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Don Quixote by Miqeul de Cervantes [Saavedra]

Part 19 out of 21

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Sancho overheard him and said, "It is eight or ten days, brother
growler, since I entered upon the government of the island they gave
me, and all that time I never had a bellyful of victuals, no not for
an hour; doctors persecuted me and enemies crushed my bones; nor had I
any opportunity of taking bribes or levying taxes; and if that be
the case, as it is, I don't deserve, I think, to come out in this
fashion; but 'man proposes and God disposes;' and God knows what is
best, and what suits each one best; and 'as the occasion, so the
behaviour;' and 'let nobody say "I won't drink of this water;"' and
'where one thinks there are flitches, there are no pegs;' God knows my
meaning and that's enough; I say no more, though I could."

"Be not angry or annoyed at what thou hearest, Sancho," said Don
Quixote, "or there will never be an end of it; keep a safe
conscience and let them say what they like; for trying to stop
slanderers' tongues is like trying to put gates to the open plain.
If a governor comes out of his government rich, they say he has been a
thief; and if he comes out poor, that he has been a noodle and a

"They'll be pretty sure this time," said Sancho, "to set me down for
a fool rather than a thief."

Thus talking, and surrounded by boys and a crowd of people, they
reached the castle, where in one of the corridors the duke and duchess
stood waiting for them; but Sancho would not go up to see the duke
until he had first put up Dapple in the stable, for he said he had
passed a very bad night in his last quarters; then he went upstairs to
see his lord and lady, and kneeling before them he said, "Because it
was your highnesses' pleasure, not because of any desert of my own,
I went to govern your island of Barataria, which 'I entered naked, and
naked I find myself; I neither lose nor gain.' Whether I have governed
well or ill, I have had witnesses who will say what they think fit.
I have answered questions, I have decided causes, and always dying
of hunger, for Doctor Pedro Recio of Tirteafuera, the island and
governor doctor, would have it so. Enemies attacked us by night and
put us in a great quandary, but the people of the island say they came
off safe and victorious by the might of my arm; and may God give
them as much health as there's truth in what they say. In short,
during that time I have weighed the cares and responsibilities
governing brings with it, and by my reckoning I find my shoulders
can't bear them, nor are they a load for my loins or arrows for my
quiver; and so, before the government threw me over I preferred to
throw the government over; and yesterday morning I left the island
as I found it, with the same streets, houses, and roofs it had when
I entered it. I asked no loan of anybody, nor did I try to fill my
pocket; and though I meant to make some useful laws, I made hardly
any, as I was afraid they would not be kept; for in that case it comes
to the same thing to make them or not to make them. I quitted the
island, as I said, without any escort except my ass; I fell into a
pit, I pushed on through it, until this morning by the light of the
sun I saw an outlet, but not so easy a one but that, had not heaven
sent me my master Don Quixote, I'd have stayed there till the end of
the world. So now my lord and lady duke and duchess, here is your
governor Sancho Panza, who in the bare ten days he has held the
government has come by the knowledge that he would not give anything
to be governor, not to say of an island, but of the whole world; and
that point being settled, kissing your worships' feet, and imitating
the game of the boys when they say, 'leap thou, and give me one,' I
take a leap out of the government and pass into the service of my
master Don Quixote; for after all, though in it I eat my bread in fear
and trembling, at any rate I take my fill; and for my part, so long as
I'm full, it's all alike to me whether it's with carrots or with

Here Sancho brought his long speech to an end, Don Quixote having
been the whole time in dread of his uttering a host of absurdities;
and when he found him leave off with so few, he thanked heaven in
his heart. The duke embraced Sancho and told him he was heartily sorry
he had given up the government so soon, but that he would see that
he was provided with some other post on his estate less onerous and
more profitable. The duchess also embraced him, and gave orders that
he should be taken good care of, as it was plain to see he had been
badly treated and worse bruised.



The duke and duchess had no reason to regret the joke that had
been played upon Sancho Panza in giving him the government; especially
as their majordomo returned the same day, and gave them a minute
account of almost every word and deed that Sancho uttered or did
during the time; and to wind up with, eloquently described to them the
attack upon the island and Sancho's fright and departure, with which
they were not a little amused. After this the history goes on to say
that the day fixed for the battle arrived, and that the duke, after
having repeatedly instructed his lacquey Tosilos how to deal with
Don Quixote so as to vanquish him without killing or wounding him,
gave orders to have the heads removed from the lances, telling Don
Quixote that Christian charity, on which he plumed himself, could
not suffer the battle to be fought with so much risk and danger to
life; and that he must be content with the offer of a battlefield on
his territory (though that was against the decree of the holy Council,
which prohibits all challenges of the sort) and not push such an
arduous venture to its extreme limits. Don Quixote bade his excellence
arrange all matters connected with the affair as he pleased, as on his
part he would obey him in everything. The dread day, then, having
arrived, and the duke having ordered a spacious stand to be erected
facing the court of the castle for the judges of the field and the
appellant duennas, mother and daughter, vast crowds flocked from all
the villages and hamlets of the neighbourhood to see the novel
spectacle of the battle; nobody, dead or alive, in those parts
having ever seen or heard of such a one.

The first person to enter the-field and the lists was the master
of the ceremonies, who surveyed and paced the whole ground to see that
there was nothing unfair and nothing concealed to make the
combatants stumble or fall; then the duennas entered and seated
themselves, enveloped in mantles covering their eyes, nay even their
bosoms, and displaying no slight emotion as Don Quixote appeared in
the lists. Shortly afterwards, accompanied by several trumpets and
mounted on a powerful steed that threatened to crush the whole
place, the great lacquey Tosilos made his appearance on one side of
the courtyard with his visor down and stiffly cased in a suit of stout
shining armour. The horse was a manifest Frieslander, broad-backed and
flea-bitten, and with half a hundred of wool hanging to each of his
fetlocks. The gallant combatant came well primed by his master the
duke as to how he was to bear himself against the valiant Don
Quixote of La Mancha; being warned that he must on no account slay
him, but strive to shirk the first encounter so as to avoid the risk
of killing him, as he was sure to do if he met him full tilt. He
crossed the courtyard at a walk, and coming to where the duennas
were placed stopped to look at her who demanded him for a husband; the
marshal of the field summoned Don Quixote, who had already presented
himself in the courtyard, and standing by the side of Tosilos he
addressed the duennas, and asked them if they consented that Don
Quixote of La Mancha should do battle for their right. They said
they did, and that whatever he should do in that behalf they
declared rightly done, final and valid. By this time the duke and
duchess had taken their places in a gallery commanding the
enclosure, which was filled to overflowing with a multitude of
people eager to see this perilous and unparalleled encounter. The
conditions of the combat were that if Don Quixote proved the victor
his antagonist was to marry the daughter of Dona Rodriguez; but if
he should be vanquished his opponent was released from the promise
that was claimed against him and from all obligations to give
satisfaction. The master of the ceremonies apportioned the sun to
them, and stationed them, each on the spot where he was to stand.
The drums beat, the sound of the trumpets filled the air, the earth
trembled under foot, the hearts of the gazing crowd were full of
anxiety, some hoping for a happy issue, some apprehensive of an
untoward ending to the affair, and lastly, Don Quixote, commending
himself with all his heart to God our Lord and to the lady Dulcinea
del Toboso, stood waiting for them to give the necessary signal for
the onset. Our lacquey, however, was thinking of something very
different; he only thought of what I am now going to mention.

It seems that as he stood contemplating his enemy she struck him
as the most beautiful woman he had ever seen all his life; and the
little blind boy whom in our streets they commonly call Love had no
mind to let slip the chance of triumphing over a lacquey heart, and
adding it to the list of his trophies; and so, stealing gently upon
him unseen, he drove a dart two yards long into the poor lacquey's
left side and pierced his heart through and through; which he was able
to do quite at his ease, for Love is invisible, and comes in and
goes out as he likes, without anyone calling him to account for what
he does. Well then, when they gave the signal for the onset our
lacquey was in an ecstasy, musing upon the beauty of her whom he had
already made mistress of his liberty, and so he paid no attention to
the sound of the trumpet, unlike Don Quixote, who was off the
instant he heard it, and, at the highest speed Rocinante was capable
of, set out to meet his enemy, his good squire Sancho shouting lustily
as he saw him start, "God guide thee, cream and flower of
knights-errant! God give thee the victory, for thou hast the right
on thy side!" But though Tosilos saw Don Quixote coming at him he
never stirred a step from the spot where he was posted; and instead of
doing so called loudly to the marshal of the field, to whom when he
came up to see what he wanted he said, "Senor, is not this battle to
decide whether I marry or do not marry that lady?" "Just so," was
the answer. "Well then," said the lacquey, "I feel qualms of
conscience, and I should lay a-heavy burden upon it if I were to
proceed any further with the combat; I therefore declare that I
yield myself vanquished, and that I am willing to marry the lady at

The marshal of the field was lost in astonishment at the words of
Tosilos; and as he was one of those who were privy to the
arrangement of the affair he knew not what to say in reply. Don
Quixote pulled up in mid career when he saw that his enemy was not
coming on to the attack. The duke could not make out the reason why
the battle did not go on; but the marshal of the field hastened to him
to let him know what Tosilos said, and he was amazed and extremely
angry at it. In the meantime Tosilos advanced to where Dona
Rodriguez sat and said in a loud voice, "Senora, I am willing to marry
your daughter, and I have no wish to obtain by strife and fighting
what I can obtain in peace and without any risk to my life."

The valiant Don Quixote heard him, and said, "As that is the case
I am released and absolved from my promise; let them marry by all
means, and as 'God our Lord has given her, may Saint Peter add his

The duke had now descended to the courtyard of the castle, and going
up to Tosilos he said to him, "Is it true, sir knight, that you
yield yourself vanquished, and that moved by scruples of conscience
you wish to marry this damsel?"

"It is, senor," replied Tosilos.

"And he does well," said Sancho, "for what thou hast to give to
the mouse, give to the cat, and it will save thee all trouble."

Tosilos meanwhile was trying to unlace his helmet, and he begged
them to come to his help at once, as his power of breathing was
failing him, and he could not remain so long shut up in that
confined space. They removed it in all haste, and his lacquey features
were revealed to public gaze. At this sight Dona Rodriguez and her
daughter raised a mighty outcry, exclaiming, "This is a trick! This is
a trick! They have put Tosilos, my lord the duke's lacquey, upon us in
place of the real husband. The justice of God and the king against
such trickery, not to say roguery!"

"Do not distress yourselves, ladies," said Don Quixote; "for this is
no trickery or roguery; or if it is, it is not the duke who is at
the bottom of it, but those wicked enchanters who persecute me, and
who, jealous of my reaping the glory of this victory, have turned your
husband's features into those of this person, who you say is a lacquey
of the duke's; take my advice, and notwithstanding the malice of my
enemies marry him, for beyond a doubt he is the one you wish for a

When the duke heard this all his anger was near vanishing in a fit
of laughter, and he said, "The things that happen to Senor Don Quixote
are so extraordinary that I am ready to believe this lacquey of mine
is not one; but let us adopt this plan and device; let us put off
the marriage for, say, a fortnight, and let us keep this person
about whom we are uncertain in close confinement, and perhaps in the
course of that time he may return to his original shape; for the spite
which the enchanters entertain against Senor Don Quixote cannot last
so long, especially as it is of so little advantage to them to
practise these deceptions and transformations."

