The Ingenious Gentleman Don Quixote de la Mancha

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The
Ingenious
Gentleman
Don
Quixote

de
la
Mancha

by
Miguel
de
Cervantes
[Saavedra]




Translated
by
John
Ormsby




Edited
by
Patricia
Garrison




                                           ‐i‐
‐ii‐
THE AUTHOR’S PREFACE

Idle reader: thou mayest believe me without any oath that I would this book, as it is
the child of my brain, were the fairest, gayest, and cleverest that could be imagined.
But I could not counteract Nature’s law that everything shall beget its like; and what,
then, could this sterile, ill-tilled wit of mine beget but the story of a dry, shriveled,
whimsical offspring, full of thoughts of all sorts and such as never came into any
other imagination – just what might be begotten in a prison, where every misery is
lodged and every doleful sound makes its dwelling? Tranquility, a cheerful retreat,
pleasant fields, bright skies, murmuring brooks, peace of mind, these are the things
that go far to make even the most barren muses fertile, and bring into the world
births that fill it with wonder and delight. Sometimes when a father has an ugly,
loutish son, the love he bears him so blindfolds his eyes that he does not see his
defects, or, rather, takes them for gifts and charms of mind and body, and talks of
them to his friends as wit and grace. I, however – for though I pass for the father, I
am but the stepfather to “Don Quixote” – have no desire to go with the current of
custom, or to implore thee, dearest reader, almost with tears in my eyes, as others
do, to pardon or excuse the defects thou wilt perceive in this child of mine. Thou art
neither its kinsman nor its friend, thy soul is thine own and thy will as free as any
man’s, whate’er he be, thou art in thine own house and master of it as much as the
king of his taxes and thou knowest the common saying, “Under my cloak I kill the
king;” all which exempts and frees thee from every consideration and obligation,
and thou canst say what thou wilt of the story without fear of being abused for any
ill or rewarded for any good thou mayest say of it.

My wish would be simply to present it to thee plain and unadorned, without any
embellishment of preface or uncountable muster of customary sonnets, epigrams,
and eulogies, such as are commonly put at the beginning of books. For I can tell thee,
though composing it cost me some labour, I found none greater than the making of
this Preface thou art now reading. Many times did I take up my pen to write it, and

                                                -iii-
many
did
I
lay
it
down
again,
not
knowing
what
to
write.
One
of
these
times,
as
I
was

pondering
with
the
paper
before
me,
a
pen
in
my
ear,
my
elbow
on
the
desk,
and
my

cheek
in
my
hand,
thinking
of
what
I
should
say,
there
came
in
unexpectedly
a

certain
lively,
clever
friend
of
mine,
who,
seeing
me
so
deep
in
thought,
asked
the

reason;
to
which
I,
making
no
mystery
of
it,
answered
that
I
was
thinking
of
the

Preface
I
had
to
make
for
the
story
of
“Don
Quixote,”
which
so
troubled
me
that
I
had

a
mind
not
to
make
any
at
all,
nor
even
publish
the
achievements
of
so
noble
a

knight.


“For,
how
could
you
expect
me
not
to
feel
uneasy
about
what
that
ancient
lawgiver

they
call
the
Public
will
say
when
it
sees
me,
after
slumbering
so
many
years
in
the

silence
of
oblivion,
coming
out
now
with
all
my
years
upon
my
back,
and
with
a
book

as
dry
as
a
rush,
devoid
of
invention,
meager
in
style,
poor
in
thoughts,
wholly

wanting
in
learning
and
wisdom,
without
quotations
in
the
margin
or
annotations
at

the
end,
after
the
fashion
of
other
books
I
see,
which,
though
all
fables
and
profanity,

are
so
full
of
maxims
from
Aristotle,
and
Plato,
and
the
whole
herd
of
philosophers,

that
they
fill
the
readers
with
amazement
and
convince
them
that
the
authors
are

men
of
learning,
erudition,
and
eloquence.

And
then,
when
they
quote
the
Holy

Scriptures!
–
anyone
would
say
they
are
St.
Thomases
or
other
doctors
of
the

Church,
observing
as
they
do
a
decorum
so
ingenious
that
in
one
sentence
they

describe
a
distracted
lover
and
in
the
next
deliver
a
devout
little
sermon
that
it
is
a

pleasure
and
a
treat
to
hear
and
read.
Of
all
this
there
will
be
nothing
in
my
book,
for

I
have
nothing
to
quote
in
the
margin
or
to
note
at
the
end,
and
still
less
do
I
know

what
authors
I
follow
in
it,
to
place
them
at
the
beginning,
as
all
do,
under
the
letters

A,
B,
C,
beginning
with
Aristotle
and
ending
with
Xenophon,
or
Zoilus,
or
Zeuxis,

though
one
was
a
slanderer
and
the
other
a
painter.
Also
my
book
must
do
without

sonnets
at
the
beginning,
at
least
sonnets
whose
authors
are
dukes,
marquises,

counts,
bishops,
ladies,
or
famous
poets.
Though
if
I
were
to
ask
two
or
three

obliging
friends,
I
know
they
would
give
me
them,
and
such
as
the
productions
of



                                              ‐iv‐
those
that
have
the
highest
reputation
in
our
Spain
could
not
equal.


“In
short,
my
friend,”
I
continued,
“I
am
determined
that
Señor
Don
Quixote
shall

remain
buried
in
the
archives
of
his
own
La
Mancha
until
Heaven
provide
some
one

to
garnish
him
with
all
those
things
he
stands
in
need
of;
because
I
find
myself,

through
my
shallowness
and
want
of
learning,
unequal
to
supplying
them,
and

because
I
am
by
nature
shy
and
careless
about
hunting
for
authors
to
say
what
I

myself
can
say
without
them.
Hence
the
cogitation
and
abstraction
you
found
me
in,

and
reason
enough,
what
you
have
heard
from
me.”


Hearing
this,
my
friend,
giving
himself
a
slap
on
the
forehead
and
breaking
into
a

hearty
laugh,
exclaimed,
“Before
God,
Brother,
now
am
I
disabused
of
an
error
in

which
I
have
been
living
all
this
long
time
I
have
known
you,
all
through
which
I

have
taken
you
to
be
shrewd
and
sensible
in
all
you
do;
but
now
I
see
you
are
as
far

from
that
as
the
heaven
is
from
the
earth.
It
is
possible
that
things
of
so
little

moment
and
so
easy
to
set
right
can
occupy
and
perplex
a
ripe
wit
like
yours,
fit
to

break
through
and
crush
far
greater
obstacles?
By
my
faith,
this
comes,
not
of
any

want
of
ability,
but
of
too
much
indolence
and
too
little
knowledge
of
life.
Do
you

want
to
know
if
I
am
telling
the
truth?
Well,
then,
attend
to
me,
and
you
will
see
how,

in
the
opening
and
shutting
of
an
eye,
I
sweep
away
all
your
difficulties,
and
supply

all
those
deficiencies
which
you
say
check
and
discourage
you
from
bringing
before

the
world
the
story
of
your
famous
Don
Quixote,
the
light
and
mirror
of
all
knight‐
errantry.”


“Say
on,”
said
I,
listening
to
his
talk;
“how
do
you
propose
to
make
up
for
my

diffidence,
and
reduce
to
order
this
chaos
of
perplexity
I
am
in?”


To
which
he
made
answer,
“Your
first
difficulty
about
the
sonnets,
epigrams,
or

complimentary
verses
which
you
want
for
the
beginning,
and
which
ought
to
be
by

persons
of
importance
and
rank,
can
be
removed
if
you
yourself
take
a
little
trouble

to
make
them;
you
can
afterwards
baptize
them,
and
put
any
name
you
like
to
them,

fathering
them
on
Prester
John
of
the
Indies
or
the
Emperor
of
Trebizond,
who,
to


                                                ‐v‐
my
knowledge,
were
said
to
have
been
famous
poets:
and
even
if
they
were
not,
and

any
pedants
or
bachelors
should
attack
you
and
question
the
fact,
never
care
two

maravedis
for
that,
for
even
if
they
prove
a
lie
against
you
they
cannot
cut
off
the

hand
you
wrote
it
with.


“As
to
references
in
the
margin
to
the
books
and
authors
from
whom
you
take
the

aphorisms
and
sayings
you
put
into
your
story,
it
is
only
contriving
to
fit
in
nicely

any
sentences
or
scraps
of
Latin
you
may
happen
to
have
by
heart,
or
at
any
rate

that
will
not
give
you
much
trouble
to
look
up;
so
as,
when
you
speak
of
freedom

and
captivity,
to
insert


       Non
bene
pro
toto
libertas
venditur
auro;


and
then
refer
in
the
margin
to
Horace,
or
whoever
said
it;
or,
if
you
allude
to
the

power
of
death,
to
come
in
with



       Pallida
mors
Aequo
pulsat
pede
pauperum
tabernas,


       Regumque
turres.


“If
it
be
friendship
and
the
love
God
bids
us
bear
to
our
enemy,
go
at
once
to
the
Holy

Scriptures,
which
you
can
do
with
a
very
small
amount
of
research,
and
quote
no

less
than
the
words
of
God
himself:
Ego
autem
dico
vobis:
diligite
inimicos
vestros.
If

you
speak
of
evil
thoughts,
turn
to
the
Gospel:
De
corde
exeunt
cogitationes
malae.
If

of
the
fickleness
of
friends,
there
is
Cato,
who
will
give
you
his
distich:


       Donec
eris
felix
multos
numerabis
amicos,


       Tempora
si
fuerint
nubila,
solus
eris.



“With
these
and
such
like
bits
of
Latin
they
will
take
you
for
a
grammarian
at
all

events,
and
that
now‐a‐days
is
no
small
honour
and
profit.


“With
regard
to
adding
annotations
at
the
end
of
the
book,
you
may
safely
do
it
in

this
way.
If
you
mention
any
giant
in
your
book
contrive
that
it
shall
be
the
giant

Goliath,
and
with
this
alone,
which
will
cost
you
almost
nothing,
you
have
a
grand


                                               ‐vi‐
note,
for
you
can
put—The
giant
Golias
or
Goliath
was
a
Philistine
whom
the

shepherd
David
slew
by
a
mighty
stone‐cast
in
the
Terebinth
valley,
as
is
related
in

the
Book
of
Kings—in
the
chapter
where
you
find
it
written.





“Next,
to
prove
yourself
a
man
of
erudition
in
polite
literature
and
cosmography,

manage
that
the
river
Tagus
shall
be
named
in
your
story,
and
there
you
are
at
once

with
another
famous
annotation,
setting
forth—The
river
Tagus
was
so
called
after
a

King
of
Spain:
it
has
its
source
in
such
and
such
a
place
and
falls
into
the
ocean,

kissing
the
walls
of
the
famous
city
of
Lisbon,
and
it
is
a
common
belief
that
it
has

golden
sands,
etc.
If
you
should
have
anything
to
do
with
robbers,
I
will
give
you
the

story
of
Cacus,
for
I
have
it
by
heart;
if
with
loose
women,
there
is
the
Bishop
of

Mondonedo,
who
will
give
you
the
loan
of
Lamia,
Laida,
and
Flora,
any
reference
to

whom
will
bring
you
great
credit;
if
with
hard‐hearted
ones,
Ovid
will
furnish
you

with
Medea;
if
with
witches
or
enchantresses,
Homer
has
Calypso,
and
Virgil
Circe;
if

with
valiant
captains,
Julius
Caesar
himself
will
lend
you
himself
in
his
own

‘Commentaries,’
and
Plutarch
will
give
you
a
thousand
Alexanders.
If
you
should

deal
with
love,
with
two
ounces
you
may
know
of
Tuscan
you
can
go
to
Leon
the

Hebrew,
who
will
supply
you
to
your
heart’s
content;
or
if
you
should
not
care
to
go

to
foreign
countries
you
have
at
home
Fonseca’s
‘Of
the
Love
of
God,’
in
which
is

condensed
all
that
you
or
the
most
imaginative
mind
can
want
on
the
subject.
In

short,
all
you
have
to
do
is
to
manage
to
quote
these
names,
or
refer
to
these
stories

I
have
mentioned,
and
leave
it
to
me
to
insert
the
annotations
and
quotations,
and
I

swear
by
all
that’s
good
to
fill
your
margins
and
use
up
four
sheets
at
the
end
of
the

book.


“Now
let
us
come
to
those
references
to
authors
which
other
books
have,
and
you

want
for
yours.
The
remedy
for
this
is
very
simple:
You
have
only
to
look
out
for

some
book
that
quotes
them
all,
from
A
to
Z
as
you
say
yourself,
and
then
insert
the

very
same
alphabet
in
your
book,
and
though
the
imposition
may
be
plain
to
see,


                                              ‐vii‐
because
you
have
so
little
need
to
borrow
from
them,
that
is
no
matter;
there
will

probably
be
some
simple
enough
to
believe
that
you
have
made
use
of
them
all
in

this
plain,
artless
story
of
yours.
At
any
rate,
if
it
answers
no
other
purpose,
this
long

catalogue
of
authors
will
serve
to
give
a
surprising
look
of
authority
to
your
book.

Besides,
no
one
will
trouble
himself
to
verify
whether
you
have
followed
them
or

whether
you
have
not,
being
no
way
concerned
in
it;
especially
as,
if
I
mistake
not,

this
book
of
yours
has
no
need
of
any
one
of
those
things
you
say
it
wants,
for
it
is,

from
beginning
to
end,
an
attack
upon
the
books
of
chivalry,
of
which
Aristotle
never

dreamt,
nor
St.
Basil
said
a
word,
nor
Cicero
had
any
knowledge;
nor
do
the
niceties

of
truth
nor
the
observations
of
astrology
come
within
the
range
of
its
fanciful

vagaries;
nor
have
geometrical
measurements
or
refutations
of
the
arguments
used

in
rhetoric
anything
to
do
with
it;
nor
does
it
mean
to
preach
to
anybody,
mixing
up

things
human
and
divine,
a
sort
of
motley
in
which
no
Christian
understanding

should
dress
itself.
It
has
only
to
avail
itself
of
truth
to
nature
in
its
composition,
and

the
more
perfect
the
imitation
the
better
the
work
will
be.
And
as
this
piece
of
yours

aims
at
nothing
more
than
to
destroy
the
authority
and
influence
which
books
of

chivalry
have
in
the
world
and
with
the
public,
there
is
no
need
for
you
to
go
a‐
begging
for
aphorisms
from
philosophers,
precepts
from
Holy
Scripture,
fables
from

poets,
speeches
from
orators,
or
miracles
from
saints;
but
merely
to
take
care
that

your
style
and
diction
run
musically,
pleasantly,
and
plainly,
with
clear,
proper,
and

well‐placed
words,
setting
forth
your
purpose
to
the
best
of
your
power,
and
putting

your
ideas
intelligibly,
without
confusion
or
obscurity.
Strive,
too,
that
in
reading

your
story
the
melancholy
may
be
moved
to
laughter,
and
the
merry
made
merrier

still;
that
the
simple
shall
not
be
wearied,
that
the
judicious
shall
admire
the

invention,
that
the
grave
shall
not
despise
it,
nor
the
wise
fail
to
praise
it.
Finally,

keep
your
aim
fixed
on
the
destruction
of
that
ill‐founded
edifice
of
the
books
of

chivalry,
hated
by
some
and
praised
by
many
more;
for
if
you
succeed
in
this
you

will
have
achieved
no
small
success.”


In
profound
silence
I
listened
to
what
my
friend
said,
and
his
observations
made

                                               ‐viii‐
such
an
impression
on
me
that,
without
attempting
to
question
them,
I
admitted

their
soundness,
and
out
of
them
I
determined
to
make
this
Preface;
wherein,
gentle

reader,
thou
wilt
perceive
my
friend’s
good
sense,
my
good
fortune
in
finding
such

an
adviser
in
such
a
time
of
need,
and
what
thou
hast
gained
in
receiving,
without

addition
or
alteration,
the
story
of
the
famous
Don
Quixote
of
La
Mancha,
who
is

held
by
all
the
inhabitants
of
the
district
of
the
Campo
de
Montiel
to
have
been
the

chastest
lover
and
the
bravest
knight
that
has
for
many
years
been
seen
in
that

neighborhood.
I
have
no
desire
to
magnify
the
service
I
render
thee
in
making
thee

acquainted
with
so
renowned
and
honored
a
knight,
but
I
do
desire
thy
thanks
for

the
acquaintance
thou
wilt
make
with
the
famous
Sancho
Panza,
his
squire,
in

whom,
to
my
thinking,
I
have
given
thee
condensed
all
the
squirely
drolleries
that

are
scattered
through
the
swarm
of
the
vain
books
of
chivalry.
And
so
–
may
God

give
thee
health,
and
not
forget
me.
Vale.





DEDICATION
OF
VOLUME
I



TO
THE
DUKE
OF
BEJAR,
MARQUIS
OF
GIBRALEON,
COUNT
OF
BENALCAZAR
AND

BANARES,
VICECOUNT
OF
THE
PUEBLA
DE
ALCOCER,
MASTER
OF
THE
TOWNS
OF

CAPILLA,
CURIEL
AND
BURGUILLOS


In
belief
of
the
good
reception
and
honors
that
Your
Excellency
bestows
on
all
sort

of
books,
as
prince
so
inclined
to
favor
good
arts,
chiefly
those
who
by
their

nobleness
do
not
submit
to
the
service
and
bribery
of
the
vulgar,
I
have
determined

bringing
to
light
The
Ingenious
Gentleman
Don
Quixote
of
la
Mancha,
in
shelter
of

Your
Excellency’s
glamorous
name,
to
whom,
with
the
obeisance
I
owe
to
such

grandeur,
I
pray
to
receive
it
agreeably
under
his
protection,
so
that
in
this
shadow,

though
deprived
of
that
precious
ornament
of
elegance
and
erudition
that
clothe
the

works
composed
in
the
houses
of
those
who
know,
it
dares
appear
with
assurance
in

the
judgment
of
some
who,
trespassing
the
bounds
of
their
own
ignorance,
use
to


                                              ‐ix‐
condemn
with
more
rigor
and
less
justice
the
writings
of
others.
It
is
my
earnest

hope
that
Your
Excellency’s
good
counsel
in
regard
to
my
honorable
purpose,
will

not
disdain
the
littleness
of
so
humble
a
service.


Miguel
de
Cervantes











                                              ‐x‐
                                                       Don
Quixote
de
la
Mancha
         1

                                                                                          


VOLUME
I






CHAPTER
I

WHICH
TREATS
OF
THE
CHARACTER
AND
PURSUITS
OF
THE
FAMOUS

GENTLEMAN
DON
QUIXOTE
OF
LA
MANCHA





In
a
village
of
La
Mancha,
the
name
of
which
I
have
no
desire
to
call
to
mind,
there

lived
not
long
since
one
of
those
gentlemen
that
keep
a
lance
in
the
lance‐rack,
an

old
buckler,
a
lean
hack,
and
a
greyhound
for
coursing.
An
olla
of
rather
more
beef

than
mutton,
a
salad
on
most
nights,
scraps
on
Saturdays,
lentils
on
Fridays,
and
a

pigeon
or
so
extra
on
Sundays,
made
away
with
three‐quarters
of
his
income.
The

rest
of
it
went
in
a
doublet
of
fine
cloth
and
velvet
breeches
and
shoes
to
match
for

holidays,
while
on
week‐days
he
made
a
brave
figure
in
his
best
homespun.
He
had

in
his
house
a
housekeeper
past
forty,
a
niece
under
twenty,
and
a
lad
for
the
field

and
market‐place,
who
used
to
saddle
the
hack
as
well
as
handle
the
bill‐hook.
The

age
of
this
gentleman
of
ours
was
bordering
on
fifty;
he
was
of
a
hardy
habit,
spare,

gaunt‐featured,
a
very
early
riser
and
a
great
sportsman.
They
will
have
it
his

surname
was
Quixada
or
Quesada
(for
here
there
is
some
difference
of
opinion

among
the
authors
who
write
on
the
subject),
although
from
reasonable
conjectures

it
seems
plain
that
he
was
called
Quexana.
This,
however,
is
of
but
little
importance

to
our
tale;
it
will
be
enough
not
to
stray
a
hair's
breadth
from
the
truth
in
the
telling

of
it.



You
must
know,
then,
that
the
above‐named
gentleman
whenever
he
was
at
leisure

(which
was
mostly
all
the
year
round)
gave
himself
up
to
reading
books
of
chivalry

with
such
ardor
and
avidity
that
he
almost
entirely
neglected
the
pursuit
of
his
field‐
sports,
and
even
the
management
of
his
property;
and
to
such
a
pitch
did
his

eagerness
and
infatuation
go
that
he
sold
many
an
acre
of
tillage
land
to
buy
books

2
     Don
Quixote
de
la
Mancha



of
chivalry
to
read,
and
brought
home
as
many
of
them
as
he
could
get.
But
of
all

there
were
none
he
liked
so
well
as
those
of
the
famous
Feliciano
de
Silva's1

composition,
for
their
lucidity
of
style
and
complicated
conceits
were
as
pearls
in
his

sight,
particularly
when
in
his
reading
he
came
upon
courtships
and
cartels,
where

he
often
found
passages
like
"the
reason
of
the
unreason
with
which
my
reason
is

afflicted
so
weakens
my
reason
that
with
reason
I
murmur
at
your
beauty;"
or
again,

"the
high
heavens,
that
of
your
divinity
divinely
fortify
you
with
the
stars,
render
you

deserving
of
the
desert
your
greatness
deserves."
Over
conceits
of
this
sort
the
poor

gentleman
lost
his
wits,
and
used
to
lie
awake
striving
to
understand
them
and

worm
the
meaning
out
of
them;
what
Aristotle
himself
could
not
have
made
out
or

extracted
had
he
come
to
life
again
for
that
special
purpose.
He
was
not
at
all
easy

about
the
wounds
which
Don
Belianis
gave
and
took,
because
it
seemed
to
him
that,

great
as
were
the
surgeons
who
had
cured
him,
he
must
have
had
his
face
and
body

covered
all
over
with
seams
and
scars.
He
commended,
however,
the
author's
way

of
ending
his
book
with
the
promise
of
that
interminable
adventure,
and
many
a

time
was
he
tempted
to
take
up
his
pen
and
finish
it
properly
as
is
there
proposed,

which
no
doubt
he
would
have
done,
and
made
a
successful
piece
of
work
of
it
too,

had
not
greater
and
more
absorbing
thoughts
prevented
him.



Many
an
argument
did
he
have
with
the
curate
of
his
village
(a
learned
man,
and
a

graduate
of
Siguenza)
as
to
which
had
been
the
better
knight,
Palmerin
of
England

or
Amadis
of
Gaul.
Master
Nicholas,
the
village
barber,
however,
used
to
say
that

neither
of
them
came
up
to
the
Knight
of
Phoebus,
and
that
if
there
was
any
that

could
compare
with
him
it
was
Don
Galaor,
the
brother
of
Amadis
of
Gaul,
because

he
had
a
spirit
that
was
equal
to
every
occasion,
and
was
no
finical
knight,
nor

lachrymose
like
his
brother,
while
in
the
matter
of
valor
he
was
not
a
whit
behind

him.
In
short,
he
became
so
absorbed
in
his
books
that
he
spent
his
nights
from

sunset
to
sunrise,
and
his
days
from
dawn
to
dark,
poring
over
them;
and
what
with

little
sleep
and
much
reading
his
brains
got
so
dry
that
he
lost
his
wits.
His
fancy


























































1
A
sixteenth‐century
author
of
romances;
the
quotation
that
follows
is
from
his
Don


Florisel
de
Niquea

                                                     Don
Quixote
de
la
Mancha
            3

                                                                                           

grew
full
of
what
he
used
to
read
about
in
his
books,
enchantments,
quarrels,

battles,
challenges,
wounds,
wooings,
loves,
agonies,
and
all
sorts
of
impossible

nonsense;
and
it
so
possessed
his
mind
that
the
whole
fabric
of
invention
and
fancy

he
read
of
was
true,
that
to
him
no
history
in
the
world
had
more
reality
in
it.
He

used
to
say
the
Cid
Ruy
Diaz
was
a
very
good
knight,
but
that
he
was
not
to
be

compared
with
the
Knight
of
the
Burning
Sword
who
with
one
back‐stroke
cut
in

half
two
fierce
and
monstrous
giants.
He
thought
more
of
Bernardo
del
Carpio

because
at
Roncesvalles
he
slew
Roland
in
spite
of
enchantments2,
availing
himself

of
the
artifice
of
Hercules
when
he
strangled
Antaeus3
the
son
of
Terra
in
his
arms.

He
approved
highly
of
the
giant
Morgante,
because,
although
of
the
giant
breed

which
is
always
arrogant
and
ill‐conditioned,
he
alone
was
affable
and
well‐bred.

But
above
all
he
admired
Reinaldos
of
Montalban,
especially
when
he
saw
him

sallying
forth
from
his
castle
and
robbing
everyone
he
met,
and
when
beyond
the

seas
he
stole
that
image
of
Mahomet
which,
as
his
history
says,
was
entirely
of
gold.

To
have
a
bout
of
kicking
at
that
traitor
of
a
Ganelon
he
would
have
given
his

housekeeper,
and
his
niece
into
the
bargain.



In
short,
his
wits
being
quite
gone,
he
hit
upon
the
strangest
notion
that
ever

madman
in
this
world
hit
upon,
and
that
was
that
he
fancied
it
was
right
and

requisite,
as
well
for
the
support
of
his
own
honor
as
for
the
service
of
his
country,

that
he
should
make
a
knight‐errant
of
himself,
roaming
the
world
over
in
full
armor

and
on
horseback
in
quest
of
adventures,
and
putting
in
practice
himself
all
that
he

had
read
of
as
being
the
usual
practices
of
knights‐errant;
righting
every
kind
of

wrong,
and
exposing
himself
to
peril
and
danger
from
which,
in
the
issue,
he
was
to

reap
eternal
renown
and
fame.
Already
the
poor
man
saw
himself
crowned
by
the

might
of
his
arm
Emperor
of
Trebizond
at
least;
and
so,
led
away
by
the
intense

enjoyment
he
found
in
these
pleasant
fancies,
he
set
himself
forthwith
to
put
his

scheme
into
execution.


























































2
Roland
had
the
magic
gift
of
invulnerability

3
The
mythological
Antaeus
was
invulnerable
as
long
as
he
maintained
contact
with


his
mother,
the
Earth.

4
     Don
Quixote
de
la
Mancha





The
first
thing
he
did
was
to
clean
up
some
armor
that
had
belonged
to
his
great‐
grandfather,
and
had
been
for
ages
lying
forgotten
in
a
corner
eaten
with
rust
and

covered
with
mildew.
He
scoured
and
polished
it
as
best
he
could,
but
he
perceived

one
great
defect
in
it,
that
it
had
no
closed
helmet,
nothing
but
a
simple
morion.
This

deficiency,
however,
his
ingenuity
supplied,
for
he
contrived
a
kind
of
half‐helmet
of

pasteboard
which,
fitted
on
to
the
morion,
looked
like
a
whole
one.
It
is
true
that,
in

order
to
see
if
it
was
strong
and
fit
to
stand
a
cut,
he
drew
his
sword
and
gave
it
a

couple
of
slashes,
the
first
of
which
undid
in
an
instant
what
had
taken
him
a
week

to
do.
The
ease
with
which
he
had
knocked
it
to
pieces
disconcerted
him
somewhat,

and
to
guard
against
that
danger
he
set
to
work
again,
fixing
bars
of
iron
on
the

inside
until
he
was
satisfied
with
its
strength;
and
then,
not
caring
to
try
any
more

experiments
with
it,
he
passed
it
and
adopted
it
as
a
helmet
of
the
most
perfect

construction.



He
next
proceeded
to
inspect
his
hack,
which,
with
more
quartos
than
a
real4
and

more
blemishes
than
the
steed
of
Gonela,
that
"tantum
pellis
et
ossa
fuit,5"
surpassed

in
his
eyes
the
Bucephalus
of
Alexander
or
the
Babieca
of
the
Cid.
Four
days
were

spent
in
thinking
what
name
to
give
him,
because
(as
he
said
to
himself)
it
was
not

right
that
a
horse
belonging
to
a
knight
so
famous,
and
one
with
such
merits
of
his

own,
should
be
without
some
distinctive
name,
and
he
strove
to
adapt
it
so
as
to

indicate
what
he
had
been
before
belonging
to
a
knight‐errant,
and
what
he
then

was;
for
it
was
only
reasonable
that,
his
master
taking
a
new
character,
he
should

take
a
new
name,
and
that
it
should
be
a
distinguished
and
full‐sounding
one,

befitting
the
new
order
and
calling
he
was
about
to
follow.
And
so,
after
having

composed,
struck
out,
rejected,
added
to,
unmade,
and
remade
a
multitude
of
names

out
of
his
memory
and
fancy,
he
decided
upon
calling
him
Rocinante,
a
name,
to
his





























































4
A
coin
(about
five
cents);
a
quarto
was
one
eighth
of
a
real.

5
Was
so
much
skin
and
bones.

                                                           Don
Quixote
de
la
Mancha
     5

                                                                                          

thinking,
lofty,
sonorous,
and
significant
of
his
condition
as
a
hack6
before
he

became
what
he
now
was,
the
first
and
foremost
of
all
the
hacks
in
the
world.



Having
got
a
name
for
his
horse
so
much
to
his
taste,
he
was
anxious
to
get
one
for

himself,
and
he
was
eight
days
more
pondering
over
this
point,
till
at
last
he
made

up
his
mind
to
call
himself
"Don
Quixote,"
whence,
as
has
been
already
said,
the

authors
of
this
veracious
history
have
inferred
that
his
name
must
have
been

beyond
a
doubt
Quixada,
and
not
Quesada
as
others
would
have
it.
Recollecting,

however,
that
the
valiant
Amadis
was
not
content
to
call
himself
curtly
Amadis
and

nothing
more,
but
added
the
name
of
his
kingdom
and
country
to
make
it
famous,

and
called
himself
Amadis
of
Gaul,
he,
like
a
good
knight,
resolved
to
add
on
the

name
of
his,
and
to
style
himself
Don
Quixote
of
La
Mancha,
whereby,
he
considered,

he
described
accurately
his
origin
and
country,
and
did
honor
to
it
in
taking
his

surname
from
it.



So
then,
his
armor
being
furbished,
his
morion
turned
into
a
helmet,
his
hack

christened,
and
he
himself
confirmed,
he
came
to
the
conclusion
that
nothing
more

was
needed
now
but
to
look
out
for
a
lady
to
be
in
love
with;
for
a
knight‐errant

without
love
was
like
a
tree
without
leaves
or
fruit,
or
a
body
without
a
soul.
As
he

said
to
himself,
"If,
for
my
sins,
or
by
my
good
fortune,
I
come
across
some
giant

hereabouts,
a
common
occurrence
with
knights‐errant,
and
overthrow
him
in
one

onslaught,
or
cleave
him
asunder
to
the
waist,
or,
in
short,
vanquish
and
subdue
him,

will
it
not
be
well
to
have
some
one
I
may
send
him
to
as
a
present,
that
he
may

come
in
and
fall
on
his
knees
before
my
sweet
lady,
and
in
a
humble,
submissive

voice
say,
'I
am
the
giant
Caraculiambro,
lord
of
the
island
of
Malindrania,

vanquished
in
single
combat
by
the
never
sufficiently
extolled
knight
Don
Quixote
of

La
Mancha,
who
has
commanded
me
to
present
myself
before
your
Grace,
that
your

Highness
dispose
of
me
at
your
pleasure'?"
Oh,
how
our
good
gentleman
enjoyed
the

delivery
of
this
speech,
especially
when
he
had
thought
of
some
one
to
call
his
Lady!



























































6
A
nag;
in
Spanish,
a
rocin.

6
    Don
Quixote
de
la
Mancha



There
was,
so
the
story
goes,
in
a
village
near
his
own
a
very
good‐looking
farm‐girl

with
whom
he
had
been
at
one
time
in
love,
though,
so
far
as
is
known,
she
never

knew
it
nor
gave
a
thought
to
the
matter.

Her
name
was
Aldonza
Lorenzo,
and
upon

her
he
thought
fit
to
confer
the
title
of
Lady
of
his
Thoughts;
and
after
some
search

for
a
name
which
should
not
be
out
of
harmony
with
her
own,
and
should
suggest

and
indicate
that
of
a
princess
and
great
lady,
he
decided
upon
calling
her
Dulcinea

del
Toboso
–
she
being
of
El
Toboso
–
a
name,
to
his
mind,
musical,
uncommon,
and

significant,
like
all
those
he
had
already
bestowed
upon
himself
and
the
things

belonging
to
him.





                                                     Don
Quixote
de
la
Mancha
            7

                                                                                           



CHAPTER
II

WHICH
TREATS
OF
THE
FIRST
SALLY
THE
INGENIOUS
DON
QUIXOTE
MADE

FROM
HOME





These
preliminaries
settled,
he
did
not
care
to
put
off
any
longer
the
execution
of
his

design,
urged
on
to
it
by
the
thought
of
all
the
world
was
losing
by
his
delay,
seeing

what
wrongs
he
intended
to
right,
grievances
to
redress,
injustices
to
repair,
abuses

to
remove,
and
duties
to
discharge.
So,
without
giving
notice
of
his
intention
to

anyone,
and
without
anybody
seeing
him,
one
morning
before
the
dawning
of
the

day
(which
was
one
of
the
hottest
of
the
month
of
July)
he
donned
his
suit
of
armor,

mounted
Rocinante
with
his
patched‐up
helmet
on,
braced
his
buckler,
took
his

lance,
and
by
the
back
door
of
the
yard
sallied
forth
upon
the
plain
in
the
highest

contentment
and
satisfaction
at
seeing
with
what
ease
he
had
made
a
beginning

with
his
grand
purpose.
But
scarcely
did
he
find
himself
upon
the
open
plain,
when
a

terrible
thought
struck
him,
one
all
but
enough
to
make
him
abandon
the
enterprise

at
the
very
outset.
It
occurred
to
him
that
he
had
not
been
dubbed
a
knight,
and
that

according
to
the
law
of
chivalry
he
neither
could
nor
ought
to
bear
arms
against
any

knight;
and
that
even
if
he
had
been,
still
he
ought,
as
a
novice
knight,
to
wear
white

armor,
without
a
device
upon
the
shield
until
by
his
prowess
he
had
earned
one.

These
reflections
made
him
waver
in
his
purpose,
but
his
craze
being
stronger
than

any
reasoning,
he
made
up
his
mind
to
have
himself
dubbed
a
knight
by
the
first
one

he
came
across,
following
the
example
of
others
in
the
same
case,
as
he
had
read
in

the
books
that
brought
him
to
this
pass.
As
for
white
armor,
he
resolved,
on
the
first

opportunity,
to
scour
his
until
it
was
whiter
than
an
ermine;
and
so
comforting

himself
he
pursued
his
way,
taking
that
which
his
horse
chose,
for
in
this
he
believed

lay
the
essence
of
adventures.



Thus
setting
out,
our
new‐fledged
adventurer
paced
along,
talking
to
himself
and

saying,
"Who
knows
but
that
in
time
to
come,
when
the
veracious
history
of
my

8
    Don
Quixote
de
la
Mancha



famous
deeds
is
made
known,
the
sage
who
writes
it,
when
he
has
to
set
forth
my

first
sally
in
the
early
morning,
will
do
it
after
this
fashion?
'Scarce
had
the
rubicund

Apollo
spread
o'er
the
face
of
the
broad
spacious
earth
the
golden
threads
of
his

bright
hair,
scarce
had
the
little
birds
of
painted
plumage
attuned
their
notes
to
hail

with
dulcet
and
mellifluous
harmony
the
coming
of
the
rosy
Dawn,
that,
deserting

the
soft
couch
of
her
jealous
spouse,
was
appearing
to
mortals
at
the
gates
and

balconies
of
the
Manchegan
horizon,
when
the
renowned
knight
Don
Quixote
of
La

Mancha,
quitting
the
lazy
down,
mounted
his
celebrated
steed
Rocinante
and
began

to
traverse
the
ancient
and
famous
Campo
de
Montiel;7'"
which
in
fact
he
was

actually
traversing.
"Happy
the
age,
happy
the
time,"
he
continued,
"in
which
shall

be
made
known
my
deeds
of
fame,
worthy
to
be
molded
in
brass,
carved
in
marble,

limned
in
pictures,
for
a
memorial
for
ever.
And
thou,
O
sage
magician,
whoever

thou
art,
to
whom
it
shall
fall
to
be
the
chronicler
of
this
wondrous
history,
forget

not,
I
entreat
thee,
my
good
Rocinante,
the
constant
companion
of
my
ways
and

wanderings."
Presently
he
broke
out
again,
as
if
he
were
love‐stricken
in
earnest,
"O

Princess
Dulcinea,
lady
of
this
captive
heart,
a
grievous
wrong
hast
thou
done
me
to

drive
me
forth
with
scorn,
and
with
inexorable
obduracy
banish
me
from
the

presence
of
thy
beauty.
O
lady,
deign
to
hold
in
remembrance
this
heart,
thy
vassal,

that
thus
in
anguish
pines
for
love
of
thee."



So
he
went
on
stringing
together
these
and
other
absurdities,
all
in
the
style
of
those

his
books
had
taught
him,
imitating
their
language
as
well
as
he
could;
and
all
the

while
he
rode
so
slowly
and
the
sun
mounted
so
rapidly
and
with
such
fervor
that
it

was
enough
to
melt
his
brains
if
he
had
any.
Nearly
all
day
he
traveled
without

anything
remarkable
happening
to
him,
at
which
he
was
in
despair,
for
he
was

anxious
to
encounter
some
one
at
once
upon
whom
to
try
the
might
of
his
strong

arm.































































7
Famous
because
it
had
been
the
scene
of
a
battle
in
1369.

                                                     Don
Quixote
de
la
Mancha
     9

                                                                                     

Writers
there
are
who
say
the
first
adventure
he
met
with
was
that
of
Puerto
Lapice;

others
say
it
was
that
of
the
windmills;
but
what
I
have
ascertained
on
this
point,

and
what
I
have
found
written
in
the
annals
of
La
Mancha,
is
that
he
was
on
the
road

all
day,
and
towards
nightfall
his
hack
and
he
found
themselves
dead
tired
and

hungry,
when,
looking
all
around
to
see
if
he
could
discover
any
castle
or
shepherd's

shanty
where
he
might
refresh
himself
and
relieve
his
sore
wants,
he
perceived
not

far
out
of
his
road
an
inn,
which
was
as
welcome
as
a
star
guiding
him
to
the
portals,

if
not
the
palaces,
of
his
redemption;
and
quickening
his
pace
he
reached
it
just
as

night
was
setting
in.
At
the
door
were
standing
two
young
women,
girls
of
the

district
as
they
call
them,
on
their
way
to
Seville
with
some
carriers
who
had

chanced
to
halt
that
night
at
the
inn;
and
as,
happen
what
might
to
our
adventurer,

everything
he
saw
or
imaged
seemed
to
him
to
be
and
to
happen
after
the
fashion
of

what
he
read
of,
the
moment
he
saw
the
inn
he
pictured
it
to
himself
as
a
castle
with

its
four
turrets
and
pinnacles
of
shining
silver,
not
forgetting
the
drawbridge
and

moat
and
all
the
belongings
usually
ascribed
to
castles
of
the
sort.
To
this
inn,
which

to
him
seemed
a
castle,
he
advanced,
and
at
a
short
distance
from
it
he
checked

Rocinante,
hoping
that
some
dwarf
would
show
himself
upon
the
battlements,
and

by
sound
of
trumpet
give
notice
that
a
knight
was
approaching
the
castle.
But
seeing

that
they
were
slow
about
it,
and
that
Rocinante
was
in
a
hurry
to
reach
the
stable,

he
made
for
the
inn
door,
and
perceived
the
two
gay
damsels
who
were
standing

there,
and
who
seemed
to
him
to
be
two
fair
maidens
or
lovely
ladies
taking
their

ease
at
the
castle
gate.



At
this
moment
it
so
happened
that
a
swineherd
who
was
going
through
the

stubbles
collecting
a
drove
of
pigs
(for,
without
any
apology,
that
is
what
they
are

called)
gave
a
blast
of
his
horn
to
bring
them
together,
and
forthwith
it
seemed
to

Don
Quixote
to
be
what
he
was
expecting,
the
signal
of
some
dwarf
announcing
his

arrival;
and
so
with
prodigious
satisfaction
he
rode
up
to
the
inn
and
to
the
ladies,

who,
seeing
a
man
of
this
sort
approaching
in
full
armor
and
with
lance
and
buckler,

were
turning
in
dismay
into
the
inn,
when
Don
Quixote,
guessing
their
fear
by
their

flight,
raising
his
pasteboard
visor,
disclosed
his
dry
dusty
visage,
and
with

10
   Don
Quixote
de
la
Mancha



courteous
bearing
and
gentle
voice
addressed
them,
"Your
ladyships
need
not
fly
or

fear
any
rudeness,
for
that
it
belongs
not
to
the
order
of
knighthood
which
I
profess

to
offer
to
anyone,
much
less
to
highborn
maidens
as
your
appearance
proclaims

you
to
be."
The
girls
were
looking
at
him
and
straining
their
eyes
to
make
out
the

features
which
the
clumsy
visor
obscured,
but
when
they
heard
themselves
called

maidens,
a
thing
so
much
out
of
their
line,
they
could
not
restrain
their
laughter,

which
made
Don
Quixote
wax
indignant,
and
say,
"Modesty
becomes
the
fair,
and

moreover
laughter
that
has
little
cause
is
great
silliness;
this,
however,
I
say
not
to

pain
or
anger
you,
for
my
desire
is
none
other
than
to
serve
you."



The
incomprehensible
language
and
the
unpromising
looks
of
our
cavalier
only

increased
the
ladies'
laughter,
and
that
increased
his
irritation,
and
matters
might

have
gone
farther
if
at
that
moment
the
landlord
had
not
come
out,
who,
being
a

very
fat
man,
was
a
very
peaceful
one.
He,
seeing
this
grotesque
figure
clad
in
armor

that
did
not
match
any
more
than
his
saddle,
bridle,
lance,
buckler,
or
corselet,
was

not
at
all
indisposed
to
join
the
damsels
in
their
manifestations
of
amusement;
but,

in
truth,
standing
in
awe
of
such
a
complicated
armament,
he
thought
it
best
to

speak
him
fairly,
so
he
said,
"Señor
Caballero,
if
your
worship
wants
lodging,
bating

the
bed
(for
there
is
not
one
in
the
inn)
there
is
plenty
of
everything
else
here."
Don

Quixote,
observing
the
respectful
bearing
of
the
Alcaide
of
the
fortress
(for
so

innkeeper
and
inn
seemed
in
his
eyes),
made
answer,
"Sir
Castellan8,
for
me

anything
will
suffice,
for



       'My
armor
is
my
only
wear,

       My
only
rest
the
fight.'"



The
host
fancied
he
called
him
Castellan
because
he
took
him
for
a
"worthy
of

Castile,"
though
he
was
in
fact
an
Andalusian,
and
one
from
the
strand
of
San
Lucar,





























































8
The
original
castellano,
meant
both
“castellan”
and
“Castilian.”

                                                        Don
Quixote
de
la
Mancha
            11

                                                                                               

as
crafty
a
thief
as
Cacus9
and
as
full
of
tricks
as
a
student
or
a
page.
"In
that
case,"

said
he,

       

       "'Your
bed
is
on
the
flinty
rock,

       Your
sleep
to
watch
all
night;'



and
if
so,
you
may
dismount
and
safely
reckon
upon
any
quantity
of
sleeplessness

under
this
roof
for
a
twelvemonth,
not
to
say
for
a
single
night."
So
saying,
he

advanced
to
hold
the
stirrup
for
Don
Quixote,
who
got
down
with
great
difficulty

and
exertion
(for
he
had
not
broken
his
fast
all
day),
and
then
charged
the
host
to

take
great
care
of
his
horse,
as
he
was
the
best
bit
of
flesh
that
ever
ate
bread
in
this

world.
The
landlord
eyed
him
over
but
did
not
find
him
as
good
as
Don
Quixote
said,

nor
even
half
as
good;
and
putting
him
up
in
the
stable,
he
returned
to
see
what

might
be
wanted
by
his
guest,
whom
the
damsels,
who
had
by
this
time
made
their

peace
with
him,
were
now
relieving
of
his
armor.
They
had
taken
off
his
breastplate

and
backpiece,
but
they
neither
knew
nor
saw
how
to
open
his
gorget
or
remove
his

make‐shift
helmet,
for
he
had
fastened
it
with
green
ribbons,
which,
as
there
was
no

untying
the
knots,
required
to
be
cut.
This,
however,
he
would
not
by
any
means

consent
to,
so
he
remained
all
the
evening
with
his
helmet
on,
the
drollest
and

oddest
figure
that
can
be
imagined;
and
while
they
were
removing
his
armor,
taking

the
baggages
who
were
about
it
for
ladies
of
high
degree
belonging
to
the
castle,
he

said
to
them
with
great
sprightliness:

       

       "Oh,
never,
surely,
was
there
knight

       

So
served
by
hand
of
dame,

       As
served
was
he,
Don
Quixote
hight,

       

When
from
his
town
he
came;

       With
maidens
waiting
on
himself,

              

Princesses
on
his
hack
–



























































9
In
Roman
mythology,
he
stole
some
of
the
cattle
of
Hercules,
concealing
the
theft


by
having
them
walk
backward
into
his
cave,
but
was
finally
discovered
and
slain.

12
    Don
Quixote
de
la
Mancha





or
Rocinante,
for
that,
ladies
mine,
is
my
horse's
name,
and
Don
Quixote
of
La

Mancha
is
my
own;
for
though
I
had
no
intention
of
declaring
myself
until
my

achievements
in
your
service
and
honor
had
made
me
known,
the
necessity
of

adapting
that
old
ballad
of
Lancelot
to
the
present
occasion
has
given
you
the

knowledge
of
my
name
altogether
prematurely.
A
time,
however,
will
come
for
your

ladyships
to
command
and
me
to
obey,
and
then
the
might
of
my
arm
will
show
my

desire
to
serve
you."



The
girls,
who
were
not
used
to
hearing
rhetoric
of
this
sort,
had
nothing
to
say
in

reply;
they
only
asked
him
if
he
wanted
anything
to
eat.
"I
would
gladly
eat
a
bit
of

something,"
said
Don
Quixote,
"for
I
feel
it
would
come
very
seasonably."
The
day

happened
to
be
a
Friday,
and
in
the
whole
inn
there
was
nothing
but
some
pieces
of

the
fish
they
call
in
Castile
"abadejo,"
in
Andalusia
"bacallao,"
and
in
some
places

"curadillo,"
and
in
others
"troutlet;"
so
they
asked
him
if
he
thought
he
could
eat

troutlet,
for
there
was
no
other
fish
to
give
him.
"If
there
be
troutlets
enough,"
said

Don
Quixote,
"they
will
be
the
same
thing
as
a
trout;
for
it
is
all
one
to
me
whether
I

am
given
eight
reals
in
small
change
or
a
piece
of
eight;
moreover,
it
may
be
that

these
troutlets
are
like
veal,
which
is
better
than
beef,
or
kid,
which
is
better
than

goat.
But
whatever
it
be
let
it
come
quickly,
for
the
burden
and
pressure
of
arms

cannot
be
borne
without
support
to
the
inside."
They
laid
a
table
for
him
at
the
door

of
the
inn
for
the
sake
of
the
air,
and
the
host
brought
him
a
portion
of
ill‐soaked
and

worse
cooked
stockfish,
and
a
piece
of
bread
as
black
and
moldy
as
his
own
armor;

but
a
laughable
sight
it
was
to
see
him
eating,
for
having
his
helmet
on
and
the

beaver
up,
he
could
not
with
his
own
hands
put
anything
into
his
mouth
unless

some
one
else
placed
it
there,
and
this
service
one
of
the
ladies
rendered
him.
But
to

give
him
anything
to
drink
was
impossible,
or
would
have
been
so
had
not
the

landlord
bored
a
reed,
and
putting
one
end
in
his
mouth
poured
the
wine
into
him

through
the
other;
all
which
he
bore
with
patience
rather
than
sever
the
ribbons
of

his
helmet.



                                                     Don
Quixote
de
la
Mancha
          13

                                                                                          

While
this
was
going
on
there
came
up
to
the
inn
a
sow
gelder,
who,
as
he

approached,
sounded
his
reed
pipe
four
or
five
times,
and
thereby
completely

convinced
Don
Quixote
that
he
was
in
some
famous
castle,
and
that
they
were

regaling
him
with
music,
and
that
the
stockfish
was
trout,
the
bread
the
whitest,
the

wenches
ladies,
and
the
landlord
the
castellan
of
the
castle;
and
consequently
he

held
that
his
enterprise
and
sally
had
been
to
some
purpose.
But
still
it
distressed

him
to
think
he
had
not
been
dubbed
a
knight,
for
it
was
plain
to
him
he
could
not

lawfully
engage
in
any
adventure
without
receiving
the
order
of
knighthood.


14
    Don
Quixote
de
la
Mancha






CHAPTER
III

WHEREIN
IS
RELATED
THE
DROLL
WAY
IN
WHICH
DON
QUIXOTE
HAD
HIMSELF

DUBBED
A
KNIGHT





Harassed
by
this
reflection,
he
made
haste
with
his
scanty
pothouse
supper,
and

having
finished
it
called
the
landlord,
and
shutting
himself
into
the
stable
with
him,

fell
on
his
knees
before
him,
saying,
"From
this
spot
I
rise
not,
valiant
knight,
until

your
courtesy
grants
me
the
boon
I
seek,
one
that
will
redound
to
your
praise
and

the
benefit
of
the
human
race."
The
landlord,
seeing
his
guest
at
his
feet
and
hearing

a
speech
of
this
kind,
stood
staring
at
him
in
bewilderment,
not
knowing
what
to
do

or
say,
and
entreating
him
to
rise,
but
all
to
no
purpose
until
he
had
agreed
to
grant

the
boon
demanded
of
him.
"I
looked
for
no
less,
my
lord,
from
your
High

Magnificence,"
replied
Don
Quixote,
"and
I
have
to
tell
you
that
the
boon
I
have

asked
and
your
liberality
has
granted
is
that
you
shall
dub
me
knight
to‐morrow

morning,
and
that
to‐night
I
shall
watch
my
arms
in
the
chapel
of
this
your
castle;

thus
tomorrow,
as
I
have
said,
will
be
accomplished
what
I
so
much
desire,
enabling

me
lawfully
to
roam
through
all
the
four
quarters
of
the
world
seeking
adventures

on
behalf
of
those
in
distress,
as
is
the
duty
of
chivalry
and
of
knights‐errant
like

myself,
whose
ambition
is
directed
to
such
deeds."



The
landlord,
who,
as
has
been
mentioned,
was
something
of
a
wag,
and
had
already

some
suspicion
of
his
guest's
want
of
wits,
was
quite
convinced
of
it
on
hearing
talk

of
this
kind
from
him,
and
to
make
sport
for
the
night
he
determined
to
fall
in
with

his
humor.
So
he
told
him
he
was
quite
right
in
pursuing
the
object
he
had
in
view,

and
that
such
a
motive
was
natural
and
becoming
in
cavaliers
as
distinguished
as
he

seemed
and
his
gallant
bearing
showed
him
to
be;
and
that
he
himself
in
his
younger

days
had
followed
the
same
honorable
calling,
roaming
in
quest
of
adventures
in

various
parts
of
the
world,
among
others
the
Curing‐grounds
of
Malaga,
the
Isles
of

                                                           Don
Quixote
de
la
Mancha
    15

                                                                                          

Riaran,
the
Precinct
of
Seville,
the
Little
Market
of
Segovia,
the
Olivera
of
Valencia,

the
Rondilla
of
Granada,
the
Strand
of
San
Lucar,
the
Colt
of
Cordova,
the
Taverns
of

Toledo,
and
divers
other
quarters10,
where
he
had
proved
the
nimbleness
of
his
feet

and
the
lightness
of
his
fingers,
doing
many
wrongs,
cheating
many
widows,
ruining

maids
and
swindling
minors,
and,
in
short,
bringing
himself
under
the
notice
of

almost
every
tribunal
and
court
of
justice
in
Spain;
until
at
last
he
had
retired
to
this

castle
of
his,
where
he
was
living
upon
his
property
and
upon
that
of
others;
and

where
he
received
all
knights‐errant
of
whatever
rank
or
condition
they
might
be,

all
for
the
great
love
he
bore
them
and
that
they
might
share
their
substance
with

him
in
return
for
his
benevolence.
He
told
him,
moreover,
that
in
this
castle
of
his

there
was
no
chapel
in
which
he
could
watch
his
armor,
as
it
had
been
pulled
down

in
order
to
be
rebuilt,
but
that
in
a
case
of
necessity
it
might,
he
knew,
be
watched

anywhere,
and
he
might
watch
it
that
night
in
a
courtyard
of
the
castle,
and
in
the

morning,
God
willing,
the
requisite
ceremonies
might
be
performed
so
as
to
have

him
dubbed
a
knight,
and
so
thoroughly
dubbed
that
nobody
could
be
more
so.
He

asked
if
he
had
any
money
with
him,
to
which
Don
Quixote
replied
that
he
had
not
a

farthing,
as
in
the
histories
of
knights‐errant
he
had
never
read
of
any
of
them

carrying
any.
On
this
point
the
landlord
told
him
he
was
mistaken;
for,
though
not

recorded
in
the
histories,
because
in
the
author's
opinion
there
was
no
need
to

mention
anything
so
obvious
and
necessary
as
money
and
clean
shirts,
it
was
not
to

be
supposed
therefore
that
they
did
not
carry
them,
and
he
might
regard
it
as

certain
and
established
that
all
knights‐errant
(about
whom
there
were
so
many
full

and
unimpeachable
books)
carried
well‐furnished
purses
in
case
of
emergency,
and

likewise
carried
shirts
and
a
little
box
of
ointment
to
cure
the
wounds
they
received.

For
in
those
plains
and
deserts
where
they
engaged
in
combat
and
came
out

wounded,
it
was
not
always
that
there
was
some
one
to
cure
them,
unless
indeed

they
had
for
a
friend
some
sage
magician
to
succor
them
at
once
by
fetching
through

the
air
upon
a
cloud
some
damsel
or
dwarf
with
a
vial
of
water
of
such
virtue
that
by

tasting
one
drop
of
it
they
were
cured
of
their
hurts
and
wounds
in
an
instant
and



























































10

All
the
places
mentioned
were
reputed
to
be
the
haunts
of
robbers
and
rogues.

16
      Don
Quixote
de
la
Mancha



left
as
sound
as
if
they
had
not
received
any
damage
whatever.
But
in
case
this

should
not
occur,
the
knights
of
old
took
care
to
see
that
their
squires
were
provided

with
money
and
other
requisites,
such
as
lint
and
ointments
for
healing
purposes;

and
when
it
happened
that
knights
had
no
squires
(which
was
rarely
and
seldom
the

case)
they
themselves
carried
everything
in
cunning
saddle‐bags
that
were
hardly

seen
on
the
horse's
croup,
as
if
it
were
something
else
of
more
importance,
because,

unless
for
some
such
reason,
carrying
saddle‐bags
was
not
very
favorably
regarded

among
knights‐errant.
He
therefore
advised
him
(and,
as
his
godson
so
soon
to
be,

he
might
even
command
him)
never
from
that
time
forth
to
travel
without
money

and
the
usual
requirements,
and
he
would
find
the
advantage
of
them
when
he
least

expected
it.



Don
Quixote
promised
to
follow
his
advice
scrupulously,
and
it
was
arranged

forthwith
that
he
should
watch
his
armor
in
a
large
yard
at
one
side
of
the
inn;
so,

collecting
it
all
together,
Don
Quixote
placed
it
on
a
trough
that
stood
by
the
side
of
a

well,
and
bracing
his
buckler
on
his
arm
he
grasped
his
lance
and
began
with
a

stately
air
to
march
up
and
down
in
front
of
the
trough,
and
as
he
began
his
march

night
began
to
fall.



The
landlord
told
all
the
people
who
were
in
the
inn
about
the
craze
of
his
guest,
the

watching
of
the
armor,
and
the
dubbing
ceremony
he
contemplated.
Full
of
wonder

at
so
strange
a
form
of
madness,
they
flocked
to
see
it
from
a
distance,
and
observed

with
what
composure
he
sometimes
paced
up
and
down,
or
sometimes,
leaning
on

his
lance,
gazed
on
his
armor
without
taking
his
eyes
off
it
for
ever
so
long;
and
as

the
night
closed
in
with
a
light
from
the
moon
so
brilliant
that
it
might
vie
with
his

that
lent
it,
everything
the
novice
knight
did
was
plainly
seen
by
all.



Meanwhile
one
of
the
carriers
who
were
in
the
inn
thought
fit
to
water
his
team,
and

it
was
necessary
to
remove
Don
Quixote's
armor
as
it
lay
on
the
trough;
but
he

seeing
the
other
approach
hailed
him
in
a
loud
voice,
"O
thou,
whoever
thou
art,

rash
knight
that
comest
to
lay
hands
on
the
armor
of
the
most
valorous
errant
that

                                                       Don
Quixote
de
la
Mancha
   17

                                                                                      

ever
girt
on
sword,
have
a
care
what
thou
dost;
touch
it
not
unless
thou
wouldst
lay

down
thy
life
as
the
penalty
of
thy
rashness."
The
carrier
gave
no
heed
to
these

words
(and
he
would
have
done
better
to
heed
them
if
he
had
been
heedful
of
his

health),
but
seizing
it
by
the
straps
flung
the
armor
some
distance
from
him.
Seeing

this,
Don
Quixote
raised
his
eyes
to
heaven,
and
fixing
his
thoughts,
apparently,

upon
his
lady
Dulcinea,
exclaimed,
"Aid
me,
lady
mine,
in
this
the
first
encounter

that
presents
itself
to
this
breast
which
thou
holdest
in
subjection;
let
not
thy
favor

and
protection
fail
me
in
this
first
jeopardy;"
and,
with
these
words
and
others
to

the
same
purpose,
dropping
his
buckler
he
lifted
his
lance
with
both
hands
and
with

it
smote
such
a
blow
on
the
carrier's
head
that
he
stretched
him
on
the
ground,
so

stunned
that
had
he
followed
it
up
with
a
second
there
would
have
been
no
need
of

a
surgeon
to
cure
him.
This
done,
he
picked
up
his
armor
and
returned
to
his
vigil

with
the
same
serenity
as
before.





Shortly
after
this,
another,
not
knowing
what
had
happened
(for
the
carrier
still
lay

senseless),
came
with
the
same
object
of
giving
water
to
his
mules,
and
was

proceeding
to
remove
the
armor
in
order
to
clear
the
trough,
when
Don
Quixote,

without
uttering
a
word
or
imploring
aid
from
anyone,
once
more
dropped
his

buckler
and
once
more
lifted
his
lance,
and
without
actually
breaking
the
second

carrier's
head
into
pieces,
made
more
than
three
of
it,
for
he
laid
it
open
in
four.
11
At

the
noise
all
the
people
of
the
inn
ran
to
the
spot,
and
among
them
the
landlord.

Seeing
this,
Don
Quixote
braced
his
buckler
on
his
arm,
and
with
his
hand
on
his

sword
exclaimed,
"O
Lady
of
Beauty,
strength
and
support
of
my
faint
heart,
it
is

time
for
thee
to
turn
the
eyes
of
thy
greatness
on
this
thy
captive
knight
on
the
brink

of
so
mighty
an
adventure."
By
this
he
felt
himself
so
inspired
that
he
would
not

have
flinched
if
all
the
carriers
in
the
world
had
assailed
him.
The
comrades
of
the

wounded
perceiving
the
plight
they
were
in
began
from
a
distance
to
shower
stones

on
Don
Quixote,
who
screened
himself
as
best
he
could
with
his
buckler,
not
daring

to
quit
the
trough
and
leave
his
armor
unprotected.
The
landlord
shouted
to
them
to


























































11
This
is
a
figure
of
speech;
as
when
we
say
somebody
“kicked
butt,”
we
don’t
mean


it
literally.

18
    Don
Quixote
de
la
Mancha



leave
him
alone,
for
he
had
already
told
them
that
he
was
mad,
and
as
a
madman
he

would
not
be
accountable
even
if
he
killed
them
all.
Still
louder
shouted
Don

Quixote,
calling
them
knaves
and
traitors,
and
the
lord
of
the
castle,
who
allowed

knights‐errant
to
be
treated
in
this
fashion,
a
villain
and
a
low‐born
knight
whom,

had
he
received
the
order
of
knighthood,
he
would
call
to
account
for
his
treachery.

"But
of
you,"
he
cried,
"base
and
vile
rabble,
I
make
no
account;
fling,
strike,
come

on,
do
all
ye
can
against
me,
ye
shall
see
what
the
reward
of
your
folly
and
insolence

will
be."
This
he
uttered
with
so
much
spirit
and
boldness
that
he
filled
his
assailants

with
a
terrible
fear,
and
as
much
for
this
reason
as
at
the
persuasion
of
the
landlord

they
left
off
stoning
him,
and
he
allowed
them
to
carry
off
the
wounded,
and
with

the
same
calmness
and
composure
as
before
resumed
the
watch
over
his
armor.


But
these
freaks
of
his
guest
were
not
much
to
the
liking
of
the
landlord,
so
he

determined
to
cut
matters
short
and
confer
upon
him
at
once
the
unlucky
order
of

knighthood
before
any
further
misadventure
could
occur;
so,
going
up
to
him,
he

apologized
for
the
rudeness
which,
without
his
knowledge,
had
been
offered
to
him

by
these
low
people,
who,
however,
had
been
well
punished
for
their
audacity.
As
he

had
already
told
him,
he
said,
there
was
no
chapel
in
the
castle,
nor
was
it
needed

for
what
remained
to
be
done,
for,
as
he
understood
the
ceremonial
of
the
order,
the

whole
point
of
being
dubbed
a
knight
lay
in
the
accolade
and
in
the
slap
on
the

shoulder,
and
that
could
be
administered
in
the
middle
of
a
field;
and
that
he
had

now
done
all
that
was
needful
as
to
watching
the
armor,
for
all
requirements
were

satisfied
by
a
watch
of
two
hours
only,
while
he
had
been
more
than
four
about
it.

Don
Quixote
believed
it
all,
and
told
him
he
stood
there
ready
to
obey
him,
and
to

make
an
end
of
it
with
as
much
despatch12
as
possible;
for,
if
he
were
again
attacked,

and
felt
himself
to
be
dubbed
knight,
he
would
not,
he
thought,
leave
a
soul
alive
in

the
castle,
except
such
as
out
of
respect
he
might
spare
at
his
bidding.



Thus
warned
and
menaced,
the
castellan
forthwith
brought
out
a
book
in
which
he

used
to
enter
the
straw
and
barley
he
served
out
to
the
carriers,
and,
with
a
lad



























































12
Efficiency


                                                           Don
Quixote
de
la
Mancha
   19

                                                                                         

carrying
a
candle‐end,
and
the
two
damsels
already
mentioned,
he
returned
to

where
Don
Quixote
stood,
and
bade
him
kneel
down.
Then,
reading
from
his

account‐book
as
if
he
were
repeating
some
devout
prayer,
in
the
middle
of
his

delivery
he
raised
his
hand
and
gave
him
a
sturdy
blow
on
the
neck,
and
then,
with

his
own
sword,
a
smart
slap
on
the
shoulder,
all
the
while
muttering
between
his

teeth
as
if
he
was
saying
his
prayers.
Having
done
this,
he
directed
one
of
the
ladies

to
gird
on
his
sword,
which
she
did
with
great
self‐possession
and
gravity,
and
not
a

little
was
required
to
prevent
a
burst
of
laughter
at
each
stage
of
the
ceremony;
but

what
they
had
already
seen
of
the
novice
knight's
prowess
kept
their
laughter

within
bounds.
On
girding
him
with
the
sword
the
worthy
lady
said
to
him,
"May

God
make
your
worship
a
very
fortunate
knight,
and
grant
you
success
in
battle."

Don
Quixote
asked
her
name
in
order
that
he
might
from
that
time
forward
know
to

whom
he
was
beholden
for
the
favor
he
had
received,
as
he
meant
to
confer
upon

her
some
portion
of
the
honor
he
acquired
by
the
might
of
his
arm.
She
answered

with
great
humility
that
she
was
called
La
Tolosa,
and
that
she
was
the
daughter
of
a

cobbler
of
Toledo
who
lived
in
the
stalls
of
Sanchobienaya13,
and
that
wherever
she

might
be
she
would
serve
and
esteem
him
as
her
lord.
Don
Quixote
said
in
reply
that

she
would
do
him
a
favor
if
thenceforward
she
assumed
the
"Don"
and
called
herself

Dona
Tolosa.
She
promised
she
would,
and
then
the
other
buckled
on
his
spur,
and

with
her
followed
almost
the
same
conversation
as
with
the
lady
of
the
sword.
He

asked
her
name,
and
she
said
it
was
La
Molinera,
and
that
she
was
the
daughter
of
a

respectable
miller
of
Antequera;
and
of
her
likewise
Don
Quixote
requested
that
she

would
adopt
the
"Don"
and
call
herself
Dona
Molinera,
making
offers
to
her
further

services
and
favors.



Having
thus,
with
hot
haste
and
speed,
brought
to
a
conclusion
these
never‐till‐now‐
seen
ceremonies,
Don
Quixote
was
on
thorns
until
he
saw
himself
on
horseback

sallying
forth
in
quest
of
adventures;
and
saddling
Rocinante
at
once
he
mounted,

and
embracing
his
host,
as
he
returned
thanks
for
his
kindness
in
knighting
him,
he



























































13

An
old
square
in
Toledo.

20
   Don
Quixote
de
la
Mancha



addressed
him
in
language
so
extraordinary
that
it
is
impossible
to
convey
an
idea
of

it
or
report
it.
The
landlord,
to
get
him
out
of
the
inn,
replied
with
no
less
rhetoric

though
with
shorter
words,
and
without
calling
upon
him
to
pay
the
reckoning
let

him
go
with
a
Godspeed.













                                                      Don
Quixote
de
la
Mancha
           21

                                                                                            



CHAPTER
IV

OF
WHAT
HAPPENED
TO
OUR
KNIGHT
WHEN
HE
LEFT
THE
INN




Day
was
dawning
when
Don
Quixote
quitted
the
inn,
so
happy,
so
gay,
so

exhilarated
at
finding
himself
now
dubbed
a
knight,
that
his
joy
was
like
to
burst
his

horse‐girths.
However,
recalling
the
advice
of
his
host
as
to
the
requisites
he
ought

to
carry
with
him,
especially
that
referring
to
money
and
shirts,
he
determined
to
go

home
and
provide
himself
with
all,
and
also
with
a
squire,
for
he
reckoned
upon

securing
a
farm‐laborer,
a
neighbor
of
his,
a
poor
man
with
a
family,
but
very
well

qualified
for
the
office
of
squire
to
a
knight.
With
this
object
he
turned
his
horse's

head
towards
his
village,
and
Rocinante,
thus
reminded
of
his
old
quarters,
stepped

out
so
briskly
that
he
hardly
seemed
to
tread
the
earth.



