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THE INGENIOUS GENTLEMAN
DON QUIXOTE
OF LA MANCHA
BY
MIGUEL DE CERVANTES SAAVEDRA
A TRANSLATION, WITH INTRODUCTION AND NOTES
BY
JOHN
ORMSBY
TRANSLATOR OF THE
"
POEM OF THE CID
"
IN TWO VOLUMES
Vol. II.
NEW YORK: 46 East 14TH Street
THOMAS Y. CROWELL & COMPANY
BOSTON: 100 Purchase Street
il
SRLF
YRL
'7
'/
LIST OF
ILLUSTRATIONS.
VOL. II
(^From Etcln'ns^s by Ad. Lalau^e.)
PAGE
The Ass of Sancho is lost ......
Frontispiece
Don Quixote meet.s Three Country Wenches . . . .65
Don Quixote and the Knight of the Mirrors .... 94
The Wedding of Camacho interrupted ..... 14.">
Don Quixote, Montesinos, and Durandarte .... 151)
Sancho assailed for Braying ....... 196
The Enchanted Bark ......... 202
Presentation of the Don to the Duchess .... 212
Clergyman quits the Duke's Dinner-table .... 222
The Keys of the Town delivered to Sancho Panza . . 307
Meeting of the Page and the Daughter of Sancho Panza . 345
Sancho Panza salutes his Ass ....... 368
Sancho Panza returns to the Duchess 383
Don Quixote with the Shepherdesses ..... 399
Combat between Don Quixote and Sancho Panza . . .414
Don Quixote vanquished by the Knight of the White Moon, 451
The Death of Don Quixote ....... 499
(iii)
CONTENTS
VOL. II.
PAGE
PREFACE
-^i
CHAPTER
I. Of the interview the Curate and the Barber had
WITH Don Quixote about his malady ... 1
II. Which tkkats of the notable altercation which
Sancho Panza had with Don Quixote's niece and
housekeepek, together with other droll matters, 12
III. Of the laughable conversation that passed between
Don Quixote, Sancho Panza, and the bachelor
Samson Carrasco
....... 17
IV. In which Sancho Panza gives a satisfactory reply
TO the doubts and questions of the BACiiELOlt
Samson Carrasco, together with other matters
worth knowing and mentioning . . . . . 25
V. Of the shrewd and droll conversation that passed
between Sancho Panza and his wife Teresa Panza,
and other matters worthy of being duly recorded, 30
VI. Of what took place between Don Quixote and his
niece and housekeeper; one of the most important
chapters in the whole history ..... 36
VII. Of what passed between Don Quixote and his squike,
together with other very notable incidents . . 42
VIII. Wherein is related what befell Don Quixote on
his way to see his lady Dulcinea del Toboso . 40
IX. AVherein is related what will be seen there . 56
X. Wherein is related the crafty device Sancho
adopted to enchant the Lady Dulcinea, and other
incidents as ludicrous as they are true ...
60
XI. Of the strange adventure which the valiant Don
Quixote had with the car or cart of
"
The
Cortes of Death"
68
VI CONTENTS.
CHAPTER
PAGE
XII. Of the strange adventure which befell the val-
iant Don Quixote with the bold Knight of the
Mirrors ......... 7J^
XIII. In which is continued the adventure of the Knight
of the Grove, together with the sensible, orig-
inal, and tranquil colloquy that passed between
THE TWO squires ........ 81
XIV. Wherein is continued the adventure of the Knight
OF the Grove . . ..... 87
XV. Wherein it is told and made known who the
Knight of the Mirrors and his squire were . 97
XVI. Of what befell Don Quixote with a discreet gen-
tleman OF La Mancha ...... 99
XVII. Wherein is shown the furthest and highest point
which the unexampled courage of Don Quixote
reacfled or could reach; together with the
happily achieved adventure of the lions . . 108
XVIII. Of what HAPPENED TO DoN QuiXOTE IN THE CASTLE OR
HOUSE OF THE KnIGHT OF THE GrEEN GaB.\N, TO-
GETHER WITH OTHER MATTERS OUT OF THE COMMON . 119
XIX. In which is related the adventure of the enam-
oured SHEPHERD, TOGETHER WITH OTHER TRULY
DROLL INCIDENTS ........ 128
XX. Wherein an account is given of the wedding of
Camacho the rich, together w'ith the incident
OF Basilio the poor ....... 135
XXI. In which Camacho's avedding is continued, with
other delightful incidents ..... 143
XXII. Wherein is rel.^ted the grand adventure of the
cave of iMoNTESINOS IN THE HEART OF La MaNCHA,
which the valiant Don Quixote brought to a
HAPPY termination ....... 149
XXIII. Of the wonderful things the incomparable Don
Quixote said he saw in the profound cave of
MONTESINOS, the IMPOSSIBILITY AND MAGNITUDE OF
WHICH CAUSE THIS ADVENTURE TO BE DEEMED APOC-
RYPHAL 157
XXIV. Wherein are related a thousand trifling mat-
ters, AS trivial as they are necessary to the
bight understanding OF THIS GREAT HISTORY . 167
CONTENTS.
Vll
CHAPTER
XXV.
XXVI.
XXVII.
XXVIII.
XXIX.
XXX.
XXXI.
XXXII.
XXXIII.
XXXIV.
XXXV.
XXXVI.
XXXVII.
XXXVIII.
PAGE
Wherein is set down the braying AnvENxnRE,
and the droll one of the puppet-showman,
together with the memorable divinations of
the divining ape ....... 174
Wherein is continued the droll adventure of
THE puppet-showman, TOGETHER WITH OTHER
things in truth right good .... 182
Wherein it is shown who Master Pedro and his
APE were, together WITH THE MISHAP DON Qui-
XOTE HAD IN THE BKAYING ADVENTURE, WHICH HE
DID NOT CONCLUDE AS HE WOULD HAVE LIKED OR
AS HE HAD EXPECTED ...... litO
Of matters that Benengeli says he who reads
them will know, if he reads them avith at-
tention
......... i'.'g
Of THE FAMOUS ADVENTURE OF THE ENCHANTED
BARK
......... 201
Of Don Quixote's adventure with a fair hunt-
ress
207
Which treats of many and great matters . . 212
Of the keply Don Quixote gave his censurer,
WITH other incidents, GRAVE AND DROLL . . 220
Of the DELECTABLE DISCOURSE WHICH THE DUCHESS
AND HER DAMSELS HELD WITH SaNCHO PaNZA,
well worth reading and noting . . . 233
Which relates how they learned the way in
which they' were to disenchant the peerless
dulcinea del toboso, which is one of the
rarest adventures in this book . . . 240
Wherein is continued the instruction given to
Don Quixote touching the disenchantment of
DULCINEA, together AVITH OTHER MARVELLOUS
incidents
........ 248
Wherein is related the strange and undreamt-
of ADVENTURE OF THE DISTRESSED DuENNA,
alias THE Countess Trifaldi, together with
A letter which Sancho Panza wrote to his
WIFE, Teresa Panza ...... 254
Wherein is continued the notable adventure
OF the Distressed Duenna . ... 260
Wherein is told the Distressed Duenna's tale
OF HER misfortunes . . ... 263
Vlll
CONTENTS.
CHAl'TER
XXXIX.
In
which the
Trifaldi
continues her marvel-
lous AND
memorable
STOHY
.....
XL. Of
matters
relating and
belonging to this
adventure
and to this
memorable history
XLI. Of the
arrival of
Clavileno and the end of
this
protracted
adventure
....
XLII. Of the counsels
which Don Quixote gave San-
cho
Panza before he set out to
govern the
ISLAND,
together AVITH OTHER
WELL-CONSIDERED
matters
....-
XLIII. Of THE SECOND set of counsels Don Quixote
gave Sancho Panza
XLIV. How Sancho Panza was conducted to his gov-
ernment, AND OF the strange ADVENTURE THAT
befell Don Quixote in the castle .
XLV. Of how the great Sancho Panza took pos-
session OF his island, and of how he made a
beginning in governing
.....
XLVI. Of the terrible bell and cat fright that Don
Quixote got in the course of the enamoured
Altisidora's wooing
......
XLVII. Wherein is continued the account of how
Sancho Panza conducted himself in his gov-
ernment
.......
XLVIII. Of what befell Don Quixote with Dona Ro-
driguez, the duchess's duenna, together with
other occurrences worthy of record and
eternal remembrance
......
XLIX. Of what happened to Sancho Panza in making
the round of his island .....
L. Wherein is set forth avho the enchanters and
executioners were who flogged the duenna
and pinched don quixote, and also what
befell the page who carried the letter to
Teresa Panza, Sancho Panza's
wife .
LI. Of the progress of Sancho's
government, and
OTHER SUCH
ENTERTAINING MATTERS
LII.
Wherein is related the adventure of the
SECOND distressed OR AFFLICTED DUENNA,
otherwise called Dona Rodriguez .
LIII. Of THE TROUBLOUS END AND TERMINATION SaNCHO
PaNZAS GOVERNMENT CAME TO ... .
PAGE
268
271
276
286
291
297
307
314
318
326
334
344
352
359
365
CONTENTS. IX
CHAPTER
LIV.
LV.
LVI.
LVII.
LVIII.
LIX.
LX.
LXI.
LXII.
LXIII.
LXIV.
LXV.
LXVI.
Which deals with matters relating to this
history and no other .....
Of WHAT BEFELL SaNCHO ON THE ROAD, AND OTHER
THINGS THAT CANNOT BE SURPASSED
Of THE PRODIGIOUS AND UNPARALLELED BATTLE
THAT TOOK PLACE BETWEEN DoN QuiXOTE OF La
Mancha and the lackey Tosilos in defence
of the daughter of the duenna dona ro-
DRIGUEZ
.........
Which treats of how Don Quixote took leave
of the duke, and of what followed with the
witty AND IMPUDENT AlTISIDORA, ONE OF THE
duchess's damsels .......
Which tells how adventures came crowding
ON Don Quixote in such numbers that they
GAVE ONE another NO BREATHING-TIME
Wherein is related the strange thing, which
may be regarded as an adventure, that hap-
PENED TO Don Quixote .....
Of what happened to Don Quixote on his way
TO Barcelona
.......
Of what happened to Don Quixote on e'Vtering
Barcelona, together with other matters
THAT partake OF THE TRUE RATHER THAN OF
the ingenious
.......
Which deals with the adventure of the en-
chanted HEAD, TOGETHER WITH OTHER TRIVIAL
MATTERS WHICH CANNOT BE LEFT UNTOLD
Of THE MISHAP THAT BEFELL SaNCHO PaNZA
thuough the visit to the galleys, and the
.^ trange adventure of the fair morisco .
Treating of the adventure which gave Don
Quixote more unhappiness than all that had
hitherto befallen him .....
Wherein is made known who the Knight of
THE White Moon was
;
likewise Don Gre-
gorio's release, and other events .
Which treats of what he who reads will see,
OR WHAT he who has it read to him avill
hear .........
PAGE
370
378
385
390
394
404
412
424
427
439
448
4r,2
457
Vlll
CONTENTS.
CHAl'TER
PAGE
XXXIX. In which the Trifaldi continues her marvel-
lous AND MEMORABLE STORY ..... 268
XL. Of
MATTERS RELATING AND BELONGING TO THIS
ADVENTURE AND TO THIS MEMORABLE HISTORY . 271
XLI. Of the arrival of Clavileno and the end of
THIS PROTRACTED
ADVENTURE .... 276
XLII. Of the COUNSELS which Don Quixote gave San-
CHO PaNZA BEFORE HE SET OUT TO GOVERN THE
ISLAND, TOGETHER
WITH OTHER WELL-CONSIDERED
MATTERS
.......-
286
XLIII. Of THE SECOND SET OF COUNSELS DoN QuiXOTE
GAVE Sancho Panza
291
XLIV. HoAv Sancho Panza was conducted to his gov-
ernment, and of the strange adventure that
befell Don Quixote in the castle . . . 297
XLV. Of how the great Sancho Panza took pos-
session of his island, and of how he made a
beginning in governing ..... 307
XLVI. Of the terrible bell and cat fright that Don
Quixote got in the course of the enamoured
Altisidora's wooing ...... 314
XLVII.
Wherein is continued the account of hoav
Sancho Panza conducted himself in his gov-
ernment ......... 318
XLVIII. Of what befell Don Quixote with Dona Ro-
driguez, the duchess's duenna, together with
other occurrences worthy of record and
eternal remembrance ...... 326
XLIX. Of what happened to Sancho Panza in making
THE ROUND OF HIS ISLAND ..... 334
L. Wherein is set forth who the enchanters and
EXECUTIONERS AVERE WHO FLOGGED THE DUENNA
AND pinched Don Quixote, and also what
befell the page who carried the letter to
Teresa Panza, Sancho Panza's wife . . . 344
LI. Of THE progress of SaNCHO'S government, AND
OTHER SUCH ENTERTAINING MATTERS . . . 352
LII.
Wherein is related the adventure of the
SECOND DISTRESSED OR AFFLICTED DUENNA,
OTHERWISE CALLED DONA RODRIGUEZ . . . 359
LIII. Of THE TROUBLOUS END AND TERMINATION SaNCUO
PaNZAS government CAME TO ....
365
CONTENTS.
IX
CHAPTER
LIV.
LV.
LVI.
LVII.
LVIII.
LIX.
LX.
LXI.
LXII.
LXIII.
LXIV.
LXV.
LXVI.
Which deals with matters relating to this
history and no other .....
Of WHAT BEFELL SaNCHO ON THE KOAD, AND OTHER
THINGS THAT CANNOT BE SURPASSED
Of THE PRODIGIOUS AND UNPARALLELED BATTLE
THAT TOOK PLACE BETWEEN DoN QuiXOTE OF La
MaNCHA AND THE LACKEY TOSILOS IN DEFENCE
OF THE DAUGHTER OF THE DUENNA DoNA RO-
DRIGUEZ .........
Which treats of how Don Quixote took leave
OF the duke, and of what FOLLOWED WITH THE
WITTY AND IMPUDENT AlTISIDORA, ONE OF THE
duchess's damsels .......
Which tells hoav adventures came crowding
ON Don Quixote in such numbers that they
gave one another no breathing-time
Wherein is related the strangp; thing, which
may be regarded as an adventure, that hap-
PENED TO Don Quixote .....
Of what HAPPENED TO DON QuiXOTE ON HIS WAY
to Barcelona .......
Ok what happened to Don Quixote on e'Vtering
Barcelona, together with other matters
THAT partake OF THE TRUE RATHER THAN OF
the ingenious .......
Which deals with the adventure of the en-
chanted HEAD, together WITH OTHER TRIVIAL
matters which cannot be left UNTOLD
Of the mishap that befell Sancho Panza
through the visit to the galleys, and the
.strange adventure of the fair morisco .
Treating of the adventure which gave Don
Quixote more unhappiness than all that had
hitherto befallen him .....
Wherein is made known who the Knight of
the White Moon was; likewise Don Gre-
gorio's release, and other events .
Which treats of what he who reads will see,
OR what he avho has it read to him will
HEAR ....
PAGE
370
378
385
390
394
40-t
412
424
427
439
448
452
457
CONTENTS.
CHAPTER
LXVII.
PAGE
Lxviri.
LXIX
LXX.
LXXI.
Lxxir.
LXXI II.
LXXIV.
Op the resolution which Don Quixote formed
to turn shepherd and take to a life in the
fields while the year for which he had
given his word was running its course
;
with
other events truly delectable and happy
Of the BRISTLY ADVENTURE THAT BEFELL DON
Quixote .........
Of THE STRANGEST AND MOST E.XTRAORDINARY AD-
VENTURE THAT BEFELL DoN QuiXOTE IN THE
whole course of this great history
Which follows sixty-nine and deals with
MATTERS indispensable FOR THE CLEAR COM-
PREHENSION OF THIS HISTORY ....
Of WHAT PASSED BETWEEN DON QuiXOTE AND HIS
SQLIRE SaNCHO ON THE WAY TO THEIR VILLAGE .
Of HOW Don Quixote and Sanciio reached
THEIR VILLAGE .......
Of the OMENS Don Quixote had as he entered
HIS OWN VILLAGE, AND OTHER INCIDENTS THAT
EMBELLISH AND GIVE A COLOR TO THIS GREAT
HISTORY .........
Of HOW Don Quixote fell sick, and of the
WILL he made, and HOW HE DIED
462
466
471
476
483
488
493
497
APPENDICES.
I. The Proverbs of Don Quixote
II. The Spanish Romances of Chivalry
III. Bibliography of Don Quixote .
505
528
542
PREFACE.
God bless me, gentle (or it may be plebeian) reader, how
eagerly must thou be looking forward to this preface, expect-
ing to find there retaliation, scolding, and abuse against the
author of the second Don Quixote

I mean him who was, they

say, begotten at Tordesillas and born at Tarragona !
^
Well
then, the truth is, I am not going to give thee that satisfaction
;
for, though injuries stir up anger in himibler breasts, in mine
the rule must admit of an exception. Thou wouldst have me
call him ass, fool, and malapert, but I have no such intention
;
let his offence be his punishment, with his bread let him eat
it,^ and there 's an end of it. What I can not help taking amiss
is, that he charges me with being old and one-handed, as if it
had been in my power to keep time from passing over me, or
as if the loss of my hand had been brought about in some
tavern, and not on the grandest occasion the past or present has
seen, or the future can hope to see. If my wounds have no
beauty to the beholder's eye, they are, at least, honorable in
the estimation of those who know where they were received
;
for the soldier shows to greater advantage dead in battle
than alive in flight ; and so strongly is this my feeling, that if
now it were proposed to perform an impossibility for me, I
would rather have had my share in that mighty action, than
be free from my wounds this minute without having been
present at it. Those the soldier shows on his face and breast,
are stars that direct others to the heaven of honor and ambi-
tion of merited praise ; and moreover it is to be observed that
it is not with gray hairs that one writes, but with the under-
standing, and that commonly improves with years. I take it
amiss, too, that he calls me envious, and explains to me, as if
I were ignorant, what envy is ; for really and truly, of the two
'
The spurious
"
Second Part," which came out in the autumn of 1014,
was described on tlie title-page as the work of Alonso Fernandez de Avella-
neda, of TordesiUas, and was licensed and printed at Tarragona.
*
Proverbial phrase. See Note 1, vol. i. chapter xxv., page 189.
(xi)
xii PREFA CE.
kinds there are, I only know that which is holy, noble, and
high-minded ; and if that be so, as it is, I am not likely to
attack a priest, above all if, in addition, he holds the rank of
familiar of the Holy Office. And if he said what he did on
acconnt of him on whose behalf it seems he spoke, he is
entirely mistaken; for I worship the genins of that person,
and admire his works and his unceasing and strenuous industry.^
After all, however, I am grateful to this gentleman, the author,
for saying that my novels are more satirical than exemplary,
but that they are good
;
for they could not be that unless there
was a little of everything in them.
I suspect thou wilt say that I am taking a very humble line,
and keeping myself too much within the bounds of my modera-
tion, from a feeling that additional suffering should not be
inflicted upon a sufferer, and that what this gentleman has to
endure must doubtless be very great, as he does not dare to
come out into the open field aiul broad daylight, but hides his
name and disguises his country as if he had been guilty of some
lese majesty. If perchance thou shouldst come to know him,
tell him from me that I do not hold myself aggrieved
;
for I
know well what the temptations of the devil are, and that one
of the greatest is putting it into a man's liead that he can write
and print a book
by
which he will get as much fame as money,
and as much money as fame ; and to prove it I will beg of you,
in your own sprightly, pleasant way, to tell him this story.
There was a madman in Seville who took to one of the
drollest absurdities and vagaries that ever madman in the world
gave way to. It was this : he made a tube of reed sharp
at
one end, and catching a dog in the street, or wherever it might
be, he with his foot held one of its legs fast, and with his hand
lifted up the other, and as best he could fixed the tube where,
by blowing, he made the dog as round as a ball ; then holding
it in this position, he gave it a couple of slaps on the belly, and
let it go, saying to the bystanders (and there were always plenty
of them) :
"
Do your worships think, now, that it is an easy
thing to blow up a dog ?
"

Does your worship think now,

that it is an easy thing to write a book ?
'
Avellaneda, in his coarse and scurrilous preface, charged
Cervantes
with attacking Lope de Vega, obviously alluding to the passages on the
drama in vol. i. chapter xlviii., and attributed tlie attack to envy.
Lope
was not, however, a familiar of the Inquisition at tlie time Cervantes
was
writing the First Part of Don Quixote, as the words used here would
imply.
PREFACE.
Xlil
And if tliis story does not suit him, you may, dear reader,
tell him this one, which is likewise of a madman and a dog.
In Cordova there was another madman, whose way it was to
carry a piece of marble slab or a stone, not of the lightest, on
his head, and when he came upon any unwary dog he used to
draw close to him and let the weight fall right on top of him
;
on which the dog in a rage, barking and howling, would run
three streets without stopping. It so happened, however, tliat
one f the dogs he discharged his load upon was a cap-maker's
dog, of which his master was very fond. The stone came
down hitting it on the head, the dog raised a yell at the blow,
the master saw the affair and was wroth, and snatching up a
measuring-yard rushed out at the madman and did not leave a
sound bone in his body, and at every stroke he gave him he
said,
"
You dog, you thief ! my lurcher !
^
Don't you see, you
brute, that my dog is a lurcher ?
"
and so, repeating the word
"
lurcher
"
again and again, he sent the madman away beaten
to a jelly. The madman took the lesson to heart, and van-
ished, and for more than a month never once showed himself in
public ; but after that he came out again with his old trick and
a heavier load than ever. He came up to where there was a
dog, and, examining it very carefully without venturing to let
the stone fall, he said :
"
This is a lurcher
;
ware !
"
In short,
all the dogs he came across, be they mastiffs or terriers, he
said were lurchers ; and he discharged no more stones. May be
it will be the same with this historian
;
that he will not venture
another time to discharge the weight of his wit in books,
which, being bad, are harder than stones. Tell him, t()o, that
I do not care a farthing for the threat he holds out to me
of depriving me of my profit by means of his book
;
for, to
borrow from the famous interlude of
"
The Perendenga," I say
in answer to him,
''
Long life to my lord the Veintiquatro, and
Christ be with us all."
^
Long life to the great Conde de
Lemos, whose Christian charity and well-known generosity
support me against all the strokes of my curst fortune ; and
long life to the supreme benevolence of His Eminence of
Toledo, Don Bernardo de Sandoval
y
Rojas
;
^
and what matter
'
Podenco^ a kind of small greyhound, hunting by nose as well as by
sight, and generally used for rabbits.
^
The municipal authorities of Seville, Cordova, and Granada were
called Veintiqiiatros, from being twenty-four in number. The passage
is, of course, a quotation from some popular interlude of the day.
^
Bernardo de Sandoval
y
Rojas was Cardinal-Arcldushop of Toledo,
Primate of Spain, and brother of the Duke of Lerma, the Prime Minister.
xiv PREFA CE.
if there be no printing-presses in the world, or if they print
more books against me than there are letters in the verses of
Mingo Revulgo !
^
These t\70 princes, unsought by any adula-
tion or flattery of mine, of their own goodness alone, have
taken it upon them to show me kindness and protect me, and
in this I consider myself happier and richer than if Fortune
had raised me to her greatest height in the ordinary way.
The poor man may retain honor, but not the vicious
;
poverty
may cast a cloud over nobility, but can not hide it altogether
;
and as virtue of itself sheds a ceitain light, even though it be
through the straits and chinks of penury-, it wins the esteem
of lofty and noble spirits, and in consequence their protection.
Thou needst say no more to him, nor will I say anything more
to thee, save to tell thee to bear in mind that this Second Part
of
"
Don Quixote
"
which I offer thee is cut by the same crafts-
man and from the same cloth as the First, and that in it I
present thee Don Quixote continued, and at length dead and
buried, so that no one may dare to bring forward any further
evidence against him, for that already produced is sufficient,
and suffice it, too, that some reputable person should have
given an account of all these shrewd lunacies of his without
going into the matter again; for abundance, even of good
things, prevents them from being valued ; and scarcity, even
in the case of what is bad, confers a certain value. I was
forgetting to tell thee that thou mayest expect the
"
Persiles,"
which I am now finishing, and also the Second Part of
''
Ga-
latea."
'
Las Coplas de Mingo Revulgo is the title given to an old versified
satire on the reign of Henry IV. absurdly attributed l)y some to Juan de
Mena, by others to llodrigo Cota, or Fernando del Pulgar.
DON QUIXOTE
PART II.
CHAPTER I.
OF THE INTERVIEW THE CURATE AND THE BARBER HAD WITH
DON QUIXOTE ABOUT HIS MALADY.
CiD Hamet Benengeli, in the Second Part of this history,
and third sally of Don Quixote, says that the curate and the
barber remained nearly a month without seeing him, lest they
should recall or bring back to his recollection Avhat had taken
place. They did not, however, omit to visit his niece and
housekeeper, and charge them to be careful to treat him with
attention, and give him comforting things to eat, and such as
were good for the heart and the brain, whence, it was plain to
see, all his misfortune proceeded. The niece and housekeeper
replied that they did so, and meant to do so with all possible
care and assiduity, for they could perceive that their master
was now and then beginning to show signs of being in his right
mind. This gave great satisfaction to the curate and the bar-
ber, for they concluded they had taken the right course in
carrying him off enchanted on the ox-cart, as has been described
in the First Part of this great as well as accurate history, in
the last chapter thereof. So they resolved to pay him a visit
and test the improvement in his condition, although they
thought it almost imposible that there coidd be any
;
and they
agreed not to touch upon any point connected with knight-
errantry, so as not to run the risk of re-opening Avounds which
were still so tender.
They came to see him consequently, and found him sitting
up in bed in a green baize waistcoat and a red Toledo cap, and
so withered and dried up that he looked as if he had been
turned into a mummy. The^ were ver}' cordially received by
Vol. II.

1
2
DON QUIXOTE.
him
;
they asked him after his health, and he talked to them
about it and about himself very naturally and in very well
chosen language. In the course of their conversation they fell
to discussing what they call State-craft and systems of govern-
ment, correcting this abuse and condemning that, reforming
one practice and abolishing another, each of the three setting
up for a new legislator, a modern Lycurgus, or a brand-new
Solon
;
and so completely did they remodel the State, that
they seemed to have thrust it into a furnace and taken out
something quite different from wl^at they had put in
;
and on
all the subjects they dealt with, Don Quixote spoke with such
good sense that the pair of examiners were fully convinced that
he was quite recovered and in his full senses.
The niece and housekeeper were present at the conversation
and could not find words enough to express their thanks to
God at seeing their master so clear in his mind
;
the curate,
however, changing his original plan, which was to avoid touch-
ing upon matters of chivalry, resolved to test Don Quixote's
recovery thoroughly, and see whether it were genuine or not
;
and so, from one subject to another, he came at last to talk of
the news that had come from the capital, and, among other
things, he said it was considered certain that the Turk was
coming down with a powerful fleet, and that no one knew what
his purpose was, or when the great storm would burst ; and
that all Christendom w\as in apprehension of this, which almost
every year calls us to arms, and that his Majesty had made
provision for the security of the coasts of Naples and Sicily
and the island of Malta.
To this Don Quixote replied,
"
His Majesty has acted like a
prudent warrior in providing for the safety of his realms in
time, so that the enemy may not find him unprepared ; but if
my advice were taken I would recommend him to adopt a meas-
ure which at present, no doubt, his Majesty is very far from
thinking of."
The moment the curate heard this he said to himself,
"
God
keep thee in his hand, poor Don Quixote, for it seems to me
thou art precipitating thyself from the height of thy madness
into the profound abyss of thy simplicity."
But the barber, who had the same suspicion as the curate,
asked Don Quixote what would be his advice as to the meas-
ures that he said ought to be adopted ; for perhaps it might
prove to be one that would havg to be added to the list of the
CHAPTER I.
3
many
impertinent suggestions that people were in the habit of
offering to princes.
"
Mine, master shaver," said Don Quixote,
"
will not be
impertinent, but, on the contrary, pertinent."
"
I don't mean that," said the barber,
"
but that experience
has
shown that all or most of the expedients which are pro-
posed to his Majesty are either impossible, or absurd, or inju-
rious to the King and to the kingdom."
"
Mine, however," replied Don Quioxte,
"
is neither inijjos-
sible nor absurd, but the easiest, the most reasonable, the
readiest and most expeditious that could suggest itself to any
proj ector's mind.
'
'
'<
You take a long time to tell it, Senor Don Quixote," said
the curate.
''
I don't choose to tell it here, now," said Don Quixote,
"
and
have it reach the ears of the lords of the council to-morrow
morning, and some other carry off the thanks and rewards of
my trouble."
"
For my part," said the barber,
"
I give my word here and
before God that I will not repeat what your worship says, to
King, Eook,^ or earthly man

an oath I learned from the

ballad of the curate, who, in the prelude, told the king of the
thief who had robbed him of the hundred gold crowns and his
pacing mule."
^
"
I am not versed in stories," said Don Quixote
;
"
but I know
the oath is a good one, because I know the barber to be an
honest fellow."
''
Even if he were not," said the curate,
*'
I will go bail
and answer for him that in this matter he will be as silent
as a dummy, under pain of paying any penalty that may be
pronounced."
"
And who will be security for you, senor curate ?
"
said Don
Quixote.
"
My profession," replied the curate,
"
which is to keep
secrets."
"
Ods body
!
"
^
said Don Quixote at this, " what more has his
^Ni Rey ni Roque

"
neither king nor rook
"

a popular phrase some-

what like
"
gentle or simple," or
"
high or low." According to Clemencin
probably derived from the game of chess, rook or rock (Pers. rokh) being
the same thing as the castle.
^
The ballad referred to has not been identified so far as I am aware.
^
Ouerpo de tal

like the English

a less irreverent form of

"
God's
body
!
"
4
DON QUIXOTE.
Majesty to do but to command, by public proclamation, all tlie
knights-errant that are scattered over Spain to assemble on a
fixed day in the capital, for even if no more than half a dozen
come, there may be one among them who alone will suffice to
destroy the entire might of the Turk. Give me your attention
and follow me. Is it, pray, any new thing for a single knight-
errant to demolish an army of two hundred thousand men, as
if they all had but one throat or were made of sugar-paste ?
Nay, tell me, how many histories are there filled with these
marvels ? If only (in an evil
houi*
for me : I don't speak for
any one else) the famous Don Belianis were alive now, <^r any
one of the innumerable progeny of Amadis of Gaul ! If any
of these Avere alive to-day, and were to come face to face with
the Turk, by my faith, I would not give much for the Turk's
chance. But God will have regard for his people, and will pro-
vide some one, who, if not so valiant as the knights-errant of
yore, at least will not be inferior to them in spirit ; but God
knows what I mean, and I say no more."
"
Alas !
"
exclaimed the niece at this,
"
may I die if my
master does not want to turn knight-errant again ;
"
to Avliich
Don Quixote replied,
"
A kuight-errant I shall die, and let the
Turk come down or go up when he likes, and in as strong force
as he can, once more I say, God knows what I mean." But
here the barber said,
"
I ask your worships to give me leave to
tell a short story of something that happened in Seville, which
comes so pat to the purpose just now that I should like greatly
to tell it." Don Quixote gave him leave, and the rest prepared
to listen, and he begun thus
:
"
In the madhouse at Seville there was a man whom his
relations had placed there as being out of his mind. He was
a graduate of Osuna in canon law ; but even if he had been of
Salamanca, it Avas the opinion o'f most people that he would
have been mad all the same. This graduate, after some years
of confinement, took it into his head that he was sane and in
his full senses, and under this impression wrote to the Arch-
bishop, entreating him earnestly, and in very coi-rect language,
to have him released from the misery in which he was living
;
for by God's mercy he had now recovered his lost reason,
though his relations, in order to enjoy his property, kept him
there, and, in spite of the truth, would make him out to be
mad imtil his dying day. The Archbishop, moved by repeated
sensible, well-written letters, directed one of his chaplains to
CHAPTER I. 5
make inquiry of the
governor of the madhouse as to the truth
of the licentiate's
statements, and to have an interview with
the madman
himself, and, if it should appear that he was in
his senses, to take him out and restore him to liberty. The
chaplain did so, and the governor assured
him that the man
was still mad, and that though he often spoke like a highly
intelligent person, he would in the end break out into non-
sense that in quantity and quality counterbalanced all the sen-
sible things he had said before, as might be easily tested by
talking to him. The chaplain resolved to try the experiment,
and obtaining access to the madman conversed with him for
an hour or more, during the whole of which time he never
uttered a word that was incoherent or absurd, but, on the con-
trary, spoke so rationally that the chaplain was compelled to
believe him to be sane. Among other things, he said the gov-
ern,)r was against him, not to lose the presents his relations
made him for reporting him still mad but with lucid intervals
;
and that the worst foe he had in his misfortune was his large
property ; for in order to enjoy it his enemies disparaged and
threw doubts upon the mercy our Lord had shown him in turn-
ing him from a brute beast into a man. In short, he spoke in
such a way that he cast suspicion on the governoi", and made
his relations appear covetous and heartless, and himself so
rational that the chaplain determined to take him away with
him that the ArchbislK^^ might see him, and ascertain for him-
self the truth of the matter. Yielding to this conviction, the
worthy chaplain begged the governor to have the clothes in
which the licentiate had entered the house given to him. The
governor again bade him beware of what he was doing, as the
licentiate was beyond a doubt still mad
;
but all his cautions
and warnings were unavailing to dissuade the chaplain from
taking him away. The governor, seeing that it Avas the order
of the Archbishop, obeyed, and they dressed the licentiate in
his own clothes, which were new and decent. He, as soon as
he saw himself clothed like one in his senses, and divested of
the appearance of a madman, entreated the chaplain to permit
him in charity to go and take leave of his comrades the mad-
men. The chaplain said he would go with him to see what
madmen there were in the house ; so they went upstairs, and
with them some of those who were present. Approaching a
cage in which there was a furious madman, though just at that
moment calm and quiet, the licentiate said to him,
'
Brother,
6
DON QUIXOTE.
think if you have any commands for me, for I am going home,
as God has been pleased, in his infinite goodness and mercy,
witliout any merit of mine, to restore me my reason. I am
now cared and in my senses, for with God's power nothing is
impossible.
Have strong hope and trust in him, for as he has
restored me to my original condition, so likewise he will re-
store you if you trust in him. I will take care to send you
some good things to eat ; and be sure you eat them
;
for I would
have you know I am convinced, as one who has gone through
it, that all this madness of ours comes of having the stomach
empty and the brains full of wind. Take courage ! take cour-
age ! for despondency in misfortune breaks down health and
brings on death.'
"
To all these words of the licentiate another madman in a
cage opposite that of the furious one was listening ; and rais-
ing himself up from an old mat on which he lay stark naked,
he asked in a loud voice who it was that was going away cured
and in his senses. The licentiate answered,
'
It is I, brother,
who am going ; I have now no need to remain here any longer,
for which I return infinite thanks to Heaven that has had so
great mercy upon me.'
" '
Mind what you are saying, licentiate
\
don't let the devil
deceive you,' replied the madman.
'
Keep quiet, stay where you
are, and you will save yourself the trouble of coming back.'
"
'
I know I am cured,' returned the licentiate,
'
and that I
shall not have to go stations again.'
^
" '
You cured
!
' said the madman ;
'
Avell, we shall see
;
God
be with you ; but I swear to you by Jupiter, whose majesty I
represent on earth, that for this crime alone, which Seville is
committing to-day in releasing you from this house, and treat-
ing you as if you were in your senses, I shall have to inflict
such a punishment on it as will be remembered for ages and
ages, amen. Dost thou not know, thou miserable little licen-
tiate, that I can do it, being, as I say, Jupiter the Thunderer,
who hold in my hands the fiery bolts with which I am able
and am wont to threaten and lay waste the world ? But in
one way only will I punish this ignorant town, and that is by
not raining upon it, nor on any part of its district or territory,
for three whole years, to be reckoned from the day and mo-
ment when this threat is pronounced. Thou free, thou cured,
^Andar estaciones\)Vo\wv\y means to visit certain churclies, for tlie pur-
pose of offering up the prayers required to obtain indulgences.
CHAPTER I. 7
thou in thy senses ! and I mad, I disordered, I bound ! I will
as soon think of sending rain as of hanging myself.'
''
Those present stood listening to the words and exclama-
tions of the madman ; but our licentiate, turning to the chap-
lain and seizing him by the hands, said to him,
'
Be not uneasy,
senor ; attach no importance to what this madman has said
;
for if he is Jupiter and will not send rain, I, who am Nep-
tune, the father and god of the waters, will rain as often as it
pleases me and may be needful.'
''
The governor and the bystanders laughed, and at their
laughter the chaplain was half ashamed, and he replied,

For
all that, Senor Neptime, it will not do to vex Senor Jupiter
;
remain where you are, and some other day, when there is a
better opportunity and more time, we will come back for you.'
So they stripped the licentiate, and he was left where he was
;
and that 's the end of the stor3\"
"
So that 's tlie story, master barber," said Don Quixote,
"
which came in so pat to the purpose that you could not help
telling it ? Master shaver, master shaver ! how blind is he
who can not see through a sieve.' Is it possible that you do
not know that comparisons of wit with wit, valor with valor,
beauty with beauty, birth with birth, are always odious and
unwelcome ? I, master barber, am not Neptune the god of the
waters, nor do I try to make any one take me for an astute man,
for I am not one. My only endeavor is to convince the world
of the mistake it makes in not reviving in itself the happy
time when the order of knight-errantry was in the field. But
our depraved age does not deserve to enjoy such a blessing
as those ages enjoyed when knights-errant took upon their
shoulders the defence of kingdoms, the protection of damsels,
the succor of orphans and minors, the chastisement of the
proud, and the recompense of the humble. With the knights
of these days, for the most part, it is the damask, brocade, and
rich stuffs they wear, that rustle as they go, not the chain mail
of their armor
;
no knight now-a-days sleeps in the open field
exposed to the inclemency of heaven, and in full panoply from
head to foot ; no one now takes a nap, as they call it, without
drawing his feet out of the stirrups, and leaning upon his lance,
as the knights-errant used to do ; no one now, issuing from the
wood, penetrates yonder mountains, and then treads the barren,
lonely shore of the sea

mostly a tempestuous and stormy

1
Trov. 4<J.
8
DON QUIXOTE.
/
one

and finding on the beach a little bark without oars, sail,

mast, or tackling of any kind, in the intrepidity of his heart
flings himself into it and commits himself to the wrathful
billows of the deep sea, that one moment lift him up to heaven
and the next i)lunge
him into the depths ; and opposing his
breast to the irresistible gale, finds himself, when he least ex-
pects it, three tliousand leagues and more away from the place
where he embarked
;
and leaping ashore in a remote and un-
known land has adventures that deserve to be written, not on
parchment, but on brass. But now sloth triumphs over energy,
indolence over exertion, vice over virtue, arrogance over cour-
age, and theory over practice in arms, which flourished and
shone only in the golden ages and in knights-errant. For tell
me, Avho was more virtuous and more valiant than the famous
Amadis of Gaul ? Who more discreet than Palmerin of Eng-
land ? Who more gracious and easy than Tirante el Blanco ?
Who more courtly than Lisuarte of Greece ? VTho more
slashed or slashing than Don Belianis ? Who more intrepid
than Perion of Gaul ? Who more ready to face danger than
Felixmarte of Hircania ? Who more sincere than Esplandian ?
Who more impetuous than Don Cirongilio of Thrace ? Who
more bold than Rodamonte ? Who more prudent than King
Sobrino ? AVho more daring than Eeinaldos ? Who more
invincible than Boland ? and who more gallant and courteous
than Ruggiero, from Avhom the dukes of Ferrara of the present
day are descended, according to Turpin in his
'
Cosmography ' ?
^
All these knights, and many more that I could name, senor
curate, were knights-errant, the light and glory of chivalry.
These, or such as these, I would have to carry out my ])lan,
and in that case his Majesty would find himself well served
and would save great expense, and the Turk would be left
tearing his beard. And so I will stay where I am, as the chap-
lain does not take me away
;
and if Jupiter, as the barber has
told us, will not send rain, here am I, and I will rain when I
please. I say this that Master Basin may know that I under-
stand him."
"
Indeed, Senor Don Quixote," said the barber,
"
1 did not
mean it in that way, and, so help me God, my intention was
good, and your worship ought not to be vexed."
'
The first nine are heroes of Spanish cliivalry romance; the others are
from Boiardo and Ariosto. There never Avas any such book as Turpin's
Cosmography
;
it was Ariosto himself who traced the descent of the dukes
of Ferrara from Ruggiero.
CHAPTER I. 9
"
As to
whether I ought to be vexed or not," returned Don
Quixote,
''
I myself am the best judge."
Hereupon the curate observed,
<'
I have hardly said a word
as yet ; and I would gladly be relieved of a doubt, arising from
what Don Quixote has said, that worries and works my con-
science."
"
The senor curate has leave for more than that," returned
Don Quixote,
"
so he may declare his doubt, for it is not pleas-
ant to have a doubt on one's conscience."
"
Well then, with that permission," said the curate,
"
I say
my doubt is that, all I can do, I can not persuade myself that
the whole pack of knights-errant you, Sehor Quixote, have
mentioned, were really and truly persons of flesh and blood,
that ever lived in the world ; on the contrary, I suspect it to
be all hction, fable, and falsehood, and dreams told by men
awakened from sleep, or rather still half asleep."
"
That is another mistake," replied Don Quixote,
''
into which
many have fallen who do not believe that there ever were such
knights in the world, and I have often, with divers people and
on divers occasions, tried to expose this almost universal error
to the light of truth. Sometimes I have not been successfid
in my purpose, sometimes I have, supporting it upon the
shoulders of the truth ; which truth is so clear that I can al-
most say I have with my own eyes seen Amadis of Gaul, who
was a man of lofty stature, fair complexion, with a handsome
though black beard, of a countenance between gentle and stern
in expression, sparing of words, slow to anger, and quick to
put it away from him ; and as I have depicted Amadis, so I
could, I think, portray and describe all the knights-errant that
are in all the histories in the world ; for by the perception I
have that they were what their histories describe, and by the
deeds they did and the dispositions they displayed, it is pos-
sible, with the aid of sound philosophy, to deduce their
features, complexion, and stature."
"
How big, in your worship's opinion, may the giant Mor-
gante have been, Sehor Don Quixote ?
"
asked the barber.
"
With regard to giants," replied Don Quixote,
"
opinions
differ as to whether there ever were any or not in the world
;
but the Holy Scripture, which can not err by a jot from the
truth, shows us that there were, when it gives us the history of
that big Philistine, Goliath, who was seven ciibits and a
half
in height, which is a huge size. Likewise^ in the island of
10
DON
QUIXOTE.
Sicily,
there have been found leg-bones and ann-bones so large
that
their size makes it plain that their owners were giants, and
as
tall as
great towers
;
geometry puts this fact beyond a doubt.
But, for all that, I can not speak with certainty as to the size of
Morgante,
though I suspect he can not have been very tall
; and
I am inclined to be of this opinion because I find in the history
^
in Avhich his deeds are particularly mentioned, that he frequently
slept under a roof
;
and as he found houses to contain him, it is
clear that his bidk could not have been anything excessive."
"
That is true," said the curaie, and yielding to the enjoy-
ment of hearing such nonsense, he asked him what was his
notion of the features of Reinaldos of Montalban, and Don
Roland and the rest of the Twelve Peers of France, for they
were all knights-errant.
<<
As for Eeinaldos," replied Don Quixote,
"
I venture to say
that he was broad-faced, of ruddy complexion, with roguish and
somewhat prominent eyes, excessively piuictilious and toiichy,
and given to the society of thieves and scapegraces. With re-
gard to Roland, or Rotolando, or Orlando (for the histories call
him by all these names), I am of opinion, and hold, that he was
of middle height, broad-shouldered, rather bow-legged, swarthy-
complexioned, red-bearded, with a hairy body and a severe ex-
pression of countenance, a man of few words, but very polite
and well-bred."
"
If Roland was not a more graceful person than your wor-
ship has described," said the curate,
"
it is no wonder that the
fair Lady Angelica rejected him and left him for the gayety,
liveliness, and grace of that budding-bearded little Moor to
whom she surrendered herself; and she showed her sense in fall-
ing in love with the gentle softness of Medoro rather than the
roughness of Roland."
"
That Angelica, senor curate," returned Don Quixote,
"
was
a giddy damsel, flighty and somewhat wanton, and she left the
world as full of her vagaries as of the fame of her beauty. She
treated with scorn a thousand gentlemen, men of valor and wis-
dom, and took up with a smooth-faced sprig of a page, without
fortune or fame, except such reputation for gratitude as the
affection he bore his friend got for him.^ The great poet who
'
i.e. the Morgante Maggiore of Pulci.
The account of the bones
found in Sicily is in the Jardin de Flores Cnriosos of Antonio do Tor-
quemada, "the Spanish Mandeville," as liis P^nglish translator calls him.
^
Tlie friend was liis master,
Dardinel, beside whose body he received
the wound of which he was cured by Angelica.
CHAPTER I.
11
sang her beauty, the famous Ariosto, not caring to sing her
adventures after her contemptible surrender (which probably
were not over and above creditable), dropped her where he
says :
How she received the sceptre of Cathay,
Some bard of defter quill may sing some day ;

and this was no doubt a kind of prophecy, for poets are also
called vates, that is to say diviners ; and its truth was made
})lain
; for since then a fanioits Andalusian poet has lamented
and sung her tears, and auother famous and rare poet, a Cas-
tilian, has sung her beauty."
-'
''
Tell me, Senor Don Quixote," said the barber here,
'<
among
all those who praised her, has there been no poet to write a
satire on this Lady Angelica ?
"
"
I can well believe," replied Don Quixote,
"
that if Sacri-
pante or Roland had been poets they would have given the dam-
sel a trimming
; for it is naturally the way with poets who have
been scorned and rejected by their ladies, whether fictitious or
not, in short by those whom they select as the ladies of their
thoughts, to avenge themselves in satires and libels

a ven-
geance, to be sure, unworthy of generous hearts ; but up to the
present I have not heard of any defamatory verse against the
Lady Angelica, who turned the world upside down."
"
Strange," said the curate
;
but at this moment they heard
the housekeeper and the niece, who had previously withdrawn
from the conversation, exclaiming aloud in the courtyard, and at
the noise they all ran out.
'
Cervantes misquotes Ariosto's lines, which are :
"
E deir India a Medor desse lo scettro,
Forse altri cantera con miglior plettro."
Orlando Fu7-ioso, xxx. IG.
^
The Andalusian was Barahona de Soto, who wrote the Frimera parte
lie la Angelica (not L&grimas de Angdlica^ as Cervantes calls it in chap-
ter vi. Parti.). It appeared at Granada in 1586. The Castilian was Lope
de Vega, whose Hermosura de Angelica formed the first part of his Rimas^
printed at Madrid in 1G02.
12
DON QUIXOTE.
CHAPTER II.
WHICH TREATS OF THE NOTABLE
ALTERCATION WHICH SAN-
CHO PANZA HAD WITH DON QUIXOTE's NIECE AND HOUSE-
KEEPER, TOGETHER WITH OTHER DROLL MATTERS.
The history relates that the outcry Don Quixote, the curate,
and the barber heard came from the niece and the housekeeper
exclaiming to Sancho, who was stiiving to force his way in to
see Don Quixote while they held the door against him,
"
What
does the vagabond want in this house ? Be off to your own,
brother, for it is you, and no one else, that delude my master,
and lead him astray, and take him tramping about the country."
To which Sancho replied,
"
Devirs own housekee})er ! it is I
who am deluded, and led astray, and taken tramping about the
country, and not thy master ! He has carried me all over the
world, and you are mightily mistaken. He enticed me away
from home by a trick, promising me an island, which I am
still waiting for."
"
May evil islands choke thee, thou detestable Sancho," said
the niece
;
"
what are islands ? Is it something to eat, glutton
and gormandizer that thou art ?
"'
<'
It is not something to eat," replied Sancho,
"
but some-
thing to govern and nile, and better than four cities or four
judgeships at court."
"
For all that," said the housekeeper, "you don't enter here,
you bag of mischief and sack of knavery
;
go govern your house
and dig your seed-patch, and give over looking for islands or
shylands."
^
The curate and the barber listened with great amusement to
the words of the three ; but Don Quixote, uneasy lest Sancho
should blab and blurt out a whole heap of mischievous
stui)id-
ities, and touch upon points that might not be altogether to his
credit, called to him and made the other two hold their tongues
and let him come in. Sancho entered, and the curate and the
barber took their leave of Don Quixote, of whose recovery they
despaired when they saw how wedded he was to his crazy
ideas, and how
saturated with the nonsense of his unlucky
' In the original insulas ni insulos. Insula, the word always used in
the Amadis, and by Don
Quixote, instead of isla^ is a puzzle to the niece
and housekeeper.
CHAPTER IT.
IS
chivalry ; and said the curate to the barber,
"
You will see,
gossip, that when we are least thinking of it, our gentleman
will be off once more for another flight."
"
I have no doubt of it," returned the barber
;
"
but I do
not wonder so much at the madness of the knight as at the
simplicity of the squire, who has such a firm belief in all that
about the island, that I suppose all the exposures that could be
imagined would not get it out of his head."
"
God help them," said the curate
;
"
and let us be on tlie
look-out to see Avhat comes of all these absurdities of the said
knight and squire, for it seems as if they had both been cast
in the same mould, and the madness of the master without the
simplicity of the man would not be worth a farthing."
"
That is true," said the barber,
"
and I should like very
much to know what the pair are talking about at this mo-
ment."
"
I promise you," said the curate,
"
the niece or the house-
keeper will tell us by-and-by, for they are not the ones to for-
get to listen."
Meanwhile Don Quixote shut himself up in his room with
Sanclio, and when they were alone he said to him,
*'
It grieves
me greatly, Sancho, that tliou shouldst have said, and sayest,
that I took thee out of thy cottage, when thou knowest I did
not remain in my house. We sallied forth together, we took
the road together, Ave Avandered abroad together ; we have had
the same fortune and the same luck ; if they blanketed thee
once, they belabored me a hundred times, and that is the only
advantage I have of thee."
"That was only reasonable," replied -Saiicho, "for, by
what your worship says, misfortunes belong more properly to
knights-errant than to their squires."
"
Thou art mistaken, Sancho," said Don Quixote,
"
according
to the maxim quando caput dolet, etc."
"
I don't understand any language but my own," said
Sancho.
"
I mean to say," said Don Quixote,
"
that when the head
suffers all the members suffer ; and so, being thy lord and
master, I am thy head, and thou a part of me as thou art my
servant; and therefore any evil that affects or shall affect
me should give thee pain, and what affects thee give pain to
me."
"
It should be so," said Sancho ;
" but when I was
14
DON
QUIXOTE.
blanketed as a
member, my head was on the other side of the
wall, looking
on while I was
flying
through the air, and did
not feel any pain
whatever ; and if the members are obliged
to feel the suffering
of the head, it should be obliged to feel
their
sufferings."
"
Dost thou mean to say
now, Sancho," said Don Quixote,
"
that I did not suffer when they
Avere blanketing thee ?
If
thou dost, thou must not say so or think so, for I felt more pain
then in spirit than thou didst in body. But let us put that
aside for the present, for we shail have opportunities enough
for considering and settling the point; tell me, Sancho my
friend, what do they say
about me in the village here ?
What
do the common people think of me ? What do the hidalgos ?
What do the caballeros ?
^
What do they say of my valor
;
of my achievements
;
of my courtesy ?
How do they treat
the task I have undertaken in reviving and restoring to the
world the now forgotten order of chivalry ? In short, Sancho,
I would have thee tell me all that has come to thine ears
on this subject; and thou art to tell me, without adding any-
thing to the good or taking aAvay anything from the bad
;
for
it is the duty of loyal vassals to teli the truth to their lords
just as it is and in its proper shape, not allowing flattery to
add to it or any idle deference to lessen it. And I would
have thee know, Sancho, that if the naked truth, undisguised
by flattery, came to the ears of princes, times would be difl^er-
ent, and other ages would be reckoned iron ages more than
ours, which I hold to be the golden of these latter days.
Proflt by this advice, Sancho, and report to me clearly and
faithfully the truth of what thou knowest touching what I
have demanded of thee."
"
That I will do with all my heart, master," replied Sancho,
"
provided your worship will not be vexed at what I say, as
you wish me to say it out in all its nakedness, without putting
any more clothes on it than it came to my knowledge in."
"
I will not be vexed at all," returned Don Quixote
;
"
thou
mayest speak freely, Sancho, and without any beating about
the bush."
"
Well then," said he,
"
first of all, I have to tell you that
the common people consider your worship a mighty great mad-
man, and me no less a fool. The hidalgos say that, not keep-
ing within the bounds of your quality of gentleman, you have
'
i.e., the gentry by birth and tlie gentry by position.
CHAPTER IL 15
assumed the
'
Don/
'
and made a kniglit of yourself at a jump,
with four vine-stocks and a couple of acres of land, and never
a shirt to your back.^ The caballeros say they do not want to
have hidalgos setting up in opposition to them, particularly
sqxiire hidalgos who polish their own shoes and darn their
black stockings with green silk."
"
That,'' said Don Quixote,
"
does not apply to me, for I
always go well dressed and never patched ; ragged I may be,
very likely, but ragged more from the wear and tear of arms
than of time."
^
"
As to your worship's valor, courtesy, achievements, and
task, there is a variety of opinions. Some say,
'
mad but
droll
;
' others,
'
valiant but unlucky
;
'
others,
'
courteous but
meddling
;
' and then they go into such a number of things
that t\\Qy don't leave a whole bone either in your worship or in
myself."
''
Recollect, Sancho," said Don Quixote,
''
that wherever
virtue exists in an eminent degree it is persecuted. Few or
none of the famous men that have lived escaped being calum-
niated by malice. Julius Caesar, the boldest, wisest, and brav-
est of captains, was charged Avith being ambitious, and not
particularly cleanly in his dress, or pure in his morals. Of
Alexander, whose deeds won him the name of Great, they say
that he was somewhat of a drunkard. Of Hercules, him of the
many labors, it is said that he was lewd and luxurious. Of
Don Galaor, the brother of Amadis of Gaul, it was whispered
that he was over quarrelsome, and of his brother that he was
lachrymose. So that, Sancho, amongst all these calumnies
against good men, mine may be let pass, since they are no more
than thou hast said."
"
That 's just where it is, body of my father !
"
returned
Sancho.
''
Is there more, then ?
"
asked Don Quixote.
"
There's the tail to be skinned yet,"
*
said Sancho ;
"
all so
far is cakes and fancy bread
;
^
but if your worship wants to
know all about the calumnies they bring against you, I will
'
In the time of Cervantes the title of Don was much more restricted
tlian
now-a-days, when it is by courtesy given to every one.
^
Literally,
"
M-ith a rag behind and another in front."
^Alluding to the proverb
(111)
IJidalgo honrado antes roto que remen-
dado

"The gentleman of honor, ragged sooner than patched."

*
Prov. 52, meaning
"
don't fancy you have done with it."
*
Proverbial phrase 229.
16
DON QUIXOTE.
fetch you one this instant who can tell you the whole of them
without missing an atom
;
for last night the son of Bartholo-
mew Carrasco, who has been studying at Salamanca, came home
after having been made a bachelor, and when I went to wel-
come him, he told me that your worship's history is already
abroad in books, with the title of
'
The Ij^genious Gentle-
man Don Quixote of La Mancha
;
' and he says they men-
tion me in it by my own name of Sancho Panza, and the lady
Dulcinea del Toboso too, and divers things that happened to
us when we were alone
;
so that T crossed myself in my won-
der how the historian who wrote them down could have known
them."
"
I promise thee, Sancho," said Don Quixote,
"
the author of
our history will be some sage enchanter ; for to such nothing
that they choose to write about is hidden."
"
What !
"
said Sancho,
"
a sage and an enchanter ! Why,
the bachelor Samson Carrasco (that is the name of him I spoke
of) says the author of the history is called Cid Hamet Beren-
gena."
"
That is a Moorish name," said Don Quixote.
''
May be so," replied Sancho ;
"
for I have heard say that
the Moors are mostly great lovers of bereugenas."
^
"
Thou must have mistaken the surname of this
'
Cid
'
which means in Arabic
'
Lord '

Sancho," observed Don

Quixote.
'<
Very likely," replied Sancho,
"
but if your worship wishes
me to fetch the bachelor 1 will go for him in a twinkling."
"
Thou Avilt do me a great pleasure, my friend," said Don
Quixote,
"
for what thou hast told me has amazed me, and I
shall not eat a morsel that will agree with me until I have
heard all about it."
"
Then I am off for him," said Sancho
;
and leaving his
master he went in quest of the bachelor, with whom he re-
turned in a short time, and, all three together, they had a very
droll colloquy.
'
Berengena

tlie aubergine or egg plant.

CHAPTER TIL
17
CHAPTER III.
OF THE LAUGHABLE COISTVEKSATIOX THAT PASSED BETWEEN^
DON QUIXOTE, SANCHO PANZA, AND THE BACHELOR SAM-
SON CARRASCO.
Don Quixote remained very deep in thonght, waiting for
the bachelor Carrasco, from whom lie was to hear how he him-
self had been put into a book as Sancho said
;
and he could not
persuade himself that any such history could be in existence,
for the blood of the enemies he had slain was not yet dry on
the blade of his sword, and now they wanted to make out that
his mighty achievements were going about in print. ^ For all
that, he fancied some sage, either a friend or an enemy, might,
by the aid of magic, have given them to the press
;
if a friend,
in rder to magnify and exalt them above the most famous ever
achieved by any knight-errant ; if an enemy, to bring them to
naught and degrade them below the meanest ever recorded of
any low squire, though, as he said to himself, the achievements
of squires never were recorded. If, however, it were the fact
that such a history were in existence, it must necessarily, being
the story of a knight-errant, be grandiloquent, lofty, imposing,
grand and true. With this he comforted himself somewhat,
though it made him uncomfortable to think that the author was
a Moor, judging by the title of
''
Cid
;
"
and that no truth was
to be looked for from Moors, as they are all impostors, cheats,
and schemers. He was afraid he might have dealt with his
love affairs in some indecorous fashion, that might tend to the
discredit and prejudice of the purity of his lady Dulcinea del
Toboso
;
he would have had him set forth the fidelity and re-
spect he had always observed towards her, spurning queens,
empresses, and damsels of all sorts, and keeping in check the
'
The critics and commentators have been much troubled by the incon-
sistency involved in making only a month elapse between the termination
of the First Part and the resumption of the story, in which short space
of time the first volume is supposed to have been written, translated,
printed, and circulated, as we are afterwards told, to the extent of 12,000
copies. Cervantes, however, himself saw the blunder, as we perceive
here, and makes a happy use of it as evidence of enchantment in the
knight's eyes. Cervantes never troubled his head about sucli inconsist-
encies. The action of the whole story of Don Quixote is supposed to
extend over three or four months only, but according to dates it extends
over twenty-five years, from 1589 to 1614.
Vol. II.

2
18
DON
QUIXOTE.
impetuosity of his natural impulses.
Absorbed and wrapped up
in these and divers other cogitations, he was found by Sancho
and Carrasco, whom Don Quixote received with great courtesy.
The bachelor, though he was called Samson, was of no great
bodily size, but he was a very great wag ;
he was of a sallow
complexion, but very sharp-witted, somewhere about four-and-
twenty years of age, with a round face, flat nose, and a large
mouth, all indications of a mischievous disposition and a love
of fun and jokes
;
and of this he gave a sample as soon as he
saw Don Quixote, by falling on his knees before him and say-
ing,
"
Let me kiss yoiir niightiness's hand, Seiior Don Quixote
of La Mancha, for, by the habit of St. Peter that I wear,
though I have no more than the first four orders, your worship
is one of the most famous knights-errant that have ever been,
or will be, all the world over. A blessing on Cid Hamet Ben-
engeli, who has written the history of your great deeds, and a
double blessing on that connoisseur who took the trouble of hav-
ing it translated out of the Arabic into our Castilian vulgar
tongue for the universal entertainment of the people !
"
Don Quixote made him rise, and said,
"
So, then, it is true
that there is a history of me, and that it was a Moor and a sage
who wrote it ?
"
"
So true is it, seiior," said Samson,
"
that my belief is there
are more than twelve thousand volumes of the said history in
print this ver}^ day. Only ask Portugal, Barcelona, and Valen-
cia, where they have been printed, and moreover there is a re-
port that it is being printed at Antwerp, and I am persuaded
there will not be a country or language in which there will not
be a translation rjf it."
^
"
One of the things," here observed Don Quixote,
"
that
ought to give most pleasure to a virtuous and eminent man is
to find himself in his lifetime in print and in type, familiar
in people's mouths with a good name
;
I say with a good name,
for if it be the opposite, then there is no death to be compared
to it."
"
If it goes by good name and fame," said the bachelor,
"
your worship alone bears away the palm from all the knights-
errant
;
for the Moor in his own language, and the Christian
in his, have taken care to set before us your gallantry, your
'
No edition appeared at Barcelona in the lifetime of Cervantes, and no
edition of the First Part by itself was ever printed at Antwerp. On the
other hand, tliere were two editions at Brussels and one at Milan, of which
Cervantes does not seem to have been aware when he wrote this.
CHAPTER III. 19
high courage in encountering clangers, your fortitude in ad-
versity, your patience under misfortunes as well as wounds,
the purity and continence of the platonic loves of your worship
and my lady Dona Dulcinea del Toboso
"
"
I never heard my lady Dulcinea called Doiia," observed
Sancho here ;
"
nothing more than the lady Dulcinea del
Toboso
;
so here already the history is wrong."
"
That is not an objection of any importance," replied
Carrasco.
"
Certainly not," said Dou Quixote
;
"
but tell me, sehor
bachelor, what deeds of mine are they that are made most of
in this history ?
"
"
On that point," replied the bachelor,
''
opinions differ, as
tastes do
;
some swear by the adventure of the windmills that
your worship took to be Briareuses and giants
;
others by that
of the fulling mills
;
one cries up the description of the two
armies that afterwards took the appearance of two droves of
sheep
;
another that of the dead body on its way to be buried
at Segovia ; a third says the liberation of the galley slaves is
the best of all, and a fourth that nothing conies up to the affair
with the Benedictine giants, and the battle with the valiant
Biscayan."
"
Tell me, senor bachelor," said Sancho at this point,
"
does
the adventure with the Yanguesans come in, when oiir good
Rocinante went hankering after dainties ?
"
"
The sage has left nothing in the ink-bottle," replied Sam-
son
;
"
he tells all and sets down everything, even to the capers
the worthy Sancho cut in the blanket."
"I cut no capers in the blanket," returned Sancho;
"
in the
air I did, and more of them than I liked."
"
There is no human history in the world, I suppose," said
Don Quixote,
"
that has not its ups and downs, but more than
others such as deal with chivali'y, for they can never be entirely
made up of prosperous adventures."
"
For all that," replied the bachelor,
"
there are those who
have read the history who say they would have been glad if the
author had left out some of the countless cudgellings that were
inflicted on Seiior Don Quixote in various encounters."
''
That 's where the truth of the history comes in," said Sancho.
"
At the same time they might fairly have passed them over
in silence," observed Don Quixote ;
"
for there is no need of
recording events which do not change or affect the truth of
20
DON QUIXOTE.
a history, if tliey tend to bring the hero of it into contempt,
.^neas was not in truth and earnest so pious as Virgil repre-
sents him, nor Ulysses so wise as Homer describes him."
"
That is true," said Samson ;
"
but it is one thing to write as
a poet, anothei- to write as a historian; the poet may describe
or sing things, not as they were, but as they ought to have been
;
but the historian has to write them down, not as they ought to
have been, but as they were, without adding anything to the
truth or taking anything from
it."
'<
Well then," said Sancho,
"
if this senor Moor goes in for
telling the truth,^ no doubt among my master's drubbings mine
are to be found ; for they never took the measure of his wor-
ship's shoulders without doing the same for my whole body
;
but I have no right to wonder at that, for, as my master him-
self says, the members must share the pain of the head."
"
You are a sly dog, Sancho," said ])ou Quixote ;
''
i' faith,
you have no want of memory when you choose to remember."
"If I were to try to forget the thwacks they gave me," said
Sancho,
"
my weals would not let me, for they are still fresh
on my ribs."
"
Hush, Sancho," said Don Quixote,
"
and don't interrupt the
bachelor, whom I entreat to go on and tell me all that is said
about me in this same history."
"
And about me," said Sancho, "for they say, too, that I am
one of the principal presonages in it."
"
Personages, not presonages, friend Sancho," said Samson.
"
What
! Another word-catcher !
"
said Sancho
;
"
if that 's
to be the wa^ we shall not make an end in a lifetime."
"
May God shorten mine, Sancho," returned the bachelor,
"
if you are not the second person in the history, and there are
even some who would rather hear you talk than the cleverest
in the whole book
;
though there are some, too, who say you
showed yourself over-credulous in believing there was any pos-
sibility in the government of that island offered you by Senor
Don Quixote here."
"
There is still sunshine on the wall,"
^
said Don
Quixote
;
"
and when Sancho is somewhat more
advanced in life, with
the experience that years bring, he will be fitter
and better
qualified for being a governor than he is at present."
'
Si es que se anda d decir verdades.
*
Prov.
220
Ann hay sol en las bardas, i.e.
"
tlie day is not
yet over."
Las bardas are properly not the wall itself, but a kind of coping
of straw
or fagots laid along the top of it.
CHAPTER III. 21
"
By God, master," said Sanclio,
"
the island that I can not
govern with the years I have, I
'11
not be able to govern with
the years of Methuselani; the difficulty is that the said island
keeps its distance somewhere, I know not where
;
and not that
there is any want of head in me to govern it."
'<
Leave it to God, Sancho," said Don Quixote,
"
for all will
be Avell, and perhaps better than you think ; no leaf on the tree
stirs but by God's will."
<'
That is true," said Samson
;
'^
and if it be God's will, there
will not be any want of a thousand islands, much less one, for
Sancho to govern."
<'
I have seen governors in these parts," said Sancho,
"
that
are not to be compared to my shoe-sole ; and for all that they
are called
'
youi- lordship ' and served on silver."
''
Those are not governors of islands," observed Samson,
-'
but of other governments of an easier kind : those that gov-
ern islands must at least know grammar."
"
I could manage the gram well enough," said Sancho ;
"
but
for the mar I have neither leaning nor liking, for I don't know
what it is
;
^
but leaving this matter of the government in God's
hands, to send me wherever it may be most to his service, I
may tell you, senor bachelor Samson Carrasco, it has pleased
me beyond measure that the author of this history should have
spoken of me in such a way that what is said of me gives no
offence
;
for, on the faith of a true squire, if he had said any-
thing about me that was at all unbecoming an old Christian,
such as I am, the deaf would have heard of it."
"
That would be working miracles," said Samson.
"
Miracles or no miracles," said Sancho,
"
let every one mind
how he speaks or writes about people, and not set down at
random the first thing that comes into his head."
"
One of the faults they find with this history," said the
l)achelor,
'
is that its author inserted in it a novel called
'
The
Ill-advised Curiosity
;
'
not that it is bad or ill-told, but that it
is out of place and has nothing to do with the history of his
worship Senor Don Quixote."
"
I will bet the son of a dog has mixed the cabbages and the
baskets," said Sancho."
"
Then, I say," said Don Quixote,
"
the author of my history
'
In the original, Grama-tica

grama being an instrument for dressing

flax, and tlierefore quite witliin Sancho's comprehension.
*
Revolver berzas con capnchos is, according to Covarrubias, a familiar
phrase to express jumbling together things of different sorts.
22
DON
QUIXOTE.
was
no
sage,
but
some
ignorant
cliatterer,
Avho, m a liaphazard
and
heedless
Avay,
set
about
writing it, let it turn out as it
mi-'-ht, iust
as
Orbaneja,
the
painter of Ubeda, used to do,
who,
wiien
they
asked
him
what he was
painting, answered,
''
What
it may
turn out."
Sometimes
he would paint a cock
in such a
fasluon,
and so
unlike, that he had to write alongside
of it in
Gothic
letters,
'
This is a cock
;
'
and so it avUI be with
my
history,
which
Avill
require a
commentary to make it intel-
ligible."
^
. ,
"
No fear of that,"'
returned
Samson,
''
for it is so plain that
there is nothing
in it to
puzzle over
;
the children turn its
leaves,
the young
people read it, the grown men understand
it, the old folk praise
;
in a word, it is so thumbed,^ and read,
and got by
heart by
people of all sorts, that the instant they
see any
lean hack, they say,
'
There goes Kocinante.' And
those that are most given to reading it are the pages, for there
is not a lord's
ante-chamber
where there is not a
'
Don Quixote
'
to be found ; one takes it up if another lays it down
;
this one
pounces upon it, and that begs for it. In short, the said his-
tory is the most delightful and least injurious entertainment
that has been hitherto seen, for there is not to be fomid in the
whole of it even the semblance of an immodest word, or a
thought that is other than Catholic."
"
To write in any other way," said Don Quixote,
"
would not
be to write truth, but falsehood, and historians who have re-
course to falsehood, ought to be burned, like those who coin
false money ; and I know not what could have led the author
to have recourse to novels and irrelevant stories, when he had
so much to write about in mine ; no doubt he must have gone
by the proverb
'
with straw or with hay, etc.,'
'^
for by merely
setting forth my thoughts, my sighs, my tears, my lofty pur-
poses, my enterprises, he might have made a volume as large,
or larger than all the works of El Tostado would make up.^
In fact, the conclusion I arrive at, seiior bachelor, is, that to
write histories, or books of any kind, there is need of great
judgment and a ripe understanding. To give expression to
humor, and write in a strain of graceful pleasantry, is the gift
'
In the original, irillada,
"
thrashed," as wheat is in Spain, by having
tho trilla^ a sort of harrow, dragged over it.
^
Trov. IGG. In full it rnns, "with straw or with hay the mattress is
tilled."
^
El Tostado was Alonso de Madrigal, Bishop of Avila, a prolific
autlior of devotional works in the reign of John II.
CHAPTER III. 23
of great
geniuses. The cleverest character in comedy is the
clown, for he who would make people take him for a fool,
must not be one. History is in a measure a sacred thing, for
it should be true, and where the truth is, there God is, so far
as truth is concerned; but notwithstanding this, there are
some who write and fling books broadcast on the world as if
they were fritters."
"
There is no book so bad but it has something good in
it,"
^
said the bachelor.
"
No doubt of that," replied Don Quixote ;
"
but it often
happens that those who have acquired and attained a well-
desired reputation by their writings, lose it entirely, or damage
it in some degree, when the}^ give them to the press."
''
The reason of that," said Samson.
"
is, that as printed
works are examined leisurely, their faults are easily seen ;
and
the greater the fame of the writer, the more closely are they
scrutinized. Men famous for their genius, great poets, illus-
trious historians, are always, or most commonl}", envied by those
who take a
particular delight and pleasure in criticising the
writings of others, without having produced any of their own."
"
That is no wonder," said Don Quixote ;
"
for there are
many divines who are no good for the pulpit, but excellent in
detecting the defects or excesses of those who preach."
"
All that is true, Senor Don Quixote," said Carrasco ;
''
but
I wish such fault-linders were more lenient and less exacting,
and did not pay so much attention to the spots on the bright
sun of the work they grumble at ; for if ali'iiiando bonus dor-
viltdt Homenis, they should remember how long he remained
aAvake to shed the light of his work Avith as little shade as
possible
;
and perhaps it may be that what they find fault with
may be moles, that sometimes heighten the beauty of the face
that bears them
;
and so I say very great is the risk to which
he who prints a book exposes himself, for of all impossibilities
the greatest is to write one that will satisfy and please all
readers."
"
That which treats of me must have pleased few," said Don
Quixote.
"
Quite the contrary," said the bachelor
;
"
for. as
stultorum
infinitus est numerus, innumerable are those who have relished
the said history ; but some have brought a charge
aganist the
author's memory, inasmuch as he forgot to say who the thief
'
Prov. 128.
24
DON QUIXOTE.
was who stole Sancho's Dapple
;
for it is not stated there, l^ut
only to be
inferred from what is set down, that he was stolen,
and a
little farther on we see Sancho mounted on the same ass,
without any
re-appearance of it.^ They say, too, that he for-
got to state what Sancho did with those hundred crowns that
he found in the valise in the Sierra Morena, as he never alludes
to them again, and there are many who Avould be glad to know
what he did with them, or what he si)ent
them on, for it is one
of the serious omissions of the w^ork."
"^
"
Senor Samson, I am not in a humor now for going into
accounts or explanations," said Sancho
;
"for there 's a sinking
of the stomach come over me, and unless I doctor it with a
couple of sups of the old stuif it will put me on the thorn of
Santa Lucia.' I have it at home, and my old woman is wait-
ing for me ; after dinner I
'11
come back, and will answer you
and all the world every question you may choose to ask, as well
about the loss of the ass as about the spending of the Inmdred
crowns
;
"
and without another word or waiting for a reply he
made off home.
Don Quixote begged and entreated the bachelor to stay and
do penance with him.* The bachelor accepted the invitation
and remained, a couple of young pigeons were added to the or-
dinary fare, at diinier they talked chivalry, Carrasco fell in with
his host's humor, the banquet came to an end, they took their
afternoon sleep, Sancho returned, and the previous conversa-
.
tion was resumed.
^
This passage has somewhat puzzled those wlio were unaware of the
difference in text between the first and the subsequent editions. Cervantes
is here speaking of the first edition, in which (as has been alreadv pointed
out, chapter xxiii., Part I.) no account of the theft of the ass "is given.
From this we gather tliat Cervantes himself had notliing to do with the
attempt made in the second edition to rectify the blunder, for had it been
his own work he certainly would not have ignored it as be does here.
2
He is here ridiculing what he considers the hypercriticism of those
readers who make a fuss about such trifling slips.
^
A slang phrase for being weak for want of food.
*
Equivalent to our phrase,
"
stay and take pot-luck."
CHAPTER IV. 25
CHAPTER IV.
IN WHICH SANCHO PANZA GIVES A SATISFACTORY REPLY TO
THE DOUBTS AND QUESTIONS OF THE BACHELOR SAMSON
CARRASCO,
TOGETHER WITH OTHER MATTERS WORTH KNOW-
ING AND MENTIONING.
Sancho came back to Don Quixote's house, and returning to
the late subject of conversation, he said,
"
As to what Senor
Samson said, that he wouhl like to know by whom, or how, or
when my ass was stolen, I say in reply that the same night we
went into the Sierra Morena, flying from the Holy Brother-
hood after that unlucky adventure of the galley slaves, and the
other of the corpse that was going to Segovia, my master and
I ensconced ourselves in a thicket, and there, my master lean-
ing on his lance, and I seated on my Dapple, battered and
weary Avitli the late frays we fell asleep as if it had been on
four feather beds
;
and I in particular slept so sound, that,
whoever he was, he was able to come and prop me up on four
stakes, which he put under the four corners of the pack-saddle
in such a way that he left me mounted on it, and took away
Dapple from under me without my feeling it."
"
That is an easy matter," said Don Quixote,
"
and it is no
new occurrence, for the very same thing happened to Sacri-
pante, when, at the siege of Albracca, the famous thief called
Brunello, by the same contrivance, took his horse from between
his legs."
^
"
Day came," continued Sancho,
"
and the moment I
stretched myself the stakes gave way and I fell to the ground
with a mighty come down ; I looked al)out for the ass, l)ut
could not see him
;
the tears rushed to my eyes and I raised
'
" La sella su quattro aste sli
suffolse,
E di sotto il destrier luido gli tolse."
Orlando Furioso-, xxvii. 84.
But the idea was Boiardo's :
"
E la cingia diseiolse presto presto,
E pose il legno sotto de lo aroione."
Orlando Innamorato, II. y. 40.
It seems plain from this that Cervantes meant to introduce into the First
Fart a burlesque of the theft of Saeripante's horse, witli Gines de Pasa-
monte playing the part of Brunello. It would have been an incident
exactly in the spirit of the book.
26
DON
QUIXOTE.
such a
lamentation that, if tlie author of our history has not
put it in, he may depend upon it he has left out a good thing.
Some days after, I know not liow many, travelling with her
ladyship' the Princess
Micomicona, I saw my ass, and mounted
upon him, in the dress of a gypsy, was that Gines de Pasa-
monte, the great rogue and rascal that my master and I freed
from the chain."
"
That is not where the mistake is," replied Samson
;
"
it is,
that before the ass has turned up, the author speaks of Sancho
as being mounted on it.''
"
I don't know what to say to that," said Sancho,
"
unless
that the historian made a mistake, or perhaps it might be a
blunder of the printer's."
"iSTo doubt that's it," said Samson; "but what became of
the hundred crowns ?
"
"
They vanished," said Sancho ;
"
I spent them for my own
good, and my wife's, and my children's, and it is they
have made my wife bear so patiently all my wanderings on
highways and byways, in the service of my master, Don Qui-
xote
;
for if after all this time I had come back to the house
without a rap and without the ass, it would have been a poor
look-out for me
;
and if any one wants to know anything more
about me, here I am, ready to answer the king himself in per-
son
;
and it is no affair of any one's, whether I took or did not
take, whether I spent or did not spend ; for if the whacks that
were given me in these journeys were to be paid for in money,
even if they were valued at no more than four maravedis
apiece, another hundred crovvnis would not pay me for half of
them. Let each look to himself and not try to make out white
black, and black white
;
for each of us is as God made him, ay,
and often worse."
^
"
I will take care," said Carrasco,
"
to impress upon the
author of the history that, if he prints it again, he must not
forget what worthy Sancho has said, for it will raise it a good
span higher than it is."
'
Is there anything else to correct in the history, senor bach-
elor
?
"
asked Don Quixote.
_"
Xo doubt there is," replied he ;
"
but not anything that
will
be of the same importance as those I have mentioned."
'
Does the
author promise a second part at all ?
"
said Don
Quixote.
'
Frov. 80.
CHAPTER IV. 27
"
He floes promise one," replied Samson
;
"
but he says he
has not found it, nor does he know who has got it ; and we
can not say whether it will appear or not ; and so, on that head,
as some say that no second part has ever been good, and others
that enough has been already written about Don Quixote, it is
thought there will be no second part ; though some, who are
jovial rather than saturnine, say,
'
Let us have more Quixota-
des, let Don Quixote charge and Sancho chatter, and no mat-
ter what it may turn out, we shall be satisfied with that."
"
And what does the author mean to do
?
" said Don
Quixote.
"
What '?
"
replied Samson
;
"
why, as soon as he has found
the history which he is now searching for with extraordinary
diligence, he will at once give it to the press, moved more by
the profit that may accrue to him from doing so than by any
thought of praise."
Whereat Sancho observed,
"
The author looks for money
and profit, does he ? It will be a wonder if he succeeds, for
it will be only hurry, hurry, with him, like the tailor on Easter
Eve ; and works done in a hurry are never finished as perfectly
as they ought to be. Let Master Moor, or whatever he is, pay
attention to what he is doing, and I and my master will give
him as much grouting^ ready to his hand, in the way of ad-
ventures and accidents of all sorts, as would make up not only
one second part, but a hundred. The goodman fancies, no
doubt, that we are fast asleep in the straw here, but let him
hold u}) our feet to be shod and he will see which foot it is we
go lame on. All I say is, that if my master would take my
advice, we would be uoav afield, redressing outrages and right-
ing wrongs, as is the use and custom of good knights-errant."
Sancho had hardly uttered these Avords when the neighing
of Eociuante fell upon their ears, which neighing Don Quixote
accepted as a happy omen, and he resolved to make another
sally in three or four days from that time. Announcing his
intention to the bachelor, he asked his advice as to the quarter
in wliich he ought to commence his expedition, and the bache-
lor replied that in his opinion he oiight to go to the
kingdom
of Aragon, and the city of Saragossa, where there were to be
certain solemn joustings at the festival of St. George,^ at
'
Ripio, small stones and mortar used in building to till the interstices
between the large stones.
^
In commemoration of the battle of Alcoraz. wliere in 1090 Pedro I.
of Aragon, with tlie help of St. George, defeated the Moors.
28
DON
QUIXOTE.
which
he
mio-ht win
renown
above all the
knights
of Aragon,
which
wouhi be
winning
it above
all the
knights
of the world.
He
commended
his very
praiseworthy
and
gallant
resolution,
but
admonished
him to proceed
with
greater
caution m en-
countering
dangers,
because
his life did not
belong to
him, but
to all
those
who had
need of him to
protect and aid them m
their
misfortunes.
0,0,,
"
There 's
where it is, what I abominate,
Senor bamson,
said
Sancho
here
;
"
my master
will attack a
hundred armed
men as a
greedy boy
would haif a dozen melons.
Body of the
world,
seiior
bachelor ! there is a time to
attack and a time to
retreat,
and it is not to be always
'
Santiago,
and close Spain
!
'
^
Moreover, I have heard it said (and I think by my
master
himself,
if I
remember
rightly) that the mean of valor lies
between
the extremes of cowardice and rashness
;
and if that
be so, I don't want him to fly without
having good reason, or
to attack when the odds- make it better not. But, above all
things, I warn my master that if he is to take me with him it
must be on the condition that he is to do all the
fighting, and
that I am not to be called upon to do anything except what
concerns keeping him clean and comfortable
;
in this I will dance
attendance on him readily ; but to expect me to draw sword,
even against rascally churls of the hatchet and hood, is idle.
I don't set up to be a
fighting man, Senor Samson, but only
the best and most loyal squire that ever served
knight-errant
;
and if my master Don Quixote, in consideration of my many
faithful services, is pleased to give me some island of the many
his worship says one may stumble on in these parts, I will
take it as a great favor ; and if he does not give it to me, I
was born like every one else, and a man must not live in
dependence on any one except God; and what is more, my
bread will taste as well, and perhaps even better,
without a
government than if I were a governor ; and how do I know
but tliat in these governments the devil may have prepared
some trip for me, to make me lose my footing and fall and
knock my grinders out ? Sancho I was born and Sancho I
mean to die. But for all that, if Heaven were to make me a
fair offer of an island or something else of the kind, without
much trouble and without much risk, I am not such a fool as
'
The old Spanish war-cry, Santiago
y
cicrra Espana
!
^
Demasia literally, "excess." Hartzenbusch would add "of the
risk," or sii})stitute "occasion," hut I venture to think the -word by itself
may be taken in the sense I have given.
CHAPTER IV. 29
to refuse it ; for they say, too,
'
when they offer thee a heifer,
run with a halter
;
' and
'
when good hiek conies to thee, take
it in.'
"
^
"
Brother Sancho," said Carrasco,
"
you have spoken like a
professor ; but, for all that, put your trust in God and in Sefior
l)on Quixote, for he will give you a kingdom, not to say an
island."
"
It is all the same, be it more or be it less," replied
Sancho ;
"
though I can tell Senor Carrasco that my master
would not throw the kingdom he might give me into a sack all
in holes
;
for I have felt my own pu^lse and I find nwself
sound enough to rule kingdoms and govern islands ; and I
have before now told my master as much."
'Take care, Sancho," said Samson; '-honors change man-
ners," and perhaps when you find yourself a governor you
won't know the mother that bore you.''
"
That ma}^ hold good of those that are born in the ditches,"
said Sancho,^
"
not of those who have the fat of an old Chris-
tian four fingers deep on their souls, as I have. Xay, only look
at my disposition, is that likely to show ingratitude to any one ?
"
"
God grant it,"' said Don Quixote ;
"
we shall see when the
government comes; and I seem to see it already."
He then begged the bachelor, if he were a poet, to do him the
favor of composing some verses for him conveying the farewell
he meant to take of his lady Dulcinea del Toboso, and to see
that a letter of her name was placed at the beginning of each
line, so that, at the end of the verses,
"
Dulcinea del Toboso
"
might be read by putting together the first letters. The bach-
elor replied that although he was not one of the famous poets
of Spain, who were, they said, only three and a half,'* he would
not fail to compose the required verses ; though he saw a great
difficulty in the task, as the letters which made up the name
were seventeen ; so, if he made four ballad stanzas of four lines
each, there would be a letter over, and if he made them of five,
what they called decimas or redondillas, there were three let-
'
Provs. 2Si^ and 22.
^
Yvo\. 158.
^Literalh',
"
among the mallows."
"
There is some difference of opinion as to who were the three poets and
a half allowed to be famous by Samson Carrasco ; but probably Cervantes
only intended a malicious little joke at the expense of the whole swarm of
poets of his day, and their mutual admiration cliques.
^
The decima is properly a stanza of ten eiglit-syllal)Ie lines; in the re-
dondilla^ which is more commonly a four-line stanza, the last line rhymes
with the first. The acrostic was one of the poetical frivolities of the day.
30
DON
QUIXOTE.
ters short;
nevertheless he would try to drop a letter as well as
he could, so that the name
"
Dulcinea del Toboso
"
might be got
into four ballad stanzas.
''
It must be, by some means or other," said Don Quixote,
"
for unless the name stands there plain and manifest, no woman
would believe the verses were made for her."
They agreed
upon this, and that the departure should take
place in three days from that time. Don Quixote charged the
bachelor to keep it a secret, especially from the curate anil
Master Nicholas, and from hib niece and the housekeeper, lest
they should prevent the execution of his praiseworthy and val-
iant purpose. C^arrasco promised all, and then took his leave,
charging Don Quixote to inform him of his good or evil fortunes
Avheuever he had an opportunity ; and thus they bade each other
farewell, and Sancho went away to make the necessary prepara-
tions for their expedition.
CHAPTER V.
OF THE SHREWD AND DKOLL COXVERSATION THAT PASSED HE-
TWEEN SANCUO PAXZA AXD Ills VVIKE TERESA PAXZA, AND
OTHER MATTERS WORTHY OF BEIXG DULY RECORDED.
The translator of this history, when he comes to write this
fifth chapter, says that he considers it apocryphal, because in
it Sancho Panza speaks in a style unlike that which might
have been expected from his limited intelligence, and says
things so subtle that he does not think it possible he could
have conceived them
;
however, desirous of doing what his
task imposed upon him, he was unwilling to leave it untrans-
lated, and therefore he went on to say :
Sancho came home in such glee and spirits that his wife
noticed his happiness a bowshot off, so much so that it made
her ask him,
"
What have you got, Sancho friend, that you are
so glad ?
"
To which he replied,
"
Wife, if it were God's will, I should
be very glad not to be so well pleased as I show myself."
"
I don't understand you, husband," said she,
"
and I don't
know what you mean by saying you would be glad, if it Avere
God's will, not to be well pleasexl ; for, fool as 1 am, I don't
know how one can find pleasure in not having it."
CHAPTER V. 31
"
Hark ye, Teresa,"
replied Sanclio,
''
I am glad because I
have made up my mind to go back to the service of my master
Don Quixote^ who means to go out a third time to seek for ad-
ventures
;
and I am going with him again, for my necessities
will have it so, and also the hope that cheers me with the
thought that I may lind another hundred crowns like tlujse we
have spent ; though it makes me sad to have to leave thee and
the children
;
and if God would be pleased to let me have my
daily bread,
dry-shod and at home, without taking me out into
the byways and cross-roads

and he coidd do it at small cost

by merely willing it

it is clear my happiness would be more

solid and lasting, for the happiness I have is mingled with sor-
row at leaving thee
;
so that I was right in saying I would be
glad, if it were God's will, not to be well pleased."
"
Look here, Sancho,'' said Teresa
;
"
ever since you joined
on to a
knight-errant you talk in such a roundabout way that
there is no understanding you."
''
It is enough that God imderstands me, wife," readied San-
cho
;
"
for he is the understander of all things
;
that will do
;
but mind, sister, you must look to Dapple carefully for the next
three days, so that he may be fit to take arms
;
douljle his feed
and see to the pack-saddle and other harness, for it is not to
a wedding we are bound, but to go round the world, and play
at give and take with giants and dragons and monsters, and
hear hissings and roarings and bellowings and bowlings
;
and
even all this would be lavender, if we had not to reckon with
Yanguesans and enchanted Moors."
"
I know well enough, husband," said Teresa,
"
that squires-
errant don't eat their bread for nothing, and so I will be al-
ways
praying to our Lord to deliver you speedily frojn all
that hard fortune."
"
I can tell you, wife," said Sancho,
"
if I did not expect to
see myself governor of an island before long, I woidd drop
down dead on the spot."
''
Nay, then, husband," said Teresa,
"
let the hen live, though
it be with her pip ;
^
live, and let the devil take all the govern-
ments in the world
;
you came out of your mother's womb
without a
government, you have lived until now Avithout a gov-
ernment, and when it is God's will you will go, or be carried,
to your grave without a government. How many there are in
the world who live without a
government, and continue to live
'
Prov. 101.
32
DON
QUIXOTE.
all the same,
and are
reckoned
in the
nmnber
of the
people. I
The best
sauce
in the
world is
hunger,^
and as
the poorare
|
never
without
that,
they
always
eat
with a
relish
But mmd,
Sancho,
if by
good luck
you
should
find
yourself
with some
government,
don't
forget me and
your
children.
Keniember
that
Sanchico
is
now full fifteen,
and it is
right he should go to
school,
if his
uncle the
abbot
has a
mind
tt) have
him trained
for the
Church.
Consider,
too, that
your
daughter
^Nlari-Sancha
will not die of
grief if we
marry
her
;
for I have my suspicions
that she is as eager to get a
husband as
you to get a govern-
ment
;
and, after all, a
daughter
looks
better ill married than
well kept."
"
By my faith,"
replied Sancho,
"
if God
brings me to get
any sort of a
government, I intend,
wife, to make such a high
match
for Mari-Sancha
that
there will be no
approaching
her
without
calling her
'
my lady?
'"
"
Nay,
Sancho,"
returned
Teresa,
'
marry her to her equal,
that is the safest plan
;
for if you put her out of wooden clogs
into
high-heeled shoes, out of her gray
flannel
petticoat into
hoops and silk gowns, out of the ])lain
'
Marica
'
and
'
thou,'
into 'Dona So-and-so' and -my lady,' the girl won't know
where she is, and at every turn she will fall into a thousand
blunders that will show the thread of her coarse homespun
stuff."
"
Tut, you fool," said Sancho;
'
it will be only to practise it
for two or three years ; and then dignity and decorum will fit
her as easily as a glove
;
and if not, what matter ?
Let her
be
'
my lad}',' and never mind what happens."
"
Keep to your own station, Sancho," replied Teresa
;
"
don't
try to raise yourself higher, and bear in mind the proverb that
says,
'
wipe the nose of your neiglibor's son, and take him into
your house.'
^
A fine thing it Avould be, indeed, to many our
Maria to some great count or grand gentleman, who, when the
humor took him, would abuse her and call her clown-bred and
clodhopper's daughter and spinning wench. I have not been
bringing up my daughter for that all this time, I can tell you,
husband. Do you bring home money, Sancho, and leave marry-
ing her to my care
;
there is Lope Tocho, Juan Toeho's son,
a stout, sturdy young fellow that we know, and I can see he
does not look sour at the girl ; and with him, one of our own
sort, she will be well married, and we shall have her always
^rrov. 10!).
-
Trov. 113.
CHAPTER V. 33
under oui- eyes, and be all one family, parents and children,
grandchildren and sons-in-law, and the peace and blessing of
God
will dwell among us
;
so don't you go marrying her in
those courts and grand palaces where they won't know what to
make of her, or she what to make of herself."
"
Why, you idiot and wife for Barabbas," said Sancho,
"
what
do you mean by trying, without why or wherefore, to keep me
from marrying my daughter to one who will give me graiul-
children that will be called
'
your lordship
'
? Look ye, Teresa,
I have always heard my elders say that he who does not know
how to take advantage of luf'k when it comes to him, has no
right to complain if it gives him the go-by
;
and now that it is
knocking at our door, it will not do to shut it out ; let us go
with the favoring- breeze that blows upon us." (It is this sort
of talk, and what Sancho says lower down, that made the trans-
lator of the history say he considered this chapter apocryphal.)
'^
Don't you see, you animal," continued Sancho,
''
that it will
be well for me to drop into some profitable government that
will lift us out of the mire, and marry Mari-Sancha to whom I
like
;
and you yourself will find yourself called
'
Doiia Teresa
Panza,' and sitting in church on a fine carpet and cushions and
draperies, in spite and in defiance of all the born ladies of the
town ? No, stay as you are, growing neither greater nor less,
like a tapestry figure

Let us say no more about it, for San-

chia shall be a countess, say what you will."
"
Are you sure of all you say, husband ?
"
replied Teresa.
"
Well, for all that, I am afraid this rank of countess for my
daughter will be her ruin. You do as you like, make a duchess
or a princess of her, but I can tell you it will not be with my
will and consent. I was always a lover of equality, brother,
and I can't bear to see people give themselves airs without any
right. They called me Teresa at my baptism, a plain, simple
name, without any additions or tags or fringes of Dons or
Doiias; Cascajo was my father's name, and as I am your wife,
I am called Teresa Panza, though by right I ought to be called
Teresa Cascajo
;
but ' kings go where laws like,'
^
and I am con-
tent with this name Vv^ithout having the
'
Don
'
put on top of
it to make it so heavy that I can not carry it ; and I don't want
to make people talk alDOut me when they see me go dressed like
a couutess or governor's wife
;
for they will say at once,
'
See
'
Teresa inverts the proverb after Sancho's fashion; v. Note
1,
vol. i.
chap, xlv., page 386.
Vol. II.

3
34
DON QUIXOTE.
what airs the skit gives herself ! Only yesterday she was always
spiuuing flax, and. used to go to Mass with the tail of her petti-
coat over her head instead of a mantle, and there she goes to-
day in a hooped gown with her brooches and airs, as if we did n't
know her
!
' If God keeps me in my seven senses, or five, or
whatever number I have, I am not going to bring nij^self to
such a pass
;
go you, brother, and be a government or an island
man, and swagger as much as you like ; for by the soul of my
mother, neither my daughter nor I are going to stir a step from
our village ; a respectable woman should have a broken leg and
keep at home
;
and to l)e busy at something is a virtuous dam-
sel's holiday
;
i
be off to your adventures along with your Don
Quixote, and leave us to our misadventures, for God will mend
them for us according as we deserve it. I don't know, 1 'ni sure,
who fixed the
'
Don
'
to him, Avhat neither his father nor grand-
father ever had."
"
I declare thou hast a devil of some sort in thy body
!
"
said Sancho.
"
God help thee, woman, what a lot of things
thou hast strung together, one after the other, without head or
tail
!
What have Cascajo, and the brooches and the proverbs
and the airs, to do with what I say ? Look here, fool and dolt
(for so I may call you, when you don't understand my words,
and run away from good fortune), if I had said that my
daughter was to throw herself down from
a tower, or go roam-
ing the world, as the Infanta Dona L'rraca wanted to do,- you
would
be right in not giving way to my will ; but if in an" in-
stant, in less than the twinkling
of an eye, I put the
'
Don
'
and
'my lady' on her back, and take her out of the stubble, and
place her under the canopy, on a dais, and on a couch, with
more velvet
cushions than all the Almohades
of Morocco ever
had in their family,'^ why
won't you consent and fall in
with ]ny
wishes ?
"
" Do you know why,
husband
?
"
replied
Teresa
;
''
because
'
Provs. 148 and i)l.
2 The Infanta
Urraea was the
daugliter of Ferdinand I. of Castile and
Leon,
who, findnig
herself omitted in her father's will, threatened to dis-
grace hiin by taking to a disreputable
life. He in consequence
altered his
will and left her the city of Zamora,
adding his curse upon him who should
attempt
to take it from her;
a curse which shortly
afterwards took effect
when her
brother
Sancho,
besieging
the city, was treacherously
slain by
Velh.lo
Dolfos.
The story is the
subject
of two
ballads "Morir vos
queredes,
padre," and
"
Acababa
el rey
Fernando."
K-llmohada
is a cushion,
which
Sancho supposes
to have had something
to do with the origin
of the sect of the
Almohades.
CHAPTER V. 35
) 1
of the proverb that says
'
who covers thee, discovers thee.
At the poor man people only throw a hasty glance
;
on the
rich man they fixed their eyes
;
and if the said rich man was
once on a time poor, it is then there is the sneering and the
tattle and spite of backbiters ; and in the streets here they
swarm as thick as bees."
"
Look here, Teresa," said Sancho,
'
and listen to what I am
now going to say to yon ; maybe yon never heard it in all your
life ; and I do not give my own notions, for what I am abont
to say are the opinions of his reverence the preacher, Avho
preached in this town last Lent, and who said, if I remember
rightly, that all things present that our eyes behold, bring
themselves before us, and remain and fix themselves on our
memory much better and more forcibly than things past."
(These observations which Sancho makes here are the other
ones on account of which the translator says he regards this
chapter as apocryphal, inasmiich as they are beyond Sancho's
capacity.)
"
Whence it arises," he continued,
"
that when we
see any i)erson Avell dressed and making a figure Avith rich
garinents and retinue of servants, it seems to lead and im|)el
us perforce to res})ect him, though memory may at the same
moment recall to us some lowly condition in which we have
seen him, but which, whether it may have been poverty or low
birth, being now a thing of the past, has no existence ; while
the only thing that has any existence is what we see before lis
;
and if this person whom fortune has raised from his original
lowly state (these were the very words the padre used) to his
present height of prosperity, Ije well bred, generous, courteous
to all, without seeking to vie with those whose nobility is of
ancient date, depend upon it, Teresa, no one will remember
what he was, and every one will respect what he is, except
indeed the envious, from whom no fair fortune is safe."
''
I do not understand you, husbaiul," replied Teresa
;
"
do as
you like, and don't break my head with any more speechifying
and rhetoric ; aiid if you have revolved to do what you say
"
"Resolved, you should say, woman,'' said Sancho, "not
revolved."
"
Don't set yourself to wrangle with me, husband," said
Teresa
;
"
I speak as God pleases, and don't deal in out-of-the-
way phrases
;
and I say if you are bent upon having a govern-
]nent, take your son Sancho with you, and teach him from this
86
DON
QflXOTE.
time on how to hold a
government ; for sons ought to inherit
and learn the trades of their fathers."
<'
As soon as I have the government," said Sancho,
"
I will
send for him by post, and I will send thee money, of which I
shall have no lack, for there is never any want of people to
lend it to governors when they have not got it ; and do thou
dress him so as to hide what he is and make him look what he
is to be."
"
You send the money," said Teresa,
"
and I
'11
dress him ujt
for you as hue as you please."
"
Then Ave are agreed that our daughter is to be a countess,"
said Sancho.
"
The day that I see her a countess," rei)lied Teresa,
"
it Avill
be the same to me as if I was burying her
;
but once more I say
do as you please, for we women are born to this burden of
being obedient to our husbands, though they be blockheads
;
"
and with this she began to weep in downright earnest, as if
she already saw Sanchica dead and buried.
Sancho consoled her by saying that though he must make
her a countess, he would put it off as long as possible. Here
their conversation came to an end, and Sancho went back to
see Don Quixote, and make arrangements for their departure.'
CHAPTER
YI.
OF
WHAT TOOK PLACE BETWEEX DON
QUIXOTE AXD HIS
NIECE AND
HOUSEKEEPER
;
ONE OF THE MOST IMPORTANT
CHAPTERS IN THE WHOLE HISTORY.
While
Sancho
Panza and his wife,
Teresa Cascajo. held the
above
irrelevant
conversation, Don
Quixote's
niece and house-
keeper were
not idle, for by a thousand
signs they began to
perceive
that their
uncle and master meant
to give them the
slip for
the third
time, and once more
betake himself to his,
for them,
ill-errant
chivalry.
They
strove by all the means in
their
power to divert him from such
an unlucky
scheme
;
but
it was all
preaching
in the desert and
hammering
cold iron.
Nevertheless,
among
many other
representations
made to
Tliore
can 1)f vory little
doubt, as Pellicer
points out, tliat Moliore took
the scene
between
Monsieur
Jourdain and his vife in act iii. of the Bour-
geois
Gentilhomme
from this
dialogue
between
Sancho and Teresa.
CHAPTER VI. 37
him, the housekeeper said to him,
"
In truth, master, if you do
not keep still and stay (piiet at home, and give over roaming
mountains and valleys like a troubled spirit, looking for what
they say are called adventures, but what I call misfortunes, I
shall have to make complaint to God and the king with loud
supplication to send some remedy.''
To which Don Quixote replied,
"
What answer God will give
to your complaints, hoiisekeeper, I know not, nor what his
Majesty will answer either ; I only knoAV that if I were king I
should decline to answer the numberless silly petitions they
present every day
;
for one of the greatest among the many
troubles kings have is being obliged to listen to all and answer
all, and therefore I should be sorry that any affairs of mine
should worry him."
Whereupon the housekeeper said,
''
Tell us, sefior, at his
Majesty's court are there no knights ?
"
"There are," replied Don Quixote, "and plenty of them;
and it is right there should be, to set off the dignity of the
prince, and for the greater glory of the king's majesty."
"
Then might not your worship," said she,
"
be one of those
that, Avithout stirring a step, serve their king and lord in his
court ?
"
"
Recollect, my friend," said Don Quixote,
"
not all knights
can be courtiers, nor can all courtiers be knights-errant, nor
need they be. There must be all sorts in the world
;
and
though we may be all knights, there is a great diff'erence
between one and another; fo-^ the courtiers, without quitting
their chandlers, or the threshold of the court, range the world
over by
looking at a map, without its costing them a farthing,
and without suffering heat or cold, hunger or thirst ; but we,
the true knights-errant, measure the whole earth with our own
feet, exposed to the sun, to the cold, to the air, to the inclem-
encies of heaven, by day and night, on foot and on horseback
;
nor do we only know enemies in pictures, but in their own
real shapes ; and at all risks and on all occasions we attack
them, without any regard to childish points or rules of single
combat, whether one has or has not a shorter lance or sword,
whether one carries relics or any secret contrivance about him,
whether or not the sun is to be divided and portioned out,' and
'
One of the most important of the preliminaries in a formal combat was
placinij the men, so that neither should be at a disadvantage by having the
sun in his eyes. So in the Poem of the Cid, the marshals portion out the
sun to the Cid's
champions and the Infantes of Carrion.
38
DON
QUIXOTE,
other.
niceties of the sort that are observed in set combats of
man to
man, that you know
nothing about, but I do. And you
must
know besides, that the true knight-errant, though he may
see ten
giants, that not only touch the clouds with their heads
but pierce them, and that go, each of them, on two tall towers
by way of legs, and whose arms are like the masts of mighty
ships,' and each eye like a great mill-wheel, and glowing
brighter than a glass furnace, must not on
^\\y account be
dismayed by them. On the contrary, he miist attack and fall
upon them with a gallant bearing and a fearless heart, and, if
possible, vanquish and destroy them, even though they have
for armor the shells of a certain fish, that they say are harder
than diamonds, and in place of swords wield trenchant Ijlades
of Damascus steel, or clubs studded with spikes also of steel,
such as I have more than once seen. All this I say, house-
keeper, that you may see the difference there is between the
one sort of knight and the other ; and it would be well if there
were no prince who did not set a higher value on this second,
or more properly speaking first, kind of knights-errant ; for, as
we read in their histories, there have been some among them
who have been the salvation, not merely of one kingdom, but
of many."
"
Ah, senor," here exclaimed the niece,
"
remember that all
this you are saying about knights-errant is fable and fiction
;
and their histories, if indeed they were not burned, would de-
serve, each of them, to have a sanbenito ' put on it, or some
mark by which it might be known as infamous and a corrupter
of good manners."
"
By the God that gives me life," said Don Quixote,
"
if thou
wert not my full niece, being daughter of my own sister, I
would inflict a chastisement upon thee for the blasphemy thou
liast uttered that all the Avorld should ring with. What ! can
it be that a young hussy that hardly knows how to handle a
dozen lace-bobbins
dares to wag her tongue and criticise the
histories of knights-errant
! What would Seiior Amadis say if
he heard of such a thing ? He, however, no doubt would for-
give thee, for he was the most humble-minded and courteous
knight of his time, and moreover a great protector of damsels
;
but some there are that might have heard thee, and it would
not have
been well for thee in that case ; for they are not all
'
The o:ariiient worn by penitents!, who have been tried bv the Inquisi-
tion and have
confessed.
CHAPTER VI. 39
courteous or mannerly ; some are ill-conditioned scoundrels
;
nor is it every one that calls himself a gentleman, that is so in
all respects.;
'
some are gold, others pinchbeck, and all look
like gentlemen, but not all can stand the touchstone of truth.
There are men of low rank who strain tliemselves to bursting
to pass for gentlemen, and high gentlemen who, one would
fancy, were dying to pass for men of low rank ; the former
raise themselves by their ambition or by their virtues, the
latter debase themselves by their lack of spirit or by their
vices
;
and one has need of experience and discernment to dis-
tinguish these two kinds of gentlemen, so much alike in name
and so different in conduct."
<'
God bless me
!
" said the niece,
"
that you should know so
much, uncle

enough, if need be, to get up into a pulpit and

go preach in the streets

and yet that you should fall into

a delusion so great and a folly so manifest as to try to make
yourself out vigorous when you are old, strong when you are
sickly, able to })ut straight what is crooked when you yourself
are bent by age, and, above all, a caballero when you are not
one
;
for though gentlefolk
-
may be so, poor men are nothing
of the kind !
"
"
There is a great deal of truth in Avhat you say, niece,'' re-
turned Don Quixote,
"
and I could tell you somewhat about
birth that would astonish you ; but not to mix up things
humane and divine, I refrain. Look you, my dears, all the
lineages in the world (attend to what I am saying) can be re-
duced to four sorts, which are these : those that had humble
beginnings, and Avent on spreading and extending themselves
until they attained surpassing greatness
;
those that had great
beginnings and maintained them, and still maintain and up-
hold the greatness of their origin
;
those, again, that from a great
beginning have ended in a point like a i)yraniid, having reduced
and lessened their original greatness till it has come to naught,
like the point of a pyramid, which, relatively to its base or
foundation, is nothing; and then there are those and it is
they that are the most numerous

that have had neither an

illustrious beginning nor a remarkable mid-course, and so will
have an end Avithout a name, like an ordinary plebeian line.
Of the first, those that had an humble origin and rose to the
'
The reader sliould Ijear in mind tliat caballero

"
kniglit
"

means
also "gentleman." It is in the latter sense that Cervantes uses the word
in the following passage, as the context will show.
'^
Hidalgos.
40
riON
QUIXOTE.
greatness
they
still
preserve,
the Ottoman house may serve as
an
exami^le,
which
from an
humble and lowly shepherd, its
founder,
has
reached
the height at which we now see it. For
examples
of the second
soi't
of lineage, that began with great-
ness and
maintains it still
without
adding to it, there are the
many
princes
who
have
inherited the dignity, and maintain
themselves
in their
inheritance,
Avithout increasing or dimin-
ishing it,
keeping
peacefully
within the limits of their states.
Of those that began
great and ended in a point, there are
thousands of examples,
for al] the Pharaohs and Ptolemys of
Egypt, the Offisars of Rome, and the whole herd (if I may ap-
ply such a
word to them) of countless princes, monarchs,
lords, Medes,
Assyrians, Persians, Greeks, and barbarians, all
these lineages and lordships have ended in a
point and eoine
to nothing, they themselves as
well as their founders, for it
would be impossible now to find one of their descendants, and,
even should Ave find one, it would be in some lowly and hum-
ble condition. Of plebeian lineages I have nothing to say,
save that they merely serve to swell the number of those that
live, without any eminence to entitle them to any fame or
praise beyond this. From all I have said I would have you
gather, my poor innocents, that great is the confusion among
lineages, and that only those are seen to be great and illustri-
ous that show themselves so by the virtue, wealth, and gen-
erosity of their possessors. I have said virtue, wealth, and
generosity, because a great man who is vicious will be a great
example of vice, and a rich man who is not generous will be
merely a nuserly beggar ; for the possessor of wealth is not
made hap})y by possessing it, but by- spending it, and not by
spending as he pleases, but by knoAving how to spend it Avell.
The poor gentleman has no way of showing that he is a gentle-
man but by virtue, by being affable, Avell-bred, courteous, gen-
tle-mannered and kindly, not haughty, arrogant, or censorious,
but above all by being charitable ; for by two mrravedis given
with a cheerful heart to the poor, he will show himself as
generous as he Avho distributes alms with bell-ringing, and no
one that perceives him to be endowed Avith the virtues I have
named, even though he knoA\- him not, Avill fail to recognize
and set him doAvn as one of good blood; and it Avould be
strange Avere it not so
;
praise has ever been the reAvard of
virtue, and those Avho are virtuous can not fail to receive com-
mendation. There are tAvo roads, my daughters, by Avhich men
CHAPTER VI. 41
may reach wealth and honors ; one is that of letters, the other
that of arms. I have more of arms than of letters in my com-
position, and, judging by my inclination to arms, was born
nnder the inliuence of the planet Mars. I am, therefore, in a
measure constrained to follow that road, -and by it I must
travel in spite of all the w^orld, and it will be labor in vain for
you to urge me to resist wdiat Heaven wills, fate ordains, reason
requires, and, above all, my own inclination favors ; -for know-
ing as I do. the countless toils that are the accompaniments of
knight-errantry, I know, too, the infinite blessings that are at-
tained by it ; I know that the path of virtue is very narrow,
and the road of vice broad and spacious ; I know their ends
and goals are different, for the broad and easy road of vice
ends in death, and the narrow and toilsome one of virtue in
life, and not transitory life, but in that which has no end ; I
know, as our great Castilian poet says, that

It is by ruggod paths liko these tliey go

That scale the heights of iiimiortality,
Unreached by those that falter here below."'
'
"
Woe is me !
"
exclaimed the niece,
"
my lord is a poet, too !
He knows everything, and he can do everything ; I will bet,
if he chose to turn mason, he could make a house as easily as
a cage."
''
I can tell you, niece," replied Don Quixote,
"
if these chiv-
alrous thoughts did not engage all my faculties, there would
be nothing that I could not do, nor any sort of knick-knack
that would not come from my hands, particularly cages and
tooth-picks."
At this moment there came a knocking at the door, and
when they asked who was there, Sancho Panza made ansAver
that it was he. The instant the housekeeper knew who it was,
she ran to hide herself so as not to see him
;
in such abhorrence
did she hold him. The niece let liim in, and his master Don
Quixote came forward to receive him with open arms, and the
pair shut themselves up in his room, where they had another
conversation not inferior to the previous one.
'
Garcilaso de la Vega, elegy on the death of Don Bernardino de To-
ledo, brother of the Puke of Alva.
42
DON
QUIXOTE.
CHAPTER
YII.
OF WHAT
PASSED
BETWEEN
DON QUIXOTE
AND HIS SQUIRE,
TOGETHER
WITH OTHER
VERY
NOTABLE
INCIDENTS.
The instant the
liousekeeper
saw Sancho
Panza shut himself
in with her master, she guessed what they were about
;
and sus-
pecting that the
result of the
consultation
would be a resolve
to
undertake a third sally, she seized her mantle, and, in deep
anxiety and distress,
ran to find the
bachelor Samson Carrasco,
as she thought that, being a
well-spoken man, and a neAV friend
of her master's, he might be able to persuade him to give up
any such crazy notion. She found him pacing the patio of his
hoiise, and, the moment she saw him, she fell at his feet per-
spiring and flurried.
Carrasco, seeing how distressed and overcome she was, said to
her,
"
What is this, mistress housekeeper ? What has happened
you ? One would think you heart-broken."
"
]Srothing, Seiior Samson," said she,
"
only that my master
is breaking out, plainly breaking out."
"
Whereabouts is he breaking out, senora ?
"
asked Samson
;
"
has any part of his body bursi ?
"
"
Ho is only breaking out at the door of his madness," she
replied ;
"
I mean, dear seiior bachelor, that he is going to break
out again (and this Avill be the third time) to hunt all over the
world for what he calls ventures, though I can't make out why
he gives them that name.' The first time he was brought back
to us shmg across tlie back of an ass, and belabored all over
;
and the second time he came in an ox-cart, shut up in a cage,
in which he persuaded himself he was enchanted, and the poor
creature was in such a state that the mother that bore him would
not have known him ; lean, yellow, with eyes sunk deep in the
cells of his skull ; so that to bring him round again, ever so
little, cost me more than six hundred eggs, as God knows, and
all the world, and my hens too, that won't let me tell a lie."
"
That I can well believe," replied the bachelor,
"
for they
are so good and so fat, and so well-bred, that they would not
say one thing for another, though they were to burst for it.
In short then, mistress housekeeper, that is all, and there is
'
Venturas, which the housekeeper mistakes for aventuras, would mean
strokes of good fortune.
CHAPTER VII.
43
nothing the matter, except what it is feared Don Quixote may
do ?
"
''No, seiior," said she.
''
AYell then," returned the bachelor,
"
don't be uneasy, but
go home in peace
;
get me ready something hot for breakfast,
and while \o\\ are on the way say the prayer of Santa Apollo-
nia, that is if you know it ; for I will come presently and you
will see miracles.".
"
Woe is me," cried the housekeeper,
''
is it the prayer of
Santa Apollonia you would have me say ? That would do if
it was the toothache my master had ; but it is in the brains,
what he has got."
'
"
I know what I am saying, mistress housekeeper
;
go, and
don't set yourself to argue with me, for you know I am a bach-
elor of Salanmnca, and one can't be more of a bachelor than
that,'* replied Carrasco
;
and with this the housekeeper retired,
and the bachelor went at once to look for the curate, and
arrange with him what will be told in its proper place.
While Don Qvuxote and Sancho were shut up together, they
had a discussion which the history records with great preci-
sion and scrupulous exactness. Sancho said to his master,
"
Senor, I have educed my wife to let me go with your wor-
ship wherever you choose to take me."
"
Induced, you should say, Sancho," said Don Quixote ;
''
not
educed."
''
Once or twice, as well as I remember," replied Sancho,
"
I
have begged of your worship not to mend my words, if so be as
you understand what I uiean Ijy them ; and if you don't un-
derstand them to say,
'
Sancho,' or
'
devil,'
'
I don't understand
thee ; and if I don't make my meaning plain, then you may
correct me, for I am so focile
"
<'
I don't understand thee, Sancho," said Don Quixote at
once
;
''
for I know not what
'
I am so focile
'
means,
jj
"
' So focile
' means I am so much that Avay," replied
Saiicho.
"
I understand thee still less now," said Don Quixote.
"
Well, if you can't understand me," said Sancho.
"
I don't
know how to put it ; I know no more, God help me."
"
Oh, now I have hit it," said Don Quixote
;
"
thou wouldst
'
According to an old popular rhyme, Santa Apollonia complained of a
toothache to the Blessed \''irgin, who thereupon forbade any tooth, double
or single, ever to trouble her again. Tiie spell is alluded to in the Cdes-
tina^ act iv.
44
T>ON
QUIXOTE.
say
thou art so
docile,
tractable,
and
gentle that thou wilt take
what I say to
thee, and
submit to
what I teach thee.
"
I
would bet,"
said
Sancho,
"
tliat
from the very first you
understood
me, and
knew
what I
meant, but you wanted to put
me out that
you
might
hear me make
another couple of dozen
blunders."
'^
May be so,"
replied Don
Quixote ;
'
but to
come to the
point,
what does
Teresa say ?
"
"
Teresa says,"
replied
Sancho,
"
that I
should make sure
with
your worship, and 'let papers speak and beards be still,"'
for
'
he who binds does not
wrangle,'
-
since one
'
take
'
is better
than two
'
I
'11
give thee's
;
'
^
and I say a woman's advice is no
great things, and he who won't take it is a fool."
''
''And so say I," said Don Quixote;
"contiime, Sancho my
friend
;
go on
;
you talk
pearls to-day."
"
The
"
fact is," continued
Sancho,
"
that, as
your worship
knows better than I do, we are all of us liable to death, and
to-day we are, and to-morrow we are not, and the lamb goes as
soon as the sheep,'^ and nobody can promise himself more hours
of life in this world than God may be pleased to give him
:
for
death is deaf, and when it comes to knock at our life's door,
it is always urgent, and neither prayers, nor struggles, nor
sceptres, nor mitres, can keep it back, as common talk and re-
port say, and as they tell us from the pulpits every day."
"
All that is very true," said Don Quixote
;
"
but I can not
make out what thou art driving at."
"
What I am driving at," said Sancho,
"
is that your worship
settle some fixed wages for me, to be paid monthly while I am
in your service, and that the same be paid me out of your es-
tate : for I don't care to stand on rewards which either
come
late, or ill, or never at all ; God help me with my own.
In
short, I would like to know what I am to get, be it much or
little; for the hen will lay on one e^y^, and many littles make a
much, and so long as one gains something there is uot^iing
lost.*' To be sure, if it should happen (what I neither believe
'
Prov. 40
if you have a thing in writing, words are unnecessary.
'^Prov. 74

Qvieii destaja no barajd; always mistranslated

"
He who
cuts does not shutfle," which would be meaningless here. It has nothing
to do with cards. Destajnr
means to lay down conditions, to stipulate
;
Barajar certainly means to shuffle, to jumble things together, but in old
Spanish it meant also to wrangle or dispute.
^Prov. 227.
M'rov. 149.
"
Prov.
59, i.e. to the butcher.
s
Provs.
100, 141, and 11.
CHAPTER VIT. 45
nor expect) that your worship were to give me that island yon
have promised me, I am not so ungrateful nor so grasping but
that I would be willing to have the revenue of such island
valued and stopped out of my Avages in due promotion."
"
Sancho, my friend/' replied Don Quixote,
"
sometimes pro-
portion inay be as good as promotion.''
^
''
I see," said Sancho ;
"
I
'11
bet I ought to have said pro-
portion, and not promotion ; l^ut it is no matter, as your wor-
ship has understood me."'
"
And so well Tuiderstood," returned Don Quixote,
"
that I
have seen into the depths of thy thoughts, and know the mark
thou art shooting at with the countless shafts of thy proverbs.
Look here, Sancho, I would readily fix thy wages if I had ever
found any instance in the histories of the knights-errant to
show or indicate, by the slightest hint, what their squires used
to get monthly or yearly
;
but I have read all or the best part
of their histories, and I can not remembei- reading of any
knight-errant having assigned fixed wages to his squire
;
I only
know that they all served on reward, and that when they least
expected it, if good luck attended their masters, they found
themselves recompensed with an island or something e(]^uivalent
to it, or at the least they were left with a title and lordship.
If with these hopes and additional inducements yoii, Sancho,
please to return to my service, well and good ; but to suppose
that I am going to disturb or unhinge the ancient usage of
knight-errantry, is all nonsense. And so, my Sancho, get you
back to your house and explain my intentions to your Teresa,
and if she likes and you like to be on reward with me, bote
quidem ; if not, we remain friends ; for if the pigeon-house
does not lack food, it will not lack pigeons ;
'^
and bear in
mind, my son, that a good hope is better than a bad holding,
and a good grievance better than a bad compensation.^ I
speak in this Avay, Sancho, to show you that I can shower
down proverbs just as well as yourself ; and in short. I mean
to say, and I do say, that if you don't like to come on reward
'
The play upon the words here cannot be transhited. Sancho, blunder-
ing as usual, changes the common phrase i-ata
iwr
cantidad

" ratably,"
or "in proportion"

-into gata (cat)

i^or
caniidad, and Don Quixote cor-
rects him l)y saying,
"
a rat (rata) mav be sometimes as good as a cat."
^Prov. 169.
*
Provs. 97 and 197. In the second, Sheldon and Jervas mistranslate
queja "demand;" thereby weakening the force of a proverb, the truth
of which has been always recognized by politicians, diplomatists, and
agitators.
46
DON
QUIXOTE.
with me, and run the
Scame chance that I run, God be with you
and make a
saint
of you ; for I
shall find plenty of squires
niore
obedient
and
painstaking,
and not so
thick-headed or
talkative as you are."
When
Saiicho
heard his master's firm, resolute language, a
cloud
came over the sky with him and the wings of his heart
dropped,
for he had made sure that his master would not go
without him for all the wealth of the world
;
and as he stood
there
dumbfounded
and moody, Samson Carrasco came in with
the housekeeper a,nd niece, who were anxious to hear by what
arguments he was about to dissuade their master from going
to seek
adventures.
The arch wag Samson came forward, and
embracing him as he had done before, said with a loud voice,
"
flower of knight-errantry ! shining light of arms !
honor and mirror of the Spanish nation ! may God Almighty in
his infinite power grant that any person or persons, wlio would
impede or hinder thy third sally, may find no way out of the
labyrinth of their schemes, nor ever accomplish what they most
desire
!
"
And then, turning to the housekeeper, he said,
"
Mistress Housekeeper nuiy just as well give over saying the
prayer of Santa Apollonia, for, I know it is the positive deter-
mination of the spheres that Senor Don Quixote shall proceed
to put into execution his new and lofty designs ; and I should
lay a heavy burden on my conscience did I not urge and ]jer-
suade this l<;uight not to keep the nught of his strong arm and
the virtue of his valiant spirit any longer curbed and checked,
for by his inactivity he is defrauding the world of the redress
of wrongs, of the protection of orphans, of the honor of vir-
gins, of the aid of widows, and of the support of wives, and
other matters of this kind appertaining, belonging, proper and
peculiar to the order of knight-errantry. On, then, my Lord
Don Quixote, beautiful and brave, let your worship and high-
ness set out to-day rather than to-morrow ; and if anything
be needed for the execution of 3-our purpose, here am 1 ready
in person and purse to supply the want ; and were it requisite
to attend your magnificence as squire, I should esteem it the
rarest good fortune."
At this, Don Qiuxole, turning to Sancho, said, ''Did I not
tell thee, Sancho, there would be squires enough and to spare
for me
? See now Avho offers to become one
;
no less than the
illustrious
bachelor Samson Carrasco, the perpetual joy and
delight of the courts of the Salamancan schools, sound iu
CHAPTER VI
L
47
body, discreet, patient under heat or cold, hunger or thirst,
with all the qualifications requisite to make a knight-errant's
squire ! But Heaven forbid that, to gratify my own inclina-
tion, I should shake or shatter this pillar of letters and vessel
of the sciences, and cut down this towering palm of the fair
and liberal arts. Let this new Samson remain in his own
country, and, bringing honor to it, l)ring honor at the same
time on the gray heads of his venerable parents ; for I will
be content with any squire that comes to hand, as Sancho
does not deign to accompany me."
"
I do deign,"
said Sancho; deeply moved and with tears in
his eyes ;
''
it shall not be said of me, master mine," he con-
tinued, "'the bread eaten and the company dispersed.'^
Nay, I come of no ungrateful stock, for all the world knows,
but particularly my own town, who the Panzas from whom I
am descended were ; and, what is more, I know and have
learned, by many good words and deeds, your worship's desire
to show me favor
;
and if I have been bargaining more or
less about my wages, it was only to please my wife, who,
when she sets herself to press a point, no hammer drives the
hoops of a cask as she drives one to do what she wants; but,
after all, a man must be a man, and a woman a woman ; and
as I am a man anyhow, which I can't deny, I will be one in
my own house too, let who will take it amiss
;
and so there 's
nothing more to do but for your worship to make your will
with its codicil in such a way that it can't be provoked, and
let us set out at once, to save Senor Samson's soul from suf-
fering, as he says his conscience obliges him to persuade your
worship to sally out upon the world a third time
;
so I offer
again to serve your worship faithfully and loyally, as well and
better than all the squires that served knights-errant in times
past or present."
The bachelor was filled with amazement when he heard
Sancho's phraseology and style of talk, for though he had
read the first part of his master's history he never thought
that he could be so droll as he was there described
;
but now,
hearing him talk of a will and codicil that could not be pro-
voked, instead of will and codicil that could not be revoked,
he believed all he had read of him, and set him down as one
of the greatest simpletons of modern times
;
and he said to
himself that two such lunatics as master and man the worll

Prov. 174.
48
DON
QUIXOTE.
had
never
seen.
In
fine, Don
Quixote and
Sancho embraced
one
another
and
made
friends,
and by
the advice and with
the
approval
of the
great
Carrasco,
who was now their oracle,
it was
arranged
that
their
departure
should take place three
days
thence, by
which
time they could
have all tliat was
requisite
for the
journey ready,
and
procure a closed
helmet,
which Don
Quixote said he must by all means take.
Samson
offered
him
one, as he
knew a
friend of his who had it would
not refuse it to
him,
though it was more dingy with rust and
mildew than
blight and clean like burnished steel.
The curses
which V)oth
housekeeper
and niece poured out on
the
bachelor
were past counting;
they tore their hair, they
clawed their
faces, and in the style of the hired mourners that
were once in fashion,
they raised a
lamentation over^ the de-
parture of their master ami uncle, as if it had been his death.
Samson's
intention in
persuading him to sally forth once
more
was to do what the history relates farther on
;
all by the ad-
vice of the curate and barber, with whom he had
previously
discussed
the subject.
Finally, then, during those three days,
Don Quixote and Sancho provided themselves with what they
considered
necessary, and Sancho having pacified his wife, and
Don Quixote his niece and housekeeper, at nightfall, unseen by
any one except the bachelor, who thought fit to accom])any
them half a
league out of the village, they set out for El
Toboso, Don Quixote on his good Hocinante and Sancho on his
old Dapple, his alforjas furnished with certain matters in the
way of victuals, and his purse, with money that Don Quixote
gave him to meet emergencies. Samson embraced him, and
entreated him to let him hear of his good or evil fortunes, so
that he might rejoice over the former or condole with him over
the latter, as the laws of friendship required. Don Quixote
promised him he would do so, and Samson returned to the vil-
lage, and the other two took the road for the great city of El
Toboso.
CHAPTER VIIL 49
CHAPTER VIII.
WHEREI^Sr IS RELATED WHAT BEFELL DOX QUIXOTE OX HIS WAY
TO SEE KIS LADY DULCINEA DEL TOBOSO.
"
Blessed be Allah tlie all-powerfiil !
"
says Hamet Benengeli
on beginning this eighth chapter
;
''
blessed be Allah !
"
he re-
peats three times
;
and he says he ntters these thanksgivings
at seeing that he has now got Don Qnixote and Sancho fairly
afield, and that the readers of his delightful history may
reckon that the achievements and humors of Don Quixote and
his sqiure are now about to begin
;
and he urges them to forget
the former chivalries of the ingenious gentleman and to fix
their eyes on those that are to come, which now begin on the
road to El Toboso, as the others began on the })lains of Mon-
tiel ; nor is it much that he asks in consideration of all he
promises, and so he goes on to say :
Don Quixote and Sancho were left alone, and the moment
Samson took his departure, Eocinante began to neigh, and
Dapple to sigh, which, by both knight and squire, was accepted
as a good sign and a very happy omen
;
though, if the truth is
to be told, the sighs and brays of Dapple were louder than the
neighings of the hack, from which Sancho inferred that his
good fortune was to exceed and overtop that of his master,
building, perhaps, upon some judicial astrology that he may
have known, though the history says nothing about it; all that
can be said is, that when he stund>led or fell, he was heard to
say he wished he had not come out, for by stumbling or falling-
there was nothing to be got but a damaged shoe or a broken
rib ; and, fool as he was, he was not much astray in this.
Said Don Quixote,
"
Sancho, my friend, night is drawing on
upon us as we go, and more darkly than will allow us to reach
El Toboso by daylight ; for there I am resolved to go before I
engage in another adventure, and there I shall obtain the bless-
ing and generous permission of the peerless Dulcinea, with
which permission I expect and feel assured that I shall con-
clude and bring to a happy termination every perilous advent-
ure
;
for nothing in life makes knights-errant more valorous
than finding themselves favored by their ladies."
'^
So I believe," replied Sancho
;
"
but I think it will be dif-
ficult for your worship to speak with her or see her, at any
Vol. XL-
4
50
J^oK
QrrxoTE.
rate
where
you will be able to
receive her blessing
;
unless, in-
deed, she
throws it over the Avall of the yard where I saw her
the
time
before,
when I took her the letter that told of the
follies and
mad
things your-
worship was doing in the Sierra
Morena."
"
Didst thou
take that for a
yard wall, Sancho ?
"
said Don
Quixote,
"
where or at which thou sawest that never sufficiently
extolled grace and beauty ? It
must have been the gallery,
corridor, or portico of some rich and royal palace."
"
It might
have been all that,''
returned Sancho,
"
but to
me it looked like a wall, unless I am short of memory."
"
At all events, let us go there, Sancho," said Don Quixote
;
"
for, so that I see her, it is the same to me whether it be over
a
wall, or at a
window, or through the chink of a door, or the
grate of a garden
;
for any beam of the sun of her beauty that
reaches my eyes Avill give light to my reason and strength to
my heart, so that I shall be unmatched and unequalled in wis-
dom and valor."
"
Well, to tell the truth, senor," said Sancho,
'-
when I saw
that sun of the lady Dulcinea del Toboso, it was not bright
enough to throw out any beams at all ; it must have been, that
as her grace Avas sifting that wheat I told you of, the thick
dust she raised came before her face like a cloud and dimmetl
it."
"
AMiat ! dost thou still persist, Sancho," said Don Quixote,
"
in saying, thinking, believing, and maintaining that my lady
Dulcinea was sifting wheat, that being an occupation and
task entirely at variance with what is and should be the em-
ployment of persons of distinction, who are constituted and
reserved for other avocations and pursuits that show their rank
a bow-shot off ? Thou hast forgotten, Sancho, those lines
of our poet wherein he paints for us how, in their crystal
abodes, those four nymphs employed themselves who rose
from their loved Tagus and seated themselves in a verdant
meadow to embroider those tissues which the ingenious poet
there describes to us, how they were worked and woven with
gold and silk and pearls;^ and something of this sort must
have been the employment of my lady when thou sawest her,
only that the spite Avhich some wicked enchanter seems to have
against everything
of mine changes all those things that give
me pleasure, and turns them into shapes unlike their own; and
>
Garcilaso de la Vega. Egloga III.
CHAPTER VIII. 51
so I fear that in that history of jiiy achievements which they
say is now in print, if haply its author was some sage who is
an enemy of mine, he will have put one thing for another,
mingling a thousand lies with one truth, and amusing himself
by relating transactions which have nothing to do Avith the
sequence of a true history. envy, root of all countless evils,
and canker-worm of the virtues ! All the vices, Sancho, bring
some kind of pleasure with them
;
biit envy brings nothing ])ut
irritation, bitterness, and rage."
"
So I say too," replied Sancho
;
'
and I suspect in that legend
or history of us that the bachelor Samson Carrasco told us he
saw, my honor goes dragged in the dirt, knocked about, up
and down, sweeping the streets, as they say. And yet, on the
faith of an honest man, I never spoke ill of any enchanter,
and I am not so well off that I am to be envied
;
to be sure, I
am rather sly, and I have a certain spice of the rogue in me
;
1)ut all is covered by the great cloak of my simplicity, always
natural and never acted
;
^
and if I had no other merit save
that I believe, as I always do, firmly and truly in God, and all
the holy lionian Catholic Church holds and believes, and that
I am a mortal enemy of the Jews, as I am, the historians ought
to have mercy on me and treat me well in their Avritings.
l>ut let them say what they like
;
naked was I born, naked I
find myself, I neither lose nor gain
;
-
nay, while I see myself
put into a book and passed on from hand to hand all over the
world, I don't care a fig, let them say what they like of me."
"
That, Sancho," returned Don Quixote,
"
reminds me of
what happened to a famous poet of our own day, who, having
written a bitter satire against all the court ladies, did not in-
sert or name in it a certain lady of whom it was questionable
whether she was one or not. She, seeing she was not in the
list of the ladies, complained to the poet, asking him what he
had seen in her that he did not include her in the number of
the others, and telling him he must add to his satire and put
her in the new part, or else look out for the consequences.
The poet did as she bade him, and left her without a shred of
reputation, and she was satisfied by getting fame though it was
infamy. In keeping with this is what they relate of that shep-
herd who set fire to the famous temple of Diana, by repute one
'
Cid Hamet Benengeli might have objected with more reason to this
than to Sancho's si^eeches in chapter v.
2
Prov. 73.
52
DON
QUIXOTE.
of the seven Avonders of tlie world, and burned it with the sole
object of making his name live in after ages
;
and, though it
was forbidden to name him, or mention his name by word of
niouth or in writing, lest the object of his ambition should be
attained,
nevertheless it became known that he was called
Erostratus. And something of the same sort is what happened
in the case of the great emperor Charles V. and a gentleman
in Rome. The emperor was anxious to see that fanions temple
of the Rotondo, called in ancient times the temple
'
of all the
gods,'
^
but now-a-days, by a better nomenclature,
'
of all the
saints,' which is the best preserved building of all those of
pagan construction in Rome, and the one which best sustains
the reputation of the mighty works and magniiicence of its
founders. It is in the form of a half orange, of enormous
dimensions, and well lighted, though no light penetrates it save
that which is admitted b}^ a window, or rather round skylight,
at the top ; and it was from this that the emperor examined
the building. A Roman gentleman stood by his side and ex-
plained to him the skilful construction and ingenuity of the
vast fabric and its wonderful architecture, and when they had
left the skylight he said to the emperor,
'
A thousand times,
your Sacred Majesty, the impulse came upon me to seize your
Majesty in my arms and fling myself down from yonder sk}--
light, so as to leave behind me in the world a name that would
last forever.'
'
I am thankful to you for not carrying such an
evil thought into effect,' said the emperor,
'
and I shall give
you no opportunity in future of again putting your loyalty to
the test
; and I therefore forbid you ever to speak to me or to
be where I am
;
' and he followed up these words by bestowing
a liberal bounty upon him. My meaning is, Sancho, that the
desire of ac(piiring fame is a very })owerful motive. What,
thinkest thou, Avas it that flung Horatius in full armor doAvn
from the bridge into the depths of the Tiber ? What burned
the hand and arm of Mutius
''
AVhat impelled Curtius to
plunge into the deep burning gulf that opened in the midst of
Rome
'.'
AYhat, in
opposition to all the omens that declared
against him, made Julius Ctesar cross the Rubicon ? And to
come
to more modern examples, Avhat scuttled the ships, and
left
stranded
and cut off the gallant Spaniards under the com-
'
The
Pantlioon;
the ascent of tlie ilunie by Charles V. in ir>:5(i is
liistorical,
but none of the memoirs mention the story of the lloman
gentleman.
CHAPTER VIII.
53
mand of the courteous Cortes in the New AVorkl '/ All these
and a variety of other great exploits are, were, and will be, the
work of fame that mortals desire as a reward and a portion of
the immortality their famous deeds deserve
;
though we Catholic
Christians and knights-errant look more to that future gioiy
that is everlasting in the ethereal regions of heaven, than to the
vanity of the fame that is to be acquired in this present tran-
sitory life
;
a fame that, however long it may last, must after all
end with the world itself, which has its own appointed end.
So that, Sancho, in what we do we must not overpass the
bounds which the Christian religion we profess has assigned to
us. We have to slay pride in giants, envy by generosity and
nobleness of heart, anger by calmness of demeanor and equa-
nimity, gluttony and sloth by the spareness of our diet and the
length of our vigils, lust and lewdness by the loyalty we pre-
serve to those whom we have made the mistresses of our
thoughts, indolence by traversing the world in all directions
seeking opportunities of making ourselves, besides Christians,
famous knights. Such, Sancho, are the means by which we
reach those extremes of praise that fair fame carries with it."
'"
All that your worship has said so far," said Sancho,
"
I
have understood quite well
;
but still I would be glad if your
worship would dissolve a doubt for me, which has just this
minute come into my mind."
"
Solve, thou meanest, Sancho," said Don Quixote ;
"
say on,
in God's name, and I will answer as well as I can."
''Tell me, seflor," Sancho went on to say, "those Julys or
Augusts,^ and all those venturous knights that you say are now
dead

where are they now

".'
"
*'
The heathens," replied Don Quixote,
"
are, no douljt, in
hell ; the Christians, if they were good Christians, are either in
purgatory or in heaven."
"
Very good," said Sancho
;
"
but now I want to know

the
tombs where the bodies of those great lords are, have they
silver lamps before them, or are the walls of their chapels
ornamented with crutches, winding-sheets, tresses of hair, legs
and eyes in wax ? Or, if not, what are they ornamented
with ?
"
To which Don Quixote made answer :
"
The tombs of the
heathens were generally sumptuous temples
;
the ashes of Julius
Caesar's body were placed on the top of a stone pyramid of vast
'
Julio is
''
Juljf
"
as well as
"
JuUus."
54
DON
QUIXOTE.
size
which
they
now call in
Rome
Saint
Peter's needle.^ The
emperor
Hadrian
had
for a tomb a
castle as
large as a good-
sized
village,
which
they
called
the
Moles
Adriam, and is now
the
castle of St.
Angelo
in Rome.
The
qneen
Artemisia buried
her
husband
Mausolus
in a
tomb
which
was reckoned
one ot
the
seven
wonders
of the
world
;
but none of these tombs, or
of the many
others
of the
heathens,
were
ornamented
with
winding-sheets
or any
of those
other
offerings and tokens that
show that
they
who are
buried
there
are saints."
"
That 's the
point I 'm coming
to," said Sancho
;
" and now
tell me, which is the
greater
work, to bring a dead
man to life
or to kill a
giant
?
"

4.
"
Th
answer is easy,''
replied
Don
Quixote
;
"
it is a
greater
work to bring to life a dead
man."
''
Now I have got you,"
said Sancho
;
"
in that case the fame
of them Avho bring the dead to life, who give sight to the blind,
cure
cripples,
restore health to the sick, and before whose tombs
there are lamps
burning,
and whose chapels are filled with de-
vout folk on their knees adoring
their relics, will be a lietter
fame in this life and in the other, than that
which all the heathen
emperors and
knights-errant
that have ever been in the world
have left or may leave behind them ?
"
"
That I grant, too,"
said Don Quixote.
"
Then this fame, these
favors, these
privileges, or whatever
you call it," said Sancho,
'
belong to the bodies and relics of the
saints who, with the approbation and permission of our holy
mother Church, have lamps, tapers,
winding-sheets, crutches,
pictures, eyes and legs, by means of which they increase devo-
tion and add to their OAvn Christian reputation.
Kings carry
the bodies or relics of saints on their shoulders, and kiss bits
of their bones, and enrich and adorn their oratories and favorite
altars with them."
"
What wouldst thou have me infer from all thou hast said,
Sancho ?
"
asked Don Quixote.
"
My meaning is," said Sancho,
''
let us set about becoming
saints, and we shall obtain more quickly the fair fame Ave are
striving after ; for you knoAv, senor, yesterday or the day before
yesterday (for it is so lately one may say so) they canonized
and beatified tAvo little barefoot friars,'^ and it is noAV reckoned
'
The obelisk that now stamls in front of St. Peter's.
*
S. Diego fie Aleala, canonized in I08S, and S. Salvador de Orta, or
S. Pedro de Alcantara, in 1J3()2.
CHAPTER VIII. 55
the greatest good luck to kiss or touch, the iron chains with
which they girt and tortured their bodies, and the}^ are held in
greater veneration, so it is said, than the sword of Roland in
the armory of our lord the King, whom God preserve. So that,
sefior, it is better to be an humble little friar of no matter what
order, than a valiant knight-errant ; with God a couple of
dozen of penance lashings are of more avail than two thousand
lance-thrusts, be they given to giants^ or monsters, or dragons.''
"
All that is true,"' returned Don Quixote,
''
but we can not
all be friars, and many are the ways by which God takes his
o^\^l to heaven
;
chivalry is a religion, there are sainted knights
in glor3\"
"
Yes," said Sancho,
'
]:)ut I have heard say that there are
more friars in heaven than knights-errant."
"
That," said Don Quixote,
"
is because those in religious
orders are more numerous than knights."
"
The errants are many," said Sancho.
"
Many," replied Don Quixote,
"
but few they who deserve
the name of knights."
With these, and other dicussions of the same sort, they passed
that night and the following day, without anything worth men-
tion happening to them, wherer.t Don Quixote was not a little
dejectecl ; but at length the next day, at daybreak, they descried
the great city of El Toboso, at the sight of Avhich Don Quixote's
spirits rose and Sancho's fell, for he did not know Dulcinea's
house, nor in all his life had he ever seen her, any more than
his master
;
so that they were both imeasy, the one to see her,
the other at not having seen her, and Sancho was at a loss to
know what he was to do when his master sent him to El Toboso.
In the end, Don Quixote made up his mind to enter the city at
nightfall, and they waited until the time came among some
oak trees that were near El Toboso ; and Avhen the moment they
had agreed upon arrived, they made their entrance into the city,
where
something happened to them that may fairly be called
something.
56
DON
QUIXOTE.
CHAPTER IX.
WHEREIN IS RELATED WHAT
WILL BE SEEN THERE.
'T WAS at the very midnight hour
^

more or less

when
Don Quixote and Sancho quitted the wood and entered El To-
boso. The town was in deep silence, for all the inhabitants
were asleep, and stretclied on the broad of their backs, as the
saying is. The night was Jarkish, though Sancho would have
been glad liad it been quite dark, so as to find in the darkness
an excuse for his bhaidering. All over the place nothing was
to be heard except the barking of dogs, which deafened the ears
of Don Quixote and troubled the heart of Sancho. Now and
then an ass brayed, pigs grunted, cats mewed, and the various
noises they made seemed louder in the silence of tlie night
;
all
which the enamoured knight took to be of evil omen
;
never-
theless he said to Sancho,
"
Sancho, my son, lead on to the
palace of Dulcinea, it may be that Ave shall find her awake."
"
Body of the sun ! what palace am I to lead to," said Sancho,
"
when what I saw her highness in was only a very little
house ?
"
"
Most likely she had then withdrawn into some small apart-
ment of lier palace," said Don Quixote,
'
to amuse herself with
her damsels, as great ladies and princesses are accustomed to
do."
"
Seuor," said Sancho,
"
if your worshij) will have it in spite
of me that the house of my lady Dulcinea is a palace, is this an
hour, think you, to find the door open
;
and will it be right for
us to go knocking till they hear us and open the door
;
making
a disturbance and confusion all through the household ? Are
we going, do you fancy, to the house of our wenches, like gal-
lants who come and knock and go in at any hour, however late
it may be ?
"
''
Let us first of all find out the palace for certain," re})lied
Don Quixote,
''
and then I will tell thee, Sancho, what we had
'
Media noche era por
filo

the beginning of the ancient ballad of

Conde Claros.
Ticknor,
a propos of this ballad, makes a strange mis-
take, assuming that the words por
filo
refer to some early contrivance for
measuring time, and therefore indicate
a date Ijefore Die invention of
clocks. Filo here is the line marked on a balance, by a\ hich the deviation
of the index to one side or the other is observed ; and por
filo
means noth-
ing
more than "exactly," or
"
on the very line of midnight."
CHAPTER IX.
57
best do ; but look, Sant'ho, for either I see badly, or that great
dark mass that one sees from here should be Uulcinea's palace.''
"
Then let your worship lead the way," said Sancho
;
"
per-
haps it may be so ; though I see it with my eyes and touch it
with my hands, I
'11
believe it as much as I believe it is daylight
now."
Don Quixote took the lead, and having gone a matter of two
hiuidred paces he came upon the mass that produced the shade,
and found it was a great tower, and then he perceived that the
building in question was no palace, but the chief church of the
town,^ and said he,
'^
It 's the church we have lit upon, Sancho."
''
So I see," said Sancho,
"
and God grant we may not liglit
u])(m our graves
;
it is no good sign to find one's self Avanderiug
in a graveyard at this time of night ; and that, after my telling
your worship, if I don't mistake, that the house of this lady
will be in an alley without an outlet."
"
The curse of God on thee for a l)lockhead !
"
said Don
Quixote
;
^'
where hast thou ever heard of castles and royal
palaces being built in alleys without an outlet ?
"
''
Seilor," replied Sancho,
''
every country has a way of its
own
;
^
perhaps here in El Toboso it is the way to build palaces
and grand Ijuildings in alleys
;
so I entreat your worshi}) to let
me search about among these streets or alleys before nu", and
perhaps, in some corner or other, I may stumble on this
palace

and I wish I saw the dogs eating it for leading us

such a dance."
"
Speak respectfully of what belongs to my lady, Sancho,"
said Don Quixote; "let us keep the feast in peace, and not
throw the rope after the bucket."
^
''
I
'11
hold my tongue," said Sancho,
"
but how am I to take
it patiently when your worship wants me, with only once see-
ing the house of our mistress, to know it always, and fiiul it in
the middle of the night, when your worship cau"t find it, who
must have seen it thousands of times ?
"
"
Thou wilt drive me to desperation, Sancho," said Don
(Quixote.
"
Look here, heretic, have I not told thee a thousand
times that I have never once in my life seen the peerless Dul-
cinea or crossed the threshold of her palace, and that I am
enamoured solely by hearsay and l)y the great reputation she
bears for beauty and discretion ?
"
'
As a matter of fact the church tower of El Toboso is an tuiusually
massive and conspicuous one.
2
Prov. 235.
3
Pj-ov. 2I8.
58
DON
QUIXOTE.
"
I hear it
now,"
returned
Sanclio
;
"
and I may tell you
that
if you have
not seen her, no more have I."
"
That can not be,*' said Don Quixote,
"
for, at any rate, thou
saidst,
on bringing back the answer to the letter I sent by thee,
that thou
sawest her sifting wheat."
"
Don't mind that, sefior,"' said Sancho ;
"
I must tell you
that my seeing her and the answer I brought you back were
by
hearsay too, for I can no more tell Avho the lady Dulcinea
is than I can hit the sky."
'^
Sancho,
Sancho," said Don Quixote,
''
there are times for
jests, and times when jests are out of place ;
if I tell thee that
I have neither seen nor spoken to the lady of my heart, it is no
reason why thou shouldst say thou hast not spoken to her or
seen her, Avhen the contrary is the case, as thou well knowest."
While the two were engaged in this conversation, they per-
ceived some one with a pair of nniles ai)})roaching the spot
where they stood, and from the noise the plough made as it
dragged along the ground they guessed him to be some laborer
who had got up before daybreak to go to his work, and so it
proved to be. He came along singing the ballad that sa3^s

111 did ye fare, ye men of France,

In Roncesvalles chase
'
"
May I die, Sancho," said Don Quixote, when he heard him,
'^
if any good will come to us to-night ! Dost thou not hear
what that clown is singing ?
"
"
I do," said Sancho,
"
but what has Roncesvalles chase to
do with what we have in hand ? He might just as well be
singing the ballad of Calainos,^ for any good or ill that can
come to us in our business."
By this time the laborer had come up, and Don Quixote asked
him,
"
Can you tell me, worthy friend, and God speed you.
whereabouts here is the palace of the peerless princess Doiia
Dulcinea del Toboso ?
"
'
" Mala la hubistes, Franceses,
La caza de Roncesvalles
"
the beginning of one of the most popular of the ballads of the Carlovingian
cycle. Lockhart has in liis own fashion given the substance of it in The
Admiral
Guarinos. The correct form of the first line is
"
Mala la vistes,
Franceses."
-
Another even more popular ballad of the same group, beginning
"
Ya
cabalga Calainos." Both are in the undated Cancionero of Antwerp, and
in Uuran's Eomancero, Nos. 4:02 and 373.