"Oh, senor," said Sancho, "those scoundrels are well used to
changing whatever concerns my master from one thing into another. A
knight that he overcame some time back, called the Knight of the
Mirrors, they turned into the shape of the bachelor Samson Carrasco of
our town and a great friend of ours; and my lady Dulcinea del Toboso
they have turned into a common country wench; so I suspect this
lacquey will have to live and die a lacquey all the days of his life."

Here the Rodriguez's daughter exclaimed, "Let him be who he may,
this man that claims me for a wife; I am thankful to him for the same,
for I had rather he the lawful wife of a lacquey than the cheated
mistress of a gentleman; though he who played me false is nothing of
the kind."

To be brief, all the talk and all that had happened ended in Tosilos
being shut up until it was seen how his transformation turned out. All
hailed Don Quixote as victor, but the greater number were vexed and
disappointed at finding that the combatants they had been so anxiously
waiting for had not battered one another to pieces, just as the boys
are disappointed when the man they are waiting to see hanged does
not come out, because the prosecution or the court has pardoned him.
The people dispersed, the duke and Don Quixote returned to the castle,
they locked up Tosilos, Dona Rodriguez and her daughter remained
perfectly contented when they saw that any way the affair must end
in marriage, and Tosilos wanted nothing else.



Don Quixote now felt it right to quit a life of such idleness as
he was leading in the castle; for he fancied that he was making
himself sorely missed by suffering himself to remain shut up and
inactive amid the countless luxuries and enjoyments his hosts lavished
upon him as a knight. and he felt too that he would have to render a
strict account to heaven of that indolence and seclusion; and so one
day he asked the duke and duchess to grant him permission to take
his departure. They gave it, showing at the same time that they were
very sorry he was leaving them. The duchess gave his wife's letters to
Sancho Panza, who shed tears over them, saying, "Who would have
thought that such grand hopes as the news of my government bred in
my wife Teresa Panza's breast would end in my going back now to the
vagabond adventures of my master Don Quixote of La Mancha? Still I'm
glad to see my Teresa behaved as she ought in sending the acorns,
for if she had not sent them I'd have been sorry, and she'd have shown
herself ungrateful. It is a comfort to me that they can't call that
present a bribe; for I had got the government already when she sent
them, and it's but reasonable that those who have had a good turn done
them should show their gratitude, if it's only with a trifle. After
all I went into the government naked, and I come out of it naked; so I
can say with a safe conscience -and that's no small matter- 'naked I
was born, naked I find myself, I neither lose nor gain.'"

Thus did Sancho soliloquise on the day of their departure, as Don
Quixote, who had the night before taken leave of the duke and duchess,
coming out made his appearance at an early hour in full armour in
the courtyard of the castle. The whole household of the castle were
watching him from the corridors, and the duke and duchess, too, came
out to see him. Sancho was mounted on his Dapple, with his alforjas,
valise, and proven. supremely happy because the duke's majordomo,
the same that had acted the part of the Trifaldi, had given him a
little purse with two hundred gold crowns to meet the necessary
expenses of the road, but of this Don Quixote knew nothing as yet.
While all were, as has been said, observing him, suddenly from among
the duennas and handmaidens the impudent and witty Altisidora lifted
up her voice and said in pathetic tones:

Give ear, cruel knight;
Draw rein; where's the need
Of spurring the flanks
Of that ill-broken steed?
From what art thou flying?
No dragon I am,
Not even a sheep,
But a tender young lamb.
Thou hast jilted a maiden
As fair to behold
As nymph of Diana
Or Venus of old.

Bireno, AEneas, what worse shall I call thee?

Barabbas go with thee! All evil befall thee!

In thy claws, ruthless robber,
Thou bearest away
The heart of a meek
Loving maid for thy prey,
Three kerchiefs thou stealest,
And garters a pair,
From legs than the whitest
Of marble more fair;
And the sighs that pursue thee
Would burn to the ground
Two thousand Troy Towns,
If so many were found.

Bireno, AEneas, what worse shall I call thee?

Barabbas go with thee! All evil befall thee!

May no bowels of mercy
To Sancho be granted,
And thy Dulcinea
Be left still enchanted,
May thy falsehood to me
Find its punishment in her,
For in my land the just
Often pays for the sinner.
May thy grandest adventures
Discomfitures prove,
May thy joys be all dreams,
And forgotten thy love.

Bireno, AEneas, what worse shall I call thee?

Barabbas go with thee! All evil befall thee!

May thy name be abhorred
For thy conduct to ladies,
From London to England,
From Seville to Cadiz;
May thy cards be unlucky,
Thy hands contain ne'er a
King, seven, or ace
When thou playest primera;
When thy corns are cut
May it be to the quick;
When thy grinders are drawn
May the roots of them stick.

Bireno, AEneas, what worse shall I call thee?

Barabbas go with thee! All evil befall thee!

All the while the unhappy Altisidora was bewailing herself in the
above strain Don Quixote stood staring at her; and without uttering
a word in reply to her he turned round to Sancho and said, "Sancho
my friend, I conjure thee by the life of thy forefathers tell me the
truth; say, hast thou by any chance taken the three kerchiefs and
the garters this love-sick maid speaks of?"

To this Sancho made answer, "The three kerchiefs I have; but the
garters, as much as 'over the hills of Ubeda.'"

The duchess was amazed at Altisidora's assurance; she knew that
she was bold, lively, and impudent, but not so much so as to venture
to make free in this fashion; and not being prepared for the joke, her
astonishment was all the greater. The duke had a mind to keep up the
sport, so he said, "It does not seem to me well done in you, sir
knight, that after having received the hospitality that has been
offered you in this very castle, you should have ventured to carry off
even three kerchiefs, not to say my handmaid's garters. It shows a bad
heart and does not tally with your reputation. Restore her garters, or
else I defy you to mortal combat, for I am not afraid of rascally
enchanters changing or altering my features as they changed his who
encountered you into those of my lacquey, Tosilos."

"God forbid," said Don Quixote, "that I should draw my sword against
your illustrious person from which I have received such great favours.
The kerchiefs I will restore, as Sancho says he has them; as to the
garters that is impossible, for I have not got them, neither has he;
and if your handmaiden here will look in her hiding-places, depend
upon it she will find them. I have never been a thief, my lord duke,
nor do I mean to be so long as I live, if God cease not to have me
in his keeping. This damsel by her own confession speaks as one in
love, for which I am not to blame, and therefore need not ask
pardon, either of her or of your excellence, whom I entreat to have
a better opinion of me, and once more to give me leave to pursue my

"And may God so prosper it, Senor Don Quixote," said the duchess,
"that we may always hear good news of your exploits; God speed you;
for the longer you stay, the more you inflame the hearts of the
damsels who behold you; and as for this one of mine, I will so
chastise her that she will not transgress again, either with her
eyes or with her words."

"One word and no more, O valiant Don Quixote, I ask you to hear,"
said Altisidora, "and that is that I beg your pardon about the theft
of the garters; for by God and upon my soul I have got them on, and
I have fallen into the same blunder as he did who went looking for his
ass being all the while mounted on it."

"Didn't I say so?" said Sancho. "I'm a likely one to hide thefts!
Why if I wanted to deal in them, opportunities came ready enough to me
in my government."

Don Quixote bowed his head, and saluted the duke and duchess and all
the bystanders, and wheeling Rocinante round, Sancho following him
on Dapple, he rode out of the castle, shaping his course for



When Don Quixote saw himself in open country, free, and relieved
from the attentions of Altisidora, he felt at his ease, and in fresh
spirits to take up the pursuit of chivalry once more; and turning to
Sancho he said, "Freedom, Sancho, is one of the most precious gifts
that heaven has bestowed upon men; no treasures that the earth holds
buried or the sea conceals can compare with it; for freedom, as for
honour, life may and should be ventured; and on the other hand,
captivity is the greatest evil that can fall to the lot of man. I
say this, Sancho, because thou hast seen the good cheer, the abundance
we have enjoyed in this castle we are leaving; well then, amid those
dainty banquets and snow-cooled beverages I felt as though I were
undergoing the straits of hunger, because I did not enjoy them with
the same freedom as if they had been mine own; for the sense of
being under an obligation to return benefits and favours received is a
restraint that checks the independence of the spirit. Happy he, to
whom heaven has given a piece of bread for which he is not bound to
give thanks to any but heaven itself!"

"For all your worship says," said Sancho, "it is not becoming that
there should he no thanks on our part for two hundred gold crowns that
the duke's majordomo has given me in a little purse which I carry next
my heart, like a warming plaster or comforter, to meet any chance
calls; for we shan't always find castles where they'll entertain us;
now and then we may light upon roadside inns where they'll cudgel us."

In conversation of this sort the knight and squire errant were
pursuing their journey, when, after they had gone a little more than
half a league, they perceived some dozen men dressed like labourers
stretched upon their cloaks on the grass of a green meadow eating
their dinner. They had beside them what seemed to be white sheets
concealing some objects under them, standing upright or lying flat,
and arranged at intervals. Don Quixote approached the diners, and,
saluting them courteously first, he asked them what it was those
cloths covered. "Senor," answered one of the party, "under these
cloths are some images carved in relief intended for a retablo we
are putting up in our village; we carry them covered up that they
may not be soiled, and on our shoulders that they may not be broken."

"With your good leave," said Don Quixote, "I should like to see
them; for images that are carried so carefully no doubt must be fine

"I should think they were!" said the other; "let the money they cost
speak for that; for as a matter of fact there is not one of them
that does not stand us in more than fifty ducats; and that your
worship may judge; wait a moment, and you shall see with your own
eyes;" and getting up from his dinner he went and uncovered the
first image, which proved to be one of Saint George on horseback
with a serpent writhing at his feet and the lance thrust down its
throat with all that fierceness that is usually depicted. The whole
group was one blaze of gold, as the saying is. On seeing it Don
Quixote said, "That knight was one of the best knights-errant the army
of heaven ever owned; he was called Don Saint George, and he was
moreover a defender of maidens. Let us see this next one."

The man uncovered it, and it was seen to be that of Saint Martin
on his horse, dividing his cloak with the beggar. The instant Don
Quixote saw it he said, "This knight too was one of the Christian
adventurers, but I believe he was generous rather than valiant, as
thou mayest perceive, Sancho, by his dividing his cloak with the
beggar and giving him half of it; no doubt it was winter at the
time, for otherwise he would have given him the whole of it, so
charitable was he."

"It was not that, most likely," said Sancho, "but that he held
with the proverb that says, 'For giving and keeping there's need of

Don Quixote laughed, and asked them to take off the next cloth,
underneath which was seen the image of the patron saint of the
Spains seated on horseback, his sword stained with blood, trampling on
Moors and treading heads underfoot; and on seeing it Don Quixote
exclaimed, "Ay, this is a knight, and of the squadrons of Christ! This
one is called Don Saint James the Moorslayer, one of the bravest
saints and knights the world ever had or heaven has now."

They then raised another cloth which it appeared covered Saint
Paul falling from his horse, with all the details that are usually
given in representations of his conversion. When Don Quixote saw it,
rendered in such lifelike style that one would have said Christ was
speaking and Paul answering, "This," he said, "was in his time the
greatest enemy that the Church of God our Lord had, and the greatest
champion it will ever have; a knight-errant in life, a steadfast saint
in death, an untiring labourer in the Lord's vineyard, a teacher of
the Gentiles, whose school was heaven, and whose instructor and master
was Jesus Christ himself."