He
had
not
gone
far,
when
out
of
a
thicket
on
his
right
there
seemed
to
come
feeble

cries
as
of
some
one
in
distress,
and
the
instant
he
heard
them
he
exclaimed,

"Thanks
be
to
heaven
for
the
favor
it
accords
me,
that
it
so
soon
offers
me
an

opportunity
of
fulfilling
the
obligation
I
have
undertaken,
and
gathering
the
fruit
of

my
ambition.
These
cries,
no
doubt,
come
from
some
man
or
woman
in
want
of
help,

and
needing
my
aid
and
protection;"
and
wheeling,
he
turned
Rocinante
in
the

direction
whence
the
cries
seemed
to
proceed.
He
had
gone
but
a
few
paces
into
the

wood,
when
he
saw
a
mare
tied
to
an
oak,
and
tied
to
another,
and
stripped
from
the

waist
upwards,
a
youth
of
about
fifteen
years
of
age,
from
whom
the
cries
came.
Nor

were
they
without
cause,
for
a
lusty
farmer
was
flogging
him
with
a
belt
and

following
up
every
blow
with
scoldings
and
commands,
repeating,
"Your
mouth
shut

and
your
eyes
open!"
while
the
youth
made
answer,
"I
won't
do
it
again,
master

mine;
by
God's
passion
I
won't
do
it
again,
and
I'll
take
more
care
of
the
flock

another
time."



22
    Don
Quixote
de
la
Mancha



Seeing
what
was
going
on,
Don
Quixote
said
in
an
angry
voice,
"Discourteous
knight,

it
ill
becomes
you
to
assail
one
who
cannot
defend
himself;
mount
your
steed
and

take
your
lance"
(for
there
was
a
lance
leaning
against
the
oak
to
which
the
mare

was
tied),
"and
I
will
make
you
know
that
you
are
behaving
as
a
coward."
The

farmer,
seeing
before
him
this
figure
in
full
armor
brandishing
a
lance
over
his
head,

gave
himself
up
for
dead,
and
made
answer
meekly,
"Sir
Knight,
this
youth
that
I
am

chastising
is
my
servant,
employed
by
me
to
watch
a
flock
of
sheep
that
I
have
hard

by,
and
he
is
so
careless
that
I
lose
one
every
day,
and
when
I
punish
him
for
his

carelessness
and
knavery
he
says
I
do
it
out
of
niggardliness,
to
escape
paying
him

the
wages
I
owe
him,
and
before
God,
and
on
my
soul,
he
lies."



"Lies
before
me,
base
clown!"
said
Don
Quixote.
"By
the
sun
that
shines
on
us
I
have

a
mind
to
run
you
through
with
this
lance.
Pay
him
at
once
without
another
word;
if

not,
by
the
God
that
rules
us
I
will
make
an
end
of
you,
and
annihilate
you
on
the

spot;
release
him
instantly."






The
farmer
hung
his
head,
and
without
a
word
untied
his
servant,
of
whom
Don

Quixote
asked
how
much
his
master
owed
him.



He
replied,
nine
months
at
seven
reals
a
month.
Don
Quixote
added
it
up,
found
that

it
came
to
sixty‐three
reals,
and
told
the
farmer
to
pay
it
down
immediately,
if
he
did

not
want
to
die
for
it.



The
trembling
clown
replied
that
as
he
lived
and
by
the
oath
he
had
sworn
(though

he
had
not
sworn
any)
it
was
not
so
much;
for
there
were
to
be
taken
into
account

and
deducted
three
pairs
of
shoes
he
had
given
him,
and
a
real
for
two
blood‐
lettings
when
he
was
sick.14































































14

Barbers
were
also
surgeons.

                                                      Don
Quixote
de
la
Mancha
         23

                                                                                          

"All
that
is
very
well,"
said
Don
Quixote;
"but
let
the
shoes
and
the
blood‐lettings

stand
as
a
setoff
against
the
blows
you
have
given
him
without
any
cause;
for
if
he

spoiled
the
leather
of
the
shoes
you
paid
for,
you
have
damaged
that
of
his
body,
and

if
the
barber
took
blood
from
him
when
he
was
sick,
you
have
drawn
it
when
he
was

sound;
so
on
that
score
he
owes
you
nothing."



"The
difficulty
is,
Sir
Knight,
that
I
have
no
money
here;
let
Andres
come
home
with

me,
and
I
will
pay
him
all,
real
by
real."



"I
go
with
him!"
said
the
youth.
"Nay,
God
forbid!
No,
señor,
not
for
the
world;
for

once
alone
with
me,
he
would
ray
me
like
a
Saint
Bartholomew."



"He
will
do
nothing
of
the
kind,"
said
Don
Quixote;
"I
have
only
to
command,
and
he

will
obey
me;
and
as
he
has
sworn
to
me
by
the
order
of
knighthood
which
he
has

received,
I
leave
him
free,
and
I
guarantee
the
payment."



"Consider
what
you
are
saying,
señor,"
said
the
youth;
"this
master
of
mine
is
not
a

knight,
nor
has
he
received
any
order
of
knighthood;
for
he
is
Juan
Haldudo
the
Rich,

of
Quintanar."



"That
matters
little,"
replied
Don
Quixote;
"there
may
be
Haldudos
knights;

moreover,
everyone
is
the
son
of
his
works."



"That
is
true,"
said
Andres;
"but
this
master
of
mine
–
of
what
works
is
he
the
son,

when
he
refuses
me
the
wages
of
my
sweat
and
labor?"



"I
do
not
refuse,
brother
Andres,"
said
the
farmer,
"be
good
enough
to
come
along

with
me,
and
I
swear
by
all
the
orders
of
knighthood
there
are
in
the
world
to
pay

you
as
I
have
agreed,
real
by
real,
and
perfumed."



24
    Don
Quixote
de
la
Mancha



"For
the
perfumery
I
excuse
you,"
said
Don
Quixote;
"give
it
to
him
in
reals,
and
I

shall
be
satisfied;
and
see
that
you
do
as
you
have
sworn;
if
not,
by
the
same
oath
I

swear
to
come
back
and
hunt
you
out
and
punish
you;
and
I
shall
find
you
though

you
should
lie
closer
than
a
lizard.
And
if
you
desire
to
know
who
it
is
lays
this

command
upon
you,
that
you
be
more
firmly
bound
to
obey
it,
know
that
I
am
the

valorous
Don
Quixote
of
La
Mancha,
the
undoer
of
wrongs
and
injustices;
and
so,

God
be
with
you,
and
keep
in
mind
what
you
have
promised
and
sworn
under
those

penalties
that
have
been
already
declared
to
you."



So
saying,
he
gave
Rocinante
the
spur
and
was
soon
out
of
reach.
The
farmer

followed
him
with
his
eyes,
and
when
he
saw
that
he
had
cleared
the
wood
and
was

no
longer
in
sight,
he
turned
to
his
boy
Andres,
and
said,
"Come
here,
my
son,
I
want

to
pay
you
what
I
owe
you,
as
that
undoer
of
wrongs
has
commanded
me."



"My
oath
on
it,"
said
Andres,
"your
worship
will
be
well
advised
to
obey
the

command
of
that
good
knight
–
may
he
live
a
thousand
years
–
for,
as
he
is
a
valiant

and
just
judge,
by
Roque15,
if
you
do
not
pay
me,
he
will
come
back
and
do
as
he

said."



"My
oath
on
it,
too,"
said
the
farmer;
"but
as
I
have
a
strong
affection
for
you,
I
want

to
add
to
the
debt
in
order
to
add
to
the
payment;"
and
seizing
him
by
the
arm,
he

tied
him
up
again,
and
gave
him
such
a
flogging
that
he
left
him
for
dead.



"Now,
Master
Andres,"
said
the
farmer,
"call
on
the
undoer
of
wrongs;
you
will
find

he
won't
undo
that,
though
I
am
not
sure
that
I
have
quite
done
with
you,
for
I
have
a

good
mind
to
flay
you
alive."
But
at
last
he
untied
him,
and
gave
him
leave
to
go
look

for
his
judge
in
order
to
put
the
sentence
pronounced
into
execution.































































15

The
origin
of
this
oath
is
unknown.

                                                       Don
Quixote
de
la
Mancha
        25

                                                                                          

Andres
went
off
rather
down
in
the
mouth,
swearing
he
would
go
to
look
for
the

valiant
Don
Quixote
of
La
Mancha
and
tell
him
exactly
what
had
happened,
and
that

all
would
have
to
be
repaid
him
sevenfold;
but
for
all
that,
he
went
off
weeping,

while
his
master
stood
laughing.



Thus
did
the
valiant
Don
Quixote
right
that
wrong,
and,
thoroughly
satisfied
with

what
had
taken
place,
as
he
considered
he
had
made
a
very
happy
and
noble

beginning
with
his
knighthood,
he
took
the
road
towards
his
village
in
perfect
self‐
content,
saying
in
a
low
voice,
"Well
mayest
thou
this
day
call
thyself
fortunate

above
all
on
earth,
O
Dulcinea
del
Toboso,
fairest
of
the
fair!
since
it
has
fallen
to
thy

lot
to
hold
subject
and
submissive
to
thy
full
will
and
pleasure
a
knight
so
renowned

as
is
and
will
be
Don
Quixote
of
La
Mancha,
who,
as
all
the
world
knows,
yesterday

received
the
order
of
knighthood,
and
hath
to‐day
righted
the
greatest
wrong
and

grievance
that
ever
injustice
conceived
and
cruelty
perpetrated:
who
hath
to‐day

plucked
the
rod
from
the
hand
of
yonder
ruthless
oppressor
so
wantonly
lashing

that
tender
child."



He
now
came
to
a
road
branching
in
four
directions,
and
immediately
he
was

reminded
of
those
cross‐roads
where
knights‐errant
used
to
stop
to
consider
which

road
they
should
take.
In
imitation
of
them
he
halted
for
a
while,
and
after
having

deeply
considered
it,
he
gave
Rocinante
his
head,
submitting
his
own
will
to
that
of

his
hack,
who
followed
out
his
first
intention,
which
was
to
make
straight
for
his

own
stable.
After
he
had
gone
about
two
miles
Don
Quixote
perceived
a
large
party

of
people,
who,
as
afterwards
appeared,
were
some
Toledo
traders,
on
their
way
to

buy
silk
at
Murcia.
There
were
six
of
them
coming
along
under
their
sunshades,
with

four
servants
mounted,
and
three
muleteers
on
foot.
Scarcely
had
Don
Quixote

descried
them
when
the
fancy
possessed
him
that
this
must
be
some
new

adventure;
and
to
help
him
to
imitate
as
far
as
he
could
those
passages
he
had
read

of
in
his
books,
here
seemed
to
come
one
made
on
purpose,
which
he
resolved
to

attempt.
So
with
a
lofty
bearing
and
determination
he
fixed
himself
firmly
in
his

stirrups,
got
his
lance
ready,
brought
his
buckler
before
his
breast,
and
planting

26
   Don
Quixote
de
la
Mancha



himself
in
the
middle
of
the
road,
stood
waiting
the
approach
of
these
knights‐
errant,
for
such
he
now
considered
and
held
them
to
be;
and
when
they
had
come

near
enough
to
see
and
hear,
he
exclaimed
with
a
haughty
gesture,
"All
the
world

stand,
unless
all
the
world
confess
that
in
all
the
world
there
is
no
maiden
fairer

than
the
Empress
of
La
Mancha,
the
peerless
Dulcinea
del
Toboso."



The
traders
halted
at
the
sound
of
this
language
and
the
sight
of
the
strange
figure

that
uttered
it,
and
from
both
figure
and
language
at
once
guessed
the
craze
of
their

owner;
they
wished,
however,
to
learn
quietly
what
was
the
object
of
this
confession

that
was
demanded
of
them,
and
one
of
them,
who
was
rather
fond
of
a
joke
and
was

very
sharp‐witted,
said
to
him,
"Sir
Knight,
we
do
not
know
who
this
good
lady
is

that
you
speak
of;
show
her
to
us,
for,
if
she
be
of
such
beauty
as
you
suggest,
with

all
our
hearts
and
without
any
pressure
we
will
confess
the
truth
that
is
on
your
part

required
of
us."



"If
I
were
to
show
her
to
you,"
replied
Don
Quixote,
"what
merit
would
you
have
in

confessing
a
truth
so
manifest?
The
essential
point
is
that
without
seeing
her
you

must
believe,
confess,
affirm,
swear,
and
defend
it;
else
ye
have
to
do
with
me
in

battle,
ill‐conditioned,
arrogant
rabble
that
ye
are;
and
come
ye
on,
one
by
one
as
the

order
of
knighthood
requires,
or
all
together
as
is
the
custom
and
vile
usage
of
your

breed,
here
do
I
bide
and
await
you
relying
on
the
justice
of
the
cause
I
maintain."



"Sir
Knight,"
replied
the
trader,
"I
entreat
your
worship
in
the
name
of
this
present

company
of
princes,
that,
to
save
us
from
charging
our
consciences
with
the

confession
of
a
thing
we
have
never
seen
or
heard
of,
and
one
moreover
so
much
to

the
prejudice
of
the
Empresses
and
Queens
of
the
Alcarria
and
Estremadura16,
your

worship
will
be
pleased
to
show
us
some
portrait
of
this
lady,
though
it
be
no
bigger

than
a
grain
of
wheat;
for
by
the
thread
one
gets
at
the
ball,
and
in
this
way
we
shall

be
satisfied
and
easy,
and
you
will
be
content
and
pleased;
nay,
I
believe
we
are



























































16
Ironical,
since
both
places
were
known
as
especially
backward
regions.

                                                                                 27

                                                           Don
Quixote
de
la
Mancha

                                                                                    

already
so
far
agreed
with
you
that
even
though
her
portrait
should
show
her
blind

of
one
eye,
and
distilling
vermilion
and
sulphur
from
the
other,
we
would

nevertheless,
to
gratify
your
worship,
say
all
in
her
favor
that
you
desire."



"She
distils
nothing
of
the
kind,
vile
rabble,"
said
Don
Quixote,
burning
with
rage,

"nothing
of
the
kind,
I
say,
only
ambergris
and
civet17
in
cotton;
nor
is
she
one‐eyed

or
humpbacked,
but
straighter
than
a
Guadarrama
spindle:
but
ye
must
pay
for
the

blasphemy
ye
have
uttered
against
beauty
like
that
of
my
lady."



And
so
saying,
he
charged
with
leveled
lance
against
the
one
who
had
spoken,
with

such
fury
and
fierceness
that,
if
luck
had
not
contrived
that
Rocinante
should

stumble
midway
and
come
down,
it
would
have
gone
hard
with
the
rash
trader.

Down
went
Rocinante,
and
over
went
his
master,
rolling
along
the
ground
for
some

distance;
and
when
he
tried
to
rise
he
was
unable,
so
encumbered
was
he
with
lance,

buckler,
spurs,
helmet,
and
the
weight
of
his
old
armor;
and
all
the
while
he
was

struggling
to
get
up
he
kept
saying,
"Fly
not,
cowards
and
caitiffs!
stay,
for
not
by
my

fault,
but
my
horse's,
am
I
stretched
here."





One
of
the
muleteers
in
attendance,
who
could
not
have
had
much
good
nature
in

him,
hearing
the
poor
prostrate
man
blustering
in
this
style,
was
unable
to
refrain

from
giving
him
an
answer
on
his
ribs;
and
coming
up
to
him
he
seized
his
lance,
and

having
broken
it
in
pieces,
with
one
of
them
he
began
so
to
belabor
our
Don
Quixote

that,
notwithstanding
and
in
spite
of
his
armor,
he
milled
him
like
a
measure
of

wheat.
His
masters
called
out
not
to
lay
on
so
hard
and
to
leave
him
alone,
but
the

muleteers
blood
was
up,
and
he
did
not
care
to
drop
the
game
until
he
had
vented

the
rest
of
his
wrath,
and
gathering
up
the
remaining
fragments
of
the
lance
he

finished
with
a
discharge
upon
the
unhappy
victim,
who
all
through
the
storm
of

sticks
that
rained
on
him
never
ceased
threatening
heaven,
and
earth,
and
the

brigands,
for
such
they
seemed
to
him.
At
last
the
muleteer
was
tired,
and
the



























































17
A
musky
substance
used
in
perfume,
imported
from
Africa
in
cotton
packing.

28
    Don
Quixote
de
la
Mancha



traders
continued
their
journey,
taking
with
them
matter
for
talk
about
the
poor

fellow
who
had
been
cudgelled.
He
when
he
found
himself
alone
made
another

effort
to
rise;
but
if
he
was
unable
when
whole
and
sound,
how
was
he
to
rise
after

having
been
thrashed
and
well‐nigh
knocked
to
pieces?
And
yet
he
esteemed
himself

fortunate,
as
it
seemed
to
him
that
this
was
a
regular
knight‐errant's
mishap,
and

entirely,
he
considered,
the
fault
of
his
horse.
However,
battered
in
body
as
he
was,

to
rise
was
beyond
his
power.



                                                     Don
Quixote
de
la
Mancha
      29

                                                                                      




CHAPTER
V

IN
WHICH
THE
NARRATIVE
OF
OUR
KNIGHT'S
MISHAP
IS
CONTINUED



Finding,
then,
that,
in
fact
he
could
not
move,
he
thought
himself
of
having
recourse

to
his
usual
remedy,
which
was
to
think
of
some
passage
in
his
books,
and
his
craze

brought
to
his
mind
that
about
Baldwin
and
the
Marquis
of
Mantua,
when
Carloto

left
him
wounded
on
the
mountain
side18,
a
story
known
by
heart
by
the
children,

not
forgotten
by
the
young
men,
and
lauded
and
even
believed
by
the
old
folk;
and

for
all
that
not
a
whit
truer
than
the
miracles
of
Mahomet.
This
seemed
to
him
to
fit

exactly
the
case
in
which
he
found
himself,
so,
making
a
show
of
severe
suffering,
he

began
to
roll
on
the
ground
and
with
feeble
breath
repeat
the
very
words
which
the

wounded
knight
of
the
wood
is
said
to
have
uttered:



       Where
art
thou,
lady
mine,
that
thou

       

My
sorrow
dost
not
rue?

       Thou
canst
not
know
it,
lady
mine,

       

Or
else
thou
art
untrue.



And
so
he
went
on
with
the
ballad
as
far
as
the
lines:



       O
noble
Marquis
of
Mantua,

       

My
Uncle
and
liege
lord!



As
chance
would
have
it,
when
he
had
got
to
this
line
there
happened
to
come
by
a

peasant
from
his
own
village,
a
neighbor
of
his,
who
had
been
with
a
load
of
wheat





























































18
The
allusion
is
to
an
old
ballad
about
Charlemagne’s
son
Charlot
(Carloto)


wounding
Baldwin,
nephew
of
the
Marquis
of
Mantua.

30
    Don
Quixote
de
la
Mancha



to
the
mill,
and
he,
seeing
the
man
stretched
there,
came
up
to
him
and
asked
who

he
was
and
what
was
the
matter
with
him
that
he
complained
so
dolefully.



Don
Quixote
was
firmly
persuaded
that
this
was
the
Marquis
of
Mantua,
his
uncle,
so

the
only
answer
he
made
was
to
go
on
with
his
ballad,
in
which
he
told
the
tale
of
his

misfortune,
and
of
the
loves
of
the
Emperor's
son
and
his
wife
all
exactly
as
the

ballad
sings
it.



The
peasant
stood
amazed
at
hearing
such
nonsense,
and
relieving
him
of
the
visor,

already
battered
to
pieces
by
blows,
he
wiped
his
face,
which
was
covered
with
dust,

and
as
soon
as
he
had
done
so
he
recognized
him
and
said,
"Señor
Quixada"
(for
so

he
appears
to
have
been
called
when
he
was
in
his
senses
and
had
not
yet
changed

from
a
quiet
country
gentleman
into
a
knight‐errant),
"who
has
brought
your

worship
to
this
pass?"
But
to
all
questions
the
other
only
went
on
with
his
ballad.



Seeing
this,
the
good
man
removed
as
well
as
he
could
his
breastplate
and
backpiece

to
see
if
he
had
any
wound,
but
he
could
perceive
no
blood
nor
any
mark
whatever.

He
then
contrived
to
raise
him
from
the
ground,
and
with
no
little
difficulty
hoisted

him
upon
his
ass,
which
seemed
to
him
to
be
the
easiest
mount
for
him;
and

collecting
the
arms,
even
to
the
splinters
of
the
lance,
he
tied
them
on
Rocinante,
and

leading
him
by
the
bridle
and
the
ass
by
the
halter
he
took
the
road
for
the
village,

very
sad
to
hear
what
absurd
stuff
Don
Quixote
was
talking.



Nor
was
Don
Quixote
less
so,
for
what
with
blows
and
bruises
he
could
not
sit

upright
on
the
ass,
and
from
time
to
time
he
sent
up
sighs
to
heaven,
so
that
once

more
he
drove
the
peasant
to
ask
what
ailed
him.
And
it
could
have
been
only
the

devil
himself
that
put
into
his
head
tales
to
match
his
own
adventures,
for
now,

forgetting
Baldwin,
he
bethought
himself
of
the
Moor
Abindarraez,
when
the
Alcaide

of
Antequera,
Rodrigo
de
Narvaez,
took
him
prisoner
and
carried
him
away
to
his

castle;
so
that
when
the
peasant
again
asked
him
how
he
was
and
what
ailed
him,
he

gave
him
for
reply
the
same
words
and
phrases
that
the
captive
Abindarraez
gave
to

                                                      Don
Quixote
de
la
Mancha
          31

                                                                                           

Rodrigo
de
Narvaez,
just
as
he
had
read
the
story
in
the
Diana
of
Jorge
de

Montemayor19
where
it
is
written,
applying
it
to
his
own
case
so
aptly
that
the

peasant
went
along
cursing
his
fate
that
he
had
to
listen
to
such
a
lot
of
nonsense;

from
which,
however,
he
came
to
the
conclusion
that
his
neighbor
was
mad,
and
so

made
all
haste
to
reach
the
village
to
escape
the
wearisomeness
of
this
harangue
of

Don
Quixote's;
who,
at
the
end
of
it,
said,
"Señor
Don
Rodrigo
de
Narvaez,
your

worship
must
know
that
this
fair
Xarifa
I
have
mentioned
is
now
the
lovely
Dulcinea

del
Toboso,
for
whom
I
have
done,
am
doing,
and
will
do
the
most
famous
deeds
of

chivalry
that
in
this
world
have
been
seen,
are
to
be
seen,
or
ever
shall
be
seen."



To
this
the
peasant
answered,
"Señor
–
sinner
that
I
am!
–
cannot
your
worship
see

that
I
am
not
Don
Rodrigo
de
Narvaez
nor
the
Marquis
of
Mantua,
but
Pedro
Alonso

your
neighbor,
and
that
your
worship
is
neither
Baldwin
nor
Abindarraez,
but
the

worthy
gentleman
Señor
Quixada?"




"I
know
who
I
am,"
replied
Don
Quixote,
"and
I
know
who
I
may
be
if
I
choose;
not

only
those
I
have
named,
but
all
the
Twelve
Peers
of
France
and
even
all
the
Nine

Worthies,20
since
my
achievements
surpass
all
that
they
have
done
all
together
and

each
of
them
on
his
own
account."



With
this
talk
and
more
of
the
same
kind
they
reached
the
village
just
as
night
was

beginning
to
fall,
but
the
peasant
waited
until
it
was
a
little
later
that
the
belabored

gentleman
might
not
be
seen
riding
in
such
a
miserable
trim.
When
it
was
what

seemed
to
him
the
proper
time
he
entered
the
village
and
went
to
Don
Quixote's

house,
which
he
found
all
in
confusion,
and
there
were
the
curate
and
the
village



























































19

The
reference
is
to
the
tale
of
the
love
of
Abindarraez,

a
captive
Moor,
for
the


beautiful
Jarifa
(mentioned
in
the
following
paragraph),
contained
in
the
second

edition
of
Diana,
the
pastoral
romance
by
Jorge
de
Montemayor.

20
In
the
French
medieval
epics
the
Twelve
Peers
(Roland,
Olivier,
etc.)
were


warriors
all
equal
in
rank
forming
a
sort
of
guard
of
honor
around
Charelmagne.


The
Nine
Worthies,
in
a
tradition
originating
in
France,
were
nine
figures,
three

biblical,
three
classical,
and
three
Christian
(David,
Hector,
Alexander,
etc.)

32
   Don
Quixote
de
la
Mancha



barber,
who
were
great
friends
of
Don
Quixote,
and
his
housekeeper
was
saying
to

them
in
a
loud
voice,
"What
does
your
worship
think
can
have
befallen
my
master,

Señor
Licentiate
Pero
Perez?"
for
so
the
curate
was
called;
"it
is
three
days
now

since
anything
has
been
seen
of
him,
or
the
hack,
or
the
buckler,
lance,
or
armor.

Miserable
me!
I
am
certain
of
it,
and
it
is
as
true
as
that
I
was
born
to
die,
that
these

accursed
books
of
chivalry
he
has,
and
has
got
into
the
way
of
reading
so
constantly,

have
upset
his
reason;
for
now
I
remember
having
often
heard
him
saying
to
himself

that
he
would
turn
knight‐errant
and
go
all
over
the
world
in
quest
of
adventures.

To
the
devil
and
Barabbas21
with
such
books,
that
have
brought
to
ruin
in
this
way

the
finest
understanding
there
was
in
all
La
Mancha!"



The
niece
said
the
same,
and,
more:
"You
must
know,
Master
Nicholas"
–
for
that

was
the
name
of
the
barber
–
"it
was
often
my
uncle's
way
to
stay
two
days
and

nights
together
poring
over
these
unholy
books
of
misadventures,
after
which
he

would
fling
the
book
away
and
snatch
up
his
sword
and
fall
to
slashing
the
walls;

and
when
he
was
tired
out
he
would
say
he
had
killed
four
giants
like
four
towers;

and
the
sweat
that
flowed
from
him
when
he
was
weary
he
said
was
the
blood
of
the

wounds
he
had
received
in
battle;
and
then
he
would
drink
a
great
jug
of
cold
water

and
become
calm
and
quiet,
saying
that
this
water
was
a
most
precious
potion

which
the
sage
Esquife,
a
great
magician
and
friend
of
his,
had
brought
him.
But
I

take
all
the
blame
upon
myself
for
never
having
told
your
worships
of
my
uncle's

vagaries,
that
you
might
put
a
stop
to
them
before
things
had
come
to
this
pass,
and

burn
all
these
accursed
books
–
for
he
has
a
great
number
–
that
richly
deserve
to
be

burned
like
heretics."



"So
say
I
too,"
said
the
curate,
"and
by
my
faith
tomorrow
shall
not
pass
without

public
judgment
upon
them,
and
may
they
be
condemned
to
the
flames
lest
they

lead
those
that
read
to
behave
as
my
good
friend
seems
to
have
behaved."





























































21
the
thief
Pontius
Pilate
released
to
the
crowd,
rather
than
Jesus.

                                                       Don
Quixote
de
la
Mancha
        33

                                                                                          

All
this
the
peasant
heard,
and
from
it
he
understood
at
last
what
was
the
matter

with
his
neighbor,
so
he
began
calling
aloud,
"Open,
your
worships,
to
Señor

Baldwin
and
to
Señor
the
Marquis
of
Mantua,
who
comes
badly
wounded,
and
to

Señor
Abindarraez,
the
Moor,
whom
the
valiant
Rodrigo
de
Narvaez,
the
Alcaide
of

Antequera,
brings
captive."



At
these
words
they
all
hurried
out,
and
when
they
recognized
their
friend,
master,

and
uncle,
who
had
not
yet
dismounted
from
the
ass
because
he
could
not,
they
ran

to
embrace
him.



"Hold!"
said
he,
"for
I
am
badly
wounded
through
my
horse's
fault;
carry
me
to
bed,

and
if
possible
send
for
the
wise
Urganda
to
cure
and
see
to
my
wounds."



"See
there!
plague
on
it!"
cried
the
housekeeper
at
this:
"did
not
my
heart
tell
the

truth
as
to
which
foot
my
master
went
lame
of?
To
bed
with
your
worship
at
once,

and
we
will
contrive
to
cure
you
here
without
fetching
that
Hurgada.
A
curse
I
say

once
more,
and
a
hundred
times
more,
on
those
books
of
chivalry
that
have
brought

your
worship
to
such
a
pass."



They
carried
him
to
bed
at
once,
and
after
searching
for
his
wounds
could
find
none,

but
he
said
they
were
all
bruises
from
having
had
a
severe
fall
with
his
horse

Rocinante
when
in
combat
with
ten
giants,
the
biggest
and
the
boldest
to
be
found

on
earth.



"So,
so!"
said
the
curate,
"are
there
giants
in
the
dance?
By
the
sign
of
the
Cross
I
will

burn
them
to‐morrow
before
the
day
over."



They
put
a
host
of
questions
to
Don
Quixote,
but
his
only
answer
to
all
was
–
give

him
something
to
eat,
and
leave
him
to
sleep,
for
that
was
what
he
needed
most.

They
did
so,
and
the
curate
questioned
the
peasant
at
great
length
as
to
how
he
had

found
Don
Quixote.
He
told
him,
and
the
nonsense
he
had
talked
when
found
and
on

34
   Don
Quixote
de
la
Mancha



the
way
home,
all
which
made
the
licentiate
the
more
eager
to
do
what
he
did
the

next
day,
which
was
to
summon
his
friend
the
barber,
Master
Nicholas,
and
go
with

him
to
Don
Quixote's
house.



                                                           Don
Quixote
de
la
Mancha
    35

                                                                                          



CHAPTER
VII

OF
THE
SECOND
SALLY
OF
OUR
GOOD
KNIGHT,
DON
QUIXOTE
DE
LA
MANCHA




.
.
.
In
short,
then,
he
remained
at
home
fifteen
days
very
quietly
without
showing

any
signs
of
a
desire
to
take
up
with
his
former
delusions,
and
during
this
time
he

held
lively
discussions
with
his
two
gossips,
the
curate
and
the
barber,
on
the
point

he
maintained,
that
knights‐errant
were
what
the
world
stood
most
in
need
of,
and

that
in
him
was
to
be
accomplished
the
revival
of
knight‐errantry.
The
curate

sometimes
contradicted
him,
sometimes
agreed
with
him,
for
if
he
had
not
observed

this
precaution
he
would
have
been
unable
to
bring
him
to
reason.



Meanwhile
Don
Quixote
worked
upon
a
farm
laborer,
a
neighbor
of
his,
an
honest

man
(if
indeed
that
title
can
be
given
to
him
who
is
poor),
but
with
very
little
wit
in

his
head.
In
a
word,
he
so
talked
him
over,
and
with
such
persuasions
and
promises,

that
the
poor
clown
made
up
his
mind
to
sally
forth
with
him
and
serve
him
as

squire.
Don
Quixote,
among
other
things,
told
him
he
ought
to
be
ready
to
go
with

him
gladly,
because
any
moment
an
adventure
might
occur
that
might
win
an
island

in
the
twinkling
of
an
eye
and
leave
him
governor
of
it.
On
these
and
the
like

promises
Sancho
Panza
(for
so
the
laborer
was
called)
left
wife
and
children,
and

engaged
himself
as
squire
to
his
neighbor.



Don
Quixote
next
set
about
getting
some
money;
and
selling
one
thing
and
pawning

another,
and
making
a
bad
bargain
in
every
case,
he
got
together
a
fair
sum.
He

provided
himself
with
a
buckler,
which
he
begged
as
a
loan
from
a
friend,
and,

restoring
his
battered
helmet
as
best
he
could,
he
warned
his
squire
Sancho
of
the

day
and
hour
he
meant
to
set
out,
that
he
might
provide
himself
with
what
he

thought
most
needful.
Above
all,
he
charged
him
to
take
alforjas22
with
him.
The

other
said
he
would,
and
that
he
meant
to
take
also
a
very
good
ass
he
had,
as
he



























































22
Saddle
bags

36
   Don
Quixote
de
la
Mancha



was
not
much
given
to
going
on
foot.

About
the
ass,
Don
Quixote
hesitated
a
little,

trying
whether
he
could
call
to
mind
any
knight‐errant
taking
with
him
an
squire

mounted
on
ass‐back,
but
no
instance
occurred
to
his
memory.
For
all
that,
however,

he
determined
to
take
him,
intending
to
furnish
him
with
a
more
honorable
mount

when
a
chance
of
it
presented
itself,
by
appropriating
the
horse
of
the
first

discourteous
knight
he
encountered.

Himself
he
provided
with
shirts
and
such

other
things
as
he
could,
according
to
the
advice
the
host
had
given
him;
all
which

being
done,
without
taking
leave,
Sancho
Panza
of
his
wife
and
children,
or
Don

Quixote
of
his
housekeeper
and
niece,
they
sallied
forth
unseen
by
anybody
from
the

village
one
night,
and
made
such
good
way
in
the
course
of
it
that
by
daylight
they

held
themselves
safe
from
discovery,
even
should
search
be
made
for
them.



Sancho
rode
on
his
ass
like
a
patriarch,
with
his
alforjas
and
bota23,
and
longing
to

see
himself
soon
governor
of
the
island
his
master
had
promised
him.
Don
Quixote

decided
upon
taking
the
same
route
and
road
he
had
taken
on
his
first
journey,
that

over
the
Campo
de
Montiel,
which
he
traveled
with
less
discomfort
than
on
the
last

occasion,
for,
as
it
was
early
morning
and
the
rays
of
the
sun
fell
on
them
obliquely,

the
heat
did
not
distress
them.



And
now
said
Sancho
Panza
to
his
master,
"Your
worship
will
take
care,
Señor

Knight‐errant,
not
to
forget
about
the
island
you
have
promised
me,
for
be
it
ever
so

big
I'll
be
equal
to
governing
it."



To
which
Don
Quixote
replied,
"Thou
must
know,
friend
Sancho
Panza,
that
it
was
a

practice
very
much
in
vogue
with
the
knights‐errant
of
old
to
make
their
squires

governors
of
the
islands
or
kingdoms
they
won,
and
I
am
determined
that
there

shall
be
no
failure
on
my
part
in
so
liberal
a
custom;
on
the
contrary,
I
mean
to

improve
upon
it,
for
they
sometimes,
and
perhaps
most
frequently,
waited
until

their
squires
were
old,
and
then
when
they
had
had
enough
of
service
and
hard
days



























































23
Flask


                                                           Don
Quixote
de
la
Mancha
   37

                                                                                         

and
worse
nights,
they
gave
them
some
title
or
other,
of
count,
or
at
the
most

marquis,
of
some
valley
or
province
more
or
less;
but
if
thou
livest
and
I
live,
it
may

well
be
that
before
six
days
are
over,
I
may
have
won
some
kingdom
that
has
others

dependent
upon
it,
which
will
be
just
the
thing
to
enable
thee
to
be
crowned
king
of

one
of
them.
Nor
needst
thou
count
this
wonderful,
for
things
and
chances
fall
to
the

lot
of
such
knights
in
ways
so
unexampled
and
unexpected
that
I
might
easily
give

thee
even
more
than
I
promise
thee."



"In
that
case,"
said
Sancho
Panza,
"if
I
should
become
a
king
by
one
of
those
miracles

your
worship
speaks
of,
even
Juana
Gutierrez,
my
old
woman,
would
come
to
be

queen
and
my
children
infantes."



"Well,
who
doubts
it?"
said
Don
Quixote.



"I
doubt
it,"
replied
Sancho
Panza,
"because
for
my
part
I
am
persuaded
that
though

God
should
shower
down
kingdoms
upon
earth,
not
one
of
them
would
fit
the
head

of
Mari
Gutierrez.
Let
me
tell
you,
señor,
she
is
not
worth
two
maravedis24
for
a

queen;
countess
will
fit
her
better,
and
that
only
with
God's
help."



"Leave
it
to
God,
Sancho,"
returned
Don
Quixote,
"for
he
will
give
her
what
suits
her

best;
but
do
not
undervalue
thyself
so
much
as
to
come
to
be
content
with
anything

less
than
being
governor
of
a
province."



"I
will
not,
señor,"
answered
Sancho,
"specially
as
I
have
a
man
of
such
quality
for
a

master
in
your
worship,
who
will
know
how
to
give
me
all
that
will
be
suitable
for

me
and
that
I
can
bear."
































































24
A
coin
worth
one‐thirty‐fourth
of
a
real.

38
    Don
Quixote
de
la
Mancha





CHAPTER
VIII

OF
THE
GOOD
FORTUNE
WHICH
THE
VALIANT
DON
QUIXOTE
HAD
IN
THE

TERRIBLE
AND
UNDREAMT‐OF
ADVENTURE
OF
THE
WINDMILLS,
WITH
OTHER

OCCURRENCES
WORTHY
TO
BE
FITLY
RECORDED



At
this
point
they
came
in
sight
of
thirty
forty
windmills
that
there
are
on
plain,
and

as
soon
as
Don
Quixote
saw
them
he
said
to
his
squire,
"Fortune
is
arranging

matters
for
us
better
than
we
could
have
shaped
our
desires
ourselves,
for
look

there,
friend
Sancho
Panza,
where
thirty
or
more
monstrous
giants
present

themselves,
all
of
whom
I
mean
to
engage
in
battle
and
slay,
and
with
whose
spoils

we
shall
begin
to
make
our
fortunes;
for
this
is
righteous
warfare,
and
it
is
God's

good
service
to
sweep
so
evil
a
breed
from
off
the
face
of
the
earth."



"What
giants?"
said
Sancho
Panza.



"Those
thou
seest
there,"
answered
his
master,
"with
the
long
arms,
and
some
have

them
nearly
two
leagues
long."



"Look,
your
worship,"
said
Sancho;
"what
we
see
there
are
not
giants
but
windmills,

and
what
seem
to
be
their
arms
are
the
sails
that
turned
by
the
wind
make
the

millstone
go."



"It
is
easy
to
see,"
replied
Don
Quixote,
"that
thou
art
not
used
to
this
business
of

adventures;
those
are
giants;
and
if
thou
art
afraid,
away
with
thee
out
of
this
and

betake
thyself
to
prayer
while
I
engage
them
in
fierce
and
unequal
combat."



So
saying,
he
gave
the
spur
to
his
steed
Rocinante,
heedless
of
the
cries
his
squire

Sancho
sent
after
him,
warning
him
that
most
certainly
they
were
windmills
and
not

giants
he
was
going
to
attack.
He,
however,
was
so
positive
they
were
giants
that
he

neither
heard
the
cries
of
Sancho,
nor
perceived,
near
as
he
was,
what
they
were,

                                                           Don
Quixote
de
la
Mancha
     39

                                                                                           

but
made
at
them
shouting,
"Fly
not,
cowards
and
vile
beings,
for
a
single
knight

attacks
you."



A
slight
breeze
at
this
moment
sprang
up,
and
the
great
sails
began
to
move,
seeing

which
Don
Quixote
exclaimed,
"Though
ye
flourish
more
arms
than
the
giant

Briareus,25
ye
have
to
reckon
with
me."



So
saying,
and
commending
himself
with
all
his
heart
to
his
lady
Dulcinea,
imploring

her
to
support
him
in
such
a
peril,
with
lance
in
rest
and
covered
by
his
buckler,
he

charged
at
Rocinante's
fullest
gallop
and
fell
upon
the
first
mill
that
stood
in
front
of

him;
but
as
he
drove
his
lance‐point
into
the
sail
the
wind
whirled
it
round
with
such

force
that
it
shivered
the
lance
to
pieces,
sweeping
with
it
horse
and
rider,
who
went

rolling
over
on
the
plain,
in
a
sorry
condition.
Sancho
hastened
to
his
assistance
as

fast
as
his
ass
could
go,
and
when
he
came
up
found
him
unable
to
move,
with
such
a

shock
had
Rocinante
fallen
with
him.



"God
bless
me!"
said
Sancho,
"did
I
not
tell
your
worship
to
mind
what
you
were

about,
for
they
were
only
windmills?
and
no
one
could
have
made
any
mistake
about

it
but
one
who
had
mills
of
the
same
kind
in
his
head."



"Hush,
friend
Sancho,"
replied
Don
Quixote,
"the
fortunes
of
war
more
than
any

other
are
liable
to
frequent
fluctuations;
and
moreover
I
think,
and
it
is
the
truth,

that
that
same
sage
Friston
who
carried
off
my
study
and
books,26
has
turned
these

giants
into
mills
in
order
to
rob
me
of
the
glory
of
vanquishing
them,
such
is
the

enmity
he
bears
me;
but
in
the
end
his
wicked
arts
will
avail
but
little
against
my

good
sword."





























































25

A
mythological
giant
with
a
hundred
arms.

26
After
the
barber
and
the
curate
had
burned
all
his
books
and
walled
up
his
study,


Quixote
promptly
attributed
the
disappearance
to
an
evil
sorcerer
named
Friston,

who,
naturally,
held
a
grudge
against
him.

40
    Don
Quixote
de
la
Mancha




"God
order
it
as
he
may,"
said
Sancho
Panza,
and
helping
him
to
rise
got
him
up

again
on
Rocinante,
whose
shoulder
was
half
out;
and
then,
discussing
the
late

adventure,
they
followed
the
road
to
Puerto
Lapice,
for
there,
said
Don
Quixote,
they

could
not
fail
to
find
adventures
in
abundance
and
variety,
as
it
was
a
great

thoroughfare.
For
all
that,
he
was
much
grieved
at
the
loss
of
his
lance,
and
saying
so

to
his
squire,
he
added,
"I
remember
having
read
how
a
Spanish
knight,
Diego
Perez

de
Vargas
by
name,
having
broken
his
sword
in
battle,
tore
from
an
oak
a
ponderous

bough
or
branch,
and
with
it
did
such
things
that
day,
and
pounded
so
many
Moors,

that
he
got
the
surname
of
Machuca27,
and
he
and
his
descendants
from
that
day

forth
were
called
Vargas
y
Machuca.
I
mention
this
because
from
the
first
oak
I
see
I

mean
to
rend
such
another
branch,
large
and
stout
like
that,
with
which
I
am

determined
and
resolved
to
do
such
deeds
that
thou
mayest
deem
thyself
very

fortunate
in
being
found
worthy
to
come
and
see
them,
and
be
an
eyewitness
of

things
that
will
with
difficulty
be
believed."



"Be
that
as
God
will,"
said
Sancho,
"I
believe
it
all
as
your
worship
says
it;
but

straighten
yourself
a
little,
for
you
seem
all
on
one
side,
may
be
from
the
shaking
of

the
fall."



"That
is
the
truth,"
said
Don
Quixote,
"and
if
I
make
no
complaint
of
the
pain
it
is

because
knights‐errant
are
not
permitted
to
complain
of
any
wound,
even
though

their
bowels
be
coming
out
through
it."



"If
so,"
said
Sancho,
"I
have
nothing
to
say;
but
God
knows
I
would
rather
your

worship
complained
when
anything
ailed
you.
For
my
part,
I
confess
I
must

complain,
however
small
the
ache
may
be;
unless
this
rule
about
not
complaining

extends
to
the
squires
of
knights‐errant
also."































































27
Machuca,
meaning
“The
Crusher,”
was
the
hero
of
a
folk
balad.

                                                     Don
Quixote
de
la
Mancha
     41

                                                                                     

Don
Quixote
could
not
help
laughing
at
his
squire's
simplicity,
and
he
assured
him

he
might
complain
whenever
and
however
he
chose,
just
as
he
liked,
for,
so
far,
he

had
never
read
of
anything
to
the
contrary
in
the
order
of
knighthood.



Sancho
bade
him
remember
it
was
dinner‐time,
to
which
his
master
answered
that

he
wanted
nothing
himself
just
then,
but
that
he
might
eat
when
he
had
a
mind.
With

this
permission
Sancho
settled
himself
as
comfortably
as
he
could
on
his
beast,
and

taking
out
of
the
alforjas
what
he
had
stowed
away
in
them,
he
jogged
along
behind

his
master
munching
deliberately,
and
from
time
to
time
taking
a
pull
at
the
bota

with
a
relish
that
the
thirstiest
tapster
in
Malaga
might
have
envied;
and
while
he

went
on
in
this
way,
gulping
down
draught
after
draught,
he
never
gave
a
thought
to

any
of
the
promises
his
master
had
made
him,
nor
did
he
rate
it
as
hardship
but

rather
as
recreation
going
in
quest
of
adventures,
however
dangerous
they
might
be.

Finally
they
passed
the
night
among
some
trees,
from
one
of
which
Don
Quixote

plucked
a
dry
branch
to
serve
him
after
a
fashion
as
a
lance,
and
fixed
on
it
the
head

he
had
removed
from
the
broken
one.
All
that
night
Don
Quixote
lay
awake
thinking

of
his
lady
Dulcinea,
in
order
to
conform
to
what
he
had
read
in
his
books,
how

many
a
night
in
the
forests
and
deserts
knights
used
to
lie
sleepless
supported
by

the
memory
of
their
mistresses.
Not
so
did
Sancho
Panza
spend
it,
for
having
his

stomach
full
of
something
stronger
than
chicory
water
he
made
but
one
sleep
of
it,

and,
if
his
master
had
not
called
him,
neither
the
rays
of
the
sun
beating
on
his
face

nor
all
the
cheery
notes
of
the
birds
welcoming
the
approach
of
day
would
have
had

power
to
waken
him.
On
getting
up
he
tried
the
bota
and
found
it
somewhat
less
full

than
the
night
before,
which
grieved
his
heart
because
they
did
not
seem
to
be
on

the
way
to
remedy
the
deficiency
readily.
Don
Quixote
did
not
care
to
break
his
fast,

for,
as
has
been
already
said,
he
confined
himself
to
savory
recollections
for

nourishment.



They
returned
to
the
road
they
had
set
out
with,
leading
to
Puerto
Lapice,
and
at

three
in
the
afternoon
they
came
in
sight
of
it.
"Here,
brother
Sancho
Panza,"
said

Don
Quixote
when
he
saw
it,
"we
may
plunge
our
hands
up
to
the
elbows
in
what

42
    Don
Quixote
de
la
Mancha



they
call
adventures;
but
observe,
even
shouldst
thou
see
me
in
the
greatest
danger

in
the
world,
thou
must
not
put
a
hand
to
thy
sword
in
my
defense,
unless
indeed

thou
perceivest
that
those
who
assail
me
are
rabble
or
base
folk;
for
in
that
case

thou
mayest
very
properly
aid
me;
but
if
they
be
knights
it
is
on
no
account

permitted
or
allowed
thee
by
the
laws
of
knighthood
to
help
me
until
thou
hast
been

dubbed
a
knight."



"Most
certainly,
señor,"
replied
Sancho,
"your
worship
shall
be
fully
obeyed
in
this

matter;
all
the
more
as
of
myself
I
am
peaceful
and
no
friend
to
mixing
in
strife
and

quarrels:
it
is
true
that
as
regards
the
defense
of
my
own
person
I
shall
not
give

much
heed
to
those
laws,
for
laws
human
and
divine
allow
each
one
to
defend

himself
against
any
assailant
whatever."



"That
I
grant,"
said
Don
Quixote,
"but
in
this
matter
of
aiding
me
against
knights

thou
must
put
a
restraint
upon
thy
natural
impetuosity."



"I
will
do
so,
I
promise
you,"
answered
Sancho,
"and
will
keep
this
precept
as

carefully
as
Sunday."



While
they
were
thus
talking
there
appeared
on
the
road
two
friars
of
the
order
of

St.
Benedict,
mounted
on
two
dromedaries,
for
not
less
tall
were
the
two
mules
they

rode
on.
They
wore
traveling
spectacles
and
carried
sunshades;
and
behind
them

came
a
coach
attended
by
four
or
five
persons
on
horseback
and
two
muleteers
on

foot.
In
the
coach
there
was,
as
afterwards
appeared,
a
Biscay
lady
on
her
way
to

Seville,
where
her
husband
was
about
to
take
passage
for
the
Indies
with
an

appointment
of
high
honor.
The
friars,
though
going
the
same
road,
were
not
in
her

company;
but
the
moment
Don
Quixote
perceived
them
he
said
to
his
squire,
"Either

I
am
mistaken,
or
this
is
going
to
be
the
most
famous
adventure
that
has
ever
been

seen,
for
those
black
bodies
we
see
there
must
be,
and
doubtless
are,
magicians
who

are
carrying
off
some
stolen
princess
in
that
coach,
and
with
all
my
might
I
must

undo
this
wrong."

                                                      Don
Quixote
de
la
Mancha
         43

                                                                                          



"This
will
be
worse
than
the
windmills,"
said
Sancho.
"Look,
señor;
those
are
friars

of
St.
Benedict,
and
the
coach
plainly
belongs
to
some
travelers:
I
tell
you
to
mind

well
what
you
are
about
and
don't
let
the
devil
mislead
you."



"I
have
told
thee
already,
Sancho,"
replied
Don
Quixote,
"that
on
the
subject
of

adventures
thou
knowest
little.
What
I
say
is
the
truth,
as
thou
shalt
see
presently."



So
saying,
he
advanced
and
posted
himself
in
the
middle
of
the
road
along
which
the

friars
were
coming,
and
as
soon
as
he
thought
they
had
come
near
enough
to
hear

what
he
said,
he
cried
aloud,
"Devilish
and
unnatural
beings,
release
instantly
the

highborn
princesses
whom
you
are
carrying
off
by
force
in
this
coach,
else
prepare

to
meet
a
speedy
death
as
the
just
punishment
of
your
evil
deeds."



The
friars
drew
rein
and
stood
wondering
at
the
appearance
of
Don
Quixote
as
well

as
at
his
words,
to
which
they
replied,
"Señor
Caballero,
we
are
not
devilish
or

unnatural,
but
two
brothers
of
St.
Benedict
following
our
road,
nor
do
we
know

whether
or
not
there
are
any
captive
princesses
coming
in
this
coach."



"No
soft
words
with
me,
for
I
know
you,
lying
rabble,"
said
Don
Quixote,
and
without

waiting
for
a
reply
he
spurred
Rocinante
and
with
leveled
lance
charged
the
first

friar
with
such
fury
and
determination,
that,
if
the
friar
had
not
flung
himself
off
the

mule,
he
would
have
brought
him
to
the
ground
against
his
will,
and
sore
wounded,

if
not
killed
outright.
The
second
brother,
seeing
how
his
comrade
was
treated,

drove
his
heels
into
his
castle
of
a
mule
and
made
off
across
the
country
faster
than

the
wind.



Sancho
Panza,
when
he
saw
the
friar
on
the
ground,
dismounting
briskly
from
his

ass,
rushed
towards
him
and
began
to
strip
off
his
gown.
At
that
instant
the
friars’

muleteers
came
up
and
asked
what
he
was
stripping
him
for.
Sancho
answered
them

that
this
fell
to
him
lawfully
as
spoil
of
the
battle
which
his
lord
Don
Quixote
had

44
   Don
Quixote
de
la
Mancha



won.
The
muleteers,
who
had
no
idea
of
a
joke
and
did
not
understand
all
this
about

battles
and
spoils,
seeing
that
Don
Quixote
was
some
distance
off
talking
to
the

travelers
in
the
coach,
fell
upon
Sancho,
knocked
him
down,
and
leaving
hardly
a

hair
in
his
beard,
belabored
him
with
kicks
and
left
him
stretched
breathless
and

senseless
on
the
ground;
and
without
any
more
delay
helped
the
friar
to
mount,

who,
trembling,
terrified,
and
pale,
as
soon
as
he
found
himself
in
the
saddle,

spurred
after
his
companion,
who
was
standing
at
a
distance
looking
on,
watching

the
result
of
the
onslaught;
then,
not
caring
to
wait
for
the
end
of
the
affair
just

begun,
they
pursued
their
journey
making
more
crosses
than
if
they
had
the
devil

after
them.



Don
Quixote
was,
as
has
been
said,
speaking
to
the
lady
in
the
coach:
"Your
beauty,

lady
mine,"
said
he,
"may
now
dispose
of
your
person
as
may
be
most
in
accordance

with
your
pleasure,
for
the
pride
of
your
ravishers
lies
prostrate
on
the
ground

through
this
strong
arm
of
mine;
and
lest
you
should
be
pining
to
know
the
name
of

your
deliverer,
know
that
I
am
called
Don
Quixote
of
La
Mancha,
knight‐errant
and

adventurer,
and
captive
to
the
peerless
and
beautiful
lady
Dulcinea
del
Toboso:
and

in
return
for
the
service
you
have
received
of
me
I
ask
no
more
than
that
you
should

return
to
El
Toboso,
and
on
my
behalf
present
yourself
before
that
lady
and
tell
her

what
I
have
done
to
set
you
free."



One
of
the
squires
in
attendance
upon
the
coach,
a
Biscayan,28
was
listening
to
all

Don
Quixote
was
saying,
and,
perceiving
that
he
would
not
allow
the
coach
to
go
on,

but
was
saying
it
must
return
at
once
to
El
Toboso,
he
made
at
him,
and
seizing
his

lance
addressed
him
in
bad
Castilian
and
worse
Biscayan
after
his
fashion,
"Begone,

caballero,
and
ill
go
with
thee;
by
the
God
that
made
me,
unless
thou
quittest
coach,

slayest
thee
as
art
here
a
Biscayan."































































28
From
the
Bosque
region
in
northeastern
Spain.

                                                       Don
Quixote
de
la
Mancha
        45

                                                                                          

Don
Quixote
understood
him
quite
well,
and
answered
him
very
quietly,
"If
thou

wert
a
knight,
as
thou
art
none,
I
should
have
already
chastised
thy
folly
and

rashness,
miserable
creature."
To
which
the
Biscayan
returned,
"I
no
gentleman!
–
I

swear
to
God
thou
liest
as
I
am
Christian:
if
thou
droppest
lance
and
drawest
sword,

soon
shalt
thou
see
thou
art
carrying
water
to
the
cat29:

Biscayan
on
land,
hidalgo
at

sea,
hidalgo
in
spite
of
the
devil,
and
look,
if
thou
sayest
otherwise
thou
liest."



"'"You
will
see
presently,"
said
Agrajes,'"
replied
Don
Quixote;
and
throwing
his

lance
on
the
ground
he
drew
his
sword,
braced
his
buckler
on
his
arm,
and
attacked

the
Biscayan,
bent
upon
taking
his
life.



The
Biscayan,
when
he
saw
him
coming
on,
though
he
wished
to
dismount
from
his

mule,
in
which,
being
one
of
those
sorry
ones
let
out
for
hire,
he
had
no
confidence,

had
no
choice
but
to
draw
his
sword;
it
was
lucky
for
him,
however,
that
he
was
near

the
coach,
from
which
he
was
able
to
snatch
a
cushion
that
served
him
for
a
shield;

and
they
went
at
one
another
as
if
they
had
been
two
mortal
enemies.
The
others

strove
to
make
peace
between
them,
but
could
not,
for
the
Biscayan
declared
in
his

disjointed
phrase
that
if
they
did
not
let
him
finish
his
battle
he
would
kill
his

mistress
and
everyone
that
strove
to
prevent
him.
The
lady
in
the
coach,
amazed

and
terrified
at
what
she
saw,
ordered
the
coachman
to
draw
aside
a
little,
and
set

herself
to
watch
this
severe
struggle,
in
the
course
of
which
the
Biscayan
smote
Don

Quixote
a
mighty
stroke
on
the
shoulder
over
the
top
of
his
buckler,
which,
given
to

one
without
armor,
would
have
cleft
him
to
the
waist.
Don
Quixote,
feeling
the

weight
of
this
prodigious
blow,
cried
aloud,
saying,
"O
lady
of
my
soul,
Dulcinea,

flower
of
beauty,
come
to
the
aid
of
this
your
knight,
who,
in
fulfilling
his
obligations

to
your
beauty,
finds
himself
in
this
extreme
peril."
To
say
this,
to
lift
his
sword,
to

shelter
himself
well
behind
his
buckler,
and
to
assail
the
Biscayan
was
the
work
of

an
instant,
determined
as
he
was
to
venture
all
upon
a
single
blow.
The
Biscayan,

seeing
him
come
on
in
this
way,
was
convinced
of
his
courage
by
his
spirited


























































29
An
inversion
of
the
proverbial
phrase,
“carrying
the
cat
to
water,”
a
not
altogether


pleasant
task.

46
   Don
Quixote
de
la
Mancha



bearing,
and
resolved
to
follow
his
example,
so
he
waited
for
him
keeping
well

under
cover
of
his
cushion,
being
unable
to
execute
any
sort
of
maneuver
with
his

mule,
which,
dead
tired
and
never
meant
for
this
kind
of
game,
could
not
stir
a
step.



On,
then,
as
aforesaid,
came
Don
Quixote
against
the
wary
Biscayan,
with
uplifted

sword
and
a
firm
intention
of
splitting
him
in
half,
while
on
his
side
the
Biscayan

waited
for
him
sword
in
hand,
and
under
the
protection
of
his
cushion;
and
all

present
stood
trembling,
waiting
in
suspense
the
result
of
blows
such
as
threatened

to
fall,
and
the
lady
in
the
coach
and
the
rest
of
her
following
were
making
a

thousand
vows
and
offerings
to
all
the
images
and
shrines
of
Spain,
that
God
might

deliver
her
squire
and
all
of
them
from
this
great
peril
in
which
they
found

themselves.
But
it
spoils
all,
that
at
this
point
and
crisis
the
author
of
the
history

leaves
this
battle
impending,
giving
as
excuse
that
he
could
find
nothing
more

written
about
these
achievements
of
Don
Quixote
than
what
has
been
already
set

forth.
It
is
true
the
second
author30
of
this
work
was
unwilling
to
believe
that
a

history
so
curious
could
have
been
allowed
to
fall
under
the
sentence
of
oblivion,
or

that
the
wits
of
La
Mancha
could
have
been
so
undiscerning
as
not
to
preserve
in

their
archives
or
registries
some
documents
referring
to
this
famous
knight;
and
this

being
his
persuasion,
he
did
not
despair
of
finding
the
conclusion
of
this
pleasant

history
.
.
.
.





































































30
Cervantes
himself,
adopting
here
–
with
tongue
in
cheek
–
a
device
used
in
the


romances
of
chivalry
to
create
suspense.

                                                      Don
Quixote
de
la
Mancha
        47

                                                                                         



CHAPTER
IX

IN
WHICH
IS
CONCLUDED
AND
FINISHED
THE
TERRIFIC
BATTLE
BETWEEN
THE

GALLANT
BISCAYAN
AND
THE
VALIANT
MANCHEGAN



.
.
.
we
left
the
valiant
Biscayan
and
the
renowned
Don
Quixote
with
drawn
swords

uplifted,
ready
to
deliver
two
such
furious
slashing
blows
that
if
they
had
fallen
full

and
fair
they
would
at
least
have
split
and
cleft
them
asunder
from
top
to
toe
and

laid
them
open
like
a
pomegranate;
and
at
this
so
critical
point
the
delightful
history

came
to
a
stop
and
stood
cut
short
without
any
intimation
from
the
author
where

what
was
missing
was
to
be
found.



This
distressed
me
greatly,
because
the
pleasure
derived
from
having
read
such
a

small
portion
turned
to
vexation
at
the
thought
of
the
poor
chance
that
presented

itself
of
finding
the
large
part
that,
so
it
seemed
to
me,
was
missing
of
such
an

interesting
tale.
It
appeared
to
me
to
be
a
thing
impossible
and
contrary
to
all

precedent
that
so
good
a
knight
should
have
been
without
some
sage
to
undertake

the
task
of
writing
his
marvelous
achievements;
a
thing
that
was
never
wanting
to

any
of
those
knights‐errant
who,
they
say,
went
after
adventures;
for
every
one
of

them
had
one
or
two
sages
as
if
made
on
purpose,
who
not
only
recorded
their

deeds
but
described
their
most
trifling
thoughts
and
follies,
however
secret
they

might
be;
and
such
a
good
knight
could
not
have
been
so
unfortunate
as
not
to
have

what
Platir
and
others
like
him
had
in
abundance.
And
so
I
could
not
bring
myself
to

believe
that
such
a
gallant
tale
had
been
left
maimed
and
mutilated,
and
I
laid
the

blame
on
Time,
the
devourer
and
destroyer
of
all
things,
that
had
either
concealed

or
consumed
it.



On
the
other
hand,
it
struck
me
that,
inasmuch
as
among
his
books
there
had
been

found
such
modern
ones
as
The
Enlightenment
of
Jealousy
and
the
Nymphs
and

Shepherds
of
Henares,
his
story
must
likewise
be
modern,
and
that
though
it
might

not
be
written,
it
might
exist
in
the
memory
of
the
people
of
his
village
and
of
those

48
     Don
Quixote
de
la
Mancha



in
the
neighborhood.
This
reflection
kept
me
perplexed
and
longing
to
know
the

whole
story,
the
true
story,
of
the
life
and
wondrous
deeds
of
our
famous
Spaniard,

Don
Quixote
of
La
Mancha,
light
and
mirror
of
chivalry
in
La
Mancha,
and
the
first
in

our
age
and
in
these
calamitous
times
to
have
devoted
himself
to
the
labor
and

exercise
of
knight‐errantry,
righting
wrongs,
succoring
widows,
and
protecting

damsels
of
that
sort
that
used
to
ride
about,
whip
in
hand,
on
their
palfreys,
with
all

their
virginity
about
them,
from
mountain
to
mountain
and
valley
to
valley
–
for,
if
it

were
not
for
some
ruffian,
or
boor
with
a
hood
and
hatchet,
or
monstrous
giant,
that

forced
them,
there
were
in
days
of
yore
damsels
that
at
the
end
of
eighty
years,
in
all

which
time
they
had
never
slept
a
day
under
a
roof,
went
to
their
graves
as
much

maids
as
the
mothers
that
bore
them.

I
say,
then,
that
in
these
and
other
respects

our
gallant
Don
Quixote
is
worthy
of
everlasting
and
notable
praise,
nor
should
such

praise
be
withheld
even
from
me
for
the
labor
and
pains
spent
in
searching
for
the

conclusion
of
this
delightful
history;
though
I
know
well
that
if
Heaven,
chance
and

good
fortune
had
not
helped
me,
the
world
would
have
remained
deprived
of
an

entertainment
and
pleasure
that
for
a
couple
of
hours
or
so
may
well
occupy
him

who
shall
read
it
attentively.
The
discovery
of
it
occurred
in
this
way.



One
day,
as
I
was
in
the
Alcana
of
Toledo,
a
boy
came
up
to
sell
some
pamphlets
and

old
papers
to
a
silk
mercer,
and,
as
I
am
fond
of
reading
even
the
very
scraps
of

paper
in
the
streets,
led
by
this
natural
bent
of
mine
I
took
up
one
of
the
pamphlets

the
boy
had
for
sale,
and
saw
that
it
was
in
characters
which
I
recognized
as
Arabic,

and
as
I
was
unable
to
read
them
though
I
could
recognize
them,
I
looked
about
to

see
if
there
were
any
Spanish‐speaking
Morisco
at
hand
to
read
them
for
me;
nor

was
there
any
great
difficulty
in
finding
such
an
interpreter,
for
even
had
I
sought

one
for
an
older
and
better
language31
I
should
have
found
him.
In
short,
chance

provided
me
with
one,
who
when
I
told
him
what
I
wanted
and
put
the
book
into
his

hands,
opened
it
in
the
middle
and
after
reading
a
little
in
it
began
to
laugh.
I
asked

him
what
he
was
laughing
at,
and
he
replied
that
it
was
at
something
the
book
had



























































31

i.e.,
Hebrew

                                                           Don
Quixote
de
la
Mancha
  49

                                                                                         

written
in
the
margin
by
way
of
a
note.
I
bade
him
tell
it
to
me;
and
he
still
laughing

said,
"In
the
margin,
as
I
told
you,
this
is
written:
'This
Dulcinea
del
Toboso
so
often

mentioned
in
this
history,
had,
they
say,
the
best
hand
of
any
woman
in
all
La

Mancha
for
salting
pigs.'"



When
I
heard
Dulcinea
del
Toboso
named,
I
was
struck
with
surprise
and

amazement,
for
it
occurred
to
me
at
once
that
these
pamphlets
contained
the
history

of
Don
Quixote.
With
this
idea
I
pressed
him
to
read
the
beginning,
and
doing
so,

turning
the
Arabic
offhand
into
Castilian,
he
told
me
it
meant,
History
of
Don
Quixote

of
La
Mancha,
written
by
Cide
Hamete
Benengeli32,
an
Arab
historian.
It
required

great
caution
to
hide
the
joy
I
felt
when
the
title
of
the
book
reached
my
ears,
and

snatching
it
from
the
silk
mercer,
I
bought
all
the
papers
and
pamphlets
from
the

boy
for
half
a
real;
and
if
he
had
had
his
wits
about
him
and
had
known
how
eager
I

was
for
them,
he
might
have
safely
calculated
on
making
more
than
six
reals
by
the

bargain.
I
withdrew
at
once
with
the
Morisco
into
the
cloister
of
the
cathedral,
and

begged
him
to
turn
all
these
pamphlets
that
related
to
Don
Quixote
into
the
Castilian

tongue,
without
omitting
or
adding
anything
to
them,
offering
him
whatever

payment
he
pleased.
He
was
satisfied
with
two
arrobas
of
raisins33
and
two
bushels

of
wheat,
and
promised
to
translate
them
faithfully
and
with
all
dispatch;
but
to

make
the
matter
easier,
and
not
to
let
such
a
precious
find
out
of
my
hands,
I
took

him
to
my
house,
where
in
little
more
than
a
month
and
a
half
he
translated
the

whole
just
as
it
is
set
down
here.



In
the
first
pamphlet
the
battle
between
Don
Quixote
and
the
Biscayan
was
drawn
to

the
very
life,
they
planted
in
the
same
attitude
as
the
history
describes,
their
swords

raised,
and
the
one
protected
by
his
buckler,
the
other
by
his
cushion,
and
the

Biscayan's
mule
so
true
to
nature
that
it
could
be
seen
to
be
a
hired
one
a
bowshot

off.
The
Biscayan
had
an
inscription
under
his
feet
which
said,
"Don
Sancho
de


























































32
Citing
some
ancient
chronicle
as
the
author’s
source
and
authority
is
very
much
in


the
tradition
of
the
romances.

Benengeli,
incidentally,
means
“eggplant.”

33
About
50
pounds.

50
    Don
Quixote
de
la
Mancha



Azpeitia,"
which
no
doubt
must
have
been
his
name;
and
at
the
feet
of
Rocinante

was
another
that
said,
"Don
Quixote."
Rocinante
was
marvelously
portrayed,
so
long

and
thin,
so
lank
and
lean,
with
so
much
backbone
and
so
far
gone
in
consumption,

that
he
showed
plainly
with
what
judgment
and
propriety
the
name
of
Rocinante

had
been
bestowed
upon
him.
Near
him
was
Sancho
Panza
holding
the
halter
of
his

ass,
at
whose
feet
was
another
label
that
said,
"Sancho
Zancas,"
and
according
to
the

picture,
he
must
have
had
a
big
belly,
a
short
body,
and
long
shanks,
for
which

reason,
no
doubt,
the
names
of
Panza
and
Zancas34
were
given
him,
for
by
these
two

surnames
the
history
several
times
calls
him.
Some
other
trifling
particulars
might

be
mentioned,
but
they
are
all
of
slight
importance
and
have
nothing
to
do
with
the

true
relation
of
the
history;
and
no
history
can
be
bad
so
long
as
it
is
true.