CHAPTER IX. 59
"
Senor," replied the lad,
"
I am a stranger, and I have been
only a few days in tlie town, doing farm work for a rich farmer.
In that house opposite there live the curate of the village and
the sacristan, and both or either of theui will l)e able to give
your worship some account of this lady princess, for they have
a list of all the people of El Toboso
;
though it is my belief
there is not a princess living in the whole of it; many ladies
there are, of quality, and in her own house each of them may
be a princess."
"Well, then, she I am incpuring for will be one of these, my
friend," said Don Quixote.
"
May be so," replied the lad ;
'
God be with you, for here
comes the daylight;
"
and without waiting for any more of liis
questions, he whipped on his nudes.
Sancho, seeing his master downcast and somewhat dissatis-
fied, said to him,
"
Seiior, daylight Avill be here before long,
and it will not do for us to let the sun find us in the sti'eet ; it
will be better for us to quit the city, aiul for your worship to
hide in some forest in the neighborhood, and I will come bactk
in the daytime, and I won't leave a nook or corner of the whoh^
village that I won't search for the house, castle, or jtalace. of
my lady, and it will be hard luck for me if I don't find it; and
as soon as I have found it I will speak to her grace, and tell
her where and how your worshi}) is waiting for her to aTraiige
some plan for you to see her without any damage to her honor
and reputation."
"Sancho," said Don Quixote, "thou hast delivered a thou-
sand sentences condensed in the compass of a few words ; I
thank thee for the advice thou hast given me, and take it nu)st
gladly. Come, my son, let us go look for some place where I
may hide, while thou dost return, as thou sayest, to seek, see,
and speak with my lady, from whose discretion and courtesy
1 look for favors more than miraculous."
Sancho was in a fever to get his master out of the town, lest
he should discover the falsehood of the reply he had brought
to him in the Sierra Morena on behalf of Dulcinea : so he
hastened their departure, which they took at once ; and two
miles out of the village they found a forest or thicket wherein
Don Quixote ensconced himself, while Sancho returned to the
city to speak to Dulcinea, in Avhich embassy things befell him
which demand fresh attention and a new chapter.
60
DON
QUIXOTE.
CHAPTER
X.i
WHEREIX IS
RELATED THE CRAFTY DEVICE SANCHO ADOPTED
TO ENCHANT THE LADY
DULCINEA, AND OTHER INCIDENTS
AS LUDICROUS AS THEY ARE TRUE.
The history relates that as soon as Don Quixote had en-
sconced liiniself in the forest, oak grove, or wood near El
Toboso, he bade Sancho retu-n to the city, and not come into
his presence again without having first spoken on his behalf to
his lady, and begged of her that it might be her good pleasure
to permit herself to be seen by her enslaved knight, and deign
to bestow her l)lessing upon him, so that he might thereby hope
for a happy issue in all his encounters and difficult enterprises.
Sancho rmdertook to execute the task according to the instruc-
tions, and to bring back an answer as good as the one he
brought back before.
"Go, my son," said Don Quixote, "and be not dazed Mhen
thou findest thyself exposed to the light of that sun of beauty
thou art going to seek. Happy thou, above all the squires in
the world ! Bear in mind, and let it not escape thy memory,
how she receives thee ; if she changes color while thou art
giving her my message
;
if she is agitated and disturbed at
hearing my name; if she can not rest upon her cushion, shouldst
thou haply find her seated in the sumptuous state-chamber
proper to her rank; and should she be standing, observe if
she poises herself now on one foot, now on the other ; if she
repeats two or three times the reply she gives thee ; if she
passes from gentleness to austerity, from asperity to tender-
ness
;
if she raises her hand to smooth her hair though it be
not disarranged. In short, my son, observe all her actions
and motions, for if thou wilt repoit them to me as they were,
1 will gather Avhat she hitles in the recesses of her heart as
regards my love
;
for I would have thee know, Sancho, if thou
knowest it not, that with lovers

the outward actions and
motions they give way to when their loves are in question,
are the faithful messengers that carry the news of what is
going on in the depths of their hearts.
Go, my friend, may
'
In the origiiiiil editions this chapter 1)egin!S with thi- words wliich will
l)e found at tlie heginning of cliapter xvii. As ilartzenbusch points out,
they are quite out of place here.
CHAPTER X. 61
better fortune than mine attend thee, and bring thee a happier
issue than that which I await in dread in this dreary soli-
tude."
"
I will go and return quickly," said Sancho
;
"
cheer up that
little heart of yours, master mine, for at the present moment
you seem to have got one no bigger than a hazel nut; re-
member what they say, that a stout heart breaks bad luck,^
and that where there are no flitches there are no pegs
;
-
and
moreover they say, the hare jumps up where it 's not looked
for.^ I say this because, if we could not find my lady's palaces
or castle to-night, now that it is daylight I count u})on finding
them when I least expect it, and once found, leave it to me to
manage her."
"Verily, Sancho," said Don Quixote, "thou dost always
bring in thy proverbs happily, whatever we deal with ; may
God give me better luck in what I am anxious about."
With this, Sancho wheeled about and gave Dapple the stick,
and Don Quixote remained behind, seated on his horse, resting
in his stirrups and leaning on the end of his lance, filled with
sad and troubled forebodings
;
and there we will leave him,
and accompany Sancho, who went off no less serious and
troubled than he left his master ; so much so, that as soon as
he had got out of the thicket, and looking round saw that Don
Quixote was not within sight, he dismounted from his ass, and
seating himself at the foot of a tree began to commune with
himself, saying, "Now, brother Sancho, let us know where
your worship is going. Are you going to look for some ass
that has been lost ? Not at all. Then what are you going to look
for ? I am going to look for a princess, that 's all ; and in her
for the sun of beauty and the whole heaven at once. And
where do you expect to find all this, Sancho ? Where ? Why,
in the great city of El Toboso. Well, and for whom are you
going to look for her ? For the famous knight Don Quixote
of La Mancha, who rights wrongs, gives food to those who
thirst and drink to the hungry. That 's all very well, but do
you know her house, Sancho ? My master says it will be
some royal palace or grand castle. And have you ever seeii
her by any chance ? Neither I nor my master ever saw her.
And does it strike you that it would be just and right if the El
Toboso people, finding out that you were here with the intention
'
Prov. 58.
^
A muddle by Sancho of the proverb
(226)
so often quoted.
3
Prov. 129.
62
DON
QUIXOTE.
of going to tamper
with tlieir
princesses
and trouble then-
ladies, were to come and cudgel
your ribs, and not leave a whole
bone in yon ? They
would, indeed, have very good reason, if
they did not see that I am under orders, and that
' you are a
messenger, my
friend, no
blame belongs to you.'
^
Don't you
trust to that, Sancho, for the
Manchegan folk are as hot-
tempered as they are honest, and won't put up with liberties
from anybody. By the Lord, if they get scent of you, it will
1)6 worse for you, I promise you. Be off, you scoundrel
!
Let
the bolt fall.- Why shoidd T go looking for three feet on a
cat,^ to please another man
;
and what is more, when looking
for Dulcinea will be like looking for Marica in Eabena, or the
bachelor in Salamanca ?
*
The devil, the devil and nobody else,
has mixed me up in this business !
"
Such was the soliloquy Sancho held with himself, and all
the conclusion he could come to was to say to
himself again,
"Well, there's a remedy for everything except death
,^ under
whose yoke we have all to pass, whether we like it or not,
Avhen life 's finished. T have seen by a thousand signs that
this master of mine is a madman fit to be tied, and for that
matter, I too, am not behind him
;
for I 'm a greater fool than
he is when I follow him and serve him, if there's any truth in
the proverb that says.
'
Tell nie Avhat company thou keepest, and
I
'11
tell thee Avhat thou art,' or in that other,
'
Xot with whom
thou art bred, but with whom thou art fed.'*' Well then, if he
be mad, as he is, and with a madness that mostly takes one
thing for another, and white for black, and black for white, as
was seen when he said the windmills were giants, and the
monks' mules dromedaries, and the flocks of sheep armies of
enemies, and much more to the same tune, it will not be very
hard to' make him believe that some country girl, the first I
come across here, is the lady Dulcinea ; and if he does not be-
lieve it, I
'11
swear it ; and if he should swear, I
'11
swear again
;
and if he persists, I'll persist still more, so as, come what may,
'
Two lines from one of the Bermirdodel Carpio ballads,
"
Con cartas
y
nien.sugeros." {Cancionero de Romances., 1550.)
^
Prov. 199 ; literally and in full the phrase runs,
"
Fall, thunderbolt,
yonder on Tamayo's house "

meaning, it is all the same to me, pro-

vided it does not fall on mine.
3
Prov. 103.
^
Prov. 134. As bachelors swarm in Salamanca, to go there looking for
the bachelor, with no other address, would be tlie height of hopelessness.
*
Prov. 144. sprovg,
13 153_
CHAPTER X.
63
to have my quoit always over the peg. Maybe, by hohling out
in tliis way, I may put a stop to his sending me on messages
of this kind another time ; or maybe he will think, as I
suspect he will, that one of those wicked enchanters, who he
says have a spite against him, has changed her form for the
sake of doing him an ill tiirn and injuring him."
With this reflection Sancho nuxde his mind easy, counting
the business as good as settled, and stayed there till the after-
noon so as to make Don Quixote think he had time enough to
go to El Toboso and return
;
and things turned out so luckily
for him that as he got i;p to mount Dapple, he spied, coming
from El Toboso towards the spot where he stood, three peasant
girls on three colts, or fillies

for the author does not make

the point clear, though it is more likely they were she-asses,
the usual moimt with village girls ; but as it is of no great
consequence, we need not stop to prove it.
To be brief, the instant Sancho saw the peasant girls, he
returned full speed to seek his master, and found him sighing
and uttering a thousand passionate lamentations. When Don
Quixote saw him he exclaimed,
"
What news, Sancho my friend ?
Am I to mark this day with a white stone or a black ?
"
"
Your worship," replied Sancho,
''
had better mark it with
ruddle, like the lists on the professors' chairs,-^ that those who
see it may see it plain."
"
Then thou bringest good news," said Don Quixote.
"
So good," replied Sancho,
"
that your worship has only to
spur Rocinante and get out into the open field to see the lady
Dulcinea del Toboso, who, with two others, damsels of hers, is
coming to see your worship."
"
Holy God ! what art thou saying, Sancho my friend
?
"
exclaimed Don Quixote.
"
Take care thou art not deceiving
me, or seeking by false joy to cheer my real sadness."
''
What could I get hj deceiving yoiu' worship," returned
Sancho,
"
especially when it will so soon be shown whether I
tell the truth or not ? Come, sefior, push on, and you will
see the princess our mistress coming, robed and adorned

in
fact, like what she is. Her damsels and she are all one glow
of gold, all bunches of pearls, all diamonds, all rubies, all cloth
of brocade of more than ten borders
;
'^
with their hair loose on
their shoulders like so many sunbeams playing with the wind
;
'
i.e., the lists of bachelors qualified for degrees.
^
Ordinary brocade had only a triple border.
64
DON
QUIXOTE.
and
moreover,
tliey
come mounted on three piebald cackneys,
the
finest sight
ever you saw."
"
Hackneys,
you mean, Sancho," said Don Quixote.
"
There is not much
difference between cackneys and liack-
neys,"
'
said
Sancho
;
"
but no matter what they come on, there
tliey are, the finest ladies one could wish for, especially my
lady the
princess
Dulcinea, who staggers one's senses."
""
Let us go, Sancho my son," said Don Quixote,
"
and in
guerdon of this news, as unexpected as it is good, I bestow
upon thee the best spoil I shall win in the first adventure I
may have ; or if that does not satisfy thee, I promise thee the
foals I
shall have this year from my three mares that thou
knowest are in foal on our village common."
"
I
'11
take the foals," said Sancho ;
"
for it is not quite cer-
tain that the spoils of the first adventure will be good ones."
By this time they had cleared the Avood, and saw the three
village lasses close at hand. Don Quixote looked all along the
road to El Toboso, and as he could see nobody except the three
peasant girls, he was completely puzzled, and asked Sancho if
it was outside the city he had left them.
''
How outside the city
?
" returned Sancho.
'*
Are your
worship's eyes in the back of your head, that you can't see
that they are these who are coming here, shining like the very
sun at noonday ?
"
"
I see nothing, Sancho," said Don Quixote,
"
but three
country girls on three jackasses."
"
Now, may God deliver me from the devil
!
" returned
Sancho,
"
and can it be that your worship takes three hackneys

or whatever they 're called

as white as the driven snow,

for jackasses ? By the Lord, 1 could tear my beard if that
was the case !
"
"
Well, I can only say, Sancho my friend," said Don
Quixote, "that it is as plain they are jackasses or jenny-
asses

as that I am Don Quixote, and thou Sancho Panza :

at any rate, they seem to me to be so."
"
Hush, seilor," said Sancho,
"
don't talk that way, but open
your eyes, and come and pay your respects to the lady of your
thoughts, who is close upon us now
;
" and Avith these words
he advanced to receive the three village lasses, and dismount-
^
Sancho perverts the word hacaiieas
into cananeas, which, if it means
anything, means
"
Canaanites."
Possibly Cervantes may have intentU^d
ii joke on tlie supposed Oriental
origin of the ass, like that in the English
slang title ''Jerusalem pony."
DON QUIXOTE MEETS THREE COUNTRY V^ENCHES. Vol. 2.
Page 65.
J
CHAPTER X. 65
ing from Dapple, caught hold of one of the asses of the three
country girls by the halter, and dropping on both knees on the
ground, he said,
"
Queen and princess and duchess of beauty,
may it please your haughtiness and greatness to receive into
your favor and good-Avill your captive knight who stands there
turned into marl)le stone, and quite stupehed and benumbed at
finding himself in your magnificent presence. I am Sancho
Panza, his squire, and he the vagabond knight Don Quixote of
La Mancha, otherwise called
'
The Knight of the Rueful
Countenance.'
"
Don Quixote had by this time placed himself on his knees
beside Sancho, and, with eyes starting out of his head and a
puzzled gaze, was regarding her whom Sancho called queen
and lady ; and as he could see nothing in her except a village
lass, and not a very well-favored one, for she was platter-
faced and snub-nosed, he was perplexed and bewildered, and
did not venture to open his lips. The country girls, at the
same time, were astonished to see these two men, so different
in appearance, on their knees, preventing their companion
from going on. She, however, who had been stopi)ed, breaking
silence, said angrily and testily,
"
Get out of the way, bad
luck to you, and let us pass, for we are in a hurry."
To which Sancho returned,
"
Qh, princess and universal lady
of El Toboso, is not your magnanimous heart softened by seeing
the i)illar
and prop of knight-errantry on his knees before your
sublimated presence ?
"
On hearing this, one of the others exclaimed,
"
Woa then !
why, I 'm rubbing thee down, she-ass of my father-in-law !
^
See how the lordlings come to make game of the village girls
now, as if we here could not chaff as well as themselves. Go
your own way, and let us go ours, and it will Ije better for
you."
''
Get up, Sancho," said Don Quixote at this ;
"
I see that
fortune,
'
with evil done to me unsated still,'
'^
has taken pos-
^
Jo ! que te estrego^ hurra de tni suegro ! In all the translations I
have seen, this exclamation is either omitted or misunderstood. Shelton
and Jervas suppose it to be addressed by the girl to the ass she is riding.
It is in reality a popular phrase (as may be perceived by the rhyme), and
commonly used wlien a person takes amiss something that is intended as a
favor or a compliment. The girl uses it here ironically, fancying that
Sanclio's complimentary language is, as we should say, "chaff," and striv-
ing to pay him off in his own coin.
^
A line from Garcilaso de la Vega, Egloga III.
Vol. II.

5
66
DON
QUIXOTE.
session of all the roads by
wliieli any comfort may reach this
wretched soul that I carry in my flesh. And thou, highest
perfection of excellence that can be desired, utmost limit of
grace in human shape, sole relief of this afflicted heart that
adores thee, though the malign
enchanter that perseciites me
has brought clouds and cataracts on my eyes, and to them, and
them only, transformed thy
unparagoned beauty and changed
thy features into those of a poor peasant girl, if so be he has
not at the same time changed mine into those of some monster
to render thein loathsome in thy sight, refuse not to look upon
me with tenderness and love ; seeing in this subiuission that
I nuike on my knees to thy transformed beauty, the humility
with Avhich my soul adores thee."
"
Hey-day ! My grandfather !
"
cried the girl ;
"
much 1 carc^
for your love-making ! Get out of the way and let us pass,
and Ave
'11
thank you."
Sancho stood aside and let her go, very well pleased to have
got so well out of the hobble he was in. The instant the
village lass who had done duty for Dulcinea found herself free,
prodding her cackney with a spike she had at the end of a
stick, she set off at full speed across the field. Tlie ass, how-
ever, feeling the point more acutely than usual, began cutting
such capers, that it flung the lady Dulcinea to the ground
;
seeing which, Don Quixote ran to raise her u]i, and Sancho to
fix and girth the pack-saddle, which also had slipped under the
ass's belly. The pack-saddle being secured, as Don Quixote
was about to lift up his enchanted mistress in his arms and
put her upon her beast, the lady, getting up from the ground,
saved him the trouble, for, going back a little, she took a short
run, and putting both hands on the croup of the ass she dro})ped
into the saddle more lightly than a falcon, and sat astride like
a man, whereat Sancho said,
"
Koque
!
' but our lady is lighter
than a lanner, and might teach the cleverest Cordovan or
Mexican how to mount ; she cleared the back of the saddle in
one jump, and without spurs she is making the hackney go
like a zebra
;
and her damsels are no way behind her, for they
all fly like the wind;"
which was the truth, for as soon as
they saw Dulcinea
mounted, they pushed on after her, and
sped away Avithout looking
back, for more than half a league.
Don Quixote
followed them with his eyes, and when they
were no longer in sight, he turned to Sancho and said,
'<
How
'
V. note
1, p. 22, cliapter iv. vol. i.
CHAPTER X. 67
noAv, Sanclio ? thou seest how I am hated by enchanters ! And
see to what a length the malice and spite they bear me go,
when they seek to deprive me of the happiness it would give
me to see my lady in her own proper form. The fact is, I was
born to be an example of misfortune, and the target and mark
at which the arrows of adversity are aimed and directed. Ob-
serve too, Sancho, that these traitors were not content with
changing and transforming my Dulcinea, but they transformed
and changed her into a shape as mean and ill-favored as that.
of the village girl yonder
;
and at the same time they robbed
her of that which is such a peculiar property of ladies of dis-
tinction, that is to say, the sweet fragrance that comes of be-
ing always among perfumes and flowers. For I must tell thee,
Sancho, that when I approached to put Dulcinea upon her
hackney (as thou sayest it was, though to me it appeared a she-
ass), she gave me a whiff of raw garlic that made my head reel,
and poisoned my very heart."
"
scum of the earth !
"
cried Sancho at this,
"
miserable,
spiteful enchanters ! that I could see you all strung l)y the
gills, like sardines on a twig ! Ye know a great deal, ye can
do a great deal, and ye do much harm. It ought to have been
enough for you, ye scoundrels, to have changed the pearls of
my lady's eyes into oak galls, and her hair of purest gold into the
bristles of a red ox's tail, and, in short, all her features from
fair to foul, without meddling with her smell ; for by that we
miarht somehow have found out what was hidden underneath
that ugly rind
;
though, to tell the truth, I never perceived her
ugliness, but only her beauty, which was raised to the highest
pitch of perfection by a mole she had on her right lip, like a
mustache, with seven or eight red hairs like threads of gold,
and more than a palm long."
"
From the correspondence which exists between those of the
face and those of the body," said Don Quixote, "Dulcinea must
have another mole resembling that on the thick of the thigh on
that side on which she has the one on her face : but hairs of
the length thou hast mentioned are very long for moles."
"
Well, all I can say is there they were as plain as could be,"
replied Sancho.
"
I believe it, my friend," returned Don Quixote ;
''
for
nature bestowed nothing on Dulcinea that was not perfect and
well-finished
;
and so, if she had a hundred moles like the one
thou hast described, in her they would not be moles, but moons
68
DON
QUIXOTE.
and
sinning stars.
But
tell me,
Sancho,
that
which seemed to
me to be a
pack-saddle as thou
wert
fixing it, was it a
flat-saddle
or a
side-saddle
?
"
..
'<
It was
neither,"
replied
Sancho,
"
but a ]ineta saddle,^
with
a
field covering
worth
half a
kingdom,
so rich is it."
"
And that I could
not see
all this,
Sancho
!
"
said Don
Quixote ;
"
once
more I say,
and
will say a
thousand
times, I
am the most
unfortunate
of men."
Sancho, the
rogue,
had
enough to do to
hide his
laughter, at
hearing the
simplicity
of the
master he had so nicely
befooled.
At length, after a
good
deal more
conversation
had passed be-
tween them, they
remounted
their beasts,
and followed the
road to Saragossa,
Avhich they
expected to
reach in time to
take part in a
certain
grand
festival
which is held every year
in that illustrious city;
but before they
got there things
happened to them, so many, so
important, and so strange,
that they deserve to be
recorded and read, as
will be seen
farther on.
CHAPTER
XI.
OF THE STRANGE
ADVENTURE WHICH THE VALIANT DON QUI-
XOTE HAD WITH THE CAR OR CART OF "THE CORTES OF
DEATH."
Dejected beyond measure did Don Quixote
pursue his jour-
ney, turning over in his mind the cruel trick the
enchanters
had played him in changing his lady Dulcinea into the vile
shape of the village lass, nor could he think of any way of
restoring her to her original form ; and these
reflections so ab-
sorbed him, that without being aware of it he let go
Rocinante's
bridle, and he, perceiving the liberty that was granted
him,
stopped at every step to crop the fresh grass with which the
plain abounded.
Sancho recalled him from his revery.
"
Melancholy, senor,"
said he,
"
was made, not for beasts, but for men ;
but if men
give way to it overmuch they turn to beasts
;
control yourself,
your worship
;
be yourself again
;
gather up Eocinante's reins
;
cheer up, rouse yourself and show that gallant spirit that
knights-errant ought to have. What the devil is this ?
What
'
A saddle with a liigb pummel and cautle uud short stirrups.
CHAPTER XL 69
weakness is tliis ? Are we here or in France ? The devil fly
away
with all the Dulcineas in the world
;
for the well-being
of a single knight-errant is of more consequence than all the
enchantments and transformations on earth."
"
Hush, Sancho," said Don Quixote in a weak and faint
voice,
"
hush, I say, and utter no blasphemies against that
enchanted lady ; for I alone am to blame for her misfortune
and hard fate
;
her calamity has come of the hatred the wicked
bear me."
"
So say I," returned Sancho ;
"
his heart 't would rend in
twain, I trow, who saw her once, to see her now."
^
"
Thou mayest well say that, Sancho," replied Don Quixote,
''
as thou sawest her in the full perfection of her beauty ;
for
the enchantment does not go so far as to pervert thy vision or
hide her loveliness from thee ; against- me alone and against
my eyes is the strength of its venom directed. Nevertheless,
there is one thing which has occurred to me, and that is that
thou didst ill describe her beauty to me, for, as well as I
recollect, thou saidst that her eyes were pearls
;
but eyes that
are like pearls are rather the eyes of a sea-bream than of a
lady, and I am persuaded that Dulcinea's must b^ green
emeralds, full and soft, with two rainbows for eyebrows ;
take
away those pearls from her eyes and transfer them to her
teeth ; for beyond a doubt, Sancho, thou hast taken the one
for the other, the eyes for the teeth."
"
Very likely," said Sancho ;
"
for her beauty bewildered
me as much as her ugliness did your worship
;
but let us leave
it all to God, who alone knows what is to happen in this vale
of tears, in this evil world of ours, where there is hardly a
thing to be found without some mixture of wickedness, roguery,
and rascality. But one thing, seiior, troubles me more than
all the rest, and that is thinking what is to be done when your
worship conquers some giant, or some other knight, and orders
him to go and present himself before the beauty of the lady
Dulcinea. Where is this poor giant, or this poor wretch of a
vanquished knight, to find her ? I think I can see them
wandering all over El Toboso, looking like noddies, and ask-
ing for my lady Dulcinea ; and even if they meet her in the
middle of the street they won't know her any more than they
would my father."
"
Perhaps, Sancho," returned Don Quixote,
'^
the enchant-
'
A scrap, apparently, of some song.
70
BON
QUIXOTE.
ment does not go so far as to
deprive
conquered
and presented
giants and
knights of the
power of
recognizing^
Dulcinea
;
we
will try by
experiment
with one
or two of the iii'st I vanquish
and send to her,
whether they see her or not, by commanding
them to return and give me an
account of what happened to
them in this respect."
'^
I declare, I think what your
worship has proposed is ex-
cellent," said Sancho ;
"
and that by this plan we shall find
out what we want to know ; and if it be that it is only from
your worship she is hidden, %e
misfortune will be more yours
than hers
;
but so long as the lady Dulcinea is well and happy,
we on our part will make the best of it, and get on as
well as
we can,
seeking our adventures, and leaving Time to take his
own course ; for he is the best
physician for these and greater
ailments."
-
Don Quixote was about to reply to Sancho Panza, but he
was
prevented by a cart crossing the _road full of the most
diverse and strange
personages and figures that could be im-
agined. He who led the mules and acted as carter was a
hideous demon
;
the cart was open to the sky, without a tilt
or cane. roof,' and the first figure that presented itself to Don
Quixote's eyes was that of Death itself with a human face
;
next to it was an angel with large painted w^ngs, and at one
side an emperor, with a crown, to all appearance of gold, on
his head. At the feet of Death was the god called Cupid,
without his bandage, but with his bow, quiver, and arrows
;
there was also a knight in full armor, except that he had no
morion or helmet, but only a hat decked with plumes of divers
colors
;
and along with these there were others wdth a variety of
costumes and faces. All this, imexpectedly encountered, took
Don Quixote somewhat aback, and struck terror into the heart
of Sancho ; but the next instant Don Quixote was glad of it,
believing that some new perilous adventiire was presenting
itself to him, and under this impression, and with a
spirit
prepared to face any danger, he planted himself in front of
the cart, and in a loud and menacing tone, exclaimed,
"
Carter,
or coachman, or devil, or whatever thou art, tell me at once
who thou art, whither thou art going, and who these folk are
thou carriest in thy wagon, which looks more like Charon's
boat than an ordinary cart."
'
The zarzo, a framework of reeds or canes on which the tilt is stretched
in tlic country carts in Central and South Spain.
CHAPTER XL
71
To wliicli the devil, stopping the cart, answered quietly,
"
Senor, we are players of Angulo el Malo's
^
company
;
we
have been acting the play of
'
The Cortes of Death' this morn-
ing, which is the octave of Corpus Christi, in a village behind
that hill, and we have to act it this afternoon in that village
which you can see from this ; and as it is so near, and to save
the trouble of undressing and dressing again, we go in the
costumes in which we perform. That lad there appears as
Death, that other as an angel, that woman, the manager's wife,
plays the queen, this one the soldier, that the emperor, and I
the devil ; and I am one of the principal characters of the
play, for in this company I take the leading parts. If you
want to know anything more about us, ask me and I will
answer with the utmost exactitude, for as I am a devil I am
up to everything."
"
By the faith of a knight-errant," replied Don Quixote,
'^
Avhen I saw this cart I fancied some great adventure was
presenting itself to me
;
but I declare one must touch with the
hand what appears to the eye, if illusions are to be avoided.
God speed you, good people; keep your festival, and remem-
ber, if you demand of me ought wherein I can render you
a service, I will do it gladly and willingly, for from a child I
was fond of the play, and in my youth a keen lover of the
actor's art."
While they were talking, fate so willed it that one of the
company in a mummer's dress with a great number of bells,
and armed with three blown ox-bladders at the end of a stick,
joined them, and this merry-andrew approaching Don Qiiixote,
began flourishing his stick and banging the ground with the
bladders and cutting capers with great jingling of the bells,
which untoward apparition so startled Rocinante that, in spite
of Don Quixote's efforts to hold him in, taking the bit between
his teeth he set off across the plain with greater speed than the
bones of his anatomy ever gave any promise of. Sancho, who
thought his master was in danger of being thrown,
jumped oft"
Dapple, and ran in all haste to hel]i him ; but by the time
he
reached him he was already on the ground, and beside
him
was Rocinante, who had come down with his master, the usual
end and upshot of Rocinante's vivacity and high spirits. But
the moment Sancho quitted his beast to go and help Don
'
A theatrical manager and dramatist of Toledo who flourished about
1580.
72
DON QUIXOTE.
Quixote, tlie dancing
devil with the bladders jumped up on
Dapple, and beating him with them, more by the fright and
the
noise than by the pain of the blows, made him fly across
the
fields towards the village where they were going to hold
their
festival.
Sancho
Avitnessed Dapple's career and his
master's fall, and did not know Avhich of the two cases of need
he should attend to first ; but in the end, like a good squire
and good servant, he let his love for his master prevail over
his affection for his ass
;
though every time he saw the bladders
rise in the air and come
v;iown on the hind quarters of his
Dapple he felt the pains and terrors of death, and he would
have rather had the blows fall on the apples of his own eyes
than on the least hair of his ass's tail. In this trouble and
perplexity he came to where Don Quixote lay in a far sorrier
plight than he liked, and having helped him to mount Koci-
nante, he said to him,
"
Seiior, the devil has carried off my
Dapple."
"
What devil ?
"
asked Don Quixote.
"
The one with the bladders," said Sancho.
"
Then I will recover him," said Don Quixote,
"
even if he
be shut up with him in the deepest and darkest dungeons of
hell. Follow me, Sancho, for the cart goes slowly, and with
the mules of it I will make good the loss of Dapple."
"
You need not take the trouble, sefior," said Sancho ;
''
keep
cool, for as I noAv see, the devil has let Dapple go and he is
coming back to his old quarters
;
" and so it turned out, for,
having come down with Dapple, in imitation of Don Quixote
and Kocinante, the devil made off on foot to the toAvn, and the
ass came back to his niaster.
"
For all that," said Don Quixote,
"
it will be well to visit
the discourtesy of that devil upon some of those in the cart,
even if it Avere the emperor himself."
"
Don't think of it, your Avorship," returned Sancho
;
"
take
my advice and never meddle with actors, for they are a favored
class
;
I myself have knoAvn an actor taken up for two murders,
and yet come oft' scot-free ; remember that, as they are merry
folk AA'ho give pleasure, every one favors and protects them,
and helps and makes much of them, above all when they are
those of the royal companies and under patent, all or most of
Avhom in dress and appearance look like princes."
"
Still, for all that," said Don Quixote, "
the player devil must
not go off boasting, even if the whole human race favors him."
CHAPTER XI. 73
So saying, he made for the cart, which was now very near
the town, shouting out as he went,
"
Stay ! halt ! ye merry,
jovial crew ! I want to teach you hoAv to treat asses and
animals that serve the squires of knights-errant feu- steeds."
So loud were the shouts of Don Quixote, that those in the
cart heard and understood them, and, guessing by the words
what the speaker's intention was. Death in an instant jumped
out of the cart, and the emperor, the devil carter and the
angel after him, nor did the queen or the god Cupid stay be-
hind
;
and all armed themselves with stones and formed in
line, prepared to receive Don Qiiixote on the points of their
pebbles. Don Quixote, when he saw them drawn up in such a
gallant array with uplifted arms ready for a mighty discharge
of stones, checked Eocinante and began to consider in what
way he could attack them with the least danger to himself.
As he halted Sancho came up, and seeing him disposed to at-
tack this well-ordered squadron, said to him,
''
It would be the
height of madness to attempt such an enterprise ; remember,
senor, that against sops from the brook,^ and plenty of them,
there is no defensive armor in the world, except to stow one's
self away under a brass bell ; and besides, one should remem-
ber that it is rashness, and not valor, for a single man to at-
tack an army that has Death in it, and where emperors fight
in person, with angels, good and bad, to help them
;
and if
this reflection will not make you keep quiet, perhaps it will to
know for certain that among all these, though they look like
kings, princes, and emperors, there is not a single knight-
errant."
"
Now, indeed thou hast hit the point, Sancho," said Don
Quixote,
"
which may and should turn me from the resolution
I had already formed. I can not and must not draw sword, as
I have many a time before told thee, against any one who is
not a dubbed knight ; it is for thee, Sancho, if thou wilt, to
take vengeance for the wrong done to thy Dapple
;
and I will
help thee from here by shouts and salutary counsels."
^'
There is no occasion to take vengeance on any one, seilor,"
replied Sancho ;
"
for it is not the part of good Christians to
revenge wrongs
;
and besides, I will arrange it with my ass to
leave his grievance to my good-will and pleasure, and that is
to live in peace as long as Heaven grants me life."
"
Well," said Don Quixote,
"
if that be thy determination.
'
Sopa de arroyo

a slang i^hrase for pebbles.

74
nON
QUIXOTE.
trootl Sancho, sensible Sanclio, Christian Sancho, honest Sancho,
let us leave these
phantoms alone and turn to the pursuit of
better and
worthier adventures
;
for, from what I see of this
country, we can not fail to find plenty of marvellous ones in
it."
He at once wheeled about, Sancho ran to take possession of
his Dapple, Death and his whole flying squadron returned to
their cart and pursued their journey, and thus the dread ad-
venture of the cart of Death ended happily, thanks to the
sound advice Sancho gave his master ; who had, the following
day, a fresh adventure, of no less thrilling interest than the
last, with an enamoured knight-errant.
CHAPTEE XII.
OF THE STKANGE ADVENTURE WHICH BEFELL THE VALIANT
DON QUIXOTE WITH THE BOLD KNIGHT OF THE MIRKORS.
The night succeeding the day of the encounter with Death,
Don Quixoce and his squire passed under some tall shady trees,
and Don Quixote at Sancho's persuasion ate a little from the
store carried by Dapple, and over their suj^per Sancho said to
his master,
''
Seiior, what a fool I should have looked if I had
chosen for my reward the spoils of the first adventure your
worship achieved, instead of the foals of the three mares.
After all, after all, 'a sparrow in the hand is better than a
vulture on the wing.'"-^
^'
At the same time, Sancho," replied Don Quixote,
"
if thou
hadst let me attack them as I wanted, at the very least the
emperor's gold crown and Cupid's painted wings would have
fallen to thee as spoils, for I should have taken them by force
and given them into thy hands."
"
The sceptres and crowns of those play-actor emperors,"
said Sancho, "were never yet pure gold, but only brass foil or
tin."
"
That is true," said Don Quixote,
"
for it would not be right
that the accessories of the drama should be real, instead of
being mere fictions and semblances, like the drama itself;
towards which, Sancho

and, as a necessary consequence,

'
Prov. 167.
CHAPTER XI
L
75
towards those who represent aiid produce it

I would that
thou wert favorably disposed, for they are all instruments of
great good to the State, placing before us at every step a
mirror in which we may see vividly displayed what goes on in
human life
;
nor is there any similitude
^
that shows us more
faithfully what we are and ought to be, than the play and the
players. Come, tell me, hast thou not seen a play acted in
which kings, emperors, pontiffs, knights, ladies, and divers
other personages Avere introduced ? One plays the villain,
another the knave, this one the merchant, that the soldier, one
the sharp-witted fool, another the foolish lover; and when the
play is over, and they have put off the dresses they wore in it,
all the actors become equal."
"
Yes, I have seen that," said Sancho.
"
Well, then," said Don Quixote,
"
the same thing happens
in the comedy and life of this world, where some play emperors,
others popes, and, in short, all the characters that can be
brought into a play
;
but when it is over, that is to say when
life ends, death strips them all of the garments that distinguish
one from the other, and all are equal in the grave."
"
A fine comparison !
"
said Sancho
;
"
though not so new
but that I have heard it many and many a time, as well as
that other one of the game of chess
;
how, so long as the game
lasts, each piece has its own particular office, and when the
game is finished they are all mixed, juudjled up and shaken
together, and stowed away in the bag, which is much like
ending life in the grave."
"^
"
Thou art growing less doltish and more shrewd every day,
Sancho," said Don Quixote.
"
Ay," said Sancho ;
"
it must be that some of your worship's
shrewdness sticks to me ; land that, of itself, is barren and dry
will come to yield good fruit if you dung it and till it ; what
I mean is that your worship's conversation has been the dung
that has fallen on the barren soil of my dry wit, and the time
'
In
i)lace of comparacion

"
similitude
"

some correctors would

read comparicioH

"
appearance
"
in the legal sense, as in the phrase
"
to
put in an appearance ;
"
but I think the original reading makes better
sense.
^
Impotent Pieces of the Game He plays
Upon this Chequer-board of Nights and Days,
Hither and thither moves, and checks, and slays,
And one by one back in the Closet lays.
Omar Khayyam. (Fitzgerald's Translation, 1868.)
Don Quixote, it will be seen, held Teufelsdrockh's philosophy of clothes.
76
DON
QUIXOTE,
I have been in your service and society has been the tillage
;
and with the help of this I hope to yield fruit in abundance
that
will not fall away or slide from those
paths of good breed-
ing that your worship has made in my parched understanding."
l)on
Quixote laughed at Sancho's
affected phraseology, and
perceived that what he said about his improvement was true,
for now and then he spoke in a way that surprised him;
though always, or mostly, when Sancho tried to talk fine and
attempted polite language, he wound up by toppling over from
the summit of his simplicity into the abyss of his ignorance
;
and where he showed his culture and his memory to the
greatest advantage was in dragging in proverbs, no matter
whether they had any bearing or not upon the subject in hand,
as may have been seen already and will be noticed in the
cours3 of this history.
In conversation of this kind they passed a good part of the
niuht, but Hancho felt a desire to let down the curtains of his
eyes, as he used to say when he wanted to go to slee]) ; and
stripping Dapple he left him at liberty to graze his fill. He
did not remove Rocinante's saddle, as his master's express
orders were, that so long as they were in the field or not sleep-
ing inider a roof Rocinante was not to be stripped

the ancient
usage established and observed by kniglits-errant being to take
off the bridle and hang it on the saddle-bow, but to remove
the saddle from the horse

never ! Sancho acted accordingly,

and gave him the same liberty he had given Dapple, between
whom and Rocinante there was a friendship so unequalled and
so strong, that it is handed down by tradition from father to
son, that the author of this veracious history devoted some
special chapters to it, which, in order to preserve the propriety
and decorum due to a history so heroic, he did not insert
therein ; although at times he forgets this resolution of his and
describes how eagerly the two beasts would scratch one an-
other when they were together, and how, when they were tired
or full, Rocinante would lay his neck across Dapple's, stretch-
ing half a yard or more on the other side, and the pair would
stand thus, gazing thoughtfully on the ground, for three days,
or at least so long as they were left alone, or hunger did not
drive them to go and look for food. I may add that they say
the author left it on record that he likened their friendship to
that of Nisus and Euryalus, and Pylades and Orestes ; and if
that be so, it may be perceived, to the admiration of mankintl,
CHAPTER
XII. 77
how firm the friendship must have been between these two
peaceful aniiuals, shaming men, who preserve friendships with
one another so badly. This was why it was said

Tor friend no longer is there friend

;
The reeds turn lances now.
And some one else has sung

Friend to friend the bug, etc'

and let no one fancy that the author was at all astray when
he compared the friendship of these animals to that of men
;
for men have received many lessons from beasts, and learned
many important things, as, for example, the clyster from the
stork, emetics and gratitude from the dog, watchfulness from
the crane, foresight from the ant, modesty from the elephant,
and loyalty from the horse.
Sancho at last fell asleep at the foot of a cork tree, while
Don Quixote dozed at that of a sturdy oak
;
but a short time
only had elapsed when a noise he heard behind him awoke him,
and rising up startled, he listened and looked in the direction
the noise came from, and perceived two men on horseback, one
of whom, letting himself drop from the saddle, said to the
other,
"
Dismount, my friend, and take the bridles off the
horses, for, so far as I can see, this place will furnish grass for
them, and the solitude and silence my love-sick thoughts have
need of." As he said this he stretched himself upon the ground,
and as he flung himself down, the armor in which he was clad
rattled, whereby Don Quixote perceived tliat he must be a
knight-errant; and going over to Sancho, who was asleep, he
shook him by the arm and with no small difficulty brought him
back to his senses, and said in a low voice to him,
"
Brother
Sancho, we have got an adventure."
"
God send us a good one," said Sancho
;
"
and where, seiior,
may her ladyship the adventure be
?"
"
Where, Sancho ?
"
replied Don Quixote
;
"
turn thine eyes
and look, and thou wilt see stretched there a knight-errant, who,
'
The first quotation is from one of the ballads on the dissensions of the
Zegris and Abencerrages in Gines Perez de Hita's Gnerras Civiles de Gra-
nada. I do not know wlio "sang" the other, but it is a popular phrase,
and in full is
"
from friend to friend (or
"
between friends ") the bug in
the eye." Tener chinche en el ojo., or Sangre en el ojo., is
"
to keejj a sharj)
lookout."
78
DON
QUIXOTE.
it strikes
me, is not
over and
above happy,
for I saw liim fling
himself ofe his horse and
throw
himself on the ground with a
certain
air of dejection,
and his
armor
rattled as he fell."
"
Well,"
said
Sancho,
"
how does your
worship make out that
to be an
adventure
?
"
^

"
I do
not
mean to say,"
returned
Don Quixote,
"
that it is a
complete
adventure,
but that it is the beginning of one, for it
is in this way
adventures
begin.
But listen, for it seems he is
tuning a lute or
guitar, and
from the way he is spitting and
clearing
his chest he must b-,
getting ready to sing something."
"
Faith, you are
right,"
said Sancho,
"
and no doubt he is
some
enamoured
knight."
"
There is no
knight-errant
that is not," said Don Quixote
;

but let us listen to him, for, if he sings, by that thread we

shall extract the ball of his thoughts ;
^
because out of the
abundance of the heart the mouth speaketh."
Sancho was about to reply to his master, but the Knight of
the Grove's
voice,
which was
neither very bad nor very good,
stopped
him, and
listening
attentively the pair heard him sing
this
SONNET.
Your pleasure,
prithee, lady mine, unfold
;
Declare the terms that I am to obey
;
My
will to yours submissively I mould.
And from your law my feet shall never stray.
Would
you I die, to silent grief a prey ?
Then count me even now as dead and cold
;
Would you I tell my woes in some new way ?
Then shall my tale by
love itself be told.
The unison of opposites to. prove.
Of the soft wax and diamond hard am I
;
But still, obedient to the laws of love.
Here, hard or soft, I offer you my breast,
Whate'er you grave or stamp thereon shall rest
Indelible for all eternity.^
'
A reference to the often quoted proverb, por el hilo se saca el ovillo.
2
The pieces of verse introduced in the Second Part are more or less
burlesques, and sometimes, as here and in chapter xviii., imitations of the
affected poetry of the day. The verses in the First Part (except, of course,
tlie commendatory verses, and those at the end of the last chapter) are seri-
ous efforts, and evidently regarded by Cervantes with some complacency.
The difference is significant.
CHAPTER XII. 79
With an
<'
Ali me
!
"
that seemed to be dra^mi from the inmost
recesses of his heart,
the Knight of the Grove brought his lay
to an end, and shortly
afterwards exclaimed in a melancholy
and piteous voice,
"
fairest and most ungrateful woman on
earth I What ! can it be, most serene Casildea de Yandalia,
that thou wilt suffer this thy captive knight to waste away
and perish in ceaseless
wanderings and rude and arduous toils ?
Is it not enough that I have compelled all the knights of
Navarre, all the Leonese, all the Tartesians, all the Castilians,
and finally all the knights of La JNIancha, to confess thee the
most beautiful in the world ?
"'

Xot so," said Don Quixote at this,

'
for I am of La Mancha,
and I have never confessed anything of the sort, nor could
I nor should I confess a thing so much to the prejudice of
my lady's beauty; thou seest how this knight is raving,
Saneho. But let us listen, perhaps he will tell us more about
himself."
''That he will," returned Sancho, "for he seems in a mood
to bewail himself for a month at a stretch."
But this was not the case, for tae Knight of the Grove,
hearing voices near him, instead of continuing his lamentation,
stood up and exclaimed in a distinct but courteous tone,
''
Who
goes there ? "\'\liat are you ? Do you belong to the number
of the happy or of the miserable ?
"
"Of the* miserable," answered Don Quixote.
"
Then come to me," said he of the Grove,
"
and rest assured
that it is to woe itself and affliction itself you come."
Don Quixote, finding himself answered in such a soft and
courteous manner, went over to him, and so did Sancho.
The doleful knight took Don Quixote by the arm, saying,
"
Sit down here, sir knight ; for, that you are one, and of those
that profess knight-errantry, it is to me a
sufficient proof to
have found you in this place, where solitude and night, the
natural couch and proper retreat of knights-errant, keep you
company." To which Don Quixote made answer,
"
A knight
I am of the profession you mention ; and though sorrows,
misfortunes, and calamities have made mj- heart their abode,
the compassion I feel for the misfortunes of others has not
been thereby banished from it. Erom what you have just now
sung I gather that yours spring from love, I mean from the
love you bear that fair ingrate you named in your lament."
In the mean time, they had seated themselves together on
80
DON QUIXOTE.
the hard gromicl peaceably and socially, just as if, as soon as
day
broke, they were not going to break one another's heads.
"
Are you, sir knight, in love perchance ?
"
asked he of the
Grove of Don Quixote.
"
By mischance I am," replied Don Quixote
;
"
though the
ills arising from well-bestowed affections should be esteemed
favors rather than misfortmies."
"
That is true," returned he of the Grove,
"
if scorn did not
unsettle our reason and luiderstanding, for if it be excessive it
looks like revenge."
"
I was never scorned by my lady," said Don Quixote.
"Certainly not," said Sancho, Avho stood close by. "for my
lady is as gentle as a lamb, and softer than a roll of butter."
"
Is this your squire ?
"
asked he of the Grove.
"
He is," said Don Quixote.
"
I never yet saw a squire," said he of the Grove,
"
who
ventured to speak when his in aster was speaking; at least,
there is mine, who is as big as his father, and it can not be
proved that lie has ever opened his lips when I am speaking."
''
By my faith, then," said Sancho,
"
I have spoken, and am
fit to speak, in the presence of one as much, or even

but
never mind

it only makes it worse to stir it."

The .Squire of the Grove took Sancho by the arm, saying to
him,
"
Let us two go wliere we can talk in squire style as much
as we please, and leave these gentlemen our masters.to fight it
out over the story of their loves
;
and, de})end upon it, day-
break will find them at it without having made an end of it."
"
So be it by all means," said Saucho ;
"
and I will tell your
worslii}) who I am, that you inay see whether I am to be
reckoned among the number of the most talkative squires."
With this tlie two squires withdrew to one side, and between
them there passed a conversation as droll as that which passed
between their masters was serious.
CHAPTER XIIt.
t
81
CHAPTER XIII.
IN
WHICH IS CONTIISrUED THE ADVENTUKE OF THE KNIGHT
OF THE GROVE,
TOGETHEH WITH THE SENSIBLE, ORIGINAL,
AND TRANQUIL COLLOQUY THAT PASSED BETWEEN THE
TWO SQUIRES.
The knights and the squires made two parties, these telling
the story of their lives, the others the story of their loves
;
bnt the history relates first of all the conversation of the
servants, and afterwards takes up that of the masters
;
and it
says that, withdrawing a little from the others, he of the Grove
said to Sancho, ''A hard life it is we lead and live, seiior, we
that are squires to knights-errant ; verily, we eat our bread in
the sweat of our faces, which is one of the curses God laid on
our first parents."
"
It may be said," too," added Sancho,
"
that we eat it in the
chill of our bodies
;
for who gets more heat and cold than the
miserable squires of knight-errantry ? Even so it would not
be so bad if we had something to eat, for woes are lighter if
there's bread ;
^
but sometimes we go a day or two without
breaking our fast, except with the wind that blows."
"
All that," said he of the Grove,
"
may be endured and
i)ut
up with when we have hopes of reward
;
for, unless the knight-
errant he serves is excessively unlucky, after a few turns the
squire will at least find himself rewarded with a fine govern-
ment of some island or some fair country."
"
I," said Sancho,
"
have already told my master that I shall
be content with the government of some island, and he is so
noble and generous that he has promised it to me ever so
many times."
"
I," said he of the Grove,
"
shall be satisfied with a canonry
for my services, and my master has already assigned me one."
"
Your master," said Sancho,
''
no doubt is a knight in the
Church line, and can bestow rewards of that sort on his good
squire ; but mine is only a layman
;
though I remember some
clever, but, to my mind, designing people, strove to persuade
him to try and become an archbishop. He, however, would
not be anything but an emperor
;
but I was trembling all the
time lest he should take a fancy to go into the Church, not
'
Prov, 173.
Vol. II.
6
82
'
l^ON
QUIXOTE.
finding
myself fit
to liold
office, in it
;
for I may
tell yon.
though I
seem a
man, I am no
better
than a beast lor the
Church."
^ .
^-u r.
"
Well, then,
yon are wrong
there,"
said he o the b-rove
;
for those
island
governments
are not all
satisfactory
;
some
are
awkward,
some are
poor, some are
dull, and, in short, the
hi"-hest
and
choicest
brings with it a
heavy burden
of cares
and
troubles
which the unhappy
wight to
whose lot it has
fallen bears
upon his shoulders.
Far better
woidd it be for ns
Avho have
adopted this
accursed
service, to go back to our owti
houses, and
there employ
ourselves in
pleasanter
occnpations

in hunting or fishing/for instance;

for what sqnire in the
world is there so poor as not to have a hack and a,
couple of
greyhounds and a fishing-rod to amuse
himself within his o^\ti
tillage ?
"
"
I am not in want of any of those things," said Sancho
;
''
to be sure I have no hack, but I have an ass that is worth my
master's
horse twice over
;
God send me a bad Easter, and that
the next one I am to see, if I would swap, even if I got four
bushels of barley to boot. Yon will laugh at the value I put
on my Dapple

for dapple is the color of my beast. As to

greyhcnnids, I can't want for them, for there are enough and to
spare in my town ; and, moreover, there is more pleasure in
sport when it is at other people's expense."
'
In truth and earnest, sir squire,"' said he of the Grove,
"
I
have made up my mind and determined to have done with these
drunken vagaries of these knights, and go back to my village,
and l)ring up my children ; for I have three, like three Oriental
pearls."
"
I have two," said Sancho,
"
that might he presented before
the Pope himself, especially a girl whom I am breeding np for
a countess, please God, though in spite of her mother."
"
And how old is this lady that is being bred np for a coun-
tess ?
"
asked he of the Grove.
"
Fifteen, a couple of years more or less," answered Sancho
;
"
but she is as tall as a lance, and as fresh as an April morning,
and as strong as a porter."
"
Those are gifts to fit her to be not only a conntess but a
nym])h of the greenwood." said he of the Grove; "whoreson
strumpet I wluit pith the rogne must have !
"
To which Sancho made answer, somewhat sulkily,
"
She's no
strnmpet, nor was her mother, nor will either of them be, please
CHAPTER xni.
83
God, while I live; speak more civilly; for one bred up among
kni<^hts-errant, who are courtesy itseir, your words don't seem
to me to be very becoming."
"
how little you know about compliments, sir squire," re-
t-uiiii'd lie of the Grove.
"
What ! don't you know that when a
horsojuan delivers a good lance tlirust at the bull in the yjlaza,
or when any one does anything very well, the people are wont
to say,
'
Ha, whoreson rip ! how well he has done it
!
' and that
what seems to be abuse in the expression is high praise ? Dis-
own sons and daughters, sefior, wlio don't do what deserves that
compliments of this sort shoidd be paid to their parents."
*'
I do disown them," replied Sancho,
"
and in this way, and
by the same reasoning, you might call me and my children and
my wife all the strumpets in the world, for all they do and say
is of a kind that in the highest degree deserves the same praise
;
and to see them again I jjray God to deliver me from mortal
sin, or, what coiues to the same thing, to deliver me from this
perilous calling of squire into which I have fallen a second time,
decoyed and beguiled by a purse with a hundred ducats that I
foimd one day in the heart of the Sierra Morena
;
and the devil
is always putting a bag full of doubloons before my eyes, here,
there, everywhere, until I fancy at every step I am putting my
hand on it, and hugging it, and carrying it home with me, and
making investments, and getting interest, and living like a
prince ; and so long as I think of this I make light of all the
hardshi})S I endure with this simpleton of a master of mine, who,
I well know, is more of a madman than a knight."
"
There 's why they say that
'
covetousness bursts the bag,'
"
^
said he of the Grove ;
"
but if you come to talk of that sort,
there is not a greater one in the world than my master, for he
is one of those of whom they say,
'
The cares of others kill the
ass
;
'
^
for, in order that another knight may recover the
senses he has lost, he makes a madman of himself and goes
looking for what, when found, may, for all I know, fly in his
own face."
"
And is he in love, now ?
"
asked Sancho.
"
He is," said he of the Grove,
"
with one Casildea de Van-
dalia, the rawest and best roasted lady the whole world
could produce ;
^
but the rawness is not the only foot he limps
'
Prov. .50.
2
Prov. G4.
^
Criido

"raw"

means also cruel, but even with this explanation

the squire's humor is not verj' intelligible.
84
DON
QUIXOTE.
on,
for lie has
greater
scliemes
rumbling
in his
bowels,
as will
be'seen
before
many
hours
are
over."
"
There's
no road so
smooth
but it has
some
hole or
hmder-
anee
in it,"
said
Sancho
; "in
other
houses
they
cook
beans,
but in mine
it's by
the
potful ;
^
madness
will have
more fol-
lowers
and
hangers-on
than
sound
sense
;
but
if there be any
truth
in the
common
saying,
that to
have
companions
m
trouble
gives
some
relief, I may
take
consolation
from
you,
inasmuch as
you
serve a
master
as crazy as my
own.
"
Crazy
but
valiant,"
replitd he of the Grove,
" and
more
roguish than
crazy or
valiant."
*"''
Mine is not that,"
said Sancho
;
''
I
mean he has
nothing
of the
rogue in him ; on the
contrary,
he has the soul of a
pitcher ;
"-^
he has no
thought
of doing
harm to any one, only
good to all, nor has he any
malice
whatever in him
;
a
child
might
persuade
him that it is night at
noonday
;
and
for this
simplicity I love him as the
core of my heart,
and I can 't
bring
myself to leave him, let him do ever
such
foolish
things."
"For all that, brother and senor," said he of the Grove,
" it
the blind lead the blind both are in danger of falling
into the
pit. It is better for us to beat a quiet retreat and get back
to our own quarters; for those who seek
adventures
don't
ahvays find good ones."
Sancho kept spitting from time to time, and his
spittle
seemed somewhat ropy and dry, observing which the compas-
sionate Squire of the Grove said,
"
It seems to me that with all
this talk of ours our tongues are sticking to the roofs of our
mouths ; but I have a pretty good loosener hanging
from the
saddle-bow of my horse," and getting up he came back
the
next minute with a large bota of wine and a pasty
half a yard
across
;
and this is no exaggeration, for it was made of a
house
rabbit so big that Sancho, as he handled it, took it to be made
of a goat, not to say a kid, and looking at it he said,
"
And do
you carry this with you, senor ?
"
"
Why, what are you thinking about ?
"
said the other
;
"
do
you take me for some paltry squire
'!
I carry a better
larder
on iny horse's croup than a general takes with him when he
goes on a march."
Sancho ate without requiring to be pressed, and in the dark
'
Prov. 44.
"
I get more than my share of ill-luck."
'
Tener alma de cantaro

to be simplicity itself.
CHAPTER XIII.
80
bolted mouthfuls like the knots on a tetlier,^ and said lie,
"
Yon
are a
proper trusty squire, one of the right sort, sunii)tuous
and grand, as this banquet shows, which, if it has not come
here by magic art, at any rate has the look of it
;
not like me,
unlucky beggar, that have nothing more in my alforjas than a
scrap of cheese, so hard that one might brain a giant with it,
and, to keep it company, a few dozen carobs
^
and as many
more filberts and walnuts
;
thanks to the austerity of my master,
and the idea he has and the rule he follows, that
knights-errant
must not live or sustain themselves on anything except dried
fruits and the herbs of the field."
"
By my faith, brother," said he of the Grove,
"
my stomach
is not made for thistles, or wild pears, or roots out of the
woods
;
let our masters do as they like, with theii' chivalry
notions and laws, and eat what those enjoin
;
I carry my prog-
basket and this bota hanging to the saddle-bow, whatever they
may say
;
and it is such an object of worship with me, and I
love it so, that there is hardly a moment but I am kissing and
embracing it over and over again
;
"
and so saying he thrust it
into Sancho's hands, who raising it aloft pressed to his mouth,
gazed at the stars for a quarter of an hour
;
^
and when he had
done drinking let his head fall on one side, and giving a deep
sigh, exclaimed,
"
Ah, whoreson rogue, how catholic it is !
"
"
There, you see," said he of the Grove as he heard Sancho's
exclamation,
"
hoAV you have called this wine whoreson by way
of praise."
"
Well," said Sancho,
"
I own it, and I grant it is no dis-
honor to call any one whoreson when it is to be
understood in
the sense of praise. But tell me, senor, by what you love best,
is this Ciudad Real wine ?
"
*
"
rare wine-taster !
"
said he of the Grove
;
"
nowhere else
indeed does it come from, and it has some years' age too."
"
Leave me alone for that," said Sancho
;
"
never fear but I
'11
hit upon the place it came from somehow. What would you say,
sir squire, to my having such a great natural instinct in judg-
ing wines that you have only to let me smell one and I can tell
'
Either as big, or following one another as closely, as the knots on a
tether.
^
The bean of the carob tree ;
"
St. John's bread."
^
Any one who has ever watched a Spanish peasant with a bota knows
how graphic this is.
*
The chief town of La Mancha, and also of the great wine-growing dis-
trict of which the Valdepenas is the best known product.
86
DON
QUIXOTE.
positively its ^country, its kind, its flavor and soundness, the
changes it will undergo,
and
everything that appertains to a
wine ? But it is no wonder,
for I have had in my family, on
my father's side, the two best
wine-tasters that have been known
in La Mancha for many a long year, and to prove it I
'11
tell you
now a thing that
happened them. They gave the two of them
some wine out of a cask, to try, asking their opinion as to the
condition, quality, goodness or badness of the wine. One of
them tried it with the tip of his tongue, the other did no more
than bring it to his nose. The first said the Aviue had a flavor
of iron, the second said it had a stronger flavor of cordovan.'
The owner said the cask Avas clean, and that nothing had been
added to the Avine from Avhich it could have got a flavor of
either iron or leather. Nevertheless, these two great wdne-
tasters held to wdiat they had said. Time went by, the wine
was sold, and when they came to clean out the cask, they found
in it a small key hanging to a thong of cordovan
;
see now if one
who comes of the same stock has not a right to give Lis opinion
in such like cases."
^
"
Therefore, I say," said he of the Grove,
"
let us give up
going in cpiest of adventures, and as we have loaves let us not
go looking for cakes,^ but return to our cribs, for God will find
us there if it be his will."
"
Until my master reaches Saragossa," said Sancho,
"
I
'11
remain in his service
;
after that Ave
'11
see."
The end of it was that the tAvo squires talked so much and
drank so much that sleep had to tie their tongues and moder-
ate their thirst, for to quench it Avas impossible ; and so the
pair of them fell asleep clinging to the noAv nearly empty bota
and Avith half-chcAved morsels in their mouths
; and there Ave
will leave them for the present, to relate Avhat passed betAveen
the Knight of the Grove and him of the Rueful
Countenance.
'
The Cordovan leather,
a legacy of tlie Moors, was somewhat like
morocco.
'^
Cervantes lias introduced the same story, witli some slight modifica-
tions,
in tlie interlude of the Ekccion de los Alcaldes de Daaanzo.
^Prov. 116.
CHAPTER XIV. 87
CHAPTER XIV.
WHEREIN IS CONTIXUED THE ADVENTURE OF THE KNIGHT OF
THE GROVE.
Among the many things that passed between Don Quixote
and the Knight of the Wood, the histoiy tells us he of the
Grove said to Don Quixote,
<'
In tine, sir knight, I would have
you know that my destiny, or, more properly speaking, my
choice led me to fall in love with the peerless Casildea de
Vandalia. I call her peerless because she has no peer, whether
it be in bodily stature or in the supremacy of rank and beauty.
This same Casildea, then, that I speak of, requited my honor-
able passion and gentle aspirations by compelling me, as his
stepmother did Hercules, to engage in many perils of various
sorts, at the end of each promising me that, with the end of
the next, the object of my hopes should be attained; but my
labors have gone on increasing link by liidv until they are past
counting, nor do I know what will be the last one that is to be
the beginning of the accomplishment of my chaste desires.
On one occasion she bade me go and challenge the famous
giantess of Seville, La Giralda by name, who is as mighty and
strong as if made of brass, and though never stirring from one
spot, is the most restless and changealde woman in the world.
^
I came, I saw, I conquered, and I made her stay quiet and be-
have herself, for nothing but north winds blew for more than
a week. Another time I was ordered to lift those ancient
stones, the mighty bulls of Guisando,^ an enterprise tha'o
might more fitly be intrusted to porters than to knights.
Again, she bade me fling myself into the cavern of Cabra
''

an miparalleled and awfid peril

and bring her a minute ac-

count of all that is concealed in those gloomy depths. I stopped
the motion of the Giralda, I lifted the bulls of Guisando, I
flung myself into the cavern and l)rought to light the secrets of
'
The colossal statue of Faith that acts as weathercock on the top of the
great moorish tower of the same name which serves as belfry to the Cathe-
dral at Seville.
*
Rude stone figures of animals resembling the hippopotamus rather than
the bull, the origin of which is a disputed point among Spanish anticjua-
rians. They are not, however, confined to Guisando; there are, for in-
stance, four well-preserved specimens at Avila.
^
A chasm in the Sierra de Cabra, south of Cordova, probably the shaft
of an aricient mine.
88
DON
QUIXOTE.
its abyss
;
and my hopes are. as dead as dead can be, and her
scorn and her commands as lively as ever. To be brief, last of
all she has
commanded me to go through all the province of
Spain and compel all the knights-errant wandering therein to
confess that she surpasses all women alive to-day in beauty,
and that 1 am the most valiant and the most deeply enamoured
knight on earth ;
in support of A\-hich claim I have already
travelled over the greater part of Spain, and have there van-
quished several knights Avho have dared to contradict me
;
but
what I most plume and pride myself upon is having vanquished
in single combat that so famous-knight Don Quixote of La
Mancha, and made him confess that my Casildea is more beau-
tifid than his Dulcinea ; and in this one victory I hold myself
to have conquered all the knights in the Avorld
;
for this Don
Quixote that I speak of has vanquished them all, and I having
vanquished him, his glory, his fame, and his honor have passed
and are transferred to my person ; for
The more the vauquished hatli of fair renown,
The greater glory gilds tlie victor's crown.'
Thus the innumerable achievements of the said Don Quixote
are now set down to my account and have become mine.''
Don Quixote was amazed when he heard the Knight of the
Grove, and was a thousand times on the point of telling him
he lied, and had the lie direct already on the tip of his tongue
;
but he restrained himself as Avell as he could, in order to force
him to confess the lie Avith his own lips
;
so he said to him
quietly, "
As to Avhat you say, sir knight, about having van-
(pushed most of the knights of Spain, or even of the whole
world, I say nothing
; but that you have vanquished Don
Quixote of La :\Lxncha I consider doubtful ; it may have been
some other that resembled him, although
there are fcAV like
him."
" HoAv
!
not
vanquished
?
"
said he of the Grove
;
"
by the
heaven that is above us I fought Don
Quixote and overcame
him
and made him yield
;
and he is a man of tall stature,
gaunt
features, long,
lank limbs, Avith hair turning gray, an
aquilme
nose rather
hooked,
and large black drooping 'mus-
taches
;
he does battle
under the
name'of
'
The Knidit "^of the
'Lines
quoted, but incorrectly,
from the beginning
of the Araucana of
JirciUa,
who
apparently
borrowed
them from the old poet the Archpriest
CHAPTER XIV. 89
Rueful Couutenance,' and he has fur scjuire a peasant called
Sanclio Panza ; he presses the loins and rules the reins of a
famous steed called llociuante ; and lastly, he has for the mis-
tress of his will a certain Dulcinea del Toboso, once upon a
time called Aldonza Lorenzo, just as I call mine Casildea de
Vandalia because her name is Casilda and she is of Andalusia.
If all these tokens are not enough to vindicate the truth of
what I say, here is my sword, that will compel incredulity
itself to give credence to it."
"^
Calm yourself, sir knight," said Don Quixote,
'^
and give
ear to what I am about to say to you. I would have you
know that this Don Quixote you speak of is the greatest friend
I have in the world ; so much so that I may say I regard him
in the same light as my own person
;
and from the precise and
clear indications you have given I can not but think that he
nuist be the very one you hav3 vanquished, (^n the other
hand, T see with my eyes and feel Avith my hands that it is
impossible it can have been the same
;
unless indeed it be that,
as he has many enemies who are enchanters, and one in partic-
ular who is always persecuting him, scnue one of these may
have taken his shape in order to allow himself to be
vantpiished,
so as to defraud him of the fame that his exalted achievements
as a knight have earned and acquired for him throughout the
known world. And in confirmation of this, I must tell you,
too, that it is but ten hours since these said enchanters his
enemies transformed the sha})e and person of the fair Dulcinea
del Toboso into a foul and mean village lass, and in the same
way they must have transformed Don Quixote
;
and if all this
does not suffice to convince you of the truth of what I say,
here is Don Quixote himself, Avho will maintain it by arms, on
foot or on horseback or in any way you please."
And so saying he stood up and laid his hand on his sword,
waiting to see what the Knight of the Grove would do, who
in an equally calm voice said in reply,
"
Pledges don't distress
a good paymaster
;
^
he who has succeeded in vanquishing you
once when transformed, Sir Don Quixote, may fairly hope to
subdue you in your own proper shape ; but as it is not becom-
ing for knights to perform their feats of arms in the dark, like
highwaymen and bullies, let us wait till daylight, that the sun
may behold our deeds
;
and the conditions of our combat shall
be that the vanquished shall be at the victor's disposal, to do
'
Trov. IG-i.
90
DON
QUIXOTE.
all that he may
enjoin,
provided
the injunction be such as shall
be
becoming
a
knight."
"
I am
more than
satisfied
with these conditions and terms,"
replied
Don
Quixote
;
and so saying, they betook themselves
to
where
their
squires lay, and found them snoring, and in the
same
posture they
were in Avhen sleep fell upon them. They
roused
them up,
and bade them get the horses ready, as at sun-
rise they
were to engage in a bloody and arduous single combat
;
at which
intelligence
Sancho was aghast and thunderstruck,
ti-eiubling
for the safety of iiis master because of the mighty
deeds he had heard the
Squire of the Grove ascribe to his
;
but
without a
word the two
squires went in quest of their cattle
;
for hj this time the three horses and the ass had smelt one
an(_)ther out, and were all together.
On the way, he of the Grove said to Sancho,
"
You niust
know, brother, that it is the custom Avith the fighting men of
Andalusia,
Avhen they are godfathers
^
in any (juarrel, not to
stand idle with folded arms while their godsons tight
; I say so
to remind you that while our masters are lighting, we, too,
have to fight, and knock one another to shivers."
"
That custom, sir stjuire,'' replied Sancho,
"
may hold good
among those bullies and fighting men you talk of, but certainly
not among the squires of knights-errant ; at least, I. have never
heard my master speak of any custom of the sort, and he
knows all the laws of knight-errantry by heart ; but granting
it true that there is an express law that squires are to fight
while their masters are fighting, I don't mean to obey it, but
to pay the penalty that may he laid on peacefully minded
squires like myself ; for T am sure it can not be more than two
pounds of wax,- and I would rather pay that, for I know it
will cost me less than the lint I shall be at the expense of to
mend my head, which I look upon as broken and split already
;
there 's another thing that makes it impossible for me to fight,
that I have no sword, for I never carried one in my life."
"'
I know a good remedy for that," said he of the Grove
;
"
I
have here two linen bags of the same size
;
you shall take one.
and I the other, and we will fight at bag blows with equal arms.*'
"
If that "s the way, so be it with all my heart," said Sancho,
"
for that sort of battle v/ill serve to knock the dust out of us
instead of hurting us."
^
'
i.(.'. seconds.
'
The fine iuii)oscd in some t'ratoruities ou absent members.
CHAPTER XIV.
91
"
That will not do," said the other,
"
for Ave must put into
bags, to keep the Avind from blowing them away, half a dozen
nice smooth pebbles, all of the same weight ;
and in this way
we shall be able to baste one another without doing ourselves
any harm or mischief."
"
Body of my father !
"
said Sancho,
"
see what marten and
sable, and pads of carded cotton he is putting into the bags,
that our heads may not be broken and our bones beaten to
jelly ! But even if they are filled with floss silk, I can tell
you, senor, I am not going to fight; let our masters fight, that 's
their lookout, and let us drink and live
;
for time will take
care to ease us of our lives, without our going to look for
fillips
^
so that they may be finished off before their proper
time comes and they drop from ripeness."
"
Still," returned" he of the Grove,
"
we must fight, if it be
only for half an hour."
"
By no means," said Sancho
;
"
I am not going to be so dis-
courteous or so ungrateful as to have any quarrel, be it ever so
small, with one I have eaten and drunk with
;
besides, who
the devil could bring himself to fight in cold blood, without
anger or provocation ?
"
"
I can remedy that entirely," said he of the Grove,
''
and in
this way : before we begin the battle, I will come up to your
worship fair and softly, and give you three or four buffets,
with which I shall stretch you at my feet and rouse your
anger, though it were sleeping sounder than a
dormouse."
"
To match that plan," said Sancho,
"
I have another that
is not a whit behind it ; I will take a cudgel, and before your
worship comes near enough to waken my anger I will send
yours so sound to sleep with whacks, that it won't waken un-
less it be in the other Avorld, where it is known that I am not
a man to let my face be handled by any one ;
let each look out
for the arrow
"

though the surer way would be to let every

one's anger sleep, for nobody knows the heart of any one, and
a man may come for wool and go back shorn
;
^
God gave his
blessing to peace and his curse to quarrels ;,* if a hunted cat,
'
ApetUes. Hartzenbusch proposes arbitrios

"
expedients ;
"
but it is
hardly
a case that calls for emendation, and there is a flavor of Sancho in
the idea as it standi^
^
Prov. 248. A^ording to Covarriibias, a metaphor taken from rabbit-
shooting with the crossbow, when each sportsman should confine his
attention to looking for his own arrows, or. more properly, l)olts, viroies.
3
Prov. 124.
"
Prov. 81.
92
DON
QUIXOTE.
siin-ounded
and liard
pressed,
turns into a lion, God kno^vs
wliat I, who am a
man, may turn into
;
and so from this time
forth
I warn yon,
sir squire, that all the harm and mischief
that
may
come
of our
quarrel will be put down to your
account."
<
Very
good,"
said he of the Grove
;
"
God will send the
dawn
and
we shall be all right."
And
now
gay-plumaged
birds of all sorts began to warble in
the
trees,
and
Avith their varied and gladsome notes seemed to
welcome
and
salute the fresh morn that was beginning to sLow
the beauty
of her
countenance at the gates and balconies of the
east,
shaking
from
her locks a profusion of liquid pearls, in
which
dulcet
moisture bathed ; the plants, too, seemed to shed
and
shower
down a
pearly spray, the willoAvs distilled sweet
manna,
the
fountains
laughed, the brooks babbled, the woods re-
joiced, and the
meadows arrayed themselves in all their glory
at her coming.
V,\\t hardly had the light of day made it possi-
ble to see and
distinguish things, when the first object that pre-
sented itself to the eyes of 8ancho Panza was the Squire of the
Grove's
nose,
Avhich was so big that it almost overshadowed his
whole body.
It is, in fact, stated, that it was of enorn^ous size,
hooked in the
middle, covered with warts, and of a mulberry
color like an
egg-plant ; it hung down two fingers'-lengths below
his mouth, and the size, the color, the warts, and the bend of it,
made his face so hideous, that kSancho, as he looked at him, began
to tremble hand and foot like a child in convulsions, and he
vowed in his heart to let himself be given two hundred buifets,
sooner than be
provoked to fight that monster. Don Quixote
examined his adversary, and found that he already had his hel-
met on and the visor lowered, so that he could not see his face
;
he observed, how^ever, that he was a sturdily built man, but not
very tall in stature. Over his armor he wore a surcoat or cas-
sock of what seemed to be the finest cloth of gold, all bespangled
with glittering mirrors like little moons, which gave him an ex-
tremely gallant and splendid appearance
;
above his helmet flut-
tered a great quantity of plumes, green, yellow, and white, and
his lance, which was leaning againt a tree, was very long and
stout, and had a steel point more than a palm in length.
Don Quixote observed all, and took note of all, and from what
he saw and observed he concluded that the said knight must be
a man of great strength, but he did not for all that give way to
fear, like Sancho Fanza ; on the contrary, with a composed and
CHAPTER XIV. 93
daimtless aiv, lie said to the Knight of the Mirrors, '-'If, sir
knight,
your great eagerness to tight has not banished ;)our
courtesy, by it I would entreat you to raise your visor a little,
in order that I may see if the comeliness of your countenance
corres})onds
with that of your equi[)ment."
"
Whether you come victorious or vanqiushcd out of this
emprise, sir knight," replied he of the Mirrors, "you will have
nu)re than enough time and leisure to see me
;
and if now I do
not
comply with your request, it is because it seems to me I
should do a serious wrong to the fair Casildea de Vandalia in
wasting time while I stopped to raise my visor before compel-
ling you to confess Avhat you are already aware I maintain."
"
Well then," said Don Quixote,
"
while we are mounting
you can at least tell me if I am that Don Quixote Avhom you
said you vanquished."
"
To that we answer you,"
^
said he of the Mirrors,
"
that
you are as like the very knight I vanquished as one egg is like
another, but as you say enchanters persecute you, I will not
venture to say positively whether you are the said person or
not."
"
That," said Don Quixote,
"
is enough to convince me that
you are under a deception
;
however, entirely to relieve you of it,
let our horses be brought, and in less time than it would take
you to raise your visor, if God, my lady, and my arm stand me
in good stead, I shall see your face, and you shall see that I am
not the vanquished Don Quixote you take me to be."
With this, cutting short the colloquy, they mounted, and Don
Quixote wheeled Rocinante round in order to take a proper dis-
tance to charge back upon his adversary, ami he of the Mirrors
did the same
;
but Don Quixote had not moved away twenty
paces when he heard himself called by the other, and, each re-
turning half-Avay, he of the Mirrors said to him,
"
Eemember,
sir knight, that the terms of our combat are, that the van-
quished, as I said before, shall be at the victor's disposal."
"
I am aware of it already," said Don Quixote
;
"
provided
what is commanded and imposed upon the vanquished be things
that do not transgress the limits of chivalry."
"
That is understood," replied he of the Mirrors.
At that moment the extraordinary nose of the squire pre-
sented itself to Don Quixote's view, and he was no less amazed
than Sanclu) at the sight ; insomuch that he set him down as a

Tlie formal commencement of the answer to a petition to the crown.

94
DON
QUIXOTE.
monster of some kind, or a
human
being of some new species
or unearthly
breed. Saneho,
seeing his master retiring to run
his course, did not like to be left alone with the nosey man,
fearing that with one flap of that nose on his own the battle
would be all over for him and he would be left stretched on
the ground, either by the blow or with fright
;
so that he ran
after his master, holding on to liocinante's
stirrup-leather, and
when it seemed to hinr time to turn about, he said,
"
I implore
of your worship, senor, before you turn to charge, to help me
up into this cork tree, from which I will be able to witness the
gallant encounter your worship is going to have with this knight,
more to my taste and better than from the ground."
"
It seems to me rather, Sancho," said Don Quixote,
"
that
thou wouldst mount a scaffold in order to see the bulls without
danger."
"
To tell the truth," returned Sancho,
"
the monstrous nose
of that scpiire has filled me with fear and terror, and 1 dare not
stay near him."
"
It is," said Don Quixote,
"
such a one that were I not Avhat
I am it would terrify me too
;
so, come, I will help thee up
where thou wilt."
^\'lule Don (Quixote waited for Sancho to mount into the cork
tree lie of the Mirrcirs took as much ground as he considered
requisite, and, supposing Don Quixote to have done the same,
without waiting for any souird of trumpet or other signal to
direct them, he wheeled his horse, which was not more agile or
better looking than Eocinante, and at his top. speed, which Avas
an easy trot, he proceeded to charge his enemy
;
seeing him,
however, engaged in putting Sancho up, he drew rein, and
halted in mid career, for which his horse was very grateful, as
he was already unable to go. Don Quixote, fancying that his
foe was coming down upon him flying, drove his spurs vigor-
ously into R(jcinante's lean flanks and nuule him scud along in
such style that the history tells us that on this occasion only
Avas he known to make something like running, for on all others
it was a simple trot Avith him
;
and Avith this unparalleled fury
he bore doAvn Avhere he of the Mirrors stood digging his spurs
into his horse up to the buttons,^ Avithout being able to make
him stir a finger's length from the spot AAdiere he had come to
a standstill in his course. At this lucky moment and crisis,
'
The old form of spur was a spike with a knob or button near the
point to keep it from
penetrating too far.
5^.^^^. '
DON QUIXOTE AND THE KNIGHT OF THE MIRRORS. Vol.2. Page 94.
CHAPTER XJV.
95
Don
Quixote came upon his adversary, in trouble with his
horse, and
embarrassed
with his lance, which he either could
not manage,
or had no time to lay in rest. Don Quixote, how-
ever, paid no attention to these difficulties, and in perfect safety
to himself and without any risk encountered him of the Mirrors
with such
force that he brought him to the ground in spite of
himself over the haunches of his horse, and with so heavy a fall
that he lay to all appearance dead, not stirring hand or foot.
The instant Sancho saw him fall he slid down from the cork
tree, and made all haste to where his master was, who, dis-
mounting from Rocinant.e, went and stood over him of the
Mirrors, and unlacing his helmet to see if he was dead, and to
give him air if he should happen to be alive, he saw
Avho can
say what he saw,
without tilling all who hear it with astonish-
ment, wonder, and awe ? He saw, the history says, the very
countenance, the very face, the very look, the very physiognomy,
the very effigy, the very image of the bachelor Samson Car-
rasco ! As soon as he saw it he called out in a loud voice,
"
Make haste here, Sancho, and behold what thou art to see
but not to believe
;
quick, my son, and learn what magic can
do, and wizards and enchanters are capable of."
Sancho came up, and when he saw the countenance of the
bachelor C!arrasco, he fell to crossing himself a thousand times,
and blessing himself as many more. All this time the pros-
trate knight showed no signs of life, and Sancho said to Don
Quixote,
"
It is my opinion, sefior, that in any case your wor-
ship should take and thrust your sword into the mouth of this
one here that looks like the bachelor Samson Carrasco
;
perhaps
in him you will kill one of your enemies, the enchanters."
'
Thy advice is not bad," said Don Quixote,
"
for of enemies
the fewer the better ;
'
and he was drawing his swoi'd to carry
into efEect Sancho's counsel and suggestion, when the Squire of
the Mirrors came up, now without the nose which had made
him so hideous, and cried out in a loud voice,
"
Mind what you
are about, Seiior Don Quixote
;
that is your friend, the bachelor
Samson C-arrasco, you have at your feet, and I am his squire."
"
And the nose ?
"
said Sancho, seeing him without the
hideous feature he had before
;
to which he replied,
"
I have
it here in my pocket," and putting his hand into his right
pocket, he pulled out a
masquerade nose of varnished paste-
board of the make already described
;
and Sancho, examining
'
Prov. 94.
96
DON
QUIXOTE.
him more
and
more closely,
exclaimed
aloiid in a A'oice of
amazement,
"
Holy Mary be good to me !
Is n't it Tom Cecial,
my
neighbor
and gossip
'!
"
"
Why, to be
snre I am !
"
returned the now unnosed squire
;
'
Tom
Cecial I am, gossip and
friend Sancho Panza
;
and I
'11
tell you
presently
the means and tricks and falsehoods by
which I have
been brought here
;
but in the meantime, beg and
entreat
of your master not to touch, maltreat, Avound, or slay
the Knight of the Mirrors whom he has at his feet
;
because.
beyond all dispute, it is the ra.di and ill-advised bachelor Sam-
son (Jarrasco,
our fellow
townsman."
At this moment he of the Mirrors came to himself, and Don
Quixote
perceiving it, held the naked point of his sword over
his face, and said to him,
'^
You are a dead man, knight, unless
you confess that the peerless Dulcinea del Toboso excels your
Casildea de Vandalia in beauty
;
and in addition to this yoii
must promise, if you should survive this encounter and fall, to
go to the city of El Toboso and ])resent yourself before her on
my behalf, that she deal with you according to her good
pleasure
;
and if she leaves you free to do yours, you are in
like manner to return and seek me out (for the trail of my
mighty deeds will serve you as a guide to lead yoii to where T
may be), and tell me what may have passed between you and
her

conditions which, in accordance with what we sti])u-

lated before our combat, do not transgress the just limits of
knight-errantry."
"
I confess," said the fallen knight,
"
that the dirty tattered
shoe of the lady Dulcinea del Toboso is better than the ill-
combed though clean beard of Casildea
;
and T promise to go
and to return fronr her presence to yours, and to give you a
full and particular account of all you demand of me."
"
You must also confess and believe," added Don Quixote,
"
that the knight you vanquished was not and could not bc^
Don Quixote of La jNIancha, but some one else in his likeness,
just as I confess and believe that you, though you seem to be
the bachelor Samson Carrasco, are not so, but some other re-
sembling him, whom my enemies have here ])ut l)efore me in
his shape, in order that I may restrain and moderate the vehe-
mence of my wrath, and make a gentle use of the glory of
my victory."
"
I confess, hold, and think everything to be as you believe,
hold,
and think it," replied the crippled knight
: "let me rise,
CHAPTER
XV. 97
I entreat you
;
if, indeed, the shock of my fall will allow nie,
for it has left me in a sorry plight enough."
Don Quixote helped him to rise, with the assistance of his
squire Tom Cecial ; from whom Sancho never took his eyes,
and to whom he put questions, the replies to which furnished
clear proof that he was really and truly the Tom Cecial lie
said ; but the impression made on Sancho's mind by what his
master said about the enchanters having changed the face of
the Knight of the Mirrors into that of the bachelor Samson
Carrasco, would not permit him to believe what he saAV with
his eyes. In fine, both master and man remained under the
delusion
;
and, down in the mouth, and out of luck, he of the
AEirrors and his squire parted from Don Quixote aiul Sancho,
he meaning to go look for some village where he could plaster
and strap his ribs. Don Quixote and Sancho resunied tlieir
journey to Saragossa, and on it the history leaves them in
order "that it may tell Avho the Knight of the jMirrors and his
long-nosed squire were.
CHAPTER XV.
WHEREIN IT IS TOLD AXD MADE KNOWX WHO THE KXIOHT
OF THE MIRROKS AXD HIS SQUIRE WERE.
Dox Quixote went off satisfied, elated, and vain-glorious in
the highest degree at having w^on a victory over such a valiant
knight as he fancied him of the Mirrors to be, and one from
whose knightly word he expected to learn whether the en-
chantment of his lady still continued
;
inasmuch as the said
vanquished knight Avas bound, under the penalty of ceasing lo
be one, to return and reiuler liim an account of what took |)lace
between him and her. But Don Quixote was of one laind, he
of the Mirrors of another,' for he just then had no thought of
anything but finding some village where he could plaster
himself, as has been said already. The history goes on to say,
then, that when the bachelor Samson Carrasco recommended
Don Quixote to resume his kuight-errantry which he had laid
aside, it was in consequence of having been previously in con-
clave with the curate and the barber on the means to be
'
A reference to tlie proverb
(18.5),
"The bay is of one mind, he who
saddles him of another."
Vol. II.

7
98
DON
QUIXOTE.
adopted to induce Don
Quixote to staj^ at home in peace and
quiet without
worrying
himself
with his
ill-starred adveut-
lu-es : at which
consultation
it was decided by the unanimous
vote of all, and on the
special advice of Carrasco, that Don
Quixote
should be allowed to go, as it seemed impossible to
restrain him, and that Samson
should sally forth to meet him
as a
knight-errant,
and do battle with him, for there would
be no difficulty about a cause, and vanquish him, that being
looked upon as an easy matter ; and that it should be agreed
and settled that the vanquished was to be at the mercy of the
victor. Then Don Quixote being vanquished, the bachelor
knight was to command him to return to his village and his
house, and not quit it for two years, or until he received
further orders from him ; all which it was clear Don Qui-
xote would unhesitatingly obey, rather than contravene or
fail to observe the laws of chivalry ; and during the period
of his seclusion he might perhaps forget his folly, or
there might l)e an opportunity of discovering some ready
remedy for his madness. Carrasco undertook the task, and
Tom Cecial, a gossip and neighbor of Sancho Panza's, a lively,
feather-headed fellow, offered himself as his squire. Carrasco
armed himself in the fashion described, and Tom. Cecial, that
he might not be known by his gossip when they met, fitted on
over his own natural nose the false masquerade one that has
been mentioned
;
and so they followed the same route Don
Quixote took, and almost came up with him in time to be
present at the adventure of the cart of Death ; and finally
encountered them in the grove, where all that the sagacious
reader has been reading about took place
;
and had it not been
for the extraordinary fancies of Don Quixote, and his con-
viction that the bachelor was not the bachelor, senor bachelor
would have been incapacitated forever from taking his degree
of licentiate, all through not finding nests where he thought
to find birds.'
Tom Cecial, seeing how ill they had succeeded, and what a
sorry end their expedition had come to, said to the bachelor,
"
Sure enough, Senor Samson Carrasco, Ave are served right
;
it is easy enough to plan and set about an enterprise, but it is
often a difficult matter to come well out of it. Don Quixote
a madman, and we sane ; he goes off laughing, safe, and
sound, and you are left sore and sorry ! I 'd like to know now

Prov. 1
:,.-,.
CHAPTER XVI. 09
which is the madder, he who is so because he can not help it,
or he who is so of his own choice ?
"'
To which Samson replied,
''
The diiference between the two
sorts of madmen is, that he who is so will he nill lie, will be
one always, while he who is so of his own accord can leave oft'
being one whenever he likes."
"
In that case," said Tom Cecial,
"
I was a madman of my
own accord when I volunteered to become your squire, and, of
my own accord, I
'11
leave off being one and go home."
"
That 's your aft'air," returned Samson,
"
but to suppose that
T am going home until I have given Don Quixote a thrashing
is absurd ; and it is not any Avish that he may recover his
senses that will make me hunt him out now, but a wish for
revenge
;
for the sore pain I am in with my ribs won't let me
entertain more charitable thoughts."
Thus discoursing, the pair proceeded until they reached a
town where it was their good luck to find a
bone-setter, with
whose help the unfortunate Samson was cured. Tom Cecial
left him and went home, while he stayed behind meditating
vengeance; and the history will return to him again at the
proper time, so as not to omit making merry with Don Quixote
now.
CHAPTER XVI.
OF WHAT BEFELL DOX QUIXOTE WITH A DISCREET GENTLE-
MAN OF LA MANOHA.
Don Quixote pursued his journey in the high spirits, satis-
faction, and self-complacency already described, fancying him-
self the most valorous
knight-errant of the age in the world
because of his late victory. All the adventures that could
befall him from that time forth he regarded as already done
and brought to a happy issue
;
he made light of enchantments
and enchanters ; he thought no more of the tountless drubbings
that had been
administered to him in the course of his knight-
errantry, nor of the volley of stones that had levelled half his
teeth, nor of the ingratitude of the galley slaves, nor of the
audacity of the Yanguesans and the shower of stakes that fell
upon him
;
in short, he said to himself that could he discover
any means, mode, or way of disenchanting his lady Dulcinea,
100
DON
QUIXOTE.
lie would not envy the highest fortune that the most fortunate
knight-errrnt
of yore ever reached or could reach.
He was going along
entirely absorbed in these fancies, when
Sancho said to him,
"
Is n't it odd, senor, that I have still be-
fore my eyes that monstrous
enormous nose of ray gossip, Tom
Cecial ?
"
''
And dost thou, then, believe, Sancho," said Don Quixote,
'
that the Knight of the Mirrors Avas the bachelor Carrasco,
and his squire Tom ('ecial thy gossip ?
"
"
I don't know what to say
to that," replied Sancho
;
"
all I
know is that the tokens he gave me about my own house, wife
and children,
nobody else but himself could have given me
;
and tlie face, once the nose was off, was the very face of Tom
Cecial, as I have seen it many a time in my town and next
door to my own house
;
and the sound of the voice was just
the same."
"
Let us reason the matter, Sancho," said Don Quixote.
"
Come now, by what process of thinking can it be supposed
that the bachelor Samson Carrasco would come as a knight-
errant, in arms offensive and defensive, to fight with me ?
Have I ever been by any chance his eneni}- ? Have I ever
given him any occasion to owe me a grudge ? Am I his
rival, or does he })rofess arms, that he should envy the fame
I have acquired in them ?
"
"
AVell, but what are we to say, senor," returned Sancho,
"about that knight, whoever he is, being so like the bachelor
Carrasco, and his squire so like my gossip, Tom Cecial ? And
if that be enchantment, as your worship says, was there no
other pair in the world for them to take the likeness of ?
"
"
It is all," said Don Quixote,
'
a scheme and plot of the
malignant magicians that persecute nu', Avho, foreseeing that
I Avas to be victorious in the conflict, arranged that the
vanquished knight should display the countenance of my friend
the bachelor, in order that the friendship I bear him should
interpose to stay the edge of my sword and might of my arm,
and temper the just Avrath of my heart ; so that he Avho sought
to take my life by fraud and falsehood shoidd save his oAvn.
And to prove it, thou knowest already, Sancho, by experience
Avhich can not lie or deceive, hoAV easy it is for enchanters to
change one countenance into another, turning fair into foul,
and foul into fair
;
for it is not tAvo
days since thou saAvest
Avith thine oavu eyes the beauty and elegance of the peerless
CHAPTER XVI.
101
Dulcinea in all its perfection and natural harmony, while T saw
her in the repulsive and mean form of a coarse country wench,
with cataracts in her eyes and a foul smell in her mouth ; and
when the perverse enchanter ventured to effect so wicked a
transformation, it is no wonder if he. effected that of Samson
C'arrasco and thy gossip in order to snatch the glory of victory
out of my grasp. For all that, however, I console myself, be-
cause, after all, in whatever shape he may have been, I have
been victorious over my enemy."
"
God knows what 's the truth of it all,'' said Sancho ; and
knowing as he did that the transformation of Dulcinea had
been a device and imposition of his own, his master's illusions
were not satisfactory to Inni
;
but he did not like to reply lest
he should say something that might disclose his trickery.
As they were engaged in this conversation they were over-
taken by a man who was following the same road behind them,
mounted on a very handsome flea-bitten mare, and dressed in
a gaban of fine green cloth, with tawuy velvet facings, and a
montera of the same velvet.
^
The trappings of the mare were
of the held and jineta fashion,"^ and of mulberry color and green.
He carried a Moorish cutlass hanging from a broad green and
gold baldric
;
tlie buskins were of the same make as the baldric
;
the spurs were not gilt, but lacquered green, and so brightly
polished that, matching as they did the rest of his apparel, they
looked better than if they had been of pure gold.
When the traveller came up with them he saluted them cour-
teously, and s}turring his mare was passing them without stop-
ping, but Don Quixote called out to him,
'
Gallant sir, if so be
your worship is going our road, and has no occasion for speed,
it would be a pleasure to me if we were to join company."
"
In truth," replied he on the mare,
"
I would not pass you
so hastily but for fear that horse nught turn restive in the com-
pany of my mare."
"
You may safely hold in your mare, senor," said Sancho in
reply
to this,
''
for our horse is the most virtuous and well-
behaved horse in the world ; he never does anything wrong on
such occasions, and the only time he misbehaved, my master
and I suffered for it sevenfold; 1 say again your worship may
'
Oahan^i a loose overcoat with a hood, worn when hunting, hawking, or
travelling; montera., a cap with falling flaps, a common headgear in Central
Spain.
^
Jineta.^ an easy saddle with short stirrups, already referred to,
p.
68.
102
DON
QUIXOTE.
\m\\ up if you like
;
for if she Avas
offered to him between two
plates the
horse would not
hanker after her."
The
traveller
drew rein,
amazed at the trim and features of
Don
Quixote,
who rode
without
his helmet, which Sancho
carried like a
valise in front of Dapple's
pack-saddle
;
and if
tlie man in green
examined
Don Quixote closel}', still more
closely
did lion Quixote
examine the man in green, who struck
him as being a
man of
intelligence.
In appearance he was
about fifty years of age,
with but few gray liairs, an aquiline
cast of features,
and an
exp.-ession between grave and gay;
and his dress and
accoutrements showed him to be a man of
good condition.
\\\mt he in green thought of Don Quixote of
La Mancha was that a man of that sort and slia])e he had
never yet seen
;
he marvelled at the length of his liair,' his
lofty stature, the lankness and sallowness of his countenance,
his armor, his bearing and his gravity

a figure and picture

such as had not been seen in tliose regions for many a long
day.
Don Quixote saw very plainly the attention with which the
traveller was regarding him, and read his curiosity in his aston-
ishment
;
and courteous as he was ami ready to jjlease every-
body, before the other could ask him any question he anticipated
him by saying, "The appearance I present to your Avorship
being so strange and so out of the common, I should not be
surprised if it filled you with ^^'onder
;
but you will cease to
Avonder Avhen I tell you, as I do, that I am one of those knights
Avho, as people say, go seeking adventures. I have left my
home, I haA'e mortgaged my estate, I have given up my com-
forts, and committed myself to the arms of Fortune, to bear
me whithersoever she may please. My desire was to bring to
life again knight-errantry, noAV dead, and for some time past,
stumljling here, falling there, now coming down headlong, now
raising myself up again, I have carried out a great portion of
my design, succoring Avidows, protecting maidens, and giving
aid to Avives, orphans, and minors, the proper and natural duty
of knights-errants; and, therefore, because of my many valiant
and Christian achievements, I have been filready found Avortliy
to make my Avay in ])rint to Avell-nigh all, or most, of the
nations
of the earth. Thirty thousand volumes of my history
'All editions previous to IIartzeii1)uscir.s read cnhallo

"horse"

instead of cahello. but we are told, and the whole context .''liows, that it
was Don
Quixote's
/jerso/ifl/ appearance that astonished Don Diego; it is
true
that
liocinantc is described as
"
long
"
in chapter ix., vol. i.. p.
of).
ClIAPTEU A 17. 10
o
liave been printed, and it is on the high-road to be printed
thirty thousand thousands of times, if Heaven does not put
a stop to it.' In short to sum \\\) all in a few words, or in a
single one, I may tell you I am Dow (Juixote of La Mancha,
otherwise called
<
The Knight of the Rueful Countenance
;
'
for though self-praise is degrading,- I must perforce sound my
own sometimes, that is to say, when there is no one at hand to
do it for me. So that, gentle sii-, neither this horse, nor this
lance, nor this shield, nor this s(purc, nor all these arjns put
together,
nor the sallowness of my countenance, nor my gaunt
leanness, will henceforth astonish you, now that you know who
I am and what profession I follow."
AVith these words Don Quixote held his peace, and, from
the time he took to answer, the man in green seemed to be at
a loss for a
reply
;
after a long pause, however, he said to him,
"
You were riglit when you saw curiosity in my amazement,
sir knight ; ))ut you have not succeeded in removing the
astonishment T feel at seeing you; for although you say, sefior,
that knowing who you are ought to remove it, it has not done
so
;
on the contrary, now that I know, I am left more amazed
and
astonished than before. What ! is it possible that there are
knights-errant in the world in these days, and histories of real
chivalry
printed ? I can not realize the fact that there can be any
one on earth now-a-days who aids widows, ov protects maidens, or
defends wives, or succors orphans
;
nor should I believe it had
I not .seen it in your Avorship with my own eyes. Blessed be
Heaven ! for by means of this history of your noble and genuine
chivalrous deeds,
which you say has been printed, the count-
less stories of fictitious knights-errant with Avhich the world
is tilled, so much to the injury of morality and the prejudice
and
discredit of good histories, will have been driven into
oblivion."
"
There is a good deal to be said on that point," said Don
Quixote,
"
as to whether the histories of the knights-errant are
fiction or not."
"
Why, is there any one who doubts that those histories are
false ?
"
said the man in green.
'<
I doubt it," said Don tjuixote,
'*
but never mind that just
'In chapter iii., the reader may remember, the number is put at "more
than twelve thousand." Perhaps, between writing that chapter and this,
Cervantes may have heard of other editions besides those lie mentions
tliere ; but even counting all editions his estimate is excessive.
'I'rov. (>.
104
DON
QUIXOTE.
now
;
if our
journey lasts
long enough, I trust in God I shall
show
your worship
that you do
wrong in going with the stream
of those
who regard it \as a
matter of certainty that they are
not true."
From this last
observation
of Don Quixote's, the traveller
began to have a
suspicion that he was some crazy being, and
was waiting
him to confirm it by something further
;
but
before they could
turn to any new subject Don Quixote begged
him to tell him who he was, since he himself had rendered
account of his station and life To this, he in the green gaban
replied,
"
I, Sir Knight of the Rueful Countenance, am a gen-
tleman by birth, native of the village where, please God, we
are going to dine to-day ; I am more than fairly well off, and
my name is Don Diego de Miranda. I pass my life with my
wife, children, and friends; my pursuits are hunting and fish-
ing, but [ keep neither hawks nor greyhounds, nothing but a
tame partridge ' or a bold ferret or two ; I have six dozen or so
of books, some in our mother tongue, some Latin, some of them
history, others devotional ; those of chivalry have not as yet
crossed the threshold of my door ; I am more given to turning
over the profane than the devotional, so long as they are
books of honest entertainment that charm by their style and
attract and interest by the invention they display, though of
these there are very few in S])ain. Sometimes I dine Avith my
neighbors and friends, and often invite them ; my entertain-
ments are neat and well served without stint of anything.
I have no taste for tattle, nor do 1 allow tattling' in my
presence
;
I pry not into my neighbors' lives, nor have I lynx-
eyes for what others do. I hear Mass every da}' ; I share my
substance with the poor, making no display of good works,
lest I let hypocrisy and vain-glory, those enemies that subtly
take possession of the most watchful heart, find an entrance
into mine. I strive to make peace between those v/hom I
know to be at variance
;
1 am the devoted servant of Our
Lady, and my trust is ever in the infinite mercy of God our
Lord."
Sancho listened with the greatest attention to the account of
the gentleman's life and occupations
;
and thinking it a good and
'
Clemencin seems to think that it shoukl he, not jjerdigon

"
par-
tridge
"

but perdigiiero
"
\wmtcr
\
"
hut Cervantes would never liave
applied the word manso
"
tame
"

to a dog. CkMuencin apparently was

not aware that tame partridges are extensively used hy Andalusian sports-
men as decoys.
CHAPTER
XVI.
105
a holy life, and that he who led it ought to work miracles, he
threw himself off Dapple, and
running in haste seized his right
stirrup and kissed his foot again and again with a devout heart
and almost with tears.
Seeing this the gentleman asked him,
"
What are you about,
brother ? What are these kisses for ?
"
'<
Let me kiss," said Saneho,
"
for I think your worship is
the first saint in the saddle I ever saw all the days of my life."
"
I am no saint,"
replied the gentleman,
"
but a great sinner
;
Init you are, brother, for you must be a good fellow, as your
simplicity shows."
Saucho went back and regained his pack-saddle, having ex-
tracted a laugh from his master's
profound melancholy, and
excited fresh amazement in Don Diego. Don Quixote then
asked him how nmny children he had, and observed that one
of the things wherein the ancient philosophers, who were with-
out the true knowledge of God, placed the ^/n^ //</?? bon.ani was
in the gifts of nature, in those of fortune, in having many
friends, and many and good children.^
"
I, Seiior Don Quixote," answered the gentleman,
"
have one
son, without whom, perhaps, I should count myself happier
than I am, not because he is a bad son, but because he is not so
good as I could wish. He is eighteen years of age
;
he has been
for six at Salamanca studying Latin and Greek, and when I
wished him to turn to the study of other sciences I found him
so wrapped up in that of poetry (if that can be called a science)
that there is no getting him to take kindly to the law, which I
wished him to study, or to theology, the queen of them all.
I would like him to be an honor to his family, as we live in
days when our kings liberally reward learning that is virtuous
and worthy
;
for learning without virtue is a pearl on a dung-
hill. He spends the whole day in settling whether Homer ex-
pressed himself correctly or not in such and such a line of the
Iliad, whether Martial was indecent or not in such and such
an epigram, whether such and such lines of Virgil are to
be understood in this way or in that ; in short, all his talk is of
the works of these poets, and those of H(n-ace, Persius, Juvenal,
and TibuUus ; for of the moderns in our language he makes no
great account ; but with all his seeming indifference to Spanish
'
This is an instance of the heedless way in which Cervantes so often
wrote. He meant, of course, that having many and good children was one
of those things (such as, for example, the gifts of fortune, etc.) wherein
the philosophers placed the summum bonum.
106
DON
QUIXOTE.
poetry,
just now his thoughts are absorbed in making a gloss
on four lines that have been sent him from Salamanca, which
I suspect are for some poetical
tournament."
To all this Don Quixote said in reply,
"
Children, senor, are
portions of their parents' bowels, and therefore, be they good
or bad, are to be loved as we love the souls that give us life
;
it is for the parents to guide them from infancy in the ways of
virtue,
propriety, and worthy Christian conduct, so that when
grown up they may be the staff of their parents' old age, and
the
glory of their posterity ; and to force them to study this
or tiiat science I do not think Avise, though it may be no harm
to persuade them ; and when there is no need to study for the
sake of pane lacrando, and it is the student's good fortune
that Heaven has given him parents who provide him with it, it
would be my advice to them to let liim pursue whatever science
they may see him most inclined to ; and though that of poetry
is less useful than pleasurable, it is not one of those that bring
discredit upon the possessor. Poetry, gentle sir, is, as I take
it, like a tender young maiden of supreme beauty, to array,
bedeck, and adorn whom is the task of several other maidens,
who are all the rest of the sciences
;
and she must avail herself
of the help of all, and all derive their lustre from her. But
this maiden will not bear to be handled, nor dragged through
the streets, nor exposed either at the corners of the market-
places, or in the closets of palaces. She is the product of an
Alchemy of such virtue that he who is able to practise it, will
turn her into pure gold of inestimable worth. He that pos-
sesses her must keep her within bounds, not permitting her to
break out in ribald satires or soulless sonnets. She must on
no account be offered for sale, unless, indeed, it be in heroic
poems, moving tragedies, or sprightly and ingenious comedies.
She must not be touched by the buffoons, nor by the ignorant
^'ulgar, incapable of comprehending or appreciating her hidden
treasures. And do not suppose, seiior, that I apply the term
vulgar here merely to plebeians and the lower orders ; for every
one who is ignorant, be he lord or prince, maj^ and should be
included among the vulgar. He, then, who shall embrace and
cultivate poetry under the conditions I have named, shall
become famous, and his name honored throughout all the
'
Justas literarias
literary or poetical jousts or tournaments, in whicli
the
compositions of the competitors were recited in public, and prizes
awarded by
appointed judges, were still frequent in the time of Cervuutes.
CHAPTER XVI. 107
civilized nations of the earth. And with regard to what yon
say,
seiior, of your son having no great opinion of Spanish
poetry, I am inclined to think that he is not quite right there,
and for this reason : the great poet Homer did not write in
Latin, because he was a Greek, nor did Virgil write in Greek,
because he was a Latin ; in short, all the ancient poets wrote
in the language they imbibed with their mother's milk, and
never went in quest of foreign ones to express their sublime
conceptions ; and that being so, the usage should in justice
extend to all nations, and the German poet should not be
undervalued because he writes in his own language, nor the
C.istilian, nor even the Biscayan, for writing in his. But your
son, senor, I suspect, is not prejudiced against Spanish poetry,
but against those poets who are mere Spanish verse writers,
without any knowledge of other languages or sciences to adorn
and give life and vigor to. their natural inspiration ; and yer
even in this he may be wrong; for, according to a true belief,
a poet is born one ; that is to say, the poet by nature comes
forth a poet from his mother's womb ; and following the bent
that Heaven has bestowed upon him, without the aid of study
or art, he produces things that show how truly he spoke who
said, ^Est Dens in ntbis,' etc.^ At the same time, I say that
the poet by nature who calls in art to his aid will be a far
better poet, and will surpass him who tries to be one relying
upon his knowledge of art alone. The reason is, that art does
not surpass nature, but only brings it to perfection ; and thus,
nature combined with art, and art with nature, will produce a
perfect poet. To bring my argument to a close, I would say
then, gentle sir, let your son go on as his star leads him, for
being so studious as he seems to be, and having already suc-
cessfully surmounted the first step of the sciences, which is
that of the languages, with their help he will by his own ex-
ertions reach the summit of polite literature, which so well
becomes an independent gentleman, and adorns, honors, and
distinguishes him, as much as the mitre does the bishop, or
the gown the learned counsellor. If your son write satires
reflecting on the honor of others, chide and correct him, and
tear them up ; but if he compose discourses in which he
rebukes vice in general, in the style of Horace, and with ele-
gance like his, commend him ; for it is legitimate for a poet to
write against envy and lash the envious in his verse, and the
'
i.e. Ovid. Fasti, Lib. VI. and De Arte Ainaiidi, Lib. TIL
108
DON QUIXOTE.
other vices too,
provided he does not single out individuals
;
there are, however, poets who, for the sake of saying some-
thing
spiteful,
would run the risk of being banished to the
coast of Pontus.^
If the poet be pure in his morals, he will
be pure in his verses too ; the pen is the tongue of the mind,
and as the
thought
engendered there, so will be the things
that it writes
down. And when kings and princes observe this
marvellous
science of poetry in wise, virtuous, and thoughtful
subjects, they honor, value, exalt them, and even crown them
with the leaves of that tree which the thunderbolt strikes not,-
as if to show that they whose brows are honored and adorned
with sucli a crown are not to be assailed by any one."
He of the green gaban was tilled with astonishment at Don
Quixote's argument, so much so that he began to abandon the
notion he had taken up about his being crazy. But in the
middle of the discourse, it being not very much to his taste,
Sancho had turned aside out of the road to beg a little milk
from some shepherds, who were milking their ewes hard by
;
and just as the gentleman, highly pleased with Don Quixote's
sound sense and intelligence, was about to renew the conversa-
tion, Don Quixote, raising his head, perceived a cart covered
Avith royal flags coming along the road they were travelling
;
and persuaded that this must be some new adventure, he called
aloud to Sancho to come and bring him his helmet. Sancho,
hearing himself called, quitted the shepherds, and, prodding
Dapple vigorously, came up to his master, to whom there fell a
terrific and desperate adventure.
CHAPTER XVII.
WHEREIN IS SHOWN THE FURTHEST AND HIGHEST POINT
WHICH THE UNEXAMPLED COURAGE OF DON QUIXOTE
REACHED OR COULD REACH
;
TOGETHER WITH THE HAPPILY
ACHIEVED ADVENTURE OF TH K LIONS.
When the author of this great history comes to relate what
is set down in this chapter he says he would have preferred to
pass it over in silence, fearing it would not be believed, because
here Don Quixote's
madness reaches the confines of the greatest
'
Like ( )viil,
banished to Tomos in Pontus.
'^
i.e. the laurel.
CHAPTER XVIT.
109
that can be conceived, and even goes a couple of bowshots
beyond the greatest.^ I^ut after all, though still under the
same fear and apprehension, he has recorded it without
adding
to the story or leaving out a particle of the truth, and entirely
disregarding the charges of falsehood that might be brought
against him
;
and he was right, for the truth may run fine but
will not break,- and always rises above falsehood as oil above
water
;
^
and so, going on with his story, he says that when Don
Quixote called out to Sancho to bring him his helmet, .Sancho
was buying some curds the shepherds agreed to sell him, and
flurried by the great haste his master was in did not know
Avhat to do with them or what to carry them in ; so, not to lose
them, for he had already paid for them, he thought it best to
throw them into his master's helmet, and acting on this bright
idea he went to see what his master wanted with him. He, as
he approached, exclaimed to him,
"
Give me that helmet, my
friend, for either I know little of adventures, or what I observe
yonder is one that will, and does, call upon me to arm myself."
He of the green gaban, on hearing this, looked in all directions,
but could perceive nothing, except a cart coming towards them
with two or three small flags, which led him to conclude it
must be carrying treasure of the King's, and he said so to Don
Quixote. He, however, would not believe him, being
always
persuaded and convinced that all that ha})pened to him must
be adventures and still more adventures ; so he replied to the
gentleman,
''
He who is prepared has his battle half fought ;
*
nothing is lost by my preparing myself, for I know
by experi-
ence that I have enemies, visible and invisible, and I know
not when, or where, or at what moment, or in what shapes
they will attack me
;
" and turning to Sancho he called for his
helmet ; and Sancho, as he had no time to take out the curds,
had to give it just as it was. Don Quixote took it, and with-
out perceiving what was in it thrust it down in hot haste upon
his head
;
but as the curds were pressed and squeezed the whey
began to run all over his face and beard, whereat he was so
'
The opening sentences have lieen transferreil to tliis jihice from chap-
ter X. by Hartzenbusch. It wouhl be al^surd to call Don Quixote's sim-
plicity in the matter of Sancho's mystitication about the village girls, mad
doings (liiocras) that go beyond the maddest tliat can be conceived ; while
the lion adventure is all through treated as his very maddest freak ; one
compared with which, as Sancho says, all the rest were
'
cakes and fancy
bread.'
^
Prov. 2-tO. Mav be drawn out fine like wire.
3
Prov. 241.
'
"
Trov. U.
110
DON QUIXOTE.
startled that he cried out to Sancho,
"
Sancho, what 's this ? I
think my head is softening, or my brains are melting, or I am
sweating from head to foot ! If I am sweating it is not indeed
from fear. I am convinced beyond a doubt that the adventure
Avhich is about to b:^fall me is a terrible one. Give me some-
thing to wipe myself with, if thou hast it, for this profuse
sweat is blinding me."
Sancho held his tongue, and gave him a cloth, and gave
thanks to God at the same time that his master had not
foiuid out what was the matter. Don Quixote then wiped
himself, and took off his helmet to see what it was that made
his head feel so cool, and seeing all that white mash inside his
helmet he put it to his nose, and as soon as he had smelt it he
exclaimed,
"
By the life of my lady Dulcinea del Toboso, but
it is curds thou hast put here, thou treacherous, impudent, ill-
mannered squire !
"
To which, with great composure and pretended innocence,
Sancho replied,
"
If they are curds let me have them, your
worship, and I
'11
eat them
;
but let the devil eat them, for it
must have been he who put them there. I dare to dirty your
worship's helmet
! You have guessed the offender finely
!
Faith, sir, by the light God gives me, it seems I must have
enchanters too, that persecute me as a creature and limb of
your worship, and they must have put that nastiness there in
order to provoke your patience to anger, and make you baste
my ribs as you are wont to do. Well, this time, indeed, they
have missed their aim, for I trust to my master's good sense to
see that I have got no curds or milk, or anything of the sort
;
and that if I had it is in my stomach I would put it and not
in the helmet."
"May be so," said Don Quixote. All this the gentleman
was observing, and with astonishment, more especially when,
after having wiped himself clean, his head, face, beard, and
helmet, Don Quixote
put it on, and settling himself firmly in
his stirrups, easing his sword in the scabbard, ami grasping
his lance, he cried,
"
Now, come who will, here am
1,
ready to
try conclusions with Satan himself in person
!
"
By this time the cart with the flags had come up, unattended
by any one except the carter on a mule, and a man sitting in
front.
Don Quixote
planted himself before it and said,
'
Wliither are you going,
.brothers?
What cart is this?
What have you got in it ? What flags are those ?
"
CHAPTER XVI
L
111
To this the carter replied,
''
The cart is mine ; what is in it
is a pair of fine caged lions, which the governor of Oran is
sending to
court as a present to his Majesty
;
and the flags
are our lord the King's, to show that what is here is his
property."
^
"
And are the lions large ?
"
asked Don Quixote.
"
So large," replied the man who sat at the door of the cart,
"
that larger, or as large, have never crossed from Africa to
Spain
;
I am the keeper, and I have brought over others, but
never any like these. They are male and female
;
the male is
in that first cage and the female in the one behind, and they
are hungry now, for they have eaten nothing to-day, so let
your worship stand aside, for we must make haste to the place
where we are to feed them."
Hereupon, smiling slightly, Don Quixote exclaimed,
"
Lion-
whelps to me ! to me whelps of lions, and at such a time !
Then, by God ! those gentlemen who send them here shall see
if I am a man to be frightened by lions. Get down, my good
fellow, and as you are the keeper open the cages, and turn me
out those beasts, and in the midst of this plain I will let them
know who Don Quixote of La JVIancha is, in spite and in the
teeth of the enchanters who send them to me."
"
So, so," said the gentieman to himself at this ;
''
our
worthy knight has shown of what sort he is
;
the curds, no
doubt, have softened his skull and brought his brains to a
head."
At this instant Sancho came up to him, saying,
"
Senor, for
God's sake do something to keep my master, Don Quixote,
from tackling these lions ; for if he does they
'11
tear us all to
pieces here."
''
Is your master then so mad," asked the gentleman,
^'
tliat you believe and are afraid he will engage such fierce
animals
';' "'
"
He is not mad," said Sancho,
"
but he is venturesome."
"
I will prevent it," said the gentleman
;
and going over to
Don Quixote, who was insisting upon the keeper's opening the
cages, he said to him,
"
Sir knight, knights-errant should
attempt adventures which encourage the hope of a successful
issue, not those which entirely withhold it ; for valor that
'
Don Quixote, going to Siiragossn, could not have met tlie cart witli
lions coming from Cartagena, where they would have been landed from
Oran.
11^
DON
QUIXOTE.
trenches upon temerity savors rather of madness than of cour-
age
;
moreover,
these lions do not come to oppose you, nor do
they
dream of such a thing
;
they are going as presents to his
Majesty,
and it will not be right to stop them or delay their
journey."
"
Gentle sir," replied Don Quixote,
"
you go and mind your
tame
partridge and your bold ferret, and leave every one to
manage his own business
;
this is mine, and I know whether
these
gentlemen the lions come to me or not ;
"
and then turn-
ing to the keeper he exclaimed,
"
By all that 's good, sir scoun-
drel, if you don't open the cages this very instant, I
'11
pin you
to the cart with this lance."
The carter, seeing the determination of this apparition in
armor, said to him,
"
Please your worship, for charity's sake,
senor, let me unyoke the mules and place myself in safety
along with them before the lions are turned out ; for if they
kill them on me I am riuned for life, for all I possess is this
cart and mules."
"
man of little faith," replied Don Quixote,
"
get down
and unyoke
;
you will soon see that you are exerting yourself
for nothing, and that you might liave spared yourself the
trouble."
The carter got down and with aU speed unyoked the mules,
and the keeper called out at the top of his voice,
"
I call all
here to witness that against my will and under compulsion I
open the cages and let the lions loose, and that I warn this
gentleman that he will l^e accountable for all the harm and
mischief which these beasts may do, and for my salary and
dues as well. You, gentlemen, place ^yourselves in safet}' before
I open, for I know they will do me no harm."
Once more the gentleman strove to persuade Don Quixote
not to do such a mad thing, as it was tempting God to en-
gage in such a piece of folly. To this, Don Quixote replied
that he knew what he was about. The gentleman in return
entreated him to reflect, for he knew he was under a delusion.
"
Well, senor," answered Don Quixote,
"
if you do not like
to be a spectator of this tragedy,
as in your opinion it will be,
spur your flea-bitten mare and place yourself in safety."
Hearing this, Sancho with tears in his eyes entreated him to
give up an enterprise compared with which the one of the
windmills, and the awful one of the fulling mills, and, in fact,
all the feats he had
attempted- in the whole course of his life,
CHAPTER XVIi. 113
were cakes and fancy bread.
"
Look ye, senor,'' said Sanelio,
"
there 's no enchantment here, nor anything of the sort, for be-
tween the bars and chinks of the cage I have seen the paw of
a real lion, and judging by that I reckon the lion such a paw
could belong to must be bigger than a niountain."
"
Fear, at any rate," replied Don Quixote,
"
will make him
look bigger to thee than half the world. Retire, Sancho, and
leave me
;
and if I die here thou knowest our old compact
;
thou wilt repair to Dulcinea

I say no more." To these he

added some further words that banished all hope of his giving
up his insane project. He of the green gaban would have
offered resistance, but he found himself ill-matched as to arms,
and did not thiuk it prudent to come to blows with a madman,
for such Don Quixote had shown liimself to be in every re-
spect
;
and the latter, renewing his commands to the keeper
and repeating his threats, gave warning to the gentleman to
spur his mare, 8ancho his Dapple, and the carter his mules,
all striving to get away fi'om the cart as far as they could
before the lions broke loose. Sancho was weeping over his
master's death, for this time he firmly believed it was in store
for him from the claws of the lions
;
and he cursed his fate
and called it an unlucky hour when he thought of taking ser-
vice with him again
;
but with all his tears and lamentations
he did not forget to thrash Dapple so as to put a good space
between himself and the cart. The keeper, seeing that the
fugitives Avere now some distance oft", once more entreated and
warned Don Quixote as he had entreated and warned him
before
;
but he replied that he heard him, and that he need not
trouble himself with any further warnings or entreaties, as
they would be fruitless, and bade him make haste.
During the delay that occurred while the keeper was opening
the first cage, Don Quixote was considering whether it w^ould
not be well to do battle on foot, instead of on horseback, and
finally resolved to fight on foot, fearing that Eocinante might
take fright at the sight of the lions
;
he therefore sprang off
his horse, flung his lance aside, braced his buckler on his arm,
and drawing his sword, advanced slowly with marvellous in-
trepidity and resolute courage, to plant himself in front of the
cart, commending himself with all his heart, first to God, and
then to his lady Dulcinea.
It is to be observed, that on coming to this passage, the
author of this veracious history breaks out into exclamations.
Vol. ir. -3
114
DON QUIXOTE.
"
doughty Don Quixote I high mettled past extolling ! Mir-
ror, wherein all the heroes of the world may see themselves !
Second and modern Don Manuel de Leon, once the glory and
honor of Spanish knighthood !
^
In what words shall I de-
scribe this dread exploit, by what language shall I make it
credible to ages to come, what eulogies are there unmeet for
thee, though they be hyperboles piled on hyperboles ! On
foot, alone, undaunted, high-soided, with but a simple sword,
and that no trenchant blade of the Perrillo brand,^ a shield,
but no bright polished steel ono, there stoodst thou, biding and
awaiting the two fiercest lions that Afric's forests ever bred
!
Thy own deeds be thy praise, valiant Manchegan, and here
I leave them as they stand, wanting the words wherewith to
glorify them I
"
Here the author's outburst came to an end, and he proceeded
to take up the thread of his story, saying that the keeper, seeing
that Don Quixote had taken up his position, and that it was
impossible for him to avoid letting out the male without incur-
ring the enmity of the liery and daring knight, flung open the
doors of the first cage, containing, as has been said, the lion,

Referring to Don Manuel Ponce de Leon, one of the most brilliant of

thegilaxyof gallant knights round Fenlinan I an I Isabella at the siege
of Granada, an 1 hero, according to Spanish tradition, of a story told by
Schiller in Der nandschnh, by Leigh Hunt in the Glove and the Lions,
but best of all by Robert Browning in T/ie Glove. Although, witli these, the
hero's name is Da Lorge and tiie scene the Courtof Francis I. of France,
the story is originally a Spanish one. It was transferred to France by liran-
toiue in Discours X. of his Dames Illusires. lie took it from No. 3D of
Part III. of Bmdello's novels, and Bandello had it from a Valencian or
Catalan source. It appears in ditferent forms in old Spanish literature.
It is mentioned in the Nobiliario of Alonso Lopez de Haro, who, how-
ever, says nothing about throwing the glove in the lady's face. It is also
mentioned by Urrea in his translation of Ariosto, i."4'.t, and by Garci
Sanchez de Badajoz; and it is the subject of a ballad, probably of the
fifteenth century, in Timoneda's Rosa de Romances, 1573. Viardot, in a
note on this passage in his translation, says that the surname of
"
de
L3on"was conferred by Isabella in commemoration of the feat. Asa
member of the Spanish Academy he ought to have known that in that
cisethe title would have been 'VW Leon
;"
and, in the next place, that
tile noble family of the Ponces had borne the addition to their name since
the end of the twelfth century, when
Pedro Ponce de Minerva married
Aldonza, natural daughter of Alfonso IX. of Leon. Unfortunatelv, the
reverse of Viardot's theory is far the more probable one: that the "story
was invented to account for the name by some ballad-maker ignorant of
the family history of the Ponces.
The Perrillo i.e. the little dog
was the trade-mark of Julian d.-I
Rei, a famous armorer and
swordsmith
of Toledo and Saragossa.
CHAPTER XVII.
115
which was now seen to be of enormous size, and grim and hideous
mien. The first thing he did was to turn round in the cage in
which he lay, and protude his claws, and stretch himself thor-
oughly
;
he next opened his mouth, and yawned very leisurely,
and with near two palms'-length of tongue that he had thrust
forth, he licked the dust out of his eyes and washed his face
;
having done this, he put his head ont of the cage and looked
all round with eyes like glowing coals, a spectacle and de-
meanor to strike terror into temerity itself. Don Quixote
merely observed him steadily, longing for him to leap from
the cart and come to close quarters with him, when he hoped
to hew him in pieces.
So far did his unparalleled madness go; but the nol)le lion,
more courteous than arrogant, not troubling himself about silly
bravado, after having looked all round, as has been said, turned
about and presented his hind-quarters to Don Quixote, and very
coolly and tranquilly lay down again in the cage. Seeing this,
Don Quixote ordered the keeper to take a stick to him and pro-
voke him to make him come out.
"
That I won't," said the keeper
;
"
for if I anger him, the
first he
'11
tear to pieces will be myself. Be satisfied, sir knight,
with what you have done, which leaves nothing more to be said
on the score of courage, and do not seek to tempt fortune a
second time. The lion has the door open ; he is free to come
out or not to come out ; but as he has not come out so far, he
will not come out to-day. The greatness of your worship's
courage has been fully manifested already ; no brave champion,
so it strikes me, is bound to do more than challenge his enemy
and wait for him on the field ; if his adversary does not come,
on him lies the disgrace, and he who waits for him carries off
the crown of victory."
"
That is true," said Don Quixote
;
"
close the door, my
friend, and let me have, in the best form thou canst, what thou
hast seen me do, by way of certificate
;
to wit, that thou didst
open for the lion, that I waited for him, that he did not come
out, that I still waited for him, and that still he did not come
out, and lay down again. I am not bound to do more
;
en-
chantments avaunt, and God
uphold the right, the truth, and
true chivalry ! Close the door as I bade thee, while I make
signals to the fugitives that have left us, that they may learn
this exploit from my lips."
The keeper obeyed, and Don Quixote, fixing on the point of
116
DON
QUIXOTE.
his lance the cloth he had wiped his face Avith after the deluge
of curds,
proceeded to recall the others, who still continued to
fly, looking back at every step, all in a body, the gentleman
bringing up the rear. Sancho,
however, happening to observe
the signal of the
white cloth, exclaimed,
''
]\Iay I die, if my
master has not overcome the wild beasts, for he is calling to
us."
They all stopped, and perceived that it was Don Quixote
who was making signals, and shaking otf their fears to some
extent, they approached slowly until they were near enough to
hear distinctly Don Quixote's voice calling to them. They re-
turned at length to the cart, and as they came up, Don Quixote
said to the carter,
"
Put your mules to once more, brother, and
continue your journey
;
and do thou, Sancho, give him two
gold crowns for himself and the keeper, to compensate for the
delay they have incurred through me."
"
That will I give with all my heart," said Sancho ;
"
but
what has become of the lions ? Are they dead or alive ?
"
The keeper, then, in full detail, and bit by bit, described the
end of the contest, exalting to the best of his power and ability
the valor of Don Quixote, at the sight of whom the lion
quailed, and would not and dared not come out of the cage,
although he had held the door open ever so long
;
and showing
how, in consequence of his having represented to the knight
that it was tempting God to provoke the lion in order to force
him out, which he wished to have done, he very reluctantly,
and altogether against his will, had allowed the door to be
closed.
"
Wiiat dost thou think of this, Sancho ?
"
said J3on Quixote.
"
Are there any enchantments that can prevail against true
valor ? The enchanters may be able to rob me of good fortune,
but of fortitude and courage they can not."
Sancho paid the crowns, the carter put to, the keeper kissed
Don Quixote's hands for the bounty bestowed upon him, and
promised to give an account of the valiant exploit to the King
himself, as soon as he saw him at court.
"
Then," said Don Quixote,
''
if his Majesty should happen
to ask who performed it, you must say The Knight of the
Lioxs
;
for it is my desire that into this the name I have
hitherto borne of Knight of the Rueful Countenance be from
this time forward changed, altered, transformed, and turned
;
and in this
1 follow the ancient usage of knights-errant, who
CHAPTER XVII.
Ill
changed their names when they pleased, or Avhen it suited
their purpose."
^
The cart went its way, and Don Quixote, Sancho, and he
of the green gaban went theirs. All this time, Don Diego de
Miranda Iiad not spoken a word, being entirely taken u}) with
observing and noting all that Don Quixote did and said, and
the opinion he formed was that he was a man of brains gone
mad, and a madman on the verge of rationality. The first
part of his history had not yet reached him, for, had he read
it, the amazement Avith which his words and deeds tilled him
would have vanished, as he would then have understood the
nature of his madness
;
but knowing nothing of it, he took him
to be rational one moment, and crazy the next, for what he
said was sensible, elegant, and well expressed, and what he
did, absurd, rash, and foolish ; and said he to himself,
"
What
coidd be madder than putting on a helmet full of curds, and
then persuading one's self that enchanters are softening one's
skull ; or what could be greater rashness and folly than want-
ing to light lions tooth and nail ?
"
Don Quixote roused him from these reflections and this
soliloquy by saying,
"
No doubt, Seiior Don Diego de iVIiranda,
you set me down in your mind as a fool and a madman, and it
would be no wonder if you did, for my deeds do not argue any-
thing else. But for all that, I would have you take notice
that I am neither so mad nor so foolish as I must have seemed
to you. A gallant knight shows to advantage bringing his
lance to bear adroitly upon a fierce bull under the eyes of his
sovereign, in the midst of a spacious })laza
;
a knight shows to
advantage arrayed in glittering armor, pacing the lists before
the ladies in some joyous tournament, and all those knights
show to advantage that entertain, divert, and, if we ma}^ say
so, honor the courts of their princes by warlike exercises, or
what resemble them
;
but to greater advantage than all these
does a knight-errant show when he traverses deserts, solitudes,
cross-roads, forests, and mountains, in quest of perilous ad-
ventures, bent on bringing them to a happy and successful
issue, all to win a glorious and lasting renown. To greater
advantage, I maintain, does the knight-errant show bringing
aid to some widow in some lonely waste, than the court knight
dallying with some city damsel. All knights have their own
'
e.g. Ainadis, Esplandian, Belianis, the Caballerodel Febo, and others.
"The Knight of the Lions" was one of the titles adopted by Amadis.
118
DON
QUIXOTE.
special
parts to play
;
let the
courtier devote himself to the
ladies, let him add
lustre to his sovereign's court by his liv-
eries, let
him entertain poor
gentlemen
with the sumptuous fare
of his table, let him arrange
joustings, marshal tournaments,
and prove himself
noble, generous, and magnificent, and above
all a good
Christian, and so doing he will fulfil the duties that
are especially
his
;
but let the
knight-errant explore the corners
of the earth and penetrate the most intricate labyrinths, at
each step let him attempt
impossibilities, on desolate heaths
let him endure the burning rajs of the midsummer sun, and the
bitter inclemency of the winter winds and frosts
;
let no lions
daunt him, no monsters terrify him, no dragons make him quail
;
for to seek these, to attack those, and to vanquish all, are in truth
his main duties. I, then, as it has fallen to my lot to be a
member of knight-errantry, can not avoid attempting all that to
me seems to come within the sphere of my duties
;
thus it was
my bounden duty to attack those lions that I just now at-
tacked, although I knew it to be the height of rashness
;
for I
know well what valor is, that it is a virtue that occupies a
place between two vicious extremes, cowardice and temerity
;
but it will be a lesser evil for him who is valiant to rise till he
reaches the point of rashness, than to sink until he reaches the
point of cowardice
;
for, as it is easier for the prodigal than for
the miser to become generous, so it is easier for a rash man to
prove truly valiant than for a coward to rise to true valor ; and
believe ine, Seiior Don Diego, in attempting adventures it is
better to lose by a card too many than by a card too few ;
^
for to hear it said,
'
such a knight is rash and daring,' sounds
better than
'
such a knight is timid and cowardly.'
"
"
I protest, Sehor Don Quixote," said Don Diego,
"
every-
thing you have said and done is proved correct by the test of
reason itself ; and I believe, if the laws and ordinances of
knight-errantry should be lost, they might be found in your
worship's breast as in their own proper depository and muni-
ment-house
;
but let us make haste, for it grows late, and
reach my village and house, wdiere you shall take rest after
your late exertions
;
for if they have not been of the body they
have been of the spirit, and these sometimes tend to produce
bodily fatigue."
"
I take the invitation as a great favor and honor, Seiior
Don Diego," replied Don Quixote
;
and pressing forward at a
'
Prov. 39,
CHAPTER XVIII. 119
better pace than before, at about two in the afternoon they
reached the village and house of Don Diego, or, as Don Quixote
called him,
"
The Knight of the Green Gaban."
CHAPTER XVIII.
OF WHAT HAPPENED TO DON QUIXOTE IN THE CASTLE OR HOUSE
OF THE KNIGHT OF THE GREEN GABAN, TOGETHER WITH
OTHER MATTERS OUT OF THE COMMON.
Don Quixote found Don Diego de Miranda's house built
in village style, with his arms in rough stone over the street
door
;
' in the patio was the store-room, and at the entrance
the cellar, with plenty of wine-jars standing round, which,
coming from El Toboso, brought back to his memory his en-
chanted and transformed Dulcinea ; and Avith a sigh, and not
thinking of what he was saying, or in whose presence he was,
he exclaimed

"
O ye sweet treasures, to my sorrow found
!
Once sweet and welcome when 't was Heaven's good-will.'''
ye Tobosan jars, how ye bring back to my memory the sweet
object of my bitter regrets !
"
The student poet, Don Diego's son, who had come out with
his mother to receive him, heard this exclamation, and both
mother and son were filled with amazement at the extraor-
dinary figure he presented ; he, however, dismounting from
liocinante, advanced with great politeness to ask permission
to kiss the lady's hand, while Don Diego said,
"
Senora, pray
receive with your wonted kindness Senor Don Quixote of La
Mancha, whom you see before you, a knight-errant, and the
bravest and wisest in the world."
The lady, whose name was Dona Cristina, received him
with every sign of good-will and great courtesy, and Don
Quixote placed himself at her service with an alaundance of
well-chosen and polished phrases. Almost the same civilities
'
Many houses in the old towns of Northern and Central Spain are so
decorated to this day.
*
The beginning of Garcilaso's tentli sonnet, imitated from Virgil,
j^iieid, Lib. IV. :
"
Dulces exuviai, dum fata deusque sinebaut."
120
DON QUIXOTE.
were exchanged between him and the student, who, listening
to Don Quixote, took him to be a sensible, clear-headed
person.
Here the author describes minutely everything belonging to
Don Diego's mansion, putting before us in his picture the
whole contents of a rich gentleman-farmer's house ; but the
translator of the history thought it best to pass over these and
other details of the same sort in silence, as they are not in
harmony Avith the main purpose of the story, the strong point
of which is truth rather than /lull digressions.^
They led Don Quixote into a room, and Sancho removed his
armor, leaving him in his loose Walloon breeches and chamois-
leather doublet, all stained with the rust of his armor ; his
collar was a falling one of scholastic cut, without starch or
lace, his buskins buff-colored, and his shoes polished. He
wore his good sword, which hung in a baldric of sea-wolf's
skin, for he had suffered for many years, they say, from an
ailment of the kidneys ;
-
and over all he threw a long cloak
of good gray cloth. But first of all, with five or six buckets
of water (for as regards the number of buckets there is some
dispute) he washed his head and face, and still the water re-
mained whey-colored, thanks to Sancho's greediness and pur-
chase of those unlucky curds that turned his master so white.
Thus arrayed, and with an easy, sprightl3% and gallant air, Don
Quixote passed out into another room, where the student was
waiting to entertain him while the table was being laid ; for
on the arrival of so distinguished a guest, Dona Cristina was
anxious to show that she knew how and was able to give a be-
coming reception to those who came to her house.
While Don Quixote was taking off his armor, Don Lorenzo
(for so Don Diego's son was called) took the opportunity to say
to his father,
"
What are we to make of this gentleman you
have brought home to us, sir ? For his name, his appearance,
and your describing him as a knight-errant have completely
puzzled my mother and me."
"
I don't know what to say, my son," replied Don Diego
;
"
all I can tell thee is that I have seen him act the acts of the
'
A liit at the prolixity not only of the romances of chivalry, but of
more modern works.
^
Not that sea-wolf skin was a specific, Init because, like manv suffer-
ing from ailments in the region of the loins, he found a baldric passing
over the shoulder easier than the ordinary sword-belt.
CHAPTER XVIII.
.
121
greatest madman in the world, and heard him make observa-
tions so sensible that they eiface and nndo all he does ; do thou
talk to him and feel the pulse of his wits, and as thou art
shrewd, form the most reasonable conclusion thou canst as to
his wisdom or folly ; though, to tell the truth, I am more
inclined to take him to be mad than sane."
With this Don Lorenzo went aAvay to entertain Don Quixote
as has been said, and in the course of the conversation that
passed between them Don Quixote said to Don Lorenzo,
''
Your
father, Seiior Don Diego de Miranda, has told me of the rare
abilities and subtle intellect you possess, and, above all, that
you are a great, poet."
"
A poet, it may be," replied Don Lorenzo,
"
but a great one,
by no means. It is true that I am somewhat given to poetry
and to reading good poets, but not so much so as to justify the
title of
'
great ' which my father gives me."
"I do not dislike that modesty," said Don Quixote
;
"
for
there is no poet wlio is not conceited and does not think he is
the best poet in the world."
"
There is no rule without an exception," said ]>on Lorenzo
;
"
there may be some who are poets and yet do not think they
are."
"
Very few," said Don Quixote ;
''
but tell me, Avhat verses
are those which you have now in hand, and which your
father tells me keep you somewhat restless and absorbed
;'
If
it be some gloss, I know something about glosses, and I should
like to hear them ; and if they are tor a poetical tournament,
contrive to carry off the second prize ; for the first always goes
by favor or personal standing, the second by simjile justice;
and so the third conies to be the second, and the first, reckon-
ing in this Avay, will be third, in the same way as licentiate
degrees are conferred at the universities
;
but, for all that, the
title of first is a great distinction."
'
''
So far," said Don Lorenzo to himself,
"
I should not take
you to be a madman; but let us goon." So he said to liim,
"
Your worship has ap})arently attended the schools
;
what
sciences have you studied ?
"
''
That of knight-errantry," said Don Quixote,
"
which is
as good as that of poetry, and even a finger or two above it."
"I do not know what science that is," said Don Lorenzo,
"
and until now I have never heard of it."
'
Cervantes himself won a first prize at Saragossa in 1595.
122
.
DON
QUIXOTE.
^'
It is a science,"
said Don Quixote,
"
that comprehends in
itself all or most of the sciences in the world, for he who pro-
fesses it must be a jurist, and must know the rules of justice,
distributive and
ecjuitable, so as to give to each one what be-
longs to him and is due to him. He must be a theologian, so
as to be able to give a clear and distinctive reason for the
Christian faith he professes,
wherever it may be asked of him.
He must be a physician, and above all a herbalist, so as in
wastes and solitudes to know the herbs that have the property
of healing wounds, for a
knight-errant must not go looking for
some one to cure him at every step. He must be an astrono-
mer, so as to know by the stars how many hours of the night
have passed, and what clime and quarter of the world he is in.
He must know mathematics, for at every turn some occasion
for them will present itself to him
;
and, putting it aside that
he must be adorned with all the virtues, cardinal and theologi-
cal, to come down to minor particulars, he must, I say, be able
to swim as well as Nicholas or Nicolao the Fish could, as the
story goes ;
^
he must know how to shoe a horse, and repair his
saddle and bridle
;
and, to return to higher matters, he must
be faithful to God and to his lady ; he must be pure in
thought, decorous in words, generous in works, valiant in
deeds, patient in suffering, compassionate towards the needy,
and, lastly, an upholder of the truth though its defence
should cost him his life. Of all these qualities, great and
small, is a true knight-errant made up
;
judge then, Seiior Don
Lorenzo, whether it be a contemptible science which the knight
who studies and professes it has to learn, and whether it nuiy
not compare with the very loftiest that are taught in the
schools."
"
If that be so," replied Don Lorenzo,
"
this science, I pro-
test, surpasses all."
"
How, if that be so ?
"
said Don Quixote.
"
What I mean to say," said Don Lorenzo,
"
is, that I doubt
whether there are now, or ever Avere, any knights-errant, and
adorned Avith such virtues."
"
Many a time," replied Don Quixote,
"
have I said what I
now say once more, that the majority of the world are of opin-
ion that there never were any knights-errant in it ; and as it is
my opinion that, unless Heaven by some miracle brings home
'
Alluding to Pesce-Cola, or Pece Colan, the famous swimmer of Cata-
nia, who lived towards the end of the fifteenth century.
CHAPTER XVIII. 123
to them the truth that there were and are, all the pains one
takes will be in vain (as experience has often proved to me), I
will not now stop to disabuse you of the error you share with
the multitude. All I shall do is to pray to Heaven to deliver
you from it, and show you how beneficial and necessary
knights-errant were in days of yore, and how useful they would
be in these days were they but in vogue
;
but now, for the sins
of the people, sloth and indolence, gluttony and luxury are
triumphant."
"
Our guest has broken out on our hands," said Don Lorenzo
to himself at this poi;it ;
"
but, for all that, he is a glorious
madman, and I should be a dull blockhead to doubt it."
Here, being summoned to dinner, they brought their colloquy
to a close. Don Diego asked his son what he had been able to
make out as to the wits of their guest. To which he replied,
"
All the doctors and clever scribes in the world will not make
sense of the scrawl of his madness ; he is a madman in
streaks,^ full of lucid intervals."
They went in to dinner, and the repast was such as Don
Diego said on the road he was in the habit of giving to his
guests, neat, plentiful, and tasty
;
but what pleased Don Qui-
xote most was the marvellous silence that reigned throughout
the house, for it was like a Carthusian monastery.
When the cloth had been removed, grace said, and their
hands washed, Don Quixote earnestly pressed Don Lorenzo to
repeat to him his verses for the poetical tournament, to which
he replied,
"
Not to be like those poets who, when they are
asked to recite their verses, refuse, and when they are not asked
for them vomit them up,-^ I will repeat my gloss, for which I
do not expect any prize, having composed it merely as an exer-
cise of ingenuity."
<'
A discerning friend of mine," said Don Quixote,
"
was of
opinion that no one ought to waste labor in glossing verses
;
and the reason he gave was that the gloss can never come lap
to the text, and that often or most frequently it wanders away
f]'om the meaning and purpose aimed at in the glossed lines
;
and besides, that the laws of the gloss were too strict, as they
did not allow interrogations, nor
'
said he,' nor
'
I say,' nor
turning verbs into nouns, or altering the construction, not to
'
Entreverado^ i.e. like bacon tliat is mixed fat and lean.
^
"Nunquam indueant aniiuum cantare rogati,
Injiissi nunquam desistant."
124
I^ON
QUIXOTE.
speak
of
other
restrictions
and
limitations
that fetter gloss-
writers, as
you no doubt
know."
'
'^
Verily,
Senor
Don
Quixote,"
said Don Lorenzo, "I wish I
could catch
your
worsliiiJ
trippin^^ at a stretch, but I can not,
for you slip
through
my
fingers like an eel."
"
I don't
understand
what you say or mean by slipping,"
said Don
Quixote.
"
I will
explain
myself
another
time," said Don Lorenzo
;
"
for the
present pray attend to the glossed verses and the
gloss,
which run thus :
"
Could

was
'
become an
'
is
'
for me,
_
Then
would I ask no more than this
;
Or could,
for me, the time that is
Become the time that is to be !

