the mighty Sancho
Panza.’ To this remark the squire
replied: ‘Since the fumes of a governor
have expelled the vapours of a squire,
I value not all the duennas upon earth
a fig’s end.’

They would have proceeded with
this duennian conference, had not
they heard again the sound of the fife
and drums, which announced the entrance
of the afflicted duenna. The
duchess asked the duke, if it would
be proper to advance and receive her,
as she was a countess and person of quality.
‘With regard to her being a countess,’
said Sancho, before the duke
could reply, ‘it would be right for your
graces to go and receive her; but in
respect to her being a duenna, I think
you should not move a step.’—‘Who
taught thee to interfere in such matters?’
said Don Quixote. ‘Who, Signior?’
replied Sancho, ‘I interfere, because
I am qualified to interfere, as a
squire who has learned all the punctilios
of courtesy in the school of your worship,
who is the most courteous and
best-bred knight that ever the province
of courtesy produced; and in
these matters, as I have heard your
worship observe, the game is as often
lost by a card too many as one
too few; but a word to the wise is
sufficient.’—‘It is even so as Sancho
has remarked,’ said the duke; ‘let
us first see a specimen of the countess,
and from that sample consider what
courtesy she deserves.’

At that instant the fifer and drummers
entered as before:—and here the
author concludes this short chapter, in
order to begin another with the sequel
of the same adventure, which is among
the most remarkable of the whole history.

END OF THE THIRD VOLUME.

.fn #
<lang=es><i>Faldis</i></lang>, in Spain, signifies skirts.
.fn-
// File: 0742.png
// File: 0743.png
.sp 4
.h2 id=vol4
VOLUME THE FOURTH. | PART <abbr=two>II.</abbr>
.sp 2
.h3 id=book4-3
BOOK <abbr=three>III.</abbr>
.sp 2
.h4 id=chap4-3-6
<abbr=chapter>CHAP.</abbr> <abbr=six>VI.</abbr> | IN WHICH IS RECOUNTED THE MISFORTUNE OF THE AFFLICTED DUENNA.
.sp 2
In the rear of those melancholy
musicians, about a
dozen duennas, divided
into two files, began to
enter the garden, clad in
loose mourning-gowns,
seemingly of milled stuff, with white
veils of fine muslin, so long that nothing
but the borders of the gowns were seen.
After these came the Countess Trifaldi,
led by her Squire Trifaldin of the
Snowy Beard, and cloathed in a robe of
the finest black serge, which, had it
been napped, would have displayed
grains as large as the best Martos garavances[#].
The tail or skirt, or whatsoever
it is called, was divided into three
parts, supported by three pages, who
were likewise in mourning, making a
remarkable mathematical figure, with
the three acute angles formed by the
three divisions, a circumstance from
which all who saw this divided train,
concluded that from hence she was
called the Countess of Trifaldi, as if
we should say, the Countess of Three
Skirts: and this is what Benengeli affirms
for truth: observing, that her proper
appellation was, the Countess de
Wolf, because her country produced a
great number of those animals; and if
it had been famous for foxes, she would
have been called, my Lady Fox; for it
is the custom in those countries, for
people of fashion to take their denomination
from the thing or things with
which their estates chiefly abound; but
this countess, in order to favour the
fashion of her train, laid aside the name
of Wolf, and assumed that of Trifaldi.

The twelve duennas and their lady
advanced at a procession-pace, their
faces covered with white veils, though
not transparent like that of the Squire
Trifaldin; on the contrary, they were
so close that nothing appeared through
them. When the whole duennian
squadron appeared, the duke and duchess,
Don Quixote, and all those who
beheld the procession, stood up; and the
twelve duennas halting, made a lane
through which the afflicted lady advanced,
without quitting the hand of
Trifaldin, while their graces and Don
Quixote went forwards about a dozen
steps to receive her: then she kneeled
// File: 0744.png
.pn +1
upon the ground, and with a voice that
was coarse and rough, rather than
smooth and delicate, pronounced this
address: ‘I beg your graces will be
pleased to wave all this courtesy to
your humble valets—I mean, your
handmaid[#]—Indeed, I am so overwhelmed
with affliction, that I can
hardly return a rational answer; for
my strange and unheard-of misfortune
hath hurried away my understanding,
I know not whither, though
it must be at a great distance, because
the more I seek, the farther I am from
finding it.’—‘He must be deprived of
it all together, my Lady Countess,’
answered the duke, ‘who could not
discover your worth from the appearance
of your person, which, without
farther enquiry, is deserving of the
whole cream of courtesy, and the very
essence of polite ceremony.’

So saying, he presented his hand, and
raising her up, seated her in a chair close
by the duchess, who likewise received
her with great respect. Don Quixote
was silent, and Sancho ready to burst
with curiosity to see the faces of the
Countess Trifaldi and some of her duennas;
but he could not possibly gratify
his desire, until they unveiled themselves
of their own free will and motion.
Every body was hushed, expecting
who would put an end to the general
silence, which the afflicted countess
broke in these words: ‘Confident
I am, O powerful lord, most beautiful
lady, and most sagacious bystanders,
that my most wretchedness
will find a reception equally placid,
generous, and dolorous, within your
valorous bosoms; for such it is, as
were enough to soften marble, melt
the diamond, and mollify the steel of
the most obdurate heart; but before
it appears in the parade of your hearing,
not to say your ears, I would I
were certified whether or not the perfectionatissimo
Knight Don Quixote
de La Manchissima, and his Squirissimo
Panza, are in this groupe, circle,
or assembly?’ Before any other person
could reply, ‘Panza,’ cried Sancho,
‘is here, and likewise Don Quixotissimo;
and therefore, most dolorous duennissima,
you may say what you
think properissimo; for we are all
ready and promptissimos to be your
servantissimos.’ Then Don Quixote
rising and addressing himself to the
afflicted duenna, ‘If your misfortunes,
distressed lady,’ said he, ‘can
derive any remedy or redress from the
valour or strength of any knight-errant,
here are mine, which, though
feeble and defective, shall be wholly
exerted in your behalf. I am Don
Quixote de La Mancha, whose office it
is to assist the necessitous of all degrees:
and this being the case, as it
really is, you have no occasion, Madam,
to bespeak benevolence, and
seek after preambles: but only to rehearse
your misfortunes plainly and
without circumlocution, and they
shall be heard by those who, though
perhaps unable to redress, will at least
condole them.’

The afflicted duenna, hearing this
declaration, attempted to throw herself
at the feet of Don Quixote; nay, even
executed the attempt, and struggling to
embrace them, exclaimed, ‘O invincible
knight, I prostrate myself before these
feet and legs, which are the bases and
supporters of knight-errantry; suffer
me to kiss these feet, on whose footsteps
the cure of my misfortune solely
depends. O valiant errant! whose
real exploits outstrip and obscure the
fabulous feats of all the Amadises,
Belianises, and Esplandians——’

Then turning from the knight, and
seizing Sancho by the hand, ‘And O!’
said she, ‘thou loyallest squire that ever
served knight-errant, in the past or
present age, whose virtue exceeds in
length the beard of this my domestick
Trifaldin, well mayest thou boast that,
in attending the great Don Quixote,
thou dost attend in epitome, the whole
tribe of knights that ever handled
arms on this terrestrial ball; I conjure
thee, by thy own most faithful benevolence,
to be my intercessor with thy
master, that he may instantly favour
me, the most humble and unfortunate
countess that ever was born.’

To this address Sancho replied,
‘Whether my virtue, my lady, be as
// File: 0745.png
.pn +1
long and broad as your squire’s
beard, is of very little signification;
so that my soul be bearded and
whiskered when it leaves this life,
which is the main point, I care little
or nothing for beards here below.
But, without all this coaxing and begging,
I will desire my master, who,
I believe, has a respect for me, especially
now that I am become necessary
in a certain affair, to favour and assist
your ladyship to the utmost of his
power: your ladyship may therefore
unpack, and recount your griefs, that
all of us may understand the nature
of your misfortune.’

The duke and duchess were ready to
burst with laughing at this dialogue;
for they knew the drift of the adventure,
and were extremely well pleased with the
acuteness and dissimulation of the Countess
Trifaldi, who seating herself again,
began her story in these words:

‘Of the famous kingdom of Candaya,
situated between the great Trapobana
and the South Sea, two leagues beyond
Cape Comorin, Donna Maguncia
was queen, as widow of King
Archipiela, her lord and husband, in
which marriage they begat and procreated
the Infanta Antonomasia, heiress
of the crown, which said Infanta
Antonomasia was bred and brought
up under my care and instruction;
for I was her mother’s most ancient
and principal duenna. And it came
to pass, in process of time, that the
young Antonomasia attained the age
of fourteen, with such perfection and
beauty as nature could not exceed.
Nay, we may even say that discretion
itself was but a girl, compared to
her, who was equally discreet and
beautiful, and surely she was the
most beautiful creature upon earth,
and is so still, if the invidious fates
and hard-hearted sisters have not cut
short the yarn of her life: but surely
they have not, for Heaven would not
permit such mischief to be done on
earth, as to tear the green cluster from
the most beautiful vine that ever soil
produced. Of this beauty, which my
coarse tongue can never extol, an infinite
number of noblemen, natives
as well as strangers, became enamoured.
Among these, a private
knight belonging to the court had
the presumption to raise his thoughts
// File: 0746.png
to the heaven of such perfection,
confiding in his youth, his gallantry,
his various talents and accomplishments,
and the facility and felicity
of his wit; for, I must tell your
graces, if you are not offended at the
subject, that he touched the guittar
so nicely as to make it speak; besides,
he was a poet, a great dancer, and
could make bird cages so curiously,
that he might have earned his bread
by that employment, had he been reduced
to want. Such a number of
natural gifts and qualifications was
enough to overthrow a mountain, much
more a delicate young maiden; but
all his gaiety and gallantry, his gifts
and graces, would have availed little
or nothing against the fortress of my
charge, if the treacherous ruffian had
not practiced means to reduce me first.
The base robber and lewd vagabond
began by cultivating my good-will,
and corrupting my taste, that, like a
disloyal governor, I might deliver up
the keys of the fort which I guarded.
In a word, he flattered my understanding,
and obtained my consent,
by presenting me with some
jewels and trinkets; but what chiefly
contributed to lay me on my back,
were some couplets which I heard him
sing one night while I stood at a rail
that looked into an ally where he was,
and which, to the best of my remembrance,
were to this effect—

.pm verse-start
‘“A thousand shafts from my sweet foe
  Are launch’d unerring to my heart;
  Yet must I not reveal the smart,
And silence aggravates my woe!”
.pm verse-end

‘I thought the turn of the rhime was
as smooth as pearls, and his voice as
sweet as sugar-candy; and, since that
time, seeing the mischief that hath
befallen me, through these and other
such verses, I have often thought,
that wise and well-regulated commonwealths
ought to expel the poets,
according to the advice of Plato; at
least your lascivious writers who compose
couplets, not like those of the
Marquis of Mantua, that entertain
and draw tears from women and
children; but your pointed conceits,
which, like agreeable thorns, prick,
as it were, the very soul, and wound
like lightning, leaving the garment
// File: 0747.png
.pn +1
whole and untouched. Another time
he sung the following stanza—

.pm verse-start
‘“Come, gentle death, so soft and sly,
  That thy approach I may not see;
  Lest I rejoice to such degree,
That I shall not have pow’r to die.”
.pm verse-end

‘And other tags and couplets of the
same kidney; which, when written,
confound, and when chanted, inchant;
for when they condescend to
compose a sort of verse in fashion at
that time in Candaya, called roundelays,
they produce a kind of palpitation
in the soul, a titillation of good
humour, an agitation in the nerves,
and finally, a tremulous motion, like
that of quicksilver, in all the senses.
Therefore, I repeat it to this honourable
company, that such dangerous
rhymers ought to be banished to the
isle of lizards: yet, they are not so
much to blame, as the simple wretches
who applaud, and the boobies who
believe them. If I had adhered to
the duty of a good duenna, I should
not have been moved by his serenading
concerts, nor believed the truth
of these expressions—“In death I
live; in frost I burn; in fire I shiver;
in despair I hope; though I depart I
still remain;” and other impossibilities
of the same strain, with which their
works abound. When they promise
the phœnix of Arabia, the crown of
Ariadne, the locks of Apollo, the
pearls of the South Sea, the gold of
Tyber, and the balsams of Pancaya,
they give the greatest latitude to their
pens; for it costs them but a small
matter to promise what they have neither
inclination nor ability to perform.—But,
woe is me! ah, wretched
creature! whither am I straying?
What madness or despair thus hurries
and prompts me to rehearse the faults
of other people! me, who have so
much to say of my own infirmities.
Woe is me again, unhappy woman!
Not by his verses, but my own simplicity,
was I vanquished: it was
not his musick that softened me; but
my own levity, inadvertency, and
ignorance, opened the way, and
cleared the path, for the passage of
Don Clavijo, which is the name of
the said knight; and therefore, I
being the go-between, he was once
and often admitted into the chamber
// File: 0748.png
of the (by me, and not by him)
misled Antonomasia, under the title
of her lawful spouse; for, sinner as
I am, without being her husband, he
should not have come near enough
to touch the sole of her slipper. No,
no, marriage must go before in every
business of that kind, where I am
concerned! the only misfortune in
this affair, was the inequality between
Clavijo, who was but a private
knight, and the Infanta Antonomasia,
who, as I have already said,
was heiress of the kingdom. For
some time, the plot was covered and
concealed in the sagacity of my circumspection,
until I perceived a small
protuberance daily increasing in the
belly of my Antonomasia, whose
fears obliged us to lay our three
heads together; and the result of our
consultation was, that before the misfortune
should come to light, Clavijo
should demand Antonomasia in marriage,
before the vicar-general, by
virtue of a contract signed by the
infanta, which was indited by my
ingenuity, in such strength of terms
as Samson himself could not break.
The scheme was accordingly executed;
the vicar perused the contract,
and confessed the princess, who owned
the whole affair, and was committed
to the care of a very honourable
alguazil of the court.’

Here Sancho interposing, ‘So then,’
said he, ‘there are alguazils of the
court, poets and roundelays in Candaya
as well as in Spain? I swear, I think
the world is every where the same!
but I beg your ladyship, Madam
Trifaldi, would dispatch; for it
grows late, and I die with impatience
to know the end of this
long-winded story.’—‘I will comply
with your request,’ answered the
countess.

.fn #
A kind of pea that grows at Martos, a town in the province of Andalusia.
.fn-

.fn #
This blunder is much more natural in the Spanish <lang=es><i>criado</i></lang> for <lang=es><i>criada</i></lang>; but, as in the
English language, the gender is not distinguished by the termination, I have been obliged
to substitute the words varlet and handmaid. Varlets were the servants of yeomen, though
formerly squires were known by that appellation.
.fn-
.sp 4
.h4 id=chap4-3-7
<abbr=chapter>CHAP.</abbr> <abbr=seven>VII.</abbr> | IN WHICH THE LADY TRIFALDI PROCEEDS| WITH HER MEMORABLE AND STUPENDOUS STORY.
.sp 2
Every word that Sancho uttered
gave as much pleasure to the duchess
as pain to Don Quixote; who having
imposed silence on the squire, the
afflicted duenna thus proceeded: ‘At
// File: 0749.png
.pn +1
length, after innumerable questions
and replies, as the infanta continued
still in her story without variation, the
vicar pronounced sentence in favour
of Don Clavijo, whom he declared
her lawful husband; a circumstance
that so deeply affected Queen Maguncia,
mother to the Infanta Antonomasia,
that we buried her in three
days.’—‘Not before she was dead, I
hope,’ said Sancho. ‘No, certainly,’
replied Trifaldin; ‘for in Candaya,
people do nor bury the living, but
the dead.’—‘And yet, Signior Squire,’
said Sancho, ‘we have seen a person in
a swoon buried for dead: and in my
opinion, Queen Maguncia ought to
have swooned rather than died; for
while there is life there is hope, and
the infanta’s slip was not so great as
to oblige her to take on so much.
Had the young lady buckled with her
own page, or any other servant in
the family, as I have heard many
others have done, the mischief would
not have been easily repaired; but to
marry such a genteel, accomplished
knight, as the countess hath described——verily,
verily, although it
was indiscreet, the indiscretion was
not so great as people may imagine;
for, according to the maxims of
my master, who is here present, and
will not suffer me to tell a lye, as
learned men are created bishops, so
may knights, especially knights-errant,
be created kings and emperors.’—‘Thou
art in the right, Sancho,’
said Don Quixote, ‘for a
knight-errant, with two fingers-breadth
of good fortune, is the very
next in promotion to the greatest lord
in the universe.—But, pray, afflicted
lady, proceed; for I guess the bitter
part of this hitherto agreeable story is
still to come.’—‘How! the bitter
part to come?’ replied the countess;
‘aye, and so bitter, that in comparison
with it, gall and wormwood are
sweet and savoury.

‘Well, then, the queen being really
dead, and not in a swoon, was buried;
but scarce was she covered with the
mould, and scarce had we pronounced
the long and last farewel, when,
<i>Quis talia fando, temperet a lacrymis?</i>
all of a sudden, above the tomb,
appeared upon a wooden horse the
giant Malambruno, Maguncia’s first
cousin, who, exclusive of his cruel
// File: 0750.png
disposition, was an inchanter, and
by his diabolical art, in order to
revenge his relation’s death, and chastise
the presumption of Don Clavijo,
together with the folly of Antonomasia,
fixed them both inchanted on
Maguncia’s tomb, after having converted
her into a monkey of brass,
and him into a frightful crocodile of
some unknown substance; between
them is a plate of metal, displaying
an inscription in the Syrian language,
which being translated into the Candayan,
and afterwards into the Castilian
tongue, contains this sentence:
“These two presumptuous lovers will
not recover their pristine form, until
the valorous Manchegan shall engage
with me in single combat; for
his stupendous valour alone, the fates
have reserved this unseen adventure.”
This metamorphosis being effected,
he unsheathed a vast unmeasurable
scymitar, and twisting his left hand
in my hair, threatened to slit my
windpipe, and slice off my head. I
was confounded, my voice stuck in
my throat, and I remained in an agony
of fear: nevertheless, I made one
effort, and in a faultering accent and
plaintive tone, uttered such a pathetick
remonstrance as induced him to
suspend the execution of his rigorous
revenge. In fine, he ordered all the
duennas of the palace (there they
are) to be brought into his presence,
when, after having exaggerated our
fault, reviled the disposition of duennas,
their wicked schemes and contrivances,
and accused them all of
the crime of which I alone was guilty,
he said he would not punish us
with instant death, but with a more
tedious penalty, by which we should
suffer a civil and continued death.
He had no sooner done speaking,
than that very moment and instant,
we all felt the pores of our faces open,
and the whole surface tingle as if
pricked with the points of needles;
then clapping our hands on the part,
every one found her visage in the
condition which you shall now behold.’

So saying, the afflicted duenna and
her companions, lifting up their veils,
disclosed so many faces overgrown with
huge beards, red, black, white, and
party-coloured; at sight of which, the
duke and duchess were amazed, Don
// File: 0751.png
.pn +1
Quixote and Sancho confounded, and
all present overwhelmed with astonishment;
as for the countess, she pursued
her story in these words.

‘In this manner were we punished
by the felonious and ill-designing Malambruno,
who covered the smoothness
and delicacy of our faces with
the roughness of these bristles; and
would to Heaven he had rather struck
off our heads with his unmeasurable
scymitar, than obscured the light of
our countenances with this frightful
bush; for if this honourable company
will but consider, and in speaking
what I am now going to say, I
wish I could turn my eyes into fountains;
but the consideration of our
misfortune, and the oceans they have
already rained, have drained them as
dry as beards of corn; and, therefore,
I must speak without tears: I say
then, whither can a duenna go with
a beard upon her chin? What father
or mother will condole her disgrace?
or who will give her the least assistance?
for if, when her face is
smoothed and martyred by a thousand
cosmetick slops and washes, she can
scarce find one who will favour her
with affection, what must she do
when her face becomes a perfect coppice
of brushwood? O ye wretched
duennas! my companions dear! in an
unlucky minute did we see the light,
and in an hapless hour were we engendered
by our fathers!’

So saying, she pretended to faint
away.
.sp 4
.h4 id=chap4-3-8
<abbr=chapter>CHAP.</abbr> <abbr=eight>VIII.</abbr> | OF CIRCUMSTANCES APPERTAINING AND RELATING TO THIS ADVENTURE AND MEMORABLE STORY.
.sp 2
Verily, and in good truth! all
those who take pleasure in reading
such histories, ought to manifest
their gratitude to its first author Cid
Hamet, for his curiosity in recounting
the most trivial incident, without neglecting
to bring to light the least circumstance,
how minute soever it may
be. He describes the thought, discloses
the fancy, answers the silent, explains
doubts, discusses arguments, and finally
displays the very atoms of the most curious
// File: 0752.png
disposition. O celebrated author!
O happy Don Quixote! O renowned
Dulcinea! O facetious Sancho Panza!
may you flourish conjunctly and severally
to the end of time, for the entertainment
and pastime of mankind in
general!

The history relates, that Sancho seeing
the Afflicted faint away, ‘Now, by
the faith of man!’ cried he, ‘and by
the pedigree of all the Panzas my
forefathers! never did I hear or see,
nor did my master recount, or indeed
conceive, such an adventure as
this!—A legion of devils confound
thee for a giant and inchanter, accursed
Malambruno! couldst thou
find no other method to punish these
sinners, but by clapping beards to
them? Would it not have been better,
at least it would have been more
for their advantage, to cut off half
their noses, even though they should
snuffle in their speech, than to encumber
them with beards? I’d lay
a wager, too, that they have not
wherewithal to pay a barber.’—‘What
you say is very true,’ replied one of
the dozen; ‘we have not wherewithal
to be trimmed, and therefore some of
us, by way of œconomy, make use
of sticking plaister, which being applied
to our faces, and plucked off with
a jerk, leave us as sleek and smooth as
the bottom of a marble mortar; for,
although there are women in Candaya
who go from house to house,
taking of the hair, arching the eyebrows,
and composing slipslops for the
use of the fair-sex, we who belonged
to her ladyship would never admit
them into the family, because, for the
most part, they are persons who having
ceased to be principals, exercise
the occupation of procuresses; and
therefore, if we are not redressed by
Signior Don Quixote, we must e’en
carry our beards to the grave.’—‘If
I do not redress your whiskers,’ cried
the knight, ‘I will leave mine among
the Moors!’

Here the Countess Trifaldi recovering,
‘Valiant knight,’ said she, ‘the
tingling of that promise reached mine
ears while I lay in a swoon, and hath
been the cause of my recovering and
retrieving the use of all my senses;
therefore, renowned errant, and invincible
knight, I again entreat you,
to put your gracious promise in execution.’—‘In
// File: 0753.png
.pn +1
me there shall be no delay,’
replied Don Quixote: ‘consider
then, my lady, and tell me what I
am to do; my mind is perfectly disposed
for your service.’—‘The case
is this, then,’ answered the afflicted
duenna: ‘from hence to the kingdom
of Candaya, if you go by land, you
must travel five thousand leagues, it
may be one or two more or less; but
if you go through the air, in a right
line, you measure no more than three
thousand two hundred and twenty-seven.
You must likewise know,
Malambruno told me, that whenever
fortune should furnish me with our
deliverer, he would send him a steed
that should be much better and less
vicious than any of your return post-horses,
as being the very individual
wooden-horse upon which the valiant
Peter carried off the fair Magalona:
he is governed by a peg in his forehead,
that serves instead of a bridle;
and he flies so swiftly through the
air, that one would think he was
transported by all the devils in hell.
This steed, according to ancient tradition,
was contrived by the Sage
Merlin, and he lent him to his friend
Peter, who, by means of such conveyance,
performed incredible journies,
and stole, as I have observed, the
fair Magalona, who sat behind him,
and was transported through the air,
to the astonishment of all those who
gaped after her from the earth. Yet
he would lend him to none but his particular
favourites, or such as would
pay him a handsome price; we do
not know that he was ever mounted
from the days of the great Peter to
the present time. Malambruno, by
dint of art, has got, and keeps him in
his possession, making use of him in
his journies, which he performs in an
instant, from one part of the world
to another; now here, to-morrow in
France, and next day in Peru: and
there is one great advantage in this
horse, he neither eats nor sleeps, nor
costs any thing in shoeing, and ambles
through the air without wings in
such a manner, that the rider may
hold a cup full of water in his hand
without spilling a single drop, his motion
is so smooth and easy; for which
reason, the fair Magalona delighted
much in taking the air upon his back.’—‘As
for his going smooth and easy,’
said Sancho, ‘there is my Dapple,
whom (though he does not go through
the air, but along the ground) I will
match against all the amblers that ever
the earth produced.’ All the company
laughed at this observation, and
the afflicted duenna proceeded; ‘Now,
this horse, if Malambruno is actually
disposed to put an end to our misfortune,
will be herein less than half an
hour after it is dark: for he told me
the signal by which I should be certain
of having found the knight I was
in quest of, would be his sending the
horse thither with all convenient dispatch.’—‘And
pray,’ said Sancho,
‘how many persons will this horse
carry?’—‘Two,’ replied the Afflicted;
‘one upon the saddle, and the other
upon the crupper, and these are commonly
the knight and the squire,
when there is no damsel to be stolen.’—‘I
should be glad to know, afflicted
Madam,’ resumed the squire, ‘what is
the name of that same horse?’—‘His
name,’ answered the Afflicted, ‘is
not like that of Bellerophon’s horse,
which was called Pegasus; nor does
it resemble that which distinguished
the steed of Alexander the Great, Bucephalus;
nor that of Orlando Furioso,
whose appellation was Brilladoro;
nor Bayete, which belonged to Reynaldo
de Montalban; nor Frontino,
that appertained to Rugiero; nor
Bootes, nor Peritoa, the horses of the
sun; nor is he called Orelia, like that
steed upon which the unfortunate Rodrigo,
last king of the Goths, engaged
in that battle where he lost his crown
and life.’—‘I will lay a wager,’ cried
Sancho, ‘that as he is not distinguished
by any of those famous names of horses
so well known, so neither have they
given him the name of my master’s
horse Rozinante; a name which, in
propriety, exceeds all those that have
been named.’—‘Very true,’ replied
the bearded countess; ‘nevertheless,
it fits him very well; for he is called
Clavileno Aligero[#], an appellation
that suits exactly with his wooden
substance, the peg in his forehead,
and the swiftness with which he travels;
so that, for his name, he may be
brought in competition even with the
// File: 0754.png
.pn +1
famous Rozinante.’—‘The name
pleases me well enough,’ said Sancho;
‘but what sort of bridle or halter must
be used in managing him?’—‘I have
already told you,’ answered Trifaldi,
‘that by turning the peg, the knight
who rides can make him travel just as
he pleases, either mounting through
the air; or else sweeping, and, as it
were, brushing the surface of the
earth; or lastly, sailing through the
middle region, which is the course to
be sought after and pursued, in all
well-concerted enterprizes.’

‘I should be glad to see this same
beast,’ replied the squire; ‘but to think
that I will mount him, either in the
saddle or in the crupper, is all the
same thing as to look for pears upon
an elm. A fine joke, i’faith! I can
scarce keep the back of my own Dapple,
though sitting upon a pannel as
soft as sattin, and they would now
have me get upon a crupper of board,
with out any pillow or cushion. By
the Lord! I have no intention to bruise
myself, in order to take off the beard
of any person whatsoever; let every
beard be shaved according to the
owner’s fancy: for my own part, I
have no notion of accompanying my
master in such a long and tedious
journey; for surely I have no concern
in the shaving of beards, whatever I
may have in the disinchantment of
Dulcinea.’—‘Indeed, you have, my
friend,’ answered Trifaldi; ‘aye, and
so much, that without your presence
I believe we shall do no good.’—‘In
the king’s name!’ cried Sancho,
‘what have squires to do with the
adventures of their masters? What!
are they to run away with all the reputation,
and we to undergo all the
trouble? Body o’me! would your
historians but mention, that such a
knight atchieved such and such an
adventure, with the assistance of his
Squire What-d’ye-call-um, without
whom he could not possibly have
finished the exploit; but, they drily relate,
as how Don Paralipomenon of
the Three Stars, finished the adventure
of the six goblins, without even naming
the squire who was present all the
time, no more than if there was not
such a person in the world: I therefore
say again to this honourable
company, that my master may go by
himself, and good luck attend him;
// File: 0755.png
but, for my own part, I will stay
where I am, and keep my Lady Duchess
company; and peradventure, at
his return, he may find my Lady
Dulcinea’s business well forwarded;
for I intend, at my idle and leisure
hours, to whip myself to such a tune,
that not a single hair shall stand before
me.’

‘But, for all that,’ said the duchess,
‘honest Sancho, you must attend
him, should there be occasion, for
you will be solicited by the righteous;
and surely it would be a great pity,
that the faces of these gentlewomen
should continue overshadowed with
hair, merely for your needless apprehension.’—‘I
say again, in the
king’s name!’ cried Sancho, ‘if this
charity should be of any benefit to
release maidens or parish-children,
a man might venture to undergo some
trouble; but to take such pains in
order to rid duennas of their beards!
a plague upon the whole generation!
I had rather see them all bearded from
the highest to the lowest, tag, rag,
and bobtail.’—‘Friend Sancho,’ said
the duchess, ‘you are on bad terms
with duennas, and very much infected
with the opinion of that apothecary
of Toledo; but, in good
sooth, you are very much in the
wrong: there are duennas in my
house, who might serve as patterns
of virtue; and here stands Donna Rodriguez,
who would not suffer me to
say otherwise.’—‘Your excellency
may say what you please,’ answered
Rodriguez; ‘but God knows the truth
of all things, and good or bad, bearded
or smooth, we duennas were born
of our mothers, as well as other
women; since, therefore, God sent
us into the world, he knows for what,
and in his mercy do I put my trust,
and not in the beard of any person
whatsoever.’

‘’Tis very well, Signora Rodriguez,
Madam Trifaldi, and you ladies
of her company,’ said Don Quixote;
‘Heaven, I hope, will look upon
your misfortunes with propitious
eyes, and Sancho will chearfully obey
my orders; let Clavileno come, so
as that I may once see myself engaged
with Malambruno, and confident
I am, that no razor can shave
your ladyships with more facility than
my sword should find in shaving the
// File: 0756.png
.pn +1
giant’s head from his shoulders; for
though God permits the wicked to
prosper, it is but for a time.’ The
afflicted duenna hearing this declaration,
exclaimed, ‘Now, may all the stars
of the celestial regions shed their benign
influence upon your worship, most
valiant knight, infusing courage into
your soul, and crowning your atchievements
with prosperity, that you
may be the shield and support of this
our slighted and depressed duennian
order, abominated by apothecaries,
grumbled at by squires, and jeered by
pages! now, ill betide the wretch,
who, in the flower of her youth,
would not rather take the veil than
become a duenna. Unfortunate duennas
that we are! for, though we
may be descended in a direct  male line
from Hector of Troy, our ladies will
not fail to throw “Thou” in our
teeth, even if they thought they should
be crowned for it. O thou giant Malambruno!
who, though an inchanter,
art always punctual in thy promises,
send hither the peerless Clavileno, that
our disaster may be done away; for,
if our beards continue until the dog-days
begin, woe be unto us!’

Trifaldi pronounced these words in
such a pathetick strain, as brought tears
from the eyes of all the by standers, and
even filled Sancho’s to the brim; so that
he resolved in his heart, to accompany
his master to the utmost limits of the
earth, provided his attendance should be
necessary towards shearing the wool of
those venerable countenances.

.fn #
Or, in English, ‘Wooden Peg the Winged.’
.fn-
.sp 4
.h4 id=chap4-3-9
<abbr=chapter>CHAP.</abbr> <abbr=nine>IX.</abbr> | OF CLAVILENO’S ARRIVAL—AND THE CONCLUSION| OF THIS PROTRACTED ADVENTURE.
.sp 2
Meanwhile, night came on,
and along with it the time fixed
for the arrival of the famous steed Clavileno,
whose delay began already to
afflict Don Quixote; for he looked upon
the detention of the horse, as a sign
that he himself was not the knight for
whom the adventure was reserved, or
that Malambruno was afraid to engage
with him in single combat. But, lo!
// File: 0757.png
all of a sudden, four savages, clad in
green ivy, entered the garden, bearing
on their backs a green wooden horse,
which being placed on the ground, one
of the number pronounced, ‘Let him
who has courage mount this machine.’—‘For
my own part,’ said Sancho,
‘I do not mount; for neither have I
courage, nor am I a knight.’ But
the savage proceeded, saying, ‘Let
the squire, if he has one, occupy the
crupper; and he may confide in the
valiant Malambruno; for, except
the sword of that giant, no other steel
or malice shall offend him; and the
knight has no more to do, but to
turn this peg upon his neck, and he
will carry them through the air to the
place where Malambruno waits for
their arrival; but lest the height and
sublimity of the road should turn their
heads, their eyes must be covered until
such time as the horse shall neigh,
for that will be the signal of their
having performed the journey.’ This
intimation being given, they left the
horse, and retired to the place from
whence they came, with great solemnity.

The afflicted duenna no sooner beheld
the steed, than addressing herself to
Don Quixote, with tears in her eyes,
‘Valiant knight,’ said she, ‘Malambruno’s
promise is made good: here
stands the horse, our beards are still
growing, and each of us, nay, every
hair upon our chins, supplicate thee
to shave and shear them, since there
is nothing else required but to mount
with thy squire, and happily begin
your journey.’—‘That will I do,
my Lady Countess Trifaldi,’ replied
Don Quixote, ‘with good will, and
hearty inclination; nor will I delay
the expedition, by spending time in
furnishing myself with a cushion, or
even in putting on my spurs, so impatient
I am to see your ladyship and
those duennas quite smooth and shaven.’—‘That
will I not do,’ cried
Sancho, ‘neither with hearty nor
heartless inclination, nor in any manner
of way; and if the shaving cannot
be performed without my mounting
upon the crupper, my master
must look for another squire to attend
him, and these ladies must find
another method for smoothing their
faces; for I am no wizard, to take
// File: 0758.png
.pn +1
delight in flying through the air: and
pray, what would my islanders say,
should they know their governor was
riding upon the wind? Moreover, it
being three thousand and so many
more leagues from hence to Candaya,
should the horse be tired, or the giant
out of humour, we may spend half a
dozen years in returning; and by that
time, the devil an island or islander in
the whole world will know my face.
It is a common saying, that Delay
breeds danger; and, When the heifer
you receive, have a halter in your
sleeve. The beards of these ladies
must therefore excuse me: I know <abbr=Saint>St.</abbr>
Peter is well at Rome; my meaning
is, I find myself very well in this
mansion, where I am treated with such
respect, and from the master of which
I expect so great a favour as that of
being made a governor.’ To this remonstrance
the duke replied, ‘Friend
Sancho, the island I have promised
is neither floating nor fugitive, but
its roots are so deeply fixed in the
bowels of the earth, that three good
pulls will not remove or tear it away;
and, as you are sensible, I know
there is no kind of office of any importance
that is not obtained by some
sort of bribe, more or less, the present
I expect for the government is,
that you will attend your master,
Don Quixote, in crowning and accomplishing
this memorable adventure;
and, whether you return upon
Clavileno with that dispatch which
his speed seems to promise; or, by
the cruelty of adverse fortune, you
come back in the habit of a pilgrim,
begging on foot, from house to house,
and from one inn to another; you
shall, nevertheless, at your return,
find your island where you left it;
and your islanders actuated by the
same desire of receiving you as their
governor, which they have always
indulged; and as for my inclination,
it can never change; for, to entertain
the least doubt of my sincerity,
Signior Sancho, would be a notorious
injury to the attachment I feel
for your service.’—‘Enough, my
lord,’ cried Sancho: ‘I am a poor
squire, and cannot bear such a load
of courtesy; let my master mount,
and my eyes be covered; recommend
// File: 0759.png
me to God; and let me know whether,
while we travel through those altitudes,
I may call upon the name of
the Lord, or implore the protection of
his angels.’ To this interrogation,
the countess replied, ‘You may recommend
yourself to God, or to whom
you will; for Malambruno, though an
inchanter, is nevertheless a Christian,
and performs his inchantments with
great sagacity and caution, nor does
he intermeddle in any person’s affairs.’—‘Well,
then,’ cried Sancho, ‘God,
and the most Holy Trinity of Gaeta,
be my guide and protection!’—‘Since
the memorable adventure of the fulling-mills,’
said Don Quixote, ‘I have
never seen Sancho so infected with
fear, as upon this occasion; and, if I
were as much addicted to superstition
as some people are, his pusillanimity
would produce some compunction in
my soul: but, come hither, Sancho;
for, with the permission of that noble
pair, I would speak two words with
you in private.’

Then taking his squire aside into a
tuft of trees, and grasping both his
hands, ‘You see, brother Sancho,’
said he, ‘the long journey that awaits
us; and God knows when we shall
return, and what leisure or convenience
our business may allow; I
therefore beg thou wilt now retire to
thy apartment, on pretence of fetching
some necessaries for the road,
and, in the twinkling of a straw, inflict
upon thyself some five hundred
of those three thousand three hundred
lashes for which thou art engaged,
and they shall stand good in the account;
for, when a thing is once began,
it is almost as good as half finished.’—‘Before
God!’ cried Sancho,
‘your worship must be out of
your senses; this is just as they say,
You see me in a hurry, and ask me to
marry. Now, when I am going to
ride upon a wooden crupper, would
your worship have me afflict my posteriors?
Verily, verily, your worship
was never more out of the way; at present,
let us proceed and shave those
duennas, and at our return, I promise
to your worship, on the faith of my
character, to quit my score with such
dispatch, that your worship shall be
satisfied; and I’ll say no more.’—‘Well,
// File: 0760.png
.pn +1
then,’ answered the knight, ‘I
will console myself, honest Sancho,
with that promise, which I really believe
thou wilt perform; for, surely,
though thy head be but green, thy
heart is true blue.’—‘Green,’ said
Sancho; ‘my head is not green, but
black; but even though it were pye-bald,
I would perform my promise.’

After this short dialogue they returned,
in order to take horse; then,
the knight addressing himself to the
squire, ‘Sancho,’ said he, ‘suffer yourself
to be hoodwinked, and get up:
he who sends for us from such distant
regions, can have no intention to deceive
us, because he could reap no
glory from having deceived those who
depended on his sincerity; and, although
the event may turn out contrary
to my expectation, the glory of
having undertaken such an exploit no
malice whatsoever can impair.’—‘Come,
then, Signior,’ cried the squire,
‘for the beards and tears of those ladies
are so imprinted in my heart, that
I shall not swallow a mouthful to do
me good, until I see them restored to
their original smoothness. Get up,
Signior, and hoodwink yourself first:
for, if the crupper is to be my seat, it
is plain that you must mount first into
the saddle.’—‘You are in the right,’
replied Don Quixote; who, pulling an
handkerchief from his pocket, desired
the afflicted duenna to fasten it round
his eyes, which, however, were no
sooner covered, than he took off the
bandage, saying, ‘If I remember
aright, I have read in Virgil, of the
Trojan Palladium, a wooden horse offered
to the goddess Pallas, the bowels
of which horse were filled with armed
men, who afterwards occasioned the total
destruction of Troy; and, therefore,
it will not be amiss, first of all,
to examine the belly of Clavileno.’—‘There
is no occasion,’ said the afflicted
duenna; ‘for I am certain that Malambruno
has neither treachery nor malice
in his heart: your worship, Signior
Don Quixote, may therefore mount,
without the least apprehension; and if
any mischief befal you, lay it at my
door.’ The knight reflecting that any
hesitation about his personal safety would
be a disparagement to his valour, mounted
// File: 0761.png
Clavileno without farther altercation,
and tried the peg, which turned with
ease; and his legs hanging down at full
length, for want of stirrups, he looked
like a figure in some Roman triumph,
painted or wrought in Flemish
tapestry.

Then Sancho, very slowly, and much
against his will, crept up behind, and
seating himself as well as he could upon
the crupper, found it so hard and uneasy,
that he begged the duke would order
him to be accommodated with some
cushion or pillow, though it should be
taken from my Lady Duchess’s sopha, or
some page’s bed; for the crupper of that
horse seemed to be made of marble rather
than of wood.

Here Trifaldi interposing, assured him
that Clavileno would bear no kind of
furniture or ornament; but said he might
sit sideways like a woman, in which attitude
he would not be so sensible of the
hardness. Sancho took her advice, and
saying adieu, allowed his eyes to be covered;
but, afterwards pulling up the
bandage, and looking ruefully at all
the people in the garden, he, with tears
in his eyes, besought them to assist him
in that extremity with a brace of Paternosters,
and as many Ave Marias, as
God should provide somebody to do as
much for them in like time or need.

Don Quixote hearing this apostrophe,
‘How now, miscreant!’ said he, ‘are
you brought to the gallows, or in
the last agonies of death, that you
make use of such intreaties? Dispirited
and cowardly creature! Art
not thou seated in the very same
place which was occupied by the
fair Magalona, and from which she
descended, not to her grave, but to the
crown of France, if history speaks
truth? And I, who sit by thy side,
surely may vie with valiant Peter,
who pressed the self same back now
pressed by me. Shroud, shroud thine
eyes, thou animal without a soul,
and let not those symptoms of fear
escape thy lips, at least in my presence.’—‘Hoodwink
me then,’ answered
Sancho, ‘and since I must neither
recommend myself, nor be recommended,
to the protection of God,
what wonder is it, if I am afraid we
shall meet with some legion of devils,
// File: 0762.png
.pn +1
who will treat us according to the
Peralvillo law[#]?’

Their eyes being covered, and Don
Quixote perceiving he was fixed in his
seat, turned the peg; and scarce had
his finger touched this rudder, when the
whole bevy of duennas, and all that were
present, raised their voices, crying,
‘Heaven be thy guide, valorous knight!
God be thy protection, intrepid
squire!—Now, now, you rise and cut
the liquid sky more swiftly than an arrow;
now, you begin to astonish and
confound all those who gaze upon you
from this earthly spot!—Hold fast,
valiant Sancho, for we see thee totter;
beware of falling: to fall from
such an height would be more fatal
than the fall of that aspiring youth
whose ambition prompted him to drive
the chariot of the sun his father.’

Sancho, hearing this exclamation,
crept closer to his master, and hugging
him fast in his arms, ‘Signior,’ said
he, ‘how can we be so high as those
people say we are, seeing we can hear
them speak as well as if we were within
a few yards of them?’—‘You
must not mind that circumstance,’ answered
the knight; ‘for these incidents
and flights being all together out of
the ordinary course of things, you
may hear and see what you please, at
the distance of a thousand leagues: but
do not squeeze me so hard, lest I
tumble from my seat. I really cannot
imagine what it is that disturbs and
affrights thee; for I swear, in all the
days of my life, I never bestrode a
horse of a more easy pace: indeed, he
goes so smoothly, that I can hardly feel
him move. Dispel thy fear, my friend,
for truly the business goes on swimmingly,
and we sail right afore the
wind.’—‘You are certainly in the
right,’ answered Sancho; ‘for on this
side, there blows as fresh a gale as if I
was fanned with a thousand pair of
bellows.’

Nor was he much mistaken in his
conjecture; for the wind that blew was
actually produced by one of those machines:
so well had the adventure been
contrived by the duke and duchess, and,
their steward, that nought was wanting
to render it compleat. Then the knight
feeling the same breeze, ‘Without
doubt,’ said he, ‘we must be arrived
at the second region of the air, in
which hail and snow are produced;
meteors, thunder and lightning, are
engendered in the third region: if we
continue to mount at this rate, we shall
in a very little time reach the region of
fire; and I know not how to manage
this peg, so as to put a stop to our rising,
and prevent our being scorched
to a cinder.’

In the midst of this conversation their
faces were warmed with some tow that
was kindled for the purpose, at the end
of a long pole, and Sancho feeling the
heat, ‘Let me perish!’ cried he, ‘if we
are not now come to that same habitation
of fire; for a great part of my
beard is already singed; and I am resolved
to uncover my eyes, that I
may see whereabouts we are.’—‘By
no means,’ answered the knight: ‘remember
the true story of the licentiate
Toralva, who being mounted on a
cane, was conveyed through the air,
with his eyes shut, by the devils: in
twelve hours he arrived at Rome, and
alighted on the tower of Nona, which
is in one of the streets of that city,
whence he beheld the whole tumult,
assault, and death, of the constable of
Bourbon; and before morning he had
returned to Madrid, where he gave an
account of that transaction. He likewise
affirmed, that while he travelled
through the air, the devil bade him
open his eyes, and he saw himself so
near the body of the moon, that he
could have touched it with his hand;
but he durst not look towards the
earth, lest his head should have turned
giddy. Let us not, therefore, uncover
our eyes, Sancho; he in whose
charge we are will give a good account
of us; and, perhaps, we are
now at the very point of our elevation,
from whence we shall come
souse upon the kingdom of Candaya,
as a faker or jerfaulcon darts down
// File: 0763.png
.pn +1
upon an heron with a force proportioned
to his rise: and, although it
seems to us no more than half an hour
since we set out from the garden, you
may depend upon it we have travelled
an immense way.’—‘As to that matter,
I am quite ignorant,’ said Sancho:
‘this only I know, that if Madam
Magallanes or Magalona took
pleasure in sitting upon this crupper,
her flesh must not have been very
tender.’

All this dialogue of the two heroes
was overheard by the duke and duchess,
and the rest of the company in the garden,
to whom it afforded extraordinary
entertainment: at length, desirous of
finishing this strange and well-concerted
adventure, they set fire to Clavileno’s
tail with some lighted flax; his belly being
filled with squibs and crackers, he instantly
blew up with a dreadful explosion,
and Don Quixote, with his squire,
came to the ground more than half
singed. By this time the whole bearded
squadron, with my Lady Trifaldi, had
vanished from the garden, and all the
rest of the company were stretched upon
the ground as in a trance. Don Quixote
and Sancho getting on their feet, in
a very indifferent condition, and looking
all around, were astonished to find themselves
in the same garden from which
they took their flight, and to see such a
number of people extended along the
grass: but their admiration was still
more increased, when at one corner of
the garden they beheld a huge lance fixed
in the ground, and tied to this lance, by
two cords of green silk, a smooth, white
skin of parchment, on which was the
following inscription in large golden
letters:

‘The renowned knight Don Quixote
de la Mancha has finished and atchieved
the adventure of the Countess
Trifaldi, alias the afflicted Duenna,
and her companions solely by his having
undertaken the enterprize.

‘Malambruno is wholly satisfied and
appeased; the chins of the duennas are
smooth and clean; their Majesties Don
Clavijo and Antonomasia are restored
to their original form: and when the
squirely flagellation shall be accomplished,
the white dove will be delivered
from the pestilential talons of
her persecutors, and find herself within
the arms of her beloved turtle; for
// File: 0764.png
such is the decree of the sage Merlin,
the prince and prototype of all enchanters.’

Don Quixote having read this scroll,
at once comprehended the meaning,
which related to the disinchantment of
Dulcinea, and returning a thousand
thanks to Heaven for his success in having
finished such a mighty exploit with
so little danger, and reduced to their
pristine form the faces of those venerable
duennas who had disappeared, he went
towards the place where the duke and
duchess still lay intranced, and pulling
his grace by the arm, ‘Courage! courage,
my noble lord!’ said he; ‘all is
over now; the adventure is finished,
without damage to the barrier, as will
plainly appear by the inscription of
yonder scroll.’

The duke seemed to recover gradually,
like one waking from a profound sleep;
his example was followed by the duchess,
and all the rest who lay along the garden;
and they exhibited such marks of
fear and astonishment, that even almost
to themselves, that seemed to have happened
in earnest which they had so well
acted in jest. The duke having read
the inscription with his eyes half shut,
ran with open arms to embrace Don
Quixote, calling him the most worthy
knight that any age had ever produced:
while Sancho went looking about for
the afflicted matron, to see if her beard
was quite gone, and whether her face,
without hair, was as beautiful as her gallant
deportment seemed to promise. But
he was told, that as Clavileno descended
in a flame from the sky, the whole squadron
of duennas, with Trifaldi at their
head, had vanished, and their faces
smack-smooth as if they had been clean
shaven.

Then the duchess asking, how it had
fared with Sancho in his long journey,
the squire replied, ‘As for me, my lady,
I perceived, as my master told me, that
we flew threw the region of fire, and
I felt a strong inclination to have a
peep; but my master would not consent,
when I begged his permission to uncover
my eyes; nevertheless, I, who have
a sort of a chip of curiosity, and an
eager desire to know what I am forbid
to enquire about fair and softly, without
being perceived by any living soul,
pulled down upon my nose the handkerchief
that covered my eyes, and by
// File: 0765.png
.pn +1
these means had a glimpse of the earth,
which seemed no bigger than a grain
of mustard, and the men that walked
upon it almost as little as hazle nuts;
so you may guess how high we must
have soared by that time.’

To this asseveration the duchess answered,
‘Have a care, friend Sancho;
from what you say, it appears that it
could not be the earth, but the men
walking upon it, whom you saw: for
if the earth appeared like a grain of
mustard, and every man as big as a
nut, it clearly follows, that one man
must have covered the whole earth.’—‘Very
true,’ said Sancho; ‘but, for all
that, I had a side-view, by which I
discovered the whole globe.’—‘Take
notice, Sancho,’ resumed the duchess,
‘it is impossible to see the whole of any
thing by a side-view.’—‘I know nothing
of views,’ replied the squire;
‘this only I know, your ladyship ought
to consider, that as we flew by inchantment,
so might I, by inchantment, see
the whole earth, and all the men upon
it, in any sort of view whatsoever: and
if your ladyship will not believe me in
that, no more will you believe me when
I tell you, that pushing up the handkerchief
towards my eye-brows, I
found myself within a hand’s breadth
and a half of heaven, which I’ll assure
your ladyship upon oath is very huge;
and it came to pass, that our road lay
close to the seven nanny-goats[#]: now,
I having been a goatherd in my youth,
before God and my conscience! I no
sooner set eyes on them, than I was
seized with the inclination to divert myself
a little with the pretty creatures,
and if I had not done it, I believe I
should have burst for vexation. Come
on then, what does me I? but, without
saying a word to any living soul,
not even to my master, fairly and softly
slide down from Clavileno, and sport
with the nannies, which are like violets
and lilies, for the space of three
quarters of an hour, and all that time
the horse did not budge a step from
the place.’

‘And while honest Sancho diverted
himself with the goats,’ said the duke,
‘how was Signior Don Quixote entertained?’
To this interrogation the
knight replied, ‘As all these adventures
and incidents are out of the ordinary
course of nature, we are not to wonder
at what Sancho has told; for my own
part, I can safely affirm, that I neither
shoved up nor pulled down the bandage,
nor did see either heaven, or
earth, or sea, or land. True it is, I
perceived we passed through the region
of the air, and even bordered
upon the region of fire, but that we
travelled beyond it I cannot believe;
for the fiery region being between the
sphere of the moon and the utmost region
of the air, we could not reach
that firmament in which are placed the
seven nannies, as Sancho calls them,
without being scorched to death; and
seeing we are not scorched, either Sancho
lyes, or Sancho dreams.’—‘I neither
lye nor dream,’ cried the squire;
‘let them ask the marks of the nanny-goats,
and by my answers you will perceive
whether or not I speak truth.’—‘Describe
them, then, Sancho,’ said the
duchess. ‘Two of them,’ replied Sancho,
‘are green, two carnation, two
blue, and one motley.’—‘This is a
new breed,’ said the duke; ‘in our region
of earth there are no such colours;
I mean, among the nanny-goats.’—‘That
is very plain,’ replied the squire;
‘there must be some difference between
the goats of heaven and those upon
earth.’—‘Pray, tell me, Sancho,’ said
his grace, ‘didst thou see never a he-goat
among those females[#]?’—‘No,
my lord,’ answered the squire; ‘I have
been told none of those pass beyond
the horns of the moon.’

They did not chuse to interrogate him
farther about his journey; for they concluded
that Sancho was in a fair way to
travel through all the heavens above, and
tell the news of each, though he had never
stirred from the garden.

Finally, thus ended the adventure of
the afflicted duenna, which afforded a
fund for laughter to the duke and duchess,
not only at that time, but during
the whole course of their lives; as well as
matter for Sancho to relate, had he lived
whole centuries.

Don Quixote coming to the squire,
whispered in his ear, ‘Hark ye, Sancho;
since you would have us believe
// File: 0766.png
.pn +1
what you say, touching the things
you saw in heaven, I desire the like
credit from you with regard to those
things I saw in the cave of Montesinos:
that’s all.’

.fn #
Equivalent to Abington law; in consequence of which, a criminal is first executed,
and then tried. Peralvillo is a village near Ciuidad Real, in Castile, where the officers of
the holy brotherhood execute robbers taken <i>in flagrante</i>, who require no trial. Hence the
phrase, <lang=es>‘<i>La justicia de Peralvillo, que aborcado el hombre, le baze la Pesquisa</i>.’</lang> <abbr rend=spell>i. e.</abbr>
‘Peralvillo law, which begins the process after the man is hanged.’
.fn-

.fn #
In Spain, the Pleiades are vulgarly called <lang=es><i>cabrillas</i></lang>, <abbr rend=spell>i. e.</abbr> nanny-goats.
.fn-

.fn #
There is a kind of pleasantry in this question of the duke, which cannot be translated;
for the Spanish word, <lang=es><i>cabron</i></lang>, signifies a cuckold, as well as an he-goat.
.fn-
.sp 4
.h4 id=chap4-3-10
<abbr=chapter>CHAP.</abbr> <abbr=ten>X.</abbr> | CONTAINING DON QUIXOTE’S INSTRUCTIONS TO SANCHO PANZA,| BEFORE HE SET OUT FOR HIS GOVERNMENT—|WITH OTHER WELL WEIGHED INCIDENTS.
.sp 2
The duke and duchess were so well
pleased with the diverting and happy
success of the adventure of the afflicted
duenna, that they resolved to proceed
with the jest, seeing what a proper
subject they had to make it pass for
earnest. Having, therefore, communicated
their scheme and instructions to
their servants and vassals, touching their
behaviour to Sancho in his government
of the promised island; on the day succeeding
the flight of Clavileno, the duke
desired him to prepare and make himself
ready to set out for his government, as
the islanders already longed for him as
much as for May showers.

Sancho, having made his obeisance,
‘Since my descent from heaven,’ said
he, ‘and since from its lofty summit I
have viewed the earth, and found it of
such small extent, my desire of being
a governor is much moderated; for
what grandeur can there be in reigning
over a grain of mustard-seed? or
what dignity and empire in governing
half a dozen of mortals no bigger than
filberts? for the whole earth seemed to
contain nothing more. If your lordship
would be pleased to bestow upon
me a small trifling space in heaven,
though it should not be above half a
league, I would more gladly receive
it than the best island in the world.’—‘You
must consider, friend Sancho,’ replied
the duke, ‘that I have it not in
my power to give away any part of
heaven; no, not a nail’s breadth, these
favours and benefits are in the gift of
God alone. What is in my power, I
freely give you; namely, a good island,
right and tight, round and well-proportioned,
above measure fertile, and
so abounding with all good things,
that if you mind your hits, you may
// File: 0767.png
with the riches of earth purchase the
opulence of heaven.’—‘Well, then,’
cried Sancho, ‘let this island be forthcoming,
and I will struggle hard, but I
shall be such a governor that in spite
of knaves, I may go to heaven; and
take notice, it is not from avarice that
I desire to quit my cottage, and raise
myself to a footing with my betters;
but solely to taste and try what it is to
be a governor.’—‘Nay, if once you
taste it,’ said the duke, ‘you will be
ready to eat your fingers after the government;
for nothing is so delicious
as to command and be obeyed; certain
I am, that when your master shall
come to be an emperor, as will doubtless
be the case, considering the current
of his affairs, it will not be in the
power of any person upon earth to tear
it from him, and he will sorely grieve,
and heartily rue the time he has lost
before his advancement to such an imperial
station.’—‘Indeed, my lord,’
replied Sancho, ‘I imagine it must be a
very pleasant thing to govern, even
though it should be but a flock of sheep.’—‘May
I be buried with you, Sancho,
but you know every thing!’ answered
the duke; ‘I hope you will turn out such
a governor as your judgment and sagacity
seem to promise: but here let
that matter rest; and take notice, that
tomorrow morning you must set out
for the government of the island; and
this evening you shall be accommodated
with a convenient dress, and all
other necessaries for your departure.’—‘They
may dress me as they will,’ said
the squire; ‘but, be that as it may, I
shall still be Sancho Panza.’—‘True,’
replied the duke; ‘but the garb ought
always to be suited to the dignity and
function of the profession; for it would
be a great impropriety in a lawyer to
appear in the dress of a soldier, or in a
soldier to wear canonicals; you, Sancho,
must wear an habit that shall partly
bespeak the gown, and partly the
sword; for in the island which I have
bestowed upon you, letters and arms
are both necessary.’—‘As for letters,’
answered Sancho, ‘I am but indifferently
stored, as I am even ignorant of
the <abbr rend=spell>a, b, c</abbr>; but, provided I remember
my Christ-cross, I shall be sufficiently
qualified for a good governor. With
regard to arms, I shall use those that
may be put into my hand, until I can
// File: 0768.png
.pn +1
stand no longer, and God be my shield!’—‘With
such an excellent memory,’
said the duke, ‘Sancho can never fall
into the least mistake.’

Here they were joined by Don Quixote,
who understanding the subject of
their conversation, and the short space
allotted to Sancho to prepare for his departure,
took the squire by the hand,
with the duke’s permission, and led him
to his apartment, in order to instruct him
how to behave in his office. Having entered
the chamber, he locked the door,
and obliging Sancho to sit down by him,
spoke to this effect, in a grave and solemn
tone.

‘I return infinite thanks to Heaven,
friend Sancho, for having ordained,
that, before I myself have met with the
least success, good fortune hath gone
forth to bid thee welcome. I, who
had balanced the remuneration of thy
service in my own prosperity, find myself
in the very rudiments of promotion;
while thou, before thy time, and
contrary to all the laws of reasonable
progression, findest thy desire accomplished.
Other people bribe, solicit, importune,
attend levees, intreat, and
persevere, without obtaining their suit;
and another comes, who, without
knowing why or wherefore, finds himself
in possession of that office to which
so many people laid claim; and here
the old saying is aptly introduced, A
pound of good luck is worth a ton of
merit. Thou, who in comparison to
me, art doubtless an ignorant dunce,
without rising early, or sitting up late,
or, indeed, exerting the least industry;
without any pretension more or less,
than that of being breathed upon by
knight-errantry, seest thyself created
governor of an island, as if it was a
matter of moonshine. All this I observe,
O Sancho, that thou mayest not
attribute thy success to thy own deserts;
but give thanks to Heaven for
having disposed matters so beneficially
in thy behalf, and then make thy acknowledgments
to that grandeur which
centers in the profession of knight-errantry.
Thy heart being thus predisposed
to believe what I have said,
be attentive, O my son, to me, who am
thy Cato, thy counsellor, thy north
pole, and guide, to conduct thee into a
secure harbour, from the tempestuous
sea into which thou art going to be
// File: 0769.png
engulphed; for great posts, and offices
of state, are no other than a profound
gulph of confusion.

‘In the first place, O my son, you
are to fear God: the fear of God is
the beginning of wisdom; and if you
are wise you cannot err.

‘Secondly, you must always remember
who you are, and endeavour to
know yourself; a study of all others
the most difficult. This self knowledge
will hinder you from blowing
yourself up like a frog, in order to rival
the size of an ox; if, therefore, you
succeed in this learning, the consideration
of thy having been a swineherd,
will, like the peacock’s ugly
feet, be a check upon thy folly and
pride.’—‘I own, I once kept hogs,
when I was a boy,’ said Sancho; ‘but
after I grew up, I quitted that employment,
and took care of geese; but
I apprehend that matter is not of great
consequence, for all governors are not
descended from the kingly race.’—‘No,
sure,’ answered the knight; ‘and,
for that reason, those who are not of
noble extraction, ought to sweeten the
gravity of their function with mildness
and affability; which, being prudently
conducted, will screen them from those
malicious murmurs that no station can
escape. Rejoice, Sancho, in the lowness
of your pedigree, and make no
scruple of owning yourself descended
from peasants; for nobody will endeavour
to make you blush for that of
which they see you are not ashamed;
and value yourself more upon being
a virtuous man of low degree,
than upon being a proud sinner of
noble birth. Innumerable are those,
who, from an humble stock, have
risen to the pontifical and imperatorial
dignity; a truth which I could
prove by so many examples, that
you would not have patience to hear
them.

‘Take notice, Sancho, if you chuse
virtue for your medium, and pique
yourself upon performing worthy actions,
you will have no cause to envy
noblemen and princes; for blood is
hereditary, but virtue is acquired;
consequently, this last has an intrinsick
value, which the other does not
possess.

‘This being the case, as undoubtedly
it is, if peradventure any one of your
// File: 0770.png
.pn +1
relations should come to visit you in
your island, you must not discountenance
and affront him; but, on the contrary,
let him be kindly received and
entertained; and, in so doing, you will
act conformably to the will of Heaven,
which is displeased at seeing its own
handy work despised; and perform
your duty to the well-concerted rights
of nature.

‘If you send for your wife, (and, indeed,
those who are concerned in governing
ought not to be long without
their helpmates) take pains in teaching,
improving, and civilizing her; for all
that a sagacious governor can acquire,
is very often lost and squandered by a
foolish rustick wife.

‘If, perchance, you should become a
widower, a circumstance that may possibly
happen, and have it in your power
to make a more advantageous match,
you must not chuse such a yoke-fellow
as will serve for an angling-hook,
fishing-rod, or equivocating hood[#];
for verily I say unto thee, all that a
judge’s wife receives must be accounted
for at the general clearance, by the
husband, who will repay fourfold after
death what he made no reckoning
of during life.

‘Never conduct yourself by the law
of your own arbitrary opinion, which
is generally the case with those ignorant
people who presume upon their
own self-sufficiency.

‘Let the tears of the poor find more
compassion in thy breast, though not
more justice, than the informations of
the rich.

‘Endeavour to investigate the truth
from among the promises and presents
of the opulent, as well as from the sighs
and importunities of the needy.

‘When equity can, and ought to
take place, inflict not the whole rigour
of the law upon the delinquent;
for severity is not more respected than
compassion, in the character of a
judge.

‘If ever you suffer the rod of justice
to be bent a little, let it not be warped
by the weight of corruption, but the
bowels of mercy.

‘If ever you should have an opportunity
to judge the process of your enemy,
recal the attention from the injury
you have received, and fix it wholly
upon the truth of the case.

‘In another man’s cause, be not blinded
by private affection; for the errors
thus committed are generally incurable;
or, if they admit of remedy, it
will be greatly at the expence of your
fortune and credit.

‘If a beautiful woman should come
to demand justice, withdraw your eyes
from her tears, and your hearing from
her sighs, and deliberate at a distance
upon the substance of her demand,
unless you have a mind that your reason
should be overwhelmed by her
complaint, and your virtue buried in
her sighs.

‘Abuse not him in word whom you
are resolved to chastise in deed; for to
such a wretch, the pain of the punishment
will be sufficient, without the
addition of reproach.

‘In judging the delinquents who
shall fall under your jurisdiction, consider
the miserable object man, subject
to the infirmities of our depraved
nature; and, as much as lies in your
power, without injury to the contrary
party, display your clemency and
compassion; for although all the attributes
of God are equally excellent,
that of mercy has a better effect in our
eye, and strikes with greater lustre than
justice.

‘If you observe and conduct yourself
by these rules and precepts, Sancho,
your days will be long upon the
face of the earth; your fame will be
eternal, your reward compleat, and
your felicity unutterable; your children
will be married according to your
wish; they and their descendants will
enjoy titles; you shall live in peace
and friendship with all mankind: when
your course of life is run, death will
overtake you in an happy and mature
old age, and your eyes will be shut by
the tender and delicate hands of your
posterity, in the third or fourth generation.

‘The remarks I have hitherto made,
are documents touching the decoration
of your soul; and now you will listen
to those that regard the ornaments of
the body.’

.fn #
The phrase, <lang=es><i>No quiero de tu capilla</i></lang>, alludes to the practice of friars, who, when
charity is offered, hold out their hoods to receive it, while they pronounce a refusal with
their tongues.
.fn-
// File: 0771.png
.pn +1
.sp 4
.h4 id=chap4-3-11
<abbr=chapter>CHAP.</abbr> <abbr=eleven>XI.</abbr> | OF THE SECOND SERIES OF INSTRUCTIONS WHICH DON QUIXOTE GAVE| TO SANCHO PANZA.
.sp 2
Who that had heard this discourse
of Don Quixote, would not have
taken him for a person of sound judgment,
and excellent disposition? but, as
we have oftentimes observed, in the progress
of this sublime history, his madness
never appeared except when the string of
chivalry was touched; and on all other
subjects of conversation, he displayed a
clear and ready understanding; so that
every minute his works discredit his
judgment, and his judgment his works.
But, in this second set of instructions
communicated to Sancho, he discovered
great ingenuity, and raised his madness
and discretion to a most elevated pitch.

Sancho listened with the utmost attention,
and endeavoured to retain his advice,
like a man who desired to preserve
it, as the infallible means to promote the
happy birth of that government with
which he was so far gone. Don Quixote
then proceeded in these terms.

‘With respect to the government of
your person and family, Sancho: in
the first place, I charge you to be cleanly,
and pare your nails; and do not let
them grow, like some people whose ignorance
teaches them that long nails
beautify the hand, as if that additional
excrement which they neglect
to cut, were really and truly the nail;
whereas, it more nearly resembles the
talons of a lizard-hunting wind-whiffer,
and is a most beastly and extraordinary
abuse.

‘You must never appear loose and unbuttoned;
for a slovenly dress denotes
a disorderly mind; unless that looseness
and negligence be the effect of
cunning, as we suppose to have been
the case with Julius Cæsar.

‘Examine sagaciously the profits of
your place, and if they will afford livery
to your servants, let it be rather
decent and substantial, than gay and
tawdry; and be sure to divide it between
your servants and the poor. For
example, if you can clothe six pages,
put three in livery, and clothe as many
poor boys; and then you will have
// File: 0772.png
pages for Heaven as well as earth:
now, this is a method of giving livery,
which the vain-glorious could never
conceive.

‘Abstain from eating garlick and
onions, lest your breath should discover
your rusticity.

‘Walk leisurely, speak distinctly, but
not so as to seem delighted with your
own discourse; for all affectation is
disagreeable.

‘Dine sparingly, and eat very little
at supper; for the health of the whole
body depends upon the operation of the
stomach.

‘Be temperate in drinking; and consider,
that excess of wine will neither
keep a secret nor perform a promise.

‘Beware, Sancho, of chewing on both
sides of your mouth, as well as eructing
before company.’—‘I do not understand
what you mean by eructing,’ said
the squire. ‘By eructing,’ answered
the knight, ‘I mean belching; which
though one of the most expressive, is
at the same time one of the most vulgar
terms of our language; therefore, people
of taste have had recourse to the
Latin tongue, saying “To eruct,” instead
of “To belch,” and substituting
eructations in the room of belchings;
and though some people may not understand
these terms, it is of small importance;
for time and use will introduce
and render them intelligible; and
this is what we call enriching the language,
over which the practice of the
vulgar has great influence.’—‘Truly,
Signior,’ said Sancho, ‘one of the advices
and good counsels which I intend
to remember, must be that of not belching;
for it is a fault of which I am very
often guilty.’—‘Eructing, Sancho,
and not belching.’ replied Don Quixote.
‘Eructing it shall be henceforward,’ answered
the squire; ‘and I will take care
that it shall not be forgotten.’