There were no more images, so Don Quixote bade them cover them up
again, and said to those who had brought them, "I take it as a happy
omen, brothers, to have seen what I have; for these saints and knights
were of the same profession as myself, which is the calling of arms;
only there is this difference between them and me, that they were
saints, and fought with divine weapons, and I am a sinner and fight
with human ones. They won heaven by force of arms, for heaven
suffereth violence; and I, so far, know not what I have won by dint of
my sufferings; but if my Dulcinea del Toboso were to be released
from hers, perhaps with mended fortunes and a mind restored to
itself I might direct my steps in a better path than I am following at

"May God hear and sin be deaf," said Sancho to this.

The men were filled with wonder, as well at the figure as at the
words of Don Quixote, though they did not understand one half of
what he meant by them. They finished their dinner, took their images
on their backs, and bidding farewell to Don Quixote resumed their

Sancho was amazed afresh at the extent of his master's knowledge, as
much as if he had never known him, for it seemed to him that there was
no story or event in the world that he had not at his fingers' ends
and fixed in his memory, and he said to him, "In truth, master mine,
if this that has happened to us to-day is to be called an adventure,
it has been one of the sweetest and pleasantest that have befallen
us in the whole course of our travels; we have come out of it
unbelaboured and undismayed, neither have we drawn sword nor have we
smitten the earth with our bodies, nor have we been left famishing;
blessed be God that he has let me see such a thing with my own eyes!"

"Thou sayest well, Sancho," said Don Quixote, "but remember all
times are not alike nor do they always run the same way; and these
things the vulgar commonly call omens, which are not based upon any
natural reason, will by him who is wise be esteemed and reckoned happy
accidents merely. One of these believers in omens will get up of a
morning, leave his house, and meet a friar of the order of the blessed
Saint Francis, and, as if he had met a griffin, he will turn about and
go home. With another Mendoza the salt is spilt on his table, and
gloom is spilt over his heart, as if nature was obliged to give
warning of coming misfortunes by means of such trivial things as
these. The wise man and the Christian should not trifle with what it
may please heaven to do. Scipio on coming to Africa stumbled as he
leaped on shore; his soldiers took it as a bad omen; but he,
clasping the soil with his arms, exclaimed, 'Thou canst not escape me,
Africa, for I hold thee tight between my arms.' Thus, Sancho,
meeting those images has been to me a most happy occurrence."

"I can well believe it," said Sancho; "but I wish your worship would
tell me what is the reason that the Spaniards, when they are about
to give battle, in calling on that Saint James the Moorslayer, say
'Santiago and close Spain!' Is Spain, then, open, so that it is
needful to close it; or what is the meaning of this form?"

"Thou art very simple, Sancho," said Don Quixote; "God, look you,
gave that great knight of the Red Cross to Spain as her patron saint
and protector, especially in those hard struggles the Spaniards had
with the Moors; and therefore they invoke and call upon him as their
defender in all their battles; and in these he has been many a time
seen beating down, trampling under foot, destroying and slaughtering
the Hagarene squadrons in the sight of all; of which fact I could give
thee many examples recorded in truthful Spanish histories."

Sancho changed the subject, and said to his master, "I marvel,
senor, at the boldness of Altisidora, the duchess's handmaid; he
whom they call Love must have cruelly pierced and wounded her; they
say he is a little blind urchin who, though blear-eyed, or more
properly speaking sightless, if he aims at a heart, be it ever so
small, hits it and pierces it through and through with his arrows. I
have heard it said too that the arrows of Love are blunted and
robbed of their points by maidenly modesty and reserve; but with
this Altisidora it seems they are sharpened rather than blunted."

"Bear in mind, Sancho," said Don Quixote, "that love is influenced
by no consideration, recognises no restraints of reason, and is of the
same nature as death, that assails alike the lofty palaces of kings
and the humble cabins of shepherds; and when it takes entire
possession of a heart, the first thing it does is to banish fear and
shame from it; and so without shame Altisidora declared her passion,
which excited in my mind embarrassment rather than commiseration."

"Notable cruelty!" exclaimed Sancho; "unheard-of ingratitude! I
can only say for myself that the very smallest loving word of hers
would have subdued me and made a slave of me. The devil! What a
heart of marble, what bowels of brass, what a soul of mortar! But I
can't imagine what it is that this damsel saw in your worship that
could have conquered and captivated her so. What gallant figure was
it, what bold bearing, what sprightly grace, what comeliness of
feature, which of these things by itself, or what all together,
could have made her fall in love with you? For indeed and in truth
many a time I stop to look at your worship from the sole of your
foot to the topmost hair of your head, and I see more to frighten
one than to make one fall in love; moreover I have heard say that
beauty is the first and main thing that excites love, and as your
worship has none at all, I don't know what the poor creature fell in
love with."

"Recollect, Sancho," replied Don Quixote, "there are two sorts of
beauty, one of the mind, the other of the body; that of the mind
displays and exhibits itself in intelligence, in modesty, in
honourable conduct, in generosity, in good breeding; and all these
qualities are possible and may exist in an ugly man; and when it is
this sort of beauty and not that of the body that is the attraction,
love is apt to spring up suddenly and violently. I, Sancho, perceive
clearly enough that I am not beautiful, but at the same time I know
I am not hideous; and it is enough for an honest man not to be a
monster to he an object of love, if only he possesses the endowments
of mind I have mentioned."

While engaged in this discourse they were making their way through a
wood that lay beyond the road, when suddenly, without expecting
anything of the kind, Don Quixote found himself caught in some nets of
green cord stretched from one tree to another; and unable to
conceive what it could be, he said to Sancho, "Sancho, it strikes me
this affair of these nets will prove one of the strangest adventures
imaginable. May I die if the enchanters that persecute me are not
trying to entangle me in them and delay my journey, by way of
revenge for my obduracy towards Altisidora. Well then let me tell them
that if these nets, instead of being green cord, were made of the
hardest diamonds, or stronger than that wherewith the jealous god of
blacksmiths enmeshed Venus and Mars, I would break them as easily as
if they were made of rushes or cotton threads." But just as he was
about to press forward and break through all, suddenly from among some
trees two shepherdesses of surpassing beauty presented themselves to
his sight- or at least damsels dressed like shepherdesses, save that
their jerkins and sayas were of fine brocade; that is to say, the
sayas were rich farthingales of gold embroidered tabby. Their hair,
that in its golden brightness vied with the beams of the sun itself,
fell loose upon their shoulders and was crowned with garlands twined
with green laurel and red everlasting; and their years to all
appearance were not under fifteen nor above eighteen. Such was the
spectacle that filled Sancho with amazement, fascinated Don Quixote,
made the sun halt in his course to behold them, and held all four in a
strange silence. One of the shepherdesses, at length, was the first to
speak and said to Don Quixote, "Hold, sir knight, and do not break
these nets; for they are not spread here to do you any harm, but
only for our amusement; and as I know you will ask why they have
been put up, and who we are, I will tell you in a few words. In a
village some two leagues from this, where there are many people of
quality and rich gentlefolk, it was agreed upon by a number of friends
and relations to come with their wives, sons and daughters,
neighbours, friends and kinsmen, and make holiday in this spot,
which is one of the pleasantest in the whole neighbourhood, setting up
a new pastoral Arcadia among ourselves, we maidens dressing
ourselves as shepherdesses and the youths as shepherds. We have
prepared two eclogues, one by the famous poet Garcilasso, the other by
the most excellent Camoens, in its own Portuguese tongue, but we
have not as yet acted them. Yesterday was the first day of our
coming here; we have a few of what they say are called field-tents
pitched among the trees on the bank of an ample brook that
fertilises all these meadows; last night we spread these nets in the
trees here to snare the silly little birds that startled by the
noise we make may fly into them. If you please to he our guest, senor,
you will be welcomed heartily and courteously, for here just now
neither care nor sorrow shall enter."

She held her peace and said no more, and Don Quixote made answer,
"Of a truth, fairest lady, Actaeon when he unexpectedly beheld Diana
bathing in the stream could not have been more fascinated and
wonderstruck than I at the sight of your beauty. I commend your mode
of entertainment, and thank you for the kindness of your invitation;
and if I can serve you, you may command me with full confidence of
being obeyed, for my profession is none other than to show myself
grateful, and ready to serve persons of all conditions, but especially
persons of quality such as your appearance indicates; and if,
instead of taking up, as they probably do, but a small space, these
nets took up the whole surface of the globe, I would seek out new
worlds through which to pass, so as not to break them; and that ye may
give some degree of credence to this exaggerated language of mine,
know that it is no less than Don Quixote of La Mancha that makes
this declaration to you, if indeed it be that such a name has
reached your ears."

"Ah! friend of my soul," instantly exclaimed the other
shepherdess, "what great good fortune has befallen us! Seest thou this
gentleman we have before us? Well then let me tell thee he is the most
valiant and the most devoted and the most courteous gentleman in all
the world, unless a history of his achievements that has been
printed and I have read is telling lies and deceiving us. I will lay a
wager that this good fellow who is with him is one Sancho Panza his
squire, whose drolleries none can equal."

"That's true," said Sancho; "I am that same droll and squire you
speak of, and this gentleman is my master Don Quixote of La Mancha,
the same that's in the history and that they talk about."

"Oh, my friend," said the other, "let us entreat him to stay; for it
will give our fathers and brothers infinite pleasure; I too have heard
just what thou hast told me of the valour of the one and the
drolleries of the other; and what is more, of him they say that he
is the most constant and loyal lover that was ever heard of, and
that his lady is one Dulcinea del Toboso, to whom all over Spain the
palm of beauty is awarded."

"And justly awarded," said Don Quixote, "unless, indeed, your
unequalled beauty makes it a matter of doubt. But spare yourselves the
trouble, ladies, of pressing me to stay, for the urgent calls of my
profession do not allow me to take rest under any circumstances."

At this instant there came up to the spot where the four stood a
brother of one of the two shepherdesses, like them in shepherd
costume, and as richly and gaily dressed as they were. They told him
that their companion was the valiant Don Quixote of La Mancha, and the
other Sancho his squire, of whom he knew already from having read
their history. The gay shepherd offered him his services and begged
that he would accompany him to their tents, and Don Quixote had to
give way and comply. And now the gave was started, and the nets were
filled with a variety of birds that deceived by the colour fell into
the danger they were flying from. Upwards of thirty persons, all gaily
attired as shepherds and shepherdesses, assembled on the spot, and
were at once informed who Don Quixote and his squire were, whereat
they were not a little delighted, as they knew of him already
through his history. They repaired to the tents, where they found
tables laid out, and choicely, plentifully, and neatly furnished. They
treated Don Quixote as a person of distinction, giving him the place
of honour, and all observed him, and were full of astonishment at
the spectacle. At last the cloth being removed, Don Quixote with great
composure lifted up his voice and said:

"One of the greatest sins that men are guilty of is- some will say
pride- but I say ingratitude, going by the common saying that hell
is full of ingrates. This sin, so far as it has lain in my power, I
have endeavoured to avoid ever since I have enjoyed the faculty of
reason; and if I am unable to requite good deeds that have been done
me by other deeds, I substitute the desire to do so; and if that be
not enough I make them known publicly; for he who declares and makes
known the good deeds done to him would repay them by others if it were
in his power, and for the most part those who receive are the
inferiors of those who give. Thus, God is superior to all because he
is the supreme giver, and the offerings of man fall short by an
infinite distance of being a full return for the gifts of God; but
gratitude in some degree makes up for this deficiency and shortcoming.
I therefore, grateful for the favour that has been extended to me
here, and unable to make a return in the same measure, restricted as I
am by the narrow limits of my power, offer what I can and what I
have to offer in my own way; and so I declare that for two full days I
will maintain in the middle of this highway leading to Saragossa, that
these ladies disguised as shepherdesses, who are here present, are the
fairest and most courteous maidens in the world, excepting only the
peerless Dulcinea del Toboso, sole mistress of my thoughts, be it said
without offence to those who hear me, ladies and gentlemen."