If
against
the
present
one
any
objection
be
raised
on
the
score
of
its
truth,
it
can
only

be
that
its
author
was
an
Arab,
as
lying
is
a
very
common
propensity
with
those
of

that
nation;
though,
as
they
are
such
enemies
of
ours,
it
is
conceivable
that
there

were
omissions
rather
than
additions
made
in
the
course
of
it.
And
this
is
my
own

opinion;
for,
where
he
could
and
should
give
freedom
to
his
pen
in
praise
of
so

worthy
a
knight,
he
seems
to
me
deliberately
to
pass
it
over
in
silence;
which
is
ill

done
and
worse
contrived,
for
it
is
the
business
and
duty
of
historians
to
be
exact,

truthful,
and
wholly
free
from
passion,
and
neither
interest
nor
fear,
hatred
nor
love,

should
make
them
swerve
from
the
path
of
truth,
whose
mother
is
history,
rival
of

time,
storehouse
of
deeds,
witness
for
the
past,
example
and
counsel
for
the
present,

and
warning
for
the
future.
In
this
I
know
will
be
found
all
that
can
be
desired
in
the

pleasantest,
and
if
it
be
wanting
in
any
good
quality,
I
maintain
it
is
the
fault
of
its

hound
of
an
author
and
not
the
fault
of
the
subject.
To
be
brief,
its
Second
Part,

according
to
the
translation,
began
in
this
way:



With
trenchant
swords
upraised
and
poised
on
high,
it
seemed
as
though
the
two

valiant
and
wrathful
combatants
stood
threatening
heaven,
and
earth,
and
hell,
with



























































34
i.e.,
Paunch
and
Shanks

                                                       Don
Quixote
de
la
Mancha
51

                                                                                   

such
resolution
and
determination
did
they
bear
themselves.
The
fiery
Biscayan
was

the
first
to
strike
a
blow,
which
was
delivered
with
such
force
and
fury
that
had
not

the
sword
turned
in
its
course,
that
single
stroke
would
have
sufficed
to
put
an
end

to
the
bitter
struggle
and
to
all
the
adventures
of
our
knight;
but
that
good
fortune

which
reserved
him
for
greater
things,
turned
aside
the
sword
of
his
adversary,
so

that
although
it
smote
him
upon
the
left
shoulder,
it
did
him
no
more
harm
than
to

strip
all
that
side
of
its
armor,
carrying
away
a
great
part
of
his
helmet
with
half
of

his
ear,
all
which
with
fearful
ruin
fell
to
the
ground,
leaving
him
in
a
sorry
plight.



Good
God!
Who
is
there
that
could
properly
describe
the
rage
that
filled
the
heart
of

our
Manchegan
when
he
saw
himself
dealt
with
in
this
fashion?
All
that
can
be
said

is,
it
was
such
that
he
again
raised
himself
in
his
stirrups,
and,
grasping
his
sword

more
firmly
with
both
hands,
he
came
down
on
the
Biscayan
with
such
fury,
smiting

him
full
over
the
cushion
and
over
the
head,
that
–
even
so
good
a
shield
proving

useless
–
as
if
a
mountain
had
fallen
on
him,
he
began
to
bleed
from
nose,
mouth,

and
ears,
reeling
as
if
about
to
fall
backwards
from
his
mule,
as
no
doubt
he
would

have
done
had
he
not
flung
his
arms
about
its
neck;
at
the
same
time,
however,
he

slipped
his
feet
out
of
the
stirrups
and
then
unclasped
his
arms,
and
the
mule,
taking

fright
at
the
terrible
blow,
made
off
across
the
plain,
and
with
a
few
plunges
flung
its

master
to
the
ground.
Don
Quixote
stood
looking
on
very
calmly,
and,
when
he
saw

him
fall,
leaped
from
his
horse
and
with
great
briskness
ran
to
him,
and,
presenting

the
point
of
his
sword
to
his
eyes,
bade
him
surrender,
or
he
would
cut
his
head
off.

The
Biscayan
was
so
bewildered
that
he
was
unable
to
answer
a
word,
and
it
would

have
gone
hard
with
him,
so
blind
was
Don
Quixote,
had
not
the
ladies
in
the
coach,

who
had
hitherto
been
watching
the
combat
in
great
terror,
hastened
to
where
he

stood
and
implored
him
with
earnest
entreaties
to
grant
them
the
great
grace
and

favor
of
sparing
their
squire's
life;
to
which
Don
Quixote
replied
with
much
gravity

and
dignity,
"In
truth,
fair
ladies,
I
am
well
content
to
do
what
ye
ask
of
me;
but
it

must
be
on
one
condition
and
understanding,
which
is
that
this
knight
promise
me

to
go
to
the
village
of
El
Toboso,
and
on
my
behalf
present
himself
before
the

peerless
lady
Dulcinea,
that
she
deal
with
him
as
shall
be
most
pleasing
to
her."

52
    Don
Quixote
de
la
Mancha





The
terrified
and
disconsolate
ladies,
without
discussing
Don
Quixote's
demand
or

asking
who
Dulcinea
might
be,
promised
that
their
squire
should
do
all
that
had

been
commanded.



"Then,
on
the
faith
of
that
promise,"
said
Don
Quixote,
"I
shall
do
him
no
further

harm,
though
he
well
deserves
it
of
me."










                                                      Don
Quixote
de
la
Mancha
         53

                                                                                          



CHAPTER
X

OF
THE
PLEASANT
DISCOURSE
THAT
PASSED
BETWEEN
DON
QUIXOTE
AND
HIS

SQUIRE
SANCHO
PANZA



Now
by
this
time
Sancho
had
risen,
rather
the
worse
for
the
handling
of
the
friars'

muleteers,
and
stood
watching
the
battle
of
his
master,
Don
Quixote,
and
praying
to

God
in
his
heart
that
it
might
be
his
will
to
grant
him
the
victory,
and
that
he
might

thereby
win
some
island
to
make
him
governor
of,
as
he
had
promised.
Seeing,

therefore,
that
the
struggle
was
now
over,
and
that
his
master
was
returning
to

mount
Rocinante,
he
approached
to
hold
the
stirrup
for
him,
and,
before
he
could

mount,
he
went
on
his
knees
before
him,
and
taking
his
hand,
kissed
it
saying,
"May

it
please
your
worship,
Señor
Don
Quixote,
to
give
me
the
government
of
that
island

which
has
been
won
in
this
hard
fight,
for
be
it
ever
so
big
I
feel
myself
in
sufficient

force
to
be
able
to
govern
it
as
much
and
as
well
as
anyone
in
the
world
who
has

ever
governed
islands."



To
which
Don
Quixote
replied,
"Thou
must
take
notice,
brother
Sancho,
that
this

adventure
and
those
like
it
are
not
adventures
of
islands,
but
of
cross‐roads,
in

which
nothing
is
got
except
a
broken
head
or
an
ear
the
less:
have
patience,
for

adventures
will
present
themselves
from
which
I
may
make
you,
not
only
a

governor,
but
something
more."



Sancho
gave
him
many
thanks,
and
again
kissing
his
hand
and
the
skirt
of
his

hauberk,
helped
him
to
mount
Rocinante,
and
mounting
his
ass
himself,
proceeded

to
follow
his
master,
who
at
a
brisk
pace,
without
taking
leave,
or
saying
anything

further
to
the
ladies
belonging
to
the
coach,
turned
into
a
wood
that
was
hard
by.

Sancho
followed
him
at
his
ass's
best
trot,
but
Rocinante
stepped
out
so
that,
seeing

himself
left
behind,
he
was
forced
to
call
to
his
master
to
wait
for
him.
Don
Quixote

did
so,
reining
in
Rocinante
until
his
weary
squire
came
up,
who
on
reaching
him

said,
"It
seems
to
me,
señor,
it
would
be
prudent
in
us
to
go
and
take
refuge
in
some

54
   Don
Quixote
de
la
Mancha



church,
for,
seeing
how
mauled
he
with
whom
you
fought
has
been
left,
it
will
be
no

wonder
if
they
give
information
of
the
affair
to
the
Holy
Brotherhood
and
arrest
us,

and,
faith,
if
they
do,
before
we
come
out
of
jail
we
shall
have
to
sweat
for
it."



"Peace,"
said
Don
Quixote;
"where
hast
thou
ever
seen
or
heard
that
a
knight‐errant

has
been
arraigned
before
a
court
of
justice,
however
many
homicides
he
may
have

committed?"



"I
know
nothing
about
omecils,35"
answered
Sancho,
"nor
in
my
life
have
had

anything
to
do
with
one;
I
only
know
that
the
Holy
Brotherhood
looks
after
those

who
fight
in
the
fields,
and
in
that
other
matter
I
do
not
meddle."



"Then
thou
needst
have
no
uneasiness,
my
friend,"
said
Don
Quixote,
"for
I
will

deliver
thee
out
of
the
hands
of
the
Chaldeans,
much
more
out
of
those
of
the

Brotherhood.
But
tell
me,
as
thou
livest,
hast
thou
seen
a
more
valiant
knight
than
I

in
all
the
known
world;
hast
thou
read
in
history
of
any
who
has
or
had
higher

mettle
in
attack,
more
spirit
in
maintaining
it,
more
dexterity
in
wounding
or
skill
in

overthrowing?"



"The
truth
is,"
answered
Sancho,
"that
I
have
never
read
any
history,
for
I
can

neither
read
nor
write,
but
what
I
will
venture
to
bet
is
that
a
more
daring
master

than
your
worship
I
have
never
served
in
all
the
days
of
my
life,
and
God
grant
that

this
daring
be
not
paid
for
where
I
have
said;
what
I
beg
of
your
worship
is
to
dress

your
wound,
for
a
great
deal
of
blood
flows
from
that
ear,
and
I
have
here
some
lint

and
a
little
white
ointment
in
the
alforjas."



"All
that
might
be
well
dispensed
with,"
said
Don
Quixote,
"if
I
had
remembered
to

make
a
vial
of
the
balsam
of
Fierabras,
for
time
and
medicine
are
saved
by
one
single

drop."



























































35
grudges

                                                      Don
Quixote
de
la
Mancha
         55

                                                                                          



"What
vial
and
what
balsam
is
that?"
said
Sancho
Panza.



"It
is
a
balsam,"
answered
Don
Quixote,
"the
receipt
of
which
I
have
in
my
memory,

with
which
one
need
have
no
fear
of
death,
or
dread
dying
of
any
wound;
and
so

when
I
make
it
and
give
it
to
thee
thou
hast
nothing
to
do
when
in
some
battle
thou

seest
they
have
cut
me
in
half
through
the
middle
of
the
body
–
as
is
wont
to
happen

frequently,
–
but
neatly
and
with
great
nicety,
ere
the
blood
congeal,
to
place
that

portion
of
the
body
which
shall
have
fallen
to
the
ground
upon
the
other
half
which

remains
in
the
saddle,
taking
care
to
fit
it
on
evenly
and
exactly.
Then
thou
shalt
give

me
to
drink
but
two
drops
of
the
balsam
I
have
mentioned,
and
thou
shalt
see
me

become
sounder
than
an
apple."



"If
that
be
so,"
said
Panza,
"I
renounce
henceforth
the
government
of
the
promised

island,
and
desire
nothing
more
in
payment
of
my
many
and
faithful
services
than

that
your
worship
give
me
the
receipt
of
this
supreme
liquor,
for
I
am
persuaded
it

will
be
worth
more
than
two
reals
an
ounce
anywhere,
and
I
want
no
more
than
to

pass
the
rest
of
my
life
in
ease
and
honor;
but
it
remains
to
be
told
if
it
costs
much
to

make
it."



"With
less
than
three
reals,
six
quarts
of
it
may
be
made,"
said
Don
Quixote.



"Sinner
that
I
am!"
said
Sancho,
"then
why
does
your
worship
put
off
making
it
and

teaching
it
to
me?"



"Peace,
friend,"
answered
Don
Quixote;
"greater
secrets
I
mean
to
teach
thee
and

greater
favors
to
bestow
upon
thee;
and
for
the
present
let
us
see
to
the
dressing,
for

my
ear
pains
me
more
than
I
could
wish."



Sancho
took
out
some
lint
and
ointment
from
the
alforjas;
but
when
Don
Quixote

came
to
see
his
helmet
shattered,
he
was
like
to
lose
his
senses,
and
clapping
his

56
   Don
Quixote
de
la
Mancha



hand
upon
his
sword
and
raising
his
eyes
to
heaven,
be
said,
"I
swear
by
the
Creator

of
all
things
and
the
four
Gospels
in
their
fullest
extent,
to
do
as
the
great
Marquis
of

Mantua
did
when
he
swore
to
avenge
the
death
of
his
nephew
Baldwin
(and
that

was
not
to
eat
bread
from
a
table‐cloth,
nor
embrace
his
wife,
and
other
points

which,
though
I
cannot
now
call
them
to
mind,
I
here
grant
as
expressed)
until
I
take

complete
vengeance
upon
him
who
has
committed
such
an
offence
against
me."



Hearing
this,
Sancho
said
to
him,
"Your
worship
should
bear
in
mind,
Señor
Don

Quixote,
that
if
the
knight
has
done
what
was
commanded
him
in
going
to
present

himself
before
my
lady
Dulcinea
del
Toboso,
he
will
have
done
all
that
he
was
bound

to
do,
and
does
not
deserve
further
punishment
unless
he
commits
some
new

offence."



"Thou
hast
said
well
and
hit
the
point,"
answered
Don
Quixote;
and
so
I
recall
the

oath
in
so
far
as
relates
to
taking
fresh
vengeance
on
him,
but
I
make
and
confirm
it

anew
to
lead
the
life
I
have
said
until
such
time
as
I
take
by
force
from
some
knight

another
helmet
such
as
this
and
as
good;
and
think
not,
Sancho,
that
I
am
raising

smoke
with
straw
in
doing
so,
for
I
have
one
to
imitate
in
the
matter,
since
the
very

same
thing
to
a
hair
happened
in
the
case
of
Mambrino's
helmet,
which
cost

Sacripante
so
dear."36



"Señor,"
replied
Sancho,
"let
your
worship
send
all
such
oaths
to
the
devil,
for
they

are
very
pernicious
to
salvation
and
prejudicial
to
the
conscience;
just
tell
me
now,
if

for
several
days
to
come
we
fall
in
with
no
man
armed
with
a
helmet,
what
are
we
to

do?
Is
the
oath
to
be
observed
in
spite
of
all
the
inconvenience
and
discomfort
it
will

be
to
sleep
in
your
clothes,
and
not
to
sleep
in
a
house,
and
a
thousand
other

mortifications
contained
in
the
oath
of
that
old
fool
the
Marquis
of
Mantua,
which

your
worship
is
now
wanting
to
revive?
Let
your
worship
observe
that
there
are
no


























































36
The
enchanted
helmet
of
Mambrino,
a
Moorish
king,
is
stolen
by
Rinaldo
in
the


15th
century
epic
poem
Orlando
Innamorato
(“Roland
in
Love”)
by
Matteo
Maria

Boiardo.

                                                                                  57

                                                           Don
Quixote
de
la
Mancha

                                                                                     

men
in
armor
traveling
on
any
of
these
roads,
nothing
but
carriers
and
carters,
who

not
only
do
not
wear
helmets,
but
perhaps
never
heard
tell
of
them
all
their
lives."



"Thou
art
wrong
there,"
said
Don
Quixote,
"for
we
shall
not
have
been
above
two

hours
among
these
cross‐roads
before
we
see
more
men
in
armor
than
came
to

Albraca
to
win
the
fair
Angelica."37



"Enough,"
said
Sancho;
"so
be
it
then,
and
God
grant
us
success,
and
that
the
time
for

winning
that
island
which
is
costing
me
so
dear
may
soon
come,
and
then
let
me

die."



"I
have
already
told
thee,
Sancho,"
said
Don
Quixote,
"not
to
give
thyself
any

uneasiness
on
that
score;
for
if
an
island
should
fail,
there
is
the
kingdom
of

Denmark,
or
of
Sobradisa,38
which
will
fit
thee
as
a
ring
fits
the
finger,
and
all
the

more
that,
being
on
terra
firma39,
thou
wilt
all
the
better
enjoy
thyself.

But
let
us

leave
that
to
its
own
time;
see
if
thou
hast
anything
for
us
to
eat
in
those
alforjas,

because
we
must
presently
go
in
quest
of
some
castle
where
we
may
lodge
to‐night

and
make
the
balsam
I
told
thee
of,
for
I
swear
to
thee
by
God,
this
ear
is
giving
me

great
pain."



"I
have
here
an
onion
and
a
little
cheese
and
a
few
scraps
of
bread,"
said
Sancho,

"but
they
are
not
victuals
fit
for
a
valiant
knight
like
your
worship."



"How
little
thou
knowest
about
it,"
answered
Don
Quixote;
"I
would
have
thee
to

know,
Sancho,
that
it
is
the
glory
of
knights‐errant
to
go
without
eating
for
a
month,

and
even
when
they
do
eat,
that
it
should
be
of
what
comes
first
to
hand;
and
this

would
have
been
clear
to
thee
hadst
thou
read
as
many
histories
as
I
have,
for,



























































37
Another
allusion
to
Boiardo’s
poem.

38
An
imaginary
realm.

39
Solid
earth,
here
also
Firm
Island,
an
imaginary
final
destination
for
squires
of


knights
errant.

58
   Don
Quixote
de
la
Mancha



though
they
are
very
many,
among
them
all
I
have
found
no
mention
made
of

knights‐errant
eating,
unless
by
accident
or
at
some
sumptuous
banquets
prepared

for
them,
and
the
rest
of
the
time
they
passed
in
dalliance.
And
though
it
is
plain

they
could
not
do
without
eating
and
performing
all
the
other
natural
functions,

because,
in
fact,
they
were
men
like
ourselves,
it
is
plain
too
that,
wandering
as
they

did
the
most
part
of
their
lives
through
woods
and
wilds
and
without
a
cook,
their

most
usual
fare
would
be
rustic
viands
such
as
those
thou
now
offer
me;
so
that,

friend
Sancho,
let
not
that
distress
thee
which
pleases
me,
and
do
not
seek
to
make
a

new
world
or
pervert
knight‐errantry."



"Pardon
me,
your
worship,"
said
Sancho,
"for,
as
I
cannot
read
or
write,
as
I
said
just

now,
I
neither
know
nor
comprehend
the
rules
of
the
profession
of
chivalry:

henceforward
I
will
stock
the
alforjas
with
every
kind
of
dry
fruit
for
your
worship,

as
you
are
a
knight;
and
for
myself,
as
I
am
not
one,
I
will
furnish
them
with
poultry

and
other
things
more
substantial."



"I
do
not
say,
Sancho,"
replied
Don
Quixote,
"that
it
is
imperative
on
knights‐errant

not
to
eat
anything
else
but
the
fruits
thou
speakest
of;
only
that
their
more
usual

diet
must
be
those,
and
certain
herbs
they
found
in
the
fields
which
they
knew
and
I

know
too."



"A
good
thing
it
is,"
answered
Sancho,
"to
know
those
herbs,
for
to
my
thinking
it

will
be
needful
some
day
to
put
that
knowledge
into
practice."



And
here
taking
out
what
he
said
he
had
brought,
the
pair
made
their
repast

peaceably
and
sociably.
But
anxious
to
find
quarters
for
the
night,
they
with
all

despatch
made
an
end
of
their
poor
dry
fare,
mounted
at
once,
and
made
haste
to

reach
some
habitation
before
night
set
in;
but
daylight
and
the
hope
of
succeeding
in

their
object
failed
them
close
by
the
huts
of
some
goatherds,
so
they
determined
to

pass
the
night
there,
and
it
was
as
much
to
Sancho's
discontent
not
to
have
reached

a
house,
as
it
was
to
his
master's
satisfaction
to
sleep
under
the
open
heaven,
for
he

                                                  Don
Quixote
de
la
Mancha
     59

                                                                                   

fancied
that
each
time
this
happened
to
him
he
performed
an
act
of
ownership
that

helped
to
prove
his
chivalry.











60
    Don
Quixote
de
la
Mancha






CHAPTER
XI

WHAT
BEFELL
DON
QUIXOTE
WITH
CERTAIN
GOATHERDS



He
was
cordially
welcomed
by
the
goatherds,
and
Sancho,
having
as
best
he
could

put
up
Rocinante
and
the
ass,
drew
towards
the
fragrance
that
came
from
some

pieces
of
salted
goat
simmering
in
a
pot
on
the
fire;
and
though
he
would
have
liked

at
once
to
try
if
they
were
ready
to
be
transferred
from
the
pot
to
the
stomach,
he

refrained
from
doing
so
as
the
goatherds
removed
them
from
the
fire,
and
laying

sheepskins
on
the
ground,
quickly
spread
their
rude
table,
and
with
signs
of
hearty

good‐will
invited
them
both
to
share
what
they
had.
Round
the
skins
six
of
the
men

belonging
to
the
fold
seated
themselves,
having
first
with
rough
politeness
pressed

Don
Quixote
to
take
a
seat
upon
a
trough
which
they
placed
for
him
upside
down.

Don
Quixote
seated
himself,
and
Sancho
remained
standing
to
serve
the
cup,
which

was
made
of
horn.
Seeing
him
standing,
his
master
said
to
him:



"That
thou
mayest
see,
Sancho,
the
good
that
knight‐errantry
contains
in
itself,
and

how
those
who
fill
any
office
in
it
are
on
the
high
road
to
be
speedily
honoured
and

esteemed
by
the
world,
I
desire
that
thou
seat
thyself
here
at
my
side
and
in
the

company
of
these
worthy
people,
and
that
thou
be
one
with
me
who
am
thy
master

and
natural
lord,
and
that
thou
eat
from
my
plate
and
drink
from
whatever
I
drink

from;
for
the
same
may
be
said
of
knight‐errantry
as
of
love,
that
it
levels
all."



"Great
thanks,"
said
Sancho,
"but
I
may
tell
your
worship
that
provided
I
have

enough
to
eat,
I
can
eat
it
as
well,
or
better,
standing,
and
by
myself,
than
seated

alongside
of
an
emperor.
And
indeed,
if
the
truth
is
to
be
told,
what
I
eat
in
my

corner
without
form
or
fuss
has
much
more
relish
for
me,
even
though
it
be
bread

and
onions,
than
the
turkeys
of
those
other
tables
where
I
am
forced
to
chew
slowly,

drink
little,
wipe
my
mouth
every
minute,
and
cannot
sneeze
or
cough
if
I
want
or
do

                                                      Don
Quixote
de
la
Mancha
          61

                                                                                           

other
things
that
are
the
privileges
of
liberty
and
solitude.
So,
señor,
as
for
these

honors
which
your
worship
would
put
upon
me
as
a
servant
and
follower
of
knight‐
errantry,
exchange
them
for
other
things
which
may
be
of
more
use
and
advantage

to
me;
for
these,
though
I
fully
acknowledge
them
as
received,
I
renounce
from
this

moment
to
the
end
of
the
world."



"For
all
that,"
said
Don
Quixote,
"thou
must
seat
thyself,
because
him
who
humbleth

himself
God
exalteth;"
and
seizing
him
by
the
arm
he
forced
him
to
sit
down
beside

himself.



The
goatherds
did
not
understand
this
jargon
about
squires
and
knights‐errant,
and

all
they
did
was
to
eat
in
silence
and
stare
at
their
guests,
who
with
great
elegance

and
appetite
were
stowing
away
pieces
as
big
as
one's
fist.
The
course
of
meat

finished,
they
spread
upon
the
sheepskins
a
great
heap
of
parched
acorns,
and
with

them
they
put
down
a
half
cheese
harder
than
if
it
had
been
made
of
mortar.
All
this

while
the
horn
was
not
idle,
for
it
went
round
so
constantly,
now
full,
now
empty,

like
the
bucket
of
a
water‐wheel,
that
it
soon
drained
one
of
the
two
wine‐skins
that

were
in
sight.
When
Don
Quixote
had
quite
appeased
his
appetite
he
took
up
a

handful
of
the
acorns,
and
contemplating
them
attentively
delivered
himself

somewhat
in
this
fashion:



"Happy
the
age,
happy
the
time,
to
which
the
ancients
gave
the
name
of
golden,
not

because
in
that
fortunate
age
the
gold
so
coveted
in
this
our
iron
one
was
gained

without
toil,
but
because
they
that
lived
in
it
knew
not
the
two
words
"mine"
and

"thine"!
In
that
blessed
age
all
things
were
in
common;
to
win
the
daily
food
no
labor

was
required
of
any
save
to
stretch
forth
his
hand
and
gather
it
from
the
sturdy
oaks

that
stood
generously
inviting
him
with
their
sweet
ripe
fruit.
The
clear
streams
and

running
brooks
yielded
their
savory
limpid
waters
in
noble
abundance.
The
busy

and
sagacious
bees
fixed
their
republic
in
the
clefts
of
the
rocks
and
hollows
of
the

trees,
offering
without
usance
the
plenteous
produce
of
their
fragrant
toil
to
every

hand.
The
mighty
cork
trees,
unenforced
save
of
their
own
courtesy,
shed
the
broad

62
     Don
Quixote
de
la
Mancha



light
bark
that
served
at
first
to
roof
the
houses
supported
by
rude
stakes,
a

protection
against
the
inclemency
of
heaven
alone.
Then
all
was
peace,
all

friendship,
all
concord;
as
yet
the
dull
share
of
the
crooked
plough
had
not
dared
to

rend
and
pierce
the
tender
bowels
of
our
first
mother
that
without
compulsion

yielded
from
every
portion
of
her
broad
fertile
bosom
all
that
could
satisfy,
sustain,

and
delight
the
children
that
then
possessed
her.
Then
was
it
that
the
innocent
and

fair
young
shepherdess
roamed
from
vale
to
vale
and
hill
to
hill,
with
flowing
locks,

and
no
more
garments
than
were
needful
modestly
to
cover
what
modesty
seeks

and
ever
sought
to
hide.
Nor
were
their
ornaments
like
those
in
use
to‐day,
set
off
by

Tyrian
purple,
and
silk
tortured
in
endless
fashions,
but
the
wreathed
leaves
of
the

green
dock
and
ivy,
wherewith
they
went
as
bravely
and
becomingly
decked
as
our

Court
dames
with
all
the
rare
and
far‐fetched
artifices
that
idle
curiosity
has
taught

them.
Then
the
love‐thoughts
of
the
heart
clothed
themselves
simply
and
naturally

as
the
heart
conceived
them,
nor
sought
to
commend
themselves
by
forced
and

rambling
verbiage.
Fraud,
deceit,
or
malice
had
then
not
yet
mingled
with
truth
and

sincerity.
Justice
held
her
ground,
undisturbed
and
unassailed
by
the
efforts
of
favor

and
of
interest,
that
now
so
much
impair,
pervert,
and
beset
her.
Arbitrary
law
had

not
yet
established
itself
in
the
mind
of
the
judge,
for
then
there
was
no
cause
to

judge
and
no
one
to
be
judged.
Maidens
and
modesty,
as
I
have
said,
wandered
at

will
alone
and
unattended,
without
fear
of
insult
from
lawlessness
or
libertine

assault,
and
if
they
were
undone
it
was
of
their
own
will
and
pleasure.
But
now
in

this
hateful
age
of
ours
not
one
is
safe,
not
though
some
new
labyrinth
like
that
of

Crete
conceal
and
surround
her;
even
there
the
pestilence
of
gallantry
will
make
its

way
to
them
through
chinks
or
on
the
air
by
the
zeal
of
its
accursed
importunity,

and,
despite
of
all
seclusion,
lead
them
to
ruin.
In
defense
of
these,
as
time
advanced

and
wickedness
increased,
the
order
of
knights‐errant
was
instituted,
to
defend

maidens,
to
protect
widows
and
to
succor
the
orphans
and
the
needy.
To
this
order
I

belong,
brother
goatherds,
to
whom
I
return
thanks
for
the
hospitality
and
kindly

welcome
ye
offer
me
and
my
squire;
for
though
by
natural
law
all
living
are
bound
to

show
favor
to
knights‐errant,
yet,
seeing
that
without
knowing
this
obligation
ye

                                                                                   63

                                                           Don
Quixote
de
la
Mancha

                                                                                     

have
welcomed
and
feasted
me,
it
is
right
that
with
all
the
good‐will
in
my
power
I

should
thank
you
for
yours."



All
this
long
harangue
(which
might
very
well
have
been
spared)
our
knight

delivered
because
the
acorns
they
gave
him
reminded
him
of
the
golden
age;
and
the

whim
seized
him
to
address
all
this
unnecessary
argument
to
the
goatherds,
who

listened
to
him
gaping
in
amazement
without
saying
a
word
in
reply.
Sancho

likewise
held
his
peace
and
ate
acorns,
and
paid
repeated
visits
to
the
second
wine‐
skin,
which
they
had
hung
up
on
a
cork
tree
to
keep
the
wine
cool.



Don
Quixote
was
longer
in
talking
than
the
supper
in
finishing,
at
the
end
of
which

one
of
the
goatherds
said,
"That
your
worship,
señor
knight‐errant,
may
say
with

more
truth
that
we
show
you
hospitality
with
ready
good‐will,
we
will
give
you

amusement
and
pleasure
by
making
one
of
our
comrades
sing:
he
will
be
here

before
long,
and
he
is
a
very
intelligent
youth
and
deep
in
love,
and
what
is
more
he

can
read
and
write
and
play
on
the
rebeck40
to
perfection."



The
goatherd
had
hardly
done
speaking,
when
the
notes
of
the
rebeck
reached
their

ears;
and
shortly
after,
the
player
came
up,
a
very
good‐looking
young
man
of
about

two‐and‐twenty.
His
comrades
asked
him
if
he
had
supped,
and
on
his
replying
that

he
had,
he
who
had
already
made
the
offer
said
to
him:



"In
that
case,
Antonio,
thou
mayest
as
well
do
us
the
pleasure
of
singing
a
little,
that

the
gentleman,
our
guest,
may
see
that
even
in
the
mountains
and
woods
there
are

musicians:
we
have
told
him
of
thy
accomplishments,
and
we
want
thee
to
show

them
and
prove
that
we
say
true;
so,
as
thou
livest,
pray
sit
down
and
sing
that

ballad
about
thy
love
that
thy
uncle
the
prebendary41
made
thee,
and
that
was
so

much
liked
in
the
town."


























































40
A
pear‐shaped,
two
or
three‐stringed
medieval
instrument,
played
with
a
bow.

41
a
canon
or
member
of
the
chapter
of
a
cathedral
or
collegiate
church
who
holds
a


prebend
–
that
is,
a
stipend
or
a
grant.

64
          Don
Quixote
de
la
Mancha





"With
all
my
heart,"
said
the
young
man,
and
without
waiting
for
more
pressing
he

seated
himself
on
the
trunk
of
a
felled
oak,
and
tuning
his
rebeck,
presently
began
to

sing
to
these
words.



ANTONIO'S
BALLAD



             




I
know
well
that
thou
does
love
me,


             My
Olalla,
even
though

             Eyes
of
thine
have
never
spoken
–


             Love’s
mute
tongues
–
to
tell
me
so.

             




Since
I
know
thou
knowest
my
passion,


             Of
thy
love
I
am
more
sure;


             No
love
every
was
unhappy

             When

it
was
both
frank
and
pure.



             




True
it
is,
Olalla,
sometimes

             Thou
a
heart
of
bronze
hast
shown,

             And
it
seemed
to
me
that
bosom,


             White
and
fair,
was
made
of
stone.

             




Yet
in
spite
of
all
repulses

             And
a
chastity
so
cold,


             It
appeared
that
I
Hope’s
garment


             By
the
hem
did
clutch
and
hold.

             




For
my
faith
I
ever
cherished;


             It
would
rise
to
meet
the
bait;


             Spurned,
it
never
did
diminish;


             Favored,
it
preferred
to
wait.


             




Love,
they
say,
hath
gentle
manners:

             Thus
it
is
it
shows
its
face;










































































































































































                                                    Don
Quixote
de
la
Mancha
   65

                                                                                  

    Then
may
I
take
hope,
Olalla,


    Trust
to
win
a
longed
for
grace.

    




If

devotion
hath
the
power

    Hearts
to
move
and
make
them
kind,


    Let
the
loyalty
I’ve
shown
thee

    Plead
my
cause,
be
kept
in
mind.



    




For
if
thou
didst
note
my
costume,

    More
than
once
thou
must
have
seen,


    Worn
upon
a
simple
Monday

    Sunday’s
garb
so
bright
and
clean.

    




Love
and
brightness
go
together.

    Dost
thou
ask
the
reason
why

    I
thus
deck
myself
on
Monday?

    It
is
but
to
catch
thine
eye.



    




I
say
nothing
of
the
dances

    I
have
danced
for
thy
sweet
sake;

    Nor
the
serenades
I’ve
sung
thee

    Till
the
first
cock
did
awake.

    




Nor
will
I
repeat
my
praises

    Of
that
beauty
all
can
see;


    True,
my
words
but
oft
unwelcome
–

    Many
lasses
hated
me.

    




For
Teresa
of
the
hillside

    At
my
praise
of
thee
was
sore;

    Said,
"You
think
you
love
an
angel;

    It's
a
monkey
you
adore;


    




"Caught
by
all
her
glittering
trinkets,

    And
her
artificial
hair,

    And
her
many
aids
to
beauty,


    That
would
Love
himself
ensnare."



66
          Don
Quixote
de
la
Mancha



             




'T
was
a
lie,
and
so
I
told
her,

             And
her
cousin,
very
bold,

             Challenged
me
upon
my
honor;

             What
ensued
need
not
be
told.42

             




High‐flown
words
do
not
become
me;


             I’m
a
plain
and
simple
man.

             Pure
the
love
that
I
would
offer,

             Serving
thee
as
best
I
can.


             




Silken
are
the
bonds
of
marriage,


             When
two
hearts
do
intertwine;


             Mother
Church
the
yoke
will
fasten;


             Bow
your
neck
and
I’ll
bow
mine.

             




Or
if
not,
my
word
I’ll
give
thee,

             From
these
mountains
I’ll
come
down
–

             Saint
most
hold
be
my
witness
–


             Wearing
a
Capuchin
gown.
43




Here
the
goatherd
brought
his
song
to
an
end,
and
though
Don
Quixote
entreated

him
to
sing
more,
Sancho
had
no
mind
that
way,
being
more
inclined
for
sleep
than

for
listening
to
songs;
so
said
he
to
his
master,
"Your
worship
will
do
well
to
settle
at

once
where
you
mean
to
pass
the
night,
for
the
labor
these
good
men
are
at
all
day

does
not
allow
them
to
spend
the
night
in
singing."



"I
understand
thee,
Sancho,"
replied
Don
Quixote;
"I
perceive
clearly
that
those
visits

to
the
wine‐skin
demand
compensation
in
sleep
rather
than
in
music."



"It's
sweet
to
us
all,
blessed
be
God,"
said
Sancho.






























































42
Essentially,
he
killed
the
cousin
in
a
duel.

43
In
other
words,
he’ll
become
a
monk.

                                                     Don
Quixote
de
la
Mancha
        67

                                                                                        

"I
do
not
deny
it,"
replied
Don
Quixote;
"but
settle
thyself
where
thou
wilt;
those
of

my
calling
are
more
becomingly
employed
in
watching
than
in
sleeping;
still
it

would
be
as
well
if
thou
wert
to
dress
this
ear
for
me
again,
for
it
is
giving
me
more

pain
than
it
need."



Sancho
did
as
he
bade
him,
but
one
of
the
goatherds,
seeing
the
wound,
told
him
not

to
be
uneasy,
as
he
would
apply
a
remedy
with
which
it
would
be
soon
healed;
and

gathering
some
leaves
of
rosemary,
of
which
there
was
a
great
quantity
there,
he

chewed
them
and
mixed
them
with
a
little
salt,
and
applying
them
to
the
ear
he

secured
them
firmly
with
a
bandage,
assuring
him
that
no
other
treatment
would
be

required,
and
so
it
proved.









68
       Don
Quixote
de
la
Mancha





CHAPTER
XII.

OF
WHAT
A
GOATHERD
RELATED
TO
THOSE
WITH
DON
QUIXOTE



Just
then
another
young
man,
one
of
those
who
fetched
their
provisions
from
the

village,
came
up
and
said,
"Do
you
know
what
is
going
on
in
the
village,
comrades?"



"How
could
we
know
it?"
replied
one
of
them.



"Well,
then,
you
must
know,"
continued
the
young
man,
"this
morning
that
famous

student‐shepherd
called
Chrysostomo
died,
and
it
is
rumored
that
he
died
of
love
for

that
devil
of
a
village
girl
the
daughter
of
Guillermo
the
Rich,
she
that
wanders
about

the
wolds44
here
in
the
dress
of
a
shepherdess."



"You
mean
Marcela?"
said
one.



"Her
I
mean,"
answered
the
goatherd;
"and
the
best
of
it
is,
he
has
directed
in
his

will
that
he
is
to
be
buried
in
the
fields
like
a
Moor,
and
at
the
foot
of
the
rock
where

the
Cork‐tree
spring
is,
because,
as
the
story
goes
(and
they
say
he
himself
said
so),

that
was
the
place
where
he
first
saw
her.
And
he
has
also
left
other
directions

which
the
clergy
of
the
village
say
should
not
and
must
not
be
obeyed
because
they

savor
of
paganism.
To
all
which
his
great
friend
Ambrosio
the
student,
he
who,
like

him,
also
went
dressed
as
a
shepherd,
replies
that
everything
must
be
done
without

any
omission
according
to
the
directions
left
by
Chrysostomo,
and
about
this
the

village
is
all
in
commotion;
however,
report
says
that,
after
all,
what
Ambrosio
and

all
the
shepherds
his
friends
desire
will
be
done,
and
to‐morrow
they
are
coming
to

bury
him
with
great
ceremony
where
I
said.
I
am
sure
it
will
be
something
worth

seeing;
at
least
I
will
not
fail
to
go
and
see
it
even
if
I
knew
I
should
not
return
to
the

village
tomorrow."



























































44

Unforested
rolling
plains;
a
moor.

                                                       Don
Quixote
de
la
Mancha
          69

                                                                                            



"We
will
do
the
same,"
answered
the
goatherds,
"and
cast
lots
to
see
who
must
stay

to
mind
the
goats
of
all."



"Thou
sayest
well,
Pedro,"
said
one,
"though
there
will
be
no
need
of
taking
that

trouble,
for
I
will
stay
behind
for
all;
and
don't
suppose
it
is
virtue
or
want
of

curiosity
in
me;
it
is
that
the
splinter
that
ran
into
my
foot
the
other
day
will
not
let

me
walk."



"For
all
that,
we
thank
thee,"
answered
Pedro.



Don
Quixote
asked
Pedro
to
tell
him
who
the
dead
man
was
and
who
the

shepherdess,
to
which
Pedro
replied
that
all
he
knew
was
that
the
dead
man
was
a

wealthy
gentleman
belonging
to
a
village
in
those
mountains,
who
had
been
a

student
at
Salamanca
for
many
years,
at
the
end
of
which
he
returned
to
his
village

with
the
reputation
of
being
very
learned
and
deeply
read.
"Above
all,
they
said,
he

was
learned
in
the
science
of
the
stars
and
of
what
went
on
yonder
in
the
heavens

and
the
sun
and
the
moon,
for
he
told
us
of
the
clips
of
the
sun
and
moon
to
exact

time."



"Eclipse
it
is
called,
friend,
not
clips,
the
darkening
of
those
two
luminaries,"
said

Don
Quixote;
but
Pedro,
not
troubling
himself
with
trifles,
went
on
with
his
story,

saying,
"Also
he
foretold
when
the
year
was
going
to
be
one
of
abundance
or

estility."



"Sterility,
you
mean,"
said
Don
Quixote.



"Sterility
or
estility,"
answered
Pedro,
"it
is
all
the
same
in
the
end.
And
I
can
tell
you

that
by
this
his
father
and
friends
who
believed
him
grew
very
rich
because
they
did

as
he
advised
them,
bidding
them
'sow
barley
this
year,
not
wheat;
this
year
you

70
   Don
Quixote
de
la
Mancha



may
sow
pulse
and
not
barley;
the
next
there
will
be
a
full
oil
crop,
and
the
three

following
not
a
drop
will
be
got.'"



"That
science
is
called
astrology,"
said
Don
Quixote.



"I
do
not
know
what
it
is
called,"
replied
Pedro,
"but
I
know
that
he
knew
all
this
and

more
besides.
But,
to
make
an
end,
not
many
months
had
passed
after
he
returned

from
Salamanca,
when
one
day
he
appeared
dressed
as
a
shepherd
with
his
crook

and
sheepskin,
having
put
off
the
long
gown
he
wore
as
a
scholar;
and
at
the
same

time
his
great
friend,
Ambrosio
by
name,
who
had
been
his
companion
in
his

studies,
took
to
the
shepherd's
dress
with
him.
I
forgot
to
say
that
Chrysostomo,

who
is
dead,
was
a
great
man
for
writing
verses,
so
much
so
that
he
made
carols
for

Christmas
Eve,
and
plays
for
Corpus
Christi,
which
the
young
men
of
our
village

acted,
and
all
said
they
were
excellent.
When
the
villagers
saw
the
two
scholars
so

unexpectedly
appearing
in
shepherd's
dress,
they
were
lost
in
wonder,
and
could

not
guess
what
had
led
them
to
make
so
extraordinary
a
change.
About
this
time
the

father
of
our
Chrysostomo
died,
and
he
was
left
heir
to
a
large
amount
of
property
in

chattels
as
well
as
in
land,
no
small
number
of
cattle
and
sheep,
and
a
large
sum
of

money,
of
all
of
which
the
young
man
was
left
dissolute
owner,
and
indeed
he
was

deserving
of
it
all,
for
he
was
a
very
good
comrade,
and
kind‐hearted,
and
a
friend
of

worthy
folk,
and
had
a
countenance
like
a
benediction.
Presently
it
came
to
be

known
that
he
had
changed
his
dress
with
no
other
object
than
to
wander
about

these
wastes
after
that
shepherdess
Marcela
our
lad
mentioned
a
while
ago,
with

whom
the
deceased
Chrysostomo
had
fallen
in
love.
And
I
must
tell
you
now,
for
it
is

well
you
should
know
it,
who
this
girl
is;
perhaps,
and
even
without
any
perhaps,

you
will
not
have
heard
anything
like
it
all
the
days
of
your
life,
though
you
should

live
more
years
than
sarna45."



"Say
Sara,"
said
Don
Quixote,
unable
to
endure
the
goatherd's
confusion
of
words.



























































45

Sarna
means
“itch.”

“Older
than
the
itch”
was
a
proverbial
expression.

                                                      Don
Quixote
de
la
Mancha
          71

                                                                                           



"The
sarna
lives
long
enough,"
answered
Pedro;
"and
if,
señor,
you
must
go
finding

fault
with
words
at
every
step,
we
shall
not
make
an
end
of
it
this
twelvemonth."



"Pardon
me,
friend,"
said
Don
Quixote;
"but,
as
there
is
such
a
difference
between

sarna
and
Sara,
I
told
you
of
it;
however,
you
have
answered
very
rightly,
for
sarna

lives
longer
than
Sara:
so
continue
your
story,
and
I
will
not
object
any
more
to

anything."



"I
say
then,
my
dear
sir,"
said
the
goatherd,
"that
in
our
village
there
was
a
farmer

even
richer
than
the
father
of
Chrysostomo,
who
was
named
Guillermo,
and
upon

whom
God
bestowed,
over
and
above
great
wealth,
a
daughter
at
whose
birth
her

mother
died,
the
most
respected
woman
there
was
in
this
neighborhood;
I
fancy
I

can
see
her
now
with
that
countenance
which
had
the
sun
on
one
side
and
the
moon

on
the
other;
and
moreover
active,
and
kind
to
the
poor,
for
which
I
trust
that
at
the

present
moment
her
soul
is
in
bliss
with
God
in
the
other
world.
Her
husband

Guillermo
died
of
grief
at
the
death
of
so
good
a
wife,
leaving
his
daughter
Marcela,
a

child
and
rich,
to
the
care
of
an
uncle
of
hers,
a
priest
and
prebendary
in
our
village.

The
girl
grew
up
with
such
beauty
that
it
reminded
us
of
her
mother's,
which
was

very
great,
and
yet
it
was
thought
that
the
daughter's
would
exceed
it;
and
so
when

she
reached
the
age
of
fourteen
to
fifteen
years
nobody
beheld
her
but
blessed
God

that
had
made
her
so
beautiful,
and
the
greater
number
were
in
love
with
her
past

redemption.
Her
uncle
kept
her
in
great
seclusion
and
retirement,
but
for
all
that
the

fame
of
her
great
beauty
spread
so
that,
as
well
for
it
as
for
her
great
wealth,
her

uncle
was
asked,
solicited,
and
importuned,
to
give
her
in
marriage
not
only
by
those

of
our
town
but
of
those
many
leagues
round,
and
by
the
persons
of
highest
quality

in
them.
But
he,
being
a
good
Christian
man,
though
he
desired
to
give
her
in

marriage
at
once,
seeing
her
to
be
old
enough,
was
unwilling
to
do
so
without
her

consent,
not
that
he
had
any
eye
to
the
gain
and
profit
which
the
custody
of
the
girl's

property
brought
him
while
he
put
off
her
marriage;
and,
faith,
this
was
said
in

praise
of
the
good
priest
in
more
than
one
set
in
the
town.
For
I
would
have
you

72
   Don
Quixote
de
la
Mancha



know,
Sir
Knight,
that
in
these
little
villages
everything
is
talked
about
and

everything
is
carped
at,
and
rest
assured,
as
I
am,
that
the
priest
must
be
over
and

above
good
who
forces
his
parishioners
to
speak
well
of
him,
especially
in
villages."



"That
is
the
truth,"
said
Don
Quixote;
"but
go
on,
for
the
story
is
very
good,
and
you,

good
Pedro,
tell
it
with
very
good
grace."



"May
that
of
the
Lord
not
be
wanting
to
me,"
said
Pedro;
"that
is
the
one
to
have.
To

proceed;
you
must
know
that
though
the
uncle
put
before
his
niece
and
described
to

her
the
qualities
of
each
one
in
particular
of
the
many
who
had
asked
her
in

marriage,
begging
her
to
marry
and
make
a
choice
according
to
her
own
taste,
she

never
gave
any
other
answer
than
that
she
had
no
desire
to
marry
just
yet,
and
that

being
so
young
she
did
not
think
herself
fit
to
bear
the
burden
of
matrimony.
At

these,
to
all
appearance,
reasonable
excuses
that
she
made,
her
uncle
ceased
to
urge

her,
and
waited
till
she
was
somewhat
more
advanced
in
age
and
could
mate
herself

to
her
own
liking.
For,
said
he
–
and
he
said
quite
right
–
parents
are
not
to
settle

children
in
life
against
their
will.
But
when
one
least
looked
for
it,
lo
and
behold!
one

day
the
demure
Marcela
makes
her
appearance
turned
shepherdess;
and,
in
spite
of

her
uncle
and
all
those
of
the
town
that
strove
to
dissuade
her,
took
to
going
a‐field

with
the
other
shepherd‐lasses
of
the
village,
and
tending
her
own
flock.
And
so,

since
she
appeared
in
public,
and
her
beauty
came
to
be
seen
openly,
I
could
not

well
tell
you
how
many
rich
youths,
gentlemen
and
peasants,
have
adopted
the

costume
of
Chrysostomo,
and
go
about
these
fields
making
love
to
her.
One
of
these,

as
has
been
already
said,
was
our
deceased
friend,
of
whom
they
say
that
he
did
not

love
but
adore
her.
But
you
must
not
suppose,
because
Marcela
chose
a
life
of
such

liberty
and
independence,
and
of
so
little
or
rather
no
retirement,
that
she
has
given

any
occasion,
or
even
the
semblance
of
one,
for
disparagement
of
her
purity
and

modesty;
on
the
contrary,
such
and
so
great
is
the
vigilance
with
which
she
watches

over
her
honor,
that
of
all
those
that
court
and
woo
her
not
one
has
boasted,
or
can

with
truth
boast,
that
she
has
given
him
any
hope
however
small
of
obtaining
his

desire.
For
although
she
does
not
avoid
or
shun
the
society
and
conversation
of
the

                                                       Don
Quixote
de
la
Mancha
73

                                                                                   

shepherds,
and
treats
them
courteously
and
kindly,
should
any
one
of
them
come
to

declare
his
intention
to
her,
though
it
be
one
as
proper
and
holy
as
that
of

matrimony,
she
flings
him
from
her
like
a
catapult.
And
with
this
kind
of
disposition

she
does
more
harm
in
this
country
than
if
the
plague
had
got
into
it,
for
her

affability
and
her
beauty
draw
on
the
hearts
of
those
that
associate
with
her
to
love

her
and
to
court
her,
but
her
scorn
and
her
frankness
bring
them
to
the
brink
of

despair;
and
so
they
know
not
what
to
say
save
to
proclaim
her
aloud
cruel
and

hard‐hearted,
and
other
names
of
the
same
sort
which
well
describe
the
nature
of

her
character;
and
if
you
should
remain
here
any
time,
señor,
you
would
hear
these

hills
and
valleys
resounding
with
the
laments
of
the
rejected
ones
who
pursue
her.

Not
far
from
this
there
is
a
spot
where
there
are
a
couple
of
dozen
of
tall
beeches,

and
there
is
not
one
of
them
but
has
carved
and
written
on
its
smooth
bark
the

name
of
Marcela,
and
above
some
a
crown
carved
on
the
same
tree
as
though
her

lover
would
say
more
plainly
that
Marcela
wore
and
deserved
that
of
all
human

beauty.
Here
one
shepherd
is
sighing,
there
another
is
lamenting;
there
love
songs

are
heard,
here
despairing
elegies.
One
will
pass
all
the
hours
of
the
night
seated
at

the
foot
of
some
oak
or
rock,
and
there,
without
having
closed
his
weeping
eyes,
the

sun
finds
him
in
the
morning
bemused
and
bereft
of
sense;
and
another
without

relief
or
respite
to
his
sighs,
stretched
on
the
burning
sand
in
the
full
heat
of
the

sultry
summer
noontide,
makes
his
appeal
to
the
compassionate
heavens,
and
over

one
and
the
other,
over
these
and
all,
the
beautiful
Marcela
triumphs
free
and

careless.
And
all
of
us
that
know
her
are
waiting
to
see
what
her
pride
will
come
to,

and
who
is
to
be
the
happy
man
that
will
succeed
in
taming
a
nature
so
formidable

and
gaining
possession
of
a
beauty
so
supreme.
All
that
I
have
told
you
being
such

well‐established
truth,
I
am
persuaded
that
what
they
say
of
the
cause
of

Chrysostomo's
death,
as
our
lad
told
us,
is
the
same.
And
so
I
advise
you,
señor,
fail

not
to
be
present
to‐morrow
at
his
burial,
which
will
be
well
worth
seeing,
for

Chrysostomo
had
many
friends,
and
it
is
not
half
a
league
from
this
place
to
where

he
directed
he
should
be
buried."



74
     Don
Quixote
de
la
Mancha



"I
will
make
a
point
of
it,"
said
Don
Quixote,
"and
I
thank
you
for
the
pleasure
you

have
given
me
by
relating
so
interesting
a
tale."



"Oh,"
said
the
goatherd,
"I
do
not
know
even
the
half
of
what
has
happened
to
the

lovers
of
Marcela,
but
perhaps
to‐morrow
we
may
fall
in
with
some
shepherd
on
the

road
who
can
tell
us;
and
now
it
will
be
well
for
you
to
go
and
sleep
under
cover,
for

the
night
air
may
hurt
your
wound,
though
with
the
remedy
I
have
applied
to
you

there
is
no
fear
of
an
untoward
result."



Sancho
Panza,
who
was
wishing
the
goatherd's
loquacity
at
the
devil,
on
his
part

begged
his
master
to
go
into
Pedro's
hut
to
sleep.
He
did
so,
and
passed
all
the
rest

of
the
night
in
thinking
of
his
lady
Dulcinea,
in
imitation
of
the
lovers
of
Marcela.

Sancho
Panza
settled
himself
between
Rocinante
and
his
ass,
and
slept,
not
like
a

lover
who
had
been
discarded,
but
like
a
man
who
had
been
soundly
kicked.



                                                      Don
Quixote
de
la
Mancha
        75

                                                                                         



CHAPTER
XIII.

IN
WHICH
IS
ENDED
THE
STORY
OF
THE
SHEPHERDESS
MARCELA,
WITH
OTHER

INCIDENTS



Day
had
barely
begun
to
show
itself
through
the
balconies
of
the
east,
when
five
of

the
six
goatherds
came
to
rouse
Don
Quixote
and
tell
him
that
if
he
was
still
of
a

mind
to
go
and
see
the
famous
burial
of
Chrysostomo
they
would
bear
him

company.
Don
Quixote,
who
desired
nothing
better,
rose
and
ordered
Sancho
to

saddle
at
once,
which
he
did
with
all
despatch,
and
with
the
same
they
all
set
out

forthwith.
They
had
not
gone
a
quarter
of
a
league
when
at
the
meeting
of
two
paths

they
saw
coming
towards
them
some
six
shepherds
dressed
in
black
sheepskins
and

with
their
heads
crowned
with
garlands
of
cypress
and
bitter
oleander.
Each
of
them

carried
a
stout
holly
staff
in
his
hand,
and
along
with
them
there
came
two
men
of

quality
on
horseback
in
handsome
traveling
dress,
with
three
servants
on
foot

accompanying
them.
Courteous
salutations
were
exchanged
on
meeting,
and

inquiring
one
of
the
other
which
way
each
party
was
going,
they
learned
that
all

were
bound
for
the
scene
of
the
burial,
so
they
went
on
all
together.



One
of
those
on
horseback
addressing
his
companion
said
to
him,
"It
seems
to
me,

Señor
Vivaldo,
that
we
may
reckon
as
well
spent
the
delay
we
shall
incur
in
seeing

this
remarkable
funeral,
for
remarkable
it
cannot
but
be
judging
by
the
strange

things
these
shepherds
have
told
us,
of
both
the
dead
shepherd
and
homicide

shepherdess."



"So
I
think
too,"
replied
Vivaldo,
"and
I
would
delay
not
to
say
a
day,
but
four,
for
the

sake
of
seeing
it."



Don
Quixote
asked
them
what
it
was
they
had
heard
of
Marcela
and
Chrysostomo.

The
traveler
answered
that
the
same
morning
they
had
met
these
shepherds,
and

seeing
them
dressed
in
this
mournful
fashion
they
had
asked
them
the
reason
of

76
    Don
Quixote
de
la
Mancha



their
appearing
in
such
a
guise;
which
one
of
them
gave,
describing
the
strange

behavior
and
beauty
of
a
shepherdess
called
Marcela,
and
the
loves
of
many
who

courted
her,
together
with
the
death
of
that
Chrysostomo
to
whose
burial
they
were

going.
In
short,
he
repeated
all
that
Pedro
had
related
to
Don
Quixote.



This
conversation
dropped,
and
another
was
commenced
by
him
who
was
called

Vivaldo
asking
Don
Quixote
what
was
the
reason
that
led
him
to
go
armed
in
that

fashion
in
a
country
so
peaceful.
To
which
Don
Quixote
replied,
"The
pursuit
of
my

calling
does
not
allow
or
permit
me
to
go
in
any
other
fashion;
easy
life,
enjoyment,

and
repose
were
invented
for
soft
courtiers,
but
toil,
unrest,
and
arms
were
invented

and
made
for
those
alone
whom
the
world
calls
knights‐errant,
of
whom
I,
though

unworthy,
am
the
least
of
all."



The
instant
they
heard
this
all
set
him
down
as
mad,
and
the
better
to
settle
the

point
and
discover
what
kind
of
madness
his
was,
Vivaldo
proceeded
to
ask
him

what
knights‐errant
meant.



"Have
not
your
worships,"
replied
Don
Quixote,
"read
the
annals
and
histories
of

England,
in
which
are
recorded
the
famous
deeds
of
King
Arthur,
whom
we
in
our

popular
Castilian
invariably
call
King
Artus,
with
regard
to
whom
it
is
an
ancient

tradition,
and
commonly
received
all
over
that
kingdom
of
Great
Britain,
that
this

king
did
not
die,
but
was
changed
by
magic
art
into
a
raven,
and
that
in
process
of

time
he
is
to
return
to
reign
and
recover
his
kingdom
and
scepter;
for
which
reason

it
cannot
be
proved
that
from
that
time
to
this
any
Englishman
ever
killed
a
raven?

Well,
then,
in
the
time
of
this
good
king
that
famous
order
of
chivalry
of
the
Knights

of
the
Round
Table
was
instituted,
and
the
amour
of
Don
Lancelot
of
the
Lake
with

the
Queen
Guinevere
occurred,
precisely
as
is
there
related,
the
go‐between
and

confidante
therein
being
the
highly
honorable
dame
Quintanona,
whence
came
that

ballad
so
well
known
and
widely
spread
in
our
Spain

–




       

                                                      Don
Quixote
de
la
Mancha
         77

                                                                                          

       O
never
surely
was
there
knight

       

So
served
by
hand
of
dame,

       As
the
one
they
call
Sir
Lancelot

       

When
he
from
Britain
came

–




with
all
the
sweet
and
delectable
course
of
his
achievements
in
love
and
war.

Handed
down
from
that
time,
then,
this
order
of
chivalry
went
on
extending
and

spreading
itself
over
many
and
various
parts
of
the
world;
and
in
it,
famous
and

renowned
for
their
deeds,
were
the
mighty
Amadis
of
Gaul
with
all
his
sons
and

descendants
to
the
fifth
generation,
and
the
valiant
Felixmarte
of
Hircania,
and
the

never
sufficiently
praised
Tirante
el
Blanco,
and
in
our
own
days
almost
we
have

seen
and
heard
and
talked
with
the
invincible
knight
Don
Belianis
of
Greece.
This,

then,
sirs,
is
to
be
a
knight‐errant,
and
what
I
have
spoken
of
is
the
order
of
his

chivalry,
of
which,
as
I
have
already
said,
I,
though
a
sinner,
have
made
profession,

and
what
the
aforesaid
knights
professed
that
same
do
I
profess,
and
so
I
go
through

these
solitudes
and
wilds
seeking
adventures,
resolved
in
soul
to
oppose
my
arm

and
person
to
the
most
perilous
that
fortune
may
offer
me
in
aid
of
the
weak
and

needy."



By
these
words
of
his
the
travelers
were
able
to
satisfy
themselves
of
Don
Quixote's

being
out
of
his
senses
and
of
the
form
of
madness
that
overmastered
him,
at
which

they
felt
the
same
astonishment
that
all
felt
on
first
becoming
acquainted
with
it;

and
Vivaldo,
who
was
a
person
of
great
shrewdness
and
of
a
lively
temperament,
in

order
to
beguile
the
short
journey
which
they
said
was
required
to
reach
the

mountain,
the
scene
of
the
burial,
sought
to
give
him
an
opportunity
of
going
on

with
his
absurdities.
So
he
said
to
him,
"It
seems
to
me,
Señor
Knight‐errant,
that

your
worship
has
made
choice
of
one
of
the
most
austere
professions
in
the
world,

and
I
imagine
even
that
of
the
Carthusian
monks
is
not
so
austere."



"As
austere
it
may
perhaps
be,"
replied
our
Don
Quixote,
"but
so
necessary
for
the

world
I
am
very
much
inclined
to
doubt.
For,
if
the
truth
is
to
be
told,
the
soldier

78
   Don
Quixote
de
la
Mancha



who
executes
what
his
captain
orders
does
no
less
than
the
captain
himself
who

gives
the
order.
My
meaning,
is,
that
churchmen
in
peace
and
quiet
pray
to
Heaven

for
the
welfare
of
the
world,
but
we
soldiers
and
knights
carry
into
effect
what
they

pray
for,
defending
it
with
the
might
of
our
arms
and
the
edge
of
our
swords,
not

under
shelter
but
in
the
open
air,
a
target
for
the
intolerable
rays
of
the
sun
in

summer
and
the
piercing
frosts
of
winter.
Thus
are
we
God's
ministers
on
earth
and

the
arms
by
which
his
justice
is
done
therein.
And
as
the
business
of
war
and
all
that

relates
and
belongs
to
it
cannot
be
conducted
without
exceeding
great
sweat,
toil,

and
exertion,
it
follows
that
those
who
make
it
their
profession
have
undoubtedly

more
labor
than
those
who
in
tranquil
peace
and
quiet
are
engaged
in
praying
to

God
to
help
the
weak.
I
do
not
mean
to
say,
nor
does
it
enter
into
my
thoughts,
that

the
knight‐errant's
calling
is
as
good
as
that
of
the
monk
in
his
cell;
I
would
merely

infer
from
what
I
endure
myself
that
it
is
beyond
a
doubt
a
more
laborious
and
a

more
belabored
one,
a
hungrier
and
thirstier,
a
wretcheder,
raggeder,
and
lousier;

for
there
is
no
reason
to
doubt
that
the
knights‐errant
of
yore
endured
much

hardship
in
the
course
of
their
lives.
And
if
some
of
them
by
the
might
of
their
arms

did
rise
to
be
emperors,
in
faith
it
cost
them
dear
in
the
matter
of
blood
and
sweat;

and
if
those
who
attained
to
that
rank
had
not
had
magicians
and
sages
to
help
them

they
would
have
been
completely
baulked
in
their
ambition
and
disappointed
in

their
hopes."



"That
is
my
own
opinion,"
replied
the
traveler;
"but
one
thing
among
many
others

seems
to
me
very
wrong
in
knights‐errant,
and
that
is
that
when
they
find

themselves
about
to
engage
in
some
mighty
and
perilous
adventure
in
which
there

is
manifest
danger
of
losing
their
lives,
they
never
at
the
moment
of
engaging
in
it

think
of
commending
themselves
to
God,
as
is
the
duty
of
every
good
Christian
in

like
peril;
instead
of
which
they
commend
themselves
to
their
ladies
with
as
much

devotion
as
if
these
were
their
gods,
a
thing
which
seems
to
me
to
savor
somewhat

of
heathenism."



                                                      Don
Quixote
de
la
Mancha
           79

                                                                                            

"Sir,"
answered
Don
Quixote,
"that
cannot
be
on
any
account
omitted,
and
the

knight‐errant
would
be
disgraced
who
acted
otherwise:
for
it
is
usual
and
customary

in
knight‐errantry
that
the
knight‐errant,
who
on
engaging
in
any
great
feat
of
arms

has
his
lady
before
him,
should
turn
his
eyes
towards
her
softly
and
lovingly,
as

though
with
them
entreating
her
to
favor
and
protect
him
in
the
hazardous
venture

he
is
about
to
undertake,
and
even
though
no
one
hear
him,
he
is
bound
to
say

certain
words
between
his
teeth,
commending
himself
to
her
with
all
his
heart,
and

of
this
we
have
innumerable
instances
in
the
histories.
Nor
is
it
to
be
supposed
from

this
that
they
are
to
omit
commending
themselves
to
God,
for
there
will
be
time
and

opportunity
for
doing
so
while
they
are
engaged
in
their
task."



"For
all
that,"
answered
the
traveler,
"I
feel
some
doubt
still,
because
often
I
have

read
how
words
will
arise
between
two
knights‐errant,
and
from
one
thing
to

another
it
comes
about
that
their
anger
kindles
and
they
wheel
their
horses
round

and
take
a
good
stretch
of
field,
and
then
without
any
more
ado
at
the
top
of
their

speed
they
come
to
the
charge,
and
in
mid‐career
they
are
wont
to
commend

themselves
to
their
ladies;
and
what
commonly
comes
of
the
encounter
is
that
one

falls
over
the
haunches
of
his
horse
pierced
through
and
through
by
his
antagonist's

lance,
and
as
for
the
other,
it
is
only
by
holding
on
to
the
mane
of
his
horse
that
he

can
help
falling
to
the
ground;
but
I
know
not
how
the
dead
man
had
time
to

commend
himself
to
God
in
the
course
of
such
rapid
work
as
this;
it
would
have

been
better
if
those
words
which
he
spent
in
commending
himself
to
his
lady
in
the

midst
of
his
career
had
been
devoted
to
his
duty
and
obligation
as
a
Christian.

Moreover,
it
is
my
belief
that
all
knights‐errant
have
not
ladies
to
commend

themselves
to,
for
they
are
not
all
in
love."



"That
is
impossible,"
said
Don
Quixote:
"I
say
it
is
impossible
that
there
could
be
a

knight‐errant
without
a
lady,
because
to
such
it
is
as
natural
and
proper
to
be
in
love

as
to
the
heavens
to
have
stars:
most
certainly
no
history
has
been
seen
in
which

there
is
to
be
found
a
knight‐errant
without
an
amour,
and
for
the
simple
reason

that
without
one
he
would
be
held
no
legitimate
knight
but
a
bastard,
and
one
who

80
    Don
Quixote
de
la
Mancha



had
gained
entrance
into
the
stronghold
of
the
said
knighthood,
not
by
the
door,
but

over
the
wall
like
a
thief
and
a
robber."



"Nevertheless,"
said
the
traveler,
"if
I
remember
rightly,
I
think
I
have
read
that
Don

Galaor,
the
brother
of
the
valiant
Amadis
of
Gaul,
never
had
any
special
lady
to

whom
he
might
commend
himself,
and
yet
he
was
not
the
less
esteemed,
and
was
a

very
stout
and
famous
knight."



To
which
our
Don
Quixote
made
answer,
"Sir,
one
solitary
swallow
does
not
make

summer;
moreover,
I
know
that
knight
was
in
secret
very
deeply
in
love;
besides

which,
that
way
of
falling
in
love
with
all
that
took
his
fancy
was
a
natural

propensity
which
he
could
not
control.
But,
in
short,
it
is
very
manifest
that
he
had

one
alone
whom
he
made
mistress
of
his
will,
to
whom
he
commended
himself
very

frequently
and
very
secretly,
for
he
prided
himself
on
being
a
reticent
knight."



"Then
if
it
be
essential
that
every
knight‐errant
should
be
in
love,"
said
the
traveler,

"it
may
be
fairly
supposed
that
your
worship
is
so,
as
you
are
of
the
order;
and
if
you

do
not
pride
yourself
on
being
as
reticent
as
Don
Galaor,
I
entreat
you
as
earnestly

as
I
can,
in
the
name
of
all
this
company
and
in
my
own,
to
inform
us
of
the
name,

country,
rank,
and
beauty
of
your
lady,
for
she
will
esteem
herself
fortunate
if
all
the

world
knows
that
she
is
loved
and
served
by
such
a
knight
as
your
worship
seems
to

be."



At
this
Don
Quixote
heaved
a
deep
sigh
and
said,
"I
cannot
say
positively
whether

my
sweet
enemy
is
pleased
or
not
that
the
world
should
know
I
serve
her;
I
can
only

say
in
answer
to
what
has
been
so
courteously
asked
of
me,
that
her
name
is

Dulcinea,
her
country
El
Toboso,
a
village
of
La
Mancha,
her
rank
must
be
at
least

that
of
a
princess,
since
she
is
my
queen
and
lady,
and
her
beauty
superhuman,
since

all
the
impossible
and
fanciful
attributes
of
beauty
which
the
poets
apply
to
their

ladies
are
verified
in
her;
for
her
hairs
are
gold,
her
forehead
Elysian
fields,
her

eyebrows
rainbows,
her
eyes
suns,
her
cheeks
roses,
her
lips
coral,
her
teeth
pearls,

                                                                                81

                                                           Don
Quixote
de
la
Mancha

                                                                                    

her
neck
alabaster,
her
bosom
marble,
her
hands
ivory,
her
fairness
snow,
and
what

modesty
conceals
from
sight
such,
I
think
and
imagine,
as
rational
reflection
can

only
extol,
not
compare."



"We
should
like
to
know
her
lineage,
race,
and
ancestry,"
said
Vivaldo.



To
which
Don
Quixote
replied,
"She
is
not
of
the
ancient
Roman
Curtii,
Caii,
or

Scipios,
nor
of
the
modern
Colonnas
or
Orsini,
nor
of
the
Moncadas
or
Requesenes
of

Catalonia,
nor
yet
of
the
Rebellas
or
Villanovas
of
Valencia;
Palafoxes,
Nuzas,

Rocabertis,
Corellas,
Lunas,
Alagones,
Urreas,
Foces,
or
Gurreas
of
Aragon;
Cerdas,

Manriques,
Mendozas,
or
Guzmans
of
Castile;
Alencastros,
Pallas,
or
Meneses
of

Portugal;
but
she
is
of
those
of
El
Toboso
of
La
Mancha,
a
lineage
that
though

modern,
may
furnish
a
source
of
gentle
blood
for
the
most
illustrious
families
of
the

ages
that
are
to
come,
and
this
let
none
dispute
with
me
save
on
the
condition
that

Zerbino
placed
at
the
foot
of
the
trophy
of
Orlando's
arms,
saying,




       
        'These
let
none
move


       Who
dareth
not
his
might
with
Roland
prove.'"46



"Although
mine
is
of
the
Cachopins
of
Laredo,"
said
the
traveler,
"I
will
not
venture

to
compare
it
with
that
of
El
Toboso
of
La
Mancha,
though,
to
tell
the
truth,
no
such

surname
has
until
now
ever
reached
my
ears."