‘Moreover, Sancho, you must not intermingle
so many proverbs with your
discourse; for, although proverbs are
short sentences, you very often bring
them in by the head and shoulders, so
preposterously, that they look more like
the ravings of distraction than well-chosen
apothegms.’

‘That defect God himself must remedy,’
said Sancho; ‘for I have more
proverbs by heart, than would be
// File: 0773.png
.pn +1
sufficient to fill a large book; and, when
I speak, they croud together in such a
manner, as to quarrel for utterance;
so that my tongue discharges them just
as they happen to be in the way, whether
they are or are not to the purpose:
but I will take care henceforward, to
throw out those that may be suitable to
the gravity of my office; for, Where
there’s plenty of meat, the supper will
soon be compleat. He that shuffles
does not cut. A good hand makes a
short game; and, It requires a good
brain, to know when to give and retain.’—‘Courage,
Sancho,’ cried
Don Quixote, ‘squeeze, tack, and string
your proverbs together, here are none
to oppose you. My mother whips me,
and I whip the top. Here am I exhorting
thee to suppress thy proverbs,
and in an instant thou hast spewed forth
a whole litany of them, which are as
foreign from the subject as an old ballad.
Remember, Sancho, I do not
say that a proverb, properly applied, is
amiss; but to throw in, and string together,
old saws, helter skelter, renders
conversation altogether mean and
despicable.

‘When you appear on horseback, do
not lean backwards over the saddle,
nor stretch out your legs stiffly from the
horse’s belly, nor let them hang dangling
in a slovenly manner, as if you was
upon the back of Dapple; for some
ride like jockies, and some like gentlemen.

‘Be very moderate in sleeping; for
he who does not rise with the sun, cannot
enjoy the day; and observe, O
Sancho! Industry is the mother of prosperity;
and Laziness, her opposite, never
saw the accomplishment of a good
wish.

‘The last advice which I shall now give
thee, although it does not relate to the
ornament of the body, I desire thou wilt
carefully remember; for, in my opinion,
it will be of as much service to
thee, as any I have hitherto mentioned;
and this it is: Never engage in a
dispute upon pedigree, at least, never
compare one with another; for in all
comparisons, one must of consequence
be preferred to the other; and he whom
you have abased will abhor you; nor
will you ever reap the least return from
him whom you have extolled.
// File: 0774.png

‘Your garb shall consist of breeches
and stockings; a full waistcoat, with
skirts and hanging sleeves, and a loose
coat; but never think, of wearing trunk
hose, which neither become gentlemen
nor governors.

‘This is all that occurs to me at present,
in the way of advice; but, in process
of time, my instructions  shall be
proportioned to thy occasions, provided
thou wilt take care to communicate,
from time to time, the nature of thy
situation.’

‘Signior,’ said Sancho, ‘I plainly perceive
that all the advices you have given
me, are sound and good, and profitable;
but of what signification will
they be, if I forget them all? Indeed,
as for the matter of not letting my
nails grow, or marrying another wife,
in case I should have an opportunity,
it will not easily slip out of my brain;
but as to those other gallimawfries,
quirks, and quiddities, I neither do retain them,
nor shall I ever retain more
of them than of last year’s rain; and
therefore, it will be necessary to let me
have them in writing; for, though I
myself can neither read nor write, I
will give them to my confessor, that he
may repeat and beat them into my
noddle, as there shall be occasion.’

‘Ah, sinner that I am!’ exclaimed
Don Quixote, ‘what a scandal it is for
governors to be so ignorant, that they
can neither read nor write! Thou must
know, Sancho, that for a man to be
totally devoid of letters, or left-handed,
argues either that he was descended
from the very lowest and meanest of people,
or that he was so wicked and stubborn,
that good example and judicious
precept have had no effect upon his
mind or understanding. This is a
great defect in thy character, and I
wish thou wouldst learn, if possible, to
write thy name.’—‘I can sign my
name very well,’ answered Sancho;
‘for, during my stewardship of the brotherhood,
I learned to make such letters
as are ruddled into packs, and
those they tell me stood for my name;
besides, I can feign myself lame of my
right-hand, and keep a secretary to
sign in my room; so that there is a remedy
for every thing but death. And
I having the cudgel in my hand, will
make them do as I command; for he
// File: 0775.png
.pn +1
whose father is mayor—you know—and
I shall be a governor, which is still
better——Let them come and see, but
not throw their squibs or slanders at
me: otherwise they may come for
wool and go home shorn. The house
itself will tell, if God loves its master
well. A rich man’s folly is wisdom
in the world’s eye: now, I being rich
as being governor, and liberal withal,
as I intend to be, nobody will spy my
defects. Make yourself honey, and a
clown will have flies. You are worth
as much as you have, said my grannam;
and, Might overcomes right.’

‘O! God’s curse light on thee,’ cried
Don Quixote: ‘threescore thousand devils
fly away with thee and thy proverbs!
A full hour hast thou been
stringing them together, and every one
has been like a dagger to my soul.
Take my word for it, these proverbs
will bring thee one day to the gallows!
for these, thy vassals will deprive thee
of thy government, or at least enter
into associations against thee. Tell
me, numscull, where didst thou find
this heap of old saws? or how didst
thou learn to apply them, wiseacre? It
makes me sweat like a day-labourer,
to utter one proverb as it ought to be
applied.’—‘’Fore God, Sir master of
mine,’ replied Sancho, ‘your worship
complains of mere trifles. Why the
devil should you be in dudgeon with
me for making use of my own? I have
no other fortune or stock, but proverbs
upon proverbs; and now there are no
less than four at my tongue’s end, that
come as pat to the purpose as pears in
a basket; but, for all that, they shall
not come forth; for, sagacious silence
is Sancho.[#]’—‘That thou art not,
Sancho,’ said the knight; ‘far from
being sagaciously silent, thou art an
obstinate and eternal babbler. Nevertheless,
I would fain hear those four
proverbs that are so pat to the purpose;
for I have been rummaging my whole
memory, which I take to be a good
one, and not a proverb occurs to my
recollection.’—‘What can be better
than these?’ replied the squire: ‘Never
thrust your thumb between another
man’s grinders; and to, Get out of
my house! what would you with my
wife? there is no reply: Whether the
stone goes to the pitcher, or the pitcher
to the stone, ’ware pitcher. Now all
these fit to a hair. Let no man meddle
with a governor or his substitute; otherwise
he will suffer, as if he had thrust
his finger between two grinders; and
even if they should not be grinders, if
they are teeth, it makes little difference:
then, to what a governor says, there is
no reply to be made, no more than to,
Get out of my house! what would you
with my wife? and as to the stone and
the pitcher, a blind man may see the
meaning of it: Wherefore, let him
who spies a mote in his neighbour’s
eye, look first to the beam in his own,
that people may not say of him, The
dead mare was frighted at the flay’d
mule; and your worship is very sensible
that a fool knows more in his own
house than a wise man in that of his
neighbour.’—‘There, Sancho, you
are mistaken.’ answered Don Quixote;
‘a fool knows nothing either in his own
or his neighbour’s house; because no
edifice of understanding can be raised
upon the foundation of folly. But
here let the subject rest: if thou shouldest
misbehave in thy government, thine
will be the fault and mine the shame;
I console myself, however, in reflecting
that I have done my duty in giving
thee advice, with all the earnestness
and discretion in my power; so that I
have acquitted myself in point of promise
and obligation. God conduct
thee, Sancho, and govern thee in thy
government, and deliver me from an
apprehension I have, that thou wilt turn
the island topsy turvy; a misfortune
which I might prevent, by discovering
to the duke what thou art, and telling
him all that paunch and corpulency of
thine is no other than a bag full of proverbs
and impertinence.’

‘Signior,’ replied Sancho, ‘if your
worship really thinks I am not qualified
for that government, I renounce
it from henceforward forever.
Amen. I have a greater regard for a
nail’s breadth of my soul, than my
whole body; and I can subsist as
bare Sancho, upon a crust of bread
and an onion, as well as governor on
capons and partridges; for, While we
// File: 0776.png
.pn +1
sleep, great and small, rich and poor,
are equal all. If your worship will
consider, your worship will find, that
you yourself put this scheme of government
into my head; as for my
own part, I know no more of the matter
than a bustard; and if you think
the governorship will be the means of
my going to the devil, I would much
rather go as simple Sancho to Heaven,
than as a governor to hell fire.’

‘Before God!’ cried the knight,
‘from these last reflections thou hast
uttered, I pronounce thee worthy to
govern a thousand islands. Thou
hast an excellent natural disposition,
without which all science is naught:
recommend thyself to God, and endeavour
to avoid errors in the first intention;
I mean, let thy intention and
unshaken purpose be, to deal righteously
in all thy transactions; for
Heaven always favours the upright
design. And now let us go in to
dinner; for I believe their graces wait
for us.’

.fn #
Instead of <i>saintly</i>.
.fn-
.sp 4
.h4 id=chap4-3-12
<abbr=chapter>CHAP.</abbr> <abbr=twelve>XII.</abbr> | GIVING AN ACCOUNT OF THE MANNER IN WHICH| SANCHO WAS CONDUCTED TO THE GOVERNMENT,| AND A STRANGE ADVENTURE THAT HAPPENED TO DON QUIXOTE IN THE CASTLE.
.sp 2
The original of the history, it is
said, relates that the interpreter
did not translate this chapter as it had
been written by Cid Hamet Benengeli,
who bewails his fate in having undertaken
such a dry and confined history
as that of Don Quixote; which obliged
him to treat of nothing but the knight
and his squire, without daring to launch
out into other more grave and entertaining
episodes and digressions. He
complained, that to be thus restricted in
his hand, his pen, and his invention,
to one subject only, so as to be obliged
to speak through the mouths of a few
persons, was an insupportable toil, that
produced no fruit to the advantage of
the author; and that in order to avoid
this inconvenience, he had in the first
part used the artifice of some novels,
such as the Impertinent Curiosity, and
// File: 0777.png
the Captive, which were detached from
the history, although many particulars
there recounted are really incidents
which happened to Don Quixote; and,
therefore, could not be suppressed. It
was likewise his opinion, as he observes,
that many readers being wholly ingrossed
with the exploits of Don Quixote,
would not bestow attention upon novels,
but pass them over either with negligence
or disgust, without adverting
to the spirit and artifice they contain:
a truth which would plainly appear,
were they to be published by themselves,
independent of the madness of
Don Quixote, and the simplicities of
Sancho. He would not therefore insert
in the second part any novels, whether
detached or attached; but only a few
episodes that seem to spring from those
very incidents which truth represents;
and even these, as brief and concise as
they could possibly be related: and
since he includes and confines himself
within the narrow limits of narration,
though his abilities and understanding
are sufficient to treat the whole
universe, he hopes that his work will not
be depreciated; and begs he may receive
due praise, not for what he has written,
but for what he has left unwrit. Then
the history proceeds in this manner.

In the evening that succeeded the afternoon
on which the knight admonished
his squire, he gave him his admonitions
in writing, that he might find some
person to read them occasionally; but,
scarce had Sancho received, than he
dropped them by accident, and they fell
into the hands of the duke, who communicated
the paper to the duchess, and
both admired anew the madness and
ingenuity of Don Quixote. Revolving
to prosecute the jest, they, that very
evening, dismissed Sancho with a large
retinue to the place, which he supposed
to be an island; the execution of the
whole scheme being left to the sagacity
of the duke’s steward, who was a person
of great humour and discretion; for
without discretion there can be no humour.
He it was who acted the part
of the Countess Trifaldi, with that
pleasantry above related. Thus qualified,
and in consequence of the instructions
he received from their graces
touching his behaviour to Sancho, he
had performed his part to admiration.
// File: 0778.png
.pn +1
It happened, then, that Sancho no sooner
beheld the said steward, than he traced
in his countenance the very features of
Trifaldi; and turning to his master,
‘Signior,’ said he, ‘the devil may fly
away with me from this spot where I
stand, as an honest man, and a believer,
if your worship will not confess
that the face of the duke’s steward
here present, is the very same with
that of the afflicted duenna!’ Don
Quixote, having attentively considered
the steward’s countenance, replied,
‘There is no occasion for the devil’s
running away with thee, Sancho,
either as an honest man or a believer;
(indeed, I cannot guess thy meaning)
for, sure enough, this steward’s face
is the very same with that of the afflicted
duenna; but, nevertheless, the
steward and the duenna cannot possibly
be the same person: that would
imply a downright contradiction, and
this is no time to set on foot such enquiries,
which would entangle us in
the maze of inextricable labyrinths.
Believe me, friend, we ought to beseech
the Lord very earnestly to deliver
us from those two evils of wicked
wizzards, and vile inchanters.’—‘But
this is no joke,’ answered Sancho;
‘for I heard him speak a little
while ago, and methought the very
voice of Trifaldi sounded in mine
ears. At present, however, I will
hold my tongue; but, nevertheless, I
will keep a strict eye over him from
henceforward, in order to discover
some other mark either to destroy or
confirm my suspicion.’—‘Do so, Sancho,’
said Don Quixote; ‘and be sure
to send me notice of the discoveries
thou shalt make in this particular, as
well as of every thing that shall happen
to thee in the course of thine administration.’

At length Sancho departed with a
numerous attendance; he was dressed
like a gownman, with a long cloak of
murrey-coloured camblet, and a cap of
the same stuff: he rode upon a mule,
with short stirrups; and was followed
by Dapple, who, by the duke’s express
order, was adorned with rich trappings
of flaming silk; so that the governor from
time to time turned about his head to
contemplate the finery of his ass, with
whose company he was so well content,
that he would not have exchanged
it for that of the German emperor.
// File: 0779.png

At parting, he kissed the hands of
the duke and duchess; and asked the
benediction of his master, which was
given with tears, and received with a
whimper.

Courteous reader, suffer honest Sancho
to depart in peace and happy time,
and lay thy account with two bushels
of laughter, which will proceed from
thy knowing how he behaved himself in
office; and in the mean time, attend to
what befel his master this very night;
an incident which, if it cannot excite
thy laughter, will, at least, induce thee
to grin like a monkey; for the adventures
of Don Quixote must be celebrated,
either with mirth or admiration.

It is related, then, that Sancho was
no sooner gone than his master became
solitary; and had it been possible,
would have revoked the commission, and
deprived him of his government; but
the duchess being apprized of his melancholy,
desired to know the cause,
observing, that if it proceeded from
Sancho’s absence, there was plenty of
squires, duennas, and damsels, in the
family, who should serve him to the
satisfaction of his utmost wish. ‘True
it is, my Lady Duchess,’ replied Don
Quixote, ‘I feel the absence of Sancho;
but that is not the principal
cause of my seeming sadness; and of
all the generous proffers of your excellency,
I chuse to accept nothing
but the good-will with which they are
made; for the rest, I humbly beg
your excellency will consent, and permit
me to wait upon myself in my
own apartment.’—‘Truly,’ said the
duchess, ‘that must not be; Signior
Don Quixote shall be served by four
of my damsels, as beautiful as roses.’—‘With
regard to me,’ answered the
knight, ‘they will not be roses, but
thorns to prick my very soul; and,
therefore, I will as soon fly as permit
them, or any thing like them, to
enter my chamber. If your grace
would continue to bestow your favours,
which, I own, I do not deserve,
suffer me to be private, and
make use of my own doors, that I
may raise a wall between my passions
and my chastity; a custom which I
would not forego for all the liberality
which your highness is pleased to display
in my behalf; and, in a word, I
will rather sleep in my cloaths than
consent to be undressed by any person
// File: 0780.png
.pn +1
whatsoever.’—‘Enough, enough,
Signior Don Quixote,’ answered her
grace; ‘you may depend upon it, I
shall give such orders, that not even
a fly, much less a damsel, shall enter
your apartment; I am not a person to
discompose the decency of Signior Don
Quixote, among whose virtues, I
perceive, that of decorum shines with
superior lustre. Your worship may
dress and undress yourself alone, after
your own fashion, when and how you
please, without lett or impediment;
for in your chamber you will find
every utensil suited to those who sleep
under lock and key, without being
obliged to open upon any necessary
occasion. Long live the great Dulcinea
del Toboso, and may her fame
be extended around the whole circumference
of the earth, seeing she
is worthy to be beloved by a knight
of such valour and chastity; and may
propitious Heaven infuse into the
heart of Sancho Panza, our governor,
a promptitude to finish his flagellation,
that the world may soon re-enjoy
the beauty of such an excellent
lady!’ To this compliment the knight
replied; ‘Your highness hath spoken
like yourself; for from the mouths of
such benevolent ladies nothing evil
can proceed; and Dulcinea will be
more fortunate, and more renowned
through the world, by your grace’s
approbation, than by all the applause
of the greatest orators upon earth.’

‘Well then, Signior Don Quixote,’
answered the duchess, ‘it is now supper
time, and the duke probably stays
for us; let us go and sup, therefore,
that you may be a-bed betimes; for
your journey to Candaya was not so
short, but that it must have fatigued
your worship in some measure.’—‘Madam,’
replied Don Quixote, ‘I feel
no sort of weariness; and I swear to
your excellency, that in my life I
never crossed a better or easier going
steed than Clavileno; nor can I conceive
what should induce Malambruno
to deprive himself of such a light
and gentle carriage, by burning it
without scruple or hesitation.’—‘As
to that particular,’ said the duchess,
‘we may suppose, that repenting of the
injury he had done to the countess and
her company, as well as to other
people, and being sorry for the mischief
he must certainly have produced
// File: 0781.png
as a wizzard and inchanter, he resolved
to destroy all the instruments of his
art; as the principal of these, which
gave him the greatest uneasiness, because
it has transported him from
place to place in his operations, he
burned Clavileno, that by means of
his ashes, and the trophy of the parchment,
the valour of Don Quixote
might be eternized.’

The knight made fresh acknowledgments
of her grace’s politeness, and after
supper retired to his apartment, without
suffering any person to accompany
or minister unto his occasions; so much
was he afraid of meeting with trials,
which might provoke or compel him to
forego the chastity and decorum which
he had hitherto preserved for his mistress
Dulcinea, ever schooling his imagination
with the exemplary virtue of
Amadis, the flower and mirrour of
knight-errantry.

Having locked the door behind him,
he undressed himself by the light of two
wax tapers; and in the course of this
occupation (O misfortune, ill decreed
to such a personage!) forth broke—not
a volley of sighs, or any thing else to
discredit the purity of his politeness,
but about two dozen of stitches in one
stocking; which, being thus torn, resembled
a lattice: a mishap which was
the source of extreme affliction to our
worthy Signior; who, on this occasion,
would have given an ounce of silver for
a drachm of green silk, for his stockings
were of that colour.

Here Benengeli exclaims, ‘O poverty,
poverty! I know not what should
induce the great Cordovan poet to
call thee an holy unfrequented gift.
I, though a Moor, am very sensible,
from my correspondence with Christians,
that holiness consists in charity,
humility, faith, poverty, and obedience;
yet, nevertheless, I will affirm,
that he must be holy indeed,
who can sit down content with poverty,
unless we mean that kind of
poverty to which one of the greatest
saints alludes, when he says, “Possess
all things as not possessing them,” and
this is called spiritual poverty. But
thou second poverty, which is the
cause I spoke of, why wouldst thou
assault gentlemen of birth rather than
any other class of people? Why dost
thou compel them to cobble their
shoes, and wear upon their coats one
// File: 0782.png
.pn +1
button of silk, another of hair, and
a third of glass? Why must their ruffs
be generally yellow and ill starched?’
(By the bye, from this circumstance we
learn the antiquity of ruffs and starch[#].)
But, thus he proceeds: ‘O wretched
man of noble pedigree! who is obliged
to administer cordials to his honour,
in the midst of hunger and solitude,
by playing the hypocrite with
a toothpick, which he affects to use
in the street, though he has eat nothing
to require that act of cleanliness;
wretched he! I say, whose honour
is ever apt to be startled, and
thinks that every body, at a league’s
distance, observes the patch upon his
shoe, his greasy hat, and thread-bare
cloak, and even the hunger that predominates
in his belly!’

All these reflections occurred to Don
Quixote when he tore his stockings; but
he consoled himself for the misfortune,
when he perceived that Sancho
had left behind him a pair of travelling-boots,
which he resolved to wear next
day: finally, he crept into bed, where
he lay pensive and melancholy, as well
for the absence of Sancho, as for the
irreparable misfortune of his stocking,
which he would have gladly mended,
even with silk of a different colour;
one of the greatest marks of misery
which a gentleman can exhibit in the
course of his tedious poverty. After
having extinguished the lights, he found
the weather so hot that he could not
sleep: he therefore arose again, and
opened the casement of a great window
that looked into a fine garden; then it
was, that perceiving and hearing people
walking and talking together, he
began to listen attentively, while those
below spoke so loud that he heard the
following dialogue.

‘Do not, O Emerencia, press me to
sing; for well thou knowest, that
from the moment this stranger entered
the castle, and mine eyes beheld his
merit, instead of singing, I can do
nothing but weep; besides, my lady’s
sleep is rather slight than profound;
and I would not for all the wealth in
the world, that her grace should find
us here. Moreover, suppose she
should still sleep on, without waking,
vain would be my song, unless it
should awake, and attract the attention
of this new Æneas, who is arrived
in my territories, in order to
leave me forlorn.’—‘Let not these
suppositions have any weight with
you, my dear Altisidora,’ replied another
voice; ‘the duchess is doubtless
asleep, and every body in the house,
except the lord of your heart, and
watchman of your soul, who must
certainly be awake, for I just now
heard him open the casement in his
apartment; sing, therefore, my disastrous
friend, in a low, sweet, and
plaintive tone, to the sound of thy
harp; and should the duchess overhear
us, we will lay the blame upon
the heat of the weather.’—‘That is
not the cause of my hesitation, O
Emerencia,’ replied Altisidora; ‘but,
I am afraid that my song will disclose
the situation of my heart, and I myself
be censured by those who never
felt the almighty power of Love, as a
light and liquorish damsel; but, come
what will, better have an hot face
than an heavy heart.’ At that instant
an harp was ravishingly touched, and
Don Quixote hearing the sound, was
struck with amazement; for his imagination
was instantly filled with an infinity
of similar adventures of rails
and gardens, serenades, courtships and
swoonings, which he had read in his
vain books of chivalry; and he concluded
that some damsel of the duchess
was enamoured of him, but that modesty
compelled her to keep her inclinations
secret. Possessed of this notion,
he began to be afraid of his virtue: but
he resolved, in his own mind, to hold
out to the last; and, recommending
himself, with all his soul and spirit, to
his mistress Dulcinea del Toboso, determined
to listen to the song. With a
view, therefore, to let them know he was
there, he pretended to sneeze, a circumstance
which not a little pleased the
damsels, who desired nothing so much
as that Don Quixote should hear them.
Then the harp being tuned, Altisidora,
after a flourish, began the following
ditty.
// File: 0783.png
.pn +1
.sp 2
.pm verse-start
SONG.
.sp 2
‘O Thou! who now a-bed,
In Holland sheets are laid,
And sleep’st from night till morn,
Untouch’d by care and scorn;
The knight of greatest worth
La Mancha e’er brought forth;
More chaste an hundred fold,
Than pure Arabian gold;
O hear an hapless maid
By cruel love betray’d!
The flame of thy two suns
Hath scorch’d her to the bones!
Thou seeking thy own foe,
Hast found another’s woe:
Thou gav’st the wound, and sure
Wilt not refuse the cure.
O tell me, valiant youth,
(So God shall prosper truth)
Wast thou in desarts bred,
Or among mountains fed?
Did serpents give thee suck,
On some bleak barren rock,
Deep in the wild recess
Of forest or morass?
Dulcinea fat and fair,
May boast her shape and air,
That in subjection hold
A tyger fierce and bold:
Her fame shall live in stanza,
From Ebro to Arlanza,
From Tagus to Henarez,
From Seine to Manganarez,
Would I her place could fill,
I’d give her for good will,
My gayest petticoat
With golden fringes wrought,
How happy then should I
In thine embraces lie!
Or on some cushion loll,
And scratch thy valiant poll.
Such joys are far above
The merits of my love;
Let me, then, bending low,
With rapture kiss thy toe.
What presents would be made,
Of sattin and brocade!
I’d give thee shoes and socks,
Silk hose with silver clocks;
Of cash uncounted sums,
And pearls as big as plums;
So precious, each would sell
As perfect nonpareil.
Manchegan Nero, say,
Dost thou, aloof, survey
The flames that rage and smart
Within my love-sick heart?
A maid I vow and swear,
Young, tender, and sincere;
As yet I have not seen
The borders of fifteen.
My sides are not awry,
Nor lame, nor blind, am I:
// File: 0784.png
My locks with ribbands bound,
Like lilies, sweep the ground:
My nose is flat, ’tis true,
And eke my mouth askew;
But teeth as topaz fine,
Compleat my charms divine;
My voice, as you may hear,
Is tuneful, sweet, and clear;
My temper soft and good,
If rightly understood.
These beauties all so clever,
Are yielded to thy quiver,
And I who tell my story,
Am call’d Altisidory.’
.pm verse-end

Here ended the song of the hapless
Altisidora; and here began the horror
of the courted Don Quixote; who,
fetching a heavy sigh, said within himself—‘What
an unfortunate errant am
I, whom no damsel can behold without
being enamoured of my person!
and how hapless is the peerless Dulcinea
del Toboso, who cannot enjoy
my incomparable constancy, without
a rival! Queens, what would you
have? Empresses, why do you persecute
her beauty? Damsels of fifteen,
why do you molest such virtue? Leave,
leave, I say, that wretched lady, to
taste, enjoy, and triumph, in the lot
which love hath decreed her, by subduing
my heart, and captivating my
soul. Take notice, enamoured tribe,
that to Dulcinea alone I am sugar
paste, but flint to all the rest of her
sex: to her I am honey; but gall
and bitterness to such as you. In
my eye, Dulcinea alone is beauteous,
wise, gay, chaste, and well-born; but
all others are homely, foolish, idle,
and of humble birth. To be her
slave, and her’s alone, nature has
thrown me into the world; Altisidora
may weep or sing; and that lady may
despair, on whose account I was pummelled
in the castle of the inchanted
Moor; Dulcinea’s I am resolved to
be, boiled or roasted, neat, chaste,
and well-bred, in spite of all the
witchcraft upon earth.’ So saying,
he shut the casement with a flap, and
retired to bed, in as much anxiety and
concern as if some great misfortune had
befallen him. There, then, we will
leave him for the present, as we are
summoned by the mighty Panza, who
is impatient to begin his famous administration.

.fn #
Cervantes has been frequently caught napping, and here in particular: How could
this be any proof of the antiquity of ruffs, when the adventure happened after the first
part of Don Quixote was published? But, perhaps, this is no other than an ironical
animadversion upon the trifling discoveries of antiquarians.
.fn-
// File: 0785.png
.pn +1
.sp 4
.h4 id=chap4-3-13
<abbr=chapter>CHAP.</abbr> <abbr=thirteen>XIII.</abbr> | GIVING AN ACCOUNT OF THE MANNER IN WHICH SANCHO PANZA| TOOK POSSESSION OF HIS ISLAND, AND BEGAN HIS ADMINISTRATION.
.sp 2
O Thou! perpetual explorer of the
antipodes, torch of nature, eye
of Heaven, and agreeable motive for
wine-cooling jars, Thymbrius here,
Phœbus there, archer in one place,
physician in another, father of poetry,
and inventor of musick; thou who always
risest, but never settest, although
thou seemest to set. Thee I invoke,
O sun! by whose assistance man is by
man engendered; thee I implore, that
thou would’st favour and enlighten the
obscurity of my genius, and enable
me to write with precision an account
of the great Sancho Panza’s administration:
for, without thy aid, I find
myself lukewarm, feeble, and confused.

To begin, then: Sancho, with his
whole retinue, arrived at a town containing
about a thousand inhabitants,
one of the best in the duke’s possession;
which they told Sancho was called the
Island Barataria, either because the name
of the place was really Barataria, or
because he had very cheaply purchased
the government[#]. When he reached
the gates of the town, which was walled,
the magistrates came forth to receive
him, the bells were set a ringing,
and the inhabitants, with expressions of
universal joy, conducted him with vast
pomp to the great church, in order to
return thanks to Heaven for his safe
arrival; then, with some ridiculous ceremonies,
they delivered to him the
keys of the town, and admitted him as
perpetual governor of the Island Barataria.

The equipage, matted beard, corpulency,
and diminutive stature of the new
governor, furnished food for admiration
to every body who did not know
the juggle of the contrivance; aye, and
even to those acquainted with the mystery,
who were not a few. In fine,
they carried him from the church to
the town-hall, and placing him upon
the bench, the duke’s steward addressed
himself to the governor in these words:
‘It is an ancient custom in this famous
island, my lord governor, that he who
comes to take possession of it is obliged
to answer some difficult and intricate
question that shall be put to him,
and by his response the inhabitants
feel the pulse of their new governor’s
genius, according to which they rejoice
or repine at his arrival.’ While
the steward pronounced this address,
Sancho was contemplating a number
of large letters written upon the wall
that fronted his tribunal, and as he
could not read, he desired to know the
meaning of that painting on the wall.
‘In that place, my lord,’ replied the
steward, ‘is written and recorded, the
day on which your excellency has
taken possession of this island, for the
inscription runs, On such a day and
such a month, Signior Don Sancho
Panza took possession of this
island, and long may he enjoy the
government thereof.’—‘And whom
do they call Don Sancho Panza?’
said the governor. ‘Who, but your
excellency,’ answered the steward;
‘for this island never saw any other
Panza than him who sits on that tribunal.’—‘Take
notice, then, brother,’
replied Sancho, ‘that Don belongs
not to me, nor did it ever belong
to any of my generation. Simple
Sancho is my name; so was my
father called, and so my grandfather;
and they were all Panzas, without
addition of Don or Donna; and I
begin to imagine there are as many
Dons as stones in this island; but no
more of that: God knows my meaning;
and peradventure, if my government
lasts above three days, I
shall weed out these Dons, which,
from their swarms, must be as troublesome
as vermin. But pray, Mr.
Steward, proceed with your question,
which I shall answer to the best of
my understanding, whether the townsmen
should repine or not repine.’

At that instant two men entered the
hall, one in the habit of a labouring
man, and the other a taylor with shears
in his hand, who, approaching the
bench, ‘My lord governor,’ said he,
‘this countryman and I are come before
your lordship about an affair
which I am going to explain. This
// File: 0786.png
.pn +1
honest man comes yesterday to my
shop—for, saving your presence, I am
an examined taylor, God be praised!
and putting a remnant of cloth in my
hand, “Gaffer,” said he, “is there
stuff enough here to make me a cap?”
I having handled the piece, replied,
“Yes.” Now he supposing, as I suppose,
and to be sure it was a right
supposition, that I wanted to cabbage
part of the stuff, grounding his suspicion
on his own deceit, and the
bad character of us taylors, desired I
would see if there was enough for two
caps; and I, guessing his thoughts,
answered, “Yes.” And so my gentleman,
persisting in his first and evil intention,
went on adding cap to cap;
and I proceeded to answer Yes upon
Yes, until the number increased to
five caps. This very moment he called
for them; and when I produced them,
he not only refused to pay me for
my work, but even demanded that I
should either restore the cloth, or pay
him the price of it.’—‘Is this really
the case, brother?’ said Sancho. ‘Yes,
my lord,’ replied the countryman;
‘but I beg your lordship would order
him to shew what sort of caps he
has made.’—‘With all my heart,’
cried the taylor; who immediately
pulling out his hand from under his
cloak, produced five small caps fixed
upon the tops of his four fingers and
thumb; saying, ‘Here are the five
caps which this honest man desired
me to make; as I shall answer to
God and my own conscience, there is
not a scrap of the stuff remaining;
and I am willing to submit the work
to the inspection of the masters of
the company.’ All the people in
court laughed at the number of caps, and
the novelty of the dispute, which Sancho
having considered for a few moments,
‘Methinks,’ said he, ‘this suit
requires no great discussion, but may
be equitably determined out of hand:
and therefore my determination is,
that the taylor shall lose his work,
and the countryman forfeit his cloth;
and that the caps shall be distributed
among the poor prisoners, without
farther hesitation.’

If the sentence he afterwards passed
upon the herdsman’s purse excited the
admiration of the spectators, this decision
provoked their laughter: nevertheless,
they executed the orders of their
// File: 0787.png
governor, before whom two old men
now presented themselves, one of them
having a cane, which he used as a
walking-staff. The other making up
to the governor, ‘My lord,’ said he,
‘some time ago, I lent this man ten
crowns of gold, to oblige and assist
him in an emergency, on condition
that he should pay them upon demand;
and for a good while I never
asked my money, that I might not
put him to greater inconvenience in
repaying than that which he felt
when he borrowed the sum; but as
he seemed to neglect the payment entirely,
I have demanded the money
again and again, and he not only refuses
to refund, but also denies that
I ever lent him the ten crowns; or, if
I did, he says he is sure they were
repaid: now, I having no witnesses
to prove the loan, nor he evidence of
the re-payment, for indeed they never
were repaid, I entreat your lordship
to take his oath; and if he swears
the money was returned, I here forgive
him the debt, in the presence of
God.’—‘What have you to say to
this charge, honest gaffer with the
staff?’ said Sancho. ‘My lord,’ replied
the senior, ‘I confess he lent me
the money; and since he leaves the
matter to my oath, if your lordship
will lower your rod of justice, I will
make affidavit, that I have really
and truly returned, and repaid the
sum I borrowed.’ The governor accordingly
lowering his wand, the defendant
desired the plaintiff to hold his
cane until he should make oath, because
it incumbered him; then laying
his hand upon the cross of the rod,
he declared that the other had indeed
lent him those ten crowns which he
now demanded; but that he, the borrower,
had returned them into the lender’s
own hand, and he supposed he
dunned him in this manner, because he
had forgot that circumstance. This
oath being administered, the great governor
asked what farther the creditor
had to say to the allegation of the
other party. And he answered, that
doubtless the defendant had spoke the
truth; for he looked upon him as an
honest man, and a good Christian; and
that as he himself must have forgot the
particulars of the payment, he would
never demand it from thenceforward.
Then the defendant, taking back his
// File: 0788.png
.pn +1
cane, and making his obeisance, quitted
the court; while Sancho seeing him
retire in this manner, and perceiving
the resignation of the plaintiff, hung
down his head a little, and laying the
fore-finger of his right-hand on one
side of his nose, continued in this
musing posture for a very small space
of time: then, raising his head, he ordered
them to call back the old man
with the staff, who had retired: he
was accordingly brought before Sancho;
who said to him, ‘Honest friend,
lend me that staff, I have occasion for
it.’—‘With all my heart, my lord,’
replied the elder, reaching it to the
judge: then Sancho took and delivered
it to the plaintiff, saying: ‘Now, go
your ways, a God’s name! you are
fully paid.’—‘How, my lord!’ said
the old man, ‘is this cane then worth
ten crowns of Gold?’—‘Yes,’ replied
the governor, ‘otherwise I am
the greatest dunce in nature: and
now it shall appear, whether or not I
have a noddle sufficient to govern a
whole kingdom.’ So saying, he ordered
the cane to be broke in publick;
and when, in consequence of his command,
it was split asunder, ten crowns
of gold were found in the heart of it,
to the astonishment of all the spectators,
who looked upon their new governor
as another Solomon. When he was
asked how he could conceive that the
money was in the cane, he answered,
that seeing the deponent give his staff
to the other party before he made oath,
then hearing him declare that he had
really and truly returned the money;
and lastly, perceiving that after his deposition
he took back the staff, it came
into his head that the money was concealed
within the cane. And in this
instance, we see that governors, though
otherwise fools, are sometimes directed
in their decisions by the hand of God:
besides, Sancho had heard such a story
told by the curate of his village, and
his memory was so tenacious, in retaining
every thing he wanted to remember,
that there was not such another
in the whole island. Finally, the
two old men went away: the one overwhelmed
with shame, and the other
miraculously repaid; the by-standers
were astonished; and he whose province
it was to record the sayings, actions,
and conduct of Sancho, could not determine
in his own mind, whether he
// File: 0789.png
should regard and report him as a simpleton,
or a sage.

.if h
.il fn=plate-vi.jpg id=plate6 w=60% alt=""
.ca Plate VI: Governor Sancho Panza and the Woman.
.if-
.if t
[Illustration: Governor Sancho Panza and the Woman.]
.if-

This suit being determined, a woman
came into court, holding fast by
a man habited like a rich herdsman,
and exclaiming with great vociferation,
‘Justice, my lord governor, justice!
which, if I find not on earth, I will
go in quest of to heaven! My lord
governor of my soul, this wicked
man has forced me in the middle of a
field, and made use of my body as
if it had been a dirty dishclout:
alack, and a-well-a-day! he has robbed
me of that which I had preserved
for three and twenty years, in spite of
Moors and Christians, natives and
foreigners: and have I, who was always
as hard as a cork-tree, maintained
my virtue entire, like a salamander
in the midst of flames, or
wool among brambles, to be handled
by the clean hands of this Robin
Goodfellow?’—‘That must be enquired
into,’ said Sancho, ‘whether
the gallant’s hands be clean or no.’
Then turning to the man, he asked
what he had to say to the complaint of
that woman? To this question the culprit
replied, with great perturbation,
‘My lord, I am a poor herdsman who
deal in swine, and this morning went
to market, saving your presence, with
some hogs, and the duties and extortions,
and one thing and another,
ran away with almost all they were
worth; and so, in my return, I lighted
on this honest damsel on the road;
and the devil, who will always meddle
and make, and have a finger in
every pye, yoked us together. I
paid her handsomely; but she, not
satisfied, laid fast hold on me, nor
would she quit her hold until she had
brought me hither: she alledges I
forced her; but, by the oath I have
taken, or am to take, she lyes; and
this is the whole truth, without the
least crumb of prevarication.’ Then
the governor asked if he had any money
about him; and when he owned he
had a leathern purse with twenty ducats
in his bosom, Sancho ordered him to
pull it out, and deliver the whole to
the complainant. The man obeyed
this command with fear and trembling;
the woman received this money, and
making a thousand curtsies to all the
by-standers, prayed God would preserve
the life and health of my lord governor,
// File: 0790.png
// File: 0791.png
// File: 0792.png
.pn +1
who took such care of damsels
and orphans in necessity. So saying,
she went away, holding the purse with
both hands, though not before she had
examined the contents. Scarce had she
quitted the court, when Sancho said to
the herdsman, who stood with tears in
his eyes, sending his heart, and many
a long look after his purse, ‘Harkye,
friend! go after that woman, and
take the purse from her, either by fair
means or force, and bring it hither to
me.’ This command was not imposed
upon one that was either deaf or
doating; for he darted like lightning,
in order to put it in execution: while
all the spectators waited in suspence to
see the issue of the suit. In a little
time the parties returned, but more
closely engaged, and clinging faster together
than before; she, with her petticoat
tucked up, and the purse in her
lap; and he struggling, to no purpose,
to take it from her; so vigorously did
she defend her acquisition, crying aloud,
‘Justice, in the name of God and his
creatures! Take notice, my lord governor,
of the impudence and presumption
of this miscreant, who, in
the very face of the people, and the
middle of the street, wanted to rob
me of the purse which I received by
your lordship’s decree.’—‘Has he
taken it from you, then?’ said the
governor. ‘Taken it from me!’ replied
the wench; ‘I’ll sooner part with
my life than with my purse. I should
be a precious ninny indeed! otherguise
cats must scratch my beard,
and not such a pitiful muckworm as
he. Pincers and hammers, mallets
and chissels, should not tear it out of
my clutches; no, not the claws of a
lion; my soul and body shall rather
be tore asunder.’—‘It is even so,’
said the man; ‘I submit as the weaker
vessel, and own I have not strength
enough to recover my purse.’ He
quitted her accordingly. Then the
governor said to the woman, ‘Come
hither, my virtuous and spirited
dame; let me see thy purse.’ Which,
when she delivered it, he restored to
the man; and turning to the wench,
who was too forceful to be forced,
‘Sister of mine,’ quoth he, ‘if you
had exerted the same vigour and perseverance,
or even half so much, in
preserving your chastity, as you have
shewn in defending the purse, the
// File: 0793.png
force of Hercules would not have
forced you. Be gone, a-God’s name!
be gone, I say, with a vengeance, and
never more appear in this island, or
within six leagues of it, on pain of
receiving two hundred stripes. Be
gone immediately, you chattering,
shameless impostor!’ The woman,
terrified at his menaces, sneaked off,
hanging her head, and discontented;
and the governor spoke to the man in
these words: ‘Honest friend, get you
home with your money, in the name
of God; and unless you are inclined
to lose it again, from henceforward
avoid all temptations to yoke with any
woman whatsoever.’

The herdsman thanked him as sheepishly
as he could, and went away, and
the audience were struck with admiration
afresh, at the judgment and decisions
of their new governor; every circumstance
of which being recorded by
his historiographer, was immediately
communicated to the duke, who waited
for the account with the utmost impatience.

But here let honest Sancho rest a little;
for we are summoned in all haste by
his master, who is greatly disturbed by
the musick of Altisidora.

.fn #
<lang=es><i>Barato</i></lang>, signifies cheap.
.fn-
.sp 4
.h4 id=chap4-3-14
<abbr=chapter>CHAP.</abbr> <abbr=fourteen>XIV.</abbr> | OF THE DREADFUL CONSTERNATION, AND CATTISH CONCERT,| TO WHICH DON QUIXOTE WAS EXPOSED,| IN THE COURSE OF THE ENAMOURED ALTISIDORA’S AMOUR.
.sp 2
We left the great Don Quixote
wrapped up in those cogitations
that were suggested by the musick of the
enamoured damsel Altisidora. With
these companions he crept into bed;
but, as if they had been fleas and vermin,
they would not suffer him to sleep,
or indeed enjoy a moment’s repose,
especially when reinforced with the reflection
of his wounded stocking. But
as time is so light and nimble, that no
rub can retard his career, he galloped
along upon the hours, and soon ushered
in the morning, which was no sooner
beheld by the knight, than he forsook
the gentle down, and being the reverse
of lazy, dressed himself in his chamoy
suit. He put on his travelling boots to
// File: 0794.png
.pn +1
conceal the misfortune of his hose;
threw his scarlet cloak over his shoulder,
cased his head in a green velvet
cap trimmed with silver, slung his trusty
hanging sword in his buff-belt, took up
his large rosary, which always depended
from his wrist, and with great port and
solemnity went forth into the hall,
where the duke and duchess, already
dressed, stayed for him. As he passed
through a gallery, he perceived Altisidora,
and the other maiden her friend,
who stood waiting for his appearance;
and he was no sooner beheld by the
love-sick damsel, than she pretended to
faint away; while her companion received
her in her arms, and with all
possible dispatch began to unclasp her
bosom. The knight seeing her fall,
approached the place where they were,
saying, ‘I know whence these accidents
proceed.’ And the companion replied,
‘I do not know whence; for
Altisidora is the healthiest damsel of
the whole family, and I never knew
her so much as fetch a sigh from the
first minute of our acquaintance. Ill
betide all the knights-errant in the
world, if they are all so shy and
scornful. Signior Don Quixote, I
wish your worship would leave the
place; for this poor girl will not come
to herself while you stand here.’
To this entreaty the knight replied,
‘Be so good, Madam, as to order a
lute to be left in my apartment; and,
at night, I will, to the best of my
power, console this unfortunate damsel:
for a speedy explanation in the
beginning, is often an effectual cure
for those who are indiscreetly in love.’
So saying, he went away, that he might
not be observed in conference with the
damsels; and scarce was he gone, when
the swooning Altisidora coming to herself,
said to her companion, ‘It will
be requisite to leave the lute; for,
doubtless, Don Quixote intends to
entertain us with musick, which cannot
be bad if he is the performer.’
Then they went and gave an account
of what had passed, and in particular
of the lute, to the duchess, who was rejoiced
beyond measure, and concerted
with her lord and her women, how to
execute another joke which should be
more merry than mischievous. This
being accordingly contrived, they with
great glee waited for night; and it
came posting along in the same pace
// File: 0795.png
that brought in the day, which their
graces spent in savoury discourse with
Don Quixote. On this day the duchess
really and truly dispatched one of her
pages, who acted the part of the enchanted
Dulcinea in the wood, to Tereza
Panza, with her husband’s letter,
and a bundle, which he had left on purpose
to be sent home; and the messenger
had particular orders to bring back a
circumstantial detail of every thing that
should pass between him and the governor’s
lady.

This step being taken, and the hour
of eleven at night arrived, Don Quixote
found a lute in his apartment; this
he tuned, and having opened the window,
perceived people walking below
in the garden: he immediately ran over
the strings of his instrument, making
as good a prelude as he could, then
hemming and clearing his pipes, he
with an hoarse, though not untuneful
voice, sung the following sonnet, which
he had that very day composed.
.sp 2
.pm verse-start
SONG.

‘Love, with idleness combin’d,
Will unhinge the tender mind:
But to sew, to work, and move,
Will exclude the force of love.
Blooming maids that would be married,
Must in virtue be unwearied:
Modesty a dow’r will raise,
And be trumpet of their praise.
A cavalier will sport and play
With a damsel frank and gay;
But, when wedlock is his aim,
Chuse a maid of sober fame.
Passion kindled in the breast,
By a stranger or a guest,
Enters with the rising sun,
And fleets before his race be run.
Love that come so suddenly,
Ever on the wing to fly,
Neither can or will impart
Strong impressions to the heart.
Pictures drawn on pictures, shew
Strange confusion to the view:
Second beauty find no base,
Where a first has taken place.
Then Dulcinea still shall reign
Without a rival or a stain;
Nor shall fate itself controul
Her sway, or blot her from my soul:
Constancy, the lover’s boast,
I’ll maintain, whate’er it cost.
This my virtue will refine;
This will stamp my joy divine.’
.pm verse-end

So far had Don Quixote proceeded
with his song, which was overheard by
// File: 0796.png
.pn +1
the duke and duchess, Altisidora, and
almost all the people in the castle, when
all of a sudden, from the top of a corridore
immediately above Don Quixote’s
window, came down a cord to
which above a hundred horse-bells were
tied; and after these was discharged a
whole sackful of cats with smaller bells
fastened to their tails. Such was the
noise occasioned by the tinkling of these
bells, and the mewling of the cats,
that even the duke and duchess, who invented
the joke, were terrified and confounded,
and Don Quixote astonished
and dismayed; especially when two or
three cats chanced to enter his window,
and coursed up and down through his
apartment, which seemed to be haunted
by a whole legion of devils; for they
extinguished the lights, and ran to and
fro, endeavouring to escape, while the
rope with the large bells was lowering
down, and pulling up incessantly; so
that the greatest part of the people in
the family, who were ignorant of the
scheme, listened with fear and admiration.
Then Don Quixote starting
up, and unsheathing his sword, began
to fence with the window, exclaiming
aloud, ‘Avaunt, malignant enchanters!
avaunt, ye wizzard crew! for I
am Don Quixote de La Mancha,
against whom your whole power and
malice shall not avail.’ So saying,
he laid about him among the cats,
which had entered his apartments; and
they sprung towards the casement, from
whence two of them made their escape;
but the third, finding itself hard pressed
by the valour and back-strokes of the
knight, flew at his face, and laid fast
hold on his nose with its teeth and
claws. The pain of this assault affected
Don Quixote in such a manner, that
he began to roar with vast vociferation,
which being heard by the duke and duchess,
who guessed the cause of his cries,
they ran instantly to his chamber, which
they opened with a master-key; and
lights being brought, they found the
poor knight endeavouring with all his
strength to disengage the cat from his
visage. Seeing the unequal fray, they
made haste to part the combatants;
when Don Quixote called aloud, ‘Let
no man part us; but leave me hand
to hand with this dæmon, this wizard,
this enchanter; and I will make
him sensible of the difference between
him and me, who am Don Quixote
// File: 0797.png
de La Mancha.’ The cat, however,
without minding his threats, stuck fast
to his nose; but, at length, the duke
tore it away, and threw it out at the
window; so that the knight remained
with his face like a sieve, and his nose
in no very sound condition; though he
was very much dissatisfied, that they
would not suffer him to finish the engagement
he had so obstinately maintained
with that felonious enchanter.

Oil of Aparicio was immediately
fetched, and Altisidora herself, with
her snowy hands, applied the balsam,
saying in a low voice, as she bound up
his wounds, ‘All these misadventures
befal thee, hard-hearted knight, as a
punishment for thy cruelty and disdain;
and God grant thy squire Sancho
may forget to scourge himself,
that they so much beloved Dulcinea
may never be disenchanted, nor thou
enjoy her as a wedded wife; at least,
during the life of me, by whom thou
art adored.’ To all this apostrophe
Don Quixote answered not a word; but,
heaving a profound sigh, laid himself
along in his bed, and thanked their
graces for this instance of their concern;
not that he was afraid of such
a cattish-enchanting and bell-ringing
crew, but on account of the kind intention
they had manifested in coming
to his relief. As for the duke and duchess,
they left him to his repose, and
went away extremely sorry for the unfortunate
issue of his joke; for they did
not think Don Quixote would have suffered
so terribly by the adventure, which
cost him five days confinement in his
bed, where he was engaged in another
still more diverting, which, however, the
historian will not at present recount,
that he may return to Sancho Panza,
who proceeded in his administration
with equal pleasantry and solicitude.
.sp 4
.h4 id=chap4-3-15
<abbr=chapter>CHAP.</abbr> <abbr=fifteen>XV.</abbr> | CONTAINING A FARTHER ACCOUNT OF SANCHO’S| BEHAVIOUR IN HIS GOVERNMENT.
.sp 2
The history relates, that from the
town-hall Sancho Panza was conducted
to a sumptuous palace, in the
great hall of which was a royal table,
most elegantly furnished. When the
governor entered, the waits struck up,
// File: 0798.png
.pn +1
and four pages came forth and presented
him with water for his hands, which he
received with great solemnity; then the
musick ceasing, he took his place at the
upper end of the table, which was accommodated
with one seat only, and a
cover for himself alone: while close by
him stood a personage, who afterwards
proved to be a physician, with a rod of
whalebone in his hand. They removed
a very fine white cloth that covered
the fruit and a great variety of dishes.
One who looked like a student, said
grace; a page tucked a laced bib under
Sancho’s chin, and another person, who
acted the part of sewer, set a plate of
fruit before the governor; but scarce
had he swallowed a mouthful, when
the doctor touching the said plate with
his wand, it was snatched from him in
a twinkling: the sewer presented him
with another dish, which the governor
resolved to prove; but, before he could
finger or taste it, the plate being also
touched by the wand, one of the pages
conveyed it away with incredible dispatch,
to the amazement of Sancho,
who, looking round him, asked if he
must be obliged to eat like a juggler,
by slight of hand!

To this interrogation he of the wand
replied: ‘My lord governor must, in
eating, conform to the use and customs
of other islands where governors
reside. I, my lord, enjoy a salary
as physician to the governors of this
island, and take more care of their
health than of my own; studying
night and day, and considering the
governor’s constitution, that I may be
able to cure him, in case he should be
taken ill; but the principal part of
my office is to be present at his meals,
where I allow him to eat what I think
will agree with his complexion, and
restrain him from that which I conceive
will be hurtful and prejudicial
to his stomach. I therefore ordered
the fruit to be removed, because it is
dangerously moist; and likewise commanded
the other dish to be conveyed
away, because it is extremely hot, as
containing a number of spices which
create thirst, and copious drinking
drowns and destroys the radical moisture,
which is the essence of life.’—‘By
that way of reasoning,’ said Sancho,
‘that there dish of roasted partridges,
which seems to be very well
seasoned; will do me no harm.’ To
// File: 0799.png
this hint the physician replied: ‘Of
these my lord governor shall not eat
while there is breath in my body.’—‘And
pray for what reason?’ said the
governor. ‘Because our master Hippocrates,
the north star and luminary
of physic, expressly says, in one of his
aphorisms, <lang=la>“<i>Omnis saturatio mala,
perdix autem pessima</i>;”</lang> that is, All
repletion is bad, but that with partridge
worst of all.’—‘If that be the
case,’ said Sancho, ‘good Mr. Doctor,
pray examine all the messes on
the table, so as to point out that
which will do me least harm and most
good, that I may eat without fear of
conjuration; for, by the life of the
governor, and as God shall prolong
it! I am ready to die of hunger; and
to deny me victuals, even though Signior Doctor
should prescribe fasting,
and say a thousand things in its
praise, will, instead of preserving my
health, deprive me of life entirely.’—‘Your
lordship is very much in the
right,’ replied the physician: ‘and to
begin, I would not have you touch
these ragoo’d rabbits, because they
are a sharp haired food: of that veal,
indeed, you might pick, a little, if it
was not roasted <i>a la daube</i>; but as it
is, touch it not.’—‘The dish that
smokes yonder,’ said Sancho, ‘seems
to be an <lang=es><i>olla podrida</i></lang>, and considering
the variety of ingredients of
which these <lang=es><i>ollas</i></lang> are composed,
surely I cannot fail to light on something
that will be both savoury and
wholesome.’—‘<i>Absit!</i>’ cried the
physician, ‘far from us be such a
thought. There is not a more pernicious
nutriment upon the face of
the earth: leave your <lang=es><i>ollas</i></lang> to canons,
rectors of colleges, and country weddings;
but let them never appear upon
the tables of governors, where elegance
and neatness ought to reign.
The reason is clear; at all times, in
all places, and by all the learned, simple
medicines are more esteemed than
those that are compound: for in the
first, no mistakes can be committed;
whereas, in the other, numberless errors
may take place, in the quantity
and proportion of the ingredients;
but what I would advise my lord governor
to eat at present, in order to
preserve and corroborate his health, is
about a hundred confected wafers,
and a few thin slices of quinces, which
// File: 0800.png
.pn +1
will sit easy on his stomach, and assist
digestion.’

Sancho, hearing this prescription,
threw himself backwards in his chair,
and surveying the physician from head
to foot, asked in a grave and solemn
tone, ‘What was his name, and where
he had studied?’ To this question,
the other replied, ‘I, my lord governor,
am called Doctor Pedro Positive
de Bodewell[#], native of a place called
Snatchaway, on the right hand between
Caraquel and Almodobar del
Campo; and I took my doctor’s degree
at the university of Ossuna.’ To
this declaration Sancho replied, in a
rage, ‘Hark ye, then, Mr. Doctor
Pedro Positive de Bode-ill, native of
Snatchaway, which is on the right
hand as we go from Caraquel to Almodobar
del Campo, graduate of
Ossuna, get out of my presence this
instant, or by the body of the sun! I
will snatch up a cudgel, and beginning
with you, employ it in such a
manner as not to leave a physician on
the whole island; of those, I mean,
who are ignorant fellows. As for the
learned, virtuous, and discreet members
of the faculty, I will place them
on my head, in token of respect, and
honour them as things divine. But,
I say again, be gone, Doctor Pedro
Positive, or positively I will take up
this chair on which I sit, and make
immediate application to your skull;
and, should I be called to account for
it, when I resign my government, I
will exculpate myself by proving that
I have done service to God, in slaying
a wicked physician, who was a scandal
to the commonwealth. Let me
have something to eat, therefore, or
take back your government; for a
post that will not afford victuals, is
not worth a pease-cod.’

The doctor was frightened at seeing
the governor in such a passion, and was
going to snatch himself away from his
presence; when, at the very instant,
their ears were saluted with the noise of
a post-boy’s horn in the street; and the
gentleman sewer going to the window,
informed the governor that there was a
courier arrived from my lord duke,
with some dispatches of importance.
Accordingly the messenger entered the
hall, sweating, with marks of consternation
in his countenance; and taking
a packet out of his bosom, delivered it
into the hands of the governor, who
gave it to the steward, with orders to
read the superscription, which ran
thus: ‘To Don Sancho Panza, governor
of the island Barataria, to be
delivered into his own hand, or that
of his secretary.’ Sancho hearing the
direction, ‘Who is my secretary?’
said he. One of the people who were
present, answered, ‘I am secretary,
my lord; for I can read and write,
and am a Biscayan.’—‘Nay, with
that addition,’ said Sancho, ‘you
might be secretary to the emperor
himself: open this packet, and see
what it contains.’ The new-born
secretary obeyed the command; and
having perused the contents, told his
excellency, it was business for his private
ear. Then Sancho ordered every
body to quit the place, except the steward
and gentleman sewer: accordingly
the rest retired, with the doctor at their
head: and the secretary recited the letter
to this effect—

.pm letter-start
‘I have received information, Signior
Don Sancho Panza, that
certain enemies of mine and of the
island, intend one of these nights, to
give you a furious assault; you will
therefore be vigilant and alert, that
they may not find you unprepared.
I am likewise informed, by trusty
spies, that four persons in disguise
have entered the town, with intention
to take away your life, as they
dread the extent of your abilities: be
upon your guard, therefore, examine
every person who comes to speak with
you, and taste nothing that comes in a
present. I will take care to reinforce
you, should you stand in need of assistance;
meanwhile, you will act in
every thing according to the good
opinion I have of your understanding.
Your friend,

‘<sc>The Duke.</sc>

‘From my castle, August 16th,

at 4 in the morning.’
.pm letter-end

This epistle overwhelmed Sancho
with astonishment, which the rest pretended
// File: 0801.png
.pn +1
to share; and turning to the
steward, ‘What is to be done,’ said
he, ‘and that immediately, is to confine
Doctor Positive in a dungeon;
for if any body has a design to take
away my life, he is the man; aye,
and by the most pitiful, and worst of
all deaths; namely, hunger.’—‘True’
replied the gentleman sewer; ‘and, in
my opinion, your lordship ought not
to eat any of the victuals now on the
table, for they were a present from
certain nuns; and, as the saying is,
The devil skulks behind the cross.’—‘That
is a truth not to be denied,’
said Sancho; ‘but, in the mean time,
let me have a luncheon of bread, and
about for pounds of raisins, which
cannot be poisoned: for really and
truly, I cannot live without eating;
and if we must be prepared for those
battles with which we are threatened,
at least let us be well fed; for the
stomach supports the heart, and not
the heart the stomach. You, secretary
must write an answer to my Lord
Duke; and tell him his commands
shall be obeyed to a tittle. You shall
likewise make my compliments to
my Lady Duchess, beseeching her,
in my name, to remember to send an
express, with my letter and bundle,
to my wife Teresa Panza; in so doing
she will lay me under great obligation,
and I shall take care to be
her humble servant to the utmost of
my power. By the bye, you may
thrust in a How d’ye to my master
Don Quixote de La Mancha, that he
may see I am not of an ungrateful
leaven; you may, as a faithful secretary,
and honest Biscayan, add
what you shall think proper, and
most likely to turn out to advantage.
At present, take away these things,
and let me have something to eat;
and I shall manage any spies, murderers,
or inchanters, that may presume
to attack me or my island.’

Here he was interrupted by a page,
who, coming into the hall, told him
there was a countryman without, who
wanted to speak with his lordship upon
some business of the utmost importance.
‘Those people of business are strange
fellows,’ said Sancho; ‘is it possible
they are so ignorant, as not to see that
this is not a proper hour for the transaction
of business? Mayhap they
think, we governors and judges are
not made of flesh and blood, and
therefore require no time for refreshment,
any more than if we were
created of marble. As I shall answer
to God! if my government holds,
(though I begin to perceive it will
not be of long duration) I will sit
upon the skirts of more than one of
these men of business[#]. At present,
tell that honest man to come; but,
first of all, take care that he is not
one of the spies or murderers.’—‘There
is no occasion, my lord,’ answered
the page; ‘for he seems to be a
simple soul, and either I am very
much mistaken, or he is as honest as
a well-weighed loaf.’—‘While we
are present,’ said the steward, ‘there
is nothing to fear.’—‘Mr. Sewer,’
said Sancho, ‘now that Doctor Pedro
Positive is not here, might not I eat
something substantial, even though it
should be nothing better than a luncheon
of bread and an onion?’—‘This
night your supper shall make
amends for the defect of dinner, so
as that your lordship shall be perfectly
well pleased, and satisfied,’ replied
the sewer. ‘God grant I may
be so!’ quoth the governor.

At that instant the countryman entered
the hall, of a goodly presence, and
indeed one might have seen that he was
an honest soul, even at the distance of a
thousand leagues. The first thing he
said, was, ‘Which of all this company
is my lord governor?’—‘Who should
be governor,’ replied the secretary,
‘but he who sits in the chair?’—‘Then,
I humble myself before him,’
said the peasant; who, falling on his
knees, begged leave to kiss his lordship’s
hand. This request, however,
Sancho would not grant; but ordered
him to rise and explain his business.
Accordingly, the countryman getting
up, ‘My lord,’ said he, ‘I am a husbandman
belonging to Miguel Turra,
a place about two leagues from Cividad
Real.’—‘What! have we got
another Snatchaway?’ cried Sancho:
‘proceed, brother; for I can tell you,
that I am very well acquainted with
Miguel Turra, which is not far from
our own village.’—‘This here, then,
is the case, my lord,’ said the countryman;
// File: 0802.png
.pn +1
‘by the mercy of God, I was
married in peace, and in the face of
the holy Roman Catholick church;
and I have two sons now at college,
the youngest of whom is to be a batchelor,
and the elder is intended for a
licentiate. I am a widower; for my
wife died, or rather she was killed by
a wicked physician, who gave her a
purge when she was big with child;
and, had it pleased God that the
fruit of her womb had come to light,
and had been a boy, I would have
bred him up a doctor, that he might
not have envied his brothers, the batchelor
and licentiate.’—‘So then,’
said Sancho, ‘if your wife had not
died, or been killed, in all likelihood
you should not now be a widower.’—‘No,
my lord, by no manner of means,’
answered the countryman. ‘Agad!’
cried Sancho, ‘we are in a thriving
way! Pray, go on, brother;
for this is an hour more proper for
sleep than for business.’—‘Well,
then,’ replied the countryman, ‘this
son of mine, who is to be bred a batchelor,
became enamoured of a young
lady of the same town, called Clara
Paralina[#], daughter of Andrew Paralino,
a very wealthy yeoman; and
this name of Paralino does not come
from their pedigree, or any family
descent; but they have acquired it,
because the whole race of them is paralitick;
and so, in order to improve
the sound, they are called Paralino;
though to say the truth, the young
lady is a perfect oriental pearl, and
when you look at her, on her right
side, seems to be a very flower of
the field; on the left, indeed, she is
not quite so amiable, being blind of
an eye, which she lost in the small-pox;
and although the pits in her
face are very large and numerous,
her admirers say, that these are not
pits, but graves, in which the hearts
of her lovers are buried. Then she
is so cleanly, that to prevent her face
from being defiled, she carries her
nose cocked up, as the saying is, so
that it seems to be running away from
her mouth; yet, for all that, she is extremely
beautiful, for she has a very
wide mouth, and if she did not want
some ten or a dozen teeth, might pass
for a very phœnix of beauty. Of her
lips I shall say nothing; but they are
so thin and delicate, that if it was the
custom to reel lips, they might be
made up into a skein; but as they are
of a different colour from common
lips, they appear quite miraculous;
for they contain a mixture of blue,
green, and orange tawny. My lord
governor will pardon me for painting
so exactly the parts of her who is to
be my daughter, for I love her exceedingly,
and like to dwell upon the
subject.’—‘Paint what you will,’
said Sancho; ‘for my own part I am
hugely delighted with your description,
and if I had dined, should not
desire a better desert than the picture
you have drawn.’—‘That shall be
always at your service,’ replied the
countryman; ‘and though we are not
at present known to each other, the
time will come when we shall be better
acquainted. And now, my lord,
if I could describe her genteel deportment,
and tall stature, you would
be struck with admiration; but that
is an impossible task, because she is so
doubled and bent, that her knees
touch her mouth; and yet, for all
that, one may see with half an eye,
that if she could stand upright, her
head would touch the cieling; and
she would have given her hand in
marriage to my batchelor before this
time, if she could have stretched it
out, but it happens to be shrunk and
withered; though, by the long channelled
nails, one may easily perceive
the beauty of its form and texture.’

‘Very well,’ said Sancho. ‘Now,
brother, let us suppose you have painted
her from head to foot; tell me
what is your request, and come to the
point, without going about the bush,
through lanes and alleys with a parcel
of scraps and circumlocutions.’—‘Well
then, my lord,’ replied the countryman,
‘my request is, that you
would give me a letter of recommendation
to the young lady’s father, entreating
him to give his consent to
the match, as the parties are pretty
equal in the gifts of fortune, and of
nature; for, to say the truth, my
Lord Governor, my son is possessed,
and scarce a day passes, but he is three
// File: 0803.png
.pn +1
or four times tormented by the foul
fiend; and, in consequence of having
once fallen into the fire, his face is
shrivelled up like a skin of parchment,
and his eyes are bleared, and run
woundily; but yet he has the temper
of an angel, and if he did not
beat and buffet himself, he would be
a perfect saint.’—‘Do you want any
thing else, honest friend?’ replied
Sancho. ‘I did want something else,’
said the countryman, ‘but I dare not
be so bold as to mention it: but, out
it shall go; for, take or not take, it
shall never rot in my belly. Why
then, my lord, I wish your lordship
would bestow three or six hundred
ducats, to help to set up my batchelor;
I mean, to furnish his house;
for, the truth is, the young couple are
to live by themselves, without being
subject to the peevishness of us old
folks.’—‘Consider if you want any
thing else,’ said Sancho, ‘and speak
without bashfulness or restraint.’—‘Truly,
I want nothing else,’ replied
the countryman. Scarce had he pronounced
these words, when, the governor
starting up, and laying hold on the
chair that was under him, exclaimed,
‘I vow to God, you Don lubberly,
rascally rustick, if you don’t get you
gone, and abscond from my presence
this instant, I will with this chair demolish
your scull, you knavish son
of a whore, and painter for the devil
himself; is this a time to come
and demand six hundred ducats?
Where the devil should I find them,
you stinkard? or, if I had found
them, why the devil should I give
them to you, you idiotical scoundrel?
What a pox have I to do with Miguel
Turra, or any of the generation
of the Paralino’s? Be gone, I say, or,
by the life of my Lord Duke, I’ll be
as good as my word; thou art no native
of Miguel Turra, but some fiend
sent from hell to torment me. Hark
ye, miscreant, I have been governor
but a day and a half, and you
would have me already in possession
of six hundred ducats!’

The gentleman sewer made signs to
the countryman to leave the place; and
he accordingly quitted the hall, hanging
his head, and seemingly afraid that
the governor would execute his threats;
for the rogue acted his part to admiration.
But let us leave Sancho’s indignation
// File: 0804.png
to cool, and peace attend him in
his career, while we return to Don
Quixote, whom we left with his face
bandaged up for the cure of his cattish
wounds, which were not healed in the
space of eight days; and in that time
an adventure happened to him, which
Cid Hamet promises to recount, with
that truth and punctuality he has hitherto
maintained, in recording even
the most trivial and minute incidents of
this authentick history.