Gloss.
<'
Dame Fortune once upon a day
To me was bountiful and kind
;
But all things change ; she changed her mind,
And what she gave she took away.
Fortune, long I 've sued to thee
;
The gifts thou gavest me restore,
For, trust me, I would ask no more,
Could
'
was
'
become an
'
is ' for me.
"
No other prize I seek to gain,
No triumph, glory, or success.
Only the long-lost happiness.
The memory whereof is pain.
One taste, methinks, of bygone bliss
The heart-consuming fire might stay
;
And, so it come without delay.
Then would I ask no more than this.
'
Glossed verses, versos glosados^ of the sort imitated here, were among
the literary frivolities indulged in by the sixteenth and seventeenth cen-
tury poets in Spain. Lope claims them as a Spanish invention, but Tick-
nor traces them to the Provencal poets. The Proven9al glosses, however,
were not constructed on the same principle. In Saa de Miranda's Obras
(1595), a gloss on some lines of Jorge Manrique's is described as
"
ao
custume daquelles tempos," which may imply that they came into fashion
at the beginning of the sixteenth century.
CHAPTER XVI11. 125
"
I ask what can not be, alas !
That time shoukl ever be, and then
Come back to us, and be again,
No i^ower
on earth can bring to pass
;
For fleet of foot is he, I wis,
And idly, therefore, do we pray
That what for aye hath left us may
Become for us the time that is.
"
Perplexed, uncertain, to remain
'Twixt hope and fear, is death, not life
;
'T were better, sure, to end the strife.
And dying, seek release from pain.
And yet, though 't were the best for me,
Anon the thought aside I fling.
And to the pi-esent fondly cling,
And dread the time that is to be."
When Don Lorenzo had finished reciting his gloss, Don
Quixote stood up, and in a loud voice, almost a shout, ex-
claimed as he grasped Don Lorenzo's right hand in his,
"
By
the highest heavens, noble youth, but you are the best poet
on earth, and deserve to be crowned with laurel, not by Cyprus
or by Gaeta as a certain poet, God forgive him, said

but
by the Academies of Athens, if they still flourished, and by
those that flourish now, Paris, Bologna, and Salamanca. Heaven
grant that the judges who rob you of the first prize

that
Phoebus may pierce them with his arrows, and the Muses never
cross the thresholds of their doors. Repeat me some of your
long-measure verses, seiior, if you will be so good, for I want
thoroughly to feel the pulse of your rare genius."
Is there any need to say that Don Lorenzo enjoyed hearing
himself praised by
Don Quixote, albeit he looked upon him as
a madman ? O power of flattery, how far-reaching art thou,
and how wide are the bounds of thy pleasant jurisdiction !
Don Lorenzo gave a proof of it, for he complied with Don Qui-
xote's request and entreaty, and repeated to him this sonnet
on the fable or story of Pyramus and Thisbe.
Sonnet.
The lovely maid, she pierces now the wall
;
Heart-pierced by her young Pyramus doth lie
;
126
T)0.^
QUIXOTE.
And Love
spreads
Aving from
Cyprus isle to fly,
A chink to
view so
wondrous
great and small.
There
silence
speaketh,
for no voice at all
Can pass so
strait a
strait ;
but love will ply
Where to all other power
'tw^ere vain to try
;
For love will find a way
whate'er befall.
Impatient of delay,
with reckless pace
The rash maid wins the fatal spot
where she
Sinks not in lover's arms but death's embrace.
So
runs the strange tale, how the lovers twain
One sword, one sepulchre, one memory,
Slays, and entombs, and brings to life again.
^
"Blessed be God," said Don Quixote when he had heard
Don
Lorenzo's
sonnet,
"
that among the hosts there are of irri-
table poets I have found one consummate one,- which, senor,
the art of this sonnet proves to me that you are !
"
For four days was Don Quixote most sumptuously enter-
tained in Don Diego's house, at the end of which time he asked
his permission to depart, telling him he thanked him for the
kindness and hospitality he had received in his house, but that,
as it did not become knights-errant to give themselves up for
long to idleness and luxury, he was anxious to fulfil the duties
of his calling in seeking adventures, of which he was informed
there was an abundance in that neighborhood, where he hoped
to employ his time until the day came round for the jousts at
Saragossa, for that was his proper destination
;
and that, first
of all, he meant to enter the cave of Montesinos, of which so
many marvellous things were reported all through the coimtry,
and at the same time to investigate and explore the origin and
true source of the seven lakes commonly called the lakes of
Ruidera.^
Don Diego and his son commended his laudable resolution, and
bade him furnish himself with all he wanted from their house
and belongings, as they would most gladly be of service to him
;
'
This sonnet is a caricature, and by no means an overcharged one, of
the sonnet style of the Culto school, which at this time had nearly attained
its highest influence. Indeed, it might easily pass muster as a fair speci-
men, not perhaps of Gongora, but of any of the minor cidtoristas
^Literally, "among the hosts of consumed poets." Possibly Cervantes
meant by the word,
"
lean,"
"
starving," l)ut it also has the meaning I
have given, which, perhaps

"genus irritabiU vatum,"

is the more
likely one.
^
See notes to chapter xxii.
CHAPTER XVI11. 127
which, indeed, his personal worth and his honorable profession
made it incumbent upon them to be.
The day of his departure came at length, as welcome to Don
Quixote a.s it was sad and sorrowful to Sancho Panza, who was
very well satisfied with the abundance of Don Diego's house,
and objected to return to the starvation of the woods and wilds
and the short-commons of his ill-stocked alforjas; these, how-
ever, he filled and packed with what he considered most need-
ful. On taking leave, Don Quixote said to Don Lorenzo,
"
I
know not whether I have told you already, but if I have I tell
you once more, that if you wish to spare yourself fatigue and toil
in reaching the inaccessible summit of the temple of fame, you
have nothing to do but to turn aside out of the somewhat
narrow path of poetry and take the still narrower one of knight-
errantry, wide enough, however, to make you an emperor in the
twinkling of an eye."
In this speech Don Quixote wound up the evidence of his
madness, but still better in what he added when he said,
"
God
knows, I would gladly take Don Lorenzo with me to teach him
how to spare the humble, and trample the proud under foot,
virtues that are part and parcel of the profession I belong to
;
but since his tender age does not allow of it, nor his praise-
worthy pursuits permit it, I will simply content myself with
impressing it upon your worship that you will become famous
as a poet if you are guided by the opinion of others rather than
by your own ; because no fathers or mothers ever think their own
children ill-favored, and this sort of deception prevails still
more strongly in the case of the children of the brain."
Both father and son were amazed afresh at the strange
medley Don Quixote talked, at one moment sense, at another
nonsense, and at the pertinacity and persistence he displayed in
going through thick and thin in quest of his unlucky advent-
ures, which he made the end and aim of his desires. There
was a renewal of offers of service and civilities, and then, with
the gracious permission of the lady of the castle, they took
their departure, Don Quixote on Rocinante, and Sancho on
Dapple.^
1
Cervantes seems to hare introduced the
"
discreet "
Don Diego de
Miranda as a sort of contrast to Don Quixote. Possibly it was from these
chapters that Theodore Agrippa d'Aubigne took the idea of his Sieur Enay
and Baron Fceneste.
'
128
DON
QUIXOTE.
CHAPTER
XIX.
IN
WHICH IS
RELATED
THE
ADVENTURE OF THE ENAMORED
SHEPHERD,
TOGETHER
WITH OTHER
TRULY DROLL INCI-
DENTS.
Don
Quixote had gone but a short distance beyond Don
Diego's
village, when he fell in with a couple of either priests
or students,
and a couple of peasants,
mounted on four beasts
of the ass kind. One of the students carried, wrapped up in
a
piece of green buckram by way of a
portmanteau, what
seemed to be a little linen and a couple of pair of ribbed
stockings
;
the other carried nothing but a pair of new fencing-
foils with buttons. The peasants carried divers articles that
showed they were on their way from some large town where
they had bought them, and were taking them home to their
village ; and both students and peasants were struck with the
same amazement that everybody felt who saw Don Quixote for
the first time, and were dying to know who this man, so dif-
ferent from ordinary men, could be. Don Quixote saluted
them, and after ascertaining that their road was the same as
his, made them an otter of his company, and begged them to
slacken their pace, as their young asses travelled faster than
his horse; and then, to gratify them, he told them in a few
words who he was and the calling and profession he followed,
which was that of a knight-errant seeking adventures in all
parts of the world. He informed them that his name was
properly Don Quixote of La Mancha, and that he was called,
by way of surname, the Knight of the Lions.
All this was Greek or gibberish to the peasants, but not so
to the students, who very soon perceived the crack in Don
Quixote's pate ; for all that, however, they regarded him with
admiration and respect, and one of them said to him,
"
If you,
sir knight, have no fixed road, as it is the way with those who
seek adventures not to have any, let your worship come with
us
;
you will see one of the finest and richest weddings that
up to this day have ever been celebrated in La Mancha, or for
many a league round."
Don Quixote asked him if it was some prince's, that he
spoke of it in this way.
"
Not at all," said the student ;
"
it
is the wedding of a farmer and a farmer's daughter, he the
CHAPTER XIX. 129
richest in all this country, and she the fairest mortal ever set
eyes on. The display with which it is to be attended will be
something rare and out of the common, for it will be cele-
brated in a meadow adjoining the town of the bride, who is
called, par exceUi'ncp, Quiteria the fair, as the bridegroom is
called Camacho the rich. She is eighteen, and he twenty-two,
and they are fairly matched, though some knowing ones, Avho
have all the pedigrees in the world by heart, will have it that
the family of the fair Quiteria is better than Camacho's ; but
no one minds that now-a-days, for wealth can solder a great
many flaws. At any rate, Camacho is free-handed, and it is
his fancy to screen the whole meadow with boughs and cover
it in overhead, so that the sun will have hard work if he tries
to get in to reach the grass that covers the soil. He has pro-
vided dancers too, not only sword- but also bell-dancers, for in
his own town there are those who ring the changes and jingle
the bells to perfection
;
of shoe-dancers I say nothing, for of
them he has engaged a host.' But none of these things, nor
of the many others I have omitted to mention, will do more
to make this a memorable wedding than the part which I sus-
pect the despairing Basilio will play in it. This Basilio is a
youth of the same village as Quiteria, and he lived in the
house next door to that of her parents, of which circumstance
Love took advantage to reproduce to the world the long-for-
gotten loves of Pyramus and Thisbe
;
for Basilio loved Quite-
ria from his earliest years, and she responded to his passion
with countless modest proofs of affection, so that the loves of
the two children, Basilio and Quiteria, were the talk and the
amusement of the town. As they grew up, the father of Qui-
teria made up his nund to refuse Basilio his wonted freedom
of access to the house, and, to relieve himself of constant
doubts and suspicions, he arranged a match for his daughter
with the rich Camacho, as he did not approve of marrying her
to Basilio, who had not so large a share of the gifts of fortune
as of nature
;
for if the truth be told ungrudgingly, he is the
most agile youth we know, a mighty thrower of the bar, a first-
rate wrestler, and a great ball-player
;
he runs like a deer, and
'
In the sword-dances the dancers carried swords with which they made
cuts and passes at each other, the art of the performance consisting in
going as near as possible without doing any injury. The bell-dancers
wore a dress hung with little bells after the fashion of the morris-dancers
in England. The peculiar agility of the shoe-tlancers

zapateadores

was shown by striking the sole of the shoe with the palm of the hand.
Vol. II. 9
130
DON
QUIXOTE.
leaps better than a goat, bowls over the nine-pins as if by
magic, sings like a lark, plays the guitar so as to make it
speak, and, above all, handles a
sword as
well as the best."
"
For that excellence alone," said Don Quixote at this,
''
the
youth deserves to marry, not
merely the fair Quiteria, but
Queen Guinevere herself, were she alive now, in spite of
Launcelot and all who would try to prevent it."
"
Say that to my wife," said Sancho, who had until now
listened in silence,
"
for she won't hear of anything but each
one marrying his equal, holding with the proverb
'
each ewe to
her like.'
^
What I would like is that this good Basilio (for I
am beginning to take a fancy to him already) should marry
this lady Quiteria
;
and a blessing and good luck

I meant to
say the opposite

on people who would prevent those who

love one another from marrying."
"
If all those who love one another were to marry," said Don
Quixote,
''
it would deprive parents of the right to choose, and
marry their children to the proper person and at the proper
time ; and if it was left to daughters to choose husbands as
they pleased, one would be for choosing her father's servant,
and another, sume one she has seen passing in the street and
fancies gallant and dashing, though he may be a drmiken
bully
;
for love and fancy easily blind the eyes of the judg-
ment, so much wanted in choosing one's way of life ; and the
matrimonial choice is very liable to error, and it needs great
caution and the special favor of Heaven to make it a good one.
He who has to make a long journey will, if he is wise, look
out for some trusty and pleasant companion to accompany him
before he sets out. Why, then, should not he do the same
who has to make the whole journey of life down to the final
halting-place of death, more especially when the companion
has to be his companion in bed, at board, and everywhere,
as the wife is to her husband ? The companionship of one's
wife is no article of merchandise, that, after it has been bought,
may be returned, or bartered, or changed ; for it is an insepa-
rable accident that lasts as long as life lasts
;
it is a noose that,
once you put it round your neck, turns into a Gordian knot,
which, if the scythe of Death does not cut it, there is no unty-
ing. I could say a great deal more on this subject, were I
not prevented by the anxiety I feel to know if the senor licen-
tiate has anything more to tell about the story of Basilio."
'
Prov. 1G2.
CHAPTER XIX. 131
To this the student, bachelor, or, as Don Quixote called him,
licentiate, replied,
"
I have nothing whatever to say further,
but that from the moment Basilio learned that the fair Quiceria
was to be married to Camacho the rich, he has never been seen
to smile, or heard to utter a rational word, and he always goes
,
about moody and dejected, talking to himself in a way that
shows plainly he is out of his senses. He eats little and sleeps
little, and all he eats is fruit, and when he sleeps, if he sleeps
at all, it is in the field on the hard earth like a brute beast.
Sometimes he gazes at the sky, at other times he fixes his eyes
on the earth in such an abstracted way that he might be taken
for a clothed statue, with its drapery stirred by the wind. In
short, he shows such signs of a heart crushed by suffering,
that all we who know him believe that when to-morrow the
fair Quiteria says 'yes' it will be his sentence of death."
''
God will guide it better," said Sancho,
"
for God Avho
gives the wound gives the salve
;
' nobody knows what will
happen
;
there are a good many hours between this and to-
morrow, and any one of them, or any moment, the house may
fall ; I have seen the rain coming down and the sun shining all
at one time ; many a one goes to bed in good health avIio can't
stir the next day. And tell me, is there any one who can
boast of having driven a nail into the wheel of fortune ? No,
faith
;
and between a woman's
'
yes ' and
'
no
'
I would n't vent-
ure to put the point of a pin, for there would not be room for
it ; if you tell me Quiteria loves Basilio heart and soul, then
I
'11
give him a bag of good luck, for love, I have heard say,
looks through spectacles that make copper seem gold, poverty
wealth, and blear eyes pearls."
"
What art thou driving at, Sancho, curses on thee ?
"
said
Don Quixote
;
"
for when thou takest to stringing ]_n'overbs and
sayings together, no one can understand thee but Judas him-
self, and I wish he had thee. Tell me, thou animal, what dost
thou know about nails or wheels, or anything else ?
"
"
Oh, if you don't understand me," replied Sancho,
"
it is no
wonder my words are taken for nonsense
;
but no matter ; I
understand myself, and I know I have not said anything very
foolish in what I have said
;
only your worship, senor,
is always
gravelling
at everything I say, nay, everything I do.'"
"Cavilling, not gravelling," said Don Quixote, "thou pre-
varicator of honest language, God confound thee !
"
'
Prov, 82.
132
DON QUIXOTE.
"
Don't find fault witli me, your worship," returned Sancho,
''
for you know I have not been bred u}) at court or trained at
Salamanca, to know whether I am adding or dropping a letter
or so in my words. Why ! God bless me, it 's not fair to torce
a Sayago-man to speak like a Toledan
;
'
and may be there
are Toledans who do not hit it off when it comes to polished
talk."
"
That is true," said the licentiate,
''
for those who have been
bred up in the Tanneries and the Zoeodover, can not talk like
those who are almost all day pa'^ing the cathedral cloisters, and
yet they are all Toledans.
"^
Pure, correct, elegant, and lucid
language will be met with in men of courtly breeding and
discrimination, though they may have been born in Majala-
honda
;
^
I say of discrimination, because there are many who
are not so, and discrimination is the grammar of good language,
if it be accompanied by practice. I, sirs, for my sins have
been a student of canon law at Salamanca, and I rather pique
myself on expressing my meaning in clear, plain, and intelli-
gible language."
"
If you did not pique yourself more on your dexterity with
those foils you carry than on dexterity of tongue," said the
other student,
"
you would have been head of the degrees,
where you are now tail."
"
Look here, bachelor Corchuelo," returned the licentiate,
"you have the most mistaken idea in the world about skill
with the sword, if you think it useless."
"
It is no idea on my part, but an established truth," replied
Corchuelo
;
"
and if you wish me to prove it to you by experi-
ment, you have swords there, and it is a good opportunity ; I
have a steady hand and a strong arm, and these joined with my
resolution, which is not small, will make you confess that I am
nut mistaken. Dismount and put in practice your positions
and circles and angles and science, for I hope to make you see
stars at noonday with my rude raw swordsmanship, in which,
next to G-od, I place my trust that the man is yet to be born
'
Sayago, a district between
Zaniora and tlie Portuguese frontier. From
tlie time of Alfonso X. the Castilian of Toledo was always regarded as the
standard.
^
The Zoeodover, the chief
plaza of Toledo, and the Sok, or market-
place, in the time of the Moors.
The cathedral cloisters are to this day a
favorite lounge in that sun-baked
city.
^Majalahonda
(properly
Majadahonda),
a small village a couple of
leagues to the north-west
of Madrid.
CHAPTER XIX. 133
who will make me turn my back, and that there is not one in
the world I will not compel to give ground."
"
As to whether you turn your back or not, I do not concern
myself,
"
replied the master of fence
;
"
though it might be that
your grave would be dug on the spot where you })lauted your
foot the first time
;
I mean that you would be stretched dead
there for despising skill with the sword."
"
We shall soon see," replied Corchuelo, and getting off his
ass briskly, he drew out furiously one of the swords the licen-
tiate carried on his beast.
''
It must not be that way," said Don Quixote at this point
;
"
I will be the director of this fencing match, and judge of this
often disputed question
;
" and dismounting from Rocinante
and grasping his lance, he planted himself in the middle
of the road, just as the licentiate, with an easy, graceful bear-
ing and step, advanced towards Corchuelo, who came on against
him, darting hre from his eyes, as the saying is. The other two
of the company, the peasants, without dismounting from their
asses, served as spectators of the mortal tragedy. The cuts,
thrusts, down strokes, back strokes and doubles,' that Corchu-
elo delivered were past counting, and came thicker than hops
or hail. He attacked like an angry lion, but he was met by a
tap on the mouth from the button of the licentiate's sword that
checked him in the midst of his furious onset, and made him
kiss it as it had been a relic, though not as devoutly as relics
are and ought to be kissed. The end of it was that the licen-
tiate reckoned up for him by thrusts every one of the buttons
of the short cassock he wore, tore the skirts into strips, like the
tails of a cuttle-fish, knocked off his hat twice, and so com-
pletely tired him out, that in vexation, anger, and rage, he took
the sword by the hilt and flung it away with such force, that
one of the peasants that were there, who was a notary, and who
went for it, made an affidavit afterwards that he sent it nearly
three-quarters of a league, which testimony will serve, and has
served, to show and establish with all certainty that strength is
overcome by skill.
Corchuelo sat down wearied, and Sancho approaching him
said,
"
By my faith, senor bachelor, if your worship takes my
advice, you will never challenge any one to fence again, only
'
Mandoble is described in tlie Academy Dictionary as a cut or stroke
delivered with both hands, but Arrieta exjjlains it as one given by a turn
of the wrist.
134
DON
QUIXOTE.
to
wrestle and
throw the bar,
for you have the youth and
strength for that ; but as for these
fencers as they all call them,
I have heard say
they can put the point of a sword through the
eye of a
needle."
''
I am satisfied with having
tumbled off my donkey,'"'
^
said
Corchuelo,
''
and with having had the truth I was so ignorant
of proved to me by
experience ;
"
and getting up he embraced
the licentiate, and they were better friends than ever
;
and not
caring to wait for the notary who had gone for the sword, as
they saw he would be a long time about it, they resolved to
push on so as to reach the village of Quiteria, to which they
all belonged, in good time.
During the remainder of the jom-ney the licentiate held
forth to them on the excellences of the sword, with such con-
clusive
arguments, and such figures and mathematical proofs,
that all were convinced of the value of the science, and Cor-
chuelo cured of his dogmatism.
It grew dark ; but before they reached the town it seemed
to them all as if there was a heaven full of countless glittering
stars in front of it. They heard, too, the pleasant mingled
notes of a variety of instruments, flutes, drums, psalteries,
pipes, tabors, and timbrels, and as they drew near they per-
ceived that the trees of a leafy arcade that had been constructed
at the entrance of the town were filled with lights unatt'ected
by the wind, for the breeze at the time was so gentle that it
had not power to stir the leaves on the trees. The musicians
were the life of the wedding, Avandering through the pleasant
grounds in separate bands, some dancing, others singing, others
playing the various instruments already mentioned. In short,
it seemed as though mirth and gayety were frisking and gam-
bolling all over the meadow. Several other persons were
engaged in erecting raised benches from which people might
conveniently see the plays and dances that were to be per-
formed the next day on the spot dedicated to the celebration of
the marriage of Camacho the rich and the obsequies of Basilio.
Don Quixote would not enter the village, although the peasant
as Avell as the bachelor pressed him
;
he excused himself,
however, on the grounds, amply sufficient in his opinion, that
it was the custom of knights-errant to sleep in the fields and
woods in preference to towns, even were it under gilded ceil-
^To fall off one's donkey, caer desu horrico or burra, a popular phrase
for owning that one has been in the wrong.
CHAPTER XX. 135
ings ; and so lie turned aside a little out of the road, very
much, against Sancho's will, as the good quarters he had
enjoyed in the castle or house of Don Diego came back to
his mind.
CHAPTER XX.
WHEREIN AN ACCOUNT IS GIVEN OF THE WEDDING OF CAMACHO
THE RICH, TOGETHER WITH THE INCIDENT OF BASILIO TilK
POOR.
Scarce had the fair Aurora given bright Phoebus time to dry
the liquid pearls upon her golden locks with the heat of his
fervent rays, when Don Quixote, shaking off sloth from his
limbs, sprang to his feet and called to his squire Sanclio, who
was still snoring ; seeing which Don Quixote ere he roused
him thus addressed him :
"
Happy thou, above all the dwell-
ers on the face of the earth, that, witliout envying or being
envied, sleepest with tranquil mind, and that neither enchant-
ers persecute nor enchantments affright. Sleep, I say, and will
say a hundred times, without any jealous thoughts of thy mis-
tress to make thee keep ceaseless vigils, or any cares as to how
thou art to pay the debts thou owest, or find to-morrow's food
for thyself and thy needy little family, to interfere with thy
repose. Ambition breaks not thy rest, nor doth this world's
empty pomp disturb thee, for the utmost reach of thy anxiety
is to provide for thy ass, since upon my shoulders thou hast
laid the support of thyself, the counterpoise and burden that
nature and custom have imposed upon masters. The servant
sleeps and the master lies awake thinking how he is to feed
him, advance him, and reward him. The distress of seeing tlie
sky turn brazen, and withhold its needful moisture from the
earth, is not felt by the servant, but by the master, who in time
of scarcity and famine must support him who has served him
in times of plenty and abundance."
To all this Sanclio made no reply because he was asleep,
nor would he have wakened up so soon as he did had not Don
Quixote brought him to his senses with the butt of his lance.
He awoke at last, drowsy and lazy, and casting his eyes about
in every direction, observed,
"
There conies, if I don't mista.ke,
from the direction of that arcade a steam and a smell a great
136
DON
QUIXOTE.
deal more like fried rashers than
galingale or thyme
;
a wed-
ding that begins with smells like that, by my faith, ought to
be plentiful and unstinting."
<<
Have done, thou
glutton," said Don Quixote
;
"
come, let
us go and witness this bridal, and see what the rejected Basilio
does."
"
Let him do what he likes,"
returned Sancho
;
"
he 'd be
poor and yet marry Quiteria. To make a grand match for
himself, and he without a farthing ;
is that all he wants ?
Faith, senor, it 's my opinion '"he poor man should be content
with what he can get, and not go looking for dainties in the
bottom of the sea.^ I will bet my arm that Camacho could
bury Basilio in reals ; and if that be so, as no doubt it is, what
a fool Quiteria would be to refuse the fine dresses and jewels
Camacho must have given her and will give her, and take
Basilio's bar-throwing and sword-play. They won't give a pint
of wine at the tavern for a good cast of the bar or a neat
thrust of the sword. Talents and accomplishments that can't
be tiu-ned into money, M Count Dirlos have them
;
^
but when
such gifts fall to one that has hard cash, I wish my condition
of life was as becoming as they are. On a good foundation
you can raise a good building, and the best foundation and
groundwork in the world is money.
"
"
For God's sake, Sancho," said Don Quixote here,
"
stop
that harangue
;
it is my belief, if thou wert allowed to continue
all thou beginnest every instant, thou wouldst have no time
left for eating or sleeping ; for thou wouldst spend it all in
talking."
"
If your worship had a good memory," replied Sancho,
"
you
would remember the articles of our agreement before we started
from home this last time
;
one of them was that I was to be let
say all I liked, so long as it was not against my neighbor or
your worship's authority ; and so far, it seems to me, I have
not broken the said article."
"
I remember no such article, Sancho," said Don Quixote
;

and even if it were so, I desire you to hold your tongue and
come along
;
for the instruments we heard last night are already
beginning to enliven the valleys again, and no doubt the mar-
'
Prov. 60.
^
Count Dirlos was the brother of Durandarte and hero of one of the
ballads of the Carlovingian cycle. His name seems to have come to be
used somewhat in the same fasliion as that of
"
The Marquis of Carabas."
V. Quevedo's Gran
Tacano., chap. xii.
CHAPTER XX. 137
riage will take place in the cool of tlie morning, and not in the
heat of the afternoon."
Sancho did as his master bade him, and putting the saddle
on Rocinante and the pack-saddle on Dapple, they both mounted
and at a leisurely pace entered the arcade. The first thing that
presented itself to Sancho's eyes was a whole ox spitted on a
whole elm tree, and in the fire at which it was to be roasted
there was burning a middling-sized mountain of fagots, and six
stewpots that stood round the blaze had not been made in the
ordinary mould of common pots, for they were six half wine-
jars, each fit to hold the contents of a slaughter-house
;
^
they
swallowed up whole sheep and hid them aAvay in their insides
without showing any more sign of them than if they were
pigeons. Countless were the hares ready skinned and the
plucked fowls that hung on the trees for burial in the pots,
numberless the wildfowl and game of various sorts suspended
from the ])ranches that the air might keep them cool. Sancho
counted more than sixty wine- skins of over six gallons each,
and all filled, as it proved afterwards, with generous wines.
There were, besides, piles of the whitest bread, like the heaps
of corn one sees on the threshing-floors. There was a wall made
of cheeses arranged like open brick-work, and two caldrons
full of oil, bigger than those of a dyer's shop, served for cooking
fritters, which when fried were taken out with two mighty
shovels, and plunged into another caldron of prepared honey
that stood close by. Of cooks and cook-maids there were over
fifty, all clean, brisk, and blithe. In the capacious belly of the
ox were a dozen soft little sucking-pigs, which, sewn up there,
served to give it tenderness and flavor. The spices of different
kinds did not seem to have been bought by the pound, Init by
the quarter, and all lay open to view in a great chest. In sluu't,
all the preparations made for the wedding were in rustic style,
but abundant enough to feed an army.
Sancho observed all, contemplated all, and everything won
his heart. The first to captivate and take his fancy were the
pots, out of which he would have very gladly helped himself
to a moderate pipkinful ; then the wine-skins secured his
affections
;
and lastly, the produce of the frying-pans, if, in-
deed, such imposing caldrons may be called frying-pans ; and
unable to control himself or bear it any longer, he approached
'
The tinajas or jars used for storing wine in La Manclia are sometimes
seven or eight feet high, and nearly as much in diameter at the widest part.
138
DON
QUIXOTE.
one of the busy
cooks
and
civilly
but
hungrily
begged permis-
sion to soak a scrap
of bread in one
of the pots
;
to which the
cook
made
answer,
"Brother,
this is
not a day on Avhich
huncrer is to
have any sway,
thanks to the
rich Camacho
;
get
down and
look about
for a
ladle
and skim
off a hen or two,
and
much
good may they do
you."
"
I don't see
one," said
Sancho.
"Wait a
bit," said the
cook
;
"
sinner that I am
!
how par-
ticular and
bashful vou are
!
" and so saying, he seized a bucket
and
plunging
it into one of the
half jars took up three
hens
and a
couple of geese, and said to
Sancho,
" Fall to,
friend, and
take the edge off your
appetite
with these skim-
mings
until
dinner-time
comes."
"
I have
nothing to put them hi," said Sancho.

Well, then," said the cook,

"
take spoon and all
;
for Cam-
acho's
wealth and
happiness
furnish
everything."
While Sancho
fared thus, Don Quixote was watching the
entrance, at one end of the arcade, of some twelve peasants, all
in holiday and gala dress,
inoimted on twelve
beautiful mares
with rich handsome
field trappings
and a
number of little bells
attached to their petrals, who,
marshalled in regular order, ran
not one but several courses over the meadow,
with jubilant
shouts and cries of
"
Long live Camacho
and Quiteria I he as
rich as she is fair, and she the fairest on earth
!
"
Hearing this, Don Quixote said to
himself,
"
It is easy to
see these folk have never seen my Dulcinea del Toboso
;
for if
they had they would be more moderate in their praises of this
Quiteria of theirs."
Shortly after this, several bands of dancers of various sorts
began to"euter the arcade at different points, and among them
one of sword-dancers composed of some
four-and-twenty
lads
of gallant and high-spirited mien, clad in the finest and whitest
of linen, and with handkerchiefs embroidered in various colors
Avith fine silk ; and one of those on the mares asked an active
youth who led thein if any of the dancers had been
wounded.
"
As yet, thank God, no one has been wounded," said he,
"
we
are all safe and sound
;
"
^
and he at once began to execute
complicated figures with the rest of his comrades,
with so
many turns and so great dexterity, that although Don Quixote
was well used to see dances of the same kind, he thought he
'
The sword-dance was exceedingly dangerous, so much so that it was
prohibited in course of time.
I
CHAPTER XX.
139
had never seen any so good as this. He also admired another
that came in composed of fair young maidens, none of whom
seemed to be under fourteen or over eighteen years of age, all
clad in green stuff, with their locks partly braided, partly
flowing loose, but all of such bright gold as to vie with the
simbeams, and over them they wore garlands of jessamine,
roses,
amaranth, and honeysuckle. At their head were a ven-
erable old man and an ancient dame, more brisk and active,
however, than might have been expected from their years.
The notes of a Zamora bagpipe accompanied them, and with
modesty in their countenances and in their eyes, and lightness
in their feet, they looked the best dancers in the world.
Following these there came an artistic dance of the sort
they call
"
speaking dances." It was composed of eight
nymphs in two files, with the god Cupid leading one and
Interest the other, the former furnished with wings, bow,
quiver and arrows, the latter in a rich dress of gold and silver
of divers colors. The nymphs that folloAved Love bore their
names written on white parchment in large letters on their
backs.
"
Poetry
"
was the name of the first,
"
Wit
"
of the
second,
"
Birth " of the third, and
"
Valour "
of the fourth.
Those that followed Interest were distinguished in the same
way ; the badge of the first announced
"
Liberality," that of
tlie second
"
Largess," the third
"
Treasure," and the fourth
"
Peaceful Possession." In front of them all came a Avooden
castle drawn by four wild men, all clad in ivy and hemp
stained green, and looking so natural that they nearly terrified
8ancho. On the front of the castle and on each of the four
sides of its frame it bore the inscription,
"
Castle of Caution."
Four skilful tabor and flute players accompanied them, and the
dance having been opened, Cupid, after executing two figures,
raised his eyes and bent his bow against a damsel who stood
between the turrets of the castle, and thus addressed her
:
I am the mighty God whose sway
Is potent over hind and sea.
The heavens above us own me ; nay,
The shades below acknowledge me.
I know not fear, I have my will,
Whate'er my whim or fancy be
;
For me there 's no impossible,
I order, bind, forbid, set free.
Having concluded the stanza, he discharged an arrow at the
140
I^ON
QUIXOTE.
top
of the
castle,
and
went
back
to his
place.
Interest then
came
forward
and
went
through
two
more
figures, and as soon
as
the
tabors
ceased,
he
said
:
But
misthtier
than
Love am I,
Though
Love it be that leads me on,
Than
mine no lineage
is more
high,
Or
older,
underneath
the sun.
To
use me
rightly few know how
To act
without me fewer
still,
Fpr I am
Interest, and I vow
For
evermore to do thy will.
Interest
retired,
and
Poetry
came
forward, and when she had
gone
through
her
figures
like the others,
fixing her eyes on
the
damsel
of the castle, she said
:
With many a fanciful
conceit,
Fair Lady,
winsome Foesy
Her soul, an offering at thy feet,
Presents in sonnets unto thee.
If thou my homage wilt not scorn,
Thy fortune,
watched by envious eyes,
On
wings of poesy upborne
Shall be exalted to the skies.
Poetry
withdrew, and on the side of Interest, Liberality ad-
vanced,
and after having gone through her figures, said
:
To give, while shunning each extreme.
The sparing hand, the over-free,
Therein
consists, so wise men deem,
The virtue Liberality.
But thee, fair lady, to enrich.
Myself a prodigal I
'11 prove,
A vice not wholly shameful,
which
May find its fair excuse in love.
In the same manner all the characters of the two bands ad-
vanced and retired, and each executed its figures, and
delivered
its verses, some of them graceful, some
burlesque, but Don
Quixote's memory (though he had an excellent one)
only
carried away those that have been just quoted. All then
mingled together, forming chains and breaking oif again with
graceful, unconstrained gayety ; and whenever Love passed
in front of the castle he shot his arrows up at it, while Inter-
est broke gilded pellets against it. At length, after they had
CHAPTER XX. 141
danced a good while, Interest drew out a great purse, made of
the skin of a large brindled cat and to all appearance full
of money, and flung it at the castle, and with the force of
the blow the boards fell asunder and tumbled down, leaving the
damsel exposed and unprotected. Interest and the characters
of his band advanced, and throwing a great chain of gold over
her neck pretended to take her and lead her away captive, on
seeing which, Love and his supporters made as though they
would release her, the whole action being to the accompani-
ment of the tabors and in the form of a regular dance. The
wild men made peace between them, and with great dexterity
readjusted and fixed the boards of the castle, and the damsel
once more ensconced herself within ; and with this the dance
wound lip, to the great enjoyment of the beholders.
Don Quixote asked one of the n3anphs who it was that had
composed and arranged it. She replied that it was a benefi-
ciary of the town who had a nice taste in devising things of
the sort.
"
I will lay a wager," said Don Quixote,
"
that the same
bachelor or beneficiary is a greater friend of Camacho's than
of Basilio's, and that he is better at satire than at vespers
;
he
has introduced the accomplishments of Basilio and the riches
of Camacho very neatly into the dance."
Sancho Panza, who was listening to all this, exclaimed,
"
The
king is my cock ;
^
I stick to Camacho."
"
It is easy to see thou art a clown, Sancho," said Don Qui-
xote,
"
and one of that sort that cry
'
Long life to the con-
queror.'
"
"
I don't know of what sort I am," returned Sancho,
"
but I
know very well I
'11
never get such elegant skimmings off Ba-
silio's pots as these I have got off Camacho's ; and he showed
him the bucketful of geese and hens, and seizing one began to
eat with great gayety and appetite, saying,
"
A fig for the
accomplishments of Basilio ! As much as thou hast so much art
thou worth, and as mnch as thou art worth so much hast thovi.'^
As a grandmother of mine used to say, there are only two fam-
ilies in the world, the Haves and the Haven'ts
;
^
and she stuck
to the Haves ; and to this day, Senor Don Quixote, people
would sooner feel the pulse of
'
Have ' than of
'
Know
;
' an ass
'
El Rey es mi gallo

an exclamation borrowed from cock-fighting.
The winning cock was called el Rey.
*Prov. 221. ^Prov. 223.
142
DON
QUIXOTE.
covered with gold looks better than a horse with a pack-saddle.
So once more I say I stick to Camacho, the bountiful skim-
mings of whose pots are geese and hens, hares and rabbits
;
but of Basilio's, if any ever come to hand, or even to foot,
they
'11
be only rinsings."
^
"
Hast thou finished thy harangue, Sancho
?
" said Don
Quixote.
"
Of course I have finished it," replied Sancho,
"
because I
see your worship takes offence at it ; but if it was not for that,
there was work enough cut out for three days."
"
God grant I may see thee dumb before I die, Sancho," said
Don Quixote.
"
At the rate we are going," said Sancho,
"
I
'11
be chewing
clay before your worship dies
;
and then, maybe, I
'11
be so
dumb that I
'11
not say a word until the end of the world, or,
at least, till the day of judgment."
"
Even should that happen, O Sancho," said Don Quixote,
"
thy silence will never come up to all thon hast talked, art
talking, and wilt talk all thy life
;
moreover, it naturally stands
to reason, that my death will come before thine
;
so I never
expect to see thee dumb, not even when thou art drinking or
sleeping, and that is the utmost I can say."
"
In good faith, seiior," replied Sancho,
"
there 's no trusting
that fleshless one, I mean Death, who devours the lamb as soon
as the sheep, and, as I have heard our curate say, treads with
equal foot upon the lofty towers of kings and the lowly huts of
the poor. That lady is more mighty than dainty, she is no way
squeamish, she devours all and is ready for all, and fills her
alforjas with people of all sorts, ages, and ranks. She is no
reaper that sleeps out the noontide ; at all times she is reap-
ing and cutting down, as well the dry grass as the green ; she
never seems to chew, but bolts and swallows all that is ])iit
before her, for she has a canine appetite that is never satisfied
;
and though she has no belly, she shows she has a dropsy and
is athirst to drink the lives of all that live, as one would drink
a jug of cold water."
"
Say no more, Sancho," said Don Quixote at this
;
"
don't
try to better it, and risk a fall ; for in truth what thou hast
said about death in thy rustic phrase is what a good preacher
might have said. I tell thee, Sancho, if thou hadst discretion
'
Properly,
a vile kind of wine made from the refuse and washings of
the wine-press.
CHAPTER XXL 143
equal to thy mother wit, thou mightst take a pulpit in hand,
and go about the world preaching hue sermons."
"
He preaches well who lives well,"
^
said Sancho,
"
and I
know no more th'ology than that."
"
N"or needst thou," said Don Quixote
;
"
but I cannot con-
ceive or make out how it is that, the fear of God being the
beginning of wisdom, thou, who art more afraid of a lizard
than of him, knowest so much."
"
Pass judgment on your chivalries, senor," returned San-
cho,
"
and don't set yourself up to judge of othej' men's fears
or braveries, for I am as good a fearer of God as my neigh-
bors
;
but leave me to despatch these skimmings, for all the
rest is only idle talk that we shall be called to account for in
the other world ;
"
and so saying, he began a fresh attack on
the bucket, with such a hearty appetite that he aroused Don
Quixote's, who no doubt would have helped him had he not
been prevented by what must be told farther on.
CHAPTER XXI.
IN WHICH CAMACHO'S WEDDING IS CONTINUED, WITH OTHER
DELIGHTFUL INCIDENTS.
While Don Quixote and Sanclio were engaged in the dis-
cussion set forth in the last chapter, they heard loud shouts
and a great noise, which were uttered and made by the men
on the mares as they went at full gallop, shouting, to receive
the bride and bridegroom, who were approaching with musical
instruments and pageantry of all sorts around them, and accom-
panied by the priest and the relatives of both, and all the most
distinguished people of the surrounding villages. When Sancho
saw the bride, he exclaimed,
"
By my faith, she is not dressed
like a country girl, but like some line court lady ; egad, as well
as I can make out, the patena
'^
she wears is rich coral, and her
green Cuenca stuff is thirty-pile velvet;
^
and then the white
linen trimming

by my oath, but it 's satin ! Look at her

'
Prov. 191.
^
A metal ornament worn by peasant girls somewliat after tlie manner
of a locket.
^
The richest ordinary velvet being three pile.
144
DON
QUIXOTE.
hands

jet rings on them ! May I never have kick if they 're

not gold rings, and real gold, and set with pearls as white as
cuvdled milk, and every one of them worth an eye of one's head
!
Whoreson
baggage,
what hair she has !
if it 's not a wig, I
never saw longer or brighter all the days of my life. See how
bravely she bears
herself

and her shape !

Wonldn't you say
she wa,s like a walking
palm-tree loaded Avith clusters of dates ?
for the trinkets she has hanging from her hair and neck look
just like them.
I swear in my heart she is a brave lass, and
lit to pass the banks of Flanders."
^
Don Quixote laughed at Sancho's boorish eidogies, and
thought that, saving his lady Dulcinea del Tobo^o, he had
never seen a fairer woman. The fair Quiteria ai)peared some-
what pale, which was, no doubt, because of the bad night brides
always pass dressing
themselves out for their wedding on the
morrow. They advanced towards a theatre that stood on one
side of the meadow, decked with carpets and boughs, where
they were to plight their troth, and from which they were to
behold the dances and plays ; but at the moment of their arrival
at the spot they heard a loud outcry behind them, and a voice
exclaiming, " Wait a little, ye, as inconsiderate as ye are hasty !
"
At these words all turned roiuid, and perceived that the
speaker was a man clad in what seemed to be a loose black coat
garnished with crimson patches like flames. He was croAvned
(as was presently seen) with a crown of gloomy cypress, and
in his hand he held a long staff. As he approached he was
recognized l)y every one as the gay Basilio, and all waited
anxiously to see what would come of his words, in dread of
some catastrophe in consequence of his appearance at such a
moment. He came up at last weary and breathless, and plant-
ing himself in front of the bridal pair, drove his staif, which
had a steel spike at the end, into the ground, and, with a i)ale
face and eyes fixed on Quiteria, he thus addressed her in a
hoarse, trembling voice :
"
Well dost thou know, ungrateful
Quiteria, that, according to the holy law we acknowledge, so
long as I live thou canst take no husband ; nor art thou
ignorant either that, in my hopes that time and my own exer-
tions would improve my fortunes, I have never failed to observe
the respect due to thy honor ; but thou, casting behind thee all
thou owest to my true love, wouldst surrender what. is mine to
'
Fit for any enterprise
;
the shoals of the Flemish coast being regarded
with great awe by the Spanish sailors.
I"
\
\
THE WEDDING OF COMACHO INTERRUPTED. Vol. 2. Page 145.
CHAPTER XXI. 145
another whose wealth serves to bring him not only good fort-
luie, but supreme happiness ; and now to complete it (not that
I think he deserves it, but inasmuch as Heaven is pleased
to
bestow it upon him), I will, with my own hands, do away
with
the obstacle that niay interfere with it, and remove myself froju
between you. Long live the rich Camacho ! many a happy
year may he live with the ungrateful Quiteria ! and let the poor
Basilio die, Basilio whose poverty clipped the wings of his
happiness, and brought him to the grave
!
" and so saying, he
seized the staff he had driven into the ground, and leaving one
half of it fixed there, showed it to be a sheath that concealed
a tolerably long rapier
;
and, what may be called its hilt being
planted in the ground, he swiftly, coolly, and deliberately threw
himself upon it, and in an instant the bloody point and half
the steel blade appeared at his back, the unhappy man falling
to the earth bathed in his blood, and transfixed by his own
weapon.
His friends at once ran to his aid, filled with grief at his
misery and sad fate, and Don Quixote, dismounting from Roci-
nante, hastened to support him, and took him in his arms, and
found he had not yet ceased to breathe. They were about to
draw out the rapier, but the priest who was standing by objected
to its being withdrawn before he had confessed him, as the
instant of its withdrawal would be that of his death. Basilio,
however, reviving slightly, said in a weak voice, as though in
pain,
"
If thou wouldst consent, cruel Quiteria, to give me thy
hand as my bride in this last fatal moment, I might still hope
that my rashness would find pardon, as by its means I attained
the bliss of being thine."
Hearing this the priest bade him think of the welfare of his
soul rather than of the cravings of the body, and in all earnest-
ness implore God's pardon for his sins and for his rash resolve
;
to which Basilio replied that he was determined not to confess
unless Quiteria first gave him her hand in marriage, for that
happiness would compose his mind and give him courage to
make his confession.
Don Quixote, hearing the wounded man's entreaty, exclaimed
aloud that what Basilio asked was just and reasonable, and
moreover a request that might be easily complied with
;
and that
it would be as much to Senor Camacho's honor to receive the lady
Quiteria as the widow of the brave Basilio as if he received her
direct from her father.
"
In this case," said he
"
it will be
Vol. n.

10
146
DON QUIXOTE.
only to say
'
yes,' and no consequences can follow tlie utterance
of the Avord, for the nuptial couch of this marriage must be the
grave."
Caniacho was listening to all this, perplexed and bewildered
and not knowing what to say or do
;
but so urgent were the
entreaties of Basilio's friends, imploring him to allow Quiteria
to give him her hand, so that his soul, quitting this life in
despair, should not be lost, that they moved, nay, forced him,
to say that if Quiteria were willing to give it he was satisfied,
as it was only putting off the fulfilment of his wishes for a
moment. At once all assailed Quiteria and pressed her, some
with i)rayers, and others with tears, and others with persuasive
arguments, to give her hand to poor Basilio
;
but she, harder
than marble and more unmoved than any statue, seemed una-
ble or unwilling to utter a word, nor would she have given
any reply had not the priest liade her decide quickly Avhat she
meant to do, as Basilio now had his soul at his teeth, and there
was no time for hesitation.
On this the fair Quiteria, to all appearance distressed, grievea,
and repentant, advanced without a Avord to where Basilio lay,
his eyes already turned in his head, his breathing short and
painful, niurnuu-ing the name of Quiteria between his teeth,
and apparently about to die like a heathen and not like a
Christian. Quiteria approached him, and kneeling, demanded
his hand by signs without speaking. Basilio opened his eyes
and gazing fixedly at her, said,
"
O Quiteria, why hast thou
turned compassionate at a moment when thy compassion Avill
serve as a dagger to rob me of life, for I have not now the
strength left either to bear the happiness thou givest me in
accepting me as thine, or to suppress the pain that is rapidly
drawing the dread shadow of death over my eyes ? What I
entreat of thee, thou fatal star to me, is that the hand thou
demandest of me and wouldst give me, be not given out of com-
plaisance or to deceive me afresh, but that thou confess and
declare that without any
constraint upon thy will thou givest
it to me as to thy lawful
husband
;
for it is not meet that thou
shouldst trifle with me at such
a moment as this, or have re-
course to falsehoods
with one who has dealt so truly by thee."
While uttering
these words he showed such weakness that
the bystanders
expected
each return of fiiintness would take his
life with it. Then
Quiteria,
overcome with modesty aiul shame,
holding in her right
hand the hand of Basilio, said,
"
No force
CHAPTER XXI. 147
would bend my will ; as freely, therefore, as it is possil)le for
me to do so, I give thee the hand of a lawful wife, and take
thine if thou givest it to me of thine own free will, untroubled
and unaffected by the calamity thy hasty act has brought upon
thee."
"
Yes, I give it," said Basilio,
"
not agitated or distracted,
but with the unclouded reason that Heaven is pleased to grant
me, thus do I give myself to be thy husband."
"
And I give myself to be thy wife," said Quiteria,
"
whether
thou livest many years, or they carry thee from my arms to
the grave."
"
For one so badly wounded," observed Sancho at this point,
"
this young man has a great deal to say ; they should make
him leave off billing and cooing, and attend to his soul ; for to
my thinking he has it more on his tongue than at his teeth."
Basilio and Quiteria having thus joined hands, the priest,
deeply moved and with tears in his eyes, pronounced the bless-
ing upon them, and implored Heaven to grant an easy pas-
sage to the soul of the newly wedded man, who, the instant he
received the blessing, started nimbly to his feet and Avith
unparalleled effrontery pulled out the rapier that had been
sheathed in his body. All the bystanders were astounded, and
some, more simple than inquiring, began shouting,
"
A mira-
cle, a miracle !
"
But Basilio replied,
"
Xo miracle, no mir-
acle
;
only a trick, a trick !
"
The priest, per^tlexed and
amazed, made haste to examine the wound with both hands,
and found that the blade had passed, not through Basilio's
flesh and ribs, but through a hollow iron tube full of blood,
which he had adroitly fixed at the place, the blood, as was after-
wards ascertained, having been so prepared as not to congeal.
In short, the priest and Camacho and most of those present
saw they were tricked and made fools of. The bride showed
no signs of displeasure at the deception
;
on the contrary, hear-
ing them say that the marriage, being fraudulent, would not be
valid, she said that she confirmed it afresh, whence they all
conchuled that the affair had been planned by agreement and
understanding between the pair, whereat Camacho and his sup-
porters were so mortified that they proceeded to revenge them-
selves by violence, and a great number of them drawing their
swords attacked Basilio, in whose protection as many more
swords were in an instant unsheathed, while Don Qi;ixote
taking the lead on horseback, with his lance over his arm and
148
DON
QUIXOTE.
well covered
with his shield, made all give way before him.
Sancho,
who never found
any pleasure or enjoyment in such
doings,
retreated to the
wine-jars from which he had taken his
delectable
skimmings,
considering that, as a holy place, that
spot
would be respected.
"
Hold, sirs, hold !
"
cried Don Qui-
xote in a loud voice
;
"
we have no right to take vengeance for
wrongs that love may do to us : remember love and war are the
same thing, and as in war it is allowable and common to make
use of wiles and stratagems to overcome the enemy, so in the
contests and rivalries of love the tricks and devices employed
to attain the desired end are justifiable, provided they be not
to the discredit or dishonor of the loved object. Quiteria
belonged to Basilio and Basilio to Quiteria by the just and benefi-
cent disposal of Heaven. Canuicho is rich, and can purchase
his pleasure when, where, and as it pleases him. Basilio has
but this ewe-lamb, and no one, however powerful he may be,
shall take her from him
;
these two whom God hath joined man
can not separate ; and he who attempts it must first pass the
point of this lance
; " and so saying he brandished it so stoutly
and dexterously that he overawed all who did not know him.
But so deep an impression had the rejection of Quiteria
made on Camacho's mind that it banished her at once from
his thoughts ; and so the coulisels of the priest, who was a
wise and kindly disposed man, prevailed with him, and by
their means he and his partisans were pacified and tranquil-
lized, and to prove it put up their swords again, inveighing
against the pliancy of Quiteria rather than the craftiness of
Basilio ; Camacho maintaining that, if Quiteria as a maiden
had such a love for Basilio, she would have loved him too as a
married woman, and that he ought to thank Heaven more for
having taken her than for having given her.
Camacho and those of his following, therefore, being consoled
and pacified, those on Basilio's side were appeased
;
and the rich
Camacho, to show that he felt no resentment for the trick,
and did not care about it, desired the festival to go on just as
if he were married in reality. Neither Basilio, however, nor
his bride, nor their followers would take any part in them, and
they withdrew to Basilio's village
;
for the poor, if they are
persons of virtue and good sense, have those who follow,
honor, and uphold them, just as the rich have those who flatter
and dance attendance
on them. With them they carried
Don Quixote,
regarding
him as a man of worth and a stout
CHAPTER XXII.
149
one. Sancho alone had a cloud on his soul, for he found him-
self debarred from waiting for Camacho's s])lendid
feast and
festival, which lasted until night ; and thus dragged
away, he
moodily followed his master, who accompanied Basilio's
party,
and left behind liim the flesh-pots of Egypt ; though in his
heart he took them with him, and their now nearly finished
skimmings that he carried in the
bucket conjured up visions
before his eyes of the glory and
abundance of the good cheer
he was losing. And so, vexed and dejected though not hun-
gry, without dismounting from Dapple he followed in the
footsteps of Rocinante.
CHAPTER XXII.
WHEBIN IS RELATED THE GRAND ADVENTURE OF THE CAVE
OF MONTESINOS IN THE HEART OF LA MANCHA, WHICH
THE VALIANT DON QUIXOTE BROUGHT TO A HAPPY TERMI-
NATION.
Many and great were the attentions shown to Don Quixote
by the newly married couple, who felt themselves under an
obligation to him for coming forward in defence of their cause
;
and they exalted his wisdom to the saine level with his cour-
age, rating him as a Cid in arms and a Cicero in elo(pience.
Worthy Sancho enjoyed himself for three days at the expense
of the pair, from whom they learned that the sham wound was
not a scheme arranged with the fair Quiteria, but a device of
Basilio's, who counted on exactly the result they had seen
;
'
he confessed, it is true, that he had confided his idea to some
of his friends, so that at the proper time they might aid him
in his purpose and insure the success of the deception.
"
That," said Don Quixote,
"
is not and ought not to be called
deception which aims at virtuous ends
;
"
and the marriage of
lovers he maintained to be a most excellent end, reminding
them, however, that love has no greater enemy than liunger
and constant want ; for love is all gayety, enjoyment, and hap-
piness, especially when the lover is in the possession of the
object of his love, and poverty and want are the declared ene-
'
It is difficult to sec why Cervantes should have gone out of his way to
make such a cold-blooded monster of the fair (Quiteria as this gratuitous
admission of his makes her.
150 DON QUIXOTE.
mies of all tliese
;
wliich he said to urge Senor Basilio to aban-
don the practice of those accomplishments he Avas skilled in,
for though they brought him fame, they brought him no monej',
and apply himself to the acquisition of wealth by legitimate
industry, which will never fail those who are prudent and per-
severing. The poor man who is a man of honor (if indeed a
poor man can be a man of honor) has a jewel when he has a
fair wife, and if she is taken from him, his honor is taken from
him and slain. The fair woman who is a woman of honor, and
whose husband is poor, deserves to be crowned with the laurels

and crowns of victory and triumph. Beauty by itself attracts
the desires of all who behold it, and the royal eagles and birds
of towering flight stoop on it as on a dainty lure
;
but if beauty
be accompanied by want and penury, then the ravens and the
kites and other birds of prey assail it, and she who stands firm
against such attacks well deserves to be called the crown of
her husband.
"
Remend)er, prudent Basilio," added Don
Quixote,
"
it was the opinion of a certain sage, I know not
whom, that there was not more than one good woman in the
whole world
;
and his advice was that each one should think
and believe that' this one good woman was his ,ovnx wife, and
in this way he would live liappy. I myself a)n not married,
nor, so far, has it ever entered my thoughts to be so
;
never-
theless I would venture to give advice to any one who might
ask it, as to the mode in which he should seek a wife such as
he would be content to marry. The first thing I would recom-
mend him would be to look to good name rather than to
wealth, for a good woman does not win a good name merely by
being good, but by letting it be seen that she is so
;
and open
looseness and freedom do much more damage to a woman's
honor than secret depravity. If you take a good woman into
your house it will l^e an easy matter to keep her good, and
even to make her still better
;
but if you take a bad one you
will find it hard work to mend her, for it is no very easy matter
to pass from one extreme to another. I do not say it is impos-
sible,
but I look upon it as difiicult."
Sancho,
listening
to all this, said to himself,
''
This master
of mine, when I say anything that has weight and substance,
says I might take a pulpit in hand, and go about the world
preaching
fine
sermons
; but I say of him that, when he begins
stringing
maxims
together and giving advice, not only might he
take a pulpit in hand, but two on each finger, and go into the
CHAPTER XXII. 151
market-places to his heart's content. Devil take you for a
knight-errant, what a lot of things you know ! I used to think
in my heart that the only thing he knew was what belonged to
his chivalry
;
but there is nothing he won't have a finger in."
Sancho muttered this somewhat aloud, and his master over-
heard him, and asked,
"
What art thou muttering there, Sancho ?
"
"
I 'm not saying anything or muttering anything," said
Sancho ;
"
I was only saying to myself that I wish I had heard
what your worship has said just now before I married
;
perhaj)s
I 'd say now,
'
The ox that 's loose licks himself well.' "
^
"
Is thy Teresa so bad then, Sancho ?
"
said Don Quixote.
"
She is not very bad," replied Sancho
;
"
but she is not very
good ; at least she is not as good as I could Avish."
"
Thou dost wrong, Sancho," said Don Quixote,
"
to speak
ill of thy wife
;
for after all she is the mother of thy children."
"
We are quits," returned Sancho
;
"
for she speaks ill of me
whenever she takes it into her head, especially Avhen she is
jealous ; and Satan himself could not put up with her then."
In fine, they remained three days with the newly married
couple, by whom they were entertained and treated like kings.
Don (^)uixote begged the fencing licentiate to find him a guide
to show him the way to the cave of Montesinos, as he had a
great desire to enter it and see with his own eyes if the won-
derful tales that were told of it all over the country were true.
The licentiate said he would get him a cousin of his own, a
famous scholar, and one very mucli given to reading books of
chivalry, who would have great pleasure in conducting him to
the mouth of the very cave, and would show him the lakes of
Ruidera, which were likewise famous all over La Mancha, and
even all over Spain
;
and he assured him he would find hijn
entertaining, for he was a youth who could write books good
enough to be printed and dedicated to princes. The cousin
arrived at last, leading an ass in foal, with a pack-saddle
covered with a party-colored carpet or sackcloth
;
Sancho sad-
dled Rocinante, got Dapple ready, and stocked his alforjas,
along with which went those of the cousin, likewise well filled
;
and so, commending themselves to God and bidding farewell to
all, they set out, taking the road for the famous cave of Mon-
tesinos.
On the way Don Quixote asked the cousin of what sort and
character his pursuits, avocations, and studies were, to which
'
i'rov. 27.
152
DON
QUIXOTE.
he
replied
that he was by
profession a humanist, and that his
pursuits
and
studies Avere making books
for the press, all of
great
utility and no less
entertainment to the nation. One
was
called
"The Book of Liveries," in which he described
seven
hundred and three liveries, with their colors, mottoes,
and
ciphers,
from which gentlemen of the court might pick
and
choose any they fancied for festivals and revels, without
having to go a begging for them from any one, or puzzling
their brains, as the saying is, to have them
appropriate to their
objects and purposes; "for," said he, "T give the jealous, the
rejected, the forgotten, the absent, what will suit them, and fit
them
without fail. I have another book, too, which I shall
call
'
Metamorphoses, or the Spanish Ovid,' one of rare and
original
invention; for, imitating Ovid in burlesque style, I
show in it who the Giralda of Seville and the Angel of the
Magdalena were, what the sewer of Vecinguerra at Cordova was,
what the bulls of Guisando, the Sierra Morena, the Leganitos
and Lavapies fountains at Madrid, not forgetting those of el
Piojo, of the Cano Dorado, and of the Priora
;
^
and all with their
allegories, metaphors, and changes, so that they are amusing,
intei-esting, and instructive, all at once. Another book I have
which I call
'
The Supplement to Polydore Vergil, which treats
of the invention of things, and is a work of great erudition
and research, for I establish and elucidate elegantly some
things of great imi)ortance which Polydore omitted to mention.
He forgot to tell us who Avas the first man in the world that
had a cold in his head, and who was the first to try salivation
for the French disease, but I give it accurately set forth, and
quote more than five-and-twenty authors in proof of it, so your
worship may perceive I have labored to good purpose and that
the book will be of service to the whole world."
Sancho, who had been very attentive to the cousin's words,
said to him, " Tell me, seiior,

and God give you luck in print-

ing your books,

can you tell me (for of course you know, as

you know everything) who was the first man that scratched his
head? For to my thinking it must have been our father
Adam."
^
For the Giralda of Seville, and the hulls of Guisando, see notes, chap-
ter xiv.
p. 87. The Angel of the Magdalena was a weather-cock on a
church of that name at Salamanca ; the Vecinguerra was the sewer drain-
ing the Potro quarter at Cordova. The other names are those of fountains
in or on the outskirts of Madrid, of which I think the Lavapies is the
only one now in existence.
CHAPTER XXII.
153
'^
So it must," replied the cousin
;
<'
for there is no doubt but
Adam had a head and hair ; and being the first man in the
workl he would liave scratched himself sometimes."
"
So I think," said Sancho
;
''
but now tell me, who was the
first tumbler in the world ?
"
"
Really, brother," answered the cousin,
"
I could not at this
moment say positively without having investigated it ; I will
look it up when I go back to where I have my books, and will
satisfy you the next time we meet, for this will not be the last
time."
''Look here, seilor," said Sancho, "don't give yourself any
trouble about it, for I have just this miiuite hit upon what I
asked you. The first tundjler in the world, you must know,
was Lucifer, Avhen they cast or })itched him out of heaven
;
for
he came tumbling into the bottomless pit."
"You are right, friend," said the cousin
; and said ])on Qui-
xote,
"
Sancho, that (piestion and answer are not thine own
;
thou hast heard them from some one else."
"
Hold your peace, senor," said Sancho
;
"
faith, if I take to
asking questions and answering, I
'11
go on from this till to-
morrow morning. Nay I to ask foolish things and answer non-
sense I needn 't go looking for help from my neighbors."
"
Thou hast said more than thou art aware of, Sancho," said
Don Quixote
;
"
for there are some who weary themselves
out in learning and proving things that, after they are known
and proved, are not worth a farthing to the understanding or
memory."
In this and other pleasant conversation the day went by, and
that night they put up at a small hamlet whence it was not
more than two leagues to the cave of Montesinos, so the cousin
told Don Quixote, adding that if he was bent upon entering it,
it would be requisite for him to provide himself with ropes, so
that he might be tied and lowered into its depths. Don Qui-
xote said that even if it reached to the bottomless pit he meant to
see where it went to ; so they bought about a hundred fathoms
of rope, and next day at two in the afternoon they arrived at
the cave, the mouth of which is spacious and wide, but full of
thorn and wild-fig bushes and brambles and briers, so thick and
matted that they completely close it up and cover it over.
^
*
The liamlet referred to is clearly that of lluidera, about five leagues
south-east of Argamasilla, near the Laguna del Iley, the lowest of the
chain of lakes from which the waters of the Guadiuna flow into the plain
of LaMancha. From thence across the hills it is about two leagues to the
154
DON QUIXOTE.
On coming
within sight of it the cousin, Sancho, and Don
Quixote
dismounted, and the first two immediately tied the
latter very firmly with the ropes, and as they were girding and
swathing him Sancho said to him,
''
Mind what you are about,
master mine
;
don't go burying yourself alive, or putting your-
self where you
"11
be like a bottle put to cool in a well ; it 's no
affair or business of your worshi])'s to become the explorer of
this, which must be worse than a Moorish dungeon."
<'
Tie me and hold thy peace," said Don Quixote,
"
for an
emprise like this, friend Sancho, was reserved for me
;
" ^
and
said the guide,
"
I beg of you, Seilor Don Quixote, to observe
carefully and examine with a hundred eyes everything that is
within there
;
perhaps there may be some things for me to put
into my book of transformations."
"
The drum is in hands that will know how to beat it well
enough,"
^
said Sancho Panza.
When he had said this and finished the tying (which was
not over the armor, but only over the doublet) Don Quixote
observed,
"
It was careless of us not to have provided ourselves
with a small cattle-bell to be tied on the rope close to me, the
sound of which would show that I was still descending and
alive; but as this is out of the question now, in God's hand be
it to guide me
;
"
and fortliAvith he fell on his knees and in a
low voice otfered i;p a prayer to Heaven, imploring God to aid
him and grant him success in this to all appearance perilous
and untried adventure, and then exclaimed aloud,
"
mistress
of my actions and movements, illustrious and peerless Dulcinea
del Toboso, if so be the prayers and supplications of this thy
fortunate lover can reach thy ears, by thy incomparable beauty
I entreat thee to listen to them, for they biit ask thee not to
refuse me thy favor and protection now that I stand in such
need of them. I am about to precipitate, to sink, to plurxge
myself into the abyss that is here before me, only to let the
ciiA'e of Montosinos, Avhicli lies a little to the north of tlie ruins of the
castle of Kocafria {v. map) . Tiiere can be no dou1)t that Cervantes visited
the spot, Init he lias somewhat exaggerated the dimensions of tlie cave.
The mouth is not more tlian eight or ten feet wide, or the depth more than
fifty or sixty
;
nor is the descent so steep as to make a roue requisite. It
is, in all probability, an ancient mine of Eoman or possibly Carthaginian
origin.
The map of the district given in Pellicer's edition of Don Quixote
misplaces the cave and several other points, and is entirely misleading.
'
A line from tlie ballad in the Guerras Civiles de Granada,
"
Estando
el Key Don Fernando."
^
Prov. 175.
CHAPTER XXII. 155
world know tliat while thou dost favor me there is no impossi-
bility I will not attempt and accomplish." With these words
he
approached the cavern, and perceived that it was impossible
to let himself down or effect an entrance except by sheer
force
or cleaving a passage
;
so drawing his sword he began to demol-
ish and cut away the brandjles at the mouth of the cave, at
the noise of which a vast multitude of crows and choughs flew
out of it so thick and so fast that they knocked Don Quixote
down
;
and if he had been as much of a believer in augury as
he was a Catholic (Christian he would have taken it as a bad
omen and declined to bury liimself in such a place. He got
up, however, and as there came no more crows, or night-birds
like the bats that flew out at the same time with the crows, the
cousin and Sancho giving him rope, he lowered himself into
the depths of the dread cavern
;
ahd as he entered it Sancho
sent his blessing after him, making a thousand crosses over
him and saying,
''
God, and the Peiia de Francia, and the Trin-
ity of Gaeta
'
guide thee, flower and cream of knights-errant.
There thou goest, thou dare-devil of tlie earth, heart of steel,
arm of brass
;
once more, God guide thee and send thee back
safe, and sound, and imhurt to the light of this world thou art
leaving to bury thyself in the darkness thou art seeking there
;
"
and the cousin offered up almost the same prayers and suppli-
cations.
Don Quixote kept calling to them to give him rope and
more rope, and they gave it out little by little, and by the time
the calls, which came out of the cave as out of a pipe, ceased
to be heard they had let down the luuulred fathoms of rope.
They were inclined to pidl ])on Quixote up again, as they
could give him no more rope
;
however, they waited about half
an hour, at the end of which time they began to gather in the
rope again with great ease and without feeling any weight,
which made them fancy ])on Quixote Avas remaining below
;
and persuaded that it was so, Sancho wept bitterly, and liauled
away in great haste in order to settle the question. When,
however, they had come to, as it seemed, rather more than
eighty fathoms they felt a weight, at which they were greatly
delighted
;
and at last, at ten fathoms more, they saw Don
Quixote distinctly, and Sancho called out to him, saying,
'
The Peiia de Francia is a mountain near CiuiUul Rodrigo, and one of
tlie lioly places of Spain in consequence of tlie discovery of an image
of the Virgin tliere in the fifteentli century. The Trinity of Gaeta is the
chapel dedicated to the Trinity ahove the harhor of Gaeta.
156
DON QUIXOTE.
'^
Welcome back, seiior, for we had begun to think you were
going to stop
there to found a family." But Don Quixote
answered not a word, and drawing him out entirely they per-
ceived he had his eyes shut and every appearance of being
fast asleep.
They
stretched him on the ground and untied him, but still
he did not awake
;
however, they rolled him back and forwards
and shook and pulled him about, so that after some time he
came to himself, stretching himself just as if he were waking
up from a deep and sound sleep, and looking about him as if
scared he said,
"
God forgive you, friends
;
ye have taken me
away
from the sweetest and most delightful existence and spec-
tacle that ever human being enjoyed or beheld. Now indeed
do I know that all the pleasures of this life pass away like a
shadow and a dream, or fade like the flower of the field. O
ill-fated Montesinos ! sore-wounded Durandarte ! luihappy
Belerma! tearful Guadiana, and ye O liai)less
daiighters of
Euidera who show in your waves the tears that flowed from
your beauteous eyes
!
"
The cousin and Sancho Panza listened with deep attention
to the words of Don Quixote, who uttered thom as though with
immense pain he drew them uj) from his very bowels. They
begged of him to explain himself, and tell them what he had
seen in that hell down there.
"
Hell do you call it ?
"
said Don Quixote ;
"
call it by no
such name, for it does not deserve it, as ye shall soon see."
He then begged them to give him something to eat, as he
was very hungry. They spread the cousin's sack-cloth on the
grass, and put the stores of the alforjas into requisition, and
all three sitting down lovingly and sociably, they made a
luncheon and a supper of it all in one ; and when the sack-
cloth was removed, Don Quixote of La Mancha said,
"
Let no
one rise
; and attend to me, my sons, both of you."
CHAPTER XXIIL
157
CHAPTER XXIII.
OF THE WONDERFUL THINGS THE INCOMPARABLE DON
QUIXOTE SAID HE SAW IN THE PROFOUND CAVE OF MON-
TESINOS, THE IMPOSSIBILITY AND MAGNITUDE OF
'
WHICH
CAUSE THIS ADVENTURE TO BE DEEMED APOCRYPHAL.
It was about four in the afternoon wlien the sun, veiled in
clouds, with subdued light and tempered beams, enabled Don
Quixote to relate, without heat or inconvenience, what he had
seen in the cave of Montesinos to his two illustrious hearers,
and he began as follows
:
"
A matter of some twelve or fourteen times a man's height
down in this jsit, on the left-hand side, there is a recess or
space, roomy enough to contain a large cart with its mules.
A little light reaches it through some chinks or crevices, com-
inunicating with it and open to the surface of the earth. This
recess or space I perceived when I was already growing weary
and disgusted at finding myself hanging suspended by the
rope, travelling downwards into that dark region witliout any
certainty or knowledge of where I was going to, so I resolved
to enter it and rest myself for a Avhile. I called out, telling
you not to let out more rope until I bade you, but you can not
have heard me. I then gathered in the rope you were sending
me, and making a coil or pile of it I seated myself upon it,
ruminating and considering what I was to do to lower myself
to the bottom, having no one to hold me up
;
and as I was thus
deep in thought and perjtlexity, suddenly and without provo-
cation a profound sleep fell upon me, and when I least
expected it, I know not how, I awoke and found myself in the
midst of the most beautiful, delicious, delightful meadow that
nature coidd produce or the most lively human imagination
conceive. I opened my eyes, I rubbed them, and found I was
not asleep, but thoroughly awake. Nevertheless, I felt my
head and breast to satisfy myself whether it was I myself who
was there or some empty delusive phantom ; but touch, feel-
ing, the collected thoughts that passed through my mind, all
convinced me that I was the same then and there that I am
this moment. Next there presented itself to my sight a
stately royal palace or castle, with walls that seemed built of
clear transparent crystal ; and through two great doors that
158
DON QUIXOTE.
opened wide
therein, I saw coming forth and advancing
towards me a
venerable okl man, clad in a long gown of mnl-
berry-colored
serge that trailed upon the ground. On his
shoulders and breast he had a green satin collegiate hood, and
covering his head a black Milanese bonnet, and his snow-white
beard fell below his girdle. He carried no arms wdiatever,
nothing but a rosary of beads bigger than fair-sized filberts,
each tenth bead being like a moderate ostrich egg; his bear-
ing, his gait, his dignity and imposing presence held me spell-
bound and wondering. He approached me, and the first
thing he did was to end^race me closely, and then he said to
nie,
'
For a long time now, valiant knight Don Quixote of
La Mancha, we who are here enchanted in these solitudes have
been hoping to see thee, that thou niayest make known to the
world what is shut up and concealed in this deep cave, called
the cave of Montesinos, which thou hast entered, an achieve-
ment reserved for thy invincible heart and stupendous
courage alone to attempt. Come with me, illustrious sir, and
I will show thee the marvels hidden within this transparent
castle, whereof I am the alcaide and perpetual warden
;
for
I am Montesinos himself, from whom the cave takes its
name.'
^
"The instant ho told me he was Montesinos, I asked him if
the story they told in the world above here was true, that he
had taken out the heart of his great friend J)urandarte from
his breast with a little dagger, and carried it to the lady I!e-
lerma, as his friend when at the point of death had commanded
him. He said in reply that they spoke the truth in every
respect exce})t as to the dagger, for it was not a dagger, nor
little, but a burnished poniard sharper than an awl."
'
Montesinos is the hero of half a dozen baUads belonging to the Car-
lovingian cycle, but does not figure in any of the French romances.
According to the ballads he was one of the Peers, and son of Count Grim-
altos, or Grinialdos, by a daughter of Charlemagne. He owed his name
to having been born in a forest (moiite), where his father and mother
were wandering, banished from court by the machinations of the traitor
Tomillas. It ajipears to have been connected witli the cave from a very
early period, and according to one of the oldest of the ballads the adja-
cent Castle of Rocafria, or llocafrida, mentioned in Note
1, p. 153, chai)ter
xxii.,
was the residence of Rosaflorida, a lady who was enamored of
him de oidas
from hearsay. Clemcncin says they were married and
lived there
;
but one of the ballads represents liim as marrying Guiomar,
a converted Saracen. It is odd that, with the castle close" at hand here,
Cervantes should not have referred to it.
DON QUIXOTE, MONTESINOS, AND DURANDARTE. Vol.2. Page 159.
CHAPTER XXIII. 159
"
That poniard must have been made by Ramon de Hoces
the Sevillian," said Sancho.
"
I do not know/' said Don Quixote ;
"
it coukl not have been
by that poniard maker, however, because Ramon de Hoces was
a man of yesterday, and the affair of Roncesvalles, where this
misliap occurred, was long ago
;
but the question is of no great
importance, nor does it affect or make any alteration in the
truth or substance of the story."
"
That is true," said the cousin ;
"
continue, Seiior Don
Quixote, for I am listening to you with the greatest pleasure
in the world."
"
And with no less do I tell the tale," said Don Quixote
;
"
and so, to proceed

the venerable Montesinos led me into

the palace of crystal, where, in a lower chamber, strangely
cool and entirely of alabaster, was an elaborately wrought
marble tomb, upon which I beheld, stretched at full length, a
knight, not of bronze, or marble, or jasper, as are seen on
other tombs, but of actual flesh and bone. His right hand
(which seemed to me somewhat hairy and sinewy, a sign of
great strength in its owner) lay on the side of his heart ; but
before I could put any question to Montesinos, he, seeing me
gazing at the toml) in amazement, said to me,
'
This is my
friend Durandarte, flower and luirror of the true lovers and
valiant knights of his time. He is held enchanted here, as I
myself and many others are, by that French enchantei- Merlin,
who, they say, was the devil's son ;
^
but my belief is, not
that he was the devil's son, but that he knew, as the saying is,
a point more than the devil. How or why he enchanted us,
no one knows, but time will tell, and I suspect that time is not
far off. What I nuarvel at is, that I know it to be as sure as
that it is now day, that Durandarte ended his life in my arms,
and that, after his death, I took out his heart Avith my own
hands
;
and indeed it must have weighed more than two pounds,
for, according to naturalists, he who has a large heart is more
largely endowed with valor than he who has a small one.
Then, as this is the case, and as the knight did really die, how
cojnes it that he now moans and sighs from time to time, as if
he were still alive
?
'
"
As he said this, the wretched Durandarte cried out in a
loud voice
:
'
Merlin has been claimed by the Bretons as one of themselves, but of
course he was a Welshman. In Mallory's Arthur he is called
"
a devil's
son."
160 DON QUIXOTE.
O cousin Montesinos
!
'T was my last request of thee,
When ray soul hath left the hody,
And that lying dead I be,
With thy poniard or tliy dagger
Cut the heart from out ni}' breast.
And bear it to Belerma.
This was my last request.^
On hearing wliich, the venerable Montesinos fell on his knees
before the nnhappy knight, and with tearful eyes exclaimed,
'
Long since, Sefior Durandarte, my beloved cousin, long since
have I done what you bade me on that sad day when I lost
you ; I took out your heart as well as I could, not leaving an
atom of it in your breast, 1 wiped it with a lace handkerchief,
and I took the road to Prance with it, having first laid you in
the bosom of the earth with tears enough to wash and cleanse
my hands of the blood that covered them after wandering
among your bowels ; and more by token, cousin of my soul,
at the first village I came to after leaving Roncesvalles, I
sprinkled a little salt itpon your heart to keep it sweet, and
bring it, if not fresh, at least pickled, into the presence of the
lady Belerma, Avhom, together with you, myself, Guadiana
your squire, the duenna Ruidera and her seven daughters and
two nieces, and nuxny more of your friends and actpiaintances,
the sage Merlin has been keeping enchanted here these many
years ; and although more than five hundred have gone by, not
one of us has died
;
Ruidera and her daughters and nieces
alone are missing, and these, because of the tears they shed.
Merlin, out of the compassion he seems to have felt for them,
changed into so nuiny lakes, which to this day in the world of
the living, and in the province of La Mancha, are called the
lakes of Ruidera.- The seven daughters belong to the kings
'These are an adaptation of lines from the ballad

"
Oh Belerma! Oh Belerma!
For mi mal fuiste engendrada."
Cancionero, s.a. Antwerp. Duran. Romancero, No. 387.
Durandarte and Belerma, like Montesinos, are only to be found in the
Spanish ballads of the Carlovingian cycle : Mila
y
Fontanals, however,
thinks that in the name of the former tliere may be a reminiscence of that
of Roland's sword Durandal, or Durendal.
'^
The number of the lakes of Ruidera is variously stated. In chapter
xviii. Cervantes himself speaks of seven; here he makes them ten, if
Ruidera herself is to be concluded. Clemencin says there are fifteen.
Pascual Madoz, in his Geographical Dictionary
of
Spain^ says fifteen in
CHAPTER XXIII. 161
of Spain, and. the two nieces to the knights of a very holy
order called the Order of St. John.' Guadiana your squire,
likewise bewailing your fate, was changed into a river of his
own name, but when he came to the surface and beheld the sun
of another heaven, so great was his grief at fiiitling he was
leaving you, that he plunged into the b(jwels of the earth ; how-
ever, as he can not help following his natural course, he from
time to time comes forth and shows himself to the sun and the
world. The lakes aforesaid send him their waters, and. with
these, and others that come to him, he makes a grand and
imposing entrance into Portugal ; but for all that, go where he
may, he shows his melancholy and sadness, and takes no pride
in breeding dainty choice fish, only coarse and tasteless sorts,
very different from those of the golden Tagus.'-^ All this that I
tell you now, () cousin mine, I have told you many times before,
and as you make no answer, I fear that either you believe
me not, or do not hear me, whereat I feel God knows what
grief. I have now news to give you, which, if it serves not to
alleviate your sufferings, will not in any wise increase them.
Know that you have here before you (open your eyes and you
will see) that great knight of Avhom the sage Merlin has proph-
esied such great things
;
that Don Quixote of La Mancha I
mean, who has again, and to better purpose than in past times,
revived in these days knight-errantry, long since forgotten, and
by whose intervention and aid it may be we shall be disen-
chanted
;
for great deeds are reserved for great men.'
'
one place, and fourteen in another. Ford, in the Ifaiidbook^ say.s there are
eleven, which was the number I counted in a ramble down the valley some
years ago. Most of them are mere tarns, liut two or three are of consid-
erable extent, tlie largest, l^aColgada, being about two niik's long. In most
instances there is no visilde connnunication l)et\veen them. It is strange
that Cervantes, who so often bestows wood and water, hills and vales, on
Don Quixote's parched, fiat, treeless country, should not have a word to
say for this pretty winding valley, with its succession of Claude-like vistas
that would charm the eye anywliere, but here, after the bare brown
steppes of La Mancha, seem veritable landscapes of Arcadia.
'
The boundaries of New Castile and the kingdom of Murcui meet in
the upper portion of the valley, the head of which belongs entirely to the
latter.
^
The Guadiana, after issuing from the Ruidera valley near the pictur-
esque old castle of Peiiaroya, traverses the ])lain of La Mancha and dis-
appears from sight a little to the north of Arganiasilla, to reap])ear seven
or eight leagues off at the Ojos de la Guadiana, near Daimiel. Kiiy (Jon-
zalez Clavijo availed himself of the phenomenon to l)oast to 'Pamerhine
in 1403 that his master King Henry had a bridge so large that a hundred
thousand slieep browsed upon it. ^Prov. 110.
Vol. II.

11
1G2
J^ON
QUIXOTE.
" '
And if that may
not be,'
said the wretched Durandarte
in a
low and
feeble
voice,
'
if that may not be, then, () my
consin,
I say
"patience
and shuffle:'"^
and tnrning over on
his side,
he
relapsed
into his former silence without uttering
another
word.
"
And
now
there was
heard a great outcry and lamentation,
accompanied
by
deep
sighs and bitter sobs. I looked round,
and
through
the crystal
wall I saw passing through another
chamber a
procession
of two lines of fair damsels all clad in
mourning,
and with
white turbans of Turkish fashion on their
heads!
iJehiud, in the rear of these, there came a lady, for so
from her dignity she seemed to be, also clad in black, with a
white veil so long and ample that it swept the ground. Her
turban was twice as large as the largest of any of the others
;
her
eyebrows
met, her nose was rather fiat, her mouth was
large but with ruddy lips, and her teeth, of Avhich at times she
allowed a
glimpse, were seen to be sparse and ill-set, though as
white as
peeled almonds.
She carried in her hands a fine
cloth, and in it, as
well as I could make out, a heart that had
been
mummied, so parched and dried was it. Montesinos told
me that all those forming the procession were the attendants
of ]3urandarte and Belerma, who were enchanted there with
their master and mistress, and that the last, she who carried
the heart in the cloth, was the lady Belerma, who, with her
damsels, four days in the week went in procession singing, or
rather weeping, dirges over the body and miserable heart of
his cousin
;
and that if she appeared to me somewhat ill-favored,
or not so beautiful as fame reported her, it was because of the
bad nights and worse days that she passed in that enchant-
ment, as I coidd see by the great dark circles round her eyes,
and her sickly complexion
;
'
her sallowness, and the rings round
her eyes,' said he,
'
are not caused by the periodical ailment
usual with women, for it is many months and even years since
she has had any, but by the grief her own heart suffers because
of that which she holds in her hand perpetually, and which
recalls and brings back to her memory the sad fate of her lost
lover ; were it not for this, hardly would the great Dulcinea
del Toboso, so celebrated in all these parts, and even in all the
world, come up to her for beaut}-, grace, and gayety.'
" '
Hold hard !
'
said I at this,
'
tell your story as you ought,
Senor Don Montesinos, for you know very well that all com-
'
TroT. 1G3.
CHAPTER XXIII.
163
parisons are odious/ and there is no occasion to compare one
person with anotlaer
;
the peerless Dulcinea del Toboso is what
she is, and the lady Dona Belerma is what she is and has been,
and that 's enough.' To which he made answer,
'
Forgive me,
Senor Don Quixote
;
I own I Avas wrong and spoke unadvisedly
in saying that the lady Dulcinea could scarcely come up to the
lady Belerma
;
for it were enough for me to have learned, by
what means I know not, that you are her knight, to make me
bite my tongue out before I comjiared her to anything save
heaven itself.' After this apology Avhich the great Monte-
sinos made me, my heart recovered itself from the shock I liad
received in hearing my lady compared with Belerma."
"
Still I wonder," said Sancho,
"
that your Avorship did not
get upon the old fellow and bruise every bone of him with
kicks, and pluck his beard until you did n't leave a hair in it."
"
Nay, Sancho, my friend," said Don Quixote,
"
it would not
have been right in me to do that, for we are all bound to })ay
respect to the aged, even though they be not knights, but
especially those who are, and who are enchanted ; I only know
I gave him as good as he brought in the many other questions
and answers we exchanged."
''
I can not understand, Senor Don Quixote," remarked the
cousin here,
''
how it is that your worship, in such a short space
of time as you have been below there, could have seen so many
things, and said and answered so much."
"
How long is it since I went down ?
"
asked Don Quixote.
"
Little better than an hour," replied Sancho.
"
That can not be," returned Don Quixote,
"
l)ecause night
overtook me while I was there_, and day came, and it was night
again and day again three times
;
so that, by my reckoning, I
have been three days in those remote regions beyond our ken."
"
My master must be right," replied Sancho ;
"
for as every-
thing that has happened to him is by enchantment, maybe
what seems to us an hour would seem three days and nights
there."
'<
That 's it," said Don Quixote.
'*
And did your worship eat anything all that time, senor ?
"
asked the cousin.
"
I never touched a morsel," answered Don Quixote,
"
nor
did I even feel hunger, or think of it."
"
And do the enchanted eat ?
"
said the cousin,
Prov. 5G.
164
DON
QUIXOTE.
"
They
neither
eat/' said
Don
Quixote
;
''
nor are they sub-
ject to the
greater
excrements,
though it is thought that their
nails,
beards,
and hair
grow."
"
And do the
enchanted
sleep,
now, senor ?
"
asked Sancho.
''Certainly
not,"
replied
Don Quixote; "at least, during
those
three days I was with them not one of them closed an
eye,
nor did I either."
"
The
proverb,
'
Tell me what
company thou keepest and I'll
tell
thee what thou art,' is to the point here,"
^
said Sancho
;
"
your worship
keeps company
vnth enchanted people that are
always
fasting and
watching ; Avhat wonder is it, then, that
you
neither eat nor sleep
while you are with them ?
But for-
give me, seflor,
if I say
that of all this you have told us now,
may God take me

I was just going to say the devil if I

believe a single
particle."
"What!" said the cousin, '' has Senor J)on Quixote, then,
being lying ? Why, even if he wished it he has not had time
to imagine and \)\\t together such a host of lies."
''
I don't believe my
master lies," said Sancho.
<<
If not, what dost "thou believe ?
"
asked Don Quixote.
"
I believe,"
replied Sancho,
"
that this Merlin, or those
enchanters who enchanted the whole crcAV your worship says
you saw and discoursed
with down there, stuffed your imagi-
nation or your mind with all this rigmarole you have been
treating us to, and all that is still to come."
"
All that might be, Sancho," replied Don Quixote
;
"
but it
is not so, for everything tliat I have told you I saw with my own
eyes, and touched with my own hands. But what will you say
when I tell you now how, among the countless other marvel-
lous things Montesinos showed me (of which at leisure and at
the proper time I will give thee an accomit in the course of our
journey, for they would not be all in place here), he showed
me three country girls wlio wont skii)ping and capering like
goats over the pleasant fields there, and the instant I beheld
them I knew one to be the peerless Dulcinea del Toboso, and
the other two those same country girls that were with her
and that we spoke to on the road from El Toboso ! I asked
Montesinos if he knew them, and he told me he did not, but he
thought they must be some enchanted ladies of distinction, for
it was only a few days before that they had made their appear-
ance in those meadows ; but I was not to be surprised at that,
'
Prov. 13.
CHAPTER XXIII.
165
because there were a great many otlier ladies there of times
past and present, enchanted in varions strange shapes, and
among them he had recognized Queen Guinevere and her dame
Quintanona, she who poured out the wine for Lancelot when
he came from Britain."
When tSancho l^anza heard his master say this he was ready
to take leave of his senses, or die with laughter
;
for, as he
knew the real truth about the pretended enchantment of Dui-
cinea, in which he himself had been the enchanter and con-
cocter of all the evidence, he made up his mind at last that,
beyond all doubt, his master was out of his wits and stark mad,
so he said to him,
"
It was an evil hour, a worse season, and a
sorrowful day, when your worship, dear master ndne, went
down to the other world, and an unlucky moment when you
met with 8ei1or Montesinos, who has sent you back to us like
this. You were well enough here above in your full senses,
such as God had giveil you, delivering maxims and giving
advice at every turn, and not as you are now, talking the
greatest nonsense that can l)e imagined."
"
As I know thee, Sancho," said Don Quixote,
<'
I heed not
thy words."
"
Nor I your worship's," said Sancho,
"
whether you beat me
or kill me for those I have spoken, and will speak if you don't
correct and mend your own. But tell me, while we are still at
peace, how or by what did you recognize the lady our mistress
;
and if you spoke to her, what did you say, and what did she
answer ?
"
"
I recognized her," said Don Quixote,
"
b_y her wearing the
same garinents she wore when thou didst ])oint her out to me.
I spoke to her, but she did not utter a word in reply ; on the
contrary, she turned her back on me and took to flight, at such
a pace that a crossbow bolt could not have overtaken her. I
wished to follow her, and would have done so had not Mon-
tesinos recommended me not to take the trouble as it would
be useless, particularly as the time Avas draAving near when it
would be necessary for me to quit the cavern. He- told me,
moreover, that in course of time he would let me know how he
and Belerma, and Durandarte, and all who were there, were to
be disenchanted. But of all I saw and observed down there,
what gave me most pain was, that while Montesinos was speak-
ing to me, one of the two companions of the hapless
Dulcinea
approached me on one side, Avithout my having seen her coming,
166 DON QUIXOTE.
and with tears in her eyes said to me, in a low, agitated voice,
'
My lady Dulcinea del ToLoso kisses your worship's hands, and
entreats you to do her the favor of letting her know how you
are ; and, being in great need, she also entreats your worship
as earnestly as she can to be so good as to lend her half a
dozen reals, or as much as you may have about you, on this
new dimity petticoat that I have here
;
and she promises to
repay them very speedily.' I was amazed and taken aback by
such a message, and turning to Senor Montesinos I asked him,
'
Is it possible, Senor Montesinos, that persons of distinction
under enchantment can be in need
?
' To which he replied,
'
Believe me, Seiior Don Quixote, that which is called need is
to be met with everywhere, and penetrates all quarters and
reaches every one, and does not spare even the enchanted
;
and
as the lady Dulcinea del Toboso sends to beg those six reals,
and the ])ledge is to all api)earance a good one, there is nothing
for it but to give the.m to her, for no doubt she must be in
some great strait.'
'
I will take no pledge of her,' I replied,
'
nor yet can I give her what she asks, for all I have is four
reals
;
'
which I gave (they were those which thou, Sanclio,
gavest me the other day to bestow in alms upon the poor 1 met
along the road), and I said,
'
Tell your mistress, my dear, that
I am grieved to the heart because of her distresses, and wish I
was a Fucar ' to remedy them, and that I would have her know
that I can not be, and ought not be, in health while deprived of
the happiness of seeing her and enjoying her discreet conver-
sation, and that I implore her as earnestly as I can, to alloAv
herself to be seen and addressed by this her captive servant
and forlorn knight. Tell her, too, that when she least expects
it she A\ill hear it announced that I have made an oath and
voAv after the fashion of that which the Marquis of Mantua
made to avenge his nephew Baldwin, when he found him at
the point of death in the heart of the mountains,"^ which was,
not to eat bread off a table-cloth, and the other trifling matters
which he added, until he had avenged him ; and I will inake
the same to take no rest, and to roam the seven regions of the
earth more thoroughly than the Infante Don Pedro of Portugal
ever roamed them,^ until I have disenchanted her.'
'
All that,
'
The Spanish form of Fuggcr, the name of the great Augsburg capi-
talists of the sixteenth century.
^
Referring to the ballad quoted in vol. i. chaijter v. and i-lsewhere.
^
The Travels
of
the Infante Don J'edro of Poringal through the four
quarters
of
the world.
"
written by Juan (Joniez de Sanestevan," Sara-
gossa, 1570, was a jjopular book and passed through several editions.
CHAPTER XXIV.
167
and more, you owe my lady,' was the damsel's
answer to me,
and taking the four reals, instead of making me a courtesy
she
cut a caper, springing two full yards into the air."
"0
blessed God!" exclaimed Sancho aloud
at this, "is it
possible that such things can be in the world, and that enchant-
ers and enchantments can have such power in it as to have
changed my master's right senses into a craze so full of absurd-
ity ! senor, senor, for God's sake, consider yourself, have a
care for your honor, and give no credit to this silly stuff that
has left you scant and short of wits."
"
Thou talkest in this way because thou lovest me, Sancho,"
said Don Quixote; ''and not being experienced in the things
of the world, everything that has some difficulty about it,
seems to thee impossible
;
but time will pass, as I said before,
and I will tell thee some of the things I saw down there which
will make thee believe what I have related now, the truth of
which admits of neither reply nor question."
CHAPTER XXIV.
WHEREIN ARE RELATED A THOUSAND TRIFLING MATTERS, AS
TRIVIAL AS THEY ARE NECESSARY TO THE RIGHT UNDER-
STANDING OF THIS GREAT HISTORY.
He who translated this great history from the original
written by its first author, Cid Hamet Benengeli, says that on
coming to the chapter giving the adventures of the cave of
Montesinos he found written on the margin of it, in Hamet's
own hand, these exact words :
"
I can not convince or persuade myself that everything
that is written in the })receding chapter could have precisely
liappened to the valiant Don Quixote ; and for this reason, that
all the adventures that have occurred up to the present have
been possible and probable ; but as for this one of the cave, I
see no way of accepting it as true, as it passes all reasonable
bounds. For me to believe that Don Quixote
could lie, he
being the most truthful gentleman and the noblest
knight of
his time, is impossible
;
he would not have told a lie though he
were shot to death with arrows. On the other hand, I reflect
that he related and told the story with all the
circumstances
168
DON QUIXOTE.
detailed, and that he could not in so short a space have fabri-
cated such a vast complication of absurdities
;
if, then, this
adventure seems apocryphal, it is no fault of mine ; and so,
without affirming its falsehood or its truth, I write it down.
Decide for thyself in thy wisdom, reader ; for I am not bound,
nor is it in my power, to do more
;
though certain it is they
say that at the time of his death he retracted, and said he had
invented it, thinking it matched and tallied with the advent-
ures he had read of in his histories." And then he goes on to
say:
The cousin was amazed as well at Sancho's boldness as at the
patience of his master, and concluded that the good temper the
latter displayed arose from the happiness he felt at having
seen his lady Dulcinea, even enchanted as she was ; because
otherwise the words and language Sancho had addressed to
him deserved a thrashing ; for indeed he seemed to him to
have been rather impudent to his master, to whom he now ob-
served, "I, SenorDon Quixote of La Mancha, look upon the
time I have spent in travelling with your worship as very well
employed, for I have gained four things in the course of it
;
the first is that I have made your acquaintance, Avhich I con-
sider great good fortune ; the second, that I liave learned Avhat
the cave of Montesinos contains, together with the transforma-
tions of Guadiana and of the lakes of Ruidera, which will be
of iise to me for the Spanish Ovid that I have in hand ; the
third, to have discovered the antiquity of cards, that they were
in use at least in the time of Charlemagne, as may be inferred
from the words you say Durandarte uttered when, at the end
of that long spell while Montesinos was talking to him, he woke
up and said,
'
Patience and shuffle.' This phrase and expres-
sion he could not have learned while he was enchanted, Init
only before he had become so, in France, and in the time of
the aforesaid emperor Charlemagne. And this demonstration
is just the thing for me for that other book I am Avriting, the
'
Supplement to Polydore Vergil on the Invention of Antiqui-
ties
;
for I believe he never thought of inserting that of cards
in his book, as I mean to do in mine, and it will be a matter of
great importance, particularly when I can cite so grave and
veracious an authoritv as Seiior Durandarte. And the fourth
thing is, that I have ascertained the source of the river Gua-
diana, heretofore unknoAvn to mankind."
"
You are right," said Don Quixote
;
"
but I should like to
CHAPTER XXIV.
1G9
know, if by God's favor they grant you a license
to print
those
books of yours

which I clouljt

to whom do you
mean to
dedicate them ?
"
"
There are lords and grandees in Spain to whom they can
be dedicated," said the cousin.
"
Not many," said Don Quixote
;
"
not that they are un-
worthy of it, but because they do not care to accept books and
incur the obligation of making the return that seems due to the
author's labor and courtesy. One prince I know who makes
up for all the rest, and more

how much more, if I ventured

to say, perhaps I should stir up envy in many a noble breast
;
^
bvit let this stand over for some more convenient time, and let
us go and look for some place to shelter ourselves to-night."
"
Not far from this," said the cousin,
"
there is a hermitage,
Avhere there lives a hermit, who they say was a soldier, and
who has the reputation of being a good Christian and a very
intelligent and c]iarital)le man. Close to the hermitage he has
a small house which he built at his own cost, but though
small it is large enough for the reception of guests."
''
Has this hermit any hens, do you think ?
"
asked Sancho.
''
Few hermits are without them," said ]')on Quixote
;
"
for
those we see now-a-days are not like the hermits of the Egyp-
tian deserts, who were clad in palm-leaves, and lived on the
roots of the earth. But do not think that by praising these I
am disparaging the others
;
all I mean to say is, that the pen-
ances of those of the present day do not come up to the asceti-
cism and austerity of former times
;
but it does not follow
from this that they are not all worthy ; at least I think them
so ; and at the worst the hypocrite Avho pretends to be good
does less harm than the open sinner."
At this point they saw approaching the spot where they
stood a man on foot, proceeding at a rapid pace, and beating
a mule loaded with lances and halberds. When he came up to
them, he saluted them and passed on without stop])ing. Don
Quixote called to him, "Stay, good fellow; you seem to be
making more haste than suits that mule."
"
I can not stop, sefior," answered the man
;
"
for the arms
you see I carry here, are to be used to-morrow, so I must
not delay ; God be with you. But if you want to know
what I am carrying them for, I mean to lodge to-night at
the inn that is beyond the hermitage, and if you be going
'
A passing compliment to his patron, the Conde dc Lemos,
170 DON QUIXOTE.
the same road you will find me there, and I will tell yon
some curious things
;
once more God be with you
;
"
and he
urged on his mule at such a pace that Don Quixote had no
time to ask him what these curious things were that he meant
to tell them
;
and as he was somewhat inquisitive, and always
tortured by his anxiet}^ to learn something new, he decided to
set out at once, and go and pass the night at the inn instead of
stopping at the hermitage, where the cousin would have had
them halt. Accordingly they mounted and all three took the
direct road for the inn, which they reached a little l)efore
nightfall. On the road the cousin proi)osed they should go up
to the hermitage to drink a sup. The instant Sancho heard
this he steered his Dapple towards it, and Don Quixote and
the cousin did the same
;
but it seems Sancho's bad luck so
ordered it that the hermit was not at home, for so a sub-
hermit they found in the hermitage told them. They called
for some of the best.' She replied that her master had
none, but that if they liked cheap water she would give it
with great pleasure.
"
If I found any in water," said Sancho,
"
there are wells
along the road where I could have had enough of it. Ah,
Camacho's wedding, and plentiful house of Don Diego, how
often do I miss you !
"'
Leaving the hermitage, they pushed on towards the inn,
and a little farther they came upon a youth who was pacing
along in front of them at no great speed, so that they overtook
him. He carried a sword over his shoulder, and slung on it
a budget or bundle of his clothes apparently, probably his
breeches or pantaloons, and his cloak and a shirt or two
;
for
he had on a short jacket of velvet with a gloss like satin
on it in i)laces, and had his shirt out; his stockings were of
silk, and his shoes square-toed as they wear them at court.
-
His age might have been eighteen or nineteen
;
he Avas of a
nierry countenance, and to all ai)})earance of an active habit,
and he went along singing seguidillas
^
to beguile the weari-
someness of the road. As they came up with him he was just
finishing one, which the cousin got by heart and they say ran
thus

'
J^itorally,
"
some of tlic dear."
*
A fa.sliion introduced by the Duke of Lerma, whose feet were dis-
figured by bunions.
^
Verses of sliorter lines than the ballad, and generally of a li\inu)rous
or satirical cast.
'
CHAPTER XXIV.
171
I'm off to tlie wars
For the wtnit of pence,
Oh, had I but money
I 'd show more sense.
The first to address him was Don Quixote, who said,
"
You
travel very airily, sir gallant ; Avluther bound, may we ask, if
it is your pleasure to tell iis V
"
To which the youth replied, "The heat and- my poverty are
the reason of my travelling so airily, and it is to the wars that
I am bound."
"How poverty'.'" asked Don Quixote
;
'"'the heat one can
understand."
"
Senor," replied the youth,
"
in this bundle I carry velvet
pantaloons to match this jacket ; if I wear them out on the
road, I shall not be able to make a decent appearance in them
in the city, and I have not the wherewithal to buy others
;
and so for this reason, as well as to keep myself cool, I am
making my way in this fashion to overtake some companies of
infantry that are not twelve leagues off, in whicli I shall enlist,
and there Avill be no want of baggage trains to travel with
after that to the place of embarkation, which they say will be
Carthagena ;
^
I would rather have the King for a master, and
serve him in the wars, than serve a court pauper."
"
And did you get any bounty, now ?
"
asked the cousin.
"
If I had been in the service of some grandee of Spain or
personage of distinction," replied the youth,
"
I should have
been safe to get it ; for that is the atlvantage of serving good
masters, that out of the servants' hall men come to be ancients
or captains, or get a good pension. But I, to my misfortune,
always served place hunters and adventurers, whose keep and
wages were so miserable and scanty that half went in pay-
ing for the starching of one's collar
;
it would be a miracle
indeed it a page volunteer ever got anything like a reasonable
bounty."
"And tell me, for Heaven's sake," asked Don Quixote, '-is
it possible, my friend, that all the time you served you never
got any livery ?
"
"They gave me two," replied the page
;
"
but just as when
one quits a religious community before making profession,
'
The war to which tlie youth was Ijound was probably that whicli liad
arisen in Italy in IGIS, out of the contlictinijc claims of the Dukes of
Savoy and Mantua to the Duchy of Montferrat.
172 DON QUIXOTE.
tliey strip him x)f the dross of the order and give liim back his
own (.h)thes, so did luy masters return lue mine; for as soon as
\\\v. business on wliich tliey eame to court was tinishcd, tliey
went honu- and took back the liveries tliey had given merely
i'or show."
"
Wliat sjjilorceria
!
-^as an Italian would say," said Don
(Juixott;;
''
but Ibr all that, consider yourself
hai)i)y
in having
left court with as worthy an ol)je(^t as you have, for tlu^i'C is
nothing on earth nu)re h()iu)rable or ])rotitable than st'rviug,
fu'st of all (Jod, and then one's king and natural lord,
i>arti(U-
larly in tlu^ })rol'ession of arms, by which, if not nu)re wt'alth,
at least more honor is to be won than by letters, as I luxve said
many* a iimc ;
lor (hough letters luay have founded more great
houses than arms, si ill those i'oundcd by arms have I know not
what superiority over those founded by letters, and a certain
splendor belonging to them that distinguishes them above all.
And beai' in mind what 1 am now about to say to you, for it
will be of great use and comfort to you in time of trouble; it
is, not to let your mind dwell on the adverse chances that
nuiy befall you ; for tlu^ worst of all is death, and if it be
a
good death, the best of all is ti) di(^ Tlu^y asked . I alius
(^a'sar, the valiant- Roman enqicror, what was the best death.
lb" answei'cd, tliat wiiich is une.xiiectcd, which comes suddenly
and unroresecii; and though he answered like a pagan, and
one without the knowledge of tlu' true (Jod, yet, as far as
sparing our feelings is concerni'd, lu' was rigid ; for su])])ose
you are killed in the first engagement or skirmish, whether by
a, cannon ball oi- blown up by mine, what matters it'.' It is
oidy dying, and all is over; and according to Terence,' a sol-
(bcr shows better dead in battle, than alive and safe in flight;
and the good soldier wins fanu' in jtroportion as 1m> is obedient
to his eajjtains and those in comnumd over him. And re-
mend)er, my son, that it is better for the soldier to smell of
gunpowder than of civet, and that if old age should come upon
you in this honorable calling, tbough you may be covered with
wounds and crijtpled ami lame, it will not come upon \(>u
without honor, and that such as ])ovi'rty can not lessen; espe-
cially now that ])rovisit)ns are being made for
sui)i>orting and
relieving old and disabled soldiers; for it is not right to deal
with them after the fashion of those who s(>t free and iret rid
'
It is iKit o;isy to s;i.v wliat pas-sago Cervantes covilil have been think-
in i^ iif.
CHAPTER XXV. 173
of their black slaves when tlioy are old and useless, and, tnrniiii;'
them out of their houses under the pretence of making tluna
rr(^e, make them slaves to hunger, from which they can not
expect to be released except by (h^.ath. But for the present
f won't say more than g<^t ye up beliiud me on my horse as far
as the inn, and sup with me there, and to-morrow you shall
pursue youi- journey, and God give you as good speed as your
intentions (h'serve."
The ])age did not accei)t the invitation to mount, though lio
did that to supper at the inn; and here they say Sancho said
to himself,
"
God be with you for a master
;
is it possible that
a num who can say things so many and so good as he has said
just now, can say that he sa,w tlie im])()ssible absurdities he
reports about tlie cave of Montesinos? Well, well, we shall
see."
And now, just as night was falling, they reached the inn,
and it was not without satisfaction that Sancho ])erceived his
master took it for a real inn, and not for a castle as usual.
The instant they entered Don Quixote asked tlie landlord after
the man with the lances and halberds, and was told that he
was in the stable S(H^ing to his nude; which was what Sancho
and the cousin proceeded to do for their beasts, giving the best
manger and the best place in the stable to Rocinante.
CHAPTFJl XXV.
WITERET^r TS SET DOWX 'nilC KlIAVI.NMi ADVENTTTltE, AXD THE
DKOLh ONE OK 'Vnv: l'Uri'l<:T-SII()WMAN, TOGKTHKli WITH
THE MKMOKAMIJ': DIVINATIONS OF THE DIVINING AI'K.
Don (Quixote's bread would not bake, as the common say-
ing is,^ until he had heard and learned the curious things prom-
ised by the man who carried the arms. He went to seek him
where the innkeeper said he was, and having found him, bade
him say now at any rate whai he had to say in answer to the
(piestion he had asked him on tlie road.
"
The tale of my
wonders must be taken more leisurely and not standing," said
the ma.n ;
"
let me finish foddering my beast,
good sir; and then
1'
11 tell you things that will astonish you."'

A proverbial phrase, expressive of extreme impatience.

174 DON QUIXOTE.
"
Don't wait for that," said Don Qnixote
;
"
I
'11
help you in
everything," and so he did, sifting the barley for him and
cleaning out the manger; a degree of humility which made the
other feel bound to tell him with a good grace what he had
asked
;
so seating himself on a bench, with Don Quixote beside
him, and the cousin, the page, Sancho Panza, and the landlord,
for a senate and an audience, he began his story in this way :
<'
You must know that in a village four leagues and a half
from this inn, it so happened that one of the regidors,' by the
tricks and roguery of a servant girl of hi-s (it 's too long a tale
to tell), lost an ass : and though he did all he possibly could to
find it, it was all to no purpose. A fortnight might have gone
by, so the story goes, since the ass had been missing, when, as
the regidor who had lost it was standing in the plaza, another
regidor of the same town said to him,
'
Pay me for good ucavs,
gossip
;
your ass has turned up.'
<
That I will, and well,
gossip,' said the other
;
'
but tell us, where has he turned up
?
'
'
In the forest,' said the iinder ;
'
I saw him this morning with-
out pack-saddle or harness of any sort, and so lean that it went
to one's heart to see him. I tried to drive him before me and
bring him to you. but he is already so wild and shy that when
I went near him, he made oft into the thickest part of the for-
est. If you have a mind that we two should go back and look
for him, let me put u]) this she-ass at my house and I
'11
be
back at once.
'
You will be doing me a great kindness,' said
the owner of the ass,
'
and I
'11
try to pay it back in the same
coin.' It is with all 'these circumstances, and in the very same
way I am telling it now, that those who know all about the
matter tell the story. Well then, the two regidors set oft" on
foot, arm in arm for the forest, antl coming to the place where
they hoped to find the ass they, could not find him, nor was he
to be seen an^^where about, search as they might. Seeiug,
then, that there was no sign of him, the regidor who had seen
him said to the other,
'
Look here, gossip ; a jdan has occurred
to me, by wliich, beyond a doubt, we shall iiuxnage to discover
the animal, even if he is stowed away in the bowels of the
earth, not to say the forest. Here it is. I can bray to perfec-
tion, and if you can ever so little, the thing 's as good as done.'
'
Ever so little, did you say, gossip ?
'
said the other
;
'
by God,
I
'11
not give in to anybody, not even to the asses themselves.'
'
We
'11
soon see,' said the second regidor,
'
for my plan is, that
'
Officers who have charge of the expenditure of the municipality.
CHAPTER XXV. 175
you should go on one side of the forest, and I the other, so as
to go all round about it
; and every now and then you will
bray and I will bray
;
and it can not be but that the ass will
hear us, and answer us if lie is in the forest.' To which the
owner of the ass replied,
'
It 's an excellent plan, I declare,
gossip, and worthy of your great genius
;
' and the two sepa-
rating as agreed, it so fell, out that they brayed almost at the
same moment, and eacli, deceived by the braying of the other,
ran to look, fancying the ass had turned up at last. When
they came in sight of one another, said the loser,
'
Is it possible,
gossip, that it was not my ass that brayed ?
' '
No, it was I,'
said the other.
'
Well then, I can tell you, gossip,' said the
ass's owner,
'
that between you and an ass there 's not an atom
of difference as far as braying goes, for I never in all my life
saw or heard anything more natural.' 'Those praises and
compliments belong to you more justly than to me, gossip,' said
the inventor of the plan
;
'
for, by the God that iiiade me, you
might give a couple of brays odds to the best and most finished
brayer in the world ; the tone you have got is deep, your voice
is well kept up as to time and pitch, and your finishing notes
come thick and fast ; in fact, I own myself beaten, and yield
the palm to you, and give in to you in this rare accoui})lish-
ment.'
'
Well then,' said the owner,
'
I
'11
set a higher value
on myself for the future, and consider that I know something,
as I have an excellence of son^e sort ; for tlumgh I always
thought I brayed well, I never supposed I came up to the
pitch of perfection you say.'
'
And I say too,' said the second,
'
that there are rare gifts going to loss in the world, and that
they are ill bestowed upon those who don't know how to make
use of them.'
'
Ours,' said the owner of the ass,
'
unless it is
in cases like what we have in hand, can not be of any service
to us, and even in this God grant they may be of some use.'
So saying they separated, and took to their braying once
more, but every instant they were deceiving one another, and
coming to meet one another again, until they arranged by way
of countersign, so as to know that it was they and not the ass,
to give two brays, one after the other. In this way, doubling
the brays at every step, they made the complete circuit of the
forest, but the lost ass never gave them an answer or even the
sign of one. How could the poor ill-starred brute have
answered, when, in the thickest part of the forest, they found
him devoured by wolves ? As soon as he saw him his owner
176 DON QUIXOTE.
said,
'
I was wondering he did not answer, for if he was n't
dead he 'd have brayed when he heard lis, or he 'd have been no
ass
;
but for the sake of having heard you bray to such perfec-
tion, gossip, I count the trouble I have taken to look for him
well bestowed, even though I have found him dead.'
'
It 's in
a good hand, gossip,' ' said the other ;
'
if the abbot sings well,
the acolyte is not much behind him.'
^
So they returned dis-
consolate and hoarse to their village, where they told theia*
friends, neighbors, and acquaintances what had befallen them
in their search for the ass, each crying up the other's perfection
in braying. The whole story came to be known and spread
abroad through the villages of the neighborhood; and the
devil, who never sleeps, with his love for sowing dissensions
and scattering discord everywhere, blowing mischief about and
making quarrels out of nothing, contrived to make the people
of the other towns fall to braying whenever they saw any one
from our village, as if to throw the braying of our regidors in
our teeth. Then the boys took to it, which was the same thing
for it as getting into the hands and mouths of all the devils of
hell ; and braying spread from one town to another in such a
way that the men of tlie braying town are as easy to be known
as blacks are to be known from whites, and the unlucky joke
has gone so far that several times the scoifed have come out in
arms and in a body to do battle with the scoffers, and neither
king nor rook, fear nor shame, can mend matters. To-morrow
or the da}' alter, I believe, the men of my town, that is, of the
braying town, are going to take the held against another
village two leagues away from ours, one of those that persecute
us most ; and that we may turn out well prepared I have
bought these lances and halberds you have seen. These are
the curious things I told you I had to tell, and if you don't
think them so, I have got no others ;
"
and with this the
worthy fellow brought his story to a close.
Just at this moment there came in at the gate of the inn a
man entirely clad in chamois leather, hose, breeches, and
doublet, who said in a loud voice,
''
Sefior host, have you
room ? Here 's the divining ape and the show of the Release
of Melisendra just coming."
"
Ods body !
"
said the landlord,
"
why, it 's Master Pedro !
We 're in for a grand night I
"
'
A polite wav of saying,
"
after you," when pressed to drink.
2Prov, 1.
CHAPTER XXV.
177
I forgot to mention that the said Master Pedro had his left
eye and nearly half his cheek covered with a patch of green
taffety, showing that something ailed all that side.
"
Your worship is welcome, Master Pedro," continned the
landlord ;
"
but where are the ape and the show, for I don't see
them ?
"
"
They are close at hand," said he in the chamois leather,
"
but I came on first to know if there was any room."
"
I 'd make the duke of Alva himself clear out to make rooni
for Master Pedro," said the landlord ;
"
bring in the ape and
the show ; there 's company in the inn to-night that will pay to
see that and the cleverness of tlie ape."
"
So be it by all means," said the man with the patch
;
"
I
'11
lower the price, and be Avell satisfied if I only pay my expenses
;
and now I
'11
go back and hurry on the cart with the ape and
the show
;
"
and with this he went out of the inn.
Don Quixote at once asked the landlord what this Master
Pedro was, and what was the show and what was the ape he
had with him ; to which the landlord replied,
"
This is a
famous puppet-showman, who for some time past has been
going about tins Mancha de Aragon,^ exhilnting a show of the
release of Melisendra by the famous Don Gaiferos, one of the
best and best represented stories that have been seen in this
part of the kingdom for many a year ; he has also with him an
ape with the most extraordinary gift ever seen in an ape or
imagined in a human being ; for if you ask him anything, he
listens attentively to the question, and then jumps on his mas-
ter's shoulder, and pressing close to his ear tells him the
answer, which Master Pedro then delivers. He says a great
deal more about things past than about things to come
;
and
though he does not always hit the truth in every case, most
times he is not far wrong, so that he makes us fancy he has
got the devil in him. He gets two reals for every question if
the ape answers ; I mean if his master answers for him after
he has whispered into his ear ; and so it is believed that this
same Master Pedro is very rich. He is a
'
gallant man
"
as
they say in Italy, and good company, and leads the finest life
'
The eastern part of La Mancha, adjoininiif the Cuenca Mountains,
and now part of the province of Cuenca. It had nothing to do witli the
kingdom of Aragon, as Cervantes seems to have supposed ; the name, so
Fermin Caballero {Pericia Geografica de Cervantes) says, being derived
from a hill called Monte Aragon.
Vol. II.

12
178 DON QUIXOTE.
in the world
;
talks more than six, drinks more than a dozen,
and all by his tongue, and his ape, and his show."
Master Pedro now came back, and in a cart followed the
show and the ape

a big one, without a tail and with but-

tocks as bare as felt, but not vicious-looking. As soon as Don
Quixote saw him, he asked him,
"
Can you tell me, sir fortune-
teller, what fish do we catch, and how will it be with us ? See,
here are my two reals," and he bade Sancho give them to
Master Pedro
; Init he answered for the ape and said,
'^
Seuor,
this animal does not give any answer or information touching
things that are to come
;
of things past he knows something,
and more or less of things present."
"
Gad,"
^
said Sancho,
"
I would not give a farthing to be told
what 's past with me, for who kuows that better than I do
myself? And to pay for being told what I know would be
mighty foolish. Put as you know things ])resent, here are my
two reals, aud tell me, most excellent sir ape, what is my wife
Teresa Panza doing now, and what is she diverting herself
with ?
"
'
Master Pedro refused to take the money, saying,
"
I will not
receive payment in advance or until the service has been first
rendered ;
"
and then with his right hand he gave a couple of
slaps on his left shoulder, and with one sjn'ing the ape perched
himself up<-)n it, and putting his mouth to his masters ear
began chattering his teeth rapidly ; and having kept this up
as long as one would be saying a credo, with another spring he
brought himself to the ground, and the same instant IVIaster
Pedro ran in great haste and fell upon his knees before Don
Quixote, and embracing his legs exclaimed,
"
These legs do I
embrace as I would embrace the two pillars of Hercules,
illustrious reviver of knight-errantry, so long consigned to ob-
livion ! () never yet duly extolled knight, Don Quixote of La
JMancha, courage of the faint-hearted, prop of the tottering,
arm of the fallen, staff and counsel of all who are unfortu-
nate
!
"
Don Quixote was thunderstruck, Sancho astounded, the
cousin staggered, the page astonished, the man from the bray-
ing town agape, the landlord in perplexity, and, in short, every
one amazed at the words of the pui)j)et-showman, who went on
to say,
"
And thou, worthy Sancho Panza, the best squire and
'
Voto a Ens, an obscure oath, but probably a Maiichegan form of
Voto d Dios. Rus is the name of a stream and castle near San Clemente.
CHAPTER XXV.
179
sqiiire to tlie best kniglit in the world ! Be of good cheer, for
thy good wife Teresa is well, and she is at this moment hack-
ling a pound of flax ; and more by token she has at her left
hand a jug with a broken spout that holds a good drop of
wine, with which she solaces herself at her work."
"
That I can well believe," said Sancho.
"
She is a lucky
one, and if it was not for her jealousy I would not change her
for the giantess Andandona,^ who by my master's account was
a very clever and worthy woman
;
my Teresa is one of those
that won't let themselves want for anything, though their heirs
may have to pay for it."
"
JS"ow I declare," said Don Quixote,
"
he who reads much
and travels much sees and knows a great deal. I say so l)e-
cause what amount of persuasion could have persuaded me
that there are apes in the Avorld that can divine as I have seen
now with my own eyes ? For I am that very Don Quixote of
La Mancha this worthy animal refers to, though he has gone
rather too far in my praise
;
but whatever I may be, I thank
Heaven that it has endowed me with a tender and compas-
sionate heart, always disposed to d(_) good to all and harm to
none."
"
If I had money," said the page, ''I Avoidd ask senor ;i,pe
what will hap})en me in the peregrination I am making."
To this Master Pedro, who had by this time risen from Don
Quixote's feet, replied,
"
I have already said that this little
beast gives no answer as to the futiire
;
but if he did, not
having money would be of no consequence, for to oblige Senor
Don Quixote, here present, I Avould give up all the profits in
the world. And now, because I have promised it, and to aft'ord
him pleasure, I will set up my show and offer entertainment
to all who are in the inn, without any charge whatever." As
soon as he heard this, the landlord, delighted beyond measure,
pointed out a place where the show might be fixed, which was
done at once.
Don Quixote was not very well satisfied with the divinations
of the ape, as he did not think it proper that an a])e should
divine anything, either past or future
;
so while Master Pedro
was arranging the show, he retired with Sancho into a corner
of the stable, where, without being overheard by any one, he
said to him,
"
Look here, Sancho, I have been seriously think-
ing over this ape's extraordinary gift, and have come to the
'
A giantess in Amadis
of
Gaul.
180 DON QUIXOTE.
conclusion that beyond doubt this Master Pedro, his master,
has a pact, tacit or express, with the deviL"
"
If the packet is express from the devil," said Sanclio,
"
it
must be a very dirty packet no doubt ; but what good can it
do Master Pedro to have such packets ?
"
^
*' Thou dost not understand me, Sancho," said Don Quixote;
"
I only mean he must have made some compact with the devil
to infuse this power into the ape, that he may get his living,
and after he has grown rich he will give him his soul, which
is what the enemy of mankind wants ; this I am led to believe
by observing that the ape only answers about things past or
present, and the devil's knoAvledge extends no further
;
for the
future he knows onl}- by guesswork, and that not always ; for
it is reserved for God alone to know the times and the seasons,
and for him there is neither past nor future ; all is present.
This being as it is, it is clear that this ape speaks by the spirit
of the devil ; aiul I am astonished they have not denounced
him to the Holy Office, and ])ut him to tlie question, and forced
it out of him by whose virtue it is that he divines; because it
is certain this ape is not an astrologer ; neither his master nor
he sets up, or knows how to set u]), those figures they call judi-
ciary,- which are now so common in Spain that there is not a
jade, or page, or old cobbler, that will not undertake to set up
a figure as readily as pick u]) a knave of cards from the ground,
bringing to naught the marvellous truth of the science by their
lies and ignorance. I know of a lady who asked one of these
figure schemers whether her little lap-dog would be in pup and
would breed, and how many and of what color the little pups
would be. To which sefior astrologer, after having set up his
figure, made answer thai the bitch would be in pup, and Avould
drop three pups, one green, another bright red, and the third
party-colored, provided she conceived between eleven and twelve
either of the day or night, and on a Monday or Saturday ; but
as things turned out, tAVO days after this the bitch died of a
surfeit, and sefior .planet-ruler had the credit all over the place
of being a most profound astrologer, as most of these planet-
rulers have."
"
Still," said Sancho,
"
I would be glad if yoiir worship would
make Master Pedro ask his ape whether what happened your
worship in the cave of Montesinos is true ; for, begging your
'
In tlic original, Sanclio's mistake is ^yatio iov jjacto.
^i.e. belonging to judicial astrology.
CHAPTER XXV. 181
worship's pardon, I, for my part, take it to have been all flam
and lies, or at any rate something yon dreamt."
"
That may be," replied Don Qtuxote
;
"
however, I will do
what you suggest ; though I have my own scruples about it."
At this point Master Pedro came up in quest of Don Quixote,
to tell him the show was now ready and to come and see it,
for it was worth seeing. Don Quixote explained his wish to
him, and begged him to ask his ape at once to tell him whether
certain things which had happened to him in the cave of Mon-
tesinos were dreams or realities, for to him they appeared to
partake of both. Upon this Master Pedro, without answering,
went back to fetch the ape, and, having })laced it in fi'ont of
Don Quixote and Sancho, said :
"
See here, senor
ai)e,
this gentle-
man wishes to know whether certain things which happened to
him in the cave called the cave of Montesinos were false or true."
On his making the usual sign the a})e mounted on his left
shoidder and seemed to whisper in his ear, and Master Pedro
said at once,
"
The ape says that the things you saAv or that
happened to yon in that cave are, part of them false, part true
;
and that he only knows this and no more as regards this ques-
tion
;
but if your worship wishes to know more, on Friday next
he will answer all that may be asked him, for his virtue is at
present exhausted, and Avill not return to him till Friday, as he
has said."
"
Did I not say, seiior," said Sancho.
''
that I could not bring
myself to believe that all your worship said about the advent-
ures in the cave was true, or even the half of it ?
"
"
The course of events will tell, Sancho," replied Don
Quixote
;
"
time, that discloses all things, leaves nothing that
it does not drag into the light of day, though it be buried in
the bosom of the earth. Put enough of that for the present
;
let us go and see worthy Master Pedro's show, for I am sure
there must be something novel in it."
"
Something !
"
said Master Pedro
;
''
this show of mine has
sixty thousand novel things in it ; let me tell you, Sefior Don
Quixote, it is one of the best-worth-seeing things in the world
this day ; but operibus credlte et noii verbis, and noAV let 's get
to work, for it is growing late, and we have a great deal to do
and to say and show."
Don Quixote and Sancho obeyed him and went to where the
show was already put \\\) and uncovered, set all around with
lighted wax tapers which made it look splendid and bright.
182 DON QUIXOTE.
When they came to it Master Pedro ensconced himself inside
it,
for it was he who had to work the puppets, and a boy, a
servant of his, posted himself outside to act as showman and
explain the mysteries of the exhibition, having
a wand in his
hand to point to the figures as they came out. And so, all who
were in the inn being arraiiged in front of the show, some of
them standing, and Don Quixote, Sancho, the page, and cousin,
accommodated with the best places, the interpreter began to
say what he will hear or see who reads or hears the next
chapter.
CHAPTER XXVI.
WHEREIN IS CONTIISrUED THE DROLL ADVENTURE OF THE
PUPPET-SHOWMAX, TOGETHER WITH OTHER THINGS IN
TRUTH RIGHT GOOD.
All were silent, T3a-ians and Trojans ; I mean all who
were watching the show were hanging on the lips of the in-
terpreter of its wonders, when drums and trumpets were heard
to sound inside it and cannon to go off. The noise was soon
over, and then the boy lifted up his voice and said,
"
This
true story which is here represented to your worships is taken
word for word from the French chronicles and from the Span-
ish ballads that are in everybody's mouth, and in the mouths
of the boys about the streets. Its subject is the release by
Seiior Don Gaiferos of his Avife Melisendra,^ when a captive
in Spain at the hands of the Moors ifi the city of Sansueiia,
for so they called then what is now called Saragossa; and
there you may see hoAv Don Gaiferos is playing at the tables,
just as they sing it

At the tables playing Don Gaiferos sits,

For Melisendra is forgotten noAv.'^
'
There is, however, no trace of the story of Gaiferos and Melisenda
(which is the correct form of the name) in any French chronicle or
romance. Master Pedro's puppet-show follows closely the ballad

"
Asentado esta (iaiferos
En el palacio real,"
which is in the three oldest Cancioneros de Romances^ and in Duran's
Romanccro General^ No. 377.
^
These lines are not a quotation from the old l)allad, but from a more
modern piece of verse in octaves, in the National Library at Madrid.
"
Tables
"
was a game something like tric-trac or backgammon
;
not chess,
as Dunlop supposes. It was played witii dice.
CHAPTER XXVI. 183
And that personage who appears there with a crown on his
head and a sceptre in his hand is the emperor Charlemagne,
the snpposed father of Melisendra, who, angered to see his
son-in-law's inaction and unconcern, comes in to chide him
;
and observe with what vehemence and energy he chides him,
so that you would fancy he was going to give him half a dozen
raps with his sceptre ; and indeed there are authors who say he
did give them, and sound ones too ; and after having said a
great deal to him about imperilling his honor by not affecting
the release of his wife, he said, so the tale runs,
Enough I've said, see to it now.
Observe, too, how the emperor turns away, and leaves Don
Gaiferos fuming
;
and you see now how, in a burst of anger,
he flings the table and the board far from him and calls in
haste for his armor, and asks his cousin Don Roland for the
loan of his sword, Durindana,^ and how Don Roland refuses
to lend it, offering him his company in the difficult enterprise
he is undertaking; but he, in his valor and anger, will not
accept it, and says that he alone will suffice to rescue his wife,
even though she were imprisoned deep in the centre of the
earth, and with this he retires to arm himself and set out on
his journey at once. Now let your worships turn your eyes
to that tower that appears there, which is supposed to be one
of the towers of the alcazar of Saragossa, now called the
Aljaferia; that lady who appears on that balcony dressed in
Moorish fashion is the peerless Melisendra, for many a time
she used to gaze from thence upon the road to France, and
seek consolation in her captivity by thinking of Paris and her
husband. Observe, too, a new incident which now occurs,
such as, perhaps, never was seen. Do you not see that Moor,
who silently and stealthily, with his finger on his lip, ap-
proaches Melisendra from behind ? Observe now how he
prints a kiss upon her lips, and what a hurry she is in to spit,
and wipe them with the white sleeve of her smock, and
how
she bewails herself, and tears her fair hair as though it were
to blame for the wrong. Observe, too, that the stately Moor
who is in that corridor is King Marsilio of Sausueiia,- who
'
In the Chanson de Roland^
"
Durendal."
^
Marsilio is, of course, the Marsiles of the Chanson de Roland, and,
in spite of the company in wliicli lie appears, a historical personage, the
name being a corruption of Omari filius, i.e. Abd el Malek Ibn Omar,
184 DON QUIXOTE.
having seen the Moor's insolence, at once orders him (though
his kinsman and a great favorite of liis) to be seized and given
two hundred lashes, while carried through the streets of the
city according to custom, with criers going before him and
officers of justice behind
;
and here you see them come out to
execute the sentence, although the offence has been scarcely
committed
;
for among the Moors there are no indictments nor
remands as with us."
Here Don Quixote called out, "Child, child, go straight on
with your story, and don't rim into curves and slants, for to
establish a fact clearly there is need of a greal deal of proof
and confirmation
;
"
and said Master Pedro from within,
"
Boy,
stick to your text and do as the gentleman bids you
;
it 's the
best plan
;
keep to your plain song, and don't attempt har-
monies, for they are apt to break down from being over fine."
"
I will," said the boy, and he went on to say,
"
This figure
that you see here on horseback, covered with a Gascon cloak, is
Don Gaiferos himself, whom his wife, now avenged of the
insult of the amorous Moor, and taking her stand on the balcony
of the tower with a calmer and more tranquil countenance, has
perceived without recognizing him
;
and she addresses her hus-
band, siipposing him to be some traveller, and holds with him
all that conversation and colloquy in the ballad that runs

If you, sir knight, to France are bound,

Oil ! for Gaiferos ask

which I do not repeat here because prolixity begets disgust

;
suffice it to observe how Don Gaiferos discovers himself, and
that by her joyful gestures Meliseudra shows us she has recog-
nized him
;
and what is more, we now see she lowers herself
from the balcony to place herself on the haunches of her good
husband's horse. But ah ! unhappy lady, the edge of her
petticoat has caught on one of the bars of the balcony, and she
is left hanging in the air, unable to reach the ground. But you
see how compassionate Heaven sends aid in our sorest need
;
Don Gaiferos advances, and without minding whether the rich
petticoat is torn or not, he seizes her and by force brings her to
the ground, and then with one jerk places her on the haunches
of his horse, astraddle like a man, and bids her hold on tight
and clasp her arms round his neck, crossing them on his breast
"Wall of Saragossa at the time of Charlemagne's invasion. In the ballad,
however, he is called Almanzor.
CHAPTER XXVI. 185
so as not to fall, for the lady Melisendra was not used to that
style of riding.' You see, too, how the neighing of the horse
shows his satisfaction with the gallant and beautiful burden he
bears in his lord and lady. You see how they wheel round and
quit the city, and in joy and gladness take the road to Paris.
CtO in peace, peerless pair of true lovers ! May you reach
your longed-for fatherland in safety, and may fortune interpose
no impediment to your prosperous journey
;
nuiy the eyes of
your friends and kinsmen behold you enjoying in peace and
tranquillity the remaining days of your life

and that they

may be as many as those of Nestor !
"
Here Master Pedro called out again and said,
''
Simplicity,
boy ! None of your high flights
;
all affectation is bad."
-
The interpreter made no answer, but went on to say,
"
There
was no want of idle eyes, that see everything, to see Meli-
sendra come down and mount, and word was brought to King
Marsilio, who at once gave orders to sound the alarm ; and
see what a stir there is, and how the city is drowned with
the sound of the bells pealing in all the towers of all the
mos<iues."
"
Nay, nay," said Don Quixote at this ;
"
on that point of the
bells Master Pedro is very inaccurate, for bells are not in use
among the Moors ; only kettledrums, and a kind of small
tru.rapet somewhat like a clarion
;
to ring bells this way in
Sansueila is unquestionably a great absurdity."
On hearing this, Master Pedro stopped ringing, and said,
"
Don't look into trifles, Senor Don Quixote, or want to have
things up to a pitch of perfection that is out of reach. Are
there not almost every day a thousand comedies represented
all roimd us full of thousands of inaccuracies and absurdities,
and, for all that, they have a successful run, and are listened
to not only with applause, but with admiration and all the rest
of it ? Go on, boy, and don't mind
;
for so long as I fill my
I'ouch, no matter if I show as many inaccuracies as there are
motes in a sunbeam."
"
True enough," said Don Quixote ; and the boy went on :
'^
See what a numerous and glittering crowd of horsemen issues
from the city in pursuit of the two faithful lovers, what a
*
Gongora has a droll ballad on this subject

"
Desde Sansunea a Paris
'
in wliich he expresses his sympathy with Melisendra's sufferings during
her ride.
^
Prov. 3.
186 DON QUIXOTE.
blowing of trumpets there is, what sounding of horns, what
beating of drums and tabors ; I fear me they will overtake
them and bring them back tied to the tail of their own horse,
which would be a dreadful sight."
Don Quixote, however, seeing such a swarm of Moors and
hearing such a din, thought it would be right to aid the fugi-
tives, and standing up he exclaimed in a loud voice,
"
Never,
while I live, will I permit foul play to be practised in my
presence on such a famous knight and fearless lover as Don
Gaiferos. Halt ! ill-born rabble, follow him not nor pursue
him, or ye Avill have to reckon with me in battle !
"
and suiting
the action to the word, he drew his sword, and with one bound
placed himself close to the sIioav, and with unexampled ra-
pidity and fury began to shower down blows on the puppet
troop of Moors, knocking over some, decapitating others,
maiming this one and demolishing that ; and among many
more he delivered one down-stroke which, if Master Pedro had
not ducked, made himself small, and got out of the way,
would have sliced off his head as easily as if it had been made
of almond-paste. Master Pedro kept shouting,
"
Hold hard !
Senor Don Quixote ! can't you see they 're not real Moors
you 're knocking down and killing and destroying, but only
little pasteboard figures ! Look

sinner that I am !

how
you 're wrecking and ruining all that I 'm worth
!
" But in
spite of this, Don Quixote did not leave off discharging a con-
tinuous rai of cuts, slashes, downstrokes, and backstrokes,
and at length, in less than the space of two credos, he brought
the whole show to the ground, with all its fittings and figures
shivered and knocked to pieces. King Marsilio badly wounded,
and the Emperor Charlemagne with his crown and head split
in two. The whole audience was thrown into confusion, the
ape fled to the roof of the inn, the cousin was frightened, the
page was terrified, and even Sancho Panza himself was in
mighty fear, for, as he swore after the storm was over, he had
never seen his master in such a furious passion.
The complete destruction of the show being thus accom-
plished, Don Quixote became a little calmer, and said,
"
I wish
I had here before me now all those who do not or will not be-
lieve how useful knights-errant are in the world
;
just think, if
I had not been here present, what would have become of the
brave Don Gaiferos and the fair Melisendra ! Depend upon
it, by this time those dogs would have overtaken them and
\
CHAPTER XXVT. 187
inflicted some outrage upon them. So, then, long live knight-
errantry beyond everything living on earth this day !
"
"
Let it live, and welcome," said Master Pedro at this in a
feeble voice,
"
and let me die, for I am so unfortunate that I
can say with King Don Eodrigo

Yesterday was I lord of Spain

To-day I've not a turret left

That I may call mine own.'
^ot half an hour, nay, barely a minute ago, I saw myself lord
of kings and emperors, with my stables hlled with countless
horses, and my trunks and bags with gay dresses unnumbered
;
and now I hud myself ruined and laid low, destitute and a beg-
gar, and above all without my ape, for, by my faith, my teeth
will have to sweat for it before I have him caught ; and all
through the reckless fury of this sir knight here, who, they say,
protects the fatherless, and rights wrongs, and does other
charitable deeds ; but whose generous intentions have been
found wanting in my case only, blessed and praised be the
highest heavens ! Verily, knight of the rueful figure he must
be to have disfigured mine."
Sancho Panza was touched by Master Pedro's words, and
said to him,
"
Don't weep and lament. Master Pedro
;
you break
my heart ; let me tell you my master, Don Quixote, is so cath-
olic and scrupulous a Christian that, if he can make out that he
has done you any wrong, he will own it, and be willing to pay
for it and make it good, and something over and above."
"
Only let Seiior Don Quixote pay me for some part of the
work he has destroyed," said Master Pedro,
"
and I would be
content, and his worship would ease his conscience, for he can
not be saved who keeps what is another's against the owner's
will, and makes no restitution."
"
That is true," said Don Quixote
;
"
but at present I am not
aware that I have got anything of yours, Master Pedro."
"
What !
"
returned Master Pedro
;
''
and these relics lying
here on the bare hard ground

what scattered and shattered

'
From the ballad on the rout of Iving Roderick's army at the battle of
the Guadalete

"
Las liuestes del Rey Rodrigo
Desraayaban
y
huian."
Cancioncro de Rommices^ s.a. Antwerp.
Duran, Rmnancero General^ No.
.")!)'..
188
DON QUIXOTE.
them but the invincible strength of that mighty arm ? And
Avhose Avere the bodies they belonged to but mine ? And what
did I get my living by but them ?
"
"
Now am I fully convinced," said Don Quixote,
*'
of what I
had many a time before believed; that the enchanters who
persecute me do nothing more than put figures like these
before my eyes, and then change and turn them into what they
please. In truth and earnest, I assure you gentlemen who now
hear me, that to me everything that has taken place here
seemed to take place literally, that Melisendra was Melisendra,
Don Gaiferos Don Gaiferos, Marsilio Marsilio, and Charle-
magne Charlemagne. That Avas Avhy my anger was roused
;
and to be faithful to my calling as a knight-errant I sought
to give aid and protection to those Avho fled, and with this good
intention I did what you have seen. If the result has been
the opposite of what I intended, it is no fault of mine, but of
those wicked beings that persecute me
;
but, for all that. I
am Avilling to condemn myself in costs for this error of mine,
though it did not proceed from malice ; let Master Pedro see
what he wants for the spoiled figures, for I agree to pay it
at once in good and current money of Castile."
Master Pedro made him a bow, saying,
''
I expected no less
of the rare Christianity of the valiant Don Quixote of La
Mancha, true helper and protector of all destitute and needy
vagabonds ; master landlord here and the great Sancho Panza
shall be the arbitrators and appraisers between your worshi})
and me of what these dilapidated figures are worth or may be
worth."
The landlord and Sancho consented, and then Master Pedro
picked up from tlie ground King Marsilio of Saragossa Avith
his head off, and said,
"
Here you see Iioav impossible it is to
restore this king to his former state, so I think, saving your
better judgments, that for his death, decease, and demise, four
reals and a half may be given me."
"
Proceed," said Don Quixote.
"
Well then, for this cleavage from top to bottom," continued
Master Pedro, taking up the split Emperor Charlemagne,
'
it
would not be much if I were to ask five reals and a quarter."
''
It' s not little," said Sancho.
"
Nor is it much," said the landlord ;
"
make it even, and say
five reals."
"
Let him have the whole five and a quarter," said Don
CHAPTER XXVI.
189
Quixote
;
"
for the sum total of this notable disaster does not
stand on a quarter more or less ; and make an end of it
quickly, Master Pedro, for it 's getting on to supper-time, and
I have some hints of hunger."
"
For this figure," said Master Pedro,
"
that is without a
nose, and wants an eye, and is the fair Melisendra, I ask, and
I am reasonable in my charge, two reals and tAvelve mara-
vedfs."
"The very devil must be in it," said Don Quixote, '<if Meli-
sendra and her husband are not by this time at least on the
French border, for the horse they rode on seemed to me to fly
rather than gallop
;
so you need n't try to sell me the cat for
the hare,^ showing me here a noseless Melisendra when she is
now, may be, enjoying herself at her ease with her husband
in France. God help every one to his own, Master Pedro, and
let lis all proceed fairly and honestly
;
and now go on."
Master Pedro, perceiving that Don Quixote was beginning to
wander, and return to his original fancy, was not disposed to
let him escape, so he said to him,
"
This cannot be Melisendra,
but must be one of the damsels that waited on her
;
so if I 'm
given sixty maravedis for her, I
'11
be content and sufficiently
paid."
And so he went on, putting values on ever so many more
smashed figures, which, after the two arbitrators had adjusted
them to the satisfaction of both parties, came to fort}- reals and
three quarters
;
and over and above this sum, which Sancho at
once disbursed. Master Pedro asked for two reals for his trouble
in catching the ape.
"
Let him have them, Sancho," said Don Quixote
;
"
not to
catch the ape, but to get drunk ;
-
and two hundred would I
give this minute for the good news, to any one who could tell
me positively, that the lady Doila Melisendra and Senor Don
Gaiferos were now in France and with their own people."
"
No one could tell us that better than my ape," said Master
Pedro,
"
but there 's no devil that could catch him now
;
I sus-
pect, however, that affection and hunger will drive him to
come looking for me to-night ; but to-morrow will soon be here
and we shall see."
In short, the puppet-show storm passed off, and all supped

Prov. 104.
^
The joke here is untranslatable. Don Quixote says
"
not to catch the
-
ape, but the she-ape ;
"
pillar la mona being a slang plirase for
"
to get
drunk."
190 DON QUIXOTE.
in peace and good fellowship at Don Quixote's expense, for he
was the height of generosity. Before it was daylight the man
with the lances and halberds took his departure, and soon after
daybreak the cousin and the page came to bid Don Quixote
farewell, the former returning home, the latter resuming his
journey, towards which, to help him, Don Quixote gave him
twelve reals. Master Pedro did not care to engage in any
more palaver with Don Quixote, whom he knew right well ; so
he rose before the sun, and having got together the remains of
his show and caught his ape, he too went off to seek his ad-
ventures. The landlord, who did not know Don Quixote, was
as much astonished at his mad freaks as at liis generosity.
To conclude, Sancho, by his master's orders, paid him very
liberally, and taking leave of him they quitted the inn at about
eight in the morning and took to the road, where we will leave
them to pursue their journey, for this is necessary in order to
allow certain other matters to be set forth, which are required
to clear up this famous history.
CHAPTER XXVII.
WHEREIN IT IS SHOWN WHO MASTER PEDRO AND HIS APE WERE,
T0<iETHER WITH THE MISHAP DON QUIXOTE HAD IN THE
BRAYING ADVENTURE, WHICH HE DID NOT CONCLUDE AS HE
WOULD HAVE LIKED OR AS HE HAD EXPECTED.
CiD Hamet, the chronicler of this great history, begins this
chapter with these words,
"
I swear as a catholic Christian
;
"
with regard to which his translator says that Cid Hamet's
swearing as a catholic Christian, he being

as no doubt he
was a Moor, only meant that, just as a catholic Christian
taking an oath swears, or ought to swear, what is true, and tell
the truth in what he avers, so he Avas telling the truth, as
much as if he swore as a catholic Christian, in all he chose to
write about Don Quixote, especially in declaring who Master
Pedro was and what was the divining ape that astonished all
the villages with his divinations. He says, then, that he who
has read the First Part of this history will remember well
enough the Gines de Pasamonte whom, with other galley
slaves, Don Quixote set free in the Sierra Morena ; a kindness
CHAPTER XXVII.
191
for which he afterwards got poor thanks and worse payment
from that evil-minded, ill-conditioned set. This Gines de Pasa-
monte

Don Ginesillo de Paropilla, Don Quixote called him

it was that stole Dapple from Saucho Panza

;
which, because
by the fault of the printers neither the how nor the when was
stated in the First Part, has been a puzzle to a good many people,
who attribute to the bad memory of the author what was the
error of the press.^ In fact, however, Gines stole him while
Sancho Panza was asleep on his back, adopting the plan and
device that Brunello had recourse to when he stole Sacripante's
horse from between his legs at the siege of Albracca
;
and, as has
been told, Sancho afterwards recovered him. This Gines, then,
afraid of being caught by the officers of justice, who were look-
ing for \\m\ to punish him for his numberless rascalities and
offences (which were so many and so great that he himself
wrote a big book giving an account of them), resolved to shift
his quarters into the kingdom of Aragon,^ and cover up his left
eye, and take up the trade of a puppet-showman
;
for this, as
well as juggling, he knew how to practise to perfection. Froin
some released Christians returning from Barbary, it so hap-
pened, he bought the ape, which he taught to mount upon his
shoulder on his making a certain sign, and to whisper, or seem
to do so, in his ear. Thus prepared, before entering any village
whither he was bound with his show and his ape, he used to
inform himself at the nearest village, or from the most likely
person he could lind, as to what particnlar things had hai)pened
thei-e, and to whom
;
and bearing them well in mind, the first
thing he did was to exhibit his show, sometimes one story,
sometimes another, but all lively, amusing, and familiar. As
soon as the exhibition was over he brought forward the accom-
plishments of his ape, assuring the public that he divined all
the past and the present, but as to the future he had no skill.
For each question answered he asked two reals, and for some
he made a reduction, just as he happened to feel the pulse of
the questioners
;
and when now and then he came to houses
where things that he knew of had happened to the people liv-
ing there, even if they did not ask him a question, not car-
ing to pay for it, he would make the sign to the
ai)e
and then
'
Here we have an adtlitional proof that Cervantes did not supply the
correction in the second edition, vol. ii. chap, xxiii., and was not even
aware that it had been made.
^
From tliis it would seem that Cervantes was under the impression
that La Mancha de Aragon belonged to the kingdom of Aragon.
192 DON QUIXOTE.
declare that it had said so and so, which fitted the case exactly.
In this way he acquired a prodigious name and all ran after
him ; on other occasions, being very crafty, he would answer in
such a way that the answers suited the questions ; and as no
one cross-questioned him or pressed him to tell how his ape
divined, he made fools of them all and filled his pouch. The
instant he entered the inn he knew Don Quixote and Sancho,
and with that knowledge it was easy for him to astonish them
and all who were tliere
;
but it would have cost him dear had
Don Quixote brought down his hand a little lower when he cut
off King Marsilio's head and destroyed all his horsemen, as
related iu the preceding chapter.
So much for Master Pedro and his ape : and now to return
to Don Quixote of La Mancha,

after he had left the inn he

determined to visit, first of all, the banks of the Ebro and that
neighborhood, before entering the city of Saragossa, for the
ample time there was still to spare before the jousts left him
enough for all. With this object in view he followed the road
and travelled along it for two days, without meeting any advent-
ure worth committing to writing, until on the third day, as he
was ascending a hill, he heard a great noise of drums, trumpets,
and musket-shots. At first he imagined some regiment of
soldiers was passing that Avay, and to see them he spurred
Rocinante and mounted the hill. On reaching the top he saw
at the foot of it over two hundred men, as it seemed to him,
armed with weapons of various sorts, lances, cross-bows,
partisans, halberds, and pikes, and a few muskets and a great
many bucklers. He descended the slope and approached the
band near enough to see distinctly the flags, make out the col-
ors and distinguish the devices they bore, especially one on a
standard or ensign of white satin, on which there was painted
in a very life-like style an ass like a little Sard,^ with its head
up, its mouth open and its tongue out, as if it were in the act
and attitude of braying ; and round it were inscribed in large
characters these two lines

They did not bray in vain,

Our alcaldes twain.
From this device Don Quixote concluded that these people must
be from the braying town, and he said so to Sancho, explaining
to him what was written on the standard. At the same time he
'i.e. a Sardinian pony, just as we say "a Shetland."
CHAPTER XXVII. 193
observed that the man who had tokl them about the matter was
wrong in saying that the two who brayed were regidors, for
according to the lines on the standard they were alcakies. To
which Saneho replied,
"
Senor, there 's nothing to stick at in
that, for maybe the regidors who brayed then came to be alcaldes
of their town afterwards, and so they may go
by both titles
;
moreover, it has nothing to do with the truth of the story
whether the brayers were alcaldes or regidors, provided at any
rate they did bray
;
for an alcalde is just as likely to bray as a
regidor." They perceived, in short, clearly that the town which
had been twitted had turned out to do battle with some other
that had jeered it more than was fair or neighborly.
Don Quixote proceeded to join them, not a little to Sancho's
uneasiness, for he never relished mixing himself up in expedi-
tions of that sort. The members of the troop received him into
the midst of them, taking him to be some one who was on their
side. Don Quixote, putting up his visor, advanced with an easy
bearing and demeanor to the standard with the ass, and all the
chief men of the army gathered round him to look at him, star-
ing at him with the usual amazement that everybody felt on
seeing him for the first time. Don Quixote, seeing them exam-
ining him so attentively, and that none of them spoke to him
or put any question to him, determined to take advantage of
their silence ; so, breaking his own, he lifted up his voice and
said,
"
Worthy sirs, I entreat you as earnestly as I can not to in-
terrupt an argument I wish to address to you, until you find
it displeases or wearies you; and if that come to pass, on the
slightest hint you give me I will put a seal upon my
lii)S
and a
gag upon my tongue."
Tliey all bade him say what he liked, for they would listen
to him willingly.
With this permission Don Quixote went on to say,
"
I, sirs,
am a knight-errant whose calling is that of arms, and whose
profession is to protect those who require protection, and give
help to such as stand in need of it. Some days ago I became
acquainted with your misfortune and the cause which impels
you to take up arms again and again to revenge yourselves upon
your enemies ; and having many times thought over your busi-
ness in my mind, I find that, according to the laws of combat,
you are mistaken in holding yourselves insulted
;
for a private
individual can not insult an entire community ; luiless it be by
defying it collectively as a traitor, because he can not tell who
Vol. II.

13
194 DON QUIXOTE.
in particular is guilty of the treason for which he defies it. Of
this Ave have ah example in Don Diego Ordonez de Lara, Avho
defied the whole town of Zaniora, because he did not know
that Vellido Dolfos alone had committed the treachery of slay-
ing his King ; and therefore he defied them all, and the ven-
geance and the reply concerned all ; though, to be sure, Senor
Don Diego went rather too far, indeed very much beyond the
limite of a defiance
;
for he had no occasion to defy the dead,
or the waters, or the fishes,^ or those yet unborn, and all the
rest of it as set forth ; but let that pass, for when anger breaks
out there 's no father, governor, or bridle to check the tongue.
The case being, then, that no one person can insult a kingdom,
province, city, state, or entire community, it is clear there is
no reason for going out to avenge the defiance of such an
insult, inasmuch as it is not one. A fine thing it would be if
the people of the clock town were to be at loggerheads every
moment Avith every one who called them by that name,

or
the Cazoleros, Berengeneros, Ballenatos, Jaboneros,^ or the
bearers of all the other names and titles that are always in the
mouths of the boys and common people ! It would be a nice
business indeed if all these illustrious cities were to take huff
and revenge themselves and go about perpetually making trom-
bones
^
of their swords in every petty quarrel ! No, no ; God
forbid ! There are four things for which sensible men and
well-ordered States ought to take up arms, draw their swords,
and risk their persons, lives, and properties. The first is to
defend the Catholic faith; the second, to defend one's life,
which is in accordance with natural and divine law
;
the third,
in defence of one's honor, family, and property ; the fourth, in
the service of one's King in a just war ; and if to these we
choose to add a fifth (Avhicli may be included in the second),
'
F. the ballad, "Yacabalga Diego Ordonez."

Cane, de Romances^
Antwerp, 1550. Duran, Rom. Gen. No. 791.
^
The Cazoleros (or, more properly, Cazalleros) were the people of
Valladolid, so called because of their townsman, Cazalla, burned as a
Lutheran in 1559 ; the Berengeneros were the Toledans, herengejias^ or
egg-plants, being grown in large quantities in the neighborhood ; the in-
liabitants of Madrid were nicknamed the Ballenatos, i.e. the whalemen,
from a story that they took a mule's pack-saddle, floating down the
Manzanares in a flood, for a whale. Who the people of the clock town,
or the Jaboneros

-the soapmen

were, is uncertain.
^
[ffechas las espadas sacabuches : sacabuche means literally crop- or
stomach-drawer. To an English reader
"
sackbuts
"
or
"
trombones
"
makes
nonsense : but
"
stomach-rippers
"
would also miss a humorous point.