"What!"
said
Don
Quixote,
"has
that
never
reached
them?"



The
rest
of
the
party
went
along
listening
with
great
attention
to
the
conversation
of

the
pair,
and
even
the
very
goatherds
and
shepherds
perceived
how
exceedingly
out

of
his
wits
our
Don
Quixote
was.

Sancho
Panza
alone
thought
that
what
his
master

said
was
the
truth,
knowing
who
he
was
and
having
known
him
from
his
birth;
and



























































46

From
Lodovico
Ariosto’s
Orlando
Furioso.

82
     Don
Quixote
de
la
Mancha



all
that
he
felt
any
difficulty
in
believing
was
that
about
the
fair
Dulcinea
del
Toboso,

because
neither
any
such
name
nor
any
such
princess
had
ever
come
to
his

knowledge
though
he
lived
so
close
to
El
Toboso.
They
were
going
along
conversing

in
this
way,
when
they
saw
descending
a
gap
between
two
high
mountains
some

twenty
shepherds,
all
clad
in
sheepskins
of
black
wool,
and
crowned
with
garlands

which,
as
afterwards
appeared,
were,
some
of
them
of
yew,
some
of
cypress.
Six
of

the
number
were
carrying
a
bier
covered
with
a
great
variety
of
flowers
and

branches,
on
seeing
which
one
of
the
goatherds
said,
"Those
who
come
there
are
the

bearers
of
Chrysostomo's
body,
and
the
foot
of
that
mountain
is
the
place
where
he

ordered
them
to
bury
him."
They
therefore
made
haste
to
reach
the
spot,
and
did
so

by
the
time
those
who
came
had
laid
the
bier
upon
the
ground,
and
four
of
them

with
sharp
pickaxes
were
digging
a
grave
by
the
side
of
a
hard
rock.
They
greeted

each
other
courteously,
and
then
Don
Quixote
and
those
who
accompanied
him

turned
to
examine
the
bier,
and
on
it,
covered
with
flowers,
they
saw
a
dead
body
in

the
dress
of
a
shepherd,
to
all
appearance
of
one
thirty
years
of
age,
and
showing

even
in
death
that
in
life
he
had
been
of
comely
features
and
gallant
bearing.
Around

him
on
the
bier
itself
were
laid
some
books,
and
several
papers
open
and
folded;
and

those
who
were
looking
on
as
well
as
those
who
were
opening
the
grave
and
all
the

others
who
were
there
preserved
a
strange
silence,
until
one
of
those
who
had

borne
the
body
said
to
another,
"Observe
carefully,
Ambrosio
if
this
is
the
place

Chrysostomo
spoke
of,
since
you
are
anxious
that
what
he
directed
in
his
will
should

be
so
strictly
complied
with."



"This
is
the
place,"
answered
Ambrosio
"for
in
it
many
a
time
did
my
poor
friend
tell

me
the
story
of
his
hard
fortune.
Here
it
was,
he
told
me,
that
he
saw
for
the
first

time
that
mortal
enemy
of
the
human
race,
and
here,
too,
for
the
first
time
he

declared
to
her
his
passion,
as
honorable
as
it
was
devoted,
and
here
it
was
that
at

last
Marcela
ended
by
scorning
and
rejecting
him
so
as
to
bring
the
tragedy
of
his

wretched
life
to
a
close;
here,
in
memory
of
misfortunes
so
great,
he
desired
to
be

laid
in
the
bowels
of
eternal
oblivion."
Then
turning
to
Don
Quixote
and
the

travelers
he
went
on
to
say,
"That
body,
sirs,
on
which
you
are
looking
with

                                                       Don
Quixote
de
la
Mancha
          83

                                                                                            

compassionate
eyes,
was
the
abode
of
a
soul
on
which
Heaven
bestowed
a
vast

share
of
its
riches.
That
is
the
body
of
Chrysostomo,
who
was
unrivaled
in
wit,

unequaled
in
courtesy,
supreme
in
gentleness
of
bearing,
a
model
of
friendship,

generous
without
limit,
grave
without
arrogance,
gay
without
vulgarity,
and,
in

short,
first
in
all
that
constitutes
goodness
and
second
to
none
in
all
that
makes
up

misfortune.
He
loved
deeply,
he
was
hated;
he
adored,
he
was
scorned;
he
wooed
a

wild
beast,
he
pleaded
with
marble,
he
pursued
the
wind,
he
cried
to
the
wilderness,

he
served
ingratitude,
and
for
reward
was
made
the
prey
of
death
in
the
mid‐course

of
his
life,
cut
short
by
a
shepherdess
whom
he
sought
to
immortalize
in
the
memory

of
man,
as
these
papers
which
you
see
could
fully
prove,
had
he
not
commanded
me

to
consign
them
to
the
fire
after
having
consigned
his
body
to
the
earth."



"You
would
deal
with
them
more
harshly
and
cruelly
than
their
owner
himself,"
said

Vivaldo,
"for
it
is
neither
right
nor
proper
to
do
the
will
of
one
who
enjoins
what
is

wholly
unreasonable;
it
would
not
have
been
reasonable
in
Augustus
Caesar
had
he

permitted
the
directions
left
by
the
divine
Mantuan
in
his
will
to
be
carried
into

effect.
So
that,
Señor
Ambrosio
while
you
consign
your
friend's
body
to
the
earth,

you
should
not
consign
his
writings
to
oblivion,
for
if
he
gave
the
order
in
bitterness

of
heart,
it
is
not
right
that
you
should
irrationally
obey
it.
On
the
contrary,
by

granting
life
to
those
papers,
let
the
cruelty
of
Marcela
live
for
ever,
to
serve
as
a

warning
in
ages
to
come
to
all
men
to
shun
and
avoid
falling
into
like
danger;
or
I

and
all
of
us
who
have
come
here
know
already
the
story
of
this
your
love‐stricken

and
heart‐broken
friend,
and
we
know,
too,
your
friendship,
and
the
cause
of
his

death,
and
the
directions
he
gave
at
the
close
of
his
life;
from
which
sad
story
may
be

gathered
how
great
was
the
cruelty
of
Marcela,
the
love
of
Chrysostomo,
and
the

loyalty
of
your
friendship,
together
with
the
end
awaiting
those
who
pursue
rashly

the
path
that
insane
passion
opens
to
their
eyes.
Last
night
we
learned
the
death
of

Chrysostomo
and
that
he
was
to
be
buried
here,
and
out
of
curiosity
and
pity
we
left

our
direct
road
and
resolved
to
come
and
see
with
our
eyes
that
which
when
heard

of
had
so
moved
our
compassion,
and
in
consideration
of
that
compassion
and
our

desire
to
prove
it
if
we
might
by
condolence,
we
beg
of
you,
excellent
Ambrosio,
or

84
     Don
Quixote
de
la
Mancha



at
least
I
on
my
own
account
entreat
you,
that
instead
of
burning
those
papers
you

allow
me
to
carry
away
some
of
them."



And
without
waiting
for
the
shepherd's
answer,
he
stretched
out
his
hand
and
took

up
some
of
those
that
were
nearest
to
him;
seeing
which
Ambrosio
said,
"Out
of

courtesy,
señor,
I
will
grant
your
request
as
to
those
you
have
taken,
but
it
is
idle
to

expect
me
to
abstain
from
burning
the
remainder."



Vivaldo,
who
was
eager
to
see
what
the
papers
contained,
opened
one
of
them
at

once,
and
saw
that
its
title
was
"Lay
of
Despair."



Ambrosio
hearing
it
said,
"That
is
the
last
paper
the
unhappy
man
wrote;
and
that

you
may
see,
señor,
to
what
an
end
his
misfortunes
brought
him,
read
it
so
that
you

may
be
heard,
for
you
will
have
time
enough
for
that
while
we
are
waiting
for
the

grave
to
be
dug."



"I
will
do
so
very
willingly,"
said
Vivaldo;
and
as
all
the
bystanders
were
equally

eager
they
gathered
round
him,
and
he,
reading
in
a
loud
voice,
found
that
it
ran
as

follows.









                                                     Don
Quixote
de
la
Mancha
   85

                                                                                   



CHAPTER
XIV.

WHEREIN
ARE
INSERTED
THE
DESPAIRING
VERSES
OF
THE
DEAD
SHEPHERD,

TOGETHER
WITH
OTHER
INCIDENTS
NOT
LOOKED
FOR



THE
LAY
OF
CHRYSOSTOMO





Since
thou
dost
in
thy
cruelty
desire

The
ruthless
rigor
of
thy
tyranny

From
tongue
to
tongue,
from
land
to
land
proclaimed,

The
very
Hell
will
I
constrain
to
lend

This
stricken
breast
of
mine
deep
notes
of
woe

To
serve
my
need
of
fitting
utterance.

And
as
I
strive
to
body
forth
the
tale

Of
all
I
suffer,
all
that
thou
hast
done,

Forth
shall
the
dread
voice
roll,
and
bear
along

Shreds
from
my
vitals
torn
for
greater
pain.

Then
listen,
not
to
dulcet
harmony,

But
to
a
discord
wrung
by
mad
despair

Out
of
this
bosom's
depths
of
bitterness,

To
ease
my
heart
and
plant
a
sting
in
thine.





The
lion's
roar,
the
fierce
wolf's
savage
howl,

The
horrid
hissing
of
the
scaly
snake,

The
awesome
cries
of
monsters
yet
unnamed,

The
crow's
ill‐boding
croak,
the
hollow
moan

Of
wild
winds
wrestling
with
the
restless
sea,

The
wrathful
bellow
of
the
vanquished
bull,

The
plaintive
sobbing
of
the
widowed
dove,

The
envied
owl's
sad
note,
the
wail
of
woe

That
rises
from
the
dreary
choir
of
Hell,

86
  Don
Quixote
de
la
Mancha



Commingled
in
one
sound,
confusing
sense,

Let
all
these
come
to
aid
my
soul's
complaint,

For
pain
like
mine
demands
new
modes
of
song.





No
echoes
of
that
discord
shall
be
heard

Where
Father
Tagus
rolls,
or
on
the
banks

Of
olive‐bordered
Betis;
to
the
rocks

Or
in
deep
caverns
shall
my
plaint
be
told,

And
by
a
lifeless
tongue
in
living
words;

Or
in
dark
valleys
or
on
lonely
shores,

Where
neither
foot
of
man
nor
sunbeam
falls;

Or
in
among
the
poison‐breathing
swarms

Of
monsters
nourished
by
the
sluggish
Nile.

For,
though
it
be
to
solitudes
remote

The
hoarse
vague
echoes
of
my
sorrows
sound

Thy
matchless
cruelty,
my
dismal
fate

Shall
carry
them
to
all
the
spacious
world.





Disdain
hath
power
to
kill,
and
patience
dies

Slain
by
suspicion,
be
it
false
or
true;

And
deadly
is
the
force
of
jealousy;

Long
absence
makes
of
life
a
dreary
void;

No
hope
of
happiness
can
give
repose

To
him
that
ever
fears
to
be
forgot;

And
death,
inevitable,
waits
in
hall.

But
I,
by
some
strange
miracle,
live
on

A
prey
to
absence,
jealousy,
disdain;

Racked
by
suspicion
as
by
certainty;

Forgotten,
left
to
feed
my
flame
alone.

And
while
I
suffer
thus,
there
comes
no
ray

Of
hope
to
gladden
me
athwart
the
gloom;

                                                    Don
Quixote
de
la
Mancha
   87

                                                                                  

Nor
do
I
look
for
it
in
my
despair;

But
rather
clinging
to
a
cureless
woe,

All
hope
do
I
abjure
for
evermore.





Can
there
be
hope
where
fear
is?
Were
it
well,

When
far
more
certain
are
the
grounds
of
fear?

Ought
I
to
shut
mine
eyes
to
jealousy,

If
through
a
thousand
heart‐wounds
it
appears?

Who
would
not
give
free
access
to
distrust,

Seeing
disdain
unveiled,
and
–
bitter
change!
–


All
his
suspicions
turned
to
certainties,

And
the
fair
truth
transformed
into
a
lie?

Oh,
thou
fierce
tyrant
of
the
realms
of
love,

Oh,
Jealousy!
put
chains
upon
these
hands,

And
bind
me
with
thy
strongest
cord,
Disdain.

But,
woe
is
me!
triumphant
over
all,

My
sufferings
drown
the
memory
of
you.





And
now
I
die,
and
since
there
is
no
hope

Of
happiness
for
me
in
life
or
death,

Still
to
my
fantasy
I'll
fondly
cling.

I'll
say
that
he
is
wise
who
loveth
well,

And
that
the
soul
most
free
is
that
most
bound

In
thralldom
to
the
ancient
tyrant
Love.

I'll
say
that
she
who
is
mine
enemy

In
that
fair
body
hath
as
fair
a
mind,

And
that
her
coldness
is
but
my
desert,

And
that
by
virtue
of
the
pain
he
sends

Love
rules
his
kingdom
with
a
gentle
sway.

Thus,
self‐deluding,
and
in
bondage
sore,

And
wearing
out
the
wretched
shred
of
life

88
   Don
Quixote
de
la
Mancha



To
which
I
am
reduced
by
her
disdain,

I'll
give
this
soul
and
body
to
the
winds,

All
hopeless
of
a
crown
of
bliss
in
store.





Thou
whose
injustice
hath
supplied
the
cause

That
makes
me
quit
the
weary
life
I
loathe,

As
by
this
wounded
bosom
thou
canst
see

How
willingly
thy
victim
I
become,

Let
not
my
death,
if
haply
worth
a
tear,

Cloud
the
clear
heaven
that
dwells
in
thy
bright
eyes;

I
would
not
have
thee
expiate
in
aught

The
crime
of
having
made
my
heart
thy
prey;

But
rather
let
thy
laughter
gaily
ring

And
prove
my
death
to
be
thy
festival.

Fool
that
I
am
to
bid
thee!
well
I
know

Thy
glory
gains
by
my
untimely
end.





And
now
it
is
the
time;
from
Hell's
abyss

Come
thirsting
Tantalus,
come
Sisyphus

Heaving
the
cruel
stone,
come
Tityus

With
vulture,
and
with
wheel
Ixion
come,

And
come
the
sisters
of
the
ceaseless
toil;

And
all
into
this
breast
transfer
their
pains,

And
(if
such
tribute
to
despair
be
due)

Chant
in
their
deepest
tones
a
doleful
dirge

Over
a
corpse
unworthy
of
a
shroud.

Let
the
three‐headed
guardian
of
the
gate,

And
all
the
monstrous
progeny
of
hell,

The
doleful
concert
join:
a
lover
dead

Methinks
can
have
no
fitter
obsequies.



                                                           Don
Quixote
de
la
Mancha
   89

                                                                                         



Lay
of
despair,
grieve
not
when
thou
art
gone

Forth
from
this
sorrowing
heart:
my
misery

Brings
fortune
to
the
cause
that
gave
thee
birth;

Then
banish
sadness
even
in
the
tomb.



The
"Lay
of
Chrysostomo"
met
with
the
approbation47
of
the
listeners,
though
the

reader
said
it
did
not
seem
to
him
to
agree
with
what
he
had
heard
of
Marcela's

reserve
and
propriety,
for
Chrysostomo
complained
in
it
of
jealousy,
suspicion,
and

absence,
all
to
the
prejudice
of
the
good
name
and
fame
of
Marcela;
to
which

Ambrosio
replied
as
one
who
knew
well
his
friend's
most
secret
thoughts,
"Señor,
to

remove
that
doubt
I
should
tell
you
that
when
the
unhappy
man
wrote
this
lay
he

was
away
from
Marcela,
from
whom
he
had
voluntarily
separated
himself,
to
see
if

absence
would
act
with
him
as
it
is
wont;
and
as
everything
distresses
and
every

fear
haunts
the
banished
lover,
so
imaginary
jealousies
and
suspicions,
dreaded
as
if

they
were
true,
tormented
Chrysostomo;
and
thus
the
truth
of
what
report
declares

of
the
virtue
of
Marcela
remains
unshaken,
and
with
her
envy
itself
should
not
and

cannot
find
any
fault
save
that
of
being
cruel,
somewhat
haughty,
and
very
scornful."



"That
is
true,"
said
Vivaldo;
and
as
he
was
about
to
read
another
paper
of
those
he

had
preserved
from
the
fire,
he
was
stopped
by
a
marvelous
vision
(for
such
it

seemed)
that
unexpectedly
presented
itself
to
their
eyes;
for
on
the
summit
of
the

rock
where
they
were
digging
the
grave
there
appeared
the
shepherdess
Marcela,
so

beautiful
that
her
beauty
exceeded
its
reputation.
Those
who
had
never
till
then

beheld
her
gazed
upon
her
in
wonder
and
silence,
and
those
who
were
accustomed

to
see
her
were
not
less
amazed
than
those
who
had
never
seen
her
before.
But
the

instant
Ambrosio
saw
her
he
addressed
her,
with
manifest
indignation:
































































47
Official
approval

90
    Don
Quixote
de
la
Mancha



"Art
thou
come,
by
chance,
cruel
basilisk48
of
these
mountains,
to
see
if
in
thy

presence
blood
will
flow
from
the
wounds
of
this
wretched
being
thy
cruelty
has

robbed
of
life49;
or
is
it
to
exult
over
the
cruel
work
of
thy
humors
that
thou
art

come;
or
like
another
pitiless
Nero
to
look
down
from
that
height
upon
the
ruin
of

his
Rome
in
embers50;
or
in
thy
arrogance
to
trample
on
this
ill‐fated
corpse,
as
the

ungrateful
daughter
trampled
on
her
father
Tarquinius?51
Tell
us
quickly
for
what

thou
art
come,
or
what
it
is
thou
wouldst
have,
for,
as
I
know
the
thoughts
of

Chrysostomo
never
failed
to
obey
thee
in
life,
I
will
make
all
these
who
call

themselves
his
friends
obey
thee,
though
he
be
dead."



"I
come
not,
Ambrosio,
for
any
of
the
purposes
thou
hast
named,"
replied
Marcela,

"but
to
defend
myself
and
to
prove
how
unreasonable
are
all
those
who
blame
me

for
their
sorrow
and
for
Chrysostomo's
death;
and
therefore
I
ask
all
of
you
that
are

here
to
give
me
your
attention,
for
will
not
take
much
time
or
many
words
to
bring

the
truth
home
to
persons
of
sense.
Heaven
has
made
me,
so
you
say,
beautiful,
and

so
much
so
that
in
spite
of
yourselves
my
beauty
leads
you
to
love
me;
and
for
the

love
you
show
me
you
say,
and
even
urge,
that
I
am
bound
to
love
you.
By
that

natural
understanding
which
God
has
given
me
I
know
that
everything
beautiful

attracts
love,
but
I
cannot
see
how,
by
reason
of
being
loved,
that
which
is
loved
for

its
beauty
is
bound
to
love
that
which
loves
it;
besides,
it
may
happen
that
the
lover

of
that
which
is
beautiful
may
be
ugly,
and
ugliness
being
detestable,
it
is
very

absurd
to
say,
"I
love
thee
because
thou
art
beautiful,
thou
must
love
me
though
I
be

ugly."
But
supposing
the
beauty
equal
on
both
sides,
it
does
not
follow
that
the

inclinations
must
be
therefore
alike,
for
it
is
not
every
beauty
that
excites
love,
some

but
pleasing
the
eye
without
winning
the
affection;
and
if
every
sort
of
beauty


























































48
A
mythical
lizard‐like
creature
whose
looks
could
kill.

49
According
to
folklore,
the
corpse
of
a
murder
victim
would
bleed
in
the
presence


of
the
murderer.

50
The
Roman
emperor
Nero
was
said
to
have
watched
while
his
city
burned
–
as


part
of
his
own
plan
for
urban
renewal.

51
Tula,
the
wife
of
the
last
of
the
early
kings
of
Rome;
Tarquinius
was
her
husband,


not
her
father,
but
she
did
let
her
carriage
run
over
the
body
of
her
father,
Servius

Tullius,
whom
her
husband
had
killed.

                                                       Don
Quixote
de
la
Mancha
  91

                                                                                    

excited
love
and
won
the
heart,
the
will
would
wander
vaguely
to
and
fro
unable
to

make
choice
of
any;
for
as
there
is
an
infinity
of
beautiful
objects
there
must
be
an

infinity
of
inclinations,
and
true
love,
I
have
heard
it
said,
is
indivisible,
and
must
be

voluntary
and
not
compelled.
If
this
be
so,
as
I
believe
it
to
be,
why
do
you
desire
me

to
bend
my
will
by
force,
for
no
other
reason
but
that
you
say
you
love
me?
Nay

–


tell
me

–

had
Heaven
made
me
ugly,
as
it
has
made
me
beautiful,
could
I
with

justice
complain
of
you
for
not
loving
me?
Moreover,
you
must
remember
that
the

beauty
I
possess
was
no
choice
of
mine,
for,
be
it
what
it
may,
Heaven
of
its
bounty

gave
it
me
without
my
asking
or
choosing
it;
and
as
the
viper,
though
it
kills
with
it,

does
not
deserve
to
be
blamed
for
the
poison
it
carries,
as
it
is
a
gift
of
nature,

neither
do
I
deserve
reproach
for
being
beautiful;
for
beauty
in
a
modest
woman
is

like
fire
at
a
distance
or
a
sharp
sword;
the
one
does
not
burn,
the
other
does
not

cut,
those
who
do
not
come
too
near.
Honor
and
virtue
are
the
ornaments
of
the

mind,
without
which
the
body,
though
it
be
so,
has
no
right
to
pass
for
beautiful;
but

if
modesty
is
one
of
the
virtues
that
specially
lend
a
grace
and
charm
to
mind
and

body,
why
should
she
who
is
loved
for
her
beauty
part
with
it
to
gratify
one
who
for

his
pleasure
alone
strives
with
all
his
might
and
energy
to
rob
her
of
it?
I
was
born

free,
and
that
I
might
live
in
freedom
I
chose
the
solitude
of
the
fields;
in
the
trees
of

the
mountains
I
find
society,
the
clear
waters
of
the
brooks
are
my
mirrors,
and
to

the
trees
and
waters
I
make
known
my
thoughts
and
charms.
I
am
a
fire
afar
off,
a

sword
laid
aside.
Those
whom
I
have
inspired
with
love
by
letting
them
see
me,
I

have
by
words
undeceived,
and
if
their
longings
live
on
hope

–

and
I
have
given

none
to
Chrysostomo
or
to
any
other

–

it
cannot
justly
be
said
that
the
death
of
any

is
my
doing,
for
it
was
rather
his
own
obstinacy
than
my
cruelty
that
killed
him;
and

if
it
be
made
a
charge
against
me
that
his
wishes
were
honorable,
and
that
therefore

I
was
bound
to
yield
to
them,
I
answer
that
when
on
this
very
spot
where
now
his

grave
is
made
he
declared
to
me
his
purity
of
purpose,
I
told
him
that
mine
was
to

live
in
perpetual
solitude,
and
that
the
earth
alone
should
enjoy
the
fruits
of
my

retirement
and
the
spoils
of
my
beauty;
and
if,
after
this
open
avowal,
he
chose
to

persist
against
hope
and
steer
against
the
wind,
what
wonder
is
it
that
he
should

sink
in
the
depths
of
his
infatuation?
If
I
had
encouraged
him,
I
should
be
false;
if
I

92
    Don
Quixote
de
la
Mancha



had
gratified
him,
I
should
have
acted
against
my
own
better
resolution
and

purpose.
He
was
persistent
in
spite
of
warning,
he
despaired
without
being
hated.

Bethink
you
now
if
it
be
reasonable
that
his
suffering
should
be
laid
to
my
charge.

Let
him
who
has
been
deceived
complain,
let
him
give
way
to
despair
whose

encouraged
hopes
have
proved
vain,
let
him
flatter
himself
whom
I
shall
entice,
let

him
boast
whom
I
shall
receive;
but
let
not
him
call
me
cruel
or
homicide
to
whom
I

make
no
promise,
upon
whom
I
practice
no
deception,
whom
I
neither
entice
nor

receive.
It
has
not
been
so
far
the
will
of
Heaven
that
I
should
love
by
fate,
and
to

expect
me
to
love
by
choice
is
idle.
Let
this
general
declaration
serve
for
each
of
my

suitors
on
his
own
account,
and
let
it
be
understood
from
this
time
forth
that
if

anyone
dies
for
me
it
is
not
of
jealousy
or
misery
he
dies,
for
she
who
loves
no
one

can
give
no
cause
for
jealousy
to
any,
and
candor
is
not
to
be
confounded
with
scorn.

Let
him
who
calls
me
wild
beast
and
basilisk,
leave
me
alone
as
something
noxious

and
evil;
let
him
who
calls
me
ungrateful,
withhold
his
service;
who
calls
me

wayward,
seek
not
my
acquaintance;
who
calls
me
cruel,
pursue
me
not;
for
this

wild
beast,
this
basilisk,
this
ungrateful,
cruel,
wayward
being
has
no
kind
of
desire

to
seek,
serve,
know,
or
follow
them.
If
Chrysostomo's
impatience
and
violent

passion
killed
him,
why
should
my
modest
behavior
and
circumspection
be
blamed?

If
I
preserve
my
purity
in
the
society
of
the
trees,
why
should
he
who
would
have
me

preserve
it
among
men,
seek
to
rob
me
of
it?
I
have,
as
you
know,
wealth
of
my
own,

and
I
covet
not
that
of
others;
my
taste
is
for
freedom,
and
I
have
no
relish
for

constraint;
I
neither
love
nor
hate
anyone;
I
do
not
deceive
this
one
or
court
that,
or

trifle
with
one
or
play
with
another.
The
modest
converse
of
the
shepherd
girls
of

these
hamlets
and
the
care
of
my
goats
are
my
recreations;
my
desires
are
bounded

by
these
mountains,
and
if
they
ever
wander
hence
it
is
to
contemplate
the
beauty
of

the
heavens,
steps
by
which
the
soul
travels
to
its
primeval
abode."



With
these
words,
and
not
waiting
to
hear
a
reply,
she
turned
and
passed
into
the

thickest
part
of
a
wood
that
was
hard
by,
leaving
all
who
were
there
lost
in

admiration
as
much
of
her
good
sense
as
of
her
beauty.
Some
–
those
wounded
by

the
irresistible
shafts
launched
by
her
bright
eyes
–
made
as
though
they
would

                                                      Don
Quixote
de
la
Mancha
          93

                                                                                           

follow
her,
heedless
of
the
frank
declaration
they
had
heard;
seeing
which,
and

deeming
this
a
fitting
occasion
for
the
exercise
of
his
chivalry
in
aid
of
distressed

damsels,
Don
Quixote,
laying
his
hand
on
the
hilt
of
his
sword,
exclaimed
in
a
loud

and
distinct
voice:



"Let
no
one,
whatever
his
rank
or
condition,
dare
to
follow
the
beautiful
Marcela,

under
pain
of
incurring
my
fierce
indignation.
She
has
shown
by
clear
and

satisfactory
arguments
that
little
or
no
fault
is
to
be
found
with
her
for
the
death
of

Chrysostomo,
and
also
how
far
she
is
from
yielding
to
the
wishes
of
any
of
her

lovers,
for
which
reason,
instead
of
being
followed
and
persecuted,
she
should
in

justice
be
honored
and
esteemed
by
all
the
good
people
of
the
world,
for
she
shows

that
she
is
the
only
woman
in
it
that
holds
to
such
a
virtuous
resolution."



Whether
it
was
because
of
the
threats
of
Don
Quixote,
or
because
Ambrosio
told

them
to
fulfill
their
duty
to
their
good
friend,
none
of
the
shepherds
moved
or

stirred
from
the
spot
until,
having
finished
the
grave
and
burned
Chrysostomo's

papers,
they
laid
his
body
in
it,
not
without
many
tears
from
those
who
stood
by.

They
closed
the
grave
with
a
heavy
stone
until
a
slab
was
ready
which
Ambrosio

said
he
meant
to
have
prepared,
with
an
epitaph
which
was
to
be
to
this
effect:



       Beneath
the
stone
before
your
eyes

       The
body
of
a
lover
lies;

       In
life
he
was
a
shepherd
swain,

       In
death
a
victim
to
disdain.

       Ungrateful,
cruel,
coy,
and
fair,

       Was
she
that
drove
him
to
despair,

       And
Love
hath
made
her
his
ally

       For
spreading
wide
his
tyranny.



They
then
strewed
upon
the
grave
a
profusion
of
flowers
and
branches,
and
all

expressing
their
condolence
with
his
friend
Ambrosio;
Vivaldo
and
his
companion

94
    Don
Quixote
de
la
Mancha



did
the
same;
and
Don
Quixote
bade
farewell
to
his
hosts
and
to
the
travelers,
who

pressed
him
to
come
with
them
to
Seville,
as
being
such
a
convenient
place
for

finding
adventures,
for
they
presented
themselves
in
every
street
and
round
every

corner
oftener
than
anywhere
else.
Don
Quixote
thanked
them
for
their
advice
and

for
the
disposition
they
showed
to
do
him
a
favor,
and
said
that
for
the
present
he

would
not,
and
must
not
go
to
Seville
until
he
had
cleared
all
these
mountains
of

highwaymen
and
robbers,
of
whom
report
said
they
were
full.
Seeing
his
good

intention,
the
travelers
were
unwilling
to
press
him
further,
and
once
more
bidding

him
farewell,
they
left
him
and
pursued
their
journey,
in
the
course
of
which
they

did
not
fail
to
discuss
the
story
of
Marcela
and
Chrysostomo
as
well
as
the
madness

of
Don
Quixote.

He,
on
his
part,
resolved
to
go
in
quest
of
the
shepherdess
Marcela,

and
make
offer
to
her
of
all
the
service
he
could
render
her;
but
things
did
not
fall

out
with
him
as
he
expected,
according
to
what
is
related
in
the
course
of
this

veracious
history
.
.
.
.




                                                      Don
Quixote
de
la
Mancha
        95

                                                                                         




CHAPTER
XVIII

IN
WHICH
IS
RELATED
THE
DISCOURSE
SANCHO
PANZA
HELD
WITH
HIS
MASTER,

DON
QUIXOTE,
AND
OTHER
ADVENTURES
WORTH
RELATING



.
.
.
Don
Quixote
and
his
squire
were
going
along,
when,
on
the
road
they
were

following,
Don
Quixote
perceived
approaching
them
a
large
and
thick
cloud
of
dust,

on
seeing
which
he
turned
to
Sancho
and
said:



"This
is
the
day,
Sancho,
on
which
will
be
seen
the
boon
my
fortune
is
reserving
for

me;
this,
I
say,
is
the
day
on
which
as
much
as
on
any
other
shall
be
displayed
the

might
of
my
arm,
and
on
which
I
shall
do
deeds
that
shall
remain
written
in
the
book

of
fame
for
all
ages
to
come.
Seest
thou
that
cloud
of
dust
which
rises
yonder?
Well,

then,
all
that
is
churned
up
by
a
vast
army
composed
of
various
and
countless

nations
that
comes
marching
there."



"According
to
that
there
must
be
two,"
said
Sancho,
"for
on
this
opposite
side
also

there
rises
just
such
another
cloud
of
dust."



Don
Quixote
turned
to
look
and
found
that
it
was
true,
and
rejoicing
exceedingly,
he

concluded
that
they
were
two
armies
about
to
engage
and
encounter
in
the
midst
of

that
broad
plain;
for
at
all
times
and
seasons
his
fancy
was
full
of
the
battles,

enchantments,
adventures,
crazy
feats,
loves,
and
defiances
that
are
recorded
in
the

books
of
chivalry,
and
everything
he
said,
thought,
or
did
had
reference
to
such

things.
Now
the
cloud
of
dust
he
had
seen
was
raised
by
two
great
droves
of
sheep

coming
along
the
same
road
in
opposite
directions,
which,
because
of
the
dust,
did

not
become
visible
until
they
drew
near,
but
Don
Quixote
asserted
so
positively
that

they
were
armies
that
Sancho
was
led
to
believe
it
and
say,
"Well,
and
what
are
we

to
do,
señor?"



96
   Don
Quixote
de
la
Mancha



"What?"
said
Don
Quixote:
"give
aid
and
assistance
to
the
weak
and
those

who
need
it;
and
thou
must
know,
Sancho,
that
this
which
comes
opposite

to
us
is
conducted
and
led
by
the
mighty
emperor
Alifanfaron,
lord
of
the

great
isle
of
Trapobana;
this
other
that
marches
behind
me
is
that
of
his

enemy
the
king
of
the
Garamantas,
Pentapolin
of
the
Bare
Arm,
for
he

always
goes
into
battle
with
his
right
arm
bare."



"But
why
are
these
two
lords
such
enemies?"



"They
are
at
enmity,"
replied
Don
Quixote,
"because
this
Alifanfaron
is
a
furious

pagan
and
is
in
love
with
the
daughter
of
Pentapolin,
who
is
a
very
beautiful
and

moreover
gracious
lady,
and
a
Christian,
and
her
father
is
unwilling
to
bestow
her

upon
the
pagan
king
unless
he
first
abandons
the
religion
of
his
false
prophet

Mahomet,
and
adopts
his
own."



"By
my
beard,"
said
Sancho,
"but
Pentapolin
does
quite
right,
and
I
will
help
him
as

much
as
I
can."



"In
that
thou
wilt
do
what
is
thy
duty,
Sancho,"
said
Don
Quixote;
"for
to
engage
in

battles
of
this
sort
it
is
not
requisite
to
be
a
dubbed
knight."



"That
I
can
well
understand,"
answered
Sancho;
"but
where
shall
we
put
this
ass

where
we
may
be
sure
to
find
him
after
the
fray
is
over?
for
I
believe
it
has
not
been

the
custom
so
far
to
go
into
battle
on
a
beast
of
this
kind."



"That
is
true,"
said
Don
Quixote,
"and
what
you
had
best
do
with
him
is
to
leave
him

to
take
his
chance
whether
he
be
lost
or
not,
for
the
horses
we
shall
have
when
we

come
out
victors
will
be
so
many
that
even
Rocinante
will
run
a
risk
of
being

changed
for
another.
But
attend
to
me
and
observe,
for
I
wish
to
give
thee
some

account
of
the
chief
knights
who
accompany
these
two
armies;
and
that
thou
mayest

                                                     Don
Quixote
de
la
Mancha
    97

                                                                                     

the
better
see
and
mark,
let
us
withdraw
to
that
hillock
which
rises
yonder,
whence

both
armies
may
be
seen."



They
did
so,
and
placed
themselves
on
a
rising
ground
from
which
the
two
droves

that
Don
Quixote
made
armies
of
might
have
been
plainly
seen
if
the
clouds
of
dust

they
raised
had
not
obscured
them
and
blinded
the
sight;
nevertheless,
seeing
in
his

imagination
what
he
did
not
see
and
what
did
not
exist,
he
began
thus
in
a
loud

voice:



"That
knight
whom
thou
seest
yonder
in
yellow
armor,
who
bears
upon
his
shield
a

lion
crowned
crouching
at
the
feet
of
a
damsel,
is
the
valiant
Laurcalco,
lord
of
the

Silver
Bridge;
that
one
in
armor
with
flowers
of
gold,
who
bears
on
his
shield
three

crowns
argent
on
an
azure
field,
is
the
dreaded
Micocolembo,
grand
duke
of

Quirocia;
that
other
of
gigantic
frame,
on
his
right
hand,
is
the
ever
dauntless

Brandabarbaran
de
Boliche,
lord
of
the
three
Arabias,
who
for
armor
wears
that

serpent
skin,
and
has
for
shield
a
gate
which,
according
to
tradition,
is
one
of
those

of
the
temple
that
Sanson
brought
to
the
ground
when
by
his
death
he
revenged

himself
upon
his
enemies.
But
turn
thine
eyes
to
the
other
side,
and
thou
shalt
see
in

front
and
in
the
van
of
this
other
army
the
ever
victorious
and
never
vanquished

Timonel
of
Carcajona,
prince
of
New
Biscay,
who
comes
in
armor
with
arms

quartered
azure,
vert,
white,
and
yellow,
and
bears
on
his
shield
a
cat
or
on
a
field

tawny
with
a
motto
which
says
Miau,
which
is
the
beginning
of
the
name
of
his
lady,

who
according
to
report
is
the
peerless
Miaulina,
daughter
of
the
duke
Alfeniquen
of

the
Algarve;
the
other,
who
burdens
and
presses
the
loins
of
that
powerful
charger

and
bears
arms
white
as
snow
and
a
shield
blank
and
without
any
device,
is
a
novice

knight,
a
Frenchman
by
birth,
Pierres
Papin
by
name,
lord
of
the
baronies
of
Utrique;

that
other,
who
with
iron‐shod
heels
strikes
the
flanks
of
that
nimble
parti‐coloured

zebra,
and
for
arms
bears
azure
vair,
is
the
mighty
duke
of
Nerbia,
Espartafilardo
del

Bosque,
who
bears
for
device
on
his
shield
an
asparagus
plant
with
a
motto
in

98
     Don
Quixote
de
la
Mancha



Castilian
that
says,
Rastrea
mi
suerte.52"
And
so
he
went
on
naming
a
number
of

knights
of
one
squadron
or
the
other
out
of
his
imagination,
and
to
all
he
assigned

off‐hand
their
arms,
colors,
devices,
and
mottoes,
carried
away
by
the
illusions
of
his

unheard‐of
craze;
and
without
a
pause,
he
continued,
"People
of
divers
nations

compose
this
squadron
in
front;
here
are
those
that
drink
of
the
sweet
waters
of
the

famous
Xanthus,
those
that
scour
the
woody
Massilian
plains,
those
that
sift
the
pure

fine
gold
of
Arabia
Felix,
those
that
enjoy
the
famed
cool
banks
of
the
crystal

Thermodon,
those
that
in
many
and
various
ways
divert
the
streams
of
the
golden

Pactolus,
the
Numidians,
faithless
in
their
promises,
the
Persians
renowned
in

archery,
the
Parthians
and
the
Medes
that
fight
as
they
fly,
the
Arabs
that
ever
shift

their
dwellings,
the
Scythians
as
cruel
as
they
are
fair,
the
Ethiopians
with
pierced

lips,
and
an
infinity
of
other
nations
whose
features
I
recognize
and
descry,
though
I

cannot
recall
their
names.
In
this
other
squadron
there
come
those
that
drink
of
the

crystal
streams
of
the
olive‐bearing
Betis,
those
that
make
smooth
their

countenances
with
the
water
of
the
ever
rich
and
golden
Tagus,
those
that
rejoice
in

the
fertilizing
flow
of
the
divine
Genil,
those
that
roam
the
Tartesian
plains

abounding
in
pasture,
those
that
take
their
pleasure
in
the
Elysian
meadows
of
Jerez,

the
rich
Manchegans
crowned
with
ruddy
ears
of
corn,
the
wearers
of
iron,
old
relics

of
the
Gothic
race,
those
that
bathe
in
the
Pisuerga
renowned
for
its
gentle
current,

those
that
feed
their
herds
along
the
spreading
pastures
of
the
winding
Guadiana

famed
for
its
hidden
course,
those
that
tremble
with
the
cold
of
the
pineclad

Pyrenees
or
the
dazzling
snows
of
the
lofty
Apennine;
in
a
word,
as
many
as
all

Europe
includes
and
contains."



Good
God!
what
a
number
of
countries
and
nations
he
named!
giving
to
each
its

proper
attributes
with
marvelous
readiness;
brimful
and
saturated
with
what
he

had
read
in
his
lying
books!
Sancho
Panza
hung
upon
his
words
without
speaking,

and
from
time
to
time
turned
to
try
if
he
could
see
the
knights
and
giants
his
master

was
describing,
and
as
he
could
not
make
out
one
of
them
he
said
to
him:


























































52
The
meaning
is
ambiguous.

It
could
mean,
“look
into
my
fate,”
“my
fate
creeps


along,”
or,
“follow
[the
trail
of]
my
fate.”

                                                       Don
Quixote
de
la
Mancha
           99

                                                                                             



"Señor,
devil
take
it
if
there's
a
sign
of
any
man
you
talk
of,
knight
or
giant,
in
the

whole
thing;
maybe
it's
all
enchantment,
like
the
phantoms
last
night."



"How
canst
thou
say
that!"
answered
Don
Quixote;
"dost
thou
not
hear
the
neighing

of
the
steeds,
the
braying
of
the
trumpets,
the
roll
of
the
drums?"



"I
hear
nothing
but
a
great
bleating
of
ewes
and
sheep,"
said
Sancho;
which
was
true,

for
by
this
time
the
two
flocks
had
come
close.



"The
fear
thou
art
in,
Sancho,"
said
Don
Quixote,
"prevents
thee
from
seeing
or

hearing
correctly,
for
one
of
the
effects
of
fear
is
to
derange
the
senses
and
make

things
appear
different
from
what
they
are;
if
thou
art
in
such
fear,
withdraw
to
one

side
and
leave
me
to
myself,
for
alone
I
suffice
to
bring
victory
to
that
side
to
which
I

shall
give
my
aid;"
and
so
saying
he
gave
Rocinante
the
spur,
and
putting
the
lance
in

rest,
shot
down
the
slope
like
a
thunderbolt.
Sancho
shouted
after
him,
crying,

"Come
back,
Señor
Don
Quixote;
I
vow
to
God
they
are
sheep
and
ewes
you
are

charging!
Come
back!
Unlucky
the
father
that
begot
me!
what
madness
is
this!
Look,

there
is
no
giant,
nor
knight,
nor
cats,
nor
arms,
nor
shields
quartered
or
whole,
nor

vair
azure
or
bedevilled.
What
are
you
about?
Sinner
that
I
am
before
God!"
But
not

for
all
these
entreaties
did
Don
Quixote
turn
back;
on
the
contrary
he
went
on

shouting
out,
"Ho,
knights,
ye
who
follow
and
fight
under
the
banners
of
the
valiant

emperor
Pentapolin
of
the
Bare
Arm,
follow
me
all;
ye
shall
see
how
easily
I
shall

give
him
his
revenge
over
his
enemy
Alifanfaron
of
the
Trapobana."



So
saying,
he
dashed
into
the
midst
of
the
squadron
of
ewes,
and
began
spearing

them
with
as
much
spirit
and
intrepidity
as
if
he
were
transfixing
mortal
enemies
in

earnest.
The
shepherds
and
drovers
accompanying
the
flock
shouted
to
him
to

desist;
seeing
it
was
no
use,
they
ungirt
their
slings
and
began
to
salute
his
ears
with

stones
as
big
as
one's
fist.
Don
Quixote
gave
no
heed
to
the
stones,
but,
letting
drive

right
and
left
kept
saying:

100
   Don
Quixote
de
la
Mancha





"Where
art
thou,
proud
Alifanfaron?
Come
before
me;
I
am
a
single
knight
who

would
fain
prove
thy
prowess
hand
to
hand,
and
make
thee
yield
thy
life
a
penalty

for
the
wrong
thou
dost
to
the
valiant
Pentapolin
Garamanta."
Here
came
a
sugar‐
plum
from
the
brook
that
struck
him
on
the
side
and
buried
a
couple
of
ribs
in
his

body.
Feeling
himself
so
smitten,
he
imagined
himself
slain
or
badly
wounded
for

certain,
and
recollecting
his
liquor
he
drew
out
his
flask,
and
putting
it
to
his
mouth

began
to
pour
the
contents
into
his
stomach;
but
ere
he
had
succeeded
in

swallowing
what
seemed
to
him
enough,
there
came
another
almond
which
struck

him
on
the
hand
and
on
the
flask
so
fairly
that
it
smashed
it
to
pieces,
knocking
three

or
four
teeth
and
grinders
out
of
his
mouth
in
its
course,
and
sorely
crushing
two

fingers
of
his
hand.
Such
was
the
force
of
the
first
blow
and
of
the
second,
that
the

poor
knight
in
spite
of
himself
came
down
backwards
off
his
horse.
The
shepherds

came
up,
and
felt
sure
they
had
killed
him;
so
in
all
haste
they
collected
their
flock

together,
took
up
the
dead
beasts,
of
which
there
were
more
than
seven,
and
made

off
without
waiting
to
ascertain
anything
further.



All
this
time
Sancho
stood
on
the
hill
watching
the
crazy
feats
his
master
was

performing,
and
tearing
his
beard
and
cursing
the
hour
and
the
occasion
when

fortune
had
made
him
acquainted
with
him.
Seeing
him,
then,
brought
to
the
ground,

and
that
the
shepherds
had
taken
themselves
off,
he
ran
to
him
and
found
him
in

very
a
very
bad
state,
though
not
unconscious;
and
said
he:



"Did
I
not
tell
you
to
come
back,
Señor
Don
Quixote;
and
that
what
you
were
going
to

attack
were
not
armies
but
droves
of
sheep?"



"That's
how
that
thief
of
a
sage,
my
enemy,
can
alter
and
falsify
things,"
answered

Don
Quixote;
"thou
must
know,
Sancho,
that
it
is
a
very
easy
matter
for
those
of
his

sort
to
make
us
believe
what
they
choose;
and
this
malignant
being
who
persecutes

me,
envious
of
the
glory
he
knew
I
was
to
win
in
this
battle,
has
turned
the

squadrons
of
the
enemy
into
droves
of
sheep.

At
any
rate,
do
this
much,
I
beg
of

                                                      Don
Quixote
de
la
Mancha
     101

                                                                                        

thee,
Sancho,
to
undeceive
thyself,
and
see
that
what
I
say
is
true;
mount
thy
ass
and

follow
them
quietly,
and
thou
shalt
see
that
when
they
have
gone
some
little

distance
from
this
they
will
return
to
their
original
shape
and,
ceasing
to
be
sheep,

become
men
in
all
respects
as
I
described
them
to
thee
at
first.
But
go
not
just
yet,

for
I
want
thy
help
and
assistance;
come
hither,
and
see
how
many
of
my
teeth
and

grinders
are
missing,
for
I
feel
as
if
there
was
not
one
left
in
my
mouth."



102
         Don
Quixote
de
la
Mancha






CHAPTER
XXII.

OF
THE
FREEDOM
DON
QUIXOTE
CONFERRED
ON
SEVERAL
UNFORTUNATES

WHO
AGAINST
THEIR
WILL
WERE
BEING
CARRIED
WHERE
THEY
HAD
NO
WISH

TO
GO



Cide
Hamete
Benengeli,
the
Arab
and
Manchegan53
author,
relates
in
this
most

grave,
high‐sounding,
minute,
delightful,
and
original
history
that
after
the

discussion
between
the
famous
Don
Quixote
of
La
Mancha
and
his
squire
Sancho

Panza
which
is
set
down
at
the
end
of
chapter
twenty‐one,
Don
Quixote
raised
his

eyes
and
saw
coming
along
the
road
he
was
following
some
dozen
men
on
foot

strung
together
by
the
neck,
like
beads,
on
a
great
iron
chain,
and
all
with
manacles

on
their
hands.
With
them
there
came
also
two
men
on
horseback
and
two
on
foot;

those
on
horseback
with
wheel‐lock
muskets,
those
on
foot
with
javelins
and

swords,
and
as
soon
as
Sancho
saw
them
he
said:



"That
is
a
chain
of
galley
slaves,
on
the
way
to
the
galleys
by
force
of
the
king's

orders."



"How
by
force?"
asked
Don
Quixote;
"is
it
possible
that
the
king
uses
force
against

anyone?"



"I
do
not
say
that,"
answered
Sancho,
"but
that
these
are
people
condemned
for
their

crimes
to
serve
by
force
in
the
king's
galleys."



"In
fact,"
replied
Don
Quixote,
"however
it
may
be,
these
people
are
going
where

they
are
taking
them
by
force,
and
not
of
their
own
will."



"Just
so,"
said
Sancho.


























































53
From
la
Mancha.

                                                      Don
Quixote
de
la
Mancha
          103

                                                                                            



"Then
if
so,"
said
Don
Quixote,
"here
is
a
case
for
the
exercise
of
my
office,
to
put

down
force
and
to
succor
and
help
the
wretched."



"Recollect,
your
worship,"
said
Sancho,
"Justice,
which
is
the
king
himself,
is
not

using
force
or
doing
wrong
to
such
persons,
but
punishing
them
for
their
crimes."



The
chain
of
galley
slaves
had
by
this
time
come
up,
and
Don
Quixote
in
very

courteous
language
asked
those
who
were
in
custody
of
it
to
be
good
enough
to
tell

him
the
reason
or
reasons
for
which
they
were
conducting
these
people
in
this

manner.
One
of
the
guards
on
horseback
answered
that
they
were
galley
slaves

belonging
to
his
majesty,
that
they
were
going
to
the
galleys,
and
that
was
all
that

was
to
be
said
and
all
he
had
any
business
to
know.



"Nevertheless,"
replied
Don
Quixote,
"I
should
like
to
know
from
each
of
them

separately
the
reason
of
his
misfortune;"
to
this
he
added
more
to
the
same
effect
to

induce
them
to
tell
him
what
he
wanted
so
civilly
that
the
other
mounted
guard
said

to
him:



"Though
we
have
here
the
register
and
certificate
of
the
sentence
of
every
one
of

these
wretches,
this
is
no
time
to
take
them
out
or
read
them;
come
and
ask

themselves;
they
can
tell
if
they
choose,
and
they
will,
for
these
fellows
take
a

pleasure
in
doing
and
talking
about
rascalities."



With
this
permission,
which
Don
Quixote
would
have
taken
even
had
they
not

granted
it,
he
approached
the
chain
and
asked
the
first
for
what
offences
he
was

now
in
such
a
sorry
case.



He
made
answer
that
it
was
for
being
a
lover.



104
 Don
Quixote
de
la
Mancha



"For
that
only?"
replied
Don
Quixote;
"why,
if
for
being
lovers
they
send
people
to

the
galleys
I
might
have
been
rowing
in
them
long
ago."



"The
love
is
not
the
sort
your
worship
is
thinking
of,"
said
the
galley
slave;
"mine

was
that
I
loved
a
washerwoman's
basket
of
clean
linen
so
well,
and
held
it
so
close

in
my
embrace,
that
if
the
arm
of
the
law
had
not
forced
it
from
me,
I
should
never

have
let
it
go
of
my
own
will
to
this
moment;
I
was
caught
in
the
act,
there
was
no

occasion
for
torture,
the
case
was
settled,
they
treated
me
to
a
hundred
lashes
on

the
back,
and
three
years
of
gurapas
besides,
and
that
was
the
end
of
it."

"What
are
gurapas?"
asked
Don
Quixote.



"Gurapas
are
galleys,"
answered
the
galley
slave,
who
was
a
young
man
of
about

four‐and‐twenty,
and
said
he
was
a
native
of
Piedrahita.



Don
Quixote
asked
the
same
question
of
the
second,
who
made
no
reply,
so

downcast
and
melancholy
was
he;
but
the
first
answered
for
him,
and
said,
"He,
sir,

goes
as
a
canary,
I
mean
as
a
musician
and
a
singer."



"What!"
said
Don
Quixote,
"for
being
musicians
and
singers
are
people
sent
to
the

galleys
too?"



"Yes,
sir,"
answered
the
galley
slave,
"for
there
is
nothing
worse
than
singing
under

suffering."



"On
the
contrary,
I
have
heard
say,"
said
Don
Quixote,
"that
he
who
sings
scares

away
his
woes."



"Here
it
is
the
reverse,"
said
the
galley
slave;
"for
he
who
sings
once
weeps
all
his

life."



                                                           Don
Quixote
de
la
Mancha
105

                                                                                         

"I
do
not
understand
it,"
said
Don
Quixote;
but
one
of
the
guards
said
to
him,
"Sir,
to

sing
under
suffering
means
with
the
non
sancta54
fraternity
to
confess
under

torture;
they
put
this
sinner
to
the
torture
and
he
confessed
his
crime,
which
was

being
a
cuatrero,
that
is
a
cattle
thief,
and
on
his
confession
they
sentenced
him
to

six
years
in
the
galleys,
besides
two
hundred
lashes
that
he
has
already
had
on
the

back;
and
he
is
always
dejected
and
downcast
because
the
other
thieves
that
were

left
behind
and
that
march
here
ill‐treat,
and
snub,
and
jeer,
and
despise
him
for

confessing
and
not
having
spirit
enough
to
say
nay;
for,
say
they,
'nay'
has
no
more

letters
in
it
than
'yea,'
and
a
culprit
is
well
off
when
life
or
death
with
him
depends

on
his
own
tongue
and
not
on
that
of
witnesses
or
evidence;
and
to
my
thinking
they

are
not
very
far
wrong."



"And
I
think
so
too,"
answered
Don
Quixote;
then
passing
on
to
the
third
he
asked

him
what
he
had
asked
the
others,
and
the
man
answered
very
readily
and

unconcernedly,
"I
am
going
for
five
years
to
their
ladyships
the
gurapas
for
the
want

of
ten
ducats."



"I
will
give
twenty
with
pleasure
to
get
you
out
of
that
trouble,"
said
Don
Quixote.



"That,"
said
the
galley
slave,
"is
like
a
man
having
money
at
sea
when
he
is
dying
of

hunger
and
has
no
way
of
buying
what
he
wants;
I
say
so
because
if
at
the
right
time

I
had
had
those
twenty
ducats
that
your
worship
now
offers
me,
I
would
have

greased
the
notary's
pen
and
freshened
up
the
attorney's
wit
with
them,
so
that
to‐
day
I
should
be
in
the
middle
of
the
plaza
of
the
Zocodover
at
Toledo,
and
not
on
this

road
coupled
like
a
greyhound.
But
God
is
great;
patience
–
there,
that's
enough
of

it."



Don
Quixote
passed
on
to
the
fourth,
a
man
of
venerable
aspect
with
a
white
beard

falling
below
his
breast,
who
on
hearing
himself
asked
the
reason
of
his
being
there



























































54
Unholy

106
 Don
Quixote
de
la
Mancha



began
to
weep
without
answering
a
word,
but
the
fifth
acted
as
his
tongue
and
said,

"This
worthy
man
is
going
to
the
galleys
for
four
years,
after
having
gone
the
rounds

in
ceremony
and
on
horseback.55"



"That
means,"
said
Sancho
Panza,
"as
I
take
it,
to
have
been
exposed
to
shame
in

public."



"Just
so,"
replied
the
galley
slave,
"and
the
offence
for
which
they
gave
him
that

punishment
was
having
been
an
ear‐broker,
nay
body‐broker;
I
mean,
in
short,
that

this
gentleman
goes
as
a
pimp,
and
for
having
besides
a
certain
touch
of
the
sorcerer

about
him."



"If
that
touch
had
not
been
thrown
in,"
said
Don
Quixote,
"he
would
not
deserve,
for

mere
pimping,
to
row
in
the
galleys,
but
rather
to
command
and
be
admiral
of
them;

for
the
office
of
pimp
is
no
ordinary
one,
being
the
office
of
persons
of
discretion,

one
very
necessary
in
a
well‐ordered
state,
and
only
to
be
exercised
by
persons
of

good
birth;
nay,
there
ought
to
be
an
inspector
and
overseer
of
them,
as
in
other

offices,
and
recognized
number,
as
with
the
brokers
on
change;
in
this
way
many
of

the
evils
would
be
avoided
which
are
caused
by
this
office
and
calling
being
in
the

hands
of
stupid
and
ignorant
people,
such
as
women
more
or
less
silly,
and
pages

and
jesters
of
little
standing
and
experience,
who
on
the
most
urgent
occasions,
and

when
ingenuity
of
contrivance
is
needed,
let
the
crumbs
freeze
on
the
way
to
their

mouths,
and
know
not
which
is
their
right
hand.
I
should
like
to
go
farther,
and
give

reasons
to
show
that
it
is
advisable
to
choose
those
who
are
to
hold
so
necessary
an

office
in
the
state,
but
this
is
not
the
fit
place
for
it;
some
day
I
will
expound
the

matter
to
some
one
able
to
see
to
and
rectify
it;
all
I
say
now
is,
that
the
additional

fact
of
his
being
a
sorcerer
has
removed
the
sorrow
it
gave
me
to
see
these
white

hairs
and
this
venerable
countenance
in
so
painful
a
position
on
account
of
his
being

a
pimp;
though
I
know
well
there
are
no
sorceries
in
the
world
that
can
move
or



























































55
After
having
been
flogged
in
public,
with
all
the
ceremony
that
went
with
it.

                                                      Don
Quixote
de
la
Mancha
      107

                                                                                        

compel
the
will
as
some
simple
folk
fancy,
for
our
will
is
free,
nor
is
there
herb
or

charm
that
can
force
it56.
All
that
certain
silly
women
and
quacks
do
is
to
turn
men

mad
with
potions
and
poisons,
pretending
that
they
have
power
to
cause
love,
for,
as

I
say,
it
is
an
impossibility
to
compel
the
will."



"It
is
true,"
said
the
good
old
man,
"and
indeed,
sir,
as
far
as
the
charge
of
sorcery

goes
I
was
not
guilty;
as
to
that
of
being
a
pimp
I
cannot
deny
it;
but
I
never
thought

I
was
doing
any
harm
by
it,
for
my
only
object
was
that
all
the
world
should
enjoy

itself
and
live
in
peace
and
quiet,
without
quarrels
or
troubles;
but
my
good

intentions
were
unavailing
to
save
me
from
going
where
I
never
expect
to
come

back
from,
with
this
weight
of
years
upon
me
and
a
urinary
ailment
that
never
gives

me
a
moment's
ease;"
and
again
he
fell
to
weeping
as
before,
and
such
compassion

did
Sancho
feel
for
him
that
he
took
out
a
real
of
four
from
his
bosom
and
gave
it
to

him
in
alms.



Don
Quixote
went
on
and
asked
another
what
his
crime
was,
and
the
man
answered

with
no
less
but
rather
much
more
sprightliness
than
the
last
one.



"I
am
here
because
I
carried
the
joke
too
far
with
a
couple
of
cousins
of
mine,
and

with
a
couple
of
other
cousins
who
were
none
of
mine;
in
short,
I
carried
the
joke
so

far
with
them
all
that
it
ended
in
such
a
complicated
increase
of
kindred
that
no

accountant
could
make
it
clear:
it
was
all
proved
against
me,
I
got
no
favor,
I
had
no

money,
I
was
near
having
my
neck
stretched,
they
sentenced
me
to
the
galleys
for

six
years,
I
accepted
my
fate,
it
is
the
punishment
of
my
fault;
I
am
a
young
man;
let

life
only
last,
and
with
that
all
will
come
right.
If
you,
sir,
have
anything
wherewith
to

help
the
poor,
God
will
repay
it
to
you
in
heaven,
and
we
on
earth
will
take
care
in

our
petitions
to
him
to
pray
for
the
life
and
health
of
your
worship,
that
they
may
be

as
long
and
as
good
as
your
amiable
appearance
deserves."




























































56
Here,
Quixote
denies
the
existence
of
sorcerers
who
can
make
people
act
against


their
will,
though
he
accepts
enchantments
and
spells
as
part
of
his
own
world
view.

108
 Don
Quixote
de
la
Mancha



This
one
was
in
the
dress
of
a
student,
and
one
of
the
guards
said
he
was
a
great

talker
and
a
very
elegant
Latin
scholar.



Behind
all
these
there
came
a
man
of
thirty,
a
very
personable
fellow,
except
that

when
he
looked,
his
eyes
turned
in
a
little
one
towards
the
other.
He
was
bound

differently
from
the
rest,
for
he
had
to
his
leg
a
chain
so
long
that
it
was
wound
all

round
his
body,
and
two
rings
on
his
neck,
one
attached
to
the
chain,
the
other
to

what
they
call
a
"keep‐friend"
or
"friend's
foot,"
from
which
hung
two
irons
reaching

to
his
waist
with
two
manacles
fixed
to
them
in
which
his
hands
were
secured
by
a

big
padlock,
so
that
he
could
neither
raise
his
hands
to
his
mouth
nor
lower
his
head

to
his
hands.
Don
Quixote
asked
why
this
man
carried
so
many
more
chains
than
the

others.
The
guard
replied
that
it
was
because
he
alone
had
committed
more
crimes

than
all
the
rest
put
together,
and
was
so
daring
and
such
a
villain,
that
though
they

marched
him
in
that
fashion
they
did
not
feel
sure
of
him,
but
were
in
dread
of
his

making
his
escape.



"What
crimes
can
he
have
committed,"
said
Don
Quixote,
"if
they
have
not
deserved

a
heavier
punishment
than
being
sent
to
the
galleys?"



"He
goes
for
ten
years,"
replied
the
guard,
"which
is
the
same
thing
as
civil
death,

and
all
that
need
be
said
is
that
this
good
fellow
is
the
famous
Gines
de
Pasamonte,

otherwise
called
Ginesillo
de
Parapilla."



"Gently,
señor
commissary,"
said
the
galley
slave
at
this,
"let
us
have
no
fixing
of

names
or
surnames;
my
name
is
Gines,
not
Ginesillo,
and
my
family
name
is

Pasamonte,
not
Parapilla
as
you
say;
let
each
one
mind
his
own
business,
and
he
will

be
doing
enough."



"Speak
with
less
impertinence,
master
thief
of
extra
measure,"
replied
the

commissary,
"if
you
don't
want
me
to
make
you
hold
your
tongue
in
spite
of
your

teeth."

                                                        Don
Quixote
de
la
Mancha
       109

                                                                                           



"It
is
easy
to
see,"
returned
the
galley
slave,
"that
man
goes
as
God
pleases,
but
some

one
shall
know
some
day
whether
I
am
called
Ginesillo
de
Parapilla
or
not."



"Don't
they
call
you
so,
you
liar?"
said
the
guard.



"They
do,"
returned
Gines,
"but
I
will
make
them
give
over
calling
me
so,
or
I
will
be

shaved,
where,
I
only
say
behind
my
teeth.
If
you,
sir,
have
anything
to
give
us,
give
it

to
us
at
once,
and
God
speed
you,
for
you
are
becoming
tiresome
with
all
this

inquisitiveness
about
the
lives
of
others;
if
you
want
to
know
about
mine,
let
me
tell

you
I
am
Gines
de
Pasamonte,
whose
life
is
written
by
these
fingers."



"He
says
true,"
said
the
commissary,
"for
he
has
himself
written
his
story
as
grand
as

you
please,
and
has
left
the
book
in
the
prison
in
pawn
for
two
hundred
reals."



"And
I
mean
to
take
it
out
of
pawn,"
said
Gines,
"though
it
were
in
for
two
hundred

ducats."



"Is
it
so
good?"
said
Don
Quixote.



"So
good
is
it,"
replied
Gines,
"that
a
fig
for
Lazarillo
de
Tormes,57
and
all
of
that
kind

that
have
been
written,
or
shall
be
written
compared
with
it:
all
I
will
say
about
it
is

that
it
deals
with
facts,
and
facts
so
neat
and
diverting
that
no
lies
could
match

them."



"And
how
is
the
book
entitled?"
asked
Don
Quixote.



"The
Life
of
Gines
de
Pasamonte,"
replied
the
subject
of
it.




























































57
A
picaresque
or
rogue
novel,
published
anonymously
about
the
middle
of
the
15th


century.

110
 Don
Quixote
de
la
Mancha



"And
is
it
finished?"
asked
Don
Quixote.



"How
can
it
be
finished,"
said
the
other,
"when
my
life
is
not
yet
finished?
All
that
is

written
is
from
my
birth
down
to
the
point
when
they
sent
me
to
the
galleys
this
last

time."



"Then
you
have
been
there
before?"
said
Don
Quixote.



"In
the
service
of
God
and
the
king
I
have
been
there
for
four
years
before
now,
and
I

know
by
this
time
what
the
biscuit
and
courbash58
are
like,"
replied
Gines;
"and
it
is

no
great
grievance
to
me
to
go
back
to
them,
for
there
I
shall
have
time
to
finish
my

book;
I
have
still
many
things
left
to
say,
and
in
the
galleys
of
Spain
there
is
more

than
enough
leisure;
though
I
do
not
want
much
for
what
I
have
to
write,
for
I
have
it

by
heart."



"You
seem
a
clever
fellow,"
said
Don
Quixote.



"And
an
unfortunate
one,"
replied
Gines,
"for
misfortune
always
persecutes
good

wit."



"It
persecutes
rogues,"
said
the
commissary.



"I
told
you
already
to
go
gently,
master
commissary,"
said
Pasamonte;
"their

lordships
yonder
never
gave
you
that
staff
to
ill‐treat
us
wretches
here,
but
to

conduct
and
take
us
where
his
majesty
orders
you;
if
not,
by
the
life
of‐never
mind‐;

it
may
be
that
some
day
the
stains
made
in
the
inn
will
come
out
in
the
scouring;
let

everyone
hold
his
tongue
and
behave
well
and
speak
better;
and
now
let
us
march

on,
for
we
have
had
quite
enough
of
this
entertainment."




























































58
A
whip
or
strap
about
three
feet
long,
commonly
used
as
punishment
or
in


torture.

                                                      Don
Quixote
de
la
Mancha
     111

                                                                                       

The
commissary
lifted
his
staff
to
strike
Pasamonte
in
return
for
his
threats,
but
Don

Quixote
came
between
them,
and
begged
him
not
to
ill‐use
him,
as
it
was
not
too

much
to
allow
one
who
had
his
hands
tied
to
have
his
tongue
a
trifle
free;
and

turning
to
the
whole
chain
of
them
he
said:



"From
all
you
have
told
me,
dear
brethren,
make
out
clearly
that
though
they
have

punished
you
for
your
faults,
the
punishments
you
are
about
to
endure
do
not
give

you
much
pleasure,
and
that
you
go
to
them
very
much
against
the
grain
and
against

your
will,
and
that
perhaps
this
one's
want
of
courage
under
torture,
that
one's
want

of
money,
the
other's
want
of
advocacy,
and
lastly
the
perverted
judgment
of
the

judge
may
have
been
the
cause
of
your
ruin
and
of
your
failure
to
obtain
the
justice

you
had
on
your
side.
All
which
presents
itself
now
to
my
mind,
urging,
persuading,

and
even
compelling
me
to
demonstrate
in
your
case
the
purpose
for
which
Heaven

sent
me
into
the
world
and
caused
me
to
make
profession
of
the
order
of
chivalry
to

which
I
belong,
and
the
vow
I
took
therein
to
give
aid
to
those
in
need
and
under
the

oppression
of
the
strong.

But
as
I
know
that
it
is
a
mark
of
prudence
not
to
do
by

foul
means
what
may
be
done
by
fair,
I
will
ask
these
gentlemen,
the
guards
and

commissary,
to
be
so
good
as
to
release
you
and
let
you
go
in
peace,
as
there
will
be

no
lack
of
others
to
serve
the
king
under
more
favorable
circumstances;
for
it
seems

to
me
a
hard
case
to
make
slaves
of
those
whom
God
and
nature
have
made
free.

Moreover,
sirs
of
the
guard,"
added
Don
Quixote,
"these
poor
fellows
have
done

nothing
to
you;
let
each
answer
for
his
own
sins
yonder;
there
is
a
God
in
Heaven

who
will
not
forget
to
punish
the
wicked
or
reward
the
good;
and
it
is
not
fitting
that

honest
men
should
be
the
instruments
of
punishment
to
others,
they
being
therein

no
way
concerned.
This
request
I
make
thus
gently
and
quietly,
that,
if
you
comply

with
it,
I
may
have
reason
for
thanking
you;
and,
if
you
will
not
voluntarily,
this

lance
and
sword
together
with
the
might
of
my
arm
shall
compel
you
to
comply
with

it
by
force."