On hearing this Sancho, who had been listening with great attention,
cried out in a loud voice, "Is it possible there is anyone in the
world who will dare to say and swear that this master of mine is a
madman? Say, gentlemen shepherds, is there a village priest, be he
ever so wise or learned, who could say what my master has said; or
is there knight-errant, whatever renown he may have as a man of
valour, that could offer what my master has offered now?"

Don Quixote turned upon Sancho, and with a countenance glowing
with anger said to him, "Is it possible, Sancho, there is anyone in
the whole world who will say thou art not a fool, with a lining to
match, and I know not what trimmings of impertinence and roguery?
Who asked thee to meddle in my affairs, or to inquire whether I am a
wise man or a blockhead? Hold thy peace; answer me not a word;
saddle Rocinante if he be unsaddled; and let us go to put my offer
into execution; for with the right that I have on my side thou
mayest reckon as vanquished all who shall venture to question it;" and
in a great rage, and showing his anger plainly, he rose from his seat,
leaving the company lost in wonder, and making them feel doubtful
whether they ought to regard him as a madman or a rational being. In
the end, though they sought to dissuade him from involving himself
in such a challenge, assuring him they admitted his gratitude as fully
established, and needed no fresh proofs to be convinced of his valiant
spirit, as those related in the history of his exploits were
sufficient, still Don Quixote persisted in his resolve; and mounted on
Rocinante, bracing his buckler on his arm and grasping his lance, he
posted himself in the middle of a high road that was not far from
the green meadow. Sancho followed on Dapple, together with all the
members of the pastoral gathering, eager to see what would be the
upshot of his vainglorious and extraordinary proposal.

Don Quixote, then, having, as has been said, planted himself in
the middle of the road, made the welkin ring with words to this
effect: "Ho ye travellers and wayfarers, knights, squires, folk on
foot or on horseback, who pass this way or shall pass in the course of
the next two days! Know that Don Quixote of La Mancha,
knight-errant, is posted here to maintain by arms that the beauty
and courtesy enshrined in the nymphs that dwell in these meadows and
groves surpass all upon earth, putting aside the lady of my heart,
Dulcinea del Toboso. Wherefore, let him who is of the opposite opinion
come on, for here I await him."

Twice he repeated the same words, and twice they fell unheard by any
adventurer; but fate, that was guiding affairs for him from better
to better, so ordered it that shortly afterwards there appeared on the
road a crowd of men on horseback, many of them with lances in their
hands, all riding in a compact body and in great haste. No sooner
had those who were with Don Quixote seen them than they turned about
and withdrew to some distance from the road, for they knew that if
they stayed some harm might come to them; but Don Quixote with
intrepid heart stood his ground, and Sancho Panza shielded himself
with Rocinante's hind-quarters. The troop of lancers came up, and
one of them who was in advance began shouting to Don Quixote, "Get out
of the way, you son of the devil, or these bulls will knock you to

"Rabble!" returned Don Quixote, "I care nothing for bulls, be they
the fiercest Jarama breeds on its banks. Confess at once,
scoundrels, that what I have declared is true; else ye have to deal
with me in combat."

The herdsman had no time to reply, nor Don Quixote to get out of the
way even if he wished; and so the drove of fierce bulls and tame
bullocks, together with the crowd of herdsmen and others who were
taking them to be penned up in a village where they were to be run the
next day, passed over Don Quixote and over Sancho, Rocinante and
Dapple, hurling them all to the earth and rolling them over on the
ground. Sancho was left crushed, Don Quixote scared, Dapple belaboured
and Rocinante in no very sound condition. They all got up, however, at
length, and Don Quixote in great haste, stumbling here and falling
there, started off running after the drove, shouting out, "Hold! stay!
ye rascally rabble, a single knight awaits you, and he is not of the
temper or opinion of those who say, 'For a flying enemy make a
bridge of silver.'" The retreating party in their haste, however,
did not stop for that, or heed his menaces any more than last year's
clouds. Weariness brought Don Quixote to a halt, and more enraged than
avenged he sat down on the road to wait until Sancho, Rocinante and
Dapple came up. When they reached him master and man mounted once
more, and without going back to bid farewell to the mock or
imitation Arcadia, and more in humiliation than contentment, they
continued their journey.



A clear limpid spring which they discovered in a cool grove relieved
Don Quixote and Sancho of the dust and fatigue due to the unpolite
behaviour of the bulls, and by the side of this, having turned
Dapple and Rocinante loose without headstall or bridle, the forlorn
pair, master and man, seated themselves. Sancho had recourse to the
larder of his alforjas and took out of them what he called the prog;
Don Quixote rinsed his mouth and bathed his face, by which cooling
process his flagging energies were revived. Out of pure vexation he
remained without eating, and out of pure politeness Sancho did not
venture to touch a morsel of what was before him, but waited for his
master to act as taster. Seeing, however, that, absorbed in thought,
he was forgetting to carry the bread to his mouth, he said never a
word, and trampling every sort of good breeding under foot, began to
stow away in his paunch the bread and cheese that came to his hand.

"Eat, Sancho my friend," said Don Quixote; "support life, which is
of more consequence to thee than to me, and leave me to die under
the pain of my thoughts and pressure of my misfortunes. I was born,
Sancho, to live dying, and thou to die eating; and to prove the
truth of what I say, look at me, printed in histories, famed in
arms, courteous in behaviour, honoured by princes, courted by maidens;
and after all, when I looked forward to palms, triumphs, and crowns,
won and earned by my valiant deeds, I have this morning seen myself
trampled on, kicked, and crushed by the feet of unclean and filthy
animals. This thought blunts my teeth, paralyses my jaws, cramps my
hands, and robs me of all appetite for food; so much so that I have
a mind to let myself die of hunger, the cruelest death of all deaths."

"So then," said Sancho, munching hard all the time, "your worship
does not agree with the proverb that says, 'Let Martha die, but let
her die with a full belly.' I, at any rate, have no mind to kill
myself; so far from that, I mean to do as the cobbler does, who
stretches the leather with his teeth until he makes it reach as far as
he wants. I'll stretch out my life by eating until it reaches the
end heaven has fixed for it; and let me tell you, senor, there's no
greater folly than to think of dying of despair as your worship
does; take my advice, and after eating lie down and sleep a bit on
this green grass-mattress, and you will see that when you awake you'll
feel something better."

Don Quixote did as he recommended, for it struck him that Sancho's
reasoning was more like a philosopher's than a blockhead's, and said
he, "Sancho, if thou wilt do for me what I am going to tell thee my
ease of mind would be more assured and my heaviness of heart not so
great; and it is this; to go aside a little while I am sleeping in
accordance with thy advice, and, making bare thy carcase to the air,
to give thyself three or four hundred lashes with Rocinante's reins,
on account of the three thousand and odd thou art to give thyself
for the disenchantment of Dulcinea; for it is a great pity that the
poor lady should be left enchanted through thy carelessness and

"There is a good deal to be said on that point," said Sancho; "let
us both go to sleep now, and after that, God has decreed what will
happen. Let me tell your worship that for a man to whip himself in
cold blood is a hard thing, especially if the stripes fall upon an
ill-nourished and worse-fed body. Let my lady Dulcinea have
patience, and when she is least expecting it, she will see me made a
riddle of with whipping, and 'until death it's all life;' I mean
that I have still life in me, and the desire to make good what I
have promised."

Don Quixote thanked him, and ate a little, and Sancho a good deal,
and then they both lay down to sleep, leaving those two inseparable
friends and comrades, Rocinante and Dapple, to their own devices and
to feed unrestrained upon the abundant grass with which the meadow was
furnished. They woke up rather late, mounted once more and resumed
their journey, pushing on to reach an inn which was in sight,
apparently a league off. I say an inn, because Don Quixote called it
so, contrary to his usual practice of calling all inns castles. They
reached it, and asked the landlord if they could put up there. He said
yes, with as much comfort and as good fare as they could find in
Saragossa. They dismounted, and Sancho stowed away his larder in a
room of which the landlord gave him the key. He took the beasts to the
stable, fed them, and came back to see what orders Don Quixote, who
was seated on a bench at the door, had for him, giving special
thanks to heaven that this inn had not been taken for a castle by
his master. Supper-time came, and they repaired to their room, and
Sancho asked the landlord what he had to give them for supper. To this
the landlord replied that his mouth should be the measure; he had only
to ask what he would; for that inn was provided with the birds of
the air and the fowls of the earth and the fish of the sea.

"There's no need of all that," said Sancho; "if they'll roast us a
couple of chickens we'll be satisfied, for my master is delicate and
eats little, and I'm not over and above gluttonous."

The landlord replied he had no chickens, for the kites had stolen

"Well then," said Sancho, "let senor landlord tell them to roast a
pullet, so that it is a tender one."

"Pullet! My father!" said the landlord; "indeed and in truth it's
only yesterday I sent over fifty to the city to sell; but saving
pullets ask what you will."

"In that case," said Sancho, "you will not be without veal or kid."

"Just now," said the landlord, "there's none in the house, for
it's all finished; but next week there will he enough and to spare."

"Much good that does us," said Sancho; "I'll lay a bet that all
these short-comings are going to wind up in plenty of bacon and eggs."

"By God," said the landlord, "my guest's wits must he precious dull;
I tell him I have neither pullets nor hens, and he wants me to have
eggs! Talk of other dainties, if you please, and don't ask for hens

"Body o' me!" said Sancho, "let's settle the matter; say at once
what you have got, and let us have no more words about it."

"In truth and earnest, senor guest," said the landlord, "all I
have is a couple of cow-heels like calves' feet, or a couple of
calves' feet like cowheels; they are boiled with chick-peas, onions,
and bacon, and at this moment they are crying 'Come eat me, come eat

"I mark them for mine on the spot," said Sancho; "let nobody touch
them; I'll pay better for them than anyone else, for I could not
wish for anything more to my taste; and I don't care a pin whether
they are feet or heels."

"Nobody shall touch them," said the landlord; "for the other
guests I have, being persons of high quality, bring their own cook and
caterer and larder with them."

"If you come to people of quality," said Sancho, "there's nobody
more so than my master; but the calling he follows does not allow of
larders or store-rooms; we lay ourselves down in the middle of a
meadow, and fill ourselves with acorns or medlars."

Here ended Sancho's conversation with the landlord, Sancho not
caring to carry it any farther by answering him; for he had already
asked him what calling or what profession it was his master was of.

Supper-time having come, then, Don Quixote betook himself to his
room, the landlord brought in the stew-pan just as it was, and he
sat himself down to sup very resolutely. It seems that in another
room, which was next to Don Quixote's, with nothing but a thin
partition to separate it, he overheard these words, "As you live,
Senor Don Jeronimo, while they are bringing supper, let us read
another chapter of the Second Part of 'Don Quixote of La Mancha.'"