.fn #
The Spanish name is Pedro Rezio de Aguero; which, together with Tirte Afuera,
the place of his nativity, I have translated into English, that the humour may be better
understood.
.fn-

.fn #
The original <lang=es><i>Ponga en pretina</i></lang>, signifies, I will put in my girdle.
.fn-

.fn #
She is in the original called Perlerina, which I have changed into Paralina, in order
to preserve the subsequent play on the words.
.fn-
.sp 4
.h4 id=chap4-3-16
<abbr=chapter>CHAP.</abbr> <abbr=sixteen>XVI.</abbr> | OF DON QUIXOTE’S ADVENTURE WITH DONNA RODRIGUEZ, THE DUCHESS’S DUENNA—AND OTHER INCIDENTS WORTHY OF ETERNAL FAME.
.sp 2
Exceedingly peevish and
melancholy was the sore wounded
Don Quixote, with his face bandaged
and marked; not by the hand of his
Maker, but by the claws of a cat; and,
indeed, such misfortunes are annexed
to chivalry. Six days did he remain
in his chamber, without appearing in
publick; and during this time it was,
that one night, while he lay watchful
and awake, musing upon his disaster,
and the persecution of Altisidora, he
heard a key turning in the door of his
apartment, and straight imagined the
enamoured damsel was come to surprize
his chastity, and tempt him to forego
the fidelity he owned to his mistress Dulcinea
del Toboso. On this supposition,
he pronounced with an audible voice,
‘No! the greatest beauty upon earth
shall never have such an effect as to
interfere with my adoration of her,
who is impressed and engraved in the
midst of my heart, and in the depth
of my bowels! No, my dear mistress!
whether thou art transformed into a
garlick-eating wench, or as a nymph
of the golden Tagus, art weaving
webs of gold and silver twist: whether
thou art in the power of Merlin
or Montesinos; wheresoever thou
mayest be, mine thou art, and wheresoever
I am, I must be thine.’ This
ejaculation being uttered, just as the
door opened, he stood upright in his
bed, wrapped up in a quilt of yellow
silk, with a woollen night-cap on his
head, his face and whiskers being bound
up; the first, on account of the scratches
// File: 0805.png
.pn +1
he had received, and the last, in order
to preserve the buckle; and in this
equipage, he appeared the most extraordinary
phantom that the imagination
can conceive. His eyes were fixed upon
the door, and when he expected to
see the yielding and afflicted Altisidora
enter, he beheld a most reverend duenna,
with a white hemmed veil, so long
as to cover her from head to foot. Between
the fingers of her left hand she
held a lighted candle’s end, and with
her right she formed a shade to keep the
glare from her eyes, which were furnished
with large spectacles; and, in
this trim, she came treading very softly,
and moving her feet with great tranquillity
as she advanced. Don Quixote
surveyed her from his post, and
marking her silence and appearance,
concluded she was some hag or sorceress,
come in that equipage to annoy
him; and, in this opinion, he began to
cross himself with great eagerness and
devotion. The apparition advancing
to the middle of the chamber, and lifting
up its eyes, perceived the knight
busily employed in these devout precautions:
if he was afraid at sight of
her, she was no less terrified at his figure;
for seeing him so tall and yellow,
wrapped up in the quilt, and disfigured
by the bandages, she cried aloud, ‘O
Jesus! what do I see?’ and in the
surprize dropped the candle. Finding
herself now in the dark, she attempted
to make her retreat, and treading upon
her own skirts in the confusion of her
fear, she stumbled and fell to the
ground: while Don Quixote, sweating
with terror, began to ejaculate, ‘I
conjure thee, O phantom! or whatever
thou mayest be, to tell me who
thou art, and what thou would’st
have. If thou art a perturbed spirit,
let me know, and I will do all that
lies in my power to give thee relief;
for I am a catholick Christian, well-disposed
to befriend all mankind;
and, in consequence of this disposition,
I received the order of knight-errantry,
which I now profess, and
the exercise of that profession extends
even so far as to give assistance to souls
in purgatory.’

The duenna, bruised as she was with
her fall; hearing herself exercised in
this manner, guessed from her own fear
the terrors of Don Quixote, and in a low
and plaintive tone replied, ‘Signior
// File: 0806.png
Don Quixote, I am no phantom, apparition,
or soul in purgatory, as
your worship seems to suppose, but
Donna Rodriguez, chief duenna to
my Lady Duchess, and I come with
one of those necessitous cases which
your worship is wont to remedy.’—‘Pray,
tell me, Signora Donna Rodriguez,’
said Don Quixote, ‘are you
come in the office of a go-between?
because, I would have you to know,
that I am altogether unfit for any such
commerce, thanks to the peerless
beauty of my own mistress Dulcinea
del Toboso. Finally, I say unto
you, Signora Donna Rodriguez, if
you will suppress, and lay aside all
amorous messages, you may go and
light your candle, and return; and
we will discourse upon any subject
you shall think proper to introduce,
saving, as I have already observed,
all your dainty incitements.’—‘Signior,’
answered the duenna, ‘I carry
messages for no person. Your worship
is but little acquainted with my
character. Nor am I so stricken in
years as to take to those fooleries;
for, God be praised! there is still
some soul in my body, and my teeth,
grinders and all, are still in my head,
except a very few I have lost by the
rheums that are so rife in this country
of Arragon; but, if your worship
will wait a minute, I will go and light
my candle, and return in an instant,
and then I shall recount my disaster
to you, as the physician of all disasters
upon earth.’

So saying, she, without waiting for
an answer, quitted the apartment, where
the knight waited for her, in the utmost
suspence and concern; then being assaulted
by a thousand reflections upon
this new adventure, he began to think
it would be very indiscreet, even so
much as to dream of exposing himself
to the danger of breaking his fidelity to
his own mistress. ‘Who knows,’ said
he to himself, ‘but the devil, who is
equally crafty and dextrous, intends
at present to seduce me by means of
a duenna, after having in vain attempted
me with empresses, queens,
duchesses, marquisses, and countesses?
for I have often heard it observed by
a number of people of good understanding,
that he will never give you
an high nose, if a flat nose will serve
your turn, and who knows but this
// File: 0807.png
.pn +1
solitude, opportunity, and silence, may
waken those desires in me, which are
now asleep, and compel me at these
years to fall, where hitherto I never
so much as stumbled? In such emergencies,
it is surely better to avoid
than await the battle. And yet, I must
certainly be deprived of my senses, to
talk and think at this rate; for it is absolutely
impossible, that a long, meagre,
white veiled, and spectacled duenna,
should move or excite a lascivious
thought in the lewdest bosom
upon earth. Is there, for example, a
duenna in nature who has a tolerable
person? Is there a duenna upon this
our globe who is not wrinkled, loathsome,
and impertinent? Avaunt, then,
ye duennian tribe, unfit for any human
entertainment! Praise be to that
lady who is said to have had at one
end of her sopha two marble duennas,
with their spectacles and bobbin cushions
in the attitude of working; and
these statues fulfilled the dignity of
the apartment, as well as if they had
been duennas of flesh and blood.’

So saying, he started from his bed,
with intention to lock the door, and
deny admittance to Signora Rodriguez;
but, before he could execute his resolution,
that lady had returned with a
lighted wax taper, and seeing Don
Quixote so near her, with his quilt,
bandages, night cap, or hood, she was
again affrighted, and retired backwards
a couple of paces, saying, ‘Am I safe,
Sir knight? for your worship’s getting
out of bed is no great sign of virtue,
methinks.’—‘Madam,’ replied Don
Quixote, ‘I ought to ask you the
same question; and I do accordingly
ask, whether or not I am safe from
assault and ravishment?’—‘Of whom,
or from whom, do you demand that
security, Sir Knight?’ said the duenna.

‘Of you, and from you, and you
alone,’ answered Don Quixote: ‘for
I am not made of marble, nor you of
brass; nor is it now ten o’clock in
the forenoon, but midnight, and something
more, if I am not mistaken; and
we are here in a more close and secret
apartment than in the cave in which
the treacherous and daring Æneas enjoyed
the beautiful and tender-hearted
Dido: yet give me your hand, Madam;
for I require no other security
than my own reserve and continence,
// File: 0808.png
together with the appearance of that
most reverend veil.’

So saying, he kissed his right-hand;
and took hold of hers, which she presented
with the like ceremony.

Here Cid Hamet, in a parenthesis,
swears by Mahomet, that to have seen
these two originals thus linked, and
walking from the door to the bed, he
would have given the best of his two
jackets.

At length Don Quixote slipped into
bed, and Donna Rodriguez seated herself
in a chair at some distance from it,
without quitting her spectacles or candle;
then the knight shrunk under the clothes,
with which he covered himself in such
a manner that nothing but his face appeared;
and both parties having composed
themselves, the first who broke
silence was Don Quixote, who accosted
her in these words: ‘Now, Madam
Duenna Rodriguez, you may unrip
and unload all that lies upon your
sorrowful heart and afflicted bowels;
and I shall listen to your grievances
with chaste ears, and redress them
with generous works.’—‘I believe
as much,’ said the duenna: ‘for,
from the genteel and agreeable presence
of your worship, I could expect
no other than such a christian reply.’

‘This, then, is the case, Signior Don
Quixote; although your worship now
sees me seated in this chair, in the
midst of Arragon, and in the dress of
a contemptible and injured duenna,
I was born in the Asturias of Oviedo,
of a family which intermarried with
many of the best in that province;
but my niggardly fate, and the extravagance
of my parents, who came
to untimely want, without knowing
how or wherefore, drove me to the
court of Madrid, where, for the sake
of peace, and in order to prevent
greater misfortunes, my parents provided
me with the place of needle-woman,
in the service of a lady of
quality; and, I would have your
worship to know, that in making
knitting-sheaths and plain-work, no
person had ever the advantage of me
in the whole course of my life. As
for my parents, after they had seen
me settled in this place, they returned
to the country, and in a few years
went to heaven; for they were exceeding
good catholick Christians.
Meanwhile, I was left an orphan,
// File: 0809.png
.pn +1
stinted to the wretched salary, and
pitiful wages, commonly given to
such servants in great families: and
so, about that time, a squire of the
house fell in love with me, though
I am sure I gave him no occasion.
He was a man already well stricken
in years, with a venerable beard, and
of a comely appearance, and besides,
as good a gentleman as the king, for
he was a mountaineer. We did not
correspond so secretly but our intrigue
came to the knowledge of my
lady; who, waving all questions and
commands, caused us to be married
in peace and in the face of our holy
mother the Roman catholick church.
The fruit of this marriage was a
daughter, who was the death of my
good fortune, if any such I had: not
that I died in child-bed; on the contrary,
I was safely and seasonably delivered;
but because, soon after that
event, my poor husband died of a
fright; and if I had now time to recount
the manner, I know your worship
would be struck with admiration.’

Here she began to weep most bitterly,
and thus proceeded: ‘Your worship,
Signior Don Quixote, will pardon me
for not being able to contain myself,
for as often as I remember my unfortunate
husband, mine eyes run
over. God be my comfort! with
what dignity did he ride before my
lady, on a mighty mule as black as
jet; for, at that time, they did not
use coaches or chairs, which, they
say, are now in fashion; and the ladies
always rode behind their squires.
This one circumstance, however, I
cannot help recounting, because it
demonstrates the good breeding and
punctilio of my worthy spouse. One
day, as he entered the street of <abbr=Saint>St.</abbr>
Jago, in Madrid, which is but narrow,
he happened to meet a judge,
preceded by two of his officers; and
my good squire no sooner beheld
him, than he turned his mule in order
to attend his worship. My lady,
who sat behind him, said in a whisper,
“Blockhead, what are you going
to do? Don’t you know that I am
here?” while the judge, out of politeness,
stopped his horse, saying,
“Pray proceed, Signior; for, it is rather
my duty to attend my Lady
Donna Casilda,” that was the name
// File: 0810.png
of my mistress. Nevertheless, my
husband still persisted, with his cap in
hand, in his resolution to attend the
judge; and my lady, enraged at his
obstinacy, pulled out a large pin, or
rather, I believe, a bodkin, from her
tweezer-case, and thrust it into his
loins; so that my poor man roared
aloud, and writhed his body in such
a manner, that both he and my lady
came to the ground. Her two lacquies
ran immediately to lift her up,
and were assisted by the judge and
his officers. The whole gate of
Guadalajara, (I mean, the idle people
about it) were in an uproar: my lady
came home a-foot; and my husband
hastened to a surgeon, declaring he
was thrust through the bowels. His
great courtesy soon became publick,
insomuch that the very children mocked
him in the street; for which reason,
and because he was a little short-sighted,
my lady dismissed him from
her service; and he took his dismission
so much to heart, that I am positively
certain it was the cause of his
death. Thus was I left a forlorn
widow, with a daughter upon my
hands, who, as she grew up, increased
in beauty, like the foam of the
sea. In a word, as I had the character
of being an excellent needle-woman,
my Lady Duchess, who was
just then married to my Lord Duke,
carried me and my daughter, without
more ado, along with her to this
kingdom of Arragon; where, in process
of time, my child improved in
all manner of accomplishments; she
sings like any sky lark, dances light
as thought, cuts a caper as if she was
mad, reads and writes like a school-master,
and casts accounts like a miser.
I say nothing of her cleanliness,
for the running water is not
more pure; and if my memory does
not fail me, she is now sixteen years,
five months, and three days, perhaps
one over or under. In a word, this
maiden of mine captivated the son of
a rich farmer, who lives in a village
not far from hence, belonging to
my Lord Duke; and so, the young
couple meeting, I know not where
nor how, he, under promise of marriage,
played the rogue with my
daughter, and refuses to perform his
promise; and although my Lord
Duke is well acquainted with the affair;
// File: 0811.png
.pn +1
for you must know, I complained
to him—not once, but divers
and sundry times, desiring he would
order the young farmer to take my
daughter to wife; he lends a deaf ear
to my complaint, and indeed will
scarce give me a hearing, because,
forsooth, the young rogue’s father is
extremely rich, and lends him money;
nay, becomes surety for him
when he happens to be in trouble; so
that he will by no manner of means
give him the least umbrage or disgust.
Now, dear Sir, my request is,
that your worship would undertake to
redress this grievance, either by entreaty
or force of arms; for, as all
the world says, your worship was
born for such purposes, to rectify
wrongs, and protect the wretched.
And I beg your worship will consider
the orphan state of my daughter,
her gentility, her youth, and all those
good qualities which I have told you
she possesses: for in the light of Heaven,
and in my own conscience, I
dare aver, that of all the damsels belonging
to my Lady Duchess, there
is not one that comes up to the sole
of her shoe: and though she whom
they call Altisidora, is reckoned the
most sprightly and good-humoured,
when compared to my daughter, she
does not come within two leagues of
her; for, your worship must know,
Signior, all is not gold that glitters.
This same creature, Altisidora, has
more forwardness than beauty, and
more airiness than modesty; besides,
she is not over and above wholesome;
her breath has such a flavour that nobody
can be near her; no, not for a
moment; and even my Lady Duchess—but,
mum for that! Walls have
ears, as the saying is.’

‘What of my Lady Duchess?’
cried Don Quixote. ‘Signora Donna
Rodriguez, I conjure you tell me,
by the life of my soul.’—‘Nay, if
you conjure me in that manner,’ answered
the duenna, ‘I cannot help telling
the truth. Signior Don Quixote
your worship has, no doubt, perceived
the beauty of my Lady Duchess;
that freshness of complexion that
shines like polished steel, those cheeks
of milk and crimson, with the sun
on one side, and the moon on the
other, and that gaiety with which she
treads, or rather disdains the ground,
// File: 0812.png
seeming to diffuse health and joy
wheresoever she walks. Well, then,
your worship must know, that she
may thank God, in the first place;
and, secondly, two issues in her legs,
that discharge the bad humours with
which the doctors say she abounds.’—‘Blessed
Virgin!’ cried the knight, ‘is
it possible that my Lady Duchess
should have occasion for such sluices?
I would hardly believe the bare-footed
friars, should they make the assertion;
yet, since Donna Rodriguez
avers it, there is no reason to doubt,
but from those issues, surely nothing
but liquid amber can flow; and, in
good sooth, I am now fully convinced
that the use of issues must be a
matter of great importance to the preservation
of health.’

Scarce had Don Quixote pronounced
these words, when the chamber door
flew open, with a sudden slap, which
surprized and disordered the duenna to
such a degree, that she dropped the
candle, and in a moment the apartment
was dark as a dog’s mouth, as
the saying is. Immediately, the poor
duenna felt her throat assaulted by two
hands, which pressed it so close that
she could not speak: while another person,
with incredible dispatch, and in
great silence, turned up her petticoats,
and with something like a flipper, began
to make such application to her
posterior parts, that she was in a most
piteous taking. Although Don Quixote
compassionated her case, he stirred
not from his bed, as he did not know
the nature of the assault, but lay snug
and silent, in great fear that the same
discipline would come round and sound
to his own carcase. Nor was his apprehension
altogether groundless; for
the silent executioners having severely
flogged the duenna, who durst not
complain, advanced to Don Quixote;
and stripping off the sheets and the
quilt, pinched him so fast and so smartly,
that he could not forbear defending
himself by dint of fist; and the whole affair
was transacted in wonderful silence.
The battle having lasted about half an
hour, the phantoms vanished, Donna
Rodriguez adjusted her petticoats, and
groaning over her misfortune, sneaked
away, without speaking a syllable to
the knight, who remained alone, full
of pains and pinches, sorrow and confusion.
And here we will leave him,
// File: 0813.png
.pn +1
burning with desire to knew who the
perverse inchanter was, who had used
him in such a cruel manner; but that
secret shall be revealed in due season.
Meanwhile we are summoned by Sancho
Panza; and the excellent plan of our history
obliges us to obey his call.
.sp 4
.h4 id=chap4-3-17
<abbr=chapter>CHAP.</abbr> <abbr=seventeen>XVII.</abbr> | OF WHAT HAPPENED TO SANCHO PANZA, IN GOING THE ROUND OF HIS ISLAND.
.sp 2
We left the great governor out of
humour, and enraged at the same
painting country wag, who had received
his cue from the duke’s steward
and gentleman-sewer, sent thither on
purpose to make merry at his expence:
nevertheless, he held out toughly against
the whole combination, Rude, and
brood, and simple as he stood; and addressing
himself to all present, and
among the rest to Doctor Pedro Positive,
who, after the duke’s letter was
read, had returned to the hall, ‘Now,’
said he, ‘I am fully convinced that
judges and governors are, or ought
to be, made of brass, so as that
they may not feel the importunity of
people of business, who expect to be
heard, and dispatched, at all hours
and at all seasons, come what will,
attending only to their own affairs;
and if the poor devil of a judge does
not hear and dispatch them, either
because it is not in his power, or it
happens to be an unseasonable time
for giving audience, then they grumble
and backbite, gnaw him to the very
bones, and even bespatter his whole
generation. Ignorant man of business!
foolish man of business! be not
in such a violent hurry; wait for the
proper season and conjuncture, and
come not at meals and sleeping time;
for judges are made of flesh and blood,
and must give to nature that which
nature requires, excepting myself,
unhappy wretch that I am! who cannot
indulge my appetite, thanks to
Doctor Pedro Positive Snatchaway
here present, who intends that I shall
die of hunger, and affirms that such
a death is good living, which I pray
God may fall to the share of him and
all of his kidney! I mean, bad physicians;
as for the good, they deserve
palms and laurel.’

Every body who knew Sancho was
struck with admiration at hearing him
talk so elegantly, and could not account
for his improvement any other
way, than by supposing that posts and
places of importance enlarge the faculties
of some, while they stupefy the
understanding of others. Finally, Doctor
Pedro Positive Bodewell de Snatchaway
promised to indulge his excellency
with a plentiful supper at night,
even though he should transgress all
the aphorisms of Hippocrates. The
governor rested satisfied with this declaration,
waiting for the approach of
night and supper with great impatience;
and although time seemed to stand stock-still,
the wished for hour at length arrived,
when they treated him with an
hachis of beef well onioned, and some
calves feet not very fresh: nevertheless,
he attacked these dishes with more relish
than if he had been served with
Milan godwits, Roman pheasants, Sorrento
veal, partridges of Moron, or
geese of Lavajos: and, in the midst of
supper, turning towards his physician,
‘Take notice, doctor,’ said he, ‘that
from henceforth you need not take
the trouble to provide dainties and delicate
dishes for me; they will only
serve to unhinge my stomach, which
is used to goats flesh, cow beef, and
bacon, with turnips and onions; and,
if by accident it chances to receive
any of your titbits, it contains them
with loathing, and sometimes throws
them up: but, Master Sewer may
bring me those dishes called <lang=es><i>olla podridas</i></lang>[#];
and the staler they are, so much
the better. In one of these he may
croud and cram all the eatables he can
think of, and I will thank him for
his pains; nay, one day or other, I
shall make him amends; and let no
man play the rogue with me: either we
are or we are not; let us live and eat
in harmony and peace; for, when God
sends the morning, the light shines
upon all. I will govern this island
// File: 0814.png
.pn +1
without favour or corruption: and
let every body keep a good look-out,
and mind his own affairs; for, I
would have you to know, the devil’s
in the dice[#]; and if you give me
cause, you shall see wonders—yes,
yes; make yourself honey, and the
flies will bite.’

‘Assuredly, my lord governor,’ said
the steward, ‘your lordship hath said
nothing but the truth; and I promise,
in the name of all the islanders
of this island, to serve your lordship
with perfect love, benevolence, and
punctuality: for, the agreeable sample
of government which your lordship
hath given in the beginning,
leaves us no room to do, or even to
conceive, any thing that shall redound
to the disgust and detriment of your
honour.’—‘I believe what you say,’
replied Sancho; ‘and indeed they must
be fools to think or act any otherwise.
And I say again, let the maintenance
of me and my Dapple be taken care of;
for that is the main point in this business:
and when the time comes, let
us go and make the round; my intention
is to clear the island from all
sort of filth, such as vagabonds, idlers,
and immoral people; for I would
have you to know, my friends, that
your idle and lazy fellows are the
same in a commonwealth as drones
in a bee-hive, that consume the honey
which the industrious labourers have
made. My resolution is to protect
the farmers and handicrafts-men,
maintain the prerogative of gentlemen,
reward virtue; and, above all
things, respect religion and the honour
of the clergy. Tell me, my
friends, what is your opinion of my
plan? Does it smack of something?
or do I thresh my skull to no purpose?’—‘My
lord governor,’ said the
steward, ‘your lordship speaks so much
to the purpose, that I am struck with
admiration, to hear a man so illiterate
as your lordship (for I believe you do
not know your letters) make so many
observations full of sagacity, and
give counsel so much above every
thing that was expected from your
lordship’s capacity, by those who sent
us, as well as by ourselves who are
come hither. Every day produces
something new: jokes are turned into
earnest, and the biters are bit.’

Night being come, and the governor
having supped with the good leave of
Doctor Pedro, they prepared for going
the round. Accordingly his excellency
went forth, accompanied by the steward,
notary, gentleman-sewer, and historiographer,
whose office it was to record
his actions; and attended by such a
number of alguazils and scriveners, as
would have formed a moderate squadron.
Sancho walked in the middle
with his rod, and a goodly sight he
was to see. Having traversed a few
streets, they heard the clashing of swords,
upon which hastening to the place of
action, they found two men fighting,
who, seeing the officers of justice, desisted;
and one of them exclaimed,
‘Help, in God’s name, and the king’s!
What, are people suffered to be robbed
in this town, and assaulted in
the very middle of the street?’—‘Compose
yourself, honest friend,’ said Sancho,
‘and let me know the cause of
this quarrel, for I am governor.’
Then his adversary interposing, ‘My
lord governor,’ said he, ‘I will tell
you the whole story in a few words:
Your worship must know, that this
gentleman has been at play at that
gaming-house over the way, where
he has won above a thousand rials,
and God knows how fairly; now, I
being present, decided more than
once in his favour, when the bett was
doubtful, against the dictates of my
own conscience. He took up his winning,
and when I expected he would
gratify me with a crown at least, for
good will, as players generally make
such presents to men of honour like
me, who attend in those places, ready
at all adventures to support unreasonable
demands, and prevent disturbance,
he pocketed the cash, and
went away; I followed him out of
humour, yet in the most courteous
manner begged he would indulge
me with eight rials, as he knew me
to be a gentleman without either business
or fortune; for my parents neither
bred me up to the one, nor left
me the other; and the rascal, who,
by the bye, is as great a thief as
Cacus, and as arrant a sharper as
// File: 0815.png
.pn +1
Andradilla, would not give me a
farthing more than four rials; so
that, my lord governor, your excellency
may perceive what a shameless
and unconscionable rogue it is: but
in good faith, if your lordship had not
come up, I would have made him
disgorge his winning, and taught him
how to trim the balance.’ When
Sancho asked what the other had to say
in his own defence, he owned that, as
his adversary alledged, he had refused
to give him more than four rials, because
the plaintiff had often tasted of
his bounty; and those who expect such
gratifications, ought to be thankful,
and take chearfully what their benefactors
bestow, without pretending to
make peremptory demands upon those
who win, unless they know them to be
cheats, and that their winning is unfairly
acquired. He likewise observed,
that there could be no surer mark of his
honour and fair play, than his having
refused to comply with the demands
of such a rascal; for sharpers are always
tributary to those lookers-on who
know their knavery. ‘The remark is
certainly just,’ said the steward: ‘how
will your excellency please to dispose
of these men?’—‘What must be
done, is this,’ replied the governor:
‘You, Mr. Winner, whether you be
good, bad, or indifferent, must immediately
pay to this here slash-buckler,
one hundred rials; and, besides,
disburse thirty more for the use and
behoof of the poor prisoners—and
you, Sir, who have neither business,
fortune, or employment in this island,
take these hundred rials, and some
time to-morrow banish yourself from
this island for the space of ten years,
on penalty (if you disobey the sentence)
of compleating the term of
your exile in the other world; for, in
that case, I will hang you on a gibbet;
at least, the executioner shall do
it by my order; and let no man presume
to reply, or I will chastise him
severely.’ The one disbursed, the
other received the rials; this quitted
the island, that retired to his own
lodgings; and the governor, who remained
on the spot, said to his followers,
‘If my power is not very small, I
will suppress those gaming-houses,
which I begin to perceive are very
prejudicial to the publick.’—‘This,
at least,’ said the notary, ‘your excellency
// File: 0816.png
cannot suppress; for it is
kept by a person of quality, who, in
the course of the year, loses a great
deal more than he gets by the cards.
Against petty gaming-houses of small
account, which are productive of
most mischief, and cover more crimes,
your lordship may exert your authority;
but, in the houses of noblemen
and gentlemen of rank, the noted
sharpers dare not put their tricks in
practice; and since the vice of gaming
is become a common exercise,
better play in houses of fashion than
in any publick gaming-house, into
which an unfortunate wretch is often
seduced in the middle of the night,
and as it were skinned alive.’—‘Mr.
Notary,’ replied the governor, ‘much
may be said on that subject.’

Here he was interrupted by the arrival
of a serjeant who had fast hold of
a youth, and thus addressed himself to
the governor: ‘This spark, my lord,
was coming towards us; but no
sooner had a glimpse of the officers
of justice, than he turned his back,
and began to scamper off as nimbly
as a fallow-deer; a sure sign of his
being some sort of a delinquent: I
pursued him immediately, but should
never have overtaken him, had not he
stumbled and fallen.’—‘Young man,’
said Sancho, ‘what did you run for?’
To this question the youth replied, ‘I
ran, my lord, in order to avoid the tedious
interrogations of justice.’—‘What
business do you follow?’—‘I
am a weaver.’—‘And what sort of
stuff do you weave?’—‘Iron heads
for lances, with your honour’s leave.’—‘What!
you are a small wit, methinks,
and set up for a joker! Very
well, Sir, and where was you going
now?’—‘To take the air, my lord.’—‘And
whereabouts do you take the
air in this island?’—‘Just where it
happens to blow.’—‘Good again!
your answers are pat; and, to be sure,
you are a pretty smart young fellow:
but, hark ye, youngster, I am the air
that will blow in your poop, until you
are safely lodged in prison.—Here,
take and order him to gaol, I will
take order that he shall sleep for one
night without air.’—‘’Fore God!’
cried the youth, ‘your honour can no
more make me sleep in gaol, than you
can make me king.’—‘And wherefore
cannot I make thee sleep in gaol?’
// File: 0817.png
.pn +1
replied Sancho; ‘is it not in my power
to confine and release thee, when and
where I please!’—‘How great soever
your honour’s power may be,’ said
the young man, ‘it is not sufficient to
make me sleep in prison.’—‘How!
not sufficient?’ cried Sancho: ‘away
with him, and let his own eyes convince
him of his mistake; and lest the
gaoler should practise his interested
generosity upon him, I will fine him
in two thousand ducats, if he suffers
thee to move one step from the prison.’—‘All
this is matter of mirth,’ answered
the youth; ‘for the truth is,
all the people upon earth shall not
make me sleep in prison.’—‘Tell me,
devil,’ said Sancho, ‘hast thou got a
familiar to release thee, and loose the
chains with which I intend thou shalt
be fettered?’—‘Now, my lord governor,’
replied the youth with a
graceful air, ‘let us argue the matter,
and come to the point. Suppose your
excellency should order me to be carried
to gaol, to be loaded with chains
and shackles, and thrust into a dungeon,
and lay an heavy penalty upon
the gaoler, in case he should allow me
to escape; and lastly, suppose he should
perform his duty with all imaginable
care and success; notwithstanding all
these precautions, if I have no inclination
to sleep, and can keep myself
awake all night, without closing an
eye, pray tell me, is all your lordship’s
power sufficient to make me
sleep against my will?’—‘No, surely,’
said the secretary; ‘and the young
man has made good his assertion.’—‘Provided
always,’ said Sancho, ‘that
your defying sleep would be merely
for your own pleasure, without any
intention to contradict mine.’—‘No,
my lord,’ replied the youth; ‘I never
dreamt of any such intention.’—‘Then,
peace be with you,’ resumed
the governor, ‘you may go and sleep at
home, and God send you a sound sleep,
for I have no design to disturb your
repose: but let me advise you, never
henceforth to crack a joke upon justice;
otherwise you may chance to
light upon some of her ministers that
will crack your scull.’

The youth went away, the governor
continued his circuit; and he had not
gone far, when two serjeants brought
in a person they had taken, saying,
‘My lord governor, this here person
// File: 0818.png
that seems to be a man, is no other
than a woman, and that not ugly neither,
in man’s cloaths.’ Here they
held up two or three lanthorns, by the
light of which they discovered the face
of a woman, seemingly about sixteen
years of age, beautiful as a thousand
pearls, with her hair tied up in a net
of green silk and gold. Having surveyed
her from head to foot, they perceived
her stockings were of flesh coloured
silk, tied with garters of white
taffeta, and fringes of gold embroidery;
her breeches were of green cloth of
gold; she had a loose coat of the same
stuff, under which she wore a jacket of
the finest brocade; and her shoes were
white, and made like those used by
men. She had no sword about her, but
a very rich dagger, and upon her fingers
were a great number of valuable rings:
in a word, all who beheld the girl were
struck with her appearance, though not
one of them knew her face; and the inhabitants
of the town said they could
not conceive who she was. But those
who concerted the jokes that were practised
upon Sancho were most struck
with admiration; for this incident and
salvage was not of their contriving; and
therefore they stood in suspence, waiting
to see the issue of the adventure;
while Sancho, confounded at the girl’s
beauty, asked who she was, whither
she was going, and what had induced
her to appear in the habit of a man.
She, fixing her eyes upon the ground,
with the most engaging bashfulness, replied,
‘My lord, I cannot disclose, in
such a publick company, what it concerns
me so much to conceal. One
circumstance I beg leave to communicate:
I am no thief or criminal person;
but an unfortunate young lady,
compelled by jealousy to trespass upon
that decorum which is due to my
honour and reputation.’

The steward hearing these words,
said to Sancho, ‘My lord governor,
be so good as to bid the people retire,
that this lady may disburden her mind
with more freedom.’ The governor
accordingly laid his commands upon
his attendants, all of whom retired, except
the steward, the gentleman sewer,
and the secretary; and the young lady,
finding they were gone, proceeded to
this effect: ‘Gentlemen, I am the
daughter of Pedro Perez Mazorca,
farmer of the wool in this town, who
// File: 0819.png
.pn +1
comes frequently to my father’s house.’—‘Madam,’
said the steward, ‘this
will not go down. I am very well
acquainted with Pedro Perez, and
know he has neither chick nor child,
male or female; besides, you first say
he is your father, and then add, he
frequently comes to your father’s
house.’—‘That circumstance I likewise
took notice of,’ said Sancho.
‘Well, gentlemen,’ replied the damsel,
‘I am in such confusion, that I
know not what to say, but the truth
is, I am the daughter of Diego de
Llana, whom you must all know.’—‘Aye,
this goes better,’ answered the
steward; ‘Diego de Llana is my acquaintance,
and a gentleman of rank
and fortune; I know, too, he has a
son and daughter; though, since he
was a widower, no person in this
town can pretend to say he ever saw
the face of his daughter, whom her
father keeps so closely shut up, that
the sun himself has no opportunity
to behold her; and yet, report says
she is extremely beautiful.’—‘True,’
said the damsel; ‘I am that very
daughter, and whether or not fame
has belyed me in point of beauty,
you yourselves, gentlemen, may judge
from your own observation.’ So saying,
she began to weep most tenderly.

The secretary perceiving her distress,
said to the sewer in a whisper, ‘Doubtless,
something of consequence must
have happened to this poor young lady,
seeing a person of her quality quits
her own home at such an hour, and in
such an equipage.’—‘Certainly,’ replied
the other, ‘that suspicion is confirmed
by her tears.’ As for Sancho,
he consoled her in the best terms he
could use, and desired that she would,
without fear or constraint, communicate
what had befallen her; for they would
endeavour to remedy her disaster with
great sincerity, and by all possible means.
‘This, then, is the case, gentlemen,’
answered the damsel: ‘my father has
locked me up for the space of ten years,
which are elapsed since my mother
was committed to her grave: there is
in the house a rich oratory where mass
is said; and, in all that time, I have
seen nothing but the sun in the heavens
by day, and the moon and stars
by night. I am utterly unacquainted
with the streets, squares, churches,
and all mankind, except my father,
// File: 0820.png
my brother, and Pedro Perez, the wool
farmer, whom, because he comes frequently
to our house, I took it in my
head to call my father, in order to
conceal the name of my real parent.
I have been very disconsolate for many
days and months, on account of
this confinement, and his constant refusal
to let me go to church; I longed
to see the world, at least the town in
which I first drew breath; and I did
not think this desire transgressed the
bounds of that decorum which young
women of fashion ought to preserve.
When I heard of bull-feasts, darting
the javelin, and plays, I desired my
brother, who is a year younger than
myself, to describe the nature of these
and many other things which I had
not seen, and he gratified my desire
to the utmost of his power; but his
description served only to inflame my
impatience to behold those spectacles:
in a word, to cut short the account of
my ruin, I say, I desired and intreated
my brother—would to God I had
never desired or intreated him!’

And here she renewed her lamentation;
when the steward interposing,
‘Madam,’ said he, ‘be so good as to
proceed, and finish the story of your
adventure; for your own words and
tears keep us all in the utmost suspence.’—‘I
have little else to say,’
replied the damsel, ‘though a great many
tears to shed; for such irregular desires
are always, without fail, attended
by such misfortunes.’

The beauty of this damsel having
made an impression on the soul of the
gentleman sewer, he once more held up
the lanthorn to take another view, and
the tears she let fall, he took to be
seed-pearl, or the dew-drops of the
meadow; nay, his fancy even compared
them to oriental pearls, and he ardently
wished that her misfortunes might not
appear so great as her sighs and lamentation
seemed to indicate.

The governor being tired of the dilatory
manner in which the girl told her
story, desired she would keep them no
longer in suspence; for it was late, and
they had a great part of their round still
to perform. Then she, in the midst of
interrupted sobbings and broken sighs,
proceeded thus: ‘My misfortune and
my disaster is nothing else than this;
I begged my brother to disguise me
in one of his suits, and carry me out
// File: 0821.png
.pn +1
to see the town, some night while my
father should be asleep; he, importuned
by my intreaties, complied with
my request, and gave me this dress,
while he himself put on a suit of
mine, which fits him to a nicety; for
he has not one hair upon his chin,
and looks exactly like a very handsome
girl. This night, about an hour
ago, little more or less, we sallied
forth from our own house; and conducted
by our foot-boy, and our own
unruly desire, went round the whole
town; but, when we wanted to return
home again, we perceived a
great number of people coming up,
and my brother said, “Sister, this
must be the patrole; quicken your
pace, put wings to your feet, and run
after me, that they may not know
who we are, otherwise we shall be in
evil taking.” So saying, he took to
his heels, and began—not to run, but
to fly; but scarce had I followed him
six paces, when I fell through fear,
and then came the officers of justice,
who brought me before your lordship,
where, in consequence of my foolish
and rash conduct, I find myself confounded
and ashamed before so much
company.’—‘So that after all, Madam,’
said Sancho, ‘no other mishap
has befallen you, nor was it jealousy
that brought you from your own
house, as you alledged in the beginning
of your story?’—‘Nothing else
hath happened to me, nor did I quit
my own home from jealousy, but
merely from the desire of seeing the
world, which extended no farther
than a wish to see the streets of this
town.’

The truth of this assertion was confirmed
by the arrival of two other serjeants
with her brother, whom they had
taken in his flight. He had no other
cloaths but a rich petticoat, and a mantle
of blue damask laced with gold;
on his head there was no cap, or any
other ornament but his own hair, which
was so rich and ruddy, that it looked
like ringlets of gold. The governor,
steward, and sewer, taking him aside,
that he might not be overheard by his
sister, questioned him about his being
disguised in that dress; and the youth,
with equal bashfulness and disorder,
repeated the same story which his sister
had related, to the unspeakable satisfaction
of the enamoured sewer.
// File: 0822.png

‘Gentlefolks,’ said the governor,
‘this is certainly a very childish trick,
and in giving an account of your simplicity
and rashness, there needed not
all this weeping and wailing. Had
you said at first, our names are so and
so, and we fell upon this contrivance
to steal out of our father’s house,
merely to gratify our curiosity, without
any other design, the affair would
have been at an end, and you might
have spared all this grunting and
groaning.’—‘Very true,’ replied the
damsel; ‘but your honour must know,
my confusion was so great, that I was
not mistress of my own behaviour.’—‘There
is no harm done,’ replied Sancho;
‘let us go and see you safe home
to the house of your father, who perhaps
has not missed you as yet; and
henceforward be not such a baby, or
so desirous to see the world. The
maid that would keep her good name,
stays at home as if she was lame. A
hen and a housewife, whatever they
cost, if once they go gadding will
surely be lost. And she that longs to
see, I ween, is as desirous to be seen.
This is all I shall at present say upon
the subject.’

The young man thanked the governor
for his intended civility in seeing
them home; and accordingly they took
the road to their father’s house, which
was not far off. When they arrived
at the gate, the brother threw a pebble,
at a casement, and immediately a maid-servant
who sat up for them, came down
and opened the door, at which they entered,
leaving all the company in admiration
at their beauty and genteel deportment,
as well as at their scheme of
seeing the world by night, without going
out of the town; but this they ascribed
to their tender years.

The sewer’s heart was transpierced
by the charms of the sister, whom he
resolved to demand in marriage of her
father the very next day, concluding
he should not meet with a denial because
he was a domestick of the duke’s.
Even Sancho was seized with a whim
and inclination to make a match between
the youth and his daughter Sanchica,
and he actually resolved to effectuate it
in due season; taking it for granted no
man would refuse his hand to a governor’s
daughter.

Thus ended the round for that night,
and in two days he saw the end of his
// File: 0823.png
.pn +1
government, which overthrew and destroyed
all his designs, as will be seen in
the sequel.

.fn #
<lang=es><i>Podrida</i></lang>, signifies rotten or mortified; hence the <lang=es><i>olla podrida</i></lang> is in French stiled
<lang=fr><i>pot-pourri</i></lang>.
.fn-

.fn #
Literally, The devil’s in Cantiliana, which is a town of Andalusia, near Seville.
.fn-
.sp 4
.h4 id=chap4-3-18
<abbr=chapter>CHAP.</abbr> <abbr=eighteen>XVIII.</abbr> | WHICH DECLARES WHO WERE THE INCHANTERS AND EXECUTIONERS| THAT SCOURGED THE DUENNA,| AND PINCHED AND SCRATCHED DON QUIXOTE—|TOGETHER WITH THE EXPEDITION OF THE PAGE,| WHO CARRIED THE LETTER TO TERESA PANZA, SANCHO’S SPOUSE.
.sp 2
Cid Hamet, the most punctual investigator
of the most minute
atoms belonging to this genuine history,
says, that when Donna Rodriguez
quitted her apartment to visit Don Quixote
in his chamber, another duenna,
who was her bedfellow, perceived her
motions, and as all the individuals of
that class are naturally disposed to enquire,
to pry, and to smell into the affairs
of their neighbours, she followed
her so softly, that honest Rodriguez
knew nothing at all of the matter;
and when she saw her enter Don Quixote’s
apartment, that she might conform
to the general custom of all duennas,
who are much addicted to tale-bearing,
she, that instant, went and
informed my Lady Duchess, that Donna
Rodriguez was in the knight’s bed-chamber;
the duchess communicated
this intelligence to the duke, and asked
leave to go along with Altisidora, and
see what the duenna wanted with Don
Quixote: the duke granted his permission,
and the two, with great caution,
treading softly, step by step, went up
so close to the chamber-door, as to
overhear every thing that was said; and
the duchess hearing how Rodriguez divulged
the secret of those healing
streams[#], that flowed from her body,
could not bear the duenna’s presumption,
which was equally resented by
Altisidora. Exasperated, therefore, and
bent upon vengeance, they burst into
the apartment, where they pinched the
knight, and flogged the duenna, as
hath been already recited; for, affronts
levelled directly against the beauty and
pride of the fair sex, waken the indignation
of the offended party to a great
degree, and inspire her with the desire
of revenge.

The duchess recounted the adventure
to the duke, who was extremely diverted
with the particulars; and her grace
resolving to proceed with her jokes, and
extract entertainment from Don Quixote,
dispatched the page who had acted
the part of Dulcinea, in the contrivance
of the disinchantment, which, by the
bye, Sancho Panza had by this time
forgot, so much was he engrossed by
the affairs of his government——the
duchess, I say, dispatched the page to
Teresa Panza, with her husband’s letter,
and another from her grace, together
with a rosary of rich coral in a
present.

The history relates, then, that the
page, who was a very intelligent acute
young fellow, extremely well disposed
to contribute to the entertainment of his
lord and lady, set out with great satisfaction
for Sancho’s native place; but,
before he entered the village, he saw a
number of women washing linen in a
brook, and of these he asked, if they
could inform him whereabouts lived
one Teresa Panza, wife of one Sancho
Panza, squire to a certain knight, called
Don Quixote de La Mancha. This
question was no sooner pronounced,
than a girl, who was washing, starting
up, ‘That Teresa Panza,’ cried she,
‘is my mother; and that same Sancho
my honoured father, and that
knight our master.’—‘Come, then,
young mistress,’ replied the page,
‘conduct me to your mother, for I
bring her a letter and a present from
that same father of yours.’—‘That
I will do with all my heart, kind Sir,’
answered the girl; who seemed to be
fourteen years of age, over or under;
and, leaving the cloaths upon which
she was at work, to one of her companions,
without putting on her cap or
her shoes, for she was barefoot, and
her hair hung about her eyes, she ran
before the page’s horse, saying, ‘Come
along, good Sir, our house is at this
end of the village, and there you
// File: 0824.png
.pn +1
will find my poor mother in a sorrowful
taking, because she has not for
many days heard any news of my honoured
father’—‘But now,’ said the
page, ‘I bring her such good news,
that she will have reason to bless God
for this happy day.’ In a word, what
with dancing, running, and skipping,
the wench arrived at the village; but
before she entered the house, she called
aloud at the door, ‘Come out, mother
Teresa, come out; pray come
out; here’s a gentleman who brings
letters, and other good things, from
my good father!’

Teresa Panza hearing this exclamation,
came forth spinning tow from a
distaff, with a grey petticoat, so short
that it seemed to have been cut close to
the placket; a jacket of the same stuff,
and an open breasted shift; she was not
very old, though seemingly turned of
forty; but strong, hale, nervous, and
tough. Seeing her daughter, with the
page on horseback, ‘What is the matter,
child?’ said she; ‘what gentleman
is that?’—‘The very humble servant
of my Lady Donna Teresa Panza,’
replied the page; who, throwing himself
from his horse, ran with great eagerness
and humility, to kneel before Madam
Teresa, saying, ‘Grant me permission
to kiss your ladyship’s hand, Madam
Donna Teresa, as the legitimate and
particular consort of my Lord Don
Sancho Panza, sole governor of the
island Barataria.’—‘Nay, good Sir,
forbear; do not so!’ answered Teresa;
‘I am none of your court dames; but
a poor country-woman, a ploughman’s
daughter; and wife to a squire-errant,
but no governor.’—‘Your
ladyship,’ replied the page, ‘is the
most worthy consort of the most superlatively
worthy governor; and this
letter and present is an incontestible
proof of the truth of what I say.’
So saying, he instantly pulled from his
pocket the lining of coral, set in gold,
and tied it round her neck; then producing
a letter, ‘This,’ said he, ‘is from
my Lord Governor, and this other
with the necklace, from my Lady Duchess
who sent me hither.’

Teresa was confounded; and her
daughter no less astonished, exclaimed,
‘I’ll be hanged if our master Don
Quixote be not at the bottom of all
this; and surely must have given my
father that same government or countship,
// File: 0825.png
which he promised him so often!’—‘You
are certainly in the right,’ answered
the page; ‘for it is entirely on
Signior Don Quixote’s account, that
Signior Sancho is now governor of
the island Barataria, as will appear
in this letter.’—‘Pray, good gentleman,
read it,’ said Teresa; ‘for
though I can spin, I cannot read so
much as a crumb.’—‘Nor I, neither,’
added Sanchica; ‘but stay a moment,
I’ll go and fetch one that shall read
it, either the curate himself, or the
batchelor Sampson Carrasco, who
will come with pleasure to hear news
of my father.’—‘There is no occasion
to fetch any person whatever,’
said the page; ‘for though I cannot
spin, I can read; and read it I shall.’
He accordingly read Sancho’s letter
from beginning to end; but as it hath
been already recited, we shall not repeat
it in this place. Then he rehearsed the
other, which came from the duchess,
in these words—

.pm letter-start
‘FRIEND TERESA,

‘The great talents, and excellent
disposition of your husband
Sancho, induced and obliged me to
beg of the duke my husband, that he
would confer upon him the government
of one, among many islands
that are in his possession; and I understand
he governs like any jerfaulcon;
a circumstance that affords great
pleasure to me, and of consequence
to my Lord Duke; and I thank Heaven
heartily, that I have not been deceived
in chusing him for that same
government: for, Madam Teresa
must know, it is a very hard matter
to find a good governor in this world,
and God make me as good a woman
as Sancho is a governor. I have sent
you, my dear friend, a coral necklace
set in gold; and I wish, for your sake,
it had been of oriental pearls; but, He
that gives, though it were but an
egg, would be sorry to see thee lame
of a leg. The time will come when
we shall be better acquainted, and
carry on a closer correspondence, and
Heaven knows what may come to
pass. Commend me to your daughter
Sanchica, and tell her from me, to
keep herself in readiness; for I mean
to match her very high, when perhaps
she thinks least of the matter. I
// File: 0826.png
.pn +1
am told your town is famous for fine
large acorns; pray send me two dozen,
which I shall greatly esteem as
coming from your hand. Write me
a long letter, giving an account of
your health and welfare; and if you
should want any thing, you have nothing
to do but open your mouth,
and it shall be measured. That God
would protect you, is the prayer of
your-loving friend,

‘<sc>The Duchess.</sc>’
.pm letter-end

‘La! now,’ cried Teresa, when she
heard the contents of the letter, ‘what
a kind, and plain, and humble lady!
would I might live, and die, and be
buried among such ladies, and not
your gentlewomen of this town, who
think, forsooth, because they are
gentlefolks, the wind must not touch
them, and go to church in such finery
as if they were perfect queens;
nay, they seem to think it a disgrace
to look at a poor body; and see here
now, how this worthy lady, even
though no less than a duchess, calls
me friend, and treats me as if I were
her own equal; and equal may she be
to the highest steeple in all La Mancha.
As to what concerns the acorns,
kind Sir, I’ll send her a whole peck,
so fair and large, that people shall
come far and near to see and admire
them.—For the present, Sanchica, we
must look to the entertainment of this
gentleman; let his horse be taken
care of; fetch some eggs from the
stable, and cut some rashers of bacon,
and let us treat him like a prince;
for the good news he has brought,
and his own good countenance, deserves
every thing at our hands. In
the mean time I’ll go out, and give
an account of our good fortune to my
neighbours, especially our father the
curate, and Master Nicholas the barber,
who are, and always were, such
friends to your father.’—‘I will do
as you desire, mother,’ answered Sanchica;
‘but remember, you shall give
me one half of the string of coral;
for I don’t take my lady duchess to
be such a ninny as to send the whole
for your use.’—‘It is all thy own,
daughter,’ replied Teresa; ‘but thou
must let me wear it a few days about
my neck; for in faith and troth, it
will rejoice my poor heart.’—‘It
// File: 0827.png
will be still more rejoiced,’ said the
page, ‘when you see the bundle in that
portmanteau, consisting of a suit of
superfine cloth, which was never wore
but one day at the hunting, by the
governor, who sends it for the sole
use of Miss Sanchica.’—‘May he
live a thousand years!’ cried Sanchica,
‘as well as he that brings it,
neither more nor less; and even two
thousand, if there should be occasion.’

Now Teresa going out with the letters,
and the string about her neck,
went along playing with her fingers
upon the paper, as if it had been a
cymbal; and casually meeting the curate
and Sampson Carrasco, she began
to caper about, saying, ‘In good faith,
we have no poor kindred now; we
have caught the governorship: aye,
aye, pick me up the best gentlewoman
of them all, ifack! I’ll look
upon her as an upstart.’—‘What is
the matter, Teresa Panza?’ said the
curate; ‘What is the meaning of this
rhapsody? and what papers are these?’—‘No
rhapsody at all,’ replied Teresa,
‘but only these letters are from
duchesses and governors, and these
here upon my neck are true corals;
the Ave Marias and Paternosters are
of beaten gold, and I am a governess!’—‘God
shield us, Teresa,’ cried
the curate, ‘as we do not understand
a word of what you say!’—‘Seeing
is believing,’ answered the good woman,
putting the letters into his hand;
which he having read, in the hearing
of Sampson Carrasco, they looked at
one another with astonishment. When
the batchelor asked who brought those
letters, Teresa desired they would go
along with her to her house, and they
would see the messenger, who was a
comely youth, like a perfect golden
pine-tree, and had brought another present
worth twice as much. The curate
taking the string of coral from her
neck, viewed and reviewed it with great
deliberation; and, being satisfied the
beads were real fine coral, was again
struck with admiration, and exclaimed,
‘Now, by the habit which I wear! I
know not what to say, or what to
think of these letters and presents: on
one side I see, and even feel, the
worth of these corals; and on the
other, I read a letter from a duchess,
who begs two dozen of acorns!’—‘Reconcile
// File: 0828.png
.pn +1
these things if you can,’
said Carrasco; ‘but now let us go and
see the bearer of this packet, whose
information will solve all these difficulties.’

They accordingly accompanied Teresa,
and found the page winnowing a
little barley for his beast, while Sanchica
was employed in cutting rashers to
fry with the eggs, for the entertainment
of their guest, whose appearance and
equipage gave great satisfaction to the
new-comers. After the compliments
of salutation had courteously passed between
them, Sampson intreated him to
tell them news of Don Quixote, as well
as of Sancho Panza; for although they
had perused the letters of this last, and
of my lady duchess, they were still
overwhelmed with confusion, and could
by no means comprehend the meaning
of that government, especially of an
island, seeing all, or the greatest part
of the islands in the Mediterranean,
belonged to his majesty. To this remonstrance
the page replied, ‘That
Signior Sancho Panza is a governor,
there is no sort of doubt; but whether
of an island or not, I do not pretend
to decide: let it suffice, however,
that he governs a place of above
a thousand inhabitants; and with respect
to the acorns, I can affirm, my
Lady Duchess is of such a frank and
humble disposition, that her sending
for acorns to a countrywoman is not
to be wondered at; nay, I once knew
her send and borrow a comb of one
of her neighbours; for you must
know, gentlemen, the ladies of Arragon,
although as noble, are not so
ceremonious and superb, as the quality
of Castile, but treat their inferiors
with more frankness and familiarity.’

In the midst of this conversation,
Sanchica coming in with her lap full of
eggs, addressed herself to the page,
saying, ‘Pray, tell me, Signior, does
my honoured father wear trunk-hose
since he was a governor?’—‘I have
not observed that particular,’ replied
the page; ‘but certainly he must.’—‘My
God!’ cried Sanchica, ‘how
glad I should be to see my father
with trunk hose! let me never thrive,
but I have, ever since I was born,
longed to see father in laced trunk-breeches.’—‘Laced
hose!’ said the
page; ‘Lord, Madam, if he lives, and
// File: 0829.png
his government should hold but two
months, he is in a fair way of travelling
with a hood to his riding-coat.’ The curate and batchelor
could easily perceive the page made a
jest of his entertainers; but the worth
of the coral beads, and the hunting-suit
which Sancho had sent, destroyed
all their conjectures; for Teresa had
shewn them the green garment: nor
did they fail to laugh at the ambition
of Sanchica; and their mirth was not
extinguished, when Teresa accosting the
priest, ‘Mr. Curate,’ said she, ‘do pray
cast your eyes about a little, and see
if any body be going to Madrid or
Toledo, that I may have an opportunity
to purchase a round farthing-gale,
right and tight, fashionable and
of the best sort; for truly and truly,
I am resolved to honour my spouse’s
government as much as lies in my
power; aye, and if they vex me, I’ll
go to court, and ride in my coach,
like all the rest, and the best of them;
for she who is married to a governor,
may very well procure and maintain
such a convenience.’—‘Yea, forsooth,’
replied Sanchica; ‘and would to God
it were to-day rather than to-morrow,
although those who saw me
seated with my lady mother in the
coach, should say, Look, at such a
one, daughter of such a garlick-eater,
how she sits and lolls in a coach, like
the pope’s lady; but let them trudge
in the dirt, so I ride in my coach,
with my feet lifted off the ground:
An ill year, and worse month, betide
all the envious grumblers upon
earth; and, So I am warm, without
and within, the mob may laugh, and
the malicious grin. Speak I to the
purpose, mother?’—‘To the purpose!
yes, to be sure, daughter; and
all this good luck, and even more,
was prophesied by my good man
Sancho, and thou shalt see, daughter,
it will not stop until I am a countess;
for good fortune wants only
a beginning, as I have often heard it
observed by thy worthy father, who
is likewise the father of proverbs;
When they bring thee a heifer, be
ready with the halter; When they
give thee a government, seize it a-God’s
name; When they bestow a
countship, lay thy clutches upon
it; and, When they throw thee
// File: 0830.png
.pn +1
some good beneficial bone, wag thy
tail, and snap at the favour; if not,
sleep on, and never answer to good
fortune and preferment, when they
knock at thy door.’—‘And what do
I care?’ said Sanchica, ‘let them say
what they will, when they see me
exalted in all my finery, and cry,
There goes Mrs. Ape, with her buttocks
cased in crape: and all the rest
of that stuff.’

The curate hearing her remark, ‘I
cannot believe,’ said he, ‘but that
all the family of the Panzas are born
with a bag of proverbs in their bowels;
for I have never seen one of them,
who does not scatter about old saws,
at all times, and in all conversations.’—‘Your
observation is very just,’ said
the page; ‘for my Lord Governor Sancho
utters them at every step; and although
many of his proverbs are not
much to the purpose, they nevertheless
give great pleasure, and are much extolled
by my lady duchess and the
duke.’—‘What! and do you still, my
good Sir,’ said the batchelor, ‘affirm
the truth of that government of Sancho;
and that there is actually a duchess
who sends letters and presents to
his wife? For our parts, although
we handle the presents, and have perused
the letters, we cannot believe the
evidence of our senses, and imagine
this is one of those things which our
townsman Don Quixote supposed to
have been effected by inchantment;
and therefore, I own, I have an inclination
to touch and feel your person,
that I may know whether you are a
fantastical ambassador, or really a man
of flesh and blood.’—‘Gentlemen,’
replied the page, ‘all that I know of
the matter is, that I am a real ambassador;
that Signior Sancho Panza is
effectually a governor; and that my
lord duke, and lady duchess, not only
could, but actually did, invest him
with that government, in which I
hear the said Sancho Panza behaves
with vast ability. Whether or not
there is any inchantment in the case,
I leave you, gentlemen, to dispute and
decide among yourselves; that this is
all I know of the matter, I swear by
the life of my parents, who are still
alive, and whom I love and honour
// File: 0831.png
with the utmost reverence of affection.’—‘What
you say may be true,’
answered the batchelor: ‘but, <lang=la><i>Dubitat
Augustinus</i></lang>.’—‘Doubt as much as you
please,’ resumed the page: ‘what I
have said is the naked truth, which
will always swim above falshood, like
oil above water; but, <lang=la><i>Operibus credite
& non verbis</i></lang>: let one of you, gentlemen,
go along with me, and he shall
see with his eyes what he will not believe
upon hearsay.’—‘I am for that
jaunt,’ cried Sanchica: ‘good Sir, if
you will take me up behind you, I
shall be glad to go and see my father’s
worship.’—‘The daughters of governors,’
said the page, ‘never travel alone;
but always accompanied by coaches,
and litters, and a great number of attendants.’—‘’Fore
God,’ replied
Sanchica, ‘I can travel upon a she-ass
as well as in a coach: you won’t find
me shy or fearful.’—‘Hold your
tongue, wench,’ said Teresa: ‘you
know not what you say. The gentleman
is in the right; for, Every season
has its reason. When it was plain
Sancho, it was plain Sancha; but now,
being governor, my Lady——I know
not if what I say be to the purpose.’—‘Madam
Teresa has said more than she
is aware of,’ replied the page: ‘but,
pray, let me have some victuals, and
dispatch me immediately; for I intend
to return this evening.’ To this remonstrance
the curate answered, ‘Sir, you
shall come and do penance with me;
for Madam Teresa has more inclination
than ability to entertain such a worthy
guest.’ The page, at first, declined the
invitation; but, at length, found it was
his interest to consent; and the curate
conducted him to his parsonage, with
great pleasure, that he might have an
opportunity to enquire at leisure about
Don Quixote and his exploits.

The batchelor offered to write answers
to Teresa’s letters; but she did
not chuse that he should intermeddle
in her affairs; for she looked upon him
as a wag. She therefore gave a roll of
bread, and a couple of eggs, to a noviciate
monk who could write; and he
penned two letters, one for her husband,
and another for the duchess, indited
by Teresa’s own noddle, which
are not the least entertaining that occur
// File: 0832.png
.pn +1
in this sublime history, as will be seen
in the sequel.

.fn #
Literally, the Aranjuez of the fountains. <lang=es><i>Fuentes</i></lang> signifies, either fountains or
issues; and <lang=es><i>Aranjeuz</i></lang> is the name of a delightful palace, about seven leagues from Madrid,
famous for gardens and fountains.
.fn-
.sp 4
.h4 id=chap4-3-19
<abbr=chapter>CHAP.</abbr> <abbr=nineteen>XIX.</abbr> | OF THE PROGRESS OF SANCHO PANZA’S GOVERNMENT—|AND OTHER SUCH DIVERTING INCIDENTS.
.sp 2
At length arrived the morning that
succeeded the night of the governor’s
round, which the gentleman-sewer
passed without sleep, so much
were his thoughts engrossed by the face,
the air, and beauty of the disguised
damsel; while the steward employed the
time in writing an account of Sancho’s
conduct to his lord and lady, equally
astonished at his words and actions, in
which folly and discretion were strangely
blended.

At last my lord governor arose, and
by direction of Doctor Pedro Positive,
he was fain to break his fast with a
little conserve, and four gulps of cold
water, which Sancho would have gladly
exchanged for a luncheon of bread and
a bunch of grapes; but, finding himself
under compulsion, he bore his fate
with grief of soul and anxiety of stomach;
Pedro Positive giving him to
understand, that your slight and delicate
dishes animate the genius, consequently
were most proper for persons
appointed to posts and offices of importance,
in which corporal strength
cannot avail so much as the vigour of
the understanding. By this sort of
sophistry Sancho was subjected to such
severe hunger, that he in secret cursed
the government; aye, and him who
conferred it: nevertheless, in despight
of hunger, and upon the strength of
the conserve, he, that day, sat in judgment;
and the first case that occurred,
was a question put by a stranger, in
presence of the steward and the rest of
the assistants: ‘My lord,’ said he, ‘a
certain manor is divided by a large
river—I beg your honour will be attentive;
for the case is of great consequence,
and some difficulty. I say,
then, upon this river is a bridge, and
at one end of it the gibbet, together
with a sort of court-hall, in which
four judges usually sit, to execute
the law enacted by the lord of the
river, bridge, and manor, which
// File: 0833.png
runs to this effect: “Whosoever shall
pass over this bridge, must first
swear whence he comes, and whither
he goes: if he swears the truth, he
shall be allowed to pass; but if he
forswears himself, he shall die upon
the gallows, without mercy or respite.”

‘This law, together with the rigorous
penalty, being known, numbers
passed, and as it appeared they swore
nothing but the truth, the judges
permitted them to pass freely, and
without controul. It happened, however,
that one man’s oath being taken,
he affirmed, and swore by his deposition,
that he was going to be hanged
on that gibbet, and had no other errand
or intention. The judges having
considered this oath, observed, if
we allow the man to pass freely, he
swore to a lye, and therefore ought to
be hanged according to law; and if
we order him to be hanged, after he
hath sworn he was going to be suspended
on that gibbet, he will have
sworn the truth, and by the same law
ought to be acquitted. I beg, therefore,
to know of your honour, my
lord governor, what the judges must
do with this man: for hitherto they
are doubtful and in suspense; and
having heard of your lordship’s acute
and elevated understanding, they have
sent me to intreat your honour, in
their names, to favour them with your
opinion in a case of such doubt and
intricacy.’ To this address Sancho
replied, ‘Assuredly, those judges who
sent you to me, might have spared
themselves the trouble; for I am a
man that may be said to be rather
blunt than acute: nevertheless, repeat
the business so that I may understand
it fully, and who knows but
I may chance to hit the nail on the
head.’ The interrogator having repeated
his story again and again, Sancho
said, ‘I think I can now explain
the case in the twinkling of two balls:
and this it is: A man swears he is
going to be hanged on such a gibbet;
if he actually suffers upon that gibbet,
he swore the truth, and by the
enacted law ought to be allowed
freely to pass the bridge; but if he
is not hanged, he swore false, and
for that reason ought to suffer upon
the gibbet.’

‘The case is exactly as my lord governor
// File: 0834.png
.pn +1
conceives it,’ said the messenger:
‘and with respect to the scope,
and understanding of the matter, there
is no farther room for doubt or interrogation,’—‘I say,
then,’ replied
Sancho, ‘that part of the man which
swore truth, ought to be allowed to
pass; and that which told a lye,
ought to be hanged; and in this manner
the terms or condition of passing
will be literally fulfilled.’

‘But, my lord governor,’ replied
the questioner, ‘in that case it will be
necessary to divide the man into two
parts, namely, the false and the true;
and if he is so divided, he must certainly
die: therefore, the intent of
the law will be frustrated, whereas,
there is an express necessity for its
being accomplished.’—‘Come hither,
honest friend,’ said Sancho; ‘either
I am a blockhead, or this passenger
you mention has an equal title to be
hanged, and to live and pass over the
bridge; for, if the truth saves him
on one side, his falshood condemns
him equally on the other. Now,
this being the case, as it certainly
is, I think you must tell the gentleman
who sent you hither, that as
the reasons for condemning and for
acquitting the culprit are equally
balanced, they shall let him freely
pass; for it is always more laudable
to do good than harm; and to
this opinion I would subscribe if I
could write my name. Nor, indeed,
have I spoken my own sentiment on
this occasion: but I have recollected
one, among the many precepts I received
from my master Don Quixote,
the night before I set out for the government
of this island; he said, that
when justice was doubtful, I should
chuse and lean towards mercy; and
it pleased God that I should now remember
this maxim, which falls so
pat to the present purpose.’—‘So it
does,’ said the steward; ‘and I firmly
believe, that Lycurgus himself,
who gave laws to the Lacedemonians
could not have uttered a more
sagacious decision than that which the
great Panza has pronounced. Now,
let the audience end for this morning,
and I will give orders that my lord
governor shall dine to his heart’s content.’—‘That
is my request,’ cried
Sancho: ‘nothing but fair play; give
me plenty of victuals, and let them
// File: 0835.png
load me with cases and doubts, I will
soon make them vanish into smoke.’

The steward kept his word; for he
had a scruple of conscience in famishing
such a discreet governor; especially as
he intended that night to conclude the
farce with the last joke he had a commission
to execute.

Well, then, Sancho having dined
that day, contrary to all the rules and
aphorisms of Doctor Snatchaway, the
cloth was no sooner removed than a
courier entered with a letter from Don
Quixote to the governor, who desired
the secretary to read it by himself; and
then, if there was nothing in it which
required to be kept secret, to rehearse
it in an audible voice. The secretary, in
obedience to his command, having perused
it in secret, ‘It may be very safely
read aloud,’ said he; ‘what Signior
Don Quixote writes to your
lordship, deserves to be printed, and
even displayed in golden letters. This
is the purport of the letter.’

.pm letter-start
THE LETTER FROM DON QUIXOTE
DE LA MANCHA TO SANCHO PANZA,
GOVERNOR OF THE ISLAND
BARATARIA.

‘FRIEND SANCHO,

‘When I expected to hear of
thy negligence and impertinence,
I was informed of thy discretion,
for which I have returned
particular thanks to Heaven, that
can raise the poor from the dunghill,
and extract wisdom from the heart
of the fool. I am told thou hast
governed like a man, and that thou
art a man as if thou wert a beast;
such is the humility of thy deportment.
Take notice, Sancho, it is
often convenient and necessary, for
the authority of office, to refill the
humility of the heart; for the ornament
of the person invested with
charges of dignity, ought to be conformable
to what these require, and
not measured according to the will
of an humble disposition. Appear
always well-dressed; for a maypole
when decorated loses its original appearance:
not that I advise thee to
wear jewels and finery; or, as thou
art a judge, to go in the habit of a
soldier; but to adorn thyself with
that garb which thine office requires,
// File: 0836.png
.pn +1
and to be always clean, and neatly
dressed. In order to acquire the good
will of the people over whom thou
art set, among other things, remember
two particulars; one is to be affable
to every body—but this I have
mentioned upon another occasion;
the other is to procure plenty of provision;
for there is nothing that gives
such vexation to the poor as hunger
and dearth.