"Nice
nonsense!"
said
the
commissary;
"a
fine
piece
of
pleasantry
he
has
come
out

with
at
last!
He
wants
us
to
let
the
king's
prisoners
go,
as
if
we
had
any
authority
to

112
 Don
Quixote
de
la
Mancha



release
them,
or
he
to
order
us
to
do
so!
Go
your
way,
sir,
and
good
luck
to
you;
put

that
basin59
straight
that
you've
got
on
your
head,
and
don't
go
looking
for
three
feet

on
a
cat.60"



"'Tis
you
that
are
the
cat,
rat,
and
rascal,"
replied
Don
Quixote,
and
acting
on
the

word
he
fell
upon
him
so
suddenly
that
without
giving
him
time
to
defend
himself
he

brought
him
to
the
ground
sorely
wounded
with
a
lance‐thrust;
and
lucky
it
was
for

him
that
it
was
the
one
that
had
the
musket.
The
other
guards
stood
thunderstruck

and
amazed
at
this
unexpected
event,
but
recovering
presence
of
mind,
those
on

horseback
seized
their
swords,
and
those
on
foot
their
javelins,
and
attacked
Don

Quixote,
who
was
waiting
for
them
with
great
calmness;
and
no
doubt
it
would
have

gone
badly
with
him
if
the
galley
slaves,
seeing
the
chance
before
them
of
liberating

themselves,
had
not
effected
it
by
contriving
to
break
the
chain
on
which
they
were

strung.
Such
was
the
confusion,
that
the
guards,
now
rushing
at
the
galley
slaves

who
were
breaking
loose,
now
to
attack
Don
Quixote
who
was
waiting
for
them,
did

nothing
at
all
that
was
of
any
use.
Sancho,
on
his
part,
gave
a
helping
hand
to
release

Gines
de
Pasamonte,
who
was
the
first
to
leap
forth
upon
the
plain
free
and

unfettered,
and
who,
attacking
the
prostrate
commissary,
took
from
him
his
sword

and
the
musket,
with
which,
aiming
at
one
and
leveling
at
another,
he,
without
ever

discharging
it,
drove
every
one
of
the
guards
off
the
field,
for
they
took
to
flight,
as

well
to
escape
Pasamonte's
musket,
as
the
showers
of
stones
the
now
released

galley
slaves
were
raining
upon
them.
Sancho
was
greatly
grieved
at
the
affair,

because
he
anticipated
that
those
who
had
fled
would
report
the
matter
to
the
Holy

Brotherhood,
who
at
the
summons
of
the
alarm‐bell
would
at
once
sally
forth
in

quest
of
the
offenders;
and
he
said
so
to
his
master,
and
entreated
him
to
leave
the

place
at
once,
and
go
into
hiding
in
the
sierra
that
was
close
by.






























































59
A
shaving
basin,
which
Don
Quixote
has
appropriated
for
a
helmet,
thinking
it
to


be
the
famous
enchanted
helmet
of
Mambrino.

60
The
more
usual
form
of
the
proverb
is
“five
feet
on
a
cat.”

                                                       Don
Quixote
de
la
Mancha
 113

                                                                                    

"That
is
all
very
well,"
said
Don
Quixote,
"but
I
know
what
must
be
done
now;"
and

calling
together
all
the
galley
slaves,
who
were
now
running
riot,
and
had
stripped

the
commissary
to
the
skin,
he
collected
them
round
him
to
hear
what
he
had
to
say,

and
addressed
them
as
follows:
"To
be
grateful
for
benefits
received
is
the
part
of

persons
of
good
birth,
and
one
of
the
sins
most
offensive
to
God
is
ingratitude;
I
say

so
because,
sirs,
ye
have
already
seen
by
manifest
proof
the
benefit
ye
have
received

of
me;
in
return
for
which
I
desire,
and
it
is
my
good
pleasure
that,
laden
with
that

chain
which
I
have
taken
off
your
necks,
ye
at
once
set
out
and
proceed
to
the
city
of

El
Toboso,
and
there
present
yourselves
before
the
lady
Dulcinea
del
Toboso,
and

say
to
her
that
her
knight,
he
of
the
Mournful
Countenance,
sends
to
commend

himself
to
her;
and
that
ye
recount
to
her
in
full
detail
all
the
particulars
of
this

notable
adventure,
up
to
the
recovery
of
your
longed‐for
liberty;
and
this
done
ye

may
go
where
ye
will,
and
good
fortune
attend
you."



Gines
de
Pasamonte
made
answer
for
all,
saying,
"That
which
you,
sir,
our
deliverer,

demand
of
us,
is
of
all
impossibilities
the
most
impossible
to
comply
with,
because

we
cannot
go
together
along
the
roads,
but
only
singly
and
separate,
and
each
one

his
own
way,
endeavoring
to
hide
ourselves
in
the
bowels
of
the
earth
to
escape
the

Holy
Brotherhood,
which,
no
doubt,
will
come
out
in
search
of
us.
What
your

worship
may
do,
and
fairly
do,
is
to
change
this
service
and
tribute
as
regards
the

lady
Dulcinea
del
Toboso
for
a
certain
quantity
of
ave‐marias
and
credos
which
we

will
say
for
your
worship's
intention,
and
this
is
a
condition
that
can
be
complied

with
by
night
as
by
day,
running
or
resting,
in
peace
or
in
war;
but
to
imagine
that

we
are
going
now
to
return
to
the
flesh‐pots
of
Egypt,
I
mean
to
take
up
our
chain

and
set
out
for
El
Toboso,
is
to
imagine
that
it
is
now
night,
though
it
is
not
yet
ten
in

the
morning,
and
to
ask
this
of
us
is
like
asking
pears
of
the
elm
tree."



"Then
by
all
that's
good,"
said
Don
Quixote
(now
stirred
to
wrath),
"Don
son
of
a

bitch,
Don
Ginesillo
de
Paropillo,
or
whatever
your
name
is,
you
will
have
to
go

yourself
alone,
with
your
tail
between
your
legs
and
the
whole
chain
on
your
back."



114
 Don
Quixote
de
la
Mancha



Pasamonte,
who
was
anything
but
meek
(being
by
this
time
thoroughly
convinced

that
Don
Quixote
was
not
quite
right
in
his
head
as
he
had
committed
such
a
vagary

as
to
set
them
free),
finding
himself
abused
in
this
fashion,
gave
the
wink
to
his

companions,
and
falling
back
they
began
to
shower
stones
on
Don
Quixote
at
such
a

rate
that
he
was
quite
unable
to
protect
himself
with
his
buckler,
and
poor

Rocinante
no
more
heeded
the
spur
than
if
he
had
been
made
of
brass.
Sancho

planted
himself
behind
his
ass,
and
with
him
sheltered
himself
from
the
hailstorm

that
poured
on
both
of
them.
Don
Quixote
was
unable
to
shield
himself
so
well
but

that
more
pebbles
than
I
could
count
struck
him
full
on
the
body
with
such
force

that
they
brought
him
to
the
ground;
and
the
instant
he
fell
the
student
pounced

upon
him,
snatched
the
basin
from
his
head,
and
with
it
struck
three
or
four
blows

on
his
shoulders,
and
as
many
more
on
the
ground,
knocking
it
almost
to
pieces.

They
then
stripped
him
of
a
jacket
that
he
wore
over
his
armor,
and
they
would
have

stripped
off
his
stockings
if
his
greaves
had
not
prevented
them.
From
Sancho
they

took
his
coat,
leaving
him
in
his
shirt‐sleeves;
and
dividing
among
themselves
the

remaining
spoils
of
the
battle,
they
went
each
one
his
own
way,
more
solicitous

about
keeping
clear
of
the
Holy
Brotherhood
they
dreaded,
than
about
burdening

themselves
with
the
chain,
or
going
to
present
themselves
before
the
lady
Dulcinea

del
Toboso.
The
ass
and
Rocinante,
Sancho
and
Don
Quixote,
were
all
that
were
left

upon
the
spot;
the
ass
with
drooping
head,
serious,
shaking
his
ears
from
time
to

time
as
if
he
thought
the
storm
of
stones
that
assailed
them
was
not
yet
over;

Rocinante
stretched
beside
his
master,
for
he
too
had
been
brought
to
the
ground
by

a
stone;
Sancho
stripped,
and
trembling
with
fear
of
the
Holy
Brotherhood;
and
Don

Quixote
fuming
to
find
himself
so
served
by
the
very
persons
for
whom
he
had
done

so
much.





                                                           Don
Quixote
de
la
Mancha
   115

                                                                                          



CHAPTER
LII61

OF
THE
QUARREL
THAT
DON
QUIXOTE
HAD
WITH
THE
GOATHERD,
TOGETHER

WITH
THE
RARE
ADVENTURE
OF
THE
PENITENTS,
WHICH
WITH
AN

EXPENDITURE
OF
SWEAT
HE
BROUGHT
TO
A
HAPPY
CONCLUSION





The
goatherd's
tale
gave
great
satisfaction
to
all
the
hearers,
and
the
canon62

especially
enjoyed
it,
for
he
had
remarked
with
particular
attention
the
manner
in

which
it
had
been
told,
which
was
as
unlike
the
manner
of
a
clownish
goatherd
as
it

was
like
that
of
a
polished
city
wit;
and
he
observed
that
the
curate
had
been
quite

right
in
saying
that
the
woods
bred
men
of
learning.
They
all
offered
their
services

to
Eugenio
but
he
who
showed
himself
most
liberal
in
this
way
was
Don
Quixote,

who
said
to
him,
"Most
assuredly,
brother
goatherd,
if
I
found
myself
in
a
position
to

attempt
any
adventure,
I
would,
this
very
instant,
set
out
on
your
behalf,
and
would

rescue
Leandra
from
that
convent
(where
no
doubt
she
is
kept
against
her
will),
in

spite
of
the
abbess
and
all
who
might
try
to
prevent
me,
and
would
place
her
in
your

hands
to
deal
with
her
according
to
your
will
and
pleasure,
observing,
however,
the

laws
of
chivalry
which
lay
down
that
no
violence
of
any
kind
is
to
be
offered
to
any

damsel.
But
I
trust
in
God
our
Lord
that
the
might
of
one
malignant
enchanter
may

not
prove
so
great
but
that
the
power
of
another
better
disposed
may
prove

superior
to
it,
and
then
I
promise
you
my
support
and
assistance,
as
I
am
bound
to

do
by
my
profession,
which
is
none
other
than
to
give
aid
to
the
weak
and
needy."
































































61

The
last
chapter
of
Part
One.

Through
various
devices,
including
the
use
of
Don


Quixote’s
own
belief
in
enchantments
and
spells,
the
curate
and
the
barber
have

persuaded
the
knight
to
let

himself
be
taken
home
in
an
ox
cart.



62
A
canon
from
Toledo
who
has
joined
Don
Quixote
and
his
guardians
on
the
way;


conversing
about
chivalry
with
the
knight,
he
has
had
cause
to
be
“astonished
at
Don

Quixote’s
well‐reasoned
nonsense.”

116
 Don
Quixote
de
la
Mancha



The
goatherd
eyed
him,
and
noticing
Don
Quixote's
sorry
appearance
and
looks,
he

was
filled
with
wonder,
and
asked
the
barber,
who
was
next
him,
"Señor,
who
is
this

man
who
makes
such
a
figure
and
talks
in
such
a
strain?"



"Who
should
it
be,"
said
the
barber,
"but
the
famous
Don
Quixote
of
La
Mancha,
the

undoer
of
injustice,
the
righter
of
wrongs,
the
protector
of
damsels,
the
terror
of

giants,
and
the
winner
of
battles?"



"That,"
said
the
goatherd,
"sounds
like
what
one
reads
in
the
books
of
the
knights‐
errant,
who
did
all
that
you
say
this
man
does;
though
it
is
my
belief
that
either
you

are
joking,
or
else
this
gentleman
has
empty
lodgings
in
his
head."



"You
are
a
great
scoundrel,"
said
Don
Quixote,
"and
it
is
you
who
are
empty
and
a

fool.
I
am
fuller
than
ever
was
the
whoreson
bitch
that
bore
you;"
and
passing
from

words
to
deeds,
he
caught
up
a
loaf
that
was
near
him
and
sent
it
full
in
the

goatherd's
face,
with
such
force
that
he
flattened
his
nose;
but
the
goatherd,
who
did

not
understand
jokes,
and
found
himself
roughly
handled
in
such
good
earnest,

paying
no
respect
to
carpet,
tablecloth,
or
diners,
sprang
upon
Don
Quixote,
and

seizing
him
by
the
throat
with
both
hands
would
no
doubt
have
throttled
him,
had

not
Sancho
Panza
that
instant
come
to
the
rescue,
and
grasping
him
by
the

shoulders
flung
him
down
on
the
table,
smashing
plates,
breaking
glasses,
and

upsetting
and
scattering
everything
on
it.
Don
Quixote,
finding
himself
free,
strove
to

get
on
top
of
the
goatherd,
who,
with
his
face
covered
with
blood,
and
soundly

kicked
by
Sancho,
was
on
all
fours
feeling
about
for
one
of
the
table‐knives
to
take
a

bloody
revenge
with.
The
canon
and
the
curate,
however,
prevented
him,
but
the

barber
so
contrived
it
that
he
got
Don
Quixote
under
him,
and
rained
down
upon

him
such
a
shower
of
fisticuffs
that
the
poor
knight's
face
streamed
with
blood
as

freely
as
his
own.
The
canon
and
the
curate
were
bursting
with
laughter,
the

officers63
were
capering
with
delight,
and
both
the
one
and
the
other
hissed
them
on



























































63
Law
officers
from
the
Holy
Brotherhood.

They
had
wanted
to
arrest
Don
Quixote

                                                                                  117
             Don
Quixote
de
la
Mancha

                                                                                     

as
they
do
dogs
that
are
worrying
one
another
in
a
fight.
Sancho
alone
was
frantic,

for
he
could
not
free
himself
from
the
grasp
of
one
of
the
canon's
servants,
who
kept

him
from
going
to
his
master's
assistance.



At
last,
while
they
were
all,
with
the
exception
of
the
two
bruisers
who
were

mauling
each
other,
in
high
glee
and
enjoyment,
they
heard
a
trumpet
sound
a
note

so
doleful
that
it
made
them
all
look
in
the
direction
whence
the
sound
seemed
to

come.
But
the
one
that
was
most
excited
by
hearing
it
was
Don
Quixote,
who
though

sorely
against
his
will
he
was
under
the
goatherd,
and
something
more
than
pretty

well
pummeled,
said
to
him,
"Brother
devil
(for
it
is
impossible
but
that
thou
must

be
one
since
thou
hast
had
might
and
strength
enough
to
overcome
mine),
I
ask
thee

to
agree
to
a
truce
for
but
one
hour
for
the
solemn
note
of
yonder
trumpet
that
falls

on
our
ears
seems
to
me
to
summon
me
to
some
new
adventure."
The
goatherd,
who

was
by
this
time
tired
of
pummeling
and
being
pummeled,
released
him
at
once,
and

Don
Quixote
rising
to
his
feet
and
turning
his
eyes
to
the
quarter
where
the
sound

had
been
heard,
suddenly
saw
coming
down
the
slope
of
a
hill
several
men
clad
in

white
like
penitents.



The
fact
was
that
the
clouds
had
that
year
withheld
their
moisture
from
the
earth,

and
in
all
the
villages
of
the
district
they
were
organizing
processions,
rogations,
and

penances,
imploring
God
to
open
the
hands
of
his
mercy
and
send
the
rain;
and
to

this
end
the
people
of
a
village
that
was
hard
by
were
going
in
procession
to
a
holy

hermitage
there
was
on
one
side
of
that
valley.
Don
Quixote
when
he
saw
the

strange
garb
of
the
penitents,
without
reflecting
how
often
he
had
seen
it
before,

took
it
into
his
head
that
this
was
a
case
of
adventure,
and
that
it
fell
to
him
alone
as

a
knight‐errant
to
engage
in
it;
and
he
was
all
the
more
confirmed
in
this
notion,
by

the
idea
that
an
image
draped
in
black
they
had
with
them
was
some
illustrious
lady

that
these
villains
and
discourteous
thieves
were
carrying
off
by
force.
As
soon
as

this
occurred
to
him
he
ran
with
all
speed
to
Rocinante
who
was
grazing
at
large,







































































































































































for
trying
to
free
the
galley
slaves
but
had
been
persuaded
to
let
him
go,
due
to
his

insanity.

118
 Don
Quixote
de
la
Mancha



and
taking
the
bridle
and
the
buckler
from
the
saddle‐bow,
he
had
him
bridled
in
an

instant,
and
calling
to
Sancho
for
his
sword
he
mounted
Rocinante,
braced
his

buckler
on
his
arm,
and
in
a
loud
voice
exclaimed
to
those
who
stood
by,
"Now,

noble
company,
ye
shall
see
how
important
it
is
that
there
should
be
knights
in
the

world
professing
the
of
knight‐errantry;
now,
I
say,
ye
shall
see,
by
the
deliverance

of
that
worthy
lady
who
is
borne
captive
there,
whether
knights‐errant
deserve
to

be
held
in
estimation,"
and
so
saying
he
brought
his
legs
to
bear
on
Rocinante
–
for

he
had
no
spurs
–
and
at
a
full
canter
(for
in
all
this
veracious
history
we
never
read

of
Rocinante
fairly
galloping)
set
off
to
encounter
the
penitents,
though
the
curate,

the
canon,
and
the
barber
ran
to
prevent
him.
But
it
was
out
of
their
power,
nor
did

he
even
stop
for
the
shouts
of
Sancho
calling
after
him,
"Where
are
you
going,
Señor

Don
Quixote?
What
devils
have
possessed
you
to
set
you
on
against
our
Catholic

faith?
Plague
take
me!
mind,
that
is
a
procession
of
penitents,
and
the
lady
they
are

carrying
on
that
stand
there
is
the
blessed
image
of
the
immaculate
Virgin.
Take
care

what
you
are
doing,
señor,
for
this
time
it
may
be
safely
said
you
don't
know
what

you
are
about."
Sancho
labored
in
vain,
for
his
master
was
so
bent
on
coming
to

quarters
with
these
sheeted
figures
and
releasing
the
lady
in
black
that
he
did
not

hear
a
word;
and
even
had
he
heard,
he
would
not
have
turned
back
if
the
king
had

ordered
him.
He
came
up
with
the
procession
and
reined
in
Rocinante,
who
was

already
anxious
enough
to
slacken
speed
a
little,
and
in
a
hoarse,
excited
voice
he

exclaimed,
"You
who
hide
your
faces,
perhaps
because
you
are
not
good
subjects,

pay
attention
and
listen
to
what
I
am
about
to
say
to
you."
The
first
to
halt
were

those
who
were
carrying
the
image,
and
one
of
the
four
ecclesiastics
who
were

chanting
the
Litany,
struck
by
the
strange
figure
of
Don
Quixote,
the
leanness
of

Rocinante,
and
the
other
ludicrous
peculiarities
he
observed,
said
in
reply
to
him,

"Brother,
if
you
have
anything
to
say
to
us
say
it
quickly,
for
these
brethren
are

whipping
themselves,
and
we
cannot
stop,
nor
is
it
reasonable
we
should
stop
to

hear
anything,
unless
indeed
it
is
short
enough
to
be
said
in
two
words."



"I
will
say
it
in
one,"
replied
Don
Quixote,
"and
it
is
this;
that
at
once,
this
very

instant,
ye
release
that
fair
lady
whose
tears
and
sad
aspect
show
plainly
that
ye
are

                                                     Don
Quixote
de
la
Mancha
       119

                                                                                        

carrying
her
off
against
her
will,
and
that
ye
have
committed
some
scandalous

outrage
against
her;
and
I,
who
was
born
into
the
world
to
redress
all
such
like

wrongs,
will
not
permit
you
to
advance
another
step
until
you
have
restored
to
her

the
liberty
she
pines
for
and
deserves."



From
these
words
all
the
hearers
concluded
that
he
must
be
a
madman,
and
began

to
laugh
heartily,
and
their
laughter
acted
like
gunpowder
on
Don
Quixote's
fury,
for

drawing
his
sword
without
another
word
he
made
a
rush
at
the
stand.
One
of
those

who
supported
it,
leaving
the
burden
to
his
comrades,
advanced
to
meet
him,

flourishing
a
forked
stick
that
he
had
for
propping
up
the
stand
when
resting,
and

with
this
he
caught
a
mighty
cut
Don
Quixote
made
at
him
that
severed
it
in
two;
but

with
the
portion
that
remained
in
his
hand
he
dealt
such
a
thwack
on
the
shoulder
of

Don
Quixote's
sword
arm
(which
the
buckler
could
not
protect
against
the
clownish

assault)
that
poor
Don
Quixote
came
to
the
ground
in
a
sad
plight.



Sancho
Panza,
who
was
coming
on
close
behind
puffing
and
blowing,
seeing
him
fall,

cried
out
to
his
assailant
not
to
strike
him
again,
for
he
was
poor
enchanted
knight,

who
had
never
harmed
anyone
all
the
days
of
his
life;
but
what
checked
the
clown

was,
not
Sancho's
shouting,
but
seeing
that
Don
Quixote
did
not
stir
hand
or
foot;

and
so,
fancying
he
had
killed
him,
he
hastily
hitched
up
his
tunic
under
his
girdle

and
took
to
his
heels
across
the
country
like
a
deer.



By
this
time
all
Don
Quixote's
companions
had
come
up
to
where
he
lay;
but
the

processionists
seeing
them
come
running,
and
with
them
the
officers
of
the

Brotherhood
with
their
crossbows,
apprehended
mischief,
and
clustering
round
the

image,
raised
their
hoods,
and
grasped
their
scourges,
as
the
priests
did
their
tapers,

and
awaited
the
attack,
resolved
to
defend
themselves
and
even
to
take
the
offensive

against
their
assailants
if
they
could.
Fortune,
however,
arranged
the
matter
better

than
they
expected,
for
all
Sancho
did
was
to
fling
himself
on
his
master's
body,

raising
over
him
the
most
doleful
and
laughable
lamentation
that
ever
was
heard,

for
he
believed
he
was
dead.
The
curate
was
known
to
another
curate
who
walked
in

120
 Don
Quixote
de
la
Mancha



the
procession,
and
their
recognition
of
one
another
set
at
rest
the
apprehensions
of

both
parties;
the
first
then
told
the
other
in
two
words
who
Don
Quixote
was,
and
he

and
the
whole
troop
of
penitents
went
to
see
if
the
poor
gentleman
was
dead,
and

heard
Sancho
Panza
saying,
with
tears
in
his
eyes,
"Oh
flower
of
chivalry,64
that
with

one
blow
of
a
stick
hast
ended
the
course
of
thy
well‐spent
life!
Oh
pride
of
thy
race,

honor
and
glory
of
all
La
Mancha,
nay,
of
all
the
world,
that
for
want
of
thee
will
be

full
of
evil‐doers,
no
longer
in
fear
of
punishment
for
their
misdeeds!
Oh
thou,

generous
above
all
the
Alexanders,
since
for
only
eight
months
of
service
thou
hast

given
me
the
best
island
the
sea
girds
or
surrounds!
Humble
with
the
proud,

haughty
with
the
humble,
encounterer
of
dangers,
endurer
of
outrages,
enamored

without
reason,
imitator
of
the
good,
scourge
of
the
wicked,
enemy
of
the
mean,
in

short,
knight‐errant,
which
is
all
that
can
be
said!"



At
the
cries
and
moans
of
Sancho,
Don
Quixote
came
to
himself,
and
the
first
word

he
said
was,
"He
who
lives
separated
from
you,
sweetest
Dulcinea,
has
greater

miseries
to
endure
than
these.
Aid
me,
friend
Sancho,
to
mount
the
enchanted
cart,

for
I
am
not
in
a
condition
to
press
the
saddle
of
Rocinante,
as
this
shoulder
is
all

knocked
to
pieces."



"That
I
will
do
with
all
my
heart,
señor,"
said
Sancho;
"and
let
us
return
to
our
village

with
these
gentlemen,
who
seek
your
good,
and
there
we
will
prepare
for
making

another
sally,
which
may
turn
out
more
profitable
and
creditable
to
us."



"Thou
art
right,
Sancho,"
returned
Don
Quixote;
"It
will
be
wise
to
let
the
malign

influence
of
the
stars
which
now
prevails
pass
off."



The
canon,
the
curate,
and
the
barber
told
him
he
would
act
very
wisely
in
doing
as

he
said;
and
so,
highly
amused
at
Sancho
Panza's
simplicities,
they
placed
Don

Quixote
in
the
cart
as
before.
The
procession
once
more
formed
itself
in
order
and



























































64
Note
that
by
this
time
Sancho
has
absorbed
some
of
his
master’s
courtly
speech.

                                                     Don
Quixote
de
la
Mancha
      121

                                                                                       

proceeded
on
its
road;
the
goatherd
took
his
leave
of
the
party;
the
officers
of
the

Brotherhood
declined
to
go
any
farther,
and
the
curate
paid
them
what
was
due
to

them;
the
canon
begged
the
curate
to
let
him
know
how
Don
Quixote
did,
whether

he
was
cured
of
his
madness
or
still
suffered
from
it,
and
then
begged
leave
to

continue
his
journey;
in
short,
they
all
separated
and
went
their
ways,
leaving
to

themselves
the
curate
and
the
barber,
Don
Quixote,
Sancho
Panza,
and
the
good

Rocinante,
who
regarded
everything
with
as
great
resignation
as
his
master.
The

carter
yoked
his
oxen
and
made
Don
Quixote
comfortable
on
a
truss
of
hay,
and
at

his
usual
deliberate
pace
took
the
road
the
curate
directed,
and
at
the
end
of
six
days

they
reached
Don
Quixote's
village,
and
entered
it
about
the
middle
of
the
day,

which
it
so
happened
was
a
Sunday,
and
the
people
were
all
in
the
plaza,
through

which
Don
Quixote's
cart
passed.
They
all
flocked
to
see
what
was
in
the
cart,
and

when
they
recognized
their
townsman
they
were
filled
with
amazement,
and
a
boy

ran
off
to
bring
the
news
to
his
housekeeper
and
his
niece
that
their
master
and

uncle
had
come
back
all
lean
and
yellow
and
stretched
on
a
truss
of
hay
on
an
ox‐
cart.
It
was
piteous
to
hear
the
cries
the
two
good
ladies
raised,
how
they
beat
their

breasts
and
poured
out
fresh
maledictions
on
those
accursed
books
of
chivalry;
all

which
was
renewed
when
they
saw
Don
Quixote
coming
in
at
the
gate.



At
the
news
of
Don
Quixote's
arrival
Sancho
Panza's
wife
came
running,
for
she
by

this
time
knew
that
her
husband
had
gone
away
with
him
as
his
squire,
and
on

seeing
Sancho,
the
first
thing
she
asked
him
was
if
the
ass
was
well.
Sancho
replied

that
he
was,
better
than
his
master
was.



"Thanks
be
to
God,"
said
she,
"for
being
so
good
to
me;
but
now
tell
me,
my
friend,

what
have
you
made
by
your
squirings?
What
gown
have
you
brought
me
back?

What
shoes
for
your
children?"



"I
bring
nothing
of
that
sort,
wife,"
said
Sancho;
"though
I
bring
other
things
of
more

consequence
and
value."



122
 Don
Quixote
de
la
Mancha



"I
am
very
glad
of
that,"
returned
his
wife;
"show
me
these
things
of
more
value
and

consequence,
my
friend;
for
I
want
to
see
them
to
cheer
my
heart
that
has
been
so

sad
and
heavy
all
these
ages
that
you
have
been
away."



"I
will
show
them
to
you
at
home,
wife,"
said
Sancho;
"be
content
for
the
present;
for

if
it
please
God
that
we
should
again
go
on
our
travels
in
search
of
adventures,
you

will
soon
see
me
a
count,
or
governor
of
an
island,
and
that
not
one
of
those

everyday
ones,
but
the
best
that
is
to
be
had."



"Heaven
grant
it,
husband,"
said
she,
"for
indeed
we
have
need
of
it.
But
tell
me,

what's
this
about
islands,
for
I
don't
understand
it?"



"Honey
is
not
for
the
mouth
of
the
ass,"
returned
Sancho;
"all
in
good
time
thou
shalt

see,
wife

–

nay,
thou
wilt
be
surprised
to
hear
thyself
called
'your
ladyship'
by
all

thy
vassals."



"What
are
you
talking
about,
Sancho,
with
your
ladyships,
islands,
and
vassals?"

returned
Teresa
Panza

–

for
so
Sancho's
wife
was
called,
though
they
were
not

relations,
for
in
La
Mancha
it
is
customary
for
wives
to
take
their
husbands'

surnames.



"Don't
be
in
such
a
hurry
to
know
all
this,
Teresa,"
said
Sancho;
"it
is
enough
that
I

am
telling
you
the
truth,
so
shut
your
mouth.
But
I
may
tell
you
this
much
by
the

way,
that
there
is
nothing
in
the
world
more
delightful
than
to
be
a
person
of

consideration,
squire
to
a
knight‐errant,
and
a
seeker
of
adventures.
To
be
sure
most

of
those
one
finds
do
not
end
as
pleasantly
as
one
could
wish,
for
out
of
a
hundred,

ninety‐nine
will
turn
out
cross
and
contrary.
I
know
it
by
experience,
for
out
of
some

I
came
blanketed,
and
out
of
others
belabored.
Still,
for
all
that,
it
is
a
fine
thing
to
be

on
the
look‐out
for
what
may
happen,
crossing
mountains,
searching
woods,

climbing
rocks,
visiting
castles,
putting
up
at
inns,
all
at
free
quarters,
and
devil
take

the
maravedi
to
pay."

                                                    Don
Quixote
de
la
Mancha
        123

                                                                                        



While
this
conversation
passed
between
Sancho
Panza
and
his
wife,
Don
Quixote's

housekeeper
and
niece
took
him
in
and
undressed
him
and
laid
him
in
his
old
bed.

He
eyed
them
askance,
and
could
not
make
out
where
he
was.
The
curate
charged

his
niece
to
be
very
careful
to
make
her
uncle
comfortable
and
to
keep
a
watch
over

him
lest
he
should
make
his
escape
from
them
again,
telling
her
what
they
had
been

obliged
to
do
to
bring
him
home.
On
this
the
pair
once
more
lifted
up
their
voices

and
renewed
their
maledictions
upon
the
books
of
chivalry,
and
implored
heaven
to

plunge
the
authors
of
such
lies
and
nonsense
into
the
midst
of
the
bottomless
pit.

They
were,
in
short,
kept
in
anxiety
and
dread
lest
their
uncle
and
master
should

give
them
the
slip
the
moment
he
found
himself
somewhat
better,
and
as
they

feared
so
it
fell
out.



124
   Don
Quixote
de
la
Mancha






VOLUME
II


CHAPTER
I




OF
THE
INTERVIEW
THE
CURATE
AND
THE
BARBER
HAD
WITH
DON
QUIXOTE

ABOUT
HIS
MALADY



Cide
Hamete
Benengeli,
in
the
Second
Part
of
this
history,
and
third
sally
of
Don

Quixote,
says
that
the
curate
and
the
barber
remained
nearly
a
month
without

seeing
him,
lest
they
should
recall
or
bring
back
to
his
recollection
what
had
taken

place.
They
did
not,
however,
omit
to
visit
his
niece
and
housekeeper,
and
charge

them
to
be
careful
to
treat
him
with
attention,
and
give
him
comforting
things
to
eat,

and
such
as
were
good
for
the
heart
and
the
brain,
whence,
it
was
plain
to
see,
all
his

misfortune
proceeded.
The
niece
and
housekeeper
replied
that
they
did
so,
and

meant
to
do
so
with
all
possible
care
and
assiduity,
for
they
could
perceive
that
their

master
was
now
and
then
beginning
to
show
signs
of
being
in
his
right
mind.
This

gave
great
satisfaction
to
the
curate
and
the
barber,
for
they
concluded
they
had

taken
the
right
course
in
carrying
him
off
enchanted
on
the
ox‐cart,
as
has
been

described
in
the
First
Part
of
this
great
as
well
as
accurate
history,
in
the
last
chapter

thereof.
So
they
resolved
to
pay
him
a
visit
and
test
the
improvement
in
his

condition,
although
they
thought
it
almost
impossible
that
there
could
be
any;
and

they
agreed
not
to
touch
upon
any
point
connected
with
knight‐errantry
so
as
not
to

run
the
risk
of
reopening
wounds
which
were
still
so
tender.



They
came
to
see
him
consequently,
and
found
him
sitting
up
in
bed
in
a
green
baize

waistcoat
and
a
red
Toledo
cap,
and
so
withered
and
dried
up
that
he
looked
as
if
he

had
been
turned
into
a
mummy.
They
were
very
cordially
received
by
him;
they

asked
him
after
his
health,
and
he
talked
to
them
about
himself
very
naturally
and
in

very
well‐chosen
language.
In
the
course
of
their
conversation
they
fell
to
discussing

                                                           Don
Quixote
de
la
Mancha
   125

                                                                                          

what
they
call
State‐craft
and
systems
of
government,
correcting
this
abuse
and

condemning
that,
reforming
one
practice
and
abolishing
another,
each
of
the
three

setting
up
for
a
new
legislator,
a
modern
Lycurgus1,
or
a
brand‐new
Solon2;
and
so

completely
did
they
remodel
the
State,
that
they
seemed
to
have
thrust
it
into
a

furnace
and
taken
out
something
quite
different
from
what
they
had
put
in;
and
on

all
the
subjects
they
dealt
with,
Don
Quixote
spoke
with
such
good
sense
that
the

pair
of
examiners
were
fully
convinced
that
he
was
quite
recovered
and
in
his
full

senses.



The
niece
and
housekeeper
were
present
at
the
conversation
and
could
not
find

words
enough
to
express
their
thanks
to
God
at
seeing
their
master
so
clear
in
his

mind;
the
curate,
however,
changing
his
original
plan,
which
was
to
avoid
touching

upon
matters
of
chivalry,
resolved
to
test
Don
Quixote's
recovery
thoroughly,
and

see
whether
it
were
genuine
or
not;
and
so,
from
one
subject
to
another,
he
came
at

last
to
talk
of
the
news
that
had
come
from
the
capital,
and,
among
other
things,
he

said
it
was
considered
certain
that
the
Turk3
was
coming
down
with
a
powerful

fleet,
and
that
no
one
knew
what
his
purpose
was,
or
when
the
great
storm
would

burst;
and
that
all
Christendom
was
in
apprehension
of
this,
which
almost
every

year
calls
us
to
arms,
and
that
his
Majesty
had
made
provision
for
the
security
of
the

coasts
of
Naples
and
Sicily
and
the
island
of
Malta.



To
this
Don
Quixote
replied,
"His
Majesty
has
acted
like
a
prudent
warrior
in

providing
for
the
safety
of
his
realms
in
time,
so
that
the
enemy
may
not
find
him

unprepared;
but
if
my
advice
were
taken
I
would
recommend
him
to
adopt
a

measure
which
at
present,
no
doubt,
his
Majesty
is
very
far
from
thinking
of."
































































1
A
Spartan
lawgiver.

2
Athenian
statesman,
lawmaker
and
poet.

3
The
Turkish
army.

126
 Don
Quixote
de
la
Mancha



The
moment
the
curate
heard
this
he
said
to
himself,
"God
keep
thee
in
his
hand,

poor
Don
Quixote,
for
it
seems
to
me
thou
art
precipitating
thyself
from
the
height
of

thy
madness
into
the
profound
abyss
of
thy
simplicity."



But
the
barber,
who
had
the
same
suspicion
as
the
curate,
asked
Don
Quixote
what

would
be
his
advice
as
to
the
measures
that
he
said
ought
to
be
adopted;
for
perhaps

it
might
prove
to
be
one
that
would
have
to
be
added
to
the
list
of
the
many

impertinent
suggestions
that
people
were
in
the
habit
of
offering
to
princes.



"Mine,
master
shaver,"
said
Don
Quixote,
"will
not
be
impertinent,
but,
on
the

contrary,
pertinent."



"I
don't
mean
that,"
said
the
barber,
"but
that
experience
has
shown
that
all
or
most

of
the
expedients
which
are
proposed
to
his
Majesty
are
either
impossible,
or

absurd,
or
injurious
to
the
King
and
to
the
kingdom."



"Mine,
however,"
replied
Don
Quixote,
"is
neither
impossible
nor
absurd,
but
the

easiest,
the
most
reasonable,
the
readiest
and
most
expeditious
that
could
suggest

itself
to
any
projector's
mind."



"You
take
a
long
time
to
tell
it,
Señor
Don
Quixote,"
said
the
curate.



"I
don't
choose
to
tell
it
here,
now,"
said
Don
Quixote,
"and
have
it
reach
the
ears
of

the
lords
of
the
council
to‐morrow
morning,
and
some
other
carry
off
the
thanks
and

rewards
of
my
trouble."



"For
my
part,"
said
the
barber,
"I
give
my
word
here
and
before
God
that
I
will
not

repeat
what
your
worship
says,
to
King,
Rook
or
earthly
man
–
an
oath
I
learned

from
the
ballad
of
the
curate,
who,
in
the
prelude,
told
the
king
of
the
thief
who
had

robbed
him
of
the
hundred
gold
crowns
and
his
pacing
mule."



                                                      Don
Quixote
de
la
Mancha
    127

                                                                                      

"I
am
not
versed
in
stories,"
said
Don
Quixote;
"but
I
know
the
oath
is
a
good
one,

because
I
know
the
barber
to
be
an
honest
fellow."



"Even
if
he
were
not,"
said
the
curate,
"I
will
go
bail
and
answer
for
him
that
in
this

matter
he
will
be
as
silent
as
a
dummy,
under
pain
of
paying
any
penalty
that
may
be

pronounced."



"And
who
will
be
security
for
you,
señor
curate?"
said
Don
Quixote.



"My
profession,"
replied
the
curate,
"which
is
to
keep
secrets."



"Ods
body!"
said
Don
Quixote
at
this,
"what
more
has
his
Majesty
to
do
but
to

command,
by
public
proclamation,
all
the
knights‐errant
that
are
scattered
over

Spain
to
assemble
on
a
fixed
day
in
the
capital,
for
even
if
no
more
than
half
a
dozen

come,
there
may
be
one
among
them
who
alone
will
suffice
to
destroy
the
entire

might
of
the
Turk.
Give
me
your
attention
and
follow
me.
Is
it,
pray,
any
new
thing

for
a
single
knight‐errant
to
demolish
an
army
of
two
hundred
thousand
men,
as
if

they
all
had
but
one
throat
or
were
made
of
sugar
paste?
Nay,
tell
me,
how
many

histories
are
there
filled
with
these
marvels?
If
only
(in
an
evil
hour
for
me:
I
don't

speak
for
anyone
else)
the
famous
Don
Belianis
were
alive
now,
or
any
one
of
the

innumerable
progeny
of
Amadis
of
Gaul!
If
any
these
were
alive
today,
and
were
to

come
face
to
face
with
the
Turk,
by
my
faith,
I
would
not
give
much
for
the
Turk's

chance.
But
God
will
have
regard
for
his
people,
and
will
provide
someone,
who,
if

not
so
valiant
as
the
knights‐errant
of
yore,
at
least
will
not
be
inferior
to
them
in

spirit;
but
God
knows
what
I
mean,
and
I
say
no
more."



"Alas!"
exclaimed
the
niece
at
this,
"may
I
die
if
my
master
does
not
want
to
turn

knight‐errant
again;"
to
which
Don
Quixote
replied,
"A
knight‐errant
I
shall
die,
and

let
the
Turk
come
down
or
go
up
when
he
likes,
and
in
as
strong
force
as
he
can,

once
more
I
say,
God
knows
what
I
mean."
But
here
the
barber
said,
"I
ask
your

worships
to
give
me
leave
to
tell
a
short
story
of
something
that
happened
in
Seville,

128
 Don
Quixote
de
la
Mancha



which
comes
so
pat
to
the
purpose
just
now
that
I
should
like
greatly
to
tell
it."
Don

Quixote
gave
him
leave,
and
the
rest
prepared
to
listen,
and
he
began
thus:



"In
the
madhouse
at
Seville
there
was
a
man
whom
his
relations
had
placed
there
as

being
out
of
his
mind.
He
was
a
graduate
of
Osuna4
in
canon
law;
but
even
if
he
had

been
of
Salamanca5,
it
was
the
opinion
of
most
people
that
he
would
have
been
mad

all
the
same.
This
graduate,
after
some
years
of
confinement,
took
it
into
his
head

that
he
was
sane
and
in
his
full
senses,
and
under
this
impression
wrote
to
the

Archbishop,
entreating
him
earnestly,
and
in
very
correct
language,
to
have
him

released
from
the
misery
in
which
he
was
living;
for
by
God's
mercy
he
had
now

recovered
his
lost
reason,
though
his
relations,
in
order
to
enjoy
his
property,
kept

him
there,
and,
in
spite
of
the
truth,
would
make
him
out
to
be
mad
until
his
dying

day.
The
Archbishop,
moved
by
repeated
sensible,
well‐written
letters,
directed
one

of
his
chaplains
to
make
inquiry
of
the
madhouse
as
to
the
truth
of
the
licentiate's6

statements,
and
to
have
an
interview
with
the
madman
himself,
and,
if
it
should

appear
that
he
was
in
his
senses,
to
take
him
out
and
restore
him
to
liberty.
The

chaplain
did
so,
and
the
governor
assured
him
that
the
man
was
still
mad,
and
that

though
he
often
spoke
like
a
highly
intelligent
person,
he
would
in
the
end
break
out

into
nonsense
that
in
quantity
and
quality
counterbalanced
all
the
sensible
things
he

had
said
before,
as
might
be
easily
tested
by
talking
to
him.
The
chaplain
resolved
to

try
the
experiment,
and
obtaining
access
to
the
madman
conversed
with
him
for
an

hour
or
more,
during
the
whole
of
which
time
he
never
uttered
a
word
that
was

incoherent
or
absurd,
but,
on
the
contrary,
spoke
so
rationally
that
the
chaplain
was

compelled
to
believe
him
to
be
sane.
Among
other
things,
he
said
the
governor
was

against
him,
not
to
lose
the
presents
his
relations
made
him
for
reporting
him
still

mad
but
with
lucid
intervals;
and
that
the
worst
foe
he
had
in
his
misfortune
was
his

large
property;
for
in
order
to
enjoy
it
his
enemies
disparaged
and
threw
doubts

upon
the
mercy
our
Lord
had
shown
him
in
turning
him
from
a
brute
beast
into
a


























































4
The
university
of
Osuna,

located
in
that
town.

5
A
more
prestigious
university.

6
A
“licensed
one”:
‐‐
i.e.,
a
university
graduate.

                                                      Don
Quixote
de
la
Mancha
   129

                                                                                     

man.
In
short,
he
spoke
in
such
a
way
that
he
cast
suspicion
on
the
governor,
and

made
his
relations
appear
covetous
and
heartless,
and
himself
so
rational
that
the

chaplain
determined
to
take
him
away
with
him
that
the
Archbishop
might
see
him,

and
ascertain
for
himself
the
truth
of
the
matter.
Yielding
to
this
conviction,
the

worthy
chaplain
begged
the
governor
to
have
the
clothes
in
which
the
licentiate
had

entered
the
house
given
to
him.
The
governor
again
bade
him
beware
of
what
he

was
doing,
as
the
licentiate
was
beyond
a
doubt
still
mad;
but
all
his
cautions
and

warnings
were
unavailing
to
dissuade
the
chaplain
from
taking
him
away.
The

governor,
seeing
that
it
was
the
order
of
the
Archbishop,
obeyed,
and
they
dressed

the
licentiate
in
his
own
clothes,
which
were
new
and
decent.
He,
as
soon
as
he
saw

himself
clothed
like
one
in
his
senses,
and
divested
of
the
appearance
of
a
madman,

entreated
the
chaplain
to
permit
him
in
charity
to
go
and
take
leave
of
his
comrades

the
madmen.
The
chaplain
said
he
would
go
with
him
to
see
what
madmen
there

were
in
the
house;
so
they
went
upstairs,
and
with
them
some
of
those
who
were

present.
Approaching
a
cage
in
which
there
was
a
furious
madman,
though
just
at

that
moment
calm
and
quiet,
the
licentiate
said
to
him,
'Brother,
think
if
you
have

any
commands
for
me,
for
I
am
going
home,
as
God
has
been
pleased,
in
his
infinite

goodness
and
mercy,
without
any
merit
of
mine,
to
restore
me
my
reason.
I
am
now

cured
and
in
my
senses,
for
with
God's
power
nothing
is
impossible.
Have
strong

hope
and
trust
in
him,
for
as
he
has
restored
me
to
my
original
condition,
so
likewise

he
will
restore
you
if
you
trust
in
him.
I
will
take
care
to
send
you
some
good
things

to
eat;
and
be
sure
you
eat
them;
for
I
would
have
you
know
I
am
convinced,
as
one

who
has
gone
through
it,
that
all
this
madness
of
ours
comes
of
having
the
stomach

empty
and
the
brains
full
of
wind.
Take
courage!
take
courage!
for
despondency
in

misfortune
breaks
down
health
and
brings
on
death.'



"To
all
these
words
of
the
licentiate
another
madman
in
a
cage
opposite
that
of
the

furious
one
was
listening;
and
raising
himself
up
from
an
old
mat
on
which
he
lay

stark
naked,
he
asked
in
a
loud
voice
who
it
was
that
was
going
away
cured
and
in

his
senses.
The
licentiate
answered,
'It
is
I,
brother,
who
am
going;
I
have
now
no

130
 Don
Quixote
de
la
Mancha



need
to
remain
here
any
longer,
for
which
I
return
infinite
thanks
to
Heaven
that
has

had
so
great
mercy
upon
me.'



"'Mind
what
you
are
saying,
licentiate;
don't
let
the
devil
deceive
you,'
replied
the

madman.
'Keep
quiet,
stay
where
you
are,
and
you
will
save
yourself
the
trouble
of

coming
back.'



"'I
know
I
am
cured,'
returned
the
licentiate,
'and
that
I
shall
not
have
to
go
stations

again.'



"'You
cured!'
said
the
madman;
'well,
we
shall
see;
God
be
with
you;
but
I
swear
to

you
by
Jupiter,
whose
majesty
I
represent
on
earth,
that
for
this
crime
alone,
which

Seville
is
committing
to‐day
in
releasing
you
from
this
house,
and
treating
you
as
if

you
were
in
your
senses,
I
shall
have
to
inflict
such
a
punishment
on
it
as
will
be

remembered
for
ages
and
ages,
amen.
Dost
thou
not
know,
thou
miserable
little

licentiate,
that
I
can
do
it,
being,
as
I
say,
Jupiter
the
Thunderer,
who
hold
in
my

hands
the
fiery
bolts
with
which
I
am
able
and
am
wont
to
threaten
and
lay
waste

the
world?
But
in
one
way
only
will
I
punish
this
ignorant
town,
and
that
is
by
not

raining
upon
it,
nor
on
any
part
of
its
district
or
territory,
for
three
whole
years,
to

be
reckoned
from
the
day
and
moment
when
this
threat
is
pronounced.
Thou
free,

thou
cured,
thou
in
thy
senses!
and
I
mad,
I
disordered,
I
bound!
I
will
as
soon
think

of
sending
rain
as
of
hanging
myself.



"Those
present
stood
listening
to
the
words
and
exclamations
of
the
madman;
but

our
licentiate,
turning
to
the
chaplain
and
seizing
him
by
the
hands,
said
to
him,
'Be

not
uneasy,
señor;
attach
no
importance
to
what
this
madman
has
said;
for
if
he
is

Jupiter
and
will
not
send
rain,
I,
who
am
Neptune,
the
father
and
god
of
the
waters,

will
rain
as
often
as
it
pleases
me
and
may
be
needful.'



"The
governor
and
the
bystanders
laughed,
and
at
their
laughter
the
chaplain
was

half
ashamed,
and
he
replied,
'For
all
that,
Señor
Neptune,
it
will
not
do
to
vex
Señor

                                                       Don
Quixote
de
la
Mancha
        131

                                                                                           

Jupiter;
remain
where
you
are,
and
some
other
day,
when
there
is
a
better

opportunity
and
more
time,
we
will
come
back
for
you.'
So
they
stripped
the

licentiate,
and
he
was
left
where
he
was;
and
that's
the
end
of
the
story."



"So
that's
the
story,
master
barber,"
said
Don
Quixote,
"which
came
in
so
pat
to
the

purpose
that
you
could
not
help
telling
it?
Master
shaver,
master
shaver!
how
blind

is
he
who
cannot
see
through
a
sieve.
Is
it
possible
that
you
do
not
know
that

comparisons
of
wit
with
wit,
valor
with
valor,
beauty
with
beauty,
birth
with
birth,

are
always
odious
and
unwelcome?
I,
master
barber,
am
not
Neptune,
the
god
of
the

waters,
nor
do
I
try
to
make
anyone
take
me
for
an
astute
man,
for
I
am
not
one.
My

only
endeavor
is
to
convince
the
world
of
the
mistake
it
makes
in
not
reviving
in

itself
the
happy
time
when
the
order
of
knight‐errantry
was
in
the
field.
But
our

depraved
age
does
not
deserve
to
enjoy
such
a
blessing
as
those
ages
enjoyed
when

knights‐errant
took
upon
their
shoulders
the
defense
of
kingdoms,
the
protection
of

damsels,
the
succour
of
orphans
and
minors,
the
chastisement
of
the
proud,
and
the

recompense
of
the
humble.
With
the
knights
of
these
days,
for
the
most
part,
it
is
the

damask,
brocade,
and
rich
stuffs
they
wear,
that
rustle
as
they
go,
not
the
chain
mail

of
their
armor;
no
knight
now‐a‐days
sleeps
in
the
open
field
exposed
to
the

inclemency
of
heaven,
and
in
full
panoply
from
head
to
foot;
no
one
now
takes
a
nap,

as
they
call
it,
without
drawing
his
feet
out
of
the
stirrups,
and
leaning
upon
his

lance,
as
the
knights‐errant
used
to
do;
no
one
now,
issuing
from
the
wood,

penetrates
yonder
mountains,
and
then
treads
the
barren,
lonely
shore
of
the
sea
–

mostly
a
tempestuous
and
stormy
one
–
and
finding
on
the
beach
a
little
bark

without
oars,
sail,
mast,
or
tackling
of
any
kind,
in
the
intrepidity
of
his
heart
flings

himself
into
it
and
commits
himself
to
the
wrathful
billows
of
the
deep
sea,
that
one

moment
lift
him
up
to
heaven
and
the
next
plunge
him
into
the
depths;
and

opposing
his
breast
to
the
irresistible
gale,
finds
himself,
when
he
least
expects
it,

three
thousand
leagues
and
more
away
from
the
place
where
he
embarked;
and

leaping
ashore
in
a
remote
and
unknown
land
has
adventures
that
deserve
to
be

written,
not
on
parchment,
but
on
brass.
But
now
sloth
triumphs
over
energy,

indolence
over
exertion,
vice
over
virtue,
arrogance
over
courage,
and
theory
over

132
 Don
Quixote
de
la
Mancha



practice
in
arms,
which
flourished
and
shone
only
in
the
golden
ages
and
in
knights‐
errant.
For
tell
me,
who
was
more
virtuous
and
more
valiant
than
the
famous

Amadis
of
Gaul?
Who
more
discreet
than
Palmerin
of
England?
Who
more
gracious

and
easy
than
Tirante
el
Blanco?
Who
more
courtly
than
Lisuarte
of
Greece?
Who

more
slashed
or
slashing
than
Don
Belianis?
Who
more
intrepid
than
Perion
of
Gaul?

Who
more
ready
to
face
danger
than
Felixmarte
of
Hircania?
Who
more
sincere
than

Esplandian?
Who
more
impetuous
than
Don
Cirongilio
of
Thrace?
Who
more
bold

than
Rodamonte?
Who
more
prudent
than
King
Sobrino?
Who
more
daring
than

Reinaldos?
Who
more
invincible
than
Roland?
and
who
more
gallant
and
courteous

than
Ruggiero,
from
whom
the
dukes
of
Ferrara
of
the
present
day
are
descended,

according
to
Turpin
in
his
'Cosmography.'
All
these
knights,
and
many
more
that
I

could
name,
señor
curate,
were
knights‐errant,
the
light
and
glory
of
chivalry.
These,

or
such
as
these,
I
would
have
to
carry
out
my
plan,
and
in
that
case
his
Majesty

would
find
himself
well
served
and
would
save
great
expense,
and
the
Turk
would

be
left
tearing
his
beard.
And
so
I
will
stay
where
I
am,
as
the
chaplain
does
not
take

me
away;
and
if
Jupiter,
as
the
barber
has
told
us,
will
not
send
rain,
here
am
I,
and
I

will
rain
when
I
please.
I
say
this
that
Master
Basin7
may
know
that
I
understand

him."



"Indeed,
Señor
Don
Quixote,"
said
the
barber,
"I
did
not
mean
it
in
that
way,
and,
so

help
me
God,
my
intention
was
good,
and
your
worship
ought
not
to
be
vexed."



"As
to
whether
I
ought
to
be
vexed
or
not,"
returned
Don
Quixote,
"I
myself
am
the

best
judge."



Hereupon
the
curate
observed,
"I
have
hardly
said
a
word
as
yet;
and
I
would
gladly

be
relieved
of
a
doubt,
arising
from
what
Don
Quixote
has
said,
that
worries
and

works
my
conscience."





























































7
The
barber.

                                                       Don
Quixote
de
la
Mancha
133

                                                                                   

"The
señor
curate
has
leave
for
more
than
that,"
returned
Don
Quixote,
"so
he
may

declare
his
doubt,
for
it
is
not
pleasant
to
have
a
doubt
on
one's
conscience."



"Well
then,
with
that
permission,"
said
the
curate,
"I
say
my
doubt
is
that,
all
I
can

do,
I
cannot
persuade
myself
that
the
whole
pack
of
knights‐errant
you,
Señor
Don

Quixote,
have
mentioned,
were
really
and
truly
persons
of
flesh
and
blood,
that
ever

lived
in
the
world;
on
the
contrary,
I
suspect
it
to
be
all
fiction,
fable,
and
falsehood,

and
dreams
told
by
men
awakened
from
sleep,
or
rather
still
half
asleep."



"That
is
another
mistake,"
replied
Don
Quixote,
"into
which
many
have
fallen
who

do
not
believe
that
there
ever
were
such
knights
in
the
world,
and
I
have
often,
with

divers
people
and
on
divers
occasions,
tried
to
expose
this
almost
universal
error
to

the
light
of
truth.
Sometimes
I
have
not
been
successful
in
my
purpose,
sometimes
I

have,
supporting
it
upon
the
shoulders
of
the
truth;
which
truth
is
so
clear
that
I
can

almost
say
I
have
with
my
own
eyes
seen
Amadis
of
Gaul,
who
was
a
man
of
lofty

stature,
fair
complexion,
with
a
handsome
though
black
beard,
of
a
countenance

between
gentle
and
stern
in
expression,
sparing
of
words,
slow
to
anger,
and
quick

to
put
it
away
from
him;
and
as
I
have
depicted
Amadis,
so
I
could,
I
think,
portray

and
describe
all
the
knights‐errant
that
are
in
all
the
histories
in
the
world;
for
by

the
perception
I
have
that
they
were
what
their
histories
describe,
and
by
the
deeds

they
did
and
the
dispositions
they
displayed,
it
is
possible,
with
the
aid
of
sound

philosophy,
to
deduce
their
features,
complexion,
and
stature."



"How
big,
in
your
worship's
opinion,
may
the
giant
Morgante
have
been,
Señor
Don

Quixote?"
asked
the
barber.



"With
regard
to
giants,"
replied
Don
Quixote,
"opinions
differ
as
to
whether
there

ever
were
any
or
not
in
the
world;
but
the
Holy
Scripture,
which
cannot
err
by
a
jot

from
the
truth,
shows
us
that
there
were,
when
it
gives
us
the
history
of
that
big

Philistine,
Goliath,
who
was
seven
cubits
and
a
half
in
height,
which
is
a
huge
size.

Likewise,
in
the
island
of
Sicily,
there
have
been
found
leg‐bones
and
arm‐bones
so

134
 Don
Quixote
de
la
Mancha



large
that
their
size
makes
it
plain
that
their
owners
were
giants,
and
as
tall
as
great

towers;
geometry
puts
this
fact
beyond
a
doubt.
But,
for
all
that,
I
cannot
speak
with

certainty
as
to
the
size
of
Morgante,
though
I
suspect
he
cannot
have
been
very
tall;

and
I
am
inclined
to
be
of
this
opinion
because
I
find
in
the
history
in
which
his

deeds
are
particularly
mentioned,
that
he
frequently
slept
under
a
roof
and
as
he

found
houses
to
contain
him,
it
is
clear
that
his
bulk
could
not
have
been
anything

excessive."



"That
is
true,"
said
the
curate,
and
yielding
to
the
enjoyment
of
hearing
such

nonsense,
he
asked
him
what
was
his
notion
of
the
features
of
Reinaldos
of

Montalban,
and
Don
Roland
and
the
rest
of
the
Twelve
Peers
of
France,
for
they

were
all
knights‐errant.



"As
for
Reinaldos,"
replied
Don
Quixote,
"I
venture
to
say
that
he
was
broad‐faced,
of

ruddy
complexion,
with
roguish
and
somewhat
prominent
eyes,
excessively

punctilious
and
touchy,
and
given
to
the
society
of
thieves
and
scapegraces.
With

regard
to
Roland,
or
Rotolando,
or
Orlando
(for
the
histories
call
him
by
all
these

names),
I
am
of
opinion,
and
hold,
that
he
was
of
middle
height,
broad‐shouldered,

rather
bow‐legged,
swarthy‐complexioned,
red‐bearded,
with
a
hairy
body
and
a

severe
expression
of
countenance,
a
man
of
few
words,
but
very
polite
and
well‐
bred."



"If
Roland
was
not
a
more
graceful
person
than
your
worship
has
described,"
said

the
curate,
"it
is
no
wonder
that
the
fair
Lady
Angelica
rejected
him
and
left
him
for

the
gaiety,
liveliness,
and
grace
of
that
budding‐bearded
little
Moor
to
whom
she

surrendered
herself;
and
she
showed
her
sense
in
falling
in
love
with
the
gentle

softness
of
Medoro
rather
than
the
roughness
of
Roland."



"That
Angelica,
señor
curate,"
returned
Don
Quixote,
"was
a
giddy
damsel,
flighty

and
somewhat
wanton,
and
she
left
the
world
as
full
of
her
vagaries
as
of
the
fame
of

her
beauty.
She
treated
with
scorn
a
thousand
gentlemen,
men
of
valour
and

                                                      Don
Quixote
de
la
Mancha
135

                                                                                   

wisdom,
and
took
up
with
a
smooth‐faced
sprig
of
a
page,
without
fortune
or
fame,

except
such
reputation
for
gratitude
as
the
affection
he
bore
his
friend
got
for
him.

The
great
poet
who
sang
her
beauty,
the
famous
Ariosto,
not
caring
to
sing
her

adventures
after
her
contemptible
surrender
(which
probably
were
not
over
and

above
creditable),
dropped
her
where
he
says:



       How
she
received
the
scepter
of
Cathay,

       Some
bard
of
defter
quill
may
sing
someday;



and
this
was
no
doubt
a
kind
of
prophecy,
for
poets
are
also
called
vates,
that
is
to

say
diviners;
and
its
truth
was
made
plain;
for
since
then
a
famous
Andalusian
poet

has
lamented
and
sung
her
tears,
and
another
famous
and
rare
poet,
a
Castilian,
has

sung
her
beauty."



"Tell
me,
Señor
Don
Quixote,"
said
the
barber
here,
"among
all
those
who
praised

her,
has
there
been
no
poet
to
write
a
satire
on
this
Lady
Angelica?"



"I
can
well
believe,"
replied
Don
Quixote,
"that
if
Sacripante
or
Roland
had
been

poets
they
would
have
given
the
damsel
a
trimming;
for
it
is
naturally
the
way
with

poets
who
have
been
scorned
and
rejected
by
their
ladies,
whether
fictitious
or
not,

in
short
by
those
whom
they
select
as
the
ladies
of
their
thoughts,
to
avenge

themselves
in
satires
and
libels
–
a
vengeance,
to
be
sure,
unworthy
of
generous

hearts;
but
up
to
the
present
I
have
not
heard
of
any
defamatory
verse
against
the

Lady
Angelica,
who
turned
the
world
upside
down."



"Strange,"
said
the
curate;
but
at
this
moment
they
heard
the
housekeeper
and
the

niece,
who
had
previously
withdrawn
from
the
conversation,
exclaiming
aloud
in

the
courtyard,
and
at
the
noise
they
all
ran
out.





136
   Don
Quixote
de
la
Mancha





CHAPTER
II

WHICH
TREATS
OF
THE
NOTABLE
ALTERCATION
WHICH
SANCHO
PANZA
HAD

WITH
DON
QUIXOTE'S
NIECE,
AND
HOUSEKEEPER,
TOGETHER
WITH
OTHER

DROLL
MATTERS



The
history
relates
that
the
outcry
Don
Quixote,
the
curate,
and
the
barber
heard

came
from
the
niece
and
the
housekeeper
exclaiming
to
Sancho,
who
was
striving
to

force
his
way
in
to
see
Don
Quixote
while
they
held
the
door
against
him,
"What

does
the
vagabond
want
in
this
house?
Be
off
to
your
own,
brother,
for
it
is
you,
and

no
one
else,
that
delude
my
master,
and
lead
him
astray,
and
take
him
tramping

about
the
country."



To
which
Sancho
replied,
"Devil's
own
housekeeper!
it
is
I
who
am
deluded,
and
led

astray,
and
taken
tramping
about
the
country,
and
not
thy
master!

He
has
carried

me
all
over
the
world,
and
you
are
mightily
mistaken.
He
enticed
me
away
from

home
by
a
trick,
promising
me
an
island,
which
I
am
still
waiting
for."



"May
evil
islands
choke
thee,
thou
detestable
Sancho,"
said
the
niece;
"What
are

islands?
Is
it
something
to
eat,
glutton
and
gormandiser
that
thou
art?"



"It
is
not
something
to
eat,"
replied
Sancho,
"but
something
to
govern
and
rule,
and

better
than
four
cities
or
four
judgeships
at
court."



"For
all
that,"
said
the
housekeeper,
"you
don't
enter
here,
you
bag
of
mischief
and

sack
of
knavery;
go
govern
your
house
and
dig
your
seed‐patch,
and
give
over

looking
for
islands
or
shylands."



The
curate
and
the
barber
listened
with
great
amusement
to
the
words
of
the
three;

but
Don
Quixote,
uneasy
lest
Sancho
should
blab
and
blurt
out
a
whole
heap
of

mischievous
stupidities,
and
touch
upon
points
that
might
not
be
altogether
to
his

                                                      Don
Quixote
de
la
Mancha
 137

                                                                                      

credit,
called
to
him
and
made
the
other
two
hold
their
tongues
and
let
him
come
in.

Sancho
entered,
and
the
curate
and
the
barber
took
their
leave
of
Don
Quixote,
of

whose
recovery
they
despaired
when
they
saw
how
wedded
he
was
to
his
crazy

ideas,
and
how
saturated
with
the
nonsense
of
his
unlucky
chivalry;
and
said
the

curate
to
the
barber,
"You
will
see,
gossip,
that
when
we
are
least
thinking
of
it,
our

gentleman
will
be
off
once
more
for
another
flight."



"I
have
no
doubt
of
it,"
returned
the
barber;
"but
I
do
not
wonder
so
much
at
the

madness
of
the
knight
as
at
the
simplicity
of
the
squire,
who
has
such
a
firm
belief
in

all
that
about
the
island,
that
I
suppose
all
the
exposures
that
could
be
imagined

would
not
get
it
out
of
his
head."



"God
help
them,"
said
the
curate;
"and
let
us
be
on
the
look‐out
to
see
what
comes
of

all
these
absurdities
of
the
knight
and
squire,
for
it
seems
as
if
they
had
both
been

cast
in
the
same
mould,
and
the
madness
of
the
master
without
the
simplicity
of
the

man
would
not
be
worth
a
farthing."



"That
is
true,"
said
the
barber,
"and
I
should
like
very
much
to
know
what
the
pair

are
talking
about
at
this
moment."



"I
promise
you,"
said
the
curate,
"the
niece
or
the
housekeeper
will
tell
us
by‐and‐by,

for
they
are
not
the
ones
to
forget
to
listen."



Meanwhile
Don
Quixote
shut
himself
up
in
his
room
with
Sancho,
and
when
they

were
alone
he
said
to
him,
"It
grieves
me
greatly,
Sancho,
that
thou
shouldst
have

said,
and
sayest,
that
I
took
thee
out
of
thy
cottage,
when
thou
knowest
I
did
not

remain
in
my
house.
We
sallied
forth
together,
we
took
the
road
together,
we

wandered
abroad
together;
we
have
had
the
same
fortune
and
the
same
luck;
if
they

blanketed
thee
once,
they
belabored
me
a
hundred
times,
and
that
is
the
only

advantage
I
have
of
thee."



138
 Don
Quixote
de
la
Mancha



"That
was
only
reasonable,"
replied
Sancho,
"for,
by
what
your
worship
says,

misfortunes
belong
more
properly
to
knights‐errant
than
to
their
squires."



"Thou
art
mistaken,
Sancho,"
said
Don
Quixote,
"according
to
the
maxim
quando

caput
dolet,
etc."8



"I
don't
understand
any
language
but
my
own,"
said
Sancho.




"I
mean
to
say,"
said
Don
Quixote,
"that
when
the
head
suffers
all
the
members

suffer;
and
so,
being
thy
lord
and
master,
I
am
thy
head,
and
thou
a
part
of
me
as

thou
art
my
servant;
and
therefore
any
evil
that
affects
or
shall
affect
me
should
give

thee
pain,
and
what
affects
thee
give
pain
to
me."



"It
should
be
so,"
said
Sancho;
"but
when
I
was
blanketed
as
a
member,
my
head
was

on
the
other
side
of
the
wall,
looking
on
while
I
was
flying
through
the
air,
and
did

not
feel
any
pain
whatever;
and
if
the
members
are
obliged
to
feel
the
suffering
of

the
head,
it
should
be
obliged
to
feel
their
sufferings."



"Dost
thou
mean
to
say
now,
Sancho,"
said
Don
Quixote,
"that
I
did
not
feel
when

they
were
blanketing
thee?
If
thou
dost,
thou
must
not
say
so
or
think
so,
for
I
felt

more
pain
then
in
spirit
than
thou
didst
in
body.
But
let
us
put
that
aside
for
the

present,
for
we
shall
have
opportunities
enough
for
considering
and
settling
the

point;
tell
me,
Sancho
my
friend,
what
do
they
say
about
me
in
the
village
here?

What
do
the
common
people
think
of
me?
What
do
the
hidalgos?
What
do
the

caballeros?
What
do
they
say
of
my
valor;
of
my
achievements;
of
my
courtesy?
How

do
they
treat
the
task
I
have
undertaken
in
reviving
and
restoring
to
the
world
the

now
forgotten
order
of
chivalry?
In
short,
Sancho,
I
would
have
thee
tell
me
all
that

has
come
to
thine
ears
on
this
subject;
and
thou
art
to
tell
me,
without
adding

anything
to
the
good
or
taking
away
anything
from
the
bad;
for
it
is
the
duty
of
loyal



























































8
“When
the
head
aches,”
the
saying
goes,
“the
body
languishes.”