The instant Don Quixote heard his own name be started to his feet
and listened with open ears to catch what they said about him, and
heard the Don Jeronimo who had been addressed say in reply, "Why would
you have us read that absurd stuff, Don Juan, when it is impossible
for anyone who has read the First Part of the history of 'Don
Quixote of La Mancha' to take any pleasure in reading this Second

"For all that," said he who was addressed as Don Juan, "we shall
do well to read it, for there is no book so bad but it has something
good in it. What displeases me most in it is that it represents Don
Quixote as now cured of his love for Dulcinea del Toboso."

On hearing this Don Quixote, full of wrath and indignation, lifted
up his voice and said, "Whoever he may be who says that Don Quixote of
La Mancha has forgotten or can forget Dulcinea del Toboso, I will
teach him with equal arms that what he says is very far from the
truth; for neither can the peerless Dulcinea del Toboso be
forgotten, nor can forgetfulness have a place in Don Quixote; his
motto is constancy, and his profession to maintain the same with his
life and never wrong it."

"Who is this that answers us?" said they in the next room.

"Who should it be," said Sancho, "but Don Quixote of La Mancha
himself, who will make good all he has said and all he will say; for
pledges don't trouble a good payer."

Sancho had hardly uttered these words when two gentlemen, for such
they seemed to be, entered the room, and one of them, throwing his
arms round Don Quixote's neck, said to him, "Your appearance cannot
leave any question as to your name, nor can your name fail to identify
your appearance; unquestionably, senor, you are the real Don Quixote
of La Mancha, cynosure and morning star of knight-errantry, despite
and in defiance of him who has sought to usurp your name and bring
to naught your achievements, as the author of this book which I here
present to you has done;" and with this he put a book which his
companion carried into the hands of Don Quixote, who took it, and
without replying began to run his eye over it; but he presently
returned it saying, "In the little I have seen I have discovered three
things in this author that deserve to be censured. The first is some
words that I have read in the preface; the next that the language is
Aragonese, for sometimes he writes without articles; and the third,
which above all stamps him as ignorant, is that he goes wrong and
departs from the truth in the most important part of the history,
for here he says that my squire Sancho Panza's wife is called Mari
Gutierrez, when she is called nothing of the sort, but Teresa Panza;
and when a man errs on such an important point as this there is good
reason to fear that he is in error on every other point in the

"A nice sort of historian, indeed!" exclaimed Sancho at this; "he
must know a deal about our affairs when he calls my wife Teresa Panza,
Mari Gutierrez; take the book again, senor, and see if I am in it
and if he has changed my name."

"From your talk, friend," said Don Jeronimo, "no doubt you are
Sancho Panza, Senor Don Quixote's squire."

"Yes, I am," said Sancho; "and I'm proud of it."

"Faith, then," said the gentleman, "this new author does not
handle you with the decency that displays itself in your person; he
makes you out a heavy feeder and a fool, and not in the least droll,
and a very different being from the Sancho described in the First Part
of your master's history."

"God forgive him," said Sancho; "he might have left me in my
corner without troubling his head about me; 'let him who knows how
ring the bells; 'Saint Peter is very well in Rome.'"

The two gentlemen pressed Don Quixote to come into their room and
have supper with them, as they knew very well there was nothing in
that inn fit for one of his sort. Don Quixote, who was always
polite, yielded to their request and supped with them. Sancho stayed
behind with the stew. and invested with plenary delegated authority
seated himself at the head of the table, and the landlord sat down
with him, for he was no less fond of cow-heel and calves' feet than
Sancho was.

While at supper Don Juan asked Don Quixote what news he had of the
lady Dulcinea del Toboso, was she married, had she been brought to
bed, or was she with child, or did she in maidenhood, still preserving
her modesty and delicacy, cherish the remembrance of the tender
passion of Senor Don Quixote?

To this he replied, "Dulcinea is a maiden still, and my passion more
firmly rooted than ever, our intercourse unsatisfactory as before, and
her beauty transformed into that of a foul country wench;" and then he
proceeded to give them a full and particular account of the
enchantment of Dulcinea, and of what had happened him in the cave of
Montesinos, together with what the sage Merlin had prescribed for
her disenchantment, namely the scourging of Sancho.

Exceedingly great was the amusement the two gentlemen derived from
hearing Don Quixote recount the strange incidents of his history;
and if they were amazed by his absurdities they were equally amazed by
the elegant style in which he delivered them. On the one hand they
regarded him as a man of wit and sense, and on the other he seemed
to them a maundering blockhead, and they could not make up their minds
whereabouts between wisdom and folly they ought to place him.

Sancho having finished his supper, and left the landlord in the X
condition, repaired to the room where his master was, and as he came
in said, "May I die, sirs, if the author of this book your worships
have got has any mind that we should agree; as he calls me glutton
(according to what your worships say) I wish he may not call me
drunkard too."

"But he does," said Don Jeronimo; "I cannot remember, however, in
what way, though I know his words are offensive, and what is more,
lying, as I can see plainly by the physiognomy of the worthy Sancho
before me."

"Believe me," said Sancho, "the Sancho and the Don Quixote of this
history must be different persons from those that appear in the one
Cide Hamete Benengeli wrote, who are ourselves; my master valiant,
wise, and true in love, and I simple, droll, and neither glutton nor

"I believe it," said Don Juan; "and were it possible, an order
should be issued that no one should have the presumption to deal
with anything relating to Don Quixote, save his original author Cide
Hamete; just as Alexander commanded that no one should presume to
paint his portrait save Apelles."

"Let him who will paint me," said Don Quixote; "but let him not
abuse me; for patience will often break down when they heap insults
upon it."

"None can be offered to Senor Don Quixote," said Don Juan, "that
he himself will not be able to avenge, if he does not ward it off with
the shield of his patience, which, I take it, is great and strong."

A considerable portion of the night passed in conversation of this
sort, and though Don Juan wished Don Quixote to read more of the
book to see what it was all about, he was not to be prevailed upon,
saying that he treated it as read and pronounced it utterly silly;
and, if by any chance it should come to its author's ears that he
had it in his hand, he did not want him to flatter himself with the
idea that he had read it; for our thoughts, and still more our eyes,
should keep themselves aloof from what is obscene and filthy.

They asked him whither he meant to direct his steps. He replied,
to Saragossa, to take part in the harness jousts which were held in
that city every year. Don Juan told him that the new history described
how Don Quixote, let him be who he might, took part there in a tilting
at the ring, utterly devoid of invention, poor in mottoes, very poor
in costume, though rich in sillinesses.

"For that very reason," said Don Quixote, "I will not set foot in
Saragossa; and by that means I shall expose to the world the lie of
this new history writer, and people will see that I am not the Don
Quixote he speaks of."

"You will do quite right," said Don Jeronimo; "and there are other
jousts at Barcelona in which Senor Don Quixote may display his

"That is what I mean to do," said Don Quixote; "and as it is now
time, I pray your worships to give me leave to retire to bed, and to
place and retain me among the number of your greatest friends and

"And me too," said Sancho; "maybe I'll be good for something."

With this they exchanged farewells, and Don Quixote and Sancho
retired to their room, leaving Don Juan and Don Jeronimo amazed to see
the medley he made of his good sense and his craziness; and they
felt thoroughly convinced that these, and not those their Aragonese
author described, were the genuine Don Quixote and Sancho. Don Quixote
rose betimes, and bade adieu to his hosts by knocking at the partition
of the other room. Sancho paid the landlord magnificently, and
recommended him either to say less about the providing of his inn or
to keep it better provided.



It was a fresh morning giving promise of a cool day as Don Quixote
quitted the inn, first of all taking care to ascertain the most direct
road to Barcelona without touching upon Saragossa; so anxious was he
to make out this new historian, who they said abused him so, to be a
liar. Well, as it fell out, nothing worthy of being recorded
happened him for six days, at the end of which, having turned aside
out of the road, he was overtaken by night in a thicket of oak or cork
trees; for on this point Cide Hamete is not as precise as he usually
is on other matters.

Master and man dismounted from their beasts, and as soon as they had
settled themselves at the foot of the trees, Sancho, who had had a
good noontide meal that day, let himself, without more ado, pass the
gates of sleep. But Don Quixote, whom his thoughts, far more than
hunger, kept awake, could not close an eye, and roamed in fancy to and
fro through all sorts of places. At one moment it seemed to him that
he was in the cave of Montesinos and saw Dulcinea, transformed into
a country wench, skipping and mounting upon her she-ass; again that
the words of the sage Merlin were sounding in his ears, setting
forth the conditions to be observed and the exertions to be made for
the disenchantment of Dulcinea. He lost all patience when he
considered the laziness and want of charity of his squire Sancho;
for to the best of his belief he had only given himself five lashes, a
number paltry and disproportioned to the vast number required. At this
thought he felt such vexation and anger that he reasoned the matter
thus: "If Alexander the Great cut the Gordian knot, saying, 'To cut
comes to the same thing as to untie,' and yet did not fail to become
lord paramount of all Asia, neither more nor less could happen now
in Dulcinea's disenchantment if I scourge Sancho against his will;
for, if it is the condition of the remedy that Sancho shall receive
three thousand and odd lashes, what does it matter to me whether he
inflicts them himself, or some one else inflicts them, when the
essential point is that he receives them, let them come from
whatever quarter they may?"

With this idea he went over to Sancho, having first taken
Rocinante's reins and arranged them so as to be able to flog him
with them, and began to untie the points (the common belief is he
had but one in front) by which his breeches were held up; but the
instant he approached him Sancho woke up in his full senses and
cried out, "What is this? Who is touching me and untrussing me?"

"It is I," said Don Quixote, "and I come to make good thy
shortcomings and relieve my own distresses; I come to whip thee,
Sancho, and wipe off some portion of the debt thou hast undertaken.
Dulcinea is perishing, thou art living on regardless, I am dying of
hope deferred; therefore untruss thyself with a good will, for mine it
is, here, in this retired spot, to give thee at least two thousand

"Not a bit of it," said Sancho; "let your worship keep quiet, or
else by the living God the deaf shall hear us; the lashes I pledged
myself to must be voluntary and not forced upon me, and just now I
have no fancy to whip myself; it is enough if I give you my word to
flog and flap myself when I have a mind."

"It will not do to leave it to thy courtesy, Sancho," said Don
Quixote, "for thou art hard of heart and, though a clown, tender of
flesh;" and at the same time he strove and struggled to untie him.

Seeing this Sancho got up, and grappling with his master he
gripped him with all his might in his arms, giving him a trip with the
heel stretched him on the ground on his back, and pressing his right
knee on his chest held his hands in his own so that he could neither
move nor breathe.

"How now, traitor!" exclaimed Don Quixote. "Dost thou revolt against
thy master and natural lord? Dost thou rise against him who gives thee
his bread?"

"I neither put down king, nor set up king," said Sancho; "I only
stand up for myself who am my own lord; if your worship promises me to
be quiet, and not to offer to whip me now, I'll let you go free and
unhindered; if not-

Traitor and Dona Sancha's foe,
Thou diest on the spot."

Don Quixote gave his promise, and swore by the life of his
thoughts not to touch so much as a hair of his garments, and to
leave him entirely free and to his own discretion to whip himself
whenever he pleased.