‘Do not issue a great number of ordinances,
but take care that those
which are published be good; and,
above all things, see they are maintained
and put in execution; for those
ordinances which are not observed,
might as well be annulled, as they
serve to demonstrate that the prince
who had discretion and authority to
enact them, wanted power to enforce
obedience; and those laws which
only intimidate, without being put
in execution, resemble the King Log
of the frogs, which at first terrified
his subjects, by whom, however, at
the long run, he was despised and
insulted. Be thou a father to the
virtuous, and a stepfather to the wicked.
Thou must not be always rigorous,
nor always gentle; but chuse
the medium between these two extremities,
in which lies the point of
discretion. Visit the prisons, the
slaughter-houses, and the markets;
for in such places the presence of the
governor will be of great importance.
Console the prisoners with hope of
being speedily dispatched. Be a bug-bear
to butchers, for then they will
use honest weights; and a terror to
market-women, for the same reason.
Beware of shewing thyself (though
thou really shouldst be so, and yet I
believe thou art not) a miser, a letcher,
or a glutton; for thy people, and
those who have concerns with thee,
knowing the bias of thine inclination,
will batter thee from that quarter,
until thou art overthrown into
the profundity of perdition. Consider
and reconsider, peruse and re-peruse,
the advices and instructions
which I gave thee in writing before
thy departure for thy government;
and, if thou observest the contents,
thou wilt find in them a precious aid,
that will alleviate the toils and difficulties
which every moment occur
to governors. Write to thy noble
// File: 0837.png
patrons, to evince thy gratitude; for
ingratitude is the daughter of pride,
and one of the vilest sins that can be
committed; and the person who is
grateful to his benefactor gives indication
that he is also grateful to God,
whose benefits are so manifold and
incessant. My lady duchess dispatched
a messenger with thy hunting-suit,
and another present to thy wife Teresa,
and we expect her answer every
moment.

‘I have been somewhat indisposed,
in consequence of a certain cat-clawing
adventure, which I lately atchieved
with some discomfiture of my nose;
but that was of no consequence; for
if I am maltreated by one set of inchanters,
I am protected by another.
Let me know if the steward, who is
with thee, had any concern in the
adventure of the Countess Trifaldi,
as thou once seemedst to suspect; and
give me an account of every thing
that betides thee, seeing the distance
between us is so small. I think of
leaving, in a little time, this idle life,
for which I was never designed. I
am like to be engaged in an affair,
which, I believe, will bring me into
disgrace with the duke and duchess;
but, although this affects my mind,
it shall not influence my conduct;
for, in a word, I am resolved to
comply with the duties of my profession,
rather than with the dictates
of their pleasure; in conformity with
the old saying, <lang=la>“<i>Amicus Plato, sed
magis amica veritas.</i>”</lang> I write this
sentence in Latin, because I apprehend
thou hast learned that language
since thou wast a governor. I commit
thee to the protection of God,
who is the fountain of all good; and
am thy friend,

‘<sc>Don Quixote de La Mancha</sc>.’
.pm letter-end

Sancho listened with great attention
to the letter, which was applauded, for
the good sense it contained, by all the
hearers; then the governor rising from
table, shut himself up in his apartment
with the secretary, in order to compose
an answer to his master, without loss
of time. He desired the scribe to write
what he should dictate, without the
least addition or diminution. The secretary
obeyed his command, and the
answer was to this effect—
// File: 0838.png
.pn +1

.pm letter-start
SANCHO PANZA’S LETTER TO DON QUIXOTE DE LA MANCHA.

‘The employment of my office is
so severe, that I have not time
to scratch my head, or even to pair
my nails, which I, therefore, wear so
long, that God must find some remedy.
This I observe, dear master
of my soul, that your worship need
not be confounded because I have not
hitherto given you an account of my
well or ill-being in this government;
where, by the bye, I suffer more pinching
hunger than when we two used to
travel through woods and desarts.

‘My lord duke gave me notice the
other day, in a letter, that certain
spies had entered the island, in order
to murder me; but, as yet, I have,
discovered none, except a doctor, who
has a salary in the place, for killing
all the governors that come hither.
They call him Doctor Pedro Positive,
and he is a native of Snatchaway;
so that your worship may see by his
name, what reason I have to fear I shall
perish by his hands. This very doctor
frankly owns, that he does not cure
the distempers which are already formed,
but only prevents their formation;
and the medicine he prescribes, is fasting
upon fasting, until the patient is
clean skin and bone, as if a consumption
was not worse than a fever. Finally,
he is killing me by inches with
hunger; and I find myself dying of
pure vexation; for I thought, in
coming to this government, I should
have hot meals and cool liquor, and
regale my body in Holland sheets,
upon beds of down; whereas, I am
come to penance like a hermit; and
as I cannot even do that, I believe, at
the long run, the devil will fly away
with me.

‘Hitherto I have neither touched
fee nor fingered bribe; nor can I
conceive the reason of such proceeding;
for I have been told, that the
governors who used to come to this
island, even before their entrance,
always received a good sum of money,
either by way of present or
loan, from the inhabitants; a custom
observed in other governments as well
as in this.

‘In going the round last night, I
found a very beautiful  damsel in
// File: 0839.png
man’s cloaths, and her brother in the
dress of a woman: my gentleman-sewer
is in love with the girl, and,
as he says, hath fixed his fancy on
her for a wife, and I have chosen the
youth for my son-in-law; to-day we
two will communicate our thoughts
to the father of this young pair, who
is one Diego de Llana, a gentleman,
and as old a Christian as one would
desire.

‘I visit the markets, according to
your worship’s advice; and yesterday
seeing a huckster selling new nuts, I
discovered that she had mixed with
a bushel of the new, the same quantity
of old nuts that were empty and rotten;
upon which I gave the whole to
the charity boys, who know very
well how to separate the good from
the bad, and forbade her to enter the
market for fifteen days: I was told I
had done gallantly. What I can
assure your worship is, that according
to the report of this town, there is
not a more wicked set of people than
those market-women; for they are all
without shame, conscience, and moderation;
and, indeed, I believe the
report, from what I have seen in other
corporations.

‘It gives me great satisfaction to
hear that my lady duchess has written
to my wife Teresa Panza, and
sent the present your worship mentions;
and I will endeavour to shew
my gratitude in due season. I beg
your worship will kiss her grace’s
hand, in my name, and tell her
I say, she has not thrown her favour
into a rotten sack, as our deeds
shall declare. I should be sorry that
your worship came to any reckonings
of disgust with my lord duke and
lady duchess; for should there be any
breach between you, it is very plain
the whole would redound to my loss;
and, considering the advice you gave
me to be always grateful, it would
not look well in your worship to be
otherwise to those who have done you
such favours, and treated you so nobly
in their castle.

‘The story of the cat-clawing I do
not understand; but do suppose it
must have been one of those unlucky
frays in which your worship is often
engaged with wicked inchanters; but
I shall know when we meet.
// File: 0840.png
.pn +1

‘I would fain present your worship
with something, but I know not what
to send, except some clyster-pipes,
which are very curiously turned and
mounted in this island; though, if
my office holds, it shall go hard but
I will find something to send, either
by hook or crook. If my wife Teresa
Panza should write to me, I beg
your worship will pay the postage,
and forward the letter; for I am extremely
desirous to know the state of
my family, my wife, and children.
And, now, the Lord deliver your
worship from evil-designing inchanters,
and safely and peaceably quit me
of this government; which I very
much doubt; for I believe I shall leave
my bones in it, so cruelly am I treated
by Doctor Pedro Positive. Your worship’s
humble servant,

‘<sc>Sancho Panza the Governor</sc>.’
.pm letter-end

The secretary having sealed this letter,
dispatched it with the courier; and
those who executed the jokes upon Sancho,
laying their heads together, contrived
a scheme for dismissing him from
the administration. The evening his
excellency spent in making some wholesome
regulations touching the government
of what he imagined to be an
island. Among other things, he ordained
that there should be no monopolizers
of provisions in the commonwealth:
that wine should be imported
from all parts indifferently, at the pleasure
of the merchant; with this addition,
that he should declare the place
from whence it came, so as that a price
might be set upon it, according to its
worth, fame, and estimation: and he
who should be detected in dashing it
with water, or falsifying its name, should
suffer death for the offence. He moderated
the price of all kinds of hose,
and particularly that of shoes, which
he looked upon as exorbitant; he rated
the wages of servants who went at full
gallop in the road of interest; he laid
severe penalties upon those who should
sing lewd and lascivious ballads, by
night or by day; he ordered that no
blind man should sing his miracle in
couplets, without an authentick testimony
of the truth; it appearing that
the greatest part of those sung by blind
persons, are false and feigned, to the
prejudice of those which are true; he
// File: 0841.png
made and appointed an overseer of the
poor, not to persecute, but to examine
whether or not they were real objects;
for sturdy thieves and hale drunkards
often screen themselves in the shade of
feigned lameness, and counterfeit sores.
In a word, he made so many good regulations,
that they are hitherto preserved
in the place, and called, The Constitutions
of the Great Governor Sancho
Panza.
.sp 4
.h4 id=chap4-3-20
<abbr=chapter>CHAP.</abbr> <abbr=twenty>XX.</abbr> | IN WHICH IS RECORDED THE ADVENTURE OF THE SECOND AFFLICTED,| OR SORROWFUL MATRON,| OTHERWISE CALLED DONNA RODRIGUEZ.
.sp 2
Cid Hamet recounts, that Don
Quixote being now cured of his
scratches, began to think the life he led
in the castle was altogether contrary to
the order of chivalry which he professed;
and therefore he determined to
beg leave of the duke and duchess to set
out for Saragossa, as the time of the
tournament approached; for there he
laid his account with winning the armour
which is the reward of the victor.
Accordingly, while he one day sat at
table with the duke and duchess, he
began to execute his resolution in asking
leave; when behold, all of a sudden,
two women, as it afterwards appeared,
entered the dining-room, covered with
mourning from head to foot. One of
them approaching Don Quixote, prostrated
herself before him, and with her
mouth close to his feet, uttered such melancholy,
profound, and doleful groans,
as overwhelmed all the spectators with
confusion: for, although the duke and
duchess imagined it was some joke
which the servants intended to perpetrate
upon the knight; yet, seeing how
violently the woman sighed, groaned,
and wept, they remained doubtful and
in suspense, until the compassionate
Don Quixote raised her from the ground,
and intreated her to discover herself, by
taking away the veil that concealed her
rueful face. She complied with his
request, and shewed herself to be what
nobody believed she was; for she displayed
the individual countenance of
Donna Rodriguez, the duenna of the
house, and the other mourner was her
// File: 0842.png
.pn +1
daughter, who had been seduced by
the rich farmer’s son. All who knew
her were struck with admiration, and
the duke and duchess more than any
body; for, although they took her to
be a fool, and a person of a soft disposition,
they did not think her folly could
have risen to such acts of extravagance.
In fine, Donna Rodriguez addressing
herself to the duke and duchess, ‘I
hope,’ said she, ‘your excellencies
will give me leave to communicate a
little with this knight: for it is necessary
I should confer with him,
that I may be safely extricated from
the dilemma in which I am involved
by the presumption of an evil-minded
clown.’

The duke having assured her she was
at full liberty to confer with Signior
Don Quixote as much as she pleased,
she directed her voice and her countenance
to the knight, saying, ‘Some
days are elapsed, most valiant knight,
since I gave you an account of the
wrong and treachery which a wicked
peasant has done my dearly-beloved
daughter, who is this unfortunate
creature now standing before you;
and you promised, in her behalf, to
redress the wrong she had suffered:
but now I am informed that you are
going to depart from this castle, in
quest of the happy adventures God
shall throw in your way; and therefore
I could wish that before you begin
your career through those paths,
you would defy this inflexible rustick,
and compel him to marry my daughter,
and so fulfil the promise he made
of being her spouse, before he first
yoked with her in the way of love;
for, to think my lord duke will do
me justice, is the same as to look for
pears upon an elm, for the reason
which I explained to your worship in
private. And upon these terms, the
Lord preserve your worship’s health,
and grant us his protection.’

To this address, Don Quixote, with
great gravity and stateliness of deportment,
replied, ‘Worthy duenna, moderate,
or rather dry up your tears,
and spare your sighs; for here I undertake
to redress the grievances of
your daughter: though it would have
been better for her, had not she so
easily believed the protestations of
lovers, who, for the most part, are
// File: 0843.png
very ready and alert to promise, but
very heavy and backward in the performance;
nevertheless, with the good
leave of my lord duke, I will forthwith
set out in quest of this perfidious
youth, and having found him, defy
and slay him, whensoe’er and wheresoe’er
he shall refuse to perform his
promise; for the principal aim of my
profession is, to pardon the humble,
and chastize the haughty; that is, to
succour the wretched, and destroy the
cruel.’—‘Your worship,’ replied the
duke, ‘need not give yourself the
trouble to go in quest of the rustick
who is the subject of this worthy
duenna’s complaint; nor is there any
occasion for your worship’s asking my
leave to challenge him to single combat;
I consider the challenge as already
given; I undertake for its being
conveyed to the party, and even
for its acceptance; and promise that
he shall come to answer for himself in
person at this castle, where I will furnish
both with a listed field, and observe
all the conditions that are wont
and ought to be observed in such encounters;
for justice shall be equally
done to each, according to the obligation
that lies on all those princes
who furnish lists for combatants within
the limits of their territories.’—‘With
this security, then, and the good
leave of your grace,’ replied Don
Quixote, ‘I now, for once, renounce
my gentility, humble and adjust myself
to the level of the delinquent, making
myself equal with him, that he may
be entitled and enabled to fight with
me: I therefore, though in his absence,
challenge and defy him, for his wickedness
in seducing this poor creature,
who was a maid, and now, through
his fault, is deprived of her maidenhead;
and he shall either perform the
promise he made of being her lawful
spouse, or die in default of the performance.’

So saying, he pulled off one of his
gloves, and threw it into the middle of
the hall; this was taken up by the
duke, who said he accepted the challenge
in the name of his vassal: he likewise
appointed the time at the distance
of six days, and pitched upon the courtyard
of the castle as the field of action:
then they agreed to wear the usual arms
of knights; namely, the lance, the
// File: 0844.png
.pn +1
shield, the plaited coat of mail, and all
other pieces, without the least fraud,
treachery, or superstition, to be viewed
and examined by the judges of the lists.—‘But,
before we proceed,’ said the
duke, ‘it will be necessary that this
good duenna, and this mistaken maid,
should put the justice of their cause
into the hands of Signior Don Quixote;
otherwise nothing to the purpose
will be done, nor will the challenge
ever come to due execution.’

‘I do put my cause into his hands,’
replied the duenna. ‘And I too,’ cried
the daughter; all in tears, and overwhelmed
with shame and confusion.
The particulars of this affair being adjusted,
and the duke having determined
with himself what was to be done in
the family, the mourners retired, and
the duchess ordered that for the future
they should not be treated as her servants,
but as ladies adventurers come
to her house to demand justice: she
therefore allotted a separate apartment
to themselves, and they were attended
as strangers, not without the amazement
of other servants, who could not conceive
what would be the issue of the
folly and effrontery of Donna Rodriguez
and her indiscreet and unhappy
daughter.

At this instant, in order to compleat
the mirth of the company, and finish
their meal with more enjoyment, who
should enter the hall but the page who
carried the letters and presents to Teresa
Panza, the wife of Governor Sancho
Panza! The duke and duchess were extremely
pleased at his arrival, and desirous
to know the particulars of his
journey, about which he was questioned
accordingly. The page answered that
he could not describe them in publick, or
in a few words; but begged their excellencies
would be pleased to reserve the account
for their private ear; and, in the
mean time entertain themselves with these
letters. So saying, he produced two letters,
and gave them to the duchess, one
superscribed in these words: ‘To my
Lady Duchess of I know not what nor
where.’ And the other directed, ‘To
my husband Sancho Panza, governor
of the island Barataria, whom God
prosper many more years than myself.’

The duchess would not toast her
cake, as the saying is, until she had
read her letter, which having opened and
// File: 0845.png
perused by herself, when she perceived
it might be recited aloud for the benefit
of the duke and the company, she rehearsed
it with an audible voice, to this
effect.

.pm letter-start
TERESA PANZA’S LETTER TO THE DUCHESS.

‘I received great satisfaction, my lady,
from the letter your grace
was pleased to write to me; for, in
truth, it was what I greatly desired;
the string of coral is very good, and
my husband’s hunting-suit comes not
short of it. Your ladyship’s having
made my spouse Sancho a governor,
has given great pleasure to all our
town, although there are some who
cannot believe it, especially the curate
Mr. Nicholas, the barber, and
the batchelor Sampson Carrasco; but
that gives me no trouble; for seeing
it be so, as it certainly is, let people
say what they will: though, if the
truth must be told, had not the string
of coral and the hunting-suit come,
I should not have believed it myself;
for in our town, every body
takes my husband for a noodle, and
taken as he was, from governing an
herd of goats, they cannot conceive
what other government he can be
good for. The Lord make him fit
for his office, and conduct him in
that way which will be most for the
advantage of his children!

‘For my own part, dear lady of my
soul, I am resolved, with your honour’s
leave, to bring this happy day
home to my own house, and hie me
to the court, where I will loll in my
coach, and burst the eyes of a thousand
people who envy my good fortune:
I beg, therefore, your excellency
will tell my husband to send me
money, and let it be a round sum;
for it is very expensive living at
court, where bread sells for a rial,
and meat for thirty maravedis a
pound; and that is an unconscionable
price. If he does not chuse
that I should go, let him give me
notice in time, for my feet itch to
be a travelling; and my neighbours
and gossips tell me, if I and my
daughter go to court, and appear in
pomp and grandeur, my husband
will come to be known by me, more
// File: 0846.png
.pn +1
than I by him; because, when people
ask, “Who are these ladies in that
coach?” one of my servants will answer,
“These are the wife and daughter
of Sancho Panza, governor of
the island Barataria.” And in this
manner Sancho will be known, I
shall be respected, and to Rome for
every thing.

‘I was vexed to the heart that this
year there was no acorn harvest in
our town; nevertheless I send your
highness about half a peck, which I
gathered one by one upon the mountain,
and went thither on purpose:
I could find none larger, though I
wish they were as big as ostrich eggs.

‘I hope your pomposity will not
forget to write to me, and I will
take care to send an answer, giving
an account of my own health, and
of every thing that may be worth
mentioning from this place, where I
remain praying to our Lord that he
will preserve your grace, without
forgetting me. My daughter Sanchica
and my son kiss your honour’s
hand: and this is all at present from
her who had much rather see your
grace, than subscribe herself, your
humble servant,

‘<sc>Teresa Panza</sc>.’
.pm letter-end

Great was the satisfaction which all
the hearers received from this letter of
Teresa Panza, though the greatest share
fell to the duke and duchess; and her
grace asked Don Quixote, whether or
not he thought it would be proper to
open the letter directed for the governor,
which she imagined must be excellent
in its kind. The knight said
he would open it, to oblige her grace;
and having done so, found the contents
to this purpose.

.pm letter-start
TERESA PANZA’S LETTER TO HER HUSBAND SANCHO PANZA.

‘I received thy letter, dear Sancho
of my soul, and I promise and
swear to thee, on the faith of a catholick
christian, I was within two
fingers breadth of running mad with
joy; and take notice, brother, when
I heard thou wast a governor, I had
like to have dropped down dead with
pure pleasure; for thou knowest they
// File: 0847.png
say, sudden joy kills as well as deadly
sorrow: thy daughter Sanchica scattered
her water about insensibly, out
of mere satisfaction: thy hunting-suit
lay before me, the string of corals
sent by my lady duchess was tied
round my neck, the letters were in
my hand, and the messenger in my
presence; and yet, I imagined and
believed, that all I saw and handled
was a dream; for who could conceive
that a goatherd should come
to be governor of islands? Thou
know’st, my friend, that my mother
said, One must live long to see a
great deal: this I mention, because
I hope to see more if I live longer;
for I do not intend to stop, until I
see thee a farmer, or collector of the
revenue; offices which, though they
carry those who abuse them to the
devil, are, in short, always bringing
in the penny.

‘My lady duchess will tell thee
how desirous I am of going to court:
consider of it, and let me know thy
pleasure; for I will endeavour to do
thee honour there, by riding in my
coach.

‘The curate, barber, batchelor, and
even the sexton, cannot believe thou
art a governor, and say the whole is
a deception or matter of inchantment,
like all the affairs of thy master
Don Quixote. Sampson vows he
will go in quest of thee, and drive
this government out of thy head, as
well as the madness out of Don
Quixote’s scull: I say nothing, but
laugh in my own sleeve, look at my
beads, and contrive how to make
thy hunting-suit into a gown and
petticoat for our daughter. I have
sent some acorns to my lady duchess,
and I wish they were of gold:
send me some strings of pearl, if they
are in fashion in thy island. The
news of our town are these: the
widow of the hill has matched her
daughter with a bungling painter,
who came here and undertook all
sorts of brush-work; the corporation
employed him to paint his majesty’s
arms over the door of the town
house; he demanded two ducats for
the job, and they paid him beforehand;
but after he had laboured
eight whole days, he produced nothing,
and saying he could not hit
// File: 0848.png
.pn +1
upon such trifles, returned the money;
and yet for all that, he married
with the character of a good workman;
true it is, he hath already laid
aside the pencil, and taken up the
spade, and goes to the field like a
gentleman. Pedro de Lobo’s son
has taken orders, and shaved his
head, with intention to become a
priest; and this circumstance being
known by Minguilla, niece of Mingo
Silvato, she is going to sue him
upon promise of marriage: evil
tongues scruple not to say she is with
child by him; but this he positively
denies. This year there are no
olives, nor a drop of vinegar in the
whole town. A company of soldiers
marching this way, carried off three
girls belonging to the village; but I
will not tell thee who they are, because
perhaps they will return, and
then there will not be wanting husbands
who will take them with all
their faults. Sanchica, by making
bone-lace, clears eight maravedis a
day, which she keeps in a pipkin, to
be a stock to her when she grows
up: but now, that she is a governor’s
daughter, thou wilt give her a portion
without her working for it.
The publick fountain is dried up.
A thunder-bolt fell upon the pillory,
and there may they always light! I
expect an answer to this epistle, and
thy resolution about my going to
court: and so, God preserve thee
more years than I have to live, or
as many; for I should not chuse to
leave thee behind me in this world.
Thy faithful spouse,

‘<sc>Teresa Panza</sc>.’
.pm letter-end

The letters were read with admiration,
esteem, laughter, and applause;
and the entertainment was crowned by
the arrival of the courier who brought
Sancho’s epistle to Don Quixote, which,
being likewise recited in publick, rendered
the governor’s folly extremely
doubtful. The duchess retired, in order
to be informed by the page of
what had happened to him in Sancho’s
village; and he recounted the particulars
at large, without leaving one
circumstance untold: he delivered the
acorns, together with a cheese, which
Teresa vouched for excellent, and
even preferred to those of Tronchon.
This the duchess received with excessive
pleasure, in the enjoyment of
which we will leave her grace, and relate
in what manner concluded the government
of the great Sancho Panza,
the flower and mirrour of all insulary
governors.
.sp 2
END OF BOOK III. PART II.
// File: 0849.png
.pn +1
.sp 4
.h3 id=book4-4
BOOK <abbr=four>IV.</abbr>
.sp 2
.h4 id=chap4-4-1
<abbr=chapter>CHAP.</abbr> <abbr=one>I.</abbr> | OF THE TOILFUL END AND CONCLUSION OF SANCHO PANZA’S GOVERNMENT.
.sp 2
To think the affairs of this
life will always remain in
the same posture, is a wild
supposition; on the contrary,
every thing goes in
a round; I mean, goes
round. Spring succeeds winter, summer
follows spring, autumn comes after
summer, and winter comes in the
rear of autumn; then spring resumes
its verdure, and time turns round on
an incessant wheel. The life of man
alone runs lightly to its end, unlike the
circle of time, without hope of renewal,
except in another life, which knows no
bounds. Thus moralizes Cid Hamet,
the Mahometan philosopher; for the
knowledge of the frailty and instability
of the present life, together with
the eternal duration of that which we
expect, many, without the light of
faith, by natural instinct have attained.
But here our author makes the observation
on account of the celerity with
which Sancho’s government was finished,
consumed, destroyed, and dissolved
into smoke and vapour.

This poor governor being a-bed on
the seventh night of his administration,
not crammed with bread and wine, but
fatigued with sitting in judgment, passing
sentence, and making statutes and
regulations; and sleep, maugre and in
despight of hunger, beginning to weigh
down his eye-lids, his ears were saluted
with a terrible noise of bells and cries,
as if the whole island had been going to
wreck.

Sitting up in his bed, he listened attentively,
in hope of comprehending
the meaning and cause of such a mighty
uproar: however, he not only failed in
his expectation; but the noise of the
cries and the bells being reinforced by
that of an infinite number of drums
and trumpets, he remained more terrified,
confounded, and aghast, than
ever. Then starting up, he put on his
slippers, on account of the dampness of
the ground; though without wrapping
himself up in his morning-gown, or in
any other sort of apparel; and opening
the door of his apartment, saw above
twenty persons running through the gallery,
with lighted torches, and naked
swords in their hands, exclaiming aloud,
and all together, ‘Arm, arm, my Lord
Governor, arm! a vast number of
the enemy has landed on the island;
and we are lost and undone, unless
protected by your valour and activity.’
// File: 0850.png
.pn +1

With this clamour, fury, and disturbance,
they rushed towards Sancho,
who stood astonished and perplexed at
what he saw and heard, and when they
came up to the spot, one of them accosting
him, ‘Arm, my lord,’ said he,
‘unless you want to perish, and see
the whole island destroyed.’—‘For
what should I arm?’ replied Sancho;
‘I neither know the use of arms, nor
can I give you protection. These
matters had better be left to my master
Don Quixote; who, in the turning
of a straw, would dispatch the
whole affair, and put every thing in
safety; but, for me, as I am a sinner
to God, I understand nothing of
these hurly-burlys!’—‘How! my
Lord Governor,’ cried another, ‘what
despondence is this? Put on your armour,
Signior; here we have brought
arms offensive and defensive; come
forth to the market-place, and be our
guide and our general, seeing of right
that place belongs to you, as being our
governor.’—‘Arm me, then, a God’s
name!’ replied Sancho. At that instant
they took two large bucklers they
had brought along with them, and putting
over his shirt (for they would not
give him time to clothe himself) one
buckler before and another behind, they
pulled his arms through certain holes
they had made in the targets, and fastened
them well together with cords,
in such a manner, that the poor governor
remained quite inclosed, and boarded
up as straight as a spindle, without
being able to bend his knees, or move
one single step; and in his hands they put
a lance, with which he supported himself
as he stood. Having cooped him up in
this manner, they desired him to march
out, and conduct and animate his people;
in which case he being the north
star, their lanthorn, and Lucifer, their
affairs would be brought to a prosperous
issue. ‘How should I march, unfortunate
wight that I am,’ said Sancho,
‘when my very knee pans have
not room to play, so much am I
cramped by those boards, which are
squeezed into my very flesh? Your
only way is to take me up in your
arms, and lay me across, or set me
upright in some postern, which I will
defend either with this lance or this
carcase.’—‘Come, my Lord Governor,’
replied the other, ‘you are more
// File: 0851.png
hampered by fear than by your bucklers.
Make haste, and exert yourself,
for it grows late; the enemies
swarm, the noise increases, and the
danger is very pressing.’

In consequence of this persuasion and
reproach, the poor governor endeavoured
to move, and down he came to the
ground with such a fall that he believed
himself split to pieces. There
he lay like a tortoise covered with its
shell, or a flitch of bacon between two
trays; or, lastly, like a boat stranded
with her keel uppermost. Yet his fall
did not excite the compassion of those
unlucky wags; on the contrary, extinguishing
their torches, they renewed
the clamour, and repeated the alarm
with such hurry and confusion, trampling
upon the unhappy Sancho, and
bestowing a thousand strokes upon the
bucklers, that if he had not gathered,
and shrunk himself up, with drawing
his head within the targets, the poor
governor would have passed his time but
very indifferently; shrunk as he was
within that narrow lodging, he sweated
all over with fear and consternation,
and heartily recommended himself to
God, that he might be delivered from
the danger that encompassed him. Some
stumbled, and others fell over him;
nay, one of the party stood upon him
for a considerable time, and thence, as
from a watch-tower, gave orders to
the army, exclaiming with a loud voice,
‘This way, my fellow-soldiers; for
here the enemy make their chief effort!
Guard this breach; shut that
gate; down with those scaling ladders;
bring up the fire-pots, with the
kettles of melted pitch, rosin, and
boiling oil; barricado the streets with
woolpacks!’ In a word, he named
with great eagerness, all the implements,
instruments, and munition of war, used
in the defence of a city assaulted; while
the bruised and battered Sancho, who
heard the din, and suffered grievously,
said within himself, ‘O! would it
please the Lord that the island were
quickly lost, that I might see myself
either dead or delivered from this distress!’
Heaven heard his petition, and
when he least expected such relief, his
ears were saluted with a number of
voices, crying, ‘Victory! victory! the
enemy is overcome! Rise, my Lord
Governor, and enjoy your conquest;
// File: 0852.png
.pn +1
and divide the spoil taken from the
foe by the valour of your invincible
arm.’

The afflicted Sancho, with a plaintive
voice, desired them to lift him up;
and when they helped him to rise and
set him on his legs again, ‘I wish,’ said
he, ‘the enemy I have conquered were
nailed to my forehead. I want to
divide no spoils; but I beg, and supplicate
some friend, if any such I
have, to bring me a draught of wine;
and that he will wipe me dry of this
sweat which has turned me into water.’
They accordingly wiped him
clean, brought the wine, untied the
bucklers, and seated him upon his bed,
where he fainted away through fear,
consternation, and fatigue. Those concerned
in the joke now began to be sorry
for having laid it on so heavy; but
Sancho’s recovery moderated their uneasiness
at his swooning. He asked
what it was o’clock; and they answered
it was day-break: then, without speaking
another syllable, he began to dress
himself, in the most profound silence;
and all present gazed upon him with
looks of expectation, impatient to know
the meaning of his dressing himself so
earnestly. At length, having put on
his cloaths very leisurely, for his
bruises would not admit of precipitation,
he hied him to the stable, attended
by all the by-standers, where,
advancing to Dapple, he embraced him
affectionately, and gave him the kiss of
peace upon the forehead, saying, while
the tears trickled from his eyes, ‘Come
hither, my dear companion! my
friend, and sharer of all my toil and
distress; when you and I consorted
together, and I was plagued with no
other thoughts than the care of mending
your furniture and pampering
your little body, happy were my
hours, my days, and my years! but
since I quitted you, and mounted on
the towers of pride and ambition, my
soul has been invaded by a thousand
miseries, a thousand toils, and four
thousand disquiets.’

While he uttered this apostrophe, he
was employed in putting the pack-saddle
on his ass, without being interrupted
by any living soul; and Dapple being
equipped for the road, he made shift to
mount him, with great pain and difficulty:
then, directing his words and
discourse to the steward, secretary, sewer,
// File: 0853.png
Doctor Pedro, and many others who
were present, ‘Make way, gentlemen,’
said he, ‘and let me return to my ancient
liberty; let me go in quest of
my former life, that I may enjoy a
resurrection from this present death:
I was not born to be a governor, or
to defend islands and cities from the
assaults of their enemies. I am better
versed in ploughing and delving,
in pruning and planting vines, than
in enacting laws, and defending provinces
and kingdoms. I know <abbr=Saint>St.</abbr>
Peter is well at Rome—that is, every
one does well in following the employment
to which he was bred; a
sickle becomes my hand better than a
governor’s sceptre; and I would rather
fill my belly with soup-meagre,
than undergo the misery of an impertinent
physician who starves me to
death. I would much rather solace myself
under the shade of an oak in summer,
and clothe myself with a sheepskin
jacket in the winter, being my own
master, than indulge, under the subjection
of a government, with holland
sheets, and robes of sables—God
be with you, gentlemen; and
pray tell my lord duke, Naked I
was born, and naked I remain; and
if I lose nothing, as little I gain.
That is, I would say, Pennyless I
took possession of this government,
and pennyless I resign my office;
quite the reverse of what is usually
the case with governors of other
islands. Make way, therefore, and
let me go and be plaistered; for I believe
all my ribs are crushed, thanks
to the enemies who have this night
passed and repassed over my carcase.’

‘It must not be so, my Lord Governor,’
said Doctor Positive: ‘I will
give your worship a draught, calculated
for falls and bruises, that will
instantly restore you to your former
health and vigour; and with respect
to the article of eating, I promise
your lordship to make amends, and
let you eat abundantly of every thing
you desire.’—‘Your promise comes
too late,’ answered Sancho; ‘and I
will as soon turn Turk as forbear
going. Those are no jokes to be repeated.
Before God! I will as soon
remain in this, or accept of any other
government, even though it should
be presented in a covered dish, as I
will fly to Heaven without the help
// File: 0854.png
.pn +1
of wings. I am of the family of the
Panzas, who are all headstrong, and
if once they say Odds, odds it must
be, though in fact it be even, in spite
of all the world. In this stable I
leave the pismire’s wings, that carried
me up into the clouds, to make
me a prey to martlets and other birds;
and now let us alight, and walk softly
and securely on the ground; and
if my feet are not adorned with
pinked shoes of Cordovan leather,
they shall not want coarse sandals of
cord or rushes; Let ewe and wether
go together; and, Nobody thrust his
feet beyond the length of his sheet.
Now, therefore, let me pass, for it
grows late.’

To this address the steward replied,
‘We shall freely allow your lordship
to go, although we shall be great
sufferers in losing you, whose ingenuity,
and Christian conduct, oblige
us to desire your stay; but it is well
known that every governor is obliged,
before he quits his government, to submit
his administration to a scrutiny;
and if your lordship will give an account
of yours, during the seven days
you have stood at the helm, you may
depart in peace, and God be your
guide.’—‘Nobody can call me to an
account,’ said Sancho, ‘but such as
are appointed by my lord duke. Now
to him am I a going, and to him will
I render it fairly and squarely; besides,
there is no occasion for any other
proof than my leaving you naked as
I am, to shew that I have governed
like an angel.’—‘’Fore God! the
great Sancho is in the right,’ cried
Doctor Positive; ‘and, in my opinion,
we ought to let him retire; for the
duke will be infinitely rejoiced to see
him.’

All the rest assented to the proposal,
and allowed him to pass; after having
offered to bear him company, and provide
him with every thing he should
want for entertainment of his person,
and the convenience of the journey.
Sancho said he wanted nothing but a
little barley for Dapple, and half a
cheese, with half a loaf, for himself,
the journey being so short, that he had
no occasion for any better or more
ample provision. All the company
embraced him, and were in their turns
embraced by the weeping Sancho, who
left them, equally astonished at his discourse,
// File: 0855.png
as at his resolute and wise determination.
.sp 4
.h4 id=chap4-4-2
<abbr=chapter>CHAP.</abbr> <abbr=two>II.</abbr> | WHICH TREATS OF MATTERS BELONGING TO THIS HISTORY, AND NO OTHER WHATSOEVER.
.sp 2
The duke and duchess resolved,
that the defiance which Don
Quixote breathed against their vassal
for the cause already mentioned, should
be answered; and although the young
man was in Flanders, whither he had
fled to avoid such a mother-in-law as
Donna Rodriguez, they determined to
supply his place with a Gascon lacquey,
called Tosilos, whom they beforehand
minutely instructed how to
behave on this occasion.

Two days after these measures were
taken, the duke told Don Quixote
that in four days his antagonist would
come and present himself in the lists,
armed as a knight, and maintain that
the damsel lyed by one half of her
beard, and even by every hair of it,
if she affirmed that he had promised her
marriage. The knight received these
tidings with great pleasure, flattering
himself he should do something to excite
the admiration of the whole family;
and he thought himself extremely fortunate
in having found an opportunity
of shewing this noble pair how far the
valour of his powerful arm extended.
He, therefore, with great joy and satisfaction,
waited the expiration of the
four days, which, reckoned by his impatience,
seemed equal to four hundred
centuries.

In the mean time, let them pass, as we
have already let many other matters pass;
and attend Sancho, who, between merry
and sad, jogged along upon Dapple,
in quest of his master, whose company
he preferred to the government of all
the islands upon earth. Well, then,
he had not travelled far from the island
of his government, (for he never dreamed
of being certified whether what he
governed was island, city, town, or village)
when he saw coming towards him
six pilgrims, with their staves, of that
sort which begs charity by singing.
So soon, therefore, as they approached
him, they made a lane; and, raising
their voices together, began to sing in
// File: 0856.png
.pn +1
their language, though Sancho understood
nothing of what they said, except
the word Charity, which they distinctly
pronounced; so that he immediately
conceived the meaning of their outlandish
song. Now, he being, according
to the asseveration of Cid Hamet,
extremely charitable, took out of his
bags and gave them the bread and
cheese with which he had been furnished,
making them understand by signs,
that he had nothing else to give. They
received his benefaction chearfully, pronouncing,
however, the word, <lang=es>‘<i>Guelte</i>,
<i>Guelte</i>;’</lang> to which Sancho answering—‘I
really do not understand what you
want, good people:’ one of them
took a purse from his bosom, and held
it up, giving him to understand they
wanted money. Then Sancho clapping
his thumb to his throat, and displaying
the back of his hand, signified that
he had not so much as the corner of a
rial, and spurred up Dapple, in order
to make his way through the midst of
them. As he passed, one of them having
considered him very attentively, laid
hold on Dapple’s halter, and clasping
him round the middle, exclaimed aloud,
in very good Castilian—‘The Lord protect
me! what is this I see? Is it possible
that I actually held in my arms
my dear friend, and good neighbour,
Sancho Panza? Yes, doubtless; for
I am neither asleep nor drunk.’

Sancho was astonished to hear his
own name, and see himself embraced
by a pilgrim, and a stranger, whom,
though he silently gazed upon him with
the utmost attention, he could by no
means recollect. The pilgrim perceiving
his surprize—‘Is it possible,
brother Sancho Panza,’ said he, ‘that
thou dost not know thy neighbour
Ricote, the Moresco shopkeeper, that
lived in your town?’ Then Sancho,
reviewing him with greater attention,
began to recal his features; and at
length, perfectly recognizing the Moor,
he, without alighting, threw his arms
about his neck, saying—‘Who the devil
could know thee, Ricote, in that
disguise? Tell me who has pilgrimized
thee; and wherefore hast thou
dared to return to Spain, where, if
thou art found and known, thou
wilt suffer for thy rashness?’—‘If
thou wilt not discover me, Sancho,
I am secure,’ replied the pilgrim; ‘for
in this disguise, nobody will know
// File: 0857.png
me. Let us quit the high-road, and
remove to yon poplar grove, where
my companions intend to take some
refreshment and repose; there thou
shalt partake with them, for they
are a very good sort of people; and
there I shall have leisure to recount
every thing that has befallen me since
I departed from our town, in obedience
to his majesty’s proclamation,
which so severely threatened the unfortunate
people of my nation; as,
no doubt, thou hast heard.’

Sancho assented to his proposal; and
Ricote having spoke to the other pilgrims,
they betook themselves to the
tuft of poplars, at a good distance from
the high-road. There they threw down
their staves, laid aside their rochets or
mantles, so as to remain in their doublets;
and all of them appeared to be
young men of genteel persons, except
Ricote, who was already advanced in
years. Each had a wallet, in all appearance
well provided; at least, with
incentives which provoked thirst, at the
distance of two leagues. They stretched
themselves upon the ground, and
using the grass as a table-cloth, spread
upon it bread, salt, knives, nuts,
crusts of cheese, and some clean bones
of bacon, which, though they could
not be eaten, were in a condition to be
sucked with pleasure. They likewise
produced a black dish, which they called
caviere, made of the roes of fishes,
a great awakener of drought; nor did
they want olives, which, though dry
and without pickles, were very savoury
and delicate; but what made
the best figure in the field of this banquet,
was a bottle of wine which every
pilgrim drew forth from his wallet,
not excepting honest Ricote, who, being
transformed from a Moor into a
German or Teutonian, pulled out his
bottle also, which in size might have
vied with all the other five. They began
to eat with infinite relish, and great
deliberation, smacking their lips at
every mouthful which they took with
the point of a knife, though they are
but little; then, all at once, the whole
squadron together raised their arms and
bottles aloft, and joining mouth to
mouth, with their eyes fixed on the
firmament, they seemed to take aim at
heaven. In this manner, shaking their
heads from side to side, in token of the
satisfaction they received, they continued
// File: 0858.png
.pn +1
a good while in the act of transfusing
the contents of the bottles into
their own bellies.

Sancho beheld this scene, with every
part of which he was perfectly well
pleased; and, in compliance with the
proverb which he very well knew, importing,
‘When thou art at Rome,
follow the fashion of Rome,’ he begged
an embrace of Ricote’s bottle, and
took his aim like the rest; nor was his
satisfaction inferior to theirs. Four
times did their bottles admit of elevation;
but the fifth was to no purpose:
for, by that time, they were as clean
and as dry as a rush; a circumstance
that threw a damp upon the mirth
which had hitherto prevailed. From
time to time each pilgrim, in his turn,
shook hands with Sancho, saying—‘Spaniard
or German, all one, goot
companion.’ To which compliment
Sancho replied—‘Goot companion, by
the Lord!’ bursting out into a fit
of laughter which lasted a whole hour,
without remembering at that time the
least circumstance of what had happened
to him in his government; for
over the times and seasons of eating
and drinking, care seldom holds jurisdiction.
Finally, the conclusion of
the wine was the beginning of sleep,
which overwhelmed the whole company,
and stretched them along upon the
table and cloth they had been using.
Ricote and Sancho were the only two
who remained awake, in consequence
of having eaten more, and drank less,
than their fellows: then Ricote taking
Sancho aside, they sat down at the root
of a beech, leaving the pilgrims buried
in an agreeable slumber; and without
stumbling in the least upon his Moresco
language, he spoke in pure Castilian to
this effect.

‘Well thou knowest, O Sancho
Panza, my neighbour and friend, how
the edict and proclamation which his
majesty published against those of
my religion, overwhelmed us all with
terror and consternation; at least,
they terrified me to such a degree,
that long before the time allotted to
us for our removal from Spain, I
thought the rigour of the penalty was
already executed against me and my
children. I therefore resolved, and,
I think, wisely, like the man who
knowing he must quit the house he
lives in, at such a time, provides
// File: 0859.png
himself with another to which he
may remove—I resolved, I say, to
retire by myself, without my family,
and go in quest of some place to
which I might carry it commodiously,
without that hurry and confusion
which attended the departure of my
neighbours; for I was very well convinced,
and so were all our elders,
that those edicts were not only threats,
as some people said, but real laws,
that would certainly be put in execution
at the appointed time: and
this truth I was compelled to believe,
by knowing the base and mad designs
which our people harboured; such
designs that, I verily think, his majesty
was divinely inspired to execute
such a gallant resolution. Not that
we were all guilty; for some among
us were firm and staunch Christians:
but they were so few in number, that
they could not oppose the schemes of
those who were otherwise; and it was
dangerous to nurse a serpent in one’s
bosom, by allowing the enemy to
live within the house. In a word,
we were justly chastised by the sentence
of banishment, mild and gentle
in the opinion of some, but to us the
most terrible that could be pronounced.
In what country soever
we are, we lament our exile from
Spain: for, in fine, here we were
born; this is our native country; in
no clime do we find a reception suitable
to our misfortunes; nay, in
Barbary, and all the other parts of
Africk, where we expected to be received,
cherished, and entertained, we
have been most injured and maltreated;
we knew not our happiness until
we lost it; and so intense is the
longing desire which almost all of us
have to return to Spain, that the
greatest part of those, and they are
many, who understand the language
like me, return to this kingdom,
leaving their wives and children, unprotected
abroad, such is their affection
for this their native soil; and
now, I know, by experience, the
truth of the common saying, Sweet is
the love of native land.

‘Leaving our town, as I have already
said, I repaired to France; and,
though there we met with a civil reception,
I was desirous of seeing other
countries. I, therefore, travelled into
Italy, from whence I passed into
// File: 0860.png
.pn +1
Germany, where people seemed to live
with more freedom: the natives do not
pry with curious eyes into one another’s
concerns; every one lives according to
his own humour; for in most parts of
the empire there is liberty of conscience.
I left a house which I hired in
a village near Augsburg, and joined
these pilgrims, a great number of
whom are wont to come hither yearly,
on pretence of visiting the sanctuaries
of Spain, which are their Indies, as
being productive of well known advantage,
and most certain gain. They
traverse the whole country; and there
is not a village from which they are not
dismissed with a belly full of meat
and drink, as the saying is, and a rial
at least, in money; so that at the end
of their peregrination, they are above
a hundred crowns in pocket, which,
being changed into gold, they conceal
in the hollow of their staves, or in the
patches of their cloaks; or task their
industry in such a manner as to carry
off their purchase to their own country,
in spite of the guards at the passes and
gates, where they are examined and
registered.

‘My present intention, Sancho, is to
carry off the money I have buried,
which being without the town, I can
retrieve without danger; then I shall
write, or take a passage from Valencia,
to my wife and daughter, who, I know,
are at Algiers, in order to contrive a
method for transporting them to some
port of France, from whence I will
conduct them to Germany, where we
will bear with resignation the will of
Heaven: for, in fine, Sancho, I am
positively certain that my daughter Ricota,
and my wife Francisca Ricote,
are real Catholick Christians; and,
though I myself am not entirely of that
way of thinking, I have more of the
Christian than the Mussulman; and I
incessantly pray to God to open the
eyes of my understanding, that I
may know how to serve him in the
right way. But what excites my
wonder, and baffles my penetration,
is the conduct of my wife and daughter;
who have chosen to retire into
Barbary, rather than to France,
where they might have lived as Christians.’

To this observation Sancho replied—‘Why,
// File: 0861.png
look ye, Ricote, they were not,
I suppose, at liberty to chuse for themselves,
inasmuch as they were carried
off by your wife’s brother, John Tiopieyo,
who, being a rank Moor, would
naturally go to the place where he
himself intended to make his abode:
and, I can tell you, moreover, I believe
it will be in vain for you to go in
search of what you left under ground;
for we are informed that thy wife and
brother-in-law were stripped of a
number of pears, and a great deal of
money, which was carried off to be registered.’—‘That
may be very true,’
said Ricote: ‘but I am certain, Sancho,
they have not touched my hoard;
for I would not tell them where it
was hid, because I dreaded some misfortune:
and, therefore, Sancho, if
thou wilt come along with me, and
assist me in taking up and concealing
it, I will gratify thee with two hundred
crowns, to relieve thy necessities,
which thou art sensible I know to be
manifold.’—‘I would comply with
thy proposal,’ answered Sancho; ‘but
I am not at all covetous; were I that
way inclined, I this morning quitted
an employment by which I might
have been enabled to build the walls of
my house of beaten gold, and in less
than six months, eat out of plate: for
this reason, therefore, and because I
should think myself guilty of treason
to my king, in favouring his enemies,
I will not go along with thee, even
though in lieu of promising me two
hundred, thou shouldst here lay
down four hundred crowns upon the
nail.’—‘And, pray, what office is
this that thou halt quitted?’ said Ricote.
‘I have quitted the government
of an island,’ replied Sancho: ‘aye,
and such a one as, in good faith, you
will not find its fellow in three bow-shots.’—‘And
whereabouts is this
island?’ resumed the other. ‘Whereabouts!’
cried Panza: ‘about two
leagues from hence, and it is called
the Island Barataria.’—‘Spare me,
spare me, good Sancho,’ said Ricote:
‘islands are far at sea; there are none
upon the continent.’—‘How, none!’
replied Sancho: ‘I tell thee, friend Ricote,
I left it but this mornings and
yesterday governed in it at my pleasure,
like a perfect sagittary; but, for
// File: 0862.png
.pn +1
all that, I resigned my place; for I
found the office of governors is very
troublesome and dangerous.’—‘And
what hast thou got by this government?’
said Ricote. ‘I have got sense
enough to know that I am fit for governing
nothing but a flock of sheep,’
answered Sancho: ‘and that the wealth
acquired in such governments is got
at the expence of ease, sleep, and even
sustenance; for in islands the governors
must eat very little, especially if
they have physicians to watch over
their health.’—‘I really do not understand
thee, Sancho,’ said Ricote: ‘but
every thing thou hast spoke, to me
seems mere madness; for who would
give thee islands to govern, when there
is plenty of men in the world so much
more capable of governing than thou?
Keep thy own counsel, Sancho, and
recollect thy judgment, and consider
whether or not thou wilt accompany
me, as I proposed, to assist me in conveying
the treasure I have hid; for the
sum is really so great, it may well be
called a treasure, and I will give thee
wherewithal to live, as I have already
promised.’—‘I have already told thee,
Ricote, that I will not,’ answered
Sancho: ‘be satisfied that by me thou
shalt not be discovered; continue thy
journey in happy hour, and let me
proceed in mine: for, well I know,
What’s honestly earned may be easily
lost, but ill-got wealth is ever at the
owner’s cost.’—‘Well, I will not
farther importune thee,’ said Ricote:
‘but, pray tell me, Sancho, wast thou
in our village when my wife and
daughter departed with my brother-in-law?’—‘Yes,
I was,’ replied Sancho:
‘and I can tell thee, thy daughter
appeared so beautiful, that all the
people in town went forth to see her,
and every body owned she was the
fairest creature under the sun; she
went along weeping, and embraced
all her friends and acquaintance; and
begged of all that came to see her,
that they would recommend her to
God, and our Lady his blessed mother.
Indeed, her behaviour was so
moving, that I myself, who am no
blubberer, could not help shedding
tears; and, in good sooth, many persons
were very desirous of going after,
and carrying her off, in order to
conceal her; but they were diverted
// File: 0863.png
from that design, by the fear of acting
contrary to the king’s proclamation.
He that shewed himself the
most passionately fond of her, was Don
Pedro Gregorio, the young rich heir,
who, thou knowest, was said to be in
love with her. After her departure,
he never more appeared in our town,
and every body believed he went away
in order to carry her off; but hitherto
we have had no account of his motions.’—‘I
had always a suspicion,’ said Ricote,
‘that the young gentleman was
enamoured of my daughter; but, as I
confided in the virtue of Ricota, his
passion gave me no disturbance; for
thou must have heard, Sancho, that
the Moorish women seldom or never
engage in amorous intercourse with
old Christians; and my daughter,
whose inclination, I believe, leaned
more to Christianity than to love,
paid no attention to the importunities
of that young heir.’—‘God grant it
may be so,’ replied Sancho; ‘for it
would have been to the prejudice of
both: and now let me depart in peace,
friend Ricote; for, this night, I intend
to be with my master Don Quixote.’—‘God
be thy guide, brother Sancho,’
said the Moor: ‘I see my companions
are stirring, and it is time for us to
make the best of our way.’

Then the two having embraced one
another, Sancho mounted Dapple, Ricote
supported himself with his staff, and in
this manner they parted different ways.
.sp 4
.h4 id=chap4-4-3
<abbr=chapter>CHAP.</abbr> <abbr=three>III.</abbr> | OF CERTAIN ACCIDENTS THAT BEFEL SANCHO UPON THE ROAD—AND OTHER CIRCUMSTANCES, WHICH TO KNOW YOU NEED ONLY LOOK FORWARD.
.sp 2
Sancho was so long detained
by Ricote, that he could not reach
the duke’s castle that day, though he
was within half a league of it, and there
overtaken by the night, which was
dark and close; but it being the summer
season, he was not much concerned,
and retired a little from the high-road
with intention to wait patiently for
morning. It was, however, the pleasure
of his niggard and unhappy fortune,
that in seeking a place proper
// File: 0864.png
.pn +1
for his accommodation, he and Dapple
tumbled into a deep and very dark
pit, among a number of old buildings.
In falling, he recommended himself to
God, with all his heart, in the firm
persuasion that he would not stop until
he reached the bottom of the profound
abyss: but this apprehension was happily
disappointed; for Dapple having
descended little more than three fathoms,
touched the ground, and his
rider found himself on his beast’s back,
without having sustained the least hurt
of damage. He felt his body all over,
and held in his breath to know whether
he was sound or perforated in any part;
and when he found himself safe, whole,
and in Catholick health, he did not
fail to thank our Lord God for his
protection, as he actually thought
he had been shattered into a thousand
pieces. He likewise felt about the sides
of the pit, to know if there was any
possibility of being extricated without
assistance; but he found them all
smooth and perpendicular, without
any projection or cranny of which he
could take the least advantage; a circumstance
that greatly increased his
chagrin, especially when he heard Dapple
complain in a most pathetick and
lamentable tone; and, indeed, it was
no great wonder, nor did he lament
out of wantonness, for in truth he
was in a very sorry condition.

It was then that Sancho Panza exclaimed—‘Alack,
and a-well-a-day!
how unexpected are the accidents
which, at every turn, befal those who
live in this miserable world! Who
could foretel, that he who yesterday
saw himself enthroned as governor
of an island, giving orders to his
servants and vassals, should to-day
be buried in a dungeon, without a
soul to remedy his misfortune, or a
servant or vassal to hasten to his relief?
Here I and my poor beast must perish
by hunger, if we do not give up
the ghost before that period; he, in
consequence of being battered and
bruised, and I, from pure sorrow and
vexation. At least, I shall not be
so lucky as my master Don Quixote
de La Mancha; who, when he descended,
and sunk into the cave of
that same enchanted Montesinos, was
better entertained than he could have
been in his own house; so that the
cloth seemed to be laid, and the bed
// File: 0865.png
fairly made. There he enjoyed beautiful
and agreeable visions; but here,
I believe, I shall see nothing but
toads and serpents. Unfortunate
wretch that I am! to what a pass am
I brought by my fantasies and folly!
From this cavern (when Heaven shall
be pleased to discover them) my
bones, together with those of my honest
friend Dapple, will be taken
up smooth, and white, and bare as
an atomy; and, from this particular,
perhaps, it will be discovered who
we are, especially by those who know
that Sancho Panza never parted from
his ass, nor his ass from Sancho Panza.
I say again, miserable creatures that
we are! why would not our niggard
fortune allow us to die at home, in
our own country, in the midst of our
friends? where, though our misfortune
would admit of no remedy, we
should not have wanted relations to
grieve at our fate, and close our eyes
in the last hour of our trial!

‘O my dear companion, and my
friend! how ill have I rewarded thy
good services! Forgive me, honest
Dapple, and entreat fortune, in the
best terms thou canst use, to deliver
us from this vexatious misery in
which we are equally involved; in
which case, I promise to put a crown
of laurel upon thy head, so as that
thou shalt look like a poet-laureat;
and, withal, to give thee double allowance
of provender.’ In this manner
did Sancho Panza pour forth his
lamentation, to which the poor beast
listened without answering one word;
such was the danger and distress to
which the poor animal found himself
exposed.

At length, after they had passed the
whole night in miserable complaints
and lamentations, day broke; and
by the light and splendor of the morning,
Sancho perceived, that of all impossibilities
it was the most impossible
to free himself from that pit without
assistance; so that he began to lament
afresh, and roar aloud, in hope that
somebody might hear his voice: but
all his cries were uttered to the desart;
for in all that neighbourhood there
was not a soul by whom he could be
heard; and therefore he gave himself
up for lost. As Dapple lay with
his mouth uppermost, Sancho Panza
exerted himself in such a manner as to
// File: 0866.png
.pn +1
raise his friend upon his legs, which,
by the bye, could scarce bear his
weight; and, taking a piece of bread
out of his wallet, which had likewise
suffered the same unfortunate fall, gave
it to the poor beast, who received it
very thankfully; and Sancho told him,
as if he understood his words—‘All
ills are good, when attended with
food.’ About this time he discovered
a hole at one side of the dungeon,
large enough to give passage to a man,
provided he could bend his body, and
creep through; to this he hastened,
and squeezing himself into it, perceived,
within, a large extensive
space, the particulars of which he
could distinguish; for, through what
may be termed the roof, descended
a small stream of light that illuminated
the whole place, which, as he observed,
dilated and extended itself through
another spacious concavity.

Sancho, having made these remarks,
returned to the place where his companion
stood, and with a stone began to
clear away the rubbish from the hole,
which he in a little time enlarged to
such a degree that Dapple passed with
ease. Then taking the halter in his
hand, he led him forwards through that
cavern, in hope of finding an exit at
the other end: and sometimes he proceeded
darkling, and sometimes without
one ray of light; but always in
fear and trepidation. ‘God Almighty
protect me!’ said he within himself;
‘this, that is such a dismal expedition
to me, would be an excellent adventure
to my master, who would
look upon these depths and dungeons
as so many flower-gardens, and palaces
of Galiana[#]; and expect to pass
from this distress and obscurity, into
some blooming meadow adorned with
the pride of spring: whereas I, a
miserable wretch! equally impudent
and poor-spirited, dread, at every
step, that another dungeon, still more
deep, will suddenly open under my
feet, and swallow me up at once.
We may bear, without a groan, the
misfortune that comes alone.’ In
venting these ejaculations, he fancied
he had proceeded about half a league,
when he perceived a kind of confused
light, like that of day, glimmering
through a passage that seemed to be the
road from this to the other world.

Here Cid Hamet Benengeli, leaving
the squire, returns to Don Quixote,
waiting with joy and transport for the
combat in which he was to engage with
the person who had robbed the daughter
of Donna Rodriguez of her precious
virtue; for he made no doubt of redressing
the grievance and disgrace which
the delinquent had feloniously entailed
upon the innocent damsel.

Chancing one morning to go out, in
order to improve and inure himself to
the exercise of arms, which he meant to
practise in that combat to which in a
few days he must be exposed, he, in
wheeling about, or giving the charge
with Rozinante, rode so near the mouth
of a cavern, that if he had not vigorously
pulled in the reins, he must have
plunged into it, without all possibility
of escape. He kept his seat, however,
and at length made his retreat good;
then, re-approaching the hole, he, without
alighting, surveyed the depth of
the cave; and, while he was thus employed,
heard loud cries issuing from
below; in consequence of which, listening
with great attention, he could distinguish
articulate sounds, and distinctly
understand the following exclamation:
‘So ho! above there; is there any
Christian within hearing? or any
charitable gentleman whose bowels
yearn at the distress of a sinner buried
alive, and an unfortunate misgoverned
governor?’

Don Quixote thought he recognized
the voice of Sancho Panza, at hearing
which he was confounded and astonished;
and raising his own voice as high
as he could strain—‘Who is that below,’
cried he, ‘complaining so grievously?’—‘Who
should be here, or
who complain, but the bewildered
Sancho Panza, for his sins and misfortune,
appointed governor of the
Island Barataria, who was formerly
squire to the renowned knight Don
Quixote de La Mancha?’ When the
knight heard this declaration, his surprize
redoubled, his amazement increased,
and he was struck with the
notion that Sancho Panza was dead,
and his soul doing penance in that
place. Swayed by this conjecture, he
// File: 0867.png
.pn +1
exclaimed—‘I conjure thee, by all
that is sacred, as a Catholick Christian,
to tell me who thou art? If a
soul in punishment, let me know
what I can do in thy behalf; for, as
it is my profession to savour and assist
the needy of this world, so likewise
am I ready to succour and relieve
the miserable objects of the
other world, who cannot relieve themselves.’—‘At
that rate, and by your
worship’s discourse,’ answered the
voice, ‘you should be my master Don
Quixote de la Mancha; and, indeed,
by the tone of your voice, I know
you can be no other.’—‘Don Quixote
I am,’ replied the knight; ‘he
who professed to aid and assist the
living, as well as the dead, in their
distresses. Tell me, therefore, who
thou art, by whom I am thus held
in astonishment; for if thou art my
squire Sancho Panza, and hast quitted
this life, seeing the devils have not
got possession of thy soul, but through
the mercy of God thou art now in
purgatory, our holy mother, the Roman
Catholick Church, has prayers
sufficient to deliver thee from thy present
pain; and I, for my part, will
solicit them in thy behalf, as far as
my whole fortune will extend; I say,
therefore, make haste, and declare thy
name and situation.’—‘I vow to
God!’ answered the voice, ‘and swear
by the birth of whom your worship
pleases, Signior Don Quixote de La
Mancha, that I am your identical
squire, Sancho Panza, and was never
yet dead in the whole course of my
life, but I quitted my government
for causes and considerations which I
must have more leisure to explain.
Last night I fell into this dungeon,
together with Dapple, who will not
suffer me to tell an untruth; by the
same token he stands now at my
back.’ One would have imagined
the beast understood what his master
said; for that moment he began to bray
so strenuously, that the whole cave
echoed with the sound. ‘A most unexceptionable
evidence!’ cried Don
Quixote; ‘I know that note as well as
if I had given it birth; and, besides,
I recognize thy voice, my good Sancho.
Wait a little, I will ride to the
duke’s castle, which is hard by, and
bring people to extricate thee from
// File: 0868.png
that dungeon into which thou hast
been plunged for thy sins and transgressions.’—‘I
entreat your worship
to go, for the love of God! and return
speedily; for I cannot bear to
be buried here alive; and, moreover,
I am ready to die with fear!’

The knight leaving him accordingly,
repaired to the castle, where he recounted
to the duke and duchess the accident
which had befallen poor Sancho, at
which they were not a little surprized,
though they at once comprehended how
he must have fallen by the correspondence
of that cavern which had been
there time out of mind; but they could
not conceive how he should have quitted
the government without giving them
notice of his coming. Finally, ropes
and cables were provided, together with
a good number of people; and Dapple
and Sancho Panza, though not without
a great deal of trouble, were hoisted
up from dungeons and darkness to the
chearful light of day. ‘In this manner,’
said a student, who chanced to
be among the spectators, ‘should all
bad governors be dragged from their
governments like that poor sinner
from the profound abyss, half dead
with hunger, pale with fear, and, as
I believe, without a penny in his
pocket.’ Sancho, hearing this observation,
replied—‘Eight or ten days
are now elapsed, brother growler,
since I assumed the reins of government
in that island, which was committed
to my charge; and, in all
that time, I never once had my belly-full,
even of dry bread. I have been
persecuted by physicians; my bones
have been crushed by the enemy; but
I never had a bribe in view, nor did
I ever receive my due. And this
being the case, as it certainly is, methinks,
I have not deserved to be
dragged out in this manner; but
Man projects in vain, for God doth
still ordain; Heaven knows how
meet it is to grant, what every one
pretends to want; Every season has
its reason; Let no man presume to
think, of this cup I will not drink;
for, Where the stitch we hoped to
find, not even a hook is left behind.
God knows my meaning, and that’s
enough; I shall say no more, though
perhaps I could speak more plainly.’—‘Be
not angry, Sancho,’ replied Don
// File: 0869.png
.pn +1
Quixote, ‘and give thyself no concern
about what thou mayest hear,
otherwise there will be no end of thy
vexation; console thyself with a good
conscience, and let them say what
they will; for it is as impracticable
to tye up the tongue of malice, as to
erect barricadoes in the open fields.
If a governor resigns his office in good
circumstances, people say he must
have been an oppressor and a knave;
and if poverty attends him in his retreat,
they set him down as an idiot
and fool.’—‘For this time,’ answered
Sancho, ‘I am certain they will think
me more fool than knave.’

Thus discoursing, and surrounded by
a number of boys, and other spectators,
they arrived at the castle, where
the duke and duchess waited to receive
them in a gallery; but Sancho would
not go up stairs, until he saw Dapple
properly accommodated in the stable;
for, he observed, the poor creature had
passed the preceding night in very indifferent
lodging. Then he went to
pay his respects to his noble patrons;
before whom, falling on his knees—‘According
to the good pleasure of
your graces,’ said he, ‘and without
any merit on my side, I went to govern
your Island Barataria, which
Naked I entered, and naked I remain;
and if I lose nothing, as little
I gain. Whether I have governed
righteously or amiss, there are witnesses,
who will declare, and say,
whatsoever they think proper, I have
explained doubts, and decided causes,
though all the time half dead with
hunger, because my fasting seemed
good under Doctor Pedro Positive, native
of Snatchaway, the island and governor’s
physician. We were assaulted
in the night by the enemy, who put
us all in great jeopardy and consternation;
and the inhabitants of the
island said they were delivered, and
proved victorious, by the valour of
my invincible arm; but, so may God
deal with them as they speak truth.
In a word, I have, during my administration,
considered the cares and
obligations that attend the exercise of
power, and found them, by my reckoning,
too weighty for my shoulders;
they are neither fit burthens for my
back, nor arrows for my quiver; and,
therefore, that the government might
not discard me, I have thought proper
// File: 0870.png
to discard the government; and
yesterday I left the island as I found
it, with the same streets, houses, and
roofs, which belonged to it when I
took possession. I have borrowed of
no man, nor consulted my own private
gain or advantage; and, although
my intention was to make
some wholesome regulations, I did
not put my design in execution, because
I was afraid they would not be
observed; and a law neglected, is the
same thing as one that never was
enacted.

‘I quitted the island, as I have said,
without any other company than that
of Dapple; I fell into a dungeon,
through which I groped my way, until
this morning, by the light of the
sun, I perceived a passage out of it,
though not so easy but that if Heaven
had not sent my master Don
Quixote to my assistance, there I
should have remained to the day of
judgment. Here, then, my Lord
Duke and Lady Duchess, is your governor
Sancho Panza, who, during
the ten days of his administration,
has gained nothing but so much knowledge,
that he would not give a farthing
to be governor, not only of an
island, but even of the whole world;
and in this opinion, kissing your
graces’ feet, and imitating the game
of boys, who cry, “Leap and away,”
I take a leap from the government
into the service of my master Don
Quixote; for, in short, though with
him I eat my bread in terror and
alarm, I at least fill my belly; and
so that is full, I care not whether it
be with carrots or partridge.’

Here Sancho concluded his harangue,
during which the knight was in continual
apprehension that he would utter
a thousand absurdities; but when he
heard it finished with so few, he thanked
Heaven in his heart; while the duke
embraced Sancho, and told him he was
grieved to the soul that he had so soon
left his government; but he would find
means to invest him with another office
in his estate, which would be attended
with less care and more advantage.
He was likewise consoled by the duchess,
who gave particular orders about
his entertainment, as he seemed to be
sorely bruised, and in a lamentable
condition.

.fn #
This was a Moorish princess, for whom her father built a stately palace near the
Tagus, the ruins of which remain to this day.
.fn-
// File: 0871.png
.pn +1
.sp 4
.h4 id=chap4-4-4
<abbr=chapter>CHAP.</abbr> <abbr=four>IV.</abbr> | OF THE DREADFUL AND UNSEEN BATTLE,| FOUGHT BETWEEN DON QUIXOTE DE LA MANCHA,| AND THE LACQUEY TOSILOS,| IN BEHALF OF THE DAUGHTER OF RODRIGUEZ THE DUENNA.
.sp 2
The duke and duchess did not repent
of the joke they had executed
upon Sancho Panza, with respect to
his government, especially as the steward
arrived the same day, and gave a
circumstantial detail of all the words
and actions which he had said and performed
during the term of his administration.
In fine, he magnified the
assault of the island, and the terror of
Sancho, and described the manner of
his departure, from the account of
which they received no small pleasure
and satisfaction.