                                                        Don
Quixote
de
la
Mancha
      139

                                                                                          

vassals
to
tell
the
truth
to
their
lords
just
as
it
is
and
in
its
proper
shape,
not

allowing
flattery
to
add
to
it
or
any
idle
deference
to
lessen
it.
And
I
would
have
thee

know,
Sancho,
that
if
the
naked
truth,
undisguised
by
flattery,
came
to
the
ears
of

princes,
times
would
be
different,
and
other
ages
would
be
reckoned
iron
ages
more

than
ours,
which
I
hold
to
be
the
golden
of
these
latter
days.
Profit
by
this
advice,

Sancho,
and
report
to
me
clearly
and
faithfully
the
truth
of
what
thou
knowest

touching
what
I
have
demanded
of
thee."



"That
I
will
do
with
all
my
heart,
master,"
replied
Sancho,
"provided
your
worship

will
not
be
vexed
at
what
I
say,
as
you
wish
me
to
say
it
out
in
all
its
nakedness,

without
putting
any
more
clothes
on
it
than
it
came
to
my
knowledge
in."



"I
will
not
be
vexed
at
all,"
returned
Don
Quixote;
"thou
mayest
speak
freely,
Sancho,

and
without
any
beating
about
the
bush."



"Well
then,"
said
he,
"first
of
all,
I
have
to
tell
you
that
the
common
people
consider

your
worship
a
mighty
great
madman,
and
me
no
less
a
fool.
The
hidalgos
say
that,

not
keeping
within
the
bounds
of
your
quality
of
gentleman,
you
have
assumed
the

'Don,'
and
made
a
knight
of
yourself
at
a
jump,
with
four
vine‐stocks
and
a
couple
of

acres
of
land,
and
never
a
shirt
to
your
back.
The
caballeros
say
they
do
not
want
to

have
hidalgos
setting
up
in
opposition
to
them,
particularly
squire
hidalgos
who

polish
their
own
shoes
and
darn
their
black
stockings
with
green
silk."



"That,"
said
Don
Quixote,
"does
not
apply
to
me,
for
I
always
go
well
dressed
and

never
patched;
ragged
I
may
be,
but
ragged
more
from
the
wear
and
tear
of
arms

than
of
time."



"As
to
your
worship's
valor,
courtesy,
accomplishments,
and
task,
there
is
a
variety

of
opinions.
Some
say,
'mad
but
droll;'
others,
'valiant
but
unlucky;'
others,

'courteous
but
meddling,'
and
then
they
go
into
such
a
number
of
things
that
they

don't
leave
a
whole
bone
either
in
your
worship
or
in
myself."

140
     Don
Quixote
de
la
Mancha





"Recollect,
Sancho,"
said
Don
Quixote,
"that
wherever
virtue
exists
in
an
eminent

degree
it
is
persecuted.
Few
or
none
of
the
famous
men
that
have
lived
escaped

being
calumniated
by
malice.
Julius
Caesar,
the
boldest,
wisest,
and
bravest
of

captains,
was
charged
with
being
ambitious,
and
not
particularly
cleanly
in
his

dress,
or
pure
in
his
morals.
Of
Alexander,
whose
deeds
won
him
the
name
of
Great,

they
say
that
he
was
somewhat
of
a
drunkard.
Of
Hercules,
him
of
the
many
labors,
it

is
said
that
he
was
lewd
and
luxurious.
Of
Don
Galaor,
the
brother
of
Amadis
of
Gaul,

it
was
whispered
that
he
was
over
quarrelsome,
and
of
his
brother
that
he
was

lachrymose.
So
that,
Sancho,
amongst
all
these
calumnies
against
good
men,
mine

may
be
let
pass,
since
they
are
no
more
than
thou
hast
said."



"That's
just
where
it
is,
body
of
my
father!"



"Is
there
more,
then?"
asked
Don
Quixote.



"There's
the
tail
to
be
skinned
yet,"
said
Sancho;
"all
so
far
is
cakes
and
fancy
bread;

but
if
your
worship
wants
to
know
all
about
the
calumnies
they
bring
against
you,
I

will
fetch
you
one
this
instant
who
can
tell
you
the
whole
of
them
without
missing

an
atom;
for
last
night
the
son
of
Bartholomew
Carrasco,
who
has
been
studying
at

Salamanca,
came
home
after
having
been
made
a
bachelor9,
and
when
I
went
to

welcome
him,
he
told
me
that
your
worship's
history
is
already
abroad
in
books,

with
the
title
of
the
Ingenious
Gentleman
Don
Quixote
of
La
Mancha;
and
he
says
they

mention
me
in
it
by
my
own
name
of
Sancho
Panza,
and
the
lady
Dulcinea
del

Toboso
too,
and
divers
things
that
happened
to
us
when
we
were
alone;
so
that
I

crossed
myself
in
my
wonder
how
the
historian
who
wrote
them
down
could
have

known
them."































































9
Having
been
granted
a
Bachelor’s
degree.

                                                                                  141

                                                           Don
Quixote
de
la
Mancha

                                                                                     

"I
promise
thee,
Sancho,"
said
Don
Quixote,
"the
author
of
our
history
will
be
some

sage
enchanter;
for
to
such,
nothing
that
they
choose
to
write
about
is
hidden."



"What!"
said
Sancho,
"a
sage
and
an
enchanter!
Why,
the
bachelor
Sanson
Carrasco

(that
is
the
name
of
him
I
spoke
of)
says
the
author
of
the
history
is
called
Cide

Hamete
Berengena."



"That
is
a
Moorish
name,"
said
Don
Quixote.



"May
be
so,"
replied
Sancho;
"for
I
have
heard
say
that
the
Moors
are
mostly
great

lovers
of
berengenas."10



"Thou
must
have
mistaken
the
surname
of
this
'Cide'
–
which
means
in
Arabic
'Lord'

–
Sancho,"
observed
Don
Quixote.



"Very
likely,"
replied
Sancho,
"but
if
your
worship
wishes
me
to
fetch
the
bachelor
I

will
go
for
him
in
a
twinkling."



"Thou
wilt
do
me
a
great
pleasure,
my
friend,"
said
Don
Quixote,
"for
what
thou
hast

told
me
has
amazed
me,
and
I
shall
not
eat
a
morsel
that
will
agree
with
me
until
I

have
heard
all
about
it."



"Then
I
am
off
for
him,"
said
Sancho;
and
leaving
his
master
he
went
in
quest
of
the

bachelor,
with
whom
he
returned
in
a
short
time,
and,
all
three
together,
they
had
a

very
droll
colloquy.



































































10
Another
name
for
eggplant.

142
   Don
Quixote
de
la
Mancha





CHAPTER
III

OF
THE
LAUGHABLE
CONVERSATION
THAT
PASSED
BETWEEN
DON
QUIXOTE,

SANCHO
PANZA,
AND
THE
BACHELOR
SANSON
CARRASCO



Don
Quixote
remained
very
deep
in
thought,
waiting
for
the
bachelor
Carrasco,
from

whom
he
was
to
hear
how
he
himself
had
been
put
into
a
book
as
Sancho
said;
and

he
could
not
persuade
himself
that
any
such
history
could
be
in
existence,
for
the

blood
of
the
enemies
he
had
slain
was
not
yet
dry
on
the
blade
of
his
sword,
and

now
they
wanted
to
make
out
that
his
mighty
achievements
were
going
about
in

print.
For
all
that,
he
fancied
some
sage,
either
a
friend
or
an
enemy,
might,
by
the

aid
of
magic,
have
given
them
to
the
press;
if
a
friend,
in
order
to
magnify
and
exalt

them
above
the
most
famous
ever
achieved
by
any
knight‐errant;
if
an
enemy,
to

bring
them
to
naught
and
degrade
them
below
the
meanest
ever
recorded
of
any

low
squire,
though
as
he
said
to
himself,
the
achievements
of
squires
never
were

recorded.
If,
however,
it
were
the
fact
that
such
a
history
were
in
existence,
it
must

necessarily,
being
the
story
of
a
knight‐errant,
be
grandiloquent,
lofty,
imposing,

grand
and
true.
With
this
he
comforted
himself
somewhat,
though
it
made
him

uncomfortable
to
think
that
the
author
was
a
Moor,
judging
by
the
title
of
"Cide;"

and
that
no
truth
was
to
be
looked
for
from
Moors,
as
they
are
all
impostors,
cheats,

and
schemers.
He
was
afraid
he
might
have
dealt
with
his
love
affairs
in
some

indecorous
fashion,
that
might
tend
to
the
discredit
and
prejudice
of
the
purity
of
his

lady
Dulcinea
del
Toboso;
he
would
have
had
him
set
forth
the
fidelity
and
respect

he
had
always
observed
towards
her,
spurning
queens,
empresses,
and
damsels
of

all
sorts,
and
keeping
in
check
the
impetuosity
of
his
natural
impulses.
Absorbed
and

wrapped
up
in
these
and
divers
other
cogitations,
he
was
found
by
Sancho
and

Carrasco,
whom
Don
Quixote
received
with
great
courtesy.



The
bachelor,
though
he
was
called
Sanson,
was
of
no
great
bodily
size,
but
he
was
a

very
great
wag;
he
was
of
a
sallow
complexion,
but
very
sharp‐witted,
somewhere

about
four‐and‐twenty
years
of
age,
with
a
round
face,
a
flat
nose,
and
a
large
mouth,

                                                           Don
Quixote
de
la
Mancha
143

                                                                                        

all
indications
of
a
mischievous
disposition
and
a
love
of
fun
and
jokes;
and
of
this
he

gave
a
sample
as
soon
as
he
saw
Don
Quixote,
by
falling
on
his
knees
before
him
and

saying,
"Let
me
kiss
your
mightiness's
hand,
Señor
Don
Quixote
of
La
Mancha,
for,
by

the
habit
of
St.
Peter
that
I
wear11,
though
I
have
no
more
than
the
first
four
orders,

your
worship
is
one
of
the
most
famous
knights‐errant
that
have
ever
been,
or
will

be,
all
the
world
over.
A
blessing
on
Cide
Hamete
Benengeli,
who
has
written
the

history
of
your
great
deeds,
and
a
double
blessing
on
that
connoisseur
who
took
the

trouble
of
having
it
translated
out
of
the
Arabic
into
our
Castilian
vulgar
tongue
for

the
universal
entertainment
of
the
people!"



Don
Quixote
made
him
rise,
and
said,
"So,
then,
it
is
true
that
there
is
a
history
of
me,

and
that
it
was
a
Moor
and
a
sage
who
wrote
it?"



"So
true
is
it,
señor,"
said
Sanson,
"that
my
belief
is
there
are
more
than
twelve

thousand
volumes
of
the
said
history
in
print
this
very
day.
Only
ask
Portugal,

Barcelona,
and
Valencia,
where
they
have
been
printed,
and
moreover
there
is
a

report
that
it
is
being
printed
at
Antwerp,
and
I
am
persuaded
there
will
not
be
a

country
or
language
in
which
there
will
not
be
a
translation
of
it."



"One
of
the
things,"
here
observed
Don
Quixote,
"that
ought
to
give
most
pleasure
to

a
virtuous
and
eminent
man
is
to
find
himself
in
his
lifetime
in
print
and
in
type,

familiar
in
people's
mouths
with
a
good
name;
I
say
with
a
good
name,
for
if
it
be
the

opposite,
then
there
is
no
death
to
be
compared
to
it."



"If
it
goes
by
good
name
and
fame,"
said
the
bachelor,
"your
worship
alone
bears

away
the
palm
from
all
the
knights‐errant;
for
the
Moor
in
his
own
language,
and
the

Christian
in
his,
have
taken
care
to
set
before
us
your
gallantry,
your
high
courage
in

encountering
dangers,
your
fortitude
in
adversity,
your
patience
under
misfortunes





























































11
The
dress
of
one
of
the
minor
clerical
orders.

144
 Don
Quixote
de
la
Mancha



as
well
as
wounds,
the
purity
and
continence
of
the
platonic
loves
of
your
worship

and
my
lady
Doña
Dulcinea
del
Toboso
–
"



"I
never
heard
my
lady
Dulcinea
called
Doña,"
observed
Sancho
here;
"nothing
more

than
the
lady
Dulcinea
del
Toboso;
so
here
already
the
history
is
wrong."



"That
is
not
an
objection
of
any
importance,"
replied
Carrasco.



"Certainly
not,"
said
Don
Quixote;
"but
tell
me,
señor
bachelor,
what
deeds
of
mine

are
they
that
are
made
most
of
in
this
history?"



"On
that
point,"
replied
the
bachelor,
"opinions
differ,
as
tastes
do;
some
swear
by

the
adventure
of
the
windmills
that
your
worship
took
to
be
Briareuses
and
giants;

others
by
that
of
the
fulling
mills;
one
cries
up
the
description
of
the
two
armies
that

afterwards
took
the
appearance
of
two
droves
of
sheep;
another
that
of
the
dead

body
on
its
way
to
be
buried
at
Segovia;
a
third
says
the
liberation
of
the
galley

slaves
is
the
best
of
all,
and
a
fourth
that
nothing
comes
up
to
the
affair
with
the

Benedictine
giants,
and
the
battle
with
the
valiant
Biscayan."



"Tell
me,
señor
bachelor,"
said
Sancho
at
this
point,
"does
the
adventure
with
the

Yanguesans
come
in,
when
our
good
Rocinante
went
hankering
after
dainties?"12



"The
sage
has
left
nothing
in
the
ink‐bottle,"
replied
Sanson;
"he
tells
all
and
sets

down
everything,
even
to
the
capers
that
worthy
Sancho
cut
in
the
blanket."13


























































12
Yanguesans
–
inhabitants
of
the
small
town
of
Yanguas,
in
the
province
of
Soria;


they
were
pasturing
a
herd
of
mares
that
caught
the
eye
of
Rosinante;
when
he
tried

to
approach
them
with
amorous
intent,
the
Yanguensans
beat,
him
first,
and
then


Quixote
and
Sancho
when
they
tried
to
come
to
his
rescue.

13
Sancho
and
Quixote
stayed
the
night
at
an
inn,
which
Quixote,
of
course,
took
for
a


castle.
The
following
morning,
the
innkeeper
demanded
payment,
explaining
that

this
was,
in
fact,
an
inn.

Quixote,
citing
chivalric
tradition,
refused
to
pay
and
rode

off,
leaving
Sancho
at
the
mercy
of
four
Segovian
wool
carders,
who,
as
punishment

and
amusement,
tossed
him
in
a
blanket,
while
Quixote,
now
unable
to
rescue
him,

                                                                                                   Don
Quixote
de
la
Mancha
                                 145

                                                                                                                                                                



"I
cut
no
capers
in
the
blanket,"
returned
Sancho;
"in
the
air
I
did,
and
more
of
them

than
I
liked."



"There
is
no
human
history
in
the
world,
I
suppose,"
said
Don
Quixote,
"that
has
not

its
ups
and
downs,
but
more
than
others
such
as
deal
with
chivalry,
for
they
can

never
be
entirely
made
up
of
prosperous
adventures."



"For
all
that,"
replied
the
bachelor,
"there
are
those
who
have
read
the
history
who

say
they
would
have
been
glad
if
the
author
had
left
out
some
of
the
countless

cudgellings
that
were
inflicted
on
Señor
Don
Quixote
in
various
encounters."



"That's
where
the
truth
of
the
history
comes
in,"
said
Sancho.



"At
the
same
time
they
might
fairly
have
passed
them
over
in
silence,"
observed
Don

Quixote;
"for
there
is
no
need
of
recording
events
which
do
not
change
or
affect
the

truth
of
a
history,
if
they
tend
to
bring
the
hero
of
it
into
contempt.
Aeneas
was
not

in
truth
and
earnest
so
pious
as
Virgil
represents
him,
nor
Ulysses
so
wise
as
Homer

describes
him."



"That
is
true,"
said
Sanson;
"but
it
is
one
thing
to
write
as
a
poet,
another
to
write
as

a
historian;
the
poet
may
describe
or
sing
things,
not
as
they
were,
but
as
they
ought

to
have
been;
but
the
historian
has
to
write
them
down,
not
as
they
ought
to
have

been,
but
as
they
were,
without
adding
anything
to
the
truth
or
taking
anything
from

it."



"Well
then,"
said
Sancho,
"if
this
señor
Moor
goes
in
for
telling
the
truth,
no
doubt

among
my
master's
drubbings
mine
are
to
be
found;
for
they
never
took
the

measure
of
his
worship's
shoulders
without
doing
the
same
for
my
whole
body;
but







































































































































































was
left
with
no
recourse
but
to
yell
“malidictions
and
obdurations”
at
them
until

they
finally
let
Sancho
go.

146
 Don
Quixote
de
la
Mancha



I
have
no
right
to
wonder
at
that,
for,
as
my
master
himself
says,
the
members
must

share
the
pain
of
the
head."



"You
are
a
sly
dog,
Sancho,"
said
Don
Quixote;
"i'
faith,
you
have
no
want
of
memory

when
you
choose
to
remember."



"If
I
were
to
try
to
forget
the
thwacks
they
gave
me,"
said
Sancho,
"my
welts
would

not
let
me,
for
they
are
still
fresh
on
my
ribs."



"Hush,
Sancho,"
said
Don
Quixote,
"and
don't
interrupt
the
bachelor,
whom
I
entreat

to
go
on
and
tell
all
that
is
said
about
me
in
this
history."



"And
about
me,"
said
Sancho,
"for
they
say,
too,
that
I
am
one
of
the
principal

presonages
in
it."



"Personages,
not
presonages,
friend
Sancho,"
said
Sanson.



"What!
Another
word‐catcher!"
said
Sancho;
"if
that's
to
be
the
way
we
shall
not

make
an
end
in
a
lifetime."



"May
God
shorten
mine,
Sancho,"
returned
the
bachelor,
"if
you
are
not
the
second

person
in
the
history,
and
there
are
even
some
who
would
rather
hear
you
talk
than

the
cleverest
in
the
whole
book;
though
there
are
some,
too,
who
say
you
showed

yourself
over‐credulous
in
believing
there
was
any
possibility
in
the
government
of

that
island
offered
you
by
Señor
Don
Quixote."



"There
is
still
sunshine
on
the
wall,"
said
Don
Quixote;
"and
when
Sancho
is

somewhat
more
advanced
in
life,
with
the
experience
that
years
bring,
he
will
be

fitter
and
better
qualified
for
being
a
governor
than
he
is
at
present."



                                                       Don
Quixote
de
la
Mancha
   147

                                                                                       

"By
God,
master,"
said
Sancho,
"the
island
that
I
cannot
govern
with
the
years
I
have,

I'll
not
be
able
to
govern
with
the
years
of
Methuselah;
the
difficulty
is
that
the
said

island
keeps
its
distance
somewhere,
I
know
not
where;
and
not
that
there
is
any

want
of
head
in
me
to
govern
it."



"Leave
it
to
God,
Sancho,"
said
Don
Quixote,
"for
all
will
be
and
perhaps
better
than

you
think;
no
leaf
on
the
tree
stirs
but
by
God's
will."



"That
is
true,"
said
Sanson;
"and
if
it
be
God's
will,
there
will
not
be
any
want
of
a

thousand
islands,
much
less
one,
for
Sancho
to
govern."



"I
have
seen
governors
in
these
parts,"
said
Sancho,
"that
are
not
to
be
compared
to

my
shoe‐sole;
and
for
all
that
they
are
called
'your
lordship'
and
served
on
silver."



"Those
are
not
governors
of
islands,"
observed
Sanson,
"but
of
other
governments
of

an
easier
kind:
those
that
govern
islands
must
at
least
know
grammar."



"I
could
manage
the
gram
well
enough,"
said
Sancho;
"but
for
the
mar
I
have
neither

leaning
nor
liking,
for
I
don't
know
what
it
is;
but
leaving
this
matter
of
the

government
in
God's
hands,
to
send
me
wherever
it
may
be
most
to
his
service,
I

may
tell
you,
señor
bachelor
Sanson
Carrasco,
it
has
pleased
me
beyond
measure

that
the
author
of
this
history
should
have
spoken
of
me
in
such
a
way
that
what
is

said
of
me
gives
no
offence;
for,
on
the
faith
of
a
true
squire,
if
he
had
said
anything

about
me
that
was
at
all
unbecoming
an
old
Christian,
such
as
I
am,
the
deaf
would

have
heard
of
it."



"That
would
be
working
miracles,"
said
Sanson.



"Miracles
or
no
miracles,"
said
Sancho,
"let
everyone
mind
how
he
speaks
or
writes

about
people,
and
not
set
down
at
random
the
first
thing
that
comes
into
his
head."



148
 Don
Quixote
de
la
Mancha



"One
of
the
faults
they
find
with
this
history,"
said
the
bachelor,
"is
that
its
author

inserted
in
it
a
novel
called
'The
Ill‐advised
Curiosity;'14
not
that
it
is
bad
or
ill‐told,

but
that
it
is
out
of
place
and
has
nothing
to
do
with
the
history
of
his
worship
Señor

Don
Quixote."



"I
will
bet
the
son
of
a
dog
has
mixed
the
cabbages
and
the
baskets,"15
said
Sancho.



"Then,
I
say,"
said
Don
Quixote,
"the
author
of
my
history
was
no
sage,
but
some

ignorant
chatterer,
who,
in
a
haphazard
and
heedless
way,
set
about
writing
it,
let
it

turn
out
as
it
might,
just
as
Orbaneja,16
the
painter
of
Ubeda,
used
to
do,
who,
when

they
asked
him
what
he
was
painting,
answered,
'What
it
may
turn
out.'
Sometimes

he
would
paint
a
cock
in
such
a
fashion,
and
so
unlike,
that
he
had
to
write
alongside

of
it
in
Gothic
letters,
'This
is
a
cock;
and
so
it
will
be
with
my
history,
which
will

require
a
commentary
to
make
it
intelligible."



"No
fear
of
that,"
returned
Sanson,
"for
it
is
so
plain
that
there
is
nothing
in
it
to

puzzle
over;
the
children
turn
its
leaves,
the
young
people
read
it,
the
grown
men

understand
it,
the
old
folk
praise
it;
in
a
word,
it
is
so
thumbed,
and
read,
and
got
by

heart
by
people
of
all
sorts,
that
the
instant
they
see
any
lean
hack,
they
say,
'There

goes
Rocinante.'
And
those
that
are
most
given
to
reading
it
are
the
pages,
for
there

is
not
a
lord's
ante‐chamber
where
there
is
not
a
'Don
Quixote'
to
be
found;
one

takes
it
up
if
another
lays
it
down;
this
one
pounces
upon
it,
and
that
begs
for
it.
In

short,
the
said
history
is
the
most
delightful
and
least
injurious
entertainment
that

has
been
hitherto
seen,
for
there
is
not
to
be
found
in
the
whole
of
it
even
the

semblance
of
an
immodest
word,
or
a
thought
that
is
other
than
Catholic."































































14
This
story,
a
tragic
tale
of
a
jealous
husband,
occupies
several
chapters
of
Part
I.



Here
Cervantes
echoes
criticism
currently
aimed
at
his
book.

15
Jumbled
together
things
of
different
kinds.

16
This
painter
is
unknown
except
for
this
allusion
in
Don
Quixote.

                                                           Don
Quixote
de
la
Mancha
   149

                                                                                          

"To
write
in
any
other
way,"
said
Don
Quixote,
"would
not
be
to
write
truth,
but

falsehood,
and
historians
who
have
recourse
to
falsehood
ought
to
be
burned,
like

those
who
coin
false
money;
and
I
know
not
what
could
have
led
the
author
to
have

recourse
to
novels
and
irrelevant
stories,
when
he
had
so
much
to
write
about
in

mine;
no
doubt
he
must
have
gone
by
the
proverb
'with
straw
or
with
hay,17
etc,'
for

by
merely
setting
forth
my
thoughts,
my
sighs,
my
tears,
my
lofty
purposes,
my

enterprises,
he
might
have
made
a
volume
as
large,
or
larger
than
all
the
works
of
El

Tostado
would
make
up.
In
fact,
the
conclusion
I
arrive
at,
señor
bachelor,
is,
that
to

write
histories,
or
books
of
any
kind,
there
is
need
of
great
judgment
and
a
ripe

understanding.
To
give
expression
to
humor,
and
write
in
a
strain
of
graceful

pleasantry,
is
the
gift
of
great
geniuses.
The
cleverest
character
in
comedy
is
the

clown,
for
he
who
would
make
people
take
him
for
a
fool,
must
not
be
one.
History
is

in
a
measure
a
sacred
thing,
for
it
should
be
true,
and
where
the
truth
is,
there
God

is;
but
notwithstanding
this,
there
are
some
who
write
and
fling
books
broadcast
on

the
world
as
if
they
were
fritters."



"There
is
no
book
so
bad
but
it
has
something
good
in
it,"
said
the
bachelor.



"No
doubt
of
that,"
replied
Don
Quixote;
"but
it
often
happens
that
those
who
have

acquired
and
attained
a
well‐deserved
reputation
by
their
writings,
lose
it
entirely,

or
damage
it
in
some
degree,
when
they
give
them
to
the
press."



"The
reason
of
that,"
said
Sanson,
"is,
that
as
printed
works
are
examined
leisurely,

their
faults
are
easily
seen;
and
the
greater
the
fame
of
the
writer,
the
more
closely

are
they
scrutinized.
Men
famous
for
their
genius,
great
poets,
illustrious
historians,

are
always,
or
most
commonly,
envied
by
those
who
take
a
particular
delight
and

pleasure
in
criticizing
the
writings
of
others,
without
having
produced
any
of
their

own."





























































17
The
proverb
concludes:
“the
mattress
is
filled.”

150
 Don
Quixote
de
la
Mancha



"That
is
no
wonder,"
said
Don
Quixote;
"for
there
are
many
divines
who
are
no
good

for
the
pulpit,
but
excellent
in
detecting
the
defects
or
excesses
of
those
who

preach."



"All
that
is
true,
Señor
Don
Quixote,"
said
Carrasco;
"but
I
wish
such
fault‐finders

were
more
lenient
and
less
exacting,
and
did
not
pay
so
much
attention
to
the
spots

on
the
bright
sun
of
the
work
they
grumble
at;
for
if
aliquando
bonus
dormitat

Homerus,18
they
should
remember
how
long
he
remained
awake
to
shed
the
light
of

his
work
with
as
little
shade
as
possible;
and
perhaps
it
may
be
that
what
they
find

fault
with
may
be
moles,
that
sometimes
heighten
the
beauty
of
the
face
that
bears

them;
and
so
I
say
very
great
is
the
risk
to
which
he
who
prints
a
book
exposes

himself,
for
of
all
impossibilities
the
greatest
is
to
write
one
that
will
satisfy
and

please
all
readers."



"That
which
treats
of
me
must
have
pleased
few,"
said
Don
Quixote.



"Quite
the
contrary,"
said
the
bachelor;
"for,
as
stultorum
infinitum
est
numerus,19

innumerable
are
those
who
have
relished
the
said
history;
but
some
have
brought
a

charge
against
the
author's
memory,
inasmuch
as
he
forgot
to
say
who
the
thief
was

who
stole
Sancho's
Dapple;
for
it
is
not
stated
there,
but
only
to
be
inferred
from

what
is
set
down,
that
he
was
stolen,
and
a
little
farther
on
we
see
Sancho
mounted

on
the
same
ass,
without
any
reappearance
of
it.
They
say,
too,
that
he
forgot
to
state

what
Sancho
did
with
those
hundred
crowns
that
he
found
in
the
valise
in
the
Sierra

Morena,
as
he
never
alludes
to
them
again,
and
there
are
many
who
would
be
glad
to

know
what
he
did
with
them,
or
what
he
spent
them
on,
for
it
is
one
of
the
serious

omissions
of
the
work."



"Señor
Sanson,
I
am
not
in
a
humor
now
for
going
into
accounts
or
explanations,"

said
Sancho;
"for
there's
a
sinking
of
the
stomach
come
over
me,
and
unless
I
doctor


























































18
“Even
good
Homer
sometimes
nods
off.”

19
“Infinite
is
the
number
of
fools.”
(Ecclesiastes
1:15)

                                                           Don
Quixote
de
la
Mancha
   151

                                                                                            

it
with
a
couple
of
sups
of
the
old
stuff,
it
will
put
me
on
the
thorn
of
Santa
Lucia.20
I



have
it
at
home,
and
my
old
woman
is
waiting
for
me;
after
dinner
I'll
come
back,

and
will
answer
you
and
all
the
world
every
question
you
may
choose
to
ask,
as
well

about
the
loss
of
the
ass
as
about
the
spending
of
the
hundred
crowns;"
and
without

another
word
or
waiting
for
a
reply
he
made
off
home.



Don
Quixote
begged
and
entreated
the
bachelor
to
stay
and
do
penance
with
him.

The
bachelor
accepted
the
invitation
and
remained,
a
couple
of
young
pigeons
were

added
to
the
ordinary
fare,
at
dinner
they
talked
chivalry,
Carrasco
fell
in
with
his

host's
humor,
the
banquet
came
to
an
end,
they
took
their
afternoon
sleep,
Sancho

returned,
and
their
conversation
was
resumed.
































































20
It
will
make
me
weak
and
exhausted.

152
         Don
Quixote
de
la
Mancha





CHAPTER
XII

OF
THE
STRANGE
ADVENTURE
WHICH
BEFELL
THE
VALIANT
DON
QUIXOTE

WITH
THE
BOLD
KNIGHT
OF
THE
MIRRORS21



The
night
succeeding
the
day
of
the
encounter
with
Death,
Don
Quixote
and
his

squire
passed
under
some
tall
shady
trees22,
and
Don
Quixote
at
Sancho's

persuasion
ate
a
little
from
the
store
carried
by
the
Dapple,
and
over
their
supper

Sancho
said
to
his
master,
"Señor,
what
a
fool
I
should
have
looked
if
I
had
chosen

for
my
reward
the
spoils
of
the
first
adventure
your
worship
achieved,
instead
of
the

foals
of
the
three
mares.
After
all,
'a
sparrow
in
the
hand
is
better
than
a
vulture
on

the
wing.'"23



"At
the
same
time,
Sancho,"
replied
Don
Quixote,
"if
thou
hadst
let
me
attack
them
as

I
wanted,
at
the
very
least
the
emperor's
gold
crown
and
Cupid's
painted
wings

would
have
fallen
to
thee
as
spoils,
for
I
should
have
taken
them
by
force
and
given

them
into
thy
hands."24



"The
scepters
and
crowns
of
those
play‐actor
emperors,"
said
Sancho,
"were
never

yet
pure
gold,
but
only
brass
foil
or
tin."






























































21
He
will
earn
this
title
in
Chapter
15;
meanwhile
he
is
referred
to
as
the
Knight
of


the
Wood.

22
Quixote
and
Sancho
are
not
in
the
wooded
area
around
El
Toboso,
where
Dulcinea


lives.

Sancho
was
sent
to
look
for
her
and
has
saved
the
day
by
pretending
to
see

the
beautiful
damsel
in
a
“village
wench.”

But
by
his
imaginative
lie
he
has
triggered

Quixote’s
beliefs
in
magic
spells
and
enemy
sorcerers,
who,
envious
of
him,
have

hidden
his
lady’s
beauty
only
from
him.

While
still
reeling
from
this
“insight,”
the

two
then
met
a
group
of
itinerant
players
dressed
in
costumes
for
a
religious
play,

The
Parliament
of
Death.

23
A
reward
for
bringing
Quixote
news
of
Dulcinea;
the
proverb
corresponds,
more


or
less,
to
“a
bird
in
the
hand
is
worth
two
in
the
bush.”

24
The
emperor
and
Cupid
were
among
the
characters
in
The
Parliament
of
Death.

                                                      Don
Quixote
de
la
Mancha
       153

                                                                                          

"That
is
true,"
said
Don
Quixote,
"for
it
would
not
be
right
that
the
accessories
of
the

drama
should
be
real,
instead
of
being
mere
fictions
and
semblances,
like
the
drama

itself;
towards
which,
Sancho
–
and,
as
a
necessary
consequence,
towards
those
who

represent
and
produce
it
–
I
would
that
thou
wert
favorably
disposed,
for
they
are

all
instruments
of
great
good
to
the
State,
placing
before
us
at
every
step
a
mirror
in

which
we
may
see
vividly
displayed
what
goes
on
in
human
life;
nor
is
there
any

similitude
that
shows
us
more
faithfully
what
we
are
and
ought
to
be
than
the
play

and
the
players.

Come,
tell
me,
hast
thou
not
seen
a
play
acted
in
which
kings,

emperors,
pontiffs,
knights,
ladies,
and
divers
other
personages
were
introduced?

One
plays
the
villain,
another
the
knave,
this
one
the
merchant,
that
the
soldier,
one

the
sharp‐witted
fool,
another
the
foolish
lover;
and
when
the
play
is
over,
and
they

have
put
off
the
costumes
they
wore
in
it,
all
the
actors
become
equal."



"Yes,
I
have
seen
that,"
said
Sancho.



"Well
then,"
said
Don
Quixote,
"the
same
thing
happens
in
the
comedy
and
life
of

this
world,
where
some
play
emperors,
others
popes,
and,
in
short,
all
the
characters

that
can
be
brought
into
a
play;
but
when
it
is
over,
that
is
to
say
when
life
ends,

death
strips
them
all
of
the
garments
that
distinguish
one
from
the
other,
and
all
are

equal
in
the
grave."



"A
fine
comparison!"
said
Sancho;
"though
not
so
new
but
that
I
have
heard
it
many

and
many
a
time,
as
well
as
that
other
one
of
the
game
of
chess;
how,
so
long
as
the

game
lasts,
each
piece
has
its
own
particular
office,
and
when
the
game
is
finished

they
are
all
mixed,
jumbled
up
and
shaken
together,
and
stowed
away
in
the
bag,

which
is
much
like
ending
life
in
the
grave."



"Thou
art
growing
less
doltish
and
more
shrewd
every
day,
Sancho,"
said
Don

Quixote.



154
 Don
Quixote
de
la
Mancha



"Ay,"
said
Sancho;
"it
must
be
that
some
of
your
worship's
shrewdness
sticks
to
me;

land
that,
of
itself,
is
barren
and
dry,
will
come
to
yield
good
fruit
if
you
fertilize
it

and
till
it;
what
I
mean
is
that
your
worship's
conversation
has
been
the
manure
that

has
fallen
on
the
barren
soil
of
my
dry
wit,
and
the
time
I
have
been
in
your
service

and
society
has
been
the
tilling;
and
with
the
help
of
this
I
hope
to
yield
fruit
in

abundance
that
will
not
fall
away
or
slide
from
those
paths
of
good
breeding
that

your
worship
has
made
in
my
parched
understanding."



Don
Quixote
laughed
at
Sancho's
affected
phraseology,
and
perceived
that
what
he

said
about
his
improvement
was
true,
for
now
and
then
he
spoke
in
a
way
that

surprised
him;
though
always,
or
mostly,
when
Sancho
tried
to
talk
fine
and

attempted
polite
language,
he
wound
up
by
toppling
over
from
the
summit
of
his

simplicity
into
the
abyss
of
his
ignorance;
and
where
he
showed
his
culture
and
his

memory
to
the
greatest
advantage
was
in
dragging
in
proverbs,
no
matter
whether

they
had
any
bearing
or
not
upon
the
subject
in
hand,
as
may
have
been
seen

already
and
will
be
noticed
in
the
course
of
this
history.



In
conversation
of
this
kind
they
passed
a
good
part
of
the
night,
but
Sancho
felt
a

desire
to
let
down
the
curtains
of
his
eyes,
as
he
used
to
say
when
he
wanted
to
go
to

sleep;
and
stripping
the
Dapple
he
left
him
at
liberty
to
graze
his
fill.
He
did
not

remove
Rocinante's
saddle,
as
his
master's
express
orders
were,
that
so
long
as
they

were
in
the
field
or
not
sleeping
under
a
roof
Rocinante
was
not
to
be
stripped
–
the

ancient
usage
established
and
observed
by
knights‐errant
being
to
take
off
the

bridle
and
hang
it
on
the
saddle‐bow,
but
to
remove
the
saddle
from
the
horse
–

never!
Sancho
acted
accordingly,
and
gave
him
the
same
liberty
he
had
given
the

Dapple,
between
whom
and
Rocinante
there
was
a
friendship
so
unequalled
and
so

strong,
that
it
is
handed
down
by
tradition
from
father
to
son,
that
the
author
of
this

veracious
history
devoted
some
special
chapters
to
it,
which,
in
order
to
preserve

the
propriety
and
decorum
due
to
a
history
so
heroic,
he
did
not
insert
therein;

although
at
times
he
forgets
this
resolution
of
his
and
describes
how
eagerly
the
two

beasts
would
scratch
one
another
when
they
were
together
and
how,
when
they

                                                                                   155

                                                           Don
Quixote
de
la
Mancha

                                                                                        

were
tired
or
full,
Rocinante
would
lay
his
neck
across
the
Dapple's,
stretching
half
a

yard
or
more
on
the
other
side,
and
the
pair
would
stand
thus,
gazing
thoughtfully

on
the
ground,
for
three
days,
or
at
least
so
long
as
they
were
left
alone,
or
hunger

did
not
drive
them
to
go
and
look
for
food.
I
may
add
that
they
say
the
author
left
it

on
record
that
he
likened
their
friendship
to
that
of
Nisus
and
Euryalus,
and
Pylades

and
Orestes;
25and
if
that
be
so,
it
may
be
perceived,
to
the
admiration
of
mankind,

how
firm
the
friendship
must
have
been
between
these
two
peaceful
animals,

shaming
men,
who
preserve
friendships
with
one
another
so
badly.
This
was
why
it

was
said

–




      For
friend
no
longer
is
there
friend;


      The
reeds
turn
lances
now.26

      

And
some
one
else
has
sung
–


      

      Friend
to
friend
the
bug,
etc.27



And
let
no
one
fancy
that
the
author
was
at
all
astray
when
he
compared
the

friendship
of
these
animals
to
that
of
men;
for
men
have
received
many
lessons
from

beasts,
and
learned
many
important
things,
as,
for
example,
the
clyster
from
the

stork,
vomit
and
gratitude
from
the
dog,
watchfulness
from
the
crane,
foresight
from

the
ant,
modesty
from
the
elephant,
and
loyalty
from
the
horse.28



Sancho
at
last
fell
asleep
at
the
foot
of
a
cork
tree,
while
Don
Quixote
dozed
at
that
of

a
sturdy
oak;
but
a
short
time
only
had
elapsed
when
a
noise
he
heard
behind
him

awoke
him,
and
rising
up
startled,
he
listened
and
looked
in
the
direction
the
noise

came
from,
and
perceived
two
men
on
horseback,
one
of
whom,
letting
himself
drop

from
the
saddle,
said
to
the
other,
"Dismount,
my
friend,
and
take
the
bridles
off
the

horses,
for,
so
far
as
I
can
see,
this
place
will
furnish
grass
for
them,
and
the
solitude



























































25
Famous
friendships
in
Virgil’s
Aeneid
and
in
Greek
tradition
and
drama.

26
From
a
popular
ballad.

27
“a
bug
in
the
eye”
implies
keeping
an
eye
on
somebody.

28
Folkloric
beliefs
about
the
“virtues”
of
animals.

156
 Don
Quixote
de
la
Mancha



and
silence
my
love‐sick
thoughts
need
of."
As
he
said
this
he
stretched
himself
upon

the
ground,
and
as
he
flung
himself
down,
the
amour
in
which
he
was
clad
rattled,

whereby
Don
Quixote
perceived
that
he
must
be
a
knight‐errant;
and
going
over
to

Sancho,
who
was
asleep,
he
shook
him
by
the
arm
and
with
no
small
difficulty

brought
him
back
to
his
senses,
and
said
in
a
low
voice
to
him,
"Brother
Sancho,
we

have
got
an
adventure."



"God
send
us
a
good
one,"
said
Sancho;
"and
where
may
her
ladyship
the
adventure

be?"



"Where,
Sancho?"
replied
Don
Quixote;
"turn
thine
eyes
and
look,
and
thou
wilt
see

stretched
there
a
knight‐errant,
who,
it
strikes
me,
is
not
over
and
above
happy,
for
I

saw
him
fling
himself
off
his
horse
and
throw
himself
on
the
ground
with
a
certain

air
of
dejection,
and
his
armor
rattled
as
he
fell."



"Well,"
said
Sancho,
"how
does
your
worship
make
out
that
to
be
an
adventure?"



"I
do
not
mean
to
say,"
returned
Don
Quixote,
"that
it
is
a
complete
adventure,
but

that
it
is
the
beginning
of
one,
for
it
is
in
this
way
adventures
begin.
But
listen,
for
it

seems
he
is
tuning
a
lute
or
guitar,
and
from
the
way
he
is
spitting
and
clearing
his

chest
he
must
be
getting
ready
to
sing
something."

"Faith,
you
are
right,"
said
Sancho,
"and
no
doubt
he
is
some
enamored
knight."



"There
is
no
knight‐errant
that
is
not,"
said
Don
Quixote;
"but
let
us
listen
to
him,

for,
if
he
sings,
by
that
thread
we
shall
extract
the
ball
of
his
thoughts;
because
out
of

the
abundance
of
the
heart
the
mouth
speaketh."



Sancho
was
about
to
reply
to
his
master,
but
the
Knight
of
the
Wood's
voice,
which

was
neither
very
bad
nor
very
good,
stopped
him,
and
listening
attentively
the
pair

heard
him
sing
this:



                                                       Don
Quixote
de
la
Mancha
          157

                                                                                             



       SONNET



       Your
pleasure,
prithee,
lady
mine,
unfold;

       

Declare
the
terms
that
I
am
to
obey;

       My
will
to
yours
submissively
I
mould,

       

And
from
your
law
my
feet
shall
never
stray.

       

Would
you
I
die,
to
silent
grief
a
prey?

       Then
count
me
even
now
as
dead
and
cold;

       

Would
you
I
tell
my
woes
in
some
new
way?

       Then
shall
my
tale
by
Love
itself
be
told.

       The
unison
of
opposites
to
prove,

       

Of
the
soft
wax
and
diamond
hard
am
I;

       But
still,
obedient
to
the
laws
of
love,

       

Here,
hard
or
soft,
I
offer
you
my
breast,

       

Whate'er
you
grave
or
stamp
thereon
shall
rest

       



Indelible
for
all
eternity.29



With
an
"Ah
me!"
that
seemed
to
be
drawn
from
the
inmost
recesses
of
his
heart,
the

Knight
of
the
Wood
brought
his
lay
to
an
end,
and
shortly
afterwards
exclaimed
in
a

melancholy
and
piteous
voice,
"O
fairest
and
most
ungrateful
woman
on
earth!

What!
can
it
be,
most
serene
Casildea
de
Vandalia,30
that
thou
wilt
suffer
this
thy

captive
knight
to
waste
away
and
perish
in
ceaseless
wanderings
and
rude
and

arduous
toils?
It
is
not
enough
that
I
have
compelled
all
the
knights
of
Navarre,
all

the
Leonese,
all
the
Tartesians,
all
the
Castilians,
and
finally
all
the
knights
of
La

Mancha,
to
confess
thee
the
most
beautiful
in
the
world?"



"Not
so,"
said
Don
Quixote
at
this,
"for
I
am
of
La
Mancha,
and
I
have
never

confessed
anything
of
the
sort,
nor
could
I
nor
should
I
confess
a
thing
so
much
to


























































29
The
poem
intentionally
follows
the
affected
conventions
of
the
time.

30
The
Knight
of
the
Wood’s
liege
lady,
counterpart
to
Dulcinea.


158
 Don
Quixote
de
la
Mancha



the
prejudice
of
my
lady's
beauty;
thou
seest
how
this
knight
is
raving,
Sancho.
But

let
us
listen,
perhaps
he
will
tell
us
more
about
himself."



"That
he
will,"
returned
Sancho,
"for
he
seems
in
a
mood
to
bewail
himself
for
a

month
at
a
stretch."



But
this
was
not
the
case,
for
the
Knight
of
the
Wood,
hearing
voices
near
him,

instead
of
continuing
his
lamentation,
stood
up
and
exclaimed
in
a
distinct
but

courteous
tone,
"Who
goes
there?
What
are
you?
Do
you
belong
to
the
number
of
the

happy
or
of
the
miserable?"31



"Of
the
miserable,"
answered
Don
Quixote.



"Then
come
to
me,"
said
he
of
the
Wood,
"and
rest
assured
that
it
is
to
woe
itself
and

affliction
itself
you
come."



Don
Quixote,
finding
himself
answered
in
such
a
soft
and
courteous
manner,
went

over
to
him,
and
so
did
Sancho.



The
doleful
knight
took
Don
Quixote
by
the
arm,
saying,
"Sit
down
here,
sir
knight;

for,
that
you
are
one,
and
of
those
that
profess
knight‐errantry,
it
is
to
me
a
sufficient

proof
to
have
found
you
in
this
place,
where
solitude
and
night,
the
natural
couch

and
proper
retreat
of
knights‐errant,
keep
you
company."
To
which
the
Don
made

answer,
"A
knight
I
am
of
the
profession
you
mention,
and
though
sorrows,

misfortunes,
and
calamities
have
made
my
heart
their
abode,
the
compassion
I
feel

for
the
misfortunes
of
others
has
not
been
thereby
banished
from
it.
From
what
you

have
just
now
sung
I
gather
that
yours
spring
from
love,
I
mean
from
the
love
you

bear
that
fair
ingrate
you
named
in
your
lament."





























































31
Are
you
happy,
or
are
you
lovesick?”

                                                                              159

                                                      Don
Quixote
de
la
Mancha

                                                                                 

In
the
meantime,
they
had
seated
themselves
together
on
the
hard
ground
peaceably

and
sociably,
just
as
if,
as
soon
as
day
broke,
they
were
not
going
to
break
one

another's
heads.



"Are
you,
sir
knight,
in
love
perchance?"
asked
he
of
the
Wood
of
Don
Quixote.



"By
mischance
I
am,"
replied
Don
Quixote;
"though
the
ills
arising
from
well‐
bestowed
affections
should
be
esteemed
favors
rather
than
misfortunes."



"That
is
true,"
returned
he
of
the
Wood,
"if
scorn
did
not
unsettle
our
reason
and

understanding,
for
if
it
be
excessive
it
looks
like
revenge."



"I
was
never
scorned
by
my
lady,"
said
Don
Quixote.



"Certainly
not,"
said
Sancho,
who
stood
close
by,
"for
my
lady
is
as
a
lamb,
and
softer

than
a
roll
of
butter."



"Is
this
your
squire?"
asked
he
of
the
Wood.



"He
is,"
said
Don
Quixote.



"I
never
yet
saw
a
squire,"
said
he
of
the
Wood,
"who
ventured
to
speak
when
his

master
was
speaking;
at
least,
there
is
mine,
who
is
as
big
as
his
father,
and
it
cannot

be
proved
that
he
has
ever
opened
his
lips
when
I
am
speaking."



"By
my
faith
then,"
said
Sancho,
"I
have
spoken,
and
am
fit
to
speak,
in
the
presence

of
one
as
much,
or
even
–
but
never
mind
–
it
only
makes
it
worse
to
stir
it."



The
squire
of
the
Wood
took
Sancho
by
the
arm,
saying
to
him,
"Let
us
two
go
where

we
can
talk
in
squire
style
as
much
as
we
please,
and
leave
these
gentlemen
our

160
 Don
Quixote
de
la
Mancha



masters
to
fight
it
out
over
the
story
of
their
loves;
and,
depend
upon
it,
daybreak

will
find
them
at
it
without
having
made
an
end
of
it."



"So
be
it
by
all
means,"
said
Sancho;
"and
I
will
tell
your
worship
who
I
am,
that
you

may
see
whether
I
am
to
be
reckoned
among
the
number
of
the
most
talkative

squires."



With
this
the
two
squires
withdrew
to
one
side,
and
between
them
there
passed
a

conversation
as
droll
as
that
which
passed
between
their
masters
was
serious.









                                                           Don
Quixote
de
la
Mancha
   161

                                                                                          



CHAPTER
XIII.

IN
WHICH
IS
CONTINUED
THE
ADVENTURE
OF
THE
KNIGHT
OF
THE
WOOD,

TOGETHER
WITH
THE
SENSIBLE,
ORIGINAL,
AND
TRANQUIL
COLLOQUY
THAT

PASSED
BETWEEN
THE
TWO
SQUIRES



The
knights
and
the
squires
made
two
parties,
these
telling
the
story
of
their
lives,

the
others
the
story
of
their
loves;
but
the
history
relates
first
of
all
the
conversation

of
the
servants,
and
afterwards
takes
up
that
of
the
masters;
and
it
says
that,

withdrawing
a
little
from
the
others,
he
of
the
Wood
said
to
Sancho,
"A
hard
life
it
is

we
lead
and
live,
señor,
we
that
are
squires
to
knights‐errant;
verily,
we
eat
our

bread
in
the
sweat
of
our
faces,
which
is
one
of
the
curses
God
laid
on
our
first

parents."32



"It
may
be
said,
too,"
added
Sancho,
"that
we
eat
it
in
the
chill
of
our
bodies;
for
who

gets
more
heat
and
cold
than
the
miserable
squires
of
knight‐errantry?
Even
so
it

would
not
be
so
bad
if
we
had
something
to
eat,
for
woes
are
lighter
if
there's
bread;

but
sometimes
we
go
a
day
or
two
without
breaking
our
fast,
except
with
the
wind

that
blows."



"All
that,"
said
he
of
the
Wood,
"may
be
endured
and
put
up
with
when
we
have

hopes
of
reward;
for,
unless
the
knight‐errant
he
serves
is
excessively
unlucky,
after

a
few
turns
the
squire
will
at
least
find
himself
rewarded
with
a
fine
government
of

some
island
or
some
fair
county."



"I,"
said
Sancho,
"have
already
told
my
master
that
I
shall
be
content
with
the

government
of
some
island,
and
he
is
so
noble
and
generous
that
he
has
promised
it

to
me
ever
so
many
times."





























































32
Cf.
Genesis
3:19

162
 Don
Quixote
de
la
Mancha



"I,"
said
he
of
the
Wood,
"shall
be
satisfied
with
a
canonry
for
my
services,
and
my

master
has
already
assigned
me
one."



"Your
master,"
said
Sancho,
"no
doubt
is
a
knight
in
the
Church
line,
and
can
bestow

rewards
of
that
sort
on
his
good
squire;
but
mine
is
only
a
layman;
though
I

remember
some
clever,
but,
to
my
mind,
designing
people,
strove
to
persuade
him

to
try
and
become
an
archbishop.
He,
however,
would
not
be
anything
but
an

emperor;
but
I
was
trembling
all
the
time
lest
he
should
take
a
fancy
to
go
into
the

Church,
not
finding
myself
fit
to
hold
office
in
it;
for
I
may
tell
you,
though
I
seem
a

man,
I
am
no
better
than
a
beast
for
the
Church."



"Well,
then,
you
are
wrong
there,"
said
he
of
the
Wood;
"for
those
island

governments
are
not
all
satisfactory;
some
are
awkward,
some
are
poor,
some
are

dull,
and,
in
short,
the
highest
and
choicest
brings
with
it
a
heavy
burden
of
cares

and
troubles
which
the
unhappy
wight
to
whose
lot
it
has
fallen
bears
upon
his

shoulders.
Far
better
would
it
be
for
us
who
have
adopted
this
accursed
service
to

go
back
to
our
own
houses,
and
there
employ
ourselves
in
pleasanter
occupations
–

in
hunting
or
fishing,
for
instance;
for
what
squire
in
the
world
is
there
so
poor
as

not
to
have
a
hack
and
a
couple
of
greyhounds
and
a
fishing
rod
to
amuse
himself

with
in
his
own
village?"



"I
am
not
in
want
of
any
of
those
things,"
said
Sancho;
"to
be
sure
I
have
no
hack,
but

I
have
an
ass
that
is
worth
my
master's
horse
twice
over;
God
send
me
a
bad
Easter,

and
that
the
next
one
I
am
to
see,
if
I
would
swap,
even
if
I
got
four
bushels
of
barley

to
boot.
You
will
laugh
at
the
value
I
put
on
my
Dapple
–
for
dapple
is
the
color
of
my

beast.
As
to
greyhounds,
I
can't
want
for
them,
for
there
are
enough
and
to
spare
in

my
town;
and,
moreover,
there
is
more
pleasure
in
sport
when
it
is
at
other
people's

expense."



                                                      Don
Quixote
de
la
Mancha
   163

                                                                                      

"In
truth
and
earnest,
sir
squire,"
said
he
of
the
Wood,
"I
have
made
up
my
mind
and

determined
to
have
done
with
these
drunken
vagaries
of
these
knights,
and
go
back

to
my
village,
and
bring
up
my
children;
for
I
have
three,
like
three
Oriental
pearls."



"I
have
two,"
said
Sancho,
"that
might
be
presented
before
the
Pope
himself,

especially
a
girl
whom
I
am
breeding
up
for
a
countess,
please
God,
though
in
spite

of
her
mother."



"And
how
old
is
this
lady
that
is
being
bred
up
for
a
countess?"
asked
he
of
the

Wood.



"Fifteen,
a
couple
of
years
more
or
less,"
answered
Sancho;
"but
she
is
as
tall
as
a

lance,
and
as
fresh
as
an
April
morning,
and
as
strong
as
a
porter."



"Those
are
gifts
to
fit
her
to
be
not
only
a
countess
but
a
nymph
of
the
greenwood,"

said
he
of
the
Wood;
"whoreson
strumpet!
what
pith
the
rogue
must
have!"



To
which
Sancho
made
answer,
somewhat
sulkily,
"She's
no
strumpet,
nor
was
her

mother,
nor
will
either
of
them
be,
please
God,
while
I
live;
speak
more
civilly;
for

one
bred
up
among
knights‐errant,
who
are
courtesy
itself,
your
words
don't
seem

to
me
to
be
very
becoming."



"O
how
little
you
know
about
compliments,
sir
squire,"
returned
he
of
the
Wood.

"What!
don't
you
know
that
when
a
horseman
delivers
a
good
lance
thrust
at
the

bull
in
the
plaza,
or
when
anyone
does
anything
very
well,
the
people
are
wont
to

say,
'Ha,
whoreson
rip!
how
well
he
has
done
it!'
and
that
what
seems
to
be
abuse
in

the
expression
is
high
praise?
Disown
sons
and
daughters,
señor,
who
don't
do
what

deserves
that
compliments
of
this
sort
should
be
paid
to
their
parents."



"I
do
disown
them,"
replied
Sancho,
"and
in
this
way,
and
by
the
same
reasoning,

you
might
call
me
and
my
children
and
my
wife
all
the
strumpets
in
the
world,
for
all

164
 Don
Quixote
de
la
Mancha



they
do
and
say
is
of
a
kind
that
in
the
highest
degree
deserves
the
same
praise;
and

to
see
them
again
I
pray
God
to
deliver
me
from
mortal
sin,
or,
what
comes
to
the

same
thing,
to
deliver
me
from
this
perilous
calling
of
squire
into
which
I
have
fallen

a
second
time,
decayed
and
beguiled
by
a
purse
with
a
hundred
ducats
that
I
found

one
day
in
the
heart
of
the
Sierra
Morena33;
and
the
devil
is
always
putting
a
bag
full

of
doubloons
before
my
eyes,
here,
there,
everywhere,
until
I
fancy
at
every
stop
I

am
putting
my
hand
on
it,
and
hugging
it,
and
carrying
it
home
with
me,
and
making

investments,
and
getting
interest,
and
living
like
a
prince;
and
so
long
as
I
think
of

this
I
make
light
of
all
the
hardships
I
endure
with
this
simpleton
of
a
master
of

mine,
who,
I
well
know,
is
more
of
a
madman
than
a
knight."



"There's
why
they
say
that
'covetousness
bursts
the
bag,'"
said
he
of
the
Wood;
"but

if
you
come
to
talk
of
that
sort,
there
is
not
a
greater
one
in
the
world
than
my

master,
for
he
is
one
of
those
of
whom
they
say,
'the
cares
of
others
kill
the
ass;'
for,

in
order
that
another
knight
may
recover
the
senses
he
has
lost,
he
makes
a

madman
of
himself
and
goes
looking
for
what,
when
found,
may,
for
all
I
know,
fly
in

his
own
face."




"And
is
he
in
love
perchance?"
asked
Sancho.



"He
is,"
said
of
the
Wood,
"with
one
Casildea
de
Vandalia,
the
rawest34
and
best

roasted
lady
the
whole
world
could
produce;
but
that
rawness
is
not
the
only
foot
he

limps
on,
for
he
has
greater
schemes
rumbling
in
his
bowels,
as
will
be
seen
before

many
hours
are
over."



"There's
no
road
so
smooth
but
it
has
some
hole
or
hindrance
in
it,"
said
Sancho;
"in

other
houses
they
cook
beans,
but
in
mine
it's
by
the
pot
full;
madness
will
have

more
followers
and
hangers‐on
than
sound
sense;
but
if
there
be
any
truth
in
the




























































33
When
Don
Quixote
retired
there
in
Part
I,
Chapter
23.

34
The
original
is
a
pun
on
the
word
crudo,
which
means
both
“raw”
and
“cruel.”

                                                        Don
Quixote
de
la
Mancha
        165

                                                                                            

common
saying,
that
to
have
companions
in
trouble
gives
some
relief,
I
may
take

consolation
from
you,
inasmuch
as
you
serve
a
master
as
crazy
as
my
own."



"Crazy
but
valiant,"
replied
he
of
the
Wood,
"and
more
of
a
rogue
than
anything

else.”



"Mine
is
not
that,"
said
Sancho;
"I
mean
he
has
nothing
of
the
rogue
in
him;
on
the

contrary,
he
is
as
open
and
aboveboard
as
a
wine
pitcher;
he
has
no
thought
of
doing

harm
to
anyone,
only
good
to
all,
nor
has
he
any
malice
whatever
in
him;
a
child

might
persuade
him
that
it
is
night
at
noonday;
and
for
this
simplicity
I
love
him

with
all
my
heart,
and
I
can't
bring
myself
to
leave
him,
let
him
do
ever
such
foolish

things."



"For
all
that,
brother
and
señor,"
said
he
of
the
Wood,
"if
the
blind
lead
the
blind,

both
are
in
danger
of
falling
into
the
pit.
It
is
better
for
us
to
beat
a
quiet
retreat
and

get
back
to
our
own
quarters;
for
those
who
seek
adventures
don't
always
find
good

ones."



Sancho
kept
spitting
from
time
to
time,
and
his
spittle
seemed
somewhat
ropy
and

dry,
observing
which
the
compassionate
squire
of
the
Wood
said,
"It
seems
to
me

that
with
all
this
talk
of
ours
our
tongues
are
sticking
to
the
roofs
of
our
mouths;
but

I
have
a
pretty
good
loosener
hanging
from
the
saddle‐bow
of
my
horse,"
and

getting
up
he
came
back
the
next
minute
with
a
large
bota
of
wine
and
a
pasty
half
a

yard
across;
and
this
is
no
exaggeration,
for
it
was
made
of
a
house
rabbit
so
big
that

Sancho,
as
he
handled
it,
took
it
to
be
made
of
a
goat,
not
to
say
a
kid,
and
looking
at

it
he
said,
"And
do
you
carry
this
with
you,
señor?"



"Why,
what
are
you
thinking
about?"
said
the
other;
"do
you
take
me
for
some
paltry

squire?
I
carry
a
better
larder
on
my
horse's
croup
than
a
general
takes
with
him

when
he
goes
on
a
march."



166
 Don
Quixote
de
la
Mancha



Sancho
ate
without
requiring
to
be
pressed,
and
in
the
dark
bolted
mouthfuls
like

the
knots
on
a
tether,
and
said
he,
"You
are
a
proper
trusty
squire,
one
of
the
right

sort,
sumptuous
and
grand,
as
this
banquet
shows,
which,
if
it
has
not
come
here
by

magic
art,
at
any
rate
has
the
look
of
it;
not
like
me,
unlucky
beggar,
that
have

nothing
more
in
my
alforjas
than
a
scrap
of
cheese,
so
hard
that
one
might
brain
a

giant
with
it,
and,
to
keep
it
company,
a
few
dozen
carobs
and
as
many
more
filberts

and
walnuts;
thanks
to
the
austerity
of
my
master,
and
the
idea
he
has
and
the
rule

he
follows,
that
knights‐errant
must
not
live
or
sustain
themselves
on
anything

except
dried
fruits
and
the
herbs
of
the
field."



"By
my
faith,
brother,"
said
he
of
the
Wood,
"my
stomach
is
not
made
for
thistles,
or

wild
pears,
or
roots
of
the
woods;
let
our
masters
do
as
they
like,
with
their
chivalry

notions
and
laws,
and
eat
what
those
enjoin;
I
carry
my
basket
and
this
bota
hanging

to
the
saddle‐bow,
whatever
they
may
say;
and
it
is
such
an
object
of
worship
with

me,
and
I
love
it
so,
that
there
is
hardly
a
moment
but
I
am
kissing
and
embracing
it

over
and
over
again;"
and
so
saying
he
thrust
it
into
Sancho's
hands,
who
raising
it

aloft
pointed
to
his
mouth,
gazed
at
the
stars
for
a
quarter
of
an
hour;
and
when
he

had
done
drinking
let
his
head
fall
on
one
side,
and
giving
a
deep
sigh,
exclaimed,

"Ah,
whoreson
rogue,
how
catholic
it
is!"



"There,
you
see,"
said
he
of
the
Wood,
hearing
Sancho's
exclamation,
"how
you
have

called
this
wine
whoreson
by
way
of
praise."



"Well,"
said
Sancho,
"I
own
it,
and
I
grant
it
is
no
dishonor
to
call
anyone
whoreson

when
it
is
to
be
understood
as
praise.
But
tell
me,
señor,
by
what
you
love
best,
is

this
Ciudad
Real35
wine?"



"O
rare
wine‐taster!"
said
he
of
the
Wood;
"nowhere
else
indeed
does
it
come
from,

and
it
has
some
years'
age
too."



























































35
The
main
town
in
La
Mancha
and
the
center
of
a
wine
region.

                                                      Don
Quixote
de
la
Mancha
          167

                                                                                            



"Leave
me
alone
for
that,"
said
Sancho;
"never
fear
but
I'll
hit
upon
the
place
it
came

from
somehow.
What
would
you
say,
sir
squire,
to
my
having
such
a
great
natural

instinct
in
judging
wines
that
you
have
only
to
let
me
smell
one
and
I
can
tell

positively
its
country,
its
kind,
its
flavor
and
soundness,
the
changes
it
will
undergo,

and
everything
that
appertains
to
a
wine?
But
it
is
no
wonder,
for
I
have
had
in
my

family,
on
my
father's
side,
the
two
best
wine‐tasters
that
have
been
known
in
La

Mancha
for
many
a
long
year,
and
to
prove
it
I'll
tell
you
now
a
thing
that
happened

them.
They
gave
the
two
of
them
some
wine
out
of
a
cask,
to
try,
asking
their

opinion
as
to
the
condition,
quality,
goodness
or
badness
of
the
wine.
One
of
them

tried
it
with
the
tip
of
his
tongue,
the
other
did
no
more
than
bring
it
to
his
nose.
The

first
said
the
wine
had
a
flavor
of
iron,
the
second
said
it
had
a
stronger
flavor
of

cordovan.
The
owner
said
the
cask
was
clean,
and
that
nothing
had
been
added
to

the
wine
from
which
it
could
have
got
a
flavor
of
either
iron
or
leather.
Nevertheless,

these
two
great
wine‐tasters
held
to
what
they
had
said.
Time
went
by,
the
wine
was

sold,
and
when
they
came
to
clean
out
the
cask,
they
found
in
it
a
small
key
hanging

to
a
thong
of
cordovan;
see
now
if
one
who
comes
of
the
same
stock
has
not
a
right

to
give
his
opinion
in
such
like
cases."



"Therefore,
I
say,"
said
he
of
the
Wood,
"let
us
give
up
going
in
quest
of
adventures,

and
as
we
have
loaves
let
us
not
go
looking
for
cakes,
but
return
to
our
cribs,
for
God

will
find
us
there
if
it
be
his
will."



"Until
my
master
reaches
Saragossa,"
said
Sancho,
"I'll
remain
in
his
service;
after

that
we'll
see."



The
end
of
it
was
that
the
two
squires
talked
so
much
and
drank
so
much
that
sleep

had
to
tie
their
tongues
and
moderate
their
thirst,
for
to
quench
it
was
impossible;

and
so
the
pair
of
them
fell
asleep
clinging
to
the
now
nearly
empty
bota
and
with

half‐chewed
morsels
in
their
mouths;
and
there
we
will
leave
them
for
the
present,

168
 Don
Quixote
de
la
Mancha



to
relate
what
passed
between
the
Knight
of
the
Wood
and
him
of
the
Mournful

Countenance.









                                                           Don
Quixote
de
la
Mancha
   169

                                                                                          



CHAPTER
XIV.

WHEREIN
IS
CONTINUED
THE
ADVENTURE
OF
THE
KNIGHT
OF
THE
WOOD



Among
the
things
that
passed
between
Don
Quixote
and
the
Knight
of
the
Wood,
the

history
tells
us
he
of
the
Wood
said
to
Don
Quixote,
"In
fine,
sir
knight,
I
would
have

you
know
that
my
destiny,
or,
more
properly
speaking,
my
choice
led
me
to
fall
in

love
with
the
peerless
Casildea
de
Vandalia.
I
call
her
peerless
because
she
has
no

peer,
whether
it
be
in
bodily
stature
or
in
the
supremacy
of
rank
and
beauty.
This

same
Casildea,
then,
that
I
speak
of,
requited
my
honorable
passion
and
gentle

aspirations
by
compelling
me,
as
his
stepmother
did
Hercules,
to
engage
in
many

perils
of
various
sorts36,
at
the
end
of
each
promising
me
that,
with
the
end
of
the

next,
the
object
of
my
hopes
should
be
attained;
but
my
labors
have
gone
on

increasing
link
by
link
until
they
are
past
counting,
nor
do
I
know
what
will
be
the

last
one
that
is
to
be
the
beginning
of
the
accomplishment
of
my
chaste
desires.
On

one
occasion
she
bade
me
go
and
challenge
the
famous
giantess
of
Seville,
La

Giralda37
by
name,
who
is
as
mighty
and
strong
as
if
made
of
brass,
and
though

never
stirring
from
one
spot,
is
the
most
restless
and
changeable
woman
in
the

world.
I
came,
I
saw,
I
conquered,
and
I
made
her
stay
quiet
and
behave
herself,
for

nothing
but
north
winds
blew
for
more
than
a
week.
Another
time
I
was
ordered
to

lift
those
ancient
stones,
the
mighty
bulls
of
Guisando38,
an
enterprise
that
might

more
fitly
be
entrusted
to
porters
than
to
knights.
Again,
she
bade
me
fling
myself

into
the
cavern
of
Cabra39
–
an
unparalleled
and
awful
peril
–
and
bring
her
a
minute

account
of
all
that
is
concealed
in
those
gloomy
depths.
I
stopped
the
motion
of
the

Giralda,
I
lifted
the
bulls
of
Guisando,
I
flung
myself
into
the
cavern
and
brought
to

light
the
secrets
of
its
abyss;
and
my
hopes
are
as
dead
as
dead
can
be,
and
her
scorn



























































36
The
son
of
Zeus
and
Alcmena,
Hercules
was
persecuted
by
Zeus’s
wife
Hera.

37
Actually,
a
brass
statue
on
the
Moorish
belfry
of
the
cathedral
at
Seville.

38
More
statues
–
these
representing
animals
and
supposedly
marking
a
place
where


Cesar
defeated
Pompey.