Sancho rose and removed some distance from the spot, but as he was
about to place himself leaning against another tree he felt
something touch his head, and putting up his hands encountered
somebody's two feet with shoes and stockings on them. He trembled with
fear and made for another tree, where the very same thing happened
to him, and he fell a-shouting, calling upon Don Quixote to come and
protect him. Don Quixote did so, and asked him what had happened to
him, and what he was afraid of. Sancho replied that all the trees were
full of men's feet and legs. Don Quixote felt them, and guessed at
once what it was, and said to Sancho, "Thou hast nothing to be
afraid of, for these feet and legs that thou feelest but canst not see
belong no doubt to some outlaws and freebooters that have been
hanged on these trees; for the authorities in these parts are wont
to hang them up by twenties and thirties when they catch them; whereby
I conjecture that I must be near Barcelona;" and it was, in fact, as
he supposed; with the first light they looked up and saw that the
fruit hanging on those trees were freebooters' bodies.

And now day dawned; and if the dead freebooters had scared them,
their hearts were no less troubled by upwards of forty living ones,
who all of a sudden surrounded them, and in the Catalan tongue bade
them stand and wait until their captain came up. Don Quixote was on
foot with his horse unbridled and his lance leaning against a tree,
and in short completely defenceless; he thought it best therefore to
fold his arms and bow his head and reserve himself for a more
favourable occasion and opportunity. The robbers made haste to
search Dapple, and did not leave him a single thing of all he
carried in the alforjas and in the valise; and lucky it was for Sancho
that the duke's crowns and those he brought from home were in a girdle
that he wore round him; but for all that these good folk would have
stripped him, and even looked to see what he had hidden between the
skin and flesh, but for the arrival at that moment of their captain,
who was about thirty-four years of age apparently, strongly built,
above the middle height, of stern aspect and swarthy complexion. He
was mounted upon a powerful horse, and had on a coat of mail, with
four of the pistols they call petronels in that country at his
waist. He saw that his squires (for so they call those who follow that
trade) were about to rifle Sancho Panza, but he ordered them to desist
and was at once obeyed, so the girdle escaped. He wondered to see
the lance leaning against the tree, the shield on the ground, and
Don Quixote in armour and dejected, with the saddest and most
melancholy face that sadness itself could produce; and going up to him
he said, "Be not so cast down, good man, for you have not fallen
into the hands of any inhuman Busiris, but into Roque Guinart's, which
are more merciful than cruel."

"The cause of my dejection," returned Don Quixote, "is not that I
have fallen into thy hands, O valiant Roque, whose fame is bounded
by no limits on earth, but that my carelessness should have been so
great that thy soldiers should have caught me unbridled, when it is my
duty, according to the rule of knight-errantry which I profess, to
be always on the alert and at all times my own sentinel; for let me
tell thee, great Roque, had they found me on my horse, with my lance
and shield, it would not have been very easy for them to reduce me
to submission, for I am Don Quixote of La Mancha, he who hath filled
the whole world with his achievements."

Roque Guinart at once perceived that Don Quixote's weakness was more
akin to madness than to swagger; and though he had sometimes heard him
spoken of, he never regarded the things attributed to him as true, nor
could he persuade himself that such a humour could become dominant
in the heart of man; he was extremely glad, therefore, to meet him and
test at close quarters what he had heard of him at a distance; so he
said to him, "Despair not, valiant knight, nor regard as an untoward
fate the position in which thou findest thyself; it may be that by
these slips thy crooked fortune will make itself straight; for
heaven by strange circuitous ways, mysterious and incomprehensible
to man, raises up the fallen and makes rich the poor."

Don Quixote was about to thank him, when they heard behind them a
noise as of a troop of horses; there was, however, but one, riding
on which at a furious pace came a youth, apparently about twenty years
of age, clad in green damask edged with gold and breeches and a
loose frock, with a hat looped up in the Walloon fashion,
tight-fitting polished boots, gilt spurs, dagger and sword, and in his
hand a musketoon, and a pair of pistols at his waist.

Roque turned round at the noise and perceived this comely figure,
which drawing near thus addressed him, "I came in quest of thee,
valiant Roque, to find in thee if not a remedy at least relief in my
misfortune; and not to keep thee in suspense, for I see thou dost
not recognise me, I will tell thee who I am; I am Claudia Jeronima,
the daughter of Simon Forte, thy good friend, and special enemy of
Clauquel Torrellas, who is thine also as being of the faction
opposed to thee. Thou knowest that this Torrellas has a son who is
called, or at least was not two hours since, Don Vicente Torrellas.
Well, to cut short the tale of my misfortune, I will tell thee in a
few words what this youth has brought upon me. He saw me, he paid
court to me, I listened to him, and, unknown to my father, I loved
him; for there is no woman, however secluded she may live or close she
may be kept, who will not have opportunities and to spare for
following her headlong impulses. In a word, he pledged himself to be
mine, and I promised to be his, without carrying matters any
further. Yesterday I learned that, forgetful of his pledge to me, he
was about to marry another, and that he was to go this morning to
plight his troth, intelligence which overwhelmed and exasperated me;
my father not being at home I was able to adopt this costume you
see, and urging my horse to speed I overtook Don Vicente about a
league from this, and without waiting to utter reproaches or hear
excuses I fired this musket at him, and these two pistols besides, and
to the best of my belief I must have lodged more than two bullets in
his body, opening doors to let my honour go free, enveloped in his
blood. I left him there in the hands of his servants, who did not dare
and were not able to interfere in his defence, and I come to seek from
thee a safe-conduct into France, where I have relatives with whom I
can live; and also to implore thee to protect my father, so that Don
Vicente's numerous kinsmen may not venture to wreak their lawless
vengeance upon him."

Roque, filled with admiration at the gallant bearing, high spirit,
comely figure, and adventure of the fair Claudia, said to her,
"Come, senora, let us go and see if thy enemy is dead; and then we
will consider what will be best for thee." Don Quixote, who had been
listening to what Claudia said and Roque Guinart said in reply to her,
exclaimed, "Nobody need trouble himself with the defence of this lady,
for I take it upon myself. Give me my horse and arms, and wait for
me here; I will go in quest of this knight, and dead or alive I will
make him keep his word plighted to so great beauty."

"Nobody need have any doubt about that," said Sancho, "for my master
has a very happy knack of matchmaking; it's not many days since he
forced another man to marry, who in the same way backed out of his
promise to another maiden; and if it had not been for his
persecutors the enchanters changing the man's proper shape into a
lacquey's the said maiden would not be one this minute."

Roque, who was paying more attention to the fair Claudia's adventure
than to the words of master or man, did not hear them; and ordering
his squires to restore to Sancho everything they had stripped Dapple
of, he directed them to return to the place where they had been
quartered during the night, and then set off with Claudia at full
speed in search of the wounded or slain Don Vicente. They reached
the spot where Claudia met him, but found nothing there save freshly
spilt blood; looking all round, however, they descried some people
on the slope of a hill above them, and concluded, as indeed it
proved to be, that it was Don Vicente, whom either dead or alive his
servants were removing to attend to his wounds or to bury him. They
made haste to overtake them, which, as the party moved slowly, they
were able to do with ease. They found Don Vicente in the arms of his
servants, whom he was entreating in a broken feeble voice to leave him
there to die, as the pain of his wounds would not suffer him to go any
farther. Claudia and Roque threw themselves off their horses and
advanced towards him; the servants were overawed by the appearance
of Roque, and Claudia was moved by the sight of Don Vicente, and going
up to him half tenderly half sternly, she seized his hand and said
to him, "Hadst thou given me this according to our compact thou
hadst never come to this pass."

The wounded gentleman opened his all but closed eyes, and
recognising Claudia said, "I see clearly, fair and mistaken lady, that
it is thou that hast slain me, a punishment not merited or deserved by
my feelings towards thee, for never did I mean to, nor could I,
wrong thee in thought or deed."

"It is not true, then," said Claudia, "that thou wert going this
morning to marry Leonora the daughter of the rich Balvastro?"

"Assuredly not," replied Don Vicente; "my cruel fortune must have
carried those tidings to thee to drive thee in thy jealousy to take my
life; and to assure thyself of this, press my hands and take me for
thy husband if thou wilt; I have no better satisfaction to offer
thee for the wrong thou fanciest thou hast received from me."

Claudia wrung his hands, and her own heart was so wrung that she lay
fainting on the bleeding breast of Don Vicente, whom a death spasm
seized the same instant. Roque was in perplexity and knew not what
to do; the servants ran to fetch water to sprinkle their faces, and
brought some and bathed them with it. Claudia recovered from her
fainting fit, but not so Don Vicente from the paroxysm that had
overtaken him, for his life had come to an end. On perceiving this,
Claudia, when she had convinced herself that her beloved husband was
no more, rent the air with her sighs and made the heavens ring with
her lamentations; she tore her hair and scattered it to the winds, she
beat her face with her hands and showed all the signs of grief and
sorrow that could be conceived to come from an afflicted heart.
"Cruel, reckless woman!" she cried, "how easily wert thou moved to
carry out a thought so wicked! O furious force of jealousy, to what
desperate lengths dost thou lead those that give thee lodging in their
bosoms! O husband, whose unhappy fate in being mine hath borne thee
from the marriage bed to the grave!"

So vehement and so piteous were the lamentations of Claudia that
they drew tears from Roque's eyes, unused as they were to shed them on
any occasion. The servants wept, Claudia swooned away again and again,
and the whole place seemed a field of sorrow and an abode of
misfortune. In the end Roque Guinart directed Don Vicente's servants
to carry his body to his father's village, which was close by, for
burial. Claudia told him she meant to go to a monastery of which an
aunt of hers was abbess, where she intended to pass her life with a
better and everlasting spouse. He applauded her pious resolution,
and offered to accompany her whithersoever she wished, and to
protect her father against the kinsmen of Don Vicente and all the
world, should they seek to injure him. Claudia would not on any
account allow him to accompany her; and thanking him for his offers as
well as she could, took leave of him in tears. The servants of Don
Vicente carried away his body, and Roque returned to his comrades, and
so ended the love of Claudia Jeronima; but what wonder, when it was
the insuperable and cruel might of jealousy that wove the web of her
sad story?

Roque Guinart found his squires at the place to which he had ordered
them, and Don Quixote on Rocinante in the midst of them delivering a
harangue to them in which he urged them to give up a mode of life so
full of peril, as well to the soul as to the body; but as most of them
were Gascons, rough lawless fellows, his speech did not make much
impression on them. Roque on coming up asked Sancho if his men had
returned and restored to him the treasures and jewels they had
stripped off Dapple. Sancho said they had, but that three kerchiefs
that were worth three cities were missing.

"What are you talking about, man?" said one of the bystanders; "I
have got them, and they are not worth three reals."

"That is true," said Don Quixote; "but my squire values them at
the rate he says, as having been given me by the person who gave

Roque Guinart ordered them to be restored at once; and making his
men fall in in line he directed all the clothing, jewellery, and money
that they had taken since the last distribution to be produced; and
making a hasty valuation, and reducing what could not be divided
into money, he made shares for the whole band so equitably and
carefully, that in no case did he exceed or fall short of strict
distributive justice.

When this had been done, and all left satisfied, Roque observed to
Don Quixote, "If this scrupulous exactness were not observed with
these fellows there would be no living with them."

Upon this Sancho remarked, "From what I have seen here, justice is
such a good thing that there is no doing without it, even among the
thieves themselves."