N. H. D.]
CHAPTER XXV11. 195
in defence of one's country. To these five, as it were capital
causes, there may be added some others that may be just and
reasonable, and make it a duty to take up arms
;
but to take
them up for trifles and things to laugh at and be amused by
rather than offended, looks as though he who did so was al-
together wanting in common sense. Moreover, to take an
unjust revenge (and there cannot be any just one) is directly
opposed to the sacred law that we acknowledge, wherein we
are commanded to do good to our
enemies
and to love them
that hate us
;
a command which, though it seems somewhat
difficult to obey, is only so to those who have in them less of
God than of the world, and more of the flesh than of the spirit
;
for Jesus Christ, God and true man, who never lied, and coidd
not and can not lie, said, as our law-giver, that his yoke was
easy and his burden light ; he would not, therefore, have laid
any command upon us that it was impossible to obey. Thus,
sirs, you are bound to keep quiet by human and divine law."
*'
The devil take me," said Sancho to himself at this,
"
but
this master of mine is a tologian
;
or, if not, faith he 's as like
one as one eigg is like another."
Don Quixote stopped to take breath, and, observing that
silence was still preserved, had a mind to continue his discourse,
and would have done so had not Sancho interposed with his
smartness
;
for he, seeing his master pause, took the lead, say-
ing,
"
My lord Don Quixote of La Mancha, who once was
called The Knight of the Rueful Countenance, but now is called
the Knight of the Lions, is a gentleman of great discretion who
knows Latin and his mother tongue like a bachelor, and in every-
thing that he deals with or advises proceeds like a good soldier,
and has all the laws and ordinances of what they call combat
at his fingers' ends ; so you have nothing to do but to let your-
selves be guided by what he says, and on my head be it if it is
wrong. Besides which, you have been told that it is folly to
take offence at merely hearing a bray. I remember when I
was a boy I brayed as often as I had a fancy, without any one
hindering me, and so elegantly and naturally that when I brayed
all the asses in the town would bray
;
but I was none the less for
that the son of my parents, who were greatly respected ;
and
though I was envied because of the gift by more than one of
the high and mighty ones of the town, I did not care two far-
things for it ; and that you may see I am telling the truth, Avait
a bit and listen, for this art, like swimming, once learnt is never
196 DON QUIXOTE.
forgotten
;
" and then, taking hold of his nose, he began to bray
so vigorously that all the valleys around rang again.
One of those, however, that stood near him, fancying he was
mocking them, lifted up a long staff he had in his hand, and
smote him such a blow with it that Sancho dropped helpless to
the ground. Don Quixote, seeing him so roughly handled, at-
tacked the man who had struck him lance in hand, but so many
thrust themselves between them that he could not avenge him.
Far from it, finding a shower of stones rained upon him, and
crossbows and muskets vmnumbered levelled at him, he wheeled
Eocinante round and, as fast as his best gallop could take him,
fled from the midst of them, commending himself to God with
all his heart to deliver him out of this peril, in dread every step
of some ball coming in at his back and coming out at his breast,
and every minute drawing his breath to see whether it had gone
from him. The members of the band, however, were satisfied
with seeing him take to flight, and did not fire on him. They
put up Sancho, scarcely restored to his senses, on his ass, and
let him go after his master ; not that he was sufliciently in his
wits to guide the beast, but Dapple followed the footsteps of
Rocinante, from whom he covdd not remain a moment separated.
Don Quixote having got some way off looked back, and seeing
Sancho coming, waited for him, as he perceived that no one
followed him. Tlie men of the troop stood their ground till
night, and as the enem}- did not come out to battle, they returned
to their town in high spirits and exulting
;
and had they been
aware of the ancient custom of the Greeks, they would have
erected a trophy on the spot.
CHAPTER XXVIIL
OF MATTERS THAT BEXEXGELI SATS HE WHO READS THEM
WILL KNOW, IF HE READS THEM "WITH ATTENTION.
When the brave man flees, treachery is manifest, and it is
for wise men to reserve themselves for better occasions. This
proved to be the case with Don Quixote, who, giving way be-
fore the fury of the townsfolk and the hostile intentions of the
angry troop, took to flight and, without a thought of Sancho or
the danger in which he was leaving him, retreated to such a
SANCHO
ASSAILED FOR BRAYING. Vol.2.
Page 196.
CHAPTER
XXVIII. 197
distance as he
thought made him safe, Sanclio, lying across
his ass, followed him, as has been said, and at length came np,
having by this time recovered his senses, and on joining him
let himself drop off Dapple at Rocinante's feet, sore, bruised,
and belabored.
Don Quixote dismounted to examine his
wounds, but finding him whole from head to foot, he said to
him, angrily enough,
"
In an evil hour didst thou take to Ijray-
ing, Sancho ! Where hast thou learned that it is well done to
mention the rope in the house of the man that has been
hanged
?
^
To the music of brays what harmonies couldst
thou expect to get but cudgels ? Give thanks to God, Sancho,
that they signed the cross on thee just now with a stick, and
did not mark thee jjer signum cvacAs with a cutlass."
"
I 'm not equal to
answering," said Sancho,
''
for I feel as
if I was speaking through my shoulders ; let us mount and get
away from this
;
I
'11
keep from braying, but not from saying
that knights-errant fly and leave their good squires to be
pounded like privet, or made meal of at the hands of their
enemies."
"
He does not fly who retires," returned Don Quixote
;
''
for
I would have thee know, Sancho, that the valor which is not
based upon a
foundation of prudence is called rashness, and
the exploits of the rash men are to be attributed rather to good
fortune than to courage ; and so I own that I retired, but not
that I fled ; and therein I have followed the example of many
valiant men who have reserved themselves for better times
;
the
histories are full of instances of this, but as it would not be
any good to thee or pleasure to me, I will not recount them to
thee now."
Sancho was by this time mounted with the help of Don
Quixote, who then himself mounted Rocinante, and at a lei-
surely j)ace they proceeded to take shelter in a grove which was
in sight about a quarter of a league off. Every now and then
Sancho gave vent to deep sighs and dismal groans, and on Don
Quixote asking him what caused such acute suffering, he re-
plied that, from the end of his backbone up to the nape of
his neck, he was so sore that it nearly drove him out of his
senses.
"
The cause of that soreness," said Don Quixote,
"
will be, no
doubt, that the staff wherewith they smote thee being a very
long one, it caught thee all down the back, where all the parts
'Prov. 219.
198 DON QUIXOTE.
that are sore are situated, and had it reached any farther thou
woiddst be sorer still."
"
By God," said Sancho,
"
youi' worship has relieved nie of
a great doubt, and cleared up the point for me in elegant style !
Body o' me ! is the cause of my soreness such a mystery that
there 's any need to tell me I am sore everywhere the staff hit
me ? If it was my ankles that pained me there might be
something in going divining why they did, but it is not much
to divine that I 'm sore where they thrashed me. By my faith,
master mine, the ills of others hang by a hair ;
'
every day I am
discovering more and more how little I have to hope for from
keeping company Avith your worship
;
for if this time you have
allowed me to be drubl)ed, the next time, or a hundred times
more, we
'11
have the blanketings of the other day over again,
and all the other })ranks which, if they have fallen on my
shoulders now, will be thrown in my teeth by-and-by. I would
do a great deal better (if I was not an ignorant brute that will
never do any good all my life), I would do a great deal better,
I say, to go home to my wife and children and support them
and bring them up on what God may please to give me, instead
of following your worship along roads that lead nowhere and
paths that are none at all, with little to drink and less to eat.
And then when it conies to sleeping ! Measure out seven feet
on the earth, brother squire, and if that 's not enough for you,
take as many more, for you may have it all your own way and
stretch yourself to your heart's content. Oh that I could see
burnt and turned to ashes the first man that meddled with
knight-errantry, or at any rate the first who chose to be squire
to such fools as all the knights-errant of past times must have
been ! Of those of the present day I say nothing, because, as
your worship is one of them, I respect them, and because I
know your worship knows a point more than the devil in all
you say
and think."
"I would lay a good wager with you, Sancho," said Don
Quixote,
"
that now that you are talking on without any one to
stop you, you don't feel a pain in your whole body. Talk away,
my son, say
whatever comes into your head or mouth, for so
long as you feel no pain, the irritation your impertinences give
me will be a
pleasure to me
;
and if you are so anxious to go
home to your wife and children, God forbid that I should pre-
vent you
;
you have money of m^ne ; see how long it is since
Prov. 132.
CHAPTER XXVI11. 199
we left our village this third time, ' and how much you can
and ought to earn every month, and pay yourself out of your
own hand."
"
When I worked for Tome Garrasco, the father of the bache-
lor Samson Carrasco that your worship knows," replied Sancho,
"
I used to earn two ducats a month besides my food ;
I can't
tell what I can earn with your worship, though I know a
knight-errant's squire has harder times of it than he who Avorks
for a farmer
;
for after all, we who work for farmers, however
much we toil all day, at the worst, at night, we have our olla
supper and sleep in a bed, which I have not slept in since I
have been in your worship's service, if it was n't the short time
we were in Don Diego de Miranda's house, and the feast I had
with the skimmings I took off Camacho's pots, and what I ate,
drank, and slept in Basilio's house
;
all the rest of the time I
have been sleeping on the hard ground under the open sky,
exposed to what they call the inclemencies of heaven, keeping
life in me with scraps of cheese and crusts of bread, and drink-
ing water either from the brooks or from the springs we come
to on these by-paths we travel."
"
I own, Sancho," said Don Quixote,
''
that all thou sayest is
true
;
how much, thinkest thou, ought I to give thee over and
above what Tome Carrasco gave thee ?
"
'<!
think," said Sancho,
"
that if your worship was to add on
two reals a month I 'd consider myself well paid
;
that is, as far
as the wages of my labor go ; but to make up to me for your
worship's pledge and promise to give me the government of an
island, it would be fair to add six reals more, making thirty in
all."
"
Very good," said Don Quixote ;
"
it is twenty-five days since
we left our village, so reckon up, Sancho, according to the wages
you have made out for yourself, and see how much I owe you
in proportion, and pay yourself, as I said before, out of ycRir
own hand."
"
body o' me
!
" said Sancho,
"
but your worship is very
much out in that reckoning ; for when it comes to the promise
of the island we must count from the day your worship prom-
ised it to me to this present hour we are at now."
"
Well, how long is it, Sancho, since I promised it to you ?
"
said Don Quixote.
*
Don Quixote forgets that Sancho was not with him the first time he
left home.
200
DON QUIXOTE.
"
If I remember rightly," said Sancho,
"
it must be over
twenty years, three days more or less."
Don Quixote gave himself a great slap on the forehead and be-
gan to laugh heartily, and said he,
"
Why, I have not been wan-
dering, either in the Sierra Morena or in the whole course of our
sallies, but barely two months, and thou sayest, Sancho, that it is
twenty years since I promised thee the island. I believe now
thou wouldst have all the money thou hast of mine go in
thy wages. If so, and if that be thy pleasure, I give it to thee
now, once and for all, and much good may it do thee, for so
long as I see myself rid of such a good-for-nothing squire, I
'11
be glad to be left a pauper without a rap. But tell me, thou
perverter of the squirely rules of knight-errantry, where hast
thou ever seen or read that any knight-errant's squire made
terms with his lord,
'
you nuist give me so much a month for
serving you ' ? Plunge, scoimdrel, rogue, monster

for
such I take thee to be

plunge, I say, into the mare mar/num of

their histories
;
and if thou shalt find that any squire ever said
or thought what thou hast said now, I will let thee nail it on
my forehead, and give me, over and above, four sound slaps in
the face. Turn the rein, or the halter, of thy Dapple, and
begone home ; for one single step farther thou shalt not make
in my company. bread thanklessly received ! promises
ill-bestowed ! man more beast than human being ! Now,
when I was about to raise thee to such a position, that, in spite
of thy wife, they would call thee
'
my lord,' thou art leaving
me ? Thou art going now when I had a firm and fixed inten-
tion of making thee lord of the best island in the world ?
AVell, as thou thyself hast said before now, honey is not for the
mouth of the ass.' Ass thou art, ass thou wilt be, and ass thou
wilt end when the course of thy life is run ; for I know it will
come to its close before thou dost perceive or discern that thou
art a beast."
Sancho regarded Don Quixote earnestly while he was giving
him his rating, and was so touched by remorse that the tears
came to his eyes, and in a piteous and broken voice he said to
him,
"
Master mine, I confess that, to be a complete ass, all I
want is a tail ; if your worship will only fix one on to me, I
'11
look on it as rightly placed, and I
'11
serve you as an ass all
the remaining days of my life. Forgive me and have pity on
my folly, and remember I know but little, and, if I talk much,
'
Prov. 13.
CHAPTER XXIX. 201
it 's more from infirmity tliaii malice
;
but he who sins and
mends commends himself to God."
^
"
I should have been surprised, Sancho," said Don Quixote,
"
if thou liadst not introduced some bit of a proverb into thy
speech. Well, well, I forgive thee, jjrovided thou dost mend
and not show thyself in future so fond of thine own interest,
but try to be of good cheer and take heart, and encourage tliy-
self to look forward to the fidfilment of my promises, wliich,
by being delayed, does not become impossible."
Sancho said he would do so, and keep up his heart as best
he could. They then entered the grove, and Don Quixote
settled himself at the foot of an elm, and Sancho at that of
a beech, for trees of this kind and others like them always
have feet but no hands. Sancho passed the night in pain,
for with the evening dews the blow of the staff made itself
felt all the more. Don Quixote passed it in his never-failing
meditations
;
but, for all that, they had some Avinks of sleep,
and with the appearance of daylight they pursued their jour-
ney in quest of the banks of the famous Ebro, where that
befell them which will be told in the following chapter.
CHAPTER XXIX.
OF THE FAMOUS ADVENTURE OF THE ENCHANTED BARK.
By stages as already described or left vmdescribed, two days
after quitting the grove Don Quixote and Sancho reached the
river Ebro,- and the sight of it was a great delight to Don
1
Prov. 83.
^
Cervantes allows them but five days in all for this journey. Tlie
nearest and most accessible point of the Ebro would be at the junction of
the river Jalon, a few leagues above Saragossa, and this, in a straight line
from the inn near the cave of Montesinos, would be something over two
hundred miles distant. The most direct and liest road would be by Bel-
monte and Cuenca, and thence across the Albarracin mountains to Cala-
mocha, Daroca, and Calatayud, which would be, at least, one-third more
;
a distance that, making due allowance for the difficulties of tlie country,
Don Quixote and Sancho, at their rate uf travelling, could not have accom-
plished in thrice the time Cervantes allows. Having myself made the
journey on foot, I can speak with some confidence on the point. But Cer-
vantes clearly had no personal knowledge of the region between La Mancha
and Saragossa. He wguld never have allowed Don Quixote to traverse
202 DON QUIXOTE.
Quixote as he contemplated and gazed upon tlie charms of its
banks, the clearness of its stream, the gentleness of its current
and the abundance of its crystal waters
;
and the pleasant view
revived a thousand tender thoughts in his mind. Above all, he
dwelt upon what he had seen in the cave of Montesinos
;
for
though Master Pedro's ape had told him that of those things
part Avas true, part false, he clung more to their truth than
to their falsehood, the very reverse of Sancho, who held them
all to be downright lies.
As they were thus proceeding, then, they discovered a small
boat, without oars or any other gear, that lay at the water's
edge tied to the stem of a tree growing on the bank. Don
Quixote looked all round, and seeing nobody, at once, without
more ado, dismounted from Ilocinante and bade Sancho get down
from Dapple and tie both beasts securely to the trunk of a poplar
or willow that stood there. Sancho asked him the reason of
this sudden dismounting and tying. Don Quixote made answer,
''
Thou must know, Sancho, that this bark here is plainly, and
without the possibility of any alternative, calling and inviting
me to enter it, and in it go to give aid to some knight or other
pers(m of distinction in need of it, who is no doubt in some
sore strait; for this is the way of the books of chivalry
and of the enchanters who figure and speak in them. When
a knight is involved in some difficulty from which he can
not be delivered save by the hand of another knight, though
they may be at a distance of two or three thousand leagues or
more one from the other, they either take him up on a cloud,
or they i)rovide a bark for him to get into, and in less than the
twinkling of an eye they carry him where they will and whei-e
his help is required
;
and so, Sancho, this bark is placed here
for the same purpose ; this is as true as that it is now day, and
ere this one passes tie Dapple and Eocinante together, and
then in God's hand be it to guide us
;
for I would not hold back
from embarking, though bare-footed friars were to beg me."
"
As that 's the case," said Sancho,
"
and your worship chooses
to give in to these I don't know if I may call them absurdi-
ties

at every turn, there 's nothing for it but to obey and bow
the head, bearing in mind the problem,
'
Do as thy master bids
thee, and sit down to table with him
;
'
^
but for all that, for the
the Cuenca mountains, and tlie pine woods of the Albarracin, without an
adventure, had he been aware of the natural advantages of the country.
'
Frov. 12.
i^K#v
THE ENCHANTED BARK. Vol.2. Page 202.
CHAPTER XXtX. 203
sake of easing my
conscience, I want to warn yonr worship that it
is my
opinion this bark is no enchanted one, but belongs to some
of tlie
fishermen
of the river, for they catch the best shad in the
world here."
As Sancho said this, he tied the beasts, leaving them to the
care and
protection of the enchanters with sorrow enough in his
heart. Don Quixote bade him not be uneasy about deserting
the animals, for he who would carry themselves over such lon-
ginquous roads and regions would take care to feed them.
"
I don't
understand that logiquous," said Sancho,
"
nor have
I ever heard the word all the days of my life."
"
Longinquous,"
replied Don Quixote,
^'
means far off
;
but
it is no wonder thou dost not understand it, for thou art not
bomid to know Latin, like some who pretend to know it and
don't."
'<
Xow they are tied," said Sancho ;
"
what are we to do
next ?
"
"
What ?
"
said Don Quixote,
'
cross ourselves and weigh
anchor ; I mean, embark and cut the moorings by which the
bark is held
;
"
and jumping into it, followed by Sancho, he cut
the rope, and the bark began to drift away slowly from the bank.
But when Sancho saw himself somewhere about two yards out
in the river, he began to tremble and give himself up for lost
;
but nothing distressed him more than hearing Dapple bray and
seeing Rocinante struggling to get loose, and said he to his
master,
"
Dapple is braying in grief at our leaving him, and
Rocinante is trying to escape and plunge in after us. O dear
friends, peace be with you, and may this madness that is tak-
ing us away from you, turned into sober sense, bring us back to
you." And with this he fell weeping so bitterly, that Don
Quixote said to him, sharply and angrily,
''
What art thou afraid
of, cowardly creature ? What art thou weeping at, heart of
butter-paste ? Who pursues or molests thee, thou soul of a tame
mouse ? What dost thou want, unsatisfied in the very heart of
abundance ? Art thou, perchance, tramping
barefoot over the
Riphsean mountains, instead of being seated on a bench like an
archduke on the tranquil stream
of this pleasant
river, from
which in a short space we shall come out upon the broad sea ?
But we must have already emerged and gone seven
hundred or
eight hundred leagues
;
and if I had here an astrolabe to take
the altitude of the pole, I could tell thee how many we have
travelled, though either I know little, or we have already
crossed
204 DON Quixorn.
or shall shortly cross the equinoctial line which parts the two
opposite poles midway."
"And when we come to that lane your worship speaks of,"
said Sancho,
"
how far shall we have gone ?
"
''
Very far," said Don Quixote,
"
for of the three hundred
and sixty degrees that this terraqueous globe contains, as com-
puted by Ptolemy, the greatest cosmographer known, we shall
have travelled one-half Avhen we come to the line I spoke of."
"By God," said Saucho, "your worship gives me a nice
authority for what you say, patrid Dolly something trans-
mogrified, or whatever it is."
Don Quixote laughed at the interpretation Sancho put upon
"
computed," and the name of the cosmographer Ptolemy, and
said he,
"
Thou must know, Sancho, that with the Spaniards
and those who embark at Cadiz for the East Indies, one of the
signs they have to show them when they have passed the
equinoctial line I told thee of, is, that the lice die upon every-
body on board the ship, and not a single one is left, or to be
found in the whole vessel if they gave its weight in gold for
it; so, Sancho, thou mayest as well pass thy hand down thy
thigh, and if thou comest upon anything alive we shall be no
longer in doubt ; if not, then we have crossed."
^
"
I don't believe a bit of it," said Sancho
;
"
still, I
'11
do as
your worship bids me
;
though I don't know what need there
is for trying these experiments, for I can see with my own
eyes that we have not moved five yards away from the bank,
or shifted two yards from where the animals stand,- for there
are Pocinante and Dapple in the very same place where we
left them
;
and watching a point, as I do now, I swear by all
that 's good, we are not stirring or moving at the pace of an
ant."
"
Try the test I told thee of, Sancho," said Don Quixote,
"
and don't mind any other, for thou knowest nothing about
'
In the Theatrum orhis terrarum of Abraham Ortelius (Antwerp,
IGOO), this phenomenon is said to be observable immediately after pass-
ing the Azores.
^
Hartzenbusch makes a mischievous
"
emendation
"
here. lie changes
"
two yards
"
into
"
ten yards," because he says, if the boat was five yards
from the bank, it must have been still farther from the spot where the
animals were tied. But Sancho's meaning is clear : that the boat had not
moved five yards out into the stream, or dropped Avith the stream two
yards below the spot they had embarked at ; and this he shows by the use
of the two words apartado and decantado^ as well as by speaking of watch-
ing a jioint on the bank.
CHAPTER XXIX. 205
colures,
lines, parallels, zodiacs, ecliptics, poles, solstices,
equinoxes, planets, signs, bearings, the measures of which the
celestial and terrestrial spheres are composed
;
if thou wert
acquainted with all these things, or any portion of them, thou
wouldst see clearly how many parallels we have cut, what
signs we have seen, and what constellations we have left be-
hind and are now leaving behind. But again I tell thee, feel
and hunt, for I am certain thou art cleaner than a sheet of
smooth white paper."
Sancho felt, and passing his hand gently and carefully down
to the holloAV of his left knee, he looked up at his master and
said,
"
Either the test is a false one, or we have not come to
where your worship says, nor within many leagues of it.'*
"Why, how so?" asked Don Quixote
;"
hast thou come
upon aught ?
"
"
Ay, and aughts," replied Sancho
;
and shaking his lingers
he washed his whole hand in the river along which the boat
was quietly gliding in midstream, not moved by any occult in-
telligence or invisible enchanter, but sim})ly by the current,
just there smooth and gentle.
They now came in sight of some large water mills that
stood in the middle of the river,^ and the instant Don Quixote
saw them he cried out to Sancho,
"
Seest thou there, my
friend ? there stands the city, castle, or fortress, where there
is, no doubt, some knight in durance, or ill-used cj[ueen, or in-
fanta, or princess, in aid of whom I am brought hither."
"
What the devil city, fortress, or castle is your worship
talking about, senor ?
"
said Sancho
;
"
don't you see that those
are mills that stand in the river to grind corn ?
"
"
Hold thy peace, Sancho," said Don Quixote ;
"
though they
look like mills they are not so
;
I have already told thee that
enchantments transform things and change their proper shapes
;
I do not mean to say they really change them from one form
into another, but that it seems as though they did, as experi-
ence proved in the transformation of Dulcinea, sole refuge of
my hopes."
By this time, the boat, having reached the middle of the
stream, began to move less slowly than hitherto. The millers
belonging to the mills, when they saw the boat coming down
the river, and on the point of being sucked in by the draught
of the wheels, ran out in haste, several of them, with long
'
Floating mills, moored in mid-stream, are common on the Ebro.
206
'
DON QUIXOTE.
poles to stop it, and being all mealy, with faces and garments
covered with flour, they presented a sinister appearance. They
raised loud shouts, crying,
"
Devils of men, Avhere are you
going to ? Are you mad ? Do you want to drown yourselves,
or dash yourselves to pieces among these wheels ?
"
"
Did I not tell thee, Sancho," said Don Quixote at this,
"
that we had reached the place where I am to show what the
might of my arm can do ? See what ruffians and villains
coiae out against me
;
see what monsters oppose me ; see what
hideous countenances come to frighten us ! You shall soon
see, scoundrels !
"
And then standing up in the boat he began
in a loud voice to hurl threats at the millers, exclaiming,
"
Ill-
conditioned and worse-counselled rabble, restore to liberty and
freedom the person ye hold in durance in this your fortress or
prison, high or low or of whatever rank or quality he be, for I
am Don Quixote of La Mancha, otherwise called the Knight of
the Lions, for whom, by the disposition of Heaven above, it is
reserved to give a happy issue to this adventure
;
" and so say-
ing he drew his sword and began making passes in the air at
the millers, who, hearing but not understanding all this non-
sense, strove to stop the boat, which was now getting into the
rushing channel of the wheels. Sancho fell upon his knees
devoutly appealing to Heaven to deliver him from such immi-
nent peril
;
which it did by the activity and quickness of the
millers, who, pushing against the boat with their poles, stopped
it, not, however, without upsetting it and throwing Don Qui-
xote and Sancho into the water ; and lucky it was for Don
Quixote that he could swim like a goose, though the weight of
his armor carried him twice to the bottom ; and had it not
been for the millers, who plunged in and hoisted them both
out, it would have been Troy town with the pair of them. As
soon as, more drenched than thirsty, they were landed, Sancho
went' down on his knees and with clasped hands and eyes
raised to heaven, prayed a long and fervent prayer to God to
deliver him evermore from the rash projects and attempts of
his master. The fishermen, the owners of the boat, which
the mill-wheels had knocked to pieces, now came up, and see-
ing it smashed they proceeded to strip Sancho and to demand
payment for it from Don Quixote ; but he with great calmness,
just as if nothing had happened to him, told the millers and
fishermen that he would pay for the bark most cheerfully, on
condition that they delivered up to him, free and unhurt.
CHAPTER XXX.
207
the person or persons that were in durance in that castle of
theirs.
"
What persons or what castle art thou talking of, madman ?
"
said one of the millers
;
''
art thou for carrying off the people
who come to grind corn in these mills ?
"
"
That 's enough," said Don Quixote to himself,
"
it would be
preaching in the desert to attempt by entreaties to induce this
rabble to do any virtuous action. In this adventure two mighty
enchanters must have encountered one another, and one frus-
trates what the other attempts ; one provided the bark for me,
and the other upset me
;
God help us, this world is all mach-
inations and schemes at cross purj^toses one with the other. I
can do no more." And then turning towards the mills he said
aloud,
"
Friends, whoe'er ye be that are immured in that prison,
forgive me that, to my misfortune and yours, I cannot deliver
you from your misery
;
this adventure is doubtless reserved and
destined for some other knight."
So saying he settled with the fishermen, and paid fifty reals
for the boat, which Sancho handed to them very much against
the grain, saying,
'
With a couple more bark businesses like
this we shall have sunk our whole capital."
The fishermen and the millers stood staring in amazement at
the two figures, so very different to all appearance from ordinary
men, and were wholly unable to make out the drift of the obser-
vations and questions Don Quixote addressed to them; and com-
ing to the conclusion that they were madmen, they left them
and betook themselves, the millers to their mills, and the fisher-
men to their huts. Don Quixote and Sancho returned to their
beasts, and to their life of beasts, and this was the end of the
adventure of the enchanted bark.
CHAPTER XXX.
OF DON Quixote's adventure with a fair huntress.
They reached their beasts in low spirits and bad humor
enough, knight and squire, Sancho particularly, for with him
what touched the stock of money touched his heart, and when
any was taken from him he felt as if he was robbed of the
apples of his eyes. In fine, without exchanging a word, they
208 DON QUIXOTE.
mounted and quitted the famous river, Don Quixote absorbed
in thoughts of his love, Sancho in thinking of his advancement,
which just then, it seemed to him, he was very far from secur-
ing
;
for, fool as he was, he saw clearly enough that his master's
acts were all or most of them utterly senseless
;
and he began
to cast about for an opportunity of retiring from his service
and going home some day, without entering into any explana-
tions or taking any farewell of him. Fortune, however, ordered
matters after a fashion very much the opposite of what he con-
templated.
It so happened that the next day towards sunset, on coming
out of a wood, Don Quixote cast his eyes over a green meadow,
and at the far end of it observed some people, and as he drew
nearer saw that it was a hawking party. Coming closer, he
distinguished among them a lady of graceful mien, on a pure
white ])alt'rey or hackney caparisoned with green trappings and
a silver-mounted side-saddle. The lady was also in green, and
so richly and s})lendidly dressed that splendor itself seemed
])ersonilied in her. On her left hand she bore a hawk, a proof
to Don Quixote's mind that she must be some great lady and
the mistress of the whole hunting part}-, which was the fact
;
so he said to Sancho,-'' Run, Sancho, my son, and say to that
lady on the })alfrey with the hawk that I, the Knight of the
Lions, kiss the hands of her exalted beauty, and if her excel-
lence will grant me leave I will go and kiss them in person and
place myself at her service for aught that may be in my power
and her highness may command
;
and mind, Sancho, how thou
speakest, and take care not to thrust in any of thy proverbs
into thy message."
"
You 've got a likely one here to thrust any in !
"
said
Sancho ;
"
leave me alone for that ! Why, this is not the first
time in my life I have carried messages to high and exalted
ladies."
"
Except that thou didsu carry to the lady Dulcinea," said
Don Quixote,
"
I know not that thou hast carried any other,
at least in my service."
"
That is true," replied Sancho
;
"
but pledges don't distress
a good paymaster, and in a house where there 's plenty supper
is soon cooked
;
^
I mean there 's no need of telling or warning
me about anything ; for I 'm ready for everything and know a
little of everything."
'Provs. 164 and 41.
CHAPTER XXX. 209
"That I believe,
Sanclio," said Don Quixote; "go and good
luck to tliee, and God speed thee."
Sancho went off at top speed, forcing Dapple out of his
regular pace, and came to where the fair huntress was stand-
ing, and
dismounting knelt before her and said,
"
Fair lady,
that knight that you see there, the Knight of the Lions liy
name, is my master, and I am a squire of his, and at home
they call me Sancho Panza. This same Knight of the Lions,
who was called not long since the Knight of the Ilueful Counte-
nance, sends by me to say may it please your highness to give
liim leave that, with your permission, approbation, and consent,
he may come and carry out his wishes, which are, as he says
and I believe, to serve your exalted loftiness and beauty
;
and
if you give it, your ladyship will do a thing which will redound
to your honor, and he will receive a most distinguished favor
and happiness."
"
You have indeed, worthy squire," said the lady,
"
delivered
your message with all the formalities such messages require
;
rise up, for it is not right that the squire of a knight so great
as he of the Rueful Countenance, of whom we have already
heard a great deal here, should renuxin on his knees
;
rise, my
friend, and bid your master Avelcome to the services of myself
and the duke my husband, in a country house we have here."
Sancho got up, charmed as much by the beauty of the good
lady as by
her high-bred air and her courtesy, but, above all,
by
what she had said about having heard of his master, the
Knight of the Rueful Countenance ; for if she did not call him
Knight of the Lions it was no doubt because he had so lately
taken the name.
"
Tell me, brother squire," asked the duchess
(whose title, however, is not known
'
),
"
this master of yours,
is he not one of whom there is a history extant in print, called
'
The Ingenious Gentlenuxn, Don Quixote of La Mancha,' who
has for the lady of his heart a certain Dulcinea del Toboso ?
"
"
He is the same, senora," replied Sancho
;
"
and that squire
of his who figures, or ought to figure, in the said history under
the name of Sancho Panza, is myself, unless they have changed
me in the cradle, I mean in the press."
"
I am rejoiced at this," said the duchess
;
"
go, brother
'According to, Pellicer, Don Quixote's hosts were the Duke and
Duchess of Villahermosa, and the scene of the following adventures a
country seat of theirs near Pedrola, a village at the foot of the Moncayo,
in the angle between Jolon and the Ebro.
Vol. II.

14
210 DON QUIXOTE.
Panza, and tell your master that lie is welcome to my estate,
and that nothing could happen me that could give me greater
pleasure."
Sancho returned to his master mightity pleased with this
gratifying answer, and told him all the great lady had said to
him, lauding to the skies, in his rustic phrase, her rare beautj^,
her graceful gayety, and her courtesy. Don Quixote drew him-
self up briskly in his saddle, fixed himself in his stirrups,
settled his visor, gave Eocinante the spur, and with an easy
bearing advanced to kiss the hands of the duchess, who, hav-
ing sent to summon the di;ke her husband, told him while Don
Quixote was approaching all about the message ; and as both
of them had read the First Part of this history, and from it
were aware of Don Quixote's crazy turn, they awaited him with
the greatest delight and anxiety to make his acquaintance, mean-
ing to fall in with his humor and agree with everything he said,
and, so long as he stayed with them, to treat him as a knight-
errant, with all the ceremonies usual in the books of chivalry
they had read, for they themselves wei-e very fond of them.
Don Quixote now came up with his visor raised, and as he
seemed about to dismount Sancha made haste to go and hold
his stirrup for him
;
but in getting down oft' Dapple he was so
unlucky as to hitch his foot in one of the ropes of the pack-
sa(hlle in such a way that he was unable to free it, and was
left hanging b}' it with his face and breast on the ground.
Don Quixote, who was not used to dismount without having
the stirrup held, fancying that Sancho had by this time come
to hold it for him, threw himself off with a lurch and brought
Ilocinante's saddle after him, which was no doubt badly
girthed, and saddle and he both came to the ground; not with-
out discomfiture to him and abiindant curses muttered between
his teeth against the unlucky Sancho, who had his foot still in
the shackles. The duke ordered his huntsmen to go to the
help of knight and squire, and they raised Don Quixote sorely
shaken by his fall ; and he, limping, advanced as best he could
to kneel before the noble pair. This, however, the duke would
liy no means permit ; on the contrary, dismounting from his
horse, he went and embraced Don Quixote, saying,
"
I am
grieved. Sir Knight of the Eueful Countenance that your first
experience on my ground should have been such an unfortu-
nate one as we have seen
;
but the carelessness of squires is
often the cause of worse accidents."
CHAPTER XXX. 211
"
That which has happened me in meeting yon, mighty
prince," replied Don Qnixote,
'<
can not be unfortunate, even
if my fall had not stopped short of the depths of the bottom-
less pit, for the glory of having seen you would have lifted me
up and delivered me from it. My squire, God's curse u})on him,
is better at unloosing his tongue in talking impertinence than
in tightening the girths of a saddle to keep it steady
;
but how-
ever I may be, fallen or raised up, on foot or on horseback, I
shall always be at your service and that of my lady the duch-
ess, your Avorthy consort, worthy queen of beauty and para-
mount princess of courtesy."
"
Gently, Senor Don Quixote of La Mancha," said the duke
;
"
where my lady Dona Dulcinea del Toboso is, it is not right
that other beauties should be praised."
Sancho, by this time released from his entanglement;, was
standing by, and before his master could answer he said,
"
There is no denying, and it must be maintained, that my lady
Dulcinea del Toboso is very beautiful ; but the hare jumps up
where one least expects it
;
' and I have heard say that what
we call nature is like a potter that makes vessels of clay, and
he who makes one fair vessel can as well make two, or three,
or a hundred ; I say so because, by my faith, my lady the
duchess is in no way behind my mistress the lady Dvilcinea del
Toboso."
Don Quixote turned to the duchess and said,
''
Your highness
may conceive that never had knight-errant in this world a more
talkative or a droller squire than I have, and he will prove the
^
truth of what I say, if your highness is pleased to accept of my
services for a few days."
To which the duchess made answer,
"
That worthy Sancho
is droll I consider a very good thing, because it is a sign that
he is shrewd
;
for drollery and sprightliness, Senor Don Quixote,
as you very well know, do not take up their abode with dull
wits ; and as good Sancho is droll and sprightly I here set
him
down as shrewd."
"
And talkative," added Don Quixote.
''
So much the better," said the duke,
'"
for many droll things
can not be said in few words
;
but not to lose time in talking,
come, great Knight of the Eueful Countenance
"
"
Of the Lions, your highness must say," said Sancho,
"
for
there is no Eueful Countenance nor any such character now."
'
Prov. 129,
212 DON QUIXOTE.
"
He of the Lions be it,"
'
continued the duke
;
''
I say, let
Sir Knight of the Lions come to a castle of mine close by,
where he shall be given that reception which is due to so
exalted a personage, and which the duchess and I are wont to
give to all knights-errant who come there."
By this time Sancho had fixed and girthed Rocinante's
saddle, and Don Quixote having got on his back and the duke
mounted a fine horse, they placed the duchess in the middle
and set out for the castle. The duchess desired Sancho to
come to her side, for she found infinite enjoyment in listening
to his shrewd remarks. Sancho re(]^uired no pressing, but
pushed himself in between them and made a fourth in the
conversation, to the great amusement of the duchess and the
duke, Avho thought it rare good fortune to receive such a
knight-errant and such a homely squire
-
in their castle.
CHAl'TER XXXI.
WHICH TREATS OF MA>'Y AND GREAT MATTERS.
Supreme was the satisfaction that Sancho felt at seeing
himself, as it seemed, an established favorite with the duchess,
for he looked forward to finding in her castle what he had
found in Don Diego's house and in Basilio's
;
he was always
fond of good living, and always seized by the forelock any
opportunity of feasting himself whenever it presented itself.
The history informs us, then, that before they reached the
country house or castle, the duke went on in advance and in-
structed all his servants how they were to treat Don Quixote
;
and so the instant he came up to the castle gates with the
(bu'hess, two lackeys or equerries, clad in what they call
morning gowns of fine crimson satin reaching to their feet,
hastened o;it, and catching Don Quixote in their arms before
he saw or heard them, said to him,
"
Your highness should
go and take my lady the duchess off her horse." Don Quixote
obeyed, and great bandying of compliments followed between
the two over the matter
;
but in the end the duchess's deter-
'
The reading suggested by Prof. Calderon, in his excellent little book
Cervantes Vitidicado, etc., Madrid, 185-i.
^
Escudero andado^ a play upon the words caballero andante.
PRESENTATION OF THE DON TO THE DUCHESS. Vol.2 Page 212.
CHAPTER XXXJ.
218
mination carried the day, and she refused to get down or dis-
mount from her palfrey except in the arms of the duke, saying
she did not consider herself worthy to impose so unnecessary
a burden on so great a knight. At length the duke came out
to take her down, and as they entered a spacious court two
fair damsels came forward and threw over Don Quixote's
shoulders a large mantle of the finest scarlet cloth, and at the
same instant all the galleries of the court were lined with the
men-servants and women-servants of the household, crying,
"
Welcome, flower and cream of knight-errantry !
"
while all
or most of them flung pellets filled Avith scented water over
Don Quixote and the duke and duchess
;
at all which Don
Quixote was greatly astonished, and this was the first time
that he thoroughly "felt and believed himself to be a knight-
errant in reality and not merely in fancy, now that he saw
himself treated in the same way as he had read of such knights
being treated in days of yore.
Sancho, deserting Dapple, .
hung on to the duchess and
entered the castle, but feeling some twinges of conscience at
having left the ass alone, he approached a respectable duenna
who had come out with the rest to receive the duchess, and in
a low voice he said to her,
<*'
Seiiora Gonzalez, or however your
grace may be called
''

"
I am called Doha Rodriguez de Grijalba," replied the
duenna; "what is your will, brother?" To which Sancho
made answer,
"
I should be glad if your worship would do me
the favor to go out to the castle gate, where you will find a
gray ass of mine
;
make them, if you please, put him in the
stable, or put him there yourself, for the poor little beast
is rather easily frightened, and cannot bear being alone at
all."
''
If the master is as wise as the man," said the duenna,
"
we have got a fine bargain. Be off with you, brother, and
bad luck to you and him who brought you here
;
go, look after
your ass, for we, the duennas of this house, are not used to
work of that sort."
"
Well then, in troth," returned Sancho,
"
I have heard my
master, who is the very treasure-finder of stories, telling the
story of Lancelot when he came from Britain, say that ladies
waited upon him and duennas upon his hack ;
and, if it comes
to my ass, I wouldn't change him for Sefior Lancelot's hack."
"
If you are a jester, brother," said the duenna,
"
keep
214 DON QUIXOTE.
your drolleries for some place where they'll pass muster and
be paid for ; for you
'11
get nothing from me but a fig."
^
"
At any rate, it will be a very ripe one," said Sancho,
"
for
you won't lose the trick in years by a point too little."
"
Son of a bitch," said the duenna, all aglow with anger,
"
whether I 'm old or not, it 's with God I have to reckon, not
with you, you garlic-stuffed scoundrel !
"
and she said it so
loud, that the duchess heard it, and turning round and seeing
the duenna in such a state of excitement, and her eyes flaming
so, asked whom she was wrangling with.
"
With this good fellow here," said the duenna,
''
who has
particularly requested me to go and put an ass of his that is
at the castle gate into the stable, holding it up to me as an
example that they did the same I don 't know where

that
some ladies waited on one Lancelot, and duennas on his hack
;
and what is more, to wind up with, he called me old."
"
That," said the duchess,
'^
I should have considered the
greatest affront that could be offered me
;
" and addressing
Sancho, she said to him,
"
You must know, friend Sancho,
that Dona Rodriguez is very youthful, and that she wears that
hood more for authority and custom sake than because of her
years."
"
May all the rest of mine be unlucky," said Sancho,
"
if I
meant it that way ; I only spoke because the affection I have
for my ass is so great, and I thought I could not commend
him to a more kind-hearted person than the lady Doha llo-
driguez."
Don Quixote, who was listening, said to him,
"
Is this
proper conversation for the place, Sancho ?
"
"
Seiior," replied Sancho,
''
every one must mention what he
wants wherever he may be; I thought of Dapple here, and
I spoke of him here
;
if I had thought of him in the stable 1
would have spoken there."
On which the duke observed, "Sancho is quite right, and
there is no reason at all to find fault with him ; Dapple shall
be fed to his heart's content, and Sancho may rest easy, for he
shall be treated like himself."
While this conversation, amusing to all except Don Quixote,
was proceeding, they ascended the staircase and ushered Don
Quixote into a chamber hung with rich cloth of gold and
'"The fig of Spain."

Hen. V. iii. G. "And fig me, like the brag-

ging Spaniard."

2 Hen. IV. v.
'6.
CHAPTER XXXI. 215
brocade
;
six damsels relieved liiia of his armor and waited
oil liiin like pages, all of them prepared and instructed hy the
duke and dm-hess as to what they were to do, and how they
were to treat Don Quixote, so that he might see and believe
they were treating him like a knight-errant. When his armor
was removed, there stood Don Quixote in his tight-fitting
breeches and chamois doublet, lean, lanky, and long, with
cheeks that seemed to be kissing each other inside
;
such a figure,
that if the damsels waiting on him had not taken care to check
their meriiment (which was one of the particular directions
their master and mistress had given them), they would have
burst with laughter. They asked him to let himself be
stri])ped that they might put a shirt on him, but he would not
on any account, saying that modesty became knights-errant
just as much as valor. However, he said they might give the
shirt to Sancho ; and shutting himself in with him in a room
where there was a sum})tu<)us l)ed, he undressed and y^ut on
the shirt; and then, finding himself alone with Sanclio, he
said to him,
"
Tell me, thou new-fledged buffoon and old booby,
dost thou think it right to offend and insult a duenna so
deserving of reverence and respect as that one just now ?
Was that a time to bethink thee of thy Dapple, or are these
noble personages likely to let the beasts fare badly when they
treat their owners in such elegant style ? For God's sake,
Sancho, restrain thyself, and don't show the thread so as to let
them see what a coarse, boorish texture thou art of. lie-
member, sinner that thou art, the master is the more esteemed
the more respectable and well-bred his servants are ; and that
one of the greatest advantages that princes have over other
men is that they have servants as good as themselves to wait
on them. Dost thou not see

short-sighted being that thou

art, and unlucky mortal that I am !

that if they perceive
thee to be a coarse clown or a dull blockhead, they will suspect
me to be some impostor or swindler ? Nay, nay, Sancho
friend, keep clear, oh, keep clear of these stumbling-blocks
;
for he who falls into the way of being a chatterl)ox and droll,
drops into a wretched buffoon the first time he trips
;
bridle
thy tongue, consider and weigh thy words before they escape
thy mouth, and bear in mind we are now in quarters
whence,
by God's help, and the strength of my arm, Ave shall come
forth mightily advanced in fame and fortune."
Sancho
promised hiru with much earnestness to keep hi;i
216 DON QUIXOTE.
mouth shut, aud to bite off his tongue before he uttered a word
that was not altogether to tlie purpose and well considered,
and told him he might make his mind easy on that point, for
it should never be discovered through him what they were.
Don Quixote dressed himself, put on his baldric with his
sword, threw the scarlet mantle over his shoulders. })laeed on
his head a montera of green satin that the damsels had given
him, and thus arrayed passed out into the large room, where he
found the damsels drawn up in double fde, the same number
on each side, all with the appliances for Avashing the hands,
which they presented to him with profuse obeisances and cere-
monies. Then came twelve pages, together with the seneschal,
to lead him to dinner, as his hosts were already waiting for
him. They placed him in the midst of them, and with nuich
pomp and stateliness they conducted him into another room,
where there was a sumptuous table laid with but four covers.
The duchess and the duke came out to the door of the room to
receive him, and with them a grave ecclesiastic, one of those
who rule noblemen's houses
;
one of those who, not being born
magnates themselves, never know how to teach those who are
how to behave as such
;
one of those who would have the great-
ness of great folk measured by their own narrowness of mind
;
one of those who, when they try to introduce economy into the
household they rule, lead it into meanness. One of this sort, I
say, must have been the grave churchman who came out with
the duke and duchess to receive Don Quixote.^
A vast mimber of polite speeches were exchanged, and at
length, taking Don Quixote between them, they proceeded to sit
down to table. The duke pressed Don Quixote to take the
head of the table, and, though he refused, the entreaties of the
duke were so urgent that he had to accept it.
The ecclesiastic took his seat opposite to him, and the duke
aud duchess those at the sides. All this time Sancho stood
by, gaping with amazement at the honor he saAv shown to
his master by these illustrious persons; and observing all
the ceremonious pressing that had passed between the duke
and Don Quixote to induce him to take his seat at the head of
the table, he said,
"
If your worship will give me leave I Avill
'
There are frequent references to the despotism of tlie confessors in
noblemen's houses, in the sixteentli and seventeenth centuries. According
to tradition, Cervantes lias here drawn the portrait of a confessor in the
house of the Duke of Bejar, who all but persuaded the duke to refuse the
dedication of the First Part of Don Quixote.
CHAPTER XXXI. 217
tell you a story of what happened in my village about this
matter of seats."
The moment Sancho said this Don Quixote trembled, mak-
ing sure that he was about to say something foolish. Sancho
glanced at him, and guessing his thoughts, said,
"
Don't be
afraid of my going astray, senor, or saying anything tliat
won't be pat to the purpose ; I have n't forgotten the advice
your worship gave me just now about talking much or little,
well or ill."
"I have no recollection of anything, Sancho," said Dim
Qiuxote; "say
what-th(ju Avilt, only say it quickly."
"
Well then," said Sancho,
"
what I am going to say is so
true that my master Don Quixote, who is here present, will
keep me from lying."
"
Lie as
much as thou wilt for all I care, Sancho," said Don
Quixote,
"
for I am not going to stop thee ; but consider what
thou art going to say."
^' I have so considered and reconsidered it," said Sancho,
''
that the bell-ringer 's in a safe berth
;
^
as will be seen l)y
what follows."
<'
It would be well," said Don Quixote,
"
if your highnesses
would order them to turn out this idiot, for he will talk a heap
of nonsense."
"
By the life of the duke, Sancho shall not be taken away
from me for a moment," said the duchess ;
"
I am very fond
of him, for I know he is very discreet."
"
Discreet be the days of your holiness," said Sancho,
"
for
the good opinion you have of my wit, though there 's none in
me ; but the story I want to tell is this. There was an
invitation given by a gentleman of my town, a very rich
one, and one of quality, for he was one of the Xlamos of
Medina del Campo, and married to Dona Mencia de Qui nones,
the daughter of Dan Alonso de Maraiion, Knight of the Order
of Santiago, that Avas drowned at the Herradura
'^

him there
v/as that quarrel about years ago in our village, that my
master Don Quixote was mixed up in, to the best of my belief,
that Tomasillo the scapegrace, the son of Balbastro the smith,
was wounded in.

Is n't all this true, master mine ?

As you
'
i.e. in the belfry out of danger. Prov. 200.
*
A port to the east of Mahiga, where, in 15G2, twenty-two galleys under
the command of Juan de Mendoza were wrecked in a storm with a loss
of over four thousand men.
218
DON QUIXOTE.
live, say so, that these gentlefolk may not take me for some
lying chatterer."
"
Sa far/'' said the ecclesiastic, "I take you to be more a
chifctei-ei- than a liar
;
but I don't know what I shall take you
for by-and-by."'
''
Thou citest so many witnesses and proofs, Sancho," said
Y)y\ Quixote,
'
that I have no choice but to say thou must lie
telling the truth
;
go on, and cut the story short, for thou art
taking the way not to make an end for two days to come."
'
He is not to cut it short," said the duchess
;
"
on the con-
trary, for my gratification, he is to tell it as he knows it, though
he should not finish it these six days ; and if he took so many
they would be to me the pleasantest I ever spent."
"
Well then, sirs, I say," continued Sancho,
"
that this same
gentleman, whom I know as well as I do my own hands, for
it 's not a bow-shot from my house to his, invited a poor but
respectable lal)orer
"
"
Get on, bi'other," said the churchman
;
"
at the rate you
are going you will not stop with your story short of the next
world."
"
I
'11
stop less than half-way, please God," said Sancho ;
<'
and
so I say this laborer, coming to the house of the gentleman I
spoke of that invited him

rest his soul, he is now dead

;
and
more by token he died the death of an angel, so they say ; for
I was not there, for just at that time I had gone to reap at
Tembleque
"
"
As you live, my sou," said the churchman,
'
make haste
back fro'.n Tembleque, and finish your story without burying
the geitle'.nan, unless you want to make more funerals."
^
"
Well then, it so happened," said Sanclio,
'
that as the pair
of them were going to sit down to table

and I think I can

see them now plainer than ever
"
Great Avas the enjoyment the duke and duchess derived from
the irritation the worthy churchman showed at the long-winded,
halting way Sancho had of telling his story, while Don Quixote
was chafing with rage and vexation.
''
So, as I was saying," continued Sancho,
"
as the pair of
them were going to sit down to table, as I said, the laborer
insisted upon the gentleman's taking the head of the table,
'
"
Make liasti' i)a(.k from Ti'iiibloquc, brother
"
Vuelva presto de Tem-
bieqiie, hermnno
lias grown into a popular phrase, applied in the case of
a prolix story-teller.
CHAPTER XXXI. 219
and the gentleman insisted upon the lal)oi-ei-'s taking it, as his
orders sliouhl be obeyed in his own house ; but the laborer, who
plumed himself on his politeness and good-breeding, would not
on any account, until the gentleman, out of patience, putting
his hands on his shoulders, compelled him by force to sit
down, saying,
'
Sit down, you stupid hjut, for wherever I sit
will be the head to you
;'
and that 's the story, and, troth, I
think it has n't been brought in amiss here."
Don Quixote turned all colors, which, on his sunburnt face,
mottled it till it looked like jasper. The duke and duchess
suppressed their laughter so as not altcjgether to mortify Don
Quixote, for they saw through Sancho's impertinence ; and to
change the conversation, and kee|) Sancho from nttering more
absurdities, the duchess asked Don Quixote what news he had
of the lady Dulcinea, and if he had sent her any presents of
giants or miscreants lately, for he could not but have van-
quished a good many.
To which Don Quixote re})lied,
''
Sehora, my misfortunes,
though they had a beginning, will never have an end. I have
vaiKiuished giants and I Jiave sent her caitiffs and miscreants
;
l)ut where are they t) find her if she is enchanted and turned
into the most ill-favored peasant wench that can be imagined ?
"
"
I don't know," said Sancho l^anza
;
"
to me she seems the
fairest creature in the world ; at any rate, in ninddeness and
jumping she won't give in to a tumbler
;
by my faith, senora
duchess, she leaps from the gi'ound on to the back of an ass
like a cat."
"
Have you seen her enchanted, Sancho ?
"
asked the duke.
"
What, seen her !
"
said Sancho
;
"
why, who the devil was
it but myself that first thought of the enchantment business ?
She is as much enchanted as my father."
^
The ecclesiastic, when he heard them talking of giants and
caitiffs and enchantments, began to suspect that this must be
Don Quixote of La Mancha, whose story the duke was always
reading; and he had himself often reproved him for it, telling
him it was foolish to read such fooleries
;
and becoming con-
vinced that his suspicion was correct, addressing the duke, he
said very angrily to him,
''
Sehor, your excellence will have to
give an account to God for what this good man does. This
Don Quixote, or Don Simpleton, or whatever his name is, can
not, I imagine, be such a blockhead as your excellence would
'
TiiLs rtMiiark of Sancho is, of course, an aside to tlie duke.
220 DON
QUIXOTE.
have him, hokling out encouragement to him to go on with his
vagaries and follies.'' Then turning to address Don Quixote he
said, "And you, numskull, who put it into your head that you
are a
knight-errant, and vanquish giants and capture mis-
creants ? Go your ways in a good hour, and in a good hour be
it said to you : Go home and bring up your children if you
have any, and attend to your business, and give over going
wandering about the world, gaping and making a laughing-
stock of yourself to all avIio know you and all who don't.
Where, in Heaven's name, have you discovered that there are
or ever were knights-errant ? Where are there giants in
Si)ain
or miscreants in La jNIancha, or enchanted Dulcineas, or all the
rest of the silly things they tell about you ?
"
Don Quixote listened attentively to the reverend gentleman's
words, and as soon as he })erceived he had done si)eaking, re-
gardless of the presence of the duke and duchess, he sprang to
his feet with angry looks and an agitated countenance, and
said

But the reply deserves a chapter to itself.

CHAPTER XXXII.
OF THE REPLY DOX QUIXOTE (iAVE HIS CENSURER, WITH
OTHER 1\( IDEXTS, GRAVE AXD DROLL.
Dox Quixote, then, having risen to his feet, trembling
from head to foot like a man dosed with mercury, said in a
hurried, agitated voice,
<'
The phu^e I am in, the presence in
which I stand, and the respect I liave and always have had
for the profession to which your worship belongs, hold and
bind the hands of my just indignation
;
and as well for these
reasons as because I know, as every one knows, that a gowns-
man's weapon is the same as a Avoman's, the tongue, I will
with mine engage in equal combat witli your worship, from
whom one might have expected good advice instead of foul
abuse.
Pious, well-meant reproof requires a different de-
meanor and arguments of another sort ; at any rate, to have
reproved me in public, and so roughly, exceeds the bounds of
proper reproof, for that comes better with gentleness than
Avith rudeness; and it is not seemly to call the sinner roundly
blockhead and booby, without knowing anything of the sin
CHAPTER XXXII.
221
that is reproved. Come, tell me, for wliicli of the stu[)iilities
you have observed in me do you coudemu aud abuse me, and
bid me go home and look after my house and wife and chil-
dren without knowing whether I have any ? Is nothing more
needed than to get a footing, by hook or by crook, in other
people's houses to rule over the masters (and that, perhaps,
after having been brought up in all the straitness of some
seminary, and without liaving ever seen more of the world
than may lie within twenty or thirty leagues round), to fit
one to lay down tlie law rashly for chivalry, and j^jass judg-
ment on knights errant ? Is it, haply, an idle occupation, or
is the time ill-spent that is spent in roaming the world
in quest, not of its enjoyments, but of those arduous toils
whereby the good mount upwards to the abodes of everlasting-
life ? If gentlemen, great lords, nobles, men of high birth,
were to rate me as a fool I should take it as an irreparable
insult ; but I care not a farthing if clerks who have never
entered upon or trod the paths of chivalry should think me
foolish. Knight I am, antl knight I will die, if such be the
pleasure of the Most High. Some take the broad road of
overweening ambition;' others that of mean and servile
flattery
;
others that of deceitful hypocrisy, and some that of
true religion
;
but I, led by my star, follow the narrow path of
knight-errantry, and in pursuit of that calling I despise
wealth, but not honor. I have redressed injuries, righted
Avrongs, punished insolences, vanquished giants, and crushed
monsters ; I am in love, for no other reason than that it is
inciunbent on knights-errant to l)e so
;
but though I am, I am
no carnal-minded lover, but one of the chaste, platonic sort.
My intentions are always directed to worthy ends, to do good
to all and evil to none; and if he who means this, does this,
and makes this his practice deserves to be called a fool, it
is for your highnesses to say, most excellent duke and
duchess."
"
Good, by God !
"
cried Sancho
;
"
say no more in your own
'
Tlie first and all editions that I have seen, Hartzenbusch's included,
have el ancho campo^
"
the broad
field
"
of amliition ; but though a trans-
lator and a foreigner has no riglit to propose emendations of the text, I
venture to suggest that camino,
"
road," is the more likely word. Tlie case
is even stronger here than in vol. i., chapter xviii., wliere precisely the
same substitution has been accepted by all critics, Don Quixote is
speaking of ways of life ami lines of conduct; it would be aljsurd to talk
of the field of flnttery or hypocrisy, and a narroA' path is naturally the
opposite of a broad road, not of a broad field.
2iJ2
I^ON QUIXOTE.
defence, master mine, for there 's nothing more in the workl to
be said,
thought, or insisted on ; and besides, when this gentle-
man denies, as he has, that there are or ever have been any
kniehts-errant in the workl, is it anv wonder if he knows
nothing: of what he has been talking abont
?
"
"
Perhaps,
brother," said the ecclesiastic,
"
yon are that
Sancho Panza that is mentioned, to whom your master has
promised an island ?
"
"
Yes, I am," said Sancho,
"
and what 's more, I am one who
deserves it as mucli as any one
;
I am one of the sort

' Attach
thyself to the good, and thou wilb be one of them,' and of
those, 'Not Avith whom thou ai't l)rcd, l)ut with whom thou art
fed,' and of those, 'Who leans against a good tree, a good
shade covers him
;
'
^
I have leant upon a good master, and 1
have been for months going about Avith him, and please God
I shall be just such another; long life to liiui and long life to
me, for neither will he be in any want of empires to rule, or I
of islands to govern."
"
No, Sancho my friend, certainly not, " said the duke,
"
for
in tlie name of Sefior Don Quixote I confer upon you the gov-
eruiiicnt of one of no small im]iortance that I have at my
disposal.
''
"
Cto down on thy knees, Sancho," said Don Quixote,
"
and
kiss the feet of liis cxccUcncc for the favor he has bestowed
upon thee."
Sancho obeyed, and on seeing this the ecclesiastic stood up
from table completely out of temper, exclaijuing, "By the
gown I wear, I am almost inclined to say that your excellence
is as great a fool as these sinners. No wonder they are nuad,
when people who are in their senses sanction their madness !
I leave your excellence with theiu, for so long as they are in
the house, I will remain in my own, and spare myself the
trouble of reproving what I can not remedy
;
"
and without utter-
ing another word, or eating another morsel, he went off, the
entreaties of the duke and duchess being entirely unavailing to
stop him
;
not that the duke said much to him, for he could
not, because of the laughter his uncalled-for anger provoked.
When he had done laughing, he said to Don Quixote,
"
You
have replied on your own behalf so stoutly. Sir Knight of the
Lions, that there is no occasion to seek further satisfaction
for this, which, though it may look like an offence, is not so at
'
Provs. 25, 153, and 15.
Mt)
THE CLERGYMAN QUITS THE DUKE'S DINNER TACLE. Vol.?. Page 222.
CHAPTER
XXX11. 223
all, for, as women can give no offence, no more can ecclesiastics,
as you very well know."
"
That is true," said Don Quixote,
'^
and the reason is, that
he who is not liable to offence can not give offence to any one.
Women, children, and ecclesiastics, as they can not defend
themselves, though they may receive offence can not be insulted,
because between the offence and tlie insult there is, as your
excellence very well knows, this difference : the insult conies
from one who is capable of offering it, and does so, and main-
tains it; the offence may come from any quarter without
caiTying insult. To tnke an example : a man is standing un-
suspectingly in the street a,ud ten others come uj) armed and
beat him
;
he draws his sword and quits himself like a man, but
the number of his antagonists makes it impossible for him to
effect his purpose and avenge himself; this man suffers an
offence but not an insult. Another example will make the same
thing plain : a man is standing with his back turned, another
comes up and strikes him, and after striking him takes to flight,
without waitiug an instant, and the other pursues him but does
not overtake him ; he who received the blow received an of-
fence, but not an insult, because an insult must be maintained.
If he who struck him, though he did so sneakingly and treach-
erously, had drawn his sword and stood and faced him, then
he who had been struck would have received offence and
insult at the same time
;
offence because he was struck treacher-
ously, insult because he who struck him maintained what he
had done, standing his ground without taking to flight. And so,
according to the laws of the accursed duel, I may have received
offence, but not insult, for neither wonuui nor children can
maintain it, nor can they wound, nor have they any way of
standing their ground, and it is just the same with those con-
nected with religion ; for these three sorts of persons are with-
out arms offensive or defeusive, and so, though naturally they
are bound to defend themselves, they have no right to offend
anybody; and though I said just now I might have received
offence, I say now certainly not, for he who can not receive an
insult can still less give one
;
' for which reasons I ought not
to feel, nor do I feel, aggrieved at what that good man said to
me
;
I only wish he had stayed a little longer, that I might have
shown him the mistake he makes in supposing and maintain-
ing that there are not and never have been any knights-errant
'
Biedermunn calls this discourse
'"
modele d'art de deraisonner."
224 DON QriXOTE.
in the "world
;
liad Amadis or any of his conntless descendants
heard him say as much, I am sure it would not have gone well
with his worship."
"
I will take my oath of that," said Sancho
;
"
they would
have give him a slash that would have slit him down from top
to toe like a pomegranate or a rijie melon
;
they were likely
fellows to put u}) with jokes of that sort ! By my faith, I 'm
certain if Reinaldos of Montalvan had heard the little man's
words he would have given him such a spank on the mouth
that he would n't have spoken for the next three years
;
ay, let
him tackle them, and he
'11
see how he
'11
get out of their
hands !
"
The duchess, as she listened to Sancdio, was ready to die
with laughter, and in her own mind she set him down as
droller and madder than his master
;
and there were a good
many just then who were of the same opinion.
Don Quixote finally grew calm, and dinner came to an end,
and as the cloth was removed four damsels came in, one of
them Avith a silver basin, another with a jug also of silver, a
third with two fine white towels on her shoulder, and the
fourth with her arms bared to the elbows, and in her white
hands (for white they certainly were) a round ball of Naples
soap. The one with the basin approached, and with arch
composure and impudence, thrust it under Don Quixote's chin,
who, Avondering at such a ceremony, said never a word, sup-
posing it to be the custom of that country to wash beards
instead of hands ; he therefore stretched his out as far as he
could, and at the same instant the jug began to pour and the
damsel with the soap rubbed his beard briskly, raising snow-
flakes, for the soap lather was no less white, n'ot only over the
beard, but all over the face, and over the eyes of the submis-
sive knight, so that they were perforce obliged to keep shut.
The duke and duchess, who had not known anything about
this, waited to see what would come of this strange washing.
The barber damsel, when she had him a hand's breadth deep
in lather, pretended that there was no more water, and bade
the one with the jug go and fetch some, while Seiior Don Qui-
xote waited. She did so, and Don Quixote was left the strang-
est and most ludicrous figure that could be imagined. All
those present, and there were a good many, were watching
him, and as they saw him there with half a yard of neck, and
that uncommonly brown, his eyes shut, and his beard full of
CHAPTEIL XXXll. 225
soap, it was a great wonder, and only by great discretion, that
they were able to restrain their ianghter. The damsels, the
concocters of the joke, kept their eyes down, not daring to
look at their master and mistress
;
and as for them, laughter
and anger struggled within them, and they knew not what to
do,
whether to punish the audacity of the girls, or to reward
them for the amusement they had received from seeing J)on
Quixote in such a plight.
At length the damsel with the jug returned and they made
an end of washing Don Quixote, and the one avIio can'ied the
towels very deliberately wiped him and dried him
;
and all
four together anaking him a profound obeisance and courtesy,
they were about to go, when the duke, lest Don Quixote
should see through the joke, called out to the one with the
basin saying,
"
(
'ome and wash me, and take care that there is
water enough." The girl, sharp-witted and prompt, came and
placed the basin for the duke as she had done for Don Quixote,
and they soon had him well soa])ed and washed, and having
wiped him dry they made their obeisance and retired. It
appeared afterwards that the duke had sworn that if they had
not washed him as they had Don Quixote he would have pun-
ished them for their impudence, which they adroitly atoned
for by soaping him as well.
Sancho observed the ceremony of the washing very atten-
tively, and said to himself,
"
God bless me, if it were only the
custom in this country to wash squires' beards too as well as
knights' ! For by God and upon my soul I want it badly ;
and
if they gave me a scrape of the razor l)esides I 'd take it as a
still greater kindness."
''
What are you saying to yourself, Sancho ?
"
asked the
duchess.
"
I was saying, seilora," he replied,
"
that in the courts of
other princes, when the cloth is taken away, I have always
heard say they give water for the hands, but not lye for the
beard ; and that shows it is go(xl to live long that you may
see much ; to be sure, they say too that he who lives a long
life must undergo much evil ;
'
though to undergo a washing
of that sort is pleasure rather than pain."
"
Don't be uneasy, friend Sancho," said the duchess
;
''
I will
take care that my damsels wash you, and even put you in the
tub if necessary."
'
Provs. 249 and 243.
Vol. II.

15
226 DON QUIXOTE.
"
I
'11
be content with the beard," said Sancho,
"
at any
rate for the present; and as for the future, God has decreed
what is to be."
"
Attend to worthy Sancho's request, seneschal," said the
duchess,
"
and do exactly what he wishes."
The seneschal replied that Seiior Sancho should be obeyed
in everything ; and with that he Avent away to dinner and
took Sancho along with him, while the duke and duchess
and Don Quixote remained at table discussing a great variety
of things, but all l)earing on the calling of arms and knight-
errantry.
The duchess begged Don Quixote, as he seemed to have a
retentive niemory, to describe and portray to her the beauty
and features of the lady Dulcinea del Toboso, for, judging by
what fame trumpeted abroad of her beauty, she felt sure she
miist be the fairest creature in the world, nay, in all La
Mancha.
Don Quixote sighed on hearing the duchess's request, and
said,
"
If I could pluck out my heart, and lay it on a plate on
this table here before your highiiess's eyes, it would spare my
tongue rhe ])ain of telling what can hardly be thought of, for
in it your excellence wouUl see her portrayed in full. JUit why
should I attempt to depict and describe in detail, and feature
by feature, the beauty of the peerless Dulcinea, the burden
V)eing one worthy of other shoulders tlian mine, an enterprise
wherein the pencils of Parrliasius, Timantes, and Apelles,
and the graver of Lysipi)us ought to be employed, to paint it
in pictures and carve it in marble and bronze, and Ciceronian
and Demosthenian elocpience to sound its praises ?
"
"
What does Demosthenian mean, Senor Don Quixote
?
"
said the duchess; "it is a word 1 nev^er heard in all my life."
''Demosthenian eloquence," said Don Quixote,
"
means the
eloquence of Demosthenes, as Ciceronian means that of Cicero,
who were the two most eloquent orators in the world."
"
True," said the duke
;
"
you must have lost your wits to
ask such a question. Nevertheless, Seiior Don Quixote
would greatly gratify us if he would depict her to us ; for
never fear, even in an outline or sketch she will be something
to make the fairest envious."
"I would do so certainly," said Don Quixote, ''had she not
been blurred to my mind's eye by the misfortune that fell upon
her a short time since, one of such a nature that I am more
CHAPTER XXXII.
227
ready to weep over it than to describe it. For your liigli-
nesses must know.tliat, going a few days back to kiss her
hands and receive her benediction, approbation, and permission
for this third sally, I fouiul her altogether a different being
from the one I sought; I found her enclianted and changed
from a princess into a peasant, from fair to foul, from an
angel into a devil, from fragrant to pestiferous, from refined
to clownish, from a dignified lady into a jum})iug tomboy, from
light to darkness, and, in a word, from Dulcinea del Tol)oso
into a coarse Sayago wench."
'
''
God bless me
!
" said the duke aloud at this,
"
who can
have done the world such an injury ? Who can have robbed it
of the beauty that gladdened it, of the grace and gayety that
charmed it, of the modesty that shed a lustre upon it
'!
"
"
Who ?
"
replied Don Quixote
;
"
who could it be but some
malignant enchanter of the many that persecute me out of
envy

that accursed race born into the world to obscure and

bring to naught the achievements of the good, and glorify
and exalt the deeds of the wicked ? Enchanters have perse-
cuted me, enchanters persecute me still, and enchanters will
continue to persecute me until they have sunk me and my
lofty chivalry in the deep abyss of oblivion
;
and they injure
and wound me where they know I feel it most. For to de-
prive a knight-errant of his lady is to deprive him of the eyes
he sees with, of the sun that gives him light, of the food
whereby he lives. Many a time before have I said it, and I
say it now once more, a knight-errant without a lady is like
a tree without leaves, a building without a foundation, or a
shadow without the body that causes it."
''
There is no denying it," said the duchess ;
"
l)ut still, if
we are to believe the history of Don Quixote that has come out
here lately Avith general a^jplause, it is to be inferred from it,
if I mistake not, that you never saw the lady Dulcinea, and
that the said lady is nothing in the world but an imaginary
lady, one that you yourself begot and gave birth to in your
brain, and adorned with whatever charms and perfections you
chose."
"
There is a good deal to be said on that point," said Don
Quixote
;
"
God knows whether there be any Dulcinea or not
in the world, or whether she is imaginary or not imaginary
;
these are things the proof of which must not be })ushed to
'
i.e., of the Sayago district; v.
1, p. 132,
chapter xix., ante.
228
DON QUIXOTE.
extreme lengths. I have not begotten nor given birth to my lady,
though T behold her as she needs must be, a lady who contains
in herself all the qualities to make her famous throughout the
world, beautiful without blemish, dignified without haughti-
ness, tender and yet modest, gracious from courtesy and court-
eous from good breeding, and lastly of exalted lineage, because
beauty shines forth and excels with a higher degree of perfec-
tion upon good blood than in the fair of lowly birth."
"
That is true," said the duke
;
''
but Senor Don Quixote will
give me leave to say what I am constrained to say by the
story of his exploits that I have read, from which it is to be
inferred that, granting there is a Dulcinea in El Toboso, or
out of it, and tliat she is in the highest degree beautiful as you
have described her to us, as regards the loftiness of her lineage
she is not on a par with the Orianas, Alastraj areas, Madasimas,
or others of that sort, with whom, as you well know, the his-
tories abound."
"
To that I nuiy reply," said Don Quixote,
"
that Dulcinea is
the daughter of her own works,' and that virtues rectify blood,
and that lowly virtue is more to be regarded and esteemed than
exalted vice. Dulcinea, besides, has that within her that
may raise her to be a crowned and sceptred queen ; for the
merit of a fair and virtuous wonuin is capable of performing
greater miracles ; and virtually, though not formally, she has
in herself higher fortunes."
"
I protest, Seiior Don Quixote," said the duchess,
''
that in
all you say, you go most cautiously and lead in hand, as the
saying is ;
"-^
henceforth I will believe myself, and I will take
care that every one in my house believes, even my lord the
duke if needs be, that there is a Dulcinea in El 'J'oboso, and
that she is living to-day, and that she is beautiful and nobly
born and deserves to have such a knight as Senor Don Quixote
in her service, and that is the highest praise that it is in my
power to give her or that I can think of. But I can not help
entertaining a doubt, and having a certain grudge against
Sancho Panza ; the doubt is this, that the aforesaid history
declares that the said Sancho Panza, when he carried a letter
on your worship's behalf to the said lady Dulcinea, found her
sifting a sack of wheat ; and more by token it says it was red
wheat
; a thing which makes me doubt the loftiness of her
lineage.
1
Prov. 112.
'
A nautical metaphor ; keeping the lead going.
CHAPTER XXXII. 229
To this Don Quixote made answer,
"
Seiiora, your highness
must know that everything or ahnost everything that
hapijens
to me transcends the ordinary limits of what happens to other
knights-errant ; whether it be that it is directed l)y the in-
scrutable will of destiny, or liy the malice of some jealous en-
chanter. Now it is an established fact that all or most famous
knights-errant have some special gift, one that of being proof
against enchantment, another that of being made of such
invulnerable flesh that he can not be wounded, as was the
famous Roland, one of the twelve peers of France, of whom it
is related that he could not be wounded except in the sole of
his left foot, and that it must be with the point of a stout pin
and not with any other sort of weapon wliatever ; and so, when
Bernardo del Carpio slew him at Eoncesvalles, finding that he
could not wound him with steel, he lifted him up from the
ground in his arms and strangled him, calling to mind season-
ably the death which Hercules inflicted on Antaeus,
the fierce
giant that they say was the son of Terra. I woidd infer from
what I have mentioned that perhaps 1 may have some gift of
this kind, not that of being invulnerable, because experience
has many times proved to me that I am of tender flesh and
not at all impenetrable ; nor that of being proof against en-
chantment, for I have already seen myself thrust into a cage,
in which all the world would not have been able to confine me
except by force of enchantments. But as I delivered myself
from that one, I am inclined to believe that there is no other
that can hurt me
;
and so, these enchanters, seeing that they
can not exert their vile craft against my person, revenge them-
selves on what I love most, and seek to rob me of life by
maltreating that of Dulcinea in whom I live ; and therefore I
am convinced that when my squire carried my message to her,
they changed her into a common peasant girl, engaged in such
a mean occupation as sifting wheat ; I have already said, how-
ever, that that wheat was not red wheat, nor wlieat at all, but
grains of orient pearl. And as a proof of all this, I must tell
your highnesses that, coming to El Toboso a short time back,
I was altogether unable to discover the palace of Dulcinea
;
and that the next day, though Sancho, my squire, saw her in
her own proper shape, which is the fairest in the world, to me
she appeared to be a coarse, ill-favored, farm-wench, and by no
means a well-spoken one, she who is propriety itself. And so,
as I am not and, so far as one can judge, can not be eucliauted,
230 DON QUIXOTE.
she it is that is enchanted, that is smitten, that is altered,
changed, and transformed ; in her have my enemies revenged
themselves upon me, and for her shall I live in ceaseless tears,
until I see her in her pristine state. I have mentioned this
lest anyljody should mind what Sancho said about Dnlcinea's
winnowing or sifting ; for, as they changed her to me, it is no
wonder if they changed her to him. Dulcinea is illustrious
and Avell-born, and of one of the gentle families of El Toboso,
which are many, ancient, and good. Therein, most assuredly,
not small is the share of the pee/less Dulcinea, through whom
her town will be famous and celebrated in ages to come, as
Troy was through Helen, and Spain through La Cava,^ though
with a better title and tradition. For another thing ; I would
have your graces understand that Sancho Panza is one of the
drollest scjuires that ever served knight-errant; sometimes
there is a simplicity about him so acute that it is an amusement
to try and make out whether he is simple or sharp
;
he has mis-
chievous tricks that stamp him rogue, and blundering ways
that prove him a booby
;
he doubts everything and believes
everything ; when I fancy he is on the point of coming down
headlong from sheer stupidity, he comes out with something
shrewd that sends him up to the skies. After all, I woidd
not exchange him for another squire, though I were given a
city to boot, and therefore I am in doubt whether it will be
well to send him to the government your highness has be-
stowed upon him ; though I perceive in him
a certain aptitude
for the work of governing, so that, with a little trimming of
his understanding, he would manage any government as easily
as the king does his taxes
;
and moreover,
we know already
by ample experience that it does not require much cleverness
or much learning to be a governor, for there are a hundred
round about us that scarcely know how
to read, and govern
like ger-faleons.- The main point is that they should have
good intentions and be desirous of doing right in all things, for
they will never be at a loss for persons to advise and direct
them in what they have to do, like those knight-governors
who, being no lawyers, pronounce sentences with the aid of an
assessor. My advice to him will be to take no bribe and sur-
'
The name given in the b.illiuls to tlio daujrliter of Count Julian,
seduced by Roderick, accordinif to tradition.
'
To govern like a ger-falcon is a similitude rejieatediy used by Don
Quixote and Sauclio. Tlie ju'ecise drift is not very obvious. In the slang
of the Germana gerifalte means a robber.
CHAPTER XXXII.
231
render no right/ and I have some other little matters in
reserve, tliat shall be prodiieed in dne season for Sancho's ben-
efit and the advantage of the island he is to govern."
The dnke, duchess, and Don Quixote had reached this ])oint
in their conversation, when they heard voices and a great hub-
bub in the palace, and Sancho burst abruptly into the room
all glowing with anger, with a straining-cloth l)y way of a
bib, and followed by several servants, or, more properly speak-
ing, kitchen-boys and other nnderlings, one of whom carried a
small trough full of water, that from its color and impurity
was plainly dishwater. The one with the trougli pursued him
and followed him everywhere he went, endeavoring with the
utmost persistence to thrust it under his chin, while another
kitchen-boy seemed anxious to wash his beard.
"
What 'is all this, brothers ?
"
asked the duchess.
"
What
is it ? What do you want to do to this good man ? What ! do
you forget he is a governor-elect ?
"
To which the barber kitchen-boy replied,
"
The gentleman
will not let himself be washed as is customary, and as my
lord the duke and the senor his master have been."
"
Yes, I will," said Sancho, in a great rage
;
"
but I 'd like it
to be with cleaner towels, clearer lye, and not such dirty
hands; for there 's not so much difference between me and my
master that he should be washed with angels' water- and I
with devil's lye. The customs of countries and princes'
palaces are only good so long as they give no annoyance
;
but
the way of washing they have here is worse than doing
\
en-
ance. I have a clean beard, and I don't require to be re-
freshed in that fashion, and whoever comes to wash me or
touch a hair of my head, I mean to say my beard, Avith all due
respect be it said, I
'11
give him a punch that will leave my
fist sunk in his skull; for cirimonies and soapings of this sort
are more like jokes than the polite attentions of one's host."
The duchess was ready to die with laughter when she saAv
Sancho's rage and heai'd his words ; but it was no pleasure to
Don Quixote to see him in such a sorry trim, with the dingy
towel about him, and the hangers-on of the kitchen all round
him
;
so making a low bow to the duke and duchess, as if to
ask their i)ermission to speak, he addressed the rout in a
dignified tone :
"
Holloa, gentlemen ! you let that youth alone.
I
Prov. 51.
-
Water scented with rose, orange flower, thyme, and other perfumes.
232 DON QUIXOTE.
and go back to where you came from, or anywhere else if you
like ; my squire is as clean as any other person, and those
troughs are as bad as narrow thin-necked jars. to him
;
' take my
advice and leave him alone, for neither he nor I understand
joking."
Sancho took the word out of his moiith and went on,
"
Nay,
let them come and try their jokes on the coiuitry bumpkin, for
it's aliout as likely I
'11
stand them as that it's now midnight
!
Let them bring me a comb here, or what they please, and curry
this beard of mine, and if they get anything out of it that
offends against cleanliness, let them clip me to the skin."
Upon this, the duchess, laughing all the while, said,
"
Sancho
Panza is right, and always will be in all he says ; he is clean,
and, as he says himself, he does not require to be washed
;
and
if our ways do not please him, he is free to choose. Besides,
you promoters of cleanliness have been excessively careless and
thoughtless, I don't know if I ought not to say audacious, to
bring troughs and wooden utensils and kitchen dish-clouts,
instead of basins and jugs of pure gold and towels of holland,
to such a person and such a beard ; but, after all, you are ill-
conditioned and ill-bred, and spiteful as you are, you can not
help showing the grudge you have against the squires of
knights-errant."
The impudent servitors, and even the seneschal who came
with them, took the duchess to be speaking in earnest, so they
I'emoved the straining-cloth from Sancho's neck, and with some-
thing like shame and confusion of face went off all of them and
left him
;
whereupon he, seeing himself safe out of that extreme
danger, as it seemed to him, ran and fell on his knees before
the duchess, saying,
"
From great ladies great favors may be
looked for ; this which your grace has done me to-day can not
be requited with less than Avishing I Avas dubbed a knight-
errant, to devote myself all the days of my life to the service
of so exalted a lady. I am a laboring man, my name is kSancho
Panza, I am married, I have children, and I am serving as a
squire ; if in any one of these Avays I can serve your high-
ness, I will not be longer in obeying than your grace in com-
manding."
"
It is easy to see, Sancho," replied the duchess,
"
that you
have learned to be polite in the school of politeness itself ; I
mean to say it is easy to see that j^ou have been nursed in the
'
These being probably unsati.sfat'tory to drink out of.
CHAPTER XXXII/. 233
bosom of Sefior Don Quixote, who is, of course, the cream of
good breeding and flower of ceremony

or cirimony, as you
wouhl say yourself. Fair be the fortunes of such a master and
such a
servant, the one the cynosure of knight-errantry, the
other the star of squirely fidelity ! Rise, Sancho, my friend; I
will repay
your courtesy by taking care that my lord the duke
makes good to you the promised gift of the government as soon
as possible."
With this, the conversation came to an end, and Don Quixote
retired to take his midday sleep
;
but the duchess begged Sancho,
unless he had a very great desire to go to sleep, to come and
spend the afternoon with her and her damsels in a very cool
chamber.
Sancho replied that, though he certainly had the
habit of sleeping four or five hours in the heat of the day in
summer, to serve her excellence he would try Avitli all his might
not to sleep even one that day, and that he would come in
oliedience to her couimand, and with that he went off. The
duke gave fresh orders with respect to treating Don Quixote as
a
knight-errant, without departing in the smallest particular
from the style in which, as the stories tell us, they used to
treat the knights of old.
CHAPTER XXXIII.
OF THE
DELECTABLE DISCOURSE WHICH THE DUCHESS AND
HER DAMSELS HELD WITH SANCHO PANZA, WELL WORTH
READING AND NOTING.
The history records that Sancho did not sleep that after-
noon, but in order to keep his word came, before he had well
done dinner, to visit the duchess, Avho, finding enjoyment in
listening to him, made him sit down beside her on a low seat,
though Sancho, out of pure good breeding, wanted not to sit
down
;
the duchess, however, told him he was to sit down as
governor and talk as squire, as in both respects he was worthy
of even the chair of the Cid Ruy Diaz the Campeador.^
Sancho shrugged his shoulders, obeyed, and sat down, and all
the duchess's
damsels and duennas gathered round him, wait-
'
The magnificent chair in wliich, according to the x)oem
and the
ballads, he took his seat at the Cortes of Toledo.
2-34 DON QUIXOTE.
ing in profound silence to hear what he would say. It was
the duchess, however, who si)oke
first, saying,
"
Now that we
are alone, and that there is nobody here to overhear us, I
should be glad if the senor governor would relieve nie of cer-
tain doubts I have, rising out of the history of the great Don
Quixote that is now in print. One is : inasmuch as worthy
Sancho never saw Dulcinea, I mean the lady Dulcinea del
Toboso, nor took Don Quixote's letter to her, for it was left in
the memorandum book in the Sierra Morena, how did he dare
to inveiit the answer and all tliat al)Out finding her sifting
wheat, the whole story being a deception and falsehood, and
so much to tlie prejudice of the peerless Dulcinea's good name,
a thing that is not at all becoming the character and fidelity
of a good squire ?
"
At these Avords, Sancho, without uttering one in reply, got
up from his chair, and with noiseless ste})S, with his body bent
and his finger on his lips, went all round the room lifting up
the hangings; and this done, he came back to his seat and
said,
"
Now, senora, that I have seen that there is no one
except the bystanders listening to us on the sly, I will answer
what you have asked me, and all you may ask me, without
fear or dread. And the first thing I have got to say is, that
for my own part I hold my master Don Quixote to be stark
mad, though sometimes he says things that, to my mind, and
indeed everybody's that listens to him, are so wise, and nm
in such a straight furrow, that Satan himself could not have
said them better; but for all that, really, and beyond all
question, it's my firm belief he is cracked. Well, then, as
this is clear to my mind, I can venture to make him believe
things that have neither head nor tail, like that affair of the
answer to the letter, and that other of six or eight days ago,
which is not yet in history, that is to say, the affair of the
enchantment of my lady Dulcinea ; for I made him believe
she is enchanted, though there 's no more truth in it than over
the hills of tJbeda."
^
'
Prov. 2?>\. A somewhat obscure jjojuilar phrase, rather than prov-
erli, used to deserihe that wliich lias nothing wliatever to do \\\i\\ the
subject in liand. Ubeda is a small town in the upper valley of the
Guadalquivir {v. map), and some explain the phrase h/ saying that the
country round it being very hilly, travellers are liable to lose their way
there. Others say the explanation is that there are no hills there at all.
Neither statement is correct ; the country is not particularly liilly or fl:.t,
nor is there any reason why any one should lose his way there. Jervas's
CHAPTER XXXI11.
235
The duchess begged him to tell her about the enchantment
or deception, so Sancho told the whole story exactly as it had
happened, and his hearers were not a little amused by it ; and
then resuming, the duchess said,
"
In consequence of what
worthy Sancho has told me, a doubt starts up in my mind,
and there comes a kind of whisper to my ear that says,
'
If
Don Quixote be mad, crazy, and cracked, and Sancho Panza
his squire knows it, and, not\vithstanding, serves and follows
him, and goes trusting to his empty promises, there can be no
doubt he must be still madder and sillier than his master
;
and
that being so, it will be cast in your teeth, seiiora duchess, if
you give the said Sancho an island to govern
;
for how will
he who does not know how to govern himself know how to
govern others ?
'
"
"
By God, senora," said Sancho,
"
but that doubt comes
timely ; but your grace may say it out, and s})eak plaiidy, or
as you like ; for I know what you say is true, and if I were
wise I should have left my master long ago ; but this was my
fate, this was my bad luck
;
I can't help it, I must follow
him ; we 're from the same village, I have eaten his bread, I 'ni
fond of him, I 'm grateful, he gave me his ass-colts, and above
all I 'm faithful ; so it 's quite impossible for anything to sepa-
rate us, except the pickaxe and shovel. And if your highness
does not like to give me the government you promised, God
made me without it, and maybe your not giving it to me will
be all the better for my conscience, for fool as I am I know
the proverb
'
to her hurt the ant got wings,'
^
and it may be
that Sancho the squire will get to heaven sooner than Sancho
the governor.
'
They make as good bread here as in France,'
and
'
by night all cats are gray,' and
'
a hard case enough his,
who has n't broken his fast at two in the afternoon,' and
'
there 's no stomach a hand's breadth bigger than another,'
and the same can be filled
'
with straw or hav,' as the saving
is, and
'
the little birds of the field have God for their pur-
veyor and caterer,' and
'
four yards of Cuenca frieze keep one
warmer than four of Segovia broadcloth,' and
'
when we quit
this world and are put undergroiuid the prince travels by as
narrow a path as the journeyman,' and
'
the Pope's body does
suggestion is more probable, tluit tlie words are the beginning of some
old song or story, and are equivalent to saying that the remark made has
as much to do with tlie question as the old song,
"
Over the lulls," etc.
*
Prov. 118.
236 DON QUIXOTE.
not take up more feet of earth than the sacristan's,'
^
for all
that the one is higher than the other ; for when we go to our
graves we all pack ourselves up and make ourselves small, or
rather they pack us up and make us small in spite of us, and
then

good night to us. And I say once more, if your lady-

ship does not like to give me the island because I 'm a fool,
like a wise man I will take care to give myself no trouble
about it ; I have heard say that
'
behind the cross there 's the
devil,' and that
'
all that glitters is not gold,'
"^
and that from
among the oxen, and the }jlougli.s, and the yokes, AVamba the
husbandman was taken to be made King of Spain, and from
among brocades, and pleasures, and riches, Koderick was taken
to be devoured by adders, if the verses of the old ballads
don't lie."
"
To be sure they don't lie
!
''
exclaimed Dona Rodriguez,
the duenna, who was one of the listeners. ''Why, there's a
ballad that says they put King Rodrigo alive into a tomb full
of toads, and adders, and lizards, and that two days afterwards
the King, in a plaintive, feeble voice, cried out from within
the tomb

They gnaw me now, tliey gnaw me now,

There where I most did sin.-*
And according to that the gentleman has good reason to say
he would rather be a laboring man than a king, if vermin are
to eat him."
The ducliess could not help laughing at the simplicity of
her duenna, or wondering at the language and proverbs of
Sancho, to whom she said,
"
Worthy Sancho knows very well
that when once a knight has nuide a promise he strives to keep
it, though it should cost him his life. My lord and husband
the duke, though not one of the errant sort, is none the less a
knight for that reason, and will keep his word about the
promised island, in spite of the env}^ and malice of the world.
Let Sancho be of good cheer ; for when he least expects it he
Avill find himself seated on the throne of his island and seat of
dignity, and will take possession of his government that he

Provs. 172, 105, 72, 98, lOG, 20, G3, 192, and 189.
^
Provs. 75 and 161.
*
From a modernized version, apparently, of the ballad, Despues que el
rey don Rodrigo.

Cancionero de Romances., Antwerp, s.a. Duran,

Romancero, No. 606.
CHAPTER XXXIII.
237
may discard it for another of three-bordered brocade.^ The
charge I give him is to be careful how he governs his vassals,
bearing in mind that they are all loyal and well-born."
"
As to governing them well," said Sancho,
''
there 's no need
of charging me to do that, for I 'm kind-hearted by nature, and
full of compassion for the poor
;
'
there 's no stealing the loaf
from him who kneads and bakes ;
' -
and by my faith it won't
do to throw false dice with me
;
I am an old dog, and I know
all about
'
tus, tus ;
' ^
I can be wide awake if need be, and 1
don't let clouds come before my eyes, for I know Avhere the
shoe pinches me
;
^
I say so, bec-ause with me the good will
have support and pi'otection, and the bad neither footing nor
access. And it seems to me that, in governments, to make
a beginning is everything ; and maybe, after having been
governor a fortnight, I
'11
take kindly to tlie work and know
more about it than the field labor I have been brought up to.
"
You are right, Sancho," said the duchess,
"
for no one is
born ready taught, and the bishops are made out of men and
not out of stones. ])ut to return to the subject we were dis-
cussing just now, the enchantment of the lady Dulcinea, I look
upon it as certain, and something more than evident, that
Sancho's idea of practising a deception upon his master, making
him believe that the peasant girl was Dulcinea and that if he
did not recognize her it must be because she was enchanted,
was all a device of one of the enchanters that [)ersecute Don
Quixote. For iu truth and earnest, 1 know from good authority
that the coarse country wench who jumped up on the ass was
and is Dulcinea del Toboso, and that worthy Sancho, though
he fancies himself the deceiver, is the one that is deceived
;
and that there is no more reason to doubt the truth of this,
than of anything else Ave never saw. Sefior Sancho Panza
must know that we too have enchanters here that are well dis-
posed to us, and tell us what goes on in the world, plainly and
distinctly, without subterfuge or deception ; and believe me,
Sancho, that agile country lass was and is Dulcinea del Toboso,
who is as much enchanted as the mother that bore her ; and
when we least expect it, we shall see her in her own proper
form, and then Sancho Avill be disabused of the error he is
under at present."
'
The passage is apparently corrupt. Don Juan Calderon defends the
text in his Cervantes Vindicado : but it cannot be said that his vindication
is satisfactory.
'^
Prjv. ll'-).
3
pryv. 18;3.

Trov.
2.")2.
238 DON QUIXOTE.
''
All that 's very possible," said Sanclio Panza ;
"
and now
I "m willing to believe what my master says about what he saw
in the cave of Mcntesinos, where he says he saw the lady Dul-
cinea del Toboso in the very same dress and apparel that I said
I had seen her in when I enchanted her all to please myself.
It must 1)6 all exactly the other way, as your ladyship says
;
because it is impossible to suppose that out of my poor wit
such a cunning trick could be concocted in a moment, nor do I
tliink my master is so mad that by my weak and feeble per-
suasion he could he made to believe a thing so out of all reason.
But, seiiora, your excellence must not therefore think me ill-
disposed, for a dolt like me is not bound to see into the thoughts
and plots of those vile enchanters. I invented all that to es-
cape my master's scolding, and not with any intention of hurt-
ing him ; and if it has turned out differently, there is a God in
heaven who judges our hearts."
"
That is true," said the duchess
;
"
but tell me, Sancho,
what is this you say about the cave of Montesinos, for I should
like to know."
Sancho iipon this related to her, word for word, what has
been said already touching that adventure, and having heard
it the duchess said,
"
From this occurrence it may be inferred
that, as the great Don Quixote says he saw there the same
country wench 8ancho saw on the Avay from El Toboso, it is,
no doubt, Dulcinea, and that there are some very active and
exceedingly busy enchanters about."
"
So I say," said Sancho,
"
and if my lady Dulcinea is en-
chanted, so miicli the worse for her, and I 'in not going to pick
a quarrel with my master's enemies, who seem to be many
and spiteful. The truth is that the one I saw was a country
wench, and I set her down to be a country wench
;
and if that
was Dulcinea it must not be laid at my door, nor should I be
called to answer for it or take the consec|uences. But they
must go nagging at me every step

' Sancho said it, Sancho

did it, Sancho here, Sancho there,' as if Sancho was nobody at
all, and not that same Sancho Panza that 's now going all
over the world in books, so Samson Carrasco told me, and he 's
at any rate one that 's a bachelor of Salamanca ; and
peoi)le
of
that sort can't lie, except when the whim seizes them or they
have some very good reason for it. So there 's no occasion for
anybody to quarrel with me
;
and then I have a good char-
acter, and, as I have heard my master say,
'
a good name is
CHAPTER XXXIII.
239
better than great riclies ;
' ^
let tlieni only stick nie into this
government and they
'11
see wonders, for one who has been a
good S(j[uire will be a good governor."
"
All worthy Sancho's observations," said the duchess,
"
are
Catonian sentences, or at an;^ rate ont of the very heart of
Michael Verino himself, who /lorcufiin/s orcidlt tun/ is.- In
fact, to speak in his own style,
'
under a bad cloak there "s
often a good drinker.'
"
^
"
Indeed, senora," said Sanclio,
"
I never yet drank out of
wickedness
;
from thirst I have very likely, for I have nothing
of the hypocrite in me ; 1 drink when 1 'm inclined, or, if I 'm
not inclined, when they offer it to me, so as not to look either
strait-laced or ill-bred
;
for when a friend drinks one's health
what heart can be so hard as not to retnrn it
:'
But if I put
on my shoes I don't dirty them
;
*
besides, squires to knights-
errant mostly drink water, for they are always wandering
among woods, forests and meadows, inoiuitains and crags,
without a drop of Avine to be had if they gave their eyes for it."
"
8o I believe," said the duchess
;
"
and now let Sanclio go
and take his sleep, and we will talk l)y-and-by at greater
length, and settle how he may soon go and stick himself into
the government, as he says."
Sancho once more kissed the duchess's hand, and entreated
her to 1)6 so kind as to let good care l)e taken of his Dapple,
for he was the light of his eyes.
"
What is Da[)ple
:'
"
said the duchess.
"
My ass," said Sanclio, "which, not to mention him by that
name, I 'm accustomed to call
Dapi)le ;
I begged this lady
duenna here to take care of him when I came into the castle,
and she got as angry as if I had said she was ugly or old,
though it ought to be more natural and proper for duennas to
feed asses than to ornament chambers. God bless me ! what
a spite a gentleman of my village had against these ladies !
"
"
He must have been some clown," said Dona llodriguez the
duenna ;
"
for if he liad been a gentleman and well-born he
woidd have exalted them higher than the horns of the moon."
'
I'rov. 15(1.
^
Catonian sentences, i.e. in the style of Dionysius C'ato. JNlieliael
Verino was the author of a book entitled T)e puerorum moribus disficha,
somewhat in the style of Cato's Disficha^ and, like it, a well-known
school-book at the time. The Latin ({noted by the duchess is from the
epitaph on him bv Politian.
3
Prov. :5(;.
''
A popular way of describing drinking without getting drunK.
240
DON QUIXOTE.
'-
That will do," said the duchess
;
"
no more of this
;
hush,
Dona Rodriguez, and let Seilor Panza rest easy and leave the
treatment of Dapple in my charge, for as he is a treasure of
Sancho's, I
'11
put him on the apple of my eye."
"It will be enough for him to 'be in the stable," said Sancho,
"
for neither he nor I are Avorthy to rest a moment in the apple
of your highness's eye, and I 'd as soon stab myself as consent
to it ; for though my master says that in civilities it is better to
lose by a card too many than a card too few,' when it comes to
civilities to asses we must mind what we are about and keep
within due bounds."
"
Take him to your government, Bancho," said the duchess,
"and there you will be able to nuike as much of him as you
like, and even release hinr from work and pension him oft."
"
Don't think, seilora duchess, that you have said anything
absurd," said Sancho
;
"
1 have seen more than two asses go to
governments, and for me to take mine with me woidd be noth-
ing new."
Sancho's words made the duchess laugh again and gave her
fresh amusement, and dismissing him to sleep she Avent away to
tell the duke the conversation she had had with him, aiul
between them they plotted and arranged to play a joke upon
Don Quixote that was to be a rare one and entirely in knight-
errantry style, and in that same style they practised several
upon him, so nnich in keeping and so clever that they form
the best adventures this "great history contains.
CHAPTER XXXIV.
WHICH RELATES HOW THEY LEARNED THE WAT IV WHICH
THEY WERE TO DISENCHANT THE PEERLESS DULCINEA DEL
TOBOSO, WHICH IS ONE OF THE RAREST ADVENTURES IN
THIS BOOK.
Great Avas the pleasure the duke and duchess took in the
conversation of Don Quixote and Sancho Panza; and, more
bent than ever upon the plan they had of practising some jokes
upon them that should have the look and appearance of advent-
ures, they took as their basis of action Avhat Don Quixote had
'
Prov. ;5'J.
CHAPTER XXXIV. 241
already told them about the cave of Montesinos,^ in order to
play him a famous one. But what the duohess marvelled at
above all was that Sancdio's simplicity could be so great as to
make him believe as absolute truth that Dulcinea had beeu
enchanted, when it was he himself who had been the enchanter
and trickster in the business. Having, therefore, instructed
their servants in everything they were to do, six days after-
wards they took him out to hunt, with as great a retinue of
lumtsmen and beaters as a crowned king could take.
They presented Don Quixote with a hunting suit, and San-
cho with another of the finest green cloth ; but Don (Quixote
de(dined to put his on, saying that he must soon return to the
hard pursuit of arms, and could not carry wardrobes or stores
with Idm. Sancho, however, took Avhat they gave liim, mean-
ing to sell it the first opportunity he had.
The appointed day having arrived, Don Quixote armed him-
self, and Sancho arrayed himself, and mounted on his Dapple
(for he would not give him up though they offered him a
horse), he placed himself in the midst of the troop of hunts-
men. The duchess came out splendidly attired, and Don
Quixote, in \)\we courtesy and politeness, held the rein of her
palfrey, though the duke wanted not to allow iiini; and at last
they reached a wood that lay between two high mountains,
where,- after occupying various posts, ambushes, and patlis,
and distributing the party in different positions, the hunt
began with great noise, shouting, and hallooing, so that, be-
tween the baying of the hounds and the blowing of the horns,
they could not hear one another. The duchess dismounted,
and with a sharp boar-spear in her hand posted herself where
she knew the wild boars Avere in the habit of passing. The
duke and Don Quixote likewise dismounted and placed them-
selves one each side of her. Sancho took up a position in the
rear of all without dismounting from Dapple, whom he dared
not desert lest some mischief should befall him. Scarcely
had they taken their stand in a line with several of their
servants, when they saw a huge boar, closely pressed by the
hounds and followed by the huntsmen, making towards them,
grinding his teeth and tusks, and scattering foam from his
mouth. As soon as he saw him Don Quixote, bracing his
'
Don Quixote told thoiii nothing about the cave of Montesinos : all
they knew of it was through Sancho. Hartzenbusch inserts the correc-
tion.
Vol. 11.-16
242
DON QUIXOTE.
shield on his arm, and drawing his sword, advanced to meet
him ; the duke Avith his boar-spear did the same ; but the
duchess woukl have gone in front of them all had not the duke
prevented her. Sancho alone, deserting Dapple at the sight of
the mighty boast, took to his heels as hard as he could and
strove in vain to mount a tall oak. As he was clinging to a
branch, hoAvever, half-Avay up in his struggle to reach the top,
the bough, such was his ill-luck and hard fate, gave way, and
caught in his fall by a l)roken limb of the oak, he hung sus-
pended in the air unable to reach the ground. Finding him-
self in this position, and that the green coat was beginning to
tear, and reflecting that if the fierce animal came that way he
might be able to get at him, he began to utter such cries, and
call for help so earnestly, that all who heard him and did not
see him felt sure he must be in the teeth of some Avild beast.
In the end the tusked boar fell pierced by the blades of the
many spears they held in front of him ; and Don Quixote,
turning round at the cries of Sancho, for he knew by them
that it Avas he, saw him hanging from the oak head doAvn-
Avards, Avith Dapple, avIio did not forsake him in his distress,
close beside him ; and ('id Hamet observes that he seldom saw
Sanclio Panza Avithout seeing Dai)})le, or Dap})le without seeing
Sancho Panza ; such Avas their attachment and loyalty one to
the other. Don Quixote went over and unhooked Sancho, Avho,
as sotm as he found himself n'leased and on the ground,
looked at the rent in his hunting-coat and Avas grieved to the
heart, for he thought he liad got a patrimonial estate in that
suit.
]\[eanAvhile they had slung the mighty boar across the back
of a mule, and having covered it Avith sprigs of rosemary and
branches of myrtle, they bore it aAvay as the spoils of victory
to some large field-tents Avhich had been pitched in the middle
of the Avood, where they found the tables laid and dinner
served, in such grand and sumptuous style that it Avas easy
to see the rank and magnificence of those Avho had provided
it. Sancho, as he showed the rents in his torn suit to the
duchess, observed,
''
If Ave had been hunting hares, or after
small birds, my coat Avould have been safe from being in the
plight it 's in ; I don't knoAV Avhat pleasure one can find in
lying in wait for an animal that may take your life Avith his
tusk if he gets at you. I recollect having heard an old ballad
sung that says.
CHAPTER XXXIV.
243
By bears be tliou devoured, as erst
Was famous Favila."
"
That," said Don Quixote,
"
was a Gothic king, Avho, going
a hunting, was devoured by a bear."
^
"
Just so," said tSancho ;
"
and I woukl not have kings and
princes expose themselves to such dangers for the sake of a
pleasure which, to my mind, ought not to l)e one, as it consists
in killing an animal that has done no harm whatever."
"
Quite the contrary, Sancho
;
you are wrong there," said the
duke
;
"
for hnnting is more suitable and requisite for kings
and princes than for anybody else. The chase is the emblem
of war
;
it has its stratagems, Aviles, and crafty devices for over-
coming the enemy in safety
;
in it extreme cold and intolerable
heat have to be borne, indolence and sleep are despised, the
bodily powers are invigorated, the lind)S of him who engages
in it are made supple, and, in a word, it is a i)ursuit
which may
be followed without injury to any one and with enjoyment to
many ; and the best of it is, it is not f(n- everybody, as field-
sports of other sorts ai"e, except hawking, which also is only
for kings and great lords. Reconsider your opinion therefore,
Sancho, and when you are governor take to hunting, and you
will find the good of it."
2
"
Nay," said Sancho,
"
the good governor should have a
broken leg and keep at home ;
^
it would be a nice thing if,
after peo})le had been at the trouble of coming to look for him
on bnsiness, the governor were to be away in the forest enjoy-
ing himself
;
the government wonld go on badly in that fashion.
By my faith, sefior, hunting and amusements are more fit for
idlers than for governors
;
what 1 intend to amuse myself with,
is playing all fours
*
at Eastertime, and bowls on Sundays and
'
Favila was the son and successor of Pelayo. Don Quixote is hardly
correct in describinsj him as a Gotliic king^ for the Gothic kings, properly
so-called, ended with lloderick.
*
Vereis como os i-iile un lian 'por cienio
;
literally, "you
"11
see it will he
worth a loaf per cent to you." There has been a good deal of discussion
about this phrase. Critics, assuming that, as it stands, it must be wrong,
have suggested various new readings, such as tan por cienio, paniporcino,
and the like; forgetting, apparently, that Cervantes uses it again in pre-
cisely the sinne form iuid way in (]ia])ter Ixxi. There can be no doulit it
is some old popular, perhaps local, phrase, now obsolete, but in use in his
day in the sense I have given.
^Prov. 148. Sancho adapts the proverb to liis argument.
*
Triinifo envidado ;
"brag" wonld be a closer translation, but the
game seems to have l)een more like
"
:dl fours,"
244
DOX Q
UIXOTE.
holidays ; for these huntings don't suit my condition or agree
with my conscience."
"
God grant it may turn out so," said the duke
;
"
because
it 's a long step from saying to doing."
'
"
Be that as it may," said Sancho, "'pledges don't distress
a good paymastei-,' and
'
he whom God helps does better than
he who gets up early,' and
'
it 's the tripes that carry the feet
and not the feet the tripes
;
'
^
I mean to say that if God gives
me help and I do my duty honestly, no doubt I
'11
govern better
than a gerfalcon. Xay, let them only ]nit a finger in my mouth,
and they
'11
see whether 1 can bite or not."
"
The curse of God and all his saints upon thee, thou accursed
Sancho !
"
exclaimed Don Quixote
;
"
when Avill the day come

as I have often said to thee

when 1 shall hear thee make one

single coherent, rational remark without proverbs ? Tray, your
highnesses, leave this fool alone, for he will griml your souls
between, not to say two, but two thousand proverbs, dragged in
as nnieh in season, and as much to the })urpose as

-may God
grant as much health to him, or to me if I want to listen to
them !
"
"
Sancho Fanza's jn-overbs," said the duchess,
"
though more
in number than the Greek Commander's,^ are not therefore less
to be esteemed for the conciseness of the maxims. For my
own part, I can say they give me more pleasure than others
that may be better brought in and more seasonably intro-
duced."
In pleasant conversation of this sort they passed out of the
tent into the wood, and the day was spent in visiting some of
the posts and hiding-places, and then night closed in, not, how-
ever, as brilliantly or tranquilly as might have been expected
at the season, for it was then midsummer ; but bringing with it
a kind of haze that greatly aided the project of the duke and
duchess
;
and thus, as night l)egan to fall, and a little after
twilight set in, suddenly the whole wood on all four sides
seemed to be on fire, and shortly after, here, there, on all sides,
a vast number of trumpets and other military instruments were
'
Prov. 7(J.
2
Provs. 1(U, 84, and 2:52.
^
i.e. Hernan (or Fenuiii) Nunyz, of the noble family of tlie Guzinans,
professor of Greek at Alcala and afterwards at Salamanca, and one of the^
greatest scholars of the sixteenth century. He made a collection of prov-
erbs wliich was publishe(l in ir)5."), after his death. He was Commander
of the Order of Santiago, and hence commonly called the Greek Com-
mander, El Cornendador driego, a title absurdly translated '' Greek com-
mentator" by Jervas, Viardot, Damas Hinard, and others.
CHAPTER XXXIV. 245
heard, as if several troops of cavalry were passing through the
wood. The blaze of the hre and the noise of the warlike
instruments almost blinded the eyes and deafened the ears of
those that stood by, and indeed of all who were in the wood.
Then there were heard repeated lelilies
^
after the fashion of
the Moors when they rush to battle
;
trumpets and clarions
brayed, drums beat, fifes played, so unceasingly aiid so fast that
he could not have had any senses who did not lose them with
the confused din of so many instruments. The duke was as-
tounded, the duchess amazed, Don Quixote wondering, Sancho
Panza trembling, and indeed, even they who were aware of the
cause were frightened. In their fear, silence fell upon them,
and a
postilion, in the guise of a demon, passed in front of
them, blowing, in lieu of a bugle, a hugh hollow horn that gave
out a horrible hoarse note.
"Ho there ! brother courier," cried the duke,
"
who are you ?
Where are you going ? What troops are these that seem to
be passing through the wood ?
"
To- which the courier replied in a harsh, discordant voice,
<
I am the devil ; I am in search of Don Quixote of La Mancha
;
those who are coming this way are six troops of enchanters,
who are bringing on a
trium})hal car the peerless Dulcinea
del Toboso ; she comes under enchantment, together with the
gallant Frenchman
Montesinos, to give instructions to Don
Quixote as to how she, the said lady, may be disenchanted."
"If you were the devil, as you say and as your appearance
indicates," said the duke,
"
you would have known the said
knight Don Quixote of La Mancha, for you have him here
before you."
"
By God and upon my conscience," said the devil,
"
I never
observed it, for my mind is occupied with so many different
things that I was forgetting the main thing I came about."
"
This demon must be an honest fellow and a good Chris-
tian," said Sancho
;
"
for if he Avas n't he would n't swear by
God and his conscience ; I feel sure now there must be good
souls even in hell itself."
Without dismounting, the demon then turned to Don Quixote
and said,
"
The unfortunate but valiant knight Montesinos sends
me to thee, the Knight of the Lions (would that I saw thee in
their claws), bidding me tell thee to wait for him wherever
I may find thee, as he brings with him her whom they call
'
The ciy of la Alia ila Alia

"
there is no God but God."
246 DON (lUIXOTE.
Dulcinea del Toboso, that he may show thee what is needful
in order to disenchant her
;
and as I came for no more I need
stay no longer
;
demons of my sort be with thee, and good
angels with these gentles
;
" and so saying he blew his huge
horn, turned about and went off without waiting for a reply
from any one.
They all felt fresh wonder, but i)articularly Sancho and Don
Quixote
;
Sancho to see how, in defiance of the truth, they
Avould have it that Dulcinea was enchanted
;
Don Quixote be-
cause he could not feel sure whether udiat had happened to
him in the cave of Montesinos was true or not ; and as he was
deep in these cogitations the duke said to him,
"
Do you mean
to wait, Senor Don Quixote ?
"
"Why not?" re])]ied he
;
"here will I wait, fearless and
firm, though all hell shoidd come to attack me."'
"
Well, then, if I see another devil or hear another honi like
the last, I
'11
wait here as much as in Flanders," said Sanclio.
Night now closed in more completely, and many lights l)e-
gan to Hit through the wood, just as those fiery exhalations
from the earth, that look like shooting stars to our eyes, flit
through the heavens
;
a frightful noise, too, was heard, like
that made by the solid wheels the ox-carts usually have, by
the harsh, ceaseless creaking of which, they say, the bears and
wolves are put to flight, if there happen to be any where they
are passing.^ In addition to all this commotion, there came a
further disturbance to increase the tumult, for now it seemed
as if in truth, on all four sides of the wood, four encounters or
battles were going on at the same time ; in one quarter re-
sounded the dull noise of a terrible cannonade, in another
numberless muskets were being discharged, the shouts of the
combatants sounded almost close at hand, and farther away
the Moorish lelilies were raised again and again. In a word,
the bugles, the horns, the clarions, the trumpets, the drums, the
cannon, the musketry, and above all the tremendous noise
of the carts, all made up together a din so confused and ter-
rific that ])on Quixote had need to smnmon up all his courage
to brave it ; but Sancho's gave way, and he fell fainting on the
skirt of the duchess's robe, who let him lie there and promptly
bade them throw water in his face. This was done, and he
'
In tlie carts described wheels and axle are all in one piece. They are
in use to this day in the Asturias, and their creaking ni ly he heard on a
still evening miles away. The country folk there maintain it lias the
effect Cervantes mentions.
CHAPTER XXXI V. 247
came to himself by the time that one of the carts with the
creaking wheels reached the spot. It was drawn V)y four plod-
ding oxen all covered with black housings
;
on each horn they
had fixed a large lighted wax taper, and on the top of the cart
was constructed a raised seat, on which sat a venerable old
man with a beard whiter than the very snow, and so long that
it fell below his waist ; he was dressed in a long robe of black
buckram; for as the cart was thickly set with a multitude of
candles it was easy to make out everything that was on it.
Leading it were two hideous demons, also clad in buckram,
with countenances so frightful that Sancho, having once seen
them, shut his eyes so as not to see them again. As soon as
the cart came opposite the spot the old man rose from his lofty
seat, and standing up said in a loud voice,
'^
I am the sa,ge Lir-
gandeo," and without another word the cart then passed on.
Behind it came another of the same form, with another aged
man enthroned, who, stopping the cart, said in a voice no less
solemn than that of the first,
''
I am the sage Alquife, the
great friend of Urganda the Unknown," and passed on. Then
another cart came by at the same pace, but the occuj)ant of the
throne was not old like the others, but a man stalwart and
robust, and of a forbidding countenance, who as he came up
said in a voice far hoarser and more devilish,
"
I am the en-
chanter Archelaus, the mortal enemy of Amadis of Gaul and
all his kindred," and then passed on. Having gone a short
distance the three carts halted and the monotonous noise of
their wheels ceased, and soon after they heard another, not
noise, but sound of sweet, harmonious music, of which Sancho
was glad, taking it to be a good sign
;
and said he to the duch-
ess, from whom he did not stir a step, for an instant,
"
kSeiiora,
where there 's music there can't be mischief."
'
"
Nor where there are lights and it 's bright," said the duch-
ess
;
to which Sancho replied,
"
Fire gives light, and it 's bright
where there are bonfires, as we see by those that are all arouiul
us, and perhaps may burn us
;
but music is a sign of mirth and
merry-making."
"
That remains to be seen," said Don Quixote, who was lis-
tening to all that passed
;
and he was right, as is shown in the
following chapter.
>
Prov. 152.
248
DON QUIXOTE.
CHAPTER XXXV.
WHEREIN IS CONTINUED THE INSTRUCTION GIVEN TO DON
QUIXOTE TOUCHING THE DISENCHANTMENT OF DULCINEA,
TOGETHER WITH OTHER MARVELLOUS INCIDENTS.
They saw advancing towards them, to the sound of this
pleasing music, what they call a triumphal car, drawn by six
gray mides with white linen housings, on each of which was
mounted a penitent,^ robed also in white, with a large lighted
wax taper in his hand. The car was twice or. perhaps, three
times as large as the former ones, and in front and on the sides
stood twelve more penitents, all as white as snow and all with
lighted tapers, a spectacle to excite fear as well as wonder
;
and on a raised throne was seated a nymph draped in a multi-
tude of silver-tissue veils with an embroidery of countless gold
spangles glittering all over them, that made her appear, if not
richly, at least brilliantl}', apparelled. She had her face
covered with thin transparent sendal, the texture of which did
not prevent the fair features of a maiden from being distin-
gvushed, while the nuinerous lights made it possible to judge
of her beauty and of her years, Avhich seemed to be not less
than seventeen but not to have yet reached twenty. Beside
her was a figure in a robe of state, as they call it, reaching
to the feet, while the head was covered with a black veil. But
the instant the car was opposite the duke and duchess and Don
Quixote the music of the clarions ceased, and then that of the
lutes and harps on the car, and the figure in the robe rose up,
and flinging it apart and removing the veil from its face, dis-
closed to their eyes the shape of Death itself, fleshless and
hideous, at which sight Don Quixote felt uneasy, Sancho
frightened, and the duke and duchess displayed a certain trepi-
dation. Having risen to its feet, this living death, in a sleepy
voice and with a tongue hardly awake, held forth as follows
:
I am that Merlin who the legends say
The devil had for father, and the lie
Hath gathered credence with the lapse of time.
Of magic prince, of Zoroastric lore
'
Disciplinante de liiz : one in the costume of the disciplinants who used
to walk in procession in Holy Week.
CHAPTER XXXV.
249
Monarch and treasurer, with jealous eye
I view the efforts of the age to hide
The gallant deeds of doughty errant knights,
Who are, and ever have been, dear to me.
Enchanters and magicians and their kind
Are mostly hard of heart ; not so am I
;
For mine is tender, soft, compassionate.
And its delight is doing good to all.
In the dim caverns of the gloomy Dis,
Where, tracing mystic lines and characters.
My soul abideth now, there came to me
The sorrow-laden plaint
of her, the fair,
The peerless Diilcinea del Tol)oso.
I knew of her enchantment and her fate,
From high-born dame to peasant wench transformed
;
And touched with jiity, first I turned the leaves
Of countless volumes of my devilish craft.
And then, in this grim grisly skeleton
Myself incasing, hither have I come
To show where lies the fitting remedy
To give relief in such a ])iteous case.
thou, the pride and pink of all that wear
The adamantine steel ! shining light,
O beacon, polestar, path and guide of all
Who, scorning slumber and the lazy down,
Adopt the toilsome life of bloodstained arms !
To thee, great hero who all j)raise transcends.
La Mancha's lustre and Iberia's star,
Don Quixote, wise as brave, to thee I say

For peerless Dulcinea del Toboso

Her pristine form and beauty to regain,
'T is needful that thy esquire Sancho shall.
On his own sturdy buttocks bared to heaven,
Three thousand and three hundred lashes lay.
And they that smart and sting and hurt him well.
Thus have the authors of her woe resolved.
And this is, gentles, wherefore I have come.
"
By all that 's good," exclaimed Sancho at this,
"
I
'11
just
as soon give myself three stabs with a dagger as three, not to
say three thousand, lashes. The devil take such a Avay of dis-
enchanting ! I don't see what my backside has got to do with
250
DON QUIXOTE.
enchantments. By God, if Senor jNIerlin has not found out
some other way of disenchanting the lady Dulcinea del Toboso,
she may go to her grave enchanted."
"
But I
'11
take you, Don Clown stuffed with garlic," said
Don Quixote.
"
and tie you to a tree as naked as when your
mother brought you forth, and give you, not to say three thou-
sand three hundred, but six thousand six hundred lashes, and
so well laid on that they won't be got rid of if you try three
thousand three hundred times
;
don't answer me a Avord or I
'11
tear your soul out."
On hearing this INIerlin said,
"
That will not do, for the lashes
Avorthy Sancho has to receive must be given of his own free
will and not by force, and at whatever time he pleases, for
there is no fixed limit assigned to him ; but it is permitted
him, if he likes to commute by half the pain of this Avhipping,
to let them be given by the hand of another, though it may be
somewhat Aveighty."
"
Xot a hand, my own or anybody else's, weighty or Aveigh-
able, shall touch me," said Sancho. "Was it I that gave birth
to the lady Dulcinea del Toboso, that my backside is to pay for
the sins of her e3'es ? My master, indeed, that 's a part of her

for he 's ahvays calling her

'
my life
'
and
'
my soul,' and his
stay and prop

may and ought to Avhip himself for her and

take all the trouble required for her disenchantment. But for
me to Avliip myself ! Abernuncio !
"
^
As soon as Sancho had done speaking the nymph in silver
that Avas at the side of Merlin's ghost stood up, and renioA'ing
the thin A^eil from her face disclosed one that seemed to all
something more than exceedingly beautiful ; and with a mascu-
line freedom from embarrassment and in a A'oice not very like
a lady's, addressing Sancho directly, said,
"
Thou wretched
squire, soul of a pitcher, heart of a cork tree, with boAvels of
flint and pebbles
;
if, thou impudent thief, they bade thee throAV
thyself doAvn from some lofty tower ; if, enemy of mankind,
they asked thee to swalloAv a dozen of toads, tAvo of lizards,
and three of adders ; if they wanted thee to slay thy Avife and
children Avith a sharp murderous cimeter, it would be no wonder
for thee to shoAv thyself stubborn and squeamish. But to
make a piece of work about three thousand three hundred
lashes, what every poor little charity-boy gets every month

it is enough to amaze, astonish, astound the compassionate
For abrenuncio.
CHAPTER XXXV.
251
bowels of all who hear it, nay, all who come to hear it in the
course of time. Turn, miserable, hard-hearted animal, turn,
I say, those timorous owl's eyes upon these of mine that are
compared to radiant stars, and thou Avilt see them weeping
trickling streams and rills, and tracing furrows, tracks, and
])aths over the fair fields of my cheeks. Let it move thee,
craft}', ill-conditioned monster, to see my blooming youth

still in its teens, for I am not yet twenty wasting and wither-
ing away beneath the husk of a rude peasant wench ; and if I
do not appear in that shape now, it is a special favor Seilor
JNIerlin here has granted me, to the sole end that my beauty
may soften thee ; for the tears of beauty in distress turn rocks
into cotton and tigers into ewes. Lay on to that hide of thine,
thou great untamed brute, roiise up thy lusty vigor that only
urges thee to eat and eat, and set free the softness of my flesh,
the gentleness of my nature, and the fairness of my face. And
if thou wilt not relent or come to reason for me, do so for the
sake of that poor knight thou hast beside thee
;
thy master I
mean, whose soul I can this moment see, how he has it stuck
in his throat not ten fingers from his lips, and only waiting
for thy inflexible or yielding reply to make its escape by his
mouth or go back again into his stomach."
Don Quixote on hearing this felt his throat, and turning to
the duke he said,
''
By God, seiior, Dulcinea says true, I have
my soul stuck here in my throat like the nut of a crossbow."
^
"
What say you to this, Sancho ?
"
said the duchess.
'
I say, senora," returned Sancho,
"
what 1 said before
;
as
for the lashes, abernuncio !
"
"
Abrenuncio, you should say, Sancho, and not as you do,"
said the duke.
"
Let me alone, your highness," said Sancho.
"
I 'm not in
a humor now to look into niceties or a letter more or less, for
these lashes that are to be given me, or I 'm to give myself,
have so upset me, that I don't know Avhat I 'm saying or
doing. But I 'd like to know of this lady, my lady Dulcinea
del Toboso, where she learned this way she has of asking
favors. She comes to asl\* me to score my flesh with lashes,
and she calls me soul of a pitcher, and great untamed brute,
and a string of foul names that the devil is welcome to. Is
my flesh brass ? or is it anything to me whether she is en-
chanted or not ? Does she bring with her a basket of fair
'
That wliicli boULs hack the Htriii<j of tlie crossbow.
252
DON QUIXOTE.
linen, shirts, kerchiefs, socks

not that I wear any

to coax
me ? No, nothing but one piece of abuse after another,
though she knows the proverb they have here that
'
an ass
loaded with gold goes lightly up a mountain,' and that
'
gifts
break rocks,' and
', praying to God and plying the hammer,'
and that
'
one
"
take
"
is better than two
"
I
'11
give thee's."
'

Then there 's my master, who ought to stroke me down and
pet me to make nie turn wool and carded cotton
;
he says if
he gets hold of me he
'11
tie me naked to a tree and double
the tale of lashes on me. These tender-hearted gentry should
consider that it 's not merely a squire, but a governor they are
asking to whip himself
;
just as if it was
<
drink with cher-
ries.'''^ Let them learn, jtlague take them, the right way to
ask, and beg, and behave themselves
;
for all times are not
alike,*^ nor are people always in good humor. I'm just now
ready to burst with grief at seeing my green coat torn, and
they come to ask me to Avhi[) myself of my own free will, I
having as little fancy for it as for turning cacique."
''Well then, the fact is, friend Sancho," said the duke,
''
that unless you become softer than a ripe fig, you shall not
get hold of the government. It would be a nice thing for me
to send my islanders a cruel governor with flinty bowels, who
won't yield to the tears of atHicted damsels or to the prayei's
of wise, magisterial, ancient enchanters and sages. In short,
Sancho, either you must be whijiped by yourself, or they imist
whi}) you. or you shan't be governor."
''
Senor," said Saiicho,
"
won't two days' grace be given me
to consider Avhat is best for me
'!
"
''
No, certainly not," said IVIerlin
;
"
here, this minute, and
on the spot, the matter must be settled ; either Dulcinea will
return to the cave of Montesinos and to her former condition
of peasant Avench, ol- else in her present form shall be carried
to the Elysian fields, Avhere she will remain waiting until the
number of stripes is completed."
"
Now then, Sancho !
"
said the duchess,
''
show courage,
and gratitude for your master Don ^Quixote's bread that you
have eaten
;
we are all bound to oblige and ]>lease him for his
benevolent disposition and lofty chivalry. (Consent to this
whipping, my son ; to the devil with the devil, and leave fear
'
Provf!. 17, (!8,
8"),
ami 227.
^
Prov. lOS; i.e. a perfectly natural accompaniment.

Prov. 225.
CHAPTER A'A'.YF. 253
to milksops, for
'
a stout heart breaks bad luck,'
^
as you very
well know."
To this Sancho replied with an irrelevant remark, which,
addressing Merlin, he made to him,
"
Will your worship tell
me, Senor Merlin,

when that courier devil came up he gave

my master a message from Seilor Montesinos, charging him to
wait for him here, as he was coming to arrange how the lady
Doiia Dulcinea del Toboso was to be disenchanted ; but up to
the present we have not seen Montesinos, nor anything like
him."
To which Merlin made answer,
''
The devil, friend Sancho,
is a blockhead and a great scoundrel ; I sent him to look for
your master, but not with a message from Montesinos but from
myself ; for Montesinos is in his cave expecting, or, more
properly speaking, waiting for his disenchantment ; for there 's
the tail to be skinned yet for him
;
^
if he owes you anything,
or you have any business to transact with him, I
'11
bring lum
to you and put him where you choose
;
but for the present
make up your mind to consent to this penance, and believe me
it will be very good for you, for soul as well as for body

for
your soul because of the charity with which you perform it,
for your body because I know that you are of a sanguine habit
and it will do you no harm to draw a little blocjd."
"
There are a great many doctors in the world
;
even the
enchanters are doctors," said Sancho ;
"
however, as everybody
tells me the same thing

though I can't see it myself

I say
I am willing to give myself the three thousand three hundred
lashes, provided I am to lay them on whenever I like, without
any fixing of days or times
;
and I
'11
try and get out of debt as
quickly as I can, that the world ]nay enjoy the beauty of the
lady Dulcinea del Toboso; as it seems, contrary to what I
thought, that she is beautiful after all. It must be a condi-
tion, too, that I am not to be bound to draw blood with the
scourge, and that if any of the lashes happen to be fly-flappers
they are to count. Item, that, in case I should make any mis-
take in the reckoning, Senor Merlin, as he knows everything,
is to keep count, and let me know how many are still wanting
or over the number."
"
There will be no need to let you know of any over," said
Merlin,
"
because, when you reach the fiill number, the lady
Dulcinea will at once, and that very instant, be disenchanted,
'
Prov. 58.
*
Prov. 52.
254
DON QUIXOTE.
and will come in her gratitude to seek out the worthy Sancho,
and thank him, and even reward him for the good work. So you
have no cause to be uneasy about stripes too many or too few
;
heaven forbid I should cheat any one of even a hair of his head."
"
Well then, in God's hands be it," said Sancho
;
"
in the
hard case I 'm in I give in ; I say I accept the penance on the
conditions laid down."
The instant Sancho uttered these last words the music of
the clarions struck up once more, and again a host of muskets
were discharged, and Don Quixote hung on Sancho's neck
kissing him again and again on the forehead and cheeks. The
duchess and the duke and all who stood by expressed the
greatest satisfaction, the car began to move on, and as it
passed the fair Duleinea bowed to the duke and duchess and
made a low courtesy to Sancho.
And now bright smiling dawn came on apace
;
the flowers
of the field, revived, raised up their heads, and the crystal
waters of the brooks, murmuring over the gray and white
pebbles, hastened to pay their tribute to the expectant rivers
;
the glad earth, the unclouded sky, the fresh breeze, the clear
light, each and all showed that the day that came treading
on the skirts of morning would be calm and bright. The
duke and duchess, pleased with their hunt and at having
carried out their plans so cleverly and successfully, returned
to their castle resolved to follow up their joke
;
for to them
there was uo reality that could afford them more amusement.
CHAPTER XXXVI.
WHEREIN IS RELATED THE STRANGE AND UNDREAMT-OF
ADVENTURE OF THE DISTRESSED DUENNA, ALIAS THE
COUNTESS TBIFALDI, TOGETHER WITH A LETTER WHICH
SANCHO PANZA WROTE TO HIS WIFE, TERESA PANZA.
The duke had a majordomo of a very facetious and sportive
turn, and he it was that played the part of Merlin, made all
the arrangements for the late adventure, composed the verses,
and got a page to represent Duleinea; and now, with the
assistance of his master and mistress, he got up another of the
drollest and strangest contrivance that can be imagined.
CHAPTER XXXVI.
255
The duchess asked Sancho the next day if he had made a
beginning
with his penance task which he had to perform for
the
disenchantment
of Dulcinea. He said he had, and had
given himself five lashes overnight.
The duchess
asked him what he had given them with.
He said with liis hand.
"
That/' said the duchess,
'^
is more like giving one's self
slaps than lashes
;
I am sure the sage Merlin will not be sat-
isfied with such tenderness ; worthy Sancho must make a
scourge with claws, or a cat-o'-nine tails,' that will make itself
felt ; for it 's with blood that letters enter," and the release of
so great a lady as Dulcinea will not be granted so cheaply, or
at such a paltry price
;
and remember, Sancho, that works of
charity done in a lukewarm and half-hearted way are witliout
merit and of no avail."
^
To which Sancho replied,
"
If your ladyship will give me a
proper scourge or cord, I
'11
lay on with it, provided it does not
hurt too much ; for you must know, boor as I am, my flesh is
more cotton than hemp, and it won't do for me
tio
destroy
myself for the good of anybody else."
"
So be it by all means," said the duchess
;
"
to-morrow I
'11
give you a scourge that will be just the thing for you, and
will accommodate itself to the tenderness of your flesh, as if
it was its own sister."
Then said Sancho,
"
Your highness must know, dear lady
of my soul, that I have a letter written to my wife, Teresa
Panza, giving her an account of all that has happened me
since I left her ; I have it here in my bosom, and there 's
nothing wanting but to put the address to it ; I 'd be glad if
your discretion would read it, for I think it runs in the
governor style
;
I mean the way governors ought to write."
"
And who dictated it ?
"
asked the duchess.
"
Who should have dictated but myself, sinner as I am ?
"
said Sancho.
"
And did you write it yourself ?
"
said the duchess.
<'
That I didn't," said Sancho
;
"
for I can neither read nor
write, though I can sign my name."
'
Properly by the thick knotted ends of the cords forming the lashes of
the scourge used by penitents.
"^
Prov. 127.
'
Tlie last clause of this paragraph was expunged by order of the In-
quisition in Ifili), and lias not been since restored in any addition I am
acquainted with.
256 DON QUIXOTE.
"
Let us see it," said the ducliess,
"
for never fear but you
display in it the quality and quantity of your wit."
Sancho drew out an open letter from his bosom, and the
duchess taking it, found it ran in this fashion
:
SANCHO PANZA'S LETTER TO HIS "WIFE, TERESA PANZA.
If I was well whipped I went mounted like a gentleman
;
Mf T
have got a good government it is at the cost of a good whipping.
Thou wilt not understand this just now, my Tei'esa ; by-and-by thou
wilt know what it means. I may tell thee, Teresa, I mean thee to
go in a coach, for that is a matter of importance, because every
other way of going is going on all-fours. Thou art a governor's
wife ; take care that nobod}' sj^eaks evil of thee behind thy back. I
send thee here a green hunting suit that my lady the duchess gave
me ; alter it so as to make a petticoat and bodice for our daughter.
Don Quixote, my master, if I am to believe what 1 hear in these
parts, is a madman of some sense, and a droll blockhead, and I am
no way behind him. We have been in the cave of Montesinos, and
the sage Merlin has laid hold of me for the disenchantment of Dul-
cinea del Toboso, her that is called Aldonza Loi'enzo over there.
With three thousand three hundred lashes, less five, that I 'm to give
myself, she will be left as entirely disenchanted as the mother that
bore her. Say nothing of this to any one; for, make th}' affairs
public, and some will say they are white and others will saj- they are
black.- I shall leave this in a few days for my government, to
which I am going with a mighty gi'eat desire to make money, for
they tell me all new governors set out with the same desire ; I will
feel the pulse of it and will let thee know if thou art to come and
live with me or not. Dapple is well and sends many remembrances
to thee ; I am not going to leave him Ijehind though they took me
away to be Grand Turk,
^[y lady the duchess kisses thy hands a
thousand times ; do thou make a return with tw^o thousand, for, as
my master says, nothing costs less or is cheaper than civility. God
has not been pleased to provide another valise for me with another
hundred crowns, like the one the other day ; but never mind, my
Teresa, the bell-ringer is in safe quarters, and all will come out in
the scouring of the government;'' only it troubles me greatly what
they tell me, that once I have tried it T will eat my hands off aftei'
it
;
''
and if that is so it will not come very cheap to me ; though to
be sure the maimed have a benefice of their own in the alms they
beg for; so that one way or another thou Avilt be rich and in luck.
'
Prov. 29. A proverb that evidently had its origin in the words of some
philosophical culprit after having been whipped through the strect.s
mounted on an uss, according to custom. Sancho quotes it again in
chapter Ixxii.
^
Prov. 57.
^
A reference to Provs. 200 and 53.
*
A popular phrase expressive of extreme eagerness.
CHAPTER XXXVI.
257
God give it to thee as he can, and keep me to serve thee. From this
castle, the 20th of July,
1614.'
Thy husband, the governor,
Sancho Panza.
When she had done reading the letter the duchess said to
Sancho,
"
On two points the worthy governor goes rather
astray
;
one is in saying or hinting that this government has
been bestowed upon him for the lashes that he is to give him-
self, when he knows (and he can not deny it) that when my
lord the duke promised it to him nobody ever dreamt of such
a thing as lashes
;
the other is that he shows himself here to
be very covetous
;
and I woidd not have him a money-seeker/
for
'
covetousness bursts the bag,'
^
and the covetous governor
does ungoverned justice."
"
I don't mean it that way, senora," said Sancho
;
"
and if
you think the letter does n't run as it ought to do, it 's only to
tear it up and make another ; and maybe it will be a worse
one if it is left to my gumption."
"
No, no," said t]ie duchess,
"
this one will do, and I wish
the duke to see it."
With this they betook themselves to a garden where they
were to dine, and the duchess showed Sancho's letter to the
duke, who was highly delighted with it. They dined, and
after the cloth had been removed and they had amused them-
selves for a while with Sancho's rich conversation, the melan-
choly sound of a fife and harsh discordant drum made itself
heard. All seemed somewhat put out by this dull, confused,
martial harmony, especially Don Quixote, who could not keep
his seat from pure disquietude ; as to Sancho, it is needless to
say that fear drove him to his usual refuge, the side or the
skirts of the duchess
;
and indeed and in truth the sound they
heard was a most doleful and melancholy one. While they
were still in uncertainty they saw advancing towards them
through the garden two men clad in mourning robes so long
and flowing that they trailed upon the ground. As they
marched they beat two great drums which were likewise
draped in black, and beside them came the fife player, black
and sombre like the others. Following these there came a
'
This (late is obviously tlie date at whicli Cervantes was writing.
^
Oregano^ properly wild marjoram. See Prov. 160.
3
Prov.
.^)0.
Vol. II.

17
258 DON QUIXOTE.
personage of gigantic statnre enveloped rather than clad in a
g-own of the deepest black, the skirt of which was of prodigious
dimensions. Over the gown, girdling or crossing his figure,
he had a broad baldric which was also black, and from Avhich
hung a huge cimeter with a black scabbard and furniture. He
had his face covered with a transparent black veil, through
which might be descried a very long beard as white as snow.
He came on keeping step to the sound of the drums with
great gravity and dignity
;
and, in short, his stature, his gait,
the sombreness of his appearance and his following might Avell
have struck with astonishment, as they did, all who beheld
him withoiit knowing who he was. With this measiired pace
and in this guise he advanced to kneel before the duke, who,
with the others, awaited him standing. The duke, however,
would not on any account allow him to speak until he had
risen. The terrific object obeyed, and standing up, removed
the veil from his face and disclosed the most enormous, the
longest, the whitest and the thickest beard that human eyes
had ever beheld until that moment, and then fetching up a
grave, sonorous voice from the depths of his broad, capacious
chest, and fixing his eyes on the duke, he said,
"
Most high
and mighty senor, my name is Trifaldin of the AVhite Beard
;
I am squire to the Countess Trifaldi, otherwise called the
Distressed Duenna, on whose behalf I bear a message to your
highness, which is that your magnificence will be pleased to
grant her leave and permission to come and tell you her
trouble, which is one of the strangest and most wonderful that
the mind most faniiliar with trouble in the world could have
imagined
;
but first she desires to know if the valiant and
never vanquished knight, Don Quixote of La Mancha, is in
this your castle, for she has come in quest of him on foot and
without breaking her fast from the kingdom of Kandy to your
realms here
;
a thing which may and ought to be regarded as
a miracle or set down to enchantment ; she is even now at the
gate of this fortress or plaisance, and only waits for your per-
mission to enter. I have spoken." And with that he coughed
and stroked down his beard with both his hands, and stood
very tranquilly waiting for the response of the duke, which
was to this effect :
"
Many days ago, worthy squire Trifaldin
of the White Beard, we heard of the misfortune of my lady
the Countess of Trifaldi, whom the enchanters have caused to
be called the Distressed Duenna. Bid her enter, stupendous
CHAPTER XXXVI.
269
squire, and tell her that the valiant knight Don Quixote of La
Mancha is here, and from his generous disposition she may
safely promise herself every protection and assistance
;
and
you may tell her, too, that if my aid be necessary it will not
be withheld, for I am bound to give it to her by my quality of
knight, which involves the protection of Avomen of all sorts,
especially widowed, wronged, and distressed dames, such as
her ladyship seems to be."
On hearing this Trifaldin bent the knee to the ground, and
making a sign to the fifer and drummers to strike up, he
turned and marched out of the garden to the same notes and
at the same pace as when he entered, leaving them all
amazed at his bearing, and solemnity. Turning to Don Qui-
xote, the duke said,
"
After all, renowned knight, the mists of
malice and ignorance are unable to hide or obscure the light of
valor and virtue. I say so, because your excellence has been
barely six days in this castle, and already the
unliapi)y and
the afflicted come in quest of you from lands far distant and
remote, and not in coaches or on dromedaries, but on foot
and fasting, confident that in that mighty arm they will find
a cure for their sorrows and troubles ; thanks to your great
achievements, which are circulated all over the known earth."
"
I wish, senor duke," replied Don Quixote,
''
that blessed
ecclesiastic, who at table the other day showed such ill-will
and bitter spite against knights-errant, were here now to see
with his own eyes whether knights of the sort are needed in
the world
;
he would at any rate learn by experience that
those suffering any extraordinary affliction or sorrow, in ex-
treme cases and unusual misfortunes do not go to look for a
remedy to the houses of jurists or village sacristans, or to the
knight who has never attempted to pass the bounds of his own
town, or to the indolent courtier who only seeks for news to
repeat and talk of, instead of striving to do deeds and
exploits for others to relate and record. Belief in distress,
help in need, protection for damsels, consolation for widows,
are to be found in no sort of persons better than in knights-
errant
;
and I give unceasing thanks to Heaven that I am one,
and regard any misfortune or suffering that may befall me in
the pursuit of so honorable a calling as endured to good pur-
pose. Let this duenna come and ask what she will, for I will
effect her relief by the might of my arm and the dauntless
resolution of my bold heart."
260 DON QUIXOTE.
CHAPTER XXXVII.
WHEREIN IS CONTIJSrUED THE NOTABLE ADVENTURE OF THE
DISTRESSED DUENNA.
The duke and duchess were extremely glad to see how
readily Don Quixote fell in with their scheme ; but at this
moment Sancho observed,
"
I hope this seiiora duenna won't
be putting any difficulties in the way of the promise of my
government ; for I have heard a Toledo apothecary, who talked
like a goldtinch, say that where duennas were mixed up noth-
ing good could happen. God bless me, how he hated them,
that same apothecary ! And so what I 'm thinking is, if all
duennas, of whatever sort or condition they may be, are plagues
and busybodies, what must they be that are distressed, like
this Countess Three-skirts or Three-tails
!
'

for in my country
skirts or tails, tails or skirts, it 's all one."
"
Hush, friend Sancho," said Don Quixote
;
"
since this lady
duenna comes in quest of me from such a distant land she
can not be one of those the apothecary meant ; moreover this
is a countess, and when countesses serve as duennas it is in the
service of queens and empresses, for in their own houses they
are mistresses paramount and have other duennas to wait on
them."
To this Dona Rodriguez, who was present, made answer,
"
My lady the duchess has duennas in her service that might
be countesses if it was the will of fortune ;
'
but laws go as
kings like
;
'
-
let nobody speak ill of duennas, above all of
ancient maiden ones ; for though I am not one myself, I know
and am aware of the advantage a maiden duenna has over
one that is a widow ; but
'
he v/ho clipped us has kept the
scissors.' "
^
'
For all that," said Sancho,
"
there 's so much to be clipped
about duennas, so my barber said, that
'
it will be better not to
stir the rice even though it sticks.' "
^
"
These squires," returned Dona Rodriguez,
"
are alway our
enemies
;
and as they are the haunting spirits of the ante-
chambers and watch us at every step, whenever they are not
'
Trifaldi = Tres faldas.,
or three skirts.
*
Prov. 204.
3
pro^^ 231.
"
Prov. 137.
CHAPTER XXXVII. 261
saying their prayers (and that 's often enongli) they spend
their time in tattling abont us, digging up our bones and bury-
ing our good name. But I can tell these walking blocks that
we will live in spite of them, and in great houses too, though
we die of hunger and cover our flesh, be it delicate or not,
with widow's weeds, as one covers or hides a dunghill on a
procession day. By my faith, if it were permitted me and
time allowed, I could prove, not only to those here present,
but to all the world, that there is no virtue that is not to be
found in a duenna."
"
I have no doubt," said the duchess,
"
that my good Dona
Rodriguez is right, and very much so ; but she had better
bide her time for hghting her own battle and that of the rest
of the duennas, so as to crush the calumny of that vile apothe-
cary, and root out the prejudice in the great Sancho Panza's
mind."
To which Sancho replied, "Ever since I have sniffed the
governorship I have got rid of the humors of a squire, and I
don't care a wild fig for all the duennas in the world."
They would have carried on this duenna dispute further had
they not heard the notes of the fife and driims once more, from
which they concluded that the Distressed Duenna was making
her entrance. The duchess asked the duke if it would be
proper to go out to receive her, as she was a countess and a
person of rank.
"
In respect of her being a countess," said Sancho, before
the duke could reply,
<'
I am for your highnesses going out to
receive her; but in respect of her being a duenna., it is my
opinion you should not stir a step."
"
Who bade thee meddle in this, Sancho
?
" said Don
Quixote.
"
Who, seiior ?
"
said Sancho ;
"
I meddle for I have a right
to meddle, as a squire who has learned the rules of courtesy
in the school of your worship, the most courteous and best-
l)red knight in the whole world of courtliness
;
and in these
"things, as I have heard your worship say, as much is lost by a
card too many as by a card too few, and to one who has his
ears open, few words.'"
"
Sancho is right," said the duke
;
"
we
'11
see what the
countess is like, and by that measure the courtesy that is due
to her."
'
Provs. 39 and 95.
262 DON
QUIXOTE.
And now the drums and fife made their entrance as before
;
and here the author brought this short chapter to an end and
began the next, following up the same adventure, which is one
of the most notable in the history.
CHAPTER XXXVIII.
WHEKEIN IS TOLD THE DISTRESSED DUENISTA's TALE OF HEH
MISFORTUNES.
Following the melancholy musicians there filed into the
garden as many as twelve duennas, in two lines, all dressed in
ample mourning robes apparently of milled serge, with hoods
of fine white gauze so long that they allowed only the border
of the robe to be seen. Behind them came the Countess Tri-
faldi, the squire Trifaldin of the White Beard leading her by
the hand, clad in the finest unnapped black baize, such that,
had it a nap, every tuft would have shown as big as a Martos
.
chick-pea ;
^
the tail, or skirt, or whatever it might be called,
ended in three points which were borne up by the hands of
three pages, likewise dressed in mourning, forming an elegant
geometrical figure with the three acute angles made by the
three points, from which all who saw the peaked skirt con-
cluded that it must be because of it the countess was called
Trifaldi, as though it were Countess of the Three Skirts ; and
Benengeli says it was so, and that by her right name she was
called the Countess Lobuna, because wolves bred in great
numbers in her country ; and if, instead of wolves, they had
been foxes, she would have been called the Countess Zorruna,-
as it was the custom in those parts for lords to take distinctive
titles from the thing or things most abundant in their domin-
ions
;
this countess, however, in honor of the new fashion of
her skirt, dropped Lobuna and took up Trifaldi.
The twelve duennas and the lady came on at procession
pace, their faces being covered with black veils, not transpar-
ent ones like Trifaldin's, but so close that they allowed nothing
to be seen through them. As soon as the band of duennas
'
Martos, a town of Andalusia to the south-west of Jaen, apparently
famous for its garbanzo crops.
*
From zorra., a fox.
CHAPTER XXX VI11. 263
was full}^ in sight, the duke, the duchess, and Don Quixote
stood up, as well as all who were watching the slow-moving
procession. The twelve duennas halted and formed a lane,
along which the Distressed One advanced, Trifaldin still hold-
ing her hand. On seeing this the duke, the duchess, and Don
Quixote went some twelve paces forward to meet her. 8he
then, kneeling on the ground, said in a voice hoarse and rough,
rather than tine and delicate,
"
May it please your highnesses
not to offer such courtesies to this your servant, I should say
to this your handmaid, for I am in such distress that I shall
never be able to make a proper return, because my strange and
unparalleled misfortune has carried off my wits, and I know
not whither ; but it must be a long way off, for the more I look
for them tlie less I find them."
"
He would be wanting in wits, seilora countess," said the
duke,
"
who did not perceive your worth by your person, for
at a glance it may be seen it deserves all the cream of courtesy
and flower of polite usage ;
"
and raising her up by the hand
he led her to a seat beside the duchess, who likeAvise received
her with great urbanity. Don Quixote remained silent, while
Sancho was dying to see the features of Trifaldi and one or
two of her many duennas
;
but there was no possibility of it
until they themselves displayed them of their own accord and
free will.
All kept still, waiting to see who would break silence, which
the Distressed Duenna did in these words :
"
I am confident,
most mighty lord, most fair lady, and most discreet company,
that my most miserable misery will be accorded a reception no
less dispassionate than generous and condolent in your most
valiant bosoms, for it is one that is enough to melt marble,
soften diamonds, and mollify the steel of the most hardened
hearts in the world ; but ere it is proclaimed to your hearing,
not to say your ears, I would fain be enlightened whether
there be present in this society, circle, or company, that knight
immaculatissimus, Don Quixote de la Manchissima, and his
squirissimus Panza."
"
The Panza is here," said Sancho, before any one could
rejjly,
"
and Don Quixotissimus too ; and so, most distressedest
Duenissima, you may say what you willissimus, for we are all
readissimus to do you any servissimus."
On this Don Quixote rose, and addressing the Distressed
Duenna, said,
"
If your sorrows, afflicted lady, can indulge in
264 DON QUIXOTE.
any hope of relief from the valor or might of any knight-
errant, here are mine, which, feeble and limited though they
be, shall be entirely devoted to your service. I am Don Qui-
xote of La Mancha, whose calling it is to give aid to the needy
of all sorts
;
and that being so, it is not necessary for you,
sefiora, to make any appeal to benevolence, or deal in preambles,
only to tell your woes plainly and straightforwardly : for you
have hearers that will know how, if not to remedy them, to
sympathize with them."
On hearing this, the Distressed Duenna made as though she
would throw herself at Don Quixote's feet, and actually did
fall before them and said, as she strove to embrace them,
"
Before these feet and legs I cast myself, unconquered
knight, as before, what they are, the foundations and pillars of
knight-errantry
;
these feet I desire to kiss, for upon their
steps hangs and depends the sole remedy for my misfortune,
valorous errant, whose veritable achievements leave behind
and eclipse the fabulous ones of the Amadises, Esplandians,
and Belianises !
"
Then turning from Don Quixote to Sancho
Panza, and grasping his hands, she said,
"
thou, most loyal
squire that ever served knight-errant in this present age or
ages past, whose goodness is more extensive than the beard of
Trifaldin my companion here present, well mayest thou boast
thyself that, in serving the great Don Quixote, thou art serv-
ing, summed up in one, the whole host of knights that have
ever borne arms in the world. I conjure thee, by what thou
owest to thy most loyal goodness, that thou wilt become my
kind intercessor with thy master, that he speedily give aid to
this most humble and most unfortunate countess."
To this Sancho made answer,
"
As to my goodness, senora,
being as long and as great as your squire's beard, it matters
very little to me
;
may I have my soul well bearded and mus-
tached when it comes to quit this life,^ that 's the jwint ; about
beards here below I care little or nothing; but without all
ihese blandishments and prayers, I will beg my master (for I
know he loves me, and, besides, he has need of me just now
for a certain business) to help and aid your worship as far as
he can ; unpack your woes and lay them before us, and leave
us to deal with them, for we
'11
be all of one mind."
'
Perhaps an allusion to the story in Gaspar Lucas Hidalgo's Dialogos
of the pious young man who said if he had mustaches to his soul he did
not care for any others.
cn.\PTi:n xxxviit.
265
The duke and duchess, as it was they who had made tlie
experiment of this adventure, were ready to burst with laughter
at all this, and l)etween themselves they commended the clever
acting of the Trifaldi, avIio, returning to her seat, said,
"
Queen
Doiia Maguncia reigned over the famous kingdom of Kandy,
which lies between the great Trapobana and the Southern Sea,
two leagues beyond Cape Comorin. She was the widow of
King Archipiela, her lord and husband, and of their marriage
they had issue the Princess Antonomasia, heiress of the king-
dom
;
which Princess Antonomasia was reared and brought
up under my care and direction, I being the oldest aiul highest
in rank of her mother's duennas. Time passed, and the young
Antonomasia reached the age of fourteen, and such a perfection
of beauty, that nature could not raise it higher. Then, it must
not be supposed her intelligence was childish ; she Avas as
intelligent as she was fair, and she was fairer than all the
world; and is so still, unless the envious fates and hard-
hearted sisters three have cut for her the thread of life. But
that they have not, for Heaven will not suffer so great a
wrong to Earth, as it would be to pluck unripe the grapes of
the fairest vineyard on its surface. Of this beauty, to which
my poor feeble tongue has failed to do justice, countless
princes, not only of that country, but of others, were enam-
oured, and among them a private gentleman, who was at the
c(.)urt, dared to raise his thoughts to the heaven of so great
beauty, trusting to his youth, his gallant bearing, his numerous
accomplishments and graces, and his quickness and readiness
of wit ; for I may tell your highness, if I am not wearying
you, that he played the guitar so as to make it speak, and he
was, besides, a poet and a great dancer, and he could make
bird-cages so well, that by making them alone he might have
gained a livelihood, had he found himself reduced to utter
poverty
;
and gifts and graces of this kind are enough to bring-
down
a mountain, not to say a tender young girl. Put all his
gallantry, wit, a,nd gayety, all his graces and acc()mi)lishments,
would have been of little or no avail towards gaining the
fortress of my pupil, had not the impudent thief taken the
precaution of gaining me over first. First, the villain and
heartless vagabond sought to win my good-will and purchase
my compliance, so as to get me, like a treacherous warder, to
deliver up to him the keys of the fortress I had in charge. In
a
Avord, he gained an influence over my mind, and overcame
266 DON
QUIXOTE.
my resolutions with I know not what trinkets and jewels he
gave me
;
but it was some verses I. heard him singing one
night from a grating that opened on the street where he lived,
that, more than anything else, made me give way and led to
my fall ; and if I remember rightly they ran thus :
From that sweet enemy of mine
My Itleeding lieart liath liad its wound
:
And to increase the pain I 'm bound
To suffer and to make no sign.'
The lines seemed pearls to me and his voice sweet as sirup
;
and afterwards, I may say ever since then, looking at the mis-
fortune into which I have fallen, I have thought that poets, as
Plato advised, ought to be banished from all well-ordered
States ; at least the amatory ones, for they write verses, not
like those of
'
The Marquis of Mantua,'
'^
thai delight and
draw tears from the women and children, but sharp-pointed
conceits that pierce the heart like soft thorns, and like the
lightning strike it, leaving the raiment uninjured. Another
time he sang:
Come Death, so subtly veiled that I
Thy coming know not, liow or when,
Lest it should give me life again
To find how sweet it is to die.^
and other verses and burdens of the same sort, such as
enchant when sung and fascinate when written. And then,
when they condescend to compose a sort of verse that was at
that time in vogue in Kandy, which they call seguidillas !
*
Then it is that hearts leap and laughter breaks forth, and the
body grows restless and all the senses turn quicksilver. And
'
A translation from tlie Italian of Serafino Aquilano (1500). The
original is interesting as an Italian imitation of Spanish redondillas.
^
i.e., the old ballad, so often quoted.
^
The first of three stanzas in redondillas by the Comendador Escriva,
an old poet, some of whose verses appear in the Cancionero of Fernando
deCastillo
(1511). The lines seem to have been extremely jjopular. Lope
wrote a gloss upon them, and Calderon introduced them into two of his
plays. From tlie use to which Cervantes puts them in this passage he
does not seem to have admired them as much as his contemporaries. To
his temperament, very likely, this sigliing after death savored of affecta-
tion.
Probably to his robuster philosophy life was to be lived so long as
it was left to us, and death met manfully when it came,
*
Y. Note
1, p. 170, chap, xxiv., vol. ii.
CHAPTER XXXVITt.
267
so I say, sirs, that these troubadours richly deserve to be
banished to the isles of the lizards.^ Though it is not they
that are in fault, but the simpletons that extol them, and the
fools that believe in them ; and had I been the faithful duenna
I should have been, his stale conceits would have never moved
me, nor should I have been taken in by such phrases as
'
in
death I live,'
'
in ice I burn,'
'
in flames I shiver,'
'
hopeless I
hope,'
'
I go and stay,' and paradoxes of that sort wliich their
writings are full of. And then when they promise the Phfenix
of Arabia, tlie crown of Ariadne, the horses of the Sun, the
pearls of the South, the gold of Tibar, and the balsam of
Panchaia !
^
Then it is they give a loose to their pens, for it
costs them little to make promises they have no intention or
power of fulhlling. But Avhere am I wandering to ? Woe is
me, mifortunate being ! What madness or folly leads me to
speak of the faults of others, when there is so much to be said
about my own ? Again, woe is me, hapless that I am ! it was
not verses that conquered me, but my own simplicity ; it was
not music made me yield, but my own imprudence ; my own
great ignorance and little caution opened the way and cleared
the path for Don Clavijo's advances, for that was the name
of the gentleman I have referred to ; and so, with my help as
go-between, he found his way many a time into the chamber
of the deceived Antonomasia (deceived not by him but by me)
under the title of a lawful huslmnd
;
for, sinner though I was,
I would not have allowed him to approach the edge of her
shoe-sole without being her husband. No, no, not that
;
marriage must come first in any business of this sort that I
take in hand. But there was one hitch in this case, winch
was that of inequality of rank, Don Clavijo being a private
gentleman, and the Princess Antonomasia, as I said, heiress to
the kingdom. The entanglement remained for some time a
secret, kept hidden
by my cunning precautions, until I per-
ceived that a certain expansion of waist in Antonomasia must
before long
disclose it, the dread of which made us all three
take counsel
together, and it was agreed that before the mis-
chief came to light, Don Clavijo should demand Antonomasia
as his wife
before the Vicar, in virtue of an agreement to
'
i.e. desert islands

a phrase from tlie Flores of Torquemada.