39
Possibly
an
ancient
mine
shaft
in
the
Sierra
de
Cabra
near
Cordova.

170
 Don
Quixote
de
la
Mancha



and
her
commands
as
lively
as
ever.
To
be
brief,
last
of
all
she
has
commanded
me
to

go
through
all
the
provinces
of
Spain
and
compel
all
the
knights‐errant
wandering

therein
to
confess
that
she
surpasses
all
women
alive
today
in
beauty,
and
that
I
am

the
most
valiant
and
the
most
deeply
enamored
knight
on
earth;
in
support
of
which

claim
I
have
already
travelled
over
the
greater
part
of
Spain,
and
have
there

vanquished
several
knights
who
have
dared
to
contradict
me;
but
what
I
most

plume
and
pride
myself
upon
is
having
vanquished
in
single
combat
that
so
famous

knight
Don
Quixote
of
La
Mancha,
and
made
him
confess
that
my
Casildea
is
more

beautiful
than
his
Dulcinea;
and
in
this
one
victory
I
hold
myself
to
have
conquered

all
the
knights
in
the
world;
for
this
Don
Quixote
that
I
speak
of
has
vanquished

them
all,
and
I
having
vanquished
him,
his
glory,
his
fame,
and
his
honor
have

passed
and
are
transferred
to
my
person;
for



       

The
more
the
vanquished
hath
of
fair
renown,

       

The
greater
glory
gilds
the
victor's
crown.40



Thus
the
innumerable
achievements
of
the
said
Don
Quixote
are
now
set
down
to

my
account
and
have
become
mine."



Don
Quixote
was
amazed
when
he
heard
the
Knight
of
the
Wood,
and
was
a

thousand
times
on
the
point
of
telling
him
he
lied,
and
had
the
lie
direct
already
on

the
tip
of
his
tongue;
but
he
restrained
himself
as
well
as
he
could,
in
order
to
force

him
to
confess
the
lie
with
his
own
lips;
so
he
said
to
him
quietly,
"As
to
what
you

say,
sir
knight,
about
having
vanquished
most
of
the
knights
of
Spain,
or
even
of
the

whole
world,
I
say
nothing;
but
that
you
have
vanquished
Don
Quixote
of
La
Mancha

I
consider
doubtful;
it
may
have
been
some
other
that
resembled
him,
although

there
are
few
like
him."






























































40
From
the
Araucana,
a
poem
by
Alonzo
de
Ercilla
y
Zúñiga
on
the
Spanish
struggle


against
the
Araucanian
Indians
of
Chile.

                                                      Don
Quixote
de
la
Mancha
        171

                                                                                          

"How!
not
vanquished?"
said
he
of
the
Wood;
"by
the
heaven
that
is
above
us
I

fought
Don
Quixote
and
overcame
him
and
made
him
yield;
and
he
is
a
man
of
tall

stature,
gaunt
features,
long,
lank
limbs,
with
hair
turning
grey,
an
aquiline
nose

rather
hooked,
and
large
black
drooping
moustaches;
he
does
battle
under
the
name

of
'The
Knight
of
the
Mournful
Countenance,'
and
he
has
for
squire
a
peasant
called

Sancho
Panza;
he
presses
the
loins
and
rules
the
reins
of
a
famous
steed
called

Rocinante;
and
lastly,
he
has
for
the
mistress
of
his
will
a
certain
Dulcinea
del

Toboso,
once
upon
a
time
called
Aldonza
Lorenzo,
just
as
I
call
mine
Casildea
de

Vandalia
because
her
name
is
Casilda
and
she
is
of
Andalusia.
If
all
these
tokens
are

not
enough
to
vindicate
the
truth
of
what
I
say,
here
is
my
sword,
that
will
compel

incredulity
itself
to
give
credence
to
it."



"Calm
yourself,
sir
knight,"
said
Don
Quixote,
"and
give
ear
to
what
I
am
about
to
say

to
you.
I
would
have
you
know
that
this
Don
Quixote
you
speak
of
is
the
greatest

friend
I
have
in
the
world;
so
much
so
that
I
may
say
I
regard
him
in
the
same
light

as
my
own
person;
and
from
the
precise
and
clear
indications
you
have
given
I

cannot
but
think
that
he
must
be
the
very
one
you
have
vanquished.
On
the
other

hand,
I
see
with
my
eyes
and
feel
with
my
hands
that
it
is
impossible
it
can
have

been
the
same;
unless
indeed
it
be
that,
as
he
has
many
enemies
who
are

enchanters,
and
one
in
particular
who
is
always
persecuting
him,
some
one
of
these

may
have
taken
his
shape
in
order
to
allow
himself
to
be
vanquished,
so
as
to

defraud
him
of
the
fame
that
his
exalted
achievements
as
a
knight
have
earned
and

acquired
for
him
throughout
the
known
world.
And
in
confirmation
of
this,
I
must

tell
you,
too,
that
it
is
but
ten
hours
since
these
said
enchanters
his
enemies

transformed
the
shape
and
person
of
the
fair
Dulcinea
del
Toboso
into
a
foul
and

mean
village
lass,
and
in
the
same
way
they
must
have
transformed
Don
Quixote;

and
if
all
this
does
not
suffice
to
convince
you
of
the
truth
of
what
I
say,
here
is
Don

Quixote
himself,
who
will
maintain
it
by
arms,
on
foot
or
on
horseback
or
in
any
way

you
please."



172
 Don
Quixote
de
la
Mancha



And
so
saying
he
stood
up
and
laid
his
hand
on
his
sword,
waiting
to
see
what
the

Knight
of
the
Wood
would
do,
who
in
an
equally
calm
voice
said
in
reply,
"Pledges

don't
distress
a
good
payer;
he
who
has
succeeded
in
vanquishing
you
once
when

transformed,
Sir
Don
Quixote,
may
fairly
hope
to
subdue
you
in
your
own
proper

shape;
but
as
it
is
not
becoming
for
knights
to
perform
their
feats
of
arms
in
the

dark,
like
highwaymen
and
bullies,
let
us
wait
till
daylight,
that
the
sun
may
behold

our
deeds;
and
the
conditions
of
our
combat
shall
be
that
the
vanquished
shall
be
at

the
victor's
disposal,
to
do
all
that
he
may
enjoin,
provided
the
injunction
be
such
as

shall
be
becoming
a
knight."



"I
am
more
than
satisfied
with
these
conditions
and
terms,"
replied
Don
Quixote;

and
so
saying,
they
betook
themselves
to
where
their
squires
lay,
and
found
them

snoring,
and
in
the
same
posture
they
were
in
when
sleep
fell
upon
them.
They

roused
them
up,
and
bade
them
get
the
horses
ready,
as
at
sunrise
they
were
to

engage
in
a
bloody
and
arduous
single
combat;
at
which
intelligence
Sancho
was

aghast
and
thunderstruck,
trembling
for
the
safety
of
his
master
because
of
the

mighty
deeds
he
had
heard
the
squire
of
the
Wood
ascribe
to
his;
but
without
a

word
the
two
squires
went
in
quest
of
their
cattle;
for
by
this
time
the
three
horses

and
the
ass
had
smelt
one
another
out,
and
were
all
together.



On
the
way,
he
of
the
Wood
said
to
Sancho,
"You
must
know,
brother,
that
it
is
the

custom
with
the
fighting
men
of
Andalusia,
when
they
are
godfathers
in
any
quarrel,

not
to
stand
idle
with
folded
arms
while
their
godsons
fight;
I
say
so
to
remind
you

that
while
our
masters
are
fighting,
we,
too,
have
to
fight,
and
knock
one
another
to

shivers."



"That
custom,
sir
squire,"
replied
Sancho,
"may
hold
good
among
those
bullies
and

fighting
men
you
talk
of,
but
certainly
not
among
the
squires
of
knights‐errant;
at

least,
I
have
never
heard
my
master
speak
of
any
custom
of
the
sort,
and
he
knows

all
the
laws
of
knight‐errantry
by
heart;
but
granting
it
true
that
there
is
an
express

law
that
squires
are
to
fight
while
their
masters
are
fighting,
I
don't
mean
to
obey
it,

                                                                                  173

                                                           Don
Quixote
de
la
Mancha

                                                                                       

but
to
pay
the
penalty
that
may
be
laid
on
peacefully
minded
squires
like
myself;
for

I
am
sure
it
cannot
be
more
than
two
pounds
of
wax41,
and
I
would
rather
pay
that,

for
I
know
it
will
cost
me
less
than
the
bandages
I
will
need
to
my
head,
which
I
look

upon
as
broken
and
split
already;
there's
another
thing
that
makes
it
impossible
for

me
to
fight,
that
I
have
no
sword,
for
I
never
carried
one
in
my
life."



"I
know
a
good
remedy
for
that,"
said
he
of
the
Wood;
"I
have
here
two
linen
bags
of

the
same
size;
you
shall
take
one,
and
I
the
other,
and
we
will
fight
at
bag
blows
with

equal
arms."



"If
that's
the
way,
so
be
it
with
all
my
heart,"
said
Sancho,
"for
that
sort
of
battle
will

serve
to
knock
the
dust
out
of
us
instead
of
hurting
us."



"That
will
not
do,"
said
the
other,
"for
we
must
put
into
the
bags,
to
keep
the
wind

from
blowing
them
away,
half
a
dozen
nice
smooth
pebbles,
all
of
the
same
weight;

and
in
this
way
we
shall
be
able
to
baste
one
another
without
doing
ourselves
any

harm
or
mischief."



"Body
of
my
father!"
said
Sancho,
"see
what
marten
and
sable,
and
pads
of
carded

cotton
he
is
putting
into
the
bags,
that
our
heads
may
not
be
broken
and
our
bones

beaten
to
jelly!
But
even
if
they
are
filled
with
toss
silk,
I
can
tell
you,
señor,
I
am
not

going
to
fight;
let
our
masters
fight,
that's
their
lookout,
and
let
us
drink
and
live;
for

time
will
take
care
to
ease
us
of
our
lives,
without
our
going
to
look
for
fillips
so
that

they
may
be
finished
off
before
their
proper
time
comes
and
they
drop
from

ripeness."



"Still,"
returned
he
of
the
Wood,
"we
must
fight,
if
it
be
only
for
half
an
hour."






























































41
In
some
confraternities,
penalties
were
paid
in
wax,
presumably
to
make
church


candles.

174
 Don
Quixote
de
la
Mancha



"By
no
means,"
said
Sancho;
"I
am
not
going
to
be
so
discourteous
or
so
ungrateful

as
to
have
any
quarrel,
be
it
ever
so
small,
with
one
I
have
eaten
and
drunk
with;

besides,
who
the
devil
could
bring
himself
to
fight
in
cold
blood,
without
anger
or

provocation?"



"I
can
remedy
that
entirely,"
said
he
of
the
Wood,
"and
in
this
way:
before
we
begin

the
battle,
I
will
come
up
to
your
worship
fair
and
softly,
and
give
you
three
or
four

buffets,
with
which
I
shall
stretch
you
at
my
feet
and
rouse
your
anger,
though
it

were
sleeping
sounder
than
a
dormouse."



"To
match
that
plan,"
said
Sancho,
"I
have
another
that
is
not
a
whit
behind
it;
I
will

take
a
cudgel,
and
before
your
worship
comes
near
enough
to
waken
my
anger
I
will

send
yours
so
sound
to
sleep
with
whacks,
that
it
won't
waken
unless
it
be
in
the

other
world,
where
it
is
known
that
I
am
not
a
man
to
let
my
face
be
handled
by

anyone;
let
each
look
out
for
the
arrow42
–
though
the
surer
way
would
be
to
let

everyone's
anger
sleep,
for
nobody
knows
the
heart
of
anyone,
and
a
man
may
come

for
wool
and
go
back
shorn;
God
gave
his
blessing
to
peace
and
his
curse
to
quarrels;

if
a
hunted
cat,
surrounded
and
hard
pressed,
turns
into
a
lion,
God
knows
what
I,

who
am
a
man,
may
turn
into;
and
so
from
this
time
forth
I
warn
you,
sir
squire,
that

all
the
harm
and
mischief
that
may
come
of
our
quarrel
will
be
put
down
to
your

account."



"Very
good,"
said
he
of
the
Wood;
"God
will
send
the
dawn
and
we
shall
be
all
right."



And
now
gay‐plumaged
birds
of
all
sorts
began
to
warble
in
the
trees,
and
with
their

varied
and
gladsome
notes
seemed
to
welcome
and
salute
the
fresh
morn
that
was

beginning
to
show
the
beauty
of
her
countenance
at
the
gates
and
balconies
of
the

east,
shaking
from
her
locks
a
profusion
of
liquid
pearls;
in
which
dulcet
moisture

bathed,
the
plants,
too,
seemed
to
shed
and
shower
down
a
pearly
spray,
the
willows


























































42

A
proverbial
expression
from
archery,
let
each
one
take
care
of
his
own
arrow.



Other
clearly
proverbial
expressions
follow,
typical
of
Sancho’s
speech.

                                                           Don
Quixote
de
la
Mancha
   175

                                                                                          

distilled
sweet
manna,
the
fountains
laughed,
the
brooks
babbled,
the
woods

rejoiced,
and
the
meadows
arrayed
themselves
in
all
their
glory
at
her
coming.
But

hardly
had
the
light
of
day
made
it
possible
to
see
and
distinguish
things,
when
the

first
object
that
presented
itself
to
the
eyes
of
Sancho
Panza
was
the
squire
of
the

Wood's
nose,
which
was
so
big
that
it
almost
overshadowed
his
whole
body.
It
is,
in

fact,
stated,
that
it
was
of
enormous
size,
hooked
in
the
middle,
covered
with
warts,

and
of
a
mulberry
color
like
an
eggplant;
it
hung
down
two
fingers'
length
below
his

mouth,
and
the
size,
the
color,
the
warts,
and
the
bend
of
it,
made
his
face
so

hideous,
that
Sancho,
as
he
looked
at
him,
began
to
tremble
hand
and
foot
like
a

child
in
convulsions,
and
he
vowed
in
his
heart
to
let
himself
be
given
two
hundred

buffets,
sooner
than
be
provoked
to
fight
that
monster.
Don
Quixote
examined
his

adversary,
and
found
that
he
already
had
his
helmet
on
and
visor
lowered,
so
that
he

could
not
see
his
face;
he
observed,
however,
that
he
was
a
sturdily
built
man,
but

not
very
tall
in
stature.
Over
his
armor
he
wore
a
surcoat
or
cassock
of
what
seemed

to
be
the
finest
cloth
of
gold,
all
bespangled
with
glittering
mirrors
like
little
moons,

which
gave
him
an
extremely
gallant
and
splendid
appearance;
above
his
helmet

fluttered
a
great
quantity
of
plumes,
green,
yellow,
and
white,
and
his
lance,
which

was
leaning
against
a
tree,
was
very
long
and
stout,
and
had
a
steel
point
more
than

a
palm
in
length.



Don
Quixote
observed
all,
and
took
note
of
all,
and
from
what
he
saw
and
observed

he
concluded
that
the
said
knight
must
be
a
man
of
great
strength,
but
he
did
not
for

all
that
give
way
to
fear,
like
Sancho
Panza;
on
the
contrary,
with
a
composed
and

dauntless
air,
he
said
to
the
Knight
of
the
Mirrors,43
"If,
sir
knight,
your
great

eagerness
to
fight
has
not
banished
your
courtesy,
by
it
I
would
entreat
you
to
raise

your
visor
a
little,
in
order
that
I
may
see
if
the
comeliness
of
your
countenance

corresponds
with
that
of
your
equipment."































































43
The
Knight
of
the
Wood,
now
renamed
in
keeping
with
his
attire.

176
 Don
Quixote
de
la
Mancha



"Whether
you
come
victorious
or
vanquished
out
of
this
emprise,
sir
knight,"
replied

he
of
the
Mirrors,
"you
will
have
more
than
enough
time
and
leisure
to
see
me;
and
if

now
I
do
not
comply
with
your
request,
it
is
because
it
seems
to
me
I
should
do
a

serious
wrong
to
the
fair
Casildea
de
Vandalia
in
wasting
time
while
I
stopped
to

raise
my
visor
before
compelling
you
to
confess
what
you
are
already
aware
I

maintain."



"Well
then,"
said
Don
Quixote,
"while
we
are
mounting
you
can
at
least
tell
me
if
I

am
that
Don
Quixote
whom
you
said
you
vanquished."





"To
that
we
answer
you,"
said
he
of
the
Mirrors,
"that
you
are
as
like
the
very
knight

I
vanquished
as
one
egg
is
like
another,
but
as
you
say
that
enchanters
persecute

you,
I
will
not
venture
to
say
positively
whether
you
are
the
said
person
or
not."



"That,"
said
Don
Quixote,
"is
enough
to
convince
me
that
you
are
under
a
deception;

however,
entirely
to
relieve
you
of
it,
let
our
horses
be
brought,
and
in
less
time
than

it
would
take
you
to
raise
your
visor,
if
God,
my
lady,
and
my
arm
stand
me
in
good

stead,
I
shall
see
your
face,
and
you
shall
see
that
I
am
not
the
vanquished
Don

Quixote
you
take
me
to
be."



With
this,
cutting
short
the
colloquy,
they
mounted,
and
Don
Quixote
wheeled

Rocinante
round
in
order
to
take
a
proper
distance
to
charge
back
upon
his

adversary,
and
he
of
the
Mirrors
did
the
same;
but
Don
Quixote
had
not
moved
away

twenty
paces
when
he
heard
himself
called
by
the
other,
and,
each
returning
half‐
way,
he
of
the
Mirrors
said
to
him,
"Remember,
sir
knight,
that
the
terms
of
our

combat
are,
that
the
vanquished,
as
I
said
before,
shall
be
at
the
victor's
disposal."



"I
am
aware
of
it
already,"
said
Don
Quixote;
"provided
what
is
commanded
and

imposed
upon
the
vanquished
be
things
that
do
not
transgress
the
limits
of

chivalry."



                                                        Don
Quixote
de
la
Mancha
   177

                                                                                       

"That
is
understood,"
replied
he
of
the
Mirrors.



At
this
moment
the
extraordinary
nose
of
the
squire
presented
itself
to
Don

Quixote's
view,
and
he
was
no
less
amazed
than
Sancho
at
the
sight;
insomuch
that

he
set
him
down
as
a
monster
of
some
kind,
or
a
human
being
of
some
new
species

or
unearthly
breed.
Sancho,
seeing
his
master
retiring
to
run
his
course,
did
not
like

to
be
left
alone
with
the
nosy
man,
fearing
that
with
one
flap
of
that
nose
on
his
own,

the
battle
would
be
all
over
for
him
and
he
would
be
left
stretched
on
the
ground,

either
by
the
blow
or
with
fright;
so
he
ran
after
his
master,
holding
on
to

Rocinante's
stirrup‐leather,
and
when
it
seemed
to
him
time
to
turn
about,
he
said,

"I
implore
of
your
worship,
señor,
before
you
turn
to
charge,
to
help
me
up
into
this

cork
tree,
from
which
I
will
be
able
to
witness
the
gallant
encounter
your
worship
is

going
to
have
with
this
knight,
more
to
my
taste
and
better
than
from
the
ground."



"It
seems
to
me
rather,
Sancho,"
said
Don
Quixote,
"that
thou
wouldst
mount
a

scaffold
in
order
to
see
the
bulls
without
danger."



"To
tell
the
truth,"
returned
Sancho,
"the
monstrous
nose
of
that
squire
has
filled
me

with
fear
and
terror,
and
I
dare
not
stay
near
him."



"It
is,"
said
Don
Quixote,
"such
a
one
that
were
I
not
who
I
am
it
would
terrify
me

too;
so,
come,
I
will
help
thee
up
where
thou
wilt."



While
Don
Quixote
waited
for
Sancho
to
mount
into
the
cork
tree
he
of
the
Mirrors

took
as
much
ground
as
he
considered
requisite,
and,
supposing
Don
Quixote
to

have
done
the
same,
without
waiting
for
any
sound
of
trumpet
or
other
signal
to

direct
them,
he
wheeled
his
horse,
which
was
not
more
agile
or
better‐looking
than

Rocinante,
and
at
his
top
speed,
which
was
an
easy
trot,
he
proceeded
to
charge
his

enemy;
seeing
him,
however,
engaged
in
putting
Sancho
up,
he
drew
rein,
and
halted

in
mid
career,
for
which
his
horse
was
very
grateful,
as
he
was
already
unable
to
go.

Don
Quixote,
fancying
that
his
foe
was
coming
down
upon
him
flying,
drove
his

178
 Don
Quixote
de
la
Mancha



spurs
vigorously
into
Rocinante's
lean
flanks
and
made
him
scud
along
in
such
style

that
the
history
tells
us
that
on
this
occasion
only
was
he
known
to
break
into

something
like
a
gallop,
for
on
all
others
it
was
a
simple
trot
with
him;
and
with
this

unparalleled
fury
he
bore
down
where
he
of
the
Mirrors
stood
digging
his
spurs
into

his
horse
up
to
buttons,
without
being
able
to
make
him
stir
a
finger's
length
from

the
spot
where
he
had
come
to
a
standstill
in
his
course.

At
this
lucky
moment
and

crisis,
Don
Quixote
came
upon
his
adversary,
in
trouble
with
his
horse,
and

embarrassed
with
his
lance,
which
he
either
could
not
manage,
or
had
no
time
to
lay

in
rest.
Don
Quixote,
however,
paid
no
attention
to
these
difficulties,
and
in
perfect

safety
to
himself
and
without
any
risk
encountered
him
of
the
Mirrors
with
such

force
that
he
brought
him
to
the
ground
in
spite
of
himself
over
the
haunches
of
his

horse,
and
with
so
heavy
a
fall
that
he
lay
to
all
appearance
dead,
not
stirring
hand

or
foot.
The
instant
Sancho
saw
him
fall
he
slid
down
from
the
cork
tree,
and
made

all
haste
to
where
his
master
was,
who,
dismounting
from
Rocinante,
went
and

stood
over
him
of
the
Mirrors,
and
unlacing
his
helmet
to
see
if
he
was
dead,
and
to

give
him
air
if
he
should
happen
to
be
alive,
he
saw
–
who
can
say
what
he
saw,

without
filling
all
who
hear
it
with
astonishment,
wonder,
and
awe?
He
saw,
the

history
says,
the
very
countenance,
the
very
face,
the
very
look,
the
very

physiognomy,
the
very
effigy,
the
very
image
of
the
bachelor
Sanson
Carrasco!
As

soon
as
he
saw
it
he
called
out
in
a
loud
voice,
"Make
haste
here,
Sancho,
and
behold

what
thou
art
to
see
but
not
to
believe;
quick,
my
son,
and
learn
what
magic
can
do,

and
wizards
and
enchanters
are
capable
of."



Sancho
came
up,
and
when
he
saw
the
countenance
of
the
bachelor
Carrasco,
he
fell

to
crossing
himself
a
thousand
times,
and
blessing
himself
as
many
more.
All
this

time
the
prostrate
knight
showed
no
signs
of
life,
and
Sancho
said
to
Don
Quixote,
"It

is
my
opinion,
señor,
that
in
any
case
your
worship
should
take
and
thrust
your

sword
down
the
throat
of
this
one
here
that
looks
like
the
bachelor
Sanson
Carrasco;

perhaps
in
him
you
will
kill
one
of
your
enemies,
the
enchanters."



                                                     Don
Quixote
de
la
Mancha
     179

                                                                                       

"Thy
advice
is
not
bad,"
said
Don
Quixote,
"for
of
enemies
the
fewer
the
better;"
and

he
was
drawing
his
sword
to
carry
into
effect
Sancho's
counsel
and
suggestion,

when
the
squire
of
the
Mirrors
came
up,
now
without
the
nose
which
had
made
him

so
hideous,
and
cried
out
in
a
loud
voice,
"Mind
what
you
are
about,
Señor
Don

Quixote;
that
is
your
friend,
the
bachelor
Sanson
Carrasco,
you
have
at
your
feet,
and

I
am
his
squire."



"And
the
nose?"
said
Sancho,
seeing
him
without
the
hideous
feature
he
had
before;

to
which
he
replied,
"I
have
it
here
in
my
pocket,"
and
putting
his
hand
into
his
right

pocket,
he
pulled
out
a
false
nose
of
varnished
pasteboard
of
the
make
already

described;
and
Sancho,
examining
him
more
and
more
closely,
exclaimed
aloud
in
a

voice
of
amazement,
"Holy
Mary
be
good
to
me!
Isn't
it
Tomé
Cecial,
my
neighbor

and
gossip?"



"Why,
to
be
sure
I
am!"
returned
the
now
un‐nosed
squire;
"Tomé
Cecial
I
am,
gossip

and
friend
Sancho
Panza;
and
I'll
tell
you
presently
the
means
and
tricks
and

falsehoods
by
which
I
have
been
brought
here;
but
in
the
meantime,
beg
and
entreat

of
your
master
not
to
touch,
maltreat,
wound,
or
slay
the
Knight
of
the
Mirrors

whom
he
has
at
his
feet;
because,
beyond
all
dispute,
it
is
the
rash
and
ill‐advised

bachelor
Sanson
Carrasco,
our
fellow
townsman."



At
this
moment
he
of
the
Mirrors
came
to
himself,
and
Don
Quixote
perceiving
it,

held
the
naked
point
of
his
sword
over
his
face,
and
said
to
him,
"You
are
a
dead

man,
knight,
unless
you
confess
that
the
peerless
Dulcinea
del
Toboso
excels
your

Casildea
de
Vandalia
in
beauty;
and
in
addition
to
this
you
must
promise,
if
you

should
survive
this
encounter,
to
go
to
the
city
of
El
Toboso
and
present
yourself

before
her
on
my
behalf,
that
she
deal
with
you
according
to
her
good
pleasure;
and

if
she
leaves
you
free
to
do
yours,
you
are
in
like
manner
to
return
and
seek
me
out

(for
the
trail
of
my
mighty
deeds
will
serve
you
as
a
guide
to
lead
you
to
where
I
may

be),
and
tell
me
what
may
have
passed
between
you
and
her
–
conditions
which,
in

180
 Don
Quixote
de
la
Mancha



accordance
with
what
we
stipulated
before
our
combat,
do
not
transgress
the
just

limits
of
knight‐errantry."



"I
confess,"
said
the
fallen
knight,
"that
the
dirty
tattered
shoe
of
the
lady
Dulcinea

del
Toboso
is
better
than
the
ill‐combed
though
clean
beard
of
Casildea;
and
I

promise
to
go
and
to
return
from
her
presence
to
yours,
and
to
give
you
a
full
and

particular
account
of
all
you
demand
of
me."



"You
must
also
confess
and
believe,"
added
Don
Quixote,
"that
the
knight
you

vanquished
was
not
and
could
not
be
Don
Quixote
of
La
Mancha,
but
some
one
else

in
his
likeness,
just
as
I
confess
and
believe
that
you,
though
you
seem
to
be
the

bachelor
Sanson
Carrasco,
are
not
so,
but
some
other
resembling
him,
whom
my

enemies
have
here
put
before
me
in
his
shape,
in
order
that
I
may
restrain
and

moderate
the
vehemence
of
my
wrath,
and
make
a
gentle
use
of
the
glory
of
my

victory."



"I
confess,
think,
and
feel
everything
that

you
feel,
think,
and
believe,"
said
the

crippled
knight;
"let
me
rise,
I
entreat
you;
if,
indeed,
the
shock
of
my
fall
will
allow

me,
for
I
am
in
very
bad
shape."



Don
Quixote
helped
him
to
rise,
with
the
assistance
of
his
squire
Tomé
Cecial;
from

whom
Sancho
never
took
his
eyes,
and
to
whom
he
put
questions,
the
replies
to

which
furnished
clear
proof
that
he
was
really
and
truly
the
Tomé
Cecial
he
said;
but

the
impression
made
on
Sancho's
mind
by
what
his
master
said
about
the

enchanters
having
changed
the
face
of
the
Knight
of
the
Mirrors
into
that
of
the

bachelor
Sanson
Carrasco,
would
not
permit
him
to
believe
what
he
saw
with
his

eyes.

In
fine,
both
master
and
man
remained
under
the
delusion;
and,
down
in
the

mouth,
and
out
of
luck,
he
of
the
Mirrors
and
his
squire
parted
from
Don
Quixote

and
Sancho,
he
meaning
to
go
look
for
some
village
where
he
could
plaster
and
strap

his
ribs.
Don
Quixote
and
Sancho
resumed
their
journey
to
Saragossa,
and
on
it
the

                                                    Don
Quixote
de
la
Mancha
      181

                                                                                      

history
leaves
them
in
order
that
it
may
tell
who
the
Knight
of
the
Mirrors
and
his

long‐nosed
squire
were.





182
   Don
Quixote
de
la
Mancha





CHAPTER
XV.

WHEREIN
IT
IS
TOLD
AND
KNOWN
WHO
THE
KNIGHT
OF
THE
MIRRORS
AND
HIS

SQUIRE
WERE



Don
Quixote
went
off
satisfied,
elated,
and
vainglorious
in
the
highest
degree
at

having
won
a
victory
over
such
a
valiant
knight
as
he
fancied
him
of
the
Mirrors
to

be,
and
one
from
whose
knightly
word
he
expected
to
learn
whether
the

enchantment
of
his
lady
still
continued;
inasmuch
as
the
said
vanquished
knight
was

bound,
under
the
penalty
of
ceasing
to
be
one,
to
return
and
render
him
an
account

of
what
took
place
between
him
and
her.
But
Don
Quixote
was
of
one
mind,
he
of
the

Mirrors
of
another,
for
he
just
then
had
no
thought
of
anything
but
finding
some

village
where
he
could
plaster
himself,
as
has
been
stated
already.




The
history
goes
on
to
say,
then,
that
when
the
bachelor
Sanson
Carrasco
suggested

to
Don
Quixote
that
he
resume
his
knight‐errantry
which
he
had
laid
aside,
it
was
as

a
result
of
having
previously
met
with
the
curate
and
the
barber
to
decide
how
best

to
induce
Don
Quixote
to
stay
at
home
in
peace
without
worrying
himself
with
his

ill‐starred
adventures.

At
this
consultation
it
was
decided
by
the
unanimous
vote
of

all,
and
on
the
special
advice
of
Carrasco,
that
Don
Quixote
should
be
allowed
to
go,

as
it
seemed
impossible
to
restrain
him,
and
that
Sanson
should
sally
forth
to
meet

him
as
a
knight‐errant,
and
do
battle
with
him,
for
there
would
be
no
difficulty
in

finding
a
cause,
and
vanquish
him
–
that
being
looked
upon
as
an
easy
matter;
and

that
it
should
be
agreed
and
settled
that
the
vanquished
was
to
be
at
the
mercy
of

the
victor.

Then,
Don
Quixote
being
vanquished,
the
bachelor
knight
was
to

command
him
to
return
to
his
village
and
his
house,
and
not
quit
it
for
two
years,
or

until
he
received
further
orders
from
him.

And
it
was
assumed
that
Don
Quixote

would
unhesitatingly
obey,
rather
than
contravene
or
fail
to
observe
the
laws
of

chivalry;
and
during
the
period
of
his
seclusion
he
might
perhaps
forget
his
folly,
or

there
might
be
an
opportunity
of
discovering
some
remedy
for
his
madness.

Carrasco
undertook
the
task,
and
Tomé
Cecial,
a
gossip
and
neighbor
of
Sancho

                                                      Don
Quixote
de
la
Mancha
       183

                                                                                         

Panza's,
a
lively,
feather‐headed
fellow,
offered
himself
as
his
squire.
Carrasco

armed
himself
in
the
fashion
described,
and
Tomé
Cecial,
that
he
might
not
be

known
by
his
gossip
when
they
met,
fitted
on
over
his
own
natural
nose
the
false

one
that
has
been
mentioned;
and
so
they
followed
the
same
route
Don
Quixote

took,
and
almost
came
up
with
him
in
time
to
be
present
at
the
adventure
of
the
cart

of
Death
and
finally
encountered
them
in
the
Wood,
where
all
that
the
sagacious

reader
has
been
reading
about
took
place;
and
had
it
not
been
for
the
extraordinary

fancies
of
Don
Quixote,
and
his
conviction
that
the
bachelor
was
not
the
bachelor,

señor
bachelor
would
have
been
incapacitated
for
ever
from
taking
his
degree
of

licentiate,
all
through
not
finding
nests
where
he
thought
to
find
birds.



Tomé
Cecial,
seeing
how
ill
they
had
succeeded,
and
what
a
sorry
end
their

expedition
had
come
to,
said
to
the
bachelor,
"Surely,
Señor
Sanson
Carrasco,
we
are

served
right;
it
is
easy
enough
to
plan
and
set
about
an
enterprise,
but
it
is
often
a

difficult
matter
to
make
it
come
out
well.

Don
Quixote
a
madman,
and
we
sane;
he

goes
off
laughing,
safe,
and
sound,
and
you
are
left
sore
and
sorry!

I'd
like
to
know

now
which
is
the
crazier,
he
who
is
crazy
because
he
cannot
help
it,
or
he
who
turns

crazy
of
his
own
free
will?"



To
which
Sanson
replied,
"The
difference
between
the
two
lies
in
this:
that
he
who

cannot
help
being
crazy
will
always
be
so,
whereas
the
one
who
is
crazy
by
choice

can
leave
off
being
crazy
whenever
he
likes."



"In
that
case,"
said
Tomé
Cecial,
"I
was
a
madman
of
my
own
free
will
when
I

volunteered
to
become
your
squire,
and
now,
of
my
own
free
will,
I'll
leave
off
being

one
and
go
home."



"That's
your
affair,"
returned
Sanson,
"but
to
suppose
that
I
am
going
home
until
I

have
given
Don
Quixote
a
thrashing
is
absurd;
and
what
will
urge
me
on
now
is
not

any
desire
to
see
him
recover
his
wits,
but
rather
a
thirst
for
vengeance,
for
the
sore

pain
in
my
ribs
won't
let
me
entertain
any
more
charitable
thoughts."

184
   Don
Quixote
de
la
Mancha





Thus
discoursing,
the
pair
proceeded
until
they
reached
a
town
where
it
was
their

good
luck
to
find
a
bone‐setter,
with
whose
help
the
unfortunate
Sanson
was
cured.

Tomé
Cecial
left
him
and
went
home,
while
he
stayed
behind
meditating
vengeance;

and
the
history
will
return
to
him
again
at
the
proper
time,
so
as
not
to
omit
making

merry
with
Don
Quixote
now.



                                                      Don
Quixote
de
la
Mancha
       185

                                                                                         



CHAPTER
XVI.

OF
WHAT
BEFELL
DON
QUIXOTE
WITH
A
DISCREET
GENTLEMAN
OF
LA
MANCHA



Don
Quixote
pursued
his
journey
in
the
high
spirits,
satisfaction,
and
self‐
complacency
already
described,
fancying
himself
the
most
valorous
knight‐errant
of

the
age
in
the
world
because
of
his
late
victory.
All
the
adventures
that
could
befall

him
from
that
time
forth
he
regarded
as
already
done
and
brought
to
a
happy
issue;

he
made
light
of
enchantments
and
enchanters;
he
thought
no
more
of
the
countless

drubbings
that
had
been
administered
to
him
in
the
course
of
his
knight‐errantry,

nor
of
the
volley
of
stones
that
had
leveled
half
his
teeth,
nor
of
the
ingratitude
of
the

galley
slaves,
nor
of
the
audacity
of
the
Yanguesans
and
the
shower
of
stakes
that

fell
upon
him;
in
short,
he
said
to
himself
that
could
he
discover
any
means,
mode,
or

way
of
disenchanting
his
lady
Dulcinea,
he
would
not
envy
the
highest
fortune
that

the
most
fortunate
knight‐errant
of
yore
ever
reached
or
could
reach.



He
was
going
along
entirely
absorbed
in
these
fancies,
when
Sancho
said
to
him,

"Isn't
it
odd,
señor,
that
I
have
still
before
my
eyes
that
monstrous
enormous
nose
of

my
gossip,
Tomé
Cecial?"



"And
dost
thou,
then,
believe,
Sancho,"
said
Don
Quixote,
"that
the
Knight
of
the

Mirrors
was
the
bachelor
Carrasco,
and
his
squire
Tomé
Cecial
thy
gossip?"



"I
don't
know
what
to
say
to
that,"
replied
Sancho;
"all
I
know
is
that
the
tokens
he

gave
me
about
my
own
house,
wife
and
children,
nobody
else
but
himself
could
have

given
me;
and
the
face,
once
the
nose
was
off,
was
the
very
face
of
Tomé
Cecial,
as
I

have
seen
it
many
a
time
in
my
town
and
next
door
to
my
own
house;
and
the
sound

of
the
voice
was
just
the
same."



186
 Don
Quixote
de
la
Mancha



"Let
us
reason
the
matter,
Sancho,"
said
Don
Quixote.
"Come
now,
by
what
process

of
thinking
can
it
be
supposed
that
the
bachelor
Sanson
Carrasco
would
come
as
a

knight‐errant,
in
arms
offensive
and
defensive,
to
fight
with
me?
Have
I
ever
been
by

any
chance
his
enemy?
Have
I
ever
given
him
any
occasion
to
owe
me
a
grudge?
Am

I
his
rival,
or
does
he
profess
arms,
that
he
should
envy
the
fame
I
have
acquired
in

them?"



"Well,
but
what
are
we
to
say,
señor,"
returned
Sancho,
"about
that
knight,
whoever

he
is,
being
so
like
the
bachelor
Carrasco,
and
his
squire
so
like
my
gossip,
Tomé

Cecial?
And
if
that
be
enchantment,
as
your
worship
says,
was
there
no
other
pair
in

the
world
for
them
to
take
the
likeness
of?"



"It
is
all,"
said
Don
Quixote,
"a
scheme
and
plot
of
the
malignant
sorcerers
that

persecute
me,
who,
foreseeing
that
I
was
to
be
victorious
in
the
conflict,
arranged

that
the
vanquished
knight
should
display
the
countenance
of
my
friend
the

bachelor,
in
order
that
the
friendship
I
bear
him
should
interpose
to
stay
the
edge
of

my
sword
and
might
of
my
arm,
and
temper
the
just
wrath
of
my
heart;
so
that
he

who
sought
to
take
my
life
by
fraud
and
falsehood
should
save
his
own.

And
to

prove
it,
thou
knowest
already,
Sancho,
by
experience
which
cannot
lie
or
deceive,

how
easy
it
is
for
enchanters
to
change
one
countenance
into
another,
turning
fair

into
foul,
and
foul
into
fair;
for
it
is
not
two
days
since
thou
sawest
with
thine
own

eyes
the
beauty
and
elegance
of
the
peerless
Dulcinea
in
all
its
perfection
and

natural
harmony,
while
I
saw
her
in
the
repulsive
and
mean
form
of
a
coarse

country
wench,
with
cataracts
in
her
eyes
and
a
foul
smell
in
her
mouth;
and
when

the
perverse
enchanter
ventured
to
effect
so
wicked
a
transformation,
it
is
no

wonder
if
he
effected
that
of
Sanson
Carrasco
and
thy
gossip
in
order
to
snatch
the

glory
of
victory
out
of
my
grasp.
For
all
that,
however,
I
console
myself,
because,

after
all,
in
whatever
shape
he
may
have
been,
I
have
been
victorious
over
my

enemy."



                                                                                  187

                                                           Don
Quixote
de
la
Mancha

                                                                                     

"God
knows
what's
the
truth
of
it
all,"
said
Sancho;
and
knowing
as
he
did
that
the

transformation
of
Dulcinea
had
been
a
device
and
imposition
of
his
own,
his

master's
illusions
were
not
satisfactory
to
him;
but
he
did
not
like
to
reply
lest
he

should
say
something
that
might
disclose
his
trickery.



As
they
were
engaged
in
this
conversation
they
were
overtaken
by
a
man
who
was

following
the
same
road
behind
them,
mounted
on
a
very
handsome
flea‐bitten

mare,
and
dressed
in
a
gaban44
of
fine
green
cloth,
trimmed
with
tawny
velvet

facings,
and
a
montera45
of
the
same
velvet.
The
saddle
of
the
mare
was
of
the
jineta

fashion,46
and
of
mulberry
color
and
green.
He
carried
a
Moorish
cutlass
hanging

from
a
broad
green
and
gold
baldric;
the
buskins
were
of
the
same
make
as
the

baldric;
the
spurs
were
not
gilt,
but
lacquered
green,
and
so
brightly
polished
that,

matching
as
they
did
the
rest
of
his
apparel,
they
looked
better
than
if
they
had
been

of
pure
gold.



When
the
traveler
came
up
with
them
he
saluted
them
courteously,
and
spurring
his

mare
was
passing
them
without
stopping,
but
Don
Quixote
called
out
to
him,

"Gallant
sir,
if
so
be
your
worship
is
going
our
road,
and
has
no
occasion
for
speed,
it

would
be
a
pleasure
to
me
if
we
were
to
join
company."



"In
truth,"
replied
he
on
the
mare,
"I
would
not
pass
you
so
hastily
but
for
fear
that

horse
might
turn
restive
in
the
company
of
my
mare."



"You
may
safely
hold
in
your
mare,
señor,"
said
Sancho
in
reply
to
this,
"for
our

horse
is
the
most
virtuous
and
well‐behaved
horse
in
the
world;
he
never
does

anything
wrong
on
such
occasions,
and
the
only
time
he
misbehaved,
my
master
and

I
suffered
for
it
sevenfold;
I
say
again
your
worship
may
pull
up
if
you
like;
for
if
she

was
offered
to
him
between
two
plates
the
horse
would
not
hanker
after
her."


























































44
An
overcoat.

45
A
kind
of
cap
made
of
cloth.

46
A
saddle
with
a
high
pommel
and
short
stirrups.

188
   Don
Quixote
de
la
Mancha





The
traveler
drew
rein,
amazed
at
the
trim
and
features
of
Don
Quixote,
who
rode

without
his
helmet,
which
Sancho
carried
like
a
valise
in
front
of
the
Dapple's
pack‐
saddle;
and
if
the
man
in
green
examined
Don
Quixote
closely,
still
more
closely
did

Don
Quixote
examine
the
man
in
green,
who
struck
him
as
being
a
man
of

intelligence.
In
appearance
he
was
about
fifty
years
of
age,
with
but
few
grey
hairs,

an
aquiline
cast
of
features,
and
an
expression
between
grave
and
gay;
and
his
dress

and
accoutrements
showed
him
to
be
a
man
of
good
condition.
What
he
in
green

thought
of
Don
Quixote
of
La
Mancha
was
that
a
man
of
that
sort
and
shape
he
had

never
yet
seen;
he
marveled
at
the
length
of
his
hair,
his
lofty
stature,
the
lankness

and
sallowness
of
his
countenance,
his
armor,
his
bearing
and
his
gravity
–
a
figure

and
picture
such
as
had
not
been
seen
in
those
regions
for
many
a
long
day.



Don
Quixote
saw
very
plainly
the
attention
with
which
the
traveler
was
regarding

him,
and
read
his
curiosity
in
his
astonishment;
and
courteous
as
he
was
and
ready

to
please
everybody,
before
the
other
could
ask
him
any
question
he
anticipated
him

by
saying,
"The
appearance
I
present
to
your
worship
being
so
strange
and
so
out
of

the
common,
I
should
not
be
surprised
if
it
filled
you
with
wonder;
but
you
will

cease
to
wonder
when
I
tell
you,
as
I
do,
that
I
am
one
of
those
knights
who,
as

people
say,
go
seeking
adventures.
I
have
left
my
home,
I
have
mortgaged
my
estate,

I
have
given
up
my
comforts,
and
committed
myself
to
the
arms
of
Fortune,
to
bear

me
whithersoever
she
may
please.
My
desire
was
to
bring
to
life
again
knight‐
errantry,
now
dead,
and
for
some
time
past,
stumbling
here,
falling
there,
now

coming
down
headlong,
now
raising
myself
up
again,
I
have
carried
out
a
great

portion
of
my
design,
succoring
widows,
protecting
maidens,
and
giving
aid
to

wives,
orphans,
and
minors,
the
proper
and
natural
duty
of
knights‐errant;
and,

therefore,
because
of
my
many
valiant
and
Christian
achievements,
I
have
been

already
found
worthy
to
make
my
way
in
print
to
well‐nigh
all,
or
most,
of
the

nations
of
the
earth.
Thirty
thousand
volumes
of
my
history
have
been
printed,
and

it
is
on
the
high‐road
to
be
printed
thirty
thousand
thousands
of
times,
if
heaven

does
not
put
a
stop
to
it.

In
short,
to
sum
up
all
in
a
few
words,
or
in
a
single
one,
I

                                                        Don
Quixote
de
la
Mancha
        189

                                                                                            

may
tell
you
I
am
Don
Quixote
of
La
Mancha,
otherwise
called
'The
Knight
of
the

Mournful
Countenance;'
for
though
self‐praise
is
degrading,
I
must
perforce
sound

my
own
horn
sometimes,
that
is
to
say,
when
there
is
no
one
at
hand
to
do
it
for
me.

So
that,
gentle
sir,
neither
this
horse,
nor
this
lance,
nor
this
shield,
nor
this
squire,

nor
all
these
arms
put
together,
nor
the
sallowness
of
my
countenance,
nor
my

gaunt
leanness,
will
henceforth
astonish
you,
now
that
you
know
who
I
am
and
what

profession
I
follow."



With
these
words
Don
Quixote
held
his
peace,
and,
from
the
time
he
took
to
answer,

the
man
in
green
seemed
to
be
at
a
loss
for
a
reply;
after
a
long
pause,
however,
he

said
to
him,
"You
were
right
when
you
saw
curiosity
in
my
amazement,
sir
knight;

but
you
have
not
succeeded
in
removing
the
astonishment
I
feel
at
seeing
you;
for

although
you
say,
señor,
that
knowing
who
you
are
ought
to
remove
it,
it
has
not

done
so;
on
the
contrary,
now
that
I
know,
I
am
left
more
amazed
and
astonished

than
before.
What!
is
it
possible
that
there
are
knights‐errant
in
the
world
in
these

days,
and
histories
of
real
chivalry
printed?
I
cannot
realize
the
fact
that
there
can
be

anyone
on
earth
nowadays
who
aids
widows,
or
protects
maidens,
or
defends
wives,

or
succors
orphans;
nor
should
I
believe
it
had
I
not
seen
it
in
your
worship
with
my

own
eyes.
Blessed
be
heaven!
for
by
means
of
this
history
of
your
noble
and
genuine

chivalrous
deeds,
which
you
say
has
been
printed,
the
countless
stories
of
fictitious

knights‐errant
with
which
the
world
is
filled,
so
much
to
the
injury
of
morality
and

the
prejudice
and
discredit
of
good
histories,
will
have
been
driven
into
oblivion."



"There
is
a
good
deal
to
be
said
on
that
point,"
said
Don
Quixote,
"as
to
whether
the

histories
of
the
knights‐errant
are
fiction
or
not."



"Why,
is
there
anyone
who
doubts
that
those
histories
are
false?"
said
the
man
in

green.



"I
doubt
it,"
said
Don
Quixote,
"but
never
mind
that
just
now;
if
our
journey
lasts

long
enough,
I
trust
in
God
I
shall
show
your
worship
that
you
do
wrong
in
going

190
 Don
Quixote
de
la
Mancha



with
the
stream
of
those
who
regard
it
as
a
matter
of
certainty
that
they
are
not

true."



From
this
last
observation
of
Don
Quixote's,
the
traveler
began
to
have
a
suspicion

that
he
was
some
crazy
being,
and
was
waiting
him
to
confirm
it
by
something

further;
but
before
they
could
turn
to
any
new
subject
Don
Quixote
begged
him
to

tell
him
who
he
was,
since
he
himself
had
rendered
account
of
his
station
and
life.
To

this,
he
in
the
green
gaban
replied
"I,
Sir
Knight
of
the
Mournful
Countenance,
am
a

gentleman
by
birth,
native
of
the
village
where,
please
God,
we
are
going
to
dine

today;
I
am
more
than
fairly
well
off,
and
my
name
is
Don
Diego
de
Miranda.
I
pass

my
life
with
my
wife,
children,
and
friends;
my
pursuits
are
hunting
and
fishing,
but

I
keep
neither
hawks
nor
greyhounds,
nothing
but
a
tame
partridge47
or
a
bold

ferret
or
two;
I
have
six
dozen
or
so
of
books,
some
in
our
mother
tongue,
some

Latin,
some
of
them
history,
others
devotional;
those
of
chivalry
have
not
as
yet

crossed
the
threshold
of
my
door;
I
am
more
given
to
reading
the
profane
than
the

devotional,
so
long
as
they
are
books
of
honest
entertainment
that
charm
by
their

style
and
attract
and
interest
by
the
invention
they
display,
though
of
these
there
are

very
few
in
Spain.

Sometimes
I
dine
with
my
neighbors
and
friends,
and
often
invite

them;
my
entertainments
are
neat
and
well
served
without
stint
of
anything.

I
have

no
taste
for
tattle,
nor
do
I
allow
tattling
in
my
presence;
I
pry
not
into
my

neighbors’
lives,
nor
have
I
lynx‐eyes
for
what
others
do.
I
hear
mass
every
day;
I

share
my
substance
with
the
poor,
making
no
display
of
good
works,
lest
I
let

hypocrisy
and
vainglory,
those
enemies
that
subtly
take
possession
of
the
most

watchful
heart,
find
an
entrance
into
mine.
I
strive
to
make
peace
between
those

whom
I
know
to
be
at
variance;
I
am
the
devoted
servant
of
Our
Lady,
and
my
trust

is
ever
in
the
infinite
mercy
of
God
our
Lord."



Sancho
listened
with
the
greatest
attention
to
the
account
of
the
gentleman's
life
and

occupation;
and
thinking
it
a
good
and
a
holy
life,
and
that
he
who
led
it
ought
to



























































47
Used
as
a
decoy.

                                                       Don
Quixote
de
la
Mancha
  191

                                                                                      

work
miracles,
he
threw
himself
off
the
Dapple,
and
running
in
haste
seized
his
right

stirrup
and
kissed
his
foot
again
and
again
with
a
devout
heart
and
almost
with

tears.



Seeing
this
the
gentleman
asked
him,
"What
are
you
about,
brother?
What
are
these

kisses
for?"



"Let
me
kiss,"
said
Sancho,
"for
I
think
your
worship
is
the
first
saint
in
the
saddle
I

ever
saw
all
the
days
of
my
life."



"I
am
no
saint,"
replied
the
gentleman,
"but
a
great
sinner;
but
you
are,
brother,
for

you
must
be
a
good
fellow,
as
your
simplicity
shows."



Sancho
went
back
and
regained
his
pack‐saddle,
having
extracted
a
laugh
from
his

master's
profound
melancholy,
and
excited
fresh
amazement
in
Don
Diego.
Don

Quixote
then
asked
him
how
many
children
he
had,
and
observed
that
one
of
the

things
wherein
the
ancient
philosophers,
who
were
without
the
true
knowledge
of

God,
placed
the
highest
good
was
in
the
gifts
of
nature,
in
those
of
fortune,
in
having

many
friends,
and
many
and
good
children.



"I,
Señor
Don
Quixote,"
answered
the
gentleman,
"have
one
son,
without
whom,

perhaps,
I
should
count
myself
happier
than
I
am,
not
because
he
is
a
bad
son,
but

because
he
is
not
so
good
as
I
could
wish.
He
is
eighteen
years
of
age;
he
has
been
for

six
at
Salamanca
studying
Latin
and
Greek,
and
when
I
wished
him
to
turn
to
the

study
of
other
sciences
I
found
him
so
wrapped
up
in
that
of
poetry
(if
that
can
be

called
a
science)
that
there
is
no
getting
him
to
take
kindly
to
the
law,
which
I

wished
him
to
study,
or
to
theology,
the
queen
of
them
all.
I
would
like
him
to
be
an

honor
to
his
family,
as
we
live
in
days
when
our
kings
liberally
reward
learning
that

is
virtuous
and
worthy;
for
learning
without
virtue
is
a
pearl
on
a
dunghill.
He

spends
the
whole
day
in
settling
whether
Homer
expressed
himself
correctly
or
not

in
such
and
such
a
line
of
the
Iliad,
whether
Martial
was
indecent
or
not
in
such
and

192
 Don
Quixote
de
la
Mancha



such
an
epigram,
whether
such
and
such
lines
of
Virgil
are
to
be
understood
in
this

way
or
in
that;
in
short,
all
his
talk
is
of
the
works
of
these
poets,
and
those
of

Horace,
Perseus,
Juvenal,
and
Tibullus;
for
of
the
moderns
in
our
own
language
he

makes
no
great
account;
but
with
all
his
seeming
indifference
to
Spanish
poetry,
just

now
his
thoughts
are
absorbed
in
making
a
gloss
on
four
lines
that
have
been
sent

him
from
Salamanca,
which
I
suspect
are
for
some
poetical
tournament."



To
all
this
Don
Quixote
said
in
reply,
"Children,
señor,
are
portions
of
their
parents'

bowels,
and
therefore,
be
they
good
or
bad,
are
to
be
loved
as
we
love
the
souls
that

give
us
life;
it
is
for
the
parents
to
guide
them
from
infancy
in
the
ways
of
virtue,

propriety,
and
worthy
Christian
conduct,
so
that
when
grown
up
they
may
be
the

staff
of
their
parents'
old
age,
and
the
glory
of
their
posterity;
and
to
force
them
to

study
this
or
that
science
I
do
not
think
wise,
though
it
may
be
no
harm
to
persuade

them;
and
when
there
is
no
need
to
study
for
the
sake
of
pane
lucrando48,
and
it
is

the
student's
good
fortune
that
heaven
has
given
him
parents
who
provide
him
with

it,
it
would
be
my
advice
to
them
to
let
him
pursue
whatever
science
they
may
see

him
most
inclined
to;
and
though
that
of
poetry
is
less
useful
than
pleasurable,
it
is

not
one
of
those
that
bring
discredit
upon
the
possessor.

Poetry,
gentle
sir,
is,
as
I

take
it,
like
a
tender
young
maiden
of
supreme
beauty,
to
array,
bedeck,
and
adorn

whom
is
the
task
of
several
other
maidens,
who
are
all
the
rest
of
the
sciences;
and

she
must
avail
herself
of
the
help
of
all,
and
all
derive
their
luster
from
her.
But
this

maiden
will
not
bear
to
be
handled,
nor
dragged
through
the
streets,
nor
exposed

either
at
the
corners
of
the
market‐places,
or
in
the
closets
of
palaces.

She
is
the

product
of
an
Alchemy
of
such
virtue
that
he
who
is
able
to
practice
it,
will
turn
her

into
pure
gold
of
inestimable
worth.
He
that
possesses
her
must
keep
her
within

bounds,
not
permitting
her
to
break
out
in
ribald
satires
or
soulless
sonnets.
She

must
on
no
account
be
offered
for
sale,
unless,
indeed,
it
be
in
heroic
poems,
moving

tragedies,
or
sprightly
and
ingenious
comedies.
She
must
not
be
touched
by
the

buffoons,
nor
by
the
ignorant
vulgar,
incapable
of
comprehending
or
appreciating



























































48
Earning
one’s
bread.

                                                                                 193

                                                           Don
Quixote
de
la
Mancha

                                                                                    

her
hidden
treasures.
And
do
not
suppose,
señor,
that
I
apply
the
term
vulgar
here

merely
to
plebeians
and
the
lower
orders;
for
everyone
who
is
ignorant,
be
he
lord

or
prince,
may
and
should
be
included
among
the
vulgar.
He,
then,
who
shall

embrace
and
cultivate
poetry
under
the
conditions
I
have
named,
shall
become

famous,
and
his
name
honored
throughout
all
the
civilized
nations
of
the
earth.

And

with
regard
to
what
you
say,
señor,
of
your
son
having
no
great
opinion
of
Spanish

poetry,
I
am
inclined
to
think
that
he
is
not
quite
right
there,
and
for
this
reason:
the

great
poet
Homer
did
not
write
in
Latin,
because
he
was
a
Greek,
nor
did
Virgil
write

in
Greek,
because
he
was
a
Latin;
in
short,
all
the
ancient
poets
wrote
in
the

language
they
imbibed
with
their
mother's
milk,
and
never
went
in
quest
of
foreign

ones
to
express
their
sublime
conceptions;
and
that
being
so,
the
usage
should
in

justice
extend
to
all
nations,
and
the
German
poet
should
not
be
undervalued

because
he
writes
in
his
own
language,
nor
the
Castilian,
nor
even
the
Biscayan,
for

writing
in
his.
But
your
son,
señor,
I
suspect,
is
not
prejudiced
against
Spanish

poetry,
but
against
those
poets
who
are
mere
Spanish
verse
writers,
without
any

knowledge
of
other
languages
or
sciences
to
adorn
and
give
life
and
vigor
to
their

natural
inspiration;
and
yet
even
in
this
he
may
be
wrong;
for,
according
to
a
true

belief,
a
poet
is
born
one;
that
is
to
say,
the
poet
by
nature
comes
forth
a
poet
from

his
mother's
womb;
and
following
the
bent
that
heaven
has
bestowed
upon
him,

without
the
aid
of
study
or
art,
he
produces
things
that
show
how
truly
he
spoke

who
said,
'Est
Deus
in
nobis,'
etc.49

At
the
same
time,
I
say
that
the
poet
by
nature

who
calls
in
art
to
his
aid
will
be
a
far
better
poet,
and
will
surpass
him
who
tries
to

be
one
relying
upon
his
knowledge
of
art
alone.
The
reason
is,
that
art
does
not

surpass
nature,
but
only
brings
it
to
perfection;
and
thus,
nature
combined
with
art,

and
art
with
nature,
will
produce
a
perfect
poet.
To
bring
my
argument
to
a
close,
I

would
say
then,
gentle
sir,
let
your
son
go
on
as
his
star
leads
him,
for
being
so

studious
as
he
seems
to
be,
and
having
already
successfully
surmounted
the
first

step
of
the
sciences,
which
is
that
of
the
languages,
with
their
help
he
will
by
his
own

exertions
reach
the
summit
of
polite
literature,
which
so
well
becomes
an



























































49
There
is
a
god
in
us.

194
 Don
Quixote
de
la
Mancha



independent
gentleman,
and
adorns,
honors,
and
distinguishes
him,
as
much
as
the

miter
does
the
bishop,
or
the
gown
the
learned
counselor.
If
your
son
write
satires

reflecting
on
the
honor
of
others,
chide
and
correct
him,
and
tear
them
up;
but
if
he

compose
discourses
in
which
he
rebukes
vice
in
general,
in
the
style
of
Horace,
and

with
elegance
like
his,
commend
him;
for
it
is
legitimate
for
a
poet
to
write
against

envy
and
lash
the
envious
in
his
verse,
and
the
other
vices
too,
provided
he
does
not

single
out
individuals;
there
are,
however,
poets
who,
for
the
sake
of
saying

something
spiteful,
would
run
the
risk
of
being
banished
to
the
coast
of
Pontus.50
If

the
poet
be
pure
in
his
morals,
he
will
be
pure
in
his
verses
too;
the
pen
is
the

tongue
of
the
mind,
and
as
the
thought
engendered
there,
so
will
be
the
things
that
it

writes
down.
And
when
kings
and
princes
observe
this
marvelous
science
of
poetry

in
wise,
virtuous,
and
thoughtful
subjects,
they
honor,
value,
exalt
them,
and
even

crown
them
with
the
leaves
of
that
tree
which
the
thunderbolt
strikes
not,51
as
if
to

show
that
they
whose
brows
are
honored
and
adorned
with
such
a
crown
are
not
to

be
assailed
by
anyone."



He
of
the
green
gaban
was
filled
with
astonishment
at
Don
Quixote's
argument,
so

much
so
that
he
began
to
abandon
the
notion
he
had
taken
up
about
his
being
crazy.

But
in
the
middle
of
the
discourse,
it
being
not
very
much
to
his
taste,
Sancho
had

turned
aside
out
of
the
road
to
beg
a
little
milk
from
some
shepherds,
who
were

milking
their
ewes
hard
by;
and
just
as
the
gentleman,
highly
pleased,
was
about
to

renew
the
conversation,
Don
Quixote,
raising
his
head,
perceived
a
cart
covered

with
royal
flags
coming
along
the
road
they
were
travelling;
and
persuaded
that
this

must
be
some
new
adventure,
he
called
aloud
to
Sancho
to
come
and
bring
him
his

helmet.
Sancho,
hearing
himself
called,
quitted
the
shepherds,
and,
prodding
the

Dapple
vigorously,
came
up
to
his
master,
to
whom
there
fell
a
terrific
and
desperate

adventure.
































































50
As
was
Ovid
by
Augustus

in
8
A.D.


51
The
laurel
tree.

                                                      Don
Quixote
de
la
Mancha
       195

                                                                                         



CHAPTER
XVII.

WHEREIN
IS
SHOWN
THE
FURTHEST
AND
HIGHEST
POINT
WHICH
THE

UNEXAMPLED
COURAGE
OF
DON
QUIXOTE
REACHED
OR
COULD
REACH;

TOGETHER
WITH
THE
HAPPILY
ACHIEVED
ADVENTURE
OF
THE
LIONS



The
history
tells
that
when
Don
Quixote
called
out
to
Sancho
to
bring
him
his

helmet,
Sancho
was
buying
some
curds
the
shepherds
agreed
to
sell
him,
and

flurried
by
the
great
haste
his
master
was
in
did
not
know
what
to
do
with
them
or

what
to
carry
them
in;
so,
not
to
lose
them,
for
he
had
already
paid
for
them,
he

thought
it
best
to
throw
them
into
his
master's
helmet,
and
acting
on
this
bright
idea

he
went
to
see
what
his
master
wanted
with
him.
He,
as
he
approached,
exclaimed
to

him:



"Give
me
that
helmet,
my
friend,
for
either
I
know
little
of
adventures,
or
what
I

observe
yonder
is
one
that
will,
and
does,
call
upon
me
to
arm
myself."



He
of
the
green
gaban,
on
hearing
this,
looked
in
all
directions,
but
could
perceive

nothing,
except
a
cart
coming
towards
them
with
two
or
three
small
flags,
which
led

him
to
conclude
it
must
be
carrying
treasure
of
the
King's,
and
he
said
so
to
Don

Quixote.
He,
however,
would
not
believe
him,
being
always
persuaded
and

convinced
that
all
that
happened
to
him
must
be
adventures
and
still
more

adventures;
so
he
replied
to
the
gentleman,
"He
who
is
prepared
has
his
battle
half

fought;
nothing
is
lost
by
my
preparing
myself,
for
I
know
by
experience
that
I
have

enemies,
visible
and
invisible,
and
I
know
not
when,
or
where,
or
at
what
moment,

or
in
what
shapes
they
will
attack
me;"
and
turning
to
Sancho
he
called
for
his

helmet;
and
Sancho,
as
he
had
no
time
to
take
out
the
curds,
had
to
give
it
just
as
it

was.
Don
Quixote
took
it,
and
without
perceiving
what
was
in
it
thrust
it
down
in
hot

haste
upon
his
head;
but
as
the
curds
were
pressed
and
squeezed
the
whey
began
to

run
all
over
his
face
and
beard,
whereat
he
was
so
startled
that
he
cried
out
to

Sancho:

196
   Don
Quixote
de
la
Mancha





"Sancho,
what's
this?
I
think
my
head
is
softening,
or
my
brains
are
melting,
or
I
am

sweating
from
head
to
foot!
If
I
am
sweating
it
is
not
indeed
from
fear.
I
am

convinced
beyond
a
doubt
that
the
adventure
which
is
about
to
befall
me
is
a

terrible
one.
Give
me
something
to
wipe
myself
with,
if
thou
hast
it,
for
this
profuse

sweat
is
blinding
me."



Sancho
held
his
tongue,
and
gave
him
a
cloth,
and
gave
thanks
to
God
at
the
same

time
that
his
master
had
not
found
out
what
was
the
matter.
Don
Quixote
then

wiped
himself,
and
took
off
his
helmet
to
see
what
it
was
that
made
his
head
feel
so

cool,
and
seeing
all
that
white
mash
inside
his
helmet
he
put
it
to
his
nose,
and
as

soon
as
he
had
smelt
it
he
exclaimed:



"By
the
life
of
my
lady
Dulcinea
del
Toboso,
but
it
is
curds
thou
hast
put
here,
thou

treacherous,
impudent,
ill‐mannered
squire!"



To
which,
with
great
composure
and
pretended
innocence,
Sancho
replied,
"If
they

are
curds
let
me
have
them,
your
worship,
and
I'll
eat
them;
but
let
the
devil
eat

them,
for
it
must
have
been
he
who
put
them
there.

I,
dare
to
dirty
your
helmet!


You
have
guessed
the
offender
finely!

Faith,
sir,
by
the
light
God
gives
me,
it
seems
I

must
have
enchanters
too,
that
persecute
me
as
a
creature
and
limb
of
your
worship,

and
they
must
have
put
that
nastiness
there
in
order
to
provoke
your
patience
to

anger,
and
make
you
baste
my
ribs
as
you
are
wont
to
do.

Well,
this
time,
indeed,

they
have
missed
their
aim,
for
I
trust
to
my
master's
good
sense
to
see
that
I
have

got
no
curds
or
milk,
or
anything
of
the
sort;
and
that
if
I
had,
it
is
in
my
stomach
I

would
put
it,
and
not
in
the
helmet."



"May
be
so,"
said
Don
Quixote.
All
this
the
gentleman
was
observing,
and
with

astonishment,
more
especially
when,
after
having
wiped
himself
clean,
his
head,

face,
beard,
and
helmet,
Don
Quixote
put
it
on,
and
settling
himself
firmly
in
his

                                                        Don
Quixote
de
la
Mancha
  197

                                                                                      

stirrups,
easing
his
sword
in
the
scabbard,
and
grasping
his
lance,
he
cried,
"Now,

come
who
will,
here
am
I,
ready
to
try
conclusions
with
Satan
himself
in
person!"



By
this
time
the
cart
with
the
flags
had
come
up,
unattended
by
anyone
except
the

carter
on
a
mule,
and
a
man
sitting
in
front.
Don
Quixote
planted
himself
before
it

and
said,
"Whither
are
you
going,
brothers?
What
cart
is
this?
What
have
you
got
in

it?
What
flags
are
those?"



To
this
the
carter
replied,
"The
cart
is
mine;
what
is
in
it
is
a
pair
of
wild
caged
lions,

which
the
governor
of
Oran
is
sending
to
court
as
a
present
to
his
Majesty;
and
the

flags
are
our
lord
the
King's,
to
show
that
what
is
here
is
his
property."



"And
are
the
lions
large?"
asked
Don
Quixote.



"So
large,"
replied
the
man
who
sat
at
the
door
of
the
cart,
"that
larger,
or
as
large,

have
never
crossed
from
Africa
to
Spain;
I
am
the
keeper,
and
I
have
brought
over

others,
but
never
any
like
these.
They
are
male
and
female;
the
male
is
in
that
first

cage
and
the
female
in
the
one
behind,
and
they
are
hungry
now,
for
they
have
eaten

nothing
today,
so
let
your
worship
stand
aside,
for
we
must
make
haste
to
the
place

where
we
are
to
feed
them."



Hereupon,
smiling
slightly,
Don
Quixote
exclaimed,
"Lion
whelps
against
me!

Against
me
whelps
of
lions,
and
at
such
a
time!
Then,
by
God!
those
gentlemen
who

send
them
here
shall
see
if
I
am
a
man
to
be
frightened
by
lions.
Get
down,
my
good

fellow,
and
as
you
are
the
keeper
open
the
cages,
and
turn
me
out
those
beasts,
and

in
the
midst
of
this
plain
I
will
let
them
know
who
Don
Quixote
of
La
Mancha
is,
in

spite
and
in
the
teeth
of
the
enchanters
who
send
them
to
me."



"So,"
said
the
gentleman
to
himself
at
this;
"our
worthy
knight
has
revealed
himself;

the
curds,
no
doubt,
have
softened
his
skull
and
brought
his
brains
to
a
head."



198
 Don
Quixote
de
la
Mancha



At
this
instant
Sancho
came
up
to
him,
saying,
"Señor,
for
God's
sake
do
something

to
keep
my
master,
Don
Quixote,
from
tackling
these
lions;
for
if
he
does
they'll
tear

us
all
to
pieces
here."