One of the squires heard this, and raising the butt-end of his
harquebuss would no doubt have broken Sancho's head with it had not
Roque Guinart called out to him to hold his hand. Sancho was
frightened out of his wits, and vowed not to open his lips so long
as he was in the company of these people.

At this instant one or two of those squires who were posted as
sentinels on the roads, to watch who came along them and report what
passed to their chief, came up and said, "Senor, there is a great
troop of people not far off coming along the road to Barcelona."

To which Roque replied, "Hast thou made out whether they are of
the sort that are after us, or of the sort we are after?"

"The sort we are after," said the squire.

"Well then, away with you all," said Roque, "and bring them here
to me at once without letting one of them escape."

They obeyed, and Don Quixote, Sancho, and Roque, left by themselves,
waited to see what the squires brought, and while they were waiting
Roque said to Don Quixote, "It must seem a strange sort of life to
Senor Don Quixote, this of ours, strange adventures, strange
incidents, and all full of danger; and I do not wonder that it
should seem so, for in truth I must own there is no mode of life
more restless or anxious than ours. What led me into it was a
certain thirst for vengeance, which is strong enough to disturb the
quietest hearts. I am by nature tender-hearted and kindly, but, as I
said, the desire to revenge myself for a wrong that was done me so
overturns all my better impulses that I keep on in this way of life in
spite of what conscience tells me; and as one depth calls to
another, and one sin to another sin, revenges have linked themselves
together, and I have taken upon myself not only my own but those of
others: it pleases God, however, that, though I see myself in this
maze of entanglements, I do not lose all hope of escaping from it
and reaching a safe port."

Don Quixote was amazed to hear Roque utter such excellent and just
sentiments, for he did not think that among those who followed such
trades as robbing, murdering, and waylaying, there could be anyone
capable of a virtuous thought, and he said in reply, "Senor Roque, the
beginning of health lies in knowing the disease and in the sick
man's willingness to take the medicines which the physician
prescribes; you are sick, you know what ails you, and heaven, or
more properly speaking God, who is our physician, will administer
medicines that will cure you, and cure gradually, and not of a
sudden or by a miracle; besides, sinners of discernment are nearer
amendment than those who are fools; and as your worship has shown good
sense in your remarks, all you have to do is to keep up a good heart
and trust that the weakness of your conscience will be strengthened.
And if you have any desire to shorten the journey and put yourself
easily in the way of salvation, come with me, and I will show you
how to become a knight-errant, a calling wherein so many hardships and
mishaps are encountered that if they be taken as penances they will
lodge you in heaven in a trice."

Roque laughed at Don Quixote's exhortation, and changing the
conversation he related the tragic affair of Claudia Jeronima, at
which Sancho was extremely grieved; for he had not found the young
woman's beauty, boldness, and spirit at all amiss.

And now the squires despatched to make the prize came up, bringing
with them two gentlemen on horseback, two pilgrims on foot, and a
coach full of women with some six servants on foot and on horseback in
attendance on them, and a couple of muleteers whom the gentlemen had
with them. The squires made a ring round them, both victors and
vanquished maintaining profound silence, waiting for the great Roque
Guinart to speak. He asked the gentlemen who they were, whither they
were going, and what money they carried with them; "Senor," replied
one of them, "we are two captains of Spanish infantry; our companies
are at Naples, and we are on our way to embark in four galleys which
they say are at Barcelona under orders for Sicily; and we have about
two or three hundred crowns, with which we are, according to our
notions, rich and contented, for a soldier's poverty does not allow
a more extensive hoard."

Roque asked the pilgrims the same questions he had put to the
captains, and was answered that they were going to take ship for Rome,
and that between them they might have about sixty reals. He asked also
who was in the coach, whither they were bound and what money they had,
and one of the men on horseback replied, "The persons in the coach are
my lady Dona Guiomar de Quinones, wife of the regent of the Vicaria at
Naples, her little daughter, a handmaid and a duenna; we six
servants are in attendance upon her, and the money amounts to six
hundred crowns."

"So then," said Roque Guinart, "we have got here nine hundred crowns
and sixty reals; my soldiers must number some sixty; see how much
there falls to each, for I am a bad arithmetician." As soon as the
robbers heard this they raised a shout of "Long life to Roque Guinart,
in spite of the lladres that seek his ruin!"

The captains showed plainly the concern they felt, the regent's lady
was downcast, and the pilgrims did not at all enjoy seeing their
property confiscated. Roque kept them in suspense in this way for a
while; but he had no desire to prolong their distress, which might
be seen a bowshot off, and turning to the captains he said, "Sirs,
will your worships be pleased of your courtesy to lend me sixty
crowns, and her ladyship the regent's wife eighty, to satisfy this
band that follows me, for 'it is by his singing the abbot gets his
dinner;' and then you may at once proceed on your journey, free and
unhindered, with a safe-conduct which I shall give you, so that if you
come across any other bands of mine that I have scattered in these
parts, they may do you no harm; for I have no intention of doing
injury to soldiers, or to any woman, especially one of quality."

Profuse and hearty were the expressions of gratitude with which
the captains thanked Roque for his courtesy and generosity; for such
they regarded his leaving them their own money. Senora Dona Guiomar de
Quinones wanted to throw herself out of the coach to kiss the feet and
hands of the great Roque, but he would not suffer it on any account;
so far from that, he begged her pardon for the wrong he had done her
under pressure of the inexorable necessities of his unfortunate
calling. The regent's lady ordered one of her servants to give the
eighty crowns that had been assessed as her share at once, for the
captains had already paid down their sixty. The pilgrims were about to
give up the whole of their little hoard, but Roque bade them keep
quiet, and turning to his men he said, "Of these crowns two fall to
each man and twenty remain over; let ten be given to these pilgrims,
and the other ten to this worthy squire that he may be able to speak
favourably of this adventure;" and then having writing materials, with
which he always went provided, brought to him, he gave them in writing
a safe-conduct to the leaders of his bands; and bidding them
farewell let them go free and filled with admiration at his
magnanimity, his generous disposition, and his unusual conduct, and
inclined to regard him as an Alexander the Great rather than a
notorious robber.

One of the squires observed in his mixture of Gascon and Catalan,
"This captain of ours would make a better friar than highwayman; if he
wants to be so generous another time, let it be with his own
property and not ours."

The unlucky wight did not speak so low but that Roque overheard him,
and drawing his sword almost split his head in two, saying, "That is
the way I punish impudent saucy fellows." They were all taken aback,
and not one of them dared to utter a word, such deference did they pay
him. Roque then withdrew to one side and wrote a letter to a friend of
his at Barcelona, telling him that the famous Don Quixote of La
Mancha, the knight-errant of whom there was so much talk, was with
him, and was, he assured him, the drollest and wisest man in the
world; and that in four days from that date, that is to say, on
Saint John the Baptist's Day, he was going to deposit him in full
armour mounted on his horse Rocinante, together with his squire Sancho
on an ass, in the middle of the strand of the city; and bidding him
give notice of this to his friends the Niarros, that they might divert
themselves with him. He wished, he said, his enemies the Cadells could
be deprived of this pleasure; but that was impossible, because the
crazes and shrewd sayings of Don Quixote and the humours of his squire
Sancho Panza could not help giving general pleasure to all the
world. He despatched the letter by one of his squires, who, exchanging
the costume of a highwayman for that of a peasant, made his way into
Barcelona and gave it to the person to whom it was directed.



Don Quixote passed three days and three nights with Roque, and had
he passed three hundred years he would have found enough to observe
and wonder at in his mode of life. At daybreak they were in one
spot, at dinner-time in another; sometimes they fled without knowing
from whom, at other times they lay in wait, not knowing for what. They
slept standing, breaking their slumbers to shift from place to
place. There was nothing but sending out spies and scouts, posting
sentinels and blowing the matches of harquebusses, though they carried
but few, for almost all used flintlocks. Roque passed his nights in
some place or other apart from his men, that they might not know where
he was, for the many proclamations the viceroy of Barcelona had issued
against his life kept him in fear and uneasiness, and he did not
venture to trust anyone, afraid that even his own men would kill him
or deliver him up to the authorities; of a truth, a weary miserable
life! At length, by unfrequented roads, short cuts, and secret
paths, Roque, Don Quixote, and Sancho, together with six squires,
set out for Barcelona. They reached the strand on Saint John's Eve
during the night; and Roque, after embracing Don Quixote and Sancho
(to whom he presented the ten crowns he had promised but had not until
then given), left them with many expressions of good-will on both

Roque went back, while Don Quixote remained on horseback, just as he
was, waiting for day, and it was not long before the countenance of
the fair Aurora began to show itself at the balconies of the east,
gladdening the grass and flowers, if not the ear, though to gladden
that too there came at the same moment a sound of clarions and
drums, and a din of bells, and a tramp, tramp, and cries of "Clear the
way there!" of some runners, that seemed to issue from the city. The
dawn made way for the sun that with a face broader than a buckler
began to rise slowly above the low line of the horizon; Don Quixote
and Sancho gazed all round them; they beheld the sea, a sight until
then unseen by them; it struck them as exceedingly spacious and broad,
much more so than the lakes of Ruidera which they had seen in La
Mancha. They saw the galleys along the beach, which, lowering their
awnings, displayed themselves decked with streamers and pennons that
trembled in the breeze and kissed and swept the water, while on
board the bugles, trumpets, and clarions were sounding and filling the
air far and near with melodious warlike notes. Then they began to move
and execute a kind of skirmish upon the calm water, while a vast
number of horsemen on fine horses and in showy liveries, issuing
from the city, engaged on their side in a somewhat similar movement.
The soldiers on board the galleys kept up a ceaseless fire, which they
on the walls and forts of the city returned, and the heavy cannon rent
the air with the tremendous noise they made, to which the gangway guns
of the galleys replied. The bright sea, the smiling earth, the clear
air -though at times darkened by the smoke of the guns- all seemed
to fill the whole multitude with unexpected delight. Sancho could
not make out how it was that those great masses that moved over the
sea had so many feet.

And now the horsemen in livery came galloping up with shouts and
outlandish cries and cheers to where Don Quixote stood amazed and
wondering; and one of them, he to whom Roque had sent word, addressing
him exclaimed, "Welcome to our city, mirror, beacon, star and cynosure
of all knight-errantry in its widest extent! Welcome, I say, valiant
Don Quixote of La Mancha; not the false, the fictitious, the
apocryphal, that these latter days have offered us in lying histories,
but the true, the legitimate, the real one that Cide Hamete Benengeli,
flower of historians, has described to us!"

Don Quixote made no answer, nor did the horsemen wait for one, but
wheeling again with all their followers, they began curvetting round
Don Quixote, who, turning to Sancho, said, "These gentlemen have
plainly recognised us; I will wager they have read our history, and
even that newly printed one by the Aragonese."

The cavalier who had addressed Don Quixote again approached him
and said, "Come with us, Senor Don Quixote, for we are all of us
your servants and great friends of Roque Guinart's;" to which Don
Quixote returned, "If courtesy breeds courtesy, yours, sir knight,
is daughter or very nearly akin to the great Roque's; carry me where
you please; I will have no will but yours, especially if you deign
to employ it in your service."