^
Tibar, a river
of Arabia. Paneliaia, a district of Arabia Felix.
"
Totaqiie thuriferis Panchaia pinguis arenis."
ViRG. Georg. ii. 139.
^6S DON QUIXOTE.
marry him made by the princess, and draughted by my wit in
such binding terms that tlie might of Samson coukl not have
broken it. The necessary steps were taken ; the Vicar saw the
agreement, and took the lady's confession ; she confessed every
thing in full, and he ordered her into the custody of a very
worthy alguacil of the Court."
"Are there alguacils of the Court in Kandy, too," said
Saneho at this,
"
and poets, and seguidillas ? I SAvear I think
the world is the same all over ! But make haste, Seiiora Trif-
aldi ; for it is late, and I am dying to know the end of this
long story."
"
T will," replied the countess.
CHAPTER XXXIX.
IN WHICH THE TRTFALDI CONTINUES HER MARVELLOUS AND
MEMORABLE STORY.
By every word that Sancho uttered, the duchess was as much
delighted as Don Quixote was driven to desperation. He bade
him hold his tongue, and the Distressed One went on to say :
"
At length, after much questioning and answering, as the prin-
cess held to her story, without changing or varying her pre-
vious declaration, the Vicar gave his decision in favor of Don
('lavijo, and she was delivered over to him as his lawful wife
;
which the queen Doiia Maginicia. the princess Antononuisia's
mother, so took to heart, that within the space of three days
we buried her."
"
She died, no doubt," said Sancho.
"
Of course," said Trifaldin
;
"
they don't bury living people
in Kandy, only the dead."
"
Senor Squire," said Sancho,
"
a man in a swoon has been
known to be buried before now, in the belief that he was dead :
and it struck me that queen IMaguncia ought to have swooned
rather than died ; because with life a great many things come
right, and the princess's folly was not so great that she need
feel it so keenly. If the lady had married some page of hers,
or some other servant of the house, as many another has done,
so I have heard say, then the mischief would have been past
curing. But to marry such an elegant accomplished gentle-
CHAPTER XXXIX. 269
man as lias been just now described to us

indeed, indeed,
tliough it was a folly, it was not such a great one as you think
;
for according to the rules of my master here

and he won't
allow me to lie

as of men of letters bishops are made, so

of gentlemen knights, specially if they be errant, kings and
emperors may be made."
"
Thou art right, Sancho," said Don Quixote,
"
for with a
knight-errant, if he has but two fingers' breadth of good for-
tune, it is on the cards to Ijecome the mightiest lord on eartli.
]>ut let the distressed seilora proceed ; for I suspect slie
has got yet to tell us the bitter part of this so far sweet
story."
"
The bitter is indeed to come," said the countess ;
"
and
such bitter that colocynth is sweet and oleander toothsome in
comparison. The queen, then, being dead, and not in a swoon,
we buried her ; and hardly had we covered her with earth,
hardly had we said our last farewells, when, quls talia
fando
ternperet a lacJn'i/in'is? over the queen's grave there appeared,
mounted upon a wooden horse, the giant Malambruno, Magun-
cia's first cousin, who besides being cruel is an enchanter
;
and he, to revenge the death of his cousin, punish the audacity
of Don Clavijo, and in wrath at the contumacy of Antono-
masia, left them both enchanted by his art on the grave itself
;
she being changed into an ape of brass, and he into a horrible
crocodile of some unknown metal ; while between the two
there stands a pillar, also of metal, with certain characters in
the Syriac language inscribed upon it, which, being translated
into Kandian, and now into Castilian, contain the following
sentence :
'
These two rash lovers shall not recover their for-
mer shape until the valiant Manchegan comes to do battle
with me in single combat ; for the Fates reserve this unex-
ampled adventure for his mighty valor alone.' This done, he
drew from its sheath a huge broad cimeter, and seizing me by
the hair he made as though he meant to cut my throat and
shear my head clean off. I was terror-stricken, my voice
stuck in my throat, and I was in the deepest distress ;
never-
theless I summoned up my strength as well as I could, and in
a trembling and piteous voice I addressed such words to him
as induced him to stay the infliction of a punishment so
severe. He then caused all the duennas of the palace, those
that are here present, to be brought before him
;
and after
having dwelt upou the euornuty of our oft'ence, and denoiuiced
270 DON QUIXOTE.
'
duennas, their characters, their evil ways and worse intrigues,
laying to the charge of all what I alone was guilty of, he said
he
would not visit us with capital punishment, but with others
of a
slow nature which would be in effect civil death forever
;
and the
ver}^ instant he ceased speaking we all felt the pores
of our faces
opening, and pricking us, as if with the points of
needles. We at once put our hands up to our faces and found
ourselves in the state you now see."
Here the Distressed One and the other duennas raised the
veils with which they were covered, and disclosed countenances
all bristling with beards, some red, some black, some white,
and some grizzled, at which spectacle the duke and duchess
made a show of being filled with wonder. Don Quixote and
Saucho were overwhelmed with amazement, and the bystanders
lost in astonishment, while the Trifaldi went on to say :
"
Thus
did that malevolent villain Malambruno punish lis, covering
the tenderness and softness of our faces with these rough
bristles ! Would to Heaven that he had swept off our heads
with his enormous cimeter instead of obscuring the light of
ou.r countenances with these wool-combings that cover us
!
For if we look into the matter, sirs (and what I am now going
to say I would say with eyes flowing like fountains, only that
the thought of our misfortune and the oceans they have
already wept, keep them as dry as barley spears, and so I say
it without tears), Avhere, I ask, can a duenna with a beard go
to ? What father or mother will feel pity for her ? Who
will help her ? For, if even when she has a smooth skin, and
a face tortured by a thousand kinds of Avashes and cosmetics,
she can hardly get anybody to love her, Avhat will she do when
she shows a coimtenance turned into a thicket ? Oh duennas,
companions mine ! it was an unlucky moment when we were
born, and an ill-starred hour when our fathers begot us !
"
And as she said this she showed signs of being about to
faint.
CHAPTER XL.
'Ill
CHAPTER XL.
OF MATTERS RELATING AND BELONGING TO THIS
ADVENTURE
AND TO THIS MEMORABLE IIISTORY.
Verily and truly all those who find pleasure in histories
like this ought to show their gratitude to Cid Haniet, its
original author, for the scrupuloiis care he has taken to set
before us all its minute partieulars, not leaving anything,
however trifling it may be, that he does not make clear and
plain. He portrays the thoughts, he reveals the fancies, he
answers implied questions, clears up doubts, sets objections
at rest, and, in a word, makes plain the smallest points the
most inquisitive can desire to know. renowned author
!
happy Don Quixote ! famous Dulcinea ! droll Sancho
Panza ! All and each, may ye live countless ages for the
delight and amusement of the dwellers on earth !
The history goes on to say that when Sancho saw the Dis-
tressed One faint he exclaimed :
"
I swear by the faith of an
honest man and the shades of all my ancestors the l*anzas,
that never I did see or hear of, nor luis my master related or
conceived in his mind, such an adventure as this. A thousantl
devils

not to curse thee

take thee, Malambruno, for an en-

chanter and a giant ! Couldst thou find no other sort of pun-
ishment for these sinners but bearding them ? Would it ncjt
have been better

it would have been better for them

to have
taken off half their noses from the middle downwards, even
though they 'd have snuffled when they spoke, than to have put
beards on them ? I
'11
bet they have not the means of paying
anybody to shave them."
"
That is the truth, senor," said one of the twelve
;
"
we
have not the money to get ourselves shaved, and so we have,
some of us, taken to using sticking-plasters by way of an
economical remedy, for by applying them to our faces and
plucking them off Avith a jerk Ave are left as bare and smooth
as the bottom of a stone mortar. There are, to be sure, women
in Kandy that go about from house to house to remove down,
and trim eyebrows, and make cosmetics for the use of the
women, but we, the duennas of my lady, Avould never let them
in, for most of them have a flavor of agents that have ceased
272
t)ON QUIXOTE.
to be principals ; and if we are not relieved by Seiior Don
Quixote we shall be carried to our graves with beards."
"
I will pluck out my own in the land of the Moors," said
Don Quixote,
"
if I don't cure yours."
At this instant the Trifaldi recovered from her swoon and
said,
"
The chink of that promise, valiant knight, reached ni}^
ears in the midst of
my
swoon, and has been the means of re-
viving me and bringing back my senses ; and so once wxow I
implore you, illustrious errant, indomitable sir, to let your
gracious promises be turned into deeds.
"
There shall be no delay on my part," said Don Quixote.
''
Bethink you, senora, of what T must do, for my heart is uiost
eager to serve you."
"
The fact is," replied the Distressed One,
"
it is five thou-
sand leagues, a couple more or less, from this to the kingdom of
Kandy, if you go by laud
;
but if you go through the air and
in a straight line, it is three thousand two hundred and twenty-
seven. You must know, too, that Malambruno told me that,
whenever fate provided the knight our deliverer, he himself
would send him a steed far better and with less tricks tliau a
post-horse
;
for he "will be that same Avooden horse on wliicli
the valiant Pierres carried off the fair INIagalona
;
^
A\hich said
horse is guided by a peg he has in his forehead that serves for
a bridle, and flies through the air with such rapidity tluit you
would fancy the very devils Avere carrying him. This horse,
according to ancient tradition, was made by IMerlin. He lent
him to Pierres, who was a friend of his, and wlio made long
journeys with him, and, as has beeu said, carried off the fair
Magalona, bearing her through the air on its haunches and mak-
ing all who beheld them from the earth gape with astonish-
ment
;
and he never lent him save to those Avhom he loved or
those who
i)aid
him well ; and since the great Pierres we know
of no one having mounted him until now. From him Malam-
bruno stole him by his magic art, and he has him now in his
possession, aud nuikes use of him in his journeys which he con-
stantly makes through different parts of the world
;
he is here
to-day, to-morrow in France, and the next day in Potosi ; and
the best of it is the said horse neither eats nor sleeps nor wears
out shoes, and goes at an ambling pace through the air without
wings, so that he whom he has mounted upon him can carry
a cup full of water in his hand without spilling a drop, so
'
For tlu' story of riems and Magalona, see chap. xlix. Mil. i.
CHAPTER XL. 273
smoothly and easily does he go, and for this reason the fair
Magalona
enjoyed riding him greatly."
"
For going
smoothly and easily," said Sancho at this,
'*
give
me my Dapple, though he can't go through the air ; but on the
o-round I
'11
back him against all the amblers in the world."
They all laughed, and the Distressed One continued :
"
And
this same horse, if so be that Malaml)runo is disposed to put an
end to our sufferings, will be here before us ere the night shall
have advanced half an hour
;
for he announced to me that the
sign he would give me whereby I might know that I had found
the knight I was in quest of, would be to send me the horse
wherever he might be, speedily and promptly."
''
And how many is there room for on this horse
''
"
asked
Sancho.
"
Two," said the Distressed One,
"
one in the saddle, and the
other on the croup
;
and generally these two are knight and
squire, when there is no damsel that 's being carried oft'."
"
I 'd like to know, senora Distressed One," said Sancho,
''"wdiat is the name of this horse ?
"
''
His name," said the Distressed One,
"
is not the same as
Bellerophon's horse that was called Pegasus, or Alexander the
Great's,
called Bucephalus, or Orlando Furioso's, the name of
which was Brigliador, nor yet Bayard, the horse of Eeinaldos of
Montalvan, nor Frontino like Kuggiero's, nor Bootes or Peritoa,
as they say the horses of the sun Avere called, nor is he ca.lled
Orelia, like the horse on which the unfortunate Kodrigo, the
last king of the Goths, rode to the battle where he lost his
life and his kingdom."
"
I
'11
bet," said Sancho,
"
that as they have given him none
of these famous names of well-known horses, no more have
they given him the name of my master's Rocinante, which for
being apt surpasses all that have been mentioned."
"
That is true," said the bearded countess,
"
still it fits him
very well, for he is called Clavileno the Swift, which name is
in accordance with its being made of wood, with the peg he
has in his forehead,
^
and with the swift pace at which he
travels
;
and so, as far as name goes, he may
compare
with
the famous Rocinante."
"
I have nothing to say against his name," said
Sancho
;
" but
with what sort of a bridle or halter is he managed ?
"
"
I have said already," said the Trifaldi,
"
that it is with a peg,
'
Clavo, a nail or spike (peg) ;
leno, a log (wood).
Vol. II.

18
274 DON QUIXOTE.
by turning which, to one side or the other the knight who rides
him makes him go as he pleases, either through the upper air,
or skimming and almost sweeping the earth, or else in that
middle course that is sought and followed in all well-regulated
proceedings."^
"
I 'd like to see him," said Sancho
;
''
but to fancy I 'm going
to mount him, either in the saddle or on the croup, is to ask
pears of the elm-tree.
-
A good joke indeed ! I can hardly keep
my seat upon Dapple, and on a pack-saddle softer than silk
itself, and here they 'd have me hold on upon haunches of plank
without pad or cushion of any sort ! Gad, I have no notion of
l)ruising myself to get rid of anyone's beard; let each one
shave himself as best he can
;
I 'm not going to accompany my
master on any such long journey ; besides, I can't give any
help to the shaving of these beards as I can to the disenchant-
ment of my lady Dulcinea."
"
Yes, you can, my friend," replied the Trifaldi
;
"
and so
much, that without you, so I understand,we shall be able to do
nothing."
"
In the king's name !
"
exclaimed Sancho,
''
what have
srpiii'es got to do with the adventures of their masters ? Are
thoy to have the fame of such as they go through, and we the
labor
''
Body o' me ! if the historians would only say,
'
such
and such a knight hnished such and such an adventure, but
with the help of so and so, his squire, without Avhich it woidd
have been impossible for him to accomplish it
;
' but they Avrite
curtly,
'
Don Paralipomenon of the Three Stars accojnplished
the adventure of the six monsters
:
' without mentioning such
a person as his squire, who was there all the time, just as if
there was no such being. Once more, sirs, I say my master
may go alone, and much good may it do him
;
and I
'11
stay
here in the company of my lady the duchess
;
and may be when
he comes back, he will find the lady Dulcinea's affair ever so
much advanced
;
for I mean in leisure hours, and at idle mo-
ments, to give myself a spell of whipping without so much as
a hair to cover me."
"
For- all that you must go if it be necessary, my good San-
cho," said the duchess,
"
for they are worthy folk who ask
you ; and the faces of these ladies must not remain overgrown
in this way because of your idle fears ; that would be a hard
case indeed."
'
Vergil's : in inedio iutissimus ibis.
*
Prov. 180.
CHAPTER XL.
275
"
In the king's name, once more !
"
said Sancho
;
"
if this
charitable work were to be done for the sake of damsels in
continement or charity-girls, a man might expose himself to
some hardships ; but to bear it for the sake of stripping
beards off duennas ! Devil take it ! I 'd sooner see them all
bearded, from the highest to the lowest, and from the most
prudish to the most affected."
''
You are very hard on duennas, Sancho my friend,"
said
the duchess
;
"
you incline very much to the opinion of the
Toledo apothecary. But indeed you are wrong ; there are
duennas in my house that may serve as patterns of duennas
;
and here is my Dona Rodriguez, who will not allow me to say
otherwise.''
"
Your excellence may say it if you like," said the Rodri-
guez
;
"
for God knows the truth of everything
; and whether
we duennas are good or bad, bearded or smooth, we are our
mothers' daughters like other women
;
and as God sent iis into
the world, he knows Avhy he did, and on his mercy I rely, and
not on anybody's beard."
"
Well, Senora Rodriguez, Senora Trifaldi, and })resent com-
pany," said Don Quixote,
''
I trust in Heaven that it will look
with kindly eyes upon your troubles, for Sancho will do as I
bid him. Only let Clavilefio come and let me find myself face
to face with Malambruno, and I am certain no razor will shave
you more easily than my sword shall shave Malambruno's head
off his shoulders
;
for
'
God bears with the wicked, but not
forever.'
" i
''Ah !
"
exclaimed the Distressed One at this,
"
may all the
stars of the celestial regions look down upon your greatness
with benign eyes, valiant knight, and shed every prosperity
and valor upon your heart, that it may be the shield and safe-
guard of the abused and downtrodden race of duennas, detested
by apothecaries, sneered at by squires, and made game of by
pages. Ill betide the jade that in the flower of her youth
would not sooner become a nun than a duenna ! unfortunate
beings that Ave are, we duennas ! Though we may be descended
in the direct male line from Hector of Troy himself, our mis-
tresses never fail to address us as
'
you
'
if they think it makes
queens of them. O giant Malambruno, though thou art an en-
chanter, thou art true to thy promises. Send lis now the ])eer-
less Clavileno, that our misforttuie may be brought to an end
;
'
Prov. 86.
276 DON QUIXOTE.
for if the liot weatliei- sets in and these beards of ours are still
there, alas for our lot !
"
The Trifaldi said this in such a pathetic way that she drew
tears from the eyes of all the bystanders, and made even
Sancho's fill up
;
and he resolved in his heart to accompany
his nuxster to the uttermost ends of the earth, if so be the
removal of the wool from those veritable countenances de-
pended upon it.
CHAPTER XLI.
OF THE ARRIVAL OF CLAVILENO AND THE END OF THIS
PROTRACTED ADVENTURE.
And now night came, and with it the appointed time for the
arrival of the famous horse Clavileiio, the non-appearance of
whicli was already beginning to make Don Quixote uneasy, for it
struck him that, as Malambruno was so long about sending it,
either he himself was not the knight for whom the adventure was
reserved, or else Malambruno did not dare to meet him in single
couibat. r>ut lo ! suddenly there came into the garden four
wild-men all clad in green ivy bearing on their shoulders a
great wooden horse. They placed it on its feet on the ground,
and one of the wild-men said,
"
Let the knight who has heart
for it moiuit this machine."
Here Sancho exclaimed,
"
I don't mount, for neither have I
the heart nor am I a knight."
"
And let the squire, if he has one," continued the wild-man,
"
take his seat on the croup, and let him trust the valiant Mal-
ambruno
;
for by no sword save his, nor by the malice of any
other, shall he be assailed. It is but to turn this peg the horse
has in his neck,' and he will bear them through the air to
where Malambruno awaits them
;
but lest the vast elevation of
their course should make them giddy, their eyes must be
covered until the horse neighs, which will be the sign of their
having completed their journey."
*
We were told before that the peg was in the forehead, a A'ery incon-
venient position for the rider. In the magic laorse in the Arabian Nights
it was in the neck. In the case of Chaucer's
"
Stede of bras," to guide
him

"
Ye moten trill a pin stont in his ere."
CHAPTER XLI.
211
With these words, leaving Clavileno behind them, they re-
tired with easy dignity the way they came. As soon as the
Distressed One saw the horse, ahnost in tears she exehiimed to
Don Quixote,
"
Valiant knight, the promise of Malambruno
has
proved trustworthy ; the horse has come, our beards are grow-
ing, and by every hair in them we all of us implore thee to
shave and shear us, as it is only mounting him with thy squire
and making a happy beginning with your new journey."
"
That I will, Seilora Countess Trifaldi," said Don Quixote,
"
most gladly and with right good-will, without stopping to
take a cushion or put on my spurs, so as not to lose time,
such is my desire to see you, senora, and all these duennas
shaved clean."
"
That I won't," said Sancho,
'*
with good will or bad will, or
any way at all ; and if this shaving can't be done without my
mounting on the croup, my master had better look out for
another scpiire to go with him, and these ladies for some other
way of making their faces smooth
;
I 'm no witch to have a
taste for travelling through the air. What would my islanders
say when they heard their governor was going strolling about
on the winds ? And another thing, as it is three thousand and
odd leagues from this to Kandy, if the horse tires, or the giant
take huff, we
'11
be half a dozen years getting back, and there
won't be isle or island in the world that will know me : and so,
as it is a common saying
'
in delay there 's danger,' and
'
when
they offer thee a heifer run with a halter,'
^
these ladies' beards
must excuse me
;
'
Saint Peter is very well in Rome
;
'
"
I
mean I am very well in this house where so much is made of
me, and I hope for such a good thing from the master as to see
myself a governor."
"
Friend Sancho," said the duke at this,
"
the island that I
have promised you is not a moving one, or one that will run
away
;
it has roots so deeply buried in the bowels of the earth
that it will be no easy matter to pluck it up or shift it from
where it is
;
you know as well as I do that there is no sort of
office of any importance that is not obtained by a bribe of some
kind, great or small ; well then, that which I look to receive
for this government is that you go with your master Don Qui-
xote, and bring this memoraljle adventure to a conclusion
;
and
whether you return on Clavileno as quickly as his speed seems
to promise, or adverse fortune brings you back on foot travel-
'
Trov. 222, 236.
^
Prov. 206.
278 DON QUIXOTE.
ling as a pilgrim from hostel to hostel and from inn to inn,
you will always find your island on your return where you left
it, and your islanders with the same eagerness they have
always had to receive you as their governor, and my good-will
will remain the same ; doubt not the truth of this, Senor
Sancho, for that would be grievously wronging my disposition
to serve you."
"
Say no more, seiior," said Sancho
;
"
I am a poor squire
and not equal to carrying so much courtesy
;
let my master
mount ; bandage my eyes and commit me to God's care, and
tell me if I may commend myself to our Lord or call upon the
angels to protect me when we go towering up there."
To this the Trifaldi made answer,
"
Sancho, you may freely
commend yourself to God or whom you will
;
for Malambruno
though an enchanter is a Christian, and works his enchant-
ments with great circumspection, taking very good care not
to fall out with any one."
''
Well then," said Sancho,
"
God and the most holy Trinity
of Gaeta give me help !
"
"
Since the memorable adventure of the fulling mills," said
Don Quixote,
"
I have never seen Sancho in such a fright as
now
;
were I as superstitious as others his abject fear would
cause me some little trepidation of spirit. But come here,
Sancho, for with the leave of these gentles I would say a word
or tAvo to thee in private
;
"
and drawing Sancho aside among
the trees of the gardei> and seizing both his hands he said,
"
Thou seest, brother Sancho, the long journey we have before
us, and God knoAvs when Ave shall return, or what leisure or
opportunities this business Avill allow us ; I wish thee therefore
to retire now to thy chamber, as thoiigh thou Avert going to
fetch something required for the road, and in a trice give thy-
self if it be only five hundred lashes on account of the three
thousand three hundred to which thou art bound ; it Avill be
all to the good, and to make a beginning with a thing is to
have it half finished."
"
By God," said Sancho,
"
but your Avorship must be out of
your senses ! This is like the common saying,
'
You see me
with child, and you want me a Adrgin.' Just as I 'm about
to go sitting on a bare board, your Avorship would have
me score my backside ! ^Indeed, indeed, your Avorship is not
reasonable. Let us be off to shave these duennas ; and on
our return 1 promise on my word to make such haste to wipe
CHAPTER XLI.
279
off all that's due as will satisfy your worship; I can't say
more."
"
Well, I will comfort myself with that promise, my good
Sancho," replied Don Quixote,
"
and 1 believe thou wilt keep
it ; for indeed though stupid thoii art veracious."
"
I
'\\\
not voracious," said Sancho,
"
only peckish
;
l)ut even
if I was a little, still I 'd keep my word."
'
With this they went back to mount (jlaviieno, and as they
were about to do so Don Quixote said,
"
Cover thine eyes,
Sancho, and mount ; for one who sends for us from lands so
far distant can not mean to deceive us for the sake of the paltry
glory to be derived from deceiving persons who trust in him
;
though all should turn out the contrary of what I hope, no
malice will be al)le to dim the glory of having undertaken this
exploit."
"
Let us be off, seiior," said Sancho, "for I have taken the
beards and tears of these ladies deeply to heart, and I shan't
eat a bite to relish it until I have seen them restored to their
former smoothness. Mount, your worship, and l)Iindfold your-
self, for if I am to go on the croup, it is plain the rider in the
saddle must mount first."
''
That is true," said Don Quixote, and, taking a handker-
chief out of his pocket, he begged the Distressed One to
bandage his eyes very carefully
;
but after having them
bandaged he uncovered them again, saying, "If my memory
does not deceive me, I have read in Virgil of the Palladium of
Troy, a wooden horse the Greeks offered to the goddess Pallas,
which was big with armed knights, who were afterwards the
destruction of Troy
;
so it would be as well to see, first of all,
what Clavileiio has in his stomach."
"
There is no occasion," said the Distressed One
;
"
I Avill
be bail for him, and I know that Malambruno has nothing
tricky or treacherous about him
;
you may mount without any
fear, Senor Don Quixote
;
on my head be it if any harm befalls
you."
Don Quixote thought that to say anything further with
regard to his safety would be putting his courage in an un-
favorable light ; and so, without more words, he mounted
Clavileno, and tried the peg, which turned easily
;
and as he
'
Sancho in tlie original mistakes liis master's reridico for a diminutive
of verde, green, and replies,
"
I 'm not green l)nt brown, hut even if I was
a mixture I'd keep n\y word."
280 DON QUIXOTE.
had no stirrups and his legs hung down, he looked like nothing
so much as a figure in some lloman triumph painted or em-
broidered on a Flemish tapestry.
Much against the grain, and very slowly, Sancho proceeded
to mount, and, after settling himself as well as he could on
the croup, found it rather hard and not at all soft, and asked
the duke if it would be })Ossible to oblige him with a pad of
some kind, or a cushion
;
even if it were off the couch of his
lady the duchess, or the bed of one of the pages ; as the
haunches of that horse were more like marble than wood. On
this the Trifaldi ol)served that Clavileiio would not bear any
kind of harness or trappings, and that his liest plan would be
to sit sideways like a woman, as in that way he would not
feel the hardness so much.
Sancho did so, and, bidding them farewell, allowed his eyes
to be bandaged, Imt immediately afterwards uncovered them
again, and looking tenderly and tearfully on those in the
garden, bade them help him in his present strait with plenty
of Paternosters and Ave Marias, that God might provide some
one to say as many for them, whenever they found themselves
in a similar emergency.
At this Don Quixote exclaimed,
"
Art thou on the gallows,
thief, or at thy last moment, to use pitiful entreaties of that
sort? (Cowardly, spiritless creature, art thou not in the very
place the fair Magalona occupied, and from which she descended,
not into the grave, but to become Queen of France ; unless the
histories lie ? And I who am here beside thee, may I not put
myself on a par with the valiant Pierres, who pressed this
very spot that I noAv press ? Cover thine eyes, cover thine
eyes, abject animal, and let not thy fear escape thy lips, at
least, in my presence."
"
Let them blindfold me," said Sancho
;
"
as you won't let
me commend myself or l)e commended to God, is it any
wonder if I am afraid there is a region of devils about here
that will carry us off to Peralvillo ?
"
'
They were then blindfolded, and Don Quixote, finding him-
self settled to his satisfaction, felt for the peg, and the instant
he placed his fingers on it, all the duennas and all Avho stood
by lifted i:p their voices exclaiming,
"
God guide thee, valiant
knight ! God be Avith thee, intrepid squire ! Now, now ye
'
Peralvillo, a small town near Ciiidad Real, where
the Holy Brother-
hood used to execute their prisoners.
CHAPTER XLL 281
go cleaving the air more swiftly than an arrow ! Xow ye begin
to amaze and astonish all who are gazing at you from the earth !
Take care not to Avobble about, valiant 8ancho ! Mind thou
fall not, for thy fall will be worse than that rash youth's who
tried to steer the chariot of his father the Sun
!
"
As Sancho heard the voices, clinging tightly to his master
and winding his arms round him, he said,
"
Seilor, how do they
make out we are going up so high, if their voices reach us here
and they seem to be speaking quite close to us ?
"
"
Don't mind that, Sancho," said Don Quixote ;
"
for as
affairs of this sort and flights like this are out of the common
course of things, you can see and hear as much as you like a
thousand leagues off ; but don't squeeze me so tight or thou
wilt upset ]ne ; and really I know not wdiat thou hast to be
uneasy or frightened at, for I can safely swear I never mounted
a
smoother-going steed all the days of my life
;
one would fancy
we never stirred from one place. Banish fear, my friend, for
indeed everything is going as it ought, and we have the wind
astern."
"
That 's true," said Sancho,
'
for such a strong wind comes
against me on this side, that it seems as if people were blow-
ing on me with a thousand pair of bellows
;
" which was the
case
;
they were puffing at him with a great pair of bellows
;
for the whole adventure was so well planned by the duke, the
duchess, and their majordomo, that nothing was omitted to
make it perfectly successful.
Don Quixote now, feeling the blast, said,
"
Beyond a doubt,
Sancho, we must have already reached the second region of the
air, where the hail and snow are generated ; the thunder, the
lightning, and the thunderbolts are engendered in the third
region, and if we go on ascending at this rate, we shall shortly
plunge into the region of Are, and I know not how to regulate
this peg, so as not to mount up where we shall be burned."
And now they began to warm their faces, from a distance,
with tow that could be easily set on fire and extinguished again,
fixed on the end of a cane. On feeling the heat Sancho said,
"
May I die if we are not already in that fire place, or very
near it, for a good part of my beard has been singed, and I
have a mind, seilor, to uncover and see
whereabouts we are."
"
Do nothing of the kind," said Don Quixote
;
"
remember
the true story of the licentiate Torralva that the devils carried
flying through the air riding on a
stick with his eyes shut
j
282
DON QUIXOTE.
who in twelve hours reached Eome and dismoiuited at Torre
di ISTona, which is a street of the city, and saw the whole sack
and storming and the death of Bourbon, and was back in ]V[ad-
rid the next morning, where he gave an account of all he had
seen
; ' and he said moreover that as he was going through the
air, the devil bade him open his eyes, and he did so, and saw
himself so near the body of the moon, so it seemed to him, that
he could have laid hold of it with his hand, and that he did not
dare to look at the earth lest he should be seized with giddi-
ness. So that, Sancho, it will not do for lis to uncover our-
selves, for he who has us in charge will be responsible for us
;
and perhaps we are gaining an altitude and mounting up to
enable us to descend at one swoop on the Kingdom of Kandy,
as the saker or falcon does on the heron, so as to seize it how-
ever high it may soar
;
and though it seems to us not half an
hour since we left the garden, believe me we must have trav-
elled a great distance."
"
I don't knoAV'^ how that luay be," said Sancho ;
"
all I know
is that if the Senora Magallanes or Magalona was satisfied with
this croup, she could not have been very tender of flesh."
^
.
The duke, the duchess, and all in the garden wore listening
to the conversation of the two heroes, and wei-e beyond meas-
ure amused by it ; and now, desirous of putting a finishing
touch to this rare and well-contrived adventure, they ai)plied
a light to Clavileilo's tail with some tow, and the horse, being
full of squibs and crackers, immediately blew up with a j^ro-
digious noise, and brought Don Quixote and Sancho Panza to
the ground half singed. By this time the bearded band of
duennas, the Trifaldi and all, had vanished from the gai'den,
and those that remained lay stretched on the ground as if in a
swoon. Don Qiiixote and Sancho got up rather shaken, and,
looking about them, were filled Avith amazen.ent at finding
themselves in the same garden from Avhich they had started,
and seeing such a number of people stretched on the ground
;
and their astonishment was increased when at one side of the
garden they perceived a tall lance planted in the ground, and
'
T>T. Eugenio Torralva, tried in l.'>28 at Cm-nca on varions charges of
dealing in magic. One was that lie olaimed to have made the jonrney
from Madriil to Koine in one night riding on a stiek. "Bourbon" is the
Duke who was killed at the taking of Rome bv the Imperialists in May
1527.
^
Sanelio in liis trouble confuses IMagalona with the great Portuguese
navigatt)r.
CHAPTER XLL
288
hanging from it by two cords of green silk a smootli, white
parchment on which there was the following inscription in
large gold letters :
"
The illustrious knight Don Quixote of La
Mancha has, by merely attempting it, finished and concluded
the adventure of the Countess Trifaldi, otherwise called the
Distressed Duenna ; Malambruno is now satisfied on every
point, the chins of the duennas are now smooth and clean, and
King Don Clavigo and Queen Antonomasia in their original
form ; and when the squirely flagellation shall have been com-
pleted, the white dove shall find herself delivered from the
pestiferous gerfalcons that persecute her, and in the arms
of her beloved mate
;
for such is the decree of the sage Mer-
lin, arch-enchanter of enchanters."
As soon as Don Quixote had read the inscription on the
parchment he perceived clearly that it referred to the disen-
chantment of Dulcinea, and returning hearty thanks to Heaven
that he had with so little danger achieved so grand an exploit
as to restore to their former complexion the countenances of
those venerable duennas, now no longer visible, he advanced
towards the duke and duchess, who had not yet come to them-
selves, and taking the duke by the hand he said,
"
Be of good
cheer, worthy sir, be of g(jod cheer
;
it 's nothing at all
;
the
adventure is now over and without any harm done, as the
inscription fixed on this post shows plainly."
The duke came to himself slowly and like one recovering
consciousness after a heavy sleep, and the duchess and all who
had fallen prostrate about the garden did the same, with such
demonstrations of wonder and amazement that they would have
almost persuaded one that what they pretended so adroitly in
jest had happened to them in reality. The duke read the
placard with half-shut eyes, and then ran to embrace Don Qui-
xote Avith open arms, declaring him to be the best knight that
had ever been seen in any age. Sancho kept looking about for
the Distressed One, to see what her face was like Avithout the
beard, and if she was as fair as her elegant person promised
;
but they told him that, the instant Clavileno descended flam-
ing through the air and came to the ground, the whole band of
duennas with the Trifaldi vanished, and that they were already
shaved and without a stump left.
The duchess asked Sancho how he had fared on that long
journey, to which .Sancho replitMl,
"
I felt, sefiora, that we were
flying through the region of fire, as my master told me, and I
284
DON QUIXOTE.
wanted to uncover my eyes for a bit ; but my master, when I
asked leave to uncover myself, would not let me
;
but as I have
a
little bit of curiosity about me, and a desire to know what is
forbidden and kept from me, quietly and without any one see-
ing me 1 drew aside the handkerchief covering my eyes ever so
little, close to my nose, and from underneath looked towards
the earth, and it seemed to me that it was altogether no bigger
than a grain of mustard seed, and that the men walking on it
were little bigger than hazel nuts
;
so you may see how high
we must have got to them."
To this the duchess said,
"
Sancho, my friend, mind Avhat you
are saying ; it seems you could not have seen the earth, but
only the men walking on it ; it is plain that if the earth looked
to you like a grain of mustard seed, and each man like a hazel
nut, one man alone woidd have covered the whole earth."
"
That is true," said Sancho,
"
but for all that I got a
glimpse of a bit of one side of it, and saAV it all."
'<
Take care, Sancho," said the duchess,
''
with a bit of one
side one does not see the whole of what one looks at."
"
I don't understand that way of looking at things," said
Sancho
;
"
I only know that your ladyship will do well to bear
in mind that as we were flying by enchantment so I might
have seen the whole earth and all the men by enchantment,
whatever way I looked ; and if you won't believe this, no more
will you l)elieve that, uncovering myself nearly to the eye-
brows, I saw myself so close to the sky that there was not a
palm and a half between me and it ; and by everything that I
can swear by, seiiora, it is mighty great ! And it so hai)pened
we came by where the seven she-goats arc,' and by God and
upon my soixl, as in my yoiith I was a goatherd in my own
country, as soon as I saw them I felt a longing to be among
them for a little, and if I had not given way to it I think I *d
have burst. So I come and take, and what do I do ? without
saying anything to anybody
,
not even to my master, softly
and quietly I got down from (Jlavileiio and amused myself witli
the goats

which are like violets, like flowers

for nigh
three-quarters of an hour
;
and Clavileno never stirred or moved
from one spot."
"
And while the good Sancho was amusing himself Avith the
goats," said the duke,
''
how did Seiior Don Quixote amuse
himself ?
"
'i.e. tlie I'loiades. ^Literally,
'
staying nutliing to nobody."
CHAPTER XLT. 285
To which Don Quixote replied,
'<
As all these things and
such like occurrences are out of the ordinary course of nature,
it is no wonder that Sancho says what lie does
;
for my own
part I can only say that I did not uncover my eyes either
above or below, nor did I see sky or earth or sea or shore. It
is true I felt that I was passing through the region of the air,
and even that I touched that of fire
;
but that we passed farther
I cannot believe ; for the region of fire being between the
heaven of the moon and the last region of the air, we could not
have reached that heaven where the seven she-goats Sancho
speaks of are without being burned
;
and as we were not burned,
either Sancho is lying or 8ancho is dreaming."
"
I am neither lying nor dreaming," said Sancho
;
^'
only ask
me the tokens of those sanie goats, and you
'11
see by that
whether I 'm telling the truth or not."
"
Tell us them then, Sancho," said the duchess.
"
Two of them," said Sancho,
"
are green, two blood-red, two
blue, and one a mixture of all colors."
"
An odd sort of goat, that," said the duke
;
"
in this earthly
region of ours we have no such colors
;
I mean goats of such
colors."
"
That 's very plain," said Sancho
;
"
of course there must be
a difference between the goats of heaven and the goats of the
earth."
"Tell me, Sancho," said the duke, "did you see any he-goat
among those she-goats ?
"
"
No, sefior," said Sancho
;
'
but I have heard say that none
ever passed the horns of the moon."
They did not care to ask him anything more about his
journey, for they saw he was in the vein to go rambling all
over tlie heavens giving an account of everything that went
on there, without having ever stirred from the gai'den. Such,
in short, was the end of the adventure of the ])istressed
Duenna, which gave the duke and duchess laughing matter not
only for the time being, but for all their lives, and Sancho
something to talk about for ages, if he lived so long
;
but Don
Quixote, coming close to his ear, said to him,
"
Sancho, as you
would have us believe what you saw in heaven, I require you
to believe me as to what I saw in the cave of Montesinos
;
I
say no more."
286 DON QUIXOTE.
CHAPTER XLII.
OF THE COUNSELS WHICH DOX QUIXOTE GAVE SANCHO
PANZA BEFOKK HE SET OUT TO GOVERN THE ISLAND, TO-
GETHEH WITH OTHER WELL-COXSIDERED MATTERS.
The duke and duchess were so well pleased with the success-
ful and droll result of the adventure of the Distressed One,
that they resolved to carry on the joke, seeing what a tit sub-
ject they had to deal with for making it all pass for reality.
So having lai 1 their plans and given instructions to their ser-
vants and vassals how to behave to Sancho in his governiueut
of the promised island, the next day, that following Clavileuo's
flight, the duke told Sancho to prepare and get ready to go and
be governor, for his islanders were already looking out for him
as for the showers of May.
Sancho made him an obeisance, and said,
"
Ever since I
came, down from heaven, and from the top of it beheld the
earth, and saw how little it is, the great desire I had to be a
governor has been partly cooled in me
;
for what is there grand
in being ruler on a grain of inustard seed, or what dignity or
authority in governing half a dozen men about as big as hazel
nuts
;
for, so far as I could see, there were no more on the
whole earth
'/
If your lordship would be so good as to give
me ever so small a bit of heaven, were it no more than half
a league, I 'd rather have it than the best islaml in the world."
"
Take notice, friend Saucho," said the duke,
"
I can not give
a bit of heaven, no not so much as the breadth of my nail, to
any one ; rewards and favors of that sort are reserved for God
alone. What I can give I give you, and that is a real, genuine
island, compact, well-proportioned, and uncommonly fertile and
fruitful, where, if you know how to use your opportunities, you
may, with the help of the world's riches, gain those of heaven."
"
Well then," said Sancho,
"
let the island come
;
and I
'11
try
and be such a governor, that in spite of scoundrels I
'11
go to
heaven ; and it 's not from any craving to quit my own humble
condition or better myself, but from the desiie I have to try
what it tastes like to be a governor."
<'
If you once make trial of it, Sancho," said the duke,
"
you
'11
eat your fingers off after the government,
so sweet a thing is
it to command and be obeyed. Depend upon it when your
CHAPTER XLIL
287
master comes to be emperor (as he will beyond a donl)t from
the course his affairs are taking), it will be no easy matter to
wrest the dignity from him, and he will be sore and sorry at
heart to have been so long without becoming one."
"
Seiior," said Sancho, "it is my belief it's a good thing to
1)6 in command, if it 's only over a drove of cattle."
"May I be buried with you, Sancho,'' said the duke, "but
you know everything
;
I hope you will make as good a gov-
ernor as your sagacity promises, and that is all I have to say
;
and now remember to-morrow is the day you must set out for
the government of the island, and this evening they will pro-
vide you -with the ])roper attire for you to wear, and all things
requisite for your departure."
"
Let them dress me as they like," said Sancho
;
"
however
1 'm dressed I
'11
be Sancho Panza."
"That's true," said the duke; "but one's dress must be
suited to the office or rank one holds
;
for it would not do for
a jurist to dress like a soldier, or a soldier like a priest. You,
Sancho, shall go partly as a lawyer, partly as a captain, for, in
the island I am giving you, arms are needed as much as letters,
and letters as nnich as arms."
"
Of letters I know but little," said Sancho,
"
for I don't even
know the ABC; but it is enough for me to have the Christus^
in my memory to be a good governor. As for arms, I
'11
handle
those they give me till I dro]), and then, God be my help !
"
"
With so good a memory," said the duke,
"
Sancho can not
go wrong in anything."
Here Don Quixote joined them
;
and learning what passed,
and how soon Sancho was to go to his government, he with
the duke's permission took him by the hand, and retired to
his room with him for the purpose of giving hijn advice as to
how he was to demean himself in his office. As soon as they
had entered the chamber he closed the door after him, and
almost by force made Sancho sit down beside him, and in a
quiet tone thus addressed him :
"
I give infinite thanks to
Heaven, friend Sancho, that before I have met with any good
luck, fortune has come forward to meet thee. I who counted
upon my good fortune to discharge the recompense of thy ser-
vices, find myself still waiting for advancement, while thou,
before the time, and contrary to all reasonable expectation,
'
The cross prefixed to the alphabet in schoolbooks ; no saber el Cristtis,
is to know nothing at all.
288 DON QUIXOTE.
seest thyself blessed in the fulfilment of thy desires. Some
will bribe, beg, solicit, rise early, entreat, persist, without at-
taining the object of their suit ; while another comes, and
without knowing why or wherefore, finds himself invested
with the place or office so many have sued for
;
and here it is
that the common saying,
'
There is good luck as well as bad
luck in suits,' applies. Thou, who, to my thinking, art beyond
all doubt a dullard, without early rising or night watching or
taking any trouble, with the mere breath of knight-errantry
that has breathed upon thee, seest thyself without more ado
governor of an island, as though it were a mere matter of
course. This I say, Sanclio, that thou attribute not the favor
thou hast received to thine own merits, but give thanks to
Heaven that disposes matters beneficently, and secondly thanks
to the great power the profession of knight-errantry contains
in itself. With a heart, then, inclined to believe what I have
said to thee, attend, my son, to thy Cato here ' who would
counsel thee and be thy pole-star and guide to direct and pilot
thee to a safe haven out of this stormy sea wherein thou art
about to ingulf thyself
;
for offices and great trusts are noth-
ing else but a mighty gulf of troubles.
"
First of all, my son, thou must fear God, for in the fear of
lam is wisdom, and being wise thou canst not err in aught.
"
Secondly, thou must keej) in view what thou art, striving to
know thyself, the most difficult thing to know that the mind
can imagine. If thou knowest thyself, it will follow thou wilt
not puff thyself up like the frog that strove to make himself as
large as the ox ; if thou dost, the recollection of having kept
pigs in thine own country will serve as the ugly feet for the
wheel of thy folly."
-
"
That 's the truth," said Sancho
;
"
but that was when I was
a bo3^ ; afterwards when I was something more of a man it was
geese I kept, not pigs. But to my thinking that has nothing
to do with it ; for not all who are governors come of a kingly
stock."
"
True," said Don Quixote,
''
and for that reason those who
are not of noble origin should take care that the dignity of
the office they hold be accompanied by a gentle suavity, which
'
i.e. Dionysius Cato, author of the Disticha.
'^
In allusion to the fable that the peacock's pride in his tail is tempered
when he contemplates his ugly feet. In Spanish the expanded tail of the
peacock is called his wheel

rueda.
CHAPTER XLH.
289
wisely managed will save them from the sneers of malice that
no station escapes.
"
Glory in thy humble birth, Sancho, and be not ashamed of
saying thou art peasant-born
;
for when it is seen thou art not
ashamed no one will set himself to
i)ut
thee to the 'blush
;
and
pride thyself rather upon being one of lowly virtue than a lofty
sinner. Countless are they who, born of inean parentage, have
risen to the highest dignities, pontifical and imperial, and of the
truth of this I could give thee instances enough to weary thee.
''
Remember, Sancho, if thou make virtue thy aim, and take
a pride in doing virtuous actions, thou wilt have no cause to
envy those who are born princes and lords, for blood is an
inheritance, but virtue an acquisition,' and virtue has in itself
a worth that blood does not possess.
"
This being so, if perchance any one of thy kinsfolk should
come to see thee when thou art in thine island, thou art not to
repel or slight him, but on the contrary to Avelcome him, enter-
tain him, and make much of him ; for in so doing thou Avilt be
approved of Heaven (which is not pleased that any should
despise what it hath made), and wilt comply with the laws of
well-ordered nature.
"
If thou carriest thy wife with thee (and it is not Avell for
those that administer governments to be long without their
wives), teach and instruct her, and strive to smooth down Inn'
natural roughness
;
for all that may be gained by a wise go\'-
ernor may be lost and wasted by a boorish stupid Avife.
"
If perchance thou art left a widower

a thing which may

happen

and in virtue of thy office seekest a consort of higher

degree, choose not one to serve thee for a hook, or for a fishing-
rod, or for the hood of thy
'
won't have it
;
'
-
for verily, I tell
thee, for all the judge's wife receives, the husband Avill lie held
accountable at the general calling to account; where he will
have to repay in death fourfold, items that in life he regarded
as naught.
''
Never go by arbitrary law, which is so much favored by
ignorant men who plume themselves on cleverness.
"
Let the tears of the poor man find with thee more com-
passion, but not more justice, than the pleadings of the rich.
'Prov. 213.
*Prov. 38. An allusion to the popular joke against tlie begging friars,
who were said to make a pretence of refusing gifts ; hinting, however,
that they might be thrown into their hood.
Vol. II.

19
290 DON QUIXOTE.
"
Strive to lay bare the truth, as well ainid the promises and
presents of the rich man, as amid the sobs and entreaties of
the poor.
"
When equity may and should be brought into play, press
not the utmost rigor of the law against the guilty ; for the
reputation of the stern judge stands not higher than that of
the compassionate.
"
If perchance thou permittest the staff of justice to swerve,
let it be not by the weight of a gift, but by that of mercy.
"
If it should happen to thee to give judgment in the cause
of one who is thine enemy, turn thy thoughts away from thy
injury and fix them on the justice of the case.
"
Let not thine own passion blind thee in another man's
cause ; for the errors thou wilt thus commit will be most fre-
quently irremediable
;
or if not, only to be remedied at the ex-
pense of thy good name and fortune.
"
If an}^ handsome woman come to seek justice of thee, turn
away thine eyes from her tears and thine eai's from her lamenta-
tions, and consider deliberately the merits of her demand, if
thou wouldst not have thy reason swept away by her weeping,
and th}^ rectitude by her sighs.
"
Abuse not by word him whom thou hast to punish in deed,
foi' tlie pain of punishment is enough for the unfortunate with-
out the addition of thine objurgations.
"
Bear in mind that the culprit who comes under thy juris-
diction is but a miserable nian subject to all the propensities
of our depraved nature, and so far as may be in thy power
show th3'self lenient and forbearing ; for though the attributes
of God are all ecpial, to our eyes that of mercy is brighter and
loftier than that of justice.
"
If
thou followest these precepts and rules, Sancho, thy
days will be long, thy fame eternal, thy reward abundant, thy
felicity unutterable
;
thou wilt marry thy children as thou
wouldst ; they and thy grandchildren will bear titles
;
thou
wilt live in peace and concord with all men
;
and, when life
draws to a close, death will come to thee in calm and ripe old
age, and the light and loving hands of thy great-grandchildren
will close thine eyes.
"What I have thus far addressed to thee are instructions
for the adornment of thy mind ; listen now to those which
tend to that of the body."
CHAPTER XLHL 291
CHAPTER
XLIII.
OF TIIK SECOND SET OF COUNSELS BON QUIXOTE CxAVE
SANCHO PANZA.
Who, hearing the foregoing discourse of Don Quixote, would
not have set him down for a person of great good sense and
greater rectitude of purpose ? lUit, as has been frequently
observed in the course of this great liistory, he only talked
nonsense when he touched on chivalry, and in discussing all
other sidijects showed that he had a clear and unbiassed under-
standing
;
so that at every turn his acts gave the lie to his
intellect, and his intellect to his acts
;
l)ut in the case of these
second counsels that he gave Sancho he showed himself to
have a lively turn of humor, and displayed conspicuously his
wisdom, and also his folly.
Sancho listened to him with the deepest attention, and en-
deavored to fix his counsels in his memory, like one who
meant to follow them and by their means bring the full
promise of his government to a happy issue. Don Quixote,
then, went on to say :
"
With regard to the mode in which thou shouldst govern
thy person and thy house, Sancho, the first charge I have to
give thee is to be clean, and to cut thy nails, not letting them
grow as some do, whose ignorance makes them fancy that long
nails are an ornament to their hands, as if those excrescences
they neglect to cut were nails, and not the talons of a lizard-
catching kestrel

a filthy and unnatural abuse.

"
Go not ungirt and loose, Sancho ;
for disordered attire is a
sign of an unstable mind, unless indeed the slovenliness and
slackness is to be set down to craft, as was the common
opinion in the case of Julius Caesar.^
"
Ascertain cautiously Avhat thy office may be worth
;
and if
it will allow thee to give liveries to thy servants, give them
respectable and serviceable, rather than showy and gay ones,
and divide them between thy servants and the poor
;
that is
to say, if thou canst clothe six pages, clothe three and three
poor men, and thus thou wilt have pages for heaven and pages
for earth
;
the vainglorious never think of this new mode of
giving liveries.
'
Suetonius : Jul. Cas. c. 45.
292 DON QUIXOTE.
"
Eat not garlic nor onions, lest tliey find ont thy boorish
origin by the smell ; walk slowly and speak deliberately, but
not in such a way as to make it seem thou art listening to thy-
self
;
for all affectation is bad.'
i' Dine sparingly and sup more sparingly still ;
"^
for the health
of the whole body is forged in the workshop of the stomach.
"
Be temperate in drinking, bearing in mind that wine in
excess keeps neither secrets nor promises.
"
Take care, Sancho, not to chew on both sides, and not to
eruct in anybody's presence."
"
Eruct !
''
said Hancho
;
"
I don't know what that means."
"
To eruct, Sancho," said Don Quixote,
"
means to belch,
aud tliat is one of the filthiest words in the Spanish language,
though a very expressive one
;
and therefore nice folk have had
recoui'se to the Latin, and instead of belch say eruct, and instead
of belches say eructations
;
and if some do not understand these
terms it matters little, for custom will bring them into use in the
course of time, so that they will be readily understood
;
that is
the way a language is enriched
;
custom and the public are all-
powerful there."
^
"
In truth, senor," said Sancho,
"
one of the counsels and
cautions I mean to bear in mind shall be this, not to belch, for
I 'm constantly doing it."
"
Eruct, Sancho, not belch," said Don Quixote.
"
Eruct, I shall say henceforth, and I swear not to forget
it," said Sancho.
"
Likewise, Sancho," said Don Quixote,
"
thou must not
mingle such a quantity of proverbs in thy discourse as thou
dost ; for though proverbs are short maxims, thou dost drag
them in so often by the head and shoulders that they savor
more of nonsense than of maxims."
"
God alone can cure that," said Sancho
;
"
for I have more
proverbs in me than a book, and when I speak they come so
thick together into my mouth that they fall to fighting among
themselves to get out ; that 's Avhy my tongue lets fly the first
that come, though they may not be pat to the purpose. But
I
'11
take care henceforward to use such as befit the dignity of
my office
;
for
'
in a house where there 's plenty, supper is soon

Prov. 3.
2
p,.^,^,_
54_
'That curious sixtoenth-centurv nmnual of tlio mannors of good society,
the Galateo Espahol of Lucas Gracian Dantisco, very probably suggested
this hint.
CHAPTER XLIII.
293
cooked,' and
'
he who binds does not wrangle,' and
'
the bell-
ringer 's in a safe berth/ and
'
giving and keeping require
brains.'
"
^
"
That 's it, Sancho !
"
said Don Quixote
;
<<
pack, tack, string
proverbs together
;
nobody is hindering thee !
'
My mother beats
me, and I go on with my tricks.' " I am bidding thee avoid
proverbs, and here in a second thou hast shot out a
whole
litany of them, which have as much to do with what we are
talking about as
'
over the hills of IJbeda.'
^
Mind, Sancho, I
do not say that a proverb aptly brought in is objectionable
;
but
to pile up and string together proverbs at random makes con-
versation dull and vulgar.
"
When thou ridest on horseliack, do not go lolling with thy
body on the back of the saddle, nor carry thy legs stiff or stick-
ing out from the horse's belly, nor yet sit so loosely that one
would suppose thou wert on I)ai)ple ;
for the seat on a horse
makes gentlemen of some and grooms of others.
"
Be moderate in thy sleep
;
for he who does not rise early
does not get the benefit of the day ; and remember, Sancho,
diligence is the mother of good fortune,'' and indolence, its
opposite, never yet attained the object of an honest and:)ition.
"
The last counsel I will give thee now, though it does not
tend to bodily improvement, I would have thee carry carefully
in thy memory, for I believe it will be no less useful to thee
than those I have given thee already, and it is this
never
engage in a dispute about families, at least in the way of com-
paring them one with another
;
for necessarily one of those
compared will be better than the other, and thou wilt be hated
by the one thou hast dis])araged, and get nothing in any shape
from the one th(ju hast exalted.
"Thy attire shall be hose of full length, a long jerkin, and
a cloak a trifle longer
;
loose breeches by no means, for they
are becoming neither for gentlenien nor for governors.
"
For the present, Sancho, this is all that has occurred to me
to advise thee
;
as time goes by and occasions arise my instruc-
tions shall follow, if thou take care to let me know how thou
art circumstanced."
"
Senor," said Sancho,
"
I see well enough that all these
things your worship has said to me are good, holy, and profit-
able
;
but what use Avill they be to me if I don't remember one
'
Provs. 41, 74, 200, and 71.
^
prov. 45.
n^rov. 234.
"Trov. 77.
294 DON QUIXOTE.
of them ? To be sure that about not letting my nails grow,
and marrying again if I have the chance, Aviil not slip out of
my
head
;
but all that other hash, muddle, and jumble

I
don't and can't recollect any more of it than of last year's
clouds ; so it must be given me in writing
;
for though I can't
either read or write, I
'11
give it to my confessor to drive it into
me and remind me of it whenever it is necessary."
"Ah, sinner that I am!" said Don Quixote, '-Ikiw liad it
looks in governors not to know how to read or write ; for let
me tell thee, Sancho, when a man knows not how to read, or
is left-handed, it argues one of two things
;
eitluM- that he Avas
the son of exceedingl}- mean and lowly parents, or that he
himself was so incorrigilde and ill-conditioned that neither good
company nor good teaching could make any im])ression on him.
It is a great defect that thou laborest under, and therefore I
would have thee learn at any rate to sign thy name.'"
"I can sign my name well enough," said Sancho,
"
for when
I was steward of the brotherhood in my village I learned to
make certain letters, like the marks on bales of goods, which
they told me made out my name. Besides I can pretend my
right hand is disabled and make some one else sign for me, for
<
there "s a remedy for everything except death
;
'
^
and as I shall
be in command and hold the staff, I can do as I like ; moreover,
'
he who has the alcalde for his father
,' ^
and I
'11
be gov-
ernor, and that 's higher than alcalde. Only come and see
!
Let them make light of me and abuse me
;
'
they
'11
come for
wool and go back shorn
;'
^ '
whom God loves, his house is sweet
to him
;
'
* '
the silly sayings of the rich pass for saws in the
world
;
' ^
and as I
'11
be rich, being a governor, and at the same
time generous, as I mean to be, no fault will be seen in me.
'
Only make yourself honey and the flies will suck you
;
' 'as
much as thou hast so nnich art thou worth,' as my grandmother
used to say
;
and
'
thou canst have no revenge of a man of sul>
stance.' "
^
"
Oh, God's curse upon thee, Sancho I
"
here exclaimed Don
Quixote ;
"
sixty thousand devils fly away with thee and thy
'
Prov. 146.
-
Trov. 8. Segtiro vn d. jincio

''
srocs into court witli iin casv miiiil."
3
Prov. 124.
*
Prov. 87. There is sonio uncertainty about this proverb; whether it
is "his house is sweet to him," or
"
his liouse knows it," or,
"
his liuntins:
(caza) is successfiil." In tlie text of tlu' early editions it is in tlie lirsl
form. Ilartzenlniscli prefers the last.
*
Prov. 205.

Provs. KV.t,
221, ami IC.
CHAPTER XLIII. 295
proverbs ! For the last hour thou hast been stringing them
together and inflicting the pangs of torture on me with every
one of them. Those
proverbs will bring thee to the gallows
one day, I promise thee
;
thy subjects will take the government
from thee, or there will be revolts among them, all because of
them. Tell me, where dost thou pick them up, thou booby ?
How dost thou apply them, thou blockhead ? For with me,
to utter one and make it a])ply properly, I have to sweat and
labor as if I were digging."
"
By God, master mine," said Sancho, ''your worship is mak-
ing a fuss about very little. Why the devil should you be vexed
if I make use of what is my own ? And I have got nothing
else, nor any other stock in trade except proverbs and more
proverbs ; and here are four just this instant come into my
head, pat to the purpose and like })ears in a l:)askct
;
l)ut I won't
repeat them, for
'
Sage silence is called Sancho.'
"
'
'That, Sancho, thou art not," said Don Quixote
;
"
for not
only art thou not sage silence, but thou art pestilent prate and
perversity
;
still I would like to know what four proverbs have
just now come into thy memory, for I have been turning over
mine own

and it is a good one

and not one occurs to me."

"
What can be better," said Sancho,
"
than
'
never put thy
thumbs between two back teeth;' and 'to
^''
(jct out
of
iin/
house'' and
"
w/iaf do i/otc ivfuU vifk rii)/
wife?''
there is no
answer
;
'
and
'
whether the pitcher hits the stone, or the stone
the pitcher, it 's a bad business for the pitcher
;
'
^
all which lit
to a hair ? For no one should quarrel with his governor, or
him in authority over him, because he will come off the worst,
as he does who puts his finger between two back teeth, and if
they are not back teeth it makes no difference, so long as they
are teeth
;
and to whatever the governor may say there 's no
answer, any more than to
'
get out of my house
'
and
'
what do
you want with my wife
?
' and then, as for that about the stone
and the pitcher, a blind man could see that. So that he who
sees the mote in another's eye had need to see the beam in his
own, that it be not said of himself,
'
the dead woman Avas
frightened at the one with her throat cut
;
'
and your worship
knows well that the fool knows more in his own house than
the wise man in another's."
^
'
Prov. 214. Possibly a corruption of santo
"holy;" another, and
perhaps the older and more correct form, has
"
sage,"
"
prudent." Garay
gives it as in the text.
2
Frovs. 1-12, 42, and 34.
^
Trovs. 140, 143,
and 43.
&
296 DON QUIXOTE.
^'
Nay, Sancho," said Don Quixote,
"
the fool knows nothing,
either in his own house or in anybody else's, for no wise struct-
ure of any sort can stand on a foundation of folly ; but let
us say no more about it, Sancho, for if thou governest badly,
thine will be the fault and mine the shame ; but I comfort
myself with having done my duty in advising thee as earnestly
and as wisely as I could ; and thus I am released from my
obligations and my pj'omise. God guide thee, Sancho, and
govern thee in thy government, and deliver me frcni the mis-
giving I have that thou wilt turn the whole island upside
down, a thing I might prevent by explaining to the duke what
thou art and telling him that all that fat little person of thine
is nothing else but a sack full of proverbs and sauciness."
"
Senor," said Sancho,
"
if your worship thinks I 'm not fit
for this government, I give it up on the s})()t; for the mere
l)lack of the nail of my soul is dearer to me than my whole
body ; and I can live just as wel], simple Sancho, on bread and
onions, as governor, on partridges and capons ; and what 's
more, while we're asleep we're all equal,' great and small,
rich and poor. I^>ut if your worsldp looks into it, you will see
it was your worship alone that put me on to this business of
governing ; for I know no more about the government of islands
than a buzzard
;
and if there 's any reason to think that be-
cause of my being a governor the devil will get hold of me, I 'd
rather go Sancho to heaven than go\ernor to hell."
"
By God, Sancho," said Don Quixote,
"
for those last words
thou hast uttered alone, I consider thou deservest to be gov-
ernor of a thousand islands. Thou hast good natural instincts,
without which no knowledge is worth paiything ; commend th}'-
self to God, and try not to swerve in the pursuit of thy main
object; I mean, always make it thy aim and fixed purpose to
do right in all matters that come before thee, for Heaven always
helps good intentions ; and now let us go to dinner, for I think
my lord and lady are waiting for us."
Prov. 92;
CHAPTER XLIV.
297
CHAPTER XLIV.
HOW SAlSrCHO PANZA WAS CONDUCTED TO HIS GOVERNMENT,
AND OF THE STKANGE ADVENTURE THAT BEFELL DON
QUIXOTE IN THE CASTLE.
It is stated, tliey say, in the true original of this histoiy,
tliat wlieii Citl Ilaniet came to write tliis chapter, his inter-
preter did not translate it as he wrote it
^

that is, as a kind

of complaint the Moor made against himself for having taken
in hand a story so dry and of so little variety as this of Don
Quixote, for he found himself forced to speak j^erpetually of
him and Sancho, without venturing to indulge in digressions
and episodes more serious and more interesting. He said, too,
that to go on, mind, hand, and pen always restricted to writing
npon one single subject, and speaking through the mouths of
a few characters, was intolerable drudgery, the result of which
was never equal to the author's labor, and that to avoid this
he had in the First Part availed himself of the device of
novels, like
"
The Ill-advised Curiosity
"
and
"
The Captive Cap-
tain,'' which stand, as it were, apart from the story
;
the others
that are given there being incidents which occurred to Don
Quixote himself and could not be omitted. He also thought,
he says, that many, engrossed by the interest attaching to the
exploits of Don Quixote, would take none in the novels, and
pass them over hastily or impatiently Avithout noticing the ele-
gance and art of their composition, which would be very mani-
fest were they published by themselves and not as mere
adjuncts to the crazes of Don Quixote or the simplicities of
Sancho. Therefore in this Second Part he thought it best not
to insert novels, either separate or interwoven, but only epi-
sodes, something like them, arising out of the circumstances
the facts present ; and even these sparingly, and with no more
words than suffice to make them plain ; and as he confines and
restricts himself to the narrow limits of the narrative, though
he has ability, capacity, and brains enough to deal with the
whole universe, he requests that his labors may not be despised,
and that credit be given him, not for what he writes, but for
'
The original bringing a charge of misinterpretation against its transla-
tor, is a confusion of ideas that it would not be easy to match. With
regard to Cid Hamet's apology, see Introduction,
p.
63.
298 DON QUIXOTE.
what he has refrained from writing
;
and so he goes on witli
his story, saying tliat the day Don Quixote gave the counsels
to Sancho, the same afternoon after dinner he handed them to
him in writing so that he might get sjme one to read them to
him. They had scarcely, however, been given to him when he
let them drop, and they fell into the hands of the dnke, Avho
showed them to the duchess, and they were both amazed
afresh at the madness and wit of Don Quixote. To carry on
the joke, then, the same evening they despatched Sancho with
a large following to the village that was to serve him for an
island. It happened that the person Avho had him in charge
was a majordomo of the duke's, a man of great discretion and
hnnior

and there can be no humor without discretion

and
the same who played the part of the Countess Trifaldi in the
comical way that has been already described ; and thus quali-
fied, and instructed by his master and mistress as to how to
deal with Sancho, lie carried out their scheme admirably. Now
it came to ])ass that as soon as Sancho saw this majordomo he
seemed in his features to recognize those of the Trifaldi, and
turning to his master, he said to him,
"
Seiior, either the devil
will carry me oif, here on this spot, righteous and believing, or
your worship will own to me that the face of this majordomo
of the duke's here is the very face of the Distressed One."
Don Quixote regarded the majordomo attentively, and hav-
ing done so, said to Sancho,
"
There is no reason why the devil
should carry thee off, Sancho, either righteous or believing

and what thou meanest by that I know not ;

^
the face of the
Distressed One is that of the majordomo, but for all that the
majordomo is not the Distressed One
;
for his being so would
involve a mighty contradiction
;
but this is not the time for
going into questions of the sort, which would be involving our-
selves in an inextricable labyrinth. Believe me, my friend,
we must pray earnestly to our Lord that he deliver us both from
wicked wizards and enchanters."
"
It is no joke, seiior," said Sancho,
"
for before this I heard
him speak, and it seemed exactly as if the voice of the Trifaldi
was sounding in my ears. Well, I
'11
hold my peace
;
but I
'11
take care to be on the look-out henceforth for any sign that
may be seen to confirm or do away with this suspicion."
'
There is, in fact, some difference of opinion as to the meaning of the
phrase. "Yha Academjj Dictionary gives
"
instantly
"

"on the spot;"

Covarrubias
"
suddenly."
CHAPTER XLIV. 299
"
Thou wilt do well, Sanclio," said Don Quixote,
"
and thou
wilt let me know all thou discoverest on the subject, and all
that befalls thee in thy government."
Sancho at last set out attended by a great number of people.
He was dressed in the garb of a lawyer, with a gaban of tawny
watered camlet over all and a montera cap of the same
material, and mounted a la gineta upon a mule. ]^)ehind him,
in accordance with the duke's orders, followed Dapple with
brand new ass-trappings and ornaments of silk, and from time
to time Sancho turned round to look at his ass, so well pleased
to have him with him that he would not have changed places
with the Emperor of Germany. On taking leave he kissed
the hands of the duke and duchess and got his master's bless-
ing, which Don Quixote gave him with tears, and he received
blubbering. Let worthy Sancho go in peace, and good luck to
him. Gentle Reader
;
and look out for two bushels of laughter,
which the account of how he behaved himself in office will
give thee. In the meantime turn thy attention to what hap-
pened to his master the sajue night, and if thou dost not laugh
thereat, at any rate thou wilt stretch thy mouth with a grin
;
for Don Quixote's adventures must l)e honored either with
wonder or with laughter.
It is recorded, then, that as soon as Sancho had gone, Don
Quixote felt his loneliness, and had it been possible for him to
revoke the mandate and take away the government from him,
he would have done so. The duchess observed his dejection
and asked him why he was melancholy
;
because, she said, if
it was for the loss of Sancho, there were squires, duennas, and
damsels in her house who would wait upon him to his full
satisfaction.
"The truth is, seiiora," replied Don Quixote, "that I do feel
the loss of Sancho
;
but that is not the main cause of my look-
ing sad ; and of all the offers your excellence makes me, I
accept only the good-will with which they are made, and as to
the remainder I entreat of your excellence to permit and allow
me alone to wait upon myself in my chamber."
"
Indeed, Senor Don Quixote," said the duchess,
"
that must
not be ; four of my damsels, as beautiful as flowers, shall wait
upon you."
"
To me," said Don Quixote,
"
they will not be flowers, but
thorns to pierce my heart. They, or anything like them,
shall as soon enter my chamber as fly. If your highness
300 DON QUIXOTE.
wishes to gratify me still further, though I deserve it not,
permit me to please myself, and wait upon myself in my own
room
;
for I place a barrier between my inclinations and my
virtue, and I do not wish to break this rule through the gener-
osity your highness is disposed to display towards me
;
and, in
short, I will sleep in my clothes, sooner than allow any one
to undress me."
"
Say no more, Senor Don Quixote, say no more," said the
duchess
;
"
I assure you I will give orders that not even a fly,
not to say a damsel, shall enter your home. I am not the one
to undermine the propriety of Sell or Don Quixote, for it strikes
me that among his many virtues the one that is pre-eminent is
that of modesty. Your worship may undress and dress in
private and in your own way, as you please and when you
please, for there will be no one to hinder you
;
and in your
chamber you will find all the utensils requisite to supply the
wants of one who sleeps with his door locked, to the end that
no natural needs compel you to open it. May the great
Dulcinea del Toboso live a thousand years, and may her fame
extend all over the surface of the globe, for she deserves to be
loved by a knight so valiant and so virtuous ; and may kind
Heaven infuse zeal into the heart of our governor Sancho Panza
to finish off his discipline speedily, so that the world may once
more enjoy the beauty of so grand a lady."'
To which Don Quixote replied,
"
Your liighness has sjioken
like what you are ; from the mouth of a noble lady nothing
bad can come
;
and Dulcinea will be more fortunate, and better
known to the world by the praise of your higlmess than by all
the eulogies the greatest orators on earth could bestow upon
her."
"
Well, well, Senor Don Quixote," said the duchess,
"
it is
nearly supper-time, and the duke is probably waiting
;
come,
let us go to supper, and retire to rest early, for the journey
you made yesterday from Kandy was not such a short one but
that it must have caused you some fatigue."
''
I feel none, senora," said Don Quixote,
"
for I would go so
far as to swear to your excellence that in all my life I never
mounted a quieter beast, or a pleasanter paced one, than
Clavileiio ; and I don't know what could have induced Malam-
bruno to discard a steed so swift and so gentle, and burn it so
recklessly as he did."
''
Probably," said the duchess,
"
repenting of the evil he had
CHAPTER XLIV. 801
done to the Trifakli and company, and others, and the crimes
he jnust have committed as a wizartl and enchanter, he resolved
to make away with all the instruments of his craft ; and so
burned Clavileiio as the chief one, and that which mainly kept
him restless, wandering from land to land ; and by its ashes
and the trophy of the placard the valor of the great Don
Quixote of La Mancha is established forever."
Don Quixote renewed his thanks to the duchess
;
and having
supped, retired to his chamber alone, refusing to allow any one
to enter with him to wait on him, such was his fear of encoun-
tering temptations that might lead or drive him to forget his
chaste fidelity to his lady Dulcinea ; for he had always present
to his mind the virtue of Amadis, that flower and mirror of
knights-errant. He locked the door behind him, and by the
light of two Avax candles undressed himself, but as he was
taking off his stockings
O
disaster unworthy of such a per-
sonage! there came a burst, not of sighs, or anything bely-
ing his delicacy or good- breeding, but of some two dozen
stitches in one of his stockings, that made it look like a
window-lattice. The worthy gentleman Avas beyond measure
distressed, and just then he would have given an ounce of
silver to have had half a drachm of green silk there ; I say
green silk, because the stockings were green.
Here Cid Hamet exclaimed as he was writing,
"
poverty,
poverty ! I know not what could have possessed the great
Cordovan poet to call thee
'
holy gift ungratefully received.'
'
Although a Moor, I know well enough from the intercourse I
have had with Christians that holiness consists in charity,
humility, faith, obedience, and poverty ; but for all that, I say
he must have a great deal of godliness who can find any satis-
faction in being poor ; unless, indeed, it be the kind of poverty
one of the greatest saints refers to, saying,
'
possess all things
as though ye possessed them not
;
'
"^
which is Avhat they call
poverty in spirit. But thou, that other poverty

for it is of
thee I am speaking now

why dost thou love to fall out with

' "
O vida segura la mansa pobreza,
Dadiva santa desagradeoida."
Jt'an de Mkna, El Laherinio^ copla 227.
I suspect there is a touch of malice in the words "the great Cordovan
poet." To hear any other poet but Gongora so described would have
made a (rongorist foam at the mouth.
^
Cid Hamet has mixed up two passages

1 Cor. vii.
30, and 2 Cor.
vi. 10.
302 DON QUIXOTE.
'
gentlemen and men of good birth more than with other people ?
Wliy dost thou compel them to smear the cracks in their shoes,
and to have the buttons of their coats, one silk, another hair,
and another glass ? Why must their ruffs be always crinkled
like endive leaves, and not crimped with a crimping iron ?
"
(From this we may perceive the antiquity of starch and
crimped ruffs.) Then he goes on :
"
Poor gentleman of good
family ! always cockering up his honor, dining miserably and
in secret, and making a hypocrite of the toothpick with which
he sallies out into the street after eating nothing to oblige him
to use it ! Poor fellow, I say, with his nervous honor, fancy-
ing they perceive a league off the patch on his shoe, the
sweat-stains on his hat, the shabbiness of his cloak, and the
hunger of his stomach !
"
^
All this was brought home to Don Quixote by the bursting
of his stitches ; however, he comforted himself on perceiving
that Sancho had left behind a pair of travelling boots, which
he resolved to wear the next day. At last he went to bed, out
of spirits and heavy at heart, as nuu^h because he missed
Sancho as because of the irrei)arable disaster to his stockings,
the stitches of which he would have even taken up Avith silk
of another color, which is one of the greatest signs of poverty
a
gentleman can show in the course of his never-failing em-
barrassments. He put out the candles ; but the night was
warm and he could not slee}) ; he rose from his bed and opened
slightly a grated window that looked out on a beautiful garden,
and as he did so he perceived and heard people walking and
talking in the garden. He set himself to listen attentively,
and those below raised their voices so that he could hear these
words
:
"
Urge me not to sing, Emerencia, for thou knowest that
ever since this stranger entered the castle and my eyes beheld
him, I cannot sing but only weep ; besides my lady is a light
rather than a heavy sleeper, and I would not for all the wealth
of the world that she found us here; and even if she were
asleep and did not
weaken, ni}^ singing would be in vain, if this
strange ^Eneas, who has come into my neighborhood to flout
me, sleeps on and Avakens not to hear it."
"Heed not that, dear Altisidora," replied a voice; "the
'
The straits of the starvinfr hidalgo were a favorite theme Mith the nov-
elists anil dramatists of the time. The diflferenee of the treatment of the
suhjeet by the three good humorists, Mendoza in Lazarillo de Toi'mes^
Cervantes here, and Quevedo in the G)-(ui Tacano^ is very striking.
CHAPTER XLIV.
303
duchess is no doubt asleep, and everybody in the house save
the lord of thy heart and disturber of thy soul; for just now
I perceived him open the grated window of his chamber, so he
must be awake ; sing, my poor sufferer, in a low sweet tone
to the accompaniment of thy harp
;
and even if the duchess
hears us we can lay the blame on the heat of the night."
"
That is not the point, Emerencia." replied Altisidora,
"
it
is that I would not that my singing should lay bare my heart,
and that I should be thought a light and wanton maiden by
those who know not the mighty yjower of love; but come Avhat
may ; better a blush on the cheek than a sore in the heart ;
"
^
and here a harp softly touched made itself heard. As he
listened to all this Don Quixote was in a state of breathless
amazement, for immediately the countless adventures like
this, with windows, gratings, gardens, serenades, love-makings,
and languishings, that he had read of in his trashy books of
chivalry, came to his mind. He at once concluded that some
damsel of the duchess's was in love with him, and that her
modesty forced her to keep her passion secret. He trembled
lest he should fall, and made an inward resolution not to yield
;
and commending himself Avith all his might and soul to his
lady
Dulcinea he made up his inind to listen to the music
;
and to let them know he was there he gave a pretended sneeze,
at which the damsels were not a little delighted, for all they
wanted was that Don Quixote should hear them. So having
tuned the harp, Altisidora, running her hand across the strings,
began this ballad
:
thou that art above in bed.
Between the holland sheets,
A-lying there from night till morn,
With outstretched legs asleep
;
^
thou, most valiant knight of all
The famed Manchegan breed,
Of purity and virtue more
Than gold of Araby
;
'
Prov. 242.
^
Sht'lton in a characteristic note apologizes for this ballail and that in
answer to it in chapter xlvi. by snying that
"
the verses are made to bee
scurvy on purpose by the author, so lie observes neyther verse nor rime."
They are, of course, burlesque ballads, and the rhyme is the assonant
which I have endeavored to imitate.
304
J^Oy
QUIXOTE.
Give
ear unto a
suffering
maid,
Well-grown
but
evil-starr'cl,
For those tAvo suns of thine have lit
A fire
within her heart.
Adventures
seeking
thou
dost rove,
To others
bringing
woe
;
Thou
scatterest
wounds,
but, ah, the balm
To
heal them
dost
\,ithhold
'.
Say,
valiant
youth, and so may God
Thy
enterprises
speed,
Didst thou the light mid Libya's
sands
Or Jaca's
rocks
first see ?
Did scaly
serpents
give thee suck ?
Who
nursed thee
when a babe ?
Wert
cradled in the forest
rude,
Or
gloomy
mountain cave ?
O
Dulcinea may be proud,
That pluiin)
and lusty
maid
;
For she
alone hath had the power
A
tiger
fierce to tarae.
And she for this shall
famous be
From Tagus to Jarama,
From
]Manzanares
to Genii,
From
Duero to Arlanza.
Fain
would I change with her, and give
A
petticoat to boot,
The best and liravest
tltat I have,
All
trimmed
with gold galloon.
for to be the happy
fair
Thy
mighty arms
enfold.
Or
even sit beside thy bed
And
scratch
thy dusty poll
!
CHAPTER
XLIV.
B05
I rave,

to favors such as these

Unworthy to aspire
;
Thy
feet to tickle were enough
For one so mean as I.
What caps, what slippers
silver-laced,
Would I on thee bestow !
What
damask
breeches make for thee
;
What
line long holland cloaks !
And I would give thee
pearls that
should
As big as
oak-galls show
;
So matchless big that each might
well
Be called the great
"
Alone."
^
Manchegan
Nero, look not down
From thy
Tar]ieian Kock
Upon this burning heart,
nor add
The
fuel of thy
wrath.
A virgin soft and young am I,
Not yet
iilteen years old
;
(I 'm oidy
three months past
fourteen,
I swear upon my soul).
I hobble not nor do I limp.
All blemish I 'm
without,
And as I walk my lily locks
Are trailing on the
ground.
And though my nose be rather flat,
And though my mouth be wide.
My
teeth like topazes
exalt
My beauty to the sky.
Thou
knowest that my voice is sweet,
That is if thou dost hear
;
And I am
moulded in a
form
Somewhat
below
the mean.
'
One of the pearls of the
Spanish
crown was called La Sola, being un-
matched for size.
Vol. II.
20
306 DON QUIXOTE.
These charms, and many more, are thine,
Spoils to thy spear and bow all
;
A damsel of this honse am I,
By name Altisidora.
Here the lay of the heart-stricken Altisidora came to an
end, while the warmly wooed Don Quixote began to feel alarm
;
and with a deep sigh he said to himself,
"
O that I should be
such an unlucky knight that no damsel can set eyes on me but
falls in love with me ! that the peerless Dulcinea should be
so unfortunate that they cannot let her enjoy my incomparable
constancy in peace ! What would ye with her, ye queens ?
Why do ye persecute her, ye empresses ? Why do ye pursue
her, ye virgins of from fourteen to fifteen ? Leave the iin-
liappy being to triumph, rejoice and glory in the lot love has
been pleased to bestow upon her in surrendering my heart and
yielding up my soul to her. Ye love-smitten host, know that
to Dulcinea only I am dough and sugar-paste, flint to all
others
;
for her I am honey, for you aloes. For me Dulcinea
alone is beautiful, wise, virtuous, graceful, and high-bred, and
all others are ill-favored, foolish, light, and low-born. Nature
sent me into the world to be hers and no other's
;
Altisidora
may weep or sing, the lady for whose sake tliey belabored me
in the castle of the enchanted Moor may give way to despair,
but I must be Dulcinea's, boiled or roast, pure, courteous, and
chaste, in spite of all the magic-working powers on earth."
And with that he shut the window with a bang, and, as much
out of temper and out of sorts as if some great misfortune had
befallen him, stretched himself on his bed, where we will
leave him for the present, as the great Sancho Panza, who is
about to set up his famous government, now demands our
attention.
"f'
*""t#^'^
-'Vi^gj,*^
THE KEYS OF THE TOWN DELIVERED TO SANCHO
PANZA. Vol.2.
Page 307.
CHAPTER XLV. 307
CHAPTER XLV.
OF HOW THE GREAT SAISTCHO PAXZA TOOK POSSESSION OF HIS
ISLAND, AND OF HOW HE MADE A BEGINNING IN GOVERN-
ING.
PERPETUAL discoverer of the antipodes, torch of the worhl,
eye of lieaven, sweet stimulator of the water-coolers !
^
Thyiii-
brseus here, Phoebus there, now archer, now physician, father
of poetry, inventor of music ; thou tliat always risest and, not-
withstanding appearances, never settest ! To thee, Sun, by
whose aid man begetteth man, to thee
I appeal to help nie and
lighten the darkness of my wit that I may be able to proceed
with scrupulous exactitude in giving an account of the great
Sancho Panza's government ; for without thee I feel myself
weak, feeble, and uncertain.
To come to the point, then

Sancho with all his attendants

arrived at a village of some thousand inhaljitants, and one of
the largest the duke })o.ssessed. They informed him that it
was called the island of ]>arataria, either because the name of
the village was Baratario, or because of the joke by way of
which the government had been conferred upon him.- On
reaching the gates of the town, which was a
walled one, the
municipality came forth to meet liim, the bells rang out a peal,
and the inhabitants showed every sign of general satisfaction
;
and with great pomp they conducted him to the principal church
to give thanks to God, and then with burlesque ceremonies they
presented him with the keys of the town, and acknowledged
him as perpetual governor of the island of Barataria. The
costume, the beard, and the fat squat figure of the new gov-
ernor astonished all those who were not in the secret, and even
all who were, and they were not a few. Finally, leading him out
of the church they carried him to the judgment seat and seated
'
Hartzenbusoh thinks that this outburst is a caricature of a passage in
some poem of the day, and that such imitations arc not uncommon in Don
Quixote. If so, we cannot wonder at it that Cervantes was not beloved by
the liigli-fiying poets of the x)eriod.
^
Barato now means cheap, but in old Spanish it was also a
substantive
meaning a trick or a
practical joke. According to Pellicer the
"
island
"
was Alcala del Ebro, a village near Pedrola, on a peninsuhi formed by a
bend of the Ebro. The critics have been much exercised by the identifi-
cation of Barataria, which has alwavs been with the Cervantistas a
favor-
ite hunting ground for political allusions.
308 DON QUIXOTE.
him on it, and the duke's majordonio said to him, "It is an
ancient custom in this island, senor governor, that he who comes
to take possession of this famous island is bound to answer a
questioli which shall be put to him, and which must be a some-
what knotty and difficult one
;
and by his answer the people
take the measure of their new governor's wit, and hail with joy
or deplore his arrival accordingly."
While the majordomo was making this speech Sancho was
gazing at several large letters inscribed on the wall opposite
his seat, and as he could not read he asked what that was
painted on the wall. The answer was,
<'
Seilor, there is
written and recorded the day on which your lordship took
possession of this island, and the inscription says,

This day,
the so-and-so of such-and-such a month and year, Seizor Don
Sancho Panza took possession of this island ; many years may
he enjoy it.'
"
"
And whom do they call Don Sancho Panza
?
" asked
Sancho.
"Your lordship," replied the majordomo; "for no other
Panza but the one who is now seated in that chair has ever
entered this island."
"
Well then, let ine tell you, brother," said Sancho,
"
I
have n't got the
'
Don,' nor has any one of my family ever had
it ; my name is plain Sancho Panza, and Sancho was my
father's name, and Sancho was my grandfather's, and they
were all Panzas, without any Dons or Donas tacked on ; I
suspect that in this island there are more Dons than stones
;
but never mind ; God knows what I mean, and maybe if my
government lasts four days I
'11
weed out these Dons that no
doubt are as great a nuisance as the midges, they ?re so plenty.^
Let the majordomo go on with his question, and I
'11
give the
best answer I can, whether the people deplore or not."
At this instant there came into court two old men, one
carrying a cane by way of a walking-stick, and the one who
had no stick said,
"
Senor, some time ago I lent this good man
ten gold-crowns in gold to gratify him and do him a service,
on the condition that he was to return them to me whenever
I should ask for them. A long time passed before I asked for
them, for I would not put him to any greater straits to return
them than he was in when I lent them to him ; but thinking
'The title of Don, like that of Esquire in this country, was beginning
to be assumed by persons who had no claim to it. Cervantes evidently
had a strong opinion on the subject.
CHAPTER XLV. 309
he was growing careless about payment I asked for them once
and several times
;
and not only will he not give them back,
but he denies that he owes them, and says I never lent him
any such crowns ; or if I did, that he repaid them
;
and I have
no witnesses either of the loan, or of the payment, for he never
paid me ; I want your worship to put him to his oath, and if
he swears he returned them to me I forgive him the debt here
and before God."
"
What say you to this, good old man, you with the stick ?
"
said Sancho.
To which the old man replied,
"
I admit, seiior, that he lent
them to me
;
but let your worship lower your staff, and as he
leaves it to my oath, I
'11
swear that I gave them back, and
paid him really and truly."
The governor lowered the staff, and as lie did so the old
man who had the stick handed it to the ether old man to hold
for him while lie swore, as if he found it in his way
;
and
then laid his hand on the cross of the staff, saying that it was
true the ten crowns that were demanded of him liad l)een lent
him; but that he had with his own hand given them back into
the hand of the other, and that he, not recollecting it, was
every minute asking for them.
Seeing this the great governor asked the creditor what
answer he had to make to what his opponent said. He said
that no doubt his debtor had told the truth, for he believed
him to be an honest man and a good Christian, and he himself
must have forgotten when and how he had given him back the
crowns ; and that from that time forth he would make no
further demand upon him.
The debtor took his stick again, and bowing his head left
the court. Observing this, and how, without another word, he
made off, and observing too the resignation of the plaintiff,
Sancho buried his head in his bosom and remained for a short
space in deep thought, with the forefinger of his right hand on
his brow and nose ; then he raised his head and bade them call
back the old man with the stick, for he had already taken his
departure. They brought him back, and as soon as Sancho saw
liim he said,
"
Honest man, give me that stick, for I Avant it."
"
Willingly," said the old man
;
"
here it is, senor," and he
put it into his hand.
Sancho took it and handing it to the other old man, said to
him,
"
Go, and God be with you ; for now you are paid."
810 DON QUIXOTE.
''
I, seiior !
''
returned tlie old man
;
'
Avhy, is tliis cane worth
ten gold-crowns ?
"
"
Yes," said the governor,
''
or if not I am the greatest dolt
in the world ; now yon will see whether I have got the head-
piece to govern a whole kingdom
;
"
and he ordered the cane to
be broken in two, there, in the presence of all. It was done,
and in the middle of it they found ten gold-crowns. All were
filled with amazement, and looked upon their governor as
another Solomon. They asked him how he had come to the
conclusion that the ten crowns were in the cane; he replied
that, observing how the old man who swore gave the stick to
his opponent while he was taking the oath, and swore that he
had really and truly given him the crowns, and how as soon
as he had done swearing he asked for the stick again, it came
into his head that the sum demanded must be inside it ; and
fi'om this he said it might be seen that God sometimes guides
those wlio govern in their judgments, even tliough they may
be fools
;
besides he had heai'd the curate himself nuMition just
such another case, and he had so good a memory, that if it
was not that he i'orgot everything he wished to remember,
there would not be such a memory in all the island. To con-
clude, the old men went off, one crestfallen, and the other in
high contentment, all who were present were astonished, and
he who was recording the words, deeds, and movements of
Sancho could not make up his mind whether he was to look
upon him and set him down as a fool or as a man of sense.
^
As soon as this case was disposed of, there came into court
a Avoman holding on with a tight grip to a man dressed like a
well-to-do cattle dealer, and she came forward making a great
outcry and exclaiming,
"
Justice, seiior governor, justice ! and
if I don't get it on earth I
'11
go look for it in heaven. Senor
governor of my soul, this wicked man caught me in the middle
of the fields here and used my body as if it was an ill-washed
rag, and, woe is me ! got from me what I liad ke})t these three-
and-twenty years and more, defending it against Moors and
Christians, natives and strangers
;
and I always as hard as an
oak, and keeping myself as pure as a salamander in the fire,
or wool among the brambles, for this good fellow to come now
with clean hands to handle me !
"
'
It remains to 'be proved whether this gallant has clean
'
In the Legenda Am ea of Jacobus de Voragine there is a story resem-
bling this of the two old men.
CHAPTER XLV. 311
hands or not," said Sanclio ; and turning to the man he asked
him what he had to say in answer to the woman's charge.
He all in confusion made answer,
"
Sirs, I am a poor pig
dealer, and this morning I left the village to sell (saving your
presence) four pigs, and between dues and cribbings they got
out of me little less than the worth of them. As I was return-
ing to my village I fell in on the road with this good dame,
and the devil who makes a coil and a mess out of everything,
yoked us together. I paid her fairly, but she not contented
laid hold of me and never let go until she brought me here
;
she says I forced her, but she lies by the oath I swear or am
ready to swear
;
and this is the whole truth and every particle
of it."
The governor on this asked him if he had any money in
silver about him
;
he said he had about twenty ducats in a
leather purse in his bosom. The governor bade him take it
out and hand it to the complainant ; he obeyed trembling
;
the
woman took it, and making a thousand salaams to all and
praying to G-od for the long life and health of the seilor gov-
ernor who had such regard for distressed orphans and virgins,
she hurried out of court with the purse grasped in both her
hands, first looking, however, to see if the money it contained
was silver.
As soon as she was gone Sancho said to the cattle dealer,
whose tears were already starting and whose eyes and heart
were following his purse,
"
Good fellow, go after that woman
and take the purse from her, by force even, and come back
with it here
;
"
and he did jiot say it to one who was a fool or
deaf, for the man was off at once like a flash of lightning, and
ran to do as he was bid.
All the bystanders waited anxiously to see the end of the
case, and presently both man and woman came back at even
closer grips than before, she with her petticoat up and the
purse in the lap of it, and he struggling hard to take it from
her, but all to no purpose, so stout was the woman's defence,
she all the while crying out,
"
Justice from God and the
world ! see here, sehor governor, the shamelessness and bold-
ness of this villain, who in the middle of the town, in the
middle of the street, wanted to take from me the purse your
worship bade him give me."
"
And did he take it ?
"
asked the governor.
"
Take it !
"
said the woman;
"
I'd let my life be taken from
312 BON
QI'IXOTE.
me sooner tlian the piirse. A pretty child I 'd be ! It 's an-
other sort of cat they must tlirow in m.j face, and not that
poor scurvy knave. Pincers and hammers, mallets and chisels
would not get it out of my grip
;
no, nor lions' claws
;
the soul
from out of my body first !
"
"
She is right," said the man
;
"
I own myself beaten and
powerless ; I confess I have n't the strength to take it from
her
;
"
and he let go his hold of her.
Upon this the governor said to the woman,
"
Let me see
that purse, my worthy and sturdy friend." She handed it to
him at once, and the governor returned it to the man, and said
to the unforced mistress of force,
'^
Sister, if you had shown as
much, or only half as much, spirit and vigor in defending your
body as you have shoAvn in defending that purse, the strength
of Hercules could not have forced you. Be off, and God speed
you, and bad luck to you, and don't show your face in all this
island, or within six leagues of it, on any side, under pain of
two hundred lashes
;
be off at once, I saj', you shameless,
cheating shrew."
^
The woman was cowed and went off disconsolately, hanging
her head
;
and the governor said to the man,
"
Honest man, go
home with your money, and God speed you ; and for the
future, if you don't want to lose it, see that you don't take
it into your head to j'oke with anybody." The man thanked
him as clumsily as he could and went his way, and the
bystanders Avere again filled with admiration at their new
governor's judgments and sentences.
Next, tAvo men, one apparently a farm-laborer, and the other
a tailor, for he had a pair of shears in his hand, presented
themselves before him, and the tailor said,
"
Senor governor,
this laborer and I come before your Avorship by reason of this
honest man coming to my shop yesterday (for saAdng every-
body's presence I 'm a passed tailor, God be thanked), and put-
ting a piece of cloth into my hands and asking me,
'
Senor, Avill
there be enough in this cloth to make me a cap ?
'
Measuring
the cloth I said there would. He probably suspected

as I
supposed, and I supposed right

that I wanted to steal some

of the cloth, led to think so by his OAvn roguery and the bad
opinion people liaA'e of tailors ; and he told me to see if there
Avould be enough for two. I guessed Avhat he would be at,
'
Cervantes got this story from a very devout work, the Norte de los
Estados of Francisco de Osuna, Burgos, 1550,
CHAPTER XLV. 313
and I said
'
yes.' "He, still following up his original unworthy
notion, went on adding cap alter cap, and I 'yes' after 'yes,'
until we got as far as five. He has just this moment oome for
them ; and I gave them to him, but he won't pay me for the
making; on the contrary, he calls upon me to pay liiin, or else
return his cloth."
"
Is all this true, brother ?
"
said Sancho.
"
Yes, seiior," replied the man ;
"
but will your worship make
him show the five caps he has made me ?
"
"
With all my heart," said the tailor
;
and drawing his hand
from under his cloak he showed five caps stuck upon the five
fingers of it, and said,
"
there are the five caps this good man
asks for; and by God and upon my conscience I haven't a
scrap of cloth leit, and I
'11
let the work be examined by the
inspectors of the trade."
All present laughed at the number of caps and the novelty
of the suit ; Sancho set himself to think for a moment, and
then said,
"
It seems to me that in this ease it is not necessary
to deliver long-winded arguments, but only to give off-hand the
judgment of an honest man
;
and so my decision is that the
tailor lose the making and the laborer the cl(jth, and that
the caps go to the prisoners in the jail, and let there ho. no
more about it."
If the previous decision about the cattle dealer's purse ex-
cited the admiration of the bystanders, this provoked their
laughter
;
^
however, the governor's orders were after all exe-
cuted. All this, having been taken down by his chronicler,
was at once despatched to the duke, who was looking out for
it with great eagerness
;
and here let us leave the good Sancho
;
for his master, sorely troubled in mind by Altisidora's music,
has pressing claims upon us now.
'
In tlie original odition.s tlu' case of the caps is placed first, but this
shows that it should come last.
314
DON QUIXOTE.
CHAPTER XLVI.
OF THE TERRIBLE I'.ELL AND CAT I^-RIGHT THAT DON QUIXOTE
GOT IN THE COURSE OF THE ENAMOURED ALTISIDORA's
WOOING.
We left Don Quixote wrapped up in the reflections which
the music of the enamoured maid Altisidoi-a had given rise to.
He went to bed witli them, and just like fleas they Avould not
let him sleep or get a moment's rest, and the broken stitches
of his stockings helped them. But as Time is fleet and no
obstacle can stay his course, he came riding on the hours, and
morning very soon arrived. Seeing which Don Quixote quitted
the soft down, and, nowise slothful, dressed himself in his
chamois suit and put on -his travelling boots to hide the dis-
aster to his stockings. He threw over him his scarlet mantle,
put on his head a montera of green velvet trimmed Avith silver
edging, flung across his shoulder the baldric with his good
trenchant sword, took up a large rosary that he always carried
with him, and with great solemnity and precision of gait pro-
ceeded to the ante-chamber where the did<;e and duchess were
already dressed and waiting for him. But as he passed through
a gallery, Altisidora and the other damsel, her friend, were
lying in wait for him, and the instant Altisidora saw him she
pretended to faint, while her friend caught her in her lap, and
began hastily unlacing the bosom of her dress.
Don Quixote observed it, and approaching them said, "I
know very well what this seizure arises from."
"
I know not from what," replied the friend,
"
for Altisidora
is the healthiest damsel in all this house, and I have never
heard her complain all the time I have known her. A plague
of all the knights-errant in the world, if they be all ungrateful
!
Go away, Senor Don Quixote
;
for this poor child will not come
to herself again so long as you are here."
To Avhich Don Quixote returned,
"
Do me the favor, senora,
to let a lute be jjlaced in my chamber to-night ; and I will
comfort this poor maiden to the best of my power ;
for in
the early stages of love a prompt disillusion is an approved
remedy
;
"
and with this he retired, so as not to be remarked
by any Avho might see him there.
He had scarcely withdrawn when Altisidora, recovering froin
CHAPTER XL VI. 315
her swoon, said to her
companion,
"
The lute must be left, for
no doubt Don
Quixote
intends to give us some music
;
and
being his it will not be bad."
They went at once to inform the duchess of what was going
on, and of the lute
Don Quixote asked for, and she, delighted
beyond measure,
plotted with the duke and her two damsels
to play him a trick that should be amusing but harmless
; and
in high glee they waited for night, which came quickly as the
day had come ; and as for the day, the didve and duchess spent
it in charming conversation with Dun Quixote.^
When eleven o'clock came, Don Quixote found a guitar in
his chamber ; he tried it, opened the window, and perceived
that some persons were walking in the garden
;
and having
passed his fingers over the frets of the guitar and tuned it as
well as he could, he spat and cleared his chest, and then with
a voice a little hoarse but full-toned, he sang the following
ballad, which he had himself that day composed :
^
Mighty Love the hearts of maidens
Doth unsettle and perplex,
And the instrument he uses
Most of all is idleness.
Sewing, stitching, any labor,
Having always work to do.
To the poison Love instilleth
Is the antidote most sure.
And to proper-niinded maidens
Who desire the matron's name
Modesty 's a marriage portion.
Modesty their highest praise.
Men of prudence and discretion,
Courtiers gay and gallant knights,
With the wanton damsels dally,
But the modest take to wife.

In the original editions five or six lines are inserted here stating that
the duchess despatched a page with Sancho's letter to his wife ; but they
are repeated with some trifling changes in chapter 1., which is obviously
their proper place, while they come in very awkwardly here.
2
See Note^ page 303.
316 DON QUIXOTE.
There are passions, transient, fleeting,
Loves in liostelries declared,
Sunrise loves, with sunset ended,
When the guest hath gone his way.
Love that springs up swift and sudden,
Here to-day, to-morrow flown,
Passes, leaves no trace behind it,
Leaves no image on the soul.
Painting that is laid on painting
Maketh no display or show
;
Where one beauty "s in ])OSsession
There no other can take hold.
Dulcinea del Toboso
Painted on my heart I wear
;
Never from its tablets, never.
Can her image be eras'd.
The quality of all in lovers
Most esteemed is constancy
;
'T is by this that love works wonders,
This exalts them to the skies.
Don Quixote had got so far with his song, to which the
duke, the duchess, Altisidora, and nearly the whole household
of the castle were listening, when all of a sudden from a
gallery above that was exactly over his window the}' let down
a cord with more than a hundred bells attached to it, and
immediately after that discharged a great sack full of cats,
which also had bells of smaller size tied to their tails. Such
was the din of the bells and the squalling of the cats, that
though the duke and duchess were the contrivers of the joke
they were startled by it, while Don Quixote stood paralyzed
Avith fear; and as luck would have it, two or three of the
cats made their way through the grating of his chamber,^ and
Hying from one side to the other, made it seem as if there was a
'
The reja or rating of a Spanish window usually hulges out somewhat
at the lower part so as to form a sort of seat for the occupant of the
chamher. The oats descending on the projecting part were thus enabled
to make their way into the room.
CHAPTER XLVI. 317
legion of devils at large in it. They extinguislied the candles
that were bnrning in the room, and rushed about seeking some
way of escape ; the cord with the large bells never ceased
rising and falling ; and most of the people of the castle, not
knowing what was really the matter, were at their wits' end
with astonishment. Don Quixote sprang to his feet, and
drawing his sword, began making passes at the grating, shout-
ing out,
''
Avaunt, malignant enchanters ! avaunt, ye witch-
craft-working rabble ! I am Don Quixote of La Mancha,
against whom your evil machinations avail not nor have any
power." And turning upon the cats that were running about
the room, he made several cuts at them. They dashed at the
grating and escaped by it, save one that, finding itself hard
pressed by the slashes of Don Quixote's sword, flew at his
face and held on to his nose tooth and nail, with the pain of
which he began to shout his loudest. The duke and duchess
hearing this, and guessing what it was, ran with all haste to
his room, and as the poor gentleman was striving with all his
might to detach the cat from his face, they opened the door
with a master-key and went in with lights and witnessed the
unequal combat.' The duke ran forward to part the com-
batants, but Don Quixote cried out aloud,
"
Let no one take
him from me ; leave me hand to hand with this demon,
this wizard, this enchanter ; I will teach him, I myself, who
Don Quixote of La Mancha is." The cat, however, never
minding these threats, snarled and held on ; but at last the
duke j)ulled it off and flung it out of the window. Don Qui-
xote was left with a face as full of holes as a sieve, and a nose
not in very good condition, and greatly vexed that they did
not let him finish the battle he had been so stoutly fighting
with that villain of an enchanter. They sent for some oil of
John's wort, and Altisidora herself with her own fair hands
bandaged all the wounded parts ; and as she did so she said
to him in a low voice,
"
All these mishaps have befallen thee,
hard-hearted knight, for the sin of thy insensibility and obsti-
nacy ; and Cxod grant thy squire Sancho may forget to whip
himself, so that that dearly beloved Dulcinea of thine may
never be released from her enchantment, and that thou mayest
never enjoy her or come to her bed, at least while I who adore
thee am alive."
'
This sentence is very awkwardly constructed in the original ; I have
partly followed Hartzenbusch's re-arrangement of it.
818 DON QUIXOTE.
To all this Don Quixote made no answer except to heave
deep sighs, and then stretched himself on his bed, thanking
the duke and duchess for their kindness, not because he stood
in any fear of that bell-ringing rabble of enchanters in cat
shape,' but because he recognized their good intentions in com-
ing to his rescue. The duke and duchess left him to repose
and withdrew greatly grieved at the unfortunate result of the
joke
;
as they never thought the adventure would have fallen
so heavy on Don Quixote or cost him so dear, for it cost him
hve days of conhnement- to his bed, during which he had
another adventure, pleasanter than the late one, which his
chronicler will not relate just now, in order that he may turn
his attention to Sanclio Pauza, who was proceeding with great
diligence and drollery in his government.
CHAPTER XLVII.
WHEREIN IS CONTINUED THE ACCOUNT OF HOW SANCHO
PANZA CONDUCTED HIMSELF IN HIS GOVERNMENT.
The history says that from the justice court they carried
Sancho to a sumptuous palace, where in a spacious chamber
there was a table laid out with royal magnificence. The clar-
ions sounded as Sancho entered the room, and four pages came
forward to present him with water for his hands, which Sancho
received with great dignity. The nitisic ceased, and Sancho
seated himself at the head of the table, for there was only that
seat placed, and no more than the one cover laid. A person-
age, who it appeared afterwards was a physician, placed him-
self standing by his side Avith a whalebone wand in his hand.
They then lifted up a fine white cloth covering fruit and a
great variety of dishes of different sorts
;
one who looked like
a student said grace, and a page put a laced bib on Sancho,
while another who played the part of head carver placed a
dish of fruit before him. But hardly had he tasted a morsel
when the man with the wand touched the plate with it, and
they took it away from before him with the utmost celerity.
The carver, however, brought him another dish, and Sancho
'
Equella eaiialla gatesca evco.ntadora
y
cencerruna, rendered by Shel-
ton, ''Cattish, low-ljelly enclianting crew;" by Watts, "Cattish and
hellish enchanter-rabble."' Am. Ed.
CHAPTER XLVII. 319
proceeded to try it ; but before he could get at it, not to say
taste it, already the wand had touched it and a page had car-
ried it off with the same promptitude as the fruit. Sancho
seeing this was puzzled, and looking from one to another asked
if this dinner was to be eaten after the fashion of a jugglery trick.
To this he with the wand replied,
"
It is not to be eaten, senor
governor, except as is usual and customary in other islands
where there are governors. I, senor, am a physician, and I am
paid a salary in this island to serve its governors as such, and I
have a much greater regard for their health than for my own,
studying day and night making myself acquainted with the gov-
ernor's constitution, in order to be able to cure him when he
falls sick. The chief thing I have to do is to attend at his din-
ners and suppers and allow him to eat what appears to me to be
lit for him and keep from him what I think will do him harm
and be injurious to his stomach
;
and therefore I ordered that
plate of fruit to be removed as being too moist, and that other
dish I ordered to be removed as being too hot and containing
many spices that stimulate thirst ; for he who drinks much kills
and consumes the radical moisture wherein life consists."
"
Well then," said Sancho,
"
that dish of roast partridges
there that seems so savory will not do me any harm."
To this the physician replied,
"
Of those my lord the gov-
ernor shall not eat so long as I live."
<'
Why so ?
"
said Sancho.
"
Because,"
replied the doctor,
"
our master Hippocrates, the
polestar and beacon of medicine, says in one of his aphorisms
omnis satiiratio mala, perdicis autempessima, which means 'all
repletion is bad, but that of partridge is the worst of all.'
"
"
In that case," said Sancho,
"
let senor doctor see among
the dishes that are on the table what will do me most good
and least harm, and let me eat it, without tapping it with his
stick
;
for by the life of the governor, and so may God suffer
me to enjoy it, but I 'm dying of hunger
;
and in spite of the
doctor and all he may say, to deny me food is the way to take
my life instead of prolonging it."
"
Your worship is right, seiior governor," said the physi-
cian
;
"
and therefore your worship, I consider, should not eat
of those stewed rabbits there, because it is a furry kind of
food
;
'
if that veal were not roasted and served with pickles,
you might try it ; but it is out of the question."
'
Peliagudo^ furry, means also dangerous, in popular i):irlance.
320 DON QUIXOTE.
"
That big dish that is smoking farther off," said Sancho,
"
seems to me to be an olla podrida,^ and ont of the diversity
of things in such ollas, I can't fail to light upon something
tasty and good for me."
"Ahsit," said the doctor ;
"
far from us be any such base
thought ! There is nothing in the world less nourishing than
an olla podrida ; to canons, or rectors of colleges, or peasants'
"weddings with your ollas podridas, but let us have none of
them on the tables of governors, where everythiijg that is pres-
ent should be delicate and refined
;
and the reason is, that
always, everywhere and by everybody, simple -medicines are
more esteemed than compound ones, for we cannot go wrong
in those that are simple, while in the compound we may, by
merely altering the quantity of the things composing them.
But what I am of opinion the governor should eat now in
order to preserve and fortify his health is a hundred or so of
wafer cakes and a few thin slices of conserve of quinces,
which will settle his stomach and help his digestion."
Sancho on hearing this threw himself back in his chair and
surveyed the doctor steadily, and in a solemn tone asked him
what his name was and where he had studied.
He replied,
"
My name, senor governor, is Doctor Pedro
Recio de Aguero, I am a native of a place called Tirteafuera
which lies between Caracuel and Almoddvar del Campo, on the
right-hand side, and I have the degree of doctor from the uni-
versity of Osuna."
To which Sancho, glowing all over with rage, returned,
"
Then let Doctor Pedro Recio de Mal-aguero, native of Tirtea-
fuera,^ a place that 's on the right-hand side as we go from
Caracuel to Almoddvar del Campo, graduate of Osuna, get out
of my presence at once ; oj I swear by the sun I
'11"
take a
cudgel, and by dint of blows, beginning with him, I
'11
not
leave a doctor in the whole island ; at least of those I know to
be ignorant ; for as to learned, wise, sensible physicians, them
I will reverence and honor as divine persons. Once more I
say let Pedro Recio get out of this or I
'11
take this chair I am
sitting on and break it over his head. And if they call me to
'
Olla podrida (properly rotten), a more savory olla than the ordinary
pot-au-feu, containing pigs' feet, sausages, and a variety of other ingre-
dients.
^
Recio means obstinate, aguero means omen or augury, mal-agiiero,
evil omen. Tirteafuera (literally "take tliy.self off") is a village of La
IVIancha situated just as the doctor describes. ( I', map.)
enAFTER XL VII. 321
account for it, I
'11
clear myself by saying I served God in kill-
ing a bad doctor a general executioner. And now give me
something to eat, or else take your government ; for a trade
tliat does not feed its master is not wortli two beans."
^
The doctor was dismayed when he saw the governor in such
a passion, and he would have made a Tirteafuera out of the
room but that the same instant a posthorn sounded in the
street ; and the carver putting his head out of the window
turned round and said,
"
It's a courier from my lord the duke,
no doubt with some despatch of importance."
The courier came in all SAveating and flurried, and taking a
paper from his bosom, placed it in the governor's hands.
Sancho handed it to the majordomo and bade him read the
superscription, which ran thus :
To Bon Sayicho Panza, Governor
of
the Island
of
Barataria, into
his own hands or those
of
his secretary.
Sancho when he heard this said,
"
Which of you is my secre-
tary ?
" "
I am, seiior," said one of those present,
''
for I can
read and write, and am a Biscayan."
"
With that addition,"
said Sancho,
"
you might be secretary to the emperor himself ;
"^
open this paper and see what it says." The new-born secre-
tary obeyed, and having read the contents said the matter was
one to be discussed in private. Sancho ordered the chamber
to be cleared, the majordomo and the carver only remaining
;
so the doctor and the others withdrew, and then the secretary
read the letter, which Avas as follows :
"It has come to my knowledge, Seiior Don Sancho Panza, that
certain enemies of mine and of the island are about to make a furious
attack upon it some night, I know not when. It behooves you to be
on tiie alert and keep watch, that they surprise you not. I also
know b}' trustworthy spies that four persons have entered the town
in disguise in order to take your life, because they stand in dread of
your great capacity; keep your eyes open and take heed who
approaches you to address you, and eat notliing that is presented to
you. I will take care to send you aid if you tind yourself in diffi-
culty, but in all things you will act as may be expected of your
judgment. From this place, the Sixteenth of August, at four in the
morning.
"
Your friend,
"The Duke."
>
Prov. 157.
'
Biscavans mustered strong in the royal service in tlie reigns of
Charles V. and riiilip II.
Vol. II.

21
322 DON QUIXOTE.
Sanclio was astonished, and those who stood by made believe
to be so too, and turning to the majordomo he said to hiiu,
"
What we have got to do first, and it must be done at once,
is to put Doctor Eecio in the lock-up ; for if any one wants to
kill me it is he, and by a slow death and the worst of all,
which is hunger."
"
Likewise," said the carver,
"
it is my opinion your worship
should not eat anything that is on this table, for the whole
was a present from some nuns ; and as they say,
'
behind the
cross there 's the devil.' "
^
"
I don't deny it," said Sancho ;
"
so for the present give me
a pi^ce of bread and four pound or so of grapes ; no poison can
come in them
;
for the fact is I can't go on without eating
;
and if we are to be prepared for these battles that are threat-
ening us we must be well provisioned
;
for it is the tripes that
carry the heart and not the heart the tripes."-^ And you, secre-
tary, answer my lord the duke and tell him that all his com-
mands shall be obeyed to the letter, as he directs ; and say
from me to my lady the duchess that I kiss her hands, and
that I beg of her not to forget to send my letter and bundle to
my wife Teresa Panza by a messenger
;
and I will take it as a
great favor and will not fail to serve her in all that may lie
within my power ; and as you are about it you may enclose a
kiss of the hand to my master Don Quixote that he may see I
am grateful bread ; and as a good secretary and a good Bis-
cayan you may add whatever you like, and whatever will come
in best ; and now take away this cloth and give me something
to eat, and I'll be ready to meet all the spies and assassins
and enchanters that may come against me or my island."
At this instant a page entered saying,
"
Here is a farmer on
business, who wants to speak to your lordship on a matter of
great importance, he says."
"
It 's very odd," said Sancho,
"
the ways of these men on
business ; is it possible they can be such fools as not to see that
an hour like this is no hour for coming on business ? We who
govern and we who are judges

are we not men of flesh and

blood, are we not to be allowed the time required for taking
rest, unless they 'd have us made of marble ? By God and on
my conscience, if the government remains in my hands (which
I have a notion it won't), I
'11
bring more than one man on
business to order. However, tell this good man to come in
;
'Trov. 75. 2i.rov. 232.
CHAPTER XLVIL 323
but take care first of all that lie is not some spy or one of my
assassins."
"
No, my lord," said the page,
"
for he looks like a simple
fellow, and either I know very little or he is as good as good
bread."
'<
There is nothing to be afraid of," said the majordomo,
"
for we are all here."
"Would it be possible, carver," said Sancho, "now that
Doctor Pedro Recio is not here, to let me eat something solid
and substantial, if it were even a piece of bread and an
onion ?
"
"
To-night at supper," said the carver,
"
the short-comings of
the dinner shall be made good, and your lordship shall be fully
satisfied and contented."
"
God grant it," said Sancho.
The farmer now came in, a well-favored man that one might
see a thousand leagues off was an honest fellow and a good soul.
The first thing he said was, "Which is the sehor governor
here ?
"
"
Which should it be," said the secretary,
"
but he who is
seated in the chair ?
"
"
Then I humble myself before him," said the farmer
;
and
going on his knees he asked for his hand, to kiss it. Sancho
refused it, and bade him stand up and say what he wanted.
The farmer obeyed, and then said,
"
I am a farmer, seilor, a
native of Miguelturra, a village two leagues from Ciudad Ileal."
"
Another Tirteafuera !
"
said Sancho
;
"
say on, brother
;
I
know Miguelturra very well I can tell you, for it 's not very far
from my own town."-
"
The case is this, senor," continued the farmer,
"
that by
God's mercy I am married with the leave and license of the
holy Roman Catholic Church ; I have two sons, students, and
the younger is studying to become bachelor, and the elder to
be licentiate ; I am a widower, for my wife died, or more
properly speaking, a bad doctor killed her on my hands, giving
her a purge when she was with child ; and if it had pleased
God that the child had been born, and was a boy, I would
have put him to study for doctor, that he might not envy his
brothers the bachelor and the licentiate."
"
So that if your wife had not died, or had not been killed,
you would not now be a widower," said Sancho.
"
No, senor, certainly not/' said the farmer.
324 DON QUIXOTE.
"
We 've got that mueli settled," said Sancho ;
"
get on,
brother, for it 's more bed-tiiue tliaii business-time."
"
Well then," said the farmer,
"
this son of mine who is
going to be a bachelor fell in love in the said town with a
damsel called Clara Perlerina, daughter of Andres Perlerino,
a
very rich farmer, and this name of Perlerines does not come to
them by ancestry or descent, but because all the family are
paralytics,' and for a better name they call them Perlerines
though to tell the truth the damsel is as fair as an Oriental
pearl, and like a flower of the field, if you look at her on the
right side
;
on the left not so much, for on that side she wants
an eye that she lost by small-pox
;
and though her face is
thickly and deeply pitted, those who love her say they are not
pits tiiat are there, but the graves where the hearts of her
lovers are buried. She is so cleanly that not to soil her face
she carries her nose turned up, as they say, so that one would
fancy it was running away from her mouth
;
and with all this
she looks extremely well, for she has a wide mouth
;
and but
for wanting ten or a dozen teeth and grinders she might com-
pare and compete with the comeliest. Of her lips I say
nothing, for they are so fine and tliin that, if lips might be
reeled, one might make a skein of them ; but being of a differ-
ent color from ordinary lips they are wonderful, for they are
mottled, blue, green, and purple

let my lord the governor

})ardon me for painting so minutely the charms of her who
some time or other will be my daughter ; for I love her, and I
don't find her amiss."
"
Paint what you will," said Sancho
;
"
I enjoy your paint-
ing, and if I had dined there could be no dessert more to my
taste than your portrait."
"
That I have still to furnish," said the farmer ;
*
"
but a
time may come when we may be able if we are not now ; and
I can tell you, seiior, if I could paint her gracefulness and her
tall figure, it would astonish you ; but that is impossible
because she is bent double Avith her knees up to her mouth
;
but for all that it is easy to see that if she could stand up she 'd
knock her head against the ceiling ; and she would have given
her hand to my bachelor ere this, only that she can't stretch it
out, for it 's contracted ; but still one can see its elegance and
fine make by its long furrowed nails."
'
Perlesia^ paralysis.
^
Tills is Professor Juan Calderon's explanation; but the i)assage is
rather obscure.
CHAPTER XLVIL 325
"
Tliat will do, brother," said Sanclio
;
"
consider you have
painted her from head to foot ; what is it you want now ?
Come to the point without all this beating about the bush, and
all these scraps and additions."
"
I want your worship, seilor," said the farmer,
"
to do me
the favor of giving me a letter of recommendation to the girl's
father, begging him to be so good as to let this marriage take
place, as we are not ill-matched either in the gifts of fortune
or of nature
;
for to tell the truth, senor governor, my son is
possessed of a devil, and there is not a day but the evil spirits
torment him three or four times ; and from having once fallen
into the fire, he has his face puckered up like a piece of parch-
ment, and his eyes watery and always running
;
but he has
the disposition of an angel, and if it was not for belaboring
and pummelling himself he 'd be a saint."
"
Is there anything else you want, good man
?
" said
Sancho.
<<
There 's another thing I 'd like," said the farmer,
"
but I 'm
afraid to mention it ; however, out it must ; for after all I
can't let it be rotting in my breast, come what may. I mean,
seiior, that I 'd like your worship to give me three hundred or
six hundred ducats as a help to my bachelor's portion, to help
him in setting irp house, I mean ; for they must, in short, live
by themselves, without being subject to the interferences of
their fathers-in-law."
"
Just see if there 's anything else you 'd like ? said Sancho,
"
and don't hold back from mentioning it out of bashfulness or
modesty."
"
No, indeed there is not," said the farmer.
The moment he said this the governor started to his feet,
and seizing the chair he had been sitting on exclaimed,
"
By
all that 's good you ill-bred, boorish Don Bumpkin, if you don't
get out of this at once and hide yourself from my sight, I
'11
lay your head open with this chair. You whoreson rascal, you
devil's own painter, and is it at this hour you come to ask me
for six hundred ducats ! How should I have them, you stink-
ing brute ? And why should I give them to you if I had them,
you knave and blockhead ? What have I to do with Miguel-
turra or the whole family of the Perlerines ? Get out I say,
or by the life of my lord the duke I
'11
do as I said. You 're
not from Miguelturra, but some knave sent here from hell to
tempt me. Why, you villain, I have not yet had the govern-
326 DON QUIXOTE.
ment half a day, and you want me to have six hundred ducats
already !
"
The carver made signs to the farmer to leave the room,
which he did with his head down, and to all appearance in
terror lest the governor should carry his threats into effect, for
the rogue knew very well how to play his part. But let us
leave Sancho in his wrath, and peace be with them all ; and
let us return to Don Quixote, whom we left with his face band-
aged and doctored after the cat Avoimds, of which he was not
cured for eight days
;
and on one of these there befell him
what Cid Hamet promises to relate with that exactitude and
truth with which he is wont to set forth everything connected
with this great history, however minute it may be.
CHAPTER XLVIII.
OF WHAT BEFELL DON QUIXOTE WITH DONA RODRIGUEZ, THE
duchess's duenna, TOGETHER WITH OTHER OCCURRENCES
WORTHY OF RECORD AND ETERNAL REMEMBRANCE.
Exceedingly moody and dejected was the sorely wounded
Don Quixote, with his face bandaged and marked, not by the
hand of God, but by the claws of a cat, mishaps incidental to
knight-errantry. Six days he remained without appearing in
public, and one night as he lay awake thinking of his misfort-
unes and of Altisidora's pursuit of him, he perceived that
some one was opening the door of his room with a key, and he
at once made up his mind that the enamoured damsel was com-
ing to make an assault upon his chastity and put him in dan-
ger of failing in the fidelity he owed to his lady Dulcinea del
Toboso.
"
No," said he, firmly persuaded of the truth of his
idea (and he said it loud enough to be heard),
"
the greatest
beauty upon earth shall not avail to make me renounce my
adoration of her whom I bear stamped and graved in the core
of my heart and the secret depths of my bowels ; be thou,
lady mine, transformed into a clumsy country wench, or into
a nymph of golden Tagus weaving a web of silk and gold,
let Merlin or Montesinos hold thee captive where they will
;
where'er thou art, thou art mine, and where'er I am, I must be
CHAPTER XLVIIL 327
thine." The very instant he had nttered these words, the
door opened. He stood up on the bed wrapped from head to
foot in a yellow satin coverlet, with a cap on his head, and his
face and his mustaches tied up, his face because of the
scratches, and his mustaches to keep them from drooping and
falling down, and in this trim he looked the most extraordinary
scarecrow that could be conceived. He kept his eyes fixed on
the door, and just as he was expecting to see the love-smitten
and unhappy
Altisidora make her apx^earance, he saw coming
in a most
venerable duenna, in a long white-bordered veil that
covered and enveloped her from head to foot. Between the
fingers of her left hand she held a short lighted candle, while
with her right she shaded it to keep the light from her eyes,
which were covered by spectacles of great size, and she ad-
vanced with noiseless steps, treading very softly.
Don Quixote kept an eye upon her from his watch-tower, and
observing her costume and noting her silence, he concluded
that it must be some witch or sorceress that was coming in such
a guise to work him some mischief, and he began crossing him-
self at a great rate. The spectre still advanced, and on reach-
ing the middle of the room, looked up and saw the energy with
which Don Quixote was crossing himself ; and if he was scared
by seeing such a figure as hers, she was terrified at the sight of
his
;
for the moment she saw his tall yellow form with the cov-
erlet and the bandages that disfigured him, she gave a loud
scream, and exclaiming,
"
Jesus ! what 's this I see ?
"
let fall
the candle in her fright, and then finding herself in the dark,
turned about to make off, but stumbling on her skirts in her
consternation, she measured her length with a mighty fall.
Don Quixote in his trepidation began saying,
"
I conjure
thee, phantom, or whatever thou art, tell me what thou art
and what thou wouldst with me. If thou art a soul in torment,
say so, and all that my powers can do I will do for thee
;
for I
am a Catholic Christian and love to do good to all the world,
and to this end I have embraced the order of knight-errantry
to which I belong, the province of which extends to doing
good even to souls in purgatory."
The unfortunate duenna hearing herself thus conjured, by
her own fear guessed Don Quixote's, and in a low plaintive
voice answered,
"
Senor Don Quixote

if so be you are indeed

Don Quixote

I am no phantom or spectre or soul in purga-

tory, as you seem to think, but Doiia Rodriguez, duenna of
328
DON QUIXOTE.
honor to my lady the duchess, and I come to you with one of
those grievances your worship is wont to redress."
"
Tell me, Seiiora Dona Kodriguez," said Don Quixote,
"
do
you perchance come to transact any go-between business ? Be-
cause I must tell you I am not available for anybody's purpose,
thanks to the peerless beauty of my lady Dulcinea del Toboso.
In short, Senora Doiia Rodriguez, if you will leave out and put
aside all love messages, you may go and light your candle and
come back, and we will discuss all the commands you have for
me and whatever you wish, saving only, as I said, all seductive
communications."
"
I carry nobody's messages, sefior," said the duenna
;
''
little
you know me. Nay, I 'm not far enough advanced in years to
take to any such childish tricks. God be praised I have a soul
in my body still, and all my teeth and grinders in my mouth,
except one or two that the colds, so common in this Aragon
country, have robbed me of. But wait a little, while I go and
light my candle, and I will return immediately and lay my
sorrows before you as before one who relieves those of all the
world
;
" and without staying for an answer she quitted the
room and left Don Quixote tranquilly meditating while he
waited for her. A tlKnisand thoughts at once suggested them-
selves to him on the subject of this new adventure, and it
struck him. as being ill done and worse advised in him to
expose himself to the danger of breaking his plighted faith to
his lady
;
and said he to himself,
'<
Who knows but that the
devil, being wily and cunning, may be trying now to entrap me
with a duenna, having failed with empresses, queens, duch-
esses, marchionesses, and countesses ? Many a time have I
heard it said by many a man of sense that he will sooner offer
you a flat-nosed wench than a Roman-nosed one ; and who
knows but this privacy, this opportunity, this silence, may
awaken my sleeping desires, and lead me in these my latter
years to fall where I have never tripped ? In cases of this
sort it is better to flee than to await the battle. But I must
be out of my senses to think and utter svich nonsense
;
for it is
impossible that a long, white-hooded, spectacled duenna could
stir up or excite a wanton thought in the most graceless bosom
in the world. Is there a duenna on earth that has fair flesh ?
Is there a duenna in the world that escapes being ill-tempered,
wrinkled, and prudish ? Avaunt, then, ye duenna crew, un-
delightful to all mankuid. Oh, but that lady did well who,
CHAPTER XLVIII. 329
they say, had at the end of her reception room a couple of fig-
ures of duennas with spectacles and lace-cushions, as if at work,
and those statues served quite as well to give an air of pro-
priety to the room as if they had been real duennas."
So saying he leaped off the bed, intending to close the door
and not allow Seiiora Rodriguez to enter
;
but as he went to
shut it Seiiora
Rodriguez returned with a wax candle lighted,
and having a closer view of Don Quixote, with the coverlet
round him, and his bandages and night-cap, she was alarmed
afresh, and retreating a couple of paces, exclaimed,
"
Am
I safe, sir knight? for I don't look upon it as a sign of
very great virtue that your worship should have got up out
of bed."
"
I may well ask the same, seiiora," said Don Quixote
;
"
and
I do ask whether I shall be safe from being assailed and
forced ?
"
"
Of whom and against whom do you demand that security,
sir knight ?
"
said the duenna.
"
Of you and against you I ask it," said Don Quixote;
''
for
I am not marble, nor are you brass, nor is it now ten o'clock
in the morning, but midnight, or a trifle past it I fancy, and
we are in a room more secluded and retired than the cave
could have been where the treacherous and daring ^neas
enjoyed the fair soft-hearted Dido. But give me your hand,
seiiora
;
I require no better protection than my own continence,
and my own sense of propriety
;
as well as that Avliich is in-
spired by that venerable head-dress
;
"
and so saying he kissed
her right hand and took it in his own, she yielding it to him
with equal ceremoniousness. And here Cid Hamet inserts a
parenthesis in which he says that to have seen the pair march-
ing from the door to the bed, linked hand in hand in this way,
he would have given the best of the two tunics he had.
Don Quixote finally got into bed, and Doiia Rodriguez took
her seat on a chair at some little distance from his couch, with-
out taking off her spectacles or putting aside the candle. Don
Quixote wrapped the bedclothes round him and covered himself
up completely, leaving nothing but his face visible, and as soon
as they had both regained their composure he broke silence,
saying,
"
Now, Senora Dona Rodriguez, you may unbosom
yourself and out with everything you have in your sorrowful
heart and afflicted bowels
;
and by me you shall be listened to
with chaste ears, and aided by compassionate exertions."
330 DON QUIXOTE.
"
I believe it," replied the duenna ;
"
from your worship's
gentle and winning presence only such a Christian answer
could be expected. The fact is, then, Seilor Don Quixote, that
though you see me seated in this chair, here in the middle of
the kingdom of Aragon, and in the attire of a despised outcast
duenna, I am from the Asturias of Oviedo,^ and of a family
with which many of the best of the province are connected b}-
blood
;
but my untoward fate and the improvidence of my
parents, who, I know not how, were unseasonably reduced to
poverty, brought me to the court of Madrid, where as a pro-
vision <ind to avoid greater misfortunes, my parents placed me
as seamstress in the service of a lady of quality, and I would
have you know that for hemming and sewing I have never
been surpassed by any all my life. My parents left me in
service and returned to their own country, and a few years
later went, no doubt, to heaven, for they were excellent good
Catholic Christians. I was left an orphan with nothing but
the miserable wages and trilling presents that are given to
servants of my sort in palaces
;
but about this time, without
any encouragement on my part, one of the esquires of the
household fell in love with me, a man somewhat advanced in
years, full-bearded and personable, and above all as good a
gentleman as the king himself, for he came of a mountain
stock.^ We did not carry on our loves with such secrecy but
that they came to the knowledge of my lady, and she, not to
have any fuss about it, had us married with the full sanction
of the holy mother Roman Catholic Church, of which marriage
a daughter was born to put an end to my good fortune, if I had
any ; not that I died in childbirth, for I passed through it
safely and in due season, but because shortly afterward my
husband died of a certain shock he received, and had T time to
tell you of it I know your worship would be surprised
;
"
and
here she began to weep bitterly and said,
"
Pardon me, Seilor
Don Quixote, if I am unable to control myself, for every time
I think of my unfortunate husband my eyes fill up with tears.
God bless me, with what an air of dignity he used to carry my
lady behind him on a stout mule as black as jet ! for in those days
'
The distinction was necessary, as wliat is now the province of San-
taniler was then called the Astnrias of Santander.
^
That is from the
"
Montaiia," the mountain region to the north of
Castile and Leon, which was the strongliold of the Spaniards in the earlier
days of the great national struggle. Lope and Citievedo, who were also
of the mountain stock, use much the same language.
CttAPTER XLVIII. 331
they did not use coaches or chairs, as they say they do now,
and hidies rode behind their squires. This mucli at least I
cannot help telling you, that you may observe the good breed-
ing and punctiliousness of my worthy husband. As he was
turning into the Calle de Santiago in Madrid, which is rather
narrow, one of the alcaldes of the Court, with two alguacils
before him, was coming out of it, and as soon as my good
squire saw him he wheeled his mule about and made as if he
would turn and accompany him. My lady, who was riding
behind him, said to him in a low voice,
'
What are you about,
you sneak, don't you see that I am here
?
' The alcalde like a
polite man pulled up his horse and said to him,
'
Proceed,
seflor, for it is I, rather, who ought to accompany my lady
Dona Casilda '

for that was my mistress's name. Still my

husband, cap in hand, persisted in trying to accompany the
alcalde, and seeing this my lady, filled with rage and vexation,
pulled out a big pin, or, I rather think, a bodkin, out of her
needle-case and drove it into his back with such force that my
husband gave a loud yell, and writhing fell to the ground with
his lady. Her two lackeys ran to raise her up, and the alcalde
and the alguacils did the same
;
the Guadalajara gate was all
in commotion

I mean the idlers congregated there

;
-^
my
mistress came back on foot, and my husband hurried away to
a barber's shop protesting that he was run right through the
guts. The courtesy of my husband was noised abroad to such
an extent, that the boys gave him no peace in the street ; and
on this account, and because he was somewhat short-sighted,
my lady dismissed him
;
and it was chagrin at this I am con-
vinced beyond a doubt that brought on his death. I was left
a helpless widow, with a daughter on my hands growing up in
beauty like the sea-foam
;
at length, however, as I had the
character of being an excellent needlewoman, my lady the
duchess, then lately married to my lord the duke, offered to
take me with her to this kingdom of Aragon, and my daugliter
also, and here as time went by my daughter grew up and with
her all the graces in the world ; she sings like a lark, dances
quick as thought, foots it like a gypsy, reads and Avrites like a
schoolmaster, and does sums like a miser
;
of her neatness I
say nothing, for the running water is not purer, and her age is
now, if my memory serves me, sixteen years five months and
'
Tlie Guadalajara gate was then very mucli what the Puerta del Sol is
to modern Madrid,
332 DON QUIXOTE.
three days, one more or less. To come to the point, the son of
a very rich farmer living in a village of my lord the duke's, not
very far from here, fell in love with this girl of mine
;
and in
short, how I know not, they came together, and under the
promise of marrying her he made a fool of my daughter, and
will not keep his word. And though my lord the duke is
aware of it (for I have complained to him, not once but many
and many a time, and entreated him to order the farmer to
marry my daughter), he turns a deaf ear and will scarcely listen
to me ; the reason being that as the deceiver's father is so rich,
and lends him money, and is constantly going security for his
debts, he does not like to offend or annoy him in any way.
Now, seiior, I want your worship to take it upon yourself to
redress this wrong either by entreaty or by arms
;
for by what
all the world says you came into it to redress grievances and
right wrongs and help the unfortunate. Let your worship put
before you the unprotet-ted condition of my daughter, her
grace, her youth, and all the perfections I have said she pos-
sesses
;
and before God and on my conscience, oi;t of all the
damsels my lady has, there is not one that comes u]) to the
sole of her shoe, and the one they call Altisidora, and looked
upon as the boldest and gayest of them, put in comparison
with my daughter, does not come within two leagues of her.
For I would have you know, seiior, all is not gold that glitters,^
and that same little Altisidora has more forwardness than good
looks, and more impiidence than modesty; besides being not
very sound, for she has such a disagreeable breath that one
cannot bear to be near her for a moment; and even my lady
the duchess

but I
'11
hold my tongue, for they say that walls
have ears."
"
For Heaven's sake, Dofla Rodriguez, what ails my lady
the duchess ?
"
asked Don Quixote.
"
Adjured in that way," replied the duenna,
"
I cannot help
answering the question and telling the whole truth. Seiior
Don Quixote, have you observed the comeliness of my lady the
duchess, that smooth complexion of hers like a burnished
polished sword, those two cheeks of milk and carmine, that
gay lively step with which she treads or rather seems to spurn
the earth, so that one would fancy she went radiating health
wherever she passed ? Well then, let me tell you she may
thank, first of all God, for this, and next, two issues that she
>
Trov. 161.
CHAPTER XL VIIT.
333
has, one in eacli leg, by wliich all the evil humors, of which the
doctors say she is lull, are discharged."
"
Blessed Virgin !
"
exclaimed Don Quixote
;
"
and is it pos-
sible that my lady the duchess has drains of that sort
''
I
would not have believed it if the bare-foot friars had told it
me ; but as the lady Dona liodriguez says so, it must be so.
But surely such issues, and in such places, do not discharge
humors, but liquid amber. Verily, I do believe now that this
practice of opening issiies is a very important matter for the
health."
1
Don Quixote had hardly said this, when the chamber door
flew open with a loud bang, and with the start the noise gave
her Doiia Rodriguez let the candle fall from her hand, and the
room was left as dark as a wolf's mouth, as the saying is.
Suddenly the poor duenna felt two hands seize her by the
throat, so tightly that she could not croak, while some one else,
without uttering a word, very briskly hoisted up her petticoats,
and with what seemed to be a sli[)per began to lay on so heartily
that any one woidd have felt pity for her
;
but although Don
Quixote felt it he never stirred from his bed, but lay quiet and
silent, nay apprehensive that his turn for a drubbing might be
coming. Kor was the apprehension an idle one
;
for leaving
the duenna (wlio did not dare to cry out) well basted, the
silent executioners fell upon Don Quixote, and stripping him
of the sheet and the coverlet, they pinched him so fast and so
hard that he was driven to defend himself with his fists, and
all this in marvellous silence. The battle lasted nearly half
an hour, and then the phantoms fled
;
Doha Rodriguez gathered
up her skirts, and bemoaning her fate went out without saying
a word to Don Quixote, and he, sorely pinched, puzzled, and
dejected, remained alone, and there we will leave him, wonder-
ing who could have been the perverse enchanter Avho had re-
duced him to such a state
;
but that shall be told in due season,
for Sancho claims our attention, and the methodical arrange-
ment of the story demands it.
'
Issues were, in fact, very much relied upon as preservatives of healtii
in Spain, just as periodical blood-letting was in England somewhat later.
834 . DON QUIXOTE.
CHAPTER XLIX.
OF WHAT
HAPPElSrED SANCHO 11^ MAKING THE ROUND
OF HIS ISLANB.
We left the great governor angered and irritated by that
portrait-painting rogue of a farmer who, instructed by the
niajordonio, as the majordomo was by the dnke, tried to prac-
tise upon him ; lie however, fool, boor, and clown as he was,
held his own against them all, saying to those round him and
to Doctor Pedro Recio, who as soon as the private business of
the duke's letter was disposed of had returned to the room,
"Now I see plainly enough that judges and governors ought
to be and must be made of brass not to feel the importunities of
the applicants that at all times and all seasons insist on being
heard, and having their business despatched, and their own
affairs and no others attended to, coiue what may
;
and if the
poor judge does not hear them and settle the matter
either
because he cannot or because that is not the time set apart for
hearing them

forthwith they abuse him, and run him down,

and gnaw at his bones, and even pick holes in his pedigree. You
silly, stujjid applicant, don't be in a hurry
;
wait for the proper
time and season for doing business
;
don't come at dinner-hour,
or at bedtime; for judges are only flesh and blood, and must
give to Nature what she naturally demands of them ; all except
myself, for in my case I give her nothing to eat, thanks to
Seiior Doctor Pedro Eecio Tirteafuera here, who would have
me die of hunger, and declares that death to be life
;
and the
same sort of life may God give him and all his kind

I mean
the bad doctors
;
for the good ones deserve palms and laurels."
All who knew Sancho Panza were astonished to hear him
speak so elegantly, and did not know what to attribute it to
unless it were that office and grave responsibility either smarten
or stupefy men's wits. At last Doctor Pedro Eecio Aguero of
Tirteafuera promised to let him have supper that night, though
it might be in contravention of all the aphorisms of Hippoc-
rates. With this the governor was satisfied and looked for-
ward to the approach of night and supper-time with great
anxiety
;
and though time, to his mind, stood still and made no
progress, nevertheless the hour he so longed for came, and they
gave him a beef salad with onions and some boiled calves' feet
CHAPTER XLIX.
335
rather far gone. At this he fell to with greater relish than if
they had given him francolins from Milan, pheasants from
Rome, veal from Sorrento, partridges from Moron, or geese
from Lavajos, and turning to the doctor at supper he said to
him,
"
Look here, senor doctor, for the future don't trouble
yourself about giving me dainty things or choice dishes to eat,
for it will be only taking my stomach off its hinges
;
it is ac-
customed to goat, cow, bacon, hung beef, turnips and onions
;
and if by any chance it is given these palace dishes, it receives
them squeamishly, and sometimes with loathing. AVliat the
head-carver had best do is to serve me with what they call ollas
podridas (and the rottener they are the better they smell)
;
and
he can put whatever he likes into them, so long as it is good
to eat, and I
'11
be obliged to him, and will requite him some
day. But let nobody play pranks on me, for either we are or
we are not ; let lis live and eat in peace and good-fellowship,
for when God sends the dawn, he sends it for all.-' I mean to
govern this island without giving up a right or taking a bribe
;
-
let every one keep his eye open, and look out for the arrow
f
for I can tell them
'
the devil 's in Cantillana,'
*
and if they
drive me to it they
'11
see something that will astonish them.
Nay ! make yourself honey and the flies will eat you."
^
"
Of a truth, senor governor," said the carver,
"
your worship
is in the right of it in everything you have said
;
and I prom-
ise you in the name of all the inhabitants of this island that
they will serve your worship with all zeal, aifection, and good-
will, for the mild kind of government you have given a sample
of to begin with, leaves them no ground for doing or thinking
anything to your worship's disadvantage."
"
That I believe," said Sancho ;
"
and they would be great
fools if they did or thought otherwise
;
once more I say, see to
my feeding and my Dapple's, for tha,t is the great point and
what is most to the purpose
;
and when the hour comes let us
go the rounds, for it is my intention to purge this island of all
manner of uncleanness and of all idle good-for-nothing vaga-
bonds
;
for I woiild have you know, my friends, that lazy
idlers are the same thing in a State as the drones in a hive,
that eat iip the honey the industrious bees make. I mean to
1
Prov. 88.
2
Prov. 51.
^
Prov. 248.

Prov. 35. A rather obscure proverb. Cantillana is a village to the

north-east of Seville. One explanation is that it refers to the doings of
one of Jofre Tenorio's captains in suppressing the disturbances in the
reign of Alfonso XI.
'"
Prov. 139.
336 DON QUIXOTE.
l)rotect the husbandman, to preserve to the gentleman his privi-
leges, to reward the virtuous, and above all to respect religion
and honor its ministers. What say you to that, my friends ? Is
there anything in what I say, or am I talking to no purpose ?
"
"
There is so much in what your worship says, seiior gov-
ernor," said the majordomo,
"
that I am tilled with wonder
when I see a man like your worship, entirely without learning
(for I believe you have none at all), say such things, and so
full of sound maxims and sage remarks, very different from
what was expected of your worship's intelligence by those who
sent us or by us who came here. Every day we see something
new in this world
;
jokes become realities, and the jokers find
the tables turned upon them."
Night came, and with the permission of Doctor Pedro Recio,
the governor had supper.^ They then got ready to go the
rounds, and he started with the majordomo, the secretary, the
head-carver, the chronicler charged with recording his deeds,
and alguacils and notaries enough to form a fair-sized squad-
ron. In the midst marched Sancho with his staff, as fine a
sight as one could wish to see, and but a few streets of the
town had been traversed when they heard a noise as of a clash-
ing of swords. They hastened to the spot, and found that the
combatants were but two, who seeing the authorities approach-
ing stood still, and one of them exclaimed,
"'
Help, in the name
of God and the king ! Are men to be allowed to rob in the
ujiddle of this town, and rush out and attack people in the very
streets ?
"
"
Be calm, my good man," said Sancho,
'''
and tell me what
the cause of this quarrel is
;
for I am the governor."
Said the other combatant,
"
Seiior governor, I will tell you
in a very few words. Your Avorship must know that this gen-
tleman has just now Avon more than a thousand reals in that
gambling house opposite, and God knows how. I was there,
and gave more than one doubtful point in his favor, very much
against what my conscience told me. He made off with his
winuings, and Avhen I made sure he was going to give me a
crown or so at least by way of a present, as it is usiral and
customary to give men of qiiality of my sort who stand by to
see fair or foul play, and back up swindles, and prevent
quarrels, he pocketed his money and left the house. Indig-
nant at this I followed him, and speaking him fairly and civilly
'
Cervantes forgets he had given Sancho his .supper already.
CHAPTER XLIX. 337
asked him to give me if it were only eight reals, for he knows
I am an honest man and that I have neither profession nor
property, for my parents never brought me up to any or left
me any ; but the rogue, who is a greater thief than Cacus and
a greater sharper than Andradilla, would not give me more
than four reals
;
so your worship may see how little shame and
conscience he has. But by my faith if you had not come up
I 'd have made him disgorge his winnings, and he 'd have
learned what the range of the steel-yard was."
"
What say you to this ?
"
asked Sancho. The other replied
that all his antagonist said was true, and that he did not choose
to give him more than four reals because he very often gave
him money ; and that those who expected presents ought to be
civil and take what is given them with a cheerful countenance,
and not make any claim against winners unless they know
them for certain to l)e sharpers and their winnings to l)e un-
fairly won ; and that there could be no better proof that he
himself was an honest man than his having refused to give
anything
;
for sharpers always pay tribute to lookers-on who
know them."
"
This is true,
"
said the majordomo ;
"'
let your worship con-
sider what is to be done with these men."
"
What is to be done,
"
said Sancho,
"
is this
;
you, the win-
ner, be you good, bad, or indifferent, give this assailant of
yours a hundred reals at once, and you must disburse thirty
more for the poor prisoners
;
and you who have neither pro-
fession nor property, and hang about the island in idleness,
take these hundred reals now, and some time of the day to-
morrow quit the island under sentence of banishment for ten
years, and under pain of completing it in another life if you
violate the sentence, for I
'11
hang you on a gibbet, or at least
the hangman will by my orders
;
not a word from either of you,
or I
'11
make him feel my hand."
The one paid down the money and the other took it, and the
latter quitted the island, while the other went home
;
and then
the governor said,
"
Either I am not good for much, or I
'11
get
rid of these gambling houses, for it strikes me they are very
mischievous."
"
This one at least,
"
said one of the notaries,
"
your wor-
ship will not be able to get rid of, for a great man owns it, and
what he loses every year is beyond all comparison more than
what he makes by the cards. On the minor gambling houses
Vol. II.