The history afterwards relates, that
the day appointed for the combat arrived;
and the duke having again and
again instructed his lacquey Tosilos
how to manage Don Quixote, so as to
conquer without slaying, or even wounding
the knight, ordered the lances to be
divested of their iron heads, observing
to Don Quixote that Christianity, upon
which he valued himself, would not
allow him to let the combat be fought
with any risk or danger of his life; and
that he hoped the knight would be satisfied
with his granting a field for the
lists in his territories, an indulgence
contrary to the decree of the holy council,
which prohibits all such challenges:
he therefore desired that the battle might
not be fought to the last extremity.
Don Quixote said his excellency might
order the particulars of that affair according
to his own pleasure, and that
he would punctually comply with every
circumstance of the disposition.

The dreadful day then being arrived,
and the duke having caused a spacious
scaffold to be erected before the courtyard
of the castle, for the accommodation
of the judges of the field, and the
mother and daughter, who were plaintiffs
in the cause; an infinite number
of people assembled from all the neighbouring
towns and villages, to see the
novelty of this battle; for such a combat
had never been seen nor heard of
in that country, by either the living or
the dead. The first that entered the
lists was the master of the ceremonies,
in order to examine the ground; and he
accordingly surveyed the whole field,
to see that there was no deceit, or any
thing concealed that might occasion
stumbling or falling; then came the
duennas and took their seats, veiled
down to the eyes, and even to the bosom,
with demonstrations of excessive
grief. They being seated, Don Quixote
presented himself in the lists; and
in a little time appeared the great lacquey
Tosilos upon a mighty steed that
shook the very ground, accompanied
with a number of trumpets, his vizor
being down, and his whole body stiffened
with strong and shining armour;
his horse seemed to be of the Friezland
breed, broad built, and of a flea-bitten
colour, with a stone of wool hanging
to every foot. Thus approached the
valiant combatant, well instructed by
the duke how to engage the valorous
Don Quixote de La Mancha, and particularly
cautioned against taking away
the life of his knightly opponent; for
he was warned to avoid the first encounter
as he would shun his own death,
which must have been certain had they
met full shock in the midst of their
career. This champion, crossing the
field, and riding up to the place where
the duennas were seated, began very
earnestly to contemplate the person who
claimed him as her husband[#]; while
the master of the field, calling to Don
Quixote, who had likewise entered the
lists, and kept close to Tosilos, asked
the duennas if they consented to depend
upon Don Quixote de La Mancha for
the redress of their grievances; they
replied in the affirmative, declaring, at
the same time, that whatever he should
// File: 0872.png
.pn +1
do in the affair they would hold as well
done, firm, and sufficient[#]. By this
time, the duke and duchess had placed
themselves in a gallery that overlooked
the barriers, which were crouded with
an infinite number of people, who came
to see the dreadful and never-beheld encounter;
but, before they engaged, it
was stipulated, that if Don Quixote
should overcome his antagonist, he, the
said antagonist, should marry the daughter
of Donna Rodriguez; but should
victory declare for the defendant, he
should be released from the promise
they pretended he had made, without
giving any other satisfaction.

The master of the ceremonies having
divided the sun, and stationed each
combatant in his proper post, the drums
began to thunder, the sound of trumpets
filled the air, the earth trembled
beneath their feet, and the hearts of
the gazing multitude throbbed with
suspense and expectation, some hoping,
and others fearing, the good or bad
success of the battle. Finally, Don
Quixote, recommending himself with
all his heart to our Lord God, and to
the Lady Dulcinea del Toboso, waited
with impatience for the precise signal of
engaging; while our lacquey, engrossed
by far other sentiments, thought of nothing
but what we will now explain.
While he stood gazing at his female
enemy, she appeared in his eyes the
most beautiful creature he had ever
seen in the whole course of his life, and
the little blind urchin, vulgarly known
by the name of Cupid, was unwilling
to lose this opportunity to triumph
over a lacqueyan soul, and register this
subject in the list of his atchievements;
he, therefore, approached him fairly
and softly, and unperceived let fly an
arrow two yards long, which, entering
his left side, transfixed his heart:
nor was it difficult to perform this
exploit; for Love is invincible, and
makes his entrance and exit wheresoever
he chuses to pass, without being
called to account by any person
upon earth—I say, when they gave the
signal for battle, our lacquey’s soul
was transported by the beauty of her,
to whom, by this time, he had surrendered
his liberty; and therefore, he
was not so much affected by the sound
of the trumpet as his antagonist Don
Quixote, whose ears it no sooner saluted,
than he sprang forwards to assault
his adversary with all the mettle
that Rozinante could exert; and his
good squire Sancho seeing him begin
his career, exclaimed with an audible
voice, ‘God be thy guide, thou cream
and flower of knights-errant: God
grant thee the victory, seeing thy
cause is the best!’

Although Tosilos saw Don Quixote
advancing against him, he did not
budge one step from his station, but
called aloud to the field-master, to
whom, when he went up to see what
he wanted, he thus addressed himself:
‘Tell me, Signior, is not this combat
appointed to determine whether I shall
or shall not marry that lady?’ To
this question the other having replied
in the affirmative, ‘Well, then,’ resumed
the lacquey, ‘I have a tender
conscience, that would be grievously
burdened should I proceed in this
quarrel; and, therefore, I own myself
vanquished, and will forthwith
take the lady to wife.’ The field-master
was surprized at this declaration
of Tosilos; and, being in the secret of
the plan, knew not what answer to
make; while Don Quixote, perceiving
his enemy did not come on to the assault,
checked Rozinante in the middle of his
career. The duke, being ignorant
of the cause that retarded the battle,
was by the field-master, informed of
what Tosilos had said, at which he
was extremely surprized and incensed;
whereas, Tosilos, in the mean time,
rode up towards the place where Donna
Rodriguez was seated, and pronounced
with a loud voice, ‘Madam, as I am
willing to marry your daughter, there
is no occasion to seek that by disputes
and contention which I may obtain
peaceably without the danger of
death.’ The valiant Don Quixote
hearing this address, ‘Since that is the
// File: 0873.png
.pn +1
case,’ said he, ‘I am released and
acquitted of my promise; let them
marry a-God’s name, and as our
Lord bestows the bride, may <abbr=Saint>St.</abbr> Peter
bless the nuptials!’

The duke descending into the court-yard
of the castle, and advancing to
Tosilos, ‘Knight,’ said he, ‘is it true,
that you own yourself vanquished, and
that, instigated by your timorous conscience,
you consent to marry this
damsel?’ When he answered, ‘Yes,
my lord.’—‘He is very much in the
right,’ cried Sancho: ‘Give always
to the cat what was kept for the rat;
and, Let it still be thy view all mischief
to eschew.’ As for Tosilos, he began
to unlace his helmet, and earnestly
begged that somebody would come to
his assistance; for his breath was almost
gone, and he could not bear to be
confined so long in such a narrow lodging.
People accordingly ran to his relief;
and his head being uncased, Donna
Rodriguez discovered the individual
countenance of our lacquey, which the
daughter no sooner beheld than she cried
aloud, ‘A cheat! a cheat! My Lord
Duke has palmed his lacquey upon
us, in lieu of my lawful husband: I
demand justice of God and the king,
for this malicious, not to call it knavish
contrivance.’

‘Ladies,’ said Don Quixote, ‘give
yourselves no concern; there is neither
malice nor knavery in the case;
or if there is, it cannot be occasioned
by the duke, but by those wicked inchanters
who persecute me without
ceasing: envious of the glory I should
have acquired in this atchievement,
they have metamorphosed your husband’s
face into the aspect of this
man, who, you say, is the duke’s lacquey.
Take my advice, therefore,
maugre the malice of mine enemies,
bestow your hand upon him; for,
without all doubt, he is the very person
whom you desire to obtain as an
husband.’

The duke, overhearing this admonition,
had well-nigh vented all his indignation
in laughter, saying, ‘The adventures
that happen to Signior Don Quixote
are so extraordinary, that I am apt
to believe this is not really my lacquey;
but, let us make use of this
expedient and stratagem: we will, if
it be agreeable, delay the marriage a
fortnight, and confine this person, of
// File: 0874.png
whom we are doubtful, and in that
time perhaps he will retrieve his former
figure; for surely the rancour of
those wicked inchanters, who hate
Don Quixote, cannot last so long;
especially as such delusions and transformations
avail them so little.’—‘O
my lord!’ cried Sancho, ‘those banditti
have been long accustomed to
chop, change, and transmography
every thing that belongs to my master;
some time ago he vanquished an
errant, called the Knight of the Mirrours,
and in a twinkling they transformed
him into the figure of the batchelor
Sampson Carrasco, a townsman
and great friend of ours; as for
my Lady Dulcinea del Toboso, they
have changed her into a homely
country wench; and, therefore, I
take it for granted that this man
will die and live a lacquey all the days
 of his life.’

Here the daughter of Donna Rodriguez
interposing, ‘Be he who he will,’
said she, ‘I am obliged to him for asking
me in marriage: and I would rather
be the lawful wife of a lacquey,
than the deluded mistress of a gentleman;
although he who deluded me
has no pretensions to that title.’ In
fine, all these incidents and explanations
ended in the resolution to confine
Tosilos, until they should see the issue
of his transformation; while, with unusual
acclamation, the victory was adjudged
to Don Quixote; though the
greatest part of the spectators seemed
melancholy and disappointed, because
they had not seen two such hopeful combatants
hew one another in pieces: in
the same manner as the boys are out of
humour, when the execution is prevented
by the malefactor’s being pardoned,
either by the party or the king.

The crowd dispersed, the duke and
Don Quixote returned to the castle, Tosilos
was sent to prison; Donna Rodriguez
and her daughter rejoiced exceedingly,
when they saw, that one way or
another, this affair would end in marriage,
and the lover consoled himself
with the same prospect.

.fn #
A critick inclined to enumerate the inadvertencies of Cervantes, might observe that
Sancho pulled a piece of bread out of his wallet and gave it to Dapple, after he had
given the contents of the said wallet to the pilgrims; that he tells the duke and duchess
he had governed ten days, whereas he had continued but seven days in office; and, lastly,
that Tosilos contemplated the beauties of the damsel, though we are previously told that
she was veiled down to the bosom.
.fn-

.fn #
In the romance of Gerard de Nevers we read, that a certain young lady, perceiving
the eagerness with which that knight undertook her defence, pulled the glove from her
left-hand, and presented it to him, saying, ‘Sir Knight, my body, life, lands, and honour,
I commit to the protection of God and you, to whom I pray he may grant grace
to obtain the victory, and deliver us from the danger in which we are now involved.’
.fn-
.sp 4
.h4 id=chap4-4-5
<abbr=chapter>CHAP.</abbr> <abbr=five>V.</abbr> | GIVING AN ACCOUNT OF THE MANNER IN WHICH DON QUIXOTE| TOOK LEAVE OF THE DUKE;| AND OF WHAT PASSED BETWEEN HIM| AND THE GAY AND WITTY ALTISIDORA, ONE OF THE DUCHESS’S DAMSELS.
// File: 0875.png
.pn +1
.sp 2
By this time Don Quixote thought
he would do well to quit that idle
way of life which he led in the castle;
for he imagined himself much to blame
in living thus buried and inactive
among those infinite dainties and entertainments
with which he, as a
knight-errant, was indulged by that
noble pair; and he concluded that he
would be obliged to give a severe account
to Heaven of this idleness and
sequestration. He, therefore, one day,
begged leave of the duke and duchess
to depart; and they granted his request,
with marks of being extremely
grieved at his intention. The duchess
delivered to Sancho Panza his wife’s
letter, and the good squire wept bitterly
when he understood the contents;
saying, ‘Who could have thought
such mighty hopes as were engendered
in the breast of my wife Teresa Panza,
by the news of my government,
would vanish in my returning again
to the woeful adventures of my master
Don Quixote de La Mancha?
Nevertheless, I am pleased to find that
my Teresa behaved like herself, in
sending the acorns to the duchess;
for had she failed in that particular, I
should have been sorely vexed, and
she would have shewn herself ungrateful:
what comforts my poor
heart is, that they cannot call this
present a bribe; for I was actually
in possession of the government before
the acorns were sent: and it is but
reasonable, that folks who receive
any sort of benefit should shew their
gratitude, even though in trifles. In
effect, naked I took possession of the
government, and naked I resigned
my office; therefore, I may say with
a safe conscience, which is no small
boast, I naked was born, and naked
remain; and if I lose nothing, as little
I gain.’

This conference Sancho held with
his own bosom on the day of their
departure: as for Don Quixote, having
taken leave of their graces over-night,
he in the morning presented himself
armed in the court-yard of the castle,
where he furnished a spectacle to all
the people of the family, not even
excepting the duke and duchess, who
// File: 0876.png
viewed him from the gallery. Sancho
was mounted upon Dapple, extremely
well pleased with the contents of his
bags, wallet, or store; for the duke’s
steward, who acted the part of the
Countess Trifaldi, had given him a
small purse of two hundred crowns, to
answer the emergencies of the road: but
of this supply Don Quixote was ignorant.
While every individual, as we
have said, stood gazing at the knight,
all of a sudden, from among the other
duennas and damsels of the duchess,
the gay and witty Altisidora, raising
her voice, pronounced what follows, in
a lamentable tone.

.pm verse-start
‘Ah! hear my plaint, unlucky knight,
Pull in thy rein, and do me right;
And pr’ythee spare, at my request,
The flanks of that poor batter’d beast.
Consider she whose heart’s at stake,
False man! is not a scaly snake;
But a young lambkin, meek and true,
Just wean’d from teat of mother ewe.
Say, monster, why undo a maid
More beautiful than ever stray’d
With Cynthia, huntress of the wood,
Or Venus, native of the flood?
But Æneas-like thou mean’st to fly,
The death of Barrabas may Quixote die!

‘Thou, robber! in thy claws hast got
The heart and bowels, and what not,
Of a weak virgin, Heav’n befriend her!
Mild, humble, timorous, and tender.
Three linen night-caps hast thou stole,
And silken garters strong and whole,
That to these legs did appertain;
These legs, as marble smooth and clean.
Thou carriest off two thousand sighs,
Which, kindled by thy beaming eyes,
Would in a twinkling quite destroy
Two thousand cities great as Troy.
But if Æneas-like thou mean’st to fly,
The death of Barrabas may Quixote die!

‘May Sancho’s buttocks, and his heart,
Ne’er feel the ignominious smart
Prescrib’d, when he is pleas’d and ready
To disinchant thy fav’rite lady!
Since thine’s the offence, and thine the blame,
Endure the punishment and shame
Which in my country, once a year,
The righteous for the wicked bear.
Be thy adventures (small and great)
Inglorious and unfortunate;
Like dreams may all thy pleasures fade,
Thy constancy oblivion shade;
And if Æneas-like thou mean’st to fly,
The death of Barrabas may Quixote die!

‘May’st thou be deem’d a perjur’d devil,
E’en from Marchena unto Seville;
// File: 0877.png
.pn +1
From Loja to Granada hated,
From London Tow’r to England baited.
At drafts should’st thou attempt to play,
Or waste at ombre all the day,
May no crown’d monarch or spadille
Attend the efforts of thy skill;
When angry corn disturbs thy toe,
May blood at ev’ry paring flow;
And of each tooth the barbers draw,
The stump still fester in thy jaw:
Nay, since Æneaslike thou mean’st to fly,
The death of Barrabas may Quixote die!’
.pm verse-end

While the afflicted Altisidora complained
in these strains, Don Quixote
surveyed her attentively; and, without
answering a word to her lamentation,
turned to Sancho, saying, ‘By the age
of thine ancestors, my dear Sancho,
I conjure thee to tell me the truth: say,
hast thou actually got the three caps
and the garters, which this enamoured
damsel mentions?’ To this question
the squire replied, ‘The three caps I
have; but as to the garters, I know
nothing of the matter.’

The duchess was surprized at the
freedom of Altisidora’s behaviour; for,
although she knew her to be forward,
merry, and frank, she did not think the
girl possessed of assurance enough to attempt
a scheme of this nature; and her
admiration was the greater, as she had
not been previously apprized of the intended
joke. The duke, however, in
order to reinforce the jest, addressed himself
to Don Quixote in these words: ‘It
does not look well, Sir Knight, that
you who have met with such honourable
reception and treatment in this
my castle, should presume to carry off
by stealth three knight-caps, at least,
if not a pair of garters likewise, belonging
to my damsel: these are marks
of a bad heart, and but ill agree with
your reputation. Restore the garters
to the right owner; otherwise, I challenge
you to mortal combat, without
any apprehension that knavish inchanters
will transform or change my face,
as they have practised upon my lacquey
Tosilos, your last antagonist.’

‘God forbid,’ replied Don Quixote,
‘that I should unsheath my sword against
your illustrious person, of whom
I received such favours! The three
night-caps shall be restored; for Sancho
owns they are in his custody:
but it is impossible to make restitution
of the garters, as neither he nor I did
ever receive them; and I dare say your
damsel will find them, if she will take
// File: 0878.png
the trouble to rummage her own drawers.
I, my lord duke, was never a
thief, and I hope never shall in the
whole course of my lite, provided God
will not withdraw from me his guiding
hand. The damsel, according
to her own declaration, talks like an
enamoured person; but surely I am
not to blame for her impertinence:
and, therefore, I have no reason to ask
pardon either of her or your excellency,
whom I entreat to look upon me with
more favourable sentiments, and beseech
anew to consent that I may prosecute
my journey.’—‘God grant
your departure may be so happy,’
said the duchess, ‘that we may always
hear good news of Don Quixote’s
exploits. Go, then, a God’s name;
for the longer you stay, your presence
blows up the fire the more fiercely in
the bosoms of the damsels who behold
you: as for mine, I will chastise her
in such a manner, that from henceforward
she shall never transgress either
in word or deed.’—‘One word
more, however, I beg thou wilt hear
me speak, O valiant Don Quixote!’
said Altisidora. ‘I crave pardon for
having taxed you with the garters;
for, as I shall answer to Heaven and
my own conscience, they are now
upon my legs; and I have been
guilty of a mistake, like the man who
went in search of his ass, while he
was mounted on his back.’—‘Did
not I tell you so?’ cried the squire:
‘I should be a rare fellow indeed, to
receive and conceal stolen goods; had
I been that way inclined, I might have
had opportunity enough in my government.’

Don Quixote bowing his head, made
a profound reverence to the duke and
duchess, and all the spectators; then
turning Rozinante, and being followed
by Sancho upon Dapple, he set out from
the castle, directing his course to Saragossa.
.sp 4
.h4 id=chap4-4-6
<abbr=chapter>CHAP.</abbr> <abbr=six>VI.</abbr> | SHEWING HOW ADVENTURES THRONGED UPON DON QUIXOTE| SO THICK AS TO ENTANGLE ONE ANOTHER.
.sp 2
When Don Quixote found himself
in the open field, free and
disembarrassed from the complaints of
// File: 0879.png
.pn +1
Altisidora, he seemed to be placed in the
very center of his own wish, and to enjoy
a renovation of spirits, in order to
prosecute anew the aim of his chivalry.
Turning, therefore, to his squire, ‘Sancho,’
said he, ‘liberty is one of the
most precious gifts which Heaven hath
bestowed on man, exceeding all the
treasures which earth encloses, or
which ocean hides; and for this blessing,
as well as for honour, we may
and ought to venture life itself: on the
other hand, captivity and restraint are
the greatest evils that human nature
can endure. I make this observation,
Sancho, because thou hast seen the delicacies
and the plenty with which we
were entertained in that castle: yet, in
the midst of those savoury banquets,
and ice-cooled potations, I thought
myself confined within the very straits
of famine, because I did not enjoy
the treat with that liberty which I
should have felt, had it been my own;
for obligations incurred by benefits
and favours received, are fetters which
hamper the freeborn soul. Happy is
he to whom Heaven hath sent a morsel
of bread, for which he is obliged
to none but Heaven itself.’

‘But notwithstanding all that your
worship hath said,’ replied Sancho,
‘we, for our parts, ought not to be ungrateful,
considering the two hundred
crowns of gold which the duke’s steward
gave me in a purse, and which, as
a plaister and a cordial, I keep next
my heart, in case of emergency; for we
shall not always find such castles
where we can be entertained; on the
contrary, we may sometimes stumble
upon sorry inns, where we shall be
soundly cudgelled.’

With this and other such discourse,
the two errants, knight and squire,
amused themselves while they proceeded
on their journey. Having travelled a
little more than a league, they perceived
upon a green spot of ground, about
a dozen countrymen at dinner, with their
cloaks spread under them; and hard
by, certain white sheets at some distance
from one another, that seemed to cover
something, above which they were raised
up and stretched with great care and
caution. Don Quixote approaching
the men, first of all saluted them courteously,
and then asked what it was they
covered so carefully with these pieces of
linen. ‘Signior,’ replied one of the
// File: 0880.png
countrymen, ‘under these sheets are
carved images for an altar-piece to be
set up in our town; we cover them in
this manner, that they may not be sullied,
and carry them upon our shoulders
that they may not be broken.’—‘If
you please,’ replied the knight,
‘I should be glad to see them; they
must certainly be good images, which
you so carefully convey.’—‘Good!’
cried the other, ‘aye, that the price of
them will declare: I can assure you
there is not one of them that does not
cost above fifty ducats; and that your
worship may be convinced of the
truth of what I say, stay a moment,
and you shall see it with your own
eyes.’

So saying, he left his dinner, and
rising up, uncovered the first piece,
which represented <abbr=Saint>St.</abbr> George on horseback,
with his lance thrust into the
throat of a serpent coiled at his feet,
exhibiting all the fierceness with which
that animal is usually painted; and the
whole groupe looked, as the saying
is, like a flame of gold.

Don Quixote, immediately recognizing
the subject, ‘This knight,’ said
he, ‘was one of the best errants that
ever signalized themselves in divine
warfare; his name was <abbr=Saint>St.</abbr> George,
and he was, moreover, a protector of
damsels. Let us see the next;’ which,
when displayed, appeared to be the
image of <abbr=Saint>St.</abbr> Martin on horseback,
dividing his cloak with the beggar.
Don Quixote no sooner beheld it, than
he said to Sancho, ‘This knight was
also one of the Christian adventurers,
and, I believe, more liberal than valiant,
as thou mayest perceive by
this circumstance of dividing his
cloak, and giving one half to the
beggar; and, doubtless, this incident
must have happened in the winter
season, otherwise the saint was so
charitable he would have given the
whole.’—‘Nay, that surely was not
the case,’ replied the squire; ‘but
he held fast by the old proverb, which
says, The man in wisdom must be
old, who knows in giving where to
hold.’

Don Quixote smiled at this remark,
and desired the man to lift the third cover,
under which appeared the figure of
the patron of Spain on horseback, with his
bloody sword, trampling down and
bruising the heads of the Moors. Don
// File: 0881.png
.pn +1
Quixote seeing this representation, exclaimed,
‘Ah! this is a knight, and
chief in the squadrons of Christ; his
name is Don San Diego Mata Moros[#],
and he was one of the most
valiant saints and knights which earth
ever produced, or heaven now contains.’
Then they unveiled the fourth,
which exhibited <abbr=Saint>St.</abbr> Paul falling from
his horse, with all the circumstances
usually set forth in the picture of his
conversion, so lively represented, that
one would have almost thought Christ
was speaking, and Paul answering the
voice. ‘This,’ said Don Quixote,
‘was the most bitter enemy the church
of God ever had, while our Lord and
Saviour was on earth, and afterwards
the greatest defender it will ever have:
a knight-errant in his life, and a perfect
saint in his death; an unwearied
labourer in the vineyard of our Lord,
a teacher of the Gentiles, schooled by
Heaven, and whose professor and master
was Jesus Christ himself.’

There being no other images to see,
Don Quixote desired the man to cover
up those he had examined; and addressing
himself to the bearers, ‘Brothers,’
said he, ‘I look upon it as a
good omen to have met with these
images; for these saints and knights
were of my profession, which is the
exercise of arms: with this difference,
however, they were saints, and
fought in a divine manner; and I,
who am a sinner, fight in the manner
of men. They conquered Heaven
by the force of their arms; for the
kingdom of Heaven suffers violence;
whereas I know not, hitherto, what
I have conquered by the toils and
troubles I have undergone: but if
my Dulcinea del Toboso should be
delivered from those she now sustains,
my fortune will be bettered,
my judgment repaired, and perhaps
my steps may be directed through a
better path than that which I at present
follow.’

This declaration was closed with an
exclamation of Sancho, who cried aloud,
‘The Lord give ear, I pray; and sin
be deaf for aye!’ The men were
equally astonished at the knight’s appearance
and discourse, one half of
which they did not understand; nevertheless,
they made an end of their meal,
shouldered their images, and taking
leave of Don Quixote, pursued their
journey. Sancho was, on this occasion,
as much astonished at the learning
of his master, as if he had never known
him before that day; and imagined
there was not an history or event in
the whole world, that was not decyphered
on his nail, or nailed to his
memory. ‘Truly, master of mine,’
said he, ‘if what has happened to us
to-day may be called an adventure,
it is the most sweet and delicious of
all that have yet befallen us in the
whole course of our peregrinations;
from this we have escaped with whole
skins and fearless hearts; we have
neither unsheathed our swords, battered
the earth with our poor carcases, nor
are we left in a starving condition;
blessed be God who hath spared me to
see this good luck with my own
eyes!’—‘Thou sayest well, Sancho,’
replied the knight; ‘but thou must
take notice, that all times are not the
same, nor equally fortunate; and those
incidents which the vulgar call omens,
though not founded on any natural
reason, have, even by persons of sagacity,
been held and deemed as fair
and fortunate. One of these superstitious
omen-mongers rises in the
morning, goes abroad, chances to
meet a friar belonging to the beatified
<abbr=Saint>St.</abbr> Francis; and, as if he had encountered
a dragon in his way, runs
back to his own house with fear and
consternation. Another Foresight[#] by
accident scatters the salt upon the
table, by which fear and melancholy
are scattered through his heart; as if
nature was obliged to foretel future
misfortunes by such trivial signs and
tokens; whereas, a prudent man and
a good Christian will not so minutely
scrutinize the purposes of Heaven.
Scipio chancing to fall in landing
upon the coast of Africk, and perceiving
that his soldiers looked upon
this accident as a bad omen, he embraced
the soil with seeming eagerness,
saying, “Thou shalt not ’scape
me, Africk; for I have thee safe
within my arms.” Therefore, Sancho,
// File: 0882.png
.pn +1
my meeting with those images I
consider as a most happy encounter.’—‘I
am of the same opinion,’ answered
the squire; ‘but I wish your worship
would be pleased to tell me, for what
reason the Spaniards, when they join
battle, and invoke that same <abbr=Saint>St.</abbr> Diego
Mata Moros, cry, “<abbr=Saint>St.</abbr> Jago!” and
“Close, Spain!” Is Spain cloven in
such a manner, as to want closing; or
what is the meaning of that ceremony?’—‘Sancho,’
replied the knight,
‘thy simplicity is very great. You must
know, that God has given this great
Knight of the Red Cross, as a patron
and protector to Spain, especially in
those dreadful battles fought against
the Moors. The Spaniards, therefore,
invoke and call upon him as their defender
on all such occasions; nay,
many times hath he been seen overthrowing,
trampling, slaying, and destroying
the squadrons of the children
of Hagar[#]; and of this truth I could
convince thee by many examples recorded
in the authentick histories of
Spain[#].’

Sancho changing the subject of conversation,
‘Signior,’ said he, ‘I was
astonished at the boldness of her grace’s
damsel, Altisidora. I’faith! she must
be rarely pricked and stabbed by him
they call Cupid; who, they say, is a
mischievous blind boy, and is able,
with those bleared eyes of his, or rather
with no eyes at all, if once he takes
aim, to pierce through and through
with his arrows, the smallest heart that
ever was seen. I have also heard it observed,
that by the modesty and reserve
of young women, these same
amorous shafts are blunted and
broken; but in Altisidora they seem
rather to be whetted than blunted.’—‘Sancho,’
replied Don Quixote,
‘you must know that love has no respect
of persons; nor, in his progress,
does he confine himself within the
bounds of reason; indeed he is of the
same disposition with death; for he
assaults the lofty palaces of kings,
as well as the humble cottages of
swains. When he once has taken
full possession of the soul, his first
exploit is to expel fear and modesty;
and without these did Altisidora
declare her passion, which engendered
not pity, but confusion in my
breast.’—‘O monstrous and notorious
cruelty!’ cried Sancho, ‘unheard-of
ingratitude! I can say for
myself, that the least kind word from
her would have subdued and made
me her bond slave. Ah, the son of
a whore! what a heart of marble,
bowels of brass, and soul of plaister!—But
I cannot, for the blood of me,
conceive what the damsel could see in
your worship, to tame and bring her
to such an humble pass; what finery,
what good humour, what gentility
could she observe about your person?
or what beauty could she spy in that
face? for women are taken with these
qualities either severally or conjunctly.
Verily, verily, I have often stopped
to survey your worship from the
sole of your foot to the last hair upon
your scull; and I protest before God!
I think you would be more apt to
frighten than to captivate a fair lady;
and as I have, moreover, heard it said,
that beauty is the chief and principal
article that inspires love, your worship
being quite destitute of that commodity,
I cannot imagine what the poor
creature was in love with.’—‘Take
notice, Sancho,’ replied Don Quixote,
‘there are two kinds of beauty, one of
the mind, and another of the body:
that of the mind displays itself in the
understanding, in honourable and
virtuous behaviour, in a liberality of
disposition, and in good breeding;
now, all these qualifications may
center in an ugly man; and when this
kind of beauty, preferable to that of
the body, is the object of admiration,
it produces love that glows with equal
impetuosity and advantage. For my
own part, Sancho, I can easily see
that I am not beautiful; but I likewise
know I am not deformed; and
a gentleman who is not altogether
monstrous, may inspire the most ardent
love, provided he is in possession
// File: 0883.png
// File: 0884.png
// File: 0885.png
.pn +1
of those qualities of the mind which I
have mentioned.’

Thus discoursing together they entered
a wood, at a small distance from
the highway; and, all of a sudden,
without dreaming of any such lett or impediment,
Don Quixote found himself
entangled among some nets of green
thread, which were spread and stretched
from tree to tree. As he could not conceive
the meaning of this phænomenon,
‘I believe,’ said he to Sancho, ‘that
this of the nets must be one of the
newest adventures that ever were imagined
or contrived. Let me die if the
inchanters by whom I am persecuted,
have not a mind to entangle me in
them, and obstruct my journey, in revenge
for my rigour and indifference
towards Altisidora! But I shall give
them to understand, that although
these nets, instead of thread, were made
of the hardest adamant, and stronger
than that in which the jealous God of
blacksmiths caught Mars and Venus
together, I would break through them
as easily as if they were of rushes and
unspun cotton.’

.if h
.il fn=plate-v.jpg id=plate5 w=60% alt=
.ca Plate V: Don Quixote and the Shepherdesses.
.if-
.if t
[Illustration: Don Quixote and the Shepherdesses.]
.if-

So saying, he endeavoured to proceed
and destroy this obstacle, when all at
once, from a tuft of trees, came forth
two most beautiful shepherdesses, at least
they were clad like shepherdesses, though
their jackets and petticoats were of fine
brocade—I say, their petticoats were of
the richest gold tabby; their hair hung
loose upon their shoulders, and in shining
might have vied with the rays of
Apollo himself; their heads were adorned
with garlands of green laurel, interwoven
with sprigs of red amaranth;
and their age seemed to be neither under
fifteen, nor turned of eighteen; a sight
that struck Sancho with admiration, the
knight with surprize, and suspended the
sun in the middle of his career. All the
four, for some time, remained in silent
wonder; and at length, the first who
spoke was one of the two country maidens,
who, addressing herself to Don
Quixote, ‘Forbear, Sir Knight,’ said
she, ‘and do not break our nets, which,
I assure you, were not spread for your
inconvenience, but merely for our own
pastime: and because I know you
will ask for what reason they are
placed, and who we are, I will satisfy
your curiosity in a few words. At
a village about two leagues from
// File: 0886.png
hence, which is inhabited by many
people of fortune and fashion, it was
agreed among a number of friends and
relations, that they, their wives, sons,
daughters, neighbours, friends and
kinsfolks, should come and enjoy the
fine season in this spot, which is the
most agreeable situation in all this
country; and here form a new pastoral
Arcadia, the girls being habited
like shepherdesses, and the young men
like swains. We have studied two
eclogues; one of the famous poet
Garcilasso, and another of the most
excellent Camoens, in his own Portuguese
language; though they are not
yet represented, for we arrived only
yesterday. Among these trees we have
pitched some field-tents, upon the
banks of a plentiful stream which fertilizes
all these meadows; and last
night we spread these nets from tree to
tree, in order to deceive and catch the
simple little birds, which, frightened
by the noise we make, may fly into the
snare: if you chuse to be our guest,
Signior, you shall be treated liberally
and courteously, for at present neither
melancholy nor disgust shall enter this
place.’

Here she left off speaking; and Don
Quixote replied—‘Assuredly, most beauteous
nymph, Acteon himself could
not be seized with more surprize and
admiration, when he all of a sudden
beheld Diana bathing, than that
which but now overwhelmed me at
sight of such uncommon charms! I
applaud the scheme of your entertainments
and diversions; I thank you
heartily for your courteous proffer,
and if I can serve you in any shape,
you may command me, with full assurance
of being obeyed; for I have
chosen this profession solely because
it consists in being grateful and benevolent
to all mankind, especially
to persons of rank such as your appearance
declares you to be; and if
these nets, which I suppose occupy
but a small space, were extended over
the whole circumference of the globe,
I would find new worlds through
which I might pass, rather than by
breaking the least mesh, run the risque
of interrupting your diversion. That
you may give some credit to this exaggeration,
be pleased to take notice,
that he who makes it is no other than
// File: 0887.png
.pn +1
Don Quixote de La Mancha, if peradventure
such a name hath ever reached
your ears.’

The young lady no sooner heard these
words, than turning to the other shepherdess,
‘O my dear companion!’ cried
she, ‘what an happy incident is this!
that there knight, I assure thee, is the
most valiant, enamoured, and courteous
person in the whole world, if we
are not misled and deceived by the
printed history of his exploits, which
I have read from end to end; and I’ll
lay a wager that honest man who accompanies
him is one Sancho Panza,
his squire, whose pleasantry is above
all comparison.’—‘You are in the
right,’ said Sancho; ‘I am that
same pleasant fellow and loyal squire
whom your ladyship hath so honourably
mentioned; and that gentleman
is my master, the very individual historified
and aforesaid Don Quixote de
La Mancha.’

‘Good now, my dear,’ said the other,
‘let us beseech them to stay; our fathers
and brothers will be infinitely pleased
with their conversation; for I have
likewise heard the same account of the
knight’s valour and the squire’s pleasantry:
as for Don Quixote, in particular,
he is said to be the most constant
and loyal lover that ever was
known; and that his mistress is one
Dulcinea del Toboso, who bears away
the palm of beauty from all the ladies
in Spain.’—‘Aye, and justly too,’
said the knight; ‘unless your unequalled
beauty should invalidate her claim.
Weary not yourselves, fair ladies, in
persuading me to stay; for the indispensible
duties of my profession will
not allow me to rest in any place whatever.’

Just as he pronounced these words,
they were joined by a brother of one of
the two nymphs, clad likewise in the
fashion of a shepherd, though his dress,
in point of richness and gaiety, corresponded
with that of the ladies, who
told him that the gentleman on horseback
was the valiant Don Quixote de
La Mancha, and the other his squire
Sancho, whose characters he already
knew from his having perused their
history. The gallant youth paid his
compliments, and pressed Don Quixote
to accompany them to the tents, in such
a manner that he could not help complying.
// File: 0888.png
Then setting up the shout, the
nets were filled with different kinds of
little birds, which, deceived by the
colour of the meshes, flew precipitately
into the very danger they sought to
avoid.

In this place they were joined by
above thirty persons, gaily clad like
shepherds and shepherdesses, who were
immediately informed of the names of
Don Quixote and his squire; a circumstance
which afforded them no small satisfaction,
as the history had already
made them acquainted with the characters
of both.

Repairing to the tents, where they
found tables ready furnished with elegance
and abundance, they complimented
the knight with the place of honour,
and all the company gazed upon
him with admiration. At length, when
the cloth was taken away, Don Quixote
raising his voice, thus harangued
them with great solemnity: ‘Of all the
crimes which mankind commit, though
some say pride is the greatest, I affirm
that ingratitude is the most atrocious,
adhering to the common supposition,
that hell is crouded with the ungrateful.
This crime I have, as much as
in me lies, endeavoured to avoid ever
since the first moment in which I could
exercise my reason; and though I may
not be able to repay in kind the benefits
which I receive, I substitute the
will for the deed: when that is not
sufficient, I publish them to the
world; for he that promulgates the
favours he has received, would also
requite them with equal generosity, if
it was in his power to make such recompence.
But, for the most part,
people who receive benefits are inferior
to those who bestow them; and,
therefore, God is above all, because
he is the fountain of all good things.
Yet there is an infinite difference between
the benefits conferred by men
and those bestowed by God, so as to
reject all comparison; and this narrowness
and insufficiency on our part,
is in some measure supplied by gratitude.
Now, I being grateful for the
favours you have done me, which I
cannot repay in the same measure,
and being hampered by the narrow
limits of my ability, must offer
that which is in my power to present;
I say, therefore, that I will
// File: 0889.png
.pn +1
for two natural days, in the middle
of that high-road that leads to
Saragossa, maintain that the ladies
here present, disguised in pastoral habits,
are the most fair and courteous
damsels in the whole world, excepting
always and only, the peerless
Dulcinea del Toboso, sole mistress
of my thoughts; without offence
to the honourable hearers be it
spoken.’

Here Sancho, who had stood listening
attentively to what he said, exclaimed
with great vociferation, ‘Is it possible,
now, that there can be persons
in the world, who have the presumption
to say and swear that my master is
a madman? Pray tell me, gentlemen
and ladies, shepherds and shepherdesses,
is there ever a country-curate in Spain,
let him be never so wise and learned,
that could say what my master has just
now said; or is there a knight-errant,
let him be never so famed for valour,
who could make such an offer as my
master has made!’

Don Quixote turning to Sancho, with
rage and indignation in his countenance,
‘Miscreant,’ said he, ‘is it possible
there should be a person upon earth
who would not say thou art stark
mad, and that thy soul is lined and
bordered with fillets of malice and
knavery? By what authority, wretch!
art thou entitled to intermeddle in
my affairs, and give thy opinion
whether my brain be sound or crazy?
Seal up thy lips, and make no reply;
but saddle Rozinante, if he is without
his saddle, and let us go immediately
and perform my promise; for
as I have justice on my side, you
may deem all those who shall contradict
my assertion as already vanquished.’

So saying, he rose from his seat with
great fury and demonstrations of wrath,
leaving the whole company astonished,
and doubting whether they should consider
him as a lunatick or person of sound
intellects. However, they endeavoured
to dissuade him from publishing such a
declaration, saying they took his gratitude
for granted, and that there was no need
of new proofs to demonstrate his valour,
seeing those were sufficient which they
had seen recorded in the history of his
atchievements.

Notwithstanding this remonstrance,
the knight executed his design; he
// File: 0890.png
mounted Rozinante, embraced his shield,
and grasping his lance, posted himself in
the middle of the king’s highway, which
was not far from their verdant habitation,
being followed by Sancho upon
Dapple and the whole flock of those pastoral
gentry, who were curious to see the
issue of his arrogant and hitherto unseen
enterprize.

Having taken possession of the ground,
he wounded the very vault of heaven
with the loudness of the tone in which
he pronounced these words: ‘O ye passengers
and travellers, knights, squires,
persons on horseback or a-foot, who
come or are to come this way, within
the space of two days, from this present
hour, know that Don Quixote de
La Mancha, knight-errant, is here
posted to maintain that the nymphs
who inhabit these meadows and
woods, excel in beauty and courtesy all
the ladies upon earth, exclusive of Dulcinea
del Toboso, the mistress of my
soul. Let him who thinks the contrary,
advance; here I am ready to receive
him.’

Twice did he repeat this declaration,
and twice was it repeated unheard by
any knight adventurer; but fortune,
which was bent upon directing his affairs
to better purpose, ordained, that in a
very little time he descried upon the road
a great number of men on horseback,
some of them armed with lances riding
towards him in great haste, and all in a
cluster. Those who were with Don
Quixote no sooner perceived this troop,
than they turned their backs and retired
a good way from the road, knowing
that some mischief would befal
them, should they keep their ground:
the knight alone maintained his post with
an undaunted heart, and Sancho Panza
shielded himself with the flanks of Rozinante.

When this troop of lancemen advanced,
one of them that rode before the
rest, began to halloo as loud as he could
cry to Don Quixote, ‘Get out of the
way, thou servant of the devil, or these
bulls will trample thee to dust!’—‘So
ho, caitiffs!’ replied the knight; ‘your
bulls shall not avail against me, even
though they are the fiercest that ever
fed upon the banks of Xarama; confess,
ye miscreants, unsight, unseen,
the truth of what I have proclaimed,
or meet my vengeance in the field of
battle.’
// File: 0891.png
.pn +1

The herdsman had no time to reply,
nor Don Quixote to retire, had he been
never so willing; so that the drove of
wild bulls and tame cattle, together with
a multitude of drivers and other people
employed to convey them to a place
where, in a few days, they were to be
baited—the whole throng, I say, passed
over the bellies of Don Quixote, Sancho,
Rozinante, and Dapple, whom they
in a twinkling overthrew and rolled in
the mire, in such a manner that the
squire was squeezed as flat as a pancake,
his master astonished, Dapple terribly
bruised, and Rozinante in no very catholick
condition. At length, however,
all the four got upon their legs; and
Don Quixote, staggering here, and
tumbling there, began to pursue the
drove on foot, calling aloud—‘Halt,
and wait a little, ye felonious plebeians;
he is a single knight who defies
you to the combat, and not of the
disposition and opinion of those who
say—“Lay a bridge of silver for a
flying enemy.”’

But notwithstanding all his exclamation,
the drovers did not slacken their
pace, or mind his threats, more than
they minded last year’s weather. Don
Quixote being so tired, that he could run
no farther, sat down upon the side of
the road, more incensed than revenged,
and waited for Sancho, Rozinante, and
Dapple, who soon arrived. Then the
knight and squire, mounting their
beasts, proceeded on their journey with
more shame than satisfaction; and never
dreamed of returning to take a formal
leave of the feigned or counterfeit Arcadia.

.fn #
Moor-killer.
.fn-

.fn #
The original word is Mendoza, the name of a great family in Spain, one of whom
was remarkably superstitious.
.fn-

.fn #
The Moors are said to be descended from Hagar.
.fn-

.fn #
Sancho must have been very simple indeed, to be satisfied with this explanation, which
does not even hint at the main point of his question; namely, Why do the Spanish soldiers,
when they charge their enemy, cry, ‘Close, Spain?’ A phrase of encouragement, by
which the soldiers exhort one another to do their duty, and close with the foe.
.fn-
.sp 4
.h4 id=chap4-4-7
<abbr=chapter>CHAP.</abbr> <abbr=seven>VII.</abbr> | IN WHICH IS RECOUNTED THE EXTRAORDINARY INCIDENT| THAT HAPPENED TO DON QUIXOTE,| AND MAY WELL PASS FOR AN ADVENTURE.
.sp 2
The dust and drought which Don
Quixote and Sancho derived from
the uncivil behaviour of the bulls, were
remedied by a clear and limpid stream
which they had the good fortune to find
in a good shade, and on the margin of
which this down-trodden pair, the
master and man, seated themselves, after
Rozinante and Dapple were unbridled,
// File: 0892.png
and unhaltered, and left to the
freedom of their own will. Sancho
immediately had recourse to the store
of his wallet, from which he drew
forth what he usually called his belly-timber;
but not before he had rinsed
his mouth, and his master had washed
his own face, in consequence of which
refreshment they recovered their exhausted
spirits. Nevertheless, Don
Quixote forbore eating, out of pure vexation;
while Sancho, who durst not
touch the food that was before him,
waited, out of pure good manners, until
his master should begin. Seeing,
however, the knight so absorbed in his
own imagination, that he forgot to lift
the bread to his mouth, he, without
letting one word escape his own, but
trampling under-foot all kind of good-breeding,
began to cram his paunch
with the bread and cheese which constituted
his provision. ‘Eat, friend
Sancho,’ said Don Quixote, ‘and
support life, which is of more importance
to thee than to me, and leave
me to die by the strength of imagination
and the severity of my misfortunes.
I, Sancho, was born to
live dying, and thou to die eating;
and that thou mayest be convinced of
this truth, consider me recorded in
history, renowned in arms, courteous
in demeanour, respected by princes,
courted by damsels; and, after all,
when I expected palms, triumphs,
crowns of laurel, obtained and merited
by my valiant atchievements, I
have this morning seen myself
trampled, spurned, and bruised, by
the feet of filthy, unclean animals!
This consideration blunts my teeth,
stupifies my grinders, benumbs my
hands, and deprives me wholly of
appetite; so that I believe I shall
die of hunger, the most cruel of all
deaths.’—‘At that rate,’ answered
the squire, without suspending the
action of his jaws, ‘your worship will
not approve of the proverb which
says—“Let Martha die, but not for
lack of pye.” At least I, for my
own part, have no intention to starve
myself; on the contrary, I am resolved
to follow the example of the cordwainer
who stretches the leather with
his teeth until it is sufficient for his
purpose; now, I will also employ
my teeth in stretching out my life
with eating, to that end which is ordained
// File: 0893.png
.pn +1
by Heaven; and you must
know, Signior, that it is the greatest
madness in nature to seek to despair
like your worship. Take my advice;
eat a little for refreshment, and then
take a nap upon the green couch of
this delightful grass, and when you
awake you will see how much you’ll
be relieved.’

The knight relished his advice, which
he thought savoured more of the philosopher
than of the ideot; and said to
him, ‘Now, Sancho, if thou wouldst
do that for me which I am going to
mention, my relief would be more
certain, and my affliction diminished:
my proposal is, that while I sleep, in
compliance with thy advice, thou
wouldst go aside a little farther, and,
exposing thy flesh to the air, bestow
upon it, with the reins of Rozinante’s
bridle, three or four hundred stripes,
of the three thousand three hundred
which thou hast undertaken to endure
for the disinchantment of Dulcinea;
for it is a lamentable circumstance
that the poor lady should remain so
long inchanted, through thy carelessness
and neglect.’—‘There is much
to be said on that subject,’ replied
Sancho: ‘let us both go to sleep in the
mean time; and afterwards God must
ordain that which will come to pass.
Your worship must know, that it requires
great resolution in a man to
scourge himself in cold blood; especially
when the stripes fall upon a body
which is poorly fed and supported: let
my Lady Dulcinea have a little patience;
when she least thinks of it, she
will see my body scourged into a perfect
sieve; and while there is life there
is hope; my meaning is, that while I
hold life, I shall never quit the desire of
performing my promise.’

Don Quixote, thanking him for his
good-will, took a little sustenance, Sancho
ate voraciously, and then both laid
themselves down to sleep, leaving Rozinante
and Dapple, those two friends and
inseparable companions, at full liberty
to feed, without restraint, upon the luxuriant
grass with which the meadow
abounded.

The day being far spent before they
awoke, they remounted their cattle, and
pursued their journey with uncommon
expedition, in order to reach an inn
// File: 0894.png
which they descried at a league’s distance.
I say, an inn, because it was so
called by Don Quixote, contrary to his
former custom of mistaking every inn
for a castle. When they arrived at this
place of entertainment, they asked if they
could be accommodated with lodging;
and the landlord replied in the affirmative,
telling them at the same time, that
his house afforded as good conveniences
and entertainment as could be found in
the whole city of Saragossa. They
alighted accordingly, and Sancho carried
his bags into an apartment, of which
the innkeeper gave him the key; then
he led the cattle to the stable, where he
gave them their allowance; from thence
he went to receive the commands of his
master, who had sat down upon a bench,
and thanked Heaven, in a particular
manner, that Don Quixote had not committed
his usual mistake. They retired
to their chamber, and supper-time approaching,
Sancho desired to know what
they could have for that meal. To this
interrogation mine host replied, that his
taste should be fitted to a hair, and that
he might bespeak what he liked best;
for, as far as the birds of the air, the
fowls of the land, and the fish of the sea
could go, he would find the house provided.
‘Less than all that will serve,’
answered Sancho: ‘we shall be satisfied
with a couple of chickens roasted; for
my master has a very delicate taste,
and eats but little; and as for myself,
I am not a very unconscionable cormorant.’

The other frankly owned he had no
chickens; for the kites had destroyed
the whole brood. ‘Well, then, Mr.
Landlord,’ said the squire, ‘you may
order a pullet to be put to the fire;
but see it be very tender.’—‘A pullet!’
cried the innkeeper; ‘body o’ my
father! now, as I’m an honest man,
I sent above half a hundred yesterday
to market; but setting aside pullets,
you may have what you will.’—‘If
that be the case,’ said Sancho,
there will be no want of veal or kid.’—‘At
present,’ replied the innkeeper,
‘there is really none in the house; we
are just out of these articles; but
next week she shall have enough and
to spare.’—‘To be sure, we shall be
much the better for that!’ answered
Sancho; ‘I’ll lay a wager all these
// File: 0895.png
.pn +1
wants will be supplied with plenty of
eggs and bacon.’—‘’Fore God!’ said
the host, ‘my guest has an admirable
knack at guessing; I have told him
there is neither hen nor pullet in the
house, and he would have me treat him
with eggs[#]! Shift about, if you please,
to some other delicacies, and think no
more of poultry.’

‘Body o’ me!’ cried Sancho, ‘let us
come to some resolution; tell me at
once what is in the house, and pray,
Mr. Landlord, no more of your shiftings.’—‘What
I really and truly can
afford,’ said the innkeeper, ‘is a dish of
cow-heel, so delicate they might be
taken for calves-feet; or you may call
them calves-feet, that might pass for
cow-heel. They are stewed with pease,
onions, and bacon, and this blessed
minute cry—“Come, eat me; come,
eat me.”’—‘I mark them for my own,’
cried Sancho, ‘from henceforth for ever,
amen. Let no man touch the mess,
for which I will pay you handsomely;
for nothing in the whole world could
be more agreeable to my taste; and,
provided I have cow-heel, the calves-feet
may go to the devil.’—‘No man
shall interfere with you,’ replied the
landlord; ‘as for the other company in
the house, they, out of pure gentility,
bring along with them their own cook,
butler and sumpter mule.’—‘Nay, as
for gentility,’ said the squire, ‘no man
has more of that than my master; but
his profession will not admit of travelling
stores and butteries: lack-a-day!
we lay ourselves down in the middle
of a green field, and fill our bellies
with medlars and acorns.’ Such was
the conversation that passed between the
innkeeper and Sancho; who would not,
however, go any greater lengths in satisfying
the curiosity of mine host, who
was very desirous to know the office or
profession of his master.

Supper being ready, Don Quixote retired
to his apartment, whither the landlord
brought the pot just as it was, and
very decently sat down to partake of the
meal. At that instant, the knight heard
people talking in the next room, from
which he was divided only by a partition
of lath, and could plainly distinguish these
words: ‘As you hope to live, Don Geronimo,
I conjure you, as supper is not
yet ready, to read another chapter of
the second part of Don Quixote de La
Mancha.’

The knight, hearing his own name
mentioned, started up immediately, and
listening with great attention, heard Geronimo
reply to this effect: ‘What
pleasure can you have in reading such
absurdities, Don John? No person who
has seen the first part of the history of
Don Quixote de La Mancha, can possibly
be entertained with this which is
called the second.’—‘Nevertheless,’
said Don John, ‘it will not be amiss to
read a little; for there is no book so
bad as to contain nothing that deserves
regard. What displeases me most in
this performance is, the author’s describing
Don Quixote as altogether disengaged
and detached from Dulcinea
del Toboso.’

The knight, hearing this remark, was
filled with rage and vexation, and exclaimed
aloud, ‘If any person whatever
affirms that Don Quixote de La Mancha
either has forgotten or can forget
Dulcinea del Toboso, I will, with
equal arms, make him know and own,
that his affection is far distant from
the truth; for the peerless Dulcinea
del Toboso cannot possibly be forgot;
nor is Don Quixote susceptible of forgetfulness:
his motto is Constancy,
which he professes to maintain with
gentleness and suavity of manners.’—‘Who
is he that answers?’ cried the
voice. ‘Who should it be,’ replied Sancho,
‘but Don Quixote de La Mancha,
in his own person, who will make good
whatever he has said, and whatever he
shall say; for, “A good paymaster
wants no pawn.”’

Scarce had the squire pronounced these
words, when two gentlemen, for such
they appeared, entered the apartment;
and one of them throwing his arms about
Don Quixote’s neck, ‘Your appearance,’
said he, ‘does not belye your name, and
your name cannot but give credit to
your appearance. Without all doubt,
you, Signior, are the true Don Quixote
de La Mancha, the north-star and
luminary of knight errantry, maugre
and in despite of him who has thought
proper to usurp your name, and annihilate
your exploits; I mean, the
author of this here book:’ which he
// File: 0896.png
.pn +1
took from his companion, and put into
the hand of Don Quixote; who,
without answering one word, began to
turn over the leaves, and in a very little
time gave it back to the stranger, saying—‘In
the little I have read, I find three
things worthy of reprehension in the
author; first, some expressions in the
prologue or preface; secondly, his using
the Arragonian dialect, and writing
sometimes without articles; and thirdly,
that which confirms my opinion
of his ignorance, his erring and deviating
from the truth in the most material
circumstances of the history; for
he says, the wife of my squire Sancho
Panza, is called Mary Gutierrez,
whereas her name is Teresa Panza;
now, if he blunders in such an essential
circumstance, we may justly conclude
that his whole history is full of
mistakes[#].’

‘A pleasant historian, i’faith!’ cried
Sancho: ‘he must be well acquainted
with our adventures, to be sure, when
he calls my dame Teresa by the name
of Mary Gutierrez! Take the book
again, Signior, and see if he has lugged
me in, too, under a borrowed
name!’—‘From what you have said,
friend,’ replied Don Geronimo, ‘I
find you must certainly be Sancho
Panza, squire to Signior Don Quixote.’—‘Even
so,’ answered the squire; ‘and
I am proud of the occupation.’—‘Then,
in good sooth!’ said the cavalier,
‘this author has not treated you so
handsomely as from your appearance
I conclude you deserve; he represents
you as a gormandizer, a simpleton
without the least vein of humour or
pleasantry; and, in short, quite different
from the Sancho described in the first
part of the history of your master!’—‘The
Lord in heaven forgive him!’
cried Sancho: ‘he might have let me
sleep in my corner, without remembering
there was such a sinner as me
upon the face of the earth: for, “He
that has skill should handle the quill[#];”
and I know that <abbr=Saint>St.</abbr> Peter is well at
Rome.’

The two gentlemen invited Don
Quixote to sup with them in their apartment,
as they knew the inn could not
afford any thing proper for his entertainment;
and the knight, who was
always the pink of courtesy, complied
with their request; so that Sancho remained
undisputed master of the pot.
<lang=la><i>Cum mero mixto imperio</i></lang>, he seated himself
at the head of the table, in company
with the landlord, who vied with him
in affection for the cow-heel and calves-feet.

Don John, in the course of the conversation
at supper, asked what news
Don Quixote had concerning the Lady
Dulcinea del Toboso; he begged to
know if she was married, brought to-bed,
or in a state of pregnancy; or, if
still single, she, as far as modesty and
decorum would permit, smiled upon the
passion of her lover Don Quixote. ‘Dulcinea,’
answered the knight, ‘is still
unmarried, and my passion more intense
than ever: our correspondence
stands on the old footing, and her beauty
is transformed into the appearance of
a base-born, rustick wench.’

Then he, in a very circumstantial
manner, related the inchantment of his
mistress, together with his adventure in
the cave of Montesinos, and the means
prescribed by the sage Merlin for her relief;
namely, the flagellation of Sancho.

Unspeakable was the satisfaction
which the two cavaliers enjoyed in
hearing Don Quixote recount the strange
incidents of his history; and they were
equally astonished at the folly of his
adventures and the elegance with which
he related them: here they esteemed
him as a man of sound understanding;
and there he slipped through their opinion
into the sink of madness; so that
they could not determine what rank he
should maintain between lunacy and
discretion.

Meanwhile, Sancho having finished
his meal, left his landlord more than
half seas over; and entering the chamber
where his master sat, ‘Gentlemen,’
said he, ‘I’ll be hanged if the author
// File: 0897.png
.pn +1
of that book your worships were talking
of, has any mind or inclination
that he and I should be messmates.
Since he has given me the character
of a glutton, as your worships have
observed, I wish he may not have likewise
called me a drunkard.’—‘He
has indeed,’ replied Don Geronimo:
‘but I do not remember the expression,
though I know the words are very
scurrilous and false above measure, as
I can plainly perceive in the physiognomy
of honest Sancho here present.’—‘Take
my word for it, noble gentlemen,’
said the squire, ‘the Sancho
and Don Quixote of that history must
be persons quite different from those
recorded by Cid Hamet Benengeli,
who are no other than we ourselves,
here standing and sitting in your presence:
my master, valiant, sagacious,
and enamoured; and I simple, and
withal pleasant, but neither sot nor
gormandizer.’—‘I believe what you
say,’ replied Don John: ‘and wish it
were possible to obtain a mandate, prohibiting
any person or persons from
presuming to meddle with the affairs
of the great Don Quixote, excepting
Hamet, his original author; in the
same manner as Alexander the Great
decreed that no painter but Apelles
should draw his portrait.’—‘Any
body may draw my portrait,’ said the
knight; ‘but let no man maltreat my
character; for patience often falls to
the ground, when it is overloaded
with injuries.’—‘No injury can be
done to Don Quixote, but what he
can easily revenge,’ answered Don
John: ‘unless he chuse rather to ward
it off with the buckler of his patience,
which, I believe, is both strong and
ample.’

In this and other such conversation
they spent great part of the night; and
although Don John would fain have
persuaded Don Quixote to read a little
more of the book, that they might hear
him descant upon particulars, he could
not accomplish his purpose; the knight
assuring him he considered it as good as
read, and pronounced the whole an heap
of absurdities; nor did he chuse that the
author, who might perhaps hear it was
in his hands, should have the satisfaction
of thinking he had perused his performance;
for, from objects of obscenity
and turpitude, not only the eyes but
even the imagination ought to be kept
// File: 0898.png
sacred. When they asked, whither his
course was at present directed, he told
them he was bound for Saragossa, in
order to signalize himself in the prize-jousts
which are yearly solemnized in that
city.

Then Don John gave him to understand
that the new history gives an account
of the spurious Don Quixote’s
having been in that place at a course,
the description of which was barren of
invention, low in stile, miserably poor
in devices, and rich in nothing but
folly and impertinence.—‘For that
very reason,’ said Don Quixote, ‘I
will not set foot in Saragossa, and so
demonstrate to the wide world, the
falshood of this modern historian,
and let the nations see I am not the
Don Quixote whom he has described.’—‘I
applaud your resolution,’
replied Don Geronimo; ‘and there will
be a tournament in Barcelona, where
Don Quixote will have an opportunity
to signalize his valour.’—‘And
that I shall surely embrace,’ answered
the knight: ‘at present, gentlemen, as
it is high time, you will give me
leave to retire to bed; and I beg you
will esteem and place me among the
number of your most sincere friends
and humble servants.’—‘And me
also,’ said Sancho: ‘peradventure my
service may be good for something.’
They accordingly took their leave, and
retired to their apartment, leaving Don
John and his companion astonished at
the medley of sense and madness they
had observed in his discourse: they believed,
without hesitation, these to be the
real Don Quixote and Sancho, and not
the persons described by the Arragonian
author.

Don Quixote rising early next morning,
tapped at the partition, and bade
farewel to his entertainers: and Sancho
paid his reckoning like a prince; advising
the landlord, however, either to furnish
his house better, or to brag less of his
accommodations.

.fn #
Why might not this innkeeper have had eggs in his house, as he had sent no less than
fifty pullets to market the very day before?
.fn-

.fn #
I am apt to believe that this remark was intended as an ironical sarcasm on the trivial
observations of hypercriticks: for we cannot suppose Cervantes did not know, by this time,
that he himself had more than once, in the first part of this history, actually called Sancho’s
wife by the name of Mary Gutierrez; an oversight which I have taken notice of in the
proper place.
.fn-

.fn #
The proverb in the original, alludes to a kind of tabor: as if one should say, ‘He
alone should attempt to play, who knows how to beat the tabor.’
.fn-
.sp 4
.h4 id=chap4-4-8
<abbr=chapter>CHAP.</abbr> <abbr=eight>VIII.</abbr> | OF WHAT BEFEL DON QUIXOTE IN HIS WAY TO BARCELONA.
.sp 2
The morning was cold, and
seemed to promise but little less
for the day on which Don Quixote departed
// File: 0899.png
// File: 0900.png
// File: 0901.png
.pn +1
from the inn, after having informed
himself of the nearest road to
Barcelona which he could travel without
touching at Saragossa; so eager he
was to fix the lye upon the new historian
by whom they said he was so scurvily
treated.

So it happened that he met with nothing
worthy of record within six
days; at the end of which, having
quitted the high road, he was benighted
among a thick cluster of oak or cork-trees;
for, in this particular, Cid Hamet
has not preserved his usual punctuality.
The master and man alighting
from their beasts, and accommodating
themselves at the roots of two
separate trees, Sancho, who had laid in
a good afternoon’s luncheon, entered
the gates of sleep abruptly, and without
hesitation; whereas the knight, who
was kept awake more by fancy than by
hunger, could not close an eye; but, on
the contrary, rambled in his imagination
through a thousand different scenes.
Sometimes he conceived himself to be
in the cave of Montesinos; sometimes
he thought he saw Dulcinea skipping
and leaping upon her ass, in that dismal
state of rustick transformation; and
then his ears seemed to tingle with the
words of the sage Merlin, who pronounced
the conditions and endeavours
to be observed and exerted for
the disinchantment of his mistress. He
was driven almost to desperation, when
he reflected on the sloth and uncharitable
disposition of his squire Sancho,
who, to the best of his belief, had hitherto
given himself only five stripes; a number
poor and inconsiderable in comparison
with the infinite score unpaid: and this
consideration overwhelmed him with
such anxiety and chagrin, that he thus
argued with his own bosom.

‘If Alexander the Great ventured
to cut the Gordian knot, on the supposition
that cutting would be as effectual
as untying it; and notwithstanding
this violence, became sole
master of all Asia, the same success
may now attend my efforts in disinchanting
Dulcinea, should I scourge
Sancho against his own consent; for
if the condition of this remedy be,
that Sancho shall receive three thousand
three hundred stripes, what signifies
it to me whether they are bestowed
by his own hand, or that of
some other person, seeing the essential
// File: 0902.png
point is in his receiving them, from
what quarter soever they may come?’

.if h
.il fn=plate-xvi.jpg id=plate16 w=60% alt=""
.ca Plate XVI: Don Quixote Attempts to Scourge Sancho Panza.
.if-
.if t
[Illustration: Don Quixote Attempts to Scourge Sancho Panza.]
.if-

Inspired with this notion, he took
the reins of Rozinante’s bridle, which
he formed into an instrument of flagellation;
and, approaching the sleeping
squire, began to untruss his points:
indeed, it is the general opinion, that
he had but one before which kept up
his breeches. But scarce had he began
to perform this operation, when Sancho,
shaking off the fetters of slumber at
one start, exclaimed aloud, ‘What’s the
matter? Who the devil is that so
busy untrussing me while I’m asleep?’—‘It
is I,’ answered the knight, ‘who
mean to atone for thy omissions, and
remedy my own misfortunes. I come
to scourge thee, Sancho, and discharge
some part of the debt which thou art
obligated to pay. Dulcinea pines in
a state of transformation; and, while
thou livest at thine heart’s ease, I am
dying with desire: untie these points,
therefore, of thy own free-will; for
mine, I assure thee, is to afflict thy posteriors
with two thousand stripes at
least, before we quit this unfrequented
place.’—‘By no manner of means!’
cried Sancho; ‘I advise your worship to
be quiet, or, by the God of Israel! the
deaf shall hear us: the stripes I have
obliged myself to receive, must be given
with my own free-will and consent, not
by force or compulsion; and, at present,
I have not the least inclination
to discipline my own flesh: let it suffice,
I give your worship my word
and honour, that I will flog and fly-flap
my carcase as soon as ever I find
myself disposed for such exercise.’—‘I
must not leave it to thy courtesy,’
replied the knight; ‘for thou hast a
stony heart, and though a peasant,
art very tender of thy flesh.’ He accordingly
struggled with all his might
to unbreech the squire; who, finding
the affair become very serious, started
up from the ground, sprung upon his
master, and closing with him in a trice,
tripped up his heels, so that the knight
came instantly to the ground, where he
lay with his face uppermost: then the
victor, clapping his right knee to the
breast of the vanquished party, and
griping him fast by both wrists, hampered
him in such a manner, that he
could scarce either breathe or move.
Nevertheless he made shift to pronounce
these words: ‘How now, traitor! dost
// File: 0903.png
.pn +1
thou presume to rebel against thy
master and natural lord, whose bread
thou hast eaten?’—‘I neither exalt
kings nor dethrone them,’ answered
Sancho; ‘but, being my own master,
I stand up in my own defence: if
your worship will promise to be quiet,
and think no more of scourging me
for the present, I will forthwith free
and disencumber you from these
bonds: otherwise, here thou shalt die,
traitor and enemy to Donna Sancha.’

The knight subscribed to the conditions,
swearing by the life of his inclinations,
that he would not touch the
nap of his garment, but leave him at
full liberty to begin the flagellation
when he himself should think proper.
On these considerations Sancho arose,
and went aside a good away to another
tree, at whose root he resolved to take
his lodging for the remaining part of
the night. There he felt something
bob against his head, and putting up his
hand, found two legs provided with
shoes and stockings: trembling with
affright, he moved with great expedition
to another tree, where he met with
the same salutation, which increased his
terror to such a pitch, that he roared
aloud for assistance. His master hearing
this exclamation, ran towards the place,
and enquired into the cause of his fear
and confusion; when the squire gave
him to understand that all these trees
were loaded with human legs and feet.
The knight reaching up his hand, immediately
conceived the meaning of this
strange circumstance, and said to Sancho,
‘Thou needest not be afraid, for
those legs and feet which thou hast
felt without seeing, certainly belong
to some robbers and outlaws who are
hanged upon the trees; for, when
they are apprehended in this place,
the officers of justice string them up
by twenties and thirties; and from this
particular, I am convinced that we
must now be near Barcelona.’ And,
indeed, his conjecture was right. Soon
as objects were rendered visible by the
dawn, they lifted up their eyes, and saw
that the clusters depending from the
trees were no other than the bodies of
banditti. The morning forthwith
ushered in the day; and if they were
scared by the dead, they were no less
aghast when they found themselves all
of a sudden surrounded by above forty
// File: 0904.png
living robbers, who called to them in
the Catalonian language to be quiet,
and stand still until their captain should
arrive.