The cavalier replied with words no less polite, and then, all
closing in around him, they set out with him for the city, to the
music of the clarions and the drums. As they were entering it, the
wicked one, who is the author of all mischief, and the boys who are
wickeder than the wicked one, contrived that a couple of these
audacious irrepressible urchins should force their way through the
crowd, and lifting up, one of them Dapple's tail and the other
Rocinante's, insert a bunch of furze under each. The poor beasts
felt the strange spurs and added to their anguish by pressing their
tails tight, so much so that, cutting a multitude of capers, they
flung their masters to the ground. Don Quixote, covered with shame and
out of countenance, ran to pluck the plume from his poor jade's
tail, while Sancho did the same for Dapple. His conductors tried to
punish the audacity of the boys, but there was no possibility of doing
so, for they hid themselves among the hundreds of others that were
following them. Don Quixote and Sancho mounted once more, and with the
same music and acclamations reached their conductor's house, which was
large and stately, that of a rich gentleman, in short; and there for
the present we will leave them, for such is Cide Hamete's pleasure.



Don Quixote's host was one Don Antonio Moreno by name, a gentleman
of wealth and intelligence, and very fond of diverting himself in
any fair and good-natured way; and having Don Quixote in his house
he set about devising modes of making him exhibit his mad points in
some harmless fashion; for jests that give pain are no jests, and no
sport is worth anything if it hurts another. The first thing he did
was to make Don Quixote take off his armour, and lead him, in that
tight chamois suit we have already described and depicted more than
once, out on a balcony overhanging one of the chief streets of the
city, in full view of the crowd and of the boys, who gazed at him as
they would at a monkey. The cavaliers in livery careered before him
again as though it were for him alone, and not to enliven the festival
of the day, that they wore it, and Sancho was in high delight, for
it seemed to him that, how he knew not, he had fallen upon another
Camacho's wedding, another house like Don Diego de Miranda's,
another castle like the duke's. Some of Don Antonio's friends dined
with him that day, and all showed honour to Don Quixote and treated
him as a knight-errant, and he becoming puffed up and exalted in
consequence could not contain himself for satisfaction. Such were
the drolleries of Sancho that all the servants of the house, and all
who heard him, were kept hanging upon his lips. While at table Don
Antonio said to him, "We hear, worthy Sancho, that you are so fond
of manjar blanco and forced-meat balls, that if you have any left, you
keep them in your bosom for the next day."

"No, senor, that's not true," said Sancho, "for I am more cleanly
than greedy, and my master Don Quixote here knows well that we two are
used to live for a week on a handful of acorns or nuts. To be sure, if
it so happens that they offer me a heifer, I run with a halter; I
mean, I eat what I'm given, and make use of opportunities as I find
them; but whoever says that I'm an out-of-the-way eater or not
cleanly, let me tell him that he is wrong; and I'd put it in a
different way if I did not respect the honourable beards that are at
the table."

"Indeed," said Don Quixote, "Sancho's moderation and cleanliness
in eating might be inscribed and graved on plates of brass, to be kept
in eternal remembrance in ages to come. It is true that when he is
hungry there is a certain appearance of voracity about him, for he
eats at a great pace and chews with both jaws; but cleanliness he is
always mindful of; and when he was governor he learned how to eat
daintily, so much so that he eats grapes, and even pomegranate pips,
with a fork."

"What!" said Don Antonio, "has Sancho been a governor?"

"Ay," said Sancho, "and of an island called Barataria. I governed it
to perfection for ten days; and lost my rest all the time; and learned
to look down upon all the governments in the world; I got out of it by
taking to flight, and fell into a pit where I gave myself up for dead,
and out of which I escaped alive by a miracle."

Don Quixote then gave them a minute account of the whole affair of
Sancho's government, with which he greatly amused his hearers.

On the cloth being removed Don Antonio, taking Don Quixote by the
hand, passed with him into a distant room in which there was nothing
in the way of furniture except a table, apparently of jasper,
resting on a pedestal of the same, upon which was set up, after the
fashion of the busts of the Roman emperors, a head which seemed to
be of bronze. Don Antonio traversed the whole apartment with Don
Quixote and walked round the table several times, and then said, "Now,
Senor Don Quixote, that I am satisfied that no one is listening to us,
and that the door is shut, I will tell you of one of the rarest
adventures, or more properly speaking strange things, that can be
imagined, on condition that you will keep what I say to you in the
remotest recesses of secrecy."

"I swear it," said Don Quixote, "and for greater security I will put
a flag-stone over it; for I would have you know, Senor Don Antonio"
(he had by this time learned his name), "that you are addressing one
who, though he has ears to hear, has no tongue to speak; so that you
may safely transfer whatever you have in your bosom into mine, and
rely upon it that you have consigned it to the depths of silence."

"In reliance upon that promise," said Don Antonio, "I will
astonish you with what you shall see and hear, and relieve myself of
some of the vexation it gives me to have no one to whom I can
confide my secrets, for they are not of a sort to be entrusted to

Don Quixote was puzzled, wondering what could be the object of
such precautions; whereupon Don Antonio taking his hand passed it over
the bronze head and the whole table and the pedestal of jasper on
which it stood, and then said, "This head, Senor Don Quixote, has been
made and fabricated by one of the greatest magicians and wizards the
world ever saw, a Pole, I believe, by birth, and a pupil of the famous
Escotillo of whom such marvellous stories are told. He was here in
my house, and for a consideration of a thousand crowns that I gave him
he constructed this head, which has the property and virtue of
answering whatever questions are put to its ear. He observed the
points of the compass, he traced figures, he studied the stars, he
watched favourable moments, and at length brought it to the perfection
we shall see to-morrow, for on Fridays it is mute, and this being
Friday we must wait till the next day. In the interval your worship
may consider what you would like to ask it; and I know by experience
that in all its answers it tells the truth."

Don Quixote was amazed at the virtue and property of the head, and
was inclined to disbelieve Don Antonio; but seeing what a short time
he had to wait to test the matter, he did not choose to say anything
except that he thanked him for having revealed to him so mighty a
secret. They then quitted the room, Don Antonio locked the door, and
they repaired to the chamber where the rest of the gentlemen were
assembled. In the meantime Sancho had recounted to them several of the
adventures and accidents that had happened his master.

That afternoon they took Don Quixote out for a stroll, not in his
armour but in street costume, with a surcoat of tawny cloth upon
him, that at that season would have made ice itself sweat. Orders were
left with the servants to entertain Sancho so as not to let him
leave the house. Don Quixote was mounted, not on Rocinante, but upon a
tall mule of easy pace and handsomely caparisoned. They put the
surcoat on him, and on the back, without his perceiving it, they
stitched a parchment on which they wrote in large letters, "This is
Don Quixote of La Mancha." As they set out upon their excursion the
placard attracted the eyes of all who chanced to see him, and as
they read out, "This is Don Quixote of La Mancha," Don Quixote was
amazed to see how many people gazed at him, called him by his name,
and recognised him, and turning to Don Antonio, who rode at his
side, he observed to him, "Great are the privileges knight-errantry
involves, for it makes him who professes it known and famous in
every region of the earth; see, Don Antonio, even the very boys of
this city know me without ever having seen me."

"True, Senor Don Quixote," returned Don Antonio; "for as fire cannot
be hidden or kept secret, virtue cannot escape being recognised; and
that which is attained by the profession of arms shines
distinguished above all others."

It came to pass, however, that as Don Quixote was proceeding amid
the acclamations that have been described, a Castilian, reading the
inscription on his back, cried out in a loud voice, "The devil take
thee for a Don Quixote of La Mancha! What! art thou here, and not dead
of the countless drubbings that have fallen on thy ribs? Thou art mad;
and if thou wert so by thyself, and kept thyself within thy madness,
it would not be so bad; but thou hast the gift of making fools and
blockheads of all who have anything to do with thee or say to thee.
Why, look at these gentlemen bearing thee company! Get thee home,
blockhead, and see after thy affairs, and thy wife and children, and
give over these fooleries that are sapping thy brains and skimming
away thy wits."

"Go your own way, brother," said Don Antonio, "and don't offer
advice to those who don't ask you for it. Senor Don Quixote is in
his full senses, and we who bear him company are not fools; virtue
is to be honoured wherever it may be found; go, and bad luck to you,
and don't meddle where you are not wanted."

"By God, your worship is right," replied the Castilian; "for to
advise this good man is to kick against the pricks; still for all that
it fills me with pity that the sound wit they say the blockhead has in
everything should dribble away by the channel of his
knight-errantry; but may the bad luck your worship talks of follow
me and all my descendants, if, from this day forth, though I should
live longer than Methuselah, I ever give advice to anybody even if
he asks me for it."

The advice-giver took himself off, and they continued their
stroll; but so great was the press of the boys and people to read
the placard, that Don Antonio was forced to remove it as if he were
taking off something else.

Night came and they went home, and there was a ladies' dancing
party, for Don Antonio's wife, a lady of rank and gaiety, beauty and
wit, had invited some friends of hers to come and do honour to her
guest and amuse themselves with his strange delusions. Several of them
came, they supped sumptuously, the dance began at about ten o'clock.
Among the ladies were two of a mischievous and frolicsome turn, and,
though perfectly modest, somewhat free in playing tricks for
harmless diversion sake. These two were so indefatigable in taking Don
Quixote out to dance that they tired him down, not only in body but in
spirit. It was a sight to see the figure Don Quixote made, long, lank,
lean, and yellow, his garments clinging tight to him, ungainly, and
above all anything but agile. The gay ladies made secret love to
him, and he on his part secretly repelled them, but finding himself
hard pressed by their blandishments he lifted up his voice and
exclaimed, "Fugite, partes adversae! Leave me in peace, unwelcome
overtures; avaunt, with your desires, ladies, for she who is queen
of mine, the peerless Dulcinea del Toboso, suffers none but hers to
lead me captive and subdue me;" and so saying he sat down on the floor
in the middle of the room, tired out and broken down by all this
exertion in the dance.

Don Antonio directed him to be taken up bodily and carried to bed,
and the first that laid hold of him was Sancho, saying as he did so,
"In an evil hour you took to dancing, master mine; do you fancy all
mighty men of valour are dancers, and all knights-errant given to
capering? If you do, I can tell you you are mistaken; there's many a
man would rather undertake to kill a giant than cut a caper. If it had
been the shoe-fling you were at I could take your place, for I can
do the shoe-fling like a gerfalcon; but I'm no good at dancing."

With these and other observations Sancho set the whole ball-room
laughing, and then put his master to bed, covering him up well so that
he might sweat out any chill caught after his dancing.

The next day Don Antonio thought he might as well make trial of
the enchanted head, and with Don Quixote, Sancho, and two others,
friends of his, besides the two ladies that had tired out Don
Quixote at the ball, who had remained for the night with Don Antonio's
wife, he locked himself up in the chamber where the head was. He
explained to them the property it possessed and entrusted the secret
to them, telling them that now for the first time he was going to
try the virtue of the enchanted head; but except Don Antonio's two
friends no one else was privy to the mystery of the enchantment, and
if Don Antonio had not first revealed it to them they would have
been inevitably reduced to the same state of amazement as the rest, so
artfully and skilfully was it contrived.

The first to approach the ear of the head was Don Antonio himself,
and in a low voice but not so low as not to be audible to all, he said
to it, "Head, tell me by the virtue that lies in thee what am I at
this moment thinking of?"

The head, without any movement of the lips, answered in a clear
and distinct voice, so as to be heard by all, "I cannot judge of

All were thunderstruck at this, and all the more so as they saw that
there was nobody anywhere near the table or in the whole room that
could have answered. "How many of us are here?" asked Don Antonio once
more; and it was answered him in the same way softly, "Thou and thy

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