22
338
l^ON QUIXOTE.
your worship may
exercise your power, and it is they that do
most harm and shelter
the most
barefaced practices
;
for iu the
houses of lords and
gentlemen of quality the notorious sharpers
dare not
attempt to play their tricks
;
and as the vice of
gambling has
become common, it is better that men should play
in houses of repute than in some tradesman's, where they catch
an unlucky
fellow in the small hours of the morning and skin
him alive."
"
I know already,
notary, that there is a good deal to be said
on that point, " said Sancho.
And now a tipstaff came up with a young man in his grasp,
and said,
"
Senor
governor, this youth was coming towards us,
and as soon as he saw the officers of justice he turned about and
ran like a
deer, a sure proof that he must be some evil-doer
;
I ran after him, and had it not been that he stumbled and fell,
I should never have caught him."
"
What did you run for, fellow ?
"
said Sancho.
To which the young man replied,
''
Senor, it was to avoid
answering all the questions officers of justice put."
"
What are you by trade ?
"
"A weaver."
''
And what do you weave ?
"
"
Lance heads, with your worship's good leave."
"
You 're facetious with me ! You itlume yourself on being
a wag ? Very good
;
and where were you going just now ?
"
"
To take the air, senor."
"
And where does one take the air in this island ?
"
"
AVhere it blows."
"
Good ! your answers are very much to the point
;
you are
a smart youth
;
but take notice that I am the air, and that I
blow upon you a-steru, and send you to jail. Ho there ! lay
hold of him and take him off ; I
'11
make him sleep there to-
night without air."
''
By God,
"
said the young man,
"
your worship will make
me sleep in jail just as soon as make me king."
''
Why shan't I make thee sleep in jail ?
"
said Sancho.
'^
Have I not the power to arrest thee and release thee when-
ever I like ?
"
"
All the power your worship has, " said the young man,
"
won't be able to make me sleep in jail."
"
How ? not able !
"
said Sancho ;
"
take him away at once
where he
'11
see his mistake with his own eyes, even if the
CHAPTER XLIX. 339
jailer is willing to exert his interested generosity on his behalf
;
for I
'11
lay a penalty of two thousand ducats on him if he
allows him to stir a step from the prison."
"
That 's ridiculous," said the young man ;
"
the fact is, all
the men on earth will not make me sleep in prison."
"
Tell me, you devil," said Sanclio,
"
have you got any angel
that will deliver you, and take off the irons I am going to order
them to put upon you ?
"
"
Now, senor governor," said the young man in a sprightly
manner, '<-let us be reasonable and come to the point. Granted
your worship may order me to be taken to prison, and have irons
and chains put on me, and to be shut up in a cell, and may lay
heavy penalties on the jailer if he lets me out, and that he
obeys your orders
;
still, if I don't choose to sleep, and choose
to remain awake all night without closing an eye, will your
worship with all your power be able to ]nake me sleep if I
don't choose?
"
"
No, truly," said the secretary,
"
and the fellow has made
his point."
"
So then," said Sancho, "it would be entirely of your own
choice you would keep from sleeping ; not in opposition to my
will ?
"
"
No, senor," said the youth,
"
certainly not."
"
Well then, go, and God be with you," said Sancho ;
"
be
off home to sleep, and God give you sound sleep, for I don't
Avant to rob you of it ; but for the future, let me advise you
don't joke with the authorities, because you may come across
some one who will bring down the joke on your own skull."
The young man went his way, and the governor continued
his round, and shortly afterwards two tipstaffs came up with a
man in custody, and said,
"
Seiior governor, this person, who
seems to be a man, is not so, but a woman, and not an ill-fa-
vored one, in man's clothes." They raised two or three lanterns
to her face, and by their light they distinguished the features
of a woman to all appearance of the age of sixteen or a little
more, with her hair gathered into a gold and green silk net,
and fair as a thousand pearls. They scanned her from head
to foot, and observed that she had on red silk stockings with
garters of white taffety bordered with gold and pearl
;
her
breeches were of green

and gold stuff, and under an open
jacket or jerkin of the same she wore a doublet of the finest
white and gold cloth
;
her shoes were white and such as men
340 DON QUIXOTE.
wear ; she carried no sword at her belt, hut only a richly orna-
mented dagger, and on her fingers she had several handsome
rings. In short, the girl seemed fair to look at in the eyes of
all, and none of those who beheld her knew her, the peoi)le of
the town said they could not imagine who she was, and those
who were in the secret of the jokes that were to be })ractised
upon Sancho were the ones who were most surprised, for this
incident or discovery had not been arranged by them
;
and they
watched anxiously to see how the affair would end.
Sancho was fascinated by the girl's beauty, and he asked her
who she was, where she was going, and what had induced
her to dress herself in that garb. She with her eyes fixed on
the ground answered in modest confusion,
*'
I cannot tell
you, seiior, before so many people what it is of such conse-
quence to me to have kept secret; one thing I wish to be
known, that I am no thief or evil-doer, but only an unliapi)y
maiden whom the power of jealousy has led to break through
the respect that is due to modesty."
Hearing this the majordomo said to Sancho,
"
Make the
people stand back, senor governor, that this lady may say what
she wishes with less embarrassment.'"
Sancho gave the order, and all except the majordomo, the
head-carver, and the secretary fell back. Finding herself then
in the presence of no more, the damsel went on to say, ''I am
the daughter, sirs, of Pedro Perez Mazorca, the wool-farmer of
this town, who is in the habit of coming very often to my
father's house."
"
That won't do, seiiora," said the majordomo ;
"
for T know
Pedro Perez very well, and I know he has no child at all,
either son or daughter ; and besides, though you say he is your
father, you add then that he comes very often to your father's
house."
'
I have already noticed that," said Sancho.
"
I am confused just now, sirs," said the damsel,
"
and I
don't know what I am saying ; but the truth is that I am the
daughter of Diego de la Liana, whom you must all know."
"Ay, that will do," said the majordomo;
"
for I know Diego
de la Liana, and know that he is a gentleman of position and
a rich man, and that he has a son and a daughter, and that
since he was left a widower nobody in all this town can
speak to having seen his daughter's face
;
for he keeps her so
closely shut up that he does not give even the sun a chance of
CHAPTER XLIX. 341
seeing lier ; and for all that report says she is extremely
beautifnl."
"
It is true," said the damsel,
"
and I am that daughter
;
whether report lies or not as to my beauty, you, sirs, will have
decided by this time, as you have seen me ; and with this she
began to Aveep bitterly.
On seeing this the secretary leant over to the head-carver's
ear, and said to him in a low voice, " Something serious has no
doubt happened this poor maiden, that she goes wandering from
home in such a dress and at such an hour, and one of her rank
too."
"
There can be no doubt about it," returned the carver,
"
and moreover her tears confirm your suspicion." Sancho
gave her the best comfort he could, and entreated her to tell
them without any fear Avhat had happened*her, as they would
all earnestly and by every means in their power endeavor to
relieve her.
"
The fact is, sirs," said she,
"
that my father has kept me
shut up these ten years, for so long is it since the earth re-
ceived my mother. Mass is said at home in a sumptuous
chapel, and all this time I have seen but the sun in the heaven
by da}^, and the moon and the stars by night ; nor do I know
what streets are like, or plazas, or churches, or even men,
except my father and a brother I have, and Pedro Perez the
wool-farmer ; whom, because he came frequently to our house,
I took it into my head to call my father, to avoid naming my
own. This seclusion and the restrictions laid upon my going
out, were it only to church, have been keeping me unhappy for
many a day and month past ; I longed to see the world, or at
least the toAvn where I was born, and it did not seem to me
that this wish was inconsistent with the respect maidens of
good quality should have for themselves. When I heard them
talking of bull-fights taking pla-e, and of javelin games,^ and
of acting plays, I asked my brother, who is a year younger
than myself, to tell me what sort of things these were, and
many more that I had never seen ; he explained them to me
as well as he coiild, but the only effect was to kindle in me a
still stronger desire to see them. At last, to cut short the story
of my ruin, I begged and entreated my brother

that I
had never made such an entreaty
"

And once more she

gave way to a burst of weeping.
"
Proceed, senora," said the majordomo,
''
and finish your
*
Played by men on horseback with reed javelius and light bucklers.
342 DON QuixorE.
story of what lias happened to you, for your words and tears
are keeping us all in suspense."
''
I have but little more to say, though many a tear to shed,"
said the damsel ;
''
for ill-placed desires can only be paid for
in some such way."
The maiden's beauty had inade a deep impression on the
head-carver's heart, and he again raised his lantern for another
look at her, and thought they were not tears she was shedding,
but seed-pearl or dew of the meadow, nay, he exalted them
still highei", and made Oriental pearls of them, and ferventl}-
hoped her misfortune might not be so great a one as her tears
and sobs seemed to indicate. The governor was losing jiatience
at the length of time the girl was taking to tell her story, and
told her not to keep them waiting any longer ; for it was late,
and there still remained a good deal of the town to be gone
over.
She, with broken sobs and half-suppressed sighs, went on to
say,
"
My misfortune, my misadventure, is simply this, that I
entreated my brother to dress me up as a man in a suit of his
clothes, and take me some night, when our father was asleep, to
see the whole town ; he, overcome by my entreaties, consented,
and dressing me in this suit and himself in clothes of mine
that fitted him as if made for him (for he has not a hair on his
chin, and might pass for a very beautiful young girl), to-night,
about an hour ago, more or less, we left the house, and guided
by our youthful and foolish impulse we made the circuit of the
whole town, and then, as we were about to return home, we
saw a great troop of people coming, and my brother said to me,
^
Sister, this must be the round, stir your feet and put wings to
them, and follow me as fast as you can, lest they recognize us,
for that would be a bad business for us
;
' and so saying he
turned about and began, I cannot say to run but to fly ; in less
than six paces I fell from fright, and then the officer of justice
came up and carried me before your worships,
where I finil
myself put to shame before all these people as whimsical and
vicious."
"
So then, senora," said Sancho,
"
no other mishap has be-
fallen you, nor was it jealousy that made you leave home, as
you said at the beginning of your story ?
"
"
Nothing has happened me," said she,
''
nor was it jealousy
that brought me out, but merely a longing to see the world,
which did not go beyond seeing the streets of this town."
CHAPTER XLIX. 343
The a|)pearaiice of the tipstaffs Avith her brother in custody,
whom one of them had overtaken as he ran away from his
sister, now fully confirmed the truth of Avhat the damsel said.
He had nothing on but a rich petticoat and a short blue damask
cloak with fine gold lace, and his head was uncovered and
adorned only with its own hair, which looked like rings of gold,
so bright and curly was it. The governor, the majordomo, and
the carver went aside with him, and, uidieard by his sister,
asked him how he came to be in that dress, and he with no less
shame and embarrassment told exactly the same story as his
sister, to the great delight of the enamoured carver
;
the gov-
ernor, however, said to them,
"
In truth, young lady and gentle-
man, this has been a very childish affair, and to explain your
folly and rashness there was no necessity for all this delay and
all these tears and sighs ;
for if you had said we are so-and-so,
and we escaped from our father's house in this way in order .to
ramble about, out of mere curiosity and with no other object,
there would have been an end of the matter, and none of these
little sobs and tears and all the rest of it."
"That is true," said the damsel, 'but yon see the confusion
I was in was so great it did not let me behave as I ought.-"
''
No harm has been done," said Sancho
;
"
come, we will
leave you at your father's house
;
perhaps they will not have
missed you ; and another time don't be so childish or eager to
see the world ; for a respectable damsel and a broken leg
should keep at home
;
and the woman and the hen by gadding
about are soon lost ; and she who is eager to see is also eager
to be seen
;
^
I say no more."
The youth thanked the governor for his kind oft'er to take
them home, and they directed their steps towards the house,
which was not far off. On reaching it the youth threw a
pebble up at a grating, and immediately a woman-servant who
was waiting for them came down and opened the door to them,
and they went in, leaving the party marvelling as much at
their grace and beauty as at the fancy they had for seeing the
world by night and without quitting the village
;
which, how-
ever, they set doAvn to their youth.
The head-carver was left Avith a heart pierced through and
through, and he made up his mind on the spot to demand the
damsel in marriage of her father on the morrow, making sure
she would not be refused him as he was a servant of the duke's
;
iProvs.
148, 150, and 239.
344 DON QUIXOTE.
and even to Sanclio ideas and schemes of marrying the youth
to his daughter Sanchica suggested themselves, and he resolved
to open the negotiation at the proper season, persuading him-
self that no husband could be refused to a governor's daughter.
And so the night's round came to an end, and a couple of days
later the government, whereby all his plans were overthrown
and swept away, as will be seen farther on.
CHAPTER L.
WHEREIN IS SET FORTH WHO THE EXCHAXTERS AND EXECU-
TIONERS WERE WHO FLOGGED THE DUENNA AND PINCHED
DON QUIXOTE, AND ALSO WHAT BEFELL THE PAGE WHO
CARRIED THE LETTER TO TERESA PANZA, SANCHO PANZA's
wifp:.
CiD Hamet, the pains-taking investigator of the minute
points of this veracious histoiy, says that when Doiia Rodri-
guez left her own room to go to Don Quixote's, another duenna
who slept with her observed her, and as all duennas are fond of
prying, listening, and sniffing, she followed her so silently that
the good Rodriguez never perceived it ; and as soon as the
duenna saw her enter Don Quixote's room, not to fail in a
duenna's invariable practice of tattling, she hurried off that in-
stant to report to the duchess how Dona Rodriguez was closeted
with Don Quixote. The duchess told the duke, and asked him
to let her and Altisidora go and see what the said duenna
wanted with Don Quixote. The duke gave them leave, and the
pair cautiously and quietly crept to the door of tlie room and
posted themselves so close to it that they could hear all that
was said inside. But when tlie duchess heard how the Rod-
riguez had made public the Aranjuez of her issues
^
she could
not restrain herself, nor Altisidora either ; and so, filled with
rage and thirsting for vengeance, they burst into the room and
tormented Don Quixote and flogged the duenna in the manner
already described
;
for indignities offered to their charms and
self-esteem mightily provoke the anger of women and make
'
Issues are called fuentes, "fountain.s," and the fountains of Aranjuez
are as famous in Spain as those of Versailles in France.
MEETING OF THE PAGE AND THE DAUGHTER OF SANCHO
PANZA.
Vol 2. Page 345.
CHAPTER L. 345
them eager for revenge. Tlie duchess tohl the duke what had
happened, and he was much amused by it
;
and she, in pursu-
ance of her design of making merry and diverting herself with
Don Quixote, despatched the page who had played the part of
Dulcinea in the negotiations for her disenchantment (which
Sancho Fanza in the cares of government had forgotten all
about) to Teresa Fanza his wife with her husband's letter and
another from herself, and also a great string of fine coral beads
as a present.^
Now the history says this page was very shai-p and quick-
witted; and eager to serve his lord and lady he set off very
willingly for Sancho's village. Before he entered it he ob-
served a number of women- washing in a brook,- and asked
them if they could tell him whether there lived there a woman
of the name of Teresa Panza, wife of one Sancho Panza, squire
to a knight called Don (^)uixote of La Mancha. At the question
a young girl who was washing stood up and said,
"
Teresa
Panza is my mother, and that Sancho is my father, and that
knight is our master."
^'
Well then, miss," said the page,
'
come and show me where
your mother is, for I bring her a letter and a present from
your father."
"
That I will with all my heart, seiior," said the girl, who
seemed to be about fourteen, more or less ; and leaving the
clothes she was washing to one of her companions, and without
putting anything on her head or feet, for she was bare-legged
and had her hair hanging about her, away she skipped in front
of the page's horse, saying,
"
Come, your worship, our house is
at the entrance of the town, and my mother is there, sorrowfid
enough at not having had any news of m}^ father this ever so
long."
"
Well," said the page,
''
I am bringing her such good news
that she will ha^'e reason to thank God for it."
And then, skipping, running, and ca|)ering, tlie girl reached
the town, but before going into the house she called out at the
door,
*'
Come out, mother Teresa, come out, come out ;
here 's a
gentleman with letters and other things from my good father."
At these words her mother Teresa Panza came out spinning a
bundle of flax, in a gray petticoat (so short was it one would
'
See chapter xlvi., p;ige olT).
'^
Araraniasilla is almost the oiilv vilhine in I^a, Manelia where such a
sight could be seen; an arui of the Guadiaiui Hows past it.
346 DON QUIXOTE.
have fancied.
'
they to her shame had cut it short
"
'), a gvay
bodice of the same stuff, and a smock. She was not very old,
though plainly past forty, strong, healthy, vigorous, and sxin-
dried
;
and seeing her daughter and the page on horseback, she
exclaimed,
''
What 's this, child ? What gentleman is this ?
"
"A servant of my lady, Dofia Teresa Pan/a," replied the
page
;
and suiting the action to the word he flung himself off
his horse, and with great humility advanced to kneel before
the lady Teresa, saying,
"
Let me kiss your hand, Seiiora Doiia
Teresa, as the lawful and only wife of Seiior Don Sancho
Panza, rightful governor of the island of Barataria."
''Ah, senor, get up, don't do that," said Teresa;
"
for I 'm
not a bit of a court lady, but only a poor countrywoman, the
daughter of a clodcrusher, and the wife of a squire-errant and
not of any governor at all."
"
You are," said the page,
"
the most worthy wife of a mt)st
arch-worthy governor
;
and as a proof of what I sa}^ accept
this letter and this present ;
"
and at the same time he took out
of his pocket a sti'ing of coral beads with gold clasps, and
placed it on her neck, and said,
"
This letter is from his lord-
ship the governor, and the other as well as these coral beads
from my lady the duchess, who sends me to your worship."
Teresa stood lost in astonishment, and her daughter just as
much, and the girl said,
"
^lay I die Init our master Don Qui-
xote 's at the bottom of this ; he must have given father the
government or country he so often promised him."
"
That is the truth," said the page
;
"
for it is through Seiior
Don (Quixote that Seiior Sancho is now governor of the island
of Uarataj-ia, as will be seen by this letter."
''
Will your worslii}) read it to me, noble sir
'.' "
said Teresa;
''
for though I can spin I can't read, not a sera])."
"
Nor I either," said Sanchica; "but wait a bit, and I
"11
go
and fetch some one who can read it, either the curate himself
or the bachelor Samson Carrasco, and they
'11
come gladly to
hear any news of my father."
''
There is no need to fetch anybody," said the })agc ;
"
for
though I can't spin I can read, and J 'II read it ;
"
and so he
read it through, ])ut as it has already been given it is not
inserted here
;
and then he took out the other one from the
duchess, which ran as follows :
^5
'A line from tlie old ballad,
'
.V Calalrava la Vieju." Docking the
skirts was a punishment f )r misconduct in old times.
CHAPTER L. 347
"
Friend Teuksa,
Youv husband Saneho's good qualities, of
heart as well as of head, induced and compelled me to n quest my
husband the duke to give him the government of one of his many-
islands. I am told he governs like a gerfalcon, of which I am very
glad, and my lord the duke, of course, also ; and I am very thankful
to Heaven that I have not made a mistake in choosing him for that
same government ; for I would have Sefiora Teresa know that a
o-ood governor is liard to find in tliis world, and may God make me
as good as Saneho's way of governing. Herewith I send you, my
dear, a string of coral beads with gohl clasps ; I wish they were
Oriental pearls ; but
'
he wlio gives thee a bone does not wish to see
thee dead
;
'
' a time will come when we shall become acquainted and
meet one anotiier, but (^od knows the future. Commend me to your
daughter Sanchica, and tell her from me to hold herself in I'eadiness,
for 1 mean to make a high match for her when she least expects it.
They tell me tliere are big acorns in your village ; send me a couple
of dozen or so, and I shall value them greatly as coming from your
hand; and write to me at length to assure me of your health and
well-being ; and if there be anything you stand in need of, it is but
to open your mouth, and that shall be the measure ; and so God keep
you.
"From this place.
"
Your loving friend,
"The Duchess."
"
All, what a good, plain, lowly lady !
"
said Teresa when
she heard the letter ;
"
that I may be buried with ladies of
that sort, and not the gentlewomen we have in this town, that
fancy because they are gentlewomen the wind must not touch
them, and go to church with as much airs as if they were
queens, no less, and seem to think they are disgraced if they
look at a farmer's wife ! And see here how this good lady, for
all she 's a duchess, calls me
^
friend," and treats me as if I was
her ecjual

and equal may I see her with the tallest church-

tower in La Mancha I And as for the acorns, seflor, I
'11
send
her ladyship a peck and such big ones that one might come to
see them as a show and a wonder. And now, Sanchica, see
that the gentleman is comfortable
;
put up his horse, and get
some eggs out of the stable, and cut plenty of bacon, and let 's
give him his diniier like a prince
;
for the good news he has
brought, and his own boimy face deserve it all ; and meanwhile
I
'11
run out and give the neighbors the news of our good luck,
and father curate, and Master Nicholas the barber, who are
and always have been such friends of thy father's."
>
Prov. G6.
348 DON QUIXOTE.
"
That I will, mother," said Sancliiea ;
'^
but mind, you
must give me half of that string ; for I don't think my lady
the duchess could have been so stupid as to send it all to you."'
"It is all for thee, my child," said Teresa; "but let me
wear it round my neck for a few days
;
for verily it seems to
make my heart glad."
"
You will be glad, too," said the page,
"
when you see the
bundle there is in this portmanteau, for it is a suit of the finest
cloth, that the governor only wore one day out hixnting and
now sends, all for Seiiora Sanchlca."
"
May he live a thousand years," said Sancliiea,
"
and the
bearer as many, nay two thousand, if needful."
AVith this Teresa hurried out of the house with the letters,
and with the string of beads round her neck, and went along
thrumming the letters as if they were a tambourine, and by
chance coming across the curate and Samson Carrasco she
began capering and saying,
''
Xone of us poor now, faith
!
We 've got a little government ! Ay, let the finest fine lady
tackle me. and I
'11
give her a setting down
!
"
"
What 's all this, Teresa Panza," said they
;
"
what mad-
ness is this, and what papers are those ?
"
"
The madness is only this," said she, '-that these are the
letters of duchesses and governors, and these I have on my
neck are fine coral beads, Avith ave-marias and paternosters of
beaten gold, and I am a governess."
"
God help us," said the curate,
"
we don't understand you,
Teresa, or know what yoii are talking about."
"
There, you may see it yourselves," said Teresa, and she
handed them the letters.
The curate read them out for Samson Carrasco to hear, and
Samson and he regarded one another with looks of astonish-
ment at Avhat they had read, and the bachelor asked who had
brought the letters. Teresa in reply bade them come with her
to her house and they would see the messenger, a most elegant
youth, who had brought another present which was worth as
much more. The curate took the coral beads from her neck
and examined them again and again, and having satisfied him-
self as to their fineness he fell to wondering afresh, and said,
"
By the gown I wear I don't know Avhat to say or think of
these letters and presents
;
on the one hand T can see and feel
the fineness of these coral beads, and on the other I read how
a duchess sends to beg for a couple of dozen of acorns."
CHAPTER L. 349
"
Square that if you can," said Carrasco
;
"
well, let 's go and
see the messenger, and from him we
'11
learn something about
this mystery that has turned u})."
They did so, and Teresa returned with them. They found
the page sifting a little barley for his horse, and Sanchica cut-
ting a rasher of bacon to be paved with eggs
'
for his dinner.
His looks and his handsome apparel pleased them both greatly
;
and after they had saluted him courteoxisly, and he them,
Samson begged him to give them his news, as well of Don
Quixote as of Sancho Panza, for, he said, though they had read
the letters from Sancho ami her ladyship the duchess, they
were still puzzled and coidd not make out what was meant by
Sancho's government, and above all of an island, Avhen all or
most of those in the Mediterranean belonged to his majesty.
To this the page replied,
"
As to Sehor Sancho Panza's being
a governor there is no doubt whatever
;
but whether it is
an island or not that he governs, with that I have nothing to
do ; suffice it that it is a town of uujre than a thousand inhabi-
tants
;
with regard to the acorns I may tell you my lady the
duchess is so unpretending and unassuming that, not to speak
of sending to beg for acorns fnnu a peasant woman, she has
been known to send to ask for the loan of a comb from one of
her neighbors
;
for I would have your worships know that the
ladies of Aragon, though they are just as illustrious, are not so
punctilious and haughty as the Castilian ladies ; they treat
people with greater familiarity."
In the middle of this conversation Sanchica came in with her
skirt full of eggs, and said she to the page,
"
Tell me, sehor,
does my father wear trunk-hose since he has been governor ?
"
''I have not noticed,'' said the page
;
"
but no doribt he wears
them."
"
Ah ! my God !
"
said Sanchica,
"
what a sight it must l)e to
see my father in tights ! Is n't it odd that ever since I was
born I have had a longing to see my father in trunk-hose ?
"
"
As things go you will see that if you live," said the page
;
"
by God he is in the way to take the road with a sunshade if
the government only lasts him two months more."
The curate and the bachelor could see plainly enough that
the page spoke in a waggish vein
;
but the fineness of the coral
beads, and the hunting suit that Sancho sent (for Teresa had
^
A graphic description uf tlie dish as dressed in Spain, where the bacon
and eggs are fried together.
350
DON QUIXOTE.
already shown it to them) did away with the impression; and
they could not help laughing at Sanchica's wish, and still more
when Teresa said,
"
Sehor curate, look about if there 's anybody
here going to Madrid or Toledo, to buy me a hooped petticoat,
a proper fashionable one of the best quality
;
for indeed and
indeed I must do honor to my husband's government as well as
I can ; nay, if I am put to it, I
'11
go to court and set up a coach
like all the world
;
for she who has a governor for her husband
may very well have one and keep one."
"
And why not, niother !
"
said Sanchica
;
'"
would to God it
were to-day instead of to-morrow, even though the}' were to say
when they saw me seated in the coach with my
mother,
'
See
that rubbish, that garlic-stuffed fellow's da\ighter, how she goes
stretched at her ease in a coach as if she was a she-pope
!
' But
let them tramp through the mud, and let me go in my coach
with my feet off the ground. Bad luck to backbiters all o^'er
the world
;
'
let me go warm and the people may laugh.'
^
Do
I say right, mother ?
"
"
To be sure you do, my child," said Teresa ;
''
and all this
good luck, and even more, my good Sancho foretold me ; and
thou wilt see, my daughter, he won't stop till he has made me
a countess
;
for to make a beginning is everything in hick
;
and as I have lieard thy good father say many a time (for be-
sides being thy father he 's the father of proverbs too),
'
When
they offer thee a heifer, run with a halter ;
-
when they offer
thee a government, take it ; when they would give thee a
county, seize it ; when they say
''
Here, here I
"
to thee with
something good, swallow it.' Oh no I go to sleep, and don't
answer the strokes of good fortune and the lucky chances that
are knocking at the door of your house I
"
"
And what do I care," added Sanchica,
"
whether anybody
says when he sees me holding my head up,
'
The dog saw him-
self in hempen breeches,' and the rest of it ?
"
^
Hearing this the curate said,
"
I do believe that all this
family of the Panzas are born with a sackful of proverbs in
their insides, every one of them ; I never saw one of them that
does not pour them out at all times and on all occasions."
"
That is true," said the page,
"
for Senor Governor Sancho
utters them at ever}* turn < and though a great many of them
are not to the purpose, still they amuse one, and my lady the
duchess and the duke praise them highly."
'
Prov. 31.

Prov. 236.
^
Prov. 184.
CHAPTER L. 351
"
Then you still maintain that all this about Sancho's gov-
ernment is true, sefior," said the bachelor,
"
and that there
actually is a duchess who sends him presents and writes to
him ? Because we, although we have handled the presents and
read the letters, don't believe it, and suspect it to be something
in the line of our fellow-townsman Don Quixote, who fancies
that everything is done by
enchantment ; and for this reason
I am almost ready to say that I 'd like to touch and feel your
worship to see whether yo;i are a mere ambassador of the im-
agination or a man of flesh and blood.''
"
All I know, sirs,'' replied the page,
''
is that I am a real
ambassador, and that Seiior Sancho Panza is governor as a
matter of fact, and that my lord and lady the duke and duch-
ess can give, and have given him this same government, and
that I have heard the said Sancho Panza bears himself very
stoutly
therein ; whether there be any enchantment in all this
or not, it is for your worships to settle between you
;
for that 's
all 1 know by
the oath I swear, and that is by the life of my
parents whom I have still alive, and love dearly."
"
It may be so," said the bachelor
;
"
but <7iihifaf Ai(;/usfinus."
"
Doubt who will," said the page
;
"
what I have told you
is the truth, and that will always rise above falsehood as oil
above water
; ' if not oj/erihus ereditf, ef non. rcrhls. Let one
of you come with me, and he will see with his eyes what he
does not believe with his ears."
'
"
It 's for me to make that trip," said Sanchica ;
"
take me
with you, sehor, behind you on your horse
;
for I
'11
go with
all my heart to see my father."
"
Governors' daughters," said the page,
''
must not travel
along the roads alone, but accompanied by
coaches and litters
a'.vl a great
number of attendants."

'
P)y God,"
said Sauchica,
''
I can go just as well mounted
on a she-ass as in a coach
;
what a dainty lass you must take
me for !
"
"
Hush, girl," said Teresa ;
"
you don't know what you 're
talking about ; the gentleman is cpnte right, for
'
as the time so
the behavior
;
' -
when it was Sancho it was
'
Sancha
;
'
when it
is governor it 's
'
senora ;
'
I don't know if I 'm right."
"
Sefior Teresa says more than she is aware of," said the
page ;
"
and now give me something to eat and let me go at
once, for I mean to return this evening."
'
Prov. 241.
"^
Prov. 224.
352 DON QUIXOTE.
"
Come and do penance with me/' said tlie curate at this
;
"
for Senora Teresa has more will than means to serve so worthy
a guest."
The page refused, but had to consent at last for his own
sake
;
and the curate took him home Avith him very gladly, in
order to have an opportunity of questioning him at leisure
about Don Quixote and his doings. The bachelor offered to
write the letters in reply for Teresa ; but she did not care to
let him mix himself up in her affairs, for she thought him
somewhat given to joking; and so she gave a cake and a couple
of eggs to a young ;tcolyte who was a penman, and he wrote
for her two letters, one for her husband and the other for the
duchess, dictated out of her own head, and these are not the
worst inserted in this great history, us will be seen farther on.
CHAPTEE LI.
OF THE PROGKESS OF SAXCIIo's GOVERXMENT, AXD OTHER
SUCH EXTKRTAIXIXG MATTERS.
Day came after the night of the governor's round
;
a night
which the head-carver passed without sleeping, so fidl were
his thoughts of the face and air and beauty of the disguised
damsel, while the majordomo spent wliat was left of it in
writing an account to his lord and lady of all Sancho said and
did, being as much amazed at his sayings as at his doings, for
there was a mixture of shrewdness and simplicity in all his
words and deeds. The seiior governor got up, and by Doctor
l?edro Eecio's directions they made hini break his fast on a
little conserve and four sups of cold water, which Sancho
would have readily exchanged for a piece of bread and a bunch
of grapes
; but seeing there was no help for it, he submitted
with no little sorrow of heart and discomfort of stomach
;
Pedro Pecio having persuaded him that light and delicate diet
enlivened the wits, and that was what was most essential for
persons placed in command and in responsible situations,
where they have to emjiloy not only the bodily powers but
those of the mind also.
By means of this sophistry Sancho was made to endure
hunger, and hunger so keen that in his heart he ciirsed the
CHAPTER LI.
353
government, and even him who had given it to him
;
however,
with his hunger and liis conserve he undertook to deliver judg-
ments that day, and the first thing that came before him was a
question that was submitted to him by a strangei', in the pres-
ence of the majordomo and the other attendants, and it was in
these words :
'
8enor, a large river separated two districts of
one and the same lordship

will your worship please to pay

attention, for the case is an important and a rather knotty one
"''
Well then, on this river there was a bridge, and at one end of
it a gallows, and a sort of tribunal, where fotir jvulges commonly
sat to administer the law which the lord of the river, the bridge
and the lordship had enacted, and which was to this effect,
'
If
any one crosses by this bridge from one side to the other
he shall declare on oath where he is going and with what
object ; and if he swears truly, he shall be allowed to pass,
but if falsely, he shall, without any remission, be put to death
for it by hanging on the gallows erected there.' Thoiigh
the law and its severe penalty were known, many jjcrsons
crossed, but in their declarations it was easy to see at once
they were telling the truth, and the judges let them pass free.
It happened, however, that one man, when they came to take
his declaration, swore and said that by the oath he took he
was going to die upon that gallows that stood there, and noth-
ing else. The judges held a consultation over the oath, and
they said,
'
If we let this man pass free he has sworn falsely,
and by the law he ought to die
;
but if we hang him, as he
swore he was going to die on that gallows, and therefore swore
the truth, by the same laAV he ought to go free.' It is asked
of your worship, seflor governor, what are the judges to do
with this man ? For they are still in doubt and perplexity
;
and having heard of your worship's acute and exalted intellect,
they have sent me to entreat your worship on their behalf to
give your opinion on this very intricate and puzzling case."
'
To this tSaucho made answer,
''
Indeed those gentlemen the
judges that send you to me might have spared themselves the
trouble, for I have more of the obtuse than the acute in me
;
however, repeat the case over again, so that I may understand
it, and then perhaps I may be able to hit the point."
The querist repeated again and again wliat he had said be-
'
This ])uzzle is very like one in Aulus Gellius, quoted also in Pedro
Mexia's Silra de Varia Leccion (1. 1, c. xviii.)
;
a book of curiosities of
literature on which Cervantes draws more than once.
Vol. II.

23
354 DON QUIXOTE.
fore, and then Sanclio said,
"
It seems to me I can set the mat-
ter right in a moment, and in this way
;
the man swears that he
is going to die upon the gallows
; V)iit if he dies upon it, he has
sworn the truth, and by the law enacted deserves to go free
and pass over the bridge
;
bnt if they don't hang him, then he
has sworn falsely, and by tlie same law deserves to be hanged."
"
It is as the seiior governor says," said the messenger
;
''
and as regards a complete comprehension of the case, there
is nothing left to desire or hesitate about."
''
Well then I say," said Sancho,
"
that of this num they
should let pass the part that has sworn truly, and hang the
part that has lied
;
and in this way the conditions of the pas-
sage Avill be fully complied with."
'
But then, seuor governor," replied the querist,
"
the man
will have to be divided into two parts
;
and if he is divided of
course he will die ; and so none of the requirements of the law
will be carried out, and it is absolutely necessary to comply
with it."
"
Look here, my good sir," said Sancho ;
"
either I 'm a num-
skull or else there is the same reason for this passenger dying
as for his living and passing over the bridge
;
for if the truth
saves him the falsehood equally condemns him; and that being
the case it is my opinion you should say to the gentlemen who
sent you to me that as the arguments for condemning
him and
for absolving him are exactly balanced, they should let him
pass freely, as it is always more praiseworthy to do good than
to do evil
;
this I would give signed Avith my name if I knew
how to sign
;
and what I have said in this case is not out of my
own head, but one of the many precepts my master Don Qui-
xote gave me the night before I left to become governor of this
island, that came into my mind, and it Avas this, that when
there was any doubt about the justice of a case I should lean
to mercy
;
and it is God's Avill that I should recollect it now,
for it fits this case as if it was made for it."
"
That is true," said the majordomo
;
"
and I maintain that
Lycurgus himself, who gave laws to the Lacaidemonians, could
not have pronounced a better decision than the great Panza has
given
;
let the morning's audience close with this, and I will
see that the seiior governor has dinner entirely to his liking."

That 's all I ask for

fair play," said Sancho

;
"
give me
my dinner, and then let it rain cases and questions on me, and
I
'11
despatch them in a twinkling."
CHAPTER LI.
355
The maJDi'donio kept his word, for he felt it against his con-
science to kill so wise a governor by hnnger
;
particularly as 1 e
intended to have done with hiln that, same night, playing off
the last joke he was commissioned to practise upon him.
It came to pass, then, that after he had dined that day, in
opposition to the rules and aphorisms of Doctor Tirteafuera,
as they were taking away the cloth there came a courier with
a letter from Don Quixote for the governor. Sancho ordered
the secretary to read it to himself, and if there was nothing in it
that demanded secrecy to read it aloud. The secretary did so,
and after he had skimmed the contents he said,
"
It may well
be read aloud, for what Seilor Don Quixote writes to your wor-
ship deserves to be printed or written in letters of gold, and it
is as follows."
Don Quixote of La Mancha's Letter to Sanciio Panza,
Governor of the Island of Barataria.
"
When I was expecting to hear of thy stupidities and bhinders,
friend Sancho, I have received intelligence of thy disjjlays of good
sense, for which I give special thanks to Heaven that can raise the
poor from the dunghill and of fools to make wise men. They tell
me thou dost govern as if thou Avert a man, and art a man as if thou
wert a beast, so great is the humility whercAvilli thou dost comport
thyself. But I would have thee bear in mind, Sancho, that very
often it is fitting and necessary for the authority of oifice to resist the
humility of the heart; for the seemly array of one who is invested
with grave duties should be such as they require and not measured
by what his own humble tastes may lead him to jjrefer. Dress Avell
;
a stick dressed up does not look like a stick
;
'
I do not say thou
shouldst wear trinkets or fine raiment, or that being a judge tliou
shouldst dress like a soldier, but that tliou shouldst array thyself in
the apparel thy oihce re<[uires, and that at the same time it be neat
and handsome. To win the good-will of the people thou governest
there are two things, among others, that thou must do ; one is to
be civil to all (this, however, I told thee before) and the other to take
care that food be abundant, for there is nothing that vexes the heart
of the poor more tlian lumger and high prices. Make not many
proclamations ; but those thou makest take care that they Ije good
ones, and above all that they be observed and carried out ; for proc-
lamations that are not observed are the same as if tliey did not exist
;
nay, tliey encourage the idea that the prince who had tlie wisdom and
autlioi'ity to make them had not the power to enforce tliem
;
and laws
that threaten and are not enforced come to be like the log. the king
of the frogs, that frightened them at first, but that in time they de-
spised and mounted upon. Be a father to virtue and a step-father to
1
Prov. 168.
356 DON QUIXOTE.
vice. Be not alwaj-s striL-t, iiov yet always lenient, but observe a
mean between these two extremes, for in that is the aim of wisdom.
Visit the jails, the slaughter-housas, and the market-places ; for the
presence of the govei-nor *is of great importance in such places; it
comforts the prisoners who are in liopes of a speedy release, it is the
bugbear of the hutcliers who have then to give just weight, and it is
the terror of the market-women for the same reason. Let it not be
seen that thou art (even if perchance thou art, which I do not believe)
covetous, a follower of women, or a glutton; for Avhen the people
and those that have dealings witli tiiee become aware of thy special
weakness they will l)ring their batteries to l)ear upon thee in that
quarter, till they have brouglit thee down to tlie depths of perdition.
Consider and reconsider, con and con over again the advice and the
instructions T gave thee before thy departure hence to thy govern-
ment, and thou wilt see that in them, if tliou dost follow theni, thou
hast a help at hand that will lighten for thee the troubles and dilBcul-
ties that beset governors at every step. Write to thy lord and lady
and sliow thyself grateful to them, for ingratitude is the daughter of
pride, and one of the greatest sins we know of ; and he who is grateful
to those who have l)een ofood to him shows that he will be so to God
also who lias bestowed and still bestows so many blessings upon him.
'
]My lady tin; duciiess sent off a messenger -with thy suit and an-
other present to thy wife Teresa Tanza; we expect the answer every
moment. I have been a little indisposed through acertain cat-scratch-
ing I came in for, not A'cry nnich to the benelit of my nose; but it
was nothing; for it' there are enchanters wlio maltreat me, there are
also .some who defend me. Let me kni)w if the maj<ndomo who is
with tliee had any share in the Trifaldi j)erformance, as thou didst
suspect ; and keep me informed of everything that ha])petis to thee, as
the distance is so siiort ; all the more as I am thinking of jriving over
very siicnlly this idle life I am now leading, for I was not born for
it. A thing has occurred to me whicli I am inclined to think will
imt
me out of favor with the duke and duchess; but though I am
sorry for it 1 do not care, for afti'r all I must obey my calling rather
than their ])leasure, in accordance witii the common saying amicus
Plato, sed iit(/(/is arnica verilaft. I quote this Latin to thee because
I conclude that since thou hast been a governor thou wilt have learned
it. Adieu ; Gotl keep thee from ijcing an object of pity to any one.
"Thy friend
"
Dox Qui.xoTE OF La Mancha."
Sanclio listened to the letter with great attention, and it was
praised and considered wise by all who heard it ; he then rose
up from table, and calling his secretary shut himself in Avith
him in his own room, and without putting it off any longer set
about answering his master Don Quixote at once
;
and he bade
the secretary write down what he told him w^ithout adding or
snp])ressing anything, which he did, and the answer was to the
following effect.
CHAPTER LI.
857
Sanciio Panza's Letter to Don Quixote of La ]\L\xciia.
"
The jjressure of business is so great upon nie that I have no time
to scrateli niy head or even to cut my nails; and I wear tliem so
long

God send a remedy for it. 1 say this, master of my soul,

that you may not be surprised if I have not until now sent you word
of how I fare, well or ill, in this government, in which I am suffering
more hunger tlian when we two were wandering througii the woods
and wastes.
"
JNIy lord the duke wrote to me the other day to warn me that
certain spies had got into this island to kill me ; but up to the present
I have not found out any except a certain doctor who receives a
salary in this town for killing all the governors that come here; he
is called Doctor Pedro Recio, and is from Tirteafuera ; so you see
what a name he has to make me dread dying lender his hands. This
doctor says of himself that he does not cure diseases when there are
any, but prevents them coming, and the medicines he uses are diet
and more diet, until he brings one down 1o bare bones; as if lean-
ness was not worse than fever.
"
In short he is killing me witli hunger, and I am dying ro3-self of
vexation
;
for when I thouglit 1 was coming to this government to get
my meat hot and my drink cool, and take my ease between holland
sheets on feather beds, I find I have come to do penance as if I was
a hermit ; and as I don't do it willingly I susjiect that in the end the
devil will carry me off.
"
So far I have not handled any dues or taken any bribes, and I
don't know what to think of it; for here they tell me that the gov-
ernors that come to this island, before entering it have plent}' of
money either given to them or lent to them by the people of the town,
and that this is the usual custom not only here but with all who enter
upon governments.
"
Last night going the rounds I came upon a fair damsel in man's
clothes, and a brother of hers dressed as a woman ; my head-carver
has fallen in love with the girl, and has in his own mind chosen her
for a wife, so he says, and I have chosen the youth for a son-in-law;
to-day we are going to explain our intentions to the father of the pair,
who is one Diego de la Jvlana, a gentleman and an old Christian as
much as you please.
"
1 have visited the market-places, as your worship advises me,
and yesterday I found a stall-keeper selling new hazelnuts and
proved her to have mixed a bushel of old empty rotten nuts with a
bushel of new ; I confiscated the whole for the children of the charity
school, who will know how to distinguish them well enough, and I
sentenced her not to come into the market-place for a fortnight ; they
told me I did bravely. I can tell your worship it is commonly
said in this town that there are no people worse than the market-
women, for they are all barefaced, unconscionable, and impudent,
and 1 can well believe it from what I have seen of them in other
towns.
"
I am very glad my lady the duchess has written to my wife
358
DON QUIXOTE.
Teresa Panza and sent her the present your worship speaks of
; and
I will strive to sliow myself grateful when the time comes; kiss her
hands for me, and tell her 1 say she has not thrown it into a sack
with a hole in it, as she will see in the end. I should not like your
worship to have any difference with my h)rd and lady
; for if you fall
out with them it is plain it must do me harm
;
and as you give me
advice to be grateful it will not do for your worship not to be so
yourself to those who have shown you such kindness, and by whom
you have been treated so hospitably in their castle.
"
That about the cat-scratching 1 doiTl undeistand
;
but I suppose it
must be one of the ill-turns the wicked enchanters are always doing
your worship ; when we meet 1 sliall know all about it. I wish I
could send your worship something ; but I don't know what to send,
unless it become ver}^ curious clyster ]/ipes, to work with bladders,
that they make in this island; but if the ollice remains with me 1
'11
find out something to send, one way or anotlier. If my wife Teresa
Panza writes to me, pay the postage and send me the letter, for 1 have
a very great desire to hear how my house and wife and children are
going on. And so, may (iod deliver jour worship from evil-minded
enchanters, and bring me well and peacefully out of this govern-
ment, which I dnul)t, for I expect to take leave of it and my life
together, from the wav Doctor Pedro Reeio treats me.
"
Your worship's servant
"
Sanciio Panza the Goveknor."
The secretary sealed the letter, and immediately dismissed
the courier ; and those who were carrying on the joke against
Sancho putting their heads together arranged how he was to
be dismissed from the government. 8ancho spent the after-
noon in drawing up certain ordinances relating to the good
government of what he fancied the island
;
and he oi-dained
that there were to be no provision hucksters in the State, and
that men might import wine into it from any place they
pleased, i)rovided they declared the quarter it came from, so
that a price might be put \\\Hm it according to its quality, repu-
tation, and the estimation it was held in
;
and he that watered
his Avine, or changed the name, was to forfeit his life for it.
He reduced the prices of all nnmner of shoes, boots, and stock-
ings, but of shoes in particular, as they seemed to him to run
extravagantly high. He established a fixed rate for servants'
wages, Avhich were becoming recklessly exorbitant. He laid
extremely heavy penalties upon those who sang lewd or
loose songs either by day or night. He decreed that no blind
man should sing of any miracle in verse, unless he could pro-
duce authentic evidence that it was true, for it was his opinion
CHAPTER LIT.
359
that most of those the blind men sing are trumped up, to the
detriment of the true ones. He established and created an
alguacil of the poor, not to harass them, but to examine them
and see whether they really were so ; for many a sturdy thief
or drunkard goes about under cover of a make-believe crippled
limb or a sham sore. In a word, he made so many good rules
that to this day they are j)reserved there, and are called The
constitutions
of
the great governor Sancho Panza.
CHAPTER LII.
WHEKEIN IS KELATEU THE ADVENTUKE OF THE SECOND BIS-
TRESSED OR AFFLICTED DUENNA, OTHERWISE CALLED DONA
RODRIGUEZ.
CiD Hamet relates that Don Quixote being now cured of
his scratches felt that the life he was leading in the castle was
entirely inconsistent with the order of chivalry he professed,
so he determined to ask the duke and duchess to permit him
to take his departure for Saragossa, as the time of the festival
was now drawing near, and he hoped to win there the suit of
armor which is the prize at festivals of the sort. But one day
at table Avith the duke and duchess, just as he was about to
carry his resolution into effect and ask for their permission, lo
and behold suddenly there came in through the door of the
great hall two women, as they afterwards proved to be, draped
in mourning from head to foot, one of whom approaching Don
Quixote flung herself at full length at his feet, pressing her
lips to them, and uttering moans so sad, so deep, and so dole-
ful that she put all who heard and saw her into a state of per-
plexity
;
and though the duke and duchess supposed it must
be some joke their servants were playing off iipon Don Quixote,
still the earnest way the woman sighed and moaned and wept
puzzled them and made them feel uncertain, until Don Qui-
xote, touched with compassion, raised her up and made her
unveil herself and remove the mantle from her tearful face.
She complied and disclosed what no one could have ever antici-
pated, for she disclosed the countenance of Dona Eodriguez,
the duenna of the house ; the other female in mourning being
her daughter, who had been made a fool of by the rich farmer's
360 DON QUIXOTE.
son. All who knew her were filled with astonishment, and the
duke and duchess more than any
;
for though they thought her
a simpleton and a weak creature, they did not think her capa-
ble of crazy pranks. Doiia Kodriguez, at length, turning to
her master and mistress said to them,
"
Will your excellences
be pleased to permit me to speak to this gentleman lor A
moment, for it is recpiisite I should do so in order to get suc-
cessfully out of the business in which the boldness of an evil-
minded clown has involved me?"
The duke said that for his part he gave her leave, and that
she might speak with Seiior Don Quixote as much as she liked.
She then, turning to Don Quixote and addressing herself to
him said,
"
Some days since, valiant knight, I gave you an
account of the injustice and treachery of a wicked farmer to
my dearly beloved daughter, the unhai^py damsel here before
you, and you promised me to take her part and right the wrong
that has been done her
;
but now it has come to my hearing
that you are about to dejjart from this castle in quest of such
fair adventures as God may vouchsafe to you ; therefore, before
you take the road, I would that you challenge this froward
rustic, and compel him to nuirry my daughter in fulfilment of
the })romise he gave her to become her husband before he
seduced her
;
for to expect that my lord the duke Avill do me
justice is to ask pears from the elm tree,^ for the reason I stated
privately to your worship
;
and so may our Lord grant you good
health and forsake us not."'
To these words J)on Quixote replied very gravely and
solemnly, ""Worthy diuMina, check your tears, or rather dry
them, and spare your sighs
;
for I take it upon myself to obtain
redress for your daughter, for whom it Avould have been better
not to have been so ready to believe lovers' promises, which are
for the most part quickly made and very slowly performed
;
and
so, with my lord the duke's leave, I will at once go in quest of
this inhuman youth, and Avill find him out and challenge him
and slay .him, if so be he refuses to keep his promised word
;
for the chief object of my i)rofession is to spare the humble and
chastise the proud ; I mean, to help the distressed and destroy
the oppressors."
"
There is no necessity," said the duke,
"
for your Avorship
to take the trouble of seeking out the rustic of whom this
Avorthy duenna complains, nor is there any necessity, either,
'
Trov. ISO.
CHAPTER LII. 361
for asking my leave to cliallenge liini ; for I admit him duly
challenged, and will take care that he is informed of the chal-
lenge, and accepts it, and comes to answer it in person to this
castle of mine, where I shall afford to both a fair field, observ-
ing all the conditions which are usually and properly observed
in such trials, and observing too justice to both sides, as all
princes who offer a free field to combatants Avithin the limits of
their lordships are bound to do."
"
Then with that assurance and your highness's good leave,"
said Don Quixote,
"
I hereby for this once waive my privilege
of gentle blood, and come down and put myself on a level with
the lowly birth of the wrong-doer, making myself equal with
him and enabling him to enter into combat with me ; and so, I
challenge and defy him, though absent, on the plea of his mal-
feasance in breaking faith with this poor damsel, who was a
maiden and now by his misdeed is none ; and say that he shall
fulfil the promise he gave her to become her lawful husband,
or else stake his life upon the question."
And then plucking off a glove he threw it down in the middle
of the hall, and the duke picked it up, saying, as he had said
before, that he accepted the challeiige in the name of his vassal,
and fixed six days thence as the time, the courtyard of the
castle as the place, and for arms the customary ones of knights,
lance and shield and full armor, with all the other accessories,
without trickery, guile, or charms of any sort, and examined
and passed by the judges of the field.
"
But first of all," he
said, "it is requisite that this worthy duenna and unworthy
damsel should place their claim for justice in the hands of Don
Quixote
;
for otherwise nothing can be done, nor can the said
challenge be brought to a lawful issue."
''
I do so place it," replied the duenna.
"
And I too," added her daughter, all in tears and covered
with shame and confusion.
This declaration having been made, aiul the duke having
settled in his own mind what he would do in the matter, tlic
ladies in black withdrew, and the duchess gave orders that for
the future they were not to be treated as servants of hers, but
as lady adventurers who came to her house to demand justice
;
so they gave them a room to themselves and waited on them as
they would on strangers, to the consternation of the other
women-servants, who did not know where the folly and impu-
dence of Doiia Eodriguez and her unlucky daughter would stop.
362 DON QUIXOTE.
And now, to complete tlie enjoyment of tlie feast and bring
the dinner to a satisfactory end, lo and behold the page who
had carried the letters and presents to Teresa Panza, the wife
of the governor Sancho, entered the hall ; and the duke and
duchess were very well pleased to see him, being anxious to
know the result of his journey ; but when they asked him the
page said in reply that he could not give it before so many
people or in a few words, and begged their excellences to be
pleased to let it wait for a private oi)portunity, and in the
meantime amuse themselves with these letters
;
and taking
out the letters he placed them in the duchess's hand. One bore
by
Avay of address. Letter
formy ladij the Duchess So-and-so,
of
I don't know where
;
and the other, To ini/ husband. Suncho
Panza,
gociernor
of
the ishind
of
Barataria, whom God j^rosper
longer than me. The duchess's bread would not bake, as the
saying is, until she had read her letter
;
and having looked over
it herself and seen that it might be read aloud for the duke and
all present to hear, she read out as follows.
Teresa Panza's Letter to the Duchess.
"
The letter your highness wrote me, my lady, gave me great
pleasure, for indeed I found it very welcome. The string of coral
beads is very line, and my husband's hunting suit does not fall short
of it. All this village is very mui;h pleased that your ladyship has
made a governor of my good man Sancho; though nobody will
believe it, particularly the curate, and Master Nicholas the barber, and
the bachelor Samson Carrasito
;
but I don't care for that, for so long as
it is true, as it is, they may all say what they like ; though, to tell the
truth, if the coral beads and the suit had not come I would not have
believed it either; for in this village everybody thinks my husband
a numskull, and except for governing a tiock of goats, they cannot
fancy what sort of government he can be lit for. God grant it, and
direct him according as he sees his children stand in need of it. I
am resolved with your worship's leave, huly of my soul, to make the
most of this fair day, and go to Court to stretch myself at ease in a
coach, and make all those I have envying me already burst their
eyes out; so 1 beg your excellence to order my husband to send me
a small tritle of money, and to let it be something to speak of, be-
cause one's expenses are heavy at the Court ; for a loaf costs a real
,
and meat thirty maravedis a pound, which is beyond everything
;
and if he does not want me to go let him tell me in time, for my
feet are on the fidgets to be off; and my friends and neighbors tell
me that if my daughter and I make a figure and a brave show at
Court, my husband will come to be known far more by me than T by
him, for of course ])lenty of people will ask, 'Who are those ladies
in that coach
.t^
' and some servant of mine will answer, 'The wife
CHAPTER LIL 368
and dauijhtor of Sancho Paiiza, governor of the island of Barataria
;
'
anil in tliis way Saneho will become known, and I'll Ije thoiio-ht well
of, anil
'
to Rome for everything.'' ' I am as vexed as vexed can be
that they have gathered no acorns tliis year in our village
;
for all
that I send your highness al)out half a peck that I went to the wood
to gather and pick out one by one myself, and 1 could find no bigger
ones; I wish tiiey were as big as ostrich eggs.
"
Let not your hiofh mightiness forget to write to me: and I will
take care to answer, and let you know how I am, and whatever news
there may l)e in this place, where I remain, praying our Lord to
have your higimess in his keeping and not to forget me.
"
Saneha, my daughter', and my son, kiss your worship's hands.
"
She who would rather see your ladyship than write to you,
"
Your servant,
"
Teresa Panza."
All were greatly amused by Teresa Panza's letter, but par-
ticularly the duke and duchess
;
and the duchess asked Don
Quixote's opinion whether they might open the letter that had
come for the governor, which she suspected must be very good.
Don Quixote said that to gratify them he would open it, and
did so, and found that it ran as follows.
Teresa Panza's Letter to her Husband Sancho Panza.
"
I got thy letter, Sancho of my sonl, and I promise thee and
swear as a Catholic Christian that I was within two lingers' breadth
of going mad, I was so hapj^y. I can tell thee, l)rother, when I
came to hear that thou wert a governor I thought I should have
di'opped dead with pure joy; and thou knowest they say sudden joy
kills as well as great sorrow; and as for Sanchica thy daughter, she
leaked from sheer happiness. 1 had before me the suit thou didst
send me, and the coral beads my lady tlie duchess sent me round my
neck, and the letters in my hands, and there was the bearer of them
standing by, and in spite of all this I verily believed and thought
that what I saw and handled was all a dream ; for who could have
thought that a goat-herd would come to be a governor of islands?
Thou knowest, my friend, what my" mother used to say, that one
must live long to see much
;
I say it because I expect to see more if I
live longer; for I don't expect to stop until T see thee a farmer of
taxes or a collector of reveiuie, whi(,'h are offices where, though the
devil carries off those v/ho make a l)ad use of th(Mn. slill tliejMuake
and handle money. ]\Iy lady the duchess will tell thee the desire I
have to go to the Court; consider the matter and let me know thy
pleasure
;
I will try to do honor to thee by going in a coach.
"
Neither the curate, nor the barber, nor the bachelor, nor even
iProv.
207.
364 DON QUIXOTE.
the saeristau, can believe that thou art a governor, and they say the
whole thing is a delusion or an enchantment affair, like everything
belonging to thy master Don Quixote ; and Samson says he must go
in search of thee and drive the government out of thy head and the
madness out of Don Quixote's skull; I only laugh, and look at my
string of beads, and plan out the dress I am going to make for our
daughter out of thy suit. I sent some acorns to my lady the duchess
;
I wish they had been gold. Send me some strings of pearls if they
are in fashion in that island. Here is the news of the village ; La
Berruecahas married her daughter to a good-for-nothing painter, who
came here to paint anything that might turn up. The council gave
him an order to paint his Alajesty's aims over the door of the town-
hall
;
he asked two ducats, which they paid him in advance ; he
worked for eight days, and at the end of them had nothing painted,
and then said he had no turn for painting such triHing things ; he
returned tiie money, and for all that has married on the pretence of
being a good workman
;
to be sure he has now laid aside his paint-
brush and taken a spade in hand, and goes to the tield like a gentle-
man. Pedro Lobo's son has received the first orders and tonsure,
with the intention of l)ecominga priest. jMinguilla, Mingo Silvato's
grandtlaughter, found it out, and has gone to law with him on the
score of having given her promise of marriage. Evil tongues say
she is with child by him, but he denies it stoutly. There are no
olives this year, and thei'e is not a drop of vinegar to be had in the
whole village. A company of soldiers passed through here ; when
they left they took away with them three of the girls of the village
;
I will not tell tluH! who they are; perhaps they will come back, and
they will l)e sure to find those who will take them for wives with all
their blemishes, good or bad. Sanehica is making bone-lace; she
earns eight maravedis a day clear, which she puts into a money-box
as a help towards house furnishing; but now that she is a governor's
daughter thou wilt give her a portion without her working for it.
The fountain in the plaza has run dry. A Hash of lightning struck
the gibbet, and I wish they all lit there. I look for an answer to
this, and to know thy mind about my going to the Court ; and so,
God keep thee longer than me, or as long, for I would not leave thee
in this world without me.
"
Thy wife,
"Teresa Panza."
The letters were applauded, Ipitghed over, relished, and ad-
mired
;
and then, as if to put the seal to the business, the courier
arrived, bringing the one Sancho sent to Don Quixote, and this,
too, was read out, and it raised some doubts as to the govern-
or's simplicity. The duchess withdrew to hear from the page
about his adventures in Sancho's village, which he narrated at
full length without leaving a single circumstance nnmentioned.
He gave her the acorns, and also a cheese which Teresa had
CHAPTER LIU. 365
given him as being particnlarly good and snperior to those of
Tronchon.^ The ducliess received it with greatest deliglit, in
which we will leave her, to describe the end of the government
of the great Sancho Panza, flower and mirror of all governors
of islands.
CHAPTER LIII.
OF THE TROUBLOUS END AND TEKMINATION SANCHO PANZA "s
GOVERNMENT CAME TO.
To fancy that in this life anything belonging to it will re-
main forever in the same state, is an idle fancy ; on the con-
trary, in it everything seems to go in a circle, I mean round and
round. The spring succeeds the summer, the summer the fall,
the fall the autumn, the autumn the winter, and the winter the
spring,- and so time rolls with never-ceasing wheel. Man's
life alone, swifter than time, speeds onward to its end with-
out any hope of renewal, save it be in that other life which is
endless and boundless. Thus saith Cid Hamet the JMahometan
philosopher ; for tliere are many that by the light of nature
alone, without the light of faith, have a comprehension of the
fleeting nature and instability of this present life and the end-
less duration of that eternal life we hope for
;
but our author is
here speaking of the rapidity with which Sancho's government
came to an end, melted away, disappeared, vanished as it were
in smoke and shadow. For as he lay in bed on the night of
the seventh day of his government, sated, not with bread and
wine, but with delivering judgments and giving opinions and
making laws and proclamations, just as sleep, in spite of hunger,
was beginning to close his eyelids, he heard such a noise of bell-
ringing and shouting that one would have fancied the whole
island was going to the bottom. He sat up in bed and re-
mained listening intently to try if he could make out what
could be the cause of so great an uproar
;
not only, however,
was he unable to discover what it was, but as countless drums
and trumpets now helped to swell the din of the bells and
'
A town in Aragon, between Teruel and Morella.
*
So the passage stands in the original : and so no doubt Cervantes
wrote it.
366 DON QUIXOTE.
shouts, he was more puzzled than ever, and filled Avith fear and
terror
;
and getting up he put on a pair of slippers because of
the dampness of the floor, and without throwing a dressing
gown or anything of the kind over him he rushed out of the
door of his room, just in time to see approaching along a corri-
dor a band of more than twenty persons with lighted torches
and naked swords in their hands, all shouting out,
"
To arms,
to arms, seuor governor, to arms ! The enemy is in the island
in countless numbers, and we are lost unless your skill and valor
come to our support."
Keeping up this noise, tumult, and uproar, the}'' came to where
Sancho stood dazed and bewildered by what he saw and heard,
and as the}- approached one of them called out to him, "Arm
at once, your lordship, if you would not liave yourself destroyed
and the whole island lost."
"
What have I to do with arming ?
"
said Sancho.
"
What
do I know aboiit arms or supports ? Better leave all that to my
master Don Quixote, who will settle it and make all safe in a
trice ; for I, sinner that I am. God help me, don't understand
these scuffles."
"
Ah, senor governor," said another,
<'
what slackness of
mettle this is ! Arm yourself ; here are arms for you, offen-
sive and defensive ; come out to the plaza and be our leader
and captain ;
it falls upon you by right to be so, for j'ou are
our governor."
"
Arm me then, in God's name," said Sancho, and they at
once produced two large shields they had conu* provided with,
and placed them upon him over his shirt, without letting him
put on anything else, one shield in front and the other behind,
and passing his arms through openings they had made, they
boimd him tight with ropes, so that there he was walled and
boarded up as straight as a spindle and unable to bend his
knees or stir a single step. In his hand they placed a lance,
on which he leant to keep himself from falling, and as soon
as they had him thus fixed, they bade him march forward and
lead them on and give them all courage
;
for with him for their
guide and lamp and morning star, they were sure to bring their
business to a successful issue.
"How am I to march, unlucky being that I am?" said
Sancho,
"
when I can't stir my knee-caps, for these boards I
have bound so tight to my body won't let me. What you must
do is to carry me in your arms, and lay me across or set me
CHAPTER LI11. 367
upright in some postern, and I
'11
hold it either Avitli this lance
or with my body."
"
On, sefior governor !
"
cried another,
"
it is fear more than
the boards that keeps you from moving; make haste, stir your-
self, for there is no time to lose
;
the enemy is increasing in
numbers, the shouts grow louder, and the danger is pressing.''
Urged by these exhortations and reproaches the poor gov-
ernor made an attempt to advance, but fell to the ground with
such a crash that he fancied he had broken himself all to
pieces. There he lay like a tortoise enclosed in its shell, or a
side of bacon between two kneading-troughs, or a boat bottom
up on the beach
;
nor did the gang of jokers feel any com-
passion for hiju when they saw him down ; so far from that,
extinguishing their torches they began to shout afresh and to
renew the calls to arms with such energy, trampling on poor
Sancho, and slashing at him over the shield with their swords
in such a way tliat, if he had not gathered himself together
and made himself small and drawn in his head between the
shields, it Avould have fared badly with the poor governor, as,
squeezed into that narrow compass, he lay, sweating and
sweating again, and commending himself with all his heart
to God to deliver him from his present peril. Some stumbled
over him, others fell upon him, and one there was who took u})
a positioir on top of him for some time, and from thence as
if from a watch-tower issued orders to the troops, shouting
out,
"
Here, our side ! Here the enemy is thickest ! Hold
the breach there ! Shut that gate ! Barricade those ladders !
Here Avith your stink-pots of pitch and resin, and kettles of
boiling oil ! Block the streets with feather beds !
"
In short,
in his ardor he mentioned every little thing, and every imple-
ment and engine of war
])y
means of which an assault upon a
city is warded off, while the bruised and battered Sancho, who
heard and suffered all, was saying to himself,
''
if it would
only please the Lord to let the island be lost at once, and I
could see myself either dead or out of this torture !
"
Heaven
heard his prayer, and when he least expected it he heard
voices exclaiming,
"
Victory, victory ! The enemy retreats
beaten ! Come, senor governor, get up, and come and enjoy
the victory, and divide the spoils that have been won from the
foe by the might of that invincible arm."
"
Lift me up," said the wretched Sancho in a woe-begone
voice. Tl'.ey helped him to rise, and as soon as he was on his
368
DON QUIXOTE.
feet he said,
"
The enemy I have beaten you may nail to my
forehead
;
I don't want to divide the spoils of the foe, I only
beg and entreat some friend, if I have one, to give me a sup of
wine, for I 'm parched with thirst, and wipe me dry, for I 'm
turning to water.*'
They rabl)ed him down, fetched liim wine and unbound
the
shields, and he seated himself upon his bed, and with fear,
agitation, and fatigue he fainted away. Those who had been
concerned in the joke were now sorry they had pushed it so
far; however, the anxiety his fainting away had caused them
was relieved
by his returning
to himself. He asked what
o'clock it was
;
they told liim it was just daybreak. He said
no more, and in silence began to dress liimself,
while all
watched him, waiting to see what the haste with wliich he was
putting on his clotlies
meant.
He got himself dressed at last, and then, slowly, for he was
sorely bruised and could not go fast, he proceeded'to
the stable,
followed
by all who were
present, and going up to
Dapi)le em-
braced him and gave him a loving
kiss on the forehead, and
said to him, not without tears in his eyes,
"
Come along, com-
rade and friend
and partner of my toils and sorrows
; when 1
was with you and had no cares to trouble me except mending
your harness and feeding
your little carcass, liappy
were my
hours, my days, and my years ; but since I left
you, and
mounted tlie towers of
ambition and pride, a thousand mis-
eries, a thousand troubles, and four
thousand
anxieties have
entered into my soul
;
" and all the Avhile
he was speaking
in
this strain he was fixing the ])ack-saddle on the ass, without
a
word from
anyone. Then having
Dapple saddled, he, with
great pain and difficulty,
got up on him, and addressing
him-
self to the majordomo,
the secretary,
the
head-carver,
and
Pedro Eecio the doctor and several
others who stood by, he
said,
'
Make way, gentlemen,
and let me go back to my old
freedom
;
let me go look for my
past life, and raise myself
up
from this present death. I was not born to be a governor or
protect islands or cities from the enemies
that choose to attack
them.
Ploughing and digging,
vine-dressing
and
i)runing, are
more in my way than defending
provinces or kingdoms.
Saint
Peter is very well
at Rome
;
'
I mean each of us is best follow-
ing the trade he was born to. A reaping-liook
fits my hand
better than a governor's sceptre
;
I 'd rather
have my^ fill of
'
Prov. 206.
./, i^u.iiinyj-
SANCHO PANZA SALUTES HIS ASS. Vol.2, Page 368.
CHAPTER LTTT. 369
gazpacho
^
than be subject to the misery of a meddling doctor
who kills me with hunger, and I 'd rather lie in summer under
the shade of an oak, and in winter wrap myself in a double
sheep-skin jacket in freedom, than go to bed between holland
sheets and dress in sables under the restraint of a government.
God be with your worships, and tell my lord the duke tluit
'
naked I was born, naked I find myself, I neither lose nor
gain
;
'
' I mean that without a farthing I came into this gov-
ernment, and without a farthing I go out of it, very different
frojn the way governors commonly leave other islands. Stand
aside and let me go
;
I have to plaster myself, for I believe
every one of my ril)S is crushed, thanks to the enemies that
have been trampling over me to-night."
"
That is unnecessary, senor governor," said Doctor Recio,
'^
for I will give your worship a draught against falls and
bruises that will soon inake you as sound and strong as ever
;
and as for your diet I promise your worship to behave better,
and let you eat plentifully of whatever you like."
"
You spoke late," said Sancho.
"
I 'd as soon turn Turk as
stay any longer. Those jokes won't pass a second time. By
God I 'd as soon remain in this government, or take another,
even if it was offered me between two plates, as fly to heaven
without wings. I am of the breed of the Panzas, and they are
every one of them obstinate, and if they once say
'
odds,' odds
it must be, no nuxtter if it is evens, in spite of all the world.
Here in this stable I leave the ant's wings that lifted me up
into the air for the swifts and other birds to eat me,'^ and let 's
take to level ground and our feet once more
;
and if they 're
not shod in pinked shoes of cordovan, they W(_)u't want for
rough sandals of hemp ;
^
every ewe to her like,'
*
'
and let no
one stretcli his leg beyond the length of the sheet
;
'

and now
let me pass, for it 's growing late with me."
To this the majordomo said,
"
Seiior governor, Ave would let
your worship go with all our hearts, though it sorely grieves us
to lose you, for your wit and Christian conduct naturally make
us regret you ; but it is well known that every governor,
before he leaves the place where he has been governing, is
bound first of all to render an account. Let your worship do
'
The favorite noontide .mess of tlie AncLilu.sian peasantry; consisting
of cucumbers shred fine, bread-oruml)s, oil, vinegar, and water fresh
from the spring.
2Prov. 73. ' Prov. 118.

Prov. 162.
*
Prov. 187.
Vol. I[.

24
370 DON QUIXOTE.
so for the ten days you Lave held the government, and then
you may go and the peace of God go with you."
"
No one can demand it of me," said Sancho,
''
but he whom
my h)rd the duke shall appoint ; I am going to meet him, and
to him I Avill render an exact one ; besides, when I go forth
naked as I do. there is no other proof needed to show that I
have governed like an angel."
"
By God the great Sancho is right, said Doctor Recio,
"
and it is my opinion we should let him go, for the duke will
be beyond measure glad to see him."
They all agreed to this, and allowed him to go, first offering
to bear him company and furnish him with all he wanted for
his own comfort or for the journey. Sancho said he did not
want anything more than a little barley for Dapple, and half
a cheese and half a loaf for himself
;
for the distance being so
short there was no occasion for any better or bulkier provant.
They all embraced him, and he with tears embraced all of
them, and left them filled with admiration not only at his
remarks but at his firm and sensible resolution.
CHAPTER LIV.
WHICH DEALS WITH MATTERS UELATl.NU TO THIS HISTOKY
AND NO OTHER.
The duke and duchess resolved that the challenge Don
Quixote had, f(n' the reason already mentioned, given their
vassal, should be proceeded with ; and as the young man was
in Flanders, wliither he had fied to escape having Dona Rod-
riguez for a mother-in-law, they arranged to substitute for him
a Gascon lackey, named Tosilos, first of all carefully instruct-
ing him in all he had to do. Two days later the duke told
Don Quixote that in four days from that time his opponent
would present himself on the field of battle ai'med as a knight,
and would maintain that the damsel lied by half a beard, nay
a whole beard,^ if she affirmed that he had given her a promise
of marriage. Don Quixote was greatly pleased at the news,
and promised himself to do wonders in the lists, and reckoned
it rare good fortune that an opportunity should have offered
'
A phrase for Iving impudently.
CHAPTER LIV.
371
for letting his noble hosts see what the might of his strong
arm was capable of ; and so in high spirits and satisfaction he
awaited the expiration of the four days, which measured
by
his impatience seemed spinning themselves out into four hun-
dred ages. Let us leave them to pass as we do other things,
and go and bear Sancho company, as mounted on Dapple, half
glad, half sad, he paced along on his road to join his master,
in whose society he was happier than in being governor of all
the islands in the world. Well then, it so happened that
before he had gone a great way from the island of his govern-
ment (and whether it was island, city, town, or village that he
governed he never troubled himself to inquire) he saw coming
along the road he was travelling six pilgrims with staves,
foreigners of that sort that beg for alms singiiig
;
who as they
drew near arranged themselves in a line and lifting up their
voices all together began to sing in their own language some-
thing that Sancho coxild not understand, with the exception of
one word which sounded plainly
"
alms," from Avliich he
gathered that it was alms they asked for in their song ; and
being, as Cid Haraet says, remarkably charitable, he took out
of his alforjas the half loaf and half cheese he had been pro-
vided with, and gave them to them, explaining to them by
signs that he had nothing else to give them. They received
them very gladly, but exclaimed,
"
Geld ! Geld !
"
"
I don't understand what you want of me, good people,"
said Sancho.
On this one of them took a purse out of his bosom and
showed it to Sancho, by which he comprehended they were
asking for money, and putting his thumb to his throat and
spreading his hand upwards he gave them to understand that
he had not the sign of a coin about him, and urging Dapple
forward he broke through them. But as he was ]assing, one
of them who had been examining him very closely rushed towards
him, and flinging his arms round him exclaimed in a loud voice
and good Spanish,
"
God bless me ! What 's this I see
':
Is it
possible that I hold in my arms my dear friend, my good neigh-
bor Sancho Panza ? But there 's no doubt about it, for I 'm not
asleep, nor am I drunk just now."
Sancho was surprised to hear himself called by his name and
find himself embraced by a foreign pilgrim, ami after regarding
him steadily without speaking he was still unable to recognize
him
;
but the pilgrim perceiving his perplexity cried,
"
What
!
372 DON QUIXOTE.
and is it possible, Sanclio Paiiza, that thou dost not know thy
neighbor Kieote, the Morisco shopkeeper of thy village ?
"
Sancho upon this looking at him more carefully began to
recall his features, and at last recognized him perfectly, and
without getting oft' the ass threw his arms round his neck say-
ing,
"
Who the devil could have known thee, Ricote, in this
mummer's dress thou art in
".'
Tell me, Avho has frencliitied
thee, and how dost thou dare to return to Spain, where if they
catch thee and recognize thee it will go hard enough with
thee ?
"
"
If thou dost not l)etray me, Sancho," said the pilgrim,
"
I
am safe ; for in this dress no one will recognize me
;
but let us
turn aside out of the road into that grove there where my com-
rades are going to eat and rest, and thou shalt eat with them
there, for they are very good fellows ; I shall have time enough
to tell thee then all that has hai)])ened to me since I left our
village in obedience to his j\Iajesty"s t^dict that threatened such
severities against the unfortunate ]3eople of my nation, as thou
hast heard."
Sancho complied, and Eicote having
si)oken to the other
pilgrims they withdrew to the grove they saw, turning a con-
siderable distance out of the road. They threw down their
staves, took off their pilgrim's cloaks and remained in their
under-clothing
;
they were all good-looking young fellows, ex-
cept Ricote, who was a man somewhat advanced in years.
They carried alforjas all of them, and all apparently well
filled, at least with things provocative of thirst, such as woidd
summon it from two leagues off. They stretched themselves
on the ground, and making a tablecloth of the grass they si)read
upon it bread, salt, knives, Avalnuts, scraps of cheese, and well-
picked ham-bones Avhich if tliey were past gnawing were not
past sucking. They also put down a black dainty called, they
say, caviar, and made of the eggs of fish, a great thirst-wakener.
Nor was there any lack of olives, dry, it is true, and without
any seasoning, but for all that toothsome and pleasant. But
what made the best show in the field of the banquet was half
a dozen botas of wine, for each of them produced his own from
his alforjas
;
even the good Ricote, who from a Morisco had
transformed himself into a German or Dutchman, took out his,
which in size might have vied with the five others. They then
began to eat with very great relish and very leisurely, making
the most of each morsel

very small ones of everything

CHAPTER LIV. 373

they took up on the point of the knife
;
and then all at the same
moment raised their arms and botas aloft, the mouths
i)ressed
to their mouths, and all eyes fixed on heaven just as if they
were taking aim at it ; and in this attitude they renu\ined ever
so long, wagging their heads from side to side as if in acknowl-
edgment of the pleasure they Avere enjoying while they decanted
the bowels of the bottles into their own stomachs.
Sancho beheld all,
"
and nothing gave him pain
;
''
'
so far
from that, acting on the proverb he knew so well,
"
wlien thou
art at Home do as thou seest,"
'^
he asked Ricote for his bota
and took aim like the rest of them, and with not less enjoy-
ment. Four times did the liotas bear being uplifted, but the
fifth it was all in vain, for they Avere dryer and more sapless
than a rush by that time, which made the jollity that had been
kept up so far begin to flag.
Every now and then some one of them would grasp Sancho's
right haiul in his own saying,
"
Espaiiol
y
Tudesqui tuto uno
bon compafio
;
"
and Sancho woidd answer,
"
Bon compaflo, jura
Di," and then go oft" into a fit of laughter that lasted an hour,
without a thought for the moment of anything that had be-
fallen him in his government ; for cares have very little sway
over us while we are eating and drinking. At length, the wine
having come to an end with them, drowsiness began to come
over them, and they dropjied asleep on their very table and
table-cloth. Ricote and 8aiicho alone remained awake, for they
had eaten more and drunk less, and Ricote drawing Sancho
aside, they seated themselves at the foot of a beech, leaving
the pilgrinis buried in sweet sleep
;
and without once falling
into his own Morisco tongue Ricote spoke as follows in pure
Castilian :
"
Thou knowest well, neighbor and friend Sancho Panza, how
the proclamation or edict his Majesty comnumded to l)e issued
against those of my nation filled us all with terror and dismay
;
''
'
A line from tlie liallad of Mira JVero de Tarpeya^ Diiran Xo. .571.
*
Prov. 208.
'
The edict Ricote refers to was that published September 22, IGO'J, com-
manding the Moriscoes under pain of death to hold themselves in readiness
to embark for Africa at three days' notice. The date is significant. It was
six months after the signatiu-e of the treaty that virtually recognized the
independence of the United Provinces, and acknowledged the defeat of the
Church in the struggle for domination in the Netherlands. The victory
of the Netherlanders, in fact, recoiled upon the unhappy Moriscoes. The
anti-Morisco movement had been hitherto confined to Valencia and the
Valencian clergy ; but now the priesthood throughout Spain, in their fury
374 DON QUIXOTE.
nie at least it did, iusomuch that I tliink before the time granted
us for (quitting Spain was out, the fidl force of the penalty had
already fallen upon me and upon my children. I decided, then,
and I think wisely (just like one who knows that at a certain
date the house he lives in will be taken from him, and looks oub
beforehand for another to change into), I decided, I say, to
leave the town myself, alone and without my family, and go to
seek out some place to remove them to comfortably and not in
the hurried way in which the others took their departure ; for
I saw very plainly, and so did all the older men among us, that
the proclamations were not mere threats, as some said, but pos-
itive enactinents which would be enforced at the appointed time
;
and what made me believe this was what I knew of the base
and extravagant designs which our people harbored, designs of
such a nature that I think it Avas a divine inspiration that
moved his Majesty to carry oiit a resolution so spirited
;
not that
at the escape of the northern heretics, took it up and turned it into a pop-
ular agitation. Cervantes quotes here some of the stock arguments of tlie
agitators, but in tlie novel of the Colloquy
of
the IJor/s he gives them in
fuller detail. The Church in this instance adojjted the usual tactics of the
demagogue, and appealed to the stupidity and the cupidity of the masses,
frightening them with the bugbear of another Mohammedan invasion aided
by these aliens, and pointing out that the jNIorisco by his industry, frugal-
ity, skill, and business-like (jualities was everywhere taking the bread out
of the mouth of the Christian Spaniard. The real offence of the Moris-
coes was, of course, that, in spite of all the Church could do, from bap-
tism to burning, they still remained unsatisfactory Christians. As Cer-
vantes with exquisite naivete says in the Colloquy^
"
It would be a miracle
to find one of them that has a genuine belief in the holy Christian faith."
Very likely. It can hardly have gained fervor from the tires of the In-
quisition with ]\loriscoes who remembered their own old faith that for
seven centuries had respected Church and Syiuigogue, and left Jew and
Christian to worship in peace. The king, a kind-hearted man, bigot as he
was, shrank from the wholesale cruelty of the Church proposals, but lie
was frightened into yielding. For Lerma resistance would have lieen an
immediate fall from jtower. Tlie o])position of the nobles was futile; the
men who had miidv Spain a great nation were powerless now against the
combined forces of stupidity and fanaticism that were undoing their work.
The sufferings of the wretched Moriscoes, the massacres of those that re-
sisted, the miseries of those that submitted, are a tale that has been told
often enough; and as for the effects on Spain, to quote the words of Don
Florencio Janer, who has written one (jf the ablest and most imjtartial
books on the subject,
"
it may be said that from an Arabia Felix it was
converted into an Arabia Deserta." A sad story ; and hardly less sad to
find noble Cervantes lifting up his voice on the side of the silliest agita-
tion, the stupidest policy, and the cruellest measure that ever history has
had occasion to record. [The translator evidently mistakes Cervantes's
irony for serious justification.

Arn. Ed.']
CHAPTER LIV.
375
we were all guilty, for some there were true and steadfast Cliris-
tians ; but they were so few that they could make no head
against those who were not ; and it was not prudent to cherish
a viper in the hosom by having enemies in the house.. In short
it was with just cause that we were visited with the penalty of
banishment, a mild and lenient one in the eyes of some, but to
us the most terrible that could be inflicted upon us. Where-
ever we are we weep for S[)ain
;
for after all we were born there
and it is our natural fatherland. Nowhere do we find the re-
ception our unhappy condition needs ; and in Barbary and all
the parts of Africa Avhere we counted upon being received, suc-
cored, and welcomed, it is there they insult and ill-treat us.
We knew not our good foi'tune until we lost it ;
'
and such is the
longing we almost all of us have to return to Spain, that most
of those who like myself know the language, and there are many
who do, come back to it and leave their wives and children for-
saken yonder, so great is their love for it ;
-
and now I know by
experience the meaning of the saying, sweet is the love of one's
country.
"I left our village, as I said, and went to France, but though
they gave us a kind reception there I was anxious to see all I
could. I crossed into Italy, and reached Germany, and there
it seemed to me we might live with more freedom, as the in-
habitants do not pay any attention to trifling points
;
every one
lives as he likes, for in most parts they enjoy liberty of con-
science. I took a house in a town near Augsburg, and then
joined these pilgrims, who are in the habit of coming to Spain
in great numbers every year to visit the shrines there, wldch
they look upon as their Indies and a sure and certain source of
gain. They travel nearly all over it, and there is no town out
of which they do not go full up of meat and drink, as the say-
ing is, and with a real, at least, in money, and they come off
at the end of their travels with more than a hundred crowns
saved, which, changed into gold, they smuggle out of the king-
dom either in the hollow of their staves or in the patches of
their pilgrim's cloaks or by some device of their own, and carry
to their own country in spite of the guards at the posts and
passes where they are searched. Now my purpose is, Sancho,
to carry away the treasure that I left buried, which, as it is out-
side the town, I shall be able to do without risk, and to write,
1
Prov. 22.
^
This is historically truL' ; in KUS it was found necessary to order a
second expulsion of returned Moriscoes.
376 DON QUIXOTE.
or cross over from Valencia, to my daughter and wife, who I
know are at Algiers, and tind some means of bringing them to
some French port and thence to Germany, there to await Avhat
it may bs' (xod's will to do with ns ; for, after all, Sancho, I
know well that Eicota my daughter and Francisca liicota my
wife are Catholic Christians, and though I am not so much so,
still T am more of a Christian than a Moor, and it is always my
prayer to God that he will open the eyes of my understanding
and show me how I am to serve him
;
but what amazes me and
I cannot understand is why my Avife and daughter should have
gone to Barbary rather than to France, where they could live
as Christians."
To this Sancho replied,
"
Remendjer, Eicote, that may not
have been open to them, for Juan Tiopieyo thy wife's brother
took them, and being a true Moor ha went where he could go
most easily
;
and another thing I can tell thee, it is my belief
thou art going in vain to look for what thou hast left buried,
for we lieard they took from thy brother-in-law and thy wife a
great quantity of pearls and money in gold which they brought
to be passed."
^
''
That may be," said Eicote
;
''
but I know they did not
touch my hoard, for I did not tell them where it was, for fear
of accidents
;
and so, if thou wilt come with me, Sancho, and
iielp me to take it away and conceal it, I will give thee two
hundred crowns wherewith thou mayest relieve thy necessities,
and, as thou knowest, I know they are many."
''
I would do it," said Sancho ;
''
but I an) not at all covetous,
for I gave up an office this morning in which, if I was, I might
have made the walls of my house of gold and dined off silver
plates before six months were over
;
and so for this reason, and
because I feel I would be guilty of treason to my king if I
helped his enemies, I would not go with thee if instead of
promising me two hundred crowns thou wert to give me four
hundred here in hand."
'<
And what office is this thou hast given up, Sancho ?
"
asked Eicote.
"
I have given up being governor of an island," said Sancho,
"
and such a one, faith, as you won't find the like of easily."
''
And where is this island ?
"
said Eicote.
'
At first a certain amount of propt^rty was jjermitted to be carried
away, but ultimately the deported JNIoriscoes were not allowed to carry
anything with them.
CHAPTER LTV.
377
"
Where ?
"
said Sanclio ;
"
two leagues from here, and it is
called the island of Barataria."
"
Nonsense ! Sancho," said Rieote
;
"
islands are away out
in the sea; there are no islands on the mainland."
''
What ? No islands !
"
said 8ancho
;
"
I tell thee, friend
Ricote, I left it this morning, and yesterday I was governing
there as I pleased like a Sagittarius
;
'
but for all that I gave
it up, for it seemed to me a dangerous office, a governor's."
"
And what hast thou gained by the government ?
"
asked
Ricote.
"
I have gained," said Sancho,
"
the knowledge that I am
no good for governing, unless it is a drove of cattle, and that
the riches that are to be got by these governments are got at
the cost of one's rest and slee}), ay and even one's food; for in
islands the governors must eat little, especially if they have
doctors to look after their health."
"
I don't understand thee, Sancho," said Ricote ;
"
but it
seems to me all nonsense thou art talking. Who would give
thee islands to govern ? Is there any scarcity in the world of
cleverer men than thou art for governors ? Hold thy peace,
Sancho, and come back to thy senses, and consider whether
thou Avilt come with me as I said to help me to take away the
treasure I left buried (for indeed it may be called a treasure,
it is so large), and I will give thee wherewithal to keep thee,
as I told thee."
"
And I have told thee already, Ricote, that I will not," said
Sancho
;
"
let it content thee that by me thou shalt not be
betrayed, and go thy way in God's name and let me go mine
;
for I know that well-gotten gain may be lost, but ill-gotten
gain is lost, itself and its owner likewise."
-
"
I will not press thee, Sancho," said Ricote
;
"
but tell me,
wert thou in our village when my wife and daughter and
brother-in-law left it ?
"
"
I was so," said Sancho ;
"
and I can tell thee thy daughter
left it looking so lovely that all the village turned out to see
her, and everybody said she was the fairest creature in the
world. She wept as she went, and embraced all her friends
and acquaintances and those who came out to see her, and she
begged them all to commend her to Cfod and Our Lady his
'
Saneho's meaning is not very clear here. Sagittarius in tlie Germania
slana; is one who is whipped through the streets.
^Prov. 24.
378 DON QUIXOTE.
mother, and this in such a touching way that it made me weep
myself, though I 'm not much given to tears commonly ; and,
faith, many a one would have liked to hide her, or go out and
carry her off on the road
;
but the fear of going against the
king's command kept them back. The one who showed him-
self most moved was Don Pedro Gregorio, the rich young heir
thou knowcst of, and they say he was deep in love with her
;
and since she left he has not been seen in our village, and we
all suspect he has gone after her to steal her away, but so far
nothing has been heard of it."
"
I always had a suspicion that gentleman had a passion for
my daughter," said Ricote
;
''
but as I felt sure of my Ricota's
virtue it gave me no uneasiness to know that he loved her, for
thou must have heard it said, Sancho, that the Morisco women
seldom or never engage in amours with the old Christians
;
and
my daughter, who I fancy thought more of being a Christian
than of love-making, would not trouble herself about the atten-
tions of this heir."
"
God grant it," said Sancho,
"
for it w^onld be a bad business
for both of them ; but now let me be off, friend Ricote, for I
want to reach where my master Don (Quixote is to-night."
"
God l)e Avith thee, brother Saucho," said Ricote ;
"
my com-
rades are beginning to stir, and it is time, too, for us to con-
tinue our joiirney
;
"
and then they both embraced, and Sancho
mounted Dapple, and Ricote leant upon his staff, and so they
parted.
CHAPTER LV.
OF WHAT BEFELL SAXCHO OX THE KOAI>, AXD OTHER THIXCiS
THAT CAXXOT BE SURPASSED.
The length of time he delayed with Ricote ])revented
Sancho from reaching the duke's castle that clay, thoiigh he
was within half a league of it when night, somewhat dark and
cloudy, overtook him. This, however, as it was summer time,
did not give him much uneasiness, and he turned aside out of
the road intending to wait for morning ; but his ill-luck and
hard fate so willed it that as he was searching about for a
place to make himself as comfortable as possible, he and
CHAPTER LV. 379
Dapple fell into a deep dark hole that lay amont^ some very
old l)uildiugs. As he fell he coinnieiided himself with all his
heart to God, fancying he was not going to stop until he
reached the depths of the bottomless pit ; but it did not turn
out so, for at little more than thrice a man's height Dap])le
touched bottom, and he found himself sitting on him without
having received any hurt or damage whatever. He felt him-
self all over and held his breath to try whether he was quite
sound or had a hole made in him anywhere, and finding him-
self all right and whole and in perfect health he was profuse
in his thanks to God our Lord for the mercy that had been
shown him, for he thought surely he had been broken into a
thousand pieces. He also felt along the sides of the pit with
his hands to see if it were possible to get out of it without
help, but he found they were quite smooth and afforded no hold
anywhere, at which he was greatly distressed, especially when
he heard how pathetieally and dolefully Dapple Avas bemoan-
ing himself, and no wonder he complained, nor was it from ill-
temper, for in truth he was not in a very good case.
"
Alas," said Sancho,
"
what unexpected accidents happen
at every step to those Avho live in this miserable Av^orld ! AVho
would have said that one who saw himself yesterday sitting
on a throne, governor of an island, giving orders to his servants
and his vassals, would see himself to-day buried in a pit
without a soul to help him, or servant or vassal to come to his
relief! Here must we perish with htmger, my ass and myself,
if indeed we don't die lirst, he of his bruises and injuries, and
I of grief and sorrow. At any rate I shall not be as luck}' as
my master Don Quixote of La Mancha, Avhen he went doAvn into
the cave of that enchanted Montesinos, where he found people
to make more of him than if he had been in his own house
;
for it seems he came in for a table laid out and a bed ready
made. There he saw fair and pleasant visions, but here I shall
see, I imagine, toads and adders. Unlucky wretch that I am,
what an end my follies and fancies have come to ! They
'11
take up my bones out of this, when it is Heaven's will that
I 'm found, picked clean, white and polished, and my good
Dapple's with them, and by that, perhaps, it will be found out
who we are, at least by such as have heard that Sancho Panza
never separated from his ass, nor his ass from Sancho Panza.
LTnlucky wretches, I say again, that oitr hard fate should not
let t;s die in our own country aiul nmoug our own people,
380
DON QUIXOTE.
where if there was no h?lp for our misfortune, at any rate
there woukl. be some one to grieve for it and to close our eyes
as we ])assed away ! comrade and friend, how ill have I
repaid thy faithful services ! Forgive me, and entreat Fortune,
as well as thou canst, to deliver us out of this miseral)le strait
we are both in
; and I promise to put a crown of laurel on
thy head, and make thee look like a poet laureate, and give
thee double feeds."
In this strain did Sancho bewail himself, and his ass
listened to him, but answered him never a word, such was the
distress and anguish the poor beast found himself in. At
length, after a night spent in bitter moanings and lamentations,
day came, and by its light Sancho perceived that it was wholly
impossible to escape out of that pit without help, and he fell
to bemoaning his fate and uttering loud shouts to find out if
there was any one within hearing
;
but all his shouting was
only crying in the wilderness, for there was not a soul any-
where in the neighborhood to hear him, and then at last he
gave himself up for dead. Dapple was lying on his back, and
Sancho helped him to his feet, which he was scarcely able to
keep
;
and then taking a piece of bread out of his alforjas
which had shared their fortunes in the fall, he gave it to the
ass, to whom it was not unwelcome, saying to him as if he
understood him,
"
With bread all sorrows are less."
^
And now he perceived on one side of the pit a hole large
enough to admit
a person if he stooped and squeezed himself
into a small compass. Sanclio made for it, and entered it by
creeping, and found it witle and spacious on the inside, which
he was able to see as a ray of sunlight that penetrated what
might be called the roof showed it all plainly. He observed,
too, that it opened and Avidened out into another spacious
cavity
;
seeing which he made his Avay back to where the ass
was, and with a stone began to pick away the clay from the
hole until in a short time he had made room for the beast to
pass easily, and this accomplished, taking him by the halter,
he proceeded to traverse the cavern to see if there was any
outlet at the other end. He advanced, sometimes in the dark,
sometimes with light, but never without fear; "God Almighty
help me !
"
said he to himself; "this that is a misadventure
to me would make a good adventure for my master Don
Quixote. He would have been sure to take these depths and
.
' Prov. 173.
CHAPTER LV.
381
dungeons for flowery gardens or the palaces of Galiana,' and
would have counted upon issuing out of this darkness and ini-
])risonnient into some blooming meadow
;
but I, unlucky that
I am, hopeless and spiritless, expect at every step another pit
deeper than the first to open under my feet and swallow me
up for good ;
'
welcome evil, if thou comest alone.'
"
-
In this way and with these reflections he seemed to himself
to have travelled rather more than half a league, when at
last he perceived a dim light that looked like daylight and
found its way in on one side, showing that this road, which
appeared to him the road to the other world, led to some
opening.
Here Cid Hamet leaves him, and returns to Don Quixote,
who in high spirits and satisfaction was looking forward to the
day fixed for the battle he was to fight with him who had
robbed Doiia Rodriguez's daughter of her honor, for whom he
hoped to obtain satisfaction for the wrong and injury shame-
fully done to her. It came to pass, then, that having sallied
forth one morning to practise and exercise himself in what he
would have to do in the encounter he expected to find himself
engaged in the next day, as he was putting Ilocinante through
his paces or pressing him to the charge, he brought his feet so
(dose to a pit that but for reining him in tightly it would have
been impossible for him to avoid falling into it. He pulled
him up, however, without a fall, and coming a little closer ex-
amined the hole without dismounting; but as he was looking
at it he heard loud cries proceeding from it, and by listening
attentively was able to make out that he who uttered them
was saying,
"
Ho, above there ! is there any Christian that
hears me, or any charitable gentleman that will take pity on a
sinner buried alive, or a.n unfortunate disgoverned governor ?
"
It struck Don Quixote that it was the voice of Sancho Panza
he heard, whereat he was taken aback and amazed, and raising
his own voice as much as he could, he cried out,
"
Who is below
there ? Who is that complaining ?
"
"
Who should be here, or who should complain," was the
answer, "but the forlorn Sancho Panza, for his sins and for
his ill-luck governor of the island of Barataria, squire that was
to the famous knight Don Quixote of La Mancha ?
"
'A Moorisli princcsvS, the rfmuins uf wliose palafe may still be seen, so
the Toledans say, near the bridge of Aleantara at Toledo.
2Prov. i;51.
382 DON QUIXOTE.
When Don Quixote heard this his amazement was redoubled
and his perturbation grew greater than ever, for it suggested
itself to his mind that Sancho must be dead, and that his soul
was in torment down there
;
and carried away by this idea he
exclaimed,
"
I conjure thee by everything that as a Catholic
Christian I can conjure thee by, tell me who thou art ; and if
thou art a soul in torment, tell me Avhat thou wouldst have me
do for thee ; for as my profession is to give aid and succor to
those that need it in this world, it will also extend to aiding
and succoring the distressed of the other, who cannot help
themselves."
"
In that case," answered the voice,
"
your worship who
speaks to me must be my master Don Quixote of La oMancha
;
nay, from the tone of the voice it is plain it can be nobody
else."
''])on Quixote I am," rejjlied Don Quixote, "he whose pro-
fession it is to aid and succor the living and the dead in their
necessities
;
wherefore tell me who thou art, for thou art keeping
me in suspense
;
because, if thou art my squire Sancho Panza,
and art dead, since the devils have not carried thee off. and
thou art by (lod's mercy in purgatory, our holy mother the
Konian Catholic Church has intercessory means sufficient to
release thee from the i)aiiis thou art in
;
and I for my part
will i)lead
with her to tliat end, so far as my substance will
go; witliout further delay, therefore, declare thyself, and tell
me who thou art."
"
liy all that 's good," was the answer, "and by the birth of
whomsoever your worship chooses, 1 swear, Senor J)ou Quixote
of La Mancha, that I am your squire Sancho Panza, and that
I have never died all my life
;
but that, having given up my
government for reasons that woidd require more time to
explain, I fell last night into this pit where I am now, and
Dapple is witness and won't let me lie, for more by token he
is here with me."
Xor was this all ; one would have fancied the ass understood
what Sancho said, because that moment he began to bray so
loudly that the whole cave rang again.
"Famous testimony!" exclaimed Don Quixote; "I know
that bray as well as if I was its mother, and thy voice, too, my
Sancho. Wait while I go to the duke's castle, which is close
by, and I will bring some one to take thee out of this pit into
which thy sins no doubt have brought thee."
SANCHO PANZA RETURNS TO THE DUCHESS. Vol.2. Page 383.
CHAPTER LV. S83
"
Go, your worship," said Sanclio,
"
and come hack quick for
God's sake ; for I cannot bear being buried alive here any
longer, and I 'in dying of fear."
Don Quixote left him, and hastened to the castle to tell the
duke and duchess what had ha})})ened to Sancho, and they were
not a little astonished at it, altlu)ugh they could easily understand
his having fallen, from the confirmatory circumstance of the
cave which had been in existence there from time immemorial
;
but they could not imagine how he had quitted the government
without their receiving any intimation of his coming. To be
brief, they fetched ropes and tackle, as the saying is, and by
dint of many hands and much labor they drew up Dapple and
Sancho Panza out of the darkness into the light of day. A
student who saw him remarked,
"
That 's the way all bad gov-
ernors should come out of their governments, as this sinner
comes out of the depths of the pit, dead with hunger, pale, and
I suppose without a farthing."
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
enendes 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 behavior
;
'
-
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 blockhead."
"
They
'11
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

Prov. 89.
^2
Prov. 224.
^
p^yy, 5_
*
Prov. 226.
s
Prov. 195.
384
DON QUIXOTE.
people, tliey reaclied the castle, where in one of the corridors
the duke and duchess stood waiting lor them; but Sancho
Avould 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 1
entered naked,
'
and naked I find myself ; I neither lose nor
gain.'
'
AVhether I have governed well or ill, I have had wit-
nesses who will say what they think fit. I have answered
questions, I have decided causes, and always dying of hunger,
for Dr. Pedro Kecio of Tirteafuera, the islandish and governor-
ish 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 olf 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
resp<insil)ilities governing brings with it, and by my
reckoning 1 hnd my shoulders can't bear them, nor are they a
load tor my loins or arrows for my qiiiver ; and so, before the
governiucnt threw me over, I ])referred to throw the govern-
ment over; and yesterday morning I left the island as I found
it, with the same streets, houses, and roofs it hail when L
entered it. I asked no loan of anybody, nor did I try to hll
my pocket ; and though I meant to make some useful laws, 1
made liaroly any, as 1 was afraid they would not be kept ;
for
in that case it
counts
to the same thing to make them or not to
make them. I (putted the island, as I said, without any
escort except my ass
;
I fell into a pit, I pushed on throiigli
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 hidy duke and duchess, here is
your governor Sancho Panza, who in the bare ten days he has
held tlie 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 boj's
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
'
Prov. 73.
-
All iiUusioii to ;i kind of ganu' of leap-frog.
CHAPTER LVI.
385
Quixote
;
for after all, tliuugli in it I eat my bread in fear and
trembling, at any rate I take iny fill ; and for my part, so long
as I 'm full, it 's all alike to me whether it 's with carrots or
with partridges."
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.
CHAPTER LVI.
OF THE PRODIGIOUS AND UNPARALLELED BATTLE THAT TOOK
PLACE BETWEEN DON QUIXOTE OF LA MANCHA AND THE
LACKEY TOSILOS IN' DEFENCE OF THE DAUGHTER OF THE
DUPINNA DONA RODRIGUEZ.
The duke and duchess had no reason to regret the joke that
had been played upon Sancho Panza in giving him the govern-
ment ; especially as their majordoino 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 instructetl his lackey Tosilos
how to deal with Don Quixote so as to vanquish \m\\ witliout
killing or wounding him, gave orders to have the heads re-
moved 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 battle-field on his
territory (though that was against the decree of the holy
council, which prohibits all challenges of the sort) and not
Vol. II. 25
386 DOX QUIXOTE.
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 neighborhood 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 i)aced the whole
ground to see that there was nothing unfair and nothing con-
cealed to make the combatants stumble or fall ; then the
duennas entered and seated themselves, envek>ped in mantles
covering their eyes, nay even their bosoms, and disphiying no
slight emotion as Don Quixote apjieared in the lists. Shortly
afterwards, accompanied by several trumpets and mounted on
a powerful steed that threatened to crush the whole place, the
great lackey Tosilos madi; his a})ijearance on one side of the
courtyard with his visor down and stiffly cased in a suit of
stout sliining armor. The horse was a manifest Frieslander,
broad-biicked 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 I^a jVIancha
;
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 hus-
band
;
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 what-
ever he shoidd do in that behalf they declared rightly done,
final and valid. By this tiine 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
CHAPTER LVL
387
antagonist was to many the daughter of Doiia Rodriguez;
but if he shoukl be vanquished his o})})onent was released from
the promise that was claimed against him and from all obli-
gations to give satisfaction. The master of the ceremonies
apportioned the sun to them,' and stationed them, each on the
spot Avhere 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 liimself
with all his heart to God our Lord and to the lady Dulcinea
del Toboso, stood Avaiting for them to give the necessary
sigiial for the onset. (Jur lackey, 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 l)oy whom in our streets they
commonly call Love had no mind to let sli}) the chance of
triumphing over a lackey 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 lackey'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 any one calling him to account for what he
does. AVell then, when they gave the signal for the onset our
lackey 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 loixdly to the marshal of the field, to whom
when he came up to see what he wanted he said,
"
Seilor, is
not this battle to decide whether I marry or do not marry that
lady ?
" "
Just so," was the answer^
"
Well then," said the
lackey,
"
I feel qualms of conscience, and I should lay a heavy
'
See Note, chap, vi., page ;57.
388
VON
QUIXOTE.
burden upon it if I were to proceed any further with the com-
bat
;
I therefore declare that I yield myself vanquished, and
that I am
willing to marry the lady at once."
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.
DonQuixote imWeA
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 Rodri-
guez sat and said in a loud voice,
"
Seiiora, 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 Feter add his blessing."
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 scru-
ples of conscience you wish to marry this damsel ?
"
"
It is, senor,"
replied Tosilos.
"
And he does Avell," 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 poAver of breath-
ing was failing him, and he could not remain so long shut up
in that
confined space. They removed it in all haste, and his
lackey features were revealed to public gaze. At this sight
Doiia
Rodriguez and her daughter raised a
mighty outcry, ex-
claiming,
"
This is a trick ! This is a trick !
They have put
Tosilos, my lord the duke's lackey, upon ns in place of the real
husband.
^
The justice of God and the king against such trick-
ery, 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* Avho perse-
cute me, and who, jealous of my reaping the glory of this vic-
>Prov. 151.
CHAPTER LVI. 389
tory, have turned your husbaiKlr's features into those of this per-
son, who you say is a hxckey of the duke's
;
take my advice, and
notwithstanding the malice of my enenues marry hiui. for be-
yond a doubt he is the very one you wi'sh to get for a husband."
When the duke heard this all his anger Avas near vanishing
in a fit of laughter, and he said,
"
The things that happen to
8eiior Don Quixote are so extraordinary that I am ready to be-
lieve this lackey 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 Avhom we are uncertain in
close confinement, and perhaps in the course of that time he
may return to his original slia})e ; for the spite which the en-
chanters entertain against Senor Don Quixote cannot last so
long, especially as it is of so little advantage to them to prac-
tise these deceptions and transformations."
"
Oh, seiior," said Sancho,
''
those scoundrels are well used to
changing whatever concerns my master from one thing into
another. A knight that he ovei-came some time back, called
the Knight of the Mirrors, they turned into the shape of the
bachelor Samson ('arrasco 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 lackey will have to
live and die a lackey all the days of his life."
Here the Eodriguez's daughter exclaimed,
"
Let him he who
he may, this man that claims me for a wife ; I am thankful to
him for the same, for I had rather be the lawful wife of a lackey
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 ha})pened 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 disajipointed at finding that the com-
batants 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, be-
cause the prosecution or the court has pardoned him. The
people dispersed, the duke and Don Quixote returned to the cas-
tle, 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.
390
DON QUIXOTE.
CHAPTER LVII.
W-HTCH TREATS OF HOW DOX QUIXOTE TOOK LEAVE OF THE
DUKE, AND OF WHAT FOLLOWED WITH THE WITTY AND
IMPUDENT ALTISIDORA, ONE OF THE DUCHESs's DAMSELS.
Don Quixote now felt it right to ([uit ;i life of such idleness
as lie was leading in the castle
;
for he fancied that he was mak-
ing himself sorely missed by snftering himself to remain shut
np and inactive amid the countless luxuries and enjoyments his
hosts lavished npon him as a knight-errant ; and he felt too that
he would have to render a strict account to Heaven of that in-
dolence and seclnsion
;
and so one day he asked the duke and
duchess to grant him })ermission to take his (h^parture. 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 San-
cho Fanza, who shed tears over them, saying,
"
Who would
have thought that such grand ho})es as the news of my govern-
ment bred in my wife Teresa I'anza's breast would end in my
going b;ick now to the vagabond adventures of my master Don
Quixote of La Mancha ? Still I 'm glad to see my Teresa be-
haved a.s she ought in sending the acorns, for if she had not sent
them I should have been sorry, and slie M have shown herself
ungrateful. It is a comfort to me that they can't call that pres-
ent 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 1 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 soliloquize on the day of their departure,
as Don Quixote, avIio had the night before taken leave of the
duke and duchess, coming out made his appearance at an early
hour in full armor in the courtyard of the castle. The whole
household of the castle Avere watching him from the corridors,
and the duke and duchess, too, came out to see liim. Sancho
was mounted on his Dapple, with his alforjas, valise, and prov-
ender, supremely happy because the duke's majordomo, the
same that had acted the part of the Trifaldi. had given him a
1
Prov. 73.
CHAPTER LVII.
391
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 of the duchess the
impudent and Avitty 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 1 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/ .Eneas, what worse shall I call thee ?
Barabbas go with thee ! All evil befall thee !
In tliy 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 burji to the ground
Two thousand Troy Towns,
If so many were found.
Bireno, .Eneas, what whose shall I call thee ?
Barabbas go with thee ! All evil befall thee !
May no bowels of mercy
To Sancho be granted,
'
Bireno, Duke of Zealand, who deserted Olyrapia, daughter of the
Count of Holland, very mucli as Tlieseus deserted Ariadne. Orlando
Furioso^ Cantos 9 and 10. There is a hallad on the subject, with a re-
fr.iin which may have suggested that introduced here.
392 DON QUIXOTE.
And thy Dulciiiea
Be left still enchanted,
May thy falsehood to nie
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, .Eneas, what worse shall I call thee ?
Barabbas go with thee ! All evil befall thee !
May thy name be abhorred
For th}^ 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, .Eneas, what worse shall I call thee ?
Barabbas go Avith thee ! All evil befall thee !
All the Avhile the unhappy Altisidora was bewailing herself
in the above strain Don Quixote stood staring at her
;
and with-
out 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 ansAver,
"
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 Avas bold, lively, and imjnident, but not so much so as
to A^enture to make free in this fasliion
;
and not being prepared
for the joke, her astonishment was all the greater. The duke
1
Prov. 123.
-
Prov. ;U.
CHAPTER LVII.
393
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 lackey, Tosilos."
"
God forbid," said Don Quixote,
"
that I should draw my
sword against your illustrious person from which I have re-
ceived such great favors. The kerchiefs I will i-estore, as
Sancho says he has them; as to the garters that is impossi])le,
for I have not got them, neither has he
;
and if your hand-
maiden 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 journey."
"
And may God so prosper it, Sefior Don Quixote," said the
duchess,
''
that we may always hear good news of your ex-
ploits
;
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 trans-
gress again, eithei- with her eyes or with her words."
"
One word and no more, valiant Don Quixote, I ask you
to hear," said Altisidora,
''
and that is that I beg your pardon
about the theft of the garters ; and 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 Avhile
mounted on it."
"
Did n't I say so ?
"
said Sancho.
"
I 'ul a likely one to
hide thefts ! Wliv, if I wanted to deal in them, ()})p()rtunities
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 Saragossa.
394 DON QUIXOTE.
CHAPTER LVIII.
WHICH TELLS HOW ADVENTURES CAME CROWDING ON DON
QUIXOTE IN SUCH NUMBERS THAT THEV GAVE ONE AN-
OTHER NO BREATHING-TIME.
When Don Quixote saAv himself in the 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 eartli holds buried or the sea
conceals can compare with it ; for freedom, as for honor, 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 was 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 ol)ligation to return
benefits and favors received is a restraint that checks the inde-
pendence of the spirit.
Hai)py
he, to whom Heaven has given
a piece of bread for which he is not l^ound to give thanks to
any but Heaven itself !
"
"
For all your worship says," said Sanr-ho,
"
it is not becom-
ing that there should be no thanks on our part for two hundred
gold crowns that the duke's majordomo has given me in a
little purse wdiich I carry next my heart, like a w^arming
plaster or comforter, to meet any chance calls
;
for we shan't
alwa}' s find castles where they
'11
entertain us ; now and then
we may light upon roadside inns where they
'11
cudgel us."
In conversation of this sort the knight and squire errant
were pursuing the journey, wdien, after they had gone a little
more than half a league, they perceived some dozen men
dressed like laborers stretched upon their cloaks on the grass
of a green ineadoAV eating their dinner. They had beside them
what seemed to be Avhite sheets concealing some objects under
them, standing upright or lying flat, and arranged at intervals.
Don Quixote approached the diners, and, saluting them courte-
ously first, he asked them what it was those cloths covered.
CHAPTER LYIIL
395
"
Senor," answered one of the party,
"
under these ehjths are
some images carved in relief intended for a retablo
'
we are
putting lip in our vilhige ; we carry them covered up that they
may not be soiled, and on our shoulders that they may not he
broken."
"
AVith your good leave," said Don Quixote,
"
I should like
to see them
;
for images that are carried so carefully no doubt
must be tine ones."
''
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 nidment, 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 dragon 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 ])on 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 ]nayest 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 brains.'
"
-
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 under foot ; and on
seeing it Don Quixote exclaimed,
"
Ay, this is a knight, and of
the sfjuadrons 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."
'
The elaborate carved work tliat rises at tlie l)ac'k of the altar in Span-
ish churches.
-
Prov. 71.
396 DON QITIXOTE.
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
irntiring laborer in the Lord's vineyard, a teacher of the Gen-
tiles, whose school was heaven, ami 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 differ-
ence 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
1,
so far, know not Avliat I have won by dint of
my sufferings
; but if my Dulcinea del Toboso were to be re-
leased from hers, perhajis with mended fortunes and a mind
restored to itself I might direct my steps in a better ])ath than
I am following at present."
"
May God hear and siu 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'imderstand 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 journey.
Sancho was amazed afresh at the extent of his master's
knoAvledge, 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 unbe-
labored and undismayed, neither have we drawn sword nor
have we smitten the earth with oiir bodies, nor have we been
left famishing ; blessed be God that he has let me see such a
thing with my own eyes !
"
'
Prov 90.
CHAPTER LVIII.
397
"Thou sayest well, Saneho," said Don Quixote, "but re-
member 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 Avill get up of a morning, leave
his house, and meet a friar 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 be-
tween my arms.' Thus, 8ancho, meeting those images has
been to me a most happy occurrence."
"
I can well believe it," said Sancho ;
"'
Init T 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 (h'oss 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
doAvn, 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 truthtul Spanish
histories."
*
'
A'jc,)r>liiig to Covarrubiiis, family superstitions were very common
in Spain; Quevedo, always a valuable illustrator of Cervantes, in The
Book
of
All Tilings refers to this of the Mendoza family.
"
If you upset
the salt-cellar," he says,
"
and are a Mendoza, rise from table without
dining, and the omen will l)e fultilled : for as it is a misfortune not to dine,
a misfortune will have befallen you."
*
Santiayo
y
cierra EspaUa the old Spanish war-cry.
^
Hartzenbusch thinks something has dropped out here; some sort of
explanation of the words by Don Quixote.
*
i.e., of the descendants of Hagar.
398 DON QUIXOTE.
Sanclio clianged the subject, and said to liis master,
"
1
marvel, seiior, 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 its 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 Altisi-
dora it seems they are sharpened rather than blunted."
"
Bear in mind, Sancho," said Don Quixote,
"
that love is
influenced by no consideration, recognizes no restraints of
reason, aird 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.''
"
Xotable cruelty I
"
exclaimed Sancho
;
"
unheard-of ingrati-
tude ! I can only say for myself that the ver}^ smallest loving
word (if 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 worslii]) that could have conquered
and captivated her so. What gallant figure was it, what bold
bearing, what sjirightly grace, what comeliness of feature,
which of these things by itself, or what altogether, could have
made her fall in love with you ? For indeed and in truth
many a time I stopped 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 Avith."
*
"
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 honorable conduct, in generosity, in good breeding ; and all
these cpialities 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
rSH
DON QUIXOTE WITH THE SHEPHERDESSES. Vol.2. Page 399.
CHAPTER LVIII.
at the same time I know I am not hideous ; and it is enough
for an honest man not to be a monster to be an object of love, if
only he possesses the endowments of mind I have mentioned."
While engaged in this discourse they were making their
Avay through a Avood that lay beyond the road, when siiddenly,
without expecting anything of the kind, ])on Quixote found
himself caught in some nets of green cord stretched from one
tree to another ; and unable to conceive Avhat it could be, he
said to Sancho,
''
Sancho, it strikes me tliis affair of these nets
will prove one of the strangest adventures imaginable. May
I die if the enchanters that persecute me are not ti-ying to en-
tangle me in them and delay my journey, by way of revenge
for my obduracy towards Altisidora. AVell then let me tell
them that if these nets, instead of being green cord, were made
of the hardest diamonds, or stronger than tliat 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, suddeidy from among some trees two shep-
herdesses of surpassing l)ea,uty presented themselves to his
sight

or at least damsels dressed like shepherdesses, save

that their jerkins and sayas
'
were of tine brocade
;
that is to
say, the sayas were rich fa.rthingales of gold-embroidered
tabby. Their hair, that in its golden l)rightness vied with the
beams of tlie 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 S]n'ead here to do
you any harm, but only for our amusement; and as I know
you will ask why they have been put uj), and who Ave are, I
Avill tell you in a few words. In a village some two leagues
from this, Avhere there are many people of quality and rich
gentlefolk, it Avas agreed upon by a luimber of friends and
relations to come Avith their Avives, sons and daughters, neigh-
'
A sort of kirtle worn by tlie peasant women.
^
Hartzenbuscli protests that Cervantes can never have written tliis;
but liis pen umloiibtedly does sometimes indulge in a flourish of the kind.
400 DON QUIXOTE.
bors, friends and kinsmen, and make holiday in tliis spot
which is one of the pleasantest in the wliole neighboiiiood,
setting u[) a new pastoral Arcadia among ourselves, we maidens
dressing ourselves as shepherdesses and the youths as shep-
herds. We have prepared two eclogues, one by the famous
poet (iarcilaso, 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 fertilizes all these
meadows ; last night we spread these nets in the trees here to
snare" the silly little l)irds that startled by the noise we make
may fly into them. If you please to be 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 trutli, fairest lady, Actaeon when he un-
expectedly 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 commuiid me with fvdl 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 cpiality such as your apijearance indi-
cates
;
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 ]\[ancha 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
shej^herdess,
"
what great good fortime 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 Fanza his stpiire, whose drol-
leries none can equal."
"
That 's true," said Sancho ;
''
I am that same droll and
CHAPTER LVIII.
401
squire you speak of, aud this gentlemau is my master D>)u
Quixote of La Maueha, 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 ])leasure ; 1
too have heard just what thou hast told me of the valor 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 Duleinea 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 gayly dressed as they
were. They told him that their companion was the valiant
Don Quixote of La Mancha, and the other Saneho 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 game was started, and
the nets were filled with a variety of birds that deceived by
the color fell into the danger they were flying from. Upwards
of thirty persons, all gayly attired as shepherds and she})-
herdesses, 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 his-
tory. 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 honor, and all observed him, and were full of astonish-
ment 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 comuiou

saying that hell is full of ingrates. This sin, so far as it has
lain in my power, I have endeavored 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
Vol. II. 26
402 DON QUIXOTE.
substitute tlie desire to do so
;
aud 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 short-coming. I therefore, grateful for the
favor 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 any own way ; and so I declare that for two fidl 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
Avorld, 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 ])ossiblc there is any
one in the world who will dare to say and swear that this
mast(M' of mine is a madman ? Say, gentlemen shepherds,
is thiuc! a village priest, be he ever so Avise or learned, who
could say what my master has said ; or is there knight-errant,
whatever renown he may have as a man of valor, that could
offer what my nuister has offered now ?
"
J)on Quixote turned upon .S.mcho, and with a countenance
glowing with anger said to him,
"
Is it possible, Sancho, there
is any one in the whole world who will say thou art not a fool,
with a lining to match, and I know not wliat trimmings of im-
perLinence aud 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 m}- side thou nuiyest 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 inaking them
feel doubtful whether they ought to regard him as a madnum
or a rational being. In the end, though they sought to dis-
suade him from involving himself in such a challenge, assur-
CHAPTER LVni.
403
ing him they admitted his gratitude as fully established, aud
needed no fresh proofs to be convinced of his valiant spirit,
as those related in the history of his exploits were sufficient,
vStill 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 })astoral gather-
ing, 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 Avords to
this effect : '^Ho ye travellers and wayfarers, knights, squires,
folk on foot or on horseback, Avho pass this way or shall pass in
the course of the next two days ! Know tluit Dm (^hiixote of
La MuJicha, knight-errant, is posted here to maintain by arms
that the l)eauty and courtesy enshrined in the nymphs that
dwell in these meadoAvs and groves surpass all iipon 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 un-
heard by any adventurer ; l)ut fate, that was guiding affairs for
him from better to l)etter, 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 com-
pact body and in great haste. No sooner had those who were
with Don Quixote seen them than they turned about aiid with-
drew to some distance from the road, for they knew that if
they staid some harm luiglit come to them; but I)on Quixote
with intrepid heart stood his ground, and Sancho Panza
shielded himself with Rocinante's hind-cpiarters. The troop
of lances came up, and one of them who was in advance began
shouting to Don Quixote,
"
Get out of the Avay, you son of
the devil, or these bulls will knock you to pieces !
"
"
Rabble !
"
returned Don Quixote,
"
I care nothing for
bulls, be they the fiercest Jarama breeds on its banks.^ Con-
fess at once, scoundrels, that what I have declared is true
;
else ye have to deal with me in combat."
'The river tliat joins the Tagus at Aranjuez. Tlie hull that Gaziil
encountered in the Ijalhid, Esianclo toda la Corte^ was
"
nacido en le rihera
del celehrado Jarama
"
404 DOX QUIXOTE.
The herdsman had no time to reply, nor Don Quixote
to get
out of the way 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 at 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 half stunned. Dapple
belabored,
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.
AVeariness 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 aiul man mounted once more, and without going back
to bid farewell to the mock or imitation Arcadia, and more iu
humiliation than contentment, they continued their journey.
CHAPTER LIX.
WHERf:iX IS RELATED THE STKAX(iE THIXU, WHICH MAY BE
REGARDED AS AN ADVENTURE, THAT HAPPENED TO DON
QUIXOTE.
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 behavior of the bulls, and by the
side of this, having turned ])apple and Rocinante loose with-
out 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
'
Cahestros, eniployecl to lead tlio l)iills wlien driven in from the
pastures.
*
The phrase in Spanish is not "hull-figlit" hut "bull-run"

corrida
de toros.
^Prov. 92.
*
Condiimio, meat dressed to be eaten with bread.
CHAPTER LIX. 405
Quixote rinsed his mouth and bathed his face, by which cool-
ing process his flagging energies were revived. Out of pure
vexation he remained without eating, and out of pure polite-
ness Sancho did not venture to touch a morsel of what was
before him, but waited for his master to act as taster. See-
ing, 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,
Avhich is of more conse(]^ueuce 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 behavior,
honored 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 cruslied by the feet of unclean and
filthy animals. This thought blunts my teeth, paralyzes 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 crudest 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
'11
stretch out
my life by eating until it reaches the end Heaven has fixed for
it ; and let me tell you, seiior, 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
'11
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 block-
head'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
'
Prov. 13(5. (^Mnera Maria,
y
muera haiia.)
406 DON QUIXOTE.
a little while I am sleeping in accordance Avith thy advice, and,
making bare thy carcass 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 dis-
enchantment of Dulcinea ; for it is a great pity that the poor
lady should be left enchanted through thy carelessness and
negligence."
"
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 Avill happen. Let me tell your worship that for a man
to whip himself in cold blood is a hai-d 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 expect-
ing it, she will see me nmde a riddle of with Avhipping, 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 ])romised."
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, llocinante and Dapple,
to their own devices and to feed unrestrained ui)ou
the almn-
dant grass with which the meadow was furnisluMl. They woke
up rather late, mounted once more and resumed their journey,
})ushing on to reach an inn Avhich 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
aAvay his larder in a room of Avhich the landlord gave him the
key. lie took the beasts to the stable, fed them, and came
back to see Avhat orders Don Quixote, Avho 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 Avhat he had to give them for su])per. 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
Avith 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 ' i\
roast us a couple of chickens Ave
'11
be satisfied, for my master
Trov. 14.5.
CHAPTER LIX.
407
is delicate and eats little, and I 'ui not over and above glut-
tonous."
The landlord replied he had no chickens, for the kites had
stolen them.
"
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 be enough and
to spare."
"
Much good that does us," said Sancho ;
"
I
'11
lay a bet
that all these short-comings are going to wind up in plenty of
bacon and eggs."
"
By Grod," said the landlord,
"
my guest's wits must l^e
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 again."
"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, seiior guest," said the landlord,
"
all
I have is a couple of cow-heels like calves' feet, or a couple of
calves' feet like cow-heels
;
they are boiled with chick-pease,
onions, and bacon, and at this moment they are crying
'
Come
eat me, come eat me.'
"
"
I mark them for mine on the spot," said Sancho
;
"let
nobody touch them
;
I 11 pay better for them than any one
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
408
DON QUIXOTE.
not caring to carry it any farther by answering him ; for he
had ah-eady asked hiin 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
Fart of 'Don Quixote of La Mancha.'
"
The instant Don Quixote heard his own name he 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 any one who
has read the First Part of the history of
'
Don Quixote of La
Mancha
'
to take any pleasure in reading this Second Fart ?
"
"
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
Dulciuea 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 forgetful-
ness 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
'
Prov. 128.
"Avellaneda in chap. ii. of his continuation makes Aldonza Lorenzo
write to Quixote threatening him witli a beating for calling her Princess
and Dulcinea, and Don Quixote stung by her ingratitude resolves to look
out for anotlier mistress.
^
In the first edition the passage runs,
"
con suavidad
y
sin hacersefuerza
alffuna," of which it is difBcult to make sense. Hartzenbusch suggests
"
sii vida
"
and
"
taeHo."
CHAPTER LIX.
409
Mancha himself, who will make good all he has said and all
he will say
;
for pledges don't trouble a good paymaster ?
"
'
Sanflio 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
;
unques-
tionably, seiior, you are the real Don Q^iixote of La Mancha,
cynosure and morning star of knight-errantr}', despite and in
defianue 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 pref-
ace
;
the next that the language is Aragonese, for sometimes he
writes without article
;
and the third, which above all stamps
hiih 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 Sanclio 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 history."
^
"
A nice sort of historian, indeed !
"
exclaimed Sancho at
this
;
"
he must know a deal about our affairs Avhen 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 Jerouimo, "no doubt
yon are Sancho Panza, Seilor Don Quixote's squire."
"
Yes, I am," said Sancho
;
''
and I 'ni proud of it."
''
Faith, then," said the gentleman,
"
this new author does
not handle you Avith the decency that displays itself in your
person
;
he makes you out a heavy feeder and a fool, and not
iu the least droll, and a very different being from the Sancho
described in the First Part of your master's history."
Prov. 164.
*
Cervantes forgets that this l)liinder is of his own making. In cliap.
vii. Part I. he calls Sancrho's wife
"
Juana Gutierrez," and six lines after-
wards "Mari Gutierrez," and in chap. lii.
"
.luana Panza." [Here again
Cervantes's sarcastic humor seems to be misinterpreted.

Am. Ed.^
410
DON
QUIXOTE.
"
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.'
' 1
The two gentlemen j)i'essed 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 beldnd with the stew-pan,
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, Avas 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 unsatis-
factory 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 hajipened him in the cave of Montesinos,
together with what the sage Merlin had prescribed for her
disenchantment,
namely the scourging of Sancho.
Exceeding great w^as the amusement the two gentlemen
derived from hearing Don Quixote recount the strange inci-
dents 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 Avorships have got has any mind that we should
>
Provs. 211 and 206.
'^
Hedio equis, i.e. with legs that show a tendency to form the letter X;
a graphic description of a
drunicen man.
CHAPTER LIX. 411
agree; as lie calls me glutton (according to what your woi'-
ships say) 1 trust he does not call uje drunkard too."
"
But he does," said Don Jeroniino
;
"
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 physiog-
nomy of the worthy Sancho before me."
"Believe me," said tSancho, "the Sancho and the Don
Quixote of this history must be different persons from those
that appear in the one Cid Hamet Benengeli Avrote, who are
ourselves
;
my master valiant, wise, and true in love, and T
simple, droll, and neither glutton nor drunkard."
"
I believe it," said Don Juan ;
"
and were it possible, an
order should be issued that no one should have the pre-
sumption to deal with anything relating to Don /Jidxote,
save his original author Cid Hamet
;
just as Alexander com-
manded 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 wlien
they heap insults upon it."
"None can be offered to Seuor Don Quixote," said Don fluan,
"
that he himself will not be able to avenge, if he does not
ward it oft" 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 pro-
nounced it utterly silly
;
and, if by any chance it should come
to the author's ears that he had had it in Ids hand, he did not
want him to flatter himself with the idea that he had read it
;
for our thoughts, and still more our e_yes, should keep them-
selves 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.^
'
In chap. xi. Avellaneda gives an account of Don Quixote's tiltinj^ at
the ring in the Coso at Saragossa, and so prolix and eiuunnbered witli
details tliat his admirer M. Geruujnd de Lavigne was forced to leave it out.
41-2
r>ox QrrxoTE.
"
For that very reason." said Don Quixote,
>'
T will not set
foot in Saragossa ; and by that means I shall expose to the
world the lie of this new history writer. ;uul people will see
that I am not the Don Quixote he sjieaks of."
"You will do quite right/' said Don Jeronimo ;
'*
and there
are Other jousts at Barcelona in which Seiior Don Quixote
may display his prowess."
''
That is what I mean to do."" said Don Quixote ;
''
and as
it is noNV time, I pray your worships to giye nu' lea\-e to retire
to bed, and to place and retain me among the number of your
greatest friends and seryants."
''
And me too," said Sancho ;
"
maybe I
"11
be srood for some-
thing."
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 gi>oil
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
])artitiou of the other room. Sancho paid the landlord mag-
niticeutly. and recommended him either to say less about the
providing of his inn or to keep it better provided.
CHAPTEPv LX.
OF WHAT HAPPEXED TO DOX QUIXOTE OX HIS WAY TO
BARCELONA.
It was a fresh morning giving promise of a cool day as
Don Quixote quitted the inn, first of all taking care to ascer-
tain 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 ha])[)ened him for six
days, at the end of which, having tunu'd aside out of the
road, he was overtaken by night in a thicket of oak or cork
trees ; for on this point Cid Hauiet is not as precise as he
usually is on other matters.
CHAPTER LX. 413
Master and man disnionnted from tlieir 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 slee]). l>ut 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 Dulciiiea. 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 re-
cpiired. 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 mitie,' 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 i;p ; but the instant he approached him Sancho woke up
in his full senses and cried out,
"
What is this ? Who is touch-
ing 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 regard-
less, I am dying of hope deferred ; therefore untruss thj'self
with a good will, for mine it is, here, in this retired spot, to
give thee at least two thousand lashes."
"
Not a bit of it," said Sancho ;
"
let your worship keep
4U DON QUIXOTE.
quiet, or else by the living God the deaf shall hear us ; the
lashes I pledged myself to must be voluntary and not forced
iipon 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, and 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
OAvn 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 offer to whip me
now, I
'11
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.
'
Prov. 203. The words used by the page of Henry of Trastamara
when he tripped up Pedro the Cruel as the two brothers were locked in
the struggle that ended in the death of the latter. V. the ballad, Los
fieros
cnerpos revueltos.
^
The last lines of the fine ballad, A eazar va Don. Rodrigo, that tells
how Mudarra avenged his brothers by slaying Rodrigo de Lara. (Canci-
onero, Antwerp, s.a. Duran, No. (391.)
COMBAT
BETWEEN DON QUIXOTE AND SANCHO PANZA. Vol.2. Page 414.
il
II
CHAPTER LX.
415
Don Quixote did so, and asked liim what liad 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 wlien they catch them
;
whereby 1 con-
jecture that I must be near Barcelona
;
" and it was, in
fact, as he supposed
;
with the fii"st 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
favorable 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 coun-
try 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 armor
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
416 DON QUIXOTE.
the hands of apy inhuman Bnsiris/ but into Eoque 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 Eoque, whose
fame is bounded by no limits on earth, but that my careless-
ness sliould 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
Eoque, 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."
Eoque Guinart at once perceived that Don Quixote's weak-
ness 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 humor could become dominant in the heart of
man
;
he was exti'emely 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 j^osition in which thou tindest thyself ; it
may be that by these slips thy crooked fortune will make
itself straight ; for Heaven by strange circuitous ways, myste-
rious 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, how-
ever, 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-litting polished boots,
gilt spurs, dagger and sword, and iu his hand a musketoon,
and a pair of pistols at his waist.
Eoque turned roimd at the noise and perceived this comely
figure, which drawing near thus addressed him,
"
I came in
'
Printed Osiris in tlie first edition. Tlie Busiris, who with Memphian
cliivalry and perlidious hate pursued the sojourners of Goshen

Para-
dise Lost, i. 307.
*
Tliis Roque Guinart, properly Rochaquinarda, was a Catalan bandit
who made some noise three or four years before this was written, lli'
carried out tlie intention he expressed to Don Quixote, for he went to
Naples in 1011 and seems to have died in peace there. He appears to
have been a well-behaved freebooter, as Cervantes depicts him.
CHAPTER LX.
417
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 recognize me, I will tell thee
who I am ; I am Claudia Jeronima, the daughter of Simon
Forte,' thy good friend, and special enemy of Clanquel Tor-
rellas, 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 Tor-
rellas. 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 witiiout
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 honor 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 rela-
tives with whom I can live ; and also to implore thee to pro-
tect my father, so that Don Vicente's, numerous kinsmen may
not venture to wreak their lawless vengeance upon him."
lloque, 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
E.oque Guinart said in reply to her, exclaimed,
"
ISTobody 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 s-o great beauty."
Vol. II.