Don Quixote being a-foot, his horse
unbridled, his lance leaning against a
tree, and, in short, his person without
any means of defence, he thought proper
to cross his arms upon his breast,
and hung his head, reserving himself
for a better season and more happy
conjuncture. Meanwhile, the robbers
made such dispatch in plundering Dapple,
that in the twinkling of an eye
there was not the least crumb left in the
wallet and pillion; and lucky it was for
Sancho that he had secured, in a concealed
girdle, the duke’s crowns and
the money he had brought from home;
nay, notwithstanding this precaution,
those honest gentlemen would have
searched and rummaged him in such a
manner as to have found the cash, even
though it had been hidden between the
flesh and the skin, had not they been interrupted
by the seasonable arrival of
their captain, who seemed to be about
four and thirty years of age, of a robust
make, middling stature, grave
countenance, and brown complexion;
he rode a strong horse, was provided
with a coat of mail, and he had slung a
pair of pistols with firelocks at each side
of him. Seeing his squires (for so
they call the gentlemen of that profession)
very busy in rifling Sancho Panza,
he ordered them to desist; and, as they
immediately obeyed his command, the
girdle happily escaped. Surprized to
see a lance leaning against a tree, a
shield lying on the ground, and Don
Quixote armed at all points and in manifest
despondence, exhibiting the most
rueful and melancholy figure that Melancholy
herself could have formed, he
approached the knight, saying, ‘Be
not so dejected, honest friend; you
have not fallen into the hands of a
cruel Osiris, but of those of Roque
Guinart, who has more of compassion
than cruelty in his disposition.’

‘My dejection,’ answered the knight,
‘does not proceed from my having
fallen under thy power, O valiant
Roque, whose fame the limits of this
earth cannot confine; but from the
consciousness of my own neglect, in
consequence of which thy soldiers
found me unprepared: whereas I am
bound by the order of chivalry, which
// File: 0905.png
.pn +1
I profess, to be always alert and vigilant,
and to stand as it were at all
times sentry upon myself; and give
me leave to tell thee, O renowned
Roque! they would not have found it
such an easy task to subdue me, had
I been on horseback, armed with my
lance and shield: for know, I am
Don Quixote de La Mancha, whose
exploits are celebrated through this
whole terraqueous globe.’

Roque Guinart immediately perceived
that the knight’s infirmity partook
more of madness than of valour;
and although he had frequently heard
him named, he looked upon his atchievements
as altogether fabulous, and
could not believe that such a humour
did ever prevail in the heart of man:
he was therefore extremely well pleased
with this encounter, that he might with
his own eyes see immediately before him
what he had heard reported afar off.
‘Valiant knight,’ said he, ‘do not vex
yourself, or consider your present
situation in the light of a misfortune;
perhaps, by stumbling in this manner
your crooked fate may be made
straight; for Heaven, by strange unforeseen
windings, which mankind
cannot comprehend, is wont to raise
the fallen, and enrich the needy.’

Don Quixote’s mouth was already
open to thank him for his courteous
behaviour, when they heard behind
them a noise like that of a whole troop
of horse, though there was only one,
upon which came at full speed a youth
who seemed to be about the age of
twenty, dressed in green damask laced
with gold, long breeches, a loose coat,
a hat cocked in the Walloon fashion,
with strait waxed boots and spurs;
armed with a gold hilted sword and
dagger, a small fusil in his hand, and a
case of pistols by his side.

Roque hearing the noise, turned
about, and was surprized with the sight
of this handsome figure, who accosted
him in these terms: ‘In search of thee,
courageous Roque! I came hither,
hoping by thy means to find, if not a
remedy, at least an alleviation, of my
misfortune: and, to keep thee no
longer in suspense, as I am certain
you never saw me before, know that
I am Claudia Geronima, daughter of
Simon Forte, who is thy intimate
friend, as well as the particular
enemy of Clauquel Torellas, thy inveterate
// File: 0906.png
foe, as being head of the
party which thou hast always opposed.
This Torellas, thou knowest,
has a son called Don Vincente Torrellas,
at least he was, two hours ago,
distinguished by that name. I will
be as brief as possible in the account
of my disaster, and explain the occasion
of it in a few words. That
youth happened to see me, and courted
my good graces; I listened to his addresses,
and gave him my heart, without
the knowledge of my father; for
there is no woman whatsoever so retired
and mewed up, but she will find
a time to execute and gratify her irresistible
desires. In a word, he promised
to be my husband, I consented
to become his wife, and this was the
farthest extent of our correspondence.
Yesterday I was informed, that, forgetting
this obligation, he intended
to marry another woman, and that
this morning he had set out to celebrate
his nuptials. My brain
was disturbed, and my indignation
arrouzed to such a degree by these
fatal tidings, that, taking the advantage
of my father’s absence, I disguised
myself in this apparel, pursued
a-horseback my perfidious lover,
whom, having overtaken about a
league from this place, I, without
staying to make complaints, or hear
apologies, discharged upon him this
fusil and these two pistols; so that, I
believe, he has more than a brace of
bullets in his body: thus I opened a
gate through which my honour,
though bathed in his blood, may
escape, and left him in the hands of
his servants, who neither could nor
presumed to exert themselves in his
defence. Thence I came in quest of
thee, to beg that thou wilt conduct
me safely to France, where I have relations;
and, at the same time, promise
to defend my father from the
numerous kindred of Don Vincente,
who may otherwise sacrifice him to
their insatiable revenge.’

Roque was struck with admiration at
the gallantry, gay appearance, genteel
mien, and adventure of the beauteous
Claudia, to whom he replied, ‘Come,
Madam, let us first see whether or not
your enemy is actually dead, and then
we will consider about the most proper
measures to be taken in your behalf.’
Here Don Quixote, who had
// File: 0907.png
.pn +1
listened with great attention to Claudia’s
address, and Roque’s reply, interposing in
the conversation, exclaimed, ‘No man
has any occasion to give himself the
least trouble about the defence of this
lady, which I take upon my own
shoulders. Give me my horse and
my arms, and stay where you are;
I will go in quest of the gentleman,
and dead or alive compel him to perform
the promise he hath made to so
much beauty.’—‘Who doubts that!’
cried Sancho; ‘adad! my master has
an excellent hand at match-making;
a few days ago, he compelled another
person who likewise refused to
keep his word with a young woman;
and if those plaguy inchanters
who persecute him so much, had not
transmographied the gallant into a
lacquey, that very hour, She that was
a maid before, would have been a
maid no more[#].’

Roque, whose attention was engrossed
by the adventure of the beautiful
Claudia, paid very little regard to what
was said either by the master or the
man; but, ordering his squires to restore
the spoils of Dapple to Sancho, and
retire to the place appointed for their
quarters that night, he set out with
Claudia, in great haste, to reconnoitre
the situation of the dead or wounded
Don Vincente. When they arrived at
the spot where he had been overtaken
by the young lady, they found nothing
but some recent blood; but, casting
their eyes around, they discovered some
people on the side of a hill, and conjectured
they could be no other than
the servants of Don Vincente carrying
their master to a proper place, where he
might be cured, if alive, or buried,
if dead. Their supposition was just;
and spurring up their horses, they
soon overtook the unhappy cavalier,
whom they found in the arms of his
attendants, whom he entreated, with
a faint and languid voice, to let him
die where he was; for the pain of his
wounds would not suffer him to proceed
farther. Then Claudia and Roque
approached him, to the great terror of
his servants, who stood aghast at sight
of this famous free-booter; but Claudia
was greatly disturbed at the melancholy
situation of Don Vincente; and
agitated by the conflicting passions of
tenderness and resentment, took him by
the hand, saying, ‘Hadst thou given
me this of thy own accord, conformable
to the mutual promise subsisting
between us, thou wouldst never have
been in this condition.’

The wounded cavalier opened his
eyes, which were almost shut for ever,
and recognizing Claudia, ‘I plainly
perceive,’ said he, ‘most beautiful
and misled young lady, that I owe my
death to your hand; a punishment
altogether unmerited and unsuited
to my inclinations, which, as well
as my conduct, were, in regard to
your person, altogether void of offence.’—‘What!’
cried Claudia,
‘is it not true, that you, this morning,
intended to marry Leonora, daughter
of the rich Balvastro?’—‘No, surely,’
replied Don Vincente; ‘my evil genius
must have alarmed you with such information,
that, your jealousy being
inflamed, you might deprive me of
life, which, as I leave it in your arms,
and your embrace, I consider as happily
lost; and, that you may be convinced
of my sincerity, give me your
hand, and, if you please, receive me
for your husband, this being the only
satisfaction I can make for the offence
I was supposed to have given.’ Accordingly,
Claudia and he joined hands
and hearts together, in such a manner
that she fainted away upon his bloody
breast, and he sunk into a mortal paroxism.

Roque being confounded and perplexed,
the servants ran for water which
they sprinkled upon their faces, and
Claudia recovered from her swoon;
but this was not the case with her unhappy
lover, who had already breathed
his last. The young lady, perceiving
her beloved husband was no more, rent
the air with her groans, wounded the
heavens with her lamentation, tore her
locks and scattered them to the winds,
and disfigured her face with her own
nails, exhibiting all the marks of the
most severe grief that ever took possession
of an afflicted bosom. ‘O cruel
and inconsiderate woman!’ she cried;
‘how easily wast thou provoked to execute
such dire revenge! O furious
jealousy! to what dire despair dost
thou conduct all those who give thee
harbour in their breasts! O my dear
// File: 0908.png
.pn +1
husband! whose unhappy fate, in
being mine, hath made thy marriage-bed
thy grave!’

Such were the melancholy exclamations
of Claudia, which brought water
into the eyes of Roque, who had
seldom or never shed tears before; their
servants wept bitterly; the young lady
swooned almost at every step, and this
whole circuit seemed to be the scene of
sorrow, and field of misfortune. At
length Roque Guinart ordered the servants
to carry their master’s body to
his father’s country-seat, which was
hard by, that it might be buried according
to the old gentleman’s directions;
and Claudia expressed her desire
of retiring to a certain monastery, the
abbess of which was her aunt, where
she intended to finish her life, in company
of a better and more eternal
husband. Roque applauded her design,
and offered to conduct her to the place,
promising, at the same time, to defend
her father from the kindred of Don
Vincente, and all the world, should
they conspire against his peace. She
would by no means avail herself of his
attendance; but, thanking him for his
obliging offers in the most courteous
terms she could use, took her leave of
him, shedding a torrent of tears: the
servants of Don Vincente carried off the
body, Roque returned to his gang, and
thus ended the amour of Claudia Geronima;
a catastrophe not to be wondered
at, when we consider that the web of her
melancholy fate was woven by the baleful
and invincible force of jealousy.

Roque Guinart found his squires in
the place where he had ordered them to
take up their night’s lodging, and in
the midst of them Don Quixote upon
Rozinante, exhorting them in a long
harangue, to quit that way of life, so
dangerous both to soul and body; but
as the greatest part of them were Gascons,
a brutal and disorderly sort of
people, the knight’s arguments made
but little impression. The chief arriving,
asked Sancho Panza if the men
had restored the furniture and effects
they had taken from Dapple; and the
squire replied in the affirmative, excepting,
however, three night-caps worth
as many royal cities. ‘What the devil
does the fellow say!’ cried one of
the gang; ‘here they are, and any body
may see they would not sell for
three rials.’
// File: 0909.png

‘True,’ said Don Quixote; ‘but
my squire values them at that rate,
on account of the person of whom I
received them in a present.’ Roque
commanded the man to restore them instantly;
then, forming his people into
a line, gave orders for bringing before
them all the cloaths, jewels, money,
and every thing they had acquired by
robbery since the last partition; then,
making a short valuation, and reducing
the indivisibles into cash, he shared the
whole among his company, with such
equity and discretion, that in the most
minute article, he neither exceeded nor
fell short of distributive justice.

Having made this partition, with
which every individual was perfectly well
satisfied and contented, Roque turning
to Don Quixote, ‘If we did not observe
this punctuality,’ said he, ‘there
would be no living among such a
crew.’ To this declaration Sancho
replied, ‘From what I have seen, I
find justice so excellent in itself, that
the practice of it is necessary even
among thieves.’

One of the squires overhearing the
remark, lifted up the butt-end of his
musket, with which, in all probability,
he would have shattered Sancho’s scull,
had not the general commanded him to
desist; while Panza, trembling in every
limb, resolved never to open his lips
again so long as he should sojourn among
such ruffians.

About this time arrived one of the
gang, who was placed centinel on the
road to reconnoitre travellers, and bring
intelligence; and riding up to their
chief, ‘Signior,’ said he, ‘not far
from hence, there is a large company
of people travelling to Barcelona.’—‘Have
you perceived,’ answered Roque,
‘whether they are such as we seek, or
such as are in quest of us.’ When
the squire replied that they were such
as he sought; ‘Set out, then, all together,’
said he, ‘and bring the whole
company hither, without suffering
one to escape.’

This whole gang departed accordingly,
leaving their chief alone with
Don Quixote and Sancho, to wait the
issue of their expedition; and during
this interval, Roque addressing himself
to the knight, ‘This life of ours,’ said
he, ‘must appear very strange to Don
Quixote, exposed as it is to infinite
adventures and incidents replete with
// File: 0910.png
.pn +1
danger; and, indeed, I do not wonder
that it should appear in that light;
for I must know there can be no situation
so full of terror and disquiet as
that in which I live, and into which
I was misled by the desire of revenge,
which is often powerful enough to
disturb the most philosophick breast.
I am naturally benevolent and compassionate;
but, as I have already
observed, the desire of revenging an
injury which I received, hath overturned
all my virtuous inclinations in
such a manner, that I persevere in
this career, maugre and in despite of
my own understanding; and, as deep
calleth unto deep, and sin unto sin,
different schemes of revenge are so
linked together, that I undertake not
only my own, but also those of other
people; yet, by the blessing of God,
although I find myself thus involved
in a labyrinth of confusion, I have not
lost the hope of being, one day, happily
extricated from all my troubles.’

Don Quixote was surprized to hear
Roque talk so sensibly and with such
moderation; for he imagined, that
among those who were in the daily
practice of assaulting, robbing, and
murdering their fellow-creatures, there
could not surely be one single person of
sense and reflection. ‘Signior Roque,’
said he, ‘the beginning of health is
the knowledge of the disease, and
the patient’s desire to comply with
the physician’s prescription. You are
now in the diseased condition, sensible
of your infirmity, and Heaven, or
rather God himself, who is the great
physician, will apply those medicines
which are proper for the cure of your
distemper; but these remedies are
wont to operate slowly, not in a sudden
miraculous manner; and sensible
sinners are much more likely to recover,
than delinquents of little understanding.
Now, as your discourse
evinces your discretion, be of good
chear, and courageously wait for the
perfect recovery of your conscience.
If you are in earnest inclined to quit
this road, and enter at once into that
which leads to salvation, come along
with me and learn to be a knight-errant,
in which capacity you will
undergo such toils and disasters as will
be deemed sufficient penance, and exalt
you to Heaven in the turning of
two balls.’
// File: 0911.png

Roque could not help smiling at
Don Quixote’s advice; but changing
the conversation, he recounted the
tragical adventure of Claudia Geronima,
at which Sancho was exceedingly
grieved; for he had been hugely
pleased with the beauty, vivacity, and
demeanor of the young lady.

About this time they were joined by
the squires of the booty, who brought
along with them two gentlemen on
horseback, two pilgrims on foot, and a
coach full of women, attended by six
servants, partly mounted, and partly
footmen, together with two muleteers,
who waited upon the gentlemen. These
came all in a troop surrounded by the
squires, and universal silence prevailed
among the victors and the vanquished;
both sides expecting, with resignation,
the commands of the great Roque Guinart,
who, approaching the gentlemen,
asked who they were, whither they were
going, and what money they had.

To these interrogations one of them
replied, ‘Signior, we are captains of
the Spanish infantry, our companies
are in Naples; our intention is to
embark on board of four gallies,
which, they say, are now in the harbour
of Barcelona, ready to sail for
Sicily; and our funds amount to two
or three hundred crowns, with the
possession of which we thought ourselves
rich and happy, considering the
narrow appointments of a soldier,
which will not permit him to heap
up a great deal of wealth.’

Then Roque putting the same questions
to the pilgrims, they answered,
that their design was to embark for
Italy, in order to visit Rome; and that,
between both, they could muster about
sixty rials. He likewise desired to
know the quality of those who were in
the coach, the place to which they
were going, and the state of their finances.
In these particulars he was
satisfied by one of the horsemen, who
said, ‘The company in the coach consists
of my Lady Donna Guiomar de
Quinones, wife to the regent of the
vicariate of Naples, her little daughter
a damsel, and a duenna; I am one
of the six servants who attend them,
and her ladyship’s cash may amount
to six hundred crowns.’—‘At that
rate, then,’ replied the mighty Roques,
‘here are nine hundred crowns and,
sixty rials; I have sixty soldiers; see
// File: 0912.png
.pn +1
what each man’s share will come to,
for I am but an indifferent arithmetician.’
The robbers hearing this decision,
cried aloud, ‘Long life to Roque
Guinart, and confusion to the knaves
who endeavour to effect his ruin!’

The captains exhibited evident marks
of affliction, my lady regent assumed
a very sorrowful countenance, and the
pilgrims did not at all rejoice at this
confiscation of their effects. Although
Roque kept them for some time in suspense,
he had no mind to protract their
melancholy, which was plainly perceivable
a gunshot off; but, turning to
the captains, ‘Gentlemen,’ said he,
‘be so good as to lend me sixty crowns,
and my lady regent will favour me
with fourscore, in order to satisfy my
squadron; you know, The abbot must
not want, who for his bread doth
chant; then you may prosecute your
journey without fear or molestation,
by virtue of a safe conduct I will
grant; in consequence of which, you
will be exempted from plunder, in
case you should fall in with any other
of those squadrons which I have
posted up and down in different divisions;
for it is not my intention to
aggrieve either soldiers or ladies, especially
ladies of quality.’

Infinite and well turned were the
compliments in which the captains acknowledged
their obligation to Roque
for his politeness and liberality, for
such they accounted it, in leaving them
possessed of their own money. My
Lady Donna Guiomar de Quinones
would have thrown herself from the
coach, in order to kiss the feet and
hands of the great Roque; but he would
by no means accept such marks of submission:
on the contrary, he begged
pardon for the injury which he was
compelled to do them, in compliance
with the precise duty of his wicked profession.
The lady ordered her servant
to pay instantly the eighty crowns
which were demanded; the captains had
already disbursed threescore; and the
pilgrims were going to surrender their
miserable pittance; when Roque desired
them to desist, and turning to his gang,
‘Of these crowns,’ said he, ‘two
shall fall to the share of each man,
and then there will be an overplus of
twenty, one half of which I give to
the pilgrims, and the other ten to this
// File: 0913.png
honest squire, that he may make a
favourable report of the adventure.’

After this decision, he took pen, ink,
and paper, with which he was always
provided, and writing a safe conduct directed
to the chiefs of his squadrons, gave
it to the company, whom he courteously
dismissed, and they proceeded on their
journey, struck with admiration at his
noble demeanour, gallant disposition,
and strange conduct, looking upon him
rather as an Alexander the Great, than
a notorious robber. One of the squires,
displeased at the booty, said in his Catalonian
dialect, ‘This captain of ours
is fitter for praying than preying; if
henceforth he has a mind to shew his
generosity, let it be from his own
purse, and not what is ours by right
of conquest.’

The unhappy wretch did not speak
so softly, but that he was overheard by
Roque, who instantly unsheathing his
sword, cleft his head almost in two,
saying, ‘Thus I chastise mutiny and
presumption.’ All the rest of the
gang were terrified at this execution,
and not one of them durst open his lips,
so much were they over-awed by the
character of their chief.

As for Roque, he went aside and
wrote a letter to a friend at Barcelona,
giving him to understand how he had
met with the famous Don Quixote de
La Mancha, that knight-errant whose
exploits were in every body’s mouth;
and, he assured him, that the adventurer
was the most agreeable and understanding
man in the whole world: he likewise
gave him notice, that in four days
from the date of the letter, on the feast
of <abbr=Saint>St.</abbr> John, the said knight-errant
would appear on the beach of the
city, armed cap-a-pee, mounted on
Rozinante, and accompanied by his
squire Sancho upon an ass. He, therefore,
desired his correspondent to communicate
this intelligence to his friends
the Nearri, that they might enjoy the
character of Don Quixote, and wished
his enemies the Cadelli might not partake
of the diversion. But that was a
vain desire, because the mixture of madness
and discretion in the knight, and
the pleasantries of his squire, were such
as could not fail to yield entertainment
to the whole world in general.

This letter was dispatched by one of
his squires; who, disguising himself in
// File: 0914.png
.pn +1
the habit of a peasant, entered Barcelona,
and delivered it according to the
direction.

.fn #
This rhime is substituted in lieu of Sancho’s playing on the word <lang=es><i>fuera</i></lang>, in the
original.
.fn-
.sp 4
.h4 id=chap4-4-9
<abbr=chapter>CHAP.</abbr> <abbr=nine>IX.</abbr> | OF WHAT HAPPENED TO DON QUIXOTE ON HIS ENTRANCE INTO BARCELONA—WITH OTHER CIRCUMSTANCES THAT PARTAKE MORE OF TRUTH THAN OF DISCRETION.
.sp 2
Three days and three nights
did Don Quixote remain with
Roque, and had he staid as many hundred
years, he would not have wanted
subject for enquiry and admiration at
their way of life: they lodged in one
place, dined in another; sometimes
they fled from they knew not what,
sometimes waited for they knew not
whom. They slept standing, and even
that slumber was often interrupted;
they shifted from place to place; in a
word, their whole time was spent in
appointing spies, examining centinels,
and blowing matches for their musquets,
though they had but few; for
they chiefly used firelocks. As for
Roque, he passed the night by himself,
in private haunts and places concealed
even from the knowledge of his own
gang; for the repeated proclamations
issued by the viceroy of Barcelona, setting
a price upon his head, had rendered
him restless, diffident, and fearful;
so that he durst not confide in any person
whatever, being apprehensive that
even his own followers would either
murder or deliver him up to justice; a
life, of all others, assuredly the most
tiresome and miserable! At length, this
renowned freebooter, accompanied by
Don Quixote and Sancho, and attended
by six of his own squires, set out for
Barcelona, through unfrequented roads,
short cuts, and private paths, and arrived
upon the strand, after it was
dark, on the eve of <abbr=Saint>St.</abbr> John.

Here Roque, embracing Don Quixote,
and giving to Sancho the ten crowns,
which, though promised, had not hitherto
been paid, took his leave and
returned to his station, after mutual
protestations of friendship had passed between
him and our hero, who resolved
to sit on horseback as he was till day,
which was not far off. Accordingly,
they had not tarried long in this situation,
// File: 0915.png
when Aurora disclosed her rosy
face through the balconies of the east,
infusing vigour and seeming joy into
every plant and flower, instead of gratifying
the ear, which, however, was
also that instant regaled with the sound
of waits and kettle-drums, together
with the noise of morrice bells; the
clatter of horses upon the pavement,
and the repetition, of ‘Clear the way!’
pronounced by the couriers who came
forth from the city. Aurora vanished
before the sun; who, with a countenance
ample as a target, gradually
arose from below the horizon; then
Don Quixote and Sancho, extending
their view all around, perceived the sea,
which they had never before beheld,
and which seemed to be infinitely vast,
and abundantly more spacious than even
the lakes of Ruydera, which they had
seen in La Mancha: they likewise beheld
the gallies in the road, which,
when their awnings were furled, displayed
a glorious sight of pendants,
flags, and streamers, that wantoned in
the wind, and kissed and brushed the
surface of the deep; while they were
surrounded with clarions, trumpets,
and other sorts of musick, which filled
the air, for many leagues around, with
sweet and martial accents. Now they
began to move, and forming themselves
into line of battle, exhibited the representation
of a naval fight upon the
tranquil bosom of the sea. At the
same time, a mock skirmish was acted
on the shore, by a great number of gentlemen,
mounted on beautiful horses,
who came forth from the city, in gay
attire, with splendid liveries. The soldiers
of the gallies discharged an infinite
number of fire-arms, which were
answered from the wall and forts of the
city; and to the great guns, which
seemed to rend the air with their tremendous
sound, the midship cannons
of the gallies made a suitable reply;
the joy that resounded on board, the
pleasure that appeared on shore, together
with the serenity of the air, which was
sometimes disturbed by the smoke of
the artillery, seemed to infuse and engender
a sudden flow of spirits and delight
in every breast. As for Sancho,
he could not conceive how those great
hulks could use such a number of feet
in moving through the sea.

About this time, the cavaliers so
richly caparisoned, crying, hallooing,
// File: 0916.png
.pn +1
and shouting, in the Moorish manner,
came riding up to the place where Don
Quixote sat on horseback, overwhelmed
with surprize and astonishment; and
one of their number, who had been apprized
by Roque, exclaimed in a loud
voice, ‘Welcome to our city, thou
mirrour; lanthorn, planet, and polar
star, of all chivalry in its utmost extent!
Welcome, valorous Don Quixote
de La Mancha, not the false, fictitious,
and apocryphal adventurer, lately in
spurious history described; but the
real, legal, and royal knight recorded
by Cid Hamet Benengeli, the flower
of historians.’

Don Quixote answered not a word;
nor did the cavaliers wait for his reply;
but, with their followers, began to
wheel and turn, and curvet in a circle
round the knight; who, addressing himself
to Sancho, ‘As these people know
us so well,’ said he, ‘I will lay a
wager they have read our history,
and even that of the Arragonian,
which hath been lately printed.’ The
gentleman who had at first accosted
him returning, renewed his address in
these words; ‘Signior Don Quixote,
be so good as to go along with us,
who are all the intimate friends and
humble servants of Roque Guinart.’
To this entreaty the knight replied,
‘If courtesy engenders courtesy, yours,
Signior Cavalier, is the daughter, or,
at least, nearly allied to that which I
experienced in the gallant Roque.
Conduct me whither you please to go;
my will shall, in all respects, be conformable
to yours, and I should be
proud if you would employ it in your
service.’

The gentleman answered this compliment
with expressions equally polite;
and all his companions surrounding the
knight in a body, they, to the musick
of the waits and kettle-drums, conducted
him to the city, his entrance
into which was attended with a small
misfortune. That mischief, from
which all mischief is produced, ordained,
that two bold and impudent
boys, more mischievous than mischief
itself, should squeeze themselves
through the crowd, and approaching
Rozinante and Dapple, clap a handful
of furze under the tail of each: the
poor animals, feeling the severity of
this new kind of spurs, augmented the
pain, by pressing their tails more closely
// File: 0917.png
to their buttocks; so that, after a
thousand plunges, they came with their
riders to the ground, to the unutterable
shame and indignation of Don
Quixote; who, with great dispatch, delivered
the posteriors of his companion
from this disagreeable plumage; while
Sancho performed the same kind office
for his friend Dapple.

The gentlemen would have willingly
chastised the boys for their presumption;
but it was not in their power to
give the strangers that satisfaction; for,
they had no sooner executed their purpose,
than they concealed themselves
among the crowd of above a thousand
youngsters who followed the cavalcade:
so that Don Quixote and Sancho were
obliged to pocket the affront; and remounting
their beasts, proceeded with
the same musick and acclamation to
the house of their conductor, which
was large and magnificent, and in all
respects suitable to the rank of an
opulent cavalier. Here, then, we shall
leave him for the present; for such is
the will of Cid Hamet Benengeli.
.sp 4
.h4 id=chap4-4-10
<abbr=chapter>CHAP.</abbr> <abbr=ten>X.</abbr> | CONTAINING THE ADVENTURE OF THE ENCHANTED HEAD—WITH OTHER TRIVIAL INCIDENTS, WHICH, HOWEVER, MUST NOT BE OMITTED.
.sp 2
Don Quixote’s landlord was called
Don Antonio Moreno, a
wealthy gentleman of good understanding,
who loved a joke in a fair and
good-humoured way; so that finding
our knight safely housed under his roof,
he began to contrive means for extracting
diversion from the madness of his
guests, without prejudice to his person;
for those are no jests that give pain;
nor is that pastime to be indulged
which tends to the detriment of a fellow-creature.
His first step was to unarm
Don Quixote, and in that strait
shamoy doublet, which we have already
painted and described, expose
him to publick view in a balcony that
jetted out into one of the chief streets
in the city, where he was surveyed by
the people and the children, who gazed
upon him as if he had been a monster or
baboon. While he stood in this situation,
the gentlemen with the rich liveries
// File: 0918.png
.pn +1
performed their courses before him,
as if for his sake only, and not in order
to celebrate the festival, they had
provided all their finery; and Sancho
was ravished with the thoughts of having
so luckily found, without knowing
how or wherefore, another wedding
of Camacho, another house like
that of Don Diego de Miranda, and
another place equal to the duke’s
castle, where he had been so hospitably
entertained.

Don Antonio had that day invited
some friends to dinner, and all of them
paid particular respect to Don Quixote,
whom they treated as a renowned
knight-errant, a circumstance that elevated
his vanity to such a pitch, that
he could scarce contain his satisfaction;
and Sancho’s conceits flowed so fast
and humourous, that all the servants
of the family, and all who heard his
sallies, seemed to hang upon his lips.
While he waited at table, Don Antonio
accosting him, ‘Honest Sancho,’
said he, ‘we are informed you are such
a lover of fowls and balls of forced
meat, that, when you can eat no longer,
you pocket what remains for next
day.’—‘No, Signior,’ answered Sancho;
‘that is not the case, and your
worship must have been misinformed;
I am a cleanly squire, and no such
filthy glutton; for my master, here
present, knows very well, that we
have often passed eight whole days,
without any other sustenance than an
handful of nuts or acorns. True it
is, If ever the heifer is offered, the
tether is at hand; my meaning is,
I eat what I get, and ride the ford as
I find it[#]. If, therefore, any person
whatever hath said that I am an
exceeding glutton and foul feeder,
your worship may take it for granted
that he is in a mistake; and I would
tell him my mind in another manner,
if it was not for the respect I bear to
the honourable beards of this company.’—‘Assuredly,’
said Don Quixote,
‘Sancho’s cleanliness, and moderation
in eating, might be inscribed
and engraved on tables of brass, for
an everlasting memorial and example
to succeeding ages. True it is,
when very hungry, he may seem to
be a little voracious; for he eats with
precipitation, chewing with both
sides of his jaws; but cleanliness he
punctually maintains; and, while a
governor, learned to eat so delicately,
that he took up grapes, and even the
grains of a pomegranate, with a
fork.’—‘How!’ cried Don Antonio,
‘hath Sancho been a governor?’—‘Yes,
sure,’ replied the squire; ‘and
that of an island called Barataria,
which I governed according to my
own will and pleasure, for the space
of ten days, during which I lost my
natural rest, and learned to despise all
the governments upon earth: I, therefore,
fled from it as I would fly from
the devil, and tumbled into a cavern,
from whence, though I gave myself
up as a dead man, I was brought up
alive by a perfect miracle.’ Then Don
Quixote gave them a circumstantial account
of Sancho’s government, which
afforded extraordinary entertainment to
the whole audience.

Dinner being ended, and the table
uncovered, Don Antonio took our hero
by the hand, and conducted him into
a private apartment, where there was no
furniture but a table, that seemed to be
of jasper, supported by one foot of the
same substance; and upon this table
was placed a bust of bronze, from the
breast upwards, representing a head of
one of the Roman emperors. Don
Antonio, after having traversed the
room with his guest, and more than
once walked round the table, ‘Signior
Don Quixote,’ said he, ‘now that I
am assured no person overhears us, as
nobody listens, and the door is bolted,
I will impart to your worship one of
the rarest adventures, or rather one
of the greatest rarities, that ever was
known; on condition, however, that
you will deposit the secret in the most
hidden recess of your heart.’—‘I
swear to the condition,’ answered
Don Quixote: ‘and, for the greater
security, will put a tomb-stone over
whatever you shall communicate; for,
know, Signior Don Antonio,’ (by
this time he had learned his name)
‘your worship is talking to one, who,
though he has ears to hear, has never
a tongue to tattle; so that you may
securely transfuse the contents of
your own breast into mine, and take
it for granted, you have ingulphed
them in the abyss of silence.’—‘On
// File: 0919.png
.pn +1
the faith of that promise,’ replied
Don Antonio, ‘I will excite your
worship’s admiration with what you
shall see and hear; and I, myself,
will enjoy some alleviation of the
pain I have felt from having no person
to whom I could communicate
the secret, which is not to be trusted
to every body’s discretion.’ Don
Quixote waited with impatience and
surprize to see the result of this preamble;
when his entertainer, taking
him by the hand, made him feel all
around the bust, the table, and the
jasper foot upon which it was supported;
then accosting him with great solemnity
of aspect: ‘This bust, Signior Don
Quixote,’ said he, ‘was made and
contrived by one of the greatest inchanters
and necromancers that ever
the world produced. He was, I
think, a native of Poland, and disciple
of the famous Escotillo[#], of
whose knowledge such wonders are
reported. As he chanced to be in
this part of the world, I took him
into my house, where, in consideration
of a thousand crowns which I
paid, he wrought this head, in
which is centered the surprizing power
and virtue of answering every
question communicated to its ear.
The master performed certain rites,
erected schemes, consulted the stars,
and carefully observed the lucky and
unlucky minutes, until, at length, he
brought it to that perfection which
we shall perceive to-morrow; for on
Fridays it is mute, and this being
Friday, we must wait till another
day: in the mean time, your worship
may consider and prepare your questions,
which I know by experience
it will truly answer.’ Don Quixote
was confounded and astonished at this
property and virtue of the head, and
indeed, almost tempted to disbelieve
Don Antonio’s account; but, seeing
how little time was required to make
the experiment, he would not mention
his incredulity; but, in very polite
terms, thanked his entertainer for
having entrusted him with such an important
secret. They accordingly quitted
the apartment, and Don Antonio
having locked the door, returned to
the rest of the company, who were
highly entertained with Sancho’s recapitulation
of many adventures and
incidents to which his master had been
exposed.

The same evening, they persuaded
Don Quixote to make a progress along
the streets with them, not in his armour,
but in a loose coat of tawny-coloured
cloth, which would have made
ice itself sweat at that season; and, in
the mean time, they directed their servants
to amuse Sancho within doors,
that he might not come forth and spoil
their diversion. The knight was not
mounted on Rozinante, but accommodated
with an ambling mule, gaily
caparisoned; and, upon the back of
his coat or cloak, they, without his
knowledge, pinned a parchment inscribed
in large letters, ‘This is Don
Quixote de La Mancha.’ The procession
no sooner began, than this scroll
attracted the eyes of the people; and,
when they read it aloud, the knight
was astonished to find himself known,
and hear his name repeated by all the
spectators. He, therefore, turning to
Don Antonio, who rode by his side,
‘Great,’ said he, ‘is the prerogative
that centers in knight-errantry, the
professors of which are known and
celebrated through all the corners of
the earth: take notice, Signior Don
Antonio, how my name is repeated
by the very boys who never saw me
before.’—‘It is even so, Signior Don
Quixote,’ replied Antonio; ‘for, as
light cannot be shut up and concealed,
so neither can virtue remain unknown;
and, that which is acquired
by the profession of arms, shines with
superior splendor over all other acquisitions.’

While our knight thus proceeded
amidst the acclamation of the crowd, a
certain Castilian happened to pass, and
reading the scroll, exclaimed aloud,
// File: 0920.png
.pn +1
‘Now, the devil take thee, Don Quixote
de La Mancha! how hast thou
made shift to come so far without expiring
under some of those infinite
drubbings which thy ribs have received?
A madman thou surely art:
and if the defect of thine understanding
affected thyself only, and was
confined within the gates of thy own
madness, the misfortune would be
the smaller; but thy frenzy is of
such a peculiar nature as to turn the
brains of all those with whom thou
hast any commerce or communication;
witness these gentlemen by whom
thou art now accompanied. Return
to your own house, Mr. Goose-cap,
mind your family-concerns; look
after your wife and children; and
discard these vain maggots, which
have eaten and burrowed into your
brain, and skimmed off the very
cream of your understanding.’—‘Hark
ye, brother,’ said Don Antonio,
‘go about your business; and
do not pretend to offer your advice to
those who want none of your counsel:
Signior Don Quixote de La Mancha
is renowned for wisdom, and we who
accompany him are not so mad as
you may imagine. Virtue ought to
be honoured wheresoever it is found:
therefore be gone with a vengeance;
and seek not to meddle in those
affairs with which you have no concern.’—‘’Fore
God! your worship
is in the right,’ replied the Castilian:
‘advising that honest man is kicking
against the pricks. Nevertheless, I
am extremely sorry that the good
sense, which, they say, this madman
displays in some things, should be
unprofitably wasted through the canal
of his knight-errantry: and may that
vengeance which your worship imprecated,
overtake me and all my
posterity, if, from this day forwards,
I give advice to any person whatever,
asked, or unasked, even though I
should live to the age of Methusalem!’
So saying, this counsellor went away,
and the procession went on; but the
throng was so great, occasioned by the
boys and other idle people who pressed
in to read the scroll, that Don Antonio
was fain to take it off, on pretence
of freeing the knight from some other
annoyance.

In the twilight they returned to the
house of Don Antonio, where they
// File: 0921.png
found a ball prepared by his lady, who
was a woman of birth, beauty, good
humour, and discretion; and had invited
a number of friends to come and
honour her guest, and enjoy the strange
peculiarities of his madness: they accordingly
came, and after supper, at
which they were entertained in a very
splendid manner, the ball began about
ten o’clock. Among the company were
two ladies who had a turn for satire,
accompanied with a great deal of humour;
and who, though persons of
unblemished honour, indulged themselves
with uncommon freedom of behaviour,
in order to keep up the spirit
of the diversion, that it might not flag.
This pair of female wags persisted with
incredible eagerness, in dancing with
Don Quixote, until not only his body,
but even his very soul, seemed fainting
with fatigue; and nothing could be
more ludicrous than the figure of the
knight, so long, so lank, so lean, so
yellow, capering about in a straight shamoy
doublet, with an air unspeakably
aukward, and legs that were never designed
for such exercise. The young
ladies affected to court his good graces
by stealth; and he privately treated
their advances with disdain, until, finding
them become more and more pressing,
he pronounced aloud, <lang=la>‘<i>Fugite
partes adversæ!</i></lang> disturb not my repose,
ye unwelcome thoughts! avaunt,
ladies, with your unruly desires; for
she who is queen of mine, the peerless
Dulcinea del Toboso, will not
consent that I should surrender or be
subject to any other than her own!’

.if h
.il fn=plate-x.jpg id=plate10 w=60% alt=""
.ca Plate X: Don Quixote Dancing.
.if-
.if t
[Illustration: Don Quixote Dancing.]
.if-

So saying, he sat down upon the
floor in the middle of the hall, quite
exhausted and demolished with the violent
exercise he had undergone; so that
Don Antonio gave orders for his being
carried forthwith to bed; and the first
person who touched him in obedience
to this order, was his own squire Sancho
Panza; who, as he endeavoured to
raise him upon his legs, could not help
reprehending him in these words:
‘What a plague tempted your worship
to fall a capering? Did you suppose
every valiant man was as nimble
as an harlequin, or that all knights-errant
must needs be masterly dancers?
If that was your opinion, I
say you were much deceived: for
there be men who would rather undertake
to slay a giant, than to cut a
// File: 0922.png
// File: 0923.png
// File: 0924.png
.pn +1
caper. Had it been the shoe-slapping
horn-pipe, I could have supplied your
place; for I slap like a jerfaulcon;
but as for your figured dances, I know
not a stitch of the matter.’ With this
address Sancho raised a laugh from the
assembly, and his master from the floor,
and carrying the knight to bed, covered
him up very warm, that he might sweat
out the cold caught in dancing.

Next day Don Antonio thought proper
to try the experiment of the inchanted
head, and for this purpose entered
the apartment, accompanied by Don
Quixote, Sancho, a couple of friends,
with our hero’s two waggish partners,
who had staid all night with Antonio’s
lady. The door being fast bolted, he
explained the property of the bust, after
having laid injunctions on the company
to keep the secret, and declared
this was the day on which he intended
to make the first trial of the virtue contained
in the inchanted head[#]. Indeed,
except his two friends, no other person
knew the mystery; and if they had not
been previously informed by Don Antonio,
they would certainly have shared
in the same admiration which necessarily
seized the rest who were present at the
execution of a scheme so artfully contrived.

The first who approached the ear of
this inchanted head was Don Antonio
himself, who said in a low voice, but so
as to be overheard by all present, ‘Tell
me, O head, by thy inherent virtue,
what are my present thoughts?’ To
this interrogation the head, without
moving its lips, replied in a clear and
distinct voice, which was heard by the
whole company, ‘I do not pretend to
investigate the thoughts.’ Those who
knew not the plot were confounded at
hearing this answer, as they plainly
perceived there was not a living soul
under the table or in the whole apartment
to utter this reply. Don Antonio
addressing himself again to it, asked,
‘How many persons are here in company?’
and was answered in the same
key, ‘You and your wife[#], two friends
of yours, and two of her companions,
with a famous knight called Don
Quixote de La Mancha, and his squire
Sancho Panza by name.’ Here was
fresh amazement! here was their hair
standing on end with affright; while
Don Antonio, stepping aside from the
table, said, ‘This is enough to convince
me that I have not been deceived
by the person of whom I purchased
thee; thou sage, speaking, oracular,
and admirable head! Let some other
person go and question it at will.’

As women are usually very curious
and impatient, the next who approached
was one of the two ladies, and her
question was this: ‘Tell me, O head,
what I shall do to be extremely beautiful?’
She received for answer, ‘Be
extremely virtuous;’ and replied, ‘I
ask no more.’ Then her companion
advanced, saying, ‘I want to know,
sagacious head, whether or not I am
fondly beloved by my husband?’ and
she was answered, ‘That you will
learn by observing his behaviour.’
The married lady retired, observing
that it required no magick to solve that
question; for, in effect, an husband’s
behaviour to his wife will always declare
the state of his affection. The third
person that approached the table was
one of Don Antonio’s friends, who
asked, ‘What am I?’ and when the
voice answered, ‘Thou knowest best,’
he replied, ‘That is not the purport of
my question; I desire thou wilt tell
me if thou knowest my name?’—‘Yes,’
said the oracle; ‘I know thou
art Don Pedro Noriez.’—‘Then I
am satisfied,’ answered Don Pedro;
‘for that answer is sufficient to convince
me, O head, that thou knowest every
thing.’ Then he withdrew, and was
succeeded by the other gentleman; who,
advancing to the table, ‘Tell me, O
head,’ said he, ‘the wish of my eldest
son?’—‘I have already owned that I
cannot dive into the thoughts of men,’
said the voice; ‘nevertheless, I will tell
thee, that the wish of thy son is to
bury his father.’—‘That is indeed
his wish,’ replied the cavalier; ‘I see
it with my eye, I touch it with my
finger, and do not chuse to ask another
question.’ Don Antonio’s lady
// File: 0925.png
.pn +1
approached, saying, ‘I know not how
to interrogate thee, O head; but I
should be glad to know if I shall long
enjoy my good husband?’—‘Yes,
you will,’ replied the voice; ‘his
healthy constitution, and moderate
way of life, promise a long succession
of years and a good old age, of which
many men deprive themselves by their
own intemperance.’

Don Quixote now took his turn, and
addressing himself to the bust, ‘Tell
me then, whatsoever thou art,’ said he,
‘is my account of what befel me in
the cave of Montesinos really fact, or
only the illusion of a dream? Will the
flagellation of my squire Sancho be
certainly accomplished? and will the
disinchantment of Dulcinea take effect?’—‘With
respect to the cave,’
replied the oracle, ‘much may be said;
the adventure partakes both of truth
and illusion. The flagellation of
Sancho will proceed slowly; but Dulcinea
will be disinchanted in process
of time.’—‘And that is all I desire
to know,’ cried the knight; ‘for,
in the disinchantment of Dulcinea, I
shall reckon all my wishes at once
happily fulfilled.’

The last interrogator was Sancho;
who, approaching the table, ‘Pray,
good Mr. Head,’ said he, ‘shall I
peradventure obtain another government?
shall I ever rise above the
humble station of a squire? and lastly,
shall I ever see again my wife and
children?’ To these questions he received
these answers: ‘If it be thy fate
to return to thy own house, thou wilt
govern thy family, and see thy wife
and children; and in ceasing to serve,
thou wilt cease to be a squire.’—‘’Fore
God! an excellent response!’
cried Sancho; ‘that I could have foretold
myself, and the prophet Perogrullo
could have said no more.’—‘What
answer would you have, you
beast?’ said Don Quixote; ‘is it not
sufficient that the responses delivered
by the head, correspond with the questions
you have asked?’—‘It shall
suffice,’ replied the squire; ‘but I wish
it had explained itself a little more
fully, and told me some more of my
fortune.’

Thus ended the questions and answers,
but not the admiration of the
whole company; except Antonio’s two
friends, who had been let into the secret;
// File: 0926.png
which Cid Hamet Benengeli will
now explain, that the world may not be
kept longer in suspense, or imagine that
any necromantick talisman or extraordinary
mystery was contained in this
wonderful bust. He gives us, therefore,
to understand, that Don Antonio Moreno,
in imitation of such another head
which he had seen at Madrid, contrived
by a statuary, ordered this to be made
in his own house for his private amusement,
and with a view to surprize the
vulgar; and in this manner was the
whole fabricated. The table was of
wood painted and varnished like jasper,
and the foot that supported it of the
same materials, carved into the resemblance
of four eagles talons, which
kept it firm and steady in its position.
The head formed from the medal of
one of the Roman emperors, and covered
with a copper colour, was hollow,
as well as the table, in which it was so
nicely fixed, that no eye could perceive
the joining; the foot was likewise hollow,
and answered to the neck and
breast of the bust; and the whole corresponed
with another chamber below,
by means of a concealed tin pipe which
passed through the bust, the table, and
the foot. In this lower apartment,
communicating with that of the inchanted
head, did the person who uttered
the responses fix his mouth to the
pipe, so as that the voice ascended and
descended in distinct and articulate
sounds, and it was impossible for any
person to discover the deception. The
respondent was Antonio’s nephew, a
student of acute parts, and a well-cultivated
understanding, who, being previously
informed by his uncle of the
number and names of the persons whom
he intended to introduce into the chamber
of the inchanted head, was enabled
to answer the first question with great facility
and precision; and to the rest he replied
by conjectures which were equally
ingenious and discreet.

Cid Hamet moreover relates, that for
ten or twelve days the virtue of this
wonderful machine continued in full
force; but a report diffusing itself
through the city, that Don Antonio
had in his house an inchanted head,
which could answer all manner of
questions, he began to be afraid that
these tidings might reach the ears of
the vigilant centinels of our faith; for
which reason he explained the whole
// File: 0927.png
.pn +1
affair to the fathers of the inquisition,
who forbade him to proceed with the
deception, and gave orders that the
head should be broke in pieces, lest it
should give umbrage to the superstitious
vulgar: but, in the opinion of Don
Quixote and Sancho Panza, it passed
for a head that was really inchanted
and oracular; though it had given
more satisfaction to the knight than the
squire.

The gentlemen of the city, in complaisance
to Don Antonio, and for the
entertainment of Don Quixote, whom
they wanted to furnish with an opportunity
of discovering his diverting follies,
appointed a running at the ring to
be performed in six days; but this was
prevented by an incident which will be
explained in the sequel. Meanwhile,
the knight was desirous of going out
and viewing the city at leisure, and afoot;
fearing that, should he appear on
horseback, he would again be persecuted
by the boys and vulgar. He accordingly
went forth, attended by Sancho,
and two of Antonio’s servants,
whom their master had chosen for that
purpose; and chancing to lift up his
eyes in passing through one of the
streets, he saw inscribed over a gate, in
capital letters, ‘This is a printing-house;’
a circumstance which gave
him uncommon satisfaction, as hitherto
he had never seen a printing-press, and
longed much to know something of
that art: he therefore entered the house
with all his train, and saw people casting
off in one part, correcting in another,
composing in a third, revising in a
fourth, and, in short, the whole œconomy
of a large printing-house. Going
up to one box, he asked what was doing;
and being informed by the workmen,
expressed his admiration, and proceeded
to a second. Among others, he
went up to one, and putting the same
question, the workman replied, ‘Signior,
that there gentleman,’ pointing to a
grave person of a very prepossessing appearance,
‘has translated a book from
the Tuscan into the Castilian language,
and I am now composing it
for the press.’—‘What is the name
of the book?’ said Don Quixote.
‘Signior,’ answered the author, ‘the
book in the original is called, <lang=fr><i>Le Bagatelle</i></lang>.’—‘And
what is the signification
of <lang=fr>Le Bagatelle</lang> in our language?’
resumed the knight. ‘<lang=fr><i>Le Bagatelle</i></lang>,’
replied the author, ‘is, as if we should
say, in Castilian, <lang=es><i>Juquetes</i></lang>[#]: and,
although the title of the book be so
humble, it includes and contains a
great deal of excellent and substantial
writing.’—‘I am not altogether
ignorant of the Tuscan language,’ said
Don Quixote, ‘for I value myself upon
singing some stanzas of Ariosto; but,
pray tell me, Signior, (and what I am
going to ask is not with any intention
to sound your genius, but merely to
satisfy my own curiosity) have you
ever, in composing your books, met
with the word <i>pignatta</i>?’—‘Yes, frequently,’
replied the author. ‘And
how do you translate it into Castilian?’
resumed the knight. ‘How should
I translate it,’ said the other, ‘but by
the word <lang=es><i>olla</i></lang>?’—‘Body o’me!’ cried
Don Quixote, ‘what progress you have
made in the knowledge of the Tuscan
idiom! I will lay a good wager that
you translate <i>piace</i> into <lang=es><i>plaze</i></lang>, <i>piu</i>
into <lang=es><i>mas</i></lang>, <i>su</i> into <lang=es><i>arriba</i></lang>, and <i>giu</i> into
<lang=es><i>abaxo</i></lang>.’—‘Certainly,’ said the author,
‘because these words of the two languages
correspond with one another.’—‘Notwithstanding
all your learning,’
replied the knight, ‘I could almost
swear you are hitherto unknown to
the world, which is ever averse to remunerate
a flourishing genius, and
works of merit. What talents are
lost, what abilities obscured, and what
virtues are undervalued, in this degenerate
age! yet, nevertheless, a translation
from one language to another,
excepting always those sovereign
tongues the Greek and Latin, is, in
my opinion, like the wrong side of
Flemish tapestry, in which, though
we distinguish the figures, they are
confused and obscured by ends and
threads, without that smoothness and
expression which the other side exhibits:
and to translate from easy languages,
argues neither genius nor
elocution, nor any merit superior to
that of transcribing from one paper
to another; but from hence I would
not infer that translation is not a
laudable exercise, for a man may employ
his time in a much worse and
more unprofitable occupation. At
any rate, my observation cannot affect
// File: 0928.png
.pn +1
our two famous translators, Doctor
Christoval de Figueroa, in Pastor
Fido, and Don Juan de Xaurigui in
Aminta, two pieces they have so happily
executed, as to render it doubtful
which is the original and which the
translation: but pray, Signior, is this
book printed on your own account,
or have you sold the copy to a bookseller?’—‘I
publish it on my own account,’
replied the author, ‘and expect
to gain a thousand ducats at least upon
the first impression, of which there
will be two thousand copies, that will
fetch six rials a piece in the turning of
a straw.’—‘That is a very clear and
comfortable reckoning,’ answered
Don Quixote; ‘but you seem to be
very little acquainted with the outgoings
and the incomings, the schemes,
conspiracies, and cabals of booksellers:
when you find your back burdened
with two thousand copies, I give you
my word both your mind and body
will be terribly fatigued; especially if
the books should be harsh, or a little
deficient in point of spirit.’—‘What!’
said the author, ‘your worship thinks,
then, I ought to offer my performance
to a bookseller, who would give me
three maravedis for the copy, and insist
upon it that he had done me a favour
into the bargain? I do not publish
with a view to acquire reputation
in the world, where, thank Heaven, I
am already well known by my works;
I print for profit, without which, reputation
is not worth a doit.’—‘God
send you good luck, Signior,’ answered
the knight; who, advancing to
another box, where he saw the corrector
employed on the sheet of a book, intitled,
‘The Light of the Soul;’—‘Aye,’
said he, ‘these are the books
that ought to be printed; for, although
there is already a pretty large
number of this kind in print, numerous
are the sinners for whose use they
are intended; and for such multitudes
who are in darkness, an infinite number
of lights is required.’ He proceeded
in his enquiry, and when he asked
another corrector the name of a book
on which he saw him at work, he understood
it was the second part of The
Sage Hidalgo Don Quixote de La
Mancha, written by a certain person
a native of Tordesillas. ‘I have heard
of this performance,’ said the knight;
‘and really, in my conscience, thought
it was long before this time burned
into ashes, or pounded into dust, for
the impertinence it contains; but, as
we say of hogs, “Martinmas will
come in due season[#].” Works of
imagination are the more useful and
entertaining the nearer they approach
to truth, and the more probability they
contain; and even history is valued
according to its truth and authenticity.’

So saying, he quitted the printing-house
with some marks of displeasure;
and that same day, Don Antonio proposed
that he should go on board, and
see the gallies in the road; a proposal
which was extremely agreeable to Sancho,
who had never seen the inside of a
galley in the whole course of his life;
and he sent a message to inform the
commodore of his intention to visit him
in the evening, with his guest the renowned
Don Quixote de La Mancha,
whose name and person were already
well known to this commander and all
the citizens of Barcelona. What passed
during this visit, will be related in
the following chapter.

.fn #
Literally, ‘Use the times as I find them.’
.fn-

.fn #
This was Michael Scot, who lived in the thirteenth century, and was such an adept
in medicine, mathematicks, chymistry, alchymy, and other branches of natural knowledge,
that the vulgar looked upon him as a wizard or magician. But as this philosopher
died in 1291, and this conversation between Don Antonio and our knight must have happened
after the year 1605, when the first part of Don Quixote was licensed, how could the
disciple of Scot be in the house of Don Antonio? Yet this anachronism might easily pass
upon Don Quixote, as it related to matters of inchantment.
.fn-

.fn #
But in this very chapter he has already told Don Quixote, that he knew the virtue of
the head from experience.
.fn-

.fn #
Antonio’s wife must have been here before the others entered: for she is not in the
list of those who went in with her husband.
.fn-

.fn #
Trifles.
.fn-

.fn #
About Martinmas they killed the hogs designed for bacon.
.fn-
.sp 4
.h4 id=chap4-4-11
<abbr=chapter>CHAP.</abbr> <abbr=eleven>XI.</abbr> | OF THE MISFORTUNE WHICH BEFEL SANCHO PANZA ON BOARD OF THE GALLIES,| AND THE RARE ADVENTURE OF THE BEAUTIFUL MOOR.
.sp 2
Manifold and profound
were the self-deliberations of
Don Quixote on the response of the inchanted
head, without his being able
to discover the deceit; and the result of
all his reflections was the promise of
Dulcinea’s being disinchanted, on which
he reposed himself with the most implicit
confidence. This was the goal
of all his thoughts, and he rejoiced,
in full assurance of seeing it suddenly
accomplished. As for Sancho, although
he abhorred the office of a governor,
as we have already observed,
he could not help wishing for another
opportunity of issuing out orders and
seeing them obeyed; a misfortune which
// File: 0929.png
.pn +1
never fails to attend the exertion of
power, even though founded on mock
authority.

In a word, that very evening his
landlord Don Antonio Moreno, and
his two friends, went on board of the
gallies with Don Quixote and Sancho;
and the commodore being apprized of
the visit intended by two such famous
personages, no sooner perceived them
coming towards the sea-side, than he
ordered the awnings to be struck and
the musick to play; the barge was hoisted
out, covered with rich carpets, and
furnished with velvet cushions, and the
minute Don Quixote embarked, the
cannon a-midships of the captain-galley
was discharged, and the others followed
her example. When the knight
ascended the accommodation-ladder, on
the starboard side, the whole crew saluted
him with three cheers, a compliment
usually paid to persons of the first
quality; and the general, for by this
name we shall henceforth call him, who
was a noble Valentian, presented his
hand, and embracing Don Quixote,
‘This day,’ said he, ‘will I mark with
a white stone, as one of the happiest
I shall ever enjoy, on account of seeing
the renowned Signior Don Quixote
de La Mancha, in whom the
whole worth of knight-errantry is
cyphered and concentered.’ No less
courteous and polite was the reply of
Don Quixote, who rejoiced above measure
at seeing himself treated with such
respect. The whole company having
ascended the poop, which was very gaily
ornamented, and seated themselves upon
benches, the boatswain repaired to the
gangway, and making a signal with his
whistle for all the slaves to strip, was
obeyed in an instant, to the no small discomposure
of Sancho, who was terrified
at the sight of so many naked backs;
nor did his apprehension abate, when
he saw the awning stretched with such
incredible dispatch, that he thought all
the devils in hell had assisted in the operation.
Yet this was nothing but cakes
and gingerbread to what I am going to
relate.

The squire sat upon the stentril, close
by the aftermost rower on the starboard
side; who, in consequence of the previous
instructions he had received, lifted
up Sancho in his arms, and while the
whole crew of slaves stood up, alert
with the prospect of the joke, tossed
// File: 0930.png
him like a tennis-ball to his fellow, who
in the same manner committed him to
a third; and thus he was bandied forwards
on the starboard side, from slave
to slave, and bench to bench, with such
expedition, that poor Panza lost his eyesight
entirely, and firmly believed himself
in the possession of the fiends: nor
did they desist from this exercise, until
he was reconveyed by the larboard-side
to the poop, where this miserable object
lay bruised, breathless, and covered with
a cold sweat, and in such perturbation
of spirits that he scarce knew what he
had undergone.

Don Quixote seeing Sancho flying in
that manner without wings, asked the
general, if it was a ceremony practised
upon every person at his first going on
board; for, in that case, as he himself
did not intend to make profession of a
seafaring life, he had no ambition to
perform such an exercise; and he vowed
to God, if any man should attempt to
seize him, as a fit subject for flying, he
would spurn his soul out of his body;
in confirmation of which resolve, he
started up, and laying his hand upon his
sword, put himself in a posture of defence.

At that instant the awning was furled,
and the main-yard lowered with
such a terrible noise, that Sancho imagined
the heavens were tore from off
their hinges and tumbling down upon
his head, which he forthwith shrunk
between his legs in an agony of terror:
nor was all serene in the breast of Don
Quixote; who, while his legs trembled
under him, shrugged up his shoulders,
and changed colour. The crew having
hoisted the main-yard, with the same
expedition and noise which were made
in its descent; while they themselves
continued as silent as if they had been
altogether without breath or utterance,
the boatswain piped all hands to weigh
anchor, and leaping into the middle of
the gangway, began to ply their shoulders
with his supple-jack, or bull’s-pizzle,
and the galley by little and little stood
out to sea.

Sancho beholding such a huge body,
moved by so many painted feet, for such
he took the oars to be, said within
himself, ‘This, indeed, is really inchantment;
but what my master takes
for it is no such matter. What have
these miserable wretches done to be
scourged in this manner? and I wonder
// File: 0931.png
.pn +1
how the devil that single man,
who skips up and down, piping and
whistling, dares whip and flog so many
people; now, on my conscience, I
believe this is hell itself, or purgatory
at least!’

Don Quixote perceiving with what
attention the squire observed every circumstance,
‘Friend Sancho,’ said he,
‘with what facility and dispatch might
you now, if you please, strip yourself
from the middle upwards, and
taking your place among these gentlemen,
finish at once the disenchantment
of Dulcinea; for, amidst the
distress of so much good company,
you would hardly be sensible of bodily
pain: and who knows, but the sage
Merlin would reckon each of these
stripes, which are bestowed with goodwill,
equivalent to ten of these, which,
at the long run, you must receive
from your own hand.’ The general
had just opened his mouth to enquire
about the nature of this flagellation,
and Dulcinea’s disenchantment,
when a mariner came and told him,
that the fort of Munjuy had made
signal of a rowing bark upon the coast,
to the westward. He no sooner received
this intelligence, than advancing
into a gang-way, ‘Pull away, my
lads!’ cried he, ‘let not this corsair
brigantine escape; for certainly
she must be a vessel belonging to
Algiers which the castle has discovered.’

The other three gallies ranging alongside
of the admiral to receive orders,
the general directed that two of them
should stand out to sea, and the other
keep along shore, so that the Algerine
should not escape. The slaves immediately
began to ply their oars, which
impelled the gallies with such velocity,
that they seemed to fly; while the two
that put to sea, at the distance of two
miles, discovered a bark, which, from
the view, they judged to have fourteen
or fifteen banks, and their conjecture
was right. This vessel no sooner descried
the gallies, than she made the best
of her way, in hope of being able to
escape by her nimbleness; but she was
baffled in this expedition; for the admiral
being one of the swiftest gallies
that ever sailed, came up with her apace,
and the captain of the brigantine perceiving
plainly that he could not escape,
desired the rowers to quit their oars
// File: 0932.png
and strike, that he might not by his
obstinacy incense the officer who commanded
the gallies: but fate, which
conducted their affairs in another manner,
ordained, that even after the admiral
was within hearing, and ordered
them to strike, two Toraquis, that is,
a couple of drunken Turks, belonging
to the brigantine, discharged two
firelocks, which killed as many soldiers
who chanced to be in the head of the
galley; an incident which was no sooner
perceived by the general, than he swore
he would not leave one person alive
in the brigantine, which he ordered his
people to board with all expedition;
nevertheless, she, for the present, escaped
under the oars, and the galley had
such way, that she shot a-head to a
good distance, so that the people on
board the chace, seeing themselves in
danger of being destroyed, hoisted their
sails and put before the wind, while
the galley tacked and pursued with all
her force of canvas and of oars. The
diligence and dexterity of the Algerines
did not turn out so much to their
advantage, as their presumption conduced
to their prejudice; for, the admiral
running along-side, grappled
with the brigantine, and took the whole
crew prisoners. The other two gallies
came up, and all returned with the
prize to the road, while a great concourse
of people stood on the beach,
to see the contents of the ship they had
taken. The general anchored close by
the shore, and understanding the viceroy
of the city was among the spectators,
he ordered the barge to be hoisted
out to fetch him on board, and commanded
the yard to be lowered for the
convenience of hanging the master of
the brigantine, and the other Turks he
had taken, to the number of thirty-six,
all stout young fellows, and mostly
Turkish musqueteers. When he asked
who commanded the brigantine, one
of the prisoners, who was afterwards
known to be a Spanish renegado, answered
in Castilian, ‘That there young
man is our master;’ pointing to one
of the most beautiful and genteel
youths that human imagination can
conceive, whose age to all appearance
was under twenty. ‘Ill-advised dog,’
said the general, ‘what induced thee to
kill my soldiers, when thou sawest it
was impossible to escape? Is that the
respect which is due to admiral-gallies?
// File: 0933.png
.pn +1
Dost thou not know, that rashness
is not valour, and that doubtful
hopes ought to make men resolute,
but not desperate?’

The Moor was about to reply, but
the general could not at that time hear
his answer, because he was obliged to go
and receive the viceroy, who had just
entered the galley, with some of his own
servants, and a few other persons. ‘General,’
said this nobleman, ‘you have
had a fine chace.’—‘Aye, so fine,’ replied
the other, ‘that your excellency
shall see it presently hoisted up at the
yard-arm.’—‘For what reason?’ said
the viceroy. ‘I mean, the master of
the brigantine and his crew,’ answered
the commodore, ‘who have, against all
law, reason, and custom of war, killed
two of the best soldiers that ever served
on board; so that I have sworn to
hang all the prisoners, especially this
youth who was their captain,’ pointing
to the handsome Moor; who, by
this time, waited for execution, with
his hands tied, and a rope about his
neck.

The viceroy, surveying this unhappy
prisoner, (whose beauty, genteel mien,
and humility, served him instead of a
recommendation) was seized with the
desire of saving his life, and approaching
him, ‘Tell me, corsair,’ said he,
‘art thou a Turk, Moor, or Renegado?’
To this question the youth answered,
in the Castilian tongue, ‘I am neither
Turk, Moor, or Renegado.’—‘Then,
what art thou?’ resumed the viceroy.
‘A Christian woman,’ replied the captive.
‘A Christian woman,’ cried the
viceroy, ‘in such dress and situation!
this is a circumstance more worthy of
admiration than of credit.’—‘Gentlemen,’
said the youth, ‘be so good
as to suspend my execution, until I
shall have recounted the particulars
of my story; and that small delay
will not much retard the accomplishment
of your revenge.’ What heart
could be so obdurate as not to relent at
this address; so far at least, as to hear
the story of the afflicted youth? The
general, accordingly, told him he might
proceed with his relation, but by no
means expect pardon for the crime of
which he was convicted. With this permission
he began in these terms.

‘I was born of that nation, more
unfortunate than wise, which hath
been lately overwhelmed by a sea of
// File: 0934.png
trouble: in other words, my parents
were Moors; and, in the torrent of
their misfortune, I was carried
by two uncles into Barbary, notwithstanding
my professing myself a
Christian; not one of those impostors,
who are so only in appearance, but a
true and faithful Roman catholick.
This declaration did not avail me
with those who had the charge of our
miserable expulsion; nor was it believed
by my uncles, who, on the
contrary, supposing it no more than
a lye, and expedient, by which I
thought to obtain permission to remain
in my native country, hurried
me along with them in a forcible
manner. My mother was a Christian,
and my father a prudent man of the
same religion: I sucked in the catholick
faith when an infant at the
breast, and was trained up in the
ways of virtue; nor do I think I
have ever given the least marks of
Mahometanism, either in word or
deed. In equal pace with my virtue,
(for I really think my life was virtuous)
my beauty, such as it is, hath
ever walked; and notwithstanding
the extraordinary reserve in which I
lived, concealed from publick view,
it was my fate to be seen by a young
cavalier, called Don Gregorio, eldest
son of a gentleman who had an estate
in our neighbourhood. How he became
desperately enamoured of me,
and how I grew fond of him to distraction,
it would be tedious to relate,
considering my present situation,
standing as I am, with the fatal cord
between my tongue and throat: I
shall therefore only observe, that
Don Gregorio resolved to accompany
me in my exile, and actually mingled
with those Moors who joined us in
different places, without being discovered;
for he spoke the language
perfectly well. Nay, in the course
of our voyage, he insinuated himself
into the friendship of my two uncles,
with whom I travelled; for my father,
who was a man of prudence and
foresight, no sooner heard the first
mandate for our expulsion, than he
went abroad to foreign kingdoms in
quest of an asylum for his family,
leaving a large quantity of pearls,
valuable jewels, with some money, in
crusadoes and doubloons of gold,
concealed and interred in a certain
// File: 0935.png
.pn +1
place, to which I alone was privy;
and laying strong injunctions upon me
to avoid touching this treasure, in case
we should be exiled before his return.
I obeyed his commands in this particular,
and as I have already observed,
set sail with my uncles, relations, and
friends, for Barbary; and the place
in which we settled was Algiers,
whereas we might as well have taken
up our habitation in hell itself. The
king hearing of my beauty, and the
report of my wealth, which was partly
fortunate for my designs, ordered me
to be brought before him, and asked
from what part of Spain I had come,
and what money and jewels I had
brought to Barbary. I told him the
place of my nativity, and gave him to
understand that the money and jewels
were buried under-ground: but that I
should easily recover the whole hoard,
provided I could return alone for that
purpose. This information I gave,
that he might be more blinded by his
own avarice than my beauty: but,
during the conversation, a person told
him that I was accompanied in my
voyage by one of the most beautiful
and genteel youths that ever was seen.
I immediately understood that this was
no other than Don Gasper Gregorio,
whose beauty far exceeds the fairest
that ever was extolled; and was exceedingly
afflicted at the prospect of
danger to which the dear youth might
be exposed; for, among those barbarous
Turks, a boy or handsome
youth is more prized and esteemed than
any woman, let her be never so beautiful.