"Is
your
master
then
so
crazy,"
asked
the
gentleman,
"that
you
believe
and
are
afraid

he
will
engage
such
fierce
animals?"



"He
is
not
crazy,"
said
Sancho,
"but
he
is
foolhardy."



"I
will
prevent
it,"
said
the
gentleman;
and
going
over
to
Don
Quixote,
who
was

insisting
upon
the
keeper's
opening
the
cages,
he
said
to
him,
"Sir
knight,
knights

errant
should
attempt
only
those
adventures
that
afford
the
hope
of
a
successful

outcome,
not
those
which
are
entirely
hopeless;
for
valor
that
borders
on
temerity

savors
more
of
madness
than
of
courage;
moreover,
these
lions
do
not
come
to

oppose
you,
nor
do
they
dream
of
such
a
thing;
they
are
going
as
presents
to
his

Majesty,
and
it
will
not
be
right
to
stop
them
or
delay
their
journey."



"Gentle
sir,"
replied
Don
Quixote,
"you
go
and
mind
your
tame
partridge
and
your

bold
ferret,
and
leave
everyone
to
manage
his
own
business;
this
affair
is
mine,
and
I

know
whether
these
gentlemen
the
lions
come
to
me
or
not;"
and
then
turning
to

the
keeper
he
exclaimed,
"By
all
that's
good,
sir
scoundrel,
if
you
don't
open
the

cages
this
very
instant,
I'll
pin
you
to
the
cart
with
this
lance."



The
carter,
seeing
the
determination
of
this
apparition
in
amour,
said
to
him,
"Please

your
worship,
for
charity's
sake,
señor,
let
me
unyoke
the
mules
and
place
myself
in

safety
along
with
them
before
the
lions
are
turned
out;
for
if
they
kill
them,
I
am

ruined
for
life,
for
all
I
possess
is
this
cart
and
mules."



"O
man
of
little
faith,"
replied
Don
Quixote,
"get
down
and
unyoke;
you
will
soon
see

that
you
are
exerting
yourself
for
nothing,
and
that
you
might
have
spared
yourself

the
trouble."

                                                       Don
Quixote
de
la
Mancha
       199

                                                                                          



The
carter
got
down
and
with
all
speed
unyoked
the
mules,
and
the
keeper
called

out
at
the
top
of
his
voice,
"I
call
all
here
to
witness
that
against
my
will
and
under

compulsion
I
open
the
cages
and
let
the
lions
loose,
and
that
I
warn
this
gentleman

that
he
will
be
accountable
for
all
the
harm
and
mischief
which
these
beasts
may
do,

and
for
my
salary
and
dues
as
well.
You,
gentlemen,
place
yourselves
in
safety

before
I
open,
for
I
know
they
will
do
me
no
harm."



Once
more
the
gentleman
strove
to
persuade
Don
Quixote
not
to
do
such
a
mad

thing,
as
it
was
tempting
God
to
engage
in
such
a
piece
of
folly.
To
this,
Don
Quixote

replied
that
he
knew
what
he
was
doing.
The
gentleman
in
return
entreated
him
to

reflect,
for
he
knew
he
was
under
a
delusion.

"Well,
señor,"
answered
Don
Quixote,

"if
you
do
not
like
to
be
a
spectator
of
this
tragedy,
as
in
your
opinion
it
will
be,
spur

your
flea‐bitten
mare,
and
place
yourself
in
safety."



Hearing
this,
Sancho,
with
tears
in
his
eyes,
entreated
him
to
give
up
an
enterprise

compared
with
which
the
one
of
the
windmills,
and
the
awful
one
of
the
fulling
mills,

and,
in
fact,
all
the
feats
he
had
attempted
in
the
whole
course
of
his
life,
were
cakes

and
fancy
bread.
"Look
ye,
señor,"
said
Sancho,
"there's
no
enchantment
here,
nor

anything
of
the
sort,
for
between
the
bars
and
chinks
of
the
cage
I
have
seen
the
paw

of
a
real
lion,
and
judging
by
that
I
reckon
the
lion
such
a
paw
could
belong
to
must

be
bigger
than
a
mountain."



"Fear
at
any
rate,"
replied
Don
Quixote,
"will
make
him
look
bigger
to
thee
than
half

the
world.
Retire,
Sancho,
and
leave
me;
and
if
I
die
here
thou
knowest
our
old

compact;
thou
wilt
repair
to
Dulcinea
–
I
say
no
more."

To
these
he
added
some

further
words
that
banished
all
hope
of
his
giving
up
his
insane
project.

He
of
the

green
gaban
would
have
offered
resistance,
but
he
found
himself
ill‐matched
as
to

arms,
and
did
not
think
it
prudent
to
come
to
blows
with
a
madman,
for
such
Don

Quixote
now
showed
himself
to
be
in
every
respect;
and
the
latter,
renewing
his

commands
to
the
keeper
and
repeating
his
threats,
gave
warning
to
the
gentleman

200
 Don
Quixote
de
la
Mancha



to
spur
his
mare,
Sancho
his
Dapple,
and
the
carter
his
mules,
all
striving
to
get
away

from
the
cart
as
far
as
they
could
before
the
lions
broke
loose.

Sancho
was
weeping

over
his
master's
death,
for
this
time
he
firmly
believed
it
was
in
store
for
him
from

the
claws
of
the
lions;
and
he
cursed
his
fate
and
called
it
an
unlucky
hour
when
he

thought
of
taking
service
with
him
again;
but
with
all
his
tears
and
lamentations
he

did
not
forget
to
thrash
the
Dapple
so
as
to
put
a
good
space
between
himself
and

the
cart.
The
keeper,
seeing
that
the
fugitives
were
now
some
distance
off,
once

more
entreated
and
warned
him
as
before;
but
he
replied
that
he
heard
him,
and

that
he
need
not
trouble
himself
with
any
further
warnings
or
entreaties,
as
they

would
be
fruitless,
and
bade
him
make
haste.



During
the
delay
that
occurred
while
the
keeper
was
opening
the
first
cage,
Don

Quixote
was
considering
whether
it
would
not
be
well
to
do
battle
on
foot,
instead
of

on
horseback,
and
finally
resolved
to
fight
on
foot,
fearing
that
Rocinante
might
take

fright
at
the
sight
of
the
lions;
he
therefore
sprang
off
his
horse,
flung
his
lance
aside,

braced
his
buckler
on
his
arm,
and
drawing
his
sword,
advanced
slowly
with

marvelous
intrepidity
and
resolute
courage,
to
plant
himself
in
front
of
the
cart,

commending
himself
with
all
his
heart
to
God
and
to
his
lady
Dulcinea.



It
is
to
be
observed,
that
on
coming
to
this
passage,
the
author
of
this
veracious

history
breaks
out
into
exclamations.
"O
great‐souled
Don
Quixote!
high‐mettled,

past
extolling!

Mirror,
wherein
all
the
heroes
of
the
world
may
see
themselves!
A

new
and
second
Don
Manuel
de
León,52
once
the
glory
and
honor
of
Spanish

knighthood!

In
what
words
shall
I
describe
this
dread
exploit,
by
what
language

shall
I
make
it
credible
to
ages
to
come,
what
eulogies
are
there
unmeet
for
thee,

though
they
be
hyperboles
piled
on
hyperboles!
On
foot,
alone,
undaunted,
with
but

a
simple
sword,
and
that
no
trenchant
blade
of
the
Perrillo
brand,
a
shield,
but
no

bright
polished
steel
one,
there
stoodst
thou,
biding
and
awaiting
the
two
fiercest

lions
that
Africa's
forests
ever
bred!

Thy
own
deeds
be
thy
praise,
valiant


























































52
Don
Manual
Ponce
de
León,
a
paragon
of
gallantry
and
courtesy
during
the
time
of


Ferdinand
and
Isabella.

                                                                              201

                                                        Don
Quixote
de
la
Mancha

                                                                                 

Manchegan,
and
here
I
leave
them
as
they
stand,
wanting
the
words
wherewith
to

glorify
them!"



Here
the
author's
outburst
came
to
an
end,
and
he
proceeded
to
take
up
the
thread

of
his
story,
saying
that
the
keeper,
seeing
that
Don
Quixote
had
taken
up
his

position,
and
that
it
was
impossible
for
him
to
avoid
letting
out
the
male
without

incurring
the
enmity
of
the
fiery
and
daring
knight,
flung
open
the
doors
of
the
first

cage,
containing,
as
has
been
said,
the
lion,
which
was
now
seen
to
be
of
enormous

size,
and
grim
and
hideous
mien.
The
first
thing
he
did
was
to
turn
round
in
the
cage

in
which
he
lay,
and
protrude
his
claws,
and
stretch
himself
thoroughly;
he
next

opened
his
mouth,
and
yawned
very
leisurely,
and
with
near
two
palms'
length
of

tongue
that
he
had
thrust
forth,
he
licked
the
dust
out
of
his
eyes
and
washed
his

face;
having
done
this,
he
put
his
head
out
of
the
cage
and
looked
all
round
with
eyes

like
glowing
coals,
a
spectacle
and
demeanor
to
strike
terror
into
temerity
itself.


Don
Quixote
merely
observed
him
steadily,
longing
for
him
to
leap
from
the
cart
and

come
to
close
quarters
with
him,
when
he
hoped
to
hew
him
in
pieces.



So
far
did
his
unparalleled
madness
go;
but
the
noble
lion,
more
courteous
than

arrogant,
not
troubling
himself
about
silly
bravado,
after
having
looked
all
round,
as

has
been
said,
turned
about
and
presented
his
hind‐quarters
to
Don
Quixote,
and

very
coolly
and
tranquilly
lay
down
again
in
the
cage.

Seeing
this,
Don
Quixote

ordered
the
keeper
to
take
a
stick
to
him
and
provoke
him
to
make
him
come
out.



"That
I
won't,"
said
the
keeper;
"for
if
I
anger
him,
the
first
he'll
tear
in
pieces
will
be

myself.

Be
satisfied,
sir
knight,
with
what
you
have
done,
which
leaves
nothing
more

to
be
said
on
the
score
of
courage,
and
do
not
seek
to
tempt
fortune
a
second
time.

The
lion
has
the
door
open;
he
is
free
to
come
out
or
not
to
come
out;
but
as
he
has

not
come
out
so
far,
he
will
not
come
out
to‐day.

Your
worship's
great
courage
has

been
fully
manifested
already;
no
brave
champion,
so
it
strikes
me,
is
bound
to
do

more
than
challenge
his
enemy
and
wait
for
him
on
the
field;
if
his
adversary
does

202
 Don
Quixote
de
la
Mancha



not
come,
on
him
lies
the
disgrace,
and
he
who
waits
for
him
carries
off
the
crown
of

victory."



"That
is
true,"
said
Don
Quixote;
"close
the
door,
my
friend,
and
bear
me
witness
as

best
you
can
with
regard
to
what
you
have
seen
me
do
here.

I
would
have
thee

certify
to
wit,
that
thou
didst
open
for
the
lion,
that
I
waited
for
him,
that
he
did
not

come
out,
that
I
still
waited
for
him,
and
that
still
he
did
not
come
out,
and
lay
down

again.
I
am
not
bound
to
do
more;
enchantments
away,
and
God
uphold
the
right,
the

truth,
and
true
chivalry!

Close
the
door
as
I
bade
thee,
while
I
make
signals
to
the

fugitives
that
have
left
us,
that
they
may
learn
this
exploit
from
thy
lips."



The
keeper
obeyed,
and
Don
Quixote,
fixing
on
the
point
of
his
lance
the
cloth
he
had

wiped
his
face
with
after
the
deluge
of
curds,
proceeded
to
recall
the
others,
who

still
continued
to
fly,
looking
back
at
every
step,
all
in
a
body,
the
gentleman
bringing

up
the
rear.

Sancho,
however,
happening
to
observe
the
signal
of
the
white
cloth,

exclaimed,
"May
I
die,
if
my
master
has
not
overcome
the
wild
beasts,
for
he
is

calling
to
us."



They
all
stopped,
and
perceived
that
it
was
Don
Quixote
who
was
making
signals,

and
shaking
off
their
fears
to
some
extent,
they
approached
slowly
until
they
were

near
enough
to
hear
distinctly
Don
Quixote's
voice
calling
to
them.
They
returned
at

length
to
the
cart,
and
as
they
came
up,
Don
Quixote
said
to
the
carter,
"Hitch
up

your
mules
once
more,
brother,
and
continue
your
journey;
and
do
thou,
Sancho,

give
him
two
gold
crowns
for
himself
and
the
keeper,
to
compensate
for
the
delay

they
have
incurred
through
me."



"That
will
I
give
with
all
my
heart,"
said
Sancho;
"but
what
has
become
of
the
lions?

Are
they
dead
or
alive?"



The
keeper,
then,
in
full
detail,
and
bit
by
bit,
described
the
end
of
the
contest,

exalting
to
the
best
of
his
power
and
ability
the
valor
of
Don
Quixote,
at
the
sight
of

                                                      Don
Quixote
de
la
Mancha
203

                                                                                   

whom
the
lion
quailed,
and
would
not
and
dared
not
come
out
of
the
cage,
although

he
had
held
the
door
open
ever
so
long;
and
showing
how,
in
consequence
of
his

having
represented
to
the
knight
that
it
was
tempting
God
to
provoke
the
lion
in

order
to
force
him
out,
which
he
wished
to
have
done,
he
very
reluctantly,
and

altogether
against
his
will,
had
allowed
the
door
to
be
closed.



"What
dost
thou
think
of
this,
Sancho?"
said
Don
Quixote.
"Are
there
any

enchantments
that
can
prevail
against
true
valor?

The
enchanters
may
be
able
to

rob
me
of
good
fortune,
but
of
fortitude
and
courage
they
cannot."



Sancho
paid
the
crowns,
the
carter
hitched
his
mules,
the
keeper
kissed
Don

Quixote's
hands
for
the
bounty
bestowed
upon
him,
and
promised
to
give
an

account
of
the
valiant
exploit
to
the
King
himself,
as
soon
as
he
saw
him
at
court.



"Then,"
said
Don
Quixote,
"if
his
Majesty
should
happen
to
ask
who
performed
it,

you
must
say
THE
KNIGHT
OF
THE
LIONS;
for
it
is
my
desire
that
into
this
the
name

I
have
hitherto
borne
of
Knight
of
the
Mournful
Countenance
be
from
this
time

forward
changed,
altered,
transformed,
and
turned;
and
in
this
I
follow
the
ancient

usage
of
knights‐errant,
who
changed
their
names
when
they
pleased,
or
when
it

suited
their
purpose."



The
cart
went
its
way,
and
Don
Quixote,
Sancho,
and
he
of
the
green
gaban
went

theirs.

All
this
time,
Don
Diego
de
Miranda
had
not
spoken
a
word,
being
entirely

taken
up
with
observing
and
noting
all
that
Don
Quixote
did
and
said,
and
the

opinion
he
formed
was
that
he
was
a
man
of
brains
gone
mad,
and
a
madman
on
the

verge
of
rationality.

The
first
part
of
his
history
had
not
yet
reached
him,
for,
had
he

read
it,
the
amazement
with
which
his
words
and
deeds
filled
him
would
have

vanished,
as
he
would
then
have
understood
the
nature
of
his
madness;
but
knowing

nothing
of
it,
he
took
him
to
be
rational
one
moment,
and
crazy
the
next,
for
what
he

said
was
sensible,
elegant,
and
well
expressed,
and
what
he
did,
absurd,
rash,
and

foolish;
and
said
he
to
himself,
"What
could
be
madder
than
putting
on
a
helmet
full

204
 Don
Quixote
de
la
Mancha



of
curds,
and
then
persuading
oneself
that
enchanters
are
softening
one's
skull;
or

what
could
be
greater
rashness
and
folly
than
wanting
to
fight
lions
by
sheer

strength
alone?"



Don
Quixote
roused
him
from
these
reflections
and
this
soliloquy
by
saying,
"No

doubt,
Señor
Don
Diego
de
Miranda,
you
must
take
me
for
a
fool
and
a
madman,
and

it
would
be
no
wonder
if
you
did,
for
my
deeds
do
not
argue
anything
else.
But
for
all

that,
I
would
have
you
take
notice
that
I
am
neither
so
mad
nor
so
foolish
as
I
must

have
seemed
to
you.

A
gallant
knight
looks
good
bringing
his
lance
to
bear
adroitly

upon
a
fierce
bull
under
the
eyes
of
his
sovereign,
in
the
midst
of
a
spacious
plaza;
a

knight
shows
to
advantage
arrayed
in
glittering
armor,
pacing
the
lists
before
the

ladies
in
some
joyous
tournament,
and
all
those
knights
show
to
advantage
that

entertain,
divert,
and,
if
we
may
say
so,
honor
the
courts
of
their
princes
by
warlike

exercises,
or
what
resemble
them;
but
the
best
showing
of
all
is
made
by
a
knight‐
errant
when
he
traverses
deserts,
solitudes,
cross‐roads,
forests,
and
mountains,
in

quest
of
perilous
adventures,
bent
on
bringing
them
to
a
happy
and
successful
issue,

all
to
win
a
glorious
and
lasting
renown.




More
impressive,
I
maintain,
is
the
knight‐errant
bringing
aid
to
some
widow
in

some
lonely
waste,
than
the
court
knight
dallying
with
some
city
damsel.

All
knights

have
their
own
special
parts
to
play;
let
the
courtier
devote
himself
to
the
ladies,
let

him
add
luster
to
his
sovereign's
court
by
his
liveries,
let
him
entertain
poor

gentlemen
with
the
sumptuous
fare
of
his
table,
let
him
arrange
joustings,
marshal

tournaments,
and
prove
himself
noble,
generous,
and
magnificent,
and
above
all
a

good
Christian,
and
so
doing
he
will
fulfill
the
duties
that
are
especially
his.

But
let

the
knight‐errant
explore
the
corners
of
the
earth
and
penetrate
the
most
intricate

labyrinths,
at
each
step
let
him
attempt
impossibilities,
on
desolate
heaths
let
him

endure
the
burning
rays
of
the
midsummer
sun,
and
the
bitter
inclemency
of
the

winter
winds
and
frosts;
let
no
lions
daunt
him,
no
monsters
terrify
him,
no
dragons

make
him
quail;
for
to
seek
then
out,
to
attack
them,
and
to
vanquish
them
all,
are
in

truth
his
main
duties.

I,
then,
as
it
has
fallen
to
my
lot
to
be
a
knight
errant,
cannot

                                                       Don
Quixote
de
la
Mancha
 205

                                                                                     

avoid
attempting
all
that
to
me
seems
to
come
within
the
sphere
of
my
duties;
thus
it

was
my
duty
to
attack
those
lions,
although
I
knew
it
to
be
an
exceedingly
rash
thing

to
do.





For
well
I
know
the
meaning
of
valor:
namely,
a
virtue
that
lies
between
the
two

extremes
of
cowardice
on
the
one
hand
and
temerity
on
the
other.

It
is,
nonetheless,

better
for
the
brave
man
to
carry
his
bravery
to
the
point
of
rashness
than
for
him
to

sink
into
cowardice;
for,
as
it
is
easier
for
the
prodigal
to
become
a
generous
man

than
it
is
for
the
miser,
so
it
is
easier
for
the
foolhardy
to
become
truly
brave
for
the

coward
to
rise
to
true
valor.


And
believe
me,
Señor
Don
Diego,
in
this
matter
of

adventures,
it
is
better
to
lose
by
a
card
too
many
than
by
a
card
too
few;
for
to
hear

it
said
that
'such
a
knight
is
rash
and
daring,'
sounds
better
than
'such
a
knight
is

timid
and
a
coward.'"



"I
must
assure
you,
Señor
Don
Quixote,"
said
Don
Diego,
"that
everything
you
have

said
and
done
is
proved
correct
by
the
test
of
reason
itself;
and
I
believe,
if
the
laws

and
ordinances
of
knight‐errantry
should
be
lost,
they
might
be
found
again
in
your

Grace;s
bosom,
which
is
their
own
proper
depository
and
storehouse.


But
let
us

make
haste,
and
reach
my
village,
where
you
shall
take
rest
after
your
late
exertions;

for
if
the
body
is
not
tired,
the
spirit
may
be,
and
this
sometimes
tends
to
produce

bodily
fatigue."



"I
take
the
invitation
as
a
great
flavor
and
honor,
Señor
Don
Diego,"
replied
Don

Quixote;
and
pressing
forward
at
a
better
pace
than
before,
at
about
two
in
the

afternoon
they
reached
the
village
and
house
of
Don
Diego,
or,
as
Don
Quixote
called

him,
"The
Knight
of
the
Green
Gaban."



206
         Don
Quixote
de
la
Mancha





CHAPTER
LXIV.

TREATING
OF
THE
ADVENTURE
WHICH
GAVE
DON
QUIXOTE
MORE

UNHAPPINESS
THAN
ALL
THAT
HAD
HITHERTO
BEFALLEN
HIM



.
.
.
One
morning
as
Don
Quixote
went
out
for
a
stroll
along
the
beach,53
arrayed
in

full
armor
(for,
as
he
often
said,
this
was
"his
only
gear,
his
only
rest
the
fray,"
and

he
never
was
without
it
for
a
moment),
he
saw
coming
towards
him
a
knight,
also
in

full
armor,
with
a
shining
moon
painted
on
his
shield,
who,
on
approaching

sufficiently
near
to
be
heard,
said
in
a
loud
voice,
addressing
himself
to
Don
Quixote,

"Illustrious
knight,
and
never
sufficiently
extolled
Don
Quixote
of
La
Mancha,
I
am

the
Knight
of
the
White
Moon,
whose
unheard‐of
achievements
will
perhaps
have

recalled
him
to
thy
memory.

I
come
to
do
battle
with
thee
and
prove
the
might
of

thy
arm,
to
the
end
that
I
make
thee
acknowledge
and
confess
that
my
lady,
let
her

be
who
she
may,
is
incomparably
fairer
than
thy
Dulcinea
del
Toboso.

If
thou
dost

acknowledge
this
fairly
and
openly,
thou
shalt
escape
death
and
save
me
the
trouble

of
inflicting
it
upon
thee;
if
thou
fightest
and
I
vanquish
thee,
I
demand
no
other

satisfaction
than
that,
laying
aside
arms
and
abstaining
from
going
in
quest
of

adventures,
thou
withdraw
and
betake
thyself
to
thine
own
village
for
the
space
of
a

year,
and
live
there
without
putting
hand
to
sword,
in
peace
and
quiet
and
beneficial

repose,
the
same
being
needful
for
the
increase
of
thy
substance
and
the
salvation
of

thy
soul;
and
if
thou
dost
vanquish
me,
my
head
shall
be
at
thy
disposal,
my
arms

and
horse
thy
spoils,
and
the
renown
of
my
deeds
transferred
and
added
to
thine.

Consider
which
will
be
thy
best
course,
and
give
me
thy
answer
speedily,
for
this
day

is
all
the
time
I
have
for
the
dispatching
of
this
business."




























































53
Don
Quixote
and
Sancho,
after
numerous
encounters
(such
as
Don
Quixote’s


descent
into
the
cave
of
Montesinos
and
their
stay
with
a
playful
Duke,
who
gave

Sancho
the
“governorship
of
an
island”
for
ten
days),
are
now
in
Barcelona.

Famous

as
they
are,
they
meet
the
viceroy
and
the
nobles;
their
host
is
Don
Antonio
Moreno,

“a
gentleman
of
wealth
and
discernment
who
was
fond
of
amusing
himself
in
an

innocent
and
kindly
way.”

                                                                              207

                                                      Don
Quixote
de
la
Mancha

                                                                                  

Don
Quixote
was
amazed
and
astonished,
as
well
at
the
Knight
of
the
White
Moon's

arrogance,
as
at
his
reason
for
delivering
the
defiance,
and
with
calm
dignity
he

answered
him.




"Knight
of
the
White
Moon,
of
whose
achievements
I
have
never
heard
until
now,
I

will
venture
to
swear
you
have
never
seen
the
illustrious
Dulcinea;
for
had
you
seen

her
I
know
you
would
have
taken
care
not
to
stake
your
all
upon
this
issue,
because

the
sight
would
have
removed
all
doubt
from
your
mind
that
there
ever
has
been
or

can
be
a
beauty
to
be
compared
with
hers;
and
so,
not
saying
you
lie,
but
merely
that

you
are
not
correct
in
what
you
state,
I
accept
your
challenge,
with
the
conditions

you
have
proposed,
and
at
once,
that
the
day
you
have
fixed
may
not
expire;
and

from
your
conditions
I
except
only
that
of
the
renown
of
your
achievements
being

transferred
to
me,
for
I
know
not
of
what
sort
they
are
nor
what
they
may
amount

to;
I
am
satisfied
with
my
own,
such
as
they
be.

Take,
therefore,
the
side
of
the
field

you
choose,
and
I
will
do
the
same;
and
to
whom
God
shall
give
it,
may
Saint
Peter

add
his
blessing."



The
Knight
of
the
White
Moon
had
been
seen
by
some
of
the
townspeople,
who
told

the
viceroy
that
he
was
talking
with
Don
Quixote.
The
viceroy,
fancying
it
must
be

some
fresh
adventure
got
up
by
Don
Antonio
Moreno
or
some
other
gentleman
of

the
city,
hurried
out
at
once
to
the
beach,
accompanied
by
Don
Antonio
and
several

other
gentlemen,
just
as
Don
Quixote
was
wheeling
Rocinante
round
in
order
to
take

up
the
necessary
distance.

The
viceroy
upon
this,
seeing
that
the
pair
of
them
were

evidently
preparing
to
come
to
the
charge,
put
himself
between
them,
asking
them

what
it
was
that
led
them
to
engage
in
combat
all
of
a
sudden
in
this
way.
The
Knight

of
the
White
Moon
replied
that
it
was
a
question
of
precedence
of
beauty;
and
briefly

told
him
what
he
had
said
to
Don
Quixote,
and
how
the
conditions
of
the
defiance

agreed
upon
on
both
sides
had
been
accepted.
The
viceroy
went
over
to
Don

Antonio,
and
asked
in
a
low
voice
if
he
knew
who
the
Knight
of
the
White
Moon
was,

or
was
it
some
joke
they
were
playing
on
Don
Quixote.

Don
Antonio
replied
that
he

neither
knew
who
he
was
nor
whether
the
defiance
was
in
joke
or
in
earnest.
This

208
 Don
Quixote
de
la
Mancha



answer
left
the
viceroy
in
a
state
of
perplexity,
not
knowing
whether
he
ought
to
let

the
combat
go
on
or
not;
but
unable
to
persuade
himself
that
it
was
anything
but
a

joke
he
fell
back,
saying,
"If
there
be
no
other
way
out
of
it,
gallant
knights,
except
to

confess
or
die,
and
Don
Quixote
is
inflexible,
and
your
worship
of
the
White
Moon

still
more
so,
in
God's
hand
be
it,
and
fall
on."



He
of
the
White
Moon
thanked
the
viceroy
in
courteous
and
well‐chosen
words
for

the
permission
he
gave
them,
and
so
did
Don
Quixote,
who
then,
commending

himself
with
all
his
heart
to
heaven
and
to
his
Dulcinea,
as
was
his
custom
on
the
eve

of
any
combat
that
awaited
him,
proceeded
to
take
a
little
more
distance,
as
he
saw

his
antagonist
was
doing
the
same;
then,
without
blast
of
trumpet
or
other
warlike

instrument
to
give
them
the
signal
to
charge,
both
at
the
same
instant
wheeled
their

horses;
and
he
of
the
White
Moon,
being
the
swifter,
met
Don
Quixote
after
having

traversed
two‐thirds
of
the
course,
and
there
encountered
him
with
such
violence

that,
without
touching
him
with
his
lance
(for
he
held
it
high,
to
all
appearance

purposely),
he
hurled
Don
Quixote
and
Rocinante
to
the
earth,
a
perilous
fall.
He

sprang
upon
him
at
once,
and
placing
the
lance
over
his
visor
said
to
him,
"You
are

vanquished,
sir
knight,
nay
dead,
unless
you
confess,
according
to
the
terms
of
our

combat.”





Don
Quixote,
bruised
and
stupefied,
without
raising
his
visor,
said
in
a
weak
feeble

voice
as
if
he
were
speaking
out
of
a
tomb,
"Dulcinea
del
Toboso
is
the
fairest

woman
in
the
world,
and
I
the
most
unfortunate
knight
on
earth;
it
is
not
fitting
that

this
truth
should
suffer
by
my
feebleness;
drive
your
lance
home,
sir
knight,
and
take

my
life,
since
you
have
already
deprived
me
of
my
honor."



"That
will
I
most
surely
will
not
do,”
said
he
of
the
White
Moon;
"Let
the
fame
of
the

lady
Dulcinea’s
beauty
live
on
undimmed;
all
I
require
is
that
the
great
Don
Quixote

retire
to
his
own
home
for
a
year,
or
until
such
time
as
I
shall
specify,

as
we
agreed

before
joining
battle."



                                                      Don
Quixote
de
la
Mancha
 209

                                                                                   

The
viceroy,
Don
Antonio,
and
several
others
who
were
present
heard
all
this,
and

heard
too
how
Don
Quixote
replied,
that
so
long
as
nothing
in
prejudice
of
Dulcinea

was
demanded
of
him,
he
would
observe
all
the
rest
like
a
true
and
loyal
knight.
The

engagement
given,
he
of
the
White
Moon
wheeled
about,
and
making
obeisance
to

the
viceroy
with
a
movement
of
the
head,
rode
away
into
the
city
at
a
half
gallop.

The
viceroy
bade
Don
Antonio
hasten
after
him,
and
by
some
means
or
other
find

out
who
he
was.
They
raised
Don
Quixote
up
and
uncovered
his
face,
and
found
him

pale
and
bathed
with
sweat.



Rocinante
from
the
mere
hard
measure
he
had
received
lay
unable
to
stir
for
the

present.

Sancho,
wholly
dejected
and
woebegone,
knew
not
what
to
say
or
do.

He

fancied
that
all
was
a
dream,
that
the
whole
business
was
a
piece
of
enchantment.

Here
was
his
master,
defeated,
and
bound
not
to
take
up
arms
for
a
year.

He
saw
the

light
of
the
glory
of
his
achievements
obscured;
the
hopes
of
the
promises
lately

made
him
swept
away
like
smoke
before
the
wind;
Rocinante,
he
feared,
was

crippled
for
life,
and
his
master's
bones
dislocated;
for
if
he
were
only
jolted
out
of

his
madness54
it
would
be
no
small
luck.

In
the
end
they
carried
him
into
the
city
in

a
litter
which
the
viceroy
sent
for,
and
thither
the
viceroy
himself
returned
to
find

out
who
this
Knight
of
the
White
Moon
was
who
had
left
Don
Quixote
in
such
a
sad

state.








































































54
The
original
has
an
untranslatable
pun
on
deslocado,
which
means
“out
of
joint”


and
also
“cured
of
madness”
(from
loco,
“mad”).

De‐crazied.

210
   Don
Quixote
de
la
Mancha





CHAPTER
LXV.

WHEREIN
IS
MADE
KNOWN
WHO
THE
KNIGHT
OF
THE
WHITE
MOON
WAS;

LIKEWISE
DON
GREGORIO'S
RELEASE,
AND
OTHER
EVENTS



Don
Antonia
Moreno
followed
the
Knight
of
the
White
Moon,
and
a
number
of
boys

followed
him
too,
nay
pursued
him,
until
they
found
him
fairly
housed
in
a
hostel
in

the
heart
of
the
city.

Don
Antonio,
eager
to
make
his
acquaintance,
entered
also;
a

squire
came
out
to
meet
him
and
remove
his
amour,
and
he
shut
himself
into
a

lower
room,
still
attended
by
Don
Antonio,
whose
bread
would
not
bake
until
he
had

found
out
who
he
was.

He
of
the
White
Moon,
seeing
then
that
the
gentleman
would

not
leave
him,
"I
know
very
well,
señor,
what
you
have
come
for;
it
is
to
find
out
who

I
am;
and
as
there
is
no
reason
why
I
should
conceal
it
from
you,
while
my
servant

here
is
taking
off
my
amour
I
will
tell
you
the
true
state
of
the
case,
without
leaving

out
anything.
You
must
know,
señor,
that
I
am
called
the
bachelor
Sanson
Carrasco.
I

am
of
the
same
village
as
Don
Quixote
of
La
Mancha,
whose
craze
and
folly
make
all

of
us
who
know
him
feel
pity
for
him,
and
I
am
one
of
those
who
have
felt
it
most;

and
persuaded
that
his
chance
of
recovery
lay
in
quiet
and
keeping
at
home
and
in

his
own
house,
I
hit
upon
a
device
for
keeping
him
there.





“Three
months
ago,
therefore,
I
went
out
to
meet
him
as
a
knight‐errant,
under
the

assumed
name
of
the
Knight
of
the
Mirrors,
intending
to
engage
him
in
combat
and

overcome
him
without
hurting
him,
making
it
the
condition
of
our
combat
that
the

vanquished
should
be
at
the
disposal
of
the
victor.

What
I
meant
to
demand
of
him

(for
I
regarded
him
as
vanquished
already)
was
that
he
should
return
to
his
own

village,
and
not
leave
it
for
a
whole
year,
by
which
time
he
might
be
cured.

But
fate

ordered
it
otherwise,
for
he
vanquished
me
and
unhorsed
me,
and
so
my
plan
failed.

He
went
his
way,
and
I
came
back
conquered,
covered
with
shame,
and
sorely

bruised
by
my
fall,
which
was
a
particularly
dangerous
one.

But
this
did
not
quench

my
desire
to
meet
him
again
and
overcome
him,
as
you
have
seen
to‐day.

And
as
he

is
so
scrupulous
in
his
observance
of
the
laws
of
knight‐errantry,
he
will,
no
doubt,

                                                     Don
Quixote
de
la
Mancha
      211

                                                                                       

in
order
to
keep
his
word,
obey
the
injunction
I
have
laid
upon
him.
This,
señor,
is

how
the
matter
stands,
and
I
have
nothing
more
to
tell
you.

I
implore
of
you
not
to

betray
me,
or
tell
Don
Quixote
who
I
am;
so
that
my
honest
endeavors
may
be

successful,
and
that
a
man
of
excellent
wits
–
were
he
only
rid
of
the
fooleries
of

chivalry
–
may
get
them
back
again."



"O
señor,"
said
Don
Antonio,
"may
God
forgive
you
the
wrong
you
have
done
the

whole
world
in
trying
to
bring
the
most
amusing
madman
in
it
back
to
his
senses.


Do
you
not
see,
señor,
that
the
gain
by
Don
Quixote's
sanity
can
never
equal
the

enjoyment
his
crazes
give?

But
my
belief
is
that
all
the
señor
bachelor's
pains
will

be
of
no
avail
to
bring
a
man
so
hopelessly
cracked
to
his
senses
again;
and
if
it
were

not
uncharitable,
I
would
say
may
Don
Quixote
never
be
cured,
for
by
his
recovery

we
lose
not
only
his
own
drolleries,
but
his
squire
Sancho
Panza's
too,
any
one
of

which
is
enough
to
turn
melancholy
itself
into
merriment.

However,
I'll
hold
my

peace
and
say
nothing
to
him,
and
we'll
see
whether
I
am
right
in
my
suspicion
that

Señor
Carrasco's
efforts
will
be
fruitless."



The
bachelor
replied
that
at
all
events
the
affair
promised
well,
and
he
hoped
for
a

happy
result
from
it;
and
putting
his
services
at
Don
Antonio's
commands
he
took

his
leave
of
him;
and
having
had
his
amour
packed
at
once
upon
a
mule,
he
rode

away
from
the
city
the
same
day
on
the
horse
he
rode
to
battle,
and
returned
to
his

own
country
without
meeting
any
adventure
calling
for
record
in
this
veracious

history.



212
         Don
Quixote
de
la
Mancha





CHAPTER
LXXIII.

OF
THE
OMENS
DON
QUIXOTE
HAD
AS
HE
ENTERED
HIS
OWN
VILLAGE,
AND

OTHER
INCIDENTS
THAT
EMBELLISH
AND
GIVE
A
COLOUR
TO
THIS
GREAT

HISTORY



At
the
entrance
of
the
village,
so
says
Cide
Hamete,
Don
Quixote
saw
two
boys

quarrelling
on
the
village
threshing‐floor
one
of
whom
said
to
the
other,
"Take
it

easy,
Periquillo;
thou
shalt
never
see
it
again
as
long
as
thou
livest."



Don
Quixote
heard
this,
and
said
he
to
Sancho,
"Dost
thou
not
mark,
friend,
what

that
boy
said,
'Thou
shalt
never
see
it55
again
as
long
as
thou
livest'?"



"Well,"
said
Sancho,
"what
does
it
matter
if
the
boy
said
so?"



"What!"
said
Don
Quixote,
"dost
thou
not
see
that,
applied
to
the
object
of
my

desires,
the
words
mean
that
I
am
never
to
see
Dulcinea
again?"



Sancho
was
about
to
answer,
when
his
attention
was
diverted
by
seeing
a
hare
come

flying
across
the
plain
pursued
by
several
greyhounds
and
sportsmen.
In
its
terror
it

ran
to
take
shelter
and
hide
itself
under
the
Dapple.

Sancho
caught
it
alive
and

presented
it
to
Don
Quixote,
who
was
saying,
"Malum
signum,
malum
signum!56
a

hare
flies,
greyhounds
chase
it,
Dulcinea
appears
not."



"Your
worship's
a
strange
man,"
said
Sancho;
"let's
take
it
for
granted
that
this
hare

is
Dulcinea,
and
these
greyhounds
chasing
it
the
malignant
enchanters
who
turned

her
into
a
country
wench;
she
flies,
and
I
catch
her
and
put
her
into
your
worship's





























































55
In
Spanish,
nouns
are
feminine
and
masculine.

A
cricket
cage
is
feminine
and
is


thus
referred
to
as
“her;”
thus
Quixote’s
inference
concerning
Dulcinea.

56
A
bad
sign.
Meeting
a
hare
is
considered
an
ill
omen.

                                                                                 213

                                                           Don
Quixote
de
la
Mancha

                                                                                     

hands,
and
you
hold
her
in
your
arms
and
cherish
her;
what
bad
sign
is
that,
or
what

ill
omen
is
there
to
be
found
here?"



The
two
boys
who
had
been
quarrelling
came
over
to
look
at
the
hare,
and
Sancho

asked
one
of
them
what
their
quarrel
was
about.
He
was
answered
by
the
one
who

had
said,
"Thou
shalt
never
see
it
again
as
long
as
thou
livest,"
that
he
had
taken
a

cage
full
of
crickets
from
the
other
boy,
and
did
not
mean
to
give
it
back
to
him
as

long
as
he
lived.

Sancho
took
out
four
cuartos
from
his
pocket
and
gave
them
to
the

boy
for
the
cage,
which
he
placed
in
Don
Quixote's
hands,
saying,
"There,
señor!

there
are
the
omens
broken
and
destroyed,
and
they
have
no
more
to
do
with
our

affairs,
to
my
thinking,
fool
as
I
am,
than
with
last
year's
clouds;
and
if
I
remember

rightly
I
have
heard
the
curate
of
our
village
say
that
it
does
not
become
Christians

or
sensible
people
to
give
any
heed
to
these
silly
things;
and
even
you
yourself
said

the
same
to
me
some
time
ago,
telling
me
that
all
Christians
who
minded
omens

were
fools;
but
there's
no
need
of
making
words
about
it;
let
us
push
on
and
go
into

our
village."



The
sportsmen
came
up
and
asked
for
their
hare,
which
Don
Quixote
gave
them.

They
then
went
on,
and
upon
the
green
at
the
entrance
of
the
town
they
came
upon

the
curate
and
the
bachelor
Sanson
Carrasco
busy
reading
their
breviaries.

It
should

be
mentioned
that
Sancho
had
thrown,
by
way
of
a
sumpter‐cloth,
over
the
Dapple

and
over
the
bundle
of
armor,
the
buckram
robe
painted
with
flames
which
they
had

put
upon
him
at
the
duke's
castle
the
night
Altisidora
came
back
to
life.57

He
had

also
fixed
the
miter
on
the
Dapple's
head,
the
oddest
transformation
and
decoration

that
ever
an
ass
in
the
world
underwent.

They
were
at
once
recognized
by
both
the

curate
and
the
bachelor,
who
came
towards
them
with
open
arms.

Don
Quixote

dismounted
and
received
them
with
a
close
embrace;
and
the
boys,
who
are
like

lynxes
that
nothing
escapes,
spied
out
the
ass's
miter
and
came
running
to
see
it,




























































57
Altisidora
was
a
girl
in
the
duke’s
castle
where
Quixote
and
Sancho
were
guests


for
a
time;
she
dramatically
pretended
to
be
in
love
with
Don
Quixote.

214
 Don
Quixote
de
la
Mancha



calling
out
to
one
another,
"Come
here,
boys,
and
see
Sancho
Panza's
ass
figged
out

finer
than
Mingo,
and
Don
Quixote's
beast
leaner
than
ever."



So
at
length,
with
the
boys
capering
round
them,
and
accompanied
by
the
curate
and

the
bachelor,
they
made
their
entrance
into
the
town,
and
proceeded
to
Don

Quixote's
house,
at
the
door
of
which
they
found
his
housekeeper
and
niece,
whom

the
news
of
his
arrival
had
already
reached.
It
had
been
brought
to
Teresa
Panza,

Sancho's
wife,
as
well,
and
she
with
her
hair
all
loose
and
half
naked,
dragging

Sanchica
her
daughter
by
the
hand,
ran
out
to
meet
her
husband;
but
seeing
him

coming
in
by
no
means
as
good
case
as
she
thought
a
governor
ought
to
be,
she
said

to
him,
"How
is
it
you
come
this
way,
husband?
It
seems
to
me
you
come
tramping

and
footsore,
and
looking
more
like
a
disorderly
vagabond
than
a
governor."



"Hold
your
tongue,
Teresa,"
said
Sancho;
"often
'where
there
are
stakes
there
is
no

bacon;
let
us
go
into
the
house
and
there
you'll
hear
strange
things.
I
bring
money,

and
that's
the
main
thing,
got
by
my
own
industry
without
wronging
anybody."



"You
bring
the
money,
my
good
husband,"
said
Teresa,
"and
no
matter
whether
it

was
got
this
way
or
that;
for,
however
you
may
have
got
it,
you'll
not
have
brought

any
new
practice
into
the
world."



Sanchica
then
embraced
her
father
and
asked
him
if
he
brought
her
anything,
for
she

had
been
looking
out
for
him
as
for
the
showers
of
May;
and
she
taking
hold
of
him

by
the
girdle
on
one
side,
and
his
wife
by
the
hand,
while
the
daughter
led
the

Dapple,
they
made
for
their
house,
leaving
Don
Quixote
in
his,
in
the
hands
of
his

niece
and
housekeeper,
and
in
the
company
of
the
curate
and
the
bachelor.



Don
Quixote
at
once,
without
any
regard
to
time
or
season,
withdrew
in
private
with

the
bachelor
and
the
curate,
and
in
a
few
words
told
them
of
his
defeat,
and
of
the

engagement
he
was
under
not
to
quit
his
village
for
a
year,
which
he
meant
to
keep

to
the
letter
without
departing
a
hair's
breadth
from
it,
as
became
a
knight‐errant

                                                      Don
Quixote
de
la
Mancha
       215

                                                                                         

bound
by
scrupulous
good
faith
and
the
laws
of
knight‐errantry;
and
of
how
he

thought
of
turning
shepherd
for
that
year,
and
taking
his
diversion
in
the
solitude
of

the
fields,
where
he
could
with
perfect
freedom
give
range
to
his
thoughts
of
love

while
he
followed
the
virtuous
pastoral
calling;
and
he
besought
them,
if
they
had

not
a
great
deal
to
do
and
were
not
prevented
by
more
important
business,
to

consent
to
be
his
companions,
for
he
would
buy
sheep
enough
to
qualify
them
for

shepherds;
and
the
most
important
point
of
the
whole
affair,
he
could
tell
them,
was

settled,
for
he
had
given
them
names
that
would
fit
them
to
a
T.

The
curate
asked

what
they
were.

Don
Quixote
replied
that
he
himself
was
to
be
called
the
shepherd

Quixotize
and
the
bachelor
the
shepherd
Carrascon,
and
the
curate
the
shepherd

Curambro,
and
Sancho
Panza
the
shepherd
Pancino.



Both
were
astounded
at
Don
Quixote's
new
craze;
however,
lest
he
should
once

more
make
off
out
of
the
village
from
them
in
pursuit
of
his
chivalry,
they
trusting

that
in
the
course
of
the
year
he
might
be
cured,
fell
in
with
his
new
project,

applauded
his
crazy
idea
as
a
bright
one,
and
offered
to
share
the
life
with
him.


"And
what's
more,"
said
Sanson
Carrasco,
"I
am,
as
all
the
world
knows,
a
very

famous
poet,
and
I'll
be
always
making
verses,
pastoral,
or
courtly,
or
as
it
may
come

into
my
head,
to
pass
away
our
time
in
those
secluded
regions
where
we
shall
be

roaming.

But
what
is
most
needful,
sirs,
is
that
each
of
us
should
choose
the
name
of

the
shepherdess
he
means
to
glorify
in
his
verses,
and
that
we
should
not
leave
a

tree,
be
it
ever
so
hard,
without
writing
up
and
carving
her
name
on
it,
as
is
the
habit

and
custom
of
love‐smitten
shepherds."



"That's
the
very
thing,"
said
Don
Quixote;
"though
I
am
relieved
from
looking
for
the

name
of
an
imaginary
shepherdess,
for
there's
the
peerless
Dulcinea
del
Toboso,
the

glory
of
these
brook
sides,
the
ornament
of
these
meadows,
the
mainstay
of
beauty,

the
cream
of
all
the
graces,
and,
in
a
word,
the
being
to
whom
all
praise
is

appropriate,
be
it
ever
so
hyperbolical."



216
 Don
Quixote
de
la
Mancha



"Very
true,"
said
the
curate;
"but
we
the
others
must
look
about
for
accommodating

shepherdesses
that
will
answer
our
purpose
one
way
or
another."



"And,"
added
Sanson
Carrasco,
"if
they
fail
us,
we
can
call
them
by
the
names
of
the

ones
in
print
that
the
world
is
filled
with,
Filidas,
Amarilises,
Dianas,
Fleridas,

Galateas,
Belisardas;
for
as
they
sell
them
in
the
market‐places
we
may
fairly
buy

them
and
make
them
our
own.

If
my
lady,
or
I
should
say
my
shepherdess,
happens

to
be
called
Ana,
I'll
sing
her
praises
under
the
name
of
Anarda,
and
if
Francisca,
I'll

call
her
Francenia,
and
if
Lucia,
Lucinda,
for
it
all
comes
to
the
same
thing;
and

Sancho
Panza,
if
he
joins
this
fraternity,
may
glorify
his
wife
Teresa
Panza
as

Teresaina."



Don
Quixote
laughed
at
the
adaptation
of
the
name,
and
the
curate
bestowed
vast

praise
upon
the
worthy
and
honorable
resolution
he
had
made,
and
again
offered
to

bear
him
company
all
the
time
that
he
could
spare
from
his
imperative
duties.
And

so
they
took
their
leave
of
him,
recommending
and
beseeching
him
to
take
care
of

his
health
and
treat
himself
to
a
suitable
diet.



It
so
happened
his
niece
and
the
housekeeper
overheard
all
the
three
of
them
said;

and
as
soon
as
they
were
gone
they
both
of
them
came
in
to
Don
Quixote,
and
said

the
niece,
"What's
this,
uncle?
Now
that
we
were
thinking
you
had
come
back
to
stay

at
home
and
lead
a
quiet
respectable
life
there,
are
you
going
to
get
into
fresh

entanglements,
and
turn
'young
shepherd,
thou
that
comest
here,
young
shepherd

going
there?'58

Nay!
indeed
'the
straw
is
too
hard
now
to
make
pipes
of.'"59



"And,"
added
the
housekeeper,
"will
your
worship
be
able
to
bear,
out
in
the
fields,

the
heats
of
summer,
and
the
chills
of
winter,
and
the
howling
of
the
wolves?
Not

you;
for
that's
a
life
and
a
business
for
hardy
men,
bred
and
seasoned
to
such
work

almost
from
the
time
they
were
in
swaddling‐clothes.

Why,
to
make
choice
of
evils,


























































58
From
a
ballad.

59
A
proverb.

                                                      Don
Quixote
de
la
Mancha
    217

                                                                                        

it's
better
to
be
a
knight‐errant
than
a
shepherd!

Look
here,
señor;
take
my
advice
–

and
I'm
not
giving
it
to
you
full
of
bread
and
wine,
but
fasting,
and
with
fifty
years

upon
my
head
–
stay
at
home,
look
after
your
affairs,
go
often
to
confession,
be
good

to
the
poor,
and
upon
my
soul
be
it
if
any
evil
comes
to
you."



"Hold
your
peace,
my
daughters,"
said
Don
Quixote;
"I
know
very
well
what
my
duty

is;
help
me
to
bed,
for
I
don't
feel
very
well;
and
rest
assured
that,
knight‐errant
now

or
wandering
shepherd
to
be,
I
shall
never
fail
to
have
a
care
for
your
interests,
as

you
will
see
in
the
end."

And
the
good
wenches
(for
that
they
undoubtedly
were),

the
housekeeper
and
niece,
helped
him
to
bed,
where
they
gave
him
something
to

eat
and
made
him
as
comfortable
as
possible.









218
   Don
Quixote
de
la
Mancha





CHAPTER
LXXIV.

OF
HOW
DON
QUIXOTE
FELL
SICK,
AND
OF
THE
WILL
HE
MADE,
AND
HOW
HE

DIED



As
nothing
that
is
man's
can
last
for
ever,
but
all
tends
ever
downwards
from
its

beginning
to
its
end,
and
above
all
man's
life,
and
as
Don
Quixote's
enjoyed
no

special
dispensation
from
heaven
to
stay
its
course,
its
end
and
close
came
when
he

least
looked
for
it.

For‐whether
it
was
of
the
dejection
the
thought
of
his
defeat

produced,
or
of
heaven's
will
that
so
ordered
it
–
a
fever
settled
upon
him
and
kept

him
in
his
bed
for
six
days,
during
which
he
was
often
visited
by
his
friends
the

curate,
the
bachelor,
and
the
barber,
while
his
good
squire
Sancho
Panza
never

quitted
his
bedside.

They,
persuaded
that
it
was
grief
at
finding
himself
vanquished,

and
the
object
of
his
heart,
the
liberation
and
disenchantment
of
Dulcinea,

unattained,
that
kept
him
in
this
state,
strove
by
all
the
means
in
their
power
to

cheer
him
up;
the
bachelor
bidding
him
take
heart
and
get
up
to
begin
his
pastoral

life,
for
which
he
himself,
he
said,
had
already
composed
an
eclogue
that
would
take

the
shine
out
of
all
Sannazaro
had
ever
written,
and
had
bought
with
his
own
money

two
famous
dogs
to
guard
the
flock,
one
called
Barcino
and
the
other
Butron,
which

a
herdsman
of
Quintanar
had
sold
him.



But
for
all
this
Don
Quixote
could
not
shake
off
his
sadness.
His
friends
called
in
the

doctor,
who
felt
his
pulse
and
was
not
very
well
satisfied
with
it,
and
said
that
in
any

case
it
would
be
well
for
him
to
attend
to
the
health
of
his
soul,
as
that
of
his
body

was
in
a
bad
way.
Don
Quixote
heard
this
calmly;
but
not
so
his
housekeeper,
his

niece,
and
his
squire,
who
fell
weeping
bitterly,
as
if
they
had
him
lying
dead
before

them.
The
doctor's
opinion
was
that
melancholy
and
depression
were
bringing
him

to
his
end.
Don
Quixote
begged
them
to
leave
him
to
himself,
as
he
had
a
wish
to

sleep
a
little.
They
obeyed,
and
he
slept
at
one
stretch,
as
the
saying
is,
more
than
six

hours,
so
that
the
housekeeper
and
niece
thought
he
was
going
to
sleep
for
ever.
But

at
the
end
of
that
time
he
woke
up,
and
in
a
loud
voice
exclaimed,
"Blessed
be

                                                      Don
Quixote
de
la
Mancha
      219

                                                                                        

Almighty
God,
who
has
shown
me
such
goodness.
In
truth
his
mercies
are

boundless,
and
the
sins
of
men
can
neither
limit
them
nor
keep
them
back!"



The
niece
listened
with
attention
to
her
uncle's
words,
and
they
struck
her
as
more

coherent
than
what
usually
fell
from
him,
at
least
during
his
illness,
so
she
asked,

"What
are
you
saying,
señor?

Has
anything
strange
occurred?

What
mercies
or

what
sins
of
men
are
you
talking
of?"



"The
mercies,
niece,"
said
Don
Quixote,
"are
those
that
God
has
this
moment
shown

me,
and
with
Him,
as
I
said,
my
sins
are
no
impediment
to
them.

My
reason
is
now

free
and
clear,
rid
of
the
dark
shadows
of
ignorance
that
my
unhappy
constant
study

of
those
detestable
books
of
chivalry
cast
over
it.

Now
I
see
through
their

absurdities
and
deceptions,
and
it
only
grieves
me
that
this
destruction
of
my

illusions
has
come
so
late
that
it
leaves
me
no
time
to
make
some
amends
by
reading

other
books
that
might
be
a
light
to
my
soul.
Niece,
I
feel
myself
at
the
point
of
death,

and
I
would
fain
meet
it
in
such
a
way
as
to
show
that
my
life
has
not
been
so
ill
that

I
should
leave
behind
me
the
name
of
a
madman;
for
though
I
have
been
one,
I

would
not
that
the
fact
should
be
made
plainer
at
my
death.

Call
in
to
me,
my
dear,

my
good
friends
the
curate,
the
bachelor
Sanson
Carrasco,
and
Master
Nicholas
the

barber,
for
I
wish
to
confess
and
make
my
will."

But
his
niece
was
saved
the
trouble

by
the
entrance
of
the
three.

The
instant
Don
Quixote
saw
them
he
exclaimed,
"Good

news
for
you,
good
sirs,
that
I
am
no
longer
Don
Quixote
of
La
Mancha,
but
Alonso

Quixano,
whose
way
of
life
won
for
him
the
name
of
‘the
Good.’
Now
am
I
the
enemy

of
Amadis
of
Gaul
and
of
the
whole
countless
troop
of
his
descendants;
odious
to
me

now
are
all
the
profane
stories
of
knight‐errantry;
now
I
perceive
my
folly,
and
the

peril
into
which
reading
them
brought
me;
now,
by
God's
mercy
schooled
into
my

right
senses,
I
loathe
them."



When
the
three
heard
him
speak
in
this
way,
they
had
no
doubt
whatever
that
some

new
craze
had
taken
possession
of
him;
and
said
Sanson,
"What?
Señor
Don
Quixote!

Now
that
we
have
intelligence
of
the
lady
Dulcinea
being
disenchanted,
are
you

220
 Don
Quixote
de
la
Mancha



taking
this
line;
now,
just
as
we
are
on
the
point
of
becoming
shepherds,
to
pass
our

lives
singing,
like
princes,
are
you
thinking
of
turning
hermit?

Hush,
for
heaven's

sake,
be
rational
and
let's
have
no
more
nonsense."



"All
that
nonsense,"
said
Don
Quixote,
"that
until
now
has
been
a
reality
to
my
hurt,

my
death
will,
with
heaven's
help,
turn
to
my
good.

I
feel,
sirs,
that
I
am
rapidly

drawing
near
death;
a
truce
to
jesting;
let
me
have
a
confessor
to
confess
me,
and
a

notary
to
make
my
will;
for
in
extremities
like
this,
man
must
not
trifle
with
his
soul;

and
while
the
curate
is
confessing
me
let
some
one,
I
beg,
go
for
the
notary."



They
looked
at
one
another,
wondering
at
Don
Quixote's
words;
but,
though

uncertain,
they
were
inclined
to
believe
him,
and
one
of
the
signs
by
which
they

came
to
the
conclusion
he
was
dying
was
this
so
sudden
and
complete
return
to
his

senses
after
having
been
mad;
for
to
the
words
already
quoted
he
added
much
more,

so
well
expressed,
so
devout,
and
so
rational,
as
to
banish
all
doubt
and
convince

them
that
he
was
sound
of
mind.

The
curate
turned
them
all
out,
and
left
alone
with

him,
heard
his
confession.

The
bachelor
went
for
the
notary
and
returned
shortly

afterwards
with
him
and
with
Sancho,
who,
having
already
learned
from
the

bachelor
the
condition
his
master
was
in,
and
finding
the
housekeeper
and
niece

weeping,
began
to
blubber
and
shed
tears.



The
confession
over,
the
curate
came
out
saying,
"Alonso
Quixano
the
Good
is

indeed
dying,
and
is
indeed
in
his
right
mind;
we
may
now
go
in
to
him
while
he

makes
his
will."



This
news
gave
a
tremendous
impulse
to
the
brimming
eyes
of
the
housekeeper,

niece,
and
Sancho
Panza
his
good
squire,
making
the
tears
burst
from
their
eyes
and

a
host
of
sighs
from
their
hearts;
for
of
a
truth,
as
has
been
said
more
than
once,

whether
as
plain
Alonso
Quixano
the
Good,
or
as
Don
Quixote
of
La
Mancha,
Don

Quixote
was
always
of
a
gentle
disposition
and
kindly
in
all
his
ways,
and
hence
he

was
beloved,
not
only
by
those
of
his
own
house,
but
by
all
who
knew
him.

                                                       Don
Quixote
de
la
Mancha
         221

                                                                                            



The
notary
came
in
with
the
rest,
and
as
soon
as
the
preamble
of
the
had
been
set

out
and
Don
Quixote
had
commended
his
soul
to
God
with
all
the
devout
formalities

that
are
usual,
coming
to
the
bequests,
he
said,




"Item:
it
is
my
will
that,
touching
certain
moneys
in
the
hands
of
Sancho
Panza

(whom
in
my
madness
I
made
my
squire),
inasmuch
as
between
him
and
me
there

have
been
certain
accounts
and
debits
and
credits,
no
claim
be
made
against
him,

nor
any
account
demanded
of
him
in
respect
of
them;
but
that
if
anything
remain

over
and
above,
after
he
has
paid
himself
what
I
owe
him,
the
balance,
which
will
be

but
little,
shall
be
his,
and
much
good
may
it
do
him;
and
if,
as
when
I
was
mad
I
had

a
share
in
giving
him
the
government
of
an
island,
so,
now
that
I
am
in
my
senses,
I

could
give
him
that
of
a
kingdom
if
it
were
within
my
power,
for
his
simplicity
of

mind
and
the
fidelity
of
his
conduct
deserve
no
less."

And
then,
turning
to
Sancho,

he
said,
"Forgive
me,
my
friend,
that
I
led
thee
to
seem
as
mad
as
myself,
making

thee
fall
into
the
same
error
I
myself
fell
into,
that
there
were
and
still
are
knights‐
errant
in
the
world."



"Ah!"
said
Sancho
weeping,
"don't
die,
master,
but
take
my
advice
and
live
many

years;
for
the
craziest
thing
a
man
can
do
in
this
life
is
to
let
himself
die
without

rhyme
or
reason,
without
anybody
killing
him,
slain
only
by
the
hands
of

melancholy.

Come,
don't
be
idle,
but
get
up
from
your
bed
and
let
us
take
to
the

fields
in
shepherd's
trim
as
we
agreed.

Perhaps
behind
some
bush
we
shall
find
the

lady
Dulcinea
disenchanted,
as
fine
as
fine
can
be.

If
it
be
that
you
are
dying
of

vexation
at
having
been
vanquished,
lay
the
blame
on
me,
and
say
you
were

overthrown
because
I
had
girthed
Rocinante
badly;
besides
you
must
have
seen
in

your
books
of
chivalry
that
it
is
a
common
thing
for
knights
to
upset
one
another,

and
for
him
who
is
conquered
today
to
be
conqueror
tomorrow."



"Very
true,"
said
Sanson,"
and
good
Sancho
Panza's
view
of
these
cases
is
quite

right."

222
   Don
Quixote
de
la
Mancha





"Sirs,
not
so
fast,"
said
Don
Quixote,
"'in
last
year's
nests
there
are
no
birds
this

year.'

I
was
mad,
now
I
am
in
my
senses;
I
was
Don
Quixote
of
La
Mancha,
I
am
now,

as
I
said,
Alonso
Quixano
the
Good;
and
may
my
repentance
and
sincerity
restore
me

to
the
esteem
you
used
to
have
for
me;
and
now
let
Master
Notary
proceed.



"Item:
I
leave
all
my
property
absolutely
to
Antonia
Quixana
my
niece,
here
present,

after
all
has
been
deducted
from
the
most
available
portion
of
it
that
may
be

required
to
satisfy
the
bequests
I
have
made.

And
the
first
disbursement
I
desire
to

be
made
is
the
payment
of
the
wages
I
owe
for
the
time
my
housekeeper
has
served

me,
with
twenty
ducats,
over
and
above,
for
a
gown.

The
curate
and
the
bachelor

Sanson
Carrasco,
now
present,
I
appoint
my
executors.



"Item:
it
is
my
wish
that
if
Antonia
Quixana,
my
niece,
desires
to
marry,
she
shall

marry
a
man
of
whom
it
shall
be
first
of
all
ascertained
by
information
taken
that
he

does
not
know
what
books
of
chivalry
are;
and
if
it
should
be
proved
that
he
does,

and
if,
in
spite
of
this,
my
niece
insists
upon
marrying
him,
and
does
marry
him,
then

she
shall
forfeit
the
whole
of
what
I
have
left
her,
which
my
executors
shall
devote
to

works
of
charity
as
they
please.



"Item:
I
entreat
the
aforesaid
gentlemen,
my
executors,
that,
if
any
happy
chance

should
lead
them
to
discover
the
author
who
is
said
to
have
written
a
history
now

going
about
under
the
title
of
The
Second
Part
of
the
Achievements
of
Don
Quixote
of

La
Mancha,
they
beg
of
him
on
my
behalf
as
earnestly
as
they
can
to
forgive
me
for

having
been,
without
intending
it,
the
cause
of
his
writing
so
many
and
such

monstrous
absurdities
as
he
has
written
in
it;
for
I
am
leaving
the
world
with
a

feeling
of
compunction
at
having
provoked
him
to
write
them."



With
this
he
closed
his
will,
and,
a
faintness
coming
over
him,
he
stretched
himself

out
at
full
length
on
the
bed.

All
were
in
a
flutter
and
made
haste
to
relieve
him,
and

during
the
three
days
he
lived
after
that
on
which
he
made
his
will,
he
fainted
away

                                                      Don
Quixote
de
la
Mancha
      223

                                                                                        

very
often.

The
house
was
all
in
confusion;
but
still
the
niece
ate
and
the

housekeeper
drank
and
Sancho
Panza
enjoyed
himself;
for
inheriting
property

wipes
out
or
softens
down
in
the
heir
the
feeling
of
grief
the
dead
man
might
be

expected
to
leave
behind
him.



At
last
Don
Quixote's
end
came,
after
he
had
received
all
the
sacraments,
and
had
in

full
and
forcible
terms
expressed
his
detestation
of
books
of
chivalry.

The
notary

was
there
at
the
time,
and
he
said
that
in
no
book
of
chivalry
had
he
ever
read
of
any

knight‐errant
dying
in
his
bed
so
calmly
and
so
like
a
Christian
as
Don
Quixote,
who

amid
the
tears
and
lamentations
of
all
present
yielded
up
his
spirit.

On
perceiving
it,

the
curate
begged
the
notary
to
bear
witness
that
Alonso
Quixano
the
Good,

commonly
called
Don
Quixote
of
La
Mancha,
had
passed
away
from
this
present
life,

and
died
naturally;
and
said
he
desired
this
testimony
in
order
to
remove
the

possibility
of
any
other
author
save
Cide
Hamete
Benengeli
bringing
him
to
life

again
falsely
and
making
interminable
stories
out
of
his
achievements.60



Such
was
the
end
of
the
Ingenious
Gentleman
of
La
Mancha,
whose
village
Cide

Hamete
would
not
indicate
precisely,
in
order
to
leave
all
the
towns
and
villages
of

La
Mancha
to
contend
among
themselves
for
the
right
to
adopt
him
and
claim
him
as

a
son,
as
the
seven
cities
of
Greece
contended
for
Homer.
The
lamentations
of

Sancho
and
the
niece
and
housekeeper
are
omitted
here,
as
well
as
the
new
epitaphs

upon
his
tomb;
Sanson
Carrasco,
however,
put
down
the
following
lines:



       A
doughty
gentleman
lies
here;

       A
stranger
all
his
life
to
fear;

       Nor
in
his
death
could
Death
prevail,

       In
that
last
hour,
to
make
him
quail.

       He
for
the
world
but
little
cared;

              And
at
his
feats
the
world
was
scared;


























































60
It
is
commonly
believed
that
Cervantes
killed
off
his
hero
in
order
to
prevent
any


more
false
sequels
like
the
one
that
had
obliged
him
to
write
Part
Two.

224
   Don
Quixote
de
la
Mancha



       A
crazy
man
his
life
he
passed,

       But
in
his
senses
died
at
last.



And
said
most
sage
Cide
Hamete
to
his
pen,
"Rest
here,
hung
up
by
this
brass
wire,

upon
this
shelf,
O
my
pen,
whether
of
skilful
make
or
clumsy
cut
I
know
not;
here

shalt
thou
remain
long
ages
hence,
unless
presumptuous
or
malignant
story‐tellers

take
thee
down
to
profane
thee.

But
ere
they
touch
thee,
warn
them,
and,
as
best

thou
canst,
say
to
them:



       Hold
off!
ye
weaklings;
hold
your
hands!

       

Adventure
it
let
none,

       For
this
emprise,
my
lord
the
king,

       

Was
meant
for
me
alone.



For
me
alone
was
Don
Quixote
born,
and
I
for
him;
it
was
his
to
act,
mine
to
write;

we
two
together
make
but
one,
notwithstanding
and
in
spite
of
that
pretended

Tordesillesque
writer
who
has
ventured
or
would
venture
with
his
great,
coarse,
ill‐
trimmed
ostrich
quill
to
write
the
achievements
of
my
valiant
knight;
–
no
burden

for
his
shoulders,
nor
subject
for
his
frozen
wit:
whom,
if
perchance
thou
shouldst

come
to
know
him,
thou
shalt
warn
to
leave
at
rest
where
they
lie
the
weary

moldering
bones
of
Don
Quixote,
and
not
to
attempt
to
carry
him
off,
in
opposition

to
all
the
privileges
of
death,
to
Old
Castile,
making
him
rise
from
the
grave
where
in

reality
and
truth
he
lies
stretched
at
full
length,
powerless
to
make
any
third

expedition
or
new
sally;
for
the
two
that
he
has
already
made,
so
much
to
the

enjoyment
and
approval
of
everybody
to
whom
they
have
become
known,
in
this
as

well
as
in
foreign
countries,
are
quite
sufficient
for
the
purpose
of
turning
into

ridicule
the
whole
of
those
made
by
the
whole
set
of
the
knights‐errant;
and
so

doing
shalt
thou
discharge
thy
Christian
calling,
giving
good
counsel
to
one
that

bears
ill‐will
to
thee.

And
I
shall
remain
satisfied,
and
proud
to
have
been
the
first

who
has
ever
enjoyed
the
fruit
of
his
writings
as
fully
as
he
could
desire;
for
my

desire
has
been
no
other
than
to
deliver
over
to
the
detestation
of
mankind
the
false

                                                     Don
Quixote
de
la
Mancha
      225

                                                                                       

and
foolish
tales
of
the
books
of
chivalry,
which,
thanks
to
that
of
my
true
Don

Quixote,
are
even
now
tottering,
and
doubtless
doomed
to
fall
for
ever.





Farewell."








				
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