2"
418 DON QUIXOTE.
"
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
enchauters changing the man's proper shape into a lackey's
the said maiden woukl not be one this minute."
Roque, Avho 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 every-
thing they had stripped Dapi)le 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 around, however, they descried some people
on the slope of a hill al)ove them, and concluded, as indeed it
})roved to be, that it was Don A'icente, 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
])arty moved slowly, they were able to do with ease. They
found Don A'icente in the arms of liis 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, ('laudia and Roque threw themselves off their horses
and ailvanced toward him
;
the servants were overawed by the
ap])earance 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 ou.r compact thou hadst never come to this
pass."
,
The wounded gentleman opened his all but closed eyes, and
recognizing Claiidia 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 thoii wert going
this morning to marry Leonora the daughter of the rich
Balvastro ?
''
<' Assuredly not," replied Don Vicente;
"
my cruel fortune
nuist have carried those tidings to thee to drive thee in thy
jealousy to take my life; and to assure thyself of this, press
CHAPTER LX. 419
my hand and take me for thy husband if thou wilt
;
T have no
better satisfaction to offer thee for the wrong thou fanciest
thou hast received from me."
Claudia wrung his hand, 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. Eoque 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 uku'c, 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 ! furious force of jealousy, to what
desperate lengths dost thou lead those that give thee lodging
in their bosoms ! husband, whose unhaj)py 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 a]plauded
her pious resolution, and offered to accompany her whitherso-
ever 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 accom-
pany her ; and thanking him for his offers as
well as she
could, took leave of hioi 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 ?
420
'
DON
QUIXOTE.
Roque Guinart found his squires at the place to which he
had ordered them, and Don Quixote on Eocinante 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 s(iuire
values
them at the rate he says, as having been
given me by the
person who gave them."
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 dis-
tribution to be produced
;
and uuikiug a hasty
valuation, and
reducing
what could not be divided into money, he made
shares for the whole band so etiuitably 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, contented,
and pleased,
Roque observed to Don Quixote,
''
If this scrupu-
lous
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 withoiit it,
even among the thieves
themselves."
One of the squires
heard this, and raising the but-end of his
arquebuse
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,
"
Seiior,
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
CHAPTER LX.
421
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 llocjue, 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 ven-
geance, 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 jny better impulses that I keep on in this way
of life in spite of wlxat 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
poi't."
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 waylay-
ing, there could be any one capable of a virtuous thought, and
he said in reply,
"
Seiior Roque, the beginning of health lies
in knowing the disease and in the sick man's Avillingness 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 medi-
cines that will cure you, and cure gradually, and not of a
sudden or by a nairacle
;
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 hard-
422
DON
QUIXOTE.
ships 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 atiair of Claudia Jeron-
ima, 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 main-
taining
profoimd 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 Span-
ish infantry ; our companies are at oSTaples, 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."
Eoque 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 Doiia
Guiomar de
Quiiiones, wife of the president of the
ecclesiastical
court 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 nnist 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
i
felt, the pres-
'
Lladres^ Catalan for thieves.
CHAPTER LX. 423
ident's lady was downcast, and the pilgrims did not at all
enjoy seeing their property confiscated. Roque ke})t them in
suspense in this way for a while
;
but he had no desire to pro-
long their distress, which might be seen a bowshot oft', 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 president'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 gener-
osity
;
for such they regarded his leaving them their own
money. Seiiora 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 mifortunate
calling. The president'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 favora-
bly 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 u.nusual conduct, and inclined to regard him as an Alexan-
der the Great rather than a notorious robber.
One of the squires observed in his mixture of Gascon and
Catalan.
"
This captain of oi;rs 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."
'
Prov. 2.
424 DON QUIXOTE.
The unlucky wight did not speak so low but that Eoque
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 Avithdrew 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 fidl armor mounted on his horse
Bocinante, together with his squire 8ancho 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 them-
selves with them. 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
humors of his squire Sancho Panza could not help giving gen-
eral pleasure to all the world. He despatched the letter by
one of his squires, who, exchanging the costume of a highway-
man for that of a peasant, made his way into Barcelona and
gave it to the person to whom it was directed.
CHAPTER LXI.
OF WHAT HAPPENED TO DON QUIXOTE ON ENTERING BARCE-
LONA, TOGETHER WITH OTHER MATTERS THAT PARTAKE OF
THE TRUE RATHER THAN OF THE INGENIOUS.
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
>
Reckoning by the dates of the letters written at the duke's, St. John
the Baptist's Day was past. Cervantes means the
"
beheading of John
the BaiJtist."
^
The Cadells and theNiarros were two Catalan clans, at feud at this
time.
CHAPTEU LXl. 425
standing, breaking their slumbers to shift from place to place.
There was nothing but sending out spies and scouts, })osting
sentinels and blowing the matches of arcjuebuses, though they
carried but few, for almost all used flint-locks. Ro(pie passed
his nights in some place or other apart from his men, that
they
might not know where he was, for the nuuiy procla-
mations the viceroy of Barcelona had issued against his life
kept him in fear and uneasiness, and he did not venture to
trust any one, afraid that even his own men would kill him or
deliver him up to the authorities ; of a truth, a weary miser-
able 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 embrac-
ing Don Quixote and Sanclio (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 sides.
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 the
passengers, 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 around 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, dis-
played 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
Avails and forts of the city returned, and the heavy cannon
426 DON QUIXOTE.
rent the air with the tremendous noise they made, to which
the gangway gnus 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 liad 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 Cid
Hamet Uenengeli, flower of historians, has described to us !
"
Don Quixote made no answer, nor did the horsemen wait
for one, but wheeling and wheeling again with all their
followers, they began curvetting round Don Qiiixote, who,
turning to Sancho, said,
"
These gentlemen have plainly recog-
nized us ; I will wager they have read our history, and even
that newly printed one by the Aragonese.
"
The cavalier who addressed Don Quixote again approached
him and said,
"
Come with us, Sefior Don Quixote, for we are
all of us your servants and great friends of Eo(|ue 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 enter-
ing it, the wicked one, who is the author of all mischief, and
the boys Avho are wickeder than the wicked one, contrived
that a coiqjle 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 tigid'. so
much so that, cutting a multitude of capers, they flung their
masters to the ground. Don Quixote, covered with shame
CHAPTER LXIL
427
and out of countenance, ran to pluck the plume from his poor
jade's tail, while Sancho did the same for Dapple. His con-
ductors 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 Ciil Hamet's
pleasure.
CHAPTER LXII.
WHICH DEALS WITH THE ADVENTURE OF THE ENCHANTED
HEAD, TOGETHER WITH OTHER TRIVIAL MATTERS WHICH
CANNOT BE LEFT UNTOLD.
Don Quixote's host was one Don Antonio Moreno by name,
a gentleman of wealth and intelligence, and very fond of divert-
ing himself in any fair and good-natured way ; and having
Don Quixote in his house he set about devising modes of mak-
ing him exhibit his mad points in some harmless fashion ; for
jests that give pain are no jests,^ and no sport is worth any-
thing if it hurts another. The first thing he did was to make
Don Quixote take off his armor, and lead him, in that tight cha-
mois 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 Morena's, another castle like
the duke's. Some of Don Antonio's friends dined with him
that day, and all showed honor 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.
'Prov. 28.
428 DON QUiXOTH.
While at table Don Antonio said to him,
"
We hear, worthy
Sancho, that you are so fond of nianjar bianco^ and forced-
meat balls, that if you have any left, you keep them in yoiir
bosom for the next day."
"
No, sefior, 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 the}' 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 Avrong
;
and I 'd put it in a different way if I
did not respect the honorable 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 kejjt in eternal remembrance in ages to come.
It is true that when he is hungrj- 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 })erfection 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 Qui-
xote 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 Ronum
emperors, a head which seemed to be of bronze. Don Antonio
traversed the whole apartment with Don Quixote and walked
'
A flLsh composed of tlio broasts of fowls dressed with milk, sugar,
and rice-flour. Don Antonio alludes to an incident in Avellaueda's book.
*
Prov. 236.
CHAPTER LXII.
429
round the table many 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
intrusted to everybody."
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, Seiior Don Quixote, has been made and fabri-
cated 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 thou-
sand 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 favorable
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
'
Michael Escoto or Escotillo was a native of Parma, Avho bad a great
reputation in Flanders in the time of Alexander Farnese for his skill in
judicial astrology, and was suspected of dealing in magic. Bowie absurdly
confounds him with the more famous Michael Scot who flourished in the
thirteenth century, though it is plain Cervantes is speaking of one who
was his own contemporary.
430
DON QUIXOTE.
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 to
his master.
That afternoon they took Don Quixote out for a stroll, not
in his armor 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 Eocinante, but upon a tall mule of easy
pace and handsomely caparisoned. They jiut 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 recognized 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 haAnng seen me."
<'
True, Sefior Don Quixote," returned Don Antonio
;
"
for
as fire cannot be hidden or kept secret, virtue cannot escape
being recognized ; and that which is attained by the profession
of arms shines distinquished above all others."
It came to pass, however, that as Don Quixote was pro-
ceeding 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 count-
less 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 ; b\it thou hast the gift of
making fools and blockheads of all Avho have anything to do
with tiiee or say to thee. Why, look at these gentlemen bear-
CHAPTER LXII.
431
ing thee company ! Get thee home, blockhead, and see after
thy affairs, and thy wife and chiklren, 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 honored 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 Methu-
selah, 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.
IsTight came and they went home, and there was a ladies
dancing party, for Don Antonio's wife, a lady of rank and
gayety, beauty and wit, had invited some friends of hers to
come and do honor to her guest and amuse themselves with
his strange delusions. Several of them came, they supped
sumptuously, and the dance began 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 any-
thing 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,
"
Fnglte, partes advei'sre !
Leave me in peace,
unwelcome overtures; avaunt, with your desires, ladies, for
she who is queen of nunc, the peerlei^^ Dulcinea del Toboso,
432 DON QUIXOTE.
suffers none but hers to lead me captive and subdne 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, sa}' ing
as he did so,
'^
In an evil hour you took to dancing, master
mine
;
do you fancy all mighty men of valor 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 tlie
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
liiiu up well so that he might sweat out any chill caught after
liis (lancing.
Tlu) 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 liinisclf up in the
chamber where the head was. He explained t(^ tliem tlie ])rop-
erty it possessed and intrusted the secrets 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 frieiuls
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 tlie 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 audilile
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 thoughts."
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
'
The dance referred to in chapter xix.
CHAPTER LXIL
4B3
more ; and it was answered him in the same way softly,
"
Thou and thy wife, with two friends of thine and two of hers,
and a famous knight called Don Quixote of La Mancha, and a
squire of his, Sancho Panza by name."
Now there was fresh astonishment ; now every one's hair
was standing on end witli awe ; and Don Antonio retiring from
the head exclaimed,
"
This suffices to show me that I have not
been deceived by him who sold thee to me, sage head, talk-
ing head, answering head, wonderful head! Let some one else
go and put what question he likes to it."
And as women are commonly impulsive and inquisitive, the
first to come forward was one of the two friends of Don
Antonio's wife, and her question was,
"
Tell me. Head, what
shall I do to be very beautiful ?
"
and the answer she got was,
"
Be very modest."
"I question thee no further," said the fair querist.
Her companion then came up and said,
'
I should like to
know. Head, whether my husband loves me or not
;
" the
answer given to her was,
"
Think how he uses thee, and thou
mayest guess
;
"
and the married lady went off saying,
"
That
answer did not need a question ; for of course the treatment
one receives shows the disposition of him from whom it is
received."
Then one of Don Antonio's tAvo friends advanced and asked
it,
"
Who am I ?
" ''
Thou knowest," was th^ answer.
"
Tliat
is not what I ask thee," said the gentleman,
"
but to tell me if
thou knowest me."
"
Yes, I know thee, thou art Don Pedro
Noriz," was the reply.
"
I do not seek to know more," said the gentleman,
"
for this
is enough to convince me, Head, that thou knowest every-
thing
;
"
and as he retired the other friend came forward and
asked it,
''
Tell me. Head, what are the wishes of my eldest
son ?
"
"
I have said already," was the answer, "that I cannot judge
of wishes ; however, I can tell thee the wish of tliy son is to
bury thee."
"
That 's
'
what I see with my eyes I point out with my
finger,'
" ^
said the gentleman,
"
so I ask no more."
Don Antonio's wife came up and said,
"
I know not what to
ask thee, Head ; I would only seek to know of thee if I shall
have many years of enjoyment of my good husband ;
"
and the
'
Trov. 238.
Vol. II. 28
434
DON QUIXOTE.
answer she received was,
"
Thou shalt, for liis vigor and his
temperate habits promise many years of life, which by their
intemperance others so often cut short."
Then Don Quixote came forward and said,
"
Tell me, thou
that answerest, was that which I describe as having happened
to me in the cave of Montesinos the truth or a dream ? Will
my squire Sancho's whipping be
accomplished without fail ?
Will the disenchantment of Dulcinea be brought about ?
"
"
As to the question of the cave," was the reply,
"
there is
much to be said ; there is something of both in it. Sancho's
whipping will proceed leisurely. The disenchantment of
Dulcinea will attain its due consummation."
"
I seek to know no more," said Don Quixote ;
"
let me but
see
Dulcinea disenchanted, and I will consider that all the
good fortune I could wish for has come ^^pon me all at once."
The last cjuestioner was Sancho, and his questions were,
"
Head, shall I by any chance have another government ? Shall
I ever escape from the hard life of a squire ? Shall I get back
to see my wife and children ?
"
To which the answer came,
"
Thou shalt govern in thy house ; and if thou returnest to it
thou shalt see thy Avife and children ; and on ceasing to serve
thou shalt cease to be a squire."
"
Good, by God!
"
said Sancho Panza; "I could have told
myself that; the prophet Perogrullo could have said no
more."
^
<'
AVhat answer wouldst thou have, beast ?
"
said Don Qui-
xote ;
"
is it not enough that the replies this head has given suit
the questions put to it ?
"
"
Yes, it is enough," said Sancho ;
"
but I should like
it to have made itself plainer and told me more."
The questions and answers came to an end here, but not
the wonder with which all were filled, except Doii Antonio's two
friends Avho were in the secret. This Cid Hamet Benengeli
thought fit to reveal at once, not to keep the world in suspense,
fancying that the head had some strange magical mystery in it.
He says, therefore, that on the model of another head, the work
of an image-maker,
which he had seen at Madrid, Don Antonio
made this one at home for his own amusement and to aston-
ish ignorant people
;
and its mechanism was as follows. The
1
Perogrullo was a
legendary personage who dealt in prophecies that
were manifest truisms.
Quevedo introduces him in the Visita de los
Chistes.
CHAPTER LXII. 435
table was of wood painted and varnished to imitate jasper,
and the pedestal on which it stood was of the same material,
with four eagles' claws projecting from it to support the weight
more steadily. The head, which resembled a bust or figure of
a Roman emperor, and was colored like bronze, was hollow
throughout, as Avas the table, into which it was fitted so exactly
that no trace of the joining was visible. The pedestal of the
table was also hollow and communicated with the throat and
neck of the head, and the whole was in communication with
another room underneath the chamber in which the head stood.
Through the entire cavity in the pedestal, table, throat and
neck of the bust or figure, there passed a tube of tin carefully
adjusted and concealed from sight. In the room below corre-
sponding to the one above was placed the person who was to
answer, with his mouth to the tube, and the voice, as in an
ear-trumpet, passed from above downwards, and from below
upwards, the words coming clearly and distinctly ; it was
impossible, thus, to detect the trick. A nephew of Don An-
tonio's, a smart, sharp-witted student, Avas the answerer, and as
he had been told beforehand by his uncle who the persons were
that would come with him that day into the chamber where the
head was, it was an easy matter for him to answer the first
question at once and correctly ; the others he answerd by
guess-work, and being clever, cleverly. Cid Hamet adds that
this marvellous contrivance stood for some ten or twelve days
;
but that, as it became noised abroad through the city that he
had in his house an enchanted head that answered all who
asked questions of it, Don Antonio, fearing it might come to
the ears of the watchful sentinels of our faith, explained the
matter to the inquisitors, who commanded him to break it up
and have done with it, lest the ignorant vulgar should be scan-
dalized. By Don Quixote, however, and by tSancho the head
was still held to be an enchanted one, and capable of answering
questions, though more to Don Quixote's satisfaction than
Sancho's.
The gentlemen of the city, to gratify Don Antonio and
also to do the honors to Don Quixote, and give him an op-
portunity of displaying his folly, made arrangements for a
tilting at the ring in six days from that time, which, however,
for the reason that Avill be mentioned hereafter, did not take
place.
Don Quixote took a fancy to stroll about the city quietly
436 DON QUIXOTE.
and on foot, for he feared that if he went on horseback the
boys would follow him ; so he and Sancho and tAvo servants
that Dun Antonio gave him set out for a walk. Thus it came
to pass that going along one of the streets Don Quixote lifted
up his eyes and saw written in very large letters over a door,
"
Books printed here," at which he was vastly pleased, for
until then he had never seen a printing office, and he was
curious to know what it was like. He entered with all his
following, and saw them drawing sheets in one place, correct-
ing in another, setting up type here, revising there; in
short all the work that is to be seen in great printing offices.
He went iip to one case and asked what they were about there
;
the workmen told him, he watched them with wonder, and
passed on. He approached one man, among others, and asked
him what he was doing. The workman replied,
"
Seiior, this
gentleman here
"
(pointing to a man of prepossessing mien and
appearance and a certain gravity of look )
"
has translated an
Italian book into our Spanish tongue, and I am setting it up
in type for the press.
"
"
What is the title of the book ?
"
asked Don Quixote
;
to
which the author replied,
"
Senor, in Italian the book is called
Le BiKjdtdley
''
And what does Le Bagatelle, import in our Spanish
?
"
asked Don Quixote.
"
Le Bagatelle,'^ said the author,
"
is as though we should
say in Spanish Los Jugiietes
;
but though the book is humble
in name it has good solid matter in it."
''
I," said Don Quixote,
"
have some little smattering of
Italian, and I plume myself on singing some of Ariosto's
stanzas
; but tell me, senor

I do not say this to test your

ability, l)ut merely oiit of curiosity

have you ever met with

the word pUjnatta. in your book ?
"
"
Yes, often," said the author.
"
And how do you render that in Spanish ?
"
asked Don
Quixote.
"
How should I render it," returned the author,
<'
but by
olla
"
?
"
Body o' me," exclaimed Don Quixote,
"
what a proficient
you are in the Italian language ! I would lay a good wager
that where they say in Italian place you say in Spanish
place, and where they s&j piu you say vias, and you translate
sit by an-iba and giu by abajo"
CHAPTER LXII.
437
"
I translate them so of course," said the author,
"
for those
are their })roper equivalents."
"
I would ventui'e to swear," said Don Quixote,
"
that your
worship is not known in the world, which always begrudges
their reward to rare wits and praiseworthy labors. What
talents lie wasted there ! What genius thrust away into
corners ! What Avorth left neglected ! Still it seems to me
that translation from one language into another, if it be not
from the queens of languages, the Greek and the Latin, is like
looking at Flemish tapestries on the Avrong side; for though
the figures are visible, they are full of threads, that make
them indistinct, and they do not show with the smoothness
and brightness of the right side
;
and translation from easy
languages argues neither ingenuity nor command of words,
any more than transcribing or copying out one document from
another. But I do not mean by this to draw the inference
that no credit is to be allowed for the Avork of translating, for
a man may employ himself in ways worse and less profitable
to himself. This estimate does not include two famous trans-
lators, Doctor Cristobal de Figueroa, in his Pastor Fido, and
Don Juan de Jauregui, in his Ainlnta, wherein by their
felicity they leave it in doubt which is the translation and
which the original.' But tell me, are you printing this book
at your own risk, or have you sold the copyright to some
bookseller ?
"
"
I print at my own risk," said the author,
"
and I expect to
make a thousand ducats at least by this first edition, which is
to be of two thousand copies that will go off in a twinkling at
six reals ax^iece."
'^
"
A fine calculation you are making !
"
said Don Quixote
;
"
it is plain you don't know the ins and outs of the printers,
and how they play into one another's hands. I promise you
when you find yourself saddled Avith two thousand copies you
Avill feel so sore that it will astonish you, particularly if the
'
The translation of the Pastor Fido appeared in 1(509.
'
Cervantes
had before this warmly praised Figueroa in the Viaje del Parnaso^ not-
withstanding which the year after his death Don Quixote and the Novelas
was sneered at by Figueroa in his Pasagero, 1017. There is no edition
of Jauregni's Aminta known ealier than that of Seville 1618, so that this
is a friendly advertisement.
^
As Hartzenbusch points out, this leaves a margin altogether too narrow
for the expenses.
438
DON QUIXOTE.
book is a little out of the common and not in any way highly
spiced."
"
What
!
"
said the author,
"
would your worship, then, have
me give it to a bookseller who will give three
maraveclis for
the copyright and think he is doing me a favor in giving me
that ? I do not print my books to win fame in the world, for
I am known in it already by my works
;
I want to make
money, without which reputation is not worth a rap."
"
God send your worship good luck," &aid Don Quixote ; and
he moved on to another case, where he saw them correcting a
sheet of a book with the title of
"
Light of the Soul ;
" ^
notic-
ing it he observed,
"
Books like this, though there are many
of the kind, are the ones that deserve to be printed, for many
are the sinners in these days, and lights unnumbered are
needed for all that are in darkness."
He passed on, and saw they were also correcting another
book, and when he asked its title they told him it was called,
"
The Second l*art of the Ingenious Gentleman Don Quixote
of La ]\rancha,"' by a certain person of Tordesillas.^
"
I have heard of this book alread}^," said Don Quixote,
"
and verily and on my conscience I thought it had been b}^ this
time burned to ashes as a meddlesome intruder
;
but its Martin-
mas will come to it as it does to every pig ;
^
for fictions have
the more merit and charm about them the more nearly they
approach the truth or what looks like it ; and true stories,
the truer they are the better they are
;
" and so saying he
walked out of the printing office with a certain amount of*
displeasure in his looks. That same day Don Antonio arranged
to take him to see the galleys that lay at the beach, whereat
Sancho was in high delight, as he had never seen any all
his life. Don Antonio sent word to the commandant of the
'
Luz del Alma cristiana., by Fr. Felipe Menescs, 1556.
'^
Avell;iueil;r. volume was called Segundo Torno, not Second I'ari. It
was hardly judicious in Cervantes to credit his enemy with a second edition,
but he seems to lose his head whenever he tliinks of Avellaneda and his
insults
;
and from this on he apparently thinks of little else. From chapter
lix. to the end, indeed, there is a decided falling off. The stor}' is at once
hurried and spun out, and in the episodes of Claudia and Ana Felix he
drops into the tawdry style of the novels in the First Part. It is only when
he touches earth in Sancho Panza that he recovers anything like his old
vigor.
^
Prov. 1!)3. Martinmas^ i.e., killing day, that being the great day for
pig-killing in Spain.
CHAPTER LXIIT.
489
galleys that he intended to bring his guest, the famous Don
Quixote of La Mancha, of whom the commandant and all
the citizens had already heard, that afternoon to see them
;
and what happened on board of them will be told in the next
chapter.^
CHAPTER LXIII.
OF THE MISHAP THAT BEFELL SAXCHO PANZA THROLTGH THE
VISIT TO THE GALLEYS, AND THE STRANGE ADVENTURE OF
THE FAIR MORISCO.
Profound were Don Quixote's reflections on the reply of
the enchanted head, not one of them, however, hitting on the
secret of the trick, but all concentrated on the promise, which
he regarded as a certainty, of Dulcinea's disenchantment.
This he turned over in his mind again and again with great
satisfaction to himself, fully persuaded that he would shortly
see its fulfilment ; and as for 8ancho, though, as has been said,
he hated being a governor, still he had a longing to be giving
orders and finding himself obeyed once more
;
this is the mis-
fortune that being in authority, even in jest, brings with it.
To resume ; that afternoon their host Don Antonio Moreno
and his two friends, with Don Quixote and Sancho, went to
the galleys. The commandant had been already made aware
of his good fortune in seeing two such famous persons as Don
Quixote and Sancho, and the instant they came to the shore all
the galleys struck their awnings and the clarions rang out.
A skiff covered with rich carpets and cushions of crimson
velvet was immediately lowered into the water, and as Don
Quixote stepped on board of it, the leading galley fired her
gangway gun, and the other galleys did the same; and as he
mounted the starboard ladder the whole crew saluted him (as
is the custom when a ]jersonage of distinction comes on board
a galley) by exclaiming
''
Irlu, hu, hu," three times. The
general, for so we shall call him, a Valencian gentleman of
rank, gave him his hand and embraced him, saying,
"
I shall
mark this day with a white stone as one of the happiest I can
'
An impudent attempt was made in Berlin in 1824 to insert two forged
chapters here giving an account of Don Quixote's adventure at a masked
ball. The forgery was a very clumsy one, being full of Germanisms.
440 DON QUIXOTE.
expect to enjoy in my lifetime, since I have seen Senor Don
Quixote of La Mancha, pattern and image wherein we see con-
tained and condensed all that is worthy in knight-errantry."
Don Quixote, delighted beyond measure with such a lordly
rcce])tion, replied to him in words no less courteous. All then
proceeded to the poop, which was very handsomely decorated,
and seated themselves on the y)idwark benches
;
the Ijoatswain
passed along the gangway and piped all hands to stri}), whicli
they did in an instant. Sancho, seeing such a number of men
stripped to the skin, was taken aback, and still more when he
saw them spread the awning so briskly that it seemed to him
as if all the devils were at work at it ; but all this was cakes
and fancy bread to what I am going to tell noAv. Sancho was
seated on the captain's stage, close to the aftermost rower on
the right-hand side. He, previously instructed in w^hat he
was to do, laid hold of Sancho, hoisting him up in his arms,
and the whole crew, who were standing ready, beginning on the
right, proceeded to i)ass
him on, whirling him along from hand
to hand and from bench to bench with such rapidity that it
took the sight out of poor Sancho's eyes, and he made quite sure
that the devils themselves were flying away with him
;
nor did
they leave off with him until they had sent him back along the
left side and deposited him on the poop ; and the poor fellow
was left bruised and breathless and all in a sweat, and unable
to comprehend what it was that had happened to him.
Don Quixote when he saw Sancho's flight without wings
asked the general if this was the usual ceremony with those
who came on board the galleys for the first time
;
for, if so,
as he had no intention of adopting them as a profession, he
had no mind to })erform such feats of agility, and if any one
offered to lay hold of him to whirl him about, he vowed to
God he would kick his soul out ; and as he said this he stood
up and clapped his hand upon his sword. At this instant
they struck the awning and loAvered the yard with a prodigious
rattle. Sancho thought heaven Avas coming off its hinges and
going to fall on his head, and full of terror he ducked it and
buried it between his knees ; nor were Don Quixote's knees
altogether under control, for he too shook a little, scpreezed his
shoulders together and lost color. The crew then hoisted the
yard with the same rapidity and clatter as when they lowered
it, all the while keeping silence as though they had neither
voice nor breath. The boatswain gave the signal to weigh
CHAPTint LXIII.
441
anchor, and leaping upon the nii(hlh' of
the gangway began to
lay on to the shouhlers of the crew witli liis ('ourl)ash or whij),
and to liaul ont gradnally to sea.
Wlien Sancho saw so many red feet (for such he took the
oars to be) moving altogether, he said to himself, "It's these
that are the real enchanted things, and not the ones my
master talks of. What can those wretches have done to be
whip})ed in that way
;
and how does that one nnm who goes
along there Avhistling dare to whip so many ? I declarij this is
hell, or at least purgatory I
"
Don Quixote, observing how attentively Sanclio regarded
what was going on, said to him,
"
Ah, Sancho my friend, how
quickly and cheaply miglityou finish off the disenchantment of
Dulcinea, if you would strip to the waist and take your place
among those gentlemen I Amid tlie })ain and suffeiings of so
many you would not feel your own much
;
and moreover
perhaps the sage Merlin woidd allow each of these lashes, be-
ing laid on with a good hand, to count for ten of those which
you must give yourself at hist."
The general was about to ask what these lashes were, and
what was Dulcinea's disenchantment, when a sailor exclaimed,
"
Monjuich
^
signals that there is an oared vessel off the coast
to the west."
On hearing this the general sprang upon the gangway cry-
ing,
"
Now then, my sons, don't let her give us the slip ! It
must be some Algerine corsair brigantine that the watch-tower
signals to us." The three others immediately came alongside
the chief galley to receive their orders. The general ordered
two to put out to sea while he with the other kejit in shore, so
that in this way the vessels could not escape them. The crews
plied the oars driving the galleys so furiously that they seemed
to fly. The two that had put out to sea, after a couple of miles
sighted a vessel which, so far as they could niake out, they judged
to be one of fourteen or fifteen banks, and so she proved. As
soon as the vessel discovered the galleys she went about with
the object and in the hope of making her escape by her speed
;
but the attempt failed, for the chief galley was one of the
fastest vessels afloat, and overhauled her so ra[)idly that they
on board the brigantine saw clearly there was no possibility
of escaping, and the rais
-
therefore would have had them
drop their oars and give themselves up so as not to provoke the
"
Monjuicli, the citadel of Barcelona.
'^
Rais =
captain.
442 DON QUIXOTE.
captain in command of our galleyc to anger. But chance
directing things othelwise, so ordered it that just as the chief
galley came close enough for those o]i Ijoard the vessel to hear
the shouts from her calling on them to surrender, two Tora(]^uis,
that is to say drunken Turks, that with a dozen more were on
board the brigantine. discharged their muskets, killing two of
the soldiers that lined the sides of our vessel. Seeing this the
general swore he would not leave one of those he found on
board the vessel alive, but as he bore down furiously upon her
she slipped away from him beneath the oars. The galley shot
a good Avay ahead
;
those on board the vessel saw their case
was desperate, and while the galley was coming about they
made sail, and by sailing and rowing once more tried to sheer
off : but their activity did not do them as much good as their
rashness did them harm, for the galley coming up with them
in a little more than half a mile threw her oars over them
and took the whole of them alive. The other tw^o galleys now
joined company, and all four returned with the prize to the beach,
wdiere a vast multitude stood waiting for them, eager to see
what they brought back. The general anchored close in, and
perceived that the viceroy of the city was on the shore. He
ordered the skift' to push off to fetch him. and the yard to be
lowered for the purpose of hanging forthwith the rais and the
rest of the men taken on board the vessel, about six-and-thirty
in number, all smart fellows and most of them Turkish musket-
eers. He asked which was the rais of the brigantine, and was
answered in Spanish by one of the prisoners (who afterwards
proved to be a Spanish renegade), '' This young man, seiior,
that you see here is our rais," and he pointed to one of the
handsomest and most gallant-looking youths that could be im-
agined. He did not seem to be twenty years of age.
"
Tell me, reckless dog,'' said the general,

what led thee
to kill my soldiers, when thou sawest it was impossible for
thee to esca})e ? Is that the way to behave to chief galleys ?
Knowest thou not that rashness is not valor ? Faint pros-
pects of success should make men bold, but not rash."
The rais was about to reply, but the general could not at
that moment listen to him, as he had to hasten to receive the
vicero}', wdio was now coming on board the galley, and with
him certain of his attendants and some of the })eople.
"
You have had a good chase, seilor general," said the
viceroy.
CHAPTER LXIII.
443
''
Your excellency shall soon see how good, by the game
strung up to this yard," replied the general.
''
How so
';' "
returned the viceroy.
"
Because," said the general,
"
against all law, reason, and
usages of war they have killed on my hands two of the best
soldiers on board these galleys, and I have sworn to hang
every man that I have taken, but above all this youth who is
the rais of the brigantine," and he pointed to him as he stood
with his hands already bound and the roj)e round his neck,
ready for death.
The viceroy looked at him, and seeing him so well-favored,
so gracefid, and so submissive, he felt a desire to spare his
life, the comeliness of the youth furnishing him at once with a
letter of recommendation. He therefore questioned him, say-
ing,
"
Tell me, rais, art thou Turk, Moor, or renegade ?
"
To which the youth replied, also in Spanish,
"
I am neither
Turk, nor Moor, nor renegade."
"
What art thou, then ?
"
said the viceroy.
"
A Christian woman," replied the youth.
"
A woman and a Christian, in such a dress and in such cir-
cumstances I It is more niarvellous than credible," said the
viceroy.
"
Suspend the execution of the sentence, gentlemen," said
the youth
;
"
your vengeance will not lose much by waiting
Avhile I tell you the story of my life."
What heart could be so hard as not to be softened by these
words, at any rate so far as to listen to what the unhajipy
youth had to say
".'
The general bade him say what he pleased,
but not to expect pardon for his flagrant offence. With this
permission the youth began in these words.
"
Born of Morisco parents, I am of that nation, more unhappy
than wise, upon which of late a sea of woes has poured down.
In the course of our misfortune I was carried to Barbary by
two uncles of mine, for it was in vain that I declared I was a
C'hristian, as in fact I am, and not a mere pretended one, or
outwardly, but a true Catholic Christian. It availed me noth-
ing with those charged with our sad expatriation to protest
this, nor would my uncles believe it ; on the contrary, they
treated it as an untruth and a subterfuge set up to enable me
to remain behind in the land of my birth ; and so, more by
force than of m}^ own Avill, they took me with them. I had a
Christian mother, and a father who was a man of sound sense
444 DON QUIXOTE.
and a Christian too; I imbibed the Catholic faith with my
niother's milk, 1 was well brought np, and neither in word nor
in deed did I, I think, show any sign of being a ^forisco. To
accompany these virtues, for such I hold them, my beauty, if
I possess any, grew with my growth ; and great as was the
seclusion in which I lived it was not so great but that a young
gentleman, Don Gaspar Gregorio by name, eldest son of a gen-
tleman who is lord of a village near ours, contrived to find op-
portunities of seeing me. How he saw me, how we met, how
his heart was lost to me, and mine not kept from him, would
take too long to tell, especially at a moment when I am in
dread of the cruel cord that threatens me interposing between
tongue and throat ; I will only say, therefore, that Don Gre-
gorio chose to accompany me in our banishment. He joined
company with the Moriscoes who were going forth from other
villages, for he knew their language very well, and on tlie
voyage he struck up a friendship with my two uncles who
were carrying me with them
;
for my father, like a wise and
far-sighted man, as soon as he heard the first edict for our
expulsion, quitted the village and departed in quest of some
refuge for us abroad. He left hidden an.l buried, at a spot of
which I alone have knowledge, a large quantity of pearls and
precious stones of great value, together with a sum of money
in gold cruzadoes and doubloons. He charged me on no account
to touch the treasure, if l)y any chance they expelled us be-
fore his return. I obeyed him, and with my uncles, as I have
said, and others of our kindred and neighbors, passed over to
Barbary, and the place where we took up our abode was Al-
giers, much the same as if we had taken it up in hell itself.
The king heard of my beauty, and report told him of my
wealth, which was in some degree fortunate for me. He sum-
moned me before him, and asked me what part of Spain I
came from, and what money and jewels I had. I mentioned
the place, and told him the jewels and the money were buried
there ; but that they might easily be recovered if I myself went
back for them. All this I told him, in dread lest my beauty and
not his own covetousness should influence \\m\. While he was
engaged in conversation with me, they brought him word that
in company with me was one of the handsomest and most
graceful youths that could be imagined. I knew at once that
they were speaking of Don Gaspar Gregorio, whose comeliness
surpasses the most highly vaunted beauty. I was troubled
CHAPTER LXni.
445
when I tliouglit of the danger he was in, fur among tliose bar-
barous Turks a fair youth is more esteemed than a woman, be
she ever so beautiful. The king immediately ordered him to
be brought before him that he might see him, and asked me if
what they said about the youth was true. 1 tlieu, almost as if
inspired by Heaven, told him it was, but that I would have
him to know it was not a man, but a woman like myself, and
I entreated him to allow me to go and dress her in the attire
proper to her, so that her beauty might be seen to perfection,
and that she might present herself before him with less embar-
rassment. He bade me go by all means, and said that the next
day we should discuss the plan to be adopted for my return to
Spain to carry away the hidden treasure. I saw Don Gasjjar,
I told him the danger he was in if he let it be seen he was a
man, I dressed him as a Moorish Avouian, and that same after-
noon I brought him before the king, who was charmed when he
saw him, and resolved to keep the damsel and make a present
of her to the Grand Signor ; and to avoid the risk she might
run among the women of his seraglio, and distrustful of him-
self, he commanded her to be placed in the house of some
Moorish ladies of rank Avho would protect and attend to her
;
and thither he was taken at once. What we both suffered (for
I cannot deny but I love him), may be left to the imagination
of tliose who are separated if they love one another dearly.
The king then arranged that I should return to Spain in this
brigantine, and that two Turks, those who killed your soldiers,
should accompany me. There also came with me this Spanish
renegade
"

and here she pointed to him who had first s})oken

''
whom I know to be secretly a Christian, and to be more
desirous of being left in Spain than of returning to Barbary.
The rest of the crew of the brigantine are jMoors and Turks,
who merely serve as rowers. The two Turks, greedy and in-
solent, instead of obeying the orders we had to land me and
this renegade in Christian dress (with which we came provided)
on the first Spanish ground we came to, chose to run along the
coast and make some prize if they could, fearing that if they
put us ashore first, we might, in case of some accident befall-
ing us, make it known that the brigantine was at sea, and thus,
if there happened to be any galleys on the coast, they might
be taken. We sighted this shore last night, and knowing noth-
ing of these galleys we were discovered, and the result was what
you have seen. To sum up, there is Don Gregorio in woman's
446
DON QUIXOTE.
dress, among women, in imminent danger of his life
;
and here
am I, with hands bound, in expectation, or rather in dread, of
losing my life, of which I am already weary. Here, sirs, ends
my sad story, as true as it is unhappy ;
all I ask of you is to
allow me to die like a
Christian, for, as I have already said, I
am not to be charged with the offence of which those of my
nation are guilty
;
''
and she stood silent, her eyes filled with
moving tears,
accompanied by
plenty from the bystanders.
The viceroy, touched with compassion, went up to her without
speaking, and with his own hands untied the cord that bound
the fair hands of the IVfoorish girl.
But all the while the Morisco Christian Avas telling her strange
;jtory, an elderly pilgrim, who had come on board of the
galley at the same time as the viceroy, kept his eyes fixed
upon her ; and the instant she ceased speaking he threw him-
self at her feet, and embracing them said in a voice broken by
sobs and sighs,
<'
Ana Felix, my unhappy daughter, I am
thy father Eicote, come back to look for thee, unable to live
without thee, my soul that thou art !
"
At these words of his Sancho opened his eyes and raised
his head, which he had been holding down, brooding over his
unlucky excursion
;
and looking at the pilgrim he recognized
in him that same Ricote he met the day he quitted his
government, and felt satisfied that this was his daughter.
She being now luibound endiraced her father, mingling her
tears with his, while he addressing the general and the viceroy
said,
"
This, sirs, is my daughter, more unhappy in her advent-
ures than in her name. 8he is Ana Felix, surnamed Ricote,
celebrated as much for her own beauty as for my wealth. I
Cjuitted my native land in search of some shelter or refuge for
us abroad, and having found one in Germany I returned in
this pilgrim's dress, in the company of some other German
pilgrims, to seek my daughter and take up a large quantity of
treasure I had left buried. My daughter I did not find, the
ti-easure I found and have with me
;
and now, in this strange
roundabout way you have seen, I find the treasure that more
than all makes me rich, my beloved daughter. If our inno-
cence and her tears and mine can with strict justice open the
door to clemency, extend it to us, for we never had any inten-
tion of injuring you, nor do ^ve in any way sympathize with
the aims of our people, who have been justly banished."
"
I know Ricote well,"' said Sancho at this,
"
and I know
enAPTKB LXTTT. 447
too tliat wluit lie says alx)ut Ana Felix being his dangliter is
true ; bnt as to those other particulars about going and
coming, and having good or bad intentions, I say nothing."
While all present stood amazed at this strange occurrence
the general said,
"
At any rate your tears will not allow me to
keep my oath ; live, fair Ana Felix, all the years that Heaven
lias allotted you ; but these rash insolent fellows must pay the
l-enalty
of the crinre they have committed ;
"
and with that he
jave orders to have the two Turks who had killed his two
soldiers hanged at once in the yard-arm. The viceroy, how-
ever, begged him earnestly not to hang them, as their behavior
savored rather of madness than of bravado. The general
yielded to the viceroy's request, for revenge is not easily taken
in cold blood. They then tried to devise some scheme for
rescuing Don Gaspar (Iregorio from the danger in which he
had l)een left. liicote offered for that object more than two
thousand ducats that he had in pearls and gems
;
they proposed
several plans, but none so good as that suggested by the rene-
gade already mentioiu^d, who offered to return to Algiers in a
small vessel of about six l)anks, nuinned by Christian rowers,
as he knew where, how, and when he coidd and should land,
nor was he ignorant of the house in which Don Gaspar was
staying. The general and tlie viceroy had some hesitation
about placing contidenee in the renegade and intrusting him
with the Christians who were to row, but Ana Felix said she
could answer for him, and her father offered to go and pay the
ransom of the Christians if by any chance they should not be
forthcoming. This, then, being agreed upon, the viceroy
landed, and Don Antonio Moreno took the fair Morisco and
her father home with him, the viceroy charging him to give
them the best reception and welcome in his power, while on
his own part he offered all that his house contained for their
entertainment; so great was the good-will and kindliness the
beauty of Ana Felix had infused into his heart.
448
DON QUIXOTE.
CHAPTER LXIV.
TREATING OF THE ADVENTURE WHICH GAVE DON QUIXOTE
MORE UNHAFPIXESS THAN ALL THAT HAD HITHERTO BE-
FALLEN HIM.
The wife of Don Antonio Moreno, so the history says, was
extremely happy to see Ana Felix in her house. She wel-
comed her Avith great kindness, charmed as well by her beauty
as by
her intelligence
;
for in both respects the fair Morisco
was richly endowed, and all the peojde of the city flocked to
see her as though they had been summoned by the ringing of
the bells.
Don Qiuxote told Don Antonio that the plan adopted for
releasing Don Gregorio was not a good one, for its risks were
greater than its advantages, and that it would be better to
land himself with his arms and horse in Barbary; for he
would cany him off in spite of the whole Moorish host, as Don
Gaiferos carried off his wife Melisendra.
"Remember, your worship," observed Sancho on hearing
hijn say so,
"
Senor Don (Jaiferos carried off his wife from the
mainland, and took her to France by land
;
but in this case, if
by chance we carry off Don Gregorio, we have no way of
bringing him to Spain, for there 's the sea between."
"
There 's a remedy for everything except death,"
'
said Don
Quixote
;
''
if thoy bring the vessel close to the shore we shall be
able to get on board though all the world strive to ])revent us."'
"
Your worship hits it off inighty well and mighty easy,"
said Sancho
;
"
but
'
it "s a long step from saying to doing
;
'
-
and I hold to the renegade, for he seems to me an honest good-
hearted fellow."
Don Antonio then said that if the renegade did not prove
successful, the expedient of the great Don Quixote's expedi-
tion to Barbary should be adopted. Two days afterwards the
renegade put to sea in a light vessel of six oars a-side manned
by a stout crew, and two days later the galleys made sail east-
ward, the general having begged the viceroy to let him kno\\-
all about the release of Don Gregorio and about Ana Felix,
and the viceroy promised to do as he requested.
One morning as Don Quixote went out for a stroll along the
>
Prov. 146.
2
Yvov. 76.
CHAPTER LXIV. 449
beach, arrayed in full armor (for, as he often said, that was
"
his only gear, his only rest the fray," and he never was with-
out it for a moment), he saw coming towards him a knight,
also in full armor, with a shining moon painted on his shield,
who, on approaching sufficiently near to be heard, said in a
loud voice, addressing lumself to Don Quixote,
"
Illustrious
knight, and never sufficiently extolled Don Quixote of La
Maiicha, I am the Knight of the White Moon, Avhose unheard-
of achievements will perhaps have recalled him to thy memory.
I come to do battle with thee and prove the might of thy arm,
to the end that' I make thee acknowledge and confess that my
lady, let her be who she may, is incomparably fairer than thy
Dulcinea del Toboso. If thou dost acknowledge this fairly
and openly, thou shalt escape death and save me the trouble
of inflicting it upon thee
;
if thou tightest and I vanquish thee,
I demand no other satisfaction than that, laying aside arms
and abstaining from going in quest of adventures, thou with-
draw and betake thy self to thine own village for the space of
a year, and live there without putting hand to sword, in peace
and quiet and beneficial repose, the same being needed for the
increase of thy substance and the salvation of thy soul ; and
if thou dost vanquish me, my head shall be at thy disposal,
my arms and horse thy spoils, and the renown of my deeds
transferred and added to thine. Consider which will be thy
best course, and give me thy answer speedily, for this day is
all the time I have for the despatch of this business.
])on Quixote was amazed and astonished, as well at the
Knight of the White Moon's arrogance, as at his reason for
delivering the defiance, and with calm dignity he answered
him,
"
Knight of the White Moon, of whose achievements I
have never heard until now, I will venture to swear you have
never seen the illustrious Dulcinea ; for had 3'ou seen her I
know you would have taken care not to venture yourself upon
this issue, because the sight woidd have removed all doubt
from your mind that there ever has been or can be a beauty to
be compared ^\'\t\l hers
;
and so, not saying you lie, but merely
that you are not correct in what you state, I accept your chal-
lenge, with the conditions you have proposed, and at once, that
the day you have fixed may not expire
;
and from your con-
ditions I except only that of the renown of your achievements
being transferred to me, for I know not of what sort they are
nor what they may amount to
;
I am satisfied with my own,
Vol. II. 29
450 Dox
QrixnrE.
siK'li as they be. Take, therefore, the side of the fiehl you
choose, and I will do the same
;
and to whom (lod shall give
it may Saint Peter add his blessing."
The Ivnight of the White Mooon had been seen from the
city, and it was told the viceroy how he was in conversation
with Don Quixote. The viceroy, fancying it must be some
fresh adventure got up by Don Antonio ^Moreno or some other
o-entleman of the citv, hurried out at once to the beach accom-
panied by Don Antonio and several other gentlemen, just
as Don Quixote was wheeling Rocinante round in order to take
up the necessary distance. The viceroy upon this, seeing that
the pair of them wore evidently preparing to come to the charge,
put himself l)et\\'een them, asking them what it was that led
them to engage in combat all of a sudden in this wa}'. The
Knight of the White Moon replied that it was a question of
precedence of beauty
;
and briefly told him what he had said
to Don Quixote, and how the conditions of the defiance agreed
upon on both sides had been accepted. The viceroy went over
to Don Antonio, and asked in a low voice did he know who the
Knight of the White Moon was, or was it some joke they were
playing on Don (^)uixote. Don Antonio replied that he neither
knew who he was nor whether the defiance was in joke or
earnest. This answer left the viceroy in a state of perplexity,
not knowing Avhether he ought to let the combat go
on or not
;
but unable to })ersuade himself that it was anything but a joke
he fell back, saying,
"
If there be no other way out of it,
gallant knights, except to confess or die, and Don Quixote is
inflexible, and your worship of the White Moon still more so,
in God's hand it be, and fall on."
He of the White Moon thanked the viceroy in courteous and
well-chosen words for the permission lie gave them, and so did
Don Quixote, who then, commending himself with all his heart
to Heaven and to his Dulcinea, as was his custom en the eve of
any combat that awaited him, proceeded to take a little more
distance, as he saw his antagonist was doing the same; then,
without blast of trumpet or other warlike instrument to give
them the signal to charge, both at the same instant wheeled
their horses
;
and he of the "White Moon, being the swifter,
met Don Quixote after having traversed two-t-hirds of the
course, and there encountered him with such violence that,
Avithout touching him with his lance (for he held it high, to all
appearance purposely), he hurled J Jon Quixote and Eocinante
!J[j
-
i-JlM-u,^.^3^
DON
QUIXOTE
VANQUISHED BY THE
KNIGHT OF THE WHITE MOON.
Vol. 2, Page 451.
CHAPTER LXIV.
451
to the eai'th, a perilous fall. He sprang n\)on him at once, and
placing the lance over his visor said to him,
"
You are van-
quished, sir knight, nay dead unless you admit the conditions
of our defiance."
Don Quixote, bruised and stupefied, Avithout raising his visor
said in a weak feeble voice as if he were speaking out of a tomb,
''Dulcinea del Tobosoisthe fairest woman in t^e world, and I
the most unfortunate knight on earth
;
it is not fitting that this
truth should suffer by my feebleness
;
drive your lance home,
sir knight, and take my life, since you have taken away my
honor."
"
That will I not, in sooth," said he of the White Moon
;
"
live
the fame of the lady Dulcinea's beauty undimmed as ever
;
all
I require is that tlie great Don Quixote retire to his own home
for a year, or for so long a time as shall by me be enjoined
upon him, as we agreed before engaging in this cond:)at."
The viceroy, Don Antonio, and several others Avho were ])res-
eut, heard all this, and heard too how Don Quixote replied
that so long as nothing in prejudice of Dulcinea was denranded
of him, he W(juld observe all the rest like a true and loyal knight.
The engagement given, he of the "NMiite Moon wheeled about,
and making obeisance to the viceroy with a moveiuent of the
head, rode away into the city at a half gallop. The viceroy
bade Don Antonio hasten after him, and by some means or
other find out who he was. They raised Don Quixote up and
imcovered his face, and found him pale and l:)athed with sweat.
Rocinante frcuu the mere hard measure he had received lay
luiable to stir for the present. Sancho, Avholly dejected and
woebegone, knew not what to say or do. He fancied that all
was a dream, that the whole business was a piece of enchant-
ment. Here was his master defeated, and bound not to take up
arms for a year. He saw the light of the glory of his achieve-
ments obscured ; the hopes of the promises lately made him
swept away like smoke before the wind ; Rocinante, he feared,
Avas crippled for life, and his master's bones out of joint; for
if he were only shaken out of his madness it would be no small
luck.^ In the end they carried him into the city in a hand-chair
which the viceroy sent for, and thither the viceroy himself re-
turned, eager to ascertain who this Knight of the White Moon
was who had left Don Quixote in such a sad plight.
'
There is an nntranslatabk' pun liere on tliu (loul)le meaning of des-
locado

out of joint, and eured of madness.

452
DON QUIXOTE.
CHAPTER LXY.
WHEREIN IS MADE KNOWN AVHO THE KNIGHT OF THE WHITE
MOON WAS

LIKEWISE DON GKEGOKIo's RELEASE, AND OTHER
EVENTS.
Don Antonio Moreno followed the Knight of the White
Moon, and a nuiu])er of Ijovs followed him too, nay pnrsned
him, nntil they had him fairly housed in a hostel in the heart
of the city. Don Antonio, eager to make his aecpiaintance,
entered also ; a s(|uire eanie out to meet him and remove his
armor, and he sliut himself into a lower room, still attended l)y
Don Antonio, whose bread would not bake until he had found
out who he was. He of the White Moon, seeing then that the
gentleman would not leave him, said,
"
I know very well,
senor, what you have eome for: it is to find out who \ am;
and as there is no reason why 1 shouhl conceal it from you,
while my servant here is taking oft" my armor I will tell yon
the true state of the case, without leaving out anything. You
must know, seiior, that I am called the l)achelor Samson (,'ar-
rasco. I am of the same village as Don Quixote of l^a Maiu-ha,
whose craze and folly make all of us who know him feel pity
for him, and I am one of those who have felt it most ;
and
persuaded that his chance of recovery lay in quiet and keep-
ing at home and in his own house, I hit upon a device for keep-
ing him there. Three months ago, therefore, I Avent out to
meet him as a knight-errant, under the assumed name of the
Knight of the Mirrors, intending to engage him in condiat and
overcome him without hurting him, making it the condition of
our combat that the vancpiished should be at the disposal of
the victor. AVhat I meant to demand of him (for I i-egarded
him as vanquished already) was that he should return to his
own village, and not lea.ve it for a whole year, by
which time
he might be cured. But fate ordered it otherwise, for he van-
quished me and unhorsed me, and so my plan failed. He went
his way, and I came back conquered, covered with shame, and
sorely bruised by my fall, which was a particularly dangerous
one. But this did not quench my desire to meet him again
and overcome him, as you have seen to-day. And as he is so
scrupulous in his observance of the laws of knight-errantry, he
will, no doubt, in order to keep his word, obey the injuuction
CHAPTER LXV. 453
I have laid upon him. This, seiior, is how the matter stands,
and I have nothing inore to tell you. I implore of you not to
betray me, or tell Don Quixote who I am
;
so that my honest
endeavors may be successful, and that a man of excellent wits

were he only rid of the fooleries of chivalry

may get them

l)ack again."
"0
seiior," said Don Antonio, "may God forgive you the
wrong you have done the wliole world in trying to bring the
most amusing madman in it back to his senses. Do you not see,
senor, that the gain by D(jn Quixote's sanity can never equal
the enjoyment his crazes give ? But my belief is that all the
seiior bachelor's pains will be of no avail to bring a man so
hopelessly cracked to his senses again
;
and if it were not un-
charitable, I would say may Don Quixote never l)e cured, for
by his recovery we lose not only his own drolleries, but his
squire Sancho Panza's too, any one of Avliich is enough to turn
melancholy itself into merriment. However, I
'11
hold my
peace and say nothing to him, and we
'11
see whether I am right
in my suspicion that Sefior Clarrasco's efforts will be fruitless."
The Ijachelor re[)lied that at all events the affair promised
well, and he hoped for a happy result from it ; and putting
his services at Don Antonio's commands he took his leave of
him
;
and having had his armor packed at once upon a mule,
he rode away from the city the same day on the horse he rode
to battle, and returned to his own country without meeting any
adventure calling for record in this veracious history.
])on Antonio reported to the viceroy what Carrasco told him,
and the viceroy was not very well pleased to hear it, for with
Don Quixote's retirement there was an end to the amusement
of all who knew any thing of his mad doings.
Six days did Don Quixote keep his bed, dejected, melancholy,
moody and out of sorts, lu'ooding over the unha})py event of his
defeat. Sancho strove to comfort him, and among other things
he said to him,
"
Hold u}) your head, seiior, and be of good
cheer if you can, and give thanks to Heaven that if you have
had a tumble to tlie ground you have not cojne off with a
broken rib ; and, as you know that where they give they take,^
and that there are not ahvays flitches where there are pegs,- a
fig for the doctor, for there 's no need of him to cure this ail-
ment. Let us go home, and give over going about in search
of adventures in strange lands and places ; rightly looked at,
'
Prov. 70.
2
pryv. 226.
454 DOy QUIXOTE.
it is I that am the greater loser, though it is your worship that
has had the worst usage. AVith the government I gave up all
wish to be a governor again, but I did not give up all longing
to be a count ; and that will never come to j)ass if your wor-
ship gives up becoming a king by renouncing the calling of
chivaliy : and so my hopes are going to turn into smoke."
''
Peace, Sancho," said Don Quixote ;
"
thou seest my sus-
pension and retirement is not to exceed a year ; I shall soon
return to mv honored f-alling. and I shall not be at a loss for a
kingdom to ^vin and a countv to Ijestow on thee."

May God hear it and sin be deaf,"

^
said Sancho ;

I have
always heard say that a good hope is better than a bad
holding."
-
As they were talking Don Antonio came in looking extremely
pleased and exclaiming,

Pay me for my good news, Senor
Don Quixote I Don Gregorio and the renegade who went for
him have come ashore

ashore do I say
'.'
They are by this
time in the viceroy's house, and will be here imjuediately.'"
Don Quixote cheered up a little and said,
"
Of a truth I am
almost ready to say I should have been glad had it turned out
just the other way, for it would have obliged me to cross over
to Barbarv. Avhere bv the might of mv arm I should have re-
stored to liberty, not only Don Gregorio, but all the Christian
captives there are in Barbaiy. But what am I saying, miser-
able being that I am ? Am I not he that has been conquered ?
Am I not he that has l^een overthrown ? Am I not he who must
not take up arms for a year ? Then what am I making profes-
sions for ; what am I bragging about ; when it is fitter for me
to handle the distaff than the sword
'.'
"

Xo more of that, senor,'" said iSancho

;

' let the hen live,

even though it be with her pip
;
'
^ <
to-day for thee and to-
morrow for me
:
'
*
in these affairs of encounters and whacks
one must not mind them,
'
for he that falls t<:>-day may get up
to-morrow
;
"
'"
unless indeed he chooses to lie in bed, I mean
gives way to weakness and does not pluck up fresh spirit for
fresh battles
;
let your worship get up now to receive Don
Gregorio : for the household seems to be in a bustle, and no
doubt he has come by this time
;
" and so it proved, for as
soon as Don Gregorio and the renegade had given the viceroy
an account of the voyage out and home,
Don Gregorio, eager
1
ProT. 90.

Frov. 97.

Prov. 101.
Prov. IIU. *Prov. 30,
CM
AFTER LXV.
455
to see Ana Felix, caiue with tlie renegade to Don Antonio's
house. AYhen they can-ietl him away from Algiers he was in
woman's dress ; on board the vessel, however, he exchanged it
for that of a captive who escaped with him
;
but in whatever
dress he might be he looked like one to be loved and served
and esteemed, for he was surpassingly well-favored, and to
fudge by appearances some seventeen or eighteen years of age.
Ricote and his daughter came out to welcome him, the father
with tears, the daughter Avdth bashfulness. They did not em-
brace each other, for where there is deep love there will never
be overmuch boldness. Seen side by side, the comeliness of
Don Gregorio and the l)eauty of Ana Felix were the admira-
tion of all who were present. It was silence that spoke for
the lovers at that moment, and their eyes were the tongues
that declared their pure and happy feelings. The renegade
explained the measures and means he had adopted to rescue
Don Gregorio, and Don Gregorio at no great length, but in a
few words, in which he showed that his intelligence was in
advance of his years, described the peril and embarrassment
he found himself in among the women with Avhom he had so-
journed. To conclude, Ricote liberally recompensed and re-
warded as well the renegade as the men who had rowed
;
and
the renegade effected his re-admission into tlie body of the
Church and was reconciled with it, and from a rotten limb be-
came by penance and repentance a clean and sound one.
Two days later the viceroy discussed with Don Antonio the
steps they should take to enable Ana Felix and her father to
stay in Spain, for it seemed to them there could be no objec-
tion to a daughter who was so good a Christian and a father
to all appearance so well disposed remaining there. Don
Antonio offered to arrange the matter at the capital, whither
he was compelled to go on some other business, hinting that
many a difficult affair was settled there with the help of favor
and bribes.
"
Nay," said Ricote, who was present during the conversa-
tion,
"
it will not do to rely upon favor or bribes, because
with the great Don Bernardino de Velasco, Conde de Salazar,
to whom his Majesty has intrusted our expulsion, neither en-
treaties nor promises, bril)es nor apjjeals to compassion, are of
any use
;
for though it is true he mingles mercy with justice,
still, seeing that the whole body of our nation is tainted and
corrupt, he applies to it the cautery that burns rather than the
456 DON QUIXOTE.
salve that soothes ; and thus, by
prudence, sagacity, care, and
the fear he inspires, he has borne on his mighty shouklers the
weight of this great policy and carried it into effect, all our
schemes and plots, importunities and wiles, being ineffectual to
blind his Argus eyes, ever on the watch lest one of us should
remain behind in concealment, and like a hidden root come in
course of time to sprout and bear poisonous fruit in Spain,
now cleansed, and relieved of the fear in which our vast num-
bers kept it. Heroic resolve of the great Philip the Third, and
vuiparalleled wisdom to have intrusted it to the said Don
Bernardino de Yelasco !
"
^
"
At any rate," said Don Antonio,
"
Avhen I am there I will
make all possible efforts, and let Heaven do as pleases it best
;
Don Gregorio will come with me to relieve the anxiety which
his parents must be suffering on account of his absence
;
Ana
Felix will remain in my house with my wife, or in a monastery
;
and I know the viceroy will be glad that the worthy Eicote
should stay with him until we see what terms I can make."
The viceroy agreed to all that was proposed
;
but Don Greg-
orio on learning Avhat had passed declared he could not and
Avould not on any accomit leave Ana Felix; however, as it was
his purpose to go and see his parents and devis6 some way of
returning for her, he fell in with the proposed arrangement.
Ana Felix reinaiued Avith Don Antonio's wife, and Eicote in
the viceroy's house.
The day for Don Antonio's departiire came
;
and two days
later that for Don Quixote's and Sancho's, for Don Quixote's
fall did not suffer him to take the road sooner. There were
tears and sighs, swoonings and sobs, at the parting between
Don Gregorio and Ana Felix. Eicote offered Don Gregorio a
thousand crowns if he would have them, but he would not take
any save five Avhich Don Antonio lent him and he promised to
repay at the capital. So the two of them took their departure,
and Don Quixote and Sancho afterwards, as has been already
said, Don Quixote without his armor and in travelling gear,
and Sancho on foot, Dapple being loaded with the armor.
'
Clemencin sa3's this Don Bernardino de Velasco Avas famous for hav-
ing one of the liardest liearts and ugliest faces in all Spain. He was
specially charged with the expulsion of the Manchegan Moriscoes.
CHAPTER LXVI.
457
CHAPTEK LXVI.
WHICH TREATS OF WHAT HK WHO READS WILL SEE, OR WHAT
HE WHO HAS IT READ TO HIM WILL HEAR.
As he left Barcelona, Don Quixote turned to gaze upon the
spot where he had fallen.
"
Here Troy was," said he ;
''
here
iny ill-luck, not my cowardice, robbed me of all the glory I had
won
;
here Fortune made me the victim of her caprices
;
here
the lustre of my achievements was dimmed ; here, in a word,
fell my happiness never to rise again."
"
8enor," said Sancho on hearing this,
"
it is the part of
brave hearts to be patient in adversity just as much as to be
glad in prosperity ; I judge by myself, for, if when I was a
governor I Avas glad, now that I am a Sf^uire and on foot I am
no sad
;
and I have heard say that she whom commonly they
call Fortune is a drunken whimsical jade, and what is more,
blind, and therefore neither sees what she does, nor knows
whom she casts down or whom she sets up."
'
Thou art a great philosopher, Sancho," said Don Quixote
;
"
thou speakest very sensibly
;
I know not who taught thee.
F)Ut I can tell thee there is no such thing as Fortune in the
world, nor does anything which takes place there, be it good or
bad, come about by chance, but by the special pre-ordination of
Heaven
;
and hence the common saying that each of us is the
maker of his own fortune.^ I have been that of mine
;
but
not with the })ro})er amount of prudence, and my self-confidence
has therefore made me pay dearly
;
for I ought to have re-
flected that Rocinante's feeble strength could not resist the
mighty bulk of the Knight of the White Moon's horse. In a
word, I ventured it, I did my best, I was overthrown, but
though I lost my honor I did not lose nor can I lose the
virtue of keeping my word. ^Vhen I was a knight-errant, dar-
ing and valiant, I supported my achievements by hand and
deed, and now that I am a humble squire I will support my
words by keeping the promise I have given. Forward then,
Sancho my friend, let us go to keep the year of the novitiate
in our own country, and in that seclusion we shall pick up fresh
strength to return to the by me never-forgotten calling of arms."
"
Seflor," returned Sancho,
"
travelling on foot is not such a
'
Trov. 237.
458 DON QUIXOTE.
pleasant thing that it makes me feel disposed or tempted to
make long marches. Let lis leave this armor hung up on some
tree, instead of some one that has been hanged ; and then with
me on Dapple's back and my feet off the ground we will ar-
range the stages as your worship pleases to measure them out
;
but to suppose that I am going to travel on foot, and make
long ones, is to suppose nonsense."
"
Thou sayest well, Sancho," said Don Quixote ;
"
let my
armor be hung up for a trophy, and under it or round it we
will carve on the trees what was inscribed on the trophy of
Koland's armor

These let none move

Who (lareth not his niiglit with Roland prove."
"
That 's the very thing," said Sancho
;
"
and if it was not
that we should feel the want of Rocinante on the road, it would
be as well to leave him hung up too."
"
And yet, I had rather not have either him or the arnu)r
hung up," said Don Quixote,
"
that it may not be said,
'
for
good service a bad return.'
"
^
"
Your worship is right," said Sancho
;
"
for, as sensible
people hold,
'
the fault of the ass must not be laid on the pack-
saddle
;
'
"^
and, as in this affair the fault is your worship's,
punish yourself and don't let your anger break out against the
already battered and bloody armor, or the meekness of Roci-
nante, or the tenderness of my feet, trying to make them travel
more than is reasonable."
In converse of this sort the whole of that day went by, as
did the four succeeding ones, without anything occurring to in-
terrupt their journey, but on the fifth as they entered a village
they found a great number of people at the door of an inn en-
joying themselves, as it was a holiday. Upon Don Quixote's
approach a peasant called out,
'*
One of these two gentlemen who
come here, and who don't know the parties, will tell us what
we ought to do about our wager."
"
That I will, certainly," said Don Quixote,
"
and according
to the rights of the case, if I can manage to understand it."
"
Well, here it is, worthy sir," said the peasant ;
'*
a man of
this village who is so fat that he weighs twenty stone challenged
another, a neighbor of his, who does not weigh more than nine,
to run a race. The agreement was that they were to run a
'
Prov. 217.

Prov. 18.
CHAPTER LXVI. 459
distance of a hundred paces with equal weights
;
and when the
challenger was asked how the weights were to be equalized he
said that the other, as he weighed nine stone, should put eleven
in iron on his back, and that in this way the twenty stone of
the thin man would equal the twenty stone of the fat one."
"
Not at all," exclaimed Sancho at once, before Don Quixote
could answer
;
"
it 's for me, that only a few days ago left off
being a governor and a judge, as all the world knows, to settle
these doubtful questions and give an opinion in disputes of all
sorts."
"
Answer in God's luime, Sancho my friend," said Don Qui-
xote,
"
for I am not tit to gi\e cruud)s to a cat, my wits are so
confused and upset."
With this permission Sancho said to the peasants who stood
clustered round him, waiting with open mouths for the deci-
sion to come from his,
''
Brothers, what the fat man requires
is not in reason, nor has it a shad6w of justice in it
;
because,
if it be true, as they say, that the challenged may choose the
weapons, the other has no right to choose such as will prevent
and keep him from winning. My decision, therefore, is that
the fat challenger prune, peel, thin, trim and correct himself,
and take eleven stone of his flesh off his body, here or there, as
he pleases, and as suits him best ; and being in this way reduced
to nine stone weight, he will make himself equal and even with
nine stone of his opponent, and they will Ije able to run on
equal terms."
'
"
By all that's good," said one of the peasants as he heard
Sancho's decision,
"
but the gentleman has spoken like a saint,
and given judgment like a canon ! But T
'11
l)e boiuid the fat
man won't part- with an ounce of his flesh, not to say eleven
stone."
"
The best plan will be for them not to run," said another,
<'
go that neither the thin man break down under the weight,
nor the fat one strip himself of his flesh
;
let half the wager
be
spent in wine, and let 's take these gentlemen to the tavern
where there 's the best, and
'
over me be the cloak when it
rains.'
"
^
''
I thank you, sirs," said Don Quixote
;
"
but I cannot stop
for an instant, for sad thoughts and unhappy circumstances force
'The story is in Alciati, hut Cervnntes no doubt got it from tlie great
Spanish "Joe Miller," the Floresiu EapoTioln of Melchor de Santa Cruz.
2
Prov. 37.
460 DON QUIXOTE.
me to seem discourteous and to travel apace
;
"
and spurring
Rocinante he puslied on, leaving tlieni wondering at what they
had seen and heard, at his own strange figure and at the
shrewdness of his servant, for such they took Sancho to be
;
and another of them observed,
"
If the servant is so clever,
what must the master be ? I
'11
bet, if they are going to Sala-
manca to study, the}^
'11
come to be alcaldes of the court in a
trice
;
for it 's a mere joke

only to read and read, and have

interest and good luck
;
and before a man knows where he is
he finds himself with a staff in his haiul or a mitre on his
head."
That night master and man passed out into the fields in the
open air, and the next day as the}^ were pursuing their journey
they saw coming towards them a man on foot with alforjas
slung over his shoulder and a javelin or spiked staff in his hand,
the very cut of a foot courier ; who, as soon as he came close to
Don Quixote, increased his pace and half running came up to
him, aiid embracing his right thigh, for he could reach no
higher, exclaimed with evident pleasure, Seiior Don Qiiixote
of La Mancha, what happiness it will be to the heart of my
lord the duke when he knows your worship is coming back to
his castle, for he is still there with my lady the duchess I
"
"
I do not recognize you, friend," said Don Quixote,
''
nor do
I know who you are, unless you tell me."
"
I am Tosilos, my lord the duke's lackey, Senor Don
Quixote," replied the courier ;
"
he avIio refused to light your
worship about marrying the daughter of Dona Rodriguez."
"
God bless me !
"
exclaimed Don Quixote
;
"
is it possible
that you are he whom mine enemies the enchanters changed
into the lackey you speak of in order to rob me of the honor
of that battle ?
"
'^
Nonsense, good sir !
"
said the messenger ;
''
there was no
enchantment or transformation at all ; I entered the lists
just as much lackey Tosilos as I came out of them lackey
Tosilos. I thought to marry without fighting, for the girl had
taken my fancy
;
but my scheme had a very different result,
for as soon as your worship had left the castle my lord the
duke had a hundred strokes of the stick given me for having
acted contrary to the orders he gave me before engaging in the
combat ; and the end of the whole affair is that the girl has
become a nun, and Doiia Rodriguez has gone back to Castile,
and I am now on my way to Barcelona with a packet of letters
CHAPTER LXVI.
461
for the viceroy which my master is sending him. If your
worship would like a drop, sound though warm, I have a gourd
here full of the best, and some scraps of Tronchon cheese that
will serve as a provocative and wakener of your thirst if so be
it is asleep."
"
I take the offer," said Sancho
;
''
no more compliments
about it
;
pour out, good Tosilos, in spite of all the enchanters
in the Indies."
''
Thou art indeed the greatest glutton in the world, Sancho,"
said Don Quixote; "and the greatest booby on earth, not to
be able to see that this courier is enchanted and this Tosilos a
sham one
;
stop with him and take thy fill
;
I will go on slowly
and wait for thee to come up with me."
The lackey laughed, unsheathed his gourd, unwalletted his
scraps, and taking out a small loaf of bread he and Sancho
seated themselves on the green grass, and in peace and good
fellowshi[) finished off the contents of the alforjas down to the
bottom, so resolutely that they licked the Avra])per of the let-
ters, merely because it smelt of cheese.
Said Tosilos to Sancho,
"
Beyond a doubt, Sancho my friend,
this master of thine ought to be a madman."
'' Ought I
"
said Sancho; "he owes no man anything; he
pays for everything, particularly when the coin is madness.
[ see it plain enough, and I tell him so ])lain enough
;
but
what 's the use
'.'
es})ecially now that it is all over with him,
for here he is beaten by the Knight of the AVhite Moon."
Tosilos begged him to explain Avhat had happened to him,
but Sancho replied that it would not be good manners to leave
his master waiting for him
;
and that some other day if they
met there would be time enough for that ; and then getting up,
after shaking his doublet and brushing the crumbs out of his
beard, he drove Dapple on before him, and bidding adieu to
Tosilos left him and rejoined his master, who was waiting for
him under the shade of a tree.
462 DON QUIXOTE.
CHAPTER LXYII.
OF THE RESOLUTION WHICH DOX QUIXOTE FORMED TO TURN
SHEPHERD AND TO TAKE TO A LIFE IN THE FIELDS WHILE
THE YEAR FOR WHICH HE HAD GIVEN HIS WORD WAS
RUNNING ITS COURSE
;
WITH OTHER EVENTS TRULY DELECT-
ABLE AND HAPPY.
If a multitude of reflections used to harass Don Quixote
before he had been overthrown, a great many more harassed
him since his falL He was under the shade of a tree, as has
been said, and there, like flies on honey, thoughts came crowd-
ing upon him and stinging him. Some of them turned upon
the disenchantment of Dulcinea, others upon the life he was
about to lead in his enforced retirement. Sancho came up and
spoke in high praise of the generous disposition of the lackey
Tosilos.
"
Is it possible, Sancho," said Don Quixote,
"
that thou dost
still think that he yonder is a real lackey ? Apparently it has
escaped thy menu)ry that thou hast seen Dulcinea turned and
transformed into a peasant wench, and the Knight of the ]\Iir-
rors into the bachelor (-arrasco
;
all the work of the enchanters
that persecute me. But tell me now, didst thou ask this Tosilos,
as thou callest him, Avhat has become of Altisidora, did she weep
over my absence, or has she already consigned to oblivion the
love thoughts that used to afflict her when I was present ?
"
"
The thoughts that I had,"' said Sancho,
"
were not such as
to leav^e time for asking fool's questions. Body o' me, senor
!
is your worship in a condition now to inquire into other people's
thoughts, above all love thoughts ?
"
"
Look ye, Sancho," said Don Quixote,
"
there is a great
difference between what is done out of love and what is done
out of gratitude. A knight may very possibly be proof against
love
;
but it is im})ossible, strictly speaking, for him to be un-
grateful. Altisidora, to all appearance, loved me truly ; she
gave me the three kerchiefs thou knowest of ; she wept at ray
departure, she cursed me, she abused me, casting shame to the
winds she bewailed herself in public
;
all signs that she adored
me ; for the wrath of lovers always ends in curses. I had no
hopes to give her, nor treasures to offer her, for mine are given
to Dulcinea, and the treasures of knights-errant are like those
CHAPTER LXVTT. 463
of the fairies,^ illusory and deceptive; all I can give her is the
place in nij nieuiory I keep for her,_ without prejudice, however,
to that which I hold devoted to Dulcinea, whom thou art wrong-
ing by thy remissness in whipping thyself and scourging that
flesh

would that I saw it eaten by wolves

which would
rather keep itself for the worms than for the relief of that poor
lady."
"
Seiior," replied Sancho,
"
if the truth is to be told, I can-
not persuade myself that the whipping of my backside has
anything to do with the disenchantment of the enchanted
;
it
is like saying,
'
If your head aches rub ointment on your
knees
;
' at any rate I
'11
make bold to swear that in all the
histories dealing with knight-errantry that your worship has
read you have never come across anybody disenchanted l)y
whipping ; but Avhether or no I
"11
whip myself when I have a
fancy for it, and tlie op})ortunity serves for scourging myself
comfortably."
"
God grant it," said Don Quixote ;
"
and Heaven give
thee grace to take it to heart and own the obligation thou art
under to help my lady, who is thine also, inasmuch as thou art
miue."
*
As they pursued their journey talking in this way they came
to the very same spot where they had been trampled on by the
l)ulls. Don Quixote recognized it, and said he to Sancho,
'
This is the meadow where we came ujjon those gay shepherd-
esses and gallant shepherds who were trying to revive and
imitate the pastoral Arcadia there, an idea as novel as it was
happy, in emulation whereof, if so be thou dost approve of it,
Hancho, I would have ourselves turn shepherds, at any rate for
the time I have to live in retirement. I will buy some ewes
and everything else requisite for the pastoral calling
;
and, I
under the name of the shepherd Quixotiz, and thou as the shep-
herd Panzino, we will roam the woods and groves and meadows
singing songs here, lamenting in elegies there, drinking of the
crystal waters of the springs or limi)id brooks or flowing rivers.
The oaks will yield us their sweet fruit with bountiful hand,
the trunks of the hard cork-trees a seat, the willows shade, the
roses perfume, the wide-spread meadows carpets tinted Avith a
thousand dyes
;
the clear pure air will give us breath, the moon
and stars lighten the darkness of the night for us, song shall
be our delight, lamenting our joy, Apollo will supply us with
'
The Spiinish duendes are, liowever, more akin to brownies tlian fairies.
464 DON QUIXOTIC.
verses, and love witli conceits whereby we sliall make ourselves
famed forever, not only in this but in ages to come."
'<
Egad," said Sancho,
<'
but that sort of life sqiiares, nay
corners, with my notions
;
and what is more the bachelor Sam-
son Carrasco and Master Nicholas the barber won't have well
seen it before they
'11
want to follow it and turn shepherds,
along with us
;
and God grant it may not come into the curate's
head to join the sheepfold too, he 's so jovial and fond of en-
joying himself."
''
Thou art in the right of it, Sancho," said Don Quixote
;
"
and the bachelor Samson Carrasco, if he enters the pastoral
fraternity, as no doubt he will, may call himself the shepherd
Samsonino, or perhaps the shepherd Carrascon; Nicholas the
barber may call himself Niculoso, as old Roseau formerly was
called Nemoroso ;
'
as for the curate I dou't know what name
Ave can fit to him unless it be souiethiug derived fnnn his title,
and we call him the shepherd Curiaud^ro. For the shepherd-
esses Avhose lovers we shall be, we can ])ick names as we would
pears; and as my lady's name does just as well for a shep-
herdess's as for a })rincess's, I need not trouble myself to look
for one that Avould suit her better ; to thine, Sancho, thou
canst give what name thou wilt."
"
I don't mean to give her auy biit Teresona," said Sancho,
"which will go well with her stoutness and with her own right
name, as she is called Teresa
;
'^
and tlien when I sing her praises
in my verses I'll show how chaste my passion is, for I 'm not
going to look for better bread than ever came from wheat in
other men's houses.-^ It won't do for the curate to have a
shepherdess, for the sake of good exami)le; and if the bach-
elor chooses to have one, that is his lookout."
"
God bless me, Sancho my friend I " said Don Quixote,
"
what a life we shall lead ! What hautboys and Zamora bag-
pipes we shall hear, what tabors, tind)rels, and rebecs ! And
then if among all these different sorts of music that of the
albogues is heard, almost ail the pastoral instruments will be
there."
"
What are albogues ?
"
asked Sancho,
"
for I never in ni}'
life heard tell of them or saAv them."
'i.e. by Garcilaso in Eclogue I. (nemus =
hosque)
;
but Herrera, Gar-
cilaso's editor, says Antonio de Fonseca was meant ; and Saa de Miranda,
the Garcilaso of Portugal, who was a contemporary, holds tliat Nemoroso
was Garcilaso himself.
^
The termination o/ia is augmentative.
^
Prov. 171.
CHAPTER LXVII.
465
"
Albogues," said Don Quixote,
"
are brass plates lilve candle-
sticks that struck against one another on the hollow side make
a noise which, if not very pleasing or harmonious, is not dis-
agreeable and accords very well with the rude notes of tho
bagpipe and tabor. The word albogue is Morisco, as are all
those in our Spanish tongue that begin with <d; for example,
almohaza, almorzar, alliomhra, nlf/iKtcU, aJhucenia, aliiKieen,
alcaiicia, and others of the same sort, of which there are
not many more ; our language has only three that are Mo-
risco and end in I, which are hin'ci'tjui,
zd'iulzaniu and inaraiwiK:
allieli and alfajui are seen to l)e Arabic, as Avell by the al
at the beginning as by the { they end with. I mention this
incidentally, the chance allusion to albogues having reminded
me of it
;
and it will be of great assistance to us in the
perfect practice of this calling that I am something of a
poet, as thou knowest, and that besides the bachelor Samson
Carrasco is an accomplished one. Of the curate I say nothing
;
but I will wager he has some spice of the poet in him, and
no doubt jVIaster Nicholas too, for all barbers, or most of
them, are guicar players and stringers of verses. I will be-
wail my separatioii ; thou shalt glorify thyself as a constant
lover ; the shepherd Carrascon will figure as a rejected one,
and the curate (Juriambro as whatever may please hiui best
;
and so all will go as gayly as heart could wish.''
To this Sancho made answer,
"
I am so unlucky, senor, that
I 'm afraid the day will never come when I shall see myself at
such a calling. what neat spoons I
'11
make when I 'm a shej)-
herd! What messes, creams, garlands, pastoral odds and ends!
And if they don't get me a name for wisdom, they
'11
not fail to
get me one for ingenuity. My daughter Sanchica will bring
ns our dinner to the pasture. But stay

- she 's good-looking,
and shepherds there are with more mischief than simplicity in
them
;
I would not have her
'
coine for wool and go back
shorn;'
^
love-making and lawless desires are just as com-
mon in the fields as in the cities, and in shepherds' shanties
as in royal palaces ;
'
do away with the cause, you do away
Avath the sin,'
'^
and
'
if eyes don't see heart don't break,'
^
and

better a clear escape than good men's prayers.'

"
*
"
A truce to thy proverbs, Sancho," exclaimed Don Quixote
;
"
any one of those thou hast uttered would suffice to explain
thy meaning
;
many a time have I recommended thee not to be

Prov. 124.
2
prov. 4G.
^
prov. 159.

Prov. 212.
Vol. II.

30
4GC
DON
QUIXOTE.
so
lavish with proverbs and to exercise some
moderation in
delivering them
;
but it seems to me it is only preaching in the
desert
;
'
my mother beats me and I go on with my tricks.'
"'
^
"
It seems to me," said Sancho,
''
that your worship is like
the
common saying,
'
Said the
frying-pan to the kettle, Get
away,
blackbreech.
' -
Yon chide me for uttering
proverbs, and
you string them in couples
yourself."
"
Observe, Sancho," replied Don Quixote,
'^
I bring in prov-
erbs to the purpose, and when I
quote them they fit like a
ring to the finger
;
thou bringest them in by the head and
shoulders, in such a way that thou dost drag them in, rather
than introduce them
;
if I am not mistaken, I have told thee
already that pi-overbs are short maxims drawn from the experi-
ence and oljservation of our wise men of old
;
but the proverb
that is not to the jturpose is a piece of nonsense and not a
maxim. But enough of this
;
as
nightfall is drawing on let us
retire some little distance from the high road to pass the night
;
what is in store for us to-morrow God
knoweth."
They turned aside, and supped late and poorly, very much
against Sancho's
will, who turned over in his mind the hard-
ships attendant upon knight-errantry in woods and forests,
even though at times plenty presented itself in castles and
houses, as at Don Diego de Miranda's, at the wedding of Ca-
macho the llich, and at Don Antonio
jMoreno's
;
he reflected,
however, that it could not be always day, nor always night
;
and so that night he passed in sleeping, and his master in
waking.
CHAPTER LXVIII.
OF THE BRTSTLV ADVENTURE THAT BEFELL POX QITIXOTE.
The night was somewhat dark, for though there was a moon
in the sky it was not in a quarter where she could be seen
;
for sometimes the lady Diana goes on a stroll to the antipodes,
and leaves the mountains all black and the valleys in darkness.
Don Quixote obeyed nature so far as to sleep his first sleep,
but did not give way to the second, very different from Sancho,
who never had any second, because with him sleep lasted
from
night till morning, wherein he showed what a sound constitu-
>
Prov.
4."). 2
Prov, 215.
CHAPTER LXVIH. 467
tion and how few cares he had. Don Quixote's cares kept
him restless, so much so that he awoke Sancho and said to
him,
"
I am amazed, Sancho, at the nnconcern of thy tem-
perament. I believe thou art made of marble or hard brass,
incapable of any emotion or feeling whatever. I lie awake
while thou sleejjest, I weep while thou singest. I am faint
with fasting while thou art sluggish and torpid from pure re-
pletion. It is the duty of good servants to share the sufferings
and feel the sorrows of their masters, if it be only for the sake
of appearances. See the calmness of the night, the solitude
of the spot, inviting us to break our slumbers by a vigil of some
sort. Rise as thou livest, and retire a little distance, and with
a good heart and cheerful courage give thyself three or four
hundred lashes on account of Dulcinea's disenchantuient score
;
and this I entreat of thee, making it a reijuest, for I have no
desire to come to grips with thee a second time, as I know thou
hast a heavy hand. As soon as thou hast laid them on we will
pass the rest of the night, I singing my separation, tlu)u thy
constancy, making a l)eginning at once with the pastoral life
we are 'to follow at our village."
"
Seiior," replied Sancho,
''
I 'm no monk to get up out of
the middle of my sleep and scourge myself, nor does it seem to
me that one can pass from one extreme of the pain of whipping
to the other of music. Will your worship let me sleep, and
not worry me about whipping myself ? or you
'11
make me swear
never to touch a hair of my doublet, not to say my flesh."
"
hard heart !
"
said Don Quixote,
"
pitless squire !
bread ill-bestowed and favors ill-acknowledged, both those I
have done thee and those I mean to do thee ! Through me
hast thou seen thyself a governor, and through me thou seest
thyself in immediate expectation of being a count, or obtaining
some other ecpiivalent title, for I

post teiiehiuis spem hicrmP

'^
I don't know what that is," said Sancho ;
"
all I know is
that so long as I am asleep I have neither fear nor hope,
trouble nor glory ; and good luck betide him that invented
sleep, the cloak that covers over all a man's thoughts, the food
that removes hunger, the drink that drives away thirst, the fire
that warms the cold, the cold that tempers the heat, and, to
wind up with, the universal coin wherewith everything is
bought, the weight and balance that makes the sheijherd
equal with the king and the fool with the wise man. Sleep,
I have heard say, has only one fault, that it is like death ; for
4(38 DON QUIXOTE.
between a sleeping man and a dead man there is very little
difference."
"
Never have I heard thee speak so elegantly as now, Sancho,"'
said Don Quixote
;
*'
and here I begin to see the truth of the
proverb thou dost sometimes quote,
'
Not Avitli whom thou art
bred, but with whom thou art fed/
"
^
"
Ha, by my life, master mine," said Sancho,
"
it 's not I that
am stringing proverbs now, for they drop in pairs from your
worship's mouth faster than from mine ; only there is this dif-
ference between mine and yours, that yours are well-timed and
mine are untimely
;
but anyhow, they are all proverbs."
At this point they became aware of a harsh indistinct noise
that seemed to spread through all the valleys around. Don
Quixote stood up and laid his hand upon his sword, and Sancho
ensconced himself under Dapple and put the bundle of armor
on one side of him and the ass's pack-saddle on the other, in
fear and trembling as great as Don (Quixote's perturbation. Each
instant the noise increased and came nearer to the two terrified
men, or at least to one, for as to the other, his courage is known
to all. The fact of the matter was that some men were taking
above six hundred ])igs to sell at a fair, and were on their way
with them at that hour, and so great was the noise they made
and their grunting and blowing, that they deafened the ears of
Don Quixote and Sancho I'auza, and they could not make
out what it was. The wide-spread grunting drove came on in
a surging mass, and without showing any respect for Don
Quixote's dignity or Sancho's, passed right over the pair of
them, demolishing Sancho's intrenchments, and not only up-
setting Don (^)uixote but sweeping llocinante off his feet into
the bargain
;
and what with the trampling and the grunting,
and the pace to which the unclean beasts went, pack-saddle,
armor. Dapple and llocinante were left scattered on the ground
and Sancho and Don Quixote at their wits' end.
Sancho got up as best he could and begged his master to
give him his sword, saying he wanted to kill half a dozen of
those dirty unmannerly pigs, for he had by this time found
out that that was what they were.
"
Let them be, my friend," said Don Quixote ;
"
this insult
is the penalty of my sin ; and it is the righteous chastisement
of Heaven that jackals should devour a vanquished knight, and
wasps sting him and pigs trample him under foot."
"
Prov. 153,
CHAPTER LXVIII. 469
"
I suppose it is the cliastisement of Heaven, too," said
Saiicho,
"
that flies shouhl prick the scpiires of vanquished
knights, and lice eat theui, and hunger assail them. If we
scpiires were the sons of the knights we serve, or their very near
relations, it would be no wonder if the penalty of their mis-
deeds overtook us, even to the fourth generation. But what
have the Panzas to do with the Quixotes ? Well, well, let 's lie
down again and sleep out what little of the night there 's left,
and God will send us dawn and we shall be all right."
"
Sleep thou, Sancho," returned Don Quixote,
'
for thou wast
born to sleep as I was born to watch ; and during the time it
now Avants of dawn I will give a loose rein to my thoughts,
and seek a vent for them in a little madrigal which, unknown
to thee, I composed in my head last night."
"
I should think," said Sancho,
"
that the thoughts that allow
one to make verses cannot be of great consecpu^nce
;
let your
worship string verses as much as you like and 1
'11
sleej) as
much as I can
;
" and forthwith, taking the space of ground he
required, he muffled himself up and fell into a sound sleep,
undisturbed by bond, de])t, or troid>le of any sort. Don Qui-
xote, propped up against the trunk of a beech or a cork tree

for Cid Hamet does not specify what kind of a tree it was

sang in this strain to the accompaniment of his own sighs :

''
When in my mind
I muse, Love, upon thy cruelty,
To death I flee.
In hope therein the end of all to hud.
"
But drawing near
That welcome haven in my sea of woe,
Such joy I know,
That life revives, and still I linger here.
"
Thus life doth slay.
And death again to life restoreth me
;
Strange destiny,
That deals with life and death as with a play
!
"
He accompanied each verse with many sighs and not a few
tears, just like one whose heart was pierced with grief at his
defeat and his separation from Dulcinea.
470 DON QUIXOTE.
And now daylight came, and the sun smote Sancho on the
eyes with his beams. He awoke, roused himself up, shook
himself and stretched his lazy limbs, and seeing the havoc the
pigs had made with his stores he cursed the drove, and more
besides. Then the pair resumed their journey, and as evening
closed in they saw coming towards them some ten men on
horseback ancl four or five on foot. Don Quixote's heart beat
quick and Sancho's quailed with fear, for the persons approach-
ing them carried lances and bucklers, and were in very
warlike guise. Don Quixote turned to Sancho and said,
"
If I
could make use of my weapons, and my promise had not tied
my hands, T would count this host that comes against lis but
cakes and fancy bread ;
'
but perhaps it may prove something
different from what we apprehend." The men on horseback
now came up, and raising their lances surrounded Don Quixote
in silence, and pointed them at his back and breast, menacing
him with death. One of those on foot, putting liis hnger to
his lips as a sign to him to be silent, seized Rocinante's bridle
and drew him out of the road, and the others driving Sancho
and Dap])le before them, and all maintaining a strange silence,
followed in the steps of the one who led Don Quixote. The
latter two or three times attempted to ask where they were tak-
ing him to and what they wanted, but the instant he began to
open his lips they threatened to close them with the ])oints of
their lances ; and Sancho fared the same way, for the moment
he seemed about to speak one of those on foot punched him with
a goad, and Dapple likewise, as if he too wanted to talk.
Night set in, they quickened their pace, and the fears of the
two prisoners grew greater, especially as they heard themselves
assailed with
"
Get on, ye Troglodytes
;
" ''
Silence, ye bar-
barians
;
"
"
March, ye cannibals
;
" "
No murmuring, ye Scyth-
ians
;
"
"
Don't open your eyes, ye murderous Polyphemes,
ye bloodthirsty lions," and such-like names with which their
captors harassed the ears of the Avretched master and man.
Sancho went along saying to himself,
''
We, tortolites, barbers,
animals ! I don't like those names at all
;
'
it 's in a bad wind
our corn is being winnowed ;
'
'^
' misfortune comes upon us all
at once like sticks on a dog,'
'
and God grant it may be no worse
than them that this unlucky adventure has in store for us."
Don Quixote rode completely dazed, unable with the aid of
all his wits to make out what could be the meaning of these

Prov. 22!.
2
prov. 245.
^
Prov. 123.
CHAPTER LXIX. 471
abusive names they called them, and the only conclusion he
could arrive at was that there was no good to be hoped for
and much evil to be feared. And now, about an hour after
midnight, they reached a castle which Don Quixote saw at once
was the duke's, where they had been but a short time before.
"
God bless me
!
" said he, as he recognized the mansion,
"
what does this mean ? It is all courtesy and politeness in
this house
;
but with the vanquished good turns into evil, and
evil into worse."
They entered the chief court of the castle and found it pre-
pared and fitted up in a style that added to their amazement
and doubled their fears, as will be seen in the following
chapter.
CHAPTER LXIX.
OF TKK STKANGEST AND MOST EXTRAORDINARY ADVENTURE
THAT BEFELL DON QUIXOTE IN THE WHOLE COURSE OF
THIS GREAT HISTORY.
The horsemen dismounted, and, together with the men on
foot, without a moment's delay taking up Sancho and Don Qui-
xote bodily, they carried them into the court, all round which
near a hundred torches fixed in sockets were burning, besides
above five hundred lamps in the corridors, so that in s]jite of
the night, which was somewhat dark, the want of daylight could
not be perceived. In the middle of the court was a catafalque,
raised about two yards above the groiuid and covered com-
pletely by an immense canopy of black velvet, and on the steps
all round it Avhite wax tapers burned in more than a hundred
silver candlesticks. Upon the catafakpie was seen the dead
body of a damsel so lovely that by her beauty she made death
itself look beautiful. She lay with her head resting upon a
cushion of brocade and crowned with a garland of sweet-smell-
ing flowers of divers sorts, her hands crossed upon her l)osoin,
and between them a branch of yellow palm of victory.^ On one
side of the court was erected a stage, where upon two chairs were
seated two persons who from having crowns on their heads
and sceptres in their hands appeared to be kings of some sort,
'
The dried palm branch preserved from Easter Sunday that may be seen
in almost every Spanisli house.
472
DON QUIXOTE.
whether real or mock ones. By the side of this stage, which
was reached by steps, were two other chairs on which the men
carrying the prisoners seated Don Quixote and Sancho, all in
silence, and by signs giving them to understand that they too
were to be silent ; which, however, they would have been with-
out any signs, for their amazement at all they saw held them
tongue-tied. And now two persons of distinction, who were at
once recognized liy Don Quixote as his hosts the duke and
duchess, ascended the stage attended by a numerous suite, and
seated themselves on two gorgeous chairs close to the two kings,
as they seemed to be. Who would not be amazed at this ? Nor
was this all, for Don Quixote had perceived that the dead body
on the catafalque was that of the fair Altisidora. As the duke
and duchess mounted the stage Don Quixote and Sancho rose
and made them a profound obeisance, which they returned l)y
bowing their heads slightly. At this moment an official crossed
over, and ajjproaching Sancho threw over him a robe of black
buckram painted all over with flames of fire, and taking off his
cap put upon his head a mitre such as those undergoing the
sentence of the Holy Office wear
;
and whispered in his ear that
he must not open his lips, or they would put a gag upon him,
or take his life. Sancho surveyed himself from head to foot
and saw himself all ablaze with flames
;
but as they did not
burn him he did not care two farthings for them. He took off
the mitre and seeing it painted with devils he put it on again,
saying to himself,
"
Well, so far those don't burn me nor do
these carry me off." Don Quixote surveyed him too, and though
fear had got the better of his faculties, he could not help smil-
ing to see the figure Sancho presented. And now from under-
neath the catafalque, so it seemed, there rose a low sweet sound
of flutes, which, coming unbroken by human voice (for there
silence itself kept silence), had a soft and languishing effect.
Then, beside the pillow of what seemed to be the dead body,
suddenly appeared a fair youth in a Koman habit, who, to the
accompaniment of a harp Avdiich he himself played, sang in a
sweet and clear voice these two stanzas :
"
While fair Altisidora, who the sport
Of cold Don Quixote's cruelty hath been,
Returns to life, and in this magic court
The dames in sables come to grace the scene,
And while her matrons all in seemly sort
CHAPTER I. XIX.
473
My lady robes in baize and bombazine,
Her beauty and her sorrows will I sing
With defter quill than touched the Thracian string.'
"
But not in life alone, methinks, to me
Belongs the office ; Lady, when my tongue
Is cold in death, believe me luito thee
My voice shall raise its tributary song.
My soul, from this strait prison-house set free.
As o'er the Stygian lake it floats along.
Thy praises singing still shall hold its way.
And make the waters of oblivion stay."
At this point one of the two that looked like kings exclaimed,
"
Enough, enough, divine singer ! It would be an endless task
to put before us now the death and the charms of the peerless
Altisidora, not dead as the ignorant world imagines, but living
in the voice of fame and in the penance which 8ancho Panza,
here present, has to undergo to restore her to the long-lost
light. Do thou, therefore, lihadamanthus, who sittest in
judgment Avith me in the murky caverns of I)is, as thou know-
est all that the inscrutable fates have decreed touching the
resuscitation of this damsel, announce and declare it at once,
that the happiness we look forward to from her restoration be
no longer deferred."
No sooner had Minos the fellow judge of RhadamantliTis
said this, than Ilhadamanthus rising up said,
"
Ho, officials of
this house, high and low, great and small, make haste hither
one and all, and print on Sancho's face four-and-twenty
smacks, and give him twelve pinches and six pin-thrusts in the
back and arms ; for upon this ceremony depends this restora-
tion of Altisidora."
On hearing this Sancho broke silence and cried out,
"
By all
that 's good, I
'11
as soon let my face be smacked or handled as
turn Moor. Body o' me ! What has handling my face got to
do with the resurrection of this damsel ?

The old woman
took kindly to the blits
;
'
-
they enchant Dulcinea, and whip
me in order to disenchant her
;
Altisidora dies of ailments
God was pleased to send her, and to bring her to life again
'
i.e. that of Orpheus. The second stanza is Garcilaso's ; it is the
second of his tliird Eclogue.
'^
Prov. 244. In full it is,
"
and did nut leave green or dry." Spanish
bledos, Fr. blette
;
used in the South as a substitute for spinach.
474 DON QUIXOTE.
they must give me four-ancl-twenty smacks, and prick holes in
my body with pins, and raise weals on my arms with pinches
!
Try those jokes on a brother-in-law;' 'I'm an old dog, and
''
tus, tus
"
is no use with me.' "
-
"
Thou slialt die," said Rhadamanthus in a loud voice
;
"
re-
lent, thou tiger
;
humble thyself, proud jSI^imrod
;
suffer and be
silent, for no impossibilities are asked of thee
;
it is not for
thee to inquire into the difficulties in this matter ; smacked
thou must be, pricked thou shalt see thyself, and with pinches
thou must be made to howl. Ho, I say, officials, obey my
orders
;
or by the wv)rd of an honest man, ye shall see what ye
were born for."
At this some duennas, advancing across the court, made their
appearance in procession, one after the other, four of them with
spectacles, and all with their right hands uplifted, showing four
lingers of wrist to make their hands look longer, as is tlie fash-
ion now-a-days. No sooner had Sancho caught sight of them
than, bellowing like a bull, he exclaimed,
"
I might let myself
be handled by all the world ; but allow duennas to touch me
-

not a bit of it ! Scratch my face, as my master was served in

this very castle
;
run me through the body with burnished dag-
gers
;
i)inch
my arms with red-hot pinchers
;
I
'11
bear all in
patience to serve these gentlefolk ; but I won't let duennas
touch me, though the devil should carry me off' !
"
Here Don (Quixote, too, broke silence, saying to Sancho,
"
Have patience, my son, and gratify these noble persons, and
give all thanks to Heaven that it has infused such virtue into
thy person, that by its sufferings thou canst disenchant the
enchanted and restore to life the dead."
The duennas were now close to Sancho, and he, having bi;-
conie more tractable and reasonable, settling himself well in
his chair presented his face and beard to the first, who de-
livered him a smack very stoutly laid on, and then made him
a low courtesy.
''
Less politeness and less paint, seiior duenna," said Sancho
;
"
by God your hands smell of vinegar-wash."
In fine, all the dueimas smacked him and several others of
the household pinched him
;
but what he could not stand was
being pricked by the pins
;
and so, apparently out of patience,
he started up out of his chair, and seizing a lighted torch that
stood near him fell upon the duennas and the whole set of his
1
Prov. G5.
2
Prov. 183.
CHAPTER LXTX.
475
tormentors, exclaiming,
"
Begone, ye ministers of hell
;
I 'm
not made of brass not to feel sncli ont-of-tlie-way tortures."
At this instant Altisidora, who probably was tired of hav-
ing been so long lying on her back, tiirned on her side
; seeing
which the bystanders cried out almost Avith one voice,
"
Altisi-
dora is alive ! Altisidora lives !
"
llhadanianthus bade Sancho put away his wrath, as the
object they had in view was now attained. When Don Quixote
saw Altisidora move, he went on his knees to Sancho saying to
him, ''Now is the time, son of my bowels, not to call thee my
squire, for thee to give thyself some of those lashes thou art
bound to lay on for the disenchantment of Dulcinea. jSTow, 1
say, is the time when the virtue that is in thee is ripe, and en-
dowed with efficacy to work the good that is looked for from
thee."
To which Sancho made answer,
"
That 's trick upon trick, I
think, and not honey upon pancakes ; a nice thing it would be
for a whipping to come now, on the top of pinches, smacks,
and pin-proddings ! You had better take a big stone and tie it
round n\j neck, and pitch me into a well ; I should not mind
it much, if I 'm to be always made the cow of the wedding
'
for
the cure of other people's ailments. Leave me alone
;
or else by
God I
'11
fling the whole thing to the dogs, come what may."
Altisidora had by this time sat iip on the catafalque, and as
she did so the clarions sounded, accompanied l>y the flutes,
and the voices of all present exclaiming,
"
Long life to Altisi-
dora ! long life to Altisidora !
"
The duke and duchess and the
kings Minos and Rhadanianthus stood up, and all, together
with Don Quixote and Sancho, advanced to receive her and
take her down from the catafalque
;
and she, making as though
she Avere recovei'ing from a swoon, bowed her head to the duke
and duchess and to the kings, and looking sideways at ])on
Quixote, said to him,
''
God forgive thee, insensible knight, for
through thy cruelty I have been, to me it seems, more than a
thousand years in the other world ; and to thee, the most
compassionate sqiure upon earth, I render thanks for the life I
am now in possession of. From this day forth, friend Sancho,
count as thine six smocks of mine which I bestow upon thee,
to make as many shirts for thyself, and if they are not all
quite whole, at any rate they are all clean."
Sancho kissed her hands in gratitude kneeling, and with the
'
Tut' CKW that is to be kilknl for tlu' \vc'<liling feast ; the oiu' that siift'iTS.
476
VON QUIXOTE.
mitre in his hand. The duke bade them take it from him, and
give him back his cap and doublet and remove the flaming robe.
Sancho begged the duke to let them leave him the robe and
mitre ; as he wanted to take them home for a token and me-
mento of that unexampled adventure. The duchess said they
must leave them with him
;
for he knew already what a great
friend of his she was. The duke then gave orders that the
court should be cleared, and that all should retire to their
chambers, and that Don Quixote and iSancho sliould be con-
ducted to their old quarters.
CHAPTER LXX.
WHirH FOLLOWS STXTY-NIXE AND DEALS WITH MATTERS IX-
UlSPEXSABLE FOR THE CLEAR
COMl'REHEXSION OF THIS
HISTORY.
Sanciio slept that night in a cot in the same chamber with
Don Quixote, a thing he would have gladly excused if he could,
for he knew very well that with questions and answers his
master would not let him sleep, and he was in no humor for
talking much, as he still felt the pain of his late martyrdom,
which interfered with his freedom of speech ; and it would
have been more to his taste to sleep in a hovel alone, than in
that luxurious chamber in company. And so well founded did
his apprehension prove, and so correct was his anticipation, that
scarcely had his master got into bed when he said,
"
What dost
thou think of to-night's adventure, Sancho? Great and mighty
is the power of cold-hearted scorn, for thou with thine own
eyes hast seen Altisidora slain, not by arrows, nor by the sword,
nor by any warlike weapon, nor by deadly poisons, but by tlie
thought of the sternness and scorn with which I have always
treated her."
"
She might have died and welcome," said Sancho,
"
when
she pleased and how she pleased
;
and she might have left me
alone, for I never made her fall in love or scorned her. I don't
know nor can I imagine how the recovery of Altisidora, a dam-
sel more fanciful than wise, can have, as I have said before,
anything to do with the sufferings of Sancho Fanza. Now I
begin to see plainly and clearly that there are enchanters and
CHAPTER LXX. 477
enchauted people iii the world ; and may God deliver me from
them, since I can't deliver myself ; and so I beg of your worship
to let me sleep and not ask me any more (piestions, unless you
want me to throw myself out of the window."
"
Sleep, Sancho my friend," said Don Quixote,
"
if the pin-
prodding and pinches thou hast received and the smacks ad-
ministered to thee will let thee."
'
No pain came up to tJie insult of the smacks," said Saucho.
"
for the simple reason that it was duennas, confound them,
that gave them to me
;
but once more I entreat your worship
to let me sleep, for sleep is relief from misery to those who
are miserable when awake."
"
Be it so, and God be with thee," said Don Quixote.
They fell asleep, both of them, and C!id Hamet, the author of
this great history, took this opportunity to record and relate
what it was that induced the duke and duchess to get up the
elaborate plot that has been described. The bachelor Samson
Carrasco, he says, not forgetting how he as the Knight of the
Mirrors had been vanquished and overthrown by Don Quixote,
which defeat and overthrow upset all his
i)lans,
resolved to try
his hand again, hoping for better luck than he had before
;
and
so, having learned where Don Quixote was from the page who
brought the letter and present to Sancho's wife, Teresa Panza, he
got himself new armor and another horse, and put a wlnte moon
upon his shield, and to carry his arms he had a mule led by a
peasant, not by Tom Cecial his former sqiure for fear he should
be recognized by Sancho or Don Quixote. He came to the
duke's castle, and the duke informed him of the road and route
Don Quixote had taken with the intention of being present at
the jousts at Saragossa. He told him, too, of the jokes he had
practised upon him, and of the device for the disenchantment of
Dulcinea at the expense of Sancho's backside ; and finally he
gave him an account of the trick Sancho had played upon his
master, making him believe that Dulcinea was enchanted and
turned into a country wench
;
and of how the duchess, his wife,
had persuaded Sancho that it was he himself who was deceived,
inasmuch as Dulcinea was really enchanted
;
at which the bache-
lor laughed not a little, and marvelled as well at the sharpness
and simplicity of Sancho as at the length to which Don
Quixote's madness went. The duke begged of him if he found
him (whether he overcame him or not) to return that way
and let him know the result. This the bachelor did
;
he set
478
DON QUIXOTE.
out in quest of Don Quixote, and not finding him at Saragossa,
he went on, and how he fared has been already told. He re-
turned to the duke's castle and told him all, what the condi-
tions of the combat were, and how Don Quixote was now, like
a loyal knight-errant, returning to keep his promise of retiring
to his village for a year, by which time, said the bachelor, he
might perhaps be cured of his matlness ; for that was the object
that had led him to adopt these disguises, as it was a sad
thing for a
gentleman of such good parts as Don Quixote to
1)6 a madman. And so he took his leave of the duke, and
went home to his village to wait there for Don Quixote, Avho
was coming after him. Thereupon the duke seized the op-
portunity of practising this mystification upon him
;
so much
did he enjoy everything connected with Sancho and Don
Quixote. He had the roads about the castle far and near,
everywhere he thought Don Quixote was likely to pass on his
return, occupied by large numbers of his servants on foot and on
horseback, who were to bring him to the castle by fair means or
fold, if they met him. They did meet him, and sent word to the
duke, who, having already settled what was to be done, as soon
as he heard of his arrival, ordered the torches and lamps in the
court to be lit and Altisidora to be placed on the catafalque
with all the pomp and ceremony that has been descril)ed, the
whole affair being so well arranged and acted that it differed
but little from reality. And Cid Haniet says, moreover, for his
part he considers the coucocters of the joke as crazy as the
victims of it, and that the duke and duchess were not two
fingers' breadth removed from being something like fools them-
selves when they took such pains to make game of a pair
of fools.
As for the latter, one was sleeping soundly and the other
lying aAvake occupied Avith his desultory thoughts, when day-
light came to them bringing with it the desire to rise ; for the
lazy down was never a delight to Don Quixote, victor or van-
quished. Altisidora, come back from death to life as Don
Quixote fancied, following up the freak of her lord and lady,
entered the chamber, crowned with the garland she had Avorn
on the catafalque and in a robe of white taffeta embroidered
with gold flowers, her hair flowing loose over her shoulders,
and leaning upon a staff of fine black ebony. Don Quixote,
disconcerted and in confusion at her appearance, huddled him-
self up and well-nigh covered himself altogether with the
CHAPTER LXX. 479
sheets and counterpane of the bed, tongue-tied, and unable to
offer her any civility. Altisidora seated herself on a chair at
the head of the bed, and, after a deep sigh, said to him in a
feeble, soft voice,
"
When women of rank and modest maidens
trample honor under foot, and give a loose to the tongue that
breaks
through every impediment, publishing abroad the in-
most secrets of their hearts, they are reduced to sore extremi-
ties. Such a one am I, Seiior Don Quixote of La Mancha,
crushed,
conquered, love-smitten, but yet patient under suffer-
ing and virtuous, and so much so that my heart broke with
grief and I lost my life. For the last two days I have been
dead, slain by the thought of the cruelty with which thou hast
treated me, obdurate knight,
O
liarder thou than marble to my plaint
;
'
or at least believed to be dead by
all who saw me
;
and had
it not been that Love, taking pity on me, let my recovery rest
upon the sufferings of this good squire, there I should have
remained in the other world."
"
Love might very well have let it rest upon the sufferings
of my ass, and I should have been obliged to him," said
Sancho.
"
But tell me, senora

and may Heaven send you a

tenderer lover than my master

what did you see in the other

world ? What goes on in hell ? For of course that 's
where
one who dies in despair is bound for."
"
To tell you the truth," said Altisidora,
"
I cannot have
died outright, for I did not go into hell
;
had I gone in, it is
very certain I should never .have come out again, do what 1
might. The truth is, I came to the gate, where some dozen or
so "of devils were playing tennis, all in breeches and doublets,
with falling collars trimmed with Flemish bone-lace, and ruttles
of the same that served them for wristbands, with four fingers'
breadth of the arm exposed to make their hands look longer
;
in their hands they held rackets of fire
;
but what amazed me
still more was that books, apparently full of wind and rubbish,
served them for tennis balls, a strange and marvellous thing
;
this, however, did not astonish me so much as to observe that,
although with players it is usual for the winners to be glad
and the losers sorry, there in that game all were growling, all
were snarling, and all were cursing one another."
'
Garcilaso, Eclogue I.
480 DON QUIXOTE.
"
That 's no wonder," said 8ancho ;
''
for devils, whether play-
ing or not, can never be content, win or lose."
"
Very likely," said Altisidora ;
''
but there is another thing
that surprises me too, I mean siirprised me then, and that
was that no ball outlasted the first throw or was of any use a
second time
;
and it was wonderful the constant succession there
was of books, new and old. To one of them, a brand-new, well-
bound one, they gave such a stroke that they knocked the guts
out of it and scattered the leaves about.
'
Look what book that
is,' said one devil to another, and the other replied,
'
It is the
"
Second Part of the Historj- of Don Quixote of La Mancha,"
not by Cid Hamet, the original author, biit by an Aragonese who
by his own account is of Tordesillas.'
'
Out of this with it,' said
the first,
'
and into the depths of hell with it out of my sight.'
'
Is it so bad ?
'
asked the other.
'
So bad is it,' said the first,
'
that if I had set myself deliberately to make a worse, I could
not have done it.' They then went on with their game, knock-
ing other books about ; and I, having heard them mention the
name of Don Quixote whom I love and adore so, took care to
retain this vision in my memory."
"
A vision it must have been, no doubt," said Don Quixote,
"
for there is no other I in the world ; this history has been
going about here for some time from hand to hand, but it does
not stay long in any, for everybody gives it a laste of his foot.
I am not disturbed by hearing that I am wandering in a fan-
tastic shape in the darkness of the pit or in the daylight above,
for I am not the one that history treats of. If it should be good,
faithful, and true, it will have ages of life ; but if it should be
bad, from its birth to its burial will not be a very long jc^uney."
Altisidora was about to proceed with her complaint against
Don Quixote, when he said to her,
"
I have several times told
you, seiiora, that it grieves me you should have set your affec-
tions on me, as from mine they can only receive gratitude, but
no return. I was born to belong to Dulcinea del Toboso, and
the fates, if there are any, dedicated me to her ; and to suppose
that any other beauty can take the place she occupies in my
heart is to suppose an impossibility. This frank declaration
should suffice to make you retire within the bounds of your
modesty, for no one can bind himself to do impossibilities."
Hearing this, Altisidora, with a show of anger and agita-
tion, exclaimed,
"
God's life ! Don Stockfish, soul of a mortar,
stone of a date, more obstinate and obdurate than a clown asked
enAFTER LXX. 481
a favor wlien he has his mind made iip, if I fall upon you I
'11
tear your eyes out ! Do you fancy, then, Don Vanquished, Don
Cudgelled, that I died for your sake ? All that jow have seen
to-night has been make-believe
;
I'm not the woman to let the
black of my nail suffer for such a camel, much less die !
"
"
That I can well believe," said Sancho
;
"
for all that about
lovers pining to death is absurd ; they may talk of it, but as for
doing it Judas may believe that."
^
While they were talking, the musician, singer, and poet,
who had sung the two stanzas given above came in, and nmk-
ing a profound obeisance to Don Quixote said,
"
Will your
worship, sir knight, reckon and retain me in the number of
your most faithful servants, for I have long been a great
admirer of yours, as well because of your fame as because of
yovir achievements ?
"
"
Will your worship tell me who you are,"' replied Don
Quixote,
"
so that my courtesy may be answerable to your
deserts ?
"
The young man replied that he was the musician and song-
ster of the night before.
"
Of a truth," said Don Quixote,
"
your worship has a most
excellent voice
;
but what you sang did not seem to me very
much to the purpose
;
f<u- what have Garcilaso's stanzas to do
with the death of this lady ?
"
''
Don't be surprised at that," returned the musician ;
"
for
with the callow poets of our day the way is for every one to
write as he pleases and pilfer where he chooses, whether it be
germane to the matter or not, and now-a-days there is no piece
of silliness they can sing or write that is not set down to
poetic license."
Don Quixote was about to reply, but was prevented by the
duke and duchess, who came in to see him, and with them
there followed a long and delightful conversation, in the course
of which Sancho said so many droll and saucy things that he
left the duke and duchess wondering not only at his simplicity
but at his sharpness. Don Quixote begged their permission to
take his departure that same day, inasmuch as for a van-
quished knight like himself it was fitter he should live in a
pig-sty than in a royal palace. They gave it very readily,
and the duchess asked ium if Altisidora was in his good
graces.
'
Siincho's A'ersion of C'redat Judceus.
Vol. II.

31
482
DON QUIXOTE.
He replied,
"
Senora, let me tell your ladyship that this
damsel's ailment comes entirely of idleness, and the cure for it
is honest arid constant employment. She herself has told me
that lace is worn in hell ; and as she must know how to
make it, let it never be out of her hands
;
for when she is
occupied in shifting the bobbins to and fro, the image or im-
ao-es of what she loves will not shift to and fro in her
thoughts
;
this is the truth, this is my opinion, and this is my
advice."
"
And mine," added Sancho ;
"
for I never in all my life
saAv a lace-maker that died for love ; when damsels are at
work their minds are more sec on finishing their tasks than on
thinking of their loves. I speak from my own experience
;
for when I 'm digging I never think of my old woman
;
I
mean my Teresa Panza, whom I love better than my own
eyelids.'*'
"
You say well, Sancho," said the duchess,
"
and I will take
care that my Altisidora employs herself henceforward in
needlework of some sort ; for she is extremely expert at it."
"
There is no occasion to have recourse to that remedy,
sefiora," said Altisidora
;
"
for the mere thought of the cruelty
Avith which this vagabond villain has treated me will suffice
to blot him out of my memory without any other device
;
with your highness's leave I will retire, not to have before
my eyes, I won't say his rueful countenance, but his abom-
inal)le, ugly looks."
"
That reminds me of the common saying, that
'
he that rails
is ready to forgive,'
" ^
said the duke.
Altisidora then, pretending to wipe away her tears with a
handkerchief, made an obeisance to master and mistress and
(piitted the room.
"
111 luck betide thee, poor damsel," said Sancho,
"
ill luck
betide thee ! Thou hast fallen in with a soul as dry as a rush
and a heart as hard as oak ; had it been me, i' faith
'
another
cock would have crowed to thee.'
"
So the conversation came to an end, and Don Quixote dressed
himself and dined with the duke and duchess, and set out the
same evening.
>
Trov. 122.
CHAPTER LXXI.
483
CHAPTER LXXI.
OF WHAT PASSED BETWEEN DON QUIXOTE AND HIS SQUIKE
SANCHO ON THE WAY TO THEIK VILLAGK.
The vanquished and afflicted Don Quixote went along very
downcast in one respect and very happy in another. His sad-
ness arose from his defeat, and his satisfaction from the tliought
of the virtue that lay in Saucho, as had been proved by the
resurrection of Altisidora
;
though it was with difficulty he could
persuade himself that the love-sndtten damsel had been really
dead. Sancho went along anything but cheerful, for it grieved
him that Altisidora had not kept her promise of giving him the
smocks
;
and turning this over in his mind he said to his mas-
ter,
"
Surely, senor, I 'm the most uiducky doctor in the Avoi'ld
;
there 's many a physician that, after killing the sick man he had
to cure, requires to be paid for his work, though it is only sign-
ing a bit of a list of medicines, that the apothecary and not he
makes up, and, there, his labor is over ; but with me, though to
cure somebody else costs me drops of blood, smacks, })inches,
pin-proddings, and whippings, nobody gives me a farthing.
Well, I swear by all that 's good if they put another patient into
my hands, they
'11
have to grease them for me before I cure him
;
for
'
it 's by his singing the abbot gets his dinner,'
^
and I 'm
not going to believe that Heaven has bestowed upon me the
virtue I have, that I should deal it out to others all for
nothing."
"Thou art right, Sancho my friend," said Don Quixote,
"
and Altisidora has behaved very badly in not giving thee the
smocks she promised ; and although that virtue of thine is
f/rafis data

as it has cost thee no stiuly whatever, any more

than such study as thy personal sufferings may be

I can say
for myself that if thou wouldst have payment for the lashes
on account of the disenchantment of Dulcinea, I would have
given it to thee freely ere this. I am not sure, however,
whether payment will comport with the cure, and I would not
have the reward interfere with the medicine. Still, I think
there will be nothing lost by trying it ; consider how much thou
wouldst have, Sancho, and whip thyself at once, and pay thyself
down with thine own hand, as thou hast money of mine."
iProv. 2.
484 DON QUIXOTE.
At this proposal Sancho opened his eyes and his ears a
palm's breadth wide, and in his heart very readily acquiesced
in whipping himself, and said he to his master,
"
Very well
then, senor, I
'11
hold myself in readiness to gratify your
Avorship's wishes if I 'm to profit by it ; for the love of my
wife and children forces me to seem grasping. Let your
worship say how much you will pay me for each lash I give
myself."
''
If, Sancho," replied Don Quixote,
"
I were to requite thee
as the importance and nature of the cure deserves, the treas-
ures of Venice, the mines of Potosi, would be insufficient to
pay thee. See what thou hast of mine, and put a price on
each lash."
"
Of them," said Sancho,
"
there are three thousand three
hundred and odd; of these I have given myself five, the rest
remain ; let the five go for the odd ones, and let us take the
three thousand three hundred, which at a quarter real apiece
(for I will not take less though the whole world shoidd bid
me) make three thousand three hundred quarter reals; the
three thousand are one thousand live hundred half reals,
which make seven hundred and fifty reals ; and the three
hundred make a hundred and fifty half reals, whi6h come to
seventy-five reals, which added to the seven hundred and fifty
make eight hundred and twenty-five reals in all. These I will
stop out of what I have belonging to your worship, and I
'11
return home rich and content, though well whipped, for
'
there 's
no taking trout '
'
but I say no more."
"
O blessed Sancho ! dear Sancho
!
" said Don Quixote
;
"
how we shall be bound to serve thee, Dulcinea and I, all the
days of our lives that Heaven may grant us ! If she returns
to her lost shape (and it cannot be but that she will) her mis-
fortune Avill have been good fortune, and my defeat a most
happy triumph. But look here, Sancho ; when Avilt thou
begin the scourging? Eor if thou wilt make short work of it,
I will give thee a hundred reals over and above."
''
When ?
"
said Sancho
;
"
this night without fail. Let
your worship order it so that we pass it out of doors and in
the open air, and I
'11
scarify myself."
Night, longed for by Don Quixote with the greatest anxiety
in the world, came at last, though it seemed to him that the
wheels of Apollo's car had broken down, and that the day
'
Prov. 233. lu full it is
"
with dry bi-eechcs."
CHAPTER LXXL 485
Avas drawing itself out longer than usual, just as is the case
with lovers, Avho never make the reckoning of their desires
agree with time. They made their way at length in among
some pleasant trees that stood a little distance from the road,
and there vacating Rocinante's saddle and Dap})le's pack-
saddle, they stretched themselves on the green grass and made
their supper off Sancho's stores, and he making a powerful
and flexible whip out of Dapple's halter and liead-stall re-
treated about twenty paces from his master among some beech
trees. Don Quixote seeing him march off Avith such resolution
and spirit, said to him,
"
Take care, my friend, not to cut thy-
self to pieces
;
allow the lashes to wait for one another, and do
not be in so great a hurry as to run thyself out of breath mid-
way
;
I mean, do not lay on so strenuously as to make thy life
fail thee before thou hast reached the desired number
;
and
that thou mayest not lose by a card too much or too little, I
Avill station myself apart and count on any rosary here the
lashes thou givest thyself. May Heaven help thee as thy good
intention deserves."
''
' Pledges don't distress a good paymaster,'
" '
said Sancho
;
"
I mean to lay on in such a way as without killing myself to
hurt myself, for in that, no doubt, lies the essence of this
miracle."
He then stripped himself from the Avaist upAvards, and
snatching up the rope he began to lay on and Don Qiuxote to
count the lashes. He might have given himself six or eight
when he began to think the joke no trifle, and its price very
low ; and holding his hand for a moment, he told his master
that he cried off on the score of a blind bargain, for each of
those lashes ought to be paid for at the rate of half a real
instead of a quarter.
"
Gro, on, Sancho my friend, and be not disheartened," said
Don Quixote
;
"
for I double the stakes as to price."
"
In that case," said Sancho,
"
in God's hand be it, and let
it rain lashes." But the rogue no longer laid them on his
shoulders, but laid on to the trees, Avith such groans every now
and then, that one Avould have thought at each of them his
soul was being plucked up by the roots. Don Quixote, touched
to the heart, and fearing he might make an end of himself,
and that through Sancho's imprudence he might miss his OAvn
object, said to him,
"
As thou livest, my friend, let the matter
'Prov. 164.
486 DON QUIXOTE.
rest where it is, for the remedy seems to me a very rough one,
and it will be well to have patience
;
'
Zaniora was not won in
an hour.'
^
If I have not reckoned wrong thou hast given
thyself over a thousand lashes ; that is enough for the present
;
for the ass, to put it in homely phrase, bears the load, but not
the overload."
-
*'
No, no, senor," replied Sancho
;
''
it shall never be said
of me,
'
The money paid, the arms broken
;
'
^
go back a little
further, your worship, and let me give myself at any rate a
thousand lashes more ; for in a couple of bouts like this we
shall have finished off the lot, and there will be even cloth to
spare."
"
As thou art in such a willing mood," said Don Quixote,
''
may Heaven aid thee
;
lay on and I
'11
retire."
Sancho returned to his task with so much resolution that
he soon had the bark stripped oft' several trees, such was the
severity with which he whipped himself
;
and one time, raising
his voice, and giving a beech a tremendous lash, he cried out,
"
Here dies Samson, and all with him !
"
At the sound of his piteous cry and of the stroke of the cruel
lash, Don Quixote ran to him at once, and seizing the twisted
halter that served him for a courbash, said to him,
"
Heaven
forbid, Sancho my friend, that to please me thou shouldst lose
thy life, which is needed for the support of thy wife and chil-
dren
;
let Dulcinea wait for a better opportunity, and I will con-
tent myself with a hope soon to be realized, and have patience
until thou hast gained fresh strength so as to finish off this
business to the satisfaction of everybody."
"
As your worship will have it so, senor," said Sancho,
''
so
be it ; but throw your cloak over my shoulders, for I 'm sweat-
ing and I don't want to take cold; it's a risk that novice dis-
ciplinants run."
Don Quixote obeyed, and stripping himself covered Sancho,
who slept until the sun woke him
;
they then resumed their
journey, which for the tijue being they brought to an end at a
village that hiy three leagues farther on. They
dismounted
at a hostelry which Don Quixote recognized as such and did
not take to be a castle with moat, turrets, portcullis, and draw-
bridge
;
for ever since he had been vanquished he talked more
rationally about everything, as will be shown presently. They
quartered him in a room on the ground floor, where in place of
'
Trov. 251.
-
Prov. 19.
^
Prov. 78.
CHAPTER LXXI.
487
leather Iiangiiigs there were pieces of painted serge such as they
commonly use in villages. On one of them was painted by some
very poor hand the Rape of Helen, when the bold guest carried
her off from Menelaus, and on the other was the story of Dido
and .Eneas, she on a high tower, as though she were making
signals with a half sheet to her fugitive guest who was out at
sea flying in a frigate or brigantine. He noticed in the two
stories that Helen did not go very reluctantly, for she was
laughing slyly and roguishly ; but the fair Dido was sliowii
dropping tears the size of walnuts from her eyes. Don Quixote
as he looked at them observed,
"
Those two ladies were very
unfortunate not to have been born in this age, and I unfortu-
nate above all men not to have been born in theirs. Had I
fallen in with those gentlemen, Troy would not have been
burned or Carthage destroyed, for it would have been only for
me to slay Paris, and all these misfortunes would have been
avoided."
''
I
'11
lay a bet," said Sancho,
"
that before long there won't
be a tavern, roadside inn, hostelry, or barber's shop where the
story of our doings won't be painted up
;
but I 'd like it painted
by the hand of a better painter than painted these.".
"
Thou art right, Sancho," said Don Quixote,
"
for this painter
is like Orbaneja, a painter there was at tJbeda, who when they
asked him what he was painting, used to say,
'
Whatever it may
turn out
;
' and if he chanced to paint a cock he would write
under it,
'
This is a cock,' for fear they might think it was a
fox. The painter or wi'iter, for it 's all the same, who published
the history of this new Don Quixote that has come out, must
have been one of this sort I think, Sancho, for he painted or
wrote
'
whatever it might turn out ;
'
or perhaps he is like a
poet called Mauleon that was about the Court some years ago,
who used to answer at haphazard whatever he was asked, and
on one asking him what Denin dc Deo meant, he replied l><-
doade dleve. But, putting this aside, tell me, Sancho, hast thou
a mind to have another turn at thyself to-night, and wouldst
thou rather have it indoors or in the open air ?
"
''
Egad, sehor," said Sancho,
"
for what I 'm going to give my-
self, it comes all the same to me whether it is in a house or in
the fields
;
still I 'd like it to be among trees
,'
for I think they
are company for me and help me to bear my pain wonderfully."
''
And yet it must not be, Sancho my friend," said Don Qui-
xote
;
''
but, to enable thee to recover strength, we must keep it
488 DON QUIXOTE.
for our own village
;
for at the latest we shall get there the day
after to-morrow."
Sancho said he might do as he pleased ; but that for his own
part he would like to finish off the business quickly before his
blood cooled and while he had an appetite, because
'^
in delay
there is apt to be danger
"
very often, and
"
praying to God and
plying the hammer," and
"
one take was better than two I
'11
give thee's," and
"
a sparrow in the hand than a vulture on the
wing."
^
"
For God's sake, Sancho, no more proverbs
!
" exclaimed
Don Quixote ;
"
it seems to me thou art becoming slcut erat
again
;
speak in a plain, simple, straightforward way, as I have
often told thee, and thou wilt find the good of it."
^
"
I don't know what bad luck it is of mine," said Sancho,
"
but I can't utter a word without a proverb, or a proverb that
is not as good as an argument to my mind
;
however, I mean
to mend if I can
;
" and so for the present the conversation
ended.
CHAPTER LXXII.
OF HOW DON QUIXOTE AND SANCHO REACHED THEIR
VILLAGE.
All that day Don Quixote and Sancho remained in the
village and inn waiting for night, the one to finish off his task
of scourging in the open country, the other to see it accom-
plished, for therein lay the accomplishment of his wishes.
Meanwhile there arrived at the hostelry a traveller on horse-
back with three or four servants, one of whom said to him
who appeared to be the master,
"
Here, Senor Don Xlvaro
Tarfe, your worship may take your siesta to-day ; the quarters
8eem clean and cool."
When he heard this Don Quixote said to Sancho,
"
Look
here, Sancho
;
on turning over the leaves of that book of the
Second Part of mj history I think I came casually upon this
name of Don ^Ivaro Tarfe."
"
Very likely," said Sancho ;
"
we had better let him dis-
mount, and by-and-by we can ask about it."
>
Provs. 222, 85, 227, and 167.
*
See Note
2,
page 243, chapter xxxiv.
CHAPTER LXXII. 489
The gentleman disniountecl, and the Landlady gave him a
room on the ground floor opposite Don Quixote's and adorned
with i^ainted
serge hangings of the same sort. The newly
arrived gentleman put on a summer coat, and coming out to
the gateway of the hostelry, which was wide and cool, address-
ing Don Quixote, who was pacing np and down there, he asked,
"
In what direction is your worship bonnd, gentle sir ?
"
"
To a village near this which is my own village," replied
Don Quixote ;
"
and your worship, where are you bound
for ?
"
"
I am going to Granada, senor," said the gentleman,
"
to my
own country."
'^
And a goodly country," said Don Quixote
;
"
but will your
worship do me the favor of telling me your name, for it strikes
me it is of more importance to me to know it than I can well
tell you."
"
My name is Don Alvaro Tarfe," replied the traveller.
To which Don Quixote returned,
"
I have no doubt whatever
that your worship is that Don j^lvaro Tarfe who appears in
})rint in the Second Part of the history of Don Quixote of La
Mancha, lately printed and published by a new author."
"
I am the same," replied the gentleman
;
"
and that said
Don Quixote, the principal personage in the said history, was
a very great friend of mine, and it was I Avho took him away
from home, or at least induced him to come to some jousts that
were to be held at Saragossa, whither I was going myself
;
indeed, I showed him many kindnesses, and saved him from
having his shoulders touched up by the executioner because of
his extreme rashness."
^
"
Tell me, Seilor Don Alvaro," said Don Quixote,
''
am I at
all like that Don Quixote yoii talk of ?
"
"
No indeed," replied the traveller,
"
not a bit."
"
And that Don Quixote
"

said our one,

"
had he with him
a squire called Sancho Panza ?
"
"
He had," said Don Xlvaro
;
"
but though he had the name
of being very droll, I never heard him say anything that had
any drollery in it."
"
That I can well believe," said Sancho at this,
''
for to come
out with drolleries is not in everybody's line
;
and that Sancho
your worship speaks of, gentle sir, must be some great scoun-
drel, dunderhead, and thief, all in one ; for I am the real
*
Avellaneda, chapter ix.
490 DON QUIXOTE.
Sancho Panza, and I have more drolleries than if it rained
them
;
let your worship only try ; come along with me for a
year or so, and you will hnd they fall ivom me at every turn,
and so rich and so plentiful that though mostly I don't know
what I am saying I make everybody that hears me laugh.
And the real Don Quixote of La Mancha, the famous, the
valiant, the wise, the lover, the righter of wrongs, the guardian
of minors and orphans, the protector of widows, the killer of
damsels, he who has for his sole mistress the peerless Dulcinea
del Toboso, is this gentleman before you, my master ; all other
Don Quixotes and all other Sancho Panzas are dreams and
mockeries."
"
By God 1 l)elieve it," said Don Xlvaro ;
"
for you have
uttered more drolleries, my friend, in the few words you have
spoken than the other Sancho Panza in all I ever heard from
him, and they were not a fcAv. He was more greedy than
well-spoken, and more dull than droll ; and I am convinced
that the enchanters who persecute Don Quixote the Good have
been trying to persecute me with Don Quixote the Bad. But
I don't know what to say, for I am ready to swear I left
him shut up in the Casa del Nuncio at Toledo,^ and here
another Don Quixote turns up, though a very different one
from mine."
''
I don't know whether I am good," said Don Quixote,
"
but
I can safely say I am not
'
the Bad
;
' and to prove it, let me
tell you, Sehor Don Alvaro Tarfe, I have never in my life been
in Saragossa ; so far from that, when it was told me that this
imaginary Don Quixote had been present at the jousts in that
city, I declined to enter it, in order to drag his falsehood
before the face of the world ; and so I went on straight to
Barcelona, the treasure-house of courtesy, haven of strangers,
asylum of the poor, home of the valiant, champion of the
wronged, pleasant exchange of firm friendships, and city un-
rivalled in site and beauty. And though the adventures that
l)efell me there are not by any means matters of enjoyment,
but rather of regret, I do not regret them, simply because I
have seen it. In a word, Sefior Don ^Ivaro Tarfe, I am Don
Quixote of La Mancha, the one that fame speaks of, and not
the unlucky one that has attempted to usurp my name and
'
A madhouse founded in 1483 by Francisco Ortiz, Canon of Toledo,
and apostolic nuncio. Avellaneda concludes by dei^ositing Don Quixote
in it.
CHAPTER LXXII. 491
deck himself out in my ideas. I entreat your worship by your
devoir as a gentleman to be so good as to make a declaration
before the alcalde of this village that you never in all your
life saw me until now, and that neither am 1 the Don Quixote
in print in the Second Part, nor this Sanclio Panza, my squire,
the one your worship knew."
"
That I will do most willingly," replied Don Alvaro
;
"
though it amazes me to find two Don Quixotes and two
Sancho Panzas at once, as much alike in name as they differ
in demeanor ; and again I say and declare that what I saw I
cannot have seen, and that what happened to me cannot have
happened."
"
No doubt your worship is enchanted, like my lady Dulci-
nea del Toboso," said Sancho
;
"
and would to Heaven youj."
disenchantment rested on my giving myself another three
thousand and odd lashes like what I 'ni giving myself for her,
for I 'd lay them on without looking for anything."
"
I don't understand that about the lashes," said Don iClvaro.
Sancho replied that it was a long story to tell, but he would
tell him if they happened to be going the same road.
By this dinner-time arrived, and Don Quixote and Don
Alvaro dined together. The alcalde of the village came by
chance into the inn together with a notary, and Don Quixote
laid a petition before him, showing that it was requisite for
his rights that Don Xlvaro Tarfe, the gentleman there present,
should make a declaration before him that he did not know
Don Quixote of La Mancha, also there present, and that he
was not the one that was in print in a history entitled
"
Sec-
ond Part of Don Quixote of La Mancha, by one Avellaneda of
Tordesillas." The alcalde finally put it in legal form, and
the declaration was made with all the formalities recpured in
such cases, at which Don Quixote and Sancho were in high de-
light, as if a declaration of the sort was of any great impor-
tance to them, and as if their words and deeds did not plainly
show the difference between the two Don Quixotes and the
two Sanchos. Many civilities and offers of service were ex-
changed by Don iClvaro and Don Quixote, in the course of
which the great Manchegan displayed such good taste that he
disabused Don Alvaro of the error he was under
;
and he, on
his part, felt convinced he must have been enchanted, now
that he had been brought in contact with two such opposite
Don Quixotes.
492 DON QUIXOTE.
Evening came, they set out for the village, and after about
half a league two roads branched off, one leading to Don
Quixote's village, the other the road Don ^Ivaro was to follow.
In this short interval Don Quixote told him of his unfortu.nate
defeat, and of Dulcinea's enchantment and the remedy, all
which threw Don Alvaro into fresh amazement, and embracing
Don Quixote and Sancho he went his way, and Don Quixote
went his. That night he ^jassed among trees again in order to
give Sancho an opportunity of working out his penance, which
he did in the same fashion as the night before, at the expense
of the bark of the beech trees much more than of his back, of
which he took such good care that the lashes Avould not have
knocked off a fly had there been one there. The duped Don
Quixote did not miss a single stroke of the count, and he found
that together Avith those of the night before they made up
three thousand and twenty-nine. The sun apparently had got
up early to witness the sacrifice, and with his light they re-
sumed their, journey, discussing the deception practised on
Don Alvaro, and saying how well done it was to have taken
his declaration before a magistrate in such an unimpeachable
form. That day and night they travelled on, nor did any-
thing worth mention happen to them, unless it was that in the
course of the night Sancho finished off his task, whereat Don
Quixote was beyond measure joyful. He watched for day-
light, to see if along the road he should fall in with his already
disenchanted lady Dulcinea ; and as he pursued his journey
there was no woman he met that he did not go up to, to see if
she was Dulcinea del Toboso, as he held it absolutely certain
that Merlin's promises could not lie. Full of these thoughts
and anxieties, they ascended a rising ground wherefrom they
descried their own village, at the sight of which Sancho fell on
his knees exclaiming,
"
Open thine eyes, longed-for home, and
see how thy son Sancho Panza comes back to thee, if not very
rich, very well whipped ! Open thine arms and receive, too,
thy son Don Quixote, who, if he comes vanquished by the arm
of another, comes victor over himself, Avhich, as he himself has
told me, is the greatest victory any one can desire. I 'm bring-
ing back money, for if I was well whipped, I went mounted
like a gentleman."
'
"
Have done with these fooleries," said Don Quixote
;
"
let
us push on straight and get to our own place, where we will
Prov. 29.
CHAPTER LXXITI. 493
give free range to our fancies, and settle our plans for our
future pastoral life."
With this they descended the slope and directed their steps
to their village.
CHAPTER LXXITI.
OF THE OMENS DON QUIXOTE HAD AS HE ENTERED HIS OWN
VILLAGE, AND OTHEH INCIDENTS THAT EMBELLISH AND
GIVE A COLOR TO THIS GREAT HISTORY.
At the entrance of the village, so says Cid Hamet, Don Qui-
xote saw two boys quarrelling on the village threshing-floor,
one of whom said to the other,
"
Take it easy, Periquillo
;
thou
shalt never see it again as long as thou livest."
Don Qviixote heard this, and said he to Sancho,
"
Dost thou
not mark, friend, what that boy said,
'
Thou shalt never see it
again as long as thou livest ' ?
"
'
"
Well," said Sancho,
"
what does it matter if the boy said
so?"
"What!" said Don Quixote, ''dost thou not see that,
applied to the object of my desires, the words mean that I am
never to see Dulcinea more ?
"
Sancho was about to answer, when his attention was diverted
by seeing a hare come flying across the plain pursued by several
greyhounds and sportsmen. In its terror it ran to take shelter
and hide itself under Dapple. Sancho cauglit it alive and pre-
sented it to Don Quixote, who was saying,
^'
Malniii shjaitiii,
'nudum, sif/mimf a hare flies, greyhounds chase it, Dulcinea
appears not."
"
Your worship 's a strange man," said Sancho
;
"
let 's take
it for granted that this hare is Dulcinea, and these greyhounds
chasing it the malignant enchanters who turned her into a
country wench
;
she flies, and I catch her and put her into
your worship's hands, and you hold her in your arms and
cherish her
;
what bad sign is that, or what ill omen is there
to be found here ?
"
The two boys who had been quarrelling came over to look
at the hare, and Sancho asked one of them what their quarrel
was about. He was answered by the one who had said, "Thou
shalt never. see it again as long as thou livest," that he had
taken a cage full of crickets from the other boy, and did not
'494
DON QUIXOTE.
mean to give it back to liini as long as lie lived. kSancho took
out four cuartos from his pocket and gave them to the boy for
the cage, which he placed in Don Quixote's hands, saying,
"
There, senor ! there are the omens broken and destroyed,
and they have no more to do with our affairs, to my thinking,
fool as I am, than with last year's clouds
;
and if I remember
rightly I have heard the curate of our village say that it does
not become Christians or sensible people to give any heed to
these silly things
;
and even you yourself said the same to me
some time ago, telling me that all Christians who minded
omens were fools
;
but there 's no need of making words about
it ; let us push on and go into our village."
The sportsmen came up and asked for their hare, which
Don Quixote gave them. They then went on, and upon the
green at the entrance of the town they came upon the curate
and the bachelor Samson Carrasco busy with their breviaries.
It should be mentioned that Sancho had thrown, by way of
a sumpter-cloth, over Dapple and over the bundle of armor,
the buckram robe painted with flames which they had put
upon him at the duke's castle the night Altisidora came back
to life. He had also fixed the mitre on Dapple's head,
the oddest transformation and decoration that ever ass in the
world underwent. They were at once recognized by both the
curate and the bachelor, who came towards them Avith open
arms. Don Quixote dismounted and received them with a
close embrace
; and the boys, who are lynxes that nothing
escapes, spied oiit the assy's mitre and came running to see it,
calling out to one another,
'^
Come here, boys, and see Sancho
Panza's ass rigged out finer than Miugo,^ and Don Quixote's
V)east leaner than ever."
So at length, with the boys capering round them, and
accompanied by the curate and the bachelor, they made their
entrance into the town, and proceeded to Don Quixote's house,
at the door of which they found his housekeeper and niece,
whom the news of his arrival had already reached. It had
been brought to Teresa Panza, Saucho's wife, as well, and she
'
Alluding to the opening lines of the old fifteenth-century satire of
Mingo Revulgo.
Mingo Revulgo ! What ! It 's you
!
What have 3^ou done with your doublet blue?
Your Sunday suit? Is this the way
You walk abroad on the holy day?
]'.
Xote
1,
J),
viii.
CHAPTER LXXITT. 495
witli her hair all loose and half naked, dragging Sanchica her
daughter by the hand, ran out to meet her husband
;
but seeing
him coming in by no means as good ease as she thought a
governor ought to be, she said to him,
"
How is it you come
this way, husband ? It seems to me you come tramping and
footsore, and looking more like a disorderly vagabond than a
governor.
"
"
Hold your tongue, Teresa," said Sancho ;
"
often where
there are pegs there are no flitches
;
' let 's go into the house
and there you
"11
hear strange things. I bring money, and
that 's the main thing, got by my own industry without
Avronging anybody."
''
You bring the money, my good husband," said Teresa,
"
and no matter whether it was got this way or that ; for,
however you may have got it, you
'11
not have brought any new
practice into the world."
Sanchica embraced her father and asked him if he brought
her anything, for she had been looking out for him as for the
showers of May
;
and she taking hold of him by the girdle on
one side, and his wife by the hand, while the daughter led
Dapple, they made for their house, leaving Don Quixote in his,
in the hands of his niece and housekeeper, and in the company
of the curate and the bachelor.
Don Quixote at once, without any regard to time or season,
withdrew in private with the bachelor and the curate, and in
a few words told them of his defeat, and of the engagement
he was under not to quit his village for a year, which he meant
to keep to the letter without departing a hair's breadth from it,
as became a knight-errant bound by scrupulous good faith and
the laws of knight-errantry
;
and of how he thought of turning
shepherd for that year, and taking his diversion in the solitude
of the fields, where he could with perfect freedom give range
to his thoughts of love while he followed the virtuous pastoral
calling ; and he besought them, if they had not a great deal to
do and were not prevented by more important business, to con-
sent to be his companions, for he would buy sheep enough to
qualify them for shepherds
;
and the most important point of
the whole affair, he could tell them, was settled, for he had
given them names that would fit them to a T. The curate asked
what they were. Don Quixote replied that he himself was to
be called the shepherd Quixotiz, and the bachelor the shepherd
'
I'ruv. 22G.
496
DON QUIXOTE.
Carrascon, and the curate the shepherd Curiambro, and Sancho
Panza the shepherd Pancino.
Both were astounded at Don Quixote's new craze
;
however,
lest he shouhl once more make off out of the village from them
in pursuit of chivalry, they, trusting that in the course of the
year he might be cured, fell in with his new project, applauded
his crazy idea as a bright one, and offered to share the life with
him.
"
And what 's more," said Samson Carrasco,
"
I am, as
all the world knows, a very famous poet, and I
'11
be always
making verses, pastoral, or (tourtly, or as it may come into my
head, to pass away our time in those secluded regions where we
shall be roaming. But what is most needful, sirs, is that each
of us should choose the name of the shepherdess he means to
glorify in his verses, and that we should not leave a tree, be it
ever so hard, without writing up and carving her name on it,
as is the habit and custom of love-smitten shepherds."
"
That 's the very thing," said Don Quixote
;
"
though I am
relieved from looking for the name of an imaginary shepherdess,
for there 's the peerless Dulciuea del Toboso, the glory of these
brook-sides, the ornament of these meadows, the mainstay of
beauty, the cream of all the graces, and, in a word, the being to
whom all praise is appropriate, be it ever so hyperbolical."
"
Very true," said the curate ;
"
but we the others n^ust look
about for accommodating shepherdesses that will answer our
purpose one way or another."
"
And," added Samson Carrasco,
"
if they fail us, we can call
them by the names of the ones in print that the world is filled
with, Pilidas, Amarilises, Dianas, Fleridas, Galateas, Belisar-
das
;
for as they sell them in the market-places we may fairly
buy them and make them our own. If ]iiy lady, or I should
say my shepherdess, happens to be called Ana, I
'11
sing her
praises under the name of Anarda, and if Francisca, I'll call
her Francenia, and if Lucia, Lucinda, for it all comes to the
same thing; and Sancho Panza, if he joins this fraternity, may
glorify his wife Teresa Panza as Teresaina."
Don Quixote laughed at the adaptation of the name, and the
curate bestowed vast praise upon the worthy and honorable
resolution he had made, and again offered to bear him company
all that he could spare from his imperative duties. And so
they took their leave of him, recommending and beseeching him
to take care of his health and treat himself to a generous diet.
''
It so happened his niece and the housekeeper overheard
CHAPTER LXXIV. 497
all the three of them said ; and as soon as they Avere gone they
both of them came m to Don Quixote, and said the niece,
"
What's this, uncle ? Now that we were thinking you had
come back to stay at home and lead a quiet respectable life
there, are you going to get into fresh entanglements, and turn
'
young shepherd, thou that comest here, young shepherd going
there ' ?
'
Nay ! indeed
'
the straw is too hard now to make
pipes of.' "
^
"
xVnd," added the housekeeper,
"
will your Avorship be able
to bear, out in the fields, the heats of summer, and the chills of
winter, and the howling of the wolves ? Not you
;
for that 's a
life and a business for hardy men, bred and seasoned to such
Avork almost from the time they were in swaddling-clothes.
Why, to make choice of evils, it 's better to be a knight-errant
than a shepherd ! Look here, senor ; take my adA'ice

and
I 'm not giving it to you full of bread and Avine, but fasting,
and Avith fifty years upon my head

stay at home, look after

your affairs, go often to confession, be good to the poor, and
upon my soul be it if any evil comes to you."
"
Hold your peace, my daughters," said Don Quixote ;
"
I
know very well Avhat my duty is ; help me to bed, for I don't
feel very well ; and rest assured that, knight-errant noAV or
wandering shepherd to be, I shall never fail to have a care for
your interests, as you Avill see in the end." And the good
wenches (for that they undoubtedly were), the housekeeper and
niece, helped him to bed, where they gave him something to
eat and made him as comfortable as possible.
CHAPTER LXXIV.
OF HOW DO?f QUIXOTE FELL SICK, AND OF THE WILL UK
MADE, AND HOW HE DIED.
As nothing that is man's can last forever, but all tends ever
downwards from its beginning to its end, and above all man's
life, and as Don Quixote's enjoyed no special dispensation
from Heaven to stay its course, its end and close came when he
least looked for it. For

Avhether it was of the dejection the

'
The beginninar of a halliul in the cancionero of Francisco de Ocana.
2
Prov. 7.
Vol. II.

i-Z
498
DON QUIXOTE.
thought of his defeat produced, or of Heaven's will that so
ordered it

a fever settled upon him aud kept him in his bed

for six days, diu-ing which he was often visited by his friends
the curate, the bachelor, and the barber, while his good squire
Sancho Panza never quitted his bedside. They, persuaded
tliat it was grief at finding himself vanquished, and the object
of his heart, the liberation and disenchantment of Dulcinea,
unattained, that kept him in this state, strove by all the
means in their power to cheer him up; the bachelor bidding
liim take heart and get up to begin his pastoral life, for which
he himself, he said, had already composed an eclogue that
would take the shine out of all Sannazaro ' had ever written,
and had bought with his ovn\ money two famous dogs to
guard the flock, one called Barcino and the other Butron,
Avhich a herdsnian of Quintanar had sold him.
But for all this Don Quixote could not shake off his sadness.
His friends called in the doctor, who felt liis pulse and was
not very well satisfied with it, and said that in any case it
would be well for him to attend to the health of his soul, as
that of his body was in a bad way. Don Quixote heard this
calmly ; but not so his housekeeper, his niece, and his squire,
Avho fell weeping bitterly, as if they had him lying dead before
them. The doctor's opinion Avas that melancholy and depres-
sion were bringing him to his end. Don Quixote begged them
to leave him to himself, as he had a wish to sleep a little.
They obeyed, and he slept at one stretch, as the saying is,
more than six hours, so that the housekeeper and niece thought
he was going to sleep forever. But at the end of that time he
woke up, and in a loud voice exclaimed, " Blessed be Almighty
God, who has shown me such goodness. In truth his mercies
are looundless, aud the sins of men can neither limit them nor
keep them back !
"
The niece listened with attention to her uncle's words, and
they struck her as more coherent than what usually fell from
him, at least during his illness, so she asked,
"
"Wliat are you
saying, senor ? Has anything strange occurred ? "What mercies
or what sins of men are you talking of ?
"
'<
The mercies, niece," said Don Quixote,
"
are those that
God has this moment shown me, and with him, as I said, n\y
sins are no impediment to them. My reason is now free and
'Jacopo Sannazaro, the Neapolitan poet (14:58-1530), author of the
Arcadia.
THE
DEATH OF DON QUIXOTE. Vol.2. Page 499.
CHAPTER LXXIV.
409
clear, rid of the dark shadows of ignorance that my unhappy-
constant study of those detestable books of chivalry cast over
it. Now I see through their absurdities and deceptions, and
it only grieves me that this destruction of my illusions has
come so late that it leaves me no time to make some amends
by reading other books that might be a light to my soul.
Niece, I feel myself at the point of death, and I would fain
meet it in such a way as to show that my life has not been so
ill that I should leave behind me the name of a madman ; for
though I have been one, I would not that the fact should be
made plainer at my death. Call in to me, my dear, my good
friends the Curate, the Bachelor Samson Carrasco, and Master
Nicholas the barber, for I wish to confess and make my will."
But his niece was saved the trouble by the entrance of the
three. The instant Don Quixote saw them he exclaimed,
"
Clood news for you, good sirs,^ that I am no longer Don
Quixote of La Manclia, but Alonso Quixano,- whose way of
life won for him the name of Good. Now am I the enemy of
Amadis of Cxaid and of the whole countless troop of his
descendants
;
odious to me now are all the profane stories of
knight-errantry
;
now I perceive my folly, and the peril into
which reading them brought me ; now, by God's mercy
schooled into my right senses, I loathe them."
When the three heard him speak in this Avay, they had no
doubt whatever that some new craze had taken possession of
him
;
and said Samson,
'''
What ? Sehor Don Quixote I Now
that we have intelligence of the lady Dulcinea being disen-
chanted, are you taking this line
;
now, just as we are on the
poiiit of becoming shepherds, to pass our lives singing, like
princes, are you thinking of turning hermit ? Hush for
Heaven's sake, be rational, and let 's have no more non-
sense."
'All that nonsense," said Don Quixote, "that until now has
been a reality to my hurt, my death will, with Heaven's help,
turn to my good. I feel, sirs, that I am rapidly drawing near
death ; a truce to jesting ; let me have a confessor to confess
me, and a notary to make my will ; for in extremities like this,
man must not trifle with his soul ; and while the curate is con-
fessing me let some one, I beg, go for the notary."
'
Dadtne alhricias hueiios senores. A/bricias, from the Arabic al bash-
ara, the reward chiimed by one who brings good news.
^
In the first chapter of the First Part, the reader may remember, the
name is given as Quixaua.
500
DON QUIXOTE.
They looked at one another, wondering at Don Quixote's
words ; but, though uncertain, they were inclined to believe
him, and one of the signs by which they came to the con-
clusion he was dying was this so sudden and complete retnrn
to his senses after having been mad ; for to the words already
quoted he added much more, so well expressed, so devout, and
so rational, as to banish all doubt and convince them that he
was sound of mind. The curate turned them all out, and left
alone with him confessed him. The bachelor went for the
notary and returned shortly afterwards with him and with
Sanclio, who, having already learned from the bachelor the
condition his master was in, and finding the housekeeper and
niece weeping, began to blubber ' and shed tears.
The confession over, the curate came out saying,
"
Alonso
Quixano the Good is indeed dying, and is indeed in his right
mind ; we may now go in to him Avhile he makes his will."
This news gave a tremendous impluse to the brimming eyes
of the housekeeper, the niece, and Sancho Panza his good squire,
making the tears burst from their eyes and a host of sighs from
their hearts ; for of a truth, as has been said more than once,
whether as plain Alonso Quixano the Good, or as Don Quixote
of La Mancha, Don Quixote was always of a gentle disposition
and kindly in all his ways, and hence he was beloved, not only
by those of his own house, but by all who knew him.
The notary came in with the rest, and as soon as the pre-
amble of the will had been set out and Don Quixote had com-
mended his soul to God with all the devout formalities that are
usual, coming to the bequests, he said,
"
Item, it is my will that,
touching certain moneys in the hands of Sancho Panza (whom
in my madness I made my squire), inasmuch as between him
and me there have been certain accounts and del)its and credits,
no claim be made against him, nor any account demanded of him
in respect of them ; but that if anything remain over and above,
after he has paid himself Avhat I owe him, the balance, which
will be but little, shall be his, and "much good may it do him
;
and if, as when I was mad I had a share in giving him the gov-
ernment of an island, so, now that I am in my senses, I could
give him that of a kingdom, it should be his, for the simplicity
of his character and the fidelity of his conduct deserve it."
And then, turning to Sancho, he said,
"
Forgive me, my friend,

Ilacer pucheros refers rather to the working of the face that pre-
cedes a fit of weeping.
CHAPTER LXXIV. 601
that I led thee to seem as mad as myself, making thee fall into
the same error I myself fell into, that there were and still are
knights-errant in the world."
"
Ah !
"
said Sancho Aveeping,
"
don't die, master, but take my
advice and live many years
;
for the foolishest thing a man can
do in this life is to let himself die without rhyme or reason,
without anybody killing him, or any hands but melancholy's
making an end of him. Come, don't be lazy, but get up from
your bed and let us take to the fields in shepherd's trim as we
agreed. Perhaps behind some bush we shall find the lady Dul-
cinea disenchanted, as fine as fine can be. If it be that you are
dying of vexation at having been vanquished, lay the blame on
me, and say you were overthrown because I had girthed lioci-
nante badly
;
besides you must have seen in your books of chiv-
alry that it is a common thing for knights to upset one another,
and for him who is conquered to-day to be conqueror to-mor-
row."
"
Very true," said Samson,
"
and good Sancho Panza's view
of these cases is quite right."
"
Sirs, not so fast," said Don Quixote,
" '
in last year's nests
there are no birds this year.'
^
I was mad, now I am in my
senses
;
I was Don Quixote of La Mancha, I am now, as I
said, Alonso Quixano the Good
;
and may my repentance and
sincerity restore me to the esteem you used to have for me
;
and now let Master Notary proceed.
"
Item, I leave all my property absolutely to Antonia
Quixana my niece, here present, after all has been deducted
from the most available portion of it that may be required to
satisfy the bequests I have made. And the first disbursement
I desire to be made is the payment of the wages I owe for the
time my housekeeper has served nie, with twenty ducats, over
and above for a gown. The curate and the bachelor Samson
Carrasco, now present, I appoint my executors.
"
Item, it is my wish that if Antonia Quixana, my niece,
desires to marry, she shall marry a man of whom it shall be
first of all ascertained by information taken that he does not
know what books of chivalry are
;
and if it should be proved
that he does, and if, in spite of this, my niece insists upon
marrying him, and does marry him, then that she shall forfeit
the whole of what I have left her, which my executors shall
devote to works of charity as they please.
'
l^rov. 154.
502
DON QUIXOTE.
"
Item, I entreat tlie aforesaid
gentlemen ray executors, that
if any happy chance should lead them to discover the author
who is said to have written a history now going about under
the title of
<
Second Part of the Achievements of Don Quixote
of La Mancha,' they beg of him on my behalf as earnestly as
they can to forgive me for having been, without intending it,
the cause of his writing so many and such monstrous absurdi-
ties as he has written in it ; for I am leaving the world with a
feeling of compunction at having provoked him to write
them."
With this he closed his will, and a faintness coming over
him he stretched himself out at full length on the bed. All
were in a flutter and made haste to relieve him, and during
the three days he lived after that on which he made his will
he fainted away very often. The house was all in confusion
;
but still the niece ate and the housekeeper drank and Sancho
Panza enjoyed himself ; for inheriting property wipes out or
softens doAvn in the heir the feeling of grief the dead man
might be expected to leave behind him.'
At last Don Quixote's end came, after he had received all
the sacraments, and had in full and forcible terms expressed
his detestation of books of chivalry. The notary was there at
the time, and he said that in uo book of chivalry had he ever
read of any knight-errant dying in his bed so calmly and so
like a Christian as Don Quixote, who amid the tears and
lamentations of all present yielded up his spirit, that is to say
died. On perceiving it the curate begged the notary to bear
witness that Alonso Qnixano the Good, commonly called Don
Quixote of La Mancha, had passed away from this present
life, and died naturally ; and said he desired this testimony in
order to remove the possibility of any other author save Cid
Hamet Benengeli bringing him to life again falsely and mak-
ing interminable stories out of his achievements.
Such was the end of the Ingenious Gentleman of La,
]\rancha, whose village Cid Hamet would not indicate pre-
'
This piece of comraonplace cj'nicism, so uncalled for aiKl so incon-
sistent ^vitil what has gone before, is. I imagine, regretted by most of
Cervantes' readers. The conclusion of Don Quixote, it must be confessed,
is not worthy of the book or of its author. .\fter the quiet pathos and dig-
nity of Don Quixote's death, the shrill note of the scolding once more
administered to the wretched Avellaneda falls like a discord on the read-
er's ear, and Samson Carrasco's doggerel does not tend to allay the
irritation.
CHAPTER LXXIV.
503
cisely, in order to leave all the towns and villages of La
Mancha to contend among themselves for the right to adojjt
him and claim him as a son, as the seven cities of Greece con-
tended for Homer. The lamentations of Sancho and the niece
and honsekeeper are omitted here, as well as the new epitaphs
upon his tomb ; Samson Carrasco, however, put the following
:
A doughty gentleman lies here
;
A stranger all his life to fear;
Nor in his death could Death prevail,
In that lost hour, to make him quail.
He for the world but little cared
;
And at his feats the world was scared
;
A crazy man his life he passed,
But in his senses died at last.'
And said most sage Cid Haniet to his pen,
"
Rest here, hung
up by this brass wire, upon this shelf, my pen, whether of
skilful make or clumsy cut I know not ; here shalt thou remain
long ages hence, unless presumptuous or malignant story-tellers
take thee down to j)rofane thee. But ere they touch thee warn
them, and, as best thou canst, say to them
:
Hold off ! ye weaklings
;
hold your hands !
Adventure it let none.
For this emprise, my lord the king.
Was meant for me alone.
^
For me alone was Don Quixote l^orn, and I for him; it was his
to act, mine to write ; Ave two together make but one, notwith-
standing and in spite of that pretended Tordesillesque writer
who has ventured or would venture with his great, coarse, ill-
trimmed ostrich quill to write the achievements of my valiant
knight;

no burden for liis shoulders, nor subject for his

frozen wit : Avhom, if perchance thou shouldst come to know
him, thou shalt warn to leave at rest where they lie the weary
'
Clemencin objects to these verses that if they are meant seriously
they are poor, and if intemled as a joke they are stiii)iil. Cervantes no
doubt meant them as an imitation of the ordinary epitaph style of the
village poet, but even so they could have been very well spared.
^
The two last lines occur in one of the ballads on the death of Alonso
de Aguilar in the Guerras Civiles de Granada^ Pt. I. chap. xvii.
504 DON QUIXOTE.
inouklei'ing bones of Don Quixote, and not to attempt to earrv
hini oft", in opposition to all the privileges of death, to Old
Castile,^ making him rise from the grave where in reality and
truth he lies stretched at full length, powerless to make any
third expedition or new sally ; for the two that he has already
made, so much to the enjoyment and apj^roval of everybody to
whom they have become known, in this as well as in foreign
countries, are quite sufficient for the purpose of turning into
ridicule the whole of those made by the Avhole set of the
knights-errant ; and so doing shalt thou discharge thy Chris-
tian calling, giving good counsel to one that bears ill-will to
thee. And I shall remain satisfied, and proud to have been
the first Avho has ever enjoined the fruit of his writings as
fully as he coidd desire
;
for my desire has been no other than
to deliver over to the detestation of mankind the false and
foolish tales of the books of chivalry, which, thanks to that
of my true Don Quixote, are even now tottering, and doubtless
doomed to fall forever.- Farewell.''
'
At the end of his hist chapter Avellaneda speaks of a tradition in La
Manclia that Don Qnixote ret-overcd liis senses and made a journey
tlirough Okl Castile by Salamanca, Avila, and Valladolid.
*
Tlie bibliography of chivalry romance shows that tliis was no vain-
glorious boast on the part of Cervantes. All tlirough the sixteenth
century romances of chivalry, new or rejirints, continued to pour from
the press in a steady stream, but no new romance was i)roduci'<l after the
appearance of Don Quixote, and only one or two of the swarm of old
ones reprinted. V. Appendix

Spanish Romances
of
Chivalry.
APPENDICES.
THE PROVERBS ()E DON QUIXOTE.
Thk proverbs in tlii.s list, it ^vill be seen, are arranged by essential
words; not according to tlieir l)eginnings, wliicli are very often arl)itrary.
8onie liave been included which apparently have no right to a place in it
:
"
To ask pears of the elm-tree," for instance, is not strictly a proverb as
it stands; but as applied to illustrate some absurdity or unreasonable ex-
jtectation, it has a i)roverl)ial character that entitles it to admission.
Some, also, there are which do not appear in proverbial form in
"
Don
Quixote," being merely alluded to in the text; and, if conjectural addi-
tions were allowable, a few more might perhaps have been added, as for
example, Vaca
y
caniero olla de caballero

"beef and mutton, an olla

fit for a gentleman" which very possibly Cervantes may have had in
his mind when he descril)ed Don Quixote's olla as of
"
rather more beef
than nmtton." I have not iuvarial)ly given the proverbs as they stand
in the text, for the version of Cervantes is sometimes incorrect, or at any
rate inferior to that of the older or contemporary proverb collectors.
There is no lack of early autlKjrities ; there is the collection made by the
illustrious Marquis of Santillana in the middle of the fifteenth century,
the famous one of the great Greek scholar, Hernan Nufiez de Guzman,
and those of Pedro Valles, Palmireno, and Juan de Mai Lara in the
next, and Cajsar Oudin's in 1608 ; but the one I have most frequently
referred to, as it shows the application of the proverbs, is the curious
collection of Blasco de Garay, in the form of three letters entirely com-
l)osed of proverbs, which Avas printed as early as UA't. Nothing contrib-
utes more to the national character of Don Quixote than its wealth in this
department of popular lore, for in no country is the Jilosofia vulga?'

as
Mai Lara aptly called it

-which finds expression in the proverl), so dis-

tinctly a national characteristic in Spain, where one of Sancho's aphor-
isms is still as valid an argument as it was in his day. The Quixote
proverbs form a small collection compared with others in the language,
but the collection is a representative one. A proverb that is quoted in
"
Don Quixote
"
is doubly a popular proverb, and any sayings that took
the fancy of Cervantes we may safely accept as specimens of what Allan
Ramsay calls
"
the guid auld Laws that shine wi' wail'd sense, and will
as lang as the world wags."
505
506 DON QUIXOTE.
1. Si bien canta el Abaci, no le va en zaga el monaeillo.
IJ
the abbot sings well, the acolyte is not much behind him.
Part ii. Chap. 25.
2. El Abaci de lo cjue canta yanta.
It
'5
by his singing the abbot gets his dinner. ii. 60,
71.
Nunez : dentle j'aata.
Portuguese : Abbade donde canta, dalii janta.
3. Toda Afectacion es mala. ii. 26, 43.
All affectation
is bad.
4. Ahora lo veredes dijo Agrajes.
"
Yoii-ivill see presently
j''
said Agrajes. i. 8.
A phrase from
"
Amadis of Gaul." Agrajes was Amadis's cousin and
comrade.
5. Nadie diga, desta Agua yo no bebere.
Let no one say, I will not drink
of
this water. ii. 5.5.
The Portuguese add:
"
Ncm destepao comerei." Garay. Carta i.
6. La Alabanza propia envilece.
Self-ijraise
dcbaseth. i. 16
;
ii. 16.
7. Ya esta duro el Alcacer para zampoilas.
The strain is too hard now to make pipes
of.
ii. 73.
8. Qiiien padre tiene Alcalde, segnro va a Juiuio.
He who has the alcalde
for
his father, goes into court with an
easy mind.
ii. 43.
9. Mas mal hay en el Aldeguela del cjue se suefia.
There 's more mischief in the village than comes to one's ears.
I. 46.
Generally mistranslated
"
than one dreams of," as if it were suena.
Garay. Carta 1.
Poituguese : Na aldea, (juc ii?o he boa,
Mais mal lia, que soa.
lU. Mas vale Algo cjue nada.
Something is better than nothing. I. 21.
11. Mientras se gana Algo, no se pierde nada.
So long as one gets something, there is nothing lost. ii. 7.
12. Haz lo cjue tii Aaio te manda,
y
sientate con el a la mesa.
Do as thy master bids thee, and sit down to table with him.
II. 29.
13. Dime con qnien Andas, decirte he (juien eres.
Tell me what company thou keepest, and IHl tell thee what
thou art.
ii- 10, 23.
Garay. Carta 4. Portuguese : Dirte he que manhas has.
APPENDIX I. 507
14. Hombre Apercibido
Medio corabatido.
The mm ivho is prepared has his battle
halffought.
ii. 17.
Italian : Clii o avvisato e armato.
15. Quien a buen Arbol se arrima,
Buena sombra le cobija.
Who leans against a good tree, a good shade eovers him.
I., Verses of Urganda; ii. 32.
Garay. Carta i. Ruin arbol
^
ruin sonihra.
IG. Del hombre Arraigado
No te veras vengado.
Thou canst have no revenge
of
a man
of
sicbstance. ii. 43.
17. Un Asno cargado de oro sube ligero por una luontaua.
An ass loadedwith gold goes lightli/ up a motmtain. ii. 35.
18. La culpa del Asno no se ha de echar a la albarda.
The
fault
of
the uss must not be laid on the pack saddle, ii. 6G.
Garay. Carta i. Portuguese : Com raiva do asno tornase & albanla.
19. El Asno sufre la carga, mas no la sobrecarga.
The ass bears the load, but not the overload. ii. 71.
20. Las Avecitas del campo teinen a Dios por sii proveedor
y
despt'usero.
The little birds
of
the field have God
fur
their purveyor and
caterer. ii. 33.
21. Quien Bien tiene
y
mal escoge,
Del Mal que le viene no se enqje.
Who has good and seeks oid evil, let hivi not complain
of
the
evil th(U comes to him. i. 31.
Garay. Carta 4.
22. Cuando viene el Bien, metelo en tu casa.
When good luck comes to thee take it in. li. 4.
23. El Bien no es conocido
Hasta que es perdido.
Ooodfortiuie is not known until it is lost. ii. 54.
24. Lo Bien ganado se pierde,
y
lo malo ello
y
su dueilo.
Well-gotten gain may be lost, but ill-gotten is lost, itself, and
its oivner likewise. ii. 54.
25. Juntate a los Buenos
y
serds uno dellos.
Attach thi/self to the good, and thou wilt becom,e one
of
them.
II. 32.
PortuEfuese : Arriraa-te aos bons, seras hum delles.
508
DON QUIXOTE.
20. Nunca lo
Bueno fue mucho.
What 's good was never yet plentiful. i. 6.
27. El Buey suelto bien se lame.
The ox that 's loose licks hhnself well. il. 22.
28. Ne son Burlas las que duelen.
Jests that give ixdn
are no jests. ii. 62.
"
No son biienas burlas las que salen :i lu eara." Guzman de Alfarache,
P. II. b. ii. c. 3.
29. Si buenos azotes me daban, bien Caballcro me iba.
//
/ was well whipped, 1 went mounted like a gentleman.
II. 36, 72.
Eviclentl}' tlie sayinir of some philosophical picaro who hatl been whipped
throuf^h the streets, niounted on an ass in the usual way.
30. El que hoy Cae puede levantarse manana.
Be that falls to-dai/ may get up to-morrow. ii. 05.
31. Andeme yo Caliente,
Y riase la gente.
Let me go loarm, and let the peojjle laugh. ii. 50.
32. Quien Canta
Sus males espanta.
ffe who sings scares away Ms woes.
I. 22.
33. Cantarillo que muchas veces va a la fuente
O deja el asa 6 la frente.
The pitcher that goes
often to the well leaves behind either the
handle or the spout. i. 30.
Garay. Carta i.
34. Si da el Cautaro en la piedra, 6 la piedra en el eantaro, mal
para el eantaro.
Whether the pitcher hits the stone, or the stone hits the pitcher,
it ""s
a bad business
for
the pitcher. i. 20;
ii. 43.
35. El diablo esta en Cantillana.
The devil is in Cantillana. ii. 49.
Cantillana is a small town on the Guadalquivir, near Seville. The
proverb is undoubtedly a historical one, but who the devil was is a
disputed point.
30. Debajo de mala Capa suele haber buen bebedor.
Under a bad cloak there 's
often a good drinker. ii. 33.
Guzman de Alfarache, I. ii. 7. Garay. Carta i. In Guzman it is
"
vividor." The commonplace explanation is that we should not
trust to appearances.
The Portuti'uesc liave the proverb
;
and also the converse : Debaixo de
bom saio estd o homem mrto.
APPENDIX I.
509
37. Sobre mi la Capa cuando Uueve.
Over me be the cloak, when it rains.
ii. 66.
38. No quiero, no quiero
;
mas echadmelo en la Capilla.
I won''I have it, I won't have it ; but throw it into my hood.
II. 42.
Ajoke against the friars, who would not for tlie world beg.
39. Tanto se piei'de poi- Carta de mas como por carta de menos.
As much is lost by a card too many as by a card too feio.
II.
17, 33, 37.
40. Hablen Cartas
y
eallen barbas.
Let palmers speak and beards be still. li. 7.
When there is donumentary evidence there is no need of any other.
41. En Casa llena
Presto se gnisa la cena.
In a house ivhcre there '
s
plenty stq^per is soon cooked, ii. 30, 43.
Portuguese : Na casa cheia, asinha se faz a cea.
42 A
"
idos de mi Casa,"
y
"
que (juereis con mi mujer ?
"
no hay
que responder.
To ''get out
of
my house,'''' and ''what do you want with my
wifel-''''
there ^ s no ansiDcr
.
ii. 43.
43. Mas sabe el necio en su Casa que el cuerdo eii la ajena.
The
fool knows more in his own house than the wise man in
another''s.
ii. 4:3.
Garay. Carta 3.
44. En otras Casas cuecen habas,
Y en la raia a calderadas.
In other houses they cook beans, but i?i mine, if s by the
jiotful.
II. 13.
I get more than my share. A better form is :
"
En cada casa cuecen

"
45. Castigame me mi madre,
y
yo trompogelas.
My mother 1>cats me, and I go on with my tricks. 11. 43, G7.
Garay. Carta i.
46. Quitada la Causa, se quita el pecado.
Do away with the cause, you do away with the sin. 11. 67.
47. Andar de Ceca en Meca,
y
de zoca en colodra.
To wander
from Zeca to Mecca, and
from pail to tmcket. 1. 18.
The Zeca was the holy place in the Mosque at Cordova, and, with the
western Moslems, ranked next to Mecca as a goal for pilgrims.
"
To
go from post to pillar."
510
DON QUIX^OTE.
48. De amigo u amigo la Chinelie en el ojo.
Betweenfrknds
the bug in the eye. ii. 12.
"Tenei" chinche or sangre

en el ojo
"
means to keep a sharp look-
out. The proverb means that even between friemls tins is advisable.
The Comendador Ximez gives it, Chispe en el ojo

a spark in the eye.
Garay. Carta 1.
49. Muy Ciego es el que no ve poi- tela de cedazo.
He is ven/ blind ivho cannot see through a sieve. ii. 1.
Garay. Carta 1. 4.
50. Codicia vompe el saco.
Covetousness bursts the bag.
i.
20;
ii. 13, 36.
Guzman de Alfarache, I. ill. 5. Garay. Carta 4.
51. Ni hagas Cohecho,
Ni pierdas dereeho.
Take no bribe, surrender no right. il. 32, 49.
52. Falta la Cola por desollar.
There's the tail to be skinned ijet. ii.
2,
35.
Don't fancy you have done with it.
53. Todo saldra en la Colada.
All ivill come out in the scouring. I. 20.
54. Come pnco
y
cena mas poco.
Dijie sparingh/ and sup more sparing still. n. 43.
Properly,
"
Come poco
y
cena mas; Ducrme en alto
y
viviriis," Dine
sparingly, sup more ifreely, sleep at the top of the house, and thou
wilt live.
In Palmireno, Valencia 1589, it is,
"
Come poco, cena mas,
y
dormirds."
55. El que Conipva
y
miente,
En su bolsa lo siente.
He icho buys and lies feels it in his purse. i, 25.
56. Toda Coraparacion es odiosa.
All comparisons are odious. ll. 23.
57. Ton tuyo en Coneejo,
y
unos diran que es bianco
y
otros que
es negro.
Make thy affaii-s
public (literally, bring them into couiicil),
and some will say they are while and others black. n. 36.
58. Buen Corazon quebranta mala ventura.
A stout heart breaks bad luck. il. 10, 35.
Portuguese : Bom cora^ao quebranta ma ventura.
APPENDIX T. 511
59. Tan presto va el Cordero
Conio el earnero.
The 1't.mb goes (tfi soon as the sheep (I.e. to the butcher), ii. 7.
Guzinaa de Alfarache, II. i. 7.
60. Pedir Cutufas en el golfo.
To
(JO
looking
for
dainties at the bottom
of
the sea.
1 m
;
ir.
3, 20.
It has been suggested that the coiTcct form is
"
jiedir chufas," a tuber
used to Havor drinks, such as lemonade.
61. Cristiano viejo soy,
y
para ser conde esto me basta.
/ am an old Christian, and, to be count that 's qualification
enough
for
me. i. 21.
An old Christian
;
one free from any taint of Moorish or Jewish blood.
62. Quien te Cubre te discubre.
Who covers thee, discovers thee. ii. 5.
63. Mas calientan cuatro varas de pano de Cuenca que otras cuatro
de limiste de Segovia.
Four yards
of
Cuenca frieze keep one warmer than four
of
Segovia broadcloth. u. 33.
64. Cuidadus ajonos mataii al asno.
The cares
of
others kill the cess. n. 13.
65. Esas bnrlas a uii Cunado.
Trt/ those Jokes on a. brother-in-law. ii. 69.
Quiere pcregrinum.
66. Quien te Da un hueso no te quiere vermuerto.
He who gives thee a bone, does not wish to see thee dead.
II. 50.
Garay. Carta 3.
67. El que luego Da, da dos veces.
Who gives at once gives twice.
.
i. 34.
Bis dat qui cito dat.
68. Dadivas quebrantan peilas.
Gifts
break rocks. il. 35.
Garay. Carta 4.
69. A mi no se ha de echar Dado falso.
It wini't do to throw false dice with me. i. 47.
70. Donde las Dan las toman.
Where they give they take.
ii. 65.
512
DON QUIXOTE.
71. El Dai-
y
el tener.
Seso lia iiienester.
Oiving and keeping require brains.
ii.
43, 58.
72.
Asaz de Desdichada es la jDersona que a las dos de la tarde no
se ha desayunado.
A hard case enough his who has not broken his
fast
at two in
the afternoon.
ii- '^3.
73. Desnndo naci, desnudo me hallo, ni pierdo ni gano.
Naked ivas I born, naked I am, I neither lose nor gain.
I.
25
; II. 8, 53, 55, 57.
74. .Quieii Destaja no baraja.
He who binds (i e. stiptdales) does not wrangle. ii.
7,
43,
Always incorrectly
translated,
"
he who cuts does not shuffle."
" Bara-
jar'" means to shutHe cards, but in the proverb it is used in a sense
now obsolete.
75. Tras la ctuz esta el Diablo.
Behind the cross there 's the devil.
i. 6
;
ii. 33,
47.
76. Del Dicho al heeho
Hay gran tfeeho.
It
\s
a long step from
sai/ing to doing. ii. 34,
04.
77. La Dlligencia es madre de la l)uena ventura.
Diligence is the mother
(f
good fortune.
i. 40
;
ii. 43.
78. A Dineros pagados,
Brazos quebrados.
The moiiey paid, the ai'ins bi'oken. ll. 71.
No more work to be jrot out of them.
Portuguese : A ohra pag^ada, bracos quebrados.
Garay. Carta 4.
79. Va el hombre como Dios es servido.
Man goes as Ood pleases.
i. 22.
80. ("ada uno es eomo Dios le hizo,
y
ann peor muchas veces.
Each
of
us is as Ood made him, ay, and often
worse. ii. 4.
81. Dios bendijo la paz
y
maldijo las riiias.
Ood gave his blessing to peace, and his curse to quarrels.
II. 14.
82. Dios que da la llaga da la niedieina.
Ood who gives the wound gives the salve.
ii. 19.
83. Quien yerra
y
se enmienda,
A Dios se encomienda.
Who sins and mends commends himself to Ood.
ii. 28.
Qelestina, act vii.
APPENDIX /.
,
'
513
84. Mas vale d quien Uios ayuda
Que quien nuiclio madruga.
He ivhom God helps doen better than he ivho gets up early.
II. 34.
Garay. Carta i. 3.
85. A Dios rogando
Y con el mazo dando.
Frayinq to God and plying the hammer. ii. 35, 71.
Ital. :
"
Invoca i Santi e da di pio^lio all' aratro."
French :
"
Dieu donne fil a toile ourdie."
Lat. :
"
Dii facientes adjuvant."
Garay. Carta I.