‘The king forthwith ordered his
people to bring Don Gregorio into his
presence, and in the mean time asked
me if his person actually corresponded
with this report. Then I, as if inspired
by Heaven, answered in the
affirmative; though at the same time
I assured him, it was no youth, but
a woman like myself; and begged
leave to go and dress her in her natural
attire, which would shew her
beauty to the best advantage, and
enable her to appear in his presence
with less confusion. He said I
might go, in good time, and that
some other day he would concert
measures for my return into Spain,
to bring off the hidden treasure.
Thus dismissed, I went and explained
// File: 0936.png
to Don Gaspar the risque he would
run in appearing as a man, and
dressing him in the habit of a Moorish
woman, accompanied him that same
evening to the presence of the king,
who was seized with admiration at
sight of her beauty, and resolved to
keep her for a present to the Grand
Signior. In order to avoid the danger
to which this young creature might be
exposed in his seraglio, from his own
inordinate desires, he ordered her to be
lodged, quartered, and attended, in the
house of some Moorish ladies, whither
she was immediately conveyed; and
what we both felt at parting, for I cannot
deny that I love him tenderly,
I leave to the confederation of lovers
who have experienced such a cruel separation.

‘The king afterwards contrived a
scheme for my returning to Spain in
this brigantine, accompanied by two
native Turks, the very persons who
killed your soldiers, and that Spanish
renegado,’ (pointing to him who spoke
first) ‘who I know is a Christian in his
heart, and is much more desirous of
remaining in Spain than of returning
to Barbary; the rest of the crew are
Moors and Turks, whom we engaged
as rowers. The two insolent and rapacious
Turks, without minding the
order they received to land the renegado
and me in the habit of Christians,
with which we were provided on the
first part of Spain they could make, resolved
previously to scour the coast,
with a view to take prizes, fearing that
should they set us on shore beforehand,
we might meet with some accident
which would oblige us to discover
that there was a corsair on the coast,
and they of consequence run the risk
of being taken by the gallies. At
night we descried this road, though we
did not perceive the four gallies, and
being discovered, were taken as you
see. In a word, Don Gregorio remains
in the habit of a woman among
the Moorish ladies, at the imminent
hazard of his life, and here I stand
fettered and manacled, in expectation,
or rather in fear, of losing that existence
of which I am already tired.
This, Signior, is the end of my lamentable
story, which is equally true
and unfortunate; and all I beg of
you is, that I may die like a Christian,
seeing, as I have already observed, I
// File: 0937.png
.pn +1
have in no shape been guilty of the fault
which hath been charged upon our unhappy
nation!’

So saying, she stood silent, her lovely
eyes impregnated with tears, which few
of the spectators could behold unmoved;
and the viceroy, whose disposition was
humane and compassionate, unable to
speak, advanced to the place, and with
his own hands released those of the
beautiful Moor.

While this Christian Moor related her
peregrinations, an ancient pilgrim who
had followed the viceroy into the galley,
kept his eyes close fixed upon her countenance,
and her story was no sooner finished
than he threw himself at her feet,
which he bathed with his tears, while
in accents interrupted with a thousand
sighs and groans, he exclaimed, ‘O,
Anna Felix! my unhappy daughter;
I am thy father Ricote, who have returned
in search of thee to Spain, because
I could not live without thee, who
art dear to my affection even as my
own soul!’

At these words, Sancho opened his
eyes, and raised his head, which he
had hitherto hung in manifest despondence,
reflecting upon the disgrace of
his flying adventure; and looking at the
pilgrim, recognized that same Ricote
whom he had encountered the very day
on which he quitted his government:
he likewise recollected the features of
his daughter, who being by this time
unbound, mingled her tears with those
of her father, whom she tenderly embraced;
and then the old man, addressing
himself to the viceroy and general,
‘My lords,’ said he, ‘this is my
daughter; not so happy in the incidents
of her life, as in her name,
which is Anna Felix, with the addition
of Ricote, as famous for her
beauty as for her father’s wealth. I left
my country in quest of a place where
we should be received and hospitably
entertained; and having found such
an asylum in Germany, I returned
as a pilgrim in the company of some
people of that nation; hoping to find
my daughter, and fetch away the
wealth which I had buried in the
earth: my daughter was gone, but I
recovered my hoard, which is in my
possession; and now, by this strange
vicissitude which you have seen, I
have retrieved that treasure which is
the chief object of my affection, I
// File: 0938.png
mean, my beloved daughter. If our
innocence and mutual tears can have
influence enough upon your integrity
and justice, to open the gates of mercy,
O let it prevail in favour of us,
who never offended you even in
thought, nor in any shape corresponded
with the designs of our people,
who have been justly expelled.’
Here Sancho interposing, ‘I am very
well acquainted with Ricote,’ said
he, ‘and know all he has said about
his daughter Anna Felix to be true;
but with respect to that other trash
of his comings and goings, and his
good or evil designs, I neither meddle
nor make.’ Every person present expressed
admiration at this strange incident;
and the general turning to the
daughter, ‘Every tear you let fall,’
said he, ‘conspires in preventing the
performance of my oath. Live,
beauteous Anna Felix, the term of
your life prescribed by Heaven; and
let those insolent and presumptuous
wretches suffer punishment for the
crimes they have committed.’

So saying, he ordered the two Turks,
who had killed his soldiers, to be
hanged at the yard’s-arm; but the
viceroy earnestly entreated him to spare
their lives, as their crime was rather
the effect of madness than of preconceived
design. The general granted his request,
especially as he did not think it
commendable to execute revenge in cold
blood.

Then they began to contrive some
method for extricating Don Gaspar
Gregorio from the danger in which he
was involved; and Ricote offered to the
value of above two thousand ducats,
which he had about him in pearls and
jewels, to any person who could effect
his deliverance. Many schemes were
projected; but none of them seemed so
sensible as that which was presented by
the fore-mentioned Spanish renegado,
who offered to return to Algiers in
some small bark of about six banks,
manned with Christians, as he knew
where, how, and when he might land
with safety, and was well acquainted
with the house in which Don Gaspar
remained. The general and the viceroy
were dubious of the renegado, and
scrupled to trust him with the command
of Christian rowers; but Anna Felix
was satisfied of his integrity, and her
father said he would engage to ransom
// File: 0939.png
.pn +1
them, should they chance to be taken
and enslaved.

Matters being settled on this footing,
the viceroy went ashore, after having
laid strong injunctions on Don Antonio
Moreno, who had invited the
Moorish beauty and her father to his
house, to make much of his guests,
and command whatever his own palace
could afford for their entertainment.
Such was the charity and benevolence
which Anna’s beauty had infused into
his heart!
.sp 4
.h4 id=chap4-4-12
<abbr=chapter>CHAP.</abbr> <abbr=twelve>XII.</abbr> | GIVING THE DETAIL OF AN ADVENTURE| WHICH GAVE DON QUIXOTE MORE MORTIFICATION| THAN HE HAD RECEIVED FROM ALL THE MISFORTUNES| WHICH HAD HITHERTO BEFALLEN HIM.
.sp 2
Don Antonio’s lady, as the history
relates, was extremely
pleased at the sight of Anna Felix,
whom she received with great cordiality,
equally enamoured of her beauty
and discretion; for, indeed, the Moor
excelled in both; and here she was visited
by all the people of fashion in
town, as if by toll of bell. As for
Don Quixote, he gave Antonio to understand,
that in his opinion, the plan
they had formed for the deliverance of
Don Gregorio was more dangerous
than expedient; and that it would be
much more effectual to set him on
shore in Barbary, with his arms and
horse; in which case he would bring
home the young gentleman in despight
of the whole Moorish race, as heretofore
Don Gayferos had delivered his
wife, Melisandra. Sancho, hearing
this proposal, ‘Consider,’ said he,
‘that Signior Don Gayferos delivered
his wife from captivity on the main
land, and carried her off to France
through the high road; but, in this
case, even granting we should have
the good luck to release Don Gregorio
from his confinement, we shall
not be able to convey him hither to
Spain, because the sea is between us
and Barbary.’—‘There’s a remedy
for all things but death,’ replied the
knight: ‘for, if there is a bark by the
// File: 0940.png
shore, we can go aboard, in opposition
to the whole universe.’—‘Your
worship describes it a very easy matter,’
said the squire; ‘but, between
Said and Done, a long race may be
run;  and, for my part, I would
stick to the offer of the renegado,
who seems to be a very honest person,
and a man of compassionate bowels.’
Don Antonio said, that if the renegado
should fail in his undertaking, they
would certainly find some means for
transporting the great Don Quixote to
Barbary; and in two days the renegado
departed in a light bark with six oars
on a side, manned with a crew of approved
valour. In two days after her
departure the gallies likewise set sail for
the Levant, after the general had begged
and obtained the viceroy’s promise to let
him know the success of the scheme they
had contrived for the deliverance of Don
Gregorio, together with the fate of the
lovely Anna Felix.

One morning, Don Quixote rode
forth upon the strand, completely
armed; for he often observed, arms
were his ornaments, and fighting his
diversion, and he never cared to appear
in any other dress; and as he pranced
along, he saw coming towards him a
knight, likewise armed cap-a-pee, having
a full moon painted on his shield.
This apparition was no sooner within
hearing, than he addressed his discourse
to Don Quixote, pronouncing aloud,
‘Renowned cavalier, never enough applauded
Don Quixote de La Mancha,
I, the Knight of the White Moon,
whose unheard-of exploits, may, peradventure,
recal him to your remembrance,
am come with hostile intent
to prove the force of thine arm; to
convince and compel thee to own
that my mistress, whosoever she is,
exceeds in beauty thy Dulcinea del
Toboso, beyond all comparison:
which truth, if thou wilt fairly and
fully confess, thou wilt avoid thy
own death, and spare me the trouble
of being thy executioner; but
shouldst thou presume to engage with
me in single combat, and be overcome,
all the satisfaction I demand
is, that thou wilt lay aside thine
arms, desist from travelling in quest
of adventures, and quitting the
field, retire to thine own habitation,
// File: 0941.png
.pn +1
where thou shalt continue a whole
year, without drawing a sword, in
comfortable peace and profitable
tranquillity, which may tend to the
augmentation of thy fortune, and
the salvation of thy precious soul.
On the other hand, if it be my fate to
be vanquished, my life shall exist at
thy discretion; thine shall be the
spoils of all my arms and horse, and
to thee shall be transferred all the
fame of my atchievements: consider
which of these alternatives thou wilt
chuse, and answer me on the spot;
for, on this very day, the affair must
be dispatched and determined.’

Don Quixote was astonished and confounded,
as well at the arrogance of
the Knight of the White Moon, as
at the cause of his defiance; and, after
a short pause of recollection, replied
with a solemn tone, and countenance
severe, ‘Sir Knight of the White
Moon, whose exploits have not as
yet reached mine ear, I dare say you
have never seen the illustrious Dulcinea;
for, had you enjoyed that
happiness, I know you would not
have dreamed of making such a rash
demand: one glimpse of her would
have undeceived you perfectly, and
plainly demonstrated, that there never
was, or will be, beauty comparable
to that which she possesses. I, therefore,
without giving you the lye, but
only affirming that you are egregiously
mistaken, accept of your defiance
on the conditions you have proposed,
and will fight you forthwith, before
the day you have pitched upon shall
be elapsed; with this exception,
however, that I will by no means
adopt the fame of your exploits; because
I know not how, where, or
wherefore they were atchieved, and
am content with my own, such as
they are: chuse your ground therefore,
and I will take my share of the
field; and let <abbr=Saint>St.</abbr> Peter bless what
God shall bestow.’

The Knight of the White Moon
being discovered from the city, and
seen talking with Don Quixote, notice
was given to the viceroy; who, supposing
it was some new adventure contrived
by Don Antonio Moreno, or
some other gentleman of the town,
went down to the strand, accompanied
by the said Don Antonio, and a number
of other cavaliers, and reached the
// File: 0942.png
spot just as Don Quixote wheeled about
on Rozinante to measure his distance.
Seeing both parties ready for returning
to the encounter, he placed himself
in the middle between them, and demanded
the cause that induced them
so suddenly to engage in single combat.
The Knight of the White Moon
answered, that it was the precedency of
beauty; and briefly repeated his proposal
to Don Quixote, with the mutual
acceptation of the conditions proposed.
Then the viceroy taking Don
Antonio aside, asked if he knew this
Knight of the White Moon; and if
this was a joke which he intended to
perpetrate upon Don Quixote. Don
Antonio assured him that he knew not
the stranger, nor could guess whether
the challenge was given in jest or earnest.
He was a little perplexed, and dubious
whether or not he should allow
the battle to be fought; but, as he
could not conceive it to be any thing
else than a preconcerted joke, he retired,
saying, ‘Valiant knights, seeing
there is no other remedy, but
you must confess or die; and Signior
Don Quixote persists in denying
what you, of the White Moon, presume
to affirm; I leave you to your
fate, and God stand by the righteous.’

The stranger, in very polite terms,
and well-selected phrase, thanked the
viceroy for the permission he had
granted; and his example was, in this
particular, followed by Don Quixote,
who, having recommended himself
heartily to Heaven and his Dulcinea, according
to his usual practice when he
engaged in any combat, turned about
to take a little more ground, in imitation
of his antagonist; then, without
receiving a signal for engaging, either
by sound of trumpet, or any other instrument,
both parties wheeled about
at the same instant. The Knight of
the White Moon having the fleeter
horse, coming up with his adversary,
before this last had run one third of
his career, lifting up his lance purposely
that he might not wound Don
Quixote, whom, however, he encountered
with such an irresistible shock,
that both he and Rozinante came to
the ground with a very dangerous fall:
the victor instantly sprung upon him,
and clapping his lance to his vizor,
‘Knight,’ said he, ‘you are vanquished,
// File: 0943.png
.pn +1
and a dead man, unless
you acknowledge the terms of the
defiance.’ To this address the battered
and astonished Don Quixote,
without lifting up his beaver, replied
in a languid tone and feeble voice,
that seemed to issue from a tomb,
‘Dulcinea del Toboso is the most
beautiful woman in the world, and I
the most unfortunate knight on
earth; and, as it is not reasonable
that my weakness should discredit this
truth, make use of your weapon,
knight, and instantly deprive me of
life, as you have already divested me
of honour.’—‘By no means’ said he
of the White Moon: ‘let the fame of
my Lady Dulcinea’s beauty flourish
in full perfection; all the satisfaction
I ask is, that the great Don Quixote
shall retire to his own house, and
there abide for the space of one year,
or during the term which I shall prescribe,
according to the articles
agreed upon before we engaged.’
This whole dialogue was overheard by
the viceroy, Don Antonio, and a number
of other people who were present,
and they were also ear-witnesses of the
answer made by Don Quixote, who
said, that as the victor had demanded
nothing to the prejudice of Dulcinea,
he would comply with his proposal like
a true and punctual knight.

He of the White Moon hearing his
declaration, turning his horse, and,
bowing courteously to the viceroy, entered
the city at an half gallop, whither
he was followed by Don Antonio, at
the desire of the viceroy, who entreated
him to make enquiry, and obtain satisfactory
information concerning this
romantick stranger. In the mean time,
they raised up Don Quixote; and uncovering
his face, found him pale as
death, and his forehead bedewed with
a cold sweat, while Rozinante lay motionless,
from the rough treatment he
had received. As for Sancho, he was
so overwhelmed with sorrow and vexation,
that he knew not what to say or
do: this unlucky incident seemed to be
a dream, and he looked upon the whole
scene as a matter of inchantment. Seeing
his lord and master overcome, and
obliged to lay aside his arms for the
space of a whole year, he imagined the
splendor of his exploits was eclipsed,
and all those fair hopes, produced from
his late promise, dispersed in the air, as
// File: 0944.png
smoak is dissipated by the wind, in a
word, he was afraid that Rozinante
was maimed for ever, and his master’s
bones dislocated; and even thought it
would be a great mercy if he was not in
a worse condition.

Finally, the viceroy ordered his people
to bring a sedan, in which the
knight was carried to the city, accompanied
by that nobleman, who longed
very much to know who this Knight of
the White Moon was, by whom Don
Quixote had been left in such a cruel
dilemma.
.sp 4
.h4 id=chap4-4-13
<abbr=chapter>CHAP.</abbr> <abbr=thirteen>XIII.</abbr> | WHICH DISCOVERS WHO THE KNIGHT OF THE WHITE MOON WAS, AND GIVES AN ACCOUNT OF THE DELIVERANCE OF DON GREGORIO—WITH OTHER INCIDENTS.
.sp 2
Don Antonio Moreno followed
the Knight of the White Moon,
who was also accompanied, and even
persecuted by a number of boys, until
they had housed him in one of the city
inns, which was at the same time entered
by Don Antonio, who burned with
impatience to know what he was; and,
without ceremony, intruded himself into
the apartment to which the stranger
retired, with his squire, to be unarmed.
He of the White Moon, perceiving
how much the gentleman’s curiosity
was inflamed, and that he was
resolved to stick close by him until it
should be satisfied, ‘Signior,’ said he,
‘I am not ignorant that you are come
hither on purpose to know who I
am; and as there is no reason why
I should refuse you that satisfaction, I
will, while my servant is employed in
taking off my armour, explain the
whole mystery, without the least reserve:
you must know, then, Signior,
that I am called the Batchelor
Sampson Carrasco, a townsman of
Don Quixote de La Mancha, whose
madness and extravagance has given
great concern to all his acquaintance,
and to me in particular. Believing
that his recovery would depend upon
his living quietly at his own habitation,
I projected a scheme for compelling
him to stay at home; and, about three
months ago, sallied forth upon the
// File: 0945.png
.pn +1
highway, as a knight-errant, assuming
the appellation of the Knight of
the Mirrours, fully resolved to engage
and vanquish Don Quixote, without
hurting him dangerously, after I
should have established, as the condition
of our combat, that the vanquished
should be at the discretion of
the victor: and, as I deemed him
already conquered, my intention was
to demand that he should return to
his own house, from which he should
not stir for the space of one year, in
which time I hoped his cure might
be effected. But fate ordained things
in another manner; I was conquered
and overthrown, and my design entirely
frustrated; he proceeded in quest
of new adventures, and I returned
vanquished, ashamed, and sorely
bruised by the dangerous fall I had
sustained in battle: nevertheless, I
did not lay aside the design of returning
in quest of him to overthrow him
in my turn, and you have this day
seen my intention succeed; for he
is so punctual in observing the ordinances
of chivalry, that he will,
doubtless, perform his promise in
complying with my demand. This,
Signior, is an account of the whole
affair: nor have I omitted one circumstance;
and I beg you will not
discover and disclose to Don Quixote
who I am, that my Christian intention
may take effect, and the poor gentleman
retrieve his judgement, which
would be altogether excellent, were
he once abandoned by those mad
notions of chivalry.’—‘God forgive
you, Signior,’ cried Don Antonio,
‘for the injury you have done the
world, in seeking to restore to his
senses the most agreeable madman
that ever lived! Do not you perceive,
Signior, that the benefit resulting
from the cure of Don Quixote will
never counterbalance the pleasure
produced by his extravagances? But,
I imagine, all the care and industry
of Signior Batchelor will hardly be
sufficient to effect the recovery of a
man who is so thoroughly mad, and,
if it was no breach of charity, I
would say, May Don Quixote never
be cured; for, in his recovery, we
not only lose his own diverting
flights, but also those of his squire
Sancho Panza; and any of these
conceits are such as might convert
// File: 0946.png
Melancholy herself into merriment
and laughter: nevertheless, I shall
put a seal upon my lips, and say nothing,
that I may see whether or not
I shall judge aright, in supposing that
the diligence of Signior Carrasco will
not answer his expectation.’ The
batchelor answered, that all things considered,
the business was already in a
fair way; and, he did not doubt, would
be blessed with a prosperous issue.
Don Antonio having made a tender of
his services, and taken his leave, Sampson
ordered his arms to be fastened
upon a mule; then mounting the horse
on which he engaged Don Quixote, he
quitted the city the same day, on his
return to his own country, in which
he arrived without having met with
any incident worthy of being recorded
in this authentick history. Don Antonio
made the viceroy acquainted with
all the particulars he had learned from
Carrasco, which afforded no great pleasure
to that nobleman, as the retirement
of Don Quixote would destroy all
that entertainment enjoyed by those who
had the opportunity of observing his
madness.

Six whole days did Don Quixote lie
a-bed, pensive, melancholy, mauled,
and meagre, revolving in his imagination,
and meditating incessantly on the
unfortunate incident of his overthrow;
notwithstanding the consolations of
Sancho, who, among other arguments
of comfort, exhorted his worship to
hold up his head, and dispel his sorrow,
if possible. ‘Your worship,’ said
he, ‘has reason to thank God, that,
though you are overthrown, your
ribs are still whole: you know that,
in those matters, we must take as
well as give; and where there are
hooks we do not always find bacon—A
fig for the physician, seeing we
do not want his help in the cure
of this distemper: let us return to
our habitation, and leave off travelling
about in quest of adventures,
through lands and countries unknown;
nay, if we rightly consider
the case, I am the greatest loser,
though your worship is the most
roughly handled; for though, when
I quitted the government, I likewise
quitted all thought of governing, I
did not give up the desire of being
a count, which will never be fulfilled
if your worship should renounce your
// File: 0947.png
.pn +1
design of being a king, and quit the
exercise of chivalry; in that case all
my hopes must vanish into smoke.’—‘Peace,
Sancho,’ said the disconsolate
knight; ‘the term of my penance and
retirement will not exceed a year, at
the end of which I will return to the
honourable duties of my profession,
and then we shall find kingdoms to
conquer and countships to bestow.’—‘The
Lord give ear, and my sin never
hear!’ cried Sancho: ‘and I have always
heard it said, that righteous hope
is better than unjust possession.’

Their conversation was interrupted
by Don Antonio; who, entering the
apartment with marks of infinite satisfaction,
exclaimed—‘Money for my
good news, Signior Don Quixote:
Don Gregorio, and the renegado
who undertook his deliverance, are
now in the road—in the road! they
are, by this time, in the viceroy’s
palace, and will be here in an instant.’
The knight was a little revived
by these tidings, and replied—‘In
truth, I was going to say, I should
have been glad to hear that the
scheme had not succeeded, so that I
should have been obliged to cross
over into Barbary, where I would,
by the strength of my arm, have
given liberty not only to Don Gregorio,
but also to all the Christian
captives in Algiers—but what am
I saying, miserable caitif? am not I
vanquished? am not I overthrown?
am not I excluded from the exercise
of arms for the space of a whole
year? wherefore, then, promise what I
cannot perform? wherefore praise my
own valour, when I am fitter for
handling a distaff than for wielding
a sword?’—‘No more of that, good
Signior,’ replied the squire; ‘Let the
hen live though she has the pip: To-day
for thee, and to-morrow for me:
as to those matters of encounters and
dry bastings, they are not to be
minded; for he that falls to-day
may rise to-morrow, if he does not
chuse to lie a-bed; I mean, if he does
not chuse to despair, without endeavouring
to recover fresh spirits for fresh
adventures. Get up, therefore, I beseech
your worship, and receive Don
Gregorio; for the people are in such an
uproar, that by this time he must be
in the house.’

This was really the case: Don Gregorio
// File: 0948.png
and the renegado having given the
viceroy an account of the voyage and
success of the undertaking, the young
gentleman, impatient to see his dear
Anna Felix, was come with his deliverer
to the house of Don Antonio;
and although Don Gregorio was in
woman’s apparel when they delivered
him from Algeirs, he had exchanged
it in the vessel with another captive by
whom he was accompanied; but, in
any dress whatsoever, his appearance
was such as commanded friendship,
service, and esteem; for he was exceedingly
beautiful, and seemingly not
above seventeen or eighteen years of
age. Ricote and his daughter went
forth to receive him; the father with
tears of joy, and Anna with the most
modest deportment: nor did this fair
couple embrace one another; for, where
genuine love prevails, such freedom of
behaviour is seldom indulged. The
beauty of Don Gregorio and his mistress
excited the admiration of all the
spectators; while silence spoke for the
lovers themselves, and their eyes performing
the office of the tongue, disclosed
the joy of their virtuous thoughts.
The renegado recounted the stratagem
and means he had used for the deliverance
of the youth; who likewise entertained
the company with a detail of
the dangers and distresses to which he
was exposed among the women with
whom he had been left; and this task
he performed not with diffused prolixity,
but in elegant and concise terms, which
plainly proved that his discretion far exceeded
his years. Finally, Ricote liberally
rewarded the rowers and the renagado,
who re-united and re-incorporated
himself with the church, and from
a rotten member, became fair and sound,
by dint of mortification and sincere repentance.

Two days after the arrival of Don
Gregorio, the viceroy consulted with
Don Antonio about the means of obtaining
permission for Anna Felix and
her father to reside in Spain, as they
were persuaded that no inconvenience
could arise from such indulgence to a
daughter who was so perfectly a Christian,
and a father so righteously disposed.
Don Antonio offered to negotiate
this affair at court, whither he
was pressingly called by his own occasions;
observing, that by dint of interest
and presents many difficulties are
// File: 0949.png
.pn +1
removed. Ricote, who was present at
this conversation, said, ‘There is nothing
to be hoped from favour or presents;
neither tears, entreaties, promises,
nor presents, will avail with
the great Don Bernandino de Velasco,
Count de Selaza, to whom his majesty
has entrusted the charge of our
expulsion; for, although he really
tempers justice with mercy, as he perceives
the whole body of our nation
contaminated and gangrened, he applies
the actual cautery instead of the
mollifying ointment; so that, by his
diligence, prudence, sagacity, and
terrifying threats, he has sustained
upon his able shoulders the weight of
that vast project which he has successfully
put in execution, without
suffering his Argus eyes, which are
always alert, to be blinded by all our
industry, stratagem, fraud, and solicitation.
He is resolved that none of
our people shall remain concealed;
lest, like an hidden root, they may
hereafter bud and bring forth fruit
which may be poisonous to Spain, already
cleansed and delivered from
those fears that arose from the prodigious
number of Moors: an heroick
resolution of the great Philip <abbr='the third'>III.</abbr>
who has, at the same time, displayed
the most consummate wisdom, in
committing the execution of the
scheme to the courage and ability of
Don Bernandino de Velasco.’—‘Nevertheless,’
said Don Antonio, ‘I
will, while at court, use all possible
means in your behalf, and leave the
determination to Heaven; Don Gregorio
shall go along with me, and
console his parents for the grief they
have suffered from his absence; Anna
Felix shall stay with my wife, or be
boarded in a monastery; and, I know,
my lord viceroy will be pleased to
lodge honest Ricote until we shall see
the issue of my negociation.’ The
viceroy agreed to every circumstance of
the proposal; but Don Gregorio, being
informed of the scheme, declared he
neither could nor would leave his charming
Anna Felix. At length, however,
he assented to the proposal, resolving to
go and visit his parents, with whom he
would concert measures for returning
to fetch away his mistress; so that
Anna Felix remained with Don Antonio’s
lady, and Ricote staid in the viceroy’s
palace.
// File: 0950.png

The hour of Antonio’s departure arrived;
and, in two days, was followed
by that of Don Quixote, whose fall
would not permit him to travel before
that time. The parting of the lovers
was attended with weeping, sighing,
sobbing, and swooning; and Ricote
offered to accommodate Don Gregorio
with a thousand crowns; but the young
gentleman would take but five, which
he borrowed of Don Antonio, promising
to repay them at court. Thus
they set out together for Madrid; and
soon after, as we have already observed,
Don Quixote and Sancho departed from
Barcelona; the knight unarmed, in a
travelling dress, and the squire trudging
a-foot, because Dapple carried the armour
of his master.
.sp 4
.h4 id=chap4-4-14
<abbr=chapter>CHAP.</abbr> <abbr=fourteen>XIV.</abbr> | TREATING OF THAT WHICH WILL BE SEEN BY HIM WHO READS,| AND KNOWN BY HIM WHO HEARS IT READ.
.sp 2
Don Quixote, in leaving Barcelona,
turned about to survey
the fatal spot in which he had fallen,
and thus exclaimed: ‘Here Troy once
stood! here, by misfortune, not by
cowardice, was I despoiled of all
the glory I had acquired! Here did I
feel the vicissitudes of fortune!
here all my atchievements were
eclipsed! and, finally, here fell my
fortune, never more to rise!’ Sancho
hearing this effusion, ‘Signior,’
said he, ‘it is the part of a valiant man
to bear with patience his sufferings
and adversity, as well as to enjoy his
prosperity with good humour. I judge
from my own feeling; for, if I was
merry when a governor, I am not
melancholy now that I am a poor
squire travelling a-foot; and I have
often heard, that she we call Fortune is
a drunken, fickle female, and so blind
withal, that she sees not what she
does, and knows not whom she is
abusing, or whom exalting.’—‘Sancho,’
answered the knight, ‘thou art
very philosophical, and hast spoke
with great discretion, which I know
not where thou hast learned; I can
tell thee, however, there is no such
thing as fortune in the whole world;
nor do those things which happen,
// File: 0951.png
.pn +1
whether good or evil, proceed from
chance, but solely from the particular
providence of Heaven; and hence
comes the usual saying, That every
man is the maker of his own fortune.
I at least have been the maker
of mine, though not with sufficient
prudence, and therefore my presumptuous
hopes miscarried. I ought to
have considered that Rozinante’s
weakness could not resist the weight
and magnitude of my adversary’s
horse; in a word, I tried my fortune,
did what I could, found myself vanquished
and overthrown, and though
I lost mine honour, I neither did
nor can forfeit my integrity, and
the merit of fulfilling my promise;
while I was a knight-errant valiant
and intrepid, my hand and my
performance gave credit to my exploits;
and now that I am no more
than a pedestrian squire, my word
shall be confirmed by the accomplishment
of my promise. Make haste,
then, friend Sancho, let us return
to our own country, and pass the
year of our probation, and during
that term of confinement acquire
fresh vigour and virtue, to resume
the never by me forgotten exercise of
arms.’—‘Signior,’ answered the
squire, ‘the pastime of trudging a-foot
is not quite so pleasant, as to move
and instigate me to travel a great pace;
let us leave these arms of yours,
hanging like a malefactor on some
tree; and then I, occupying the back
of Dapple, with my feet no longer
in the mire, we may travel just as
your worship shall desire or demand;
but, to think that I can make long
marches a-foot, is a vain supposition.’—‘Thou
art in the right, Sancho,’
replied Don Quixote, ‘let my arms
be suspended in form of a trophy;
and beneath, or around them, we
will engrave upon the tree, an inscription
like that which appeared
under the armour of Orlando—

.pm verse-start
‘“Let him alone these arms displace,
Who dares Orlando’s fury face.”’
.pm verse-end

‘A most excellent device!’ cried the
squire; ‘and if it were not that we
should feel the want of him in our
journey, it would not be amiss to hang
up Rozinante at the same time.’—‘Nevertheless,’
replied Don Quixote,
// File: 0952.png
‘neither Rozinante nor my arms will I
suffer to be hung up; for it shall
never be said of me, that a good service
met with a bad remuneration.’—‘Your
worship talks very much to the
purpose,’ said Sancho; ‘for according
to the opinion of wise men, The
pannel ought not to suffer for the
fault of the ass; and since your worship
alone was to blame for the bad
success of the last adventure, you
ought to punish yourself only, and
not vent your indignation upon your
bloody and already rusted arms, or
upon the meekness of Rozinante, or,
lastly, upon the tenderness of my feet,
in desiring them to walk at a pace
which they cannot maintain.’

In this conversation, and other such
discourse, they passed that whole day
and the next four, without meeting
with any incident that could interrupt
their journey: on the fifth, which was
a holiday, they entered a village where
they saw a number of people making
merry at the gate of an inn; and when
Don Quixote approached, a countryman
exclaimed, ‘One of these gentlemen
travellers, who are unacquainted
with the parties, shall decide our
wager.’ The knight assuring them
he would give his opinion freely and
honestly, as soon as he should be informed
of the matter, the peasant replied,
‘Worthy Signior, this here is
the case: One of our townsmen, who
is so fat and bulky that he weighs
little less than three hundred weight,
has challenged one of his neighbours,
a thin creature, not half so
heavy, to run with him one hundred
yards with equal weight. The match
was accordingly made; but when the
challenger was asked how the weight
of both should be made equal, he insisted
on the other’s carrying the difference
in bars of iron, by which
means, Limberham would be upon a
footing with Loggerhead.’—‘By no
means,’ cried Sancho, interposing
before his master could answer one
word, ‘to me, who have been lately a
governor and a judge, as all the world
knows, it belongs to resolve these
doubts, and give my opinion in every
dispute.’—‘Speak, then, in happy
time, friend Sancho,’ said the knight,
‘for my judgment is so confounded
and disturbed, that I am hardly fit
to throw crumbs to a cat.’ With
// File: 0953.png
.pn +1
this permission, Sancho addressing himself
to the peasants, who had assembled
around him, and waited his decision
with open mouths, ‘Brothers,’ said he,
‘the demand of Loggerhead will not
hold water, and is indeed without
the least shadow of justice; for if
what all the world says be true,
namely, that the challenged party has
the choice of the weapons, it is not
reasonable that the said Loggerhead
should pretend to chuse such arms
as will encumber his adversary,
and secure the victory to himself; it
is therefore my opinion, that Loggerhead,
the challenger, shall scrape,
shave, pare, polish, slice, and take
away, one hundred and fifty pounds
weight of his own individual flesh
from different parts of his body, according
to his own fancy and convenience;
so that, leaving the other
moiety, which will be sufficient to
counterbalance his antagonist, the
parties may run with equal advantage.’—‘’Fore
God!’ cried one of
the countrymen, hearing this wise decision,
‘the gentleman has spoken like
a saint, and given sentence like a
canon; but, sure I am, Loggerhead
will not part with an ounce, much
less one hundred and fifty pounds of
his flesh.’—‘The best part of the
joke,’ replied another peasant, ‘is,
that the match cannot be run; for
Limberham will not touch a bar of
iron, and Loggerhead will not pare
himself; let us therefore spend the
half of the money in treating these
gentlemen at the tavern with some of
the best wine; and, when it rains, let
the shower fall upon my cloak.’—‘Gentlemen,’
said Don Quixote, ‘I
thank you for your invitation, but I
really cannot tarry a moment; for
melancholy thoughts and unlucky
adventures oblige me to appear uncivil
on this occasion, and to travel
faster than the ordinary pace.’ So
saying, he clapped spurs to Rozinante,
and set on; leaving them astonished in
consequence of having seen and observed
the strange figure of the master,
and the sagacity of the servant, for
such they supposed Sancho to be. One
of them could not help saying, ‘If the
servant is so wise, what must the
master be? I’ll lay a wager if they
go to study at Salamanca, they will
// File: 0954.png
in a trice be created alcaldes of the
court; for it is nothing but children’s
play, studying and poring, and having
interest and good luck: and
when a man thinks least about the
matter, he finds himself with a white
rod in his hand, or a mitre upon his
head.’

That night our adventurer and his
squire passed in the middle of an open
field, under the spacious cope of heaven;
and next day, proceeding on their
journey, they saw coming towards them
a man on foot, with a javelin or half-pike
in his hand, and a wallet on his
back; circumstances from which they
judged he was a post or courier. As
he advanced he quickened his pace, and
running to Don Quixote, embraced
his right thigh, for he could reach no
higher, exclaiming, with marks of extraordinary
satisfaction, ‘O my good
Signior Don Quixote! how will the
heart of my lord duke be rejoiced
when he knows your worship is returning
to his castle, where he still
continues with my lady duchess!’—‘Friend,’
said the knight, ‘I do not
recollect your features, nor do I know
who you are, unless you will be
pleased to tell me.’—‘Signior Don
Quixote,’ replied the courier, ‘I am
my lord duke’s lacquey Tosilos, who
refused to fight with your worship
concerning the marriage of the duenna’s
daughter.’—‘God in heaven
protect me!’ cried the knight, ‘is it
possible that you are he whom my
enemies the enchanters transformed
into that same lacquey you mention,
to deprive me of the glory of that
combat?’—‘No more of that, worthy
Signior,’ replied the post; ‘there was
no inchantment in the case, nor any
sort of transformation; I was as
much the lacquey Tosilos when I entered
the lists, as when I left them.
I thought the girl handsome, and
therefore would have married her
without fighting, but the event did
not answer my expectation. Your
worship was no sooner gone from the
castle, than my lord duke ordered me
to be severely bastinadoed, for having
contradicted the instructions he had
given me before I entered the lists;
and this is the upshot of the whole
affair: the girl is by this time a nun,
Donna Rodriguez is gone back to
// File: 0955.png
.pn +1
Castile, and I am now bound for
Barcelona with a packet of letters from
his grace to the viceroy. If your worship
is inclined to take a small draught
of good wine, though not very cool, I
have here a calabash full of the best,
and some slices of Tronchon cheese,
which will serve as provocatives and
rouzers of thirst, if perchance it should
be asleep.’—‘Your invitation is accepted,’
cried Sancho; ‘truce with
your compliments and skink away,
honest Tosilos, maugre and in despite
of all the inchanters of the Indies.’—‘Verily,
Sancho,’ said Don Quixote,
‘thou art the most insatiate glutton in
the universe, and the most ignorant
animal upon earth: but, as thou art
not persuaded that this courier is inchanted,
and no other than a counterfeit
Tosilos, thou mayst tarry along
with him and fill thy belly, and I will
jog on at a slow pace until thou shalt
overtake me.’ The lacquey smiled at
his infatuation, unsheathed his calabash,
unwalletted his cheese, and producing a
small loaf, he and Sancho sat down upon
the grass, where in peace and harmony
they dispatched and discussed the contents
of the wallet with great perseverance
and good-will, and even licked
the packet, because it smelled of cheese.
During the repast, Tosilos said to the
squire, ‘Doubtless, friend Sancho, thy
master is bankrupt in common-sense.’—‘How,
bankrupt!’ answered Panza;
‘he owes no man a farthing, but pays
like a prince, especially where madness
is the current coin; I see the
matter plain enough, and tell him
my opinion freely: but to what
purpose? Now, indeed, he is going
home in despair, for having been
vanquished by the Knight of the
White Moon.’ Tosilos earnestly
begged he would recount that adventure;
but Sancho declined the talk,
observing, that it would be unmannerly
to let his master wait for him; though
at their next meeting he should have
more leisure. He accordingly started
up, and shaking the crumbs from his
garment and beard, bade adieu to Tosilos;
then driving Dapple before him,
soon came up with his master, whom
he found waiting for him under the
shade of a tree.
// File: 0956.png
.sp 4
.h4 id=chap4-4-15
<abbr=chapter>CHAP.</abbr> <abbr=fifteen>XV.</abbr> | OF THE RESOLUTION WHICH DON QUIXOTE TOOK TO BECOME A SHEPHERD,| AND LEAD A PASTORAL LIFE| UNTIL THE TERM OF HIS CONFINEMENT SHOULD BE ELAPSED—|WITH OTHER INCIDENTS TRULY ENTERTAINING.
.sp 2
If Don Quixote was perplexed with
cogitation before his overthrow,
much more was he fatigued by his own
thoughts after his late misfortune.
Under the shade of a tree, as we have
already observed, did he remain, and
there he was stung with reflections
that swarmed like flies about honey;
some dwelling upon the disinchantment
of Dulcinea, and others revolving plans
for the life he was to lead in his compulsive
retirement. When Sancho
joined him, and began to expatiate upon
the liberal disposition of Tosilos, ‘Is
it possible, O Sancho,’ said the
knight, ‘that thou still believest that
man to be the individual lacquey?
One would think thou hadst forgot
that thy own eyes have seen Dulcinea
converted and transformed into a
country wench, and the Knight of the
Mirrours into the Bachelor Carrasco,
by the wicked arts of those inchanters
who persecute my virtue. But, tell
me now didst thou ask Tosilos how
Providence hath disposed of Altisidora?
Hath she bewailed my absence, or
already consigned to oblivion those
amorous thoughts by which she was
tormented during my residence at the
castle?’—‘My thoughts,’ answered
Sancho, ‘were not such as allowed me
to ask these childish questions. Body
O me! Signior, is your worship at
present in a condition to enquire about
other people’s thoughts, especially those
you call amorous?’—‘Sancho,’ said
the knight, ‘you must consider there
is a wide difference between the suggestions
of love, and those of gratitude:
a gentleman may very well
be insensible to love; but, strictly
speaking, he can never be ungrateful.
Altisidora, in all appearance,
loved me to distraction: she, as thou
very well knowest, made me a present
of three night-caps; she bewailed
// File: 0957.png
.pn +1
my departure, loaded me with curses
and reproach, and, in spite of maiden
shame, complained of me in publick;
undoubted proofs of my being
the object of her adoration; for the
indignation of lovers usually vents itself
in maledictions. I had no hopes
to give, nor treasures to offer; all my
affections are yielded to Dulcinea; and
the treasures of knights-errant are like
those of the fairies, altogether phantom
and illusion: all, therefore, that I can
return, is a kind remembrance, without
prejudice, however, to the memory
of Dulcinea, who is greatly aggrieved
by thy remissness in delaying to
scourge and chastise that flesh which
I hope will be a prey to the wolves;
seeing thou seemed more inclined to
reserve it for the worms, than to use
it in behalf of that poor distressed
lady.’—‘Signior,’ answered the
squire, ‘if the truth must be told, I
cannot persuade myself that the
whipping of my posteriors can have
any effect in disenchanting those
who are inchanted, no more than if
we should anoint the shins to cure the
head-ache; at least, I will venture to
swear that in all the histories your
worship has read concerning knight-errantry,
you have never found that
any person was disinchanted by such a
whipping: but be that as it may, I
will lay it on when I have time, convenience,
and inclination, to make free
with my own flesh.’—‘God grant
thou mayst,’ said Don Quixote; ‘and
Heaven give thee grace to understand
and be sensible of the obligation thou
liest under, to assist my mistress; who,
as thou art mine, is thine also.’

With such conversation they amused
themselves in travelling, until they arrived
at the very spot where they had
been overturned by the bulls; when
Don Quixote recognizing the ground,
‘This is the meadow,’ said he, ‘where
we met the gay shepherdesses and
gallant swains, who sought to renew
and re-act the pastoral Arcadia, a
project equally original and ingenious;
in imitation of which, shouldst
thou approve of the scheme, we will
assume the garb and employment of
shepherds during the term of our retirement.
I will purchase some sheep,
together with all the necessary implements
// File: 0958.png
 of a pastoral life, and taking
the name of Quixotiz, while thou
shalt bear that of the swain Pancino;
we will stroll about through mountains,
woods, and meadows, singing
here, lamenting there, drinking liquid
chrystal from the gelid springs, the
limpid rills, and mighty rivers. The
lofty oaks will shed upon us abundance
of their delightful fruit; the trunks of
hardest cork trees will yield us seats;
the willows will afford us shade; the
rose perfume; the extended meadow,
carpets of a thousand dyes; the pure
serenity of air will give us breath; the
moon and stars will grant us light in
spite of darkness; our singing will inspire
delight; our lamentations, mirth;
Apollo, verses; and Love himself,
conceits to render us immortal and renowned,
not only in the present age,
but also to the latest posterity.’—‘Odds
tens!’ cried Sancho, ‘such a
life will square, aye, and be the very
corner-stone of my wishes: the
Batchelor Sampson Carrasco and
Master Nicholas the barber, as soon
as they have a glimpse of it, will wish
to join us in the scheme, and turn shepherds
for our company; and God grant
that the curate himself may not take it
in his head to enter the fold; for he is
a merry companion, and a great friend
to good fellowship.’—‘Thou hast a
very good notion,’ said the knight;
‘and if the batchelor shall be inclined to
join our pastoral association, as he
doubtless will, he may take the appellation
of the shepherd Sansonino,
or of the swain Carrascon: Nicholas
the barber may be called Niculoso,
as old Boscan called himself Nemoroso:
and as for the curate, I
know not what title we can confer
upon him, except some derivative from
his own name, such as the shepherd
Curiambro. For the nymphs of
whom we must be enamoured, there
is plenty of names to chuse; but
seeing that of my mistress will suit
as well with a shepherdess as with a
princess, I need not give myself the
trouble to invent any other that
might be more proper; as for thee,
Sancho, thou mayest give thy mistress
what appellation will please thy
own fancy.’—‘I have no intention,’
replied the squire, ‘to give her any
// File: 0959.png
.pn +1
other than that of Teresona, which
will fit her fatness to an hair, as well
as be agreeable to her own name Teresa;
especially as in celebrating her
in verse, I shall disclose my chaste
desires, without going in search of
fine bread in a neighbour’s house:
the curate would be in the wrong to
chuse a shepherdess, because he ought
to set a good example to his flock;
and as for the batchelor, if he has
any such inclination, Let him please
his own soul, without lett or controul.’

‘Good Heaven! friend Sancho,’ said
Don Quixote, ‘what a life shall we
lead! how will our ears be regaled
with pipes and bagpipes of Zamora,
tambourines, timbrels, and rebecks!
and if these different kinds of musick
be reinforced with the sound of the
albogues, we shall have a full concert
of all the pastoral instruments.’—‘And
pray what are the albogues?’
said Sancho, ‘I never saw nor heard
them named before, in the whole course
of my life.’—‘Albogues,’ answered
the knight, ‘are plates of brass resembling
candlesticks, the hollow parts of
which being clashed together produce
a sound, if not ravishing or harmonious,
at least not disagreeable nor unsuited
to the rusticity of the bagpipe
and tabor. The name of <i>albogues</i> is
Moorish, as are all the words in our
language beginning with <abbr rend=spell><i>al</i></abbr>; for example,
<i>almoaca</i>, <i>almorcar</i>, <i>alhombra</i>,
<i>alguazil</i>, <i>alucima</i>, <i>almacen</i>, <i>alcanzia</i>,
and a few others; and we have only
three Moorish words ending in <abbr rend=spell><i>i</i></abbr>,
namely, <i>borcegui</i>, <i>zaquicami</i>, and
<i>maravedi</i>; as for <i>alheli</i> and <i>alsaqui</i>,
they are known to be Arabick, as well
from their beginning with <abbr rend=spell><i>al</i></abbr>, as for
their ending in <abbr rend=spell><i>i</i></abbr>: these observations
I have made, by the bye, in consequence
of having mentioned <i>albogues</i>,
which recalled them to my remembrance.
But, to return to our scheme,
nothing will conduce so much to the
perfection of it, as my having a talent
for versification, as thou very well
knowest, and the batchelor’s being
an excellent poet. Of the curate I
shall say nothing; though I would
lay a good wager that his collars and
points are truly poetical: and that
Master Nicholas is in the same fashion
// File: 0960.png
I do not at all doubt; for people
of his profession are famous for
making ballads and playing on the
guittar. For my own part, I will
complain of absence; thou wilt extol
the constancy of thy own love;
the swain Carrascon will lament the
disdain of his mistress; the curate
Curiambro chuse his own subject; and
every thing proceed in such a manner
as to fulfil the warmest wishes.’

To this effusion Sancho replied, ‘Verily,
Signior, I am such an unlucky
wretch, that I am afraid the time
will never come when I shall see myself
in that blessed occupation. O
what delicate wooden spoons shall I
make when I am a shepherd! O what
crumbs and cream shall I devour!
O what garlands and pastoral nick-nacks
shall I contrive! and though
these may not, perhaps, add much to
my reputation for wisdom, they will
not fail to convince the world of my
ingenuity. My daughter Sanchica
shall bring our victuals to the fold;
but ’ware mischief! the wench is
buxom, and there are some shepherds
more knavish than simple; I would
not have her come out for wool and go
home shorn. Those same amours, and
unruly desires, are gratified in the open
field as well as in the city chamber, in
a shepherd’s cot as well as in a royal
palace. The sin will cease when the
temptation is removed; The heart will
not grieve for what the eye does not
perceive; and, What prayers ne’er can
gain, a leap from a hedge will obtain.’
‘No more of your proverbs, Sancho,’
said Don Quixote; ‘any one of those
thou hast repeated is sufficient to explain
thy meaning; and I have often
exhorted thee to be less prodigal
of old saws, and keep them more
under command; but, I see, it is
like preaching to the desart: and My
mother whips me, and I scourge the
top.’—‘Under correction,’ answered
the squire, ‘your worship, methinks,
is like the frying-pan which called
to the pot, “Avaunt black-a-moor,
avaunt!” Even in the very act of rebuking
me for uttering proverbs,
your worship strings them together
in pairs.’—‘But, then, you must
consider, Sancho,’ said Don Quixote,
‘that when I use them, they are
// File: 0961.png
.pn +1
seasonably brought in, and fit the
purpose as the ring fits the finger:
whereas, by thee, they are not
brought in, but lugged in, as it
were, by the head and shoulders. If
my memory fails me not, I have formerly
told thee, that proverbs are short
sentences extracted from the experience
and speculation of ancient sages;
and a proverb unseasonably introduced,
is rather an absurdity than a
judicious apothegm. But let us quit
the subject, and, as the day is already
spent, retire from the highway to
some place where we may pass the
night; for God alone knows what
will be to-morrow.’

They accordingly retired to a grove,
where they made a late and very indifferent
supper, to the no small mortification
of Sancho, who ruefully reflected
upon the meagre commons of chivalry,
so uncomfortably discussed among
woods and mountains; though his imagination
was also regaled with the remembrance
of that abundance which
he had enjoyed at the castle, as well as
at the wedding of the rich Camacho,
and in the houses of Don Diego de
Miranda, and Don Antonio de Moreno:
but, finally, considering it could
not be always day, or always night, he
resolved, for the present, to sleep, while
his master indulged his contemplations
awake.
.sp 4
.h4 id=chap4-4-16
<abbr=chapter>CHAP.</abbr> <abbr=sixteen>XVI.</abbr> | OF THE BRISTLY ADVENTURE IN WHICH DON QUIXOTE WAS INVOLVED.
.sp 2
The night was a little dark; for,
although the moon was in the
heavens, she was invisible to the people
of our hemisphere, Madam Diana having
taken a trip to the Antipodes, and
left our mountains obumbrated and
our vallies obscured.

Don Quixote, in compliance with nature,
enjoyed his first sleep without indulging
himself in a second, quite
contrary to the practice of Sancho, who
never desired a second, because the first
always lasted from night till morning;
a sure sign of little care, and an excellent
constitution. As for the knight,
his cares interfered so much with his
repose, that he wakened his squire, to
// File: 0962.png
whom he said, ‘I am amazed, Sancho,
at the indifference of thy disposition,
and imagine thou art made of marble
or obdurate brass, unsusceptible of
sentiment or emotion. I watch
whilst thou art snoring; I weep
whilst thou art singing; I faint with
fasting, whilst thou art overloaded
and out of breath with eating! It is
the province of a good servant to
sympathize with his master’s pain,
and to share his anguish, even for the
sake of decorum. Observe the serenity
of the sky and the solitude of
the place, which invite us to make an
intermission in our repose. I conjure
thee, by thy life, to rise and go aside
to some proper place, where, with
good will and grateful inclination,
thou mayest conveniently inflict upon
thyself three or four hundred stripes,
on account of Dulcinea’s inchantment;
and this favour I humbly request,
without any intention to try
again the strength of thine arms,
which I know to be heavy and robust:
after the performance of that
task, we will pass the remainder of
the night in harmony; I, in singing
the torments of absence, and thou,
in chanting the constancy of thy passion;
and thus will we begin the pastoral
life which we are to lead at our
own village.’—‘Signior,’ answered the
squire, ‘I am no monk, to rise and discipline
my flesh in the middle of the
night; nor do I think the extremity
of pain is such a provocative to musick;
I therefore desire your worship
will let me take out my nap,
without pressing me farther to scourge
myself, lest I should grow desperate,
and solemnly swear never to whip the
nap of my garment, much less an
hair of my skin.’—‘Soul of a savage!
flinty-hearted squire!’ cried
Don Quixote: ‘O ill-bestowed bread!
O ill-requited benefits, intended or
conferred! By my means wast thou
created governor; and through me
alone dost thou now enjoy the near
prospect of being a count, or something
else of equal title; nor will the
accomplishment of thy wishes be retarded
longer than the term of one
fleeting year; for, <lang=la><i>Post tenebras
spero lucem</i></lang>.’—‘Your conclusion,’
said Sancho, ‘I do not understand;
but well I know, that while I sleep,
I am troubled neither with fear nor
// File: 0963.png
.pn +1
hope, nor toil nor glory; and praise
be to him who invented sleep, which
is the mantle that shrouds all human
thoughts; the food that dispels hunger;
the drink that quenches thirst;
the fire that warms the cold; the
cool breeze that moderates heat; in a
word, the general coin that purchases
every commodity; the weight and
balance that makes the shepherd even
with his sovereign, and the simple
with the sage: there is only one bad
circumstance, as I have heard, in
sleep, it resembles death; inasmuch
as between a dead corpse and a sleeping
man there is no apparent difference.’—‘Truly,
Sancho,’ said the
knight, ‘I never heard thee talk so
elegantly before, whence I perceive
the truth of the proverb which thou
hast often repeated, Not he with
whom you was bred, but he by
whom you are fed.’—‘Odds my life!
Sir master of mine,’ cried Sancho,
‘I am not the only person who strings
proverbs: they fall from your worship’s
mouth in couples, faster than
from mine; indeed, there is some difference;
for your worship’s proverbs
come at a proper time, whereas mine
are always out of season; but, nevertheless,
they are all proverbs.’

Thus far the conversation had proceeded,
when they heard a dull confused
noise, intermingled with very
harsh sounds, that seemed to extend
through the whole valley. The knight
immediately started up and unsheathed
his sword; while the squire squatted
down under Dapple, fencing himself
on each side with his master’s armour
and the pannel of the ass, being as
much afraid as Don Quixote was astonished;
for the noise increased every
moment, as the cause of it approached
the two tremblers, or rather one trembler,
for the other’s valour and courage
are well known. The case, in
fact, was this: some dealers were
driving about six hundred hogs to a
fair; and, as they travelled in the
night, the noise of their feet, together
with their grunting and blowing, made
such a din, as almost deafened Don
Quixote and Sancho, who could not
conceive the meaning of such an uproar.
Meanwhile, the numerous
grunting herd advanced; and, without
shewing the least respect to the authority
of Don Quixote or Sancho, ran
// File: 0964.png
over them in a twinkling, demolished
the barricadoes of the squire, and
trampled down not only the master, but
also his steed Rozinante; the thronging,
the grunting, and the hurry of
those unclean animals, throwing every
thing in confusion, and strewing the
master and the man, the horse and the
ass, the pannel and the armour, along
the ground. Sancho, getting up as
well as he could, demanded his master’s
sword, in order to sacrifice half a
dozen of those discourteous gentlemen
porkers; for by this time he had discovered
what they were; but the
knight refused to grant his request,
saying, ‘Let them pass, friend Sancho;
this affront is the punishment of
my crime; and the just chastisement
of Heaven inflicted upon a vanquished
knight, is, that he shall be devoured
by dogs, stung by wasps, and
trampled upon by swine.’—‘At that
rate, then,’ replied the squire, ‘the
chastisement which Heaven inflicts
upon squires of vanquished knight-errants,
is, that they shall be bitten
by fleas, devoured by lice, and assaulted
by famine: if we squires
were sons of the knights we serve, or
even their near relations, it would
be no great wonder if the punishment
of our faults should overtake
us to the fourth generation: but
what affinity is there between the
Panzas and the Quixotes? At present
let us put things to rights again,
so that we may sleep out the remainder
of the night, and we shall be in
better plight when God sends us a
new day.’—‘Enjoy thy repose,’ said
Don Quixote; ‘thou wast born to sleep
and I to watch; and during the little
of night that remains, I will give my
thoughts the rein, and cool the furnace
of my reflections with a short
madrigal, which I have this evening,
unknown to thee, composed in my
own mind.’—‘In my opinion,’ answered
the squire, ‘your thoughts
could not be very troublesome and
unruly, if they gave you leisure to
make couplets; but, however, your
worship may couple as many as you
please, and I will sleep as much as I
can.’ So saying, he chose his
ground, on which he huddled himself
up, and enjoyed a most profound sleep,
which received no interruption from
the remembrance of debt, surety, or
// File: 0965.png
.pn +1
any other grievance. As for Don
Quixote, he leaned against a beech or
cork-tree; for Cid Hamet Benengeli
has not distinguished the genus; and,
to the musick of his own sighs, sung the
following stanzas.
.sp 2
.pm verse-start
I.

‘O cruel love! when I endure
  The dreadful vengeance of thy bow,
I fly to death, the only cure
  For such immensity of woe.


II.

‘But, when I touch the peaceful goal,
  That port secure from storms of strife,
The fight revives my drooping soul,
  I cannot enter for my life!


III.

‘Thus life exhausts my vital flame,
  But death still keeps the spark alive;
O wond’rous fate! unknown to fame!
  That life should kill, and death revive.’
.pm verse-end

Every verse he accompanied with a
multitude of sighs and a torrent of tears,
as if his heart had been transpierced
with grief for his overthrow and the
absence of Dulcinea. In this situation
he was found by the day, when Phœbus
darting his rays into Sancho’s eyes,
the squire awoke, yawned, turned,
stretched his lazy limbs, and surveying
the havock which the swine had made in
his store, he bitterly cursed the whole
herd; aye, and even went farther with
his maledictions.

Then the two proceeded in their
journey; and, towards the close of the
afternoon, descried about ten men on
horseback, and half that number on
foot, advancing towards them; a sight
which made the knight’s heart throb
with surprize, and the squire’s with terror;
for this company was armed with
lance and target, and approached in a
very hostile manner. Don Quixote
turning to his squire, ‘Sancho,’ said he,
‘if I could now exercise my arms,
and my hands were not tied by a solemn
promise, I would look upon
that machine, which comes upon us,
with contempt, as so much cake and
gingerbread; but, perhaps, it may
be something else than we apprehend.’
He had scarce pronounced these words,
when the horsemen coming up, and
couching their lances, surrounded him
in a trice; then clapping the points of
// File: 0966.png
their weapons to his back and breast,
seemed to threaten immediate death and
destruction; while one of those on foot,
laying his finger on his mouth, as a signal
for him to be silent, seized Rozinante’s
bridle, and led him out of the
highway. The rest of the footpads
drove Sancho and Dapple before them,
and, while a wonderful silence prevailed,
followed the knight, who attempted
twice or thrice to ask whither they
conducted him, and what they wanted;
but scarce had he began to move his
lips when they threatened to shut them
for ever with the points of their spears.
The same menaces were practiced upon
Sancho, who no sooner expressed a desire
to be talking, than he was pricked
in the posteriors with a goad by one of
his attendants; and Dapple met with
the same fate, as if he too had made a
motion to speak, like his master.

As night approached they quickened
their pace, and the terrors of the captives
increased in proportion as the
darkness deepened, especially as their
guard pronounced from time to time,
‘Dispatch, ye Troglodytes! silence,
ye Barbarians! now ye shall suffer,
ye Antropophagi! not a word of complaint,
ye Scythians! open not your
eyes, ye murderous Polyphemuses!
ye carnivorous lions and beasts of
prey.’ With these and other such
appellations, they tormented the ears
of the miserable master and the forlorn
Sancho, who said within himself,
‘Draggle doits! Barber Anns! Henry
puff a Jay! City hens! and Paulfamouses!
these are fine names with a
vengeance! I’m afraid this is a bad
wind for winnowing our corn! the
mischief comes upon us altogether,
like drubbing to a dog; and I wish this
misventrous adventure, that threatens
so dismally, may end in nothing
worse!’ As for Don Quixote, he was
utterly astonished and confounded; nor
could he, with all his reflection, comprehend
the meaning of his own captivity,
and those reproachful terms,
from which he could only conclude,
that no good but a great deal of mischief
was to be expected. In this state
of anxious suspense he continued till
about an hour after it was dark, when
they arrived at a castle; which the
knight immediately recognizing to be
the duke’s habitation, where he had so
lately resided, ‘Good Heaven!’ cried
// File: 0967.png
.pn +1
he, ‘where will this adventure end!
surely this is the dwelling place of
politeness and hospitality; but to
those who are vanquished, good is converted
into bad, and bad to worse.’
This ejaculation he uttered as they entered
the court of the castle, which
was decorated in a strange manner that
increased their admiration, and redoubled
their fear, as will be seen in the
following chapter.
.sp 4
.h4 id=chap4-4-17
<abbr=chapter>CHAP.</abbr> <abbr=seventeen>XVII.</abbr> | OF THE MOST SINGULAR AND STRANGEST ADVENTURE THAT HAPPENED TO DON QUIXOTE IN THE WHOLE COURSE OF THIS SUBLIME HISTORY.
.sp 2
The horsemen alighting, with the
assistance of those who were on
foot, snatched up the bodies of Don
Quixote and Sancho, and carried them
hastily into the court of the castle, round
which above a hundred flaming torches
were placed, and the corridores of the
court were illuminated by five hundred
tapers, shining with such a blaze, that,
in spite of the night, which was dark,
there was no want of the day. In the
middle of the court appeared a monument
raised about two yards from the
ground, and covered with a spacious
canopy of black velvet; and, upon the
steps that led up to it, above a hundred
tapers of virgin wax stood burning
in silver candlesticks. On the tomb
lay the body of a young damsel, whose
beauty was such as rendered death itself
beautiful; her head was raised on
a cushion of brocade, and crowned with
a garland of various odoriferous flowers;
and in her hands, that were crossed upon
her breast, appeared a bough of green
victorious palm. On one side of the
court was erected a theatre, on which
were seated two personages, whom their
crowns and sceptres declared to be either
real or fictitious kings; and hard by
the theatre, which was furnished with
steps, two other chairs, upon which
Don Quixote and Sancho were seated
by their captors, who still maintained
their former silence, the observance of
which they likewise recommended, by
signs, to our hero and his squire;
// File: 0968.png
though these injunctions were altogether
superfluous; for their astonishment
at what they saw, had effectually tied
their tongues; and, indeed, how could
they help being astonished at sight of
this apparatus! considering, too, that
by this time the knight had discovered
the dead body on the tomb to be no
other than the beauteous Altisidora?
At this juncture, two noble personages,
with a numerous retinue, ascended the
theatre, and seated themselves in magnificent
chairs, hard by the figures that
were crowned; then Don Quixote and
Sancho, perceiving the new comers to
be their former entertainers, the duke
and duchess, rose up and bowed with
great veneration, and their graces, rising
also, returned the compliment with
a slight inclination of the head. And
now an officer crossing the court, and
approaching Sancho, threw over him a
robe of black buckram, painted all over
with flames of fire; at the same time
pulling off his cap, he put upon his
head one of those pasteboard mitres
which are worn by the penitents of the
holy office; and in a whisper advised
him to keep his lips fast sewed together,
unless he had a mind to be gagged or
put to death without mercy. Sancho
surveyed himself from head to foot,
and saw his robe in flames; but as
they did not burn, he valued them not
a farthing; then he took off his mitre,
and perceiving it figured with pictures
of fiends, set it on his head again, saying
to himself, ‘As the flames do not
burn, and the fiends do not fly away
with me, I am very well satisfied.’
Don Quixote likewise surveyed the
squire; and, although his reflection was
still disturbed with fear and suspense,
could not help smiling at the ludicrous
figure.

Sancho being thus equipped, a low
yet agreeable sound of flutes seemed to
issue from beneath the tomb, and being
uninterrupted by any human voice, for
here silence itself kept silence, produced
a very soft and pleasing melody. Then
all of a sudden, a beautiful youth, in a
Roman habit, appeared close by the
cushion on which the seemingly dead
body reposed, and to the sound of the
harp on which he himself played, with
a sweet harmonious voice he sung the
two following stanzas—
// File: 0969.png
.pn +1
.sp 2
.pm verse-start

I.

‘Till fair Altisidora, slain
  By Quixote’s cruelty, return;
And all th’ inchanted female train
  Her hapless fate in sack-cloth mourn;
Until duennas clad in baize
  Appear in presence of her grace,
I’ll celebrate the nymph in lays
  That would not shame the bard of Thrace.


II.

‘Nor shall thy beauty fade unsung,
  When life forsakes my gelid veins;
My clay-cold lips and frozen tongue,
  In death shall raise immortal strains.
My soul when freed from cumb’rous clay,
  Her flight o’er Stygian waves shall take;
And while on Lethe’s banks I stray,
  My song shall charm th’ oblivious lake.’
.pm verse-end

Here he was interrupted by one of
the two pretended kings; who said—‘Enough,
divine songster! it would
be an infinite task to describe the
death and beauties of the peerless
Altisidora, not dead as the ignorant
world imagines, but alive in the voice
of fame, and in the penance which
Sancho Panza here present must undergo,
in order to restore her to the
light she has lost; and therefore, O
Rhadamanthus! who sittest with me
in judgment, within the gloomy caverns
of Lethe, as thou art intimately
acquainted with all the determinations
of the inscrutable fates, touching
the revival of this damsel, relate
and declare them without loss of
time, that we may no longer delay
that happiness which we expect from
her recovery.’

Scarce had Minos pronounced these
words, when his fellow-judge and companion
Rhadamanthus stood up, saying—‘So
ho! ye ministers of this house,
high and low, great and small, come
hither one by one, and mark the
face, the arms, and loins of Sancho,
with two dozen of tweaks, one dozen
of pinches, and half a dozen pricks
with a pin; for upon this execution
depends the revival of Altisidora.’
Sancho Panza hearing this sentence,
broke silence, and exclaimed aloud—‘I
vow to God, I will sooner turn Turk,
than allow my face to be marked or
my flesh to be handled in any such
manner. Body o’ me! what has the
pinching of my face to do with the
resurrection of that damsel. The old
woman has got a liquorish tooth,
// File: 0970.png
forsooth, and she is still licking her
fingers. Dulcinea is inchanted, and
I must be scourged for the disinchantment
of her ladyship: Altisidora
is dead by the hand of God, and in
order to bring her to life, I must
suffer two dozen of tweaks, my body
must be pinked into a sieve with large
pins, and my arms pinched into all
the colours of the rainbow! Such jokes
may pass upon a brother-in-law; but
I am an old dog, and will not be
coaxed with a crust.’—‘Then thou
shalt die,’ cried Rhadamanthus with
an audible voice. ‘Tame that savage
heart of thine, thou tyger; humble
thyself, thou proud Nimrod! suffer
and be silent. We ask not impossibilities,
and therefore thou must
not pretend to examine the difficulties
of this affair: tweaked thou shalt be;
pinked shalt thou find thyself, and
pinched until thy groans declare thine
anguish.—So ho! I say, ye ministers!
execute my command, or by the faith
of an honest man, you shall see for
what you were born!’