Cervantes, T^a Gitanilla.

86. Dios sufre los nialos, pero no para siempre.
God bears with the ivicked, but not forever. ii. 40.
Portuguese: Dios eonsente, mas nao sempre.
87. A quien Dios quiere, su casa le sabe.
Whom God loves, his house is stveet to him. ii. 43.
Variations are :
"
lo sabe,"
"
knows it;" and
"
su caza le sale," "his
hunting prospers."
Garay. Carta 3.
88. Quando Dios anianece, para todos araanece.
When God set/ds the damn he sends it
for
all. ii. 49.
89. El liombre pone
y
Dios dispone.
Man proposes, God disposes. ii. 55.
La Gitanilla.
90. Dios lo oiga
y
pecado sea sordo.
May God hear it and sin be
deaf
.
ii. 58, 65.
91. La Doncella honesta
El hacer algo es su fiesta.
To be busy at something is a modest maid''s holiday. ii. 5.
92. Mientras se Duerme todos son iguales.
While we are asleep ive are all equal. ii. 43.
93. Al Enemigo que liuye, la puente de plata.
To a
flying
enemy, a bridge
of
silver. ii. 58.
94. De los Enemigos los menos.
Of
enemies the fewer
the tjetter
.
ii. 14.
95. Al buen Entendedor pocas palabras.
To one who has his ears open,
few
words. ii. 37.
A bon entendeur salut.
Intelligenti pauca.
Dictum sapienti.
Portuguese : A bom entendedor, poucas palavraa.
Vol. II.

33
514
DON QUIXOTE.
96. Erase que se era.
Wliat has been has been.
I. 20.
97. Mas vale buena Esperaiiza que ruin posesion.
Better a good hope than a bad holding.
ii.
7, 65.
98. No hay Estomago que sea un jialnio mayor que otro.
There \s no stomach a hand's brtadih bigger than another.
II. 33.
99. Jo ! que te Estrego,
Burra de mi suegro.
Whoa, then
.'
whj, I 'm rubbing thee down, she-ass
of
nig
father-in-law. ii. lU.
An exclamation used when people take amisd what is meant for civility.
100. Sobre un huevo pone la Gallina.
The hen will lag on one egg. ii. 7,
101. Viva la Gallina, aunque sea con su pepita.
Let the hen lice, though it be with her pip. ii. o, 65.
Portuguese :
"
Viva a gallinha, viva com sua pevide."
102. Quien ha de Uevar el Gato al agua?
Who will carry the cat to the water
'i
i. 8.
103. Buscar tres pies al Gato.
To look
for
three
feet on a cat.
i. 22
;
ii. 10.
Meaning, to look for an impossibility; of course it should be "cinco,"
"
five ;
"
and so it stands in OJaray. Carta 3, and in the Academy
Dictionary.
104. No hay para vendcrme el Gato por la liebre.
Y^oii need n't Irg to sell me the cat
for
the hare u. 26.
105. De noehe todos los Gatos son pardos.
By night all cats are gray.
ii. 33.
Guzman de Alfarache, II. ii. 5.
106. Una Golondrina no haee verano.
One swalloio does not make summer.
i. 13.
Ital. :
"
Una rondinc non fa primavcra."
The Portuguese add: "One finj^er does not make a hand;""Xem
hum dedo faz mw, nem hunia andorinlia faz verao."
107. No pidas de grado lo que puedes toraar por fuerza.
DonH ask as a
favor what you can take by
force. i. 21.
108. Como quien dice,
"
bebe con Guindas."
Just as
if
it was,
"
drink with cherries.''''
u. 35.
i.e., a very natural and proper accompaniment; an equivalent sayiag is,
"
micl sobre liojuelas,"
"'
honey on pancakes."
APPENDIX I. 515
109. La mejor salsa del raundo es la Hambre.
Hunger is the best sauce in the world. ii. 5.
110. Las grandes Hazanas para los grandes hombres estan guar-
dadas.
Great deeds are reserved
fur
great men. il. 23.
A bon chat bon rat.
Portuguese : A grande cao, grandc osso.
111. Hidalgo lionrado,
Antes roto que remendado.
2%e gentleman
of
honor ragged sooner than patched. ii. 2.
112. Cada uno es Hijo de sus obras.
Each
of
us is the son
of
his own works. i. 4, 47
;
ii. 32.
113. Al Hijo de tu vecino, limpiale las nai'iees
y
nietele en tu casa.
Wipe the nose
of
your 7ieighbor\s son, and take him into your
house. II. 5.
Donado Ilablador, Pt. I. c. 2.
114. For el Hilo
Se saca el ovillo.
By the thread the ball is brought to light. I.
4, 30
; il. 12.
i.e., tlic ball on wbich it is wound.
115. A quien cuoce
y
araasa
No le huftes Hogarza.
There 's no stealin(i a loaffrom
him that kneads and bakes.
II. 33.
This is the explanation of Garay. Carta
1, and of the Acad. Diet.; some
there are, however, who understand it in the sense of " thou must
not," i.e.,
"
not muzzle the ox that treads out the corn."
116. Pues tenemos Hogazas no busquemos tortas.
As wc have loaves, let us not go looking
for
cakes. ii. 13.
117. Debajo de ser Hombve puedo venir asev papa.
Being a man I inay come to be Pope. ll. 47.
118. For su mal nacieron alas a la Hormiga.
To her hurt the ant got wings. ii. 33, 53.
119. Hoy por ti
y
mafiana per mi.
To-day
for
thee, to-morrow
for
me. ii. 65.
120. Al freir de los Huevos (se veni).
When the eggs come to be fried (we shall see). i. 37.
516
DON
qruxoTE.
121.
lo-lesia, 6 mar, 6 casa real (qiiieii qiiiere medrar).
Tlie church, the sea, or the Royal Household {for
him ivho
would
prosper.)
1.39.
122.
Aquel que dice
Injunas cerca estA de
pei'donar.
He that rails is ready to
for
give.
il- 70.
123.
Todo Junto como al perro los palos.
All al once,
like sticks un a dog.
n. 68.
Garay. Carta 1.
124.
]\Iuchos van por Lana }' vuelven
trasquilados.
Mann a one noes for
ivool and comes hack shorn.
J
->
'
I. 7;
II. 14, 43,
67.
Poemof
Feniaii Gonzalez (13th cent.)
Cronica General, Part III.

Guzman de Alfarache, II. ii. 2.

125.
Nunca la Lanza emboto la plunia, ui la phuna la lanza.
The lance never yet blunted the pen, nor the pen the lance, i. 18.
Quoted by the Marques of Santillana in his Introduction to his Proverbs.
126. Tantas Letras tiene un no como im si.
Nay has the same number
of
letters as yea. I. 22.
127. La Letra con sangre entra.
It 'swith the blood that letters enter.
ii. 36.
Donado Ilablador, Pt. I. c. 1.
128. No hay Libro tan nialo que no tiene algo V)ueno.
There's no book so bad but has some good in ii. ii,
3,
59.
From Pliny. Lazarillo de Tormes, Preface. Guzman de Alfarache.

Viaje Entretenido of Rojas.

129. Donde no (or menos) se piensa, salta (or levauta) la Liebre.
The hare jumps up where one least expects it. n. 10,
30.
Garay. Carta i.
130. Ese te (juiere bien que te Iiace Llorar.
He loves thee icdl that makes thee iveep.
i. 20.
"
El que bien te quierc, aqnel te liabrA castigado."

Ballad of Don Manuel de Leon

;
Eosas de Timoneda.
"
But most chastises those whom most he likes."
Pomfret.
131. Bien vengas Mai, si vienes solo.
Welcome evil,
if
thou comest alone.
ii. 55.
Another rc;iilin',' lia- a ditferent punctnation and makes it mean,
"
Wel-
come, but not so if you come alone."
Garay. Carta 4.
APPENDIX I.
517
132. El Mai ajeiK) de pelo cuelga.
The ills
of
others hdiig by a hair.
Ii. 28.
Another read! II
ji;-
is dueJo pain.
PortujTiiese : Mai ulheio peza como hum cabello.
Celestina, act xii. Garay. Carta 4.
1.33. Un Mai llama ;l otm.
One ill calls up another.
i. 28.
Italian:
"
Un Malo lira I'altro."
134. Buscar a Marica por Rabena, 6 a! bachiller en Salamanca.
To look for
Mairca (Molly) i/i Ravenna, or the bachelor in
Salamanca. ll. 10.
Where every other man is a bachelor.
A neeille in a bundle of hay.
135. Buenas son Mangos despuos de pascua.
Sleeves are good after Easter.
i. 31.
A
o:ood thing is never out of season.
Compare the Scotch :
"
A Yule feast may he done at Pasch."
Celestina, act ix. Guzman de Alfarache, II. iii. 2. Garay. Carta 1.
136. MneraMarta
Y niuera harta.
Let Martha die, but let her die with a
full
lielhj
.
ii. 59.
Gara}\ Carta 4.
137. Sera mejor no Menear el arroz ainique se pegue.
Better not stir the rice, even though it sticks. ii. 37.
138. No es la Miel para la boca del asno.
Honeij is not
for
the ass's mouth. i. 52
;
ii. 28.
139. Haceos Miel
y
paparos han moseas.
Make yourself honey and the
flies vnll suck you. ii.
43, 49.
Garay. Carta I.
140. Es menester que el qne ve la Mota en el ojo ajeno, vea la viga
en el suyo.
He that sees the mote in another''s eye had need to sec the beam
in his own. ii. 43.
141. Muchos poeos liacen iin Mucho.
Many littles make a much. u. 7.
Scottice :
"
Mony smas mak a muckle."
142. Entre dos Muelas cordales
Nunca pongas tus pulgares.
Never put thy thumbs between two back teeth. ii. 43.
Italian : Tra I'incudinc e il martsllo,
Man uon mctta chi ha ccrvello.
518 DON QUIXOTE.
143. Espantose la Muerta de la degollada.
The dead woman was frightened at the one with her throat cut.
II. 43.
Better maraviUose, was astonished. Sometimes it is given La Muerte,
death
;
bat this is the older form.
Garay. Carta 1.
144. Todas las cosas tienen remedio, sino es la Muerte.
Everything can be ciired, except death. il. 10.
(A better form of the proverb is No. 146.)
145. Hasta la Muerte todo es vida.
Until death it is all
life. il. 59.
146. Para todo hay remedio, sino es para la Muerte.
There is a renicdi/for everything except death. ii. 43, 64.
Italian :
"
A tutto c'
'
rimedio fuorche alia mortc."
147. E\ Muerto a la sepultura
y
el vivo a la hogaza.
The dead to the grave and the living to the
loaf. i. 19.
148. La Miijer honrada, la pierna (juebraday eu casa.
The respectable woman {^should have) a broken leg and keep
at home.
il.
5, 34, 49.
149. El consejo de la Mujer es poco,
Y el que no Ic toma es loco.
A woman's advice is no great things, but he tvho won't take it
is afool. II. 7.
Garay. Carta 3.
150. La Mujer
y
la gallina
For andar se pierden aina.
The woman and the hen by (jadding about soon get lost.
II. 49.
Portuguese
: A moliicr e a galhinha, por andar se perde asiuha.
151. Lo que has de dar al Mur, dala al gato,
Y sacarte ha de cuidado.
What th-m hast lo give lo the mouse give to the caJ,, and it will
relieve thee
of
all trouble.
ii. 56.
152. Donde hay Musica no puede haber cosa mala.
Wiere there 's music there can't be mischief. ii. 34.
Plattdeutsch
:
"Wo man sinjjt, da lass dich rnhig nieder !
'

Sa de
DtiwcU, do sett he sich rait'ii aars ia'm immen swarm.
153. No con quien Naees,
Sino con quien paces.
Not with whom thou art bred, but with whom thou art
fed.
II.
10/ 32,
68.
APPENDIX I. 519
154. En Ins Nidos de jiiitano
No hay pajaros hog^aiio.
Tliere are no birds this year iit last yeafs nests. ii. 74.
Garay. Carta 3.
155. No hallar Nidos donde se piensa hallar pajaros.
Not to
find
nests where one thinks to
find
birds. ii. 15.
Cf. No. 225.
156. Mas vale el buen Norabre que rauchas riquezas.
A good name is belter than great riches. ii. 33.
157. Oficio (jue no da de comer a su dueno no vale dos habas.
A trade that does not feed
its master is not wortli Uro beans.
II. 47.
158. Oficios nmdan eostumbres.
Ofjice
changes mamiers. ii. 4.
159. Ojos que no ven, corazon que no quiebra.
If
eyes don't see, heart don't break. ii. 67.
Plattdeutsch : Wat de oogeii nich scht dat krankt de hart ook nich.
160. Plegue a Dios (jue Oregano sea,
Y no se nos vuelva alcaravea.
God grant it mayi^rove ivild mcirjoram, and not turn caraivay
on us.
I. 21.
Used in the case of some douhtful venture or experiment. I can find
no explanation of the origin of this proverb. Why should wild mar-
joram and caraway have been taken as types of the desirable and un-
desirable ? Possibly it may be that oregano was chosen because the
word suggested o?'o. gold, and gano

the old form of gana/tcia

gain, advantage; and atcaranea because it had a sort of resemblance

in sound to algarabia, gibberish, jabber ;

so that the whole may

mean parabolically a wish for something solid and advantageous,
instead of mere talk or rubbish. Oregano occurs iu chap, xxxvi. Pt.
II. in the sense of
"
eager for gain."
161. No es Oro todo que reluce.
All that glitters is not gold. ii. 33, 48.
162. Cada Oveja
Con su pareja.
Every ewe to her like. n.
19, 53.
Portuguese : Cada ovelha com sua parelha.
1G3. Paciencia
y
barajar.
Patience and
shujfie
{the cards).
ii. 23.
164. Al buen Pagador no le duelen jjrendas.
Pledges don't distress a good paymaster
.
II. 14, 30, 34, 59, 71.
i.e., one who is sure of his ability to pay.
520 DON QUIXOTE.
16o.
166.
167.
Pao^an a las veces justos por peeatlores.
The righteous somelimes pnij
for
the sinners. i. 7
;
ii. 57.
De Paja 6 de heno
El jergon Heno.
With stra/v or with hay the mriUress is
filled.
ii. 3, 33.
Mas vale Pajaro en niano que buitie volaiulo.
Better a
sparrow in the hand than a vulture on the wing.
I.
31;
II. 12, 31, 71.
Pf//a/'0, passer, is specifically a sparrow, hut generally any small bird.
Garay. Carta 1,
4.
168. Palo compuesto no parece palo.
A stick dressed up docs not look like a stick. 11.51.
169. Si al Palomar no le i'altacebo, no le faltaran palonias.
If
the ]n(/con-housc don't lack food,
it ivon't lack pigeons, it. 7.
Ubi incl ilii apes.
17U. (^on su Pan se lo come.
With hi^ bread let him ccd it.
"
That 's bis look-out."
II. 'Jo.
171.
172.
173.
174.
175.
176.
Buscar Pan de tiastrigo.
To look
for
better bread than ever came
of
unheal, i. 7
;
ii. 67.
Trastrlgo is an ol)scure word, but the application is unquestionably to
scekiii;^ tliinjjcs out of season or out of-rcasou.
Tan bnen Pan hacen a<iiii
conio en Ffaneia.
Theij make as good bread here as in France. ii. 33.
Los diie'os con Pan .son nienos.
With bread all woes are less. ll. 13, 55.
Another readinsj: is Itfimderos, endurable.
Donado Ilablador, Pt. I. c. 7.
EI Pan eomido
y
la conipania deshecha.
Tlie bread eaten and the comj)any dispersed. ii. 7.
Portug-uese : Pao comcsto, ccinpanliia desfeita.
En manos esta el I'andefo que le sabran bien taner.
The drum is in hands that ivill know how to beat it loell
enough. ii. 22.
Un diablo Parece a otro.
One devil is like another. i. 31.
Another form is :
"
Hay rauchos diablos que parecen unos a otros."
APPENDIX I. 521
177. A Pecado nuevo, penitencia nueva.
For a frei^h t<in a fresh 2>c nance.
I. oO.
178. Algo va tie Pedro ;l Pedro.
There \s aome difference
betiveen Peter andPeter. i. 47.
179. Quien busca Peligro, pereee en el.
He who seeks dawjer perishes in it. i. 20.
180. Pedir Peras al olmo.
To ask pears
of
the elm tree. i. 22
;
ii. 52.
Garay. Carta
3,
has a racy equivalent :
"
Pedir muelas al gallo" to
look for giinders in a cock.
181. A otro Perro con ese hueso.
Try that bone on some other d'xj I. 32.
Garay. Carta
1,
4. Guzman tie AUarache, I. ii. 5.
182. No tjuiero Perro con cencerro.
/ do not want a dog with a bell. i. 23.
i.e., with au adjunct that will he an inconvenience.
183. A Perro viejo no lui}-
"
tus, tiis."
With an old dog there's no good in
"
tus, tus.''' ii. 33, 69.
A propitiatory phrase addressed to dogs of uncertain temper and inten-
tions.
Garay. Carta 1. 4.
184. Viose el Perro
En bragas de cerro,
Y no conoeio sii companero.
27ie dog saw himself in hempen breeches and did not knoiv his
comrade. ii. o().
In Mai Lara it is
"
the clown;
""
Vi6.se cl villano, etc.
; y
fiero que
fiero," "as proud as proud could be."
Ital. : Villano nol)ilitato non conosce suo parentado.
185. Uno Piensa el ba3'o, otro quien le ensilla.
The bay is
of
one mind, he who saddles him
of
another, ii. 15.
186. De la mano a la boca
Se Pierde la sopa
Between hand and mouth the sop gets lost. i. 22.
The proverl) does not appear in this shape, but it was probably the one
of which Cervantes was thinking when he wrote
"
hielan las niigajas
entre la boca
y
la niano."
187. Nadie tienda niAs la Pierna de cuanto fiiere larga la sAbana.
Let no one stretch hi^ leg beyond the length
of
the sheet, ii. 53.
Portuguese : Cada hum csteuda a pcrua ate oude tern a cuberta.
522
DON QUIXOTE.
188. Lo que hoy se Pierde se
o;ane manaiui.
Whnl \s lost today nuvj be won to-morrow. l. 7.
189. No ocupa mas Pies di tierra el cuerpo del Papa que el del
sat-ristan.
The pope's body does n't take up more
feet
of
earth than the
sacristan's.
ii. 33.
190. Lo que cuesta Poco se estima en menos.
What costs liltlc is valued less. I. 34,
-43.
191. Bien Predica quien bien vive.
He preaches well who Uccs well. il. 20.
192. Al dejar este mundo
y
meternos la tieira adentro, por tan
estrecha seiulcra va el Principe conio el jornalero.
When we quit this world and go underground, the prince
travels by as narrow a path as the Journeyman. ii. 33.
193. A cada Puerco viene su san Martin.
His Martinmas comes to every pig. li. 62.
St. Martin's Day Itciny: the usual tinic in Spain for killinjr pi<?s.
PortuLTucse : Cada porco tcni sou S. Martinlio. (iaray. Carta 1.
194. Doudo una Puerta se cierra otra se abre.
Whe?i one door shuts, another opens. i. 21.
Garay. Carta 1. Lazarillo de tormes.
195. Poner Pnertas al canipo.
To put gates to the open jiluin. i. 25
;
ll. 55.
Sometimes it runs:
"
querer at!ir las lengruas es querer," etc., " Trying
to stop people's tongues is trying to," etc.
196. Cada puta hile.
Let everyJade mind her spinning. I. 46.
197. ]Mas vale buena Queja que mala paga.
Better a good grievance them a bad compensation. u. 7.
Garay. Carta 1.
198. Pasar la Raya
y
Uejjar ii lo vedado.
To cross the line ami trespass on the forbidden. I. 20.
199. Alia daras Kayo
En casa de Tamayo.
Fall, thunderbolt, yonder on Tamayo's house. ii. 10.
(So long as you don't fall on mine.)
200. A buen salvo estd el (jue Repica.
The bellringcr's in a safe birth. n. 31, 36, 43.
Out of the danger, whatever it be, of which he is giving warning.
Celestina, act xi. Garay. Carta 3.
APPENDIX I. 623
201. Debajo de mi manto al Rey mato.
Under my cloak I kill the king. i. Preface.
The older aiKlmore correct form is
"
al rey maudo,"
"
give commands
to the king'," i.e., recognize no superior.
Porluyuesc : Em sua casa, cada qual he llei.
202. Mas vale migaja del Rey, que merced del Sefior.
Better the tifig's cruinl) Ihun tlie lord's favor. i. 39.
The Marquis of Santillana and the Comcndador Nunez give it : Mas vale
meajas del Rev que zatico de caliallero.
Portuguese : Melhor lie migaliia de iiei, que merce de Seuhor.
203. Ni quito Rey, ni pongo
Rey.
I ncilhcr jiut doiru king nor set up king. ii. GO.
The words of Henry of Trastamara's page when he helped his master
to get the better of Pedro the Cruel; from the ballad on the death of
King Pedro.
204. Alia van leyes
Do quieren Reyes.
Laws go as kings like. i. 45; ii.
5,
37.
To decide the dispute in 1085 as to which of the two lituals, the Moz-
arabic or the French, should be adopted, it was agreed to put a copy
of each in the fire, and choose the one that escaped. The A[ozaral)ic
remained unburned, but Alfonso VI., being in favor of the otlicr,
threw it back into the flames. Hence, it is said, the proverb. The
P(uluguese have it also, as well as two others to the same effect,
"
La
vao Icis, onde querem cruzados" (i.e., money), and, "La vao Icis
onde vos qucreis."
205. Las necedades del Rico por sentencias pasan en el mundo.
Tlie silhj saijings
of
the rieh pass
for
saii>s in the /ooi'ld. n. 43.
206. Bien se est:l San Pedro a Roma.
(S7. Peter is very ivell at Home. ii. 41, 53, 59.
Portuguese : Bcm csta S. Pedro em Roma.
207. A. Roma por todo.
To Rome
for
everything. ir. 52.
208. Cuando a Roma fueres
Haz como vieres.
When than art at Rome do as thou shall see. ii. 54.
209. La Rueda de la Fortmia anda mas lista que una rueda de
molina.
The wheel
of
Fortune goes faster thaii a mill-wheel. i. 47.
210. Ruin sea quien por ruin se tiene.
Mean be he who thinks himself mean. I. 21.
Garay. Carta 1.
524
DON QUIXOTE.
211.
Qiiieii las sabe las tane.
Let him ivho knoias how ring the bells. ii. 59.
212. Mas vale Salto de niata que rue^o de hombres buenos.
Better a clear escape than good men's x)ra}jers. i.
21 ; ii. 67.
"
Mata" is tlie old form of
"
matanza," slauijfhter, punishment. The
proverl) is ahnost turned into nonsense, such as
"
an assassin's leap,"
a leap from a bush, etc. Gaiay. Carta I.
213. La Sangre se liereda
y
la virtud se aquista.
Blood is an inheritance, virtue an
acquisition. ll. 42.
214. Al buen callar llaman Sancho.
Sage
silence is called Sanchn. ii. 4;5.
Corrupted
probably from
"
Santo
;
"
another form was
"
sage," prudent,
(laray. Carta 1.
215. Dijo la Sarten a la caldera,
"
Quilate alia, culnegra."'
Said thefriiing-j)an to the kettle,
"
Oct away, black-breech.''
II. 67.
In the tc\t it is "ojinegra,"
"
hiack-eye." In the
"
Dialogo de las
lenguas" it runs,
"
tira alhi cidnejcra
;"
and in the Marquis of Santil-
lana's provoi'hs it is the
"
tirte all:!." Anotlier form is,
"
diJo la
oorncja al Cuervo, (jnitate alhl, ne^ro :
"
said tiic crow to the raven,
"<rel away, Ijlackamoor."
216. El Sastre del Canipillo,
Que cosia de balde
y
ponia el hilo.
The tailor
of
El Campillo who stitched
for
nothing and found
thread.
I. 48.
Tliere are two or three versions; El sastre del cantillo, and El sastre
(or alfayate) do la cncrucijada (tiie tailor of the cross-roads)
;
but it
is evidently a piaec-proverh. Campillo, or El Campiiln, is the name
of at least a score of places in Spain. "El Sastre del Campillo
"
is
the title of plays by Belniontc and Candamo, and of a tale by Santos.
217. A buen Servieio nial galardon.
For good service a bad return. ii. 66.
218. AiTojar {or echai-) la Soga tras el ealdero.
To throw the rope after
the bucket. ii. 9.
Lazarillo de Tormes.

Garay. Carta 1.
French : Jeter lu manche apr^s la cournee,
"
to throw the helve after the
hatchet."
219. No se ha de mentar la Soga en casa del ahorcado.
The rope must not be mentioned in the house
of
a man that
has been hanged. I. 25 ; ll. 28.
220. Ann hay Sol en las bardas.
There is still sunshine on the wall. ll. 3.
The day is not yet over.
APPENDIX 1. 525
221. Tanto vales, cuanto tienes.
As much as thou hast, so much art thou worth. ii. 20, 43.
222. En la Tardanza suele estar el peligro.
In delay there is apt to be danger. i. 29, 46
;
ii. 41, 71.
223. Doslinujes solo hay en el muncio, el "Tener"y el
"
no tener."
There arc onlij tivo families in the world, the Have''s and the
Have n'fs. ll. 20.
224. Cual el Tiempo, tal el tiento.
As the occasion, so the behavior. ir. 50,
5.5.
225. Ko son todos los Tienipos unos.
All times are not alike. ii. 35.
226. Muchos piensan que hay Tocinos donde no hay estacas.
Many a one fancies there are ftitches lohcre there are no pegrs.
I.
25 ; II. 10, 55, 65, 73.
i.e., not even anything to hang them on.
227. Mas vale tin
"
Tonia
"
que dos
"
te dare."
One
*
take'" is better than two
"
I'll (jive thcc's.''' ii.
7, 35, 71.
Garay. Carta 1.
228. Ciertos son los Toros.
There 's no doubt about the bulls. i. 35.
It's all right; we may make our minds easy. A popular phrase on the
eve of a bull-fight.
229. Tortas
y
pan pintado.
Cakes andfancy
bread. ll. 2, 17, 63, 68.
230. Aunqu(^ la Trak-ion aplace, el traidor se ahorreee.
Thouijh the treachery may pkase, the trnitor is detested, i. 39.
The version of the Comendador Nunez is :
"
Traicion aplace^ mas no cl
qne la hace."
The Portuguese is better : Paga-se o Rey da trai9^o, mas do traidor nao.
231. Quien a mi nie Trasquilo, las tijefas le quedaron en la mano.
He who clipped me has kept the scissors. ii. 37.
232. Tripas llevan pies, que no pies a tripas.
It \s the tripes that carry the
feet,
not the
feet
the tripes, ii. 34, 47.
Another form is :
"
Tripas llevan corazon."
233. No se toman Truchas
A bragas enjutas.
There's no taking trout with dry breeches. ii. 71.
La Gitanilla.

Ital. ; Non si pu'j avere de' pesci senza immolarsi.

526
]^0N
QUIXOTE.
234.
Coma por los ceiTos de Ubeda.
Like
"
oyer ^Ae M^s
of
Ubeda:'
n. 33, 43,
67.
Used in reference to an^-thiup: wide of the mark
;
that has nolhinor to do
with the subject in liaiid. See Note
1,
page 234, chap, xxxiii. vol. li.
235.
En cada tierra su Uso.
Every country
has a way
of
Us own.
ii. 9.
236.
Cuando te
dievon la
Vaquilla,
Corre con la soj^uilla.
When they
offer
thee a heifer,
run with a halter.
II. 4, 41, 60, 62.
Garay. Carta 1.
237. Cada uno es artifice de su Ventura.
Each is the maker
of
his oivnfortune.
ii. 66.
"
Sed res docnit id veriim esse quod in carmiiiibus Appius ait, Fabrum
esse su:e
qiiemque Fortunfe." SalUist,
Oratio I.
238. Lo que Veo con los ojos, con el dedo lo senalo.
What I can see with my eyes Ipoint out ivilh my
finger,
ii. 62.
Better, "con el dedo lo adevino." Garay. Carta 1.
239. La que es doseosa do Ver, tambien tiene deseo de ser vista.
She ivho is eager to see is eager also to l>c seen. ii. 49.
240. La Verdad adelgaza
y
no quiebra.
The truth may rimfine
but irill not break.
li. 17.
Ital. : La verita pu j languire nia non pcrire.
241. La Verdad siompre anda sombre la mentira como el aceite
sobre el agua.
Truth alivai/s rises above falsehood,
as oil rises above water.
II. 17,
60.
The Comendador Nunez has it:
"
La verdad corao el olio siempre anda
en somo."
Portuguese : A verdade e o azeitc andao de ciraa.
242. Mas vale Verguenza en cara, que
manciila en corazon.
Better a blush on the cheek than a
sore in the heart. ii. 44.
243. El que larga Vida vive, mucho mal ha de pasar.
He who lives a long life
has to go through much evil. ii. 32.
214. Regostose la Vieja A los bledos, ni dejo verdes ni secos.
'Tlie old woman took kindly to the blits, and did not leave
either green or dry.
U- 69.
Bledo, amaranthus blitum. Fr. hlette. Germ, hlutkraut; used in some
parts as a substitute for spinach.
" L'appetit vient en mangeant."
Portuguese : Avezou-se a velha aos bredo3, lambe-lhe os dedos.
APPENDIX L 627
245. A mal Viento \{i esta paiva.
This corn is being wiimowed in a bad wind. ii. 68.
246. Hacer bien A Villanos es echar agua en la mar.
To do good to clowns is to throw water into the sea. i. 28.
247. De mis Viiias vengo, no se nada.
I comefrom
my vineyard, I know nothing. i. 2.j.
It 's no use asking me about it.
248. Cada iino mire por el Virote.
Let each loot out
for
the arrow. il. 14,
49.
CovaiTubias explains it as a phrase taken from rabbit-sbooting' with tiie
cross-bow

meaninjr, let each look for bis own arrow, i.e. mind bis
own business; according to him, virote is a bolt used for shooting
small game, not an arrow used in warfare.
249. Bueno es Vivir para ver.
It 's well to live that one may learn. ii. 32.
250. Yivir mas anos que sarna.
To live longer than itch. i. 12.
Properly it is
"
scr mas viejo que sarna," to be older than itch.
251. No se gan6 Zamora
En una hora.
Zamora ivas not won in an lioiir. ii. 71.
Portnuiiese : Em buma bora na' se ganhou Caraora,
"
Rome was not
built in a da}'." Plattdcutscb : De boom I'allt nicb van een slag. An
allusion to the long siege of Zamora in 1072, at which Sancho 11.
lost his life.
252. Cada uno sabe donde le aprieta el Zapato.
Each knows where the shoe pinches him. i. 32;
ii. 33.
528 DON QUIXOTE.
II.
THE SPANISH ROMANCES OF CHIVALRY.
The Chivalry Romances of Western Europe fall naturally into three
groups, the British, the French, and the Spanish; the first that which
has the legend of Arthur and the Round Tahle for its nucleus; the
second, that which formed round the legend of Charlemagne and the
Twelve Peers ; and the third composed of the Amadis and Palmerin
series and a vast number of isolated romances, some independent, hut
most of them obviously insjjired by the Amadis.
Cervantes, with that sound critical instinct whicli he always shows in
such matters, treats the Arthurian legend as the fountain-head of chivalry
romance (chap. xiii. Part I.), and his frequent references to it prove the
attraction it had for him ; but what IMr. J. A. Symonds observes of Italy
is true also of Spain in general, as regards the Arthurian story. It was
obviously ajjpreciated by a few, but it does not seem to have taken root,
or naturalized itself with the nation at large in the same way as the
Carlovingian. The ballads alone sufficiently prove this. There are only
three or four, and those short ones, in any way related to the Arthurian
legend, while those connected with the Charlemagne story are at least
ten times as many in number, and in length, some of them, more properly
chansons de geste tlian ])allads.
The Arthurian romances tliat were current in Spanish are :
El Baladro del Sahio Merlin. Hurgos, 1498.
A translation from the Italian of Messer Zarzi, 1379. One of the last chapters
describes how Merlin at hie death uttered a loud cry,
"
balr.dro," that was heard three
leagues off; hence the title of the book. Don Pascual de (iayaugos says there is no
other edition, and he knows of no other copy but the one that was in the" possession of
the Marquis de Pidal.
Merlin
y
la Demanda del Sanclo Grial. Seville, 1.500.
Lihro del esforzado carallero Don Tristan de Leonis. Valladolid, ITjOI.
This edition is cited by Ebert : there are others of Seville, 1528, l.i33, and 1534.
Ta Demanda del Sancto Grial, con las maravillosos fechos de Lanzarote
del Lago
y
de Galaz su hijo. Toledo, 1515; Seville, 1535.
At the end it has,
"
Aqui se acaba el segundo
y
postrero libro de la Demanda del
Sancto Grial con el baladro del famosisimo profeta
y
nigromante Merlin, con sits
profecias."
La Crotiica de los nobles caralleros, Tablante de Ricamonte
y
Jofre hijo
de Don Azon. Toledo, 1515 and 1520.
This is the book referred to in chap. xvi. Part I. Cleinencin calls it a French story,
and wrongly attributes it to Philip Camus. Gayangos thinks it may possibly be of
Provencal origin, but the earliest known form of it is the Spanish edition of Toledo, 1515.
To these may be added the Portuguese romance :
Triunfos de Sagramor
;
feiios dos Cavalleiros da Segunda Tavola Re-
donda. Coimbra, 1554.
APPENDIX TT. 529
To the genesis of the Arthuriiin romance we have no ck'w wliatever.
We cannot tell whether the liound Tahle story grew out of the Grail
myth, or vice versa., or whether in Arthur and Merlin we have mere
creatures of bardic imagination, or reminiscences of a chieftain and
a
counsellor who made their mark in the struggle in which the Britons
were driven westward by the Saxons. But in the Carlovingian legend
we have the whole process before our eyes. We have the minute his-
torical germ in the two sentenc-es of Eginliard which record the destruc-
tion of the rear-guard of CharU>magne's army by the Gascons
at
lioncesvalles, and the death of Eggihard, Anselm, and Hruodland, the
warden of the marches of Brittany; and if we have not the original lays
in which in process of time the minstrels expanded the event, we have
undouT)tedly an early redaction of them in the Oxford MS. of the Chanson
de Roland. We have the treachery of Ganelon put forward to furnish ji
satisfactory explanation of the disaster. Then we have the story passing
out of its nonage of verse and oral transmission, and with yet further
amplifications assuming the character of history and dignity of prose in
the so-called chronicle of Turpin, and serving as a mine of material to
romance writers like Adenez and Hiion de Villeneuve ; and so by suc-
cessive stages we trace it to the literary period when it falls into the
hands of Pulci, Boiardo, and Ariosto.
In some respects tlie most remarkable develo])ment of the Charle-
magne legend was on the south side of the Pyrenees. For two very
different reasons it had a strong attraction for the Spanisli people. In
the first place Charlemagne and his paladins h:id an interest for tliem as
the enemies of their own enemies, the Saracens. It Avas impossible for
tliem not to sympathize in some degree witli his triumphs over their
Moslem conquerors. On the other hand his ])assage of tlie Pyrenees was
resented as an invasion of Spai.isli soil ; and tiie rofia dolorosa of Kon-
cesvalles, from a massacre l)y wild mountaineers intent on plunder, as it
was in reality, or the revenge of vindictive Saracens, as the Chanson de
Roland represents it, became in time a retributive defeat inflicted by
Spanisli patriots led by Bernardo del Carpio, the circumstances being so
manipulated as to harmonize with the traditional life of tlie hero. The
ballads of the Carlovingian cycle were, it is almost needless to say, a
purely national growth, in no way inspired by the lays of the French
minstrels, and as such they have assigned them a large space in Wolf and
Hoffmann's admirable selection, Avhich so jealously excludes all with a
taint of foreign or artificial origin. They form, in fact, an independent
Spanish Carlovingian series. In some few instances the personages of
French romance appear in them ; Renaud de Montauban, for example,
figures in four or five under the name of Reinaldos de Montalvan ; the
subject of the most beautiful of tliem all is the dream of Dofia Alda,
Roland's betrothed, of whom we have a glimpse in the Chanson de
Roland, the Marquis of Mantua, so often mentioned in Don Quixote, is
in fact the famous Ogier, or llolger, le Danois, and the subject of the
ballad, the death of his nephew Baldwin at the hands of the Emperor's
son, Carloto, most likely a Spanish version of the French story that tells
how a son of Ogier's was killed by the same Carloto or Chariot. But on
the whole the characters and incidents of the ballads are entirely their
own, and no counterparts are to be found beyond the Pyrenees for Mon-
tesinos, Gaiferos, Gnarinos, Durandarte, Conde Claros, Calainos, or tlie
"Vol, II.

31
530
DON QUIXOTE.
tales of which they are the lieroes. Tlie Carlovingian romances of chiv-
alry were, on the contrary, all importations. Without an exception tliey
were
translations or adaptations of works by foreigners, if we may judge
by those known to liihliography, which are the following
:
llystoria del
Emperador Carlo magna
y
de los doce Pares de Francia.
Cromberger,
Seville, ir)21.
This edition, which is in the lluth Library, is apparently unknown to all the bibli-
ographers. The eiuliest that (hiyani;08 has in his list is that of Seville, 1;)28. The
bools is a
translatifiii l)y Nicolas de IMaiuonte (whose name, however, does not appear
in the earlier editions), jiartly from the Latin Chronicle attributed to Turpin, partly
from P'rench works founded on it. It was reprinted seven or eight times in the
sixteentli, and repeatedly in the next two centuries. Indeed it has never ceased to be
popular, for to this day it circulates in an abridged form as a chap-book, an instance of
vitality rare in chivalry romance literature.
Reinaldos de Moiifnlran. Lihro del nnhle
y
esforzado cahallero
.
First and Second Parts, Toledo, l.")2:>.
Other editions, Salamanca, L'")26, Seville, 15.35. Xine in all appeared before the close
of the century. Third I'art, Seville, 15:53; Fourth Part, Seville, 1542. A translation by
I,uis Iloniiniqnez of the Italian Innamoramento di Carlo Magna.
Giiarino Mesgiiiiio. Coronica del nohle cavallero
. Seville, l.")27.
Mr. Qiiaritcii of Piccadilly had lately a copy of this edition, which was previously
unknown to biblioi.MMpher.-. There is a vague indication of one of 151-2 in the
"
Biblioteca Columliina" at Seville, but the earlie>t known to Gayangos was that of
Seville, 1548. The roinaucc is usually included in the < Miarlemague series, though the
connection is but slitrht. It is of Italian origin, and is generally attributed to a thir-
teenth-century author, Messer .Andrea of Florence. The Spanish translator, according
to I'ellicar, was Alonso lleriuuide/. Aleman.
Espejo de cavallerius. en el qval se irnta de loa hechos del coiide Don
Koldan
y
Don lieynaldos. Seville, l.")83.
This edition is cited by I.englet dii Fresnoy; Brunet mentions one of 1545, and in
the (jreiiville Library there is one of 1551. This, the reader will remember, is the book
the curate, in chapter vi., consented to spare for Boiardo's sake. It is in part a prose
version of Hoi:irdo's Orlando, and was the work of I'edro de Reinosa. The second
part appears to have been by I'edro Lopez de Sta. Catalina 'I'here has been a good
deal of confusion about this book. Several authorities, I'ellieer and n,,nloi) among
others, have confounded it with the Exiii-jo Oe p>
iiK-i/ies
y
cnrnllerri^, which is the first
title of the ('ari(llcro del Fcho^ a romance of a totally different character, and it has
been also confounded by X'icente Salva .and by Clemencin with tteinaUloH de Montal-
ran. Second and third parts appeared at Seville in 1536, and Toledo in 1547, and alt
throe were printed together at Medina del Carapo in 1.536.
Moryante. Lihro del esforzado giyante
. First Part, \'alencia,
lo83; Second Part, Valencia, 1.535.
These are two Valencia editions of 1533 of the first part. One is in the Grenville
Library. A translation from the Morgante Maggiore of I'ulci. The second part Is by
the Valencian poet Oeronimo de Auner.
The Amadis of (iaul stands by right at the iiead of the third, the
Spanisli group of romances of chivalry. It is true that
"
Tirant lo
Blanch,"
"
Oliveros de Castilla,"
"
Merlin," the
"
Demanda del Orial,"
"
Tristan de Leonis," and perhaps one or two more, preceded it in print
;
but there can be no doubt that long before these books made their
appearance it was a popular romance widely read tliroughout tlie Penin-
sula; and it was moreover, as tlie curate says, tlie true founder of
Spanish chivalry romance. Until comparatively lately it was regarded as
APPENDIX II.
531
unquestionable tliat the Aiuudis Mas a romance of Portuguese origin,
although its oldest existing form was Spanish. The belief rested upon a
positive statement by Gomez de Azurara, a Portuguese chronicler who
wrote in the second half of the fifteenth century, that it was made by
one man, Vasco de Lobeira by name, in the time of King Ferdinand
(1367-83), and that everything in it was his invention. A sonnet in
praise of Lobeira by Antonio Perreira, who died in 1569, supports the
assertion, but this can scarcely be accepted a"s independent testimony.
There is, however, no reason to doubt that Vasco de Lobeira produced
an Amadis of some sort, and that a nianuscri])t of it was in existence as
late as 1750; the real question is. What was the nature of this Amadis;
was it original, translated, or remodelled? This question is exhaustively
treated by Don Pascual de Gayangos in tlie masterly discvrso on
romances of chivalry prefixed to his edition of the Amadis and Esplan-
dian (Biblioteca de Autores Es])anoles, vol. xl.), an essay which is now
universally recognized as tlie first autliority on the subject, and to whicli
I am largely indebted for the bibliographical details in this appendix, not
by any means my only obligation to the same pen. We know but little
about Vasco de Lobeira, in fact nothing more than that he was knighted
by King John 1. of Portugal, just before the l)attle of Aljubarrota, and
that he died in 1403. Kniglitliood conferred under such circumstances
proves, in Don Pascual's ojunion (and of course there is no higher
authority on such a i)oint), that lie must have been then underage; at
any rate it is clear that he was a young man in 1385, the year in whicli
the battle was fought. Now there is indisputable evidence that at least
thirty or forty years lief ore this date there was extant, and widely known
and read in Spain, an Amadis of which he could not possibly have been
the author. The Castilian Chancellor, Pedro Lopez de Ayala, who by a
curious coincidence was also present at the same battle of Aljubarrota,
in the 162d quatrain of his
"
Rimado de Palacio," which was written
between 1367 and 1370, laments the time he had wasted over idle books
like Amadis and Lancelot. This of course refers to the days of his
youth, or, as he was born in 1332, to, as nearly as possible, the middle of
the century. Another still more significant allusion is by a contemporary
of the Chancellor, the old poet Pero Ferrus, who in some verses in the
Cancionero of Baena speaks distinctly of an Amadis whose achieve-
ments were to be found recorded in three })ooks
; and two other writers
of the same period in the same volume also refer to the story of an
Amadis. In estimating the value of this evidence it should be borne in
mind that in the fourteenth century, when one manuscript had to serve
for many readers, and re^jroduction was so slow and costly, a book
required far more time to become Avidely known than it di<l two centuries
later ; and therefore when we find so many independent references to the
existence of an Amadis in the middle of the century, it is no unreason-
able assumption that it must have been produced at least as early as the
year 1300. In the Amadis as we have it there are two or three state-
ments bearing on the question. In the preface it is said tliat Garci
Ordoiiez de Montalvo, wishing to leave behind him
''
some sort of memo-
rial of himself," corrected these three books of Amadis, which, by the
errors of bad scribes and composers, were read in a very vitiated and
corrupt form. By scribes,
"
escritores," mere transcribers are, of course,
meant, but by composers,
"
componedores," the writer evidently means
532
DON QUIXOTE.
something more than this, and gives ns to understand that there Avas a
variety of editions and texts of the Amadis. It is plain that Montalvo
was aciiuainted
with Loheira's version ; for in tlie first hook, speaking of
Briolania's unrequited love for Amadis, he says that the Infante Don
Alfonso of Portugal (m-Iio was not born till 1370),
"taking compassion
on the fair damsel, ordered it to be set down in a different manner. In
this he followed wliat was his own good pleasure, but not what was
actually written of tlieir loves." From this it seems clear, first, that in
Montaivo's opinion what Lobcdra altered at the instance of the Infante
was not his own work, but an already existing Amadis, which he was
translating or putting into modern shape ; and secondly, that he himself
dil not follow Loheira's version, but some older and more trustworthy
text. On the whole, therefore, the nu)st reasonalde conclusion appears
to be that it was an error, on the juirt of Gomez de Azurara, to (U'scribe
Lobeira as the author and inventor of the Amadis, and that he and
Montalvo merely produced new editions of a romance that had been in
circulation in the Peninsula since, at any rate, tlie beginning of the four-
teenth century. In Sir Walter Scott's day the
"
Kimado de Palacio
"
and
the Cancionero of IJaena, which go so far to suijjtort this view, were
still in manuscript, but his instinct and his long ]ractice in weigliing evi-
dence on questions of this kind led liim to arrive at a similar conclusion,
in opposition to Southey, who, starting from the same premises, decided
in favor of tlie authorslnj) of Lol)eira.
But tlie (luestion remains, Does it follow that, because the Amadis was
extant in Spain in the thirteenth or fourteenth century, it was therefore
an indigenous Spanish romanci"? ]\lost of those wiio have read it must
have been struck by its resemblance in many respects, in its characters,
incidents, and construction, to the romances of the Arthurian cycle.
This of itself would prove nothing, for imitation of the Arthurian story
was common in the earlier romances. Even tlie ('harleniagne legend is
formed to a great extent on the Arthurian. What, for instance, is the
institution of the Twelve Peers, but an imitation of the Round Table?
Indeed, in the Spanish ballads, which are many of them nearly as old as
the Chanson de liohmd, the Peers are made to sit at a table, and in one
of the Marquis of Mantua series it is even a round table

"mesa
redonda." But there is something more than imitation in the Amadis.
The scene is laid on Arthurian ground; (Jaula, Perion's kingdom, is
Wales; Bristoya, Bristol, is the i)ort
by which it communicates with the
kingdom of Lisuarte, who hohls bis court at Vindilisora, Windsor;
G.irinter, the grandfather of Amadis, is King of Brittany; the Pefia
Polire is off the lireton coast, and the Insula Finiie is a part of Brittany
or Ts^ormandy ; Amadis is repeatedly emiiloyed in chastising the kings and
princes of Ireland ; he woos the peerless Oriana in London ; aiTcl Cori-
sanda, the mistress of Florestan, is lady of the island of Gravesend.
Why should a Spanish romance writer of the thirteenth or fourteenth
century have gone for the scene of his story to regions so remote from
the ken of his readers? Then there is a certain Arthurian, if not Celtic,
flavor in the names, such as, for instance, Galaor, Galvanes, Gaidar,
Galtares, Gandales, Gandalod, Garinter, Garin (reminding one of Gawain,
Galahad, Gareth), Brananda, Brandalia, Brandalisa, Brandonia. Branfil,
Brian, and many more, the Spanish parentage of which is, at least,
extremely doubtful. But the most susjncious feature of all is the
APPENDIX If.
533
character of Urganda la Desconocida. The absence of tlie supernatural
is a remarkable characteristic in Spanish works of imagination. The
only form, indeed, in which it can be said to be admitted is that of
miracles and apparitions of Saints, for the magic and enchantments of
the later romances of chivalry cannot be called an exception ; and so
foreign to the genius of Spanish literature are supernatural beings like
those that abound in almost all others, that Wolf and Hoffmann, in the
Primavera
y
Flor cle Romances^ treat them as proof positive of a French
or Breton origin. But Urganda, except that she is more amiable, is a being
of exactly the same nature as Vivien and Morgan la Fay ;. indeed the name
is possibly only another form of Morgan or Morgand. She is, in fact, a
genuine Celtic creation
;
that is to say, the original Urganda of the first
three books ; for it is very significant that when Montalvo took her in
hand in Esplandian, he so little (tomprehended the original conception,
that he transformed her into a commonplace enchantress.
If the Amadis be indeed an indigenous Spanish -omance, it must have
been written under the influence, awl to a great extent in imitation, of
the Arthurian romances. There are, however, it must be allowed,
grounds for a suspicion that it may be after all a Spanish rifaciinento of
a romance by one of tlie many Anglo-Xorman romancers, like Kobert and
Elie de Borron, Rusticien de Pise, or Lucas de Gast, who, in the twelfth
and thirteenth centuries, busied themselves in grafting new fictions on
the Arthurian stem; and if in chronology it does not agree M-ith the
Arthur legend, tlie same may be said of Gyron le Courtois and Perce-
forest. But whoever or whatever, Spaniard or Xornian, its original
author may have l)een, all critics have agreed that the Amadis deserves
to the full the character Master Nicholas the barber gave it of being
"the best of all the books of this kind that have been written." As a
romance, pure and simple, it may be inferior to Tristram, for example,
but as a romance of chivalry it has no rival. It breathes the spirit and
bears the impress of the age in which it was composed, wjien chivalry
was a reality ; while its successors and imitators are merely actors acting
a part, and driven to make up for a lack of true feeliug by rant, bom-
bast, and exaggeration. Hence the tenderness of Cervantes, Avhose only
grudge against it was on the score of tlie miscliievous consequences of its
popularity. This is its great merit, but not its only one, for it is no less
distinguished above its fellows by its invention and imagination, the
powers of descrijjtion it display s, and, above all, the strong human
interest that pervades it. It is, no doubt, oppressively long, and in parts
tedious and even ponderous : but in this respect it is only of a piece with
portentous meats and dislies described in the records of old banquets,
of Avhich the sturdier digestions of our ancestors made light, though mc
can scarcely read of them now without a shudder.
Of Garci Ordoiiez de Montalvo, to whom Me owe the book in its pres-
ent form, we know nothing save tliat he was regidor of Medina del
Campo, and completed it ai)parently between 1492 and 150-t, as he refers
to the conquest of Granada, and speaks as though Queen Isabella were
living. It is not easy to say how much credit is his due, but it is a sus-
picious circumstance that the fourth book, which, from the words he uses
with regard to it, seems to be his own, is distinctly inferior to the first
three; and the Esplandian, about the. authorship of which there can be
no question, shows a still greater falling off. He may, however, be fairly
534
DON QUIXOTE.
credited
with the laniruage. in virtue of wliich the Amadis takes its place
among tlie recognized
masterpieces of old Spanish prose. But the most
notable fact
in'^connection with the Amadis is the influence it exercised
on the literature of Spain, and nothing can illustrate this better than the
following list of the Amadises,
Palmerins, and kindred fictions, forming
the Spanish group of chivalry romances :
Amadis de Ganla. Los qnatro libros del muy esfor^ndo cavallero
niievamente
emendados e hystoriados. S.L., but known to have been
printed at Rome, 1510.
There are other editions of Baragossa, 1521; Toledo, 1524; Seville, 1526 and 1531;
Venice, 1533; and in all about twenty belonging to the sixteenth centiuy are known.
That of 1519 cannot poHsibly be the first. On this point the existence of a sixth book
of the Amadis dated 1510, the
"
Florisando," described by Gallardo, is pretty conclu-
sive; but even if it were not, besides the great improbability of such a book being
printed for the first time at Koine, it is extremely improbable that it should have lain
unprinted for at least fifteen years, during which books to all appearances inspired by
it, like Palmerin de Oliva and Primaleon, were coming out one after the other. IIow-
ever, no earlier edition is known to exist; Lenglet du Fresnoy, Barbosa Machado, and
Quadrio speak of one of 1510, and in Ferdinand Columbus' catalogue to the Biblioteca
Oolombina at Seville there is a reference to one printed by Crombergcr at Seville in
1511. At the instance of Francis I., who beguiled his captivity with it in 1520, it was
translated into French in 1540 by Nicholas de llerberay, Sieur des Fssarts, and ag:iin, in
the middle of the last century, "in the very unfaithful and impure version of tlic ('..nile
de Tressan. There are two Knglish translations, that by Thomas I'aynel,
15r,', which is
in the Iluth Library, and Anthony Munday's, 1505-1(519, which, like all his translations,
is from the French. It is to be noted that in the successors of Amadis of Gaul the
scene of the adventures is transferred to the Turkish dominions.
Esplandian. Las Sergas del minj virtuoso carallero , hijo de
Amadis de Gaula. Toledo, 1521.
Fifth book of the Amadis series. Other editions, Salamanca, 1525; Burgos,
1.52fi;
and there are extant eight in all up to 15SS. In the catalogue of Ferdinand Columbus a
Seville edition of 1510 is mentioned, the existence of which would of course imply an
Amadis of the same or an earlier date. Some of thera are entitled,
"
Ramo que de los
quatro libros de Amadis de (iaula sale llanado Las Sergas, etc."
There is an English translation by Thomas Kirkman.
Florisando. El sexto lihro de Amadis, el
r/iial trata de los grandes
y
haznnosos feclios del raliente
y
esfor<;ado , hijo del rey Don Flo-
restan. Sahnnanca, 1510.
Sixth book. Don F'lorestau was the brother of Amadis. The above edition is
mentioned by Antonio, and Gallardo gives a minute description of a copy in the library
of Bon .Jose de Salamanca. This, of course, almost amounts to proof positive of an
edition of Amadis de Gaula prior to 1510. F'rom the dedication it would appear that
the author's name was Taez de Rivera.
Lisuarte. El sejitimo libra de Amadis. en el qunl se trata de los grandes
fechos en armas de de Grecia
y
de Ferion de Gaula. Seville,
1525.
Seventh book. Lisuarte was the son and Perion the brother of Esplandian. The
author is not mentioned, but appears to have been that prolific master of rodomontade,
Feliciano de Silva. Like all his books it was popular; there are at least ten editions of
the sixteenth century.
Lisuarte. El octavo lihro de Amadis, que trata de las extranas aven-
turas
y
grandes proezas de su nieto de Grecia,
y
de la mxei-te
del inclito Amadis. Seville, 152(>.
Eighth book. By one Juan Diaz, apparently taking advantage of the popularity of
Silva's Lisuarte.
APPENDIX II. 535
Amadis de Grecia. Cronica del muy raJienie
y
esfor<^ado pri7icipe
y
cavallero de la ardiente Espada , Jdjo de Lisiiat-te. Burgos,
1535.
Ninth book. This was meant by Feliciano de Silva, its author, to be the eighth book
of the Amadis, but he was forestalled by Juan Diaz. The hero was the son of Lisuarte.
There must, of course, have been an earlier edition than that of l.'j.3.5; the Biblioteca
Colombiua catalogue mentions one of 1530. There are six or seven sixteenth-century
editions.
Florisel de Niquea. La cronica de los miiy valientes
y
esfor^ados e in-
vencibles cavalleros ,
y
el fuerte Anaxartes. Valencia, 1532.
Tenth booli, comprising the first and second parts of Florisel de Niquea; also the
work of Feliciano de Silva. 'i'he heroes were sons of Amadis of Greece. Six or seven
editions appeared within the century.
Rogel de Grecia. Parte tercera de la chronica del muy excelente principe
Don Florisel de Niquea., en la qiial se trata de las grandes hazanas
de

y
el segundo Agesilao. Seville, 1536. Quarta -parte de la
chronica., etc. (in two parts). Salamanca, 1551.
These third and fourth parts of Florisel de Mquea, likewise by Feliciano de Sllva,
make
ui)
the Eleventh Book. The heroes are Agesilao, son of Falanges, a friend of
Florisel's, and Rogel of Greece, son of Florisel himself. There were half a dozen edi-
tions before the close of the centurj'.
All these Araadises of Feliciano de Silva seem to have been special objects of detesta-
tion to Cervantes. The reader will remember the curate's outburst when Amadis of
Greece Is mentioned. Queen Pintiquiniestra appears in Lisuarte, and the shepherd
Darinel in Amadis of Greece and Florisel de Niquea.
Silves de la Selva. Comienza la dozena parte del invencible cavallero
Amadis de Gaiila., que trata de los grandes hechos en armas del esfor-
i^.ado cavallero Don
.
Seville, 1540.
Twelfth Book ; by Pedro de Luxan, the author of Leandro el Bel, which Is sometimes
counted as the Thirteenth Book, but Is in reality the continuation of Lepolemo. Silves
de la Selva was the natural son of Amadis of Greece.
Besides the above there are several doubtful members of the family,
such as
"
Bsferamundi de Grecia," and
"
PenalTa;
"
the French, not con-
tent with translating the whole, have added as many more, and the Italians
nearly as many. But the foregoing constitute the genuine Spanisli
Amailis series, a series of books which, complete, wotild be a glory to
any library in the world; which, in first editions, would now probably
fetch a sum almost large enough to endow a college ; and which, if we
except the founder of the sect, as Cervantes called it, is perhaps, rarity
apart, as wortidess a set of books as could be made up out of the refuse
novels of a circulating library. In these respects, however, it has a rival
in the Palmerin series, of which the following are the members :
Palmerin de Oliva. El libro del famoso
y
muy esforgado cavallero
.
Salamanca, 1511.
The hero when an infant was found among palms and olives on a mountain side,
hence his title. According to tradition, the author was a lady of Augustobriga, but
why tradition should be preferred to the statement in Primaleon that both works are by
Francisco Vazquez of Ciudad P.odrigo, I know not. In popularity it rivalled any of the
Amadis series, the Amadis Itself excepted. Of the 1511 edition, the only copy known is
in the Imperial Library at Vienna. An English translation in two parts, by Anthony
Munday, appeared in 15SS-G7.
536
DON
QUIXOTE.
Primaleon. Libro
segundo del
emperador
Fahnerin, en que se recuenfan
los grandes
y
hazanosos fechos
de
y
Polendos, sns hijos. Sala-
mancii, 1512.
According to Salva
v
Mallen,a copy of this edition was sold in 1865. The earliest
previously
mentioned was one of 1516, referred to in the (^olomliina Library catalogue
and by Nicolas Antonio. There is
unquestionably a Salamanca edition of lo24.
Polindo.
Historia del
invencible
, hijo del rey Paciano, rey de
Numidia.
Toledo, 1526.
Its claim to be admitted into the series is very slight, as Polindo was, in fact, only the
stepson of Polendos, the brother of Primaleon, but Gayangos apparently thinks the
author meant it to be a continuation, and therefore includes it in his list.
Platir. Cronica del muy valiente
y
esforQcido
cahallero , hijo del
emperador
Primaleon.
Valladoliil, 1533.
Author
unknown. This bv
right ought to be the third of the Palraerins, Platir being
the son of Primaleon.
Only*one copy seems to be known, that in the library of Don
Jose de Salamanca, formerly in the
Alessandrina, Rome.
FloHir.
Spanish romancers to pretend that they translated from Arabic, Latin, or English, so
very likely the Italians may have sometimes feigned an obligation to the Spanish, which
was in the sixteenth century the great mine of chivalry romance.
Pahnerin. de Inglaterra. Libro del muy esforQado cavallero , hijo
del rey Don Duardos. Toledo, 154:7.
The hero was son of Duardos (Edward), a prince of England, and Florida, the
daughter of Pahnerin de Oliva. This, next to the Amadis, is the most famous of the
romances, owing to the praise bestowed upon it by Cervantes, praise which is somewhat
wanting in perspective. It is, no doubt, better than the others of its kijid, more rational
and more interesting, mainly because the author, when he took the Amadis as his
model, had a clearer perception of its excellences th;ui his brethren; but being better
than its contemporaries does not necessarily imply being
"
very good," as Cervantes
called it. It was for a long time believed to be of I'ortuguese origin, as Cervantes
described it, though a French translation of 155.",, and an Italian of 1555, both claiming
to be from the C'.s<(7Ja?i,
were the oldest forms in which it was known; and Francisco
Moraes, who, in 1567,
produced a Portuguese version confessedly from the French, was
confidently declared to be the author. Bouthey in this, as in the Amadis case, took up
the Portuguese claim warmly, pointing out that no Spanish original was forthcoming,
and arguing that V'DstiUan was used to include all the languages of the Peninsula, that
Moraes, in pretending to translate from the French, was only following in the footsteps
of the older chivalry romance writers, and that the French and Italian versions might
have been made from his manuscript. This is rather the argument of an advocate than
of a critic; the question, however, has been since set at rest by the production of the
desired Spanish original, printed in two volumes folio at Toledo in 1547 and 1548, which
gives in an acrostic the name of the author, Luis Hurtado, a well-known man of letters
of the day. To Vincente Salva belongs the honor of having established his country's
title to the book, but neither he nor Don Puscual de Gayagnos seems to have been aware
that his copy was not unique. There is another in the Gren\'111e Library in the British
Museum, with, moreover, a MS. note, of what date it does not appear, pointing out that
the existence of such an edition disposes of Southey's theory as to the authorship of
Moraes. There is an English translation by Anthony Munday (1616) with the charac-
teristic title, 7'/ie no less fare then excellent and stately history
of
the famous and
fortunate Prince J\ilmerin
of
England, and Prince Florian du Desart his brother,
wherein gentlemen mayfind
choise
of
sweet inventions, and gentlewomen be satisfied
in courtly expectations.
The independent romances extended over a longer period than the
Amadises and Palraerins, and continned to appear at intervals, until the
publication of
"
Don Quixote," as will be seen by the following list.
APPENDIX II.
637
Tirant lo lilinnh. Libre a[)pvll(it , dirigido por mossen Tonnot
Martorell^ caviller^ ol Serenissim princep Don Fernando de I'ortiigaL
Valencia, lAiM.
The volume iu Don (^uixotu's libruiy, praised, sti iounly or ironically, by Cervantes,
was the Uastilian version, a poor abridgment, aceording to Gayangos, of the above,
printed at Valladolid in loU. Of the original Valencian it is commonly said lliat only
three copies, one of which is iu tlie British Museum, are in existence, but (rallardo in the
Ensayo speaks of a fourth in the library of Don Jose de Salamanca, which is probably
the copy mentioned in the supplement to Brunet's Manual as having been once in the
Royal Library at Lisbon; of a second edition, printed at Barcelona in 1497, only one
copy, that mentioned by Gallardo, seems to be known. It is described at the end as
having been
"
traduit de Angles en lengua Portuguesa e apres en volgar lengua Valen-
ciana por lo magnifich e virtues caviller mossen ]oanot Martorell," who wrote three
parts, to which a fourth was added by the magnitich caviller mossen Johan de Galba, at
the request of Dona Isabel de Loris. The suggestion of an English original is of
course only the romance writers' usual pretence, and iu all probability the story of the
Portuguese version is uothiug more. The book appears to have been written about
1460, and its author to have beeu familiar with the ^Vrthur legend and the Amadis.
Opinions differ as to the general merits of Tiraiit lo Blanch, but it has at least the
merit, a rare one in chivalry romance, of treating its readers as rational beiugs; and for
English readers the early part has an interest as dealing with adventures on English
ground, and witlt the venerable story of Guy of Warwick.
Oliveros de Casiilla. Ilistoria de las nobles cavalleros
y
Artiis de
Algarve. Burgos, 1499.
Said in some editions to be the work of Pedro de la Floresta, or, according to another
account, to have been translated from the Latin iuto French and thence into Spanish by
Philip Caraus. It is more probable that it was originally written in Spanish, and like
several other Spanish romances, translated into French by Camus. There were other
editions at Valladolid l"i01, Valencia l.iO.'i, Seville 1507 and 1510. It is one of the two or
three books of the kind that have survived the onslaught of Cenantes, and have been
reprinted occasionally up to the present day.
Cifar. Cronica del miiy esforr.ado caballero , niievamerte impressa.
Seville, 1512.
The only copy known is in the Bibliotheque Nationale, Paris,
Floriseo. Libra de , que por otro nombre es llamado el caballero del
Desierio. Valencia, 1.516.
By Fernando Bernal. The Colombina Library catalogue at Seville, and Nicolas
Antonio (who gives 1517 as the date), seem to be the only authorities for the e.xistence
of this romance. It is probably identical with Poli^vian Florisio, Valencia 1527, by
the same author and with very nearly the same title.
Arderique. Libro del esfor(^ado caballero
.
Salamanca, 1517.
Clarian de Landanis. Libro j^riiaero del esforQado caballero
.
Toledo, 1518.
A second part appeared under the title of Floramantc de Colonla, and a fourth under
that of liidamau do Ganail.
Claribalte. Libro del viuij esforqado caballero
.
Valencia, 151'J.
By Gonzalo Fernandez de Oviedo.
Clarimundo. Primera parte da Cronica do Emperador , donde os
Reyes de Portugal descendeni . ("oimbra, 1520.
This, though Portuguese, is entitled by the popularity it enjoyed throughout the
I'eninsula to a place among the Spanish romances. The author was the Livy of Port-
ugal, as he is sometimes called, Joao de Barros, who wrote the history of the Portu-
guese in the East,
538 DON QUIXOTE.
Lepolemo. Cronica de , llamado el cabaUcro de la
^,
hijo del
emperador de Alemntiia, compiiesta en Arahigo
y
trasladada en Caste-
llano por Alonso de Salazar. Valencia, 1521.
Gayangos gives 1543 as the date of the earliest edition of which he had any cei-tiiin
knowledge, and speaks of the book as hy an unknown author. Ticknor gives the same
date and says the author was Pedro de Luxan, an assumption founded on the fact that
Luxan in 1563 wrote a second part called Lmndro el Bel. The above edition is
described in the catalogue of the Colonibina Library at Seville, and Mr. Quaritch of
Piccadilly liad, not long since, a copy of it, with, however, the title-page
unfortunately
in MS. only. According to it there can be no doubt that the author was Alonso de
Salazar. It seems jirohable that there was another edition of Valencia,
1525; and one
of 1534, the existence of which Gayangos doubted, was in the Heber library.
I have
followed his description of the book in Kote
3,
page 3
t,
chap. vi. vol. i. The reader
will remember that under its second title of Knight of the Cross it was condemned by
the curate, not altogether deservedly, Gayangos and Ticknor seem to think.
Reymmido de Grecia. Historia del esfor<^ado
y
muy valeroso .
Sala-
manca, 1524.
By Fernando Bernal ; a continuation of Florisco.
Lidaman d,e Ganail. Quaria parte de Clarianfllamada cronica de
.
Toledo, 1.528.
A continuation of Clarian de Landanis.
Florindo. Libra del liable
y
nmy esforqado caballero .
Zaragoza,
1.530.
Attributed by Gayangos to Fernando Basurto, an Aragonese.
Felixmagno. Los quatro libros del valerosisimo caballero .
Barce-
lona, 1531.
Florambel de Ijiicea. Ilistoria del valienie cavallero .
Valladoliil.
1532.
The only complete copy, containing all Ave parts, known to exist, seems to be that
which was in the Salva collection. Gayangos only knew of two parts, the fourth and
fifth, of this
"
rarisimo Jibro," as he calls it, which are in the Imperial Library at
Vienna, and two of another edition of 1.548, in Sir 'J'homas Phillijjs's library.
Lidainor de Escocia. Ilistoria del valeroso cavallero .
Salamanca,
1534.
By .Juan de Cordova.
Lncidante de Tracia. Cronica del valeroso caballero
Don
.
Sala-
manca, 1534.
Mentioned in the catalogue of the Colombina Library at Seville, but no copy is known
to exist.
Philesbinn de Candaria. Libro primero del noble
y
esforcado cavallero
.
? 1542.
The only copy known, an imperfect one, was in Sir Thomas I'hillips's library.
Florando de Liglaterra. Cronica del valiente
y
esforqoxlo principe
.
Lisboa, 1543.
Cirongilio de Tracia. Los quatro libros del valeroso
caballero
.
Seville, 1545.
Pt
By Bernardo de Vargas; one of the books produced by the landlord in chap, xxxii.
APPENDIX n. 539
Cristalian de Espana. TTystoria de los invitos
y
magnanimos caballeros
yrincipe del Trtqnsoiida,
y
del infante Lvzescanio sii, hermano.
Viilliuiolid, 1545.
Belianis de Grecia. Historia del raleroso
y
invencible principe, Don
.
B\ir,t^o.s, 1547.
By Jeroiiimo Fernandez, a Madrid advocate. Thei'e is an Engliwh translatiou of
which an edition in chap-boolv form was current in the last century.
Floramante de Colonia. Segunda parte del esfor(^ad.o cahallero Clurian
su- hijo
. Seville, 1550.
A continuation of Ciarian de Landanis.
Felixmarte de Hircania. Primera paHe de la grande historia del muy
magnaniyno
y
esforQado principe
.
Valladolid, 155(i.
By Melchor Ortega. This romance is chiefly remarkable for having been believed by
the landlord in chap xxxiil., and read through by Dr. Johnson, a feat probably not
achieved since the end of the sixteenth century.
Cahallero del Febo. Espejo de principes
y
caballeros en el qual se cnentan
los immortales hec'hos del
y
de su hermano Rosicler. Zaragoza,
1562.
This, the first part, was by Diego Ortuuez de Calahorra; a second part by Fedro de
la Sierra appeared in loSU at Alcala, and a third and fourth by Marcos Martinez at the
same place in 1589. Clemencin calls it one of the most tedious and tiresome books of its
kind, a description in which Don Pascual de Gayangos concurs. Feliciano de Silva
seems to have been the model chosen by the authors, and the popularity they achieved
was at least equal to his. It is often confounded with the Espejo de cavallerias, which
belongs to the Charlemagne series.
Leandro el Bel. Libro segundo del esfor(^ado caballero de la Cruz, Le-
polemo. Toledo, 156.S.
By Pedro de Luxan, written as a second part to Lepolemo above mentioned.
Olivante de Laura. Historia del invencible caballero Don , Priyicipe
de Maced.onin. Barcelona, 1564.
By Antonio de Torquemada; one of the books most emphatically condemned by the
curate.
Febo el Troyano. Primera parte del dechado
y
remaie de grandes haza-
nos donde se cuentan los hechos del caballero del
.
Barcelona,
1576.
By Stevan Corbera of Barcelona.
'
Folicisne de Boecia. Historia famosa del principe Don
.
Valladolid,
1602.
By Juan de Silva.
"
Policisne de Boecia" was the last, or perhaps it would be more
correct to .say the last but one, of the Romances of Cliivalry ;
for it was
the romance of Cervantes that tliree years later closed the list. No one
was found hardy enough after that to face the ridicule that inevitably
awaited the romance writer who ventured to take the field against Don
Quixote and Sancho Panza ; and not only were no more chivalry romances
written, but the booksellers ceased almost immediately to reprint the old
favorites, the exception that proves the rule being the
"
Caballero del
540
DON QUIXOTE.
Febo," of which the first part was reprinted in 1617, and the third and
fourth in 1623. Books like the
"
History of Charlemagne and the Twelve
Peers," or
"
Oliveros de Castilla," do not count, for had all romances of
chivalry been like them,
"
l^on Quixote" would never have been written.
Cervantes, in fact, had done, single-handed, what for half a century the
Church with all its power had been striving in vain to do. Well might he
say he was proud of being the first who had ever fully enjoyed the fruit
of his writings
;
never before or since did a book with a purpose so com-
pletely attain its object. Tiie character of the nuisance he abated must
be to a considerable extent taken on trust and at second hand by the
reader, but the foregoing list will enable him in some measure to judge
of its magnitude. It will be seen that tlie production of romances of
chivalry was most active in the middle of the century, but there was no
real falling off, for if the new romances were fewer in number, reprints
of the old ones continued to issue from the press up to the very last.
There is no reason to suppose that the passion for chivalry romances was
languishing, or would have died a natural death without any impulse from
the pen of Cervantes. The interesting diary of a Portuguese gentleman
at Valladolid in the s])ring of 1605, lately discovered by Uon Pascual de
Gayangos, affords ample proof that this literature never had a stronger
hold upon men's minds than at the very moment when the ridicule of
Cervantes was about to burst upon it. Long as the list may seem, it is,
doubtless, a very incomplete one. When we see how many romances
there are tlie existence of winch is only known to us by accident, of which
only a copy, or one or two copies, have by some cliance been preserved,
we may fairly conclude tliat bihliograjihers have by no means accounted
for the whole of the romances of cluvalry. The life of books was a pre-
carious one in Spain ; there were few libraries to offer them an asylum,
and they had, most of them, enemies more destructive than any of those
enumerated by Mr. Blades. The scene described by Cervantes in Chap-
ter vi. of the First Part is no imaginary one, mo may rely on it. Autos
de fe of that sort were most likely every-day occurrences, from the Bi-
dassoa to the Straits of Gibraltar. A pious widow, for example, finding
herself mistress of the books to wliich in her husband's lifetime she
bore no great good-will, would not prove very obstinate when the village
curate pressed it upon her as a good work anl a service to the Church to
put these agents of the fiesh and the devil out of the way of doing more
mischief. This is, doul)tless, the exi)lanation of that extraordinary pre-
dominance of devotional literature in the stock of every Spanish dealer
in old books
;
a phenomenon Avhich must have struck everybody who has
ever tried book-hunting in Madrid, Seville, or Saragossa. There are
long rows of old theology and sermons, and lives and miracles of Saints,
1)ut of the contemporary novels and romances, the story, jest and l)allad
books, there is not so much as a tattered copy to show that sucli things
ever were. It is impossible but that the ranks of the chivalry romances
must have been thinned by the operation of this cause, and that many a
one must have gone the way of tlie book that Cervantes tells us in his
day recorded the deeds of Count Tomilias.
The list miglit easily have been made longer by tiie addition of romances
hardly less notable tlian those mentioned ; such, for instance, as that of
"The Fair Magalona and Pierre of Provence." several times referred to
by Cervantes,
"
Abindarraez and Xarifa," also quoted by Mm,
"
Leriano
APPENDIX II.
641
and Laureola," better kno^vn as the
"
Carccl dc Amor," one of the earliest
to appear in print,
"
Flores and Biancatior,"
"
Fartinoples," the Spanish
version of tlie old French story of Parthenopex of Blois,
"
Parismus,"
"
Melusina,"
"
Tungano,"
"
Clamades,"
"
Aurelio and Isabella," and a score
of others. But tliese, though of the same family, are not strictly ro-
mances of chivalry. In them, tlie chivalry element is an accident rather
than a characteristic; they tlo not belong to the class, nor are they speci-
mens of the literature that supplied Cervantes with the motive for the
burlesque of "Don Quixote," and they would, consequently, be out of
place here.
542
DON
QUIXOTE.
III.
BIBLIOGRAPHY
OF "DON
QUIXOTE."
A
COMPLETE
bibliography of
"
Don
Quixote," giving a full account of
every edition,
trani?lation, and edition of oat-h translation, and of every
essay,
criticism,
tractate or treatise dealing
with the work, would require
a
good-sized
vohunc to itself. The following does not pretend to be any-
thing more than such a
list as will put tlie history of the book beforethe
reader, and enable him to judge of the relative importance of the various
editions and
translations. In the frontispiece to his facsimile repro-
duction of the editio princeps, Colonel Lopez Fabra gives a list of four-
teen languages
into which the novel has been
translated. I have been
unable to discover any others, but the fourteen he enumerates are ac-
counted for in the following list. 1 should have found it a
difhcult matter,
if not
impossible, to co]ni)lete it by details of the Polisli, Bohemian,
Servian and Hungarian
versions, but for the kindness of Mr. W. K. Mor-
fill, Mr. A. L. Hardv. Mr. A. J.
Patterson, and Messrs. Triibner & Co.,
and the ungrudging "help they afforded me. For the list of the editions
of the curious old Dutch translation of
Lambert van den Bosch, now
very rare, I am indebted to the kindness of Mr. J. L. Beyers of Utrecht.
EDITIONS OF THE ORIGINAL.
FIRST I'AKT.
1. El Ingenioso
\
Hidalgo Don Qui
\
xote de la Mancha,
\
Compiiestopor
Miguel de Cernanies
\
Saavedra Dirigido al Duque de Beiar,
\
Marques de Gihraleon^ Gonde de BenalcaQar^
y
Bena
|
res^ Viz-
cotide de la Puebla de Alcozer, ScTior de
\
las villas de Capilla,
Curiel,
y
\
Burguillos.
|
Ano 1(505
I
con privilegio,
|
en Madrid, por .Tuan de la Cuesta
|
Vendese en casa de Francisco de Rohles, lil)rero del Rev, nro
Seiior.

(In the centre is the device which is produced in facsintiile in the second volume of
this liansialiou.)
, . , , . mu
The volume is .i stout 4to of 604
pp.,
of which 632 are taken up with the text. 1
he
l.'aves only are uumbered as is usual in Spanish books of the period. The
" Privilegio
"
i^ dated September 26, 1604, the list of errata, December 1, 1604, and the
"
Tasa," De-
cember 20, 1604.
id iv. and x.^vii. I't. II.
It i8 8tran?e that (the fact of there being two Madrid editions of 1605 onco ascertained)
lere should have beeu any uuceituiuty as to which of the two was the first, for the
APPENDIX IIL 543
adiHtional words on the title page and the new privilegio with the date of February
9,
IbOo. tell their own tale snfliciently plainly, and show that the raison d'etre of the volume
so distinguished was the necessity for eeciiring- the copyright in Aragou and Portugal,
about which the proprietor h;id not troubled himself before. Nevertheless the second
has been repeatedly mistaken for the tirst. Bowie, for instance, describes It as the first,
so does Navarrete in his bibliography, Ticknor makes the same mistake, and even
Gallardo seems uucertair on the point. The description in the catalogue of the Gren-
ville Library, 1S42, is correct. Ilartzenbusch was the first to notice the curious differ-
enceB In the text.
3. El Ingenioso^ etc. Em Lisboa. Impresso com lisen^a do Santo
Officio por Jorge Koclrigucz. Aitno de 1605. -ito. double columns,
4(10
pp.
"
Aprobaciou
"
and license dated Lisbon, February 26 and March 1, 1605.
4. El Ingenioso, etc. Con licencia de la S. Inqiiisicion, en Lisboa, im-
presso por Pedro Crasbeeck, aiio mdcv. 8vo. 916
pp.
Licensed,
March 27 and
2'..
These two Lisbon editions were, of course, unauthorized, and printed from La Cuesta's
first edition. His second no doubt preceded them, but by very little, and Robles proba-
bly failed to secure much of his royalties in Portugal. They are very rare, but except
as reproductions of the first edition have no other value.
').
El Ligenioso, etc. Impresso con licencia en Valencia, en casa de
Pedro Patricio Mey, 1605. Small Svo. 16 prel. leaves, 768
pp.
of
text.
The
"
nprobacion
"
of Luis Pellicer is dated July 18, 1605. The book is printed from
the text of La Cuesta's second edition, but has a few corrections, some of which were
adopted in the 1008 edition of Madrid. The Mey press at Valencia was one of the best,
if not the best, in iSpain at the time, and this edition is a good specimen of its work. It
is a charming little book to look at, and a much more careful piece of i)rinting than its
predecessors. It was the text from which the Brussels and Antwerp editions were
printed, though they, in course of time, incorporated the corrections inserted in La
C!uesta's third edition of 1608.
Salva
y
Mallcn asserts that there were two Valencia editions from the iNfey press in
1605. But the differences on which he relies are only mispriuts and pagination errors
that in some instances have been corrected as the sheets were passing through the press,
a very common source of variation in old books, as most bookworms know. Probably
uo two copies, for Instance, of the first edition of
"
Paradise Lost," or of the 1625 edi-
tion of Bacon's
"
Essays
"
are exactly alike. All seventeenth-century editions of
"
Don
Quixote
"
are more or less rare, but I am inclined to think the rarest of all are the two
Valencia editions of 1605 and 1616.
6. El Tngenioso^ etc. En Bruselas per Roger Velpius. Aiio 1607.
Svo. 620
pp.
Contains a few corrections, and an attempt to reduce the confusion about the loss of
Dapple.
7. M Ingenioso^ etc. En Madrid, por Juan de la Cuesta. Aiio 1608.
4to. 578
pp.
Commonly called the third edition, and the most prized of all on the supposition that
Cervantes supplied or authorized the corrections of the text it contains, for which there
is no ground whatever save that he was probably in Madrid when it appeared. But it is
plain that he was not even aware of any such corrections having been made. ISTo partic-
ular sanctity, therefore, attaches to them, and they must stand or fall on their own
merits like those by any other printer. Some deserve the name, but some of the altera-
tions are by no means improvements, as for example the lines wantonly inserted in
chap. 1. The 1608 edition has no right to the position that has been claimed for it.
544
DON QUIXOTE.
8. El Ingenioso, etc. En Milan, por heredero de Pedromartir Locarni
y
Juan Bautista Bidello. Aiio IGIO. Con licencia de superiores
y
privilegio. 8vo. 736
pp.
There was a considerable Spanish population in North Italy in the reign of Philip III.
;
hence this edition. It is not, however, of any independent value as regards correctness
of text.
9. El Ingenioso, etc. En Brucelas por Roger Velpius
y
Huberto
Antonio. Impressores de sus Altezas. Ano 1611. 8vo. 604
pp.
A new edition of No. 6, with some of the corrections of the 1608 edition and a few
original ones.
10. El Ingenioso, etc. a\ Barcelona, en casa de Bautista Sorita, KJIT.
8vo. 768
pp.
An edition of the Second Part was published at Barcelona the same year, which has
led some bibliographers to amalgamate the two and speak of them as the first complete
edition. But they were independent volumes by different publishers.
11. Frimera pai-te delingenioso^ etc. Por Huberto Antonio. Brucelas,
1617. Small 8vo.
This edition is apparently very rare. Salva
y
Mallen, the only bibliographer who men-
tions it, only knew of its existence by a title page placed in front of an imperfect copy
of the 1G07 Brussels edition; but Mr. Quaritch of Piccadilly had a perfect copy a few
years asjo. As Antonio, who succeeded Velpius, published an edition of the Second
Part in"l(jl6, he would very naturally bring out a new one of the tirst to match it the
next year.
SECOND PART.
1. Segunda EnHe
\
del Ingenioso
\
Cavallero Don
\
Quijote de la
I
Mancha
\
Por Miguel de Cervantes Saavedra, autor de su
primera jjarte.
|
Dirigida & D. Pedro Fernandez de Castro Conde
de Le
\
mos, etc.
Alio 1615. Con Privilegio
|
en Madrid, por Juan de la Cuesta.
4to. 584
pp.
The title-page bears the same device as the First. It will be seen that Cervantes has
substituted
"
cavallero
"
for
"
hidalgo
"
in the title, a change which some critics endeavor
to account for by referrlns; to the remarks about hidalgos and caballeros in chapter ii.
Olemencin, however, thinks it was a mere oversight, and it is more probable that he is
right. The volume seems to have been nearly a year going through the press. The in-
teresting "aprobacion" by the licentiate Marquez Torres is dated February 27, 16:5,
that by Valdevielso, March 17, the Privilegio, March 30, the Dedication to the Conde de
Lemos on the last day of October, and the Hnal aprobacion on November 5, so that prob-
ably the book was not published till the very end of the year or the beginning of 1616.
It was not, however, for that reason the better cared for either by author or printer; and
Cervantes had something else to think of at the time; he was busy getting his
"
Come-
dies
"
printed.
2. Segunda Parte., etc. En Valencia, en casa de Pedro Patricio Mey.
Aiio 1616. 8vo.
"Aprobacion" dated January 27, 1616, license to print, May 27. Salva
y
Mallen
thinks the Brussels edition was rtrst in the field.
3. Segunda Parte, etc. En Bruselas, por Huberto Antonio, irapresor
jurado. Aiio 1616. 8vo.
Privilegio dated February 4.
APPENDIX III.
545
4. Segunda Parte, etc. En Lisboa, por Jorge Rodriguez. Ano 1G17.
4to.
Aprobacion, etc. September 12, 22, and
2'),
1616, and tasa, January
17, 1617.
5. Segunda Parte, etc. En Barcelona en casa de Sebastian Mathevad.
Alio IT) 17. 8vo.
Aprobacion dated January 27, 1617.
COMPLETE WORK.
1. Primera
y
segunda parte del Ingenioso hidalgo, etc. Imprenta do
Francisco Martinez. Madrid, KiST. 2 vols. 4to.
The license to print was granted in October 1634, and the second vohime is d:ited 1036.
This, the first edition of the booli as a whole, is a poor production, and the same may
be said of all the Madrid editions up to that of 1771. Tbcy are, for the most pirt, badly
printed in double columns and on vile paper, and are, it is needless to say, of no authority
whatever. Compared with them, the Brussels aud Antwerp editions are Aldines and
Elzevirs.
2. IVimera
y
segunda parte, etc. En la Imprenta Real. Madrid, 1647.
2 vols. 4to.
A reprint of the above.
3. Primera
y
segunda (sic) del, etc. Melclior Sanchez. Madrid, 1(3.55.
4to.
4. Parte primera
y
segunda del, etc. En la Imprenta Real, por Mateo
Fernandez. Madrid, l('.r)2. 1 vol. 4to.
Errata and tasa, d.ated 1662, but license, 1653.
5. Vida
y
hechos del Ingenioso cavallero, etc. J. Mommarte. Brussels,
1662. 2 vols. 8vo.
Privilegio granted September
4,
1660.
The l)lundering alteration of the title into Vida
y
hechoH del was adopted by almost
all subsequent publishers, until the Spanish Royal Academy produced its edition iu 1780.
This edition is further distinguished as being the first to appear with plates. They are
chiefly remarkable for being as un-Spanish as possible iu every particular, but their
grotesque absurdity will always make them precious to every lover of old books. They
were reproduced in all the Flemish editions, and in many of the French transl.ations.
6. Parte primera
y
segunda del, etc. En la Imprenta Real. Madrid,
16G8. 1 vol. 4to.
The Second Part bears date 1662, probably a misprint.
7. Vdda y
hechos del ingenioso cavallero, etc. Pedro de la Calle.
Bruselas, 1671. 2 vols. 8vo.
A reprint by agreement of Momraarte's of 1662, with the same plates.
8. Vida
y
hechos del, etc. En casa de Geronimo
y
Juan Bautista Ver-
dussen.
Amberes, 1673. 2 vols. 8vo.
Another re-Issue of Moramarte's Brussels edition with the same plates.
9. Vida
y
hechos del, etc. Por Andres Garciti de la Iglesia. Madrid,
1674. 2 vols. 4to.
With plates copied from Mommarte's 1662 edition.
Vol. II.

35
546 DON QUIXOTE.
10. Vida
y
hechos del, etc. Por Henrico
y
Cornelio Verdussen.
Am-
beres, WM. 2 vols. 8vo.
A new edition of the former of 1673, with the same plates. The Valencia editions
excepted, these Antwerp editions of the Verdussens are, perhaps, on the whole, the
neatest and the best printed of the early editions of Do7i. Quixote; and, without being
free from misprints, are fairly accurate.
11. Vida
y
hechos del, etc. London, 1701. 2 vols. 4to. Plates.
This, and another London edition of the same form, dated 1706, are mentioned by
N.avarrete, but are very doubtful.
12. Vida
y
hechos del, etc. Martin Gelabert. Barcelona, 1704. 2 vols.
4to.
i:'.. Vida
y
hechos del, etc. Antonio Gonzalez de Reyes. Madrid, 1706.
2 vols. 4to. Plates.
A reprint of the Madrid edition of 1674.
14. Vida
y
hechos del, etc. A costa de Francisco Lasso. Madrid, 1714.
2 vols. 4to. Plates.
A repetition of the preceding.
l.">. Vida
y
hechos del ingenioso hidalgo, etc. Henrico
y
Cornelio Ver-
dussen. Amberes, 1719. 2 vols. 8vo. Plates.
Privilege granted by Charles VI. the Pretender to the Spanish crown.
10. Vida
y
heclios del, etc. A costa de la Hermandad de S. Geronimo.
Madrid, 1728. 2 vols. 4to. Plates.
A repetition of the preceding.
17. Vida
y
hechos del, etc. Viuda de Bias de Villanueva. Madrid, 1730.
2 vols. 4to. Plates.
Same plates. Prefixed is a claptrap dedication from Cid Hamet Benengeli to Don
Quixote which is reproduced in most of the Madrid trade editions.
18. Vida
y
hechos del, etc. Antonio Sanz. Madrid, 1735. 2 vols. 4to.
Besides repeating the above dedication, this gives additional verses by the academi-
cians of Argam.a8illa, while it omits the verses of Cervantes at the beginning.
li>. Vida
y
hechos del, etc. .1. and P. Bonnardel.
Lyons, 1736. 2 vols.
8vo. Plates.
Follows the Antwerp editions, the plates of which are copied.
20. Vida
y
hechos del ingenioso hidalgo, etc. ,J. and R. Tonson. Lon-
don, 1738. 4 vols, large 4to. Plates.
The edition commonly called Lord Carteret's, and the first that aimed at treating
"
Don Quixote
"
as a classic and not as a mere popular book of drolleries. Prefixed is
the life by Mayans
y
Siscar, the first attempt at a life of Cervantes; and it contains also
thr first attempt at a critical text, in which some judicious emendations are made. The
printing is admirable, and the plates excellent as engravings, though as illustrations they
are not very much more meritorious than those of the Brussels and Antwerp editions.
21. Vida
y
hechos del ingenioso cavallero. eic.
J. de San Martin. Ma-
drid. 1741. 2 vols. 4to. Plates.
Follows the Madrid editions of 1730 and 1735.
APPENDIX III. 547
22. Vida
y
hechos del ingenioso 'hidalqo^ etc. P. Gossc and A. Moetjens.
The Hague, 1744. 4 vols. 12mo. Plates.
The plates are after Coypel's designs. This beautiful little edition was the first fruit
of Toiison's London edition, the text of which it follows. It also gives the life by-
Mayans
y
Siscar.
23. Vida
y
hechos del^ etc. Jiiiin de San Martin. Madrid, 1750. 2 vols.
4to.
This is also based on the London edition, and contains the life.
24. Vida
y
hechos del ingenioso cavallero^ etc. A costa de Pedro Alonso
de Padilla. Madrid, 1750. 2 vols. 4to.
25. Vida
y
hechos del., etc. A costa de Pedro Alonso de Padilla. Madrid,
1751. 2 vols. 4to. Plates.
This too contains the life.
2(j. Vida
y
hechos del., etc. Juan Jolis. Barcelona, 1755. 4 vols. Svo.
27. Vida
y
hechos del ingenioso hidalgo^ etc. Arkstee and Merkus.
Amsterdam and Leipzig, 1755. 4 vols. 12mo. Plates.
A reprint of the Hague edition, and scarcely less beautiful.
28. Vida
y
hechos del, etc. Tarragona,
175/".
4 vols. Svo.
Mentioned by Navarrete, on the faith of a London catalogue.
29. Vida
y
hechos del ingenioso cavallero., etc. Andres Ramires. Ma-
drid, 1764. 2 vols. 4to. Plates.
Seems to be a repetition of the editions of 1750 and 1751.
30. Vida
y
hechos del., etc. Manuel Martin. Madrid, 1765. 4 vols.
small 8vo.
With barbarous woodcuts like those upon halfpenny ballads. There was another
edition the same year by Manuel Martin.
31. Vida
y
hechos del, etc. Joaquin de Ibarra. Madrid, 1771. 4 vols.
small 8vo. Plates.
This was the first attempt in Spain to produce
"
Don Quixote
"
in comely shape, with
good print and well-executed plates.
32. Vida
y
hechos del, etc. Antonio del Sancha. Madrid, 1777. 4 vols.
12mo. Plates.
Follows to some extent the example set by the preceding.
33. El Ingenioso hidalgo Don Quixote de la Mancha. Joaquin de Ibarr i.
Madrid,
17S0. 4 vols, large 4to. Plates.
This is the splendid edition of the Spanish Royal Academy, a book that may be
regarded as a national monument. The life of Cervantes by Vicente de los Rios, though
not a critical or judicious production, is an improvement on that of Mayans
y
Siscar, and
the attempt to settle the text definitely is meritorious; but unfortunately rather too much
faith is placed in the authority of the corrections of the l(ii)8 edition. It will be observed
that the editors had the good taste to revert to the original title.
548 DON QUIXOTE.
34. Historia del famoso cdvallero., etc. E. Easton, London and Salis-
bury, 1781. (j vols, ito; but commonh' bound in 3 vols., the last
being filled with the notes.
This remarkable edition, the work of an English country clergyman, the Rev. John
Bowie of Idmestone, was a literary feat and an achievement in scholarship of no small
magnitude. Bowie wisely abstained from attemjjting any extensive rectification of the
text, bat the mass of notes witli which he illustrated it bears ample tesiimony to bis
learning and zeal. The actual value of the notes to the reader as illustrations of
"
Don
Quixote" is, however, small in comparison with their bulk; the true service which
Bowie rendered by his edition was in the example he set and in the foundation he laid
down for after commentators. His alteration of the title is indefensible. Probably he
intended a sort of imitation of the style of his favorite reading, the romances of chiv-
alry; but in that case it would have been better to call it at once
"
Cronica del muy
esf'orzado cavallero." In his letter to Percy, and in his original advertisement, he pro-
posed
"
valeroso cavallero."
35. El Ingenioso hidalgo., etc. Joaquin de Ibarra. Madrid, 1782.
4 vols, small 8vo. Plates.
This is the Academy edition reduced in dimensions and brought within the reach of
the general public.
36. Vida 1/ hechos del, etc. Manuel Martin. Madrid, 1782. 4 vols. 8vo.
Plates.
37. El Ingenioso hidalgo, etc. La Viuda de Ibarra. Madrid, 1787.
6 vols. 16mo. Plates.
The third Academy edition.
38. El Ingenioso hidalgo, etc. Imprenta real. Madrid, 1797. 6 vols.
12nio.
An edition printed with special care as a specimen of typography. Plates adapted to
it were afterwards published.
39. El Ingenioso hidalgo, etc. Gabriel de Sancha. Madrid, 1797-8.
5 vols. 8vo. Plates.
This is the valuable edition of Juan Antonio Pellicer, the first to deal with the re-
quirements of the great majority of readers in a practical spirit, a task for which his
knowledge of local traditions, popular sayings, customs, and folk-lore of every sort,
specially fitted him. His notes are comparatively few and short, but measured by their
value to the reader are second in importance only to Clemencin's.
40. El Ingenioso hidalgo, etc. Gabriel de Sancha. Madrid, 1798-9,
1800. 9 vols. 12mo. Plates.
A new edition of the preceding with some slight alterations and improvements.
41. El Ingenioso hidalgo, etc. Sonimer. Leipzig, 1800. 6 vols. 12mo.
A reprint of Pellicer's edition, with the Quixote dictionary of J. W, Beneke.
42. Vida
y
hechos del, etc. Imprenta de Vega. Madrid, 1804. 6 vols.
8vo.
A mere trade edition, very poor in every way.
43. El Ingenioso hidalgo, qXc. J. Pinard. Bordeaux, 1804. 4 vols. 8vo.
The Academy text with Pellicer's notes.
APPENDIX TIL 549
44. El Ingenioso hidalgo^ etc. TI. Frolich. Berlin, 1804. G vols. Svo.
A scholarly edition by Ludwig Ideler, based upon Pellicer's, but with additions from
Bowie and others.
45. IlistoHa delingenioso, etc. . . . Barceloiiii, LS08. G vols. 12ni().
46. Vida
y
hechos del, etc. Viiida de Barco Lopez. Madrid, 1808.
4 vols. 8vo.
47. El Ingenioso hula/go, etc. . . . London, 1808. 4 vols. 12nio.
Edited by the Rev. Felipe Fernandez, A.M.
48. El Ingenioso hidalgo., etc. Tournachon Melin. Lyons, 1810.
4 vols. 12mo.
49. El Ingenioso hidalgo., etc. Bossange and Masson. Paris, 1814.
7 vols. 12nio.
The Academy text and Pellicer's notes.
50. El Ingenioso hida/go., etc. Lackington and Allen. London, 1814.
Edited by the Rev. F. Fernandez, a reprint of the 1808 edition.
51. El Ingenioso hidalgo., etc. P. Beaume. Bordeaux, 1815. 4 vols.
12mo.
52. El Ingenioso hidalgo., etc. Soramer. Leipzig, 1818. (! vols, small
8vo. Plates.
A reprint of the Leipzig edition of 1800.
53. El Ingenioso hidalgo, etc. Imprenta real. Madrid, 1819. 4 vols.
8vo. Plates.
Fourth edition of the Royal Academy "Quixote." To this Navarrete's life of Cer-
vantes makes a fifth vol.
54. El Ingenioso hidalgo, etc. Cormon and Blanc. Paris, 1825. 4
vols. 12mo.
55. El Ingenioso hidalgo, etc. Madrid, 182G. 2 vols. 12mo. Plates.
56. El Ingenioso hidalgo, etc. Didot. Paris, 1827. 1 vol. 32mo.
Plates.
Miniature edition.
57. El Ingenioso Jiidalgo, etc. Cormon and Blanc. Paris, 1827. 6 vols.
12mo.
58. El Ingenioso hidalgo, etc. . . . Madrid, 1829.
In
"
Obras escogidas" in 11 vols, small Svo.
59. El Ingenioso hidalgo, etc. Espinosa. Madrid, 1831. 4 vols. 16mo.
Plates.
60. El Ingenioso hidalgo, etc. . . . Saragossa, 1831. 3 vols. 12mo.
550
DON
QUIXOTE.
61. El Ingenioso hidalgo^ etc. Viuda
y
lis. Gorchs. Barcelona, 1832.
4 vols. 8vo. Plates.
Reprint of the Academy edition of 1819.
62. El Ingenioso hidalgo, etc. Didot. Taris, 1832. 1 vol. 32mo.
Plates.
Reproduction of miniature edition of 1827.
63. El Ingenioso hidalgo, etc. E. Aguado. Madrid, 1833-39. 6 vols.
4to.
"
Comentado por Diego Clemencin;" the most important perhaps of all the editions,
except that of the Academ5^ Clemencin followed Pellicer's example, but produced a
commentary on a vastly larger scale, not contenting himself with explaining merely the
obscure allusions and phrases, but setting to work as though resolved to make Samson
Carrasco's remark, that
"
there is nothing to puzzle over," true to the very letter so far
as his edition was concerned. There is, of course, a great deal of annotation that might
very well have been spared, but the case is one to which the aphorism about gift-horses
applies. Clemencin is doubtless diffuse, but he has done more towards the elucidation
of Don Quixote than all the rest of the commentators and annotators together. His great
fault is his hypercritical temper. His love and veneration for his author are genuine,
but the carelessness with which Cervantes wrote irritated him, and he very often makes
mountains of mole-hills, and goes out of his way to find fault.
64. El Ingenioso hidalgo. Barcelona, 1835. 1 vol. 8vo.
Ist vol. of
"
Coleccion de los Mayores Ingenlos de Espafia."
65. El Ingenioso hidalgo, etc. Little and Brown. Boston (U. S.),
1836. 1 vol. 8vo. Plates. [2d ed. 2 vols. 1837. Am. erf.]
The Academy text, with emendations by Francis Sales.
&(). El Ingenioso hidalgo, etc. Lefevre. Paris, 1838. 4 vols. 16mo.
67. El Ingenioso hidalgo, etc. Antonio Bergnes. Barcelona, 1839.
2 vols, large 8vo. Plates.
68. El Ingenioso hidalgo, etc. Baudry. Paris, 1840. 1 vol. large 8vo.
Edited by Ochoa.
69. El Ingenioso hidalgo, etc. Charles Ingray. Paris, 1840. 1
vol.
12mo.
70. El Ingenioso hidalgo, etc. Little and Brown. Boston (U. S.), 1842.
1 vol. 12nio.
3d edition of that of 1836.
71. El Ingenioso hidalgo, etc. Ignacio Cumplido. Mexico, 1842. 2
vols, large 8vo. Plates.
72. El Ingenioso hidalgo, etc. Aribau. Madrid, 1846. 1 vol. large 8vo.
Ist vol. of the admirable
"
Biblioteca de autores Espaiioles," containing besides
"
Don Quixote
"
the minor works (except the dramas) and the collected poems.
73. El Ingenioso hidalgo, etc. Juan Oliveres. Barcelona, 1848. 2
vols. 8vo.
APJ'EXDJX III. 651
7-i. El Ingenioso hidalgo, etc. Gaspar
y
Roig. Madrid, 1850. 1 vol.
large 8vo.
75. 1 Ingenioso hidalgo, etc. Paris, 1850. 2 vols. 8vo.
76. El Ingenioso hidalgo, etc. D. Appleton & Co. New York, 1853.
1 vol. 12mo.
A reprint of the Paris edition by Ociioa, 1840.
77. El Ingenioso hidalgo, etc. Baudry. Paris, 1855. 1 vol. 8vo.
78. El Ingenioso hidalgo, etc. Mellado. Madrid, 1855. 2 vols. 8vo.
79. El Ingenioso hidalgo, etc. Gaspar
y
Roig. Madrid, 1855. 1 vol.
8vo.
80. El Ingenioso hidalgo, etc. D. Appleton & Co. New York, 1860.
1 vol. 8vo.
81. El Ingenioso hidalgo, etc,
2 vols, folio.
A Buraptuoua and finely printed edition de luxe
Tomas Gorclis. Barcelona, 1862.
82. El Ingenioso hidalgo, etc. Ribadeneyra. Argamasilla de All)a,
1863. 4 vols. 12nio.
Edited by the late Juan Eugenio Hartzenbusch. A typographical gem and biblio-
graphical curiosity, having been printed in the Casa de Medrano, close beside the cellar
in which, according to the tradition.of Argamasilla, Cervantes wrote the novel. It is a
pity that its value as an edition is not equal to its beauty as a book. Hartzenbusch was
the first to perceive the differences iu text between the first and later editions, and that
the corrections in the latter were not supplied by Cei-vautes. He would have rendered
a eei-vice to literature if he had reproduced the text of the 1st edition on some such plan
as that followed in the Cambridge Shakespeare, admitting only obvious and accepted
emendations, and giving the more important of the others in notes; of which, after all,
very few would have been needed. But unfortunately, acting on a blind faith in the
infallibility of Cervantes, and a theory that everything "unlike him" must needs be
due to some blunder or conjecture of the printers, he has so tampered with the text as
almost to neutralize the value of his editions to all readers except those sutticiently
familiar with it to be able to check his vagaries. Many of his eniendations are
admirable, but many also are entirely uncalled for; often little irritating alterations for
which it is dillicult to see any reason except a restless desire to make a change of some
sort; and sometimes not merely needless but dowuright mischievous. He was a man
of genius, a poet, an accomplished scholar, and an acute critic, but he was sadly defi-
cient in a sense of humor, without which it is impossible for the most highly gifted
commentator or critic to
"
keep touch
"
with Cervantes.
83. El Ingenioso hidalgo, etc.
1863. 4 vols, royal 8vo.
Ribadeneyra. Argamasilla de Alba,
Vols.
3-6 of the fine edition of Cervantes' complete works in 12 vols. (310 copies
only printed), edited by Don Cayetano Rosell, the 4 containing Don Quixote being
intrusted to Hartzenbusch. Text, with a few slight differences, the same as in the
preceding.
84. El Ingenioso hidalgo, etc.
imperial 8vo. Plates.
Imprenta nacioiuii, Madrid, 1863. 3 vols
552
DON QUIXOTE.
85. El Ingenioso hidalgo, etc. Gaspar
y
Roig. Madrid, 1865. 1
vol.
large 8vo. Plates.
These of Gaspar
y
Roig, though merely cheap popular editions and illustrated with
clumsy reproductions of Tony Juhannot's cuts, are readable and useful, as they have
a judicious text and selection of the notes of Fellicer, Clemeucin, and Hartzenbusch.
80. El Ingenioso hidalgo, etc. Barcelona,
1865-6. 2
vols, folio. With
Gustave Dore's illustrations.
87. El Ingenioso hidalgo, etc. Brockhaus. Leipzig, 1866. 2 vols. 8vo.
A very neat, carefully printed, and convenient edition.
88. El Ingenioso hidalgo^ etc. Madrid, 1868. 1
vol. 8vo.
89. El Ingenioso hidalgo, etc. F. Lopez Fabra. Barcelona, 1871-4.
2 vols. 4to. Plates.
The first edition, 160-5-161.5, reproduced by pholotypography. Hartzenbusch's notes
from a third volume. A splendid book, for which all lovers of Cervantes will thank
Colonel Fabra.
!)0. El Ingenioso hidalgo, etc. Paris,'1873. 1 vol. 8vo.
!1. El Ingenioso hidalgo, iii^^. Cadiz, 1877. 8vo.
Issued to subscribers. To be completed in 5 vols, including the life of Cervantes by
Don Ramon Leon Maiuez.
!I2. El Ingenioso hidalgo, etc. Seville, 1871). 1 vol. 16nio.
93. El Ingenioso hidalgo, etc. Madrid, 1880. 2 vols. 16mo.
TRANSLATIONS.
ENGLISH.
1. The
I
Ilistorxj
\
of \
the Valorous
\
and Wittie
\
Knight-Errant
\
Don Quixote
\
of
the Mancha.
\
Translated out of the Spanish.
London.
|
Printed by William Stansby for Ed. Blount and
|
W.
Barret.
|
1612. Second Part, 1620. Small 4to.
Translated by Thomas Shelton about 1608, as appears from the dedication. Under
December 5, 161-5, in the
"
Stationers' Register" is entered, "The Second Parte of Don
Quixote;" but this cannot be a version of Cervantes' Second Part, which was not
licensed to be printed until November 5, and, though dated 1615, could hardly have been
published that year. I suspect the entry refers to a version of Avellaneda's Second
Part, which may have been withdrawn as soon as the book was discovered to be spuri-
ous. In the Alheiutam (No. 2698, et seij.) there is an interesting discussion on Shclton's
translation, in which the existence of a separate First Part dated 1612 (a point disi)utcd
by some correspondents) is fully established, as also the fact, first discovered by the
acumen and research of Mr. A. J. Dutiield, that Shelton translated from the Brussels
edition of 1607. It has been said that Shelton was not the translator of the Second Part,
but there is no ground for the assertion except that there is a certain fallingoff in spirit
in the rendering. On the other hand, the style is the same, and the same mistranslations
of certain words and phrases occur repeatedly. The assertion sometimes made that the
Second Part was translated from the French is also groundless, as a comparison with
Rosset's version will show. Shclton's was the tirst of all the translations of Don
Quixote. It is a hasty and a careless production, sometimes b.Trbarously literal, some-
times very free, but always delightful as a specimen of quaint colloquial English. Other
editions: 1652, folio; 1675, folio; 1706, 2 vols. 8vo, revised by J. Stevens; 1725,4 vols.
12mo; 1731, 4 vols. 12mo.
APPENDIX III. 553
2. The History
of
the most renoiimed Don Quixote and Sancho Pancha^
now made English according to the humour
of
our modern lan-
guage. Ivoiidon, 1(>87. Folio. Plates.
By John Phillips, Milton's nephew. A piece of coarse, vulgar buffoonery, based on
Shelton's translation and the French of Filleau de Saint-Martin, and presei'ving scarcely
a feature of the original. There was no other edition.
3. The History
of
the renowned Don Quixote. TraiLslated from the
original l)y several hands and ])ublished by Peter Motteux. Lon-
don, 1701. 4 vols. 12nio. Plates.
The so-called Motteux's version. There is some uncertainty about the date of the
lirst edition, which, whatever the reu: on, seems to be rare. Watt (Bibliothcca Britan-
nica) gives 1701 ; a booliseller's catalos^ue before me, 1700; other authorities, 1706; othei's
again, 1712, which is the date of the third edition, the earliesti have iseen
;
while Lowndes
gives 171'J. It must, however, have been between 1701 and 1706, for the first volume is
dedicated to
"
Henry Boyle, Chancellor of her Majesty's Exchequer," which post he
held from 1701 to 17o"7, and the fourth to the
"
Hon. (Jolonel Stanhope," who returned
from Spain at tlie end of
170.")
with the rank of Brigadier-General. Its claim to have
been translated frtnu the original is more than doubtful. It is, at any rate, a very
unfaithful translation, unfaithful to the letter, but still more to the spirit. There are
several editions; the fourth, in 1719, was revised by Ozell. That of Edinburgh, 1822,
5 vols., was edited l)y Lockhart, with Pellicer's notes transferred without acknowledg-
ment. Since then three or four handsome editions have been published, e.g., that in
1 vols. 8vo by Nimmo and Baiu, and that by Patersou, Kdinburgh, in i vols, large 8vo.
4. The
Life
and Exploits
of
the Ijigetiious Gentleman, Don Quixote
of
La Mancha. Translated by Charles Jarvis, Esq. London, 1742.
2 vols. 4to. Plates.
Brunet gives the date
17oS-42,
as if there was an earlier issue of the lirst volume; but
this cannot be correct. The translator was Charles Jervas, the portrait-painter, and
friend of Pope and Swift, who died in 1739, and had the 1st vol. appeared in his lifetime
he would not have allowed his naiue to be printed phonetically, according to the pro-
nunciation of the day, on his title-page. The plates are those of the 1738 edition of the
origin.il published by Touson, who was also the publisher of this. Prertxed is a transla-
tion of the Life by Maj^ans
y
Siscar, and a supplementary preface on Chivalry Romance
by Warburton, which is a curiosity of pretentious ignorance. For example, he tells
the reader that Palincrin de. Oiioa in the history of Oliver, is the comrade and rival of
Koland, and he connects ^madis
of
Goal with the Carlovingiau cycle! The second
edition was in 1749,2 vols. 8vo; the third in 17-56, 2 vols. 4to; the fourth in 1766, 4 vols.
12nio. The modern ones are well-nigh countless. Among them may be mentioned the
very handsome one of 1801 in 4 vols, royal 8vo, with Stothard's plates; that of 1836 in 3
vols. 8vo, with Tony Johannot's illustrations, and Cassell's edition with Ciustave Dore's.
Of the merits of Jervas's version I have spoken at lengtli in the introduction. It is an
honest and faithful translation ; its fault is that it is stiff and ponderous; which, how-
ever, is in a great measure due to Jervas's anxiety to avoid the flippant, would-be
facetious, style of his predecessor, Motteux.
5. The History and Adventures
of
Don Quixote. Translated from the
Spanish by T. Smollett. London, 17.5.5. 2 vols. 4to.
This was a luere hookseller's speculation. As a translation it has no value, being,
indeed, little more than a rifacimento of Jervas's, made without any regard to the orig-
inal. The editions of it, however, are numerous.
0. The History
of
the renowned Don Quixote
of
La Mancha. Trans-
lated into English by George Kelly, P^sq. ; with notes on the diffi-
cult passages. Printed for the Translator, London, 1769. 4 vols.
12mo.
A literary imposture of remarkable impudence. It is, in fact, simply Motteux's
translation, word for word, with a few artful transpositions here and there; and the
better to mask his aijpropriation of Motteux's text, the
"
translator" has filched bodily
Jervas's notes.
554 DON QUixorE.
7. The TTisionj of Don Quixote. Translateil from the Spanish by C.
H. Wiliuot.
"
London, 1774. 2 vols. 8vo. Phites.
Merely an abridged version, and apparently not from the original.
8. The Ilistorfi
of
Don Quixote. Ilhistrated witli engravings after 11.
Smirke, R.A. 4 vols. 8vo. Printed by Buhner. London, 1818.
A patchwork version made out of previous translations by Miss Smirke to accom-
pany her brother's designs. The book, however, is a very handsome one, and prized
by lovers of editions de luxe.
t). The Ingenious Knight Don Quixote
of
La Mancha. A new transla-
tion by Alexander J. Duffield, with some of the notes of the Rev.
J.
Bowie, J. A. Pellioer, and Diego Clenienein. Kegan Paul. Lon-
don, 1881.
The work of an enthusiastic Cervantist, whose zeal and labor deserve to be honored
by all lovers of Cervantes and Don Quixote. The verse has been very skilfully trans-
lated by Mr. J. Y. Gibson.
To these may be added such reproductions of the story of Don Quixote as : Ked
Ward's Life
and Adventures ofthat renowned knight Don Quijrote
;
merrily translated
into Ihidibrastic verse. London, 1700.

The Ifistori/
of
the ever renowned knight Don
Quixote. London, 1700.

The 7nuch esteemed Ilistori/

of
Don Quixote. London, 1716.

The most admirable and delightful History

of
the achievements
of
Do7i Quixote;
done from, the Spanish edition. London, 1721; chap-book abridgments; and: The
Life
and Exploits
of
Don Quixote de la Mancha, abridged. V. Newbery, London,
1778.

Stories and Chapters from Don Quixote versified. London, 1830.

The His-
tory
of
Don Quixote, with an account
of
his exploits, abridged from Smollett. Halifax,
1839. The Story
of
Don Quixote and his Squire Sancho Pama. London, 1871.

The wonderful adventures

of
Don Quixote a/td Sancho ^':ln^n, abridged and adapted
to youthful capacities, by Sir Marvellous Crackjoke. London, 1872.

The Adventures
of
Don Quixote, adapted for young readers. London, 1883.
FRENCH.
1. Le Valeiireux Don Quixote de la Manche., ou Vhistoire de ses grands
exploicts d'armes,Jideles amours, et adventures estranges. Traduit
fidelement de I'espagnol de M. de Cervantes, par Cesar Oudin,
Secretaire Interprete de sa Majesty. Jean Fouet. Paris, 1616.
1 vol. 8vo.
This is, of course, the First Part only. A translation of the second is promised in
the third edition (Paris, 1620), of which there are copies in the British Museum and
Lambeth libraries. The privilege is dated March 17, 1614. Oudin was a teacher of
Spanish, and this translatiou seems, from the notes, to have been, partly at least, in-
tended for his pupils. It reads more like an exercise in which one language is turned
into another by a beginner with the help of the dictionary, than a translation properly
so-called.
2. Ilistoire du redoubtable et ingenieux Chevalier Don Quixote. Tra-
dnite de I'espagnol par F. Rosset. Paris, 1618. 1 vol. 8vo.
This is the Second Part only. There is a copy in the Lambeth Palace library. It
was dedicated to Mdme. de Luysnes, and is referred to by Blount, the publisher, in his
dedication of Shelton's second part, published in 1620, an allusion which has led some
persons to imagine that the English version was made from it. Itosset translated also
several of the Spanish romances of chivalry. His translation is somewhat less bald
than Oudin's, with which it was joined and issued, Paris, 1633; Paris, 1639; Rouen, 1646;
Paris, 1665; and in the present year a new edition of both in 6 vols. 16mo has appeared.
3. Ilistoire de Tadmirable Don Quixotte de la Manche. Paris, 1677-8.
4 vols. 12mo.
Anonymous, but the work of the Sieur Filleau de Saint-Martin. He dedicated it to
the Dauphin, and in the preface says he was moved to write it because the existing
APPENDIX in.
555
translation, made fifty years previously, was in a style tliat was no longer in use. It is
more readable than Oudin's or Rosset's, but very unfaithful. Filleau de Saint-Martin
had no scruples about altering or omittius anything he did not like, or even adding
touches of his own. It passed tbrouith numerous editions; a second in 1679; others in
1681, and 1692. A third Paris edition appeared in 1695 in 5 vols. 12mo, the oth vol. being
a continuation of the adventures of Don Quixote, who is made to recover from his illness
in chap. Ixxiv. The continuation, which is a sorry piece of worli, was left unfinished,
owing to Saint-Martin's death the same year, and was completed by Robert Challes in
1713. Very few of the many editions mention F. de Saint-Martin's name, and there has
been consequently a good deal of confusion about the authorship. In Bassompierre's
Liege and Frankfort editions the translator is said to have been Claude Lancelot of Port
Royal; and N"avarrete, in liis list, inserts three of the editions as if they were distinct
translations.
4. Don Quichote de la Matiche. Traduit de I'espagnol par Florian.
6 vols. 12mo. Didot Aine, Paris, an VII. 1790.
An abridgment in which little or nothing of the spirit of the original is preserved,
but which, from its style, has been exceedingly popular, not only in France, but in other
countries.
5. CEuvres completes de Cervantes. Traduites par H. Bouchon Du-
bournial. 8 vols. 12nio. Plates. Paris, 1808.
Comprising Don Quixote, the exemplary novels to which
"
The Ill-advised Curi-
osity" is added and Persiles and Sigismunda. "Pen exacte et faiblement faite."

Brunet.
6. UIngenieux chevalier Don Quichotte. Traduit de I'espagnol par De
I'Aulnaye. 4 vols. 18mo. Woodcuts, Paris, 1821.
'
Une des plus fldeles que nous ayons jusqu'i present." Brunet.
7. UTngenieux chevalier Don Quichotte., par I'Abbe Lejeune. 1 vol.
8vo. Lehuby. Paris, 1824.
An abridgment.
8. Ulngenieux Hidalgo Don Quichotte., traduit et annote par Louis
Viardot. Dubochet. Paris, 183G. 2 vols. 1. 8vo, illustrated by
Tony Johannot.
A translation executed with great literary skill, and a very agreeable one to read, but
not always true to the letter or to the spirit of the original.
9. UAdmirahle Don Quichotte de la Manche., traduction nouvelle par
Damas Hinard. Charpentier, Paris, 1847. 2 vols. 8vo.
This is not so elegant or agreeable a translation as Viardot's, but it is, I think, a more
scholarly piece of work. It is, however, much too free, and sometimes inaccurate.
10. Ulngenieux chevalier Don Quichotte^ traduction nouvelle par M.
Furne. Paris, 1858. 2 vols. 8vo.
11. Ulngenieux chevalier Don Quichotte., traduction nouvelle par Re-
mond. Delarue. Paris, 18G3. 2 vols. 12mo, witli spirited wood-
cuts by Telory.
An abridgment, omitting, for example, the novel of
"
The Ill-advised Curiosity,"
the story of Ana Felix in the Second Part, and such other portions as could be liest
spared. For an abridgment it is a good one in every respect; far better than Floriau's.
556 DON QUIXOTE.
12. L'Ingenieux Hidalgo Don i^uichotte, traduction nouvelle de Lucien
Biart (avec notice par Prosper Merimee). Hetzel. Paris, 1878.
4 vols. 12mo.
An unpretending version, not without merit, but not distinguished by any shining
ones. The poetry, of which most other French translators are content to give prose
renderings, has been admirably put into verse by the Oomte de Gramont.
GERMAN.
1. Don Kichote de la Mantzscha, das ist, Juiicker Ilarnisch aiis Flecken-
land, aus hispanischer Spracli in hochteiitsche vbersetzt. Kotlicn,
1(;21. 1 vol. 12mo.
From the second title it appears that the translator was Pahsch Bastel von der Sohle.
There were other editions : Hoffgeisraar, 1648; Frankfort, 1648; Frankfort, 1669. The
translation unfortunately only extends to tweuty-two chapters, the remainder, promised
by the translator, never having appeared. As a translation it is far better than Oudin's,
and more conscientious, if less spirited, than Shelton's. The translator plumed himself
especially upon presenting Spanish words and names in such a form as would make
them easy to be pronounced correctly by German readers.
2. Don Quixote von Mancha ; ahenteuerliche Geschichte. Basel iind
Frankfort, 1682. 2 vols. 8vo. Plates.
A complete translation. Anonymous.
3. Des beruhmten Ritters Don Quixotevon Mancha lustige inid sinnreiche
Geschichte. Leipzig, 1734. 2 vols. 8vo. Anonymous.
Second edition, Leipzig, 1753; others, Frankfort, 17.53; Leipzig, 1767.
4. Lehen und Thaten des weisen Junker's Don Quixote, iibers. v. Fried-
rich Justin Bertuch. Leipzig,
177").
6 vols. 8vo.
Other editions, 1780-81; Carlsnihe, 1785.
5. Der sinnreiche Junker Don Quixote., iibers. von Dietrich Wilhelm
Soltau. Konigsbg., 1800-1. 6 vols. 8vo. Map.
Reprinted Leipzig, 1S25; Leipzig, 1837; Stuttgart, 1876. Apparently the most popu-
lar of the German versions, and on the whole a tolerably faithful one, though not suffi-
ciently conservative of local color.
6. Lehen und Thaten des scharfsinnigen edlen Don Quixote^ iilx-rs. v.
Ludwig Tieck. Berlin, 1810-lG. 4 vols. 8vo.
Second edition, Berlin, 1831; third, Berlin, 1852. A spirited translation, but the
spirit is not quite the spirit of Cervantes, and the freedom of the rendering is sometimes
(excessive.
"
Scharfsinnig" is anything but an improvement on
i"
sinnreich
"
as a
translation of
"
ingenioso."
7. Cervantes' Werke, iibers. v. Hieronymus Miiller. Zwickau, 1825-29.
8. Cervantes' sdmmtl. Romane u. Novellen. iibers von Keller und Notter.
Stuttgart, 1839. 12 vols. 8vo.
9. Der sinnreiche Junker Don Quixote von der Mancha, aus dem Span-
ischen, von Edmund Zoller. Hildburghausen, 18G7. 8 vols. 8vo.
Unquestionably a better version than any of its predecessors; far more skilful than
Soltau's, and incomparably more faithful to letter and spirit than Tieck's. Zoller fol-
lows Hartzenbusch's text, and unhesitatingly, which 1 must confess is more than 1 have
been able to do.
APPENDIX in. 557
10. Der
sinnreicke Junker Don Quijofe ron der 3fancha, iibcrs. v. Lud-
wig Brauiifels. Spemann. Stntttjart, 1884. 4 vols. 8vo.
So far as a somewhat superficial acquaintance (for the work is only just now com-
pleted) warrants an opinion, I ain inclined to think that this, the result it seems of nearly
twenty years' study of Cervantes, is the beat, as it is certainly the most scholarly, trans-
lation of Don Quixote that has as yet appeared in German. The translator is not per-
haps invariably mindful of Cervantes' caveat to the Morisco against adding anything,
l)ut his additions are never wanton, and serve to supply what literal translation cannot
always wholly convey, lie gives a learned introduction, and an ample supply of excel-
lent notes. He is sometimes, it may be, a little over-confident; as, for instance, in
asserting dogmatically that Aliaga was Avellaneda, and that Cervantes knew it; but in
the raaiu his commentary. seems to be as judicious as his translation is trustworthy.
ITALIAN.
1. 1/Ingegnoso cittadino Don ChiscioUe della Mancia, tradotto da Lor-
enzo Franciosmi. Venice, 1622.
Brunet says he has seen a copy dated 1621, but the dedication is dated August, 1622.
It is a translation of the Kirst Part only. It was reprinted with a translation of the
Second at Venice in 162'i, and at Rome in 1677, and several times since. Navarrete
says it is too much given to paraphrase, and it certainly takes liberties, but it is on the
whole a fairly close translation. The verse is given in the original Spanish.
2. UIngegnoso cittadino Don Chisciotte della Mancia. Traduzione
novissima dall' originale Spagnuolo. Venice, 1818-19. 8 vols,
sm. 8vo. Plates by Francesco Novelli.
Brunet and Graesse describe this as a new edition of Franciosini's; but this is an
error. It is an independent translation, and bears no resemblance whatever to Fran-
ciosini's.
3. UIngegnoso idalgo Don Chisciotte della Mancia. Tradotto da Bar-
tolomeo Gamba. Milan, 1841. 2 vols. 8vo.
Another edition, Naples, 1851.
4. II Don Chisciotte della giove72tit, avveniure curiosissime di Don
Chisciotte e Sancio. Milan, 1877. 1 vol. 8vo.
An abridgment.
DTTTCH.
1. De Verstandige Vroomen Ridder Don Qiiichot de la Mancha^ over-
geset door L. V. B. Dordrecht, 1657. 1 vol. 8vo.
The translator was Lambert van den Bosch. Of this version several editions
appeared, e.g. Amsterdam, 1669, 2 vols. 8vo. plates; Amsterdam, 1670, 2 vols. 8vo. plates;
Amsterdam, 1696, 2 vols. Svo. plates (described as third edition)
;
Amsterdam, 16!)9, 2
vols. Svo. plates, fifth edition; Amsterdam, 1707, 2 vols. 8vo. plates; Amsterdam, 1732,
with title of
"
De oude en rechte D. Q. de la M. of de verstandige en vrome ridder van de
Leeuwen," 2 vols. Svo. plates.
2. De Ridder Don Qiiichot van Mancha. 2 vols. Svo. Plates. Am-
sterdam, 1819.
An abridgment.
3. De verniiftige Jonhheer Don Quichote van de Mancha^ iiit het
Spaansch vertaald door Mr. C. L. Schulier tot Pciirsnm. 4 a^oIs.
post 8v(). Haarlem, 1854-59.
A second edition with Gustave Dore's plates, folio. Haarlem, 1870. A third, Leiden,
1877-79. 1 vol. 1. Svo. Plates.
558 DON QUIXOTE.
RUSSIAN.
1. Istorya o Slavnom La-Mankhskom rytsari Don Kishot. 2 vols. 8vo.
St. Petersburg, 17(59.
"
The History of the renowned Knight of La Mancha, Don Quixote." A translation
from the French, and of only a portion of the First Part.
2. Don Kishot La Mankhsky, sotchinenie Servanta. 1 vol. ITiino.
Moscow, 1805.
Translated 'from the French of Florian bv Vasili Zhi'ikofsky. Other editions in
isiu and 1820.
;>. Don Kishot La Mankhsky, sotchinenie Servanta. '2 vols. 8vo.
Moscow, 1812.
Translated from the French by X. Ossipof.
4. Don Kihot La Mankhsky. St. Petersburg, 1831. 6 vols. Ifimo.
Translated from the French.
5. Don Kiliot Lamanclisky. St. Petersburg. 1838. 8vo.
Translated from the Spanish by Konstantin Massalsky. Only the First Part. Other
editions in 1S40 and in 1848.
6. Don Kihot Lamanchsky. St. Petersburg, 1860.
Translated from the French by A. G-riech. A version intended for children.
7. Don Kihot Lamanchsky. St. Petersburg, lS(i(i. 2 vols. 8vo.
Translated from the Spanish by V. Karelin. A second edition, St. Petersburg, 1873.
8. Don Kihot dlia detei. St. Petersburg, 1<S(;7. 1 vol. 8vo.
"
Don Quixote for Children," edited by N. S. Lvof.
9. Istorya snamenitago Don Kihota Lamanchskago. 1 vol. 8vo. The
second edition. St. Petersburg, 1883.
"
The History of the celebrated Don Quixote of La Mancha," translated- under the
supervision of M. Tchistiakof.
10. Don Kihot Lamanchsky rytsar petchalnago obraza irytsar Ivov. St.
Petersburg, 1883. 1 vol. 8vo. illustrated.
"
Don Quixote of La Mancha, Knight of the Melancholy Figure and Knight of the
Lions." For the use of the young people of Russia. Adapted by O. T. Schmidt.
DANISH.
1
.
Den sindrige Adelsmand Don Quixote
af
la 3Iancha, Levnet og
Bedrifter. Oversat af Charlotta. D. Biehl. 4 vols. 8vo. Copen-
hagen, 1776-7.
A new edition, revised by F. L. Liebenberg, was published at Copenhagen, 1865, in
2 vols. 8vo. Plates.
2. Den sindrige Adelsmand Don Quijote
af
La Mancha., Levnet og
Bedyrifter. Overs, ved F. Schaldemose. 4 vols. 8vo. Copen-
hagen, 1829-31.
APPENDIX III. 559
POLISH.
1. Don Quixote: a
translation by FranciKS Podowski. fi vols. 8vo.
Warsaw, 178(>.
From the French, appareutly.
2. Don Kiszot z Manszy przez Cervantesa. 4 vols. Svo. Warsaw,
1854-5.
From the French with Tony Johanuot's illustrations.
3. Zabawne przygodji Don Kiszota z Manszy. Cracow, 1888.
"The Amusing Adventures of Don Quixote of La Mancha;
"
arranged for Polish
youth by J. M. Himraelblau. In the
"
Bibliogratia Polska
"
translations are mentioned
by Kliraaszewski and Wolowski; and also by Borowski and Fontana, the last two
being still in manuscript.
POKTUGUESE.
engenhosn Fidnlgo Dom Quixote de la Mancha. Traduzido em vulgar.
Tipografia Kollandiana. Lisbon, 1794. 6 vols. Svo.
Another edition, Lisbon, ISO:?. Portugal was under the Spanish crown when Don
Quixote appeared, and the popularity of the book in the original was such that there
was but little demand for a translation until comparatively recent times.
SWEDISH.
1. Don Qnichotte
af
La Mancha^ ofvers. efter Florian af Carl Guslaf
Berg. Stockholm, 1802. 1 vol. 8vo. Plates.
Not completed.
2. Den Tappre och Snillrike Riddare don Qnichotte
af
Mnncha.. lefrerne
och bedrifter, af M. de Cervantes Saavedra. 4 vols. Svo. Plates.
Stockholm, IsiS-lO.
Translated from the Spanish by J. M. Stjernstalpe.
3. Don Quichott af
Mancha, Ofvers. af A. L. 1 vol. Svo. Stockholm,
1857.
From the Spanish, by Axel Hellsten.
4. Don Quichotte
for
ungdonier bear-beted efter Florian. 1 vol. Svo.
Plates. Stockliolm, 1857.
A version intended for young people.
5. Don Quixote de la Mancha. For ungdomer bearl)eted. 1 vol. Svo.
Plates. Stockholm, 1872.
By A. Th. Paben. Also for young people.
HUNGARIAN (maGYAr).
1. Don Quixote^ tr. by Karady Ignacz, 1848. 1
vol. 12mo.
2. Don Quijote, a hires manchai lovag spanyol eredeti mu Cervantestol.,
Florian ntcin franczidbol magyarva forditotta Horvath Gyorgy.
1 vol. Svo. Kecskemet,
1850.
From the French of Florian, by George Uorviith. A second edition in 1853.
560
DON QUIXOTE.
3. Az elmes nemes Bon Quijote de la Mancha, irta Miguel de Cervantes
Saavedra Spanyolhol forditotta s bevezetie Gyory Vilmos. 4 vols.
8vo. Budapest, 1878.
From the Spanish, by William Gybry, who also arranged an edition for young
people, published in 1875.
GREEK.
Aot' KifTor f] TO, TreptepyoTEpa tuv avftjiavTuv airov. Athens, 18(50. 1 vol.
Ifinio.
An abridgment, or rather collection of the principal adventures and incidents; with
an introdnction in dialogue form on Charlemagne, Arthur, and chivalry in general. In-
tended for young people.
UOHKMIAN.
1. Do)i Quijote de la Mancha ze Spanelskeho M. Cervantesa.
Pic-lil:i". Pra.ffue,
ISCfi. 1 vol. Svo.
The first part only
;
translated by J. B. Pichel.
Oil J. B.
2. Don Qi'iaote de la .Uancka.
The Second Part; translated by Dr. Karel Stefan
trated edition and a translation from the German.
Prague, 1868. 1 vol. Svo.
Besides these, there arc an illiis-
SERVIAN.
Pripovetka a slaviwm vitezii. Don Kihotu od Manche^ s frantsuskoga.
Panchevo, 1882. 1 vol. 12nio. 218
pp.
"
The history of the renowned hero Don Quixote of the Mancha. From the
French."
An abridgment of somewhat the sams sort as the Greek, and illustrated by spirited
woodcuts. In the preface, of which Mr. A. L. Hardy kindly sent rac a translation, it is
stated that there is no complete Servian version. Two chapters were published in the
Scr'baki IhieKuik a daily paper

in 1856; and a portion which was never continued

appeared at Belgrade in 1862; but if the present volume jiroves acceptable, the translator
promises to produce in time a complete Servian
"
Don Quixote."