In consequence of this summons, six
duennas came walking through the
court yard in procession, one by one,
the four first with spectacles, and each
with her right-arm raised, about four
inches of the wrist being bared according
to the present fashion, that the hand
may seem the larger. Sancho no sooner
beheld these matrons, than he began to
bellow like a bull; exclaiming—‘I
might have allowed myself to be
handled by all the world besides, but
that duennas should touch me I will
by no means consent! they may cat-claw
my face, as my master was served
in this very castle; they may run
me through the guts with daggers of
steel; they may tear the flesh off my
arms with red-hot pincers; all these
tortures will I bear patiently, for the
service of these noble persons: but I
say again, the devil shall fly away
with me before I suffer a duenna to
lay a finger on my carcase!’ Then
Don Quixote addressing himself to Sancho,
broke silence in these terms—‘Exert
thy patience, my son, for the satisfaction
of these noble personages,
and give thanks to Heaven, which hath
indued thy person with such virtue,
that by the martyrdom of thy flesh,
the inchanted are delivered from inchantment,
and even the dead revived.’
// File: 0971.png
.pn +1

By this time the duennas had surrounded
Sancho; who, being softened
and persuaded, seated himself in a proper
posture, and held out his face and
beard to the first, who treated him with
a well-planted twitch, and then dropped
a profound curtsey. ‘Less courtesy,
less anointing, good Madam Duenna,’
cried the squire; ‘for, by the Lord,
your fingers smack of vinegar!’ In
a word, he was tweaked by all the
duennas, and pinched by a great number
of other persons belonging to the
family: but what he could by no means
be brought to endure, was the puncture
with pins, which they no sooner began
to perform, than starting up in a rage,
and seizing a lighted torch that stood
near him, he assaulted the duennas, and
all the rest of his executioners, crying—‘Avaunt,
ye ministers of hell! I am not
made of brass, to be insensible to such
torture.’ At this instant, Altisidora,
who must have been tired with lying
so long upon her back, turned herself on
one side; and this motion was no sooner
perceived by the spectators, than all of
them exclaimed, as if with one voice,
‘Altisidora moves! Altisidora lives!’
Then Rhadamanthus desired Sancho to
lay aside his indignation, seeing the intended
aim was already accomplished.

Don Quixote seeing Altisidora stirring,
fell upon his knees before Sancho,
saying—‘Now is the time, dear son of
my bowels, and no longer my squire!
now is the time to inflict upon thyself
some of those lashes thou art
obliged to undergo for the disinchantment
of Dulcinea. This, I say, is
the time, when thy virtue is seasoned,
and of efficacy sufficient to perform
the cure which we expect from thy
compliance.’ To this apostrophe the
squire replied—‘This is reel upon reel,
and not honey upon pancakes; scourging,
to be sure, is a very agreeable
dessert to a dish of twitches, pinches,
and pin-prickings. There is no more
to be done, but to take and tie a great
stone about my neck, and toss me
into a well; it will be much better
for me to die at once, than to be always
the wedding-heifer, to remedy
the misfortunes of other people: either
let me live in peace! or, before God,
all shall out, sell or not sell.’

By this time Altisidora sat upright
on the tomb, and at that instant the
// File: 0972.png
waits beginning to play, were accompanied
by the musick of flutes, and the
voices of all the spectators, who acclaimed—‘Live
Altisidora! Altisidora
live!’ The duke and duchess, together
with Minos and Rhadamanthus,
rising from their seats, and being joined
by Don Quixote and Sancho, went to
receive this young lady, and help her
in descending from the tomb; while,
they were thus employed, she assumed
a languid and fainting air, and inclining
her head towards the duke and duchess
and the two kings, darted a sidelong
glance to Don Quixote, saying—‘God
forgive thee, unrelenting knight!
by thy cruelty I have been doomed
to remain, as I believe, above a thousand
years in the other world! but as
for thee, thou most compassionate
squire that this wide earth contains!
I thank thee kindly for that life I
now enjoy. From this day, friend
Sancho, thou mayest command six of
my shifts to be converted into shirts
for thy own body; and if they are
not quite whole, at least they are white
and clean.’ Sancho thanked her for the
present, with mitre in hand and knee on
ground; and when the duke ordered his
servants to take away those badges of disgrace,
and restore his own cap and coat,
the squire entreated his grace to let him
keep the mitre and the flaming robe, and
carry them to his own country, as a
mark and memorial of this incredible,
adventure. To this supplication the
duchess replied, that he might keep these
testimonials, for he knew how much she
was his friend.

The duke ordered the court to be
cleared, the company to retire to their
several chambers, and the knight and
squire to be conduced to the apartments
which they had formerly occupied.
.sp 4
.h4 id=chap4-4-18
<abbr=chapter>CHAP.</abbr> <abbr=eighteen>XVIII.</abbr> | WHICH FOLLOWS THE PRECEDING, AND TREATS OF MATTERS THAT MUST BE DISCLOSED, IN ORDER TO MAKE THE HISTORY THE MORE INTELLIGIBLE AND DISTINCT.
.sp 2
Sancho slept that night in a
truckle-bed, in the apartment of
Don Quixote; a circumstance which he
// File: 0973.png
.pn +1
would have waved, if possible, because
he well knew his master would keep
him awake with questions and replies,
and he was not at all in a talkative humour;
for the pain of his past sufferings
kept them still present in his fancy,
depriving his tongue of its usual freedom;
and he would have much rather
slept alone in a hut, than in the richest
chamber thus accompanied. His apprehension
was so true, and his suspicions
so just, that scarce had his master
committed his body to the bed, when
he accosted the squire in these words:
‘What is thy opinion, Sancho, of this
night’s adventure? Great and powerful
is the force of amorous disdain,
as thou hast seen with thy own eyes.
Altisidora dead—not by shaft, or
sword, or warlike instrument, or mortal
poison, but solely by the reflection
of that rigour and disdain with which
I have always treated her advances.’—‘She
might have died in good time,
when and how she thought proper,’
cried Sancho, ‘and left me in quiet at
my own house, seeing I never treated
her either with love or disdain in the
whole course of my life; for my own
part, I neither know, nor can I conceive,
as I have formerly observed,
what the health or life of such a
whimsical girl as Altisidora has to do
with the martyrdom of Sancho Panza:
but now at length I can clearly and
distinctly perceive, that this world
actually abounds with inchanters and
inchantments, from which I pray God
may deliver me, since I cannot deliver
myself! in the mean time, I humbly
beseech your worship to let me sleep,
without farther question, if you have
not a mind to see me throw myself
out of the window.’—‘Sleep, then,
friend Sancho,’ said the knight, ‘if
thou canst enjoy the benefit of slumber
after the pinching, twitching, and
pricking thou hast undergone.’—‘No
pain is comparable to that of the
twitching,’ replied the squire; ‘for
no other reason, but because it was
inflicted by duennas, whom God in
heaven confound! I again intreat
your worship to leave me to my repose,
for deep is a remedy for those
miseries which we feel when awake.’—‘Be
it so,’ said the knight, ‘and the
Lord make thy sleep refreshing!’

While these two are left to their repose,
Cid Hamet, author of this sublime
// File: 0974.png
history, takes occasion to explain the
motives that induced the duke and duchess
to raise the edifice of the adventure
above related. He says, the batchelor
Sampson Carrasco still remembering
how, as Knight of the Mirrours,
he had been vanquished and overthrown
by Don Quixote, and his whole design
blotted and defaced by that unlucky
fall and defeat, he resolved to try his
fortune once more, in hope of meeting
with better success; and learning
where the knight was, from the information
of the page who carried the
letter and the present to Sancho’s wife
Teresa Panza, he purchased a new suit
of armour and a horse, ordered a white
moon to be painted on his shield, and
fastened the whole cargo on the back of
an he-mule, which was conducted by a
certain ploughman, and not by his old
squire Tom Cecial, lest he should be
known by Sancho or Don Quixote.
With this equipage he set out for the
duke’s castle, where he was informed
of the knight’s motions and route, together
with his intention to assist at the
tournament in Saragossa. His grace
likewise gave him an account of the
jokes they had executed upon our adventurer,
with the contrivance of Dulcinea’s
disinchantment, to be effected at
the expence of Sancho’s posteriors. Nor
did he forget to relate the trick which
Sancho had practised on his master, in
making him believe that Dulcinea was
inchanted and transformed into a country-wench;
as also how my lady duchess
had persuaded the squire that Dulcinea
was really and truly inchanted
and transformed, and he himself the
person that was mistaken and deceived:
particulars which afforded abundance
of mirth to the batchelor, who could
not help admiring afresh the mixture of
archness and simplicity in Sancho, as
well as the unaccountable madness of
Don Quixote. The duke begged he
would return that way and communicate
his success, whether he should be
vanquished or victor. Sampson, having
promised to comply with his request,
set out in quest of our knight; and,
as he did not find him in Saragossa,
proceeded to Barcelona, where he met
with the adventure we have already related
in its proper place: then he returned
to the duke’s castle, where he
gave an account of the whole engagement,
and the conditions of the combat;
// File: 0975.png
.pn +1
in consequence of which Don
Quixote was already on his return, to
fulfil, like a worthy knight-errant, the
promise he had made to reside at his
own habitation for the term of one
year, during which, the batchelor said,
he might possibly be cured of his madness.
He declared this was his sole
motive for disguising himself in such a
manner, as it was a thousand pities that
a gentleman of Don Quixote’s excellent
understanding should continue under
the influence of such infatuation.
He accordingly took his leave of the
duke, and returned to his own country,
in full hope that the knight was not far
behind.

From this information, his grace
took the opportunity to connive this
last adventure, so much was he delighted
with the behaviour of Sancho
and Don Quixote. He ordered a great
number of his people on horseback and
a-foot, to scour the country far and
near, and a patrole through every road
by which he thought the knight could
possibly return, with orders to bring
him to the castle, either by fair means
or foul. Accordingly, when they
found him, they gave notice to his
grace, who having already pre-concerted
what was to be done, no sooner
heard of his coming than he directed
that the torches and tapers should
be lighted around the court, and Altisidora
placed upon the tomb, together
with all the apparatus already described;
which was so naturally and
artfully executed, that it differed very
little from the real truth. Nay, Cid
Hamet moreover observes, that he looked
upon the jokers to be as mad as those
who were joked; and the duke and duchess
to be within two-fingers-breadth
of lunacy, seeing they placed such happiness
in playing pranks upon two confirmed
madmen; one of whom the
new day found sleeping at full snore,
and the other watching over his disastrous
thoughts, and very impatient to
quit his couch; for, whether vanquished
or victor, Don Quixote never
took pleasure in lolling on the lazy
down.

It was now that Altisidora, who in
the knight’s opinion had returned from
death, in compliance with the humour
of her lord and lady, entered his apartment
crowned with the same garland
she had worn on the tomb, clad in a
// File: 0976.png
robe of white taffety powdered with
flowers of gold, her hair flowing loose
upon her shoulders, and supporting
herself upon a staff of fine polished
black ebony. This apparition discomposed
our hero to such a degree, that he
shrunk within his nest in silent confusion,
and almost covered himself wholly
with the sheets, fully determined against
making any return of compliment.
Meanwhile, Altisidora sitting down
upon a chair, at his bed’s head, heaved
a profound sigh, and thus addressed
herself to him, in a faint and tender
tone—‘When women of fashion, and
damsels of reserve, trample upon honour,
and give their tongues the liberty
to break through all inconveniences,
so as to divulge the secrets
which their hearts conceal, their condition
must be desperate indeed. I am
one of those, Signior Don Quixote de
La Mancha; sorely hampered, vanquished,
and enamoured; but withal
so patient and modest, that my soul
broke through my silence, and I lost
my life: in consequence of thy rigour,
O flinty-hearted knight! more
deaf than marble to my complaints,
have I been dead for two days, or at
least supposed to be dead by those
who saw me; and if love, in pity to
my fate, had not deposited a remedy
in the tortures of that worthy squire, I
should have remained for ever in the
other world.’—‘Love,’ said Sancho,
‘might as well have deposited the remedy
in the tortures of my ass, and I
should have thanked him for it heartily:
but pray, Madam, tell me,
so may Heaven send you a kinder
lover than my master, what did you
see in the other world? What is going
forward in hell? for surely those who
die in despair must go to that baiting-place.’—‘To
tell you the truth,’
answered Altisidora, ‘I could not be
quite dead, seeing I did not enter the
infernal regions; for, had I been once
fairly introduced, I could not have
left the place again, whatever inclination
I might have had to return.
The truth is, I went no farther than
the gate, where I saw about a dozen
devils playing at tennis, in their
drawers and doublets, having bands
edged with Flanders lace, and ruffles
of the same at their wrists, which
were naked to the length of four
inches, in order to enlarge the appearance
// File: 0977.png
.pn +1
of their hands, in which
they wielded rackets of fire: but what
I chiefly admired was, that instead of
balls, they made use of books, which
seemed to be filled with wind and
flocks; a circumstance equally new
and surprizing! and yet there was
another particular which still increased
my astonishment; for, whereas among
the gamesters of this world, it is natural
for the winners to be merry,
and for the losers to be sad; in that
diabolical pastime, all the players
growled and grumbled, and cursed
one another.’—‘That is not to be
wondered at,’ replied the squire; ‘for
the devils, play or not play, win or
not win, can never be content.’—‘That
must certainly be the case,’ answered
Altisidora; ‘but there was likewise
another peculiarity at which I
wonder, I mean, at which I then wondered;
namely, that after the first toss,
the ball was useless, and could not be
used a second time; so that they whirled
them away, new and old, in a marvellous
manner. On one of these,
which was finely gilt and lettered,
they bestowed such a violent stroke,
that the guts flew out in scattered
leaves. “What book is that?” said
one devil to his fellow. The other
answered, that it was the second part
of the history of Don Quixote de La
Mancha, composed not by the original
author Cid Hamet, but by an
Arragonian, who calls himself a native
of Tordesillas. “Away with it!”
cried the first, “plunge it into the
lowest abyss of hell, that mine eyes
may never behold it again.”—“What,
is it so bad!” said the second. “So
very bad,” replied the other, “that if
I myself had endeavoured to make it
worse, it would not have been in my
power.” They proceeded with their
play, driving about the unfortunate
books; and I hearing them mention
Don Quixote, whom I love and adore,
endeavoured to retain the vision in
my memory.’—‘A vision it must
have been, without all doubt,’ said
Don Quixote; ‘for there is no other I
in the whole world; and as for that
history, it is bandied from hand to
hand, without finding a resting place,
and every body has a fling at the author:
nor am I in the least mortified
to hear that I wander like a fantastick
shadow through the dark abodes of
// File: 0978.png
hell, as well as through the enlightened
mansions of this globe, as
I am not the person recorded in that
history; which, were it elegant, faithful,
and authentick, would live for
ages; but, being false and execrable
as it is, there will be no great distance
between its birth and burial.’

Altisidora was going to proceed with
her lamentations, when she was prevented
by the knight; who said, with
great solemnity, ‘I have often told you,
Madam, that I am sorry you have
placed your affection upon me, who
can make no other return than that
of gratitude and thanks; I was born
for Dulcinea del Toboso; and the
Fates, if such there be, have consecrated
me for her service; so that to
imagine any other beauty shall ever
occupy the place which she possesses
in my heart, is to suppose a mere impossibility.
Let this declaration, therefore,
undeceive and prevail upon you
to retire within the limits of virtue
and decorum, seeing no man is obliged
to perform impossibilities.’ Altisidora,
in consequence of this repulse, assumed
an air of indignation, and in an affected
transport of rage, exclaimed, ‘How
now, Don Stockfish! soul of a mortar!
stone of a date! more positive
and obstinate than a courted peasant
when his harrow hath chanced to hit
the mark, by the Lord! if I once
fall upon you, I will tear your eyes
out. Hark ye, Don Beaten-and-cudgelled,
are you such a wiseacre
as to suppose I died for love of
you? All you have seen this last
night was a pure fiction; for I am not
the woman to have a finger ache,
much less to die for such a camel.’—‘O
my conscience! I believe what you
say,’ cried Sancho; ‘that of dying for
love is a most ridiculous affair: your
lovers, indeed, may easily say they are
dying; but that they will actually
give up the ghost, Judas may believe
it for me.’

During this conversation, the musician
and poet, who had sung the two
stanzas which we have already repeated,
came into the apartment, and made a
profound bow to Don Quixote, saying,
‘Sir Knight, I beg you will esteem
and reckon me among the number of
your most humble servants; for many
days are elapsed since I have conceived
the warmest affection for your
// File: 0979.png
.pn +1
person, from the fame of your character
and atchievements.’ When
Don Quixote desired to know who he
was, that he might respect him according
to his merit, he answered, that he
was the musician and panegyrist of the
preceding night. ‘Assuredly, your
voice is extremely sweet,’ said the
knight; ‘but, methinks, the verses you
sung were not much to the purpose;
for what affinity is there between the
stanzas of Garcilasso and the death of
this young lady?’—‘Your worship
must not wonder at that impropriety,’
answered the musician; ‘it is a common
practice among the beardless poets of
this age to write what they will, and
steal from whom they please to pillage,
whether it be or be not to the purpose;
and every absurdity that occurs in
their singing or writing, they attribute
to the <lang=la><i>licentia poetica</i></lang>.’

Don Quixote’s reply was prevented
by the entrance of the duke and duchess,
who came to visit him in his
chamber, and a long diverting conversation
ensued, in the course of which
Sancho uttered so many humorous sallies,
and satirical jokes, that their
graces admired anew the mixture of
his acuteness and simplicity. As for
the knight, he humbly requested that
he might be allowed to depart that very
day, as it was much more proper that
vanquished knights, like him, should
live in hog-sties than in sumptuous
palaces. They graciously complied
with his request; and when the duchess
enquired if Altisidora had, as yet,
acquired his good graces, ‘Your grace
must know,’ said he, ‘that damsel’s
distemper wholly proceeds from
idleness, which may be easily cured
by continual and decent occupation:
she tells me it is the fashion in hell to
wear lace, and as she knows how to
make it, let the work never be out of
her hand, which being employed in
moving the bobbins, the idea or
ideas of what she loves will no longer
move in her imagination; and this
is the truth, the substance of my
opinion, and the marrow of my advice.’—‘Aye,
and of mine too,’ cried
Sancho; ‘for never in my born days
did I know a lace-maker die for love:
the thoughts of girls employed at
that work, run more upon the finishing
of their tasks than upon the idle
fancies of love; and, for myself, I
// File: 0980.png
can safely say, that while I am digging
in the field, I never so much as
dream of my duck; I mean, my wife
Teresa Panza, whom I love as the
apple of mine eye.’—‘You talk like
an oracle, Sancho,’ said the duchess:
‘and I will take care, that, from this
day forward, Altisidora shall be employed
in some plain work, which she
understands to perfection.’—‘Your
ladyship shall not need to use any such
expedient,’ replied Altisidora; ‘for
the consideration of the cruelty with
which I have been used by that felonious
monster, will blot him effectually
from my remembrance, without
any other assistance; and, in the
mean time, with your grace’s permission,
I will retire, that I may no
longer have before my eyes—I will
not say his rueful countenance, but
his frightful and abominable aspect.’—‘These
reproaches,’ said the
duke, ‘put me in mind of the old observation,
that Scolding among lovers
is the next neighbour to forgiveness.’

Altisidora, making a shew of wiping
the tears from her eyes with a white
handkerchief, dropped a low curtsey to
her lord and lady, and withdrew; and
Sancho sending after her an earnest look,
‘Poor damsel!’ cried he, ‘I can bequeath,
bequeath thee nothing, I say,
but bad luck, seeing thou hast placed
thine affection upon a soul of
rush, and an heart of oak: had it
lighted upon me, another sort of a
cock would have crowned thy fortune.’

Thus the conversation ended, Don
Quixote put on his cloaths, dined with
the duke and duchess, and set out that
same evening for his own habitation.
.sp 4
.h4 id=chap4-4-19
<abbr=chapter>CHAP.</abbr> <abbr=nineteen>XIX.</abbr> | OF WHAT HAPPENED TO DON QUIXOTE AND HIS SQUIRE, IN THEIR JOURNEY TO THEIR OWN VILLAGE.
.sp 2
The perplexed and vanquished
Don Quixote travelled along, extremely
chagrined on one account,
though greatly rejoiced on another: his
melancholy was occasioned by his overthrow,
and his joy produced from the
consideration of that virtue inherent
in his squire, which he had seen demonstrated
// File: 0981.png
.pn +1
in the resurrection of Altisidora,
though he had some scruples in
persuading himself that the enamoured
damsel was actually dead. As for
Sancho, he felt no sort of pleasure;
but, on the contrary, was much
mortified to find that Altisidora had
failed in performing her promise touching
the present of the shifts; and his
imagination dwelling upon this circumstance,
he said to his master—‘Truly,
Signior, I must certainly be
the most unfortunate physician that
ever lived upon the earth, in which
there are many leeches, who, though
they kill their patients, insist upon
being paid for their trouble, which,
by the bye, is no more than writing
and signing a list of medicines upon a
scrap of paper; for the apothecary
makes up the prescription, and so the
farce is acted; whereas, I receive not
a doit, though I cure other people’s
maladies at the expence of pinches,
twitches, pin-pricks, lashes, and
drops of blood; but, I vow to God!
if any other patient is put into my
hands, they shall be well anointed before
I undertake the cure; for, The
abbot chants but to supply his wants:
and I cannot believe that Heaven hath
bestowed such virtue upon me, in order
that I should throw it away upon
the undeserving.’—‘Thou art in the
right, friend Sancho,’ replied Don
Quixote; ‘and Altisidora is much to
blame in having witheld the promised
shifts, although thy virtue is <lang=la><i>gratis
data</i></lang>, without having put thee to the
trouble of studying aught but the art
of enduring personal torture; for my
own part, I can say, that if thou
hadst demanded payment for the disinchanting
stripes, I should have allowed
it to thy own satisfaction;
though I know not how such hire
might interfere with the cure; and I
should not wish that the premium
might impede the effect of the medicine:
nevertheless, I do not think the
experiment could be attended with
any bad consequence. Consider,
Sancho, what thou wouldst have;
then proceed to the flagellation, and
pay thyself fairly out of my money
which is in thy own hands.’

At this proposal, the squire opened
his eyes and ears a full span, and resolving
in his heart to scourge himself
// File: 0982.png
with good will, answered in these
words—‘Aye, now, Signior, I find
myself extremely well disposed to
comply with your worship’s desire,
since my compliance will be attended
with some profit; and, I own, my
regard for my poor wife and children
makes me seem a little selfish.—Pray
what will your worship chuse to
give for every stripe?’—‘Were I to
pay thee, Sancho,’ said the knight,
‘according to the greatness of thy deserts,
and the quality of the cure, the
bank of Venice and mines of Potosi
would not afford a sufficient recompence:
but, see how much of my money
thou hast got, and set thy own
price upon every lash.’—‘The number
of stripes to be given,’ answered
the squire, ‘amounts to three thousand
three hundred and odd: of these I
have received about five, which shall
stand for the odd; so that three thousand
three hundred remain. Now, if
we value each lash at a quarter of a
rial, and I would not bate a doit
though the whole world should desire me,
the sum will be three thousand
three hundred quartillos; the
three thousand quartillos make fifteen
hundred half-rials, which are equal
to seven hundred and fifty rials, and
the other three hundred quartillos
make one hundred and fifty half-rials,
which are equal to seventy five rials,
and these being added to the former
seven hundred and fifty, the whole
reckoning amounts to eight hundred
and twenty five rials. These I will
deduct from your cash that is in my
hands, and then I will return to my
own house, rich and satisfied, though
well scourged; for, We cannot catch
trouts without wetting our clouts:
and I will say no more upon the subject.’—‘O
blessed Sancho! O
lovely Sancho!’ cried Don Quixote;
‘Dulcinea and I will be bound to
serve thee all the days that Heaven
shall permit us to live; provided she
shall retrieve her lost-form: and, in
this hope, we cannot possibly be
mistaken; her misfortune will prove
fortunate, and my overthrow a most
happy triumph. And now, Sancho,
consider when thou wilt begin this
discipline; towards the speedy performance
of which, I add another
hundred rials.’—‘When?’ replied
// File: 0983.png
.pn +1
the squire; ‘this very night, without
fail: if your worship will take care to
chuse our lodging in the open field, I
will take care to open my own carcase.’

At length the night arrived, after it
had been impatiently expected by Don
Quixote, who thought the wheels of
Apollo’s car had broken down, and
that the day was extended to an unusual
length; like those lovers whose desires
ever outstrip the career of time.

In the evening, they betook themselves
to the covert of some pleasant
trees at a little distance from the highway,
and vacating the saddle of Rozinante,
and the pannel of the ass, sat
down together upon the grass, and
supped upon the store contained in the
wallet of Sancho; who, forming a
strong and flexible scourge with Dapple’s
halter, retired into a tuft of
beeches about twenty paces from his
master. The knight seeing him withdraw
so brisk and resolute—‘Beware,
friend Sancho,’ said he, ‘of scourging
thyself to pieces; perform thy
discipline at leisure; let the stripes
follow one another in regular succession,
and do not run so fast as to be
out of breath in the middle of thy
career; I mean, do not lash thyself
so severely, as to destroy thy own
life before the number be compleated;
and, that thou mayest not lose it by a
card too many, or too few, I will
stand aside and count the stripes upon
my rosary. Mayest thou enjoy the
protection of Heaven, which thy
christian intention so richly deserves!’—‘A
good paymaster needs no bail,’
answered the squire: ‘I intend to
scourge myself in such a manner as
will mortify my flesh, without any
hazard of my life; for, in that medium
the substance of the miracle
must consist.’ He forthwith stripped
himself naked from the waist upwards,
and snatching the scourge, began to
whip himself, while his master reckoned
the stripes. About half a dozen or
eight lashes had Sancho bestowed upon
himself, when he found the joke very
expensive, and the reward dog cheap;
and suspending the instrument, told the
knight he had been deceived, and
claimed the benefit of an appeal; for
every one of these stripes was worth
half a rial instead of a quartillo. ‘Proceed,
friend Sancho, without dismay,’
// File: 0984.png
replied Don Quixote, ‘and I
will double the allowance.’—‘At
that rate,’ replied the squire, ‘to it
again, by the grace of God, and let
it rain lashes.’ But, the cunning
knave no longer made application to
his own shoulders, in lieu of which he
began to scourge the trees, venting between
whiles such dismal groans as
seemed to tear his very soul up by the
roots. The knight, from the tenderness
of his own disposition, being apprehensive
that he would actually put
an end to his life, and of consequence
defeat the purpose of his flagellation
by his imprudence, exclaimed—‘I
conjure thee, by thy life, friend Sancho,
to let the business rest where it
now stands: the medicine seems to
have a very rough operation, and it
will be better to proceed leisurely;
for Zamora was not taken in one
hour. Above a thousand stripes hast
thou already inflicted upon thyself, if
my reckoning is just, and these shall
suffice for the present; for, if I may
use a vulgar expression, Though the
load must lie over the ass, he must
not be overloaded.’—‘No, no, Signior,’
replied Sancho, ‘they shall
never say of me, When money’s
paid before its due, a broken limb
will straight ensue. Pray stand aside a
little, Signior, and let me lay on
another thousand, if you please:
two such bouts will perform the bargain,
and leave something to boot.’—‘Since
thou findest thyself in such
an excellent frame and disposition,’
said the knight, ‘Heaven protect thee;
stick to the stuff, and I shall withdraw.’
Sancho, resuming his task
and reckoning, had already disbarked
a number of trees, with the rigorous
application of his scourge; when, bestowing
a dreadful stroke upon an unfortunate
beech, he exclaimed with
great vociferation—‘Here, Sampson,
shalt thou die, with all thine abettors.’
Don Quixote hearing this dismal ejaculation,
and the terrible sound of the
stroke, ran up to the spot, and seizing
the twisted halter that Sancho used
instead of a bull’s pizzle—‘Fate,’ said
he, ‘friend Sancho, will not permit
that for my pleasure thou shouldst
lose that life on which the sustenance
of thy wife and family must depend.
Dulcinea shall wait for a more favourable
conjuncture, and I will contain
// File: 0985.png
.pn +1
myself within the limits of the
nearest hope, until thou shalt recover
new strength to conclude this affair to
the satisfaction of all parties.’—‘Since
your worship is so inclined,’
answered the squire, ‘so be it in happy
time; and pray, good Signior,
throw your cloak, about my shoulders;
for I am all in a sweat, and would
not willingly catch cold, which is
so often the case with new disciplinants.’
The knight, in compliance
with this request, stripped himself of
his upper garment, with which he covered
up Sancho, who slept until he was
wakened by the sun; then they proceeded
on their journey, which, for that
day, did not exceed three leagues.

They alighted at an inn; for such it
was acknowledged by Don Quixote,
who did not, as usual, suppose it a
castle furnished with a fosse, turrets,
portcullices, and draw-bridges: indeed,
since his defeat, he had talked with
more sanity on all subjects, as will
presently appear. He was shewn into
a low apartment, hung with old painted
serge, instead of tapestry, such as is used
in country places, in one piece of which
some wretched hand had drawn the
rape of Helen, who was carried off
from Menelaus by his presumptuous
guest; and in another was represented
the story of Dido and Æneas, the unhappy
queen standing upon a lofty
tower, making signals with a white
sheet to her fugitive lover, who, in a
frigate or brigantine, was flying from
her coast. He observed, of these two
history pieces, that Helen shewed no
marks of compulsion; but rather exhibited
her satisfaction in a roguish
smile; whereas, from the eyes of the
beautiful Dido, tears as big as walnuts
seemed to fall. Don Quixote
having considered both pictures, ‘These
two ladies,’ said he, ‘were most unfortunate,
because they did not live in
this our age; and I, above all men unhappy,
because I did not live in theirs.
Had I encountered these gentlemen,
Troy had ne’er been burnt, nor Carthage
laid in ruins; for, by killing
Paris only, I should have prevented
such disasters.’—‘I’ll lay a wager,’
said Sancho, ‘that in a very little time,
every cook’s cellar, tavern, inn, and
barber’s shop in the kingdom, will be
ornamented with pictures containing
the history of our atchievements; but
I should be glad to see them painted
by a better workman than him who
made these daubings.’—‘Thou art
in the right,’ replied Don Quixote;
‘he that painted these pieces is just such
another as Orbaneja, a painter of
Ubeda, who being asked what he was
about, answered, “Just as it happens;”
and if he chanced to represent a cock,
he wrote under it, “This is a cock,”
that it might not be mistaken for a
fox. Such a person, I suppose, is
that same painter or author, for it is
the same thing, who ushered into the
world the lately published history of
the new Don Quixote: for he has
painted or described whatever came
uppermost; or, perhaps, he resembles
an old court poet called Mauleon, who
pretended to answer every question
extempore; and being one day asked
the meaning of <lang=la><i>Deum del Deo</i></lang>, replied,
“<i>De doude diere</i>[#].” But, waving
this subject, tell me, Sancho, if
thou art resolved to take the other
turn to-night, and whether thou
wouldst chuse to go to work under an
humble roof, or beneath the high canopy
of Heaven?’—‘’Fore God!
Signior,’ replied the squire, ‘as to
what I intend to take, it matters not
much, whether it be taken within
doors or without: nevertheless, I
should chuse to go to work among
trees; for they seem to accompany
and assist me wonderfully in bearing
the brunt of the application.’—‘But
it must not be so at present, friend
Sancho,’ answered the knight; ‘in
order to recruit your strength, the
execution shall be postponed until we
arrive at our own village, which we
shall reach the day after to-morrow,
at farthest.’ Sancho said he might
take his own way; though he himself
should be glad to dispatch the business
now he was warm, and while the mill
was a going; ‘For, Delay breeds danger;
and We ought still to be doing
while to God we are suing. I will give
thee, is good; but, Here, take it, is better.
A sparrow in hand is worth an
eagle on wing.’—‘No more proverbs,
Sancho, for the love of God!’ cried
// File: 0986.png
.pn +1
the knight; thou seemest to be returning
to <lang=la><i>sicut erat</i></lang>. Speak plainly and
perspicuously, without such intricate
mazes, as I have often advised thee,
and thou wilt find thyself one loaf
per cent. in pocket.’—‘I am so unlucky,’
answered the squire, ‘that I
cannot give a reason without a proverb,
nor a proverb that I do not
think a good reason; but I will mend
if I can!’ And here the conversation
ended for that time.

.fn #
‘Wherever it may hit:’ an answer that has no affinity with the question, but the
faint resemblance of sound.
.fn-
.sp 4
.h4 id=chap4-4-20
<abbr=chapter>CHAP.</abbr> <abbr=twenty>XX.</abbr> | GIVING AN ACCOUNT OF DON QUIXOTE’S ARRIVAL AT HIS OWN HABITATION.
.sp 2
That whole day Don Quixote
and Sancho tarried at the inn,
waiting for night, during which the one
intended to finish his whipping task in
the open field, and the other hoped to
see the accomplishment of that discipline
on which depended the accomplishment
of his desire. In the mean
time, a gentleman on horseback arrived
at the door, attended by three or four
servants, one of whom said to him who
seemed to be the master, ‘Signior Don
Alvaro Tarfe, your worship may
pass the afternoon in this house;
the lodging seems to be cool and
cleanly.’ Don Quixote hearing this
address, ‘Hark ye, Sancho,’ said he,
‘when I glanced over the second part
of my history, I am very much mistaken
if I did not perceive, as I turned
over the leaves, this very name of Don
Alvaro Tarfe.’—‘Very likely,’ replied
the squire; ‘first let him alight, and
then we can ask questions.’ Accordingly
the traveller having alighted, was
conducted by the landlady into a room
that fronted the knight’s apartment,
and was ornamented with the same
kind of paintings which we have already
described. This new-come cavalier,
laying aside his upper garment,
came out into the porch, which was
cool and spacious, where seeing Don
Quixote walking backwards and forwards
for the benefit of the air, he asked
in a courteous manner, which way his
worship was travelling. The knight
told him he was going to the place of
his nativity, which was a village in the
neighbourhood; and, in his turn, expressed
// File: 0987.png
a desire of knowing the direction
of the stranger’s course. ‘Signior,’
said the cavalier, ‘I am travelling to
Grenada, which is my native country.’—‘And
a good country it is,’
replied Don Quixote; ‘but will your
worship be so good as to tell me your
name, which I believe is of more
importance to me to know, than I
can well explain.’—‘My name,’ said
the stranger, ‘is Don Alvaro Tarfe.’—‘Without
doubt, then,’ replied the
knight, ‘you must be the gentleman
mentioned in the second part of the
history of Don Quixote de La Mancha,
lately printed and published by a modern
author.’—‘The very same,’ answered
the cavalier: ‘Don Quixote, the
principal character of that history, was
an intimate acquaintance of mine: I
brought him from his own habitation;
at least I persuaded him to assist at the
tournament of Saragossa, whither I was
going, and where I really and truly
did him signal services; and particularly
saved his back from being very
roughly handled by the hangman,
for his excessive impudence and knavery.’—‘And
pray, Signior Don Alvaro,
is there any resemblance between
me and that Don Quixote whom
your worship mentions?’ said the
knight. ‘No, surely, none at all,’
replied the stranger. ‘Is not that Don
Quixote attended by a squire, called
Sancho Panza?’ resumed our hero.
‘Yes, he is,’ answered the other; ‘and
although he was reported to be a very
humorous companion, I never heard
him utter one merry conceit.’—‘That
I can very well believe,’ said Sancho,
mingling in the discourse; ‘it is not
every body that can utter conceits; and
that same Sancho, whom your worship
mentions, must be a very great knave,
and indeed both fool and knave;
for I am the true Sancho Panza, who
have as many conceits as there are
drops of rain. If your worship will
but try the experiment, and keep me
company for a year or so, you will
see them fall from me at every step;
nay, they are so merry and so numerous,
that very often when I myself
know not what I have said, they
make all the hearers burst their sides
with laughing; and the true Don
Quixote de La Mancha, the renowned,
the valiant, the sage, the enamoured
knight, the undoer of wrongs,
// File: 0988.png
.pn +1
the tutor of wards and orphans, the
protector of widows, the destroyer of
maids, he who owns no other mistress
than the peerless Dulcinea del
Toboso, is my master, this very gentleman
here present: every other Don
Quixote, and every other Sancho
whatsoever, is no better than a dream
or delusion.’—‘Before God! I am
of the same opinion,’ replied Don Alvaro;
‘for, truly, my good friend,
you have uttered more pleasantry in
these few sentences you have spoke,
than ever I knew come from the
mouth of the other Sancho Panza,
though he was an eternal babbler;
he was much more of a glutton than
an orator, and rather idiotical than
humorous. Indeed, I am fully persuaded,
that those inchanters who
molest the good Don Quixote, have
been pleased to persecute me with the
bad Don Quixote: and yet I know
not what to say; for I can take my
oath that I left him at Toledo in the
nuncio’s house, under the care of
surgeons; and now, another Don
Quixote starts up in his place, though
of a very different character and complexion!’—‘I
know not whether or
not I am the good Don Quixote,’ replied
the knight; ‘but, I will venture
to say, I am not the bad Don Quixote;
and, as a proof of what I alledge, my
good Signior Don Alvaro Tarfe,
your worship must know, that in the
whole course of my life I never was
at Saragossa; on the contrary, having
been informed, that the fantastical
Don Quixote had been present at the
tournament of that city, I would not
set foot within its walls, that I might
demonstrate his imposture to the satisfaction
of the whole world: I,
therefore, openly repaired to Barcelona,
that repository of politeness,
that asylum of strangers, that hospital
of the poor, that native place of
gallantry, that avenging tribunal of
the injured, that agreeable scene of
unshaken friendship unparalleled both
in beauty and situation! and although
certain adventures which there befel
me did not so much contribute to my
satisfaction, but, on the contrary, conduced
to my unspeakable disquiet, I
bear my fate without repining, and
count myself happy in having seen
that celebrated place: finally, Signior
// File: 0989.png
Don Alvaro Tarfe, I am the
real Don Quixote de La Mancha, so
well known to fame, and not that
wretched impostor who has thought
proper to usurp my name, and deck
himself with the spoils of my reputation.
I must therefore entreat your
worship, as you value yourself on the
character of a gentleman, to make a
declaration before the alcalde of the
place; importing, that, before this
day, you never saw me in the whole
course of your life; and that I am not
the Don Quixote described in the second
part, nor this Sancho Panza the
squire whom your worship knew in
his service.’—‘With all my heart,’
said Don Alvaro; ‘and yet I cannot
help being astonished to see two Don
Quixotes, and two Sanchos, at the
same time, so similar in name, and so
unlike in character; so that I say
again, and even affirm, that I have
not really seen that which I thought
I had seen, nor met with those incidents
in which I supposed myself
concerned.’—‘Doubtless,’ cried Sancho,
‘your worship must be enchanted,
like my Lady Dulcinea del Toboso;
and would to God your disinchantment
depended upon my undergoing another
tale of three thousand three hundred
lashes, such as I have undertaken in
her favour; I would lay them on
without interest or deduction.’ When
Don Alvaro said he did not understand
what he meant by lashes, the squire answered
it was a long story, which, however,
he would relate to him should
they chance to travel the same road.

Don Quixote and Don Alvaro dined
together; and the alcalde of the town
chancing to enter the inn with a scrivener,
our hero demanded, by a formal
petition, that Don Alvaro Tarfe, the
gentleman there present, should depose
before his worship, that he was not acquainted
with him, Don Quixote there
present also; and that he the said Don
Quixote was not the person described in
a certain history, intitled, The second
part of Don Quixote de La Mancha;
composed by one Avellanada, native of
Tordesillas. In a word, the alcalde
proceeded in form; the deposition was
drawn up in the strongest terms, and
the knight and squire were as much
rejoiced as if this certificate had been of
the utmost consequence to their identity,
// File: 0990.png
.pn +1
and as if the difference between the two
Quixotes and Sanchos would not have
plainly appeared from their words and
actions.

Many compliments and proffers of
service passed between Don Alvaro and
Don Quixote; and our great Manchegan
gave such proofs of discretion as undeceived
Don Alvaro, who persuaded
himself that he was certainly inchanted,
seeing he had felt, as it were with his
hand, two such contrary Don Quixotes.
In the evening they departed from the
village, and travelled together about
half a league, until they found the highway
divided into two roads, one of
which led to the habitation of Don
Quixote, and Don Alvaro’s journey lay
through the other: yet, in that small
space, the knight recounted the misfortune
of his overthrow, together with
Dulcinea’s inchantment, and the remedy
proposed; so as to excite anew
the admiration of the stranger; who,
embracing Don Quixote and Sancho,
took his leave, and proceeded on his
own affairs, while our knight jogged
on at an easy pace, and passed the night
in a grove of trees in order to give
Sancho an opportunity to perform his
penance, which he accomplished as before,
at the expence of the beeches,
and not of his own shoulders; these he
defended with such care, that they felt
not even the whiff of any stripe sufficient
to displace a fly. The credulous
knight lost not one in his reckoning of
the lashes; which including those of
the preceding night, amounted to three
thousand and twenty-nine: the sun
seemed to rise early on purpose to behold
this sacrifice, and to light our adventurer
on his way, which he prosecuted,
conversing with Sancho upon the
mistake and deception of Don Alvaro,
and his own presence of mind in obtaining
such an authentick testimonial
before the justice.

The whole day and night they travelled
without encountering any adventure
worthy of record, except that, in
the dark, Sancho finished his discipline,
to the unspeakable satisfaction of the
knight, who waited with impatience
for the day in hope of finding his
mistress Dulcinea disinchanted upon
the road: indeed, he was so much engrossed
by this notion, that he went up
to every woman he met in the remaining
part of his journey, to see if she
// File: 0991.png
was not Dulcinea del Toboso; infallibly
persuaded that there could be no
deceit in the promises of Merlin.
While he indulged these reflections and
desires, they ascended a rising ground
from whence they descried their own
village; which Sancho no sooner perceived,
than he fell upon his knees,
saying, ‘Open thine eyes, beloved
country! and behold the return of thy
son Sancho Panza; who, though not
very rich in coin, is well stored with
lashes: open thine arms at the same
time, and receive thy son Don Quixote;
who, though vanquished by a
stranger’s hand, returns the victor of
himself; and that, as he hath often
told me, is the greatest conquest
which can be desired. With regard
to my own fate, I have money in my
purse; for, though the stripes fell
thick and heavy, I was rewarded like
a gentleman.’—‘Leave these fooleries,’
said the knight, ‘and let us
go directly home, where we will indulge
our imagination with free
scope, in contriving the scheme of
pastoral felicity which we intend to
enjoy.’

They accordingly descended the hill,
and made the best of their way to their
own village.
.sp 4
.h4 id=chap4-4-21
<abbr=chapter>CHAP.</abbr> <abbr='twenty-one'>XXI.</abbr> | OF THE OMENS THAT OCCURRED TO DON QUIXOTE| WHEN HE ENTERED THE VILLAGE—|WITH OTHER INCIDENTS WHICH ADORN| AND AUTHENTICATE THIS SUBLIME HISTORY.
.sp 2
Cid Hamet relates, that Don Quixote,
as he entered the village,
perceived two boys quarrelling in a
threshing-floor, and heard the one say
to his antagonist, ‘Struggle thy fill,
Periquillo, thou shalt never see it in
all the days of thy life.’ These
words no sooner reached the knight’s
ears, than turning to his squire, ‘Friend
Sancho,’ said he, ‘didst not thou
mark what the boy said? “Thou
shalt never see it in all the days of
thy life.”’—‘And what signifies
what the boy says?’ answered the
squire. ‘What!’ replied the knight,
‘dost thou not perceive that these
words, applied to my concerns, signify,
// File: 0992.png
.pn +1
that I shall never behold Dulcinea?’
Sancho was just going to
answer, when he was prevented by the
sight of an hare, which being pursued
by a number of greyhounds and hunters,
came running through the field
and squatted down in a fright under
Dapple; the squire immediately saved
it from the dogs, by seizing and presenting
it to his master, who said, ‘<lang=la><i>Malum
signum, malum signum!</i></lang> the hare
flies, the hounds pursue, and Dulcinea
does not appear.’—‘That is a strange
fancy in your worship!’ replied the
squire; ‘let us, for example, suppose it
Dulcinea del Toboso, and these pursuing
hounds the felonious inchanters
who have transformed her into a
country-wench; she flies, I catch and
deliver her to your worship, who hold
and fondle her in your arms; what
bad sign is that? or what ill omen
can be conjured from such a circumstance?’
At this juncture the two
boys who had been quarrelling, came
up to see the hare; and Sancho having
asked the cause of their quarrel, was
answered by him who said, ‘Thou
shalt never see it in all the days of
thy life,’ that he had taken a cage
full of crickets from the other boy,
which he did not intend to restore in
the whole course of his life. In consequence
of this information, the squire
pulled out of his pocket four farthings,
and gave them to the boy for the cage,
which he put into the hands of Don
Quixote, saying, ‘Behold, Signior, the
wreck and destruction of those omens,
which I (though a fool) imagine have
no more to do with our affairs than
last year’s clouds; and if I right remember,
I have heard the curate of
our parish observe, that no Christian
of common sense ought to mind such
childish trifles; nay, even your worship
made the same remark some time
ago, and told me those Christians
were actually mad who put any faith
in omens; and therefore we have no
occasion to make a stumbling-block
of this accident: but let us proceed,
and enter the town a-God’s name.’

The hunters coming up, demanded
the hare, which was delivered to them
by our knight, who jogging on with
his squire, perceived the curate and
batchelor Carrasco busy at their devotion,
in a little meadow that skirted the
town. Now the reader must know,
that Sancho Panza had, over the bundle
of armour carried by Dapple, thrown,
by way of sumpter-cloth, the buckram
robe painted with flames of fire, which
he had worn in the duke’s castle on the
night of Altisidora’s resurrection; and
he, at the same time, had fixed the mitre
upon the head of the ass, which, thus
adorned, exhibited the strangest transformation
that any beast of burden in
the world had ever undergone. Our
adventurers were immediately recognized
by the curate and batchelor, who
ran to receive them with open arms;
when Don Quixote alighting, embraced
them with great cordiality; and the
boys, who are quick-sighted as lynxes,
descrying the mitre of the ass, came running
in crowds to behold this new spectacle,
crying to one another, ‘Come
along, boys, and see Sancho Panza’s
Dapple, as fine as a May-morning[#],
and Rozinante more lean than ever.’

In a word, they entered the town,
surrounded with boys, and accompanied
by the curate and batchelor,
who attended them to the knight’s
house, at the gate of which they
found the niece and housekeeper,
already apprized of his arrival. The
same intimation, neither more nor less,
had been given to Sancho’s spouse Teresa
Panza, who came running to see
her husband, half naked, with her hair
hanging about her ears, and her daughter
Sanchica in her hand; but, seeing
he was not so gayly equipped as she
thought a governor should be, ‘Hey-day,
husband!’ cried she, ‘you come
home a-foot, and seem to be quite
foundered, and look more like a governor
of hogs, than a ruler of men.’—‘Hold
your tongue, Teresa,’ replied
the squire; ‘you will often find hooks
where there is no bacon; let us e’en
trudge home, where I will tell thee
wonders: I have money in my purse,
(and that’s the one thing needful)
earned by my own industry, without
prejudice to any person whatsoever.’—‘Do
you bring home the money,
good husband,’ said Teresa, ‘and let
it be earned here or there, or got in
what shape you please, I give myself
// File: 0993.png
.pn +1
no trouble about the matter; I am
sure, in getting it, you have introduced
no new fashion into the world.’
Sanchica embraced her father, and
asked if he had brought any thing for
her, who had expected him as impatiently
as if he had been May-dew:
then taking hold of his girdle with one
hand, and leading Dapple with the
other, while her mother held him by the
fist, they repaired to their own house,
leaving Don Quixote to the care of his
niece and housekeeper, and in company
with the curate and batchelor.

The knight, disregarding times and
seasons, instantly retired into an apartment
with his two friends, to whom he
briefly related his overthrow, and the
obligation under which he lay, to stay
at home for the space of one year,
which obligation he intended literally to
observe, without failing in the least
tittle, like a true knight-errant, bound
by the punctuality of the order which
he had the honour to profess. During
this term of retirement, he proposed to
turn shepherd, and enjoy the solitude of
the field, where he would give full scope
to his amorous sentiments, and exercise
himself in all the virtues of a pastoral
life: he, at the same time, besought
them (provided they had any time to
spare, and were not hindered by business
of more consequence) to become his
companions; assuring them he would
purchase a flock of sheep sufficient for
a number of swains, and that the principal
part of the scheme was already
effected, inasmuch as he had invented
names that would suit them with the
utmost propriety. The curate expressing
a desire to know these appellations,
the knight said, he would call himself
the shepherd Quixotiz, the batchelor
should be distinguished by the name of
the swain Carrascon, the curate he denominated
Curiambro, and the squire,
Pancino. They were confounded at
this new species of madness; but, lest
he should once more forsake his habitation
to follow his new chivalries, and
in hope that he might possibly be cured
during the year of his confinement,
they seemingly assented to this new proposal,
extolled his madness as the very
essence of discretion, and promised to be
his companions in the exercise he had
planned. ‘All the world knows that
I am a celebrated poet,’ said Sampson
Carrasco, ‘and at every turn I
// File: 0994.png
shall compose verses, pastorals, or
courtly sonnets, or such as will best
answer the purpose of entertaining
us in the fields through which we
shall rove: but there is one circumstance,
gentlemen, which we must
by no means neglect; and that is,
every man shall chuse a name for the
shepherdess he intends to celebrate,
and inscribe and engrave it on every
tree, let it be never so hard, according
to the constant practice of enamoured
swains.’—‘A very seasonable
suggestion,’ answered Don Quixote:
‘but, although I am at liberty to
chuse a fictitious name, I shall not
employ my invention for that purpose,
while there is such a person as
the peerless Dulcinea del Toboso, the
glory of these banks! the ornament
of these meadows! the support of
beauty! the cream of all gentility!
and, finally, the subject that suits all
praise, how hyperbolical soever it may
be.’—‘Very true,’ said the curate;
‘but we must put up with nymphs of
an inferior rank; who, though they
will not square, may corner with our
desires.’—‘And should we be at a
loss,’ added Sampson Carrasco, ‘we
will borrow names that abound in
printed books; such as Phillis, Amaryllis,
Diana, Florida, Galatea, and
Belisarda; which, as they are publickly
sold, we may purchase and appropriate
to our own use. If, for
example, my mistress, or rather
shepherdess, be called Ann, I will
celebrate her under the name of Anna;
if her name is Frances, she shall
be called Francenia; if Lucia, she
shall be known by the appellation of
Lucinda: in the same manner shall
other names be metamorphosed; and
if Sancho Panza is inclined to be
one of our fraternity, he may celebrate
his wife Teresa Panza, under
the name of Teresayna.’ Don Quixote
could not help smiling at this
transformation; and the curate, in very
high terms, applauded his honourable
and virtuous resolution, promising
anew to spend in his company all the
time he could spare from his indispensible
obligations. And now they took
leave of the knight; after having advised
and entreated him to have a reverend
care of his health, and comfort his
stomach with something good and substantial.
// File: 0995.png
.pn +1

The niece and housekeeper having
by accident overheard this conversation,
entered the apartment as soon as the
curate and batchelor were gone; and
the former, addressing herself to Don
Quixote, ‘Uncle,’ said she, ‘what is
the meaning of all this! Now that
we thought you was returned to stay
at home, and lead a quiet and honourable
life in your own house, you
want to re-entangle yourself in new
labyrinths, and turn a poor shepherd.
Thou cam’st with a crook,
and with a scrip thou wilt go, as the
saying is; for, in good faith, the
straw is too old to make pipes of.’—‘And
does your worship think,’
added the housekeeper, ‘that you can
stay in the field, during the heats of
summer, and the frosts of winter, to
hear the howling of wolves! no,
truly, that is the office and employment
of robust clowns, tanned by
the weather, and brought up to the
business, even from their christening
blankets and swaddling cloaths; and,
weighing one evil against another,
you had better still be a knight-errant
than a shepherd. Consider, Signior,
and take my advice, which I do not
give from a full stomach, but fresh
and fasting, with fifty good years
over my head: stay at home in your
own house, look after your estate, go
frequently to confession, be good to
the poor, and let my conscience answer
for the rest.’—‘Hold your
peace, my good children,’ answered
Don Quixote; ‘I know my own duty,
and what I have to do; meanwhile
carry me to bed, for methinks I am
not very well; and be assured, that
whether I continue knight-errant or
turn shepherd, you may depend upon
my good offices and assistance, as you
shall find by experience.’

Comforted by this declaration, the good
souls (for so they were, without doubt)
carried the knight to bed, where they
presented him with victuals, and cherished
him with all possible care.

.fn #
In the original, ‘as fine as Mingo,’ who was a bad poet, and tawdry beau, contemporary
with Cervantes.
.fn-
.sp 4
.h4 id=chap4-4-22
<abbr=chapter>CHAP.</abbr> <abbr='twenty-two'>XXII.</abbr> | GIVING AN ACCOUNT OF DON QUIXOTE’S LAST ILLNESS AND DEATH.
.sp 2
As nothing human is eternal, but
every sublunary object, especially
the life of man, is always declining
// File: 0996.png
from its origin to its decay;
and Don Quixote had no particular
privilege from Heaven, exempting him
from the common fate, the end and
period of his existence arrived, when
he least expected its approach. Either
in consequence of the melancholy produced
by his overthrow, or by the particular
dispensations of Heaven, he was
seized with a calenture which detained
him in bed for the space of six days,
during which he was often visited by
his friends; the curate, batchelor, and
barber, and his good squire Sancho Panza
never stirred from his bedside. These
gentlemen, supposing his distemper proceeded
from the chagrin inspired by his
overthrow, and the disappointment of
his hope, concerning the liberty and disenchantment
of Dulcinea, endeavoured
by all possible means to exhilarate his
spirits. The batchelor exhorted him to
chear up his heart, and forsake his
couch, that they might begin their pastoral
exercise, towards which he had already
composed an eclogue which would
disgrace all the pastorals that ever Sannazarius
wrote. He likewise gave him
to understand, that he had purchased
with his own money from an herdsman
of Quintanar, two famous dogs
called Barcino and Butron, to defend
their flock from the wolves. All these
consolations, however, could not dispel
the melancholy of Don Quixote;
so that his friends called a physician,
who having felt his pulse, made a very
doubtful prognostick; saying, happen
what would, they ought to provide for
the health of his soul, as that of his
body was in imminent danger; and he
gave it as his opinion, that the poor
gentleman was overwhelmed with melancholy
and vexation. The knight
heard this sentence with the most heroick
composure; but that was not the
case with his housekeeper, niece, and
squire, who began to weep and wail
most bitterly, as if they had already
seen him deprived of life.

Don Quixote finding himself inclined
to slumber, desired he might be
left alone; and the company retiring,
he is said to have slept six hours at a
stretch; so that the housekeeper and
niece began to fear he would never
awake. Nevertheless, he awoke at the
expiration of the aforesaid time, and
exclaimed aloud, ‘Praised be the Almighty
God, for the great benefit I
// File: 0997.png
.pn +1
have received from his bounty! His
mercies know no bounds; nor are
they abridged or impeded by the
transgressions of man!’ The niece,
who listened attentively, hearing this
ejaculation, more sensible and connected
than any thing he had uttered since
the beginning of his illness; ‘Uncle,’
said she, ‘what do you mean? Has
any thing new befallen us? What
mercies and transgressions are these
you mention?’—‘Mercies,’ replied
the knight, ‘which Heaven hath this
instant been pleased to vouchsafe unto
me, notwithstanding the heinousness
of my transgressions. I now
enjoy my judgment undisturbed, and
cleared from those dark shadows of
ignorance, in which my understanding
hath been involved, by the pernicious
and incessant reading of those
detestable books of chivalry. I am
now sensible of the falsity and folly
they contain; and nothing gives me
concern, but that this conviction
comes too late to give me time sufficient
to make amends, by reading
others, which would enlighten my
soul. I feel myself, cousin, at the
point of death; and I would not
undergo that great change, in such
a manner as to entail the imputation
of madness on my memory; for,
though I have acted as a madman, I
should not wish to confirm the character,
by my behaviour in the last
moments of my life. Be so good,
my dear child, as to send for my
worthy friend the curate, the batchelor
Sampson Carrasco, and master
Nicholas the barber; for I want to
confess, and make my will.’

The accidental arrival of these three,
saved her the trouble of sending a message
to each in particular; and Don Quixote
seeing them enter, ‘Good gentlemen,’
said he, ‘congratulate and rejoice with
me, upon my being no longer Don
Quixote de La Mancha, but plain
Alonzo Quixano, surnamed the Good,
on account of the innocence of my
life and conversation. I am now an
enemy to Amadis de Gaul, and the
whole infinite tribe of his descendants;
now are all the profane histories
of knight errantry odious to my
reflection; now I am sensible of my
own madness, and the danger into
which I have been precipitated by
reading such absurdities, which I,
// File: 0998.png
from dear-bought experience, abominate
and abhor.’ The three friends,
hearing this declaration, believed he was
certainly seized with some new species
of madness; and, on this supposition,
Sampson replied, ‘Now, Signior Don
Quixote, when we have received the
news of my Lady Dulcinea’s being
disenchanted, do you talk at this rate?
When we are on the point of becoming
shepherds, that we may pass away
our time happily in singing, like so
many princes, has your worship taken
the resolution to turn hermit? No
more of that, I beseech you; recollect
your spirits, and leave off talking
such idle stories!’—‘Those which I
have hitherto believed, have, indeed,
realized my misfortune,’ said the
knight; ‘but, with the assistance of
Heaven, I hope my death will turn
them to my advantage.—Gentlemen,
I feel myself hastening to the
goal of life; and therefore, jesting
apart, let me have the benefit of a
ghostly confessor, and send for a notary
to write my will; for in such extremities,
a man must not trifle with
his own soul: I entreat you, then, to
call a notary; and, in the mean time,
I will confess myself to Mr. Curate.’
They looked at one another, surprized
at this discourse; and, though still dubious,
resolved to comply with his desire:
they considered this sudden and
easy transition from madness to sanity,
as a certain signal of his approaching
death; for to those expressions already
rehearsed, he added a great number so
rational, so christian and well-connected,
as to dispel the doubts of all present,
who were now firmly persuaded,
that he had retrieved the right use of
his intellects. The curate having dismissed
the company, confessed the penitent;
while the batchelor went in quest
of the notary, with whom he in a little
time returned, accompanied also by
Sancho, who having received an account
of his master’s condition, and
finding the niece and housekeeper in
tears, began to pucker up his face, and
open the flood-gates of his eyes.

.if h
.il fn=plate-xv.jpg id=plate15 w=60% alt=""
.ca Plate XV: Don Quixote on His Death-Bed.
.if-
.if t
[Illustration: Don Quixote on His Death-Bed.]
.if-

Confession being ended, the curate
came forth, saying, ‘The good Alonzo
Quixano is really dying, and without
all doubt restored to his senses;
we may now go and see the will attested.’
These tidings gave a terrible
stab to the overcharged hearts of
// File: 0999.png
// File: 1000.png
// File: 1001.png
.pn +1
the two ladies and his faithful squire,
whose eyes overflowed with weeping,
and whose bosoms had well-nigh burst
with a thousand sighs and groans; for,
indeed, it must be owned, as we have
somewhere observed, that whether in
the character of Alonzo Quixano the
Good, or in the capacity of Don Quixote
de La Mancha, the poor gentleman
had always exhibited marks of a peaceable
temper and agreeable demeanour,
for which he was beloved, not only by
his own family, but also by all those
who had the pleasure of his acquaintance.

The notary entering the apartment
with the rest of the company, wrote the
preamble of the will, in which Don
Quixote disposed of his soul in all the
necessary Christian forms: then proceeding
to the legacies, he said, ‘<i>Item</i>,
Whereas Sancho Panza, whom, in
my madness, I made my squire, has
in his hands a certain sum of money
for my use; and as divers accounts,
disbursements, and pecuniary transactions
have passed between us; it is
my will, that he shall not be charged
or brought to account for the said money;
but, if there be any overplus,
after he has deducted the payment
of what I owe him, the said overplus,
which must be a mere trifle, shall be
his own, and much good may it do
him! and as, during my disorder, I
contributed to his being made governor
of an island, I would now, while
I enjoy my perfect senses, confer upon
him, were it in my power, a whole
kingdom; which he richly deserves
for the innocency of his heart, and
the fidelity of his service.’ Then
turning to the disconsolate squire, ‘Forgive
me, friend,’ said he, ‘for having
been the cause of thy appearing
in the eye of the world a madman,
like myself; by drawing thee into
my own erroneous notions, concerning
the existence and adventures of
knights-errant.’—‘Lack-a-day, dear
Sir!’ cried Sancho, blubbering, ‘do
not die; take my advice, and live
many years upon the face of the earth;
for the greatest madness a man can
be guilty of in this life, is to let himself
die outright, without being slain
by any person whatever, or destroyed
by any other weapon than the hands
of melancholy. Hark ye, Signior!
hang sloth! get up, and let us take
the field in shepherds apparel, according
to our agreement; who knows,
but behind some bush we may find
my Lady Dulcinea disenchanted, and
a comely sight for to see? If you take
your overthrow so much to heart,
lay the blame at my door, and say
you was vanquished by my carelessness,
in girting Rozinante; besides,
your worship must have read in your
books of chivalry, that it was common
for one knight to unhorse another,
and for him who was vanquished
to-day, to be victor to-morrow.’—‘Very
true,’ said Sampson; ‘honest
Sancho seems to be very well informed
of these matters.’—‘Gentlemen,’
replied the knight, ‘let us proceed fair
and softly, without looking for this
year’s birds in last year’s nests. I
was mad; but now am in my right
senses. I was Don Quixote de La
Mancha; but now, as I have already
observed, I am Alonzo Quixano the
Good: and I hope, I shall, by my
veracity and repentance, recover that
degree of your esteem, which I formerly
enjoyed. So let Mr. Notary
proceed.’

‘<i>Item</i>, I bequeath my whole estate,
real and personal, to my niece Antonia
Quixano here present, after deducting
what shall be sufficient for the
payment of my debts and legacies;
and it is my will, that from the first
of the money thence arising, the
wages due to my housekeeper shall be
paid, together with twenty ducats for a
suit of mourning; and I appoint Mr.
Curate, and Mr. Batchelor Sampson
Carrasco, here present, my executors.
<i>Item</i>, It is my will, that if my niece
Antonia Quixano inclines to marriage,
she shall not wed any man until she
is fully satisfied, from previous information,
that he is an utter stranger
to books of chivalry; or, if she finds
he is addicted to this kind of reading,
and marries him nevertheless, she
shall forfeit the whole legacy, which
my executors may, in that case, dispose
of in pious uses. <i>Item</i>, I beseech
the said gentlemen, my executors,
if perchance they should become
acquainted with a certain author,
who composed and published
an history, entitled, “The Second
Part of the Atchievements of Don
Quixote de La Mancha;” that they
will, in my name, most earnestly entreat
him to forgive me for having
been the innocent cause of his writing
such a number of absurdities as
// File: 1002.png
.pn +1
that performance contains; for I quit
this life with some scruples of conscience
arising from that consideration.’
The will being thus concluded,
he was seized with a fainting-fit,
and stretched himself at full length in
the bed; so that all the company were
alarmed, and ran to his assistance.
During three days which he lived after
the will was signed and sealed,
he frequently fainted, and the whole
family was in confusion: nevertheless,
the niece eat her victuals, the housekeeper
drank to the repose of his soul,
and even Sancho cherished his little
carcase; for the prospect of succession
either dispels or moderates that affliction
which an heir ought to feel at the
death of the testator.

At last Don Quixote expired; after
having received all the sacraments, and
in the strongest terms, pathetically
enforced, expressed his abomination
against all books of chivalry; and the
notary observed, that in all the books
of that kind which he had perused, he
had never read of any knight-errant
who died quietly in his bed, as a good
Christian, like Don Quixote; who,
amidst the tears and lamentations of
all present, gave up the ghost, or in
other words, departed this life. The
curate was no sooner certified of his
decease, than he desired the notary to
make a testimonial, declaring, that
Alonzo Quixano the Good, commonly
called Don Quixote de La Mancha, had
taken his departure from this life, and
died of a natural death; that no other
author, different from Cid Hamet Benengeli,
should falsely pretend to raise
him from the dead, and write endless
histories of his atchievements.

This was the end of the sage Hidalgo
de La Mancha, whose native
place Cid Hamet would not punctually
describe, because he wished that all the
towns and villages of that province
should contend for the honour of having
given him birth, as the seven cities
of Greece contended for Homer. We
shall here omit the lamentations of the
housekeeper, niece, and squire, together
with all the epitaphs, except the following,
by Sampson Carrasco.

.pm verse-start
Here lies a cavalier of fame,
  Whose dauntless courage soar’d so high,
That death, which can the boldest tame,
  He scorn’d to flatter or to fly.
A constant bugbear to the bad,
  His might the world in arms defy’d;
And in his life though counted mad,
  He in his perfect senses dy’d.
.pm verse-end

The sagacious Cid Hamet addressing
himself to his pen, ‘And now, my
slender quill,’ said he, ‘whether cunningly
cut, or unskilfully formed,
it boots not much; here, from this
rack, suspended by a wire, shalt thou
enjoy repose, and live to future ages,
if no presumptuous and wicked hand
shall take thee down, in order to profane
thee in compiling idle histories.
But ere such insolent fingers can
touch thine hallowed plume, accost,
and warn them, if thou canst, in words
like these:

.pm verse-start
“Caitifs, forbear!—Illustrious prince, let none
”Attempt th’ emprize reserv’d for me alone[#].”
.pm verse-end

‘For me alone was Don Quixote born,
and I produced for him; he to act,
and I to record: in a word, we were
destined for each other, maugre and
in despight of that fictitious Tordesilian
author, who has presumed, or
may presume, to write with his coarse,
aukward ostrich quill, the atchievements
of my valiant knight; a burden
too heavy for his weak shoulders,
and an undertaking too great for his
frozen genius. Advise him, therefore,
if ever thou shouldst chance to
be in his company, to let the wearied
and mouldering bones of Don Quixote
rest in the grave, without seeking
to carry him into Old Castile[#], in
opposition to all the prerogatives of
death; or to drag him from his tomb,
where he really and truly lies extended
at full length, and utterly
incapable of making a third
sally: for all the exploits performed
by the whole tribe of knights-errant
are sufficiently ridiculed by the two
expeditions he has already made, so
much to the satisfaction and entertainment,
// File: 1003.png
.pn +1
not only of Spain, but also
of every foreign nation to which the
fame of his adventures hath been
conveyed. In so doing, thou wilt
conform to thy Christian profession of
doing good to those who would do
thee harm; and I shall rest satisfied
and perfectly well pleased, in seeing
myself the first author who fully enjoyed
the fruit of his writings in the
success of his design: for mine was
no other than to inspire mankind with
an abhorrence of the false and improbable
stories recounted in books
of chivalry; which are already shaken
by the adventures of my true and
genuine Don Quixote, and in a little
time will certainly sink into oblivion.
Farewel.’
.sp 2
FINIS.

.fn #
Lines probably taken from some old ballad or romance.
.fn-

.fn #
The author of the Second Part hinted, in his preface, a design of bringing his hero
into the field again, in Old Castile.
.fn-
.sp 4
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.ce
<l>Footnotes</l>
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.sp 4
.dv class='tnotes’
.ul
.it Transcriber’s Notes:
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.it Footnotes have been collected at the end of the text, and are\
linked for ease of reference.
.if-
.if t
.it Text that was in italics is enclosed by underscores (<i>italics</i>).
.it Footnotes have been moved to follow the sections in which they\
are referenced.
.if-
.ul-
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